Songs of Love : Books 1-3

by M J Calabrese

  “I..., I…, I honestly don’t know.” I stuttered. I tended to do that when I was really nervous. I still do, but it’s gotten better as I’ve grown older. I stared down as I twisted my fingers.

  Dylan sighed, “Well, I’ll be frank. All these years, you really haven’t caused a resounding ping on my gaydar, but sometimes I’ve caught you looking at me, kinda like you want me. I figured you were gay, just shy when you didn’t make a pass at me. You never said either way.”

  We sat there. Only the street noise of passing cars and bird song broke the silence.

  “I’m sorry if I…, if you felt…, you know, uncomfortable. I really thought you wanted it, Hey.”

  I took a deep breath and said the words I later realized would change my life both for better and for worse. “I do want it. Teach me.”

  Dylan’s head snapped to attention. “What?”

  “Teach me how to suck cock.” I saw him frown. That little crease formed between his eyes as he considered what I asked.

  “Heywood, are you telling me you’re gay?”

  I shook my head. “Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t think I’m straight, though.”

  “Do you get turned on when you see a naked woman or a naked man?”

  I looked away. “No one turns me on. I think I’m kinda broken that way.”

  Dylan reached over and took my hand. Pulling it to his right thigh, he placed my palm on his still hard dick. “How did you feel about what I did to you? How did you feel about me kissing you? About me jerking you off? Did you like it?”

  I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  “And now, do you like how my hard cock feels in your hand?”

  I didn’t answer. My hand began to stroke the warm ridge trapped beneath the heavy denim.

  Dylan inhaled sharply. “We can’t do this here.”

  “But I could suck your cock in an alley?”

  His face crinkled as he laughed. “I see your point, but I didn’t know it was your first time. That’s different.”

  “Why?”

  “Trust me. First times should be something special.”

  “Was yours?” I tried to imagine Dylan on his knees with another man’s dick in his mouth and for some reason, I later realized, I was angry. Unexpected jealousy reared its ugly head again. I snatched my hand away from his thigh.

  Dylan looked away, watching the cars on the road as they drove by. “No.” he said, softly, “Mine wasn’t special or particularly nice. None of them, the guys I’ve been with, were special. They scratched an itch I needed scratching. Means to an end…,” he grinned. “Or rather, an orgasm.” Then he grew serious. He looked me straight in the eye. “I don’t think I even liked them very much.”

  I was starting to feel the after effects of the alcohol as I started to sober up. I could feel the stickiness in my jeans as the cum dried on my groin. It felt irritating and it definitely wasn’t sexy. “I don’t want to be here anymore.” The words came tumbling out, rolling off my tongue and it surprised me.

  “Okay,” Dylan reached for his keys in the ignition. “We can go somewhere else.”

  “No.” I said, “Not here in the truck. Here in this town. I’m going to leave.” The hurt in my best friend’s eyes made me rush to finish. Dylan stiffened, but he nodded for me to continue. “I found that photographer’s card. You remember him, right? The one who took our pictures out on the beach a couple of years ago? I called him.”

  I ventured a glance at my best friend. He looked like I was telling him I had only six months to live. “He’s for real. He lives in Brooklyn. I’m going to go see him and I’ll probably stay in that area.” I saw a shadow pass over Dylan’s eyes. “After everything that’s happened. Hell, Dylan, even before that. There’s nothing for me…, for us, in this Podunk town. I want to start over. I want to be someone else, kind of reinvent myself.” I saw Dylan’s chin begin to tremble.

  “Heywood.”

  “I want you to come with me, Dylan. You and me. Live our lives to the fullest. Come with me.” My best friend looked at me, blinking rapidly, fighting back the tears. “Come with me.” I reached over and laid my hand on his. “Please.” Wrapping my fingers around his hand, I picked it up and drew the back of his hand to my lips as I kissed it. I smiled as I smelled the scent of my cum still on his fingers. I felt my cock harden as I turned his hand, palm up and licked the tangy salt from it before sucking first one finger then another into my mouth. I boldly tasted my own flavor.

  “Fuck!” He swore.

