by J. M. Snyder
I thought I knew the rest of the story. He was tired of online dating sites and decided what he really wanted was just someone to get a little freaky with, and my ad caught his eye. But there’s a twist that surprises me—taking another sip of wine, he admits, “Meeting you was actually my sister’s idea.”
I almost choke on my bread. “What? How so?”
“I was complaining about my lack of dates,” Ryan says, helping himself to a piece of bread, “and she says, you know you can meet people online, right? And I’d done that already. I’d joined Match.com and all those other sites, and I’d gotten a ton of hits, but they were mostly from women. I wasn’t interested. The few guys who replied just reamed me out for using what they said obviously had to be a fake profile pic.”
I can see where that would happen. Ryan’s hot, more so than any normal guy has a right to be. Of course anyone seeing his photo would think he’d ripped it off somewhere.
Now he sighs, a sound so dejected, I reach across the table to cover his hand in mine. He’s buying me dinner, right? I might as well play my part to earn it. Quietly, he says, “I don’t know what it is about me that seems to scare people away. I guess I just look…”
He trails off, so I smile and suggest, “Too damn sexy to be real?”
His smile is back with a laugh. “Yeah, no. I was going to say unapproachable.”
“Same thing,” I say, shrugging. “So how’d your sister find me?”
“She didn’t really,” Ryan admits. “I told her the dating sites were crap, and she said well, look at personal ads. You know, Craigslist and the like. I didn’t think they’d be any better—”
I interrupt him. “They’re worse.”
“They really are!” He swigs back the wine mulling in the bottom of his glass and pours another drink. “But I saw the Pay to Play section, and I thought you know, what the hell, right? I mean, let’s be honest. If I couldn’t find forever, I’d settle for right now.”
“And you saw my ad,” I joke, tapping my glass against his in a toast, “and the rest, as they say, is history.”
Ryan grins. “I thought hey, a straight guy. No pressure there, right? He isn’t going to be interested in anything but sex. He isn’t going to call me up, pester me for another date, trying to weasel his way into my life…”
“I’ll only give you what you pay for,” I assure him.
“I have to admit, though,” he says softly, “I’m a bit surprised how much we hit it off. I almost didn’t call you tonight because…well, I didn’t want you to think I was desperate or anything, but I really just wanted to see you again.”
* * * *
The evening passes quickly. If we really are on a date, it’s one of the best I’ve ever had in my life. Ryan is witty and charming, and so damn handsome. Throughout dinner, I notice others watching him—mostly women, but a few men try to catch his eye. But he doesn’t notice anyone but me. If I were gay, I’d be head over heels for him, I know.
Hell, I’m straight and half in love already.
Part of me hopes he invites me back to his house for a nightcap. Whether that means a drink or fooling around, I don’t know, and to be honest, I don’t care. I’m up for anything at the moment, and I’m feeling so damn generous, I wouldn’t even charge him. I almost say it out loud. Hey, let’s go back to your place and bust a nut, how’s that sound? This one’s on me. After all, he picked up the check for the restaurant.
But he said upfront nothing sexual would happen tonight, and until he suggests something, I don’t want to push my luck. We have another appointment next week. Though it will be the third time we get together, I’m only counting it as number two because, damn it, I want to see him again. There’s just something about him that makes me want more.
When the wine is gone and the check is paid, we head outside. He keeps his distance—no arm around my shoulders, not even an elbow nudging my side. I thrust my fists into the pockets of my pants and remind myself this isn’t a date. It’s a night out with a gorgeous man who happens to be gay and, yeah, who gave me the best dick-licking of my life a few days earlier, but we’re not like that. We aren’t even really friends. And I’m not into guys. I’m not gay.
I’m not. Though—and this might be the wine talking, but maybe I’m not as straight as I’d like to think.
He walks me to my car and we stand beside the driver’s side, me leaning back against the door, him almost right up on me so he’s out of the way of the traffic zooming by. He gives me a sexy half-grin, and his eyes sparkle in the light from a street lamp overhead. “I’d ask for a goodnight kiss but I know better,” he jokes.
