Ravenous

by R. W. Clinger

  “No problem. I’ll just wear my dirty ones.”

  I shook my head. “Of course, you won’t.” I eyed him up and down. “You look about my size. You can wear my clothes, if you don’t mind. I’ll get them for you after we eat.”

  “Honestly, I’ll be fine in my dirty ones. I’m used to them.”

  Thunder raked within the heavens, and the kitchen window vibrated in its frame. Neither of us seemed to mind the chaos.

  “Breakfast is ready. Will you eat with me?”

  “Sure. I’m starving.”

  We sat across from each other near the window that overlooked the lake. Waves lifted and rose, clawing at the shore. Rain became cantankerous, heavily falling against the rear patio and yard.

  Although the eggs were runny and toast a little too dark, my guest didn’t complain. Just as I expected, he devoured the meal, perhaps eating too quickly.

  “It’s delicious. You’ve outdone yourself again. The pasta last night was incredible, but this is better than perfect.”

  Because of his compliments, I fed him a second helping, which he accepted, downing the plate of food just as quickly as the first, filling his stomach with protein and carbohydrates; exactly what he needed to survive.

  * * * *

  After breakfast, we escaped the kitchen. Flashes of lightning and booming thunder followed us upstairs: me in a pair of jeans, no socks, and T-shirt; Kevin sporting nothing less concealing than a bathroom towel. We entered my room and retrieved clothes for him: a pair of jeans, socks, a navy T-shirt that said piggy in white, lower case letters.

  I told him, “Take another shower if you want. You can keep the clothes. I have plenty.”

  He walked out of the room with the clothes in his arms and replied over his left shoulder, “Thanks for the hospitality. You’re a really good man.”

  I made my bed: tucking, fluffing, removing wrinkles. I don’t think I was alone for more than two minutes when Kevin reappeared, tapping on the door’s frame three consecutive times: tap, tap, tap. My view immediately spun in his direction, and I saw that he was naked, no longer wearing the towel. I studied his six-inch limp dick, V-patch of dirty-blond pubic hair, and droopy sack of balls between his bare thighs. Did I lick my lips? Maybe. Did I intend to? Maybe. I tried to blink, but couldn’t. I tried to move, but couldn’t. Rather, I simply stared at him, open-mouthed, confused, semi-excited, and intoxicated by his good looks.

  He palmed his chest, rolling it from his pecs down to his dick. Quietly, between booms of thunder, he whispered, “Hatch, we have a little problem.”

  I gulped saliva down my throat. Dizzy. At a loss of words. Confusion spun through my head. “What little problem?” barely exited my mouth.

  Lightning flashed outside, over the Cape Code, and lit up his beautiful and naked body. “Your inevitable attraction for me.”

  Almost incapable to speak, I murmured, “But I’m not attracted to you, Kevin. Honestly, I’m not.”

  He chuckled, barely moving his lips. “Your eyes are lying.”

  Would I agree with him? Never.

  Did I want to agree with him? Absolutely.

  * * * *

  Why? When? How…did I end up crossing the bedroom floor and tucking into his arms? What possessed me to cup one of his pecs with my right hand and provide it with a squeeze, slipping a hard nipple between two fingers? Where exactly inside my bedroom did we kiss? Next to the door? Near the end of the bed? Somewhere.

  What transpired within his arms, against his naked flesh, and during that autumn rainstorm would become a mystery to me. Pieces of that confused action between us would forever enlighten me, yet still be a blur. I do recall becoming numb under his touch, his tongue lodged inside my mouth and his palms snug against my hips. Roughly, perhaps hungry for my skin, he undressed me, dropping my clothes to the bedroom floor, piece by piece, creating a pile at our feet. Then I was tossed to the bed, my legs separated, and…

  How long did he toy with me like that? Minutes? An hour? Almost two hours? Time became lost as his tongue danced along my chest and his mouth sucked both of my nipples. He applied bites to my ribs and abs, one after the next. He brushed his fuzzy face against the triangle patch of hair above my dick. He…

  I was inside his mouth…his throat.

  His fingers played with my ball sack. One stray digit discovered my bottom and massaged its tight opening.

