by Avery Aster
His lips felt dry. “Yes, why?” He played dumb.
“This is the second night in a row you’ve had nightmares.”
“Oh…they’re noticeable?”
“You scream horrible things.”
“Hmm. Maybe it’s from watching TV. Or…I was reading a Stephen King novel last week, so I bet that’s it. Yes.”
“Nice try. There’s something you’re not telling me. What is it?” Miguel wrapped his muscular arms around him, pulling him on top of him.
God, he felt strong and supportive.
“Nothing,” he dismissed him, realizing the Barcelona exhibit was the following week, Lex’s wedding was coming up and Miguel had to come out to his family. This could wait until Diego was behind bars. It had been going on for well over a year; a few more days without his friend knowing would be fine.
Brutus barked.
“Duty calls.” Blake never thought he’d be as relieved hearing his howl as he was just then. He rolled off him, laced up his sneakers for a jog and went to take Brutus downstairs.
When he returned, Miguel started the shower, so he fed Brutus breakfast.
Hot steam came from the door crack as it opened, “Get in, the water’s caliente.”
Sweaty from the run, he stripped naked with enthusiasm and stepped into the stall. He’d never taken a shower with another guy before.
Miguel kissed him, hard on his lips. He pulled him closer into an embrace and then ordered, “Get on your knees.”
Squatting, water beaded along Miguel’s magnificent chest. His nipples grew hard visibly. A slight fuzzy patch over his six-pack went from dry fawn to wet sable. His legs were bronzed and firm as tree trunks. His cock became eye level, soapy foam decorated the skin. His morning woody grew harder by the nanosecond.
Cock shuddering, he held on to his shaft and pointed his dick at Blake’s face. “Close your eyes, bébé.”
A second later, his penis shot gold. First a slow squirt, then a steady stream.
On delay, Blake shut his eyes and realized he’d get a different shower, a golden shower.
A warm stream inaugurated his forehead, trailing his left cheek then his right, and then over his lips. The watercourse beaded stronger onto his skin. He inhaled the piercing ammonia tang. He hadn’t thought he’d like this, but he did. It was...different.
“Open your mouth.”
Unafraid, he parted his lips. Miguel decorated his tongue with his steam. His mouth filled to the brim then the hot piss dribbled down his mouth.
“Spit.”
Leaning forward, he did as instructed.
“Good boy.” He lifted him, guiding him to stand. “Keep your eyes shut.”
He smelled green apple as cold gel covered his face. Miguel’s long fingers ran over his eyelids, cheeks, forehead, and neck, intensifying the fruity aroma. Sultry water rinsed him clean. Fresh.
“Okay, open.”
Blake looked up, not quite forgetting his friend’s beauty. His black pearl eyes raked over him, full lips and dimples received the gesture.
“Has anyone ever told you that you are the spitting image of Mario Lopez?”
“From Extra TV??”
“Ah-huh.” He always appreciated his friend’s sex appeal, but he’d never noticed how gentle and caring he was until that moment. He could be super sweet.
“Every day,” Miguel returned, the smile accentuating his dimples to further resemble the TV actor. He handed him a toothbrush topped with paste and instructed, “Brush.”
Scrubbing the toothbrush in his mouth, he cleaned over his top and bottom teeth, then his tongue back and forth, spat on the shower floor next to their feet, and rinsed his mouth in the shower.
A creamy shampoo was applied to his curls while standing under the showerhead. With a bristle brush, Miguel scrubbed his shoulders and back counterclockwise, followed by his chest, arms, legs, and feet clockwise.
He’d never had anyone wash his hair except at the salon. Overwhelmed by how the simplest gesture made him feel, he closed his eyes and tried to stand tall. In silence, he observed their closeness. You…treat me as a gift. Make me feel special.
This shower brought the intimacy between them to a newfound intensity.
Reaching down, Miguel grabbed him close, groin-to-groin. Their two cocks touched. “We’re about the same size.”
“Not quite,” he corrected, believing Miguel to be bigger. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d always felt so much smaller around him. Maybe it was his dominant personality, his confidence.
