I don’t have the answers to these questions, nor solutions. I realize Ben doesn’t either, at least not for now. So it’s best that I heed my own advice, turn on my heels, walk away from his steamy-naked body, and return to my own room in silence; unable to utter a single word, not even a good-night, ending tonight’s adventure with him, abruptly.
Chapter 9: Lust-Spell
With my bedroom door unlocked, I’m positioned in bed and on my back. A cotton sheet is twisted at my feet. Swirls of dappled, October moonlight illuminate my flat chest and the mounded package between my motionless legs. I stare up at the ceiling and recall the past half hour.
My bedroom door opens and a naked Ben walks inside, completely unannounced. Silver-blue-white moonlight decorates his bare body, enhancing his pumped muscles. I sit up in bed and stare at his steel-plated chest with tight abs and hard nipples. My view travels down to the triangular patch of freshly man-scaped hair above his large and deflated tube. Studying the hairless sack sparks a cadence of vibrations through my body that I find enlightening. His thick thighs gleam in the bands of shimmering moonlight, as well as his biceps and chiseled face.
“Sebastian, can we talk?”
Apprehension finds me at first, but I loosen up because Ben is my best friend, my roommate, my indisputable crush, and can tell me anything. “Of course we can talk.”
He moves up to my bed and sits on a corner. A brief sigh escapes his iridescent lips, and he says, “I’m sorry about what just happened.”
“It’s alright. I don’t understand it all, but maybe someday I will.”
He reaches up to my right thigh and provides it with a little squeeze. Ben smiles, and says, “You’re a really good friend. I shouldn’t be so forward, but men have needs, even models.”
“I hope to stay the best friend you think I am,” I respond, growing hard in my boxer-briefs by his touch. His palm is a little too close to my privates, which causes me to feel a bit uncomfortable. I don’t move, though, enjoying his touch, comfort…something.
In the semi-darkness, resembling a Greek god, beginning to melt me, he asks, “How much do you like me?”
A lot. Too much. I crave both his body and what lies underneath his skin. I’ve always liked Ben, and always will. The truth is…if he were gay, I’d be all over him, into him, and inseparable from his skin. Courage and honesty finds me. “I really like you, Ben. My life would be different without you in it.”
“That’s nice to know,” he whispers. His palm and fingers on my thigh work their way up to my middle, discover my hip, and become still.
Now, I am very well aware that he’s seducing me. The only problem is…can I keep my defense up, and tamp my selfish erotic urges from connecting my body with his? Is it too late to even question this, since he squirms up to my side on the bed, rolls his straying hand along my nicely crafted chest; over two abs, a nipple, up and along my neck, discovering my chin with his fingertips, and eventually greeting his fingers to my semi-parted lips? And how is one supposed to react when he smoothly whispers in a lust-spell tone, “Sebastian, trust me. Trust this between us,” and buries his face against my face, connecting our mouths together, sending me into a spiral of erotic bliss that I have always longed to share with him, ever since the day he moved in two years before.
The kiss with Ben sparks an immediate solid mass between my legs. Fire curls within every inch of my torso, pivoting me into a state of no return. No longer can I find the strength to push him away, welcoming his sexual connection. Nothing can prevent me from allowing his tongue from entering my mouth, and his hands from straying along my firm chest, teasing my goose-pimpled flesh. Helplessly, I fall under his sexual potion. Spirited to be with him, Zoe lost from my mind, I welcome his fingers on the rim of my boxer-briefs as he pulls them down and away from my body. And soon I am left naked on the bed, next to his fiery skin, abandoning the ethics of our friendship, status of being roommates, and the bogus understanding that Ben believes he is straight.
Chapter 10: Under His Skin
Having Ben positioned between my legs, I push my eight inches of firm tool into his throat, and listen to the model’s sporadic gagging. Continuous thumps and thrusts to his face take over my body. I cannot lie still on the bed’s surface, overwhelmed by my own sexual inclinations. My hip motion to his mouth becomes steady and vibrant. Cordially, I buck my pole into his tight orifice, pull out, and push in again.
