Nights and Sharks Chapter 3
Benjamin Ashton & Daniel Sharpe
Nights & Sharks
Part 3
// Nathan
I spent the next day meandering in the neighborhood. I sent an email to Adrian, walked around, sat down for coffee, read Adrian's reply, walked some more, had lunch at the Powerhouse, wrote to Adrian again, took a nap at home, smiled at Adrian's answer, did some work, and started to read Nights & Sharks. Then the phone rang.
"What's up, Nate?" Jonah said, chirpy.
"Not much. What are you up to?"
"Same, same. Listen, erm, you want to have a drink later? Like, when I get off work?"
"Sure. Where?"
"There's this place called The Scratch."
"The Scratch."
"Yeah, I know. Dumb ass name. But it's a really cool place, you'll see. It's not too far, in Milton. Take a bus or cab it. It's on Park road."
"Ok. What time?"
"Dunno. 6ish?"
It took me longer than expected to get there, but I had left early, hoping I'd have time to walk around a little and explore a different neighborhood. But I was there at 5:50 and it made little sense to walk around the block. It turned out that Jonah was even earlier. I saw him sitting alone at a high table outside, on the front patio next to a busy road, sipping what looked like a mojito. We hugged briefly and I started to make my way to the bar inside to get myself a drink when he grabbed my arm and stopped me.
"Listen, Nate. Dan is inside. Chatting up some friends, but he might join us. Is that okay?"
"Jonah, why wouldn't it be okay? Don't be fucking weird."
"No, it's just... I don't know. I wasn't sure if it'd be awkward."
"For who?"
"You're right. Okay, let's go inside. I'll introduce you."
There was a quick glance from a young guy inside, at the bar, enough for me to know that this was Dan. Dan, who demands to get fucked. I felt rattled and I hated it. I still didn't know anything about the situation, anything about this guy, except that he gets fucked like a champion and might be a little complicated.
Nothing looked complicated about him. He looked confident and laid-back. He slowly moved away from the friends he was with, nonchalant, with something both dark and relaxed in his eyes. Jonah had told me nothing about his appearance, except a mention of great legs and of a great ass, and I found myself looking at those first and agreeing with Jonah. He was shorter than Jonah and I, a body which filled nicely his thrift-shop shirt, brown hair which contrasted interestingly with the mass of Aryan blond dudes and girls which were crowding the bar.
"Dan," he just said, extending his hand.
"Nathan," I said, mirroring his firm shake.
He walked towards the one free table a little further back, his beer in his hand, and sat down on the bench against the wall. I watched Jonah sit next to him before trying to catch the bartender's attention.
I came back with two beers and a mojito. Dan had dropped one of his flip-flops and he had placed his bare foot on the bench, his knee pressed against his chest. A bare foot is starkly more naked than a foot in a flip-flop, I thought, and Dan's foot and leg seemed brazen, provocative, aggressively sexy.
Jonah was surprisingly at ease, carrying the conversation pretty much on his own. I was trying to appear engaged, but somewhat occupied by a myriad of thoughts. Dan seemed occasionally distracted, laughing at the right moments and asking good follow-up questions, but his eyes regularly wandered about and around. Jonah was not fucking a gym bunny or a surf dude or an affected thug or a giggling twink. Jonah was fucking Dan, masculine and a little aloof, detached but distinctively intense, rough and smart. A twenty something who demands to get fucked, who drops his flip-flop in a bar, who may not be complicated but who has the beguiling sternness of a man with something to hide.
Dan started to ask me questions, jolting me out of my thoughts. His eyes were piercing, his mouth slightly open. He looked daring and inquisitive. He was staring at me when I answered, he was staring at me when I noticed his hand had subtly moved onto Jonah's crotch.
"Let me get us some more drinks," Jonah said and abruptly left the table.
I watched Dan watch Jonah slowly walk towards the bar, chin up high, assertive stride, drunk on his own horniness.
"He's such a fucking narcissist," Dan said, still looking at him, in a level tone which betrayed neither affection nor contempt. Dan notices things, I thought, Dan makes statements.
"He's such a narcissist", Hannah had once said. As Jonah's first serious girlfriend and later wife, she knew. I knew too and our shared fondness and tolerance towards Jonah's vanity was one of the things that bound us close. Years later, the day Jonah married Chloe, Hannah and I were both in attendance, but her stance had sharpened. "He's still a teenage boy at heart. Life is a permanent pissing-contest. With you, often, but with himself, always."
I excused myself to go outside and smoke a cigarette.
Was Jonah losing the pissing-contest with himself, with the man he wanted to be, the man he had always thought he was? Is that why he felt his dick could never be hard enough, big enough, deep enough inside Dan's ass? I had noticed some changes in his dynamics with Chloe. She had often been insufferable when in New York, always draping herself around his neck, uttering lame-ass platitudes of misconstrued pseudo-feminism while smugly referring to him as "my man" in his presence. He enjoyed it, seemingly getting a hard-on whenever she rubbed his biceps and winked at his fortitude in the sack.
Since I had been in their Australian home, however, she seemed tetchy, impatient, haughty and bickering. Perhaps, then, the apparent fearlessness of Dan's ravenous ass was Jonah's catalyst to reclaim his manhood, to quash Chloe's emasculation efforts by drenching in vigorous cum the forbidden hole of a young stud.
Jonah needed to be in control, to have the upper hand. Jonah liked and never hid his fascination for power. Jonah is fucking Dan like there's no tomorrow, he'd said, maybe like he'd own and dictate Dan's tomorrows. Yet Dan's impassive and heedless demeanor, his intense gaze, his quiet and solid cockiness could tell a different story. I had no trust in the guy, no trust in this kind of guy. Jonah could be swallowed and spit back out in pieces, while holding on to the thought that he held power because he was fucking the guy's brains out.
And yet, fucking hell, my dick was growing hard.
There were two girls having a cocktail close to me. I turned and asked them if they knew where Paddington was. "It's like, right there", one of them said, waving in a direction which meant nothing to me.
I took out my phone and texted Adrian. I'm at a bar near Paddington, apparently. Isn't that where you've got your flat? Would love to see you if you're around.
// Dan
"So fuckbuddy or old friend?"
I looked Jonah straight in the eye, and took a gulp of my drink. His friend-of-indeterminate-status, Nathan, had just made a lame excuse to leave, and this had sealed my impression. Part of me was sad – the guy was my type, and the resentment he had exuded excited my cock, and my brain. An often lethal combination.
"What?"
"Your `friend', Nathan", I said drawing air quotes in the air in front of me, "who is he to you?"
"What do you think?" he teased me.
"I can't decide. The frisson between you says sex, but it was either sex a long time ago, or sex that never happened. You want it more than he does – but he's a whole lot gayer than you are. So that says old friend."
"Very good, Sherlock", he winked at me and looked away
"Oh if I'm anyone I'm Doctor Watson", I winked at him and stared him down. "And he didn't like me, at all – which means that he doesn't like that we fucked, but whether that's jealousy or protectiveness I'm not sure"
I realised that was all I was going to get, and I reassessed Jonah for the umpteenth time in the short time I'd known him. I'd figured he'd want to tell me everything, to try to win me over; instead, he was content to leave me hanging – in his defence, exactly what I would have done. But who would be the first to break the silence?
"About last night – ", he started (I knew it would be him!).
"I don't propose to talk about it"
"Well, I need to talk about it. That wasn't cool, Dan"
"I was very clear with you. I don't break my rules just because you're horny and your wife won't fuck you anymore"
"That's cruel"
"It's true."
A second standoff. I sensed he wanted an apology from me – but he was smart enough to realise that that was the last thing I'd give him. It was the same smartness that had talked me into his bed to begin with, so I could hardly complain about it now. I never could resist a well-spoken, well-built man who could match me toe to toe in the conversation and in the bedroom, and Jonah had over-delivered on all fronts.
"Look, I thought you'd enjoy it"
"Right up until you caused some neighbour to call the cops?"
"Oh come on, that was for the redhead's benefit. You know that. And from the...evidence left behind, it certainly seemed like you got off"
"Sure; it was hot – not how I expected to get off, but still"
"Indeed"
We knocked our glasses together in appreciation.
"And he was hot. Well fucking done"
"Well done fucking, you mean"
"Shut up and take the compliment. Who was he?"
"Starry-eyed young student, unwise in the ways of perverted older men"
"No, not you – who was he?"
