by Marie Sexton
“Oh God,” Lamar breathed, and Dominic thrust against him harder, more excited than ever at the way Lamar responded so enthusiastically to his touch.
This was what he’d dreamed of. This was the passion he’d always imagined. The bliss he’d sought with girls but never found. This crazy, tantalizing escalation of pleasure. This mad struggle to find more. The tightness of his groin, the ache in his balls. The desperation to touch more. To do more, before….
Before….
Before he came in his pants without even seeing Lamar’s cock. Or touching it. Or tasting it—something he was suddenly desperate to do. He pushed Lamar up into the corner of the seat as he slid lower, already undoing Lamar’s pants, frantic to get them open, get them out of the way, see the proof of Lamar’s arousal.
Lamar’s briefs were black, stretched tight over his erection, a spot of dampness just below the waistband. Dom peeled the fabric down to reveal what lay beneath.
Lamar’s cock was shorter than Dom’s, but thicker, pale and curved and so fucking beautiful, Dom moaned at the sight. He brushed his fingers up Lamar’s length, reveling at the way the boy arched into his touch, the way he gasped and held his breath, the way he lifted his hips from the seat, bringing his glans to Dom’s waiting lips.
After only a moment of hesitation, only the barest second of wondering how this could be happening, Dom parted his lips and took him in.
Lamar cried out, gripping the vinyl edge of the seat as he pushed deeper. Dom let him go as far into his mouth as he could stand without gagging, still only half of Lamar’s length but enough to make them both whimper and writhe. Lamar’s cock tasted like salt, smelled like musk, felt like silk. His flesh was firm and smooth against Dom’s lips, the thick vein on the underside palpable to his tongue, and Dom circled the boy’s glans as he stroked the base of Lamar’s cock with his fist.
He’d seen porn. He’d looked at magazines. He’d often imagined receiving a blow job, but never had he thought about how good it would feel to give one. Lamar’s fingers were tangled in his hair, his hips rising and falling, his cries of pleasure like music to Dom’s ears. He’d never felt so alive in his life. He rode the wave of his arousal, sucking and licking, tasting and exploring, yearning to come yet longing to keep his orgasm at bay forever. God, the fucking joy of it! The power he felt as Lamar trembled and strained in his arms. The thrill of knowing Lamar’s flavor, hearing his cries, smelling his sex. The blissful pain as Lamar pulled his hair in the throes of his pleasure, crying out as he thrust in and out of Dom’s mouth. It was sweet yet urgent, so fucking pure and real and right, Dom never wanted it to end. Never wanted to face another day that didn’t include this rapture. He cupped Lamar’s ass, squeezed his soft flesh, moaned against his length as Lamar pushed farther into his mouth.
“Oh my God,” Lamar gasped. “You might want to stop. I’m really close.”
The thought of Lamar climaxing brought Dom’s orgasm to a head as well. Lamar grabbed a handful of Dom’s hair and pulled, and Dom went willingly up Lamar’s body. Lamar wrapped his legs around Dom’s waist, gripped Dom’s erection through his jeans, and Dom claimed the boy’s sweet mouth—
And then they were both shuddering, both quaking and straining with the strength of their release, crying out as they kissed, stroking as they came, panting as the spasms slowed and lessened, leaving them sticky and weak in each other’s arms.
They lay there for a moment, trembling, catching their breath as their closeness began to turn awkward. Space in the back seat was limited, and Dom slowly became aware of how cramped they were. One of his legs was beginning to fall asleep. And of course, he still had the mess of having come in his pants to deal with.
Muted laughter reached him across the expanse of the park. It seemed crazy they’d let themselves get so carried away while his friends and cousins were so close. What if they’d been discovered?
“I don’t know about you,” Lamar said at last, “but I’m dying for a Coke.”
Dom laughed nervously, pulling away. “Weed always makes me thirsty.”
They cleaned up as well as they could using napkins from the glove compartment, neither of them making eye contact. Then they climbed into the front seat, and Dominic drove them two blocks down to 7-Eleven.
