He doesn’t come around, though, at least not anytime soon. He needs to fly to New York City for a modeling shoot; this time for ties designed by a hallmark company. He’ll be back on Thursday, returning from his gig.
This is just enough time for my world to fall apart, thanks to Zoe Twinkle.
* * * *
Once Ben leaves town, Zoe hunts me down. She shows up at the apartment shortly after ten in the evening. She has alcohol on her breath and fire in her eyes, evidently scorned by my sexual addiction to her bald boyfriend and my betrayal. She looks like she has been through hell and back: sunken-blue eyes, tangled hair, runny mascara, and pallid skin. Zombie comes to mind, but I don’t want to share this with her, since she’s already pissed at me.
I shouldn’t let her into the apartment, but Ben provided her with a key moons ago, and she can find her way inside anyway. I meet her in the tiny foyer area and ask to take her faux fur coat in a polite manner.
She spouts, “You took my man, and now you want to take my coat?”
“I didn’t take Ben from you. He still loves you.”
“Only if he has your dick up his ass.”
“Zoe, let’s talk about this. We can work through it. We’re both adults and can fix this.”
Smack! Out of nowhere she nails me in my right cheek with an open palm. The hit stings and swings my head to the right, but I take it like a man, deserving it since I have sucked her boyfriend’s crank numerous times, among other sexual antics with her prized model. I quickly move my right palm up to my jaw and begin to rub the pain away.
Zoe doesn’t even give me a second to respond. “You fucker! How could you do this to me?”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. And deep inside, I am sorry. For hurting her. For messing around with Ben. For…everything.
Tears begin to race out of her eyes and she whispers, “I was wondering why Ben didn’t want to have sex with me on a few nights. Before this started with you, he never rejected me. Ben’s libido is through the roof and he liked to spend that kind of time with me.”
“I’m sorry,” I pleaded, ashamed. “I wanted to tell you. I just didn’t know when the time was right.”
“I thought you had the quarterback. Aren’t you two boyfriends or something?”
I don’t lie. How can I after the mess I’ve caused between Zoe and Ben? “I’m still seeing Jory.”
“You have two boyfriends?” she seems alarmed by her own question. It’s as if a red light flashes behind her eyes and she realizes the full potency of my betrayal and sinful actions.
“I do,” I respond, shame circulating through my entire body.
My confession sends her over the edge. Flames from hell enter her eyes and she purses her lips with dragon-like anger. Something called disloyalty clarifies itself within her system and she boils with rage.
All of the sudden, she rushes toward me with outstretched arms and pushes me to the floor. My head cracks against the floor. I feel blood at the base of my skull, and the room begins to spin around and around. I see twelve angry Zoes instead of one.
Before I black out, falling unconscious, I hear her yell down at me, “I’m telling Jory all about you, Sebastian! You found a way of wrecking my world, and now I’m going to do the same for you!”
Part 4: Men, Afar
Chapter 31: Train
Unconsciousness floats me through a pink and purple illuminated hallway as ABBA songs echo between my temples. The real world is temporarily closed off to me: Zoe calls 911, panicked by my current state. Ben is in New York City, having drinks with his agent. Jory is tucked in his bed, possibly dreaming of me. I float naked down the dreamy and foggy hallway like a ghost and push through two windowless doors.
Six Vipers in their raw buffed beauty stand in front of a twin-size bed. Upon my floating entrance, three move to the left side of the bed (#67, the team’s fullback; #31, the tight end; #4, the kicker) while the other three shift to the right side of the bed (#77, the center; #24, the wide receiver; #91, the offensive guard).
Jory isn’t in the room, lost from this imaginary dream state of oblivion, misplaced for the time being. The quarterback is at home, sleeping, while I’m being rushed to St. Anne’s Hospital.
The Vipers are rock hard between their thick legs. Six upright cocks of various sizes twitch with excitement to be kissed, licked, and sucked. Bubbles of pre-come leak out of their shafts, dripping to the black-and-white checkered marble floor. #24 pulls his beef away from his torso, releases it, and it snaps against his tight abs. #91 does the same thing, providing a hearty grunt during his sexual show. Perspiration decorates the line-up of jocks. Firm pecs and lined abs gleam in the rainbow-colored light floating into the room from above the empty bed.
