by Alexa Land
“It was quite serious then, the thing between you and Tracy,” he said.
“For me it was. I had this idiotic idea that if I got that tattoo, he’d finally understand what he meant to me. Hearing me say I loved him never made a difference, but maybe if he saw it….” I shook my head. “Stupid. All it did was piss him off. He was so afraid someone would see it and figure out he and I were involved. He tried to make me go to a clinic and get it lasered off, but I refused, out of sheer stubbornness.”
“God, I’m sorry. It must have hurt to have him react like that.”
“I should have expected it. Our relationship was so fucked up. Not that it was even a relationship.” After a moment, I forced myself to shake off the weight of those memories. I kissed Alastair’s forehead and said, “I don’t blame you for being curious. I would be, too. But let’s stop talking about my ex, pretty much forever, okay?”
“Absolutely.” He traced my bicep, and after a pause, he said, “I suppose I doomed myself to never losing my virginity with that blow job. Or, my technical virginity, I suppose. You know, I’ve always wondered how the term ‘technical virgin’ applies to gay men. If all you ever do is top and never get penetrated, or similarly, if you only ever bottom, at what point can you declare you’re no longer a virgin? It always seemed a bit murky to me.” When he noticed me grinning at him, he said, “Apologies. As I mentioned earlier, I do tend to ramble. I’m trying to learn not to verbalize every random thought that crosses my mind. Clearly it’s a work-in-progress, but I’ll try to keep it contained.”
“Don’t. I like listening to you.”
“Give it time. It’ll probably drive you round the bend after a while.” He lightly ran a fingertip down one of my sideburns and changed the subject by asking, “Are you hungry? I could fix you a sandwich and some tea if you’d like.”
I caught his hand and said, “Let’s eat afterwards.”
“Afterwards?” When I brought his hand to the growing bulge in my thong, a smile spread across his face. “Ah, I see.”
He rubbed me through the thin fabric, then sat up and shucked the last of his clothes. When he tried to reach for my cock again, I guided his hand to the garter on my right thigh and said, “Undress me first, Alastair.” He actually moaned at that, and his cock twitched.
He studied how the garter was fastened before unhooking it with shaking hands. I raised my leg to give him access to the second garter at the back of my thigh. When he got that unhooked too, I draped my leg over his lap and said, “Now the stocking.”
His breathing sped up, and a flush rose beneath his fair skin. I liked the fact that he started at my ankle and ran both hands up my leg first, savoring the feel of the silk, until he finally reached the black lace band at the top. He made himself go slowly, rolling down the stocking inch by inch. When he’d revealed a bit of skin, he paused to run his fingertips over it and murmured, “You shave your legs.” Before I could worry about how that revelation would go over, Alastair slid the stocking down to my knee and licked my inner thigh, moaning again before nuzzling my hard-on through the thong.
The lick sent a jolt of pleasure through my balls and up my spine. I drew in my breath, but then I reminded him, “The stockings first.” I was determined to let the anticipation build.
It was a struggle to slow down, but he did as I asked. When both stockings were finally off, he ran his hands up my smooth legs as his swollen cock pressed against his belly, and he whispered, “You’re so unexpected, in the best possible way.”
He followed my instructions and removed the corset next, unfastening it hook by hook before finally spreading it open on either side of me. It always left marks on my body, because I cinched it tight. His hands went to those red spots automatically, massaging them and trying to sooth them away. The long, slow build-up had left him literally shaking with need, but he didn’t rush, opting to take care of me instead of trying to get himself off.
I couldn’t wait any longer and pushed Alastair onto his back before parting his thighs with my knee. When I straddled him, he rasped, “Fuck me, Sawyer.”
He rocked his hips, thrusting against me. His pale blue eyes were so dilated that they looked black, and the flush that had begun in his chest had spread throughout his body. He looked so sexy, and I was dying to sink my cock into him, but there was absolutely no rushing it.
