Best Gay Erotica 2007, page 8
Yes, I want you and all that you are.
No, we can never be separated again.
Yes, what you have I must have too.
No, I do not want to live without you so take me with you when you die.
Kevin passed the first sphincter and gasped with pleasure. Lee sharply inhaled, so unused was he now to the girth of Kevin’s (or any other) cock. Kevin watched Lee’s face until he saw it relax, then pulled out an inch before moving forward another two. Lee’s body tensed, but did not for a moment recoil. Sweat poured off both their bodies even though they had hardly begun to fuck, their bodies trembling with shared anticipation. Their excitement was as mutual as the coming sacrament was necessary.
Now Kevin moved with more deliberation, in, then out, finding those centers of pleasure inside Lee’s velvety fuckhole. Kevin watched Lee’s face, the beatific grin, the angelic composure as Kevin’s rhythm doubled. Kevin could not hold off very long. He was too excited, too eager, too in love.
“Are you sure?” he gasped between strokes.
“Yes!”
“This is what you want?”
“Yes!”
“It’s not too late, I can still…”
But Lee grabbed Kevin’s face and kissed him hard, sent his tongue down Kevin’s throat. He knew the kiss would send Kevin over the edge and into oblivion. Then came the gushing of cum, the unleashing fury of so much unspent lust, of so much unspilled seed. Kevin’s breaths came in short gasps. His body convulsed. He collapsed into his lover’s arms and continued their kiss. When their mouths finally released each other, they looked again into each other’s eyes. There would be no going back now. The sacrament was almost complete.
Lee rolled Kevin over onto the bed, onto the sweat-soaked spot he had just occupied. He turned Kevin over onto his stomach and shoved his cock inside him without so much as spit. His cock was bigger than Kevin’s so it hurt all the more. The assault drew blood, but both knew that it must, that Lee must have his due now, that Kevin must be punished. Lee pounded into Kevin, cursing him the whole while, uttering words he’d never have spoken before to one he loved beyond words:
“Fucking bitch whore!”
“Yes!”
“Son of a bitch bastard slut!”
“Yes!”
“Fucking skank cum bucket!”
“Yes!”
Lee smacked Kevin’s ass hard with his open hands, again, and again, until he felt his palms sting.
“Cocksucking faggot!”
“Yes!”
“Fucking cesspool!”
“Yes!”
Lee held off longer than Kevin had been able to. He wanted to prolong the punishment to add to the injury he was inflicting on the one he so desperately needed. He lay right on top of Kevin, wrapping an arm around Kevin’s throat, tightening the grip as he came closer to cumming, choking Kevin when he did cum in great gushes, not knowing for sure (but suspecting, even hoping) that Kevin blacked out as Lee spilled so much seed deep inside him.
Later that day they went to the dingy little apartment off of Hal-sted Street to collect Kevin’s books, clothes and laptop. Kevin remembered the gun (still loaded, still untouched), and checking with a quick glance that it was still there, was glad to firmly shut the door on it and the comfort it had once threatened.
Lee and Kevin stayed together, but things were never the same, for they were no longer the same men. Their shared intellectual life returned to its former richness as long as it was limited to books, plays and films that Kevin was familiar with before the accident—fortunately this provided a nearly inexhaustible resource.
Kevin still floundered at times, unable to find the right words, confused at the depth of others’ emotions, unsure of what task next needed doing. He felt his emotions profoundly now, but with the same depth and certainty as the dog felt his, uncomplicated by contradicting passions or subtle colorations. Often confused, and always rudderless, he followed the orders Lee left for him each morning lest Kevin slip back into the habit of spending his days cruising online:
Vacuum and dust after you walk the dog.
Then scrub the bathroom until it sparkles. Go to the gym and remember to eat lunch. Play outside with the dog in the afternoon. Bring in the mail. Make dinner. Be prepared for punishment.
Kevin obeyed, and like the dog, was happiest in obedience. He accepted punishment with pleasure for he knew from whence it came, and how much he needed Lee to feel whole. They rarely spoke of their new arrangement, only accepted it and the joy it brought them. They did not clothe it in leather and perform for the common crowd, nor did they name it. It simply was, and that was enough for both of them.
