Page 6 of Warm and Dry

He had a really great smile.

When I couldn’t find anything else to do, I went back upstairs and turned on the TV. Despite every streaming service and a hundred channels, I gave up after twenty minutes. Nothing was holding my attention. Nothing was as interesting as Forest. And when I couldn’t talk myself out of it any longer, I put on my jacket and headed out to my car.

I told myself I needed coffee from the place on Whitmore. It wasn't not true…but it also happened to be just past the ice rink. As I approached the parking lot, I slowed down and willed myself not to pull in. Scanning the people coming out with hockey gear wasn’t being a stalker. I was just a curious citizen on a coffee run. Nothing weird about that.

To keep up the charade in my head, I picked up a pour-over and an oatmeal cookie and took the long way back to my car, again scanning the roads to see if my path might cross with Forest’s. It didn’t, and on the way home, I reminded myself that I was a grown man who had no business cruising a hockey rink like a teenager hoping to catch a glimpse of his crush.

Despite all that, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way Forest looked at me when I handed him a simple bottle of Gatorade. That brief hesitation spoke volumes. He wasn’t expecting me to care about him, and it seemed the ordinary gesture wasn’t so ordinary for him.

That broke my heart.

And it brought up feelings in me that I’d kept buried for a long time. He looked at me like he needed me to care for him. It was a look I wasn’t sure I’d ever see aimed in my direction.

By the time the sun started to set, I'd cleaned my kitchen, finished the last two chapters of my book, and inhaled another slice of birthday cake for dinner. Then I made the mistake of going down a hockey highlights rabbit hole on YouTube. Somewhere between a clip of a left wing absolutely flying down the boards and another one of a clean backhand finish in the top corner, my body started reacting to the athletic guys who all had a face that matched the one I found downstairs.

When I knew things were about to get messy, I closed the laptop and headed to the bathroom.

The compression shirts I always wore worked well enough that leakage wasn't usually a problem. Ever since my body started lactating when I was in my mid-twenties, it was more of a nuisance than a part of my life. According to my doctor, the hormonal condition was harmless but annoying, and I hardly even thought about it anymore. The Lactin Brotherhood hooked me up with a clothing line that absorbed leaks so I didn’t even have to pump like most guys.

The only exception was when I was particularly aroused. That was when my milk started flowing more freely and I needed to actively deal with it.

And that meant getting into the shower. The hot water down my back was a great way to release some of the tension that had been building throughout the day. But it wasn’t the right tension being released. With my brain completely focused on Forest and how he’d look all kitted out for the ice, my dick thickened as I reached for it.

I started with a lazy stroke, root to tip…and then needed more. My grip tightened and my pace quickened as I imagined Forest sliding across the ice, striking the puck and then looking over at me for approval.

Fuck.

Milk streamed down my chest from both nipples as I stroked, working through the library of images instantly flashing in my mind. I pictured Forest bending over, spreading his firm cheeks so his tight little hole could welcome me inside. And that was enough to push me over the edge. As I pushed and pulled faster on my shaft, my orgasm quickly erupted, causing a stream of thick cream to splash across the tile. It streamed down the wall until it mixed with the milky water circling the drain as I shook through the pleasure and caught my breath.

Over the next few minutes, I stood there with my forehead against the cool tile, determined to find a way to see that man again.

5

FOREST

We won.

The final score was 4-2, and I got the third goal off a pass from Kowalski that I probably could've done more with, but it went in clean and that’s all that mattered. Even better, Drew didn't ride me for being late to warmups, but he did make me do an extra set of drills before the puck dropped. The rest of the guys found that hilarious, but I just did them without complaint because I absolutely deserved it. And I needed a few more minutes to try to find my focus.

Not that it was lost. It was just firmly locked in on Scott’s big hands as he handed me that drink and his warm smile and kind eyes and…everything else about that man instead of on the game we had to play. But in the end, we pulled it together and ended up at Slapstick’s for a few drinks. We usually went there after playing because they had great burgers and cheap beer.

I was on my second beer and my third attempt to actually follow the conversation happening around me when Jake smacked my arm. “Am I right?”

“Facts.” I had no idea what I was agreeing with, but he just nodded and turned away, so I figured that was the right response.

"He just folded." Kowalski was talking loud enough that the table next to us looked over. "I said three words to their center at the face-off and he was done."

"What words?" Reynard was the kind of guy who always had follow-up questions that were rarely relevant. But in this case, I tuned in and waited for the answer.

Kowalski shrugged it off. "Doesn't matter what words."

Reynard cocked his head and grinned. "It might matter."

"It doesn’t." Kowalski gave him a pointed look and then turned back to the table. "Point is, mental warfare is a legit strategy that I’ve perfected."

"You told him his laces were untied," Briggs chimed in from the end of the table without looking up from his phone. "That's not mental warfare. That's kindergarten shit-talking."

"Call it what you want.” Kowalski chuckled. “It worked."