by Desiree Holt
“I—you’ve got to be kidding. Don’t put it in my face! Don’t—knock it off!”
In the mean time, several options had presented themselves to her brain— the Queen.
Patrick McGoohan. Mindy from accounting. Maybe Evan himself, because Jimmy’s a weird pervert who wants to see Evan watching his doppelganger do…stuff.
The latter would have been her guess. Though in her heart of hearts, she feared she was about to be proved, horribly, horribly wrong. Invisible forces—probably the same ones that had protected Evan against the evils of suddenly sexualised friends—tried to shove an elbow into her back, and make her to go through the door.
They managed an inch, in the right direction.
“Where do you even find this stuff? Where? Do you go looking for it? No wait, I want to never know.”
She had often though that she and Evan were of one mind on many and varied topics.
How right she was, in that moment!
“Hey—I jerk off, like a man. Unlike you. Eunuch.”
The force tried to push her another inch. How she wished there really was a Jedi around, as the word implied.
“I haven’t slept with anyone in three months. I haven’t stopped…you know.”
God. God. He was going to hate her for hearing this. It seemed incredible that he was saying it to Jimmy. Whenever Jimmy went into gory detail about foreskins and perineums and the length of his nut-sack—which was often—Evan always went that same red. The one he’d gotten over the face-plant issue.
But this time Jimmy didn’t defer to his embarrassment. He didn’t tone it down or stop yakking. Instead— “So fucking uptight. Sit down, okay? Loosen up.”
How weird, that she hadn’t previously known a conversation could hypnotise a person. Or paralyse them. Or maybe both. Either way, her feet appeared to be glued to the floor and all good sense flapped aimlessly, above her head somewhere.
Though it occurred to her that if she couldn’t move forwards, and burst in, and pretend that she hadn’t heard what seemed like reams and reams of conversation, she could at least go backwards. Put the cake down, get under the sheets, and cover her ears with a pillow. When they found her she could pretend she’d called over, only to fall asleep.
Yes! Yes!
Top notch plan, Ellie.
“You really, honestly, one hundred percent think it’s uptight to not want to watch a porno starring what can only be described as our friend, Ellie Morgan.”
Indoor lightning struck her body. He had said her name. Her name. Hers. And he was still talking!
“Seriously. That’s what you’re going with.”
They weren’t actual questions, however. They remained in that dark deadpan he could slip into so easily—though most of the people he knew casually would never think it, that he could be so dryly funny. He was such a sweetheart, really—so considerate and thoughtful.
Those same people would also never think that he would go along with anything like this. Not ever, in a million years. Until, you know. He actually did.
“And yet you’re sitting down. Facing the television. For convenient viewing of said appliance,” Jimmy said.
“You’re a cocky shit.”
It sounded weird, coming from Evan’s usually careful mouth. But it retained a playful edge, and she could just about make out Jimmy scampering, in response. Giddy as anything, ready to put on a dirty movie starring someone with her face.
So they could what? Laugh? Like it? Hyperventilation ensued. Lord, what if they liked it?
“You want to see, admit it.”
There was a long pause. There had been the sound of bottles clinking, and she could almost make out Evan raising a glass to his lips—probably Jack Daniels. Probably very much needed, to oil his way through this.
Unless he was just a completely different person to the one she thought he was. And somehow, that made waiting to hear what he’d come out with next, harder. Much harder.
Unbearable, in fact.
“I’d really rather not see her banging another dude, while faking her way through an orgasm.”
Was that a good answer, or a bad answer?
“Want to see her have a real one, huh?”
Lord, there wasn’t even an option, with that question. It was all bad, miles of bad.
There was a doom-laden pause. One that seemed to stutter all the way through her now melting body. How long had they been talking about stuff like this? A month? A year?
Two? Back when they first started working together and being friends?
“No. I—no.”
He sounded sullen. She could almost hear the blush that would undoubtedly be all over his face, through the door.
