by Max Walker
I couldn’t take it. I had to feel his skin on mine, his heat with mine, his cock against mine.
I broke from the kiss and began tossing off my clothes, starting with my shirt. Beckham followed my lead and unzipped his jeans, dropping them down to his ankles and kicking them off. He was wearing the sexiest pair of bright red briefs I’d ever seen. He was already so hard, and his cock so big that half of it was hanging out from the side of his leg, dripping down a clear smear of precome onto his thigh.
I was hypnotized. I hadn’t even taken off my pants yet, but I just had to have a taste. I needed it.
I dropped back down to my knees and licked Beckham’s wet thigh, instantly tasting his salty sweet taste in my mouth. My tongue flicked over his still-leaking slit, his taste filling my every senses and causing a mass of fireworks to go off inside my chest.
With my hunger only growing more intense, I sucked on Beckham’s head, massaging his shaft through the thin fabric of his briefs, milking more of him onto my tongue. He groaned as I sucked, flicking my tongue over his sensitive slit, lapping up everything he gave me and wanting more.
So much more.
I had to get rid of the briefs, as sexy as they were. I tugged on the waistband and pulled them over Beckham’s hard dick, releasing him so that I could fully admire the man who stood before me, his cock jutting out into the air, his full balls hanging and tempting me. I licked again at his slit, taking the drops that were still coming.
And then I took him into my mouth, more than just his head. I wrapped my lips around him and felt complete.
“Fuuuuck, Olly.”
I worked him hard, up and down, jerking off whatever I couldn’t fit into my mouth, getting him soaking wet. I didn’t hold back. I wanted him to know how fucking bad I wanted him. How bad my body wanted him. I sucked his cock like my life depended on it, saliva dripping down his balls. I didn’t care how messy I got. I didn’t care about the noises I was making or the tears that were beginning to run down my face as I tried stuffing his entire size down my throat.
I didn’t care about anything except for Beckham and his pleasure.
He started to thrust. He forced his cock deeper down my throat. I worked to fit him, gagging, feeling him stretch my limits. Wanting him to push even further. My dick throbbed. I finished tugging off my pants and dropped my jockstrap, not even caring how cute I had looked in them. I just wanted them off.
Beckham was still thrusting. I could almost get down to the tuft of hair at his base, my nose barely touching it before I’d have to bob back up, then back down, up and down, one hand holding his heavy balls, swirling them as he fucked my throat.
He guided my hand back and let his cock fall from my lips. I looked up at him and licked my wet lips, tasting him all over, an uncontrollable smile growing on my face. “Come here, you sexy fucker.” Beckham’s voice had a tone I didn’t recognize. It burned as hot as an exploding sun and set my pulse racing. I felt it at the base of my spine.
He bent down and grabbed me underneath my armpits. He lifted me and spun around so that he could throw me down onto the bed. I bounced and yelped, my entire body feeling like a firecracker, the fuse having been little, a colorful explosion only a matter of time.
“Touch yourself for me.” His voice still burned hot, and now his eyes took on the same quality.
I listened, my hand gliding over my taut stomach, down to my stiff cock. I rubbed, holding my shaft in my hand and jerking, thumbing over the slit, lifting my thumb so he could see how wet and sticky he made me.
Beckham stood at the foot of his bed, his gaze setting me on fire.
He was so goddamn sexy. The kind of sexy that made my brain malfunction and my dick the boss. He was all man, and all mine. My eyes trailed the slopes of his muscular shoulders, over the strong chest covered in a light layer of silver hair, the same peppered color as his head. His nipples were pebbled, my tongue involuntarily wetting my lips as my eyes dropped lower, down his treasure trail, stopping on his rock-hard, hooded cock. His slit leaked as he pumped himself while watching me.
“You want this, baby?” he asked.
All I could do was moan and keep stroking myself.
“Tell me how bad you want this, baby.”
His eyes were drilling through me. He spit into his hand and returned it to his cock.
“So fucking bad, Beckham.”
“Show me.” His voice was a low growl. “Get on your hands and knees. Crawl over here.”
