Beautiful Boys: Gay Erotic Stories (21 page)

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Authors: Richard Labonte (Editor)

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Jamie giggled. He’d matched me drink for drink but he couldn’t handle his liquor.
 
When the waitress returned, Jamie reached for his wallet because he always paid when we were together. He had a trust fund and I only had a Pell grant. Jack put one hand on Jamie’s forearm and stopped him. To the waitress, he said, “Put it on my tab.”
 
She nodded and moved on to the next table.
 
“Thanks, Jack,” I said.
 
He held his shot glass up in a silent toast, so we lifted our piña coladas. Then the three of us drank. Jamie almost poked his eye out with the red plastic sword holding his maraschino cherry and pineapple wedge together. I sucked from my straw. Jack emptied his shot glass and returned it to the tabletop. “Why are you two here?”
 
“Because it’s the only bar for miles,” Jamie slurred.
 
“It’s spring break,” I explained, “and we didn’t want to go where everybody else went. Why are you here?”
 
He stared over my shoulder, perhaps looking at the sea again, before answering. “I’m waiting.”
 
“For what?” I asked.
 
“For the tide to turn,” he replied. He was silent for a moment, and then he said, “You ask a lot of questions.”
 
I jerked a thumb at myself. “Journalism major.”
 
“And your friend?”
 
Jamie had one arm on the table and was resting his forehead on it.
 
“Undeclared,” I said.
 
“Five-year plan?”
 
“If he’s lucky.” Jamie was killing time until he inherited his grandfather’s money, and college was just as good a way to do it as any other. I finished my drink and reached for Jamie’s.
 
“Looks like your friend’s ready to go back to your room,” Jack said.
 
“I think we both are.”
 
Jack had the waitress bring him an unopened bottle of whiskey. Then he helped me hoist Jamie to his feet and walk him to the exit, which wasn’t anything more than a step down from a raised floor to a gravel parking lot.
 
“How’d you get here?”
 
“Walked.”
 
“Your friend’s in no condition to walk back,” Jack said. “Let me give you a ride.”
 
We carried Jamie to Jack’s rental car, poured him into the backseat, and then I joined Jack in the front. I watched as he drove, and he watched the road. There were no streetlights to illuminate the two-lane highway, only the soft glow of a quarter moon filtering through the overhanging trees and the rental car’s headlights slicing through the darkness ahead of us. Jack drove attentively, like a man who didn’t think he would pass a sobriety test if he were pulled over.
 
When we reached our rental cottage, Jack helped me get Jamie to the bedroom and we dropped him across the king-sized bed.
 
“Are you staying here?” I asked.
Here
was six two-room cottages and a building containing the office and a kitchen that served a buffet breakfast and nothing else. We hadn’t seen a maid the entire time we’d been there.
 
“No,” Jack said. “I have a house farther down the beach.” He told me which one. I’d seen it from the road on our ride from the airport. It wasn’t a house; it was a villa.
 
“You have that entire place to yourself?”
 
Jack smiled wanly. “I do now.”
 
I had no idea what the hell he meant, but I wasn’t sober enough to pursue the conversation. Feeling dizzy, I steadied myself by grabbing his upper arm. Even wasted I appreciated the firm muscle I had wrapped my fingers around, and my cock stirred in my board shorts.
 
“You’re a good-looking guy,” I slurred.
 
Jack peeled my fingers from his arm and encouraged me to lie on the bed next to Jamie. When I did, I passed out.
 
 
I awoke the next morning to the sound of Jamie violently expelling the contents of his stomach. I pressed pillows to my ears but I couldn’t completely block the sound. When I heard the shower, I climbed from bed and pulled on clean board shorts, a tank top, and my flip-flops. I left Jamie in the cottage and walked north along the beach until I came to steps carved into the face of a cliff that led up to the villa Jack was renting.
 
The villa’s wide stone porch had a waist-high retaining wall on the cliff side and, after I climbed high enough to see over it, I found Jack sitting at a glass-topped table, nursing a cup of coffee. He’d seen me coming and had an empty cup waiting on the far side of the table. After I sat, he filled it from a silver pitcher and asked, “Why are you here?”
 
“Isn’t it obvious?”
 
“You want to seduce me.”
 
I didn’t confirm or deny his supposition. Instead, I lifted the coffee cup to my lips and sipped.
 
“Do you always get what you want?” he asked.
 
“Usually,” I replied. “Do you?”
 
“I do,” he said, “but I can’t always hold on to it.”
 
He went inside and returned with a framed photograph of a slim blond with model good looks. ”I thought Randal was the one,” Jack said. “He didn’t feel the same about me.”
 
“What happened?”
 
“A relationship is like the tide. It ebbs and it flows. Right now the tide is out, but he’ll be back.” Jack paused and looked out at the sea. “I just don’t know when.”
 
I finished my coffee, thanked him and returned the way I had come.
 
Jamie had showered and dressed and was standing in front of the bathroom mirror fixing his hair. “Where’ve you been?”
 
“I went for coffee.”
 
He glanced at my reflection in the mirror. “And you didn’t bring any back?”
 
“I didn’t eat,” I said. “I thought you might want breakfast.”
 
He did.
 
