I knew the answer. Hooking up with guys back in England, I had met the Milo type before. Straight guys who fancied a bit of cock and arse never believing they were bisexual or gay; guys who happened to fuck other guys now and again. As if!
Tempted to head over to Nick’s, I talked myself out of it, realising it was the worst thing I could do right now. Invading Milo’s place of work would do me no favours, even if it was under the pretence of seeing the delightful Seth. I couldn't lead a guy on, even if he was shaggable.
There was only one thing I could do. Get on with it. I had mountains of coursework to catch up on, but no heart to do it. “Come on, Edward, give your head a shake.” Talking to myself again, a habit I tried to keep to a minimum.
“What say you?” Hilary suddenly popped her head around the door, assuming I was talking to her.
“Sorry, Hilary, chatting with myself.”
“Very good, Sir,” she replied, disappearing once more.
Many times, over the last week, I caught a look from her. She was unused to me being in the house when cleaning and knew something was wrong, but we weren’t at that stage where I felt comfortable unburdening myself.
Having wallowed enough in misery, I decided to get out of the house, go shopping, do something, anything to take my mind off Milo.
To get over him, I would find somebody else to occupy my time.
I reached for my phone. Google acting as my new best friend. I typed in Gay Bars Fort Worth and a list of establishments popped up. I looked at the time on my phone. Most of the listed bars had a happy hour so should be packed to the rafters.
A good old-fashioned hook up is what I need?
There were plenty of cowboys in need of a long, hot, ride, and my arse was the place to be. Having watched more than my share of porn, I could go with the fantasy, just.
Personally, I’d never be seen dead in cowboy attire, but the thought of an orgy style hammering; the cowboys wearing nothing but a hat, leather chaps, and a smile while I was tied into a sling had me rock hard and reaching for my meaty cock.
If I was expecting a hoe down with a randy cowboy fresh from the ranch, I was at the wrong bar.
Standing outside, it was apparent this was a trendier affair than I initially sought.
Floor to ceiling gleaming windows and a fancy neon sign told me what the clientele would consist of, and I wasn’t wrong.
But beggars couldn’t be choosers and, right now, I’d beg for any attention I could get.
Stepping inside, The Urban Cowboy Saloon missed one important part for my fantasy to become a reality: cowboys.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m certainly not spoilt for choice, but run of the mill pretty boys propping up the bar left me desiring nothing on the menu.
Milo mind fucked me to the point I thought of nothing else, and now I wanted a different kind of fuck. The hard and rough kind. The real thing, not a mental game. Was that too much to ask for?
I cast a quick look outside the bar. Not one horse parked up. What was I expecting?
Stepping back inside, the cleanliness appalled me. This ruined all the images in my mind of a gay cowboy bar; show bar for those who don’t know how to get down and dirty. There wasn’t so much as a fleck of sawdust anywhere. Gleaming floors, a clean bar, and flashing neon signs shattered the fantasy I’d built up in my mind. To my absolute horror, the wall to wall video screens displayed the latest episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race. A crowd of young gay guys sat entranced, zombie-fied by the almighty Ru and her drag minions.
An aroma, not expected, offended my nostrils. It took seconds to register the stench was—cigarette smoke.
Now, I objected to any establishment foolish enough to allow this filthy, anti-social habit. If others wanted to partake, go for it, but I refused soiling my lungs and clogging them up with nicotine and tar.
I saved my filthiest look for a handsome, tattooed, dark-haired guy standing in the corner blowing plumes of smoke across the room. He clocked me, obviously liking what he saw and cast a flirty smirk my way. Cue another plume of smoke.
Not without a toothbrush and breath mints.
I shot him a glare of disdain, thinking of yellowed fingers, foul breath, and stinky clothes. My mood matched the unwarranted tobacco haze.
He sauntered my way.
“Howdy.”
“Hello.”
“I’m Cody.”
“That’s nice,” I replied.
