Taking Lead

by Dallas Redford

  And there, nestled under a thatch of brown hair is his…. Well, damn, Mr. Clay.

  It’s not even hard, but it’s thick and pendulous. It passes his mid-thigh. It looks touchable. It’s like I can sense it in my fingertips. I’m mesmerized, my blood like an ocean in my ears, lust coursing through my veins.

  I’m so caught up that I don’t realize the water stopped sounding minutes ago.

  It’s not until the door to the bathroom cracks open that I’m jolted from my fantasies.

  A gust of steam rolls into the room as Mr. Clay steps out with a towel gripping his waist. His eyes narrow on me, as his forehead draws into a frown.

  6

  Chapter 6

  I throw his phone. We both watch as it lands on the bed.

  “What’d you do, you little punk?” He’s laughing as he lunges for his device.

  Luckily, I lunge for it, too, and somehow, I manage to land on top of the phone.

  But then Mr. Clay lands on top of me. And I realize that this situation has gone from bad to worse. He rolls off me and we’re wrestling. The whole time, I’m hoping he won’t feel what’s happening down below in my shorts because now that he’s touching me, now that his hands are on me, I know just how bad of an idea it was for me to leap onto this bed.

  He’s laughing, grunting and struggling to pull me up to get at his phone.

  I’m laughing, too. I’m squirming underneath him. I can feel his breath in my against the side of my face, warm and mint-fresh from his time in the bathroom. The press of his hard chest against my back. His strong arms enfold me, his big hands maneuver me. His body is still moist. His muscular legs squeeze me. Every nerve of my body is reborn as I take in every sensation. His warmth, his strength, the fresh clean citrus of his shampoo, the tonic herbaceousness of his sandalwood soap.

  At some point, his towel flips open. I feel his long heavy dick warming my bare knee. I’m so shocked that I don’t know what to do then. The towel comes off of him. I lose focus and the phone, which is in my hand, falls free. He grabs it, hops up off the bed away from me. He stands there, chest heaving and naked.

  My eyes are parched and his body is water. I run them across his frame, drinking him in. All muscle. Perfect skin. Body, a forest of manly hair. It’s even better in real life. Fuck the photos. And fuck any hope I had of not getting hard.

  I lick my lips and swallow hard, aware of the circus tricks my cock is doing below. It’s like I don’t even care anymore. I mark the inhales and exhales pulling at his taut belly. Right now, desire is pulsing through me. I want nothing more than to touch him. I long to put my hand on his skin, trace my fingers along every masculine edge.

  His arm muscles twitch as his fingers move across his phone screen. I let my eyes linger on the pale vein that runs along his curved bicep. He hasn’t reached for his towel. And it’s killing me.

  I’m sure it’s not on purpose. Why should he have to cover up?

  We’re just two guys, after all.

  Right? I feel like my throat is going to close if I don’t get up and leave right now.

  I also know that he can’t be feeling what I’m feeling. Turned on like this. It’s not even like he would let his mind go there. I’m just some stupid kid…

  My heart is beating like it’s trying to exit my chest.

  I feel like a traitor as I slide off the bed to the floor, trying to keep my eyes off that part of him. The part of him he hasn’t covered up.

  The part I want to see more than anything, the part I refuse to look at.

  How can I make an exit?

  I almost jump out of my skin when my own phone buzzes. Fuck. Dried coconut. How long have I been here? I forgot that my mom was waiting on me. I look at the screen. It’s not my mom. It’s Jordan confirming that he’s ditched me for his other friends. A second text comes through. It’s a lame attempt to make plans for tomorrow that he’ll probably ditch as well.

  If only he knew that I was in his dad’s bedroom while his old man stood inches away from me naked. That I was fighting to control the urge to touch him.

  “You were reading my dirty messages, weren’t you?” Davis says.

  “No.” I feel my face flame. “No,” I repeat. I try to laugh. The sound that comes out is nervous and light. I don’t even sound like myself.

  Is this when he kicks me out of his house for being a pervert? Calls my dad? Forbids Jordan to see me?

  He begs, “Come on, I can’t tell what you did. You know I’m old. Is that it? That’s the only thing that’s open.”

  With relief, I hear the humor in his voice. Is it possible he can’t see how weird I’ve been around him lately? He’s not mad and that should put me at ease. But, I’m more nervous than ever before.

  His eyes flit across his screen as he texts furiously. It must be Cindy, I think. Something annoys me when I think her name. I wonder what dirty things he’s saying to her. He should send those messages to me. Where did that come from? A little bit of terror hits me when the thought enters my head. But it’s true. It’s intimacy that I crave from him. The closeness that gives me that warm feeling.

