Wonderful Life! Ch. 03

Over the past two weeks I'd learned a few things about women's jeans. You shouldn't dry them on the radiator. You can't bend over in them. And you get fucking used to them.

The first one I figured out on day three, when I took the jeans off the radiator and couldn't get them up past my knees. I hopped around my room for about ten minutes, thinking my mother had finally won and I'd have to go to college in that pair of "dusty rose" jeans.

The second one Gosha explained to me: he told me he'd "developed a very powerful erection" when I bent down to pick up a pen.

The third I figured out on my own, and I still shy away from those thoughts.

Today was Wednesday.

Computer science was held in the glass building, in a computer lab on the second floor. Nothing special: rows of computers that looked worse than the one I had at home, white blinds, and the hum of cooling fans. Some of the computers were so old they wouldn't even turn on, and others could freeze while running your code.

The professor sat in the corner, at a desk buried in cables. Tall, stooped, glasses, brown hair that stuck up as if he'd never combed it once in his life. A gray cardigan covered in pills. In front of him stood a laptop plastered with anime-girl stickers, and a mug with a broken-off handle. He held it with both hands, afraid it would fall on the floor again.

"P-please open the second lab assignment," he said to his desk. "If it won't open for anyone, that's... that's normal."

Looks like that upperclassman hadn't lied to me. This professor really did look like, how do I put this gently... Like a slug!

In the back rows the football players were casually watching a game, at least with the sound off for now, though every so often they griped in whispers that somebody had blown a play. Kimmi was the only one taking notes, even though there wasn't really anything to write down. Erik, the professor, had just handed out the assignment and hadn't said anything since.

"Wanna bet he's a virgin?" Gosha whispered.

He was sitting on my left and had been rocking on his chair for about five minutes now, because he'd scrolled through his entire news feed on his phone.

"He's like thirty-five. A virgin, come on..." I said.

"Exactly!"

"You're disturbing people," Kimmi said sternly, without turning around.

"Like who?" Gosha asked, genuinely surprised.

She looked around the lab, where nobody was doing any computer science. And couldn't find grounds for an objection, so she just exhaled loudly and went back to writing.

The lab was really easy. You had to write a program that asks a person their name and says hello to them. I did it in a couple of minutes and then spent a few more waiting for the computer to stop freezing. Out of boredom I also added a special option: if you entered the name "Gosha," the program answered "go fuck yourself." Gosha tested it, and we both had a laugh.

Charlotte was sitting on my right. To be honest, I'd been trying not to look in her direction for the whole two weeks we'd been in class together. Today she had on a thin white sweater with the kind of neckline that said she wanted every person on earth to know just how enormous her tits were. She was staring at her monitor and frowning.

"Sorry," she whispered when she noticed I'd glanced somewhere in her direction.

At first it didn't even occur to me that she was talking to me.

"Huh?"

"Sorry. My thing here... It isn't working."

"What does it say?"

"It doesn't say anything. This thing just asks for my name. I type it in, and it asks again. I've typed it in like fifty times already."

I rolled over to her on my chair. Sure enough, the screen showed a column of lines with her name on them. Looked like she'd put the question in a loop but hadn't given it any way out. Amazing that she'd answered the question that many times and still hadn't caught on.

"May I?" I asked, pointing at the keyboard.

She nodded, but didn't move over a fraction of an inch. The keyboard was a long way from me, and my chair wouldn't roll any closer, so I had to stand up and lean over her desk. Her tits ended up dangerously close to my right arm. Four inches, tops. I could feel every one of those inches thanks to my dick, which filled with blood whenever I snuck a glance down into her cleavage. That's probably the best seat in the house for that kind of visual aesthetic pleasure.

Charlotte smelled like something insanely sweet. Like strawberry bubblegum or something along those lines.

There was only one line in her program that needed fixing. I could have done it in an instant, but Charlotte leaned forward a little and didn't even notice her breasts touching my forearm. I noticed, though!

So soft and tender.

I swallowed and fixed the line anyway.

"Done," I said. "Try it."

She typed in her name, and the program came back with the long-awaited "Hello, Charlotte." Then Charlotte looked at me as if I'd just saved her life.

"Thank you," she said, in awe. "You're really smart."

"I wouldn't say that. I just spend a lot of time on the computer."

"That's why you're smart!"

She smiled and blushed a little, which made her even pinker than she already was.

Something hit my chair from the left. Gosha had kicked it.

I turned around and saw him making some pretty obvious signs. First he pointed several times somewhere in the direction of my ass, then he gave me a thumbs-up, grinning way too brightly the whole time.

It took me a while to get it. I even frowned, not understanding what he wanted from me.

And all this time I'd been standing there bent over Charlotte's desk with my ass stuck out for the whole world to see. My hoodie had ridden all the way up to the small of my back. The realization came over me just as gradually as my face was turning red.

Anybody could have been staring at me this whole time. Man, Charlotte's tits had completely shut my brain off. I dropped into my chair so fast it actually rolled away a little.

"His glasses straight-up fogged over," Gosha reported.

"What? Whose?"

"The prof's. He couldn't take his eyes off you. I saw everything."

"He was staring at Charlotte, like everybody else."

"Yeah, sure. At her." Gosha nodded and laughed. "From where he's sitting, you can't even see Charlotte, Niko."

"Fuck, can we stop discussing this already!"

"Well, you're the one who keeps provoking me with that ass of yours!" he said in his own defense, but it sounded so idiotic.

I scowled, pulled my hoodie down lower, and sat up straight until the bell. Perfect posture--Mom would have approved.

The bell rang. Erik thanked us for the class in his usual stammer when we were already on our way out of the room. Weird that nobody thanked him back. I even felt a little sorry for him. But then I remembered what Gosha had said about him staring at me, and the pity evaporated.

In the cafeteria I had soup again. Handed over another three dollars. By now I'd saved up forty-two. That would have been enough for a pair of men's jeans, but every night, when I counted my money, I found a reason to put the purchase off for another couple of days.

Gosha sat down across from me and kindly shared one of his sandwiches.

"Roxy's handiwork again?"

"She thinks I don't eat enough. I weigh two hundred pounds, Niko."

"Of all people, you're definitely eating like you're supposed to."

I smiled.

The click of heels sounded near our table. Emma didn't ask whether the seats were free. She just set her tray down next to Gosha and sat with a look that said we should be glad she was letting us sit with her at lunch. I noticed her fresh manicure right away. Those little cherry-colored nails looked so good that I didn't deny myself the pleasure of imagining how they'd look on various parts of my body.

Charlotte came up next. First she acted like she meant to walk past. Then she thought about it and stood off to the side for a bit, as though she were looking for a seat, even though there were plenty of empty seats. Strange girl.

