The next morning, I woke up in my fluffy bed, feeling more rested than I had in ages after weeks of sleeping on the stiff dorm mattress. I shuffled under the blanket, savoring the softness as it clung to my skin. Cocooned in its warmth, I felt a sense of security that I hadn't experienced in a long time.
Eventually, I peeled myself away from the embrace of the blanket, my bare feet hitting the cold wood floor. The sun streamed through the gap in the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. I padded to the bathroom, feeling the cool tiles under my feet. The house was quiet, the only sound the distant hum of the refrigerator. It was clear that either I was alone, or that dad was still asleep.
I took care of my morning business, the sound of my own breathing echoing in the small space. As I washed my hands, I already had breakfast on my mind. Pancakes? Yeah, that sounds good. It was a simple enough meal to whip up, and I knew Dad would have the ingredients stocked.
I stumbled out of the bathroom, the sunlight piercing my sleepy eyes. I pulled on a pair of comfy shorts that hung low on my hips, the fabric brushing against my skin as I walked. The house was still, a gentle reminder that I had the kitchen to myself for a little while
In the kitchen, I grabbed the flour, eggs, and milk from the fridge, setting them on the counter with a soft thump. The recipe was a no-brainer, something I'd learned from watching Dad when he did some of them with extra proteins. The ingredients blended together under my whisk, the rhythmic motion soothing my nerves. The batter grew thick and smooth, just how I liked it.
I turned on the stove and let the pan heat up, the smell of melting butter filling the room. It was a comforting scent, one that always made me feel like everything was going to be okay. As the first pancake bubbled and flipped with a satisfying sizzle.
Just as I was about to sit down with my plate piled high with golden goodness, I heard a groan from the living room. I froze, the spatula hovering over the griddle. It couldn't be Dad, his snores were like thunder compared to this gentle noise. I turned my head to the archway that led into the dining area and was met with the sight of Uncle John sitting up on the couch. He looked like he'd had quite the night, his shirt rumpled and his hair sticking up at odd angles.
"Morning, Ash," he said, his voice gravelly with sleep. He rubbed a hand over his beard, his eyes still half-closed.
I couldn't help but grin. "Morning, John," I said, trying to keep the surprise out of my voice. "I didn't know you stayed over."
He stretched out his arms, the fabric of his shirt pulling tight across his chest. "Your dad talked me into it," he said with a yawn. "Some game went into overtime."
"Ah, the perils of being a sports fan," I teased, flipping the last pancake onto my plate.
"You know it," he said, his eyes finally focusing on me. He took in my outfit and the plate of food. "You didn't save me any?"
"I can make you a fresh batch," I offered, already reaching for the bowl of batter.
John chuckled, his deep voice rumbling through the quiet house. "Nah, I'm good," he said, standing up from the couch. My eyes couldn't help but wander over his broad chest, he wore nothing more than his boxershorts. His boxers clung to his thighs, hinting at the powerful legs beneath them. He was a mountain of a man, and even in his half-awake state, he was more than enough to make my heart race.
He ambled over to the kitchen, his bare feet slapping against the tiles. As he approached me, I gulped, trying not to stare to much as he reached out and plucked a pancake from my plate, popping it into his mouth with a grin. "These smell amazing," he murmured, his eyes never leaving mine.
"You're a lifesaver, kiddo," he said, his mouth full of pancake. He didn't even bother to wipe the syrup from the corner of his mouth as he spoke, and somehow, that just made him even more attractive. The way he moved, with such confidence and ease, it was like he didn't have a care in the world.
John shuffled over to the coffee maker, his eyes still heavy with sleep. His pair of tight boxer briefs did little to hide the massive bulge. He didn't even try to flex, just went about his morning routine as if he'd lived here forever. The sight of him made me feel... strange. It was like my mind had split in two, one half still saw him as my dads best friend I'd grown up with, the other half seeing him as something entirely different.
