Tangled Sheets (8 page)

He rose from his seat and came around to my side of the table. “Come,” he said, holding out his hand. “We are ready now.”

My body refused to move on its own, and Kamo had to help me rise. With slow steps, I followed him to an area of the room where the floor was thick with pillows the dark blue of midnight. Kamo pulled at the belt at my waist and let my robe fall open. He slid his hands underneath it and pushed it off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor so that I was standing in front of him naked. Because I was held in the grip of the strange fish's drug, I could only stand while he looked at me, feeling like a statue being perused by a museum visitor.

Kamo reached out and ran a hand lightly over the dark fur of my chest, my skin tingling where his fingers crossed it. “You are very beautiful,” he said. “I like your hair very much.”

I laughed, knowing that the fact that he did
not
have hair was exactly what I liked. My voice sounded low and far away, like someone calling through a rainstorm. As if pushing my way through water, I reached out to remove his robe, but he stopped me by taking my hand and pulling me down onto the soft pillows. I sank easily into their softness and lay back, letting myself fall into them so that I was reclining with Kamo positioned between my spread legs.

He ran his fingers down my belly and to my waiting cock, which was hanging half-hard across my thigh. His long fingers circled the thickness of my stiffening shaft and squeezed lightly, stroking it to life. “It's beautiful,” he whispered appreciatively, as my prick filled to its full length.

I closed my eyes, the feeling caused by eating the fish filling my head, and waited to feel my cockhead slip in between his lips. But Kamo seemed content just to keep jerking me off. While his one hand kept up a steady rhythm on my dick, his other hand went under my balls, cupping my big nuts in his hands. “They are like the fruits of the lemon tree,” he said, smiling up at me. “Round and firm.”

Right then I didn't care what he thought they looked like. Although I found it hard to move, the rest of my senses seemed to have intensified. His fingers brushing my balls were sending bursts of excitement through my belly, and I just wanted to have his tongue on them. “Suck them,” I whispered as best I could, putting my hand on his head and using what was left of my strength to grab a fistful of his black-blue hair in my fingers. Wrapped in my grip, his hair was soft and thick. I spread my legs wider and pushed his face between them until I felt his nose at the base of my cock. His tongue snaked out and tickled my aching nuts, licking in slow circles around first one and then the other.

Kamo worked his way under my sac and lifted my legs so that he could get at the sensitive area above my asshole. His mouth moved over my skin slowly and deliberately, covering every inch of my flesh with kisses that burned like cold fire. His delicate movements were making me crazy, and I couldn't wait to see what he had in store for my cock.

All of a sudden I felt him put one of his fingers, wet with spit, at the opening of my hole. I opened my mouth to ask him what he was doing, but nothing came out. After pressing gently but insistently for a moment, his finger slid inside, my ass muscles closing around its thin length. Kamo fingered me for a minute while his mouth worked on my balls, then he pulled out. Reaching into the pocket of his robe, he removed a string of silver beads. Each one was about half an inch in diameter, and the string was about six inches long.

I thought he was going to tie it around my balls like a cock ring, but instead he took the first bead and placed it against my hole, pushing it inside easily. He did this with each of the other beads, until the whole string of them was inside my ass and all that was left was a short length of string hanging from my pucker. I didn't know what the hell he was doing, but it sure felt good. I could feel the balls inside me, moving back and forth as I rocked against the pillows.

This whole time Kamo was still wearing his robe. Now he knelt with his back to me and let it fall off of his shoulders. My eyes went wide as I saw what he had kept hidden from me. The pure white skin of his back was covered with a tattoo of a dragon. Its head was centered between his shoulders, and its body stretched down toward his buttocks and then disappeared, its tail sweeping around to his stomach. The dragon was covered in thousands of tiny scales, each one shaded in perfectly in blue. The fine lines were etched on his body like veins running just below the skin. The detail was amazing and looked as though it had taken months to complete.

Kamo turned to me, his eyes oddly bright. “You wished to see something special,” he said. “It is special enough for you?” he asked.

I stared back at him, unable to move my lips. The dragon's tail curved around his waist and down his groin, the end disappearing under his balls and circling back up the other side so that the base of his prick was encircled by it. His entire body appeared to be shaved completely smooth, not even a single hair marring his pubic area.

