
Ally Blue Collection
Jingle Bell Fuck
Love You To Pieces
Happy Trails
In The Arms of the River God
Taste of Sun and Sea
Nicky
Heel
Bad Medicine
Make A Wish
Happiness Is A Warm Boy
Swallow
Pure Morning After
Dream A Little Dream
Jingle Bell Fuck
"Jingle Bell Fuck" is a bit of Christmas fluff that began life as a bandslash fanfic. As a matter of fact, all I did was change the names and the speech patterns to protect the innocent. Hope you enjoy it!
\*\*\*\*\*
It was Christmas Eve, and Tom was insanely excited. Johnny had promised to come over with a Very Special Surprise, and Tom could barely sit still for wondering what it was. He put on Christmas music, sat down, jumped up again, checked his hair for the umpteenth time, sat down again and fidgeted.
At last the doorbell rang. Tom raced to the door and opened it. His heart fluttered at the sight of Johnny in a long red fur coat with a sheer, glittery, skin-tight black shirt underneath. And black chastity jeans, Tom noted with supreme satisfaction. Johnny knew how much he loved undoing all those shiny buttons without using his hands.
"Tom, you look splendid, love!" Johnny grinned a wide, toothy grin that melted Tom right into his red Christmas shoes.
"Thanks, I hoped you'd like the outfit," Tom said, turning around to show off the spectacular green velvet bell bottoms and matching sleeveless vest. He'd taken to going sleeveless constantly ever since Johnny mentioned how turned on he got when Tom wore muscle shirts. "You look gorgeous, as always."
Johnny flipped his shampoo-commercial hair out of his eyes with studied casualness. "Oh, this old thing? It's nothing. I knew you'd like it though."
"Well, come on in," Tom said, standing aside so Johnny could enter. Johnny swept past him in a cloud of Chanel No. 5, tossed his coat on the table, and settled himself gracefully into an overstuffed chair.
"So," Tom said as he sat down on Johnny's lap, "where's my surprise?"
"Patience, darling," Johnny laughed. "Should be here any moment. Now kiss me, like a proper boyfriend."
Tom obeyed right away. Johnny's tongue was warm and sweet in his mouth, his hand gentle but possessive on his thigh.
"You're making me hard," Tom whispered against Johnny's lips.
Johnny slid a hand up to check and Tom gasped. "Yes, you're quite right," Johnny said. "Whatever are we to do about it?"
"Oh, I can't imagine." Tom rolled his eyes. "Why don't you s--"
At that moment, the doorbell rang again. Tom threw his hands up.
"Who the hell can that be?" he grumbled. He stuck his bottom lip out and crossed his arms. "Well, whoever it is can damn well stand there. I want to fuck."
"Tommy," Johnny giggled, "I think you should answer the door."
"Won't."
"Don't you want your surprise?"
Tom eyed him suspiciously. "That's my surprise?"
"I expect so." Johnny pushed Tom off his lap. "Now go on and answer it."
Tom grinned. He hurried to the door, walking funny because of the tent in the front of his trousers. He flung the door open.
"What the fuck...?!?" He stared wide-eyed at the small, delicate, evil-eyed beauty standing on his doorstep in a red mini-skirt and coat trimmed with white fur. A Santa hat perched jauntily atop the chin-length, solid black curls. "B-Brian? Brian M?!?"
Brian's painted lips curled into a smile that made Tom's naughty bits twitch. "Surprise."
Tom continued to stare with his mouth hanging open. Brian laughed. "Aren't you going to invite me in?" He batted long black lashes coquettishly at Tom.
"Oh! Uh, yes, yes of course," Tom stammered. "Do come in."
Brian traced a blood-red fingernail down Tom's cheek. "Thanks, sweetie," he purred. He sashayed past Tom and into the house. Tom was so busy watching the hypnotic sway of Brian's slim hips that he completely forgot to close the door. Johnny stood up and shut it for him, stifling a laugh with his hand.
"So," Tom said, once his brain started working again, "you're my surprise, are you?"
"Yes," Brian confirmed. "D'you like?" He slid a hand up his thigh, raising his skirt enough to show a bit of creamy skin at the top of his black stocking, and licked his lips suggestively.
"I think he does," Johnny said after a moment, when it became clear that Tom was no longer capable of speech. "Tommy, why don't you give Brian a proper welcome?"
"Uh?" Tom mumbled.
Brian stalked up to Tom, fluidly graceful despite the high-heeled red pumps he wore. He draped both arms around Tom's neck and stared up at him with the promise of sin in his turquoise eyes.
"Give us a little kiss, darling," Brian murmured, his voice low and dripping with sex.
Tom darted a questioning glance at Johnny. Johnny smirked.
"Go on, Tom," he said. "Why do you think I enlisted Brian's services for the evening? He's yours to do with as you want."
Tom raised his eyebrows at Brian. "Really?"
Brian nodded. "Oh yes. I'm a very naughty elf, and I'm aaaaall yours." He flicked his tongue over Tom's lips. Tom grabbed him around the waist to keep from falling on the floor. It felt really really nice, he thought, to hold Brian's warm little body against his. Tom pushed his hips experimentally against Brian's.
"Hey," he said, "you fucking lied!"
Brian pouted prettily. "I never lie!" He thought about it a second, then said, "Well, hardly ever." He thought about it some more. "Okay, so I lie all the time, I still don't know what the hell you're talking about."
Tom snaked a hand under Brian's skirt and grabbed his crotch hard. Brian's mouth fell open and his eyes rolled back.
"This," Tom said, "is fucking huge. You said it was miniscule. Liar."
Comprehension dawned in Brian's eyes and he smiled. "It's just a song, Tommy. What, are you disappointed?"
Tom grinned. "Hardly. But you were a very wicked little boy to lie like that."
"Oh, yes, sooooooo wicked," Brian growled, rubbing his not-at-all-miniscule tool against Tom's thigh. "I should be punished immediately."
"Indeed." Tom grabbed Brian by the hair and kissed him hard. Brian's slick wet tongue slithered into his mouth, his hands deftly opening Tom's vest while they kissed.
Tom gave Brian a shove and he fell to the floor, his skirt hiked up to show a green satin thong which barely contained his enormous erect cock. In fact, the head peeked out the top of the thong. The satin was already darkening with pre-cum. Tom eyed the luscious Christmas package greedily.
"Not yet, Tommy," Johnny admonished. "You must punish him first, remember?"
Brian leaned back on one hand and stroked himself through the sticky satin with the other. "Oh yes, I need to be punished, please!"
"All right, then," Tom said, rather breathlessly due to the effect Brian's five-dollar-whore moaning and panting was having on him. "Get up. Bend over the table there." He gestured toward the kitchen table.
Brian held a hand out. Johnny took it and pulled him to his feet. Brian gave him a seductive smile. "Thanks, Johnny darling." He raised his face and Johnny bent to kiss him. Tom watched; the sight of those two pairs of plush red lips tangled together made his cock try to jump right out of his trousers.
"Fucking bend over, you little slut!" Tom ordered. He grabbed Brian's slender arm, dragged him over to the table, and pushed him face down across it. Brian didn't resist. He looked over his shoulder at Tom with half-closed eyes and wiggled his taut behind invitingly.
Tom lifted Brian's skirt, revealing smooth, pale, perfect cheeks. He ran both hands over the silky skin, then yanked the thong down and dipped a finger into the warm cleft. He rubbed lightly at Brian's tight little hole. Brian moaned and lifted his ass higher into the air.
"Little sex elf," Tom whispered in Brian's ear, "I'm going to spank this sweet little butt so hard."
Brian arched back to rub his cheek against Tom's. "Do it, daddy."
"Hell yeah, I'll fucking do it," Tom said. He stood and smacked Brian's bare bottom hard.
"Oh! Oh yeah, do it again." Brian grabbed the edges of the table and spread his legs wider.
"Like that, do you?" Tom said. "Such a whore." He smacked Brian again. "Say it, Brian. Say 'I'm a filthy whore.'"
"I'm a filthy whore," Brian echoed obediently.
smack "Louder, whore."
"I'm a..."
smack
"...filthy.."
smack
"WHORE!! Oh fuck!"
Tom blinked, surprised. That is, he was surprised to see a huge purple jelly dildo sticking out of Brian's ass. He knew he hadn't put it there.
"Johnny," Tom said, "did you do that? With the dildo, I mean."
"Yes indeed." Johnny capped the lube and put it back in his sequined handbag. "He loves toys."
"How do you know that?" Tom demanded, mostly just to be argumentative. The fact that Brian was moaning and humping the table did seem to support Johnny's statement.
"I have my sources," Johnny said, flashing the smile that he thought looked sophisticated and mysterious but merely made him look smug. "You're wasting time, love. Your present wants to play."
"Fuck yeah," Brian panted. "C'mon, fuck me!"
Tom gave Brian's reddened backside a halfhearted slap. "You've got a big mouth, you know that?"
Brian twisted around and gave Tom a demented grin. "Yeah, how about you fill it up with your big fat cock?"
"Oh, what a delightful idea!" Johnny clapped his hands. "Which end do you want, Tommy?"
Tom frowned. "Huh?"
Brian slapped a hand to his forehead. Johnny sighed and rolled his eyes.
"Don't be stupid, Tom," Johnny said. "We can both fuck him at the same time, now do you want his mouth or his arse? Honestly. You should get out more."
Tom stared thoughtfully at Brian. He contemplated his supple bottom, complete with giant purple dildo sticking out of it, then considered his soft, pretty mouth. Brian flicked his tongue out and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Tom swallowed.
"Think I'll have that lovely mouth," Tom said.
"Right," Johnny said. "Brian, all fours on the floor, there's a good little elf." He pulled the dildo out of Brian's ass. Brian squealed, then slid off the table and onto his hands and knees on the carpet.
Tom threw his vest off, unzipped his trousers and stepped out of them. Brian eyed his bare body with naked lust as he dropped to his knees. Tom wound one hand into Brian's hair and held his own painfully hard cock in the other.
"All right, little girl," Tom growled. "I believe you know what to do."
He rubbed the tip of his cock against Brian's lips. Brian sighed and licked at the dripping pre-cum.
"God, so good," Brian moaned.
"Shut up," Tom said, "and suck it." He looked up and caught Johnny's eye. Johnny still had his glittery shirt on, but had shed his jeans and was rubbing himself against Brian's butt. He winked at Tom, and shoved his cock inside Brian's ass just as Tom plunged into Brian's throat.
Brian's mouth was soft and surprisingly hot on Tom's cock. Tom clenched both fists in Brian's hair and pushed until Brian's nose hit his pubes. Damn, he thought, that boy sure can deep-throat. Brian took it all like he did it every day. Which he probably did, Tom speculated absently as he fucked Brian's mouth. He watched his cock sliding slowly in and out, in and out between those full, gorgeous lips. Yep, he thought, practice does make perfect.
"You like that, little whore?" Tom said, pulling out for a minute and grinning at the way Brian pouted and whimpered. "You like sucking my cock?" He smacked his wet prick against Brian's flushed cheek.
"God, yes," Brian gasped. "Gimme it back!" He lunged for it and Tom smacked him with it again. He gazed up at Tom with big, pleading eyes.
"Please, daddy," Brian begged. "Please let me suck your big, hard cock. OH! Oh yeah, HARDER!!"
Tom looked up at Johnny, who had evidently caused that outburst. Johnny's fingers dug hard into Brian's delicate hips, and he was pounding that delectable ass like a jackhammer. The sight of Johnny's abs bunching and his hair swinging as he fucked Brian's ass was so distracting that Tom completely forgot about teasing Brian. The little minx managed to swallow his cock again before Tom could stop him, not that he really minded.
"Ohjesusfuckingchrist," Johnny breathed. "I'm gonna come."
"Come on his back," Tom suggested. Brian gave him a dirty look, but evidently didn't want to protest badly enough to stop sucking. Tom grinned and fucked his mouth harder.
Johnny pulled out and started stroking himself fast. "Oh, oh shit, oh FUCK! Fuck!" He threw his head back and shot semen all over Brian's bare butt and the Christmas skirt still hiked up around his waist. The sight was enough to send Tom right over the edge. He pulled Brian's hair so hard he squealed in protest and shot his load right down Brian's throat. Brian swallowed every drop.
"Oh, wonderful," Tom sighed as he pulled out of Brian's mouth. "No no, stay right there," he added when Brian started to sit up on his knees.
"But daddy," Brian whined, "my cock's so fucking hard!"
"Don't worry, sweetie," Johnny said, plopping down onto the floor and wiping the sweat off his face. "We'll take care of you."
"Oh yeah," Tom agreed. "I want to lick off Johnny's cum first. I love his cum."
Brian's gemstone eyes clouded over. "Mm. Have it, baby." He folded his arms on the floor and rested his chin on his hands, which arched his lovely ass up higher. He gazed up at Tom with a knowing smile.
Tom scooted around and knelt behind Brian. He scooped up the cooling semen with his tongue, except for the part on the skirt because he didn't want to get skirt fuzz in his mouth. When he'd thoroughly cleaned Brian's sweet cheeks, he pried them apart and licked off the little stream that had run down between them. Brian trembled and cried out when Tom probed his tongue experimentally inside.
"Mm," Tom mumbled approvingly. "Cum and strawberries. How do you do it?" He stuck his tongue in again, deeper this time.
Brian was not, at that point, capable of anything more than moans and sharp little cries, so Johnny answered for him.
"It's flavored lube, Einstein," Johnny said, laughing.
"I knew that," Tom lied. "So, um, I'd like to suck him off now, you want some?"
"No, thank you," Johnny answered politely. "I'm done, you have it. He's your gift, after all."
Tom grinned a big, childlike, happy grin, launched himself at Johnny and kissed him deeply. "I love you, babe."
"Love you too, precious." Johnny kissed him again, then smacked his bare little bottom. "Now go to it, I want to watch."
Tom grinned again, then scrambled back over to Brian. He lay on his back and squirmed between Brian's open legs, then grabbed his hips and pulled until Brian's cock slid down to fill his throat. Brian let out a little mewling sound and started thrusting into Tom's mouth.
Tom opened his throat and was rather proud of himself for being able to take nearly the whole thing. Brian was huge, especially for being so tiny otherwise. After a moment, Tom felt Johnny's knees on either side of his hips. He smiled inwardly; he knew Johnny couldn't resist joining in. He closed his eyes and pictured Johnny licking and fingering Brian's wide open, strawberry-and-cum-flavored hole.
"OH! OH FUCK, OH FUCK YES! DADDY, YES!!!" Brian screamed, making Tom's fillings vibrate. He shoved his cock deep into Tom's throat, and Tom found himself swallowing what felt like buckets of hot, salty semen. He gulped as fast as he could.
Finally Brian sighed and Tom felt his body go limp. He wriggled up until he could see Brian's face. Good lord, he thought, how beautiful he is. He pulled Brian down into his arms.
"You're lovely when you come, you know?" he said.
Brian gave him a loopy grin. "So are you, dad. God. Kiss me."
Tom did, long and thoroughly. Brian's lipstick - what was left of it - tasted like strawberries too. After a while Johnny's arms wrapped around Brian's chest and tugged. Brian sat up on his knees, leaned back against Johnny and kissed him too. Tom smiled at them.
"Johnny," he said, "that's the best Christmas present I ever got. Thanks, love."
"You're welcome, darling," Johnny said. He gave Brian a pop on the butt, then let go of him and stretched out on the carpet. "So, what should we do now?"
Tom propped himself up on his elbows. "Don't you want your present now?"
"Oh, of course!" Johnny smiled. "What is it?"
Tom gave him an evil grin. "Brian?"
Brian grinned at Tom, wicked as ever. He stood, straightened his clothes, and put his Santa hat back on. Johnny looked questioningly from Brian to Tom and back again.
Brian struck a pose and smiled. "Surprise."
Love You To Pieces
"Love You To Pieces," first appeared in the 2005 Halloween issue of the erotic ezine Ruthie's Club. It's slightly different take on the zombie story :D Enjoy!
\*\*\*\*\*
Mark and Jorge were fucking in the vacant lot behind the 7-Eleven when the zombies came. Mark, flat on his back in the weeds with his legs slung over Jorge's shoulders, smiled when he heard the low, throaty moan.
"Damn, baby," he growled. "I like that sound."
"Huh?" Jorge panted, removing his teeth from Mark's neck long enough to give him a puzzled look. "What... oh!"
Jorge's brown eyes rolled back as he came, cock pulsing inside Mark's ass, nudging the sweet spot and making him come too. Jorge pulled out and collapsed on top of Mark. They lay there for a minute, catching their breath.
"Uuuuhhh."
The moan was louder that time. Mark laughed. "Caveman."
Jorge propped himself up on one elbow and frowned down at Mark. "What the fuck you talking about, babe?"
"That moaning sound you keep making." Mark tweaked one of Jorge's nipples. "It's sexy when we're fucking, but hell, you ought to be verbal again by now."
An odd expression crossed Jorge's face. "I thought that was you."
"Wasn't me, man."
"Well, if it wasn't you, and it wasn't me, then who...?"
"Uuuuhhhh!"
The voice was dry and rattly, and definitely not Mark or Jorge since it was coming from behind them. They stared at each other for a second, then untangled themselves in record time and leapt to their feet.
Mark barely had time to register the peeling, grayish skin and rotting blue suit before the man's teeth closed on Jorge's throat and worried it like a dog with a raw steak. There was a wet tearing sound. Jorge gurgled and fell to the ground. The man rode him right down and kept on munching.
Mark watched, frozen, as a dark puddle spread from under Jorge's neck. The man in the blue suit crouched over Jorge's body, grunting and slurping. One bony hand dug into Jorge's chest. A finger came off with a dusty sort of cracking noise, rolled down Jorge's ribcage, and landed in the dirt at his side, and suddenly Mark knew what he was dealing with. He'd watched enough movies to know what to do. Running over to the trash pile, he snatched up a piece of two-by-four and ran back.
"Hey!" he shouted.
The zombie raised its head and turned toward him. One shriveled eye dangled onto its skeletal cheek. The other glared reproachfully at him.
"That's my man you're eating, zombie." Mark brandished the two-by-four. "Back the fuck off, right now!"
The zombie shuffled to its feet. "Uuuguuhhhuh!" it insisted. A bit of bloody meat slid from the corner of its mouth and hit the ground with a wet plop.
Mark didn't let it get any closer. He swung, and the board connected with the side of the zombie's skull. Its head flew right off, bounced and rolled, coming to rest a few feet away. The smartly dressed body crumpled to the ground and lay still.
Mark edged around the headless body and knelt beside Jorge, eyes darting between his fallen lover and the thing he'd just decapitated. "Jorge? Baby?"
Jorge didn't answer. Mark took a closer look, and that was all he needed to know Jorge was dead. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, trying to control the mingled grief and panic screaming inside him. He couldn't help Jorge any more. He had to save himself. Zombies are like roaches, he reminded himself. Where there's one, there's a thousand more.
Big, dead, cannibalistic roaches.
Something moved at his side. His eyes flew open. Jorge was sitting up, reaching for him. Mark felt a split second of relief, which quickly turned to terror as Jorge bit a chunk out of his shoulder. He screamed, shoved Jorge away, and scrambled out of reach.
"What the fuck, Jorge?" he spluttered. "Why'd you bite me?"
Jorge stared, brown eyes perfectly blank. Blood coated his lips and dribbled down his chin. He staggered to his feet and started toward Mark. His nude body was covered in sticky, shiny red. It dripped obscenely from the tip of his penis.
"Hungry," Jorge whispered. "Need... hungry..." He lunged and made a grab for Mark, who danced out of reach.
Mark shook his head as he realized what had happened. "Jorge. No. Ah, baby, no!"
"Hungry." Jorge reached for him again. He batted the grasping hand away, turned, and ran.
He made it nearly five blocks before the adrenaline started seeping away and his knees gave out. He sank down to the sidewalk, shaking all over, and put his head in his hands.
"Stupid fucking zombies," he muttered. "Taking my man away. Dammit!"
The sound of footsteps nearby snapped him out of his shock. He realized, too late, that he was stark naked under a street light outside a leather bar at not quite
Something, he thought, is definitely wrong with this picture.
He pulled himself to a standing position, using the light pole for support since his knees were still knocking together, and took a good look around. Not a soul in sight. Techno music pounded from the open door of the bar, but there was no trace of the usual stream of people entering and exiting the place.
Mark turned in a nervous circle, half expecting to see tumbleweeds. Cars still lined the street, and some had stopped at odd angles in the road, but not one person did he see. Whoever he'd heard walking toward him before must've thought better of it and headed the other way. He found that something of a relief.
Suddenly his neck prickled. He whirled around, and came face to face with his tenth grade History teacher. Before he could react, her liver-spotted hands clamped with surprising strength onto the back of his neck and pulled. He let out a high-pitched squeak as her wrinkled lips opened and her mouth fastened onto his throat. He squirmed frantically, expecting at any moment to have his jugular torn open the way Jorge's had been. It took him a moment to notice that it wasn't happening. Wild laughter bubbled up and spilled over when he realized she didn't have her dentures in.
"Yeah, let's see you gum me to death, you old bag!" He shoved her as hard as he could, bursting into fresh peals of laughter when she fell right on her bony rear. "Bitch! Stupid zombie bitch! Ha!"
Feet shuffled on the concrete behind him. Something cold touched his bare back, and he froze, the laughter drying up in his throat.
"Hungry," an unfamiliar voice wheezed. A chorus of voices echoed it.
Mark closed his eyes. "Oh, fuck."
He wondered if he imagined the smirk on the old lady's face when the zombies pulled him to the ground and started ripping his guts out.
\*\*\*\*\*
When Mark opened his eyes, he thought he must be dreaming. Jorge was leaning over him, one brown hand stroking his face. He sat up, trying to shake the odd fuzzy feeling out from between his ears.
"Jorge? What the fuck happened?"
"Don't know. It ain't good though."
Jorge's voice sounded wrong, all raw and gurgly. Mark frowned, trying to remember. They were in the vacant lot, Jorge was fucking him, that crazy guy showed up, and then...
It all came back suddenly. Jorge dying, then sitting up again and biting him. His old teacher attacking him.
The zombies all over him. Eating him alive.
"Oh, shit." Mark struggled to his feet. A small crowd of people, some in rotting funereal finery, others in blood-soaked street clothes, stood in a circle around him and Jorge. They stared around rather blankly, not moving.
Jorge stood up. He was still naked, and covered in drying blood. His skin had lost its normal burnished bronze color and become the shade of drying mud. The deep brown eyes Mark loved had gone cloudy. A ragged hole gaped in the side of his neck, dangling strips of raw flesh.
Mark wrinkled his nose. "Jorge, man, you look gross."
Jorge crossed his arms and frowned. "Thanks a lot, pretty boy," he rasped. "Checked out your six-pack lately?"
Mark looked down. The torn ends of his intestines hung out of a hole in his belly that looked like it had been gnawed by rats. He gave a high-pitched little yip.
"Christ! You goddamn zombies ate my insides out! Fuck!"
Mark poked the edges of the horrific wound with an experimental finger. It didn't hurt. It didn't even bleed.
That's when it hit him.
"Fuck, I'm fucking dead!" he screamed. He turned wide, panicky eyes to Jorge. "Jorge, we're dead! Do something!"
Jorge came to him and held him, patting his back. "It's okay, baby. It'll be okay."
Mark laughed, sounding more than a little hysterical. "Oh sure, that seems real fucking likely. You got a way to make us not dead anymore or something?"
"Um..."
Suddenly a terrible thought struck Mark. His mouth opened to ask before his brain was sure it wanted to know. "Hey, you didn't eat me too, did you?"
Silence. Mark pulled back, mouth hanging open. "Jorge! Goddamit, I don't believe it! You bastard!"
Jorge nudged a dead bug with one bare toe. "I didn't recognize you, babe. Sorry."
"What the fuck do you mean, you didn't recognize me? You been fucking me for two fucking years, you moron, how the fuck do you not recognize me?"
"It's not his fault," a feminine voice shrilled.
Mark whirled around and glared at the girl. "You stay out of this, you fucking Goth zombie," he snarled.
She glared right back with the one black-lined eye she had left. "We can't recognize live people, dumb-ass."
He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. She did seem to have the facts on her side. "What do you mean?"
She scratched at the crack in her skull, scraping off flakes of dried blood. "Live people just look... I dunno. Blank, I guess. I ate my best friend and didn't even know it 'til she died."
"True," a girl in the back chimed in, one ripped cheek flapping as she nodded.
Mark turned back to Jorge. "So, you really didn't know it was me?"
Jorge shook his head. "I'd never have done it if I knew it was you, Mark. You know I'd never hurt you."
"Yeah, I know." Mark smiled, took Jorge's hand, and pulled him close. "Love you, babe. Even if you are a fucking zombie."
"Love you too. C'mere."
Jorge's arms around him felt like heaven, even if his skin was a little rubbery and colder than normal. Those plump lips still felt soft when they latched onto Mark's, but Jorge's tongue was rough and dry as sandpaper. Mark decided not to care, since his was in no better shape.
Life as a zombie, he figured, was going to be interesting.
\*\*\*\*\*
How they came up with the idea of raiding the porn shop, Mark wasn't quite sure. At first, they'd just wanted to get away from the other zombies. Mark discovered pretty fast that he hated most people's company just as much dead as alive. Jorge, agreeable as ever, had just smiled and let Mark have his way.
They'd gone to the mall first, but it had turned out to be full of live people, none of whom were happy to see them. An angry wave of the living descended on them with guns and baseball bats after they caught and partially ate a middle-aged woman. They stumbled awkwardly back out into the night, chased by curses and gunshots. A few minutes later, Mark broke the lock on the porno shop and in they went.
"Stupid fuckers," Mark grumbled as they melted into the darkness between the shelves in back. "Who the fuck they think they are, shooting at us?"
"We'd do the same if it was us," Jorge pointed out. He picked up a cat o' nine tails and flicked it experimentally at his own leg. "Hell, I didn't even feel that. Freaks me out that nothing hurts now."
"Discrimination, that's what it is," Mark continued, undeterred. "They're discriminating against us just 'cause we're dead. That's just fucking wrong."
"Bet you weren't saying that when that dude killed me." Jorge tore a frighteningly large black dildo out of it's package and examined it with interest. "Damn, this thing's fucking huge. Check it out." He held it out to Mark.
"Discrimination!" Mark insisted, taking the toy from Jorge and whacking it against the shelf for emphasis. "We didn't ask to be dead, dammit! We can't help it if we have to eat people!"
Jorge came to Mark and pulled him close, stroking his back soothingly. "Calm down, babe. I know we can't help it, but neither can they. We're just gonna have to figure this thing out, that's all."
Mark laughed. "Oh, sure, figure it out. Figure what out, huh? What the fuck happened? Why are there zombies running around all of a sudden in the first place? Why are we zombies? What the fucking fuck is happening, Jorge?"
Mark could hear the hysteria creeping into his voice, and was profoundly grateful when Jorge grabbed him by the hair and kissed him hard. It was Jorge's way of shutting Mark up when he started on one of his frequent rants. It nearly always worked, too. By the time Jorge pulled back, grinning smugly, Mark had temporarily ceased to wonder about the whys and wherefores of the situation and had started to wonder if they could just fuck now.
"Let's fuck," Mark suggested.
"Now that's an idea I could go for." Jorge sighed and leaned his forehead against Mark's. "But I don't think I can get it up."
Mark frowned. "Hey, I know I've looked better, but you're not exactly a centerfold yourself right now."
"I mean," Jorge said patiently, "I don't think it's physically possible anymore. Us being dead and all. No blood pressure." He reached between Mark's legs and gave his cock a light tug. "See? You're not hard either, and I know you want it."
"Oh." Mark glanced frantically around, looking for something to shove up his ass. Luckily, the porn shop was full of things made for exactly that purpose. "Okay, toys. Me first. Help me find the lube."
Jorge reached for a shelf to his right and picked up a big jar with a picture of a man's clenched fist on the lid. "How about that giant dildo you got in your hand? You want that up your ass, babe?"
Mark lifted his hand, and was surprised to discover that he still held the black dildo. He examined it with a critical eye. A foot long if it was an inch, and probably a good three inches around. Ouch, he thought gleefully.
Mark grinned. "Fuck, yeah."
Thirty minutes later, Mark lay on his back on the check-out counter, knees drawn up to his chest, with Jorge's arm buried to the elbow in his ass. Mark had been upset at first when he discovered that being dead meant a distinct lack of anal muscle tone. How, he complained, was he supposed to enjoy getting fucked without the sweet burn of having his asshole stretched? Then Jorge had pointed out the inherent possibilities of a permanently loose hole. Mark had cheered right up, and they'd enthusiastically set out to see what all would fit in Mark's butt.
Quite a lot, as it turned out. The big black dildo went right in, along with an equally large flesh colored one with fake veins all over it and a slender, rippled probe in blinding neon pink. Jorge held up a mirror so Mark could see his own hole stuffed full of toys. They both agreed that it was really hot, in a bizarre sort of way.
Mark suggested Jorge's hand once he got bored with the various sex toys. Jorge readily agreed, which surprised Mark not at all. Jorge had been dying to fist fuck him for ages, but Mark had always been too chicken before.
There were definite advantages to being dead.
"You like that, baby?" Jorge twisted his greased arm deeper into Mark's guts. "You like my arm up your ass?"
"Shit, yeah," Mark panted, watching in fascination as the mangled lump of intestines jiggled inside the ragged hole in his belly. "Feels good."
"Tell me what it feels like."
Mark stared into Jorge's eyes. "Feels... I don't know. Oughta feel tight, I know, but it doesn't. It just... I can just feel you, right? Inside me. All the way."
Mark trailed off, at a loss for words. He didn't have the vocabulary to describe the quiet waves of pleasure that rolled through him when Jorge's fist moved inside him. It was a faint shade of what he figured he'd be feeling if he were still alive. But he liked it that way. It was soothing, almost, and it brought him a measure of comfort to know that even after death, he could still have Jorge in him. He didn't know what he'd do if they found they'd lost that intimacy forever. He needed that closeness, that connection that went so far beyond words.
"I know," Jorge whispered. He slipped two fingers of his other hand in beside his arm, unerringly finding the sweet spot. Mark gasped, and Jorge smiled. "That's it, baby. That's it. Come on."
Mark arched his back and let out a harsh, croaking cry. It seemed strange to come without any physical evidence, but there was no mistaking that feeling. His brain was having one fierce orgasm, even if his body didn't know it. If he'd been alive, he figured, his semen would've hit the ceiling.
Jorge carefully pulled his arm out, helped Mark to his feet, and kissed him. Mark clung to his lover, still reeling from the aftershocks of a completely mental release. He laid his head on Jorge's shoulder and closed his eyes. He didn't even mind the way the torn bits of skin hanging from Jorge's throat tickled his cheek.
"That," he said when he got his voice back, "was fucking awesome."
"Sure was."
"Want me to do you now?"
"Maybe later. Right now, it's enough that I got to make you come."
