Woops
I was pissing around at home, when my (long time ago) buddy Michael Merrill called out of the blue. I hadn't heard from him in ages, don’t know where he got my number. (Actually, I do, indirectly through Mike) I always thought he was cute, really cute, but we were only ever friends.
Michael was drunk, he told me he always thought I was cute. That was the first I’d ever heard of that. I think the implication was that he wanted to hook up.
“Why didn’t we ever get together?” he slurred into the phone.
Seriously, I thought, I would have fucked you in a heartbeat. "I just never got those signals from you, Michael." And I never did.
"Oh. Hmm?" slurred Michael. “Shame.”
He told me about cams. He said I could see him on them. He was really drunk, and he went on and about the cams. To tell you the truth, the idea of seeing Michael wack off on cams got me excited.
He's getting married, of all things. He claimed he was always bi on the phone but, you know, in all the time I've knew Michael he'd only ever kissed boys. It was the first I'd ever fucken heard of it.
I haven't heard from him since, despite promising to invite me to the wedding, where the groomsmen, I’m sure, would all be crying, no doubt.
Ever since that phone call, I have waste half of my life on cams. Thanks Michael. Yeah, cheers.
So, what do you think the greater purpose of that could be? Shrug.
I must give them up.
Anyway, I'd just finished a wank in the lounge room and I was shuffling to the toilet with my trackie pants and my jocks around my ankles, cock in my hand, holding a load gently cradling it to the bog, when the front door opened and my cleaner walked in. I'd completely forgotten about her, normally I am at work and I never see her.
I froze. It was bunnies in the headlights.
She froze. Her mouth dropped open.
We both just stood there, momentarily, not knowing what to do. Crap, I thought. Right then and there, a great gob of cum dripped from my hands onto the tiled floor. Splot!
Do you believe it?
WTF!
It bought me back to the reality of the terrifying moment. I laughed nervously and slipped into the toilet quick, as a flash, as if I wasn't there, I hoped.
I didn't want to come out, as you can imagine. I wondered if she was too shocked to stay, but I heard footsteps.
I peered out through a crack in the toilet door, like a criminal. The coast looked clear, so I shot back to my bedroom. I got dressed and headed out the front door without a word. I stayed out for breakfast and then went to a few bookshops until I was fairly sure she would have gone. I contemplated going to the supermarket and doing the weekly shop, just to be sure.
I must remember to be out next week when she's due.
I must remember to be out for the next year.
Maybe, I should tell her not to come any more?
Ah, don't be a pussy. If nothing else, our next meeting will be interesting.
Michael was drunk, he told me he always thought I was cute. That was the first I’d ever heard of that. I think the implication was that he wanted to hook up.
“Why didn’t we ever get together?” he slurred into the phone.
Seriously, I thought, I would have fucked you in a heartbeat. "I just never got those signals from you, Michael." And I never did.
"Oh. Hmm?" slurred Michael. “Shame.”
He told me about cams. He said I could see him on them. He was really drunk, and he went on and about the cams. To tell you the truth, the idea of seeing Michael wack off on cams got me excited.
He's getting married, of all things. He claimed he was always bi on the phone but, you know, in all the time I've knew Michael he'd only ever kissed boys. It was the first I'd ever fucken heard of it.
I haven't heard from him since, despite promising to invite me to the wedding, where the groomsmen, I’m sure, would all be crying, no doubt.
Ever since that phone call, I have waste half of my life on cams. Thanks Michael. Yeah, cheers.
So, what do you think the greater purpose of that could be? Shrug.
I must give them up.
Anyway, I'd just finished a wank in the lounge room and I was shuffling to the toilet with my trackie pants and my jocks around my ankles, cock in my hand, holding a load gently cradling it to the bog, when the front door opened and my cleaner walked in. I'd completely forgotten about her, normally I am at work and I never see her.
I froze. It was bunnies in the headlights.
She froze. Her mouth dropped open.
We both just stood there, momentarily, not knowing what to do. Crap, I thought. Right then and there, a great gob of cum dripped from my hands onto the tiled floor. Splot!
Do you believe it?
WTF!
It bought me back to the reality of the terrifying moment. I laughed nervously and slipped into the toilet quick, as a flash, as if I wasn't there, I hoped.
I didn't want to come out, as you can imagine. I wondered if she was too shocked to stay, but I heard footsteps.
I peered out through a crack in the toilet door, like a criminal. The coast looked clear, so I shot back to my bedroom. I got dressed and headed out the front door without a word. I stayed out for breakfast and then went to a few bookshops until I was fairly sure she would have gone. I contemplated going to the supermarket and doing the weekly shop, just to be sure.
I must remember to be out next week when she's due.
I must remember to be out for the next year.
Maybe, I should tell her not to come any more?
Ah, don't be a pussy. If nothing else, our next meeting will be interesting.
Comments
Post a Comment