Lee was once more content, albeit in a different way than he had been before the accident. He felt his hands were full with two dogs now instead of just one—even if one of them read and walked on two feet. He loved Kevin with a firm hand as much as with a hard cock and willing hole. They made love as often as they had before, though how they made it had changed remarkably, and Kevin anticipated his punishments as eagerly as the dog did his walks. When friends or family saw the new depth of Kevin’s devotion to Lee (so doglike that it made many uncomfortable), they asked how the two were getting on, expecting some innocuous answer. Lee was always the one to respond:
“We’ve reached an acceptable level of dysfunction.”
Everyone sensed it was better not to ask for more details than that.
REMEMBERED MEN
Shane Allison
He was younger than me. He lived in a housing project. He had strawberry-blond hair with pubes to match. His ass was firm in dark blue shorts. He had kissable lips. He was an asshole all grown up. He had more foreskin than you could shake a stick at. He had a pretty big dick for someone his size. He had buck teeth. He was poor white trash who gave great head. He had an ass like a football player. He was such a nerd. He asked me to take a photo of my dick and bring it to school. He worked as an usher at a movie theatre. He liked to get fist-fucked. He sucked me off at a urinal. His brother was also gay. He wanted me to prove that I loved him by swallowing it. He fucked me senseless. His name was Tony. He was my first. He had the worst case of dandruff. He was too damn skinny for my tastes. He had man-breasts. He had a short, fat, pretty prick. He nibbled my earlobes. He taught Spanish at the local university. His cat licked the hair grease from my head as its master rode me like a bull. His cat licked his balls from behind as his master sucked me. He came on my stomach. He parted my asscheeks. He fingered my ass with his married finger. It hurt a little, but after the initial pain, it felt pretty damn good. His dick came up to his belly button. His last name was Cocke. He answered the door wearing nothing but green shorts and a durag. He slapped me around and I liked it. He swallowed my cum. He made me suck his balls. He made me suck his nipples. He called me a whore. He’s right. He called me a whore and I loved him even more. He stood me up. He shoved a sex toy up in me. His dick was pierced. He had a British accent. He said, “Get down there and suck it.” He wore latex underwear. He never did call the next day like he said he would. He wouldn’t stop calling. He started to freak me out when he came by unexpectedly. He asked, “Are you ready for the rim chair?” He was old and balding. He was fat and just right. He was a tad too sissyish for my blood. He had blushing balls in a leather cock ring. He told me I could move in if I drank his piss. He asked, “You want to be my pig boy?” He kept saying, “Let me in you.” He spoke with the thickest New York accent. He lived in Jersey. He was a rough punk with tattoos. He was blond and bearded. He had three dogs. He and I drank coconut rum and talked about “Queer as Folk.” His breath smelled of fish and cigarettes. He said, “I hope you’re not getting drunk just to have sex with me.” He was Italian and talked too much. He had hard thighs. He had filthy fingernails. He was Jewish, you know. He picked fights with me. He took the piercing out of his dick. He was much cuter with the Afro. He was HIV positive. His family had no idea. He talked dirty to me. He was called a fag by bullies and high school football players. He was happily married. He swore to me he was disease free. His wife hadn’t a clue. His milk-white skin. He was moving to Europe. He told me why, but I forgot. He handcuffed me. He used the whip to take his frustrations out on my flesh. He asked, “Are you a homosexual?” He told me to take off my pants. He held me at knifepoint. He busted us both for lewdness down by the tracks. He was a cop undercover. He was Greek and new to the city. He was old-fashioned. He had a white girlfriend. He was Puerto Rican. He claimed he liked the flowers. He had soft, red fur around his asshole. He walked me home out of the rain. His cigarette breath on my neck. He asked as I began to finger-fuck his ass, “Can I go to the bathroom before you do that?” He snored and belched. He farted in my face as we sixty-nined each other. He said, “For ten dollars I’ll suck it right off the bone.” He said he wasn’t a hustler, but just wanted money for something to eat. He sucked me off for two bucks. He told me he wasn’t homeless or a drug addict. He blew me right there on the hood of his car. He worked at a gas station. His face and back was burned. He drove an old Jaguar. He fucked me like I had a pussy. He said, “I appreciate the cards and love letters.” He said I came on too strong. He accused me of keying his car. He was so heavy on top