Lover Boys Forever (12 page)

I brought him to climax with my hand, jerking as hard as I could.
He never winced or cried out, so obviously he could take it. My middle finger in particular really rubbed hard against the underside of his dick head, and in just a few moments he did groan. He bucked his hips. He laid his hand over mine, and then came the explosion of cum, three hot gobs of it one after the other filling his hand and mine. Then the both of us slowed down and cooled down, and things came to a rest. He resumed natural breathing and looked at me, smiling.

“
Did that help?”

I nodded wordlessly.

“I’m sorry, buddy, but I just can’t do the same to you. It’s just not in me, you know, to suck another dude’s dick.”

“
It’s all right, John. You’ve done enough. You’ve done more than enough.”

“
But I want you to get off, too. So play with yourself. I won’t watch if you don’t want me to.”

“
But I do! I want you to watch. I want you to talk me through it. Oh please, John, do that.”

So while I stroked myself to climax, John said very dirty things, mainly about pussy and tits and all, but as long as he was part of it, as long as I could picture him fucking that pussy or sucking those tits, it helped move me along to orgasm.
Of course what I really wanted to picture was him and me engaged in a naked embrace, both of us hot and hard and determined as hell to be rid of all our lust, jacking each other, kissing, sucking, fucking, doing our damnedest to exorcise the demon. Thinking that way turned on the burner in my balls. I could feel the cum climbing my dick. It reached the head. I cried out his name and fired the sperm into the air.

“
That a boy!” John said beside me. “That’s a champ!”

We didn
’t speak of the incident on our way home, and I was convinced beyond doubt that I had just lost my best friend. So it came as quite a surprise when John called me a few days later and invited me back to the lake. Of course I accepted the invitation, and that whole long, lazy day the coolish green air was charged with sexual electricity. We both knew, without expressing the fact in words that sex would occur between us again. And sure enough, as the sun sank behind the pine trees to our west, John jumped up from the grass and proposed a skinny dip in the water. I didn’t protest this time. We undressed together and went together into the water. We splashed about and horsed around as any other pair of young men would do. But when we emerged back onto the bank and lay down (this time on towels; we brought towels), we knew we would cross the line from friendship into something else. John lay back. So did I. He coughed after a while. That was a signal. I cleared my throat and said, “May I, John? Please?”

He said nothing else but gestured vaguely to his crotch.
I wasted no time getting down there or in taking his cock into my mouth and hardening it with my tireless sucking and licking. He was stiff as stone in no time. But I didn’t want him to come just yet. I wanted to show him something else, just how far I’d go in my devotion to him.

“
Turn over,” I told him, taking his dick out of my mouth and catching my breath.

“
What?” he asked. “Why?”

“
Just do it,” I answered, urging him onto his belly.

He complied reluctantly.
His ass glowed in the growing dark. Its flesh was firm but pliant, almost spongy. I spread the cheeks.

“
Hey, wait a minute, Ronnie!” John protested, but I kept him on his stomach. “I’m not into any anal shit. I let you blow me, okay … What’s that? What are you doing? Is that your …? Oh my God! I’ve never had anybody do that before. It’s nasty and hot at the same time. Fuck!”

My tongue gingerly probed the outskirts of his puckering pink asshole.
Then I attempted to plunge my tongue into his ass as far as it would go. I ended up just sucking at the hole and licking it. At the same time, since John was lying partway on his side, I had hold of his hard dick and was jacking it like crazy. He let out a moan and soon filled my hand with his jism. I used it to get myself off.

There was one last trip to the lake that summer, and again we knew it would result in sex.

“
I suppose,” John said, naked from the water and drying off on his towel, “it would make you feel good if I fucked you.”

A lump held in my throat.
But I could still answer him. “Yes it would, John. Very much. I would love for you to fuck me.”

We used no lube and no condoms.
It was the first time I had been fucked, but I didn’t tell him that. I didn’t want to scare him off. I positioned myself on my hands and knees and offered my butt up to him. He pushed gently into me, but it still hurt like hell. It was agony, in fact, and I came this close to asking him to stop. It hurt like hell for several minutes until he established a regular rhythm inside me. Then it wasn’t so bad. And before he was done, it felt good. He seemed to be bumping into my prostate with the head of his dick. He held my hips and rammed me. He breathed hard. Now and then whimpers of pleasure escaped him, while below, I bit my lip, hoping at the same time that it would end soon and that it would never end. But of course it did end. He gasped and pulled out of me and showered his semen all over my back and ass. Then with force he turned me over and did something he had not done up to that time: he laid his hand on my prick and got me off with about a dozen strong jerks.

