The Lover (It's Just Us Here Book 4)

by Christopher X Sullivan

  “Your caterpillar eyebrows said it all!”

  “Stop!” He tickled me harder. “Stop Mark! Jeez, this is serious!” He didn’t do his usual, sing-song ‘Cheese’ back to me. “As I was trying to say, if you pull out a ring, I am going to flip a shit like you’ve never seen before.”

  “You’re going to rip me a new asshole?”

  “No. Worse. I’ll use such evocative language as to make you cringe with embarrassment.”

  “So, your usual threat then?”

  “Shut it. I’m serious. No ring.”

  “I haven’t bought one,” Mark replied, using an odd phrasing.

  “...and... don’t plan on it?”

  “And I don’t plan on it... here. We’re here for vacation—it’s just us here. You know how important marriage is to me. You met my grandma. I might not like how my grandpa treated me after I came out, but I look at their marriage and they respect each other. They were role models for everyone in my family. I want a partnership that will go the distance.”

  “Me too,” I agreed.

  “You once said that you had imagined us as old men sitting on a porch swing and having lived a full life. I can see that for us, too. I can imagine you as an old man so easily. Personally, I’m never going to get old, but if you’re going to be sitting on a porch swing as an old man, I want to be right there next to you.”

  I snorted and shifted on the bed, then rolled away from him. That was nice... and romantic. “Don’t think that gets you out of trouble,” I said sourly.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” There was a smirk in his words and his hands—his manipulating fingers—worked their way under my shirt. I protested how he was trying to get me naked. “Just our shirts,” he said. “I want to feel you against me.”

  I acquiesced (as usual) and his warmth made me drowsy.

  “We can’t go to sleep early,” Mark warned. “We have a busy day tomorrow.”

  “Why?”

  “After we finish working, I’m going to show you the nude beach.”

  “Nooo,” I groaned.

  “Oh yes. But don’t worry. It’s too cold to spend much time there.”

  I didn’t put up a huge fight about the nude beach. Mark had been wanting to take me to nudist places ever since I expressed the regrettable notion that I might be a secret nudist. What I didn’t realize was that while it was cold in Chicago in October, Italy had a nice Mediterranean buffer. If the weather came up from the south, then Mark would probably decide to strip down to nothing.

  Mark, of course, had checked the weather before he decided which day he would take me to Lake Como, so our beach day was cool, crisp and nude. The day started nude (in the sheets) and ended nude (on top of the sheets). Mark didn’t make a sexual advance on me once—he understood me well enough to know that I needed to get comfortable in my surroundings (especially in the bedroom) before we did anything.

  So, naturally, he took me to the beach and forced me to strip naked after I finished my light workload on the train.

  The train took almost two hours to reach Lake Como. To describe the region in one word: breathtaking. There were mountains (which were nothing like the Appalachians), there was water, there were old village-like homes built into the cliffs. It wasn’t a seaside Italian town or city, but I was in love.

  “I love the mountains,” I said, when they first came into full view. Mark rented a car and drove me to his favorite beach where we walked hand in hand along the lake. Being a mountain lake... we did not go swimming or frolicking... at first.

  Mark carried a tote bag over his shoulder that he wouldn’t let me explore. I knew there was a surprise in it, but all I could see was a towel. We walked off the beach and into town to grab lunch at a Greek restaurant (which was good, and I don’t normally like Greek food). I asked Mark what was in the bag and he waved me off. We walked the beach again and he refused to lay out the beach towel.

  It was a Tuesday in the early afternoon so the beach was ours. The weather was oddly warm, but then breezily cold. The weather was mostly moving up from the south, but the lake was cool and the mountains had their own weather patterns that didn’t care one squat what was happening in the Mediterranean.

  Mark and I walked about a mile—I could have walked forever, but the beach basically ended. There were houses on a cliff at the end of the beach and there were houses in the distance on the edge of the town where we had walked from. We were well away from the tourist area—if there even would be tourists this late in the season.

  Mark finally laid out the towels and we set up our beach area. Mark stripped down to his bathing suit. I asked him if it was cold.

