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“What voice?” he asked.
“That fucking concerned voice like you give any fucking shit what happens to me.”
He rolled his eyes. “What the fuck is your problem? Don’t take that shit with your old man out on me.”
I laughed. Of course he’d chuck the blame at anyone but himself. “My problem? You want the alphabetical list or should I organize it by childhood traumas?”
“I’m serious.” He sighed. “You’re acting weird.”
“I am weird. I’m not acting, asshole.”
“Not like this and you know it.”
I stared at him and he stared back until something inside me finally snapped. In an almost peaceful way. Like some part of me had decided it was time to finally let go. Or maybe I was just grabbing on tighter and telling myself it was the same thing.
I reached for the hem of my shirt, pulled it over my head, and tossed it over the bedrail.
Darius frowned. “What are you doing? Alvin?” My shorts went next, and because I never wore underwear, his eyes shot towards the wall. “Dude, what the fuck! Put your fucking clothes back on.”
Then I leaned back on the bed completely naked. Completely exposed. But mostly completely fucking furious. “No.”
His eyes betrayed him the second he looked in my direction again. They dropped to where I was holding my dick. Stroking myself in soft, agonized pulls. I could see Darius struggling to focus on my face, and I smiled wider.
“You asked what my problem was. It just happens to be a very big problem. Care to give me a hand?” I pushed the blanket off my legs and swung them over the top bunk before dropping down in front of him.
He stiffened as I moaned and stroked my cock again and again. For every step I took forward, he took one backwards until he slammed into the door so hard the hinges squealed.
I leaned in, one hand on my cock, the other cupping my mouth as though I were about to share a secret. “I like men, Dee. I like dick as far as the eyes can see. I like thinking about men while I stroke my big gay fucking cock. I like thinking about bending a guy over one of these bunks, spreading his ass wide, spitting into his tight little hole, and fucking him until the wood breaks.”
“Stop,” Darius whispered, but I could see the dilation in his pupils. The motherfucker was turned on just thinking about it. So I continued tormenting him.
“I like looking at men. And I fucking love men looking at me. Kinda like the way you’re looking at me right now, DeeDee. I like seeing that little bit of drool escape from their mouths…”
Darius licked his bottom lip without realizing it. Probably without meaning to.
“I like hearing the tremble in their voice when they get especially turned on…”
“Stop,” he whimpered.
“I like skirts and dressing up and watching one man in particular pretend he doesn’t want to rip my clothes off and choke me with his cock.”
His head hit the cabin wall. Again and again.
“I like makeup and masks. And chasing pretty boys through the woods.”
“Alvin… please…”
“I like describing how fucking good it could feel if that pretty boy deep-throated every inch of my cock, my fingers combing through his hair while he stared up at me.” I moved closer, barely any space between us, as my fist pounded against him with every stroke. “I like fucking with you, Darius. I like making you admit that you want to be that boy.”
His breathing changed, hitching, and mine did too. His cock growing painfully thick and hard through his basketball shorts, like it was begging me for attention.
Neither one of us acknowledged the shift, as I put my lips so close to him he could feel the heat come off me. “And sometimes,” I said quietly against his mouth, “I like touching myself to the desperate little whimpers of a man who wants me as much as I want him.”
Dee’s eyes flashed, and I held his stare. My hand drifting lower. More threat than invitation. His bulging cock bobbing as my fingertips traced the head. His face hardened but he didn’t move, so I circled the soaked fabric, rubbing my precum into his.
He cleared his throat, but the only thing that came out was my name again. “Alvin.”
“What, baby? Use your words.”