It was the last such meeting between us.
We didn’t see much more of each other that summer. And when school began a month or later, we didn’t see each other at all. John was a drifter by nature and extremely restless. He could not stay in one place for long. He ended up leaving the private Baptist school and attending several other universities in the area, all without much academic success. He was more interested in sports and women. (This analysis I got from John’s mother, Betty.) I remained in college and got my degree in four years and began a career as a local newspaper journalist. I returned home. It wasn’t the best place in the world, but it was one I knew and felt comfortable in. And that’s pretty much how the intervening years passed.

Then came the phone call.
John’s voice called my name through the receiver with the same energy as he had done everything else. It was three years after our last time at the lake, when John had fucked me. It was something I thought about every day and jacked off to. And there had been no abatement of my love for him.

“
What’s up, buddy?” he asked me.

I was almost too astonished to answer, as I
’d really come to think I’d never hear from him again. “I thought you’d dropped off the face of the earth,” I said.

“
Oh no, Ronnie. I’m still hanging in and hanging on. Just not quite the wild man I used to be.”

“
Is that right?”

“
Yep. Someone has tamed me.”

My mouth went dry, but still I said,
“Oh yeah?”

“
Yep. Pretty little girl named Jennifer.” And without my prodding, he told me about Jennifer: how he’d met her at the last school he attended, Limestone in Gaffney, how she was a radiology major, how she had two children, a boy and a girl, from a previous marriage. All that. I heard the words but didn’t process them very clearly. This was like a final blow, a final nail in the metaphorical coffin that was my love and hope for John Irvin, that somehow he’d see the light and come over to my side and let me love him the way he ought to be loved, by a man, with all the depth and fearlessness and ferocity one man brings to another in the act of love.

“
And guess what? Now this is the part you’re not going to believe.”

“
What’s that?” I asked, not adding that I didn’t believe any of it or didn’t want to.

“
We’re getting married.”

I let the statement stand without comment.
Several moments lapsed.

“
Ronnie, did you hear me? Jennifer and I are getting married.”

“
I did hear it, yes, John. Congratulations.”

“
Me! Getting married! It’s the craziest damn thing!”

“
You’re right. Hard to believe.”

“
And of course, I want my best friend in the world to be a groomsman.”

Again I left him a while in silence.

“Ronnie, did you hear me? I want you to be part of the ceremony. As a groomsman.”

“
Yes, I heard you, John. Of course I’ll do it. Yes, I’ll be happy to do it.”

What else could I tell him?
I couldn’t turn him down. After all, he was the man I loved.

Aiden Lovely resides in New Hampshire. Lovely is a freelance writer that has written many stories. Lovely
’s work has appeared in many anthologies.

“
Never give up” was a slogan Storie once saw on a bumper sticker but somehow devoted his life to the meaning most of the time. When push came to shove, he would do anything to get what he wanted. A description like that made him seem like an impatient brat, but honestly his personality was much gentler. He wasn’t in the business of wanting frivolous things like one night-stands or expensive status symbols; he already had the man he wanted, and he worked very hard to get him. But, he was on the brink of giving up on one matter. Marriage.

Storie sat in a small cushioned seat with his legs crossed at the ankles in a dim lit mom and pop pizzeria. The aroma from the brick oven, melted cheese and fresh sauce loomed before him as he rested his crossed arms on the table. He wasn
’t sure if he were just in a bad mood because of his situation or if it were because his boyfriend was late again.

His situation wasn
’t life-threatening but it sure felt that way; and he knew no matter how he considered his options, he was being selfish. Storie wanted to tie the knot now that gay marriage was recently legalized in New York, but his partner felt differently. His focus was interrupted when he heard the employee flirt on and on about droning things with nervous laughter after every word. He didn’t have to glance over to know why, he just assumed it was that guy – also known as his boyfriend, but called “that guy” in his mind when he was upset. And just as he imagined that guy was sporting the same charming smile that captured so many hearts. It was that same beaming grin that made Storie fall in love with him, but at this moment, made Storie feel so possessive. Plopping down in the seat across from him was “that guy” looking as handsome as ever and smelling so expensive. That guy was Vincent. His looks were deceiving at times, and he was often referred to as poker-face. He always had that stern look when he stared at the disgruntled Storie.

“
Try not to look so grim,” he said.

