Seeing Stars

by A. Sanchez

  He got off me and I followed him up the shiny wood staircase, then entered his room. It was dark, and he did not turn on the light. He was probably too nervous for that. We both stood by the bed a little awkwardly, and I hoped he'd say or do something soon, because my dick was crying for him. “Um, I don't know what I'm doing,” he said shyly. That worried me. Did he mean it was a mistake? I stood ramrod straight and tried to read his eyes in the dark, which was pointless.

  “It's okay, we don't have to go further,” I said calmly, while my dick screamed nooo!

  “No, I mean, are you going to fuck me now?”

  I took him into my arms and squeezed. “Not tonight. We don't have to have sex at all now. Let's get to know each other.” I sighed with relief. He was actually thinking further ahead than I was. I'd never fuck a man with zero experience right off the bat. When it did happen, I'd let him do me for a while until he got comfortable.

  But now, I took his clothes off, pulling his shorts and boxers off, then his shirt, then did the same with mine. We stood there pressed against each other completely naked, and then it hit me; Glen was my boss, and I had undressed him. It was both strange and thrilling, but we were so far past formalities now, I pressed him to the bed, then crawled on top of him.

  I wanted to ask him if he had any lube, but that was probably going to be a no. I used the precum off both our dicks, spreading it messily over them while I kissed and gently bit his lips. He was moving beneath me, unable to keep still. Every time my finger grazed the tip of his dick, he bucked and ground into mine. Finally, I got us slippery enough to hold both our dicks in my hand and jack us off together.

  He was panting, running his leg over mine, our hair tickling each other, thrusting up into my hand. I wished I could have seen all this. Glen was not a passive lover. Once he got going, he was kind of wild. I'd never have thought it of him.

  “I want you,” he breathed, his hand gripping my forearm, guiding my strokes. I didn't notice in my reverie that he had spit on the fingers of his other hand at some point and was now running those fingers along my crack. I did notice when he started rubbing my hole, because he was so exploratory about it, taking his time, so afraid to breach me, even though he wanted to. I pushed back against them and said, “it's okay.”

  God, everything he did was so cautious. It should have been annoying, but it wasn't. I could never guess what he was going to do, and neither could he, so it kept all my senses on edge. Glen was just a big surprise, all round. He got a finger inside me, but wasn't moving it. Maybe he thought he would hurt me. I tried to ride it, but he wouldn't even let me do that, moving his hand along with my movements to make absolutely sure he did not.

  “Fuck it, Glen,” I gasped, increasing my handiwork on our cocks. I leaned forward and took his nipple in my mouth, grazing it with my teeth. He was doing it now. Slowly, painfully slow, but his finger was thrusting now, his thumb exploring the pucker, smoothing back and forth over the wrinkles until my legs shook. He was slowly killing me. I'd never felt someone bring me off with such meticulousness. I shouted something out before I came all over his chest, my ass spasming around his finger, and then he came with the fucking sweetest noise I ever heard, like a child being gifted a puppy at Christmas. My heart twisted in my chest at the sound and I collapsed on him, covering him with kisses.

  I didn't know Glen cooked. I still didn't know a lot about him. But that morning when I came downstairs, it was to the smell of omelets. His kitchen was huge and very well equipped, like a chef's. I looked out the huge bay window in the kitchen, and saw nothing but pine trees. It felt like I was so far removed from the town and especially that damned bar, it was like being on vacation.

  I came up behind him and pressed the remnants of my morning erection against him, wrapped my arms around his waist and kissed the back of his neck. “Morning.”

  “It's a very good morning,” he amended, pressing the omelets with a spatula. I wondered if he would be nervous or shy, this being the first time he'd done anything with a man, but wow, he was taking it very well. I almost felt like we had been together much longer than we had. “Can I help out?”

  “You can pour the coffee if you want,” he said. “Marshall, I really like you.” He sort of threw that comment out in the same breath as the coffee, and it took me by surprise. “I really like you too. I can't believe I'm saying that. We started off so badly.” I got the mugs from the cabinet overhead.

