Super Sock Man

by Amy Lane

  Donnie pushed up—reluctantly, it was true, because he didn’t want to feel Alejandro leave his body—and rolled over, looking carefully at Alejandro’s handsome, sweating face in the sunshine streaming from his window.

  He looked… perfect. Lovely. Frozen in time like this, his first lover, like a moment in a picture book, and Donnie touched his temple delicately with his fingertips.

  “This feeling,” he said, “in my chest, like everything is beautiful, as perfect to touch as it is to see… it’s like everything is—” he was going to say “in a picture” but Alejandro interrupted him with, “—in color,” so he nodded his head, thinking they were close.

  Alejandro captured his mouth with a kiss, and it was sweet, so sweet, and then another, and another, and another, until they were twined together, kissing, just kissing, touching, moaning, stroking, and after a slow, sweet interlude, coming, their bodies open and real and beautiful on the background of Alejandro’s white bed.

  Alejandro

  EVENTUALLY they separated and showered together. They barely managed not to make love again—only Donnie’s growling stomach stopped them.

  “Are you still growing?” Alejandro asked, his arms around Donnie’s middle, his cheek resting on the back of his neck.

  “God, I hope so!” Donnie told him with good nature. “I’d hate to think I had size sixteen feet and this is as big as I get!”

  Alejandro’s eyes felt hot, and he rubbed them on Donnie’s back and told himself it was silly. “That could be just to counterbalance your enormous priapic cock, you know.”

  “My what?” Donnie laughed—oh God. Always laughing. And then Alejandro had to explain it to him about the god Priapus, with the constant enormous erection, who beat an ass to death with his penis for getting between him and a woman.

  Donnie wrinkled his nose. “Are you sure he didn’t fuck an ass to death because he didn’t want a woman?”

  And then Alejandro was laughing, and by then they were out of the shower and into some casual clothes—Alejandro back into his linen pants and open shirt, and Donnie? Donnie was the same kid Alejandro had known for three years, in battered gray sleep shorts and a red T-shirt that had the ten reasons Captain Kirk was better than Captain Picard.

  Alejandro didn’t even know who they were, although he had heard of Star Trek. By the end of dinner (a simple pasta and salad Donnie practically inhaled), Donnie had started to explain about the series and the movie. He was so enthusiastic that Alejandro encouraged him to pull up the newer movie on Netflix, and Alejandro spent a very lovely moment lying with his head on Donnie’s chest, wondering if Mr. Spock would ever lose his Vulcan cool enough to go down on Captain Kirk.

  The thought started to permeate his rather pleasant postcoital lethargy, and he was turning into Donnie’s chest to feel, once again, those impressive, thick muscles that came with (as Donnie had told him) two hours in the gym five days a week, when Donnie’s voice surprised him.

  “How were you the bad guy?” he asked, and Alejandro felt a moment of panic. No. No. He was not supposed to ask this question now, not when they were happy, and there was going to be more lovemaking… sex, and they had one whole day (because Donnie had traded shifts and didn’t work the next day) to pretend that everything was perfect and Alejandro could really do this for any length of time whatsoever.

  “Hmm?” he asked, but he knew exactly what Donnie was asking.

  Donnie’s hand threaded lightly through his hair. “See, the first dick I ever touched belonged to my best friend, and he’s still like my best friend, but I don’t give him hand jobs anymore.”

  Alejandro had to laugh a little, because he was spending a romantic evening with a man whose sexual experience amounted to giving a friend a hand job, but Donnie kept talking and he remembered he was still a man, and still quite bright, and that he still filled Alejandro’s days with the rich color that he hadn’t felt in his heart since he’d left home almost six years ago.

  “Why not?” he asked, closing his eyes and feeling that hand in his hair.

  “Well, he didn’t want to reciprocate, for one, and the reason he didn’t want to give back was because that would mean he was gay, and he didn’t want to be gay, because that would mean he’d have to come out, and that would really fucking suck, because his dad’s one of those ‘real man’ douche bags who would rather not have a son at all, right?”