As he fumbled with the coffee grounds, his body moved with a sort of lazy grace, each muscle defined and sculpted like it had been carved from marble. His back was broad, tapering down to a narrow waist that flared out into powerful hips and muscular thighs. His biceps bulged as he poured water into the machine, and I couldn't help but bitemy lip at the sight. The man was a walking, talking testament to the wonders of a good workout routine.
"How do you like your coffee?" John asked, turning to face me. His abs rippled slightly with the motion, and I had to force myself to look up at his face.
"Uh, half milk, half coffee," I managed to say, my voice a little higher than usual. The way he was dressed, or rather undressed, was making it hard to concentrate. John didn't even try to hide his body, and why would he? He had nothing to be ashamed of. Each muscle was defined and powerful, moving in a way that suggested he was just as comfortable in his skin as he was in my dad's house.
He chuckled at my response, his eyes flicking down to my plate before looking back up at me. "You've always had a sweet tooth, haven't you?"
"What can I say?" I said with a shrug, trying to play it cool. "I like my coffee like I like my guys—sweet and strong."
John's eyes widened for a split second before he burst into laughter, slapping his hand on the counter. "You're something else, Ash," he said, shaking his head. "Always had a way with words."
As he poured the coffee, I couldn't help but watch the way his muscles moved under his skin. He was like a living, breathing sculpture, every curve and line perfectly placed. His back was a landscape of muscles, each one standing out in stark relief as he bent over the counter. His thighs were like tree trunks, thick and powerful, and his butt... I swallowed hard, my cheeks flushing.
He turned to me, a questioning look on his face as he held out a steaming mug. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," I said, taking the coffee and trying not to spill it. "Just...thinking about the week ahead."
John's smile was knowing, his eyes lingering on me for a beat too long. As he sat down beside me. The silence between us was charged, and I found myself fidgeting in my chair. I took a sip of the sweet, dark brew, letting it warm my throat and ease my nerves.
John leaned back, his biceps flexing slightly as he rested his arms on the chair. The bulge in his boxers was impossible to miss, and I felt my face heat up even more. He caught me looking and raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Like what you see?" he teased.
"I—uh—" I stuttered, trying to come up with a witty comeback. But all I could manage was a nod, my eyes dropping to the floor.
John's smile grew wider, and he reached out to ruffle my hair. "You're a good kid, Ash," he said, his voice gentle. "You're gonna break some hearts when you finally come into your own."
His words sent a thrill through me, and I couldn't help but glance up at him, hoping he'd say more. But he was busy stirring his coffee, his powerful forearms flexing with every twirl of the spoon. The sight was hypnotic, and I felt my own heart racing, wondering if he knew the effect he had on me or is the thought of his best friends son and sex just too far off his mind?
"So, what's new with you?" John asked, his voice easy and casual, as if he hadn't just turned me into a nervous wreck. "How's college treating you?"
"It's...it's good," I replied, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears. "Learning a lot, making friends."
He nodded, his eyes on me in a way that made me feel like he could see right through my lies. "And anyone special?"
The question hung in the air like a challenge, and I took a deep breath before answering. "No, not really," I said, my voice steady despite the chaos in my chest. "Just some friends."
John took a sip of his coffee, his gaze lingering on me over the rim of the mug. "Friends, huh?" he said, his voice teasing. "You always were a good kid."
It was hard to tell if he was being genuine or if there was a hint of something more in his tone. His teasing was always playful, but today it felt different, like he was testing the waters. Or was I just reading too much into it?
As we ate our breakfast, the tension between us grew thicker than the syrup on our pancakes. Every time our eyes met, there was a spark of something, a silent conversation that I couldn't quite decipher. Was it just my imagination, or was Uncle John flirting with me? The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating.
"So," he said finally, setting his plate aside. "It looks like I'd better get going." He glanced at the clock, his expression unreadable. "I've got some things to do around the house."
"Already?" I asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. "But it's still early."