Mark smiled against Jorge's neck. It always tickled him how Jorge could get off just on watching him come.
Outside the shop window, a live person ran shrieking down the sidewalk, pursued by a crowd of the dead. Mark recognized his old teacher, still plugging away in spite of having no teeth. The sight caused his happy glow to fade a little.
"Hey, Jorge?"
"Hm?"
"What's gonna happen to us, you think?"
Jorge was silent for a moment. Mark waited, much more patiently than he would have in life. "I don't know," Jorge answered finally.
Another long stretch of silence. They held each other, cold fingers stroking cold skin.
"Jorge?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm scared."
Jorge's arms tightened around Mark's waist. "Me too, baby. Me too."
\*\*\*\*\*
The sky outside had begun to lighten by the time they stirred again. A strange drowsiness crept over Mark's mind. He felt sluggish and heavy, and nothing much seemed to matter anymore.
"I feel weird, Jorge."
"So do I."
"You think we're gonna die for real now?"
"I figure so, yeah."
"I don't mind anymore. I don't like being like this."
"Me neither. I'm ready to go." Jorge stroked the tangled hair out of Mark's eyes, smiling sadly. "You and me, we were good, huh?"
"The best." Mark cupped Jorge's beloved face between his hands. "I love you, Jorge. Always did, you know."
"I know. I love you too."
They kissed, clumsily but with as much love as ever. Mark could barely feel Jorge's lips against his.
Jorge pulled back, a strange expression in his dull eyes. "Promise me something?"
"Anything, baby."
"Promise me that if we make it to the next life, we'll still be together."
"I promise." Mark managed a smile in spite of the stiffness of his face. "Let's go to the park, huh? We can watch the sun come up."
"Yeah. Our last sunrise." Jorge took Mark's hand and squeezed it. "Come on."
They shuffled out the door hand in hand and crossed the street to the tiny, run-down public park in which they'd spent so many blissful nights, and watched so many sunrises together. They found their favorite bench, heaved a pile of body parts off of it, and sat down, facing east.
As the darkness gave way to an eerily silent dawn, Mark and Jorge cuddled together to watch the day break for the last time.
"Happy Trails"
first appeared in the summer 2006 issue of Forbidden Fruit. WARNING for a bit of BDSM :D
\*\*\*\*\*
"Gimme another dog."
"Get your own."
"C'mon, Rick."
I glared over at Pete, sitting buck-ass naked on a blanket by the campfire. Long legs stretched out, black cowboy hat pulled low, dark curls all sweaty against his neck. Pretty mouth just smiling. Lazing around while I cooked, as usual. Thinking that just 'cause he'd spread for me any damn time, that meant I had to wait on him.
Problem was, he appeared to be right.
"Fine." I stuck the last of the hot dogs on a straightened-out coat hanger and held it over the fire. He grinned.
Bastard.
He gave me big sloe eyes when I handed him his dog. "Thanks, babe."
"You can thank me in a minute." I stood over him and watched as he wolfed down his fourth dog. Every time we go camping, he eats enough for a damn army. Where the fuck he puts it all, I don't know.
I waited 'til he finished. When he'd swallowed the last bite, I pulled the end of the hanger out of the coals and pressed the tip to his nipple.
"Fuck!" He arched, shaking, brown eyes hot and wanting. "Rick..."
"I know."
I held the red-hot metal to his other nipple. He collapsed onto his back, moaning, those lean thighs spread wide. I unzipped and started stroking myself. He mirrored me, big hands pulling his thick cock.
"Yours, Rick." Those dark eyes burned.
"Mine." I whacked the inside of his thigh with the hot wire. He hissed, cock twitching. "Turn over."
He rolled onto his belly, got his knees under him, and stuck that pretty as fuck ass in the air. The base of the big red butt plug I'd made him wear lay snug between those firm cheeks. Made me feel hot all over.
Pete looked over his shoulder at me. "Do it."
"Yeah."
It took a few minutes, seeing as how all I had was a coat hanger. Pete screamed and clawed the ground and came before I was done, but I didn't mind. By the time I'd finished branding his ass with my name, my dick was about to bust. I reached down and yanked the plug out. The sight of that stretched hole nearly made me lose it. My cock slid right in, and I fucked him 'til we both saw stars.
Later, I sat and watched Pete sleeping, flat on his belly, hole plugged up again, anti-biotic ointment coating the fresh brand. That hot piece of man belonged to me, from that stupid hat he always wore to his bare feet. The raw burns spelling "Rick" across his ass told it to the world.
Mine.
I pulled him close and fell asleep under the wide, starry sky, with my own private cowboy in my arms.
The next night, I let him brand me.
originally appeared in the Winter 2006 issue of Forbidden Fruit. WARNING for some disturbing memories. You'll see...
\*\*\*\*\*
Joel hadn't dreamed in longer than he could remember. Nights had been blessedly blank ever since he'd arrived on the island, his sleep deep and restful. So the first dream took him completely by surprise.
He stood in an empty room with blank gray walls. He felt like he was waiting for something, but he didn't know what. He went to the window and looked out. A man stood on the grass outside, looking up at him. The man seemed sad, though Joel couldn't figure out why.
Joel lay in bed for a long time after he woke, staring up at the ceiling fan revolving over his bed. The sorrowful face of the man in his dream lingered in his mind, though he couldn't remember exactly what the man looked like.
"Just a dream," Joel said to himself, because no one else was there. He shoved the white cotton sheet off and slid out of bed.
The sun was just rising over the green mountains on the horizon when Joel walked out onto the beach. The turquoise waves sparkled in the morning light, and the sand felt cool under his feet. He stretched, relishing the warmth of the tropical sun on his bare skin. He'd stopped wearing clothes as soon as he realized he was alone on the island. Now, he could barely remember a time when he hadn't been naked.
Joel walked out into the clear water, dove under a rolling blue swell, and swam until the palm trees looked like toys and his hut was swallowed by distance. He flipped over to float on his back and scanned the length of the beach around the bay, more out of habit than anything else. He hadn't seen another soul since the morning he'd woken up alone in the cozy little hut on the beach.
After his swim, Joel stretched out on the fine white sand and watched puffs of cloud drift across the deep blue sky. No airplane contrails marred the peaceful perfection of that sky. Sometimes, Joel wondered what exactly had happened to the world. Whether everyone else had disappeared, or he himself had been whisked away to this solitary paradise. But mostly it didn't matter. He had everything he needed here, and he didn't miss other people.
The day passed the way the days usually did for Joel. Quietly. He wandered the jungle paths behind his hut, listening to the soothing music of birds and insects. When he got hungry, he picked fruit from the trees and ate it as he walked. When the heat became oppressive, he dove into the cool water of the river, in the wide place just past the waterfall.
Nothing much ever happened here. Joel liked that just fine.
He returned to the hut as the sun began to sink behind the mountains. He sat in the big rocking chair on the front porch, sipping a glass of chardonnay and watching the sky shade from brilliant red and orange through pink and lavender to deep midnight blue. The stars appeared one by one as the sky darkened to black.
Joel sat for a while longer, contemplating the rippled reflection of the moon on the water. He felt vaguely uneasy, as he usually did after nightfall. Not because of any sense of danger; in all the time he'd been on the island, he'd never seen anything more threatening than a wasp. The darkness simply gave him a feeling he couldn't find words for. Like staring at a locked door, aware that he knew what was on the other side, but unable to remember.
He stood, picked up his empty wine glass, and went back inside. The light of the lamp beside the window pushed back the creeping night and suffused the little room in a soft golden glow. He lay down on the bed and drifted to sleep with the light still on.
\*\*\*\*\*
The room was darker this time, the walls dingy. Only a faint light filtered in past the heavy curtains that now covered the windows. He pushed the thick drapes aside. The sky outside hung gray and menacing over a bleak landscape. The yard was empty. Joel turned, and there, standing beside the closed door of the room, was the man he'd seen before.
"Who are you?" Joel asked. His voice sounded muffled and oddly distorted.
The man took a step toward him, one graceful hand reaching out, and Joel's pulse sped up. The man's smooth olive skin, black hair, and full lips made Joel feel things he thought he'd forgotten long ago. But it was the man's eyes that glued Joel's feet to the floor. Eyes as black and bottomless as the ocean at night. Eyes that bled a palpable sorrow.
Joel reached out and took the man's hand in his before he realized what he was doing. The second their hands touched, Joel was overcome by a strange sense of mingled dread and want. He let go, stumbling backward. Whether he was trying to escape from his fear or his need, he couldn't say.
He sank down to the floor, the blood pounding in his ears. As the world went gray around him, he thought he heard the man call his name.
Joel woke with a start, breathing hard. The sheet clung to his damp skin. The face of his dream man lingered behind his eyes, lovely and sensual, a compelling mix of softness and strength. He could still feel the weight of those black eyes, the warmth of the long, slender fingers curled around his.
It took him a minute to realize what the strange sensation in his groin was. He lay back and ran his fingers tentatively up and down his erection, shivering at the light touch. He'd nearly forgotten what it felt like.
It took less than a minute to get himself off. One hand around his shaft, the other wandering downward to circle his opening, stroking and pulling, a firm thumb against the slit at the tip of his cock, and Joel came, ropes of wet heat splattering his belly. He shut his eyes.
...dusky skin warm and slick beneath him, long legs and strong arms around him, soft lips and harsh breath against his ear, clutching heat around his cock. "Joel, yes, harder..."
Joel sat straight up in bed, eyes flying open. The shocking suddenness of the vision frightened him. He drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, wide eyes roaming the room. Everything seemed perfectly normal. No grimy gray walls, no strange men with beautiful sad eyes. Only himself, semen drying on his stomach while the morning light poured in through the windows.
He sat there for many long minutes before his shaking subsided.
\*\*\*\*\*
Though the sun shone as brightly as ever, the day seemed dark to Joel. As if some giant hand had thrown a cloak of shadow across the sky. Sunset found him still curled up in the big rocking chair, staring out at the wide sandy beach and emerald green jungle. Watching, and thinking.
He knew he hadn't always been on the island. He knew there had been a life before, a whole world. But he couldn't remember it. Whenever he tried, panic rose like bile in his throat, thick and choking. So he'd stopped trying ages ago. After all, he reasoned, he was here, with no idea how or why he'd gotten here, and no way of leaving, even if he'd wanted to. And why would he want to? This place was a dream come true. Quiet, peaceful, beautiful. Balm to soothe a troubled spirit.
He'd never wondered before at the ease with which this unknown island had become his home. Had never questioned how everything he ever wanted or needed, from food and water to fine wines to electricity, existed here in an abundance that never seemed to diminish. It had all seemed part of a phenomenon beyond his understanding, beyond his ability to control. A thing to enjoy without question.
The dream changed all that, though Joel wasn't sure why. All he knew was that something about it had jarred that locked door in his mind, shaken it in its frame. Another dream could burst it wide open, and flood his perfect little world with deadly knowledge. He knew it with a certainty he'd never felt before.
"Won't sleep," he whispered to himself. "Don't need to."
Joel went back inside, made himself a sandwich, and curled up on the sofa to watch a movie on the plasma screen TV that hadn't been there an hour ago. He ignored the thought of the dream man's liquid eyes, that soft skin that he ached to touch. If he gave in to his desires, everything would change. And he knew, somehow, that it wouldn't be for the better.
\*\*\*\*\*
Joel hadn't stayed up all night even once since his arrival on the island, preferring the blank safety of sleep to the living dark. But sleep had become his enemy. Sleep, and the unwelcome dreams it now brought.
He resented it. Resented that these strange, disturbing visions had invaded his haven and forced him to face the long nights with eyes wide open. Why, he wondered, did his own mind betray him so? And why did his subconscious insist on inventing the most beautiful man he'd ever seen to tempt him into the unwanted dreams?
You know, a quiet little voice inside him whispered.
"No," he said, stubborn, thrusting his chin out.
But deep inside, he knew the voice was right.
He managed to stay awake for three nights and three days before exhaustion caught up to him. On the fourth night, he sat ramrod straight in a wooden chair at the kitchen table as darkness fell, TV blaring loud and cheerful in the corner. He fell asleep after an hour, head resting on his folded arms.
The room seethed with shadows. Joel huddled on the cold floor in the corner, arms tight around himself. The windows had disappeared. He thought he could make out shapes of things hanging on the walls, but when he tried to look at them, they blurred and shifted, blending into the grimy gray paint. He liked that he couldn't see; the things the vague outlines suggested made his stomach knot.
The door to the room slammed open. Joel jumped, heart triphammering in his chest. Something huge and dark blocked out the light. Joel stared, and pure terror bloomed in his guts.
"No," he whimpered. "Go away. Please go away."
The figure took a step into the room, then another. As it moved, it shrank, and lightened, and solidified, until the menacing hulk was gone entirely. The lovely man from the previous dreams stood looking down at Joel, dark eyes heavy with sorrow. Joel sagged against the wall, weak with relief.
"Joel... please..."
The man's voice sounded watery and far away, but something in it struck a chord in Joel's mind. His insides twisted with a strange mix of grief and desire. Without thinking about what he was doing, whether it would save him or destroy him, Joel rose to his feet, took the man's hands in his, and pulled him close.
Those black eyes locked with his. "Joel, please..."
Joel slid a hand into the man's thick, dark hair, letting the heavy strands slip like water through his fingers. "Please what? Who are you? Why do you make me feel like this?"
The man held Joel's face between his hands and kissed him, tenderly, sweetly. Joel swallowed the sob rising in his throat, but he couldn't stop the hot tears from trickling down his cheeks. It scared him, feeling this way. Like he'd lost the most precious thing in the world, and didn't know it.
"Please come back," the man whispered against Joel's mouth. "Come back to me."
He started to pull away. Joel grabbed his wrist, holding him. The black eyes gazed at him, patient and sad.
"But, but I don't... know you. Do I?" Joel shook his head. "Don't leave me here."
"Come back," the man repeated.
"I don't know how." Joel clutched at the man's hand, letting out a little cry when the long fingers slipped away from his. "Please, don't go, don't leave me! I can't get back, I don't know how!"
The man smiled, and the beauty of it stole Joel's breath. "You have to remember, Joel."
The man turned and walked away without looking back. Joel tried to follow, but his feet refused to leave the floor. So he stood there, unable to move, or speak, only able to watch as the man walked out the door and the lights blinked out.
When Joel opened his eyes, he was back in the familiar brightness of his hut. He sat up, looking around him. Sunlight sparkled on the bay outside and lit the little room with a warm glow. He got up and wandered around, touching this and that, reassuring himself that it was real, and that the dream was just that. A dream, nothing more.
He wandered over to the refrigerator and poured himself a tall glass of fresh mango juice. Kicking the refrigerator door shut with one foot, he leaned his elbows on the counter and took a long swallow. The smooth, faintly tart taste of it revived him, made him feel grounded again. He drank the rest, then set the empty glass on the counter.
Then he saw the picture.
It hung on the refrigerator door, held to the white metal by a magnet with a stylized sun painted on it. The picture showed two men, smiling against a background of high green mountains and turquoise water. One of the men, a tall blond with bright blue eyes and the beginnings of a sunburn on his bare shoulders, sat perched on a wooden bench on a blindingly white beach. The other man, shorter and darker with black curly hair and enormous black eyes, sat in the blond's lap. The two had their arms around each other, the dark one's ebony curls mingling with the other's fine pale strands where they leaned their heads together. The blond's big hand rested possessively on his lover's thigh.
Joel tugged the picture out from under the magnet and stood staring at it, mouth dry and heart racing. He touched a tentative fingertip to the glossy photo, tracing the sensual features of the dark-haired man.
The man from his dreams, whose soft voice and sorrowful eyes had called so irresistibly to him.
Only in the photo, those dark eyes weren't sad at all. They sparkled with a joy Joel could feel in his bones, the man's smile wide and happy. Made him wonder what had happened to change that face so drastically, and if it had anything to do with the big blond man in the picture.
A man who, now that Joel thought about it, looked vaguely familiar. Joel studied the handsome face with a frown. An icy lump of dread coalesced in his guts.
"Who are you?" he said softly.
The picture remained silent. Joel set it on the counter with a sigh.
"Fuck this. I'm going for my swim."
Joel stalked toward the door. As he reached to open it, a flicker of movement caught the corner of his eye. He whirled toward it.
And froze.
An old-fashioned full length mirror in a swivel stand had appeared on the other side of the room. And staring out of it, tall and golden and handsome, was the blond man from the picture.
Joel walked slowly forward. The man in the mirror did the same, blue eyes as wide and shocked as Joel knew his own to be. Shaking inside, Joel moved a palm down his own belly, watching his twin behind the glass echo the movement.
With a sudden lunge, Joel pressed both hands flat against the mirror, half expecting to feel warm flesh under his fingers. His skin met hard, unyielding coldness. He yanked his hands away, turned his back on his reflection, and squeezed his eyes shut.
Sunshine. Hot, humid breeze. Scents of jasmine and greenery heavy in the air. Lush verdant mountains, sapphire sky, clear blue water cool on his bare skin. A sudden shock of cold as a splash of salt water hit him in the face. Victor's infectious laugh, melting his annoyance immediately.
"You little fucker!" One eye cracked open, squinting against the sting. "Shouldn't splash me, boy."
"Oh yeah? Whatcha gonna do about it, big guy?" Dark eyes laughing, shining, making him want.
"Your ass," wading up, grabbing that gorgeous naked ass in both hands, "is so mine."
"Always yours, Joel." Black eyes hot now under the laughter, copper skin glowing in the tropical sun. "Always yours."
That beautiful body in his arms, kisses deep and hot and needy, Victor's sweet wailing cry when he came, and heaven itself couldn't be any better...
Joel jerked and opened his eyes, breath coming in ragged gasps. He stumbled over to the counter and leaned on it, fighting dizziness. The vision had been so clear, so vivid, like a cherished memory.
As if it had really happened.
The picture lay on the counter, where he'd left it. He picked it up and turned it over, somehow knowing what he'd find. And there it was.
"Me and Victor, Soufriere, St. Lucia, April 2003. Beach outside our villa." Joel read the words in a hoarse whisper. The words he'd written, another lifetime ago.
Joel's hand started to shake, the panic he hadn't felt in so long overtaking him as the memories tried to float to the surface. He shoved the picture away and strode out the door, out to the white sand and brilliant blue water and the high green mountains rising beyond the bay.
The bench was there this time. It hadn't been before. Joel sat down on it, staring numbly out over the water.
\*\*\*\*\*
Joel sought out the dream on purpose this time. As soon as the sun had set, he took one of the sleeping pills that had appeared on the bedside table, stretched out on the bed, and closed his eyes.
"Please be there, Victor," he whispered. "I need to know."
He lay awake in the moonlit dark for a long time before the tension began to leave his body and he finally slept.
Joel huddled naked in the corner of the room. It had changed again. Cold stone walls this time, deep gray with darker patches where the damp of the ground had seeped through. Concrete floor with a drain set in the middle. A metal table, a hose connected to a faucet in the wall. The faucet leaked on the floor in a slow, steady drip where the hose attached. A single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling threw a harsh light around the room. It couldn't quite illuminate the walls, though, and for that Joel was grateful. He didn't want to see the hazy shapes any more clearly that he could already.
"Victor, where are you?" Joel's voice refused to rise above a shaky whisper. "Please, don't leave me here alone."
The sound of a door opening made Joel jump. He looked up. On the other side of the room, a narrow wooden staircase rose out of sight beyond the low ceiling. Weak sunlight filtered from the top. Joel smiled as Victor descended the stairs.
"Victor. Thank God." Joel stared forward, and nearly fell. Frowning, he looked down at his feet. His ankles were encased in pair of thick shackles connected by a short, sturdy chain. Another chain tethered him to the wall, preventing him from walking more than a few feet.
He looked back up at Victor, fighting panic. "What's happening, Victor? Why am I chained?"
Victor came to him, wrapped his arms around him and gently kissed his lips. "You have to remember," he said, stroking Joel's hair. "It's the only way."
Joel clutched Victor close, buried his face in those shining curls. "I remembered you. I found a picture, from St. Lucia, and I remembered. Why can't I come back?"
Victor pulled back and stared up into Joel's eyes, keeping their fingers wound together. "It's not enough to remember me, Joel. You have to remember everything. Everything that happened."
Joel shook his head, the panic rising again. "No. I don't want to, Victor. Please don't make me. Please."
"I can't make you do anything. You have to do it yourself."
"No. I can't." Joel felt the truth of it in every molecule of his body, though he wasn't sure why. He buried his hands in Victor's hair and kissed him. "Come back with me instead. We can live there forever, Victor. Nothing ever runs out, nothing ever changes. Nothing bad ever happens there."
"I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"You know why."
Victor pressed close, cupping Joel's face in his hands, and they kissed for a long, long time. When Victor broke the kiss at last and stepped back, Joel thought the raw pain in those black eyes might tear him apart.
Victor took a step backward, then another. "Good-bye, Joel."
"No, don't leave me, please." Joel reached for Victor's hand, but he was already standing at the bottom of the stairs. "Victor, please, please don't go, please!"
Victor turned toward him, silhouetted against the light. Joel wished he could see his face. "You're so close, Joel. So close."
"Victor, please..."
"Hurry, Joel. I miss you."
Victor disappeared up the stairs, the door closed, the light went out, and Joel fell to his knees on the cold floor and screamed...
Joel woke, gasping and shaking, the echo of his scream vibrating in the air. He curled into a ball, arms around his head, eyes shut tight.
"Don't make me. I can't. I can't."
You can, Victor's gentle voice whispered in his mind. You have to. Come back to me, Joel. I love you.
"I'm scared."
I know. But I'm here for you. Right here beside you. I've been here all along.
Joel lay curled in his bed, in his peaceful little hut on a tropical paradise of an island. In the last place he'd ever felt safe and happy. Before whatever it was that had ripped him away from Victor and sent him here. His body trembled all over, his skin wet with sweat, heart racing. He didn't want to remember. The knowledge would surely break him. But he had to. For Victor. For himself. For the love they shared, the life they'd made together.
Joel took a deep breath, let his muscles go limp, and shut his eyes.
..."Victor, dammit, did you leave the milk out again?"
"Again? That was you before, genius. Probably was this time, too."
"Yeah, go ahead and blame it on me, like you do everything else."
"God, Joel, grow a fucking skin, huh? I didn't blame anything on you that you didn't do. That's your department."
"I don't do that!"
"So why'd I have to listen to you scream at me for ten solid minutes after you knocked my wine glass off the table last night?"
"You shouldn't have put it there!"
"Christ, I don't believe this..."
Joel whimpered at the sudden memory. It had started in earnest not long after that magical vacation in St. Lucia, though the trouble had been simmering under the surface for a long time. The constant arguments, the lackluster sex, followed by the huge fight that resulted in Joel sleeping on the sofa for a week. The realization that their problems weren't going away by themselves, that they had to do something to fix their relationship.
Joel curled up tighter, hugging himself as the memory of what they'd done rose like acid inside him...
...Tall. Taller than Joel, shoulders wide and powerful, arm muscles nearly splitting the seams of his shirt. Pale gray gaze a little too intense, smile wolfish.
"Victor, I don't know. He's a little off, don't you think?"
"We agreed that a threesome would spice up our sex life, and maybe we wouldn't fight so much. Come on, Joel, just try it this once. We don't have to do it again if you don't want."
It was good. Rob, the man they'd hooked up with online, coaxed Joel into doing things he never thought he'd do with anyone but Victor. After it was over, Joel and Victor went home and made love with a passion that had been absent from their bed for far too long.
They met Rob four more times before they broke it off. The sex had been good, but in the end it left them both feeling hollow. But it served its purpose. They'd rediscovered each other, the arguments had stopped, and life was good.
If only Rob had been able to let them go. To let Joel go...
"No!" Joel sat up in bed, eyes wide and heart racing. "I can't. I can't."
When his legs stopped shaking, he jumped out of bed and ran outside. He stood on the beach, taking big deep breaths of salty air. He dropped to the warm sand, sifting it through his fingers, trying to keep the memories at bay. To keep that locked door in his mind from flying open and bringing him face-to-face with a reality too terrible to bear.
But it was too late, and he knew it. He collapsed onto his side as the door burst open and the memories engulfed him...
...Gray walls. Gray concrete floor, rough and icy against his bare skin. Dark, damp, cold. Cuffs around his wrists, manacles on his ankles.
"Please, Rob, let me go. Please..."
"I can't, Joel. I love you."
"No, you don't! God, why are you doing this?"
Quick sting of the knife laying his cheek open to the bone. Rob's eyes bright with madness. "Don't you ever tell me I don't love you, Joel. The minute I saw you, I knew we were meant for each other. I do love you. I'll prove to you just how much."
Endless days huddled in the corner of the dark basement, naked and filthy and cold and afraid, until he could barely remember a time before. He learned to retreat into his mind when the basement door opened and Rob came to him like a demon. When Rob chained him to the metal table and did those things to him, made him hurt and bleed, he shut his eyes tight and let his mind wing its way to place of beauty and safety.
And one day, he simply hadn't come back...
\*\*\*\*\*
The first thing Joel noticed when he woke was the smell. A harsh, vaguely medicinal odor, with a hint of stale sweat underneath. Nothing on the island had ever smelled like that before. And the bed was harder than it had been, the sheet thick and rough against his skin.
It took him a moment to notice the faint sound in the background for what it was. A voice, flat and tinny as if speaking over an intercom. When it hit him, he nearly passed out again.
People. There were people here. Which meant one of two things. Either the world had finally invaded his personal paradise, or...
Or he'd gone back to the world.
Back to that cold, dirty basement.
No, no please, his mind screamed. No...
... "No please, don't, don't hurt me anymore, Rob, please..."
"It's because I love you, Joel. You know that."
"God, no..."
Pain, hot and cold and sickening, skin and muscle and bone giving way, blood and pain and no, it wasn't real, not anymore...
The vision vanished, leaving Joel trembling in the dark. He tried to open his eyes. His lids fluttered, letting in a faint glimmer of fuzzy light.
Light.
There was no light in the basement, except when Rob tortured him. He had floodlights for that, the better to see Joel's pain with. But there was no pain now. Aches, yes; his whole body hurt like a toothache, a marrow-deep throb that permeated him right to his core. But not the bright, flaring agony that had finally driven him so deep into his own mind that he hadn't even known that's where he was.
Dazed and sluggish as he was, Joel still knew what that meant.
He'd come back home.
It took a monumental effort to get his eyes open, but he managed. The bed he lay in was narrow, with white plastic rails on either side. A thin, dark blue blanket covered him from the waist down. A clear plastic tube ran from a bag of fluid hanging on a pole to a needle in his hand. When he rolled his eyes up, he could see the slow drip of liquid from the bag to the tubing.
He turned his head a little, wincing as his abused muscles protested the movement. The room he occupied was small, with light blue walls and a white tile floor. There was a curtained window in one wall, a sink against the other. The door stood halfway open. He could hear the soft shuffle of rubber soled feet outside.
He couldn't see Victor anywhere.
Joel's heart hammered in his chest. "V-Victor?" His voice was a harsh croak, and his throat felt like raw meat. "Where...? Victor?"
He heard a soft rustle from the corner near the head of his bed, where he couldn't quite see. There was a yawn, the sound of a chair creaking. Then a sudden gasp, the mattress moved, and Victor was there, sitting beside him on the bed, leaning over him, both hands on his cheeks.
"Joel? God, Joel, can you hear me?" Victor's voice trembled. "Please tell me this isn't another dream."
Joel licked his lips. "No. Not a dream. Is it? Am I dreaming you? I dreamed of you, Victor."
Victor smiled, his dark eyes bright with tears. "I don't think we're dreaming, baby. I think you're back."
"I... I went to St. Lucia. You remember it? So pretty. I was safe there."
Victor's smile faded. He bent and gently kissed Joel's bruised lips. "You're safe here now, Joel. He can't hurt you anymore."
Joel raised a hand to touch Victor's wet cheek. He could see the bones in his own hand, stark under skin so pale it was nearly translucent. "What happened?"
"Joel, I don't think..."
"Please. I need to know." He stared steadily into Victor's face.
Victor closed his eyes. "You were missing for almost six months. Nobody could find a single trace. Not one clue to where you'd gone. They told me that you'd probably just left, and didn't want me to know where you were."
"I'd never do that to you."
"I know." Victor laced his fingers through Joel's, holding on tight, eyes still shut. "I never believed that. But I couldn't find you. I hired a private detective, and she couldn't find you either. You'd just vanished." Those black eyes opened, locking onto Joel's, thick with anguish. "Then Rob walked into the police station last week, and told them what he'd done, and where to find you. And he shot himself. And they went there, and found you, and brought you to the hospital, and called me. And, and I came, and fuck, Joel, you were... Christ, the things he'd done to you..."
Joel reached up, pulled Victor's face down, resting their foreheads together. He laid their clasped hands over his heart. He was shaking deep down, with the renewed memories of endless weeks of fear and pain, and the sorrow of seeing his lover hurting for him.
"They said you were catatonic," Victor continued, his voice soft and ragged. "They said you'd dissociated your mind from your body, to escape the torture. They said you might come back, and you might not. That I shouldn't get my hopes up. You nearly died, Joel, there were broken bones and infected wounds, and he hadn't fed you in ages, and... God, Joel. I couldn't just give up on you. I couldn't."
Victor was crying steadily now, his tears falling warm and wet onto Joel's face. Joel wrapped both arms around him and pulled him close. He ignored the way his wasted muscles shook, blocked out the sharp pains that sliced through him with every little movement. Victor was in his arms again, smooth cheek pressed to his chest, black curls soft against his fingers. Nothing else mattered.
They lay like that for a long time. Eventually, Victor sat up again and met Joel's eyes. "Joel? You said you dreamed of me?"
Joel smiled. "Yeah. Just the last few nights. Or, well, what seemed like the last few nights."
"I dreamed about you too, Joel." Victor's dark eyes gleamed. "Four nights in a row."
A strange feeling fluttered in Joel's chest. "What did you dream?"
Victor's brows drew together. "The first time, I dreamed I was outside a house, and I looked up, and saw you standing in the window. I wanted to call to you, but I couldn't make a sound. The next night, I was in the room with you, and you... you touched my hand. I wanted so bad to talk to you, but I couldn't. And the next night..."
Victor's voice wavered. He stopped, clearly fighting some powerful emotion. Joel ran his fingers down Victor's cheek. "You spoke to me. You told me I had to remember."
"Joel... did you..." Victor's black eyes held Joel's. "You dreamed it too."
"Yeah. I did."
"All of them."
"Yeah." Joel covered Victor's hand with his own, curling their fingers together. "They seemed to spark my memories. I remembered you, and St. Lucia. And then after the fourth dream, I remembered it all." He stopped, forcing down the panic that wanted to come when he thought of Rob and the basement and the things Rob had done to him. "And once I remembered, I came back."
They stared at each other. Joel could read his own thoughts in Victor's face. There was no need to say it. They both knew what had happened, even if they couldn't explain how, or why.