#31 exits the line-up and escorts me to the bed. It’s Tanner Brosco, one of Jory’s teammate friends. He gently pushes me to the bed’s white sheets and I land face down, ready for whatever the six teammates have in mind with their stiff rods and sexual hungers.
#67 tells me to roll on my back, which I do. Now, he instructs #4, Tommy Welltton, the team’s back-up kicker, a pretty boy with blond hair and blue eyes, to suck me.
They take turns on my shaft, in numerical order. Six licks or sucks each, whatever they prefer. And they do it again, forming a line between my legs, enjoying me, one after the next, continuously.
#67, apparently overseeing this dream, instructs his team, “Suck his ass now. One at a time.”
Still on my back, #4 holds my legs apart and provides three velvety licks around my bottom’s opening.
#24, Mike Lambert, sky-scraper size and GQ handsome, rubs two fingertips against my core, and shares one lick.
#31 is gentle and applies kisses to my rump.
#67 is rough. He gives me a minor spanking and runs his tongue from the base of my bottom to my balls, sucking both orbs.
#77, a Robert Pattinson look-alike, smoothly dives his tongue into my center, pulls out, and dives it inside again.
#91 is wicked, spanking me hard, burying his face into my hole, scratching his chin’s beard against my flesh, grunting between my legs and shoving his slippery tongue into me with chaotic bliss, as far as it will go.
The train does it again, and again, until #67 instructs, “Fuck him, team! Let‘s go for the win!”
One by one I am worked over and continue to be their toy on the bed, explored by each with their long and hard shafts, under their individual sexual spells. My rear is used for their intoxicated pleasures.
Seven inches of #4 bolt inside me with a steady speed.
Ten inches of #24 prompts me to gasp for air on the bed, clinging to the sheets,
#31 likes it hard and fast, blowing my world apart, thumping me crazily, in and out.
#67 takes the longest, plowing me hard, spanking me, thwacking his balls against my bottom in a wild manner, building up a fine orgasm.
Seven uncut inches of #77 is like a jackhammer on my core, speedy and dynamic, pounding me with fierce beauty.
#91 holds his weight against mine, slowly pulls out, pushes inside me in a tender way, and seems to enjoy his ride, smiling down at me from ear to ear.
The train continues for how long? An hour? Two hours? I’m not sure. Again the Vipers take turns using my ass. And again. And again. Until #67 finally instructs, “Stand around him and shoot your cream. Let him wear it.”
And so this is done. I turn into their naked canvas and they paint me with their seed.
* * * *
Three jocks stand on the right side of the twin-size bed and three stand on its left side. Each bolts their cocks up and down in feisty manners with their busy hands. They grunt and groan, building up their pent loads, ready to spray me down.
I’m doused in their pearl drops of man-lust. My torso, inner thighs, neck, and face cling with their spent.
#4 aims at my navel and abs, decorating my skin.
#24 calls out my name, blowing his load on my firm pecs and mountainous nipples.
#31 murmurs something I cannot understand, shooting his ooze along my corded neck.
#67 is like a geyser, blowing his cargo all over my torso, spraying my skin down with his sticky spent.
#77 dribbles his juice over my hard cock and drooping balls, garnishing my curly patch of V-hair between my sweaty legs with his white sap.
#91, taking forever to come, heaving for breath, sweat clinging to his entire body, working like a porn star, eventually fires his gooey freight against my face, dousing my cheeks and forehead, and nailing me in my open mouth, choking me with his seed.
Chapter 32: Fools for Flesh
“Sebastian…Sebastian…” I’m pulled out of my sexual state of unconsciousness by Ben. He whispers my name into my left ear, removing me from the train of Vipers.
I open my eyes and see a foreign room; IV bottle, television hanging on the wall, baby green-colored walls, peach-colored curtain to my left, and aluminum bars on the bed to my left and right.
He holds my right hand and whispers, “Hey, buddy.”
