INTRODUCTION:
Thanks for checking out this single-chapter story. I plan on doing more writing, so at the end, you can send me an email and I'll add you to an email list. :)
All names and situations are completely fictional and any resemblance to a real life or real people is strictly coincidental.
I didn't want to go. Who wants to go to their ten year high school reunion? It is just a place to see how bitchy the bitches still are and how little the popular jocks have really amounted to. On top of that, it is just another chance to experience the anxiety of being the class fag.
But here I was, sitting my ass on an airplane from my safe-haven of New York City to Chicago soon to be followed by a grueling two-and-a-half hour drive through the flat Illinois countryside. All to go spend $100 on a hotel-made basic chicken dinner with people I did not like in the first place.
Remind me again why I was doing this when I could instead be getting drunk at Marie's Crisis and getting fucked in a stanger's bed in the West Village?
Mercifully, the flight was uneventful, sans for the negative thoughts swirling around in my head.
Why the fuck am I doing this to myself?
I hate these people.
If I see Dylan, I'll either run away or I'll be forced to hit him in the face.
Standing in line to pick up my rental car, I reached into my tight jeans and slipped out my phone. Damn, these are really tight, I thought to myself. Probably a bit too tight for the conservative fucks I'm going to be seeing tomorrow.
Jack: Did you arrive safely?
Emma<3 : Hey! Have you landed already? On the road?
Emma<3: Sure did! Hanging with mom now. I think I'm on my third glass of wine. Only way I am getting through this...
Jack: I may just swing over before I see the folks. A glass of wine sounds delightful right about now.
Emma<3: The door is open. Drive safe! Coffee at 9am tomorrow right? Coffee Cabin?
Jack: Yes. Please.
And just like that, I was off on the road. The sun was already setting making Illinois look more beautiful than it actually was. The fields surrounding the road were already popping with the crop of the season filling my field of vision with three things: blacktop, a green tapestry of basic farm life, and the yellow-orange of the sun as it set right in front of me. If it wasn't for the reunion, this drive would be the thing movie endings were made for.
I was left with nothing but my rambling thoughts and the sounds of my gay playlist of Troye Sivan, Shawn Mendes, Harry Styles, and my classic additions of One Direction hits. Yup, still very, very gay.
The unchanging scenery as the sun started to slip further and further under the horizon did nothing to my growing tension. I could feel it. My palms were starting to sweat. I felt the perspiration building under my arms. This was absolutely not a good idea.
It was hard to focus on anything other than the torrent of anxiety I would be putting myself through over the next 24 hours. Despite being an award-winning writer living my dream in New York City, Peoria had been a cesspool of leeches.
The book that made me moderately famous, "The Walk", had been built around a high schooler's journey through his anxiety in the hallways of his high school. The sad part, and although it had made me a decent amount of money and afforded me a chance to truly pursue my dreams, was grossly true. The hallways had been my own kryptonite. If it wasn't words, it was the constant looks. Or the whispers that were just loud enough to be heard by their main character.
In the five minutes from one class to another, walking those sparkly tiled floors surrounded on either side by the loud bangs of decades-old lockers, the whispers were the loudest. "Fag." "Cocksucker." "Did you hear about Jack?"
That last one was the worst. And the toughest part was it was all true. It had slipped out via someone I had trusted, or thought I could trust, that I liked dick. And I did. A lot.
Fucking Dylan.
So, for my last year and a half of high school, "the best years of your life," I just went about my business and kept my head down. I never wanted to come back.
But Emma had convinced me.
She had said coming back would be like therapy for me. I go to therapy. I don't think this will work in the same way. She said I would face my demons -- quite literally as I had seen Dylan via Facebook had married his high school sweetheart and already had one kid. Still lived in Peoria and was a sales executive for the local manufacturing company. Living his dream, I suppose.
I sighed just at the thought of running into him. And the thing was, back then he was hot as fuck. He had the perfect hair, the perfect teeth, and a laugh that lit up the room. He was my ultimate high school straight boy crush. Even then, I knew he wasn't gay, but who would turn down a blow job?
Sadly, I never got the chance to give him one. I just kept to myself as best I could and made it out of there alive.
It was tough to think of anything else as I cupped the hot cup of coffee the following morning while I waited for Emma to arrive. It was only 9:02 in the morning and my anxiety was already through the roof. I could not understand how a dick who I had not seen in a decade could still cause me to sit in my own safe space and feel my heart bang against the inside of my chest. How it could raise my heart rate before I even allowed the caffeine to pulse through my veins.
