by Ryan Field
"Are you gonna suck me off now?” Brody asked.
"Are you really horny? Do you want me to suck that big dirty cock?” Chance asked.
Brody closed his eyes and grabbed his crotch. He smiled as he said, “Yeah, suck my big dirty dick, baby. Put my sweaty balls in your mouth and roll them around."
Chance slowly reached for the waistband of his sweats and yanked them down to his thighs. His legs were covered with soft dark fleece; there was a dark patch of fur above his erection. Chance wet his lips and leaned forward so he could bury his face between Brody's legs and swallow his balls in one gulp. He rolled them around his soft tongue with care, and Brody closed his eyes and sighed loudly. They tasted salty and smelled a little like damp sweatsocks; he probably hadn't showered since early that morning, which was fine with Chance.
He slowly sucked and massaged both balls until his jaw began to ache, and when he finally slid them out of his mouth, his lips were puffy and red. He wiped some saliva from his chin, then grabbed the shaft of Brody's penis.
"That's it, baby.” Brody moaned. “Suck the head of my dick with those hot lips."
Chance was amazed at how something so large and solid could also be so smooth and tender. He opened his mouth all the way, stuck out his tongue, and slowly slid it as far into his mouth as he could. When the tip finally hit the back of his throat and his lips were pressed up against Brody's dark patch of fur, he opened his eyes wide and looked up. Brody looked down into his eyes, and grabbed the back of his head with both hands. “Ah, baby,” he said, “that feels so good. You're a good little cocksucker. I wish my buddies in the Navy could see me now. They'd all be jealous."
Chance's head slowly started to bob up and down. Brody's large dagger slid from the back of his throat to the tip of his tongue, and then back in again. He pressed one palm on Brody's strong, hairy thigh for support and the other around his own erection. He started to suck while it slid in and out of his mouth; the sides of his mouth indented and his lips puffed out even more. He pressed his tongue against the bottom of the shaft and sucked with an even, constant rhythm. His mouth became a soft, wet hand. Brody's eyes rolled back and his hips began to buck harder and faster. Chance stroked his own penis while Brody's balls began to tighten and shrink.
"Ah, baby,” Brody said. “I'm really close. You want my come, baby? You want me to come in your mouth?"
Chance gulped, never breaking his rhythm, and nodded yes.
Brody spread his legs wider, pressed his palms to the sides of Chance's head even harder and closed his eyes. When he began to whisper, “Ah, yeah ... I'm gonna blow, baby,” his cock started to swell and then something warm and thick and wet hit the back of Chance's throat. While he continued to suck it dry, his own penis exploded all over the wooden planks on the porch. Brody's come tasted different from other guys'; there was a sweet undertaste unlike anything Chance had ever had.
He kept sucking slowly until it started to go limp again, and then he sucked both balls into his mouth. He gently caressed the inside of Brody's thighs with his fingertips, and Brody closed his eyes and continued to hum and moan. He seemed to like the ball-sucking the most. When they finally slid out of Chance's mouth, he kissed each ball gently and took one last sniff. Then he climbed up on Brody's lap and buried his face in his neck and started kissing. Brody reached down and grabbed his ass with both hands, then whispered, “Baby, that was the last thing I expected tonight. But it was hot. You give good head."
"I wanted to apologize for this afternoon,” Chance said. “Are we okay now?"
Brody bit his bottom lip hard and slapped his ass few times. “Yeah, baby, we're okay."
Chance spread his legs wider and arched his back. He felt very naughty, and yet so safe. “I can't get enough of your dick, Brody."
Brody reached down and pressed two fingers to the opening of his ass. “I'd like to know when I'm going to get in there,” he said. “Your hole feels really tight, and I love to fuck."
Chance arched his back so that Brody could slip his fingers inside and move them around. Then he moaned and said, “Soon, man.” Normally, any other guy would have fucked him by then, but Chance was holding back—and he wasn't totally sure why. “It's just that we never seem to have enough time. Even tonight. I have to get back home."
