This is gay erotic fiction. If you are offended by graphic descriptions of homosexual acts, go somewhere else.
Neither this story nor any parts of it may be distributed electronically or in any other manner without the express, written consent of the author. All rights are reserved by the author who may be reached at cepes@mail.com.
This is a work of fiction, any resemblance of the characters to anyone living or dead is pure coincidence and not intended. They are all products of the author's overactive imagination.
Damaged Goods Part 3
Steve was standing at his counter feeling a bit like a heel. It wouldn't exactly be a lie. He still wished he hadn't promised Joseph a dinner where nothing came from a can. The canned tomatoes, this time of year, tasted so much better than the limp things sold in stores and called tomatoes. His grandma, teacher of all things cooking in his family, would have cudgeled him for even thinking about using bland tomatoes had she not passed away seven years ago.
Fuck it. He won't mind the difference. He's prickly and defensive, but he doesn't really know much about food. Steve rationalized his little deception away and forgot about it as he used his can opener on the can of tomatoes.
Spread in front of him were the onions, carrots, and green peppers he had laboriously cleaned and chopped. He had decided to do something simple and tasty for Joseph, something well within his culinary reach: a quick salad, some pasta with a sauce nearly from scratch, and some ice cream for dessert. No one could say no to that, not even this kid.
What to do with him, though. Steve realized how easy it would be to feed him and try to talk to him for the clearly staked out hour and a half Joseph said he was willing to stay. He needs something, well, quite a lot, none of which he'll let me close enough to help him with.
Steve opened the bottle of Chianti sitting in front of him. One cup for the recipe, he remembered. One cup for me. And maybe the rest for Joseph, maybe.
Everything seemed to be sitting in front of him for the sauce. The tomatoes, the wine, the veggies. But, no garlic. He reached for the clove he had purchased earlier that evening on his way back from work. Steve hated garlic, he hated touching it, the stickiness of it, the smell that never quite left your fingers. The sauce needed it, though, and he was making the sauce for Joseph. Anything for that kid. There was just something about him.
Or, as Steve thought quietly to himself once in a great while, maybe he was just a great mother hen and everyone around him could do without his help.
He thought that again now as he stood before the running water of his sink, trying to make the garlic scents on his fingers disappear down the drain.
He knew Joseph looked at him as he looked at garlic. Rather, he suspected. He could see it in the kid's eyes. The slight roll, somewhere between frustration and revulsion. He wondered, idly, why attraction had to always be so uneven, unequal, unrequited.
This knowledge, however, had not stopped Steve from spending a long time in the shower and carefully trimming away his chest hair, thinning his pubes, and shaving his nuts. Hope sprung eternal; Steve couldn't help but hope Joseph would find the gesture so nice, and the alcohol so enlightening, that he would accept the terms of Plan A. After he got the sauce well under way, he would even go find something a bit slinky to wear. He had to give this a shot. The kid was just to fucked up to deal with on a friend-to-friend level; maybe he would listen to someone who was fucking him. Not that the fucking wouldn't be a very attractive side benefit to the good work being performed on the kid's psyche.
Plan A. Steve wavered, had been wavering for the last couple of hours about whether it was a good idea. He'd love to give it a shot. He wasn't sure, though, if Joseph would ever talk to him again if he struck out. Kinda high stakes.
Steve turned off the tap and smelled his fingers. The garlic scent was still present. "Fuck," he said without much passion. Who wants to sleep with a garlicky guy, he wondered. Even if the kid were a normal guy, the garlic wouldn't be a selling point.
A Plan B, one with no Steve involved, would have to be drawn up. And in less than 2 hours. How the fuck could he pull something together to get Joseph's attention, to get him to start acting like a person?
Steve finally stopped smelling his garlicky finger and smiled. He walked out of his kitchen and to the telephone. After punching in the digits and waiting for an answer, he screamed, "Sexy beeatch" into the poor phone.
"See, I told you it would be fun," Brad said after returning to the little table after being groped for a few minutes while waiting for the sexy bartender to throw his drinks together.
