Best Gay Erotica 2015 (17 page)

When Austin returned to the bathroom, he saw the discarded towel lying in the middle of the hall. He continued on to his bedroom and saw Jake's naked body lying across the bed. He set the glass down on the bedside table for Jake before returning to the bathroom. He quickly picked up the mess, threw the dirty clothes into the washer, the splint into the dryer, and finally returned to the bedroom. He decided he needed to lie down on his bed. He let his damp towel drop to the floor and slipped naked between the clean sheets.

* * *

Still groggy, Austin thought it was his hunger that awoke him at noon, but quickly realized it was Jake. Austin felt Jake apply a condom to his cock before pulling their bodies together with his good hand. He guided Austin's sheathed erection down along a warm, tight ass crease to a waiting opening. Austin thought he might be dreaming until he felt his tip enter Jake's lubed, hairy hole.

The cowboy pushed back on him, his ass swallowing Austin's cock to the hilt.

Austin felt him tense his cheeks and suck on his dick with his hole. He slowly rocked back and forth, tapping Jake's prostate with the fat tip. Austin then curled his fingers around Jake's cock and felt Jake increase his thrust into his fist and back onto his steely prick.

“Oh yeah, that's great,” Jake moaned.

Austin pushed forward as he jacked the man in front. He'd never had such a wonderful heat ride over his body before.

Jake rammed back harder on Austin. He turned his head to the side and sought out the other man's mouth.

Austin saw what he wanted and brought his lips to Jake. Their kiss exploded between them and the intensity of the fucking tripled. He gasped as he plunged into Jake and yanked faster on his cock.

Jake pulled off of Austin's dick and rolled him onto his back, careful not to further hurt his wrist. He straddled Austin's waist and plunged his ass down on the waiting mast of a cock. He bounced up and down on it, waving one hand in the air as he rode the bull, never coming fully down to touch the surging body below.

Austin bucked and fucked Jake's perfect ass. He felt the pressure grow and grow, his cock swelling as his balls quickly rose. Sweat broke out over his body.

“Yee-haw!” Jake shouted as his cock exploded across Austin's heaving chest. The warm stream flowed between his fingers and dripped over his body. The scent of the manly cream triggered Austin's release, and he filled Jake's ass to the brim, both men now erupting as one. One final spasm and the rodeo clown was spent. He gasped for breath and hung on to Jake's hairy ass so that the cowboy didn't move over his ultrasensitive dick.

Jake eventually rolled off with a wet pop as Austin's cock at last sprang free. The cowboy landed on his back with his legs in the air. “What a ride!”

“Doesn't look to me like you have a concussion,” Austin ribbed.

“Nope. In fact, I'm ready for today's events.” Jake jumped out of bed and headed to the shower.

Austin slowly rose onto his elbow and watched the other man's asscheeks dimple as he walked. How he loved the bull riders, he thought, but Jake had been his hero for years. He heard the shower turn on as he headed for the bathroom, pausing at the door before looking in.

“What took ya so long?” Jake flashed his bare ass.

“I was trying to get the blood back into my legs.” Austin moved closer to the shower and ran his finger along Jake's hairy crack.

“That's not what I meant,” Jake said. “Do you know how long I've been trying to catch your attention? How many rodeos have we done together and never connected? Why did I have to knock myself out to get you to take me to your bed?” Jake rubbed the bump on his head.

“What?” Austin replied, suddenly dumbfounded.

Jake waved his growing, semihard cock at him. “I can only wiggle my butt and thrust my package at you so many times, but you've refused to accept my invitation. Until last night, that is. Dang, I should've knocked myself out months ago, years ago even.”

Austin stood there, stunned. “But why me when you have all those other cowboys to choose from?”

“You're handsome, kind, and sexy as all hell, not to mention compassionate, professional, and, well, you can certainly fill out a pair of jeans like no one else.” Jake stroked his cock as he rattled off the list. “But you're first and foremost a nice guy, a true friend.”

Austin's face burned as a tear pooled in his eye. “I didn't think anyone noticed.”

