Orange E-Book

B.G. Thomas

• Herausgeber: Dreamspinner Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 487

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Frank Sinclair believes only in the visceral, the real, what he can touch and taste. After all, his mother left him when he was five years old, so how can love exist? His next sexual conquest is what makes his world go around, not romance and happily ever after. The hot guy he sees working along the highway in an orange jumpsuit fuels his bad-boy fantasies. Coincidentally, the guy shows up at the gas station across the street from his apartment building, and you can bet he's going to take his shot. Roy Ingalls is his bad-boy parolee in orange, and he's ready and oh-so-willing to be Frank's next conquest. But Roy isn't quite the bad boy he seems—deep down he's sweet, naïve… and the most intoxicating man Frank has ever met. The sex is the best of their lives, but can a man who mistrusts love and another who isn't ready to admit he's actually gay ever move beyond friends with benefits?

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Blurb

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

EPILOGUE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

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About the Author

By B.G. Thomas

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Copyright

Orange

By B.G. Thomas

Frank Sinclair believes only in the visceral, the real, what he can touch and taste. After all, his mother left him when he was five years old, so how can love exist? His next sexual conquest is what makes his world go around, not romance and happily ever after. The hot guy he sees working along the highway in an orange jumpsuit fuels his bad-boy fantasies. Coincidentally, the guy shows up at the gas station across the street from his apartment building, and you can bet he’s going to take his shot.

Roy Ingalls is his bad-boy parolee in orange, and he’s ready and oh-so-willing to be Frank’s next conquest. But Roy isn’t quite the bad boy he seems—deep down he’s sweet, naïve… and the most intoxicating man Frank has ever met.

The sex is the best of their lives, but can a man who mistrusts love and another who isn’t ready to admit he’s actually gay ever move beyond friends with benefits?

This one is for Noah Willoughby.

Friend, coauthor, researcher, and “Voice in the dark.”

This book would not have happened without you.

At least not on time!

CHAPTER ONE

“HEY,” FRANK Sinclair said to the stranger. “You want a blowjob?”

And then he waited for the answer.

Everything would depend on the next few seconds. There would be either a smile or a snarl, and sitting there in his red Mazda MX-5 Miata, Frank’s left foot was on the brake and his right hovered over the gas in case he got a hostile answer.

Thing was, though, a surprising number of men said yes. Even the straight ones. Odds were, most of them would be straight. Statistics said nine out of ten. Yet still he got to give those blowjobs.

Frank figured his good luck hinged a lot on the fact that he was not only good-looking but well-built and masculine also. He’d always been able to fit in anywhere he went. Be “one of the guys.” This was not conceit on his part, and he thought it was ridiculous, stupid even, when an attractive person pretended they were unaware of their looks. Knowing you were good-looking and being conceited about it were two entirely different things.

Come on, say yes, he beamed to the hottie standing there.

Wait.

Waiting….

The man stared back at him, mouth agape, clearly taken by surprise.

He was hot. Fuck, he was hot. Both figuratively and literally.

Figuratively because the guy was a stud—younger than Frank by five or more years, muscular, with a mop of brown hair, a thick, almost-wild beard, and huge—simply huge—blue eyes. He was wearing nothing but a thin-strapped tank top and bright Lycra biker shorts so revealing he might as well have been naked. Frank could clearly see the length of the guy’s penis, the flared head, and two significantly sized balls nestled beneath, one a little lower than the other.

And literally because it was in the upper 90s today, as it had been for unrelenting weeks, and the man was sweaty, hair stuck to his forehead, the wide-open sides of his tank top dark with perspiration. Frank thought if he stuck his head out the window, which at this point he dared not do, he could smell the man, and he knew it would be a good smell. Not acrid or nasty, but all man. That’s what his imagination was conjuring up, at least.

All of which was the first (no, second) reason Frank had made his blatant offer.

Of course, it certainly wasn’t the first time he’d proffered such an unashamed solicitation, and it certainly would not be the last. Coming on to strangers, especially those as hot as this, was one of his two fetishes, and one he’d been able to fulfill many times.

God, this guy was hot. Even better up close. Frank liked what he saw, and he wanted to see more, even though the man’s shorts were so revealing. Frank was from Missouri, after all, the Show-Me State, and Show Me was his motto.

A quick glance (and it had to be quick because he didn’t want to take his eyes off the guy’s face for long) down past the bulge in those shorts revealed muscular, hairy legs and big feet, the latter encased in tennis shoes, sans socks. Certainly not those fruity ankle socks with the little pompoms on the back that Frank would forever associate with the kind the high school cheerleaders used to wear. On a girl they were fine, if not a bit silly. But on a man? The thought practically turned Frank’s stomach.

Anyway, the guy’s whole outfit, what there was of it, was a wet dream come true—

(although not as hot as the man had looked in orange)

—and Frank found he was holding his breath in anticipation.

Say yes. Say yes. Say yes!

Frank had been parking his car in front of his apartment building—a virtual miracle that the space had been open and he hadn’t had to park in the lot around back—when he’d spotted the man in the bright (and very tight) shorts at the gas station kitty-corner across the street. Even from that distance, he could see the guy was built. And since Frank had been horny all day, his balls actually heavy with need, he impulsively drove over to see if the guy was as hot up close as he was from across the street.

To Frank’s great surprise, the guy was the “man in orange.”

He’d been so surprised he had simply stared for a moment, his come-on unsaid. Holy shit! Not only was this guy a jerk-off fantasy, but he was the man to whose image Frank had already jerked off to more than once.

Better and better.

God, who would have believed it? Frank’s cock had started to harden the second his lewd offer had sprung from his lips.

But now? Now he was steel hard and throbbing in his jeans. What would the dude say? It had taken him a moment to realize that this man was that man. His hair had been very short the first time he’d seen it. Marine cut. And his beard shorter. Much shorter.

But God, it was him.

They locked eyes. Those eyes! Bordering on unreal. Almost like eyes from some character in one of those Japanese cartoon movies everyone was so crazy about.

