Page 39 of Taste Test

Jared let out a low whistle, stepping back slightly. “Jesus, Casey. You’re lucky I’m not a sadistic bastard.”

“Why?”

“Because if I was, I’d have you barking and drinking my piss out of a dog bowl by now. You’d do it, wouldn’t you?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.

“I had no idea you were this submissive,” he said.

“I’m not normally.”

“What do you mean, not normally? So you’re usually a dom?”

“No, I’m just... me. I like to fuck. I’m a top.” I rubbed my face, feeling like an idiot for having to spell this out. “I’ve been fucked before, yeah, but I’ve never done any of that kinky collar-and-leash shit. That’s not who I am.”

“Then why are you agreeing to all this degrading stuff?”

“Because that’s what you do when you want someone so badly you think it’s the only way they’ll have you,” I said, the words coming out raw and honest. “You become whatever you think they want. Even if it is just to be a joke for them.”

“Casey, I don’t think you’re a joke.”

“I am a joke though. I’m the pathetic gay cliché who couldn’t help himself from lusting after his hot straight flatmate.”

“Don’t call yourself pathetic.”

“But it’s true,” I said, a bitter laugh catching in my throat. “I literally just offered to wear a collar and bark for you. How is that not pathetic?”

“That doesn’t make you pathetic. That just makes you....” He paused, studying my face. “Did you ever stop and think I’d rather you just be yourself around me?”

“Be myself?”

“Yeah. The real you. Not this submissive version you think I want.”

“Trust me, you don’t want me being my real sexual self around you.”

“Why not?”

“Because the real me wants to kiss you for hours, then fuck you in every room of this house. I want to bend you over the kitchen counter while you’re making your protein shakes, pin you against the shower wall and rail you until your legs give out.

Fuck you on this table, on the couch, in your bed until you can’t sit down properly.

I want to see you walking funny to rugby practice because you’re still feeling me from the night before.

I want to pump you so full of my cum you’ll be leaking for days.

I want it running down your thighs when you’re pulling your socks on, still dripping out of you when you’re on the field, a secret reminder you’re mine and that every drop belongs inside of you.

” I took a shaky breath, dizzy from the truth of it. “Is that what you want to hear?”

Jared went very still and I wondered if I’d finally gone too far, finally said something that would send him running. Then a cheeky grin spread across his face.

“Wow... You’ve really given that some thought.”

“Yes. Mock away. It’s fine. I think I’m past the point of recovering from embarrassment. What’s a little more? Hell, with any luck I might spontaneously combust and be put out of my misery.”

“I’m not mocking you.”

“Right. Because that grin on your face screams ‘taking this seriously.’”

“Maybe I’m grinning because I’m flattered.”

“Flattered?” I let out a bitter laugh. “Most straight guys would be running for the hills right about now.”

“Good thing I’m not most guys then.”

Something in his tone made me look at him more carefully. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Would you feel less embarrassed if I made a confession of my own?”

“Unless you’re about to confess you dress up in your mother’s clothes or have a hankering to fuck farm animals, I can’t see how anything you say will lessen my embarrassment.”

“Jesus, your mind goes to some dark places.” He laughed, shaking his head. “No cross-dressing or bestiality involved.”

“Then what?”

“You know how I told you I’m bi for feet?”

“Are you about to tell me you’re also bi for hands?” I rolled my eyes. “Because I have to say, that’s not the earth-shattering revelation you think it is.”

“Not hands.”

“Elbows? Knees? Don’t keep me in suspense here.”

“Well... maybe I’m just bisexual for everything about a guy. Dick, arse, mouth, the whole package. ” Jared licked his lips, reaching to scratch the back of his neck. “I’ve been having very ungentlemanly thoughts about other guys for years.”

“Is this a joke?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

I studied his face, looking for any sign of deception. His cheeks were pinking, his jaw tight with what looked like genuine nervousness. But I still wasn’t ready to believe that Mr No Homo himself had a thing for guys.

“Prove it,” I said.

“You want proof?”

“Yeah. I want receipts. Evidence. A signed affidavit from your dick.”

He snorted. “I don’t think I can supply anything like that, mate, but there may be something else I can show you.”

“Like what?”

He reached over and grabbed the calendar off the wall, flipping through the pages with purpose. He stopped at December and held it up. The photo showed a dark-haired rugby player in tiny red briefs, clearly meant to be festive. “See this guy? That’s Carl. Mr December?”

“Okay... and?”

