Alarm clocks are meant to be loud, yes, but why does it have to be so loud that it’ll destroy my eardrums? The red neon lights in my clock shouted six in the morning, and most probably, our dear aunt had yet to get out of her queen-sized mattress, so to speak. The need to stretch my arms up toward the ceiling was a necessity, and a yawn egressed in my mouth as I linger the foul smell of my dried saliva dripping from my mouth. My eyes are heavy as fuck and want to drown themselves back in the sleepful memories of the dreamland. Henceforth, I marched my way to my personal restroom and gargled tap water to obviously relinquish the smell I possessed at the moment. As I looked into the mirror, I saw a super-stressed self with eyebags underneath those green eyes and freckles. Jesus-fuckin’-Christ, disculpas por la blasfemia, but that Kaizer Licht Woodsworth, Jr. stressed the living hell out of me! Like imagine he sent those schedules at nine in the evening, and then a Service Agreement from the HR Team—who I think is just Kaizer and some random cronies, who know—and some NDAs; they don’t want the incident of the other rival café to happen here. What incident, you ask? Well . . . apparently, some staff got kicked out of the café, and as revenge, they spilled the café’s recipes for their famous lattes. The café hadn’t gone into shambles (yet), but the ex-staff sure did, paying millions for damages. And no, I’m not doing that. I’ll do more than that.

With that bitter-sweet tea of gossip waking my oh-so-sleepy mind, I went straight into the shower and ran the lukewarm water for a good solid 15 minutes. Droplets of bathwater slid on my rosy skin, flowing onto each curve sexily. Damn, would someone like Gale like this body? These ember eyes, these faded messy hair, these freckles on my face—would he like them all?

“Well, I did fuck bottoms in my life, and they all fell for me at first sight, so I think a top will also fall for me,” I proudly convinced myself as I pictured this Gale stripped bare in front of me, holding his magnificent cock in front of me. As I imagined him stroking his holy sword, I felt mine starting to get hard. I bit my lower lip; God damn it, Arthur Reyes Seymour—you’re already hard for someone you’ve just met!

Maybe it’s just the heat of the lukewarm water, but I feel the warmth inside me about to explode. I started to stroke my own rod up and down to relieve this burning sensation inside me. It has been weeks since I did this . . . but something feels off. Unlike the last time I got off from rubbing one, this one felt like I needed more than just a good stroke. This one . . . this one needs something in my—

Wait, a—am I actually wanting Gale’s body so bad I wanted to finger myself? Holy fucking shit. Fuck, fine.

Using my right hand, I slowly inserted my finger into my hole, and shivers went through my spine. “Ugh,” I moaned loudly. I sat on the floor of the shower, my legs flung into the air, and inserted another finger, slowly penetrating the chamber of secrets.

As a top, I know that it is my job to please a bottom and one of them is to find that God-forsaken g-spot, which is not hard to find if your fingers (and sword) are long enough and if you know the male anatomy. Luckily for me, I listened quite well during our Science class; others tend to laugh and mock it for being too taboo in their minds.

It was when I shoved way high into the walls of my hole I felt a tingling sensation across my body; I jolted awake and moaned out loud in pleasure as I realized, Heck, I found the spot. I groaned in pleasure as I let out a vulnerable moan as I kept hitting those notes. My mind went fuzzy as I imagined getting rammed by Gale till I passed out.

“F—fuck, Gale; t—there—! A—ahh!” I gulped and moaned in pleasure as I stroked both the front and the back; it made me so insane that I felt I was going to explode. I never muffled my moans since my bathroom is soundproof, as Aunt Carla has told me, so “When you feel like you want to do bad things in here, you’re in freedom to do so, just like how I am free to use a silicon BBC whenever I get—” And I will not continue the anecdote because it’s ruining the momentum I am having right now.

I kept stroking and stroking, all while curling my feet in awe and euphoria until I felt I was about to burst. I—I’m coming—! From the tip of the volcano burst a hot creamy magma so high some went dead-center on my face. Some dropped on my lips, and I licked the salty juice of mine clean. I—it’s not that delicious, but it’s kind of horny when you think about it. Too bad I don’t have a mirror in the bathroom; I could’ve rated how slutty I was and how effective it would be to seduce Gale the next time we meet. I hope it will be soon. I want to get laid really bad.

“I’ll be buying a fucking dildo. A 10-inch one. With a 5-inch girth.” I wasn’t satisfied; I wanted something closer to the real deal before eating the main dish. I don’t want to come unprepared for war.

I looked at my hand covered in sticky milk, which is a bit bubbly because I kept stroking even though I already came. I felt a bit fine at the moment, but something felt missing. Oh, God, I don’t know what to do. But what I know is that my mind is clearer than water after that. And it dawned on me.

Goddammit, you horny Art! Did you just jerk off a man you just met yesterday at the restroom? Like, what in the actual fucking fuck of all fuckery is this fucked-up shit? I got red in embarrassment, and I felt horrible afterward. I know he’ll never know. It’s just that—how, how can I face him in the eye when all I see is the memory of me jerking off at his visual imagery? At the back of my mind, I told myself to shower up because it took roughly 10 minutes to get that good release. With that, the time is roughly 6:15.

I took the shower and rinsed the invisible filth that covered my body from head to toe. I used a body scrub to reach my back, which I dared not do for a long time because my arms were too small for the young Arthur Seymour to do. It was refreshing, so to speak. I went to grab my towel and marched out of the shower and straight to the dresser. On the side were the shopping bags from yesterday, and I went to grab them and check what we had bought.