The man swallowed. So hard his Adam’s apple bobbed. And…

This is it!

“O-okay,” he said quietly.

Yes! Christ, Frank couldn’t believe his fucking luck.

Wait….

Was the guy blushing? Adorable.

The guy trembled. Looked around nervously. Licked his lips. Changing his mind?

Don’t let him change his mind.

“I live right across the street,” Frank said quickly.

“You do?” Dude asked, voice cracking.

Frank nodded and finally took his foot from its position above the gas. The guy wasn’t going to punch him. “I was parking my car and saw you.”

“From across the street?”

Frank nodded again. “Yeah. And you were so fucking hot, I had to ask.”

“You thought I was hot from over there?” Dude’s Adam’s apple bobbed again.

“Fuck yes,” Frank said, his voice almost a growl.

Dude’s eyes flashed. “Let’s do it.”

THE FIRST time Frank saw him, the man was walking in the grass alongside the road.

He was wearing orange.

The traffic was crawling along I-70. Frank had taken the top of his Mazda down so he could enjoy the breeze through his thick, wavy hair and the skin on his bare chest. He was wearing his jeans shorts—the ones he’d made, not those horrible nearly knee-length shorts that were popular today. He blamed those ugly things on that motherfucker Michael Jordan, who’d turned the only sexy American sports uniform into something that looked like bathing suits from the 1910s.

Frank’s shorts? They weren’t cut so high his balls would hang out, but they showed off his muscular thighs, and as hard as he worked on them, he wanted them to be seen!

But none of that made a bit of difference when the traffic came to a total stop. Or close enough. He was just thinking it was time to put the damned top up so the air conditioner would do some good when he saw the men along the side the road. The men in orange.

His friend Cody had a little fantasy. He liked UPS men. “I’ll tell you what brown can do for me!” he’d said one evening after too many cosmos.

Cody wasn’t the only one. Turned out a lot of guys thought men in those brown UPS uniforms were hot. And Frank had to admit they often were. The shorts were short, for one thing. And the men were usually fit. Their jobs involved a lot of driving but a lot of running as well. Leaping in and out of those trucks, running to a front door lugging packages of various sizes and weights, and then dashing back to their vehicle. He’d had to laugh when Cody suggested it was dirty old queens who did the hiring for UPS.

“I mean, have you seen a UPS man who isn’t hot?”

Frank had to agree. He understood the appeal of the color brown.

But for him, it was orange.

The only difference was he didn’t know anyone else who shared his interest.

Frank didn’t know what it was about those men in their orange jumpsuits. Maybe he didn’t need to. Evaluating such a thing was something Cody would do. Frank only knew those men turned him on.

And that hot day, he laid his eyes on one who put iron in his cock in about thirty seconds.

The man was around twenty-five, give or take a year. He was very fit, slim, and wide in the shoulders, and he gave the almost-shapeless orange jumpsuit a run for its money. Tight. Like he was wearing one a size too small. His beard wasn’t quite as full that day as it was today, but trim, shorter, and his hair was in a buzz cut. He was carrying a bag and a pole with a claw at the end, and he was picking up garbage. Then—as if Frank had been a remarkably good boy and Karma was rewarding him—a man in a police uniform handed the guy a bottle of water. Frank still couldn’t believe what had happened next. The man in orange—the hot man Frank was taking back to his apartment right now—opened the bottle, drank about half of it, his throat working, working, working, and then—oh Christ!—he poured the remainder over himself, tossing his head to either side as he did. It was like something out of a sexy bottled-water commercial. Time seemed to slow down as the water ran right off that buzz-cut hair. Some of it spread through his trim beard and then went flying out in a fan. The rest poured down his front over his bare, very muscular chest—his orange jumpsuit had been unzipped scandalously low—and where the water touched the edges of his garment, the fabric turned almost red.

And then—

(oh God, and then!)

—he turned his head and looked at Frank.

Their eyes locked.

Frank wasn’t sure he’d ever seen eyes so blue. So big. Eyes that belonged on an elfin character in a fantasy movie.

The man licked his lips. Gave another toss of his head. Water droplets flew. But he still looked. Still stared back.

Frank thought he’d have an orgasm right then.

A loud horn sounded then—honk!—and Frank had jumped in his seat, and then he was no longer locked eye to eye with the stranger in orange. He looked around to see the traffic had moved on a bit, and someone behind him was impatient. As if he could pull more than about ten feet ahead.

Sadly, the team in orange was going the opposite way. Frank didn’t get to play fuckeyes with the stranger any longer.

He sure came hard that night, though, thinking about him. Thinking about swinging the passenger door open and telling him, “Quick! Jump in!” and then hitting the gas, tearing down the shoulder of the highway, and zooming up the next off-ramp, and taking the sweaty man home and fucking the Jesus out of him.

Cody and his partner, Harry, had enjoyed the story—which surprised him because they were such a couple, so saccharine sweet in their couplehood, and always telling him he needed to find him a man and settle down. Despite that, they had cheered after he’d told them about Mr. Orange the next day.

That’s when they told him their “Google for brown” story. How they’d found a uniform online and ordered it, and how Harry had “delivered” a package.

It was pretty hot, actually, that a couple that had been together for five years could still get up to such antics. Could almost make you think….

No. No way.

“That’s what you need to do,” Harry said. He was a stocky bear, though not too big, and had he not been coupled, Frank would have taken him for a spin. But Frank did not do married men—even if the two of them hadn’t made it legal yet. There were 4.5 billion men in the world. He wasn’t going to help someone cheat on some poor, innocent, unsuspecting partner.

“Google you up one of those jumpsuits. Hell! You could get one from one of those Halloween places easy! And I’m sure a guy like you wouldn’t have a bit of trouble getting someone to help him fulfill a little fantasy.”

But for Frank, a costume wasn’t going to do it. For him, it had to be real.

Now after years of waiting, it was going to happen. He was going to blow a man in orange. And while the guy wouldn’t actually be wearing the jumpsuit—for that Frank would have to draw on the memory of that hot summer day—at least his man du jour was real.

