Michael's university day was over, and he was on his way to work. Surely it was long enough to text for a bit. A fifteen minute walk. While walking, he took out his phone, flipping it open and selecting a contact. The name on the contact was 'Rhys'. He bit his lip, before starting to type a message. He didn't know what to put. Eventually, he ended up writing something average and usual. Wuu2 atm Rhys? He watched his screen as he continued to move toward his workplace. He was a bartender, and worked alternating shifts. An afternoon shift on Mondays to Thursdays and a night shift along with it on Fridays. He heard his phone beep, saw a notification, and opened up the message he had received. It was from Rhys.

Jus chillin at home. Got bak frm uni few mins ago, y? Michael gulped, pressing a button to send a text.

He turned red as if his text would be seen by someone around him. I got a 15 min walk frm uni to wrk atm. so...uh.. sxt? His feet kept moving, but his eyes stayed on his screen. After work, he'd have to go to the university dorms where he could continue to text Rhys. Texting and 'sexting' had become hobbies to him since meeting a boy his age at a café, named Rhys. Rhys went to a different university in a different city, so it was often hard to get hold of him in person, so Michael sent him messages and he always replied. A message came up on Rhys's screen.

Ye. U or me stRt? Michael took a deep breath. He even sent the kind of text he did in public, and nobody blinked an eye at it. Nobody had really caught on to what type of messages he was always sending, but if they did, it would be embarrassing.

He had only twelve minutes left. U cn stRt. Do wat u want wit it, usul ruls. Even with the messaging he did, 'sexting' could never compare to sex. He slowly sunk into the messages, soon not caring how public it was.

Ok. The short message was quickly proceeded with. Im tonguing u nd unzippin ur jeans. Michael stared at Rhys's message, growing a smirk and quickly typing his return message.

Michael pressed send. Im kissin bak nd my dik is rock hard. He wasn't exactly lying. His erection would deal with itself eventually, and if not, there were no CCTV cameras in the toilets at work. He could release into a toilet in a stall.

Another message came up. So is mine, and its ready to do u. Im liking th tip of ur dik.

He smiled at Rhys's message, sending his own back. Im moaning... loud. Im holdin ur head to my dik nd im eager nd impatient. He sucked his bottom lip while walking, with only nine minutes left until he would arrive at work. Telling your sexting partner that you are 'eager' or 'impatient' would mean you need a very quick session. He learnt that from Rhys, who had learnt it from other sexting partners. Rhys was his first sexting partner, and so far his only one. Their relationship wasn't anything else. As much as he would have liked to be Rhys's boyfriend, he didn't want the hassle of a long-distance relationship. After all, Rhys was quite attractive. Tall, at six foot, short dark hair and brown eyes. A slightly stubbly chin and a good sense of humour, smarts and abs. Athletic figure. Just his type.

Im suking u off and draging my tongue on ur dik.. im putting a finger in ur ass. The message showed that Rhys understood his lack of time, and was quickly followed by another. Im deepthroting u nd thrusting 2 fingers in nd out. It was proceeded once more. My fingers hit ur prostate.

Michael grinned, sending a text that would make things go quicker. Five minutes left. Im coming in ur mouth nd moaning rlly loud, screaming in plesure.

Rhys wasn't slow to reply to Michael's message. Im swalowing ur cum and taking my fingers out.

Looking up from his screen at his bar, Michael smiled. Ty 4 quickie. C u l8r.

C u l8r.

Michael closed up his phone, placing it in his pocket and walking into his workplace. The hard-on he had gotten had indeed taken care of itself. He walked into his bar and looked at the previous bartender, Chelsea, who was wiping down a glass. "Chels, my shift from here," he said, walking to behind the bar.

"I'll head home," she said, before looking at him. "Oh, uh... Are you free this Saturday?"

"Yes, why?" Michael asked, looking down at her.

"Well, want to go on a date with me?" she asked, pleading in her voice.

