by J. M. Snyder
“You can take it, can’t you, Princess?” he said at one point, sweat streaming down his skin and dripping into my eyes despite the cool air being pumped into the house.
“More, please more!” I pleaded, rearing up to kiss him hard and sloppy as I moved so I could wrap my legs around his waist, my ass on his thighs where he now kneeled, pumping into me to get to the endgame.
“So hot, Stace, you just don’t know,” he panted. Three sharp thrusts, and he was gone. “Fuuuuck,” he moaned, his face beautiful in the little death he experienced as he flooded the condom, hot cum warming my ass like the best balm.
My own cock had filled again and was hard and leaking as I watched his fall into ecstasy.
“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” I whispered. I took my cock in hand, pumping it to another spectacular finish.
When we were both done, I remained on his lap and Jenson on his knees. We breathed together as we contemplated what we’d just done. I’d never felt such a connection with anyone, and to find it in Jenson was a revelation.
We showered together after some time passed, and I was introduced to the joys of sleeping in the arms of the man I’d coveted for my own for far too long.
* * * *
When I woke hours later, the Saturday morning sun was unrelenting as it shone through the curtain-less windows in Jenson’s bedroom. His side of the bed was empty and cool. I sat up, the sheets pooling around my waist as I rubbed my eyes and then focused on the grassy area I could see outside.
It seemed to stretch a long way, and the nearest house had a huge fence, leaving only the roof visible. Jenson had lots of privacy here, which gave me ideas for future liaisons of a semi-public kind.
I grinned, thinking of the naughty games we could play, when the star of my thoughts—dressed in nothing but boxer briefs—entered the bedroom with a tray.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he greeted me. He set a tray with two coffee mugs, a plate of pancakes, utensils, and a few strips of bacon on my lap. He sat beside me, grabbed his cup, and gave me a kiss. “Sleep well?”
“Better than I have in a long time. Wow, this is all for me? What about you?” I queried as I ate some bacon.
“I’ve already eaten, and, yes, it is. Why not?” He drank his coffee and watched me eat for a while. “Do you have plans for today?”
“Well, I don’t have a change of clothes, first of all, and no plans right now. You have ideas that don’t involve too much exercise?”
“There’s nothing wrong with a little exercise, Stace.”
“Sure there is, when it’s irrepressibly hot outside,” I retorted. “It’s not supposed to dip below one hundred until the middle of next week.”
“What if I promised you hot, sweaty sex, our bodies slick and sliding against each other as we groped, trying to grab hold of arms and legs as we plunged toward the ultimate orgasm?”
I almost choked on the pancake I was chewing. “Don’t say things like that before I swallow.”
“That’s something I’d love to see, actually, you on your knees, hands behind your back as I hold your head in a firm grip so I can fuck your throat raw.”
“Christ,” I muttered, feeling my cock trying to lift the tray on my lap. “Stop it unless you want me to jump you right here and now.”
“I don’t feel at all threatened, but I think we should spend time together out and about before I fuck you again. Draw it out a little, you know?”
He placed his mug on the nightstand and turned my head so he could kiss me. The rich taste of coffee flooded my tongue, and I lost all interest in food as he took everything I had to give, and then some.
Right before I could dump the tray and let him have his way with me, the doorbell rang. Then there was the sound of thumping on the door. Damn, someone really needed to talk the Jenson.
Frowning, he moved back from me and listened.
A male voice yelled, “I know you’re in there, Jen. Open the door!” And then the owner of the voice banged on the door some more.
Jenson closed his eyes and rubbed his face. “Shit. I’m sorry about this, Stace. Let me see if I can get rid of him, and we’ll get back to where we were, okay? “You just relax and finish your breakfast.” He kissed me on the forehead.
“Wait. Who’s at the door?” I asked, but he’d already left the room.
* * * *
I heard voices in the living room, Jenson’s trying to calm our early morning visitor, but it seemed to be a losing battle. The unknown man’s voice kept getting louder and louder, and then I heard something break.