  “I don't know who said it, but the line between love and hate is very thin.” He cut off the burner and jiggled our omelets out the pan and onto plates. “Just a thought.”

  That was true. I did hate him before, but somewhere deep inside, I must have... well, not loved him, not yet, but some emotion in that direction. “Have you ever been married? Did you date a lot?” I asked, wanting some kind of past to attach to him. I didn't know why. I might hear something I didn't want to know, but I couldn't know him at all without it.

  He brought the food over and took a seat at the table. I brought the forks and coffees. “Nope, never been married. I'm thirty-five, by the way. I know we've never delved into ages--”

  “Or last names,” I added.

  “Yes, or that. I've always worked hard. All my life. I started out with a tiny pizza place, then invested the profits in a construction company, which I still have, and then took some of that for the bar. I didn't have time to get married, but I did hook up with girls every now and again. I don't know, it was so fucking impersonal, I never cared for it. I don't like baring my ass to complete strangers. It's weird.”

  I blushed. I had cut a swath across Europe baring my ass to all and sundry. I thought I'd been freeing myself, but now I felt like I had just let people anonymously use me. Damn. Well, mistakes are lessons, and I'd learned mine. No more bullshit. I was a decent man, and I needed to act like it, not just when I was at home, but everywhere. “It is weird,” I agreed, only now realizing it.

  “What about you? Have you always been...” He was struggling. If he called me gay, then he'd have to call himself gay, or at least bi. I don't think he was ready yet.

  “I've always been gay.” Better just get that out there. “I'm older than you. I don't know why I always felt like you were. I guess because you're my boss.” I took a sip of coffee. “I'm thirty-seven.” Thirty-seven acting like I was on Spring Break. God, I regretted Italy now. Here was a man much more responsible than I'd ever been, two years younger and a millionaire. I still couldn't get that last part to register. He was wearing elastic-waist black sports shorts and a plain white tee-shirt. He looked so...normal.

  “I think I've always been, too. I've suspected it for a while. I'm going to be really honest with you, at the expense of my dignity.” He sighed and cut his omelet to smithereens with his fork. “I had... fantasies. A lot. Perverted, ridiculous fantasies that I'd always believed were only that. You made a couple of them come true last night, and while they were happening, I was kind of embarrassed and excited at the same time. Like you read my mind, you know?”

  He wouldn't look me in the eye. I knew it took a lot for him to say these things, to do what we did last night for the first time and not have a damned crisis, which is what could have happened. I realized he was braver than a lot of people I'd met. “Whenever you feel like acting any more of them out, I'm here.” I winked at him, then took a bite of my food. “You cook very well!”

  “It's only eggs, Marshall,” he said with a laugh. It was still more than I could do.

  “Were you trained as a chef or is this a hobby?”

  “I wasn't trained as anything. I didn't finish school, actually.”

  That really shocked me. I looked around me at a kitchen where no expense had been spared, in a gorgeous house, and then at this man who was so successful. I guess I expected a business degree to be hanging on the wall somewhere, too. “Why not?”

  “My parents divorced when I was a baby, and my mother brought me to the US when I was about four. She worked all the time and didn
't have much time to raise me. I don't know what she expected of me. She never said, so I didn't take anything seriously. I quit high school my senior year, then got a job driving a truck.” He laughed. “I guess that's why I was fine with opening up the bar in that area. We lived in some horrible places when I was growing up. I saw a dead man laying in the parking lot of a gas station by our apartment when I was about eight. Really bad.”

  Everything he'd just said floored me. All of it, every word. “Where did you come from?” I thought he was American!

  “I'm Czech. Glen's not my real name, but I'll be damned if I'm going around telling people to call me Gustik. It's fucking awful.” He laughed, his cheeks red. I had to agree. Couldn't easily call out Gustik in a fit of passion. I didn't think I could pronounce his last name. He told me, but it was incomprehensible. “What about you? Are you from here?”