Kamo stretched himself on top of me, his mouth finding mine, and I pushed my tongue roughly between his lips. Kamo kissed me back, his mouth drawing me in. As he sucked at my tongue, I felt him grind his stomach against my cock, his hairless skin sliding along the pulsing shaft. Reaching down, Kamo moved my hands so that they were cupping his ass, the fingers closed around the curves of his buttocks so that I felt their roundness against my palms. Kamo pressed back against me and ran his mouth over my neck in a rush of hot kisses. His white skin shone out against the sea of blue pillows we were floating in like a strange, delicate fish.

As I lay under him, the strange paralysis holding me tightly, Kamo moved over my chest, biting softly on my nipples and rubbing his cheek against the hair that covered my pecs. The fact that I could not move my hands to touch him through the fog that had enveloped me increased the longing in my balls, and I wanted to cry out for him to satisfy me.

Finally, he moved down my belly toward my anxious cock. Without touching it, he placed his lips on the tip, sucking only the head and caressing it with his tongue as he lapped up the stream of sticky fluid that had begun to flow from my slit. Slowly he moved down the length of the shaft. I was amazed that he could get such a thick piece of meat into his small mouth, but he had no trouble. Soon his lips were pushed into my bush, and I was throbbing deep inside him. He moved back up my cock, his throat pulsing around it like a warm hand.

Kamo began to move quickly up and down my dick, his lips sliding easily over it. Every motion of his mouth felt like a thousand tongues caressing my cock. I felt my balls starting to tighten and knew that if he kept it up I was going to lose my load down his throat before I had a chance to fuck his beautiful ass. Kamo seemed to sense it, too, because he stopped sucking me. Moving up, he straddled my chest, his smooth legs holding me tightly between them.

His cock was hard now, jutting up and away from his body. It was perfectly formed, the sculpted head round and tapered atop the straight shaft. His balls hung neatly in a sac of smooth skin, and the dragon's tail curled perfectly around them both. Kamo moved forward so that I could suck his exquisite prick. It slipped in easily until not only the shaft, but the balls as well, were filling my mouth. I sucked hungrily, eating up the delicious flesh that slid in and out of my throat with each movement of Kamo's thrusts. I let Kamo's balls slip out of my mouth so that I could feel them against my chin as I blew him.

As I sucked his cock, Kamo fingered the tight slit of his asshole. He moaned as he slipped one finger in, pushing roughly to get through the small opening. Pulling himself from my mouth, he moved back until his ass was resting against the head of my prick. Feeling the smooth flesh of his buttocks against my aching piece, I almost washed his back with a wave of cum, but I was able to hold back. I didn't think my big tool would ever get into his tight hole, but he pressed against me until the head of my prick pushed between his ass lips. Slowly I entered him, my head parting the walls of his chute like a boat moving through the sea. I groaned loudly as he surrounded me with his warmth, his tight ass swallowing my meat greedily.

I looked at Kamo's face and saw that his eyes were shut tight, a smile crossing his face. He had his hands on my chest, and his fingers tugged gently at my tits while I slid into him. When I was fully inside him, he began to slide back and forth slowly, fucking himself with my dick. I lay beneath him, unable to lift my hands to touch his skin but filled with intense desire as I watched him pleasure himself with my tool.

As Kamo pumped my cock, something caught my eye, and I noticed for the first time that there was a mirror behind and to the left of where we were lying. A big antique frame sat on the floor, and in the large glass I could see the shadowy form of Kamo riding my prick. It moved up and down with him, my cock disappearing into his tight hole and reappearing as he devoured inch after inch of me. Above me his face was a mask of delight, his eyes and mouth reflecting the pleasure he was feeling deep inside him.

Looking again in the mirror, I caught my breath. While the outlines of our bodies were barely visible in the shadows, the dragon tattoo on Kamo's back was sharply defined. Just like the skin of the fish we had eaten, the dragon radiated with a luminous blue light. Each line and curve shone as though coursing with strange blood, seemed in fact to almost move across Kamo's back. I watched as it pulsed and flowed on his back, the claws scratching at his shoulders, the mouth opening in a silent roar. Kamo seemed to take no notice of what was happening beneath his skin, rising and falling along my prick in heated strokes, his cock slapping against my stomach as he moved.

I wanted to run my hands over his back, to see if I could feel some of the movement I saw reflected in the glass. But I was still bound to the floor by the mysterious weight. Whatever was happening to Kamo didn't appear to cause him any pain, so I watched silently as the dragon twisted and turned over his flesh. The harder he thrust against me, the harder the dragon writhed in the mirror.

