“You wish to join me?”
‘In a moment,” Freddie said. “Let me go fetch that bottle. We can finish it, we can swim, and then…”
“And then we will make love again. Freddie, that is all I want. You and me.”
Those were words that carried Freddie back to the villa, almost as though a cloud was his escort. But it wasn’t the kitchen he went to, but instead he padded up to the bedroom. He went to the closet, where he withdrew his suitcase. He dug into a hidden compartment, and then held up to the sun glinting through the blinds, a pair of rings. One for him, one, he hoped, for Santo. But then he put them away, his heart fluttering with anticipation.
When, he wondered, was the right time?
A ringing of a cell phone by the bedside interrupted his thoughts. He turned, noticed that it was his. He went over to it, saw the caller ID and picked it up immediately.
“Matt, hey buddy, how are you?”
“Great. So great. I can’t believe, a week from now I’m getting married.”
“I know. And I’ll be there.”
“Good, that’s great. I mean, if you can make it…”
“Matt, I’m already in Italy…in Tuscany, with Santo. We’ll be driving to Cap Ferrat.”
“Wow, that’s so great. I appreciate it…”
Freddie sense that something was wrong, and he said so.
“Oh, it’s nothing…”
“Matt, you wear your heart on your sleeve, even when on the phone. What’s up?”
“Have you heard from Jake?”
“No, I haven’t. Why?”
“I can’t reach him.”
“Reach him? You mean he won’t pick up, or answer a text?”
“Yeah. I’ve been trying for the last couple of days. Nothing.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, Matt. He’ll be there. Jake would not miss your big day. Knowing him, he’s met some guy and is holed up somewhere, screwing his brains out. You know how he was after he and Aaron broke up. My guess? He’s doing everything he can to make sure he doesn’t arrive stag at your wedding. Don’t worry about Jake. Remember, how our lives have changed, it’s really his fault.”
“Yeah, except, you and I got what we wanted. Jake didn’t.”
Freddie gazed out the window, where he watched with pleasure as the strong, furry body of Santo Mancusi ran laps in the pool, he filled with energy despite what they had just done. The connection they shared was probably not unlike that of Matt and Anton. But what of Jake? Even after the two friends had said their goodbyes, and Freddie returned to the patio with that bottle of wine, his mind was filled with so many questions. Foremost was this simple one: where in the world was Jake Westbury?
CHAPTER NINE
Jake
If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.
Wasn’t that how that old adage went? Jake Westbury wondered if there was any truth to it.
Or maybe he should go with “nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
Go back to the well?
No matter what cliché he went with, he knew there was no turning back now.
The guy eyeing him across the aisle was certainly cute, but young. Maybe 25, an innocent, clean-shaven face heightened by sparkling blue eyes. He had a short haircut, with a severe part on the side. He wasn’t Jake’s usual type, but then again, these days did he know what that was? He’d fucked the blond beach-bum Noah and then allowed himself to be drawn into the web that was Aaron, all furry and masculine. Total opposites, smooth and not, bottom and top, and in each instance Jake had given in to his baser instincts: sex now, regret later. Isn’t that how he had come to define his life? Finding the one man who mattered seemed like a futile mission, a one way trip to disappointment.
So maybe just being impulsive was the way to go. Jump in, don’t think.
So that’s why he decided to play the game, see where it went. He kept sneaking looks at the guy who sat a row in front of him on the opposite side of the aisle. And the guy looked at him, flashing a smile before darting his eyes away. A game of flirtation taking place at 30,000 feet. To what end? A quickie on board an overnight flight? A rush of power from hungry bodies as the jet hurtled through the sky with the hope of landing safely at its destination. What if it didn’t? Would Jake regret not following through on the intent the kid was flashing inside those baby blues? It’s not like it would be his first time as a member of the mile-high club. Wasn’t that how he’d begun his original summer sojourn to London? Locked in a tight bathroom with an equally horny guy.
