Gay Fiction, Volume 1

by Mel Bossa

  Veronica Marie’s presence was commanding. In person, she was just as glamorous and flawless as she was on the magazine covers she graced. The Brazilian bombshell screamed seduction in a barely-there white miniskirt and white vinyl go-go boots. Her long, dark hair fell in large curls down to the middle of her back and was held back out of her face with a thick silk headband matching the same bright shade as her daffodil yellow frilly blouse. Her skin was sun-kissed brown like she spent her entire life running along the shore of a tropical island.

  Because she probably did.

  I scanned the other faces as everyone entered the room. Athena. Mary Jane. Nina.

  “Oh my God,” I heard myself say. “Where is Darla?”

  “Who are you?” Veronica Marie demanded, a hand on her hip. Her stare was so intense and intimidating, I lowered my eyes and stared at the carpet. “Who is he, Athena? And what’s he doing in our room?”

  “He’s Diego’s boyfriend.”

  I looked up.

  I am?

  “He’s just waiting for Diego,” Athena continued, becoming more believable with each word. “I told him it was cool if he chilled here for a while. Until we’re done with the interview.”

  “Where is Darla?” I asked again.

  Nina let out a sigh of exasperation and rolled her eyes. “She’s downstairs with Geoffrey Cole. She’s buying us some time.”

  “Athena, I want to talk to you,” Veronica Marie announced. I think she snapped her fingers, but it could’ve been my imagination. “In private.”

  “I’m kind of tired right now,” she said, and forced a yawn to prove her point. “Can it wait until tomorrow?”

  Veronica Marie folded her arms across her chest. She was wearing a charm bracelet. I wondered if it was made out of solid gold. “I’m not going to Europe with you,” she pouted.

  Nina sat down on the bed and crossed her legs. “Look, can the two of you argue later? We need to go over the contracts for the tour. The promoter sent them over for each of you to sign.”

  “It’s always business with you, isn’t it, Nina?” Veronica Marie spat.

  “That’s what I get paid for, Veronica Marie. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to do.”

  While Veronica Marie and Nina were engaged in a bitch-stare contest, Athena flashed a look of desperation to Mary Jane.

  “Veronica, let’s go have a cigarette,” suggested Mary Jane, who was apparently sober enough at the moment to pick up on Athena’s silent cry for help.

  “I’m trying to quit,” she huffed.

  Mary Jane laid it on thick. Her voice was sugar. “Just come with me. Please. I wanna talk to you about something important.”

  It was working. Veronica Marie’s posture relaxed, but only a little. “I’m not in the mood right now.”

  Athena moved across the room and stood at the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. “Just go with her,” she said. “I’ll still be here when you get back.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do, Athena,” Veronica Marie said to the back of her girlfriend’s head.

  I joined Athena at the window. “Wow. Chicago looks so pretty at night,” I said, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

  I dropped my voice to a whisper. “She’s in the bathroom.”

  Athena leaned in. “What?”

  Since Athena appeared to be more interested in the view than her, Veronica Marie apparently changed her mind. “Mary Jane, do you want to go downstairs and get a drink with me?”

  The blond bass player shrugged. “Sure. There’s nothing else better to do.”

  “Just don’t wander too far,” Nina said. “The interview is in less than an hour. I don’t want you to miss it.”

  “I wouldn’t mind,” Mary Jane said. “Veronica, come on, we’ll go get you a drink and me a smoke. We can get out of Athena’s way for a while so she and Nina can go over contracts. Then we can come back and the two of you can scream at each other all night long.”

  “Fine,” the supermodel steamed. “Whatever.”

  I waited until the door closed behind them before I rushed to the bathroom door, pushed it open, and said, “It’s okay, Rebel. You can come out now.”

  Rebel tore back the shower curtain to reveal her hiding place.

  Athena leaned against the door frame of the bathroom. Her mouth dropped open in shock. “She was in the shower?”

  Rebel squeezed by Athena with, “Hi, honey. Come and find me later when you’re through playing with your Brazilian Barbie.”

  “What’s she doing here?” Nina asked me, if Rebel’s existence was my fault.