  Alejandro closed his eyes. “I know that kind of father,” he said, trying very hard to blank out his father’s sneering suspicions before he’d gotten the first dance scholarship he could find to get the hell out of Venezuela.

  “Yeah?” And Donnie’s voice dropped softly, and his hand never stilled at Alejandro’s temple.

  “Yes,” Alejandro said softly. “But go on with your story.”

  “Well, he watched me beat off one night and then got up to go in a snit, because I didn’t just get him off and pretend my own dick didn’t exist, right? Then he came back and said he didn’t want to be the bad guy anymore. He wanted to be a hero. And I didn’t know what he meant right then, but it was like, eight months ago, and I’ve figured it out.”

  “Go on.” Alejandro’s eyes were getting really, really bright, and he couldn’t figure out how someone who was talking about “the first dick he’d ever touched” could talk so freely about the sorest part of Alejandro’s heart.

  “He meant that he was treating me like shit, letting me give him a hand job but not giving back because he was a coward. He didn’t want to be that guy anymore. He was going to pick a path and commit. I don’t like the path he picked—he’s dating a girl and I don’t think that’s fair to either of them—but he wanted to give back and not be a prick, sneaking around doing dirty shit in my room, you know? But the thing was, he wanted to be a superhero, and he wasn’t doing that, he was being a super-sleaze-bag, you know?”

  Alejandro nodded, his breath in his chest.

  “And the other night, when I tried on those socks—those were pretty choice, by the way, I loved them—”

  “Thank you,” Alejandro said, pleased for that small thing like he hadn’t been in a while.

  “You’re welcome, I’m gonna wear them again. Anyway, when I tried on those socks, I felt… powerful. Like the kind of guy who could seduce maybe someone as awesome as you. And I sort of did, right?”

  “God yes,” Alejandro said, knowing his voice was clogged and not sure how he was going to get through his end of the conversation that apparently needed to happen right now.

  “So I’m just wondering. I got to be a superhero—and damn, Yandro, you totally made me fly, you know that, right? But I want to know why you think you were the bad guy.”

  Alejandro swallowed.

  “I cheated,” he said through a dry throat.

  “Yeah?”

  He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to hear, but that one little syllable, curious and neutral, was not it.

  “Yes,” he whispered, trying to remember how it had happened, how he had behaved so badly. “So, I came to America when I was a little younger than you, full of my visa and my dance dreams and getting away from my parents. They gave me an allowance, and my Nana said I should go, and I came. And mostly it’s been lovely. I send my Nana pictures of the dancers and flyers, and she sends me—”

  “Socks!” Donnie crowed happily, and Alejandro risked a look up at him. His head was tilted back and his eyes were closed in rest, but not in sleep. His face was alert, and he was obviously listening.

  “Yes,” he said, and his throat grew tight and closed for no reason at all. “Socks. So, I was getting laid, and then I got to have a relationship, and it was… it was wonderful. He was a little older than me, and his family was very kind, like yours. I know you do not think so, but they are, and they are a blessing. And things were going very nicely, and then….” He shook his head and trailed off. Donnie’s fingers kept up their work, though, massaging, gentling, and he found he could finish.

  “It was the oddest t
hing. He was gone for two days, and I was writing a letter to my Nana, and she had asked, in her last letter, if I was in a relationship. I put the pen on the paper—she’s very old-fashioned, Nana. No e-mail for her—and I lied, of course. ‘No, Nana. No relationship for me.’ And….”

  “You went out and made it the truth,” Donnie finished for him. “Like when I put on the socks and I became super-sex-Donnie. I told a story, and that’s who I was.”

  “Yes,” Alejandro sighed. “And Cameron came back, and I had cheated, and I had no relationship. I didn’t even try to apologize. How could I? I was the bad guy.”

  There was a pause, and Alejandro knew he was a coward because he couldn’t even look Donnie in the eyes to see how he took this news.

  “Alejandro?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Tell me a story where I get to top. I’m dyin’ to see what that’s like, okay?”

