And so as I sucked him with a fury, jamming him in my mouth and down my throat, my fingers at work in his asshole. His moans became whimpers. We were both whimpering. I felt the strain of his bugling dick inside my juicy jaws, while his welcoming ass swallowed my busy fingers whole as he cried with glee. Then he shivered and exploded in my mouth. I savored him selfishly, loathe to waste a single drop. I drained him dry, even as his spasm rocked him to and fro, even as his empty dick had nothing more to give but gratitude.
He kissed the cum stains from my lips, then weakly headed toward the bathroom, but not without a backward glance, watching me behold his ass. He smiled. I smiled. And then he disappeared.
He bathed soothingly in the warm bubbly tub surrounded by flickering candles while I refreshed myself, re-brushed my teeth and retightened my tie in the guest room. From the stereo speakers, Roberta Flack serenaded him with “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face”. I brought him a flute of champagne and two chocolate-covered strawberries.
“Just enough,” I said, teasing his hungry tongue and lips. “I don’t want you to spoil your appetite.”
“I do not see why not,” he cooed. “You spoil everything else about me.”
* * * * *
A modest Santa Ana breeze whistled past us as we stepped out of our car in front of Yamashiro. An eager valet greeted us like visiting dignitaries, hopped in our car and drove it away as we ascended the ancient staircase toward the noble entrance. We entered Yamashiro to the smiling face of the maître d’. He checked our reservation and knowingly led us to an intimate terrace table that overlooked the city.
I have never ceased to be amazed by Étie in candlelight, watching him bathe earlier surrounded by it, and now he was sitting across from me, caressed by it. I was not quite sure if I loved him because he was so beautiful to me, or if he was so beautiful to me because I loved him. I was so relieved he had grown accustomed to my longing glances.
“So what is it?” he asked with a smile that never failed to melt me.
“What is what?” I asked back with a big smile of my own.
“Tonight. This special occasion here at Yamashiro.”
“Does it have to be something special for me to take my baby on a date to our favorite restaurant?”
“No, but I see it in your eyes.”
“What? What do you see in my eyes?”
“The surprise you are bursting to tell me.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” he said. “You are many wonderful things, my darling, but you have never been expert at keeping a secret for very long.”
Man, did he have me dead to rights.
“Okay,” I surrendered with confession in my voice. “First of all I sent your pictures off to the printers and they’ll be shipped back in three days.”
“Oh Papi. That is good, no?”
“Very good. Once we get them back, we start sending them out to different agencies. I’ve already started putting together your portfolio with the prints I did and put them on your website.”
“You have been so busy today, haven’t you?”
“Yes I have.”
“But that is not all, is it?”
“No. No it’s not.”
“What else then?”
The waiter appeared with the pre-dinner drinks we had ordered. Étie thanked him, waited for him to leave, then eyeballed me anxiously.
“Well?” he asked with that mesmerizing smile of his.
“Guess what?”
“What?”
“I’m gonna meet Oprah Winfrey!” I blurted out with a giggle.
“What?” he gasped.
“Next week. They’re taking me to Chicago to meet her and talk about possibly shooting her fiftieth birthday party.”
“Oh Papi! Is it true?”
“Well, the meeting is. But she still has to decide.”
“Oh that is wonderful, my sweet! And she will decide yes!”
“You think so?”
“She is very smart woman with good taste. That is why she will say yes. It is simple as that,” he said.
“Since you said it, I’m going to claim it.”
“Yes! It is yours. You are great photographer, my darling. Oprah would be fool not to use you. And we all know that she is not a fool.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
“You know what we need?”
“What?”
“More champagne!”
“Now you’re talking, baby.”
“And tonight, this shall be my date to you.”
“But, baby, I invited you out.”
“I know, but please let me do this for you. You need to celebrate and be celebrated. It is your night, my sexy man, and later, when we get home, I will celebrate you all night long.”
