HT100 Challenge #11 - One To Grow On
Hope this is okay, I'm reprinting challenge #4, to which this week's entry is a sequel.
#4
Picking up Chris' denim jacket from where he'd dropped it last night, Toby was assailed by an unfamiliar scent. He closed his eyes tight, willing himself to not get upset. He knew the rules, they were free to do as they pleased.
Chris frequently assured Toby these brief encounters meant nothing, and he was always careful about showering before coming home. But the fresh scent of soap and shampoo on his body was as disturbing as the strange odors that sometimes clung to his clothes or lingered in his car.
Toby threw the jacket out the front door, and finished cleaning the room.
**************
#11
After adjusting to the dim light, it took only a moment to spot him on the dance floor. Though the pulsing music was fast, Chris was moving slowly against the man he was holding. They were molded together, back to front, swaying and grinding in their own erotic rhythm.
It doesn't mean anything. Chris' words echoed in his ears.
He recalled those words again twenty minutes later, draped over the arm of a couch in the even darker back room. He hissed the words through gritted teeth as he welcomed the strange cock pounding into him.
"It doesn't mean anything."
#4
Picking up Chris' denim jacket from where he'd dropped it last night, Toby was assailed by an unfamiliar scent. He closed his eyes tight, willing himself to not get upset. He knew the rules, they were free to do as they pleased.
Chris frequently assured Toby these brief encounters meant nothing, and he was always careful about showering before coming home. But the fresh scent of soap and shampoo on his body was as disturbing as the strange odors that sometimes clung to his clothes or lingered in his car.
Toby threw the jacket out the front door, and finished cleaning the room.
**************
#11
After adjusting to the dim light, it took only a moment to spot him on the dance floor. Though the pulsing music was fast, Chris was moving slowly against the man he was holding. They were molded together, back to front, swaying and grinding in their own erotic rhythm.
It doesn't mean anything. Chris' words echoed in his ears.
He recalled those words again twenty minutes later, draped over the arm of a couch in the even darker back room. He hissed the words through gritted teeth as he welcomed the strange cock pounding into him.
"It doesn't mean anything."