"Can I sit here?" she asked, more to her salad than to me.

I nodded. She sat down next to me, and from that second on Gosha stopped looking at me and did nothing but stare at Charlotte's enormous tits. For some reason that stung, and I even started to feel a kind of jealousy.

So he'd found himself something more interesting. What a son of a bitch.

"I hate Wednesdays," Emma said, and blew on her nails as if she wanted everyone to notice her brand-new manicure. "Four classes, and then a shift till ten on top of that."

"You already have a job?" I asked, surprised.

"At a coffee shop by the train station. Six hours on my feet. On these." She stretched her right leg out to the side and showed off the heel. "The tips aren't bad, though. Men leave more if you wear a short skirt to your shift."

Gosha laughed, but he didn't take his eyes off Charlotte's tits. I honestly couldn't understand how Charlotte didn't notice him staring. Maybe she did notice and just didn't mind.

"And I'm at my sis's garage on weekends," Gosha said. "Sometimes she even pays me!"

"I work with kids," Charlotte said quietly. "I teach them to read. Their dads often tell me I have a real talent for it. They pay ten dollars a lesson."

"Ten?" Emma raised her eyebrows. "And how much is your room?"

"Four hundred. But there are three of us in there, and I got the room with no window!"

"That's fucked. Mine's two thirty in the dorms, and I've got a window. Although some asshole on the other side of the wall is learning to play the ukulele."

They went on about prices. Turns out the washer in the dorms eats two dollars a load and sometimes doesn't give your socks back. You're not allowed to leave cheese in the shared kitchen. The landlady of Charlotte's apartment shows up for inspections without warning and hunts carefully for signs that Charlotte's been bringing guys over. I listened to them as closely and with as much interest as if these were stories from people living in another country. They had their own money and their own problems--the thing you could call adult life. And all I had so far was problems with my mom.

"What about you?" Emma asked.

"Still looking," I said.

I'd been looking for quite a while now, but so far mostly in theory. In general I had a packed schedule consisting of college, League of Legends, and sleep. Now and then it was invaded by masturbation sessions courtesy of Chioma, when I managed to pretend I wasn't in my room. On top of which, those rare moments had to coincide with the desires of Chioma herself.

"He lives with his mom," Gosha said, ratting me out, and I was suddenly ashamed of that fact. Even though I used to think there was nothing weird about it.

"I'd rather be in your shoes than live with my mom and sister," I shot back.

"And I'd give anything for my mom's home cooking," Charlotte sighed.

"We can trade. But you'll have to deal with my dumb mother's bullshit yourself!"

Charlotte burst out laughing and covered her mouth with her hand. The laughter made her chest jiggle, which made Gosha look like a horny dog. I kicked him in the leg under the table and frowned. And then caught myself thinking that I was acting like a jealous girlfriend. God.

"Ow! What was that for?"

I twitched my eyebrows at him.

Emma smiled and looked at the two of us. I think she understood a great deal in that one moment.

"Are you just going to keep walking around in that gray sack?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Pity." She stood up and took her tray. "If you ever get tired of it, tell me. I've got a couple of things in your size."

And she left, heels clicking.

Charlotte stayed a little longer while she finished her salad.

"Thanks again for the help," she said before she left. She paid no attention to Gosha whatsoever, as if he weren't even there.

Gosha, for his part, followed her with his eyes all the way to the door.

"She's into you," he said.

"And you think it's okay to stare at a person like that?"

"I was staring at the tits. I don't know anything. Tits are public property, everybody looks at them." He nodded several times. "But Charlotte only looks at you."

"She looks at everybody."

"She doesn't look at me. And I happen to be sex appeal itself." He grinned. "Why the hell'd you kick me under the table?"

"You were looking at her like she was a steak. It looked weird."

"Ah, got it. Jealous?"

"Like fuck I was!"

"Don't worry, Niko! Tits are here today, gone tomorrow. But your best friend's ass--that's forever."

I threw a piece of bread at him. He caught it in his mouth, like a dog. As if that had been the plan all along.

Then he wiped his hands on his pants and stood up. I followed.

"Listen. My folks took off again till Sunday. Hauling parts to a market in another town. It'll just be Roxy at home."

"So?"

"Pizza, video games, beer."

"Sounds pretty good."

"You coming over tonight?"

He was looking at me the same way he had at eight years old, when he suggested jumping off the garage roof into a snowdrift. Of course we jumped, and more than once. And I broke my arm.

Last time, I never answered his invitation. I lay at home thinking about women's panties. There's always been this thought hovering in my head that if you say no too often, the invitations might stop coming.

"I've got nothing to sleep in," I said.

"How's that?"

"Just like that. These jeans are all I have, period."

Gosha looked at me for a few seconds, and I could practically see new jokes hatching in his head. In the end he held back.

"Come on. I've got tons of clothes at home," he said. "We'll find you something."

There you go. A little from everybody, and that's my new look.

"Okay. But I have to ask my mom."

"You're nineteen years old."

"Tell that to my mother. I'll listen to how that conversation goes."

"Nah, thanks. Your mom's a cute little bitch, sure, but she kind of scares me. All the women in your family are mean, actually. Lucky you're a boy."

I called my mother from the bus stop. She picked up after a few rings.

"Yes," she said.

"Mom, I'm staying over at Gosha's tonight."

"Will his parents be home?"

"Just his sister."

"How old is she?"

I tried to remember.

"Twenty-four."

I could hear papers rustling in the background on her end.

"And what will you wear to class tomorrow?"

"Same thing I'm wearing today."

"You will stop by the house and take a clean blouse. Preferably the white one."

"Mom..."

"You are not going to college in dirty clothes, Niko. In the morning I expect a photo showing that you have put the blouse on."

She hung up.

Only Sasha was home. She had a day off in the middle of the week again, which meant she'd either been fired from yet another job or was about to be. She was smoking on the back porch in somebody else's T-shirt, watching through the glass door as I ran around the house with my backpack.

I had to take the blouse, otherwise tomorrow Mom would put me through something that would make my old life look like a fairy tale. I rolled it into a tube and shoved it to the very bottom of my backpack. Next to it, my phone charger and a toothbrush. I had no intention of going outside in a blouse, but I'd have to get that photo taken somehow.

I closed the closet and went down to the first floor.

Sasha had already finished her cigarette and was standing in the entryway, one shoulder against the wall.

"And where are we off to?"

"Gosha's."

"Overnight, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Overnight at a boy's place." She smiled so wide it actually scared me a little. "You're growing up, little brother. Did you pack spare panties?"

"Get lost."

"You'd better. Spare panties are the most important thing. Because there's no telling what shape the ones you've got on will end up in."

