Page 30 of Missile Tow
The tension was thick in the air. His unique way of appearing breezy and fun had disappeared. I instantly knew I’d wounded him.
“Please don’t apologize,” I replied, feeling like crap. “Lemme grab something clean from my bedroom.”
I went to the bedroom, feeling awful about the change in mood. When I returned with some old sweats and a Montana Grizzly T-shirt, he was already in the shower. I stepped through the open door and placed the clothing on the toilet seat under a towel he’d located.
As hard as I tried not to, I glanced through the glass door at his naked body, his backside facing me. I was wrong to linger and gawk, but I was frozen in place. His clothing had hidden his incredible physique, but now his back, ass, and legs were on full display.
He had a well-defined, V-shaped back that tapered to a narrow waist. Surprisingly broad shoulders for a lean man. His legs were smooth, with runner’s muscles clearly defined. But it was the pair of perfect twin globes of an ass that riveted me. I was definitely an ass man, and here was the Holy Grail of asses.
No man, especially one blessed with a face like his, should also have a body that had apparently won the DNA lottery of extraordinary builds. I shuddered at the sight of water cascading down the valley of his spine, disappearing into his ass crack.
What I’d give for him to turn around so I could view the total package. My dominant sense of taking ownership reared its possessive head as I ran my tongue across my lips, my cock swelling in my jeans.
I wanted to have filthy sex with this man and was hot to strip down and force him to suck my dick in the shower. I imagined spreading his cheeks and tongue fucking him until he begged me to fill him up with my manhood.
And then reality brought me back to earth. I thought about our conversation five minutes ago in the kitchen. He thought he was here because of a message from the universe. Would a casual roll in the hay confuse him? Would it be safe to fuck around for a few days with no strings if he truly believed I was his destiny?
After more continued ogling, testing my ability to resist the draw of his ass, I went back to his admitting he thought I was the man in his vision. What if he was cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs? I swallowed my libido and backed out of the bathroom. My brain hadn’t relayed the message to my raging erection that I wouldn’t be fucking him tonight, so there I was, alone in the living room, wondering what to do with my dick.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Van
After stepping from the shower, there were clothes beneath the towel I’d found. My host had been in the bathroom, but I hadn’t seen him. A sexual urge ran through me at the thought that he may have seen me naked in the shower.
I’d purposefully left the door ajar, knowing he might bring clothes in. Secretly, I fantasized about him finding me naked and possibly liking what he saw, but that hadn’t happened. An alarm bell rang that I’d probably turned him off with silly talk about messages from the universe and me thinking he could be the man I sought.
Dressing in the sweatpants and T-shirt he’d provided, I stepped into the living area, toweling my hair. “Thanks for the clothes,” I said, noticing him sitting on the floor by the fireplace.
His eyes were locked on my crotch, my cock slightly engorged from fantasizing in the bathroom while dressing. I glanced down and noted that my dickhead was clearly outlined through the sweats. I wasthatguy. I was the dude whose dick was on full display in the often spoken about gray sweatpants.
I absentmindedly adjusted myself. “They fit,” he commented, still locked in on my cock. “Snugly,” he added, smirking.
“Commando,” I replied. “I guess it would be weird to ask to borrow underwear.”
“Not unless we make it that way,” he answered. “You want a pair? I only wear boxers, though.”
Of course, he only wore boxers. One more thing I found hot about straight men: boxers and jockstraps. I thought hetero guys had a strange obsession with both. But Chip was not a straight man, according to him. He only looked, acted, and carried himself like one.
To make matters worse, he’d also changed. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he was in a pair ofthosehot boxers and wore a tank. While he continued to gaze at my cock, my eyes explored the opening of his boxers, praying for a glimpse.
“These sweats are too hot,” I complained. “I hate to sound ungrateful, but the fire is quite warm. Any chance you have shorts I could borrow?”
Chip stood, and my eyes locked onto his sexy legs and the way his cock flopped around in the boxers. The tank top had ridden up on his stomach, and my libido jumped to a factor of one thousand when I noted a four-, five-, six-, or maybe even a ten-pack. A happy trail disappeared into his boxers.
I didn’t hike, but if I did, his happy trail would be my workout choice. Swallowing a moan of desire, I diverted my eyes until he turned and headed to his bedroom. His plaid boxers were old and faded, but hugged his ass tightly. I’d expected baggy and unsexy, but that was not the case. Perhaps he should’ve worn a size large, and these were medium.
Just the act of walking caused manhood to ooze from him. Every movement of his legs, the way his shoulders were held back, along with an effortless strut, drove me insane. Chip was just a dude. A man’s man. He was that rare breed of men who had zero idea how much sexual energy they put out.
He returned, another pair of worn boxers dangling from a thumb. “They’re fresh from the dryer,” he stated, holding them to his nose and inhaling. My dick instantly responded to thesight. “If you’re okay with wearing someone else’s underwear,” he added.
We locked eyes. I felt like he was daring me to lose any perceived uppity-ness he might have thought I possessed. The idea of his underwear covering my private areas turned me on like nothing I remembered feeling.
“I’m totally good with it,” I replied, pushing the sweats I wore down to my ankles and stepping out of them.
I made no attempt to hide my burgeoning dick. I just let it jut straight out, aimed directly at him like an offer to a snake wrangler. He grinned and watched, his lower lip disappearing between his teeth.
I reached out and waited for him to hand me the boxers. He took a step closer, placing them in my hand but not releasing them. I studied him carefully, taking special interest in the ever-expanding pair of boxers he wore. Hanes was written in tiny writing at the bottom edge of his underwear. Of course, they were the All-American Hanes brand. Another sexy notch for his manly image.
“Do you always get undressed in front of strangers?” he asked.
