“Been thinking about that all night,” I say when I finally pull away to catch my breath.
“Me too.” He licks his lips, which makes me want to kiss him again, so I do, and I still want more. I’m hard enough to rip a hole in my jeans. I turn away and lean my tailbone against my truck.
He eyes my crotch with a mischievous grin. “I wish I could help you out with that.”
“Yeah, me too.” I’m getting used to his flirtation. He stands there silently, like he’s waiting to be dismissed, and I think about football until my body starts to calm down. “I don’t say your name right, do I?” I ask, straightening up.
He shrugs. “I didn’t mean what I said last night. I like the way you say my name. It’s like you’re being careful.”
His mother said the same thing about me. Hiro needs someone to take care of him, to protect him, maybe even from himself. I grab his hand and draw him close for a moment, then kiss his cheek. “I’ll be careful.”
He nods with a dreamy look in his eyes. “I believe you.”
Hiroku
FOR THE first time ever, my mom actually likes the guy I’m dating. She’s so enthusiastic when I tell her Berlin invited me over Saturday night, she wants to help me pick out something to wear. I politely decline. I love my mom, but I have my limits.
“No more black, Hiroku,” she calls as I jog up the stairs to my room. “The funeral is over.”
I choose a gray shirt instead. I’m breaking all the rules for him.
I get to his place around six and park my bike on the inside of his truck, just in case anyone comes up the drive while I’m here. He opens the door and notices the shirt immediately.
“Is that for me?” he asks with a wide smile. His teeth are perfect, just like the rest of him. I’m dating cowboy Ken.
I shrug, and because I’m an ass, I say, “Don’t get too excited. It’s basically light black.”
He pulls me into a hug, and I inhale his pine-scented cologne and something else that is decidedly Berlin, a woodsy, earthy smell. I like the feel of his arms around me, his scent in my nose. Thinking about where the night may lead makes me both excited and nervous.
The inside of his house is pretty rustic, with wood floors and paneling. Pretty much everything in the house is wood, some polished, some natural. A buck’s head hangs above the brick fireplace. Poor fella. The few quilts hanging on the walls are the only feminine touches.
“My mom made those,” Berlin says as I step closer to look at them.
It sucks that Berlin lost his mom. I shouldn’t be so hard on mine. She’s actually pretty awesome. If it were just my dad and me, we’d have killed each other by now.
“They’re beautiful,” I tell him.
“Yeah.” He looks thoughtful for a moment, then motions to an island between the kitchen and living room. On top of the bar is a wide assortment of vegetables already washed and cut. “I figured we could grill.”
“Wow, it looks like you robbed a produce stand,” I remark. He looks embarrassed, and I feel bad for teasing him. “No, that was really nice of you, Berlin. I didn’t know you could cook artichokes on a grill.”
“You can cook anything on a grill.”
“No steak for you?”
“I like vegetables. I figured you wouldn’t want me to taste like meat.”
That makes me pause. Seth never once considered I might not want to kiss his meat breath, nor did he ever pass up the opportunity to eat meat in front of me. Sometimes he even ordered me food with meat, then played dumb or got pissy when I wouldn’t eat it, like he was testing me.
“You don’t have to abstain on my account. That’s why God made toothbrushes.”
“God didn’t make toothbrushes,” he says.
Did I offend him? Take the Lord’s name in vain or whatever that rule is? Like everything else, Berlin put a lot of thought into this evening, and I was demeaning it. “Boy, I’m hungry,” I say to fill the silence.
I help him bring the platters of food to a deck out back. Berlin fires up the grill and offers me a soda. I’d prefer a beer, or even better, a shot, to loosen up, but I doubt that’s on the menu, even though it isn’t Sunday.
Berlin grabs the barbecue tongs. “Pick some music.”
I make a quick playlist from my phone and connect to his outdoor speakers.
