Date: Thu, 7 Jun 2018 21:03:31 -0700
From: Alex P <alexp336@gmail.com>
Subject: Eighteen - Part 8

Like pizza leftovers, is the second hook-up always destined to be a
little cold? Shaun has to decide whether to call Curtis, and unlike
with Ash there's no Jacob to give him that all-important shove.

As always, don't read this if you shouldn't. Consider donating to Nifty
if you can afford to. Drop me an email or a message through my poor
neglected tumblr (https://dirtyanon.tumblr.com/) if you liked the
story. I hugely appreciate everybody who took the time to write already.

Oh, and while fictional boys in made-up stories may not need to worry
about safe sex, you do.

-Alex P (alexp336)

=================

EIGHTEEN by Alex Pendragon - Part 8


The question had spun hopelessly in my head as I'd tidied up the
kitchen, safely stashed the remainder of the pizza in the fridge, and
brushed my teeth. I even tried to distract myself by jerking off in
bed - lord knows I'd enough inspiration that day - but my dick,
perhaps more tired even than the rest of me, was clearly not really in
the mood.

Instead, I'd plugged my phone in, set it on silent, and turned off the light.

Sex, at least in large doses, seems to be the fix for insomnia.
Certainly, I had no problem either drifting off or sleeping all the
way through, until my alarm rudely roused me. I peered, bleary eyed,
at the list of notifications that had collected overnight.

In among the mailing lists and spam there was a video message from
Jacob. Rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand, I tapped to open it.
Tinny music blared from my phone's speaker.

Jacob, arm outstretched to give his phone's camera a good view of the
heaving crowd of dancers he was standing in. A fairly devilish smile
on his face, as a guy I didn't recognize gyrated up next to him, lips
a hair's breadth away from his cheek. As the few seconds of footage
counted down, the unknown guy stuck out his tongue and lapped
carelessly along Jacob's cheekbone; as it cut off, it looked as though
he was just starting to turn his head to face his friend.

"You should come party with us," a follow-up text suggested. I
chuckled at that. I wasn't particularly a clubbing sort of guy to
begin with, never mind with how exhausted I'd been the night before.

"Looks like you occupied yourself without me," I messaged back, adding
a winky face. It was just after seven and I wasn't expecting Jacob to
be upright and conscious at this hour, frankly. Not given the 3am
timestamp on the clip.

Clicking the phone locked, I forced myself to get up and heap myself
into the shower. Only the memory of cold pizza was enough to coax me
back out fifteen, maybe twenty minutes later. Carelessly toweling
myself off, I checked my phone again and was surprised to see a reply.

"I thought maybe you'd called your new man," Jacob had sent back, "and
spent the evening getting to know him."

"Nope," I replied. "But I did text him. He wants to meet up again."

My phone lit up with a call. I thumbed the button to answer it.

"Ugh, I can't deal with how long it takes you to text. It's the one
giveaway that you're old, y'know."

I rolled my eyes. "Sure, whatever. Some of us don't have phones
surgically attached to our hands."

Jacob yawned. "Yeah, and it's a damn pity because messaging you is a
guaranteed shortcut to serious frustration."

Laughing, I reached out to turn the coffee machine on. Morning priorities.

"So, when are you seeing him?" Jacob asked.

"I haven't said I would, yet," I admitted. His sigh of disappointment
was clearly audible down the line. "I mean, it was fun, but I don't
really know the guy."

"You hardly knew me, but I bet we've hung out more this last week than
you and every friend you have done in the past three months. No, six
months," Jacob countered. "And I bet you can't say that was a bad
thing and sound like you mean it."

He was probably right. On both fronts.

"There's a big difference between hooking up one time and getting on
with someone as a person," I pointed out. The smell of the coffee had
begun to waft through the kitchen, and my mouth was already starting
to water.

"Sure, but you don't get to figure out whether you'll get on when
you're not instantly fucking until you actually hang out with them a
second time, no?"

Frustratingly, Jacob had a reasonable point. "Yeah, I guess," I conceded.

"Anyway," he continued, "you need to see him again so you can get a
photo of him. I want to see this handsome man you gave up your ass
to."

I chuckled. "You mean you want to watch it happening."

Jacob scoffed. "Whatever. I'd be fucking your throat while he nailed you."