I honestly don't know whether she was hinting at the time she'd found a pair of blue lace panties soaked through with my cum, or just trying to give me sound advice.

I tried to get around her on the right, but she took a step sideways and blocked my way.

"Sasha, I have to catch the bus."

"You'll make it. As your big sister, I have to give you a couple of sound pieces of advice! Mom's not going to tell you this stuff, and we don't have a dad."

"I don't need this," I protested.

"Everybody needs it, but everybody's scared to talk about it," she explained, and crossed her arms over her chest. "Gosha--that's the blond one? Kind of big, a little built, but the same kind of nerd as you?"

"Yeah."

"Got it."

She raised a finger, as if starting a list.

"One. Never rush. Everybody thinks you've got to get a cock off as fast as you can, but that's not true. And even more important is how you look at the man. He may forget how you sucked, but your eyes--never."

"Sasha, fuck! I'm going over there to play video games!"

"Uh-huh. I went over to play video games a couple of times myself, and then my ass hurt for a couple of days." She smirked. "So, where was I? Oh, right. The eyes. Picture yourself as the filthiest slut alive in that moment, and look him in the eye as often as you can."

I frowned, and she raised a second finger and went on.

"Two. Lots of spit. There's no such thing as too much. The first few times, better to play it safe and use extra. And don't do anything dry."

By now my ears had gone red, and my face, and even my neck. Probably even my hair had gone red.

"Three. Maybe the most important one. The balls! A lot of people forget about them. They suck, they jerk, they try so hard, and the balls just hang there with nothing to do. Take them in your palm. Gently. And tug them down a little when he's coming. He'll be so happy he'll agree to buy you a car. If he isn't broke, of course."

"I'm not going to do that to any--"

"And if he's big," she cut in, "and guys like him usually aren't small, then don't try to take the whole thing in your mouth. Jerk the base with your hand and suck the top with your mouth. He won't notice you didn't take all of him, and you won't puke on his stomach. That happened to me once. I don't recommend repeating my mistakes."

Fuck, there I was standing in the entryway while my sister explained how to properly blow my best friend. Some kind of fucking comedy.

The funniest part is that I memorized every one of her points. And even got a little turned on, though I'll never admit it. Meanwhile I couldn't make it through a philosophy lecture even on a recording, in two tries.

"Is that all?" I asked.

"That's all." Sasha peeled herself off the wall and cleared the way. "I'm feeling generous today."

"I'm not going to need any of this useless knowledge."

"Of course you're not." She ruffled my hair and smiled. "You're going over there to play video games."

I got my shoes on faster than I ever had in my life.

The bus to Gosha's part of town ran once every forty minutes. Luckily, I made it. For the next half hour I sat and watched the scenery change in the window. Warehouses flew past, then we crossed the railroad tracks, and the town changed fast. Single-family houses, fences, garages. Behind every fence lived a dog, or several, and they barked at the bus a lot.

The whole ride I tried not to think about how you're supposed to tug the balls down during orgasm.

I'd been riding this route since I was about six. First Mom drove me, later I went by myself.

Gosha's house was a long one-story with a garage bigger than the house itself. The yard looked a little neglected, as if a car had exploded in it and nobody had bothered to clean up. By the fence stood an old bumper and some wheels stacked in a tower. Something that looked like an engine under a tarp.

Gosha was standing at the gate chewing on a blade of grass, like a village idiot on a postcard. I looked him over from top to bottom, and somewhere near the bottom I mentally told Sasha to go fuck herself.

"An hour and a half!" he pointed out. "I almost had time to get old and grow a beard."

"Not a damn thing grows on your face," I snorted.

"See how long you took? I got so old that nothing grows anymore."

A radio was blaring from the garage. AC/DC mixed with Katy Perry--very strange taste in music. A pair of legs in heavy boots stuck out from under a car that was up on a jack. The owner of the boots heard us, planted her feet on the concrete, and rolled out.

It was Roxy, Gosha's older sister.

She and Gosha looked nothing alike. He's fair and always grinning. She's tan, with brown hair sticking out in every direction and freckles across her nose. Several silver rings in her left ear, smears of motor oil on her cheeks. She'd pulled her blue work coveralls down to her waist and tied them by the sleeves, and under them she wore a white tank top with no bra. Smallish tits, a B-cup or so, and her nipples poked through the fabric so hard it was difficult to look anywhere else. Sinewy arms, like the rest of her, covered in scrapes and filthy up to the elbows.

Whenever their parents were off making the rounds of the markets, she was the one who looked after Gosha.

"Oh," she said, sitting up on the creeper. "Who's the cupcake? Gosha, you could've at least picked up the socks lying all over your room, it's embarrassing in front of company."

"I did," he declared.

Roxy clicked her tongue a couple of times, as if she disagreed with him. She wiped her hands on a red rag, but that didn't make them any cleaner.

She gave me a quick once-over and wiggled her eyebrows. We've known each other a long time, and she sometimes called me "the sister-in-law" to piss Gosha off, but apparently today we'd moved on to "cupcake." Well, it's an improvement.

"Have you eaten?" she asked me. "I can see you're hungry. There's soup in the fridge. Just don't give this one any, or he'll scarf the whole thing."

"I'm a young, growing organism," Gosha protested.

"You're a full-grown bull. You've had enough. Beer's in the garage, in the little fridge. No more than two apiece, got it? I'm not dealing with the problems of two drunk little punks if you overdo it."

"But what if--"

"I've said my piece, Gosha."

She lay back down on the creeper and rolled under the car. The conversation really was over.

Gosha carefully took hold of my hoodie sleeve and made it pretty clear that it was time for us to get the hell away from Roxy.

The house smelled of fried onions and a little bit of gasoline or oil. I don't know much about all that automotive crap. But it was still easier to breathe here than in my own house. Probably because here I couldn't feel my mother trying to strangle me.

I had some soup. Two whole bowls, and so fast I could have entered a speed-soup-eating championship. Couldn't help it, it was too good. And nothing like the potatoes-in-water from our college. Gosha was bursting with pride, as if he'd made that soup himself.

His room was the same as ever. A sagging couch, folded out into a bed. A TV on a stand, taking up half the wall. Under it, the console and a tangle of cords that would probably never be untangled now. A guitar missing two strings that he never did learn to play. On the wall, a poster of some cool car and another one of the band Evanescence. I knew that under both posters there were holes in the wall that had been there for years. Sticking out from under the couch were about seven socks, each balled up differently, depending on the mood Gosha had come home in.

Compared to his room, I wasn't even ashamed of mine. I should bring Mom here on a field trip so she can see how people live.

"Okay," Gosha said, and clapped his hands. "Let me find you something."

