by B. G. Thomas
The man looked him over again.
God, he is. And then the thought of this big man naked made him shiver in delight. He realized he would’ve liked the sight. He tried to answer, but his tongue was all tangled. So he smiled. He didn’t want the man to go away.
“Want a Manhattan?”
Wade raised an eyebrow. He’d gotten lost somewhere. “Huh?” was all he said, and he felt stupid for saying so.
The man raised his drink. “A cocktail. I make them with Southern Comfort, though. Just a warning.”
Wade, who had no idea what went into a Manhattan and had never tasted Southern Comfort, just nodded. He’d love to have a drink with the man. He reached for his towel, started to wrap it around his waist, and then for about the first time in his life, decided to be brave and threw it over his shoulders instead. He had no idea how to flirt. He’d never been with anyone except his high school girlfriend in the backseat of his car and once with his dorm mate Trevor the last drunken night before graduating. The next day his friend had been just on the right side of hostile. He’d never seen the boy again.
But that quick exchange of blow jobs had let Wade know everything he needed to know. There was no way he was going to marry that high school girl, or any other girl, for that matter. He’d watched Trevor out of the corner of his eye for two years, carefree about being in nothing but his underwear while in their room. He did his best not to stare. Simple tighty-whities, but excitingly full up front. The sight had fueled many fisted orgasms when he was alone. Oh, how he’d wanted to see Trevor without those damned undies. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he had the opportunity, but he wanted to touch that penis.
Finally, a bottle of tequila had given him what Wade had wanted and more. Better, Trevor had initiated it. Said he knew what Wade wanted, had seen him watching. Admitted that it kind of excited him that he was turning Wade on. Then he’d reached right out and grabbed Wade’s crotch. Of course, heart pounding, Wade had returned the favor. Took Trevor’s lead all the way. Trevor had shown him how to suck cock, and fumbling aside, it had been glorious.
At the price that he would never see Trevor again.
But at least he now knew he liked men.
And he wasn’t sure, but it looked like that man on the other deck liked him.
Wade took a deep breath, sucked in a belly that he needn’t have worried about, thrust out his chest, and strolled over to the neighboring cottage. To his excitement, he saw the man was definitely looking at him, and just that little bit was enough to make his penis stir. His heart skipped a beat or two (or maybe three) as he joined him on his deck.
The man held out a huge hand, and when Wade took it, his own practically disappeared. “I’m Gene,” the man said. His eyes seemed to bore into Wade’s own with a deep intensity, then traveled slowly down his chest, his belly, and rested at his crotch, which only made Wade’s cock stir all the more. “And you,” the man said, “are just about the most beautiful young man I have ever seen.”
“R-really?” He felt so young, stuttering that way, but he couldn’t help it. The man was so… manly. He looked at least ten years older than Wade, and it was that thought—the thought that a real man, not just some drunken boy, wanted him—that made his erection fill to completion. His cock was hard enough to lift the waistband of his Speedo just the slightest amount away from his tummy. If the man—Gene—were to look, he couldn’t help but see something. Near everything.
Gene looked. Wade thought his legs would go out from under him.
“Why don’t you sit down and let me get you that drink?”
He almost fell down, is what he did. Lucky there was a chair right there, or he might’ve gone down on his ass.
Gene laughed, and like his voice, it was a rumble.
He returned a moment later and handed Wade a glass filled with dark liquid, then pulled another chair closer and took a seat right beside him.
When Wade took a drink, he took too much too fast, and the strength of it had him coughing. He felt he would die. Could he have been any more mortified?
Gene only laughed and smacked him gently on the back with one of his big hands.
“Go slower next time,” Gene said, and then he spread his fingers and slowly ran them up and down Wade’s back.
“Yeah,” Wade said. Throwing caution to the wind, he leaned into the hand. Gene smiled and continued his massage ever so subtly lower. Wade’s cock throbbed, arched away from him, pulling the suit away even more.
