by A. J. Lucas
Thinking about it like that brought me to the edge of orgasm, so I sat up and said, “Slow down, I don’t want to cum yet.”
He lifted his head and kissed me, and I used the opportunity to flip him onto his back. His curly hair fell onto the pillow around his head in a ring. I kissed him on the mouth, and then kissed his neck, and then right in the middle of his hairy chest, and then down his abs to his cock, which was at this point standing fully at attention.
I hadn’t had a chance to return the favor that afternoon in the changing room before we’d been interrupted by Harrison’s call, so now I took him in my hand and wrapped my lips around the head. Whenever I did this, I always had a moment of surprise at just how soft even a hard one felt in my mouth; there was the slightest layer of softness before the rigid interior, and I squeezed my lips together, putting pressure around it.
He was big, too big for me to take all the way into my mouth, and the slight upward curve made it even more difficult to get down my throat. Still, he seemed to be enjoying what I was doing; there were small whimpers coming from above me on the bed, much more feminine noises than I would have expected from such a manly surfer like Felix. I enjoyed the feeling of power those reactions gave me, folding nicely into the feeling I always got when I had another man’s most treasured body part in my mouth, knowing that he trusted me with it, to use the responsibility to make him feel good instead of endangered.
While I sucked, I ran my hand up his chest and through the curls of hair. I liked feeling it beneath my fingertips.
After a few minutes — I would have been happy to keep going — Felix pulled me up until we were even with each other on the bed. We kissed for a little while, just touching ourselves and each other, grinding our bodies together, until he pulled back and looked at me hungrily.
“Do you want to…” he said, leaving the specifics unspoken; he didn’t have to name it.
“There are condoms and lube in the bedside table drawer,” I said. Sure, I’d only bought eggs and bread for food when I’d moved in, but I had stocked the endtable drawer just in case, even though I had no idea this would actually happen. He grinned and clambered over me to look. While he rooted around for the rubbers, I lay back and watched him, admiring his ass up in the air while he hung off the side of the bed.
I could get used to this.
I could get used to him.
8 - FELIX
Any lingering awkwardness was gone, replaced by pure, primal lust. I wasn’t thinking of anything. There was no regret about the night before, no regret about not having told him earlier. No more worrying about him forgiving me, no more worrying about whether I should even have to forgive myself.
Even though I knew I looked pretty good, was better-looking than your average beach bum, I always had a moment like this during a hookup, a moment where I realized that any self-doubt or self-consciousness had completely melted away and that I was no longer thinking about how I was being seen, just what I was seeing.
And what I was seeing as I rolled on the condom looked pretty fantastic. Foster was splayed on the bed underneath that ridiculously tacky photograph of Italy looking for all the world like a Michaelangelo painting, one of the ones where some soft-muscled Adonis reclined on a cloud. He was ready to give himself to me, to let me use him for my own satisfaction. I vowed to myself that I would satisfy him at the same time.
I hovered over him and put his legs up over my shoulders, rubbing them reassuringly as I did so. The position opened him up to me, and after slathering myself in the lube I’d found in the drawer, I reached down and slid in one finger, and then two. He moaned at the sudden pressure.
“Is that okay?” I asked.
He nodded, unable to speak. I stretched him out for a moment with the fingers of one hand and stroked him with the other, and then I put my tip at his opening, and then pushed inside him.
“Fuck,” he gasped. I waited a moment for him to get used to the feeling — I was only halfway inside. When he looked down at me and nodded, I slid the rest of the way inside, gasping myself at the warmth, the tightness.
“That feels so fucking good,” I hissed, my jaw clenched.
“It does,” he agreed.
While we pushed our bodies together, while I pounded into him as he bucked up against me, I leaned down and kissed him. I looked into his eyes, comforting him, letting him know with my eyes that I was going to care for him even as I fucked him, trying to convey the promise that this wouldn’t be the last time, that I wasn’t going to discard him like I’d discarded the guy from that morning. His forehead was furrowed, but it was an expression of trust, of thanks, of incredulity at the things he was feeling.
He adjusted his legs so they were wrapped around my back instead of over shoulders, his feet resting just above my ass. The change in angle gave me renewed energy, and I really went for it, pulling almost all the way out and slamming all the way back in rapidly. He tightened his legs around me in rhythm, almost as though he were pulling me into his body, guiding me.
Most of the sex I had felt somewhat impersonal, the two of us using each other to get off. That was fine and fun.
But this felt like a collaboration, the two of us working our bodies together to figure out what felt the best. And I loved it, feeling a warmth in my chest that had nothing to do with how physically close I was to Foster’s body.
After a few minutes in that position, Foster asked if we could stop for a moment. I obliged, pulling out, switching to pleasing both of us with my hand while he lay back, panting from exhaustion. I was grateful for the momentary break as well, and I was even more grateful when he flipped over on his stomach and got up on all fours, arching his back.
It felt even better this way, and I think it did for him, too, because he rutted against me in time with my thrusts, grinding his hips back.
