Best Gay Erotica 2015 (11 page)

“Tea and toast,” he said from behind his kitchen's tiny peninsula. It was the only eating spot in his studio apartment. I settled onto a stool and sipped the tea, which, after half a cup, worked its magic. “Some party,” I managed.

“You could say that,” replied Jeff. He stood-leaned against the counter opposite, cup in hand, studying me like he was about to pronounce sentence. Which he did. “Quite a time for you,” he began. “How many was it? I only know about Jay Costigan, but doubt that was enough. Who else?”

“That's private,” I said. “Public sex is far from private.”

“How'd you know about me and Jay?”

“I followed you into the bathroom because I knew what you were up to. Jay went in first and you'd been eyeing him.”

“That all you do, Abby? Watch others have a good time?” “You may have fucked Jay Costigan,” Jeff shot back, “but you weren't having a good time.”

“Keith sucked my dick on the way to the wedding.”

This got a shake of the head, then the hard look usually seen on the faces of mothers. “You're so destructive,” he finally said.

“I sucked off a waiter in the garage, too, cute sandy-haired number, nice dick.”

“Eat your toast.”

He went off into his living-bedroom combination, which was just as well. The last thing I wanted was anybody attempting to rearrange things into their version of right. When I'd finished my tea and toast and found my stomach pleased rather than angry, I went to find Jeff, mainly to beg aspirin for my headache. I found him in the big chair that sat in his bay window, his reading chair he called it, a tired maroon thing he'd scored online the year before. Books were stacked around it like nesting material, one pile reaching up to the chair's arm to become a table. On it sat Jeff's cup. He had no book in hand.

He looked grandfatherly, wearing khakis and blue polo shirt. Funny thing about Jeff was how he always gave off an easygoing vibe. Even when pissed at us, he remained more Dear Abby than angry man. “Feeling better?” he asked as I came in.

“Much,” I said, “but I need aspirin.” “Help yourself.”

Sun steamed through the window behind him, warming the room, and after I'd downed aspirin I perched on his bed, as there was no other seating. “So they're married now,” I noted. “Bill and Keith Forney-Dunnock. That's a mouthful.”

When Jeff moaned, I added, “No pun intended.” “You sure? You're thinking with your dick lately.”

“Back off, okay? I'm just having fun. Oh, hey, you know who I saw there last night? Vance Basch. Walked right in, big as life, strutting around like he owned the place.”

When Jeff went silent I kept on. “You saw him, didn't you? Wearing a navy blazer, of all things, looking like he'd stepped off some yacht.”

“Vance wasn't there,” Jeff said.

“Yes, he was. I saw him. It was late, but I'm sure it was him. You can't miss somebody that big and showy.”

“The guy in the blazer was Dan Darnell, Bill's attorney. My god, Alex, you've met him. Last summer at that beach barbecue?”

“No, you're wrong. It was Vance. I'd know him anywhere.” “You were drunk, my friend. Drunk and reading things into

things.”

“I'm not reading things, as you put it. I know what I saw, and he had no right to be there.”

“Why not?” asked Jeff. “If it was him he'd probably been invited, so he had a perfect right. It's not all about you, Alex. You need to get a grip on that.”

“Now who's reading things into things? I didn't mean it like that, I just…he's so…”

“He took Tom from you and you hate him for it. I get that and it's awful, but worse is the way you're letting things damage you. I hate Tom for what he did because you're a sweet boy. He didn't deserve you.”

“I don't want to talk about Tom.”

“Of course you don't because that's what you need to do most. You need to start healing.”

“What do you know about it, always advising us when you can't get anyone to love you.”

“Can you, Alex? Can you tell me you've known real and true love? Christ, I don't see how you stood it. Tom's onstage every minute of his life because that's all there is to him. Take away the script and there's nothing, but you remained true, an audience of one.”

A knife could not have done better, a steak knife with the serrated edge, because there was nothing smooth about this wound. Tears rose and I bit my lip to hold off crying, but that never works. “I loved him,” I managed as Jeff came over to sit beside me.

“Of course you did. You're young and passionate, genuine, unrestrained. You give your all, Alex, and it's the best part of you, except when some shit-heel takes advantage. I could strangle Tom Goodwin.”

