Burning Truth, page 15
“I’m glad,” Nick said.
“If you want, I could make you feel better, too,” Austin said, slipping his hands down to his zipper. He struggled with his pants, but eventually managed to pull out his stiff, thick cock, surprisingly hard considering all the booze flowing through him. He snaked a hand over Nick’s crotch, smiled in a drunken, sexually suggestive way. Nick stood up, looked away.
“What, you don’t like me?”
“It’s not that, Austin, it’s just that in the morning I don’t think I’d like myself much.”
“Fuck that. Liking yourself is over-rated,” Austin said with a slur, and they were the last words he said before passing out.
Chapter Twelve
Joey
Joey Silva stared at himself in varying stages of undress. To the left, to the right, each image he saw was slightly different. Shirt on, shirt unbuttoned, shirt off, pants sliding down, off. His cock flaccid in its nest of dark pubes, his cock hard and jutting forward, nearly leaping off the page. All in all there were twelve photographs, all of them blown up to poster size and placed all over his living room.
What the photos told him was what men saw when he hovered over them, when he thrust inside them, what made them shoot their loads and still want more. He felt a stirring in his jeans, not exactly turned on by what he saw but excited by how others men pictured him, a virile presentation of the sometimes revered, oftentimes disdained hirsute man. He might be gay but he went against stereotype, manly, never swishy, and no one had ever challenged him, not as a teenager when he might easily have bullied for preferring guys, not at the fire station where traditional values and the trust between brotherhood were what bonded them. Joey Silva had always cut an imposing figure, even as a boy. He’d worked out until baby fat had turned to hard muscle, testosterone coursing through his system and feeding the follicles beneath his skin.
By age fifteen, his cheeks shadowed a dark beard, and the initial patch of chest hair had sprouted between his pecs, which hadn’t stopped sprouting until he was eighteen, leaving him coated with hair, not unlike his father. He’d discovered sex, and his pursuit of sexual satisfaction, of pleasing other men but primarily himself, had become a relentless pursuit. Now in his early thirties, he was as sexually active as he was hairy, as strong as he was determined, and his grown self stared back now like so many versions of his psyche. He could almost see through himself, to see what made his heart beat.
“So, what do you think?”
Ellis Van Pelt stood in the center of the living room, lording over his photographs like a proud artist. With his trademark scarf wrapped around his neck, his hands on his hips and eyes wide behind his wire-frame glasses, he waited expectantly while Joey perused his handiwork.
Joey turned to him, smiling. “You did this all in one night?”
“Consider me inspired,” Ellis said. “You were a great subject, Joey, the quintessential American Male--masculine, strong, fearless, and unafraid of his natural state.”
“I thought you were just having fun with the camera yesterday. I didn’t know you were planning…this.”
After the photo shoot at the cabin, Joey and Ellis had retreated back to Joey’s home in Honor Hills, where Ellis had suggested they play around with some poses, convincing Joey to let him take some additional photographs. Joey had had fun indulging whatever Ellis had asked of him, and when they were done Joey had taken Ellis upstairs and into the room of mirrors and they had indulged in Joey’s favorite pastime, fucking their brains out all night long. As Joey had left for the station house in the morning, Ellis departed too, the two of them arranging to meet later. Ellis promised a surprise for him.
“I’m still waiting for your reaction, Joey, and I want the truth. The more you hesitate, the more I’ll think you don’t like them.” He paused and tossed puppy-dog eyes at him. “Artists are sensitive souls, we bruise easily.”
“Sorry, yeah, no, I like them. I’m just not sure what you’re going to do with them.”
“I told you I had a surprise for you,” he said. “For a couple of months now I’ve been on the hunt for my next gallery showing and, frankly, I was stuck on what that idea should be. I mean, I’m famous for my nudes but I’m tired of the celebrities and their insecurities. That’s part of the reason I agreed to Tucker’s request to come to White Pine and help produce the calendar. It was a distraction that got me out of mind, one that I hoped would get the old creative juices flowing. And since arriving my juices have certainly been flowing…”
Joey grinned. “I’d like to take a bit of credit for that.”
