Page 7 of Beautifully Devoted

“Cruz must’ve been pounding his prostate.” Cam shrugs like that’s the obvious solution. Except it’s not obvious. Not to me.

“Hitting your prostate does that? For real?” I’ve heard of that, of course. I just never thought it was a thing.

“Are you telling me with as much sex as you have you didn’t know that?”

“Why would I? Girls don’t have them.”

“You do.”

“Yeah but, it’s in my butt. It’s not like I can just shove my own finger up there while railing someone’s daughter, can I? I’m not even sure I’d want to.”

“Even if it would make you bust a nut untouched?”

Okay, when he puts it that way… I mean, I’ve never considered putting anything up my ass, even my own digits, but if there’s something back there that feels so good it can make you shoot off on its own, no other activities necessary… That might be worth exploring. But how?

Is this a between the legs and reach underneath situation, or do you go under a leg and between the cheeks? I suppose I might be able to twist and arch backward or something… And how far do you have to go before you find that golden spot? Do you make a come hither motion like you do with women, or is there a different gesture?

“Are you gonna finish this smoothie thing, or are you going down a different rabbit hole?” Cam’s wearing a wry smirk since he already knows the answer.

I just learned my dick can do something I’ve never tried before, of course I’ve gotta follow that thread.

“A different one.” I wander to the couch and flop down on the cushion, kicking my feet on the coffee table as I try to remember where I left off.

I feel bad walking away from the smoothie thing, but I know I won’t be able to concentrate on it right now. After what I witnessed and the revelation it inspired, it’s all I can think about. Not because I’m obsessed with sex, but because I’m wondering if something like this could make it interesting again.

I’ve had a complicated relationship with sex for as long as I can remember. My dad used it as a way to coast through life, letting women treat him to everything from meals to clothes to—I suspect—getaways when he was supposed to be camping. Considering he was married to my mom during all this, I swore never to follow his example, and for a while, I avoided sex altogether as if it, not him, were the culprit for his bad behavior.

But I had the same urges as any other teenage boy, and when I finally gave into them, I discovered I love sex. I had it as often as I could, and since I inherited my dad’s good looks, it was never hard to find. I figured as long as I wasn’t trying to get special favors like he did then I was better than him, and to an extent I still believe that’s true.

In my head, anyway. My body seems to have missed the memo, or maybe changed its mind.

Over the past few months, I haven’t been enjoying sex the way I used to. That hasn’t stopped me from having it, obviously, but it doesn’t give me the same thrill it once did, and I have no idea why. Is it the women? Is it me? And if it’s me, which head is the root of the problem?

That’s why this new development is so intriguing. Liam looked like he was in fucking heaven, and if a little prostate tickle can make that happen, maybe I should be considering it.

Sometime later, when I’d started to veer toward a disturbing direction involving toys, the cushion next to me shifts as Cam takes a seat and turns on a video game. As he tries, once again, to beat Madden at his own game, my mind alternates between some of my favorite memories on the field, and whether trying to find my prostate would have a negative impact on my ability to run as fast as I do.

Seriously, what are the side effects of playing around back there?

The shrill ping of a text coming through my phone halts that train of thought—to be continued, I guess—but when I go to pull it out of my pocket it’s not there.

“Have you seen my phone?” I ask Cam.

“Side table,” he says without looking, and when I sit up enough to see around him, I spot it right where he said it’d be.

“Pass it over, will you?”

“Busy.” His arms twist like he’s driving a car, as if moving the controller will somehow make him better at pushing the buttons on it.

“Just pause for a second and hand it to me.”

“Wait for me to finish this level.”

“Ugh, never mind.” I lean over his lap, forcing him to raise his arms so they’re still free to drive the controller, and collapse on top of him as I stretch for my phone.

“Dude, you’re blocking my view.”

I ignore him and check the screen, groaning when I see the message. “Did I give that girl Anna my number last night?” I scoot back and roll over, using his thigh as a pillow as I read the message again.

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