by Zane Menzy
“Ha, that’s true.” Keegan kissed Damon’s warm arm. “So what happens now?”
A pause drifted between them ‘till Damon finally responded. “Nothing. Tonight was an experience we shared—a special one off. Tomorrow we move on and learn from it and just get on with life.” Damon’s chest heaved against Keegan’s back as he took a thoughtful breath. “I’m glad I got to be your first though, Keegan.”
Damon kissed Keegan one more time, his lips leaving a damp patch where they pecked.
Keegan felt all his ill feelings towards Damon subside. Years of thinking the man was a dropkick vanished and were replaced with the realization that this city slicker try-hard was just a guy. A man who followed his cock’s will too easily. A man who refused to grow up. A man who like everybody else… made mistakes. Just like Keegan had.
Keegan let out a happy sigh. “I hope you know I love you.”
“I love you too, K dog.” Damon wriggled in closer, rubbing up from behind.
Keegan closed his eyes and melted into the love wrapped around him. Things didn’t feel quite so dubious now. Tomorrow was a new day and his heart’s future was wide open to possibilities. He knew what he was now. He was Keegan Andrews, and that’s all that mattered.
Keegan drifted off to sleep, happy and content. He had joined the club his own way.
The beginning…
EPILOGUE
Damon closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around the warm body of his eighteen-year-old bedfellow. A cute blond, half his age with a trim, tight figure; usually just his type. The problem being, this cute blond happened to have a dick. And just to rub salt in Damon’s wounds, it was bigger than his own.
Damon’s arse still ached from having every inch of the young man’s cock forced inside him, his pride burned with shame from having admitted defeat halfway through the ordeal, foregoing his body’s reluctance and giving in to what was being done to him.
Damon had surrendered to submission. Something he had NEVER done or even thought he was capable of.
The condom the boy had used was still on the floor where it had been dropped carelessly, having served its purpose just like Damon’s now stinging hole. The rubber was full of cum, Damon was grateful it was in the rubber and not buried inside of him slowly leaking out.
Damon may have been drunk when he walked inside the room the two were sharing, crawling into bed thinking this young guy was asleep, but as soon as he had seen the boy’s stiff cock bared before him, he knew the night had entered a strange sexual twilight zone; one Damon had tried hard to steer them both away from.
He had failed miserably though. Damon worried, most of all, if he had let himself fail, that secretly he had wanted to feel this boy’s lips wrapped around his manhood.
Damon shuddered and felt his cock twitch against the boy’s warm arsecheeks, remembering the feeling of unloading into the young gun’s wet mouth. Such a sexy and determined mouth too. Regardless of its owner’s gender.
Damon kissed the sleeping boy’s shoulder and whispered, “I love you, Keegan.” He had to say this, not just because he meant it but because it was the only way he could stop himself from exacting revenge and ramming his dick inside the foolish youth. A desperate attempt to take back the ocean full of pride Keegan had drained from him.
Alcohol still coursed through Damon’s intoxicated veins. He was grateful for it. Without it Damon knew he would not be able to maintain such a comforting cuddle. He fretted, wondering how he would react in the morning when he sobered up and found Keegan wrapped in his arms—naked.
Damon took a deep breath, knowing he would just have to cross that bridge when he came to it. This was not the first time he had ventured into same-sex realms, finding passion from the roughness of a man. Not that Damon could call this boy rough. His honey blonde curls, young face and smooth chest were far from rough.
The frisky feel took Damon’s mind back to when his own body resembled similar terrain. Succulent and full of youth. Before he was quite so tall, his chest void of hair, his libido uncontrollable, his dick impatient and before the phenomenon of manscaping.
What Keegan had done to him, riled Damon. He had warned the horny teen there were consequences to actions like these. Naturally, Keegan’s young ears didn’t listen and he had paid the price within moments of dumping his load inside Damon’s arse. Keegan had looked shell-shocked by what he had done. His face dripped with guilt the moment he realised he had just sentenced himself to a malicious memory.