  “Nina, as usual, it’s a displeasure to see you,” Rebel said. She turned to me. “Thanks for covering my ass. I’ll catch ya later.”

  With that, Rebel slipped out of the hotel room and disappeared, leaving a bathtub full of her belongings behind.

  “Athena, you have some explaining to do,” Nina said.

  “Hey, don’t worry about your friend Darla,” Athena said to me. “I’m sure she’s fine. And thanks a lot for helping me out. I owe you one.”

  “No problem,” I said. “But let me give you some advice. You need to stick to one woman. And my vote is for Rebel.”

  Athena grinned.

  “Any idea where I might find Diego?” Nina asked. “Are you hiding him somewhere, too?”

  I locked eyes with Nina and answered, “Not yet.”

  Chapter Ten

  Walking into the hotel restaurant was like stepping back in history. For a brief moment, I imagined I’d somehow time-traveled to Chicago in the 1930s. I almost expected to see gangsters and glamorous gun molls mingling, flirting, and scheming. I could practically feel the sneaky vibe of those brazen enough to risk the wrath of breaking Prohibition laws. The place should have been bursting with an unquenchable lust for life—and sin.

  Instead, the restaurant felt ghostly.

  The mood and décor in the place reminded me of the bygone era. The room was low lit, illuminated only by the dim glow of the art deco sconces lining the walls. The leather and velvet high-back booths were semicircular, ensuring a fair amount of privacy to its occupants. In the far corner, a platinum blond woman in a scarlet dress stood behind an old-fashioned microphone, doing her best Veronica Lake impression. Bathed in the harsh glare of a single spotlight, she was seducing the few diners in earshot with her throaty rendition of a classic love song by Ella Fitzgerald. Her faithful male piano player was bent over his keys, playing with deep rapture on his unshaven face, as if he were making love to the baby grand.

  I stood in the entrance, flanked by potted palms. I glanced down at my oversized sweatshirt and faded jeans, at my Converse shoes contrasted against the glossy black and white checkered floor. I felt underdressed and completely out of place.

  But I didn’t care.

  I scanned the room, looking for him.

  To my left, I heard the familiar giggle of Darla Madrid. She was tucked into a booth with a balding man who I assumed was Geoffrey Cole. She was practically sitting in his lap, fawning over him, laughing at his every word. She was teasing the man, tempting him by licking her lips and brushing her fingertips across his arm.

  He doesn’t stand a chance.

  To my right, Mary Jane was nodding off in a booth, sitting across from an irritated Veronica Marie. Mary Jane held an empty glass against her cheek, cooling the fire in her skin. The supermodel was preoccupied with an argument she was having with someone on her cell phone. Her words were muffled, but tense and firm. Veronica Marie tossed back the rest of the cocktail in her hand and slammed her empty glass down on the smooth, shiny tabletop. She raised her arm and indicated she was ready for another with an angry snap of her long fingers.

  I continued my search.

  There he was.

  Diego sat alone in a booth. His beautiful features were hidden by shadows. He looked mysterious, covert. He was my modern-day Humphrey Bogart and we’d somehow found ourselves in the middle of our own version of Casablanca.<
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  Two drinks were in front of him, waiting. He took a drag on his cigarette, exhaled. My eyes drifted upward, following the silver stream of smoke. I watched it drift, spiraling up and then soaking into the light on the wall, absorbed by the hungry heat of the pale amber glow.

  He looked up as I approached the table.

  I stopped in my tracks. I stood there for a moment too long, just staring at him, taking in the sight of him. He was pretty. Soft, even. But it was that bad-boy streak of rebellion lingering in his eyes that drew me to him. It pulled me in.

  Closer.

  Maybe it was the nonchalant pose he seemed permanently stuck in that I found so attractive. Like nothing really mattered to him, like he couldn’t be bothered to care, to sit up straight, to mind his manners. He was just here, coasting through life, breathing charisma and getting by on his irrefutable charm. Living moment by moment, second to second. He was carefree, reckless. He was the epitome of wild. There was a lustful flicker of danger pulsing around him like an invisible force field, threatening and warning anyone who came too close.

