Ethan never knew me, never even saw me, but I saw him – first in those fleeting, intimate moments at the gym. It started when I glimpsed him in the showers and noticed how the lather dripping off his cock looked like a massive load of cum.
I crossed the line when Ethan left his locker door ajar. Inside lay his sweaty jockstrap, unwashed for a week, a piece of him waiting to be claimed.
That jockstrap became my secret treasure, a real piece of Ethan. I kept it in a Ziploc and hauled it out when I gooned on Pig Sweat, stuffed the pouch in my mouth, and beat off watching Put It In Me, Coach!
I followed Ethan, learning his routines and habits, and discovered where he lived – a shitty studio apartment where his disappointments played out.
Amelia wouldn’t give head. Caitlyn balked at anal. Morgan refused to be spanked.
I vowed to make my move on New Year’s Eve when he’d go home alone or with some precious bitch who never ate a man’s asshole. I’d knock on his door, he’d invite me in, and I’d get him off like he needed.
When Ethan didn’t show for Christmas dinner or answer his phone, his 17-year-old sister drove to his place and got the manager to open the door.
I shouldn’t have waited for New Year’s.
(From Breaking Fiction, a story-based website with frequent gay fetish content.)