Boy Crazy, page 18
I walked up to my room, stumbling a little, still seeing Blaine in my mind’s eye. He was so hot. He knew he was hot, but he didn’t flaunt it. It was just a part of him, like having black hair and green eyes, both of which contributed massively to his hotness. I was aching in my jeans again, and this time I had enough privacy to take care of it without coming on to the object of my desire like a stalker. I went into my bedroom and shut the door, stripped down and lay back on my bed.
I hardly had to touch myself. Everyone masturbates, but not everyone is lucky enough to jack off with Blaine tattooed to the inside of their eyelids. Thinking about being back on his bed, with him lying beside me but both of us awake this time, with him reaching out, taking me and touching me and bringing that small, secret smile to my lips and then lower, lower, down to my cock—
“Oh, fuuuuuck.” I came and came hard, shooting thick, clinging jets of semen across my chest and stomach. Pinprick stars consumed the edges of my vision, and I bathed in the sheer pleasure that dreaming of Blaine brought me. When the blaze died down to a glow, I realized something. What I had with him wasn’t enough. I didn’t know if Blaine was gay, but I did know that he was friendly and fun and that I had no reason to feel guilty about being with him just because it would upset my sister. I needed a friend more than I needed her approval.
By unspoken rule I hung out at Blaine’s place now, instead of the other way around. He still went over to work with Kacie, but we got together afterward. I’d study, he’d write and listen to music, we’d watch movies from his bed and basically have a good time together. I had no idea why he liked me, and I didn’t want to ask, in case he started wondering himself.
Hamlet’s opening night came, and of course I got tickets. Through Blaine, not Kacie. “Front row,” he told me when he handed them to me. “So close you can see the pathos exuding from me.”
“Thanks.”
“Well, wish me luck.”
“Break a leg.”
Blaine grinned this time, and I felt the warm feeling inside my chest expand to suffuse the rest of my body. “See, you’re learning.”
Kacie as Ophelia was interesting. It was playing against personality for her, but my sister does have skills, and she pulled off a rather dramatic performance. Blaine ruled the stage, though. He was completely captivating, and when he soliloquized and prevaricated and agonized, you could feel his pain and confusion and passion. He was beautiful to watch and beautiful to listen to, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
Everyone else seemed to feel the same way: standing ovation, cheers and flowers, and then bows by everyone. Kacie and the wretched queen got red roses, Blaine got white. When he took them, he smiled, and we the audience gloried in the glow. Then he looked straight at me, and the glow exploded inside of me and I realized that I had lost it. I had fucking lost it. I was in love with Blaine.
Did I know this for certain? No. I’d never been in love before, and had experienced little enough of it in my family life. But I imagined that being in love felt like what the bard wrote, “For where thou art, there is the world itself, and where thou art not, desolation.” I never wanted to let him out of my sight. When he finally left the stage the sun had blinked out. I was dizzy with the sudden influx of emotion and had to sit down. This was completely crazy. He was a cool guy, he was my friend, he was my sister’s friend, and I didn’t have time to be in love. I didn’t want to be in love.
Too bad I wasn’t consulted.
I left with the crowd. I was confused and weirded out, and the last thing I wanted to do was fall all over him in front of my sister. Hell, I probably wasn’t going to get that chance anyway, but with Kacie around any interaction between us would be monitored, and scrutiny made me act even stranger than I already was. So I walked. I had nowhere else to go. I couldn’t go home because the after-party was being hosted there, of course, and I didn’t know anyone else well enough to bum a place to hang out or a spot to sleep, except for Blaine, and that just wouldn’t work. I walked for hours, shivering in my jacket and wishing I’d brought a hat and gloves, but too paralyzed by spasms of uncertainty to go home.
I finally couldn’t stand it any longer; I was just too fucking cold. It was around three A.M., and most of the party people had to be gone or sleeping by now. I could sneak in the back and use the stairs in the kitchen. Hopefully no one would be sleeping in my bed.
