“Yeah.” Reid exhales, slumping his weight against my back. Walker collapses under the weight.
“Fuck. That’s—fuck—that’s definitely happening again.”
Reid rubs circles over the bite mark on my shoulder.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice lazy and satisfied. “It is.”
14 Loads
There’s something I’ve been sitting with lately that I don’t have anyone to talk to about: I’ve been getting railed consistently for months now and I still genuinely don’t know if I’m into guys.
Like, I’m intocock.Obviously. My body has been extremely vocal about that on multiple occasions—some of them hands-free, most of them in front of witnesses, and zero of them something I regret.
But there’s a difference between liking what makes your body feel good and actually beingattractedto someone, right? The doll is one thing—a headspace thing, a kink thing, just orgasm after orgasm while I’m totally checked out of the decision-making process. But lately I keep wondering what it would be like to actually want a guy asKit. To see someone across a room and thinkyeah, I want thatthe way I would with a girl.
The thought keeps surfacing, and I keep not knowing how to play it, because every time I try to think about it clearly, mybrain just replays a highlight reel of hands on my hips and goes:thoughts?
Anyway.
The party.
We’re here for Walker because his girlfriend dumped him four days ago. She was a perfectly nice girl, nothing wrong with her except apparently she had a hard line about where her fingers were going to go, and it wasn’t in Walker’s asshole. Walker told me this two days ago while he was using my dick as a dildo, which is maybe the most insane context I’ve ever received personal information in. He was riding me, and was just talking like I was a therapist. A very occupied therapist.
“She got mad, bro. I don’t even think it’s that weird of a thing to ask for. Is it weird? You can’t answer but like—is it weird?”
It is not weird, for the record. I would tell him that if I was allowed to talk during, but I’m not, so I just let him keep using my tool and process his feelings about Chloe’s exit.
The other guys think it was a normal breakup. I know the actual reason, and I’m never telling anyone because that’s not my business.
So. The party. Right before exams week, by the way. None of us except Walker and Finn were exactly thrilled about it. Grant complained the whole Uber ride here. Miles made me promise we’d be out by midnight.
But Walker needed this. So here we are.
Andyeah, that’s also the reason why I’m thinkingagainabout if I would be able to be with a guy—I blame the alcohol.
The house is packed.
Not like, classy party packed. More like sweaty bodies everywhere, someone puked in the hallway already, the bass is rattling the windows, and I’m pretty sure that’s not a fog machine; just smoke from however many people are vaping indoors. Off-campus chaos. You know, the good kind.
I’m leaning against the kitchen counter, nursing a beer that’s more water than alcohol. The strobe lights are giving me a headache, but I don’t care. I’m feeling good.
Walker’s on the dance floor, shirt off asalways,sweat gleaming off his chest under the strobes. He’s got a girl on each arm, both of them laughing as he tries to teach them some weird dance move. He’s drunk, but he’s having the time of his life.
Grant’s in a corner, eating his girl’s face, his hand up her shirt. Finn’s on a couch, head back, mouth open, halfway to passing out. Someone drew a dick on his forehead in sharpie.
Miles disappeared into a room twenty minutes ago with some guy who had “dealer” written all over his patchy beard and tie-dye hoodie. I’m not worried—Miles is a stoner, he knows what he’s doing. If anything, he’ll come back with good weed and a story about how the guy’s cousin grows “the best shit in the county.” It’s always funny to thinkMilesis the one among us who parties the hardest.
Reid is somewhere. I saw him a couple times in the first hour. I wonder if he’s out there getting his dick wet in something better than my ass. I also wonder what kind of girl Reid goes for.
But anyway…
I do my own thing.
My outfit—the slutty tanktop, as Grant calls it—has already gotten me three offers.
I made out with two of them. Just quick, messy, dancing-close kinda kisses. But listen, it has been a while for regular Kit, as opposed to doll-Kit, and I’m tipsy and the music’s good and I’m wearing the slutty outfit for a reason. Also, I’m not gonna say no to a girl who wants to press me against a wall and suck my tongue.
The first one tasted like watermelon vape. The second one like tequila.