My cock gave a twitch at the thought of that. Damn, I was so
predictable. I attempted to play it cool, though. "Seriously, I
haven't even had coffee yet, calm yourself."

His turn to chuckle. "Ten bucks you're getting hard just at my saying it."

Silence. And then...

"I owe you ten bucks," I admitted. I could still hear him laughing as
I hung up the phone.

===

It was almost eleven by the time I decided quite how I was going to
reply to Curtis. Since talking to Jacob I'd managed to pull on some
clothes and push a cart, uninspired, around the grocery store. I
wasn't, my mom's best efforts had ensured, a terrible cook. There just
never seemed much point when there was only ever one person eating.

I even gave fleeting thought to inviting Curtis for dinner, but the
possibility of discovering that we had zero in common and be stuck
fumbling with awkward smalltalk was enough to quickly persuade me that
was a bad idea. Instead, I dropped a stack of frozen meals into the
cart and decided sometimes the old ideas are, if not the best, then at
least the easiest.

"Would you like to get a drink later? Or sometime?" I tapped out,
hitting send before I could over-think things again. Forced myself to
examine the dozens of types of flavored sparkling water that society
had apparently come to require, rather than watching to see if the
read receipt would show Curtis had seen my invitation.

The speed at which I withdrew the phone from my pocket when I felt it
vibrate was, frankly, embarrassing.

"I'm glad you texted back," Curtis' message read, "I'm free tonight actually."

I felt a fleeting gasp of anxiety, before reminding myself that I'd
been the one suggesting "later" as a timescale. Old, antisocial habits
dying hard, clearly.

"I'd like that. Maybe 7?" I sent back. Got a smiley face in reply, and
by the time we'd finished hashing out somewhere roughly equidistant to
us both, I was doing a pretty good impression of that smiley face in
real life. I was still a little nervous - okay, more than a little -
about meeting up with a relative stranger, but I had to confess that
the knowledge that he found me attractive, physically at least, put to
rest at least one thread of my all-encompassing paranoia.

Still, that confidence, as much as it was, started to dwindle over the
course of the day. Come 5pm, and I was standing in front of the dreary
rail of clothes that I call my closet, and trying to decide what to
wear.

Would it look ridiculous if I turned up in one of the shirts he'd sold
me? If I did, it would be because they were the newest - and nicest -
things I currently owned. Yet it might also look as though I was
trying a little too hard to double-down on the idea that there was a
connection between us.

My indecision was eventually settled when I discovered a coffee stain
on the only other vaguely presentable shirt on the rail. Curtis
thinking that I was trying too hard on our second meeting was probably
still better than him thinking I could't drink a cappuccino without
sloshing half of it down my chest.

The last hour was spent flicking semi-obsessively between the mapping
app on my phone and the Lyft app, doing the mental math on how long it
would take to get from my place to the bar we'd selected, and how long
a car would take to get to me. At one point I started to wonder
whether other people had this same anxiety about not wanting to get
somewhere too early, or too late, but about on time, then realized I
could either focus on that or on my app-jumping.

It was a relief when I could finally hit the "get a ride" button.

Jacob's message slid onto the screen as I was watching the tiny icon
of a car wind its way through my neighborhood. "Did you call him?"

I grinned. "Meeting him tonight, actually. Surprised?"

The row of astonished emojis with crosses for eyes I got in reply
suggested that yes, Jacob was indeed surprised.

"Good for you," he followed them with. "Doing anything fun?"

I had a sudden flashback to the sort of fun Curtis and I had engaged
in the previous day, then shook my head to dislodge the memory. It
really wouldn't do to walk in there preemptively horny.

"Just getting a drink," I explained.

"Old school," Jacob commented, "I like it. Don't forget that photo
you're sending me."

"Yessir," I fired back, distracted by the "Your car is arriving" alert
that popped up over the top of our chat. "Gotta go, ride's here."

===

All my attempts at military-precision timing hadn't accounted for the
fact that the Lyft driver might ignore the route his phone was showing
him, and instead drive us straight into traffic. I fought the urge to
play angry-backseat-driver and focused on grinding my teeth and
rehearsing apologies for when I finally made it.

By the time we pulled up outside of the bar I had already run through
an entire mental conversation with Curtis, that ended with him saying
he couldn't even be friends with someone so negligent with his
timekeeping. I'd almost gnawed through the inside of my cheek with the
nerves as a result.

