He gently tugs the towel, and I lift my hips to help him.
The cool air caresses the heated skin of my butt, and I can't help the sick insecurity that wonders if he likes what he sees. Years of football have given me a healthy foundation of glutes, but desk work certainly hasn't helped me keep them.
I feel the bed shift as he moves. My leg spasms as his touch suddenly reappears at my ankle.
"Sorry."
"Color?"
"Green."
He drags his hand up my calf, to the back of my knee, and my hamstring. It's the most exquisite torture. He's touching everything and not at all where I want him. Blood flows south at being naked in front of him, even as nerves threaten to kill my erection. I shift, adjusting my cock to pin it between my lower stomach and the soft bed.
"Color?"
"Green."
I'm being torn in two. One wants to completely run out of the room and away from him, while the other wants to flip over and have him touch me where I desperately crave him.
He gently rests his large hands on each of my butt cheeks.
"Color?"
"Green."
"You're doing so well for me, Gareth." His deep voice, quiet and intimate and only for me, guts me.
I whimper pathetically at his praise. Lindsey never told me I was doing well for her. She never had to. For some reason, I crave his praise. I want to do well for him. I want him to be happy with me. To approve. To be good for him. To earn back what I took all those years ago.
He massages my glutes for a few long, torturous moments before spreading them. I whimper again at the vulnerability of this position.
"You shaved for me," he says, and my first instinct is to be insecure. I clench my cheeks together as a blush creeps up my face. I've been freaking out about tonight for a week, so of course, I googled essentially how to be gay. It was as pathetic as it sounds, but at three am, down a random LGBTQ+ reddit subforum, it talked about how bottoms should shave for comfort.
I didn't know how far we'd go tonight, but I wanted to be prepared for him.
"Good boy," he growls, squeezing my glute in his large hand. I whimper again, my hips flexing, pressing my cock into the mattress, rutting shamelessly.
"Can I touch you here?" he asks, peeling one of my cheeks to the side.
I nod eagerly.
"Words."
"Yes. Please. Green."
It's the faintest of touches, light as a feather, but it has me biting down on my lip and fisting the sheets. I'm impossibly hard, a pool of precum leaking from my tip. I love Lindsey, and God bless her, but it was never like this with her. I've never been so hard; my cock has its own heartbeat.
This time he caresses my ass with more force, an undeniable presence. I wonder how far we'll take it tonight. I could only afford a few hours with him, and I'm not sure how long we've been at this. It could have been minutes or hours. I've dropped into some sort of mind-frame where I'm fully present in my own body, unaware of time or literally anything beyond where his hands are touching my skin.
"Color?"
I breathe out a shaky breath.
I'm here. I've paid for this experience - this time with him. And I'm not uncomfortable. He's taken extra care to make sure I'm comfortable with this experience. It's more than I deserve. But that's the kind of man Trey is. Even in high school, he never fought back. It made him an easy target. I don't know why he let me bully him so much, but he's forgiven me, so I have to forgive myself.
I nod. "Green."
Suddenly, his touch is gone, and I'm instantly chilled. I raise my head, scared he's backing out of this entire arrangement or that I unknowingly crossed a line for him, but he's simply stood to reach for a bottle I hadn't noticed on the nightstand.