They fumbled nervously around each other as they each filled a large cup with ice and soda, then waited their turn to pay. The mixture of marijuana buzz and erotic energy and adrenaline had made him dizzy. Dom wondered if the man behind the register could tell what they’d done. If he smelled the sex on them or noticed the damp stains on their jeans.
They got back into the car. Dom put the keys into the ignition but didn’t turn them. He looked over at Lamar. “Do you need me to take you home?”
Lamar met his eyes, shy yet flirtatious, just as before. “Not yet.”
There was weight behind those two words. A certain spark in Lamar’s eyes. A hint at the potential of the night and a promise of things to come. Dom found himself smiling as he felt the stirrings of arousal again already.
“Where should we go?” he asked, his voice shaking.
Lamar shrugged, smiling. “You know this town better than I do.”
Dom took him north to Main Street, then west toward Estes, past the Rock, which would be surrounded by other bored teens, north again on a county lane, then down a short dirt road that was hell on his car, but who the hell cared? They emerged into a small, dark clearing he’d visited before, although only ever during the day, with friends or his brother.
They finished their sodas in silence, the air between them heady with tension, thick and heavy with possibilities. Dom wanted to reach out, pull Lamar close, kiss him again or suck him. Maybe see what it felt like to be sucked. Yet he was afraid to make the first move. Even after what had happened between them already, he was unsure how to begin again.
Luckily, Lamar didn’t seem to have any such inhibitions. He set his empty cup on the floor, then slowly put his hand on Dom’s knee.
The surge of arousal was instant. Dom’s breath caught, and he leaned his head back against the seat. He spread his legs wider as Lamar slid his hand higher and higher until he caressed Dom’s bulge through his jeans with thin fingers.
“It felt good,” Lamar said, his voice soft and shy. “What you did for me in the park. God, it felt so good.”
Dom opened his eyes, met Lamar’s gaze in the darkness of the car.
“Do you want to feel how good it is?”
Dom could barely breathe. Could barely nod. And then Lamar was unbuttoning his pants, pulling his cock free, lowering his head, and Dom fell into the warmest, wettest, sweetest heaven he’d ever dreamed.
They went slow, taking turns, each of them sucking and tasting, each of them stroking and kissing. Even after Dom came a second time, they continued. He kissed Lamar gently, nibbled his neck and caressed his pale flesh, taking time to explore, wanting to find each and every place that made the boy sigh and moan. Finally, he moved back to Lamar’s groin and sucked him until his own passion at last rose again, and they went for another round. There seemed to be no end to the pleasure, no limit to how high they could go.
But even on a night like this, there were curfews to be obeyed.
By the time Dom pulled up in front of Ginny Johnson’s house, his boxers were so crusty with dried cum, he figured he’d throw them away rather than risk having his mom find them. He was exhausted and wrung out, his groin slightly raw, his balls barren and aching. But God, it felt good. He felt sated. Blissful. Tired and sore, yet ready to do it all again, if only they’d had the time.
Lamar watched him with wide eyes. He looked scared for the first time since they’d met. Even now, Dom wanted him again. He wanted more of the joy they’d found this night. There would be other evenings, though, he was sure. More chances to kiss and explore. He could bring a blanket next time. They could go back to the clearing and lay on the ground. Undress. Touch each other everywhere.
“Tomorrow—” he
started to say, but Lamar cut him off, shaking his head.
“I leave tomorrow,” he said. “I’m going back home.”
“No!” Dom protested, feeling as if the ground had been pulled out from under him, but he knew it was in vain. There was nothing either of them could do to change it. “How early?”
“We’re leaving at nine. My uncle’s driving me to the airport so I can fly home to Arizona.”
“But….” Dominic let his protests fall away. What did it matter? It wasn’t as if they could change it. They were from different towns, different schools, different worlds. They were nothing more than kids in a universe run by adults. But it seemed so unfair. They’d only just found each other.
Lamar took a deep breath, biting his lip nervously. He leaned across the seat and kissed Dom one last time, soft and gentle. No tongue this time. No passion or urgency. This kiss was sweet and chaste and innocent, and held such a sentiment of finality, it made Dom’s chest ache.