Of course, when I walked in - after promising the Lyft guy that I
would, naturally, rate him five stars out of five, no doubt about it -
Curtis said absolutely nothing about the fact I was getting on for
twenty minutes late. Just stood up from the table by the window he'd
been sitting at and, a little awkwardly, held out his hand.

"It's either this, or a hug, or... I don't know what," he told me,
smiling. I took his hand and shook it, then felt him pull me in for a
half-hug of sorts. Enough for me to notice how good he smelled,
anyway.

"I'm sorry about the time..." I started, but he waved the apology away.

"I was a few minutes late anyway," he admitted. "Plus it meant I could
grab the table."

I glanced around, seeing that though the place wasn't exactly crowded
- it was still relatively early for a Saturday night - there were no
open tables left.

"Excellent hunting," I commented. Curtis gave a mock-serious bow. "Do
you want a drink?"

He indicated the glass in front of him already, and shook his head.
"Okay, I'll be back in a minute," I told him.

I had to resist the urge to look back over my shoulder as I walked to
the bar. It wasn't that I hadn't remembered what Curtis looked like,
it's just that, given how we'd met and all, I wasn't entirely sure I
could trust my recollection 100-percent. Real-Curtis was slightly off
from remembered-Curtis, but no less hot.

By the time I walked back, the glass of gin & tonic sweating its way
through the napkin clasped to its bottom, I'd already run through five
or six different excuses as to why I needed to leave. Just in case
things went terribly wrong, and it was abundantly clear that Curtis
was having second thoughts about our meeting.

I guess some of that was apparent on my face, despite my best efforts
at remaining stoic.

"You look like you're about to deliver terrible news," Curtis
observed, holding up his glass to clink against mine. I chuckled,
self-consciously.

"I'm probably over-thinking things," I confessed, shrugging. He
nodded, knowingly. "Sometimes blind dates can be so... fraught."

He took a sip; I watched the way the muscles in his throat flexed as
he swallowed. "Ah, but this isn't a blind date, is it," Curtis pointed
out. "We've already met before. We know we get on."

I laughed at that. "Well, we know we can have good sex, at least," I
clarified. He smirked. "I'm just not sure how much that actually tells
us about the other person."

Another sip. "I feel like I know a reasonable amount," he countered,
setting the glass down again. "I know you have good taste in clothes,
and that you're not one of these people who gets a guy's number but
never calls."

"Texts," I clarified. Curtis nodded, smiling.

"Who texts," he conceded, "right." I smiled back at him. He was, it
hadn't escaped my notice, particularly handsome when he smiled;
something about the way he wasn't afraid of showing his teeth, maybe.
"I think you think a lot about other people, and how they're feeling.
That you're very tuned in to others. And I guess that I've already
seen that, though you can be a little... skittish, perhaps... when you
warm up, you're pretty much all-in."

Skittish. That seemed like a very nice way of saying "highly-strung."

"You're very observant," I commented, enjoying the way the sharpness
of the gin cut through the bitterness of the tonic water. He laughed
again.

"Is that a polite way of saying that I'm talking bullshit?"

I shook my head. "Not at all. If anything, you're probably too generous."

His lips curled in an way that said "we'll see," as he winked at me.

"So how about we just find out some facts instead, then?" he
suggested. When I didn't argue, he rolled his eyes playfully. "Fine, I
can go first since you clearly want to remain mysterious." I couldn't
help but grin at him. "Okay, so I moved here a few years back. I'm
originally from some little town you'll never have heard of, about a
five hour drive away. Family still lives there, and regularly gives me
a hard time about not getting home and seeing them enough. I'm 26..."

Curtis paused, seeing my expression of surprise.

"Oh," I said, feeling like I'd been put on the spot, "I just thought
you were younger, is all."

He gave me a questioning look. "Too old for you, am I?"

I shook my head, wincing a little at the thought of what he might say
if he knew about Jacob, and Ash. "Not at all. I mean, I didn't even
think about that. I just thought you were younger."

He laughed. "Well, let's hope people are still making that mistake
when I'm about to turn fifty. I mean, you're what... 29?"