I feel a fully inflated rock between my legs and a light headache; leftovers from my unconsciousness. I move a hand down to my middle and try to push away my boner. To no avail, this doesn’t work. A tent rises the white sheet over my lower half, leaving me embarrassed.
“It must be nice in that other world,” Ben says, smiling from ear to ear.
“You’re supposed to be in New York City on a shoot. What happened?” I ask, pushing my rod down again, feeling it bounce back up, moving the sheet over my skin.
He walks me through the last twenty-four hours. Zoe pushes me to my apartment’s floor. She panics when I fall unconscious and obtain a gash in the back of my head. An ambulance rushes me to St. Anne’s. Ben gets a call in New York City from Zoe and charges back to Vanmer. He has been at my side since his arrival.
“And Jory?” I ask, wondering where he’s at, and why he isn’t standing over my bed like Ben.
Ben heavily sighs, looks down at the floor, and whispers, “Zoe did something horrible.”
The erection between my legs instantly deflates, losing blood, no longer standing proud and tall. My heart seems to drop to the floor, beneath the hospital bed. “What happened?”
“After Zoe found out that she didn’t accidentally murder you, she hunted Jory down and…”
“Shit,” I murmur. “Jory knows about us, doesn’t he?”
Ben meets my eyes with his somber ones, nods his head, and confirms, “She told him everything.”
“Sonofabitch,” escapes me. My entire body begins to feel numb, motionless on the bed, in a far away place and time. “Why did she do that?”
He clears his throat, uncomfortable at the moment. He releases my hand, brushes it over his bald plate, and sighs heavily. “She was pissed about many things. You lying to her. The two of us sleeping together. Me keeping a secret from her. Everything. She freaked out and…Jory was involved.”
I’m quiet, letting it all sink in. Half of me feels as if I deserve this drama for lying to Zoe. I shouldn’t have been fucking her boyfriend. Nor should have I cheated on Jory, keeping my relationship with Ben a secret from him. I haven’t been honest with either one, and this is the price I have to pay. I’ve been foolish, deceitful, and sinful. Shame on me.
“She doesn’t mean any harm,” Ben defends his girlfriend. “Zoe was acting on anger. She felt betrayed and lost part of her sanity for a few minutes. I guess I would have done the same thing if I were in her shoes.”
“Jory’s gone,” I reiterate. “He hasn’t been in to see me, has he?”
Ben shakes his head, being honest, totally saddened by the news. “No, he hasn’t.”
“And he doesn’t intend to, does he?”
“According to Zoe…the quarterback is over you.”
Tears start to work their way to the corners of my eyes and I reply, “I’ve really fucked this up, haven’t I?”
“We both have. Unintentionally.”
“I had a good thing with Jory…and you had a good thing with Zoe…and now look what we did.”
“Fools for flesh,” he whispers, confirming our current situation, losses, and whatnot.
“Fuck,” I whisper to myself more than Ben, and start to cry, whimpering, feeling broken and at my lowest for what I’ve done.
Chapter 33: Ben, Afar
Almost twenty-four hours after I surface from my state of unconsciousness, I’m allowed to go home by taxi. I’m released from St. Anne’s with a list of rules to follow for the next week, due to my minor head injury. Note all dizzy spells. If I start to vomit, see my physician immediately. Keep track of all headaches. Try not to lift anything heavy. If I do lift anything, make sure it’s under ten pounds. Relax as much as possible. Do not drive or operate heavy machinery for the next twenty-four hours. Absolutely no alcohol consumption. And don’t use any drugs, unless it just happens to be Ibuprofen.
The surprise of the week occurs when I get back to my apartment. All of Ben’s things are gone, removed from the place. His bed. Clothes and shoes. Pots and pans. A stack of paperback novels. Health and beauty aids from the bathroom. Television set. Alarm clock. Kitchen clock. The sofa. Two end tables. Everything that belongs to him is missing from the place, vanished.
I stand in the foyer, scratch the side of my head, and whisper, “What the fuck?” I spend the next ten minutes trying to find a note from him, but come up empty-handed.