A slightly sodden Joseph grinned back at him. Things has become a lot more fun for him after Steve had left 20 minutes ago. Joseph liked Brad, especially his sense of humor, not that his tight body wasn't easy on the eyes, either.
Brad had shown up an hour into the excruciating dinner Steve had thrown for Joseph. Joseph played every trick he knew to make the evening roundly unpleasant - purposefully awkward silences, one-syllable answers to questions, a refusal to look at Steve. Around the time the silence was overwhelming and the half emptied dinner plates were being bussed to the kitchen counter, Brad knocked once and walked in. Joseph's instant reaction showed he was very interested, very.
Steve saw Brad and said, "Hey, after we have some ice cream, we're going to the Abbey. Want to come, bar slut?"
"Don't you know it, bad boy." Brad sucked on Steve's ear after he said it. Steve, understandably, blushed and turned into the kitchen to get some ice cream before he started showing more than he wanted to the assembled company.
"I'm Brad," he said, after noticing Joseph staring at him. It was all it took, Steve could have dragged Joseph to the bedroom for an introduction to fisting and Joseph wouldn't have minded much as long as Brad tagged along.
Of course, Joseph did put up token noises about having somewhere else to be and having to beg out of the bar thing. But everyone in the room knew Joseph would be going - and he did.
He had smiled and giggled stupidly even before the first portion of alcohol was set in front of him. Steve couldn't decide whether he was pleased or pissed. Joseph was clearly not acting like his usual dour self, clearly a good thing. But, he was also completely infatuated with Brad, one of the world's great treasures and not someone to think before he acts. Maybe he wasn't the best option for Plan B.
Steve had left after remaining at the table for an hour and downing 2 apple martinis. He realized there was no reason for him to be there any more. Joseph had all but blocked him out from his frame of reference. He could tell Brad wasn't trying to do anything untoward, but it looked like Plan B was thoroughly in effect.
"Hey, Brad, can you and Joseph take a cab back? I've got an early morning and don't want to break up this party." Steve knew it was for the best.
"Cool, no problem," Brad said.
"Yeah, that works for me," Joseph had said, looking at Steve for the first time in 20 minutes and flashing a small smile his way.
Joseph took a sip of the drink Brad had just bought for him, his third martini of the evening. The other people at the table, friends of Steve's and now friends mostly of Brad's, were unknown to Joseph, but he had been chiming in with his brand of harsh wit every now and again.
"Brad," Joseph said to an otherwise occupied intended recipient. Seeing that he wasn't getting a response, he stopped talking. He shared a knowing nod with another person whose name he had promptly forgotten over Brad's wandering attentions.
"Yes, Joseph, what?" He said it sweetly. He had heard what Joseph was beginning to fear was his pipsqueak of a voice.
"I just wanted to say thanks. This has been really fun."
Brad smiled broadly. They might have been just the words he wanted to hear. He picked up his drink and finished it off.
"Would you like to go somewhere?"
Joseph was shocked at the question. Brad was interested enough to make him his meal for the evening. His mental mechanism for averting all hints of sensuality didn't have time to kick in before his mouth quietly formed the word "yes."
Brad spent the next five minutes saying adios to his accumulated friends. They spent another ten minutes waiting for the cab to appear. Brad had wrapped his arm around Joseph's neck and was running circles around his left nipple.
Joseph may not have even heard Brad give the cabbie an address that he didn't recognize. It was to be his place for the evening.
When Joseph woke up the next morning in a bed not his own, he felt the sublime ache in his asshole. He felt wonderful all over. And then he freaked out. He sidled out of bed, trying not to disturb too much the arm that had been draped over him, holding him close to a beautiful body and an incredible person.
Once he threw his clothes on, except for one sock which he couldn't find, he hurried out of the tastefully appointed apartment as quickly as he could. He got outside and spent 5 minutes walking around looking at street signs trying to pinpoint where he was. He finally found his bearings and started walking to the nearest area that might have payphones. He wanted a cab and a shower. The tears rolled down his face long after he made the call.
He had never felt better and worse in his life.
To be continued.
Author's Note: I appreciate hearing your comments on this story or anything else. You can send me a message at cepes@mail.com. I will respond to all messages I receive.