"Hah. You sure you're not a dad; you've got the humour down pat"
"That'd be the day"
I could see I'd hit upon a real nerve for him; Jonah had a habit of withdrawing from a conversation by physically recoiling – it was subtle, but it was his tell. For a moment there, I almost felt bad. I reached across the table and put my hand on top of his. He left it there long enough to note the gesture, before pulling away. Ah. I almost forgot. Straight enough not to want to be seen touching hands with a man in a bar, but not so straight that he wasn't currently imagining pile-driving me into his couch. I had a brief, lurid flashback of my own.
"So what are we doing here?" he said.
"Having a drink?"
"Now who's cracking dad jokes?"
"Guilty!"
"Don't deflect"
"But I'm so good at it!"
"Dan," he said, grabbing my arm. "I need to know what the fuck is happening here. Because I can't think straight – "
"Fucking dudes will do that to you"
"Shut the fuck up"
A steely glint had come into his eyes, and he increased the pressure on my arm. What could have seemed a tender gesture to the innocent eye had turned into a controlling one, and it was beginning to hurt.
"Let go of me right now or I will make your life hell"
He realised what he was doing, and let go, shaking his head.
"Sorry. Fuck. Sorry. This is exactly what I mean. I don't know what I'm doing"
"And I'm sorry, Jonah, I'm really sorry. But I can't help you with that. Seeing me again, fucking me again – it's only going to make things worse"
"You're so certain, all the time"
"It's my job: to talk bullshit with absolute authority"
"So it's bullshit?"
"You clearly think so"
"You don't?"
"No, I don't. I think your head is all kinds of messed up because you got a glimpse of what your life could have been if you'd given in to something a long time ago. So of course you're in a tailspin. But me gagging on your cock isn't going to make that go away; you can't shoot your troubles so far up my ass that they'll never come back"
I stopped myself, watching Jonah staring intently into his glass. I wondered if I had gone too far, before I realised I didn't much care one way or the other – he needed to hear this from someone, before he went and did something stupid like walking out on his wife after one tight fuck.
"What if this is what I want?"
"You can't have it all, bucko"
"Surely I get to have something?"
"Oh wake up! Look at your life, Jonah! You've got plenty"
"I want certainty"
"No one gets that"
"Well fuck that"
This time, he knocked together our glasses.
"What does old mate Nathan think?"
"We haven't discussed it"
"I don't believe you for a second"
"Well we've discussed...you, but not...it"
"I'd ask what you said about me, if I didn't already know"
"Cheeky little shit"
"But why not? Why haven't you talked to him?"
"Because. I had my chance, I think. He tried to talk to me, and I didn't let him. So I can't turn around now and say, now, now I'm ready, let's have that conversation from years back"
"Yeah you can. That guy, he's here for you. I saw the way he looked at you, the way you were around him. He's not going to be pleased with you – but that's the least you deserve"
"I don't know, Dan"
I shook my head at him. I'm really not in the business of life advice, but this man had given me one of the greatest fucks of my young life, and I figured I owed him at least a friendly ear. And maybe just a bit of encouragement. I got up, and I walked up as if going to the bar. I stopped behind him, and lent down to whisper into his ear.
"Take this seriously. It's the only way you're going to get to shove your fat cock in my tight hole again"
I flicked his earlobe with my tongue and then continue off, feeling him fight the urge to turn in his chair to watch my buns recede across the bar. I walked out of the bar, down Park Road towards the river, and never looked back. I knew that I'd hear from him again.
I just didn't think that it would be so soon; my phone vibrated in my pocket as I joined the cycleway to walk back home. I pulled it out, only to find it was an email and not the expected text.
– –
From: Thomas O'Carroll <p.ocarroll@uqconnect.edu.au>
To: Daniel Sharpe <d.sharpe@uqconnect.edu.au>
Subject: Withdrawal
Dear Dr. Sharpe,
I hope you are well. I am writing to formally advise you that I have withdrawn from your subject, ENGL2100 Australian Literature: Traditions & Revisions. Having reconsidered my commitments this semester, I don't feel I can give the material the attention it deserves. I hope to see you around campus so I can apologise in person.
Best wishes,
Tom.
– –
I smiled at the inadvertent promotion he'd given me, before I was floored by its bland content. Was this guy blowing me off? What the fuck kind of game was he playing? I had to jump out of the way of a furious cyclist before I started marching towards home. It was on.
// Nathan
That was Dan, I thought when I zipped by him. Adrian, a few yards ahead of me on his bike, had almost collided with a guy distracted by his intent gazing at his phone and he had shouted something that sounded like an insult. I liked Angry Adrian. I recognized Dan as my own bike circled around him too but I didn't think he saw me. He looked relatively unfazed, more interested in whatever was on his screen than in the serious bruises he had just avoided. That was Dan, the man whose peculiar vibe I had tried to escape an hour earlier.
Adrian was in the neighborhood, it turned out. He was planning to head back to Samford but had stopped by his studio in Paddington to tidy up after letting it to a friend in town for a couple of days. He called me rather than text back. I should stop by his place, we could grab the two bikes he stored in the garage and we could go and grab some food. We did.
Adrian looked even more beautiful than I remembered. He wore black linen shorts and a deep-V white t-shirt, very deep, showing his untanned, pale chest, and a patch of silky black hair. Everything looked bigger about him: his mouth looked huge, with two fleshy lips, his biceps better defined, his thighs and calves firmer, his fingers longer. He had just taken a shower and he smelled like clean, pure winter air. His black hair was a bit all over the place, falling over his left eye and exposing the right side of his high forehead. There was something moving about this picture of health, about his uncomplicated smile and his genuinely warm hug. "I'm so glad you texted me", he had said, pecking on my ear. I felt oddly mismatched: I hadn't shaved in a few days, I had walked in the setting sun getting my skin sticky, my plaid black shirt seemed too dark for his own radiance, and I responded to his sweet greeting with the start of a leaky boner.
We ate at a fish place close to the river, on a crowded patio. He talked more about his childhood, about his fascinating parents and their bohemian circle of friends. He enjoyed the interest I showed and didn't seem to be repeating anecdotes and reflections he had previously overused or over-rehearsed. This was a first date, I thought at some point, and there was nothing perfunctory or drab about it. We shared a bottle of white Sancerre, which he had picked, guessing that I liked my white wine dry. He asked questions about me and I didn't dodge all of them. He placed his foot on top of mine and smiled a lot. At some point, I caressed his cheek, because he had just said something charming and smart and funny, something very Adrian, and he leaned across the table to plant a kiss on my lips.
We both felt too full to cycle home, so we walked side by side, pushing our bikes. The air was still warm. "I'm so glad you texted me", he said again, though a little somberly this time.
"Why so serious?"
"This was a good night, wasn't it?" he asked, as if answering my question.
"Yes, it was lovely."
"It's nice, once in a while, to be out with someone normal."
"Normal? That hurts a bit."
"You know what I mean. I don't know what it's like in Boston, but here, it's just... It feels like either you talk about art and politics with someone you're not attracted to, or you go out with a non-entity who just wants to have sex."
"It's a McDonald's gripe."
"A what?"
"A gripe that's the same anywhere in the world."
"I know, it's a bit lame. But still."
"Anyway, thanks for the compliment."
"You're very welcome."
We walked some more before he added "This is not real, though."
"How not?"
"You're just here visiting. You'll be gone soon. It's not real. And it's fucking frustrating."
"We can still enjoy ourselves."
"Who's being lame now?"
"I don't know what you want me to say, Adrian."
"I know."
"Are you looking for a boyfriend?"
"That's a moronic expression. But, yes, I'm interested in a nice, exciting, real relationship. I'm a little over random hook-ups. And definitely over screwed-up guys." He then softly added "What about you?"
"I'm not sure," I said, thinking, intent on returning the honesty he had displayed. "I've had my share of nice, exciting, real relationships for a bit. I may be looking for something a little _un_real."
"Unreal?"
"Special, different. Intriguing." I smiled, acknowledging the daftness of what I was saying. "Don't listen to me."
He stopped and leaned towards me. Slowly, he kissed me. "I don't know that I can intrigue, Nathan. I'm pretty straightforward."
"I'm sure you can surprise me."
"I'm sure I can."
"Go on, then."
He stared at me in silence then whispered sternly "I want your big fat cock all the way up my ass", before erupting into husky laughter. He was joking, apparently, but I got hard nonetheless.
"Have you started on one of the Garatta books I gave you?" Adrian asked as he opened the door of his studio.
"I have," I said, following him in. "Nights & Sharks. I like it. More William Burroughs than the Jack Kerouac you promised."
"Ah yes, Nights & Sharks is. It's quite a trip, isn't it? The Road up there is probably what I had in mind with my clumsy comparison."
