KEATON
I don’t fully relax until that evening when I’m finally home alone.
Now that my study-group meeting is over, I should be working on my campaign speech and brainstorming Dance-off ideas, but I’m not in the mood to think about planning a party. Dad killed all my joy.
So I pick up my phone and open up the app that’s been calling my name since I downloaded it. I have messages from a handful of guys. It’s the usual ‘sup and hey, but I don’t even bother with them. I go straight to SinnerThree’s page.
He hasn’t reached out to me again. Is it weird that I’m disappointed?
Pushing that thought aside, I tap out a greeting. Hey man. Sunday night. I should be doing work but I was thinking about what you asked me.
I send the message and lie back. It’s been a frustrating day. I’m tense and in need of release.
SinnerThree asked me to consider how I felt about getting blown by a dude. It’s still hypothetical at this point, but the hypothetical me doesn’t hate the idea. I mean, at the end of a day, a blowjob feels great, right? Does it really matter who’s blowing you? Won’t it feel great regardless?
So many factors to this hypothesis… Good thing I’m a scientist. Because scientists aren’t afraid to experiment, right?
So that’s what I’m doing as I close my eyes now. I’m picturing a vaguely handsome guy leaning over me. And I’m imagining how good a guy could be at giving head. It takes a dick to know a dick, right?
Then I step on the third rail and let myself imagine a masculine face looking up at me as he deep-throats my cock with a dirty gleam in his eye.
And…hmmm. That image is more art than science. And I like the idea a whole lot.
My phone pings with an incoming message. I pick it up immediately. And I’m just a little too stoked that SinnerThree has messaged me back.
SinnerThree: Well? Did you ace my assignment?
LobsterShorts: I’m working on it right now.
SinnerThree: And?
Lobstershorts: I’m doing fine.
SinnerThree: Fine? Like B- work?
LobsterShorts: In my family a B- means a lecture and public shaming. I study to get an A.
SinnerThree: Bunch of nerds, are you?
LobsterShorts: Sure. But not the kind that gets shoved into lockers. I’m supposed to be the kind of son who dominates every competition just because I can.
Christ, I don’t know why I shared that. We’re getting off topic here. I signed in to talk about dicks, not my screwy family life.
SinnerThree: It could be worse. Smart assholes are more fun than dumb assholes. Trust me here.
LobsterShorts: Noted. You’re surrounded by dumb assholes?
SinnerThree: Only when I go home. Which I never do unless I can help it.
Lobstershorts: Smart man.
SinnerThree: But enough about those losers. Let’s get back to the fun stuff. Are you ready?
Lobstershorts: For?
SinnerThree: Me, dropping down on my knees in front of you. I tug on your manly lobster trunks and pull them off.
I sit up and fire back a message.
LobsterShorts: Wait. Are you hating on my favorite bathing suit?
SinnerThree: Are you stalling? I’m seconds away from touching your dick, and you want to talk about your preppy bathing suit?
The man has a point, I guess. But then again, he doesn’t know me.
LobsterShorts: If you were seconds away from touching my actual dick, I don’t think I’d stop for a convo. But just so you know, lobsters are cool. And they don’t need an app to find sex.
SinnerThree: Okay, I’ll bite. How do lobsters find their playmates?
LobsterShorts: The female pees into the male’s shelter. And the dude is like OH BABY. Then they both pee on each other. She enters his den and molts. He kicks her clothes away like a prom dress. Then they do it missionary style.
SinnerThree: That’s a lot of detail, dude. I don’t know whether to be terrified or turned on.
Great. Now I’ve probably scared him off with my encyclopedic knowledge of crustacean sex.
LobsterShorts: Please carry on. My lobster shorts are discarded.
SinnerThree: Are you at home right now?
LobsterShorts: Now who’s asking for too many details? Does it matter where this fictional dick-sucking happens?
SinnerThree: I meant are you ACTUALLY home. So you can shut the door and stroke yourself while I talk to you.
Whoa! My cock feels heavy by the time I finish reading the sentence. But even as I roll off the bed and click the lock on my door, I’m not sure. There’s a line between chatting and touching that he wants me to cross.
Am I really going there right now?
I unzip my jeans and kick them off. And—fuck it—I drop my boxers, too. I sit on the edge of the bed, naked from the waist down. Then I answer him.
LobsterShorts: Okay, door is locked. Shorts are history.
SinnerThree: Well, done, rookie. I wasn’t sure you’d want to play along.
I’m not sure about anything, really. But I’m pretty curious about my response to his little homework project. And I suppose this is a harmless enough way of exploring the idea.
LobsterShorts: Let’s do this. Talk to me.
SinnerThree: I think it should be the other way around. You tell me what you’re doing, and what I should do to you.
Oh.
That’s a different story, isn’t it? This fantasy has to be in my own words? I set my phone to silent and wonder how to start. Jacking off in my room isn’t exactly a new activity for me. But my pulse is elevated anyway. Because jacking off with help from a guy is.
And maybe I’m taking too long, because he nudges me.