The whole day’s frustrations had a cumulative effect, like I’d been edging myself, denying myself without meaning to, from the lost opportunity with the burly man I’d woken up with, to our interrupted tryst in the changing room, to the over-the-wetsuit handjob that had been stymied by the arrival of our lunch.
So when my orgasm came, it was sudden, and I barely had time to shout before I was suddenly overcome with convulsions in my groin. The release was total and all-consuming, and after I was finished, I fell back onto the bed, completely spent.
“Wow,” Foster said, grinning down at me. “You needed that, didn’t you.”
“You have no idea,” I shuddered.
He looked down at his own erection. “I have some idea,” he said, smirking.
“Of course,” I laughed. “We’re not done yet.”
I pulled the condom off, tied it, and tossed it in the wastebasket next to the bed. I took another out of the drawer and handed it to him; he stared at it, and then looked up at me, confused.
“You didn’t mean you wanted to fuck me next,” I said, realizing.
“Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “Pretty much a total bottom.”
Fuck yes, I thought, although I would have let him if he’d wanted to. Instead, out loud, I said, “How can I help?”
He considered for a moment, and then lay back on the bed. He patted the covers next to him and said, “Just... be here? I’m close anyway.”
I lay down next to him, putting my arm around his shoulder, pulling his upper half onto my chest. I ran my other hand over his chest, flicking at his nipples and tracing patterns on his arm, drawing goosebumps. He snuggled against me while he worked himself with his hand; it wasn’t two minutes before he pressed his face down into my body, moaning, and erupted, covering his chest.
“Wow,” I echoed him appreciatively, enjoying the feeling of him tensed up and panting against my torso, supporting himself up. “I hope that felt as good as it looked.”
Instead of answering, he kissed me.
We lay together for a few minutes without speaking, catching our breath, watching the last vestiges of sunset outside darken to black. T
hen he said, “Let’s go shower off.”
The bathroom attached to the bedroom was as marbled as the kitchen downstairs. There was a massive shower enclosed by frosted glass. It was the type I’d seen only in pictures, where the water came down from showerheads recessed into the ceiling, giving the impression that you weren’t so much showering as standing in a room where it was raining inside.
While we soaped up and rinsed off the remnants of the ocean water and each other’s bodies, we talked about what a strange day we’d had, about how glad we were that I’d happened to see him just as he’d looked up at me. He said he was glad I’d made the first move by inviting him to hang out; I reminded him that it was he who’d said hi to me first, and that none of this wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t taken that initiative. He seemed surprised by that, and then proud.
After we toweled off with the softest towels I’d ever used in my life, we went back to the bedroom, where he handed me a pair of thin sweats from the dresser. For himself he chose a pair of short gym shorts, which I was fine with; they hugged his ass perfectly.
“I’m exhausted,” he said, and I agreed. “Do you want to just lay down for a few minutes? Then we can order pizza or something.”
“That sounds great,” I said, willing to go along with whatever he wanted if it meant I got to spend more time with him.
We climbed into bed, covering ourselves with a soft down comforter that provided the perfect amount of warmth against the air conditioning. He cuddled up against me, nestling into the crook of my neck like he had just before we’d fucked. He felt safe, it seemed, and I was content.
After a few minutes of laying there, breathing deeply together, the physical exertion of the day caught up to me, and I felt my eyes closing.
BAM.
A loud slam jolted me awake at the same time it woke Foster, who jumped like he’d been electrocuted. Then, another: BAM BAM BAM. Someone was slamming a hand against the bedroom door.
“Foster, are you in there?” shouted a worried female voice.
“What the fuck,” I said, groggy. My first instinct was to shout at the person to go away, but the panicked look on Foster’s face told me now was not the time, this was not my house, and I needed to stay quiet.
“It’s my mother,” he said quietly. “Shit.”
“Foster?” came the voice again, followed by another round of knocking.
“Do I need to... hide...?” I asked, unsure what the protocol was here. I’d been out since I was 16 and had been sexually active since shortly thereafter, and the fear of being caught by a parent had long since left my mind, considering my own parents were no longer around and I often had a thing for older men.
“No,” he said. “Hold on. Let me think.”
BAM BAM BAM.
He got out of bed and pulled on a plain t-shirt from the dresser, and then said, “Mom. One second.”
“Oh thank god,” the woman outside said. “Thank god. Kevin, he’s here!” she shouted, apparently calling to someone downstairs.
I thought she might be crying.
Foster came over to where I was still on the bed, leaned in close, and kissed me quickly. “They didn’t know I was here,” he said by way of explanation. “I kind of broke in. I’m supposed to still be in New York.”
“Oh,” I said, because I wasn’t sure what else there was.
He went over and opened the door, and a harried-looking woman who was probably in her early forties, who’d had too much plastic surgery for her age, stood there staring. Her eyes went from Foster to me and then back to her son, widening. She was indeed crying, and upon realizing I was there and putting the pieces together, she turned and walked down the hall. I heard her footsteps heading down to the first level.
“Maybe I need to go?” I said.
