The semester rolled on, and the weather slowly shifted from the lingering heat of summer to the cooler embrace of fall. With the change in temperature came the inevitable rain, heavy and sudden, turning the streets slick and gray. Yet, even in the cooler air, the guys on campus still wore their shorts, which meant I had more to look at than just the changing foliage. It was one of those small, absurd things that I found myself fixating on more than I should have.
Texas weather’s like that. Spring is green and alive, summer turns the landscape a dry brown, and then, just when you think it’ll never end, fall brings the lushness back. It's not like that everywhere here. The state is huge, with climates ranging from the humid, rainy coast to the arid, rugged deserts out west. I’d been to both sides, and I liked them for different reasons. But none of it felt as vivid as the spring and fall seasons in the north. The rain, the warmth, the way the plants seemed to come alive again after the dry summer, it was as if the state was letting out a long, slow sigh.
Unfortunately, none of that beauty helped with the hole in my chest. I had my ups and downs, but more often than not, I seemed to fall somewhere in the middle, caught between longing for Shane and the grim ache of being apart.
At least once a week, Shane and I would talk on the phone. Sometimes we’d talk about mundane things, school, his roommates, what he’d had for dinner, but always, inevitably, the conversation would veer into what we’d do when we finally saw each other again. The plans grew wilder the more time passed, fueled by distance and a slow-burning desperation that neither of us had been prepared for. We’d talk until our voices cracked, until we were both breathing heavily in the same spaces, imagining what the next kiss would feel like.
It was strange, though. Sometimes, it felt like that was enough. And other times… other times, I found myself missing him so much it hurt, like an ache that didn’t have a name. I was surviving, I told myself. But that’s all it was, survival.
It was on one of those gray afternoons, after I had finished a report and taken a break to walk over to the second-floor restroom in the library, that I found myself once again torn between what I wanted and what I knew I couldn’t have.
I stood at the first urinal in the row of five, staring ahead. The hum of exhaust fans and the low murmur of voices outside the door were the only sounds in the otherwise silent restroom. Then the door creaked open. Footsteps. A change in the air.
Someone was standing next to me. I kept my gaze forward, focusing on the grimy tile ahead. But I could feel the presence next to me, closer than it should have been, closer than it needed to be.
And then I heard it, soft, almost like a whisper.
“I knew you were bigger than average.”
I turned sharply. Logan Snyder was standing beside me, his eyes already lowered. My stomach dropped. He had broken the one cardinal rule of restrooms, always choose a spot on the far left or the middle. You never, never choose the one right next to someone else unless there’s no other choice.
I immediately pulled myself back into my underwear, the heat in my body rising faster than my pulse could keep up.
Logan looked up, eyes flashing with something like amusement. “How’ve you been, Taylor?”
I swallowed. “Fine,” I muttered, zipping up as quickly as I could. I forced a smile, though it felt wrong, too tight. “So, slumming in the restrooms and checking out dicks now, huh? Things not going well for you?”
He chuckled, unbothered. “Things are great. Just wanted to check in on you. You remember my offer, right?”
I nodded stiffly, but I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze for too long.
He moved closer, too close, and lowered his voice, just enough so it felt like a secret between us. “I’ve still got that open invitation. You want me to give you a handjob, no problem. Just a make-out session? Fine. Or if you want to pound my ass with that big dick of yours, I’ll make sure I’ve got plenty of lube. Whatever you want, Taylor. I’m here.”
The words hit me harder than I was ready for. I froze for a second, my mind spinning with the consequences of each choice. I could feel the weight of my hesitation pressing down, and it made my throat dry.
“Thanks, Logan,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
He grinned wider, his eyes glinting with something darker. “You remembered my name. I like that.”
I didn’t answer, only focusing on getting myself together, on the act of zipping up and walking away. He wasn’t stopping, though.
“I’ll see you around, Taylor. You’re getting a little too pent up, aren’t you? Mr. P is getting lonely, and I think I’ve got the cure. Catch you later.”
