by DHP
Fox’s balls slapped against Kenny’s buns, snugged into them, and felt the sweat pouring out of the younger man. Fox reached up to tweak Kenny’s nipples and found those nubbins were already rubbery, stiff, and elongated. He pinched each of the mini-points in turn, and as he did, he surged up into Kenny’s ass with determined thrusts.
Kenny was panting like a steam locomotive on a steep grade. Fox’s balls tightened, preparing to deliver their load. With one last sharp thrust he plunged full and deep into Kenny, holding still as his balls discharged a heavy, thick mass. All his energy flowed out of him with that blast, but as he collapsed to the bed beside Kenny, he became aware of Kenny’s body still rocking back and forth in need.
Reaching to the side, Fox grabbed Kenny’s dick. He brought it to a boil almost instantly. Kenny yelped and began to come. For a small guy, he sure had a big load!
For the rest of the cruise, Kenny and Fox kept busy—both in and out of bed. Whatever calories they put on at all those shipboard meals, they worked off in bed. Whatever exercise they got in the onboard gym, it was nothing compared to the workouts they gave each other in Fox’s cabin. But in between all the sexual play, they got to know each other better, and the more they talked, the more Fox could see how much potential the relationship had. Kenny was intelligent, sensible, and grounded beyond his years. He had the zeal and enthusiasm of youth, yet he was surprisingly mature for his age. Fox didn’t feel at all like he was robbing the cradle.
By their third night out, Kenny had removed his clothing and other belongings from the stateroom he was supposed to be sharing with his former boyfriend and deposited them in Fox’s cabin instead. And by the time the cruise was over, Fox felt as if they were an old established couple.
Kenny made good on his talk about moving to Boston. And they celebrated Valentine’s Day the following year by taking the marriage vows instead of taking another cruise. “We can always take another cruise later on,” Fox said.
“But not a singles cruise. We’re a couple for good now,” Kenny said, snuggling up to his new husband.
“For life!” Fox affirmed, hugging him back.
STUPID CUPID
SUSAN E SCOTT
Brandon Devereaux was sitting on a bench in the park across from his condo enjoying the spring-like sunshine. It was one of those days you sometimes have in the Deep South in the middle of winter, warm and sunny with just a touch of chill in the air. It was the end of January and, apparently, the end of a cold snap, as they referred to it down south. Absent-mindedly rubbing his knee, Brandon hoped that this warm spell signaled the end of the cold weather. His knee still gave him fits when the weather was bad.
He had taken his dog, a Border Collie named Sam, for a walk, bought a cup of coffee and a paper at the coffee shop down the street, and now he was relaxing on a bench, Sam lying at his feet, looking out at the Gulf of Mexico. He caught a glimpse of red in the window of the coffee shop and grimaced. It was Valentine decorations--Valentine’s Day had to be the most useless of all holidays.
It wasn’t even real—it was a day made up by greeting card manufacturers, wasn’t it? He remembered once looking it up on-line. The real Saint Valentine was probably a man who was tortured and killed by the Romans on February fourteenth, and what that had to do with hearts and flowers was anybody’s guess.
Admittedly, he probably felt that way because he had never given nor ever received a Valentine in his life that he could recall. He’d never been in love before and was fairly certain that no one had ever been in love with him. Lust yes, but love no. Anyway, it was a stupid holiday in his opinion, and who else’s did he have to go by?
No, he’d be glad when all those pink and red hearts were gone and the good old Irish shamrocks and green beer came out. He even preferred Easter, with its bunny rabbits and candy eggs. Those he could get behind. He smiled to himself, thinking that he sounded like some grouchy old codger. He had become the Scrooge of Valentine’s Day. Bah, Humbug.
Brandon took a sip of his coffee and put it beside him on the bench. He had just opened his newspaper and was reading the advice column when something came crashing into him, specifically a body, which now, startling enough, resided in his lap. Shocked, he grabbed hold of said body to keep it from tumbling off his lap and onto the ground and saw that it was a handsome young guy, probably about nineteen or twenty. “What the hell?”