“Think she’s a screamer?”
“I don’t want to talk about her like that, Jimmy—come on.”
That felt good, somehow. Like the Evan she knew. He really was a sweetheart, even if the thought of him being any different—talking like Jimmy was, maybe—didn’t seem quite as ugly as maybe it should.
There was undoubtedly something electric, about him using the word orgasm. And banging. And Jimmy wheedling it all out of him, one thread at a time. It made her want to plant her wobbly thighs down on the bed, but then where would she be? She’d just be sat there, listening in to Evan’s secret private feelings.
“Sure you do. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have jerked off into her underwear.”
Like the one Jimmy then cocked out, as though he really did have a gun. Which seemed very likely, considering the hole he’d just blasted through her brain. What other explanation was there, for the sudden lack of higher thought processes?
It seemed very likely that she really had fallen asleep, on Evan’s bed. This was all almost certainly an insane dream.
One in which Evan jerked off into her underwear.
But he was lying, right? He was lying. Evan would never. God, this was like hearing your Mum and Dad having sex. A little sound burst from her lips, but they were too engrossed in craziness to hear her.
“I told you—I didn’t! I was just—they felt nice, all right? I didn’t even know they were Ellie’s!”
Jimmy made a loud farting noise, in response. Background porn saxophones were starting to whine.
“Who else is going to have left their silky smalls here? You’ve got to try harder, bro.
Otherwise, one day, she might actually guess! Argh, no, a girl I like knows I like her—fuck!”
She sat down on the edge of the bed, at that. The cake really needed putting down, too—right next to her on Evan’s bed sheets.
They were still talking—Evan protesting, Jimmy ribbing him harder and harder—but her mind somehow managed to flick away from them. She thought of the face-plant. And that time at Gary’s party, when he’d asked to talk to her alone. That’s what people did, right?
In movies and sitcoms and the like. They wanted to get you alone, so they could drunkenly spill their feelings.
About masturbating, into your underwear. She couldn’t tell if it was awful or otherwise, that the idea didn’t bother her. And especially not when her mind kept trying to imagine it. Had Jimmy…caught him? Where had she left her knickers? Probably the spare room. So maybe Evan had come in to straighten up—which wasn’t unusual; he straightened up Jimmy’s room, too, when neatness overwhelmed him—and found her underwear.
Then…what? Lust overload? An insane urge to rub the silk all over his big, stiff, eager—
Lord. She opened her eyes, and tried to focus on the here and now. But that didn’t do any good, because the here and now included porn music and grunting and sighing, and the boys had fallen suspiciously silent.
Until Jimmy said—
“That’s hot.”
And Evan replied—
“Do you really have to jerk off?”
It was those words that made her face heat. Though probably not because of embarrassment. She felt fairly certain that said feeling was a factor, but oh God there were other feelings, too
. She pictured Jimmy jerking off in front of his friend—just like that, casual as anything—and other feelings barged their way in.
Then even weirder—
“Don’t worry, man—he eats her out, in a second.”
“I don’t care what goes on in it. It just doesn’t do it for me, okay?”
“Yeah, you said that last time. Right before it got to the stuff you like and then—
bingo!”
Evan snorted, in response. But it wasn’t a convincing sort of sound by any stretch of the imagination.
“Look— just do it underneath a cushion or something. You’re not going to get your hand inside the trousers you’re wearing tonight,” Jimmy said.
An image flashed unbidden, into her head. Evan with his hand stuffed inside sweatpants or something else similarly loose, jerking off too-quickly. While Jimmy did the same right next to him, only right out in the open.
“I don’t want to…you know. I’m fine.”
He didn’t sound fine. He sounded foggy and lax—not like himself at all. She wanted to say it was the drink, but somehow knew it wasn’t. Apparently, this was Evan’s voice, when he was turned on.
“Really? Because I think you’ve got something big and uncomfortable looking wedged in your pants.”
