“I’d love that. In the meantime, take care, Bentley. I’ll call you when I get back to Miami.”
I snapped the phone shut and stood there a minute, processing our exchange while taking in the sweeping view of the golf course and lake. The sky looked like a rich blanket of blue velvet.
“So, you checking in with your other boyfriend?” came a sleepy voice.
Warren joined me on the terrace. He wore only his boxer briefs. Maybe it was the morning light making the hills around us look fresh and newly born, or maybe it was simply being caught off guard, but watching Warren stroll up to me with a big, childlike grin that was at odds with his powerfully built adult male body, I’d never seen him look more handsome.
It was as if something so perfectly formed had stepped right out of nature itself. As if he were another one of God’s gifts to mankind, just like the hills and lakes in the distance. I was incredibly turned on, but equally overcome by feelings of doubt. Where exactly did we stand in this relationship? Did I dare broach the subject?
Instead I struggled for words. “I don’t have a boyfriend, you know that. So you finally woke up, huh?”
Warren now stood just inches away. He wrapped his massive arms around me. He followed through with a soft kiss on my lips. “Hmmm, that bed felt great. How did you sleep?”
“I slept well,” I said, trying not to be swept away.
“I’ll tell you this much: from now on, we do less sleeping and more of something else. That bed is made for more than sleeping.” He embraced me tighter and kissed me once more, this time more hungrily. I returned the kiss with equal hunger, unable to prevent myself from being aroused by the thought of a marathon lovemaking session with this wall of muscle.
Warren at last rested his chin on my shoulder and whispered in my ear, as if to prevent the birds from listening, “We got all night for that. So what do you want to do until then?” I held my breath in anticipation of the come-on, which failed to materialize. “Are you up for golf?”
No, I wasn’t up for golf. As much as I was holding back, I still wanted to see where our love scene on the terrace might lead. “I didn’t bring my clubs,” I said in the hope of squashing his plans.
“I’m sure we can rent some at the club.”
How to get out of that? “Why don’t we get some breakfast?”
“Room service or do you want to go out?”
Playing it cool in an attempt to mask my interest in sex, I answered offhandedly, “Either way.”
“Okay, let me get dressed.” He grabbed my ass and slapped it before heading back inside.
“Sounds good,” I said, following him into the room. “I think I’m going to make some coffee. You want a cup?”
“Yeah, that will be right on time, boo boo.”
I stopped and turned, shooting him an incredulous stare. “Boo boo? So I’m your boo boo again?” I loved the way that sounded.
“You’ll always be my boo boo, Bent. You know that,” he said with a wink as he dropped his boxers to the floor and strode toward the walk-in closet.
That evening, our last one on the lake, Warren and I did a five-mile run on the jogging trail. It had been a long time since we’d run the six miles around Detroit’s island park, Belle Isle, along with joggers, cyclists, and Rollerbladers. Now, shocked by the exertion, we returned to the cabin exhausted. I was determined to beat Warren to the shower because I felt like a sweaty mess and didn’t want him touching me—or me him, at least not in that condition. It didn’t matter how drop-dead beautiful the man was—some things came first. While he poured himself a tall glass of orange juice, I headed to the bathroom.
A golden sunset filtered through the small bathroom window as I lathered my body. There I was for the second time that day, lost in my thoughts under the steady pressure of the shower. After about five minutes, I was getting ready to step out when Warren surprised me by sliding open the frosted shower door.
“How about I join you?” he asked. “Or do I have to wait for an invitation?”
I fought like a madman not to melt at the breathtaking sight of Warren’s hard nakedness. “Come on in,” I said casually. “I’m all done.”
Before I could exit, however, he’d already stepped inside. “Would you like me to wash your back?”
“Thanks, but I’m cool.”
“There must be something else I can wash,” Warren said as he enveloped me from behind with those powerful arms once more. He began to nibble on my ear and very slowly run his erect, fat dick across my ass. As if responding to a dinner bell, my own dick quickly swelled until it swung before me like a pendulum. Warren gently rocked me back and forth, and I felt myself losing ground fast. I was unsure that I could stop what had started so suddenly, but also unsure that I wanted to stop what had started.
“You taste so good that I could eat you up, starting right about here,” he said, circling the sensitive area beneath my right ear with his tongue. I stood frozen with my eyes closed, happily paralyzed by the chills running down my neck from the touch. “Yes, sir, you know I could eat all of you up, from top to bottom. But I got something that tastes just as good that’s waiting on you,” he added, lightly poking his dick against my asshole to underscore his point.
I inhaled and opened my eyes, determined to change course. “I bet you do. But why don’t we wait until later for that,” I said, slipping out of his wet embrace. “I’ll meet you in the living room and we can talk about plans for the evening.”
He looked puzzled, not quite hurt, but he appeared to be feeling his way through what had just happened.
