Page 36 of Poetry On Ice

He stays quiet like that for long enough that I’m almost able to catch my breath. My breathing slows and my heart rate returns to something resembling normal. Just when I’ve managed to convince myself that the worst of the threat has passed, he looks up and hits me with a blistering jade gaze.

“Promise?” he says softly.

With that, he slides his jock down over his hips, letting it drop to the floor. He steps out of it, turns around, and heads to the shower nonchalant as you fucking please.

I’m left alone, gobsmacked, tearing my clothes and pads off like they’ve been soaked in acid. Things are happening in my body that are hard to explain. Hard to make sense of. I’m naked in record time. Almost naked. I still have my compression leggings and socks on, but I stop to pull them off, one garment at a time, as I beat a path to the showers.

McGuire is under the showerhead when I get there. There’s water cascading around him. He’s facing me, waiting for me. His head is tilted back slightly, eyes slanted but open. He smiles when he sees me. He smiles like a man who’s certain of himself. Or certain of me, even though that’s the last thing he should be.

His dick is fully erect. Pretty and pink and straining in my direction. I can tell he’s already soaped himself as there’s a fresh, clean scent in the air around him. It wafts over to where I am and fills my nostrils. Cedarwood and suede.

His hand drifts to his cock. I can’t tell if the movement is deliberate or not. His fingers curl in his pubic hair and around his shaft, traveling up, then down absently, almost as though he still thinks he’s washing himself.

Any semblance of control I may have had erodes on sight.

I step under the water with him, pouring a healthy glob of his body wash into my hand and scrubbing myself roughly. I have way more soap than I need and my movements are vigorous in the extreme, so it suds up well beyond what the situation calls for. I’m covered head to toe in a frenzy of foam and bubbles, so much so that I’m forced to splash my face several times to stop it from running into my mouth.

I don’t care, though, because McGuire is here. He’s wet and naked, and he’s within reach. He watches as I wash, lips quirked in a way that’s more smirk than smile. I can’t blame him. No part of me looks like a guy playing it cool right now.

Before I’ve managed to rinse all of the soap off myself, I grab him and turn him around at the same time. I take hold of him firmly, one hand on his hip, the other around his broad chest. His body is slick, wet, and warm against mine. He squirms in my grip, rubbing his slippery ass against my throbbing erection. It feels good. It feels so fucking good that I don’t care that I’m still covered in suds. I don’t care about the fact I should rinse. Or that we’re in a public space. I don’t care about the fact that someone could walk in and catch us. The only thing I care about is that he’s here. Robbie McGuire. He’s naked and he’s here. He’s pressed up against me andthere’s hot skin everywhere. He’s in my arms and he’s saying my name like it’s a lifeline.

“Ant…Ant…Ant…” He says it over and over. Quiet and reverent. A repetitive chant broken only by soft moans.

My hand on his hip curls around and moves down. It finds the channeledVthat leads to his dick and follows it there. I circle him and start stroking immediately. I jerk him off as if his dick is mine. As if his pleasure is mine. Soft moans splinter and grow coarse. He rocks his hips in time with my moment, and when he does, the cleft between his ass cheeks forms a fleshy furrow for my cock. I tighten the grip I have on his chest and the one I have on his dick, and I start thrusting between his cheeks at the same time.

His skin is smooth and slick, wet and hot. I’m mindless as I move. Hand. Hips. Hard. Fast. He throbs in my hand, swelling as the rest of his body stiffens. His dick feels perfect in my hand. Perfect. Rock-hard and sinewy. Thick enough to feel like something I don’t want to let go of. I grind myself against him and jerk his cock. Grind and jerk. Grind and jerk. I hold him in my arms and don’t let go when he thrashes and starts to whine his orgasm into existence. I support him as his legs buckle and almost give way, using the swaying momentum ofhis body to turn him so his front is under the spray, washing away what he just made.

I’m drugged by the sounds and the smell and the feel of him. Drugged by the hiss of the water around us. By the heat and the steam. By the smell of men and hockey, and most of all, by the scent of Robbie McGuire’s skin and hair. So drugged that it doesn’t take much, just a few more helpless thrusts of my dick between his smooth cheeks, and my own peak approaches. It rises like a phoenix. Mounting and cresting, climbing higher and swelling inside me until I’m helpless. Until all I can do is thrust and grunt as it takes me out.

McGuire’s eyes sparkle as he reaches for his towel. He dries his hair with such gusto his dick sways quickly from side to side and muscles I had no idea were involved in this simple action bunch and flex. Just my luck. He’s one of those guys who recovers from busting a nut at lightning speed.

“I’m so excited for Dallas,” he says brightly. “I can’t wait for you to fuck me.”

16

Robbie McGuire

I can’t think ofa time I’ve been more excited to get on a plane. Or off one. Or onto a bus. Or to a hotel. I swear, I don’t think a single full minute has passed since Decker told me what happens to sluts that I haven’t thought about it. I’ve been so spaced out that Bodie’s been looking at me funny and asking if I’m all right. I am. I’m better than all right.

I’m excited.

And nervous.

I’m so nervous and excited, and I can’t really tell those emotions apart from each other anymore. My palms are sweaty and my stomach is fluttery. A low hum of apprehension has been waking me up at night, twisting and turning in my gut until it changes into something that makes me hot. I’m overly aware of my skin. It feels sensitive and too tight. I’m aware of my breathing and my heartbeat all the time.

I remember this feeling. I felt like this before I lost my dick virginity too. I’d been dating this girl Dana for a while, and we’d talked about having sex a lot. She’d told me she was ready and wanted to do it, so I knew it was in the cards. I knew it was coming. I felt exactly like this. Like I was wide awake. Wired when I should’ve been tired. Like every moment was filled with a sense of possibility. Opportunity. Risk and reward.

I was nervous then, too, but for different reasons. I was worried I’d be bad somehow, that I’d hurt her or come too quickly or not make her feel good, or something like that. This time, I’m worried about totally different things. I’m worried it will hurt me, I won’t be able to handle it, and I’ll have to ask Decker to stop. Or that I’ll do something that makes me seem inexperienced. Or that something will go wrong with my prep, and I’ll paint him.

I’ve been pretty obsessive about reading up about other guys first times to try to combat my fears. There’s a ton of information out there. Maybe too much. I know if I spoke to Bodie about it, he’d say, “Bud, you’re over-researched.”

And maybe I am, but I’m someone who’d far rather be over-researched than under-researched. Especially for this kind of thing. I bought a douche kit yesterday, and Imust have checked my luggage seventy times or more last night to make sure I’d packed it. I packed lube too. Three kinds—in addition to my usual jacking-off lube—because the results of my extensive research were kind of divided on what the best brand for anal is. I fell down the rabbit hole pretty seriously. I must have because while adding copious amounts of lube to my cart, I threw in a couple of pairs of lacy jockstraps for the hell of it. A white one and a pink one.

I left those at home though. They were too much.

I didn’t even try them on.

Seriously, I didn’t. They’re still in their packaging, I swear. I didn’t even open them. I stuck them in the bottom of my underwear drawer and covered them with socks.