Brody pulled his fingers out, grabbed him by the waist and lifted him to the other side of the sofa so he could lay flat on his back. Chance was amazed at how strong he was, that he could actually lift him in the air like that. Then Brody climbed on top and pinned him to the sofa cushion. He whispered, “I'd better get you a pair of sweats to wear home tonight. I don't want you driving around the lake half-naked."
But Chance remained there on the sofa. It was one of those warm summer nights that smell like sweet perfume and make you want to linger and move slowly. He didn't tell Brody anything about his situation with Dan Pratta, and that's because Brody did most of the talking. He had a slow, deep voice; almost shy. Chance suspected he didn't talk much to anyone on a personal, intimate level. So they sat on the wicker sofa for another half-hour and Chance just listened. Brody pulled up his pants and sat up straight while Chance rested his head on Brody's lap and stretched his legs out, lying on his stomach. Brody rubbed and caressed his ass while he told him a more detailed version of his life's story.
"There was a time when I'd do anything to piss my mother off, even though I was only hurting myself in the long run,” Brody said. He shook his head and frowned. “I smoked a lot of pot and hung out with a real bad crowd."
"But you learned your lesson, I guess,” Chance said. He turned his head to the right a little so he could rest his cheekbone against the bulge between Brody's legs. When he inhaled, Brody's balls smelled damp and musty.
"You'd think so, but there's more to come,” Brody said. He slapped Chance's ass a few times again and smiled. “I was actually a pretty good kid, until my father died when I was in high school. And then I started to rebel, because things weren't all that great between my parents before my dad died. I was bitter and angry, and I blamed her for his death.” He raised his right arm and motioned toward the house. “They bought this big old monster of a house about five years before he had the heart attack. He'd lost his job and decided he wanted to open a bed and breakfast. She didn't want any part of it. She thought it was a waste of time and money and she told him so every single day until he dropped dead while refinishing the front hall banister."
"Why didn't she sell the house after he died?” Chance asked. “If she hated it so much, why is she still here?” He moved his head a little more so Brody's penis would be right against the left side of his face.
"My father left a very hefty life insurance policy, and after he died she didn't have to sell. She could afford to live here, without running a business, for the rest of her life. And it was the perfect place for her to bring the ‘uncles.’”
"Uncles?"
Brody smiled and shook his head. “She didn't even wait six months before she started bringing guys home. They never lasted longer than a few months, and she always referred to them as my ‘uncles.’”
"So you got even with her,” Chance said.
"Exactly,” Brody said. “I started screwing around, too. I got involved with this really sweet girl in school and got her pregnant.” He shook his head back and forth, and said, “I'm not proud of that. She was a good kid."
Chance looked up at him and stared. “Did you sleep with a lot of women?"
He laughed. “I was young and wasn't sure what I wanted, and the more feelings I had for guys, the more I fought them by screwing around with women,” he said. “And I got this girl pregnant, and now I have a kid I'll probably never even see. I tried to contact her a few years after I joined the Navy, but she'd moved on with her life and didn't want me to spoil things. ‘What's done is done,’ she said. She's married now and the kid thinks her husband is the real father."
"Ah, well...” Chance said. But he wasn't sure how to respond to so
mething like that.
"And my mother never forgave me for joining the Navy after college,” Brody said, “but I had to get out of here and it seemed like the best thing to do at the time. So I enlisted, and thanks to a really cool guy in the Navy who helped me out a lot, I was able to get into Officer Candidate School in Newport. After that I went on a thirty-month operational fleet tour."
"Sounds really complicated,” Chance said.
Brody laughed and shook his head. “Let's just say it wasn't easy. But lately I've been questioning my life. Don't get me wrong—all the intense studying, and all the unbelievably difficult things I've done to become an officer have made me a better man. It's just that sometimes I wonder if there's more. Right now, the way things stand in the military with guys like me, I'll never be able to have an open relationship. And I don't like sneaking around."
"Have you been with a lot of other guys in the Navy?” Chance asked. He couldn't help imagining room after room filled with guys who looked just like Brody sleeping on cots in white boxer shorts.
