Page 68 of Icing on the Cake

“Probably end up walking around naked since you clearly can’t dress yourself. Oh wait, you already do that.”

I shove him playfully. “You’ve only ever walked in on me a handful of times. I’d hardly call that a pattern.”

“A handful of timesisa pattern, G.”

“Is not.”

“Is too.”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

For a moment, the tension and uncertainty of the past week disappear, and we’re just two best friends goofing around.

After carefully selecting the final pieces of my outfit, including a pair of dark Timberland boots and a leather bracelet, Oliver leaves me to join his study group for lunch in the city. He even spritzes me with my favorite cologne before he goes.

Glancing at my phone, I frown at the time. I’m dressed and ready to go, but Elliot won’t be here for two more hours. I guess I could jerk off to pass the time.

Taking a seat at my desk, I unbutton my pants and slide them and my boxers down to my ankles. The fabric of the Henley is soft against my chest, but it’s doing nothing for the hard-on that’s been building since I decided to beat my meat.

I boot up my laptop and go to my favorite porn site. The thumbnails load slowly, one by one, showing a mix of tanned bodies and exaggerated expressions. A familiar warmth spreads through me as I click on the “Newest” tab and start scrolling.

Sometimes, I can find a video within seconds, but today is proving to be a lesson in patience. It’s not until I’m on the fourth page that a thought strikes me like a flash of lightning in the dark recesses of my mind.

If I’m really bi, wouldn’t that mean I have to enjoy intimacy with a man too? The very idea makes my toes curl. But attraction is one thing. Acting on it is another.

It’s kind of funny worrying about this when I’ve never even had sex with a girl. I’m twenty-one years old, in college, and still a virgin. Not that anyone but my teammates knows that.

If you asked the Ice Queen or any of the puck bunnies who follow the team, they’d probably assume I’m screwing a different girl every night. The reality is much less exciting.

Hockey has always come first for me. Between early morning practices, late-night games, and trying to keep my grades up, there’s never been much time for anything else. Even now, with the season in full swing, I’m exhausted most of the time. The rare moments when I’m not completely wiped out, I’d rather spend hanging with the guys or just chilling by myself.

And it’s not like there hasn’t been an opportunity. The so-called “puck bunnies” are a real thing—they throw themselves at us like we’re rock stars. I could have cashed in on that a million times over, but it’s never appealed to me. The idea of hooking up just for fun, without any real connection, feels empty.

In high school, it was the same story. I had a few girlfriends, but we never went all the way. It wasn’t because I was scared or anything; I simply didn’t feel the rush that other guys seemed to get from making out or fooling around. My hand did me just fine then, and it still does now.

Speaking of my dick, I look down at it standing at attention like an eager puppy. It wants to be played with, and who am I todeny him such pleasure? After all, what’s the worst that could happen, jerking off to gay porn? I go soft?

Resting my chin in my left hand, my right hand comes off my throbbing cock to search through the gay porn videos. Each thumbnail proves to be more ridiculous than the last.

There’s one with two guys in pirate costumes. Another with a trio wearing nothing but aprons and oven mitts. There’s even one of a guy dressed as Spiderman. Ialmostclick on that one.

Then I see it—a beefy jock riding a pink dildo. Something about the image makes me pause.Does it have something to do with the fact that we’re both beefy? Or is it the contrast of the bright pink toy against his milky-white skin that catches my eye?

The more I think about it, the more I can see myself in his shoes. Or bare feet, in this particular instance.

I click on the video, and I’m gifted with an immediate moan from the jock. He’s in a dimly lit room, kneeling on a bed with his back arched and his hands braced on his thick thighs. The camera angle shows every detail of his body as he bounces up and down with a look of pure ecstasy on his face.

I’m not totally dense. I’ve heard of the prostate before. But I never thought about playing with my own. The idea always seemed too…invasive.

But watching this guy get off so intensely makes me wonder.Could it really feel that good? Would I even have the guts to try it?

My hand moves almost on its own as I spread my legs wider and let my fingers graze my perineum. I know you can access the prostate from here; Drew once explained it in far more detail than was necessary. At the time, I cringed and told him to shut up, but now I’m grateful for the knowledge.

I apply a bit more pressure and imagine what it would be like to have something inside me, hitting that spot over and over. The guy in the video is moaning loudly now, his whole body trembling as he nears his climax.

My touch sends a strange new sensation through me. Something deeper than surface-level pleasure. It’s like a spark thatthreatens to ignite a much bigger fire. I’m not sure if I’m ready for this kind of heat.

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