Best Gay Erotica 2015 (13 page)

He's not surprised
, I thought as I approached him.

“Hey,” he said as he handed me a glass.

“Hey,” I managed. My hands shook as I took the wine.

“You drinking it all yourself?” A familiar voice chimed from behind, but I couldn't move. My feet were frozen to the spot.

“Duncan, you're holding up the toasts!” Rodney elbowed me, and I got brushed aside, but didn't take my eyes off Montgomery. I worried if I did, he'd vanish.

He poured more wine, smiled, winked and made conversation until all glasses were full. He'd chanced several lingering glances in my direction, then grabbed a bottle of wine, came from behind the table and stood near me.

“To the happy couple.” Mrs. Greenleaf raised her glass and everyone joined. “It's about time this state got with the program!”

Cheers and laughter filled the space until Silver Daddy Greenleaf's voice cut through the noise. “We celebrate you, Jeremy and Carl, and welcome you as part of the Greenleaf history. Many happy years to you both!”

As the crowd raised their glasses in another toast, this time carried out by Rodney, Montgomery leaned over to whisper, “Let's go.”

Before I responded, he walked away. I downed the wine in my glass and slipped out unnoticed. I caught up with Montgomery, but we didn't speak until he stopped amid the shadowy grapevines, then looked at me.

“You,” he breathed.

The warm smell of ripening grapes mixed with the aroma of dirt and Montgomery's musky cologne made me unsteady. I stared down at the corked bottle in his hands. “I'm drunk.”

Montgomery lifted the bottle, pulled the cork out with his teeth and spat it aside. “Not yet.” He took a swig, then pressed the bottle to my lips. The wine spilled down my chin, and he lapped it up. “You,” he said again, licking my lips.

“Kiss me,” I grunted, but Montgomery pulled away.

“Let's go deeper.” He grabbed my hand and led me farther into the vineyard.

The buildings drifted away and the shadows grew long. No longer could I discern the direction we had come from or were going. When he stopped, I bumped into him. He took another drink, then ground his ass against my crotch.

“I need you to fuck me.” Montgomery must have sensed my hesitation. “Don't say anything. Just pull your pants down. There's a rubber in my back pocket.”

Wine muddled and possessed by a bacchanal spirit, I thrust my hand into his pocket and grabbed the condom.

Montgomery undid his belt and dropped his pants. “Pour it on your cock.” He handed the bottle of wine back to me.

Before I could take it, he tipped the bottle. Ruby fluid trickled into his furry asscrack. I dropped to my knees and buried my face between his cheeks. He poured more wine, and I slurped and sucked until his groans made me unable to think straight. I reached down, undid my pants and yanked my precome-slicked cock from my boxers. I stroked it a couple of times.

“You got the rubber on?” he growled. “I need you in me!” I grunted and undid the condom package with wine-soaked

fingers. “Ready?” I didn't expect or need a reply. I toyed with his hole with my fingers, but he pulled away.

“Your cock!” Montgomery demanded.

I grabbed the bottle from him, splashed some across my cock and between his asscheeks and then plunged inside.

“Fucker,” Montgomery gasped and bucked beneath my second thrust.

I almost stopped, but again he sensed my hesitation because he pushed back against my dick. “Harder!”

The rougher I fucked, the more he wanted, and my cock took full advantage of his velvety depths and accommodating width. Sweat rolled down my back as I paused to rip my shirt off. “I want you naked.” I pushed him off my cock. “Take it all off.”

He quickly kicked off his shoes and shucked the rest of his clothes and watched as I followed suit. “Your cock is—”

“Don't talk.” I pushed him down. “You wanted me to fuck you,” I positioned my cock at his hole and thrust back inside, “that's what you're getting.”

Naked amidst grapevines and whispering shadows, we fucked until the spirits of wine and pleasure released us from their grasps.

“Gonna come,” I gasped and plowed deeper into him. “Wait!” Montgomery barked and arched off my cock.

He spun around and grabbed my steely prick and furiously stroked.

“Shit, fuck.” I spat the words as an orgasm overtook me. Montgomery lifted the wine bottle to my prick and milked

my come into the bottle. “Yeah, nice,” he intoned and lowered his lips to my spurting rod. Whatever missed the bottle glazed his lips.