Gene’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
Then, ever so slowly, like something out of a movie, the older man leaned in closer and closer until his lips were just lightly touching Wade’s own. After only a slight pressure, then just the barest touch of the man’s tongue, Wade’s heart started pounding so hard he couldn’t hear the crashing waves. His blood seemed to race through his veins. Kissing that girl had never been like this! When Gene pulled back, his face was flushed.
“My God,” he said with a soft gasp.
Wade nodded. He didn’t dare say anything. He would only have stuttered again. Who knew a kiss could be like this?
“What is your name?” Gene asked him.
For a minute, he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t even remember how to talk. But finally he answered Gene’s question.
Gene’s gaze traveled gently over his face again, and lower. It was so hot, so sexy, but also something else. Dare he say it? Romantic?
“Wade, please forgive me… but may I touch you?”
You’ve just kissed me, and you’re asking to touch me? You can do anything you want! Touch me? Where? Oh God, down there? Touch me down there? But Wade didn’t say any of that. He couldn’t. He just nodded instead.
To his surprise, “down there” was not where Gene’s fingers fell. It was his chest that Gene touched, the back of his fingers running lightly through the hair that grew there, and to Wade’s surprise, Gene gave a quiet moan.
“So silky soft,” Gene whispered. His touch grew more urgent, explored the swell of Wade’s pectorals—“But your muscles are so hard”—and then lingered over his nipples. Wade thought he would come in his swimsuit. He echoed Gene’s moan.
“Wade, I know you aren’t going to believe this,” Gene said, breath gentle and warm against Wade’s ear, “but, well, I’m not usually this fast. But Jesus, I can’t ever remember wanting someone so much in my entire life.”
Wade smiled as he never had before. “Really?”
“Really.” The big man grinned. Then looking down, he said, “And it looks like you want me too.”
Wade’s face heated up, and he wasn’t sure if it was more desire or embarrassment that was the cause. Both?
“Y-yes.” God, Gene was going to think he had a speech impediment.
Gene stood and, with his hand still on Wade’s back, urged him to his feet and guided him into the cool shadows of his cottage.
SLIGHTLY HUNG over, Wade was just getting ready to grind his morning coffee. It was the New Guinea, of course, the beans Gene had loved so much, and the familiar smell had already eased the niggling headache behind his eyes when there came a knock at the deck doors. “Who the…?”
But then he knew. Kent. Who else could it be? There was no one else for miles. What could he want? Wade thought about ignoring the man—he didn’t want to face someone who’d seen him act like such a fool—but there followed a second, more persistent knock.
“Hey, Wade!” he heard the man call. “I know you’re in there. Open up!”
For God’s sake, go away! Wade ground his teeth instead of his coffee beans. Where the hell had the man come from? Why was he here? No one came to Pena Key this time of year!
Relax, he reminded himself.
“Wade? If you don’t open up….”
The lease is for two weeks. You have plenty of time.
“I’m gonna huff…”
How long can Kent be sticking around?
“…and I’m gonna puff…”
Oh, for God’s
sake! Wade strode to the back door and flung it back on its tracks.
“…and I’m gonna blow—” Kent stopped mid nursery rhyme and grinned. “—your house down.”
Wade couldn’t help but laugh. Blow my house down? He shook his head and then noticed Kent was holding two huge steaming mugs.
“I have come bearing joe,” Kent said.
“Who?” Wade asked, then got the reference. “Oh. Well, I was just going to make some myself.”
“Now you don’t have to,” Kent said, raising the mugs. The movement made the muscles of the man’s chest flex under his tight gray sweatshirt. Wade looked up, and in the beautiful morning sunlight, he could see how truly handsome (and young) Kent was. His hair was indeed light brown, with just the slightest curl. If he grew it any longer, it would be a mass of lovely waves. The shadow of his beard was a little darker now across his jaw, and his eyes—his eyes—nearly blazed from his tan face. Wade couldn’t help but notice the man’s beauty, and the noticing surprised him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d really looked at a man.
You looked at him last night.
