Love Most Inconvenient 3

by D. J. Manly

  “I’m not teasing you.” He laughed. He took a place beside him and snuggled up close. “You look good enough to eat sitting here on my sofa.”

  “Go ahead,” he urged, moving his lips across Noah’s cheek. “Eat me then.”

  A little thrill went up his spine. He unconsciously licked his lips, feeling the need to adjust his cock in his pants. He squirmed a bit.

  This made Ace laugh. “Does it help?”

  “You don’t miss a trick, do you?”

  “Not usually.” Ace brought his arm down around him and pulled him closer. “We can just sit here if you like. Wake me if I fall asleep.”

  “Fall asleep?”

  “Um, I’m very relaxed right now. And I haven’t slept much on tour. Some of the other guys snore like crazy and every time I fall asleep on the bus, I get woken up.” He reached over and took a sip of the Coke.

  “Poor baby.”

  “You don’t snore, do you?” He cocked an eyebrow, his head back against the sofa.

  Noah played with a button on Ace’s shirt. “I don’t think so. Can I see your tattoo?”

  He chuckled. “What a line. Sure.”

  Noah opened his shirt with a smile, and ran his finger over the drum. “Tell me about it.”

  “I got it in Bangkok from this little old woman. She didn’t speak a word of English. After she did the tattoo, she tried to rent me her daughter for the night.”

  “She was very poor.”

  “No, she wasn’t poor. Her daughter was a huge fan but her mother thought she shouldn’t give it away.”

  Noah laughed.

  “It wasn’t expensive, about ten American dollars, but she lacked certain biological…” He trailed off and laughed. “Her son was pretty hot, though.”

  “You banged her son?”

  He grinned. “He volunteered.”

  Noah shook his head and traced the tattoo again, this time with his lips. “I bet he did. Did it hurt?”

  “A little, but not as much as my cock hurts right now.”

  “I’ll see what can be done.”

  “That would be nice of you.” He leaned his head down and captured Noah’s mouth. They kissed slowly, deeply, savoring the taste of each other’s mouths. Noah slipped his hand down to Ace’s zipper and slowly undid it as the kisses continued.

  He was still a little nervous but the hesitation had left him and desire reigned. The kissing intensified and Ace moaned as Noah’s fingers finally encircled his cock. Noah straddled his hips and took off Ace’s shirt, kissing down his chest and then sliding to his knees in front of Ace’s open legs. When he took Ace’s cock in his mouth, he sighed inwardly. This is where he wanted to be. Ace had always been the one he wanted, even before they’d met.

  Ace took Noah down to the carpet when Noah had brought him almost to the edge. The urgency of his caresses assured Noah he could no longer wait. Ace fished lube and condoms out of his jacket pocket and went to work on his preparation. Noah was practically on the ceiling before Ace skewered him with his cock, the gradual discomfort turning into mind-numbing pleasure, his thrusts alternating between desperate pumping and tender sensuality.

  Noah came as Ace pulled out of him and suckled his cock to surrender. Resting on the floor, they held each other, Noah’s eyes blurred with tears. “You make me a better man,” Noah told him, kissing Ace’s sweaty temple.

  Ace met his gaze. “No. You made yourself a better man.”

  “I did it for love.”

  “Or to get laid,” he joked.

  Noah punched him playfully.

  “You would have done it eventually. I just sped up the process a little. You know, no one has ever accused me of making him a better man before. It doesn’t go with the image, so don’t spread it around … or print it in your magazine.”

  Noah rubbed one of Ace’s muscular arms, grinning. “It’s my next feature article. Bad boy drummer does charity work.”

  “Um,” he grunted, rolling on top of Noah and tickling him a little, “and what fine charity work it is. It makes me want to be a full-time charity worker.”

  They kissed again, then eventually moved into Noah’s room and settled down to sleep. Noah held Ace as he listened to his breathing grow more shallow and watched his chest slowly rise and fall. “I love you,” he whispered and then laughed as a sleepy Ace mumbled, “I love you too, Daniels, now stop jabbering to yourself and go to sleep.”