Lamar whispered two simple words. “Thank you.”
“How on earth can you explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love?”
—Albert Einstein
FIFTEEN YEARS LATER
LAMAR
WAKING UP never got any easier. Each day was a whole new introduction to the quiet emptiness that had become my life. It wasn’t the radio alarm that made me cringe, or the knowledge that another day of teaching loomed, just past the next turn of the hour. It wasn’t the bare white walls of my new bedroom, like a throwback to my first apartment in college when I’d worried about putting pinholes in the drywall. It wasn’t the rain pelting the window, or the windblown branches scratching against the roof, or the gray skies, both real and mental, that seemed to dog me endlessly these days. The worst part of waking up was remembering each and every morning that I was here, in Coda, Colorado, and Jonas was back in Dallas, undoubtedly waking up next to his wife.
One of the hardest things about depression, I’d come to realize, was the way the world kept turning no matter how much I wished it wouldn’t. One goddamn day after another.
I hit the alarm to silence it. The urge to pull the covers over my head and sleep all day was strong, but it wasn’t an option. Not on a school day.
I threw off the comforter and swung my bare feet to the cold boards of the hardwood floor. Need a rug there, I thought, just as I did every morning. Something to intercept my toes before they touched the chilled boards. But the thought never lasted more than a minute. Buying a rug would mean I planned to stay. And despite having moved here, I wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment.
I stumbled into the kitchen and put the kettle on. In the past, this would have been something of a ritual for me. Kettle on. Loose tea—maybe an oolong or a rooibos or a white tea—into an infuser. Let it steep for the exact right amount of time. Milk, or maybe not. Perhaps a dab of honey. But these days, a bag of cheap Earl Grey was about as much as I could muster.
Outside, the rain fell endlessly. Coda residents all laughed about how unusual it was to get so much. They thought it was an amusing fluke, but I didn’t find it funny.
You’ll hate it, Lamar, Jonas had said to me when I’d told him I intended to move. You know how the seasons affect you.
Then ask me to stay, I’d countered. Tell Olivia about us. Move in with me, like you’ve always promised.
But after two years of believing his promises, I’d finally come to realize they were nothing but lies. Jonas was never going to leave his wife. He’d never be mine, no matter how many times he told me he would.
So here I was in Colorado. Autumn was bad enough, and winter loomed just around the corner. Maybe I could have gone someplace else. Someplace warm year-round. But I had family here, even if I rarely saw them. And I had memories. And whether I wanted to admit it out loud or not, those had been a factor in my decision to come here. Finding out the middle school had a position available had felt like providence. This was the place I’d found myself, back when I was only seventeen. It was where I’d first explored my sexuality. It was a place that, in my mind, was associated with love and sexual freedom and the thrill of discovery.
It was a place of rebirth.
I chuckled to myself. How many times had I taught my middle-school English class that water often symbolized a new, clean beginning? I looked out the window at the dreary drizzle.
“Well,” I said to myself, as I watched the sky weep, “there you go.”
Still, I didn’t feel renewed when I finally stepped out into the rain and ran for my car. I didn’t feel liberated as I parked in the teacher’s lot. I didn’t feel strong or proud as I took my place in front of a classroom full of thirteen-year-olds who didn’t give a rat’s ass about The Scarlet Letter.
The only thing I felt, as always, was a profound emptiness, not because I’d chosen to leave the man I loved, but because he’d let me go.
THREE HOURS later, I dragged myself to the teacher’s lounge. My midday break continued to throw me off balance. It was too early for lunch and left too many hours until dinner. It was bad timing, but that’s what happened when you were the low man on the pole. Only those with seniority got to eat at a normal hour.
I eyed the offerings in the vending machine, as if I hadn’t stared at them every day since the semester started.
“I wouldn’t,” Leila Pruitt said from behind me. “It stole my dollar. Again.”
Leila was about my age, black and athletic, with wild hair standing like a crown around her head. She taught math and was one of the few people who shared my third period lunch.
