Everything in my world is ink stained—my clothing, my furniture. Now he looks like he belongs to me.
I shed my jacket and pull my shirt off over my head, then take his mouth in another deep, wet kiss. Our chests meet, skin to skin, and heat flares between us. Lifting his legs so they hook over my hips, I reach between our legs and slide back into the warmth of his body. David groans into my mouth and I swallow the sound.
I try to keep our kiss going, my thrusts short and deep, but we are both panting within minutes.
I finally pull my mouth from his and say, “Look. Watch me fuck your ass.”
We both look down and, silently, watch my rod slide in and out of him. His body accepting and grasping with each movement.
His cock jumps, leaving a smudge of wetness across his belly that smears the ink, leaving the head faintly stained. I reach down and grasp it, stroking him in time to my thrusts.
Greedy boy, he doesn’t bother warning me this time, although I can tell he’s close by the way his ass squeezes me. He comes hard, white jetting from him and covering both his stomach and my hand.
David lies back and pants, a murmured litany of prayers and curses falling from his lips.
I reach up and slide my coated fingers into his mouth. His eager tongue wraps around me and sucks, and it’s more than I can handle. Shuddering, I orgasm deep inside of him. He sighs happily as his ass milks the last of my come from me.
I collapse onto his chest and feather kisses across his collarbone, down to his nipples and back up to the hollow of his throat. He grins and squirms as my breath tickles him and I scrape my teeth gently across his Adam’s apple.
Leaning back, I’m about to pull out of his body when David crosses his ankles behind me, keeping me locked in. His fingers run along the curve of my ear and play with locks of my hair and I sigh.
I pick up my head and kiss him gently. My tongue dips into his mouth and I can taste the lingering salt of his spend. He looks so young and happy and simple, lying spread across my desk, his naked body still embracing my softened shaft. I lean over and pick up my pen, dip it into the spilled ink at David’s elbow and write
for David
in large, flourished letters across a sheet of paper.
I have the dedication. The rest will follow.
BLUE HEART
Michael Bracken
I
discovered a gray hair on Gary’s chest this morning when I woke wrapped in his arms. As I stared at it I realized how much time had passed since I had first run my fingers through his chest hair.
We met as undergraduates at the University of Texas at Austin while George W. Bush was stumbling his way through his first year in the presidency. We weren’t interested in Bush—in our bed or in our White House—much to the dismay of our fundamentalist parents, though mine ultimately proved more accepting of our relationship then Gary’s. We were a pair of small-town boys who’d had to go along to get along through high school, even though we’d had no interest in feeling up the cheerleaders or banging the homecoming queen, and academics provided our escape from the confines of Southern Baptist narrow-mindedness. We’d reached the university from different Central Texas towns that were far more alike than their zip codes indicated, and didn’t meet each other until fall of our senior year when we were a government major and an English major rolling burritos at a popular restaurant for the pocket change entry-level employment provided.
Gary, who wore his coal-black hair trimmed close to the scalp and who seemed unable to banish the permanent five o’clock shadow on his square jaw and strong chin, had played six-man football in high school. Three years later he retained the thick, muscular body of a football linesman. Though I often glanced at his firm ass and the bulging package accentuated by his tight-fitting jeans, I avoided displaying any obvious interest. My gaydar had proven woefully inadequate throughout my first three years at the university, and I’d had to talk my way out of too many embarrassing and potentially dangerous situations since moving to Austin.
I had been editor of my high school’s newspaper, had been on the yearbook staff, and had avoided all extracurricular physical activities until my sophomore year of college when I discovered RecSports. I dropped my freshman fifteen through a combination of swimming and weight training, and continued use of the university’s recreational facilities had toned and sculpted my body so that I was no longer the pudgy kid who’d graduated valedictorian. Even so, I retained a mental self-image of that pudgy kid, worried no one would be attracted to me, until those occasions when I caught a glimpse of my reflection and realized how much my body had changed during the intervening years.
