Songs of Love : Books 1-3

by M J Calabrese

  “Sorry.”

  Lube still on the bedside table, but no condoms, I debated on what to do. My mind struggled with the possible repercussions. I took so long, Dylan looked up at me.

  “Hey?”

  I looked into his eyes and my decision was made. I loved this man. Loved him and decided to trust him. I made the decision to take the risk with him. Why I did, I wasn’t sure. He’d cheated on me a long time ago. He’d told me hard truths about himself and how he’d changed and for some reason I believed him. My anger had died years ago. In its place, a growing need to be back with him rose up. There were risks, physical and emotional that I couldn’t ignore. In that moment, I simply accepted them and any consequences that might go with them.

  “Put your head down.”

  I scooted off the bed, grabbed the lube and coated my fingers. As I entered him, he spread his legs wider for my enjoyment. I saw his hole clench and spasm as if beckoning me as I withdrew my fingers. Beckoning me to come back. Not just to enter him, but to be one with him in every way. His body was pink and sweaty. I touched the light bruises on his upturned ass. He moaned with pleasure as I caressed them. It made me proud that I had put them there.

  “You liked when I used my belt on you, didn’t you?”

  “Oh, God yes, Hey. You understand. No one else understands.” He gasped as I plunged three fingers into him. Moving slowly in and out. “Fist me, babe. Please.” He wiggled and shimmied, trying to take me deeper.

  “Not this morning, but soon.” I promised him. “Maybe in a more public place. You’d like that wouldn’t you?” I heard him moan. The thrill of getting caught held a powerful draw for both of us. I smiled to myself. Others wouldn’t understand, but we did. We understood each other perfectly until that night he broke my heart. I’ll have to tell him sometime that I would’ve let him do it if he’d told me, but now I understood. It wasn’t the fucking. It was the possibility, however slim, of getting caught.

  Lifting his legs over my shoulders, I guided my firm cock home. I let him come first. Stroking him in my tight grasp, I loved the familiar feel of a cock I knew as well as I knew my own. Every vein, every ridge and valley, every texture he ever felt on his lover’s cock brought back the memories of what they’d done and what I wanted to do again. Tightening my grip, I stroked his cock faster and faster. Milking the pre-cum from his cock, I knew it wouldn’t be long until he cried out, losing himself in the pleasure I gave him. I watched as long streamers of cum began coating his abdomen all the way up to his chin. Dylan lay there, panting as I started to move. Fast, deep, and punishing. He didn’t know I was not using a condom. He would’ve freaked out. I wanted this and I needed him relaxed and compliant, giving me what I needed in that moment. His groans joined mine as I pressed into him, harder and faster. I felt my balls slapping up against his ass, rocking him forward, practically folding him in half. He grabbed my forearms and joined in. Stroke after stroke, I worked to put myself over the edge, but I needed more. I slid my arm under his neck and pulled him to my chest. He grunted with the strain on his back, but I was feeling it too. We rolled together, sweat and spittle dripping from me with my effort. Then I felt it. His ass clenched around my cock, tight and unforgiving. He shouted as I pounded into him and made him come again. A sweet, beautiful look of awe, almost surprise was on his face as his orgasm ripped through him. A hot rush of cum spilling between us, yet it was a mere shadow of his earlier orgasm. I couldn’t hold back any longer. I needed him and it was enough to set me off.

  “Fuck! Fuck!” I shouted. I could hardly believe it was my voice. I rarely cried out during sex, but this wasn’t just sex. This was so much more. I poured everything I had into his ass. Every drop milked from me by him. “Dammit, Dylan.” I muttered as I released his legs and fell on top of him, exhausted.

  We lay there silent. Our breathing slowed. Our bodies cooled. I felt his fingers brushing through my sweat soaked hair, as we basked in the afterglow of the energies released. His other arm wrapped around me, but neither of us made a move to get up until my softening cock slipped from his body. In eighteen years, we’d come to this. In my mind, we were destined to be together forever.