As disbelief settles into my core, I decide to call him. I discover my cell phone in my bedroom, but learn that the battery is dead and it needs charging, which I carry out. The apartment still has a land line, though, and I dial his cell number, let it ring a few times, listen to his voicemail click on, and I leave the message. Ben, what’s going on? I took a taxi home from the hospital and…all your things are missing from our apartment. Give me a call when you have a second. Fill me in. I want to know.
An hour passes. Two hours. I think about calling Zoe to try and figure out where Ben is, but realize I’m the last person on Earth that she wants to talk to. I have Ben’s agent’s phone number, decide to call it, and discover I have the wrong number; probably off by a single digit.
Another hour slips by. Two hours. I find my bed, settle on its surface, and drift off to sleep with a subtle headache. Here, I begin to have the sex dream with the six Vipers again, but my cell rings and wakes me up before the home team starts a train on my ass. I groggily say, “Hello.” into the phone, and wait patiently for the caller to respond.
“Sebastian.” It’s Ben, finally returning my call.
I sit up, feel my head sting a bit, and ask, “Where are you?”
“Miami. I’m on a shoot for a cologne. I’ll probably be gone for a week, maybe longer.”
“I came home and your things are gone from the apartment.”
Silence. Nothingness. Ben takes his time responding to my concern. He clears his throat, sniffles, and says, “Listen. Zoe thought it would be best if I moved out of your place.”
“Zoe?” I question. “What about us?”
More silence. Long and hard this time. Exhausting.
I huff into my cell, “Come straight with me, Ben. I deserve at least that much.”
“Zoe and I want to work things out. She’s pretty headstrong about this. We agreed that I should move out of your apartment and find a place of my own. The temptation of your skin will only draw me closer to you. Having my own place will stop the temptation.”
“So, we’re over?” I say it with too much attitude, pissed out of my mind. How dare Zoe take Ben away from me without even letting me know. How dare he abandon the apartment without notice.
“Sebastian,” he whispers, “I don’t think we ever had anything. I always did like Zoe. Everything about her. Her body. The sex. How she made me laugh. Everything.”
“What about me?” I say into the phone. “Didn’t you say you loved me?”
Silence again. Dead air. Nothing for the longest time. Finally, he says, “I was confus
ed when I said that. I was trying to understand what I had with Zoe. I got a little side-tracked.”
Side-tracked? Not in love with me? Confused? All of this is too much to take in at one time. And all of it is really irritating me, rubbing me the wrong way. I can’t believe this is happening. All in a matter of a few days I lose Zoe, Jory, and now Ben. My whole life is spiraling out control, off-kilter. Nothing is right anymore. Nothing is remotely sane. Fuck!
I accidentally lose it with Ben on the phone, and scream at him, “Fuck you! Fuck you, Ben!” Nervously, I press the OFF button on my cell, throw it against the wall, listen to it shatter, and begin to cry.
Chapter 34: Simone’s Soothing
Loneliness creeps into my world without Jory, Ben, and Zoe in my life. I become a basket case and feel like I’m going to lose my mind. How can I fix this? What can I do to pull my life back together and welcome these people into my world again?
Fools never embark on promising results. I have become the grandest fool of all; to Zoe, to Ben, and to Jory. My deception regarding all three is limitless. I don’t deserve any of them in my life after what I have accomplished with the trio. What has transpired and what I have lost has clearly been earned on my part, which leaves me feeling misplaced, woebegone, and unsure of what my future entails.
In truth, I miss Jory the most. The way he boyishly smiled at me and held me in his hulking arms, protecting me from the big bad world. His playful quips and teasing. His massive hairy chest that I would rest my cheek on, breathing in his sweet-sweat aroma that made me hard between my legs. Our talks about football, men, and a variety of food. The Grafton mystery paperbacks he would carry around and read while traveling from state to state for his league. The way he studied the clouds and wind.
I try to call Jory on his cell phone, but his voicemail kicks on. My message is brief and to the point. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’ve made a few bad decisions and…now I have to pay for them.
Torso Tackle Page 8