  Even me.

  From the second we’d met, Diego was irresistible to me. I couldn’t refuse him—and he knew it. We both did.

  I was powerless.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, with that adorable crooked grin of his. “What took you so long?”

  “I’m here now,” I offered.

  I slid into the booth and our eyes met.

  I lowered my gaze to the amaretto sour sitting in front of me. The sides of the glass dripped with condensation, forming a ring-shaped puddle at the base.

  “You’re practically a stranger to me,” I began.

  I felt his eyes on me, so I lifted mine. He gave me a look of frustration before smashing his cigarette out in a glass ashtray. “That’s bullshit. We’re not strangers, Justin.”

  “Aren’t we?”

  He shook his head. “No one knows me better than you do.”

  “We’ve spent a total of an hour together since we met,” I reminded him.

  He leaned forward. Warm light from one of the wall sconces splashed across his face. “Maybe it only took seconds to figure it out,” he said.

  “Figure out what?” I prompted.

  He didn’t miss a beat. “That I want you.”

  I leaned back in the booth and folded my arms across my chest. I was trying to fight him off, to deny the incredible desire I felt for Diego Delgado. I was losing the battle—and fast—and it was obvious. “I don’t want to be a groupie,” I stated.

  “Didn’t you read my postcards?” he asked “I meant every word I wrote to you.”

  “I believe you,” I said. “And your words. I liked them.”

  “I thought you liked me, too,” he said. “Or am I wrong?”

  I took a deep breath before I spoke. “You’re actually really wrong.”

  His jaw tightened. “Then what in the hell are you doing here?”

  I looked into his eyes. Even though he seemed angry and tense, his eyes made me feel safe. Secure. Embraced. “I’m falling in love with you,” I confessed.

  His expression softened. “Justin…”

  “You don’t have to say anything back…not until you’re ready, and not until you mean it. See, it only took seconds for me, too. To figure it out. I don’t want to be a one-night stand or a sleazy hookup.”

  “No,” he said. “That’s not me. That’s not what I’m about. This is so much more than that.”

  “I don’t want to be your pen pal in Chicago.”

  “I’ve had pen pals before,” he said, “and I’ve never wanted to fuck one of them.”

  “Is that what you want, Diego?” I challenged. “You wanna fuck me?”

  He reached for my hand. He opened it and ran his fingertip across my palm. He was playing me—my body—like I was the strings on his guitar. Touching me with gentle authority, claiming me. The sensation sent chills from the back of my neck down to the soles of my feet.

  I shuddered. I tried to pull my hand away.

  Diego stopped me, holding my wrist. He was stronger than he looked. Powerful. And I liked it.

  A lot.

  “I’ve never wanted someone as badly as I want you,” he said. His eyes burned a hole in my skin, singeing every private, dirty thought I’d ever had. I felt like he was devouring me in his mind. Unhinging his jaw and swallowing me alive. “I want to take you somewhere,” he continued in a low, hushed voice. “Undress you. Kiss every inch of your beautiful body. Tease you for hours. Pleasure you until you pass out. Then, when you come to again, I wanna hear you ask for it. I want the words to fall out of your mouth. I want you to plead for me to put my cock deep inside you. I want you to beg for me to fuck you. When I think you’ve earned it, I’ll slide inside you—real slow at first—and once your body gets used to mine, I’ll pound your ass as hard as I can. I won’t stop fucking you until you cry and tell me you can’t take it anymore. And I’ll make you come…again and again and again. Then, when you’ve had enough, I’ll wrap my arms around you and hold you while you sleep. Because, I know, from that moment on, you’ll always belong to me. And I will never want anyone else in this world except for you. Even in our dreams, Justin. You and I will only live for each other.”

  He reached for his pack of smokes. I watched his hands, his mouth, the illumination from the flame of his shiny Zippo when he flipped it open and sparked the fire. He took a drag, tilted his head back, and exhaled. “So,” he said, holding my stare. “What do you say?”

  In response, I reached for my drink. By now, most of the ice had melted. A few cubes floated across the top of the tumbler. I wondered if my hands were shaking when I brought the glass to my lips, and if they were—could Diego tell? I swallowed the cool, sweet liquid down in three gulps.