Concerned, I got up and fumbled around in Jenson’s drawers for a pair of shorts to wear before I ran into the front room. Once there, I saw Jenson dodging picture frames and other objects as they were thrown at him haphazardly. No one noticed I stood there, gaping at the appalling scene before me.
“Bransworth, stop it! You’re going to hurt me, the man you say you love. How will you feel if I end up in the hospital? You’ll never get me back then.” The sneer in Jenson’s voice was…unexpected. I’d never heard him sound so callous. What the hell was going on here?
“You played me for a fool, you little slut. You never meant a word you said to me about love. It was just a line you’ve used thousands of times before to land a piece of ass. You reel the guy in, wine and dine him, fuck him, then screw him over.”
Another picture frame went past Jenson’s head and almost hit me this time.
“You heard what you wanted to hear. I never once said I loved you. I was in it for a good time, that’s all. I’ve moved on to another nice ‘piece of ass,’ as you call it. A guy so desperate and hot for me that he was easy pickings. And when I’m done with him, I’ll move on to another. Get over yourself and find somebody else to bother. True love and marriage and all that other hogwash is total bullshit. What are you, a twelve-year-old girl?” His laughter was cruel.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I looked at Bransworth. His face was crestfallen. I saw the hurt, desperation, and longing that were so plain on his features. In that moment, I knew we’d both been played for fools.
“Wait just a goddamned minute,” I said, interrupting the heated exchange. “Did you just say I was ‘easy pickings,’ you overgrown piece of shit?’”
The look of dismay and consternation on Jenson’s face when he turned to me was almost as gratifying as the mortification that flushed my skin was debilitating. At least Bransworth had stopped throwing things. The look he gave me, though, was somewhere between disgust and sympathy.
Jenson immediately rallied, attempting contrition. “Come on, baby. You know I’m only saying that so he’ll leave. You’re all I think about. I want you. Only you.”
Except, all the things I’d thought were true and wonderful about Jenson Sommers had been a lie. And I’d fallen for it, completely. I’d been so caught up in the idea of Jenson that I’d been unable to see what he really was: a selfish, low-life prick.
“Fuck. You.”
I left the two men to their argument, gathered my tattered dignity, and went to find my clothing. Everything was wrinkled, sweaty, and not at all ready for public viewing, but I had to leave this place. Right now. I quickly dressed, made sure I had my wallet, keys, and cell phone, and walked to the front door.
Jenson paused in his argument with Bransworth to block my escape. “You can’t leave like this,” he began.
I moved him out of the way, shoving him so hard he stumbled. “You don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t do! You make me sick.”
I yanked the door open and ran down the steps and made my way to the street, walking briskly toward the bus stop I’d seen last night on our way here, when things were still…wonderful.
I barely noticed the heat or the sweat that stained my rumpled clothes—again. It had all been a game. I almost choked on the bile rising in my throat at how things had gone so horribly wrong. God, had I really been that desperate, that easy to fall into bed with any guy who gave me
attention? Damn it, I was thirty years old. I should know better by now.
I’d thought, because he and I had bonded over being openly gay at work, and all the things we’d shared, that this was real and could grow into something lasting. But he was as bad, or perhaps worse, than the jocks and all the cliques in the world.
Why? Because he was a pretender. He drew me in, made me believe his own brand of truth, and then I only found out the reality after I was burned, and he got what he wanted. Fuck, I was a stupid sumbitch.
Thankfully, a bus arrived within five minutes, and I was on my way to Indian Creek station, where I would arrive in fifteen minutes, according to the transit app on my phone. How I would be able to face Jenson at work next week, or go on as if things were normal, I had no clue.
* * * *
Monday morning, I dressed as I usually did for the hot weather and made the trek to work. I knew I’d have to face Jenson today, since he sat next to me, but that didn’t mean I had to talk to him, unless required to, for some aspect of my job.