SinnerThree: Am I naked too?
LobsterShorts: No. But now I ask you to take off your shirt. And you pull it over your head.
I hit send and look down at Sinner’s profile picture and imagine that set of abs in front of me. And it’s startling to realize that I can picture Sinner slowly removing his shirt, making sure to flex his chest to show me what he’s got.
I blow out a breath, wondering how far I’m willing to take this. And why it’s so easy to play the encounter like a movie in my head.
Then I keep typing.
LobsterShorts: I’m sitting on the edge of the bed. You kneel down in front of me.
SinnerThree: Yeah, okay. I’m down. So long as I don’t have to call you “Master.” I’m not into that.
LobsterShorts: Noted.
And now I’m picturing him down on the floor in front of me. Looking up at me, waiting for a cue.
Whew. Is it hot in here?
LobsterShorts: I have to spread my legs apart a little ways so you can get closer.
SinnerThree: Spread them wide, okay? I’m kneeling between your legs. I’m putting my hands on your inner thighs. And you’re getting hard for me already.
Suddenly I find myself spreading my legs quicker than a cheerleader doing the splits. Because I really want those hands on me. But how, exactly?
It’s dawning on me that having sex with the same person for three years leaves some gaps in my imagination. It’s not that I don’t find my sex life fulfilling. But I don’t know how casual hookups work.
LobsterShorts: Just keep going.
SinnerThree: Okay. Maybe you wish I’d just deep-throat you immediately. To spare you the awkwardness. But I don’t do that, because I’m kind of digging your nervousness. First I put one hand on your thigh, and you just kind of stare at it.
I suppose I would. And, hell. I can basically feel it there right now. I press my own hand to my bare flesh and it’s not enough. I want more.
SinnerThree: Then—moving slowly—I use my other hand to stroke your balls, and cup them in my palm.
I swear I break out in a sweat as my hand reaches down to do just what he’s described. My breathing quickens as my own palm slides under my sensitive sac.
SinnerThree: Are you with me? Touch them for me, okay? Then slide your thumb across your cock.
I let out a gasp as I touch myself. Then I type a response with one awkward thumb.
LobsterShorts: yup
My dick is standing at attention now. Not that it usually needs much encouragement.
SinnerThree: Now I lean down and take you in both hands. Are you cut?
LobsterShorts: yeah
SinnerThree: My thumb is teasing the underside of your shaft. And then the tip. Until I finally lean down and taste you.
Alone in my room I let out a groan, wishing that a real-life tongue was actually circling my cockhead. My own fingers are a poor substitute. I pick up my phone and text one-handed.
LobsterShorts: then what
SinnerThree: Are you still digging this?
LobsterShorts: I’d dig it more if you were really here on your knees with my dick in your mouth.
Shit, I can’t believe I actually typed that. But…it’s the truth. Figure that one out.
SinnerThree: Good. Stroke yourself a little faster. And I have a question for you.
With a groan, I pick up the pace.
SinnerThree: Riddle me this. Would you still be having fun when I look up at you? Because you aren’t seeing just a talented mouth. You’re looking at a guy who wants to fuck you if he ever gets the chance. Not like I’m going to ruin the mood and say so. I’m smarter than that. I’ll suck you first. But when you’re getting close I’ll stroke your ass. And if it makes you moan, I press my luck and slide the tip of my finger inside.
My eyes slam shut, as if I’m afraid to read another word. Sinner’s dirty talk has me hard and aching. I don’t know what that means. But I even wish I could hear his voice. There’s something base about his tone that I don’t mind at all. It’s honest. Here’s how I want you and here’s how I’ll get it.
Apparently I have an honesty kink. Who knew?
When I open my eyes, there’s a new message.
SinnerThree: Still with me?
It’s not easy to reply one-handed.
LobsterShorts: Yeah. Are you jerking, too?
SinnerThree: I wish. But I’m not at home right now. I want you to finish yourself off now. Tell me if this helps…
A few beats go by, while I stroke myself slowly. But I can feel heat in my face, and my pulse is throbbing everywhere. I need release.
Then a photograph appears on my screen. I see jeans, and a black T-shirt that’s pulled up to reveal a set of tight abs. The jeans are unzipped. And the guy is wearing gray underwear with a prominent bulge showing. His hand is spread out so only the thumb is touching the bulge. He’s just lightly teasing himself through the cotton.
And it hits me—I made a guy hard. A guy who wants to blow me and play with my ass.
My phone slides off the bed and onto the floor with a clunk as I jack myself in earnest. He’s kneeling in front of me, his hands on my thighs. His head bobs as he takes me deep. I put one hand on the back of his neck to hold him where I want him. There’s muscle there, not softness…
That’s when I come all over my hand, stroking myself through it, wishing SinnerThree was there to swallow everything I give him.
And then it’s over. I’m sitting here alone with a sticky hand, my heart pounding. I get up and grab a paper towel off the roll I keep on my dresser.
I don’t know what I just learned, except…not one of my thoughts these past ten minutes had anything to do with Annika or her birthday.
