Best Gay Erotica 2013

by Richard Labonté

  Jolene shakes her ponytail back with a haughty air. “Pa said—”

  I cut her off. “Pa ain’t here.” To keep her from arguing further, I pull one foot up on the tailgate, wrap my arms around my knee, and hide my face in my arms. Sweat drips down the back of my neck, behind my ears, under my arms, tracing intimate lines across my body. For the first time since he left, I let myself think of Davis. My own breath sounds close and harsh in the scant darkness created by my crossed arms, but I close my eyes and there he is, that suggestive smile toying around the edges of his mouth. I recall the way he moved as he set up my booth, but in my mind I’m bold this time and when his back is to me, I step up behind him, ease my arms around his narrow waist, slip my hands into the front pockets of his jeans and rub against the hardness I find there. I press my face against his moist, hot back and breathe in his heady scent, a manly mix of musk and soap and sweat that turns me on something fierce. He backs up, ass arched into my crotch as I hug him to me, my lips trailing tiny kisses around his neck and along the rigid shelf of his collarbone. One of my hands encircles his erection through the pocket—in my fantasy he doesn’t have on underwear. My kisses move lower, down his back now, over his shoulder blades and along the nubs of his spine, my hands pushing into his pockets until his pants start to slide down out of the way. I’m licking along the small of his back, where he has a tiny Chinese character tattooed at the base of his spine, and my tongue barely eases between the mounds of his fleshy buttocks… Jolene calls my name. I replay that daydream, starting at the spot where his tailbone ends, licking down the crevice of his ass, and she calls me again. A customer or something, I don’t know, but my jeans cut across the start of my own erection with a sweet pain and I’m not ready to get back to the real world just yet, so I tell her, “Handle it, will you?”

  With an exasperated huff, she jumps down from the truck, one small foot catching me in the hip as she passes by. I don’t have the energy to fight with her right now. Where was I? Oh yes, tasting my way down damp flesh to the trembling, puckered prize beneath—

  Something icy presses against the back of my neck, so cold that it takes my breath away. I jerk my head up, ready to lay into Jolene for messing with me, only to see that Davis has found me again. He holds a can of Coke out to me, still wet from the cooler. “Thirsty?” he asks. I take the soda without comment, not trusting myself to speak. It’s hard to mesh the naked image of him in my mind’s eye with the living, breathing boy beside me. He leans against the side of my truck, so nonchalant, as if he has no clue what I’m thinking when I look his way. “So,” he asks, “what do you guys do around here for fun?”

  I take a swallow from the can and shrug. “This is about it,” I admit. A look around at the fair in full swing and I see just how lame it must appear to someone like him. “Sorry if it’s got you bored stiff.”

  “Oh, I’m stiff all right.” Maybe he’s thinking the same as me after all. But he’ll probably try to play that off somehow, pretend he’s not talking about what I think he’s talking about, and I’m waiting for that laugh of his to ease the tension between us when he reaches out and smoothes one finger down the length of my arm. His touch is light, ticklish, and he watches the tip of his finger as it curves around my elbow and swings up to dust under the short sleeve of my T-shirt. I watch too, waiting, my lower lip caught bloodless between my teeth. His finger feels like a feather on my skin, barely there, but then he presses hard against a freckle and when I glance up at him, he’s looking back. “Let’s go somewhere,” he whispers. My sister’s busy with a customer at the front of the booth and can’t overhear us, but Davis keeps his voice low and intimate. “Just you and me. What do you say?”

  I want to say yes, I want to shout it out at the top of my lungs, but this isn’t my folks’ barn in the lower field, this is the county fair, and with Jolene around, there’s nowhere we can be alone. Unsure, I start, “Where…”

  Davis nods toward the front of the truck, and for a moment I think he means for us to get in the cab. How private is that? But then I see the split rail fence and the wave of tall grass growing beyond the edges of the fairgrounds. “Out there?” I want to know.

  In lieu of a reply he takes my wrist, his hand slipping easily into mine as he helps me off the tailgate. Over my shoulder I call out, “Hold down the fort, Jo. I’ll be back.”

