TEMPTATION - A Bad Boy Romance (112 page)

I didn’t respond to his question. Not really because I wanted to play it coy, but because I didn’t feel a response was necessary. With a smile, I brought my hand out from inside of the jacket, and stepped forward toward him. Reaching my hand out, I passed him his billfold and identification.

“Here you go Mr. Genier,” I offered. “I was going to steal a couple of bucks for a cup of coffee, but I didn’t get around to it.”

“Everyone calls me Stoker,” he replied. “I’ve got some coffee. You can come inside if you like.”

I nodded, and followed him up the steps to his apartment.

He struck me as different from the night before. I couldn’t exactly put my finger on it, but his entire disposition seemed less harsh. I wondered if it was because he had just woken up, or if maybe he put on that hardened exterior like a mask before heading out for a night on the town. Another thing I noticed was that he wasn’t so self-conscious. The first time I saw him, it was incredibly obvious to me that he was one of those naturally magnetic types of personalities. In that moment, I didn’t feel that same level of magnetic intensity, but there was something else in its place.

His eyes were softer. He wasn’t pulling me in toward him with his sex appeal. I felt like I could be comfortable in his presence. The whole experience was totally different for me, and frankly I enjoyed it a lot more. I didn’t have as much tension in my body. The thrill of getting fucked by the Stoker from last night was great -- don’t get me wrong; it’s just nice to be able to relax and spend time with someone.

“You look different in the morning than you do at night,” I told him; obviously my thoughts were a bit more expansive than that, but it would have to do.

He nodded, and we entered his apartment. The place was spartan, yet another surprise based on what I had expected his lifestyle would be like. I’m not sure what I thought his living room would have looked like.

Cigarette boxes and empty bottles of whisky.

Trophies from previous lovers, and an electric guitar.

Maybe even a stripper pole in the center of the room next to a mirror where he snorted all kinds of drugs.

Those were the sort of things that I expected to find. Instead, I saw a relatively humble place. Practically no furniture was present. Honestly, it looked more like the home of a practicing zen buddhist more than a late night club hot shot. There wasn’t much mess at all, but then again, there weren’t really many things around which would lead themselves to creating mess.

His kitchen was also similarly basic. He had a clear jar of oats, and some fruit on the counter. Looked like he had all of two pans. One of them was a cast iron skillet, and the other was a small pot. He pulled a ceramic mug from the shelf that had a white dove against black.

“Celebrate Him,” the cup said.

I looked at the mug while he poured me a cup of coffee, and he noticed my attention on the mug.

“The church down the street offers free coffee sometimes, and I stole their mug,” he offered.

I nodded, and smiled. “Of course you did,” I replied. “Thanks.”

“I hope you don’t take cream or sugar, because I don’t have any,” he said, dismissively.

“Black works fine for me,” I said, raising the cup to my lips.

The coffee was good. A lot of coffee is acidic, or generally not pleasant to drink, according to my personal tastes. The coffee that Stoker gave me had rich floral notes to it, and was more like a rich tea than anything else. Though my first sip was tentative, I soon was bringing entire mouthfuls into my mouth, even though the liquid was still a bit hot.

“It’s better when it’s first brewed,” he commented, as he washed his own mug, and set it back on the shelf to dry.

“I didn’t think it would be like this,” I confessed.

“It?” he replied.

“Seeing you. Seeing your place. You know. I just assumed, based on the type of person I thought you were last night, that it would be different.”

“Well you shouldn’t assume things. You don’t know me, really. Besides, what do I really know about myself?”

I paused for a moment, and stared at him.

“You serious?” I asked, taking another sip.

“All I’m trying to say is that each of us are alive, each and every day. It just really seems to me like the fact that I’m alive means that I have the ability to make choices and affect change in my daily experience. As soon as I tell myself that I have a certain type of identity, or even that I
should
be something more or less than what I am -- I’m essentially robbing myself of the ability to
be
something right now.”

I nodded, pausing a moment to absorb what he was saying, and apply it to the situation. “Basically, what you’re saying is that I can be anything, but in order to do that, I have to be aware that being is a process which is happening right now.”

“More or less,” he said, stretching his body upward toward the ceiling. “Only problem with that attitude is I don’t think you can force it. Being is something that you are whether you think about it or not. I think it might be useful for me to be more aware of that fact.”

“So, even right now, I don’t know who you are?” I asked, in confusion.

“Not really. You are interacting with me, and your interactions can inform the judgments that you make of my character. The problem is that even when you make those judgments, they may not be entirely accurate. They are probably accurate for that time, and people tend to demonstrate similar characteristics as they continue to exist; this is the basis for personality. However, if you’re turning me into a cartoon character, and you’re surprised that I’m not that cartoon character, I can’t really feel sorry for you.”

“You were a total asshole last night.”

“You were begging for it,” he snapped back, without a moment’s hesitation.

When he spoke, his eyes locked onto mine. I felt the urge to look away, but I forced myself to meet his gaze. Looking him in the eyes was actually difficult, but not because I was ashamed. I found it difficult to match eyes with him because he was intense, and I was intimidated by my own attraction to him. 

“Thanks…” I said, taking a deep breath, and finally closing my eyes just to collect my thoughts.

I wanted to kiss him, but I felt like there were still things that we needed to clear up before I could take an action like that in good faith. Things were going well. I loved the authenticity of our experience in that moment. I really felt like the two of us were connecting; like we had let our pretenses fall, and were experiencing one another just as we were. The feeling was refreshing, to say the least.