 
We spent that day exploring the island and we spent that night exploring each other. As we lay in bed afterward, Jamie asked, “You were thinking about him, weren’t you?”
 
I turned and looked a question at him.
 
“You know who I mean,” he said. “The swimmer.”
 
I didn’t deny it. “Why do you ask?”
 
“You didn’t make love to me,” he said. “You
fucked
me.”
 
Jamie turned away and fell asleep with his back to me. I stared at the ceiling for the longest time, certain that this trip would not turn out the way Jamie had wanted it to.
 
 
Friday afternoon we crossed paths with Jack at a little restaurant in town. Jamie and I were sitting at a table outside, eating conch fritters and French fries, when Jack came walking down the street.
 
He saw us and stopped at our table. “Your week’s almost up, isn’t it, boys?”
 
“We leave tomorrow morning,” I told him.
 
He turned his attention to me. “Not much time left,” he said. “Did you get everything you wanted?”
 
“Not yet.”
 
After Jack walked away, Jamie leaned across the table and grabbed my forearm. “What the
hell
was that all about?”
 
I made a dismissive gesture with my free hand. “It’s nothing.”
 
But it wasn’t. That evening I took Jamie out drinking and made certain he downed two or three piña coladas to every one of mine. Then I hired a cab to return us to the cottage and paid the driver extra to help me manhandle Jamie into the bedroom.
 
After I was certain he was settled, I changed clothes and slipped out of the cottage.
 
 
Jack had watched me walking up the beach, and he met me on the back porch of his villa. He wore a blue silk robe and held two shots of whiskey. He handed one to me.
 
When he held his shot glass up, I touched the rim of my glass to his. Then we knocked them back.
 
I’d never had whiskey straight—I’d always had it mixed with diet Coke—and it made my throat burn and my eyes water.
 
“Man’s drink,” Jack said.
 
I didn’t argue. Was I now a man?
 
We put our empty shot glasses on the retaining wall.
 
“You’re leaving tomorrow.”
 
I nodded.
 
“And you’ve come to make one last pass at me.”
 
I wanted him. I had wanted him from the moment he walked out of the sea. I wet my lips and nodded.
 
There was no need to seduce him and no need for foreplay. We both knew what we wanted. Jack undid the sash and his robe fell open to reveal a thick, uncut phallus and the wild nest of black hair it sprouted from. I dropped to my knees, wrapped one hand around his rapidly rising cock and pulled back his foreskin to reveal the swollen purple head.
 
I took his cock in my mouth, hooked my teeth behind the glans and painted his cockhead with my tongue, soaking it with saliva. Then I slowly took his entire length into my mouth before I drew back. I did that twice more before Jack grabbed my head and face-fucked me. His heavy sac slapped against my chin each time he buried his cock in my mouth. When his sac began to tighten and his breath began to catch I knew he was about to come. I prepared myself for the geyser.
 
He came, firing thick wads of hot spunk against the back of my throat. I tried hard to swallow it all, but I couldn’t. Some of it leaked out and dripped to the stone porch at my knees.
 
When his thick cock stopped spasming, he pulled away, took my hand, and pulled me to my feet. Then he shoved one hand into the waistband of my board shorts and pulled me close. He unfastened my shorts and they dropped to my feet. I wasn’t wearing anything beneath them and my cock was already hard.
 
I peeled off my tank top, stepped out of my shorts and kicked off my flip-flops. Then he spun me around and bent me over the waist-high rock retaining wall so that I was facing the sea.
 
So that he was facing the sea.
 
He wet his middle finger and pressed the tip against the tight pucker of my ass. Before I could ask if he had lube, Jack buried his finger to the second knuckle.
 
I slowly opened to him, but he was impatient. A moment later I felt the spongy head of his cock press against my ass, surprised at how quickly he had gotten a second erection. He eased his cockhead past my sphincter and, once it was in me, grabbed my hips and thrust hard, burying his cock deep inside me.
 
My arm flailed out, knocking one of the shot glasses off the retaining wall. It shattered somewhere below.
 
Jack held me tight as he drew back and pushed forward. I braced myself against the wall with one hand and used the other to grab my own cock, pumping the engorged shaft in counter rhythm to Jack’s powerful thrusts.
 
I came first, spewing cum across the rock wall.
 
Then Jack came again, firing a thick wad deep inside my ass. His body trembled as he held me pinned against the retaining wall, and neither of us moved until his cock softened enough to slip free.
 
Without a word, he took my hand and led me into the villa, up the stairs and into the master bedroom, a room big enough to play half-court basketball in, filled with heavy, oversized furniture. The French doors had been flung open for an unimpeded view of the Caribbean, and a light breeze tickled the curtains.
 
I excused myself to use the bathroom and, while washing my hands afterward, discovered a pair of toothbrushes in a cup and two different colognes on the counter next to the sink. Jack had not come to the island alone. I returned to the bedroom where Jack stood next to the open French doors, staring out.
 
“Where did Randal go, Jack?”
 
He turned. “Swimming.”
 
“Alone?”
 
“No.”
 
Before I could ask another question, Jack pulled me into his arms and covered my mouth with his. He forced his tongue between my teeth and kissed me so hard and so deep that it took my breath away.

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