Page 54 of Rent: Paid in Full

“No!” he replies a little too quickly.

“Nervous?” He doesn’t answer, but his Adam’s apple rises and falls. I stroke my hand up and down his back. He shrugs me off halfheartedly. “‘Cause you don’t have to be. I’ve got you. You know that, don’t you?”

He rolls his eyes profusely, but when I slide my hand down and wrap it around his waist, he doesn’t shrug it off. Not even for funsies.

By the time we get to our room, I can hardly get my key in the lock. My hands are shaking badly, and not from being cold and wet. My blood is pumping fast. I’m cold on the outside, but on the inside, I’m burning up. I feel like I’ve been waiting for this moment forever. For as long as I’ve been me. For lifetimes I don’t even remember.

“I’m going to hit the shower,” I say. “Want to join?”

“No.”

Once I’m showered and warmed up, I wave him to the bathroom. “I bought a kit for you so you can prep.” Just when I think I’ve seen his eyes go as dark as they can, he ups the ante. “It’s under the sink. You know what to do, right? Use warm water and just shove the nozzle u…actually, d’you want me to just come in and show you?”

His head twitches in rage and his mouth twists to the side.

“Dunno,” he deadpans, “d’you want me to kill you?”

“Maybe later,” I say, giving him my biggest and best shithead grin. “Want to get my dick in you first, so I can die happy.”

18

Ryan

No, I’m not okay.Why do you ask?

I’m about as far from okay as I could possibly be. Despite the fact that almost all my life experience has left me absolutely positive that I can’t handle shit, I seem to have willfully placed myself in a position that strongly implies that I know what I’m doing.

To clarify, nothing could be further from the truth.

The insanity of what’s about to happen is hitting me in waves. Lukewarm splashes that hit me on the side of my face and run down my body. Left side, then right side, then left again. Each wave soaks me, drenching me. Drowning me. Filling my cock and making it rock solid.

I’m in the bathroom, freshly showered, and recently recovered from an activity I think could best be described as unpleasant. Unpleasant and humiliating. The humiliation was greatly exacerbated by the fact Miller was waiting a flimsy door and a few feet away from me and is fully aware of what I was doing in here.

Don’t think I haven’t tried to talk myself out of doing this. Bitch, please. Of course I have. I’ve spent most of the week doing little else. I went so far as to write a list of pros and cons. The con list was long. Believe me, it was long.

For reasons now unknown to me, I’ve chosen to distract myself from never-ending pros and cons by spending the week devoting an inordinate amount of time to overthinking my pubic hair situation.

Actually, I can explain it. It’s Miller’s fault. Obviously, it’s his fault. He has a tube of hair-removal cream in his side of the bathroom cabinet, and every time I use his moisturizer as lube, I’m faced with the knowledge that he probably keeps his hole smooth and totally hairless. The thought of that is enough to drive anyone to distraction.

Anyway, much as I’d love it if I was immune to thinking about Miller’s asshole, I’m not. I’ve gotten so severely distracted by the thought of it that I went and used his product on myself. Now I feel bald and stupid on top of all the other kinds of stupid I usually feel.

Letting Miller fuck me is obviously a terrible, terrible idea. You don’t need to tell me that. I’m well aware, thanks. I know it’s insane. I know it’s reckless and idiotic. And I know it’s a horrible lapse in judgment. It’s clear as day.

So why am I doing it, you ask.

It’s called money, Susan.

It’s called making a thousand dollars, okay?

And yes, I want to know what it feels like. I’m a bisexual man who wants to know what it feels like to have a dick up my ass. Sue me.

I’ve gone round and round on the matter, ad nauseam, and it really is that simple.

I’m curious.

I want to know what it’s like to get fucked by a guy. I’ve wanted to know for years, and I’ve always been too scared to try it. I’m not what you’d call brave on a good day, and if Miller hadn’t thrown himself headlong over every boundary I’ve ever put up, I’d probably have spent the rest of my life wondering.

It’s not like I’m happy about the fact it’s him. I’d rather it was almost any other dick-owner on the planet.