  Eyes wide, he watched me. I still don’t know what made me do it. Years later, we laughed about my go-to porn star move. Dylan groaned and shifted in his seat.

  “Please. Go. With. Me.” Each digit entered my mouth one at a time. My head bobbing over the first before I moved on to the next. My right hand unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans as I continued to lave his fingers with my tongue. I freed his cock from it confines. Taking his right hand, I placed it on the back of my head as I leaned down. I opened my mouth and drew his cock in. It was strange and wonderful all at the same time. I quickly realized I enjoyed the feel of flesh on my tongue. In that instant, I knew the answer to at least one question. I was definitely NOT straight.

  Dylan moaned. “Please.” He whispered. “Please…, please…, please…, please.”

  I pulled back off the smooth crown of his cock. Pre-come dribbled from it. “Tell me what to do.” My warm breath wafted over the heated skin. “Let this happen, Dylan.” I could hear him sigh. He wanted this and I wanted him to be my first everything.

  “Go down slowly. Take in as much of my cock as you can.” His voice sounded low and strained. I knew he was holding back. I didn’t know then how difficult it was to hold off your own orgasm until I had to do it a few months later. “Then seal your lips around my cock and pull back. For me, I like it if you suck hard. I like rough sex. When you get to the head, swirl your tongue around then as you head back down, press your tongue against the underside of my cock. Don’t be shy to explore, Hey. You can touch my balls, play with them if you want.” He was telling me some of his secrets. “I really love it when a guy puts a couple of fingers up my ass, but we don’t have any lube right now. Not great if you try it dry.”

  I listened to his groans as I followed his instructions. I tried different combinations of sucking and swirling, repeating whatever made him moan the loudest. In the back of my mind, I noticed I really liked this a lot. I lost myself in the rigidness of his cock in my mouth. It felt so natural and I was in heaven. I felt Dylan’s balls start to draw up closer to his body. I knew from my own experience what was about to happen. He grabbed my hair, trying to pull me away, but I reached up and swatted his hand away. Nothing and no one was going to stop me from tasting Dylan’s essence. Pure, unadulterated Dylan. I will remember this moment for the rest of my life. We were totally on the same page for the first time in our lives.

  Dylan groaned loudly as his body tensed. His back arched with his head tossed back so far his neck muscles stood out in sharp contrast, straining to their limit. One pulse of thick, salty cream followed another. Jizz and spit dribbled out from the cracks around my imperfect seal. I gagged once, but kept going, sucking and tonguing as more and more cum pulsed into my mouth. It wasn’t until Dylan patted my head and told me to ease off that I felt the exhaustion hit me.

  I sat up. Dylan smiled groggily, pointing to my mouth. “You look like a rabid dog, Hey.”

  I turned, grabbing the rear view mirror and tilting it to get a better view. Cum hung off my chin, even coating my upper lip. I wiped by arm across my mouth and checked again. I loved the way I looked. I still had some cum on my chin and my lips were ruby red and swollen. I stared at myself and I remembered thinking that this is what sex is like. I leaned my head on his shoulder, still trying to catch my breath. A warm breeze blew in through the window of the truck when suddenly it dawned on me that we were still in the parking lot of the Lazy M tavern. Granted we were parked toward the far end of the lot, but
I wondered how many people had wandered by to see what was happening.

  “Three.” Dylan answered as if he could read my mind.

  “What?”

  “Three people saw us.”

  “Oh, God.” I buried my face in my hands.

  Dylan laughed. “Why are you embarrassed? They couldn’t see your face, but my Dad’s name is on the outside of the truck.”

  “I’m sooo sorry.”

  Dylan lifted my chin and kissed me. “Well, I guess, I’m going to have to go with you to Brooklyn because I don’t think either of us has a job anymore.”

  Chapter Three

  The next three years passed in a blur. The photographer hadn’t lied. He took us under his wing. Training us and hooking us up with a modeling agency in Manhattan. I did mostly print ads while Dylan mixed both print and runway, his specialty. Everyone wanted us.

  We pooled our money and bought a co-op in Brooklyn, but ended up being there only about fifty days out of the year. Dylan started taking acting lessons and I hit NYU hard to get my degree in fine arts, creative writing. Dylan partied a lot and I spent a lot of time taking care of him.