  “Hey?”

  I knew what he was going to ask and I was ready to face the backlash. “No, the condom didn’t break. I didn’t use one.”

  He didn’t say anything. He just kept toying with strands of my hair. When he did speak, his voice was soft, as if he was as resigned to our fate as I was.

  “Okay. I understand.” He paused, abandoning my hair. Both arms embracing me. “I love you, Hey.” He whispered. I felt him tremble. He held me tighter, almost to the point I couldn’t breathe and then he began to cry. His tears built slowly, body rocking with his emotional release. My chest tightened. I understood everything he was feeling. All those wasted years without him. All those other men, Eric. All that time I realized now how lonely I was and in this moment, he realized it, too. I never felt alone when I was with him. My tears dropped on his chest as I joined him. Both of us cleansing away the pain.

  “If you ever,” I began, my voice soft and shaky. “If you ever cheat on me again, Dylan. I will kill you.” I could feel the beginnings of a smile from him.

  “I know.” He answered as he pushed a strand of hair from my face. “I won’t ever be with another man, Hey. I won’t flirt. Hell, I won’t even look at another guy.”

  I couldn’t help the snicker that rose from my chest. “Flirting and looking are fine, Dylan, but if I even suspect you got a blowjob in a toilet or a handjob in the alley, I swear, you’ll wake up with your dick and balls permanently separated from your body.” I felt him shudder.

  “I believe you.” He turned us, letting me rest on the bed beside him. He looked at me with tear-reddened eyes. “If I am ever tempted when we’re apart, I’ll call you and the second I hear your voice, I’ll remember this moment and how it felt to be without you for the past seven years.” Dylan leaned his forehead against mine, his arm drawing me closer. “You are the love of my life, Heywood Miller, and if we weren’t already married, I would ask you to be my husband. This time, Hey, I’ll live up to our vows. I will never take the fact that you are giving me a second chance for granted.”

  I smiled and placed a chaste kiss to his forehead. “And if you asked me to be your husband, right now, Dylan, I would say yes again.”

  Chapter Nine

  Here’s the end of my story. No, everything between Dylan and I hasn’t been all hearts and roses. We still argue at times. We still fuck, frequently, I might add. Dylan agreed to be the big name star on my new series for an unprecedented seven seasons. After sweating another HIV test, we’re both negative. We’re never apart more than a few days and we call each other or text constantly. We’ve stayed together. Despite the odds, we just celebrated our twentieth wedding anniversary. He’s kept his promise to me and I still haven’t gone all Lorena Bobbitt on him, but it’s been close a couple of times. Not because he was cheating, but because he was being an ass. We wake up most mornings in the same bed and every time my heart swells with joy. I’m never alone or lonely with him around.

  This morning I walked into the kitchen and there he was, reading glasses on. His beard and hair are long and streaked with gray that gets to be more and more every year. He won’t cut either his beard or hair until he starts a new movie in a month, then he will be back to model pretty. Sometimes I stare in the mirror and wonder what he still sees in me. I’m getting old right along with him. The lines around the corners of my eyes and mouth don’t disappear when I’m not smiling anymore and they are getting deeper. I keep myself in good shape, but no one cares what I look like when I’m standing next to him. I’m the writer, not the model and he’s the star now. I don’t mind.

  He looks up and the glasses come off as he begins to smile. Those blue eyes telling me how he feels. How happy I make him and there isn’t a doubt in my mind that I am truly blessed because this man loves me.

  For Your Entertainment />
  A M/M Romance

  By

  M.J. Calabrese

  Table of Contents

  In the End, there is a Beginning

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  In the End, there is a Beginning

  August 31, 2019

  If someone had passed the room, then stopped, they'd see a man standing stock still looking out of a window. If they’d simply passed by, he could’ve been a phantom, a ghost, not something real and solid. The man was staring off into the distance, not blinking, as if the landscape held some sort of extreme fascination because he seemed oblivious to the slow, rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor and the click-swoosh of the ventilator keeping the man on the bed alive. If the observer watched for just a moment, they’d notice the man’s breathing seemed paced with the mechanical breaths of the man in the bed. Each click he breathed in. Each swoosh, he breathed out.

