Every movement sent electric jolts through me, lighting up parts of my body I didn’t even know existed. “Sure,” I muttered, trying not to squeak. I turned my water to cold, hoping to shock myself back to some version of normal. And then there was his low hanging dick, bigger than any I had seen in person. I was hyper-aware of every inch of his hands as they pressed against my body, the heat of his skin, the rough texture of his palms, the skilled pressuring of his fingers. My breath froze. I turned my water to cold, hoping to shock myself back to some version of normal. I turned red as my cock spurted squirt after squirt onto the tiled wall in front of me, and his thumb repeatedly pressed inside my body, gently getting slower as my pulses faded. And then it happened. I leaned against the cool tile wall, trying to catch my breath and make sense of what had just happened. Dear God, please don’t let me be gay, I thought, repeating it like a mantra. And then it happened. He gave a nod, turned off his water, and grabbed his towel. Or maybe found one I hadn’t known was there. I gasped—loudly. But my eyes kept drifting, pulled by some magnetic force.