The young guy was looking up at Brandon as he scrambled to get up. “Oh, sir, I am so sorry. I think I must have tripped over your dog. Did I hurt you?”
Sir? Do he look that old that random guys on the street were calling him sir? He’d just turned thirty two days ago. “No, no, I’m fine.”
Getting up to his feet, the man stood in front of Brandon, wearing nylon gym shorts that showed off muscular thighs and, Brandon couldn’t help but notice, a nice package. It wasn’t that he meant to be staring at it, but it was, after all, right in front of his face.
“It looks like I destroyed your paper. I’ll buy you another one.”
Brandon tore his eyes away from the man’s crotch. “Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t that interesting anyway. It’s just a small-town newspaper, so nothing much happening.”
Brandon didn’t want to admit that he had been reading the advice column, even though it was his favorite part of the paper. Dear Jill, whoever she was, always cracked him up with her quirky advice. Since moving back home a month ago, he had come to look forward to the bi-weekly newspaper for that column alone. You just couldn’t get that stuff anywhere except a small-town paper, and a southern one at that.
“Isn’t that the truth? This place lends new dimensions to the word boring.”
“Pretty, though. Are you from here?” Brandon knew that he had never seen this guy before or he would have remembered him. He was about five feet, ten inches tall and lean, but muscular. Blond hair and blue eyes completed the young, Robert Redford-in-his-younger-days, movie star good looks. Brandon’s cock twitched, and he had to remind himself and his dick that young was the key word here.
“Oh, yeah. Born and bred.” The young guy stuck out his hand. “Jeremy Thompson.”
Brandon took his hand and shook it, feeling a connection right away. Jeremy must have felt it too because he gave Brandon an intense look. “Brandon Devereaux.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Uh, no, why would I be kidding?”
“You’re a local legend, man.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I played football in your alma mater—mine too--and the coach still talked about you, like you walked on water or something.”
“Are you talking about Coach Harris? Old Hard-ass Harris? Jesus, he must have been a hundred and fifty years old by the time you were in high school.”
“Close.” They both laughed. “Seriously, he thought that you were the best ball player that he ever coached and didn’t mind letting everybody know it. We heard all about your high school career, then college and the NFL.”
Brandon rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it was all gravy till I blew out my knee. That ended the illustrious career.” He was quiet for a minute, thinking of the pain, the surgery and the rehab. It had been a nightmare. Then, he smiled and looked over at Jeremy. “I bet you guys hated my guts.”
Jeremy laughed. “Pretty much.” He rolled his eyes and smiled at Brandon. “I thought that if I heard Brandon Devereaux one more time, I’d puke.”
Brandon laughed out loud at that, but wondered why Jeremy had blushed as if there was something else. “Is the coach still around?”
“No, he passed away about four years ago, right before you got injured. I remember thinking, when you got hurt that I was glad the coach wasn’t around to see that. He would have been devastated to think that you might never play again.”
Brandon gave Jeremy a penetrating stare. “How could you have played for the coach then?” You would have been too young to even be in high school, much less out
, when he died.”
Jeremy laughed. “Another one fooled by this baby face of mine. Everybody thinks that I’m about eighteen or nineteen, but I’m really twenty-four. I was already out of school when the coach passed away. I graduated from high school six years ago and got a degree in English with a minor in Journalism. I work at that paper you were trying to read when I crashed into you, but that’s just to pay the bills. What do you do?”
“I’m an architect,” Brandon said, trying to hide the rush of pleasure he felt on learning the man was legal. But not necessarily gay, he reminded himself. Could be just wishful thinking that he was giving Brandon some pretty intense glances.
“After my injury, I went back to school and studied architecture, which is what I was always interested in. I already had a major in physical education, but I didn’t want to coach or be a sportscaster, was never interested in doing either of those things, so, thanks to football and the good pay from the NFL, I was able to go back to school and get a degree in what I really wanted to do.”
“Cool. So, what are you doing back here?”