The Virgin Atlantic flight from JFK en route to Heathrow had departed at 11:06 pm, with an arrival time scheduled for roughly nine o’clock in the morning London time. Jake’s decision to return to London was not exactly impulsive, given that he had to fly oversees anyway for Matt’s wedding, now, only a week away, but given his bad string of luck lately in the love department, he figured why not get out of New York and see where the wind took him. Currently the wind was taking him across the Atlantic Ocean, flying through the night sky with ease. Turbulence had been at a minimum, and all was calm with the notable exception of the cute guy’s continual gaze.
Jake was seated in row 37, seat D. He liked the equilibrium of the aisle seat, and also its ready access to getting up. He’d had a beer before dinner, another with the meal. He’d watched an episode of The Big Bang Theory on the small screen in front of him before finally turning it off in favor of the quiet of the night flight and the dim lighting in the cabin. His neighbor was already asleep, a mask over her eyes, a blanket covering her entire self. She looked safely cocooned. There was no one in the middle seat between them.
Just then Jake noticed the guy in the row in front get up. Jake braced himself, wondering where the guy was going and what he was going to do about it. Rather than a surreptitious escape to the back of the plane, the guy stopped right before him. Jake looked up, surprised by direct his approach.
“We’ve met, haven’t we?” he asked, his accent pure American.
“Um, do you think?”
“Peter’s party, the rooftop on 23rd Street. I’m sure it’s you…”
Jake was about to disabuse him of his beliefs and then realized it was an act. “Peter, right, he throws great parties.”
“Name’s Steven. You were with…oh, I geez…I forget.”
He was good, carrying his myth with authority. “I’m Jake. Friend of Scott’s. Peter’s…”
“Boyfriend, right,” said the guy who claimed his name was Steven. The fact he’d followed through on the story by mentioning a gay relationship sealed the deal. This hunky guy was looking for a mid-Atlantic hook-up and he’d chosen Jake as his prize. “Jake, nice to see you again. So, London you’re final stop?”
“For now. Headed to the South of France for a wedding,” he said.
Why was he telling him the truth when Steven was so full of shit? He could have told him anything.
“And you?”
“Munich, connecting flight in the morning. So I guess, you know, we’ll part ways at LHR.”
The fact he spoke in airport code made him seem like a seasoned traveler. Which made Jake think this wasn’t his first come-on on board. What to do about it?
“You want to share a drink? Let’s see if the flight attendants might have a spare beer.”
“Oh, uh, sure.”
“Great. By the way, I like the beard. You didn’t have that when we first met, right?”
The way this guy was selling it, Jake wondered if maybe they had met. Given his track record, he wasn’t even terribly good at remembering the men he’d slept with. Except he didn’t know anyone named Peter who was dating Scott and who lived in a rooftop apartment on 23rd Street. Steven was good, maybe an actor, or just well-versed in the art of the pick-up. Jake got up from his seat, followed Steven toward the back of the plane, where a lone flight attendant fussed about at the rear counter.
“Help you boys?” he asked.
“Can we grab a couple of
beers? I just ran into my old friend, had no idea he’d be on this flight,” Steven said.
“Sure, happy to reunite two friends,” the attendant said. His name tag read: Peter. He leaned over and grabbed a couple cans of Heineken from a metal cabinet, handed them to each of them. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to check the entertainment system, make sure everyone on board is happy. Everything okay with you guys? Happy?”
“Great flight,” Steven said.
Jake just nodded agreement and watched as they were left alone in the rear of the plane.
That’s when Steven slid into the tight confines of the restroom, grabbing Jake’s hand at the last minute, pulling him inside. Then he slid the lock, the sound loud in Jake’s mind but not in the rest of the cabin. The scream of the engines dominated the rear. He doubted anyone could hear anything.
Steven wasted little time, coming at Jake and planting a kiss on his lips. Jake responded in kind, pulling the guy in tight against him. He could feel the guy’s cock harden in his jeans. Jake’s thickened as well, stretching the limits of his pants while Steven ran a hand across his beard. Finally, the guy pulled away, smiling.