He walked out like he owned the place, like he was the one who could get what he wanted whenever he wanted it. His confident swagger left a lingering image in my mind, one that I couldn’t seem to shake.
Shit.
He was right. I was getting horny.
The urge to reach for my phone, to text Shane, was almost overpowering. But the thing was, no matter how many times I heard his voice or saw his face, the distance between us was only growing. The loneliness was carving itself into my chest, deeper each day. I needed to be with him. I needed something, anything, to break this aching silence.
But I knew, deep down, it wouldn’t be enough. Not anymore.
The Amazon package was waiting for me on the doorstep when I got home, square and unassuming, the brown cardboard taped neatly shut. Relief washed over me, no nosy neighbor had snagged it, no porch pirate had made off with it. My pulse quickened as I bent to pick it up, the weight of it tugging against my hands with more meaning than it should have. This was mine. I’d ordered Shane Junior through my own account, and now he was here, just two days later, the reality of him far more immediate than the idea had been on my glowing laptop screen.
Inside, I kicked the door shut behind me and carried the box to my bedroom like it was something fragile, setting it gently on the bedspread. The air in my small apartment seemed heavier, charged somehow, as though the walls themselves were aware of what I had just brought inside.
Homework first. That was the deal I’d made with myself when I clicked the order button, a final thin string tethering me to discipline. Ten math problems. That’s all. Still, I had to drag my eyes across the page, force my pencil to move through equations while the box loomed at the edge of my vision. I finished, somehow, the numbers settling into neat solutions even though my thoughts refused to stay still.
When the last problem was done, I leaned back, pencil rolling off the desk. My stomach growled in protest, loud and insistent. Of course. I hadn’t accounted for hunger intruding on this moment. A tight glance at the clock reminded me it was edging into evening. If I wanted tonight to go the way I imagined, I needed energy.
The kitchen was dim, the pale overhead light humming faintly as I filled a pot with water and set it to boil. Angel hair pasta, quick, almost too quick. The Alfredo sauce from a jar sat on the counter, its glossy lid reflecting the light, while a small container of pre-cooked fajita chicken waited for the microwave. The smell of garlic and cream teased the air as I stirred everything together. Still, the water refused to boil, each passing second tightening the coil of anticipation in my chest.
Unable to wait, I drifted back to the bedroom. The box sat there on the bed, silent, patient. My fingers shook as I slit the tape and peeled back the cardboard flaps. Inside, the molded packaging gleamed. I retrieved the small bottle of lubricant first, setting it on the nightstand where the lamp’s glow struck it like a beacon.
Then I lifted Shane Junior out.
He was cold and unnervingly solid in my hands. Carrying him to the bathroom sink, I turned on the tap, the rush of water echoing in the tiled space. Soap foamed in my palms as I gave him a careful bath, rinsing away the sterile factory scent. Droplets slid down his artificially veined surface, glistening under the harsh bathroom light. I dried him with a towel, though my hands lingered longer than they needed to.
When I stepped back into the bedroom, Shane Junior in my hands, I finally allowed myself to take a good look. His size. His shape. His unyielding presence.
He was beautiful, yet intimidating.
I wanted to call Shane, to hear his voice in my ear as I put his namesake to use, but he had already warned me the team would be out of town for a long practice camp, Thursday through Monday. No late-night check-ins, no quiet words of encouragement. Tonight, it would be just me and Shane Junior, all seven inches of him, waiting like a challenge I had set for myself.
I reached for the bottle of lubricant on the nightstand, the cap clicking open with a soft, intimate sound. The slick warmth coated my fingers as I prepared myself, my hand moving slowly, deliberately, pausing every so often as though my body needed time to understand what was coming. Some of the gel I smoothed over Shane Junior, watching the light catch on his glossy surface, making him gleam in the low lamp glow.
The bed was ready. I’d stripped away the sheet and comforter, dragging them in a messy pile to the foot of the mattress so nothing would get ruined. A towel now marked the stage where this was going to happen. My pulse thudded in my ears as I lay back, drawing my knees as close to my chest as I could manage, the posture both exposing and vulnerable. My breath hitched when I lifted him, lining him up with shaking hands.
