by V. L. Locey
Then at thirty-four he’d been shot in the back during a riot in South Africa. The bullet severed his spine, and he was paralyzed from the waist down. He’d decided to take some time off to teach and write until he hit forty then he planned to find a small island where he and some special man would settle down and watch the tide roll in and out. Did I mention that he was gay as well? If not for Layne I’d flirt so hard with Professor Willis…
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. You’ll write the piece. I will edit it.” I thought to argue as I was editor-in-chief, but I snapped my mouth shut and bobbed my head. “Don’t look so offended, Roman. I have great faith in your ability to run this paper, which is evident by my lack of over-the-shoulder advising, for the most part. This situation is volatile, and the school is trying its level best to keep the scandal at bay. Dillon North leaving school, tragic as that is, certainly will help keep a lid on things.”
Unless the rest of this tawdry tale comes out and you’re revealed to be the young lover who’s doing the dipsy doodle with one of the major leads. Then what happens to your credibility, you big putz?
“Of course, and I’m looking forward to your input, Professor.”
He gave me a crooked smile. I could hear all the sophomores—male and female—sighing in my mind. “You need to be in front of a camera. Your ability to hide your emotions is impressive. Walter Cronkite had nothing on you.” I blushed all the way to my roots. “Oops, spoke too soon,” he teased, wheeling around his desk on his way to the door.
I shot to my feet, seeing that the meeting was over, and exited after him, closing the door behind me as we made our way down the corridor. Someone stopped us to give him a muffin, another student dropped a paper in his lap and ran off, and a third shouted something about The Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt he was wearing with his scruffy jeans and moccasins.
“So, I want something in my hand in a week. A preliminary story with some background on the people involved. Nothing inflammatory. I know that Layne Coleman has not made a secret of his bisexuality nor has he splashed it far and wide. As a member of our community, it falls to us to ensure that there is no bi-shaming of any kind.”
“I would never do that,” I assured him, reaching for the door handle for his classroom and yanking it open for him.
“I know. Just be on the lookout for any hint of biphobia in your reporting. As much as I’d like to say that everyone under the rainbow flag is one big happy family, you and I both know that there are biases in our happy little glitter world.” He smiled at one of his freshman students as they slipped around his sleek little wheelchair. “Remember we deal with systematic inquiry, that’s the very definition of investigation and so we must follow a careful methodology.”
“Yes, sir, I know the three tenets. Reliable primary sources, forming and testing a hypothesis, and rigorous fact-checking,” I spouted them off by rote.
“Good man. Now, go write me a balanced story for next week’s edition.” He gave me a wink and a smile then entered his classroom. I pushed the door shut, glanced around, and finding no one nearby blew out a long horsey breath complete with rubbery lips. So, the first thing I had to do was dig up some reliable sources. I knew right where to go for those. The question was if one of those sources would even talk to me…
After my last class on Friday, I jumped in my car, a relic from the old days when Detroit was king and statement cars were all the rage. Goldie, that was her name, had been Grandpa Frank’s car. She was a gold ’73 Buick Riveria with a big old 455ci V8 that drank gas like a toddler does apple juice. Automatic transmission, gorgeous mocha brown interior, AM/FM/cassette stereo, cruise control, and that beautiful boat tail rear window. I had loved her forever. Grandpa Frank had babied her and saw firsthand over the years how I treasured the classic tucked safely in his garage. She had been left to me in his will, along with his hats and a collection of Jimmy Dorsey albums. Classic cars, classic vinyl, classic hats. Roman Kennedy was a man born in the wrong era.