Although I’d managed to resist Warren’s fabulous touch and my own desire for a big throw down of lovemaking without condoms, that wasn’t the end of it—not by a mile. Warren wasn’t the type to take no for an answer, nor did he have a body that would elicit a no from anyone he chose to fuck. I therefore really shouldn’t have been surprised when suddenly I noticed him in the mirror behind me as I stood shaving. He smiled devilishly at my reflection, as if to say, “I know what you want, and I’m about to give it to you.” Instinctively I pulled my towel tighter around my waist—as if that might hold him off!
But this was a man full of surprises. Rather than have his way with me right there, he produced a bath towel and began to dry my still wet skin with long, lingering strokes. An almost uncomfortable silence hung in the air, since we were playing this by ear. I didn’t think either of us knew what might follow. Once he had dried my entire body, including my feet, he took me by the shoulders and turned me around to face him.
He looked at me tenderly and said, “You know we’re going to work this thing out, don’t you?”
“What thing?” I asked, knowing precisely what he meant but wanting to hear it from him. I felt myself on the verge of melting inside, with love, lust, and longing for a real future with Warren.
His voice was so tender when he said, “You and me, boo.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
I tipped my head forward toward his chest, unable to face him. I wasn’t sure what to believe. “But how, why . . . ?”
“Because at the end of the day, you’re like that Eric Benet song.”
“What song?”
“ ‘You’re the Only One.’ ”
“Oh, yeah?” I said, looking up so he could see my tears starting to form. “Is that really what I am to you? The only one?”
“Yeah, that and a whole lot more, Bent.”
“But we have to do everything out of the public eye,” I complained. “How long do you expect me to live this way? Does it have to be like that?”
“For now,” he said so quietly that I had to strain to hear him. “Can you handle it for now?”
I looked around the room as I attempted to formulate an answer. Did I even have a choice? “I don’t know what to say, boo. It’s a lot to expect. You and I got more issues than a magazine company.”
“We can work them out,” he said, pressing his forehead
against mine. “Can you stick with me ’til I work things through?”
The question was so big that I didn’t know how to reply. When I didn’t answer, Warren planted a deep, desperate kiss on my mouth, almost as if he were trying to communicate through a kiss what he was unable to put into words. I could no longer resist this man, nor did I feel I needed to anymore. Whether he ever delivered on his plans or I was able to stick with him until he did, suddenly didn’t matter to me. I needed Warren like nobody’s business.
I threw my arms over his broad shoulders, which only further ignited our smoldering kiss. He stuck his big hand down the small of my back until he’d worked his way under the towel, which dropped to the floor. My rock-hard dick pressed against his swelling manhood. I reached between the folds of his towel and took him in my hand, stroking his fully erect, foot-long member.
“What do we have here?” I asked.
“You remember him, don’t you?”
“He feels awfully familiar.”
“Why don’t you taste him and see if it’s the one you remember.”
“You mean the one I miss?” I asked. I knelt down and admired this beautiful piece of man meat—the same one I’d fought so valiantly to resist. I licked the palm of my hand and started to massage the length of his dick. Warren threw back his head, his mouth forming a silent O. When the first dribble of pre-cum bubbled up and neither of us could stand the wait any further, I took him in my mouth in one swift swallow. The taste of that man’s sex drove me over the edge, propelling me to suck long and deeper. Finally Warren cupped the back of my head, his muscular thighs shuddering with excitement.
“Oh, fuck, baby,” he cried out. “Nobody can do that like you. Shit, get that bad boi as hard as you can make him. I got plans for us.”
I took his dick out of my mouth and looked up. “What else we gonna do?”
“I feel like laying some pipe. Do you need some pipe in your life?”
“I always can use some good pipe in my life,” I said, trying to hold back the laughter.
“You must have forgotten, boi.”
“Forgot what?”
“My motto,” Warren said with a sexy glint in his eyes.
“What motto?”
“That I got more wood than Home Depot.”
“For real, for real?”
“Hmmm, how about we go into the bedroom and I fuck you so damn long and hard that I tear that ass of yours wide open.”
“You promise?” I asked with a grin.
He took my hand. “Follow me and I’ll show you just how good I can keep a promise.”
FIFTEEN
“So what do you think of Seth Sinclair?” I asked Warren as he took a bite of his bacon. We were sitting at the dining-room table after ordering room service. Both of us wore the thick white robes with the resort’s logo embroidered in gold on the breast.
Warren looked at me like my question had come out of left field. “What do you mean, what do I think of him?”
“I mean, I was really surprised to see him there,” I said. “Everything I’ve read about him, his family and career totally contradicts what PGC stands for.”
Warren dropped his bacon onto the plate, where it drowned in a small pool of maple syrup around his pancakes. He sounded irritated. “There you go with that waving the flag thing, Bentley. Just let the man live his life the way he wants to. He’s done a lot for the African American community, especially in Hollywood. You don’t have to like him.”
I hated that Warren was defending Seth, but considering Warren’s belief that fucking the shit out of another man didn’t make him gay, I don’t know why I was the least bit surprised.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like him,” I snapped. “I only got to spend a few minutes with him. I just wonder what would happen if all his fans knew about that side of him.”
Warren stabbed his fork into his eggs. “What would anybody think about a lot of men like Sinclair and men like me? I don’t like how I’ve seen him treat people, but money is power and he has a lot of money.”
