Men in Shorts: An Erotic Anthology (4 page)

"Fuck me. Fuck me." He shifted to another spot and Cecilia whimpered. "There. Oh God, yes. Right there." She came again. Lights exploded around her as the second orgasm busted loose, twice as powerful as the first. She screamed out and he leaned over, pressing his mouth to hers, burying the sound. He whispered against her lips. "Easy baby. We don't need visitors."

How could she stay quiet with six weeks of built-up tension slamming through her?

"I have to taste you."

"You can't…You'll kill me."

His hand pulled away and he yanked on her shorts and panties, tugging them down her legs, leaving her bare to his heated gaze. He balled them up and threw them against the side of the tent and rolled to his back. "Straddle my face."

On shaky limbs, Cecilia climbed over his body, dripping wet, so horny she could barely hold herself upright. She slipped over his face and he grabbed her hips, locking her against his lips, licking her, flicking her clit with the tip of his tongue. She whimpered and he pushed his tongue inside her, licking along the tender flesh. His tongue retreated and a soft breath washed over her clit.

"Oh," Cecilia panted. "Oh, fuck." The combination of his rough whiskers and lips pushed her into madness. He licked her between the folds and sucked her clit between his teeth, scraping it lightly. She tried to buck, but he held her immobile, making love to her with his mouth, harder, faster until she couldn't think. His tongue pushed inside her again and she came, dropping forward, throwing her arms out and catching herself before she collapsed.

He didn't stop, but continued until she wept, panting, not knowing where one orgasm stopped and the other started.

"Please!" she screamed and he released her, sliding from under her. The next thing she knew he was behind her, his shorts undone, his hard cock pressed against her swollen lips.

"Don't worry, I'm covered." He yanked back on her hips and rocked her up on her knees, then drove into her. Balls slapped against her ass, as his cock sank to her cervix. "Sorry this isn't going to last long."

Was he kidding?
Any more and she'd fracture to a thousand pieces.

He pumped into her, slow at first, each stroke getting harder, faster, until Cecilia buried her face into her forearm to muffle the howl. He gripped her hips with those hands, pulling her back into each thrust. Over and over. Harder and faster. Flesh pounding flesh. Drunk on the pleasure, Cecilia's world began to spin. "Oh God, I'm going to come again."

"Perfect," he growled and buried himself to the hilt, coming with her. A groan rolled from his chest and he held her tight, pulsing inside her as she spasmed around him.

His lips brushed hers neck as he leaned over. "Do you want to stay in my tent tonight?"

"Are we going to sleep?"

She felt him grow hard again, still inside her. "What do you think?"

"I think I might be changing my major to anthropology and taking more of your classes."

* * * *

"Tell us about the release of your new book on the cave paintings of Turkey Creek Canyon," the reporter said and scrawled in his notebook. The release coincided with the kickoff of the traveling exhibit that would criss-cross the globe. A major international buzz.

"It's a collaborative effort. My husband analyzed and interpreted all the paintings and I illustrated. It's been an ongoing project for several years. Of course, the cave was sealed off six years ago to protect the integrity of the paintings and preserve the history, so the only way the public can see these amazing works of art are through the eyes of the artists who painted them from life."

"Why did you choose 'The Cave of a Thousand Pleasures' for the title?"

"Read the book. It speaks for itself." Cecilia smiled at Devin, who sat across the room.

"Rumor has it you met your husband at the caves."

"I knew him from class, but didn't fall in love 'til I saw him in shorts."

"Shorts?"

"He's got great legs."

"Speaking of love, did the cave inspire romance?"

"It didn't hurt."

By Adam Carpenter

There they were, in the window, the most perfect pair of shorts he'd ever laid eyes on. They weren't ordinary beach shorts or cargo shorts or even those ridiculously tacky plaid Bermuda ones. Nope, these shorts were made of leather and adorned with shiny metal and other glistening items…and they were hot, hot, hot. That's even what he said, a direct quote.

"OMG, those are hot, hot, hot."