  Gotta keep it light.

  I say, “You know you shouldn’t be sending dirty messages like that at your age.” It’s me giving up the gag but it’s also what I would normally say. If I wasn’t fighting this, this attraction to this man that I’ve known all my life. These new feelings that mean that one look at him transforms my cock into a steel spike. Yeah, I got to keep it silly. This is what we do. Me and Mr. Clay joke all the time. We laugh. We don’t take anything too seriously.

  Like how we shifted on the sofa that time last month when we were watching that movie and it came to that sex scene. Or how we don’t always jump away when our bodies accidentally collide on the court. Sometimes he hooks his sweaty arm around my neck. There are the car rides we take, trucking along, quiet but for the wind ripping through his truck and the classic rock he can’t seem to get enough of…

  He grunts and pats his dick. My eyes lock on it, fat and drooping from the heat. “Gotta do something to keep him happy. I can’t just walk around with my balls full all the time like you. That’s a recipe for blue balls.”

  I laugh, praying that it doesn’t sound awkward. This is the Mr. Clay I like, unfiltered and crude. Even if I’ve now got an image of Mr. Clay hard and shooting. I bet he’s a big shooter. A big man like him must unload buckets…

  And I want to touch him. Feel the smoothness of that cock.

  “Why don’t you be respectful and jerk off like the rest of us?” I crack, tearing my eyes away from his girth.

  “Why can’t you stop being an asshole and get a life like the rest of us?” he says and though it’s playful, there is a something unreadable in his eyes. Like maybe he’s truly considering if I am an asshole. Would an asshole look at his dick pics? Or is that something a different type of guy does?

  A freak?

  He turns away from me and I feel my throat tighten with worry. Now, it comes: the bad part where he calls me out and asks me to leave. But, none of that happens. He goes to his closet. He’s poking around in there; I’m watching his furry ass as it flexes. He explains, over his shoulder. “If you’d ever fucked Cindy, you’d understand. And I need it bad, like yesterday. You know what I mean? Well, actually, you probably wouldn’t. You’ve never touched a woman.”

  I laugh. There’s something about his voice though. He’s testing the words out on me. Trying to get a rise out me.

  He turns around. The light summer sweater he’s just removed from his closet glides across his skin removing his chest from view. I want to beat the designer up for stealing away the the furriness even if it does make him look that much more desirable. Maybe I want him to get the rise out of me, I think, as I watch him dip back into his closet. Just what limits might I be willing to go to?

  My face reddens when I realize I’m considering it. What it would be like to mess around with a guy…

  I can feel something else, too: the g
lare of his suspicion. He knows I’ve seen the texts. He knows I’ve seen his cock. What he doesn’t know is why I went searching for it.

  He removes a pair of linen shorts. As he drags them on, I watch his cock flop out of sight. When I look up, he’s staring down at me, his forehead scrunched like he’s doing a long math problem. Then it smooths, and he smiles.

  My face burns. I’ve been staring again. “Were you saying something?” I ask. I lick my lips. My mouth is parched.

  He nods slowly like he’s just seeing me for the first time in his life. “I asked if you were hungry.”

  I blink, not fully understanding what he just said.

  “Burgers, Chris. I’m thinking about getting the grill out. God, did I beat you that bad out there that you’re dazed? I’m texting Jordan to see where he is.”

  I swallow hard. “Yeah, I could eat.”

  He knows. That’s all I can think. I looked at his dick for much longer than was acceptable in the Straight Dudes Code of Straight Behavior. No, I wasn’t looking. I was gawking.

  “No, actually,” I say. “I’m good on the food. I have to go.”

  I go to stand, but I can’t really stand up, can I? I have a hardon the size of Texas straining against my shorts. It’s so hard that even my compression shorts can’t save me now.

  He’s still looking at me. It feels like the room has closed in and I may never get an easy breath again.

  “You know, Jordan’s gay,” I hear him say softly. It’s a concession. An opening. He’s seeing through me. Reading me.

  I stay put where I am on the carpet. “Yeah, um, he told me.”

  “He announced it to me over winter break. I’d known all along, of course.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I feel my neck heat up.

  “Well, first, I am a genius. And, second, I’m his dad, Chris. So, of course, I knew.” He pauses as if to indicate that he knows other things, too. “Hell, for a second there, I thought you two were…”

  He links his two index fingers together.

  “Hell, no. I’m not gay.” I say it too quickly but after everything that’s happened just now and with where I think this conversation is going, it must be said.

