She’s staring, and she looks confused, or maybe disturbed, so I keep going, hoping to clarify.
“Last week I considered sticking my dick in a bag of marshmallows that I’d left in the sun because they’re soft and warm, but I figured it’d be a messy clean up and kinda fuckin’ weird, so I went with lotion instead, but I wanted to try it. Technically that means it’s not just my hand, but if I don’t use lotion I chafe, especially during the regular season when I’m always wearing a cup and all my gear. Is that too much detail?”
Sunny covers her mouth with her palm. I hope she doesn’t puke.
“It’s too much detail. It’s all the time I’m spending with Vi. Her lack of filter is rubbing off.”
A laugh bubbles up, and Sunny’s shoulders start to shake. “You know, that explains a lot.”
“Vi’s a bad influence.”
“No, she’s not. And that’s not what I’m talking about. When Alex was a teenager I used to wonder why he went through so much lotion, and so many pairs of socks.”
I don’t know why she’s bringing up her brother and his sock issues when we’re talking about me whacking off. “What do socks have to do with anything?”
“He used them when he . . .” She gestures below my waist and makes a whacking-off motion. “You know, to contain the explosion.”
Her cheeks go pink, and she looks away. Then she pokes at her cheek with her tongue, giving me the BJ signal. I don’t think it’s intentional, since the only thing she’s done so far is put her hand down my pants. Aw, fuck. I’m hard. And distracted.
“He blew his load in a sock?”
Her nose scrunches up in this cute way, similar to her reaction when I suggested we go for wings and beer, before I knew she didn’t eat animals.
“Man, he must have gone through an awful lot of socks.” When I was a teenager I blasted the cannon three times a day, if not more. Sometimes in high school when Barbie Claremont wore her little white sundress that didn’t fit dress code, I’d have to take a time out during second period so I could manage the rest of the morning. And that was after I’d already taken care of my morning problem in the shower.
“He went barefoot a lot. His sneakers smelled awful.”
“I bet. It’s kind of genius, eh?” It would cut down on the use of tissues, that’s for sure. “Wait. How do you know about Waters’ masturbating habits?”
“I used to do his laundry ’cause he always helped me with homework and stuff. But I stopped after I discovered his mountain of crusty socks.”
“I can see how that might happen. I usually stick to tissues or whacking it in the shower. I’ve tried aiming in the sink or the toilet, but the trajectory isn’t always predictable, and my dick isn’t bendy when I’m hard.” I’m still kneeling in front of her, so she can’t see my current wood. “We should probably talk about something else, yeah? Other than my whacking-off practices.” I’m not even sure how we got on this topic in the first place.
“Probably.” Sunny brushes the hair she’s twirling between her fingers across her lips. She never wears lipstick, so the soft strands sweep across without getting caught in any gunky, sparkly crap. Kissing Sunny is nice. I don’t end up looking like I made out with a circus clown, and she doesn’t taste like artificial candy flavor.
I lean closer until my chest is pressed against her knees and our faces are only inches apart. I can tell she thinks I’m going to kiss her. It’s what I want to do. But she still looks uncertain, and I’m not willing to make more mistakes than I already have.
Instead, I twirl a lock of her hair around my finger, watching the silky, golden strands slip around and around. I twist them until they fan out like a paintbrush and rub them over my lips to see what it feels like.
Sunny laughs. It’s a soft, breathy giggle. Cute. Sweet. A little uncomfortable, even. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know. What are you doing?”