Lost Love

by Nicole Casey

  It was nothing short of bliss.

  I was just about to ask him to stop so I could massage him when he flipped me over and began massaging my chest, sliding his hands along my pectoral muscles and then down the expanse of my stomach and abdomen.

  “Chase,” he breathed.

  “Yeah?” I asked.

  “I’d like to give you a different kind of massage.”

  “Baby,” I breathed.

  He pressed his lips to my abdomen, allowed his tongue to glide along the surface of my skin, then bowed his head to my stomach and held it there for several long moments as he reached down and freed me from my shorts and briefs.

  I felt like I would burst the moment his hand touched my cock.

  He spit in his palm.

  He encircled my cock.

  He began to give me a handjob that rivaled the work of the Gods Themselves.

  I sighed, contentedly, as he stroked me—as he drove me toward completion. I knew I wouldn’t last very long, if only because of how horned up he had already made me, but I could tell, based solely on how heavy my balls were, that this would be an explosive orgasm.

  He began to stroke me harder, faster, in tune with his breathing. He leaned down and blew on the head of my cock and nearly caused me to come then and there, but he leaned forward to press his lips against mine and chuckled as I started to buck into his palm.

  “You like that?” he breathed.

  “I love it,” I replied.

  “Good,” he said, “because I want to see you come.”

  “Make me come,” I breathed.

  “Yeah baby,” he said. “Come for me, Chase. Come for me.”

  I batted his hand away and reached down to take hold of my dick.

  After jerking for several long, tense moments—my orgasm building inside my balls and rising throughout my cock—I bucked into my hand and came, spraying my abdomen and soaking his hand in my juices.

  He took hold of my cock thereafter and stroked me for several long moments, during which time I squirmed beneath his grasp, and sighed as the residual traces of my orgasm began to fade.

  Dylan—who was still working himself to completion—mounted my chest and started to stroke himself directly above me. “I’m gonna come all over you,” he said, stroking his big, thick cock with urgency I could’ve never imagined. “Gonna soak your chest in my come.”

  “Do it,” I breathed.

  He jerked his cock three more times and came.

  His come splattered my chest, my chin, my lips.

  When my tongue instinctively slid out to taste him, I could’ve died on the spot.

  He tasted so good, so ripe, so manly.

  Dylan groaned as he rode the last of his orgasm and sighed as he rolled off of and collapsed beside me, chest heaving and eyes rolling into the back of his head. “Shit,” he breathed. “That was fucking good.”

  “Thanks for the massage,” I replied with a chuckle.

  “Sorry I didn’t get around to fucking you,” he mumbled, then leaned over to kiss me—long and deep, tongue included.

  “That’s all right,” I replied, then laughed, slapping his hand away as he started to run his hand along my abdomen once more. “You’re going to make me horny again if you keep that up.”

  “Who says that’d be a bad thing?” Dylan asked.

  I could only groan as he rolled atop me and began to kiss me once more.

  I smiled.

  He laughed.

  He ran his hands across my body.

  When he lifted me into his arms—when he held me close, kissed me—the scrape of his facial hair across my skin was enough to make me sigh.

  He completed me, this man.

  I had no idea what I’d do without him.

  “So,” Dylan said after a moment—as he helped me from my place along the bed and began to lead me toward the bathroom. “How do you feel about me staying here for another night?”

  “Don’t you have to work?” I asked as I parted the curtain and made my way into the shower.

  “Yeah, but I can get up in the morning and leave from here.”

  “All right,” I said. “If you’re comfortable with that, you can stay.”

  “Good,” Dylan smiled. “Because I’d like to break that bed in, if you know what I mean.”

  I laughed as I turned, splashed water at him, then as he stepped into the shower next to me.

  When he slid his arms around my waist and leaned into my body, I couldn’t help but sigh.

  This feeling of being wanted, of being held—

  I could get used to it.

  Chapter Seven

  After Dylan left the following morning, I busied myself with my ordinary morning activities. I crawled out of bed around eight o’clock—even though Dylan had only left an hour prior to making his way to the fire station—showered, brushed my teeth, ate a slim meal of eggs and toast, then uncovered Scottie. I was just about to prepare him for the day’s festivities when a knock came at the door, startling me from my actions.

  “Just a minute!” I called, turning to face the door with a frown.

  Had Dylan returned, I wondered? It wasn’t as if he could’ve forgotten anything, considering that he’d come over empty-handed, and he’d be at work right now, or at least should have been.

  That could only mean—

  I swallowed a lump in my throat and approached the front door to look out the peephole.

  Dion stood outside, holding what appeared to be some kind of store-bought pie.

  Pie? I thought. Why is he—

  I stopped.

  He was bringing over a housewarming gift.

  How kind, I thought, unlocking and then opening the door.

  Dion greeted me with a warm smile. “Hey,” he said. “G’morning.”

  “Good morning to you,” I replied, looking down at the pie. “Is that for me?”

  “I figured I’d bring you something over,” he replied. “Little housewarming gift. I know it’s not much, but I try to make my neighbors feel at home when they move in.”