He opened the closet, and several things immediately fell out. Gosha paid no attention, as if that happened a lot. He plunged his arms inside and started rummaging, stirring up the clothes on the shelves. Even to me it looked a bit too grubby, which made me feel awkward.

"Here. Try these."

They were shorts. Black, kind of like basketball shorts. I didn't even bother putting them on. I just held them up at arm's length and realized that half of those shorts would pretty much do it for me, and the other half would hang there with nothing to do.

"Gosha, these aren't shorts, they're a tent."

"There's a drawstring. You can tighten it."

I looked at him like he was an idiot, and I'm sure at that moment I looked a lot like my mother and sister.

"Okay, I get it," Gosha said. "They won't work."

Next up was a pair of gray sweatpants. On me they looked like a fucking sleeping bag. Then some shorts with palm trees. Same story every time.

Ten minutes later, every pair of pants and shorts I could theoretically have worn was lying on the floor of the room. We stood next to the pile in silence.

"When did you manage to get so fat?" I asked.

"I didn't get fat, you just didn't grow for shit." He scratched the back of his head. "What's your waist, anyway?"

"How should I know," I snorted.

He walked up and wrapped his hands around my waist. You know, like a vase. He had huge hands, but they weren't enough to go all the way around me. Then he squeezed a little, and for a moment I stopped breathing.

His fingers almost met.

"Holy shit," Gosha exclaimed. "Even my ex's was wider."

"Get your hands off."

"I'm just measuring."

"Gosha!"

He took them away. But not right away.

"Okay. Wait here."

He left and came back a minute later with a fresh armful of clothes. On top lay a pair of fringed denim shorts.

"Whose are these?" My first thought was his mother.

"Roxy's. Got them from her room. She'll be in the garage for a long time yet anyway, but if she finds out, we're dead." He chuckled, like that was funny.

"You want to put your sister's shorts on me? What are you, a total pervert?" I was outraged as hell.

"I'm trying to find at least something that'll fit you. You already walk around in women's jeans. Roxy's clothes are way less trashy than your jeans. So what's the difference?"

Maybe I had overreacted. Gosha sounded like he really was trying to help.

I took the shorts and even put them on over my jeans, but almost immediately they started sliding down. So slowly, too, as if they were mocking me.

"Well, she's got an ass like a car hood. Can't be helped," Gosha said proudly, watching the shorts slide off me. "I never even noticed."

"Don't talk about your sister like that. She's not a bitch like mine."

"What's the big deal? It was a compliment. You've got a great ass too, just a small one. Like those... subcompacts."

"A couple more words about my ass and I'm going home."

"What do you want to do that for? You'd have to wait for the bus."

I exhaled in irritation.

Gosha gathered up Roxy's things and took them back before she noticed they were missing. I was left alone with my problem, already thinking that my loungewear would be the same thing I had on now.

Gosha came back and stopped in the doorway.

"Listen," he said. "Why the hell do you even need pants?"

"Right. Fucking genius."

"You're at home. It's just me and Roxy here, and she'll be going to bed in a couple of hours." He dove into the closet again, somewhere up high this time. "I've got a couple of T-shirts. Oversized. I bought them to grow into, but I never grew, and they're still just as big. They'll come down to your knees."

He pulled out a black T-shirt and stretched it out in his hands. It really was enormous. On the chest was the same band as on the poster.

"There. Put it on and walk around. Comfy."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'm not walking around your house in nothing but a T-shirt."

"Why not?" He was pretending not to understand a thing.

"Because it's..." I was searching for the words. "It's weird."

"What's the big deal? I walk around the house like that all the time."

"That's different."

"If you want, I can walk around in my underwear. Then you'll be wearing more than me!"

My eye started twitching with irritation.

"Gosha, I'll look like a girl you fucked last night who put on your T-shirt in the morning. What part of that don't you get?"

I said it and immediately regretted spelling it out for him in that much detail. I should have just said no, period. Gosha's mouth fell open. I could feel the picture coming together in his head, the one I'd put there myself. And that smug little smirk of his.

"Well..." he said. "Technically, you are spending the night at a guy's place. Certain details of the process might drop out of the equation, but still..."

"I'm about to hit you."

I threw the basketball shorts at him, the ones I'd picked up off the floor. And got him right in the face. Bull's-eye!

"Okay, look!" He raised his hands, then held the T-shirt up against me, pressing it to my shoulders. Sasha had once held a thong up against me like that in the kitchen, and look where that got me. "See? It comes down to here on you." He poked a finger into my leg, just above the knee. "And your hoodie comes down to here." The finger rose to the middle of my ass, but he didn't dare poke. "If you take away the jeans, you go to college more naked than you'll be in this."

Maybe it was a dumb comparison, very Gosha, but to me it sounded pretty convincing. Except it wasn't about the inches above the knee at all, it was about how this would look from the outside.

In jeans I was a guy in skinny jeans. A weird one, fairly feminine, but still a guy. In nothing but a T-shirt over bare skin, though, I might come across as something else. I felt that difference very clearly, but I doubt I could have explained it.

"Can I just stay in my jeans?"

"No outdoor clothes on my couch."

"Since when? You've slept on it in your boots! I remember everything."

"Since a couple of months ago. Roxy banned it."

"She didn't ban anything."

"Go ask her."

I looked at the door, but I had no intention of going out to the garage to Roxy. She would never forget that question, whatever the answer turned out to be.

"Come on, Niko," Gosha said with a serious face. "I've seen you every possible way there is. You think there's anything left that could surprise me?"

Oh, fuck yes, there is.

I clenched my teeth, trying to come to some kind of decision.

"Fine," I said. "Give it here."

Gosha tossed me the T-shirt. And then did something I didn't expect. He took hold of his belt, unbuckled it, and pulled off his jeans. He was left in gray underwear and a tank top. I took note of that, even though in our history there'd been plenty of occasions when we changed in the same room.

"What are you doing?"

"I promised, didn't I? Now you're the most dressed person in the room." He kicked his jeans onto the pile. "You know, solidarity or whatever."

I tried to look him in the face, but my eyes flicked lower, because there at the front of his gray boxer briefs was something so big that, as far as I'd figured, Gosha couldn't possibly have it. Maybe he'd stuffed some spare socks in there.

Sasha's words kept surfacing in my head, about how guys like him usually don't have small dicks.

I shook my head, hoping the stupid thoughts would fly out of it that way.

"Turn around," I said.

"What?"

"Turn around, I said."

"Since when? You and me sat in the same bathtub as kids, and we went to swim class together."

"That was a long time ago! Turn around, right now."

