by John Inman
The dogs wandered off. I guess they knew they were no longer needed. Ending the kiss, I rose on creaking knees.
“I heard that, old man.” Kenny grinned although we were both pushing thirty.
“Shut up, you damned whippersnapper,” I groused, yanking him to his feet. I wrapped him once again in my arms, and he eased me back against the railing and, rising up on tiptoe, buried my mouth beneath another kiss. As he trapped me there against the railing, holding me in place, the wind lashed his hair against my face, and the sweet smell of oleander fluttered over us. We tasted each other until I could feel his cock pressing hard against my own. When his hand slid under my shirt and caressed my bare ribs, I trembled, which made him smile inside the kiss.
“I haven’t wanted anyone this bad for a long time,” I muttered around his tongue, which was still touching mine.
“Neither have I,” he whispered back. Still under my shirt, his warm hand slid around to my back, and his fingertips twiddled through the little patch of hair at the base of my spine.
“You’re fuzzy.” He grinned. “I like fuzzy men.”
Ridiculously pleased, I groaned a happy groan. The next thing I knew, I was tugging him toward the sliding doors. Not three feet on the other side sprawled my king-size bed. It was empty at the moment, but it wouldn’t be that way for long.
The bedroom lights were on. When Kenny felt the mattress against his leg, he began undoing the buttons on my shirt. As soon as I found an opening, I plucked off his bow tie, flung it across the room like a dead bird, and tugged his sweater-vest over his head. He laughed when with trembling fingers I began undoing his shirt buttons, as he was still undoing mine.
“Maybe this would go faster if we undressed ourselves,” he said, grinning.
I offered up a growl, rather like the grumpy old lion back at the zoo. “Not on your life. I like it fine the way it is.”
Our shirts came off at the same moment. His chest was pale and sparsely muscled. Trim, warm, and perfect. A sprinkling of blond hair made a trail down the center line of his stomach, blossoming into a ball of fluff around his belly button before trailing off farther south and disappearing alluringly beneath the waistband of his linen pants. His copper nipples shone against his untanned skin like bright pennies, and I took it upon myself to duck my head and take one into my mouth. He gasped and clutched the back of my head, holding my mouth against him.
I stood upright again, and the moment I did, he dropped to his knees at my feet. Clutching the back of my legs, he buried his face in my stomach. I could tell he relished the pelt of hair that pretty much covered my front from the collarbone down. I remembered what he had said about liking fuzzy men.
He kissed my navel, slipped his tongue in for good measure, then tilted his head back to aim those lovely green eyes at my face.
“You feel wonderful,” he said. His lips were still moist from our kiss. When I edged closer and pressed the bulge of my cock against his chin, he laughed. “Should we let the monster out?”
“If you don’t,” I gasped, “I’ll be extremely disappointed.”
He was about to press his mouth to the outline of my cock, which was now poking down my pant leg, but I pulled him to his feet before he got there.
With shaking hands, I eased him onto the bed. He sat at the edge of the mattress and closed his eyes. I pulled off his shoes and socks, then gently coaxed him onto his back. I flipped the hook on his belt, unsnapped the button of his trousers, and slowly worked his zipper down.
Bending close, I hooked a finger into the waistband of his underwear and lowered them just enough to plant a kiss into the beginning brush of his pubic hair, which was reddish blond. When I did that, he draped an arm across his eyes and trembled beneath me. Without warning, I gripped the cuffs of his pants and yanked them off. His underwear went next. And before I knew it, he was lying naked beneath me.
His legs were lean and well muscled, coated with pale hair that felt silken to the touch. His cock was plump and well cut, the bulging head a perfect mini muffin that I immediately scooped into my mouth.
He cried out in surprise and clutched my ears. Almost as if in a spasm, he sprang up and wrapped himself around my head, in the process burying his cock even deeper inside my mouth.
“Oh God,” he muttered low, and I smiled around his dick.