  I was. Born and bred. “Yea, I went to college nearby, so I never got that whole experience of going away, partying and all that. I had a boyfriend all the way through high school, then he went into the Air Force and we drifted apart. Had another one long-term for about five years, but other than that, I kind of stayed to myself, hooking up on occasion, like you.” I hoped he didn't ask more, and I was pleased when he didn't.

  “Are we too old to have boyfriends now, do you think? Is that word only appropriate for the young and naïve?” he asked, finishing up his omelet.

  “I don't think a man is ever too old to have a boyfriend,” I said with a gooey smile, because that's how Glen made me feel. Gooey and happy.

  He sat there thinking for a minute, then said, “well, I hope one day you will be my first boyfriend, then.”

  Chapter 6

  We made a stop at the bank. Glen moved the money to a new business account, blocking Orlando's access, and made me the new manager of the Mars Bar. Now, all his problems were mine. It was like getting married.

  When we finally got to Mars, both of us riding in Glen's truck, I noticed the kitchen door as slightly ajar. “Shit. See that?” I asked, pointing. Glen growled and took out his gun from the glove compartment. That kind of freaked me out, I don't know why. In this area, he damned well ought to have one. It was a shiny silver Beretta. He shoved it in his jacket pocket and we got out, closing the doors quietly.

  Everything was quiet and still a wreck from the night before. We made our way through, past the bar and the dance floor, and then Glen headed for the stairs. I hurried after him, my heart beating out my chest. “Glad we took care of this last night,” he said with a sigh. Someone had broken the lock and torn the office up. The safe door was open. “Orlando must have come back last night with some friends and tried to finish up. There was no money left in here, but the books and bank info's probably all gone. I'm so glad we got to the bank before he did.”

  I wanted to beat the fuck out Orlando. He'd abused Glen's trust in every way, lying and stealing, and then thought he was going to waltz into the bank and empty the account, too? “Let me see that piece of shit again,” I muttered.

  “Not before me.” Glen was livid. He called the bank right away and reiterated Orlando was to have no information about the new account and all checks were to be frozen, nothing cashed, until he confirmed none had been stolen. When that was done, he said, “well, want to help me fix downstairs?”

  He fiddled with the jukebox so we didn't have to keep putting quarters in, and we settled for good old CCR to get us through our labors. We took a break around lunch and brought back some decent beer, because there was no way we were going to drink this cheap crap all the alcoholics did.

  We swept and mopped and repaired the chairs and tables or else threw them in the dumpster. I took down a broken mirror pane on the dance floor and took measurements for a new one to be made. We went ahead and measured the floor, too. It was concrete, painted black, but it wasn't smooth and as level as it should be. I suggested we tile it, and then suggested a couple of other improvements, and we were off to the building supply store. The bar wasn't huge, and I convinced him we'd be better off closing one more day and doing as much as we could. I wasn't completely useless. Together, Glen and I could get so much more done than he could, trying to do it all himself. Deep down, I think Glen most liked feeling useful.

  By evening, we were sweaty and dirty, but everything was coming together. A locksmith had come by and Glen changed the alarm code, so we were comfortable with leaving it until tomorrow.

  “I'm starving. Where do you want to eat?” he asked, wrapping his arm around my waist. He kissed my temple and I shied. I'd been sweating all day. He didn't seem to care.

  “Wherever they'll let us in, looking like this,” I said, dusting off my jeans. His jeans.

  I didn't think I'd ever meet anyone who I'd fall for like this. And not even fall, but crash.

  I stayed over again, but I picked up some clothes at the cottage. Glen liked it, making over my father's stonework and the pond out front. We talked about our parents, all gone now, and some of our better memories while we plunked stones in the pond, watching the sun set.

  Once we were bathed and comfy at Glen's later, we reclined on the floor in front of the TV and watched the Usual Suspects, which was another thing we had in common. We didn't finish it, though.

  I was quickly pulled into a demanding, passionate embrace, both of us laying on our sides, I don't know how long we kissed for, but when we both pulled back, out of breath, he asked, “can I suck you?”

