His lips press together in a disappointed line. “Can I just have my drink?”
No please this time.
The loud whirr of the espresso machine fills the silence between us. I want to apologize, but for what? I’m sure I’m right.
From the corner of my eye, I watch him. Definitely him, I think; his masculinity is in every aspect of his being, from his chiseled face to his angular shoulders to his narrow hips. Even wearing a skirt, he’s decidedly male. Who’s he trying to kid?
When the noise from the machine cuts off and the espresso pours into his mug, he sniffs as if I’ve wounded him, and even without really knowing him, I know he’s about to let me have it. I glance over to see a muscle clenched in his jaw. Sure enough, the moment he sees me looking, he starts.
“For your information—”
Uh-oh, here it comes.
“—I’m gender fluid.” He stands up straighter and gives me a dismissive shrug as he turns his back on me. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
But now I’m curious. “Gender what?”
“Gender fluid. You wouldn’t understand.”
Propping one hand on my hip, I tell him, “I’m gay. Try me.”
He gives me an appraising onceover, as if I’ve suddenly become much more interesting. “It means I’m non-binary.”
And just like that, he’s lost me.
“Are you talking about math?” I stir his espresso so the caramel syrup won’t stick to the bottom of the mug. “Because I’ll be honest, that’s really not my best subject.”
Slowly his smile returns. “It means some days I feel like a boy, and some days I feel like a girl. Some days I don’t feel like either of them. Life’s too short to be stuck in just one gender. Besides, who gets to say there are only two?”
Well, because there are, I think. But at least we’re talking again, and he doesn’t seem to be mad at me anymore, so I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from saying anything.
Still, he must read the disbelief on my face, because he laughs—a real laugh this time, deep-throated and happy, not a girlish giggle but something solid that grabs me somewhere below the belt and makes me smile to hear it. “I know what you’re thinking,” he says. “You’re thinking I’m full of shit.”
“I didn’t say that…”
“You didn’t have to say it. I can see it in your eyes. You think I’m some weird guy who gets off wearing a skirt in public from time to time.”
I shrug and froth the milk for his latte. The noise the steam wand makes keeps me from having to answer, but too soon the milk is bubbly enough and I have to reply. “What you want to wear is up to you,” I tell him. “I think you look good in it, personally. You have the legs to pull it off.”
Stepping back from the counter, he curtseys gracefully and I get a good look at those legs of his. Yes, definitely nice legs. “Thank you, David.”
“How do you know my name?” I almost drop the milk. My heart hammers in the back of my throat, and a hand seems to squeeze my balls. Something else to add to my daydreams, my name in his voice. I didn’t introduce myself, did I?
But he taps his chest right where my name tag is on my own shirt.
D’uh. Oh, right.
Then he holds out a hand to me in greeting. “I’m Jamy.”
“With an IME or an MIE?” I ask, taking his hand.
“With a Y. J-A-M-Y.”
He curves his fingers into mine; he doesn’t want a handshake, but something more old-fashioned. It takes me a minute to realize what it is he’s asking for, then I get it. Putting together the skirt and the curtsey, I raise his hand to my lips and kiss it.
His skin is softer than any boy’s has a right to be, and I’m reluctant to let go just yet, so I keep hold of his hand, pulling it down to the counter and covering it with both of mine. “No one spells it that way.”
“I do.”
For a long moment, I stare at him. He’s moved back to the counter now, and this close, it’s hard to tell whether he’s masculine or feminine. In his features, both genders blend together, a little bit of one, some of the other. Maybe there really is something to this gender fluidity he mentioned. I’ll have to Google it when I get the chance.
“Tell me something,” I say.
He quirks one eyebrow, questioning.
“If a gay guy goes out on a date with a gender fluid person, is he still gay?” I want to know.
With a slow grin, Jamy asks, “You mean if the person’s expressing themselves as female at the time?”
I nod, then another question pops into my head. “Wait, do you use plural pronouns to refer to yourself?”
“So math isn’t your strong suit, but English is?” he counters.
