The monotony of university life felt like a constant hum in the background of my days. The days were long, filled with the weight of part-time work that drained me, all to support Shane as he focused on his studies. I didn’t mind doing it, of course, but there were days when the grind felt suffocating, when the pressure to balance everything weighed heavily on my shoulders. Yet, at the end of each day, when Shane would greet me with his smile, his arms, his warmth, I found the strength to keep going. His love and appreciation were the only things that kept me grounded. If it weren’t for him, I feared I would have lost myself completely.
In the midst of all of it, I found myself alone in a way I hadn’t anticipated. I didn’t talk to anyone about my sex life, not that there was anything particularly unusual about it, but it was just... ours. Elliott, on the other hand, wasn’t quite the same. He was more open, perhaps too open, about his frustrations with his own relationship. After telling me about Julie’s reluctance to have another child before finishing law school, Elliott began to share things I didn’t necessarily want to know. He confided that when they did have sex, it was rare, and often only when Julie wanted him to take care of her with his fingers. I wanted to change the subject at first, but Elliott kept talking.
He rambled on about how Julie didn't like oral sex despite his enthusiasm, and how she would always grab him too tightly, jerking him off too quickly. He often tried to take cae of things himself, and even admitted that Baby Eileen would wake up in the middle of it all, forcing him to stop. He laughed awkwardly, telling me he preferred slow strokes while fingering his ass. He said, “I hate having to stop and wash my hands before seeing what she wants. I certainly can’t hold her with smelly fingers.”
I couldn't help but shake my head at the absurdity of it all. When I told Shane about Elliott’s confessions, he looked at me as if I were telling him a joke.
“You think Elliott’s probing you, trying to see if you'd help him out?” he asked, skeptical.
“I didn’t get that vibe,” I replied, trying to be matter-of-fact. “Sometimes he just rambles, or it's like he's bragging about what he can do and the size of his manhood. I don't know. I just offered to watch Baby Eileen so he could have a break."
Shane’s eyes narrowed, and his expression turned serious. “You’re telling me that Elliott started bragging about how big he is?”
“Well, yeah,” I said, smirking. “I even showed him mine to put him in his place, but he just asked how I could manage to stuff my monster up your ass.”
Shane’s face immediately clouded with incredulity, and I gave out a nervous chuckle.
The awkwardness of the conversation hung in the air and before it could dissipate I continued. “I told him you liked getting fisted, and that after I rammed my arm up your butt, my dick just slipped right in.” I grinned at the thought.
Shane didn’t respond right away. He just stared at me, his face filled with a mix of disbelief and amusement.
“Are you applying for a stand-up job?” he asked. “You need a better punchline than that.”
“Hmmph,” was my only response. I thought that I had done a great job building upon the facts with a bit of make-believe.
Shane grabbed my shirt and yanked me toward him. “I’m going to shove my fist up your ass.”
I met his eyes with a challenge in my gaze. “It’ll never fit. I’m too tight.”
Shane raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “True,” he said, his hands slipping lower, grabbing my ass. “You are a tight-ass, and since you’re full of shit, my hand would get incredibly dirty.”
I pretended to pout. “That, my man, hurt my feelings. No blowjob for you.”
Shane, ever the charmer, wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer so our crotches were pressed together. He knew exactly how to make my body respond, and sure enough, I could feel myself growing hard against him. He was, of course, hard too.
“No blowjob for me?” he asked, his voice low and teasing. “Well, that’s not gonna stop me from getting what I want.”
I smirked and stared back at him, feeling my resolve slip away. “Well, maybe once more... for old time’s sake.”
Shane’s smirk turned wicked. “Just once more? You’ll suck my dick anytime, any place, right when I tell you to.”
I burst out laughing, unable to contain myself.
“Yeah, I’m not good at this whole dominant-submissive thing,” Shane admitted, his laugh joining mine. “But you know I’m yours, don’t you?”
“True. True,” I responded, still laughing. “So, what’s my favorite pussy-boy want for dinner?”
Shane raised an eyebrow. “What are my choices?”
“Spaghetti,” I said, listing the options. “Spaghetti with butter. Spaghetti with canned meat sauce. And… I’ve been hiding it, but I have spaghetti with Alfredo sauce tucked away for special occasions.”
He grinned. “Is loving you with all my heart a special enough occasion?”
“For my favorite boy? Every day is special enough.”
Shane was about to protest when he added, “Wait a minute… if you have a favorite, that means you have others?”
I paused, and then held up my hand, feigning deep thought. “Here’s number two on the list.”
Shane laughed, clearly not fooled, and he gave my ass a playful squeeze. “Good save. I’ll get the pasta started. You get the sauce.”
“You know,” I said seriously, my voice softening, “I do love you.”
Later that night, after I’d cleaned up and Shane had finished working on a paper, we found ourselves cuddling in bed, content in the stillness of the moment. The quiet hum of the night enveloped us, and I nibbled lightly on Shane’s nipples, savoring the way his body responded. His cock grew harder in my hand, and I let my thoughts wander.