Joel moved over in the bed, mindful of his IV tube. He opened his arms, and Victor came to him without a word. Within minutes, they were sound asleep with their arms around each other, Victor's head pillowed on Joel's chest.
The nurse's aid who found them that way a few minutes later smiled indulgently as she tucked the blanket snug around them. "Sweet dreams," she whispered, and turned off the light.
In The Arms of the River God
" is a story I wrote a couple of years ago. It's never been published other than here on my website. I decided to put it here to give everyone a look at the sort of things I used to write.
WARNING: this is a bit dark, though not so much as some of my other older stories.
\*\*\*\*\*
It's July, and the Savannah heat sticks to Carl's skin like pine sap, even at two in the morning. He stretches out on a bench and smiles blearily at the sky. The blotter acid's just kicked in, turning the susurration of the leaves into green and purple whorls in the soupy air.
Carl haunts this small waterside park most nights. He likes it here, in the quiet hours between
At first he thinks the voice he hears is a hallucination. He hears things a lot when he's on acid. But then a face appears above him, a hand touches his arm, and he begins to believe someone is really there.
"Hello?" he says to the face. "Who are you?"
The face smiles at him.
"My name is Pete," the face says, each word a bright diamond bubble floating from its mouth into the air. "I am the god of the river."
Carl giggles. Pete seems an inadequate name for a river god, and he says so. Pete the River God shrugs.
"I'm Carl," Carl says, sitting up and holding out his hand to shake.
"I know."
Pete the River God takes Carl's hand in both of his and licks his palm, then sucks his fingers one by one. Carl laughs at the tickly sensation.
"I came to you," says Pete, "because I need something from you."
"What?" Carl wonders.
"Your body," the River God answers. "Your love."
Pete's eyes glow soft cerulean, shedding fuzzy lavender sparks that float lazily to the ground. Carl's heart swells with love and desire, and pride at being the chosen one of a god.
"Yes," he says, and takes the god's hands.
Pete pulls Carl to his feet and kisses him softly on the lips. Carl opens his mouth and lets Pete's honey sweet tongue in to slide over his. The kiss plays a vague, jangling music in his mind, like wind chimes and flutes.
They undress each other, letting the discarded garments fall where they might, trailing lips and fingers over newly bared skin. Naked they sink to the grass with limbs wound together and mouths locked. Pete rolls and pins Carl's body with his, insinuating himself between Carl's open legs. Carl caresses Pete's face, staring in fascination at the sparkling scarlet contrails left by his fingers.
"Fuck me," Carl whispers. "Make me yours."
Carl smiles to hear himself say such things, but he doesn't take it back. He belongs to the River God now, and he wants the god to claim him.
"I will," Pete says, and bends to kiss him again.
Carl sighs when Pete's mouth trails down his throat, his chest, over his belly, swirling a languid tongue over the head of his erect cock before pushing his thighs up and apart and plunging into the cleft of his ass. Pete anoints his anus with hot slippery saliva, and he cries out loud when Pete's tongue slips through the loosening muscles and inside.
By the time Pete sits up again, Carl is gasping and shaking with need. He drapes his legs over Pete's shoulders, looking down at Pete's dripping cock rubbing against his. Pete holds Carl's hole open with his thumbs and penetrates him in one swift stroke. Carl moans low. He pulls Pete's face to his, kissing him deeply.
Their bodies molded together sing a joyful harmonic hymn in Carl's skull, tethered to the rhythm of beating hearts and the slip-slide of Pete's cock in his ass. Carl tumbles weeping into orgasm just as Pete spills inside him.
Carl's vision shines incandescent silver as Pete wraps him in strong protective arms, smoothing the tangled hair from his brow and murmuring words of love. Slipping unafraid into peaceful sleep, Carl thinks he hears Pete saying something to him. The words flash neon in the night for a split second and Carl smiles.
\*
Carl wakes when the sun burns over the treetops, glazing the rippling river with searing light. He is still naked. That, he believes, is fitting. He remembers what Pete the River God told him only a few short hours ago, and the thought makes him smile. He walks to the edge of the river, leaving his clothes behind. He won't need them.
"I'm yours," he says to the dark flowing current. "Take me."
He closes his eyes, squares his shoulders, and leaps into the river. It folds him in a cool fluid embrace, holding him tenderly but firmly when his chest begins to burn and he tries to struggle to the surface in spite of himself.
The River God's voice comes to him at last as the silty water fills his lungs. Sleep, the loving voice tells him. Sleep in my arms.
And he does.
," first appeared in author Alyssa Brooks' newsletter, Wicked Escapes. It has also appeared on the website for author Sable
\*\*\*\*\*
I'm floating. Drifting on a tide of light, lulled by the crash and murmur of the waves.
It's easy to lose yourself here. Easy to lose the flow of time entirely in heat that presses like a hand, in crystalline sunlight on white sand and turquoise water.
I've become a cat, fat and lazy in the summer sun.
I open my eyes when I hear the splash of running feet. Gage jogs toward me, his surfboard tucked under one arm. I watch him, enchanted as always by the sight. Lean muscles shift under tanned skin, tangled sun-bleached curls drip seawater on slightly reddened shoulders. After more than five years together, he's still the most beautiful creature I've ever seen.
He plants his board in the sand and smiles down at me. "Hi, Aiden."
"Hello, gorgeous. Finished surfing already?" From my vantage point, flat on my back on a big beach towel, he looks like a god: tall, golden, perfect.
"Yeah." He sinks down next to me. Clear green eyes hold mine. "Let's fuck."
I sit up, wind my arms around him. His wet skin feels cool against mine. He cups my cheek in his palm and kisses me with salt flavored lips.
He's already erect when I peel his trunks off. I discard my shorts, and he opens those long legs for me. My nutmeg-brown hands form a breathtaking contrast against the delicate pale rose of his cock. The sun rarely sees that part of him. I think she considers herself blessed right now, to look down on the sight of him bare and spread, wanton in his lust.
Suntan oil scents the air with coconut and memories as I slick his hole, pushing my fingers inside. He opens so easily for me. His soft gasps make a music sweeter than the songs of night birds, or swift rivers over stones. I sink my cock into his living heat, and the world rejoices with us. The ocean sings for us, the sun blesses us, as I move inside him, our bodies twined into one. When he comes, the smell of warm semen against salty skin fills my senses, sending me tumbling into a familiar bliss.
We lie there for a while, boneless with heat and post-orgasmic languor. The faint dust of freckles scattered across his nose twists my heart.
"I love you, Aiden," he whispers.
"And I love you, my beautiful boy."
His kisses are soft as orchids, sweet as spring rain. He tastes of sun and sea. Somewhere out there, I know, the world rushes on. One day, Gage and I will rejoin that mad dash toward some ephemeral goal. But just now, I don't care. Nothing matters at this moment but the naked man in my arms. Vibrant joy flows from him like a river of light, and I'm content to lie here for all time, washed in his bright essence.
Floating. Just floating.
first appeared in Loose Id's Hurricane Katrina Relief fundraiser blog on LiveJournal. Matter of fact, it's probably still there. This story was inspired by the video for the Sigur Rós song "Vidrar Vel Til Loftárása." There's a link to the band's website on my Fun Stuff page, you can check out the video there.
\*
Nicky didn't call me this time until a couple of hours before the show was supposed to start. I could tell he'd just woken up, from the roughness of his voice. He always did like to stay up all night and sleep all day. I used to tell him he was born to be a rock star. Prophetic, huh?
"So, Jack, you coming tonight, or what?" He yawned when he said it. I wasn't fooled.
"I don't know. Maybe." Like I'd miss one of his shows when it's right here in town. I've been to every last show Bloodlust has played within two hundred miles of Ashville.
He laughed. He can read me every bit as well as I read him. "There's a ticket and pass waiting for you at will-call. Hey, Jack?"
"Yeah?"
Silence, thick with the things we never say. "Nothing. See you tonight."
He hung up. I hung up, locked my office door, and jerked off.
Funny, but when I get myself off thinking of him, it's never the beautiful, seductive star I picture in my head. It's always the Nicky I knew when we were boys. The kid with the dorky laugh and the genuine vintage "Frodo Lives" t-shirt and shelves full of obscure mythology books. The boy who taught me what it was like to take pleasure in another boy's body. I imagine what he might've been like if things were different, and it makes me come every time.
Not that I don't want to be with him now, the way he is. I do. Very much. I don't cry for the boy he was, any more than I cry for the man he isn't. He's happy with his life. Who am I to argue?
So now here I am, ridiculously out of place in this heavily Goth crowd. There's lots of Nicky clones here, all black leather and eyeliner and faces studded with jewelry, but I'm the only one in a button-down shirt, slacks, and loafers.
At least the pants are black.
I lean against the brick wall outside the club and try not to look nearly thirty. Though why it should matter, I don't know. Nicky's exactly my age. We have the same birthday, even.
I know, I know. He's a star, and that makes all the difference. But it's not fame that makes his age forgivable to these frighteningly young fans. He just has that shine. That magic glow that makes him ageless, timeless. He's always had it.
It gives me a twisted sort of satisfaction to see the jealously on the painted faces around me when I pick up my VIP ticket and all-access pass.
The club is packed to the rafters with college kids in black. I stick out like a fucking sore thumb. Or, more accurately, like a twenty-nine-year-old department store manager in the middle of a bunch of young Goths with black lipstick and artfully pallid faces.
The things a guy'll do for sex, huh?
I can ignore the fact that it's never been about just sex. I've had years of practice.
Nicky's gotten me a seat in the balcony. VIP area. Guests of the band, record execs, those sorts. I glance over at the two girls at the table next to me, and wonder who they had to blow to get their passes. Then I remember who I always blow to get mine, and smile to myself.
The opening band is terrible. Seriously. I can't imagine why Nicky picked them to open. And I know he picked them himself. He always does. I can only assume that at least one member of the band is a great lay.
It's a relief when the lights come up and the tone-deaf screeching gives way to bland house music. I lean my chair against the wall and watch the seething press of people below me. I can feel the energy in the room, electric anticipation arcing through the crowd. I know how they feel. My skin tingles with the memory of Nicky's hands, his lips and tongue, a thousand intimate caresses over the years.
I can close my eyes and recall every inch of his body, his every reaction to my touch. The way his hands ball into fists when he's about to come. The way his back arches when I suck his little pink nipples, tugging on the silver rings with my teeth. The way he clings to me afterward, even after all these years, with his arms and legs around me and his face buried in my neck. Just like he used to when we were sixteen, making love in his bed after school, before his mother got home from work.
His hair's black now instead of golden brown. He wears leather and eyeliner, and he tastes like vodka instead of Dr. Pepper these days. But inside, he's still my Nicky.
Some things never change.
Years pass, it seems, before the stage goes dark again, signaling the start of the main event. The crowd surges forward, already calling for him. Ash, they cry in desperate voices, because that's all they know of him. Ash, short for Ashtaroth, the name he took when he formed Bloodlust. Phoenician demoness of lust and seduction. I doubt more than a handful of people here know that. And I'm damn sure no one but me knows that he got that name from one of his dusty old books, the ones he always used to read to me when I was all heavy-limbed from sex and unable to stop him.
These people would sell their souls for a night with him, but they don't know him at all. Not like I do.
The screams when he takes the stage are deafening. He glances toward me as he steps up to the mic. Those enormous aquamarine eyes meet mine, and my breath hitches. I'm sure he can't see me past the glare of the spotlight, but he knows exactly where I am. He smiles, that wide, sweetly sinful smile that turns my knees to jelly, and for a second I see the old Nicky. The boy I lost my virginity to under a Nirvana poster on a hot July afternoon. My throat constricts, even as my cock starts to rise.
The show, as always, is fucking amazing. Love them or hate them, you can't deny this band's talent. The music's like a living thing, slithering and coiling around me, heating my blood. It's like Nicky's essence in musical form.
Evidently the crowd agrees with me. Most of them are all but fucking on the floor.
Not that I blame them. Nicky brings it out in them, with the music, with his powerful voice, with the way he moves. The rest of the band's damn good, but it's Nicky that makes the magic. Up there on stage, he's larger than life, in spite of his slight stature and waifish body. Clad in low-slung black leather pants and nothing else, washed in a violet light that makes his white skin glow, he's beautiful. Unearthly.
Times like this, when I'm watching him on stage, it's hard to believe that after the show he'll belong to me again, for a little while. That those pale thighs will part for me, those lovely eyes will cloud with desire for me, that heart-shaped face flushing pink when I enter him.
Nothing's sweeter in this life than my Nicky when he's lost in rapture.
After the show, I wait until most of the other people have left, then make my way downstairs. The security guard waves me through to the backstage area without a second glance when I hold up my pass. Down a dim, cramped hallway, around a corner where several girls stand smoking and flirting with some of the road crew, and I'm standing in front of a peeling black door. Before I can raise my hand to knock, the door opens, and Nicky's standing there smiling at me.
"Jack. Hi."
"Hi, Nicky."
"Glad you could come."
"Have I ever not?"
He laughs. "Good point. C'mere."
He flings his arms around my neck and plasters his sweaty little body against me. His mouth finds mine, and God, it takes me flying back in time, to the first time he ever kissed me, pushing me against the fence in his back yard and opening my mouth with his tongue. He didn't have the silver ring piercing his lower lip then, or the metal stud in his tongue that feels so amazing when he sucks me. But the wet heat of his mouth is the same, and his passion hasn't dimmed.
By the time we pull apart, I'm so hard it hurts, and I can feel his cock stiff and needy under the snug leather pants. "Need you so fucking bad, Jack," he whispers as he pulls me into the dressing room.
He has my shirt off in seconds. I kick my shoes off, then pull Nicky to me again. His kiss is an addiction, I can't get enough. He shimmies those tight leather pants halfway down without once taking his tongue out of my mouth.
"Fuck me," he growls, and bites my lip. "Hurry."
I fumble my dress pants open and tug them off while he peels the sweaty leather off his legs. "Lube and rubbers, where?"
"Table," he says, gesturing toward a small plastic table beside the sagging couch. "God, Jack, please."
He takes my hands and tugs me toward the sofa, making me stumble over the pants still tangled around my ankles. I step out of them, pull Nicky close, and kiss him, soft and slow, until his slight body stops vibrating with impatience and he melts against me.
It's like this every time. He's like a wild animal, fierce and aggressive, and always in such a hurry. But I don't want to be rushed. Once, years ago, Nicky and I spent nearly every waking moment together. Afternoons in his bed were the highlight of my day. Now, I see him only a few times a year. I want to savor our time together, make it last. So I have to calm him, gentle him, so we can make love instead of just having a quick fuck.
Only when he's perfectly relaxed in my arms do I break the kiss. "Hand me the lube and a rubber," I whisper in his ear.
"Jack..." he sighs, arching against me when I kiss his neck. He reaches toward the table, hands me a tube of K-Y and a condom. "Need you so much, please..."
He sinks to his knees, pulling me with him, then turns and bends over, laying his chest on the couch. "Please, Jack."
I take a moment to just look at him. Pale and slender, black hair clinging in damp tendrils to his neck and flushed cheek. I lean down, lick a trickle of sweat from between his shoulder blades, plant little soft kisses along the flowering vine tattoo that starts just below his right ear and winds around his body all the way to his left foot. A tiny fanged pixie leers at me from behind one purple flower. The little naked figure has a huge erection.
"Jack, Jack please!" His black-painted fingernails dig into the threadbare sofa, the muscles in his back standing out hard and tense.
"Shhhh, baby. I'm right here. Right here."
He turns his head, looking over his shoulder. Those gemstone eyes plead with me. I lean up, kiss his cheek, slide a hand down his flat belly and wrap it around his cock. He lets out a soft sob, thrusting into my hand, and my chest tightens. The depth of Nicky's need leaves me breathless, every time.
I manage to get the condom on and open the lube with my cheek still pressed to Nicky's. Practice makes perfect, as they say. He shudders when my fingers slip inside him. I know just how deep to go to find his gland, exactly how hard to press to make him moan. I open him just enough to keep from hurting him, then push my sheathed cock inside.
God, he's like a furnace, scorching hot even through the latex. His skin, satin smooth and wet with sweat, is nearly as hot as his insides. I love having his dick in my hand, feeling the thick weight of it against my palm. I love feeling his body writhe beneath me, I love his sharp masculine smell, I love the filthy things he says, the way he opens his thighs wider and pushes his ass against my hips.
Most of all, I love how he cries out my name when he comes. How the strength of his release always brings my own.
Afterward, we lie wound together on the floor, Nicky's head resting on my chest. His delicate fingers trace lazy patterns on my belly. I can feel his heart beating. His skin's so soft. So warm and soft. My eyes drift closed, and my mind wanders. Back to that day nearly twelve years ago. The day that set us on this path.
We were playing soccer. You wouldn't know it to look at him now, but in high school Nicky was one hell of a soccer player. It wasn't a big important game, but Nicky was bound and determined our team was going to win. The score was tied at nothing each, with only a few seconds left in the game. It seemed like a lost cause. Then I saw the shot. Nicky and I looked at each other and grinned, and I knew he'd seen it too. I stole the ball right out from under Billy Jamison's nose and passed it to Nicky, he hauled back and kicked, and the ball flew right past the goalie, right into the middle of the net. It was fucking beautiful.
Our families and friends went crazy, whooping and jumping on the sidelines. The whole team crowded around Nicky. I ran to him and threw my arms around him. We were both laughing, celebrating our victory, falling to the cool grass under the weight of our team mates.
I think that may have been the last purely happy moment of my life. Because he kissed me then, and everything changed.
We'd been together for almost two years, but never openly. Both our families were deeply religious. They'd never accept it. I guess we just forgot ourselves, that day on the soccer field. By the time we noticed the shocked silence around us, it was too late. Nicky's mother yanked him away from me, my father dragged me across the field, the coach screamed that we were both off the team. I tore away from my father's grip, and looked back, and Nicky's eyes met mine, and we knew it was over.
I didn't see Nicky again for eight years. By then, he'd become the creature he is now. Ashtaroth. Sleek, sexy, beautiful. I showed up at a Bloodlust show after seeing his picture in the local indie paper. We jerked each other off behind a pile of boxes backstage. It wasn't like it used to be. But it was enough just to feel his body against mine again, to taste his kisses.
It's still enough, because it has to be. It doesn't matter that I want more, or that he does too. Nicky's found a place for himself, finally. A place where he can be who he is, where he doesn't have to hide or pretend, where he can share his immense talent with the world and be adored for it.
My own life is much, much quieter, but I like it that way. I like having my cozy little apartment to come home to, and the routines of my life are comforting. I have my own space here, a job I enjoy, friends who know and accept who I am.
If it all seems more empty than usual after I've been with Nicky, well, that's the trade-off for a peaceful life.
"Come with me, Jack," he murmurs, nuzzling my throat.
I expected that. He always asks. "Can't, Nicky." I lift his face and kiss his soft, soft lips. "Stay here, with me."
He gives me a sad little smile, and I know what his answer is. It's always the same. We're both too settled in our lives, too content, to give up what we know.
You need more than feelings to build a life together. I think most people don't truly realize that. But Nicky and I know.
"We're playing in Charlotte Saturday night," he says, rolling over to lie on top of me. "Come see me again?"
"Wouldn't miss it."
He smiles, we kiss again and cuddle together. I hold him close, stroking his back, his hip, his damp hair. And for a little while, time stops, and rewinds, and we're boys again, blissfully happy, with no concern for what the future holds.
We don't need to say 'I love you.' We already know.
first appeared in the Torquere Press ezine Fresh Off the Vine in October 2005.
\*\*\*\*
The kid was asking for it. Begging, really, with his threadbare suit and tie and the thick chain around his neck.
Sebastian sipped his vodka and watched the boy watching him. The kid had arrived, fake I.D. in hand, just as the bar opened its doors for the evening. Too young to drink, no question. His studied casualness would have given him away even if his baby face hadn't. Sebastian had to bribe Gina at the door twice her usual rate to let the kid in.
He studied the face of the boy he'd targeted. Not a day over nineteen, he'd have bet his life on it. Perfect. The boy glanced his way again, dark eyes furtive and curious under lowered lashes. Sebastian smiled at him, a dirty languid smile calculated to intrigue. The boy blushed and dropped his gaze to the floor, letting his long dark curls fall over his face. Sebastian saw the way his sweet rosebud mouth curved up at the corners, though. This kid was his. He fingered the leather leash clipped to his belt.
He lost sight of his target during the show. The band's Cure-clone sound was wildly popular in the little college town, and the place was packed with black-clad university students wearing world weary sorrow as heavy as their eyeliner.
Sebastian parked himself on a barstool and waited. He could feel the weight of eyes on him, male and female, all looking to pull a pretty Goth like him for the night. He knew he looked sexy as hell in his dangerously low riding jeans and skin tight black mesh shirt, and he could easily pass for ten years younger than his thirty-three. A few of the cruisers sniffing around tempted him, but he resisted. He could wait for the one he wanted.
He tugged on the silver ring through his lower lip. The captive bead was a milky jade that matched his eyes to perfection. The piercing emphasized the soft sinful curve of his mouth. Silky black strands of his long-in-front, short-in-back hair caught on his lips and tickled his cheeks. It made him feel beautiful and mysterious.
Three vodkas later, the band gave way to techno house music and the lights came up to their normal smoky dimness. Sebastian stood and leaned against the bar with his thumbs hooked in his belt. It wasn't long before the boy he'd picked came into view. He was laughing as he talked excitedly with a couple of other kids. Then his gaze fell on Sebastian, and he went silent.
Sebastian arched an eyebrow at him in unmistakable invitation. The boy turned and said something to a girl with blue ponytails. The girl glanced at Sebastian and her eyes widened. She said something into the boy's ear, then squeezed his hand and moved off through the throng.
The boy wiped his palms on his pants and started toward Sebastian, his gait hesitant as if he might turn and run the other way any second. Sebastian waited. A moment later, the young man stood close enough to touch.
"Um... hi." The kid smiled nervously, and Sebastian's groin twitched. God, the things he could do with that pretty little mouth... He shook himself and smiled back.
"Hi. My name's Sebastian." He held out his hand.
"I'm Elijah." Elijah's hand was damp and trembling. Sebastian raised it to his lips and kissed the back, letting the tip of his tongue barely brush the skin. Elijah's deep brown eyes grew heavy.
"Have you been with a man before, Elijah?" Sebastian kept hold of his hand, caressing the knuckles with his thumb.
Elijah blushed crimson. Sebastian suppressed a smile. "Oh, yeah, lots of times," Elijah said. "I've been out for, like, years." He gave a little high-pitched laugh. "You sure get right to the point, don't you?"
"I don't like to waste time." Sebastian pulled Elijah close and leaned forward so that his hair brushed his cheek. He felt the young man react, the slender body tightening against him. "How old are you?" Sebastian asked.
"I, I'm twenty-two."
"No, you're not. Truth, Elijah. I promise I won't get you in trouble."
Elijah was silent for a moment. Sebastian could see the rapid pulse jumping in his throat. When he finally spoke, Sebastian could barely hear him.
"I just turned eighteen last week."
Sebastian felt a thrill go through him. He slipped an arm around Elijah's waist, urging him closer. Elijah let out a little squeak when Sebastian's thigh touched his groin. Sebastian pushed against him and felt him harden as fast as only a teenage boy can.
Elijah laid both hands on Sebastian's shoulders. He was shaking. Sebastian cradled Elijah's head in one hand and gently kissed his lips. Elijah tensed for a second, then relaxed against him. Sebastian let him take the lead, opening his mouth to Elijah's shyly probing tongue. Elijah let out a little breathy moan. He wound his arms around Sebastian's neck and kissed him with more confidence than Sebastian would've believed he possessed.
"God, you're sexy." Elijah tugged at Sebastian's lip ring with his teeth. "Can we go somewhere?"
"My place?" Sebastian kissed Elijah's neck and slid both hands down over his firm little butt. "It's only a couple of blocks away."
Elijah only hesitated for a second. "Let's go."
They left the bar hand in hand. Out in the cool night air, Sebastian draped his arm across Elijah's shoulders. Elijah stuck a hand in the back pocket of Sebastian's jeans and pressed close. Sebastian could feel his heat through the thin fabric of his suit jacket. The knowledge that soon that sweet young body would be his sent a jolt of pleasure thrumming through his bones.
They walked the short distance to Sebastian's house in silence. Elijah's eyes widened when Sebastian led him through the gate in the high stone wall and up the wide path.
"You live here?" Elijah stared in unabashed awe at the three stories of ivy-covered stone and brick. "Wow. You must be rich."
Sebastian laughed. "Yeah, you could say that." He fished the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the front door. "My parents were rich, and I got it all when they died, including the family mansion."
"So you grew up here?" Elijah let Sebastian take his hand and lead him inside.
"Not exactly." Sebastian shut the door and switched on a small lamp with a beaded green shade. "I grew up at boarding school. The first time I spent more than two weeks at a time here was when my parents died."
Elijah came to him and slid both arms around his waist. "How'd they die?" He rubbed his cheek against Sebastian's.
"Car accident," Sebastian said, only half lying.
"That sucks," Elijah said, breathing the words against Sebastian's neck. "My mom died when I was ten." He kissed Sebastian's chin. "She never told anyone who my dad was. I've been in foster homes ever since." He moved up to kiss Sebastian's mouth. "I'm on my own now."
Sebastian laid a hand on Elijah's soft cheek. "So young to be alone, Elijah. Don't you need someone to take care of you?"
Elijah lifted his chin. "I can take care of myself."
His tone was defiant, but his big dark eyes radiated vulnerability. Sebastian raked his fingers through Elijah's silky curls. "Of course you can," he said. "But wouldn't you like to have someone to look after you? Someone to be with?" He pulled Elijah closer. "Someone to belong to?"
Elijah closed his eyes and rested his head in the curve of Sebastian's neck. "Yes," he whispered. His voice was raw with need.
Sebastian stroked Elijah's back. "I'd like to be that person, Elijah. I'd like to be the one to take care of you."
Elijah lifted his head and stared at Sebastian in surprise. "Really? But you don't even know me."
"You don't know me either, but you came here with me anyway. And you want to belong to me, I can feel it." Sebastian laid a chaste kiss to Elijah's lips. "You do, don't you?"
Elijah's breath ran out in a long sigh when Sebastian slipped a hand up the back of his shirt, running light fingers over his spine. "God, yeah. I do."
"You need to understand what that means." Sebastian took Elijah's face in his hands and stared hard into his eyes. "Do you? Do you understand what it would mean to be mine?"
Elijah held Sebastian's gaze without flinching. "I think so. You take care of me. Give me food, a place to live, clothes, whatever I need. And I give you... whatever you need."
Sebastian ran his tongue over Elijah's mouth. "You mean sex, don't you, Elijah? You'd give it to me however and whenever I want it, wouldn't you?"
"I'd be your slave." Elijah gazed up at Sebastian from under submissively lowered lids.
Sebastian shook his head.
"Not my slave. I don't want or need a slave. You'd be more of a... a pet." He ran his palms over Elijah's shoulders, pushing the suit jacket off. It slithered to the floor. "You can't hold a slave while he sleeps. You can't cuddle under a blanket and watch TV with a slave on a cold night." He buried his hands in Elijah's hair and kissed his forehead. "You can't love a slave. And I'd love you, Elijah. I'd love you, and take care of you, and never let anything bad happen to you again."
A single tear sparkled its way down Elijah's face. Sebastian kissed it away. "So what do you say, Elijah? I'll keep you, and look after you, and in return you give me something warm to come home to. Will you do it?"
Elijah's smile was a beautiful thing. "Yeah, I'll do it."
Sebastian smiled back. "Good."
He pulled the leash off of his belt and clipped it to the chain around Elijah's neck. Elijah's eyes went wide. He swallowed audibly, and the leash's clip jangled against the chain. Elijah traced his slim fingers delicately over the chain and down the supple black leather.
"Feels... kind of weird. To be on a leash, I mean." Elijah's pulse throbbed in his throat, so hard Sebastian could see it.
"At first, yeah. But you'll get used to it." Sebastian tugged on the leash. "Come upstairs with me." Elijah followed without a word.
Sebastian stripped his own clothes off first. He held Elijah and kissed him, soft slow kisses until the boy's shaking stopped and his hands grew bold on Sebastian's bare skin. They fumbled Elijah's clothes off in between kisses that had become frantic. The chain and leash stayed on.
Sebastian led Elijah naked to the bed and wound the end of the leash around a hook set in the wall. "Lie down, baby," he said. "On your stomach."
Elijah's eyes widened, but he did as he was told. Sebastian stretched out on top of him, letting his erection nestle between Elijah's buttocks. The renewed trembling in the young man's body told Sebastian everything he needed to know.
"You're a virgin, aren't you?" Sebastian asked.
"Yeah. I mean I've sucked cock before, but I haven't... you know." Elijah twisted his head around to meet Sebastian's eyes. "Will it hurt?" His voice was small and scared.
Sebastian stroked his hair and kissed his downy cheek. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I wouldn't hurt you for anything."
It did hurt, judging by the way Elijah scrunched his face up and clawed the sheets when Sebastian entered him. There was no avoiding it, really, even after careful preparation with fingers and tongue, and using plenty of lube. But his little pain noises gave way within seconds to moans of pure pleasure that set a red fire in Sebastian's brain. He lifted Elijah onto hands and knees and plunged deep, over and over again until the pressure inside him burst into the ecstasy of release.
Elijah came almost immediately when Sebastian rolled him over and took his cock into his mouth. The boy's wailing cry was nearly as sweet as the taste of his smooth young skin. Sebastian swallowed the warm semen, relishing the salty-bitter taste on the back of his tongue.
"Fuck," Elijah gasped. "God. God."
Sebastian crawled up and folded Elijah's sweat-damp body in his arms. "You okay?" He kissed Elijah's hair where it matted against his flushed face.
"Yeah. That was so fucking great." He gazed up at Sebastian with an absolute trust shining in his eyes.
"For me too, sweetness." Sebastian lifted Elijah's chin and kissed his lips. "Go on to sleep now. We've got a big day tomorrow."
"Doing what?"
"I'm taking you shopping. And we can go out to lunch, and go to the park if the weather's nice."
"Sounds great." Elijah laid a hand on Sebastian's cheek. "I think this is gonna be good, Sebastian."
"It will be. I promise." Sebastian raked his fingers through Elijah's tangles. "Now go to sleep, baby. I'll be right here."
Elijah laid his head on Sebastian's chest. He was sound asleep within minutes. Sebastian lay awake for a while longer, lazily stroking Elijah's back and thinking about the coming day.
There were so many things to take care of. Elijah would go naked at home, of course, but would need clothes for when they went out. He would need a new collar as well, a nice soft leather one that wouldn't chafe his neck the way the chain would. And a new mattress for his bed in the basement. The old one was hopelessly stained and still reeked of decay. James, his last pet, had been dead for days by the time Sebastian noticed. He still felt bad about that, but he'd been caught up in other things at the time and had simply forgotten to feed the kid. If only he'd let him run loose instead of keeping him chained...
