Shooting Matt Ch. 06

"Told you he wouldn't like it," my son says, punching Matt on the arm. "Fine, I'll do some laps with you. Can I tell you when you suck?"

"Sure," Matt tells him with a straight face. "When I do, yeah, then you can tell me."

"The 'Y'?"

"No, brah. Coach gave me access to the pool at good ole Grover high. Less crowded. It's open anyway. He's busting the balls of the team over the summer."

"You comin', pop?"

"No, too much to do. You guys go. When I'm finished what needs to be done around here I'll hit the gym." I'm definitely not going to join them swimming at the high school. Coach Adams didn't invite me to use the high school pool over the summer.

"Suit yourself," Matt says with a shrug. He's not budged from where he leans against the counter, towel draped over his shoulders. I try not to be distracted by his cock. My son sitting at the table makes it easier.

I push myself away from the table. Unfortunately, I may have been able to avoid staring at Matt's cock but my dick has been aware of it.

"Jeez, dad. Puleez," Liam snaps.

I shrug. There's nothing I can do about it. Matt winks at me.

I hear muted voices as I cut through the half-bath to my bedroom. I check the sheets and confirm my suspicion that they'll need to be washed as well. I only have one set. It's only been me for so long I saw no need for two. I just put them back on after they're washed.

I contemplate the morning. Throw a load in and then jump in the shower? Shower first? Shower at all? I'll get sweaty anyway, especially if I hit the gym. I sniff my pits. Not bad, nothing a roll or two of deodorant can't take care of. Besides, anymore our local grocery makes WalMart look damn near high class. I keep my hair short so I don't need to fuck with that.

I stick a hand inside my shorts and rub around my cock and balls. I sniff my fingers. I smell cum and sweat. It doesn't bother me. In fact, I feel my dick get harder. Fuck it.

The washer-dryer hookup is next to the bathroom. It's a big reason the half-bath is so small. I don't care, anything is better than dealing with a laundromat. I pull the sheets off the bed and add the pillow cases. I'm spraying some Shout on the smears when Liam walks by. He does a double-take and keeps walking. I stuff the sheet into the washer before Matt comes sauntering down the hall.

"You need help? I could stay."

"Naw, I got it. You have a scholarship to take care of. Go."

He leans toward me for a kiss. It turns into a longer kiss. When he steps back, my son passes us, wearing sweats, an old Ramones tee shirt, and carrying his gym bag. He doesn't say a word.

Matt shrugs, whispers "oops" in my ear and goes into the bedroom. He rummages through the over-sized backpack he brought over and pulls out a pair of trunks, sweats, googles and his own tee shirt, this one bearing his college logo.

He gives me another kiss and says, "later". Then he's gone.

***

Matt and Liam leave Randy contemplating the washer settings.

"Do you have to rub it in my face like that?" Liam snarls at Matt.

"Chill, brah. Chill."

***

I still have three-quarters of an erection. I sniff my fingers, look at the dresser. This is nuts. I grab a pocketed tee shirt from one of the drawers. It's got a hole at the bottom and one in the left arm pit. I don't care. My flip flops are by the back door. I grab my wallet from the dresser and wedge it into the tee shirt's pocket; the gym shorts have no pockets. I'm not sure what I'll do with my keys, carry them I guess.

***

What I'm doing is stupid. I know it. People know me in here, not many anymore, but some. Most of my neighbors have abandoned Frank's for WalMart but I'm still behaving stupidly. It's also the most exciting thing I've done, other than sucking Matt's cock, lately.

I make my way through the aisles as if this is just another wasted Saturday half-hour spent shopping. I catch people staring. The rational part of me cringes when they do but that part of me is subsumed within the part of me that is totally fucking grooving on their stares.

The gym shorts are old, old and thin, white cotton. It's as close to wearing nothing as I can get away with. My cock is trapped in the left leg of the shorts. I'm totally hard. The idea that the shorts might be wet around the head of my cock is an even bigger turn on. I casually adjust myself as I wait for the gal at the deli to slice the honey ham that is my primary sustenance. She's not staring but the younger, not young just younger, woman beside me is blushing. I can see her eyes flick toward my crotch in her reflection in the glass deli case.

A couple of dudes near the soda cooler actually point and hide laughs behind their hands. I don't give a shit. I've got a nice cock. Let them look. I have my car keys over the index finger of my left hand. My right hand clutches my phone. I have the phone's camera reversed, so that I can see what I'm recording.

What I'm recording is the huge tent in my shorts as I push the cart along, plucking what I need to make it through another week from the sparse shelves of Frank's Corner Mart. I turn down the housewares aisle. I don't need a mop or a new skillet, most people don't. That's the point. The aisle sees little traffic. I check both ways.

I tug the top my shorts down with my left hand, keys jingling. My cock springs free. I love the sight of it. I dart a look up and down the aisle, no one is there. I start to jerk my cock. My keys make more noise than I expected. I don't care.

My head swivels, looking up and down the aisle, then down at the phone to make sure my cock is still dead center in the screen. When I look down the aisle a man is crossing. He glances, pauses and keeps going. I yank the top of my shorts back up.

He backs up. Turns down the aisle. I pretend to be fascinated and deeply perplexed about the best option in regards to shoe polish. He picks up a bottle of something but he's glancing sideways at me. I know that glance. I look over my shoulder. No one. When I look back he's rubbing his crotch.

I tilt the camera, documenting my witness but not his face. If he notices, he also seems beyond rational fears.

I turn the phone back to the front of my shorts. I pulled the top down, tucking it underneath my balls. I stroke it, making no attempt to quell the jangle of the keys. It only takes a dozen, hard, pounding, strokes and I shoot.

I bend slightly and most of my load goes on the floor and not the back of the cart. Enough of my rational self has re-asserted authority that I'm reluctant to complete my shopping looking like I've pissed myself. I'm feeling a bit of panic now. I quickly squeeze the jizz out of my cock and lick my fingers and hand clean. I know I'll keep leaking but it won't be quite as obvious.

I don't know the dude who's watching, thank God. He stays where he is until I pull my shorts up. He walks past me.

"Fucking hot, man. Want to meet out back?"

I shake my head, "thanks, but I can't."

"Too bad. I think we could have some big fun, man. You sure?"

I nod. I reach in my shorts, squeeze my cock again, and lick my fingers while watching his face.

"Fuck, man. Hot. You going to post the video?"

That had never occurred to me.