by Tara Lain
Holding on to Furtwangler with one hand, Micah stood on tiptoe and opened the top door. He slid the present behind the teapot he used for herb infusions. He really wanted to give the bracelet to Dharmaram tonight, but he’d force himself to wait. It would be more special tomorrow.
He walked through the dark dining room into the living room. No lights. He turned on a low TV-viewing light. “Stay here, guy. We’ll watch some TV, okay?”
The cat slithered off his shoulder to the comfortable, cotton-velour-covered couch, and Micah headed down the hall to the bedroom.
“Umpf.” Micah stopped. “Ohhhhh.” Shit, was that Dharmaram? Had he hurt himself doing his damned backward-bending pose again? He took two more steps.
“Oh, oh, oh!”
What’s wrong? Micah ran the last seven steps and threw open the bedroom door in time to see a large bare ass in the air and a very big dick shoving its way into the pink butthole of the guy Micah had just spent five hundred dollars on. “Shiiiiiiit!”
“Un, un, un.”
Micah stared. Clearly the fuckers were too far gone to stop, so he was privileged to watch his so-called lover moaning in orgasm while some guy as big as a tree grunted over him.
His whole body felt cold, frozen. Strange how the mind works. Sure, his heart should be breaking, but all he could think of was that this tree trunk was the kind of guy Dharmaram really liked. He’d always said he loved Micah’s slim, hard body, but obviously the redwood there was enough of a man to get to top Dharmaram, while Micah had always been forced to bottom. Micah had told himself he loved being the receiver, but the truth was, he liked to top and Dharmaram never let him. Shit, he never let him do a lot of things. Maybe thighs like an elephant’s were needed to hold down that perfect ass.
The mammoth rolled to the side, and Dharmaram raised his head, looked at Micah, and then flopped back to the pillow. “Well, shit. You said you’d be late.”
What the fuck? “Late? Late?” The ice melted, and heat rose up Micah’s spine until he saw red—just like in the stories. “Obviously I’m seriously late in realizing that you’re a fucking cheating asshole. You live in my house, eat my food, and let me buy you presents”—the bracelet flashed across his mind, and he wanted to kill—“and all you can say is ‘you said you’d be late’? You flaming son of a bitch!”
The elephant man sat up. “Maybe I better go, huh. Let you work this out with your boyfriend.”
Micah wanted to throw himself across the room at the guy, but even in this pissed condition he had some self-preservation. The guy outweighed him by a hundred pounds. “Yeah, you go.” Suddenly everything got clear. “Yes, go and take him with you.” Micah pointed at Dharmaram’s still supine body. “He’s no boyfriend of mine. Get the hell out of here. I’ll send your stuff.”
The yoga teacher sat up. Always so graceful. “Oh, come on, Micah. So I cheated once. BFD. Sometimes I just want a poke in the ass and from somebody new. So what?”
“So what?” Had he really believed this man was the love of his life? Shit, yes. Then why was he giving up on him so easily? Good question. “Get out of here.”
For the first time, Dharmaram looked worried.
“C’mon. Where would I go?”
“I don’t care.” And amazingly it was at least half true. “Take your toothbrush and get the hell out of my house.”
Dharmaram’s wide, dark eyes got watery. “Come on, baby.”
Micah shook his head. Okay, here came his heartbreak. Heat pushed behind his eyes. No way. He gritted his teeth. “Get out now.” He looked up at Dharmaram’s chiseled face. “Now. Out. Now. Or so help me, I’ll call the cops and tell them you’re trespassing.”
“They’d never believe you.” But at least Dharmaram scooted off the bed toward where Tree Man was buckling the belt on his jeans.
Micah took a step forward and grabbed the clothes lying on the floor at the foot of the bed. He threw the yoga pants and shirt at Dharmaram, who caught them with his face. Micah clenched his fists. “Get your clothes on your body and get out. You can pick up everything else from the porch tomorrow.”
Dharmaram pulled on his yoga pants commando over that hard-muscled downward dog of an ass. Micah didn’t want to look. How many hours and days had he mooned over Dharmaram’s perfection? Well, the guy wasn’t perfect anymore.
Dharmaram pulled his T-shirt over his head. “You’ll see this differently tomorrow.”
