“Blowing,” he warns, heaving behind me. One hand rests on my ass while I imagine the other toys with his meat, moving its skin up and down. Grunts and groans escape Jory and I feel a splatter of his juice on the nape of my back as he fires his load. Exhaustion and orgasm ripple through the athlete as he becomes spent, ending his tirade with my flesh, our symposium of pleasure.
* * * *
Standing face to face behind the sofa, panting heavily, he whispers, “That was amazing, Sebastian. Your skin is incredible.”
“You weren’t so bad yourself.”
We kiss again, long and steady and fervent, driven by our allure for each other. And eventually he pulls away from me, leads me to his master bedroom upstairs housing a California king-size bed, and welcomes me to spend the night with him, tucked in his arms, dreaming at his side.
* * * *
In the early morning, greeted with an orange-red dawn breaking through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I brush fingers through his black hair and kiss him goodbye on his forehead. Quietly, I walk downstairs, taking in the massive and elaborate house, find my clothes on the foyer’s tile, dress without bathing, and exit his residence.
On Water Street, waiting for a cab to pick me up and delivery me to my apartment, a smile of happiness for Jory blooms on my face. My attraction to him feels immeasurable and uncontainable, determining my strong connection for the celebrity, frankly and wholly.
Chapter 18: Bubbly Inside
Ben is livid with me because I spend the night out, not returning home until eight o’clock in the morning. While I shower, readying myself for a day at the center, he stands in the bathroom doorway with a steaming cup of coffee, wearing nothing but a pair of my clean boxers, and inquires, “Where were you last night?”
“I went to The Piedmont Place for a fundraiser.”
“Who were you with?”
I scrub my chest down with a bar of soap and reply, “Jory Sole.” There is no reason to lie. I’m not keeping secrets from him. He has his life, and I have mine. Just because he seduced me once doesn’t mean that we’re lovers or solely connected to each and no one else.
“Did you spend the night at his place?” Ben’s voice shifts to a dogmatic tone, judging me for my mysterious whereabouts.
“I did.”
“Did he fuck you?”
Enough is enough. I pull back the shower curtain, pop my head out, and say through the circulating steam, “Ben, I didn’t know I had to check in with you before I let a guy fuck me.”
It pisses him off. Before he rushes out of the bathroom with his cup of coffee, he whispers, “Whore.”
Honestly, I don’t think he knows I hear him, but I do. I let it go, though, realizing his crush on me, his sexual confusion.
What? What did I do wrong to Ben? He has Zoe. She is his choice to share a relationship with. Why is he pissed at me because I want Jory in my life? Ben knows I have always liked the quarterback, wanting to spend some valuable time with him; dating, making out, hardcore sex. He shouldn’t at all be surprised or outraged with my night spent with the football hero. If anything, since he is my best friend, he should be congratulating me for hitting it off with the athlete so well. The bottom line is simple. Ben is jealous because I finally landed Jory. Unfortunately, Ben is the one who wants to be landed.
I finish my shower, blocking Ben out of my mind. There is really no reason to get upset over the situation. He is just confused. When he snaps out of his sexual whatever, he’ll lean on Zoe to pick him back up and be happy again. In the meantime, I just have to ignore his antics.
After showering, I dress, head to The Muffin Shack for a cup of caramel latte, receive a hello from former boyfriend Joseph, and end up at Rook Physical Therapy Center by nine o’clock.
* * * *
Simone Richards is all smiles behind her desk, greeting me when I arrive. She has been my secretary for two years and she looks nothing but stunning; forest green eyes, burgundy-shaded hair, high cheekbones, and a smile to die for. She tells me good morning, passes me a While You Were Out memo, and says, “Mr. Sole is canceling his appointment today. He said you were too rough on him last night.”
All the color washes out my face, and sadness depletes my core because I won’t be able to see Jory today. Dammit. Just when I think I have a guy, he gets away.
Simone adds, “Don’t be blue. He told me he’s picking your sexy ass up at noon for lunch, hoping you’ll be in the mood for sushi.”
