Best Gay Erotica 2011 (8 page)

“Am I doing something wrong, Johnson?” he asks. I cock an eyebrow. I don't know what to say to him. He doesn't wait for me to respond. “I know I can be kind of a cocky asshole. Shit, I spent four years in this school where everyone gave me everything I ever wanted, so sometimes I can't help it.”

He turns to face me. “Maybe you like it romantic, though. Should I be sending you flowers? Leaving little cards in your mailbox? I don't know, I always thought you'd like it a little more aggressive.” He takes a step toward me and I take a step back. The off-white concrete blocks of the restroom are right behind me. Nathan steps closer. “Tell me, Johnson, do you want it sweet and romantic, or do you want it rough?”

I want to tell him that I don't want it at all, but I'd be lying.

“…Rough.”

Nathan pushes me against the wall next to the hand dryer. He presses his mouth to mine and I can taste a hint of beer. I open my mouth to him and he pushes his crotch against mine. His dick is hard. His tongue is thick and forceful in my mouth and I relax against the concrete wall, letting Nathan take control. He slides a hand beneath my jacket and rubs my chest through my dress shirt. He grunts into my mouth and thrusts his crotch against me. His dick, so normal the other day, feels huge and hard and hot against my thigh. Nathan slides a hand down my chest and pulls at my belt buckle.

I place a hand against his chest and break our kiss. “You
know I'm not going to have sex with you in the boys' bathroom, right?”

“But you are going to have sex with me?” Nathan raises an eyebrow, and I can't help but smile at him.

We duck out of the bathroom and into the hallway. Nathan takes my hand and pulls me along. It feels like we're sixteen again, hoping that no one catches us.

In the locker room I expect Nathan to head for his office, but he slams me against the lockers. The metal clangs loudly, amplified by the cold, concrete emptiness of the space. Nathan kisses my neck and his body is warm against mine. He pulls his jacket off and lets it fall to the floor as he continues to kiss—no, suck—at my neck. I grab at his head, my fingers sliding through his hair, and I push him harder against my skin. His hands pull at my jacket and shirt and grope my dick through my pants. His mouth covers mine. He kisses like he can't get enough, like he would swallow me if he could. Music vibrates through the walls. A stairwell and a few doors are all that separate us from the gymnasium.

Nathan is determined in a way that no lover of mine has ever been. He pulls open my shirt and lifts my undershirt, exposing my skin. He continues his wet, leeching kisses down my chest and falls to his knees. My nipples harden into tight little nubs, either from the cool air or the wave of sensation rippling through me as Nathan drags his lips across my skin.

He wraps his mouth around my cock through the fabric of my pants. My dick is hard and sore, and I want it to be free. I want it to be in his mouth. He rubs his face against my crotch and inhales deeply. He pops the button on my pants with one hand and yanks them open. My cock fights against my boxers, a thin fleshy stripe visible through the open slit. Nathan tucks his fingers into my waistband and yanks everything down, pooling
my boxers and my pants around my ankles. My dick, hard and now free, smacks against his face and he smiles up at me.

Nathan swallows my entire cock in one smooth move, and it occurs to me that this is not the first time he's done this. He wraps his hand around the base of my dick and squeezes as he slides his head back. He looks up at me like he adores me. If he had just made that face earlier, we would have been here much sooner. Then again, most people do look more appealing to me with my dick in their mouth.

Nathan lets my cock fall from his mouth and looks up at me. “Turn around,” he says.

“What?”

“Turn around.” Nathan places his hands on my hips and tugs until I comply and turn my back to him. He grabs an asscheek in each hand, and I feel his mouth on one cheek and then the other, his kisses leaving small circular spreads of saliva behind. His nose traces up my asscrack and he kisses again, this time at the very top of the split, and I feel his tongue slide out and taste my skin. My knees waver. Nathan pulls my asscheeks apart and exposes my crack to the cool air. He buries his face there and his tongue pokes at my hole. I push my hips back and he responds by digging in farther. I gasp, my face pressed hard against the cold metal of the locker in front of me. Nathan licks and probes and penetrates me with his tongue. He eats at my ass with all of the aggression of his kisses, with the aggression of his attitude and his come-ons. He eats my ass like he wants to conquer it.