Foster turned to me, his eyes wild. My heart broke for him. “Please don’t?” he said, and I resolved to do whatever I could to get him out of this situation tonight.
“Okay,” I said, getting out of bed and walking over to where he was standing by the door, shifting his weight from foot to foot like an indecisive little kid. I wrapped him in a hug and said, “I’ll be here. You do whatever you have to do. I’m not going anywhere.”
He kissed me, but I could tell his mind was downstairs with his parents.
“Come with me?” he said. Without hesitation I followed him down the hall and down the stairs, holding his hand, holding him up, because it looked like he was going to collapse.
The woman I’d seen a moment ago was standing in the kitchen along with a trim, nerdy, balding man in a suit that had probably been pressed that morning but which now looked wrinkled and distressed. His fashionable glasses and the shiny wristwatch he wore were the only indications of how rich this man was.
And, of course, the fact that we were currently in his beachfront house in Los Angeles.
“Who the hell are you?” the man asked.
“My name is Felix,” I said, stepping forward for a handshake. “I’m a friend of Foster’s.”
His father looked at me, disgusted, and made no move to shake my hand. I stepped back to Foster’s side, letting him direct how this was going to go.
9 - FOSTER
I felt like I might be sick.
“How did you know I was here?” I asked, realizing I hadn’t checked my phone since that morning. Who knew how many times they’d called and texted throughout the day.
“Your mother saw the photo you posted this morning on Instagram,” Dad said. I remembered the picture I’d taken of my coffee and book.
“You must have recognized that was your book,” I said, looking at her apologetically.
“That, and you geotagged the coffee shop,” she said, smiling through her tears. I clung to that; she was upset with me and was probably scared, but she was relieved to find me, and we could work through this somehow.
“Ah,” I said. I sank into one of the stools at the breakfast island.
Felix made a move to sit down next to me, but my father stepped forward. “Felix, I’m gonna need you to leave,” he said. “This doesn’t concern you.”
I could feel him tense up next to me, wanting to defend me, and I was more grateful than I’d ever be able to put into words. But I knew that would just make things worse.
“It’s okay,” I said to Felix. “I think I’ll be okay.”
He leaned in and hugged me; my father turned away and my mother began to make a drink, clattering bottles and glasses together loudly. “Before you go,” I said softly in Felix’s ear, “could you please, please put your number in my phone? It’s in the tote bag in the hall.”
“Of course,” he said as we separated. He looked at my father’s back, and then at me. “You’re sure you’re going to be okay?” he asked, giving me the same look he’d given me that morning from outside the coffee shop. I’m here. I see you.
I nodded, unable to verbalize what I was feeling, unable to convey just how lonely I was going to be the minute he walked out of the room. He did, and, I was.
Once Felix was gone, my father said, “I need you to start at the beginning. Where the hell have you been?”
“He’s been here, just like I thought,” my mother said.
“Yeah. I’ve been here,” I said, sullen.
“Why?” Dad asked simply.
I knew what he meant — why wasn’t I still in New York, why had I left college abruptly before the semester was over, why hadn’t I returned any of their texts in weeks. Instead of trying to answer any of that, instead of trying to explain what had happened to Jason and how it had left me adrift and hopeless, I reverted to sarcasm.
“Because I like the view of the ocean,” I said, immediately regretting it when anger flashed across his face.
Mom sank into the chair next to me. “We thought you’d...” She swallowed hard, and then took a sip of the liquor in her rocks glass before trying again. “We thought you’d hurt yourself, like...” she stared meaningfully, practically begging me no
t to have to finish the sentence. I desperately didn’t want her to.
I stood up. I didn’t want to talk about that. I wasn’t ready to.
“Do you know how much your tuition cost?” my father said, trying a different line of questioning, one that, again, made me want to shoot back instead of answering honestly.
I looked around the room pointedly. “Clearly, you can afford it.”
“That’s not the point,” he said, his voice rising. “You’re supposed to be learning responsibility. You need to live your own life, not live off ours forever.”
“I know,” I said, but he didn’t seem to hear me.
“We’ve given you so much. Too much, apparently. You just want more, more, more, and you don’t appreciate what you have,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” I said, but the louder he got, the quieter I spoke, unable to bring myself to shout overtop of him.
“Most kids would kill to be in your position. Do you know how lucky you are that this house is even here?”
“I do,” I said.
“Hon,” my mother said, trying to intercede on my behalf. “We’re just glad you’re okay.”
“We are glad you’re okay,” Dad said, “but I’m going to need a better explanation than that. So: why?”
“I don’t know how to explain it,” I said. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Start at the fucking beginning!” my father shouted, slamming his open palm against the countertop.
Just then, there was a flurry of activity in the doorway, and Felix rushed back into the room holding his knapsack in one hand and his phone in the other.
“Foster, come on,” he said, grinning widely.
“Excuse me?” Dad said, staring at Felix in surprise.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I can’t explain, you just have to come. C’mon,” he said. He took my hand and guided me towards the curtains that blocked the view of the beach.