Destination, Wedding!

by Xavier Mayne

  There was something missing.

  Donnelly, of course. But something else. Something he wanted to feel but didn’t.

  Brandt opened his eyes and looked over to the nightstand on Kerry’s side of the bed. On it she had placed a little bottle of the exquisite lotion provided by the hotel. Brandt stared at it for a moment, listened to the shower still running, and made his move. He reached out and grabbed up the bottle, opened it, and tapped out a blob of lotion onto the fingers of his left hand. He reached down under the covers.

  He had never done this before.

  He jumped a little when the cool lotion touched that spot between his legs—the spot that Donnelly knew so well, but that Brandt had, until this moment, not explored on his own. This most private part of him was like an embassy in a foreign land; it was part of him, but it really belonged to Donnelly. To touch it without him was new, scandalous, thrilling.

  He nudged his fingertip inside.

  A flash of heat caused by the intrusion surged through his chest. His finger was dainty compared to Donnelly’s extensive member, but Brandt still shifted a little awkwardly as he slid it in. His ass had been unexplored territory when Donnelly came into his life, and he was sure it would have remained so forever had they not found each other. And yet, when his finger grazed that secret spot inside, he felt certain he would have been missing one of the greatest pleasures in life. He pushed a little, right on the bump of his prostate, and his heart surged, skipping a beat or two and making his breath catch. He pushed again.

  It was the highest sort of pleasure, the sort that demands nothing and gives so much. It was like scratching a mosquito bite without ever being irritated by an itch, like reveling in a cool breeze without having suffered from the heat. He rubbed in time with the stroking of his cock and soon fell into a rhythm that had him gasping.

  The orgasm seemed to gather at his fingertip and radiate out through his unrelentingly hard cock. Lights flashed at the edges of his vision, even when he squeezed his eyes shut. His abdominals seized, bending him at the middle, wracking him with overwhelming pleasure. His prostate doubled in size, and he flicked and pressed and rubbed, every motion tingling through his cock in perfect synchrony.

  Suddenly, he was growling, grunting like a rutting animal under the force of the orgasm he had wrought upon himself. He tried to stay silent but could not, as if overcome by the bestial force he had summoned. A dozen urgent, almost painful, spasms arced through him, but to his surprise only a few drops of white emerged from the deep red head of his cock. It was only when he let up the pressure on his prostate that the surge came, a river of cum flowing from him all over his still-tensed belly, gathering in the deep wells that separated the hard ingots of his abdominal muscles. He groaned again, feeling a second surge of spasms tear through him. He struggled to breathe, wondering if this orgasm would ever end. Not that he wanted it to.

  Finally, after an eternity of delight, he collapsed back onto the bed and took several heaving breaths.

  “Oh my God, oh my God,” he murmured repeatedly, astonished that at the advanced age of twenty-seven, he could surprise himself this way. But even as he thought this, he knew it was Donnelly who had done it, who had shown him the wonders his body could achieve, who was here with him in spirit if not in the flesh.

  “I love you, Gabriel,” he whispered. He lay staring at the ceiling for a long moment.

  He was stirred by the sound of the shower shutting off. He bolted upright and grabbed for the box of tissues next to the bed. He mopped up quickly, then darted over to the armoire to throw on a robe and stuff the tissues in the pocket. He ran back to the bed and had just put the lotion bottle back on Kerry’s side when the bathroom door opened. He tried to strike a casual pose by the window, looking out over the city.

  “Well, you look like the cat that just ate the canary,” she said, laughing lightly.

  “Just enjoying the morning,” he said in a voice that impressed even him with its composure. He gestured grandly toward the bathroom. “May I?”

  “You may,” she replied, and stepped out of the bathroom doorway to allow him past. “Enjoy getting clean.” She winked at him.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster. As he passed by, he could feel his buttocks sliding sloppily against each other, lubed up by the excess lotion. It was an uncomfortable sensation, but he kept his head high, walked calmly into the bathroom, and shut the door behind him.