I gave him a skeptical look. "Very political of you."  He started to
speak, but I smiled at him. "Older. Like in the middle of my thirties
older."

Curtis nodded. I searched his expression for anything that might
suggest disappointment, or worse. Either he was hiding it well, or it
wasn't there to be found.

"Well we can both be surprised, then," he commented. "Are you into
younger guys, generally?"

I tried not to think about Jacob clinging to me as I pounded his ass,
or Ash twisted over like a hot, sweating little fuck-pretzel as we
coaxed more pleasure from his body.

"I mean, yeah, I guess," I said, eventually, inwardly cringing at my
awkward tone.

Curtis, to his credit, didn't labor the point. Indeed, I quickly came
to realize that he was far more adept at conversational skills than I
was, or had any hope of ever being. Moments where I was terrified that
I'd made it deeply uncomfortable, he brought back from the brink; I
found myself talking about things I wouldn't normally share even with
friends, like the tense relationship I had with my parents. There was
something about the way he'd smile, just the slightest curl at the
corner of his mouth, and the ominous feeling that I'd said something
deeply, painfully wretched would dissipate like so much smoke.

In fact, we were three drinks in when I realized that this date -
because I guess it really was a date - was actually going surprisingly
well.

"So," Curtis said, looking down at where he was chasing a half-melted
ice cube around his glass with the end of a straw, "I went home last
night and jerked off thinking about fucking you."

I very nearly choked. We'd just been talking about going to school,
and so it was quite the change in topic.

"I'm flattered," I said, eventually. Curtis looked up, with a playful
expression.

"Is that all I get?"

I shrugged, trying not to feel self-conscious about the people at
tables around us. His voice was fairly low, but even so...

"It was incredibly hot, and I've spent a decent proportion of the time
since then imagining you fucking me again," I admitted. He looked
happier at hearing that.

"Would it be so satisfying for you if it was in a regular bedroom, and
not on the floor where I work?" he teased. I made a good show of
considering it.

"Well, there is something to be said for the constant fear that
someone will want to try on a pair of slacks right next door to you."
Curtis nodded, thoughtfully. "But I think I could probably be
persuaded to try something experimental and have sex in a bed, yes."

He laughed. "So would you like to get out of here and have an
experiment, then?" There was a thickness to his tone, the clear lust
telegraphing excitement directly to my groin. Yes. Oh fuck yes, I
wanted to have that experiment.

"Sure," I told him, with a smile.

===

Keeping my hands off Curtis in the back of the car proved to be more
of a challenge than I expected. Maybe it was my proximity to beautiful
young men over the past few days - or maybe specifically the fact that
they'd proved to be unexpectedly available to me - but my usual
restraint was in short supply. I managed, but it was a close call.

We'd agreed on my place - he apparently had a flatmate who, though
gay-friendly, could still be a drag about unexpected guests - and I
used the mental checklist of whether the apartment was a complete mess
to try to distract me from running my hand up Curtis' thigh.

"Would you like a drink?" I asked him as he followed me down the hallway.

"Sure, thanks," he replied. I opened the fridge and peered into it,
trying to figure out what might still be fit for human consumption.
There was at least one half-empty bottle of wine in there that must be
doing a good impersonation of vinegar by now.

My search was interrupted by hands, gently running down my waist and
across my ass. Instinctively I found my body pressing back, into
Curtis' touch.

"What about the drink?" I teased, not standing up. His hands were
gripping my thighs now, his body pushed up close to me. I could feel
the heat from him.

He chuckled. "Maybe I'm not thirsty any more." Fingers slipped round
my hips, tracing the outline of my cock, hard in my jeans. "Or maybe
I'm thirsty for something else."

My dick twitched as he ran his palm across it. Maybe, if I didn't want
to come across as an easy lay, now would be the time to cool things
off. If there was one thing that Jacob had taught me, though, it was
that giving in to what your body is telling you it wants can be a
whole lot more entertaining than trying to adhere to some sort of
moral code you're not sure you actually believe in.

Slowly, I stood up, unfolding my body until my back was pressed
against Curtis' chest. His arms circling me, fingertips reaching for
my nipple and, finding the hardening nub, squeezing through the thin
cotton of my shirt. I growled as he pinched, the pleasure a tug-of-war
with the shiver of pain, until I had to grab his wrist and pull his
hand away.