“You’re fucking hot,” he said.
“So are you. So, what do you want?”
“I want you, all of you,” he said
As if to seal the deal, he pulled from his pocket a condom and a small packet of lube.
So this wasn’t just going to be some quickie blow job in an airplane restroom. The guy wanted to be fucked. It amazed Jake sometimes, how random sex between two guys could pop up at any time. At a bar, a coffee shop even, and in the ultimate place, on board an airplane. Steven flipped the condom packet Jake’s way, and luckily he caught it.
“Slid it on your big cock,” he said. “At least, I hope it is.”
“Never had any complaints before.”
Steven unzipped his jeans, pushed them down around his ankles, showing off tight cheeks, perfectly rounded and smooth. He ripped open the lube with his teeth, then spread a generous amount between the cracks. Jake gazed into the mirror, saw Steven staring back at him with desire. With impatience. This was due or die, go through with it and hate himself upon landing, or slink back to his seat now and have to stare forward at Steven’s profile for the remainder of the flight. So he slid down his pants as well, his eager cock springing to action. He rolled the condom over his shaft, and then in one quick motion he slipped inside the lubricated hole.
“Oh, shit, yeah…that’s nice man. Fill me up.”
Jake pushed again, thrusting his entire self into the willing ass. His face was pressed up against Steven’s, his breath on his neck. “Tell me what you want.”
“Unbutton your shirt, show me what you’ve got. Then fuck me hard.”
Jake did as requested, undoing the series of buttons, revealing the light coating of hair that grew upon his chest. It was dark, and thick between his pecs.
“Nice, I like it. Push up my shirt.”
Steven wore a T-shirt, and Jake pushed it up toward his shoulders.
“Press your chest against my back, let me feel that scruff while you pound me.”
Again, Jake listened and obeyed, and before long he was pumping this guy’s tight ass, his hard cock sliding in, out, in, out, in a furious motion, his actions aided by the gentle movement of the aircraft. Like they were all riding the waves of the current together. Steven continued to beg for more, more, more, and Jake gave in to every wish. There was no going back now, not that he could stop even if the rational side of his brain told him to. His synapses were in overdrive, his cock like a piston. He fucked the guy in front of him, watching his tortured, pleasured expression in the mirror. As he thrust his hips forward, again, again, Steven stroked his cock over the sink, crying out with joy when suddenly he blew his load. Streaks of come hit the sink, the faucet, and the sight of it only urged Jake on, desiring his own climax.
“Come on, sexy, come on, let me feel you blast a hot load…do it.”
Jake let out a cry, grabbing hold of the guy’s shoulder while he plowed him. Just then the plane jerked, rising up over an air pocket, driving Jake’s cock deeper into him, as deep as he could get. Steven cried out so loudly he thought maybe everyone on board could hear them. It was just the primal sound Jake needed to release himself, and before he knew it he felt the welling up in his balls and the rocket of come shoot through his cock, spurting into the condom that sheathed his heated meat. He bucked again, again, allowing each drop to escape him, finally bringing his body to rest. He pulled out, and tore the condom off, letting it fall into the toilet.
“That’s was totally hot, man. Just what I needed.”
“Tell me my name,” Jake suddenly said.
“What?”
“Do you even remember?”
“You’re a good fuck, man. But weird. Who cares what your name is.”
Once again, Jake felt the deflation of sex. How could something so powerful and urgent be such a thing of the past moments after climax? He’d given the guy what he wanted, and hadn’t he gotten a bit of pleasure of it, too? What else was he expecting? They were on an airplane, he going one way, Jake another. Two souls, lost in the void between time zones, taking a moment to release a pent up load? What was the big deal?
Steven, or whatever his name was, secured his jeans closed. Then he popped the top of the can of beer and drank down a healthy gulp.
“You go first,” he said, sliding the lock of the restroom.