John stood up, stretching his arms over his head. "Yeah," he said, his biceps flexing as he yawned. "I've got some plans today."
"Oh," I said, feeling the air go out of me. "Okay."
He walked over to me, his hand landing on my shoulder. "You tell your old man he needs to stop sleeping in like that," he said with a wink. "He's not a teenager anymore."
I laughed and said "Will do." as he started to pull on his clothes. First grabbing his pants from the floor, his thick thighs flexing as he stepped into them, then pulling them up. The sight of his bulge was like a fleeting mirage, pronounced and tantalizing as he had to hoist the fabric over it. The pants clung to his hips, framing the powerful V-shape of his lower body. He shrugged on his shirt, and the sight of his broad shoulders and muscular arms moving was like watching an artist at work, sculpting the fabric to his form.
Once fully dressed, he turned to me with a wink. "Take it easy, Ash," he said, his tone friendly but firm.
I watched him leave, the door closing with a soft click that echoed through the kitchen. The room felt empty without him, the air charged with the scent of his aftershave and the lingering warmth of his presence. I sat there for a moment, my heart racing as I tried to process what had just happened. Was I really thinking about seducing my dad's best friend, the guy I called "Uncle" all my life? The thought was ludicrous, but the way my body had reacted to him was anything but.
I took a deep breath and pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the mundane task of cleaning up the breakfast mess. The clank of dishes and the hum of the dishwasher were comforting sounds, reminding me of countless mornings spent in this very kitchen with my dad. Which brought my thoughts onto him again. Dad had always been an early riser, so it was a little strange that he was still asleep.
As I finished wiping down the counter, I heard the telltale creak of the stairs and turned to see Dad walking into the kitchen.
My hormones, clearly not gone, I couldn't help but take a quick glance up and down his body. He had on basketball shorts and a cut-off tank top that showed off his incredible physique. Unlike John, who had a stockier build, Dad was more defined, his body seemingly chiseled from a block of granite. His tall frame was lined with muscles, each one standing out in stark relief against the soft fabric of his shirt. His arms looked like they could bench press a small car, and the shorts left little to the imagination, showcasing powerful thighs that led to a firm, round butt. The sides of his abs rippled as he stretched, clearly visible through the cut outs of his tank top.
His eyes met mine, and I felt a flash of embarrassment at being caught ogling him. But he didn't seem to notice, his gaze as warm and friendly as ever. Or was it? Dad had always had a bit of an ego, and he knew I was gay. Maybe he'd picked up on my attraction to men who looked like him—tall, muscular, and handsome as hell. It wasn't like it was a secret; I'd always had a thing for guys with big, bulky arms and broad chests. And let's face it, Dad was the poster boy for that type.
He walked over to the counter and leaned against it, folding his arms across his chest. The fabric of his tank top strained against his biceps, and I couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to run my hands over those bulging muscles. "Morning, champ," he said, his voice deep and sleepy. "How's the coffee?"
"It's good," I said, forcing myself to look away from his chest and focusing on the mug in my hands. "John put it on."
Dad nodded and looked around. "Where's John?"
"He already left," I said, trying to keep my voice even. "Said he had some stuff to do around his place."
Dad raised an eyebrow. "Already? Didn't stay for breakfast?"
"We already had breakfast," I replied, turning to put the dishes in the sink. "You want some?"
Dad glanced at the plate with the few pancakes that I had put aside for him and then at his watch. "Nah, I'm gonna hit the pavement. Gotta get this body moving."
The sight of him in those shorts and tank top was doing nothing to help my racing heart. "But you should at least drink some water before you go," I insisted, handing him a glass from the fridge.
He took it with a nod of thanks. "You're a good kid," he said, patting my back gently. The warmth of his hand lingered on my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. "Don't know what I'd do without you."
"Don't go getting all mushy on me now," I said, rolling my eyes. But inside, I was a mess of conflicting emotions.