The way he said that made me think of Jah. “What do you mean by that?”
Warren swallowed, then said, “I just get the feeling—and I’ve heard—that he thinks he can own people. Like a sort of modern-day slavery, if you will. He tried to hook up with me when I first met him, but I like to be in control. Besides, I heard he has some strange sexual tastes.”
“For real? What have you heard?” I suddenly felt concerned about Jah and what Seth might be expecting from him.
Warren lifted a forkful of pancakes. “Look, I don’t want to get into that over my breakfast. Sinclair doesn’t have anything to do with either you or me. The man knows how to throw a good party and that’s all I prefer to know.”
I had lost my appetite. “How well does your friend know him?”
Warren shrugged. “They’re tight. He said Sinclair has made a lot of calls on his behalf. Hey, boo, let’s change the subject. So, am I going to beat you at tennis or golf today?”
I smiled. “Take your pick.”
Warren chuckled and sounded so damn sexy and masculine. “You the one that’s going to take the beating, so I guess I can at least let you pick your ass-whipping.”
“Let’s do tennis,” I said, forking up some eggs. “That way I get to see that beautiful body in tennis whites.”
Warren flashed me a sexy smile. “Hey, I might even put on a white jock for you. I know how you always liked that.”
“Where did you get that from?”
He looked at me like, how could you forget? “I remember how you stared at me when I wore a jock. You didn’t think I saw how mesmerized you were when I put this big old dick in a jock that can barely hold it?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Why should I when you do, Mr. Dean?”
“You think I’m trying to flatter you?”
“Maybe you keep me around to keep your little fantasy going?”
“What fantasy would that be?”
“Having control over a professional football player,” he said. “Even though your dad is still upset with you. Do you miss him?”
“Of course I miss him.” I took a sip of hot coffee.
“I guess I messed that up for you. If you two guys aren’t talking, then I know there’s no way you’ll ever get ownership of his football team.”
“My mom owns the football team.”
Warren smiled. “Then maybe there is a chance one day you’ll be the owner and you can hire me to be your general manager.”
“Wouldn’t that be a hoot, two gay men controlling a football team,” I said with a laugh.
Warren wasn’t smiling.
“You know I don’t consider myself gay, Bent. You know I don’t like that.”
I felt like it was impossible for me to pretend he wasn’t gay when he was. “I’m sorry. And stop being so sensitive. So if I did get the team, you’d come and work for me?”
Warren nodded. “I’d consider it. I always said that if I couldn’t be big in show business, I wouldn’t mind being in professional football. But only in a management or ownership capacity.”
I had a sassy tone when I said, “Well, since you’re not gay and we can’t get married, you could only work for me. Now see if we were married, you could have me killed off and then you’d own the team.”
Warren’s face tensed. Anger filled his eyes. “Stop it, Bentley!” he shouted. “That shit’s not funny!”
Warren shot up from his chair and stood there visibly shaking.
“Warren, dude. What’s wrong with you? Stop trippin’! You know I was only joking.”
“Killing someone is not something you joke about.”
“Chill, dude, I know you would never kill someone.”
“Do you, Bentley? How well do you really know me?”
“I know you well enough to fall asleep in your arms every night if you let me.”
Warren didn’t respond; instead he sulked until I went over and
took his hands into mine.
“I’m sorry.”
“How could you say that? I could never hurt somebody I loved.”
I looked at Warren seriously for a moment. Was he about to say he was in love with me? I waited for him to say it. But he didn’t.
“I need a nap, dude,” he said. I followed him to the bedroom and we got in bed. We spooned. I loved his strong hands around my waist as I listened to his nervous stomach grumbling, but I never heard him say “I love you, Bentley.”
SIXTEEN
It was election day and I was more nervous than when I ran for student body president of Detroit Country Day School. Back then, during my junior year, I was one of the few black students at the prestigious private school. And my blond-haired, blue-eyed opponent was the son of one of the Detroit Tigers. Not only did he have major name recognition, but he had a superstar reputation on the tennis court to boot.
But Bentley L. Dean III had charisma and a solid platform to improve some things for students, both academically and socially. Plus, I was always nice to everyone, whereas the other guy had a reputation for being snooty to anyone whose parents didn’t have a certain net worth.
So, no surprise, I won, and went down in school history as the founder of the annual Bentley Ball, which we hosted in the ballroom of our home. The price of admission? Two toys, one used and one new, for homeless children.
Back then, I loved feeling like I was making a positive difference in the world. And this morning when I voted, I had the same feeling about Barack Obama. His life mission was to make America better. But was America really going to elect its first African American president? As far as I was concerned, there could be only one answer to that question. So I just kept telling myself, “He’ll win, he’ll win.”
I repeated that for the two hours I stood in line at my precinct. I was shocked when I arrived at 7:00 A.M. at the high school where I vote, and the line was snaking around the building, down the street. Two hours later, I cast my ballot for America’s first black president. I needed “change” in just about every area of my life, and I prayed that an Obama administration could help make that happen.
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