Danny laughs, buzzed by his drink. “I have a very interesting wife, men.”
Car and I agree. The conversation continues. Dinner resumes. The evening turns out to be exciting, exhausting, pleasant, and something the four of us will do again, eagerly.
* * * *
Car and I have a little too much to drink at La Rue. After dinner, he drives us back to my Cape Cod, although he shouldn’t get behind the wheel because he’s blitzed. He begs me to make love to him the whole way home, over the bed, doggy style, every which way, wherever.
“You know I sometimes like it that way, Gyles. The harder, the better. Bites and spanks. Remember? Don’t forget I’m a man who likes to feel his head buried in a pillow.”
Honestly, he’s just a man who likes to have sex: any way, any place, and at any time. Car’s fueled by sex, craving my attention, particularly by the deeds of my dick.
To my surprise, I fulfill his sexual needs, pleasuring him: any way, any place, and at any time. Like tonight, I strip him out of his clothes in the living room, provide him with a healthy blowjob on the sofa, pinch his nipples, slap his cheeks (because for some reason he likes to be hit in the face during foreplay), gag on his six inches of stiff dick as he thrusts it down the length of my throat, and eventually lead him upstairs to my bedroom, where I push him to his palms and knees, plant his face inside two pillows, spank his bottom, and draw a tongue up and down his ass-slit…just the way he wants and likes it.
Such a bad boy. A very bad boy. The way I like him.
There’s nothing quiet and smooth regarding my banging him. I pop my condom-covered cock inside his tight bottom, push the tube of meat inside him as far as it will go, bang him hard, and try to touch the rear of his teeth with its mighty length. There’s nothing tame concerning the sexual things I do to him, forcing action upon him and hurting him because he wants to be hurt. It’s pornographic the way I take him to a place he calls Pound Town, population two. My fingers dig into his hips, and my balls slap against his balls, banging the pairs together as if we create a game of sexual pool. We moan, grunt, and use vulgarities inside the bedroom. We sweat, bash our bodies together, and…and…and spray each other down with our ejaculations, splattering dick-goo on chests, biceps, and abs, emptying our loads.
Afterwards, we cuddle. Arms and legs entwine. Chests lock together in a sensual and romantic position. We kiss as lovers do. We laugh and huff. We try to catch our breaths.
When he pulls away from me, but still lays at my side, he says, “Damn, we fuck great together.”
“I think we’re more than sex buddies, though, Car. There’s a lot more than sex that goes on between us.”
“A hell of a lot more. Give me a half hour, and I can rock your world like that. Your bottom isn’t going to know what slams into it.”
I chuckle, unable to tell him I’ve had many men slam into my bottom after dinner and too many drinks. Recently, though, he’s become a new page in the book of my life and the only one I’ve become attached to both mentally and emotionally. Maybe later in our relationship, I can discuss the men I’ve slept with, enjoying in my past. For now, we kiss, heavily breathe, and chatter about the great sex we’ve just bonded over, becoming sticky, sweaty, and spent.
* * * *
Following our romantic and erotic romp in the sack, still catching my breath, I head downstairs and to the kitchen for a glass of water. I stand at the kitchen sink in the buff and look outside. Snow falls down from the crisp night sky. Frost collects at the window pane’s corners. Cold inside the Cape Code pinches my nipples. I collect water in a glass and take a drink. Here, I think about the past few months: the club, firing and hiring Coben, Rocco and Lock’s romance, Jane Marcell creating a job at the club for her son Tuck, Titan’s secret affair with Coben, and Danny’s dancing being an aphrodisiac for his wife.
It’s been a very interesting and eventful few months with these people in my life. It’s been real. Something I wouldn’t trade for anything else. A strange family of sorts that all have one thing in the common, The Man Club. It’s a fine place where people greet and meet, and lives intertwine together. It’s my life for now, and maybe years to come, and I can’t ask for anything more regarding a career.
A naked Car slips up and behind me. I feel his limp cock against my bottom. He wraps his arms around my chest and gently squeezes me against him. In doing so, he applies a kiss to my neck, a shoulder. “Are you coming back to bed?”
“I’m getting a glass of water. You’ve dehydrated me.”
“Shame on me for doing that.”
“And all the other things you do to make me like you.”
He bites one of my earlobes in a playful action. “So you like me? I didn’t know that.”
“I do. What can I say? You melt me.”
Another bite occurs on my earlobe, and he says, “Good to know.” He caresses one of my pecs, rolling fingers over its hard nipple. “Love you, guy. Have I told you that?”
He hasn’t. Until now.
“No.”
“I hope it’s not too early to say it. I don’t want to scare you away. I realize we’re fresh into this relationship. The last thing I want is to have you run.”
“Nope,” I tell him. “I’m keeping you. You’re good for my heart and everything else.”
He plays with the nipple, turning me on again, teasing me. “Come back to bed, lover.”
Lover, I think. I kind of like the label. For me, it’s too soon to tell him that I’ve fallen in love with him. Eventually I will, though. Maybe in May or June. Maybe sooner. I don’t really know. When the time is right, it will happen. As he’s already said, our relationship is new. My heart needs to catch up to his a touch, but it’s not a race between us, and it will happen on its own, in due time. I just have to give it some room to react, grow, and breathe. It’s all about breathing. Never forget this. Until then, I’ll enjoy every second I have with Car Tate: under him, inside him, next to him, the two of us together, partnered. My boyfriend for now. Maybe a husband in the future.
When he pulls away from me, tugging on my hand to go with him, he says, “Let me show you where we’re cuddling tonight, Mr. Beare.”
I place the glass of water on the sink’s counter and follow him. My heart beats faster. I grow excited between my legs, knowing we’ll make love a second time tonight, becoming one again, connected and sticky. Just the two of us. We can do this. The us part.
Now breathe.
It’s time.
Breathe.
THE END
ABOUT R.W. CLINGER
R.W. Clinger is a resident of Pittsburgh. He has a degree in English from Point Park University of Pittsburgh. His writing entails gay human studies. His work includes Just a Boy, Skin Tour, Skin Artist, Soft on the Eyes, Pool Boy, The Last Pile of Leaves, The Weekender, Cutie Pie Must Die, Frat Brats, Panama Dan, Spoil Me So, The Shower Police, Splash Boys, and several stories with Starbooks Press. For three years he has held the position of managing editor for the literary magazine The Writer’s Post Journal. Visit him online at rwclinger.com.
ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC
JMS Books LLC is a small queer press with competitive royalty rates publishing LGBT romance, erotic romance, and young adult fiction. Visit jms-books.com for our latest releases and submission guidelines!
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