The lights were still on, but basically people had slept where they fell. No one was awake, thank god. I crept up the stairs and down the hall to my bedroom, opened the door silently, and slipped inside. My room was empty. I pulled off my jacket, rubbed tiredly at my eyes, and then finally noticed the new addition to my decor. A dozen white roses sat in a vase on my bedside table. Blaine’s roses. There was a sheet of paper under the edge of the vase. Sitting down on the bed, I picked it up with shaking hands and read the note scrawled on it. Come see me.
Come see him? When? Now? Surely it could wait until morning, after I had gotten a little sleep. Except now I wouldn’t be able to sleep. My whole body ached with longing. I did want to see him, even though I had no idea what was going to happen. I leaned in and sniffed the roses for a moment, inhaling their sweet, subtle scent. He’d given me flowers. That was so cheesy, and so cute. I didn’t want to speculate about why, but I couldn’t help thinking that he wouldn’t give flowers to someone he wasn’t interested in. Would he?
Too many questions and not enough answers. I pulled my jacket back on and crept out of the house as silently as I’d entered. It wasn’t a long walk to Blaine’s dorm, but it was a cold one, and I was shaking by the time I got inside. I walked to his room, apprehensive and scared and a little foolish, and knocked quietly on his door. If he were asleep, he wouldn’t hear me, and I could leave without waking him and making a fool out of myself. If he was awake…
The door opened. Blaine was wearing sweats and a T-shirt that emphasized his sexiness. He grabbed my arm and pulled me into his room. I let him, moving stiffly. “Good grief, you’re freezing,” he muttered. “Where the hell have you been? I waited for hours at your house for you to show up.”
I frowned reflexively. “Why were you waiting for me?”
“Ty, I swear to god, don’t give me this modest bullshit right now.”
“What bullshit?” I exclaimed. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on, I just got your note and I came over. You asked me to come over.”
He held my shaking shoulders steady and looked searchingly into my eyes. “Shit, you’re serious.”
“Yes, I’m serious.”
“Ty,” he said, smiling again, “why the hell do you think I gave you flowers? Why would I wait for you and leave you notes asking you to come over? Why would anyone do that for someone else?”
“I don’t…I guess…” I was too tired to prevaricate. “Blaine, I’m in love with you.”
I saw momentary surprise in his eyes, quickly supplanted with pleasure. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” I didn’t know what to do or how to act, but Blaine took the lead and I gratefully let him.
“Good,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around my back and drawing me in closer. “Because I’m in love with you, too.” Then he leaned in and kissed me.
A dam of emotion and need broke inside of me. I couldn’t remember the last time I had kissed someone, the last time I’d had any genuinely affectionate physical interactions. Now his lips were pressed to mine, and his arms were holding me; he told me he loved me, and I let loose. I kissed him back, gripping his waist so tightly that I probably bruised him, unwilling to let even a millimeter of space come between us. If my body hadn’t been so exhausted, I would have come just from the intimacy of our first embrace. As it was, I had a raging hard-on by the time we broke for air. Blaine was already pulling us back toward the bed, shucking off my jacket and shirt and shedding his own clothes with great efficiency.
He turned us so that I reached the bed first and I sank onto it, pulling him down on top of me and scooting us back so that our entire bodies ended up stretched out on the comforter. We were both down to just our pants, and when he rubbed my erection through my slacks I groaned. I wanted him so badly, I wanted him for everything and anything, for things I’d imagined and things I’d never even thought of. I tried to communicate all of my longing through my body, and not my inarticulate words. When we separated again, the green of his eyes was almost entirely blacked out by his pupils.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he muttered as he kissed my face: cheeks, chin, and forehead, and then back to my panting mouth. “You’re so fucking sweet.” He kissed me deeply, drawing my tongue into his mouth and sucking on it before letting me go. “You’re so fucking smart and hot and sexy, and you’re mine.” He ground his pelvis against mine and I arched my back, pressing harder against him while I searched for words.
“I want you, but I’ve never…I’m not sure what to do.”