Gosha gave me a doubtful look. Then he shrugged and sat down on the floor in front of the TV and the console. With his back to me, like I'd asked. He pretended to be untangling cords.

I backed up a couple of steps and stood facing him. Pulled off my hoodie, undid the button on my jeans. Got them off as fast as I could. But they came off about as easily as the peel on an unripe banana.

The room went so quiet I could hear Katy Perry in the garage singing about a firework.

All I had left on were the black socks from Chioma and those same blue lace panties. I adjusted them a little on my ass, because I still couldn't get used to the fabric bunching up between my cheeks.

I dove into the black T-shirt, and it fell over me like a curtain. The sleeves came to my elbows, the collar immediately slid off one shoulder, and the hem really did reach almost to my knees.

I straightened the T-shirt and exhaled.

"Done," I said.

He turned around. Looked at me and said nothing. A distinct tension hung in the air, and I was praying for Gosha to crack a joke, or even take a jab at me.

"It's fine," he said at last. His voice was hoarse, as if his throat had gone dry. He cleared it. "Fits fine. Told you."

And he turned back to the console.

For a whole hour Gosha didn't crack a single joke. And this is the same guy who once spent several days joking about how I hold a spoon. I didn't know what to do with that, so I decided to keep quiet too.

When I sat down on the couch, I immediately discovered an interesting thing about life as a woman. Although it's just a T-shirt--what the hell does life as a woman have to do with it?

Anyway. In a long T-shirt with no pants, you can't sit the way guys sit. I kept my knees together the whole time and kept fixing the hem. Gosha sat down next to me in his boxer briefs, knees spread across half the couch. Sure, what did he have to worry about?

Then our pizza arrived. Some kid on a moped. Roxy was bankrolling the fun. I have no idea how Gosha talked her into it. He went out to the street in his underwear and wasn't embarrassed about a thing.

After that, beer and video games.

I beat him six times in a row.

"You're a fucking cheater," Gosha suddenly spoke up after the sixth time.

"I had a lot of time at home to learn how to do this."

On round seven he started cheating physically. He shoved me with his shoulder, covered my corner of the screen with his hand, and then just fell on top of me with his whole bulk and started wrestling the controller away. I yelled and kicked at him. The T-shirt rode up somewhere around my ribs. I realized it too late--when Gosha suddenly stopped fighting, climbed off me, and sat up straight.

"Holy crap," he said, noticing the blue lace panties on me.

I yanked the T-shirt back down to my knees. My heart was pounding like crazy, but I figured that was from the wrestling.

"Okay," he said, looking at the TV. "You win."

I tried to act like nothing unusual had happened.

The beer went to my head somewhere around the middle of the second bottle, because I rarely drank and it almost always ended badly. The straight lines of the furniture and the ceiling started to swim a little in front of my eyes. It had gotten dark outside, and the radio in the garage had gone quiet. A door slammed, and somewhere far off a shower started running.

Gosha stretched out on the couch with his hands behind his head. I was sitting at the other end.

"Remember how you wanted to be a vet?" he asked the ceiling.

"You wanted to be a vet. I wanted everybody to leave me alone."

"Well, there you go. Dreams do come true."

"So why'd you change your mind?"

"I found out how they take a dog's temperature."

I laughed so hard I almost spilled my beer. Gosha was very pleased with himself.

"And remember the oath?"

"What oath?"

"In the garage. We were like twelve. We swore we'd never get married, because all girls are dumb."

"That's just kid stuff." I smiled.

"And here I thought we were men of our word. I, for one, still haven't gotten married."

"That's just because your girlfriend dumped you. Otherwise, who knows, you'd be married by now."

"Those are details."

He was quiet for half a minute.

"I did everything for her, Niko. Flowers, movies, all that shit with cards and letters. I even memorized a poem. And she'd get offended because I looked at her the wrong way somehow. What wrong way? I always look the same."

"You've just got a face like a Labrador."

"Exactly. And apparently she wanted a Doberman."

Ever since he and his girlfriend broke up, not one of our get-togethers had gone by without her coming up. I'd figured out a long time ago that it actually still hurt him.

"It'd be easier with guys," he said, and something in my head seemed to click very hard. "At least they don't get offended over every little thing."

He looked at me. I couldn't bring myself to turn my head his way after a line like that.

I couldn't come up with any answer to it at all. I just nearly choked on my beer.

"Anyway," Gosha said a couple of seconds later, once he realized he'd blurted out something stupid. "You still with Elsa?"

Elsa. My beloved Elsa. So, yeah, I technically had a girlfriend, one that only Gosha knew about.

We'd met last winter at a prep course. She sat in front of me, and for the first two months I knew her only as "the unbelievable hottie with the blond ponytail." If you only knew how many times I jerked off to her pictures on social media during that time. Then one day she turned around and asked for a pen. Then asked me to do a practice test for her. Soon after that I somehow ended up at her place. I still don't understand how somebody like me could have caught her interest.

I hadn't told Mom or Sasha about Elsa, because it would have set off so many unnecessary conversations that I wouldn't have had the strength for them. And even I'm still not sure I can call her my "girlfriend."

"I guess so," I said.

"You 'guess'?" Gosha smirked.

"She said we have an open relationship."

"So you're free?"

"She's free."

Gosha suddenly got interested.

"Listen, seriously though. You're okay with her getting... Well... you know."

"I'm okay with it."

"I wouldn't like that."

"Well, you don't have a girlfriend like that."

He grunted. I could tell from his face what he was thinking about my Elsa right now.

Bare feet slapped down the hallway. There was a knock on the door, and it opened right away. Roxy didn't give a damn about Gosha's personal boundaries, just like Sasha with mine. The two of us could write a guide, something like "How to Live with a Psycho Older Sister and Not Lose Your Mind."

Roxy stood in the doorway in nothing but a white towel, with wet hair. She took in the scene with a quick look. She especially liked that her brother was sitting there in his underwear and I was in a T-shirt with bare legs sticking out from under it.

I braced myself to get through this moment.

"Cool," she said abstractly.

We kept quiet, because we weren't entirely sure what she meant.

"Okay," Roxy went on. "I'm going to bed. Any yelling and I'll kill you both. Be nice to your guest."

"Good night," I said.

Roxy snorted and smiled.

"See? Learn from your friend, blockhead," she told Gosha, and closed the door.

A couple of seconds later the door opened again.

"Why the fuck were you digging around in my closet? You're fucking dead tomorrow, Gosha."

She slammed the door. Gosha slid down the couch and covered his face with his hands. He seemed completely crushed that he couldn't even work things out with his own sister, never mind other girls.

We lay there in silence for a while. I felt good. For real, no kidding. I'd eaten well, had my fill of beer, and yet I was almost completely sober. Nobody was commenting on my posture. I didn't have to think about money right now.