Before taking another sip, I tapped my phone to check the time. 9:03. Emma was late, which was doing nothing to help me calm down. Even a decade later, she always had a knack for helping me through my most negative moments. But sitting here sipping on coffee we had been enjoying since our days of studying for our Econ final after school over too-expensive Chai Lattes, I knew the only way I was going to get through the disaster that would be our class dinner would be a cocktail of Emma and booze.
"Hey gorgeous!" I heard from behind me in her unmistakable tone. It brought an instant smile to my face. Before I could stand up fully, her arms were wrapping around my chest and I helped pull her close into me. It was almost like we had not been apart for over a year.
As I held onto her, there was a moment where I didn't want to let go. If I had been into girls, this is the girl I would have held onto forever. She knew it. And so did I. But I only liked dick. And she knew about all the dick I'd had over the years. I knew about her dicks too.
"Oh my god," I finally said as I broke our hug. "I've missed you so much, Em."
"Babes," she laughed. "We talk nearly every day."
"It's not the same as standing here and seeing your beautiful face in person."
The single comment inspired her to flick her perfect brunette hair off her shoulder in an act of comedic flirting. "I have to keep you wanting more."
I laughed as I took my seat again, "I will never have enough."
"Where have I heard that before?" she joked.
"You hush," I protested. "I know your sordid history just like you know mine. And who was the one who went home with their co-worker last week in a blast of cosmo glory?"
She didn't miss a beat. "And the week before, I think it was you who went home with someone who came to one of your readings?"
"Fuck," I hung my head in no-so shame shame. "I forgot I told you about that." I took another sip of my coffee and smirked at her. "Not one of my finer moments, but Em ... fuck. Wow."
We both laughed. Ten years and some things had never changed. Some things wouldn't.
The coffee shop was it's typical busy-self for a summer Saturday and we sat there for two hours catching up as if we hadn't been talking for years. We caught up on the details. The gossip of our classmates. Who had had their fifth child. Who was out of rehab. Who was in. Who fucked whos sister right when they got back from their honeymoon.
"Our class was full of class," I raised my glass in a mock toast.
"Speaking of which," Emma got serious for a second as she packed up her purse, "are you ready to see dick-face Dylan again?"
"Honestly, I don't want to see any of them. I came back to see you and a few of the friends I actually had."
While my tension had eased during our conversation, it was already back on the upswing as I knew we were about to depart. Emma gently reached out her hand, placing it on mine which still held my mostly empty coffee cup. "We will get through it together. And if it sucks, my mom has stocked the bar for us."
I laughed. I had had my first drink at her house the weekend of our senior prom; going together as the most it non-couple in history. We would be going to the reunion with the same set-up. Me the class fag, her the class hag. Both single and not at all wanting to mingle with these fuckers.
"Come over before and let's have a drink with mom," Emma stated. I agreed. Pre-game date drinks with mom. Sounded perfect.
Pregame and postgame with mom who was loaded with booze. It was high school all over again but without the paralyzing fear of being beat up in the hallway.
I had worked tirelessly, pouring my heart and soul into my work to ensure I never ended up back at in a setting among people that could barely be asked to tolerate my existence. Yet, here I was, standing in front of my hotel mirror, doing my hair, to impress homophobes who probably hadn't even been to the local library let alone read my book.
I had even requested not to have a book signing back in this town when my publisher extended my book tour after I made the New York Times Bestsellers list. I didn't want to deal with the inevitable protests and negative reviews that would swarm Amazon just by these same people I was volunteering to spend three hours with tonight.
I had texted Emma while at a nearby stoplight that I was close and she confirmed she was already sitting outside on a bench waiting for my fashionably late appearance. Luckily for us both, I had not been late on our prom night. In fact, we had to eat backstage due to my duties as co-host. But she was a trooper about it then, just like now.
Even then, she knew the truth. We were just and would only be friends. I had not needed to ever tell her; not that I would have ever worried about her reaction or un-ending love.
I had to park a block away which gave me some extra steps to calm my nerves.
Why the fuck am I nervous? I asked inside my head. I was a grown man, successful, had seen the world, and didn't need a single thing from these people. I was complete without them. Without any of this.
