6. Mik

CHAPTER 6

MIK

I'm painfully hard. Again. Even after jerking off in the shower for the second time tonight. Apparently, I'm a pubescent teenager again. I can't get to sleep. I toss and turn until I'm clearly disturbing Janel, so I leave and head to the basement.

The space down here was one of the biggest selling points of this house. It's set up like a second living space, with a full bathroom and two smaller rooms off a larger room that we filled with an oversized sectional and a huge television screen mounted on the wall. There's a pool table behind the sofa, and a kitchenette that we keep stocked with snacks and soda. Janel and I used to keep our liquor and beer down here, but being young parents doesn't mean we're dumb parents. Jase has friends over here all the time, so we started storing the good stuff upstairs where we could keep a closer eye on it. One of the smaller rooms is just used for storage, but we made the larger of the two rooms into an office. It was originally meant to be shared, but Jase prefers doing his homework in his room or at the library, and Janel basically never comes in here. Over the years, it's become my quiet space. My sanctuary. Mostly I just come in here to read, curling up in the massive overstuffed armchair Janel got me for Father's Day, just after we bought this house and things were starting to go well for us financially.

After switching on a small lamp, I pull a box out of the top of the closet and sit back in the chair. If Janel ever found this box, and I'm sure she has come across it before on one of her many organizational tirades, all she'd see is a box of childhood memories. A photo album keeps proof of a few small awards, my high school diploma, photos of some of the more interesting places I lived before we moved here. There are a bunch of photos of the rugby teams Jason and I played on in high school. I wish I'd thought to bring them to the meetup. There are some great shots of our championship season.

What I see when I look through this box is my history with Jason. Pictures of our friendship, right up until it was more, and then nothing at all. I pull out my favorite photo of us on the field. It was just after a big win, and the whole team was screaming, high-fiving, and jumping all over each other. I'd run straight up to Jason, who'd scored the final points needed to push us to victory, and jumped at him. He caught me, and we jumped around like maniacs with the rest of the team. But the photo captured us in a way that it looks like so much more. My legs are around his waist, his hands on my thighs, holding me against him. My hands are cupping his face, and we're smiling widely at each other, looking deep into each other's eyes.

How anyone didn't know we were desperately in love is beyond me. Hell, how either of us missed that the other was head over heels is a mystery. There are more pictures of the two of us together than anything else, and even the photos where we aren't interacting or are with other people, it's obvious how far gone for him I was. Even in the group prom photos, my hands are on Janel's shoulders or my arm is around her waist, but I'm smiling at her brother. It wasn't until after he was gone, when Janel and I were moving into our first apartment, that I really saw what was happening in these photos. Back then, I really thought I was hiding that I was in love with my best friend well. But looking at these photos, it was just as evident on the outside.

There are days I'm sad we didn't take any photos of us that last week. Selfies weren't really a thing then, but what I wouldn't give to have one picture of us kissing or lying in each other's arms. Those are the days that I'm afraid it never actually happened, that it was all in my head, that I've been pining after a lie for half my life. But if there was photographic evidence, I'd probably just obsess over it, and I'd have something to hide. It's easier to hide a memory, to conceal feelings, when there's no tangible reminder.

Not that I'm doing a good job hiding anything now that he's here. Shit. He's barely been here twenty-four hours, and I've already lost my mind. How am I going to make it through a full two weeks? Maybe when Janel's grandparents leave after the graduation, he'll go stay at his parent's place instead. That would be better. This forced proximity is driving me to insanity. Proof in point: the half chub I've been sporting since I first laid eyes on him.

And the fact that I just let a grown man dry hump me to climax in my kitchen. With my wife and child sleeping upstairs.

I groan out loud. I'm so fucked up. The memory of him crowding me against the pantry door has me aching.

I should be ashamed. I should be losing sleep because what I just did was wrong, but the real reason I'm restless is because of how fucking good it was. The way his eyes bored into me, the way he sucked his breaths from my mouth without touching my lips. The feel of his wide, muscular body pressed to mine, his big, hard cock rubbing against me while my hips rutted against his thick thigh.

Fuck! Think of something else already! Not only is this wrong, but I'm going to start chafing at this rate. I've gotten off four times today, after years of maybe getting off once a week or less.

"Do you fuck my sister?"

That question alone is enough to stall my arousal. I'd given him a half answer, not wanting to discuss it with him, of all people. My relationship with Janel has always been routine at best, tedious even when it wasn't horrible.

It's been like that from the very beginning. First, because I felt like I had to. I didn't want to disrespect my best friend's sister by admitting she'd been a one-night stand that I didn't even remember. After that, it was just easier to let the relationship happen. If anything, she made a good cover for the attraction that, at the time, I believed was unrequited. She did all the work in our relationship, so it took little effort to just go along with it. If she'd been any other girl, I wouldn't have put up with her. We weren't compatible. But I tolerated her until there was no turning back.