“This isn’t what I thought you’d like,” he says as my mix of bluegrass and honky-tonk songs play. Not the hokey line dancing shit, but the good stuff, mostly new takes on traditional songs where the banjo and mandolin players go off.
“You were expecting music to slit your wrists to?” He seems to not know whether to laugh. “Joking, Berlin.”
He nods. “I was expecting something a little more like… well, you know.”
“Like Petty Crime?” He nods. He’s seen the video. He knows how my dad feels about it. “What did you think of that video? Before you knew it was me?”
His face turns red as he concentrates extra hard on turning the vegetables. “It was very artistic,” he says at last.
I laugh because he’s trying so hard to be diplomatic. “I shot that video, you know? I had, like, half a dozen tripods going. I was actually pretty proud of it.”
He glances over at me. “You should be. It really tells a story.”
Berlin surprises me at every turn. I expected him to think it was shameful or embarrassing to be in a video like that. But maybe he really does see the artistry in it. And the honesty.
“I guess we should throw our expectations about each other out the window,” I say.
He nods. “That’d be a good place to start.”
We eat outside on paper plates. I suspect he and his dad are used to living the bachelor life. I can only eat about half of what Berlin prepared for me. It’s all delicious, including the roasted artichokes, basted in butter, which melt in my mouth.
“You want to see the horses?” he asks as we clean up.
“Yeah. Totally.”
He leads me across the lawn to a large two-story barn. Inside are about a dozen stalls, half with horses in them. Berlin greets each animal with a kind word and a handful of hay. I can tell they’re happy to see him. I would be too.
“This here’s Sheila,” he says when he reaches a silver horse with gray freckles. “That’s a pretty girl, Sheila. She came to us from a property that got foreclosed on. She was skin and bones, hadn’t had a proper meal in months. Hooves were a mess. Look at her now, though, all fattened up and healthy.”
I pet Sheila’s velvety nose, and she side-eyes me as if to inquire about my intentions with her master. I don’t know, Sheila. I’m still figuring this thing out.
“This is Merlin. He’s a draft horse, a hardworking boy.” Merlin has a dark brown coat with a shiny black mane.
“He’s big,” I remark.
“Seventeen hands. He’s the only one big enough for me to ride.” He explains to me how horses are measured. It seems kind of arbitrary. Like a cubit.
“Seventeen of your hands is like twenty of mine.” I lift my hand and compare it to his. He curls his fingertips around mine. His gaze catches mine in the dusty gloom of the barn, and I see the longing in his eyes. I like the way he looks at me, how he lets me know he wants me without demanding anything. He’ll wait for a sign.
I take a step closer. He leans in and I meet him halfway. He sucks on my lower lip, gently, and a thrill races through me as our tongues curl around each other. His hand is in my hair, tugging. I reach for his belt buckle, and he clasps his hands around mine.
“Come with me.” He pulls me to a wooden door at the end of the barn. It leads up a darkened stairwell. “Sometimes when we have horses as boarders we keep a stable hand who stays up here, but it’s empty now.”
Upstairs, he turns on a bedside lamp. The apartment takes up the whole upper floor, one big, open room with a small kitchen area, a table and chairs, and an adjoining bathroom. The walls are the same wood as the barn, with exposed rafters and big windows. There’
s also a large bed with a wooden headboard and footboard. It’s warm and inviting and it smells nice, like hay.
He hooks his thumbs on my waistband, pulls me to him, and kisses me again, then reaches for the button on my jeans. I curl inward and back away.
“What is it?” He looks worried, like he might have done something wrong.
“Nothing,” I lie. “Let me take care of you first.” I come back to him and press my mouth against his before he can protest. My fingers are fast. I have his shirt and pants off in about ten seconds. He tugs at my shirt, and I let him take it off me. I drop down on my knees in front of him and swallow his cock, loving the taste and smell of him, his enthusiasm at every little thing I do.