  My eyes widened. He'd reduced me to nodding like him, and I felt his rough hands smooth over my hips, pulling my shorts and boxers down to my ankles. I tried to roll onto my back, but he stilled me, preferring to scoot down and do it resting on his side. The first swipe of his tongue across the crown had me dripping. He toyed with me for a while, licking down my length, kissing it, and sucking at my balls. He took me halfway into his mouth, then pulled back. “Do you remember I said I had some thoughts?” I moaned I did, caught up in his touch. “Fuck my mouth?”

  My eyes shot open and I looked down at him. “Fuck your...” I trailed off. Holy shit, he was licking his lips, blue eyes begging me to. I held him by the back of the head and guided his mouth back to my dick, then pushed a bit hard. He moaned, so I pushed his head down a little harder the next time. He was breathing so rough, his lips clamped around me like a vice, his moaning vibrating up and down my length. He gripped my hip hard, pulling me toward him. He really wanted me to fuck him, I realized, leaking in his mouth at the thought. I flipped him on his back and straddled his shoulders, then did what he wanted, my balls slapping against his chin.

  I watched his face, mesmerized. He was taking it all, spit dripping out the corners of his mouth, his light eyelashes fluttering, and then his eyes opened and locked with mine. They pleaded for mercy he didn't really want me to give him, and he grabbed my ass, spreading my cheeks open, with both hands. I pulled my cock out his mouth to let him catch his breath, then ran the wet tip around his mouth and the spit on his cheek.

  I started jacking myself off furiously with one hand, then slid two fingers in his mouth to suck, his tongue all over them, pulling them to the back of his throat. “Open,” I demanded, pressing down on his jaw. He did, and I shot my cum in his mouth, getting some on his lips and my fingers. I smeared it over his lips with my thumb roughly, then kissed him, licking up the rest. I had never done anything so damned dirty in my life, tasting myself on his lips and tongue, but I realized Glen brought out things in me I had been too afraid to try. We were discovering them together.

  I collapsed on his stomach, his dick pulsating at my neck. He ran his hands over my shoulders and head and asked, “are you my boyfriend yet?”

  I squeezed my arms around his waist and told him of course I was.

  Chapter 7

  We woke up in each other's arms. I ran my hand over his flat stomach a few times to stir him and nipped his shoulder. We stayed there some time, and he explored my body at will while I languished in the sunlight coming through the huge, wid
e window. Glen was gentle and careful in his exploration and I was encouraging. “I love your body,” he told me in a low rumble as he caressed the inside of my thigh. I might have blushed. I didn't go to the gym often, and I'd neglected my yoga since coming back from Europe. I wasn't perfect.

  “I love yours, too,” I said, running my hand over his bristly chest hair. He had the kind of body which never went to the gym or did yoga. It was that of a man who worked very hard and chopped firewood or something like that. A natural, coincidental beauty. We ended up bringing each other off with our hands, something which should have been simple enough, but it was an act fraught with intimacy. We were not just going through some hand motions. We were holding each other in our arms, resting our heads on each other's shoulders; making a connection.

  We finally got up, stopped for pretzels, coffee and beer at Wawa, then went on to Mars to do the floor. A few hours later, I hated that damned uneven floor and wished we'd never bothered with it.

  “Crooked fucking thing!” I exclaimed, throwing the leveler across the room. “Damn it, I'm about to cuss a blue streak,” I warned, my face flushed. I'd gone over it so carefully. Glen came up and held my arms at my sides, then kissed me with enough tongue to silence me. When he was sure I was compliant, he said, “You already have. I'll do that. Get yourself a beer and take a few minutes.” I felt childish. How many times now had Glen seen my temper go berserk? I got the beer but then went behind the bar and began dragging the mats out to spray down and dry while we tiled. I came back a while later, leaned against the jukebox listening to Long Cool Woman and checking out Glen's tight ass, the gorgeous, impenetrable thing. I tsked wistfully and took a drag of beer. That ass would be mine.