I’m not the only one. Dean’s ignored it, because there’s no way he hasn’t noticed, but he’s magnetic. He earns rubbernecks, appreciative once-overs, and quite a few borderline stalkers. At the base of the wall, waiting for him, a trio of pretty, young women must find me safer to interrogate than the man himself. They’re of the fitness influencer breed: GymShark sets, bottom heavy from neglecting upper body, Hydro Flasks as long as their torsos. I could imagine Dean dating any one of these girls.
“Hi, sorry to bother you!”
“No bother.” I smile.
They introduce themselves as Anna, Kaylee, and Maggie. Maggie’s the mouthpiece for the group, but the other two insert comments here and there. “We were just wondering if you and your friend had any plans for tonight!” She says.
“Uh,” I glance back to where Dean’s descending the wall. We don’t have set plans, no reservations, but I’m sure these girls are interested in going clubbing or bar-hopping. Dean can’t drink, but maybe he’d enjoy getting out…?
“We…don’t. Ah, what’d you have in mind?”
Predictably, they suggest Clark Street and the Navy Pier. Anna, a long-haired, doe-eyed brunette who’s refreshingly shorter than me, doesn’t seem quite as interested in Dean as the other two. She’s flashing me a telling look from beneath her curled, darkened lashes, pushing shiny hair behind a small ear. This is more the attention I’m used to from the teenage girls in my classes, though I’d peg her somewhere between twenty-one and twenty-three. While there isn’t a heterosexual bone in my body, it’s nice to be looked at with appreciation.
“Ungh–!”
I fold under Dean’s very sudden, very heavy weight. His arm is slung around my neck, one flex from actively strangling me, and his sweaty chest is halfway plastered to my back. “Who are these lovely ladies?” I can’t see his expression, but I know that tone intimately. It’s his ‘the pleasure is all yours’ tone. The ‘charm dial’ is cranked up, but it’s so phony, it’s grating.
Before I can introduce them, they introduce themselves. “We were just wondering if you’d be interested in going out with us tonight! Sam said you didn’t have any plans.” Maggie smiles sweetly, and wow, she’s a natural. While she isn’t the unholy, unethical sort of charismatic that Dean is, she’s certainly confident in herself. She knows what she has to offer, and she’s not one to short her own standards. Dean probably checks all of her boxes.
“Is that right?” His voice is sharp, accusatory in my ear. I wince.
“I wasn’t sure if–” I try to explain myself.
“Ah, I’m sorry, girls. Sam didn’t know, but we’ve got a reservation tonight.”
Their comely faces flip through a series of expression, and Dean’s must not be quite as pleasant as he thinks it is. Maggie glances between the two of us, and Kaylee and Anna share an ‘oh’ look. She’s persistent, however.
“What time’s your reservation? Maybe we can all grab a drink together afterwards!”
I ripen with color, embarrassed beyond description, as Dean’s big hand clamps around my jaw. His face is so close to mine, his lips rustle the hair at my temple with every word. “We’ll be busy all night, actually.”
That evening, in our affordable hostel [$50/night, a steal], Dean fucks me like he’s punishing me, which I’m sure he is. We’re sharing this room with two other people, a couple, but when they tried to come through the door thirty minutes after us, he stopped them in the hall. From his tone, they were probably expecting to return to my disemboweled corpse: “Find something to do for an hour.”
The slap of his balls against my ass is as rhythmic, fast, and loud as the applause after a Bartòk concerto. One hand is a vice at my hip, the other fast in my hair as he keeps me bent at a rigid ninety degrees. I’m hanging onto the railing of the top bunk for dear life, because my legs are boneless gelatin. Every time we have sex, his cock feels bigger, like it gains an inch overnight. Maybe my body is just used to adjusting to him, because the stretch and burn isn’t unpleasant.
“Do you like girls too, Sam? I never asked.”
God, he barely sounds out of breath. How can he ask me something like that when he’s splitting me apart?
“I–” Choking, I gasp out the rest of it. “I don’t!”
“You sure? They were cute. The brunette was definitely into you.”
“They were…into–nngh! Hah, fuck! They were into you!”
“If they were into me,” He punctuates the key points of his sentence with a spine-shattering thrust. “–or you, why the fuck did you entertain it? Huh?”
Any verbal response is a thousand miles away, as a pending orgasm blisters in my lower stomach. He’s hitting the perfect angle with the perfect pressure, over and over again. I curve my back and drive my hips into the seat of his groin, mindlessly seeking more friction. I pray he doesn’t realize how close I am, because he’ll absolutely stop the second he thinks I’m about to cum. I’m either too obvious, or he can read me too well. Shaking thighs, taught back, white-knuckling the railing, jerking like possessed, desperate little noises.
“Uh-uh.” He stops cold, gripping me tight to stop my frantic canting.
A frustrated scream rips through my teeth, and I fight against him like I never have before. The edging is literal torture, even though it elevates my orgasms to something inhuman. My body’s vibrating with the delayed release. It hurts, it feels so fucking good. It’s cruel. I drop my head, sobbing breathlessly. “Dean, fuck…”
“I don’t like that shit, Sammy. Don’t do it again.”
“Okay, okay, I won’t, I swear, so just–please, I need it!”
“Yeah? What do you need?”
“To cum, you asshole!”
“Then fucking beg me, nicely, because I’m the one making you feel good. I’m the one who loves you, who’s gonna take care of you.”
He lifts me by my hair, strapping me to his chest. He wraps around my drooling cock with one hand, twisting my nipple to a bruised pucker with the other. “Hah, oh…my God, I’m–” I’m hyperventilating. I dig my ass back as hard as I can, grinding for that pressure on my prostate. “Dean, please, please!”
“Hah, I fuckin’ spoil you, Sam.” He laughs, and it’s a mean, gritty sound that lifts goosebumps across my nape and forearms. He’s…sort of right. I don’t know what kind of back room, darkweb sex class he took, but every orgasm feels like it’s ripping my body apart, a fission reaction in my core. I didn’t believe a person could feel this physically good without drugs. Loathed as I am to admit it, I’ll probably never have sex this good again, not with anyone but him.
When the other couple returned after the requested hour, it was stiflingly awkward. Dean was the only one who seemed unbothered by the atmosphere, one he manufactured. Worst of all, he wouldn’t let me take a shower right away. I had to suffer the discomfort of his cum squelching between my cheeks for upwards of an hour, shifting this way and that on the bunk to try and avoid the feeling. Instead of taking the top bunk, Dean squeezed his massive body in next to mine on the bottom.
Overall, it was a pleasant and memorable trip. Upon our return, packing resumed in earnest. We’re set to leave the last week in August, and the X’s on the calendar pile up faster than I can count them. This has been the weirdest chapter of my life, and I’m increasingly nervous for what the next one contains. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine Dean and I would be attending school in the same state, that he’d still be so infatuated with me even through the summer. My ego feels too big for the flesh containing it.