We tiptoe up the stairs to my room, trying not to disturb my parents below, whom were busy hoping that their young man would "straighten out."
"So Jesus is cool with you doing this?" I asked, half out of curiosity, half trying to keep myself for exploding with joy.
"The dude practically built the Playboy mansion. He's cool with almost everything."
Well, slay me.
"Rad," I responded as mind wandered from his head to his head. I had noticed it on the way to the house, but out of thought that it could be his body still stiff from slumber. While it wasn't out of the question, the look in his eyes told me the petrified penis stood for another reason. My eyes returned to his. Once safely in my bedroom, Alex locked the door, separating us from all except each other. I looked to the bed, freshly pressed and tidy, as usual.
"Shall we skip straight to it?" I asked, unsure of what my lust riddled lover had in mind.
"No sense in skipping a little fun, first."
I turned to question what specifically he meant when I was provided pure visual ecstasy:
Alex was sitting in a wooden chair, in the center of the room, wearing nothing apart from the slightly transparent pristine white button down undershirt he'd been wearing under his suit. With one leg on the floor, and the other resting on the corner of the bed, I was allowed a perfect view of everything, from his flowing blonde hair, to his irresistible neck, to his perfectly shaped circumcised sauce slinger.
This angel meant business.
"Get those off." Alex said sternly, referring to my restricting clothes. I obliged, almost too enthusiastically. I studied his face as I wrestled my tie. Staring into his eyes, one would think that his expression read boredom, stern dominance. I knew better. While his posture and face read such features, his eyes told the truth: everlasting joy. While this behavior was recognizable, the routine was new. The center of my universe had been saving this for a rainy day.