  “You get many people moving in and out of this apartment?” I asked, stepping aside to let him in.

  Scottie immediately screeched as he caught sight of Dion making his way into the deeper parts of the apartment.

  “Hey bird,” he said with a grin. “What’s his name, by the way?”

  “Scottieeee!” the bird said while spreading his wings out and doing a little dance.

  “Aah. Scottie. Just like—”

  “Yeah,” I laughed. “Just like the TV show.”

  Dion smiled and extended the pie to me. “I can’t stay for long,” he said after a moment’s hesitation, “but I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood, and let you know that if you needed anything, I was around.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  I reached out, took his hand, and shook it before he turned and made his way toward the doorway. “I try to grill every Friday,” he said as he opened the door and turned to face me. “Maybe you can come over sometime and have burgers or something tomorrow night.”

  “That’d be perfect,” I replied.

  As he closed the door behind him, I couldn’t help but smile.

  Not only had I met someone who could potentially be a long-term partner, but I’d also made a new friend.

  Friend.

  Was that all that Dion wanted, in the end?

  I couldn’t know—and wouldn’t dwell on it until I knew for certain.

  With that in mind, I turned and made my way toward the makeshift desk, where I seated myself, booted up my word processor, and began to write.

  ***

  Friday came, and with it a trepidation I couldn’t have ever imagined feeling in my entire life. Standing before the mirror in jeans and a simple T, I took note of my reflection as behind me Scottie continued to dance while watching his television show.

  Should I even go over? I thought.

  It wasn’t as if I’d actually committed m
yself to going over to the man’s apartment, or at least the grounds outside it where the barbecue stands were open to the public. I could always play sick, or feign deadlines—anything to get out of going to the handsome man’s apartment.

  Why are you so stressed out about this though?

  Was it because there was a certain expectancy with some men? I didn’t even know if Dion was gay—only knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was a kind and considerate neighbor—and for that reason shouldn’t be getting worked up over it.

  Unless…

  I sighed as I turned toward the curtained window. Angled just perfectly, I could see the man as he stood at the grill, as he prepared delicious hamburgers and savory hot dogs for a number of other individuals who stood outside conversing with him. They were neighbors, possibly, or friends who had just decided to come over, so it wasn’t as if he would be alone.

  But, then again…

  I shook my head once more as I turned to face the parrot, who was currently enraptured in his show and paying very little attention to where I stood in the hallway. “Scottie,” I said, clearing my throat and raising my voice so it could be heard over the drone of the TV. “I’m going to go outside for a little while. Can you be a good boy and watch your toons for me?”

  The bird turned his head and stared blankly at me for several long moments, obviously contemplating. Then he bobbed his head and said, “Scottie!”

  “Scottie can’t go with me,” I replied. “There’s smoke outside.”

  “No!” the bird cried.

  “Not that kind of smoke, Scottie. Someone’s cooking.”

  “Huh?”

  “Cooking,” I said. “Food.”

  “Bread!”

  “Not bread,” I replied, mentally cursing myself for having even mentioned the food in the first place. “Besides—you’ve already had your afternoon snack.”

  “No no no no, no no no no.”

  “Ok,” I said as I gradually began to back away toward the door—as I checked my pockets for my wallet, my keys, and then reached back for the doorknob. “I’ll see you in a little bit Scottie. Bye. Love you.”

  “No no no no.”

  I closed the door and exited before the bird could fall into hysterics and locked the apartment behind me, only pausing briefly to wait and see if the bird would enter total meltdown mode before turning and starting toward the grills nestled beneath the large trees shadowing the nearby plaza.

  Dion—standing alone before a grill—smiled as I approached. “Hey Chase,” he said.

  “Hey,” I replied, blinking, surprised that the people I’d seen previously were gone. “Where’d everyone go?”

  “Oh. You saw them too?” Dion smiled. “They were just friends of mine stopping in. They took food and left already.”

  “I see,” I replied, casting a glance over my shoulder at my apartment door.

  “Bird have a fit when you left?” he asked with a knowing grin.

  “How did you—”

  “My grandmother used to have lovebirds before she passed on. They’d throw tantrums whenever she left.”

  “Scottie knows I’m just outside,” I replied. “Besides—he has his shows.”

  “Ah. Good on you, keeping him distracted like that.” Dion returned his attention back to the grill. “So—hotdogs or hamburgers?”

  “I can do with a hamburger, if you have any to spare.”

  “I’ve got more than enough food. I’m actually meal-planning for the week. Hence why I’m out here grilling.”

  No wonder you’re in such good shape, I thought, but bit my tongue to keep the comment to myself.

  “So, Chase. Question, if you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Sure.”

  “That guy I saw you with the other day. He your boyfriend?”

  I could’ve choked on my tongue. Instead, I coughed to clear my throat and said, “Not… exactly.”

  “Ah. I just figured I’d ask. Didn’t want to send the wrong message to either of you by inviting you over.”

  “We’re dating,” I replied, “but he isn’t my boyfriend.”