He stilled, momentarily thrown, expecting a normal flow in conversation.
My eyes focused on the cigarette in his hand, smoke blowing my way.
“What’s yer name?”
His use of slang ground my nerves. “Edward.”
“Y’all a Brit?”
“No, I am English.” Go away, irritant.
“Whatever. Hot accent.”
“I know.” I was giving it to him both barrels, but my aloofness did nothing to push him away as I hoped it would.
“Not seen you in here before.”
“It’s not really my local pub.”
He chuckled in amusement. “Not surprised, a Brit and all.”
Brit, ugh. I didn’t bother correcting him. What would be the point? Uneducated oaf. “It’s not my kind of place to be honest, Jody.”
“Cody.”
“Huh?” I knew his name.
“Name’s Cody, not Jody.”
“Whoops, sorry.”
“Your accent’s sweet as honey.” He leaned in as I pulled back. His breath reeked of cigarettes.
“Can I interest you in a chewie?”
“A what?” Confusion laced his brow.
I pulled a packet of Juicy Fruit from my pocket and offered him one. “Chewing gum, sorry.”
“Thanks, man.” After one final drag, he stubbed the cancer stick out into an ashtray on the table closest to us, then popped the stick of chewing gum into his mouth. “So, what’r doin’ in Fort Worth?”
“I am studying here.”
“Cool. Enjoyin’ yourself?”
“Not so far, no.”
Cody refused the brush off. He appeared fond of hard work. I would have given up long before now. Maybe he hadn’t had it in a while—not too surprising.
“You fancy some fun?”
Ah, direct, good! “Depends what kind of fun you’re offering.” He bored me, but a fuck was a fuck. He reached for my hand and placed it on the bulge in his tight jeans. “Why don’t you ask him?”
“I’ve felt bigger.”
“Oh, he grows much bigger than that, trust me.”
I moved my hand away as my cock woke from its coma. “Do you have anywhere we can go?”
“What about the bathroom.”
“In here?” The gall of this ingrate. “Won’t we get caught?”
“Who cares man? We might even find a third to join us.”
“Oh, I don’t think that is a good idea. Can we go back to your place?”
“My husband will be home.”
I looked down at his ring finger. No ring, although in this day and age, that meant nothing. His revelation, albeit an honest one, was a game changer.
I loved sex as much as the next guy, but my moral compass firmly fixed, I refused to fuck about with a married guy, no matter how much my body craved it. “Does your husband know you screw around behind his back?”
“We have an open relationship. He does his thing, and I do mine.”
I should ask why bother getting married in the first place, but that’s none of my business. Truth or fiction, I couldn’t do it. “I think I’ll leave it, but thanks.”
“Come on, you don’t know what you’re missing.”
“I just felt it, remember? I think I do, but I don’t do married guys, open relationships or not.”
“Y’all Brits tight asses?”
“If you mean, do all English people have morals, sadly not, but I do.”
“I’ll make it worth your while.”
I knew what was coming.
“You st
udents struggle to pay the bills. I’ll make it worth your while.”
I laughed in his face and made sure to raise my voice with my parting shot. “You couldn’t afford me, dick head...”
I turned and walked away, leaving him open mouthed and still rock hard. Standing at the bar, I felt all eyes focused upon me. “Fresh meat here,” I called out. “Who wants to buy me a drink?” I watched as Cody charged out of the bar.
“You’ve got some balls,” the attractive, athletic framed bartender said in his deep Texan drawl. He slid a beer across the bar. Coyote Ugly flashed through my mind, but the chances of me hopping on the bar, setting it aflame, and line dancing were slim to none. Beer wouldn’t be my first choice, but this was gratis and delivered with the cutest of smiles. His dimpled chin adorable and green eyes inviting me into his world. I peered over the bar at his impressive muscular thighs. Tight jeans, big belt buckle, and cowboy boots all checked marked present and correct. He wore it well. “Massive,” I joked. “Would you like to see them?”
