Best Gay Romance 2012, page 18
Kasey stirred. “Yeah, dude?”
“Shhh,” Jake said. He leaned closer, tried to ignore the intimate scent of Kasey’s skin, his breath. “It’s that dickhead—he’s at it again.”
“Baxter?”
“Yeah, and his woman. He just said some shit about being on the show to better their sitch.”
Kasey sat up, stirring the heady mix created by bare skin and bedroom feet. “That fucker.”
The conversation from behind the bathroom door shorted out, its nearest culprit alerted by the groan of Kasey’s mattress. Jake held a finger to his lips, mouthing silence. He was back in the bed by the time the light switched off and Baxter slinked into his. Stagnant pressure settled over the room. Jake waited breathlessly for the telltale sounds of Baxter’s mattress sagging and his covers settling. Being so close to Kasey yet not having the ability to act on the passion they both felt was beyond cruel.
The shadows weighed down on him. Eventually, the sun crept into the room, but its light only displaced the physical darkness. The psychological shadows engulfed Jake.
He was in the middle of pouring orange juice, feeling nauseous, dressed in a T-shirt and jogging shorts, his bare feet dragging along the kitchen’s floor, when the Debutante’s voice drilled into his ears.
“Good morning, Jake.”
Jake turned to face her and, of course, the cameras. Ami was a vision of youthful pastels and bubbly exuberance. She hugged him and planted a kiss on his cheek.
“Hey, you.”
Ami said, “I thought I’d join the Bachelors for breakfast—and have you all cook for me, of course.”
What followed was a nine-man sausage-fest with toes mashing together, chaotic maneuvers to avoid crashing into one another, and general madness, a case of too many cocks in the kitchen. Eggs, bacon, toast, fruit and coffee found their way to the big dining room table. Ami picked at the meal before pulling dudes aside, one at a time, to the bistro table for two. The first to accompany was Baseball. Up next, she walked out the big lummox, Chris, with his Fred Flintstone feet and scruffy face. Last to win an invite to the table was Jake.
“So,” she said coyly, urging him to engage in open dialogue.
Jake drew in a deep breath and then just as deeply let it sail. “You’re a beautiful girl, Ami, and a smart one. So I just don’t get why Hip-Hop Baxter’s still here.”
“Funny, he keeps saying the same thing about you. Why are you here, Jake?”
He guarded his response. Jake knew the answer, but he didn’t want all of America in on the secret. “It sure isn’t the same reason he is. I know Kasey warned you about him and what he overheard. Early this morning, I caught some of the same. He was on the phone to what I presume is his girlfriend, saying that he was only doing this for the two of them; that he loved her, not you.”
“Do you love me, Jake?”
He didn’t, but this was not the venue for such a revelation. “I don’t want you to get hurt. Watch out for that dude is all I’m saying.”
“Do you have anything else to say?”
Jake shook his head, knowing it signaled the death of his character on the show. It was the end of his six-episode run out of ten on the Eleventh season of Debutantes, dudes, and drama. With that certainty came a measure of relief.
The clock was ticking. He had to act. If he didn’t, Jake knew he’d go truly insane.
He found Kasey outside. The cameras were on Ami, who had Hip-Hop’s arm tangled around her. Leaning in, he whispered, “Meet me upstairs.”
Saying that and nothing more, Jake turned and marched up the stairs to the Blue Room. Once there, he paced. The seconds dragged out with infuriating slowness. Would he have the balls to follow through with it? More balls, his Inner Jake answered, than all the dicks downstairs combined. Oh, yes, he sure would!
Kasey entered the room, and Jake did.
“Dude,” Kasey, beautiful Kasey, said.
“I came here looking for love,” Jake said. “I’m leaving here certain that I have found it.”
Kasey smiled. Jake walked over and followed up words with actions by laying his smile over Kasey’s. The two men backed against the bedroom door. From the corner of his eye, he saw Kasey lock it. It was a very good sign.
“I feel the same way, Jake,” Kasey said. “I’m so at ease around you. I want to make more effort, only…”
Jake’s euphoria deflated. Only? Only I’m in love with Ami, an imaginary version of Kasey said in his thoughts.