I dug through a specially-made box just for cassette tapes that had come with the car, all old tunes from the forties through the seventies. Over thirty tapes lived in the long, padded red box. What kind of music would fit a ride to Paramus to find Mrs. North at work and lure her away for dinner to talk about this whole mess? Unable to decide, I pulled out a compilation tape of fifties tunes and slid it in. Neil Sedaka began singing about a girl named Carol. Hmm, well, it would do, I guessed. I cranked over the engine, buckled in, and slid her into reverse when my phone vibrated in my pocket. Sighing, I put the car back into park and reached back for my cell. Maybe it was Mrs. North returning one of my umpteen calls. Hell, maybe it was Dillon. Not that I’d called him because I was still miffed over that gay slam as well as this whole disgusting nightmare that he’d unleashed on innocent people. My heart skipped a few beats when I saw it was Layne calling.
“Hey!” I excitedly chirped.
“Hey yourself. Are you busy? Can you talk?” The rich deep sound of his voice made me squirmy.
“I’m sitting in my car listening to Neil Sedaka, so I have all the time in the world. You still on the road?” I glanced into the rearview when a couple of guys walked behind me.
“Actually, I just got home about an hour ago. Are you free tonight?”
My dick tingled and my balls got warm and weighty. Then my brain, stupid responsible thing, reminded me of the Paramus trip. Well dammit. Which carried more weight? A scoop or an erection?
“I am totally free. Give me directions to your house in Morrisville.” Guess the hard dick wins. No big surprise really. The knowledge that Layne was like five minutes away blew the scoop out of the water. I could head out tomorrow—after I’d gotten laid. My dick was happy, my journalistic integrity not so much but oh well…
Layne lived in a pretty two-story yellow house on Independence Drive. I drove past it twice. Hat pulled down over my brow to avoid prying eyes. A news van was parked in front of the yellow house with white shutters and trim. I mumbled at the press corps, cussed myself for muttering at my brethren, and then rolled around the block a third time. I finally found an empty slot behind an all-night mart to park my boat for the night. In Layne’s driveway would have been nice, but that was a no-go. This car was too distinctive, and I didn’t want to be seen walking into Layne’s house and not exiting until the following day. There was no need for that kind of accelerant to be dumped on an already raging fire. I patted her dash, grabbed my duffel bag, and slipped out of the car, taking care to lock her tightly.
Then I snuck as sneakily as a skinny Jewish guy with a small brown afro and a dapper Fedora could sneak. I cut through several nice yards and hid behind a yellow shed that sat behind Layne’s big yellow house with white shutters. I prayed no one was calling the cops on me. Slipping from the shed to the back porch, I rapped on the screen door thrice, tossing looks here and there, until the door creaked open, and I was yanked inside.
My hat slid off my hair. Layne moved me around expertly, stepping over my hat, carding his hands into my hair and leading my mouth up to his. My shoulder blades hit the back door as I licked at his tongue, our teeth clacking, my hands roaming over his ribs. He leaned into me, pressing hard with his body until he was flat against me, and I was gasping for breath. I loved it.
“Mm, more, more,” I huffed, rubbing his back as I rotated my hips wantonly, bumping my hard cock over his.
“I’ve missed you…this,” he said against my lips before laying claim to my mouth again. We dry humped each other, tongues tangled, for several minutes. “Upstairs…the bed…you.”
“Yes, me and you and a bed. Sounds perfect.” He nipped at my lower lip, his fingers skimming down over my cheeks before leaving my body. I hoped they came back soon. He took my hand, turned off the lights, and led me past a dining room with a dark wood table and hutch, around a living room, where the lights were also off, and up the stairs.
“Sorry you have to live in the dark,” I whispered as if those sipping co
ffee inside a cold news van could hear me. “Dillon has pissed me off.”
He didn’t reply until we were in his bedroom, the door, blinds, and drapes all closed. Then he turned on a small lamp that rested on a nightstand. God but he looked so good with his heavy lids and big hard body. I wanted to lick him all over then have him get all over me, into me, around me…
“He’s hurting.” That was all he said. It surprised me to hear him be so gracious. His life was a swirling bog of media scrutiny and rabid rumors, most not too nice. “Let’s not talk about him, the stories, or hockey. Let’s just get naked and get lost in each other.”