“Look at his crotch.” Jared pointed to the model’s bulge, and I could see the image was faded and slightly blurred in that specific spot. “Those marks are from me licking the bloody thing. Multiple times.”

I stared at him, then at the calendar, then back at him. “You’ve been... tonguing your teammate’s printed bulge?”

“Not just tonguing. Full-on making out with it. Snogging the poor bastard’s paper cock like some sort of lunatic.” His grin was equal parts sheepish and proud. “Turns out glossy paper doesn’t hold up well to enthusiastic tongue action.”

“Tell me about it,” I said. “Your October arse shot in the calendar in my drawer is looking a bit worse for wear.”

“Ha! See, we’re both perverts then. Perfect match.” He looked at Mr December again. “But seriously, look at poor Carl’s abs. I’ve practically licked the ink off.”

While Jared stared at Carl’s picture, I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that my pussy-mad flatmate had just come out to me as a lover of cock.

“Do you check out your teammates in the showers?” The question came out snottier than I intended.

“Just Carl,” he said. “And only when he’s not looking.”

“Have you made a move on him yet?”

“Hell no. Carl’s straight as an arrow.”

“But if anyone could turn a guy, it’d be you.”

He shook his head. “Nah. Like, he’s hot and all but he’s not really my type. Not my ideal type anyway.”

“What’s your ideal type? And don’t you dare say a guy with a sense of humour. That’s a cop out.”

“A sense of humour is important though. But if I was gonna go with a bloke, I’d want him to have a bigger dick than Carl’s. Don’t get me wrong, but what I’ve seen in the changing rooms is a bit disappointing.”

“Oh lord. I’m living with a size queen.”

“I’m not a size queen. I just want something bigger than a cocktail sausage for my first time. If I’m crossing over, I may as well get my money’s worth.”

“So you’ve never been with a guy then? Like, properly?”

“Define ‘properly.’”

“You know what I mean.”

“Well... aside from the toe thing with Kieran, and maybe a couple drunk kisses playing truth or dare, my same-sex experimentation is pretty limited to what you and me did this morning.”

“How come? You could have any guy you want.”

“I know,” he said without arrogance. “But it’s a bit scary making that jump, isn’t it? The moment I suck a dick, I’m a cocksucker for life.”

“You do realise you’re not required to get it tattooed across your chest.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“You’re acting like it’s some irreversible transformation. Like you’ll wake up with glitter in your veins and a sudden urge to redecorate.”

He laughed. “Exactly. One blowjob and boom! I’m hosting Drag Race viewing parties and crying during Adele songs.”

“You already cry during Adele songs.”

“Only the live versions. That woman bleeds.” Then, as if he needed to remind himself what we were discussing, he gave his dick a scratch through his jeans.

“But seriously, the whole sucking a dick thing still feels like crossing a line. What if I’m shit at it?

What if I gag and puke? What if I accidentally bite someone’s knob off? ”

“You’ve had your dick sucked before. You know what feels good.”

“Giving one’s different though. It’s like... I know what a good steak tastes like, but that doesn’t mean I can cook one.”

“If you can lick a calendar to death, you can handle the real thing.”

“Yeah, maybe. ” He put the calendar down on the bench then sat down across from me at the table. “Anyway, you haven’t let me tell you what my ideal type of guy is yet.”

Oh great . I really didn’t want to hear this; didn’t want to know if Jared was into older bears or muscle gods or whatever impossible standard I could never meet.

But he looked so eager to finally talk about this openly, probably the first time he’d felt safe enough to share these thoughts with anyone.

“Go on then,” I said, forcing encouragement into my voice. “What’s your type?”

“Right, so first off, someone smart. Like, properly intelligent, not just rugby smart. Someone who reads actual books and knows about things I’ve never heard of. Someone who can make me feel like a thick cunt just by using words with more than two syllables.”

I nodded, already picturing some pretentious academic type with wire-rimmed glasses.

“Dark hair,” he continued, his voice getting softer. “Pale skin that goes pink when he’s embarrassed. Maybe a bit shorter than me, but not too short. Lean build, like a runner’s body, and some very sexy hairy legs I love perving at on the rare occasions he wears shorts.”

My heart started doing somersaults, but I quashed the excitement. Plenty of guys fit that description.

“Someone who’s got this way of rolling his eyes that’s half annoyed, half fond.

Who makes terrible coffee but pretends mine is worse.

Who laughs at my stupid jokes even when they’re not funny.

” He was looking directly at me now. “Someone who smells like home and clean linen, something that makes me want to bury my face in his neck and just breathe him in.”