Page 9 of The Masks We Wear
Jackpot.
He leans back against the wall, and I grin victoriously to myself. When I undo his trousers and bring them down along with his briefs, that perfect rod of flesh springs into view. Not wanting to lose the moment, I dive right in.
Kitty Cat’s cock fits perfectly in my mouth, and I’m able to take him all the way down with little discomfort. His saltiness fills my tastebuds, rendering me harder than before. My hands find their way down to my cock, still wet from his mouth, and I stroke in sync with my sucking him. I’m afraid my rhythm is too little or too much, but considering all the expletives I’m hearing above, I must be doing a good job.
“Oh shit…Superhero…oh shit…” He threads his hands through my hair, and hearing his strangled gasps has me nearly blind with pleasure. I haven’t even been sucking him for two minutes, and already, we’re both on this delicious edge. I speed up my suctioning and jerk even faster. Kitty Cat’s hips start to quiver, and I know he’s right there. He’s at that perfect precipice, and I want to push him over into his climax.
“Superhero…I’m coming ahhh…” Hearing his words lights a powder keg in every cell of my body. We climax in exact harmony, and it’s a perfection I’ve never known. My mouth is filled with his hot fluids just as I unleash myself onto the floor. My eyes roll back in ecstasy—I’ve never had a simultaneous orgasm before.
Fuck. This was next level.
The next few seconds are a blur as he helps me stand and we pull our pants up. “Watch your step,” I say. “I made a mess on the floor.”
We share a laugh and move back out into the hallway. “That poor janitor,” he says.
“It’ll be dry by the morning. Besides, yer just as much to blame as me, darlin’.” We share a smile and walk down the stairs. The sound of the party is still bumping, but fortunately, no one is around this part of the building.
When we make it to the emergency exit, we pause. “So uh…” we both say at the same time. I scratch my head and look away as we both share an awkward laugh.
“Was that weird?” Kitty Cat asks.
“No,” I say. “I liked it.”
“So did I,” he says. “Senior year shenanigans, am I right?”
“Exactly. One final Halloween,” I reply.
One single lightbulb illuminates this part of the hallway, and I try to memorize his features. My fingers itch to take off his mask, or hell, even mine. But no, this was the unspoken part of the deal.
After a few more seconds, my heart can’t take the silence. “I don’t regret meetin’ you, Kitty Cat.”
His eyes dart to mine, and his face glows with longing. “I don’t regret meeting you either, Superhero.”
“I’m glad to hear that, darlin’.”
“But I guess…” He bites his lip and looks down. “I just wish I could hold onto a memory. Make this feel real. I know…the anonymity is the appeal, but…”
I frown, not wanting to see him so disappointed. Mustering up whatever courage I can, I lean in and kiss him on the cheek. I then make my way past him, opening up the solid metal door. With one foot out in the cold, I turn back to him.
“Yer as real to me as I am to you, Kitty Cat.” I pull off the plastic Green Lantern ring from my finger and hold it out in front of him. When he opens his hand, I drop the toy into his palm. “A little somethin’…so you can remember Superhero.”
Before he can say another word, I make my way out to the sidewalk, letting the door slam shut. The real world is waiting for both of us, and the memories of two perfect Halloweens will just have to stay that way—as memories.
PART 5: JAMAL
[MARCH, SENIOR YEAR]
Dozens of my new friends dance around in circles on the gymnasium floor. We’re all wearing sweats and casual clothes, and our footwear is a mixture of sneakers, just socks, and fancy dancing shoes. Today is yet another practice day for us, the ballroom dance team, gearing up for our competition in three weeks. How I got so invested in this team in the two semesters I’ve been on it, I’ll never know. Well, actually, it may have something to do with a certain elusive dancer who’s rocked my world the last two Halloweens. But he’s not even here.
I should be focusing on graduation, but instead, I’m coordinating the logistics of our university competition. Volunteering to be this year’s Competition Coordinator seemed like the perfect way to distract me from the dread of going to med school. Instead, I’m basically a handler for a slew of dancing undergrads.
This team has quickly become a group of some of my best friends. Only one of them has gotten on my nerves, and I spy him waltzing—literally—in the center of the gym floor. He’s dancing with my friend, Serena, with their arms perfectly locked upward in the appropriate frame. I know we’re all practicing, but I have a bone to pick with him.
I charge right up to him. “Jung, we need to talk.”
“Can’t,” he replies, not even bothering to stop dancing. He slowly floats around me with Serena in his arms. “We’re practicing our waltz stamina.”
“But Jung—”