Miguel held onto his cock and rubbed his palm over the tip. He then circled his hand over his own. His dimpled grin increased.
He squirmed but stood his ground, looking his friend deep in his molten eyes. He wasn’t backing down. Not then.
The challenge must’ve motivated what came next for Miguel reached behind him and grabbed his ass.
His mouth leaned up to Blake’s right ear. “Tonight, I’m going to fist you. I want your ass clean.” He buried two fingers inside him.
“Mig!” He loved this.
“Understand?”
“Yes.” He was tempted to say, No. No way in Hell, but his friend seemed intent on fisting. He’d brought it up a few times. Who knew, he enjoyed his face fucking and golden shower, so maybe the pleasures would continue. “This morning was the hottest thing ever.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” After grabbing the shave cream canister, Miguel lathered his scruff.
“I am, very much so.”
Miguel popped off a new disposable razor lid from the shower caddy. Starting with Blake’s right cheek, he glided the blade down, top to bottom and said, “Such a pretty face, for a man.” He studied his eyes for confirmation.
“Oh, please…” He looked away knowing he wasn’t one for compliments, especially about his face.
“Why do you dismiss what I say?” With an owner’s grip, he turned his chin and shaved his upper neck.
“I wasn’t raised placing an emphasis on looks.” He felt the shower’s heat steal into his pores. It was hard to listen to the compliments. Ever since that plane crash, back in college, he never thought of himself as attractive.
“You’d never know with the way you carry yourself.”
“What do you mean?” He drew his upper lip down, enabling Miguel to shave under his nostrils.
“You take pride in the way you dress, the clothes, fit body, perfect teeth”
“Thanks. I work in advertising. It’s my job to look good.”
“It shows.”
Miguel pressed his lips against his mouth. He slid his tongue into his mouth and kissed him deeply, pulling his body in tight. The shave foam residue lubed their lips. Blake’s backside rested against the tile wall, his torso buried deep in his friend’s embrace.
“Why do you look away when I compliment you? Do I make you uncomfortable talking about how attractive you are?”
“No. I, ahhh…” God, how would he answer that? He tried to smile. “Mig, no one’s ever said that to me before is all.”
“Well, it’s true. You’re the most attractive guy I’ve ever met.” Dropping the razor onto the ledge, he wrapped his arms around him.
With relentless enjoyment, he pressed into Miguel’s rock-hard body. “Thank you.” He saw acceptance in his friend’s eyes. He’d never noticed it until then. Had he always looked at him that way and he’d just not seen it before?
The shower suddenly felt too small. He could barely breathe. “I better get dressed. I have some errands to run before work.”
Miguel squirted shampoo onto his own hair as he stepped out and toweled off.
“Blake…”
“Yeah?”
“There’s money on the counter to cover the items you bought for the apartment and for the lunch with my nieces. Take it.”
“No.”
“Take the money.” There was no reasoning with Miguel.
“Fine. Enjoy your day.” Blake wrapped a white fluffy towel around his torso and went
to get dressed.
Downtown
Blake walked into the Family Court Clerk’s Office even though he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do this. Diego’s actions weren’t his to face. After the divorce, he hadn’t expected to hear from him again. His attorney had suggested not talking to the police, not to tell them what had really gone down. He didn’t have a case. No witnesses. No one had come forward.
He knew this. But he needed to be sure.
It was up to the victims, the people who Diego had hurt, to come forward and press charges. Blake felt terrible for them. Too ashamed by what his ex-husband had done, and there’d been no reports. How could they? He hoped, though, one of them would, and soon. Last he heard there were thirteen guys who’d fallen prey to Diego Oalo’s erotic acts gone deadly wrong. One of them had to come forward. When he was alone and quiet, he thought about the men Diego had slept with. They were faceless, most nameless. But he had known a few of their names. Some were even his friends at one time. Were they under medical care? Had they told their loved ones? Or had they crossed over to the dark side with him, causing harm to others?
