Jay escorted his former boss Henry into the health club like a proud tour guide showing a foreign dignitary around the White House. Henry was awestruck—l not by the building, which was a bit run-down and grungy, at least compared to the slick and sanitary big-name chain gym his wife had bought him a membership to a few years ago (and which he visited a handful of times before deciding he was a lost cause). No, what caught Henry’s eye was the clientele. He was practically getting whiplash noticing all of the stunningly well-muscled guys circulating around him. The place was hard-body heaven.
Henry only had a single boosted smoothie the day before, a freebie that Jay had given him at the office, and his response was essentially the same as Jay’s after his first one. Henry had become incredibly energetic and productive on the job, his instincts keener and reflexes sharper than he had ever experienced. Even colors and sounds seemed more vivid than usual. This was followed by a wave of overwhelming fatigue that set in with a vengeance around suppertime. All afternoon, the rejuvenated Henry had hoped to surprise his wife Diane with an uncharacteristically vigorous night in the sack, powered by his sudden surge of virility, but he was already snoring on the sofa before Vanna lit up a single letter on “Wheel Of Fortune”. Diane dutifully dragged her near-comatose hubby into the bedroom and hooked him up to his sleep apnea machine, where he remained deep in slumber until dawn.
So much for romance.
When he awoke in the morning and stumbled bleary-eyed into the bathroom, seeing his reflection in the mirror was a crushing reality check. He may have felt like a dynamo the day before, but staring back at him in the mirror was his familiar 46-year-old self, with sagging jowls, an ample gut, and graying strands stretching desperately from one ear to the other in a valiant but unsuccessful attempt to create the illusion of a full head of hair. He may have felt like a million dollars yesterday, but this morning his body would be lucky to fetch twenty bucks on Craigslist. And that would only be for the chemicals.
Henry’s brain was about as functional as a six-pound wad of bubble gum, so when he first heard the doorbell, he had no clue who could possibly be paying him a visit at six a.m. In his bathrobe and slippers, Henry shuffled to the front door, where his former employee Jay stood in a blue tank top and ripped jeans, jacked arms arcing outward like steroid-fueled parentheses at his sides, bountiful bangs descending across his forehead.
“Ready to get pumped?”, Jay asked enthusiastically, reminding Henry that he had agreed to come to Jay’s gym for a complimentary workout. Henry attempted to weasel out, claiming extreme exhaustion, but Jay insisted that Henry’s attitude would change once he actually got there. What finally changed Henry’s mind was the promise of another smoothie like the one he had so enjoyed yesterday. He hastily tossed a plain white t-shirt, sweatpants and his grass-stained lawn-mowing sneakers into a paper bag, kissed his dozing wife on the cheek, and followed Jay’s car to the health club.
Entering the club, Henry figured he must be the oldest man in the place by a wide margin. He knew he was twenty years older than young Jay, and Jay had grown even more youthful-looking since he had started coming here. Henry had been amazed by how swiftly Jay had transformed, with the meek and anemic non-entity from the office exploding practically overnight into the strapping, confident stud now preening beside him. He didn’t expect those kind of results, but if there was even a chance that this place could help Henry lose a few pounds or look a smidgen younger, he wanted in on the secret.
Jay led his new recruit to the juice bar, where Henry saw the dazzlingly rugged Max standing at his post, dipping as he leaned back against a shelf, sneaking in a few reps as he worked to keep his triceps in top condition. Jay was sure that Max would be pleased that his first recruit was such a potential gold mine. Thanks to an errant accounting document that was left in a copy machine and promptly circulated throughout the office, Jay knew Henry’s exact income down to the penny. Given Henry’s pedestrian wardrobe, ten-year-old compact car, and modest suburban home, Jay knew Henry must have socked most of that salary away in savings. Now that Henry’s first taste of the boost had lit the flames of a desire to become hunkier, he could afford to pay handsomely to achieve handsomeness.
Although Max had been excited when Jay texted him that he had “reeled in a big fish”, Max was less enthusiastic now that he saw Henry in the sagging flesh. He wasn’t a lost cause by any means. If you looked past the wear-and-tear of parenting and a half-century of a sedentary desk job, there were still traces which suggested that Henry was probably a decent-looking guy in his youth. But at middle age, Henry was, to put it charitably, a fixer-upper. Sort of like New Orleans, post-Katrina. For this kind of heavy lifting, Max knew that even the boost would need a boost.