Yes, I was in nothing but a T-shirt over women's panties. But I still felt really good.

"So what are you gonna do when the jeans wear out?" Gosha asked.

"Mom'll buy new ones."

"The same kind?"

"I doubt I'll get off that easy."

He said nothing.

"Listen, she didn't buy you any skirts, did she?"

"Gosha," I said sternly.

"Just curious."

"She didn't."

"Too bad," he said with a certain note of sadness, and then corrected himself: "I mean, good thing she didn't!"

He suddenly sat up. Then he bent down and felt around under the couch, as if hunting for something among his dirty socks. And pulled out two dusty bottles of beer.

"I keep a strategic reserve down here, in case Roxy gets difficult," he explained in a whisper.

He popped both open on the edge of the TV stand and handed one to me.

"So. I have an idea," he went on.

"Oh God."

"I don't think you'll like it."

"I'm a hundred percent sure."

"Let's watch porn." He grinned.

I was surprised, but only a tiny bit. We'd done this a few times over the course of our friendship, but back then it had been different somehow. Back then we hadn't quite understood yet that two guys watching porn in the same room is kind of unusual.

"That's the whole idea?"

"Knew you wouldn't like the idea."

"I watch porn every day. I could give lectures on it. What's so interesting about that?"

"Yeah, but you watch it alone, and it's more fun together. Come on, just for laughs." He was already reaching for the remote. "Remember in ninth grade, when we watched it at your place while your mom was out of town?"

"We sat in opposite corners under blankets. And then couldn't talk to each other for like two days."

"Right. And now we're adults."

I should have said no. I'd known it the previous times, and I knew it now. But this was Gosha, his couch, the blue lace panties on me, and a third beer. And it had been a really nice evening for me. And watching my favorite porn could make it even better.

"Okay," I agreed. "Just for laughs."

He cast the picture from his phone to the TV and turned the sound down almost to zero. Then he glanced at the wall Roxy was sleeping behind. It was obvious right away that she scared him a little.

"What should I put on? I want something with a big ass."

"What a surprise."

"And you?"

"Put on whatever you like. It's your house."

Gosha slowly turned his head toward me and nodded with respect.

"That's why I love you. Anal with Lena Paul, then."

He'd said that to me plenty of times, but before I somehow never paid attention to a word like "love" in our conversations.

I smiled.

Gosha found a video a little over half an hour long, then tossed the remote and his phone onto the TV stand. He took hold of his tank top and pulled it off over his head.

"What?" he asked when I stared at him.

He looked like a solid gym rat who'd put on an extra ten percent or so of body fat, which was why he didn't have the luxury of a six-pack. But his body still came across as imposing and strong.

"Nothing," I said.

He smirked, as if he were insanely sure of himself, and threw the tank top on the floor. Somewhere in the direction of that pile of pants that hadn't fit me.

I think it was starting to dawn on me that we weren't those kids from swim class anymore. My best friend had grown up a little.

"Starting it," Gosha announced, as if this were some kind of momentous event.

Lena Paul came to life on the TV screen.

We even commented for a couple of minutes. You know, a few standard remarks about how we'd never seen classmates like that at our school.

I wasn't paying attention to Gosha until he suddenly lifted his ass and pulled off his boxer briefs. So goddamn fast I didn't even have time to brace myself.

"They're uncomfortable," he explained, though I hadn't come up with any questions yet. "You're not a chick, so there's nothing to be shy about."

I swallowed and squeezed my legs together tighter, because I could already feel my dick starting to come alive. And very fast.

Gosha's underwear flew onto the same pile. He sat back down, spread his knees, and leaned back against the couch like the fucking king of the world.

I tried to look not in his direction but only at the TV. Very intently, as if my life depended on whether I looked away. I had never watched porn with that much concentration.

Gosha put a hand on himself, and I couldn't hold out. It was an absolutely irresistible urge to look, as if my neck muscles did the whole thing on their own.

Big surprise: there were no socks in his underwear. My sister had turned out to be right again.

Size-wise, it was about like Chioma's rubber dick. Eight inches, as thick as my wrist. Honestly, at certain points in my life I'd even doubted that dicks like that existed in reality. I thought it was all special effects and the right camera angles.

But here nature had done the job and then some.

Gosha wasn't even properly hard yet. His dick was just lying on his thigh, heavy and somehow a little sleepy, and it was already bigger than mine when I'm hard. Gosha lazily ran his palm over it once, then again, and it started to rise. It didn't spring up, like mine does--it rose unhurriedly. And just kept going and going.

Thick, hot. With a vein down the side and a wet, dark-red head that kept appearing and then hiding under the foreskin as Gosha's hand moved.

All my life I'd figured my dick wasn't all that small, though deep down I'd suspected something. It seems normal, average, but there's no way it could make girls feel what Gosha's cock would.

"Not bad, huh?" Gosha said.

"Huh?"

"The ass, I'm saying. Not bad, huh?"

"Yeah, fantastic."

He was looking at the screen, so he didn't notice how openly I was staring at his cock. His hand moved up and down without hurry--the same way he did everything in his life. No embarrassment, no rush. For him, it seemed, nothing special was happening. Just watched some porn with a friend.

A couple of times he turned his head my way, but I managed to jerk mine away in time, afraid of being caught looking like that.

Goddamn it. On the screen was one of the best anal scenes in the porn industry, and I couldn't take my eyes off my best friend's cock. Lena Paul was moaning diligently, albeit at minimum volume, and it seemed to me she was trying to get through to me. To get me to pay at least a little attention to her ass.

I could not have cared less about her. Bounce on that dick till you drop dead, Lena. You have no power here.

I watched Gosha's stomach tense up when his hand went down. Watched him run his thumb over the head of his cock and smear a glistening drop of precum across it. Watched him tighten his fist at the very base.

By now I had a solid erection myself. Of course I did--I'm only human. The lace panties did a poor job of holding my dick in place, so I crossed one leg over the other to keep myself in check. I didn't want to show my dick. I was embarrassed by such a pathetic little thing next to Gosha's.

I grabbed a couch cushion and put it on my lap.

Lena was getting pounded hard in the ass on the TV screen, and thoughts flashed through my head again, like in those moments when I'm peeping on my neighbor. What is it like, having something that big inside you? God, why am I thinking about this.

I tried not to look at the TV. What I saw there led me into much more unpleasant corners of my mind than simply looking at my best friend's cock did. In that moment it all seemed so simple and right. Imagining a huge cock inside you is way worse than thinking about your best friend's cock. That's just obvious.

