by V. L. Locey
“They all want to meet me?!” His shock was evident, as was his worry. His brow furrowed instantly.
“They don’t have to if you don’t want to. Lord knows I’m not thrilled to foist my family onto you after only two dates. Please, just say so and I’ll explain to them that—”
“No, no, it’s fine. I was just unprepared. I’d like to meet them, your kids.” He recovered quickly I had to give him that. Must be all that political training of his.
“And my ex-wife? How do you feel about that?” I glanced from Town to our tablemates. The two couples seated with us seemed quite interested in our conversation. Probably, they were trying to work out how an obvious queer like me could have an ex-wife and kids. “Why don’t we go for a walk and finish this talk?”
I pocketed the order list, stood up, and offered Town my hand. He got to his feet as well. We wished the old folks a fine day, linked hands, and strolled off. I led him to a nice little spot under a massive oak where we could look at Seneca Lake and let the winds off her choppy surface blow up and over us.
“So, Betty?” I nudged him a bit.
His lips flattened. “Okay, I’m a little nervous about the ex-wife. That sounds kind of awkward.”
I slid an arm around his waist, his solid frame snug to mine. “She’s not your usual ex. She’s incredibly happy for me, for us.” I waved a hand to indicate him and I. “With us dating, not that we’re a committed thing or such. Hell, this is a pot full of peppers.”
He turned to face me, his hands coming to my hips. “I think we can say that we’re dating. We are on a date, and I’m hoping we can go on others. Does that freak you out?”
“Hell no! I’m signed up for as many dates as I can get. All I do is think about you, about how you make me feel, and how I long to make you feel the same for me.”
“Kiss me.”
I was happy to oblige. I cupped his adorable face and pressed my lips to his. We licked into each other’s mouths, the taste of wine lingering on his tongue. I inched him back to the tree, our mouths sealed, the crisp smell of water and wind, and rich fertile soil wrapping around us.
“Wow,” he panted when we broke apart. I still held his face in my hands, my dick was hard and hot and pressed close against his. He gripped my sides, keeping my cock and his aligned.
“Yes, wow. I am crushing on you so hard right now. Let’s go buy some wine, get an early dinner, and go back to my place. I have this big old glider on my back porch and I bet the sunset over Cayuga Lake will be something to see.”
“I’m in!” He kissed me quickly. I released his face and stepped back. “Let’s just admire the lake for a few minutes so we won’t shock everyone.”
“Good idea.” We stood there, shoulder-to-shoulder, erections straining against our zippers, for about fifteen minutes. It took me forever to go soft, what with the man so close. Finally, we were presentable, and we ambled back to the store, bought ten bottles of wine between the two of us, and made our way to my car, bottles clattering as we jostled the box into the back seat.
“You okay to drive?” Town asked before we slid into the car.
“Yep, I’m good. You had just as much as me,” I pointed out. His sweet mouth pulled downward. “I’m fine, honestly. We’ll just go as far as that little diner we passed before we turned in here. I’ll grab some tea and something to eat. It’ll be fine.”
“There was a diner?” He ran his hand over his short hair.
God above, the man was too cute.
“Small one, sign out front said they had meatloaf dinner on special.”
“Huh, guess I was too busy navigating and admiring the driver to see it.” He pulled his door open and sat down. I did the same. “Seriously though, if you’re not okay to drive, we can just sit here for a bit. I can’t be arrested or involved in a DUI.”
“Town, I am fine. I had maybe one glass total, if that. I will not get you arrested. Scout’s honor.” I crossed my heart.
Some of the stress left his face. When we pulled into the tiny eatery with the meatloaf special, he exhaled theatrically. “I worry too much. I know,” he said while we unbuckled.
“Nope, you do not,” I replied, pushing up and out of the car, then turning to look at him over the roof. “Your career and good name are important to you. As is mine. I know myself, Town. Trust me, I will never do anything that puts you or your reputation in harm.”
He smiled weakly. “I think I know that deep down, I just stew at times. My family calls me Worrisome Willy. Let’s go eat meatloaf.”
I walked around the car and offered him my hand. He slid his palm over mine and that flock of hummingbirds in my belly erupted again. Yes, I was beyond smitten. I was besotted and absolutely twitterpated.