  “We won’t be here long,” Mark said. “I’d like to get back downtown by evening.”

  “What’s going on in the evening?”

  “You’ll see.” He wiggled his eyebrows, but didn’t give me a hint whether I would like the next surprise or not (and seeing as I professed to hate surprises...). “You’ll probably need to prepare yourself and be willing to go against your natural inclinations.”

  “If it’s a ring, I’ll fucking wring your neck.”

  “It’s not that, dude. It’s about as far from that as you can get.”

  “Then I don't want it,” I said.

  “I thought you didn’t want a ring.”

  “I don’t.”

  “But you don’t want the opposite of a ring, either? Isn’t that sending some mixed messages?”

  “Gah. Leave me alone and let’s sit here on the beach.”

  “Yes. That sounds good. First, take off your suit.”

  “What!”

  “You heard me.” He stripped off his skimpy suit. “I got you this to wear for later.” Mark pulled out a thin, basically transparent, flower-covered speedo.

  “Fuck no.”

  “Come on, dude. I want to show off my boy. Don’t you want to be shown off? Don’t you want to be ogled?”

  “No!” Who do you think you’re talking to?

  “Not even a little bit? That’s hard to believe with as much as your cock is getting hard right now.”

  “It’s not reacting because of the bathing suit. And certainly not because you’re naked. This isn’t a nude beach, so put on some clothes.”

  “There are no nude beaches in Italy. And we’re so far from the coast that it doesn’t matter, anyways. It’s just us here.”

  “Then why are you naked?!”

  “Because I’m about to go in the water. And you’re going with me.”

  “It’s cold,” I said.

  “I’ll keep you warm.”

  “Your thing is going to shrivel up and fall off.”

  “This is the first time I’ve ever heard you worried about my ‘thing’. Now are you going to make me keep standing here naked, or are we getting in the water?”

  “Mark! This is a residential neighborhood. There could be kids watching!”

  “There are no kids. It’s a Tuesday and they’re all in school. Now, I need my boy to slip out of those nice black trunks and scamper into the lake.”

  “I’m not going in that dirty lake.” I put my foot down. Mark put both his feet on either side of my body, lifted me onto his shoulder, pulled the shorts from my hips (and I finished kicking them off) and then he carried me into the water like he was a fireman and I had passed out from smoke inhalation.

  We frolicked for less than twenty minutes—I only needed ten seconds to feel invigorated. I waited the extra minutes because I didn’t want to run to our beach stuff without Mark by my side. If I was going to get caught for my nudity, Mark was going to be in jail with me.

  “How are we doing, boy?” Mark asked.

  “I’m not a fucking boy,” I stated.

  “You are my fucking boy.”

  “Babe. Not now. It’s too early for this. I’m sorry. I know you had big plans, but I’m so not in the mood. Yesterday I was in tears because you got me here under false pretenses...”

  “I’m sorry... I thought you
liked to roleplay a bit. There’s nothing like a foreign country to open you up to new things.”

  “What are you hinting at?” I asked.

  He swam behind me and closed the distance between our bodies. I felt warmer having him touch me. “I’ve been planning this trip for a while. Today was supposed to be Lake Como and the nude beach. Then, in the afternoon we were going to do some role-playing.”

  Role-playing? I didn’t stiffen; I didn’t react. I was very calm. “This is a lot to take in,” I said, gazing at the mountains and conjugating Italian verbs in my head.

  “Will you do a favor for me this afternoon?”

  “I’m not blindly agreeing to anything.” More verbs, more verbs, more verbs!

  He kissed me. “I want us to go to a bathhouse.”

  “What’s a bathhouse?”

  “There’s a sauna. And a swimming pool. And a hot tub... quite a few hot tubs. There’s a bar.”

  And let me guess what else... “And a lot of gay guys?”

  Mark nodded while wearing a dopey smile. I thoroughly objected to his plan, but he was in one of those moods. “I want to show off my man,” Mark said with his biggest, bro-iest smile. “I want to push you on this bathhouse thing... just a touch. I’ll be glued to your hip, but I know you get off on showing off—on being someone else for a few minutes.” He kissed me on the side of the head, nuzzled my hair. “Tonight you’re going to be my boy. And I’m taking my boy to the sauna and we’re going to make everyone jealous as fuck.”

