Page 50 of Gym Bros
Today, I barely need the visual aids because I keep thinking about pink underwear on his golden skin. In my imagination, they’re a hot pink pair of boy shorts with lace on the edges. I picture him beside me in corpse pose in the studio, his hand inside the panties, his eyes on mine while I stroke myself, too.
His hair is back in that kerchief thing, and I can see his whole face, his parted lips as he first sighs and then makes rougher sounds when he reaches deeper between his legs.
I lick my lips and squeeze my dick, using only spit for lube because I’m lazy and a little buzzed.
He arches his back in my fantasy, his lean thighs trembling, and his eyes close as he moans.
Precum leaks from my tip, and I use it to jerk myself quicker. My balls thump as the image of him rolls over, pushing himself into that dirty cow pose with his ass pressed out. “So tight there,” imaginary Calyx says.
Real me wants to stretch him the fuck out, and I picture sliding those boy shorts down just enough to see his ass cleavage. Before I’ve even got him fully exposed, I’m tumbling into an orgasm that makes Beauty look at me funny as I pant and jerk every last drop from my dick.
“Oh, God, oh,fuck…” I groan, turning my face into the pillow because I’m breathing too hard and fast.
I don’t know what the solution to this is, but there’s gotta be one, right?
Maybe it’s as simple as watching him dance with other men or women. Seeing what his type is—because there’s absolutely no indication that he has any interest in me besides keeping my dad off his back.
I’m basically a kid he’s babysitting.
I hang on to the slightest possibility that there will be someone else who’ll be sexy enough to get my attention off him tonight, and I let the post orgasmic numbness lull me to sleep.
I sleep longerthan I mean to, which leaves me rushing to pick an outfit. I have a couple of suits and a ton of workout clothes, but my casual wear is limited to jeans and flannel shirts. All black feels like a safe bet. It’s not festive, but I pair black wool slacks with a black henley and a nice belt. For the shoes, theoptions are even more limited. I have a pair of dark brown ankle boots, but I can’t make myself wear them with all black even though they don’t technically lookbad.
Like—my dad could pull it off, but not me.
Which leaves me with either black Vans or Doc Martens.
I have no choice but to phone a friend.
Evan answers the FaceTime call shirtless, from his bed. He’s lying on his stomach looking down at his phone. “FaceTime, huh?”
“First—is this outfit okay?” I flip the phone camera to the mirror and watch him squint at the screen.
“You’re not wearing any shoes.”
“That’s the second question.”
“What are you getting dressed for?”
“I’m going out. To a club. Calyx is gonna be there.”
He rises up to his elbows and widens his eyes. “Wait—you’re dressing up forCalyx?”
“Trying,” I mutter.
“Did something happen?”
“Not yet.”
“I need you to stop being vague.”
“You’re the one who said I needed to get laid. This is me trying.” I wince at myself, realizing too late how this could all come across. “I hope you don’t mind me calling you about it.”
“No! I told you, it was platonic head.”
I frown.
“It’s a thing,” he says. “Trust me. But I’m so excited for you. Did you ask him out, or what happened?”