I changed in the bathroom, as was my routine. Then I sat at my desk and started composing an article about the merits of one of the new product lines.
I heard rustling in the cubicle next to mine half an hour later and knew Jenson had arrived. He was late. I tensed, wondering what would happen next, but nothing occurred. Thankful I’d dodged that bullet, I went on with my article and other tasks, breaking only for a brief lunch before finishing my assignments for the day.
After gathering my backpack and other personal items, I headed out of the department and took the elevator to the lobby. Imagine my surprise when I saw Bransworth Manley walking toward me as I moved toward the revolving doors. He looked pensive.
“Can we talk?” he asked, not beating around the bush.
“Why?” I adjusted my backpack and loosened my tie. I didn’t change for the trip home normally. No point, really.
“I want to apologize for my behavior on Saturday in Jenson’s house. You shouldn’t have had to see something so ugly. I didn’t even know you were there, and for you to hear all that…”
I was surprised. “Why would you care what I think? I was duped, same as you.”
He shook his head. “No. It’s more than that. It’s the way it was done, as well as the fact that Jenson is a predator, the most dangerous kind that’ll sneak up on you, lull you into a false sense of security, then take chunk out of your butt.”
“Huh.” I studied Bransworth, saw the pain, hurt, and shame he exhibited, and knew I felt the same.
I shrugged. “It hurts like hell, but I’ll get over this eventually. If I were being honest, your barging into Jenson’s house was the best thing that could have happened. And for that, I thank you.”
I held out my hand, and he shook it.
“Feel like an ice cream? It always makes me feel better after a bad breakup.”
“You eat ice cream? I thought models and actors only ate carrots and celery to remain thin.” I walked with him to the revolving doors.
“Fuck that shit. I need real food to survive.” Once we were outside, he said, “That doesn’t mean I won’t exercise my ass off tomorrow to reduce the effects of the ice cream, but I think we both deserve a treat, don’t you?”
“Hell yeah. I’ll join you.”
We walked together a couple of blocks to Scoop of the Day and stood in the long line.
“So you found out where I worked from…”
“Jenson said you sat next to him during one of our many shouting matches after you left. I can’t believe I was that dumb.” He shook his head and ran a hand through perfectly styled auburn hair.
“I suppose we’re better men for it?” I replied, not really believing my own hogwash.
“Ha, yeah,” he replied, though his laughter was bitter.
We finally got our cones fifteen minutes later, by which time my work shirt was a hot mess, and there was a streak of dirt from…somewhere on my once-pristine cuffs. It was telling of my mental state that I didn’t care. Well, not that much.
We headed to Piedmont Park, which was nearby, and found a place to sit that wasn’t taken by families with screaming children. The vanilla scoop I’d bought was already melting, and I kept licking at the cone, trying to finish before the whole thing turned into a hot milkshake.
I glanced at Bransworth and saw he was having the same problem with his pistachio. He licked a drop of cream from surprisingly full lips.
He smiled. “It’s like we’re fighting a losing battle, right?” He went back to finishing his treat.
I didn’t want to be intrigued by this beautiful and vulnerable man, but there it was. Shrugging off the unexpected feeling of interest, the two of us munched and slurped as we watched the crowd of joggers, walkers, and cyclists doing rounds in the park.
I wiped my hand on the tiny napkin that remained from my cone and then asked, “So where’d you meet Jenson?”
* * * *
I knew right away that I’d asked the wrong question. Bransworth went pale and slumped, his face falling into his now empty hands.
I felt bad. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that,” I said and hoped he would recover his composure soon.
After sniffling for a few minutes, he wiped his face with the edge of his trendy T-shirt and leaned back on his hands. His eyes were red, the skin puffy, but he was still gorgeous. Some men had that gene, I supposed.
“Your company needed a model for one of its products, and my agent set it up. Right after I finished the photo shoot, I ran into Jenson in the elevator. It was late in the evening, and we were the only two people in the elevator.”