Now all Damon could do was let the boy know how special and loved he was. Because, despite Damon’s reluctance to submit to the dominance that had burned in Keegan’s seductive brown eyes, he still cared for this boy. A boy he had watched grow through the years into a handsome young man.
Damon cast his mind back through the decades to his own summer of youth. When he himself had learnt the damage that can be done from playing with the fire of sexual power. But he had been lucky. Very fucking lucky. The damage he had caused back then was able to be fixed. Damon wasn’t quite so sure what him and Keegan had broken, only hours earlier, could ever be repaired. A sickening paranoia began to gnaw at him like a foreboding warning—this wasn’t like the last time.
Damon remembered that day, that day at his best mate’s house. Neither of them knew it at the time but a line was crossed. Stupid hormones and dirty selfish thoughts had propelled hands and wills to places that shouldn’t be touched… but they did. They could never be untouched either, and try as Damon might, he could never forget.
On that day, he had been the one in Keegan’s shoes—the one calling the shots. It had been a one off then too. But the problem with one offs is that they have a bad habit of multiplying.
Damon took a deep breath and remembered what it was he had done all those years ago, that maybe he deserved this emasculating fate. This young guy had no idea that maybe he had been a small cog in the working of karmic vengeance.
Damon squeezed Keegan’s body tight, suppressing ruthless thoughts and an overwhelming carnal want. He had to remind himself; he was holding a promise in his hands.
I KISSED HIM THERE
Crashing Hearts – Book Two
CHAPTER ONE:
Beaumont Boulevard
OCTOBER 1997 — Port Jackson, New Zealand
The sun streamed through the pale curtains, stabbing Damon Harris’s bare skin like hot knives. He tussled under the crisp white sheet which barely covered his lower half. He peeled his eyes open, covering his face with his hand to block out the sun. He fucking hated those white curtains that couldn’t keep out the light. He had begged his mother to opt for dark heavy fabric, but no, she insisted it would mess with the look of the house. And, of course, his mother got her way, she always did. Because if she didn’t, watch out. There would be a tantrum so severe she would inflict herself with a hernia.
Damon had inherited his mother’s high maintenance streak but felt relieved not to have been cursed with her temper. He hadn’t been spared her vanity though. They both enjoyed standing in front of mirrors and soaking up kind compliments strangers would give them for their beauty.
Damon’s mum—or, Jenna, as she insisted on being called by her own son—was a strange creature. Jenna cared what others thought of her to a point of ridiculousness. However, underneath her hard-shiny shell, Damon knew she was warmer than she cared to admit.
This brutal creed had grown from a marriage that grew cooler with each passing year. One his mother loathed but refused to leave. She had made her bed and she intended to lie in it ‘till the day she died.
This cold bed had been the one that created him. Her firstborn child. The whole town knew the story and Damon had heard it many times. Growing up, his older half-siblings took great delight in telling Damon the truth of his conception.
Damon had been Jenna’s ticket to a better life. A planned pregnancy—even if his father hadn’t been aware. She had been working as a legal secretary at Damon’s father’s law firm, young and full of dreams
. Damon’s father was already happily married and had two children. Not that this stopped Jenna. For two years, the respectable Mr Harris carried on a secret affair with his employee who was twenty years his junior. Despite promise after promise, Damon’s father never left his wife.
Jenna grew tired of waiting and took matters into her own hands by forgetting to take the pill and, sure enough, soon fell pregnant with Damon. A bundle of joy that gave Damon’s father the push he needed to leave his old family.
As soon as time could allow, Damon’s father divorced the original Mrs Harris; Sally. A dumpy woman with a pleasant face. The perfect canvas for playing the role of a victim, according to Jenna.
Damon’s father bought a new home for his pregnant mistress and as soon as she rescued her figure after giving birth to Damon, they married. There was no way the new Mrs Harris would surrender her slim figure and looks to motherhood. Things went splendidly to begin with and three years later they had another child, Damon’s little sister, Victoria.