"I do like it, though. And it's interesting to imagine teenager Adrian sneaking off to read it. Garatta's not typical jerk off material though."
"Well, it was that, or Lady Chatterley's Lover, if I wanted to read about engorged cocks. Also, I was not your typical teenager."
"I don't doubt it."
I took in my surroundings for the first time. The studio was small, on the top floor of a 1980s building, bland inside and out. The furniture was sparse, but modern and elegant. Adrian saw my perplexity.
"Not much for an architect's dwelling, is it?" he smiled. "I wanted something cheap and, indeed, not comfortable enough that I'd end up too lazy to make the drive up to Samford. I'm not here often, and never for more than a couple of nights. My friends actually use it more than I do. But look at this," he said, stepping toward the large window, the outside hidden by drawn and shut blinds. He turned them open, then pulled them up, revealing a balcony in concrete, overlooking a fantastic view of the city and the river.
"Wow. I see," I gawked.
"I don't mind the small space, but I'd get depressed or claustrophobic without a view."
I slid the window open and stepped outside. The air was warm but the breeze was blissful.
"Beer?" he asked.
"Yes. Please."
He joined me outside and handed me a mistily cold bottle of an Australian beer I'd never heard of. We cheered.
"This is beautiful," I said softly, turning away from him, feeling increasingly turned on by him, by the setting, by the moment, wondering what Adrian allowed on a second date (because, by then, I had decided this night was a second date).
"I'm glad you're here," he said timidly, almost whispering.
"Adrian, why are you..." I said, not actually what I was asking, still figuring out our way forward.
"Shit, I know, I'm sorry. I shouldn't get all mushy."
"You're not getting mushy. But I wish you would just relax. Enjoy this. However not real you might overthink it to be."
"Yup. Yeah."
"Come here," I said, placing him in front of me, making him face the view, feel my chest against his back, feel my chin on his shoulder, my kiss on his ear lobe.
We looked out in silence.
"There is this guy Sean," he started tentatively. "Was. There was this guy Sean. I got hurt. We had this on and off thing for four years. Or five. He is married. To a woman. Completely closeted. It was awful."
"How did it start?" I asked gently.
"I had been invited at a conference, in Sydney. A panel on Jack Garatta. I was the only one not a literature professor. I was there to talk about his home and what I knew about his life. Anyway, Sean was in the audience and came up to talk to me. He complimented me and told me he taught at Queensland University, here in Brisbane. It was strange, because his field was apparently more Jack London, Melville, Twain, that kind of thing."
"Not druggie faggot who sexualizes sharks."
"Exactly. And I noticed his wedding band, so I didn't think much of it when he invited me for a drink in the hotel, nor when he asked me to come to his bedroom. I can't remember his excuse, but I went along. And was a bit shocked when he jumped me once we were in there."
"Did you try to say no?" I asked, suddenly worried about the turn of the conversation.
"No, I was shocked, but okay with it. He was somewhat hot, in a straight, mid-thirties dad kind of way. And he was really eager. We did exchange numbers and he became pretty insistent that we see each other again. I wasn't dating anyone seriously so I thought, why not. But it became a little tedious; I could never call him, only email on a specific email address. We would only meet about twice a month and always in complete secrecy. No hotels or anything, because someone might see us. We'd meet here sometimes, with the blinds down. Or in his car, after driving a while out of the city. Or his office, after hours, in complete darkness."
"Why did you put up with that?" I asked, my hands gently caressing his stomach under his t-shirt.
"Ah, that's the million-dollar question, isn't it? I don't know. I did like him. Maybe loved him. I was weirdly addicted to him. And he was smart and interesting, we did have good and interesting discussions together."
"Did he have sex with other guys?"
"He said he didn't and, you know, I don't think he was lying. He was very married, very straight on campus. I think he got from me what he needed, gay sex wise. Even in terms of male friendship. He didn't have any really close male friends, you know? Just friends of him and his wife."
"But you did end it at some point?"
"Yes. Four months ago, I think. I had been invited for a lecture at QU. Do you know they have a Centre of Excellence for the History of Emotions? I kid you not."
"I actually kind of like that," I smiled.
"Well, anyway, they do, and they invited me to talk about, what else, Jack Garatta but also, more generally, about architecture and emotions. It was kind of cool. Well, at the end of my talk, a couple of young students came and talk to me. Not overtly flirtatious, but, you know..."
"I can imagine."
"Sean got pissed. He went ballistic in the car afterwards. We were driving up here and he even started to hit me while driving."
"Fuck."
"Yeah. So I told him to pull over. He did, and started to calm down. But, well, I just punched him in the face and left. I ignored his messages for a few weeks, then they stopped. And that's it."
"You punched him in the face," I kissed his neck and smiled with a hint of admiration. I did like Angry Adrian.
"Yeah. I'd never done that. To anyone. It felt... good."
"I know," I said, then regretted the admission - which went unnoticed anyway. "And you never dated anyone else in all those years?"
"I did. Two serious boyfriends, plus, well, other guys. But that's the thing, my mind refused the reality of Sean. It's like I wasn't cheating. Even worse, I was kind of the jealous type with my boyfriends. A bit. I was, I am, very monogamous. Sean existed in an alternate universe, almost. Somewhere dark, very dark, somewhere very sexy, too. But each time I hooked up with him was like the experience tainted sex, made it dirty, shameful, seedy, filthy. And whenever I saw Sean, sex with my boyfriend would feel both too tame and not pure enough. I don't know, it's messed up, but I feel wary of sex now."
I turned him around to face me. "Adrian, it's not of sex you should be wary, it's of douche bags."
"I'm not wary of sex, then," he said patiently. "I'm wary of confusing horniness with attraction, horniness with intimacy or compatibility or connection."
"Or you just have a major case of madonna/whore complex."
He laughed, but then thought about it. He turned back to his previous position, facing the view, took my hands to wrap himself with my arms. "Maybe."
"Are you horny right now?" I whispered in his ear. When he didn't say anything, I licked the inside of his ear, slid one hand inside his t-shirt to caress his nipple, the other inside his shorts to fondle his cock.
I felt his ass push against my crotch and saw him close his eyes, moaning softly.
"Open your eyes, Adrian." He did, and I unzipped his shorts and pushed them and his underwear down. I ran my hands all over his chest, his shoulders, his arms, his hips, his thighs. He started to turn around, but I held him still. He started to whisper, "Maybe we should go inside and...", I silenced him softly with a kiss. "Everyone could see us and...", but I kissed him again.
I placed both his hands on the concrete bannister. I reached around with one hand to grab and slowly stroke his erection, while the other pulled his forehead back, exposing his throat, extending his neck. I kissed and licked it and when I saw him close his eyes again, I repeated "Open your eyes, Adrian, stay with me."
I opened and pushed down my short and briefs, and when they landed on the floor, we both stepped out of ours. His ass cheeks were cool, pulsating, wriggling around my cock, making it harder and harder by the second, lifting it up and up and up, until it reached his scrotum, until I moved it against his hole.
"We shouldn't..." he said.
"Do you want to?" I asked him intently.
"Fuck, yeah," he chuckled.
"Where do you keep your condoms?"
"Bedstand," he breathed. "But we shouldn't."
"Don't move."
I came back with lube and condom. He wanted to put it on me, but I told him again not to move. "Hold on to the bannister."
I rolled the condom on my cock and started to lube his hole. I pressed my chest against his back, and I could feel his heat through both our t-shirts. My lubed fingers were circling his hole, the index went in, then out, the middle finger went in, then out, then around, then both went in and stayed in, danced and wriggled inside. Adrian lowered himself on them, spreading his legs wider, his long feet flat on the floor. I kissed his neck, his ear. His face turned, he smiled, I smiled back. We both looked ahead as my fingers were replaced by my cock, we both looked at the city lights as I pushed myself past his first ring, we both looked at the river, the trees around and below us, the moving car lights in the distance as I pushed further, as he pressed his ass towards my crotch, as he arched his back and I reached the furthest point possible, as he gasped and grimaced and opened his eyes wide, as he cringed and breathed hard and cringed again and gasped again, as he pushed his ass once more with a grunt, as his hole loosened and warmed my whole body.
I fucked him hard, keeping myself close to him, hugging him tightly, our sweaty bodies soaking our t-shirts. Then I went slow, and hugged him even tighter, and almost pulled out and let the engorged head of my dick tease his sphincter, and I rammed back inside him.
He started to giggle, then to gasp, then sigh, then breathe, then say my name, again and again, then chuckle and gasp again. I glided in and out, so easily, so smoothly, his hole tightening only when my cock might retreat too much. I kneaded his ass, his chest, his hips. I kissed his neck, his ear, his biceps.
