"Is it that bad?" she asked. Renee watched Malcolm carefully maneuver Lara Croft between three pixelated blades.

"Let's put it this way, " he said as Lara reached a save crystal. "You know how they say guys think about sex every five minutes. Imagine thinking about sex every other second. Your eye blinks, you think about sex. You breath in, you think about sex." He sighed. "It's really lonely. Especially after being the ugly duckling growing up. You learn to appreciate and enjoy it more because you've yet to grow tired of it.

Renee closed her book and tucked one of the house's floor pillows beneath the crook of her arm as Malcom mistimed a jump, sending Lara plunging to her death. He slumped against the ottoman in the center of their living room, foot kicking one of Jason's video tapes out of the shelves beneath the house's home entertainment center.

"Damn," he said, tossing the controler down. "Deprivation hurts. You try not to think about it, but it just makes thinking about it more intense. And when you try to think about it, you get lonely because you know you won't be experiencing something that beautiful for years...if ever again

"Malcom, you'll find someone eventually," he said. "You treated Lysette better than any of my old boyfriends treated me. Heck, you even beat Jason a few times when it came to romantic gestures, even before the marraige."

"No one is going to want someone who thinks about passionate sex when he finds a woman who shares the same taste in movies," he said.

"Oh, come on. Women aren't prudes and I know you aren't ruled by your sex drive. I mean, when you see me, you think about sex?" she said.

Malcolm turned and looked at her for a moment, then rubbed the sweat from the Playstation's controler. Without thought, his eyes began at her bare feet. Renee's footpads were plump and darkened with dust from the kitchen floor. Her legs were bare and slightly chubby, but the soft curves appealed to him. A pair of gray leggings hugged her thighs, pelvis and waist. He could see the line of her panties pressed against the fabric by her skin. An old, green T-shirt covred her chest but when she breathed, her ample bosom moved and shifted, unrestrained by a bra. Her arms were visual cousins of her legs, ending with surprisigly delicate fingers.

He looked into Renee's eyes and she brushed a long lock of black hair from her wide face. "You want the truth?"

"Yeah. Well, I know you find me attractive, but is it more than just that?"

He sighed. She couldn't leave well enough alone, he thought. It was difficult enough beeing alone. After Lyseete decided that she couldn't take the distance his post-college career had placed on him and left, he found himself alone in a crowd of couples.

Living with Jason and Renee, though very nice otherwise, left him in a bind. He loved them both dearly and ound them both attractive but knew that he would have no place with them outside of friendship. Jason devoted himself to her and was as straight as a laser beam, so while Renee would not mind having her husband and her housemate at once, it would hurt Jason and wreck their friendships.

They knew how deeply lonliness bit into him, especially Renee, but they didn't know how hungry being depried of love and physical contact left him.

Maybe if I told her the truth, he thought.

"Are you sure you want the truth?" he asked.

"Yes, dammit..."

"Ok." He put the game away, leaned back against the ottoman, and looked Renee in the eyes.

"Looking at you, right now, I have a thousand things running through my brain. First in my head are images and sensations and quetions. I wonder what it'd be like to kiss you, to run my fingers through your hair and feel your mouth open and suck on your tongue a little bit. I can almost imagine the sensation but it's just memories from kissing Lysette in the golden days when I thought there was a women out there who could stand loving me..."

"Hey!" They'd had the 'you'll make someone a great boyfriend' argument before. If he was such a wonderful catch, he thought, why didn't Lyssette stay with him instead of finding someone more convenient?

"On top of that I imagine walking over there and pulling your shirt up. I've seen you in your underwear and sports bra a zillion times so I can imagine what your breasts look like, but it's not the same thing a seeing them. I keep wondering what color your nipples are--"

"Pink," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Yeah, but what shade of pink? You're a big lady so they're probably wide and round, but they might not be. And are they perfectly circular or does the areole have a little rough patterning around the edges? What do they look like when they're erect? I imagine myself holding your breasts, feeling them fill my palms as I toy with them. I wonder what your nipples would taste like if I sucked on them and ran my tongue over them.

"Then my mind jumps to pulling down your pants and panties so I can see your pussy--" He hoped using 'pussy' would get a flinch out of her, but she just listened and even smiled. A terrible cat pun probably appeared in her brain.