“Well, it’s home and, as a matter of fact, I’ve decided to remodel the old home place and live there. If you ever leave the gulf coast, you’ll realize fairly quickly how beautiful it is here in Mississippi, especially this area. Pass Christian is a beautiful little town, but you don’t appreciate it until you live in some of the bigger cities.”
“I wouldn’t know because I’ve always lived here. It just seems boring to me most of the time. Not much excitement here unless there’s a beauty pageant or a local resident wins big at the casino in Biloxi. Of course, New Orleans is close and there’s plenty of activity there.”
“You’re just taking it for granted. Look around you. Here we are in this beautiful park right on the beach, each one of us enjoying a warm spring-like day while up north somewhere they’re fighting a blizzard.”
Jeremy laughed. “You’re right. It is nice to be able to enjoy this weather in January and the Pass is a beautiful little town. It’s just that I think I need to experience other places, different dynamics to be able to write well. That’s my dream--to be a writer.” He stared at Brandon for a minute. “Gosh, I guess I’d better finish my run. I’m working this afternoon and tonight at the Yacht Club, covering a fancy wedding and reception for the paper.”
Brandon smiled. “You never know. Something interesting might happen there.” He didn’t mention that the fancy wedding was his cousin’s and that he’d be there.
“Not likely. The bride will float down the aisle in her white dress, vows will be exchanged, they’ll kiss and then the reception will begin. Good old Uncle Harry will get drunk and show his ass, while others in attendance will likewise get drunk and hook up with God knows who. Oh, and some unfortunate couple will be discovered by children who will run back into the reception and tell everyone what they saw.”
Brandon was laughing now. “Been to a few of these have you?”
“More than I care to remember and the bottom line is, I get no extra pay for this torture.”
“Well, you know what they say. Money isn’t everything.”
“Yeah, the people who are saying that are the ones who have money. In this case, it just might be the truth, though.”
Jeremy turned and looked back over his shoulder before running down the sidewalk. “Sex is pretty important, too.” With this little non sequitor, he waved his hand and called over his shoulder, “See you, Brandon. Nice meeting you.”
“Yeah, nice meeting you, too.” Brandon watched Jeremy’s ass till it was out of sight, and he had to admit that it was a nice view. He hadn’t had to use his gaydar in a while so was a little out of practice, but he could have sworn that he picked up some signals from Jeremy. Then, again, maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part. It had been a while since his last sexual encounter.
Brandon reached down and patted his dog’s head. “Come on, Sam, let’s go fix some breakfast.”
****
Jeremy ran toward his car, thinking about Brandon. He couldn’t believe that he had met him. Well, more than met him, literally fell into his lap, and there had definitely been a connection. He was also fairly sure that he could feel Brandon’s eyes on his ass till he was out of sight. He didn’t know how he knew, he just did.
All the way home, Jeremy thought about the man in whose lap he had landed forty minutes ago. Brandon fucking Devereaux. Football star, local boy made good, and the incredibly handsome man he’d had a crush on since he was about seventeen. That was when Brandon, rookie NFL star, had the courage to come out and admit that he was gay. That fact alone would have made him love Brandon, but his crush on Brandon had begun in high school.
Jeremy never actually went to school with Brandon, but the pictures of him that were in the trophy case and the gym from the school’s championship season were enough to inspire his intense lust for the handsome young man. Oh, yeah, Brandon had definitely been hot back then.
Well, shit, he still was. As a matter of fact, he was even hotter now, and Jeremy wouldn’t have thought that was possible. Brandon’s hair was black with little flecks of gray at the temples which had to be premature, because the man could only be about thirty. For some reason, Jeremy found it sexy as hell. And, speaking of sexy, his eyes were emerald green with long thick black lashes that women used mascara to attain. Then, there was his body. Brandon had muscular thighs which Jeremy made note of during the brief time he was in Brandon’s lap. Pushing himself up off Brandon, he felt strong, hard pecs and biceps. Oh, yeah, the man was the total package and just thinking about that body made Jeremy’s cock stiffen.