My blood was on fire. My balls ached with a pressure I didn’t think I could withstand. I did as I was told, rolling over and onto my fours. I looked up at the man who could undo me with a touch alone.
“Come.”
I listened and crawled across the bed toward him.
“Fuccck,” he hissed as his cock leaked a clear rope down onto my tongue. It tasted of sex and man, and I wanted more. So much more.
I started at his balls first, kissing and licking and sniffing, burying my nose into the crook of his thigh, filling myself with his intoxicating scent.
I looked up at Beckham as I slipped his head between my lips. His eyes rolled back, and his words were jumbled. A fresh ocean breeze blew in through the open window, rustling the curtain, almost as if Mother Earth herself was telling me to cool down.
Sorry, Mama, this is only getting hotter.
And then, as if to prove my point, Beckham spit in his hand again, but instead of bringing it down to his already soaked cock, he placed his hand on my ass, his fingers sliding between my crack. There was a wet kind of pressure against my hole as he pushed his finger inside, teasing me with just the tip.
Now it was my turn to spew out words that didn’t make sense. Beckham’s wet fingers swirled around my sensitive hole, his hand spreading me open wider while I kept sucking.
Beckham’s finger slipped inside, and all bets were instantly off. I moaned loud around his cock as he probed me, his finger sliding deeper, my back arching harder, my body crying out for more. I knew there’d be a puddle from how much I’d leaked onto the bedsheets underneath me. Beckham curled his finger, pushing at parts of me that had me seeing entire galaxies.
He pulled his finger out, leaving me with a desperate want to have him back in me.
“Turn around,” he said. “I want to see your ass.
Again, I listened, my heart beating like a drum inside my ears. I turned for him, just like he said. I was completely naked, on all fours with my ass to the man who knocked my world off its axis, and I was hanging off his every word.
“Spread your ass apart.”
I did. My heart skipped a beat.
“Spread, yeah, just like that.”
His tone was sending me on a spiral. It was the kind of tone that could stop an army in its tracks and make them all orgasm at the same time.
“Now rub a finger over that sexy hole.”
Again, I did as he asked. I opened myself to him, in a way I hadn’t with any other man I’d been with, and I fingered myself for him. He moaned as I opened wider and slipped in deeper, already wet from his spit and needy from his sex. Beckham moaned again. He spit in his hand, the sound making me shiver.
I moved my hand, sinking my finger in past the knuckle, the need suddenly howling through me. A need to have my finger replaced with Beckham.
I could hear him jerking off, the slick sounds of wet skin on skin filling the room, mixing with his moans as I started to finger myself harder, spurred on by the sounds of Beckham pleasuring himself while watching me.
“That’s it, baby.” His voice, still a growl, settled deep down in my gut. “Play with your hole. That’s it.”
No. No, it’s still not enough.
“Fuck me, Beckham. Please. Give it to me.”
“That’s it. I want to hear it again, Oliver. Tell me you want it.”
“I want it. Please.”
I’d never begged for sex before, but here I was, my hole twitching and my entire body begging for it. I pushed my ass back in t
he air, opening myself wider for him, slipping another finger into my hole. I gasped, my cock twitching in the air.
I heard Beckham open the condom wrapper. Moments later, he grabbed my wrist and pulled my fingers out from my hole. I moaned, feeling my fingers being replaced by the thick head of his cock. He squirted some lube, his fingers sliding over my hole.
“Oh, Beck, that’s it.” I pushed back, slowly. His cock parted my cheeks and slipped past the tight ring of muscle. I gasped loud as he pushed in deeper, stretching me in a way fingers never could. I had wanted it so bad, there wasn’t any of the discomfort I sometimes felt at first. And even though Beckham had one of the biggest dicks I’d ever seen, I felt ready to take it all inside me.
He was tender, though. He teased me, sinking himself halfway and then pulling back, driving me totally crazy.
“Do you want my cock, Oliver? Huh?”
I moaned an answer, unable to form solid words.
“Is that a yes?”