Shaken and drained of come and sexual vigor, I couldn't figure his actions, and could only watch as he lowered the bottle to his own cock.

“Come here,” he insisted.

I went and knelt beside him. He pulled my hand toward his cock. I stroked him, savoring the wet fatness of his prick. Because he was uncut, his precome felt like a load, and despite having just blown, my cock twitched to life.

“Fuck, faster.” Montgomery arched back and handed me the wine bottle. “Make me shoot in there.”

I did as he ordered, and soon his body shook with orgasm. I couldn't tell how much of his come made it inside, but I felt the warmth of his gush as some spilled along the sides of the bottle and tricked across my fingers.

Done and spent, Montgomery clasped his arms around me. “You,” he shook his head, “fucking you.”

“Yeah,” I managed as we sat beside each other in the dirt. Montgomery took the wine bottle, put his palm over the

opening and shook it. I heard the remaining wine splashing against the sides. When he stopped and took a drink, I winced.

“Really?”

He let out a long satisfied sigh as he lowered the bottle. “Abso-fucking-lutely.” He handed me the bottle. “It's my vintage.”

I took it and stared. The entire day blurred into a dream. Had it happened or had I slipped into some shadow world? I lifted the bottle and downed the contents. Bitter, sweet and pungent…I couldn't taste anything but grapes and something indistinguishable. I wanted to fuck Montgomery again. “Addicting,” I said and handed him back the empty bottle.

He tossed it into the vines. “How long you staying?”

“The weekend,” I replied.

“Bet you could stay longer.” He reached down and stroked my cock. “If you wanted.”

I imagined writing my column from the back veranda of the winery, watching the sunset over the vines. “Right now, I believe anything is possible.” I pulled Montgomery closer and kissed him. He tasted of wine and something more.

Kenzie Mathews

I was hitching on the wrong side of the Mississippi when he picked me up in a black 1970 Chevy Impala that'd seen much better days. I looked up and down the road. The Impala was the first car I'd seen in hours since leaving the country gas mart. Chances were slim to none that I'd get a better ride. He reached over to open the door; I glanced inside. He was clean-cut, J-Crew-model pretty, with sandy blond hair cut short, small square-rimmed glasses, strong classic nose and cleft chin. Not my typical hustle, no, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

Something nineties-rock and growly played on the radio. That decided it for me. I got in, seeing as I got myself a real hard-on for American grunge and metal. Brings around good memories—and I've been finding good times most rare these days. The Impala roared down the empty country highway. Neither of us said where we were going, then again I guess it didn't really matter in the long run.

In any case, I figured I could at least get a meal out of him, maybe even a decent fuck and a shower. God knew I needed both. I pulled the visor down to check the mirror. You'd think it'd come to naught but some of those old folktales are just made up. In other words, the mirror gave me a reflection: a man with silvery ghost eyes darkly rimmed, shoulder-length greasy blue-black hair, angled bone face, pale skin and a fetching mouth all looked back at me.

Ah, yes, the road could get nasty, the nights tacky and long, but still those incubus looks would always help me along. And if you should miss something necessary the next day, say your wallet or your wedding ring or maybe a pint or two, well, there was always the memory of my capable mouth and long, thick cock to persuade you to leave the cops out of it.

“Chase,” my driver eventually informed me. I grinned at him. “Lochlan.”

He glanced my way, startled. “Irish?” “Yeah.”

“Are you here on a work visa?”

I chuckled. “Somet'ing like that.” My accent had nearly gone with age, but like me, always managed to barely hang on.

Chase was silent only a moment, one hand tapping the wheel. “Did it expire?”

I looked out the window, closing my eyes for a short lie-down. “Dunno.” I exhaled. “You a cop or somet'ing?”

Now it was his turn to chuckle, like a small rumble in his chest, just as sleep was overtaking me. “Uh-huh,” he replied, “something like that.”

I woke to his hand rubbing my cock. My jeans clung to me wetly and my prick was steadily rising, most appreciative of his attentions. He grinned at me, J-Crew American, something like a cop.
What's his fuckin' name again? Ah, yeah, Chase.
We were in some parking lot, nestled right up next to some great public building. I widened my legs a little to give him full access to my cock. I put my hand on his to guide him a little. I love the possible risk of being found out, witnessed by an audience.