“Am I straight if I ask you out when you’re a girl?” I ask.
“Gender and sexuality only complicate things. You’re human, I’m human. Why not just leave it at that?” Squeezing my hand in his, he adds coyly, “Are you asking me out?”
“I don’t know,” I hedge. “I’ve never gone out with someone like you before.”
His whole face freezes. “You mean a gender fluid person?”
I look him in the eye. “I mean a homeschooler.”
This time he realizes I’m joking.
* * * *
ABOUT J. TOMAS
J. Tomas is an author of gay young adult romance who lives in Richmond, Virginia, with two very spoiled cats. For more information, visit j-tomas.net.
Tame the Sheriff by J.D. Walker
Bulldog
I was on my way home after a boring day at the precinct shuffling paperwork and listening to my deputy chatter on and on about his daughter’s upcoming wedding.
My thoughts wandered as I drove, reflecting on the fact that most of my friends were in permanent relationships now. First, it had been Lanice and Ernie. Then Bo, the foreman of my ranch, had hooked up with Sam Kinsey, a buddy of mine who used to attend my weekly “barbecues”—a polite way of saying “orgies.” That had been a year ago, and they were still sappy together. I was actually relieved Bo had finally moved on. His unhealthy wishing and hoping that I might return his love one day had hurt him more than it would have ever hurt me.
Where had all the carefree, fuck for fun, single men gone? Even my weekend orgies had tapered off, to my dismay, with even these hardcore guys pairing off, or forming permanent threesomes, or just following a different path altogether. It left me baffled and…lonely, something I thought would never happen to me, not in a million years. Not since…I shoved those painful memories down. That wasn’t who I was, anymore. The old me was a dork best left in the past.
If I wanted any action these days, I had to drive a ways to get it. It made me wonder about monogamy—something I usually hated with a passion—and finding someone who would put up with an asshole flirt like me. Seemed like too much heartache. Men knew what they were getting with me. A good time, a hard ride, and that was it.
Everyone thought I preferred to be footloose and fancy free. And they would be right, mostly. Still, I was different, once. I’d loved someone with all my heart and soul, but I hadn’t been good enough for him as just me, Nicholas McMurtry, rookie police officer. He’d cheated on me with everything that moved, and eventually I just gave up bitching about it and left. I decided relationships were too much work, that maybe my ex had it right all along, and then became the biggest slut ever to grace this corner of the planet. Hell, the uniform alone drew ‘em like flies to shit.
I was in my late thirties, now, and I had to admit that it might be getting a little old, trying to screw a different guy every night, especially after one upstart little twink at a bar recently had called me Grandpa. That hadn’t gone down well, especially after I punched him in the nose. So what if I had a little gray in my hair? People were superficial little shits, sometimes. They could also be mean and ugly, and I’d seen enough of that in my previous incarnation in law enforcement before becoming sheriff.
Was it too much to ask to f
ind someone who would see me as more than just a slut, but not mind if I wanted to keep things open and be with someone else, every now and then? Probably. Hell, I was confused myself just thinking about it. This wasn’t like me at all.
Didn’t mean I wouldn’t keep wishin’ and hopin’.
* * * *
Russ
That ass could bounce quarters. Or hay bales.
I watched as Sheriff Nicholas “Bulldog” McMurtry shook that sweet butt to the dance music currently playing before grinding it against a willing stranger on the crowded floor. Tight jeans that encased thick, long and muscular legs; a soaking wet T-shirt that molded to that thick chest of his in sinful ways; and a bulge that made promises I’d like to keep were making me want to grab the man by that flashy belt buckle and take a hard, fast ride.
When I’d arrived in town some months ago, I’d thought the rumors about Bulldog were grossly exaggerated. It didn’t take long to be proven wrong. The sheriff did, indeed, fuck anything male that moved, and went through men like used tissue paper. His weekend get-togethers were the stuff of dirty dreams, apparently, to hear the townspeople tell it, though there hadn’t been much of that lately, for some reason. I was a confirmed bachelor, mostly, willing to have fun whenever the opportunity presented itself. And a wild ride with a hot stud? I always had time for that. Hell, maybe even twice.