There wasn’t a reply, to that one. Only the actress that looked like her moaning yes, yes, lick my pussy.
“Good, right?” Jimmy said. Definitely breathless, by this point. If she strained, she was sure she could hear his hand shuttling up and down his cock. “Looks just like her.”
“Ellie is prettier. And her breasts are real.”
“Yeah, but it’s not that hard to imagine. God, look how wet she’s getting. I bet she loves getting her pussy licked.”
“You’re disgusting,” Evan replied—but he didn’t seem sure.
“There’s nothing wrong with sex. With enjoying yourself.”
“I never said there was! I just—not in front of you. It was humiliating, for me, okay?
When you caught me. It was humiliating.”
“Yeah, but you still came. And you came last time, too—right when that little brunette chick in the other movie sat on hairy dude’s face.” Evan made a little protesting noise, but not much else. “Is that what you like, huh? You want some chick—no, you want Ellie to sit on your face? Or maybe you were hoping she’d be the one catch you coming on her underwear?
Is that it? She could tell you off, and you’d be all shamefaced, and then she could lick and suck all that mess off you with that pointed tongue of hers, and that fat little pout of a mouth—”
The sound Evan then made was not one of protest—not in the slightest. And oh, it was loud. She felt it right down to the soles of her feet. It made her dig her nails into her palms even tighter. It made her want to cross her legs, over the terrible and insistent ache between them.
“That’s it. Just relax, man.”
“Don’t watch me, don’t watch me,” Evan panted, before the rasp of a zipper. She got a sense of them moving around—these friends she’d never be able to look in the eye again.
“I’ll just be over here, doing my stuff. I won’t watch.”
But Jimmy seemed suddenly much more breathless and, well, like a liar. Which only added further complicated pieces, to this nightmare jigsaw puzzle.
“He comes on her face, soon,” Jimmy said. Just conversationally, in between the very obvious slick back and forth the pair of them seemed to have taken up. She could almost see Evan’s big, long-fingered hand on his erect cock, rubbing up and down and up and down while he turned his body to one side, so Jimmy couldn’t see. “Would you do that to Ellie?”
It was almost certain that Evan wouldn’t answer. Certain. He seemed caught up in whatever he was doing, at any rate. He wouldn’t—
“Yes. Yes.”
The two words seemed punctuated, by the rapid motion of his hand on his body—
though she couldn’t hear it exactly. It was purely the impression of his pleasure—such a strong impression.
Then just that pair of affirmatives, that made her shiver like a struck dog.
“You’re gonna come soon, huh?”
He offered a lot of mmmms, in response. But all she could think was— how can Jimmy tell? Because he’s watching again? Because Evan has his head back against the couch, legs spread wide? Maybe he’s trembling, just a bit, and the tip of his cock is swollen and red, and every time the fake-me flashes her wide wet pussy onscreen, his hips jerk up like an involuntary spasm.
The urge to slip her own hand under the waistband of her trousers flashed suddenly too strong to bear. They were engrossed, though—how would they ever know? Of course, they’d find her in here, then there’d be an embarrassing week or so, but they wouldn’t know she’d masturbated, too.
Unless they caught the scent of her river wet pussy, of course.
“Don’t go yet, okay? Don’t get yet. Wait.”
Jimmy’s voice had turned jerky and high. Evan didn’t sound much better.
“I’m—okay. Okay. I’m almost—I need tissues. Pass me the tissues.”
“Jesus, Ev—just come on yourself!”
A short struggling sound ensued. Then some panting. Then—
“I—God. God! Ohhh that’s really nice. Oh yes, Ellie, Ellie!”
She covered her eyes, but they really weren’t the thing in need of shelter. Her ears were the organs that got assaulted—by the harsh, guttural grunt that accompanied Evan’s really, really obvious and orgasm. Far more obvious than she’d ever thought he’d be.
And that wasn’t even getting into Jimmy, saying pretty clearly, God, you look hot when you come.
