Whatever It Takes Pt. 02: Truth - Sex Stories

Whatever It Takes Pt. 02: Truth

... the vivid red strap of the thong could be seen through the white of my shirt.

I worried about it all and I worried about what any and all of it might mean.

By lunch I desperately needed to piss. I'd put it off, not wanting to risk the restroom, worrying that others might guess at what I was hiding beneath my clothes. Worried that others might see what I was becoming.

I needed to piss and so I rushed to the bathroom without thinking it. Except Charlie was there. Right there. Shoulders wide, arms thick, frame solid. Charlie was there, right there, pissing at the urinal, and I thought to turn, I thought to leave, but he caught me.

'Hey,' he said with a lazy familiarity.

Without understand it, without knowing why, I began to redden. But my dicklet tightened, just a little, but enough to feel.

I mumbled something in return and lined up beside him. I dropped my hand to my zipper, knuckles brushing against the hardness of the cage, and I remembered and then hesitated.

Charlie turned.

'All good?' he asked.

And I didn't intend it. I swear to the infernal gods above that I gave it no thought whatsoever. But, as he turned, gravity took hold and my eyes tipped down, down to his waist, then further still, down and down to where his cock hung. His cock, a slab of thick white meat. His cock, flaccid, but twice the length of mine, and maybe more besides.

I caught myself, but not before Charlie had seen, had seen it all.

'All good?' he asked, but this time his ...

... lips a crooked grin, sly, sneering.

I stepped back, half stumbled, trying to look away, but his body square, following me, his right hand gripping his thickness, shaking ever so, as if to entice me, as if to draw me back, as if to draw me to my knees, as if to tempt me to press my palms against the tiled wall, arch my back, present myself before reaching with hands and fingers to spread the smooth tightness of my cheeks.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.

I turned the catch with a click. In the dim of the cubicle I stood panting. Panting and listening to the sound of his footsteps as he made his way from the urinal, to the sink, and then back again, pausing there, right there, just beyond the door.

'Good talking,' he said, his voice loud, too loud, reverberating, and I worried that someone might hear and I worried that someone might know and I worried that someone might understand. That someone might understand that which I did not. My dicklet spasmed and although I did not intend it and would have not, I groaned. I groaned and then worried that Charlie might have heard.

He stood for a moment more. I imagined that I could hear the soft sigh of his breath, the soft thump of his heart, the scent of his fresh sweat. I leaned back against the door, the turn of the world steadying by perceptible degrees. He tapped his foot, once, twice, and then the trip of his step as he walked away, the door swinging shut behind him.

I dropped my pants, my thong, the ...