Page 32 of Grave Misgivings
But I don’t think anyone was more shocked about my departure than my mom.
I love my parents, I really do, but I needed to leave the nest in more ways than one, and if I told them Iwanted to leave, they would have just found a way to stop it from happening. So,I didn’t tell them I was leaving until I was on my way to the airport. I have worked pretty hard to avoid going back to Arizona until now, but Casualty chose the cities for this tour, not me.
My gaze catches the call below my missed call from my sister. Three little letters call out to me, and I bite my lip as I debate whether or not to avoid my sister altogether and callhiminstead.
Then I notice the call log time. Twelve thirty.
I blink, knowing I was definitely asleep before eleven.
I know I didn’t hang up, but... why didn’t he?
Maybe he fell asleep and hung up after he woke up. Yeah, I’m sure that’s what happened.
My memory slides back to our conversation last night.
His smooth, warm voice, his rhythmic, deep breaths.
I sigh, feeling the weight of my cock in my briefs as it twitches, needing attention.
Is this the beginning of my creepy, perverted old man era?
Do you just turn forty and your dick and your brain become separate entities?
Or is this because my dick is having an existential crisis of his own?
I slide my briefs down, knowing it’s probably just better to take care of things now, otherwise I’ll just be thinking about it for the rest of day, worried I’ll pop a fucking boner at the wrong time in the wrong place.
I settle into my sheets, getting comfortable. One of the perks of being alone is that at least I can be comfortable here, because it’s my home.
It took me awhile to get comfortable with masturbating in general, because I was led to believe self-pleasure was, well, wrong.
Once my mom caught me when I was fourteen, and she freaked the fuck out.
After, my dad sat me down for a “talk”, and I learned pretty quickly that what felt natural to me, wasn’t something I was supposed to enjoy. Sex was for marriage and procreating, end of story.
It wasn’t until I moved to LA and moved in with Mateo, that I realized how fucked up it was that my parents had effectively fucked up my adolescence by shaming me instead of educating me, all because they wanted me to uphold their noble Christian values at home and in front of the public.
Ever since then, I’ve made it a point to do it when I feel like I need to, and I try not to feel guilty about it, which is why I usually try to notthinkabout anything.
But lately, I can’t seem to clear my mind the way I used to. Instead, I find my mind wandering to thoughts of deep, steady breaths that make my cockthrob.
I don’t want to think about him, not like this. It feels wrong, but...
It also feels really fucking good.
I lean my head back against my headboard, pumping my cock as my wetness spreads.
It’s just fantasy, it doesn’t mean anything.
It’s completely normal to think sexy thoughts when you touch yourself, Geo.
One hundred percent, completely normal.
Except, usually when thoughts make their way into my confused brain, I don’t think about my ex-best friend in any capacity.
But it’s like ever since the other night, since I heard his voice for the first time in ten years, it’s poisoned me.
I try to shift my thoughts to something else.
