by Karen Botha
Whoa, grandkids? That means kids first. Is he expecting us to have children? My eyes bulge, and it takes me a moment before I can gather my thoughts to reply.
“Grandkids?” My words come out slower than normal.
When Kyle turns, he has an odd look in his eye. “Yeah. This will be nothing by their day.” The words are as if he didn’t notice my shock, but he delivers them at the same cautionary pace as I did, mirroring the finest detail of my reaction.
“We haven’t talked about this before, have we?” I pronounce each syllable, eyeing him back.
“What?”
“Kids. We’ve never discussed whether we want them.”
“Well, doesn’t everyone?” He smiles, but his gorgeous dark eyes are glassier than normal.
I need to tread carefully here. “Not everyone.” I decide against adding, ‘I don’t.’
A silence hangs as we each consider our next move, our senses alert to the tiniest advancement, each of us judging our position relative to the other.
Kyle picks at the cut on his thumb from working on my car. It’s scabbing over. “Madeline and I never got around to having children. Our lives weren’t happy enough to bring another human into it. But I have always seen myself as a dad.”
“OK.” I flounder, running a series of words and phrases through my internal filter, making sure I don’t blurt out the wrong thing. “How will that fit into our lives?”
“I don’t know. I just know that I’m contented enough with you to at least consider it now.”
Phew. I can get away with that. “Sure, we can consider it.” If that’s all he wants, it buys some time.
“Yeah, because it will take some organization. And time is ticking.”
Is he for real? We’ve barely moved in together, something he wasn’t overly fond of committing to and now he’s done a full one-eighty and wants to start planning a family. My hand flies up to my mouth. I catch myself and pass it off as though I’m scratching an itch.
“When were you thinking of us actually becoming a unit of more than just us two?” I brace myself for his answer. and my voice is tight. The tension that has contracted my chest showing.
“I don’t know. That will be part of the fun of planning. And the good thing is, neither of us has to live with a hormonal woman.” He laughs, continuing the pretense that this isn’t the most awkward, disjointed conversation we’ve ever had. The subtext is screaming silently while we dance around it.
For the first time since I met Kyle, I’m feeling caged, unable to breathe from the pressure of bearing someone else’s dreams. It’s not just that we’ll have an extra person in tow if we have a kid, but how will I be able to concentrate on driving? How will we travel?
“What do you intend to do about your job? You love it.” I ask.
“Yeah, I know. I haven’t thought this through. It’s just that I’ve always seen myself being a dad one day, that’s all. I’m not sure when or how it fits in our lives, but we’ll make it work when the time is right, won’t we?”
OK, so this is good and bad at once. He’s left me a loophole with which to maneuver by not having considered this fully before bringing it up, so it’s not on his imminent to-do list. However, he just asked me to confirm it will be possible one day. And I can’t do that. The thought whizzes through my consciousness in a heartbeat as I scramble for some appropriate response.
I decide on, “Let’s just see.” I keep my gaze focused on the street outside and cringe as I release the sentence into the atmosphere between us.
Every nerve is on red alert. I sense Kyle looking out of the opposite window as the words hang. He doesn’t reply.
Kyle
Yep, stupid, I know. Only an ass assumes, but I did. I just expected that Elliott would be into kids. Sure, we’ve never been around them together and of course our lifestyle as it is now doesn’t support a traditional family life. But who doesn’t want kids?
And so I assumed.
It appears that was a massive error of judgment and now I need to work out whether I’m happy spending the rest of my life as a couple or if I need to pursue this further, accepting that if Elliott doesn’t budge, our dilemma will be whether to end our relationship.
Just the idea of not having Elliott in my life sends a physical pain through my chest. I feel the blade enter and twist inside my heart. It doesn’t seem to be an option.
But then, is living my life without children a viable lifestyle choice?
Fuck! I knew things were going too well.
It’s now a week later and we haven’t brought the subject up again. The unspoken conversation hangs in the air between us. We’re not moody; we’re getting along OK and having fun. But something intangible has shifted.
Real life is road blocking our romance.
It’s time to steal that flirtation back. I brought this up so I need to deal with it. I need to bring back the relentless passion but in a safe environment. No more getting caught in public restrooms.
When Elliott gets home from another press appearance to promote the virtues of quality builders, I’ve prepared a meal for us. A simple roast chicken and salad. Something uncomplicated that has minimal chance of ruining should the evening take my intended diversion.
I hear his car pull up and I position myself around the other side of the long kitchen worktop, partly hidden from his view when he enters via the boot room we use as our daily entrance.
He does a double take at me when he comes in. I smile, color tinging my cheeks. Now that he’s here, I’m embarrassed.
“What are you up to?” His mouth is wide open as he walks around to take in a good view of my naked self, my modesty being only covered by a full length apron. He pushes me back, away from the stove top and surveys his prize, smirking.
“You like?” I cover up how flustered I am, with feigned confidence. I take a bow, bobbing my bare-skinned butt into view as I crane over for him. “Dinner is ready, my Lord.”