“Not just yet,” he said, slowly removing his hand. He jerked his head sideways, motioning toward the large stone building. “I need you to keep the car running, though. Can you drive?”

“Yeah, but what's your bleedin' rush?”

Chase grinned wider. “My rush is coming.” And with that he got out of the car, carrying a large duffle bag like something you take to the gym. He gave me a shiny, slick grin and pulled out a hairy mask from his jean's back pocket before pulling it over his head and shooting me a peace symbol.
Now he's the Wolfman. Beauty.
I gave him a double thumbs-up, him with a mocking snarl.
Whatever. His rush.

I slid over to the driver's seat and watched him go up the long stairs and into the building. I was sitting there for the longest time and starting to get mighty bored when he came running back out with the gym bag now fat and heavy. He was practically screaming with laughter.

Two guards came swinging out the front doors and started shooting at the car, at Chase—at fucking me. Chase slid over the car hood, landing hard on the other side, and he was barely in when the front windshield burst under gunshot. I revved the car as the guards ran down the stairs and into the street to shoot at us some more.

We were a good five blocks away when I heard the first sirens. Chase thrust his forearm in my face, pointing somewhere out the window. During those brief few moments, he'd taken off his mask and was now back to being just Joe Criminal again. “Park there!”

I pulled into the Motel 6 parking lot, and before the car even stopped, Chase was out and looking for another ride. By the time I reached him, he'd jimmied the lock on a sporty Jeep. He jumped in and hot-wired the car, jerking wires outta the dash's underside. I stepped to the other side, waiting 'til the car roared to life. It was a bit of a wait then, the two of us staring like junkie idjits, and it kinda seemed like he wasn't too sure he wanted me to come along for the ride.

Truth is, I felt a little vulnerable. I'm so used to being the hustler, and it was odd to be on the other side of it. He stared at me and I dunno if it was my fine Irish looks or simply the meeting of monsters but he finally reached over and let me in. I shut the door just in time before he sped off in the opposite direction. We passed several cop cars going the wrong way, but we were free now, out in the world and up to no good.

We burned our way out of town and ran farther down the highway 'til the adrenaline would let us breathe evenly, and then he found the first turnoff he came across. He couldn't get my raging cock in his mouth fast enough, and sucked me dry, bringing me to a whimper, a hollowing that felt like I was dry desert inside, scraped clean, my balls empty and tight. I returned the favor, nearly devouring his head, my saliva numbing his cock to my needle teeth, my tongue stroking and cradling all the while. I sucked him 'til he jerked and then licked him clean like a kitty with a bowl of cream, nary a drop left. Sometimes the blood bothers them, you know, gets them worried.

You'd not see them if you wanted to, my needle teeth that is, seeing as they hide behind the canines. I call them needles for the obvious: they withdraw and take, and I need them to live. It's best though if the blood is mixed with come. Has to do with the salt and the cream of it all. It's like a meal and dessert all at once.

He was weak now, Chase. I nodded my head toward the back. “Take a lie-down. I'll drive.”

He smiled at me, then reached out and cradled my jaw and ear. It was almost painful, his grip hard and cruel. I could see something playing in his eyes. “I meant to leave you there. Give me more time to get away.”

I whispered, “But you didn't,” and leaned into the pain. My needle teeth throbbed. We like a little hurt now and again, us monsters; it blurs the lines in our heads.

“No, I didn't leave you,” Chase returned. He climbed over the seat and took himself a lie-down. His voice muffled, his arm pointing in a random direction, he said, “Drive that way.”

I pressed and wrapped the loose wires, starting the Jeep. I drove that way.

After a long while, I pulled over and listened to Chase snore. I reached back and pushed on him a bit. He didn't wake, just kept on snoring. Figuring now was better than later or never, I leaned over the seat and searched him. He slept on, as sweet and trusting as a wee angel. I found his wallet in the inside pocket of his jacket. I left one credit card but I took the others, as they were not as obvious packed behind the first. I also found a few driver's licenses. Chase was beginning to stir, so I left the first license there and took the others. My my, Chase was a most interesting fella. In any case, he was back to snoring by the time I got onto the highway.