Jeff's arm went around me; I didn't fight it. When I shuddered, he tightened his grip and I lay my head on his shoulder, the fight in me, the web I'd strung together collapsing entirely. For the first time in months I felt warmth and I allowed myself to be eased back and stretched out. Jeff then began petting my hair. “I hate it when you're sad,” he said in the softest voice, “and you've been sad so much lately. Angry and sad.”

I closed my eyes and didn't argue. Abby knew her stuff. When Jeff's fingers slipped down my cheek, I gave no thought

to resistance because it felt good to be caressed. “Beautiful,” he said in a near whisper as one finger stole onto my lips. Here he lingered, tracing, then gently poked in to find my tongue. I couldn't help but respond, licking the fingertip just the slightest as we enjoyed our little dance. I gradually opened my mouth to take the whole of the finger, then closed around it and began to suck. My cock stirred and I felt Jeff's hand between my legs.

It hadn't mattered much who it was lately, so why stop now? Of all people, Jeff was the last I wanted, and yet I welcomed him. Maybe because what he was doing had such a quiet to it. No demanding, no pushing or prodding, no urgency. The hand below did little more than press my stiffening cock.

Lulled into a blissful arousal, I let Jeff take charge. He slipped the finger from my mouth and lifted my shirt to rub my chest while I opened my eyes to see not the usual flush of passion, but simply someone who cared. Abby was doing what mothers had done for years: soothing an upset. I took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. “Feels good,” I said.

Jeff kept rubbing, and I enjoyed the look on his face, which was just short of contented. Promise, maybe, like he knew about the long haul. He had to be rousing himself. No man would do this for other than his own purpose, yet it didn't seem that way. His expression was wonderfully serene, and I noted he wasn't much weathered with his years, though he'd been gray for some time. Blue eyes gave him a twinkling quality, and I wondered how they looked when he came, how his expression changed in climax. He was good looking, trim gray beard, solid body. Funny how I'd never really noticed.

I sat up and pulled off my tee, which made him smile. Nothing was said, and when he unbuttoned my jeans, I raised up to let him take them and my underpants off. He surprised me by not going for my cock, his hand back on my chest. I was smooth but figured him furry as he had that bear look. “Your turn,” I said, and he nodded, stood, and shed it all. As suspected, gray hair covered most of him, running from chest to a stripe down his stomach that broadened to engulf a rising cock.

When he stretched out beside me, I wondered for a second just what in the hell I was doing, but this was lost when he leaned over and began to lick my nipple. I responded by getting my fingers into that pelt of his. Soon he was nipping and playing, all so gently.

I expected to be sucked off, but Jeff surprised me by not pouncing. I'd never known a man so restrained. Always, Tom included, especially Tom, there was that hurry toward getting off, that grab of the cock and the fierce sucking and prodding and licking until he put it where it belonged and took his pleasure. Attentions would be resumed after a time, but always the cock prevailed, urgency resurrected, maybe toward a different outcome, but always that rushed sort of passion. Now came the opposite, and I had no idea how to proceed other than go where Jeff led.

Pulling back from my chest, he studied the whole of me, hand on my stomach now. “You are a morsel,” he said, and I found myself smiling just before he kissed me. Twenty-four hours before, or maybe even just twelve, I wouldn't have permitted this, but I now gave myself over since I was being devoured in a most agreeable way. His kiss was soft and unhurried, his tongue exploring my own.

I liked his beard, liked the smell of him, liked that his hand was in my hair as we kissed. I reached down to his cock, feeling my way along that descending stripe until I found the prick, substantial though not fully hard. When I took hold, Jeff's kissing stopped and he thrust slightly to welcome me. Up top, he began to nibble my neck. “I'm going to have to fuck you,” he said.

“Go ahead,” I replied, and I started working him. When I had him stiff, he pulled back, got a condom and lube, greased up and came back to me. Without a word he raised my legs and got into position. I couldn't help saying, “I can't believe this.”

“Neither can I,” he replied as he pushed in. For a second he was quiet, eyelids fluttering before he began a gentle thrust. Once he got going, he fixed his eyes to mine and I saw the fire in him, ignited just like the rest of us, never mind the years. I grabbed my cock, but didn't work myself, as I got that he was going to make things last and I wanted to stay with him.