A dark, thin polyester-spandex polo and thin white cotton pants? With an auto-buckle brown leather belt? Sign me up, then. I wore my trusty brown leather shoes along with white cotton socks, which all felt silk to the touch. The polo is tucked into the pants, with a little allowance so that the air can breathe in. It wasn’t that un-comfy, but it felt like the buttons on the breast part were about to break apart. Damn it, you sneaky Roxanna Caseys! I went back to the restroom and took a mirror shot of my outfit. . wait, I still haven’t had her number, nor even her Portfolio account!

I went immediately to my desktop computer and searched Roxanna Caseys but to no avail. “What in the actual—wait!” I remember her dead name was Roxas—no, wait, was it Roshan? It’s gotta be Roshan. I typed in Roshan Caseys, and lo and behold, an account with a blank profile picture flashed before my eyes. I took the opportunity to look at the account details. According to this account, Roshan was a student of USL. This has gotta be it. I hit the Request for Friendship button and was immediately accepted. And a message was sent in my box in a flash.

ARTHUR??? BITCH HOWD U KNOW MY ACC???

i specifically remembered i never told you my real name…did u heard it from kaizer??????????????? 😭😭😭

Welp, yes? I did search for you initially under Roxanna Caseys; there’s that.

Just gonna say you’re the best dress picker, but girl really???

I sent her the picture, and she reacted to it.

OMHEGAWD, U LOOK HAWT AF BITCH ✨✨✨

u look like a pornstar tho ngl

A porn star, really? I took a look at the photo again and noticed my junk is about to burst from those pants. Was I carrying a big blob of an ostrich egg in my area? That’s kinda horny-looking, actually.

Lol

Should I start prepping for an audition?

Brb; I’mma get going since he, who shall not be named, wants me to get there by 8. Like wtf?!

Jesus Christ, I hate him to the stars and back.

I turned the computer off and went back to the restroom to stylize my hair. I want to look presentable if I were to be a barista since, well, chances are, someone would buy there as part of the opening. Maybe I could sneak in my phone number at their cup and ask that person out on a date. Either Gale or a random power bottom. I have a sharp gaydar. Gale obviously is a power top; he can mash my sweet red little cherry into love juices all day, all night, with or without a condom. I facepalmed at the thought.

Damn, I’m hard as fuck again. Should I rub another one before breakfast? I took the liberty to check the wall clock. It was 6:30.

I guess another 10 minutes won’t hurt my schedule.

I was wrong. I came later than I expected.

“Arthur Seymour!” Aunt Carla’s bellowing came like a surging tempest, wanting to wreck my mind into fight or flight mode. “Bring that lazy ass down here right this instant, or I’m going there myself! Your breakfast here is going cold!”

“I’m coming!” I don’t know if this should apply to her bellowing or to my situation right now, where I’m still currently beating the hell out of my sanity. For God’s sake, I’m close to coming in the bed. I had my pants down, fingering myself while I bit the blanket in my bed to muffle the moans I was making.

Fuck, I lost it when love juices went out and flew straight into the monitor and the carpeted floor. Some even went into the bed sheets, and I still kept dripping more and more.

Post-nut clarity horrified me as I sped to the restroom and took a lot of bathroom tissues to clean the mess. I ran like a deer running for his life, getting into the hands of a hyena on the loose. I abrasively wiped out the cum that I ejected on the monitor and the carpet. As for the sheets, I took them straight into the laundry basket, all without folding them so that they would fit perfectly. I did it all . . . with my pants still on the floor. Basically, I was naked from the belly below. I need to change my boxer because, bloody hell, some landed on it. I hurriedly took the white boxer I had in the dresser and wore it as if it were my last day on earth.

“On the count of—!” I stopped her from saying the next words when I, again, slid on the railings of the stairs. I could’ve fallen backward if I hadn’t been careful, mainly because of the sheer fear I have for Aunt Carla’s voice. Her being a litigator didn’t help either. You should see her in her crowning moment on live television as she took down one of the greatest corruption cases known to men in court. She won the case, and that is why I believed in everything that Uncle Zep told me yesterday. She’s in her silk beige bathrobe, and she looks as stunning as a cold autumn morning.

“Three!” I said as I ran towards the dining table and gave a smile that looked like someone who didn’t nut on his bed and fucked his sched. I sat down in front of a loaf of whole wheat bread and peanut butter, with poached eggs on the side, along with crispy brown bacon, oil sizzling on its skin.

“Hmm, I see you’re going on a date, Arthur.” She took a slice of bread and munched it like a chipmunk. “Y’know, you’ve got a good taste in fashion after all.”

“Oh, auntie, I have to if I want to fish some cute twinks at school or anywhere in general.” I took two slices, and with a butter knife, I scraped the insides of the peanut butter jar and spread it around the cheeks of the bread before joining it together and biting on the side. “I know, auntie, I said I won’t hit on any guys during the term of my university—”

“Objection; you were the one who said that.” I’m sorry, what? I poked my ear to check if I cleaned it and heard her correctly.  “I only agreed since, well, that’s your mantra. In reality, you’re free to date whomever you like, as long as it won’t be a detriment to your studies, that is.” I sighed in relief. “You’re already 20. Why bother to be chained in the box of Asian mindset?”

She went to her usual seat and drank her ice-cold coffee. “I guess so,” I replied.