by J. D. Walker
He started grinding against my dick, his hands now under my shirt as he found my nipples and squeezed. He had great instincts, or maybe he watched porn. “Give it to me, hero man. Let me see what I do to you.”
And of course, I did. How could I resist his urgent commands?
“Shit,” I moaned as I surged and bucked against him, coming in a rush in my underwear without once touching my cock. I might never clean my briefs again.
As I came down from my high, Gregory pulled out his dick and slowly pumped it. “Think you can make me scream, do you?” he teased, bringing a wet thumb up to his mouth so he could suck on it.
My cock spurted a little more cum. “I’ll take that as a challenge.” I forced my limbs to cooperate as I moved Gregory off my lap and onto the couch, hand still working away on his meat while I kneeled before him, mouth at the ready.
“Make me take it, Gregory. My mouth is all yours.”
He took me at my word. I figured he needed to be in control and learn what fun could be had with a partner, at his pace. He needed to have better memories of sex and lust and being with a man who wouldn’t take unfair advantage of him.
Gregory grabbed my hair—he seemed to like doing that, and I did, too—and pulled me forward. I relaxed my throat to take him down and used a hand to play with his balls.
“Fuck, that’s good.” Again with the dirty mouth. I could feel myself getting hard again.
Since I couldn’t really talk around his cock, I hummed so the vibrations would make him crazy. He swore at me, yanked me up and down his dick by my hair, and used me like the bitch I wanted to be because it was him, Gregory Wang, and I would do anything to make him mine. I knew that now.
Soon, Gregory held my head still as he fucked my throat, and then his movements got choppy right before he exploded, making a half-cry, half-howl that sounded like it came from deep inside his soul.
I patted his leg and he let go of my head and hair so I could sit back and gaze at him. His debauchery was worthy of a painting. Maybe, if I had another time like this with him, I’d take a picture with my phone so he could see how amazing he looked in his abandon.
He ran trembling fingers through his hair. “That was amazing, Wheeler. I don’t know how to…” I heard the hitch in his voice and moved immediately to his side on the couch.
“It’s all right.”
He let out a big sob and covered his face with his hands. “Oh, God. How embarrassing is this? The best sex of my life and I’m crying over it.”
“Best sex, huh?” I said, and regretted it. Moron.
Thankfully, all Gregory did was elbow my ribs. It hurt. “I didn’t realize it could feel like this. So…freeing, so…all-consuming. I don’t know if it would have been the same with any other guy. But you’re the guy who did this, and I’m grateful.”
“Think nothing of it. Though, perhaps I should be embarrassed myself for coming in my shorts. I’m not a sixteen-year-old anymore. I should have more control than that.”
Gregory wiped his eyes and turned to face me. “I like that you lost control, that you felt free to do that with me. I want to do that again, with you, and maybe more…”
I knew what was coming. “But you need time to process, right?”
He looked guilty as he nodded. “I’m sorry. I hope you don’t think I used you, or anything like that.”
“Shit, no. It was my pleasure.” I kissed his forehead and stood, doing my best to ignore my squishy underwear. “You know where I am if you want more, or if this is it, we can still hang out. Maybe I can teach you how to fix a bicycle.”
“You would be okay with that? Just being buddies for a while?”
My dick said “no,” but my brain, for once in charge, understood. “Yes.”
* * * *
A month went by and the tourists arrived in droves. Woody, the guy who’d hit me with the car, stopped by a few times, and since he insisted on making amends, I put him to work doing odd jobs in the gym. He reminded me a little of Gregory. Somewhere along the line, he’d been bruised by life, too.
I rarely saw Tory because he was up to his armpits in work. As for Gregory, he and I saw each other in town, but he hadn’t said anything about continuing where we’d left off.
I wanted to be upset and storm over to the daycare center to demand he tell me what he wanted from me. But I couldn’t do that. I had promised to let him go at his own pace, if there was a pace at all. Instead, I used our one extremely hot encounter on the couch at his house to fuel my get-off every night.
