Page 55 of Icing on the Cake

Hey, Ice Queen!

I’ve never thought about my hands in that way before. But I guess they are pretty big. Comes with the territory of being 6’5” and a hockey player.

I’m flattered you want to write about them. I say, go for it. I’m curious to see what you can come up with.

Sincerely,

Gerard

I hit send and return to the task at hand—pun intended. Closing my eyes, I put myself back in the basement with Susie. My fingers are deep inside of her, and she’s writhing beneath my beefy frame. But when she reaches into my pants to grab my cock, it’s not her hand anymore.

It’s…Elliot’s.

A gasp escapes me as my eyelids fly open. My cock throbs impossibly harder in my hand at the thought of it being Elliot stroking me.

I try to return to the safety of my fantasy with Susie, but it’s too late. I’m completely lost in this new vision. A moan rips from my throat as I picture Elliot kneeling between my spread legs with his slender fingers wrapped around my thick shaft.

His lips part to say something sexy to me, but all that comes out is his warm breath. It scorches my skin, even though I’m already on fire.

I stroke faster as I imagine his hand gliding up and down my considerable length. Somehow, his long fingers know the right amount of pressure to apply to make my toes curl in my socks.

Elliot gazes up at me with raw hunger in his brown eyes. Hishair falls across his forehead as he works me with a single-minded focus. I groan his name, and the sound of it on my lips only heightens my arousal. I thrust into the tight circle of my fist, matching the rhythm I imagine him setting.

My hand soon becomes a frenzied blur, flying up and down my shaft and filling my room with obscene wet noises from the mix of lube and precome oozing out of me. Every muscle in my body locks up tight as Elliot’s eyes lock on mine. For a second, time freezes.

And then I explode without warning.

White-hot pleasure pulses through me in long, drawn-out waves, and it’s the most wonderful sensation ever.

With a hoarse cry, I spill my load over my hand and onto my abs. I work myself through it, drawing out every last shudder of my release.

As the aftershocks fade, I collapse back against the pillows with a weak groan. I’m spent and panting heavily. My heart hammers against my ribs as I try to process what happened. I’ve never gotten off thinking about another guy before.I’m not gay…am I?

No, it has to be a fluke. A weird one-time thing.

After cleaning myself up, I stare at the ceiling, my mind awhirl. I can’t deny that was the hottest orgasm I’ve had in ages. But what does it mean? And what the heck am I supposed to do about it?

The rain relentlessly pounds against the windows, while downstairs, the guys are lost in another heated argument over their video game. The racket snaps me out of my thoughts and reminds me that I can’t hide out all day psychoanalyzing myself.

I get out of bed and walk to the window while stretching out my arms. The Hockey House has the advantage of being on the outskirts of the BSU campus, giving us some distance from the main student body. From where my room sits on the third floor, I can see all the way to the quad. It’s completely deserted andwaterlogged, like a giant kiddie pool after a hurricane. The usually bustling pathways are now rivers, and the grass is a soggy green sponge.

A bolt of lightning streaks down from the sky, splitting a cloud in two. I flinch, even though it’s way off in the distance. The thunder rumbles through a few seconds later, making the windows vibrate. Weather can be terrifying sometimes.

So can jerking off to thoughts of a guy.

I run a hand through my hair and let out a long sigh. I have no idea what to do about my fantasy. Do I tell someone? Do I keep it to myself?

As much as I want to kid myself that it’s a fluke, I know it’s not. This was different than accidentally clicking on a gay porn video and being too horny to find something else. This was raw, unfiltered desire. I wanted his hands on my body, on my dick. I wanted his mouth to close the gap and?—

Nope. Not going there again.

I turn away from the window and look around my room. It’s a typical jock’s room, I guess. Posters of NHL teams and players cover the walls, along with a few framed pictures of the Barracudas from the past two seasons. My desk is cluttered with textbooks and papers—stuff for my business major—and my bed is an unmade heap of blankets and pillows.

On top of my dresser sits a small collection of trophies and medals from high school. They’re mostly from playing hockey, but there’s also a lone track medal in there. My eyes linger on it for a moment, and I remember how proud I was to win that 5K during my senior year. Running was never my thing, but Dad convinced me to give it a shot as cross-training for hockey. He was right, as usual.

I miss my family. It’s been tough not seeing them as much since coming to BSU. Luckily, Thanksgiving break is right around the corner, and I’ll get to spend some quality time with them soon.

My phone buzzes again on the nightstand, breaking my nostalgia trip. For a split second, I worry it’s Elliot with some sixth sense telling him what I’ve just done. But then it hits me that we haven’t exchanged numbers, and I breathe out a sigh of relief.

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