Sebastian shook himself. No use in beating himself up about it, he thought. If James had been loose, he would've just tried to run away again. He gazed down at the beautiful young man sleeping on his chest and smiled.
"It's going to be different this time," Sebastian whispered against Elijah's hair. "It is. Because you're different. All those others, they weren't good pets. They were too wild, they didn't appreciate anything I did for them. But you will. I can tell."
Elijah stirred and whimpered in his sleep. Sebastian clutched him close, kissing the night fears away.
"Bad Medicine" first appeared in the erotic ezine Ruthie's Club in August 2005.
\*\*\*\*\*
When I got a look at the script Sal gave me, I about died. I marched right into his office the next day, seething with righteous indignation
"What the fuck?" I threw the script on his desk. "I'm not doing this."
Sal smiled, shark-like. "You'll do what the fuck I tell you, ya fucking fag."
"But, Sal..."
"Shut your yap." Sal stood up. His lumpy bald head almost brushed the ceiling. He glowered at me. "Filming for Bad Medicine started this morning. And you're late. You get your queer ass over to wardrobe right the fuck now, an' I better not hear no more complaints from you."
I started to protest. Sal frowned, puckering his unibrow. I shut up, snatched up my script, and backed out the door.
Salazar Domingo was owner and chief scriptwriter for Domingo Productions. Six-foot eight of massively muscled, butt-ugly brute. He scared the bejesus out of me. Word on the street was he got booted out of the New Jersey mob for being queer. I could believe he'd been some mob boss's muscle. I'd seen the messy results of a mere actor like me disagreeing with him. That's the main reason I try not to.
I sulked my way down the hall from Sal's office to wardrobe, feeling sorry for myself. How the hell did I go from carefree college student to actor in the worst gay porn films ever made?
"Greed, Jimmy," I muttered to myself. "Greed and curiosity. Stupid, stupid, stupid."
I tried to nip that line of thought in the bud. No use dwelling on it. Of course, whenever you try not to think about something, it automatically hijacks your brain. So I thought about it, for about the fifty-thousandth time. Wallowing in self-pity never actually helped, but it did make me feel better.
My boyfriend was the one who'd told me about the auditions for a gay porno by a new studio that had just opened here in Atlanta. That was nearly a year ago. If I'd known he'd not only get me stuck in this crap outfit, but dump me as well, I'd have kicked his overly swishy ass. At the time, though, I was pretty strapped for cash, and the idea of being in a movie, even a porno, was tempting. I could do one film, earn enough to pay the next semester's tuition, and forget about it. Domingo Productions obviously wasn't a big player, so the odds of anyone I knew getting hold of the film were remote.
How we delude ourselves when we're broke, huh? I should've known when I first met Sal that he'd have me by the balls one way or another. I could've sworn the contract I signed didn't say anything about more than one film. But when I refused to do a second, Sal pointed right at the clause that said, plain as day, that I agreed to make a total of twenty films for Domingo Productions. Twenty, I kid you not. I still don't know how the hell he did it. What a way to learn you should always keep a copy of the contract.
Sal's demanding schedule eventually forced me right out of school. It pissed me off beyond belief that I had to quit college to star in pornos. Maybe if I had sucked (so to speak) in the first one, Sal wouldn't have made me do more. Unfortunately, I exhibited a talent for sucking cock and getting fucked up the ass, and looking good while doing it. So Sal not only roped me into more of his mind-bogglingly awful films, but he made me star in them, too.
Damn my exquisite good looks and enormous cock, anyhow. Ha.
Wardrobe was packed with people in various states of undress. They were smoking and talking while they got their make-up and costumes on. Someone had put Placebo on the CD player, adding to the chaotic atmosphere. I squirmed my way through the press of bodies toward the sour-faced old woman who distributed the costumes.
"Hi, Harriet. You're looking lovely today." I gave her a sunny smile.
She grunted. "Whatcha got?"
I looked down at the grubby papers in my hand. "Jack Auf," I told her. I managed to keep a straight face, too. Go me.
Harriet's permanent scowl didn't budge. She handed me a thin hospital gown made of blue cloth. "This is for the exam scene. What you got on'll do for the other scenes."
I took the gown. At least I didn't see any visible come stains, which in this outfit is saying something. "Harriet, you're a robot, aren't you? C'mon, you can tell me."
She raised her eyebrows and grunted twice, the corner of her mouth twitching just a little. For her, that was raucous laughter. I grinned at her and headed over to get my make-up done. At least that wasn't going to be much, thank God.
I waved at my friend Derek across the room. He waved back and tottered over, swaying precariously in white stiletto heels. His shaved, stocking-clad legs stuck out from under a white nurse's dress that barely covered his ass. A nurse's cap perched on top of his head. His shoulder-length hair was dyed bright red and styled into an honest-to-God Jackie O flip. Blobs of spunk clung to his hair and face. I couldn't help laughing, he looked so ridiculous.
"Ha fuckin' ha, Jimmy." He glared at me.
"Sorry." I put on my best fake serious face. "I'm betting you're in Bad Medicine too, huh?"
"Yeah. Just got done sucking off the doctor." Derek snorted. "I swear, these things are getting worse by the day. You read the whole script yet?"
"Yeah. Bigger piece of crap than usual, even."
"No kidding. So what's your part?"
His dark eyes glittered with amusement. He already knew---he just wanted me to have to say it. Bastard.
"Jack Auf," I said between gritted teeth.
Derek howled with laughter. I waited patiently for him to calm down. It took a few minutes.
"You done?" I crossed my arms and scowled at him.
"For now." He grinned. "Hey, I'm Nurse Cocks, for fuck's sake. We've all got dumb-ass porno flick names, Jimbo. Don't let it bug you. At least you don't have to wear a fucking dress."
He wandered off. I sat and pouted while the girl with all the jewelry in her face did my make-up. When she was finished, I studied myself in the mirror. I looked fucking amazing. Not for the first time, I wondered what the hell she was doing here. She was way too good for this shit-hole outfit. The make-up she'd put on me was subtle, but it made my plain blue eyes look aqua and gave my normally ghostly skin a golden shine. With my hair falling in shiny black spirals around my face and neck, I looked awfully damn pretty. I stuck my tongue out at my reflection, then got up to make room for the next actor in line.
We had about half of the no-sex scenes done by mid-afternoon. It only took an hour to get done with the set-up scene for the first exam. God, it sucked bad. The writing, the set, the costumes, everything. It all sucked big, hairy donkey balls. I mean, come on, who the hell goes to the doctor because they can't feel their prostate? But this is what Sal The Script Writer expected an audience to swallow. So to speak. It was all I could do to get through the scene without rolling my eyes and/or cracking up.
The only thing that didn't suck was the guy playing Dr. Dick Johnson. Damn, he was hot. Long, dark brown hair tied in a ponytail, great big stormy gray eyes, lips just like Brad Pitt's. And not even the long white lab coat could hide that ripped body. No beer gut hung over those navy blue dress slacks. And something told me he wouldn't act like he'd rather be watching the Braves lose the World Series while he was fucking me. I found myself wondering what he'd looked like not so long ago, with Derek's lips wrapped around his cock.
After the scene wrapped, he came up to me, smiling like a used car salesman, grabbed my hand and pumped it hard. I smiled back, a little overwhelmed by his energy.
"Great scene, man," he enthused. "Really, really great."
I gaped at him. "You've got to be kidding me."
He laughed. "Well, yeah. Sucked, didn't it?"
"You know it. Everything but us. We rocked, dude." I stuck my hand out. "Jim Holderman."
"Todd Jerome." He took my hand and we shook. "And if you ever call me Manley, I'll hurt you."
We both laughed. The director, George, had introduced us by our screen names. He always did that. It annoyed the crap out of everyone. I'd always thought my screen name was the worst I'd ever heard. Billy Boner, can you believe that? Sal's idea, of course. He came up with all of them. But Todd's left mine in the dust. I think it's a testament to my acting abilities that I did not collapse into hysterical laughter when George introduced 'Manley Tool'.
"You just start here?" I started pulling off my clothes, to change into the hospital gown. No dressing rooms on set. Classy, huh? "I haven't seen you around before."
"This is my first film with Domingo. I did a couple out in California before I moved here."
"Seriously? Don't take this wrong, but why aren't you still out there? That's where the biggest studios are. I mean, like, real movie studios, not porno ones."
"Yeah. But I didn't want to work for those. I like doing pornos. Just couldn't keep up with the cost of living on what I made, so I moved back here."
Those smoky eyes watched me as I stood there in my black Wal-Mart underwear. Looked to me like he appreciated the view. I flexed a little before slipping into that uber-sexy hospital gown. "So are you from here originally? You said you moved back here."
"Yep. Georgia boy, born and raised. You?"
"Sure enough. Lived in Atlanta all my life."
"Well, I guess that proves my theory that Georgia boys are the hottest." He gave me a smile that was downright filthy. My cock perked right up. I imagined Harriet naked and it slunk back down again. "Gotta say, Jim, I'm kind of looking forward to the exam scene."
He moved closer, and my underwear promptly got tighter. I thanked my lucky stars for that stupid gown. Who knew I could still get turned on from just a look? Surprise, surprise.
"Oh. Oh, yeah? Me too." I was going for cool, but it sounded more like desperate-for-cock.
"Good." He put a hand on my hip. Oh. Oh, damn. "Can't wait to play with your ass. I just came all over Derek's face, so I can work you for a long time before I have to come again."
Oh, sweet Jesus. My knees went all wobbly. "Um. Oh. Okay." Smooth, that's me.
He laughed. I couldn't blame him. Here I was, a porn actor with seven films under my belt, acting like a high school virgin.
I was immensely relieved to hear George yell for us to get on set. Just because I was about to get my ass probed in front of a room full of people and a couple of cameras didn't mean I wanted everyone to know how easily Todd could turn me on.
"All right, Billy," George said. "Get up on the table there. Manley, you're entering stage right, okay?"
"Got it." Todd winked at me and headed off to the sidelines while I hopped up on the paper-covered exam table. It looked like a real one. I wondered idly where the hell they'd found it. A stagehand brought me a tube of Astro-Glide, and I lubed up while the crew scrambled into place.
"All right," George yelled. "You boys know the script. Let's get this done, I gotta meet my girlfriend for dinner in an hour and a half." He held up a hand. The room went quiet. Or as quiet as it ever got. "And. Action."
I put on my Concerned Patient face and clasped my hands together in my lap, knees demurely together and ankles crossed. Todd opened the door in the set wall and came strolling towards me. Goddamn, that man could move. I thought frantically of quadratic equations, and my dick deflated again. Not yet, I told it. Behave. It refused to promise me anything.
"Jack Auf?" Todd said, keeping his serious face on and ignoring the snickering of the crew. "I'm Dr. Johnson."
He held his hand out. I shook it. "Hi, doctor. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."
"Nurse Cocks said you sounded very worried on the phone."
He smiled a dazzling smile at me. I smiled back, trying to make it sexy the way the script said rather than the way it felt, which was just goofy.
"Now what seems to be the problem?" Todd sat down on the rolling stool and peered at me in fake professional concern.
"Well, doctor," I said, "It ... it's a little embarrassing, actually."
He put a hand on my knee, rubbing his thumb in slow circles. I didn't think that was in the script. "No need to be embarrassed. I'm a doctor. You can tell me."
Todd actually made that line sound sexy. Damn.
"Okay." I leaned forward a little. "I can't get any pleasure from my prostate. I know it's supposed to feel really good when it's stimulated, but I can't feel a thing."
Todd nodded. "I see."
"Is it serious, doctor?"
"I doubt it. But we'll need to do a thorough exam. Lie back on the table, and let's have a look."
I lay down with my hands behind my head. Todd snapped on a pair of latex gloves. He pulled my gown up, and then slid my underwear down over my hips.
"What are you doing now, doctor?" I said.
"If we are to solve your problem, we need to find out what sexually arouses you, and what doesn't." He picked up my dick in one gloved hand and gave it a tug, then lightly stroked the head with his thumb. "How does that feel?"
"Good." Which was true.
He rolled my balls in his fingers. "How about that?"
"Yes, that feels good too." Boy, did it ever.
"I see." He pulled my underwear the rest of the way off. "Spread your legs."
I did. He slipped a finger into my slicked-up asshole and wiggled it around. My cock liked that a lot.
"How about that?" he asked. "Does that feel good?"
"Oh, yeah," I moaned. Good thing that's what the script said, because I couldn't help it. "Feels real good."
"Your hole is way too tight. We need to loosen it up." He pulled his finger out of my butt and hit the fake intercom button. The cheapo wall nearly fell over. "Nurse Cocks, could you come in here, please? Bring the anal loosening kit."
I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep from cracking up. George gave me a fierce frown. I ignored George, and made a scared-but-turned-on look for the camera.
Derek came swaying through the door, carrying a black plastic doctor's bag that may as well have had Fisher-Price stamped on the side. He smirked at me when he saw how hard I already was. I glared at him.
"Here's the kit, doctor." Derek held up the bag.
"Thank you, nurse. Please help Mr. Auf get in position."
Derek winked as he bent down over me. "Just slide down toward the end of the table, okay?"
"Okay." I slid down until my ass almost hung over the edge. My gown rode up to my armpits. Derek slid it up my arms, leaving it wrapped around my wrists.
It's usually a huge chore for me to get it up for these scenes, but the mental image of myself naked on the table with my arms essentially bound above my head made my crotch ache. Probably because it was Todd about to "examine" me, and Todd flipped every fucking switch I had.
"All right," Todd said. "Let's get you spread. Feet in the stirrups."
I put my feet in the stirrups Todd had unfolded from the end of the table. He and Derek adjusted them to open my legs wide. I looked down my body. My cock had already oozed a little puddle of pre-come into my belly button. Usually getting it up was the problem for me. This time, it looked like holding off orgasm might be the problem. George would kill me if I fucked up the money shot.
"Nurse," Todd said from his spot between my legs, "put the cock ring on him."
"Yes, doctor." Derek pulled a black leather cock ring out of the bag. He slipped it down my shaft, pulled my balls through, and adjusted the fit to the perfect snugness.
I had to swallow a couple of times before I could say the next line. "What's that for, doctor?"
"To keep you hard until I complete my examination. You can't come until we find out what activities give you sexual pleasure."
"I understand. What will you do to me now?"
"I'm going to stretch your asshole," Todd said, his Doctor Voice dead perfect in spite of the lustful shine in his eyes.
I licked my lips, making the movement slow and sensuous. "Will it hurt?"
"A little." He held out a hand toward Derek. "Ass spreader, please, nurse."
Derek took something that looked like a cross between a socket wrench and an apple corer out of the black bag, squirted a big blob of lube on it, and handed it to Todd. I stared at the thing. My cheeks went hot.
Todd's big, pretty eyes stayed locked on my face as he slowly pushed the curved metal into my ass. It felt weird: cold, and heavy, and bigger than it looked. He did something I couldn't see. The thing expanded. I let out a little gasp at the sharp, hot stretch.
"Do you like having that spreader up your ass?" Todd did the whatever-it-was again. The thing expanded more, and I moaned loudly. "Does it feel good?"
"Ah, yeah. Open my ass." Christ, how cheesy is that? I didn't give a fuck. I probably would've said it anyhow.
Todd gave me a big, lustful grin. George didn't scream bloody murder, so I figured the camera must be on my hole. Probably a tight close-up. Not that I was thinking that clearly. Especially when Todd stuck a couple of fingers in me and gently massaged my prostate. Instinct took over, and I writhed on the table, hips lifting up, trying to find some friction.
"Cut!" George stood up from his chair, red-faced and frowning. "Billy, you're not supposed to feel it, you moron!"
It actually took me a second to realize he was talking to me. After a year of being Billy Boner, I normally answered to Billy as easily as I did to Jim. Funny how one insanely hot man could make me forget my own fake name.
"Yeah," I gasped. "Sorry."
George grunted. "Again! Places! And ... action!"
Todd stuck his fingers in my ass again, finding the little gland easily. Bastard. He didn't have to do that---he just liked watching me squirm. This time I managed to keep my reactions in check.
"Do you feel that?" Todd asked, serious as a fucking heart attack. Damned if he wasn't actually a pretty good actor.
"N-no," I stammered. Any idiot could tell I did. Fuck it. Anyone who expects high quality acting in a porno deserves what they get.
"Hmmm." Todd's brows drew together. He pulled his fingers out of me, then tugged the "ass spreader" out too. "I think your problem is that your prostate isn't sensitized. It hasn't been switched on, for lack of a better expression."
God, what a load of crap. I didn't give a fuck, for once.
"What can I do?" I managed to sound coherent. Hell, I thought, I can be a pretty goddamn good actor too, sometimes. Who knew?
"What I think we should do," Todd said, "is try to make your prostate more sensitive. We can do that right now."
"How?"
"The anal loosening kit contains several instruments which should be helpful. At the same time, Nurse Cocks and I will stimulate you in other ways. That should send the message to your prostate to switch on and make you feel sexual pleasure. It will probably take several sessions to get to that point. When you can come just from getting fucked in the ass, we'll know we succeeded."
I gave him my best seductive look. "And how do we find that out, doctor?"
"Well, it will be my duty as your doctor to fuck your ass until you come."
Oh, boy. My cock didn't give a shit that it was a stupid porno movie line. It promptly swelled even more.
Derek nudged my hip. I looked up at him, feeling dazed and stupid. Line, he mouthed at me, cutting his eyes to George. Oh, yeah---I was supposed to be saying something.
"Um. Yeah, doctor. Make my ass feel good."
Derek snickered under his breath. I didn't, for once. I'd uttered too many variations on that line to count, but this was the first time I meant it. The thought of Todd sticking sex toys up my butt made my skin feel tight and tingly.
Todd's latex covered hands spread my ass cheeks wide. "Your hole looks a little looser now," he said. "Nurse, hand me the smallest dildo."
"Yes, doctor." Derek pulled a slender, bright blue dildo out the bag. He winked at me as he handed it to Todd. I discreetly flipped him off.
Todd slid the toy inside me. It went in easily. I barely felt it. I moaned anyway. People love the sound effects.
"Mmm. That's nice." Todd's voice sounded rough. He moved the thing in and out of me a few times, watching my face. "Nurse. Pinch his nipples."
"Yes, doctor." Derek sashayed over to stand behind my head, reached down, and plucked both of my nipples. "How does that feel, sir?"
I licked my lips. "Feels nice. Yeah, harder. Twist them."
Derek pulled and twisted. Electricity zinged over my skin. He twisted harder and I let out a sharp cry of pain. Derek gave me a horribly fake concerned look. "I'm sorry, does that hurt you?"
"Yeah," I panted. "Do it again."
That wasn't in the script. Evidently ad-libbing was okay, though, because George didn't make a peep. Derek grinned at me, bent over, and sank his teeth into my nipple. He tugged hard, stretching the little nub of flesh. I howled and arched against his mouth.
"Pain turns you on," Todd observed. "Good."
I didn't have time to wonder what the fuck that meant. I felt the blue dildo being removed and something else taking its place. My hole stretched wide, then closed again. The same thing happened three more times before my lust-fuzzed brain realized that Todd was filling my butt with anal beads. Extra large anal beads, if the feel was any indication. He gave the string a sharp tug, one bead popped free, and I lost it.
"Oh ... oh yeah ... God, yes, oh..." I have no idea to this day if that was anywhere close to the right line or not. I didn't care anymore. Pure sensation had me in its grip, and all I could do was ride it.
I'll say this for George: he might be a lousy director for a lousy, low-rent gay porn studio, but he knows when to shut up and let it happen. He kept quiet when Derek bent and kissed me, fingers still tugging at my nipples. He remained silent when Todd dropped to his knees and started sucking my balls and pulling on the anal beads. Everybody, including George, knows that true passion in a porn flick is as rare as it is arousing. He kept his mouth shut and the cameras rolling while I moaned and shook under the sweet torture of hands, and mouths, and toys.
My control had just about unraveled completely when Todd stood up suddenly and yanked the whole string of beads free with one hard pull. The feeling was beyond description. I let out a long wail, muffled by Derek's tongue in my mouth.
"Give me the plug," Todd growled.
Derek straightened up. He looked dazed, eyes hot and hazy, lips swollen. "Y-yes ... um, yes, doctor." He reached for the black bag with shaky hands.
I took a peek at my chest while Derek pulled a great big butt plug out of the bag and squirted lube all over it. My nipples were a dark, angry red, swollen and hard. I had time to think vaguely that they'd probably be black and blue in few hours. Then Todd pushed that fucking huge toy up my ass and my brain quit working.
"Oooooooohhhhhhhh," I moaned. "Fuck ... Oh, fuck, yeah ... Fuck, yeah!"
"Feels good?" Todd twisted the thing inside me and I about fell off the table.
"Oh, fuck, yeah." I bucked my hips. "Suck my cock."
Todd's eyes gleamed. "Yes, I think I will." He glanced up at Derek. "Nurse?"
"Yes, doctor?" A tiny corner of my brain noticed that Derek was staring at my bruised nipples and stroking himself. Something about that turned me on even more.
"Get on his face," Todd ordered.
Oh, hell, yes. Todd gave me a thoroughly evil smile. Derek tore his dress off and climbed onto the table, straddling my face so that his ass hovered right over my mouth. How Todd knew I liked giving a rim job, I have no clue. But he obviously did. Fine by me. I shucked off the gown that still clung to my wrists, clamped my hands on Derek's hipbones, and went happily to work.
I felt Todd and Derek shift forward at the same time. Two hot, wet mouths closed over my cock and balls. God, it felt good. I dug my fingers into Derek's ass cheeks, spreading them wide to give me better access to his hole. His moans vibrated against my balls as I licked and tongue-fucked his asshole. I could hear the cameramen scurrying around trying to capture all the action. I didn't know or care how far we'd strayed from the script, but it didn't matter. Even through the lust scrambling my brains, I knew we were putting on one hell of a hot scene.
I had Derek right on the edge by the time Todd moved. Todd sat up, and Derek followed his lead. His legs were shaking. I was so dazed, I actually grabbed Derek's ass and tried to pull him back down.
Todd laughed. "Turn over on your stomach."
Derek sat back on his heels to give me room to move. I rolled over, letting my legs hang off the end of the table. Todd pulled the butt plug out of me, leaned over, and licked up between my shoulder blades.
"Ready to get fucked, Mr. Auf?" he rasped in my ear.
"Uh," I grunted, and pushed my butt against his crotch. That was about as coherent as I could get at the moment. I felt Todd smile.
Rustles and clinks sounded behind me as Todd shed his clothes. Then his fingers spread me open, and he shoved his cock deep inside me. I let out a long, shuddering cry. God, his prick up my ass felt so fucking great.
"Suck his dick," Todd ordered.
That suited me just fine. I pulled Derek's hips toward me and gulped his cock right down.
"Ah, yeah. Yeah, suck that cock." Derek's best porn star voice. He was always on. I would've laughed if my mouth hadn't been full. Derek clenched both fists in my hair and fucked my mouth deep.
Two cocks at once, and the one up my ass was attached to the finest man I'd ever laid eyes on. Who cared about the camera crew and the lights, and all the guys who'd eventually jack off to this scene? Not me. I was in heaven.
Todd pulled out of me just as his cock started to swell and pulse against my hole. For a second, I couldn't figure out why. Then I remembered. Had to have that come shot on film, and there was no way to film him shooting inside my ass. Yet.
I didn't want to think about that too hard.
"Come on his back, doctor. Yeah, yeah. Shoot your hot load on him." Derek the Porn Star strikes again. I stuck a finger up his ass, and his porn-star speech disintegrated into porn-star moaning. He pulled out of my mouth and started jerking his cock hard.
Todd came first. I felt hot spunk splash across my back and run down between my butt cheeks. Derek came a few seconds later, groaning as his dick pumped semen all over my face. The cameraman knelt beside the table, shooting a close-up of me getting a face full of come. I licked my lips for him.
Hands on my shoulders pulled me to a standing position. Todd stood behind me, his body big and solid against my back. He pulled me backward a few steps. Derek slipped off the table and knelt at my feet, gazing up at me. His make-up was smeared and the white nurse's hat was askew on his head. He grinned at me.
"Nurse, remove the cock ring," Todd said. He sounded calm again.
"Yes, doctor." Derek loosened the leather ring and pulled it off.
I drew a sharp breath at the way my dick throbbed once freed from the leather. But before I could make a sound, Todd yanked my head back by the hair and kissed me.
God ... Nobody had ever kissed me quite like that. The room tilted around me as Todd's tongue slid into my mouth, aggressive and demanding. I reached one arm behind me, around his neck, winding my hand into the thick hair that had come loose from the ponytail and now hung in silky waves around his shoulders.
Hands roamed my body: twisting a nipple, stroking my cock, invading my still-open ass. I didn't know who was doing what, and couldn't have cared less. It was Todd's kiss that set my body on fire and sent me soaring into the most intense orgasm I'd ever experienced, on either side of the camera. My prick pulsed against someone's palm. I felt warm sticky splashes on my thighs as I came, and the world turned gray.
When I became aware of anything again, I was lying on the exam table, with a whole bunch of worried faces bending over me. I gave them a weak smile.
"Goddamn, boy," George exclaimed. "Don't fucking scare me like that!" He ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Hell of a scene, though."
"You okay?" Derek laid a hand on my arm.
"Yeah, I'm fine." I smiled at him. "You still have come on your face."
He wrinkled his nose. "So what else is new? I always get the fucking facials."
Derek wandered away, complaining about having to wash semen out of his hair. The crowd started to disperse when they saw I was okay. I looked around for Todd, but didn't see him.
"Where'd Todd go?" I asked George when he momentarily stopped yelling directions to the crew.
"Break room," George said. "Listen, I don't know what the fuck's going on with you two, but whatever it is, don't stop. That's the fucking hottest scene I ever got on film."
"Yeah." I stood up, carefully because I still felt a little off kilter. "So, we done for today? We didn't finish the office scene, did we?"
"Naw. But what the fuck. Got one smoking hot sex scene done, and I got places to be. We'll do the after parts tomorrow."
"Works for me."
"See you, Billy."
"Yeah, see you." And for fuck's sake call me by my real name, I didn't add.
I scooped my briefs up off the floor and put them on. The come all over my ass and face had dried just enough to feel unpleasantly sticky. For once, I didn't care.
I found Todd on the sofa in the ratty little lounge, sipping Gatorade and flipping through the channels on the TV. Those pretty gray eyes lit right up when he saw me.
"Hey, Jim," he said. "Feeling better?"
"Yeah." I plopped down beside him. "That was weird. Me passing out, I mean. Never done that before."
"I've heard about that sort of thing. I've never actually fucked anybody so hard they fainted, though."
"What makes you think you did it? Maybe I got a heart condition or something."
"Maybe, maybe not. Hope not."
I frowned at him. "Why'd you leave? I mean, if somebody I was just fucking passed out cold, I'd be worried. You just went to the break room like nothing happened." It surprised me how much that stung.
He gave me a strange look. "Oh, I was worried about you. But when I saw you lying there on that table, unconscious and naked and covered in semen, I wanted ... Well, I wanted to do things to you that I shouldn't have wanted to do, not right then. And I wasn't sure I could control myself. So I left."
I stared at him. The strange, hot look in his eyes made my insides shake. I couldn't decide if I was scared of him, or horny for him. Or both. I gulped.
"Um. Okay. Uh..." There went my powers of speech again. He laughed.
"Don't worry, I'm not a psycho killer or anything." He slid a hand onto my knee. "You look so fucking hot like this."
I licked my lips. "Like what?"
He nuzzled my neck, licked the outside of my ear. "Almost naked. Your lips swollen from kissing and sucking cock. Your hair all sweaty and tangled. Come all over you." Without warning, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me up to straddle his lap. "God, you can't even imagine the things I want to do to you."
I sat there with my legs on either side of his hips and stared at him, stunned speechless. He smiled a heart-thumpingly sexy little smile, buried both hands in my hair, and gave me a kiss that curled my toes. When we pulled apart, I felt weak and dizzy, and damn if I wasn't halfway to hard again.
"We've got that fisting scene tomorrow." Todd ran his fingertips up my bare back, making me shiver. "Wanna go back to my place and practice?"
Oh, hell, yeah.
"I guess, if you think it'll help," I said, trying to play it cool.
Todd laughed, pushed me off his lap, and stood up. "You know you want to."
"What makes you so sure I want your hand up my ass, huh?" I gave him a reasonable facsimile of an innocent face.
"Because," he said with a grin, "I'm telling you that you do."
Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph. That did things to me. "Uh..." I said, eloquent as usual.
He pulled me into his arms. Those stormy eyes glittered. "Do what I tell you, Jim, and you won't regret it. I'll make you come 'til your balls drop off."
How the fuck did he make that actually sound like a good thing? Hell if I knew. Hell if I cared.
I smiled up at him. "Yes, doctor."
Heat
first appeared on Torquere Press in September 2004, as 3rd place winner in their Melt short fiction contest. It then appeared in the erotic ezine Ruthie's Club in June 2005.
\*\*\*\*\*
June in New Orleans. Hot and sticky and ripe with the smell of the river. Hours after the sun goes down, the heat still smacks you in the face the second you step outside. So different from the tiny northern town that Zach and I call home.
I like it here. I like the musky wet scent of the Mississippi. I like the humidity. I like the suffocating heat. This city seethes with life and secrets. You can smell it in the air.
Zach thinks I'm nuts. He gives me the evil eye as he fans himself with a drinks menu.
"Let's go inside," he says. "It's too hot out here."
'Here' being the patio bar at the world-famous Pat O'Brien's. Zach wanted to go to the indoor bar, but I insisted on sitting out in the courtyard. It's noisy and crowded and sweltering. It excites me.
"I like the heat."
"For fuck's sake, why? You're crazy, Ian."
The way he looks right now is reason enough to love the heat. His dark hair clings to his flushed cheeks and his T-shirt is transparent with sweat. Just looking at him gives me a hard-on.
"You're sexy when you sweat," I tell him.
He grins. "Turns you on, huh?"
"Sure does."
"C'mere."
I lean toward him and we kiss. The Hurricane he's drinking makes his mouth taste like rum and fruit, and his tongue feels cold against mine. It gives me a wicked idea.
I pull back and glance around. We're in a back corner of the courtyard, surrounded by trees and shrubs. A large oleander obscures one side of our table. Perfect.
"Move your chair over there next to the oleander."
"Why?"
"You'll see."
Zach gives me a look that says he thinks I've lost it, but he does as I ask. I grab my drink and slip underneath the table to kneel at his feet. He leans sideways and peers curiously at me.
"Ian, what are you doing?"
I nudge his knees apart and scoot between his legs.
"Don't worry, no one can see me."
"Ian..."
He stops talking when I flip the button of his shorts open and pull down his zipper with my teeth.