"'What color is her pubic hair?' I wonder. Is it darker than her head hair? How dos she trim it, if at all. Does she shave herself? When I think about your pussy, I keep thinking about how Lyssete's tasted and smelled and looked. Her lips were very flowery and delicate. I keep seeing your lips as plumper and thicker and wider, hiding your clit. Would I have to spread your lips apart to lick them and suck on your clit, or would they be naturaly oopen and your clit easy to find."

"You sound like an expert on going down on women," she said. "Did you learn to like it because Lysette didn't want to go all the way?"

"No, I"ve always liked it. It's wierd, but I like making women come, especially like that," he said. The conversation had turned and he needed to deflect it back. "Of course, thinking about going down on you makes me wonder if you're vocal or not. I keep thinking you make very throaty moans when someone's sucking on your clit."

"Of course, thinking of your moist pussy sends my mind to thinking about you, soaking wet, in the shower where I can cover your body in soap and let my hands slide over yoru brests and belly and clit and ass. For a half a second, I can even imagine fingering your pussy and your ass with my soapy fingers."

Renee squrmed and pulled her legs against her stomach.

"It all ends in the fucking, though. Sometimes you're bent over your desk, or in the shower holding onto the towel rack, or I pull your clothes off right here in the living room. Either way I spread your legs apart and bury myself inside you until...well, until the images fade."

He popped the Tomb Raider disc from the Playstation then placed it back inside its jewel case. "All that happenes in a split second. And split seconds like that happen ever day, over and over. And I wish to God I could make it stop."

Malcom stood up, stretched, and walked out of the living room. He climbed the stairs to his room and prayed this would be the end of it.

It did not.

***

Malcom sighed and leaned back in his office chair as his scanner slowly, painfully digitized one of his photos. "C'mon, c'mon...it's not that big."

"Oh, I think you're being a bit harsh. At most times it's a goodly length." Malcom smirked and spun in his chair. Jason leaned against the doorframe, swinging his Tygger tie like a pendulum.

"How would you know? And I thought you had to work late today."

"I did, but Anita sent me home early. Thought I was sick."

"Are you?" With a low growl, Malcom's computer completed scanning the black and white photo. The image image of a long, human-shaped shadow flowing from a street lamp's bright circle of light formed on the screen.

"Nah, but Renee kept me awake last night and I felt like shit this morning," he said, pushing locks of blond hair from his eyes.

"I keep telling her if she'd just use the insoles I gave her, they wouldn't smell as badly--"

"Not that kind of awake," said Jason.

"Oh?" He sighed and smacked his forehead. "Oh. Damn."

"Yep. Pretty much your fault," he said, piling his coat onto the floor.

"I'm sorry. I honestly thought that would spook her, not get her to keep you awake," he brushed his fingers through his hair and watched a few stray black locks fall onto the keyboard. "Sorry."

"Sokay," he said. "Hey, if it had been me, you'd have scared me into next week."

"Ah, but it wouldn't have been you, would it?" he said.

"No," said Jason. "It wouldn't."

Jason knows better, thought Malcom. He knew that if he asked Renee's question, he'd recive an honest answer. Sometimes, Malcom was afraid to admit how he felt. But, his attraction was as difficult to ignore as a large oak tree in the center of a highway.

Some days, he would come home from work to find Jason at his desk in the living room wearing nothing but a pair of old jeans. Jason would lean back in his chair, stretching his back and arms, letting the warm orange light from his desk lamp play accross his naked chest. On cool mornings, Jason's nipples would curl into tight pink peaks. Malcolm would grind his teeth together, imagining his tongue playing across them.

His eyes would travel down Jason's flat stomach as he pictured his tongue would. A few curls of golden hair would peak out from underneath the waistband of the jeans and he wished he could open the button, then tug down the zipper and see what lay beneath. He imagined Jason's cock rising up from his jeans, the wide circumsised head bobbing as he breathed.

Malcom would fight the urge to swallow Jason's cock in one go. Instead, he would kneel between his roommate's spread legs and lick the shaft, up and down, as if it was an ice cream cone about to melt. He'd press the flat of his tongue against the soft underskin of Jason's prick and lick upward, tugging at the skin before sliding wetly down once more. When a single drop of precum rolled from the tip of Jason's cock, then he would move to kiss the thick head. His lips would slather the precum all over the taut skin and his tongue would draw it into his waiting mouth.