“No, I won’t.” He stared at the handsome, dark-haired man who was now his ex. “I think I knew you’d been cheating, but I didn’t want to believe it. I believe it now.” Sad, but the truth.
Dharmaram threw up his hands. “Hell, Micah, if you weren’t such a perfectionist prick, you’d be a half-decent boyfriend, but shit on a stick, you shove that green crap down my throat all the time and give perfectly good money to save furry things that nobody needs anyway. Get over it, man.”
Micah sighed. So finally the truth. He stuck out his hand. “Give me the house key.”
Dharmaram frowned so deeply the creases should have turned permanent. No such luck. He fished in his pocket and pulled out the key on the pretty butterfly key chain Micah had given him. With a flick, he tossed them on the floor.
Micah glanced at the keys. “Just leave.”
And he did. Dharmaram, the guy of Micah’s dreams, walked out the bedroom door with Redwood Man. Micah heard him say, “Can I stay with you until I find a place?” And the tree answered, “Nah, I live with my mom. She doesn’t like me to bring guys home.”
Laugh or cry? Micah followed them to the living room. Dharmaram’s perfect ass retreated out the front door. Micah slammed it. So much for angry gestures. Shit. He pushed his back against the door and slid to the floor.
So there it was. The rat-crap ending to an otherwise rat-crap day. And more. The end of a dream. How long had he known or at least suspected that Dharmaram was cheating? Months? Hell, they’d only been together a year. When they’d met at that health-food convention, Dharmaram had said all the right things. Change the world by changing consciousness. Find the union of body, mind, and spirit. Dharmaram could change people’s minds while Micah transformed their bodies. Together they would create the new generation of more perfect humans. But only a few weeks later, Micah had noticed Dharmaram’s very perfect eyesight when it came to ogling the surfers who walked past the house to get to the beach in the morning. Micah made excuses for him. After all, they weren’t dead. Looking didn’t hurt anything. Yeah, right.
And here he sat. Alone. Dharmaram didn’t want him. His customers didn’t want him.
He let his head drop forward. That was okay. He’d taken care of himself all his life and he could keep on doing it. His chest hurt, he breathed so deeply.
He stood and walked to the kitchen, turned on the juicer, and piled in some spinach, kale, and parsley.
“Merwaor.”
Micah looked at Furtwangler, who’d jumped onto the counter. Still flexible after all these years. The old cat bumped his head against Micah’s hand to get a scratch.
Maybe someone needed Micah after all. Tears ran down his face.
Chapter Two
“MMMMPF.”
“Merwaor.”
Micah slid a hand from under the covers toward the ringing phone and got a furry head instead. He raised his face. Shit. Ten o’clock. The middle of the fucking day. Of course, he hadn’t been able to sleep until the middle of the fucking night. Too busy shoving Dharmaram’s crap onto the porch.
He patted the cat and grabbed the phone. “Yeah.”
“Hey, boss man. Where’s my juicer?”
Shoot. “Hi. Sorry. I’ve got it in the car, but I overslept.”
“We’re really busy this morning. We could use two juicers. You okay?”
“Yeah. Kind of. Dharmaram and I split up.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“I know, I know.” Kathy hated the yoga teacher. Called him a user. A failing everyone had seemed to see except Micah.
“Thanks. But I’ll get my shit together and bring it over there within the hour.”
“Okeydokey. Take a deep breath.”
“You mean like a yoga breath?” He barked a laugh.
“Anything but. See you in a bit.”
He hung up, got up, and padded into the kitchen. Furtwangler followed on his little cat feet. Micah gave the cat some great homemade food he’d concocted on the weekend, and the fuzzbucket fell to it. Of course, he gave the cat meat. That was felines’ natural food, unlike humans. Micah was sure he could keep the old guy around until he passed twenty with enough good nutrition and love.
Yeah, love keeps us alive. Tears filled his eyes again. Damn. No blubbering.
He showered, threw on some ratty jeans and a T-shirt, and let Furtwangler into his enclosed space in the backyard. It gave him lots of sunlight and butterflies to chase while keeping the coyotes away.
