by A. M. Riley
GOLDILOCKS:
A MAN, A JERSEY, AND A TIGHT END
A. M. Riley
www.loose-id.com
Goldilocks: A Man, A Jersey, and a Tight End
Copyright © November 2011 by A. M. Riley
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eISBN 978-1-61118-547-8
Editor: Judith David
Cover Artist: April Martinez
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This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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* * * *
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Chapter One
The ruffled white kitchen curtains were immaculate. The counters and floors gleamed. The bearded, hairy man standing with his furred arms buried elbow deep in sink suds, a cell phone propped between ear and shoulder, lifted a dish from the water and into the drainer.
“Ten days now,” he said into the phone. “If you don’t count showers, because, according to our Brian, ‘soap will jinx it.’”
He nodded as his caller spoke, reaching across to part the curtains and peer into the backyard. “I know. Well, I wanted to talk to you first, seeing as you’ll be back soon.” He nodded agreement. “Yeah. Yeah, you too, Paul.”
He disconnected the phone, wiped his hands on the dishtowel with Mother’s Kitchen embroidered across its hem, removed his apron, and walked to the back door. “Brian!” he called. “Will you come here please?”
* * * *
“No,” said Brian. “I won’t take it off.” He stood in the middle of the backyard, arms crossed, chin up, and a saucy smile on his face. He seemed quite pleased with himself. The it in question was an oversize official NFL football jersey. The number emblazoned on it was 56, and a signature in black Sharpie scrawled the name Taylor across the back. Apparently Brian had owned the thing since he was fourteen.
Jim could believe the jersey was almost a decade old. It was a grass-and-bloodstained, torn nightmare.
“I’m not taking this off until the Giants win the Super Bowl,” said Brian.
“I just got off the phone with Paul,” said Jim.
Brian’s eyes glinted. With what, Jim couldn’t be sure. Paul had been out of town for several weeks now, and the past ten days had been increasingly frustrating for both Jim and Brian. Jim just couldn’t seem to strike the right disciplinary tone with him.
Making matters worse, Scott had been on an extended road trip for the past two weeks, and Jim was feeling a little needy himself.
“He said he wants you to go inside, take off that jersey, and call him.”
“Can’t.” Brian turned his back to pick up a football that he had let drop to the ground. “I’m not taking this off until the Giants win the Super Bo-o—oh!”
“Don’t you can’t me, Brian,” growled Jim, a wad of the aforementioned jersey and the waist of Brian’s jeans in either hand. And he carried Brian into the house.
* * * *
“If the Giants lose, it’ll be on your head,” Brian shouted from the bedroom.
Jim shook his head, adding a scoop of deodorizing cleaner to the washing machine and crumpling the garment in there.
He walked back into the bedroom where Brian sat, wrists bound to spindles in the headboard, wearing nothing but his boxers. Brian looked outraged.
“I’ll call Paul,” said Jim.
“I’m not talking to him!” he heard Brian shout as he went looking for the cell phone.
The change in Brian’s demeanor when Jim finally held the phone up to Brian’s ear and Paul’s voice could be heard at the other end was remarkable.
Brian’s body went limp. “Hi, Daddy,” he whispered.
He listened, eyes going bright as he blinked rapidly. “Yes. Yes, Sir.” He glanced up, quickly and tearily, at Jim. “Yes, Sir. I-I understand, Daddy. I love you.”
Jim took the phone away from Brian’s ear and left the room before he spoke into it. “Yes, I will. But, Paul. This isn’t working. You understand that, right? We have to do something about it. Yes.” He sighed. Through the door Jim could see Brian looking up at him, expression pleading.
“Ask him when he’s coming home?” said Brian, and his mouth twisted a little as he held back whatever he was feeling.
Jim tsked. “I mean it, Paul. As soon as you get home. Okay. Bye.” He disconnected and looked at Brian.
“You know what I have to do now, don’t you?”
“You don’t have to,” whispered Brian.
Jim took the buckled bindings off Brian’s wrists and helped him to stand and slide down his boxers. Then Jim sat down and patted one leg. “C’mon here.”
Now that it had come down to it, Brian felt apprehensive. “I’m sorry, Mama Bear.”
“I know.” Jim patted his leg again. “Let’s get this over with.”
“You going to use your hand?”
Jim shook his head, expression grim. “Paul said the paddle.”
“No-o…” whined Brian, already twisting and covering his ass.
“Now, Brian.”
Brian laid himself down across Jim’s lap. Said lap was big and firm and warm. It was oddly comforting, despite the awkward position, and Jim’s hand was gentle as he rubbed Brian’s exposed bottom.
“Ready?”
Brian bowed his head and clutched at the edge of the coverlet and Jim’s shoe.