As fascinated as I was with the strange events, the rising heat in my groin was a stronger attraction. Kamo began to push my cock deeply into his tight ass. As he did, he reached behind me and grasped the string that was hanging from my hole. Still riding me, he pulled on the string, and the beads slipped one at a time from my chute. The feeling was unbelievable and sent me into a shuddering, out-of-control rush of pleasure like nothing I'd ever felt before. This seemed to break the invisible chains that wrapped around my body, and I cried out, my voice echoing through the room as all of the passion that had been building up in my throat spilled out at once.

Now that I was able to move again, I plunged one last time into Kamo's depths, my load crashing into him in a shuddering wave as I squeezed his ass in my hands. I could feel the cum gushing from my prick as I pumped more and more cream into him. Kamo continued to work my prick with his ass muscles as he came, too, long ropes of ivory squirting from his bobbing cock, falling on my chest and splashing my neck. At the same time, his eyes flew open. They glowed with the same mysterious blue light as the dragon and appeared to see nothing. His mouth was stretched wide, mouthing but not voicing his ecstasy.

Then he shut his eyes, and when he opened them again they were the same black color they had always been. He collapsed against my chest, my cock still inside him, and lay still. I ran my hand over his back, tracing the muscles from his shoulders down to where I could feel my cock enter his asshole. I half expected to feel the dragon's scales under my fingertips but touched only warm skin. Inside the mirror, the glass was dark, the only reflection that of Kamo's body on mine.

B
eing a fairly quiet guy, I usually don't go in for political things like marches or demonstrations, preferring to lend a hand by writing letters and checks. But after weeks of hearing gay-bashing politicians on the news trying to win right-wing votes in upcoming elections and reading their hateful editorials in the press about how people like me are after the children of America, I figured that after thirty-three years it couldn't hurt me to support my community a little bit by showing up in person for something. So when some of my friends asked me to go with them to a rally supporting a local gay candidate for state human rights commissioner, I said I would.

When I got to the park where the rally was being held, there were several hundred people there. Many of them were wearing pink triangle pins and carrying signs voicing their particular concerns, from antidiscrimination legislation to domestic partnership rights. A large number wore the familiar red ribbons of the AIDS crisis and passed out safer-sex information and condoms. I pocketed a rubber handed to me by a shirtless muscular man with a shaved head and a tattoo on his rippled abdomen that said HIV+. Then I spotted my friends and went over to join them.

The rally started a few minutes after I arrived, and it was really amazing. The candidate, a woman who had spent many years in public service and had recently come out, spoke about the importance of rights for lesbians and gay men. Each time she said something the crowd agreed with there were whistles and clapping. When she brought her lover on stage with her, the place went wild with cheering. Everything was going really well when I heard some commotion behind me. “Hey, fag boys,” a deep, mocking voice yelled out. “I've got a nine-inch dick that hasn't shot off in a couple of days. How would one of you like to drain it for me?”

I turned around and saw a group of college-aged men standing several feet away. One of them, a big jockish guy wearing a Yankees sweatshirt, was pointing at us and grinning. “See,” he said. “I told you that would get the fairies' attention.”

I started to just turn away from the jerk and ignore him when something inside stopped me. Maybe it was the rally, maybe it was just a lot of pent-up frustration; I'm not really sure. Whatever it was, before I knew it I was walking over to the guy. Stopping right in front of him, I looked him in the eyes as I said, “Nine inches, huh? Who's it belong to, your mother or your girlfriend?”

The man's face reddened with rage as his buddies started laughing at him. “Fuck you, faggot,” he screamed. “No pansy talks to me that way.”

Not feeling like getting into a fight with the guy, I walked back to my friends, leaving the fuming man yelling insults at my back. As I did, a large group of men and women closed in around me and blocked the enraged asshole, who was trying to get away from his friends. A small woman wearing a Lesbian Avengers hat walked up to him and said, her voice filled with quiet rage, “Unless you want a whole bunch of really angry dykes to show you out, I suggest you leave. Now.”

The man looked at her and spat on the ground. “Fucking lezzie,” he snarled. “You need a man to show you how it's done.” The woman didn't move, silently standing her ground until the guy and his friends finally backed off and walked away. They left quickly, the crowd chanting “shame, shame, shame” until they had disappeared from sight. The whole experience made me feel very alive, as though I had stood up to the class bully and won. While I didn't even know the woman who had supported me, I felt like we had fought the battle together. When the rally was over, I walked back to my apartment feeling very proud of myself.