  At one point, my agent said there were over a half million photos out there of the two of us. Most were professional, but the paparazzi took their share. We didn’t care. With popularity came money, lots and lots of it. One of the best moves I’d talked Dylan into was getting a money manager the first year. It had been the right thing to do. We weren’t just pretty faces and great bodies, we were a media juggernaut that paid extremely well. At twenty-two, we were financially set. If we never worked another day, we would be okay.

  Then the unexpected happened. I remember the pain began January 23rd, two days before my Mom’s birthday. We were paired this time for Javi Benoit. He was doing a very, very sexy nude layout for a major LGBTQ magazine. Sets and props were set up against different backgrounds in a San Francisco warehouse. Even after all these years, it was difficult for me not to get hard when Dylan’s naked body was pressed up against mine, but that day I wasn’t feeling very well. I’d lost my breakfast about ten minutes after I ate it that morning. Except for water, I hadn’t eaten anything else. It turned out to be a fortunate thing. Always the consummate professional, I pushed how I was feeling aside and continued to work. Dylan was concerned early on, but I convinced him I was just tired.

  The pain in my right side was getting worse and at one point I got the chills. On the last shot. Dylan and I were pressed together. Arms tightly drawing our bodies together into an intimate embrace. I was to look straight at the camera while Dylan kissed my cheek. Javi repositioned us four or five times. Every movement seemed to cause me more pain. At one point, I moaned, pulling my right leg up.

  “You okay?” Dylan whispered into my ear as Javi moved the lights. “You feel really hot.”

  I tried to laugh, but it hurt too much. It was then I started to shake. Dylan held onto me, but he called out to Javi. “Something’s wrong with Hey. I think he needs a doctor.”

  Javi touched me. “You’re burning up.”

  Emile and Chris, our managers, entered the fray. “What’s going on?”

  “Heywood’s got a high fever.”

  I shook my head. “I’m fine. Let’s just finish this.”

  Dylan couldn’t keep the skepticism out of his eyes. “You sure?”

  I nodded. “Yeah…, yeah. Let’s do this.”

  Javi bit his lower lip, “Okay, let’s do this. It’ll be the last shot of the day, alright?”

  Dylan nodded, but I kept my mouth shut to keep from screaming. When I look at that photo now. I can see how sick I was, but this ended up being the photo that made Javi. He won an industry award for it. The look on my face with the high contrast of my fevered cheeks and swollen lower lip where I had bitten it to hold back the pain. The dichotomy of light and dark emotion with Dylan’s tender kiss on my cheek. The concern was there, as well, in how he held me, but only I would know what that look actually was.

  The second Javi called it. Dylan let me go and I doubled over in pain without his support. I was barely able to get my pants on. Every movement was agony. I’m still not sure who called 911, but I saw Dylan nodding as he was talking with Chris as we waited for the paramedics. I wasn’t sure what it was that Chris shoved in Dylan’s hand, but Dylan came to the couch I was curled up on and kneeled down.

  “Babe, Chris says if we don’t say we’re married.” He held out two identical silver bands, “then they may not let me in to see you. They might not give me information about how you are doing.”

  The pain was making me a little slow witted. “You want to marry me? Right now?”

  Dylan smiled, “Well, yeah, just not today, later when you feel better. For now when they ask….” He pushed a silver band onto my ring finger, left hand. “Tell them we’re married. Tell them I’m your husband.”

  I remember I looked at the ring as it encircled my finger. Wiggling my finger, it seemed to feel natural there, like it belonged.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?”

  It was my turn to smile through the pain and that was getting more difficult by the minute. “Whenever you want to get married, the answer is yes.”

  Neither of us noticed that Javi caught part of the conversation then saw the ring Dylan had slipped on my finger. “Oh, my God! I thought you two might be married. The intimacy. The look in your eyes. Only a committed couple could express that kind of emotion.”

  “Javi, uh…, don’t….”

  Javi waved at us, “Oh, don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

  Four hours later, we found out that wasn’t true.

  The paramedics appeared. As one started an IV, Dylan talked to the other EMT.