of me, I couldn’t breathe. His apartment had hardwood floors. His bed with the pale-blue sheets. His roommate was asleep in the next room, but he didn’t care. He told me to keep quiet. He asked, “Do you think your roommates would like to join in?” He drove naked through the dirt roads. He had come three times already. He was such a pig. He asked, “Would you like me to drink your piss now?” He called me Shawn. He wore black shoes with buckles. His jeans and underwear pulled down around his ankles. He left his stall door open for all to see. He told me to clean up my cum. He asked me if I was black. He thought I was West Indian. His shirt with yellow armpit stains. He had low-hanging balls. His dimpled bubble-butt. His moustache pricked my lip. He left me sore for days. His flat feet, the bony toes. His braids all in rows. His yellow bandana. His filthy asscrack. His hairy ass in the denim chaps. His hot, Hispanic accent. His Mohawk haircut. His polished fingernails. His pierced lips around my dick. He asked me what I was into. His mouth filled with all that cum and spit. He stood me up. He avoided me in the hall. He ignored my calls. He said he didn’t care about looks. His toes were pretty and pedi-cured. He lived in Soho. He was a geology major. He loved Steven Spielberg. He was eight years older than me. He freaked me out with his obsession for teenage boys. He worked at a bowling alley. He looked like Madonna from the Papa Don’t Preach video. He wore a fake carnation in his hair. His head was shaved. His crotch was shaved. He was on the down low. His parents didn’t know. He tinted the windows of his car so he could make out with guys in parking lots. His dirty socks thrown in the corner of the room. He had a mole on his dick. He drank too much. He was a filthy, sexist bastard. He warned me about the cops in this place. His dick with all those veins. He had all that built-up dickcheese. He liked to wear makeup. He won a glow-in-the-dark rubber in a bingo game. He was a motivational speaker who lived in the Bronx. He performed as a drag queen at a club I forget the name of. He was a pretty-eyed tranny. He dressed better than most of the women I know. He stepped out wearing a black miniskirt. He had a mullet and smelled of cheap perfume. He was bisexual. He was a drunken old queen wearing a fake fur. He was a heathen. He was a born-again Christian. He was a gay Republican. He was torn between his religion and his love for men. He was such a club kid. He was such a pretty boy. He couldn’t come for doing so much coke. He paid top dollar for my soiled undies. He wanted to fuck right there in the hallway. He lived with his ailing mother. He said, “Damn you’re huge.” He took long whiffs of my socks. He held the poppers to my nose. He was butt-naked in the park. He fought with the drunken guy whose wallet was stolen at the Unicorn. He said, “Easy with the teeth, dude.” He said, “C’mon, I’m trying to suck a dick here.” He had muscles like you would not believe. He liked getting spanked. He looked like a young Jeff Dan-iels. He had untrustworthy eyes. He made the best vodka breezes in the West Village. His shimmering torso. He just stood there jacking off. He threw up on my dick. He gave me a soapy rag for the mess. He liked the poem I wrote. He slapped my ass with his dick. He was a Brooklyn thug. He asked if I had any weed on me. He was an Irish chef. He had to leave the club early. He said he had to go to church the next day. He had popsicle-red lips. His pink piss slit. He gave me herpes. He said, “Maybe you should start dating girls.” He sucked the scat right off my dick. He cheated on his wife with me and from the looks of her, who could blame him? His name was Melvin. His dick was the first I ever sucked. He looked like Jerry Springer, but better looking. He had a dog named Byron. He was too drunk to fuck. He told me my dick was beautiful. He turned me into a size queen. He scared the hell out of us. He asked if he could join in when he caught us fucking. He said I smelled like good weed. He was this cute, Middle Eastern boy. He offered me some Jack Daniels. He left me chafed and scabbed, but I liked it. He cruised truck stops for dick. He had a baby dick. His dick was cold, but it warmed up quite nicely in my mouth. He lived for the tearooms. He liked to bite and pinch. He reminded me of all that great sex I used to have in the park. He pissed in the booths. He kicked me out and yelled, “Faggot ass!” He had hepatitis C. His cum tasted kind of Cloroxy. He said it wouldn’t hurt if I just relaxed. He said, “You gotta come, man, my legs are giving out.” He turned his hat backward before he started to suck me. His dick smelled bad. His name was Jonathan. He jerked off in the mayonnaise at Burger King. He wore a black shirt that said security on the back. He broke up the sex orgy. He was a rugged trucker. He said if he didn’t suck a dick soon, he’d explode. He squirted