“Actually, Joey, all kidding aside, you do get most of the credit,” Ellis said, “See, while I was working up the photographs yesterday—and not just yours but from the photo shoot, too, an idea struck me. I got on the phone with a couple of art gallery owners I know, both in New York and L.A. and I told them my idea.”
“Which is what?”
“I want to photograph you, your father, and your beautiful baseball-hunk of a brother,” he said. “I want all three of the Silva men to make up the entire collection. One of the guys in New York loved the idea and said he knew the perfect underwriter—a philanthropist and owner of the gay beach resort Icarus, a guy named Ben Lodge, who has not only the money to spare but finds my particular subject of great interest.”
“And what, exactly, is the angle you’re presenting.”
“The return of the hairy-chested man to society,” Ellis said. “For the last decade or more, society has emphasized men with smooth bodies, waxed chests, in advertising and on television and movies. Gone are the days of the masculine, hirsute Sean Connerys, Alec Baldwins, and Tom Sellecks, all of whom were once viewed as the true representative of the male form. You alone would be a fascinating subject…I mean, just look at these photographs here. But a show needs a bigger theme than just one figure, and it didn’t occur to me until I’d started looking at the proofs from the photo shoot and I zeroed in on your father.”
“My father?”
“Alex Silva is a handsome man, he’s got a certain charm, and of course…he’s hairy.”
“All us Silva boys are.”
“That’s exactly my point. Think about it: an elder statesman, a fire chief, his loyal son who fights fires at his side, and then there is the son who chose a different path but whose nickname happens to be Burn. All are good-looking and all with great bodies. I would imagine my show would set not just the art world afire but draw in an erotic subculture that appreciates the hirsute man. So, Joey Silva, what do you say…is this of interest to you?”
“I never had a problem showing my body, I don’t care what society says.”
“So I’ve noticed,” he said, “the linchpin here, though, is your brother.”
“Because he’s famous.”
Ellis nodded. “It would certainly add to the allure and help drive interest off the art pages. I’ve already got my people working on his people, but of course if you were to personally call him and convince him…I’d be really grateful. Joey, this project could be a fascinating show, one we could take not to just to New York and L.A., but internationally, to Italy and to Argentina, to places where virile, hairy men are not only appreciated, they are celebrated.”
Joey couldn’t help but be amused, as well as intrigued. He stared back at the posters of himself that Ellis had positioned around his living room, seeing them in a different light now. Not just for private showing. They would be hung in fancy art galleries around the world and bought to hang in people’s homes, which meant his quiet existence in the Adirondacks would suddenly open up, the world—and its seductive, hungry men—would want to know more about the creature in them. They would want to see him and meet him, share him, have him in their beds. It was a strange feeling to think of the men that awaited him out there, the untold pleasures of the flesh he could indulge in.
“Consider me intrigued,” Joey said.
Ellis came to him and told him he was not regret it, and the close proximity created a new level of heat between them, perhaps because of the promise of the gallery showing, perhaps from the array of photographs that surrounded them. Joey pulled him in tight, kissed him with a deep passion that sent a rush of blood to his cock, thickening it, feeding his hunger. Ellis reached over and began to rub his crotch and soon he was near to bursting inside his pants. When he pulled back, he saw Ellis staring with his mouth open at the huge bulge.
“As much as I love the photos,” Ellis said, “I must say I prefer the live version. What do you say, Joey, to a parting gift?”
“I like to think of it as the gift that keeps on giving.”
“Ooh, and thrusting.”
Joey wasted little time in stripping off clothes, first sliding his T-shirt up over his head and tossing it to the floor, revealing his full, furry glory. His pants followed, and soon he stood in the center of the living room, completely naked, his raging cock so hard, so big. Ellis wasted no time in dropping to his knees and taking that cock into his mouth. Joey’s large hands grabbed his head, held it in place while he pumped his hips forward, shoving his cock in, out, in deeper, deeper still until he felt the back of Ellis’s throat. He felt Ellis’s hand slide around to his ass, running them over his hairy cheeks, probing into his crack with a wandering finger.