Diego’s threat to kill him was a new act of desperation. Blake figured his ex-husband must be losing his head. He ought to be. He should lose a lot more than just his mind for what he’d done to those guys.
He needed to do what he’d always done: protect himself.
“I’d like to file a restraining order, please,” he said to the woman who sat behind the desk chomping on a piece of gum. It was bright yellow, probably banana; he could see it swirling around in her mouth as her lips opened, crackled the gum, and then closed.
“One sec.” The officer looked him up and down, as if he was too big and too male to be filing a restraining order.
But he was. Maybe that was his own paranoia, but he had to do what his gut told him. And that was to fill out the paperwork.
She turned around and shouted, “Hey, Chauncey, what file is the abuse relief application under?” Her Staten Island accent was thick.
“Oh, boy,” he muttered. Hearing her say those words made his skin bump.
Another female detective approached. “Mornin’.”
Wide-hipped, she had a coffee in her hands. The way she carried herself told him this Chauncey was the go-to lady for most things around there.
“I need to file a restraining order.”
“Have you been hurt?” Chauncey stepped around and gave him a once-over.
“No. Not yet.”
“Is the person you’re seeking protection from a family member? Your brother or father?”
“My ex-husband.”
“Interesting.” The two women glanced at one another. “Was he arrested?”
“No. And he doesn’t have a record. Not that I know of…not yet, anyway.”
“Are you pressing charges against him?”
“We recently broke up. He’s dangerous. I need to make sure he stays away from me.”
Her head tilted to the side. “Sorry, but unless he’s physically come after you or hurt you we can’t file a restraining order with the courts.”
“So…I have to wait for him to do something to file this?”
She pressed her lips together then muttered, “Afraid so…”
“What if he kills me?”
“Call nine-one-one if he attacks you. Then we’ll file a report and the restraining order.” Chauncey didn’t seem fazed by the question.
Unbelievable!
“Thanks,” he said sarcastically, wishing he hadn’t deleted those darn texts from the night before. He would’ve showed them to her. Instead, he turned around and stormed out.
Would Diego try and hurt him?
Blake wasn’t sure. He gave him almost his entire life savings to go away. He had no idea what he’d spend it on. He hoped it would go to the guys he’d fucked over, as he’d heard a few had asked for money, but he doubted that. He wanted to help everyone Diego had wronged. Like them, he was innocent. Hell, he didn’t even know it had happened until a few months before. That was when his dreams of starting a family all came crashing down around him. They’d cancelled the adoption process and called their marriage quits.
All he could do was wait, see if one of them would come forward and tell.
He headed uptown to Brill, Inc. and twenty minutes later, he arrived at his office.
Taddy’s personal assistant, Kelly Ivy Kailyn Izatt, who Taddy had nicknamed Kiki, and his assistant, Duckie Capri, stood in the hallway as if waiting for trouble. Duckie’s appearance bestowed an all-knowing, all-gossiping, ‘I have shit on you, boo daddy’ face. And Kiki’s sweet, innocent Mormon grace, which became more corrupt the longer she lived in Manhattan, spoke, ‘Do tell, do tell’.
At twenty-two, Duckie was the youngest guy on the marketing team. On a good day, he stood at five-foot-ten with a tight bubble-butt and a young, round face, which he imagined most gay men dreamed about shooting their release over. He’d found his assistant while shopping at Barneys. A cosmetics queen behind the fragrance counter, his outgoing personality and recent degree from Pace University compelled Blake to offer him a job as his executive assistant.
The temptation to fuck him was also another factor. He’d dreamt of taking his assistant into his office, throwing him over his desk, and topping him. Married at the time, he never cheated. Plus, Duckie soon proved himself to be too annoying to screw. Looking back, he wasn’t the best executive assistant, either, and he remained gifted in stirring up drama.
“Good morning, boss.”
Duckie held the door wide with a Cheshire cat smile, making him suspicious.
He returned the greeting.
“Happy Monday, Mr. Morgan,” Kiki enforced as Duckie’s backup.