Ben, I learn, is no amateur in the man-connected-to-man field. As he obeys his hunger for my shaft with his lips, tongue, and throat, two fingertips strum my bottom’s tight opening, which catapults me into pure elation. This unexpected triumph causes me to whimper with bliss and grit my teeth.
Obviously experienced regarding the delicate process of providing another man with oral gratification, he carefully holds my stick’s excess skin at its base and dramatically swirls his tongue around its capped head. His other hand is also sensitive with my bottom, grazing fingertips against my man-core, stroking them to and fro.
Helplessly I arch my back and moan in the iridescent room. My head spins with delight as his licking and stroking builds with a synchronized tempo. My heavy breathing echoes within the room as I press both palms to the back of his head, pushing him down and against my cock.
Of course I have dreamed of this moment for the longest of months; my body sealed against Ben’s, a selfish orgasm building within my shivering and receptive system. Not once do I take into consideration that tomorrow morning, over his protein shake and my bowl of granola with skim milk, we will have to face each other; the aftermath of this wild, two-man embrace. My mind and body drift to a higher place where it seems perfectly fine for roommates to connect like this, and it also accepts the understanding that Ben is straight and has a serious girlfriend. Nothing seems taboo at the moment. Unconditionally I receive his mouthy work on my tool, unable to think about the risk of our bodies binding, tampering with our lives.
What becomes of the moment on my bed with Ben is nothing less than perfect; a fairy tale dream come true. Again I arch my back, moaning. Soothingly, I ride his face, having the time of my life. Three juts to his tight throat turn into a dozen or more. I whimper with deep fulfillment, knowing at any second, seed is going to fly out of my dong, causing a rippling feeling of wonderment to spread throughout my body.
Before coming, I attempt to push his head away. To no avail, he continues to blow me, shifting his mouth up and down on my timber, willing it to shoot, and possibly wanting the ooze to fill his mouth for a post-midnight snack.
“Creaming,” I whisper, clinging palms to the back of his bald head, thrusting all of my weight into his face. Wet man-juice fires out of my bolt and into his body. Ben gags overtop me, but doesn’t seem to mind. I hear him grunt and choke, and he takes as much of my spunk as he can into his mouth and down the back of his throat.
When he finally surfaces for air, gaining oxygen, he murmurs, “Hungry for you,” and cleans my shaft off with skill. Slow licks convert into quick and steady ones, gathering up every last drop of my come.
* * * *
Spent, sealed against his skin, cradled in his hulking arms with sweat clinging us together, he whispers, “I love you, Sebastian.”
“You don’t love me. This is just about the sex,” I respond, trying to keep this moment with him real.
“I do love you. I can’t help it. I think I’ve always loved you.”
I ignore him because I have to. There’s no other way to obtain any sense of reason regarding what he has just done to me with his mouth. I honestly don’t know how to react or respond, so I just keep quiet, motionless against his burning and naked flesh.
“Can I spoon you for a little while?” he asks, snuggling even closer to me.
“Only if you want.”
Kisses are applied to the back of my neck, causing another warm shiver of ecstasy along my spine. Ben whispers, “Honestly, I want to.”
The shaft between his legs is limp, no longer needin
g attention. I don’t get this. Maybe I’m not supposed to. Or maybe Ben is right; he is in love with me, knowing that any valuable relationship isn’t all about sex. Is this why he wants to spend a few hours next to me, spooning my body in the October darkness? I’m not sure. Perhaps I’ll never be sure. But I let him stay, until approximately five o’clock in the morning, which ends up being most of the night. Then he creeps back to his own room, and bed, leaving me alone and to my personal dreams.
Part 2: Jory
Chapter 11: Zoe Time
Zoe Twinkleis the most beautiful woman in the world; small-framed, corn silk-colored hair, baby blue eyes, twenty-five-years-old, a mere ninety pounds, and all smile. The elementary school teacher meets me at The Muffin Shack for an afternoon coffee and walk. She delightfully picks up the tab, telling me, “Ben bought me a lottery ticket last week. One of those neat little scratch-offs you buy at the convenience store with a gallon of skim milk. I won a few hundred. Can you believe it, Sebastian?”