Just then Joey pulled out, switching positions. With his palms laid flat on the arm of the sofa, he told Ellis to devour him, and Ellis did so. His tongue lapped at Joey’s ass, flickering in, finding its way up the crack as his fingers pulled open his cheeks. Ellis licked, he drove his hot tongue deep into the hairy hole, pushing it until it had gained entry. Joey roared with approval, told him to keep eating him, faster. He took hold of his cock, wrapping his fist around the thick shaft, pumping it as Ellis continued to eat his ass. He could feel the pulsing veins of his cock and knew if he kept at this he would blow his load. He didn’t want to climax in his hand but the wild sensations of Ellis’s tongue sliding along his hairy ass was too good…so good, he didn’t want him to stop.
“Wait, stop…don’t make me blow, not yet,” Joey said.
Ellis pulled out, and Joey turned and lifted him off the floor. “Tell me what you want.”
“Your cock,” Ellis said, “every fucking, huge inch.”
Joey dropped to the sofa, his cock jutting upwards. “Sit on it,” he told him.
Ellis did as he was told, removing all of his clothes and by the time he’d lifted his naked self onto Joey’s hairy body, Joey was primed for driving action. Condom on, lube applied, and soon a hot, hard Ellis eased down on that thick piece of meat. Joey allowed him to take his time; he knew his thick cock couldn’t just ram him. Ellis gripped Joey’s hairy shoulders as inch by inch slid inside, the red, pulsing tip piercing him. After the initial entry, the rest of Joey’s cock followed with a steady push, Ellis meeting up with it as his body lowered until his ass had taken it all, just as he’d begged.
“Oh, shit, Joey…you fill me up…I can’t believe how big you are…”
Joey thrust his hips upward, the final inch of his cock sliding inside, his pubes rubbing against Ellis’s smooth ass. He pumped again, again, and Ellis reacted by lifting himself up, then down, repeating the process again, again, developing a rhythm that had them rocking against the back of the sofa. Joey grunted and Ellis cried out. Joey thrust his hips again, and Ellis ran his hands over the dark swath covering Joey’s chest.
“Yes, fuck me…fuck me hard you beast…oh yes, hard, harder…”
They continued to fuck, to buck hips and slam down, friction growing between them. His cock was pushing against Joey’s belly, the thick rough hair rubbing the red tip raw until he could not hold it. Joey heard his cry, felt the cock jerk against his skin, then felt wetness as Ellis let his load fly. Drops upon drops spurted out, thick white streaks sliding down his belly, mingling with his pubes. He continued to thrust, to fuck with all his might, holding Ellis down while his entire cock remained buried inside him.
“Oh God…Oh God…Joey, let me feel you explode…yes, I want it, I need it…”
Joey’s hand held Ellis’s body tight, directing him up and down his long hard shaft, and as he did so his gaze once again fell on the photographs that surrounded the room. Joey was naked in most of them, and he was fascinated by his own image. When he thrust upwards, he imagined each of him doing the same. It was almost like the many Joeys in the room were turned on, hot, and bent on fucking Ellis until they all blew.
Joey’s breath was coming in short bursts, and he continued to thrust wildly, sweat now on his brow and trickling down his chest. Ellis dug his fingers into the dense, dark carpet, rubbing the sexy swath, grabbing at thick tufts while arching his back. Joey leaned forward, the scrape of his heavy beard on Ellis’s cheek eliciting a groan of pleasure, and that spurred him on further. He fucked him, hard, fast, urgent, never once letting go of his hot, compact body. His ass took each inch more easily, and Joey could feel the friction begin to have an effect on him.
The rush began to build within him, and he knew it would be powerful and intense. He spun Ellis around on the sofa, positioning him onto his back, his cock never once sliding out. Hovering over him, Joey thrust at him again, his grunts commanding the silence of the room, and at last, as Ellis gripped at his back, pulling at the hair, wrapping his legs around that hairy ass he’d just eaten, Joey roared with one final push of his massive cock, and then he was dumping loads of hot come inside Ellis. He thrust and he pumped with each explosion, and Ellis gripped him harder, pulling him so tight it was hard to see where the hairless met the hirsute, so entwined were their sweaty bodies.
