by L. A. Witt
Golfed my worst game in years today, his latest message read. Your fault. ;)
I laughed and wrote back, Too sore or too distracted?
Almost immediately, he responded, Yes.
I put my phone in the cupholder without sending anything—Paul knew I was driving, so he expected my responses to be sporadic.
This afternoon is crawling by. Would go much faster with you.
Oh. Oh. He was killing me.
I adjusted the front of my pants, hoping no one on the sidewalk noticed, and wrote back, I’ll make it up to you tonight.
I grinned like an idiot. Tonight was going to be hot, especially if we kept flirting and teasing each other all damned day.
Some guys about my age flagged me down, so I put my phone back in the cupholder and pulled up to the curb.
“Can you take us to the base?” one asked.
“Can do. Which gate?”
“Gate one.”
“Got it.”
I took them to the base, trying not to visibly fidget in my seat as my phone buzzed with what was probably a message from Paul. When I dropped them off, there were some other guys looking for a lift to the pier, so while they climbed in, I quickly read and replied to his message.
I’m looking forward to it. You’re always worth the wait.
You’re making it impossible to work. You know that, right? ;)
Then I headed back to the pier to drop the new guys off and find some more day-drunk passengers. As expected, there were a couple of Sailors needing a lift, so I pulled up and let them pour themselves into the back of my car. I took them back to the base. Checked my texts. Picked up some more passengers. Took them to the pier. Texted Paul. Picked people up. Dropped them off. Texted. Over and over and over. Not a bad way to spend a shift.
Shortly after I’d stopped for a quick bite, another text came through, but it was from my dad: You coming to the gym w/me tomorrow?
I groaned and rolled my eyes. He’d been after me for the last couple of weeks, and experience told me he wasn’t going to let up anytime soon. He knew I hit up the base gym on a sporadic but somewhat frequent basis, and that I kicked my own ass without his help. Just . . . not as often as I should, which was why he was nagging me.
But I had a free evening with Paul tomorrow night, and if I spent the morning at the gym with my dad, I’d be hurting. Which was good—he knew how far to push me with weight lifting—but not terribly appealing. Especially since my muscles already ached thanks to some recent . . . cardio.
So I wrote back, Probably not. Have to study.
At least studying was a bulletproof excuse. God help me when the semester was over.
Toward late afternoon, after I’d dropped off a group of Sailors at the pier, I checked my phone like I’d been doing all day. There was a message, but this time, it wasn’t Paul. It was an email notification.
And the email was from medical.
Test results.
Not surprisingly, they were negative. I’d only been with one other guy since the last time I’d had a test. I felt like an idiot for being slightly nervous whenever I checked my results, but it kind of made sense. It wasn’t that I was worried about a positive result. If anything, it was leftover nerves from the first few times I’d gone in for testing and convinced myself my dad would have a fit. He’d never given me crap for being gay, but what if he had confirmation that I was sexually active? Back then, I’d been convinced he’d ground me for the rest of my life, though obviously that wasn’t an issue now.
And anyway I’d let go of that worry after a corpsman had let it slip to my dad that I’d come in for an HIV/STI test. Apparently he’d thought he was being responsible by breaking protocol and notifying him that his underage son was engaging in “risky behavior.”
Dad wasn’t having it. He’d read him the riot act, then dragged him into the hospital command master chief’s office to let her do the same.
“My son is being responsible for his health,” he’d shouted loud enough for the whole office, including me, to hear. “What are you trying to do? Embarrass him? Make him afraid or ashamed to come in down the road? When you have a sexually active teenager coming in here to stay on top of his goddamn health, you test him, give him the results, and keep your bullshit comments to yourself, or I will make sure you’re in front of a disciplinary board explaining the meaning of HIPAA. Got it?”
In the car on the way home, he’d apologized, assured me I would never get in trouble for going in for tests, and made me promise I was using—and would continue to use—condoms.
