Mikey laughed. “I’m not your blind date, George. I’m not super tech-savvy at all. And I’m not recording this call—though Skype may be, who knows? But you’re probably right. God knows, everyone in the world is seekingyourspecific dick pics. I hear it all the time. George—what’s your last name?”
“Patras.”
“George Patras—forty-year-old restaurateur’s dick pics leaked! Exclusive!”
“You’re a riot.”
“Show me your cock, George.”
“No, Mikey.”
“Please?”
“I can’t.”
“Tease.”
“I’m not a tease. You called me.”
“You’re right. Me first.”
“Wait—”
Mikey aimed the phone at his crotch. Slowly, he slipped his right hand inside the fly of his pajama bottoms, removing himself. His dick was semi-erect, a meaty shaft springing up from a nest of dark curly hair. He stroked it down with thick fingers until a bulbous pink head emerged from the foreskin, its sleepy eye emitting the tiniest of crystal drops.
“Mikey, stop. I’m hanging up.” But he didn’t. Though shameful to admit, he was totally turned on by this little peep show... and now that he’d seen Mikey’sinstrument, he kind of wanted to see it perform. George reached for his own, hardening again and desperate, also slick with discharge. He gave it a stroke, sighing heavily, forgetting the phone was still in his hand until Mikey spoke again.
“That’s what I’m talking about. Let me help you out, George. We’re just two guys... helping each other out.”
“Yeah,” George said, the phone still on his face. “I guess that’s OK. We’re just helping each other.”
“But you gotta let me see,” Mikey said, annunciating for emphasis. “It’s not fair if you don’t.”
George nodded. “OK. You win.”
“Go slowly. Down your chest and stomach first,” Mikey whispered.
George brought the phone down slowly, lingering on his nipple, which he circled with his fingertips, raking the light brown hair there. He moved, following the trail to his slightly rounded belly and inverted button, all the while tracing delicately with his hand as if it were a tour guide for Mikey. When he reached his groin, he showed Mikey that he was protruding from the slit in his boxers, fully engorged, throbbing, and wet. He squeezed himself.
“Goddamn!” Mikey said. “You are hot. And legit Greek... look at that uncut fatty!”
George couldn’t decipher what Mikey was saying, which was probably a good thing. Because if he weren’t already well on the way to orgasm, he might have stopped the interplay. But he had never done anything like this before, and practically with a stranger. It was... It was...
“So hot,” Mikey said.
George couldn’t think straight, and he was past the point of concern.
He aimed the phone back at his face. “What do we do now?” he said.
“We have to take turns coming,” Mikey said. “So we both can see. You want me to go first, George? You want to see me come?”
If Mikey had asked George this question in any other context, he would have probably said no—not because he didn’t find Mikey attractive—he did, even more so now. But he had grown accustomed to the absence of eroticism in his life. Sex had exited with David, and he rarely thought about it anymore—masturbation a means of tension-release only, his hand being the tool to tap the valve and ease the pressure when necessary. Tonight, that was all he had intended to do. But Mikey had barged in and interrupted this routine, re-introduced the stimulus of a partner—albeit remote—forcing him to remember that the act could be heightened by another’s presence.
And George was turned on.
“Yeah,” he said. “Come for me, Mikey.”
He had time to see a devilish grin on the other end, then brief jostling before the camera was aimed at Mikey’s cock. Mikey slowly stroked himself, maximizing the elasticity of his foreskin for pleasure as well as George’s benefit. His hand stroked a few times before it remained stationary, squeezing at the base. George watched as the cylindrical volcano filling his screen trembled and erupted—white magma shooting up off-camera, then raining down peripherally. A slow, steady gush pulsed from the opening at the blunt tip, streaming down the shaft—a continuous flow, seemingly endless.