  “You’re crazy,” I said, not deterring his craziness. His plan sounded... invigorating. And I was freezing. “Let’s lay on the towels.”

  “Somebody’s shivering.”

  “Because I’m thinking about what you’re going to force me to do tonight and I’m terrified.”

  Mark led the way to the towels like he was at the head of a parade. We very calmly dried ourselves, then Mark forced me into that colorful speedo.

  “This is ridiculous. You get a nice white one and I get this... gay thing.”

  “You look hot. Plus, I know how embarrassed you are to wear it, and I think it’s turning you on.”

  “No it isn’t,” I said, half-erect. Maybe I did get off on embarrassing and degrading situations.

  We laid on the beach for half an hour. I slipped on my white tee shirt, but left my pants off. A man wandered down the beach from the cliffside houses and sat near us. I scanned the rest of the beach from behind my sunglasses—empty. Why sit next to us? It’s obvious why...

  “Let’s go,” I whispered.

  Mark rolled to his knees and crouched like a panther. His speedo-clad ass was in the air. “Not yet,” Mark said. “I need to get warmed up first. Why don’t we run around and play football?”

  “We don’t have a football.”

  “Then let’s just run around and let our junk bounce. Don’t you like how everything sits in these hammocks?” Mark touched his pouch. I watched the man sitting slightly behind us in a beach chair and apparently reading a book. “Let’s give him a show,” Mark growled.

  “No.”

  Mark didn’t take the hint. He pounced from his crouch and tackled me onto the beach towel. He made out with me and I didn’t resist. His hands were under my tight shirt in an instant, grabbing at my chest and torso (he was always so sensual with his hands, which I really appreciated). My sunglasses slid off my face. My cock was hard and both our speedos were under a lot of strain.

  “Sexy. Sexy stud,” Mark said. “Damn tourists with their sex on the beach.”

  “We are not having sex here,” I said, with a desperate edge in my voice. “Please, Mark.”

  “Please let’s do it?”

  “No-o-o—” He kissed me again and we drowned our laughs in each other’s mouths. His hands tickled me and I squirmed until I was gasping for air. “No more,” I said, slapping his broad chest. “Let’s head to your bathhouse.”

  “Really? We can explore here for the day, if you want. I can get a room.” Mark looked up at the man behind us. “That dude would let us have a room.”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  “You know I love you...” Mark finished the lyric. He was always laughing at me for my taste in music. My favorite singer growing up was Shania Twain. I loved Cher’s Believe and Shakira’s Hips Don’t Lie. Mark often teased me and asked how I ever thought I was straight. And to think, he teased me like that before he knew how much I loved Madonna’s Like a Prayer. When I told him about Madonna, he brought up Vogue on his phone and made weird hand dancing moves. He said that song was his gay dad’s favorite song and that he would have to get Claude to teach me how to ‘Vogue’. Strangely, neither Claude nor Marty taught me, but we did plenty of other stuff with those two guys.

  We caught an early afternoon train back to Milan. I wore my skinny copper jeans, a white tee shirt, stylish sunglasses and grey cloth shoes. I hadn’t worn my orange pants too often back home. Mark had forced me to pack them and said it was the perfect opportunity to break ‘em in.

  We had another small meal on the train—which was a total of four small meals already in one day, and it was only five o’clock! Then the moment of truth arrived.

  Mark directed me to the bathhouse near the train station—and I was increasingly nervous with each step we took. I felt a buzz throughout my body, starting in my balls (which hadn’t been satisfied in three days, thanks to Mark’s no-masturbation rule).

  “I don’t know about this,” I whispered, clinging to Mark’s side. He had the tote bag on his other arm.

  “You’ll be fine. We’re getting here early. The place will probably be empty. We’ll just sit in the water and wash off that grimy lake water.”

  “I want to wear my trunks. I don’t like this stupid speedo.” Fucking flowery speedo.