A wave of heat washed over me, followed immediately by cold. I was scared. And all because, with thoughts that weird in my head, my dick wasn't going soft--it was just leaking more precum, as if they were pushing me closer to coming.

No. Fuck, no.

"Why are you hugging a pillow?" Gosha asked, without looking away from the screen or pausing what he was doing.

"It's more comfortable."

"You're not jerking off."

"Don't feel like it."

"To Lena Paul?" He actually turned to look at me like I'd lost my mind. His hand didn't stop, and I tried with all my might to look him in the eye. "You sick or something?"

"Too much beer."

"It was only three bottles."

"I don't weigh much."

He looked at the cushion and at my bare legs.

"If you're freaking out over the women's panties, I seriously don't give a shit," he said. "They're cute, by the way."

My heart nearly stopped.

"I mean, the color. I liked the color," he added quickly. "Blue. I love blue."

"Gosha, watch the porn."

"I'm watching."

He turned away and stared at the screen for two whole minutes. Then he turned his head toward me again, and this time I didn't manage to tear my eyes off his cock. I'd been caught so easily. And the main thing is, I didn't even look away afterward.

I waited for him to laugh. Maybe try to cover himself, or toss out a couple of jokes.

"It's okay," Gosha said. "I'm used to everybody staring."

"I'm not staring!"

"You're looking very attentively," he rephrased. "Have been from the start. I see everything with my peripheral vision. My ex used to stare at first, too. Said it was so big."

"I was just surprised. That's all."

"Hey, I'm not judging."

He squeezed his cock at the base and waggled it from side to side, like it was some kind of club.

"Want to touch it?" he asked suddenly.

Goosebumps ran down my back.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" I asked.

"What's the big deal? Just for kicks."

"Gosha, that is genuine, crystal-pure gayness." I was the one saying it, but the words were meant for me, too. I was just trying to convince myself that this wasn't normal, but it felt like I had almost no strength left for that. As if the decision right now hinged on whether an anvil could keep hanging from one thin silk thread.

"Why's it gotta be gay right away?" he protested. "Just touch it. It's like a bicep. You've touched my bicep and you never said that was gay."

"Fuck, Gosha, that is no fucking bicep."

"Quiet, you'll wake Roxy." He dropped to a whisper. "Listen, I dunno... You're obviously curious, or you wouldn't be looking like that. Come on, Niko, in the interest of science."

So that's how we were talking now. Scientific interest, for fuck's sake. You could explain away any weird thing in the world with that bullshit and nobody would ask questions.

I needed to say no. Stand up decisively, go to the bathroom, pour cold water over my head. And, more importantly, pour cold water over my balls and dick, because the lust and desire washing over me were at such a level that my dick hadn't left its rock-hard state for a single second. That's what they call a rock-hard erection.

I exhaled slowly a couple of times, trying to calm down.

"I'll just touch it," I finally answered.

"Just touch it. If you don't like it, we'll just forget it, and that's that."

He took his hand away and leaned back against the couch. It looked so strange, as if from here on I was the one who was supposed to deal with his cock. The cock, by the way, stood at attention even without his hand. It swayed slightly in time with his pulse, and the head gleamed seductively.

I reached out a trembling hand. First I touched it with one finger, the way you touch an iron to check whether it's heated up. His cock was hot as hell. Then I wrapped my hand around it.

My little hand wasn't enough to go all the way around.

I'd held my own dick in my hand tens of thousands of times in my life. I knew perfectly well how all of that feels, but touching somebody else's was completely different.

"Well?" Gosha asked.

"Heavy," I said.

I should have let go. The scientific research was over... Interest satisfied. But my hand wouldn't unclench. I was just holding him by the cock. Then Gosha moved his hips up a little, and his cock slid in my hand.

He let out a breath through his teeth, as if it felt good.

"You can..." He swallowed. "You can move it a little. If you want. Purely as a friend, nothing more."

I said nothing and started moving.

First up, then down. Then again. It was so strange. The cock wasn't mine, the angle was wrong, the hand was mine, the size was unfamiliar. For the first time I was jerking a dick and getting no pleasure from it, because it wasn't me I was jerking off. I didn't know how he liked it, but judging by his face, I was doing everything right.

My sister's words kept surfacing in my head--her advice, to be exact. But like hell was I going to listen to a single piece of it right now. Go fuck yourself, Sasha. I'm not going to suck a cock. I'm not like that!

All the same, I didn't rush. I drew my palm from the base all the way to the head, slowly, letting Gosha savor every stroke. Gosha moaned softly, trying not to do it too loud.

Several minutes at that pace flew by unnoticed, and nobody was interested anymore in Lena Paul's stretched-out ass on the TV screen.

Gosha started breathing faster. His stomach kept tensing. He was even fucking my hand a little on his own, because he couldn't stand my slow pace.

"Niko... I'm about to..."

My sister's third piece of advice had lodged itself in my head so firmly that, without thinking, I grabbed Gosha's balls with my other hand. They were huge, almost like chicken eggs. And so heavy, hot, and firm. Drawn up tight against the shaft. Gently and carefully I tugged them down.

Gosha made a sound, something like a moan, that I had never heard from him before. He arched on the couch and dug his heels into the floor, and the cock in my hand got even harder.

The first jet of cum shot upward with such force it nearly reached the ceiling. Then something hot slapped me on the cheek, under my eye. More landed on my chin and lower lip. I pulled back but didn't loosen my grip. The rest of the cum flew onto Gosha's chest and stomach in long white stripes. He came for a long time, growling through his teeth so he wouldn't wake his sister. And with every pulse his body shuddered. So much cum.

I automatically licked something off my lower lip and didn't even give it a second thought. Just tasted something salty, that's all.

Gosha's cock went soft.

I didn't move.

"Holy fuck," Gosha said, staring at the ceiling. He was breathing like he'd just run a sprint. "Holy fuck. Niko. That was so... I've never had that... Not even with my ex."

He glanced at me and froze. I shook my head, as if advising him against joking right now about the cum on my face. Without a word he wiped it off with the first tank top that came to hand.

We looked at each other with anal sex playing in the background on the TV screen. Gosha looked pleased, but a little scared. I don't think either of us understood what had just happened.

"Let me do you," he offered. "You know, help you out too, as a friend."

He reached for my knee, but I pulled away. After jerking Gosha off, my own dick seemed even more pitiful and shameful to me, so I was afraid to show it.

"Don't."

"Oh, come on. Let me."

"Don't, Gosha."

He finally got it and stopped reaching for me.

I wanted to come insanely badly. So badly that I was thinking about where in this house I could get some privacy. But if I disappeared for ten minutes, it would be obvious I'd just gone to jerk off, and that thought kept me from considering the option.

"I had too much beer," I said. "I won't get it up."