A smile surfaces on my face and I glow. “You know too much.”
“Aren’t secretaries supposed to?”
I agree and head to my office to review my list of patients for the day, unable to stop thinking about my date and last night with Jory, feeling all bubbly inside.
Chapter 19: Torso Tackle
The sushi lunch with Jory is out of this world, and so is the sex afterward. I end up calling Simone and telling her I’m sick from the raw fish I consumed for lunch, and can’t make it back into the office to finish my work day.
She chuckles. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Sebastian. Enjoy the football player for the both of us.”
I tell her I will, anticipating a second visit to Jory’s house for the removal of his clothes and heated sex, already sporting a boner in my khakis.
* * * *
Jory spends the entire day with me on Saturday. We go to the movies together, spend an hour talking at a coffee shop in downtown Vanmer, and take a long walk together in Talon Park. Following such fun-filled events, I end up back in his house for a shrimp scampi dinner and a sexual romp in his massive bed before we spend the evening at Against His Chest dancing.
On the drive to the queer bar, he admits, “I have a confession to make.”
Shit. He’s seeing someone. A cute tight end who plays for our rival team. It’s probably Denver Calding of the Rochester Rams. That faggot kicker has Jory’s heart, unwilling to share the quarterback with me. Jory is already in a relationship, just like Ben. I realize that my two-day affair with the football star is just a free-for-all session of fucking—nothing serious at all, nothing that will honestly last.
I ask, “What?” ready for his bad news, which is most likely going to dampen my life for the next few weeks, or months, since I like him too much.
“I…I know this is premature, Sebastian. And I know that we’ve only been together for two days. But I’m not a fool and can recognize a nice guy when I meet him, and…”
He stumbles, trying to verbally sort through his emotions. I interject and say, “You like me, don’t you?”
He laughs behind the Hummer’s wheel. “I do.”
I sigh heavily, and add, “Thank God it’s that simple. I thought you were going to tell me you were fucking Denver Calding of the Rams.”
He heartily laughs and admits, “He may have the nicest ass in the league, but Denver hates fags.”
“That’s too bad,” I rattle off. “I rather like fags.”
“How about quarterbacks?”
“Those fags are the best and are my favorite, but don’t tell anyone.”
He reaches across the seat, pins my hand within his, and asks, “So, you like me, too?”
I feel all warm and fuzzy inside, peer at his delicious looking smile, and respond, “Is it that obvious?”
* * * *
On Sunday the Vipers coincidentally play the Rochester Rams on our home field and get their asses whooped. Jory gets sacked six times. The fans go crazy, yelling their disappointments. Felder Hoff, his running back, ends up with a twisted ankle. The team’s tight end receives a minor concussion. The ending score is an upsetting 21 to 6.
Again, I spend the night at Jory’s house, attempting to lift his spirits. To no avail, he is pretty bummed with the day’s loss, and blames himself.
I press him against one of his kitchen walls, pin his arms to the plaster, roll a tongue along his corded neck, and warn, “Don’t make me get ugly with you.”
“You’ve never had an ugly day in your l
ife, Sebastian.”
Perhaps he is right. I’ve had a lot of pretty days, which I’m blessed for. In retort, playing with him, I say, “Trust me, I can get pretty ugly when I want to.”
He smiles, slowly climbing out of his bad day. I feel lumber firm up under his denim waist, as expected. “How so?”
“I have this famous move that will rock your world, sport.”
“What kind of move is that?”
“A torso tackle,” I share, release his pinned arms from the wall, quickly pull up his tight tee to his wide neck, and bury my smooth lips against one of his taut nipples, sucking it like crazy.
It’s enough to break his bad mood. He chuckles under my surprise attack and begins to forget his appalling football game from earlier in the day. One of my hands slips inside his denim jeans, discovers his ten inches of pole leaking some syrupy fun, and leaves me to think, I have Jory right where I want him. He’s mine. The guy is like putty, already falling for me.
