***
As we pulled into his driveway, it occurred to me that the last time I’d been to Adam’s house—the only time I’d been there actually—had been under very different circumstances. We’d hit a breaking point from which it seemed impossible to return. And now, here we were, months later, back.
After he unlocked the door, Adam held it for me to go inside. The act was just as symbolic as it was literal. Adam had opened the door to his life and, at last, let me in. Even when we’d dated months ago, we’d kept our relationship somewhat secretive. Or at least Adam had, and that was understandable because of Eva. But now, with our feelings for each other out in the open, we could finally begin to intertwine our lives into one.
“Make yourself at home,” Adam said. “I’m just gonna hop in the shower. I didn’t have time to take one after work before I had to take Eva out for pictures.”
“Hmm . . . make myself at home,” I said, glancing around the foyer and peeking into the adjacent room like I was deep in thought. I was. “Does that mean I can look through your medicine cabinet and lie around in my underwear?”
“Uh . . . not sure what you’d want to do the first one for, but the second sounds like a great option.” He leaned in to kiss me gently, cupping my chin in his hand before heading upstairs.
Why the hell did I say the medicine cabinet thing? He probably thinks I’m some kind of a creepy voyeur hoping to spy on his private life. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, the irony that I was part of his private life sunk in. Adam had nothing to hide from me, and the thought put me at ease.
I shuffled from room to room, taking note of the home’s decor. Modern touches adorned each room of the downstairs. Granite counters wrapped around the kitchen’s perimeter and tall cherry cabinets stretched to the ceiling. Light hickory floors complemented the beautiful cool tones of the walls: deep cream in the living room, soft blue in the foyer spanning to the upstairs hallway, crisp white with a hint of gray to pick up the specks of silver in the black countertops. But the more traditional structural elements—archways between rooms, crown molding in the living room, wainscoting in the foyer and stairway—provided a nice contrast. Adam clearly had good taste.
I heard the shower turn on upstairs as I strolled from room to room, admiring the framed artwork and photographs that decorated his home. A picture of Eva as a baby in Adam’s arms sat on an end table in the living room. He looked like a baby himself: only twenty years old, but forced to grow up so quickly. I picked up another picture of who I assumed were Adam’s parents. Of course I had no way of knowing because I’d never met them. But seated at the head of the table in front of a huge turkey was Adam. And the age of the people on either side of him, as well as their striking resemblance, told me they were probably his mom and dad.
Without realizing it, I followed a mosaic of pictures up the stairs. I’d always wanted a stairway filled with photos when I “grew up.” The problem was that I didn’t have any stairs yet. Or any pictures worthy of being hung for that matter. But Adam’s wall was full: pictures of Eva, other relatives, some photos of him playing baseball, hunting. I didn’t even know he liked to hunt. Looking at how full Adam’s life was only made me more aware of my own life’s emptiness.
As I ascended the stairs, I heard the shower shut off, and a rush of adrenaline coursed through me at the thought of Adam stepping out of the shower dripping wet with a towel around his waist. Entering his room, I took a seat on the bed, quietly waiting for him to emerge from the steamy bathroom, hopefully just as I’d pictured. And when he finally did, the real vision didn’t disappoint. His damp messy hair hung across his forehead, and as I let my gaze drift back down, my eyes stopped on the water that glistened off the soft hairs of his firm chest. I imagined catching a stray droplet with my tongue as it slid down his solid stomach.
But I didn’t dare move yet—not until I took in the entire image standing before me. I bit my lip, silently admiring the way he gripped the towel in one hand, pulling it tightly enough to allow me a glimpse at the outline of his dick. I thought I saw it twitch as he spoke. “See something you like?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as an invitation.
As if by reflex, I rose from the bed and moved toward him, slipping my hands around him. His warm damp skin smelled of aftershave and clean body wash. “I like everything about you. Especially this,” I said, running my palm above the towel to feel his thick shaft get harder as I massaged it.