Riding with Brighton

by Haven Francis

  “What are you guys crying for? Are you not listening to me? I just traded all that shit in, and yeah, maybe I got some mean kids, bad friends, and a confused family in exchange, but seriously… I just traded all that awful shit in.”

  I shake my head and laugh, and my mom sits up and smiles. She kisses him on the cheek then looks at me. “I like this one. You should try to keep him around.”

  I smile at Jay, thinking it’s crazy how much I agree with her. It’s insane that, over the course of one day, I’ve developed all these feelings for him. And it’s scary how much I want to keep him around. How real that need is. “I’m gonna try,” I say, to Jay apparently, because it’s his eyes I’m staring into and his hand I’m holding so hard I can feel his bones.

  “Okay, well I’m gonna head to bed. Jay, you can sleep in the spare room next to Brighton’s.”

  He looks away from me and tells her, “Thanks, you know… for everything.”

  She smiles at him, kisses me on the cheek, and leaves us there.

  “What now?” I ask him.

  “Do I get to choose what now?”

  “Sure,” I tell him, hoping that we’re on the same page here because there’s really only one thing I want to do with him.

  “I’ve done a lot of shit today. I confessed that I want you. I broke up with Sadie. I broke some ground with your friends. I outed myself to the entire school and my parents. I did just about everything you gotta do to officially be gay, right?”

  “Pretty much. And don’t forget, you became a gay rights activist.”

  “Exactly. So it seems a little unfair that, you know, I filled out all the paperwork, took all the tests, but somehow, I’ve never gotten to feel a man. I don’t even know what you’ve got going on under these jeans.”

  He’s taken his hand from mine and both of them have moved up my thighs and are now dangerously close to the very large bulge in my pants. I’m trying to stay cool, but damn, it’s hard. “Time for bed, huh?”

  “Yeah, time for bed.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jay

  THIS IS the moment I’ve been picturing. The moment that was supposed to happen after I told Brighton I wanted him. He’s an animal and it’s hot. My clothes have been ripped off. Our shirts are on the floor. Our pants are totally on the floor. And our stripped-to-our-boxer-briefs asses are literally rolling around on his bed. It’s rough and frantic and there is no holding back. Is this what it’s always like when two guys are getting it on, or is this just me and Brighton? I don’t really care. It’s fucking perfect, but with my hands on his hot naked skin, his hard-on pushing into mine, and my mouth totally eating his up, I’m about to lose it. And, damn, I don’t want to go there yet. I want to do this all night long.

  I take my mouth off his and roll partially off his body so I can look at him. “I… wanna… slow… down,” I pant.

  “Oh shit. I’m going too fast…. Am I going too far?” he says, genuinely concerned.

  “Jesus, no. There is no too far. I just want to look at you. I want to see what I’m feeling.”

  “Yeah,” he says, dragging his hand down my chest and pushing his fingers into my abs. “I want to see what I’m feeling too. Jesus, Jay. This….” He runs his finger over the dip above my hips. “I’ve been dying to suck on.” His fingers keep moving, down the underside of my obliques. “And I’ve been wanting to bite this since you got in the shower.”

  Before I have a chance to tell him to go ahead, he’s already got himself in position, and then he bites down. Hard. It hurts almost as much as it feels unbelievably good. He pushes me onto my back and hovers over me. I watch as he runs his tongue down the V.

  “Oh shit,” I mutter, so ready to lose it. And then he lets his heavy tongue trail over the fabric of my boxers and up my shaft. “Fuck, Brighton, you gotta stop,” I tell him. I don’t want him to stop, obviously, but I already lost it in a matter of minutes once with him today. I at least need to make it long enough so I can do some of the touching and sucking too… ah hell. This is not good.

  “Not yet,” he says, and I can feel his lips moving on me. And damn, that’s so hot. He moves his tongue up the other side of my muscles, nipping and sucking his way up my obliques and then runs his hard, wet tongue over the crevices in my abs. When he finally sits up, the look on his face is so fricking hot I’m literally speechless. And motionless. All I can do is stare at him and totally swoon. God, how is the hottest guy I’ve ever seen looking at me like that? “Your body is so on point it’s unreal,” he says with a sexy smile.