I worked at the dude ranch for Lanice Boudreaux and Ernie Trevine, finest men I’d ever met. And devoted to each other in a way I found sickening, since I didn’t hold too much with being with one man forever, though I did like it regular, and monogamy often came with that. But I had no problem with their choices. I just didn’t want their settled ways rubbing off on me. Not yet. I preferred an entirely different kind of rubbing for the present.
It had been a long week, though, and I needed companionship of the temporary kind, preferably sweaty and hot with a fine-looking stud. It was a Thursday night and I needed something to get me through to the weekend. Bulldog and those bright brown eyes of his that looked a little sad of late would fit that bill nicely.
Since I wasn’t in any hurry and the night was young, I let him have his fun. He would be mine, soon enough. I watched him flirt and make out with every man that offered, and there were quite a few. Bulldog had no inhibitions that I could tell and seemed up for anything. Why did it seem a little…desperate, though?
When the time was right, I finished my beer, tipped the bartender, and made my move.
* * * *
Russ
It took a few minutes to work my way through a crowd that seemed to want to suck Bulldog dry, not that he seemed to care. He was loving it, in fact. I could tell.
I grinned when he caught my eye, hair slicked back with sweat as he gave me a heated once-over and a knowing smirk at my turgid state before tugging on a belt loop and dragging me into his personal space.
“Took you long enough to get over here,” he said, wrapping both arms around my waist as we rubbed against each other in time to the pounding beat. He was hard, too.
God, those full lips of his would tempt a saint. “Maybe I was biding my time,” I drawled, reaching around to grab his ass with both hands and squeeze, holding him against me so he could feel how much I wanted him. “Doesn’t really matter right now, does it?”
Bulldog shook his head. “Your place or mine?” he asked, sticking a leg between mine and grinding. Shit, if he did anything more, I’d blow.
“How about a wall outside? No way can I last long enough to drive somewhere,” I replied before biting his bottom lip and dragging him off the dance floor and out the door to the semi-inebriated protests of Bulldog’s fan club.
We barely made it around the corner before I pushed Bulldog against the brick wall and took his mouth with such pent up need, his lip split. Our arms around each other, hands kneading butts as we strained and moaned, getting as close as we could without being naked. Bulldog lifted a leg to wrap around my thigh as we ground against each other, hard cocks rubbing and throbbing, and my head about to explode.
His tongue and mine danced together, and it wasn’t long before I lost it in my pants, like a damn fifteen-year-old. The sounds coming from Bulldog announced his own release and made me want to fuck him, good and proper this time, just to hear them again.
I leaned back a bit, the light bulb a little further down the alley we were in helping me see Bulldog’s wet, abused lips and those chocolate brown eyes boring into mine. His chest heaved erratically, and it felt good being the focus of such need. This didn’t feel like a cheap one-off. I wanted more.
“Follow me home?” Bulldog offered, and all I could do was nod.
* * * *
Bulldog
It had been a week since that first time with Russ. It hadn’t ended there, either. We’d gotten together every night since then, and there’d been a memorable Sunday afternoon ride where we might have scarred a few birds for life with our antics.
Our hookups far surpassed my expectations and I craved the man the same way I could never resist anything covered in chocolate. Mmm, his body with chocolate syrup would be…
I heard the phone ring in the precinct and snapped my attention back to the present. I really needed to stop thinking about Russ Soames because I was at work, I was getting hard, and he was becoming an obsession, which was so unlike me. It was the sex. It had to be.
My cell phone vibrated in my pocket, and when I checked it, I saw I had a message from the man himself. He’d texted me a picture of his cock, hard and leaking with the caption, Ride Me. I could feel my face heat. I texted back, Soon, and focused on getting my work done as quickly as possible so I could take Russ up on his offer.
