“Why don’t you turn over now on your back” Turning over, my nipples have never been as hard as they are now, I can feel the moisture between my ...egs. like before, mom moves on the bed above my head, working my shoulders again, then moving her hands down to my breasts. Massaging them, circling my nipples, squeezing them, pulling on them, then leaning down, sucking first one then the other into her mouth, letting her tongue circle it, kiss it then bite down on each one. This brings more moans. Early to bed, early to rise was no longer an option as the biotech company he researched for wanted results faster than proper science would allow it. His eyelids drooped, almost touching the cavernous bags underneath. The PA system announced his station as the next one, startling him back to reality. His legs expended a lot of effort getting upright, craving nothing more than the somnolence a soft mattress could impart. All his muscles yearned for the same, except his heart which only wanted. “Always,” I answered, “but this is your one chance with your boy.” “You’ll fuck me every day,” Dylan promised, and I laughed. “I will,” I swore, “no matter what.” I gasped, then, because I was about to explode again. My testicles were on fire and when I moved in him my thrusts were automatic, like reflexes, and I lifted us both off that armchair as I smashed into my guy and spewed my cum all in him. It made him moan and grip his dick roughly to prevent the imminent orgasm that was sweeping. An hour and a half into the three hour exhibition I sat down in the lobby exhausted and bored, we had come round full circle on the bottom floor and were told to take a ten minute break before we went onto the second and third floors of the gallery. As I said before, I like to think I'm down with art in general, but this exhibition was shockingly terrible and flat out mind numbing. I had hardly written anything in my journal and placed it down beside me on the foamy chair. I had noticed a guy.
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