  The End

  Story Three

  Man Inside

  Chapter One

  My mother cried openly in the courtroom while my older brother sat beside her, his arm tightly surrounding her plump shoulders. Three of my brother’s friends, wearing their gang colors, sat in the back, watching quietly.

  I listened to the judge’s sentence without any reaction. I couldn’t show any fear. My brother would have beaten the crap out of me if I had.

  “They’ll go easy on you, little brother,” Alvaro had told me when I got arrested. “You’ve never been to jail, and you’re young. The judge will give you community service or some such crap.”

  Seven years at Experimental C Maximum Security Penitentiary, possibility of parole in three. Those words resounded in my head. The judge had to ask me three times if I had anything to say before they took me away.

  I shook my head and glanced around to look at my brother. You lied to me, you fucking cocksucker! That’s what I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to let the world know that he was the guilty one, along with his gang members who were staring at me now.

  Alvaro had promised I wouldn’t do jail time if I took the rap for him and his gang buddies. I’d be out on parole, he said, working with old people or something. The only old people I was going to see were old cons who’d been wasting away in prison for years.

  When two guards took me by the arm and led me from the courtroom, my mother sobbed louder, crying, “My baby, my baby.”

  Alvaro couldn’t even look at me. He turned his face away, and his three buddies simply got up and left the courtroom.

  Eighteen years old and I was headed to Experimental C. Although it was a maximum security unit, which did house some violent criminals, it was supposed to provide more opportunity for rehabilitation, training, and so forth. When I was convicted, my lawyer especially requested that I be sent there.

  The truth was, I was in shock when the verdict was returned. The judge said he wanted to make an example of me, and he brought down the gavel.

  I hadn’t actually committed a crime in the first place. I’d been trying to finish high school, help my mother, and avoid the street gangs. But that’s hard to do when your older brother is a gang member.

  To say that I was scared shitless of going to prison was an understatement. My heart was in my gut when that bus started to move away from the city. Shackles encircled my ankles and my hands were cuffed together, and those weights made it quite clear that there was no way out of this for me.

  I knew what happened to young boys in these places. And I wasn’t a big guy, only five-seven, one hundred and sixty pounds. My brothers’ friends had often teased me, accusing me of looking more like a girl than a boy. They’d eat me alive up there.

  “You’re too innocent-looking to be convicted,” Alvaro had scoffed before the sentencing. “The jury will take one look at that pretty little face and forgive. If I go before that judge, he’s going to throw the book at me, little brother. I’ll go up for years and never see the light of day again. It will kill Mama. Who will look after her if I’m gone?”

  Alvaro had never really done such a great job of looking after Mama. She’d bailed him out of jail more times than I could count. It had all been lies. Alvaro had manipulated me into confessing to a crime I wasn’t guilty of, not for Mama, but for himself. I’d had no idea what was going down that night, no idea that my brother and his friends had a shitload of heroin for sale in the back room of the pool hall.

  I closed my eyes. I was all alone, not only in life, but on that bus. I was t
he only prisoner, accompanied by two guards, one driving and the other one sitting across from him, tapping his toe to some tune on the radio.

  The scenery rushed by like in a dream, blurring into trees and then nothing before the large concrete fortress of my nightmares sprawled out before me.

  The bus screeched to a halt. I began to shake like a leaf, barely able to stand up as the music-loving guard pulled me to my feet. “Oh,” he said, grinning as he looked me up and down, “they’re going to love your tight little asshole inside, honey.”

  I stumbled to the steps and then almost fell on my face as the guard propelled me off the bus. A hand reached out to steady me then gave me a slight shove. “Move it,” the guard said. “I don’t have all day. It’s time for my lunch break.”

  His callous attitude spoke volumes. No one would coddle me here or give me any compassion. I was a criminal, here to be punished, and I’d have to learn how to survive or I’d never come out alive.

