I wasn’t convinced he was when I first took his hand in mine. Thankfully, he hasn’t punched me in the balls yet. That’s not the touch I want from him on my balls.
Our kissing is never filthy. It’s probably one of the cleanest make-out sessions I’ve ever had, which isn’t all that shocking knowing Brek. It never stops, though. Our kissing is continuous and thorough. I taste his entire mouth.
When his hand moves down to my hip, I decide that maybe he’s okay with a little more touch so I slide mine down his waist and around to his ass where I grip his sexy ass cheek, pulling his body closer so I can grind against him.
I’m rewarded with a groan, and his hand tightens on my hip. His fingers bite into my skin through my shorts. Beautiful.
Once again, I think I begin vibrating with excitement when he lifts his leg over my hip. To get closer? To open himself up for more touch?
I bring my hand back around and touch his stomach. Slowly, I bring my hand to the waist of his pants. He doesn’t stop me. In fact, his hips rock forward.
“Tell me to stop if you want me to,” I say.
He nods. Our lips hover over each other as we pant, and my hand trails down over his shorts. Hmm. Underwear. He’s not wearing anything else.
Which means they’re snug enough that I immediately feel his cock just below the waistline. Hard. And dripping. There’s a wet spot at the crown.
Brek grunts, his hips moving forward again as soon as my fingers skim his length. Emboldened, I cup his junk through his underwear and rub him with more purpose. He’s got a nice dick. Right? I don’t fucking know. I like it, and that seems to be all that matters right now. I like how hard he is. I like his length and how thick he feels. Is he thick, or is that just my blind impression?
“Voss,” he grunts, and if I keep hearing that tone, I might just mess my shorts from this. With nothing but my hand on him.
“Okay?”
He nods and slams his mouth to mine. I rub his dick through his underwear until he gets off. His orgasm sounds are going to fill my dreams for the next month.
6
BREK
I alternatebetween floating and panicking internally. Getting off with Voss in my bed was a lot of firsts for me. The first time I’ve had someone in my bed other than one of my friends. While that wasn’t the first time we kissed or made out, he was my firstrealkiss with a guy. My first make-out session. My first dry humping on the couch with a guy. I may havetriedto try to get interested in a couple guys in college but I always backed out before it got that far.
The bigger firsts are the ones that have me on a mental roller coaster. He was my first touch. My first orgasm with a guy.
While I’m slightly more focused on the fact that he’s a dude, it’s only because the parts that are actually confusing me are far more overwhelming and maybe upsetting.
The reality is, I don’t give a fuck that he’s a guy. It never occurred to me to be bothered by that. To question it. I guess I’m kind of indifferent to the fact that he’s a guy.
It’s not his cock against mine—hard and needy—that has my brain all fucked up. It’s that my goddamn body has suddenly fucking shifted gears.
Not once—not a single time!—have I gotten naturally aroused by another person. I’m hesitant to say by a woman because I don’t think it’s actually gender specific. Women were who I’ve been with before, though I use those words loosely.
If I’m asexual, then what the fuck is this about? When the idea of me being asexual popped up, I did a lot of reading, and yeah, there’s like half a dozen or more labels on the asexual spectrum that I read over, but the one I felt most comfortable with was simply asexual.
I’m not aroused by other people. I don’t get turned on. I’m slightly curious about and fascinated by sex, but I don’t want to be involved.
Gender is irrelevant in that declaration. Itissomething I considered, especially when I thought about my declaration of love to Oakley. Honestly, his gender wasn’t something that even registered. It was all about Oakley himself.
Growing up, Honey Bee, Briar, and Levis were always involved with partners. Always. Ever since we were kids, and boy/girlfriend meant little. I guess a part of me always knew they were going to partner up.
But Oakley, Haze, and I were the ones who didn’t partner. I knew why neither of them did. Interestingly, it was the same reason—Haze’s father. He was a cruel, dangerous man, and Haze needed us. Oakley wasn’t going to come out and give Haze’s father a reason to forbid his son from spending time with us.
Oakley stayed closeted all the way until we moved out of Anaheim two years into college. Haze needed us, and we were going to do everything we could to make sure we stayed in Haze’s life, even if that meant keeping something vital about ourselves a secret from the world.
In my head, I guess I’d always seen myself with Oakley. For no reason. None that I can pinpoint. Believe me, I’ve fucking tried since I lost my mind when he and Loren began seeing each other.
It truly felt like someone had punched me in the chest. My heart fucking hurt as if he were my boyfriend and someone had stolen him away. In my head—in my heart—he and I had been together for years. Our future was already set in stone.
When I finally came to terms with the situation and got myself under control, I began doing some research as to why I felt the way I did. That’s when I started looking at asexuality. Iwasn’tsexually attracted to Oakley. Not that I’d ever identified.