  “Aah. Ok. I only ask because, like I said: I don’t want to send the wrong impression. I really just wanted some company.”

  “Are you…” I started, trailing the sentence off so he could answer the question for me.

  “Gay?” he asked. “Oh, no. I mean, kinda. Sorta. Not… really.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I laughed.

  “It means I’ve been with guys, but I’ve never been with one. You know?”

  “I think I understand,” I replied, nodding as he turned and began to shovel food off the grill and onto a large plate. “I only just started getting back into the dating game myself.”

  “Oh?” he asked, then gestured me to follow him toward his apartment.

  I swallowed a lump in my throat as I paused to consider my actions before trudging along after him—knowing, beyond all else, that he didn’t expect anything, or at least said he didn’t. I closed the door behind us and turned to face Dion as he turned into the kitchen. “I… was in a bad relationship before I met Dylan,” I said. “It lasted for three years.”

  “Shit, Chase. That fucking sucks. I’m sorry, man.”

  “Don’t be. It’s better I got out of it while it was starting to get bad than staying when it was really bad.”

  “I understand.” Dion withdrew plates from the overhead cabinets and flipped a burger atop a bun before gesturing to the condiments and vegetables spread out before him. I slid alongside him and began to prepare my burger as he drew in a breath and expelled it. “My last relationship didn’t end well either, if you want me to be perfectly honest.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I replied.

  “Hey. Not your fault. I’ve never had great luck with women anyhow.”

  “You should try guys,” I laughed.

  “Maybe, but not right now. Most of the guys I’ve met have ended up being more complicated than the women. God,” Dion said. “It’d be nice to meet someone who clicks with me, you know?”

  “I know.”

  He led me toward the table and seated himself beside me as I began to eat, only idly paying attention to the news program playing in the background as Dion considered his well-kept apartment. He sighed after a short moment and said, “So. You and this guy.”

  “Yeah?” I asked.

  “You like him?”

  “I do,” I replied.

  “How long have you known him?”

  “A little over two weeks now.”

  “Have you had the talk with him?”

  “Not yet,” I said, setting my hamburger down before turning to face him. “I try not to rush things, especially after what happened with my ex.”

  “What happened, exactly?”

  I told him—in no uncertain detail—about everything that had occurred between Brad and I, then detailed my recent encounter with him in the furniture store. By the time I finished, all Dion could say was, “Damn.”

  “Yeah. I just… don’t want to throw myself into anything. Not after what I’ve been through.”

  “You gotta give nice guys a chance, Chase.”

  “I know. But don’t you think it’s a little early?”

  “I think he would be the one to tell you if it was a ‘little early.’” This he said with air quotes to enunciate his point. “Don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” I sighed. “I guess.”

  “Hey,” Dion said, slapping a hand across my upper back. “You never know until you try. Right?”

  “I… guess,” I said.

  I considered my half-eaten hamburger and tried not to pull any metaphors from it, but it was hard not to, considering my state of mind and being.

  I was missing my other half.

  Could it be found in Dylan, I wondered? And would he even be reciprocative to the idea of the two of us going steady after such a short amount of time?

  I couldn’t know—and wouldn�
��t until I tried.

  “Hey Dion,” I said, lifting my hamburger from my plate and standing. “I think I’m going to take you up on your suggestion and go give Dylan a call. There’s no point in beating around the bush when I’ve got feelings for the guy.”

  “Atta boy,” Dion said, then fist-bumped my hand. “Go get ‘im, tiger.”

  “Thanks Dion. I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes.”

  “You better,” the man laughed.

  I left feeling even better about my decision than when I’d previously thought about asking him before.

  ***

  I stared at the phone, at its screen, at the contact information pulled up for Dylan Cross, and realized that the idea of asking him to go steady was easier than the actual process of doing it.

  “Shit,” I mumbled.

  “Shit,” the bird replied behind me.

  “Scottie,” I warned, lifting my head to face the bird. “What did I say about using bad words?”

  “No no no no,” the bird said, scraping his beak along the bars of the cage.

  “Exactly. Now can you watch your toons and be quiet so I can make a phone call?”

  “No.”

  Figures, I thought, but kept quiet as I palmed the phone, thumbed Dylan’s contact information, then lifted it to my ear.

  I waited for the man to pick up—for him to answer his phone, or at least for his answering machine to connect me. When it seemed like the man would ever answer—and that his answering machine would never pick up—I sighed and was just about to hang up when the phone clicked.

  “This is Dylan,” the man replied.

  “Dylan,” I started.

  “I can’t come to the phone right now, so please leave a message and I’ll get back to you ASAP.”

  “Fuck,” I said, then realized that the answering machine had already picked up. “Shit. Sorry, D. It’s Chase. When you get a moment, could you call me? Or… come over, rather? I need to talk to you about something. Don’t worry! It’s nothing bad. Thanks. Bye—”

  The message ended before I could formally hang up.

  With a sigh, I stood, crossed the short distance toward my computer, and seated myself before it.

  I had to keep myself distracted somehow. Otherwise, I was apt to go insane.