“You’re very lucky. I should rub your arm.”
She jokes around and places her right arm out to me, which I take advantage of. We giggle like little girls, waiting for our coffees, and then decide to walk to Talon Park, where the leaves are at their full lusciousness at autumntime; burnt red, sunbeam orange, and coconut brown.
“Should we take Terran Trail?” Zoe asks, enjoying the weather and exercise. When she isn’t teaching, she either walks or runs. Zoe has won a few city marathons in the past, putting my running skills to shame. I spend the occasional Saturday morning on long runs or walks with her, whichever we’re in the mood for, and enjoy the fresh air, city life, and exercise. Never can I keep up with her, since she is physically better fit and healthier than me.
Another thing I find interesting about Zoe is the way she knows how to converse. Never is there a dull moment in our conversations, particularly when we discuss men, sex, and drinking too much at social events.
I love Terran Trail. Everything about it seems as perfect as Zoe. The way it swings right, down a steep grade, and meets Ottawa River appeals to me. The way it sweeps next to the gray-green water for over a mile or more, which is nothing for Zoe and me to walk.
Fifteen minutes into our escapade, she asks, “Did I show you what Ben gave me?”
“I don’t believe so. What did that charmer bee do now?” In truth, it's hard to put on this little pony show, since I have unexpectedly betrayed my friendship with her. There is no way I can possibly share with her that her boyfriend sucked my wanker last night. Nor can I tell her that I splashed a load inside his throat. Zoe, if she learned this tidbit of information, would probably slap my face, knee me in the balls, and leave me in a fetal position on Terran Trail. So I keep quiet about my naked session with Ben, unwilling to open a Pandora’s Box of details that could possibly hurt any of us.
She stops walking, spins around, pulls a gold chain out of her Charlie Brown-type sweater, and shows off an amethyst pendant. Bubbling with joy, she asks, “Isn’t it darling?”
“Darling is the understatement of the year. I absolutely love it. When did Ben get that for you?”
“A week ago to the day.”
I give her a look of happiness. “Did he say he loved you?”
She shakes her head.
I won’t tell her that Ben told me he loved me last night. There is no way in hell I will relinquish this information. Let that sleeping dragon rest. Waking it will only start a fire storm of Shakespearian tragedy. “Do you think he will soon?”
She beams like a little girl, bouncing and glowing on an emotional high because of the gift Ben has supplied for her. She nods her head and replies, “Every woman wants that, right?”
“They do.” And so does every gay guy, if the truth be heard. “Maybe for Christmas he’ll tell you he loves you.”
“I can only hope. I’m not going to be young forever. Like gay guys, women lose their looks and it’s all over then.”
How true that statement is, which I try to ignore. Instead, I say, “I don’t know,” trying to be nice to her, attempting to lift her spirits regarding this matter. Frankly, I think, Ben has secrets that you don’t know about, Zoe. And something tells me that maybe you don’t want to know about them, either, because you won’t know how to handle them. You’re just a little girl in a woman’s beautiful body. Inside, you are mush. A plaything of sorts. Shame on Ben and me for hurting you. Betrayal is lethal.
“He may even ask me to marry him on Thanksgiving,” she shares, jumping up and down with excitement. “I would just die if Ben told me he loves me on Thanksgiving. Wouldn’t that be symbolic?”
I nod my head, acting out my pony show, and present a warm smile of support. In truth, I think, Thanksgiving is about overstuffing yourself with food. Maybe you’re the food for Ben, Zoe. And maybe I am, too. Only time for us will tell.
Chapter 12: Helping Out a Man in Need
Thursday evening arrives rather quickly. As promised, Jory appears at the apartment on time, sporting a handsome tuxedo, red rose on his left lapel, and a smile of jubilation. He smells like sandalwood, ash soap, and CKFree cologne with just a hint of fresh nervousness. I expect him to shake my hand upon his arrival, but he comes into my left cheek with his perfectly semi-closed lips and applies a tender kiss against my skin in a soft manner. Also, he takes and holds me in his hulking arms, able to destroy me in a second with his massive hug, but he is totally gentle with me, caring, and means no harm.