Beckham, as if punctuating his sentence with a fuck, drove into me, filling me with his cock and pulling a cry of pure pleasure out of my throat.
I groaned, my fingers gripping onto the bedsheet, ripping it off the mattress.
“Yes, yes, yes.” I said the word with every fuck. Beckham started to slam into me, fucking me so hard that the headboard was banging against the wall and chipping some of the paint.
I didn’t give a fuck. I dropped my head and cried out, feeling my body light up like fucking Times Square at midnight. Beckham’s balls slapped against me as he fucked me, his hands digging into my hips. He moved one hand and put it between my shoulder blades. He pushed down. My face fell into the pillow, my ass arched higher into the air.
And he continued to fuck me, hard and fast, beyond passionate. I continued to shout into the pillow, a shock of pure pleasure coursing through me with every thrust. I could practically feel the shape of him inside me, hitting me deep. I wanted it to last forever. I wanted us to be one for the rest of time.
I couldn’t even warn him that I was about to come. My body exploded and unraveled. I lifted my ass and spasmed as Beckham continued to fuck the come out of me, every deep thrust pushing more out. My ass twitched around him with every orgasm wave, massaging him.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come.”
Beckham gave one hard thrust, burying himself deep inside me, and he blew, filling the condom, his cries telling me that his orgasm was tearing through him with the same force that mine had.
We both continued to twitch as Beckham pulled out of me. He took off the condom, tied it off, and tossed it into the trash. My breathing was ragged, my entire body feeling like I’d just completed a triathlon. My muscles were crying out for sleep while my heart was crying out for cuddles.
Beckham and I kissed the moment he got back into bed. We both wore drunken smiles, our eyes a little glossed over from the moment. “Sorry I made a mess out of your bedsheets,” I said, avoiding the puddle of come.
“It was worth it.” Beckham kissed me again, his tongue playfully flicking my top lip. “Come, let’s get washed up and I’ll change these sheets.”
“I honestly don’t think I can move, Beck. Not for another week, at the very least.”
Beckham laughed at that, his lips still against mine, his breath mixing with mine. “I don’t mind carrying you everywhere.”
“Hmm, I’m not sure what would be more suspicious: me walking like I have a pole permanently stuck up my ass or you carrying me around like some kind of adult baby.”
More easy laughter. More tender kisses.
Beckham, who was able to stand up just fine, got up to start the shower. I rolled on the bed, groaning, not wanting to move a single muscle. Somehow, I ended up with my head hanging off the bed, the rest of my body slowly sliding off.
Before I fell and got a head injury (and I swear, if I tragically forgot the absolute best sex of my life because of that, then just take me out back and put me out of my misery), I put my hands on the floor and moved to get up.
That’s when something caught my attention. It was a piece of paper peeking out from between two shoeboxes abandoned underneath Beckham’s bed.
No, it wasn’t just a piece of paper.
“Hey, Beckham?”
“Huh?” he shouted over the sound of the shower.
“Um, come here. Quick!”
It wasn’t just a piece of paper under Beckham’s bed.
It was an envelope.
21 Beckham Noble
My hands shook. Not noticeably, but I felt them tremble as I held the envelope in my hand. The night air fresh on my skin, cicadas sang from a nearby bush. All I really wanted to do in that moment was take Oliver back to bed and hold him until we both fell asleep. My body was spent in the best way possible, and I just wanted to enjoy the night with the man of my dreams.
Instead, we were sitting in my backyard wearing only our underwear, staring down at a letter that could change a lot of things for me.
“What’s in here,” I said, speaking my thoughts out loud.
Oliver shrugged. “You gotta open it to find out. Unless you’ve got some secret X-ray powers that you aren’t telling me about.”
I gave him a cheeky wink. “Why do you think I was so attracted to you right off the bat?” I dropped my eyes to his crotch. Oliver chuckled. On the other side of my fence, someone was walking their dog, the pup sniffing and scratching at something, its snout peeking in under my fence.
