Page 26 of Every Move You Make

So, instead of texting her back, I’ve been doing what I do best: stalking her online and letting her presence comfort me.

But as I scroll through her comment section, I see an account handle I’ve never paid attention to before, but it has a verified icon next to it. It’s on a video of Robyn explaining that body mass index doesn’t matter. She’s going around to all her teammates asking what their BMI is as they work out in the gym together.

@TheGymBreaux: Say it louder for the cheap seats in the back!!

Instantly, I click on that handle because that’s not a common enough last name to go unnoticed.

Holy mother of god.

It’s Dell… and he has a huge social media presence. Two point six million followers. How the fuck did I not know he was internet famous?

Suddenly, my queer little heart stutters when I find a rainbow flag emoji in his bio.

Your favorite bi personal trainer

Sign up for my Bubble Butt Bootcamp!

Oh my god, he’s queer too. He’s queer! He’s always been flirtatious with me, but I assumed that was just his personality. As much as we’ve talked and grown a friendship, I’ve never been able to suss out his sexual orientation. I had inklings and hopes, but nothing confirmed. Not until now.

I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart, but it’s useless when I open the first video. It’s a version of Dell I’ve never seen. Sure, that same silly, cocksure persona is there, but he’s wearing the tightest, thinnest gray leggings I’ve ever seen. Sweat soaks through, creating dark creases under his voluptuous backside. His quads are bulging—as is every blessed muscle on his body—as he hangs from a pull-up bar to demonstrate what he calls a “flying lunge.”

Dear god.

As soon as the video ends, I watch the next one. And the next one. And about forty more. He really likes to focus on glutes. Loves to show people how to get a bubble butt just like his. All of it with that smile I’ve come to crave. All of it with that wink—like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Bricked up under the sheets, I surrender to his image. The phone drops from my hand as I stroke myself, thinkingabout that delicious peach he’s rocking. What I wouldn’t give to take a bite of it. To hear him grunt as I sink into it.

Dell—at my mercy—squeezing my cock and begging me for more.

“Zay,” he’d sigh. “I’ve wanted you for so long. Ughh, yes. Just like that.”

“Do you need me?”

“Yes,” he’d groan as I pump into him harder. “Only you, Zay. You treat me like a fucking queen.”

I understand it’s my brain fabricating his words and not him, but fuuuck me, that’s what I want to hear. To know I’m appreciated. To know he needs me.

My balls tighten to my body as I approach my climax, but before I do, sexy dream Dell flips me over, pinning me to the bed. He kisses me and our facial hair scratches beautifully against each other. His sweaty, god-like body takes control over me, and I willingly submit. Lost to his moans, his tongue opens me and he takes what he wants.

“Daddy,” I whisper aloud.

“I love you, Zay,” he pants into my mouth and I fucking lose it.Every muscle in my body constricts as hot stream after stream shoots out on my chest and I arch my back.“I love you,” he says again. “So good for me.”

Dream Dell fades away as I regain consciousness and let out a conflicting grunt. I miss him already.

No. I should be focusing on Robyn. She’s been the object of all my dirty desires for fucking years. Dell has stayed at bay as a crush that’s recently formed. He can’t be here taking up my fantasies too. That’s my future wife’s domain.

There’s a buzzing from my phone, which momentarily distracts me from my internal war. I pick it up to find an email notification. When I see it’s from my old college teammate, Kermit—or Kurt, if we’re going by the name his parents gave him—I quickly sit, wipe my jizz with a tissue, and toss it into the trash before reading the email.

Hey IceMan,he starts, using my rugby nickname that’s followed me ever since I took my shirt off to play a winter pickup game my freshman year of college. I knew it was a mistake after the first five minutes, but I was too stubborn to admit I was freezing. As a result, my nipples almost popped off, and I was covered in scratches from the snow and ice.

That's when my chest hair really filled out. My body was like, “Alright, we’re not doing that again. Protect him!”

Good times.

Hey IceMan,

I think it’s time we pull the trigger on that training program. We’ve been talking about it for years now and I’m in a place financially that I can make this move.

---