Paul could barely speak. Tristan reclined on the couch, a new boyish haircut made his black locks almost impossible not to ruffle. Every time he saw Tristan’s blue eyes, he remembered the look of sheer pleading on his face each time he was topped. Paul had seen several videos now.
Worse, Tristan had worn sweatpants with a large hole in the seat and no underwear. He lay with his knees up, seemingly unaware he exposed himself. Seeing Tristan’s ass on film had made Paul’s mouth water. Seeing it in person was excruciating.
“I ran into a couple of the senior guys from high school who f****d me when I was a sophomore,” Tristan said, looking at the ceiling. “They came up to me at the bar. They had evil grins on their faces, and they kept looking at each other like they had an inside joke about
