Below the Boarder

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Sunday, June 19. O’Hare’s Garage is closed for the day and I have no classes at West End College. Both Dayton and I have the entire day to ourselves; individually or together, whatever fate has in store for us. I do have papers to read; twenty-eight essays on Faulkner’s use of “time” in The Sound and the Fury. I decide to labor over the papers on and off, sporadically applying myself.

I should be outside. The day beyond my first floor mahogany office is breathtaking; eighty-five degrees, balmy with a light wind, blue-white clouds overhead. I drink an iced tea while I read and check the essays. When my eyes start to cross and tire, I take a break. A piss needs to be accomplished, of course, from too much iced tea. I find myself on the second floor, outside the teal and brown bathroom, ready to enter.

The bathroom door is open just a crack, enough to see inside and catch a glimpse of my naked boarder drying off after a fresh shower. Pleasure is found and I grow instantly hard in my summertime shorts. Khaki cotton rises between my thighs.

I think Dayton sees me dash away to my bedroom. Of course he hears my bare feet on the hallway’s wooden boards. Certainly, he listens to my bedroom door close behind me.

“He won’t follow me in here…I know he won’t,” I whisper to myself, alert at the bedroom’s closed door, my face practically flush against its hard wood.

My breathing grows by the passing seconds. Perspiration forms on my brow and under my arms. Without even thinking, I reach between my legs and attempt to push my erection away. To no avail, the c**k has a mind of its own and only becomes harder.

Enough is enough. I can’t take the s****l frustration regarding the sexy-hot boarder living under my roof. Quickly, I yank my cotton shirt off and drop it to the bedroom’s wooden floor. I undo my khaki shorts and remove them along with my white briefs. Now, I stand with my legs apart and give the eight-inch staff between my legs a spine-wrenching jolt. Pre-shoot leaks up and over my fingers, which I lick away. More jolts transpire on my shaft: swiftly, with a firm grip, gut-numbing. I bolt my right hand up and down in fiery motion, dreaming that it is Dayton’s appendage rolling my skin north and south with unstoppable pleasure.

A grunt escapes me, two grunts, three grunts, and I clamp my teeth together. My left hand discovers my right n****e and provides it with a light pinch. Sweat builds on my torso and forehead, dripping to the bedroom’s floor. Heated bliss covets my upright body and rocks my world. The boarder’s name escapes my mouth.

In a matter of seconds my white and creamy gunk flies out of my flag’s uncut c**k and sprays lines against my furred abs, pecs, and my chin. Vibrations of ecstasy roll up and down my chest and between my legs. Everything about the orgasmic moment is enlightening, pure euphoria.

An afternoon snack is in session following my singular playtime. Two fingertips on my right hand find every dot of the self-spent and feed my mouth. A bittersweet flavor of gooey enjoyment fills my mouth as a rush of fulfillment sweeps through my core. And, between my finger-licking, I whisper the boarder’s name again, lost in a delicious world under his heated man-hex.