This selfish trap did not come without its consequences. For years Damon’s mum was looked upon by the wealthy clique in town as a gold digging, husband-stealing slut. Jenna hadn’t been prepared for such a vile backlash and worked hard to present a pretentious image that probably wasn’t all that true to the young woman from a working-class family from up north. By caring what others thought, she was locked into a life of faking it. But gosh, was she good at it.
Jenna wasn’t stupid. She could more than hold her own with these people, and as the years went by Damon’s mother slowly won over the tiny community of Port Jackson with her well-rehearsed, posh demeanour and sharp wit. She was now adored by the wealthy clique, despite the odd lingering whisper.
Damon rolled onto his side, immediately feeling his morning wood grind into the comfortable mattress. He lifted the sheet to see his handsome prick, twitching, waiting impatiently for his hand to latch on, as it did every morning. Damon flicked his eyes across to his bedside table. Six half-drunken glasses of water sat there. He groaned to himself knowing he would have to whisk them down to the kitchen before Jenna complained about his growing collection.
Through sleep-gritted eyes, Damon glared at the hideous hour on the alarm clock. 7:14 a.m. It was pointless going back to sleep now. He only had a handful of minutes’ left before the poxy thing would blurt to life. With clumsy fingers, Damon reached out and grabbed hold of the metallic clock, switching it off. He climbed out of bed, sounding off with ungraceful grunting. He scrunched his toes on the fluffy, soft carpet and crossed the floor to the large, front window of his bedroom.
Damon pulled open the curtains, opening the window to let the spring air flow through his stuffy room. He admired the view from his upstairs window. Port Jackson’s beautiful, sheltered harbour shimmered with the morning rays of light bouncing along it. Damon’s family lived along the waterfront on Beaumont Boulevard. The most exclusive street in one of Auckland’s most exclusive satellite suburbs. It was only a forty-minute drive along the motorway to reach the heart of Auckland City, but with the golden sand beaches and native-forest-covered ranges surrounding the area, the hustle and bustle of the city felt a world away to its financially fortunate residents and the few dregs who lived at the south end of the beach; known locally as Poverty Peak—its shabby occupants labelled peakers.
After counting how many yachts were in the harbour—twenty-two—Damon wandered through to his ensuite. The cold tiles shot his feet with chills. He reached a hand into the shower, flicking the water on to a juicy hotness and waited for the room to fill with steam before stepping under the rejuvenating spray.
Damon adjusted the drooping nozzle to make sure every inch of his six-feet height got sprinkled. He grabbed the soap from the indented compartment in the wall and lathered up his body ‘till his tanned skin was frothing with foam. Raising his arms, one at a time, he scrubbed the sweat away clinging to his armpits. Damon then repeated the same action between his legs. Fondling his favourite part of himself. It was a hard choice to make when you had so many to choose from.
Damon tapped his member, letting it know its needs were soon to be met. His cock sprung up, waiting for his fingers to possess it. He didn’t waste any time, grabbing hold of his dick and jerking as he leant into the wall, propping himself up with his forearm. With his eyes closed, head bowed, he tugged at the fast pace he liked. Soft touches did nothing for him… he liked it rough.
With the hot water stinging his back, Damon let the pain motivate his speed and under a minute he gasped loudly as his thick, creamy cum splattered against the shower wall. He scraped it off with his fingers, flicking it into the drain. It seemed a waste sending his DNA down a plug hole when it should be going inside Zoe. Damon smiled at the thought, wondering how long ‘till he could deliver her his next lot.
He had been dating Zoe Benton—the hottest girl at Port Jackson High School—for six months now and they were fucking like rabbits. Any chance they got they’d ditch their clothes and make the beast with two backs. To Damon’s disappointment though the beast wasn’t much of a wild one. It was much more a soft and cuddly teddy bear. Zoe only ever wanted to “make love” be kissed and cuddled, constantly fed ego fuel. To be fair, she gave all of this in return, and it made Damon feel good hearing her praise him for his good looks, strong arms and big dick. But he wanted more. He needed something else.