Releasing him, I stood at the foot of the bed and peeled my jeans off to get them out of the way. Kenny realized what I was doing in time to sit up and oversee the removal of my underpants. He peeled them down my legs, and my cock sprang up and whopped him on the nose. He laughed, and gathering it in his two hands, he rolled the shaft across his face. His eyes were closed, and there was such a trancelike contentment on his face as he pressed my cock to his cheek that it was all I could do not to come right then.
“You’re not circumcised,” he mumbled. “I love that.” As I watched, he laid his tongue to the tip of my dick, where a drop of fluid had appeared. He licked it away, then slid my foreskin back, exposing me completely. The tip of his tongue trailed a full circle around my cockhead; then he homed in on his true target and foraged inside my slit. The foraging became a kiss, and slowly, oh so slowly, his lips opened wide enough for him to pull me into that delicious well of moist heat. His mouth felt so wonderful encompassing me, my legs almost buckled.
I pulled back long enough to throw myself across the bed and pull Kenny into my arms. He allowed me to wrap him into a tight embrace, our two stiff cocks bumping heads down below. His furry legs wrapped around my furrier ones, and his hands came to rest on my ass, where he started diddling with that little patch of hair at the base of my spine again.
Before I could move to slide downward in the bed and take him into my mouth for a little one-on-one, he slipped from my arms and crawled around to my back. Urging me onto my stomach, he burrowed down, trailing kisses along my spine until his mouth came to rest in that little patch of hair he seemed to like so much.
I spread my arms and legs wide and let him do what he would. He kissed me there then, his lips and teeth tugging at the hair directly above the rise of my buttcheeks. When he burrowed farther down, and his hands came up to spread my legs even more, I trembled. He gently prodded my asscheeks apart with his fingertips. I gave a tiny intake of breath, wondering what would happen next. A moment later, his mouth came to rest on my opening, and I almost scrambled straight up the wall like a lizard.
He laughed at my reaction and slid his tongue around the rim of my hole. His free hand wormed between my legs and trailed up beneath me to wrap around my cock. I lifted my ass higher, and Kenny, without waiting for any further invitation, slipped his tongue inside me. I squirmed and thrashed and squeezed my eyes shut, all the while chewing on a mouthful of pillow like it was a fucking burrito.
I let him work at me until I couldn’t stand it anymore. With a final cry of pleasure, I flipped back over and pulled him up until his legs were straddling me and his warm ass was sprawled across my chest. Scooching down, I buried my face in his balls and stroked the length of his cock until it lay as hard as stone against my forehead.
He collapsed forward with his hands on the headboard and buried his cock deep between my lips. He moved in and out as I caressed his ass and balls. In no time at all, I began to taste his juices seeping across my tongue.
“It’s too soon, but I can’t stop,” he managed to mutter, and I knew what he meant. I was about to blow a gasket myself.
“Together, then,” I gasped.
And simultaneously, we collapsed on the bed in opposite directions and took each other’s cocks in our mouths. We clung tight together as our hips spasmed, bucking and lunging while our cocks burrowed deep inside the worshipping lips of the other.
I came first. And the moment I did, Kenny clutched the back of my thighs and pulled me close against him as he drained me of every drop.
A moment later, his whole body stiffened as he spattered his juices across the roof of my mouth. His come was sweet musk, and
I clung tightly to him as he emptied himself into me.
Still embedded in each other, our spasms began to calm. Rather than grasping, our hands began to gently caress again. I was able to appreciate for maybe the very first time how soft his skin felt against my own. How small and light he felt in my arms. And, dear God, how he clung to me as if he enjoyed my body as much as I enjoyed his.
When my softening cock slipped from his mouth, he immediately buried his face in my stomach, still clinging tight. I smiled into his pubic hair and relished the dwindling of his cock atop my tongue.
Releasing him, at last, I rose up on one elbow and gazed down at his perfect body. His eyes were still closed, his face still pressed to my belly. He bared everything to me, as natural as a faun. I wondered if he knew the lights were still on.