Erik had a habit of sending far too many text messages and as a result his speak had gotten noticeably "text-y" over the years. His friends were used to it, especially Tim, who was right now standing beside Erik, thoroughly unimpressed with the leather shorts they were gazing at.

"What's the big deal? There's barely any material to them—I mean, they're real short."

"Hello? That's the point! More skin."

"Why not just go naked?"

Erik grinned. "Baby steps, Tim, baby steps. Come on, let's go in and check them out."

"We're gonna be late. Erik, I think you're stalling."

"No, I'm not. And don't mention…him."

And with that little bit of denial, Erik made his way inside.

The NightLife Boutique on Santa Monica Boulevard was busy for late night, but then again, it was Friday night and things didn't really get going in West Hollywood until the sky truly darkened. The bars obviously knew this pattern, and so too did some of the specialty stores that lined the busy boulevard. The NightLife, purveyors of sexy clothes, condoms and toys, movies and other such items, was a bustling hive on cool October evening. The midnight hour was fast approaching and guys were either getting ready for a long night of partying—or were picking up supplies for an early night in.

Tim reluctantly followed his friends inside; the front door was open already and accommodating. Wasting little time, Erik wound his way toward the far wall like a man on a mission, where a few racks of clothing were waiting for someone to show some interest. Erik's eyes were wide as he flipped through some other styles of shorts, looking for black leather shorts he'd seen in the window. First rack, nothing. Second rack, same result.

"WTF?" Erik asked, his fingers doing the talking through row after row of randy clothes.

Tim, standing impatiently at the top of the aisle, suggested he ask the sales guy for help.

"Geez, give me a sec, Tim, there's like, four more racks and lots of leather to look through. This ain't exactly a Laura Ashley shop, you know."

"Now,
that
I'd pay to see," Tim remarked.

"Be-itch!"

Erik then ignored his friend and went back to his search and still, he was coming up with a big fat zilch. Where were those shorts? Honestly, why advertise something in a window when the item that dragged you in was nowhere to be seen? Effing sales clerks, they were CTs just like the boys in every bar in WeHo. Just like…well, never mind, we're not talking about
him
. Besides, Erik should know all about being a tease. He'd been called one on more than one occasion.

Finally, he came to the last racks of clothes, but they were all leather jackets with chains and other heavy metal items. Seventy-five degrees in the evening and what's this store pushing? Leather jackets. Sure, they were nice and Erik would no doubt look HHH in any one of them, but what would really complete the outfit was no shirt and dammit…those sexy little black leather shorts. That would show that son of a bitch.

Stop it, he reminded himself. This night was about fresh starts, the bloom of new romance or at least temporary, mind-blowing sex.

By now, fifteen minutes had elapsed since they'd entered the store, and Tim was getting noticeably antsy. The plan had been to hit the bars with a couple of friends, have a few beers, end the night down at the Abbey, maybe meet someone for a quick, meaningful L.A. fuck, then laze around the rest of the weekend in their underwear. Tim decided to remind Erik of the plan.

"Yeah, I know. Brad and Simon can just wait for us. And look, I know this was your way of getting me back out and forgetting about that a-hole." Even mad, he spoke text-y. "Hey, just text them, say we're running late, that I've fallen in love already. They're half expecting that anyway. Besides, I want those shorts. Wait, change that. I
need
those shorts."

"Whatever happened to plain old Calvins?"

"So last decade, so last boyfriend," Erik replied. "Okay, I'm gonna go ask one of those snotty clerks where the eff they're hiding them."

"Good approach," Tim remarked dryly.

Erik found one clerk behind the counter, just to the right of the window display. He was busy checking out a customer—and by that, he was taking his money and then watching his ass as the boy-toy retreated back outside. Erik had to wait a beat before the guy's attention was focused on his new customer.

"Oh, hey, sorry…you find something you like?"

"Sort of. I like those shorts that are in the window. But I can't find them in the store."

"Oh…those. Yeah, that's the last pair."

"I'll take 'em."

"Honey, they're kinda…pricy."