“Just picture him, see him in that orange jumpsuit…,” Frank told himself aloud. Picture it! The sweat, the bottle, and the thrashing of his head with the water spraying out in a fan, catching the sun like diamonds, the rest of the water running down his torso.

The thoughts, memories, had Frank so hard his cock hurt. But the pain wouldn’t last. It would soon transform into delightful pleasure. Why, he’d probably cum the minute he got the guy’s cock in his mouth. Luckily Frank wasn’t a guy who lost interest in sex the minute he’d had an orgasm.

It hit him that he still didn’t know the guy’s name. Not that it mattered. He’d had sex with lots of men whose names he never knew. Who cared what their names were? He usually forgot their names a minute after they told him. It didn’t matter. This was sex. He wasn’t planning on marrying them and bearing their children. Love didn’t have anything to do with it, to paraphrase Ms. Tina Turner.

No. This was about fulfilling a fantasy he’d had for as long as he could remember. One that was rooted somewhere around sixth grade, when he’d seen some men on the side of a different highway one of the many times he and his father were on the road. One of the few times they’d been in the US.

“Who are those men?” he’d asked his father.

His father had looked. They were in a convertible that day as well, and funny that he was suddenly remembering that. Dad was smoking and Frank remembered the smoke curling out of his mouth as he squinted at the men on the side of the road, focusing on them for just a moment.

“Those are bad boys,” his father said then. “They did something they shouldn’t have done, and they got caught, and now they’re being punished.”

“Those are bad boys.”

The words fired up something deep within him. Something… exciting.

Bad boys.

And now, at last, he was going to get his bad boy. At long last.

Please God. Don’t let him change his mind and run….

CHAPTER TWO

HE DIDN’T run.

In fact, there was a fire in his eyes when Frank met up with him in front of his apartment building, the Oscar Wilde.

They took the elevator to the sixth floor. The whole time, the dude’s eyes were doing crazy things, going wide and dark. Frank actually saw it happen because those eyes were such a bright swimming pool of blue that he could see the pupils dilating. The guy’s nostrils flared. His mouth was open, and that throat was working again, as if he were drinking from that bottle of water once more.

Then, having still not spoken since Frank’s offer and the dude’s acceptance at the gas station, they left the elevator, walked down the hall, and went into Frank’s apartment.

Inside, Mr. Orange stood on the threshold, breathing with audible huffs, his legs wide, those eyes staring. Frank figured he better get this show on the road before the guy chickened out and ran. That had happened. More than once.

Please not today.

Frank glanced down at the man’s crotch and saw—holy shit!—the dude was hard. Rock hard. The bright Lycra shorts were too wet from perspiration for Frank to tell if the guy was leaking yet. But goddamn, what a feast!

Before Frank could go to his knees, his visitor grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, slammed him against the wall, and kissed him. Kissed him rough and firm, mouth open, tongue thrusting. And fuck, he wasn’t a bad kisser!

Now his hands were at the side of Frank’s face, and he pulled back ever so slightly and stared at Frank, eyes crazy with lust. Frank couldn’t help but think of the scene from Brokeback Mountain where Ennis Del Mar and Jack Twist kissed after years of not seeing each other. That had been one of hottest things Frank had ever seen.

So why not continue the scene? Jack Twist had kissed Ennis back. And that’s what Frank did. He kissed back as good as he’d been given.

Jesus H. Christ it was good. Frank didn’t know when the last time was he’d been kissed like this. Such fervor. Such fever. Such—God!—passion. Mr. Orange ground against him, moaning into Frank’s mouth. His tongue darted, dived, danced with Frank’s.

Who is this guy?

Suddenly, Frank’s trick pulled away. Gazed at Frank. There was so much happening in those eyes. Lust. An animal wildness. And was that fear?

“I’m awful sweaty,” he said in an apologetic tone that Frank found humorous. “It’s so damned hot, and I worked out this morning….”

“I love workout sweat,” Frank growled.

The guy blinked and then nodded and growled right back, “Where’s your bed?”

“Back that way,” Frank said, gesturing with a bob of his head. He led the way, Mr. Orange on his heels. They’d no sooner crossed the threshold of his bedroom than he was on Frank again. But trembling. Nervous? Scared?

So Frank put his arms around him and pulled him close, rubbed his upper arms reassuringly. He did not want the guy to freak out and run. Not this close.

Please no!

But then he kissed Frank again. This time some of that wild sureness was gone. He was hesitant at first—one breath at a time, moaning, gasping, almost… whining. But slowly the aggression came back. Frank took a chance, ground his erection against his trick’s, and yes! The guy was moaning even more.

The time had come.

Frank carefully nudged him back to the bed and sat him down, put a hand on his chest, pushed him back. Finally—at last—he went to his knees. Down between those muscular legs. The guy wasn’t wearing the orange jumpsuit. He wore shorts instead. But that was okay. They were hot as fuck, and his cock was even hotter. Frank laid his hand on those hard, powerful thighs, then grabbed the waist of the shorts. Started to pull, and—

“Wait!”

Frank looked up. No! I don’t want to wait! He was looking into those eyes. Mr. Orange was leaning back on his elbows, propped up so he could stare down between his legs at Frank.

“Wait?” Frank asked.

“What’s your name?” the man said with a panting gasp. “If I’m going to have sex with you, I want to know your name.”

Have sex with me? Is that what this guy called getting a blowjob? Or was he saying he wanted more?

“Frank,” he said.

“I’m… I’m Roy.” And then, of all things, he blushed. Or was that just the color of desire? “Suck my cock, Frank. Please.”

Only too happy to oblige, Frank grabbed the waist of those ridiculously bright Lycra shorts and pulled them down. Urged Roy to lift his ass. Pulled again.

God, there it was. Roy’s cock.

God! Hot. But it was also beautiful. Big, uncut, and below the thick shaft, large testicles in a satiny scrotum. His pubic hair was a light, short bush above. Had he trimmed it? Why, Frank thought he had.

Enough looking!