I press my lips together and keep my mouth shut. I try not to stare at his lips, which turned a bright red while he ate. The color hasn’t faded yet, and for the first time in my life, I wonder what it’d be like to kiss another guy. To kiss him.
I wish he would ask. We both might be surprised what I’d say. Even I’m not quite sure what the answer would be.
But the moment draws out too long and grows awkward between us. Ryan shrugs. “I’ll see you Tuesday, then.”
I jump at that, relieved. “Yeah, that sounds good. Tuesday. At two?”
“See you then.” He leans closer and, before I can stop him, wraps both arms around me in a tight hug.
His embrace is warm and strong, and suddenly I don’t want him to let go. I don’t want to get into my car alone; I don’t want to go home by myself. Cautiously, I raise my arms up around his waist and pat his back, but it feels inadequate. I’ve seen him naked already. Why can’t we get back to that?
Tuesday, I remind myself. I have other appointments between now and then, other guys to please. Work to do. He’s just one more gay man in a long line of clients I’ve had over the years. When his three appointments are up, he’ll fade into the past like all the rest.
Though none of the others ever hugged me before. I know I’m going to remember this—this moment, this dinner, our date—for the rest of my life.
* * * *
I’ve been thinking about Ryan all weekend, and the thought of seeing him again has me on edge. I haven’t felt this way about anyone in forever—the last girl I geeked out about was Amber Munday back in high school, a cheerleader who, for some reason I could never figure out, agreed to go to the senior prom with me. I felt the same way before our big date: hands shaky all the time, heart fluttering erratically, alternating waves of chills and sweats washing over me.
But Amber was a nubile young beauty at seventeen and, in my memory, already on her way to a lifetime career as a top supermodel. I don’t know what ever happened to her, and I actually spend one sleepless night Googling her to see if I can find out, but either she fell off the face of the Earth or she got married and changed her name, because I can’t seem to locate her. And the memory of our one lackluster date does little to distract me from my thoughts of Ryan.
I don’t get this worked up over guys. I don’t. So why is Ryan different?
I can’t put my finger on it. He’s well off, which appeals to me because I’m a broke-ass bastard. He’s handsome in a way men rarely are in real life, but he almost doesn’t seem to notice. He’s kind and generous and knows his way around a cock, let me tell you. Before we even went out Friday night, I knew he wasn’t like any of the other guys I’ve met before.
Most treat me like a sex doll, only there to help them get off. They suck my dick and wank their own while doing it, but they don’t look me in the eye and they don’t say much of anything before they’re done. The moment they come, they disappear to clean up, even if I’m not finished yet. Some show me to the door, but more likely they hide out in the bathroom, waiting for me to collect my cash, get dressed, and leave.
Ryan was as concerned about bringing me to release as he was his own orgasm. He was an attentive partner, and the handful of appointments I have over the weekend only remind me how good he was. I’m looking forward to Tuesday, but the anticipation is setting my teeth on edge. I just wan
t to see him again already and get it over with.
* * * *
I cancel the client I had scheduled for Monday and give myself the day off. I don’t have anyone but Ryan lined up for Tuesday, and I’m hesitant to schedule anyone after him. I need the money, I do, but I just can’t rouse my enthusiasm for anyone else.
The moment I realize this, I know it’s a bad thing. I’m not falling for him. I don’t like guys. Quickly I fill my calendar for the rest of the week, sometimes booking two appointments in one day. I’ll have to avoid masturbating in the shower to ensure I can accommodate them all, because while I know the guys just use me to get off, they really do like it when I come, too. It makes them feel manly, I guess. Underscores their ability in the bedroom. Something about getting a straight guy off makes them feel…I don’t know, more gay, maybe.
The day of our appointment, I arrive at Ryan’s early. A half hour early, which won’t do, so I drive around the neighborhood staring at luxurious homes I’ll never be able to afford to live in while the minutes tick away. I consider stopping for something to eat or drink, maybe—there’s a Starbucks not far from his place—but coffee makes my spunk smell bad and I don’t want to ruin our appointment. Just thinking about Ryan has me half-hard. Part of me wants to get this over with, and part of me wants to draw it out for the rest of the night.