Erik blanched. Was this guy assuming Erik didn't have the money for the shorts? What, were they made of fricking diamonds and gold? It was just leather, and not a lot of it, for that matter. How much could they cost, anyway? Not that he really cared what they cost. When you needed something this badly, cost was hardly a concern. As though the lower your self-esteem, the higher the bill.

"Two hundred fifty."

"Two hundred fifty what? Pennies?" Tim asked, stepping in between his friend and the greedy store employee. He realized he needed to calm his friend down. Why this sudden fascination for these shorts, he couldn't be sure. A substitute for Dan? Dan who dumped him, Dan who cheated on him, Dan who broke his heart?

The clerk's smile was effete but pointed. "Dollars."

"For a pair of shorts?"

Erik jumped in again, pushing Tim aside. "Look, can I see them…touch them? Then I'll know whether I want to spend the money on them." But he already knew they had to be his.

The clerk paused, clearly weighing the time spent and the prognosis for purchase. But Erik was adamant and he wasn't leaving. That's just what he said. Soon the mannequin had been stripped bare, much to the pleasure of some drunken juvenile fools out on the sidewalk, and Erik was holding in his hands his dream shorts.

Up close, they were beautiful. The leather was the softest he'd ever felt, and along the seams on the side he noticed little crystal beads which gleamed, even in the awful florescent lighting of the store. Under real light they would glisten, and Erik would too. At the crotch was a mesh-like window, which would give his package room to breathe. He liked that. Ooh, he liked that a lot. But what he really liked was the metal belt that ran along the top of the shorts. It added weight to the fabric as well as an extra-special sex appeal.

"Like butter—not rubber, and that fresh leather smell, it's…

"I know, I know, hot hot hot."

Erik ignored the sarcasm, instead concentrated on running his thumb along the fabric. He imagined himself slipping inside the shorts, his body curving nicely to its contours. The way his cock would feel brushing against the inside material, both the leather and the mesh. Desire started to flood through him, and for a moment he grew lightheaded. God, it was like he was having sex right here and now – and not with that fucker Dan – everyone watching him, waiting for the feel of the leather to bring him to the heights of absolute ecstasy. For a moment he closed his eyes and let the fantasy wash over him. To hell with what others thought. This was Los Angeles, where weird was normal and passion was craved.

Just then his eyes blinked wide. A current of fear hit him as he wondered what if they were the wrong size. They were the last pair in the store. What if they were a medium or…horrors, a large? He hated to think of the body needed to fill a large pair of these shorts. Kind of defeated their purpose. They had to be small, but who put small in the window? In a town like this, everyone was borderline anorexic and small always went fast. He was almost afraid to look.

But then there it was, on the white label attached to the back of the shorts.

S.

Erik breathed easily, almost a sexual release. "Can I try them on?" he asked.

The clerk gave him a dubious look. "Does it look like we have a dressing room?"

"Yeah, I didn't think so," he said, his mind racing with thoughts, possibilities, scenarios. Revenge fantasies. Finally, he said, "I'll take them."

Tim, buttoned-up, preppy, and growing visibly frustrated, said, "Erik, you're going to spend two hundred and fifty dollars on a scrap of clothing the size of a handkerchief? Come on, I know why you're doing this. But they're just shorts…nothing more."

Erik set the shorts down, briefly, turning to his friend and holding him at the shoulders. "See, Tim, that's where you and I differ. These shorts represent something new, fresh, a way to awaken me and let me know I'm sexy. I'm a man of impulse and desire, I can go with the flow. You need everything planned down to the last second."

"I'm not arguing spontaneity here, Erik—I'm talking next month's rent."

"That why we have credit cards," Erik said, and as if to prove his point he whipped his out and slapped it down on the counter. The clerk quickly slid the card through his machine, waiting for an approval from Visa. Authorization came through, Erik signed the slip, the clerk put the shorts in the bag, and at last the transaction was finalized.

Once back out on Santa Monica, Tim grabbed hold of Erik's hand and said it was time for them to hustle, that there was probably a line already outside the bar and he hated waiting, it looked so needy

"And trust me, if you need something to further deflate your ego, you stand on line while hot guys are swirling inside like they've been pre-approved."

