by V. L. Locey
Yeah, right. I snickered internally, then clicked off my coffee machine before the residue in the pot scorched.
“That’s mighty polite of you, Augie,” I commented, then turned to scope out my empty kitchen. There were yam speckles on the ugly linoleum. That made the silence and lack of sexy woman even more pronounced. “What are your plans today?”
“Well, morning skate, but then nothing. You play video games? I thought maybe I could bring over my console and we could hang out tonight. I mean, unless you’ve got plans with Dan and Vic or something.”
“Nope, my social calendar is clear for today.”
For today? Hell, it’s blank for the foreseeable future.
“Awesome!”
I chuckled at the kid’s enthusiasm. “Bring over your games and we’ll order a pizza for dinner. Sound like a plan?”
“Yeah, definitely,” he responded, his excitement over a night of gaming with some grumpy fuck in a kilt making me feel somewhat less dismal.
Augie had to run to the stadium for skate, so we ended the call. I reached up to scratch my chest as I sipped on my coffee and stared at my empty kitchen table. My cross lay warm and familiar on my chest. Phone still in hand, I made the call home. Mom picked up on the second ring.
“Morning, Mama.”
“Mario, I was just thinking about you.”
I smiled as my mother’s voice warmed my ear. I could picture her at her little table in her little brick house talking on the wall phone with the forty-foot long cord that always tangled into knots.
“Did you know that they’re having a Pride parade here in November?” she said
“No, I didn’t. When did Applecross, New Hampshire start having Pride parades?”
“This is the first I heard of it. Can you come? Maybe you could ride on a float and wave at the crowds like those people do during the Rose Bowl.”
“I’ll have to check our game schedule.” I had real trouble trying to picture the small town where I’d grown up having a parade large enough for a float, but anything was possible. “But sure, if I can swing it I’ll be happy to come up. Although why did the town council decide to have a parade in November in New Hampshire?”
My mother prattled off something in Italian that was not complimentary. I chuckled at her choice of words.
“Well, yeah, I agree, they’re a bunch of dumbasses but at least they’re hosting a Pride parade, so good on them. Hey Mama, if I do come up, can I bring someone?”
Her tirade against the people who ran Applecross, New Hampshire, population eight thousand and forty-seven if ancient Mr. Morton was still alive and kicking, stalled like the old Ford Mustang I had learned to drive in. That car had had the touchiest clutch I have ever encountered.
“Is this someone a he or a she?” she tentatively asked.
Inhaling through my nose then letting the breath out I slowly, I began describing my Lila to my mother. Mama remained quiet while I talked. She never leaped in or trampled over what I was saying. She had reacted the exact same way the day I’d come out to her ten years before. She had sat across from me at her table, hands lying on her lap, listened, and then told me her love for her son didn’t hinge on my being straight. My mama is the best.
When I ran out of words and explanations about Lila, I stood there waiting for her reply.
“She sounds lovely.”
“She is, and I’m nuts about her, but Mama there’s more…”
I relayed all the info about Langley, the good and the bad. The fact that Lila would bring a rowdy teen with her to our house didn’t seem to bother her, since my mother moved past that news to hit me with this tried and true reply.
“I thought you were going to tell me something bad, like you were going to go play hockey out in California.”
Because, you know, Los Angeles would take me outside driving range from home. I rolled my eyes at the little ebony-haired woman who refused to step foot on a plane because “If God had wanted me to fly, he would have given me wings.” Never mind that she would ride in a car but God had not blessed her with wheels instead of feet. Pointing that out would just get you the evil eye.
“You’re okay with her making sexy pictures and putting them online, Mario?”
“Yeah, I’m okay with it. It’s art, Mama, and it’s what Lila loves. She’s proud of what she does.”
“Okay, Mario, if you’re sure you’re okay with it, then I will be too.”
Blessed Mary, I know I shouldn’t be asking, but please can you give this amazing woman who birthed me a special dispensation or something, because out of all of what I just explained as tactfully as possible, my mother was the most worried about me being traded to the West Coast. Amen.