Frank lowered his face, pressed it against that warm column. Kissed it. Kissed it again. Kissed down between his balls and pressed there too, then went a little lower and placed pressure against that one spot outside of a man that was so close to his prostate. Roy moaned and put his hands in Frank’s hair, wound his fingers in it. Frank mouthed the spot hard, and Roy cried out God’s name.

Oh, Roy smelled so good. Musky and very strong, but fresh and all man. Frank’s cock began to throb at the scent. The fragrance of a man.

Then Frank began to lick, swirled his tongue hard and made Roy moan all the more.

Gonna give you the best blowjob of your life! So I better stop fucking around and start sucking.

He ran his tongue, wet as he could make it, up the shaft. And when he reached the head, half-covered in lovely foreskin but damp with need, he wrapped his fingers around the fleshy column, gripped it (more moans), lifted it, and took it in his mouth.

“God!” Roy shouted.

Took it deep. Massaged the underside with his tongue. Flexed it. Did those things guaranteed to make a man cum. Never sucked a man he couldn’t get off with his mouth. Ignored those men who said they couldn’t cum that way and showed them that, oh yes, they could!

Frank bobbed up and down on that thick shaft, deep-throating him, making himself a wet, tight tunnel of pure pleasure. Roy cried out and curled his fingers in Frank’s hair so tight it hurt, but Frank didn’t mind. It turned him on. Drove him on.

Cum for me. Fill me. Drown me!

Roy’s cock began to throb in that way that told Frank the orgasm could be no more than thirty seconds away and then—

“No! Stop!”

Stop?

Roy pulled his cock out of Frank’s mouth—

What are you doing!

—and when Frank tried to take him back in, Roy actually pushed him back.

“No! I don’t want to cum yet.”

Wait. What?

Oh, the fire in those eyes.

He doesn’t want to cum yet? Because so many straight men wanted it over fast….

“If….” Roy’s throat began to work again. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened. Closed.

If? If what?

“I don’t think I can suck you if I cum.” His cheeks went red again.

Wait. What? Suck me?

“Roy… you don’t—”

“Frank. Stand up!” Commanding him. Not asking.

“You don’t have to, man. I’m fine with—”

“I want to, Frank. Oh God. I want to!”

He wants to. Holy shit. And looking into those blue eyes, Frank saw Roy meant it.

Stand the fuck up!

So he did, nearly shaking, thinking, Is this really happening? Please tell me this is really happening!

Frank stood, and while he wasn’t filling his jeans quite as full as Roy filled his shorts—certainly didn’t show through thick denim like Roy through his Lycra—he could see Roy liked what he saw. Then he sat up and reached, paused, reached, and… touched. So light Frank could barely feel it, but still a shock shot through his whole body, and he gasped. Good. So good!

But wait. Was it him who had gasped? Or was it Roy? Because now Roy was shaking. He gave a little moan. He pulled at Frank’s jeans, opened them with a pop and a ziiiiiiiip, and Frank’s cock sprang out. He never wore underwear. Not in years and years, and his father hadn’t cared. His old man thought it showed that Frank was a real man.

Roy gasped, “Oh God,” and grabbed Frank’s erection.

Later, Frank wasn’t sure how he hadn’t shot off immediately. The pleasure was a shockwave, and then Roy started jacking him, staring, whispering to himself, and Frank had to grip his own ass hard with clawed nails to keep things from ending too soon.

“God,” Roy said. “Your dick…. It’s so…. It’s so hot!”

Frank wasn’t sure if Roy meant sexy hot or temperature hot, and through the pleasure haze suspected maybe he meant both. But before he could ponder it any further, logical thought was driven from Frank as Roy sat up and took Frank’s cock into his mouth.

“Christ!” Frank hissed, and it was from pleasure and pain. “Teeth,” he warned.

Roy caught on miraculously fast after that. Lips folded over his teeth, he began to bob. Maybe not wet enough, but who frigging cared? A straight man was sucking his cock. Why the hell had he even cared about the fucking teeth? Roy could do whatever he wanted as long as he kept sucking and… God… he was doing good. He was trying to imitate Frank’s patented tongue-massage technique and was doing it well! The wetness was here now. Roy was practically slobbering on his cock, and oh God oh God oh God, Frank wanted to cum but….

But Roy’d said he wanted this to last.

Did he?

Frank stepped back, pulled out of the delicious mouth. Roy let out a sound that could only be a whimper, and Frank laughed. He couldn’t help it. When Roy looked up, Frank surged into his arms, pushing him down and back onto the bed. He used his legs, feet firmly planted against the floor, to push Roy even farther up on the bed and then scrambled on top of him and kissed him again.

Now they were both moaning and rolling, and their legs and their half-pulled-down pants were tangling, and it was so hot and funny and sexy and great! When Roy was on top, Frank pulled that wet tank top off of him and flung it—flung it!—away, and when Frank was on top, Roy did the same to his polo shirt. One of the few buttons popped free and zinged off to parts unknown. Now their bare chests thrust up against each other, crushing, their nipples hard like pebbles, touching, sending more delightful zings out to toes and fingertips. They rolled and fought with their pants, used hands and knees and feet to get them low enough to kick off, and finally it was all skin. Skin against skin, muscles grinding, cocks thrusting.

Oh, this is so damned hot. So hot. Thank you, God! So hot.

He remembered that he had told himself he would fantasize about that orange jumpsuit, that he’d forgotten to… and then he forgot again. Oh well.

Frank was on top again, and he wanted Roy in his mouth once more. So he did it. Took him deep. Sucked his cock and licked too. Licked everywhere. Sucked his balls and then licked down and darted under to… God yes, taste Roy’s hole.

Roy stiffened, and Frank did it again. Oh, it was clean. He could tell. It was all sweat and that wonderful new-penny-copper taste, and he wanted more than a quick lick. So he reared up and pushed Roy’s legs back and wide and attacked with vigor. Licked and sucked and licked some more. Roy yelled, and Frank knew his neighbor on the other side of his bedroom wall had to hear, but hey, at least it was the afternoon, right?