"You go ahead, I'm going home."

"Erik!"

"What, you don't expect me to walk around WeHo all night with these shorts! What if I misplace the bag or someone steals them or…a spaceship lands in the center of the Abbey and they need leather as fuel to get back to their home planet?"

Despite himself, Tim laughed. "Okay, Mr. Wild Imagination, what do you propose?"

"Just meet up with Brad and Simon. I'll be along in about an hour."

"And where are you going?"

"Home."

"No, no, it's taken me three weeks to convince you go out again, and finally you've agreed. He won't be out…and even if he is, you've got us at your side."

"I know. But I've got to try these on."

Tim knew his friend. Knew there was no changing his mind. "Fine. Call me later. But don't fall asleep."

"I won't. I'll text you."

"Of course you will. LOL."

Erik gave his best friend a quick peck on the cheek, said, "Thanks," then went dashing between the crowded sidewalks of Santa Monica in search of his car. He had a date tonight, a hotter one than even he could have imagined. God, these effing shorts were going to look so hot on him. Hot, hot, hot. Fuck Dan.

* * * *

There was a reason he'd bought a floor-length mirror. As loyal a friend as Erik was, vanity had its place in his heart as well and as bad as he felt about ditching Tim, he knew there would be no quieting the voice in his head if he didn't rush home and try these shorts on. So there he stood before the oval mirror, staring at his dressed-to-party outfit, which he would quickly shed, like a snake does its skin, and reveal his new, desirous look.

Even when casually undressing, Erik thought there was something wildly erotic about exposing your skin and your self to whomever was watching. A close friend, a new lover, or just your own being and whatever fantasies that lived inside you. The past few weeks, he'd been alone with those fantasies, remembering lovers from before Dan had entered his life. His current fantasy certainly involved the beautiful pair of shorts he'd just spent his hard-earned money on, and so without further ado, his own party began.

At twenty-seven, Erik was in great shape, not one of those gym-toned bodies but more naturally slim that he further benefited from with a thrice-weekly jog through Laurel Canyon. His clothes clung tightly to his body, often leaving little to the imagination. Still, there was nothing like the real thing, peeling away layers to reveal it all.

So he shed himself first of his shirt, one button at a time, choosing to go from bottom to top. In the mirror he watched as his flat stomach was exposed, his blip of a belly button and above. At last the final button was released, he slid the shirt off his shoulders, watching the reflection in the mirror as it billowed to the ground behind him. His nipples were already hardened, but then again, he thought they had been since the moment he'd touched the shorts. Gazing at his chest, his strong pecs, the silky smooth skin, he knew he was all that and more. God, it felt good to think of himself this way, positively. Like someone could find him attractive again.

His hands wound their way down his chest, his fingers further teasing his nipples into submission. Twisting them ever-so slightly, he winced at the first sign of pain, then pushed just a bit further. Biting his lip, closing his crystal blue eyes, he imagined his hands now belonged to a dark sexy lover with gentle hands and rough intentions, gliding down the center of his chest. His touch sent shivers of desire throughout his body, beyond a tickle but not quite an orgasm. His breath was short, nearly a pant.

Just then his fingers came to rest on the snap of his jeans, and with a quick one-two motion, not only did the snap come undone but the zipper slid open to reveal a pair of black underwear. His thought?
Boring!
Removing the jeans from the rest of his body took a bit more effort. They were his super-skinny ones and he wore them like paint. Again, his mind flashed an image of clothes fitting tight against his body, this time he was clad in his newly gained shorts. A stirring in his shorts brought him back to the moment.

Dressed now only in his undies, Erik took to the mirror like a model getting a first look at his latest outfit. He swirled, he turned, he gazed, then he slapped his butt for fun, the impact coming harder than he even expected. Dan had been a plain lover, never taking things to an edgy level. It felt good to hear the smack of skin against skin, hand against ass. Again, his cock stirred, beginning to rise now from its dormant position and into a more prominent role in this ever-deepening fantasy.