He's not wearing underwear. He never does. I slide a couple of ice cubes into my mouth and swallow his cock whole. He lets out a strangled yelp and immediately hardens in my mouth.
I suck him nice and slow, taking my time. I dip my fingers into the melting ice in my glass and rub the liquid over his balls and as far into the cleft of his ass as I can reach. He squirms at my touch. The taste of his skin intoxicates me far more than the Hurricane did. I wish I could shove his legs up and tease his hole with my cold tongue.
The heat of his cock melts the ice, but there's plenty more. I pop fresh cubes into my mouth every few seconds and keep sucking. Before long, his body tenses and he comes in my mouth. I slide into his lap, press my mouth to his, and give him his own iced semen to drink.
"You're a hopeless perv," he says when we pull apart. "But I like it."
His gaze is heavy and sated. I love knowing that I put that look in his eyes.
"I dragged you out here, the least I could do is cool you off."
He smiles at me and my heart lurches. I'd do anything for that smile.
"Thanks, baby," he says. "Hey, you want to go somewhere really hot now?"
"Where?"
"My ass." He reaches down between us and squeezes my cock through my shorts. His touch sends electric shocks shooting through me. "Let's get out of here."
I grin at him as he zips his shorts and we get up to leave. I bet he'll stop complaining about the heat when I spread his legs and fuck him.
Who needs air conditioning when you've got love?
Orion's Belt
"Orion's Belt" first appeared in the erotic ezine Ruthie's Club in May 2005.
\*\*\*\*\*
"He's late."
"I know."
"Did you call him?"
"Home and cell, yeah. No answer."
"He's been late every fucking day."
"I know, Chad."
Chad pursed his purple glossed lips. "Well, Mr. Know-It-All, maybe you can tell me just how the fuck we're supposed to record without a fucking singer!"
Kier sighed. Chad wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know. A producer tends to notice when a prominent member of the band he's currently recording shows up late every day. Lateness equals studio time wasted, which in turn equals money down the drain.
Chad flopped down behind his drum kit and shoved his bangs out of his eyes. "Dammit, Kier, this has got to stop."
"He knows, Chad!" Jess looked up from tuning her bass long enough to glare at Chad. "We all fucking know, okay?"
"Well excuse me if I like to start a recording session on time. Bitch." Chad picked a loose thread off of his glittery purple shirt and frowned fiercely at his painted nails.
Jess raised her brown eyes to the ceiling. "Jesus tap-dancing Christ, Chad. Do you have to be so fucking gay all the time?"
Kier suppressed a laugh. Chad could do things with the drums that you had to hear to believe, but his flamboyance made him an irresistible target for his bandmates. He usually took their teasing in stride, but his gray eyes were stormy now. Kier decided to put a stop to it before it got any worse.
"Okay, Jess, stop picking on him. And you, Tom," Kier pointed at the willowy blond guitarist, usually the worst of the lot when it came to teasing Chad, "just don't even start."
Tom widened his pale blue eyes. "What? I didn't say anything."
"You were about to," Chad said.
"Was not!"
"Were too!"
"Shut up!"
"Both of you shut up!" Kier shouted. He rubbed his eyes in the sullen silence. A nagging ache was starting in his temples. "I'm sure Orion will be here any minute. We need to be ready to start, and that means no fighting."
"Orion's not his real name," Chad piped up after a moment.
"No! Really?" Jess rolled her eyes.
Chad ignored her. "He got it off a gay porn website. Some twink in a video. Orion's First Huge Cock or something like that."
"Too much information, dude," Tom muttered.
"How do you know that, anyhow?" Jess plucked idly at her bass. Orange and white striped hair hung in her face.
Chad smirked. "I know lots of things. We've known each other since grade school, remember?"
The door opened before anyone could say anything else, and the man in question stumbled in. He looked like he'd been up all night. Which, Kier reflected, he probably had, if his recent pattern of behavior was any indication. His sweat-stained shirt hung open, revealing nicely ripped abs, and his button fly was half undone. The big, jade-green eyes that captivated boys and girls alike were bloodshot, and his skin was even whiter than usual. His black hair stuck up in random directions, and the electric blue highlights glinted in the glare of the studio lights.
"Where the hell have you been?" Chad exploded before Kier could even open his mouth. He looked Orion up and down and shook his head.
"Out," Orion answered. He shuffled over to the little refrigerator in the corner, pulled out a bottle of water, and drank half of it in one breath.
"Guy or girl?" Jess asked, eyeing the perfect set of tooth marks on Orion's bare chest. Orion was bisexual and disgustingly peaceful about it.
"Both." Orion flashed the grin that made otherwise sane people grovel at his feet. "Twins. Young and pretty."
Tom laughed. "You're a slut."
"What can I say? Everybody wants me." Orion bounded over and kissed Tom firmly on the mouth. "You want me, don't you Tommy? C'mon, admit it."
"Not even if you had a sex change, dude." Tom pushed Orion's hand away from his buttons and grinned. "You're not my type."
"Helloooo!" Chad waved his drumsticks over his head. "Am I the only one who wants to get any recording done today? We have already lost an hour, thanks to Mr. Manwhore over there."
"Don't get your panties in a wad, Queenie," Orion said. "We're ready."
Chad's face flushed a pink nearly as bright as his hair. "I told you to quit calling me that."
"I will," Orion answered. "When you stop being such a fucking queen."
"All right, that's enough!" Kier shouted before Chad could do more than splutter. "God, you guys are worse than a bunch of fucking five-year-olds. Orion, we're doing your final vocals for
Orion's face turned serious. "Sorry, Kier, really. I'll nail it first take."
Kier looked into Orion's deceptively sweet face and felt his anger melting away. Orion was the only person in the world who could do that to him with nothing but a look. Kier was thirty-five. He'd been producing for eleven years and had a reputation for being a tough son of a bitch. Then along came this boy---this smirking, self-satisfied youngster barely out of his teens---who twisted Kier around his little finger with his evil angel eyes and childlike smile and free-spirited ways. It was infuriating.
"Okay. Well, good." Kier ran a hand through his unruly brown curls. "All right, let's do this."
\*\*\*\*\*
The session went much better than Kier had expected. Orion did indeed nail the
"Great job, guys," Kier said as the band gathered jackets and keys. "You've got tomorrow off, but be back here same time Monday."
"I'll be here," Chad said, giving Orion a pointed look. "See you, Kier." He swayed out the door without a backward glance.
Tom and Jess followed, already discussing what to do with their day off. Orion started to trail behind them. Kier called to him before he could leave.
"Orion," he said. "I need to talk to you for a minute."
Orion glanced at Jess and Tom as they left the room, then sauntered over to Kier. "What's up?"
Kier smiled at him. "You did great today. But listen, you've gotta stop being late for recording, okay? We can't count on this good a session every time, and we're gonna fall behind schedule if you keep doing this."
Orion hung his head and gazed up at Kier through thick black lashes. "I'm sorry, Kier, I really am. I don't mean to waste studio time, it's just ... well, I'm having fun here. I can't believe how many people want to get with me all of a sudden, since the last album hit so big." He gave an oddly shy smile. "It's kind of cool."
"I'm not telling you to stop having fun. Go out and enjoy yourself. Do what you want. But you show up here on time and ready to record, or this album's gonna be a fucking disaster. I do not want that to happen, Orion. I have a lot riding on you guys. I believe one hundred percent in your talent, but talent's not enough. You have to prove to me that you can be professional too, and that means being where you're supposed to be, when you're supposed to be there, ready to work. Got that?"
Orion nodded. "Yeah, I got it. I'll do better, I swear."
"Good." Kier slapped Orion's back. "Now go on and have a good time. Just be careful, huh? Just because someone looks sweet and innocent doesn't mean they can't give you something you don't want."
"Don't think I'll go cruising tonight anyhow, I'm not in the mood. Think I'll just go out for a few drinks or something. Hey, you wanna come with? I'm buying."
Kier shook his head. "No thanks. I think I'll stay here and get some mixing done."
"Dude, work's not everything. Take some time off, huh? Let the engineers do some of it."
"You know I like to do the mixing myself. Anyhow, I'll have time to get some work done and still go out tonight, if I want."
"Bet you won't. Bet you'll still be here at
"Bet you're right."
They both laughed. Orion tilted his head to the side and gave Kier a curious look. "What do you do for fun, Kier? I only ever see you here, but you can't work all the time. You got a girl? Or maybe a boy?"
Kier arched an eyebrow. "No, not at the moment. I don't have time." He tried not to think of the screaming fight he'd had with Colin the day they'd broken up. It was nine months before, but he could still hear Colin's accusations like it was yesterday: that he was cold, uncaring, a workaholic. The hell of it was, Colin was right. Kier had decided that day to stop trying to pretend he could sustain a relationship. He couldn't do it without giving up the career he loved, and he wasn't willing to give that up for anything.
"Kier?"
Orion's voice brought Kier abruptly out of his thoughts. Kier cleared his throat. "Sorry, zoned out there for a sec."
"What were you thinking of?"
"Old boyfriend. We were together for four years. He left me because I work too much."
Orion stepped closer. Kier could smell the stale sweat on his skin. His groin twitched, and he couldn't decide whether he wanted to push Orion away or pull him to the floor and have him.
"Wouldn't have pegged you for queer," Orion said.
Kier laughed. "We're not all like Chad."
Orion stared at him, and he stared back. He couldn't look away. His head started to whirl. When Orion blinked and dropped his gaze to the floor, Kier felt oddly relieved. He'd been dangerously close to indulging his long-suppressed desire to bend the boy over and fuck him until he screamed for mercy.
"Um, okay. I'm gonna go now." Orion glanced up at Kier, then turned away and left before Kier could think of a single thing to say.
Kier stood there for a while, staring at the door. He knew that Orion had seen the lust in his eyes---the look on the young man's face left no doubt about that. All he could do now was hope that it didn't affect the album. He could handle it if Orion hated him, but he wouldn't tolerate personal feelings interfering with work. He sighed wearily.
"Kier, you fucking idiot, you know you can't ever let 'em see you looking," he said out loud to the empty studio. He turned on his heel, stomped into the booth, and slammed the door behind him.
\*\*\*\*\*
Time slipped by like it always did when Kier immersed himself in mixing. It was his favorite part of making an album. He loved to take the raw sounds and twist and pull and swirl them into something stunning. And that was ridiculously easy with this band.
Orion liked to play up his Slutty Party Boy image---God only knew why---but he had the soul of a poet. The songs he wrote had a fierce, untamed beauty that shone through like a supernova. To man like Kier, who had a natural talent for bringing out the best in any song, finding the right mix for one of Orion's creations was a simple matter of letting the music guide him.
He jumped about a foot when the studio door banged open. Orion staggered inside. "Kier!" he shouted. "I know you're still here. Where the fuck are you?"
Kier glanced up at the clock.
"In the booth," he said into the mike, trying not to laugh when Orion yelped and nearly tripped over his own feet trying to turn in every direction at once. "C'mon in. I'm just working on
Orion nodded, grinned, and gave Kier a thumbs-up. Kier shook his head as Orion weaved his way over to the door into the booth.
"Heeey, man!" Orion slurred. "I figured you'd still be here, so I thought I'd come over and keep you company." He flopped down onto the leather sofa and slung a denim-clad leg over the back.
"Thoughtful," Kier said. "You're drunk."
"Only a lot. That bar around the corner mixes 'em strong. More Jack than Coke, you know?"
Kier swiveled his chair to face the young man lying on the couch. Orion grinned back at him. The singer wore a long-sleeved blue shirt made of some sheer material that clung to him like cellophane. Kier could see his flat pink nipples and dark treasure trail clear as day. The ears of the Bugs Bunny tattoo on his left hip peeked above his low-slung jeans.
"So what's wrong, Orion?" Kier said after a long moment. "Why're you really here?"
Orion widened his eyes. "I told you: I wanted to come keep you company! It's Saturday night, for fuck's sake---no one ought to be alone."
"I'm fine alone. You, however, have usually lured some poor unsuspecting soul into your bed by now. So, what gives?"
Orion gave a wry laugh and sat up. "Yeah, okay. So I met this chick, right? Goth girl, the kind that looks like she might bite. Hotter than fuck. We went to her place."
Orion fell silent. Kier leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "What happened?"
"Nothing. Turns out she's a lot more vanilla than she looks."
"You wanted it kinky and she didn't?"
"You could say that. I asked her to tie me up and spank me. She called me a perv and told me to get the hell out." He shook his head. "Some groupie."
Kier laughed, trying to ignore the way his crotch ached at the thought of Orion bound and naked, his ass striped with red. "You've got a long way to go before you're famous enough to find groupies when you're not on tour, kiddo. That girl took you home because you're brutally hot, not because she had any idea who the fuck you are."
Orion smiled in a way that threatened to scramble Kier's brains. "You think I'm hot?"
Kier shook his head. "Don't even go there. You know exactly how gorgeous you are. You use it all the fucking time."
Orion's smile faded. He looked young and fragile, and Kier felt like a heel for putting that look on his face. He reached out and took Orion's hand.
"Look, of course I think you're hot," he said. "Everybody does, and you damn well know it."
"I don't try to get by on my looks. I've worked really hard to get this band off the ground. Me and Chad have dreamed about this since fifth grade. It's all we've fucking wanted for most of our lives."
"I know. I didn't mean..."
"Yeah, you did." Orion gave him a little half smile. "Guess I can't blame you. Everybody thinks that."
"Orion, look. It doesn't matter what people think. I know how hard you've worked for your success. I know it didn't just fall into your lap. But you're gonna throw it all away if you're not careful. I mean you're out every night, getting drunk or high, picking up boys or girls or sometimes both, then showing up late and hung over for interviews and performances and recording sessions. Yeah, it's rock and roll, you can get away with it for a while, but eventually it'll wear you down. Then, one day, you'll wake up and realize you can't write any more, that you don't have it in you to perform any more, and that'll be the end. I've seen it happen more times than I can count. I don't want to see it happen to you."
"I know, Kier. I know. But I can't seem to stop. I don't know why, I just ... can't stop." Orion looked up at Kier with pure misery in his eyes.
Kier got up and sat on the sofa next to Orion. He wrapped an arm around the young man and pulled him close. Orion leaned his head on Kier's shoulder.
"You'll be okay," Kier said. "You just need to get all the partying and sleeping around out of your system, that's all. The trick is to not let it destroy you in the meantime."
"I don't wanna do it anymore. I'm tired, Kier. I want to stop. But I can't." He pressed closer. "Will you help me?"
"Of course I'll help you. I'm here for you whenever you need me."
"I need you now." Orion turned his head and nuzzled Kier's neck.
Kier licked his suddenly dry lips. "Orion, what are you doing?"
"I need you, Kier." Orion kissed Kier's throat. "I need you." He slid a hand into Kier's hair, licked his ear. "I fucking need you right now."
"Orion ... God..." Kier swallowed. "This is ... this is just more of the same. Sleeping with me isn't going to help you."
Orion ran his tongue along Kier's jaw, pulling a soft groan from his mouth. "You're the only one who can give me what I need."
Kier let out a breathless laugh. "You've gotta be kidding me. You fuck somebody different every night. You sure as hell don't need to fuck me."
"That's not what I meant." Orion pulled back. His eyes burned with an intensity Kier had never seen in them before.
"What, then? You know I'll help you any way I can." Kier stroked Orion's cheek. Part of him was disappointed, but he clamped down hard on that part, and let his considerable relief wash over him.
It was short-lived. Orion slithered up onto Kier's lap, straddling him. He wrapped both arms around Kier's neck and stared down into his eyes.
"I need you to be firm with me, Kier. I need you to take me in hand and make me be good. Make me do what I can't make myself do." He leaned down and brushed his lips against Kier's. "Please."
Kier started to say something. Then Orion's mouth was on his, wet and open, and he couldn't think. He responded with a hunger he didn't think he had in him anymore, crushing Orion's slender body against his and kissing him deeply. He tasted whiskey on the slick tongue probing his mouth.
Several heated minutes passed before Kier could force himself to break the kiss. He pulled away with a tremendous effort and looked up into Orion's eyes.
"Stop," he gasped. "Orion, no, we can't do this."
Orion spread his legs wider and pushed his groin against Kier's belly. His arousal was unmistakable. "I know you want me. Don't pretend you don't."
"I do. That's not the point."
"What other point do you need?" Orion dipped his head and pulled on Kier's bottom lip with his teeth. "You need a good fuck, and I need discipline. It's mutually beneficial."
Kier grabbed Orion's face firmly in both hands. Orion went still.
"I know everyone thinks I'm a cold-hearted bastard," Kier said. "And I am, usually. But you do something to me, Orion. I can't stay mad at you, and I don't think I could ever raise a hand to you. If you think you need discipline, you're gonna have to find it inside yourself, because I can't give it to you."
Kier was startled to see Orion's eyes well with tears. "You have to. No one else will. No one else ever has."
"Hey, it's okay." Kier brushed the tears from Orion's cheeks. "You can do this, I'll help you, we can..."
"No!" Orion shouted. He pushed away and stumbled to his feet. "Don't you fucking get it? I have always gotten my way, Kier. I've always gotten whatever I want. And I'm fucking sick of it! I'm a weak person, Kier. I like drinking, I like taking drugs, I like to fuck. Maybe that was okay before. But now it's too much. I'm sick of it all, I'm worn out. I can feel the music leaving me. And I can't stop it. I want to stop it, but I can't."
He broke off, eyes darting frantically around the little room. Kier stared at him, stunned.
"I can't do this by myself," Orion continued in a small, broken voice. "Please help me. Please." He leaned back against the control panel and buried his face in both hands.
Kier stood and pulled Orion into his arms. He kissed the singer's forehead and stroked his back. "I'll help you, Orion. You know that."
"Discipline me, then. That's the only thing that'll work now."
"I can't do that, not the way you mean." Kier lifted Orion's chin. "I'll do anything else, but I can't do that."
Orion stared silently at him for a moment, his face raw and wounded. Then suddenly his eyes hardened and he pushed Kier roughly away.
"You can't, huh? Fine. You can't hurt me? You can't, what was it, 'raise a hand' to me, huh?" He whirled around and started pushing levers and turning dials on the audio interface board. "What about now, huh?"
Kier pulled his hands away. "Stop that. You want to fuck up your album?"
Orion nodded. "Yeah, I do. What do you think of that?" He jerked loose of Kier's grip and flipped a couple more switched before Kier could pull him away.
"Stop it, Orion. I mean it." Kier kept his voice deliberately calm
Orion sneered at him. "Or what? You're not gonna do anything to me. I can do whatever the fuck I want!" He lunged for the board again. Kier blocked him.
"Come on, just calm down," Kier said. "This isn't helping anyone, least of all you."
"Actually, Kier, I feel a zillion times better already." Orion skittered out of Kier's reach and strode out the door into the studio.
Kier ignored him and bent to inspect the board and computer screen. It didn't look like Orion had actually done any damage, thankfully. Evidently he'd started the digital audio tape rolling, though. Kier reached to turn it off. A crash from the studio distracted him. He looked up through the window, groaned, and ran for the door.
"Orion, goddammit, what the fuck do you think you're doing?" He grabbed Orion's arm and jerked him away from Chad's drum set. He'd detached two of the cymbals and sent them flying across the room, along with Chad's drumsticks and a pair of maracas. "If you're mad at me, take it out on me, not the instruments."
"Oh yeah? Fine, I will."
Kier let go of Orion's arm and braced himself for a rock star temper tantrum. What he got was a surprisingly hard punch to the jaw. He staggered backward with his ears ringing from the force of the blow. When his vision cleared, his eyes locked on Orion's fuck-you expression, and that was it.
Kier rushed at the younger man, grabbed his wrist, and twisted his arm behind his back. Orion's cry of pain only inflamed his anger. He dragged the singer to the other side of the room and shoved him face down across the piano bench, holding both slender wrists behind his back with one hand. He wormed the other hand under Orion's body, unbuckled his black leather belt, and yanked it off. He curled his fingers around the waistband of Orion's jeans and tugged them down. No underwear. The sight of Orion's bare ass trapped between the see-through shirt and faded jeans made Kier's cock stir and swell.
"You want discipline, boy?" he growled. "Well, you fucking got it."
He lifted his arm and brought the belt down hard on the smooth flesh, keeping a firm grip on Orion's wrists with his other hand. Orion yelped and squirmed. The belt whistled through the air and connected again. Then again, and again. The solid, fleshy smack of leather on skin felt immensely satisfying.
Kier didn't stop until sweat started to drip into his eyes. He dropped the belt to the floor and wiped his forehead. His hand had started to cramp, and his breath was coming in ragged gasps. Fuck, he thought, I sure am out of shape. Then he looked down and forgot all about everything else.
Angry red welts crisscrossed Orion's buttocks. Some of them oozed blood. Kier let go of the singer's wrists and stepped back, horrified by what he'd done. Orion lay still and silent, with his face turned the other way. Kier knelt beside him and gingerly touched his shoulder.
"Orion? Jesus, I'm so fucking sorry, I didn't ... I didn't mean for that to happen." He stroked Orion's sweaty hair. "Hey, are you okay? Orion?"
"I knew you could do it," Orion said, his voice muffled. "I knew you had it in you."
Kier frowned. "What?"
Orion turned to face Kier. His green eyes were dark and heavy, his lips parted, pale cheeks flushed. If Kier hadn't know better, he would've sworn...
"Oh Christ," Kier groaned, "please tell me that didn't turn you on."
Orion gave him a lazy, lustful grin. "Sorry."
"Jesus." Kier sat back on his heels and ran a shaking hand through his hair. He could barely look Orion in the eye. It seemed so wrong to see his eyes lit with excitement when his pants pooled at his feet and his skin was torn and bruised.
Orion rolled onto his side, propped up on one elbow. Kier's eyes widened when he saw exactly how excited Orion was.
"You want to fuck me, don't you?" Orion said. He ran his long fingers languidly up and down his rigid cock.
Kier's mouth went dry. "Orion..."
"Do it, Kier." He rolled onto his stomach again and slid down until his legs hung off the edge of the bench, offering his delectable ass for Kier's pleasure. He pressed his cheek to the polished wood. "Fuck me."
Kier meant to tell him 'No,' tell him to go home and clean his wounds and get a good night's sleep, and everything would look different in the morning. He surprised himself quite a lot by crawling over to Orion instead and licking one bloody whip mark.
Orion moaned and lifted his hips against Kier's face. "Kier, please..."
His breathless plea made Kier burn all over. He spread Orion's buttocks apart and buried his face between them. Orion let out a sharp cry when Kier's tongue flickered over his opening.
"God, Kier! Do it, fucking do it!" the singer begged.
Kier probed with fingers and tongue until Orion was whimpering and shaking from head to foot, then abruptly pulled away again. He stood up and stared at the boy sprawled across the piano bench with his jeans around his ankles and his bare butt glistening with blood and saliva. A perfect picture of degraded beauty. Kier reached down and smacked his bruised backside hard. Orion hissed in pain, but his whole body begged Kier to do it again.
"Get up," Kier ordered.
Orion pushed to his feet, turned around, and stood staring at Kier and breathing far too fast. His eyes were bright with anticipation. Kier gripped Orion's slim waist and lifted him up to sit on the back of the baby grand. Orion grimaced when his raw skin touched the hard surface. He toed off his sneakers and the crumpled jeans, and spread his legs wide.
"Please, Kier," he said in a hoarse whisper. "Please fuck me. I need your cock in me."
Kier moved up between Orion's open thighs. He leaned forward and kissed the young man's warm, wet lips. "Not yet."
"C'mon, you fucking tease!"
Kier smiled. Now that he'd made up his mind to take what Orion offered him, he was thoroughly enjoying himself and wanted to make it last. "But I like teasing you." He bit Orion's chin. "Now shut up and behave so I can have my way with you, pretty boy."
Orion chuckled. "Yessir, daddy."
"Shit, don't call me that," Kier said, wrinkling his nose.
Orion gave him an evil grin. "Daaaaaaddy," he lilted. "Please touch my cock, daddy. It's soooooo haaaaard!"
Kier laughed in spite of himself. "You're so fucking bad." He brushed his fingertips over Orion's cock. Orion's eyes fluttered closed.
"Yeah, I'm rotten," Orion breathed. "You gonna punish me, daddy?"
"Not if you keep calling me that." Kier rubbed the velvet skin behind Orion's balls with his thumb, smiling at the way the singer's body trembled at the touch.
Orion licked his lips. "Oh, I get it. I do what you say and you spank me like the bad little boy I am, right?"
"Something like that." Kier scooped a sparkling drop of pre-cum from the tip of Orion's dick. Orion sucked it off his finger. "That's what you want, isn't it?"
"You know it, daddy."
"Seriously, don't call me th..."
Orion's tongue in his mouth stopped Kier's words and his brain at the same time. He returned the kiss with a passion equal to Orion's. The feel of the warm, eager body pressed against his was overwhelming. He had only been with a couple of guys since he and Colin broke up, and the last one was almost three months ago, a quick drunken fuck in the men's room at a run-down bar. It had taken the edge off, but couldn't begin to relieve the pressure from months of pent-up need. Then just when he'd resigned himself to getting reacquainted with glory holes, this amazing creature came to him like a wish made flesh and offered him exactly what he'd needed for so long. He couldn't quite believe it was happening.
Kier pushed Orion onto his back and smiled down at him. "You look good like this." He started unbuttoning Orion's shirt. Orion arched his back, his nipples hardening when Kier's fingers brushed over them.
"Like what?" Orion grabbed Kier's T-shirt and pulled him into another kiss.
"Flat on your back and naked with your legs spread." Kier stuck his tongue in Orion's ear. "Hot, hot, hot."
"I'm not naked," Orion pointed out. "My shirt's still on."
"Working on that, smart-ass." Kier flipped the last button open and helped Orion wriggle out of the shirt. "There, now you're naked."
Orion stared up at him with such intense hunger that it was a little scary. "I want you so fucking bad," he whispered. "Do you want me, Kier? Do you really?"
Kier laid a hand on his cheek. "Let me show you just how much I want you."
He did his best to kiss every inch of smooth, downy skin between Orion's mouth and groin. Around the belly button he lost patience and bent to lick the length of Orion's shaft. The smell of cock and sweaty man made his head spin. He shoved Orion's thighs up and apart and dove in, greedily sucking his balls and dick and fingering his tight little hole. Orion moaned and writhed.
"Jesus, Kier," he gasped. "Gonna come, oh fuck!"
Kier rolled his eyes up to meet Orion's. He wrapped his lips around the head of Orion's cock and sucked hard, pumping his shaft with one hand and his ass with the other. Orion arched his back and screamed as he flooded Kier's mouth with hot semen.
Kier only spilled a little when he straightened up and Orion's dick slipped out of his mouth. He undid his pants with the hand that wasn't still half-buried in Orion's ass and pulled his cock out. He was achingly hard. Orion turned over without a word, slithering down to stand on the floor with his chest on the piano.
"You gonna fuck me now, or what?" Orion gazed over his shoulder with heavy-lidded eyes.
Kier couldn't have said anything at that point even if his mouth hadn't been full. He bent and let cum and saliva run from his lips in a slippery stream to coat Orion's opening. Then he stood and slammed into Orion in one quick movement.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, yeah!" Orion cried as Kier pounded into him. "Fuck me, daddy, fuck my ass good!"
Kier didn't even care what Orion called him anymore. He was utterly lost in the sheer bliss of having his cock immersed at last in Orion's snug heat. He held the taut cheeks apart and watched himself fucking that sweet ass, stretching it tight. Orion's semen glistened on his torn skin and oozed around Kier's cock with every stroke.
"Jesus, Orion," Kier said, his voice tight with rising excitement. "Your ass is so wide open for me."
Orion pushed up on his hands and flung his head back, spraying Kier with sweat. "Yeah, daddy. My ass is yours." He pressed back against Kier, forcing his cock even deeper. "Fuck, yeah, yeah! I'm hard again, make me come!"
"I'm fucking make you come, you little whore," Kier growled. He smacked Orion's butt hard with his open palm.
Orion shuddered. "Oh yeah, do it again. Spank me, dad."
Kier happily obliged, and wondered how he'd ever thought he couldn't do this. Orion sobbed and begged for him to never stop. And Kier didn't, not until his palm stung and his cock felt ready to burst.
"God, God, I'm coming!" Kier barely had the words out before his cum filled Orion's ass. He pulled out and fell to his knees.
"Kier, fuck, I'm almost there, please..." Orion whispered. His fist was wrapped around his cock, pumping hard.
Kier raised his face and took a deep breath. He could smell his own spunk mixed with the sharp scent Orion's arousal. He ran his tongue up the cleft between Orion's buttocks, licking up the semen that wasn't already running down the singer's thighs. His tongue slipped easily through the still-loose ring of muscle, and that apparently was all it took. Orion's body went rigid and he came in a rush of sticky white all over the side of the piano.
Orion's knees buckled and he collapsed into Kier's waiting arms. Kier sat back on the floor, holding Orion against his chest. He could feel the rapid gallop of Orion's heart against his palm.
"Holy shit," Orion said after a few minutes of recovery. "That. Was. Incredible." He leaned his sweat soaked head against Kier's shoulder. "My ass is gonna be so sore tomorrow."
Kier laughed. "You asked for it."
"I know."
"Happy?"
"Yeah." Orion wriggled around until he was facing Kier, long legs stretched out on either side of Kier's hips. "You know, I'm no good at minding."
"No shit." Kier pulled Orion closer and kissed his nose.
Orion nodded. "Yeah. I bet I'll need a good spanking every day to keep me in line."
Kier grinned at him. "I tell you what. You behave yourself this coming week, show up on time every day, lay off the drugs at least, and I'll give it to you just how you want it. Slack off, and I won't lay a fucking finger on you."
Orion touched the tip of his tongue to his upper lip. His green eyes glinted. "Mmm, daddy," he purred, "you're sooooo mean." He bit his lip.
"For fuck's sake," Kier groaned, "why do you keep calling me that?"
"To piss you off." Orion leaned forward and brushed his mouth against Kier's. "You're so fucking hot when you're mad."
"Oh really?"
"Yep."
"Okay, fine. But you're not gonna make me mad enough to whip you again."
Orion gave him a grin that would've gotten him locked in a soft room if he'd given it to anyone else. "Wanna bet?"
"Orion..." Kier tried, with limited success, to set his face in a stern frown.
"Daddy, daddy, daddy!" Orion cackled madly and ground his crotch into Kier's.
"You're asking for it, kiddo."
"Hell, yeah, I am. Give it to me, daddy."
Kier burst out laughing, and gave Orion what he wanted. Again.
\*\*\*\*\*
Kier woke with a start in the small hours Sunday morning. His arm was asleep and he had a crick in his neck from sharing a small sofa with another fairly tall man. He smiled and pulled Orion's naked body closer, thinking of the things they'd done together not so long ago. He could still hear Orion's cries in his head, his harsh panting breaths as they fucked, the slap of flesh against flesh.