God, he’d been beautiful in the way he’d moved, the way he’d taken charge. He’d pushed me to a point of release I’d never reached before, and I wanted more of that. I wanted more of what he did to me when we were together, when he ordered me to take it, and how!
But more than that, I wanted to get to know that resilient man who needed a friend, who needed to learn how to let others in, and that he wasn’t a pariah. That would work only if he would talk to me, though.
In the middle of the afternoon on a Friday, I left Mrs. R. in charge—we’d worked out a part-time schedule—and went to the bookstore. I wanted to see if I could find a book that might help me understand a little of what Gregory was going through. Where to start, though?
Austin Murray was on the floor and Maury was behind the register. “Hey, Wheeler,” Austin said. “I’m not used to seeing you in here on any other day but Tuesdays.”
I knew he was teasing, but I still blushed. “I was looking for a book on relationships, preferably something to do with one partner having gone through a traumatic event.” I didn’t want to be too specific, though, since I was sure Austin was no fool.
In fact, he gave me the look of a proud father who approved of his son’s choices. “Come with me. I have some ideas.”
Twenty minutes later, I had three books and even some websites that I could use for research. I was grateful to Austin, especially for his tact since I was sure he knew it had to do with Gregory.
As I re-entered the gym, I glanced back and saw Gregory at the door of the daycare center, staring intently at me. His eyes seemed to burn all the way to my core.
How much longer would he make me wait, damn it?
Turns out, it wasn’t long at all.
* * * *
As I closed the gym that night, I received a text from Gregory.
My house, thirty minutes. Bring condoms and lube.
Well, that was pretty succinct. I zipped home and took the fastest shower on record, making sure my hole was as clean as possible. I prepared myself as much as I could for what I knew was coming.
I dressed in snug jeans and a black, chest-hugging T-shirt, figuring it couldn’t hurt to advertise the goods. Later, when I knocked on Gregory’s door, I had one minute to spare.
“It’s unlocked!” I heard him yell through the wood.
When I entered his house, there were candles everywhere. Something wonderful was cooking, too, and when I reached the kitchen, I saw wine in an ice bucket and glasses on the table.
“Hi. Wow, this all looks amazing.”
“Hi, yourself. Is it too much?” Gregory asked as he put the finishing touches on a turkey in the oven. He was wearing his glasses. Yummy.
“Not at all. It’s very romantic,” I replied, walking up and kissing his cheek when he straightened from a crouch.
His rosy cheeks were alluring. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long. I wanted to be sure, you know? It’s not the same as before, I get that. But the circumstances, well, it’s…”
I placed a finger on his mouth. “I understand. Come on, tell me what I can do to help.”
He had me pour the wine and choose some background music from a rack of CDs in the living room. I ended up with an album from the Buena Vista Social Club, one of my mother’s favorite groups. It was surprising and very cool that Gregory had this in his collection.
Once we were seated, he raised his glass, as did I. “To new beginnings. The rest is shit.”
> I laughed and clinked my glass against his. “Agreed.”
We sipped, then dove in.
“God, you cook as well as my mamá, but please don’t tell her I said that, if you ever meet.”
“I’ll try to remember.”
We played footsie under the table throughout the meal and fed each other tiny bites of turkey, green beans and mashed potatoes. Once we were stuffed, Gregory and I drank more wine as we let the food settle in our stomachs.
Not wanting to be presumptuous about where this was all heading, but hoping like hell it would get there, I asked, “So tell me, what does this mean? What do you want, exactly?”
“I want…to feel normal. I want to enjoy being with someone who doesn’t mind that I might freak out sometimes during sex because of what happened to me. Someone who’s patient, kind. Someone who understands that I may not ever be relationship material. But then again, who knows? Do you get that, Wheeler?”
“I do. Hey, I understand that there may never be an ‘us,’ but I still want to be a friend to you. I went to the bookstore today.”
He laughed.
“Yeah, okay, so it wasn’t the usual stalker day, but I wanted to do some research, find out ways I can be supportive to you. I want to be there for you, Gregory, in every way I can.”