It was intense and beautiful, so fucking beautiful. I was slow fucking him while facing the city which suddenly seemed immense and welcoming. I was fucking the city. I was fucking Brisbane, for a few seconds, as the warm breeze caressed my forehead and as Adrian kept saying my name and as I felt my orgasm build up, burn up my groins, shatter through the length of my cock, and blast inside the condom, inside Adrian, over the whole city and the river and the sirens and the lights.
My body dropped over Adrian's, who seemed to support and carry me while I panted.
"How do you want to cum?" I managed to say, as I felt my softening cock slipping out of his ass.
He turned around and took my face between his two hands and kissed me hungrily, almost violently.
"How do you want to cum?" I repeated, whispering in his ear.
"I... I don't know... I"
"Don't think Adrian! Just don't think. How do you want to cum?"
He pushed me away and said "Watch me", his eyes a little possessed. He stepped back against the window and stared at me, his eyes wide open, as he jerked his cock furiously.
"Nathan," he groaned, his strong arm going faster and faster. I stared back.
I stepped forward, which startled him, but my eyes told him to keep at it. I slipped the condom off and emptied it on his hand and on the tip of his cock. There was a very loud gasp coming from him, of surprise, of thrill, of pleasure. I stepped back again and watched his face turn into alarm, as if scared of the intensity of his coming ejaculation. He thrusted his groin forward, towards me, discharging cum in volleys which reached my knee, calves and feet.
* * *
There is this scene in Nights & Shark where the narrator runs non-stop through the streets of a city he knows but in a neighborhood he doesn't recognize. He's looking for water, though whether his aim is to drink or swim is never quite clear and constantly changing. But he runs and runs. His mind swirls, failing him, for he's torn between the thrill of the running itself and the solace of his destination, between the excitement and possibilities of the yet unexperienced and the comfort of the familiar.
I woke up late the next morning. I had hoped to be fully rested and cleansed by 10 hours of sleep, but I still felt agitated, the way I felt the night before, when I hugged Adrian goodbye, when I tried to kiss off his vexation that I wouldn't spend the night, when I watched the city zip by me in the rushing cab, when I noiselessly got in my studio, when I fought thoughts, longings and schemes when trying to fall asleep.
Restless and reckless is how I felt the whole day. I walked through the neighborhood and gazed through the houses' open windows. I had brunch at The Powerhouse and pictured the secrets and fantasies of the men drinking, eating, conversing. I tried to do some work at home but my mind drifted to Adrian, or Jonah, or Dan, or to the men I had looked at in the streets, who had looked at me, who had wondered, for a just a second, if we could fuck, if we could possibly retrieve ourselves from normal life, from the sidewalks and patios of Brisbane, and find a place just for ourselves where we could have sex, before getting on our way again.
I shut down my computer, stuffed my book in my backpack and headed out. I walked all the way down Brunswick Street to get on the ferry. Not unlike Garatta, I wanted to see water. I didn't have to wait long for a CityCat to arrive and I hopped in this weird little blue and yellow boat, shaped as if wishing to be supersonic, but carefully maneuvering out of the quay.
Restless and reckless, I thought, as I looked at houses on the bank, with their small swimming pools and private docks, as I tried to see the people inside. Yes, I was horny. And I was a stranger in an unknown city, something always sexually exciting. But there was more to it. I could usually control my libido. Indeed, I could and would go weeks emotionally and intellectually driven and gratified only by great friends, great food and wine, great books, a sparse but healthy dose of masturbation and the helpful occasional fuckbuddy. But then there were times when an electricity inside took over, when some people or places triggered and ignited little quakes and jolts, ones which took over, which kept my cock constantly an inch thicker and longer, which made my mind undress guys and teleport them into abandon, which made me predatory and blithe.
The ferry made a few stops, slaloming along with the river, passed under a bridge, stopped at Riverside, with its tall modern skyrises. Brisbane looked like a Simcity screenshot, I thought.
Restless and reckless. Places. Unknown, new, discoverable places do that to you. But people too. Some people really do that to you. I first blamed Jonah. Jonah and his newfound crave for cocks and asses, Jonah and his body which was now unknown, new and discoverable itself. Then I blamed Dan. Dan, who lit up Jonah's tortured brain, who filled it with images and body parts I wanted to get a glimpse of. Dan, cocky and fierce, his bare foot on the bench, his hand on Jonah's crotch. A brother in arm, a partner in crime, restless and reckless.
North Quay. A Ferris wheel, museum, bridges.
I've always liked the Dans of this world more than the Jonahs. The Adrians, well, I don't know. I always fucked it up with the Adrians. I liked the mischief, the wickedness, the sexual wit of those who dare. They were toxic and made me noxious myself. But they were the ones with whom you can steal from real life, cheat normalcy, con it, mug it, molest it.
Milton. The Scratch was just up there, I thought I remembered.
Was Dylan a Dan? Was Dan a Dylan? If I thought about Dylan, then there would have to be a connection.
I met Dylan the day I turned 30, at a bar, celebrating with friends. And friends of them, and friends of their friends. Jay had brought Dylan along, the guy he had been talking about, the guy who had been fucking him. Jay had spoken of Dylan as a thug and preppy Jay would get hard just using the word. Dylan made every effort to talk to me that night, in contrast with his otherwise aloof and menacing presence. "We need to get a beer together some day", he said three times. And we did.
Jay had been telling Dylan that I grew up working class, possibly as a way to beef up his own nonexistent street creds. Dylan thought my roots would match his, that of an Irish drop-out growing up in South Boston, but wasn't deterred that I was just the son of an alcoholic truck driver in the Berkshires. And he still ended up on all fours, his toes and knees firmly on the hardwood floor of my living-room. We had this connection, he'd say. We're not like the rest of them. But I was. I had become like "the rest of them", educated, liberal, making decent money, cynical and probably a bit of a snob. Dylan was short and stocky, a round face with a boxer's nose, and some kind of purple birthmark that looked like a permanent recovering black eye. He dressed cheaply, but in that straight guy way which made people like Jay get a boner. I once joked that the only thing we had in common was the hoodies we often wore. His was Old Navy, mine was APC – a present from a rich ex-boyfriend.
But we did have a connection, it turned out. The sex was incredible. We never dated, we never mentioned such configuration or possibility. But once in a while, one of us would call the other and use the password "Want to go and play?" and things will get intense. Restless and reckless. I was the only person he liked to get fucked by. So whatever we did often involved that. But it also often involved dares and public sex, it involved threesomes or foursomes, it involved saunas and sex clubs and backrooms. He liked me watching him fuck rich older men, I liked him watching me fuck jocks and young lawyers. He loved us spit-roasting Republicans. Everything he suggested always seemed to consist of some sort of class warfare: he didn't fuck men, he used, abused or sometimes humiliated them, vindicated and exhilarated by these men's ready submission and willingness to have their asses ravaged and their faces cum-drenched by Warrior Dylan. I never myself engaged in such social retaliation, I didn't think I had any clearly conscious issues of resentment and revenge. What fueled my recklessness with Dylan was something else, it was his unbound sexual imagination and, especially, the way he stimulated mine. I was often amazed at our ability to come up with ever new ways to fuck someone, to come up with ever new places, new scenarios, new risks, new set-ups, new victims or partners.
West End. Trees, condos, bikers, joggers, boats.
I'd had sex twice since I got in Brisbane, albeit with the same person. But I'd been constantly thinking about sex ever since Jonah had said he needed to tell me something. Sex with Adrian last night hadn't quashed my horniness. My restlessness and recklessness. I felt I was nearing a choice: I either had to take a cold shower (metaphorical or otherwise) or indulge and dive and be carried by the wave building inside me. I looked at Brisbane in front of me, alternatively very bland or very intriguing. The men in Brisbane had longings, fantasies, secrets. They jerked off, they ejaculated in their sleep, they hid their boners at work or in the train, they lied and hoped and rejoiced and cowered. I was amongst them now, for a month. I could slide into the sexual fabric of the city.
UQ Saint-Lucia. Last stop.
I looked at the ferry map and saw the blue line going way past New Farm, all the way to Northshore Hamilton. I decided to stay on, ride back to the other terminus, make my way slowly home again. I got a text from Jonah: Chloe might be back tonight. Dinner? Is Chloe my cold shower? Sure, I texted back. I sat down and took my book out of my bag. Jack Garatta felt like a perfect read when you're feeling restless and reckless.
* * *
I dropped my bag on the floor and kicked off my shoes. I heard some noise next door, in Jonah's bedroom, maybe drawers being shut, a door being opened and closed. Silence, then steps on the stairs outside, leading to my studio. A knock on my door, which had been left ajar to let some breeze.