He bursts out laughing, and despite myself the sight of the creases at the side of his eyes as he enjoys my pantomime sends my growing cock poking through the thick cotton of my only clothing.
“I can see that.” His eyes are directed entirely on my groin as he pulls me close. “What exactly do you have cooking?”
He doesn’t give me time to reply, instead his lips cover mine and his hand flips the stiff fabric out of the way as his other unties the bow in the nape of my back.
Elliott
The tails of the apron tie dangle down Kyle’s back, to his knees. I take hold of them and tease the sensitive skin there with their delicate touch. His one leg buckles forward, and he shivers in a flurry.
“You look adorable. I could get used to this,” I whisper as I glance kisses across his collar bone. I take a hold of the ribbon that loops around his neck with my spare hand and shift it out of the way, allowing my trail of adoration to continue.
“Is that because dinner is ready when you get home from a long day?” he asks, “or because your almost naked partner is waiting for your return.”
“Oh, definitely the almost naked partner, but I’m happy with the meal too.” My kisses are becoming deeper as my mood changes from quirky amusement to sultry and my lips connect as much of myself with his skin as possible.
I trail the ribbon up the inside of his thighs. He shifts, widening his stance as I trace them higher. “You are the most attentive boyfriend...”
“I think you’re pretty attentive yourself,” he replies as the ribbon chases up the crack between his legs.
“Take this off,” I instruct, flicking the pinafore.
I stand back and watch as he slips the loop over his head and slowly unties it to reveal his strapping chest. He is so fit. I forget to notice now sometimes with life being more mundane, but he is a glorious example of a man. His toned pecks, tanned from our travels, flex as the apron slowly slips down, revealing him little by little.
My gaze follows his trimmed treasure trail, a dark path to
the defined V which would sit above his jeans if he were wearing any. And then lower, to the source of all my pleasure. His proud cock, hard, and eager to please.
The apron finally slithers to the floor, and he stands, hands on hips, waiting for my next move with a lopsided grin on his face. He knows the effect he has on me and his eyes bore into me.
I take a step back, keep my eyes focused on his glorious body as I undo my shirt, one tiny button at a time. When I pull it out of my belt, the tug sends a thrill shooting between my legs.
“Touch yourself,” I instruct.
Still, he doesn’t rush this. He wraps one finger at a time around his solid length, deliberately showing me exactly what he’s feeling. His face softens as he moves his arm purposefully.
I throw my dress shirt to one side, unlock my belt, and open the top of my trousers. I cup my hand over my hard on, pressing it against my belly through my clothes, before slowly sliding down my zipper. Kyle’s eyes don’t leave my hands, but as my slacks part more fully to reveal my wanting cock, the rhythm of his own hand speeds up.
My trousers fall to the floor and I step out of them, kicking them to one side. Peeling my socks off, we stand and appreciate the other’s totally naked form.
My hand slips to my aching cock and relief floods me as I begin to work in time to Kyle’s action. My tip is dripping with precum and it creates a silky film allowing my foreskin to slide easily up and around my purple head.
Kyle
Elliott’s cock is pulsing purple in his hand. Seeing how much he wants me, how much I affect him, is a massive fucking turn on. My hand massages quicker between my legs. He speeds up to match my rhythm.
“Follow me.” I disappear off toward our living room, snatching away the spell and leaving him wanton in the kitchen until he follows.
I’ve prepared.
“Sit there.” I point to our couch.
He sits. My cock responds as he takes hold of himself again, continuing the action with his hand.
I delve into the drawer and remove what I’m looking for. “Put this on.” I place the blindfold over his eyes.
He gasps, his vision restricted, senses enhanced as his dick strains inside his palm.
I lube up and stand in front of him moving my hand backwards and forwards, the squelch being the only audible sound. I sink to my knees and take him in my mouth, his now free hand, searches in the dark until it rests on my shoulder. His gentle touch burns into my skin as I sink him down my throat. His steely length fills me and I gag, hungry to swallow as much of him as I can.
“Kyle, this is so fucking hot.” Elliott breathes as he pushes so far down my neck my eyes water.
I want every piece of him. I’m not letting this man go. We can sort through our differences, but we are staying together. The thought of losing him makes my fire of wanting burn even brighter. I pull his foreskin back and suck his salty head, rolling my tongue around it quickly before slamming my hand over it and lubing him.
My heart palpitates in excitement as I rub my palm fast until his straining dick tenses and his balls shrink. Just as his head pushes forward, ready to release, I stop, keep my fist still and wait. I wait until his panting slows until his cock stops throbbing and then I start again.
“Fucking hell, Kyle. Just put me out of my misery already would you?”
A chuckle gurgles loose as my hand speeds again, but this time, I run my fingers under the sensitive underside, teasing his anus. Just as I get there and he scoops his hips up for me to delve inside, I stop again. A carnal torture.
His mouth splits into a smile, he knows my game, he chews on his bottom lip, sucking it. I can’t resist, I lean up, suck that lip into my mouth, trap it between gentle teeth.
My fingers work between his legs again, circling just before his rosebud. This time, the heat is immediate, and he spreads his legs wide, pushing forward.