and came. He wore snakeskin boots that night. He was free on Mondays and Wednesday evenings. He wanted to come on my face. He almost came in my eye. He made me come without even touching me. He asked me what I was into. He was so naïve. He said he wasn’t that big. He unzipped his pants and took it out. He was right. He wasn’t that big. He was really going to town on his dick. He said, “I love the color of your skin.” He adored the taste of unclean foreskin. He said, “Now suck it, slut!” He didn’t like to be watched. He said, “Go away, nigger,” when I stuck my dick under his stall. He lay in white sand sunbathing in the nude. He used a dirty sock to wipe up the mess. He said, “C’mon on, man. Glide me in.” He said, “You wanna butt-fuck me?” He didn’t want to meet at his place due to the nosey neighbors. He fucked me in a cemetery. He bent over the bed of the truck and spread his asscheeks for me. His web name is Sexy Bear Butt. He wore a platinum blonde beehive wig. He’d only experimented with guys a few times. He and I had phone sex. He hung up as soon as I came. He said he loved me and I believed it. His name was Chris. His girlfriend found out about us. He was so big, he made me gag. He got pissed when I refused to swallow it. He laughed when I told him I had a crush on him. He shook his ass harder when I waved a dollar in his face. He drove a beat-up old Chevy. He came all over my maroon sweater. He drove a green Camaro. He threw my love letters away. He patted me on the head when I swallowed his cum. His breath was a mixture of peppermint and fish. He used to be a woman. He took me to Woodstock for the weekend. He had one ball, but a big, thick dick. He was my sugar daddy. He loved to get gangbanged. He tied me up. He gagged me with his stinking underwear. He was all the rage at the bathhouses. He believed in monogamy. He was a nelly bottom. He liked it rough. He sucked us both off. He said it felt good when his wife used a dildo. He found the Polaroids of my dick in a folder. He was such a sissy slut. He was a teddy bear bottom. He told me that my dick was a perfect fit. He’d always fantasized about what sex would be like with a black guy. He tugged my balls too hard. He liked how gentle I was. He wasn’t into white guys. He cheated on his wife. His greasy anal plugs. He wore panties under his jeans. His girlfriend had no idea. He cock blocked me from the other boys. He said, “I keep my ass clean and love to get eaten.” He preferred to rim a dirty asshole. He sucked me off on a stack of corn in the storage room where we used to be movie ushers. He had that one gold tooth in the front. He said, “You shot a big load.” He confessed that his accent was fake and that he was really from Georgia. He struggled to stuff his dick in me all night long, but never got it in. He said I was tight. He got fucked by some guy he didn’t know. He liked it bareback. He wanted me to come in his ass. He said, “Don’t nut in my mouth.” He drank my cum like it was beer. He kept saying, “Fuck me like I fuck my wife.” He couldn’t give head for shit to be such a slut. His ass smelled like Irish Spring. He ate me out for countless hours. He was able to fit two dicks up his ass at once. He said, “Let me see those tit-ties.” He wanted to sniff my feet while he jacked off. He left an imprint of his asscheeks on the dashboard of my truck. He said, “Too sweaty, dude, too sweaty.” (Meaning my butt.) He was a famous poet. He said my underwear wasn’t ripe enough. He yelled, “Fuck my white ass!” He bled a bit. His dick was wet and nasty, but I sucked him anyway. He shot a load on my painter pants. He didn’t want his wife to know. He asked me if I had a place. He wore black boxers with red Playboy bunnies on them. He wore a flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off. He said, “I’ll cut your fucking throat.” He was a fine piece of Mexican ass. He was such a cock tease. He wore a Silence=Death T-shirt. His wife seemed nice. He smelled like baby powder down there. He said, “Hold on to me while I come.” He said to me, as I blew him, “I knew I would get some action tonight if I came here.” He doesn’t have the time for me now that his girlfriend has moved in. He likes to call me a nigger while I suck him off. He wants white, young dick only. His shaved balls. He has a black mouth for a white cock. He took a rubber out of the glove compartment. He was a hot, white male seeking same. He took his clothes off. His bare ass behind the bar. He stuck his dick under my stall. His wife wasn’t home so my timing was perfect. He asked, “You didn’t come in my ass did you?” He said that Jason Bartlett is a flaming faggot. (Whoever the hell Jason Bartlett is.) He drank too much. His name was Ronny. He loved to wear diapers and blue bonnets. He could fit a Ping-Pong ball up that ass. He put his shirt back on when I walked into the office. His big, Cuban dick. He videotaped us having sex. He was a virgin.