“We need lube and condoms,” I told him as I shucked my thong and tossed it aside.
“Nightstand. I bought them for you this morning.” He had to be kidding about the ‘for me’ part.
We both got comfortable, and I spent a long time working him open with plenty of lube while we kissed and jerked each other off. His hole was so tight, and the anticipation drove me wild. He kept begging me to fuck him, and when I murmured, “Soon,” he looked at me with trust in his eyes.
When he seemed ready, I prepped myself with a condom and more lube, and wiped my hands with some tissues before kneeling between his legs. He was flat on his back, clutching the sheets, and I spread his legs and pushed them toward his chest with my hands on the backs of his knees. As my cock pressed against his opening, he looked worried, and I said softly, “You can do this, Alastair. Push out while I push in, it’ll open you up for me.” He followed my instructions, his eyes never leaving mine.
I sank into him inch by inch, making myself go slowly. When he whimpered a little, I froze, but then he whispered, “Keep going. Please, Sawyer. I need you in me.” I did as he asked, stopping only when I bottomed out in him.
He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at our joined bodies. When he realized he’d taken all of me, a glorious smile spread across his face. As I began thrusting, slowly and carefully, I asked him how he was doing, and he murmured, “So good.”
He’d started to go soft when I first entered him, but as I thrust into him and stroked his cock, he stiffened in my hand. Before long, he arched off the mattress and cried out as he began to shoot across his body, once again gripping the bedding with both hands. His ass clamped down on my cock as he came, and that set me off, too. I bit back a yell, thrusting again and again as my head spun and my vision blurred. It was wild and intense, and I clutched him to me, trying to ground myself.
When that huge orgasm finally ended, a pair of gorgeous, pale blue eyes came into focus. They crinkled at the corners, and I smiled too before kissing him. I slid my cock from Alastair as I asked, “You alright?”
“Never better.” He looked perfectly happy as he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me again.
Eventually, I sat up and peeled off the condom, and he said, “We both need to clean up. Want to take a quick shower with me?” I wasn’t going to say no to that.
I hadn’t gotten much of a look at his apartment on the way in, but if the bathroom was any indication, it had to be pretty grand. Rich earth tones and Carrara marble made it look like a picture in a magazine, the kind that made you wonder if anyone actually lived like that. Turned out, some people did.
He got the water running as I tossed the condom in a silver trash can. When he turned toward me, his eyes went wide. I glanced over my shoulder and smiled as he muttered, “Bloody hell.” He’d left a bulb-shaped douching device beside the sink. “Just, God, ignore that. Or better yet, hang on.” He grabbed it and ran from the room.
When he returned a few moments later, he looked mortified, and he murmured, “So, yes, I had every intention of making a move on you during the reception. I thought it was best to be prepared, just in case a miracle occurred and you were actually interested.”
I followed him into the shower, and as I soaped up my hands and ran them down his arm, I said, “It’s okay that you went to the reception hoping to get lucky, and you don’t have to make me think you did that for me in particular. My ego can take it.” He frowned for a moment, then dispensed some soap into his palm and began massaging it into a lather on my skin.
We took our time, washing each other tenderly. It was intimate in a way I’d neve
r experienced. I relaxed under Alastair’s touch, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of his hands on my body and the citrusy aroma of the body wash.
When we were both clean and dry, we returned to the bedroom with towels around our hips, and he hesitated before pulling open a drawer in his nightstand and removing a leather-bound journal. He flipped to the last page with writing on it and held it up to me, his fingertip indicating the last couple lines. They said: Please, don’t let me mess this up today. I want Sawyer so badly I can taste it.
To say I was surprised was an understatement, and I mumbled, “You didn’t have to show me that. It looks private.”
He tossed the journal on top of the nightstand and said, “It must have sounded like utter bollocks, saying I’d been getting ready for you,” he said. “But the truth is, I’d noticed you months ago and wanted you ever since, and I was hoping I’d have my chance today, since I knew you’d be at the reception.”