Shane, with a slow and deliberate motion, rolled me onto my back and moved to kiss the head of my erection. His tongue swirled around the sensitive tip, and my breath caught. Everything was calm, intentional. He seemed to savor every moment, and it made my chest tighten with affection.
Then, to my shock, Shane’s lips tightened around my shaft, pushing down further than usual. I gasped at the sensation, feeling the head of my cock hit the back of his throat. Shane swallowed, and a ripple of pleasure surged through me as I entered his throat. His tongue began to move, teasing and coaxing every inch of me. I felt my body begin to quiver as I pushed myself further into him, not wanting to stop. He gagged slightly but fought through it, determined to take all of me. The pressure in my abdomen built, and I could feel myself nearing the edge.
“Shane…” I moaned, unable to hold back. My hands gripped his head, and I thrust deeper, desperate for release. I let go, emptying myself into him. He didn’t stop. He swallowed every drop, the vibrations of his chest sending waves of pleasure through me. When I finally let go of his head, he pulled up, his face flushed, lips wet.
“That was… fucking awesome,” he managed, breathing heavily. “Man, that was hard not to gag on. You’re so fucking big.”
I didn't need to say anything. He knew what I wanted. I spread my legs, pivoting my hips to give him access. Shane didn’t hesitate. His fingers traced my entrance before he slid into me, and I gasped at the sensation. We moved together, the rhythm slow but steady, our bodies fitting together like they always had. He filled me completely, and with a grunt, he whispered, “Love you,” before he released inside me.
I couldn’t take my eyes off him. There was a moment of complete connection, a quiet understanding between us. I couldn’t help but imagine a future with him, a family, a child. It wouldn’t be easy, but I was determined to find a way.
That first semester was a blur of challenges and adjustments. I learned quickly how to balance studying, work, and taking care of the apartment. And yet, despite everything, I felt a deep sense of accomplishment when Shane finished his finals with a perfect 4.0 GPA. I knew that I had fallen for a genius.
As final exams approached, I received a simple text from my sister asking for my address. Without thinking much of it, I texted it back, the message brief, no other words exchanged. A few days later, a brown envelope arrived, unmistakably stuffed with something. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was something sinister, maybe anthrax or arsenic powder. In any case, I tossed it aside, landing on the desk where I would soon be buried under second-semester syllabi. I was gearing up for English, math, history, and maybe a French class if the budget allowed. The French course was a hefty five-hour block that met every day, and while I loved the idea of speaking the language fluently, I wasn’t sure if I could swing it financially. Still, part of me knew that one day Shane and I would travel to France, and I wanted to be able to hold a basic conversation.
Lurking in the back of my mind, though, was something even bigger: the idea of having a child. I wasn’t ready yet, not until after school, at least. But I couldn't ignore the thought, especially as I saw the challenges Elliott and Julie faced raising Baby Eileen. She was a joy, but the financial strain was undeniable. It had me thinking about surrogacy. I wanted to gather all the facts before I brought it up to Shane. It seemed like a decision that required careful thought, and I wanted to be prepared.
In the meantime, Shane’s focus shifted to the playoffs. The team was gearing up for the big games, and his coach had come to talk to us about his diet after overhearing a casual conversation about our usual spaghetti nights. We had to assure him that our carb-heavy meals weren’t a result of being financially strapped. To his credit, the coach had some leeway with the budget and managed to get us an extra allowance to include steak once a week, as long as we saved the receipts. College athletics had gotten stricter about how alumni and fans donated to the teams after some scandals involving players receiving cars and other luxuries. Honestly, while a new car would have been a nice bonus, the one I had from high school worked just fine, and I rarely needed it.
Despite all the hustle around practice and schoolwork, Shane’s team made it to the playoffs. I couldn’t help but think that part of it was because the coach had finally eased up on the punishing practices. He’d been trying to build up the skills of the weaker players, but the effort had left everyone drained, especially Shane. He was the type who believed that every minute of practice had to be spent in constant physical motion, and it wore him thin. A second-level coach had pointed out that sometimes, Shane needed to conserve energy, especially during downtime like when the team was waiting in the dugout. Relaxing wasn’t just about resting; it was about maintaining focus.
When I asked Shane how he was feeling about the games, he grinned. “I seem to play better when I let my mind wander as I’m sitting in the dugout… especially when I picture you slowly stripping your clothes off.”
I rolled my eyes, but a playful smile tugged at my lips. “So, I think your team is winning because the other team’s distracted by your giant boner.”
Shane laughed, his face lighting up with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Maybe I should get a bigger cup to make sure it doesn’t get in the way next time.”
The brown envelope sat on my desk without much thought from me. I’d glance at it whenever I walked past, the sharp edges poking out from beneath a stack of notes for next semester. For three whole days, I left it there untouched, the curiosity growing heavier in my chest. I half-joked to myself that it might be anthrax or arsenic, but there was a piece of me that didn’t want to deal with whatever truths it carried.