  We only take two steps toward the fence before my sister cuts in front of me, blocking the way. “Oh no, mister,” she says with an angry shake of her head. “My job was the pigs and they’re all gone so don’t try to dump the crops on me, too. Where y’all going anyway? Don’t you dare run off and leave me here. I’ll tell Pa.”

  “Listen,” I say, leaning down to look her in the eye. Davis tugs on my hand but I hold him back. “You might not believe me now, Jolene, but one day you’re going to bring home a boy that Pa’s not going to like.” I don’t mention that our father won’t like any boy she brings home—let her find that out for herself. She gives me a wounded look, lip pooched out like she thinks I might be lying, but she’s giving me a chance. “Trust me, once you get a little older, there will be plenty of times when you’re gonna want to get away with someone and you’re gonna be like, ‘Jesse, can you cover for me here?’ And what do you think I’m gonna say?”

  “Where are you going?” she asks again, petulant.

  I point out past the fence and tell her, “Just over there, I promise. If you need me, just holler. But you did a bang-up job with those piggies, Jo, and I know you can sell the hell out of some vegetables if you want to. What do you say?”

  Jolene glares at the field as if hoping it’ll burst into flame. Davis’s hand is starting to sweat against mine, and he gives me a pleading look that she doesn’t see. I’m just about to say fine, she wins, I’ll ache for this boy for the rest of my life just because she’s too damn stubborn to cut me some slack, when she sighs. “Fine,” she grumbles. She pouts at me, then at Davis, then whips her ponytail back with a defiant shake of her head, but she steps aside to let me pass. Without waiting for her to change her mind, I let Davis pull me toward the fence. As I’m climbing over I glance back, but Jolene’s already at the booth again, weighing out a bag of butter beans for another customer.

  The grass grows right up to the edge of the fence, a wild mix of buffalo grass, switchgrass, and tall fescue, with some late-blooming wild alfalfa sprouts purpling the field. It’s thigh high in most places, and as Davis and I move through it, a fine cloud of seeds and dust and insects rises up around us. After a dozen yards or so, the land slopes gently to a small ridge, then tumbles down into a gully thick with crabgrass and poison ivy. When Davis stops, kicking through the grass to find a good spot to sit, I look back to make sure I can still see Jolene. From here the front of my truck hides the booth, and I’m just about to say maybe we should move a little one way or the other so I can keep an eye on my sister when Davis falls back against the slope and pulls me down with him. “Here?” I ask, rolling onto my back. My stomach flutters as his hand tickles above the waistband of my jeans. The grass scratches my neck and arms, and rises around us to block out everything but the sky and Davis propped above me. The crowded fairgrounds sound like nothing more than wind rustling through fields a million miles away.

  “Here,” Davis breathes. He lies beside me, his stomach pressed against my side, and leans down to nuzzle my ear. When he speaks, his words fill me up inside as if they’re my own thoughts in his voice. “Where should we begin?”

  Gingerly I reach up and touch his face. He leans his cheek against my palm, then kisses my wrist. I guide him toward me, my mouth eager for his, my tongue licking along his upper lip before delving inside. He tastes sweet, sugary, like the soda he’s been drinking, and his tongue massages mine with an urgency that presses our lips together in a velvety crush. My hand fists in his short ponytail, pulling him further toward me, and he pushes me to the ground with the strength of his kiss, his arms cradling me as he holds me down, his legs straddling
my hips, his body covering mine.

  Through the double layer of our jeans, our cocks rub together, thrusting against each other as if locked in an ancient battle. His kiss becomes lustful, his hands rough in my hair, his body unyielding in its desire for mine. Somehow we break apart long enough to pull my shirt up over my head and I gasp as his teeth close over one hard nugget of a nipple, biting it erect. “God,” I sigh, holding his head in both hands as he nips his way down my stomach. His tongue licks into my navel, then he bites at the pliant skin, his fingers now at my waist and unzipping my jeans. My legs part as he moves lower, my knees rising on either side of him as he kisses the length of hair that leads into my crotch and then pulls down my pants and briefs. As if responding to the sudden sunlight and autumn air, my dick stands up from its patch of thick curls, pointing at Davis like an accusation. I raise my legs into the air, sure he’s going to tug the jeans off completely, but he only gets them down to my knees before he crawls into the space between, mouth open, tongue licking out to taste the head of my dick.

