Page 14 of Shameless Game

From his second-story bedroom, where we’re supposed to be playing Madden NFL on Beau’s Xbox, we were lured to the window by giggles and titties bouncing around his backyard pool.

I practically live with his family, in Beau’s bedroom, on his top bunk.

It’s not that I don’t love my mom; she’s just never home. She works a lot, and I understand, but I get lonely. It’s just the two of us, and we can’t afford an Xbox or a pool or the steaks Beau’s dad buys us, too. He says he’s beefing us up for Bama.

My mom’s relieved I have Beau’s family, too. Hell, our moms are best friends.

“Come on, dude. It’s time.” I watch Beau, not the girls, while he’s peeping from his window. “Since Hannah cheated on you, you haven’t been laid, and I’m tired of hearing you fuck Kleenex all night.”

“Whatever, man,” Beau huffs. “You fuck Puffs with lotion, and I ain’t judging.”

“I keep telling you Kleenex is sandpaper. But Puffs with lotion is very gentle and soothing, just like a nice tight wet pussy.”

Beau starts laughing. “Yeah, but not Puffs with Vicks vapor rub. You were fucking a tight ring of fire.”

“Damn, dude. I didn’t know that tissue box had Vicks on it,” I groan. “Today, my dick finally stopped burning.”

“My mom bought ‘em with Vicks because she thinks you have a cold.”

“She thinks we have a cold. We’ve gone through three fucking boxes of tissues this week.”

Damn, the truth stirs my dick. When I glance down at Beau’s, waking in his matching khaki cargos, it only makes mine worse.

He can’t see me watching him. He’s watching Piper, and I’ll never tell him how hearing him jerk off on his bottom bunk while I lie on his top bunk drives me insane. I crave it every night. Beau’s muffled grunts and stifled moans and bed springs barely squeaking make me hard as hell.

He didn’t even care if I heard him the first time.

Did he want me to?

So I joined him.

I heard that subtle, seductive, fabbing sound. It was his fist, pumping his coming tip while he grunted with his orgasm, and I started jerking off to his sounds. I swear he could hear me jerking off, too. I didn’t hide it.

I made sure the mattress squeaked to my thrusting hips. I made sure he heard my moans and grunts. I wanted him to know I was thinking about his hard dick, his creamy cum squirting over his fist. I imagined that he was coming for me.

I think he was.

It had him jerking off again minutes later and not being so quiet about it, either. So I turned over and started fucking my mattress, rubbing my aching dick on it like he was under me, my bed creaking even louder. It only made him louder, too, like he felt me on top of him. We moaned and thrust and muttered, “Fuck yeah,” fucking in our imagination until we were muffling our grunts, coming together.

We’ve been doing it this whole week. Three, sometimes four times a night, we come for each other. We’re not getting much sleep and say nothing in the morning. The only evidence?

A pile of used tissues on the floor beside his bunk bed.

Maybe it’s normal.

Maybe it’s not.

But it’s real.

Beau Bronson has been my best friend since we were the only two sophomores playing varsity football for our high school. My mom gave up her dream job, her yoga studio, to move to the city with the best football school in the state, while Beau’s family already lived here.

And from the day I puked during our first practice on the field, and Beau passed me a berry Gatorade, he’s been my friend.

My best friend.

I’m the wide receiver and Beau’s the quarterback. If he throws it, I catch it. I can run, close my eyes, open my hands, and just sense him.

Every. Damn. Time.

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