Oh, and how nice that Roy’s hole was opening to his ministrations, and when he peeked at it, he decided that Roy’s pucker was perhaps the most beautiful he’d ever seen in he didn’t know how long. Perfect and pink, and as he licked it more, it opened like a flower.

“Frank!” Hearing his name like that was incredible, and Roy said it again and again before he realized Roy was calling to him and not just shouting.

Frank lifted up and looked at Roy, and then surprisingly, Roy wrapped his legs around Frank’s waist and pulled him tight, shifted so that his wet ass was pressed against Frank’s throbbing cock.

Roy’s next words stunned him. “Frank…?”

Frank looked into swimming-pool-blue eyes.

Ever so quietly, Roy whispered, “Fuck me?”

Wait. Had he heard that right?

Roy’s eyes were incredibly wide now.

“You want me to…? Are you sure? I mean, it can really hurt the first time, and—”

“Please don’t talk me out of it. I want to do it all. I know, but I don’t want to regret not doing it. Because this is never going to happen again.”

Frank didn’t know what to say. He was indeed quite stunned.

“Please, Frank. Fuck me. I want to know….”

He almost asked, “Know what?” but then realized he understood completely.

Frank reached out to his bedside table, opened the drawer, fingered through it, found what he was looking for, and pulled out the little square foil packet.

Roy saw it, registered it, and said, “You don’t have to use one if you don’t want—”

“Yes,” Frank said quite firmly. “Yes, I do. And don’t you ever let a man fuck you without one.” Then, driving his point home, “Do you understand, baby?”

Baby? Why the fuck had he said that?

Roy obviously heard it too, and his eyes widened ever so slightly. His cheeks went pink again—God, Frank loved that Roy could blush—and he nodded.

But Frank saw disappointment. He wanted me to fuck him bare. Sorry.That is the one thing you can’t do. You can’t do it all. But God yes, I will fuck you.

He sat back, opened the packet, pulled out the condom, and rolled it down his length while Roy watched with such goddamned—wow—lust!

Then Frank positioned himself, spread Roy’s legs carefully, and lined his cockhead at that perfect, slightly open, and flexing hole. Looked down at him. So fucking hot. Those eyes. That chest, lightly hairy, the six-pack and the tight little navel, his hairy tummy. God!

“Try to relax. Take a deep breath and push out. I know that sounds weird, but it will help. And relax.”

Roy nodded. Took the deep breath.

Frank reached down, touched his cock against that flexing hole… and gave Roy one more chance. “Are you sure?”

He got a sob for an answer and then a quick, hard nod. “I’m sure. Please, Frank.”

No man could resist anymore.

He pushed and was surprised at how easily he slid in.

Roy’s eyes flew wide, and he cried out and then locked his ankles behind Frank’s ass and pulled him all the way in.

“God!” they both shouted as he bottomed out, and then Roy kissed him and told him to “Fuck me. Fuck me, Frank. Oh Christ! So good. So much… better than I ever thought. God!”

He went slowly at first, but not for long. He couldn’t hold back, not with Roy fisting his own cock and begging Frank to fuck him, fuck him harder!

Frank fucked him harder and faster and ever so much deeper, and then Roy was cumming. Shooting between them in forceful blasts of bright white, splashing them both, one shot landing on Roy’s cheek. As he came his ring of muscle and his tunnel clenched tight, and that was all it took—the squeezing and the sounds and the splashing—and Frank joined Roy. Cumming. Cumming so hard his vision went gray.

The orgasm seemed to go on forever, and when it finally ended, he fell on Roy, a puppet with its strings cut. He lay there, knew he had to be heavy, and told himself to roll off, but he couldn’t. Not quite. Finally, using all his will, he started to move off Roy, but Roy’s legs went tight again, and he said, “Please no. Not yet. I want you in me. Just a little longer.”

Frank nodded, not wanting to be anywhere else.

Eventually, though, he couldn’t hold himself up like that anymore, and he shifted them to the side. As his cock softened at last, he slipped out of Roy’s exquisite warmth.

Roy rolled with him, threw a leg over Frank’s groin, and laid his head on Frank’s right bicep and the side of his chest. Then he sighed.

It was incredibly sweet.

CHAPTER THREE

AFTERWARD, ROY didn’t leave. Not right away. It surprised Frank more than just about anything that had happened today. Not only did Mr. Hottie turn out to be the Man in Orange, and not only did they have great sex—no, frigging fantastic sex—but he didn’t leave after. Straight men left. They might be bicurious, but they were saturated in Catholic—or whatever—guilt. They would get more and more and more curious until finally they could stand it no more and were driven by forces they couldn’t understand to try to find gay sex. They usually had to get drunk first—how many of his tricks were from out of town and picked up in either a gay or hotel bar? Frank wasn’t sure, but he bet the number was high. Those drunks would take him to bed, and about ten seconds after they came, the guilt would hit them like a runaway train.

This moment was very important. It could go one of two ways.

A man might turn into a blubbering, weeping fool, pacing, begging God for forgiveness, begging Frank to tell them this didn’t mean they were gay—Frank usually did that for them, absolved them, whatever. It allowed him to exit, stage left, as quickly as possible.

But another man might get violent, blaming him for their fall from grace, screaming, shouting, swinging their fists. He’d gotten popped once on the jaw so hard his face hurt for a week, thought the guy had broken it. Men had even accused him of slipping them a roofie. Ridiculous. He was all the roofie he needed.

Roy didn’t get hit by a trainload of guilt, and he didn’t get violent. He… snuggled. Which could be the worst scenario yet.

Because sometimes men got all gushy and romantic and declared their undying love after a half-hour tryst. And Frank wasn’t interested in committing himself to any man. He wasn’t looking for happily ever after.

On the other hand, this was… well… kinda nice.

He wasn’t sure why. Usually he liked it when his trick left. The sooner the better. Unless maybe he stayed to get dressed, pop open a six-pack, and watch the Chiefs. Man stuff. And if the home team won, that was an excuse for round two before Frank kicked the guy out.

Man stuff. Not gushy chick-flick stuff.