As I rounded the corner of the perfectly manicured grass and a small, gentle scent of the just-bloomed Gladiolus, Emma saw me. "Fashionably right on time."
Ten years was not enough time away from people who had never traveled more than a state away and who still went to the same church their parents had taken them their entire lives.
Ever pretentious and thinking they were something more than they really were, standard jazz music played over the speakers as we entered. Ah yes, I smiled, seeing pre-printed nametags at the table as we checked in.
A girl, er, woman from behind that table took one look at me and immediately jumped up from her chair. "Oh my god! You did come! Jack Anders!" She hurriedly grabbed my nametag as I gripped Emma's arm a bit tighter. She was now not only my date but also my security from the impending local city girl who we probably graduated with and whom I could not place. She reached out holding my nametag as she came around the side of the table. "I'm so glad you came. You're like the only one from our class who ever did anything." She looked at Emma attached to my arm. "Oh, sorry. And you are?"
Emma looked at me. I looked at her. I leaned over towards my fan and whispered, "I don't know, actually. She was sitting outside all alone and I felt sorry for her."
"I heard that, jackass," Emma deadpanned.
I peeled my nametag off the sticker paper, handing it back to the table helper and shared a smile back to Emma. She just rolled her eyes and reached across me for her nametag.
There we were: Jack and Emma, "The It Couple" except we really were "The Never Gonna Happen Couple."
But for tonight, it would do.
I didn't take more than one passing glance around the room to know where my first stop would be: the bar. I had paid $100 to go to this stupid event with my bullies and I was dead-set on drinking back all of my money. Fuck these fuckers, I thought as I dragged Emma with me through the crowd.
I could tell a few eyes were on me as I made my way through the crowd. If they had been paying any attention to the world outside the imaginary boundaries of this town that no one dared cross lest the hand of the Lord strike them down, they would have known I amounted to more than being the Class Fag. But for most, they would never venture farther than the lake in the neighboring town and marrying their high school sweetheart.
For me, as I waited in line for the cheapest of whiskeys to be poured for me, it finally hit me how much I had grown since I gave two middle fingers to this town. I had been in bars where this drink would be $30 and because random strangers had read my book, I more often than not, still did not have to pay. I had probably seen more nude men than all the women combined in this reception hall. And seen more of the world than most ever would. I was lucky.
These people didn't have anything on me.
I loved my life.
I didn't need these people.
The girl on my arm was one of my favorite people in the world.
And tonight was just about me and pushing against the bullshit that didn't mean anything anymore.
I fought off the urge to swallow my drink now that I had it in hand in one gulp while still standing in line. Hold it together for at least one drink, I thought to myself as I pushed my way through the growing throng of deadbeats after the free drinks.
People were milling about everywhere. Some dressed for the occasion, some like they had just come from the lake and did not even bother to shower off their sunscreen and sweat-stained faces.
While the latest Taylor Swift song played about another breakup ... fuck ... I had had a few of those in the past few years ... we found our seats and settled in for what was bound to be a terrible trip down memory lane. No good can come from going back in time with this group of backwoods folk who wouldn't know a good piece of literature if it was sitting at their table being read to them by their favorite model doing a dance for them naked.
"So, we made it," Emma broke my trance, holding her glass out for a duo-toast.
"We made it," I clinked my half-drank whiskey with her cheap house wine she was certain to chug at equal velocity as me. We made it in more ways than one.
With the toast, I wasted no time in finishing my drink. I held up my glass to my date and made my way back for the first refill. I pulled out my phone to provide the needed distraction while waiting in line. Talking to any of my old classmates was the last thing I wanted to do tonight. Even people who had read the book in this town would, I knew, be unbearable.
I pulled up my Instagram and quickly snapped a surprise selfie before anyone noticed, adding the perfect filter and text: "Can you go home again?". It would certainly elicit some curious engagement from my 400,000 followers.
Slowly the line moved forward. While waiting I could hear the men in the line ordering one for themselves, beer please. And then quickly following those up with an order for their woman. A wine. Typical.
The man in front of me had a woman's left hand wrapped around his waist and she was sporting a rather large rock that appeared to be decently real. And his dress pants fit far-too-nicely for someone who had stayed here in this stupid homophobic town.
That ass. The cologne. I looked up from my phone and saw his hair. So perfect to run your fingers through while fucking wildly.
