Page 25 of Taste Test

The house was quiet when I pushed through the front door, grocery bags weighing down my shoulders after the ride home.

Jared was sprawled on the couch in just a pair of high-cut black shorts that rode high on muscular thighs.

His bare feet were propped up on the coffee table, a drink bottle resting on his chest.

“You’re late home,” he said, not bothering to look away from the screen.

“Yeah. I figured it was my turn to buy the groceries.”

“I’ve told you not to worry about that stuff.” He finally glanced over, taking in my loaded bags. “I can foot the bill. My parents transfer way more than I need anyway.”

“I don’t want to be a bludger.”

“You’re not a bludger. You’re my flatmate. Besides, you do most of the cooking and cleaning. I’d say we’re even.”

“Yeah, but it still feels wrong just letting you pay for everything.”

“Then stop thinking about it so much. It’s not a big deal.”

I dropped the grocery bags beside the couch. As he took a sip from his drink bottle, I couldn’t resist sneaking a look at his crotch. The material of his shorts rested against his dick, clearly outlining its contours.

I peeked up to find his perceptive gaze fixed on mine.

“By the way,” he said with a knowing smile, “your dinner’s waiting for you in the kitchen.”

For a split-second I thought he’d cooked again, but the sly grin on his face reminded me the ingredients he’d used had come directly from his balls.

I walked into the kitchen and sure enough, sitting on the bench by the toaster was the whisky tumbler with its rugby ball etching, filled with a generous amount of thick, creamy white liquid.

I picked up the glass. There was definitely more than usual. A lot more.

When I returned to the lounge, I spotted the evidence of his afternoon activities. His laptop was leaning against the leg of the coffee table. A small bottle of personal lubricant lay on its side nearby, cap slightly askew.

“It shouldn’t be too bad,” he said, his gaze locked onto the glass in my hand. “I put the last load in about ten minutes ago.”

“How many loads is this? There’s quite a bit in here.”

“Three loads. I told you I was having a Pornhub marathon.” He reached into a pocket and scratched at his balls, lifting and bouncing the package. “I’ve been at it all afternoon, just for you.”

Just for me. A man I could never fuck or suck had spent an afternoon masturbating for my benefit. I’m sure in some cultures that could be considered romantic. I just wasn’t sure any of those cultures could be found on planet earth.

I held the glass up to the light, studying the contents. It was definitely pure. No water, no other fluids mixed in. Just thick, pure Jared.

I tipped it back and swallowed it down in two greedy gulps. Colder than I would have liked, gluggier too.

When I lowered the glass, Jared was watching me. Not with any piss-take smirk or teasing sneer. Just looking. Like he was pleased to know his essence was part of my diet.

“So,” he said. “How was it?”

“How was what?”

“Don’t be coy. You know exactly what I mean. I want to hear all the juicy details about Dash the Rash.”

“It was good. Yeah. Not bad.”

“Just good?” He took his feet off the coffee table and sat forward. “Come on, Casey. I’m talking about your first proper workplace hookup and all I get is ‘not bad’?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Everything. Size, technique, stamina. Did he make sexy little noises or was he all like ‘yeah, bitch choke on that meat.’”

“Jesus, Jared.”

“What? I’m curious. It’s not every day my flatmate gets his mouth on the local punk princess.” His grin was pure mischief. “Plus I feel personally invested since I’m the one who made it happen.”

“You didn’t make anything happen. I’m the one who did all the work.”

“Didn’t I? Who was it that told him you were a legend with your tongue? Who painted you as some sort of cock-sucking virtuoso?”

“That was you being a wind-up merchant.”

“That was me being a wingman. A bloody good one, apparently. So come on, spill. Is he packing or is he all hair gel and attitude?”

“He’s adequate,” I said. “Nothing spectacular, but nothing to be ashamed of either.”

“How adequate are we talking? Bigger than me?”

“How would I know? I’ve never seen yours.”

“But you want to, right?”

“If I ever find a microscope powerful enough, I’ll let you know.”

He laughed. “Cheeky fucker. Now back to Dash’s dick. How many inches?”

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know? You sucked the guy’s dick.”

“Maybe because my throat doesn’t double as a ruler.”

He laughed again, and I found myself taking another quick look at the outline of his shorts.

“You know what,” Jared said, perking up as he spotted something in the grocery bags, “I’ve got a better idea.” He bent down and rummaged through one of the bags until he pulled out the carrots I’d bought. “Visual aids.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

He tossed the bag at me. “Find me the one that most resembles his dick. I need to know what I’m competing against.”