He sighed. “He laid it on thick. For a second, I thought he was too aggressive, but there was something about his straightforward approach that I appreciated. A lot. Being a model, sometimes guys are afraid to approach me and put me on this pedestal, which I hate.
“Anyway, I fell for his act completely. He said the sweetest things, took me to nice places, the Sweet Potato Café in Stone Mountain, a play at the ARTS Station. I felt special. It was great, and I was hooked in no time at all.”
Jesus. It was a mirror image of my date with the man. Jenson had this seduction routine down to the smallest detail. Bastard.
Bransworth coughed. “I thought there was something great between us, and I told him I loved him. The next day, he broke it off. And then a week later, I confronted him at his house—he’s never been to my place—and there, I met you. Messed up, huh?”
I shrugged and toed my backpack where it lay on the ground. “I’ve been in lust with the man for a long time. I was jealous of you because you had him, and I didn’t. Then he told me you guys broke up. I thought it was my chance to get the man of my dreams. And it all turns to shit. I don’t know who’s the bigger fool here.”
Bransworth turned to face me and tucked a leg under his butt. “How about neither of us? Stace…may I call you by your first name?” I nodded. “We’re both victims, and we need to find a way to move on. Maybe we should form our own support group called Jenson’s Dupes Anonymous, or Damaged Goods, or something.” He laughed at himself. “I don’t know. I’m just being silly, don’t mind me.”
I chuckled. “I don’t mind.”
In fact, in the middle of all the shit that had happened, I found Bransworth funny and easy to get along with, despite how way out of my league he was. Hell, the whole time we’d been sitting here, he’d been cruised no less than ten times. Either he didn’t notice or didn’t care.
To find that in a man like him was unusual, in my experience. But before I let my thoughts get away from me, I reminded myself that we’d both been burned, by the same man, no less, and needed time to heal. And why would he be interested in a nonentity like me anyway?
We stayed like that, just people watching as the sun set. The heat remained unrelenting, but sitting beside Bransworth made me think less of it. He and I made comments about possible steroid use in some of the gym bunnies that ran past us, an
d we drooled over the other men who were just too hot to be believed. I didn’t want the evening to end, but it had to.
I stood, shouldered my backpack, and said, “I enjoyed talking to you, Bransworth. You’re not at all what I expected. Considering how we met, I’m pleasantly surprised. We should do this again sometime, if you’re interested. Maybe work on that support group.” I winked at him, and he laughed.
“I’d like that.” He stood beside me—we were both the same height at around five-feet-nine inches tall—and walked along with me as I headed to the nearest train line. “We should exchange numbers.” He took out his phone when we stopped in front of Arts Center station.
I didn’t see why not. “Sure.”
After programming our numbers and putting away the phones, he asked, “You live on the train line?”
“Yeah, near Doraville. My car broke down, so I’ve been doing transit for a little bit.”
“Sorry, man. I live in Stone Mountain, but nowhere near Redan Road, where Jenson lives,” he hastened to assure me.
“That’s cool. Maybe we’ll hang out sometime.”
His pale, almost translucent blue eyes gave me a speculative look. “I think I’d like that. You’re good people, Stace Whitehall. Don’t let Jenson’s fucked up view of the world change that. He’s not worth it.” He leaned in to kiss me on the cheek and quickly left.
I raised a hand to touch the spot. I could still feel his lips on my skin.
* * * *
By Wednesday afternoon, I’d barely said two words to Jenson, which was fine with me. I caught him eyeing me in the break room when we happened to be there at the same time getting coffee, or in the elevator over a crowd of people. He was quite tall, after all.
I had nothing to say to the man, and there was no way I was going to be alone with him anywhere, if I could help it. I un-friended him on Facebook, closed my Twitter account, and washed my hands of anything to do with Jenson Sommers. He was dead to me.
At seven o’clock that evening, I bore the heat as well as I could while walking to the train station. It looked like rain, but the clouds were mostly a tease. My phone buzzed in my pocket as I went along, so I pulled it out to check my text messages.