"Hey," Jonah smiled tentatively, letting himself in.
"Hey."
"You're back."
"Yes. It's hot out. I needed to cool down a bit and rest. Is Chloe back yet?"
"No. She wanted to stay an extra night. She'll be on the plane early tomorrow."
"I see." I wasn't sure what to do or say.
Jonah dropped on my bed, resting his back against the wall, his long legs straight, his hands resting on his stomach. "You want to hang out tonight?"
"Of course".
"You got no other plans?"
"I don't. How would I have other plans? I'm just a tourist," I smiled.
"Of course, you are," he smiled back. He was a little nervous, maybe, though I couldn't be sure. His body language was open, relaxed, engaging, and yet, for all the time we'd spent hanging out together over all these years, this particular invitation seemed weighted with intent. Jonah loosened his collar and tie.
"You're just back from work?"
"Yes. Just got in. I was about to change and heard you. You were right, these walls are pretty thin," he said with a somewhat mischievous smile, perhaps thinking back to my first night and his loud fucking of Chloe. He had taken off his jacket, but his crisp white shirt, his burgundy tie, his fitted slim pants and his expensive shoes still gave him the allure of the sexy businessman. I had always liked that look on Jonah, the look of the man he was when we weren't together. I liked the contrast between us now, the cocky sexy professional Jonah, the other Jonah, facing me with my shorts and old NYU t-shirt. I liked how the other Jonah invaded my very private space, his body splayed in the middle of a room where dirty socks and underwear lay around. "There should be some scotch in that little cupboard, over there. And glasses," he nodded, not moving from the bed.
"Why do you keep scotch in the guest studio?"
"You know, cases of emergencies, I guess."
I retrieved two glasses and the bottle, already opened but almost full. I poured and handed him a glass. I didn't feel like lounging next to him, so I turned the chair from the desk and sat facing him, a foot flat on the edge of the bed. "Cheers," I said.
"Cheers, my friend."
The rapidly setting sun dimmed the room, his white shirt glowing all the more.
"So, what's up, Jonah."
He chuckled. "Yeah, I know, we should talk."
"We don't have to."
"Yes, we do. I'm sorry I've been acting weird or, I don't know, elusive. I just didn't really know how to talk to you."
"But you do know."
"Ah, not sure about that. But I want to."
"Okay," I said, drinking.
"What do you want to know?" he asked, in a feigned casual tone.
"That's not how I want to start this conversation."
"Help me out, will you?"
"Yes," I smiled. "Well, then, you mentioned Dan wasn't the first guy."
"You were my first guy," he said quickly and eagerly.
"Yes, I meant –"
"I know what you meant. So, yes, this ... thing... started before Dan. Three months ago, I guess. I was at a company retreat, in Singapore. There was this guy. I knew he was gay, it was pretty obvious. Not effeminate or anything, not really, but you know, sometimes you just know. And he was pretty forward. Staring at my crotch all the time. Making lewd jokes. Coming on to me. Discreetly but aggressively, if that makes any sense."
"It does."
"So one night, I don't know why, I was drunk I guess, but I got hard thinking about it, I got hard again when he propositioned, and I followed him to his room. And we had sex."
"And it was good?"
"Yes. No. I don't know. He gave a fantastic blow job, I must say. But then, he just sort of lay there, on his stomach, waiting for me to fuck him. I tried, I was pretty horny by then, but I couldn't get in. My cock wasn't hard enough."
"Why?"
"It' just... The excitement had gone. The thrill, the unknown, the danger, the wrongness of it all, it was gone. I was suddenly just facing some random guy's ass, you know? A guy on a bed, doing nothing, just waiting to get a cock past his hole. So, anyway, he blew me again and I came in his mouth. Which was hot," he smiled.
"Then Dan?"
"No. Another dude. At my gym. Hot guy, a little gruff. I had noticed he'd always check me out in the locker room. Which, I must admit, turned me on. So, that evening, when we found ourselves together coming out of the showers, I could feel his look on me, on my body, I got a little hard. I saw him notice and it made me harder. He just nodded and got dressed, but we left at the same time and it was pretty clear he wanted me to follow him. We walked a few blocks, me a few steps behind. I was rock hard, Nathan, you have no idea. We got in his flat and undressed each other, quite frantically. Then I started to blow him, I don't know why, I really wanted his hard dick in my mouth. We ended up sucking each other off for like an hour. Then I left."
I stood up and poured more scotch in our now empty tumblers, before resuming my position.
"How did you feel?" I asked.
"Fine. I just had a great blow job."
"Well, you also just had given one. You'd had a dude's dick in your mouth, Jonah."
"Yeah," he said, looking away. "Anyway, that was that. Then I met Dan."
"How?"
"Kind of the same story, I guess. I was at The Scratch and we were checking each other out, and-"
"You were there with Chloe?"
"No. Larry, this guy from work. Anyway, Larry had to go, but I lingered at the bar. Dan struck up a conversation. So to speak."
"So to speak?"
"He didn't say much. We just exchanged a few banalities. Then he basically asked me if I wanted to fuck him."
"Ah," I couldn't help but laughing, easily picturing Dan. "Just like that?"
"Just like that. Which I found incredibly sexy."
"Sure."
"So, we..., well..."
"You fucked him like crazy."
"Yeah," he said, beaming. I could see the outline of his cock slightly growing inside his tight pants. "Yeah, yeah, I did. Like crazy. This happened, like, a day or so before you arrived."
"Last week?"
"Yes. So, I was pretty confused and wasn't really sure what or how to tell you."
"And you guys are, like, what? Dating?" I asked.
"Ah, no," he chuckled. "I'm not sure what we're doing. He's a twisted fuck."
His mind seemed to wander and I didn't press him further. I noticed his glass was already empty again.
"Why are you drinking so fast?" I asked, teasingly.
"To keep up with you," he smiled. My glass, it turned out, was equally empty.
I stood and refilled our glasses again and realized the heat and the walking around all day were making me drunk a little faster than usual. I dropped back on my chair.
"You don't want to sit next to me?" Jonah asked, his eyes a little foggy.
I watched his lips, his square jaw, his stubble. I watched him pass a hand through his hair. "I'm good," I said.
He was staring at my legs, then looked back up at my eyes. "I like it when you're watching me," he said, trying but failing to make it sound like a joke.
I let the moment linger. Then asked, "Now what?"
I realized too late the question was too open handed or ambiguous and he frowned quizzically.
"I think I'd like to have sex with you," he said meekly, indeed not taking the route I had intended. He stared at me, I stared back.
"I'm not sure it's a good idea," I said.
"I didn't say it was. I just said I wanted to," he said. And smiled.
"Right."
And I wanted it too, I knew. And I didn't want to, I also knew. Because I was horny, I was really horny, and his body seemed magnificent, and I wanted to see and touch his dick, his ass, his calves, his neck, his chest. I wanted to fuck him. I wanted to fuck him in a way I knew we couldn't, I wanted to fuck him with an intensity I knew we wouldn't reach, not any more, not at the same time. But I wanted that moment to last, that moment when he wanted me and I wanted him.
"Maybe," he said slowly, taking a gulp, "maybe we can talk about it."
"Talk about what? About having sex?"
"About us," he said, a little impatient. He took another gulp and smiled, "Dan seems to think we should."
"Dan thinks we should talk or we should fuck?" I smiled back.
"Not sure. He's a hard-to-read little fucker," he laughed. "He thinks you don't like him, by the way."
"Why would he say that?"
"You weren't exactly Mister Charmer last night."
"I do like him, actually."
Jonah raised his eyebrow, nudging me to elaborate. When he didn't get anything but silence, he sighed, looked up at the ceiling and place his hands behind his neck. "So..."
I smiled. "Let's talk, then."
He looked at me and I thought he may have preferred me suggesting the fuck option.
"Alright," he said, masking his reluctance.
He said nothing more, however, and just looked at me, intently, defiantly perhaps too. I raised my other knee and had now my two feet on the edge of the bed, my legs spread, my crotch in direct view. I liked his brief fluster. I put my glass on the floor and regretted, for a second, that we still both needed to get a little drunk to get to moments like the one we were now gliding into.
"Take off your clothes," I whispered.
He didn't look surprised. If he was, he hid it well, better than he hid his keenness. He slowly took out his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and threw it on the floor. He unlaced and kicked off his shoes. He pulled down his pants, then underwear, and discarded them. He resumed his position on the bed, his back resting against the wall. He lifted one knee, but straightened the other leg. His cock, semi hard and throbbing a bit, seemed bigger than I remembered. I flashed to our past encounters, carefree dicking around. I flashed to images of his large cock engulfed in Dan's ass, in these men's mouths in Singapore and Brisbane.