"I'll be back in an hour," he said with a wink that sent my heart racing. "You behave yourself."
I nodded, watching him saunter out of the kitchen. The way his muscles rippled with every step was like watching a living, breathing work of art. It was all I could do not to follow him with my eyes as he left. Once the door was closed behind him, I leaned back against the counter, taking deep breaths to collect my thoughs.
"Get a grip," I scolded myself under my breath. "You can't just go around ogling your dad like that." But the truth was, I had been going stir-crazy without any kind of release for what felt like an eternity. Four months was a long time for a college kid with a voracious appetite like mine, and the lack of physical contact was making my thoughts stray to places they shouldn't. I shook my head firmly, trying to clear the fog of desire.
The thought of seeing my best friend later that day helped ground me. We had a bunch of plans—dinner at our favorite spot, maybe catch a movie, or just hang out and talk. The familiar comfort of friendship was what I needed to get my mind off the uncharted territory of my father's allure.
With a newfound determination to keep things normal, I finished cleaning up the kitchen and went to get dressed. I picked out a simple outfit—jeans and a t-shirt that hugged my slim waist and showed off the little bit of definition I had in my arms. It was comfortable, casual, and most importantly, it didn't scream "I'm horny for my dad." I took one last look in the mirror, making sure everything was in place, and then headed out to meet my friend.
The day was warm and sunny, and the smell of freshly cut grass filled the air as I walked down the familiar streets of my hometown. It was a welcome change from the stale dorm air and the constant pressure of college. Being home was like a breath of fresh air, especially after the tumultuous semester I'd had.
Time passed relatively quickly over the weekend. I saw a lot of people again and had a lot of fun. During the week, most of us worked, including my dad and John, so I had some time to relax and read some books that had been on my mind for a while.
One evening, after everyone was home, I decided to try my hand at cooking something more elaborate than usual. Dad had mentioned that he was craving lasagna, so I figured that would be the perfect dish to make. The best part about being home was that I didn't have to worry about going bankrupt buying groceries, thanks to the shopping trip we had taken yesterday. Dad had paid for everything, and I was more than happy to return the favor by whipping up some homemade meals. Plus, cooking had always been a sort of therapy for me, a way to channel my energy into something constructive and delicious.
I spent the afternoon chopping vegetables and browning the ground beef, the aroma filling the kitchen and making my mouth water. I'd always enjoyed cooking, but it was especially satisfying knowing that I could make something that would bring a smile to my dad's face. As I worked, I couldn't help but think about John. Despite my efforts to push the thoughts away, they kept creeping back in, like a persistent itch that demanded to be scratched.
Every time I did, my thoughts went wild. I told myself that it was just because he was my dad's best friend, and I liked having him around. But deep down, I knew it was more than that. The way he looked at me, the way his muscles moved when he was around, the way his voice sent shivers down my spine—it all added up to something that felt both thrilling and dangerous.
I tried to focus on the task at hand, layering the noodles and sauce with precision. But every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was the image of John from that morning—his muscles flexing, his eyes on me with that knowing smile. It was like he could see right through my facade, straight to the pool of desire that was building in my stomach. I shook my head, trying to clear the image away, and hoped that he wouldn't be able to read me like a book when he came over.
When Dad got home, he looked surprised but pleased to see me in the kitchen. "Lasagna?" he asked, sniffing the air. "You're really going all out, aren't you?"
I nodded. "Yeah, I thought I'd make something nice for dinner."
I watched as he pulled off his slack shoes, his broad back stretching the fabric of his white button-up shirt. The material clung to the muscles of his shoulders, and I couldn't help but remember the last guy I'd been with, who had a back just as strong and defined. The memory sent a thrill through me, and suddenly, I was horny again.
Dad's shirt was tucked into his waistband, showcasing the perfect V-shape that led to his hips. The thought of my hands wandering over that expanse of skin was like a siren call, and I had to resist the urge to reach out and touch him.