“So tell me how you met the lovely and artistic Madame Lila,” my mother prompted and so I did, cleaning things up as needed, of course.
Forty minutes later, I had somehow promised my mother that Lila, Langley, and I would be up for Thanksgiving and maybe the Pride parade if I could swing it. I also thanked her for loving me enough to put up with my horseshit from the ages of thirteen to seventeen. She had stepped in admirably to fill in for my father during those ugly puberty years. While she might not have had the physical presence my father had possessed, she had a tongue that could flay flesh. To this day, when she gets that look, I’m slinking under the table to hid like a cur.
After the call to New England ended, I meandered through my apartment, sipping chilly coffee while admiring how absolutely devoid of anything my place was. There were no pictures on the walls, minimal furniture, and a smoke detector with a dead battery. There wasn’t one thing that showed I had bonded with this place. I’d been idling until the right home presented itself. And it had. Now I just had to figure out if I was going to be able to pull myself away from my community, my team, and my friends.
That night, a new tradition began. Somehow I’d inherited a new buddy. A young and goofy buddy who could do yoga moves that made my spine creak just looking at them, but a buddy just the same. Augie and his games settled in like an old yellow lab on a warm sofa. We played lots of really macho games while eating pizza and saying a whole lot of nothing. On the fourth night, I glanced at Augie, who was intent on getting Master Chief out of a sticky situation. Augie had this habit where his tongue stuck out when he was concentrating deeply. It made me recall that old beagle from my childhood yet again.
“You have any pets back home?” I asked while balancing a plate with two slices of extra cheese and anchovy pizza.
Augie threw me a fast look. “Sure, we had a dog named Buzz.” And back he went to the game.
“What kind of dog was Buzz?” I took a large bite of pizza.
Augie glanced at me yet again. “Oh, just a mutt,” he replied, then his attention went back to saving the world, or day, or whatever it was we were doing.
“Big mutt or small mutt?” I enquired around my mouthful.
“Medium.”
“So when did you decide you were a little gay?”
That one jerked him fully away from Master Chief, which got the poor bastard killed. Augie crinkled his nose at the fictional death, then stared at the screen as the game loaded another chance to save the world.
“Maybe when I was like fourteen or so,” he answered so softly I had to lean in to hear him. I caught him glancing at me several times, his fingers now holding the controller in a death grip.
“Yeah, that was about the age I was too when I started to notice that cute boys gave me hard-ons just like cute girls did.” I took another massive bite.
Augie’s face turned as red as a fire engine. His brown eyes darted to me then away half a dozen times. The game was taking forever to load. I have shit internet or something.
“You ever been with a man?”
“Mumble mumble mumbley mumble.”
I chewed and swallowed, using my kilt as a napkin to clean my fingers. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Kind of,” he forced out as his gaze flew around the room.
Sweet Mary Madonna, this kid was a six-foot-tall mound of rosy skin and garbled replies.
“Kind of. Is that like being a little gay?”
“Sort of.”
My beer was calling to me. I took a long swig, then sat back to really study the blushing goalie sitting stiffly beside me.
“If you’re not comfortable talking about this, then I’ll back off. I’m not aiming to make you uneasy, I just thought you’d maybe like to talk about things and where you’re at. I know it’s hard to be in a new town carrying a big secret. I did it until I was into my late twenties.”
Big brown eyes latched on to me. “Seriously, you hid it that long?”
I nodded, then gently swirled my beer. “Yep, I did, because I was sure I’d be run out of the league by angry mobs with pitchforks and torches. Funny thing, though. When I stopped hiding who I was and whom I dated, not one mob came after me. Sure, I had a few assholes to contend with, but you’re always going to have the occasional asshole. People will hate based on stupid shit. You’re gay, you’re black, you’re a Protestant, your dog isn’t a purebred, your house isn’t fancy enough, you don’t read the same books, your TV isn’t set to PBS. Shit, you pick a reason and some dildo is going to hate you for it. Trick is, Augie, you have to stop giving those twats the power to closet you. Once you do that, you’re free.”