  Alejandro sat up and laughed, wiping his eyes with the side of his hand. “I don’t usually do that,” he said huskily. “Maybe a little later for that, okay?”

  Donnie was looking at him soberly. “Okay,” he said softly. “Then tell me a story where you tell my parents that we’re having a relationship. And my sister. And maybe tell your Nana too, and see what that gets you. Will she squeal to the rest of the fam? Is that gonna get you kicked out of Shangri-la here?”

  Alejandro shook his head. “No. In some ways, my income here is as much a bribe to be quiet as it is an insult. It’s just enough for me not to want to scream my lifestyle to the heavens, and not enough for me to live high enough to be embarrassing.”

  Donnie shook his head, and for a moment, Alejandro saw practical, level-headed Michelle in her little brother.

  “You can’t just turn your back on that—not if you want to dance,” he said seriously, and Alejandro nodded, and then was surprised, gloriously surprised, when Donnie’s grin about blew him out of the water.

  “So, you know, that can be your secret identity. The whole world here will know you as out-of-the-closet Alejandro. It’s your family who will know you as… what did they call them, back in the fifties when gay was a big no-no?”

  “Confirmed bachelor,” Alejandro said dryly, and Donnie nodded.

  “Yeah. So when you’re writing your Nana, you can be Alejandro, Donnie’s relationship. When you’re writing your family, you can be Alejandro, confirmed bachelor.” He paused for a second and looked suddenly, totally sober.

  “So what,” Alejandro asked delicately, “am I when I’m here with you?”

  “You’re my boyfriend,” Donnie said honestly. “When Mom and Dad ask me why I’m coming over to stay the night, I want to say, ‘Because I wanna sleep with Yandro and my room’s too small,’ okay? I want to come out of your room in the morning and tell Chelle she needs to make me something with real salt or next time I’m cooking, and nobody wants that. I want to hold your hand in front of Chase so he can see what a superhero looks like, is that so damned bad?”

  Alejandro shook his head and went to wipe his eyes again, and Donnie stopped him and cupped his cheeks with both hands and wiped under his eyes with broad, rough thumbs.

  “What’s wrong, Yandro?”

  It felt stupid to say, but maybe Donnie would understand. “I really want to be your hero,” he said roughly. “You are very young, and relationships don’t always last forever, but… but I saw you growing up, and coming out, and I wanted you, but all I could think was, I don’t ever want him to stop looking at me like he first looked at me, back when I first saw him, and he was so beautiful and so young and—”

  “So frickin’ horny!” Donnie interrupted. “Do you know how many times I jacked off that day? It was like a record!”

  Alejandro laughed a little, and it felt like a release. “I just want to do right by you, okay?” he said after another hard laugh tore from his chest. “That’s all I truly want.”

  Donnie nodded soberly and then put a big bandage on the place that was making Alejandro cry. “Take me to bed and fuck me again, and that’ll be a rocking start. You think?”

  Alejandro was laughing again when Donnie kissed him.

  They didn’t make it to the bed—the first time. The first time they just kissed, and then kissed some more, slowly, intensely, quietly, until suddenly they were devouring each other, so hotly that Donnie spilled in Alejandro’s hand—and then licked Alejandro’s fingers, one at a time.

  But they did get up then and make it to the bed after the dog and the cat were fed and watered and all the lights in the house were turned out, and this time, it was slow. Donnie spread his muscular thighs and sat carefully down on Yandro’s cock, easing into it with lots of lube and lots of patience from Alejandro, who very probably could have come when he was barely inside. But Donnie was determined, and very fit, and soon Alejandro was lying on the bed, holding Donnie’s thighs while Donnie bounced up and down, stroking Alejandro intimately while he was caught in the wonder of a new sensation it seemed he was very quickly starting to love.

  And after that, they slept. Donnie was probably sore, although he wouldn’t admit it, even if he was, and Alejandro was certainly exhausted. But it had been a good start—a wonderful start—to something that had already set up a tremendous amount of shop space in Alejandro’s heart.