“Yep.” He flashed another smile. I noted the perfectly straight white teeth, pleased they weren’t nicotine stained. “I get off in an hour if you wanna wait.”
“Will whatever you are offering be worth the wait?” I leaned over the bar and focused on his crotch.
He adjusted what he was packing. “You tell me?”
“It will be interesting to find out.” I re-took my seat. “So, where are you taking me when you finish in an hour?”
“Back to my place, if you’re up for it?”
“I don’t even know your name.”
“I’m Logan, and you are?”
Mmm, Logan. “Edward Baines-Tennant.” I held out my hand, unsure why I provided my full name.
He took hold. His big, manly hands noted. They’d feel good caressing my naked body. “Good to meet ya, Edward.”
“Charmed, I’m sure.”
Another customer caught his attention. “Gotta go, but gimme a shout if you want anything else.” The next hour dragged, but I amused myself in other ways.
Every time Logan bent over for this or that, a sneak peek of his bum crack greeted my meandering eyes. My pornographic mind shifted into overdrive as I imagined burying my tongue between his pert cheeks.
“Another drink before we head off?”
“How about we take some back to your place?” I was itching to sample his goods, desperate for a reprieve from my torturous thoughts. Every ounce of pent up anger, hurt, and confusion struggled to break free. Losing myself in the arms of this Texan stud would put me back on the straight and narrow.
To get over one, move onto the next. Wasn’t that how the game of love was played? I wasn’t sure having never found myself in a long term relationship, partly because the idea of sex with the same man for the rest of my life was extremely off-putting, but being only twenty-one, settling down should be on the cards years from now, or so I thought. Repugnant as the idea had been in the past, Milo Garcia buried himself deep into every fibre of my being, swaying what I thought I wanted. He offered me a glimmer of hope then cruelly snatched it away.
“Good idea, Ed.”
I ignored the faux pas over my name, for now.
After a pit stop at the liquor store, I sat in Logan’s truck as nerves kicked in. King of the one-night stand belonged to me, and I couldn’t understand why I worried? Was Logan too hot? Was there any such thing? Maybe!
I had no intention of backing out of whatever happened.
“Have you worked in the bar long?”
“Coupla years.”
“Do you like it?”
“Pays the bills.”
“You must make a lot, tip wise I mean.”
“Not too bad.” The ridiculously sized hat plonked on his head as soon as he exited the bar. The full cowboy mode piqued my interest. I had to admit, he looked damn good. I’d give him a tip he would never forget. I rested my hand on his thigh.
“I can’t wait to bury my dick in your ass.” He never took his eyes off the road. “I’ve never fucked a British boy before.”
His assumption I slept on the bottom bunk took me by surprise. Not that I hadn’t, but it depended on my mood. Luckily for him, I would assume his preferred position, but only out of choice, not demand.
Ten minutes later, Logan pushed me inside his apartment door.
Our kiss was desperate, frantic, masculine. His stubble scratched my freshly shaved face. Briefly, I took hold of his bottom lip in between my teeth, wrapped my arms around him, and pulled him closer. His warm, hard body pressed against mine, excited me all the more. He obviously worked out. I could only imagine how good he would look naked.
“You’re so fucking sexy, Ed.”
I struggled to get my words out.
Logan responded with a deeper, longer lasting kiss, and to my utter disbelief, my libido upped and left the room. Realising this was the last place I wanted to be, I froze, feeling shitty because I was about to do to Logan what Milo had done to me.
Logan eyeballed me. The change in my body language apparent. “Are you okay, man?”
“I’m so sorry, but I can’t do this.”
He took a step back, a little alarmed by my change of heart. “Something I did?”
The oldest line in the book slipped between my lips, “It’s not you, it’s me.”
To my relief, Logan appeared good natured about it. “Oh, fuck,” he laughed. “I’ve heard it all now.”