“Only it really isn’t that big of an effort, because I love you, too.”
Jake’s worry calmed. “You,” he grumbled, all smiles—and all cock. His entire body pulsed in concert with the raging stiffness in his shorts. He reached down and boldly fondled Kasey’s thickness, and was rewarded with permission in the form of a manly growl.
“Do it, buddy. It’s all yours. My heart. My hard-on. All of me.”
Jake slapped another kiss on Kasey’s mouth at a crooked angle that encompassed one corner. Then he sank to his knees before the other dude and the other dude’s dick. He’d received head plenty of times, enough to know the pomp and pageantry. Tug down shorts. Tighty-whities, too, peeling them off hairy ankles and amazing feet. While there, Jake planted his face on Kasey’s right foot. He sniffed and licked, tasting warmth, inhaling the hot, buttery sweat from between the other Bachelor’s toes. A real man’s smell, because Kasey was a real man.
And what a man, at that.
He had seen Kasey’s cock erect, notably in helicopter mode, and those balls! Jake licked at them, nipped them between his lips, one at a time. The funk of jockstraps and men’s nuts hit his taste buds, and he couldn’t have wanted it more. If any of the dudes with their meaty dicks had suggested such a thing was possible on that first night when there were twenty-five bulls running around the Dude Ranch, Jake would have clocked them. But here he was, sucking on Kasey’s low-hangers, loving the act because he loved the actor.
He could follow through with the rest, and he did. Spitting out Kasey’s left nut, Jake focused higher, sucked the dude’s cock between his lips. Head first, swirling his tongue between suckles, recording details like the slightly salty taste, the rubbery consistency, the rightness of it. Deeper, a few inches of shaft vanished into his mouth, then a few more, until Jake’s nostrils got close enough to Kasey’s lush pubic bush to enjoy its tickle. His chin pressed into Kasey’s nuts. Kasey’s fingers raked through his hair.
“Aw, fuck, buddy,” Kasey grunted. “How the hell did I ever get along before you?”
It wasn’t the before that concerned Jake, but the after. He was going home, he was sure of it. Kasey would move forward to the next episode’s challenge, while Jake would be sent packing.
Jake reluctantly released Kasey’s cock. “Tonight is it for me, I guarantee it.”
A scowl crossed Kasey’s joyous expression. “No, don’t say that.”
“It’s true. But when I’m gone, will you…”
“Will I? You fucking better believe I will. You haven’t seen the last of me.”
“Promise?” The plea sounded desperate, even to Jake’s own ears. But he was.
“Here’s my promise,” Kasey said, his face growing serious. He hauled Jake back to his feet and aggressively laid a kiss on his lips, one that was almost painful in its intensity. Then he backed Jake over to his bed, pushed him down, and with his dick metronome-ing in concert to his movements, stripped Jake bare.
Jake moaned a breathless, “Fuck,” the anticipation of what was to follow almost too brilliant to believe.
Kasey jumped into bed in reverse beside him, forming that most comfortable and wonderful position in the history of human sex: the sixty-nine; an all-male yin and yang. A couple of Bachelors. Jake and Kasey.
At one point, Jake licked his way lower, to Kasey’s ass. There, he feasted.
It was down to the two of them, Hip-Hop Baxter and Jake, scripted precisely the way he guessed it would be.
Kasey stood with Chris and Baseball and the remaining Bachelors, who’d survived the latest thinning of the crowd. Appropriately, Ami was a bundle of sadness. Her eyebrows knitted together as she lifted the final remaining Bachelor Button.
“Ami, it’s time to make your decision,” Errol Powers said, urging the drama to move forward.
Ami’s doe eyes briefly settled on Jake before darting away, the guilt in them damning. “Baxter, will you please accept this Bachelor Button?”
Flashing a cocky smirk, Hip-Hop High-Tops strutted over. “Hells yeah, babe.”
Errol clapped a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “It looks like the bromance is over. Take a moment to say good-bye to Ami and the dudes before leaving, Jake.”
