Page 37 of The Guy Next Door

“It’s something I got online. I was…I don’t even know.”

“Sorry, I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that a straight guy would be into this. I know some guys are into pegging. Still, this was not what I was expecting to see.”

God, my face must be red right now.

As he places the postcard back in the trash, I say, “It’s something I’ve been thinking about. I’ve never done anything back there before, and I was playing with my fingers, and…it seems too tight to really do much of anything. I mean, I know you can get something in there and have heard things about the prostate feeling amazing, so just thought I might try to get something to warm me up.”

I’ve said too much, but even more, it’s clear by the way it came spilling out that it’s something I wanted to share.

With him.

“Anyway, as I said, something I’ve been thinking about recently.”

“How recently?”

Fuck.

Don’t answer that. Don’t fucking answer that.

“Just a weird thought, and I’m in my early twenties; I’m supposed to be experimenting with that kind of stuff, right?”

I expect a chuckle or something, but he’s staring at me with that determined expression. God, it’s fucking sexy.

Silence stretches between us. We’re good at awkward silences.

I don’t even know what to do now, but he finally shakes his head and says, “I feel like saying something cheesy about how you don’t need one of these when you have a guy who’s perfectly willing to help you.” He doesn’t make eye contact when he says it.

“Yeah, that would be cheesy.”

“Yeah…” He looks away.

But I could tell, even as he made the comment, it wasn’t a joke. And I wouldn’t have wanted it to be a joke.

“So, Zane…why don’t you just tell me what you really want to do?” My words come out like I can’t hold them in, like they’re telling on some secret desire that lingers within me that I haven’tquite come to terms with. Judging by the way his eyes widen, they clearly surprise him too.

“Wh—what?”

“Why make a joke out of it like that when you obviously want something?”

Maybe I want it too.

What the fuck am I thinking?

Although, I don’t know that thinking has much to do with any of this.

This is primal.

I didn’t consider this when I brought him to my bedroom, but now that he’s here, something curious within me wants to get to the bottom of what I’ve been thinking about since our chat.

Get to the bottom. Fucking apt.

“What do you actually want?” I ask, like I’m demanding a confession.

He flinches, then studies me for a moment, as if he’s considering the consequences of what he wants to say.

“Stop thinking about it, Zane. Just say it.”

We’ve already seen so much of each other—when we shared that shit about our mental health. That was a hell of a lot harder to share than what I want now.

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