Taking Lead Read online

  For some reason, I remember every detail of finding him in here. Even down to what he was wearing. A black turtleneck hugged his upper body, highlighting his strong neck and big arms. Dark blue jeans, much tighter than any my dad would dare to wear, made him look hip and stylish. He’d looked like one of those men that model in the advertisements that come in the mail telling you the latest at Kohls.

  Standing in the study alone, I recall the look on his face that night. He’d looked lost.

  I haven’t been able to shake that haunted look in his eyes.

  I shudder from a sudden chill. The cooling system shudders, too and with a final gust, ends its cycle.

  Leaving the darkened study, I pull the door tight. It’s clear to me to me now. With no wife and no son, Mr. Clay has no one. And that pisses me off because I know how wonderful he is. Anybody would be lucky to have him.

  Was he lonely? Shell-shocked at the rapid changes of life? Happy to be free? Maybe he was getting ass every night and didn’t care that he had no wife or son? I feel a heat run through me with that thought. I don’t exactly know why but the idea of him having someone in his life upsets me even though I know I don’t want him to be lonely. I’ve never seen traces of any women when I’m at his place. But then, he isn’t really the kiss and tell type though. He and my dad are from a different generation.

  I walk down the hall to his bedroom. I knock on the door. No answer.

  Without thinking, I push the door open. There’s a trail of clothing that leads to the shut door of the master bathroom. A door he installed, dark cherry wood with a bronze handle. There’s his left sock. The right. The red shorts he wore while playing ball with me. His body in those shorts flashes across my mind. Next to them are his underwear, tighty-whiteys.

  Somewhere nearby, Mr. Clay is naked. That makes my heart race. I know that it shouldn’t, but it does.

  4

  Chapter 4

  I try to ignore it at first, the urge. It’s so unusual. But, it’s strong. What could I possibly want with picking up his underwear? The craving is intense. I know I’m going to give in to it but why?

  I want to sniff Mr. Clay’s underwear.

  My nipples harden. I run my palm over them to warm them, but they only get harder and more sensitive. I realize, with some embarrassment, that I’m getting an erection.

  An underwear sniffer…a freak. I’m not a freak. Fuck. I’m not even gay not that there’s anything wrong with that—it’s just not me. My thoughts snag on how close the underwear have been to Mr. Clay’s body. The curve of his muscular buttocks. The hollow on the side cheeks. He’s super athletic and these shorts don’t hide anything about his form. The lower portion of his abs disappearing behind that elastic waistband. It makes me heady, hitches my breath.

  I cannot sniff his underwear.

  What if Mr. Clay came out of the bathroom and caught me?

  But that idea just makes me want to do it more.

  My body moves on its own toward the discarded briefs. I squat without intention and reach out for the white y-front like a robot. They feel so soft. They’re a little moist. Then, I bring them up to my nose. I inhale.

  God.

  They mostly smell clean. There’s a little bit of the smell of sweat—right under the elastic band and right where the legs meet — it’s a slight musk that I know is his personal scent. But overall: they smell good.

  Warmth spreads down to my cock. I’m turned on. It’s fucked up. I know that I’m not into men, but there is something just so wrong about this that makes it irresistible. I must stop.

  I do stop. I throw the briefs down to the floor because sniffing your friend’s dad’s underwear is not only wrong, it’s fucking creepy. Especially because Mr. Clay is my dad’s best friend, too.

  I need to get out of his room and never come back to this house. I’m clearly losing it. With anxiety buzzing through me, I squat and try to arrange the briefs how I found them. How was the fabric folded? Will he be able to tell that I was here? Before I can even finish arranging the underwear, I’ve picked up a sock. I bring it to my nose. The smell is more pronounced and piquant. I wouldn’t choose to smell it again, but I don’t mind it. It smells like him.

  My cock throbs. This is weird shit but I can’t stop. It’s been a while since I got laid. Ever since I broke up with Sheila, I’ve been flying solo. That’s been a couple of years. No one else has fit the bill sense then.

  Horniness makes you do weird things. And it is just horniness. Like when you’re beating your meat and you end up in the underbelly of Pornhub where chicks are fucking dudes with strapons and you’re watching midgets tie up girls with big tits.

  I grind the base of my palm against the front of my basketball shorts. There is the line of my erection trapped in my compression shorts underneath. There’s an ache in my balls. I need to go home and take a shower and take care of myself.

  I also know that I can’t do this anymore. Come over here to visit Mr. Clay. I’ve obviously formed some kind of weird connection to him and it’s not fair to Mr. Clay, this fixation on him. He’s as straight as an arrow. If he found out I was doing shit like smelling his underwear, he’d tell my dad and it would ruin their friendship.