We ate in a rush, gulping down our food and tea that I had to sweeten myself. What kind of uncivilized society were we living in where people did not sweeten tea before serving it to the masses? Yankees, I swear.
Town was visibly more relaxed on the ride home, chatting away about his love of basketball and old chiller-thriller movies. We pulled into my driveway around six p.m. Toting a box of wine, I backed into my house after unlocking the door. Town followed me in, his eyes moving over the barren walls and dull furnishings.
“I know it’s pretty typical bachelor, but I’m just not here enough to really care about decorating. Maybe during the summer I can spiff it up a bit. What kind shall I open?” I shouted over my shoulder, as I lugged our purchases into the kitchen.
“Surprise me,” he called. I pulled out a pretty pink rosé and popped the cork. Grabbing two wine glasses, I then hustled back out to find Town admiring the tiny broom sitting on my mantle. “And you said you don’t decorate,” he teased.
“That there is my first prized possession. Let’s go sit on the glider.” I led him out back. He closed the sliding door behind him and we both took a seat. “Here you are.” He took the wine glass I offered. I filled his glass about halfway and then poured myself some.
“Mm, this is good. Fruity and flowery,” Town remarked, swirling his wine gently. I took a sip and had to agree. “My grandmother used to call rosé wine ‘summer water’ for some odd reason. She wasn’t a wine drinker though, she liked three fingers of scotch with two ice cubes. Drank one of them a day until she passed at ninety-eight.”
“Bless her heart,” I replied in a kindly manner. We sat back with our wine after we removed our shoes. The lake was calm, the winds settling as night approached. “What do you think of the view?”
“Stunning,” he sighed, his long toes wiggling. I slid my foot over and touched his pinky toe with mine. “You were right, it’s pretty open, though. We’ll have to keep our personal displays to toe caressing until it gets dark.”
“I can do that,” I said, draping my arm around his wide shoulders. We played footsie, sipped pink wine, and talked until the sun set in the west. A million stars now twinkled over our heads. I pointed out several boats, their running lights reflected on the dark surface of the water.
Town turned to me as I was running off about reading the Rime of the Ancient Mariner in college. He took my chin between his thumb and forefinger, then kissed me hard. I moved into him, twisting on the glider as our resident loons called back and forth, seeking each other in the night. The male loon’s tremolo was chilling and beautiful all at once.
“Tell me if I move too fast.” His hand rested on my upper thigh. I pulled his mouth back to mine, sucking on his tongue as he massaged my leg. That wasn’t what I needed though, and I dug my heel into the floorboards, trying to move his hand by moving the swing.
“What do you want?” he breathed into my mouth, his fingertips a mere inch from my throbbing cock.
“Touch me,” I huffed, yanking his rosé-sweetened mouth back to mine. Touch me he did, after he took our glasses and set them on the porch. He palmed my cock outside my shorts, stroking the ridge of my dick, as our tongues tangled, and the night sounds began to filter in. A cricket here, the buzz of a mosquit
o, the flicker of my bug-light snapping on. “Stop touching me. Stop.”
He pulled his hand away and sat back, breaking the kiss. “Too much? Too fast?”
“Too close,” I panted, my heels tight to the patio, my hands still resting on his head.
“You want me to get you off?”
“Yes, yes, ah hell yes…”
“Then close your eyes and enjoy.” He kissed a path from my mouth to the corner of my eye, and then returning to my neck, nuzzling into that tender spot under my ear. I let my head fall back, my gaze blurred with lust, I caught the dark shape of a small brown bat emerging from his daytime hiding spot. Town’s teeth grazed my neck, moving down to my clavicle as he worked on the zipper of my shorts. I grunted when the zipper gave way and his hand, warm and seeking, slid into my underwear.
