Page 22 of Taste Test

My cock remained half-hard for the rest of the shift. Every step across the shop floor was a silent argument with it to calm the fuck down. I told myself it was being in Dash’s presence keeping me hard, not the thought of Jared’s cum cup waiting for me at home.

“I’m off,” I called out when closing time finally rolled around.

Dash was at the counter with the till drawer open, coins spread across the bench in neat stacks. He looked up mid-count. “Yeah, see you tomorrow.” He hesitated, fingers still sifting through the change. “Oh, and, uh... thanks. For earlier.”

“Sure. No worries.”

“Tell Jared he was right, by the way. You are the blowjob legend.”

I laughed under my breath. “Is that a formal review?”

“Yep. Consider it a five-star rating.”

“Well, I’m just glad I could meet expectations.”

“You didn’t just meet them, you set a new standard. Honestly, I’m not sure whether to be impressed or intimidated.”

“To be fair, it helped having such a nice dick to work with.” I hadn’t meant it to sound so flirty.

“Yeah? You really think I’ve got a nice dick?”

“Definitely. Nice size, good shape. Not everyone’s so lucky in that department.”

I may have been inflating the truth just a teeny-weeny bit. But meh. Dash deserved a little ego rub for stepping outside of his comfort zone.

“Cheers, bro. That’s really good to hear. I was always worried it was a bit...” He cleared his throat, seeming to remember himself. “Okay. See you tomorrow.”

He went back to counting the money. I grabbed my jacket and headed out, leaving him to finish the close.

I wheeled my bike out from where I’d chained it to the lamppost, still feeling that charged energy that hangs around after you’ve crossed a line you can’t uncross.

Rather than head straight home, I figured I’d better get some groceries.

Our fridge was looking pretty tragic, and I had a feeling Jared would have cleared out the snack cupboard if he’d spent all afternoon at home.

My phone buzzed as I was clipping my helmet on.

“Casey!” Suzie’s voice was bright. “How’s your afternoon going?”

“Not bad. Just finished work. You sound cheerful.”

“I am cheerful. The boys are off to the Mount with Grant for the school holidays. A whole week of child-free bliss.” I could practically hear her grinning. “No Fortnite arguments, no mysterious smells coming from their bedrooms, no debates about whether cereal counts as dinner.”

“Living the dream.”

“Absolutely living the dream. I’m planning to drink wine on a school night, read entire books without interruption, and maybe even have a proper conversation with an adult human being.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“It is dangerous. I might remember what it’s like to be a person instead of just a mum.

” She paused. “Speaking of which, that’s exactly why I rang.

I was wondering if you’d like to come round one night this week.

I’ll cook something that doesn’t involve fish fingers, and we can gossip like civilised people. ”

“That sounds brilliant.”

“How does Friday sound? I’m thinking of attempting that lamb recipe I’ve been saving for when I have the energy to follow instructions.”

“Friday works.”

“Perfect. Well, I’d better go. I’ve got a date with a bottle of Pinot and absolutely no one asking me what’s for dinner every five minutes.”`

“Alright. See you Friday.”

The call ended, and I found myself smiling as I started the bike ride into town. It would be good to catch up with Suzie properly, away from the café and the stress of university.

The ride to Pak’nSave was one of my favourite parts of living in Hamilton. Not because I particularly enjoyed grocery shopping, but because the route took me over the Claudelands Bridge with its view of the Waikato River winding through the city like a murky green ribbon.

Hamilton got a lot of stick for being New Zealand’s least glamorous city.

No harbour like Auckland, no jaw-dropping hills like Wellington, definitely no sunny beaches like Tauranga.

Just a big country town that had gotten ideas above its station.

But cycling along the river path, watching the construction cranes dotting the skyline where new apartment blocks were sprouting like concrete weeds, I could see what the city planners were going for.

Hamilton was growing fast, fastest in the country according to the latest census, and there was something exciting about being part of a place that was still figuring out what it wanted to be when it grew up.

The CBD was a patchwork of old and new. Heritage buildings from when this was just a farming service town sitting next to glass-fronted offices that housed both small businesses and regional headquarters.

It wasn’t pretty exactly, but it had energy.

In Auckland or Wellington, one more apartment complex was just noise.