"Your turn," he said.
I shook my head, "Not now."
His look changed for a second, suddenly adjusting to his nakedness and vulnerability, watched and owned by my fully clothed resolve to call the shots.
"What do you remember of us two, back then? How do you remember us?" I asked slowly.
"I remember the confusion," he said, sounding a little resentful. "I remember hating not knowing what you actually wanted."
"How did that matter? What did you want?"
"I think that, at one point or another, I've been curious to push things further," he said uneasily.
That is when I knew the conversation couldn't possibly lead anywhere. I could not remember if I had actually ever been in love with Jonah, because that was what we were talking about, wasn't it? Jonah had been an object of lust, an agent of sexual awakening and growth. Jonah's cock, his ass, his legs, his chest, had convinced me that I'd wanted to see and touch other cocks, asses, legs, chests. The awkwardness of our kisses, and of his drunk blow job once, had propelled me to seek kisses and blow jobs that were enthralling and organic and frantic and raw. I had never doubted Jonah's heterosexuality, not really, and in many ways, I had used it and used him to move forward - as well as to get occasional kicks from having it on with a straight dude. The idea of scanning our common history for junctures where Jonah and I could have been, could have meant, something different, something bigger or deeper, was making me uneasy.
Yet, I couldn't ignore the feeling that Jonah and I did have unfinished business together, that the closure I thought we'd had years ago might be illusory. Whatever that unfinished business was, I didn't know, but I wasn't going to be able to probe it after ordering Jonah to get naked in front of me, nor after making it possible for Jonah to get all mawkish about the past.
I was fucking this up royally, so I led us on a road safer and more travelled by the strange friends we were.
"What are your hottest memories?" I asked.
He look perplexed by the sudden change of topics, but his eyes quickly lightened.
"I loved sharing a bed with you, in my parents' cabin, for my birthday weekends. I loved reaching for your cock, in the darkness of the room, playing with it, with your foreskin, feeling your dick grow big and hard in my hand. I really loved it." He reached for his glass and found it empty. "I also remember that one time, when we were in a train, to Boston I think it was. We were seniors in high school, I think. We were so horny and started to get boners. So we went to the bathroom, but it was so fucking small, too small for two to jerk off, it was hard to move. So you turn me around and hugged me and started to jack me off from behind. You were so...close to me, I could feel your breathing in my ear, on my cheek. And your grip on my cock was tight. I came all over the place. You remember?"
"I do," I said, watching him distractedly fondling his now hard dick.
"There was also..." he started cautiously.
"What?"
"It might be a little weird, but what the hell. One night, I was staying at your place in the city, it was sophomore year or something, I think. I had to get up early the next morning so I went to bed before you. I think you went out for drinks or something. Anyway, I was alone in your bedroom, ready to get in bed and I noticed cum stains on your navy blue sheets. There were a lot, it seemed, and they were fresh. I knew you were getting a lot of action, including with guys, even if you didn't tell me all about it. And the sight of your cum mixed with some other dude's... Well, I had to jerk off. I found one of your dirty underwear and pressed it against my nose, while staring at your dried cum on the bed and jacking furiously. I came all over your sheets and I fell asleep on my cum, yours and some guy's."
"Wow", I laughed. I saw him noticing my growing boner as I listened to him.
"And, also... well," he continued, seemingly encouraged by the reaction he was getting. "I gave you a blow job, once. Do you remember that? I think you were a little passed out."
"Vaguely, yes."
"I remember it vividly. Man, that was... that is still... I don't know."
"When was that?"
"Same thing. In your little studio in Manhattan. We had crashed, really drunk, but I woke up at dawn. It was steaming hot in the room, very musky. We had pushed away the duvet and you lay on your back next to me, naked except from your boxers. With a massive erection tenting them. I just... I just went for it. I pulled down your boxers. It woke you and you looked at me weirdly. Weirdly, but, you know, saying yes. I took your cock in my mouth. And I went crazy. I mean, my head was exploding. I sucked on your cock for hours, I couldn't stop. You were moaning, so I knew you were okay with it. But I ... I couldn't get enough. Then you came in my mouth and I swallowed you. It's so fucking weird, I still remember clearly what your cum tastes like."
Jonah was now openly stroking his cock. I unbuttoned my shorts and took my own hard cock out. Jonah smiled. "What about you?" he said.
I tried to think. "I remember when we went to this rich kid's party, Henry something, at his parents' house. They had this big fucking mansion. You and I snuck to his parents' bathroom upstairs and jerked off there. We came all over their pink marble bathtub and didn't clean it up."
"Yes!" he laughed, while tugging faster at his cock.
"Or when we jerked off and came inside Todd Reilly's gym bag."
"Ah!"
"And I remember how, years later, we jerked off together while I told you all the details of how I was fucking Enrique, your personal trainer."
"Wow, I had forgotten about that. Yes. Were you guys dating? I can't remember."
"No, not really. We hooked up for, like, three weeks. But you were fascinated by the whole thing. You had no idea he was gay. And one night, we were kind of jacking off and you started to ask all these questions. Like, you wanted graphic details."
"Yeah," he said softly, lost in his thoughts.
We were both slowly jerking off by then, in that state of excitement when you know you're still able to pace it, while knowing too you will have to cum at some point, you wouldn't be able to just slip your erection back in your underwear.
"Is there..." he started tentatively, looking at me with a peculiar hunger, "Is there something you wished we had done?"
I knew I couldn't think too much about this one, so I rather quickly replied "I think I wanted to fuck you."
I could see his hand uncontrollably jack his dick faster all of the sudden, before being tamed by a deep sigh. "Do you still?"
"Did you get fucked by Dan?" I asked, dodging.
"No. I told you, we only really got together once."
"And last night?"
"At The Scratch? No, we talked a little bit. Then he went off. And I got back here. To an empty house."
"With major blue balls."
"You can say that, yes," he smiled.
"Do you want to get fucked by Dan?"
"I..." he shrugged. "No. I don't know. I don't want... things... to get out of hands."
"But you want to see him again? To have sex again, I mean?"
"Yes. Although..." I could his erection subsiding a bit, and his voice getting a little shakier. "This whole set-up is crazy. There's him, there's you,... there's Chloe. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing."
"And you hate confusion, you said," I smiled.
"Yeah."
"You have plans to see him again?"
"Dan? No. Not really. He has this rule, he said. A rule against second times."
"Right."
"Do you see what I see in him?" he asked, suddenly leaning forward.
"Yes. I think I do. I see something."
"Right," Jonah grunted, uncertain to prod further. "You want to talk about Adrian?" he suddenly says, as if an afterthought.
"Not really."
"I googled him. He's hot. Are you fucking him?" he asked, grabbing his cock again.
"Yes," I said, leaving it at that, uncomfortable with using beautiful Adrian as jerk-off material.
A long silence followed. I could feel Jonah's eyes on me, on my hand leisurely stroking my dick, I could feel his eyes dragging me closer to me, making me drink his horniness, his lust. I slowly stood and walked by the side of the bed. My shorts dropped to my ankles. Jonah stared at my erection and gradually moved towards it, the mass of his body shifting and rearranging itself into that of man hungry for dick, into that of a resolute, strong, and eager cocksucker.
The first contact of his tongue with the engorged head of my cock was electrifying. Jonah kissed it, licked it. He nibbled on my foreskin, then pushed it down with his lips. He moved again, onto all fours on the bed. He swallowed me whole, sucked, kissed and licked some more. I watched his head bobbing up and down, his back undulating, his ass cheeks clenching, his hairy calves tensing, his toes wriggling.
He used one of his hands to jerk himself off. He did so slowly, a clear indication that he wanted me to cum first, even if he wanted me to cum late.
His moans grew louder and his suction was so strong that it felt like he was trying to vacuum my whole body inside. His tongue was so frantic that it felt like he was trying to lick all of Adrian's ass juices off, to get his share of the ass juices of all the men I had banged.
His mouth, his tongue his lips had once been on my cock, but they'd been on other cocks since then, they'd been on pussies, they'd lick his cum on his fingers. Those hips had thrusted into bodies. It made me even harder to imagine this tall, hairy, muscular man fucking Chloe, fucking Dan. Is there something you wished we had done? At that moment, in the dizziness of an outstanding and overzealous blow job, the answers – and possibilities – seemed endless. Share him, use him, guide him, push him.
