little t&a

i would have run away but i was on my own

Gene was lying on his side, fingers hooked under the elastic of Paul's panties, before he finally asked.

"Hold on. Would this... undo the curse?"

Paul could feel the strain in his own expression as he shook his head.

"I don't think it would."

"What did she tell you?" Gene looked a little pensive, which was frustrating. Paul still felt like he'd mostly been a burden on Gene, and useless eye candy when he wasn't, and yet there was nothing more profoundly irritating than the promise of oral with zero delivery. Especially when Paul was already on his back for it. Sure, Paul had never seen Gene go down on anyone, but he'd seen Gene go through plenty of girlfriends far better-looking than he was. Something had to be tethering them to him. And even if he wasn't great at it, Paul didn't think it was going to matter. He'd get off again anyway. He'd gotten wet just from Gene touching his shoulder a couple nights prior.

"She told me to get fucked. I'm—pretty sure this is still third base."

Gene snapped the panty elastic against Paul's hip, making Paul's thighs twitch.

"Okay." Gene started tugging the underwear down then. Paul raised his hips in an effort to make it easier, then his legs. His nerves were starting to get to him again, stupidly, for all he knew it was nothing Gene hadn't touched before. For all he knew that Gene was being kind. Not even trying to hike up the nightie. Not that it was necessary for just going down—or at all, really, but Gene hadn't really tried to get him undressed since last night. Gene probably thought he was far more uncomfortable having this body than he actually was, or else ashamed—well, he was ashamed. He didn't really like how he looked under normal circumstances. No amount of chest-baring jumpsuits or tight leather pants had ever come close to changing that. The clothes he'd been wearing lately, the blouses and dresses, all of that wasn't any better long-term for his ego, really. Just a lot of pretense. He couldn't feel desirable on his own merits, no matter what skin he occupied.

But there was a worse edge to stripping down than just not liking what he saw. He'd never been Gene's type before and wouldn't be Gene's type again, no matter how Gene tried to spare his feelings about it. But something about actually stripping down completely felt final. One step closer to getting rid of the curse. One less reason for Gene to stay interested. Except... except he wondered. Except deep down he wanted Gene to get a look before he had to, before they really ended things, wanted Gene to touch him without any barriers at all.

Gene had tossed his panties to the floor, distracting him, if only briefly, from his thoughts. Paul fidgeted despite himself as he gathered up what guts he had remaining, shifting until he was almost sitting up.

"I... I never let you see." Slowly, he lifted the nightie up and over his head, letting it drop to the floor. His stomach wasn't any more taut and flat than it was as a man; that hateful little bit of fat that peeked out when he sat down was still there, on full display now. Terrible figure compared to what Gene was used to from those girls at Hugh Hefner's mansion. A waist that wasn't narrow enough, hips that jutted out too much. A visible happy trail that started an inch or two above his navel, spilling down into a thatch of black curls. He could feel Gene's stare on him, roving, assessing, making him feel more acutely bare than ever. His clit was throbbing, even though Gene hadn't even touched him again yet. "But apart from the tits, there's really not a whole lot to look at."

"Not a whole lot to look at? C'mon, Paul."

"It's true. I'm not a Playmate over here."