Page 2 of Comforting the Grump
That night, we were told to shower before bed, so I had to take my shirt off. Auden gasped. “Dude, what happened? You have bruises all over.”
“I fell off my bike. Hurt like a b—. It hurt a lot.”
Auden’s eyes softened. Did he believe me? “I bet.”
We showered side by side like we always did, and I caught him staring at my back a few times, but he didn’t say anything. When it was time for bed, I crawled into my own bed, which Auden’s dad had put together for me a few months prior. “You spend so much time here that you should have your own,” he’d declared. I’d fought hard to hide my tears.
“Goodnight,” Auden whispered as he turned off the light, only the dim glow of a nightlight remaining.
I swallowed. “Goodnight.”
I would stay in my own bed tonight. Auden never complained, but we were eight, so far too old to share a bed, right? Except that…
A faint rumble made my eyes fly open. Thunder. I hated thunderstorms. No matter how often someone explained they were harmless, they scared the crap out of me. Maybe if I put my head under my pillow, it wouldn’t bother me.
“Marnin,” Auden whispered.
“Yeah?”
Something rustled. “I don’t like thunderstorms either. Can you sleep with me so I’m not scared?”
I was in his bed before I could even breathe out. We lay on our sides, faces toward each other, and Auden tucked the covers around us until we were in a safe, warm cocoon. My chest felt warm and cozy like it was somehow tucked in as well.
“Marnin?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re my best friend.”
“You’re my best friend too.”
“You can always sleep in my bed.”
That warmth inside me grew, and I had to swallow before I could speak. “Thank you.”
“Sleep well, Marnin.”
“Sleep well, Auden.”
I didn’t know what Sheriff Frant said to my dad, but after that, he never touched me again. He ignored me for the most part, which was fine by me. All I had to do was wait until graduation, and I’d be out of there…and never look back.
1
MARNIN
Threesomes used to be more appealing than this.
The sheets tangled around us like the aftermath of a silk storm, the dim light from the bedside lamp casting shadows that danced over the smooth, sweat-glistened skin of the husband and wife entwined with me. I traced the arch of her back with my fingertips, her slopes and hills sensual and inviting, while his hands, callused yet gentle, roamed with purpose over my back.
She was five-foot-five of luscious curves, a generous D-cup, and insatiable horniness, open to taking multiple cocks at once. Her husband was a classic case of tall, dark, and handsome, with a gorgeous copper-colored complexion and seven inches of hard steel he’d be all too happy to bury inside me, he’d made crystal clear.
And I was bored out of my fucking mind.
“Tell us what you want, Marnin,” she whispered, her voice thick with desire, echoing the chorus of lustful anticipation that had become the night’s soundtrack.
“Keep doing…that,” I managed to say, though the directive felt more like an echo of past excitement than a command spurred by current passion.
I’d entered their bedroom with the hunger of a man who hadn’t eaten all day, eager to indulge in the feast of sensation only a ménage à trois—or a foursome or orgy, I wasn’t particular about the number of participants—could offer. The initial rush of arousal had been electric, every caress sending currents of pleasure coursing through me, every shared kiss igniting sparks bright enough to rival the Seattle skyline at midnight.