I’m about to vacate the bathroom when I remember something. Benji Strong.
Jack keeps surprising me. His confession about his porn star crush as a teenager almost annihilated me. Never heard of the guy though.
I could…do some research…
Alright, this is the last time I check up on anything Jack-related. After this, he’s not allowed to take up space in my brain.
Quickly, I type in Benji Strong’s name in a popular porn site.
Gay.
Gay porn.
XXX GAY PORN.
Tags to the videos. The actual video titles are more graphic: Big Cock Bangs Twink. Benji is definitely the big cock.
I grin into a laugh.
His build is…hmm, we’re similar. Not vein-popping bodybuilders, but toned and cut. And the entertainment of this new information slowly fades as reality sinks in.
Benji is a gay porn star. Jack watched gay porn as a teenager.
Blood rushes down south, my body ready to jump his bones. Ready to explore Jack and see what’s hidden under his clothes, and deeper. To feel his leg slide against mine while I pin him to the bed and fuck him good—yeah, I’m ready.
But really, this doesn’t change anything but my attraction to him. Ramping up to the hundredth degree.
He’s still straight.
A straight boy that watches gay porn. Or used to watch it. I wonder if he still does.
Wow, I sure know how to fall for them.
9
JACK HIGHLAND
Steam fogs up the shower, water slowly gliding down my temples. Dazed, head light and heady, heat cocoons my limbs. Shutting off the faucet, I grab a towel draped over the glass shower and tie the fabric around my waist. Still drifting, floating, a swelter pricking my nerves.
I shift…a little conscious that…I’m…this is a dream, but I relax and sink back into the thick, steaming warmth.
Quietly, I step onto the cold bathroom tiles, and I look up.
Oscar perches against the sink, coolly. Towel slung over his shoulder. Drawstring pants low on his waist, abs glistening…he’s wet from the shower.
His curly hair is damp, the strands brushing his forehead. Already showered, he’s in the bathroom with me. My dick rouses, pulsing for a need. A hunger for him, and I stroke his body with my eyes. He undresses me with his gaze, even though I’m already buck-naked.
I can barely move, blood pumping in my erection. Like he’s already fisting my length. But fog and space separate us, and so I walk over to him in that heady daze.
Dreaming.
Shut that out, dude. I want to see what happens. I want to feel it.
My eyes trace his unshaven jaw, heartrate skipping, and I whisper, “How does this work?”
Oscar grips my hardness with the assuredness I need, and breath hitches in my throat. I clutch his waist, firm muscles beneath my palm.
Our mouths edge nearer, nearer. Ask me again, Oscar. I choke out, “Ask me.”
He pumps me in a pace that swells arousal, vapor and a tormenting desire wrapping around me. With my other hand, I clasp his hard jaw, but I can barely feel him in my clutch.
Dreaming…just a dream.
“Ask me,” I choke out again, our mouths grazing but not touching. Ask me if I want to be kissed.
His hoarse, deep voice says something against my lips. I can’t hear him, and I’m dying under the almost-there, the so-close, the one-breath-away of this moment. This second.
“Long Beach…” My nickname is faint.
I glance down at my cock and watch his large hand tug me. Shockwaves ripple through my muscles, my veins, my head—I’m spinning and a groan erupts from my throat.
“Long Beach.”
I jolt awake.
Oscar shakes my shoulder, standing in the aisle of the private jet. Our eyes meet, and a new type of heat bathes me. Mortified.
I’m on the plane. I fell asleep on the plane and had a fucking sex dream! Dude, dude, dude, Jack. I’m a smooth operator. I flirt, date, and sleep with women without tripping, but around him lately, I want to go for a dive and end up belly-flopping.
Again, mortified.
“We’re about to land,” Oscar says, his hand still on my shoulder and we both suddenly zone in on that fact, his breath and my breath stilted. He pulls back, but no lie, I wish he wouldn’t.
Did he hear me groan?
Oscar has a black bandana, already rolled, and begins to tie it around his forehead. “If you need to use the bathroom, now’s your chance.” His eyes dip for half a second. To my crotch.
I glance down. Oh, fuck, Jesus, I have a boner. I’m rock-hard, the outline of my cock pressing against my dark jeans.
And I was worried that he heard me groan. Shit. I shoot to my feet. Embarrassment deflating me more. “Yeah, thanks for the heads up.”
He grins, hopefully just at my choice of words. “Hey, it happens to the best of us.” He pats my shoulder, and again, the placement of his hand on me catches our breath.
I stare at his hand for a second too long. That hand was just wrapped around my shaft, and it’s not just an act I want to stay in my head.
I’m not straight.
I can’t be straight with how drawn to him I’ve been. With how aroused I become, and the attraction is too clear to deny or question. Those clouds are gone.
But the endgame of my future is nothing but a fog. My life’s plan—what does that even look like now? I’m used to having the big picture mapped out. High school. Prom King. College. Swim Team. Producer. Wife. Children. Awards. Happiness. Retirement. More happiness.
I’ve erased essential parts of my map! But the fuck if I even know what a map is anymore. Or maybe, I’ve added question marks to it. Husband? Or wife? Or spouse? Children???
What even is my sexuality if I’m not straight…I don’t know.
Oscar drops his hand.
I slide out into the aisle, catching his eyes. I think about work. I’m here to film Charlie, and I can’t open the floodgates to me and Oscar in this moment—that’s if he’d even want me.
I need to play off what just happened. So I say, “What is that