The first swat stung exactly as it always did. The second hit the other cheek with the same power. Three more smart smacks, and the feel of the swats began to seem continuous. Brian felt his legs twitching uncontrollably as the paddle continued to paint fire across his bottom.
He was sobbing against Jim’s leg when Jim finally stopped.
“Brian.” Jim’s hand gently rubbed his back and Brian catapulted himself off Jim’s legs and into his arms, sobbing harshly.
Jim murmured and stroked Brian’s head and let him sob into Jim’s beard.
“I miss him,” sobbed Brian over and over. “I miss him so much.”
After a very long while, Jim lifted Brian onto the waterbed, laying him on his side, so that his sore bottom didn’t touch anything. Jim kissed Brian’s forehead, his nose, his lips. His head moved down. Brian clung to him, stroking Jim’s hair and face like he would a security blanket as Jim moved down Brian’s body, nuzzling and kissing, until he foun
d Brian’s penis and sucked it carefully into his mouth. Jim concentrated, keeping his mouth gentle, with constant suction, until Brian became fully erect and started to breathe harder.
A few more minutes and Brian came, hard and with a quivering belly, his hands tightening on Jim’s shoulders.
Jim sat up and stroked Brian’s hair out of his swollen eyes. He drew the covers up over Brian again and kissed him, once more on the forehead. “Good night, Goldilocks,” he said. He switched off the light.
“Don’t go,” said Brian.
“I’ll be back,” said Jim. “I need to do something.”
* * * *
Scott was literally whistling “Dixie,” bouncing up and down in the seat, and occasionally grinning at himself in the rearview mirror. He was way ahead of schedule and going strong. He’d be back at least twenty-four hours before he’d thought, and he could not wait to get himself some Mother Bear.
His cell phone trilled, and he hit the Bluetooth button. “Yo!” he shouted cheerily.
“Baby.” Jim’s voice was thick with emotion. “God, Scott, I miss you.”
“Hold on.” Scott checked all his mirrors, downshifting carefully. He slid the rig gradually onto the asphalt shoulder and waited until he was completely stopped, parking lights flashing, before he picked up the phone.
“You okay?”
“No.” Jim sounded totally depressed.
“I’ll be back by the end of the week,” said Scott.
He could hear Jim sigh.
“What happened?”
“Brian,” said Jim.
“That little squirrel?” said Scott happily. “I’m gonna kick his ass when I get back.”
He heard Jim chuckle tiredly.
Just the sound of his man’s voice was making Scott hard. “Hey, baby, you want some now?”
“Scott, where are you?”
“Sittin’ in my rig. Parked safely on the shoulder.”
God, thought Scott, he could almost hear his man torn between what Scott was suggesting and concern. “What if someone sees you?” said Jim finally.
Scott chuckled, undoing his belt. “I’ll wave,” he said. “I’ve got a hands-free. You ready?”
A sound came through the receiver: sort of a growl with a little whine at the end. Yeah, he got how Jim was feeling. He’d had an ache in his balls for twelve hundred miles now. The kind he got when he needed more than one of the dildos he kept stashed in his suitcase.
Wiggling down in the seat so he could spread his legs, planting boots on the door and the console, he pushed his jeans down a little more so he could bring out his balls too. Scott squeezed his eyes shut and just stroked them for a minute.
“Mmm, thinkin’ ’bout how it feels when you hold my nuts,” he said to Jim. “How it feels when you lick ’em. You like that, don’t you, baby?”
There was a rumble of agreement, Jim’s voice a little shy. “You taste good there, Scott.”
“Yeah, baby?” Scott tugged at his balls, let his hand wander and begin to tug at his cock. He wasn’t fully hard yet, but he was leaking a little. He spit into his hand. “You hear that? That’s me making myself wet for you.”
Jim moaned.
Scott chuckled again. “Whatchya doin’ now?”
Jim whimpered a little. “I-I’m…”
“You got that big weapon out, darlin’? You strokin’ it, getting it nice and hard for me now?”
“Yes,” said Jim breathlessly.
Scott rolled his hips on the seat and thrust into his hand, squeezing his fingers tighter around his prick. “Christ. You gonna fuck me with that, Jim babe?”
“Yes.” Jim was definitely panting.
“Tell me,” demanded Scott, stroking fast and hard.
“I’m going to hold you down. Y-your hands are t-tied behind you. You’re on your belly and…”
“Babe!” Scott arched, balls tight and reaching for the orgasm he could see just out there on the horizon.
“Scott. Oh God, honey, you’re so tight.”
“Jim! Fuck! Oh, Christ!” Scott shot so hard he saw it hit his windshield. Through the phone he could hear Jim panting and huffing and the definite slap of hand on flesh and then a low, inhuman moan.
They breathed. Then Scott laughed. “Hoooeeee!”
A tired, embarrassed groan came from Jim. “Never done that before.”