“Yes, Townsend, yes.” That was all I seemed able to say. He made soft little noises, whispered tender things into my flesh, and then slipped those long, calloused fingers around my cock. “Shit!” I nearly flew off the glider, the jolt was that intense. His grip was firm. I pumped into his fist, eager for the release, desperate for it…
“Come for me.” He lapped a hot wet trail back to my mouth, then sucked in my cry of pleasure when I came. My body seized up, my hips bucked wildly, and he swallowed every yelp and whimper, pumping me fast, twisting his hand over the head, working the hot spunk into my skin as he kissed me back into the glider. I clung to him, to his scalp, shudders rolling through me until, ragged breath after ragged breath, my body began to settle. His lips left mine. I gasped and pulled in several huge breaths, then brought his lips to mine as he slowly milked me out.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice throaty with need.
“I cannot recall my name,” I joked, my thoughts sloppy. “That was good, so good. So damn good.”
“Sit here, let me go grab some paper towels.” He pressed a kiss to my swollen lips then rose, the glider slewing forward to counter his missing weight. My neck was incapable of holding my head up any longer. It dropped back to the seat, and I stared at the sky and the bat bobbing and weaving in front of the moon. “Here.”
I forced my head up smiled weakly and took the wad of paper towels, wiping off my dick and pubes, thankful for the darkness of night. It hid the heat in my cheeks. I tucked and zipped, then shoved the paper towels into my front pocket. I’d throw them out later. Town reached for me, fingers curling around the back of my neck. I went to him enthusiastically, plastering my mouth to his, greedily sliding a hand up under his shirt. He sat back, his fingers gripping on the nape of my neck, his tongue stroking mine in a steady rhythm.
I let my hand roam over his belly, it was firm, covered with crisp hair that sent a sizzling surge of desire through me.
“I haven’t felt like this since I was fourteen and got my first look at Parker Stevenson in old reruns of the Hardy Boys Mysteries,” I confessed raggedly, finding a nipple and tweaking it gently. Town hissed and writhed.
“What’s happening here sure isn’t a mystery,” he tossed out. I laughed and kissed him hard, letting my hand slip out of his shirt and settle on his crotch. His cock sat hot and stiff under my hand. “I want you so bad I can’t think straight.”
I rubbed the stiff ridge with the heel of my hand. He groaned roughly. Feeling way more sexually assertive than I could ever recall, I slid off the swing, my knees settling on the floorboards. Turning on one knee, I gently pried his legs apart and moved between them.
“What are you up to, Lan?” he asked, the question rushing out of him.
“Well, I think I’m going to give you some relief with my mouth, if you don’t object?”
He snorted and reached for his fly, the sound of his zipper all the reply that was needed. “I will never object to you asking to suck my dick. I’m negative and take PrEP, just so you know. Do you want a condom?”
This talk had not even entered my mind, shame on me. “Should I use a condom? I’ve not done much of this.”
His fingers carded through my hair. “Relax, it’s all fine. When you say not done much, exactly what is ‘much’?”
“Well, I went to a gay club twice in Augusta after I moved out of my house,” I replied, the need to touch him overwhelming. If nothing else, I could get him off with my hand. His cock kicked when I touched it. Mine began to stir a bit.
“Bet they loved you,” he sighed, his blocky body turning to pudding. He melted back into the glider as I took him in hand, pulling him through the slit in his boxers. “That DILF lure and that drawl? Mm-mm-mm.”
“This drawl you like so much don’t stand out much in Augusta.” I bent over to taste him, just the tip of his cock. It was slick with pre-cum. I licked it off, the taste of another man on my tongue spurring me to suck on the fat head with real vigor.
“Okay, guess we’re skipping a condom,” he groaned, lifting his ass an inch or so. “Hell, you need to slow down…”
“Why?” I wanted more of his taste on my tongue. I wanted him to come down my throat. My dick was plumping up again. Amazing. I’d never felt this kind of enthusiasm for sex before, and it was kind of running away with me, as if I were fourteen instead of forty-one. “Oh, never mind I asked that.”
“Kneel there just like that, yeah, nice.” He took my jaw in his hand, resting my bottom lip against his prick, then fisted his cock, pumping it hard and fast. “Now flick your tongue out…catch it when it…damn, damn!”
One hand on his dick, the other holding my chin, he shot his load into my mouth and lips, the warm spunk splashing over my tongue. I swallowed and cleaned my lips, using my fingers to gather the cum dripping off my face, then sucking my fingers clean. He kept tugging, each spurt on my lips I hungrily lapped up. His spunk tasted different than mine, sweeter and a little saltier. I liked it. A lot.