  I became blinded. I became intoxicated by his actions: steady sucking, touching, grinding, pinching, and brushing. I became weak under his sexual gig.

  I didn’t stop him. No.

  I wouldn’t stop him. Never.

  Shame on me for that.

  Shame.

  * * * *

  “Do you have a condom?” he whispered against my neck at some point. “I want inside you.”

  I didn’t object to his hunger. “In the nightstand, Kevin. There’s a sleeve. There’s also a small bottle of lube, if you need it.”

  Before I realized the mechanisms of the storm and his ambition or desire, before I could comprehend what could transpire between his body and mine, before more thunder and lightning raked, flashed, boomed, careened, and whatever else an October storm had to offer, Kevin gently forced me on my hands and knees, pushed my legs apart, and…

  Zeus. Poseidon. Thor. Other gods. Those muscular, powerful, and immortal lovers had become one inside Kevin as he pleasured me, rocking my world. Never had I felt so much tingling, vibration, pushing, needed pain, and all the other sexual whatnots that strangers—because we really were strangers, weren’t we? I had picked him up off the street, didn’t I?—as we had sex, imitating the love between two men. Never had I done that before. Not once. I swore to myself then and now. Never.

  We rocked to and fro, acting like galloping cowboys or Navy men on an almost-shipwrecked boat during a hurricane. Our sweaty and bare bodies ground together as we heaved for breath, pushed, pulled, thumped, humped, collided, and thrust. Unending and unlimited passion released between us, attempting to drown us. Pressed together, we groaned, murmured, and grunted, rocking the bed and cracking its mahogany headboard against the wall, again, again, and again.

  We came on my chest; a distinct memory that would probably never be removed from my mind.

  “Watch us come, Hatch.”

  I listened. Why not? What exactly did I have to lose?

  Kevin pulled out of me, released the condom from his lubed dick, lost the piece of latex on the bedroom’s floor, and rolled me on to my back. Then he balanced himself on his knees, between my legs, and grappled our erections with both palms. Huffing and puffing, dripping sweat from his forehead and cheeks against my thighs, he jacked our private parts up and down, together. More grunting.

  He whispered, “Come with me, guy. Come with me. What do you say?”

  His hands kept busy for a minute, two minutes, almost three minutes as they rushed up and down, causing friction between our veined and pulsing cocks. Murmuring continued to fill the room, echoing, as he jacked us off. Our shafts’ skins rubbed by the help of his laborious hands, gliding. He groaned. I groaned. He grinned down at me. I grinned up at him.

  “Come,” he whispered.

  I came with him. Just as he wanted.

  He came with me. Just as he probably wanted.

  White ooze flew out of our cockheads and formed a spiraling stream that splattered against my navel, abs, and one pec. The goop hung against one nipple; the proof of our explosion; the evidence of intimacy between us; the ambiguous nature of lust and sex produced by strangers—mixed, spent.

  * * * *

  Curled in Kevin’s naked arms, panting, I thought to myself, I’ve taken advantage of him. Used him. Manipulated the situation to get what I wanted. Why? All because I felt ravenous for him. How did it happen? What was I thinking? How selfish can I be?

  He chuckled, sticky, still out of breath. “I don’t usually go home with men who give me money. Nor do I sleep with them.”

  “And I don’t pick up strange
rs and have sex with them.”

  “Life is a mystery. I could see it in your eyes that what you wanted me. And you could probably see it in mine. What happened was maybe meant to be. What’s happening between us right now isn’t so bad, is it?”

  Only the October storm outside had the answers to such questions, unwilling to share them with either of us.

  I inhaled his sweat and masculine stench, enjoying his body aligned with mine. When had a man held me after sex? And when did he want to talk, getting to know me a little better instead of turning away from me, rolling on his side, and falling asleep? I couldn’t remember. I wasn’t meant to remember, possibly taking away from our post-sex moment.

  I learned more about him within the next few minutes than I ever would in such a short period of time.