“Let me do. You just lie here and look pretty,” he grinned, then slid down my body, pulling my pants and underwear off as he went. I was barely breathing, my body tense and tight and my fingers aching to touch him. He ran long-fingered hands down the sides of my legs to my ankles, caressing bare flesh and soothing me as his lips lingered over my groin. That secret smile was back, and then it happened, just like I had dreamed it, just like I had imagined over and over as I’d stroked myself in my room. He brought his sly, curving lips down to my cock, licked the head, then smoothly took me into his mouth.
I couldn’t have held back if there had been a gun to my head. Blaine was probably an incredible cocksucker but at that moment it didn’t matter. The feel of his lips on my cock and the vision of his body bent over mine was all it took to send me over the edge into a ridiculously fast orgasm. I think I called his name, I think my body bowed with the force of the pleasure coursing through me, but I’ll never know for certain. All I knew was that some indeterminable time later, I was lying in Blaine’s arms and he was kissing me again, looking very self-satisfied.
It eventually dawned on me that I hadn’t lasted very long. “I’m sorry that was so fast.”
“I’m not,” he replied. “Coming fast takes the edge off. Besides, I plan on doing that many, many times to you.”
He was still hard, his erection pressing into my thigh as we writhed against each other. “Let me do it to you,” I said, then pushed myself up and switched our positions. He was spread out beneath me, nude, smiling, gorgeous, with his cock jutting toward me. I settled over his toned torso, tentatively touched his chest, circling his nipples with my fingertips, and then ran my hands down the sharp planes of his firm stomach. Blaine’s eyes were heavy-lidded and his lips were slightly swollen. His eyes opened wider when I grabbed the base of his cock. Anxious to taste him for the first time, I leaned down and lowered my mouth onto him.
So what was the right way to do this? I wasn’t sure, but the feel of his cockhead between my lips was completely intoxicating. I held him there for a moment, sucking him lightly before taking more of him into me. I ran my tongue up the underside of his shaft and then swirled it around the head, still holding tightly to the base. I felt his hands in my hair, gripping lightly as he fed me his cock, hips slowly rising and falling. When he moaned my name I redoubled my efforts. I moved my head up and down over him, timing my movements to his thrusts, giving way with my hand as more and more of him went between my lips and into my mouth. He stopped thrusting just before he hit my throat, and I rose and fell over him, sucking and licking and trying to make him feel a fraction of the pleasure I had.
It seemed to work. His hands tightened in my hair and he chanted my name, then said quickly, “Ty, I’m coming!” I kept my lips locked around his flesh, and he began to pulse into my mouth. I gagged a little at first, kind of shocked at what was happening, then got my head straight and started swallowing. It tasted okay, creamy and salty. I sucked him until he pulled me off, up his body and back on top of him.
“God, I love you,” he said, then kissed me again, pulling my lower lip between his teeth and lightly nibbling it. We made out for a long time, kissing and grabbing and stroking until we were both hard again. “I want you to fuck me.”
That took me by surprise. “Really?” I guess I had assumed… well, I had no idea what I’d assumed. I’d forgotten that there was anything beyond what we’d already done, that being so far beyond anything I’d done before. Blaine laughed at my expression.
“Yes, really. I love being fucked and I want you inside of me.”
“Wow.” Hell yeah, wow. “Okay. What do I need to do?”
“Just loosen me up, slide on a condom, and go.” He opened the drawer of his bedside table and grabbed a bottle of lube and a foil-wrapped condom. I looked down at them dubiously.
“Won’t this hurt?”
“Just the waiting.” He wiggled beneath me and wrapped his legs around my back, bringing our cocks together. The heat between us was searing. If we didn’t get some space I was going to come there and then. I pulled back and moved down the bed again. Blaine bent his knees and spread his feet apart. “Just touch me. It won’t take long to get me ready, I want you so badly.”
Touch him. I wasn’t a total incompetent, and I did understand what lube was for. I had dreamed about being this intimate with his body for the past month, and now I could be as close as I wanted. I wanted Blaine to know exactly how I felt, how badly I needed him. I spread his cheeks apart with my hands, leaned in and touched the tip of my tongue to his hole.
