It’s been two years since Jake was last home from college, but he’s not likely to forget Mr. Pollansky. The handsome, now 39-year old neighbor was always a role model for Jake as a kid, and as he got older he started to have more confusing feelings about the mature, successful family friend.
Jake’s mother volunteers him to babysit for the Pollanskys while he’s home over the summer, and when Mr. Pollansky sees the young man he’s become, it’s quite obvious Jake’s not the kid next door anymore. He knows it’s wrong to want Jake, and even worse to act on those desires, but it’s becoming more and more obvious that he just won’t be able to stop himself.
And when he takes his younger neighbor, all that pent-up lust is sure to burst through a lot faster and harder than the curious young man is ready to handle.
Reader Advisory: This story is for mature audiences only and features intensely erotic situations, first time gay experiences, rough anal sex, a dominant alpha male and an increasingly curious younger college jock. All characters are 18 or older.
This story includes themes and passages that have been adapted from Jessica Whitethread’s Sitter series with full consent of the original author.
He stopped and poured a glass of water and handed it to me. “I feel like I should be offering you something stronger,” he joked. “Your parents would kill me, of course. But you’re not really their little boy anymore, are you?”
I brought the glass to my face and drank to avoid trusting myself to answer. Why couldn’t I stop flushing? It made me feel like a kid again, the way any little thing he said made my heart race and my face go up in flames.
He shook himself, as though rebuking himself for what he had just said.
“Anyways, you remember the house well enough, right? This is the kitchen. The laundry room’s downstairs. Bathrooms are in the hallway on both floors.” He pointed down the hall. “We keep all the medical things in that closet.” He rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “Let’s see, what am I forgetting?”
Without meaning to, I found myself staring at him openly as he thought. His hand was wide and strong as he rubbed his chin. His face was as handsome as I remembered it. His features were strong and good-natured, and his crystal blue eyes were resting on the table as he tried to remember everything he needed to go over. Short, dark hair just brushed the top of his forehead.
He was in his late thirties by now, but still in great shape. I remember hearing he had been a bit of a track star when he was in college, but when I had asked him about it, wide-eyed and excited, he had just laughed and told me those days were behind him. Seeing him here and now was bringing back an unwelcome rush of memories … nights of hot disappointment and frustrated confusion about why I felt this way about him, a way I wasn’t supposed to and could never tell him about. But … the way he had looked at me on the doorstep was different.