And that was the end of it, but an echo of that nervous “am I about to be busted?” feeling still showed up every damn time I did this.
I closed the email and put my phone in the cupholder again. Now a new feeling made my stomach flutter. Paul had agreed to go in for a routine “nope, no bugs” test too, and his had come back a few days ago with the all clear. With the negative results across the board, was there any reason we couldn’t go bareback? I’d never done it with anyone else, but if we both had tests declaring we didn’t have anything to transmit . . . then . . . maybe?
I squirmed in my seat. It had never occurred to me to go without a condom, but the thought of fucking Paul without one made my skin tingle with excitement. As good as it felt with a condom, I could only imagine how much more intense it would be without.
When my shift finally ended, I couldn’t get to the motel fast enough. With a stomach full of butterflies—excited ones and nervous ones—I pulled up to the address Paul had texted me. He was already checked in, waiting for me, and he opened the door the second I knocked.
We’d barely shut the door behind us before his lips were against mine. His fingers combed through my hair, and his other arm wrapped firmly around my waist, keeping me against him and his very prominent erection.
Gently, he tugged at my hair until I tilted my head back, and then he kissed his way down to my throat.
“Been thinking about this all day,” he murmured against my neck.
“Yeah?” I pulled his shirt free. “What have you been thinking about?”
“You fucking me.”
“Mmm. Can’t wait.” I glanced at the bedside table, where a strip of condoms sat beside his wallet and keys. My heart skipped. If I was going to broach the subject, now seemed like a better time than when we were tangled up and naked, so I cleared my throat and drew back enough to meet his eyes. “Listen, uh, before we get to that . . . I got my test results back. All clear.”
Paul smiled. “Great. Not that I was all that concerned.”
“Yeah, me neither.” I shrugged even though I felt anything but dismissive right then. “But it’s always good to know.”
“Definitely.” He kissed me lightly. “This doesn’t mean we have to be exclusive or anything. Just, you know, if you are with anyone else . . .”
“Say something?”
He nodded, and his eyes flicked toward the bedside table. “And condoms. Of course.”
My blood went cold. “What about . . .” I gestured at him, then me.
“What do you mean?”
“Condoms?”
He shrugged. “I don’t really see why we need them at this point.”
My heart could not possibly have beat any harder. So we were really going to do this. Condoms with other people if it came to that, but with just the two of us? Bareback. Exactly like I’d fantasized about ever since I’d read that email from medical. Exactly like I’d wanted.
Right?
Fuck.
“Sean?” He touched my face. “What’s the matter?”
I chewed my lip. “Look, maybe it’s not rational, but I’m . . .” I took a deep breath, then blurted out, “I’m not sure if I’m ready to go bareback yet.” I laughed, shaking my head. “God, this is stupid. We’re both negative. But I . . . I don’t know.”
“Okay.” He shrugged again. “We can still use condoms. It’s not a big deal.”
I blinked. “You don
’t mind?”
“Absolutely not. If you change your mind, say so.”
“Oh.”
He studied me. “Did you think I’d mind?”
Kind of, yeah. Which is dumb, because you’re you, and why the hell would I expect you to be a jerk?
I shook my head. “I don’t know what I thought.”
Paul smiled. “Well, for the record, it’s your call. The only time I really feel a difference is if I’m on top, but even then, it’s fine. And when I’m bottoming, hell, I’m perfectly happy either way—with or without a condom, it feels almost exactly the same for me.”
I hesitated, then smiled too. Wrapping my arms around him, I said, “It feels amazing to me even with the condom.”
“So you wouldn’t be opposed if I suggested we go get a condom and use one? Like now?”
“Not opposed at all.”
“Then let’s get out of these clothes.”
As we stripped, I was excited as hell, but doubt was creeping in fast. I felt stupid for insisting on condoms. He didn’t seem offended, thank God. It wasn’t that I distrusted him, and I knew for a fact the Navy tested everyone for HIV on a regular basis. I wasn’t sure why two negative tests weren’t enough to convince me to go bareback. Or why I’d done such a one-eighty from wanting to skip condoms to feeling way too vulnerable without one.