That night, Étie was more than true to his word. Once home, he led me by the hand to our bedroom, lit by the bright moonlight that filled the space with its crystal blue-whiteness. He sat me on our bed, then bent down and kissed me so softly that it felt like some whispering miracle. His gentle probing tongue did its gentle deed with a winsomeness that caused me to quiver breathlessly. I was both stunned and numbed by the delicacy.
“This is all yours, my darling,” he whispered to me, wrapping my hands around his waist, guiding them down and around the contour of his firm buttocks, cupping them with my shivering hands. He brushed his lips against mine. “All for your pleasure.”
Then he left me there panting, walked out of my weakened grasp, walked away from me in slo-mo, giving me a full view of his beautiful behind pronounced and rolling in his tight slacks.
Slowly he turned to face me. Haloed by the moonlight, he smiled at me softly, sweetly, seductively. My heart began to melt.
He unbuttoned his shirt, his eyes never leaving mine. He eased out of his shirt and let it fall to the floor.
As he stood across the room, I again realized how I was still not used to his Adonis-like beauty. His broad shoulders, bulging pecs and the wisp of chest hairs still amazed me. I was still, and would always be, mesmerized by his well-defined six-pack. The sight of his perfect navel slit, hidden behind a small field of midnight pubes, sprouting just above the belt he slowly unbuckled, weakened me, made me grateful I was sitting.
Slowly, he unzipped his pants and eased them down to the floor. The black bikini briefs, resplendent against his golden body, were compromised to near splitting as the swollen bulge within threatened to explode as surely as my heaving heart.
He eased his snugly challenged underwear down his round, firm ass and his thick, luscious thighs. And then his handsome hunk of manhood declared itself with a bold and bouncing verve. I eyed it with a Christmas gift longing.
He walked toward me. As he drew nearer, my gaze darted across, up and down, and along his perfect body.
He was then close enough for me to taste, and so the organ I dearly loved found its way into my ravenous mouth. Oh the very taste of him. My tongue cradled the stiffened shaft deep inside my mouth. I was a newborn on my mother’s tit.
I grabbed his ass and shoved him deeper down my throat. I gagged and gargled and gasped with hunger’s glee as he fucked my mouth relentlessly. His luscious dickhead played peek-a-boo from sumptuous foreskin loose and so inviting.
Then he went to his knees. The snatching of his delicious dick from my famished jaws panicked me, induced a sudden whimper from me as if I were a child spoiled rotten.
But in that instant, his loving mouth and juicy tongue replaced that quantum dick of his and pacified me into some lull of smooth arousal. Down below he stripped me naked, snatched off the pants that imprisoned my stiffened dick, crying tears of joy.
“Are you ready for it, my darling? Are you ready for it?” he crooned, suddenly kissing my nervous dick head with his sweet, taunting pucker.
“Yes, baby, YES!” I cried as my dick pulsed with sweet impatience.
Now fully straddled over my loins, he lowered himself onto me. He swallowed my gluttonous cock
whole with his tight sucking hole, swallowed it down to my balls. And for that glorious, dizzying moment, I couldn’t breathe.
He stirred my rod inside him. He rode me with a gentle rocking.
“You like, Papi?” he whispered, staring in my eyes with a wicked smile.
“Oh God, baby, yes,” I managed to say, weakened by the fuck. His sweet sugar walls embraced my sex, sucked it up and down, and seduced it with a twirling grind.
Then suddenly his sucking hole squeezed tightly on my rock-hard piece, gripping it with a new furious glee. He bounced rapturously on my lap.
“Damn, baby!” I screamed over and over, the grimace of unbearable ecstasy decorating my sweating face.
But he wouldn’t let up. He accelerated his love assault, bounced up and down on top of me. He slammed his hole with passion down on my hysterical dick. He shut me up with sweet and sloppy kisses. He threw his head back, shaking it like Tina Turner. Then he attacked me with more kisses, slamming his tongue back down my throat, fucking my lap with a new intensity that had me huffing and puffing and begging for more.