He noticed my distraction and chuckled, slapping my shoulder. "You okay, buddy?"
"Yeah," I said, a little too quickly. "Just thinking about when I have to get the lasagna out of the oven." It was a lie, but Dad took it at face value, his expression not changing.
"Allright," he said, clapping me on the back. "I'll go change into something comfy. Holler when it's ready."
The moment he left the kitchen, I went to look at my phone, scrolling through social media to distract myself. But even as I laughed at memes and liked photos, my mind kept drifting back to Dad. I needed to get a grip. I was home to relax, not to get myself tangled in a mess of unrequited lust.
When the lasagna was finally ready, I called out for him, trying to ignore the anticipation that bubbled in my stomach. He came down the stairs, dressed in an oversized heart-patterned t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts.
He took one look at the steaming dish and his eyes lit up. "Looks amazing, Ash," he said, patting his stomach. "I'm starving."
We sat down to eat, and for a while, the only sounds in the kitchen were the clinking of forks on plates and the occasional sigh of contentment as we dug into the cheesy, meaty goodness. Dad talked about his day, his work, and his plans for the weekend. I listened, nodding along, and tried to keep my eyes on my food instead of his body. But every time he leaned over to grab the salad, the fabric of his shirt would tighten around his bicep, and I'd catch myself staring again.
As the meal went on, the conversation turned to John. Dad mentioned that he'd be stopping by the next night. "John's got the night off tomorrow," he said casually, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Thought he might come over for dinner."
My heart skipped a beat, and I felt a rush of excitement. Then reality set in, and I realized what that meant for me... Hding the desperate crush that had taken hold of me. "That's great," I said, before remembering that I had plans of my own. "But actually, I'm kind of busy tomorrow night. Some friends from high school are throwing a house party."
Dad's eyes lit up with interest. "Oh, really?" he asked, leaning back in his chair. "Since when do you go to parties?"
"You do know I am in college by now and that it's practically inevitable to not go to parties, right?" I said with a smirk, trying to keep the conversation light.
Dad chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, I know," he said, waving his fork at me. "It's just that I've never seen you so eager to leave the house. Usually, you're the one who's glued to your laptop all weekend."
"Well, these are friends from high school," I replied, shrugging. "They're cool. We've known each other for ages."
"Ah, yes," he said, nodding sagely.
"Something like that," I said, taking another bite of my lasagna.
Dad's teasing was a familiar dance, one we'd done many times before. And I enjoyed it, in a way. "You probably won't miss much," He said. "John and I are just going to have another BBQ and watch some sports."
"Sounds like a plan," I replied, popping the last bite of lasagna into my mouth and giving him a thumbs up. "Since I cooked, you do the dishes, right?"
He rolled his eyes dramatically but grinned. "Alright, alright. Will do."
The next night, the party was in full swing by the time I arrived. The house was packed with people from my past, some familiar faces and others I hadn't seen since graduation. The music was a mix of old hits and new tracks, the bass vibrating through the walls and into my chest as I greeted everyone with a smile. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol and the buzz of laughter and conversation. It had been a while since I'd let loose like this, and I found myself getting lost in the rhythm of it all.
My best friends, Tom and Mark, were already there, holding court in the kitchen, surrounded by a group of people I vaguely recognized. They waved me over, and we clinked our drinks together, the cheap beer tasting surprisingly good as the stress of the past few months melted away. We talked about our college experiences, the classes we were taking, and the guys we were seeing—or in my case, not seeing.
As the night went on, I found myself sipping on a series of drinks, the warmth spreading through my body and loosening my inhibitions. We played games, danced to songs that brought back memories of high school dances, and shared stories that had everyone laughing until our stomachs hurt. It was exactly what I needed, a reminder of the simpler times before the pressure of college and the confusing mess of my feelings had taken over.
