I didn't have a stomachache, but that was the story I told to earn an early release from family Christmas. It was clear from the look on my mother's face she doubted me, and I couldn't even blame her, as heretofore I'd been the only sign of life at the gathering. But I didn't care if she believed the lie or not. I needed to leave.
Don't misunderstand: unlike many people in their late twenties, I rather enjoyed my family, and we'd spent a perfectly wonderful Christmas together. We'd already opened presents and had dinner as well as dessert, and I'd fully planned on sticking around to watch Home Alone with the group as per tradition.
But that was before Ethan texted me, saying he would finally let me come over. He'd had a long day at his own family Christmas, and after completing the four-hour drive home, he was too tired to give himself a shower.
And thus, I spun my tale of sudden-onset nausea and fled my parents' home.
I'd known about Ethan longer than he'd known about me, but we didn't actually connect with one another until Thanksgiving weekend, and our only communication had been over Grindr. His had been a blank profile, so I hadn't paid it any attention. Not until he started a conversation with me by sending a photo of his face.
Of course, I recognized him immediately. I'd been obsessed with him since June, though not obsessed in any particularly romantic or longing sense. Rather, I hated Ethan. Despised him. Loathed him. Had vivid fantasies of giving him a never-ending swirly while calling him every manner of homophobic slur. And I'd expected him to feel the same way about me since I figured it was only logical given our connections.
But as we chatted on Grindr, it soon became clear he had no idea who I was, not even after I showed him several different face pics. I must admit I was deeply offended. To have a mortal enemy is only natural; to have a mortal enemy who detests you is thrilling; to have a mortal enemy who previously had no knowledge of your existence is an unforgivable affront.
Despite the fact I'd begun abhorring him more than ever before as a result, I wanted to have sex with him. The only problem was, he'd just been dumped by his boyfriend, and he wasn't sure he was ready for a hook-up so soon. I feigned complete ignorance of his breakup and expressed my great sympathy for him, which was entirely fictitious. But I knew if I wanted the chance to lick his body, I'd have to play nice.
And so I did. We exchanged phone numbers, and he subjected me to the most mind-numbingly insipid textual interactions I've ever endured. Nevertheless, I muscled through like an American hero, patiently waiting for my chance to get him naked in bed.
My patience lasted about a week until I gave up entirely. As a man who considers himself fascinating to a fault, I could not countenance another single-word message, vapid anecdote, or misunderstanding of a clever quip of mine. I didn't care who he was or how pretty his penis might have been. I simply hadn't the fortitude necessary to withstand his violent paucity of personality, and I wondered what his former boyfriend had ever seen in him to begin with.
But then, a few days before Christmas, Ethan texted me, apologizing for letting our conversations fade away (as if he'd ever done anything to invigorate them in the first place) and saying he thought he might like to get together one of these days.
We swapped messages over the ensuing days, and on Christmas, Ethan complained constantly about how awful his family was and how ready he was to be home. And then when he eventually left, he started telling me how horny he was. But as he got closer to his house, he suddenly expressed a good deal of sleepiness and a need to bathe. One thing led to another, and I generously agreed to join him in the shower to keep him on his feet.
When he answered the door in sweatpants and a T-shirt, I found he'd had the temerity to be shorter than I'd thought him. His face was pleasant enough to look at without being quite handsome, with sad brown eyes, a small nose, and a round head. And while he hadn't the height I'd hoped for, his mostly athletic frame suggested a sufficiently appetizing body underneath his clothes.
He was as bad at small talk in person as he was via text, and I nearly aborted the entire mission after seventy-five seconds. But just as I was about to eject, he invited me back to the master bedroom, where his shower was.
Once there, I immediately dropped to my knees in front of him, eager to move the process beyond the point of needing to hear him speak further. I tugged down his sweatpants, revealing somewhat muscled, hairy legs poking out of hideous gray spandex underwear that stretched below his mid-thigh. The only saving grace here was that I could see clearly he was already erect -- though the bulge was nothing prodigious -- and there was a wet spot where his tip was.
I slipped my fingers into the waistband of the underwear and pulled them down. His dick pointed straight at my nose, and here I must confess my great joy in its petiteness. Not that it was a micro; it probably reached four and a half inches in length and was little larger than a half-dollar in girth. I found it quite to my liking -- I'd never been a fan of huge cocks -- but I took pleasure in the knowledge that other men less refined and progressive than myself might not.
It appeared he and Daniel were evenly matched in this particular competition.
Oh, yes. I forgot to mention it earlier: I knew Ethan's ex-boyfriend.
I knew him well.
After casting aside his pants and underwear, I wrapped my hand around Ethan's modest penis and gave him a light stroke. That elicited a groan from him and made me stiffen up in my pants. I leaned forward and kissed him directly on his pink, swollen glans, swiping my tongue across his piss slit to sample his precum.
"Fuck," whined Ethan as he rocked forward onto his toes.