"Keep that up and I'm going to bite you," I told him, teasingly. I
felt his laugh where our bodies met.

"I'm down with that," he shot back.

Pulling him by the wrist, I led him the few short paces into the
bedroom. Luckily I'd made the bed that morning, and there weren't too
many discarded clothes on the floor. Not that I think Curtis would've
paid much attention in this particular moment.

Eagerly I began unbuttoning my shirt, slipping it off my shoulders.
Toeing my shoes off next, and then reaching for my belt before pulling
the button fly of my jeans open. All the time watching as Curtis
mirrored my movements, the rich darkness of his skin gradually being
revealed to my hungry eyes.

I reached out to ease the shirt off his body, not caring how blunt my
gaze might be as I feasted on his muscled torso. Wide shoulders,
narrowing to a slim waist around which the silver waistband of his
Calvins was stretched. He smirked at me as I yanked at his fly,
forcing the zipper down hurriedly in my eagerness to undress him.

He'd seen me naked, completely so, the previous day, but all I had to
go on was snippets of his body that I'd stitched together in my
imagination, piecemeal. The reality was a whole lot more impressive.

By the time Curtis was down to his briefs, the front bulging, my mouth
was literally watering. Dropping to my knees in front of him, I ran my
fingers around the thick outline of his shaft as it strained against
the clinging blue fabric. The temptation to tease him as he'd been
teasing me was huge, but then so was my own lust. Neither of us
complained when I tugged his underwear down and let his cock free.

"Fuck," I whispered, simultaneously wanting to lap at the precum-wet
tip and also see how much of it I could fit into my throat. Curtis
chuckled, then gasped as, looking up at him with slitted eyes, I
wrapped my fist around his length and pulled the head down to kiss
against my lips.

"You want it?" I asked, gently rubbing his swollen glans across my
mouth. I could taste him now, the sweetness of his natural lube sticky
on my lips and setting my head spinning. Even if he'd said no, I'm not
sure I could've stopped myself.

He didn't say no, of course. Just brushed his thumb across my cheek,
tracing the cheekbone just beneath my eye, before giving me a devilish
grin.

"What are you waiting for, then?" he teased. I stopped waiting.

I couldn't prevent myself from humming with pleasure when I closed my
mouth around him. The strength of his taste increasing exponentially,
as I pulled him deeper, the head of his cock nudging at the back of my
throat while my fingers dug into his thighs.

"Oh hell, that's good..." he grunted, and I could feel his eagerness
in the way the muscles in his legs clenched. His hand brushing through
my hair, probably wanting to take a fist of it and push himself
further inside me. I was impressed by his restraint, but I didn't want
it.

Leaning back, his cock sliding out of my mouth with an audible pop, I
looked up at him hungrily. "Don't make me beg," I told him. Curtis
smirked.

"You got it."

I opened my mouth, watched as - one hand on the back of my head, as if
wary I'd try to shift out of the way at the last moment - he gripped
his dick and leveled it at my face. Pushed it between my lips, not
fast but not stopping either, his shaft forcing its way into my throat
as my nose met his groin.

"Oh yeah... fuck..."

It was like all my senses were full of him, like his cock was meant to
be stretching my gullet. Groaning, I felt his body shudder in turn as
the vibrations ran through him. The slight tug of his hips as he
twitched away from me, and then the push again, the pressure as he
buried himself in me once more.

When he pulled back, I couldn't help but gasp around him. The
spit-slicked hardness filling my mouth grinding across my tongue,
heavy and addictive. Curtis' hand at the nape of my neck, then,
pulling us back together as he eased himself into me again.

Desperately I tugged down the front of my boxer-briefs, finding my
erection already wet from my excitement. Began to jerk off in time
with Curtis' thrusts, the even restraint of his early strokes giving
way as his urgency mounted. Each time he slammed my face into his
body, my nostrils were filled with the heady rush of his scent.

It was with extreme reluctance - and no small degree of effort - that
I pushed him away from me. Knowing from the churning in my crotch that
it would only have taken a half dozen more strokes or so to barrel
into my climax, and guessing from his ragged breaths and staccato hips
that Curtis was about the same. I wanted it, wanted all of it in my
mouth and down my throat, but all the same I didn't want this moment
to end so soon.