I could feel my heart pounding. I grabbed hold of his dancing ass as it ruthlessly pounded my prick. I then helped with the slamming. I rocked him. I guided him. I held the reins of my wild bucking man.
I grabbed his dick that was slapping my stomach. I squeezed on it tightly, then jerked it and jerked it. He twisted his nipples and called out my name.
“Jessie! Jessie! Jessie!”
We were relentlessly, madly and crazy in love. Our flaming-hot lovemaking screamed it. We were both crying and laughing and shouting hosannas, holding and kissing each other. The bed squeaked and bounced and rocked back and forth with our fabulous fucking.
I could feel myself getting there. From the shuddering of his body on top of me and the swelling of his already hard dick milking in my busy hand, I knew he was close as well. So I jerked him harder and fucked him harder. He bounced down on me harder and together we reached that glorious moment of heaven.
We both screamed as I exploded inside him at the very moment he came in my hand, on my chest and my face.
He collapsed on my chest. I held him in my arms. We were both quiet and still, hypnotized and mesmerized by the high of our love. We fell asleep, him spooned within my embrace, my hands cupping his lovely genitals, my dick still warmly inside him.
Chapter Seven
The next morning I was rejuvenated and raring to go. I spent the day working on two portfolios, Étie’s and mine. There was something wonderful about working on both our careers at the same time. The synergy inspired me toward greatness, if I had to admit it myself.
And Étie was right about me. Yes, it is true that I have a hard time keeping things to myself. But I was determined to remain mum about my meeting with Oprah. This was just too big. And if for some reason it didn’t work out, I didn’t want to suffer the weepy condolences of friends and family. I mean I knew I would be able to bear the disappointment of blowing the chance of a lifetime. I knew I would be soothed by Étie’s loving consolation. I knew I would be forced to understand my agent’s pragmatic reasoning, although it would cost him ten percent of a big chunk of change. But outside that circle, I didn’t think I could bear the crocodile tears of my emotionally hypochondriatic kith and kin, especially Frankie, being the drama queen she has always been.
So when my phone rang and her name showed up on the caller ID, I had to gird my nerves, watch my step and hold my tongue.
“Hey doll,” I answered cheerfully, but not too cheerfully.
“Hey, Junie. Sounds like you got you some last night, huh?”
“Sis, don’t you ever have anything else on your mind besides sex?”
“Yeah, gettin’ some.”
“You are too much, you know that?”
“Yeah, I know. But guess who I have a date with tonight.”
“Who?”
“Hardy Ferrell.”
“Hardy Ferrell?”
“Yeah, Hardy Ferrell.”
“The guy who was hitting on Étie?”
“Yeah.”
“So he’s on the DL.”
“Oh please, Junie. The DL is so yesterday. He’s simply a man of multiple interests.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
“I don’t discriminate. In fact, I’m sure I’ve been with more gay men than you have.”
“Considering the odds, you’re probably right.”
“And you know something?”
“I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“Gay men really know how to fuck. I mean you should know that.”
“Well, considering I’ve never been with a straight man, I don’t have any source of comparison.”
“Well, I do. A sensitive dick goes a long, long way, and I’ve been after some of that Hardy Ferrell dick forever.”
“Well, good luck.”
“Thanks.”
“Even though it seems kinda kinky that my sister’s going to hump the guy who was hitting on my lover.”
“And don’t forget my husband.”
“A husband of convenience.”
“Yeah, but Hardy doesn’t know about our arrangement, and trust, I won’t tell him.”
“Thank you.”
“I guess he just figures Étie is bi like him.”
“That’s a whole lotta kink, sis.”
“Well, nothing like a little kink to spice up the soup.”
“So I’m sure you didn’t call me up to tell me that you’re getting ready to be intimate with Hardy Ferrell.”