“
It’s your fault.” Storie didn’t bother to lift his head when he spoke. To think it was that stern expression on Vincent’s face that used to provoke a nervous shuddering in his chest long before he had the gumption to confess his feelings. They had been a couple for a little more than three years, so Storie kept the past to the past. This particular pizzeria held a lot of memories for the two, including their first date, so they made it a routine to dine here when time allowed.

Storie folded his slice in the middle of the greasy crust and pulled the hot cheese off with his teeth. In the sudden silence, he glanced at Vincent. He saw the exhaustion in Vincent
’s face – the deep set bags and the blank stare. They hadn’t screwed in a while. As time pressed on, all those sporadic sexual adventures they participated in such as barebacking in the dark alley near their apartment or the dangerous road head Storie gave Vincent when they drove for long hours had all unconsciously came to a halt. What was going on? When he thought about it, Vincent had been working extremely hard to take care of all the finances. But what bothered him more than Vincent’s refusal to marry was that they hadn’t made love in so long that even just giving Vincent a quickie couldn’t rekindle their passion.

The days were they would dine at fancy restaurants had died more than a year ago
, and even with Vincent sitting across from him, Storie felt as if he were eating alone. Maybe this lifestyle was preventing Vincent from even considering marriage more than his own beliefs.

Vincent leaned back, his arms folded,
“What? Is this about the marriage thing again? Look, I told you we don’t need marriage to signify anything. Marriage is just …”

“
A senseless routine used to promote heterosexual gender roles in society blah blah blah,” Storie quickly interrupted. His voice droned on and ended with a sigh.

“
Ok. I understand. You’re angry.”

“
No, Vince, you don’t understand,” Storie withdrew from the table and pulled his parka on with a huff. To think this was supposed to be their happy date. Where had their passion gone? Storie wanted to ask, but he imagined if he did, he’d get a sarcastic answer. The outside smelt of autumn and the chilly winds pulled at their clothes.

Suddenly, Vincent
’s deep voice broke the silence, “I don’t want to argue.”

Storie was quiet. It was something that they seemed to do too much of lately. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket
, but he ignored it since his boyfriend was next to him.

Storie remained quiet because he knew anything he said had the possibility of turning into an argument. He glanced at the vacant alley as if he remembered the exact spot where his bare body had lain on the pavement with an out of breath Vincent above him. Why did their relationship have to change? He didn
’t bother to bring up the memory because something like that could never happen again.

Their silence continued as they reached the entrance of the apartment. He hung his parka on the coat rack next to Vincent
’s and then sat in the nearest chair to slip his shoes off.

Vincent massaged Storie
’s shoulders, “I’m going to bed,” he said and then softly kissed Storie’s cheek.

It was true that he missed Vincent
’s touch, but there was so much more he wanted. He gazed into Vincent’s eyes and placed one hand on Vincent’s face.

“
Vincent,” he said even though he already had his boyfriend’s full attention. Although this may not have been the right time, he couldn’t resist his confronting feelings.

“
It’s been three years; don’t you think it’s time for a serious commitment?”

Before Vincent could respond, Storie pressed his lips against Vincent
’s and after a moment, he slowly pulled away.

“
Vincent, I love you. I love you so much. When I’m in your arms, I feel safe – I want to spend the rest of my days with you. If you can’t say the same for me, then let’s stop playing this game.”

“
You’re still babbling about marriage? I don’t have to give you a ring to prove I love you. Marriage isn’t just about an expensive ring.”

“
It’s not about the ring; it’s about belonging to you and having a ring is a symbol that I’m yours. Why can’t you understand?”

“
Look. Storie; it’s been three years, and I’ve loved you all those years, but lately, I don’t know what to think about you. Maybe you don’t love me as much as you think you do.”

He wrapped his arms around Vincent,
“Vince, please.”

Vincent pushed his arms off,
“I’m too exhausted for this right now.”

Storie didn
’t say anything more. He watched Vincent walk away.

He felt bad
, but now that Vincent was out of sight, he listened to his voicemails once again. He felt too guilty listening to them while Vincent was near. He had three messages, and he knew who they were from. When the unfamiliar phone number showed on his screen earlier, he just had a feeling not to answer. He pressed the phone to his ear and heard the heavy voice. He recognized it instantly. He knew the calls wouldn’t stop until he answered at least one of them. Each message was the same; all begging him to call, saying it was urgent, and they needed to catch up on things. It wouldn’t have been so bad if catching up on things wasn’t intended as a desperate attempt to rekindle something that was lost more than three years ago. He was hesitating, but after taking a deep breath, his finger gently tapped the call back on his phone.

“
Hello? Storie?” the man answered within two rings. Storie was reluctant to speak. He held his breath, thinking he should just hang up, but he didn’t want to do that either.