  I take my eyes off his so I can look at his body. My hands are following the path my eyes are making. His skin is golden and smooth. Small dark moles are scattered around and are surprisingly provocative. His lean muscles are sexy, and I know they didn’t come from the gym but from working and that makes them even sexier. His abs are defined and his biceps and triceps are definitely worthy of envy.

  I sit up and flip him so he’s on his back and then promptly straddle him, my fingers never once stopping their exploration. “You have no idea how awesome this is. To look at you and to touch you.” And it is. I’ve literally been dreaming about this day since I hit puberty and my dreams have, for the most part, starred Brighton for the last few years.

  “I think I have a pretty good grasp of the situation,” he tells me, moving his hands over my hips and up my sides.

  I pause to take his hands off me. It’s distracting. “Don’t touch me. I just want to touch you.”

  “I don’t know if that’s possible.”

  I tear my eyes away from his skin so I can look at his eyes. “Try.”

  He lets out a breath and clasps his hands behind his head. “I’m all yours. Look away.”

  Damn, he looks good lying like this. I run my hands up his sides and over the undersides of his arms that are literally bulging. I’m so close to his mouth now I have to pause so I can feel his tongue against mine. I stop when his hands make their way into my hair. I put them back in place then run my hands down the length of his arms, over his chest and abs, then to the waistband of his boxer briefs. Slowly, so that I don’t lose it, I pull them down, taking him in one inch at a time. And, damn, it takes a lot longer to reveal him than I thought it would. Once I can see all of him, I practically tear his boxer briefs the rest of the way off because I need to touch him. But more than that I need to feel him in my mouth.

  He’s smooth and hard, and I feel every vein and crevice and ridge there is to feel. My lips and tongue and my entire mouth in general become lost in a weird euphoric state of ecstasy. I’m not even thinking. I’m just doing. All the things I’ve ever wanted to do. And the words and sounds coming out of his mouth let me know I’m doing damn good for my first time, and with each satisfied murmur, I want to do better. When he gives me the warning, I have no intention of easing off him. When he grasps my shoulders, trying to push me away, I engulf him farther and nail his hands to the bed with mine.

  The sound that rips out of his mouth is the most satisfying thing I’ve ever heard. The entire experience is transcendental. Seriously, that’s not just some romantic flowery BS. I literally feel like I’m not even on the planet anymore.

  It’s a blur as he grunts words at me, lays me down, and covers me with his mouth and body. I’m beyond lost in my euphoria.

  And then his mouth leaves mine. And my underwear is teleported off my body. And his hot, wet mouth is on me. And, goddammit, I have to think of his mom for a second, otherwise I would be screaming at the top of my lungs. Fuuuuuuuck. Seriously, Fuuuuuuuuck. Jesus, I can’t even comprehend what he’s doing to me or get any kind of grasp on how many places he’s stimulating with his hands and his mouth, but it puts whatever basic, white-bread shit I did to him to shame.

  I should have shot off immediately, but I swear to God, my brain is in sexual overload, and every time it’s about to let go, its focus shifts to some other area that’s about to explode.

  And then it’s like all the rushing rivers
congregate at the biggest lake called climax and the waves they create are orgasms. Yes I said orgasms not orgasm.

  I’m literally seeing stars.

  I’m looking for Grams and Gramps because I’m pretty sure I died.

  I’m wondering why third grade science never taught us that the solid mass of your body is capable of turning into liquid in the hands of one mad, sexual scientist.

  I still can’t figure out what the hell just happened or what he did to me.

  And then his mouth is on mine, sweetly kissing the corner of it. And even that sends wave after wave of desire through me.

  “What the hell was that?” I manage to mutter. My eyes are closed. I can’t open them.

  “Sorry. I lost it. I couldn’t stop touching you. Everywhere.”