“I did.” Jake reached his good hand out of the shower and cupped the back of Austin's neck. He pulled their faces together and kissed him, long, hard and deep. Austin counted eight seconds, and then nine and ten….

Martha Davis

I come from a long line of law enforcement: my father, my grandfather and my great-grandfather. Because of that history, I've managed to avoid a lot of rookie mistakes the others make. I don't show up for roll call an hour early every day like an action junkie, wide-eyed with excitement, hungry to write tickets and participate in car chases. I take approaching a vehicle seriously. When walking up, I look over at the trunk and make sure it's sealed, so I don't get jumped from behind, and I never, ever stand directly in front of the driver's side window where a driver can open the door and flatten my balls—nope, my family jewels are way too precious to risk on a rookie mistake like that.

It's basic fodder for all those television cop shows, but in the real world, supervisors aren't allowed to pick on rookies; they don't want to. The last thing an experienced officer ever wants to do is take a new cop's readiness away. Hesitation created by a lack of confidence is how we wind up dressed in full uniform, laid out in a flag-covered box. But I know after the shift is over, the experienced cops lounging around with beer in hand, our antics are the primary source of the loudest guffaws.

Thankfully, I've escaped much of this. Even knowing what I know, I've still made petty mistakes, but they've all been so minor that my bloodline bought the necessary misdemeanor get-out-of-gossip-free cards.

“He's just like his grandfather. Remember that one time…?” “I worked with his father back in seventy-two. Back then…”

In any case, I'm doing what I was created to do, what I've been training to do since I learned to crawl. It's as natural to me as breathing. But even in the most perfectly designed programs, there's always a glitch.

My morning patrol started like any other. I drove down the street where my twelve-year-old niece Abigail waited at her bus stop with a pack of neighborhood kids. We chatted for a minute, which led to curious questions, such as, “What's it like to arrest someone?” “What's it like to be arrested?”

I have four older sisters and don't pretend to keep up with all their spawn, but Abigail's my favorite and most likely to make me go where I know it's not allowed. I'm unable to refuse any requests that begin with, “But you're my favorite uncle. Pretty, pretty please!” In front of her friends, I made a flashy spectacle of throwing her over the trunk, handcuffing her tiny wrists, and reading her rights before tossing her in the back.

From the rearview mirror I watched her doe-sized brown eyes glaze over with glee as she rode to school in the back of an official police cruiser instead of that childish yellow bus. At school, I let her go with a loud warning: “Next time, young lady, I'm going to call your mother.” It was hard for her to achieve a badass, don't-care grumble through giggles, but somehow she pulled it off. Her desired bad-girl credentials were sealed in middle school gossip until at least fourth period.

I'd made it about two blocks when my personal cell went off. “Uncle Mike, I left my book bag in your police car. My homework's in it!”

Sure enough, Hello Kitty smiled at me from the passenger seat behind the grill. I promised to drop it off as soon as I could and pulled over on the curb so I could move her bag to the front seat. The fast-moving pickup truck, I heard before I saw. Instinctively, I jumped into the car and closed the door before the truck's front fender took it off, along with a good portion of the gym-built ass I put too much time and effort in to lose. The asshole made no attempt to slow down, even after he passed the cruiser. I wanted to hit the blue lights, to give chase, but with the no-fucking-door-handle feature my cruiser now had, I was trapped. The door, sad to say, could only be opened from the outside.

My rookie glitch began with a radio call requesting another officer to arrive and hopefully wear a straight face when he let me out of my own vehicle. Sgt. Jason Dupree himself responded, pulled up behind my cruiser, nice and slow, and waited for-fucking-ever to exit his vehicle.
Does watching the rookie trapped in the back of a cruiser really entertain you that much, Sarge?

My cheeks burned, not only from the humiliation, but from the unwanted arousal. Never before had I felt any desire to test the no-fraternization policy on any job I've ever had, but blond-haired, blue-eyed Dupree had somehow made himself the exception. Something in the way he walked said he packed serious skills. He approached my cruiser with that same walk, and I made quick adjustments, the best I could in such a confined space, moving my niece's book bag to my lap to hide my growing interest.

