[ sometimes with sessions like this, tim closes his eyes and tries to imagine what the man on the other side might look like, what he might sound like, smell like, feel like. this regular is always formal, in a way that makes tim think he's older. of course he's older, though, his viewership almost always appears to be men in their late thirties and upward. but this guy has a sort of charm that he's able to read between the lines somehow.
that, or it's just a fantasy he's made into his reality for these sessions.
he'd like him to be broad, tall, strong, handsome. palms wide enough to fit over his throat or cuff the back of his neck. a voice low and husky, eyes cold and demanding - expecting.
what would it be like to be cared for? taken care of? it makes tim laugh out loud on his side, thankful that for now, he hasn't turned on any audio other than the music. ]
Maybe a little. I haven't seen you in my chat in a while. Like I said - I've missed you.
[ the shirt comes up, up, up - revealing perky little nipples, the dusting of hair on his chest, his arms, and he pulls the tee up and off screen, then tosses it into the background.
his hand glide their way back down his own chest, to the button of his denim shorts - they're too short for public eye but he rears up on his knees so that his abdomen and hips are in better view, jutted out for emphasis as he undoes the button, the zip.
there's the waistband of a dark red thong, the staple calvin klein in block print across the fabric, even as he shimmies out of his shorts, letting them slide down his thighs and stay a rucked mess at his knees. there might already be a little wet spot on the crimson fabric, a hint that he's feeling it, too.
he snaps the waistband, and if hawk's listening? the audio is on - the sound audible against his skin. a rare treat. ]
I could change into something else, if you'd like. Your Skippy wants to please you.
no subject
that, or it's just a fantasy he's made into his reality for these sessions.
he'd like him to be broad, tall, strong, handsome. palms wide enough to fit over his throat or cuff the back of his neck. a voice low and husky, eyes cold and demanding - expecting.
what would it be like to be cared for? taken care of? it makes tim laugh out loud on his side, thankful that for now, he hasn't turned on any audio other than the music. ]
Maybe a little.
I haven't seen you in my chat in a while.
Like I said - I've missed you.
[ the shirt comes up, up, up - revealing perky little nipples, the dusting of hair on his chest, his arms, and he pulls the tee up and off screen, then tosses it into the background.
his hand glide their way back down his own chest, to the button of his denim shorts - they're too short for public eye but he rears up on his knees so that his abdomen and hips are in better view, jutted out for emphasis as he undoes the button, the zip.
there's the waistband of a dark red thong, the staple calvin klein in block print across the fabric, even as he shimmies out of his shorts, letting them slide down his thighs and stay a rucked mess at his knees. there might already be a little wet spot on the crimson fabric, a hint that he's feeling it, too.
he snaps the waistband, and if hawk's listening? the audio is on - the sound audible against his skin. a rare treat. ]
I could change into something else, if you'd like.
Your Skippy wants to please you.