He led my mouth to his, sliding his tongue across my lips then diving deep. I crawled up onto the glider, my knees popping like green wood on a hot fire. I sat down roughly, pulling him over and onto me. The glider groaned under us, the weight of two on one end, making the other end rise precariously into the air. Town yelped and threw himself back to my left in a hurry.
I chortled a bit, my lips finding his in the darkness. “I can’t get enough of you,” I whispered into his mouth.
“You want more?” There the invitation was. And it was everything a man could want. But I felt myself ease away internally. Town must have felt my uncertainty as well. “Hey, it’s okay to say no or not right now. Trust me, I will wait for you, Lancaster Hart. And if this is all we ever do, then that’s fine as well. I want you to trust me.”
“I do, I do, honestly I just…hell, I don’t know what it is with me.” He pulled me to his side, tucking my head down to his shoulder. “I sometimes wonder if my upbringing has scarred me in some manner.”
“Maybe it’s just how you’re wired. Maybe you just need more before you can give yourself fully. Could be you just need that deep emotional connection.” He wiggled around, tucking himself back into his boxers, but leaving his fly down.
I stared out at the lake, wishing I could spy the loons. “I thought coming out was rough.”
“Mm, well, stop worrying over what you are or what society says you have to do.” He toyed with the shell of my ear. “There really isn’t a thing wrong with waiting and growing closer before you give someone such an intimate part of yourself.”
His words were comforting. Maybe he was right. Perhaps it didn’t matter so much what my label was as long as I was living my own honest life. I gave a tiny bit of my heart to him that night and suspected he’d have possession of it all before snow flew.
6
The Hartford series ended with us grabbing the fourth win in a Wild West shoot-out sort of game that the fans had loved but we coaches had despised. We’d run our team over the coals the day after the win for that shitfest defensive display. Louie was so irate he threatened to bench players when we went up against Augusta in three days.
Yes, my old team had
won, so it was now Cayuga versus Augusta for the eastern conference championship. Winner would go on to play either San Diego or Seattle. We’d know in about two weeks. Right now, we had to focus on the Cottonmouths and their hard-assed, gritty, physical style of play. We’d be hard-pressed to keep up with such a defensively aggressive team. Not that our boys weren’t tough, they were, but Dewey’s system was based on speed and finesse. There weren’t too many teams left who relied on intimidation and questionably ethical plays to win. That was one reason I’d been so happy to leave the team. I didn’t quite cotton—pardon the pun—to the way the Cottonmouths were coached. Blind eyes were turned to bad hits, over-the-top checks were encouraged and sometimes even rewarded. Slurs about race, women, and gays weren’t shut down immediately as they were here in Cayuga. They really were a nest of venomous snakes.
Which was why I was now standing in our home dressing room, looking at the men—our men—trying to work out how to say what I needed to say. Tired eyes stared at me. I knew how they felt. By mid-June we were all golems, our bodies beaten and rundown.
“Coach Dewey asked me address you all today since I have first-hand knowledge of the Cottonmouths, having played for them and coached there.” I threw a glance to the side at Kalinski, who was propped against Dan’s cubicle, working a wad of gum for all it was worth. I’d filled in the coaching staff about the team we were about to play. Now I had to warn our players. “I won’t run on at the lip for too long, I know we have one day at home before we have to fly down to Georgia.” I shoved my hands into my front pockets, wishing I didn’t have to tread this nasty-ass briar patch of intolerance. “We’re going to do a light skate, work on those defensive holes a bit and then we’re going home for some down time. Before we hit the ice though, I want you to be aware of how the Cottonmouths are when they’re cornered. Now, if we’re talking about the snakes I’d be telling you that they’re not generally aggressive, but we’re not talking about water moccasins, we’re talking about the hockey team. And rest assured, the hockey Cottonmouths are damned aggressive. You’ve watched the game films. You’ve seen how they play. I won’t dally about that aspect, we can handle them if we tighten up defensively, which means everyone plays hardnosed hockey, clean, but hardnosed.”