Was I being an idiot now? Or had that been when I was getting myself all turned on and worked up over fucking him bareback? What the fuck was the matter with me?
Paul reached for me, but hesitated. “Hey, you okay?”
Apparently I was wearing my crazy on my sleeve right then. “Yeah.” I avoided his eyes. “I’m . . . I guess . . .”
“The condom thing?”
Heat rushed into my cheeks, and I nodded.
“Don’t sweat it,” he said quietly. “It’s not something to take lightly.”
“I know. But I . . .” I lifted my gaze again. “I’ve never gone bareback with anyone. I guess it’s hot to think about, but when the rubber meets the road—”
“So to speak.”
I paused, replaying what I’d said. Then I burst out laughing.
Paul laughed too, and gathered me in his arms. “It’s okay.” His tone and expression turned serious. “You have to remember—I grew up when AIDS was still a horrific death sentence. Living in that era leaves an impression.” He kissed me softly. “I wouldn’t twist your arm even if I gave you a hundred negative tests in a row.”
Slowly, I relaxed, wrapping my arms around his waist. Our earlier conversation echoed in my mind, and my stomach flipped. I drew back and looked up at him. “You said you only notice condoms when you’re on top.” I paused. “Do you . . . like being on the bottom? All the time, I mean?”
He shrugged. “I love being fucked, but I’ll admit I do kind of like being on top once in a while.”
“Oh.” I swallowed. “I . . .” Hell, might as well cop to it. “I hate bottoming.” I wrinkled my nose. “It’s not a power thing or anything; I just . . . don’t like the way it feels. I hate it, actually.”
“Painful?”
“No, no. Just didn’t do anything for me. I tried it a few times, but really, really don’t like it.”
He smiled, then brushed a light kiss across my lips. “Not everybody does. It’s okay.”
“You like it, though, right?”
“Mm-hmm.” He dipped his head to kiss my neck. “Fucking love it.”
“But you like being on top too?”
“I do.”
I bit my lip even as I tilted my head back to give him more access to my throat. “So if I can’t . . . If that’s not something . . .”
“Relax.” He kissed his way up to my ear. “I am perfectly happy letting you fuck me.” He slid a hand over my dick. “Perfectly happy.”
“Good. Because I really—” I sucked in a breath and shivered “—really like fucking you.”
He laughed. “Thought so.” Then he looked in my eyes. “That said, there is one thing we can do. So I can . . . well, sort of be on top, but without actually fucking you, since you don’t like that part.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What’s that?”
He traced the tip of his tongue along his upper lip. “Do you trust me?”
“Yeah.” My heart pounded. “What do you have in mind?”
He gestured for me to turn over, but I hesitated.
Paul smiled and kissed me softly. “Trust me.”
I did trust him, and I couldn’t imagine him trying to do something I’d explicitly said I didn’t want, so . . . I turned onto my side with my back to him.
He molded himself to me, pressing his hard-on against my ass for a second before he reached between us, and pushed his cock between my legs. It was odd, but okay—if this turned him on, I wasn’t going to say no.
“This all right?” he asked, rocking his hips a little so his dick slid back and forth.
“Yeah. Kind of different.”
“You’ve never done this?”
“Never.” And why the hell not? It was . . . kind of weird, but I liked it. What wasn’t to love about him holding me against him? “What do I do?”
“Stay just like this. Squeeze . . . your thighs together like— God, yeah. Like that.” His hand drifted up my chest, and he hooked his fingers over my shoulder. Using that for leverage, he thrust harder. Jesus, the friction was insane. It wasn’t going to make me come, but judging by the way he panted in my ear, it was probably going to make him come.
Thighs tightly together, I moved my hips in time with his, and Paul groaned, shuddering against me.
Holy shit, this was hot.