Roy shifted. Somehow got even closer to Frank without suffocating him. Their bodies… fit together. Very well. Like the Legos Frank had spent endless hours playing with as a kid.

What the fuck are you thinking?

But hell. It was true. He was propped up a bit on a couple pillows gazing down at their entangled bodies, Roy’s body, and he was struck by how good it looked. Why, it was tempting his dick to get hard again. Roy’s back, unlike his chest, was smooth, and he had a big rose tattoo on his right shoulder. Funny that Frank hadn’t seen that until now. He contemplated that expanse of muscles and hairless ass, lightly hairy legs, big feet.

For some reason, Frank was reminded of a lady who had once asked him if he knew God, if he had found Jesus. She was telling him how it wasn’t right or natural for him to be gay. That the final proof was that only a man’s and a woman’s bodies fit together. That two men’s bodies could never fit right.

She needed to see this, he thought, and laughed. These two bodies fit.

I fucked this hottie.

Hot sex. Really hot sex.

Here all he’d wanted was to give the guy a quick blow-and-go. Instead it was the best fuck in he couldn’t remember when. He thought about telling Roy that he’d jacked off thinking about him; it was the kind of thing that turned some men on. Thinking that you were so hot for them you masturbated, picturing them in your mind. An ego thing. Hell, it turned Frank on when he’d been told the same thing.

But then he would have to explain why. And he wasn’t sure Roy was ready to know he had been recognized. And there was still the question of why he’d been working by the side of the road in that orange jumpsuit.

“Those are bad boys” came the echo of his father’s voice. “They did something they shouldn’t have done, and they got caught, and now they’re being punished.”

Bad boy.

I just fucked a bad boy…. It made him grin.

But then—geez, Frank had actually been slipping off to sleep—Roy finally said something.

“Wow. I just had gay sex.”

Frank paused before responding. Wanting it to be the right thing to say to cover as many bases as he could.

“Well, my friend, I’m gay. This doesn’t make you gay.”

Roy looked at him, thickly bearded chin propped against Frank’s chest. “It doesn’t?”

Those eyes of his looked so… childlike. If a man could look childlike after what he’d just done with his body. What he’d done to Frank with his mouth. His ass. His hand and fingers and words.

“Please, Frank. Fuck me. I want to know….”

Somewhere between begging and a command.

Know what, Roy? What did you want to know? Did you find out?

“You’re gay?” Roy asked, and there was incredulity in his voice.

“Kind of the reason I wanted to suck your cock.”

Roy’s eyes went wide, brows went high.

Then ever so quietly, “I wanted to suck your c…. Your c-cock.”

“How could you resist?” Frank asked, grabbed himself, and winked. Chuckled. Joked it away. “I got a nice one.”

Roy cleared his throat, looked away, laid his cheek once more on Frank’s chest. “Yes, you do,” he whispered.

Frank couldn’t help but smile. Liked that little zing Roy’s words gave him once again. What man didn’t like his dick praised?

“You okay?” Frank asked. “I mean, you took quite a fucking there.” Took it better than just about any virgin I ever knew. “That was something else.” It was unbelievable was what it was. And he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, Roy had….

“I’m okay,” he said.

After a little while, Roy moved, propped himself up, looked down Frank’s body, focused a minute on his half erection—

I’ll get it back up for you again if you want me to, pretty man.

—and then sat up.

“I should be going.”

You don’t have to, Frank tried to say with his eyes. Because there was no fucking way he was going to say it out loud. He didn’t say that out loud.

“I’m supposed be at… my mom’s in….” He looked around and spotted the little alarm clock on Frank’s bedside table. “Shit. Is that right? I should be there already. I told her I’d come early and that I’d bring potato salad. Red-skin if I could find it. Do you know where I can get some red-skin potato salad?”

The question was so sincere Frank almost laughed.

And here he worried about tears or fists or declarations of love. All Roy here wanted was some potato salad. Red-skin if he could find it.

“We could make some,” he offered.

“No time!” Roy got up and glanced around for his clothes. He looked so damned good. That big chest, lightly hairy. Those arms. That little bit of pubic bush over that lotta bouncing cock. That ass—so smooth. He bent and picked something up, which aimed his ass at Frank, and Frank knew he could get it up again.

Roy stood and pulled his tank top over his head, revealing lightly hairy pits. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his bike shorts.

“You’re really going to your mother’s house dressed like that?”

Roy gave him a curious look in response. “Huh?” he asked, standing again.

“You are downright scandalous in that!” He grinned and pointed at Roy’s dick.

Roy peered at him and smiled—so cute—and blushed and said, “Well, I have something to change into in my car. I was going to take a shower when I got… to her place and then change. I was doing a job this morning, and I got all sweaty. Sorry about that.”

“Sorry about being sweaty?” Frank grinned. “I liked it. Like it. But you know you can shower here before you go. For your ma.”

Roy paused, seemed to think about it a second, and then shook his head. Laughed. “Naw. I don’t think that would be a good idea.” He shook his finger at Frank. “I know what you would want. You’d just try and f-fuck me again.” He blushed furiously. “I gotta get out of here.”

Frank gave a half shrug and smiled. “You do have an amazing ass,” Frank said, surprising himself. He never tried to get a trick to stay. He wanted them out when the cumming was done. But he was surprised when it occurred to him Roy was right. He would like to climb in the shower with Orange Boy. Wash his back. His ass. Get another shot at it. Who knew? Maybe let Roy have a shot at his.

Then, surprising himself again, he said, “You could fuck me.” Not that he didn’t like being fucked, but there he was trying to get Roy to stay. “You did say you wanted to try everything.”

Roy’s Adam’s apple worked. “Gosh,” he said, and his eyes told Frank he was thinking it over. “That’s certainly tempting. But I really do have to go.”

“Maybe next time,” Frank said and then remembered there wasn’t going to be a next time. Roy had said that, and it wasn’t like Frank did “next times” all that often anyway.

Roy trembled for a second or two, then shook his head. “I can’t.”

Ah well. Potato salad.

