Page 21 of The Secret Experimentation
“How many rooms?” he asks glancing at the dark corridor on the right which leads to the bedrooms, before focusing his gaze on the large window.
“Four bedrooms, three bathrooms.” I place two small cold water bottles on the tray on the grey marble counter.
“Why?” His question confuses me. When I don’t reply he turns his body halfway toward me. The light from outside creates a white halo around him, making him look even more dainty, almost diaphanous. Beautiful.
“Why are you living in such a big house?” he clarifies.
“I’m particular when it comes to…space.” I’m not being cryptic on purpose. It’s just hard to explain how much I like order and cleanliness.
“Monk particular or…?” he starts asking, walking slowly and gracefully toward me.
“Monk the detective?”
“Yes,” he exclaims, smiling big when his eyes fall on my twitching lips.
“No. But my brother would tell you that I have OCD.”
“The big, tough-looking guy from the bar?”
I nod. Is he going to ask about him? My brother is gay. It’d be easier for Mel with him. The thought makes my hands fist.
“And what wouldyoutell me?” He uncaps the bottle and takes a couple of long drinks, unaware of my dark thoughts. His Adam’s apple bobs on his thin neck and even that kicks my rev on. My mind has flipped a hundred percent on the other side. The queer side. And I feel strangely okay with it. Like it’s natural. To feel like this…with Mel.
“I like tidiness. I like certain things my way and only my way. And if I don’t get it, I turn…prickly.”
“Prickly?” He smiles amusingly at me. “Judging by your car, personal appearance, and house I can clearly see that.” He smirks now, not seeming to be put out by it. That’s a first. People always wrinkle their noses, telling me to chill out. Like I can do that.
“With a few exceptions.” Why did I add the last part?
“Exceptions?”
“Do you want to wash?” I change the subject, hoping he will take the hint.
He looks down at himself, pulling the tank top fabric away from his skin with a scrunched-up expression. His nose wrinkles up in an almost adorable way. “That sounds like a dream.”
Without thinking, I grab his hand and head to my bedroom. He follows without any kind of complaint and again, his docility amazes me. Pulling him into the ensuite bathroom, I let go of his fingers and after showing him how to use the rain shower, I close the door. Back in my bedroom I set out a pair of boxers and a white t-shirt, placing them on the pearl grey sheets of my bed. When I hear the water from the shower I walk back to the living room, and sitting on the black L-shaped leather couch, I turn on the TV to find something to watch.
But my head is spinning. Images of what happened in the car bombard my brain and make my unsatisfied cock cry for release. At one point when Mel was beating himself off, he pulled his nutsack up, showing only a small glimpse of the shadow underneath. But now I wonder would the hole of a guy feel the same as a woman’s? What about his mouth?
The body might look different and feel more solid, but does that mean it can endure a rougher pounding? That reminds me of theexceptionsI almost blurted out before. One of which is about sex. I like it dirty. Filthy dirty. Shocking, I know, but maybe the part of me that always feels the need to have things spotless, also needs an antithesis.Ineed to let go and dirty shit up. The thought makes me cringe and arouses me at the same time. When I hear padded footsteps coming closer I move one of the cushions on my lap to hide my hard-on. I’m back to being a damn teenager. But instead of dreaming about fucking a big pair of tits, I’m salivating, imagining Mel asking me to cum all over him.
He stops at the side of the couch. I catch a whiff of my body soap coming from him. His hair is damp, falling in waves down on his forehead. He is wearing the t-shirt I left for him. But it’s so big it submerges his tiny frame, falling to his knees. The too-large collar hangs on one side, showing a tan shoulder. My cock likes what he sees and lets me know by growing the last inch inside my achingly tight jeans.Jesus Christ!
Instead of sitting, Mel’s staring at me. And he must misinterpret the uneasiness on my face because next he asks, “Do you want me to go?” He crosses his arms around his torso in a protective gesture, but he aims a challenging look at me.
I frown. “No.”
My answer seems to placate him. His shoulders relax and he finally plops down on the leather cushion.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” I clear my throat.
“Sure. I like detective stories.”
“How aboutThe Good Guys? Ever seen that?” I sneak one look at him. He seems at ease with his legs bent on the side and his head propped on his arm.
“The one with yummy Ryan Gosling? No, but I sure want to.”
“Great. Popcorn?”