“Well, actually I did, big bro.”
“Have I ever told you that you share too much?”
“Look, I know how bent out of shape you were when Hardy hit on Étie.”
“A bit. But that’s water under the bridge.”
“Good, so you don’t mind if I take Étie to another party this weekend?”
“Why are you asking me? You should ask him. I mean last time I checked Étienne Saldano was free, Dominican and over twenty-one.”
“And you’re jealous, insecure and overprotective.”
“You know, if you weren’t my sister, I’d call you by your real name.”
“And what might that be?”
“Bitch.”
“Well anyway,” she laughed, “Trudy Amberson is throwing a little set Friday night.”
“Who?”
“Trudy Amberson. That funny plus-size diva on those Capital One commercials?”
“Oh yeah, I know who you’re talking about.”
“Now it’s not like we’re going to an Oscar after-party, but Trudy knows a lot of folks in the business, so there’ll be plenty of folks for Étie to meet.”
“Good.”
“My agent, Pam Stiles, will be there too. I already told her about Étie and she’s dying to meet him. She’s a harmless old cougar. Her nipples swell just at the mention of a hot young piece of man.”
“She’s not going to try to fuck him, is she?”
“Of course she is, but Étie knows how to handle himself. She’s really cool, Junie. Not getting any is not a deal-breaker with her. Once she gets a good look at him, she’s gonna see dollar signs.”
“We’ll see.”
“Trust.”
“Okay.”
“There’s only one other thing, Junie.”
“What?”
“Trudy is a serious fruit fly.”
“Okay.”
“I mean like Tyra Banks-Kathy Griffin serious fruit fly.”
“I get it.”
“Which means a lot of ‘the children’ will be there.”
“And?”
“Well, you know how the gays are. Y’all can be pretty damn sexually aggressive.”
“Yeah, like you, sis.”
“Point taken. I just don’t want you to get bent out of shape if another Hardy Ferrell gets an Étie-jones.”
“Like you said. Étie knows how to handle himself.”
“You sure?”
>
“Of course I’m sure,” I said, convincing myself.
“Good, then I’ll give him a call.”
“Fine. He goes to lunch at two.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
“And you’re sure you’re fine with this?”
“I’m fine with this, Frankie.”
“Okay, I’ll give him a call at two.”
“Okay.”
After I hung up, I had to take pause. I mean I was fine with it, wasn’t I? Of course I was. One of the reasons Étie was going to do great in this business was his undeniable je ne sais quoi, what Frankie called his fuckability. God, what a crass term, and yet so apropos. I mean, I had no doubt he’d have screaming fans one day, pushing and shoving to have at him, throwing him panties, slipping him numbers, falling out and fainting at the very sight of him. And I’m just talking about the boys.
And then of course there would be the haters—hating him for being him, hating him for not being with them, hating him for being with me, hating me for being with him, and of course the most reliable haters, hating him for being gay. I can already hear all the “what a waste” grumblings.
But such is life. Life would continue to be good to us. Impending stardom and Étienne Saldano playing Daniel in a few industry lion’s dens weren’t going to get in our way. I was convinced…sort of.
At around two-thirty the phone rang again. It was Frankie.
“So did you ask him?”
“Yeah I did. He said he’d love to go.”
“Good. And I really appreciate you doing this, Frankie. He needs to make as many connections as he can in the business. Which reminds me, you’ve got to see the pictures I took of him. They’re really fabulous.”
“Yeah, that’s what he said,” she answered. Then after a pause, she said, “Jesse?”
“Yeah?” I responded slowly. I wasn’t used to Frankie calling me Jesse. Like everyone in my family, she called me Junie. I wondered what she was up to.
“Listen,” she continued, “why don’t you come to the party with us?”
“Thanks, sis, but I really don’t need a pity invite,” I responded, fighting the urge to recant.
“No pity invite. It should be fun.”
Hollywood Flames Page 4