The party buzzed on around us, a cacophony of laughter and chatter. A group of girls, tipsy and playful, descended upon us. One of them grabbed my hand, pulling me into a game of beer pong. Despite my annoyance with Alex, I threw myself into the game, eager to distract myself from the thumping in my chest. The plastic balls flew, the beer spilled, and the night grew blurrier as the drinks kept coming.
By the time the party wound down, the house looked like a tornado had hit it—cups and plates scattered everywhere, a haze of smoke lingering in the air. As my friends and I said our goodbyes, I checked my phone. It was almost 5 AM, and a sense of dread began to creep in. I knew Dad would be asleep, but John? The thought of seeing him in the early morning light sent a thrill through me.
When I arrived home, the house was indeed silent and dark. The living room, where John often crashed on his overnighters, was empty. Disappointment washed over me, but I knew it was for the best. It was a weekday, after all. I tiptoed upstairs, stripping off my clothes as quietly as I could. My thoughts were racing, a jumble of college tales and the tantalizing whispers of what might have been with John.
I collapsed into bed, the sheets cold and welcoming. My body was a mess of tiredness and lust, but the alcohol had other plans. Sleep claimed me almost immediately, pulling me into a deep, dreamless oblivion.
The next morning, I woke up to the smell of coffee brewing. Dad's heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway as he went about his morning routine. I could feel the weight of my crush pressing down on me like a thick fog that wouldn't lift. I took a deep breath and sat up, pushing my mess of hair out of my face, before looking at the clock. It was barely seven in the morning.
I stood up and figured out that the noises weren't just in my head—Dad was indeed up and about. I stumbled into the kitchen, the smell of brewing coffee hitting me like a punch to the face. Dad was there, mixing up his morning protein shake with a knowing smile. He was only wearing boxer shorts that barely contained his thick thighs, and the bulge in the front of them was impossible to miss. He looked over at me, a glint of amusement in his green eyes.
"Rough night?" he asked, not bothering to hide his grin. I nodded, rubbing my eyes. "Couldn't sleep in after that little party of yours?"
"It wasn't a party," I mumbled defensively. "It was just a get-together."
Dad chuckled, his abs flexing as he lifted the shaker to his mouth. "Sure it was," he said, swallowing the last of his drink. "I'm guessing you had a good time, though?"
"Yeah," I said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "It was fun."
"That's what I like to hear," he said, patting me on the shoulder. His hand lingered for a second too long, his thumb brushing against the bare skin of my neck. "You deserve to let loose every now and then."
I couldn't help but let my gaze linger on the bulging muscles of my father's arms as he mixed his protein shake, the powder swirling in the glass. His knowing grin told me that he was well aware of my condition, and the way he flexed his bicep, the same one I'd been eyeing all weekend, was like a silent tease. I had to admit, even with the hangover, it was pretty hard not to stare.
"So, no pants?" I quipped, trying to ignore the heat rising to my cheeks. Dad chuckled, not even bothering to look down at his barely-there boxers.
"It's my house," he said with a shrug. "I can wear whatever I want."
"Fair enough," I mumbled, focusing on the coffee pot as if it was the most fascinating object in the room. The smell of the brewing beans was heavenly, but it couldn't completely overpower the scent of his musky cologne.
He handed me a mug of steaming coffee. "You look like you could use this," he said with a knowing smirk.
"Thanks," I murmured, taking a sip. The bitter taste was just what I needed to snap me out of my daze.
As Dad finished his shake, I couldn't help but steal glances at his body, the way his muscles flexed and moved with every little action. The hangover had dulled my senses, but not my attraction. I felt naughty, like a teenager caught peeking at something I wasn't supposed to see. But I was too tired to even bother trying to fight it.
He rinsed out his glass and turned to me, a towel slung over his shoulder. "I'm gonna hop in the shower before work," he said. "You okay to hold down the fort?"
I nodded, my eyes never leaving his abs. "Yeah, sure."
"Good," he said, slapping my back. "Don't burn the house down."