“No? Wow, that’s cool.” Scott had out his handkerchief and was cleaning himself, his steering wheel, and his windshield. He laughed. “Came all over my cab. Bet it’s pretty funky in here.”
He could hear Jim’s grin right through the phone.
“So,” said Scott. “I’ll see you Saturday night?”
“Paul’s due back Thursday. We’ll have to celebrate,” said Jim. “When do you think you’ll be in?”
“Ah, late. Don’t wait up. I’ll see you Sunday morning.”
“I’ll wait up,” said Jim.
Scott felt something warm and good in his chest. “Okay, babe.” He disconnected and started up his truck, the buzz and the tingle all over him.
* * * *
Jim washed up and went back into the room, crawling in behind Brian and spooning him, still careful of his backside.
Brian clasped Jim’s fingers and brought them up against his chest. “You talked to Scott?”
Jim murmured his assent.
Brian laughed softly. “I heard you groaning.”
“Go to sleep, Brian.”
“Yes, sir,” whispered Brian. He wiggled a little closer. “Love you, Mama Bear.”
“Love you too, pup.”
Chapter Two
The following afternoon, Jim heard the door slam and he went into the living room. Brian had tossed his jacket and backpack on the couch so that the pack’s contents had half spilled out. Jim could hear the shower in Brian and Paul’s room running, and he was merely intending to remind Brian to put his things away properly until he looked down and saw the magazine peeking out of Brian’s backpack.
Brian came out of the bathroom, wiping his hands, and saw Jim sitting in the big chair in the living room, the magazine in his hand.
“Hey, that’s mine,” said Brian. “Put it back.”
Jim raised an eyebrow. “Brian, sit down. We need to talk.”
Brian crossed his arms and opened his mouth as if he were going to sass Jim, but the expression on Jim’s face must have made him think twice about it because he moved over to the sofa and threw himself on it instead. “Talk about what? That magazine? Are you kidding?”
Jim opened the magazine and looked at it. It was an extreme bondage magazine, oriented toward gay men.
“You going to tell me you don’t approve?” Brian snorted. “Gimme a break.”
Jim put the magazine down on the table and leaned forward, hands on his knees. The boy who sat before him looked nothing like the healthy, happy young man whom Paul had kissed good-bye four months earlier. It had been a progressive change. And so subtle as to be almost invisible. But Brian’s current expression, a kind of sullen resentment, and his tendency to say no to any request, were now his most common characteristics.
Now he sat in a twisted heap on the sofa, arms folded around his chest and one foot tapping nervously against the table leg.
Jim paged slowly through one of the magazines. The images were intense, many of the men bound so severely they would have to be in pain.
“Do you want me to do any of these things to you, Brian?”
Brian twitched. He wrapped his hands together between his knees and scowled at the floor.
“Do you want Paul to do any of these things to you?”
An expression, half anger, half agonized uncertainty, twisted up Brian’s face. “I don’t know.”
“I have a Saint Andrew’s cross disassembled at the back of my closet, Brian. If you need it, I’ll put it together for you.”
“You do?”
“I have some experience in these things. Do you need more serious discipline?”
“But I feel that’s something you should discuss with Paul first.”
“Over the phone? I can’t.”
The poor kid. Jim didn’t know if he was angrier with himself or with Paul. They should have known this would happen. They should have known that, no matter how frequent Paul’s phone calls and video conferences and e-mails, a relationship of this sort could not be maintained long-distance.
Now Brian was shaking his head and then shrugging. Jim could see Brian was struggling with a host of emotions, and he held out his arms. “Come here.”
He pulled Brian into his lap. The kid twitched and seemed to be all knees and elbows for a minute as he struggled with himself, but Jim just wrapped his arms around him and gave him a big bear hug until he felt every muscle in Brian’s body go limp.
“He’ll be home tomorrow night,” he whispered into Brian’s hair.
“Are you going to tell him?”
“About the magazine?” Jim kept his body loose and comforting, not showing his confusion. What was Brian trying to bring up? What issue? “I tell Paul about everything,” Jim said finally. “Especially if it concerns you and Scott.”
This seemed to be the right answer. Brian relaxed again, snuggling into his embrace.
“You want some dinner now?” Jim asked after a while.
Brian’s head shook against his chin. “Not hungry.”
“You’ll eat,” said Jim calmly. He helped Brian to his feet and headed off to the kitchen. “Come help me wash vegetables.”
Brian was restless all evening. He barely sat for ten minutes at his desk doing his homework, and long after lights out, Jim could hear him padding around in the kitchen. A very tired and very anxious young man greeted Jim the following morning and drove him crazy through most of the rest of the day.
“What was that?” Brian popped up out of his chair and ran to the window for about the twentieth time.
“Sit down, Brian.”
“He said he’d be here at six. It’s ten after six,” Brian whined, coming back to the table reluctantly and sliding into his seat.