He would not suck at Jason's cock. Having been on the recieving end, he knew that a deep breath alone would not bring coax a man to spill himself. Instead he would slurp his lips and tongue along the most sensitive areas of Jason's cock, punctuating each wet lick with with a wanton moan.A few other fantasies butted their heads against this one. For a brief moment, Malcom sucked at Jason's cock while Jason sucked on his and somehow he ended up on the floor, ass spread wide and Jason's prick buried deep inside him, pumping hot cum into his anus.

But the fantasy refocused on Jason, leaning back in his chair, moaning as Malcom's fingers curled around the base of his shaft and pumped it. Slippery with spit and precum, the skin slid against his palm, squelching with each clenched stroke. Jason curled his toes into the rug and bucked his hips but Malcom did not relent. He suckled, licked, moaned, pumped until Jason arched his back, pushing his prick further into Malcom's mouth and emptied himself.

The thick, sticky fluid collected on his tongue and he swallowed as quickly as he could. A salty numbness trickled down his throat. Malcom knew what his own cum tasted like, but he always imagined Jason's tasting stronger and heavier.

But he would never know either way.

"Feel like Chinese for dinner?" said Jason as he walked towards his room. "I think the special is sesame chicken this week."

"Sure," said Malcom, turning back to his photo. He thought it would end there. He was wrong.

***

"You think Malcome's OK?" said Renee over the dull thunder of shower water striking lucite tiles. Jason shrugged and pured shampoo into his hand.

"Honestly, I can't tell," he said and rubbed shampoo into his hair. "I know he's lonely. Maybe a little depressed but, hell, when is he ever totally upbeat and happy?"

"He wasn't like this when he was with Lysette," she said. "I mean, he sorta glowed. It was like he had proof positive that he was worth something in this world because she loved him."

"He's tougher than he lets on. When she left, he didn't blink."

"No, he just cried at night when no one could hear him."

"He just needs his confidence back," he said. "When he finally asks the girl at the bookstore--"

"Helen--"

"--Helen. When he asks her out and she says yes, he'll be fine."

"Yeah, but what if she says 'no?'"

***

Fatigue pulled at Malcolm's eyes but he he had to contine. The hole inside him ached worse than before and he needed to sate it before he could get any sleep. His fingers rattled against the keyboard of his computer, retyping another URL into his browser. Every one of the web pages he visited felt hollow and fake. He wondered if anyone did anything vaguely erotic on the web for sheer fun.

He settled on a page of erotica written by a lady known only as Doris, finally settling on a story called "Folds of a Rose." Locking the door, he stretched and undid his belt. He pulled the zipper of his jeans, watching it curve along his erection. He pulls his jeans down around his ankles, leaning back in his desk chair.

Rummaging through a small bag beside his desk, he pulls out a bottle of moisturizer and slathers a dolop onto his cock. He wondered if the authoress ever became aroused by her own fiction as he rubed his palm against the wet smear on his cockhead, spreading the glistening cream over his sex. His fingers circled around his cock, tightening as he fucked his fist.

As the strokes increased, he closed his eyes and let a parade of images flow against him. Jason, Renee, Lysette...women and men he found attractive or knew as friends all made love to him in his mind. Precum flowed from the tip of his sex and mingled with the moisturizer, the strokes eliciting a wet crack. A soft flutter of pleasure caressed his ballsac and he tightened the muscles surrounding his thighs and pelvis.

"Not yet," he murmurs. "Not yet..." But he can not stop now. Each stroke arches his back further and further. He thrusts into his gleaming hand, imaging his cock in Lysette's wet sex or between Renee's breasts or buried in Jason's tight ass or anywhere but here. His strokes fall into a quick rythm, the beats nearing a gallop until his cock twitches and explodes.

For one brief moment, the ache in is chest is filled.

The moment lasted less than one breath. After a few gulps of cum spilled onto his chest and fingers in a weak stream, Malcolm slumped in his chair. He reached for the towel and cleand himself up as best as he could. Then he quietly shut down the computer, dumped the sodden towel into his laundry bag and curled into bed. Alone.

Again.

Return to index.