“Do you mind if I come in?” Kent asked abruptly. “Sun’s out, but it’s still cold as shit out here.”
Wade blushed, realizing he’d been staring. “Of course. Please.” He moved aside so Kent could enter.
“Nice,” Kent said, looking around the room.
“Thanks,” Wade replied. “Not as… manly as yours. But I’ve always been fond of it.”
Unlike Kent’s room of dark colors and woods, Wade’s cottage was painted in whites and sky blue, the furniture a pale wicker with cream cushions, the decorations shells and driftwood and kitschy carved sandpipers and seagulls.
“I like it,” Kent said, handing Wade a mug. Wade looked down at the dark liquid dubiously. He was spoiled when it came to coffee. Gene had done that. The very idea of Folgers or Maxwell House was enough to make him shudder. He’d had his taste buds set on the New Guinea.
“I didn’t know how you liked your coffee,” Kent said. “I figured you had fixings.”
“I like it black,” Wade said.
“A man after my own heart,” Kent said and took a sip from his own.
Following Kent’s example (what else was he to do?), Wade took a sip and was pleasantly surprised at the taste. It was excellent. “Very nice,” he admitted.
“You doubted, didn’t you? I saw it on your face.”
Wade acknowledged the comment with a slight nod. “I’m prejudiced. I have a favorite.”
“Maybe I can try it tomorrow?”
“Maybe,” Wade said. “But tell me what this is we’re drinking?”
“I roast it myself,” Kent answered, a pleasant smile on his handsome face.
Wade’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”
Kent nodded, smiled boyishly.
“Is that what you do? Roast coffee?” Gene would love… would have loved it.
Kent’s smile grew, his already bright eyes glowing all the more. Wade found the look was surprisingly distracting.
“Oh no! Never turn your hobby into your business. I’ve already only barely avoided that mistake. Mind if I sit down?”
Wade felt embarrassed once again. What was wrong with him? “Of course. Forgive me. I don’t know what’s been going on with my manners.”
“Don’t let it bother you.” Kent sat down on the opposite end of the love seat and motioned for Wade to join him.
Wade hesitated for a second but then wondered why. He really was acting a fool. He sat down next to Kent but was careful not to let their thighs touch. It wasn’t easy on the small couch.
“What is it that you do?” he asked.
“What do I do?” Kent winked. “What are you asking me, Wade?” His tone was sultry. Suggestive.
The comment stopped Wade. Was Kent flirting? “For a living,” he replied. “You don’t roast coffee.”
“Oh!” Kent laughed. “I paint.”
“You mean like houses?” It seemed like something the young man would do, something masculine to go with his body.
“Oh no! Book covers, mostly.”
“Book covers?” Wade asked, curious.
“Mostly for gay romances.”
Wade’s eyes widened. Porn? Kent did porn?
“Oh, get that look off your face,” Kent said with a chuckle and elbowed Wade. “Romances. Male-male romances. They’re becoming the thing. Finally we have something to read where we don’t have to imagine ourselves as the heroines.”
“There have been gay romances for years,” Wade said, barely managing not to scoff.
“Ah, yes. But mostly the tragic kind where one or both guys die at the end. Giving the underlying message that they’re getting their just desserts for pursing the love that dare not speak its name. No, the books I’m talking about are wonderfully, sometimes almost sappily, romantic. I love them. A good message for guys just coming out, don’t you think? I would’ve loved to find books like that when I was, like, fourteen.”
“I… I guess,” Wade said.
“I’m working on a cover right now. You should come over and see it later.”
“Ummm, sure. I’ll try.”
“If you can fit it into your busy schedule,” Kent said and grinned all the wider. “So, how long have you been coming here?”
“A little over twenty-five years.”
Kent whistled. “Wow. Were you just a kid back then?”
Wade blushed. “Oh, come on. How old do you think I am?”
Kent shrugged. “Fortysomething? Forty-five, maybe?”
Wade rolled his eyes. “I look every day of my age. Earned every one of these many gray hairs. I’m fifty-one.”