Jake ambled over and gave the Debutante a friendly hug. “Good luck. You’re gonna need it.”
“I’m sorry that the spark just wasn’t there,” she said.
He smiled. “I’m not.”
Jake gave Ami’s back a pat before turning and walking away. Halfway across the room, Kasey shouted, “Wait!”
All eyes—Jake’s, the Debutante’s, the host’s and the remaining dudes’ along with the cameras—focused on the source of the provocative prompt.
Kasey walked out of the line of Bachelors, the line of dicks, and tore the Bachelor Button from his lapel. “If you’d throw over an excellent dude like Jake for a lying sack of shit like that, I don’t want to be here.”
Errol Powers faced the camera. “It looks like the bromance is back on.”
Kasey marched up to Jake. “Let’s get out of here.”
Jake smiled and nodded. He didn’t care if the cameras caught the look of pure joy showing on his face.
They rode away from the Dude Ranch in the limousine with the cameras pointed at them, two Bachelors and their bags headed for LAX.
“I was never really in love with her,” Kasey said. “I mean, she’s nice and she’s beautiful and all that, but I wasn’t gonna stick around if he was. But she’ll get schooled on Hip-Hop Baxter, you watch and see.”
They pulled up to the curb and got out of the limo. The cameras turned away, now shunning a pair of dudes who had been handed their dicks, at least on the surface.
“So,” Kasey said, rocking on his heels.
“So,” Jake said in response. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did. And I wanted to.”
Jake’s smile widened. “You’re fucking wonderful.”
“And you’re the best, so…”
“So, want to trade that ticket in, get one to Colorado, preferably on my flight?”
“I was waiting for you to ask, dude.”
Bachelors no more, they walked away together, beginning a new episode, one with no cameras but plenty of real passion.
CINEMA LOVE
Aaron Chan
“I didn’t know there’d be this many people waiting in line on a Friday night.”
“Before this, you thought any movie made before 2000 was an old movie,” Chris said. “Clearly, you don’t know a lot of things.”
Not witty enough to throw an insult back at him, I sigh, breath blowing out like a train releasing its last bit of steam. While I counted at least twenty heads in front of us—those were only the ones I could see—there was still a steady stream of people arriving behind us, like a game of snake.
“I’m just saying. Old movies are old. They had their run in the theaters, so they should let new movies have their turn. It’s only logical.”
Chris snorts, loud enough so that a few heads turn toward us.
“Yeah, it’s only logical that the world-changing cinema of Twilight take precedence over run-of-the-mill classics,” he scoffs. “Besides, I thought you guys were supposed to be into Judy Garland.”
“I’ve heard of her.”
“You have much to learn, Young Padawan.”
“Huh?”
Chris shakes his head and puts a hand on my shoulder, feigning consolation. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Heads and hair ahead of us bob up and down as we finally shuffle forward, the scuffing of sandals and shoes a sweet melody.
“So what exactly is this movie about? All I know is there’s a wizard, some singing, and ‘Over the Rainbow,’ ’cause they sing that all the time on ‘American Idol,’” I say as I take out my wallet to pay, combing through wrinkled old receipts to see if I have enough change to not break a twenty.
“Uh-huh. Well, I’m not gonna ruin it for you.”
I groan audibly, not caring if anyone hears this time.
“Chris.”
“Dude, you’ll see in, like, twenty minutes. Jesus.” Then he turns his attention to the ticket booth in front. “Two for The Wizard of Oz, please.”
“Sure thing.”
They say the eyes are the window to the soul, but I find it more accurate to say that the voice is a door into the soul. You can look all you want through a window but by opening a door, you have the ability to get inside a person. Every word they choose, every topic they avoid—they are all hints at their character, their past, their education.
Not to mention there are some pretty hot voices in the world, too. And those two words—“sure thing”—were definitely up there: a soft-spoken yet confident, smooth clarinet baritone. His would’ve made a great jazz-singing voice.