“You’re so beautiful,” I whispered.
“So are you,” he whispered as he turned and began easing upward, his lips moving like butterflies across my skin. As his mouth traveled my chest, he pressed his nose against me, breathing in the scent of my skin.
I stroked the side of his face and dipped my head to brush a kiss across his hairline. His wilted cock lay snug and soft against my thigh. I felt moisture there. His juices were still seeping.
“Sleep with me,” I pleaded. “Tell me you don’t want to leave yet.”
He smiled as he scooped my softened cock into his fist and carefully stroked the tip of it with his thumb, which made me shudder and lunge all over again. “I don’t want to leave,” he answered back as quickly as I had asked.
We snuggled quietly for a while. Somewhere in another part of the house, I heard the dogs’ toenails clattering across the hardwood floor. Checking out their food bowls, maybe, or peeking through the front windows to monitor the street outside, which they considered their very own turf and suffered few other creatures, be they dog or man or coyote, to trespass without raising their voices in protest.
Quietly, Kenny began to speak, his mouth moving light across my chest. “I’m sorry I can’t do everything you’d like me to do.”
I stroked his lean back, delineating his shoulder blades with my fingertips, counting the wales of his spine, savoring the smooth heat of him. “What do you mean?” I softly asked.
A sigh slipped out. I felt the wind of it on my skin. “I know it’s not easy dating a handicapped person. You don’t have to call me again if you don’t want to. I want you to know that.”
“I’ve never called you,” I said. “Your number is in my cell phone from when you called me, but you didn’t give me permission to use it, so I didn’t.”
I felt his smile move across my breastbone. “How gentlemanly of you.”
But I refused to be put off by his gentle mockery. “There’s another thing I think you should know,” I said, burrowing down so I could see his face.
“What’s that?”
“I’ve never thought of you as being handicapped. The fact that you can’t see doesn’t seem to hold you back much. I was proud to be with you at the zoo, you know. I was proud to have you on my arm.”
“Were you?” His voice was tiny, like a child’s.
“Yes.” I slid my fingers through the hair on the back of his head and pulled him close to my chest. I liked the feel of his mouth on my skin.
The words he spoke next, I liked a little less.
“I’m just saying. You don’t have to see me again if you don’t want to. Tonight was enough. Tonight was more than enough.”
Again, I dragged his face up to where I could see it. “Shut up, Kenny. If you think after what just happened between us in this bed, I’m going to give up the chance to find out what happens next, you’re a frigging idiot.”
He giggled. “That was a little harsh.”
I planted a kiss on the tip of his nose. “You bet.”
And then, as if none of his doubts had been aired at all, he squirmed down in the bed and took me into his mouth once more.
There was no more conversation—or sleep—for the rest of the night.
Chapter Seven
I USUALLY enjoy a bit of down time between extermination jobs. In fact, I usually enjoy months of down time between extermination jobs. That’s why I was so surprised to find a hand-addressed envelope in my PO Box the next day. Hand-addressed envelopes are my preferred method of communication from prospective clients. The fact that this prospective client (if that’s really what he or she turned out to be) was not only familiar with the address to my PO Box, but had also known enough to follow my rules, told me I had been recommended by a previous client.
I dropped Kenny off at his apartment building that morning. I had seriously considered throwing a hissy fit when he told me he had to work. After all, it was Sunday, and I had been hoping to spend the day with him. He must have sensed my disappointment by the way I suddenly turned crabby and aloof. And no, I’m not immune to doling out a little vindictive misery if I don’t get my way.
Kenny wasn’t buying it, however. He immediately nestled close in the car and, with his mouth to my ear, gently explained to me that his work was not restricted to weekdays or normal daylight hours. In fact, since the people he tutored were blind, the concept of daylight hours probably didn’t mean much to them at all.
