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Authors: Carolyn Gray
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relished the little bit of painful heaven he was giving me.
40 Carolyn Gray
I put my hand under the table, an action he didn’t miss as I adjusted myself in shorts grown too tight, failing to find a more comfortable arrangement. The pressure of my hand on my dick only made it harder to bear. I feared a major explosion any second and removed my hand again, wrapping it around my Coke, trying to think cold thoughts as I squirmed in my seat. But Nicholas continued his verbal lovemaking to me and I just got hotter.
After a little while, a rather astute girl in the front began to notice something interesting was going on. She turned in her chair, stared at me with an amused smirk on her face, then whispered something to one of her friends. That girl’s gaze flickered back and forth between me and Nicholas, and she nodded, then whispered to the person next to her.
And on that went. I blushed, drank some more Coke, then realized just how full my bladder was getting. I’d not gone all afternoon and had been plying myself with drinks the whole time.
And now Nick’s liquid eyes, braver as he too realized the audience had caught on to what was going on and loved it, devoured me. The smiles, the glances, the growls -- geesh --
he threw in were designed to drive me insane, and it worked. Oh, how it worked. And every damn person in there realized Nicholas Kilmain was courting the blond guy sitting alone at the table in the back. Me. I wanted to run from the embarrassment of it even as I enjoyed every second. Besides, I couldn’t move lest everyone see exactly what state he’d put me in.
I think Astute Girl had it figured out.
Finally, the hour was coming to a close. My descent into the sweetest of agonies was almost over. “Okay, my friends, this final poem is dedicated to the handsome boy in the AC-DC t-shirt sitting alone back there.” He waved at me. “Hi, Brandon. Good to see you.” You’d think I was drinking liquor, I felt so intoxicated. I couldn’t believe what I did next. “Hi, Nicholas,” I called back. “Good to see you, too. Very good.” The audience laughed and my face heated. I hadn’t meant it to come out so full of ... longing.
“Feeling better?” He lifted his hand and touched it, then his head.
All eyes moved to me. I mimicked him, touching my hand and head. “Much. Thanks.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear that,” he said, the huskiness in his voice unmistakable. The audience crowed, and I felt like melting on the spot. This I hadn’t imagined happening when I followed him here. My face was on fire, as was my body. One of the clerks brought me another Coke, and I guzzled it in a futile attempt to cool off.
Then he began his last poem. A love poem, of course, which the audience took to quite spiritedly. As I watched him, I realized I envied him, how he stood on the stage so open and carefree, so assured about who he was, his sexuality, his acceptance by his friends. I would never feel that way about myself, and knew it. That evening in the bookstore was the closest I ever got.
Oh, God. I needed to go to the bathroom, bad. Bad.
A Red-Tainted Silence
41
I crossed my legs and prayed and thought about fat men in Speedos. This time, it didn’t work.
Finally, it was over. His friends burst forward with applause and rose to congratulate him, and I knew then I had to run and find the bathroom, quick, so I could talk to him. I ran to the bathroom and made it to an empty stall. A few painful minutes later (it is kinda difficult peeing with a hard-on), but feeling much, much better, and with my libido a bit more tamed, I splashed water on my face, dried it, and left the bathroom, looking for Nicholas.
To my surprise, the crowd had thinned out considerably. I guessed I’d been in there longer than I’d thought. I looked around, panic setting in again as I didn’t see Nicholas. I pushed my way through the people still talking and whirled around, looking about frantically. I spied the girl from
40 Carolyn Gray
I put my hand under the table, an action he didn’t miss as I adjusted myself in shorts grown too tight, failing to find a more comfortable arrangement. The pressure of my hand on my dick only made it harder to bear. I feared a major explosion any second and removed my hand again, wrapping it around my Coke, trying to think cold thoughts as I squirmed in my seat. But Nicholas continued his verbal lovemaking to me and I just got hotter.
After a little while, a rather astute girl in the front began to notice something interesting was going on. She turned in her chair, stared at me with an amused smirk on her face, then whispered something to one of her friends. That girl’s gaze flickered back and forth between me and Nicholas, and she nodded, then whispered to the person next to her.
And on that went. I blushed, drank some more Coke, then realized just how full my bladder was getting. I’d not gone all afternoon and had been plying myself with drinks the whole time.
And now Nick’s liquid eyes, braver as he too realized the audience had caught on to what was going on and loved it, devoured me. The smiles, the glances, the growls -- geesh --
he threw in were designed to drive me insane, and it worked. Oh, how it worked. And every damn person in there realized Nicholas Kilmain was courting the blond guy sitting alone at the table in the back. Me. I wanted to run from the embarrassment of it even as I enjoyed every second. Besides, I couldn’t move lest everyone see exactly what state he’d put me in.
I think Astute Girl had it figured out.
Finally, the hour was coming to a close. My descent into the sweetest of agonies was almost over. “Okay, my friends, this final poem is dedicated to the handsome boy in the AC-DC t-shirt sitting alone back there.” He waved at me. “Hi, Brandon. Good to see you.” You’d think I was drinking liquor, I felt so intoxicated. I couldn’t believe what I did next. “Hi, Nicholas,” I called back. “Good to see you, too. Very good.” The audience laughed and my face heated. I hadn’t meant it to come out so full of ... longing.
“Feeling better?” He lifted his hand and touched it, then his head.
All eyes moved to me. I mimicked him, touching my hand and head. “Much. Thanks.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear that,” he said, the huskiness in his voice unmistakable. The audience crowed, and I felt like melting on the spot. This I hadn’t imagined happening when I followed him here. My face was on fire, as was my body. One of the clerks brought me another Coke, and I guzzled it in a futile attempt to cool off.
Then he began his last poem. A love poem, of course, which the audience took to quite spiritedly. As I watched him, I realized I envied him, how he stood on the stage so open and carefree, so assured about who he was, his sexuality, his acceptance by his friends. I would never feel that way about myself, and knew it. That evening in the bookstore was the closest I ever got.
Oh, God. I needed to go to the bathroom, bad. Bad.
A Red-Tainted Silence
41
I crossed my legs and prayed and thought about fat men in Speedos. This time, it didn’t work.
Finally, it was over. His friends burst forward with applause and rose to congratulate him, and I knew then I had to run and find the bathroom, quick, so I could talk to him. I ran to the bathroom and made it to an empty stall. A few painful minutes later (it is kinda difficult peeing with a hard-on), but feeling much, much better, and with my libido a bit more tamed, I splashed water on my face, dried it, and left the bathroom, looking for Nicholas.
To my surprise, the crowd had thinned out considerably. I guessed I’d been in there longer than I’d thought. I looked around, panic setting in again as I didn’t see Nicholas. I pushed my way through the people still talking and whirled around, looking about frantically. I spied the girl from
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