“God, you…” He took a moment to get his emotions under control. “You know, that’s it. Come on, small-town hero. I need to fuck you. Right now.”
“You know, I never thought I’d hear sweeter words come out of that delectable mouth of yours. You’ve been watching porn, haven’t you? You’ve been holding out on me, Saint Gregory.”
He gave me a dirty wink. “You’ll benefit from it, I promise.”
Even though my libido was way ahead of me, my brain tried to be reasonable. “What about the food…and the kitchen? Shouldn’t we slow down?”
The intense, focused lust in Gregory’s eyes told me to shut up. “My bedroom. Now.”
“On it.”
* * * *
By the time Gregory joined me, he’d removed his glasses and seemed ready for anything. I’d placed the lube and condoms on a pillow, and I was entirely nude, per his request, nay order.
“Good,” was his only comment before he pounced, fully clothed, on my body.
It felt decadent, me naked and him clothed, as we rolled around on the mattress, trying to tongue-fuck each other’s throats raw.
“There’s something about you,” he panted after he sucked up a mark on my collarbone, “something that just makes me want to dominate every part of you. I think it’s your mouth. It says the snarkiest things.”
“I’m glad you like it,” was all I managed before he attacked me again.
There we were, lip-locked as he used his knee to nudge my balls. The roughness of his jeans stimulated my skin and energized my dick. I needed more, and I needed it now.
“Please, Gregory. Let me come. Jack my cock or suck it, I don’t care. Just…do it already!”
He pinched my nipples hard before reaching for the lube. After squeezing some into his hand, Gregory worked my cock like a pro. I knew he didn’t have much experience, but he was a fast learner. He listened to my moans and pleas and found the spots that made me so crazy I spurted all over my chest and his T-shirt.
“There you go, lover. You feel better, now, hmm?” he asked, running his fingers through my cum and feeding it to me. I sucked his fingers dry.
“Fuck me, now. I need it, and so do you. You don’t even have to prepare me. I did that already.” I turned over onto my hands and knees so he could see the base of the butt plug I’d stuck in there while I’d showered earlier.
Gregory gasped. “You’re a naughty, naughty man, aren’t you?”
“Only for you.” I tore open a condom and handed it back to him. I heard his zipper open and could imagine his fat cock bouncing into his palm as he prepared to take me. I turned my head to watch him get his dick ready with a rubber and slick.
“Doesn’t this feel decadent? Me about to fuck you with my clothes on?” Gregory asked as he used his now-sheathed-and-lubed cock to paint circles around my hole.
I moaned and pushed back against him. “More than. Come on, love. Take out the butt plug and make me yours.”
“Gladly.” Carefully, he removed the purple object and threw it on the floor. Then, I felt him push his cock into my hole. “Here I come,” he crooned, and I let him in, all the way home.
What ensued was mind-blowing. Gregory sank into me like butter, and I squeezed his length, making his hips jerk.
“Goddamn!” he cried. Yes, fuck, that dirty mouth was making me hard again.
He pulled out, slapped my ass, then plunged back in. I met his every thrust, ass in the air, my head on a pillow and a fist moving like a blur over my once-again steel-hard cock.
“More, baby, more,” I urged as we made our own music together, one song to heal, another to reveal what a true connection based on trust and affection could yield.
And yield it did when we both howled at the moon, like animals in heat, lost to the rhythm that overtook us and stole our breath.
“Fuck. Jesus. Piss. Shit.” These were just a few of the naughty words that flowed out of Gregory’s mouth.
My only response was, “At last.”
* * * *
Naturally, I was subjected to a lot of teasing by Tory and his boyfriend as time went on, but at least they stopped calling Gregory the “ice queen.” We were taking it one day at a time.
And as clueless as I could be about relationships, I’d stumbled upon a guy who looked past money, charm, and good looks and put up with the real me beneath it all on a daily basis.
I was a lucky man.