“You’re not competing against anything, you lunatic.”

“Just pick the fucking carrot, Casey.”

I sighed and opened the bag, feeling like an absolute idiot. Inside were stubby nubs, freakishly long ones, and a few knobbly disasters that looked like they’d been grown in Chernobyl. I sorted through them while Jared watched with gleaming eyes.

Then I found it. Sitting right there in the middle of the bag like the universe had planted it specifically for this moment. Skinny but average length, with that same jaunty upward curve that had made Dash’s cock so distinctive.

“This one,” I said, holding it up. “It’s disturbing how accurate this is.”

Jared took it from me, examining it closely. He turned it over in his hands, testing the weight, the curve. “Hmm. Six point two inches, maybe? The curve looks fun. Bit of a pencil dick though.”

“Since when did you become the cock whisperer?”

“Years of locker room experience. You learn to judge these things.” He held up the carrot like he was appraising fine art. “I’m sure this must have tickled your tonsils a bit, but I can’t imagine you’d be overjoyed getting jabbed in the arse with such a skinny reed.”

“Charming.”

“I’m serious though. You need proper girth if you’re gonna get fucked properly. This thing would be like getting shagged by a chopstick.” He waggled the carrot at me. “No stretch, no burn, no satisfaction. Just poking around like he’s trying to find something he dropped.”

“Anyone would think you want a cock inside you, the way you’re going on about it.”

“Nope. But I’ve been told by more than one woman what they need to feel properly satisfied. And while it’s a different hole, I reckon boy pussy must be the same. Girth matters, mate.”

“Boy pussy? Good lord.”

“What? That’s what it’s called, isn’t it? Sounds better than ‘arsehole.’ Bit classier. Like it’s something you’d serve with wine.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

He manspread his legs, positioning the carrot between his thighs. “Okay,” he said. “Show me what you did to him.”

“Excuse me?”

“Show me how you sucked his cock?”

“No fucking way.” I laughed. “I am not performing fellatio on a fucking vegetable.”

“Please? I’m genuinely curious about your technique.” He hit me with an exaggerated pair of puppy-dog eyes, the sort that would’ve been cute if they weren’t attached to six feet of rugby lad. “ Pwease? ”

“Your puppy-dog eyes aren’t going to work on me, Sutherland.”

“ Pwetty pwease? ” he clasped his hands together like some cartoon orphan.

Somewhere between the second “pwease” and my own eye roll, I found myself moving from the couch to kneeling between his legs.

My palms landed on his knees. Warm, solid

What the fuck are you doing? my brain hissed, even as Jared re-anchored the carrot between his legs, holding it at the base like it was the real thing.

I leaned in, lips parting, and took the carrot between them.

It was cool and smooth, its earthy skin tainting the back of my throat.

I gagged slightly on instinct. Not from depth, but from the sheer absurdity of it.

But then I adjusted, letting my tongue settle against the length, moving slowly. Wetting it.

“Yeah, just like that,” he said, fingers sliding into my hair. “Suck that cock. Show daddy how good you are.”

I nearly choked from laughing. Daddy? I sure as shit hoped he never called himself that during actual sex. But then his grip tightened in my hair, guiding my movements, and suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore. The absurdity melted away, replaced by something darker and hungrier.

Saliva gathered at the corners of my mouth, spilling slightly as I pushed forward again.

The carrot bumped the back of my throat and I fought the reflex, backing off slowly, dragging my tongue along the underside.

It didn’t taste like skin. It didn’t pulse or twitch.

But in that moment, with the weight of Jared’s legs bracketing me, the carrot may as well have been his cock.

Without thinking, my fingers slid down from his knees, tracing the slope of his shins until they reached his bare ankles and the broad tops of his feet. I wrapped my fingers around to cup the soles, squeezing gently, and he curled his toes in response. Skin on skin. A touch, an embrace.

“You’d suck this dick all day if you could,” he said. “Wouldn’t you, slut?”

I couldn’t even nod. Just moaned, lips sealed around the slick, ridged shape in my throat. His toes curled again, digging into my palms.

“Thatta boy,” he said. “Now get those balls too. I like boys who suck my balls clean.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied, unsure why I called him that.

Reluctantly, I let go of his feet, palms sliding back up over the hard line of his shins, over the flex of his hairy calves, down the smooth planes of his inner thighs.

One hand wrapped around the carrot, stroking it slowly.

The other planted itself on his hip, feeling the muscle shift under warm skin.