He started toward the front door and paused. Hell, there he was. Through the window Micah saw Dharmaram carrying some of his crap across the yard to a big, honking, gas guzzler of a truck. An attractive woman, probably in her midforties, followed him, hauling another armload. Micah recognized her. One of Dharmaram’s most devoted students. The woman took three or four classes a week. Maybe she was helping Dharmaram out? Giving him a ride?
Micah peeked through the curtain. Dharmaram went back for one last load, pushed it into the back of the truck, then walked to the driver’s side, gave the woman a big kiss, and took the keys. She smiled, crossed to the passenger door, and got in. So the bastard had switched to women in his quest to get someone to take him in. Micah hoped he couldn’t get it up. Of course, Dharmaram’s cock got hard at the thought of money, and this woman probably had a bundle from the look of that vehicle.
Micah dropped the curtain. Done. Over. So much for fucking true love. His phone rang and vibrated in his pocket. He should enjoy it. That might be the most action his cock got from now on. He took it out and looked at the phone screen. Yancy. He clicked. “Hey, buddy. What’s up?”
“I just heard a rumor from Kathy. Is it true? Is it splitsville with you and Fuckface?”
Yancy didn’t like Dharmaram either. Why hadn’t Micah listened to his friends?
“Yeah. Done. He just pulled the last of his shit off my porch.”
“Good. Then you’re ready for anti-Valentine’s Day.”
“Oh hell no.”
“C’mon. You can’t be clinging to that happily-ever-after crap now. You just devoted a year of your life to a using loser who never appreciated what he had.”
“Thanks for the reminder.”
“Just the truth, buddy. Come on. Come to the party tonight. I’ve got a boatload of talent waiting to suck your cock.”
Whoa. Micah’s cock leaped at the suggestion. Even when he’d had a boyfriend, nobody had sucked Micah’s cock in months. Dharmaram had just hammered his ass once a week and called it a sex life. “I don’t know.”
“I do. A night of meaningless sex in the name of anti-Valentine’s Day, right? Screw Cupid and all manufactured holidays. Let’s prove that fucking makes the world go round.”
Micah stared at the coffee table where there had sat a beautiful piece of Murano glass a wealthy friend had brought him from Italy. It was one of the few expensive things Micah owned that didn’t involve food or nutrition. No one could have taken it except Dharmaram. Maybe the bastard had sold it weeks ago and Micah hadn’t noticed. “Sure, I’ll come. What time shall I be there?”
HE COULD still back out.
Micah walked his bike up onto the lawn of the big home on the top of the hill. His heart beat fast from pedaling up the slope, but man, Yancy had a prime spot. Private, with a view to die for. Tonight, however, the view seemed to be low priority. All the windows were draped or shuttered. Yeah, and Micah knew why.
Yancy’s anti-Valentine’s Day party was infamous. A big gaggle of gay men got together to say phooey and fuck off to all the hearts-and-flowers bullshit of the holiday while sealing the deal with a ton of mindless sex in Yancy’s hot tub, sauna, pool house, and miscellaneous bedrooms. Or so Micah had heard. He’d never made the party despite the fact that he and Yancy were close friends. Everybody knew that Micah believed in love. Yancy, not so much.
Micah had left Furtwangler sleeping on his bed, and he could go home to him right now. But hell, he could use some sex, mindless or otherwise. Plus, he didn’t have to participate. He could just watch. No, that sounded bad. But he didn’t have to fuck anybody if he didn’t want to. Yancy said so.
Okay, here goes.
He propped the bike against a tree and locked it, then walked up to the front porch and rang the bell.
The door flew open. Yikes. Someone grabbed his arm, and it took a second to realize it was Yancy doing the grabbing. Just that quick, he was inside Yancy’s foyer and the door was closed behind him. Yancy pushed Micah’s back to the wall and spoke in a low voice. “You made it. I was afraid you’d chicken out. Good, you’re not too late, so only a few guys have paired off. You can still pretty much have your pick.”
Micah grinned—nervously. “It’s not that easy. I think the other guy has to agree too.”
“Well, hell, who wouldn’t choose you? Look at you.”
