“Okay. So you coming over Wednesday evening like usual? We’ll check out the new flick at the cinema.”
“Yeah, sure, okay. ‘Night.”
“‘Night, J. Don’t forget me.”
Johnny ate his microwavable frozen dinner in front of the TV, but he wasn’t paying attention to the flickering screen. The little plastic bag with the dildo was by his side and he kept glancing down at it.
After he ate, he took the bag and went into the bathroom. He didn’t have any K-Y Jelly, but he did have some Vaseline. He found the jar and put it on the narrow counter. He opened the bag and pulled out the little phallus.
Turning on the shower, he stripped and climbed in, soaping himself up quickly and then rinsing. He stepped out and toweled dry, looking at himself in the mirror as he did so. He was strong and his body was hard, but he’d never really examined it before. Though he knew others found him good-looking in a blond, all-American sort of way, he truly wasn’t vain. His own self-image was actually rather poor, battered down by his critical father and his own insecurities.
Because he’d tried to live straight when his heart veered along a different path, he’d never reveled in his sexuality, or taken joy from the attentions of the women he’d tried to love. Instead of his body being a source of pride and sexual prowess, it was just a vehicle to give him strength for his work and athletics.
Now however, touched for the first time by someone who made his heart zing and his cock stand at full attention, Johnny saw himself differently. He gazed at his image, at the strong, broad shoulders, the blond curling chest hair at his sternum, tapering down his six-pack abs past his belly button into the dark blond pubic hair where his cock nestled at half-mast above his balls. He turned for a profile, noting his strong buttocks and his thick thighs, well developed from years of running.
“Not so bad,” he said aloud, wishing Eric stood behind him at that moment, his dark-skinned arms reaching around to hold Johnny as he pressed his own erect cock against Johnny’s ass.
He took the dildo in his hands and looked at it. It wasn’t so big—smaller than an average cock, certainly smaller than Eric’s thick, long member. Could he really take another man’s cock up his ass? He knew it was a matter of time before Eric would expect that, and indeed, Johnny wanted it. But even as he thought this, he felt his butt cheeks clenching with nervous anticipation. Would it hurt?
Eric had told him it was important to relax. He said there was no rush. They would get there when they got there. When Johnny had whispered he wanted to try it, Eric had said no. “Patience. All things in time.”
Now Johnny smiled. Obviously, Eric had been right. Hell, if he was nervous about this little dildo, he clearly wasn’t ready for a big, hard cock. He turned the dildo over in his hands. Eric sent it home with him, but hadn’t given him any specific instructions. Still, Johnny knew what Eric wanted of him. What he wanted of himself.
Opening the jar of Vaseline, Johnny smeared a blob of it over the head of the dildo. Turning his back to the mirror, he looked back, parting his ass cheeks with the fingers of his left hand while holding the dildo in the right.
Gingerly he touched the tip to his sphincter. He wasn’t as nervous as he had been with Eric. Alone, he could take his time, as long as he needed. Carefully he pressed it to his entrance. He realized he wasn’t breathing as the gooey tip touched his asshole. Taking a breath, he willed himself to relax. What was the big deal?
Carefully he pressed again, using a little more force so the tip slipped past the ring of muscle. This wasn’t so bad. He could do this. He pressed it farther, watching in the mirror as the flesh-colored rubber cock slipped into his ass. It flared toward the base and Johnny sucked in his breath as the pressure increased.
He didn’t pull it out, though. Instead he closed his eyes, pressing a little harder. His heart beat fast when he finally had it all the way in, up to the rubber balls now sticking lewdly from his asshole.
He stared in the mirror, at once fascinated and repelled by what he saw—the pink balls protruding between his ass cheeks. He also felt a warm sort of pride creeping through him. He’d done it! He’d put the damn thing in his ass, just like Eric wanted. And it was only Monday night. He could practice each day until Friday. Eric would be so proud of him.