He gasps, I bite his lip as I force one finger inside him.
He groans, I circle then flex my digit.
He growls, and I release his lip and push in a second finger.
“Take me,” he exhales.
Still, I don’t speak, just continue to send shock waves throughout his system, getting royally fucking hard on his pleasure.
Pulling his ankles up, I rest them on my shoulders and I enter him with a grunt. My hands straddle his head on the back of the sofa and I pull myself forward, forcing all the way until I’m deep inside him. As I move his legs rock backwards as his butt lifts. I circle inside him, grinding my hips, owning him.
I press my forehead onto his, “I love you Elliott Judd, don’t you ever forget that. Us staying as a couple is the most important thing in the world. It's you and me.” My last word escapes as a rasp as the urge takes me and I plough back and forth into him. The tsunami builds as an electric shock, kicks me forward, Elliott’s hands are balled in fists as he tries to hold on. I press my torso onto his, so his cock is trapped between two hard walls of muscle as I thrust into his butt.
“Come for me baby.” I shout the words, hoarse with pent up passion.
He relaxes and lets go with a harsh cry. It’s the hugest fucking kick to do that to him and within seconds I’ve released inside him. Whatever happens with kids, with shady business deals, and X-rated video tapes, I will stay with Elliott.
Kyle
It’s here. The day we’ve been working toward all winter. The day the new engine will fire up -- we hope. We’ve been building this motor from plans alone. Today we’ll find out just how much work is needed before the formal testing process begins in two months. The first stage is to hear the engine finally running though, so here we all are, gathered around in the factory, waiting for the time to tick over and for the ignition to be fired up.
The clock ticks over the hour and rather than breaking into a collective cheer, the tension in the room is palpable as every single person holds their breath.
Chase presses the button to start the car as is customary at this event.
The engine rattles and stalls.
There’s not a single person in the room who doesn’t let a groan escape. It’s going to be a long night.
Chase once again depresses the ignition, full of hope that doing the same thing again will give a different result.
Another splutter, but of course, it’s not enough to get this baby even once around the track.
Trevor, our head engineer, raises his hand. “Come on guys,” he says as he turns his back and heads off toward a corner where he can huddle with his advisers. This team is the best in the industry, but developing a new car on paper is always an unknown entity and we’re all prepared for an all-nighter, regardless of our shift patterns.
We need to do our own unofficial circuit testing before we head off abroad for formal testing with all the other teams. This car therefore needs to be up and working, with Elliott behind the wheel at our local circuit in just three days. The pressure is on. We’re already geared up for a 24 hour a day work program, so the only way we’re going to get this car out of this workshop and onto the track in time is if we all put our shift patterns to one side and just work.
“Thank goodness you can stay in my quarters,” Elliott mumbles behind his hand, grinning at me.
“What are you so happy about?” I ask.
“It’ll be nice to not be holed up here alone for once. Having you here with me will be like a home from home.”
I laugh. I can’t argue when he puts it like that. “Yeah, without the need for either of us to cook your ludicrously healthy meals.” I roll my eyes.
Two hours later and the light hearted banter is forgotten. Elliott is pacing, waiting for the chance to sit in the car and feel the vibration of the engine for the first time. I can see the mix of excitement and agitation in the way his face moves.
My problems are way more serious. The engineers have figured out that the motor isn’t firing up because there’s a blockage which is preventing the fuel from lighting up the engine. So, our group of mech
anics needs to disassemble this complex set of custom made parts in order to access and fix the problem.
“We need to take everything off,” Greg says.
“Yep, got that,” I mutter. I’m not sure how else he thought we'd get the job done.
“Hey, I heard that Beaumont!” He shoves me as he passes, but he’s still smiling.
Another two hours later and we’ve succeeded in locating our issue. I’ve scraped the skin from my too large hand which was stuck in a too small space, trying to locate and reattach a loose nut by using a spanner with a long arm and wing mirrors. I kid you not. These spaces are too tight to get your head in; it’s the only way.
Finally with the erroneous nut sorted out, we’re rebuilding the car, hoping, no praying actually, that our simple adjustment will be enough to crank the engine to life.
And so, in a moment of déjà vu, we’re standing waiting to see whether our changes have been effective, or whether we’re going to have to pull this monster apart again.
We gather with less breathless expectation this time.
Chase makes a show of approaching the button like he’s about to embark a marathon, when in fact, that started a year ago. He bows, but we just want to know whether the blasted fix has worked. The last thing we want is to be here any longer than need be. He points his finger in the air, holds it around for the room to see before bowing and finally bending over the cockpit and pressing the darned button.
A growl rumbles around the room, ricocheting off the pristine walls of our high end garage as car number 66 thunders to life.
“Hallelujah,” Elliott cries as he scrambles forward and jumps in the cockpit, one foot in, one on the sleek nose of the car.
He stands, jubilant as though he’s just won the championship and shouts, “This year’s winning car.”
The place erupts into a chorus of cheers, and whoops, “Get in there,” someone shouts.