"Stop," I gasped, spitting out the words through swollen lips. My palm
flat on his hip, feeling the groove of his muscle as it flexed beneath
me with his breaths. The expression on his face was half passion and
half frustration. I upgraded my estimate of just how close to cumming
in me he'd actually been. "Not yet," I croaked.

Pushing myself up off my knees, I slid onto the bed behind me. Crawled
backward, as Curtis moved to follow, body lithe and movements as
measured and purposeful as a cat's. Again, I was struck by just how
beautiful he was. The urge to just grab my cock and frantically jerk
off as I drank him in with my eyes strong enough to make me grab
fistfuls of the bedsheets to stop myself.

I wanted him to keep coming, to climb on top of me so that I could
mash our lips together, but he didn't. Reached my thighs and dipped
his head instead, his hands simultaneously sliding underneath my ass
and pulling me up as he pushed himself onto my cock.

"Holy fuck!" I yelped, Curtis' tongue instantly relentless as it
snaked around me. My thighs clamping shut on his head, body shaking at
the overload of sensations. Flashbacks to how, his load freshly
coating my insides, he'd pumped the head of my cock between his lips
until I'd flooded his mouth only the day before.

This time, though, there were no odd contortions to slow his appetite.
Just deep stroke after hungry stroke, as he yanked my hips up to meet
his face. I could feel his drool flooding down my shaft, and then the
teasing circling of his thumbs as he pressed at my hole. My flesh
quickly succumbing to the slickness there, body twitching as Curtis
pushed into my ass, alternating first his right thumb and then the
left, before grinding them both inside me and pulling at my yielding
muscles.

"Fuck me," I gasped, body half rebelling at the thought of
purposefully removing his mouth from around me, but the messages of
hunger from my ass impossible to ignore.

With one last, hard suck - his cheeks caving in as he tormented my
vibrating prick - he pulled off me. Stared up at me through the frame
of my spread thighs with hooded eyes.

"You ready?" I nodded, mutely, and finally he cracked a smile. "Nobody
to catch us this time."

Even after the deft handiwork of his fingers, I still hissed as he
pushed the head of his cock into me. Felt my body shift to accommodate
him, the brief stab of pain easing into a growing heat that radiated
out from that point where our bodies joined. By the time my legs
hooked around his waist, pulling him in greedily, there was nothing in
my mind but the thought of having him buried as deep as he could get.

Curtis clearly had no problem with that, sinking his hips forward and
spearing me until my eyes rolled back in my head. Jaw dropping, my
arms reaching out almost of their own volition, grasping for his torso
just out of reach. I needed to feel his lips on my face, to cling to
him, his chest mashed against my own as he bucked on top of me.

Instead I got a hand flat in the space between my nipples, holding my
body down as he rolled his pelvis. The motion, neither too fast nor
too slow, just a constant friction that stretched and pulled me in
ways that soon had me whimpering.

When I reached for my cock, his voice stopped me. "Don't." I grunted
my frustration, pushing myself back onto him as best I could. "Soon,"
he promised, "but just wait, okay?"

I clenched my teeth, glared at him as he filled me with those even,
measured strokes. "Then you better fucking kiss me," I snapped at him.
Curtis smirked.

"So demanding."

"Such a fucking tease," I fired back.

He grinned again, but I still got my wish; his body folding down on
top of me - my arms quickly wrapping around him, as if he might change
his mind at the very last moment - and his mouth meeting mine. Any of
the restraint we'd shown earlier was quickly forgotten, an
increasingly frantic mess of lips and tongues. My teeth pulling at his
bottom lip, only releasing when he stabbed sharply into my hole.

When he sat up I stayed clinging to him, my body poised in his lap,
still impaled on his cock. A little more in control now, too; lifting
myself and then falling back down onto him, all the while squeezing
around his shaft. Curtis' grip slipped down to my ass, pulling at my
cheeks as though if he spread them wider he could drive himself that
little bit further inside.

I might have been forbidden to stroke myself, but the ridges of
Curtis' abs were doing all the hard work for me. Rasping against me
every time I raised my hips and then ground them back down. The sweet,
musky scent of him filling my senses dizzyingly. It felt as though the
very core of my being was centered on my ass and my prick, the rest of
my body just a mass of ill-coordinated puppet limbs, strings tangled
up in lust.

