Saxon Boulevard - Q is for Quarantine

Q IS FOR QUARANTINE

Saxon Boulevard

Artcover: Chris Phillips

Copyright: BERLINABLE UG

Berlinable invites you to leave all your fears behind and dive into a world where sex is a tool for self-empowerment.

Our mission is to change the world - one soul at a time.

When people accept their own sexuality, they build a more tolerant society.

Words to inspire, to encourage, to transform.

Open your mind and free your deepest desires.

All rights reserved.It is not permitted to copy, distribute or otherwise publish the content of this eBook without the express permission of the publisher. Subject to changes, typographical errors and spelling errors. The plot and the characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to dead or living people or public figures is not intended and are purely coincidental.

A is for Adam's Apple. The first thing I notice about Kevin, the thing that keeps my eyes focused and my mind distracted, is his thick neck. It's like the trunk of a tree. His terracotta skin is carpeted in stubble and when he speaks, or laughs, or smiles, his Adam's apple bobs up and down like a bulging sex organ.

His throat is like a gateway to other temptations. His chin, lips and tongue to the north, and the hollow of his clavicle to the south. All else is concealed, wrapped and bound and left to the imagination, which is the biggest distraction of all.

B is for Baked.The hot oven fills 137 Patterson Street with the sweet smell of banana bread on the day I move in. Ali is baking.

I stack my belongings on hardwood floors beside a large ornamental fireplace. Kevin cradles a box in his right arm and flicks the switch to a singular light globe hanging from a black cord in the centre of the room. Cracked concrete walls are illuminated alongside unfurling cornices and the ceiling rose becomes a mandala in the empty room; a third eye watching us from above. The timber-framed window is open and sheer curtains dance with every breath of air. My new bedroom.

Afterward, we sit at the kitchen table and drink black coffee. Ali spreads butter across warm banana bread and we eat. An unfolded newspaper lies by the coffee pot, its main headline reads, Inside the hunt for a vaccine .

C is for Cat.Harold is old and beautiful and was left behind by the last tenants. He doesn't have a favourite housemate. He loves us all. Our laps are indiscriminately perched upon at breakfast, whilst we study and after dinner.

Kevin, with the broad chest and bulging throat and big hands and hairy knuckles is surprisingly tender with Harold. He becomes quieter, more still, when Harold is around. Within that silence they communicate with one another. Entire conversations transpire through touch and glimpse.

This morning, on my way to a lecture, I pause to look into Kevin's bedroom and find him sprawled on his unmade bed. Harold purrs beside him, having his head massaged.

D is for Dick.I have now lost count how many times I've seen Kevin without his clothes on. The first time took me by surprise as he walked through the kitchen still wet from his shower.

"Sorry. Forgot my towel!"

Looking up from the cutting board with wide eyes I stop preparing my packed lunch and feel my jaw slacken as I glimpse my housemates floppy uncircumcised penis. Kevin, unselfconscious and casual, gives a goofy smile as I stand in silence, searching for something suitable to say. Nothing comes. He leaves the room and I stand transfixed, watching his fleshy bum lift and drop as he strides away.

Yesterday, whilst taking my morning shower, Kevin knocks at the door before letting himself in, "sorry! I'm busting!"

I play it cool, standing naked in our tub with no curtain, and continue to wash whilst stealing quick glances of Kevin, who is still sleepy. He pulls the waistband of his pyjama bottoms down with one hand and gently peels back his foreskin with the other. As he holds his dick in his hand I can feel mine grow heavy.

"Want a coffee before you head to class?" The steady and forceful sound of piss hitting the water competes with the sound of the shower. With my back turned I hold my face beneath the shooting jets, hoping that my swelling knob isn't visible from this angle. "Sounds good!"

"Can you pass the soap? We're all out at the basin," holding out his hand Kevin motions for the body wash, which is perched on the shower ledge. I pass it to him and our hands make contact. Although it is only momentary, my mind busily joins dots, making connections about a touch loaded with context. Just moments ago, before those hands came into contact, one had been lathered in soap and roaming my naked body, while the other was holding onto a beautiful cock, still chubby from a morning erection. The intimacy of the exchange may have been disguised in pragmatism, but it is charged with electricity from where I stand.

"Washing your hands is the best prevention right now." Bent over the basin, Kevin soaps his hands up to his forearms, like he is prepping for surgery. I scrub at the hollow in my pits while looking at his reflection in the mirror. Again, his boisterous physicality betrays his thoughtfulness. So many people are downplaying the spread of this virus right now and here is Kevin, openly demonstrating best practices.

"I'll see if the corner store has any in stock later today."

He dries his hands and closes the door behind him. I lather my cock and cum almost immediately.

E is for Ecstasy. A group of us spend the night at the pub watching bands. It feels good to tune out, even if it's just for one evening. Noise about the virus is growing louder each day, as if nothing else in the world matters.

We play pool, drink two-for-one jugs, and score some E. I get chatting with a guy at the next table who is wearing denim shorts with a gash right across the seat of his pants. Each time he takes a turn I can see his arse cheeks flashing through the stretched fabric. No underpants to speak of.

Sitting side-by-side in the beer garden we share a cigarette, his knee rubbing against my thigh. Our bodies wriggle with laughter and his hot breath makes my skin tingle. He takes a long drag and his hand squeezes the tender part above my knee. Whispering an invitation, he exhales, smoke curling from his open mouth into his nostrils, "spend the night with me."

Bathed in the yellow glow of his floor lamp, we strip. Uninhibited and hungry for touch I can feel my cock swing from semi arousal to full-blown ache. He points at his futon and grins, "get comfortable."

I crawl into the centre of his bed and arch my back, resting my head on his pillow, the way Harold does when he's stretching. Uninhibited freedom. Is this how Kevin feels, unhindered and self-possessed? I feel beautiful.

Kneeling behind me Travis runs a digit along the inner length of my thigh, drawing a faint line between knee and nuts. I shiver before flushing with heat and feel moved to speak, but instead of letting the words tumble from my mouth I hold on, wrapping my tongue around the dancing letters to keep them at bay. Words feel so unnecessary as we begin to communicate in new ways. A thumb moves in small circles across my perineum; a hypnotic dance of miniature proportions. Nothing else matters . A long groan reverberates from my throat before making its way to my chest. His soft hand now grips onto my hanging balls and with a gentle tug I feel the swell of pleasure ripple from the inside out. Soon, his tongue is slapping at my hole and I see God.

F is for Flushing. This morning I wake to the sound of the flushing toilet. Still recovering from my big night out, I've slept in later than usual. Standing by the open refrigerator, Kevin is swigging milk from the carton, the impression of bed sheets etched into his skin. There's a wet patch on his navy-blue underpants. I've never known a person to be so completely comfortable with their body, and its various functions.