“I am so on board for that,” I said then smiled. We tore at our own clothes, gazes locked until we were both naked. Then, with a stupid snort of childish glee, we threw ourselves on the bed, bouncing into each other, hands grasping at hot flesh. When we settled, he was on top of me, his legs between mine. Just where I had wanted him. I pushed my fingers into his short dark hair then pulled his lips down to mine. The kiss was sloppy. We wasted no time in tender touches or soft little words of romance. Both of us were too needy, too hard, too damn horny. I helped him roll a condom on, my hands shaking a little in anticipation. He took my legs, hands on my ankles, and placed them both on his shoulders.
I sucked in a huge breath, the expectation of his cock breaching me making my hole clench.
“Keep these here.” He gently pushed on my ankles then released them to apply lube to his cock and my ass. I groaned and contracted around the two slick, meaty fingers slipping in and out of my asshole. Eyes closed, hands wound in bedding, cock leaking already, I gave myself over to him. His fingers slipped out and his fat cockhead slid in. I tensed, moaned, sighed, quaked, and whispered silly meaningless words as he filled me. The stretch was divine, the burn painful but delightful. Soon he was seated fully. I turned into a beggar then, a frizzy-headed moppet from some Dickens tale turned porno.
“Please, may I have more?” I pleaded even though he had no more to give, and if I were being honest, I couldn’t have taken another millimeter of dick in my ass. Still, he loved the raspy pleas, I could tell. He began fucking me in earnest, his sight hot and possessive and never straying from my face as he pumped hard. I dug at the sheets, wincing at the harder strokes, my dick bouncing with each powerful slam of his hips. When he came it was with a bellow, his cock pulsing deep within me. He slapped my hand from my dick and got me off. He held out his hand and I spit on it then he gave me a few expert tugs, his rough palm scrubbing over my tender head did the trick. Cum spewed out of me, coating his hand. His cock kicked a few more times as I tightened around him over and over.
“Such a beautiful man,” he murmured, bending over me, ankles by his ears, to drive deep one last time and steal a kiss. A low, pained groan rumbled out of me as he bent me nearly in half. When he sat back on his heels, I reached for his tacky hand and smeared my cum over my lips.
“Now kiss me,” I panted, my legs falling from his shoulders to lay wide and open on either side of him. He dropped down over me, fists on each side of my head, and licked my lips clean. I arched up, grabbed his neck with both hands, and wrapped myself around him like a constrictor. I could not get enough kissing with this man. Or fucking, or talking, or just…anything. “Wow,” I huffed when we broke apart. He smiled a lazy smile, kissed the tip of my nose, then eased out of me and rolled to the side of the bed. Satisfied and spent, I lay on my back enjoying the play of his muscles as he took care of the condom and dropped it into an empty trash can.
“Would you like something to drink?” He looked over his shoulder. I shook my head. He laid back down, pulling me close then wriggling to face me. “You’ll never know how sorry I am that you had to sneak through yards like a common thief.”
“Blame Dillon,” I replied. His mouth flattened. I blew out a breath and searched for my compassion. It was buried in my soul somewhere. “Okay, yes, I know he’s hurt and confused, but he said some things to me that were just about inexcusable.”
He slid a thick thigh between mine. We were now chest to chest, nose nearly to nose. I wanted to stay here forever, his warm breath fanning my face, my hand resting on his hip, his eyes blue as a warm spring sky.
“Anger and pain make us lash out. I’m sure he didn’t mean anything that hurt you.” I studied his face, my fingers toying with the rise of his ass where it joined his hip. “I wish I could contact him, or Katie, or both but my lawyer has advised me to keep my distance until the results of the paternity test come back. At least he consented to that.”
I burrowed in a bit closer, my skin chilling quickly. Layne pulled the rumpled covers up over us, and we snuggled up like a couple of bugs in a rug, to quote Grandpa Frank.
“How long does that take?”