They reached the bartender and that's when I heard it. The voice. It was a voice I had tried to forget through the course of three therapists, half-a-dozen breakups, and too-many one-night stands to count. I had actually lost count of the dicks I had tasted. But here he was. Again. Right in front of me. With this woman's hand around his waist.
Dylan.
Fuck. He had stayed hot. And gotten hotter.
He ordered, you guessed it, a beer and a wine. He handed the woman holding his hand, likely his wife, the strongly poured glass of wine before turning to grab his beer just pulled from the ice chest. The bartender wrapped a cocktail napkin around it in a show of false-fancy class as he turned his attention to me. At the same time, Dylan began to step aside and finally looked behind him at the person next in line. Me.
I watched as his mind went to his Rolodex likely crowded with all his banker and insurance friends who had made their livelihoods serving as glorified insurance agents and were, in fact, just wholesalers of a product they didn't care about. The job allowed them to be somebody in a town of once-was'.
He didn't walk away, almost cautiously stepping off to the side while the line moved forward. He couldn't remember my name. But I certainly knew his. In an effort to save face, he went back to the old high school path of the simple gesture, "Hey."
I nodded back, finally stepping forward to the bar. Of course, I was already a few pre-game drinks in and in normal circumstances, would not be ordering another drink. But tonight, another drink was required. "Whiskey. Neat." That always felt weird to order. I wasn't neat in any sense of the word. My apartment was a disaster. As was my love life. And my stomach was in pre-teen knots. But here I was, walking away with a pretencious-as-fuck drink away from my bully.
This was the ultimate character flaw that in my writing, I would set this guy to fail. He would get this drink, get back to his table and experience humiliation the likes of which the reader had never seen and it would be business as usual for this man. Perhaps an ex would walk by the table and do a double-take and suddenly realize who was sitting there. They could not pass up the chance to exact their revenge. They would let their date keep walking while they grabbed a seat, scooting close to catch up. It wouldn't take long for them to see the drink and laugh. "Straight whiskey, huh? Never the adventurer?" He would sit there and take it. Like he always had from them. He would sit there, slouched both in practice and in view of himself. Ten years and still an abject failure who had not been able to stand in his own shoes.
His phone lit up taking him out of his divergence down his make believe memory lane.
Instagram Message from Dylan_Corral
What the fuck?I thought to myself.
As I got logged into my phone, it was apparent he had finally remembered who I was and tracked me down in Instagram. Or perhaps he had asked around at his table and somehow someone at the table had half a brain enough to remember me or at least married someone who knew how amazing reading books was.
I clicked on the popup to see what the fuck this twat wanted.
Dylan_Corral: Hey man
Dylan_Corral: good to see you in line a bit ago.
Dylan_Corral: seems things have gone well for you!
I read the lines over and over. Why the fuck even send it? To what end? Make yourself feel better? Talk to a celebrity for the first time in your life? And he kept typing. The bubble kept popping up and disappearing. What else could he want to say? Sorry?
Dylan_Corral: glad you could make it
Glad I could make it? Now I really had no idea what was happening. I sat my phone down with a noticeable klunk that pulled Emma's attention away from a conversation she was clearly engrossed in, having not even noticed I had made it back to the table.
"What was that about?" she asked, looking first at me and then the phone splayed upsidedown in between us.
What could I say? What did I want to say? It was nothing. "Just stupid high school drama shit," I laughed. And for the first time around my high school classmates, it was an honest statement. She laughed and turned back to her conversation. I tried to listen in and catch up with the story, but it must have been one of Emma's drama friends because it was clear they had picked up right where they left off when they ended the high school version of Romeo & Juliet.
I sighed and took another drink. But my phone was not to be ignored as it lit up again. Dylan.
I could not ignore it, but I was more frustrated this fucker was still texting me.
Dylan_Corral: sorry to bother you . Good to see you again after all these years.
At this point. I was lost. And certainly I had not had enough to drink to entertain this random intrusion into my life. All I had wanted was to show up, get drunk with Emma, gently sober up, only to go back to her place and get bombed celebrating the triumphant end of my high school life.
But here I was. Watching Dylan Corral type me Instagram messages.
And fuck if I replied.
Thejackanders: Thanks. Appreciate it, Dylan.
There. Simple. To the point. And yes. I used capitals and punctuation.
But that wasn't the end.
