7. Brent

SEVEN

Brent

S tanding under the hot spray of the waterfall shower head, I tilt my head back and picture Scotlyn—with her gorgeous brown hair, expressive bright blue eyes, and her long fingers—wrapping around my shaft. Blood rushes to my flaccid dick. I look down and watch it grow a little. My mind instantly goes to Scotlyn, this time on her knees with me in her mouth, and now I'm harder. I'd like to picture myself between her legs, tasting her, sucking on her clit, but I can't. It's something I've never done and it's not like I can walk up to her and say "Mind if I stick my head between your legs and eat you out?"

I shake my head, clearing my thoughts from those words. The men I work with are crass and have no manners. It makes me wonder if their mothers know how to talk about women.

Still, my erection grows and my hard-on slaps around my stomach. I glance down at my member. It throbs, needing and wanting attention. I give it, gripping it tightly and squeezing, imagining it wrapped inside a woman. Within seconds, cum spurts out and lands on the shower wall.

"Crap," I mutter to myself as I reach for the washcloth to clean it up.

"How are you ever going to get a woman if you can't last longer than five seconds?"

The question is to no one and probably rhetorical. There isn't a single woman who is going to give a guy like me a chance.

Not unless you pay .

After cleaning the wall, I give up on the shower. It was only intended to release the anxiety and stress I feel about taking Scotlyn to the movies. Back in the day, we would go to the movies with a group of friends. We'd all sit in the back of the theater and by the time the opening credits were on the screen, the friends were paired off and making out.

I wanted to watch the movie. We had paid for it, so why not watch it.

Every so often, Scotlyn would lean over and kiss me, but after a while she'd give up, cuddle my arm, and rest her head on my shoulder. She had no idea I wanted to touch her boobs and slip my hand up her shorts. Everyone one of my guy friends in the row were finger banging their dates, which is probably why we saw a lot of action movies back in the day. They needed the sound to drown out the cries.

I never had enough courage to do anything with Scotlyn. Not then and probably not now, either.

"Loser," I say to myself after wiping the condensation from the mirror. I lean forward and hiss when my dick touches the cold counter. Of course, it springs to life because something touched it.

"Ugh, fine."

Leaving the bathroom with a towel in hand, I head to the living room area of my suite, grab my laptop, and open a private browser. I lay half the towel on the chair—you can't be too careful these days—and sit down.

My screen fills with videos. I click on the first one instead of searching for something I may like, which is part of the problem. I don't have a kink, but I want one. It would be nice to know what I like so I can enjoy a video or two. The writing is phenomenal, of course.

It takes no time for Willy the Wanker to start singing "I Touch Myself" and begin to throb. He's hard to ignore, more so since we've run into Scotlyn. It's like he's reminding me of how many times I failed with her and how I could've become a man a long time ago if I wasn't so chicken shit.

I still ignore him. Something has to teach him patience. He needs to last longer if I'm ever going to get a girlfriend. Nothing says awkward like a preemie creamy.

My eyes focus on the screen, and the man in particular. I watch how he moves, how when his hips flex his shaft disappears into the woman. She moans, arching her back in pleasure. Multi-tasking is a must when having sex. He rests on his elbow with his other hand between their bodies, while his mouth sucks on her nipple and his hips thrust into her.

"Jesus, sex is an Olympic sport."

I used to think watching movies was wrong and distasteful, but after visiting Society X, I see things differently. The people, the ones having sex and watching, want this. They crave the looks, the touching, the sounds coming from their partner.

My dick throbs and I finally grip the shaft, imagining I'm the guy on the screen, pushing the woman into the mattress, then into the headboard, and fucking her into oblivion.

And then they stop.

Fucking breather .

My hand doesn't. It moves up and down my shaft, slowly. I should've marked my time to see how long I can last. Maybe this is the trick. Jack off so many times I can last five minutes.

The woman gets on top but she's the other way with her ass facing him. The man grins, sticks one hand behind his head, and his thumb goes right into her . . .

"Holy shit," I say as I pump my hand faster. "In her ass and she likes it." She bounces on his dick and thumb, holding her tits so they're not whacking her.

My hips buck and something hot lands on my stomach. I look down and groan, but my erection isn't gone.

I skip to the next video, fast forward through the foreplay, and watch the action until I blow my next load. And then another.

I'm spent.

Exhausted.

And ready to put my newly found confidence to the test when Scotlyn texts and says she's been called into work.

Deflated.