Shane noticed it first when he sat down at the desk to grab his laptop. He picked it up casually, flipping it between his hands.
“What’s this?” he asked, his tone light, but his brow slightly furrowed as though the weight of the envelope was odd to him.
“It’s a poisoned pen letter, I’m sure,” I said, lounging back on the couch.
Shane smirked, shaking his head. “Or maybe it’s a load of cash from one of my fans.”
“Do you really think a fan would send money through your incredibly well-hung secret lover?” I shot back. He laughed, and I let my gaze drift over him, the way his shirt clung to his chest, his abs pressing faintly against the fabric. My heart still stumbled at the sight, no matter how many nights we’d spent wrapped together.
Shane looked at the envelope again. “It’s postmarked from back home.”
“My sister sent it,” I admitted.
He grinned wickedly. “Bet she found some of those used tissues from under your bed. You know, the ones from back when you used to fantasize about me.”
“Not everything is about you,” I teased, reaching forward to jab him lightly in the stomach. My finger met hard muscle, and I pulled back, mock-wincing. “Wow, that almost broke my finger. You’ve been working out.”
“That’s because my incredibly well-hung secret lover has a macho-stud for a boyfriend,” Shane said, puffing up his chest playfully.
“Domestic partner,” I corrected with mock seriousness.
He grinned. “Right. Domestic partner.” He held the envelope out to me like it was something fragile. “Open it. Let’s see.”
I sat on the couch and crossed my arms. “I’m sitting down so I won’t hit the floor when I faint.”
Shane shook his head, chuckling. He tore the seal with the ease of someone who wasn’t afraid of what lay inside. He pulled out another, smaller envelope with a note taped on the front. The handwriting was unmistakably my sister’s, sharp and hurried.
He read aloud: “Dad sent this for you. He doesn’t want to talk to you.”
The words hit like a dull thud in my chest. A memory stirred, my grandmother’s old house. Something my mother once said about Arjun being within his rights to kick me out. A flicker of confusion tightened my throat.
“My grandmother’s house,” I muttered.
Shane looked up at me, curious. “Didn’t she live over on Third Street near that convenience store? We went there once in sixth grade, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s the one. It was falling apart even back then. Roof leaked every time it rained. The whole place smelled of mildew and mothballs.” I could almost smell it again, that strange, damp heaviness of the house, like it carried the exhaustion of everyone who had lived there.
“Didn’t they tear all those houses down?” Shane asked, trying to picture it.
“I thought so,” I said slowly. “After she died, I thought my parents sold it off to some developer who was going to build a strip mall. I don’t really remember.”
“What’s in the letter?” I asked, standing and making my way to the kitchen. The pot roast was still in the slow cooker, filling the apartment with the warm, savory smell of onions, garlic, and seared beef. I peeked at it, poking one of the potatoes with a fork. Nearly ready. My first real pot roast, I wasn’t sure if I’d done it right, but I hoped.
Shane was still at the desk, unfolding the papers carefully. “This is about a house in Victoria.”
“Victoria?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.
“That’s what it says. It looks like… hang on…” He flipped through a few more pages, his eyes scanning quickly. “It’s a bed-and-breakfast being held in trust until you’re twenty-one.”
I froze, the wooden spoon I’d been using clattering against the counter. “A what?”
“A bed-and-breakfast,” he repeated. He looked back down at the page. “Apparently, it’s tied to a Kristina Moore.” He hesitated before adding, “She’s the mother of Carl Henderson.”
I blinked. Her name meant nothing to me at first, but the weight of Shane’s tone told me it should.
“But my dad always said he was abandoned,” I said quietly. “That he didn’t know his parents.”
Shane looked up from the papers, his eyes searching mine. “This says otherwise.”
The air between us grew thick with questions I wasn’t ready to ask. I sat down slowly, trying to steady myself, the warm smell of roast beef suddenly grounding me in a way I desperately needed.
“There’s a number here for a law firm handling the trust,” Shane said carefully.
“Victoria…” I whispered, trying to summon a map in my mind. The name carried history. “The Massacre at Goliad was near there.”
Shane raised an eyebrow. “I don’t remember that.”
“Fannin’s forces surrendered, but the Mexicans executed them anyway. It was a battle cry for the Texans, ‘Remember the Alamo, Remember Goliad.’” I leaned back in my chair, staring past him, my mind still spinning. “Don’t you remember your Texas History?”
Shane smiled softly, his cheeks tinting pink. “I think I was too busy staring at your ass. You sat two seats up and one row over.”
The heat rose in my own cheeks, and despite the heaviness of the letter, I laughed. “You remember that?”
“Babe,” he said, his voice low, steady, sincere. “You’ve been on my mind since I sprouted my first pubic hair.”
The words should have embarrassed him, but instead they wrapped around me like the roast’s aroma, warm and undeniable.
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