He doesn’t know I’ve been watching him back.
I feel badly about it most days; I watch him get shoved out of the way, I watch his books get smacked out of his hand, and I watch his underwear get pulled so far out of his pants it’s a wonder the fabric doesn’t rip. Part of me wants to interfere and consequences be damned, but the other part of me gets irritated. Why does he have to be such a pushover? It’s not as though he’s the only guy to ever be bullied.
The guys pick on him because they can tell they’re not safe around him. They call him “faggy” and “queer” because of the feel of his dark eyes on their bodies. They don’t realize that it’s the truth. They certainly don’t understand that his slender waist, narrow shoulders, long silky hair, and wide hips belong to a hunter of men. All they know is that they’re uncomfortable under his penetrating gaze. Some of them probably feel the seduction of it like I do, though they may not realize it yet.
His name is Crispin, poor guy. Because he’s a pussy, he’ll never be able to go by anything but his full name, likely with some variation of “cocksucker” attached, just for the consonance. I think his name is cute, but it won’t really work for him until college at least. It’s fine, though, only half a year more of torture for him until he can play the phoenix. I was going to just leave him alone, honestly. I don’t plan on coming out until after high school, when my parents have already paid for at least one year of college. It wouldn’t be fair to the poor guy if I fucked him and then refused to acknowledge him at school. According to all the gay indie films I watch in secret, that can lead to suicide. Sure, movies aren’t always a good reference for reality, but I don’t want to risk it.
Those good intentions fly out the window, though, when I’m presented with an opportunity like this. Crispin Vieira is masturbating in the shower. I couldn’t think of another eighteen-year-old who would be at school before seven thirty for fun, so he must have gotten detention somehow, and chose the early morning run over study hall. This was surprising considering that he abstains from sports and usually walks with the lazy girls during P.E. All I needed was to grab my extra deodorant from my locker.
Whatever. Crispin’s here. I’m here. There’s no one else around at this hour, he’s in the shower and can’t hear me, and he’s jacking off furiously. He didn’t bother to pull the curtain, so I watch as his head falls back under the shower spray, body shaking with the momentum of his hand on his prick. For a moment, I can’t move. His long hair is pulled over his shoulder, giving me an unadulterated view. The water pours over his body in rivulets, tracing the contours of his shoulders, the muscles of his back, down to his buttocks. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him completely naked since he’s so careful during P.E. I’m surprised—I thought he would be softer, but his ass is so toned it could have been poured from a mold. It clenches repeatedly as Crispin fucks his hand in such a beautiful rhythm that I briefly wish I could freeze time.
I undress as quietly as possible. Crispin won’t resist me unless he thinks I’m just messing with him. Until now, he’s likely been wondering if all those times I caught him staring at my dick in the locker room, if he had just imagined my cock swelling (he hadn’t). Call me a narcissist, but I know I’m a fantasy to him. He and the rest of the world think I’m straight, and Crispin probably thinks that those looks I give him are just a manifestation of his sexual frustration.
Probably, I should have warned him before stepping into the shower. Crispin jumps when I pull the curtain shut. He covers his crotch with both hands and turns only his head to look at me. He’s too shocked, too scared to move when I press myself to his back and wrap my arms around him. I don’t want him to wilt or think that this is just some sort of gay chicken, so I press my lips under his right ear.
“Go ahead and finish,” I whisper, and skim my fingertips up to his nipples. “I want to see you come.”
“Oh God,” Crispin inhales in disbelief, but his right hand goes back to work.
I suck gently on his smooth neck, flicking the hard nubs on his chest. Through the water running into my eyes, I watch the purplish helmet of his cock disappear and reappear in his fist. He won’t last much longer. What will Crispin’s cum be like? Thin watery fluid that sprays fiercely from the tip? Pearly ropes that leave streaks on his abdomen? Or even the thicker stuff that oozes from the slit, over the hand to drop in globules? I realize that I’m humping his ass, running my dick between his buttocks to the small of his back.
I pinch his nipples. “Are you close?” Crispin just nods in response, his hand flying furiously over his wet cock. “Let me see you shoot.”
“Okay,” he gasps in a strangled voice. His head falls back on my shoulder, and he reaches behind with his free hand and pulls my ass against him. That is fucking hot.
When he does come, it’s completely silent. Crispin doesn’t gasp, doesn’t groan; I’m not even sure that he breathes. He curls into a question mark, grabs my thigh so hard it hurts, and his abs clench into perfect ridges. And I, unable to resist, touch him, press my first two fingers against the slit just in time to feel the warm cum spurting against my fingertips. It’s thicker than mine usually is; it clings for a moment before sliding down his cock to be washed away. It’s one of the most erotic things I’ve ever seen, to watch Crispin ejaculate into my hand.
“Oh, my fucking God,” Crispin finally exhales. “Oh, my God.”
“Put your hands on the wall,” I tell him, desperate to come.
He does. “Don’t fuck me yet,” he says softly, like he’s afraid I’d just walk away. “I’m not ready.”
“I won’t.”
He’s so small that I can rest my balls on his ass. I keep one hand on his chest as I bend over him and jack off. It only takes a few strokes before I’m coming, too, all over his tight back, shooting so far some of it gets in his hair.
“Oh, fuck,” is all I can say. “Fuck.”
Crispin turns around, his dark eyes wide and wary. “Why—”
“If you want to talk about this, email me or meet me in the library during lunch or something,” I interrupt, breathing heavily. “But know that I’m probably going to start sexually harassing you.”
Crispin’s black eyebrows furrow, then he laughs, showing dazzling straight teeth. “Get it line, jerk.” He steps under the spray and shoves past me.
I think I’m in love.