Dylan_Corral: of course! Can i tell you something
Note: Dylan doesn't like punctuation or capitals. Just as I suspected. I'm glad I didn't spend multiple nights in my dark bedroom jacking off thinking about him. Right. Never did that.
Thejackanders: Yeah.
Dylan_Corral: I loved the book!
Thejackanders: Thanks! :) Didn't know you'd read it.
Dylan_Corral: o f course! Not every day someone I know goes and writes a book that has all the women around here talking. Had to see what all the fuss was about
Thejackanders: I'll be sure to thank the woman you came with ;)
What!? Why the wink face? What the actual buzzed fuck!? That seemed to light a fire under his ass to open his floodgates.
Dylan_Corral: working on your next one?
Thejackanders: Working on a few projects actually. Excited to get back and keep working.
Dylan_Corral: Care to tease?
Okay. I can't handle this. Who was this guy? He knows I'm gay, right, I thought to myself. Flaming homo. Loves dick. Would have sucked him a decade ago.
Thejackanders: Can't! I'll get in trouble and can't have my agent mad at me.
Dylan_Corral: ... maybe if you have another drink?
Thejackanders: Then what? I'll tell you all my darkest secrets?
Dylan_Corral: Secrets are safe with me ;)
Thejackanders: Let me be real... why are you talking to me? You hated me in high school. And you don't even know me. So ... what's happening right now?
It was rude but I did not care. I was buzzed at the place I didn't want to be texting my high school bully. This was four levels of fucked up in an already juicy setup devoid of any chance of a real meet-cute.
The chat bubbles stopped and started a few times before I finally felt the phone vibrate in my hand. I took the final finger of whiskey in one swallow and looked down at my screen.
Dylan_Corral: I deserve that. I was a dick. I'm sorry. Truce? You're clearly a good guy who is fucking talented.
Thejackanders: That's it?
Dylan_Corral: That's it. Unless you want to play a game of truth or dare while we wait for this stupid event to be over?
Thejackanders: Ways to know you're at a high school party: Someone says we should play truth or dare
I hesitated for a second, but then the whiskey truly kicked in. I took a deep breath and said fuck it.
Thejackanders: Okay. you go first
Dylan_Corral: Truth
Thejackanders: I'm not fucking around. You messaged me.
Thejackanders: Are you straight, bi, or gay?
Dylan_Corral: bi. Your turn.
Thejackanders: truth
Dylan_Corral: Single or taken?
Thejackanders: single. Very fucking single. Lol
Dylan_Corral: truth
Thejackanders: Was that your gf? Friend? What?
Dylan_Corral: Wife. Been married for 7 years. :D
Thejackanders: dare
Dylan_Corral: Go to the bar, order that whiskey again, only you have to finish it on your way back to your table. Let's get this party started.
Thejackanders: omw
A man of my word, I walked over to the bar patiently yet nervously waiting my turn. I wasn't sure where he was sitting but I instinctively felt a pair of eyes watching me. As I waited, I ran my fingers through my hair to tease this man who I had just discovered was bi. After all these years, the hatred and animosity towards him, and he was bi. Looking down at my phone, I scrolled through my Instagram feed while I waited. It came faster than before and in the 30 seconds it took to walk from the bar back to my chair, I downed the full thing. It felt like college.
Thejackanders: done. Fucker.
Dylan_Corral: Well done! Also, those pants look great on you ;)
Thejackanders: are you flirting with me?
Dylan_Corral: Is it working?
Thejackanders: I think that can only be answered when it is time for the next question.
Dylan_Corral: touche. I'll go with truth then.
Thejackanders: Does she know?
Dylan_Corral: Nope.
Thejackanders: truth.
Dylan_Corral: Does talking to me make you hard like it did a decade ago when you'd jack off thinking about me at night?
The blood rushed out of my face and down my body and immediately into my dick. I went from zero to rock hard in seconds. Not only was Dylan being a classic jock, but it was working. Just like it would have back then. And was now. Fuck it.
Thejackanders: yes.
Dylan_Corral: Good! Dare.
What the actual fuck was happening right now? What would 18-year-old me say right now? Go get some dick! Or would it be the logical self-preservation of protection, he can go fuck himself and be a dick to his wife on his own.
Thejackanders: Meet me in the bathroom in three minutes.
I closed the chat, took a deep breath and pushed myself away from the table. I was fully hard and my hole was twitching at the thought of finally getting the dick I had not known I had been craving for a decade. There was no way anyone who saw my walking could not tell my hard cock was pressing up against the fabric of my designer jeans.