Okay, so Micah kind of knew that people thought he was good-looking. He couldn’t see it himself. He was tall enough but kind of skinny and mangy-looking. His dark, almost black hair would not stay out of his eyes. His lips were too full and cheeks too lean. Using his bike as transportation made him fit—hell, he even had a six-pack—but altogether he looked like a survivor from a desert island. He grinned at Yancy. “You didn’t choose me.” He was kidding. They’d always been friends, but no sparks had ever flown.
Yancy took him seriously. “I can’t help it that I’m addicted to giant weightlifters and linebackers. If I could look at a guy under two ninety-five, I’d look at you.”
Micah laughed. “And you’d only be off by a hundred and fifty pounds.” He looked across Yancy’s shoulder into the living room beyond. Music played and the voices and laughter sounded louder now that he paid attention. “So what’s going on in there?”
“Lots of pickings.”
“Not sure how I feel about it.”
“Don’t worry. Take your time and see if there’s anything to your liking. This is a no-obligation event.”
Micah took a deep breath. “Okay.”
“C’mon.” Yancy led him into the living room, which on another occasion would have looked out over the ocean and the city lights of Laguna, but tonight the long drapes were pulled tight over the cathedral windows.
Most of the maybe fifty or so men stood in groups talking and flirting, with drinks and some food in their hands. But on one chair, two guys were kissing like they could clean each other’s tonsils, and a glance down the hall showed a man leaning against the wall while another dude sucked him off. The orgy was beginning.
Shee-it. Watching was sexy. It was hard to force his eyes away from the public blowjob. Hard being the operative word. The room even smelled like sex, and his cock was turning into a steel rod in his jeans.
Yancy led him to a bar. “What’ll you have?”
“Red wine if you’ve got it.”
“Of course. I even have the organic wine with no sulfates, just for you.”
“Hey, thanks, man.”
Yancy poured some deep red wine into a stemmed glass and handed it to Micah. “Want me to introduce you around?”
“Naw. Let me wander a little.”
“Okay, but no hiding.”
“Just want to get the lay of the land.”
Yancy clinked his glass to Micah’s. “I’m more concerned about Micah getting laid.”
He looked around the room. “What about rubbers? Are these guys using them?”
Yancy grinned. “I hand them out by the
barrelful.” He reached in his pocket and, true to his word, produced a string of six condoms. “I want you to use every one.”
Micah laughed, and his cock did its happy dance just at the thought. “No worries.”
He sipped his wine and walked over to the door to the patio and looked out. Wow. Heaters surrounded the huge pool, and men took full advantage, skinny-dipping in the blue water. Bare asses ran along the pool deck, and two guys fucked against the far edge of the deep end while two other guys looked on with their cocks completely erect. Whoa. He needed some of that action. He really did.
He’d taken one step out when he caught a glimpse of a person walking by him in the dining room. Was that a woman? One of his hands reached down and covered his cock, which was funny since at least ten guys outside were naked and Micah was fully clothed. He turned and saw the skirt move into the kitchen. Good grief. Was it someone from the caterer? What could she possibly think of this orgy? She probably went in the kitchen to escape through the back door.
No way he was going to get naked with a woman hanging around. He wanted to see if she was gone. He skirted a group of chatting guys, and one man grabbed his arm.
“Hey, you looking for me?”
The man was tall, clean-cut, and really good-looking. Micah tried to remember how to flirt. “I could be. I just have to get something in the kitchen.”
“Well, don’t forget where I am, okay, handsome?” The guy leaned over and pecked Micah’s lips with his own. It had been a while.
Micah grinned. “I’ll remember.” He didn’t really need to go after the woman, but what if she needed help?
He pushed through the swinging kitchen door and found a couple of caterers laughing and gossiping quietly in a corner. Bet they had something to talk about. And there, back to him by the sink, was the woman.
As he looked at her now, Micah realized there was no way she could be a caterer, unless she owned the company. The red dress was silk and those four-inch stilettos would have paid his mortgage for a month. She wasn’t real tall. Even with the shoes, he guessed she’d be a little shorter than his six feet. Very slim with just a slight rounding at her hips, strong, lean legs, and willowy arms in the long sleeves. A mane of golden hair fell over her shoulders. The color looked real but well tended, like it cost a bundle to keep that silken shine.