With that, he turned and headed for the stairs, giving me a full view of his tight butt and muscular legs. I couldn't help but watch him go, my eyes tracing every curve and contour. It was like my mind had a mind of its own, and my body was just along for the ride.
As the water started to run upstairs, I took my coffee and moved to the couch, the cool leather sticking to my bare skin. I leaned back, closing my eyes and listening to the steady beat of the shower.
The warmth of the mug in my hands was soothing, a stark contrast to the tumultuous thoughts swirling in my mind. As the coffee warmed me from the inside, I couldn't help but let my imagination run wild with images of Dad. The way his muscles rippled when he moved, the sound of the shower echoing through the house only heightened my awe for his physical perfection. It wasn't just his body that drew me in; it was the way he carried himself with such confidence and ease. I wished I could have someone like him, but the reality was a cruel reminder that he was off-limits. Not only was he my dad, but the chasm of my own introverted nature kept any real connection with people like him at bay.
Then again, I actually have a hot guy in my life that I've known forever, I could potentially have a shot with, I thought to myself, sipping my coffee. John had always been a great-looking guy, and I knew I wasn't entirely immune to his charms. He was more than just Dad's friend; he was a real-life option for me to explore these newfound feelings. But the what-ifs began to creep in. Would acting on my desires destroy the friendship between Dad and John? And for all I knew, John might only be into women. I had never seen him with a guy before. He had a string of gorgeous girlfriends, each one seemingly more beautiful than the last. The thought of ruining what they had, or causing tension in my relationship with my dad, was what kept me away from pursuing anything with John.
But as the shower upstairs grew louder, the water beating against the tiles like a heartbeat, I couldn't shake the idea that John might be more open-minded than I gave him credit for. After all, he was a man in his prime, a bit younger than my dad, early 30s, and incredibly attractive. Maybe he had experimented before? Maybe he was just waiting for the right person to come along? The thought of him being into guys made my heart race, and I found myself picturing John with someone other than those beautiful women he'd always had by his side. The mental image was surprisingly easy to conjure, and even more surprisingly, it didn't bother me as much as I thought it would.
I took another sip of my coffee, feeling the warmth spread through me like a comforting blanket. I had to admit that my attraction to John was more than just a fleeting curiosity. It was a real, palpable thing, and it was growing stronger every time I thought about it. But the fear of ruining everything held me back. I didn't want to lose my dad's friendship or make him uncomfortable. And what if John rejected me? The thought of that made me cringe, but I knew I couldn't live with the 'what ifs' forever.
The sound of the shower grew louder, and I found myself picturing John standing under the hot water, his muscles glistening and his skin flushed from the steam. The idea of presenting myself to him in a way that might make him look twice was both thrilling and terrifying. I had seen the way John's eyes lingered on me sometimes, especially when I was dressed in something tight or revealing. Maybe he was attracted to me, too?
I decided that the next time John came over, I would make sure to give him a show of my own. I would wear something that highlighted my assets, something that would make him want to look. And when he did, I would be ready, my confidence bolstered by the knowledge that I was going after what I wanted. I would flaunt my ass, make it impossible for him not to notice. It was risky, but I had to take the chance.
The shower turned off, and the house grew quiet once again. I set my mug down on the coffee table, my heart racing at the thought of what I was planning. I knew I couldn't just sit around and hope things would work out. I had to take the initiative. I had to offer him something or I would never know if it could happen. And if it didn't work out, then at least I would know that I had tried.
But for now, I had to play it cool. Dad would be downstairs any minute, and I couldn't have him catching on to what was going through my head. I took a deep breath and stood up, straightening my clothes and trying to compose myself. I had to act as if nothing had changed, as if my thoughts weren't racing a mile a minute with every step I took. As I made my way to the kitchen to start cleaning up, I couldn't help but wonder what the future held. Would John be the one to finally unlock the secrets of my sexuality, or would he just be another unrequited crush? Only time would tell, but one thing was for sure: I was going to find out.
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