The darkness of the party was broken by the bright white lights filling the men's room as I pulled the door open. Lavender filled my nose and I quickly confirmed all the stalls were empty. But not for long. I picked the one at the end, as it had the most space.
Just as soon as I stepped inside and began to close the stall door, it pushed back against my hand. He was here.
I first saw his feet and then jolted my head up to see his face. Out in the banquet hall, the lights had been dim and I had tried to not look at him. In fact, I had avoided him. His face had not changed much in the decade since I had last seen it. He reached behind behind, effortlessly and calmly, pressing the door closed and locking it without breaking eye contact with me.
How I had longed for this moment.
His eyes were still piercing green with a hint of gray. Yes, I knew that. And had for a decade. The day we graduated I had been so thankful to be away from him, all of them, but also sad. His smile and laughter. His eyes. And his lips. The lips which were now surrounded by a thin layer of stubble. I wanted to touch it.
He was so close. I could smell the mixture of typical midwestern cologne and party sweat. More musk than floral. Anticipation. I had so many questions.
And before I knew it, questioned it, or talked myself out of it, I lunged for him. I closed the distance between us in one quick step and pressed his back firmly against the tiled wall. Surely there had never been two men making out in this bathroom stall.
At last, my lips were against his. My smooth face and well-moisturized lips were against his. I could feel the years of married life against my tender lips after more than a decade of pining. No matter how worried I had been, or how much I hated what he might say to me in the hallway, I had always wanted this. No amount of therapy could have taken this desire; this need away from my innermost needs.
Before I knew it, my hands were grasping his face pulling his lips even tighter against mine. I was not going to waste this moment.
My sudden move had clearly surprised him, but he soon met my enthusiasm, grabbing the back of my head and forcing our lips even closer together, finally able to taste his skin. And then he did it. He opened the door, slipping his tongue into my mouth. My stomach dropped and all fear and anxiety of the event passed away. I immediately tasted a mix of beer and wine, a reminder that just outside these walls was a happy wife who had no idea the man of her dreams was becoming, a long-last, the man of my dreams.
With our bodies pressed hard together, faces moving back and forth, making up for lost time, the heat was building between us. I could feel it.
A bead of sweat started on my forehead and slowly made its way across my T-zone, down the side of my nose. But I didn't break away from the kiss. I didn't want this moment to end. Because once it did, it would be over.
Our lips were still touching when the drop of sweat slipped between us. He must have noticed because it made him pause and open his eyes. As he paused, so did I and I opened my eyes, meeting his. This was as close as we had ever been. Our breathing was heavy.
My hands left the side of his face and slipped down and paused on his chest. His heaving chest. Our eyes still locked. Was this the end?
But he didn't flee. He didn't reach for the door.
Instead he leaned forward, gently this time, and pressed his lips against mine. My eyes closed and fell into the moment. I let down my guard and fell into this man, Dylan.
I don't know if we made out for ten more seconds, or ten minutes, but it was never going to be enough. If this is all it was, I would leave happy, if only with blue balls.
Since the moment he chatted with me on Instagram, my cock had been hard. Now, with his lips crashing against mine, I was throbbing. With each movement, I could feel my precum gently oozing out of the tip of my cock making the inside of my bright blue CK briefs slick.
I snapped back to reality when I felt his hand grab my ass and pull my hard cock forward against his. Dylan's cock was hard. For me. Or maybe just a gay ass. Did it even matter at this point? I pulled my lips off of his and looked into his eyes.
Our eyes shared one common desire: Lust.
Without tension or hesitation or worry of getting caught at our high school reunion, I broke away and frantically began to undo my belt. I tried to do them both at the same time, but fuck it, you can't. Taking a belt off is a two-hand job. Once I had mine undone, I hurriedly undid the button and dangerously drabbed the zipper and ripped it down.
I turned my attention to Dylan's belt which he had not done anything about. Fucking straight men. My fingers slipped the flap through the clasp and then quickly undid the button. The heat from his groin was seeping through the singular opening at the top of his pants. I could feel my breathing pick up. I didn't stop. But I did take a bit more caution as I gently slipped his zipper down against his equally hard cock.
He wasn't stopping me. My fingers cautiously, and gently reached through the waistband of his boxers. His abs still tight like they had been a decade ago brushed against my wrist as I finally grabbed his cock.