“All right.” I stuck a finger under the envelope’s seal. There were a couple of scratches at the corner of the envelope. We figured that either Mason or Jar must have found it in my room and started playing with it under the bed, where it somehow got jammed between two shoeboxes.
The sound of paper tearing filled the night air, mixing with the loud sounds of cicadas. I was sure my heartbeat could be heard in the chorus. Oliver didn’t mention my nerves as he watched, sitting on the edge of his seat. He looked up to me and realized I had paused.
“Sorry, what am I thinking. You should be doing this by yourself. I’ll leave.”
“No, what? Absolutely not. I was actually thinking about how grateful I am that you’re here right now.”
He smiled at that. His hand came to rest on my knee, his thumb making small circles. “You sure?”
I nodded and returned my attention back to the burning letter in my hand. I finished ripping open the seal and pulled out the letter. It was a single folded page. I took the thick piece of paper out and unfolded it, the envelope falling off my lap and slowly drifting to the concrete below.
The first line of the letter hit me hard in the gut.
“Becks.”
I said the old nickname out loud. A cry got caught in my throat, surprising me. The only person who ever called me that was my father, and the last time I’d heard it from him was before he found out I was gay. Before he kicked me out to the streets like some kind of broken television set, just junk to take up the side of the street before someone else took care of it.
So why was I about to cry? I should have been seething with anger. I should have ripped this cursed thing in half and thrown it down the trash compactor.
And yet, the anger that had taken residence in my chest wasn’t strong enough to overcome the profound sadness I felt reading my father’s words, especially since we were past any point of repairing our relationship.
Oliver’s hand squeezed. His support was an unshakeable foundation. I looked into his bright eyes and found the strength I needed to keep reading. I read the letter out loud, knowing it would be one of the few ways I could actually get the words to sink in.
“Becks, I’m so sorry this is how I’m leaving you. I’m dictating this letter as I lie here in a hospital bed, too weak to even feed myself. I was only able to write your name on the envelope before I had to stop. I wanted to speak to you in person. To apologize in person. To hug my son again. But life had other plans.”
I took a pause, breathing air into my lu
ngs, feeling as if I was about to float off the surface of this planet. Oliver, once again, grounded me with his presence.
I continued. “I’ve been diagnosed with stage four brain cancer, Becks. I would have called and asked you to fly here, but I’m scared you wouldn’t. I’m scared I’d lose all chance of explaining myself to you. Of apologizing. Because I need to apologize, Becks. I made a mistake. I pushed you away out of fear. My own son. A piece of me in this world, and I treated you like a piece of gum. I can never take that back. I’m so sorry.”
My father’s words took a deep slice out of my heart. I had to pause, this one longer than the last. Oliver let me sit in silence but always kept his hand on my leg, letting me know he was there. This was as difficult as I thought it would be.
Why couldn’t we have talked about this when you were alive?
Why?
After another deep breath, I continued, having to wipe at my eyes so that I could see the scratchy letters that were trying to swim away from me.
“I’m sorry because I’m gay myself, and that fear of what lay inside me, of the lies I was telling daily, that was what caused me to fight.”
I had to stand up. Oliver grabbed the letter, which had fallen from my hand.
“Bloody hell.”
“Did he… did your dad say he was gay?”
“Bloody fuckin’ hell.”
I felt nauseous. I walked a small circle around my backyard. He must have been feeling so much self-inflicted pain. And he inflicted so much pain on me. On my mother. On our entire family. And he waited until now to tell me? My fists balled up. My breaths were short, ragged.
“Beck, sit, come and talk.”
I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to sit. I didn’t want to keep reading. What I wanted was to travel back in time and smack my father over the head for being such an idiot. If he had just come out sooner, if he had just stopped the lies, if he had just—
No. There was no use going down that path. He had made his choices, and we all had to live with them.
I sat back down, my breaths still coming in quick, oxygen slamming into my lungs. Oliver’s hand rested on mine. He held it, squeezed. I looked into his eyes and found a well of strength. I drank it in. My father’s story may have been written and closed, but mine was still in the making, and this was only a tiny piece.