Brody raised an eyebrow and said, “I've been with other guys, but I've always been safe and I haven't done anything that would harm my career in the service. Since the day I enlisted, the Navy has always come first."
Chance should have told him about his own life then, but he didn't. He hated talking about his awful situation, and he didn't want to interrupt Brody. So he asked, “How sick is your mother?"
Brody stared at the light blue wooden ceiling over the veranda and sighed. “She's in the final stages of cancer and she's dying. I doubt she'll last until the end of summer."
"I'm sorry,” Chance said.
"The hardest part is that I've been trying to make peace with her since I got back, but when I walk into the room, she still turns her head. When I ask her a question she answers me with short, cold sentences. I don't think she'll ever forgive me for running out and joining the Navy behind her back. In her eyes, I'm nothing but a failure. I don't have a wife, I didn't give her grandchildren, and I'll never be much more than what I am right now. If she knew I was gay, she'd probably drop dead on the spot. Either that or she'd just shake her head and continue watching TV as if it didn't matter. Sometimes I think her indifference is worse than her hatred.” He sighed and slapped Chance on the ass a little harder and said, “I'm going upstairs to get you a pair of sweats. It's getting late and I don't want you driving back naked."
"Just give me yours,” Chance said. He tugged on the waistband of Brody's pants and let it snap against his solid waist. He wanted to lighten things up a little for Brody's sake—the conversation had taken such a serious turn. “Why should you run all the way upstairs?"
"I was going to get you a clean pair,” Brody said. “These are a little funky. I've been sweating in them all afternoon."
"I'd rather wear the ones you've been wearing all day,” he said, “I like the way your balls smell.” Then he buried his face between Brody's legs, pressed his nose to Brody's scrotum, and inhaled deeply.
Brody laughed and rubbed his jaw, then pushed Chance's head forward with his hips so he could stand up and take off his pants. He pulled them off fast, and his penis bounced against his balls. The lacy tattoo on his arm jiggled and changed shape when he moved. Then he tossed the pants to Chance so that the crotch would land right on his face.
Chance stood and put them on slowly. They were a little too large, but he said, “Perfect fit.” He wrapped his arms around Brody's waist and rested his head against his chest. “I'm glad I came over tonight. I almost chickened out."
"I'm glad you did, too, baby,” he said. He slipped both hands down the back of Chance's pants and squeezed his ass again, and then he lowered his head and kissed him on the mouth. When his tongue found Chance's tongue, he closed his eyes and pressed two fingers against Chance's anus. The tip of his middle finger started to slip inside the small, tight opening.
Chance was ready to arch his back and spread his legs so Brody could go deeper. He wanted Brody to bang his ass. But he stepped back and said, “I'd better get going. It's late."
"When can I see you again?” Brody asked.
"My boss is a real prick sometimes,” he said. “Come in between five and six. He takes long naps.” He leaned forward and kissed him on the lips, then grabbed his blazer from the floor and jogged down the steps in his bare feet. He turned back once to smile and wave. Brody was standing on the top step, leaning back a little, naked from the waist down with his hands on his hips and his thin, hairy legs spread apart. Chance started to jog, and when he reached the car it occurred to him that for the first time in ages, he was whistling.
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Chapter Four
The next morning, Chance was up before dawn and working in the kitchen on the special for the day. Though he normally wore jeans and a white T-shirt, that morning he decided he'd wear Brody's dirty sweatpants all day. He'd slept with them on his pillow all night, and he'd covered his face with them and jerked off right before his morning shower. He wanted to wear them in public, too; it made him feel naughty and sexy. Wearing the pants, he could feel Brody against his naked body when he smiled and talked to customers who never would have imagined he'd actually been with a man as hot and sexy and wonderful as Brody.