Oh what fun they were all going to have when the pair of them discovered her, in Evan’s bedroom.
Chapter Two
He felt the way he usually did, when Jimmy talked him into something seedy.
Embarrassed, conflicted over the whole thing, and still horny. Still really, impossibly horny.
It had happened the last time they jerked off together, too—though Jimmy hadn’t seemed to notice, thankfully. And later on, in bed, he’d brought himself off twice more to appease the roaring ache in his groin.
Truth was, his prick didn’t even seem to want to go down. It took some fighting, to get it back into his ridiculous jeans—after he’d mopped up the ocean of spunk that had just missed his rucked up jersey. How amazing had that orgasm been? So amazing that once would never be enough.
He knew without a flicker of doubt that Jimmy would put the DVD in a place he could find it. And he also knew that he’d be finding it again, when neither Jimmy nor Ellie were around.
Jesus. Ellie. What on earth would she think to him doing a thing like this? She’d be disgusted. She’d never be friends with him ever again. She’d chant yes yes yes while he licked her pussy— fuck!
It was trapped inside his brain, now.
Unlike Jimmy, who just took the whole thing in his laidback stride. When he flopped back down on the sofa with a beer, he looked like he’d never masturbated before ever in his entire life, no sir. He looked light-hearted and pleased with himself.
“You want one?” he said, and flashed those rows of white teeth at him. Those big, innocent, baby blues.
Not like hairy old him, who completely looked like the sort of person who did perverted things in macs.
“You okay, man? Look—it was just a bit of harmless over the wrist action. No big deal. So you wanted to look at Ellie’s tits while you did it, so what? Came hard, didn’t you?”
If by hard Jimmy meant “blew the back of his head off” then yes, yes he did. He could still feel the aftershocks, sizzling through his thighs. And his cock kicking at the words
“Ellie’s tits”.
“I’m gonna go wash up—properly.”
“Oh yeah. ‘Cause jizz is so dirty.”
He ignored the mocking twist in Jimmy’s voice and stood, aiming for his bedroom door. His wobbly legs had other ideas, h
owever, and tried to plunge him into the TV.
“Whoa—steady, man. Hey—take it easy.”
Christ, how could he always remain so cool and in control? Evan couldn’t have controlled himself at that moment if scaffolding and a manual had suddenly appeared, out of nowhere. If he could just get to his bathroom, then maybe the shower could hold him up.
And some of the Jack Daniels could emerge.
And everything could just go back to the way it was, repressed and awesome.
But then Jimmy was there, opening the door for him—so together and collected. Why, look at how ably he opened doors and didn’t care about weird jerking off sessions with his best bud over their other best bud!
Although…
He did seem to be kind of sinking against the door, all of a sudden. And a sound was coming out of him, like something had decided to die in his windpipe. And oh good God, Ellie. Ellie. God. Ellie. No. No. No. Wipe it from your mind, wipe it from your mind, it’s not real, Evan!
Only it was real. It was, because she looked shell-shocked in a way his feeble mind could never hope to replicate. She was grimacing and smiling—all at the same time. With a cake in her hands.
Something inside him prayed, that the inscription read— Thanks Ever So, For Masturbating Over Me.
Though he somehow knew that it was much more likely to be a birthday cake.
Probably somehow half chocolate, half vanilla, too—because Jimmy preferred the former and he liked the latter. She would have written Happy Middle Birthday on it, he knew—because that’s what she always did. They celebrated that day in between their two real birthdays, and this was the tradition.
How awesome, that they could now add masturbation to the list of things they usually did.
“Phew. Awk-ward,” Jimmy said. Because he was Jimmy.
Whereas words—inane or otherwise—didn’t want to make it to his mouth. Perhaps because his body seemed to be shaking minutely all over. And his entire history with Ellie was playing behind his eyes.
That time she’d rubbed his shoulders, almost absentmindedly. And he’d got hard.