  When I arrived, they took off the shackles and the handcuffs. A burly prison guard barked at me, “Now you’re ours. You’ll sleep when we say sleep, and shit when we say shit. Obey the rules and we’ll get along; fuck with us in here, and you’ll regret the day you were born.”

  Not exactly inspiring.

  Then the guard handed me deodorant, soap, and towels, and introduced me to a prisoner assigned to orient me. “I’m Kimbo,” he said.

  I found myself staring at a tall, heavyset Hawaiian guy with so many tattoos I couldn’t even make out the features of his face.

  I nodded at him miserably.

  “Kimbo will show you the ropes,” the guard rattled on. “You’ll be bunking with him for the first while until the warden decides to change you. You have an appointment with Warden Michaels at four. So get moving.”

  Kimbo steered me off down the long cement corridor. Everywhere I looked there were guards and bars and alarms. “You’re lucky, kid,” Kimbo muttered, “you’re going to cell block C. You’ll get to keep your hair the way you want and wear street clothes.”

  “Who in hell cares?” I gave him an ironic look. “What do I give a shit if I get to wear my own clothes or not? Look at this place.”

  “Oh, honey boy.” He shook his head disparagingly. “If you don’t change your attitude and get that monkey off your shoulder, you’re in for rough ride.”

  I decided to ignore that. I had no idea what he was talking about back then, but I know now.

  My entrance to the prison was met with wolf whistles and obscene gestures. I tried to keep my head up as I walked, still carrying the small package of towels and soap in my hands.

  “What’s your name?” Kimbo asked, perhaps trying to distract me from all the commotion.

  “Yandal, but everyone calls me Yan.”

  “Are you a Porto Rican?” He pronounced it “porto”.

  “Yes, my mother is. My dad took off when my brother and I were young. We’re not sure what he was. We go by my mother’s name, Torres.”

  Kimbo nodded.

  When the electronic bars slid back and we were admitted to cell block C, I was immediately submerged into a different universe. I knew that this was to be my entire world for the next few years. It was overwhelming.

  I wanted to cry as I followed Kimbo to my cell. We were confronted with an array of whistles and obscene promises. Someone called me a “pretty little girlie boy”. I swallowed hard.

  “Ignore them,” Kimbo muttered. “Bunch of freaks.”

  Cell block C was a circle with two floors. Upstairs in the center was the guards’ station and down below were tables where inmates played cards and watched a large screen television. The cells were like glass, and would seal at night during lockdown. The material was unbreakable but the guards could see you at all times. The cell I was assigned was on the first floor and consisted of two single bunk beds, a toilet out in the open, and a small writing desk with a chair.

  “The bottom is mine,” Kimbo said. “I don’t like heights.”

  I nodded and laid down the towels and toiletries on the desk. If I’d had a gun, I would have offed myself. I’d hit bottom and the fear was more than I could handle.

  “Come here,” Kimbo demanded, pointing at the see-through wall. “I’m going to tell you who is who. It might save your butt. Well”—he smirked—“maybe not your butt, but your neck. Ready, pay attention. I’m only going to tell you once. There are fifty-two inmates in this cell block. Not all of them are here now. Some are in group, others in solitary, some on work detail, but normally at countdown, there will be fifty-two. See those guys over there on the left at that table?”

  I nodded. He was referring to the white guys with bald heads. Some of them had swastikas tattooed on their arms or on the backs of their heads.

  “White supremacists, neo-Nazis. Stay clear if you can. The tough guys nearby are bikers; they’re sometimes buddies with the Nazis when it suits them. The Nazis control most of the drugs in here. Basically they run the joint.

  “Those guys over there,” he went on, “the Spics—sorry, I mean Italians and Porto Rican types—they hang together, and have some of the drug trade too but nothing like the Nazis. And the blacks stick together over there, of course. Then there are a few oddballs, old guys, and the sluts. The sluts are the three dressed like girls. They’re the out gays. They’ve been had by everyone.”

  “Where do you fit?” I sighed.

