Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
I couldn’t figure out what had changed that last summer.
Why had my pulse raced whenever he smiled at me? Why had I needed his attention? Why had I manufactured ways to be near him…to touch him? His bony elbow, his sun-kissed shoulder…anything.
I’d lain awake with my hand on my dick back then too, drumming up porny fantasies of Sandy Martin’s tits, only to have my subconscious switch the channel on me. Instead of soft curves and the taste of strawberry-tinted lip-gloss, I conjured images of Nolan’s tanned, toned abs and the way his swim trunks accentuated that sexy dip where his V-line met his pelvis.
And that ass. Perfectly round and muscular…we grew up changing in and out of hockey gear, PJs, and swim trunks. I’d seen his junk and he’d seen mine dozens of times. The difference was that I’d suddenly noticed him.
Yeah. That was one big, scary hint. Was I gay or something? Bi, probably. I liked girls and by the time I was seventeen, I’d had plenty of sex. But I’d never obsessed about those girls like I obsessed over Nolan. I’d jerked off to strange snapshots of him undressing in the locker room, tying a towel around his waist, jokingly showing off his biceps. Even his scrawny muscles had done something for me.
I’d planted my feet on the mattress of my childhood bed, gripped my dick, and let it fly. Nineteen years later, I was at it again. I was older, wiser. I’d had more women in my bed than I should ever admit. Beautiful women, amazing lovers, fun companions…but I couldn’t picture their faces or their bodies to save my life.
Only Nolan.
I shoved my boxer briefs off and kicked the sheet to the end of my king-sized bed, closed my eyes, and stroked myself. My cock was a fucking steel rod. I thumped it against my lower abs a couple of times, smearing precum over the head to use as lube before going at it in earnest.
The teenage boy in my fantasies was replaced by the cautious man with broad shoulders and a sharp gaze. Nolan was a good-looking guy and damn, he had a sexy mouth. So sexy, I’d wanted to shove my tongue inside, rip the buttons off his shirt, and plaster my body all over his. Like we’d done that night so many years ago.
And there went my dirty mind…
Those two boys kissing tucked in the arch of an abandoned church were replaced by two grown-ass men, chest to chest, sucking face as we pressed our cocks together and moved along to some ancient rhythm we knew well. I tweaked my left nipple and jacked myself a little faster, a little harder, wondering what he’d say if he knew I wanted him.
Just one more time.
I wanted to feel him, see him, touch him—so much that it hurt. How big was he now? How thick did he get when he was strung out and ready to combust?
In my mind, my hand was on his cock, not mine. I picked up the pace, biting his bottom lip and sucking it better while I rubbed him like a genie in a bottle. And when my orgasm tripped along my spine, it was his too. I painted my abs with jizz and grunted through an epic round of full-body shivers.
I wiped sweat from my brow with my free hand and stared up at the ceiling.
Holy fuck. This was some fucked-up kind of torture. Leave it to me to have a bisexuality awakening moment with my best friend’s brother…who at best, tolerated me.
Could I actually survive a summer of this?
My biggest fear about retirement was having too much time on my hands, which was especially dangerous in a place like Elmwood. But I’d done a decent job of keeping busy so far. I wiled away hours chatting with locals at the diner, the bakery, the coffee shop, and of course, at the rink. I’d also met up with Ronnie and some old high school buddies for drinks and a game of pool at the Black Horse Inn. And it was…nice.
I’d stumbled through an awkward apology to Ronnie at the bar while our friends argued over stripes and solids, and it had gone pretty much as Nolan had predicted.
Ronnie had given me a confused look, then punched my shoulder and laughed. “Don’t do that, Vin. We’re good, man. And you’re here now. Cheers.”
That was it.
It should have felt like a weight had been lifted from my chest, but guilt was a stubborn bitch. It clung to me in ways it never had before. I didn’t get it. Ronnie didn’t like negativity of any kind, and he didn’t want to talk about regrets. Nolan had cleared every proverbial cobweb out of the closet the other day. He didn’t hate me for our teenage fumbling and once he’d blasted me for being a bad friend to his brother, he’d been sincere about moving on. The past was the past.