  He could hear Kerry giggling through the door. Even with the social awkwardness, it was still the best time he’d ever had by himself. He began picturing how he would express his gratitude to Donnelly on their wedding night for the inspiration he’d provided.

  Brandt took a longer shower than usual and scrubbed some things twice.

  Emerging from the bathroom, he found Kerry on the terrace, reclining on a chaise lounge in the bright morning light, a tray of coffee and some pastries on the small table next to her. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat on the next chaise over.

  She opened her eyes slowly. “Whatcha feel like this morning?” Her voice was pleasant though not particularly energetic.

  “I would love to go for a nice long walk. Let’s find some miles-long tree-lined boulevard or take the metro out to a park.”

  “Already reached your limit of shopping and museums?” she teased.

  “We spent more than three hours in that museum, and I think we’ve established that shopping is off-limits. Let’s get some fresh air and move a bit.”

  “Sounds perfect,” she replied, sitting up and stretching. “Give me five minutes, and I’ll be good to go.”

  “Take ten. I need to have at least two more cups of this amazing coffee. French press, I tell ya what.”

  “Talk like that on your wedding night, and Gabriel will never let you out of bed,” she said with a smile as she slipped back into the hotel room.

  He laughed and poured himself another cup, then leaned against the wrought-iron railing and looked over the city. It would be a good day.

  A couple of hours later, they were walking through a park on the outskirts of Paris that offered woods and ponds as well as lush picnic grounds. They walked for a long while, then perched on a low stone wall that surrounded a fountain. Across the gently sloping lawn, a group of young men had laid out several blankets and were reclining barefoot in the early afternoon sun. Though they talked and laughed, their attention seemed to be directed across the park. Brandt followed their sight lines and saw what had drawn their eyes—a group of men playing shirt-versus-skins football.

  “I agree with them,” Kerry said, lowering her sunglasses like a country-club cougar giving the once-over to a hot new lifeguard. She studied the football players as they ran and shouted, glistening under the sun.

  Brandt looked from field to picnic blanket and back again, then cast a confused look at Kerry, who burst into laughter.

  “You really are straight, aren’t you?” she said, shaking her head and chuckling.

  For the first time in his life, Brandt felt that saying so would be to admit a shortcoming of some kind. He scowled—playfully—at Kerry, and turned his attention back to the young men.

  There were six of them, which immediately reminded Brandt of the six college guys he and Donnelly had met at the Villa Hermes back in March. But where they could hardly agree on anything, these Parisian picnickers gazed with a unity of purpose at the football field. They spoke among themselves as the ball was passed among the players, cheering when one made a particularly acrobatic move or flexed an attractive muscle. They reserved their most appreciative cheers for players who, after a goal was scored, spanked each other smartly on the ass. Brandt watched them for a long while, how they talked and laughed animatedly even when not looking at the playing field. They seemed, in that idyllic park in the midday sun, to be happy together in ways that Brandt did not think he had ever been with his own group of friends. Not, at least, since his life had
changed.

  Having grown up a natural athlete, he was accustomed to thinking of himself as one of the football players, with no clue that anyone would want to look at him, much less study his every motion. At least, that was, until the undercover work he had done three years ago put the lie to that way of thinking. He had been chosen for that particular assignment, and was successful in it, purely because of his physical attractiveness. It was the first time he’d had to confront how uncomfortable it was for him to be an object of desire and to know that his desirers numbered far more than six people on a picnic blanket.

  In the aftermath of that assignment, he had made his peace as best he could with what he had done, and the violation he’d felt had faded. But did he now belong with those who watched the football game, following the surging gluteals of every player? He was certainly not at home there, though many people he now called his friends would be, with Bryce in the middle of it, awarding points to each player based on how much skin he had exposed. When he watched sports—as he often did—he watched for things that would bore Bryce silly, such as proficiency and teamwork. He was far more interested in box scores than a dick-slip in the postgame locker-room footage.