My first three weeks on the job, Gary and I often worked the same shift behind the counter, rolling burritos for a never-ending stream of customers at the popular downtown restaurant that employed us. Our conversation, limited as it was, never became personal, so I had no reason to think he was interested in me until we were walking out of the restaurant at the end of our shift one Saturday night.
The restaurant had closed at midnight, and it had taken almost half an hour for employees to clean up, clock out and make our way out the back door. I had just reached my car and opened the door when Gary called to me.
“Dwayne?” He pronounced my name as a single syllable, not as two syllables the way my family and friends did back home.
I turned.
“Can I hitch a ride?” He explained that his car was in the shop after a fender bender with a clueless coed who’d been talking to her passenger when she plowed her car into the back of his at a stoplight near campus.
“Sure.”
I climbed into the driver’s seat and then reached across to unlock the passenger door. Gary climbed in beside me, provided directions, and less than ten minutes later I pulled my car into his apartment building’s parking lot.
“You in a hurry?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Want to come up for a beer?”
I had no other plans so I found an empty parking spot and pulled my car into it. Then I followed Gary into the building and upstairs to his second-floor apartment, a one-bedroom much nicer than the exterior of the building suggested it would be.
He led me into the kitchen, opened two bottles of Lone Star beer he retrieved from the fridge, and handed one to me. As I pressed the bottle to my lips and tilted it upward to take my first drink, Gary said, “I’ve seen you sneaking glances at my ass.”
I quickly swallowed so that I wouldn’t spit out my beer. I started to sputter a protest as I lowered the bottle from my lips.
He stopped me. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ve noticed yours, too.”
My cock twitched in my pants when I realized where Gary was headed with his comments. “You didn’t invite me up here just to drink a couple of beers, did you?”
Gary put his Lone Star on the kitchen counter, stepped forward, and began unbuttoning my shirt from the top. By the time he pulled it free of my jeans and unfastened the final button, my cock had swollen with desire and pressed against the inside of my jockey shorts, yearning to be free. When Gary pushed my shirt off my shoulders, I set my bottle on the counter next to his and let my shirt slide down my arms to pool on the kitchen floor at my feet.
I wore no undershirt, and Gary must have liked what he saw. He took my hand and led me from the kitchen to the bedroom, where we undressed each other. The only light illuminating the room came from a streetlight half a block away but it was enough for me to appreciate the naked man standing before me.
Gary’s perpetual five o’clock shadow should have been a clue, but I hadn’t realized how hirsute he would be. Dark hair covered his chest, tapering to a treasure trail down his taut abdomen that led to a wild tangle of black pubic hair from which rose a cock thicker and longer than any I’d ever before encountered.
I couldn’t believe my luck as I reached out and ran my fingers through his chest hair. Gary was everything I had ever imagined, and more. I’d dreamed about this moment, had toyed with myself in the shower while imagining various encounters with Gary, but had never expected to find myself in his bedroom. I had never been so aroused in my life, and my cock throbbed with desire and anticipation.
He reached for my erection and wrapped his fist around it. Before he could do anything else, I came, covering his hand with my sexual effluent.
We still laugh about it all these years later, but it wasn’t so funny then. I was mortified. “I—I’m sorry,” I stuttered. “I’ve never—this has never—”
“It’s okay,” Gary said as he released his hold on my rapidly deflating cock.
I’d fooled around with several guys, but had never progressed beyond mutual masturbation and blow jobs. They had been meaningless romps for no reason beyond simply getting each other off. Being with Gary was different. I had lusted after him for weeks, but more than that, he wanted more than a quick hand job.
He had a partially used tube of lube and a selection of lubricated condoms in his nightstand drawer. After he spun me around and had me bend over his bed, he slathered lube and my ejaculate into my asscrack. Then he opened one of the condoms and slipped it over his thick cock.
He stroked my sphincter until I relaxed enough that he could slip one lube-covered finger into me. After a few probing strokes, he removed his finger and replaced it with the head of his condom-covered cock, pressing firmly until I opened to him. He must have known he was fucking a virgin ass because he carefully eased into me until his entire length was buried in my shit chute.