Chapter 20: Boyfriends
My singlehood is lost, since I’m spending most of my time with Jory. When he’s not traveling from stadium to stadium, playing football, we usually see each other; dinners at local restaurants, dancing at Against His Chest, walks in Talon Park, the movies, shopping on Mill Creek Street, coffee breaks. Jory seems to like to me, and enjoys licking me, too. We get along just fine.
Joseph has a Halloween party on the thirtieth. I really don’t expect Jory to accept my invitation, but he does. I go as a football player and he dresses up as a pirate from that famous Caribbean movie.
Joseph’s villa, as he calls it, sits on Melbourne Street in a ritzy part of Vanmer. His cobblestone cabin in the woods is decked out in blazing white, eerie blue, and pumpkin orange lights. A stuffed scarecrow hangs from an old oak over the drive. Two live zombies litter the front yard, sometimes bumping into Styrofoam tombstones and each other. Half-buried skeletons line the walkway to the house with illuminated jack-o-lanterns.
Dracula, Joseph’s new boyfriend, meets us at the door. His fangs drip with fake blood as he welcomes us inside to feed on tasty mortals or live rats.
In passing, my pirate says to Dracula, “You know you want to suck me.”
Dracula responds, “I can’t wait to get my teeth inside you, among other things.”
I share daggers with Dracula, ready for battle.
Jory pulls me away and clarifies, “Don’t get huffy, we were only messing around.”
Now inside, he and I take in the massive living room decorated for the holiday. A grossly pale human is positioned across a coffee table with its entrails leaking onto the maple floor. Cherry-flavored vodka mixed with rum is served out of a skull. Rabid bats hang down from the ceiling, letting out intimidating shrieks, scaring guests. And hired ghouls move from one room to the next, groping bodies, startling those who are sensitive or timid, while attending the party.
Joseph is dressed as Marie Antoinette. He curtsies and serves us eyeballs in clam shells, which we both decline. Doing a once-over on my pirate friend, he leans into me and asks, “Is that who I think it is?”
“Johnny Depp?”
“Stop, you silly,” Marie waves a scolding hand at me. “I meant Jory Sole, the quarterback.”
Jory presents his large hand to Marie and thanks the diva for having us.
Marie replies, “You gentleman have fun tonight. No one goes home sober,” and scuttles away in her bouffant and glittery gown, tending to other guests.
Jory goes to me. “Who’s getting shit-faced first?”
I lead him to the bar area where a butchered Sarah Palin with a missing ear serves drinks, and reply, “Let’s do it together for the romance.”
* * * *
We get shit-faced on vodka tonics and Jell-O shots. And unexpectedly we make a scene in one of Joseph’s living room corners. Next to an upright coffin the height of a human and two-people deep, we kiss heavily, intoxicated by lust for each other. Here, discreetly giggling like drunken high school boys, we sneak inside the coffin, hand in hand.
The coffin smells like pine, alcohol, and bad breath. Mumbled voices are heard outside our closed-off area of the world. Jory holds me against his hulking pirate chest, breathes on my neck, and says, “I know it’s too early to tell you that I love you, but that’s how I feel.”
“It’s nice to know. Thanks for the information.” Maybe this comes across as a little cold; not that I mean it this way, though. Honestly, I’m not ready to tell him I love him yet.
“What about you, Sebastian? You hooked on me?”
“Like a fish,” I reply, slipping my tongue into his mouth to shut him up.
When the kiss is over, he sighs with heavy contentment and murmurs, “I have a question for you, if you don’t mind answering.”
“Shoot,” I reply, feeling his arms at my sides and fingers against my ass.
“Will you be my boyfriend, Sebastian Rook?”
I don’t even have to think about this status and respond, “Yes, I will. But only if you tackle me on a regular basis.”
He laughs, holding me tight. “I think I can arrange that,” he says, kissing my neck in his drunken state, ravishing my skin with his lips and desire.
