Alone, Early Morning

Awakening in the morning in my bed, nude and alone, sometime near dawn, is in no way an unfamiliar experience for me. It's been my way for my entire life, more-or-less. Even since I hit eighteen, I never thought about bringing someone home.

Other than Amy, who absolutely does not count, since she is my best friend and we've known each other for practically all our lives. She's slept in my room on more occasions than I can count, on the floor - and I on the floor in her bedroom, too.

I arch my spine and stretch, blinking slowly at the sensation of something inside me. I reach down between my legs, until my fingers touch on something in my ass. I don't even remember it being put there, but I'm not going to take it out, now.

Instead, I slowly push down the bedding, then turn until my bare feet touch the floor. As I do, I look up and look around, and remember that I was stripped nude well before bed. The memories of yesterday, aside a blackout, return to my mind.

The ban on me wearing clothes at the forefront, I take a deep breath and roll my shoulders. There's nothing for it, and I'll get in trouble if I put anything on. I push myself to my feet and sway into motion, slipping from my room to the bathroom.

Regardless of anything else, I start my day with a hot shower, then dry myself off and brush my hair and teeth. I take a bit to look myself over, reviewing my body. I turn around, arching to look at my backside in the reflection, checking myself.

I learned from a young age to check my cleanliness, and ensure that my shower was thorough. Mom and Dad used to make me take a second shower if I forgot to wash my back. The habit's stuck with me, all these years, of checking, to be certain.

Satisfied by my own cleanliness, I arch my spine and twist in each direction until my spine pops, limbering myself up a bit. I don't know what the kitchen will have in store for me, but I remember drinking a significant volume of my parents' milk.

I consider myself fortunate to have no soreness, given yesterday's events. I don't know why Mom and Dad waited until the twins were eighteen to use me, but it doesn't matter. I lift one leg, then the other, stretching and twisting my body about.

Once I feel appropriately loosened up, I leave the bathroom. I glance back toward my bedroom door, but breathe in deep, and shake my head. Mom and Dad's ban on clothes was absolute. I don't want to start the day making a losing argument.

It's their house, their rules. They pay the rent, they pay for my university tuition. If they say I'm not allowed to wear any clothing in their house from now on because I'm a faggot, then I guess that's just the way it's going to be, from now on.

Author's Note:
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