  As I stand to leave, I think about how embarrassing it would have been if he’d caught me. I feel my cheeks burn with humiliation. Yeah, I’m a loser. Maybe Jordan is right about leaving Fairview and everybody here behind.

  I turn to go before I do anything else stupid.

  Before I can take a step, there is a loud sound behind me.

  5

  Chapter 5

  My eyes shoot toward the bathroom door, but it’s still locked shut.

  As the sound rattles again, I walk over to the side table that stands in the corner of his bedroom where the noise seems to be coming from. There’s nothing on the table except for his wallet and his phone.

  Yeah. I can’t mess with that. I clearly need boundaries.

  I should head home but I’m frozen as I try to will by body to leave this space. The room is sparse. The comforter on the king size bed is all black. I test a finger across it, it feels soft and textured like linen. There’s none of the flowery decor of my parents’ room. Here, the color scheme is dark blue, black and white which means the curtains are a rich indigo dappled with sunlight on this summer afternoon.

  The phone doesn’t stop buzzing.

  I can still hear the water thundering down in the bath.

  I know that I’m on the cusp of doing something bad.

  I know I shouldn’t pick up Mr. Clay’s phone.

  But I do.

  It’s an iPhone 5. He’s still rocking with the old phone even though it’s chipped and falling apart. It feels cool in my hand. My whole body feels hot. I touch the screen and it jolts alive in my hands with a message. One that I shouldn’t read…

  Maybe I could just see who it’s from. Maybe it’s something important. I could knock on the door and tell him. Maybe it’s Jordan.

  I read the name on the screen. Cindy.

  I can practically hear her purring through the phone as I read her words: OOoh…. That does make me wet…I wish I could play today, Davis…

  Shock runs through me. Right on its heels is a flame of anger. Then, there’s something else that I can’t quite make out.

  I take a deep breath. If I haven’t heard of this Cindy, she must be someone new. Sure, Mr. Clay is close to my family but he’s going to have friends that we don’t know about. We won’t know everything about his life. Plus, he and my dad probably know people my mom and I don’t know. I feel slightly nauseated and there’s something tightening like a coil in my belly..

  I need to know what Mr. Clay said to Cindy to prompt her response.

  I glance at the bathroom door. The shower is still running but he’s got to be finishing up by now. I don’t have much time.

  Mr. Clay doesn’t even keep a password on his device.

  Quickly, I scroll and read. Mr. Clay texted her a half
hour ago about being horny. A few weeks ago, he sent similar messages. She’s a hook-up, that much is clear. The messages are sexual, direct and clustered. He only hits her up when he’s horny.

  Some of the things he suggests to her make my cock throb. I run my tongue over my lips. The idea of him doing these things to her make me angry somehow even as they turn me on. However, the idea of him writing these messages, that somehow eases something in my chest, something I didn’t even know was tight there. I realize part of it has to do with the lust that’s settling in. At the idea of my friend’s dad getting off.

  Mr. Clay isn’t the quiet divorced man I thought he was. He isn’t living a life free of debauchery and full of work. He needs to drain his balls sometimes, too. Just like me. And from the looks of it, he’s getting it done regularly. I grip my cock through my shorts. A clear image of Mr. Clay’s bulge comes into my mind. I realize I’ve been looking at it more than I’ve admitted to myself. It’s so big and it’s always just…there. I keep scrolling. I need to read more of his dirty words.

  However, the next message isn’t words. A series of photos of her appear. Cindy naked.

  And she’s fucking sexy. I’m an eighteen-year-old straight male and my cock is diamond hard. Seeing Cindy makes it throb.

  I know enough to know that the primary reason isn’t because I’m imagining being with her. I’m imagining Mr. Clay with this girl. A strong, masculine male like him exerting control. An alpha taking his rightful place.

  His powerful hands all over Cindy’s petite frame, owning her. His hot mouth on her perfect breasts, the nipples hard between her lips, inflaming her lust like the sexy man he is. His hand smacking her ass so that it jiggles and goes red as he claims control. Her long blonde hair and soft blue eyes make her look like a porn star, especially with that hunger in her eyes leaping off the screen. I’m envisioning those eyes looking up at him as he sinks that fat cock of his deep into her tight pussy.

  One snap is a close-up of her pussy, looking wet. Mr. Clay plowing through that tight hot channel, a man doing what a man does. It’s too much. My cock. Throbs. He needs to get off, too. Does he creampie her? Or does he pull out and shoot all over her swollen pussy lips? Maybe he makes her flip over, so he can nutt all over her quivering pink asshole. Or maybe she takes it on her titties and licks it off, savoring his flavor. Hell, he probably shoots it right into her gaping mouth, the long streaks of his essence spritzing right down her throat, coating her tongue.

