Bad Idea (Stonewall Investigations Miami 1)

A love I’d yet to know, and one I was sure I’d never meet.

2 Jonah Brightly

The clock on the nightstand said it was seven o’clock in the morning.

The face on my girlfriend said it was disappointment o’clock.

“Is it in?” she asked.

Great, what every single man loved to hear when they had round-trip tickets to pound town. I looked down between her legs, my limp dick flopping like a white flag in combat.

“No, gimme a minute.”

“A minute? Ugh, come here.” Wendy pushed me off her and rolled me onto my back so that she was on top now. I looked up, the morning sunlight barely breaking through the thin slit between the heavy red curtains. She proceeded to jerk me off as if she was contractually bound; her head was tilted, and her eyes were aimed up at the ceiling like she was planning her next yoga retreat.

Clearly, I wasn’t going to get hard like that. Especially not with the corkscrewing death grip Wendy was currently performing on my limp dick.

“I’m sorry, babe, I’m just not a morning person, you know that.”

She looked at me as if I told her that her puppy died. It made me feel bad, my confidence only burying itself deeper under the dirt. I was a man—I should get hard at a moment’s notice. At least that was the pressure I felt with having a dick between my legs, and feeling that pressure only made me softer.

Wendy sighed. “What if I give it a little kissy kiss?”

Kissy kiss……

Something else that wasn’t exactly on my list of turn-on phrases. She moved back on the bed, the springs sounding off as if they wanted to be a part of the “fun.” I opened my legs wider and started to stroke myself, closing my eyes and letting my thoughts drift while Wendy’s kissy kisses started on my thighs. Her lips were soft, her breath warm. It kind of tickled.

But I was getting hard, and the kissy kisses moved to my bally balls. I started stroking a little faster, feeling myself get stiff in my grip. Her hands were on my legs, and her tongue started to trace around my fist. I let go and she took me in her mouth.

She wasn’t asking if it was in anymore.

I let my head sink some more into the thick pillow, eyes still shut, dick no longer limp. Wendy took about a quarter of me in before coming up for air, trying again for more but still only getting the first inch or two in between her lips.

I looked down, mostly just seeing her long brown hair falling over her like a curtain. Her hands were no longer on my thighs. She was rubbing herself with one, and the other was massaging my balls, tugging on them as she tried fitting more of me in her mouth.

My head fell back on the soft pillow, my eyes shutting, my body finally going along with the plans.

And then I felt it. Something I’d never felt before in my life, and something I instantly reacted to by bucking up my legs and almost knocking Wendy out cold.

“Whoa,” she yelped, getting up from the bed and glaring down at me, her loose-fitting gray Decepticons T-shirt making her all the more ominous. “Seriously, Jonah? A kick to the head?”

“I’m sorry, Wendy, I just… you gotta warn a guy when you put a finger there.” I was still clenched from Wendy’s attempt to surprise finger blast me.

She crossed her arms over her chest, head tilting. “Really? It’s not that serious. I’m sure you’ll like it, watch.”

“No, no… that’s okay.” I was pretty sure I wouldn’t like it. Not right then. Either way, I didn’t want to test it out, and the way my dick was deflating like a popped balloon only emphasized that fact.

“Really?”

“I’m sorry,” I said, not entirely sure why I was being made to feel like I needed to apologize for not wanting a finger up my ass. But with the look Wendy was giving me, I felt like I needed to buy her a damn bouquet of flowers and a bucket of chocolate after this. I started to wonder if there were little heart balloons that read “Sorry for not letting you finger me” across them.

“Whatever.” It appeared as if her finger expedition was shelved for the time being as she climbed back onto the bed, her lips still bent into a frown.

Maybe if it were another time, or if she had talked about it beforehand, maybe I would have gone through with it. I’d played with myself before back there, even used two fingers once, but I don’t want to brag.

It was fun, thrilling, electric. It had me coming buckets when I did it, but it was also something I could only do when I was fully comfortable. As sad as it sounded, I didn’t feel fully comfortable with my girlfriend of four years, who was currently typing something on her phone with one hand and trying to get me hard again with the other.