“Henry, this is my main man Max,” Jay boomed proudly, gesturing toward the man who manned the blenders. “Just tell him what flavor you want and he’ll mix you up another one of those incredible smoothies.”
Henry would definitely need something to perk him up if he was actually going to exercise at this godforsaken hour. He surveyed his options on the blackboard behind Max’s head with the worried gaze of someone scanning the menu for something suitably bland and recognizable on their first visit to a Botswanan restaurant. “Is the Peach Perfection any good?”
“What part of ‘Perfection’ don’t you understand?”, asked Max with a charming grin that put Henry at ease. Henry watched as the master tossed together a combination of peaches, frozen yogurt, skim milk, and a scoop of some kind of red powder. He excused himself to the back room and returned carrying a fistful of what looked a bit like cranberries, only they were a deep, inky black.
“What are those?”, asked Henry warily.
Max just shrugged impishly and winked. “Mystery ingredient.” With the press of a button, the berries were obliterated into tiny bits swirling through the frothy liquid. After thirty seconds, Max poured the results into a cup and handed it to Henry, who took a cautious sip. He definitely recognized the enticing tingle he had experienced from the previous day’s sample, but also detected something extra, something intoxicating that seemed to go straight to his head. The mystery ingredient, no doubt, as he’d never gotten that kind of ecstatic rush from a peach before. Henry nodded his approval and pulled out his wallet. “Delicious! How much do I owe you?”
“That’ll be ten dollars today.” Henry had no idea that the key word in that sentence was “today”. Max’s rates for his smoothies were notorious fluid, varying from customer to customer, but he knew to start out low with a newcomer. As their need for the stuff grew more urgent, prices had a curious tendency to skyrocket. Henry didn’t flinch at the price, although his tightfisted nature showed itself with the twenty-five cent piece he dropped in Max’s tip jar. Max just smiled politely and said, “Thank you,” knowing that Henry would soon be coughing up the Benjamins once his craving for the boost became sufficiently desperate. Jay ordered a double-boosted Banana-Rama Ding-Dong, which Max happily put on Jay’s account.
Henry was relieved that the locker room was empty as he changed into his workout clothes. He tugged at the hem of his extra-large t-shirt, embarrassed that it failed to cover the entirety of his gut, and he hastily wiggled his pale, pudgy legs into his sweatpants. In his peripheral vision, he noticed Jay pulling on a newly-purchased, form-fitting sleeveless tee which left no question about how toned every inch of his upper body had become. Stripping off his jeans, Jay revealed a surprisingly hefty cock, flopping freely in the absence of underwear. He shimmied a pair of compression shorts over his thickly muscled thighs and stuffed his dong inside. Studying himself admiringly in the mirror, Jay twisted his body in an amateur’s approximation of warm-up stretches. “Ready, Henry?”, he asked with a sparkle in his eyes.
Until this recent metamorphosis, Henry had always assumed that Jay was straight, but the young man was now sending off a barrage of signals that even the ordinarily gay-blind Henry could detect. Diane frequently teased Henry about his adorably naive shock whenever some “OB-viously” gay movie star would come out of the closet. Henry always figured he just wasn’t hip enough to pick up the signs. Besides, as an overweight middle-aged office manager, he didn’t figure he was in much danger of finding himself on the receiving end of unwanted advances from Doogie Howser any time soon.
Henry and Jay began their workouts on side-by-side treadmills. “Just start off slow and find your pace. Don’t worry about keeping up with me,” Jay advised, the voice of several days’ experience.
“Not much chance of that,” Henry chuckled with self-deprecation as he struggled to figure out the control panel. He hadn’t seriously jogged since sometime in college, so he was anticipating nothing more than a leisurely stroll, but as he gradually picked up speed, so did the boost surging in his veins. As his feet thudded on the conveyor belt, his belly and man-boobs jiggled like cranberry sauce with each step. He watched enviously as Jay’s long legs whipped back and forth, his blindingly-white Nikes making only brief contact with the treadmill during each stride. Henry focused his energies and chugged onward, mentally setting himself the seemingly impossible goal of someday being able to keep up with the kid.