  “I just try to stay out of trouble. Okay, so you want me to show you the kitchen, the shower room, and the exercise room? We can go now.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I want to stay here.” I was about to turn away from the window when I spotted a man coming through the gates. He was tall with long dark hair to his shoulders. He didn’t walk; he strutted, a tough-looking figure with a well-muscled body and a look on his handsome face that screamed he wasn’t to be messed with. “Who’s that?” I asked. He took my breath away.

  “Oh, that’s Diego Mendez. He’s in a class by himself. Stay clear.”

  I watched as he walked to the stairs and mounted the staircase. I noticed how everyone gave him room. “What do you mean?” I moved away from the window and leaned against the wall. “Who is he?”

  “Diego Mendez? You are young.” Kimbo laughed. “Mendez is a legend. He headed one of the most vicious Spanish biker gangs of them all. He was part of the big boys before he broke off and formed his own, and this caused a war. He was winning it until one of his own men turned on him and led the cops to his door.”

  “Why’d he do that, turn on him?”

  Kimbo shrugged. “No one knows.”

  “What happened to this guy?”

  “The gang took care of him.”

  “Does he like men?”

  “You mean does he like to fuck men?”

  “Yeah. That’s exactly what I mean.”

  Kimbo narrowed his eyes. “In here, everyone fucks anyone they can. I have no idea if he’s fucked his cellmates; they all get transferred. No one wants to bunk with him, or rather, he doesn’t want anyone bunking with him.”

  “He’s alone then?”

  “Yeah, but if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, kid, you’re out of your mind. No one messes with him, and no one goes near him. He’s deadly. Keep your distance, and don’t think about asking to be in his cell.”

  “Would you say that everyone is afraid of him? No one here would dare challenge him, right?”

  “Not unless they’re suicidal.”

  “Then if I’m going to survive here, I need him to be my protector.”

  Kimbo raised an eyebrow. “He won’t be your protector, kid. He won’t want anything to do with you.”

  “How long do you think it will be before those big Nazis gang-rape me, Kimbo?”

  Kimbo lowered his head.

  “How long?”

  He sighed. “Twenty-four hours if you’re lucky.”

  “They’re already plotting it. They keep looking over here and laughing. I’d rather ge
t fucked by one guy who may be able to keep me alive in here than be thrown to the wolves.”

  Kimbo actually looked sympathetic. “I’m sorry, kid. I understand what you’re saying, but unfortunately the only one in here who could protect you may be the worst of the lot, and he’s not into altruism. Talk to the warden.”

  “And what can he do?”

  “If you really feel threatened, maybe he can put you in protective custody.”

  “But I can’t live in protective custody forever. Where does Diego Mendez work?”

  “He works in the mail room.”

  “Okay, if I ask for that work assignment, will I get it?”

  “It depends. Maybe. But kid, listen—”

  “What does he like?”

  “Mendez?” He laughed. “You want to know what Diego Mendez likes? Nothing and nobody.”

  “How long has he got left in his sentence? How long has he been in here?”

  Kimbo shrugged. “Let’s see. He came in two years ago. They threw together a case against him but he wasn’t convicted of murder … ah … gang activities, drugs, armed robbery; he probably got ten years. He’s not been in trouble since last year so he may be up for parole in another five, but I’m not his lawyer. Want me to take you to the warden?”

  “No. I’ll go by myself.”

  I nodded and left the security of my cell. I walked quickly to the exit, ignoring the catcalls. I knew I had to do something. If it meant becoming the slut of the meanest son of a bitch in here, that’s what I’d have to be.

  When the warden looks at you with compassion, you know you’re in trouble. “Sit down, son,” he said. Warden Michaels was a small man with narrow glasses and deep creases in his face. He looked at my file and shook his head. “You’re with us for a while.”

  I nodded.

  “No drug or alcohol problems.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Keep it that way. How’s it going with Kimbo?”

  “Fine, but I’d like to request a transfer.”

  “Transfer? You just got here.”

  “I want to be transferred to Diego Mendez’s cell.”