  “Fuck. Are you seriously apologizing? I mean, maybe you should. I’m pretty sure you just turned me into a paraplegic. I can’t feel anything past my waist.” And then I feel a hand on my, holy shit, hard-again dick. “Fine, I can feel. But it doesn’t feel real.”

  “God, Jay. We’re gonna have so much fun. I could get lost in you for hours.”

  “Please, Brighton. Feel free. My limp ass will just lie here.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Brighton

  GOD. HOW to describe what that kid does to me? He makes me wicked. He makes me lose all the inhibitions I didn’t even know I had. He makes me feel free and whole and horny as hell.

  He makes me feel good. I’m trying not to think the words too good. I keep telling myself too good is a good thing. Jesus, when this day started—or I guess technically that was yesterday since it’s well after midnight—I never thought it would be me who was having to hold back and keep all the things in my head under wraps.

  It’s that perfectly sculpted body of his. Or, really, it’s all the shit that comes out of his mouth that has my cheeks aching from smiling too damn much. God, I think it’s just the way he’s opened up right in front of my eyes and become fearless and self-possessed and overcome with a whole new confidence. Or maybe it’s just the way he makes me feel. Maybe I just like who I am with him.

  Hell, it’s all good. And I don’t want it to end. I don’t want this day with him to end.

  I sit up and shake him. His eyes have drifted shut, but it’s not time for bed.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, startled.

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Why are you waking me up?”

  “If we fall asleep morning is gonna come, and then you’re gonna go home and leave me. I don’t want to waste the time I have with you sleeping.”

  “Why not? Sleeping together is sexy. Come on, let’s snuggle,” he says in a sleepy voice.

  “Is that really what you want to do?”

  He runs his hands over his face but not because he’s frustrated, but because he’s trying to wake himself up. “No. I don’t want to spend a minute of this night sleeping. But, shit Brighton, do you know how long we just spent making out? My body’s exhausted. It’s gonna take a little convincing to wake it up.”

  “We can totally spend every second, until the second you have to leave me, making out.”

  “Ugh,” he moans. “God, is that tempting. But there are so many other things I want to do.”

  “Like?”

  “Like listen to the music you want to play for me. And just lie in this bed with you. And talk to you. There are so many things I still want to know about you. And the studio where your mom works…. I’ve been wondering about that since you told me about your figurines. I would love to see that.”

  “Yeah? That’s a great idea. Get your ass up and get dressed.”

  “I was just throwing shit out there. Seriously, how the hell do you have so much energy? I’m never gonna be able to keep up with you.”

  “Huh.” I stutter a laugh at that. “You seem pretty insatiable. I think it’s me who’s not gonna be able to keep up with you.”

  “Yeah.” He grins. “It’s gonna take a while to get the years of pent-up desire for Brighton out of my system.”

  “‘Out of your system’? That’s not good.”

  “Under control. I meant to say under control. I’m never gonna be able to look at your sexy ass and not want it.”

  “Jesus, Jay… you have no idea… the things that are coming. Just wait until we actually have sex. It’s gonna be all-consuming,” I tell him, while running the palm of my hand down his chest and over his abs. There might have been some lip licking involved.

  “Are you trying to torture me? Because if not, then let’s just get that out of the way. I’m so tired of being a virgin.”

  I laugh at his eager attitude. God, what I wouldn’t give to have him. But he’s not like all those other guys. With him, I’m not a “hit-it-and-quit-it” kind of guy. “Seriously, don’t tempt me. We’re waiting for that. I’m not gonna have sex with you on night one. I respect you and care about you too much,” I tell him with a smirk.

  He chuckles, his hand running over my shoulder and bicep now. “I know you’ll respect me in the morning. Truly, Brighton, I’m ready,” he says in a sarcastic whiney voice.

  It is kind of funny that I’m acting like we’re saving anything. We pretty much devoured each other tonight. There’s nothing pure left between us. But when I have sex with him, it’s gonna be slow. We’re not gonna be two horny as hell eighteen-year-old guys. I mean, we will be eighteen—I can’t wait that long—but we’ll have all this crazy, lustful, hungry desire under control so that we can comprehend what the hell is going on. “Get your ass up. Let’s go on a little field trip.”