After a cold shower that had only left him merely colder, wetter but still horny, he made himself a sandwich, taking a seat at the table in his small apartment. Taking a bite of the sandwich, he picked up some envelopes addressed to Dear Jill at the paper’s address. Nobody in town knew that he was the Jill who administered sage advice on everything from stains on your carpet to what to do about a cheating boyfriend. While he ate, he read over a few of them, making notes on each one as to how to reply with what he hoped was a clever answer, while still giving good advice.
He kept reading through them and formulating his answers, so immersed in the task that he hadn’t even noticed the time. He glanced at the clock to see it was time to start getting ready to go to the Yacht Club. He always arrived early at these functions so he could get a headstart on describing the decorations and themes so that the bride and her mama would have it preserved for posterity in every tiny detail or, at least, until the divorce was final.
He laughed to himself as he slipped his suit jacket on. What an incurable romantic he was. The fact was that love just never seemed to work out for him. Maybe with Brandon he could let himself believe in love again. What the hell was he thinking? Brandon Devereaux wouldn’t look twice at him, but wait, he certainly had this morning. Jeremy had noticed him eyeing his crotch, and he knew, without a doubt, that he had watched his butt when he left.
Maybe, just maybe….No, that was lust, pure and simple, not any emotional connection. On the other hand, lust wasn’t such a bad thing. If you couldn’t have love, lust was the next best thing.
Love--why couldn’t he get that word out of his mind? Was it because it was something that he needed, or because of all those stupid hearts plastered on windows everywhere?
****
Arriving at the Yacht Club, Jeremy checked out the room where the ceremony was to take place. It was already fully decorated, so he walked around making notes on colors and flowers, so that now, all he needed was to describe the bride and her attendants and that part of this gala event could be remembered in detail.
Next, he moved into the large reception room and began making notes there on table centerpieces, live band for dancing as opposed to a DJ and any other details to complete the article for the paper. He had just finished and was walking out of the reception room as guests began to arrive.
Perfect timing. He’d just hang out here at the back of the room until all the guests were seated and take a seat at the back if there was one available. If not, he’d stand here at the back wall and try to be unobtrusive.
Jeremy was so focused on his own thoughts that he didn’t notice, for a minute, that there was a large man standing right next to him until he spoke.
“Hey, Jeremy, how’s it going?”
Jeremy jumped and looked up into sparkling green eyes. “God, Brandon, you scared the hell out of me. What are you doing here?” Looking down from those eyes, he noticed the tux. All kind of thoughts began racing through Jeremy’s brain. I thought he was gay. What if he isn’t? What if he’s bi? What if this is his wedding? Oh, God, please don’t let this be his wedding.
Brandon smiled and looked down at Jeremy. “The bride is my cousin and her fiancé an old fraternity brother of mine. As a matter of fact, I believe I was the one who introduced them. Anyway, I’m a groomsman in the wedding. I just happened to look in and see you standing back here, holding up the wall so thought I’d take a minute to speak to you.”
“Oh.” Feeling a sense of relief that was overpowering and unexpected, Jeremy couldn’t think of anything else to say--loss of vocabulary, great for a writer.
“It’s about time for the festivities to begin, so I’ll see you at the reception. You will be there, won’t you?”
“Yeah, sure. See you then.” More sparkling repartee. He just couldn’t be stopped.
****
The ceremony was short and sweet, and Brandon was happy when it was over. Now, all he had to endure were a few toasts, and it might be possible to make his escape. In Brandon’s opinion, these big formal weddings were a waste of everybody’s time and money. Given the choice, he’d rather spend his money on a lavish honeymoon on a beach in Bora Bora.
The only thing that had made this event worthwhile for him was seeing Jeremy. He didn’t understand the strong attraction he felt for the man, but it was definitely there. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this way about anyone else. It was like the old Star Trek reruns he watched as a kid, Jeremy seemed to have a tractor beam pulling Brandon toward him.