One of his hands rests on my shoulder and the other tugs at my hair, pulling at the roots. His hips rock and he grunts softly with every thrust into my mouth. I wrap my lips around his stiff cock and let him set the rhythm. I love the way he takes control without demeaning me, how he tells me with his body language and his noises what he wants.
I can tell from the way he’s nodding he’s about to finish. He starts to pull back and I take him in deep one more time, then slide him out and catch his cum in my fist, carrying him through the last pulsing thrust.
When I rise, he kisses me full on the mouth, guides me backward onto the bed, and climbs on with me. His elbows support his weight on either side as he kisses my neck, then my shoulder, my chest, working his way down. His hands are gentle, as are his lips as he marks my skin with warm, wet kisses. Not like Seth, I remind myself. He unbuttons my jeans and peels them down far enough to kiss my waist. But when he reaches inside my boxer briefs, something switches in my brain, and I start thinking about Seth. Mixed emotions assault me like Seth’s fists and words. I can’t even remember the last time I was with him sober. This isn’t Seth, I remind myself, it’s Berlin. But I can’t stop seeing Seth’s face in my mind, feeling his hands all over me, like pythons, grabbing and dragging me under, squeezing me so tightly I can’t breathe.
“Stop.” I roll away from Berlin, sit up on the edge of the bed, and try to catch my breath. My head is spinning and my junk is throbbing. Why can’t I get my shit together? I need the release, but my body and mind won’t play nice.
I hear Berlin breathing behind me. I don’t know what the fuck to say, except that I am certifiably insane. I should just go, I think. Get the hell out of there before Berlin ends up hating me for it.
“Are you thinking about him?” he asks.
Shit. He knows. He’s probably pissed too. How messed up is it to be thinking about someone else while being with him? I swallow down my rising panic and say nothing.
“I used to do that with my girlfriend when I needed to get, um….”
“It’s not that. You’re doing everything right.” I glance back at him, reclined on the bed, naked. A god. I can’t believe I’m ruining this right now. What is wrong with me? “I don’t want to be thinking about him. It’s not a fantasy for me. More like a nightmare.”
“Oh,” he says quietly.
I stand abruptly and look around for my shirt. “I should go.”
He rolls up to a sitting position and grabs my hand. “Sit for a minute.” He guides me back down to the bed in front of him, straddling me with his muscular thighs like we’re back on my motorcycle. His chest presses against my back, and I feel the rhythm of his even breath. After a moment I relax into him.
“I’m not him,” Berlin says, nosing the side of my neck, melting me into a puddle of warm goo.
“I know you’re not. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He strokes my hair, the same way he did the horses’ manes. The rise and fall of his chest calms me, like his body is regulating mine.
“You want to talk about it?” he asks gently.
I don’t know how to explain it. I also don’t want him to think I’m hung up on Seth or pining for him, because that isn’t it either. Not exactly.
“He’s the only guy I’ve ever been with, and sometimes it’s hard to separate sex from everything else. From the drugs and the music and the way he was… with me.”
Berlin’s chin rests on my shoulder. “How was he?” he asks, not with jealousy, but with curiosity and compassion.
“Demanding. Relentless.” Like the Queen of Hearts, all ways were Seth’s way.
“Did he hit you?” His tone is guarded.
Only when I deserved it, I think but don’t say it. I know how it sounds.
“Sometimes.”
“That’s wrong.”
“Yeah,” I agree, but sometimes it seemed like a reasonable response. I could push Seth to the limit. I’m not innocent.
“Was he faithful?”
I chuckle darkly. “Not quite.” The first time he cheated on me, I broke up with him, but it didn’t last. The second time he lured me back with drugs. After that it was too painful to care anymore. Of course the rules were different for me. Most of our fights were about me flirting with other guys, girls too, even though it was usually to get back at him. I played mind games too.
“The highs were high and the lows were bottomless,” I say. “Sometimes he’d tell me to meet him, then watch from somewhere nearby to see how I’d react when he didn’t show. It was so fucked up, and that’s not even the worst of it. But I couldn’t stay away from him.”