Then I came. Without warning, because he probably didn't want any, because he probably had felt my balls tensing up, my groans disrupted by the jolts in my loins. I erupted in his mouth and he didn't pull away. He sucked it all in and increased the pace of his jerking. He sucked some more and moaned and I leaned a little bit, sideways, to watch the always fascinating spectacle of his large cock squirting jizz in long, thick streams. He soaked my sheets and I thought about later, when I'd be alone, when I'd fall asleep, my naked chest on his dried cum.
He finally let my softening cock go and dropped on the bed, turning to face the ceiling, panting heavily. I pulled up my briefs and shorts, wondering whether things were about to get weird. But he laughed, giggled perhaps, if a grown-man with drops of cum sliding through the crack of his lips could giggle.
"Man, that was... That was fucking awesome," he said, to himself more than to me.
I sat on the floor, cross-legged and watched him.
"Was it good?" he asked, fishing for compliments.
"Fucking brilliant, my friend. You're a pro," I smiled, catching my breath.
No one said a word for a few minutes; I think we were both trying, and failing, to readjust to our previous reality, the one where Jonah didn't get his rocks off sucking on a dick, sucking on my dick. But things had changed. For him probably a bit more than for me.
I was parched and stood up to walk to the little bathroom. I put my head under the faucet and gulped down cold water. I felt sweaty and sticky. I looked at Jonah, still spread over my bed, looking like he was waiting for something to happen. Not now. Plenty had just happened right then. But waiting for whatever came next.
"You have your phone with you?" I asked.
"Yes. My pants pocket," he mumbled, a little puzzled.
"May I?" I asked, retrieving it. His pin code used to be my birthday. It still worked. I opened his text messages, scrolled down to Dan and typed
U got a rule against 2nd times. Let's make each time a 1st then. Jonah x
Dan had pushed Jonah to talk to me, apparently. I could push Jonah back into his ass. I replaced the phone in Jonah's pants and leaned on his chest. I kissed his nipple and told him gently that we needed to get some food.
// Dan
When I woke up, I looked to my phone from force of habit. Nine notifications from Scruff – doubtless from fuckboys unlocking their private albums before saying a word – two reminders from Duolingo that I was behind on my German, and a text. A text from Jonah.
U got a rule against 2nd times. Let's make each time a 1st then. Jonah x
I laughed out loud, and wondered how long it had taken him to come up with that. In fact, it didn't really sound like him at all; perhaps it had been workshopped. I wondered idly if Nathan had seen this message, while I scratched my balls. The thought of Nathan caused them to jump a little. Nathan? Really? I hadn't been aware of thinking much of the dude, although his presence, brooding and hulking the corner when I'd been playing with Jonah in the Scratch, had been the sort of thing that usually gets me going.
After a quick shower to clear the head, I sent a text back to Jonah.
What's on the agenda, then?
I was on campus, hanging around the library, before his reply came through.
I wanna feel what u feel
Don't they all, I thought to myself.
Meaning?
I wanna lose myself. I wanna forget who i am
Now if there was anything guaranteed to get my attention, it was this talk of destruction. Ever since I had been destroyed myself, I longed to wreak havoc with my cock. I wouldn't say it made me happy, exactly, but each surge of power that I got – whether from top or bottom, ripping or roaring – turned off one more bulb on the harshly lit memories of Pat. Jonah was offering me a chance to short-circuit.
You say when and where.
My place, tonight?
Steady on cowboy – what about the wife?
Out of town for one more night. B there
I imagined him putting his phone face down on his desk, as if that was his final word. Maybe he stood up, went over to the blinds, adjusted them so no one could see in. And then he started, very slowly, to jerk his cock. The door wasn't locked, because he'd taken his risk for the day, so there was no way this would be discovered. I remembered his cock: thick, veiny, with a slight bend to the left. Not on the porn star scale, but definitely serviceable – particularly because he knew how to use it. I was definitely excited about this evening's promise.
Lurking in the shadows outside the library, I hadn't expected to be disturbed, especially with such an obvious boner tenting my cycling shorts. But from the Great Court came stumbling a disheveled man, looking warily back over his shoulder. Although he wore sunglasses, I recognised him immediately: it was Adrian, the custodian of the Garatta estate. I'd flirted with him aggressively after a public lecture – hoping to get into the archive as much as into his pants – and then heard nothing from him after he'd disappeared with one of the profs in tow.
"Adrian!"
He looked up, pure terror in his eyes. I'd hoped to be remembered as somewhat less threatening but there you go.
"Hey, Adrian. I'm Dan – we met a year or so back, at the CHE lecture"
"Oh, right. Oh. Hi, Dan. Sorry. I didn't... I didn't recognise you"
"All good, man. Are you okay? You seem a bit frantic?"
I reached out and put my hand on his arm. His eyes bulged, and he looked at it for a moment, before clocking my not-quite-rapidly-enough-softening cock.
"Yeah. Yeah. I just haven't been back here for a while"
"Well maybe I can help?"
"Sure. Yeah, sure. Actually – I have no idea where the Fryer is. I thought it was the main library, but – "
"Nah, it's just around the corner. Want me to show you?"
"Um... yeah. That'd be good. I have to get to 'Manuscript Services'".
I kept up as non-threatening a patter as I could, leading him around the corner and into the Fryer. The guy was looking good: he'd filled out since the lecture, and now he was dressing to show off his assets instead of hiding them. In any other circumstance, I'd be champing at the bit to get in his pants, but the guy was clearly working through some of his own shit. When we got to Manuscript Services, I turned to face him, and put my hands on his shoulders.
"You going to be okay, Adrian?"
"I – yeah. Yeah. Thanks"
"No worries"
I turned away from him, and started to leave, trying not to concentrate too much on the impression my ass might be leaving. Before I got to the top of the stairs, he stopped me, grabbing my upper arm. I flexed, instinctively, giving him a sense of what might be underneath my shirt.
"Hey! Dan? Thanks. Really"
"You're very welcome".
He opened his mouth again, but said nothing, nodded, and went to turn away.
"Adrian? Actually, the reason I recognised you – I'm working on Garatta, for my thesis. I'm almost done actually. We talked, about the archive?"
"I don't really remember much from that night"
"Oh, no – it's okay. We were talking about the house, your house"
"Right"
"And I wondered if I might come up there one day soon, just to finish up the research? You don't have to tell me now, but" – I reached into his pocket, and took out his phone, which had no passcode (technophobes are so predictable), typed in my number, saved it, and put it back in his pocket – "let me know when you can. Have fun in there". And with that I turned and left. "Right. Yeah. Okay", I heard behind me as I exited the library.
Two hours later, when I was back home getting ready: pay dirt. A text from an unknown number.
Hi, Dan Garatta. Nice one. Thanks for your kindness today. I'm actually going to be at the house this weekend and I'd be happy to show you around. Come up when you like – you know where it is – or I can give you a lift from Paddington on Saturday morning. Let me know if that works.
* * *
When Jonah opened the door, the narrative was already clear. He looked magnificent: shirtless, with a pair of gym shorts slung low around his hips. His pecs were covered with a sprinkling of hair that I remembered from our first encounter, almost hiding his small brown nipples. His midriff was muscled without being cut, and the hair made a second appearance from his navel downstairs, expanding into a patch of pubic hair – a few strands of which were valiantly standing over the waistband of his shorts. I felt overdressed in my own tight t-shirt and jeans combination.
"You look great", I said, standing on the threshold.
"I try", he replied, moving aside to invite me in.
As I passed into his marital den, I slid the tips of my fingers across his midsection. I felt his skin react to my touch, blossoming into goosebumps. The hair on my arm stood on end. I stood in the middle of his front room, looking around awkwardly, seeing the signs of his wife's taste everywhere.
"This is nice."
"Shut the fuck up."
"Make me".
Jonah strode towards me, and for one terrible second I thought I might have bitten off more than I could chew. But he put his arms around me, threw me over his shoulder, and carried me through the house. Opening a door into a new room, he threw me down – with some care – onto an ugly easy chair, and stood in front of me. His chest was heaving as he regained his breath, and he'd never looked hotter standing over me. My cock, which had been hard the whole way over to his house, throbbed its appreciation. I had to have this man.
Jonah ran his hand through his hair, and moved to sit down on the end of the bed.
"Don't", I told him.
"Why not?"
"Because I said so. And you wanted to know what I feel. Flex for me".
"What?"
"Flex for me. Show me why I'm here, stud".
The last word seemed to be all the encouragement he needed, and he made a self-conscious little show of flexing for me, moving his arms about and holding various positioned. At one point he kissed his bicep, and I laughed despite myself – it was just what we needed to break the mood and reclaim the comfort we'd felt before.