He wanted to call him right then. To tell his dominant lover he’d done what he wanted. He argued in his head for a few minutes, his more careful side winning out. Now that they were apart, at Eric’s insistence, Johnny didn’t want to act too needy. If Eric felt they required this space to think things through, fine. Johnny wouldn’t violate it the first night apart. Yes, Eric had said he could call anytime, but it wouldn’t be tonight. Let Eric miss him a little first.
If he was missing him. Who knew, perhaps he had another guy lined up for the weekdays. Maybe Johnny would be his weekend toy, and he’d have a series of sub sluts to use during the week. A nasty, jealous spurt trickled into Johnny’s thoughts like poison and he grimaced.
It certainly would fit the gay stereotype, wouldn’t it? Fucking a different guy every night, why not? Romance didn’t need to come into play when two dicks were in the equation. Even as Johnny had these uncharitable, homophobic thoughts he knew they weren’t true of Eric. He believed Eric when he’d said he was tired of that sort of lifestyle. That he was looking for romance, for a submissive lover he could make a life with.
Did Johnny even want that—that sort of ultimate commitment? To tell the truth he had no idea. He did want to see Eric again, though. That was certain. And he wanted to begin their sexy, hot, exciting, exploration of D/s and BDSM.
He turned back toward the mirror, taking his cock in his hand, the small phallus still filling his anus. His cock stiffened as he massaged it. Spitting on his fingers, he rubbed harder, imagining Eric there watching him, rather than his own reflected image.
Having the rubber cock buried in his ass, and knowing it would turn Eric on to see that, made Johnny’s cock that much harder. Even though he must have come fifteen times over the last three days, he had no trouble ejaculating after just a few minutes of self-stimulation. He groaned with pleasure as he shot his load, a trail of ejaculate hitting the mirror in front of him.
It was only nine o’clock, but Johnny was suddenly bone weary. Though young and vigorous, even he finally felt the toll of three days of wild sex and endless conversation with very little sleep thrown into the mix.
Carefully he removed the little cock from his ass, washed it with warm, soapy water and dried it before putting it back into its bag. As he drifted off to sleep, his last conscious vision was of Eric’s dark eyes staring into his own.
~*~
“Hey, look who decided to show up.” It was seven-thirty in the morning. Johnny had arrived earlier than usual at the garage, his official start time being eight o’clock. Both Hank and his father were already there. Billy wouldn’t be in until ten o’clock, as he would close up the shop at six, after the others had already left for the day.
Frank was drinking a cup of coffee, the newspaper open on his knees. Hank stood at the register, counting money into the drawers. Frank looked up for a second to see who Hank was referring to. He grunted a greeting, which Johnny returned.
“Sick, huh? Tummy bug. That’s what he said, dad. Like some little six-year-old. His widdle tummy hurt, Daddy. Poor widdle baby John-John.”
Instead of telling Hank to put a lid on it, Frank just smiled a sour little smile, his eyes still on his paper. Johnny felt his temper rise. Hank always ribbed him, always made fun of him, always implied and sometimes even said outright that Johnny was a “sissy boy” and a “pansy”. Johnny started to reply with a nasty comeback to Hank’s barbs, but bit his lip instead.
He wouldn’t let his older brother get under his skin. Not today—not anymore. The sweet, secret knowledge of Eric Méndez nestled like a promise in his heart provided a sort of armor against Hank’s snide remarks. How Johnny had suffered all his life in the face of Hank’s bullying a
nd his father’s indifference or even encouragement. He’d learned from a young age to hide his hurt and pretend Hank’s words meant nothing to him. But they had.
Today he had to smile, though. If Hank knew—if his father knew—how he’d spent the last three days, they’d both kill him first and then themselves.
Well, he wasn’t about to tell them. He wasn’t about to share his new sense of self-discovery and self-worth with these two Neanderthals. Instead he ignored Hank completely, saying instead, “So what’s in the pipeline today, Dad? Got any jobs that need doing right away?”
“Yep,” his father answered abruptly. “You can work on that one over there.” He waved toward a red sports car in one of the bays. “Needs a full tune-up. The lady’s coming at noon to pick it up.”