  He stood there, hands slack at this side. His face was expressionless. It remained that way even as he swallowed, then blinked and a single tear escaped from the corner of his left eye. He didn’t seem to notice as it continued its path down his cheek to his stubbled jaw and with gravity’s help, the single drop took flight and fell onto his rumpled dirty blue Henley.

  If someone had spoken to him, he wouldn’t have answered. There was nothing more to be said. His lifelong friend, his lover, and then, husband of over six years would be dead in twenty-four hours.

  Chapter One

  December 27, 1998

  “Verlise! I’m going to the park to take some pictures.” Scott Newland grabbed his new Nikon, stuffed it in his backpack and headed out the back door before his stepmother could object. He’d saved every bit of his allowance for two years to get this camera. It wasn’t the highest end, but it wasn’t the lowest, either. His parents hated it. They had yelled at him for spending his money on something so foolish, but he didn’t care. He refused to take it back. He’d deliberately scratched his name into the bottom of the camera so they couldn’t take it from him and try to return it the way they had so many of the other things his mother had given him before she died. They didn’t understand. The photographs he took weren’t just pictures. It wasn’t just a hobby. These images were his lifeline. It was a way for him to lose himself. A way to leave his wretched home life behind.

  He stomped on the end of his skateboard, flipping it up into his hands. Twenty steps took him to the sidewalk where he dropped the board, stepped up on it and pushed off. I took him fifteen minutes to make it to Silverlake Meadows Park. It was still a relatively safe space if you steered clear of the northwest corner where the drug dealers hung out. He headed for the small botanical garden that graced the south end of the park. There were a few benches there so homeless guys from the local shelter would spend part of their days stretched out in the sun. He liked the incongruity of the shabbily dressed men with the brilliant and cultivated rows of flowers that grew there. He suspected the guys protected that spot from teens and other vandals because year after year the beautiful flowers remained intact and in their neat little rows, never ripped from their beds and mangled.

  He was surprised to see a young boy with an old guitar sitting on one of the benches. Two other spots were occupied with their usual residents. The boy was singing softly and as Scott drew closer, he tried to place the name of the song, but couldn’t. Scott sat down at the other end of the bench, running his fingers through his too-long sandy blond hair as he looked at his next subject. He figured the kid had to be about his age, maybe a little younger. His voice was strong and clear. The words of the chorus felt warm and familiar as if they were meant for him. He couldn’t help but listen.

  Scott shook his head as he tried to break the spell. The younger man’s head was bent as he watched his fingers pressing on the strings. He studied the part of the kid’s face that he could see and marveled at how the sun created shadows that only enhanced the other boy’s beauty. His high cheekbones aligned with his sharp, already chiseled jawline. Despite his age, he was already taking on the early features of an extremely handsome man. When his youthful facial roundness disappeared, he would be model pretty. His longish, raven black hair that was tossed back out of his face, glistened in the sunlight. The bright light created almost a halo effect around his subject as it reflected off his light-colored shirt.

  As the song ended, he lifted his head, turning it slightly to look at the boy next to him. His hair flopped over his eye and he had to push it back to check out the kid next to him. Scott’s eyes widened and his heart beat a little faster as he found himself peering at the most interesting shade of azure blue. Part of his face was in shadow and before the boy could say anything, Scotty told him to hold still. His subject didn’t question it. He held still as Scott dug out his camera and started to snap photographs. Scott squatted down so he was looking up at the other boy. He asked him to turn his head slightly, first one way and then another. The boy did it without question. After thirty minutes he stopped.

  “Can I move now?” The voice was soft and gentle, but surprisingly deep. Scott nodded, but he didn’t look up. He stayed focused on the digital screen on the back of his camera.