  Uncomfortable being desired, and not driven to paroxysms of desire by athlete’s bodies, where did he fit?

  With a piercing whistle, the football game came to an end, and the picnickers began to pack up their blankets. One of the players, a great bear of a man, glossed with exertion and smiling at his shirtless victory, broke from his team after a congratulatory huddle and walked toward the group. As he approached, one of the picnickers set down his folded blanket and walked toward him. When they reached each other, they embraced, and there followed a kiss that was every bit as athletic as the football match had been.

  Brandt looked quickly to each side to catch the reaction to this clinch. The spectators didn’t appear to notice, and the soccer players, several of them with arms around their own—female—admirers, gave out a whoop of good-natured teasing and went on their way. The player and his boyfriend rejoined the group of picnickers, arms around each other as the player received the congratulations of the others in the group.

  “Aww,” Kerry said, looking at the embracing couple surrounded by their friends. “That’s so sweet.”

  Brandt was too lost in thought to respond. The football player was embraced by the other picnickers, several of whom grappled his muscular frame long enough to stray from congratulation to groping. But he laughed with them and picked up the smallest and most voluble and spun him around wildly; once set back down, the smaller man laughed and staggered dramatically until bolstered by a pair of friends who kept him from falling over completely. There was much cheering and jostling, and Brandt half expected the soccer player to suddenly drop his butch manner and begin flitting about like the spectators were. He remained, however, the stolid, solid man who had been fiercely competitive on the field. But he smiled broadly and joked with the others. He didn’t change who he was to be part of the group.

  This was what Brandt had been trying to master the past three years. He had felt himself lost between two worlds, not realizing that he didn’t have to leave one in order to be at home in the other.

  “You okay?” Kerry asked, bumping his shoulder with hers. “You kinda zoned out there.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Brandt replied, meaning it for the first time in a long while. “Really good.”

  Kerry studied his face earnestly, then nodded. “I think you are. I guess some fresh air was all it took.”

  “And a football game,” Brandt added.

  She smirked. “I knew you were watching those guys. Guess you’re not 100 percent superstraight after all, huh?”

  “I couldn’t explain it to you if I tried,” he said, chuckling. “But I feel better than I have in a long time, and I owe that to you.”

  She sat back in surprise, though she was clearly pleased as well. “I’m thrilled that our spur-of-the-moment Parisian adventure has paid off for you, Ethan, I really am. I think we’ve helped each other a lot. Now we should do what I always do at the end of a productive therapy session.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Have a drink.” She hooted with laughter as she got to her feet. “I saw a lovely boîte on the way into the park. Shall we give it a try?”

  “Hell yeah,” he said, rising. “No one told me about the drinking. I might actually be willing to give therapy a try.”

  They shared a long laugh on the way to the bar, thinking about Brandt on the therapist’s couch.

  Somewhere over the Pacific

  THOUGH PILOTS at the helm of an empty aircraft tend to maneuver more aggressively than when they are responsible for a hundred souls on board, Bryce and Nestor enjoyed the giddy climb to cruising altitude. Once the plane was on a stable heading over the ocean, Rooster made good on his promise to rejoin them and show them to the rear of the plane.

  “Shall we, gentlemen?” he asked, his voice courtly but laced with a ragged lust he ill suppressed.

  “We shall,” Bryce replied, rising to the full upright position.

  Rooster led them through the galley, past the lavatories, and on through to the bedroom that occupied the rear of the plane. It was as luxuriously appointed as the rest, with piles of overstuffed pillows and soft fabrics. They entered the room, and Rooster closed the door behind them.

  “Okay, here’s the rules. No kissin’, no cuddlin’. I ain’t gay, and you ain’t gonna ‘turn’ me by nursin’ on my big ol’ dick. Your job is to get me off, and my job is to choke you with the most fuckin’ cum you’ve ever had in your life. You try anything with my ass, and I will fucking kill you. Got it?” While Rooster spoke, he loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and started unbuckling his belt.

