6
Aaron: The Reunion
My stranger has his hands under my shirt and is touching my skin like it’s the most fascinating thing on Earth. I never knew my torso was so sensitive, but every now and then I have to suck my stomach in to deal with the overwhelming sensation of it all.
I want to touch him too.
“Yes,” he says in answer to my question.
I can’t believe how quickly we abandoned the no-talking rule, but it’s a lot better hearing him. We’re speaking in low whispers and breaths, and while his voice is vaguely familiar, it isn’t enough to make me think of a classmate or anyone I know. It’s like when you watch a movie and you think you’ve seen one of the actors before, but maybe he just reminds you of someone from primary school, or one of your parents’ friends, or a staff member at the local servo.
The point is: I think I’ve heard his voice before, somewhere other than the party. But I can’t be sure, and I don’t waste time overthinking the matter. Instead, I press my palms onto his waist, skin on skin. He’s got a narrower waist than mine. I touch the front of him, and while he doesn’t have the kind of abs you see on underwear models, I can feel the definition of his muscles. He’s on the slimmer side of lean, like he does a lot of cardio.
I feel a stab of insecurity because I don’t have that kind of muscle definition or leanness at all. I tried to warn him, but hesaid he doesn’t care, and the way he’s touching me suggests he’s telling the truth.
I drag my hands upwards, and his skin is the for the most part smooth except for a dusting of hair on his lower stomach. I try not to think too hard about where that trail leads.
My fingertips brush over his chest, over his small nipples which immediately pebble. I touch higher, feeling his collarbone, and worry if both of our shirts are going to look like crumpled wrinkly messes by the time we’re done.
F lets go of me, and the front of my shirt falls down. Before I can ask if something is wrong, he’s kissing me again, like he’s hungry.
He touches my hair and I go weak, slumping backwards. My back thuds against the wall, but that doesn’t stop F from climbing onto my lap and straddling me, mouth still attacking mine as he continues to play with my hair.
F rocks forward, and when I realise he’s hard, my body temperature jumps up a few degrees.
I pull back, sucking in a much-needed breath.
“Wha — oh,” F says. “I didn’t realise I was doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Humping you like a dog in heat.”
The choice of words makes me grin. “It’s okay. I’m, uh, like that too.”
“Like what?” he asks.
“Like all this kissing and touching has made me react a certain way too.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
My brows jump up and then I frown. “Are you being sarcastic right now?”
He laughs and I want to kiss him again. When he sobers, he says, cautiously, “you know, I…I don’t want to move too quickly, but perhaps, if you’re comfortable, one day we could…”
“Yeah?”
“Could get each other off. That way.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, because I want to make sure I understand exactly what he’s suggesting.
“Jerking each other off. Until we come.”
His words alone make my cock twitch.
I think I take too long to respond because he hurries on to say, “but no pressure. If you only want to make out, then that’s fine too —”
“No, I want to. When? Now?”