Their fierce coupling over, each having reached satisfaction, Joey pulled out to find his cock leaking still when he removed the condom.
“Wow, am I going to miss this,” Ellis said.
“It’s a nice good-bye, though, and it’s only just begun,” Joey said, his eyes indicating a move to room of mirrors.
The ringing of the doorbell interrupted him from moving upstairs. Standing up, his body sweaty to the point his chest was matted, Joey peered through the curtain and found a surprising figure standing on the front step. He considered not answering the door, but realized that was just childish. It was a situation that had to be dealt with, and what better time than now to do it. First he slipped on his pants, and made his way toward the front door.
Ellis had retreated to the kitchen, at Joey’s suggestion.
Opening the door clad only in his jeans, Joey nodded at his visitor and said, “Hey, Nick.”
“Hi, uh, I’m sorry to just drop by…looks like I’m interrupting something.”
Joey turned to see what Nick could see from the front door, and on the carpet were his discarded boxers, Ellis’s clothes. The fact he was answering the door all sweaty and shirtless, he supposed there was no denying what had been happening here recently. If anything, Nick knew Joey’s habits. Probably Joey had been climaxing as Nick was walking up the pathway.
“No sense telling you otherwise,” Joey said, “I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“No, Joey, you wouldn’t. You’ve always been brutally honest with me.”
Joey felt the pain in Nick’s voice, the regret it contained. “Look, Nick…”
Nick held up a hand. “I’m not here for explanations. I just…I wanted to talk to you, it’s important.”
“Fire away.”
“Not here,” Nick said.
“Where, and when?”
“Fine, say in about a half-hour?”
Joey looked back, then down at himself, half naked. “Make it an hour and you’ve got my undivided attention.”
Nick shook his head as he emitted a short laugh. “Insatiable to the end.”
“Isn’t that an oxymoron?”
Nick smiled and said, “So were we.”
Nick retreated and Joey closed the door, turning to see that Ellis had returned to the living room, busy picking up his clothes. Approaching him, he grabbed hold of his hips, held him tight.
“Joey, I heard, you need to meet Nick.”
“If you heard right, I said an hour.” Then he grinned.
Moments later, Ellis was pinned to the floor, positioned on his back, and Joey was atop him, ramming his cock deep inside him with an urgency that went beyond the moment, beyond either Ellis or Nick. This was all about Joey, his desire, his passion, not for the man beneath him or the man he’d let get away. This was about satisfying his own needs. Ellis was leaving, and he had lost Nick to whatever lost emotions lived in his eyes, and so with only himself to depend on, Joey thrust wildly, hearing Ellis’s cry but not paying them any attention. He fucked him like he would never again fuck another man, and as he shoved his thick cock deep inside him and asked, begged, to have Ellis dig his fingers deep into his furred back. He could hold back no longer.
With a fierce cry that shook the quiet room, Joey Silva’s massive cock exploded, and he pumped hot seed inside the lover beneath him, feeling as though his blown mind was starved for oxygen. He couldn’t come up with the name of who he’d just fucked, he was just another man, another willing slave who sought sexual release from a man seemingly born for it, a man so big, so hairy, so filled with lust, it came as no surprise that little else existed for the man.
As Joey pumped the last of his seed and his body grew slack and he slipped out and fell to the floor, he suddenly separated both body and mind from the man he’d just screwed. He wondered after he left, after he dispensed with Nick, where his next conquest would come from, and whether that next rush of heat would bring him any closer to the satisfaction he sought in some deep place within himself he hadn’t yet found.
He stared back at the photographs that littered the living room, and he saw nothing now but what the surface revealed.
§ § §
With the weather beginning to turn nicer, Craven’s Restaurant had already set up outdoor seating on a back patio that looked out at the magnificent view of the mountains the nestled Honor Hills. As beautiful the setting, Joey Silva arrived late afternoon knowing his meeting with Nick was anything to celebrate. They’d been antagonists when they first met, lovers for a time, and now he wasn’t sure what they were--friends, enemies, or just fellow brothers of the flame? Trading one temperature for another.