Johnny nodded, glad to have something to focus on. The work was mostly automatic, sometimes challenging, but rarely engaging, at least not for Johnny. For the first time in his adult life he thought, If you hate it so much, why are you here? If you can’t stand being around Hank and Dad, why do you come in day after day, subjecting yourself to this abuse? Life’s too short.
It was the first time in his twenty-four years he’d had such a thought, at least so clearly articulated. The sudden realization life was indeed short, and not the endless stretch of work, sleep, weekends, work, sleep and weekends he’d slogged through for so long, struck him like a hammer in the head.
Having someone in his life for the first time whom he actually cared about brought into sharp relief the notion of life’s fleetingness. What was Eric doing at this moment? Probably opening his office, getting his coffee, reading his mail… Johnny’s thoughts were interrupted by Hank. “What the fuck’s with you, bro? Not man enough to defend yourself earlier when I called you a baby, and now you’re just standing there, your face with a dumb, dreamy look. If I didn’t know better. Wait a minute…” Hank, shorter than Johnny but built like a powerhouse, his stance always slightly menacing, moved closer and put his hand on Johnny’s neck.
Johnny instinctively recoiled but not before Hank let out a whoop. “Well, will ya look at that!” he crowed. “Little Johnny’s got a hickey. Yeah! Right there on his neck. Hey, I know a hickey when I see one. That’s where you were yesterday, admit it! Johnny’s finally got himself a girl, if that don’t just beat all? And a slut to boot, who sucks at his neck like they was still in high school.”
Johnny could feel the heat rising on his neck and face like a hot, licking flame, his earlier promise to himself to ignore Hank forgotten. Unconsciously he fingered the spot Hank had touched. Jesus, the man was married with children, how long was he going to tease his younger brother? What really bothered Johnny weren’t the words so much as the nasty-edged tone with which Hank delivered all his diatribes.
Johnny opened and closed his hands at his sides. “Why don’t you fuck off, Hank?” he finally said, fighting with himself to keep from smashing his fist into that smug, beefy face.
“Hey!” his father yelled. “None of that foul talk in my garage. Get to work, Johnny. I can’t believe you let Hank get under your skin like you were still eight years old. Grow up, why don’t you?”
Johnny turned away, glad to have the job to work on. He popped the hood of the car and surveyed the engine. Those two could go fuck themselves. He glanced at his watch. Billy wouldn’t be there for a while unfortunately. Johnny always relaxed more once Billy arrived. He was a calming influence on them all, with his open, sunny disposition and his easy way of dealing with people.
What would Billy say if Johnny were to confide in him? Somehow Johnny knew even Billy would have a hard time accepting him for who he was. As easygoing and kind as he was, he was as ingrained as the rest of them when it came to “being a man” with all this implied.
~*~
The feeling was new for Eric. He wanted to call Johnny. To tell him he’d changed his mind and Johnny needed to come back tonight. He didn’t want to wait another three days to see him! Resolutely Eric shook his head. He never called the other guy. Eric was always the beloved, not the lover. Not that he didn’t lavish affection and attention on his chosen lovers, as long as they remained of interest to him, but he never pined for them. Indeed, he barely thought about them when they weren’t around. Out of sight, out of mind.
How had Johnny slipped past his defenses? He couldn’t possibly be in love, not this early in the game. No, it was mere infatuation, surely, but it felt like more. Well, as he often told his patients, feelings were not actions and not necessarily grounded in reality. No one ever got in trouble from a feeling. But action could definitely get him into trouble. He’d begun to establish a dominance with Johnny. He’d given him a directive—they would not see each other until Friday. He’d told Johnny he could call whenever he needed, but he himself had not planned to call Johnny. That would reveal his vulnerability and leave himself open for hurt.
Eric smiled, the irony of his situation not lost on the trained therapist. He sat in his small but nicely appointed office, located only three blocks from his apartment. He had a steady stream of well-heeled clientele, most of them gay and searching for answers. They felt safe with Eric, who didn’t make their sexual orientation the focus of their therapy unless, of course, it was merited.
One thing he always counseled was to remain open. Not to become shut down from others, not to hide one’s true feelings because of fear of rejection. Communication was paramount to any successful relationship. How easy to sit in his big leather chair and dispense his sage advice. How much harder to apply it to his own life.