I wrapped my fingers around my cock and pumped it, and my eyes rolled back as a low moan escaped my lips.
“Goddamn, that feels good,” he breathed.
I couldn’t form words and didn’t bother trying. The friction was weirdly addictive, and with my own hand on my cock while he made those helpless, breathless sounds beside my ear . . . hot. So hot.
He burrowed his face against my neck. His groan seemed to reverberate right through me, and suddenly I was coming, and Paul was thrusting for all he was worth, and then he was coming—shuddering against me, gasping and swearing and digging his fingers into my hip.
We both released our breath, and relaxed.
“What do you know?” he slurred against my neck. “Didn’t need condoms after all.”
I laughed, heat rushing into my cheeks as our earlier conversation echoed through my mind. “That was . . . a lot hotter than I thought it would be.”
He kissed beneath my ear. “Ditto.”
We separated, and I was going to get up and clean myself off, but paused to meet his gaze.
He smiled and touched my face. “See? You don’t have to bottom, and I can still kind of top.”
“So I see.” I lifted my head to kiss him softly. “I’ll be right back.”
He pressed a tender kiss to my forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Please, please, mean that . . .
“I still don’t get why a guy in the Navy would want to have a boat.”
“Why’s that?” I glanced over my shoulder as I stepped from the dock onto my cabin cruiser. “Seems like the Navy would attract people who like water, don’t you think?”
“Well, okay.” Sean joined me on the boat. “I guess I thought the novelty of being at sea would wear off.”
“Being out on a ship, yeah. But this is my boat. And there’s beer onboard.” With a wink, I added, “And condoms.”
“Oh, I think I’m gonna like this boat.”
“I figured you would.” I put my hand on the small of his back and kissed his cheek.
It had been weeks since I’d texted him for a lift, and we’d been seeing each other at every available opportunity ever since. Usually we met up to hook up, but we’d both started getting a little cabin fever.
We still had to be kind of discreet. Anchor Point was a small town, and NAS Adams was a
small base, and gossip was the local pastime. Openly gay or not, I didn’t like my personal life being scrutinized by the base busybodies, so I preferred to fly under the radar as much as possible. Sean didn’t seem to mind—he probably didn’t feel the need to advertise that he was fucking someone twice his age—so we’d kept it on the down low.
Except all those motel room walls had started closing in, and we’d started noticing we still liked each other when we weren’t testing the structural integrity of shocks or bed frames, so we’d agreed to go out in public. In broad daylight. Granted we’d only be down at the marina and then out on the water, but this would be a low-key step toward seeing if we were just fuck buddies or stood a chance at more.
So here we were on my boat. I carefully maneuvered us from the marina, and when we were clear of the no-wake zone and in the open water, I gave it some more gas. Under a beautiful blue sky, we cruised along the rolling waves at a nice steady clip. Yeah, this was a perfect day for this.
And as the marina faded behind us and we continued into the Pacific, I started to relax. There weren’t any other boats out nearby. On the horizon, a red and black cargo ship inched south. Closer to the base, one of the gray patrol boats cruised around, but we were far from their jurisdiction.
Even with the gentle rocking, Sean moved around on the boat with ease. He did live in a coastal town, so maybe he had experience on the water. That, or he was one of those people who was every Sailor’s envy—the kind with natural sea legs. Asshole.
Up ahead, a large swell rose. Fell. Rose again.
“Hang on,” I called out.
He put a hand on the railing, and when the boat hit that swell, barely wobbled. “You get a lot of waves like that out here?”
“Open ocean. Anything’s possible.” I glanced at him and smirked. “Not that you seem to have any trouble with them.”
Chuckling, he came closer, but he did keep a hand on the rail and threw a cautious glance out at the water. “I’ve been on boats since I was a kid.” He shrugged. “Never seemed like a big deal to me.”
“You’re lucky.”
“Had a hard time on a ship?”
“Oh God.” I groaned. “My first time at sea, I spent a week heaving.”
