In the Blood

It took another minute for Nathan to get moving, though once he did it was like he was on autopilot, the way someone who has just been through a major accident or a traumatic assault would move. For Nathan, as he stepped into the bathroom and flipped on the lightswitch, those comparisons didn't seem that far off-base. At first he didn't recognize the person that gazed back at him in the mirror, though they had the same physical attributes: a head of curly dark hair, light tan-colored skin, brown eyes, a nose that turned slightly up. The body was also the same at just under 6 feet tall and lean (but not skinny). Here was the scar on his inner left arm he had gotten as a child during a July 4th barbecue when he'd tried to twirl a lit sparkler and fumbled it. Here was the birthmark on his right side that was not quite a mole, yet he still intended to have it removed at some point. It was all Nathan, all right.

And yet....

Nathan took a few deep, steadying breaths, inhaling through his nose and holding it before exhaling from his mouth the way his former therapist had taught him. In. Hold. Out. In. Hold. Out.

"It was just a dream," he murmured out loud. "Just a crazy, fucked-up dream."

The words hung in the air before him. His reflection stared back, looking unconvinced.

"Jesus." Nathan shook his head, as if he could knock the thoughts roiling in his head out. No such luck.

A shower,

he decided.

Maybe a nice, cold one.

He removed his sleeping clothes, which for Nathan consisted of a T-shirt and boxer briefs, the latter of which were crusty with dried semen. As he peeled them down his legs his cock flopped out, all five-and-a-half flaccid inches of it. Nathan could see more remains of his creamy discharge clinging to his trimmed pubic hair.

Definitely an ice-cold one.

* * *

"...so if we take a look at the next slide here, we're projecting a bump of 3-5% in sales since last year at around the same time. Granted, that's not as high as the year before that, but we're chalking that up to post-pandemic business restoration..."

Her boss, Terry, continued on in his spiel to the rest of the team, and Ashley did her best to look actively engaged and listening. However, she also had another browser window (made smaller, of course) opened and was doing a Sudoku puzzle, with it a quarter of the way completed so far. Terry was a fair boss and seemed to be an okay guy overall, but his presentation skills did leave something to be desired. Though in truth she didn't really need to pay attention to what he was saying; as the junior marketing manager to his senior position, she had been the one to put the presentation together in the first place.

As the meeting continued and Ashley found herself stuck on an intersection of possible numbers in the left-hand corner, her thoughts idly drifted back to the past weekend when she had had another particularly disappointing date in a long string of Tinder matchups. At first blush he had seemed like a good fit: handsome features with dimples and white teeth, a good-looking body, plus he talked a smooth game (granted, it was over texts, but still). Last Saturday had been the first time they had met in person for a dinner date, and right away things had started going south: the guy was controlling and demanding, ordering for her and rudely snapping at the waiter when he accidentally switched their meals.

He was self-centered, too, as most of the evening was spent hearing him yap about his lawyer job, how he got handed and successfully handled high-profile clients, and how he was set to make partner within eighteen months. The few times he had asked Ashley about her own job, he had used her responses to springboard back onto him, needlessly comparing both of them while also promoting himself even further. The end of the date had been the steaming load to end a bad night, as he had tried to invite himself back to her place (despite telling him she shared the home with her family) and wouldn't take no for an answer. In the end she had to punch him in the balls after he started becoming too handsy, followed by shoving him out of her car before taking off, the asshole's pain-filled swears filtering back at her as she left him on the sidewalk.

Good thing I insisted on being the one to drive.

Though that wasn't out of luck, but rather design, as personal experience had taught her to be in charge of her own exit when it was needed.

Another strike-out, girlypop. A few more like that, and I'll start qualifying for early admission into Crazy Cat Ladyhood.

Bit of a lame joke, but not wholly off-the-mark; she was after all a few months shy of turning 29 and while she was comfortable with focusing on her career path, the increasing number of Facebook and Instagram posts of friends and schoolmates getting married and/or having kids did have its sting. It was unfortunate that the area she was currently residing in seemed to have an excess of dickhead male singles.

Ashley was startled out of her thoughts when Terry asked, "Ashley, anything else to add?'

"Oh, uh, no," she responded, quickly shifting her attention back to the meeting. The presentation had reached the last slide. "No, I think that pretty much covers it."

"Great," Terry said briskly. "Then I think we can end this meeting for now. Speak soon." He logged out, with the rest of the team following suit.

Ashley closed the meeting app and looked at the time in the lower right corner. She had about seven minutes before she had another meeting coming up, this one with a few new clients. She would be the one leading the meeting this time, meaning that Ashley needed the spare time to collect herself. As she stood up from the dining room table and stretched, her work laptop chimed, indicating that it was at low power. The charger was back in her bedroom, and so she headed upstairs to grab it, her mind turning back to her dating life (or lack thereof).

Living at the family home didn't help things much, either ; pre-pandemic she had shared an 3-bedroom apartment with a couple of other girlfriends, but the economic upheaval had put paid to that. She had just managed to hold onto her job by the skin of her teeth, but the trade-off had been having to move back in with Mom, Dad, and Nathan at the ripe age of 25. Economic turbulence meant that, even after lockdown had mostly ended, she had been unable to afford a new space for herself, hence her continued residence with the family. At least they didn't charge rent, but it definitely put a damper on privacy.

Speaking of which...

As Ashley reached the upstairs hall, the bathroom door opened and Nathan came out, wearing nothing but a towel he was clutching around his waist. He looked distracted, as though his mind was a thousand miles away, and didn't notice his big sister until he ran into her. Despite being older than him, Nathan was several inches taller and twenty pounds heavier than her, meaning that when they collided Ashley stumbled back a step.

"Watch where you're going, squirt!" she snapped, using an old (and not very applicable anymore) name she had used to tease him with when they were kids. Nathan, for his part, was also reeling back, and for a moment Ashley got a good look at her little brother's lean, relatively muscular physique. He wasn't buff, but by no means was he out of shape either.

Nathan had fumbled his grip on the towel around his waist, causing it to slip down and a little open. For a brief moment she caught a glimpse of his lower body: some definition of abs, a patch of dark hair--did he manscape?--and then something that looked like a kielbasa--

Ashley's mouth dropped open at the same time Nathan blurted out "Sorry!" He regained his hold on the towel, not looking at her face, turned and practically fled down the hall back to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Ashley stood there, a look of surprised bemusement on her face as she tried to process what just happened.

What the hell was that?