I live in a warehouse district, made up largely of meat-packing and storage facilities that are crowded with workmen during the day but empty at night. I like it that my neighborhood is nearly always deserted after six o'clock; it's kind of like living in some sort of ancient ruins. After the noise and excitement of the rally, it was nice to be surrounded by peace and quiet. The sky was dusky with oncoming night as I made my way through the empty streets, and I was enjoying the descending evening shade.

I was taking my usual shortcut through the alley running between two old deserted ironworks near my building, and wasn't really paying much attention to what was going on, when suddenly someone came rushing up behind me and pushed me against a wall. The breath was knocked out of me as my body slammed into the bricks, and I felt the weight of a large man pressing against me. I've been mugged twice since moving to the city, so my first thought was that the guy would just grab the wallet out of my back pocket and leave.

“Thought you were really cute back there, didn't you, queer boy?” a voice hissed in my ear. My heart froze as I recognized it as the voice of the guy who had harassed me at the rally. He must have followed me all the way home. “You and that dyke bitch making me look dumb in front of everyone,” he continued, pushing me more forcefully against the wall so that my face was scraping against the rough brick. “Well, now you're the one who's going to look bad, soon as I finish roughing your pretty face up a little.”

I thought about screaming for help, but I knew the chances of anyone being around to hear me at that hour were small. Besides, it would just make the guy crazier than he obviously already was. I was on my own. The guy had bent my arm behind me when he shoved me, and one hand was still on my wrist. His other one was on my collar, pushing against my neck. There wasn't much I could do.

“Let's just take a little trip inside here,” he said, pushing me through an open doorway and into a cavernous room filled with old bits of industrial equipment and other trash, the remnants of the foundry that had thrived during the days when the city was an active shipping port. “We don't want to draw any attention to ourselves, now, do we?” he said mockingly as he pushed me roughly in front of him. He continued to hold my arm behind my back as he looked around. “There's got to be something around here I can use to teach you a lesson,” he said.

While he was searching, I tried to think back to what my friend Anne had taught me about self-defense after the last time I'd gotten mugged. I'd thought it was all a waste of time until Anne, who weighs about 90 pounds, had me on the floor with her knee at my throat in less than three seconds flat. She had taught me a couple of things, but it had been a long time ago, and I wasn't sure I remembered what to do. But then, just as at the rally, I felt myself overcome by rage at the man whose hands were digging into my arm.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed back against my attacker, throwing him off balance just enough so that I was able to bring one foot up and stomp down on top of his as hard as I could. At the same time, I broke free from his grip and, bringing my arm up, slammed my elbow in the direction of his face. I felt it connect with his flesh and heard the sound of bone smacking against bone as I drove him backward with the blow.

Wheeling around, I saw the man standing behind me holding his hands to his nose. Blood was dripping from his fingers, and the front of his sweatshirt was stained with drops of red. An expression of surprise was on his face as he looked down at the blood and saw what I had done, and his eyes were dark with pain. Before he could come at me again, I ran toward him and tackled him, my arms going around his waist as we both tumbled to the floor.

I landed on top of him, hearing the sharp intake of air as his back smacked against the concrete. My knee was between his legs, and I held his wrists over his head, my body pinning him to the floor. While he was a big man, he was only a couple inches taller than I, and my anger was making me even stronger than usual. I looked down at his bloodstained face. “Looks like things didn't exactly turn out the way you wanted,” I said.

“I'm going to kill you, you bastard,” he yelled, trying unsuccessfully to throw me off.

Putting my knee on his stomach so that he couldn't move, I pulled the belt from around my waist. Holding his wrists together, I wound the thin strip of leather around them and pulled it tight, sliding the end through the center several times to secure his hands. When I was sure that he couldn't get loose, I eased up on him and put my hand on his stomach. Fumbling with his buckle, I pulled it open and yanked his belt off, then threaded it through the bonds around his wrists so that it acted as a kind of leash.

Standing up, I pulled on the belt, bringing him to his knees. He tried briefly to scramble to his feet and run, but a quick kick in the chest pushed him back to his knees. “Don't bother,” I told him. “I can't have you following me home, and I want to put you someplace where you can sit for a while and think things over before the cops come get you. And don't bother screaming, because you know as well as I do that nobody's going to hear you.”