“No, no, it really is me.” I owed him an explanation. “I'm into another guy, and it’s complicated.” I felt sick. My palms turned clammy, sweat formed on my brow, and my breathing now more erratic, I could feel a panic attack coming on.
He spotted the signs and led me to the sofa. “It’s cool. Sit and relax while I get you something to drink.”
I noticed how bright, spacious, and modern his apartment was. Logan took pride in himself and his surroundings.
He returned a minute later and handed me a bottle of cold water. I opened it and took a big gulp.
“I’m so sorry, Logan. I wasn’t leading you on, I swear it.”
“You must like this dude more than a little, huh?”
“I do, but he’s sending me all sorts of mixed signals.”
“That’s the worst, man.”
“My head is wrecked.”
“There you go again with your cute British sayings.”
“I’m so pissed off with myself because I really want to, go to bed with you, I mean.”
“Tell me about it.” He adjusted himself.
He was still hard. I considered giving him a blow job, as a consolation prize, but couldn’t bring myself to do that either. “Shit, now I feel worse.” I held my head in my hands. “I thought swapping Cambridge for Texas would be the answer to my prayers.”
“How?” He took a seat next to me. Close but not too close. “There isn’t much going on here for gay guys, trust me.”
“This place was supposed to take me away from my overbearing family and responsibilities.”
“And it hasn’t worked out that way?”
“I’ve had such a shit time since arriving in Texas. New place, new people, I can’t get my bearings, then throw Milo Garcia into the mix, and everything goes tits up.”
“Milo Garcia?”
“Oh, God, don’t tell me you know him?” I took a deep breath. My head felt like it was ready to explode.
“Funnily enough, if it’s the same dude, he did some work on my truck. Works at Nick’s. Tallish guy, black hair, muscled in all the right places, porn star good looks but a bit of a chip on his shoulder?”
“Erm…”
“I had a bit of a thing with a guy named Seth, you know him, too?”
“Yes, that’s him, and yes I’ve met Seth, but you can’t say anything about Milo to anybody.” I regretted saying anything now.
“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. As for Milo, I got no gay vibe, and I met him a few times.”
“I don’t think he
knows what he wants to be honest, but I kept a respectable distance, then something happened, and he’s blanked me since.”
“Typical closeted behaviour. It’s not you, Ed, it’s him.”
Then it was my turn to laugh. I didn’t even mind him calling me Ed.
“Whoever is to blame, I have to give my head a shake and get over him.”
“Let me give you a word of friendly advice, and take this from somebody who’s had his heart stamped on big time by a guy just like your Milo Garcia.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what he had to say. I felt bruised, out of sorts, ready to retreat into my own little world, bolt the door and have Hilary deliver me food parcels as and when required. “Go on.”
“This Milo guy might like you but until he accepts what he is, no way is he gonna consider your feelings. It’s gonna be about him. It won’t be his intention, but you’re gonna get dragged along for the ride whether you like it or not.”
“Do you think so?”
“I know so.”
“I’m sorry for loading this onto your shoulders.”
“Don’t be. I learned the hard way but take it from me, give this dude space, or he’ll fuck you up.”
“You’re right.” Shit, shit, shit. I think I might’ve met the most amazing person in Logan, but I’m hung up on another who doesn’t give two shits about me. “I’m my own worst enemy.”
“You’re a sweet guy, hawt as fuck too, but it says something about your character that you didn’t string me along. Not many gays round here fess up like you did.”
“I wish I felt differently because you’re, hmm...” What was the point? I took another drink of the bottled water.
“Well, if you ever do, you know where to find me.”
I felt a little better. “I should go home.”
“Let me drive you.”
“It’s across the other side of town. I’ll Uber it.”
“My mama raised a gentleman—I’m driving you home.”
Logan stood before me practically perfect. Damn you, Milo. “Do you know where Kissing Hills is?”
“I think so.” He typed into his mobile phone. “Shit, you actually live there?”
“Yes, I do.”
Shattered Beliefs Page 8