Page 16 of The Legend Next Door
To quote Phoebe Buffay, he’s “very bendy.” That’s for sure.
When he’s done with all that, he gets on all fours. His breathing is hard but controlled. Even from behind, I can see his ribcage rising and falling at regular intervals. He spreads his legs, shifting them open one at a time, moving his knees out so his stance is just a little wider than his hips, and braces himself on his hands. His pants are tight. Skintight. His body is more muscular than it looks in other clothes. The Lycra stretches over the tightly balled rounds of his ass, pulling slightly at the seam that runs down the middle. I’m not entirely sure if he’s wearing underwear. I can’t tell from here, but the fabric dips into his crack slightly as he moves, so I think probably not. His spine arcs up like a cat getting ready to attack. He holds the position for long enough that I realize I’m holding my breath. When I exhale, he arches his back. Hard. Very hard.
I take a hurried step back and draw the curtain with a loud snap. Then I get into bed.
I’m going to tell him I can see everything he does when he’s home the next time I see him.
11
DearLiz,
Ournewneighborwears yoga pants.
I love you and I miss you.
Love,
Ben
12
Ben Stirling
Iwakewithlightstreaming into my face, an uncomfortable tightness in my pants, and a strong urge to pee. In addition to being hideous and excessive, the curtains in my room aren’t especially effective. There’s a gap in the middle where the blackout is supposed to meet but doesn’t, and it lets light in. It’s woken me every morning since I got here.
I work my way around the room, systematically opening the curtains and ignoring my boner so I can take a leak. It’s one of those no-arousal only-annoyance chubs. Luckily, it will be gone in a minute. That’s how my dick rolls lately.
When the curtains are drawn, I spend long enough looking down at the back yard to realize that, in addition to everything else, I’m going to have to organize a yard service and pool company to come over. On top of that, this boner is proving to be stubborn. I guess it didn’t get the memo about stages of grief or whatever. In addition to the usual tightness, an old, familiar pressure at the base lets me know it’s going nowhere.
I sigh and get into the shower, pouring a healthy amount of conditioner into my right hand and stroking with nothing but an end goal in mind as water cascades around me.
Nut fast so you can pee,I tell myself.
I tighten my grip on my shaft and lengthen my strokes, tugging and twisting slightly when my hand nears the head. The water must be a little hotter than I intended to make it because the heat seeps into me. Into my skin and deeper. I’m warm on the inside, not just on the outside. As I stroke, tendrils of pleasure wake and snake up and down my cock. I brace one hand on the tile and start jerking in earnest. Sensation floods me. Thick pleasure runs in my veins. I close my eyes and let images flash behind my lids.
Lips.
Soft lips.
Light pink.
Soft light-pink lips part.
A hot mouth opens.
It’s warm and wet inside. So warm and wet, I dip my fingers into it. I run my forefinger and middle finger across the tip of a wanting tongue. It flicks up, pressing firmly against the pads of my fingers, trying to entice me. Trying to invite me. Trying to make me stay.
I tease, withdrawing my fingers and groaning as soft light-pink lips turn into a frown.
The frown makes me hotter.
I stroke harder and faster and see myself running a thumb over a plump bottom lip. It’s so lush and full there’s a slight dent in the middle. A tiny line formed by a lifetime of laughter.
Electricity buzzes inside me, zapping from my balls to my cock to my spine to my brain. My cock thickens and my abs and lungs contract. The load I expel leaves me with such force that I cry out, and when it’s over, I find myself slumped against freezing wall tile.
Jesus.
I turn the faucet, giving myself a cool blast to help me recover. It works. Mental clarity hits me immediately.