For a while he lay there, stroking Orion's bare hip and trying to will himself back to sleep. When it became clear that it wasn't going to happen, he untangled himself and stood up. Orion mumbled something in his sleep, turned over, and curled into a little ball with his face buried in the back of the sofa. His butt was red and raw, covered with bruises and lash marks where the belt had cut him. Kier shook his head---he still had trouble believing he'd done that, and that it turned Orion on the way it did.
Kier covered Orion with a blanket and kissed his cheek. "Sweet dreams, beautiful." Orion didn't answer, but just drooled on the cushions. Kier smiled.
He stretched, popping joints, then shuffled over to the board and plopped down in the chair. He didn't bother to put his clothes back on---the studio was closed on Sunday, and no one would be here except Orion and himself. He put the headphones on and reached to start the
A light on the board shone dull red. The light that meant the mike in the studio was hot. And the DAT he'd forgotten to turn off when Orion was trashing the studio had gone all the way to the end. The color drained from Kier's face as it dawned on him what must have happened. He rewound to where he thought it had been before, then started it playing, half afraid to hear.
Orion coming sounded almost as sexy on tape as it did in real life. Kier smiled to himself as he started mixing.
\*\*\*\*\*
"Hellooooo! Anybody here?"
Chad's voice rang through the studio, jolting Kier awake. He yawned and craned his neck to look at the clock.
"Fucking hell," he grumbled under his breath.
Orion stirred in his arms. "Hmmm? Did I just hear Queenie?"
"Yep," Kier answered. He shimmied out from behind Orion and grabbed his jeans. "It's already
"Kier!" Chad's voice floated from the studio again. Kier looked up through the window. Chad smiled and waved at him. He waved back. Behind Chad, Jess and Tom wandered in, deep in conversation.
"Coming!" Kier called. He yanked the blanket away from Orion. "Up. Time to work."
Orion growled and curled up tighter. Kier nudged him with one knee. "C'mon, Orion. Unless you want Chad to walk in here and draw his own, probably correct, conclusions, you better get your ass up and get dressed."
"Fuck him." Orion grabbed at Kier's leg, nearly tripping him. "Come back here with me."
"Nope. It's Monday, Chad and Jess and Tom are all here, it's time to work. Remember what I told you?" Kier started pulling his clothes on.
Orion glared at him. "That's cold, man. Fucking cold. You," he said, poking Kier in the thigh for emphasis, "are a cold, cruel man."
"And don't you forget it." Kier smacked Orion's black and blue butt, eliciting a yelp from the younger man. "Now get dressed. I'm not gonna tell you again."
Orion laughed. "Yessir, daddy."
"Stop that."
"If I'm good, will you spank me again?"
"Maybe."
"And will you put your big, hard cock up my ass? Please, daddy?" Orion's eyes were blandly innocent, but his grin could've made Satan himself sob for his mother.
Kier laughed. "Band meeting in the studio in five. Be there." He bent down and kissed Orion's soft mouth. "Brat."
Orion slipped both arms around Kier's neck. "We just spent a whole day doing not much more than fucking, and I already want to do it again. Why can't I get enough of you?"
"Don't know. But I feel the same way. I could fuck you until my dick falls off and still not want to stop."
They kissed again. Raucous laughter from the studio brought them both back to earth.
"C'mon," Kier said. "We'll go over the schedule for the day, then I wanna play you guys the mix I did for
Orion raised his eyebrows. "When did you do that?"
"Yesterday morning, while you were asleep." He kissed Orion again and pulled away, ignoring Orion's compelling pout. "No more stalling now. Little boys who don't do what they're told don't get their asses fucked."
Orion laughed, stretched, and reached for his clothes. Kier shrugged his shirt on and slipped through the door into the studio, pulling it closed behind him.
"Whoa, dude," Tom said. "What'd you do, sleep here or something?"
"Stayed here, yeah," Kier said. He was painfully aware of how he looked: hair in knots, unshaven, still wearing the same clothes he'd had on two days ago. He put on his poker face. "Didn't sleep much, though. Been working."
Jess raised her eyebrows, but didn't say anything. Chad crossed his arms and glared.
"Well, wonder who we're missing?" he said. "One guess."
"Chad..." Kier began.
"He's not here, Kier. Again."
"Who's not here?"
Chad whirled around at the sound of Orion's voice. His jaw fell open when he saw the singer lounging against the booth door, barefoot and shirtless, a smug grin on his face.
"Orion!" Chad exclaimed after a few seconds of silent gaping. "You ... you're here already?"
"Well, yeah. It's
"But, but ... but you're ... I mean ... What?" Chad lapsed into a desperate silence. Kier stifled a laugh.
"God, Chad, what's your problem? Jesus." Orion shook his head sadly.
"We had a little talk the other day," Kier explained as Chad stood there sputtering. "I don't think we'll have that little lateness problem anymore. Isn't that right, Orion?"
"That's right, d ... Kier." Orion widened his eyes and smiled, looking as innocent as it is possible to look while half naked, bruised, and obviously well fucked.
"All right, kids," Kier said. "Let's get started. We need to do some final tracks for Drown Me today. I figured we could start with guitar, since that one's gonna be the bitch here, then go from there. That work for you guys?"
"That's cool," Tom said. Everyone else nodded.
"Great," Kier said. "But first, I want you guys to hear something. I got
"Dude, that was fast!" Tom said.
Kier smiled. "It was easy. It practically mixed itself." He headed toward the booth, motioning the others to follow him. "I added some extra stuff that I think works really well."
"Extra stuff?" Chad said as he sat down on the sofa. "What kind of extra stuff?"
"Just some found sounds." Kier unplugged the headphones and turned on the booth speakers. "Okay, here we go."
Kier watched Orion's face as the music poured out. The singer's eyes widened when he heard his own moans, heavily altered but still recognizable, woven through the sinuous rhythm of the music. He shot a sharp glance at Kier. Kier winked at him.
"That's, um, interesting," Chad said. He gave Orion a narrow look. Orion gazed blankly back.
"What'd you do, download audio off a porno website or something?" Tom asked.
"Something like that," Kier answered.
"Which one?" Chad shot another suspicious look at Orion, who was barely holding back an attack of the giggles.
"Why, you need something new to jerk off to?" Jess said, laughing. Chad stuck his tongue out at her.
An evil thought struck Kier. "Actually," he said, "I got that from something called Orion's Belt."
Chad nodded thoughtfully. "Hm. Didn't know there was a series."
"Oh, yeah," Kier said as Orion choked back laughter. "There's already several episodes in the Fucking Orion series, and there's probably gonna be more."
"It sounds great with the song," Orion said, his face the picture of sincerity. "Think you could get some more of that?" His eyes gleamed, daring.
Kier grinned. "You can count on it."
Make A Wish
"Make A Wish" first appeared in the erotic ezine Ruthie's Club in June 2005.
\*\*\*\*\*
A foot of snow fell between
"This'll give us a couple more days," Jake said.
"Good."
"I wish we had longer."
"Me too."
We were supposed to be skiing. Jake's a top-notch skier. Me, I trip over my own feet even without skis. But that didn't matter. This weekend wasn't about skiing anyway; that's just what we told people, to keep the questions at bay. The 'boys' weekends away' we took now and then were all about us.
Jake set his coffee down on the table, took mine and set it beside his. I went to him and we kissed, those soft slow kisses that always make me burn.
"Want to make love to you, Alan," he said.
"I want you to."
"On the rug in front of the fire."
"Just like a cheap romance novel."
"Only this isn't a cheap thing."
"I know."
He took my hands and pulled me toward the massive stone fireplace. His dark amber eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. He's always smiling; I love that about him.
We undressed each other and stretched out on the thick rug in front of the fireplace. Its deep hunter green made Jake's pale skin glow. I combed my fingers through his white-blond curls.
"Love you, Jake."
"Love you too. Always."
We made love in the flickering orange light while the rising wind howled outside. The heat of the fire pressed like a weight, slicking our skins with sweat. We left winter behind and moved in a summer rhythm, the rhythm of porch swings on August afternoons. He filled me like the ocean, like the forest, like every joy I'd ever known. When he came inside me, Independence Day burst in my heart, fireworks and laughter and warm July breezes. Then his velvet mouth on my cock brought me to sweet blazing bliss, and I cried.
We lay silent for a long time afterward. I rested my head on his chest and he stroked my hair. His heartbeat comforted me. While we lay in each other's arms in the warm golden afterglow, I could forget that in a few days he'd be back in Santa Fe and I'd be back in Atlanta and we'd only share phone calls and web chats until the next time we met. Moments like this helped us both survive the long months apart.
"I'll be in Asheville in March," he said.
Only a three hour drive north of my home. "For how long?"
"Five days. There's a conference. I'd be busy during the day, but we'd have the nights."
"I'll come." I didn't tell him what another mysterious out of town trip could cost me. The frowns, the dirty looks, the how-could-you-be-so-selfish speeches. They wore on me like the millennia wear down the mountains. But I would gladly endure it all for those nights in his arms. He is my sun, and I would cross continents and slay dragons to spend a single moment in his light.
"Good." He lifted my chin and kissed me. He tasted like Irish coffee and semen. "How's Karen?"
"Okay. She had pneumonia again last month, but they got it cleared up. What about Brandon?"
He smiled, that special smile he reserves for his child. "He's good. He's in sixth grade now, you know. I think he's gonna make it just fine."
I held his face in my hands and watched him shine for his little boy. "I'm glad, Jake. I really am."
We'd met three years before, in the cafeteria at an Atlanta rehab hospital. His son, my wife, both paralyzed, lives turned inside out in an instant. We'd bonded over wheelchairs and catheters and long days of watching the people we loved suffer.
We didn't realize we'd fallen in love until the night before they left for Santa Fe, where his wife's family lived. I took him out for a drink to say good-bye, and something changed. We just knew. We went to my apartment and made love for the first time.
We made our plans, and the next three years became a cycle of agonizing months apart and a few pure perfect days together whenever we could manage it. Neither of us had ever felt that way for another man before. But what we have goes far beyond sex; it's a soul connection, an unbreakable bond not between two men, but between two human beings. We can't leave the people who depend on us, but neither can we live without each other. So we lie, and steal our time together when we can.
"Alan?"
"Hm?"
"Are we wrong to do this? Are we selfish?"
"I don't know. But I can't do anything else. I need you, Jake."
He caressed my cheek, and his smile was sad. "We need each other."
His gentle hands sang over my skin, his lips started a simmering fire in me. We made love again, and his tears mingled with mine.
Afterward we dressed and went outside. The snow had stopped falling, and the world sparkled silver in the moonlight.
"Look, Alan," he said. "A shooting star." He pointed at the bright streak blazing its brief life across the diamond-sprinkled sky.
I leaned my head on his shoulder and he put his arm around me.
"Make a wish," I said. "Make a wish."
"Licked" first appeared in the erotic ezine Ruthie's Club in May 2005. WARNING! TWINCEST!
\*\*\*\*\*
Oh.
Oh yeah.
So fucking good.
Does me in, every time. That tongue of his. Slick and slithery and pure fucking magic.
On my back, knees up and spread wide, moaning like a goddamn whore and pulling my cock while Jared's tongue works my ass. Fucking magic, man.
First time he did this to me, I was awkward as a virgin on prom night. Shot in about five seconds. He laughed.
Matter of fact, it was prom night. We were double dating. The Hanrahan twins, Shannon and Siobhan; blond, blue-eyed, fucking huge tits. Don't remember how we ended up doing each other instead of them. One minute we each had an armful of hot female, next minute we were naked on my bed and he was licking my asshole. Life sure is weird.
"Shit, Jared, shit!" I yell it out, shooting cum all over my stomach. He sits up, grinning, slicks my spunk over my hole and shoves in.
"Love fucking you, Jason," he growls. His fingers bruise my thighs. I fucking love it.
"Boys, are you okay? I thought I heard ... oh..."
Grandma. Fuck. Mom and Dad are out of town. I forgot Grandma was here. Jared's eyes go huge, but it's too late. His head snaps back as he shoots inside me. Over his shoulder, Grandma turns grey and drops to the floor.
We don't tell the ER doc what made Grandma pass out. Hopefully she won't either. Maybe she won't remember.
"Okay," doc says. "I got your phone number. You called your parents?"
We nod together.
Doc smiles. "You two look just alike. Identical?"
We nod again, in sync as usual. Jared grins. "I'm older. Twenty minutes."
Sometimes, I want to slug him. But when I feel that tongue...
Man.
I love my brother.
Happiness Is A Warm Boy
"Happiness Is A Warm Boy" first appeared in the oringinal slash ezine Forbidden Fruit in the summer 2005 issue.
\*\*\*\*\*
On a Saturday afternoon in late April, the campus of the University of North Carolina at Asheville was as bright and lively as a Disney cartoon. Green and golden and fragrant, the soft warm air filled with the sounds of birdsong and laughter and the chatter of a swift little stream. Cool green grass below, deep blue sky above.
Cameron found it extremely distracting.
"Okay, Cam, concentrate," he muttered to himself, tearing his eyes away from the scenery and trying to focus on the paper he'd been attempting to grade for the last twenty minutes. Nothing, he thought, kills a good poem like a freshman essay. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Maybe he should've stayed in his office to work instead of coming outside.
"Whoa, look out!"
Cameron looked up, startled, just in time to get hit in the chest by an orange and green skateboard. The pile of papers in his lap scattered as he fell over backwards.
"Shit, I'm sorry!" said a voice next to him. "Lost control when I hit that bump in the sidewalk. You okay, man?"
Cameron pushed up on one elbow and rubbed his chest. An arm slid around his waist, helping him sit up. "I'm fine," he said, somewhat breathlessly.
He turned and found himself staring directly into a pair of large, clear eyes the exact color of the new leaves sighing overhead. The eyes peered at him from under a thatch of pale blond hair that cascaded over half of the boy's face, just brushing the corner of his Cupid's bow mouth. His hair was razored short in the back, baring a long line of golden neck. Cameron stared, forgetting all about his bruised chest.
"You sure you're okay?" The boy frowned. "You don't look so good."
Cameron shook himself. "Yes, I'm fine, really. Just got the breath knocked out of me, that's all."
The young man grinned sheepishly. "Yeah. Sorry, dude. I'm Brian, by the way. Brian Rivers. I'm a sophomore. You?" Brian started to gather the scattered papers.
"Cameron Jordan." Cameron scrambled to his feet and snatched up an essay that the breeze had decided to play with. "I teach freshman Lit."
Brian's eyes widened as he stood up, his hands full of papers. "Whoa, you're Professor Jordan?" He grinned. "I've heard of you."
Cameron groaned inwardly. He'd never made a secret of his sexual orientation, but he did get tired of being That Gay Professor. He really needed to encourage the school to hire more gays.
"Call me Cam, everyone does." Cameron started toward the humanities building that housed his small office, motioning Brian to follow. Brian hoisted his skateboard under his arm and trailed after Cameron.
"Yes, I'm gay," Cameron said before Brian could utter another word. "No, I do not have AIDS. And no, I did not change my name and run away from California to escape the vengeful parents of my teenage lover who died in my arms after being shot by an escaped convict who broke into the hotel room where we were conducting our secret trysts. None of that happened. Ever." He arched an eyebrow at Brian. "Any other questions?"
"Dude, chill!" Brian said, laughing. "I wasn't gonna say that. Everybody knows you're gay, not that it matters. I've heard that other stuff, but I didn't believe it."
Cameron ran a hand through his short dark hair. "Sorry. It gets pretty old hearing all those stupid rumors. I get defensive sometimes." He unlocked the door of the rambling building and pushed it open.
"Yeah, I know what you mean," Brian said.
Cameron glanced sidelong at the boy walking by his side through the deserted hallway. Brian's slender body moved with a fluid grace in his well-worn jeans. His feet were bare and his shirt hung open, revealing a smooth, hairless chest and flat belly. He exuded a languid sensuality that made Cameron's bones ache. He knew he'd never forgive himself if he didn't ask.
"What, are you... uh..." He trailed off as his nerve failed him.
Brian grinned. "I swing both ways. Even worse for rumors. People think it's, like, a rule or something that if you're bi you must be a slut."
"Ah." Cameron unlocked his office door and they went inside. "People do like to cling to their cherished illusions. You can just set the papers down on the desk." He turned and smiled at Brian. "So, Brian, what're you studying?"
"I'm in the Multi-Media Arts program. Animation." Brian set his stack down on a miraculously clear piece of battered wooden desk. He picked up the top one and skimmed it thoughtfully. "'I think that this poem is about praising Satan, because in it Blake says that the church is bad.'" He wrinkled his nose and put the paper down again. "What the fuck?"
"Typical example of someone projecting their own beliefs onto the poet." Cameron shook his head as he put his own pile of essays on top of Brian's. "I had the class write essays on William Blake's poem 'The Garden of Love,' saying what they thought the meaning and theme of the poem are." He flashed a wry grin. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."
Brian regarded Cameron with bright, curious eyes as they left the office and Cameron locked the door. "How's the poem go?"
Cameron glanced at Brian, surprised. "You really want to hear it?"
"Yeah." Brian took Cameron's hand in his. "Will you read it to me sometime?"
Cameron licked his suddenly dry lips. The feel of Brian's long-fingered hand curled around his was causing all sorts of pleasant havoc inside him. "I, um, I don't need to read it. I know it by heart."
Brian stepped closer, so close that Cameron could feel the heat of his body, smell his sun-kissed skin. "Tell me."
Brian's nearness scrambled Cameron's senses and rendered him utterly speechless. He shut his eyes, concentrated, and managed to remember the words.
"I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.
"And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And 'Thou shalt not' writ over the door;
So I turn'd to the Garden of Love,
That so many sweet flowers bore,
"And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tombstones where flowers should be:
And Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys and desires."
Silence. Cameron could hear the soft sound of Brian's breathing in the stillness. He opened his eyes, and the look on Brian's face surprised him. A look that said he understood the binding briars of Blake's poem every bit as well as Cameron did.
"Wow," Brian said finally, his voice soft and reverent. "That's just... just wow."
"I know. It's my favorite poem."
Brian stared into Cameron's eyes. The intensity of his gaze made Cameron's skin sizzle. The silence felt thick and heavy, pregnant with possibilities. Cameron rubbed Brian's knuckles with his thumb and knew he ought to stop, just walk away right now before things got out of hand. He knew he should, but the look in Brian's eyes drew him like gravity, and he couldn't break free.
"Hey, Cam?" Brian said.
"What?"
"It's so cool that you can quote that whole thing from memory." Brian leaned against Cameron, letting one knee slip between his legs. "It's sexy as hell." He shifted his thigh so that it brushed Cameron's crotch. "Quoting poetry, I mean."
Cameron swallowed. "Brian, what..."
"Want you, Cam." Brian's eyes were soft and heavy with desire. "Where can we go?"
Nowhere, Cameron didn't say. You're a student, I'm a teacher, we can't do this, he neglected to add. Unsurprisingly, Brian didn't stop rubbing his thigh against Cameron's rapidly swelling crotch. Since he was evidently incapable of stopping either of them, Cameron laced his fingers through Brian's and tugged him down the empty hall.
"Here," he choked out. "In here, nobody ever comes in here on the weekend." He fumbled the storeroom door open and pulled Brian inside.
Brian pushed him against the wall, slid both hands into his hair, and pressed their bodies together. The skateboard clattered to the floor and rolled under a nearby table. Brian's lips curved into a sinful smile. "Kiss me, Cam," he whispered.
Cameron did. Brian's mouth opened under his, soft and warm and wet, tongue slick and exuberant, sending electric jolts shooting through him. He slipped his hands under Brian's shirt, caressing his back, palms sliding down to explore his firm little butt. Brian moaned and pushed his hips against Cameron's. Hardness on hardness through denim and zippers, and they both gasped, hands everywhere, mouths hungry.
Brian finally got Cameron's shirt open. He bent and worried Cameron's nipples with his teeth. "You taste good," he breathed, swirling his tongue over the sensitive skin.
"Mm." Cameron shoved Brian's shirt off his shoulders. It drifted down to catch on his elbows as he worked Cameron's jeans open. "Shouldn't be doing this." Cameron snagged a handful of Brian's hair, pulled his head back, and bit his neck.
"Don't care." Brian shoved Cameron's jeans and underwear off his hips, then quickly pushed his own down. He wrapped a warm hand around Cameron's cock. "Want you so damn bad."
Cameron managed to stay upright in spite of his suddenly watery knees. "Yeah. Want this."
Brian took both cocks in his hand, squeezing them together. Cameron's head snapped back and hit the wall with an audible crack. He wasn't sure if the stars bursting across his vision were from the blow to the head or what Brian was doing to him. God, Brian's dick sliding against his own, hot and dripping, steel wrapped in silk. So good. He nearly came just from the feel of it.
"Fuck me, Cam," Brian panted, nipping at Cameron's lips.
Cameron pulled him close, kissed him hard and deep. "No lube."
"Uh-huh." Brian shrugged his shirt to the floor and tore frantically at his jeans until he found the pocket he was looking for. He pulled out a small tube of something Cameron didn't recognize.
"What's that?" Cameron asked. He slipped a hand between Brian's legs, cupping his scrotum.
"Oh! Um... shit..." Brian bit his lip. His eyes went unfocused when Cameron tugged gently on his balls. "It's... it's lube... for my skateboard... wheel squeaks. Oh, oh God, Cam, please..."
Cameron didn't need any more encouragement than that. He snatched the little tube from Brian's trembling hand, spun him around, and yanked his jeans and underwear down to his ankles. Brian pulled one foot free and spread his legs, leaning forward and bracing himself against the wall.
Whatever skateboard lube was made of, Cameron thought, it must be the slipperiest stuff in the world. One small drop slicked his fingers enough to slip easily inside Brian's body. The taut muscles relaxed as he probed and twisted, until Brian was open and whimpering, his entire body begging to be fucked.
"Cam, God please, I need... I need..." Brian's voice trailed off into incoherent little pleading noises.
Cameron leaned against Brian's back, rubbing himself against the boy's butt. He kissed Brian's neck, reached around and twisted one pink nipple. Brian moaned.
"I know," Cameron whispered, cheek resting against Brian's hair. "You ready?"
Brian nodded, panting, pushing his bottom against Cameron's crotch. "Please Cam, please. Now, now."
Cameron leaned back, coated himself with lube, pulled Brian's buttocks apart, and slid inside. He pushed steadily against the clutching tightness until his cock was buried to the root in Brian's ass. Brian was fiery hot inside, hot and snug and velvety soft. Cameron closed his eyes and held still, soaking up the sensation. When Brian pressed back against him, he wrapped both arms around the boy's waist and started moving inside him.
"Mm. So damn good," Cameron murmured against Brian's neck. "Love fucking you."
"Uh. Oh, oh God. Oh." Brian reached a hand back, tangling his fingers into Cameron's hair.
Cameron turned Brian's head and kissed him, swallowing the sweet cries he let out when Cameron wrapped a hand around his cock and started stroking. The way Brian's body shook in his arms, the lustful noises he made, inflamed Cameron's excitement to a fever pitch. He kept up a slow rhythm for as long as he could, wanting to make it last. When the pressure inside him grew too great to contain, he grasped Brian's slim hips and pounded into him as hard as he could, piercing him deep.
"Ah, fuck, oh yeah, yes, God yes!" The world turned shimmery at the edges as orgasm ripped through Cameron and he spilled inside Brian's ass. Brian writhed against him, clawing the wall and wailing like a cat. His cock swelled in Cameron's palm, his back arched, and warm slippery semen pulsed over Cameron's hand.
"Jesusfuckingchrist," Brian gasped. "God, that was... oh..." His knees buckled. Cameron caught him, and they both slid to the floor.
Cameron pulled Brian onto his lap, stroking his hair and planting soft little kisses on his flushed cheeks. Brian curled against Cameron's chest and laid his head on his shoulder. His jeans and underwear were still tangled around one ankle. He kicked them off and snuggled closer. Cameron closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of sex and sweat and thoroughly fucked boy.
"Wow," Cameron said when he regained the use of his voice.
"Yeah," Brian agreed. He nuzzled behind Cameron's ear and wriggled on his lap in an extremely distracting way.
"I needed that."
"I know. Me too."
Cameron lifted Brian's chin, kissed his lips. "We could both get in a lot of trouble for this."
"Well, mostly you." Brian slipped an arm around Cameron's neck and kissed him back.
Cameron laughed. "Yeah, mostly me."
"I don't want you to get in trouble." Another kiss, deeper this time.
"That makes two of us." Cameron kissed Brian's smooth throat, felt the pulse speed up under his lips.
"Don't wanna stop."
"Me neither."
"God, Cam..." Brian pulled Cameron's face to his.
The kiss was deep and urgent. Cameron cupped the back of Brian's head in his palm and let himself melt into it. Brian shifted in Cameron's lap, straddling his hips. Cameron was pleasantly surprised to feel Brian already hardening again, and completely stunned to find his own body responding in kind.
Brian pulled back and grinned down at Cameron. "Hope you didn't use all that lube."
\*\*\*\*\*
Half an hour later, Cameron lay flat on his back on the storeroom floor, with Brian curled around him. He felt bruised and exhausted and bonelessly content. He tightened his arms around Brian's sweat-slick body.
"Damn, I'm getting too old for this sort of thing," Cameron said.
Brian laughed. "Oh, yeah. You've got to be pushing twenty-five." He cuddled closer, tugging absently on Cameron's chest hairs.
"Closer to thirty-five, actually, but thank you for making my day. Again."
"Thirty-five?" Brian pushed up on one elbow and widened his eyes. "Wow, you are old."
"Smart mouth kid."
"Fossil. You get the senior citizen's discount at the movies?"
"Oh, sure. You still get in for the child's price?"
"I order off the kids' menus too."
Cameron laughed, rolled Brian underneath him and kissed him. "You really are a little smart-ass, you know that?"
Brian wound both arms around Cameron's neck. "Uh-huh. Whatcha gonna do about it?"
"Mm. I think you need something to keep that big mouth of yours occupied."
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah."
"Such as?"
"I have a few ideas." Cameron traced Brian's swollen lips with his finger. Brian drew the finger into his mouth, sucking softly, tongue rasping across the pad. Cameron smiled.
"Come over to my place tonight," he said, "and I'll show you."
Brian's eyes hazed over. "Where d'you live?" he mumbled around Cameron's probing finger.
"I have a house just off campus." Cameron removed his finger, bent and kissed Brian's parted lips again. "C'mon, let's get dressed and go back to my office. I'll write down the address for you."
"Don't wanna leave here," Brian complained. He stroked Cameron's cheek, green eyes mournful. "Wanna stay with you."
"I know. But it's only a few hours. We can be together all night, in private. We can do whatever we want and not worry about getting caught." Cameron grinned. "Plus I have real lube."
Brian burst out laughing. "Now there's a pick-up line. 'Hey baby, why don't you come home with me, I got real lube!' Who could resist that?"
"Oh yeah, I am definitely gonna have to keep that smart mouth busy." Cameron pushed to his feet and stretched, joints popping, then held a hand down to Brian. "Let's go."
Brian let himself be tugged to his feet, then wrapped his arms around Cameron and pressed close. "Can't wait to have your cock in my mouth." He bit Cameron's chin, then pulled away with a smile and started putting his clothes back on.
\*\*\*\*\*
Sunday morning dawned bright and fiercely sunny. Birds trilled in the trees outside Cameron's window, brash and cheerful, as though they were on a mission to wake the world to sing along with them.
Cameron was already awake. Had been awake far longer than the birds, before the dawn streaked its first light across the sky. He lay on his side, head propped in his hand, watching Brian sleep. Brian's face was soft and so innocent in slumber, sweet lips parted slightly, long lashes making shadows on his cheeks.
Cameron rubbed a thumb over Brian's bottom lip, thinking of all the things they'd done the night before. Picturing Brian on his knees, eyes blazing with lust, jaw wide and lips stretched around Cameron's cock. He'd made the most gorgeous noises when Cameron grabbed his hair in both fists and fucked his mouth. And God, the sight of Brian's face spattered with semen... Beautiful. Just beautiful. Almost as beautiful as Brian on his back with his legs around Cameron's neck and Cameron's cock buried in his ass, back arched and mouth open with orgasm. The sight of Brian's cock spurting pearly white over his belly had been almost enough by itself to make Cameron come.
Brian stirred, mumbled something in his sleep, and rolled over with his back to Cameron. That lovely golden back, wide shoulders tapering to slim hips and a firm butt. Cameron reached out and pulled him close, molding their bare bodies together. They fit perfectly.
A little too perfectly for comfort, actually. If anyone found out, Cameron's job could be on the line. But lying there in the rumpled bed with Brian, in a beam of morning sunlight, he wondered if he even cared. He'd had heartache and happiness in his life, and he'd learned to grab pieces of happiness with both hands whenever he could, because you never knew when the next bit would come along. And right then, happiness was sleeping warm and naked in his arms. Maybe it wasn't happily ever after, but it was close enough.
Cameron laid his cheek against Brian's tangled hair and closed his eyes.
"Swallow" first appeared in the erotic ezine Ruthie's Club in January 2005. WARNING: BLOOD FETISH. This is kind of a weird one...
\*\*\*\*\*
Sun's almost gone. Pretty soon the streetlights'll be on, a sick yellow-orange that hurts my eyes.
Can't see the stars in the city.
Time to go. Black jeans, black jacket, black Keds. Black hair loose around my shoulders. Black shades, black nail polish. All for him.
He likes black.
Out the door, down five flights to the street. Nearly tripped over some goddamn drunk on the stairs. Light's been out for a fucking week.
Cold out. I can see my breath. My bare chest constricts, but I don't close my jacket. He likes my pale skin against the black. Thinking of the way he looks at me makes my cock hard.
Couple of blocks, through the secret door. He's waiting for me.
He opens his arms. I go to him. His kiss is hot. The look in his white-blue eyes is hotter. I know what he needs. We both need it. I strip, lie down on the floor, spread my legs. I'm so fucking hard.
It hurts when he cuts me, but not bad. He has to cut deep to make me bleed, because of the scars. He sucks the blood from my cock. I come in his mouth in less than a minute. He takes more blood, a lot more, then sits up and jerks off on my face.
He cuts his wrist, holds it to my lips. His blood's thick and salty. Used to make me sick, but it doesn't now.
Think he took too much from me. Feel weak, rubbery. Hard to swallow. Got to; need the blood. I need it. I fucking need it.
Running down my chin. He's cut me again. Sucking again.
Hurts.
Blood's running out my mouth. Can't swallow it.
Can't swallow.
Can't.
Swallow.
Swallow.
"Pure Morning After" first appeared in the erotic ezine Ruthie's Club in February 2005. This is my one and only published male/female story!
\*\*\*\*\*
"Oh, wow." I flopped back onto the grass and grinned at the night sky. "That was amazing."
Natalie let out a deep sigh. "God, yeah. The best."
"I don't know if I just came or got religion."
"Or both."
I rolled up on my side and propped up on one elbow to look at her. Her curly red hair clung to her face in sweaty clumps, and her dark eyes shone.