Part 3: Between Men
Chapter 21: Men of Our Dreams
Zoe tells me she has to make a run to Table Tops on Mason Street. “I’m having Thanksgiving this year and want new place settings. I’m thinking the works, everything I can find to make an eye-stunning presentation. Something ritzy and dramatic, Sebastian. Is there any way you can come with me and provide your opinion?”
I take Zoe up on the offer, glad to spend an early November afternoon with her. “Pick me up in twenty. I’ll be down on the street waiting for you.”
* * * *
Zoe arrives in her pale blue Volkswagon with a faux Albert Nipon scarf around her neck, bogus Dior sunglasses on the bridge of her nose, and her golden hair pulled up into a tight bun. Although she shops on a teacher’s budget, she always looks smashing, having loads of taste.
Once I get into the VW and plop my ass in the passenger seat, she informs, “Ben and I just had the most amazing sex.”
I really don’t want to hear about her having intimate relations with my roommate, since Ben has a thing for me, of course. Zoe is unyielding, though, sharing too many details regarding her skin aligned with the model’s.
“We tried it doggy style for the first time. Lights out. Anal stuff that was a little rough. I couldn’t believe how much I liked it. He even spanked me on my bottom once and called me a naughty name.”
Her details are pertinent to Ben’s current state of confusion. It almost sounds like he was having sex with me instead of her. Maybe this is what he was thinking the whole time during their connection.
I listen to her more than respond. Truth is, I really don’t want to hear about Ben's antics with Zoe. Some things are better left unsaid, of course. She doesn’t keep her bedtime tales to herself, though, and I hear: Ben gives amazing oral sex. His dick feels really nice inside me, like I want it there all day and night long? Damn can he give a proper spanking during his climax. Choosing to keep my mouth shut, I listen to her sex-talk during our drive to the home décor store, and beat myself up inside for letting Ben seduce me.
* * * *
Table Tops is an old barn converted into a retail store. The two floors are filled with napkin holders, festive vases, knickknacks, dish patterns, flatware, serving bowls, candles and candlesticks, fake floral arrangements, napkins, table cloths, and about ten other million little items to create a mouthwatering table presentation for guests.
Zoe is on a mission to find something festive for her table on Thanksgiving Day. Walking through the narrow isles of burnt reds, pumpkin orange, and harvest browns, she informs, “You know I want Ben to ask me to marry him. I was hoping you could put a little hint in his ear, since you see him all the time.”
And let him fuck my ass.
And let him spank me.
A
nd let him suck me off in the middle of the night.
“Do you think he’s ready for marriage?” I ask, picking up a candle shaped like a dildo.
“No disrespect, Sebastian, but men need to be told things. They can’t do anything on their own. Marriage always falls in that category. Pushes are essential.”
I’m a little taken aback by these statements and provide an honest response. “Ben is a smart man. When he’s ready to marry you, he’ll ask.”
She reaches for the phallic candle in my hand and studies it. In doing so, she giggles, “This may never happen. Sometimes Ben hides his emotions from me. It’s like he’s on a different planet, far away from me. I really want to know how he’s feeling, but he never lets me in. He has secrets that I don’t know about, and he has yet to share these secrets with me. It truly limits our relationship.”
I can totally relate, particularly referring to recent events with him. “Every man has his secrets.”
She puts the dildo down and says, “I know. I guess every woman does, too.”
I make my point by saying, “I can’t put a bug into Ben’s ear to ask you to marry him. When he’s ready, he will.”
She ultimately ends up agreeing with me as we shop the store for the next forty minutes, finding the most festive dining room table setting in a linen autumn print.
Chapter 22: Man-Blend
Following my shopping spree with Zoe, Ben and I decide to spend some pal-time together. We play pool down at Elmer’s Pool Hole, eat a meat lover’s pizza, and go to the movies to see an action-packed flick starring Matt Damon. When the movie lets out, we walk back to our apartment. Ben wants to talk about Zoe.
“Things are starting to get heavy between us,” he admits.
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