He rubs my shoulders. “Your whole life was tied up in it. Like football is for me, and Trent.”
I’m not sure if he means his life is tied up in football or with Trent. Or both. “Yes,” I say. “It’s exactly like that.” Except Berlin is still involved in his abusive relationship with Trent.
He wraps his arms around me, gives a light squeeze. “Maybe you need more time.”
Seth has taken so much from me already. I don’t want to give him another second of my life. “I don’t want more time. Then it’s like Seth’s still controlling me.”
“A safeword, then?” Berlin asks.
I nudge him with my shoulder. “What do you know about safewords?”
He chuckles. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
It makes me curious about Berlin’s experience. I figure it’s fair to ask since he now knows about mine. “Have you ever done it? With a girl, I mean?”
“I’m a virgin,” he says like it’s no big deal. “Unless you count what just happened, and the other day at the creek.”
I feel pretty honored I gave him his first and second blowjobs. I know he’s religious, so maybe that’s why he’s still a virgin. “Are you waiting?”
“I’m waiting for the right person.”
No pressure there, I think. But maybe one day he might consider me to be the right person. What an honor it would be. My mother is right about him. He’s a nice boy.
I lean my head back against his shoulder. His nose grazes my neck while his hands massage the tops of my thighs.
“This okay?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I’m getting worked up again by the smell and feel of him. So solid and steady. Like a fucking rock. He tilts my head forward and kisses the nape of my neck. My spine tingles. His one hand grips my chest, hugging me to him. His other hand reaches into my pants and tugs at my cock. I feel the calluses on his hand rubbing over my tender skin, and I shiver from his touch.
“Still okay?” he whispers.
I nod, unable to speak. He spits on his hand and strokes me up and down, but he’s too timid. I grab his forearm and urge him on. He tightens his grip and pumps faster. I remember the way he cocked that shotgun. Pull, he whispered into my ear right before I squeezed the gun’s metal tongue.
And while his hand pilots me, his lips move up and down my neck, his breath chasing his kisses. Every nerve in my body is awake and humming under his steady hand. Waves of pleasure roll through me as my cock throbs in his grip, the sensation of his fingers riding up and down my shaft raising me up, up and away. I moan and twist in his arms while he clutches me tightly, tethering me to him. I dig my heels into the floor and press back in
to his chest to feel his strength.
“Almost there,” I breathe. I know it’s going to end, and I don’t want it to. I want this mount to the top to stretch on indefinitely, but Berlin’s doing his job too well. My thighs tremble as I reach behind to grab the back of his neck, giving him total control. His hips rock against my backside, his cock stiffens against my ass, and I imagine how our bodies might connect as one.
With his mouth anchored to my neck, he whispers, “Go on.”
I make some animal noise in the back of my throat as my cock pulses and erupts into his hand. I shudder with pleasure, and my arms go slack around his thick neck as I slump back against him. He kisses my shoulder tenderly, trailing up my neck to the sensitive spot just below my ear. I crumple forward and he holds me a moment longer, until the aftershocks subside, then climbs off the bed and washes his hands in the bathroom. Shell-shocked, I sit there for a few seconds in a daze.
He comes back and jumps on the bed like a little kid, throws a pillow at me, then pulls me down to him. I rest my cheek against his chest, the meaty part where the butt of his shotgun would go. We lie there for a while and I listen to his even breathing, watch his chest rise and fall. It’s a comfortable silence.
“That felt goooood,” I say, my mind and body finally on the same page. Blissed-out and content. I simply want to be near him.
“Stay the night,” he says, playing with my hair. “I want to wake up to this tomorrow.”
I glance over at him, feeling soft and gooey inside. I’d say yes to just about anything right now, but my parents would freak and probably never let me see him again. I want to do this thing fully with Berlin, but my past keeps getting in the way of my present.
The Bravest Thing Page 9