His prick was thicker than any I'd had, regular plug of dick, and it gave me a good ride, while Jeff's expression remained controlled. Soon as he'd gotten past that initial awe at being inside me, he became that wise man we all knew, wise now in his sex, going at it steadily while I pretty much reeled. “Oh god,” I said as my juice began to churn. “You're going to make me come.”

“That's the idea.”

He never let up his steady stroke. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead and he got red in the face, but he kept on like he could go for hours, which maybe he could. Maybe that's what age gives you, trading three or four times a day for one big show. I began to pump my dick, and when the climax hit, I let go with everything I had, come along with cries, moans and gibberish. I pumped until I was dry, while Jeff kept drilling me. Finally, I was limp all over and my hand fell to one side.

“Impressive,” Jeff said as he kept fucking. “You make me a happy man.”

I wasn't used to being occupied so long. Tom, despite his thirty-five years, tended to go quickly, much like the guys my age, like me. Now here was a man with a dick of iron who had the stamina to back it up. “You're impressing the hell out of me,” I managed.

“You ain't seen nothing yet, kiddo.” He then shoved my knees back until they were around my ears and started ramming me like some charging bull. I began to carry on because nobody could stay quiet while getting so thoroughly reamed, and that's what it was now, Jeff unleashed at last, grunting with each thrust, going faster and faster until he let out a roar and came. It was a good long one, judging by his staying with it, his prick stiff well after I'd figure it to quit. Awash now in jizz, there came that juicy fuck slap, and I got that he wanted to keep on with me. I lay happily done, smiling, basking, if that's possible while full of cock. Finally, he pulled out, let down my legs, and crawled onto me.

“Damn good,” he said.

“No argument here,” I replied, and I gave him a little kiss. “You surprise me.”

“Good. Surprises are good.”

I wanted to say more, words boiling up like the tears had, but I got the idea he knew what he'd accomplished. Maybe more than I had. “How'd you get to be so wise?” I asked.

“Comes with age. It's not always welcome, though. Sometimes I long to be an impetuous twenty-two-year-old, except I wasn't impetuous, even then. I've been careful my whole life.”

“Well, I haven't. Seems we've met in the middle.” “Not a bad place,” he said, kissing me lightly.

Xavier Axelson

I pulled out onto the PCH and nearly collided with a motorcycle. To be fair, the Pacific Coast Highway is an emotional stretch of blacktop with long expanses of one-way-in-and-one-way-out driving along with beautiful ocean views striking enough to distract the eye and induce a wreck.

By the time I hit the first red light, the diamond-bright ocean sparkling to my left and the magnificent blue sky above erased the panic of driving in chaotic weekend traffic. Perfect beach weather abounded, and cars, motorcycles and RVs crammed the PCH with their drivers' hopes of hitting the sand, grabbing a beer and a meaty piece of halibut or bucket of mussels at any number of pricey hipster fish shacks that lined the coast. Sadly, I would not be joining them.

The Santa Rosa wine trail beckoned with an invitation from Jeremy and Carl, two dudes who were getting hitched and had summoned their collection of friends and acquaintances to celebrate their nuptials at the Greenleaf Winery. Most of the people I knew were drunks, foodies and ambitiously lazy artistic types, so the magic word
winery
would ensure a radically full attendance.

Hence my own eager and concentrated effort to avoid the myriad distractions of the perfect Southern California beach day. Driving in Los Angeles is hideous (I'd rather have surgery), but wine and a good friend (Jeremy, not Carl) called, and so pedal to metal and all that, but then another light brought me to a halt and a motorcycle pulled alongside me. I don't know if this is L.A. specific, but here, motorcyclists have an unnerving way of snaking up and between traffic within the blink of an overstimulated and often multitasking eye.

I never saw him coming. The motorcyclist stopped, balanced for a second, then dropped one leg on my side of the idling bike. Legs are my favorite part of a man's body, and bikers, goddammit, usually have incredible legs, not to mention great boots. This bastard was no different. His dark jeans were tight enough that his thighs looked as though they might split the seams. He revved the bike and his black leather boot pumped up and down, anticipating the forward thrust when the light turned green. He turned his helmeted head and caught me staring. The light changed, and before I blushed, he was gone.