Nathan stands quickly and smacks my ass, hard. He presses his body against mine before I can protest, and his dick, hard and exposed—he must have freed it while he was rimming me—slides between my asscheeks. He kisses and sucks at the back of my neck.

“Did you like that?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I gasp. “Yeah.”

Nathan thrusts against me, his cock rising and cresting out of my crack, and my hips push forward. My hard cock smacks into the locker, and I look down to see a string of precum bridge my dick and the dull green metal.

“Can I fuck you?” Nathan asks.

“Do you have a condom?” I ask.

“Two,” he says. “I brought two.”

“I want to suck your dick,” I say. I want to suck his dick, I want to eat his ass, I want to fuck him. I want to cuddle with him. I want to punch him.

“No time for that now.” I feel his hand slide into my crack and his finger press against my hole. Above us, the music shifts from slow dance to rock music. Nathan bites my shoulder and then licks my earlobe.

“Fuck me,” I say.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck me.”

Nathan steps away for a moment, and I feel cold and alone but only briefly. He moves fast. I look over my shoulder to see him quickly shedding his clothes and pulling a condom wrapper from his pants pocket. When he stands again his cock is erect and huge, hard enough that it barely waves as he moves. He tears open the condom package and pulls out a flesh-colored rubber. I watch him unroll it over his dick. He smiles at me and I think of a saying I read once:
In nature, a smile is just another show of teeth
.

Nathan steps behind me again and wraps a hand around my chest. He hugs me tightly. I reach behind me and grasp his cock, which feels impossibly big. The condom is prelubricated, but I want something more.

“Spit on it,” I say, pulling my hand away. “On the condom.”
Nathan does and he strokes his cock. I grab him again and pull him toward me. I push his dick down until it lines up with my hole. He's so hard that his dick resists being pushed down. “Go slow.”

I push back against him as he presses against me. I do my best to relax, and Nathan's dick slides into my hole a little. I am slick and open from his rim job, and it doesn't hurt like I'm afraid it will. I push back more until it feels like he's halfway in, and I keep my hand on his cock to keep him from going too far. He tightens his grip on my chest and then pulls his dick back a little, sliding back out. I realize then that it's the opposite of what I want, that I want him inside of me, entirely. Completely. I push back against him and release my grip on his erection. I slide my hand around his midsection and grab his ass, pulling him close to me. He slides in completely, pubes to ass. He exhales and his breath is warm on my neck and ear.

“That good?” he asks.

I bite my lip and nod. I grunt. It's all I have. He pumps against me, once, trying to go in farther, and my dick jumps. He grabs my nipple in between his thumb and forefinger and pinches hard. The feeling is sharp, like a piercing. I grunt again and Nathan fucks me. I keep one arm in front of me, forearm against the lockers, and I stroke my dick with the other hand. I go slowly, the feeling of his dick in my ass and his fingers pinching my nipple so intense that I won't last long if I move too quickly. Nathan kisses my neck, bites my shoulder and whispers in my ear. “You like that,” he says. It's not a question. “Yeah,” he says. He presses his sweaty face against my skin as he pumps in and out. He lets go of my nipple and slaps his hand against my chest. My skin stings in a line from where his hand and arm cut across my chest. My knees buckle but Nathan holds me up. He holds me close to him, his chest flat against my back.

He fucks and he slaps and he bites and he kisses and I cum. I try to hold it back but I can't. I squeeze my dick and grunt and long, ropey shots streak out toward the lockers, splashing against the green metal. Nathan laughs and slams his cock into me, holding it in as my orgasm causes my asshole to pucker around his dick. I cum like I haven't in a long time; my shots are hard and straight and thick, the white liquid stark against the painted locker. Nathan wraps his hand over mine and helps me stroke myself. His grip is firm and I know this is what it feels like to be conquered. To say that it's anything else would be a lie.