“There’s a Cosentino’s on 13th,” Frank said then and climbed out of bed. Scratched his balls, then sniffed his fingers. Sex. Pure sex. “Or the Sunfresh in Westport. I bet either one of them would have what you’re looking for. Cosentino’s is closer, but Sunfresh is cheaper.”

Roy eyed Frank’s crotch. Frank liked that. Then Roy looked him over from head to foot and back up again. He liked that even better. His dick twitched.

“You sure you don’t want that shower? You do smell like sex. You might raise your mother’s eyebrows.”

Blush.

“She won’t notice. I could walk in there naked and she would hardly notice. But thanks.” He nodded. “Thanks for everything.”

And then he did something that was the most surprising of all. He held out his hand.

He wanted to shake?

Frank looked at Roy. Once more there was that complete look of sincerity. He thought about how different Roy’s expression had been while he was being fucked.

Why not? He shook Roy’s hand.

And then Roy nodded and turned and walked to the front door. Frank followed him naked, opened the door, stood there just out of sight of anyone walking down the hall.

Roy looked at him again.

“You know you could have any woman you want, right?”

Frank shrugged. Thought better of it. Roy was leaving, and Frank would never see him again, and for some reason he cared what Roy thought of him. Of all this. The woman comment was a compliment. Roy was a man telling him that he, Frank, was a man.

“Roy.” He smiled. “I don’t want women that way. You know that, right?”

He blinked. “So…. So, you’re totally… g-gay?”

“I am.” He smiled. “Roy, after an afternoon like this with you—” He held out a hand to Roy. “—personally I can’t imagine being anything else.”

Roy regarded him. “You’re just so….” The words stopped, but there were a million things going on in those eyes. Decisions being made? After a full minute, Roy sighed. “Cool, man,” he whispered. And then, “Thank you for….”

Frank nodded. Because he didn’t think Roy could finish saying it. “Thank you, Roy. I won’t ever forget this.”

Roy’s eyes widened. “You won’t?” Still a whisper.

“God no. It was fucking incredible.”

The corners of Roy’s mouth flickered upward.

And then he left.

CHAPTER FOUR

ROY SAT behind the wheel of his Jeep.

I just let a man fuck me.

Jesus….

I just let a man fuck my ass.

His ass was sore. Of course it is. You just let that guy fuck you.

And God, he’d never felt anything like it. Nothing had prepared him for this. Nothing. His skin was tingling. The hair on his arms would move now and again. It was like there was this tiny little electrical charge running through his body. He looked out the windshield. Everything seemed so much more… colorful. Clear. Detailed. It reminded him a bit of the Adderall he’d taken with Ramona.

Except this was natural, wasn’t it? No drugs. This was real….

As if letting a stranger fuck you up the ass was natural.

He closed his eyes and gripped the steering wheel. Let his forehead rest against it. Took a long deep breath. Let it out very slowly.

I did it, didn’t I? After all these years of not doing it?

After all those months in a place where lots of guys did it? He’d resisted that. Fought guys off.

And then I let stranger do it to me?

He looked up at the big redbrick apartment building. Knew he would never be able to drive by it again without knowing what had happened there. Thought that maybe he would find a way never to drive by it again.

He let out a long, shuddering breath. Saw Frank in his mind. As crystal clear as everything was around him. So…. Gorgeous. That was the word. The one he’d tried to say to Frank when he said, “You’re just so….”

But men didn’t call other men gorgeous, did they? That was a girl’s word.

It was Ramona’s word, and she used it too goddamned much.

But it was true. Frank looked like a movie star. He was unreal he was so good-looking. Better-looking than Channing Tatum. More manly than Jason Statham. More handsome than Hugh Jackman.

And he wanted me! Roy trembled. I sucked his cock. And I liked it.

The Katy Perry song came to mind. All about kissing a girl and liking it. But he’d done a lot more than that, hadn’t he? I sucked a guy, and I liked it. Somehow he didn’t think they’d be playing that on the radio anytime soon.

I sucked a guy, and I liked it.

He shivered again, and the hair on his arms moved, and it felt good.

It had felt good. Having a cock in him. He couldn’t deny it. He’d never experienced anything like it. Nothing any girl had ever done to him had been so intense. Nothing that kinky Ramona had done to him—and oh the things she liked to do to him!—could equal what he’d just done with Frank. God, oh God. And it was more than having something there, inside him there, or touching his “sweet spot” as Ramona liked to call it. His “man-clit” when she really got going.

No. This was different. It was so… so… so real. Real flesh. Warm. Part of a humanbeing. Inside him. And on top of him. And over him. And holding him.

Roy started to tremble, and tears sprang to his eyes as he thought, I can never do that again. If I do I’m screwed. Then he laughed out loud thinking of that. Screwed. He had been screwed.

I can never do it again. Because if I do, I’m gay. And I just can’t do it. I can’t be gay. I don’t want that life! I want to be like everyone else. My friends. My buddies. My family.

He looked back up at the building again.

He smiled.

His ass hurt.

He wiggled, trying to get comfortable. Looked at the seat beside him. The one in back. There was a hoodie there. He reached back and got it, folded it over a few times, and then climbed out of the Jeep. He laid it down on the seat and sat back down, and it was a little better.

Not totally. But that was all right. Because he’d been fucked. He should feel something, right?

One more look.

He smiled again.

Thank you, Frank.

He started the Jeep, checked over his shoulder, pulled into traffic, and went to the Sunfresh. Frank said it was cheaper.

“FINALLY,” HIS mother exclaimed as Roy walked in the kitchen. “I was wondering when you would get home!”

He always came in through the back door. He had since he was a kid. His mother put these pink plastic flamingos in the front yard, and the kids made fun of them, and he didn’t want anyone to know he lived there. So he would get off the bus and walk past his house, then double back and come in through the back door. Turned out he didn’t fool everyone for long. But he was good in a fight, and he coldcocked the first guy to say a word about them. That wound up making him cool.