“Alright,” I muttered under my breath, half to myself, half to him.
The first push surprised me. He resisted, unyielding, as if testing my resolve. I pressed harder, a low hiss slipping past my lips when he still didn’t slide in smoothly. “No back talk,” I growled softly, trying to make light of my own nerves. “Just… do your job.”
When he finally breached me, the air rushed out of my lungs like I’d been holding my breath the entire day. Light-headedness swept through me in dizzy waves, my vision flickering. For a wild moment, I thought I might lose control completely, but then that strange sensation lit up inside me, the kind of thing my brain scrambled to name but could only call awesome good.
Shane Junior pushed deeper, slow inches claiming space inside me. My jaw tightened; I clenched my teeth, forcing out a low, animal sound that was somewhere between a groan and a growl. “Yeah,” I exhaled through grit teeth, letting the word hang heavy in the room.
I began to move with him. Forward, then back. Forward again, deeper, then retreating only to push once more. Each rhythm sent a pulse of heat through me. My head tipped back against the pillow, no longer under my command. My eyes couldn’t hold a steady focus; the ceiling above blurred and snapped back into crystalline sharpness in quick flashes, like a strobe of blue and white. Every thrust pushed my head farther back into the mattress, as if the force of him demanded full surrender. And with each thrust, my manhood stood more and more erect, a soldier at muster, tightening each muscle until swollen in glorious stiffness.
Then, without warning, something fierce surged up from deep within me, a need so primal it eclipsed thought. My body clamped down hard, gripping tight, as if it wanted to pull him in and never let go. I bore down, the sound that escaped me half moan, half desperate growl, the towel beneath me twisting in my fists.
The grip of my body around Shane grew tighter, each inward push making me tremble with the effort of holding on. My breath came in sharp bursts, uneven and shallow, the sound of it filling the quiet room. I rocked forward again, the towel sliding beneath my back with each movement, my muscles straining to keep the pace steady.
The sensations began to stack, layer upon layer, until they blurred together into something overwhelming. My thighs quivered as I pulled my knees tighter to my chest, opening myself to him fully. Shane Junior slid deeper, and the rush of it made my whole body jolt. My jaw locked, eyes squeezing shut as a low growl rose from my throat without my permission.
The blue-white flashes behind my eyelids grew more intense, every nerve ending in my body caught between fire and lightning. I could no longer keep the rhythm smooth; my hips bucked instinctively, faster, desperate. The pressure inside me coiled tighter, a knot wound so fiercely it had no choice but to break.
And then it did.
The climax tore through me, sudden and violent, as if my entire body had been yanked into a current. My spine arched hard off the bed, my fists gripping the towel like I might rip it apart. Heat surged outward from my center in pulsing waves, each contraction squeezing around Shane Junior until it felt like he was welded into me.
I shouted, raw, guttural, the sound ricocheting off the walls of the bedroom. The release came in thick, heavy bursts, shooting high into the air, splattering hot across my stomach and chest as I shook, my body refusing to let go of him even as the intensity threatened to overwhelm me.
For long seconds, maybe longer, the world was nothing but trembling, light, and the relentless clench of my body wringing itself out. Then, slowly, the spasms began to fade, leaving me collapsed against the mattress, chest heaving, sweat cooling on my skin.
Shane Junior still rested inside me, heavy and unmoving, as if reminding me of exactly what I’d just done. My body gave one last involuntary squeeze before finally relaxing, and I let out a shaky laugh.
Shane Junior slid out onto the towel with a quiet slurping sound. He was exhausted, too. “Fuck,” I whispered to the empty room, my voice ragged. My lungs slowed their pace. I closed my eyes and dreamed of another life.
J´avais rêvé d´une autre vie
Mais la vie a tué mes rêves
–Fantine, les misérables
I dreamed of another life
But life killed my dreams
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