Ravenous

Chapter 5

“You black-haired and brown-eyed beauty,” Jay said, standing above my bed and grinning down at me. “Wake up, Mr. Sleepy Head.”

He smelled of urine, ejaculate, cheap beer, and man-sweat. Aromas one might smell on a queer frat brother. I stared through the slits of my hazy eyes and tried to concentrate on his adorable smile in the October sunlight.

“I’m thirty-eight and need my sleep. Partying players like you live off your adrenaline and whatnots. Go away.”

He shook my left shoulder, stirring me awake. “We have a big morning together. Get up. There’s no time to waste.”

I sat up, showing off my hairy abs, chest, and hard n*****s. To my surprise, morning wood thumped between my legs, which he fortunately didn’t tamper with while teasing me. My stomach growled, proving I had too many shots of whiskey with Michael the night before. The room spun a few times, stopped, and I blinked until my vision functioned at full steam.

I yawned and asked, “What do you have planned for us, Jay?”

He undressed next to my bed: blue jeans were unbuttoned and pushed down to his ankles, his T-shirt was removed and dropped to the walnut floor, and he sported a clean-shaven and well-built torso without hair. He slid black, cotton boxer-briefs down to his feet and stepped out of them, sporting a handsomely-veined cut c**k approximately five inches limp, and dangling balls in a blond-furred sack.

“Breakfast at Suzanne’s House of Pancakes. And, if you’re up to it, a workout at Pumpers.”

I ignored his comments for the time being. “You’re naked.”

On full alert, I thought he would climb into bed and begin seducing me. Our relationship didn’t come with those accommodations, though. My life was quite boring compared to his wild one of man-humping. I couldn’t entertain him in bed the way other men had.

“I’m using your shower. I’ll get a fresh towel out of the bathroom closet. Get up and get dressed, then we can enjoy our morning together.”

Sometimes, I regretted giving him a key to my two-bedroom Cape Code since he used the place as if it were his own to shower, eat, and take naps. Shame on me. Jay thought that whatever was mine, was his. Too bad for me. Whatever, though. Good friends were hard to find. I guess I wouldn’t have had it any other way. I preferred keeping him in my life, happy with the terms of our strange arrangement.

He turned around and started to walk to the bathroom, showing off his bulbous bottom to me: beautiful, tight, perfectly tan, and fuckable.

Although we were both single, and Jay just happened to be one of the most porn star-handsome and hardcore chiseled men of Channing, beyond anyone remotely conceivable that I had known of, I didn’t see us as boyfriends, lovers, or husbands, just as he didn’t. One simple reason prevented such a romance from flourishing between us: Jay Mason liked d**k a little too much, from any man (or men at the same time) he could get it from. Riding c**k was his keen game, a perfect power bottom, and attending queer orgies his hobby. He would never settle for a guy like me, perhaps finding me bland. To my knowledge, he never had boyfriends or lovers. His busy life consisted of numerous d**k-rides at rowdy parties, one-night stands with men of all ages, and endless amounts of pornographic s*x that probably ended up on the Internet.

Over his right shoulder, he called out, “You can take a shower with me if you’d like, Hatch. I promise not to start anything with you.”

“I’m good. I’ll wait until you’re done.”

“Fair enough,” he said and vanished inside the bathroom.