  And Donnie was there in the morning, happy, playful, and ready to get up and start a day together.

  They played with the dog and went to Donnie’s gym, because it was closer and so the housekeeper could have some time unmolested, and came back to a clean house and food to spare, and a chance to make love—yes, make love—one more glorious time before they heard Chelle’s car in the driveway. They all stayed up late watching movies, even though everyone had work or rehearsal or basically real life the next day.

  But Donnie still woke up next to him, for the third morning in a row.

  And all that other stuff was wonderful, but Alejandro had known, from the moment the sun pierced the curtains that first morning, that what mattered, what really mattered, was that Donnie had stayed the night, had enjoyed staying the night, in his bed. And Alejandro swore he’d never kick him out of it.

  A WEEK later, Donnie stayed the night in his parents’ house for form. Alejandro foresaw a time in the not-so-distant future where that might change, but he wasn’t going to push it. Chelle was happy with the way things were at present: her little brother was being treated kindly. Alejandro swore it would never be another way.

  So that night, Alejandro had no one in his bed, and it was lonely there. He went into his study instead, perhaps the most little-used room in the house. He pulled out thick, cream-colored paper and an actual, honest-to-god fountain pen, and sat down to write in his most beautiful, fluid penmanship and his best schoolboy Spanish.

  Dear Nana,

  I was delighted to get your latest creation. The socks are beautiful, and although they fit me very well, I’m afraid my boyfriend—a lovely young man named Donnie—has stretched them out a little. He enjoyed them very much as well….

  It took him two hours to finish the letter, and he sent it off without a qualm. He knew he would send no such letter to his father, or to his mother or any of his siblings, but it mattered to him that this one person who had loved him as a child should see him as a man.

  Donnie

  DONNIE’S room looked too small that morning.

  His parents had been pretty decent about letting him stay the night at Yandro’s this past week. Of course, he was reasonably certain they were pretending he was just staying with Chelle or house-sitting, but that was fine too. Yandro had come over, been nice to his mom, and told her he cared for Donnie very much and was hoping their relationship was all right with her. She’d cried. It had been awkward—but awesome too, in a way. It had been everything Donnie had wanted—as real and as important as Chelle’s first boyfriend, except better, because her first boyfriend was a douche bag who’d cheated, and Donnie had no doubts.

  He still hadn’t topped yet—and he
had the feeling he might have to wait a while for that one. That was okay—after sex for a week? He was appreciating how very much he had to learn.

  So that first day when he woke up, after spending a week learning everything about sex and a whole lot about being with another person, Donnie realized that he’d grown.

  His room had trophies from baseball—since pony league in kindergarten—all on a shelf, still papered with baseball paper, because he liked it. There were still baseball valances on the windows and a little dresser with his fish tank on top, and an almost outdated video game system in the corner by the little TV monitor he’d gotten for Christmas this year.

  It was a great room. He loved it. He loved the shape of it (not quite square—the ceiling sloped down in the corner to accommodate the angle of the roof) and the way the mattress felt under his back. He loved memories of him and Chase and Kevin playing everything from Monopoly to Clue up here when it was raining outside. Kevin had been clueless, not paying attention to anything but the game, but Chase—something in Chase’s eyes told Donnie that Donnie had it pretty damned good, especially when his mother put pizza bites on a plate and brought them up for the boys while they played. Donnie had never taken this room for granted.

  Donnie had grown up happy—and he was grateful.

  But now he was ready to grow up completely, and he was only a little nervous.

  Alejandro may not know it yet, but he was going to get a new roommate—a permanent one. Donnie loved this room, but after three years, he was pretty sure he loved Alejandro so very much more.

  That day, Chase came over to his house for the first time in ages. They sat in his room and played video games, and Chase kicked Donnie’s ass.

  “God! How did you think that far ahead!” Donnie complained. “It makes me crazy! I don’t know how you do it!”

  Chase smiled and shrugged. “I’m just a dumb jock, Don. Don’t confuse me with someone with a brain.”