The pressure, the denial—it’s not lacking. Gay sex “Feels more like I’m holding my breath.”His hand settled on my knee, warm, steady. He grinned, jotting down the shop’s name.“Going to check those croissants,” he said. There’s a fire behind his words, a slow burn I felt across the room.We crossed paths twice that week. The quiet wrapped me like a blanket still warm from his touch.I leaned against the door, hand over my chest, trying to slow the thud. I pictured handing it to him.MarcusI didn’t follow him up.Could’ve. Just held my gaze, like a guy deciding whether to step into a river.When he left, he brushed my wrist. When he bent forward, the joggers hinted at a cage of his own—just a flash, if you knew where to look. But in the mirror, I caught his eyes flick—quick, sharp, downward. Still feeling your hands.I didn’t wait for a reply.Looked at my reflection. Kink3D, black plastic—sleek, light, practical. Just a truth, like he was handing me back my own courage.Back in my condo, I sat on the bed, fingers hovering over the cage. How you holding up? A test, maybe? Yeah.I set the key down. Not about arousal. Just made the end murkier, like stepping out of fog to find no ground.It ended