“Silver, not gray,” Kent said. “I like it. And I’m going gray myself.”
“You aren’t,” Wade said.
“No, no. Really! Look.” He leaned closer and dropped his head, ran his fingers through his short waves.
Wade checked. “Maybe.”
Kent looked up. “I’m thirty-five.”
Thirty-five. God. Such a young man. “I figured you were around there,” Wade said. What am I doing?
“You aren’t going to say I look younger? You cut me to the quick, Wade!”
Wade drew back. Had he done it again? Made a bungle? He wasn’t good at this. He had rarely spent time with any gay man besides Gene. His lover had hated that. Forbidden it. But then he saw the ever-present smile on Kent’s face and realized the man was kidding.
“You’re handsome, Kent. You know that.” And then he blushed at his words.
“You are too, Wade. Very.”
Wade was suddenly uncomfortable. If this wasn’t flirting, it was surely something close to it. Men didn’t hit on him. Especially such young (gorgeous) men. (And Kent was gorgeous.)
“Kent, ah….” He stood. “Thanks for the coffee, but I do have some errands to run. I don’t mean to be rude….”
Kent jumped to his feet. “No. It’s okay. I was going to go running before I got back to my painting anyway. We’ll talk later? You can come see what I’m working on.”
“Ah, sure,” Wade said. He started to hand Kent his half-full mug, but Kent waved it off.
“Finish,” he said. “Bring it later.”
“Okay,” Wade replied.
“That way you’ll have no excuse not to come over,” Kent said, eyes twinkling. And with that he turned and was quickly out the door.
GENE HAD shown Wade the pleasures that men could share in bed that first afternoon. Not drawn out over days. Gene had made love to him with an expertise that was breathtaking. Wade had felt like some heroine out of an old black-and-white movie, as if there were waves crashing around him (he could hear them outside), like volcanoes were going off, like there wasn’t even a bed beneath him. It was nothing like the times with his high school girlfriend or the boy from college. This time he was able to see what he was—they were—doing. Take in everything with all his senses. And when he took Gene into his mouth,
he could see the man’s rigid penis in the light that spilled through the bedroom window. So different from the hurried back-and-forth in the dark college dorm room. And unlike that dorm mate, Gene knew what he was doing. Taught him wonders as they rolled together, sucking on each other. Oh, Wade couldn’t have decided which was better, being so masterfully pleased by the man or giving pleasure in return.
The kiss had been a wonderful, lovely shock. But who knew sucking a man’s erection—cock; Gene said to call it cock—would be so amazing? The sight, the scent, the taste, were almost too much. Almost. And when Gene had turned him over, rained kisses down his back, over his buttocks (the man kissed his ass!), and then spread his cheeks and buried his tongue in a place Wade would never have imagined (his hole! The man was kissing and licking and sucking his hole!), Wade thought he might scream.
But it was all nothing compared to when Gene climbed atop him, ran his straining cock in the cleft of Wade’s ass, then found his most private place and slowly and carefully nudged inside him…. It should have been painful. It was, a bit, but mostly it was pleasure beyond imagining.
Despite how strongly Gene had come on to him, he more than made up for it romantically in the two weeks that followed. He did more than teach Wade pleasure. He taught him love, passion, a joining of souls.
They went for long walks, held hands when Gene knew for sure there was no one to witness. Somehow, after that first day, they spent most of their time in Wade’s cottage instead of Gene’s. Wade didn’t know why and didn’t care. They had candlelit dinners. Took turns making breakfast and feeding each other in bed. Took baths together. Made love at any time, at the barest intimation from the other. Wade had fallen completely and totally and deeply in love.
Gene assured him a thousand times that he had as well.
But then the two weeks had come to an end.
And Gene had returned home.
To his wife.
THAT EVENING there was a knock at Wade’s door. To his surprise, Wade found himself heading to answer it without delay.
Kent. Had to be.
When he pulled the curtain aside, sure enough, Kent was standing there. Wade felt the corners of his mouth wanting to rise. He slid the door aside.