"You look like you just got fucked," I said.
"I did!"
"Me too!"
We both dissolved into giggles. The first day of the Coachella Music Festival had just ended with a mind-blowing set by Radiohead. Natalie and I were still on a major Radiohead-induced high, acting all girly and giggly like we usually did when we got together for a live show. Natalie always said that when Thom Yorke sang, it felt like he was fucking you with his voice. I agreed with her. Lots of the people streaming past us agreed too, when she announced it rather loudly to whoever happened to be listening.
"Yo, Kittay!"
I sat up and looked toward the voice. "Hey, David."
He dropped down to the grass beside me and grinned behind the curtain of brown hair that always hung in his face. "Hey, Kitty-Cat. Where were you guys?"
"Right in front." I held my hand up and Natalie high-fived me.
David rolled his eyes. "Please tell me you didn't flash them this time."
"We didn't do it last time," Natalie protested. "That was some other girls."
"Yeah, Nat. Whatever you say."
"So where's everyone else?" I asked before Natalie could get all indignant. "Are they already at the van?"
Ten of us had piled into a rented van that morning and made the half-hour drive from our hotel in Palm Springs to the festival grounds. I hadn't seen most of them since we got there. Natalie and I had staked out our spot right on the main stage barricade first thing. Most everyone else had gone around to the rest of the festival, meaning we were the only ones with a front row view when Radiohead played. Pretty sweet.
"Cherie, Joe, and Michelle were headed that way," David said. "I didn't see anyone else yet. You guys coming now?"
"We already did," Natalie said, perfectly straight-faced. David groaned and shook his head.
I laughed. "Yeah, we're ready to leave I guess."
Natalie got to her feet and brushed the bits of grass off her shorts. David and I stood too, and we headed across the huge field toward the exit.
It had been pushing 105 degrees all day, but at eleven-thirty at night, the air had a distinct chill. The desert can get pretty cold at night. I unbraided my hair and let it fall loose against my bare arms and back. At least it kept me a little warmer.
"Hey, Kitty, you okay?" David asked.
"I'm fine, just kind of cold now."
"Looks like you got a little sunburned." He touched a finger to my reddened shoulder.
"Yeah. But not bad; I used lots of sunblock." I reached out to Natalie and patted her backpack. "It was totally worth it too."
"Lucky. I was way back."
I grinned at him. "You should've stayed with us."
"Naw, I wanted to go see Beck play. 'Sides, I'm always afraid you guys are gonna get arrested or something and I'll get dragged into it."
"David!" Natalie turned around and glared at him. "We've never been... oh wait... um..."
"Yeah, that's what I'm saying." David gave her an evil smile and she stuck her tongue out at him. "Hey, you guys coming to see Pure Morning with me tomorrow?" he asked.
I shrugged. "I guess. Never heard of them, are they any good?"
"Hell yeah, they're fucking amazing!"
"Pure Morning, isn't that a Placebo song?" Natalie asked.
"Yeah," David said. "They're big Placebo fans. So you guys gonna come to the show or what?"
"Okay, sure," I said.
"Don't do anything embarrassing though, huh?"
Natalie and I looked at each other, then at David.
"Why would we?" Nat said. "It's not like they're Radiohead or anything."
"Yeah," David said, "but their singer's wicked hot."
"Guy or girl?" I asked. David's bisexual, so you never know.
"Guy," he said. "You two are gonna die when you see him, so swear you won't flash him or throw panties at him or offer to blow him backstage, okay? Please?"
"Okay." Natalie patted David's cheek. "We'll leave that to you." David blushed like crazy and Natalie laughed.
We were almost at the exit by then. It was packed pretty tight trying to get out into the parking lot. I tried to keep Natalie and David in sight, but the crowd swept us apart. No big deal, I thought, we can meet up outside the gate. But when I got there, they were nowhere to be seen.
I wandered around the parking lot for the next hour or so, trying to find anyone at all from my group. The parking area consisted of several acres of flat fields, so it was like looking for... well, for a plain blue rental van in a huge field packed full of rental vans. I went to where I thought we'd parked. No van, none of my friends around. I started going systematically up and down the rows of cars. Nothing. I walked along the entire line of vehicles crawling toward the parking lot gates with their stereos blasting. I still didn't see our van.
I headed back to the festival field entrance, thinking maybe Natalie or David might've gone up there to look for me. Once again, I didn't see anyone I knew. Panic fluttered in my belly. I sat down against the fence that encircled the field, right under one of the big lights so I'd be visible if anyone came looking. My legs shook and my back ached from a whole day of standing up.
"Hey."
I about jumped out of my skin at the sound of a man's voice right behind me. I scrambled away and stared at the fence. "Who's there?"
The voice laughed. "Sorry I scared you." A board in the fence swung up and a figure slipped through the gap.
I stared like an idiot. I couldn't help it. This guy was absolutely drop dead gorgeous. I'm talking cream-your-panties hottie here. Black hair curled in little wisps around his neck and fine-featured face. His milky skin glowed in the light, his mouth begged to be kissed. Lean muscles showed under his snug T-shirt and molded-on jeans. His eyes, though; that's what kept me rooted to the spot. Huge, clear, aquamarine eyes tinged with a hint of green and sparkling with life.
"Fuck me hard," I muttered under my breath.
He raised his eyebrows. "What?"
"Nothing, sorry." I stood up and brushed the dirt off my shorts and thighs, then held out a hand to him. "I'm Kitty. Hi."
He took my hand and we shook. "Caleb. Hi."
"That's an unusual name."
"So's Kitty."
"It's really Katherine. My friends call me Kitty for short."
He was still holding my hand. He ran his thumb over my knuckles and gave me a purely filthy smile. "Can I be your friend?" His gaze slid down my body. Suddenly I was acutely aware of my red low-rider short-shorts and tiny bikini top.
"Yeah, okay." I grinned back at him.
He let go of my hand and sat down with his back against the fence. "C'mon, sit down. Talk to me for a while."
I looked around. No sign of my friends anywhere. I sat next to Caleb with a deep sigh.
"Lose your group?" he asked.
"Yeah, how'd you know?"
"Saw you earlier, walking all over the parking lot. You looked lost."
"Yeah, I guess I am." To my horror, tears started to prick my eyelids. I blinked them away, not wanting Caleb to see.
A warm hand on my cheek told me I hadn't blinked fast enough. Caleb turned my face toward him with gentle but irresistible pressure.
"Hey, it'll be all right," he said. "You got a cell phone?"
"It died hours ago. My friend's got it in her backpack." Tears trickled down my face. I swiped angrily at them. "God, this is so fucking stupid! How do you lose someone in a parking lot?"
"It's not a regular parking lot. This thing's, like, a square mile or something."
"But they were right there, and then they were gone! I can't believe I lost them like that."
Caleb didn't say anything. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me against him, and that was it. I cried on his shoulder while he stroked my hair and murmured soothingly.
It took me a few minutes to get myself under control. Caleb just sat and held me. After I calmed down, I stayed pressed against him for a minute, enjoying his warmth and the feel of his arm around me.
"Better?" he asked.
"Yeah." I lifted my head and smiled at him. "Thanks."
"You want to borrow my cell? I don't have it on me, but it's not far. Just back at my tent."
"You're camping?"
"Yeah."
"It looked to me like the campsites were a pretty good walk from here."
He grinned, and my heart raced. He had a smile that promised sin and decadence, and damn if it didn't turn me on. "I snagged a premium spot," he said. "All we have to do is follow the fence, it's no more than a quarter mile at most."
I tried to focus, but the way his lips curved made it awfully hard to think. "Yeah, okay. I... I need to call my friend, uh..." Caleb's wicked grin widened when I blanked out on Natalie's name. "Um, Natalie. Yeah. I need to call Natalie."
He rose to his feet and held a hand down to me. I took it. He pulled me up hard enough that I overbalanced and fell right into his arms. The gleam in his eyes made me think maybe he'd done it on purpose. Not that I was complaining. The feel of his body pressed against mine made my Hello Kitty thong all sticky. I slipped an arm around his back and trailed my fingers boldly over the curve of his butt. His eyes hazed over.
He leaned down - not far, since he wasn't that much taller than me - and brushed his lips against my temple. "Come on," he said. "Let's go call your friend."
He pulled away from me, but kept hold of my hand. I laced my fingers through his.
"So, did you see Radiohead?" I asked, in an attempt to keep myself from throwing him to the ground and having him right there in the parking lot.
"Oh yeah, they're the main reason we decided to do this. They're fucking gods to me. Well, to all of us, but mostly me."
"Who's 'us' exactly? You here with somebody?"
He hesitated just long enough to make me wonder. "Yeah, I flew out here with some friends of mine. They're staying in a hotel in Palm Springs. Bunch of pussies."
"Hey, my friends and me are staying in Palm Springs too. You gonna call me a pussy?"
He raised his eyebrows at me, and I actually blushed. I never blush. Never. I've stripped in public, I've jumped onstage and groped more than one hot-ass guitarist, I've said things to people that shocked them right to their toes, and I've never batted an eyelash doing any of it. Caleb's the only person who's ever made me blush with nothing but a look. What a look it was, though. Like he could see right through my skull and into my most depraved thoughts.
"No," he said finally. "I'm not." He regarded me in a slow, peeling-off-the-clothes sort of way, and I almost forgot how to breathe.
"Uh. So." I swallowed past my dry throat and tried hard to act cooler than I felt. "So where you from?"
The amusement in his eyes said he wasn't fooled for a second. But he played along like a good boy. I had a feeling he didn't pretend to be a good boy very often, so I appreciated the effort.
"All over," he said. "Born in Washington D.C., moved to France when I was ten, to Buenos Aires when I was fourteen, and London after I graduated high school. Lived there for seven years. Now I'm back in the States. Me and my friends live in New York."
"Damn, that's a lot of moving. I've lived in Georgia my whole life."
"My dad was with the state department before he retired. He says we're lucky we didn't have to move any more than we did."
"So you're how old?" I scrunched my eyes shut like I always did when I tried to do math in my head. "Naw, no way. You must've graduated early."
He grinned. "I'm twenty-nine. The big three-oh's coming up next month."
I gaped at him. I was only twenty-four, and I would've bet a major organ that he was younger than me. He held up a warning finger when I started to say something about it.
"Don't," he said. "I know. We went to a club the other night and the guy at the door almost didn't let me in. Kept saying my I.D. had to be fake." He rolled his eyes. "Prick."
I giggled. "So how'd you get in?"
"Oh, there were some people there who..." He stopped suddenly, glanced over at me, and started again. "I mean, my friends were there, they vouched for me. At least they all look more or less their age."
"You'll be glad to look disturbingly young when you're sixty."
"That's what my mom says."
"Uh-oh. Here I was always afraid I'd turn into my mom, now I'm turning into yours instead."
He gave me that wonderfully evil grin again. "Can I call you Mommy?"
"Ew, no! Perv."
We both laughed. Our eyes locked and I swear my heart stopped for a second. I'd never known anyone else who radiated pure sex the way Caleb did. I could smell it on him. He didn't say anything, but I knew he felt how much I wanted him. He squeezed my hand and smiled.
The wooden fence turned a sharp corner just ahead. We followed it for another few yards before the boards gave way to chain link. A clump of scraggly trees huddled against the rusted metal.
"Here we are," Caleb said. "Tent sweet tent."
I squinted into the darkness. "I don't see it."
"There." He pointed toward the trees.
"This is not a designated camping spot."
"I know. That's why I set up under the trees."
"Clever."
"Yeah."
I followed him under the branches. The leaves rustled like paper in the breeze and broke the dim moonlight into fitful shards. Even though I knew it was there, I could barely make out the small nylon tent. Caleb unzipped the flap, ducked inside, and emerged a few seconds later with a cell phone in his hand. He flipped it open and handed it to me.
"Here. Talk as long as you want, I've got unlimited minutes."
"Okay. Thanks, Caleb." I smiled at him.
"You're welcome." He moved closer, so close I could feel the heat of his skin. "You can stay here with me tonight. If you want."
I looked up into his eyes. They were shadowed, but I could see well enough to know why he'd asked me to stay. It wasn't a hard decision to make.
"Yeah, I want," I said. The lustful grin on his face nearly made me come right then. I turned around to dial the phone, since looking at him made my brain not work right.
Natalie picked up on the first ring. "Hello?"
"Nat? Hey, it's Kitty."
"Kitty!" she shrieked. I held the phone away from my ear. "Where the fuck are you?"
"At the campground. Listen..."
"What the hell are you doing there?"
"Borrowing a cell phone. Look, Nat..."
"Well, we're ready to leave! It'll probably be dawn before we get back as it is! Have you seen the crowd trying to get out of this place?"
"Yeah, I saw it, Nat, can you just..."
"Get your ass over here then! And I'm glad you called, I was so scared something really bad happened to you!"
"Nat!" I shouted. "Will you listen to me?"
Silence. I could picture her pouting. "What?" she said finally.
I could hear Caleb behind me, trying not to laugh. I waved a hand at him to shut up. He chuckled out loud and came over to stand right behind me. I could feel his heat against my back. Made it damn hard to concentrate on the conversation.
"I'm, uh, I'm staying over here. At the campground. So you guys can go on."
Caleb snaked both arms around my waist. His hand traced tiny circles on my stomach and my knees turned to jelly.
"Oh," Natalie said. "Is he hot?"
A hand brushed my hair aside. Warm, soft lips touched my neck. My vision went blurry. "Oh, fuck yeah," I sighed.
Natalie giggled. "Well, what the hell are you still talking to me for? Hang up and go get him."
"Uh." I snapped the phone closed and handed it back to Caleb, who tossed it unceremoniously over his shoulder.
"Kitty," he whispered against my neck. "I want you."
"I know." I felt the strings of my bikini top loosen. It slipped to the ground. "I want you too." His hands slid up to cup my bare breasts and I let out a little gasp. "Jesus, Caleb."
I turned in his arms, threaded my fingers through his hair and kissed him hard. He crushed me against him. The feel of his lips against mine, his tongue in my mouth, made me burn all over. He grabbed my ass in both hands and rolled his hips against me, letting me feel his erection.
"God, gimme this, right now!" I reached a hand between his legs and stroked him through his jeans. My mouth watered.
"I want your cock in my mouth," I whispered. He stared at me, speechless. I grinned at him, dropped to my knees, and yanked his jeans open.
"Fuck, fuck," he gasped when I shoved the pants down over his hips and wrapped my hand around his thick shaft. "Damn, Kitty."
I watched his face while I ran my tongue around the head of his cock, licking him like a lollipop. His eyes rolled up and he buried both hands in my hair. "God yeah, suck my cock."
I opened my mouth and took him in. He tasted so damn good. I love sucking cock, and I'm good at it. I teased him without mercy, bringing him right to the brink and then backing off again before he could come. That always brings out the animal in a man. I like to be fucked hard, and nothing makes a man fuck you harder that frustrating the hell out of him for as long as you can first.
Caleb obviously had some previous experience with this trick, because he lasted longer than any other man I'd ever been with. My jaw ached by the time I felt his readiness. I let him slip out of my mouth and stared up into his eyes.
"Fuck me," I said.
He didn't need to be told twice. He yanked me to my feet, shoved my shorts down, and pushed me face first into a tree. I was so wet that my juices were running down the insides of my thighs. His hands spread me open and he entered me hard and fast. I braced myself against the scratchy bark while he slammed into me over and over again. His dick filled me up and pounded me almost to the point of pain. It felt so fucking good, it made me ache all over. I was shaking and whimpering by the time he came, pulling out and shooting his cum all over my back.
I was all set to ask him to pretty please eat my pussy, because I was dying to come. Turned out I didn't have to ask. He picked me right up off the ground, laid me down on a patch of thin grass, and pulled my shorts off. I opened my legs for him and he dove right in.
I'd been with a lot of men before Caleb. A lot. A few women too. But damned if he wasn't the best I'd ever had. I don't know what it was he did to me, but if I could bottle it, I could retire tomorrow. I came in no time flat, arching my back and screaming so loud it's a wonder I didn't attract a crowd.
"Shit, Caleb," I said when I could talk again. "You've got the holy tongue, man. God."
He crawled up over my limp body, leaned down, and kissed me. He tasted like sex. "The holy tongue?"
"Yeah." I grinned at him and licked his bottom lip. "'Cause it sent me to heaven."
He laughed. I pulled him to me to kiss him again. His kisses, soft and languid now, made me feel all melty inside.
"Do you know," he said, "how beautiful you are? Especially right now. I love to look at a woman's face after she comes."
"Don't bother sweet talking me. I'm immune." My big sappy grin probably contradicted what I said, but I didn't care.
He smiled. It was a sweet sort of smile this time, one that made me melt inside. "Sure you are. Whatever, doesn't matter. You're beautiful, and I want to tell you so."
I stared up at him. His face was half in shadow, half in moonlight. He was so lovely it hurt. Something stirred inside me, something I'd never really felt before. A connection of a sort, a strange bond with this man who looked like a sculpture come to life and fucked like a goddamn dream. I reached up and laid a hand on his cheek.
"You know, I sleep around a lot," I said. He raised his eyebrows but didn't say anything. "I've been with a lot of guys, and I never felt all that sentimental stuff with any of them."
I fell silent. He leaned on one elbow and waited, tracing his free hand up and down my side.
"But I... I think..." I bit my lip. This shouldn't be so fucking hard to say, I told myself; just do it. "I think I'd like to get to know you better."
There. It was out. Caleb gazed down at me with a sudden weight in his eyes. "I'd like that too. You don't know how many times I've been with someone and thought it meant something, then to find out they only wanted me because..." He stopped and looked away.
I held his face in my hands and made him look at me again. "Because why?"
He stared solemnly at me for so long I thought he wasn't going to answer. When he finally did, his voice was so soft I could barely hear it.
"Just because... because of how I look. I want to be more than that."
"You are more than that, Caleb. And anyone who can't see that is just fucking nuts. I mean hell, if I can see it, anyone should, right? Slut that I am."
He laughed. "You don't give yourself enough credit. There's nothing wrong with sex for its own sake. God knows I've done enough of that myself, and I don't regret any of it. But I never lied to anyone and told them it was more than it was. Not ever."
"But someone's lied to you."
"Oh, yeah. I've lost count of how many times. Some people'll say anything to get what they want."
I caressed his cheek. His skin was so soft under my palm, so warm and smooth. I could see how a person might be desperate to get in his pants. What I couldn't see was how anyone could look into those big, beautiful eyes and do anything to hurt him.
"Well, I meant what I said," I told him. "I want more than just sex. I want to get to know you. Can I?"
"Yeah. That'd be great. I like you a lot, Kitty."
"You don't just like me for my mad cock-sucking skills?"
He pretended to consider. I smacked his arm hard and he laughed. "They're some majorly impressive skills all right, but I think I like you for more than that." He slid his hand down between my legs. I bit my lip.
"Caleb?"
"Hm?"
"Take your fucking clothes off."
This time we took it a lot slower, and I found out he could do tender and gentle every bit as well as hard and rough. By the time we fell asleep in the tent as the sun peeked over the horizon, we'd gotten to know every inch of each other and his arms already felt like home to me.
\*\*\*\*\*
When I woke up, the sun was straight overhead and I could hear music from the festival field. I jumped up so fast I nearly knocked the tent over. Caleb wasn't there.
"Caleb?" I peeked my head out the tent flap. No Caleb.
I felt hurt and deflated. I tried to tell myself that I hadn't expected anything more than the usual one-night-stand. But the fact was, I had. I'd really thought he might be someone I could have an actual relationship with. "Should've known better, dumb-ass," I muttered to myself.
I looked around and saw that my shorts and bikini top lay neatly folded next to the tent flap. At least he'd brought my clothes back inside before he left. I picked up my shorts and a piece of paper fluttered to the ground. I bent to retrieve it.
The note scrawled across the paper in green ink was short and to the point. "Kitty," it read, "had to go, but didn't want to wake you. Come to the Pure Morning show at 1, it's in the Gobi tent. I'll meet you after. There's a present in your back pocket. Love, Caleb."
So he hadn't fucked and run after all. Relief made me lightheaded and I sat down on the crumpled sleeping bag. I folded the note and set it carefully beside me with the intention of keeping it. Something about the way Caleb's handwriting looped and wandered made me smile. I was betting he'd been one of those kids who never could stay inside the lines.
I reached into the back pocket of my shorts to see what sort of present he'd left me. What I pulled out was an all-access pass. Backstage, after party, VIP areas, the works. I sat there with my jaw hanging open. I hoped Caleb had another one, because I suddenly didn't want to go without him.
My watch lay discarded in the corner. I picked it up and groaned when I saw the time. Less than an hour until the Pure Morning set started. Barely time to get through the gate, hopefully find Natalie and David, and snag a spot in the front. Thank God this band wasn't real big, or I'd be stuck way in the back for sure. I threw my clothes on, used Caleb's toothbrush and some leftover bottled water to brush my teeth, then ran for the gate.
The day was once again cloudless and hot. Sweat had already glued my shorts to my ass before I'd even gotten through the gate. And if it was hot outside, it was bound to be sweltering inside the tent. I mean yeah, you're out of the sun, but there's no air conditioning, no breeze, and you're crammed skin-to-skin with hundreds of other people. I'd almost rather be out in the sun all day. But damned if I was going to miss this show, if Caleb was going to be there.
The Gobi tent was starting to get crowded when I got there. David stood outside, fidgeting and biting his nails. I waved and ran to join him.
"It's about time," he said. "I was about to give up on you. C'mon, Nat's saving us some space up front." He grabbed my hand and we hurried inside.
"Sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to be so late, but I didn't get to sleep until dawn."
David grinned over his shoulder at me as we squirmed our way through the crowd. "Bet I know what you did all night."
"Bet you're right."
"How was it?"
"Best lay I ever had."
David opened his mouth to say something else, but we reached the barrier right then and Natalie spotted me. Once Nat gets going, no one else has a chance. David grinned and fell silent.
"Okay, girl," Natalie said, pulling me up beside her, "spill. Was he good?"
"Unbelievable. Honest to God, he could make a fortune whoring himself to women who need an amazing lay."
"Wow."
"Yeah. And look what he gave me!" I motioned Nat and David closer before slipping the pass out of my pocket. David's eyes widened.
"Fuck, he gave you that? Where the hell did he get it?"
"He didn't say. He was gone when I woke up, but he left me this pass in my shorts pocket. We're gonna meet up after the show. Cool, huh?"
They both agreed that it was very cool. "So does this guy have a name?" Natalie asked.
I smiled, and I knew it was one of those goofy, I-just-met-somebody-great smiles that I always snickered at on other people. I couldn't help it, though; that's just how he made me feel.
"Caleb," I said. "I don't know his last name yet."
David leaned around Natalie and stared hard at me. "What's he look like?"
"Why, you want some? Don't know if he swings that way, but I'll ask."
Nat laughed and David frowned. I think he was getting ready to say something, but the sudden roar of the crowd around us silenced him. We all looked up at the stage. A girl with a yellow Event Staff polo shirt and a long blond ponytail stood at the mic, smiling out over the crowd.
"All right!" she yelled, sounding like the cheerleader she'd probably been in high school. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Coachella Music and Arts Festival is very proud to welcome this next band. They're rising fast, so in a few months when they're big stars you can say you saw 'em here! Please welcome, from New York City, Brian Wolde, Jordan Thomas, and Caleb Rourke, Pure Morning! Give it up!"
I stood there stunned while the people around me jumped and screamed. Surely she hadn't really said what I thought she said. Had she? When the band filed out on stage, though, there was no doubt. It was Caleb, all right. My Caleb, the guy I'd spent several hours having mind-blowing sex with the night before, was a fucking rock star.
In all my years of going to live shows and meeting musicians of varying degrees of fame, I'd never once slept with one. Now I had finally done it, and I hadn't even realized he was one until just now. I had to laugh; it was just too weird.
I could feel Natalie and David staring at me, but I didn't care. I couldn't look away from Caleb. He was beautiful up there on stage, totally in his element. He wore a see-through red shirt and low-slung leather pants that hugged him tight in all the right places. His feet were bare. Black eyeliner made his Caribbean blue eyes breathtaking, and sheer red lip gloss accented his sensual mouth. The pure lust he aroused in the women around me - hell, some of the men too - perfumed the air.
Caleb picked up a battered electric guitar, slung the strap over his shoulder, and walked up to the mic. His eyes swept the crowd. He smiled when he saw me, and my insides turned to mush. I smiled back.
It was an incredible set. The music was fiercely beautiful, wild and spirited, and Caleb's voice could reduce you to tears with its sheer power. The band was tight and perfect, and I knew the second they started playing that they were going to be huge. The vast majority of the people packed into the tent clearly worshipped them. During some songs, so many people sang along that Caleb just grinned and held the mic out over the crowd, taking a break while the fans screamed out the lyrics. Caleb shed the shirt halfway through the set, resulting in a chorus of feminine screams and several requests for him to lose the pants too. I'm pretty sure one of those came from David.
By the time their allotted hour was up, the band was as drenched as their audience. Caleb's chest and stomach dripped sweat, and his hair clung to his cheeks in little damp tendrils. He looked positively edible. He caught my eye and I flicked my tongue out at him. He grinned and motioned toward the side of the stage as he and his bandmates filed off.
I started to make my way toward the VIP area Caleb had indicated. Nat grabbed me before I'd gotten far.
"Damn, girl," she said. "What a fucking piece! How the hell did you snag him? I think every woman here would give a body part to get with him."
That stopped me. I'd been wondering why Caleb didn't just tell me he was in a band. But I realized I already knew. He'd said people lied to him, used him, because they wanted sex with him. The reason he'd given me was his admittedly stunning good looks. The real reason, though, must've been his rising-star status. He hadn't told me because he didn't want just another groupie. He needed someone to want the real Caleb, not just the star.
"Sorry, Nat," I said. "I gotta go see him. We'll talk later, okay?"
"But Kitty..."
David wrapped an arm around Natalie's shoulders and pulled her against him. "C'mon, Nat. Let's go."
"But..."
"Shut up. We'll see her later, right Kitty?"
"Yeah," I said. "And I bet he'd love to meet you guys. But right now, I really really need to see him."
"Go on," David said. I kissed his cheek, then headed over to where Caleb waited.
Caleb was leaning over the barrier, talking to a group of girls. They were flirting so hard it's a wonder they didn't sprain something. I ran my fingers through my hair in a vain attempt at getting rid of the tangles, then made my way over to Caleb. I put as much sway in my step as I could, which is saying a lot.
"Caleb!" I called.
He turned toward me and gave me a great big I-know-what-you-look-like-naked grin. "Hey," he said.
I drew closer. The girls gave me some truly poisonous looks, which I ignored. "You were soooooo damn sexy up there," I purred, running a fingertip up his arm.
He licked his lips in a deliberately suggestive way. "Thanks. You're not bad yourself."
I leaned closer, my lips almost touching his. "Want me to blow you backstage?"
One girl made an outraged sound behind me. Yeah, right, I thought, like you weren't gonna say the same damn thing.
Caleb reached out, took my face in both hands, and kissed me. "I don't think security'll let you in."
I sucked on his bottom lip. "I have an all-access pass."
"Oh, yeah?" He kissed me again, running his tongue over my lips. "Well then, I guess you can come on back and blow me."
"Hey!" a shrill voice behind me said. "Go away, bitch. We were talking to him first."
I didn't even turn around; she wasn't worth looking away from Caleb's captivating eyes. "Bite me, skank."
Outraged gasps. I stifled a laugh. I kissed Caleb's cherry-flavored lips again, then headed over to the security gate. He followed on the other side of the barrier. I showed my pass, and security let me through with only a slight frown. So what if they thought I was no more than a groupie. I didn't care about that. All I cared about was the gorgeous sweaty man who swept me into his arms and kissed me like nothing else in the world mattered.
"Are you mad?" he said when we finally took a break.
"'Bout what?"
"That I didn't tell you I was in a band."
"Naw. I understand why you didn't."
"You do?"
"Yep."
He smiled at me, and it was so sweet I wanted to cry. "You're amazing, Kitty."
I pulled out of his arms and clasped his hand in mine. It felt just right. "Let's go to the hotel, Caleb."
"Sounds good to me."
He slung an arm around my shoulders. I slipped my arm around his waist, and we started toward the special parking area reserved for musicians.
"So this is what it feels like," I mused out loud as we walked.
"What?"
"Being a groupie."
He laughed. "You're no groupie. Believe me, I've had plenty, and you're not one."
"So what am I?"
He stopped walking, wound both arms around my waist, and stared into my eyes. "I don't know. But I want to find out."
I figured I could live with that.
"baby" first appeared in the erotic ezine Ruthie's Club in January 2005.
\*\*\*\*\*
baby says: hey sexy, you there?
blue-eyes says: yeah i'm here. sorry, phone rang
baby says: who was it?
blue-eyes says: front desk. meeting in the morning got cancelled
baby says: oh good, that means you have more time tonight
blue-eyes says: sure do
baby says: so when you coming to see me?
blue-eyes says: when you want me to? i'll be in town all week for this stupid conference
baby says: how bout now?
blue-eyes says: i don't know where you are
baby says: im at work
blue-eyes says: you want me to visit you at work? wont you get in trouble?
baby says: naw, me and the owner are likethis. LOL
Pete licked his lips and glanced at the web-cam photo he'd printed out before flying to Orlando. It was blurry, off center and too dark, but not even a crappy web-cam shot could hide baby's beauty. Soft red lips parted in an evil-diva smile, jet-black hair curled against the pearly skin of her neck and her heart-shaped face. And those eyes. Damn, those eyes. Huge, blue-green cat eyes lined in black and fringed with long, thick lashes.
He'd had to jerk off right away when she'd sent him that picture. She'd talked him through it, and then licked the semen off his stomach when he came. She was so damn good, he could almost feel her wet tongue on him. But he'd never actually met her, and he'd always heard how dangerous it was to hook up with someone you only knew online.
He looked at her picture again and thought of all the things they'd shared. Not just sex, but hopes, dreams, things they'd never told anyone else. It didn't feel like lies; it felt real.
"Just do it, you damn pussy," he ordered himself. He turned back to the computer screen.
blue-eyes says: ok, i'll come
baby says: you sure will; just wait til you get here, so i can swallow it
blue-eyes says: oh thanks now i have a hardon
baby says: excellent <eg> i know what to do with that...
blue-eyes says: LOL ok tell me where to go
baby says: where you staying?
blue-eyes says: at the Radisson
She gave him detailed directions on how to get to the club where she worked. He copied them onto a piece of hotel stationery.
blue-eyes says: ok let me shower real quick and ill be there soon as i can
baby says: hurry lover
baby says: tell the doorman baby sent you
An hour later, Pete's taxi pulled up to the curb in front of 453 Hazelwood Street. He frowned, checked the scribbled address again, and looked back up. Yep, that was the number baby had given him. He almost told the driver to turn around and take him back to the Radisson. Only the thought of the enticing woman waiting for him inside kept him from doing just that.