“Typical,” I said, taking the seat across from her at the small table. “I’m out of quarters anyway.”
She slid a Tupperware container my way. “Have mine. Please.”
I cracked one corner of the lid and peered inside. It looked like oatmeal, only almost black and without the sweet smell. “Dare I ask?”
“I didn’t.” Leila’s partner, Joan, had recently begun experimenting with some kind of fad diet that seemed to involve lots of gruel-like meals. I was pretty sure the ones she sent in Leila’s lunch went down the disposal more often than not while Leila made do with a granola bar and a Diet Coke. “I know I should be glad she’s packing lunch for me, but it’d be nice if it was real food, just once,” she said. “Bob give you any crap this week?”
Bob was the gym teacher and a longtime friend of Troy Fowler, the man I’d replaced in the English department. “Not this week. But it’s only Tuesday.”
“Hard to believe our students are more mature than some of the teachers.”
It was a conversation we’d already had a dozen times. We were both new hires who had replaced long-term employees. We were both gay. Plus, Leila was black. All of which caused some of our more narrow-minded colleagues to dub us the Affirmative Action Club. Leila bore it with more grace than I did. Then again, she didn’t have to live in Coda. She commuted every day from Estes Park.
“Everybody says Troy was off his nut,” she assured me, even though I didn’t care much one way or the other. “It’s not your fault he got fired.”
“I know. Just don’t let Bob hear you say it.”
“Any more prank calls in the middle of the night?”
“A few, but as long as I remember to turn off the ringer before bed, it doesn’t matter.” The calls had started four weeks earlier, shortly after I’d moved to Coda. Caller ID showed only an unidentified number. The caller never said anything. Leila thought it was Tom. I figured it was students, hazing the new teacher. No harm, no foul. It was only a problem on the nights I forgot to silence my phone.
“You have any plans this weekend?” she asked.
“Do I ever?”
“Joan’s band is playing at a bar down in Longmont on Saturday. You should come.”
I debated. On one hand, Leila was the closest thing I had to a friend. I knew it would do me good to get out of the house, and nobody else was going to invite me anywhere.
But I didn’t want to go. The very thought of trying to be social and happy and upbeat made me want to cry.
That was another thing I’d discovered about depression: knowing what would make me feel better and actually having the strength to do it were two different things.
For better or worse, I was saved from answering by my cell phone. A glance at the screen caused my heart to leap into my throat.
Jonas Martin.
I’d only spoken to Jonas a few times in the weeks I’d been in Coda. Once, the day after I’d left Dallas, when he called me in tears. I can’t believe you’re gone, he’d said. I didn’t think you’d go through with it. It had been easy to stand firm in my convictions at the time, sure that moving away was the right choice. Either it would force his hand, and he’d leave his wife, or I’d find a way to live without him. Either would have made me happy.
The second time, he’d been drunk. He’d told me he loved me. He’d repeated all his old promises—he’d leave Olivia, and we could be a real couple, if I’d only come back. I’d almost fallen for it too. By then, the depression had set in. I felt so lost without him, alone in this tiny mountain town. I’d broken down and told him about my job, my too-early lunch, my inability to make myself care if I lived or died.
Come home, he’d said. We’ll be happy together, just like we were before.
But I hadn’t been happy. Not for a long, long time. Maybe in the beginning, when we’d first met. When we’d first fallen in love, before I knew about his marriage. But it was hard to remember how that felt. Afterward, when he told me the truth, I’d felt cheated, but he swore they were on shaky ground. For a while there’d been the thrill of keeping a secret together. Sneaking around. Subterfuge. Whispered calls in the night, full of longing and promises, waiting for the day he’d leave her for good. But the thrill had quickly become tedious. On the few occasions when we had a whole weekend together out of town while his wife thought he was away on business, he’d been careful we wouldn’t be seen. He took her calls while I sat quietly in the background. Yes, at one time I’d thought I was happy. But all I’d really been was hopeful. It had turned into confusion, then distrust, then dismay. In my two years with Jonas, I’d been many things.