  With my legs on his shoulders, Davis kneels before me and traces the length of my shaft from tip to base with one long lick. As he takes my balls into his mouth, sucking the soft skin and rolling them around with that maddening tongue of his, I arch my hips up to meet him. He releases my aching sac and moves lower, licking the smooth, tender skin before pressing against my tight hole. “God,” I gasp again, fists full of grass as he rims me, his tongue dancing between my buttocks. I work my muscles, trying to draw him in, but he stays just out of reach. Then he’s back at my cock again, rubbing the spongy tip against the roof of his mouth as his saliva cools down my length. Something’s building inside of me, something untamed, unfettered, and I want to scream out at the world all the frustration and anxiety he’s whipping up in me. I want him to take me, god please, just lay into me until I’m left raw and bared and exhausted. His touch is driving me to the brink of insanity, his kisses push me over the edge. “Fuck me,” I plead, “please, please. God, Davis, don’t make me beg. Just do it already, will you?”

  He laughs, laughs, I can’t believe it. “Don’t like this?” he asks, and one finger slips up my ass to bump my desire another notch or two higher. As he moves inside me I try to hold him in, I want more and my cock is throbbing for release but I won’t give in, not yet. His mouth is on me again, this time taking me in completely, until his lips kiss the base of my shaft and his mussed hair tickles my lower belly. He shoves deep inside me, sending bursts of pleasure tingling up my spine and down my legs, igniting every nerve ending I have. I raise one hand to my mouth and bite the fleshy pad below my thumb, bite down hard against the sensations flooding my body. I feel him everywhere, in my ass, my cock, my heart. When he pulls his finger out and lets my erection slip free from his lips, I bite down harder and barely manage to choke back a sob.

  Eyes shut, I try to steady my breathing. I’m close to release, god so close, but I hear the telltale sound of his zipper, hear him grunt as he tears open a condom, and I know this is it, here it comes, “Please.” My voice is a broken, tearful plea. “Davis…”

  “Coming right up,” he promises. I hear him shuck off his pants and then he’s back, hunching his shoulders to squeeze into the tight space between my knees. As he climbs over me, one hand on either side of my head, I rest my jean-sheathed lower legs on his narrow hips. The wet tip of his dick nudges against my quivering hole, pokes at me once or twice, then finally, finally plunges inside.

  He shoves in as far as he’ll go and stops. Above me his face eclipses the world, his eyes so clear it seems as if I’m looking through them to the sky beyond. He stares down at me, forcing me to look at him, holding my attention while he’s so deep inside and then, incredibly, he gives a little thrust and moves in just an inch or two more. Pressure builds inside me, a breathless wait—his gaze refuses to let me turn away. Another tiny thrust, and another, and another, and just when I think I can’t take any more, he’s in too deep and I’m going to explode if he goes in any further, he pulls out half an inch. An eternity passes; I hold my breath and wait for him to thrust in again with those little tiny fucks that wind me up tight inside. As he moves within me, his mouth closes over mine in a tender kiss.

  I feel shattered afterward, a scarecrow torn into pieces and left scattered around the fields. Davis holds me close, kissing the back of my neck as he murmurs my name. My pants are still around my knees, my shirt somewhere in the grass nearby, and Davis is buck naked behind me, nothing on but that used condom still dangling from his limp member and lying wet between my thighs. I try to smooth out the grass imprints on his arms but the pink flesh stays indented. The fairgrounds still sound so far away, but the sun has begun to slant along the fields. I lace my fingers through his, hug his arms against my chest—I want to lie here forever, trapped in the circle of his embrace.