  He told me, “I grew up in Pittsburgh. A middle-to-lower income family. My father worked odd jobs as a baker. My mom worked as a secretary at Phillington Chemicals. I was the only child. Sometimes we had food on the table. Sometimes we didn’t. A frozen burrito from the corner convenience store became my dinner most nights after school. I started working at fourteen to help my parents out. Cutting lawns. Raking leaves. Moving garbage out of people’s houses. Cleaning out basements or attics. Whatever I could find, I did. I handed over the cash to my parents.

  “Unfortunately, they divorced when I was seventeen, a junior in high school. Dad moved to Mesa, Arizona, to be with an American Indian woman almost half his age. Mom was left with the bills and me. I don’t know how she didn’t lose her mind and end up in a mental facility. She stayed at Phillington Chemicals, and I started painting houses. The money was good for a kid. We got by, barely. Most kids at seventeen find alcohol and drugs. Some take to the streets and never survive. I guess I almost survived, until the last three years of my life.

  “On my eighteenth birthday, two life-changing events happened. I met a twenty-nine-year-old guy named Dylan Astor. He gave me his knowledge to play the saxophone, and I gave him my virginity. Mom lost our house, just as we both knew would happen. I moved into Dylan’s apartment and became his lover. Mom moved in with her sister. Things stayed like that for a while. I started doing saxophone gigs, then other men. I went to Westheimer College at the Lake, obtained a degree in music, and somehow, someway, ended up at Chertier Academy. The school cut positions three years ago, and I lost my job. Then I lost my house. I took to the streets, and…the rest is history. Here I am with you.”

  I kissed him, having no idea what to say next. Should I have comforted or pitied him? His life’s story ended up being exactly what I thought he would tell me: turmoil in and out, a disparaging build-up that could only, in the end, make him a better man. It made me think how easily one (me) could fall off the tracks of life and become stranded, pained by a handful of unpredictable events, loss, and misfortune. So many lives were like his: ripped apart and broken because of unsound actions and the culmination of one negative event after the next.

  He pulled away from me. “I should get another shower and go. The streets are calling me. I won’t be eating tonight if I don’t.”

  “Stay,” slipped out of my mouth, a whisper from the depths of my stomach and heart. Then I kissed him, beginning to have sex with him a second time. “Don’t leave.”

  He didn’t protest, just as I thought he wouldn’t.

  * * * *

  Kevin stayed until almost noon, underneath me, behind me, and inside me. We showered together, and I fed him again. I insisted he didn’t have to leave, but he denied my hospitality. I had an old, Coleman backpack from my camping days and stuffed it full of food for him. Inside, next to a box of granola bars, was a white envelope, plump with mostly five and ten dollar bills. Three hundred-plus dollars I had stashed at the house in case of an emergency.

  I gave him the backpack and told him, “Take this, you might need it.”

  “You’re too nice to me, Hatch. Don’t be like this. Men will take advantage of you.”

  I ignored his comments and kissed him. “I can drive you downtown or wherever you need to go. It’s the least I can do for you as another human being.”

  “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. I can hitch wherever I need to go.”

  His leaving bothered me because it happened so quickly, abundant with emotions. I swear he had tears in the corners of his eyes, moved by the moment of our final hug, bemused by the event at hand. My heart fell to my knees and stayed there. My hands shook. Half of me wanted to beg him to stay, unable to let him leave, still ravenous. The other half of me faced the reality of the moment, knowing he had to leave and return to his life on the streets, just as I had to return to my test cooking and the many recipes that needed attention.

  Cordially, I told him, “Come back when you need to or want to. I’ll leave my door open for you.”

  “Thanks for that, Hatch.” He winked and smiled, which caused saliva to form in the back of my mouth.

  “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  “You will. Channing’s not that big.” He opened the door behind him, kissed me, and squeezed me against his chest. “You’re a good man, Hatchford Lye. Don’t ever change.”

  I didn’t respond to his statement. I couldn’t without crying. Instead, I watched him turn away from me and vanish outside, into the October rain, returning to his world. Gone.

  * * * *

  An hour later, Jay popped into the Cape Cod, ready to eat whatever he could find. Dressed in his gym clothes and smelling like he had just participated in a running marathon, he helped himself to the contents inside the refrigerator. At the quartz counter, snug in a pair of Nike workout shorts and a too-tight tank the color of a summer sky, he made himself a sandwich: rye bread, sliced deli roast beef, two slices of Muenster, tomato, sprouts, pickles, olives, and light Italian dressing. He added a bottle of water to his meal, leaned into the counter, and started eating.

