Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
LobsterShorts: Ouch. I think I’m going to be the screaming drunk tonight. My family is really good at presents. But they suck at boundaries.
SinnerThree: But hey, presents!
LobsterShorts: Eh. I’m too old to be bought with the latest gaming console. The gift I want is respect. My father is such an asshole. I thought we’d be fighting about my summer plans but I haven’t even told him about those yet and we’re already killing each other. What’s your dream gift?
Now there’s something I don’t ever bother asking myself.
SinnerThree: A winning lottery ticket. I don’t mean it in a flip way. I just want to stop stressing about money. Making rent every month is always a trial. I’m always down to ramen and cans of beans at some point during the month.
Then I read that over and wonder what the hell I’m doing.
SinnerThree: It’s like woe is me day right now. Tell me something funny about animals.
LobsterShorts: Let’s see. Rats laugh when you tickle them.
SinnerThree: No way!
LobsterShorts: Hummingbirds eat twice their weight in food every day. Although, so do I.
SinnerThree: Well, you are a growing boy.
LobsterShorts: In more ways than one ;)
He follows that up with, As in, I’m growing right now…
And then—oh fuck yeah—an image appears in the chat thread. He’s growing, all right. The hard cock in the pic makes me salivate. It’s been months since I’ve gotten laid. Not for lack of interest, but lack of time. Work, school, and the Dance-off have eaten into any time I might’ve spent finding sex. And teasing LobsterShorts over the app has only made it worse. I might explode from all my pent-up frustrations.
In the photo, his thumb rests right beneath the mushroom head of his cock, as if he’d snapped the photo while stroking that sensitive spot. My body responds to the erotic sight, cock rising beneath my sweatpants. Then I notice the waistband of the trunks he’d pushed down in order to expose himself, and I’m laughing even as I slide my hands beneath my waistband.
SinnerThree: Are you wearing the lobster shorts???
LobsterShorts: Of course. They’re my fave.
He sends another pic, and I laugh harder. In this one, he’s zoomed in on one of the red lobsters, with his hand forming a thumbs-up beside it.
SinnerThree: Why are you in swim trunks, you asshole? Don’t tell me you went somewhere warm for the holidays while I’m stuck here in blizzard land.
LobsterShorts: OK. I won’t tell you that.
SinnerThree: So you’re still in Connecticut?
LobsterShorts: No. I escaped to the beach. Sorry?
SinnerThree: You’d better be. I ain’t lying about the blizzard. We got eight inches of snow last night.
LobsterShorts: I’ll give you eight inches.
And then he does. Or at least I think so. I’ll be better able to judge his dick size when I get my hands on it in person, but in the pics it looks nearly as big as mine. And I’m well-endowed, as the dollar-bill-waving women at Jill’s can attest to.
SinnerThree: Yes. Please give it to me. I’m in a shit mood and it’s the holidays. I require the gift of your cock.
LobsterShorts: Soon. First show me yours.
SinnerThree: I’ll do you one better. Stand by.
I yank my sweats down and kick them away, making myself comfortable on my bed. I shove a couple of pillows beneath my head, grip my dick in one hand, and hold my phone in the other. A quick peek at the screen assures me that I’m not revealing any incriminating evidence about my identity. All he’ll be able to see is my cock, my hand, and the patterned bedspread. I think I’m safe.
I rarely send videos because of this exact worry. Winding up in some jerkoff compilation on PornHub doesn’t concern me so much as someone figuring out who I am. If I’m going to be a multi-millionaire by the time I’m thirty, I can’t have dirty videos of me floating around the internet. Unless I make my millions building a Hugh Hefner-like empire… Maybe I’ll put a pin in that one.
At the moment, I’m busy jerking off for Lobsterman.
Oh fuckkkkkk, is his immediate response after I send him a five-second vid of some lazy stroking.
Then he says: MORE.
Greedy fucker.
Grinning, I decide to tease it out. My fingers close in a fist, which I slowly slide down to the base, then equally slowly slide back up. When I reach the tip, I give a slight twist and squeeze. The camera perfectly captures the bead of pre-come that forms.
I hit Send.
LobsterShorts: You have such a hot dick.
My breathing quickens. I stroke a bit faster, groaning quietly, before realizing I’m no longer recording myself or responding to LobsterShorts. The heat in my blood and the ache in my balls distracted me.
LobsterShorts: What, can I not say that?
I swallow through my arid throat and still my hand.
SinnerThree: Sorry. Got caught up in the self-stroking. Can you not say what?