  “Yeah, okay,” he says groggily before standing. He yawns and stretches. And he’s completely naked. That’s my man, I think with a huge smile while getting my own clothes on. I throw him a pair of running pants and a fresh T-shirt. He pulls my red hoodie back on. He seems to like my red hoodie.

  I make a point to remember my phone as we head out the back door and across the yard.

  “Is Mickey okay with us going in there?” he asks as the big garage comes into view.

  “Sure. I mean, if you break something you’re gonna owe her your life, but you’re coordinated, right?”

  “Generally, yeah. As long as you keep your hands off me.”

  “You’re coordinated when my hands are on you. Trust me.” Getting the key in the lock, I open the door. When I’m inside, I stumble across the wall until I find the light switch. And then I turn it on.

  “Holy crap,” Jay says immediately.

  I smile as I look into the room, feeling proud of my mom. You’d never guess this crappy garage has all this beautiful stuff inside.

  “It’s so serious… and professional,” he says, walking into the space.

  “This is the lounge where she brings people who come to look at her art.” The small space is defined by three tall walls of lit shelves that have her smaller pieces in them along with books and magazines that have featured her work and catalogs from her exhibits. In the middle are a coffee table, two chairs, and a small sofa all sitting on top of a plush rug.

  He’s wandered over to the shelves and is inspecting her work. I go to him, linking my fingers with his. “She puts your figurines to shame,” he tells me. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

  “I totally agree.”

  “I actually get what she’s doing here.” He leans in to look at a piece from her Deconstructing the Myth series. “That’s a real girl, and she’s making a teepee from the insanely long limbs of that shattered girl on the ground.”

  “Yeah, and she’s making a gallows out of that poor girl.”

  “This is some badass shit. Is she a hardcore feminist?”

  “She’s a hardcore activist.” I pull him to the next display the wall. “She wouldn’t agree with me. She just looks at it as being a mom. All these issues somehow concern me, Cooper, and Paisley. These cute little forest animals with the deformities and gas masks are her concern for the world her kids and grandkids are gonn
a be living in. More deformed animals… note the large breasts on those chickens…. That’s her anti-GMOs and general concern for the food we’re eating. That’s her being concerned about Cooper living in an oversexed world.”

  “Jesus, that’s creepy,” he says about the little girls who manage to look like full-grown women with their inappropriate clothes, blown-out hair, and painted-on faces.

  “I agree. But it’s real. Have you seen what a fifth-grade girl looks like these days?”

  “Can’t say I’ve noticed.”

  “I guess it’s just as much about Paisley, just like the Deconstructing the Myth pieces. Paisley loves Barbie and makeup and princesses and all that crap, and it drives Mom crazy. Actually,” I say, moving on down to The System series with all the creepy little kids with wires and buttons and zoned-out eyes, “I think she probably had to worry about me the least. All I am is gay.”

  “Doesn’t seem like she would worry about that.” He snickers.

  “No. Not at all.” I stop in front of the He’s Gay! Stay Away! series, which is her least offensive by far. It’s just a bunch of little boys who look like me when I was ten doing all the normal things I used to do.

  Jay laughs. “That’s funny. And awesome. God, I’m such a jackass for saying that shit I did to you this morning about not seeming gay.”

  “That’s the whole point of a lot of this. Deconstructing stereotypes. It’s not your fault. It’s what you were taught. And besides, I think that statement was more about you than it was about me.”

  “Maybe,” he agrees. “So, you used to like to dress up like a pirate?”

  “Still do.”

  “Yeah? I bet you look good in an eye patch and a pirate hat.”

  “So good,” I say with a smirk. He’s staring at me now, and his eyes are all flirty and the corner of his mouth is curved up and looking mischievous. So I kiss him.

  God, I can’t stop kissing him. It’s about all I want to do when I look at him. When I can no longer suppress my urge to lay him down on the carpet, I pull away, shaking my head and pushing the sleeve of my sweatshirt into my mouth. “Come on. I’ll show you where she works.”