  “I wish I had a computer so I could see these better.” He squinted, holding the camera a little closer to his eyes. A welcome shadow blocked out some of the sunlight, allowing him to see the images a bit better.

  “I have a computer at home. You can use it if you want.”

  Scott looked up at the boy who was shielding him from the unforgiving sun. The boy was tall. He dressed like everyone else in this neighborhood. No one here had a lot of money to spend on anything fashionable. Most settled for cheap or thrift store finds. The kid’s black, horn-rimmed prescription glasses peeked out of the pocket of the pale plaid button-up shirt. Discount store tennis shoes graced his large feet.

  He didn’t look like he’d have a computer of his own, but maybe they had something in common and were willing to work for what they wanted. If that was the case, then this was someone he’d like to get to know better.

  Scott smiled. He stuck out his hand, offering it to his subject. “I’m Scotty Newland.”

  “David Niewitski.”

  Scott nodded, “You’ve got a good voice, Davey and you’re very photogenic. Even with images this small I can tell that.”

  “You think so? I think I’m pretty ordinary.”

  “Your eyes are amazing.”

  The boy looked away, embarrassed. “They’re my Dad’s.”

  “What song were you singing? It’s good.”

  “It’s mine. I wrote it.” David smiled shyly, “Thanks.” He looked at the images again, “We could go to my house, it’s only a couple of blocks. We could use my computer.” He repeated his offer as he glanced down at the ground.

  Scott grinned. “Your parents won’t mind if you bring a friend home without letting them know ahead of time?”

  David shook his head, “We’re kind of new here. My Mom would like it if I had a friend. I really don’t have any.”

  “Really?” Scott stood and tipped his skateboard into his hand then tucked it under his arm. “Let’s go to your place then and see what kind of trouble we can get into.”

  David stood, smiling broadly and his eyes showed his obvious delight. He slung his guitar so it lay across his back and with a nod of his head, he led the way toward his house. On the way, they started to find out what they had in common. They both considered themselves creative. David told Scott he wanted to write music and become a famous singer one day. S
cott, on the other hand, told his new friend about his dreams to be a photojournalist or a Hollywood director. As they walked Scott told his quiet friend how he would remake the movies he’d recently seen. How he would change this thing or another bit that didn’t work for him. While David chimed in with how he would change the musical score of this or that film, mostly sci-fi, to enhance the drama of the film. They both agreed they had no desire to become actors which was everyone else’s dream of those who lived in their area of Silverlake.

  They zigzagged through the back alleys and then David pushed his way through a small gate into a high fenced backyard. The lemon and grapefruit trees smelled sweet and almost overshadowed the avocado in the corner of the yard. Coming in through the patio door, David didn’t bother to call out, even though Scott could see an older woman washing dishes at the kitchen sink. He watched as David walked over to the woman and gently touched her on the shoulder. The petite, dark-haired woman reached out to grab a dish towel before turning to David. She looked at him with dark brown, intense eyes as he began to gesticulate with his hands. “Mom, me and Scotty are going to my room to use my computer, okay?”

  The woman looked puzzled and signed her reply, Scotty?

  He’s my new friend.

  David’s mother looked over at the boy standing in the doorway to the kitchen and waved. She smiled sweetly. Scott noted that David may have his father’s eyes, but he definitely had his mother’s smile. She turned and went back to washing dishes. David gestured for Scott to follow him.

  “You know sign language?”

  “Yeah, Mom’s deaf. I could sign before I could speak.”

  “Really? So how does that work?”

  “When I was small, Mom just started to use sign with me. She says when I was about a year old, I started asking her for things in sign. I didn’t bother to speak until my father refused to listen to me unless I spoke to him. He’s not hearing impaired. I figured that out pretty quickly. He worked hard to make me verbal. Even their other friends were in on it. When they’d come over, they would refuse to sign to me. They made me speak. Mom and Dad said I was pretty frustrated at first. I knew the sign for things, but sometimes I didn’t know the words.” He paused and pointed to the door at the end of the hall. “Here’s my room.”