Our marriage has been much the same way, except that I no longer push back at her attempts to change me. Once Jase was born, he became the center of my entire universe. I do my best to be a good husband and father, and be the man they need me to be. I allowed myself to be molded into someone more like Janel's father, someone more deserving of her parents' respect, considering I'd knocked up their daughter. Jason had left me, so what else was there to do other than button up, buckle down, and do what needed to be done? I worked two jobs on nights and weekends to make ends meet, and stayed home with Jase during the day so Janel could continue her classes and graduate college on time. She didn't end up going to law school like she planned, but she seems satisfied with our life.

I'm not the same Mik I once was, but I'm not entirely different, either. I've found little ways, here and there, to assert my identity. Like the ink that never sees the light of day but has been steadily growing over the years. The sleeve I'd started when I was young sat unfinished for nearly ten years, until we graduated from barely making ends meet, to thriving. Since then, I've not only finished the sleeve, but have steadily added to my collection. Janel hates them, and a petty part of me maybe likes them more for it, but I make sure to keep them covered up in public. Her outrage over the few piercings I've gotten has been worth it, although after my second genital piercing, she made me go to marriage counseling to prove I wasn't cheating on her. I didn't have the heart to admit that the piercing's healing time was one of the selling points.

Even at the very beginning of our relationship as teenagers, she was and still is the one to initiate. After the breakup, and the life-changing night I spent with Jason, I didn't sleep with her at all, not even on the night of our wedding. Not until I came across the articles about Jason being the UK's hot new playboy. After that, I figured it didn't matter. I got a vasectomy, and I mostly only comply when I can't think of an excuse or if I've had a few drinks. About five months ago, on Jase's eighteenth birthday, Jason let us know he would be coming back to the states to see his nephew graduate high school. I've never seen my son so overcome with happiness, but I was filled with trepidation. And, although Janel and I are intimate maybe once a month at best, suddenly, I couldn't get it up at all.

Not an issue any longer, it seems.

My hand pushes beneath the waistband of my pajama bottoms, pulling my lengthening cock up to rest on my stomach. I consider ignoring it, but I'll never get any sleep at this point, so I wrap my fist around it, watching the small barbell of my frenum piercing disappear and then peek out from under my foreskin with each slow stroke. My other hand cups my balls, a sharp twinge of pleasure thumping through me when I pull at the metal studs of my guiche piercing.

I'm not uninterested in sex. But my mind and body latched on to one person a long time ago, and it's never been the same since. I can get it up when I need to, but I've never been attracted to anyone the way I was with him. And nothing has ever felt as good as the way he made me feel .

Guilt makes me tug harder on my piercings, but the pain doesn't deter me. Now that Jason Reinier is back in my life, there's a new kind of adrenaline pumping through me. A part of me that died long ago is raging back to life, and it's going to make my life very difficult until he's gone again.

He'll be leaving again in two weeks, I remind myself. Just hold it together until then, and then things will go back to normal.

Until that happens, there's only so much I can do to keep this raging libido in check, so I don't make any stupid mistakes or give him any ideas. I get up and make sure the office door is locked, and then open the bottom left drawer in my desk. Behind all the files is an empty space with a small box of secret toys that I use on the rare occasion when I'm desperate for release.

I pull the box out and carry it back to the chair. I toss it on the ottoman before removing my pants entirely and kneeling on the floor in front of it. Dumping out the contents of the box, I uncap the lube and squeeze some onto a large silicone dildo before holding it beneath me. Normally I spend some time working myself open with my fingers, but I'm desperate to feel the stretch. I want to make it hurt enough to feel it tomorrow. It'll be the distraction I need to keep me out of my head.

Slowly, I sink down on the toy, hissing at the burn. I can't help but flash back to the first and only time I'd taken Jason inside me, how badly it hurt but how much I'd loved every second of it. Unlike Jason did that night, I don't give myself time to adjust, only lift myself up and slam back down.

The base of the toy suctions to the floor, and I grip the arms of the chair, fingers digging into the plush fabric as I impale myself relentlessly. I fuck myself on the fake cock, wishing, like I always do, that it was him. I close my eyes, and a tear runs down my cheek, more from the emotional pain than the abuse my hole is taking. It hurts enough that my erection has gone down to half mast, but eventually my body softens to the toy, and I harden again. I lean back a little so I'm hitting my prostate with more focus and reach for the lube and turn on the next toy. I stroke the lube over my aching cock while it warms up, and then slip the heated silicone tube down over my length. I groan and imagine the heat of Jason's hand around my cock, stroking me while he pounds into my ass.

I bounce on the silicone cock hard and fast while working my shaft with the tube until I'm right there on the edge. Then I roll my balls in my lubed fingers and tug at the piercing near where the dildo is stretching me open. I grit my teeth through the orgasm, choking out his name on hushed pants as my cock pulses and spills all over the fleece blanket that covers the chair.