Cole shakes his head. “Suit yourself. More pussy for us.”
We walk out together and part ways. I cut through our yard and walk up to Edward’s porch. Once again, there are butterflies in my stomach. I feel like I’m breaking the law. But he gave me the key. I’m just doing what he asked me to do. What he’s paying me to do.
I insert the key into the lock. As it turns, I feel my heart leap. I open the door and am overcome once again with the invigorating fragrance of Edward. Cool air tickles the hairs on my arms, causing goosebumps to form on my skin.
In here, everything smells so good, feels so cool and relaxing. I get a strange mix of contentment infused with pure adrenaline as I shut the door behind me. I look around suspiciously, like I expect Edward to pop out at any second.
“Hello?” I call out.
Stupid, I know, but it helps assure my hammering heart that I’m truly alone.
With nobody around to cast questioning glances my way, I finally feel free to explore the art on the foyer wall.
Although the painting is a poster print, the detail is still very sharp. I can see the raw beauty of the brush strokes, admire the way the light accentuates the men’s bodies, the way water drips off their skin.
There’s so much unspoken lust and longing between them. It’s palpable. I can’t help but feel teased, yearning to see what’s hidden out of view.
In the background, more action takes place. There are men in the pool, naked, of course, but their lower bodies are obscured. Another man sits on the edge, watching... Waiting, maybe. And in the corner, there are two more pairs of men, each of them engaged in conversation that makes me curious.
It’s like porn, except it’s not porn at all. There are so many ways to interpret the scene. I don’t know if I’m reading too much into it, and I don’t understand why it makes me feel drunk with desire wishing I could live inside that world.
Just as I feel myself getting too hot to tame, the air conditioner kicks on, blowing crisp air from the vent above me. My nipples harden to stiff peaks, sensitive and tender against the thin fabric of my shirt. I shudder and fold my arms across my chest. I’m starting to feel sensory overload.
I move deeper into Edward’s home, tiptoeing with caution. I still feel like an intruder. The scent of him lingers. It’s like he permeates the air I breathe, and his fragrance lures me toward the back hallway, where it intensifies.
The door to his bedroom is open. It’s darker in there. The sun is setting behind the trees and now it glows beyond his curtains in golden shards.
“Here, kitty, kitty,” I say. “Mouse, where are you?”
I really don’t care either way. Edward said his cat would probably hide, so I don’t expect to find him. But calling the feline’s name makes me feel less creepy as I edge closer to the bedroom at the back of the house.
“Here, Mouse. Come on out.”
My sandals pad softly on the cream-colored carpet. I make my way to the doorway and stop. The bedroom curtain spreads in the middle, just open a bit. It’s the same window I saw Mouse sleeping in from my house.
There’s a rustle under the bed. I know the cat is hiding underneath. I crouch down and peek beneath the wood frame. Two yellow eyes shine back at me, large and alert.
“Hey, bud,” I say, slowly extending my hand so he can inspect me.
Mouse tentatively sniffs my fingertips. I stay still, not making any sudden moves.
He seems neither pleased nor displeased as he resumes staring at me. That’s okay. I know cats prefer to be left alone until they feel comfortable with a stranger.
It’s then that I spot something balled up behind the back corner of the bed. Curious, I reach under and pull it out for a closer look.
I realize it’s a jockstrap. Maybe some discarded laundry that fell behind the bed when Edward was folding it.
I recall the alluring way he said to me, “Jockstraps aren’t so bad.” Like a playful nudge, seared into my memory.
Curiosity consumes me, so I raise the jockstrap to my nose and take a deep inhale. The funk fills my nostrils, familiar and yet foreign. It’s earthy with a slightly sweaty tang. This isn’t clean laundry, I realize. It’s been worn.
I can’t believe I’m holding another dude’s dirty underwear in my hand. But I’m not grossed out. Not like I thought I would be. There’s something virile to its aroma. An extension of Edward’s commanding presence.
The room is spinning. I sit on the bed to gather my thoughts. The air is thick with Edward’s cologne and now my hand is stained with his sweat. My eyes flick to the nightstand. Inside the drawer is his toy. Hissextoy. Yes, I know what I saw. He called it a stress reliever. I find myself wondering if it would ease some of the strange tension I’ve been feeling today.
I take hold of the drawer handle. Its cold metal burns against my skin. This is forbidden. I shouldn’t be doing this. And yet...
The drawer slides open. There’s the toy, resting on top of a bottle of lube.