Thank goodness for the morning light. Curtis lay in bed, face up and the sheet draped loose over his lower body. Aaron wanted to climb in and cuddle up to his hairy chest – but damn it all, he couldn’t. He had to take the time machine to E.M. Forster’s India. He had a few pointed questions for Adela Quested about that whole fake rape thing. Now that he’d broken the fiction-reality time barrier, he now had a whole world of pastabilities for that time machine.
Meanwhile, Curtis opened his eyes a slit and gave him a Mona Lisa smile. He stretched his arms above his head and Aaron got a glimpse of round biceps, stretched abs, and pubic bush. He could feel himself tenting against his shorts, so he ran into bed for a nice little romp. Penelope had been fabulous last night – she’d squeaked like a hummingbird when Aaron pumped her – but sniffing Curtis’s morning balls would send Aaron over the edge.
Forget about Adela Quested. She could wait another twenty minutes while Aaron got some. Not that he needed it …
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