“Did you bring the potato salad?” she asked, and he pulled it out of the bag—ta-da! She told him to hurry up and put it in this bowl—she put out a clear glass bowl that was just the right size—and told him to put some Saran wrap on it because Granny wouldn’t be happy if she knew he brought some store-bought brand. As if he could make potato salad. As if Granny thought he could make potato salad. As if he were even using Saran wrap and not something called Kling-Tite.

“Okay, Mom,” he said and did what she asked quickly, then went out on the tiny back porch and threw the plastic container away.

“Did you cover it up?” she asked when he came back in. She crossed her arms and nodded, and her jaw-length blonde hair moved like a drawn curtain. “If she sees, she will know. She’s eighty, not stupid!”

“No, but I will.” She smiled, and it was a nice smile. He’d always loved her smile, especially when it was directed at him. She reached out, patted his cheek, and said, “I love you, Roy.”

“I love you too, Mom.”

She smiled again in one of the ways she always did. But this was her amused smile, not her I’ll-love-you–no-matter-what smile, probably because she was stressed. Stressed about Granny’s birthday party, and why on earth should she be stressed? Granny would be happy. She wasn’t always totally with it anymore. She would be happy no matter what. All the guests would be family, and it would be pretty much the way it always was on Sundays, except there would be a cake and a few more people.

“Do you want to see the cake?” Mom asked, and he told her yes, he did, and he flexed his ass and thought, I got fucked up the ass today! It was sore, but not terribly so. Enough that he couldn’t, at least for now, forget what had happened to him today. At last.

Would you still love me if you knew what happened to me today?

“Is everything all right, honey?” That tiny furrow appeared between her eyebrows. If he went blind and reached up and felt that, he would know it was her.

He stiffened and then realized this was just Mom stressing and looking for something to stress about. Roy shook his head. “Everything is fine, Ma.”

She rolled her blue eyes. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“Ma!” he cried in a braying honk.

“Oh you!” She gave him a playful smack and then turned and opened the refrigerator, bent, and pulled out a sheet cake with white frosting and great big bows made out of pink icing. “Happy 80th Birthday Granny!” it announced in matching pink.

“Wow, Mom!” Roy said with great pride. “You’ve outdone yourself. How did you do the ribbons?”

“It’s this stuff called fondant icing. A least that’s what I think you call it. It comes already made in sheets. I just cut it in strips and laid it down, easy-peasy. Looks just like ribbons, doesn’t it?” She smiled happily.

“Easy-peasy, right,” he replied. “For you maybe. For the rest of us, not so much.”

She rolled her eyes again, and he was struck for about the millionth time how she could be one of the girls from The Brady Bunch all grown up and a sixty-year-old. Not that she looked sixty. No way. Men hit on his mother at shopping malls and grocery stores all the time. She was oblivious. Roy was charmed—as long as the men weren’t rude or lecherous.

“It’s the stuff I used to make the underwear on Janet’s cake,” she said as matter-of-factly as she’d said the word “ribbons.”

Janet being his cousin who’d turned twenty-one a few months before. When she’d come to visit him and showed him the photographs, it had shocked the shit out of him, his mother making such a thing (and it had already shocked the shit out of him that Janet, of all people, had visited him)! It had been one of those men’s torso cakes, usually used for superhero birthday cakes for kids—Batman, Superman, Spider-Man. Except this man was wearing only underwear, and there was a Twinkie under them, looking just like a barely concealed straining erection.

“Oh you!” his mother had cried and patted his cheek. “It’s the twenty-first century, my sweet naïve boy!”

Naïve. Right. Sure. If she only knew, and he caught himself rubbing his ass.

“Oh,” she said now, eyeing him from top to bottom. “You did say something about showering and changing before people got here? I can’t imagine how shocked Mother will be if she sees you in that—all, well, on display like that. You sure didn’t get your father’s genes!”

Roy’s face blazed. He couldn’t believe she’d said that, and he quickly pulled his tank top down to try and cover himself. He’d told Frank that he could arrive naked and she would hardly notice.

Frank. He smiled, seeing the handsome man in his mind’s eye.

Stop it! You gotta put that behind you.

“Behind me,” he whispered.

“And can you imagine what Donald would say about your getup?”

Donald. His uncle. Her brother. He could imagine. And it would be worse than embarrassing. It would be crude. Gross crude.

“I hear you,” he said and grabbed his tossed-aside gym bag. “Ma!” he added and fled the room.

“Oh you!” came her voice.

He went to the bathroom he’d used all his life and quickly stripped down, then caught his reflection in the mirror. His heart sped up. He was looking at the reflection of a man who’d been fucked. Up the ass. Staring at himself he couldn’t help but think of a different naked man. Man. Frank. And how his body had meshed with that other man’s. Frank’s. Having sex. And then the way those bodies had fit when they cuddled. Like the Lincoln Logs he’d played with as a kid.

He started to get an erection.

Geez, he thought. Hadn’t he gotten any itch he could possibly have scratched for about a lifetime? Which made him think about that scratching, and that pumped his cock up all the more.

God.

Roy trembled.

What’s going on? What was going on with him? Can’t think this way. It’s done. Done and never to be done again. You did it.

It was… yes… hot.

But done!

Not gay.

Roy studied himself closer, avoiding looking at his now fully erect penis. Did he look any different? He didn’t think so.

Because I’m not different.

He’d read about this. When he was looking up… stories. That quite a few straight men had tried gay sex at least once: 6.9 percent.

The number was emblazoned in his mind—6.9. As big as the Hollywood sign.

Which was pretty normal. Why, more men were beginning to identify as bisexual than ever before.

Don’t go there.

“Hurry up in there, son!” came his mother’s call. “Everybody is going to start getting here soon!”

He froze, covered his erection, then laughed at himself for it. She couldn’t see.

Except couldn’t she, maybe? Didn’t mothers have X-ray vision? Like the eyes on the back of their heads?

Roy shook it off and climbed in the shower. It was nice and hot and felt good. He washed and rinsed and… he was still hard. Almost hurting hard. He thought about turning the water to cold, but then…. Hell, why not do something about it?