“Any day now,” he replied, sighed, and then ran his fingertip along my jawline. “You look incredible tonight. I love how smooth your cheeks are.”
“Yeah sure rub it in,” I teased, sort of. A tired smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You know…I sort of lied when I said I had nothing to do. I was actually heading to Paramus to talk to Mrs. North.” His whole sated sleepy lover demeanor changed in the space of a breath. “No, don’t get cranky or defensive. I was just going to ask her what her story is, the real story, not the hotheaded tale Dillon used to bludgeon you with.”
“Roman…”
I heard the displeasure in his voice. “Layne, this is what I do. I gather the facts, and I report them. Someone needs to! That slaughter job the press is running is riddled with innuendo and second-hand rumors. Someone needs to report this from an unbiased viewpoint.”
“And that’s you?”
“Yes, it is.” I felt the satiny soft lovers’ moment eroding away, and as much as I loved that warm afterglow, this was important. “My faculty advisor has given me this story as long as I present it factually and not laced with rose-colored reporting because we’ve been intimate..”
“Your advisor knows we’re sleeping together?!”
“No of course not,” I quickly assured him. The tension eased around his mouth. “No one knows about us aside from Dillon, you, and me. I’m just working to make sure the facts are presented to the public. So, to that end, would you be willing to talk with me on the record about your relationship with Katie North?”
He stared at me for a long moment then tossed off the covers and left the bed to pace. I gathered them in front of my chest and waited as he processed. I could see he was not happy about this request by the hump of his shoulders.
“I already told my lawyer everything. Why should I tell you? What good is a little article in a third-rate college newspaper going to do me?” I glowered at him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that your paper was low class, but it’s just a small paper at an even smaller liberal arts college in Trenton. What impact will my words have in such a small forum?”
He started dressing, pulling the jeans he’d been wearing up over his tight bubble ass. What a shame.
“It will get noticed. Trust me. But I have to talk to everyone involved. Dillon, Mrs. North, you, maybe even your mother. Have you heard back from her?” I drew the covers up to my chin. My back was getting cold. Layne shook his head. I cocked an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“It’s odd, yes. She’s due back in two days. My father said she knows why I called but she’s acting as if she has no concerns about it. To be honest, she’s making me irritable. Why hide out in the Bahamas, incommunicado, when this kind of drama is taking place in my life? It’s annoying but not unlike her. She tends to hide from things that will upset her or anyone in her life.”
“Hmm,” I mulled as he yanked an old Jackals fleece top over his tousled hair. “Do you think she’s hiding something?”
That made his scowl deepen. “I hope not. There’s only one way to find out and that’s to confront her.” I had to admit my snoop sense was ringing like a fire bell. Layne padded over to the bed, ran his hand over my hair then around my ear, stopping to tip my chin upward.
“Do you promise to run only the facts and not let your story be colored by your affection for me?”
“How do you know I have any kind of affection for you?”
“I can see it in your eyes.” He bent down to taste my lips. Okay, yes, he was right, I was all kinds of affectionate about him. I was affectioning all over the place right now.
“I can see the same in yours,” I whispered when he pulled back a bit from the kiss.
“Not surprising as I’m totally bewitched, bothered, and bewildered as well.”
I sniggered. “I have a tape in my car by Mel Tormé with that song on it.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Come along. Get dressed. I’ll make dinner and then we can do this interview of yours over coffee and pasta.”
“Are we coming back to bed after coffee and pasta?”
“Oh yes.” Happy to hear that, I offered him my hand, and he tugged me and the covers from the bed right into his arms. “I don’t plan to let you out of that bed until I have to leave for morning skate tomorrow.”
This was so much better than that drive to Paramus would have been. So, so much better!
Chapter Eight
“Before we get into this,” Layne said a little while later over plates of spaghetti. “I’d like to ask my own question about you.”
“Sure, fire away!” I smiled over the table at him as I twirled pasta onto my fork.
