Page 88 of The Legend Next Door
“What do you want then?”
“I want the same thing you want, Luddy. The same thing we all want.”
We look at each other for a beat and then say, “One more good game,” in unison.
43
Ben Stirling
Jeremiah’shouseisadiscordance of color. Dark shadows, moody hues. I keep meaning to ask him about the light settings, but I get so goddamn distracted when I’m around him that I keep forgetting to mention it. Tonight, the kitchen glows green, the living room blue, and his bedroom purple-pink. It looks pretty and alluring, like an invitation. A summons. A request for my presence.
Jeremiah is out of sight, his bathroom door shut. He’s doing what he does to get ready for me, and tonight, the waiting isn’t easy. It was trickier to leave the barbeque undetected than I thought it would be, and as a result, I’ve been wanting Jeremiah so hard and for so long that I can’t remember a time I didn’t.
I check my screen again, willing a message to pop up with such intensity that when it actually happens, I almost drop my phone in shock.
Just jumping in the shower. Be there in five.
Can I watch?
He replies with a laughing emoji.
I’m serious.
I want to watch you
I want to see you play with your toy.
Oh
Okay
He punctuates the message with the saluting emoji, and let me tell you, that little thing is starting to affect me the same way it does when he calls me by my full name.
I leave my post at the window and move full speed down the stairs and out the front door.
The path to Jeremiah’s house is dark, but the moon lights my way. It’s eerily quiet, with no hint of movement or life, as I slide open the glass door that leads to his living room. The TV is off, and there’s no music playing. There’s no street noise to be heard, no hum of electricity, only the faint sound of water running.
My pulse spikes as I pad through a forest of books and weave past a coffee table and sofa. I feel like an intruder, trespassing in a space that feels very different at ground level to the one I’ve spent hours and hours viewing from my bedroom window.
His room is dark, still quiet, though the sound of the water is notably louder. His bathroom door is still closed. A smooth expanse of American oak separates me from what I want. I test the handle, pressing it down in gradual increments so it doesn’t make a sound.
It gives without so much as a creak.
There’s a vanity to my right and a frameless glass shower cubicle directly in front of me. An expanse of white tile is softened by a thick cloud of steam. Jeremiah stands naked before me, a vision of muscle and skin. His head is tilted back slightly to stop water from running into his face. His hair is swept back, glossy and dark. Eyelashes dripping wet. His shoulders raise slightly when he sees me and a smile I can’t quite place quickly works magic all over his face.
Sheepish or nervous?
Maybe both.
“Show me,” I say.
He moves to the side, curving his torso so I get a clear view of the toy mounted behind him. A purple phallus that juts out from the wall. A shiny appendage I’ve seen in my mind more times than I can count. It’s right where it was the last time I saw it. In the center of the cubicle, same height as last time, maybe even the same tile.
The arousal it fuels is leaden. Forceful and heavy. A deep, hard tug that’s impossible to ignore.
“Show me,” I say again. The first time, it was a command. This time, it’s a plea. “Show me everything, baby. I want to see. Show meexactlywhat you do with that dick.”
The sinews in his neck tighten and his cheeks color deeply. The corners of his mouth turn up.