Jake grabbed his own beer and slipped out, thankfully finding everything as they’d left it. No flight attendant, no passenger waiting impatiently for the bathroom. He quietly returned to his seat, drank his beer, stared out the window as the morning rushed toward him, and wished he could be as innocent as the woman beside him. She was still wrapped up in her blanket, her eyes still covered by a mask. How nice for her. Jake himself felt so exposed, even more so when he saw so-called Steven return to his seat, put on headphones, and then easily drift off to sleep.
London couldn’t come soon enough.
Why not, Jake had already come too.
What the hell am I doing? he wondered. Chasing a lost fantasy that didn’t even exist a year ago. So why should now be any different. What had time altered? Jake was still the same person, seeking something he had yet to find no matter which continent he found himself on. New York had been a bust. Hadn’t London been the same?
So what was he doing, hopping a flight that would whisk him back?
Because if sleeping with Noah and with Aaron again had taught him anything, sometimes you had to give something a second chance. Sometime you had to enjoy the hunt. Especially if the man is named Hunter.
***
Except, his second chance wasn’t really to be found in London. He still had a train to catch, which would take him into the brushy English countryside, to a musty old estate called Voignier House, found outside a small village. It’s where tricks had been played, games were manipulated, and sex had been used as a weapon. But damn if it hadn’t been fun, perhaps the most adventure Jake had had in his pursuit of sexual fulfillment. But was there a deeper truth to be found there? Even though he’d flown all the way here, he wasn’t convinced he was ready for the next step.
For now, he was in Central London, having booked a room at the Hotel Strand, a large European-style hotel with small rooms that encouraged you to stay out late on the narrow, crowded streets of this historic city. He’d checked in, surprised to find his room available at noon, where he’d unpacked, grabbed a fast nap and then headed out by three o’clock and emerged to see what had changed since his visit a year and a half ago.
Lots had. Some of the pubs he’d frequented were gone, replaced by chain-owned wine bars or worse, by Starbucks or other cafes. It was not unlike what he found on any street in Manhattan, and disappointment began to settle over him. Thankfully he found a familiar location, the Chandos, a pub on the corner of Charing Cross Road and St. Martin’s Lane, and so he stopped in and ordered
a pint of their local brew. Outside the sky was gray, and rain threatened, but given it was London in April, the weather was hardly surprising. Jake had donned a blue windbreaker over his shirt and jeans. He was comfortable and primed for anything—minus an umbrella. If he got rained on, so be it. Welcome to England.
As he sat and nursed his pint, Jake considered his next move.
Did he take a couple days to enjoy himself here, or should he jump right into his plan?
And just what did he think was waiting for him?
Newbury was about two hours west of London, and given that it was coming up on late afternoon already, Jake decided his trip could wait until the morning. Wasn’t that the prudent thing to do? After all, if he left now, he’d arrive in the noted horse-racing town close to eight, maybe nine at night, and then he had to hire a cab to take him to the estate. What if what he came upon was an empty house? Its windows dark, the doors just as locked to him as the man who might—or might not—be living inside it. Dammit, he thought. Was this ridiculous quest of his simply because he didn’t want to go to Matt’s wedding alone? To see Matt and Anton exchange vows, to see Freddie and that sexy Santo displaying their love? Hadn’t this entire European venture been Jake’s idea? So then why had it worked out so well for his two friends and not for him? Not worked out of course being a euphemism for disaster.
Fuck it.
He knocked back the last of his beer, headed out in to the street and didn’t even look back.
Slipping down to the Underground station at Leicester Square, Jake paid his fare and got aboard the Piccadilly Line one stop, then on to a transfer to the Bakerloo Line, which took him to Paddington Station. Memory aided him, or perhaps instinct did, and the next thing he knew he was buying a one-way trip to Newbury. He hadn’t any luggage with him. If nothing worked out, he might have to find a local hotel, or even take a late train back to London. But all that was for the future to decide. For now, Jake headed down the platform with a host of bustling commuters who were ready to retire to their villages for a night of relaxation. Jake was the opposite, a bundle of nerves suddenly, still debating if he was doing the right thing.
American Hunks Page 12