I wanted it to last; wanted that crescendo of sensations to simply
keep building, up and up, a spiral of pleasure with no ceiling to it.
Just the friction and the hardness of his muscles as he gripped me,
and the taste of his mouth as I kissed him. Some things, though, are
unavoidable.

I could feel the climax building in me, the churning somehow beginning
in the space between my balls and my hole, then spreading as
inexorably as floodwater. An itch that only knows one scratch of
satisfaction.

"I'm so close," I gasped, my mouth pressed against his ear. He grunted
in response, and then I felt us tipping, Curtis falling back until he
was lying on his back with my body above him, bucking on his hardness
almost frantically. His hands on my thighs now, fingers gripping so
tightly I could feel the flesh dimpling. My cock bobbing in front of
me, slapping against our skin as beads of precum splashed us.

We'd needed to be quiet yesterday. Always had the specter of being
discovered hanging over us. Now, although the thrill of fucking
publicly might be absent, at least Curtis was at liberty to tell me
vocally just how my ass felt around him, and how near he was to
flooding my hole.

"Do it," I told him, the breaths catching in my chest, "fucking do it."

Head thrust back, all the muscles in his torso tensed, I watched as he
hurtled into his orgasm. Felt him thicken inside me, that final
shuddering stretch as he rocketed past the point of no return, and in
doing so set me off on a chain-reaction of my own.

The first shot splashed wetly across Curtis' face, followed by more
across his chin and his chest as his cock nudged my prostate and I
flailed on top of him. The sensations halfway to a cramp running down
my thighs, as the eruption of feelings hammered through me. By the
time my hand found my dick, it was so sensitive I almost yelped.

"Oh fuck," he gasped, eventually. Eyes screwed up and arms splayed
out, his breathing ragged. He looked like he'd just run a
half-marathon, and I guessed I wasn't much better myself.

The cramp-like feeling was turning into full on, actual cramp, my legs
deciding now was the time to make known their displeasure at my
crouching. Awkwardly I pushed myself off Curtis' lap, feeling the
hollow emptiness as his cock slipped out of me, and then toppled over
to lie haphazardly across him on the bed.

"Fuck," I echoed him. "Fuck."

He chuckled, and I felt fingertips slide carelessly down whatever skin
of mine was within his easy reach. "We're so eloquent, aren't we," he
observed. I turned my head to grin at him, and found him already
staring across at me with a similar expression. The sight of it only
made me smile all the more.

"I guess you fucked the dictionary out of me," I told him. Curtis
laughed, then brought his hand to his face.

"Were you trying to drown me?" he teased, smearing my cum from across
his chin. I shrugged, or at least attempted to; it wasn't easy at this
angle.

"You looked thirsty."

He raised an eyebrow, then slipped a fingertip between his lips.
Cheeks dimpling as he sucked. Even after such a rocket-ship orgasm, I
still felt a twitch in my aching groin at the sight of it.

That reminded me of something.

Reaching down - and running the slight risk of sliding off the side of
the bed in the process - I grabbed my phone out of the pocket of my
jeans where they'd been discarded on the floor. Thumbed my way into
the camera, and then sat up to frame Curtis in the shot.

"Um, what are you doing?" he asked, confused. I smirked back.

"Look seductive, okay?" He frowned at me. "No," I chided, "I said
seductive, not constipated."

A glare after that, but then he gave me what I could only assume was
his come-to-bed expression. I was probably a spoiled test sample,
considering I was already in bed with him, but it definitely made me
reluctant to leave.

"Perfect," I said, snapping the photo. Then dropped it into my last
conversation with Jacob and hit send.

Curtis feigned preening. "Perfect, eh?" I rolled my eyes.

"I meant my photographic talents," I told him, forcing indifference
into my tone. "I didn't really have an opinion one way or another on
the model."

Half sitting up, he reached for me and toppled me down with him. My
initial squawk of protest as I felt his cum-splashed torso rub against
me was swiftly silenced when his lips crushed against mine.

Our kiss was finally interrupted by the buzz of my phone where I'd
dropped it on the bed. With one hand still playing with the short buzz
of hair on Curtis' head, I unlocked it to see Jacob's reply.

If the row of alternately shocked and heart-eyed emojis didn't make it
clear, his brief reply - "Promise me you'll share" - left me with zero
uncertainty as to his feelings in the matter. Curtis glanced up at the
screen.