I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting—something alien, something strange? It was nothing like that. He tasted clean, and the low, satisfied moan he let out when I licked him let me know that he enjoyed my tongue on his ass. I touched it again, rolling the flat of my tongue across the puckered flesh, delving in slightly to get the taste of him and full of astonishment that something so small would be able to take a cock. I coated a finger with lube and followed my tongue with it, penetrating him with surprising ease. Blaine moaned and canted his hips up, driving me deeper. Two fingers, then three, and then I was ripping the foil open, hastily putting on the condom, and positioning myself at his asshole. Our gazes locked and then he reached out and pulled me inside of him, slowly, in one long, continuous motion.
Incredible tightness and heat surrounded me. I closed my eyes for a long moment, reining in the urge to come right now. When I opened them again Blaine was looking at me, sensuous and aroused, rocking his hips in wordless encouragement. I pulled back and then pressed forward, slow and shallow at first, soon faster and deeper. At times I touched something inside of Blaine that he seemed to enjoy, because his eyes closed momentarily and his channel tightened. He was as hard as I was and he stroked himself, hastening his own orgasm when he saw that I was getting close.
The edge of pleasure turned into an abyss, and I was suddenly thrusting harder, harder, and then stopping when my muscles locked and my mind blanked, overcome with the power of my orgasm. Blaine followed in seconds, pulling me against him and trapping his cock between our bodies as he came, capturing my mouth in a kiss that bound us together as surely as my penetration of him had. Eventually the buzzing in my ears faded and I could move again. I pulled out and fell on the bed next to him, completely exhausted.
Blaine cleaned both of us up quickly and then snuggled in beside me, pulling the blanket over us. He kept touching me, his eyes full of something I couldn’t identify, kissing me again and again. “I love you,” he told me, “I love you, I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I told him quietly, happy that for once in my life I could say that honestly and without guile.
“I’m glad you let yourself realize it, Ty. ‘To thine own self be true.’”
“And to you,” I replied, nesting my head against his shoulder. “True to you, too.”
THIS IS NOT YOUR COUNTRY
Jeffrey Round
It was the usual Friday night crowd, sipping beer and complaining about the heat. The Americans had taken over Bar Magenta, a watering hole for expat models and anyone who wanted to sleep with models. Tired of all the metrosexuals, Warden finished his beer and left. Outside, the sidewalk was mired in a squabble of tables and chairs and parked motorbikes. The scent of cologne and cigarettes lingered in the air like seductive moonbeams.
Across the street, a figure stood framed in a pool of light. Dark curls blew across an oval face. He had a leather jacket slung over one shoulder. A white T-shirt and blue jeans with rolled up cuffs completed the uniform. He seemed to have stepped onto the corner from some far-off world, waiting as though anchored at the foot of the stars.
A group staggered out of the bar, and Warden felt someone brush against him. He turned to see a boy he’d worked a show with earlier that week, now off in search of unknown pleasure.
“Sincerely sorry,” the boy said. Then he recognized Warden. “Hey, Warden! How’s it goin’, dude?”
“Great, Kent—looks like you’re off for some fun.”
“Gotta make the most of the weekend, man! Hafta face that old sidewalk come Monday morning.” He gestured vaguely toward his companions who had stopped drunkenly to watch the exchange like prisoners on a weekend pass, uncertain how far to take their newfound liberty.
“Catch you later, then,” Warden said.
“Awesome, man—keep well.”
The group staggered into the street, oblivious to passing cars and other mortal dangers. When Warden looked over again, the boy with the leather jacket stood next to him. His lips were wrapped around a cigarette, which he took from his mouth and let fall to the ground.
“My name is Valentino,” he said.
Warden stared into two eyes framed by a grove of dark lashes.
“You don’t know yours?” the boy said with mild sarcasm.
Warden laughed and extended a hand. “I’m sorry—it’s Warden.”
“Piacere. Pleased to meet you.” Valentino pointed across the street. “And that is Paolo.”