Making him walk on his knees, I led him into a corner of the warehouse where steel catwalks crossed overhead. Several skylights above us let in the moonlight that had crept in as night fell, and we stood surrounded by the pale light. Moving behind him, I threw one end of the belt over the crossbars of the walkway above. Then I pulled it down so that his arms stretched up and he had to get to his feet. When he was standing, his knees buckled slightly so that he couldn't quite get his balance, I secured the belt around the metal bar. There was no way he could break out of it, and he stood glaring at me as I smiled triumphantly. “What a pretty sight,” I said. “A fag basher all tied up nice and pretty like a punching bag for me to work out some of my aggression on.”

“Fuck you,” he said. “You wouldn't even know what the hell to do with a real man, you fucking pansy. It was just a lucky shot you got the first time around.”

“I don't know,” I said, walking over and running my hand over his bloodied face. “Looks like pretty good work to me.” He tried to pull his face away, but I held it tightly in my grip and looked into his eyes. Some of the anger I'd seen earlier had been replaced by fear, but I still saw a lot of rage roiling behind the darkness.

“What is it you're afraid of, anyway?” I said. “You afraid that maybe we're just as good as you are; that in fact we're just like you?” I ran my hand over his sweatshirt. “You afraid we're just as good at sports? That maybe one of your precious Yankees is a full-blown cocksucker and you don't know it?”

“There's no way I'm anything like you,” he said. “No fucking way.”

Running my fingers to the bottom of his sweatshirt, I slipped my hand underneath and onto his bare skin. I could feel thick hair on his stomach, spreading out over his torso as I moved slowly up to his chest, pushing the sweatshirt up as I went along. “Get your fucking hands off me,” he said.

I took my hand away, letting him think he had won. Then, grabbing the collar of it, I pulled. The material ripped, and I kept pulling until the front of the sweatshirt hung open in tatters, his whole chest bare. His pecs were rounded and well developed, shaded in the soft dark hair I'd felt earlier, and the hair went right up to his neck, where it had been clipped into a neat curve. While I hated the guy, I had to admit he had one damn fine body.

“You touch me again and I'll scream my goddamned head off,” he said. “Cops will have your ass in jail for sure.”

I laughed, watching his face fill with confusion. “You're the one that likes going around beating up queers,” I said. “What are you going to tell the cops, that some little faggot went and beat you up?” I walked over and ran my finger up his belly to his chin, pushing it up so I could look into his face. “Or maybe you'll tell them that you're the queer one.”

He spat at me, a spray of wetness hitting my face. Picking up an old rag from among the trash scattered on the floor, I wiped my face off. Then I balled up the dirty cloth and pushed it into his mouth, silencing him. He tried to spit it out, but couldn't. “You know,” I said, putting my hands on his chest again, “they say the guys who make the most noise about hating gay men are the ones who have something to hide. Maybe we should find out just what kind of secrets you've got hidden away.”

Ripping more of his shirt, I pulled it off of him so that he was standing bare chested. The moonlight washed over the ripples of his body, which were evident even through the hair that covered his chest. His raised arms were thick and solid, and the ridges of his abdomen were clearly defined. Moving behind him, I saw that his back was just as beautiful, the shoulder muscles bunched tightly where his arms were pulled overhead.

I put my hands on his back and started to trace the curves of his bone and muscle slowly, feeling the heat of his skin beneath my hands. I ran my fingers up to where his closely cropped hair had been shaved on his neck, brushing my fingertips along the line where skin met hair. I could feel him shiver as I did this, and I knew he was enjoying it in spite of himself. “Feels good, doesn't it?” I said in his ear.

I moved back in front of him and saw that his eyes were closed, as if he was hoping it was all a bad dream and he could wake up somewhere else. Reaching out, I pinched one of his large, firm nipples between my fingers and watched as his eyes flew open. I continued to rub it as his face was creased by winces of pain and then pleasure as his body began to respond involuntarily to my touch. I gripped the second one and twisted that as well, feeling them both swell as I worked them over. He was writhing against the restraints as I played with his tits, and I felt a perverse burst of pleasure as I watched him.

Leaning down, I took one between my lips, fluttering my tongue over it lightly and cooling it by blowing on it. I licked the overheated bud and the skin around it gently. Then, moving my mouth over his mound, I slipped my tongue into the dark cavern of his armpit, licking and sucking at the damp hair. When I drew away, I saw that he was still looking at me, only now the rage had turned to a look of confusion, as though he was ashamed at feeling pleasure from what I was doing to him.