Chapter 27

From his reclined position on the cotton sheet, he whispered, “Can you help me out with this thing? I really want to bust a load.” He shook his dick with his hand. “I’m dying to blow.”

I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t. That line was not to be crossed. Although I had a pounding urge to jack him off and spend some naked time with the hustler, I didn’t give in. Instead, I shivered next to him and observed his naked beauty and muscular silhouette.

In a rather melancholic tone, somewhat upset with myself, I replied, “I can’t fuck around with you, Tommy. I’m sorry.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

“Are you sick, Shane?”

How ironic his question was since he had probably screwed half the queer men in southern Florida, which included Naples, Fort Meyers, and the city of Miami.

“I’m not sick.”

“You don’t like me then?”

I sighed and closed my eyes. Pressure began to build in my temples and at my cock’s head. “I do like you, Tommy. You already know that.”