Considering how basic their sex life was, Damon could have dug a hole in his king-sized mattress and fucked that instead. But the mattress doesn’t have tits, he reminded himself. Damon smiled thinking of Zoe’s smooth breasts, a good handful that he couldn’t keep his paws and mouth away from.
His friend Lexi took great delight in mocking Damon for his fiendish charms, insisting he was just a dirty pig. He probably was, but he also knew what he wanted. If his parents had taught him anything, it was you go for what you want in life and never take no for an answer. “Success was anybody’s for the taking,” his father would often say. Most people just didn’t realise it.
When Damon was finished rinsing his body of soap, semen and sweat, he grabbed a towel from the hand rail and began drying his toned physique. Once dry, he ambled back into his bedroom, standing naked in front of a full-length mirror. Damon nodded as he studied his own nakedness from his long feet up to his damp hair which thanks to the shower looked much darker than its usual light brown condition.
He knew he was lucky. His dorky father had gifted him height while his mother had blessed him with fine features and eyes the colour of deep green moss. Damon tapped his fingers across his chiselled chest, studying the stray hairs that had sprouted up over the past few months. He was curious how many more would end up making their home there.
Aside from—arguably—his best mate, Todd Jenkins, Damon was the best-looking guy at school. Side by side, Damon and Todd made a lethal team. Everybody wanted to know them, be near them… fuck them. The power of popularity was satisfying, and he hoped it would spill over to next year when he and Todd would go flatting together in the city to attend University. The only issue Damon had with his popularity was everybody thought they knew him. But they didn’t. Very few people did. He preferred to keep his inner circle small and reliable.
Damon’s eyes hovered over the floor of his room, looking for clean clothes. Nestled in the corner of his large room, scrunched in a ball was a pair of blue boxers. Damon trod over to the silky crotch coverers, picked them up and gave them a sniff test. He screwed his nose up when the smell of stale sweat whacked his nostrils. Okay, not them. He immediately dropped the boxers to the floor and walked back to the end of his bed where a pile of clothes sat neatly folded; he rummaged through them ‘till he found a clean pair of briefs, long sleeved shirt and faded jeans.
Once changed, Damon went to fetch the collection of glasses beside his bed, but before he could pick them up a hideous shriek came from downstairs, followed with his mother screaming, “Fucking bastards!”
Damon’s stomach dropped and his blood bo
iled. He sprinted out of his room, rushing down the stairs to check on his mother, knowing exactly what it would be that had set her off.
Not again, he thought.
CHAPTER TWO:
Fruity Tits
Matt had only been awake a few minutes when a rude clamour of knocks erupted from the front door. He hoisted himself from his seat in the lounge and stumbled towards the inconvenient racket. With a tired arm, he heaved the door open to discover his flamboyant pal Jason on the other side.
Jason’s pretty face was painted in woman’s makeup as he stood there in his boy clothes, carrying a worn looking school bag over his bony shoulders. The thick layers of makeup couldn’t hide the stress painted upon his face. “I need to borrow some of your mother’s clothes,” Jason said flatly, his dark-honey coloured eyes shone urgently.
“What are you on about?” Matt replied, his voice still laced with sleepiness.
“Quit fucking around Matty, I need me some women’s clothing. Pronto!” Jason shoved Matt out of the way and marched inside. Jason didn’t need an invite, he welcomed himself anywhere he went.
“What the fuck, man. What are you doing?” Matt hollered at Jason who barged down the hall. Matt chased after him, catching up just as Jason walked into Matt’s parent’s bedroom.
Jason waved a hand in Matt’s face. “Not now, queen. This bitch has a date.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me queen,” Matt grizzled.
Jason quickly flashed him an apologetic look. “Sorry, girl.”
“Or girl. I’m a man! Boy, male, dude,” Matt said, planting a palm to his face.
Jason hauled open the wardrobe door, immediately perusing through Matt’s mother’s clothes. “Of course you are, Matty pie.”
“Okay, you can have Matty pie, but that’s the limit.” Matt watched as Jason fished through his mother’s clothes, still clueless as to this fashion invasion. “So, can you tell me why the fuck you’re rummaging through my mother’s things?”