  But footsteps swishing through the grass near the fence remind us that we’re not alone. Reluctantly I sit up, dust the grass out of my hair, off my shoulders, arms, legs and back. I don’t look at Davis as we dress, silent, each lost in his own thoughts. As he leads the way back to the fair, I reach out to brush the grass off his butt. His hand catches mine. “Copping a feel?” he asks, one eyebrow cocked salaciously. He raises my hand to his lips, kisses the tips of my fingers, then lets me go. “You here all week?”

  I thought he’d never ask. Not to seem too eager, though, I shrug like maybe and he punches me playfully in the arm. “Don’t be like that,” he says. “I got bite marks underneath my chin where you sank your teeth in, Jesse. You liked it.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t.” The next time he looks up, I duck down to see under his chin. Damned if there isn’t a faint red welt, and he’s got a hickey coming up along his jawline. I point it out. “That’s gonna be pretty.”

  We’ve reached the fence. Davis leans back against it, grabs the belt loops on the front of my jeans and tugs me toward him. “Davis,” I warn. We’re behind my truck and mostly out of sight, but this is a small county and I surely don’t need this getting around. Still, his skin looks smooth and creamy, and I can’t stop myself from trailing a hand down his flat belly to hook in the front of his jeans. He’s watching me with an unnerving stare, waiting for me to answer his previous question. “I’ll be here,” I tell him.

  He gives me a sunny smile. “Me too. I’m staying with Gary—” “Stay with me,” I say. It slips out before I can think to stop it, and the way his face lights up, I hate myself when I have to add, “Only I still live with my folks. Gary’s my half-uncle, so Momma’ll put you up, but Pa won’t cotton to us getting it on in his house.”

  Davis’s smile twists into a sly grin, and his eyes sparkle mischievously. With a tug on my jeans, he pulls me closer and I stumble into him, my nipples stiffening where they brush against his. In my ear he whispers, “Then we’ll just have to go outside.”

  And suddenly six days doesn’t seem long enough for this year’s fair.

  OTHER RESIDENCES, OTHER NEIGHBORHOODS

  Douglas A. Martin

  1

  I put my number inside The Golden Spur, the book he was buying, along with his receipt, hoping he’d call me. There were real bookstores in the city, ones that didn’t fill their shelves with toys and candy, games and puzzles, ones not necessarily fun for the whole family. I was working in one of them. I’d picked him out, when he walked in. The boss didn’t want us reading while on the clock, and so I’d watch the boys like him and men when they’d come in, waiting for someone to respond. I was hoping he’d come back to look for me. You could tell by the way that some of them looked, the way some of them would look at me, that we were alike.

  Nobody met anyone’s eyes where I was from originally, like everyone was afraid of everyone else, wanting what the other might not want. All shades over the windows kept pulled down, curtains kept closed, that’s how they lived there. No one who had any idea of what it was like would wonder what had brought me here. There weren’t a whole lot of optio
ns, and if any man had kissed me in his car, had taken a chance, putting his hand on my knee, asked me in; if any guy had showed me how he wanted me in that way, I would try my hardest to hold on to him.

  He’ll come back to the bookstore, in Brooklyn, Park Slope, and I’ll watch him lock up his bike outside. Here you could go out for drinks and then home to his place, go to bed together, that very night. Something like love, that could make you stay anywhere.

  Mostly, we’d go to his place, not mine.

  Like me, he’d come from down South.

  He’d be the third from that first year in the city, after the first boy who thought I liked sex too much, also not from the city; and the next, who’d like it when I came over to his place in Brooklyn Heights, sweaty, after having run around all day, already having been with somebody else, who liked it, he said, when I smelled all gamey. That’s what he called it. This new one, some nights he’ll fall asleep with just me stroking his hair.

  One twin bed barely fit into the small room that was mine, on the top floor of a building converted into as many rentable spaces as possible, right across the street from the Wyckoff Projects, above the noisy, twenty-four-hour deli. I wasn’t going to let myself grow up to be like them, men I’d known back home, the streets all crowded with their cars, though there was little else there.

  It’s just men who were connected through their talk of women, women’s bodies, sports, yard work; close to each other only if they’d gone to the same high school; happy, content, or trying to be, with the boat for the lake, freezers full of deer meat, new cars, and houses or trailers to one day own.