I was glad Kenny knew I was miffed about being abandoned right after we had so thoroughly and pleasingly boned each other the night before. I was even gladder when, taking a tip from the dogs, he managed to cheer me up by sticking his tongue down my throat prior to climbing out of my car at his back gate. By the time he walked away, tippy-tapping a path with his cane and waggling his fingers behind him in a goodbye wave, I had acquired another hard-on. I had also secured a promise that we’d get together soon. Like, real soon if I had anything to say about it.
But back to the note.
It was straightforward and cut right to the chase. Anyone else reading it would have gleaned very little, but to me it made perfect sense.
We have a mutual friend, the note read. Please contact me at your earliest convenience. The alarms are off.
Enclosed with the handwritten note was a second slip of paper with an address and a phone number jotted on it. Again, no names were mentioned. Folded inside was a clipping from some sort of trade magazine focused on trial law and lawyers, that sort of thing. The clipping was a short update from the Docket Information and Court Filings column of the publication. It announced the acquittal of a man in the hit-and-run death of a young boy. No other information was forthcoming.
I stared at the notes and the clipping for a long time as I sat in the parking lot outside the Adams Avenue postal substation, the mailing center closest to my home and the location where I rented my PO Box. Like I said earlier, it was unusual for me to be contacted by a prospective client so soon after my last extermination job. Consequently, I couldn’t rule out that this might very well be some sort of sting operation instigated by the cops. Who knew? Maybe they were trying to get a line on the guy who whacked the fat pedophile with the cherubs on his arm, even though all the news sources said they didn’t suspect foul play at all. And in case you’re not keeping up with the story line, that was me. I whacked the fat pedophile with the cherubs on his arm. And in case you’re really not keeping up, trust me when I tell you I’d rather not spend the rest of my life on death row for doing it. Especially since I had just decided to hurl myself into a romance with the blind man who’d shared my bed the night before.
God, is life complicated, or what?
Dragging myself out of my own head, I once again turned my attention to the note and the clipping I held in my hand. I sipped from my six-dollar cup of Starbucks, then tucked it back in the cup holder and nibbled at the muffin I had picked up the same time I ordered the coffee. I offered chunks of the muffin to François and Chuck, who were hanging over my shoulder from the back seat, one on each side, drooling little doggy slobbers all over me, begging for a taste.
I rattled the note in my hand and studied the dogs in the rearview mirro
r. “What do you think? Is this thing legit?” In answer, François and Chuck banged their stubby little docked tails against the back seat, which didn’t really tell me much, so I took another sip of coffee.
When the muffin was gone, consumed equally by the three of us, I slipped the car into gear and pulled onto Adams Avenue, headed for the doggy park. It’s where we had been going before I took it into my head to check my PO Box for any incoming messages, which I didn’t expect to find—but had.
On the way to the park, I swung by the address jotted on the note. The house was a beautiful old Craftsman with clunky curled beams along the roofline, denoting the Chinese influence on Craftsman architecture that had been popular for a while during the first thirty years of the twentieth century. This particular Craftsman was painted cocoa brown, the trim neatly done in the color of sandstone. The lawn was well maintained, and there was a tricycle on the front porch. Also on the front porch was one of those netted backdrops for kids who love to play baseball but hate to run six blocks down the street to chase the goddamn ball every time they miss a swing.
By the clues, it appeared safe to assume there were at least two children in the household. One was small, maybe still a toddler, thus the trike. And one was old enough to be interested in baseball. Neither the tricycle nor the framed netting looked like it had been dragged off the porch for a while.
Which begged the question, which of the children had the hit-and-run driver killed? An SUV sat in the driveway. It was really dusty, as if lately no one had thought to pull themselves out of their grief long enough to wash it. I knew I was right about the number of children in the household when I saw the four little stick figures decaled on the back window of the SUV. A mom, a pop, a toddler dragging a teddy bear, and a boy with a baseball bat in hand.
I wondered if either the mother or father broke into tears every time they saw the decals. I wondered if they had ever considered removing the decals from the back window but couldn’t quite bring themselves to do it. It would feel like betrayal, wouldn’t it? It would feel like acceptance of their loss.