I sighed with pleasure.
Gary grabbed my hips and drew back until only his cock-head remained inside me. Then he pushed forward again. He started slowly but moved faster and faster until he was pistoning into my ass with increasing speed and power. My flaccid cock slapped against my thigh with each of his powerful thrusts until I cupped my hand over it, and I felt my cum-covered cockhead paint my palm as it bounced in rhythm to Gary’s pistoning.
My cock was just beginning to recover from my initial orgasm and was again swelling with desire when Gary came. He slammed into me one last time, moaning with pleasure as he held my hips tight against him and filled the condom with cum.
He didn’t withdraw until his cock stopped spasming. When he did finally step back, he pinched the condom against the base of his cock so that it would not slip off as he withdrew. I turned, sat on the side of his bed and watched as he walked naked down the hall to the bathroom, admiring his tight ass and powerful legs. I heard water run for a moment and he soon returned with our beers but sans condom.
Still embarrassed from my premature ejaculation, I wasn’t sure what to say. So I drank my beer, pulled on my clothes and told Gary I had to be going. He walked me to his apartment door without bothering to dress and he leaned against the open door when I stepped into the hall.
“See you at work?” he said.
“Yeah,” I said. I couldn’t look into his eyes, instead focusing on the thick cock that had been inside me only a short time earlier. I wondered if I would ever see it again. “Monday. My next shift is Monday.”
As I drove away a few minutes later, I didn’t know if our encounter was going to be a one-time hookup or if it would lead to something more. At home in the shower, my hand wrapped around my rejuvenated cock, I imagined future encounters.
During our shift Monday evening Gary made it clear that he wanted more, and the following weekend we had a proper date. His car had just come from the shop, so he picked me up and we went to a bar he knew on Sixth Street where we could dance and drink without being harassed.
Gary danced with me, held my hand and kissed me without hesitation, treating me as his lover and not his hookup for the evening. He introduced me to several other men at the bar, making it clear that he was a regular as well as that I was taken. I’d never had any of my previous sexual playmates treat me as anything more than a fuckbuddy or worse, as someone for late-night assignations but not someone to associate with in the cold light of day. Gary made me feel special in a way no one else ever had.
Late that evening Gary took me back to his place, I didn’t embarrass myself a second time, and I fell asleep in his arms after an abundance of mutual satisfaction.
That was only the beginning of our whirlwind relationship. By the end of the semester I was spending more nights in Gary’s apartment than in my own, and our relationship, though it had started with a sexual encounter, developed into much more. After graduation we remained in Austin, choosing to cohabitate in the blue heart of a red state. Gary took an entry-level job working for the state of Texas while I found a position as assistant to the advertising director of a performing arts organization. During subsequent years I was promoted to advertising director and Gary had a meteoric rise through a series of government positions with increasing responsibility and commensurate pay.
Much like every couple that remains together for more than a dozen years, Gary and I went through several ups and down in our relationship—from financial struggles created primarily by crippling student loans to dealing with his family’s complete rejection of him after we purchased a downtown loft together and they realized he wasn’t just going through a phase. My parents grudgingly accepted Gary but made it clear they did not approve of our relationship. We found ways to survive the downs, making the ups even better, and along the way we found our place in the community.
We were social creatures, made friends easily and turned our loft into a gathering place for the capital’s up-and-comers. Our dinner parties brought artistic aesthetes and government wonks together in ways neither of us could ever have imagined growing up in small Texas towns, and everyone in the know desired invitations to our holiday cocktail parties.
Despite multiple opportunities to stray—he with interns looking to curry favors and me with touring performers seeking little more than one-night stands—we remained true to each other, one of the core values we had learned from our families. Sometimes we told each other about the advances others made—from the most awkward to the most subtle—and used them to spice up our bedroom play, and sometimes we kept them to ourselves to fuel our own fantasies.