Page 2 of Blurred Boundaries

He sets a quick, punishing, and perfect tempo, every bob of his head sending electricity straight up my spine. I feel the pressure in my balls, the way my cock throbs in his mouth, and the ache between my legs all at once. Fuck! This is like nothing else I’ve experienced. Maybe he’s great at giving head because he’s a man and knows what feels good. And he is good! More than good even, he’s extraordinary. His teeth are out of the way and not grazing my skin, he leverages his saliva so my cock can slide in and out of his mouth easily. I can feel it in my thighs, my lower belly, even in my chest somehow. My hands grip the stall door while my mind oscillates between panic and pleasure.

In the past, when Rita went down on me, I always had to close my eyes and concentrate. But I am so turned on right now that I can barely think as I watch my cock disappear in and out of that lush mouth, the slight curl of his tongue sending shockwaves up my spine and twisting my stomach into knots.

He brings his mouth back to the tip, swirling his tongue around it and making my hips jerk. “Shit, I’m close,” I warn him.

He maintains eye contact with me, his pupils blown wide with lust and then takes me in again, his mouth warm and wet. I lose every shred of control and pretence, my hips starting to move on their own, snapping forward and thrusting into his mouth. His hands grip my thighs, probably to steady himself as he slurps down on my cock. I never imagined a man blowing me could feel like this. I’ve always assumed the socially expected reaction for a straight man would be disgust or hesitation. Watching him now, though, cracks open something unexpected in my chest.

Can I even still refer to myself as straight?

My hips continue snapping forward frantically, chasing friction and suction; only a few more thrusts before my balls draw up tight. My orgasm tears through me before I can even warn him. I come down his throat harder than I ever have in my life. He swallows every drop, keeps sucking until I become oversensitive and have to tap him with my shaky hand to stop. My body is floating and feeling light, boneless and blissed out.

“Was that okay?” he asks as he stands up; that’s when I see the tears streaking his face.

“Did I hurt you?” The dread is already filling me.

“Not at all,” he says quickly, his voice rough with excitement. “That was hot as hell.”

I relax and let myself exhale, scratching the back of my neck awkwardly like a fool. “To answer your question, it was more than okay.” I try to sound casual while my brain is still buzzing. “What do I do for you? I could, uh, try to go down on you too, but it might not be so good.”

“I came,” he answers with a laugh, pointing to his pants.

I glance down and see the wide wet patch spreading across his sweatpants. My mouth drops open, and for a split second I feel the wild impulse to drop to my knees and lick it. Michael, what the fuck is your problem? I shove the thought away, blaming it on the lingering aftershocks of my orgasm.

“Uhm,” I mutter and swallow, my eyes going back to his pants. “Cool, I guess.”

He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, then changes his mind. I step back, now aware of my entire body—from the sweat-soaked dreadlocks sticking to my back, to my still trembling thighs; my heaving chest, my racing heart, and my finally softening but still tender cock.

“Nice meeting you,” I say as I pull on my pants, my voice tighter than I intend. “And thank you.”

Before he can answer, I fumble behind me, unlock the door, and damn near run out of the club. My body is tingling from head to toe, and my brain replays every second like a highlight reel I can’t pause.

2

TAJ

—Sexxx Dreams by Lady Gaga

Alarms should be classified as illegal and banned.

I force my eyes open and roll across the bed to silence the offending noise blaring from my phone. My room is still dim, the greyish light of the early morning slipping through the curtains. My body protests the injustice of being awake. I jab at the screen and stop the alarm, then I collapse back into the pillows with a groan, throwing one arm over my face. I try to claw my way back to the dream I was just having.

It was hot, that much I remember. The man from the club was riding my cock like it was made for him. I was holding a fistful of his dreads to slow him down, speed him up, do whatever the fuck I wanted. His skin was glossy under my hands, his tobacco scent curling into my nose, and the look on his face when he came undone had me hurtling over the edge. It’s the same dream I’ve been having since I got back from the club two days ago.

Maybe it’s because I can’t get him out of my head, or maybe it’s my brain trying to tell me I’ve been missing out on an entire category of experience . . . but whatever the reason is, I’ve been waking up every morning harder than usual for it to just be morning wood, fully irritated, and one hundred percent ready to find him. It’s not like I haven’t tried. I’ve already gone back to the club twice, hoping to run into him, but there hasn’t been a sign of him at all.

Fuck! I’ve never come hands-free before, and I might die if I don’t experience it again soon. Unfortunately, my mystery man remains committed to being elusive.

I slide a hand under the duvet and palm my dick, giving it a slow stroke that pulls a shudder straight out of me. I’m already wound tight, my body on edge before I’ve properly opened my eyes. This needs to be quick because I still have to get up and drag myself to campus for classes.

I close my eyes and summon my mystery man’s face. He comes to me in detail—I was hooked the moment he stepped into the club—the way his dreadlocks framed his face like a halo, that slight upward curve of his mouth like he’s always smiling, or like he’s permanently amused by life. What was I supposed to do after he aimed that smile at me? I folded immediately. I wasn’t the only one who noticed him either. Other men watched him as he moved through the room, sizing him up and looking for an opening. But something possessive and unreasonable rose in me when their eyes kept checking him out, some caveman instinct I didn’t know I possessed. It decided, quite irrationally, that he was mine, which is a completely loser behaviour.

I tighten my grip and pick up my pace, using the precum gathering at the tip to slick my strokes as I work my fist over my cock. My mind plays the night back in flashes. His cock in my mouth, my hands on his thighs, the dark focus in his eyes. My body tenses all at once—breath shortening, thighs tightening, and stomach pulling in. Then pleasure crashes through me in a shuddering wave that leaves me gasping. I keep stroking through it, my hand trembling as I milk every aftershock until my second alarm starts blasting from the bedside drawer.

Whew. Now I can start my day.

I push myself out of the bed on shaky legs and head for the bathroom, still wrapped in that floaty post-orgasm haze. I drag a hand through my hair and wince when my fingers snag in the overgrown curls. It’s getting too long again; I make a mental note to hit the barbershop after lectures.

The bathroom is still warm from my shower when I step out and grab my phone.