"Lose the shorts" – my next command – "but keep looking at me."
He complied. All was revealed.
"They don't look like your wife bought them".
Jonah stood before me, resplendent in a fashionable jockstrap, missing a small triangle in the front just under the waistband but above his still-contained cock. His pubes erupted through this small opening; a portal to a better world. The jock was a violent yellow colour, and just where the tip of Jonah's cock met the fabric, it was beginning to stain a deep gold. The thin straps in the front, straining against the muscular tops of his thighs, confirmed this was no innocent sports jock.
"It's not mine," he admitted. "Nathan – well, I..."
"Why do I feel like I'm getting played by Nathan in all this?"
"No, I mean... I stole it. From his bag"
"Ohhhh. Now this I can get behind. Turn."
He looked uncomfortable for a moment, until he got what I was asking.
"Slowly".
He brought his hands together in front of his chest, and starting rubbing them together, looked away from me, and then slowly turned to his left, until the full glory of his ass was facing me. Thin black straps snaked across the underside of his cheeks, pushing them up and out towards me. They were shockingly, indecently hairless – save for a dark brown tuft that erupted from his crack.
"Bet your wife loves that hairy crack"
"Leave her out of it."
"Don't tell me what to do".
And with that, I slapped him lightly across one cheek. Finally making contact with his skin was electric; the current surged from my palm, up my arm and took over my brain. I leaned forward and grabbed his right cheek with my right hand, and started roughly massaging his ass. The knowledge that I may as well be the first guy to have done this was making me giddy, and even before I had intended to, I had prised his cheeks apart and was faced with –
There it was. Nestled in the centre of the hair, rudely pink and radiant, was his to-all-intents-and-purposes-un touched hole. (Experience had taught me that straight boys' holes were never quite as virginal as they made out). Like a projection from a bad 60s movie, it started to fill my vision, getting larger and larger and larger until it was all that I could see, hear, smell... I lent in towards it, and inhaled deeply – only to find myself overwhelmed by the tang of lime.
"Dude! Ease up on the body wash!"
"Oh, I'm sorry! Is that not – euuggggg..."
His nervousness was cut off by a primal sound, somewhere between a groan and a scream – and all I'd done was blown lightly on his hole.
"Forget it"
"Oh – okay".
"Now this, this is the bit most often forgotten. You have to win an asshole over, make friends with it, spoil it like a teenage girl on a first date."
"Or a wife who's planning to leave you"
"Whatever floats your boat. Or doesn't anymore, as the case may be".
Before he could take issue with what I had said, I leant further forward, extended my tongue to its full length, and delicately landed its tip at the centre of his hole. Jonah yelped in response. I pulled his cheeks further apart, and flattened my tongue so it engulfed him, running up and down his crack with increasing vigour. However well he had cleaned his hole, this rich forest of hair still held the musk of a man and it was filling me, setting me on fire.
I pulled away from his ass as I heard a door opening somewhere else in his house, or was it next door? He'd said his wife was away, which left... Nathan. I remembered the door stood half open, but before I could resolve to do anything about this, Jonah had shoved my face back into his ass, with a brusque "Keep going!". Ah well – I wasn't averse to putting on a show, and Jonah was too far gone to care what happened as long as his arse was being taken care of.
"So the next step, is this..." I announced, and dove back into his crack, this time probing my tongue into the centre of his hole. I gripped his ass cheeks more firmly, and subject the hole to a relentless attack until it began to open for me. Jonah's noise had stabilised to a high-pitched hum, and each time I jabbed him, the hum jumped up or down and he slammed his hand against his bedroom wall. If there was someone in the house, they would be in no doubt that their man Jonah was getting serviced.
I used my control of Jonah's hips to start rocking his ass gently back into my face, pressing back onto my tongue. Eventually he got the message, and started fucking himself on my tongue. I laughed into his ass, which obviously produced some kind of effect – he groaned louder than he had before, and for the first time said "Yes, yes, YES!". I pulled away from him, unable to keep the grin off my face.
"Okay, too much"
"What? What do you mean?"
He turned back to face me, and I could see the effects our activities had been having: his chest was a bright shade of pink, and the spare hairs that decorated soaked with sweat. The entire front pouch of his jock was soaked with what must have been pre-cum – I would've felt an orgasm, I was sure – and it was ballooning out obscenely. I put one hand on his chest, feeling its heat and the hardness of his pec.
"Jonah, you've got to calm – "
He cut me off, swinging his arm around and using his hand to press my face towards his, and envelop me in a kiss. His kiss was hungry, probing into my mouth, sucking, as if parched. I remembered the first time we'd kissed, in my kitchen, when I'd dropped a glass onto the floor beside him and even that hadn't been enough to stop him. Jonah kissed like his life depended on it, like this was the last kiss he'd ever have and he'd need it to keep him going wherever he was next. He brought his other hand to my neck, squeezing lightly, and I found myself enjoying the pressure, resting my hands on his taut thighs.
Back to the business at hand, though. I used my resting position to flip Jonah back onto his stomach when he next came up for air, and then collapsed my body weight on top of him, pinning him to the bed. We both knew that he absolutely could've got me off if he wanted, but he consented to be held there, and I spoke into his ear, "Time for the next step". I raised my hips off him, and fiddled his jock off him, while still maintaining the pretense of holding him down. I used the soaking garment to tie his left hand to the bedhead.
But then I was stuck – not wanting to lose my own underwear quite yet, I was out of options. Jonah, sensing my problem, used his long arm to open the bottom drawer of the bedside table. Lying on top of a pile of sex toys was a pair of handcuffs; pink, and plumed with feathers. I saw underneath a fleshjack, and further down the head of a nasty-looking dildo.
"What's all this then?", I crowed.
"Wait until you're older, then you'll understand", Jonah grunted.
I snapped the cuff around his right wrist, and then attached the other to the bedhead. "Ooh, Daddy" I said into his ear, and bit down lightly on the lobe as I went past. With my weight still on him, I began to lick my tongue from the nape of his neck, down the groove of his spine, across the top of his tailbone and back into the verdant garden of his crack. Enough of this, I thought to myself, and shifted my weight downwards as I used my hands to pull up his hips. I reached over the side of the bed and retrieved two pillows, which I shoved between his cock and the bed, raising his ass up.
"Right, so I need your help for the next bit", I said, and hovered a finger in front of Jonah's mouth.
"That's fucking weird, Dan"
"Is it? I hadn't noticed".
And with that, I brought my mouth back onto his hole – predictably enough, resulting in him opening his mouth with a groan of pleasure, more than wide enough for me to get my finger in there, and start to roll it around his mouth. Guys are so fucking easy sometimes. I munched on his ass with renewed vigour, and he started to suckle on my finger like he'd done it his whole life. I retrieved my finger, and moved myself around so I was kneeling between his splayed legs. With the fingers of my left hand, I kept his hole slightly dilated, what with all the attention it had received from my tongue.
"Now you might not like this. But persist and I personally guarantee it'll be worth it"
"Okay. Do you think I'm ready?"
"I know you are. Relax for me, baby".
That last word slipped out, but before either of us could reflect on its significance, I slipped in – the tip of my finger was inside his ass for the first time. Jonah started whining, and shook his hand so much that the bedhead started to bang against the wall. "Shhh, shhh", I encouraged him, planting a series of kisses on his buttocks, "just breathe and press backwards toward me". I was impressed that he complied so readily, and soon my whole finger was buried in his arse, and I started to twist it around. As it came slowly out, I moved a second finger to his hole. His whining noises instantly stopped, and his head snapped back, craning for a view.
"What are you doing?"
"Never you mind – just enjoy yourself"
"But I..."
I shoved the finger back in to full mast, and then brought it suddenly out again. I took off my t-shirt, and folded it into a wrap. With his hands immobilised, it was easy for me to arrange it across Jonah's eyes, and tie it at the back of his head.
"Less worrying, more squirming", I decreed, and brought two fingers to his hole for probing. I spat on their tips, and before it could slide off, pushed the tips inside him. I heard his sharp intake of breath, but also heard something else outside the room. His noises were now inhuman, though, and I used my spare hand to press his face down into his mattress. By now, I had most of both the fingers inside him, and I knew he was ready for this, from the way his body was shaking on the bed, hips bucking back towards me, noises still blasting out of him as if he'd never made them before. I looked down to check on the progress of his hole, saw it was opened enough to be penetrated.
In the mirror on the dressing table, I saw Nathan standing just outside the doorway. We locked eyes. My fingers continued their deviant work.
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