  “It makes you look sexy,” he murmured, halfway between a laugh and a husky rumble.

  “It makes me look like a slut.”

  “Tonight, you are a slut,” Mark said pointedly. “You’re my slut, and everybody here’s gonna know it.”

  I whimpered. My cock throbbed. “I don’t want to do this,” I whispered. We were two doors away from the entrance to the sauna.

  Mark grabbed my bulge... right there in the middle of the sidewalk, giving it a slow massage. “My boy is going to have some fun tonight.” He grabbed my arm and forced me forward. I waddled at his direction with my pants uncomfortably tight.

  We walked out of the bright afternoon air and into the sweaty, smelly bathhouse. It smelled like chlorine and reminded me of when I swam for my high school team. My back shivered uncontrollably at the thought of the germs and the nasty walls in this seedy establishment.

  Mark rang the bell, looking just as happy as a clam.

  A smarmy Italian man strutted to the table. He didn’t bother giving us the side-eye—he gazed at Mark like the man was dying of thirst and Mark was an oasis. We spoke in English.

  “Do you have the membership pass?” he asked lightly.

  “No. I’d like to buy one for me and my boy.”

  “It’s 10 Euros for one pass, the pass is good at the other cultural events, and then 18 for an entrance fee. That’s 56 Euros.”

  Mark handed him twenty. “Can’t you waive the cover fee?” Mark asked, putting on his biggest smile. “How many guys are here? Surely you don’t draw much of a crowd on a Tuesday?”

  “Eighteen for a cover fee,” the Italian said, with a slick sneer. He acted as if he disdained American tourists, but he couldn’t divert his eyes from us.

  “My boy and I are going to be here for a while. Surely we could provide some entertainment?” Mark slid out of his shirt and revealed his perfectly sculpted body. The receptionist nearly croaked. “Take off your shirt, boy,” Mark snapped. My cock tightened when he called me ‘boy’.

  Why was he doing this? Why was he playing this game with the receptionist? Why couldn’t we just go home—I mean, to the hotel? Why did he have to offer to show us off, to make us the entertain
ment? Oh fuck, what would the entertainment consist of? Us standing around, naked? Us making out? Us... having sex? Oh shit! He was going to make me have sex in public! And the idea was making me hard.

  “Boy,” Mark said sternly. “Show the man the goods.” I meekly submitted to his demands. The receptionist eyed me up as Mark roughly coursed his fingers through my thin, dark chest hair and made me gasp. “I think we’ll put on a good show,” Mark said. “If you waive the cover fee.”

  “Depends on how big,” the man said, entranced and not wanting to lose his arousing entertainment.

  “I’m plenty big,” Mark said with a jock-like confidence that nearly melted the bedazzled receptionist. Mark undid the button on my copper skinny jeans, then slowly unzipped them and rolled them down my thighs, revealing my flowery, full pouch. “And my boy isn’t far behind.” Mark ran his fingers over my ass crack and I involuntarily arched my back, pushing forward my bulge and showing off my tight abs.

  “Fuck,” the receptionist said. little

  Mark let me go and I quickly pulled up my pants and flushed with embarrassment. The door and windows behind me were glass and anyone passing on the street would have been able to see my scantily clad rear. I tried to look relaxed, but I was on edge and ready to run.

  “Wrap those pretty mouths around my cock, and you got yourself a deal,” the man practically commanded. “Pretty boy first, if his master doesn’t want to.”

  Mark pulled out forty more Euros. “Here’s your fee,” he said with a pleasant smile.

  All that work and you’re still going to pay! What was with all the ogling and the embarrassment and the showing me off!

  “Keep it,” the man said. “Have fun tonight. I’ll invite some of my regulars and recoup the fee.”

  Mark gave him a dazzling smile with some eyebrow action. “Feel free to join us,” he invited. Mark stalked out of the room, clenching his ass with each bounce. I followed him stiffly, still without my wits. I gulped as we entered the changing room.

  The germs brought me back to myself... there was no way Mark could be so stupid as to think I could leave that room without shower shoes. Oh no... so many germs... it’s making me gag. Oh, Sweet Cheesus, help me.