I looked down at my hard d**k as if it disgusted me. I shouldn't be hard at the thought of her, but goddamn it, how could I not?
I want her. I know that like I know the color of the sky, but I couldn't have her. And getting hard at the thought of her was wrong to me. So I was disgusted at myself because I usually had more control than this.
I had s*x. I wasn't some saint who doesn't f**k. I did. I f****d like a damn animal. s*x was like some relief for me. But I only had s*x when I knew I wasn't close to my rut. So I f****d as many times as I wanted. But I had control, control of when I got hard. And that was why I never touched myself.
But now I found myself unzipping my pants, and taking my d**k out. I stared at it like it was a stranger, watching as precum dripped down my length.
