Page 18 of Beau Pair
And with the stupid boner hardening in my underwear.
* * *
Class goes very similarlyto the first day. With me going through every possible sexual scenario and missing the entire point of the lecture.
This is bad.
The whole purpose of taking this class is to get my finances in order and become a responsible adult like I hear about on the news.
It’s not so I can get a painful boner every Monday morning, that I can do very little about.
I end up having to run to the bathroom so I can take care of it before I can function as a normal human being again.
There’s got to be a solution to my problem. A solution that doesn’t involve fucking the fantasy away with the real man. That is out of the question. Maybe I need to reinstall Cinderfella on my phone and find eligible daddies in the area to take care of me and my naughty little thoughts.
I pick Elsie up after eleven and we take the bus home, which is easier said than done considering the connection to the suburbs where we live. I might have to ask Zoe to borrow her car more often. When we finally get home, I’m starving, and Elsie is grumpy as hell. Probably for the same reason.
Whatever it is, I take her to the kitchen, open up the fridge, and ask her to help me decide what she wants to eat. Since I still don’t know much of her routine and her likes and dislikes, I’m willing to experiment. Eventually, we’ll find our own rhythm, but until then, experimentation is my only friend.
Thankfully, Gordon has also written a few important bits out. Like the fact that she has no known allergies, so I’m not gonna kill the kid if I give her nuts for a snack. The piece of paper also says she hates meat, but she still points to the ham and the mayo, and I make her a sandwich cut in squares and let her find out just how vegetarian she is.
For myself, I make carbonara while Elsie dissects her food into molecules before she even attempts to swallow anything, but by the time I sit down with her to eat my food, she’s eaten half the sandwich, so I guess she doesn’t completely dislike meat.
She even wants to taste my carbonara, so I put some in a bowl for her and let her use her hands to taste it.
I should be intimidated and, in a way, I am because I know nothing about Elsie or Gordon or how they co-exist, but at the same time I’m loving the challenge of making another toddler fall in love with me.
Elsie also loves carbonara, it turns out, even if she makes a mess of her clothes, her chair, the table, and the floor. Once we clean up the mess, wash our hands, and change into comfier clothes, I put Elsie in her playpen, which is full of cushions and stuffed toys, put some music on in the background, and soon, she falls asleep.
Once I’m sure she’s fast asleep, I get up and wash the dishes, put the rest of my food in the fridge, and go up to my room to grab some of my sketchbooks. I’ve been itching to design a suit for Gordon since I mentioned it this morning, which is peculiar. I haven’t managed to draw a single thing in eight weeks and, all of a sudden, a mere suggestion gets my creative juices flowing? What’s that all about?
My gaze lands on my laundry bag when I scan the room for my sketchbook and pencils, and it’s in desperate need of unloading. So I grab the bag, find what I originally came in my room for, and carry everything downstairs.
I quickly check on Elsie, but she’s snoring now. I estimate I’ve got about another hour of peace before she wakes up, so I waste no time. I take the laundry bag in the utility room and load up the washing machine. Then I look for the detergent, and as I do, I find another laundry basket also full of clothes. Only these are Gordon’s clothes.
Right at the very top is a pair of black boxer briefs and the pajamas he’d been wearing this morning.
Was that the underwear he’d been wearing underneath? The ones he’d slept in, sweated on, and—maybe—came on?
I bite my lower lip at the thought of Gordon in his bed rubbing one out before getting out of bed. What does he look like when he does it? Who does he think about? Is he quick? Or does he make it a more elaborate affair? What does his orgasm face look like?
Before I can reason with myself, I snatch the boxers and take a sniff.
My dick responds instantaneously to the musky scent that coats the fabric. I press it right up to my nose and inhale, and I don’t even need to fantasize about the man that was wearing them or his dick, or the rest of his body for that matter, because his natural scent is enough to nearly make me come.
I stumble backward and lean against the washing machine.
I shouldn’t be doing this. This is wrong.
But fuck if it doesn’t feel so right.
I unzip my jeans and take hold of my cock, which is rock hard.
The more I smell, the more I lose my senses, pounding my hardness fast and hungrily, needing,craving, the release.
This stuff is intoxicating. The smell of his underwear. The thought of me hiding out in the utility room, pleasuring myself, while Gordon could be outside the room going about his day completely unaware of what I am doing.
I rub and twist my length, the need crawling up to my neck and down to my stomach equally.