"Um, you sent someone that photo?"

He didn't exactly sound mad, or even annoyed. Just... bemused, maybe.
I stifled a giggle.

"That's Jacob. He approves."

Curtis snorted. "Oh, well, I'm very glad to hear that. One thing: who is Jacob?"

I had to think for a moment as to quite how I could answer that one.
There wasn't exactly a simple explanation.

"Just a friend," I said in the end. "He's been helping me be more...
well, self-confident, I guess."

"Like a life coach, you mean?"

It was my turn to snort. No, not like any life coach I'd ever heard
of, absolutely not.

"More like a... well..." I started, then trailed off. How to explain
Jacob? "Look, it only really makes sense if I tell you the whole
story."

Curtis thought for a moment, then sat up and looked around at me. "How
about you tell me it in the shower, then. Somehow I got all messy."

I reached out my hand, and let him help me up.

"Funnily enough," I told him, "the shower is actually part of the story."

===

I got about to the point where Jacob was trying to set me up with Ash
when the hot water started to run out. By that stage Curtis was
already giving me a look that suggested he thought I might be some
sort of sex maniac. If not worse.

"So... you thought this guy was a prostitute?" he asked me, while
toweling himself off. I sighed.

"Sort of. I mean, not like a proper, full-on rent boy. But... well,
you'd need to know my friend Carl to understand properly."

Curtis' expression suggested he wasn't any less confused than he had
been before. Suddenly I started to regret the wisdom of discussing
Jacob at all.

"Look," I ventured, wondering quite how I could salvage the situation,
"the important thing is that he's not, in fact, y'know, a prostitute.
Just a friend of mine. And so I wouldn't want that to change your
opinion of me, or anything like that."

The silence that spooled out between us was unnerving. The tentative
regret I'd been feeling began to ramp up into something resembling
full blown anxiety.

Part of my brain was screaming that no good would come of trying to
fill the silence, and that the very best thing I could do would be to
leave Curtis to make up his mind by himself. Unfortunately another
part of my brain was screaming even louder that I needed to start
damage control, as soon as damn possible.

Guess which part won.

"You think I'm terrible, don't you," I asked. I was trying to keep the
nerves out of my voice, but I was sure Curtis would be able to spot
how my tone had changed.

Instead, he paused his toweling and stared at me.

"What are you talking about?" I shrugged, a little helplessly. I
wasn't quite sure I could put it into words, at least not and have him
understand what I was trying to explain. Perhaps he saw some of that
in my eyes. "Look, Shaun, I have zero right to judge you, okay? For a
start we've literally just met. Even if that wasn't the case,
considering I hit on you at work yesterday when you were an absolute
stranger, I really don't think I would be in any position to criticize
you for sleeping with some guy. Even if I thought that was a bad
thing. Which, just to be clear, I don't."

"There's the age thing..." I started to point out. I wasn't sure why I
felt the need to tempt fate like this, highlighting the various ways
in which Curtis could decide I was morally degenerate, but it looked
like I was locked into that course whatever the reason.

"So there's an age gap," he interrupted, shrugging. "So what? I mean,
it doesn't sound like you coerced this guy. Unless you didn't tell me
everything?"

I shook my head. If anything, I'd downplayed just how aggressively
Jacob had pursued me. I hadn't wanted to sound entirely naive in the
retelling of it all.

It seemed enough to satisfy him, anyway. "Okay, so you had consensual
sex with someone who happens to be younger than you. Big deal."

"Okay," I said, after a pause. Further words escaped me.

Curtis turned to examine himself in the mirror; when he spoke, he was
pointedly not looking at me. "I do have one serious question, though"
he revealed, his tone unexpectedly somber. I felt my stomach drop.

"Go on," I prompted.

A beat. Two. And then, as his eyes shifted to stare at me, an
expression on his face that was positively wicked. "If he's seen a
photo of me, when do I get to see the photo of Jacob?"


=====================


So that's part 8. Honestly, I never really expected the story to get
to this point - or this far along - so thank you if you've stuck with
it. As every, I love getting messages, either at alexp336@gmail.com or
via https://dirtyanon.tumblr.com/, and hearing feedback, so don't be a
stranger...