  “I don’t think I have the power to refuse you,” I said. “And you know that.”

  He grinned. His delicious lips made me want to lean across the table and kiss his mouth. I resisted the urge. “Good,” he said. “Because I don’t usually take no for an answer.”

  “Just don’t use my desire against me,” I said. “Ever.”

  I moved. I stood up. I looked down at him.

  “I live fifteen minutes from here,” I said.

  His mouth curled into an edible smile. He slid out of the booth.

  His words tickled my face. “I’ll pay the cab driver extra if he gets us there in five.”

  Chapter Eleven

  We couldn’t get each other’s clothes off fast enough when we stumbled into my studio apartment ten minutes later.

  Diego set his acoustic guitar case down on the hardwood floor, slipped out of his bomber jacket, and lifted his black T-shirt over his head. I ran my hands over his smooth torso and stopped for a moment to lick his hard nipples. He let out a soft moan before kicking off his combat boots and tugging at the silver button on his jeans. He stepped out of them and stood in front of me in a pair of plaid boxers and black socks.

  Moonlight and patches of flashing neon poured in the tiny windows of the apartment, covering our bodies with a midnight swirl of silver blue and streetlamp gold. I stripped off my hoodie, my T-shirt, and my jeans. I couldn’t remember being this turned on before. I slid my underwear down to my ankles and kicked them off. Immediately, Diego reached for my cock and squeezed it.

  I led Diego to the futon. I lay down and stared up at him, waiting to feel the weight of his body on mine. Diego stood above me, hovering like a temptation. Slowly, his hands moved to the waistband of his boxers and he gently guided them down, revealing himself to me, while I watched with lip-trembling anticipation. Diego reached down and pulled back the tight foreskin on the head of his cock. He lowered himself, kneeling over me so that his balls brushed against my chest and nipples. He moved his cock toward my mouth and our eyes met as my lips slid over the tip and slowly down the thick shaft. Within seconds, Diego’s body started to move. Back and forth he glided, farther and farther down my throat.
He reached back and wrapped his hand around my cock and began to stroke me. Our movements soon quickened and heat began to rise off our bodies like invisible steam.

  Diego pulled back, slipped his cock out of my mouth, gave it a few pumps with his hand. I reached around Diego for my own cock and jerked it fast.

  Diego’s eyes closed. My head tilted back. The muscles in our shoulders and chests tightened. Our breaths pulsed until they dissolved into low moans. The first stream of hot come shot from Diego’s cock and landed on my lips. My hips bucked just a second before I shot a blast of come across Diego’s lower back.

  It took a few seconds for us to return from the semiconscious reverie we’d slipped into. When we did, we grinned from intoxicating euphoria. Sweet, nervous laughter tumbled from our mouths. I reached for a discarded shirt on the floor close to the futon and wiped my face with it. Diego rose to his feet and I sat up on my elbows, concerned he’d reach for his clothes and head for the front door. But to my surprise, Diego offered an outreached hand, into which I slipped mine. Diego helped me to my feet. We stood face-to-face and allowed moments to pass. In our silence, it felt as if the world had stopped and nothing else mattered.

  Diego leaned toward me until his lips brushed lightly against my cheek.

  I moved my index finger up the side of Diego’s arm. I traced the outline of a barbed-wire tattoo circling his left bicep.

  Diego grinned. “That tickles.”

  The smile on his face was infectious, glowing from the inside out. The metallic strips of moonlight draped across his body only enhanced this.

  Diego spoke and his words surprised us both: “You’re beautiful.”

  For a moment, I felt the urge to cry, not from sadness but because of the tenderness shining on Diego’s face. I took Diego by the hand and led him to the bathroom. There I lit two candles and turned on the shower. Within seconds, steam danced around our naked bodies and covered the mirror above the sink with a layer of misty fog. I pulled back the black and white checkered shower curtain and stepped into the clawed bathtub. Diego followed me inside. We met beneath the cascade of hot water. He slid his arms around my waist and pulled me close to whisper, “I wanna hold you.”