Page 30 of Hollyhocks

“When the hell did I do that?” My voice is raspy with sleep and my mind still isn’t clear enough for me to remember how I did that.

I sidestep the broken glass on the floor, stumbling my way into the bathroom. My hand slaps the wall searching for the light switch. Once, twice, finally, I find it and flip it on. I wince from the light.

I close my eyes while I brush my teeth, needing a few more seconds of shut-eye. I don’t bother to rinse my mouth out when I’m done. I’ll do it in the shower.

Some people might find this odd, but I sit down while I use the restroom, so piss doesn’t get everywhere. It’s gross to me. If I stand to do my business, splashes of urine and water go everywhere. Gross.

And I wipe.

Because why would shaking it be enough? I don’t want to walk around with piss dribbling out of my dick. I’d rather just deal with it when I’m going.

Call me crazy, but I rather like that my bathroom and I don’t reek of piss.

Finally, I make my way to the shower. I’m still half asleep and can’t walk in a straight line. Why is waking up so hard? I don’t even see which button I press to turn the shower on, but whatever I hit, it worked. The hot shower spray is instant, and I slip under the spray, closing my eyes to relax and enjoy the warmth.

As the water runs down my body, the dream I had last night comes back to me in pieces.

It was a dream with Holly.

Wild.

I tilt my head back, the water running down my face like tears, and the image of her on top of me in her van has my cock hardening. I readjust my stance, a slight ache in my ass for some reason.

Pausing, I think back to everything I did yesterday, but I can’t think of one thing that would hurt me there.

Maybe I played with myself in my sleep from the wet dream I had. I wouldn’t be surprised. That was the hottest fucking thing that has ever entered my mind. When her tentacles gripped around my cock, milking me, massaging me, I lost it. Her horns felt so good in my hands. Her wings were silky smooth.

And her nipple rings?

“Fucking hell,” I groan.

I have no time to enjoy all these replays. I need to get going. The shop opens in two hours and there’s plenty I have to do.

Snagging my shampoo, which my sister got me, or I wouldn’t use this fancy shit, I squirt it onto my head, then lather. I wash it free, loving how the light coming through the windowreflects the different colors in the grey bubbles. There is almost an iridescent sheen, reminding me of what happens when light meets oil.

Next, I scrub my body.

And that’s when I notice it.

There are thick black lines on my cock, veining out where my pubic hair is, and one of the very tips swirls up and stops at my mid-hip bone.

“What the fuck is that? What is that?” I shout, using my loofah to scrub the spot.

I rinse the bubbles off and it’s still there.

“This is wild. What the fuck happened to me? What is this? Is this a joke?” And then it hits me. “That mother fucker.” I bet he broke into my house in ghost form and played a sick joke with a permanent marker.

I never thought I’d sleep through another man drawing on my dick, which now that I think of it, I know he wouldn’t do. I don’t know another option, though. How did this mark just appear out of nowhere? This wasn’t here yesterday.

I don’t bother washing off the suds from my body. I run out of the shower, water dripping from my body onto the floors. I slip, catching myself on the corner of the vanity.

“This can’t be real. This isn’t real,” I mutter in panic, snagging a towel off the rack.

There is no condensation on the mirror because the bathroom door is open. Only a little at the very top since heat rises.

“Holy fucking shit!” I shout at the top of my lungs, staring at my dick’s reflection.

It’s still there.

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