After a blistering thirty-minute dash during which he had become lost in the techno music flowing through his earbuds, Jay cooled down to a trot. He had glanced over periodically to check on Henry’s progress, impressed that the old guy had stuck it out so long. Grimacing with determination, Henry was still lumbering along, his cheap t-shirt clinging to his skin, rendered nearly transparent by the sweat pumping from his pores. “Great job, Henry! You’ve definitely earned a shower.”
Henry panted and shook his head, splattering the treadmill console with a cloudburst of perspiration. “I’m gonna…keep going…some more,” he blurted out between gasps for air.
“You done plenty, man. You don’t hafta prove anything to me,” Jay said reassuringly.
“It’s…not…for…you,” Henry panted, pointing his thumb toward his chest.
Jay was impressed by Henry’s commitment, and even more awestruck by the powerful properties of the boost that could be giving Henry such endurance. He strolled over to the juice bar to inform Max of Henry’s stick-to-it-ive-ness.
“Not surprised,” Max said softly. “He’s got a lot of youthful energy to keep him going.”
Jay wasn’t as quick a thinker as he used to be, but he caught Max’s implication. “What, you mean the berries? Why, what do they do?” Max just stared into the distance, with no intention of explaining further. Jay grew pissed. “You mean you got somethin’ good and you’re holdin’ out on me? How come?”
Max muttered so only Jay could hear him. “Because you don’t need it. Your buddy Henry’s got two decades of road miles on him that you don’t. So unless you have a desperate urge to return to your glory days of being a five-year-old, you’ll steer clear of the berries.”
That stern warning was enough to make Jay back off. He was too in love with his body and his life to mess with anything dangerous. Except for more of the boost, of course.
Jay ordered a Strawberry Chia Forever with a single boost, just enough to recharge him up for a session of pumping iron in the free-weight pit. Jay swelled with pride as he watched his protruding veins snake across his buff arms while he did curls. Seeing his massive quads stretch the elasticity of his clinging shorts, he knew that his devotion to leg crunches was paying off. In the dim chronology of his boost-warped mind, he took it for granted that he’d been perfecting his body as a gym rat for years and would have howled with laughter if anyone had informed him that he had been thin as a twig just four days ago. Although not everyone at the gym was on the boost, those who were lived in a strictly A.B. world—l After Boost. It was as if their lives before encountering the miracle powder had never happened or were, at best, a faint memory from long ago, quite literally another life. They had quit their jobs, they had drifted away from family and loved ones, and they defined themselves not by who they had been but by what they had become.
After an hour of heavy lifting alongside his ripped buddy Flat-Top, Jay grew curious about Henry. He couldn’t believe that Henry would have left without at least swinging by to thank Jay. To Jay’s surprise, Henry was still plowing forward on that same treadmill. He even seemed to have gained steam, moving more briskly than before, mopping his abundant sweat with a soaked towel. Jay brought over a fresh towel and a bottled water, which Henry took appreciatively without slowing his pace.
“Jeez, man, take a break. It’s not like you hafta get in shape TODAY!”, Jay said, although that appeared to be exactly what was happening. Henry was still husky but had easily sweated off fifteen pounds, and his eyes burned with determination to keep the process going. He even looked a bit younger, although Jay figured that was just the natural result of dropping some weight. Still, seeing such marked and immediate improvements in Henry bolstered Jay’s enthusiasm for going out and drumming up more customers for the gym.
Jay suggested to Flat-Top that they hit the beach and search for potential new recruits. Flat-Top didn’t need much convincing. When he wasn’t perfecting his physique at the gym, Flat-Top loved nothing more than hitting the sand, catching some rays, strutting his stuff, and ogling some Speedos. Jay urged Henry to take it easy, then headed to the showers with Flat-Top.
When Henry finally did tucker out, he wobbled to the juice bar, smiled victoriously at Max, and promptly passed out, crumpling into a heap on the floor. Max rushed from behind the counter and knelt down to check for a heartbeat, relieved to hear it kathumping along at a healthy rate. He roused Henry back to consciousness and gave him some water to sip. Max chided Henry for overexerting himself, even though Max knew full well that Henry would have been nearly powerless to resist the boost-and-berry-driven imperative to push himself further.
Once he felt rejuvenated and rehydrated, Henry shuffled to the locker room and slowly peeled away his sopping t-shirt, revealing the magnitude of what his mini-marathon had accomplished. His gut had receded to more of a paunch, and his arms had lost some of their gelatinous qualities. He was a long way from being beefcake, but if this was what he could expect from a single workout, tomorrow could not arrive soon enough. He wished Jay still worked for him so he could give him a promotion just for introducing him to this place. He’d have to find some other way to show his appreciation.