  Between bites, he told me, “Compadre, you look down. Plus, your eyes are red, which maybe tells me that you’ve been crying. What’s going on?”

  I lied and said, “The rain. It’s haunting and blues up my mood.”

  “Happens to everyone. Both of us know it’s better than the snow, though. I’ll take an October rainstorm over a snowstorm any day.”

  I nodded.

  He took another bite of his sandwich, chewed it up, and swallowed it down. “The Boulder Boys want to have dinner with me tonight. They like me and want some more bed action. I kind of like them and want to see them again. It’s a very weird threesome I could maybe get used to.”

  “Threesomes can be fun like that, as long as there’s no jealousy.”

  “I’m a pet to them. Not that I mind. They’re nice guys. Plus, they fuck like porn stars, which I’m always in the mood for. I can’t tell you how my bottom aches, all for good reasons. You should see the two of them tag team on my ass. Producers in gay West Hollywood would probably love to film the shit I do with the couple.”

  “Nice,” I told him, somber. “Just be safe. I’ll make sure I watch the DVD when it comes out.”

  Jay bypassed my tone and rambled, “Robby says he wants to marry my dick. That makes me laugh. No guy has ever told me that.”

  “What about Kent? What does he say?”

  “He says if Robby gets my dick, he’s taking my ass.”

  Unable to help myself, I snickered. “They’re dogs, Jay. Be careful. They probably go from one athletic guy like you to the next. Just watch yourself.”

  He nodded. “Dogs who like having me around. I can handle it. It’s fun. Plus, I have a soft spot for them when I’m not hard.”

  He could one of the Boulder Boys, among other men, I determined. No doubt. I watched him finish his sandwich and down half the bottle of water. Thereafter, he said he had to go and run some errands.

  Typical Jay. Selfish. But still a good friend. Transparent on so many levels. Sexually motivated. Ravenous for men. All about himself. Not that I minded.

  * * * *

  A day w
ent by without hearing from Michael. Two days. Three days. Still nothing. Eventually, I received a text from him.

  Richard’s home. Catching up with him. Fun times ahead with my husband. He’s already paying lots of attention to me. Chat soon. Hugs.

  Frankly, I couldn’t remember the last time Richard was home from his business travels. I left the married couple to do whatever married couples accomplish together when alone: sex, watching movies, eating, drinking, and enjoying each other’s company through conversation. After receiving Michael’s single text, I didn’t hit him back, respecting his private, married life, his sexy husband, letting the two have at each other until Richard had to continue his worldwide work and travels, leaving Channing and Michael, making money for them to survive.

  During that fourth day without Michael’s companionship, and knowing Jay was spending more time with the Boulder Boys, ignoring me, I became hungry for attention, craving the company of another man, or men, whether it was for talk or play. Again, I found myself on the corners of Lincoln and Dise. Just as I expected, and anticipated, Kevin stood near the stop sign, holding his cardboard sign with both hands, looking for help from passersby on the sidewalk or in vehicles, seeking out those who would hand over money or food to him.

  At first, because of the purple-red-blue sunlight of the October twilight, I didn’t think it was him. But as my Jeep closed the gap between us, I recognized his handsome face, frame, and easy stance. Being predictable, I pulled up beside him and opened my window.

  “Hey, stranger. How’s life been treating you?”

  His response turned out to be simple and to the point: he walked around the front of the Jeep, opened the passenger door, and climbed inside. He confessed, “You’re just the guy I want to see. I’ve missed you. Plus, I would love a hot shower, some food, and hug from you.”

  “In that order?” I glowed, happy to find him yet again.

  “Order doesn’t matter to me.”

  “Understood.” I kicked the Jeep into gear and took him to my place for the remaining hours of daylight and all night.

  * * * *

  We had ham barbecued sandwiches, homemade fries, and ice cream together. Healthy food for healthy men, right? Following the hearty meal, he showered. And since he didn’t drink alcohol, although I did, I prepared him an iced tea with lemon and poured two fingers of whiskey for myself.