Gosha looked at the cushion on my lap and seemed to understand that what I had under it was far from limp.

"Okay," he said. "Suit yourself."

He wiped his stomach with the tank top, turned off the TV, and pulled on his underwear.

"Everything okay?" he asked without turning around.

"Yeah."

"That was just for kicks, right?"

"Just for kicks."

"Cool, then."

Soon after that we went to bed. On the same fold-out couch, but there was nothing unusual about that. We slept on opposite edges.

"Good night, Niko."

"Night."

He fell asleep instantly.

And I lay there staring at the wall. My dick was so hard you could have used it as a coat rack. The panties were soaked through and sticking unpleasantly. In my right hand I could still feel Gosha's cock.

I could have jerked off quietly. But what would I have done afterward with all that cum that would pour out of me?

In the morning I crawled out of bed. Gosha was sleeping on his stomach, taking up nearly the whole couch. I took my backpack and went out into the hallway.

Their toilet was in the same room as the bath. A small room with green tile, a washing machine, and a mirror above the sink. I closed the door and tried to find the latch. There was one, but it hung by a single screw, like some kind of vestigial organ nobody in this house ever used. I pushed the door tightly shut and decided nobody would come in here this early.

First I took off the panties. They were in such a state you couldn't look at them without disgust. Slick with precum, and in places already dried, which only made things worse. I'd deal with that at home. I took the spare pair out of my backpack. Red--the kind only sluts wear, according to my sister.

I put them on the shelf under the mirror, next to the cup of toothbrushes. But first, the photo in the blouse for Mom, so she'd think I'd gone to college in it. I pulled off the T-shirt, took out the blouse, shook it out, and put it on. It was thin and cool. It slid pleasantly over my skin. I buttoned it all the way up to my throat and looked in the mirror.

The blouse wasn't long enough, so my dick stuck out unobstructed, just as rock hard as it had been last night.

No big deal. I'd take the picture so it wasn't in the frame.

I stepped right up to the mirror so the sink covered everything below the waist. Raised my phone, straightened up, and smiled as if I were happy to be wearing a blouse.

Click.

That was that. I sent it to Mom right away and got a reply.

See. You can when you want to. Comb your hair.

I was still zoning out at my phone screen when the door opened.

Without any knock or warning. Roxy walked in. She had on an old gray tank top that barely covered her tits, and black underwear that clearly belonged in the "comfort" category, not the "sexy" one.

She felt her way to the sink, opened her eyes, and saw me. She didn't scream and didn't dash out of the bathroom. She just yawned.

"We've got one bathroom in this house," she said hoarsely. "I don't know what you were expecting."

I grabbed the bottom of the blouse with both hands and tried to pull it down. Even then it didn't cover my dick.

"I... It's my mother... She needed a photo..."

"Uh-huh."

Roxy rubbed her eyes and took a closer look at the blouse. She raised her eyebrows and shifted her gaze to something irritatingly red. She picked up the red thong with two fingers and held it up in front of her.

"And whose is this?"

I said nothing.

"Nobody in this house has slutty underwear like this. I'd have noticed by now." She twirled it on her finger. "Yours, huh?"

"The spare."

"Is that so." She nodded slowly, as if she hadn't fully grasped yet that she was awake. "And the main pair would be these, then?"

She jerked her head toward the blue panties.

"My mother threw out all my clothes. I've got nothing else to wear..."

"No need to explain yourself, I don't give a shit." She put the thong back on the shelf. "They're pretty, actually. I don't wear that kind, too girly for me. You were about to put them on?"

"Yes."

"Go ahead, then. I can turn around."

She said that, but she lowered her eyes anyway. To where I was trying to cover myself with my hands and my phone.

"Hang on," she said. "What've you got down there?"

"Nothing."

"Move your hands."

"Roxy..."

"Move them, I don't bite. But if you want, I can leave. I'll piss in the garage, no trouble."

Instead of words, I moved my hands.

Roxy studied my dick. Her lips started trembling, then her shoulders. She covered her mouth with her hand and burst out laughing.

"Oh, I can't," she got out. "Sorry, cupcake. I don't mean it in a bad way, honest. What is that thing between your legs?"

"A dick," I answered, as if it were a question on a biology quiz.

"That? A dick?" She rubbed her eyes. "I've never come across one that small in my life. I swear."

"It's not small. It's average!"

"Who told you that?"

I kept quiet.

"Good lord. It's crooked, too, like it's embarrassed itself about being that small."

I wanted to sink through the floor, but that did nothing to my arousal. My dick twitched playfully right before her eyes and even let out another clear drop, which hung there on a thin thread.

Roxy stopped laughing.

"Oh," she said. "You like this."

"No."

"I can see it all without words." She sat down on the edge of the tub and looked me over with mild interest. "So what got it so hard? The little blouse? Or the little red panties?"

"It's just morning," I protested.

"What a funny little idiot." She didn't believe me. "Has it been like that long?"

"Yes."

"A solid erection--that's an excellent quality in a man." She smirked.

She sighed and glanced at the clock on the washing machine.

"Okay. I've got to open the garage in twenty minutes." She raised her eyes to me. "Want me to help you with that?"

"What the fuck?"

"You heard me. Two minutes and you're free to go. Want it?"

I couldn't have refused even if the consequences were unbearable, so I nodded.

"Use your words."

"I want it."

"No, no, that won't do. Say, 'Roxy, help me, please.'" She laughed.

"Roxy, help me, please."

She pulled me closer by the edge of the blouse and turned me so my back was to her. I ended up wedged between her thighs, with her stiff nipples pressing into my back. She spat into her palm and took hold of my dick with two fingers, as if to show how very small I was. It all looked so strange, like I was just another car she was fixing.

She still smelled of motor oil, but now of soap as well.

Her fingers were hard and rough, but she moved them fast and precisely, without any unnecessary tenderness. I gripped the sink. My knees started shaking on her third stroke, and I moaned.

"Quiet, you. You'll wake Gosha, and then we'll have to explain all this." She snorted. "You're so sensitive. What, has nobody ever touched you?"

"They have..."

"Doesn't seem like it." She tightened her fingers a little and ran her thumb over the head. "A cupcake in a little blouse and red panties. And with such a teeny-tiny..."

That was the last straw. My legs buckled. Roxy put her other palm underneath. I came into her hand, clamping the sleeve of the blouse over my mouth. Half a palmful of cum came out in five powerful spurts. Everything I'd been holding since last night.

Roxy waited, then stood up and washed her hands with soap.

"There," she said. "Nothing to it."

She dried her hands, took the red thong off the shelf, and hung it on my shoulder.

"Get dressed, cupcake. Breakfast soon."