“
Hi,” Storie said in a small voice.

“
I’m surprised you answered my messages. How are you?”

“
Pierre. Why have you been calling me lately?” he asked. While it was true that he felt he shouldn’t have called at all, his temptation to see this now known stranger again was guiding his actions.

“
Like I said in my message, I’m back in New York. I wanted to see you again. Catch up on life. Please Storie, don’t hang up.”

“
Life is good. I am happily in love with Vincent. I love Vincent,” Storie said, “Goodbye.”

“
No. Please. Storie, I’m not trying to pull whatever you think I am. Just meet me tomorrow for coffee, nothing crazy, just coffee. You can bring Vincent, too.”

Storie paused for a moment. As much as he was curious of how Pierre was doing, he felt he should also tell him to stop in person since that was the polite thing to do for a guy who made love to him for an entire year.

“Storie?”

“
Ok. I have to go now.” He instantly hung up. He didn’t want to hear the words, “good night.” It would only intensify the feelings swelling up in his chest. Not Pierre. Anyone, but Pierre. And about bringing Vincent along, Storie would never. That offer had been a lie to calm his suspicion. It was best not to tell Vincent about his planned rendezvous with Pierre. The last thing Vincent needed was to be stressed out over something Storie caused.

The doors
of the café opened with a faint jiggle from the golden bells tied to the handle. The soft jazz music put him in a somewhat drowsy like state. He looked for Pierre but had no trouble finding him. Pierre always shined compared to others. He was the young blond man in the navy blue sweater, little moose design in the corner and a tartan blue blend collar peeking out from around his neck. Even wearing leather moccasins, he still looked out of place in this setting.

“
It’s nice to see you again without Vincent,” Pierre greeted.

Without Vincent
, Storie muttered in his head, what was that implying?

He focused all his attention on the melting whipped cream decorated with cinnamon in his cup. While he dodged Pierre
’s attempt at the
faire la bise
, he knew there was more to this greeting than just wanting to catch up.

“
So, I’m guessing Vincent doesn’t know about this. Am I right?” Pierre said. It was trick questions like that, which made Storie want to bolt out the door. They both knew if Vincent would have known, he would’ve been in the sourest mood possible. After all, if it weren’t for Pierre studying abroad in France, Storie and Pierre would still be a couple. Pierre was the ex-boyfriend with the regretful parting and the last person Storie wanted to see when he was enduring a droning lifestyle.

“
Yeah, he knows. We tell each other everything,” Storie said and took a sip.

“
I know when you’re lying. I’ve known you and Vincent since college. If Vincent knew, he wouldn’t have let you come.”

Storie didn
’t say anything. Pierre then pressed his hand against Storie’s hand. Storie looked up at him, his body already trembling from the touch. He wanted to say don’t touch me, get away from me – stop messing with my head, but all of those commands would just make Pierre seduce him more. He expected to never see Pierre again, so he hid all the feelings he had too early to move on to Vincent. But he loved Vincent with all his heart. The rekindling feelings must have been intensified because the relationship Vincent and he shared was no longer satisfying the yearning in his trousers.

“
I would’ve married you by now.” Pierre massaged Storie’s hand, “Your skin is so soft.”

“
I should go now.”

“
No. Storie. Running away isn’t going to solve this. I tried that myself and look at where it’s got me, heartbroken and alone,” he said and then pressed Storie’s hand against his beating heart, “I feel the same way I did for you then that I do now.”

He gave Storie
’s skin a light peck, “Just come back to me. He’s not gonna marry you.”

A look of terror and regret washed over Storie
’s face. When he pulled his hand away, the spot where Pierre had planted a kiss was a tinted red.

“
I really have to go now.”

“
Will I see you again?”

He let the words fall off his ears. He stood up, pushed in his chair and walked out.

When he returned home, the sun was slowly fading out of the sky. He shut the door behind him and removed any guilty expression from his face. He didn’t deny that seeing Pierre so hungry for him bothered him more than cursing himself for going in the first place. Pierre’s words hurt him. Maybe it was because even he believed that Vincent wasn’t going to marry him. While it remained true that he didn’t have to marry to stay in a committed relationship and most people got married to flash their rings, but for Storie, it was different. It was just his way of feeling even more committed to his partner. Whether marriage would rekindle their relationship or not, he just wanted Vincent to consider his feelings.

Vincent sat with his tie undone and his dress socks showing on the couch. His face looked somewhat grim. His arms were folded as his growl of a voice startled Storie,
“Where were you?”