"I can't fucking believe I'm really doing this," he muttered. He paid the driver, got out, and approached the door.
It was solid black metal, set in a black wall. A small red neon sign over the door read 'The Ties That Bind.' baby had told him that she worked at a private BDSM club. They'd had countless chats where she'd tie him up and do the most depraved things to him. It never failed to make him come hard and fast. The thought of doing those things in real life made his belly tighten. He ran a hand nervously through his hair, pushing the honey-gold waves out of his eyes. He'd had many lovers, male and female, but none had ever gotten under his skin the way this woman had before he'd even met her.
"Pete, my boy," he said, "inside this club is a woman who might be the one. Just knock on the goddamn door."
He nodded, squared his shoulders, and gave the door a couple of hard raps with his knuckles. A small panel slid open and a heavily made-up face peered out. A line of black tattooed teardrops trailed down the white cheek. Eyes the color of molasses slid appreciatively over his body.
"Yes?" The young doorman smiled, his black-painted lips stark against his powdered skin. Pete suppressed a shudder.
"baby sent me," Pete said, as he'd been instructed.
The brown eyes widened. "One moment, sir."
The panel slid shut. Pete heard the snick of bolts sliding back, then the door swung open.
"My name is Simon," the doorman said. "Please come in."
Simon stood aside and Pete walked in, not without some trepidation. The door swung shut behind him. Something about the sharp sound of the bolts ramming home seemed very final. He shivered as he looked around the small, black-painted room.
Simon turned back to him with a cadaverous smile. "Follow me, please." He turned and pushed open a set of red, padded double doors. Pete followed his whip-thin form into the inner sanctum. He stared around with wide eyes as they made their way through the crowd to the back of the huge room.
The whole place was painted black. Floors, ceiling, walls, all solid black. Chains hung from the ceiling, dangling plastic limbs, blow-up dolls, and sex toys only a few feet above the heads of the throng. Multi-colored lights pulsed in time to the throbbing techno beat, illuminating a wall-to-wall sea of nearly naked flesh. Groups of two, three, and more undulated on the dance floor and wound themselves into tangles in the red leather booths lining the walls. He caught glimpses of men and women wearing black hoods and studded collars.
"This way, sir."
Pete shook himself and focused on his guide. Simon was holding open another black metal door, smaller than the one out front. It opened onto a long hallway lined with doors, each one different. At the end of the hall was a spiral staircase made of wrought iron. Simon headed straight for the stairs. Pete followed him, his stomach fluttering nervously. Sounds he wasn't sure he wanted to identify floated from behind the doors they passed.
At the top of the stairs, Simon knocked twice on a carved door that looked like it was made of mahogany. The door opened a crack.
"baby's guest is here," Simon said.
"Thank you, Simon," said a female voice. Simon turned and started down the steps without a word.
"Sir? In here, please."
The woman in the doorway was tall and elegant. Pale blond hair swept up into a loose twist at her neck. She smiled at him, and stood aside to let him enter. He gaped at the black-and-red painted walls, hung with manacles, chains, whips, and things he couldn't even identify. A huge mahogany bar curved out from the far wall; mirrors behind it reflected bottles of liquor. A single chair sat in the middle of the red hardwood floor. It was black, wide, and sturdy, and bolted to the floorboards. There was a hole in the seat. He decided not to think about that yet.
"I'm Nora," the woman said. "I'm baby's personal assistant. Would you like a drink?"
"Um, bourbon, please." Pete pulled at the collar of his pale blue T-shirt. He'd picked it because it matched his eyes. "So, you're baby's assistant? Wow. She said she worked here, but hell, she didn't tell me she was a suit."
Nora's brow creased in a polite furrow as she rummaged behind the bar. "A suit?"
Pete laughed. "Yeah, sorry. An executive. Seems like she's higher up the food chain than she let on."
Nora smiled as she handed Pete a glass of iced Kentucky bourbon. "baby owns the club, actually."
Pete nearly choked on his drink. "You're shitting me."
"No sir. baby built this place up from scratch. It used to be an abandoned warehouse. Now it's the most sought-after club of its type in the Southeast. We turn away far more people than we allow to join."
"Wow." Pete tossed back the rest of the whiskey in one gulp. Something about the fact that baby owned the place both terrified and aroused him. He felt himself getting hard just from the thought of her concentrating her fierce executive personality on his body. He glanced at Nora. "So when does she get here?"
"Simon will inform baby that you've arrived. I'll help you get ready."
Pete narrowed his eyes at her. "Yeah? What does that mean, anyhow?"
"baby wants you prepared a particular way. I gather that you two have talked about... certain things?"
Pete gulped. "Yeah. Okay. So, um, so what do I need to do?"
It embarrassed him more than a little to talk so openly to this woman about his strange affair with baby. But she seemed to know all about it, and didn't seem the least bit shocked or put off, so he pushed his unease aside and thought about the woman he'd come here for. baby's white skin, baby's wicked eyes, baby's soft wet mouth. His cock swelled even more, pushing against his zipper.
Nora glanced at his crotch and raised a neatly plucked eyebrow. Pete felt his face flush.
"Please remove all your clothing, then sit down in the chair." She sounded so matter-of-fact that she might as well have been telling him to take out the trash.
Pete's jaw fell open. "What?"
"Please remove your clothing," Nora repeated blandly, "and sit down in the chair."
"But... but I thought... listen, I don't know you..."
"Sir, if you want baby to come to you, you must do as you're asked." She gave him a tight smile. "You needn't worry about me seeing you naked. I am not interested in men. Now if you'll please remove your clothing, sir? baby can be quite impatient."
Pete bit his lip. He only hesitated a second before yanking his T-shirt over his head and pulling off his shoes and socks. It took him a moment longer to get up the nerve to strip off his jeans and underwear. Nora folded his clothes and placed them in a neat pile on a shelf beside the bar. Her blank expression didn't falter as she motioned him to sit.
"Why's there a hole in the chair?" Pete asked as he sat down.
"It's made that way, sir. Hands behind the back of the chair, please."
Pete put his hands behind him. "I can see that, but why?" The possibilities made his balls tighten.
"Many of our clients make use of this sort of chair from time to time." Cold metal clamped snugly around his wrists. "It's baby's favorite," she added. Pete couldn't decide whether that scared him or turned him on, or both.
"Spread your legs, please." Nora knelt on the floor in front of him; small silver chains and padlocks dangled from one manicured hand.
Pete almost didn't do it. He squeezed his eyes shut and pictured baby's red, red lips wrapped around his cock. He spread his legs. The chains were cold on his skin as Nora fastened them around his ankles and knees. He opened his eyes and looked down; the sight of his body splayed and bound for baby's pleasure made him ache with anticipation.
Nora stood and smoothed out the wrinkles in her long black dress. "baby will be with you shortly, sir. Enjoy your evening."
Pete watched her turn and walk out a small door to his right. The room was so quiet he could hear his own heartbeat. It pounded in his ears like tribal drums. He rested his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes.
His arms and legs were beginning to cramp and indignation was close to overcoming his arousal, when he heard the door to his right open. He started to turn his head.
"Stop. Look straight ahead." The voice was low and sultry. Pete felt a thrill go through him. baby. It had to be. No one but baby could have a voice like that.
"baby?"
"Yes, Pete. baby's here."
Pete heard heels clicking behind him. He licked his lips. "How did you know my name? I never told you that. We agreed to just use screen names."
A soft laugh raised the hairs on his arms. "It's not so hard to find out." Warm hands caressed his shoulders, sending shivers of pleasure down his skin.
"What..."
"You don't need to know my name. Just call me baby. Everyone does."
"baby," he whispered. "baby. Let me see you."
She didn't answer, and his mouth went dry. If he'd fucked it up already, if she was angry with him... But no. Light clicking footsteps around his left, and baby stood before him. He stared, speechless.
He'd known she was beautiful. But no picture could possibly capture her as she really was: sleek and feral, fragile and dangerous. She was small, no more than five foot and six inches, even in her high heels. She was slender and delicate, and in a blood-red satin dress that dragged the floor. Her white shoulders were bare and lovely, and her collarbone was a graceful arch beneath the thin straps of the dress. She smiled down at him, red lips moist and open. A curling strand of
"Am I beautiful?" She stalked closer, pale skin peeking through the thigh-high slit in the front of her dress as she walked. She stood between his open legs and stared down at him. It was like locking gazes with a jungle cat.
"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Pete answered. It was nothing but the truth.
baby's smile widened. Her turquoise eyes gleamed with something indefinable. "Am I really?"
"Yes. You are."
She lowered her gaze to his crotch and licked her lips. His erection throbbed with the need to be touched. She sank to her knees and leaned forward until her red mouth hovered over his cock. She rolled her eyes up to meet his. Her pink tongue flicked over his skin, feather light, and he groaned.
"God, baby, suck my cock," he begged.
One corner of her mouth lifted in a teasing half-smile.
"You haven't earned that yet," she said. She planted a gentle kiss on the tip of his cock, and then rose gracefully to her feet. His hips strained toward her, desperate.
"What do you want?" He gazed up at her; she seemed unbearably beautiful, unearthly in her perfection. She was a goddess, and he was her slave, worshipping at her dainty feet.
She gave him a smile full of darkness. "I want to find out if the things that make you come in cyber-land still make you come when they're real."
Pete nodded. His heart was hammering against his ribs, and his whole body burned. "I want you to do those things to me," he said.
baby smiled that deliciously wicked smile again. She took his face in both small hands and bent towards him.
"Kiss me," she whispered. He closed the space between them and pressed his mouth to hers.
Her lips parted under his, her tongue slithering into his mouth. Her kiss was hot and fierce, deep and demanding. When she pulled away, he whimpered from the loss. He licked his lips; her lipstick tasted like cherries. He stared up into her glowing eyes and couldn't speak.
"Don't worry, my sweet, innocent boy," she crooned. "I'll be very gentle with you."
He didn't know what he was about to say. Whatever it was flew straight out of his head when a searing pain shot through his right nipple. He glanced down and gasped when he saw the small metal clamp digging into the tender flesh. Baby flicked it with a fingernail the color of a blood clot, sending another bolt of pain through him.
"Do you like that, darling?" She bent and kissed him, a light brush of lips.
"Fuck, yeah."
She smiled, and pain blazed in his other nipple. Her fingers twisted both clamps at the same time, and he screamed. baby kissed him hard, plunging her tongue into this mouth while she pulled and twisted the nipple clamps. By the time she backed away, his body trembled all over and he was gasping for breath. He'd never been so turned on in his life. His nipples throbbed with pain, and the pain was wonderful. He felt ferociously alive.
"God, it turns me on to hear you scream," baby said. She whirled around and strode over to a cabinet set into the wall. She opened the door and pulled something out. Pete watched the muscles working in her back, her shoulder blades standing out like birds' wings. When she turned around again, he saw that she was holding a black lacquer box. It seemed heavy.
"What's in the box?" he asked.
She didn't answer him. She moved behind his chair, slim hips swaying as she walked. A rustle of satin, and her hot lips on his neck.
"Have you ever been fucked in the ass?" She flicked her tongue into his ear. He drew a sharp breath.
"No," he whispered.
"You've been with men before." It wasn't a question.
"Yeah. A few times. But I always topped, I never bottomed. Are... are you gonna..."
"Yes," she said. "I am. Don't worry, my love. My playthings won't damage you."
"But you're going to hurt me."
"Oh, yes. You want that, don't you? Sweet, dirty boy." She pulled his head back by the hair. He stared up into her eyes. "Tell me what you want me to do to you," she said, and ran her tongue over his parted lips.
"I want you to do the things you do to me when we talk online."
"Want to hear you say it." She bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. "Want to hear those filthy words from that sweet, pretty mouth."
He swallowed. "I want you to fuck my ass. Stick your toys up my ass, and fuck me."
She smiled. "You're so good. So obedient." She kissed him once more, softly, and let go of his hair. He heard the whisper of satin as she knelt behind him. So the opening in the seat of the chair was for what he'd thought.
He gasped when he felt a slick finger against his hole. Her nail scraped teasingly across the sensitive skin as she rubbed him with lube.
"Fuck, baby. Stick your fingers in me."
"Mm. Yes." One slim finger pressed inside him, the nail scratching the delicate tissue. He moaned and tried to push against her hand. She shoved another finger in.
"You like that, don't you?" she said. A third digit inserted to the hilt, twisting and making him squirm.
"Yeah, Christ."
"I'm taking your virginity, you know."
Pete didn't know what to say, and really didn't care. His cock felt ready to burst, his nipples burned, and he ached to be penetrated by more than just fingers.
"baby... please, please..."
"Hush, darling. Your baby's going to take care of you."
baby pulled her fingers out, and something hard and slick probed at his hole. It felt huge. He moaned as the toy opened him, stretched him, and filled him up. The sensation was like nothing he'd ever known, pain and pleasure mingling until he wasn't sure which was which. Then it began to vibrate inside him, sending waves of scorching bliss crashing over him, and he cried out.
"Feels so good, doesn't it?" baby's breath was soft and sweet on his ear. She appeared in front of him again, a predatory smile curving her luscious lips. He couldn't speak; his vision blurred, the blood pounded in his ears. baby hiked her skirt up around her thighs and straddled his lap, planting her knees on either side of his hips.
"Do you like how my butt plug fills you up?" She raked her fingers through his hair, kissed his open mouth.
"Fuck, yeah."
"Would you like to fuck me? Shove your cock inside me and fuck me good while my toy's in your ass?"
"Yes, God, please let me fuck you." Pete thought he might die if he didn't come soon. He knew he wouldn't last once he was inside baby, but he didn't care. He had to have her, if only for a moment.
She got off his lap and backed up a pace, and he groaned in frustration. "Please, baby."
Her blue-green eyes were stern. "I want you to know me first."
Pete frowned. "What do you mean? Are you gonna tell me your name now?"
baby smiled, and the smile seemed sad. "Maybe. But that's not what I meant. I don't usually give my lovers this choice, you know. But you're special to me, and I need you to know."
She slipped the dress straps off her shoulders; the garment puddled at her feet and she kicked it aside. Pete stared, unbelieving, at the smooth chest, the hard-muscled abdomen. And the long, thick, erect cock held against the flat belly by a silver chain threaded through a ring in its head and attached at either end to matching nipple rings. He stared, and imagined what it would feel like to have that inside him instead of a toy.
He raised his eyes to baby's face. The liquid gaze seemed lonely to him now.
"So," baby said. "You know me now. Do you still want me?"
Pete didn't stop to think. This wasn't just some random cross-dressing guy. This was baby; this was the person he'd shared his deepest thoughts and dreams with. This was the first person he'd felt truly connected to in his entire life. It was baby he wanted, whatever that meant. He stared at the delicate, lovely man standing naked before him and answered the only way he could.
"Yes." His voice was raw with need. baby smiled at him, and it felt like sunshine and summer breezes.
baby swayed back over to the chair, picked up a tube of gel off the floor, and straddled Pete's lap again. Her eyes---no, his, Pete reminded himself, his eyes---shone as he leaned in and pressed his moist red lips to Pete's. They kissed, baby rubbing his cock against Pete's until Pete thought he'd go mad.
"Let me inside you, baby," Pete begged.
baby bit his lip and raised up on his knees. "I've dreamed of this," he said, and smiled.
He squeezed some lube onto his hand, coated Pete's aching cock with it, then reached between his own legs to slick his opening. His eyes burned into Pete's as he grasped Pete's shaft and slowly impaled himself.
baby's body was burning hot inside, cloud-soft molten heat around Pete's cock. He moaned into baby's mouth when he kissed him again. baby was moaning too, little cooing birdlike sounds as he moved in Pete's lap, Pete's cock slip-sliding in and out, in and out, baby's cock hot and hard between them, the chain catching on Pete's nipple clamps. Pete stared into baby's eyes, those hypnotic ocean-water eyes, and felt a wash of love spread through him. He belonged to baby now.
He screamed as his orgasm slammed into him, bowing his spine and shaking him in his seat. baby came at the same time. Warm slippery fluid flowed down their pressed-together bellies. When it was over, baby held Pete's face in his hands and kissed him tenderly.
"I love you, baby," Pete whispered. He stared into baby's eyes and wished he could touch him.
baby caressed Pete's cheeks, rubbing his thumbs across his lips. "My name's Adrian."
He unlocked Pete's chains and led him to his private apartment with a huge bay window overlooking the city. They played more games together before they fell asleep on the bed, with baby's head pillowed on Pete's chest, and Pete's arms holding him close.
No one at the conference ever noticed Pete was missing. The hotel noticed, however, when Pete failed to check out. After nearly a month of halfhearted searching, the police declared his case closed and took the flyers down off the post office walls. Pete's boss shrugged, and told the security guard that, if he showed up, to tell him his ass was fired, and to get the hell out.
Pete didn't know or care. His old life was like a bad dream now, the memories tattered and faded and harmless. He'd found his home in baby's arms.
Dream A Little Dream
"Dream A Little Dream" first appeared in the oringinal slash ezine Forbidden Fruit in the winter 2005 issue. This is much, much darker than most of my later stories. You have been warned.
\*\*\*\*\*
Roland screamed when he came, his cock buried to the hilt in Jon's ass.
He always screamed. It used to turn Jon on, but lately he'd grown thoroughly sick of it. He still loved Roland though, didn't want to hurt his feelings by complaining about something so inconsequential. So he rolled his eyes and bit his tongue. And of course when Roland went to work sucking him off, he forgot all about such petty annoyances. He leaned on his elbows and watched Roland's lovely mouth wrapped around his dick, cheeks hollowed and throat working. He came quickly, as always. Roland had an undeniable talent for sucking cock.
Afterward, as he drifted into sleep with Roland's tousled blond head pillowed on his chest, Jon thought he saw a shadow flit past the window. He cranked his resisting lids up and frowned at the city night outside. But the shadow - an oddly human shaped one, Jon thought - didn't appear again, and before many minutes had passed Jon was sound asleep.
\*\*\*\*\*
"C'mon, Jon, just try it once. It'll be fun, I promise."
"No."
"Don't be that way, baby. Just this once, for me. Please?"
"I said no, dammit!"
"Jon, come on, quit being so fucking selfish!"
Jon sighed and rubbed both hands across his face. Roland was back at it again, trying to bully him into a threesome. It was something Roland had wanted to do for a long time, but Jon had never felt comfortable with it, and he was sick to death of arguing about it.
"Roland, why can't you understand that I just do not feel comfortable inviting another man into bed with us? I know you want to try it, and I'd do it for you if I thought I could, but I just can't. I'm sorry."
"Yeah, sure," Roland mumbled under his breath. "Fine, be that way. But this isn't over."
Jon glanced sharply at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing, nothing," Roland said, waving a dismissive hand. "Gotta go to work now, see you later. 'Bye."
He bent and kissed Jon with cool dry lips, then strode out the door and slammed it behind him.
"Love you," Jon said to the closed door.
\*\*\*\*\*
The day passed slowly. Jon tidied up the apartment then sat down to write the article he was supposed to be working on. The words wouldn't come. He went for a run, took a long hot bath, and sat down in front of the blank screen again. He managed a few listless paragraphs before admitting to himself that this just wasn't going to happen today and heading for the bar around the corner.
When he wandered back home a couple of hours later, Roland was already there. And he wasn't alone.
"Jon!" Roland exclaimed, gray eyes sparking with anger. "Where the hell have you been?"
"Uh, just to Harry's," Jon said, meaning the bar. "Who's that?" He nodded toward the silent stranger sitting beside Roland on the couch.
"This is Jeremiah," Roland said. "Jeremiah, this is Jon."
Jeremiah rose gracefully to his feet and held out a long, elegant hand. Jon shook it automatically. He couldn't stop staring at Jeremiah's face, ivory pale with big dark chocolate eyes and hair the color of redwood waving down to the middle of his back.
"Lovely to meet you, Jon," Jeremiah's voice rubbed over Jon's skin like a cat and he shivered.
"Nice to meet you too," Jon managed.
"Hey," Roland said, coming over to take Jon's hands in his, "you remember what we were talking about this morning?"
"Of course," Jon answered, faintly irritated. "Same old argument. What of it?"
Roland glanced over at Jeremiah and suddenly Jon understood. He yanked his hands away and backed up, shaking his head.
"Oh, no. No, no, no. I told you I don't want to do that, Roland. No offense or anything, Jeremiah, it's not you, I don't want to have a threesome with anybody. And Roland knows that."
He glared at Roland with fire in his pale blue eyes. Roland sighed and turned to Jeremiah.
"Well," he said, "looks like it's plan B, man."
Jeremiah nodded and stepped forward. Jon wasn't at all sure that he liked the predatory gleam in the other man's eyes.
"What the fuck's going on?" Jon demanded, backing away from Jeremiah's graceful gliding form.
Roland moved up and pulled Jon into his arms. He smoothed the unruly golden brown curls away from Jon's face and kissed him gently.
"I'm sorry, baby," he said.
Jon frowned, but before he could form another question Roland stepped back and Jeremiah's fingers clamped onto Jon's face, lifting his chin and forcing him to meet his gaze. He stared into those liquid depths and felt himself falling, tumbling helplessly into Jeremiah's eyes. The room started whirling around him; his vision narrowed to a pinpoint and everything went black.
----------
Roland stared down at Jon's still form curled on the sofa where Jeremiah had put him when he collapsed. He'd already begun to regret having agreed to this little tryst. Why, he thought, had he found it such an irresistible idea in the first place? He couldn't remember anymore.
He sat down beside Jon and ran his fingers through his partner's silky hair. He remembered vividly the first time they'd made love, the way Jon's soft curls had tickled the insides of his thighs. They'd been so crazy for each other then, so in love. They couldn't bear to be apart; they shared everything. Roland wasn't sure when or how things had changed, but somewhere along the way they'd lost that closeness, leaving only sex without real intimacy. Great sex, true, but ultimately unsatisfying.
That, he thought, was why he'd agreed to do this. He desperately missed being close to Jon. He still loved him, and he wanted that effortless intimacy again. And Jeremiah had offered him a way to get it back. So he hadn't questioned why Jeremiah had been lurking outside their building, hadn't questioned the things he'd said he could do either. Why did I just believe him without question? Roland thought; it doesn't make sense. And now, gazing at his lover of many years lying still and quiet beside him, he was having second thoughts.
Roland glanced up at Jeremiah. "I don't know about this. You sure you can do it?"
Jeremiah smiled. "I'm sure. I've done it many times. It's my particular gift."
"Yeah, well," Roland said, "you'll have to excuse me if I'm a little skeptical. I mean, come on, it's pretty hard to believe that anyone would be able to make people read each other's thoughts, you know?"
"It's nothing so simple, or so crude," Jeremiah said. "It won't work with just anyone, only two people who already have a connection of some sort. And you won't be able to read each other's thoughts, you'll just get a strong but general sense of how the other feels. That's all. It should be enough, though."
Roland nodded thoughtfully.
"And why does it have to involve sex?" he asked. "You know this would've been a whole lot less complicated if we didn't have to make Jon do the threesome thing." He shook his head. "I dunno, man, I'm thinking this was a mistake. Maybe you should just go. I didn't want him hurt."
"He'll be fine as soon as I bring him out of the trance," Jeremiah said. "Sex is necessary because it lowers defenses. It makes us vulnerable, more receptive to each other, even if only on a subconscious level. And didn't you say you'd wanted a threesome for some time?"
"Yeah," Roland reluctantly agreed. "But Jon didn't. He never did. We shouldn't make him, it's wrong."
"I can bring you together again, the way you want to be," Jeremiah said. "Isn't that worth it? It's only a small deception, after all. He'll be under my influence the whole time, he'll truly believe that he wants it too. He won't be forced into anything, not really."
"Maybe so," Roland said softly, "but it's still wrong. I don't know why I couldn't see that before. Wake him up now, then leave. We'll find another way to save our relationship. I'm sorry to waste your time."
"Roland, look at me."
Roland raised his eyes hesitantly to meet Jeremiah's. The dark gaze locked onto him like a vice.
"I swear to you," Jeremiah said, "Jon will come to no harm. He will enjoy himself, and afterward he will come out of the trance with no ill effects. You want this, Roland, don't deny yourself. I've promised you that Jon will be safe, and I always keep my promises."
Jeremiah's voice, so soothing and reasonable, lulled away Roland's fears. And as he stared into Jeremiah's dark eyes, all uncertainty vanished. He smiled.
"Let's do it."
\*\*\*\*\*
Roland wasn't sure what he'd expected when Jon woke, but this wasn't it. Jon seemed wrong somehow, not all there. Roland gazed at him with eyes full of worry.
"Hey," he said, "you okay, baby?"
Jon smiled sweetly and pulled Roland into his arms. "I'm fine. Let's fuck." He ground his crotch against Roland's thigh and Roland could feel his erection through his jeans.
"Uh, yeah," Roland answered breathlessly. He glanced at Jeremiah over Jon's shoulder; Jon, busy sucking at Roland's neck, didn't notice.
Roland crooked a finger, beckoning Jeremiah over. Jeremiah sidled up behind him, wrapping his arms around Roland's waist so that Roland was sandwiched between the two other men.
"Is he supposed to be this way?" Roland whispered. "He doesn't seem like himself."
Jeremiah bent down, brushing his lips against Roland's ear. "He's still under my influence. I told you he would be. Otherwise he would not be so agreeable, would he?"
"No, guess not," Roland conceded.
"Roland," Jon moaned, "I want you so bad, baby, come on, let's fuck, right now!" He wound a hand into Roland's hair and kissed him hard.
"Wha'... mm... 'bout Jer'miah?" Roland mumbled around Jon's tongue.
Jon answered by pulling Jeremiah's face to his and kissing him too, licking and nibbling at his lips. Roland watched, weak kneed with arousal.
"Bed," Jon growled when he finally broke the kiss.
They stumbled to the bedroom, throwing clothes off as they went, and fell in a naked heap onto the bed. Roland felt dizzy with desire, his head spinning from the sight of Jon on all fours, begging to be fucked by both of them. He'd imagined it so many times, but never thought he'd actually experience it. He pulled Jon into his arms.
"I love you so much, Jon," he whispered. "Thank you."
Jon smiled and pressed a tender kiss to his lips. "You're welcome," he said. "I love you too. Now tell your sexy friend there to bend me over and fuck me before I explode."
Roland couldn't help laughing. Jon grinned and shoved him down on his back, then bent and licked a long, wet line up his swollen shaft.
"Tell him," he murmured. He opened his mouth and slid Roland's thick length into his throat.
"Uh... oh, oh god..." Roland swallowed twice and finally managed to speak. "Jeremiah," he gasped, "fuck him."
Jeremiah complied without a word. He produced a small bottle of lube from somewhere, smeared a generous amount on his cock and on Jon's opening, and penetrated Jon with one slow, smooth motion.
Jon moaned low in his throat, producing a delicious vibration which thrummed up Roland's spine and set his skin tingling. Roland threaded his fingers through Jon's soft curls and fucked his mouth in an easy rhythm.
Jeremiah came first, growling like an animal and pounding into Jon's body with all his strength. He pulled out with a sigh, then grasped Jon's shoulders and tore him away from Roland's cock.
"Let me taste him now," Jeremiah said, flicking his tongue into Jon's ear.
Jon gazed so forlornly at Roland's erection, glistening with saliva still, that Roland had to stifle a giggle.
"Come up here, baby," Roland said, "and let me suck you off. You know how much I love doing that."
Jon grinned. "I know." He scooted up until he was kneeling over Roland's face. Roland grabbed his hips firmly in both hands and pulled him down. Jon lowered his cock into Roland's open mouth and let out a blissful sigh.
Roland heard his own moans as if from a great distance. His head buzzed, his pulse roared in his ears. Nothing in the world had ever felt so amazing as Jon's thick cock filling his throat while Jeremiah's plush mouth and strong hands pushed him closer and closer to the edge.
The orgasm hit him with the force of a speeding train, and he screamed around Jon's flesh as his semen pumped into Jeremiah's mouth. Tremors shook him from head to toe as Jeremiah sucked him dry. And kept on sucking. A sharp, tugging pain started in his cock. He struggled, but Jeremiah's mouth remained locked to his flesh. He could hear the wet suckling noises Jeremiah made. Roland pushed on Jon's hips, trying to get his mouth free so he could tell Jeremiah to stop. But Jon dug his knees into the mattress and pushed down, shoving himself hard into Roland's throat and cutting off his breath.
Panic took control and Roland thrashed wildly, kicking and hitting, tossing his head around. Nothing he did worked. Jon kept fucking his mouth relentlessly, moaning and thrusting as if he couldn't feel Roland's distress. Maybe he can't, Roland thought as his ears began ringing and his limbs grew weak.
The fierce pain in Roland's cock was the only thing he could feel anymore, Jeremiah's mouth pulling mercilessly at him. His vision began to fade, his struggles trailed off and ceased altogether. He wished he could see Jon's face.
Jeremiah, you bastard, you did this, he thought. You said you could help, you liar.
Jeremiah's voice echoed in his skull as consciousness faded: I can. But I never said I would.
Tears leaked from Roland's eyes. I'm sorry Jon, he thought. Then oblivion washed over him and all the pain disappeared.
\*\*\*\*\*
"Yes... yes... yes... Roland, God, your mouth feels so fucking great..."
Jon heard those words and wondered who had spoken them. It took him a moment to realize that he himself had said it. He was naked, kneeling over Roland's face, his cock inside the familiar warmth of Roland's mouth. The unexpected delight of waking up that way sent him hurtling headlong toward orgasm.
He sat up on his knees, hands clenched in Roland's hair, wanting to look into Roland's eyes when he came. But something, he thought even through the fire in his brain, was dreadfully wrong. He realized what it was just as his orgasm ripped through him.
He pulled out and fell backwards over Roland's body, screaming as fast as he could draw breath. Thick strings of semen splashed onto Roland's slack lips, into his open and unblinking eyes. Jon scrambled backward, fell off the bed and huddled on the floor, whimpering. He stared at what lay on the bed, seeing it in snapshots.
Roland's skin, whiter than paper, thin and wrinkled. Eyes sunken in their sockets. Two ragged holes in the side of his slack penis, little streams of blood leaking from each. His own cum glistening on Roland's dead face. The knowledge was too terrible to bear. He squeezed his eyes shut.
"It's just a dream," he whispered. "Just a dream, just a dream..."
Eventually he'd convinced himself sufficiently to risk opening his eyes again. He peeked through one slitted lid and breathed a sigh of relief.
"Asleep," he said to himself. "Just asleep, that's all."
Chuckling at his own silliness in being fooled by a bad dream, Jon climbed back into bed and pulled Roland into his arms. He willed himself not to feel the limpness of Roland's body, the coolness of his skin. He blinded himself to the blood stains on Roland's groin and the semen drying on his face. It's all a dream, he told himself. Just a dream.
He slipped into sleep believing in the illusion of Roland's warmth, his gentle breathing. But when his dreams came, Roland's screams echoed in his soul.
THE END