“I was thinking about what happened last night,” I began. “I’ve never done anything like that before. Don’t people usually wear condoms?”

“They do. If you’re concerned about STDs, you shouldn’t worry about it. I test regularly, and if you’re interested in fucking again, I’d be glad to go to the clinic together with you, if it will give you peace of mind. Do you have anything I should be worried about?”

I shook my head, and looked up at him so he would know I was telling the truth. “That was the first time I had ever had sex with a man before. To be honest, my love life isn’t exactly prolific. I actually spend a lot of time alone.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Not at all. I’m trying to make myself more vulnerable to new experiences. Last night was definitely an example of diving into the deep end in order to learn how to swim, but I made it through alright.”

I paused. “Do you?” I asked.

“I try not to regret the things that I do, but I can think of a few things that I’d like to do differently.”

We went over everything. The conversation meandered quite a bit, but everything felt so natural that I hardly cared that we didn’t stick to one topic. We talked about Thomas, and about the drug experience. I told him about how strange I felt earlier that morning, and how disconnected and weird the night before was after I got home. I told him all about my experience on the rooftops, and he laughed when I showed him the scratch on my leg.

“You didn’t strike me as the athletic type,” he said, “but I guess that’s what I get for making assumptions about your character.”

He told me about how he had gotten into a fight, and how lucky he had been to get out of the club without being arrested.

“I guess we both got lucky last night,” I said.

“I know I did,” he replied, looking up at me and offering a smile.

It was just a matter of time before we touched each other. The sexual tension in the room was practically explosive. Every single hair on my body was standing at attention. My pupils had dilated; I know they must have because all of the colors in the room started to grow brighter. A flood of adrenaline coursed through my body, and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to hold off any longer.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked.

I looked at him with curiosity in my eyes. There could be no question about the subtext present in his question. I knew exactly what he was talking about, but I couldn’t believe that he was inviting me to make the first move toward him. Once more, I was bumping up against my preconceived paradigm of our relationship.

I was the bottom. He was the top.

I was the passive receiver. He was the one who initiated the experience.

The magnetism that I had felt toward him when I first saw him increased. I felt drawn toward him, and I wanted nothing more than to wrap my arms around him and get lost inside a kiss. We hadn’t even really kissed the time before -- not like this anyway. I desperately wanted to know what it felt like, and I was practically licking my lips in anticipation.

“All it takes is a decision,” he said. “A decision and a commitment to carry that action through to the very end, whatever the consequence.”

I nodded. He was right. I knew what had to be done. Without a moment longer being wasted, I made the commitment.

Our bodies began to gravitate toward one another, and blood began rushing into my cheeks. My mind was a complete blank. I had been propelled into the anticipation of the moment. All I could think of was the way that his skin looked, and how much I wanted my mouth to be pressed up against his lips.

When his hands reached out to grab ahold of my waist, I remembered the power of his touch. The night before had happened. Whether or not he wanted to change a few things about how he chose to interact with me was up to him. My body wasn’t fooled into thinking that he wanted to be a more gentle lover, or that he was sorry for treating me the way that he did. I wanted him so badly that my asshole actually began to relax just thinking about his cock. I bit my lip and swallowed the saliva that was pooling in my mouth.
“Just being this close to you makes me feel like I want to feel you inside of my mouth,” I laughed, nervously.

The words sounded foreign to me. The strangeness had to do with the vocabulary chosen. In all reality, that was exactly what I wanted -- I think it’s just that sometimes when we want something, we don’t exactly give a voice to those desires. With my filters down, just about any stupid thing was bound to come out of my lips. I looked up at him, just to see if he was judging me, but it was too late.

Our lips met, and my instinct completely took over. All of the pretense of conversation went out the window, and it seemed to me like I had actually just been wasting my time by not kissing him like this in the first place. Passion is really the only word that I can use to describe our momentum. Once our bodies connected, there was no going back -- and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

***

Laying down on the couch, we began to pull on one another’s cocks through our pants. Soon, our shafts were out, and we were sharing each other’s cocks with one another with bare hands. Stoker lowered his shorts so I could have full access to his shaft. Seeing his cock in my hands while his testicles tightened beneath my grip was a beautiful experience. Having stoker’s hand on my cock made the whole experience that much better. I helped him take his pants off, and he spread his legs for me while I leaned over his dick and put him in my mouth. He was full, and the wetness of my own mouth made his cock even more enjoyable. I held him there for me, stroking his inner thigh while I eagerly worked my lips up and down the length of his cock.

Last time had been so different. This time, Stoker was much more passive. He allowed me to service him, and his hand gently rubbed against my shoulder and lower back while I worked his cock in my mouth. I didn’t have much experience in giving men head, but I managed just fine regardless. My lips and tongue bathed the head of his cock while my hand pumped up and down along the length of his cock in concert with my mouth.

I took my time, and felt no need to rush. There was something delicious about sharing myself with him. I thought about what the Reverend had said about love, and tried my hardest to offer my tongue as an expression of that love. Holding onto his testicles, while sucking hard on the head of his cock with my lips, I brought him into my mouth again and again. I was hard, and soon, Stoker had leaned over on the couch so he could suck me off while I serviced his dick.

His hand cupped my ass while I pulled at his cock. He seemed to be really enjoying himself, and the feeling of mutual eroticism really put me at ease. His fingers wrapped around my shaft, and he pulled on my cock with his lips. He was hungry for me, and I could tell by the way that he opened his mouth for me, and licked at the head of my cock with rapid, sharp movements of his tongue. He felt so warm on my skin. He didn’t neglect my balls either.