“Months ago?”
Alastair nodded. “I remember it like it was yesterday. I was headed to the Castro Theater with my friend Rebecca. It was shortly before she moved to Florida and decided it was too much effort to keep in touch with me, but that’s neither here nor there. Anyway, we’d run into Zachary and TJ and were chatting with them when you drove by on a motorcycle. You wore a gray kilt and black leather jacket, and you were the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. My jaw hit the pavement when you flashed your dimples at me.”
“I remember that day, too. It was around Christmas, and you were dressed like you’d stepped out of a Dickens novel. All you needed was a top hat.”
He grinned and said, “Was I?”
“More or less. You looked cute in your overcoat and wool scarf, though.”
“You’re just being nice. I must have looked like a complete git if you’re describing my outfit as Dickensian.”
“You always look great. I’ve thought so ever since the first time I saw you, back at Kai’s wedding.” I cleared my throat and changed the subject by asking, “Does that offer of a sandwich still stand? I’m starving.”
“Absolutely.”
As I followed him to the kitchen, I noticed that the entire apartment coordinated with the bedroom and bathroom. The earth tones were offset with white, while shots of orange in some of the artwork, throw pillows, and knickknacks added a dash of color. I thought the dark brown walls in the living room were a little odd at first, but then I got what the designer had been going for. The room, attractive as it was, paled in comparison to the stunning city views outside the big, arched windows, and maybe that was the whole idea. The financial district and its skyscrapers, including the iconic Transamerica Pyramid, glittered in the distance. There was no competing with that view, so the apartment fell away instead, directing the focus to San Francisco’s glorious skyline.
I’d paused before one of the windows in the living room, and a light touch on my lower back drew my attention from the view. “I’m going to miss that,” he said softly. “It’s the entire reason I bought this condo, as I mentioned. I suppose I’ll have to look for a flat in London at the top of the tallest building I can find. That way, if I squint, maybe I can pretend I’m looking at San Francisco. Not that anything’s wrong with London, mind you. It’s a fabulous city. But this one holds a special place in my heart.”
“I can see why.”
He asked, “Have you always lived here? Apart from your time in the military, obviously.”
“Not always. I moved around a lot as a kid, because my dad was in the Army. When I was thirteen, he got transferred to the Bay Area. It was just supposed to be for two years, but soon after we moved here, he ran into some health problems and had to retire. I’ve always liked it here and was glad it was where we ended up.”
When we got to the kitchen, he filled a kettle and put it on the stove, then began pulling sandwich ingredients from the huge refrigerator, which for some reason was paneled to look like the cabinets. Was it somehow uncouth to let people know you owned major appliances? A ten-thousand-dollar Sub-Zero fridge? Better hide that shit.
“How can I help?” I asked, dragging my attention away from the mysteries of a designer lifestyle.
“By making yourself comfortable and telling me what you’d like on your sandwich.”
“Everything.” I noticed a high-end Italian espresso machine on the counter and asked, “Mind if I make some coffee?”
He glanced at the chrome appliance and told me, “Good luck, that thing’s a beast. The instruction manual, coffee beans, and whatnot are in the cabinet above it.”
His coffee grinder was still in the box, and as I set it up, I said, “I guess coffee’s not your thing. It doesn’t look like you’ve used any of this stuff.”
“On the contrary, I love coffee. But it’s so much easier to just pop into the cafe on the corner every morning, rather than trying to coax that thing into producing a decent cuppa.”
“Why don’t you skip the tea and let me make you a cup?”
“Sounds lovely, thanks.” When I opened the bag of beans, dumped a few into my palm, and examined them, he said, “Should I ask what you’re looking for?”
“Since you don’t make coffee very often, or ever apparently, I wanted to see if the beans were from the Mesozoic era.”
“You can tell if they’re fresh just by looking?”
“Usually. It has to do with their oily residue.”
