Page 2 of All That History
I made a face.“Just the usual.”
Flynn nodded, as if I’d said something insightful.“I swear, it gets colder here each winter.”
I bit back my natural inclination for sarcasm.“Guess so,” I managed instead, through clenched teeth.
His arrival prompted a replay of “Flynn’s mom recounts Flynn’s greatest hits,” a playlist so glowing, even the man himself looked sheepish when I glanced over across my beer.He’d asked for wine - I wondered if he was silently judging us, for the five-dollar-a-bottle red that my dad enjoyed - though seemed more inclined to play with the stem of the glass than actually drink it.
“Mom, come on.They don’t want to hear this.”
It was the sort of thing you say, I thought, when the long list of your incredible achievements is just about done being read out.That way you get the benefit of the praise, but can also claim to be humble.
“What about you, Oli?What’ve you been doing?”
I fought the urge to glare at him.If - as I suspected was the case - his mom had already told him that the kid from next door was now slumming it at the local thrift store, then Flynn clearly just wanted to hear me say it out loud.And if he didn’t know that, then he was an asshole for putting me on the spot.It was hardly a secret that job options in our town were thin to nonexistent.
“I run the thrift,” I said, tersely.Washed the frustration down with another gulp of beer.
Flynn was saying something about that being cool, or rewarding, or whatever rich, successful people claim is admirable about jobs they wouldn’t do in a million years.All I could see, though, was his mom’s expression as she glanced at my parents.As if just hearing about what pittance their only son had achieved in life, so far, would have to drive them both to instant, unstoppable tears.
“Fuck you,” I wanted to tell her, when it became clear my mom and dad were just going to smile at me.
Without the sudden outpouring of dismay and disappointment, the conversation circled back to Flynn’s charitable works.At which point, I decided it was time to cut my losses before I said something sharp that I might end up regretting.
“Excuse me,” I murmured, standing and heading to the door.It seemed like only Flynn really heard; he watched me, in silence, as I stalked out.
I thumbed the lock on my bedroom door, before hurling myself down onto the bed in a way that felt decidedly teenage but also pretty satisfying.Unable to keep in the grunt of frustration: not just at Flynn’s mom being so eager to compare her precious offspring to me, but at how clear it was that I’d fall well short.I could claim to have different priorities, different goals to him, but seeing him sitting there in his Japanese denim jeans and no-change-from-six-hundred-bucks sweater, smiling as the praise heaped up, made me want to puke.
There wasn’t a single message on my phone to distract me.My friends all had family obligations of their own, which was fine and as it should be at the holidays, but it still left me feeling like a sad loner.
Flynn probably had a whole page of happy messages sitting unread, I found myself thinking, and then grunted again at how rapidly he’d got under my skin.
Hunting a distraction, I opened the browser.Swiped over to the private-browsing page - not like anyone else used my phone, but old habits died hard - and then pecked out the familiar keywords I knew were most likely to get me the videos I really wanted.
It wasn’t even like I was all that horny, but my brain had seized on the idea of jerking off as the quickest, easiest way to distract myself.Cock already half-hard in my jeans as I dug my fingers past the waistband, the heat of my skin strong against my palm.
Tugging the fly open, I scrolled with the other hand.
I didn’t know what it was about this one, particular video that did the trick so effectively for me.Not like I was particularly into size-difference pairings - the top tall, decently muscled; his bottom slim and shorter, though still amply hung - and the cheesy dialog in the scene was always mute-worthy.Something, then, about the expression on the fucked guy’s face, and the amateur quality of the footage; the sight of his hard cock flopping as he was reamed so effectively.He was so obviously into it, enjoying being lost in the moment.I couldn’t help but envy that sort of single-mindedness: of experiencing something so intense that every other thought fled your brain.
Shoving my jeans down my thighs, I stroked myself in my briefs.A dark patch already soaking through the light gray cotton, where the swollen head of my dick rubbed.The friction - of my hand, and of the underwear - almost insufferable; I grit my teeth, resisting the urge to yank myself free and jerk off in earnest.
It’d been more than a month since I’d done anything with another guy, at least in-person.Had flirted, and sexted; sent and received my share of dirty clips.But my body felt starved for physical touch, in a way that - even though familiar, and eventually rewarding - my own hand couldn’t quite satisfy.
Enough, maybe, to see me hit the hookup apps again, and consider the risk-reward balance of a quick roadtrip.
A decision for after the holidays, anyway.Tilting my hand as I jacked, I eased my briefs down.Fingers quickly coated with my own slick, the texture of my strokes shifting.
The knock on the door came right as I was tightening my grip.
For a moment I thought I could ignore it.Pretend I was asleep, maybe.Just stay silent, until whoever it was - I figured my mom or my dad, here to see what was keeping me - gave up.
Another knock.
Hissing under my breath, I hit pause on my phone and yanked my jeans back up.Reached down to wipe my hands on yesterday’s t-shirt on the floor, and then took a deep breath.Opened the door.
Flynn was grinning, like there was a joke we were sharing.
“What?”I snapped.Sharper than I meant to, but it was hard not to feel like the universe was just pushing his success into my face, now.