Here, every new development felt like progress, like the city was going somewhere.

Plus, from my bike seat, I could pretend I was part of Hamilton’s cycling renaissance instead of just a broke student who couldn’t afford a car.

Pak’nSave sat in its massive carpark like a warehouse that had given up on architectural ambition, which was exactly what it was.

The “lowest prices” slogan wasn’t just marketing.

It was a promise to people like me who had to choose between name-brand cereal and having money left for coffee.

Jared preferred New World, with its shiny aisles and fancy deli section, but Jared also had parents who deposited a generous allowance into his account every fortnight.

His idea of budgeting was deciding whether to buy the premium or ultra-premium multivitamins.

I grabbed a trolley with a wonky wheel (because of course I did) and started working through the list I’d compiled in my head.

Basics first: bread, milk, pasta, whatever vegetables looked least tragic.

The first items I grabbed were bananas and then a bag of carrots for the stirfry I was planning to make later in the week.

The store’s fluorescent lighting made everything look vaguely apocalyptic, and the concrete floors echoed with the sounds of families arguing over bulk toilet paper purchases.

I was loading pasta sauce into my trolley when I heard a woman’s high-pitched laughter coming from the wine and beer section. Looking over, I saw Connor and Jess standing together as they debated the merits of different Sauvignon Blancs like a couple who’d been doing this for years.

What the fuck?

Connor was holding a bottle, reading the label aloud while Jess listened with the kind of focused attention she used to give Jared’s rugby stories. She said something that made him laugh, then reached out to stroke his arm in a way that spoke of more than friendship.

They looked comfortable together. Too comfortable. The kind of comfortable that suggested the incident at our house party the other week may not have been the first time the pair had been up close and personal.

It hadn’t even been five days since Connor had slouched into Brew & Bean looking like a kicked puppy, begging me to patch things up with Jared.

He’d painted himself as the tragic victim of one drunken mistake.

A blowjob that just “happened,” nothing more.

A slip-up that had cost him his best mate and maybe even his rugby career.

And then, as if that wasn’t rock bottom enough, he’d leaned across the counter and offered me his arse if I’d play mediator.

Now here he was, wine shopping with Jess like none of that had ever happened.

I caught myself staring at his arse in those fitted jeans. It was meaty, the only way to describe it. Yeah, on another guy I might have tapped that. But not him. Not Connor. And definitely not while he was smiling at Jess like she was the one and only.

Did she have any clue about her new boyfriend’s extracurricular tastes? Did she know her straight-laced rugby lad liked his women with strap-ons? That under the right circumstances he didn’t mind swapping silicone for the real deal?

And to be clear, there was nothing wrong with that.

I had no business kink shaming anyone—not when I had Jared’s spunk in my stomach more often than actual food.

But with Connor it wasn’t the kink that bothered me.

It was him. The timing. The dishonesty. The way he’d dangled his body like a bargaining chip.

Were he and Jess already a thing when he made that offer? Was he planning to let me rail him in his flat on Monday and then take Jess out for dinner on Tuesday? I hoped not. But I suspected yes.

I wondered if she was still in the dark about his p-spot obsession. I could just picture the conversation: him sprawled on her bed, trying to sound casual. It’s totally straight, babe. Just… you know. Enhanced pleasure techniques.

Watching them now, her arm linked through his like they’d been doing this for months, I felt an unexpected surge of vindication on Jared’s behalf. Maybe cutting them both off hadn’t been an overreaction after all. Maybe it was the only sane response.

I turned my trolley towards the checkout, leaving them to their wine selection and complicated relationship dynamics.

Whatever game they’d been playing, Jared was better off without them.

Say what you wanted about my flatmate (and I certainly had), at least he didn’t go out of his way to hurt people and he was brutally honest about what he wanted: a leggy blonde with perky tits and a penchant for swallowing.

Or a desperate homo to drink it from a cup in the meantime .

By the time I’d loaded everything into my backpack and bungee-corded the extra bags to my bike rack, the dreaded tightness was back in my jeans.

Dash was nowhere around to blame for it this time, and I refused to admit it was because of the cold, clotted cum waiting in Jared’s whisky glass back home.

Unlike Jared, I was apparently shit at being honest about what I wanted.