I look up from raiding my wallet. The first thing that stands out to me are the ticket seller’s green eyes; it’s like looking at two mint leaves. His hair is gelled, the front parted across his forehead to the right side. An indigo shirt highlights his light complexion while a black tie and two thin, black suspender straps contrast with the blue.
He looks as if he stepped straight out of the forties or fifties, or some other past era; old-fashioned but oddly stylish at the same time. He hands Chris a ticket then looks at me. I glance at Chris.
“You’re not paying for my ticket?” I ask. Though I hadn’t expected him to.
“I asked you to come, but I didn’t say I’d pay,” he says with a grin. Typical Chris.
I slap the twenty on the counter. Ticket Guy looks at Chris for a sec, then back to me with a “That’s what friends are for?” shrug before handing me some coins and the ticket.
“Thanks.”
Chris’s elbow nudges me in my side. “I’m going to pee. Get some good seats, ’kay?”
Before I have a chance to respond, Chris marches around the corner, leaving me with the crooning clarinet.
“Sorry. He’s usually that crude.” I gesture to the departed Chris.
“Ah, that would explain it. Oh, well.” He smiles, his mouth hooked slightly to the left, lopsided.
“I get the feeling you’ve never been here before,” he continues.
“Is it that obvious? I always pass by but, no, never been in. My friend’s in a film class at school and some of the films he’s studying are playing here, so part of his assignment is to come and watch them.”
“Oh, so you’re—”
“He’s my best friend. Straight best friend,” I add, seeing how he’ll react. He only nods.
“So you were wondering about the movie?” His clarinet voice serenades me again.
“Uh, yeah.” My, what a charmer I am.
“Well, I don’t want to give anything away, but it’s a family film with a lot of heart in it. Plus, the Technicolor must’ve been amazing back when black-and-white was still standard.”
“Wow. My expectations totally just went up.”
“And not to mention Ms. Garland, who was only a teenager in the film.”
I probably look like he’s just spoken Greek. There’s a rather obvious throat-clearing behind me, seemingly inches from my ear, and when I turn around, a hefty man wearing what looks to be a toupee and a striped shirt (which only adds to his roundness) towers over—and around—me.
“You guys want to get a room? Some of us have a movie to catch,” he says, glaring scornfully between me and Ticket Guy. I instantly turn red.
“Uh, sorry.” I turn back around. “Right. So, uh, thanks. Again.”
“Enjoy the show.” He leaves me with the image of an upturned grin.
As the houselights come on again and eyes adjust, a murmur of what I assume to be post-film discussion spreads across the audience. I follow Chris as he makes his way out from the row.
“Totally poignant, brilliant storytelling and effects, freakin’ awesome music—god! And Judy…” Chris the fan-boy goes on.
“Someone’s got a crush.”
“Now I see why you gays love her.” Chris jabs me in the arm. I playfully punch him back. “Well, except for you. I can’t believe you’ve never seen this movie.” We make our way through the carpeted hallway, the lights brighter than in the theater, a tunnel of transition before we step back out into the real world.
“So what did you think, Mr. I Hate Old Films? Reflect carefully before you speak. As someone in a film class, I have the automatic right to dismiss your opinion as uneducated.”
I take a few paces while gathering my thoughts.
“I think it was very…well-done for its time. Nineteen-thirties, right? And surprisingly, there was a lot of warmth to it, even after however many years.”
“Hmm, that is…an acceptable response. I suppose,” Chris says, with the hint of a grin.
The hallway gives way to the lighted incandescence of the lobby. My eyes naturally wander over to the front counter where Ticket Guy is taking money for the next showing from a woman with white, dandelion-puffy hair. He gives her the ticket, nods and smiles politely to her, then glances at the crowd spilling into the lobby. He sees someone he knows because he suddenly grins, and it’s only when he waves my way that I realize that someone is me. I flap my hand back and forth stupidly in return.
“I think Kaz wants to see a different kind of show,” Chris singsongs in my ear. I push him forward toward the exit, almost knocking over a woman with dreadlocks and her boyfriend, who is wearing a formal suit, desperate to get both of us out of there before I make a complete idiot of myself.