It was mid-morning, and Henry could not face the prospect of a boring day trapped at the office. He called in sick for the first time in years, liberated by a sudden sense of freedom. He headed home and busied himself with all of the repair jobs his wife had been urging to take care of for months or, in some cases, years. After a productive afternoon during which his energy remained sky high, Henry luxuriated in a long hot shower, invigorated by the droplets pelting his skin. His cock chubbed up as he lathered himself thoroughly, but he didn’t want to squander a good erection. It would only be fair to save himself for Diane. He pulled on his favorite Hawaiian shirt, amazed by how loosely it hung on his frame, and was able to squeeze into a pair of Dockers he had outgrown three years earlier.
Diane immediately knew something was strange when she pulled into the driveway and saw Henry’s car, as he had not arrived home from work before her in at least a decade. As she entered, she was greeted by unexpected aromas from the kitchen, where Henry was busy preparing spaghetti and meatballs and garlic bread, one of the few meals he had ever learned to cook on his own. She stood in the doorway, silent and wide-eyed, as her husband bounded excitedly around the room, boisterously singing “That’s Amore”, humming to fill in the gaps for the lyrics he couldn’t remember (which was pretty much everything other than “That’s Amore”).
Finally noticing his wife’s arrival, Henry dashed across the room to plant a tomato-and-basil-flavored kiss on her lips. “Hello, honey,” he sang in place of “That’s Amore”, and danced back to the stove to resume stirring the sauce.
Diane was so stunned by his uncharacteristic exuberance that his weight loss didn’t even register. She just knew something was different. “What has gotten into you, Henry?”, she asked, but Henry just smiled and kept on sing-humming. She walked over to help him, but he poured her a glass of Chianti and demanded that she take a load off and relax while he finished fixing dinner.
During a leisurely meal, Diane told anecdotes of her taxing day and Henry vaguely described his, telling her little more than that he felt “marvelous” and “like a kid again”. The more she looked at him across the table, she could swear it looked like he had lost weight, but she had been on enough diets over the years to know it was impossible to drop more than a handful of pounds of water weight in a day. She figured his fresh appearance must just a pleasant byproduct of his unaccountably chipper attitude. Whatever had caused this boost in Henry’s mood, she wasn’t about to complain.
Uncorking a second bottle, Henry insisted that they leave the dirty dishes until the morning and maneuvered Diane to the sofa for some heavy petting. He was friskier than he had been the night before, and had no concerns about his energy plummeting, but as he nuzzled his wife’s neck, something felt off. Much as he wanted to please Diane, his dick was staying soft. On top of that, unfamiliar thoughts began to assault Henry’s mind. Images flashed and then vanished, at first so brief that he couldn’t identify them, but they were distracting enough that Diane could sense his concentration waning.
“What’s the matter, honey?”, she asked.
“Nothing,” Henry assured her, although he was not so certain. As he held Diane’s face in his hands and closed his eyes to kiss her, a single image finally gelled in Henry’s mind.
It was Jay in all of his newly-buffed splendor. Standing completely naked in the locker room. With an eight-inch erection. Pointing straight in Henry’s direction.
Henry was shaken by this vision.
He was even more unnerved by the realization that his penis, flaccid until that moment, had sprung to life, stiffening inside his boxers.
“Oh, Henry!”, Diane gasped as she felt his hardness press against her thigh.
Early on, Max had insisted on being up front with his customers about the radical changes that the boost would impose on their brain and their hormones. It was never an issue with his gay clients, as the boost only intensified their pre-existing preferences and markedly heightened their erotic pleasure, but he had felt morally obliged to alert straight men that the boost would permanently reconfigure their sexual orientation. Max’s boss had frowned upon this level of honesty, not wanting to cut off potentially lucrative sources of revenue.
In the end, Max had realized that giving the warning was ultimately pointless. Even those who strenuously objected and put up some kind of struggle against their newfound desires would inevitably surrender, their overwhelming craving for the benefits of the boost proving far more powerful than even the most virulent homophobia. Max himself had been something of a bullying asshole toward two teammates on his college swim team whom he had learned were gay, although his attitude evolved quickly once they began to supply him with the red powder that they promised would do wonders for his performance. Now, all these years later, Max had only the faintest of memories of having once been attracted to women, while the teammates who had been the targets of his abuse were now two of his oldest and dearest friends.