I should get that coffee. Prove to myself that I’m not into him, I don’t care what he thinks about me, I don’t care if he’s so disappointed after today’s appointment that he never calls again.
But I drive past the Starbucks without stopping and head back for his house. By the time I pull into the back driveway, I’m only ten minutes early. I can live with that.
This time he’s waiting for me in the kitchen. When I knock on the screen door, his head pops around the corner and, a second later, that sunshine grin of his lights up his face. “Hey, Greg. Right on time. Come in.”
Like we’re old buddies now. I see he’s taking dishes out of the dishwasher and putting them away, and suddenly I feel sad. This is so homey, so real, an intimate glimpse into Ryan’s life, and I want to be a part of it. Not just the boy toy he hires for a booty call, but a friend, a partner. Hell, who knows? Maybe a lover.
I want in, I’m lying if I say otherwise, and the fact that this is our third meeting bothers me more than it should. Though technically this is only our second appointment, and I might have gotten a free meal out of him on Friday, but I didn’t leave with cash in my pocket. So I’m not going to count that. This is only number two.
If he schedules again, I’ll have to tell him look, I never schedule a fourth appointment. Not with him, not with anyone. I almost want to say something now—it’s on the tip of my tongue, the need to tell him like a pressure growing in my chest—but I don’t. He’s so relaxed, and he keeps turning that smile on me like a spotlight. I don’t want to ruin this. Us.
So I swallow back the words and, when I do speak, it’s just to ask, “What’s hanging?”
As if I don’t know.
* * * *
Back in the guest room again. Ryan appears to be wearing the same sweatpants as last time, but he has a worn T-shirt on, too. His wallet is already on the dresser, and as I close the door behind us, he pulls out not one but two crisp fifty dollar bills. “How much will this buy me?” he asks with a grin.
I move towards him, already reaching for the waistband of his sweats. “You want me to blow you?”
His arm comes up around my waist, his hand dropping to cup one ass cheek through my jeans. “How about a peek back here? No penetration, I promise.”
Usually I’d say no. I don’t get off on ass-play. I just don’t. I had one client try it when I first started out in the gay for pay business, and all I ended up with was a wetness between my buttocks I couldn’t wash away fast enough.
But a hundred bucks is a lot of dough. It’s like having an extra appointment today without really doing any more work. I look at the money Ryan has placed on the dresser beside his wallet and tell myself I’m not turned on by his closeness or his hand on my ass. “Just what do you have in mind, exactly?”
He squeezes my butt, then rubs his hand up to my lower back. My cock is already half-hard, and we aren’t even naked yet. There’s very little distance between us, and when he speaks, his voice is low and warm. “Rimming, that’s all. We won’t do anything you don’t want to do.”
The problem is I’m not quite sure what that might be any more. At least, not when it comes to him.
I sort of nod, and his grin flares into a full smile, teeth and all. Dimples even appear in his cheeks, how cute. In one quick motion, he pulls off his shirt and tosses it aside, and I find myself staring at his bare chest with something akin to hunger. My heart quickens, and my blood rushes when he leans closer to pluck at the button on my jeans. “Can I just tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again?”
Before he can see the fear in my face, I turn and undress as fast as I can. Jeans down, briefs too, puddling at my ankles while I try to step out of them. I feel his hand brush over my ass, then he grabs my hips and pulls me back against him. I feel the hard cock hidden beneath his sweats as it pushes between my cheeks. “I’d fit nicely right in there,” he murmurs.
“You said no penetration,” I point out.
“Whatever’s comfortable to you,” he says.
For some reason, that doesn’t exactly soothe my nerves.
I toss away my shirt and retreat to the side of the bed. By the time I’m seated on the edge, his sweats are on the floor and he’s standing before me, six feet of handsome, naked man. His dick juts out hard from his crotch, the tip already a deep purple. As he moves closer, I reach out to encircle his shaft with my hand. Without a word, I guide it into my mouth.