“Hello, Miss Izatt.” He headed for his desk and set his briefcase down. Blake hoped the two returned to their cubicles. He stared up at his assistant when the man stepped closer, leaning in the doorway. “Yes?” He nodded him in as she followed behind.
“I received a text late Saturday evening from my friend Bobby who’s been topping Jason who’s bottoming for Ernie who said that my boss—that being Y-O-U—visited Exhale Bliss Spa and got your cannoli cleaned.” Duckie smiled with a proud face for letting it rip in one breath.
Kiki giggled nervously and crossed her arms.
He wondered how long they’d waited to share their news. Seventy-two hours? Surprised their heads hadn’t combusted from having kept it in for so long, he held his breath, attempting not to make his reaction obvious. “How would your friend know this?”
“Ernie manscaped you.” Duckie and Kiki sat down in the chairs near his desk as if they were all in for a long, fascinating conversation.
“What exactly did Ernie say I had done?”
“Ernie reported your legs and chest were clipped, nuts shaved, and ass sugared.”
“And what if I did?” Blake sat across from his assistant. The large glass desk between them protected him from the vicious gay drama brewing. He didn’t like how comfortable the junior staff was making themselves when it came to personal matters.
“I want to go with you the next time, Mr. Morgan. I’m curious.” Kiki, who came from Utah and started at Brill, Inc. about two years before, was up to her tits in sex talk from the staff. But as far as he knew, she’d remained a virgin, though they were all waiting for her curiosity to get the best of her. It would soon enough.
His assistant reached across the desk, straightening out the papers before them. “I’m happy for you, boss. You’ve been unbearable since your divorce.”
“Have I really?”
“Painfully so.” Duckie nodded. “If you’re paving the road for traffic, does your spa service signify happy trails ahead?”
“Perhaps.” He appreciated the sincerity.
“I also heard...”
“What?” Blake couldn’t imagine anything else.
“This is where it gets good, Mr. Morgan.” Kiki sat on the seat’s edge as if she were getting read
y to pull back some fantastical curtain to a freak show. “Go on.”
“Ernie stated there was moaning coming from your treatment room. He also mentioned a special guest popped in…to massage you.” Duckie crossed his legs as if he’d planned on serving up the dish for a long time.
“I’m going to get your little friend Ernie fired for spreading rumors.”
His assistant tossed that morning’s Manhattanite Times on his desk. Inside, a two-sentence blurb read, “New York’s gay socialite Blake Morgan III returns to the single scene. According to Exhale Bliss Spa, he’s quaffed and raring to go.”
He gasped. “This is unbelievable. Why do they keep writing about me?”
“Ummm, next to Anderson Cooper and Andy Cohen, you’re the most established and cutest gay in town,” Duckie complimented and held a picture frame from his desk. It was a snapshot from a charity event with Taddy, Vive, and Lex. “You run with an elite group. Lex and Vive both make the papers week after week.”
“I’ve never thought of myself that way.”
His assistant stood, and Kiki rose to follow. “I’ve already taken four calls this morning from Perez Hilton’s camp on who they believe your tall, dark stranger is. They’re convinced he’s topping you.”
“First…I’ve never bottomed.” Blake grabbed the paper from his hands. He didn’t want it circulating; Taddy would have a field day. “Second, the mysterious man who came into the room is a dear friend. If his name is leaked out in the papers, he’d kill me.” Thoughts about Miguel coming after him for spa rumors scared him, but also turned him on.
Duckie leaned over his desk, shoving his young, hairless bird-chest in his face. “Ernie told me who he was…”
“Oh, no.”
“Our lips are shut tight, Mr. Morgan,” Kiki reassured him and added in a lower voice, “Manhattan knows Miguel Santana is a Latin closet-case whose family has ties to Mexican government officials who’d have us killed for talking.”
“Ernie identified Mr. Santana?” Blake’s stomach flipped. If Miguel knew, he might not speak to him ever again. Then again, his friend had come to the spa on his own accord. This really wasn’t any of his doing.
“I promise I won’t tell Taddy.” Kiki smiled. But who were they kidding? Taddy Brill was the mother hen. She knew everything about everyone at all times.