Max had no idea why the boost made its straight users gay and its gay users gayer, although he suspected the surge in testosterone that it caused was at least somewhat responsible. He did know that the triggering event for the irrevocable transition was invariably the same: one’s first post-boost orgasm.
Henry’s mind mounted some resistance as his brain was flooded with more thoughts of Jay and Max and the other shredded specimens who had surrounded him at the gym, his visions fragmenting into isolated close-ups of straining biceps and striated quads and ripe ass-cheeks and upward-arching cocks. There was still a tangible allure to Diane’s warm body pressed against his, still a nostalgic familiarity to the scent of White Diamonds perfume on her skin, and he knew he was still intellectually in love with this woman with whom he had shared the past quarter-century, but these intrusive thoughts had become too persistent—l and too arousing—l to ignore. Once he stopped fighting them, he ejaculated immediately, pumping dollop after dollop of thick, warm cream into his undershorts. The energy swiftly ebbed from Henry’s body and he collapsed on top of Diane, the events of the day finally taking their toll.
Diane squirmed out from under her bulky husband, sighing with disappointment at the speed with which their romantic evening had come to an end, although it was far from unprecedented.
As Henry began to snore, Diane adjusted him on the couch so he would be more comfortable, tucking a comforter around him and bringing out his sleep apnea machine. The spark may have left their relationship long ago, but she still doted on the big lug.
Meanwhile, as Henry slept, the boost set about reordering his priorities.
Jay had no idea how much alcohol he had consumed the night before. His improved metabolism meant that a great quantity of booze was required to achieve even a slight buzz, so he must have downed a couple bottles of tequila to end up as blotto as he had become. Dim memories of dim nightclubs filtered through his head. He could recall flashes of colored light and the cool sensation of dry-ice fog against his shirtless torso. He remembered feasting his eyes on a buffet of delectable dudes, and being the object of innumerable devouring stares and roaming hands. The two twinks who had accompanied them back to Flat-Top’s place came back to him as little more than nimble blond and ginger blurs, but he knew the four of them had stayed busy most of the night as Flat-Top taught Jay the joys of versatility. Jay had awoken this morning wracked with unfamiliar aches, feeling as if every orifice had been stretched beyond its intended limits.
Since he had started on the boost, Jay had never waited as late as ten o’clock to get his morning jolt, and its absence in his body was killing him. His colossal hangover was merely miserable icing on the agony cake. His energy had dwindled precipitously, his impressive bulk had softened noticeably, and his extremities were riddled with the pinprick sensations that preceded numbness. Desperate for his fix, Jay staggered the final twenty feet toward the juice bar before flopping onto the counter, spread-eagled as he begged Max, “Blueberry Bonanza. And make it a triple.”
Max felt a twinge of guilt as he saw Jay so strung out, but he also knew there was only one remedy that would satisfy him. Max chastised Jay, “As happy as I am to see you shed your inhibitions, we do have health codes around here.” He shooed Jay off the counter and whipped up the drink in record time. Jay guzzled it down greedily, purple trickles leaking from the corners of his mouth and down his chin.
Jay’s spirits revived, he filled in Max on the previous day’s recruiting successes, but he found his attention drifting toward the gym floor, where a dark-eyed young stud in a black tank top and knee-length black shorts was scoping out his surroundings. He had thickly muscled arms and a broad chest, but slimmed down to an enviably narrow waist and the lean, perfectly toned legs of a disciplined runner. His jaw and cheekbones were precision sculpted, and a wild, undisciplined thatch of chocolate-brown hair jutted over his forehead before curling back like a breaking wave off Malibu. Jay figured he had to be a newbie, because there was no way this guy could have escaped Jay’s notice. Even before the boost had altered his predilections, Jay would have fixated on this guy out of pure envy.
To Jay’s amazement, the kid’s face lit up the moment he spotted Jay. As he sauntered coolly toward the juice bar, all of the sexual confidence Jay had gained from the previous night’s conquests faded into anxiety as he fretted over what he could possibly say to this adonis.
“Jaaaaaay!”, shouted the young man, beaming as he rushed over. He wrapped his python arms tight around Jay and easily hoisted the considerably heavier man off his feet. Jay shot a baffled glance at Max, who was stifling a chuckle.