I accept both his kiss and hug with joy. Embarrassingly, I say, “That was nice, Jory. Thanks.”
When he pulls away from me, a warm-hearted smile covers his handsome face. “I get it after my mom. She’s so loving and caring. I was constantly being hugged and kissed as a boy. Maybe it’s why I turned out gay.”
I sort of chuckle, although his comment is probably not supposed to be humorous.
He adds, “My mom is my rock. She accepts everything about me; football player, comic book reader, and cocksucker.”
It’s nice to finally hear the star-player of our city admit that he’s gay, which sort of surprises me. I wasn’t completely sure about his gender-attraction status until tonight. Honestly, I was leaning towards him being straight, totally into women, until now. What pops out of me seems uncivil, but something I want to know. “Are you out of the closet, Jory?”
He lightly laughs and says, “Not many people know about me being gay. You’re one of the lucky ones. I like to keep it on the hush because of public relations and my job.”
I respect this position, eye him up and down, find him totally irresistible, and agree.
We walk to his steel-colored Hummer, which is parked on Cutland Street. Although I find the vehicle pretentious and environmentally unsound, Jory admits that he hates driving it around the city and being a spectacle. He jokes, “I want to trade it in on a Pinto.”
I physically have to jump in the metal monster, but Jory is glad to assist me by cupping my tight bottom with both hands, giving me a lift. While climbing on the passenger seat, I ask over my right shoulder, “Jory, what are you doing back there?”
“Helping out a man in need.”
“Our first date and you’re already putting things against my ass.”
My comment is a little over the top, but Jory laughs. “I figured you as a catcher, pal. No suprirse.”
I take no offense to his honesty, settle into the Hummer’s passenger seat, and allow him to close the door after me.
He walks around the front of the Hummer and climbs inside. Before starting the engine, he turns his attention to me, smiles again, and cordially asks, “Can I kiss you, Sebastian?”
What the hell, right? I like to be kissed, and he’s obviously willing to kiss me. I respond, “Go for it.”
Again, I melt when his lips meet my lips. One of his palms finds my cheek and gently caresses it. Jory is an amazing kisser; the best of the best, not at all disappointing, reeking of pure talent in the mouth-connected-to-mouth department.
Unfortunately, the kiss between us ends too quickly. He pulls out of it before I do. Honestly, I have the longing desire to kiss him all night long, minus everything else we are about to get ourselves into. Obviously he has other intentions, though. He kicks the Hummer’s engine on, pops the metal bitch into drive, and zooms down Cutland Street, continuing our first date.
Chapter 13: Empty Room
The Piedmont Place is high-class all the way. A Victorian mansion rises into the night, welcoming its uppercrust guests on a palatial estate with The Piedmont Private Club nearby. Floor to ceiling windows glow with yellow-white light being produced by overhead crystal chandeliers. An open bar offers any type of drink I want. There’s a brunette bartender with Brad Pitt looks behind his bar. I swear I’ve dated the guy once or twice in the past, but I just can’t remember his name. Oil paintings by city artists glamorize the walls. Some of the canvases sit on easles throughout the downstairs rooms, showcasing a variety of themes: mothers and daughters, love, giant pink hearts, breast cancer, healing, winter, operations, and survival.
Jory introduces me to Matty Darling and Rock Carson, Viper teammates. I’m introduced as his friend and physical therapist. Matty and Rock are not stupid, though. I can see it in their eyes that they know Jory’s unintentionally disclosed secret.
I meet Mayor Robert Skewinski, Georgia Meadows, a local news channel anchor, and Marla Frost, a famous pianist from New York City who frequently visits relatives in Vanmer. Artists are also present during the breast cancer fundraiser; Yarldy Batterman, Ten Cooper, and Quinn Darr.
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