  “Next of kin?”

  Dylan flashed a glance at me before he answered. “Me. Dylan Greig. We’re married. I’m his husband.” He waggled his ring at the EMT who could not care less. The ER was another matter. The pain was worsening and by the time they gave me strong meds, I was in tears. Dylan went into protector mode.

  The ER doctor didn’t see me until every other department in the place had poked, scanned and prodded me. Blood, urine, CT, and ultrasound were all done before he pulled in a cart with a laptop attached. “Mr. Miller. I’m Doctor Langham.”

  I nodded. The meds were starting to take effect.

  “When was the last time you ate or drank anything?”

  “What has that got to do with anything?” I could hear in Dylan’s voice, he was getting to the end of his rope.

  “And you are?” The doctor peered over his glasses.

  “I’m his husband.”

  The doctor frowned then focused on me again. “I need an answer, Mr. Miller.”

  “He had breakfast this morning, but he vomited it up. He’s had nothing else all day except for a bottle of water about three hours ago.” Dylan began to pace.

  The doctor raised an eyebrow, then looked at me. I nodded and confirmed this.

  “Are you diabetic?”

  I shook my head.

  “Are you HIV positive?”

  I could see Dylan’s face redden, but I held up a hand, cutting him off. “Are you asking me because I’m a gay man or does this have relevance to my case?” I don’t know if the doctor was impressed by my vocabulary, but he smiled and shook his head.

  “You’re going to need emergency surgery. I’d like to get you set up here in the next hour.” He turned to Dylan. “Oh, and by the way, I’m gay, so don’t go jumping to conclusions.” Duly chastised, Dylan stepped back. His hands relaxing.

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Your appendix is about to rupture. You have bad appendicitis. Normally, we’d give you antibiotics for a few days, but the ultrasound showed how the membrane that surrounds the appendix stretched to almost three times the size it should be and the membrane is very thin.”

  Dylan frowned. “We have a contract to walk for Misha in Paris in seven days, Hey.”

  “How l
ong will I be unable to work?”

  “Nowadays, the surgery is done laparoscopically. There’s only a small 1” incision with a few large needle punctures. You stay here overnight unless you have complications. Otherwise you need five to seven days of rest.”

  “Can he fly on a small jet or go first class where he can stretch out and rest?”

  “If there are no complications, yes.” He looked at me. “You will be on antibiotics for fourteen days and I want you to make certain you take all of them.”

  Dylan looked at me as well. “I guarantee you, he’ll take every last one of them.”

  A nurse brought in the consent papers and handed them to me with a pen. As I took them, I looked at Dylan. “Babe, go tell Chris and Emile what’s happening, okay?”

  Dylan seemed reluctant to leave, but he turned, pushing aside the curtain surrounding my bed and disappeared.

  The doctor looked at me and I knew what he was going to say. “You never answered me about your HIV status.”

  I concentrated on the papers on the clipboard I was holding. I checked all the boxes and signed at the bottom. Looking up, I handed the doctor the completed forms. “I’m negative. We got tested six weeks ago and we’re monogamous.”

  “You don’t use condoms?”

  I remember I shook my head.

  The doctor sighed, taking the clipboard. “Okay. Then you’d better pray he stays faithful. In my experience, guys as good looking as the two of you get faced with a shitload of temptation.” He stood and I thought he was going to leave. Instead he reached out and touched my hand. “I was once married to a very handsome man, model pretty, like your husband. I trusted him, too…,” he paused, looking me straight in the eye, “and that’s why I’m HIV positive now.”

  I wasn’t sure why he told me this. Dylan would never cheat on me. It took me another three years to find out I was wrong.

  ****

  I woke hours later with a dry mouth that tasted like dirty sweat socks. I blinked a few times trying to clear my vision. When I did I saw Dylan sprawled out in a chair next to my bed sound asleep. I tried to reach for the plastic water glass next to me only to discover it was empty. My attempt at reaching the water pitcher turned out to be surprisingly painful, so I grabbed the cup and tossed it, hitting Dylan square in the middle of his forehead. The startled look on his face made me almost forget about the pain I was in.