Not now, damn it!
Even if he did play for my team, there were too many complications to even imagine a first move by either of us. Dupree opened the door, his grin broadening. I looked down and got an eyeful of his crotch covered in uniform-black pants. Skills were definitely not all my fantasies said he packed.

“Because of your reputation, I'm not going to ask any questions as long as it doesn't happen again.” He smiled. “But Hello Kitty? Really? Oh, don't tell me. My imagination is doing a much better job.”

I wasn't the least bit campy, but on the force I lived in a glass closet. Everyone knew and I was subjected to the occasional innuendo. A smart-ass reply stood on the tip of my tongue, but a case of self-preservation and respect for my employment made me hold it. Did I really care what he thought as long as he accepted my “It won't happen again, sir,” and then looked the other way?

About halfway through the afternoon, I responded to a forty-eight. My first. The boy looked just a few years older than the kids I'd been teasing at Abigail's bus stop, definitely not old enough to be out of school this time of day. Too young, too small, too innocent to be lying so motionless in a ditch, surrounded by drug paraphernalia, near a wooded area frequented by riffraff. The scene was reported by an anonymous teenager on a prepaid cell phone, most likely frightened accomplices. His chest rose and fell. He still breathed!

I checked for a pulse. My fingers trembled too violently to know for sure. The second time, I swore I'd picked up a heart-beat and started CPR, urging the backup who pulled up next to me to assist.

“It's too late. He's dead.” He touched my shoulder. Didn't try again when I pulled away. “Look at his color, Mike. He's been gone for a while.”

“No!” I breathed everything I had into his lungs. “No. He's not dead.”

“Mike, man, stop!”

I refused to leave the remains until the paramedics confirmed his death and the medical examiner loaded the body into the back of a state truck and drove it off to the crime lab for an autopsy. When Sgt. Dupree opened his hand for my report, I didn't look into his eyes, didn't want him to see me near tears.

“Do you need to go home, patrolman?” he asked, his voice too gentle.

“No, sir!”

“No one will judge if you change your mind. Everybody has days where they need to stop, take a deep breath and try again tomorrow.”

Getting caught joyriding my niece in the cruiser and trying to resuscitate a dead body: two lousy rookie moves in the same day. It couldn't get any worse. “I plan to finish my shift, sir.”

I left. I'd rather face TV-sitcom-style hazing than my commanding officer's pity.

In the cruiser again, sadness turned to fury. Some poor boy's potential was extinguished before the world discovered what he was capable of. No damn reason for it. No logic behind it.

And my rookie glitch? It wasn't over yet.

My shift ended an hour and a half prematurely, with me on a street corner calling for backup. An older teen pulled over for speeding wanted to put up a fight, got out of his car pumping fists and kicking tires. Somewhere in the middle of the name-calling tirade and the stupidity of the whole day, I snapped.

“I'll even make it fair, boy.” I removed my belt and dropped it at my feet. “I'm no longer a cop. It's just you and me. Let's see what you got. Bring it, dumb-ass!”

I was the clear winner in the fist fight until the passenger of the vehicle I'd failed to keep track of came out of hiding long enough to shoot me in the thigh with my own gun. Backup arrived in the nick of time to call an ambulance and put out an APB on the car I originally pulled over.

I watched the rain crash into the big bay window in my living room, my hands clenched in fists pressed into the sill. The hospital had released me, officially healed, but I still felt a little stiff and sore, especially during inclement weather. And I still hadn't been cleared to return to work. I wanted back, to regain my name, my reputation.

That fateful day continued to replay in my head, over and over again, and I completely failed to notice the sergeant's Escalade in my driveway until I heard a hard knock on the door. Fuck! On my front porch, Dupree held a large pizza and a six-pack of beer in one hand, the other raised to knock again. “Pizza delivery. I hope you eat meat.”

“Yes, sir.” I let him in.

“You know it helps if you actually look when you're staring out a window. Nobody can sneak up on you and shoot you with your own gun if you're more alert.”

“It won't happen again, sir, so have your fun. It's the only chance you'll get.”