He tastes clean and smells musky, a woodsy, earthy scent that comes through beneath a faint, lingering trace of soap. His cock fits perfectly—in my hand, between my lips. I pump my fist down his length as my tongue twirls around the tip. A slight moan escapes him, and I feel his hand come up around the back of my neck, holding me in place.
I suck in deep, drawing him in, savoring every inch of his erection. Beneath my ministrations, I feel him stiffen, and his balls clench. I open wide and take him all the way in, until my lips kiss the kinked hair at the base of his dick, and his hips thrust into me, eager for release. But when I pull back to work on his knob again, the hand on my neck tightens a bit. He wants something else.
I let his cock slip free from my mouth and look up at him. God, I want him, I do—I want him in ways I’ve never wanted another man. Ways I didn’t think I’d ever let myself want a man. I licked a drop of precum from his dickhead and gave him my best come hither look. If he wants to go all the way, I’ll let him. The first time we met, I told him it’d cost more than he could pay to take me, but at this moment, right here, right now? I’d pay him if that’s what it took.
All he needs to do is ask. I won’t say no. I can’t.
But he doesn’t speak, and I don’t fill the silence between us. Easing me to the bed, he sort of rolls me over a little, and I know what he wants without him having to say it. I turn over, my hard cock pinned between my body and the mattress. He raises my hips and I oblige, kneeling on the bed with my ass in the air. He spreads my legs apart, then cups my buttocks in both hands and kneads them open. I pucker my asshole, almost in greeting, hoping to draw him in.
I want this. I want him. I do.
The next thing I know, I feel his head between my legs, then his tongue on the back of my balls. Warm and wet, it traces around behind my nuts, then dips down to tickle the underside of my shaft. I moan into the bed sheets and bring a hand between my legs, reaching for my dick. I tug on the tip as his tongue trails spittle down my length. Yes, I sigh, the word lost in the bedding. Yes, God, yes.
Then he moves up over the smooth, sensitive skin below my sac, up to the pinched star of my anus, up along the crack between my cheeks. Holding my buttocks a
part, he returns to the ticklish center, his tongue licking around my hole and one finger chasing after it. My cock shudders in my hand, my palm already slick with my own juices. Yes. Yes.
Gently, so gently I’m not even sure it happens, I feel him lick into me. My hole tightens, clenching, as he tongue-fucks me. I feel the warmth from his mouth spreading all over me, radiating from my center and down my back and legs, down my cock, into my arms and chest and neck. “Yes,” I cry, out loud this time. “God! Ryan, please…”
I bite my lower lip to keep from saying anything more, but my whole body trills with excitement. One word builds up in me with every swath of his tongue. Yes, yes, YES.
Then he pulls back. For a moment I feel lost, adrift. Bereft. I squeeze my dick, tugging hard on it, wanting to draw out the pleasure while wanting to feel the rush of orgasm at the same time. Please, please…
Before I can beg, I feel the bed shake beneath him as he climbs up behind me. Then the bulbous tip of his cock prods at my tight hole. I draw in my breath, yes! But his wet shaft just glides over my trembling bud to rub between my ass cheeks. His hands are back, pushing my buttocks together, creating a crevice for his cock to slide along. I feel the tip bump the small of my back, leaving a smear of precum, then he starts to really hump against me, rubbing and thrusting, getting off on my ass without actually getting in it.
I whimper as I jerk off into my hand. The friction of Ryan’s cock against my ass is more of a turn on than I’d like to admit, and every time he pulls back, a small part of me almost hopes he misjudges and pokes into me. Please, I pray, my thighs taut against his. Please, just a little lower. Just a little—
But the next time he pulls back, he grunts and a hot splash of cum splatters my buttocks, triggering my own release. He leans over me, his belly against my ass and his dick between my legs, pressing against my balls, as his hand joins mine in milking the last of our loads onto the bed sheet. My knees slide out from under me and I lay beneath him, spent. No part of me wants to move. With his weight above me, I curl beneath him and have to admit I never want this moment to end.