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16

MICHAEL

I t's way past my usual bedtime and my legs feel heavy as I get out of the car and walk to my front door. The evening has gone so much better than I could have hoped for. Patrick is such a cool guy, and he really seems to like me. We have fun together. Even the quiet times when we're just sitting in each other’s company, the silence feels good—not awkward and terrifying like many of my other dates have been.

Tossing my jacket onto the sofa, I slug my way through the living room and into the primary bedroom where I desperately want to collapse onto the bed. The problem is I still have some errant glitter on me from the concert, not to mention my deodorant will fail by morning, and I don’t want to wake up smelling like a farm animal.

Kicking off my shoes, I then toss my socks into the hamper and go into the bathroom. It isn’t a huge ensuite, but considering I purchased the home on a public servant’s salary by myself in Los Angeles, it’s more than I could have expected. The walk-in shower has recently been remodeled with white marble and I absolutely love it.

The bright overhead lighting never lets me forget that I’m getting older by the day when I look at myself in the mirror above the sink. A few wrinkles have started showing at the corners of my eyes. Nothing too bad, but definitely something I’ve noticed in the last year. Making a mental note to seek an aesthetician’s expert opinion when I get some time off to pamper myself, I wash my face in the sink. Well, more like splash some cold water to wake me up. It’d be a disaster if I fell asleep in the shower again.

I laugh to myself, remembering that night. I’d pulled a double shift during a stakeout. My partner and I drank coffee and ate doughnuts to the point of nausea, but we didn’t want to risk leaving to get some real food. Our target had been too important; a known sex offender who’d refused to register with the city. Rumor had it he was also involved in some possible human trafficking, but we hadn’t been able to confirm it at the time. Anyway, once I got home, there was nothing I needed more than a long hot shower. Nothing, except sleep.

I rub the side of my head as I recall the incident—waking up on the floor with the water still running. Only, the shower had gone from hot to cold at some point while I was asleep, and when I woke up, I was shivering on the tiled floor, bleeding from an egg-sized knot on my temple.

I flip on the shower, turning the knob to the perfect spot. Hot enough to soothe my aching muscles, but not too hot as to burn me—or at least not too burnt. My mind begins to drift to Patrick again. His cute smile, the glint in his eyes when he looks at me. Physically, we're pretty different, but I love that about him. He couldn’t have been more than five-nine and a hundred-fifty pounds soaking wet. His light brown skin and black hair are stunningly perfect—not even a small blemish.

The steam billows out of the shower, and the glass walls are completely opaque with condensation. I begin unbuttoning my shirt and get a whiff of myself in the process. Yep, a shower before bed is definitely necessary.

I yawn. Not once, but twice. Long, loud, and with tears in my eyes.

Tossing the shirt on the floor, I unzip my pants. They’re tighter than I usually like them, but I wanted to make a good impression. I slide them over my pronounced ass and down my thick muscular legs. For being in my thirties, I’ve retained much of my athleticism from when I was in ballet. I toss my jeans and boxers into the pile with the shirt and stretch my hands far above my head.

Once I step inside the shower, I sigh, enjoying the rivers of warmth as they caress my body. Each hot rivulet washes away the nerves and loosens my aching muscles.

I grab the body wash and apply a large amount to the washcloth, cleaning myself. Each time the rough fabric brushes against my hard nipples, I shiver. Very weird. Not usually so reactive to light touch. I look down at my semi-hard cock and realize just how horny I actually am. I begin playing with my nipples, rubbing them softly at first before lightly pinching them while the hot water runs over my chest. It feels so good. Goosebumps spread across my arms, legs, and chest, the more I rub my hands against myself. I close my eyes and imagine Patrick is in the shower with me.

I shiver with anticipation.

Slowly, I trace my finger down between my pecs, along the center of my stomach until I reach the base of my cock. I’m fully erect now, the entire shaft twitching up and down with my heartbeat. Again, soaping up the washcloth, making it slippery and wet, I wrap it around my shaft. Closing my eyes, I envision Patrick’s lips slowly moving over my head, his tongue rubbing the sensitive underside of the head and shaft. I cup my own balls in my hand, letting them roll around in my fingers, before pulling on the loose skin of my sack.

I moan.

My knees begin to tremble more with each passing second. The desire I feel for him and for my own release is so much more intense than I can ever remember happening before.