Not a minute after my shift was over, I was out the door with barely a farewell to the others as I practically ran to my truck and peeled out of the parking lot. When I made it to Russ’s apartment, the door was already open. I closed it behind me and took a deep breath before walking down the hallway to his bedroom like I hadn’t a care in the world, swagger and smirk in place as I announced my presence.
“You ready, cowboy?” I purred as I stopped at the bedroom door, heart pounding and trying to hide the effect this man seemed to have on me, without much effort. It had only been seven days, but the emotions I’d been experiencing were damn close to what I’d felt for my ex oh so long ago, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Russ frowned. “What’s the matter?” he asked from where he sat on the bed, naked, propped up against the headboard with pillows behind his back and a leaky dick in his fist.
“Nothing,” I was quick to respond, quickly shucking my clothes and placing my gun holster and weapon carefully aside before leaping on the bed and straddling his lap. “Nothing you can’t fix, anyway,” I murmured and cupped his face in my hands to kiss him softly.
He let me do it for a minute or two before moving away. “What am I fixing?” he asked before quickly flipping us over so I was beneath him, his cock poking my hip and mine rapidly filling.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, trying to pull him down into another soul-stealing kiss, but he resisted, pinning my hands to the bed.
“You use sex to hide from your feelings. I get that. Hell, I do it, too, when I have them. But if something’s bothering you, I’d like to know what it is. I want to help. We’re friends, too, you know.”
I turned my head away because I couldn’t bear Russ’s intense stare. “It’s stupid.”
“What’s stupid?” he asked softly, releasing one of my hands to grab my chin and get me to face him again. Those silvery-gray eyes of his were gentle. “Talk to me.”
“I like to sleep around, okay? I love it. No need to be pinned down to anyone, and I can do who I want, when I want. That’s been fine for years, but for some reason…I know as soon as I say this, things will change between us, but I can’t help it. I’m drawn to you, and it reminds me of my ex many years ago and how he cheated on me over and over again. Why bother changing my ways now, right? Bu
t…” And then I noticed Russ’s furrowed brow.
“Ah geez, I’m ruining this, aren’t I?” I pushed him off me and got up, finding my clothes and getting dressed as quickly as possible. “We’re supposed to be having fun and I’m turning into some needy chick…” I grabbed the holster, secured my weapon, and backed out of the room. “I’m sorry, man. Thanks for a good time.”
I left, Russ’s voice saying something behind me but I was too wound up to listen. Shit, I was a fool. I was acting out of character like the sentimental dumbass I thought I’d left behind years ago. Why had seven days of really, really good sex with a hot guy suddenly turned my brain to mush?
* * * *
Russ
What the hell just happened?
I was sitting in bed, fifteen minutes after Bulldog had run out with his tail between his legs and spouting something about…well, I hardly knew. He seemed scared, though, and that wasn’t the Bulldog I had become intimately acquainted with.
And if I ever met the man who’d cheated on him and screwed him up so bad he was scared to feel something beyond friendship for another, whether or not it would last, I’d beat the man to a pulp.
I looked down at my dick, still hard and aching with thoughts of Bulldog. I could finish myself off, or go find a certain skittish sheriff and take him for a ride instead, after we had a little talk. Because I’d become addicted to his ass and his mouth, and the way he mewled like a sex kitten when I sucked his balls.
He was funny, a bit of a smartass and tough as nails, and it would be nice to get it regular from someone who could tolerate my presence outside the bedroom. Hell, we’d even had meals together in town, which just about shocked the shit out of everybody who’d seen us. It wasn’t just about getting off anymore. I enjoyed his company, and whether or not we’d be the kind of lovers with stars in our eyes like other couples I knew, or if the sex faded and we called it quits, it would be something that was perfect for us, and that was fine with me.
That decided, I got dressed and headed into town to get pizza and a six-pack before driving to the sheriff’s ranch to storm the battlements, as it were. As I walked up the steps to the main house, I glanced to my left to see Bo and Sam riding horses in the distance, Bo’s shirt brighter than the sun. I shook my head and smiled as I knocked on the door, and when there wasn’t a response, I tried the knob. It wasn’t locked.
Love Is Proud Page 43