I couldn't stand it anymore.
With both hands, I reached up and pulled his boxers down exposing a beautiful cock. It was exactly like I had imagined it in my dreams. Slight curve up, thick, and surrounded by a bush. I looked back up at him and back down at his cock. In a swift motion, before he could stop me, my newly Dylan-Christened lips were wrapped around his cock.
I don't know if his wife let him fool around with others or if she had been the only one to taste this cock for the last few years, but finally, it was mine. For this one moment, Dylan was mine.
His cock fit perfectly into my mouth. With my right hand, I stroked his cock while my lips slid up and down. At the same time, my left hand slowly rolled his cum-filled balls in through my fingers. I don't know if I tasted precum or sweat, but it was amazing. My tongue tasted a mix of salty and creamy. Even with his cock in my mouth, I wanted more.
I stood up and looked him deep in the eyes. I wanted more. I wanted it all.
Without saying a word, I slipped my briefs down over my tight round ass. Dylan watched the motion and saw as my cock flopped out into the open. Not breaking our moment, I reached down with my fingers and lubed up my fingers and gently, calmly, but eagerly, rubbed around my hole.
If I was to get what I wanted, I would have to break our moment. But before I did, I leaned forward, pressing my lips against his, our hard cocks touching.
Knowing what was to come next, he was the one who broke our kiss. He grabbed my waist and turned me around and without hesitation, moved his cock to touch my hole. I couldn't remember the last time I had been fucked and it had certainly been quiet some time since I had been publicly fucked like this.
Before he pressed harder into me, I felt him drop a glob of spit against his cock. He had done this before. And now, finally, he was going to do me.
I could not wait any longer.
I pressed against him, forcing his cock to slip inside me. Gently, but fully. I felt myself wrap around his cock and once I had the tip, I was not going to stop. I continued to press against him, feeling his cock slip finally deeper and deeper inside of me.
A decade of waiting, and wanting, and midnight cums dreaming of this moment and it was finally here.
Since the moment he had entered the bathroom, neither of us had said a word. But now, with his balls resting against my ass, I could feel his pubes brushing against my bare skin. I leaned back, twisting my head and found his waiting lips. We were finally connected. As much as anyone could be. Finally.
I broke the kiss. And the silence. "Fuck me," I whispered into his ear. I think I detected a slight smirk appear on his face.
With my direction, I felt him slowly start to pull his cock out and just before it slipped out, he gently pushed it back in. The feeling of his cock inside me was perfection. Maybe it was the whiskey or my dry spell. Or perhaps it was ten years of not fucking each other like we clearly had wanted to that made this the moment it was.
After a few gentle thrusts, the Dylan I dreamed of got to work.
His hands reached up and grabbed my shoulders and he pressed his cock even farther inside me. He pulled back out and quickly thrust back inside me. HIs hands on my shoulders were allowing him to fuck as hard as anyone ever had. Instinctively, I reached between my own legs and began to feverishly stroke my own, now dripping cock.
I tried to keep my grunts low, but I let out a gleeful groan and without direction, Dylan reached up and covered my mouth and fucked me even harder. His thrusts were fast and forceful. A mix of precum and spit and sweat was making his cock glide perfectly in and out of me.
I had been close since the moment he entered me, and I could tell by his grunts he was getting there just as quickly.
His hands left my shoulders and grabbed the sides of my ass, never stopping his fucking. Each time he buried his cock, I felt his balls slap against me, begging to unload inside me.
Never before had I been fucked by both raw passion and deep personal desire. This felt different. I was in ecstasy.
And I couldn't help myself. I didn't even know it it was happening, but I looked down and saw cum shooting out of my cock and landing on the tile underneath me. At the same time, without saying a word, Dylan slammed his cock deep inside me, his firm abs against my ass, as he pulled me close and his thrusting stopped. He had just come inside me.
We were both panting. I had sweat dripping down my face. And I had cum on my hand.
As I processed the last few minutes, Dylan pulled out of my ass and gave it a little slap. I smiled.
I reached for the toilet paper to clean up my hand and before I could turn around and say anything, I heard the door unlocking behind me. I glanced back and saw he already had his pants up and shirt tucked in.
He didn't even look back.
And just like that, he was gone.
I looked back down at my cum-covered hand, and smiled.
#######
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