I hate it.
Tonight, all it takes is Luke telling us a story about something that happened at his work. I think it’s one of those situations where you had to be there because the punchline doesn’t hit all that hard. Neither Jessie nor I laugh very much, but Luke absolutely cracks it. He laughs so hard that his eyes shut completely and I can see the pink of his gums above his front teeth. Jessie watches him intently, and I literally see the precise moment he gets hit with the horniness stick. It clunks him solidly on the back of the head and leaves him looking vacant. By the time Luke has finished wiping his eyes, Jessie is leaning in, begging to go home.
Ew.
I’d tell them to get a room, but experience has taught me that they won’t hesitate to take me up on the offer.
It’s not just me who minds it. It drives our whole friend group crazy.
Usually, I give them hell when it happens, but right now, I’m so exhausted by everything else that I don’t bother. I call an Uber and spend the ride home quietly shitting myself that the payment will bounce and I’ll have to wake Stuart up and ask him to pay. I can only imagine the lecture he’d give me. He’d probably sit me down in the study. I bet he’d do something stupid like threaten to call my mom or dad.
I must be drunker than I thought because, for some hard-to-explain reason, my dick twitches at the thought.
When I get home, I find Stuart stretched out on the sofa, head tilted back, bottom jaw ajar. He jumps to his feet when he hears me close the front door.
“Are you all right?” he asks as if I’m the one battling for clarity through a haze of sleep. “Did you have a good time?”
Yeah, I had a great time, thanks, Mr. Wiseman. Went out with a rock-hard cock and now I’ve come home with it too. Just livin’ the dream, you know.
Obviously, I don’t say that, but I want to.
He makes a big production of setting the house alarm and fussing with the app on his phone, talking me through the process as if it’s something I might find super hard to follow. I’m still feeling amped from being out, so after he stumbles up the stairs, I take his spot on the sofa and watch TV for a couple of hours.
“Shall I make you a smoothie?” he asks. Again. Every goddamn morning we go through this shit.
“No thanks. I’ll pick one up on my way to work.”
He pinches his lips together and scoots them to the side in a textbookaw-shuckslook. “You know bought smoothies can be a calorie bomb, right? Most places add syrup or a ton of sugar. There’s a reason they taste like that.”
“Nah, it’s all good.” I feel myself bristle, but I do my best to contain it. “I get my smoothies from Tumeric. If it’s good enough for A-list celebs, it’s good enough for me.”
I head upstairs to finish getting ready for work, accompanied by the hum of him muttering something about the cost of bought smoothies. A dull pressure forms at the base of my skull. Despite the fact the last thing on Earth I’m in the mood for is another dose of his face, I’m not upstairs for long.
“Stuart!” I try not to yell, but it’s hard not to. I can’t find my fucking work shoes. I’m going to be late again because this guy seems hell-bent on spending his life moving my stuff. “Have you seen my shoes?”
He sighs heavily and says, “I’ll check the laundry room.”
I stalk after him as he marches down the hall, fully intending to ask him why the hell he thinks I’d be dumb enough to put my shoes in the laundry room. As I approach, I hear him muttering to himself. He does that—can’t remember if I’ve mentioned it before, but in case I haven’t, the man talks to himself.
This is the kind of shit I’m dealing with here.
“Unbelievable,” he says under his breath. “Fucking unbelievable…”
I stop moving. It’s the first time I’ve heard him swear. There’s something husky and guttural about his voice when he says it that gives me pause.
“…never seen anything like it…all my life…never seen a clearer case of a boy asking to be taken in hand…no, not asking,begging.”
Every synapse in my body stops firing. I’m nothing more than a bag of bone and blood for three or four seconds, and then every synapse fires at once. I’m alight. On fire. My blood boils and rushes to my cock so fast that I put my hand on the wall to steady myself. My mind races, struggling to decipher his words.
Did he just say that?
Did that just happen?
“…needs the seat of his pants heated up…that’s what he needs. Needs a little lesson in humility, among other things…”
I can’t breathe and I can’t move. I’m still bracing myself with one hand on the wall, and the other has flown up and is now tightly clamped over my mouth to keep me from making a sound. Approximately three million thoughts fly around in my head, crashing into each other, jostling wildly for position. I can’t tell if my brain just had a factory reset or if something more serious has happened.
Turns out, it’s neither here nor there because my dick hits the override button. My thoughts go dull. Blood rushes. Blood vessels expand. My dick feels hot and so hard that I don’t know how to explain it. The seams of my pants are straining, pinching my foreskin, barely managing to contain the boner threatening to punch through my zipper.