As my cum slows and starts to drip rather than spray Nathan resumes his fucking. The feeling of his dick slamming inside of me is completely different now than it was before, my skin so much more sensitive. I brace myself against the locker, looking down at my own semen sliding down it. Nathan grabs me by the hips and thrusts, no longer concerned with how I feel. He doesn't last long, though. His grip tightens on my hips, and he buries himself as deeply as he can, and I feel his dick throb inside of me. He grunts now, loud, and then shivers. His grunt grows into something louder and longer, almost a victory yell, not out of place here in the locker room, even if it has nothing to do with sports.

After his orgasm subsides his knees shake and he pulls himself out of my ass. His chest is heaving and he's smiling. He squats and then falls back to sit on the bare concrete floor. His erection, still wrapped in the condom and still hard, points upward. A pouch of white cum hangs from the tip. “Fuck,” he says. I sit down next to him. The floor is cold but I want to touch him, hold him. He puts an arm around my shoulder and I look at him. He's nude except for his socks. My own clothes are draping off my shoulders or wrapped around my ankles.

“Lie back,” he says and I do. We could be anywhere, but
we're not. We're lying on the floor of the locker room at Westfield High. Nathan's chest is rising and falling quickly; I put my shoulder on it and look down as his cock deflates, drifting to one side as though the load of cum still hanging in the condom is dragging it down.

“We're really terrible chaperones,” Nathan says and we both laugh. Lying here on the cold floor of the locker room while the homecoming dance continues above our heads feels preposterous and right and good. Everything about this school year feels preposterous and right and good.

Everything feels good for now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tobias Crockett has good taste in accommodations. The Tabard Inn is quaint and historic, full of antiques, paintings and well-heeled sorts chattering over meals and cocktails. All a bit noisy for me, an undead introvert accustomed to the high, forested silence of West Virginia's Potomac Highlands, so I'm sitting as far away from people as possible, here in a dark corner of the parlor. The ceiling's low and dark-beamed, like the Cape Cod tavern where I used to hunt in the midseventies. Tonight's February gusty, so the big fireplace is in use, flame-light flickering over glossy wood-paneled walls. The few table lamps are turned low, creating an atmosphere of dim intimacy: perfect for sipping red wine and studying Tobias across the room.

His name befits him.
Tobias.
It's Hebrew for “God is good.” God has been good to him indeed. So far. Handsome blond giant, wealthy, talented, powerful, he's as magnificent as
Oedipus must have been a few hours before the truth, before the kingly fool thrust the pin of his mother's brooch, his wife's brooch, into his eyes. The truth can do that, certainly. Put out the eyes, splinter the soul, castrate, eviscerate, shatter. The truth is what I bring tonight.

I've had my sights on Tobias for several years now. But with immortality to enjoy, why rush the consummation of a passion? Back during his country-music days, he was one of few men who brought out the bottom in me. His bulk and rough rebel persona were the reasons, I think. I would examine the images on his CD covers—blond goatee, blue eyes, pouty lips, cowboy hat—and wish he were on top of me thrusting away. When I attended his concerts with my country-boy lover Matt, who's an enthusiast of all things Nashville, I'd watch Tobias swagger the stage, finger his guitar, gift us with that resonant baritone and those macho bad-boy lyrics and imagine him pushing me over a sawhorse and ramming me with the yee-haw vigor of the Virginia farm boy he used to be. It would be a heady pleasure to be filled up by a man that burly, that much bigger than I. I might even let him come inside me before I turned on him and put him in his place.

But Tobias has, alas, put music behind him for politics. That's his fatal misstep, his
hamartia
, as Aristotle put it when analyzing
Oedipus
. That's what he's doing in DC tonight: using the good looks and charisma that made him a country-music superstar to network with Republican hangers-on and sycophants; a long way from his Wytheville roots, his glamorous years in Nashville. Now he's a member of Virginia's General Assembly, a busy senator moving back and forth between Richmond and Washington, a power broker planning the move from state to national politics. The five middle-aged men sitting with him and guffawing by the fire are probably congressmen. All
quite wealthy, judging by the cut of their business suits. And all right-wingers, no doubt of that.