My breath quickens as my stroking intensifies. To keep myself from slipping, I brace myself against the cold tile wall at my back, which sends a tingle up my spine. “Oh, fuck yeah.” My legs continue to tremble, but I’m getting closer to climax. I pinch my sack again, but this time my balls are pulled up, ready to release their hot load.

“Just like that,” I say aloud, to no one but myself. “Fuck, yeah, buddy. Suck my cock… like that.”

I moan as my legs shake.

My thick cock throbs in my grip, fighting to erupt, but I hold back just enough to prevent this from being over. It feels too good and has been too long since I’ve felt this sexual and needful. I reach between my legs and press my finger against my asshole. I’m puckered tight, but I lube my finger with soap and push inside while I imagine Patrick standing behind me. “Fuck me, baby,” I breathe the words, sucking in air as I work my body hard in the hot water.

I reach my sensuous spot and press down while I continue to stroke my cock. A sensation almost impossible to describe runs down my legs and around my back into my belly. It’s pure pleasure. A nervousness, excitement, and unadulterated happiness rolled into one feeling that could bring this six-foot-five, muscular, ox of a man to his knees—begging for more.

Seconds race by as the surge of release that starts in the base of my sack runs up into my belly. Again, my balls are pulling up inside me, my body desperate to shoot my load. Quickening my strokes, my breath draws in and out, timing perfectly with my hand as I stroke my cock. Unable to remain standing, I slowly slide to the tile floor, but never once slowing my strokes. My need is now boiling over and no matter how hard I try to hold it back, I can’t. Locking my knees, holding my legs out straight, my back presses against the wall and my ass rests firmly on the floor, I begin using both hands to slide up and down on my shaft. Shifting myself out from under the direct water stream, I see precum seeping out and slickening my cock head. “Yes,” I call out. “Fuck, yes.” I explode with intensity. Spurts of cum erupt, shooting upward and landing on my chest and belly. I rub the thick, creamy hot pleasure across my belly and back down onto my throbbing hard cock. Each stroke after I cum is hypersensitive and forces me into a laughing fit. A tingle forms at the top of my ass and runs up my spine. I stop before it becomes too uncomfortable, but I want more—I want it to be real, with Patrick.

The hot water begins to run out, sending a shiver through my satiated body. My breathing has long since returned to normal, as has my heart rate. I stand and reach over, turning off the shower, and then sit on the ledge for a few moments, listening to the last of the water circle the drain.

I force myself to stand and stretch. My arms overhead cause my lower back to pop with a satisfying relief. Grabbing for the towel, I dry myself. Tears seem to come from nowhere.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I finish toweling off and take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. There is going to be time for me to get into a good relationship and be happy. No matter how many times my friends and family call, asking if I’ve found that special someone, and me telling them no—there is still time. Although, my mother is always reminding me that she is getting up there in years and would feel like a horrible parent if she died knowing her son had never been able to find true love.

I sigh and wipe my cheeks. The tears aren’t from sadness, but they aren’t from regrets either. The intensity of our date, and the lovely sex afterwards, party-of-one style, had just bubbled up. No reason to worry.

The phone rings and I rush to answer it.

“Hello?” I say as soon as I connect the call. “Mom, is that you?”

“Your father and I are having a lovely time in Hawaii. I wanted to call and see how your day went.” She’s sweet, but I know what she really wants to know is how the date went. I made the mistake of telling her when we spoke last.

“I was just about to get into bed… it’s been a long day here,” I say.

“Oh?” Her tone alone asks a thousand questions, none of which come before the first thing she has on her mind. “Are you going to bed alone?”

“Mom,” I say, “you ask too many questions. When I’m ready to share, I promise you’ll be the first person I tell.” I lie, but I know it will make her feel better about the fact I’m sharing no details.

“Hold on a second, Michael. Your father is trying to carry two plates of Kalua Pork back to the table, and you know how he limps.”

I stifle a laugh as I can picture exactly what is going on there. They are probably at a luau, and Mom has carried their drinks; two for her and one for him. He is in charge of the food, and God forbid he drop something—he would never hear the end of it.

“Don’t drop my pork,” she yells into the receiver. “Honey, I’m going to have to let you go, your father is embarrassing me.”

“Sure thing, Mom.”

“Maybe our next call you can tell me about your new boyfriend and what the wedding plans are going to be.”

Before I can respond, she adds, “Bye. Mom loves you.” She hangs up the phone.

I turn off all the lights and slip under the covers and close my eyes. The last thing I remember is hoping all my dreams will be about Patrick… or at least one of my celebrity crushes.