  I realize I’m rubbing myself, but I can’t stop, the ache in my balls is building like a fire.

  What kind of man is Mr. Clay? I lick my lips, my mouth gone dry. He’s much more sexual than I’d ever thought. Ever let myself think.

  What kind of man am I? My cock is twitching and I’m ravenous, just tracing the details of his sexual exploits. I put the phone down.

  But I pick it right back up.

  I’m a certified freak now. Sniffing his underwear and socks. Reading his sexts. My pulse jogs. I’m fucking up. I glance at the bathroom door. Still closed. There is a mirror across from the bed, hanging above his dresser. I catch a glimpse of myself in it. My face is flushed, my lips dry. My eyes, low. I’m so turned on. Who am I?

  I go to put the phone down again. I’m shaking with…what? I don’t know. Confusion? Arousal? Shame? My fingertips slip on the screen as I let the device touch the table top.

  Davis: Now, I’ve sent mine. Where are yours?

  Wait…. She’d made him send his photos first.

  My chest pounds. I can’t breathe.

  I know I can’t look at the photos. No matter how bad I want to.

  I cannot look at my friend’s dad’s nude pictures. It would be wrong. Everything else I’ve done is wrong but this really, really would be over the line. He is going to come out of the bathroom at any moment. He cannot find me reading his sexts and jerking off. In his bedroom.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  Finally coming to my senses, I leave the phone and quietly tiptoe over to the door to the hallway. I open it, the handle cool in my hot hand. I take a shallow breath as I glance down the hall and step out of the room. I’ve never noticed the floor creaking in this house but for some reason as I step as lightly as possible into the hall, it lets out a deep groan that stops me in my tracks.

  I swivel my head from side to side. No sign of Jordan. I slip my shirt on. Try to adjust my hard dick in my compression shorts. Fluff up my basketball shorts so my erection is less noticeable.

  Dressed and ready to leave, it all seems kind of silly. Like I’m emerging from a cave. I just looked at Mr. Clay’s sexy texts. I smelled his underwear and socks. I cringe at the fact that I’ve just been such a perv.

  Chris, get it together.

  What was I thinking reading his sexts and sniffing his damn underwear? The underwear sniffing doesn’t draw up the bile in me that I know it should but it’s still effing bad.

  I’m not gay, but I’ve always wondered about his body. Most girls don’t know this about guys, but guys love dick pics more than girls. Seriously. Guys think about other guy’s cocks all the time. Maybe I wanted to rank myself to him equipment-wise? Maybe it’s because he’s so alpha?

  If I cross this line, I’m probably gay.

  Because the reason that I’m leaking in my shorts right now is not because I’m just curious about Mr. Clay or even because it’s taboo. It’s not because it’s been too long since I got laid. It’s because of Mr. Clay. Not even him fucking Cindy. It’s him. It’s something that I’m feeling for Mr. Clay.

  I can’t look at the photos of his cock and god knows what else. Girls are into asses these days, too. What if he sent her one of his hole? Fuck. I can’t fuel the flame. The flame of my curiosity and obsession as a straight guy with another straight guy. A guy older than me. He’s my dad’s friend. He’s my best friend’s dad. He thinks I’m a kid. None of this makes sense. I need to go home and jerk off and hope this all goes away.

  Looking at those photos can only fuck me up more. Back in the kitchen, I grab the same glass I used before and I pour myself another glass of cool water. I top up the pitcher from the tap.

  By the time I’ve finished drinking I know what I must do. This is what I need. This one chance to see his cock. It will free me from this curiosity I have.

  This photo will sate my thirst. My desire for more. Because if I know anything right now, it’s that I don’t know Mr. Clay. Not like I want to. And with this new knowledge of his sexual side, my curiosity is going to consume me if I don’t look. I can’t trust myself to not do something stupid around him the next time I see him.

  All I have is this photo. It’s the closest I will ever get to him. If I look at it, I can be done with it all.

  I dash back down the hall. I stop, my chest thundering as I press my ear to his bedroom door. I can’t hear any movement inside.

  I slowly turn the knob. There’s water running. He’s still showering somehow. It’s like the universe wants me to see the pictures.

  I rush over to the bedside table. I take up the phone and scroll up.

  And there he is, in all his glory.

  I can see the photo was taken here. In front of the mirror that hangs next to his closet. He’s totally naked. It’s marvelous. Better than I ever anticipated. The smirk on his face. His hairy pecs. The strong arms that look like they could hold you just right. There is his narrow waist at the end of the taper of his chiseled abs. Everything is leading down like a V. I see the double line of his fit thighs. The soft hairs that cover them.