On Sundays he liked to prepare something extra special for the customers. So he designed an original recipe, in only a matter of minutes, for decadent chocolate pound cakes baked in tube pans, with luscious red raspberries and large chunks of dark chocolate. The secret that made this pound cake stand out from all others was that he prepared a special raspberry glaze that had to be applied to the cake as soon as it came from the oven. He actually poured it over the hot cakes while they were still in the baking pans so they would absorb the sweet glaze completely. Most people would have thought a cake is just a cake; they would have said, just mix it all together and shove it into the oven. But that's not how Chance thought. A cake was a work of love; it had to taste rich and soft and have the right amount of sweetness, and the finished product had to shine and gleam, like a brand-new car you couldn't wait to drive. He even coated each raspberry with dark cocoa so they wouldn't sink to the bottom of the pans while the cakes were baking. But more than that, each slice had to have at least four berries and four chunks of chocolate.
When Dan came down a few minutes before eight, the cakes were wrapped and displayed in the wooden bowl in three different ways. There were whole cakes priced at twenty-five dollars each, there were half-cakes for twelve-fifty, and there were individually wrapped slices of cake priced at four dollars each for customers like Mrs. Dolan, who thought buying an entire cake was a waste for someone alone. They were wrapped in clear plastic, and the polish from the glaze and the way they had risen to perfect rounds on top almost made them look artificial. Dan picked up a slice and stared at the price, then shook his head and mumbled something incoherent. But he didn't argue with Chance that morning because he knew anything made of chocolate would be sold out before the end of the day. But he did say, “If the whole cakes don't sell, cut them all up into slices and sell them like that. We make more money that way."
Chance nodded, but he knew the whole cakes would sell, too. A lot of the customers entertained weekend family or friends on Sundays and they liked being able to buy a whole cake for dessert. Betty Shack had purchased one of his lemon blueberry pound cakes once on a Sunday for her family, and she'd whispered to Chance, as if she knew a state secret, “I'm going to lie and tell them I baked it myself.” Then she'd clutched her bamboo purse and laughed. He'd smiled and whispered to her, “Go ahead. If anyone asks, I'll tell them you made it yourself. I'll swear to it.” She'd smiled and tapped him on the arm—she liked being naughty, too.
"I'm going out to the barn to see if those squirrels came back last night,” Dan said. He was on his way out the back door, crossing past the checkout area. But he stopped short and stared at Chance's sweatpants. “What's with the baggy pants, you?"
Ch
ance felt his face flush. He looked down at the sweatpants and said, “All my jeans are in the laundry and I won't have time to wash them until tomorrow.” It hadn't occurred to him that Dan would notice the pants. He never commented on what he wore.
The old man shrugged his shoulders. “They don't even fit. It looks like you don't even have an ass. I don't like them.” Then he raised his hands and cupped them, as if he were holding an invisible watermelon. “I like to watch that ass when you walk around and now I have nothing to see."
"Don't worry,” Chance said, “My ass will be back tomorrow."
By three o'clock that afternoon, all that remained of the cakes in the wooden bowl were three individual slices. One woman on her way back to the city bought two whole cakes—one to eat later that day and one to freeze for a later date. She said she'd started with one slice to eat in the car, but when she opened the plastic wrapping and bit into the cake, her mouth started to water and she got that sharp pain on the side of her face when something tastes wonderful. She ate the slice, licked her fingers clean, and went back into the market for more. She said it was the best cake she'd ever had: soft and moist and layered perfectly with different flavors. Chance just smiled and told her it would last for months in the freezer if she wrapped it well.
The day passed quickly because the market was busy, and the old man had been out of sight the entire time, which was unusual for him. Sarah was off on Sundays, but the woman who filled in for her told Chance, “He's probably having too much fun torturing the squirrels.” Then she laughed and slapped the counter hard. Dan hated her because she had long, greasy graying hair that fell to her shoulders in clumps, her underarms smelled like cooked meatloaf, and she loved to gossip. There were things he didn't want anyone to know, especially when it came to his arrangement with Chance. But she was honest and always there on time.
Dan finally came loping through the back door a little past four o'clock. He was smiling and there seemed to be a lilt in his voice. “I got those little bastardos,” he said, “I knew it. This morning when I checked the traps, there they were, five of them, and they all had bushy orange tails. I knew they were coming back."