“I’m not sure the folks back in Martens Bay, Manitoba would agree.” The kid looked downcast.
“Do your parents know?”
He shook his head so hard I worried he’d give himself a brain bruise.
“Anyone aside from me know?”
“No, no one.”
Holy Mother, is there a reason you’re suddenly pushing all these confused kids into my life? You trying to teach me something? If so, if you could pass along a manual of some sort, because I got nothing right now and I feel like I should have something. Amen.
I took another swig of beer, then met Augie’s odd look. “Any time you want to talk, you know where to find me. I’ll be the one getting good old Master Chief out of this fucking hellhole alive.” I tugged the controller from him. Augie chuckled and somehow managed to turn redder.
That was probably the most meaningful talk he and I had over the course of a week but that was okay. He’d open up at his own pace. And I had finally found someone else who liked anchovies on their pizza.
Two days after that deep and momentous discussion with Augie, I got the call from the league. Not only were they hitting me with a fine, they were also adding two games to my suspension. I thanked them, hung up, and then vented my spleen. A kitchen chair did not survive the venting.
Those extra two games would take us into the beginning of the regular season. Sitting out preseason games was one thing, because they didn’t count for shit. Sitting out regulation games was not a good thing. Also, this little bit of upset would not endear me to Scranton when my agent made an overture.
Getting soused sounded like a good plan. I got the bottle of scotch down from over the fridge. The memory of sitting there drinking with Lila crashed over me. Since I had another week to twiddle my fucking thumbs, I might as well twiddle them down in Scranton with Lila. I left the scotch on the counter and packed up.
Within thirty minutes, I was on the road, Willie and Waylon keeping me company. Stopping only for gas, a bottle of lemon-lime soda, and a jerky stick, I pulled into Lila’s driveway around noon. The big oak tree in her front yard was scarlet red, and while it was a lovely sight, I was too desperate to see the lovely sight inside to waste another second admiring it.
I dropped my bag by the front door and made a beeline for the basement. I tapped on the closed door, then pushed into Madame Lila’s Boudoir, the sexy little room where my gal posed for her pictures. A tall woman with bright yellow hair and a nose ring lowered the camera she was holding up to her face. Lila lay artfully arranged on a big round bed. The cover she was reclining on was blue crushed velvet. She wore a feathered mask, long opera gloves of pure white, and nothing else. Every fucking drop of blood in my body streaked to my dick. I shit you not, I was as hard as a nun’s ruler in about an eighth of a second.
“Hey, you’re not allowed in here while we’re shooting,” the photographer snapped.
“Seamus, my goodness what are you doing here?” Lila gasped. She removed her mask and gloves, then slid from the bed to run into my arms.
I tugged her as tightly to me as humanly possible. Her tiny little inhalation told me that she felt my erection. How could she miss it? I covered her mouth with mine, running my tongue hungrily over her molars and the backs of her teeth. She rotated her hips slightly as her hands rested on my shoulders.
“Is this something new we’re adding to your portfolio?” I heard the photographer ask with some humor in her voice.
Lila broke the kiss, then patted at her overheated face with one hand. Her other hand grabbed mine.
“Forgive me, Monday, I rather lost my head for a moment” Lila said.
“I can see why,” Monday replied, giving me a wicked smile and a good once-over. “This must be Seamus, the stud who wears a kilt, plays hockey, and fucks like a bull elephant in must.”
Well, didn’t that description make me feel ten feet tall?
“That would be me,” I replied, and shook Monday’s hand.
“You are too cheeky,” Lila laughed, then wiggled against my side. Man, did I need to get inside her like yesterday.