No, he would not call Johnny. It wasn’t about hiding his feelings, he rationalized. It was about giving both Johnny and himself some time to absorb what they’d experienced that weekend. This was especially important for Johnny, Eric told himself. He was younger and completely inexperienced. Sexually speaking he was little more than a teenager. He had never had a mature, loving relationship with another person.
Eric experienced the depressing realization that the odds were good because of Johnny’s inexperience, this relationship would not work out in the long run. Johnny would “cut his teeth” on Eric and then be ready to move on.
Eric sighed. “Jesus, Méndez,” he said out loud. “Stop projecting. Live in the moment.” He was acting like a nervous kid, worrying and wondering if his affections were going to be reciprocated. “Just take it a day at a time,” he told the empty room. “If this is meant to be, it’ll work out. And if not…”
He didn’t finish the thought, glad to be distracted by the bell ringing at the front door of the small office building, which indicated his next patient had arrived. Eric buzzed him in, relieved to be able to shift his focus to someone else’s problems. He would think about the golden boy later.
Chapter 9
Johnny stood nervously at Eric’s apartment building door. Night was just falling and he slipped his hands into his black leather jacket pockets as an autumn wind made him shiver. He’d pressed the buzzer and was waiting for Eric’s voice over the intercom. He was surprised, therefore, when Eric himself appeared in the foyer, opening the door.
“Hi there,” Eric said, standing back to allow him to enter. He smiled, but not the big, open grin that made Johnny’s heart sing. He wore black slacks and a cream-colored cashmere sweater. He looked like something out of a magazine with one hand casually on his hip, his hair falling perfectly over his forehead. In spite of the somewhat cool reception, Johnny felt his cock harden and his heart beat a little faster.
He smiled back hesitantly. He wanted to grab Eric. To hug him tight, to shout, “You’re still here! You exist!” Instead he just stood there, feeling awkward, his hands shoved in his pockets.
“Hey, there. I wasn’t sure you were coming. I mean, you didn’t call?” This remark came out as a question.
Johnny kept his voice casual. “You didn’t call me, either.”
“You’re right,” Eric admitted with a grin. “We’re both jerks. Let’s go inside, okay?” Johnn
y laughed, the tension between them eased.
Once in Eric’s apartment, Johnny hung his jacket on a hook beside the door and sat on the sofa while Eric went into the kitchen. “I’ll just be a second. You wait out there,” he said.
“Wow, what smells so good?” Johnny called.
“I’m cooking for us tonight. One of my abuela’s specialties.” A moment later Eric came into the living room with a tray he set down on the low table in front of the sofa. “Welcome to the world of Puerto Rican cooking, via the Bronx.” He took the two bottles of beer from the tray, handing one to Johnny.
Johnny looked down at the plates of food on the tray and back at Eric, who must have seen the question in his face. Eric smiled. “I love to cook and my grandmother was my best teacher. I’ve experimented with lots of other cultures—Chinese, Indian, Italian, French, but I always go back to my own roots. Nothing beats what you grew up on, I guess.”
He pointed to a pile of small fried yellow pancakes resting on a brightly colored glazed clay platter beside a bowl of dipping sauce. The pancakes were fragrant, smelling of garlic and banana. “These are made with platanos. Plantain bananas. This dish here is called aranitas—that means ‘little spiders’ in Spanish. See, those grated pieces of banana look like little spider legs, I guess. You ever had platanos?”
“I’ve had banana,” Johnny said uncertainly.
“Platanos are like bananas, but not so sweet. They’re often sliced very thin and then fried in oil and salted. Kind of like potato chips. But with this recipe, you grate the platano and fry it in oil and garlic, shaping it into these little pancakes. You dip it in this mojito sauce, which is just olive oil and pressed garlic.”
Eric took a warm pancake in his fingers and, rolling it, dipped the tip into the sauce. He gestured for Johnny to lean forward. “Have a taste,” he said, holding out the morsel. Johnny parted his lips, allowing Eric to slide the food into his mouth.
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