THE END
Norwegian Woody
I’d always been seen as a tragic figure in this town. I’d learned to deal with the unwanted stigma that followed me wherever I went, but I hated it. To simply be a person who’d grown up here like everyone else would have been nice. A regular Joe, rather than the boy who pity built. I was a living, breathing urban legend.
The boy who lived.
Yup, I was Woodrow Anker—the kid who’d witnessed his parents’ death at the age of three and survived. I’d hung upside down in the car as they bled to death in front of me. The person who’d caused the accident was never found, and I could still remember the smell of gasoline and my parents screaming in pain until they stopped, forever. I’d felt like I was floating. It had taken a long time for help to arrive, and not once did I cry or make a sound. In fact, I didn’t speak again until I was ten years old.
Lucky for me, lifelong friends of my parents, the Zumpanos, took me in and I became part of their family. I was as different from them as night from day. I had pale gray eyes and white-blond hair—my Norwegian ancestry was front and center—whereas the members of my foster family were dark-haired and brown-eyed Italian Americans going back four generations.
The youngest boy, Serge, was the same age as me and became my best friend. Rafe Zumpano, who was eight years older than us, became our self-appointed protector in all things. There was a sister, Helen, who was two years older than Rafe and ended up marrying and moving to Florida later on. She had three kids now.
I attended many therapy sessions growing up, and we, as a family, learned sign language to help me communicate and feel confident while I was speech impaired. Mila and Peter Zumpano got me into a school an hour up the coast that would cater to my needs, a place where I now worked as a teacher.
The return of my ability to speak had been abrupt. It happened when Rafe turned eighteen and announced to all of us at dinner that he’d been accepted to a university many miles away. I didn’t want him to go, and the anguish I felt at his upcoming departure made me cry out, “No!”
My first word in seven years, and it was bittersweet. I had Rafe, painful as it was, to thank for my return to speech, but it wasn’t until my teenage years that I understood why I’d reacted that way.
Rafe returned
home a few years later after graduating with a criminal science degree. Serge and I were in our mid-teens by then. We mostly ignored his attempts to meddle as “big brother,” and it was at that time that I started to notice boys, and Rafe in particular.
He became a cop and was highly respected by all. But he was also a heavy drinker and his binges were legendary. His beer consumption had begun in his teens. Serge and I caught him sneaking bottles out of his dad’s stash and he’d bribe us to keep quiet. Rafe’s descent into alcohol had been sudden, and I had yet to figure out the trigger.
And now, I was almost thirty. The townsfolk still treated me with kid gloves and Rafe was still an ass.
* * * *
It was already late May and the town was filled with tourists. Thankfully I didn’t have to deal with that too much during the day since I worked up the coast. But it still made getting around in town a pain since there was just one main road through the town center. At least it wasn’t so bad in the mornings because I left home before six-thirty. The afternoons were a nightmare.
I lived up against a hill in the cabin I’d renovated some years back. It was a two-bedroom residence that had a nice view of the ocean from the front. Serge had helped me with it over the years while we still lived at the Zumpano house. Our friendship had matured, though I didn’t see him as often since he traveled a lot on business. He didn’t seem to like it much.
After they’d moved to the southeast a few years ago, Mila and Peter Zumpano had left the family home to Rafe and Serge. Rafe was now the town sheriff. So, instead of just overprotecting me and his little brother, he did it for the town, too. It was in his makeup. Certainly his shoulders were broad enough to carry all the troubles in the world, not that I ever noticed. Much. What would be the point, since he went through women like candy?
I was Rafe’s complete opposite in temperament, though we matched each other in height, and I was actually a little wider than him now, go figure. Must be my Nordic genes. Black hair cut military short, his brown gaze piercing, Rafe reminded me of lawmen from the old west. He was intense in all things, whereas I tended to be mellower, unless really riled up. We’d both played sports in school, but he went to college on a football scholarship, and when it was my turn, I’d gotten a full ride because of my grades. Not that Rafe was dumb. He had to be smart, to make sheriff.