Monday must have taken note of the crackling sexual cloud of need that had erupted as soon as I’d seen my girl. “Why don’t we pick this up tomorrow,” she suggested while placing a lens cap on her fancy camera. “Looks like someone has a present for you,” she added, then looked right at my hard-on. It was kind of hard to hide arousal when wearing a kilt.
“Yes, that will be fine. I’m so sorry,” Lila said while trying to reach a thick winter robe draped over a tiny stool that rested in front of a make-up table out of the camera’s view. “This is an unexpected visit. Perhaps you can play with those filters we discussed last week?”
“You won’t need that robe,” I told Lila, and she immediately stopped trying to reach it. Her sight touched mine and fire leaped to life in those chocolate-brown eyes of hers.
“Yep, I’ll monkey around with the filters. You two have fun now,” Monday said while backing out of the basement bedroom.
I kicked the door shut as soon as the woman was out.
“Seamus, that was not the most cordial thing to do to my photographer,” Lila scolded as she struck a damn fine pose that pushed her breasts up and out.
“I’ll send her a card tomorrow.”
Lila pursed her lips and reached down to stroke her cock. That was all it took. I was on that woman like a man freshly released from the big house. She playfully tumbled into the big, firm bed, then threw her arms and legs wide. I couldn’t get between her thighs fast enough. My mouth latched onto a nipple as my cock poked and prodded around under her balls. Her back bowed a bit, giving me more breast and more ass to tease.
“I suspect this is not going to be one of those long, drawn-out romantic couplings?” Lila asked while dragging those sinful long nails over my bare ass.
“Not the first time, baby,” I mumbled around a stiff nipple.
She moaned sensually, then reached for the stand beside the bed. She slid a cool tube of lube between her amazing tits. It took all I had to push away to rest on my calves so I could slick her up. The snap of the lid coming open on the lube made me shiver. Lila draped a leg over my left shoulder as I squeezed the tube with enthusiasm. Lube flew everywhere. I smeared my hand in the clear slippery gel, then began working my fingers into her. My other hand rubbed lube onto her cock, my coated fingers moving over the head of her dick in a slow, circular motion.
“You need to be inside me, Seamus,” Lila purred after I’d managed to get three fat fingers into her. “Let me do this.” She gently batted my hand away from her dick and took over pleasuring herself. “You make sure you fuc
k me like you’ve been envisioning the past week.”
“Right,” I said, because it was all I could think to say. Lust had taken over my brain. Not that I’m a wordsmith or poet anyway, but generally I can make words work for the most part.
Her cock, balls and ass were glistening, as were the insides of her thighs. I flung the lube aside, then aligned my cock with her opening. With a quick jerk of my hips, the head of my cock breached her. She pulled in a long breath. I leaned forward. My hands balled up and I buried them in the bedding on either side of her head while I slid my dick deeply inside her.
“Yes Seamus, fuck me hard,” she panted, her hand working her cock roughly.
Being a well-mannered sort, I fucked the lady just as she demanded. Balls slapping away, my girl holding her dick with one hand and my right biceps with the other, we made the bedsprings scream. Lila came first. Seeing her writhe and whimper as semen dotted her chest and belly shoved me over the edge. My balls contracted. I lowered my head and drove my cock in as far as I could. Bodies shaking and slicked up, we rode out the orgasms, each contraction of hers making me grimace in pleasure.
“Seamus, that was so lovely,” Lila murmured after my elbows gave out and I collapsed to the bed, half on her and half not.
My arm lay over her tummy. I could feel her shaky breaths. I nuzzled her arm. She lifted it for me and I lapped at the underside of her biceps, tongued her armpit despite her snorts and giggles, then licked my way up to her mouth. There I lingered for a long time. My girl began to chill, the basement walls filling the area with damp air.
“Lie still,” I said, then pulled that sexy blue velvet bedspread up over us. Then I went back to tasting her neck and breasts.
“How do you expect me to lie still when you’re doing that?” she asked several moments later.
I shrugged a shoulder and continued to lick her clean. I even tasted her tiny belly button.
