Chapter 1

1

Whenever people were around me, especially my big and loud extended family, they assumed I was the shy and quiet type stuck to a book or a computer like a total geek. Well, they kind of weren’t wrong. I was a little shy in public groups, but definitely not in private orgies. I was quiet about my private life to everyone but the guys I fucked around with. I read gay erotica and watched gay porn on both my phone and my computer. I was a geek when it came to sex-related topics, including kinks and taboos. So, yeah, they weren’t wrong with their assumptions at all. They just didn’t know on what level.

That was why I’d decided to cruise on Christmas for the first time in my sex life after having always respected the holiday as a family thing. Last year, I’d had at least one different hookup each day for three hundred and sixty-four days, January 1 to December 31, and some of those days with more than one guy. Of course, it meant I’d had to travel out of state a few times when I’d run out of local choices. It’d been a sex challenge of mine that I’d posted about on my popular blog called “Adam and His Slutty Steves,” like a public diary but anonymous. I’d been so sexed out right after that unique experience that I’d been celibate for a whole month, the longest time I’d ever gone without sex, because even sluts needed a break once in a while.

This year, however, I’d break my tradition and have sex on Christmas as my next sex challenge, with plans to post about it tomorrow. I’d named it the Christmas Cock Challenge, or C3 for short. I wanted it to be with someone beautiful and special to create a fond memory, not just any typical hottie. It had to be an epic experience with someone so unforgettable that I’d remember him forever, unlike all my past hookups I’d already forgotten about. I’d posted a countdown on the first day of the month to create some hype for my thousands of followers. I was so horny from the anticipation of it that if Santa jumped through a chimney at midnight, I’d give him my ownlecheinstead of the milk from the fridge, as well as my bubble buns fresh from the oven instead of some measly cookies. Fuck, I hadn’t had sex or even come in exactly one week as my way of saving an epic load for the occasion. The downfall was that I felt the torturous pressure to release my load hitting me harder and harder by the day.

Okay, so I was a major slut, and an unapologetic one at that. Hey, I was a medium-built jock who was hot as fuck with a deep and sexy voice, and I looked like a fucking Euro model, so why not take advantage of it? I’d tried the “love” thing a few times, only to get burned in the process by falling way too fast and trusting way too easily when it came to the right guy, each and every time like an “instalove” fool. Love hurt like a motherfucker, but lust hurt even better. No strings at all anymore except for the ones on a fetish underwear I had somewhere in my room. At only twenty-two, I’d been having sex since twelve, starting back when I’d cruised the beaches of Puerto Rico, so I knew my shit in the world of intimacy. Fuck, I’d even published a lengthy blog post celebrating my ten-year sex anniversary months ago, not that I remembered the specific date or anything, of course.

At Juanito Roldan’s spacious apartment in the outskirts of downtown Detroit, I lounged on the black leather couch next to the tall Christmas tree in the goth-inspired living room. I tried to tune out the fucking going on in his room for his latest OnlyFans video. They must’ve been super loud if I could still hear them through the dark rock music playing in the background. As soon as I heard, “Fuck your little elf with that big daddy dick, Santa!” I knew it was yet another tiny twink. Well, tiny compared to Juanito, anyway.

Bored of waiting, I opened each of the gay apps I was on. I sighed at the tons of messages from the ones I’d already hooked up with and the ones I wouldn’t touch with someone else’s cock. I frequently refreshed the image thumbnails of local men online, but they showed nothing new or interesting as usual. Been there, done that, and plenty of fuck-no’s to block. If only the pic-less ones could be hot. Nine times out of ten, they weren’t, and it always felt like playing a scratch-and-win with way more losses than wins. I’d even updated my photos, with my brown hair slicked back and my bedroom eyes staring back seductively.