Michael looked at her. She was short, at only five foot. Very long - waist length - silvery blonde hair. Light blue eyes. No facial hair to speak of, not even eyebrows; the ones she had were drawn. Laughing at every damn thing, not understanding basic explanations and boobs too big to ignore. Pencil thin. Female. The opposite of his type. "Sorry, no. I'm not into you."

They awkwardly exchanged stares. They went to the same uni, where Chelsea was extremely popular with the guys, and yet there she was, rejected by the guy she actually wanted. "...I don't get it. I have big boobs, I'm thin, smooth, curvy, blonde. Isn't that ideal?"

"Sorry," he told her. "I'm not into you. You're not my type."

"I thought guys like cute girls like me." She looked into his eyes. "Mikey, wanna go on a date with me?"

Looking her directly in the eyes, his answer didn't change. "No. I'm not into you."

"You're a big jerk." Chelsea ran out of the door. It didn't surprise him. He didn't really advertise his sexuality. It wouldn't matter unless someone was interested in sleeping with him, and he was mutually attracted to them. And plus, all of his boyfriends had looked alike, had similar personalities, and been in general very similar to each other. But they only lasted for a few months each. They were all very similar to Rhys.

"Yo, Mike!" He turned to the door. His flatmates from the university had come in, and were looking laidback. The one who had spoken was very short, with messy black hair and behind him was a ginger, tall, glasses-wearing boy in a blue hoodie. Their names were Jason and Sam. Following shortly behind them was the very quiet, blonde-haired and pale boy named Harry. Harry was always slow to catch up and had trouble fitting in. "Two apple ciders and a coffee."

Michael took out two glasses and a mug. "Doesn't Harry drink?" he asked them, looking at Harry. He had a plaster on his cheek, a bruise below it and... "Oh, a new one." Another bruise was beside his eye, that Michael hadn't noticed before. "What do you do to yourself, Harry? You're so frail."

Harry was always stuttering, fidgeting and his eyes darted around. Most of the time, he showed up with a few more cuts and bruises than last time his friends saw him. He sometimes slept in the dorms, and sometimes didn't. "I-I just... I f-f-fell down the st-stairs at home ag-again."

"Sheesh, Harry," Michael said, filling his mug and placing it in front of him. "Take better care of yourself. Oh, and... You weren't at uni today. What happened?"

He shrunk into his seat, kicking at his feet, swapping and stacking them. He knocked his knuckles together. It took him some time to speak. "...I had a v-very high f-fever."

"What if you don't get your degree from missing classes?" Michael asked, taking a notebook from his bag. "You can borrow my notes for hospitality and catering."

Taking the book, Harry slightly flinched. "Tha-thank you."

"Yo, Mike," Jason said, looking at Michael. "I saw Chelsea Brown running out of the shop really angry. What happened, dude?"

Michael filled Jason's glass with cider, followed by Sam's glass. "I turned down going on a date with her."

If they had drank anything yet, both Jason and Mike would have performed a perfect spit take. The look on Jason's face was completely shocked. "What?! You turned down Chelsea Brown?! But she's so hot! Do you already have a girlfriend?"

"No," Michael answered, completely calm. "Please be a little quieter in the pub."

"Dude, if Chelsea had the hots for me... I would totally take her to a love hotel first chance I had!" yelled Jason, taken aback.

"She's not my type." Michael turned to a woman who sat at the bar. "May I help you, Ma'am?"

While Michael served other guests, Sam leant toward Jason and whispered into his ear. "I bet he has some picture of girls who are his type on his phone... Wanna check out his mobile tonight? Maybe see if he lied about being single to us?"

Jason turned so that his lips were beside Sam's ear. "Sounds good. He must have pretty high standards if Chelsea isn't his type. What about Harry? Shall we get him to check with us?"

Sam looked over his shoulder at the seemingly confused, paranoid boy. "He'll almost certainly tell him! I mean, god, he looks up to Mike."

It was settled. When night fell at the university dorms, and Michael took a shower, Sam and Jason would check Michael's phone for pictures of girls who were his type or for texts that indicated he did have a girlfriend. They had no idea what they would actually find on their friend's phone.