“Lovely.”
“Well, you asked.”
“I bought the beans last week at that shop on the corner, when I was getting my morning latte. I thought I should have some on hand for Rollie when he visits, since he’s cultivating a world-class caffeine addiction.”
“I knew I liked Rollie.”
Alastair leaned against the counter and grinned at me. “You’re one of those people, aren’t you? A proper coffee snob.”
“Nah. Give me a great, simple cup of diner coffee and I’m happy as can be. I hate all that pretentious, hipster ‘drink this and be cool’ bullshit.”
“Well, that’s a relief. I was ready to don a false beard and hang about one of those trendy places to get myself up to speed. Then I’d planned to impress you by lacing our conversations with phrases like single-origin, artisanal brew…micro-roasts? Is that a thing?”
I chuckled and said, “Sounds like you’ve already been hanging out in those places.”
“My corner café might be a tad pretentious.”
I collected a few supplies from around his kitchen, ground the beans and got the espresso machine going. As I began to steam some milk, he said, “And not a single glance at the inch-thick manual. Impressive.”
“When I was in high school and college, I worked at a fantastic, family-owned coffee house in North Beach. That’s where I met my best friend Kai, incidentally. The shop owner liked me for some reason. He promoted me to assistant manager, even though I was just a kid, and encouraged me to participate in some local and regional barista competitions. It’s been a while, but let’s see if I still remember a few tricks.”
As I dispensed the rich, dark espresso into a cup, Alastair said, “It sounds like a great place. Is it still there?”
I shook my head. “A Starbucks moved in right across the street and drove them out of business, after over thirty years in the same location. The shop owner moved to Tucson after that, to be closer to his grandkids. We still send Christmas cards.” I concentrated on pouring steamed milk into the cup, then layering the lighter foam on the surface of the espresso. Next, I used the tip of a sharp knife to pick up tiny amounts of the dark liquid and draw a few details on the white design.
I grinned at what I’d made and handed it to him, and Alastair’s face lit up. I’d drawn two carp on the drink’s surface, swimming in opposite directions and curling around each other like a yin and yang symbol. He exclaimed, “Blimey! How did you do that?”
“I’m out of practice, that’s why it’s a little sloppy.”
“Sloppy! It’s absolutely beautiful. You�
��re an artist!”
I was embarrassed by his enthusiasm and concentrated on wiping down the machine with a dish towel as I murmured, “Anybody can learn to do that. It just takes practice.”
“I could try for a hundred years, and it’d never turn out like this.” He looked around and said, “Where’s my phone?” Alastair rushed from the room. While he was gone, I made myself a latte and took a sip, then sighed contentedly. There was nothing quite as perfect as a good cup of coffee.
Alastair returned a few moments later and snapped a picture of the carp. Then he spun around, leaned against me and held the phone up for a selfie. “Say cheese, mate,” he said, and I grinned at the camera. He put the phone aside and asked, “Those competitions you entered back when you were a teen, how did you do in them?”
“I um…won.”
“All of them?”
“I mean, I only entered five or six, but yeah.”
“See? You’re absolutely brilliant at this, and you have more than my opinion to prove it! Where do you work? I’m coming to your coffee house every morning!”
“Actually, I’d been working construction since I got back to the city, but the job was completed last week. Now I’m looking for pretty much anything.”
He stared at me for a moment, then picked up the cup and gestured with it as he said, “You love this, don’t you? You well and truly love it.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“So, why are you doing anything else? I obviously understand family obligation and that you felt you had to join the military, but you’re out now, and you’re free to follow your passion!”
“I need to earn a living, and construction pays more than being a barista,” I said. “Besides, the latte art trend peaked ages ago. Nobody cares that I can do this.”
“I care.”
“Your coffee’s getting cold, you should drink it.”
“I don’t want to destroy your creation.”
“It’s meant to be transitory. Here, I’ll help you let go.”
