Read Online Choices(Waiting for Forever BK 1) by Jamie Mayfield - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jamie Mayfield
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could see movement under his blanket, but I also saw his other hand rubbing his chest. Does that make it better?
Tentatively, I brought my right hand up to my chest while my left was still wrapped tightly around my hard-on. My hips jerked as I rolled one nipple between my thumb and forefinger. It was almost as if there were a single electric current from my nipple straight down through my stomach. The small slapping sounds coming from the other bed were making me crazy while I watched him. Jamie’s head was pressed back into his pillow, and from what I could see in the dim light, his eyes were closed. Having progressed from labored breathing to harsh, ragged pants, it was obvious he was close to reaching his peak. The blanket rose and fell rapidly, and his blond hair was matted on his forehead, either from exertion or the extraordinarily warm spring night. My heart nearly stopped when, without slowing his piston-like hand, he used the other to push down his blankets. I wasn’t sure if he did it because he knew I was watching or to keep them from being soiled.
With a deep, poorly contained groan, his back arched and his hand slowed to uncontrolled movements. Sharp, hoarse gasps accompanied the jerky rhythm of his strokes, and his hand, which had been a blur the moment before, slowed to a languid rhythm.
It was the most erotic thing I had ever witnessed. In the silence that followed, I felt so much closer to him for sharing that deeply intimate act with me. The wild impulse to crawl into bed and curl around him was almost overpowering, but I held back. We could never take that kind of chance.
Then he turned to look at me, and our eyes met. The playfulness and hunger in his expression told me it was my turn to share. I felt immediately self-conscious about my lewd display. For some reason, watching Jamie was beautiful, but I felt a little guilty about letting him watch me. It suddenly felt like we were doing something wrong. However, I knew he would love watching me as I had him. So I put my fear, shame, and pajama pants aside, and I masturbated for Jamie. His look of hunger and something else I couldn’t quite understand were worth the slight embarrassment of jacking off in front of someone else.
Afterward, we both cleaned up with our discarded T-shirts, and after a fairly awkward goodnight, we fell asleep.
W E DIDN ’ T talk the next morning about our shared experience, but I think both of us realized we had crossed a certain line in our relationship. No longer just friends, we were officially something more, something yet to be defined.
It wasn’t until Jamie’s mother came to wake us that I remembered about church. As she closed the door, reminding us that we only had fifteen more minutes before we had to get up, I rolled over to face the opposite wall, faintly sick. Jamie guessed what was wrong. He slid out of bed and quickly climbed onto the mattress beside me. I felt his hand slide over my bare stomach, and I shivered.
“Jamie, you can’t be here; what if your mother comes back?” I didn’t have the strength to roll and face him, so I pulled my knees up to my chest and continued to stare at the wall. We were going to have to sit there, side by side, listening to how much God hated us and how even though Jamie was such a good person, he was going to hell right along with me. I didn’t know if I could stand sitting through that again.
“Brian,” he said while his hand came up to stroke my hair. “He just did a sermon on that; he’s not going to do another one again so soon. Besides, we know it isn’t true. Don’t listen to what he says. We know in our hearts we’re supposed to be together.” At that, I rolled over to face him, and his lips quickly descended to mine before he got off my makeshift bed. I lay there for a few more minutes, thinking about what he’d said as he went to shower. Jamie was right, of course. Nothing the preacher had said, or was going to say, would have made any
Tentatively, I brought my right hand up to my chest while my left was still wrapped tightly around my hard-on. My hips jerked as I rolled one nipple between my thumb and forefinger. It was almost as if there were a single electric current from my nipple straight down through my stomach. The small slapping sounds coming from the other bed were making me crazy while I watched him. Jamie’s head was pressed back into his pillow, and from what I could see in the dim light, his eyes were closed. Having progressed from labored breathing to harsh, ragged pants, it was obvious he was close to reaching his peak. The blanket rose and fell rapidly, and his blond hair was matted on his forehead, either from exertion or the extraordinarily warm spring night. My heart nearly stopped when, without slowing his piston-like hand, he used the other to push down his blankets. I wasn’t sure if he did it because he knew I was watching or to keep them from being soiled.
With a deep, poorly contained groan, his back arched and his hand slowed to uncontrolled movements. Sharp, hoarse gasps accompanied the jerky rhythm of his strokes, and his hand, which had been a blur the moment before, slowed to a languid rhythm.
It was the most erotic thing I had ever witnessed. In the silence that followed, I felt so much closer to him for sharing that deeply intimate act with me. The wild impulse to crawl into bed and curl around him was almost overpowering, but I held back. We could never take that kind of chance.
Then he turned to look at me, and our eyes met. The playfulness and hunger in his expression told me it was my turn to share. I felt immediately self-conscious about my lewd display. For some reason, watching Jamie was beautiful, but I felt a little guilty about letting him watch me. It suddenly felt like we were doing something wrong. However, I knew he would love watching me as I had him. So I put my fear, shame, and pajama pants aside, and I masturbated for Jamie. His look of hunger and something else I couldn’t quite understand were worth the slight embarrassment of jacking off in front of someone else.
Afterward, we both cleaned up with our discarded T-shirts, and after a fairly awkward goodnight, we fell asleep.
W E DIDN ’ T talk the next morning about our shared experience, but I think both of us realized we had crossed a certain line in our relationship. No longer just friends, we were officially something more, something yet to be defined.
It wasn’t until Jamie’s mother came to wake us that I remembered about church. As she closed the door, reminding us that we only had fifteen more minutes before we had to get up, I rolled over to face the opposite wall, faintly sick. Jamie guessed what was wrong. He slid out of bed and quickly climbed onto the mattress beside me. I felt his hand slide over my bare stomach, and I shivered.
“Jamie, you can’t be here; what if your mother comes back?” I didn’t have the strength to roll and face him, so I pulled my knees up to my chest and continued to stare at the wall. We were going to have to sit there, side by side, listening to how much God hated us and how even though Jamie was such a good person, he was going to hell right along with me. I didn’t know if I could stand sitting through that again.
“Brian,” he said while his hand came up to stroke my hair. “He just did a sermon on that; he’s not going to do another one again so soon. Besides, we know it isn’t true. Don’t listen to what he says. We know in our hearts we’re supposed to be together.” At that, I rolled over to face him, and his lips quickly descended to mine before he got off my makeshift bed. I lay there for a few more minutes, thinking about what he’d said as he went to shower. Jamie was right, of course. Nothing the preacher had said, or was going to say, would have made any
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