“I don’t blame you, boy,” crowed the young man. “I don’t recognize me either!”
The voice was instantly recognizable, but bubbling with an unfamiliar zest for life. The tan Jay had gained from his day at the beach blanched instantaneously as his brain grappled with the realization that the lanky hunk squeezing the breath out of him had emerged from the great white whale that was Henry.
Even after witnessing Henry’s treadmill endurance test, Jay could never have imagined that Henry’s lump of coal could have been refined into such a diamond. Could such immaculate bone structure really have been lurking beneath Henry’s jowls and wrinkles all along? How had the sparse shrubbery on Henry’s head sprouted so spectacularly overnight? Jay’s own boosted body seemed like a minor overhaul when compared to how Henry had been super-remodeled into a supermodel.
Henry lowered Jay back down to the floor, then spun around so Jay could get a complete look at his wide v-shaped back, his buoyant butt, his firm, wrinkle-free skin. “Can you believe this shit?”, he asked, yanking on his unwieldy mop of hair, giggling with delight when it remained attached to his scalp. “I feel like a kid again, but I never looked half this good when I was young. Isn’t it a-fucking-mazing?”
Words were eluding Jay. All that emerged from his mouth was one long “Uhhhhhh…”, but it still managed to convey his approval.
As Henry slept, his body had undergone extensive renovations. When he awoke to this phenomenal discovery, he made his way quietly out of the house, careful not to wake Diane, and drove directly to the gym. Max prepared him a smoothie with a double boost and two handfuls of berries, for the reasonable price of thirty dollars, which Henry paid without blinking an eye. Once the smoothie got into his system and he began to exercise, Henry’s improvements had only become more and more refined. “I’ve been here since five a.m., and every time I check myself the mirror, I look better. It’s like watching Michelangelo carving David out of an ugly chunk of marble. Only I was the ugly chunk of marble. And now, I’m David!”
Jay’s head was swimming, only in part because he no longer knew who Michelangelo was.
“Hey, what do you think about David?”, Henry asked excitedly, conducting a quick poll of Jay and Max.
“Think about him for what?”, Jay asked.
“For a name. For me. I sure as shit don’t feel like a Henry any more, and I sure as fuck don’t look like one.”
“I dunno,” Max chimed in. “You ever seen that Henry Cavill?” Max wolf-whistled and his eyebrows leapt.
“Naaah, Henry’s an old man name,” Henry insisted with a dismissive wave of his hands. “I feel like a David now.”
Jay was still grappling with the whole situation. “So you’re just gonna go into work looking like this, and tell ‘em to start calling you David?”
Henry burst out laughing, the picture of youthful rebellion. “Fuck that. I’m not going back to that shithole. If I spent one more second cooped up behind that desk, I think I’d fucking die. No, man, I’m following your example. THIS is my life now!” He spread out his arms, his mighty wingspan stretching wide to indicate the whole gym. His eyes gleamed with enthusiasm for his future. “All those years of slaving away, stashing away my money for a rainy day. Well, it’s finally raining, honey, and…” He broke into song, “It’s raining men! Hallelujah!” He spun Jay around in a few sloppily improvised dance moves, effectively disproving the cliche that homosexuality correlates directly with a knack for choreography.
Jay backed away, feeling personally responsible for how radically Henry had changed. “So if you’re not going to work, what ARE you gonna do now?”
“Now? You mean, like right now? Well, I got at least one idea.” With that, he stared seductively into Jay’s eyes.
Jay had never realized that Henry’s eyes were so mesmerizing, so deep and dark, especially at the office where he kept them imprisoned behind glasses that, from all appearances, he no longer needed. Jay felt unable to look away.
Without taking his eyes off Jay, Henry asked, “Hey, Max, can Jay and I use your back room for a bit?”
Max expressed amused annoyance. “You want to have sex behind the juice bar? What is it that you guys don’t grasp about health codes? Go find yourselves someplace more fuck-friendly.”
“Well, we could go get a room somewhere,” David said with a grin. “I just wasn’t sure Jay could wait that long.”
“Huh? What?”, Jay said, suddenly aware that his rigid cock was straining inside his compression shorts, stretching so far down the right leg that the head was in danger of poking its way to freedom.
When he looked back up, Jay’s conflicting emotions over what had happened to Henry were swept away, replaced by a single crystal-clear thought.
“Fuck me, David.”