  He nods slowly. “You know I don’t care about it, Chris. Even if you were. I mean, I grew up in the eighties where guys and—”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh great, just what I need: the details.”

  He cracks up, pauses before continuing, “I’m just saying, some of my friends experimented. I didn’t, but it wasn’t unheard of in my circle. I’ve even been to some gay clubs. And dude, let me tell you, like fucking filet in there. I almost got eaten alive. ”

  “Whoop-di-doo. I know gay people, too. Doesn’t matter. And— ”

  “I know, Chris—” he sighs.

  “And at most, I’m gonna guess you were ground chuck.”

  He laughs. “You fucking little piece of shit. All I’m trying to say is if you were gay, and I know you’re not. Probably too fucking straight to wash your own crusty dick. However, if you were that way inclined, you’d be the kind of guy I’d want my son to end up with. That’s all I’m trying to tell your dumb ass.”

  But, that’s not all he’s saying. I feel the tickle of something at the edges of my thoughts. Cindy flashes into my mind and I feel really annoyed at her. Then, I feel stupid for being in this situation. I’m a pervert for letting my desires get the most of me.

  He goes on quietly, “You know you’re a handsome guy. You’ve got your head on straight. You’re tough, masculine. You’d do anything to protect Jordan, like a brother. I appreciate that you’ve always had his back.”

  I’ve never dwelt on it, but I know in this moment, more than ever, that I’ve never been into Jordan. He’s my friend and nothing more. I try to think about how that’s wrapped up in what I feel for Mr. Clay, but my brain is all crossed wires. I don’t know anything. I don’t know how I feel. Except that I need to make him understand.

  “Jordan and I are just friends. I could never even think of him that way.”

  Then, without thinking, I add, “Even if I was gay, Jordan wouldn’t be my type.” I cringe. What does that even mean? I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. My mouth is its own being.

  “Wouldn’t be your type? What’s wrong with him? Is there something I should know? I mean, he is made from half of me. So, I know he’s good looking…” He laughs but I can’t muster up the energy to join him.

  “No. Not that. I just wouldn’t want him—”

  Gawd. What am I even talking about?

  “You wouldn’t want him…”

  “I wouldn’t want Jordan. I would want a different kind of dude. Fuck, I need to shut up.” I haven’t moved but with the words out of my mouth, I get this sensation of falling.

  “Different?”

  “Probably a little older, too. Not a kid like Jordan.” I can’t stop myself. I need to, but I can’t.

  Sunlight bursts across the room and I realize he’s pulled the curtain back. “You’re telling me you want to be fucked by somebody’s grandpa? You kinky boy.” His voice is husky and playful, and something eases between us as we share a laugh.

  “Who says I’m gonna be the girl? Maybe I’ll be fucking the grandpa.”

  He looks at me with eyes narrowed in disbelief. “You obviously would be taking it. You seem like the type. It’s called bottoming, by the way. I read it on a website.”

  “Shut up,” I say. “Nobody reads on Pornhub.”

  He laughs. Then, we say nothing for a minute. I listen to the central air kick on again. Then, suddenly he says, “Chris, you’re so hot.”

  He starts to walk slowly and sexily over toward me. He’s kidding but I can’t take it. I’m going to explode. My cock throbs as his sexy mouth is drawn up into a smirk. I manage a nervous laugh. “Fuck off,” I say.

  He approaches me, his eyes dancing with mischief and something else I’ve never seen before. Something animal. Lust? His voice is low when he speaks. “Tell me to fuck off again.”

  “Stop playing,” I say but as I protest, my voice falters.

  I try to move out of the way when he goes for me because I always do. This is what we do. There’s nothing strange about this. It’s completely normal. We play around. Crack jokes. We push each other’s buttons. I know he’s loving this, watching me squirm, even if he doesn’t know the real reason. But, I do. I know it’s different this time. It’s not just my cheeks aching from laughing too much. There’s an ache down below.

  He goes for me again and I elude him. The sunlight lights up his shorts and I can see the outline of his shaft swinging freely as he tries for me again. It’s distracting. Maybe that’s why he catches me.

  “Davis!” I yell, when he takes me in his arms. I’m laughing, my breath rushing. I’m ridiculously turned on even though I’m straight and he’s a man. He’s Jordan’s dad. He’s my dad’s best friend. Somehow, none of that matters in this moment. His hands on make my skin sizzle.

  But, I can’t give myself away. So, I fight him off.

  I manage to twist away from him, but I don’t go far. I employ the element of surprise by grabbing his cock. I don’t even care that I’m touching him there. “I’ll break it off if you don’t fuck off,” I threaten. “Who’s your bottom now?”