Page 66 of The Idiot

I should probably quit staring at his mouth, but I can’t stop thinking about what he did with it earlier. Sucking on my neck, nipping at my ear, mouthing my cheek. He kept himself in check the entire time we double-jerked, while all I could imagine was what that mouth would feel like on mine. That’s weird, right?

We both know how to kiss. It’s not like I need to explore kissing. Plus, if he wanted to kiss me, he would have, wouldn’t he?

I’m kind of glad he didn’t after the way I moaned my head off this morning. If he kissed me, I might hate it and not be able to enjoy the other stuff anymore.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to do some shopping?”

“Huh?”

“You said you wanted to buy some new swim trunks, remember?”

Stepping back, I try to adjust myself casually. “Oh. Yeah. Mine look kind of bummy compared to what I’ve seen some of these guys in at the pool.”

“Who are you trying to impress?” he challenges, cocking a brow.

For some reason, I want to think it’s jealousy, but I know he’s just giving me shit. Why should I be happy about him being jealous? “Myself,” I insist, sauntering off.

I get far enough away from his body heat and scent that I can think about something other than how horny I am. Are awakenings supposed to make you rabid with lust? I don’t know if my body can even produce enough jizz for how many times I still want to get off.

Once the other night. Twice this morning. I should probably start drinking vitamin water.

I recognize a few guys from the cruise by the swimming apparel racks. They smile at me and head to the checkout. Swooping in like a fashion spy, I quickly find my size in each style they selected, then I scurry to the changing booth.

I don’t know why, but I feel like a new person, or at least a newer version of me. Jesse two-point-oh. It feels like I should try new things, open myself up to new possibilities. Like, I’ve never eaten Brussels sprouts because most people say they’re gross, but what if I like Brussels sprouts and just never knew it?

The giddy tingling in my body ever since I discovered Murph’s wall dildo hasn’t subsided. I don’t want it to either. I feel… alive.

Damn. These are kind of snug. Are they supposed to be this snug?

Cracking open the door to the dressing room, I locate Murph and wave him over. “Psst. Murph! Come here. I need your help.”

Frowning, he ambles through the racks to my stall. Why is his frowny face so hot? I really need to stop thinking about how I could change that expression with some of the skills he showed me.

“What?” he asks, scanning my face and my bare chest.

“Do these look okay?” When I’m sure no one’s nearby, I open the door wider to give him the full reveal.

His expression is inscrutable as his eyes travel down my body and stop on the tight redSpeedo. Mouth agape, his lids hood. I swear, every muscle in his face just went slack. Is he having a stroke? We did get a lot of sun today, walking on the beach.

“Murph? You alright?”

Someone lets out a laugh, deeper in the store, which seems to pull him out of his stupor. His palm goes to my chest, forcing me backward into the changing booth.

“You can’t buy those,” he blurts, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Why not? Do I look bad in this color?”

Blinking at me, he almost appears drugged. His unfocused mask vanishes, though, and he frowns.

“No, but I can see your dick,” he whispers.

Peering down, I agree to an extent. I can make out the outline of my tip, hugged against my balls by the constricting fabric, but I take offense to the way he said it like he was scolding me. He makes it sound like I’m flashing him. I saw plenty of guys in these on the cruise ship.

“So what? We’re dudes. You can see our dicks in everything. It’s kind of unavoidable.”

It’s true. A few days ago, all I acknowledged was the general region of a guy’s fly, but now, I’m hyperaware, like Murph’s lessons granted me heightened vision.

This morning at breakfast, I could see the imprint of his cockhead through his shorts when he sat down. When we walked on the beach, I caught the shape of his shaft each time he crouched to collect a shell.

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