  “Yes, sir!” Bryce saluted smartly. “Permission to assist you with your disrobing, sir?”

  Rooster’s crooked grin gave his answer. He dropped his hands to his side, pelvis thrust forward in a posture of macho confidence.

  In wordless unison, Bryce and Nestor dropped to their knees and set to work. In short order they had disposed of his belt, thrown off his shoes, and dropped his pants to his ankles. Rooster stepped out of them and stood before them in his socks and a pair of boxer briefs that was clearly overmatched by the manhood it attempted to restrain.

  “Please,” Nestor said, taking Rooster’s hand and leading him to the bed.

  Rooster sat down on the foot of the bed and raised his arms, placing his hands on the back of his head. Bryce and Nestor knew exactly what this posture demanded. They ran their fingers down his powerful arms until they reached his armpits, into which they nuzzled submissively, taking in the masculine scent rooted there. Rooster sighed contentedly.

  “Good boys. You faggots love the stink of a man, don’t you?”

  By way of answer, Bryce pushed on Rooster’s chest, and the man lay back on the bed. Nestor lifted his feet and pulled off the socks while Bryce tugged at the waistband of his black boxer briefs.

  “Well, you boys get right down to it, don’t you?” Rooster said with a husky chuckle.

  “We are dedicated service providers,” Bryce assured him. “Now lift.” Bryce grasped Rooster’s underwear, and as his pelvis rose from the bed, Bryce slid them gracefully off. Rooster’s monumental cock slapped heavily against his flat belly.

  Rooster now lay completely naked on the bed, his crooked grin never wavering. He looked at Bryce and Nestor, clearly eager to see the expressions of hunger and lust that his cock would inspire.

  “Dios mío,” Nestor breathed.

  “Indeed, darling. The gods themselves had a hand in crafting it, and now we get to lay our hands on it.” Bryce paused to lick his lips. “Among other things.”

  They exchanged a nod and went to work. Bryce wrapped his fist firmly around the base of Rooster’s cock, his fingers not even close to touching on the other side. Nestor placed his hand right above Bryce’s, and then Bryce did the same with his other hand. N
estor followed suit with his, and yet the very tip of Rooster’s enormous cock rose above his grip.

  “I win!” Bryce called, and bolted forward to take the head of Rooster’s dick in his mouth. Nestor shrugged and contented himself with tickling his fingers down the length of the now fully stiff member until he reached the large balls in their loose sac.

  “Mmm,” he murmured. “Rooster eggs.” He cupped them delicately, weighing them with his fingers.

  Bryce, meanwhile, took more and more of the cock into his mouth; he had managed about six inches when he felt Rooster’s big hand grip his neck and attempt to force him down farther. Bryce, however, jerked his head up. “I do not object in principle to such encouragement, darling,” he said in a sultry voice, “but I ask you to reflect on whether any of the women you’ve been with were capable of as much as I was already doing.”

  Rooster grinned. “Naw, you got more in you than I’ve ever had before. Guess I got a little excited.”

  “I appreciate the compliment, sir. Now just relax,” Bryce said as he lifted Rooster’s hand off his neck and laid it next to him, “and let me do what I’m best at.”

  Rooster shook his head and smiled. “Fuckin’ queers.”

  Bryce was as good as his word and in short order had Rooster’s long prick once again tapping at—and then past—his tonsils. Rooster, for his part, began to grip the bedspread as his balls pulled up toward the base of his monstrous cock. Nestor, no longer able to grip them as the sac tightened, simply lapped at them like a puppy.

  “Oh, fuck,” Rooster called as his legs tensed up. Then, without further warning, he jolted and his cock blasted like a fire hose down Bryce’s throat—who didn’t lose a stroke, but simply closed his eyes and reveled in the flood he gladly received. In about twenty seconds Rooster gasped to a finish, and the tension left his body. It did not, however, leave his cock, which remained as hard and long as before it had erupted.