That's how I feel. I was finally going to make my move in the darkened theater, because doing so with the lights on and seeing her rejection would destroy me.

I'm about to head to bed, when my phone chimes again. It's my team.

Meet us at Society X .

I tell them yes because Scotlyn is there, and if anything, I can chill at the bar with her until she gets off, and then maybe I can try and kiss her in the parking lot.

I remember the day my mom tried to boost my self-esteem and tell me women dig computer nerds. What she didn't mention was women dig computer nerds because they think we're rolling in cash. Like, we can hack accounts and just line our pockets with unsuspecting users who insist on making their pin code 1234.

The nerd brigade is back at Society X. It's a Saturday night and my jollies are a result of watching women (and some men) take their clothes off. Only this time, it's live action. I'm tempted to head to the bar to see Scotlyn, but I'm determined to make it through a show. My team, these horny-ass motherfuckers, bounce in their seats with their tongues wagging, as if the woman on stage is going to give them the time of day without them paying for her services. They don't understand she's a professional, and something tells me there isn't a barter system when it comes to sticking your disk into her hard drive.

Jokes for days .

I'm paying attention, though, and can appreciate the athletic ability the dancers have. The pole work looks extremely daunting, and their flexibility is impressive. I intend to ask Scotlyn later how much practice goes into a performance. Do the dancers have a choreographer? Does Society X pay for one?

How much of their tips do the performers keep?

All these questions about the business side of things run through my mind instead of focusing on the ample breasts, with the barely covered nipple shaking in front of me.

"Motorboat those tits!" someone yells. I laugh it off because I have no fucking clue what the hell motorboating even means. I'm a gentleman though, and keep my hands to myself as she slaps my face with her boobs.

"Yay," one of my coworker's yells.

"Buy a lap dance from her."

"Take her to the Viewing Room."

"Let her fuck your brains out."

I stay there, seated in place, while my head moves back and forth from the motion, and ignore my team members. I will not buy a lap dance from her nor will I take her to the Viewing Room. When I got my tour, Christy took me into the Viewing Room where I witnessed a man tied to a chair, watching who I suspect was his wife getting fucked from behind by some other dude. I googled that when I got home and found the proper name for this kink and quickly deduced it's not for me.

The watching part, I'm okay with. I just can't imagine my wife or girlfriend having sex with another man in front of me.

Or at all.

I also learned from my search that I like monogamy. And I don't know how I'd feel if my partner came to me and asked if they could bring another person into our relationship.

Not that I have a relationship to even consider.

The dancer moves to the next guy. Unfortunately for my crew, it isn't one of them, but a man a few seats down from me. He, too, keeps his hands to himself but has no qualms about burying his face between her legs. I want to be disgusted but given the chance I might've done the same thing.

When the dance is over, I excuse myself and make my way toward the bar, only I veer toward the exclusive part of the club. A guy stops me from heading down the hall until I show him my access pass. I can't imagine what this guy must think about men coming down this way to check out what's happening in the Viewing Room. However, after my marathon jacking off session, the idea of seeing some live-action fornication interests me. Way more than it did during my tour.

The first room is red, but the second is green. I type in my member number and the door clicks. I step in and take in the scene and decide I'm going to stay for a bit and watch.

There are a few others in the room. We're spread out, trying to maintain decorum and space, especially from the guy at one of the tables, who is getting a blow job while he watches the action on the stage.

I sit down and rest my ankle on my leg.

"Can I get you something to drink, Mr. Danson?" a waitress mewls in my ear.

"Rum and coke," I tell her as I observe the people on the stage.

There are three of them up there, with boom mics and video screens showing every angle. The sounds of skin slapping, their moaning, and sex fill the room. It's an instant turn on. I don't need to see what's going on; just listening is enough. But here I am, watching the man as he lies on his back on a mattress covered with a purple silk sheet. There's a woman sitting on his face, moving up and down, with her head tilted back. His tongue is undoubtedly fucking her while another woman rides his cock like she can't get enough.

Speaking of, mine says, "Hey, remember me?"

It's not like I can forget. I rubbed him raw today in hopes I'd get to second or third base with Scotlyn.

"Crash and burn," I say just as the waitress brings me my drink.

"Did you want to book a room, Mr. Danson?"

I shake my head. "No, thanks."

Been there, done that.

After she walks away, I wonder if my name is on the computer, showing I was in the Dark Room last night for a whole twenty minutes.

What a fucking embarrassment I am.