extra like hashbrowns ~ <3 aisle twelve







yesyesyes, this is how jeff and brandon got together. i wanted to do a little itty bitty side story on it <3. it's extra like hashbrowns at denny's.


xxx Brandon’s POV xxx

The day that I meet my future husband starts off surprisingly badly. I wake up with sticky come-soaked sheets, which means that’s even more laundry to do, which in turn makes me in a horrible mood. It was a relatively normal dream, if we’re talking about that kind of normal, but unpleasant as ever; I’d rather not discuss it. I’m glad mom doesn’t do my laundry, she doesn’t need to know what goes on inside my head.

It’s the middle of April, by far the dullest month of the year. It always goes by so quickly and no one ever remembers it, it’s not winter, it isn’t summer, it’s nothing. The weather is simple with grey skies and drizzles of rain, always a breeze blowing somewhere or another. Clearly, not a favorite month of mine … I like November.

I get dressed in, unfortunately, the Safeway uniform, which is ugly green pants and a green t-shirt (along with an apron, but they keep those at the store). I have to work today, as I do every weekday, and the only thing I don’t really like is this damn outfit, I look like an idiot, I don’t look good in anything relatively formal; i.e., these pants. At least it’s green … but I’d rather be wearing sweats and a hoodie. I half-heartedly clean my room before I leave, which means stuffing things into the kitty-cat garbage can in front of the closet.

When I step out, I’m nearly mowed down by Keith, and I would have been if I was any smaller. I remember that dad was really small, I guess we got the short end of that stick, no pun intended. Keith doesn’t know, he was just a baby when dad left, right? Yeah, he was. I remember because it was his fault, not that I really hold it against him. I blame dad for knocking mom up again, and now I’m glad he did; I’d be lost without Keith.

“Morning.” Keith says over his shoulder, scooping up a blue binder from behind the couch, shoving it into his backpack. He’s already dressed in a dark checkerboard hoodie and raggedy jeans. I can’t help but notice that his jeans have been increasingly tighter lately … hmm. The mind reels, but I don’t think he really knows yet. Well, give it time.

“Morning.” I say back. “Is mom home yet?”

“No.” he tells me, huffing as he stands up again, brushing hair back from his forehead. “She just left last night, christ. You know her.”

I nod with a small smile, walking into the kitchen to find something to eat before I leave. Keith waves goodbye and traipses out the door; I realize he’s late after I check the clock. As usual, the cupboard and fridge are bare save for some celery. I take out a stalk, wash it, and leave the house while chewing on it. I actually like veggies quite a bit, but fast food is easier to get and you really don’t want to touch McDonalds’ salads.

The truck clunks to life when I swing in, ratty leather seat creaking beneath me. The thing always smells like gasoline and cat, no matter how much cherry air fresheners I hang on the rear view mirror like the one that’s bouncing there now. I crunch my celery and start driving down the street, passing Keith on the way with the tall kid.

I don’t mind working at a grocery store. It gets the bills paid, even if it means not going to college; god knows I wouldn’t get in anyways. I have a few friends that work there too but not too many, that’s for the best, they’d just distract me. I’m usually a stock-boy sort of thing, but sometimes I’m a cashier if we’re running low on staff. As I said, it’s fine. Boring, but fine.

It doesn’t take me long to get there, even with a truck as sad as mine. It’s early and I park close up, next to the ugliest yellow beater I’ve ever had the displeasure of seeing; I can’t help but wonder who the hell would voluntarily drive something like that. A warm blast of air hits me when the automatic doors of the grocery store open, smelling of that indescribable Save On smell I’m used to; it’s comforting. In the morning, the manager calls a little itinerary meeting in front of the produce department, and that’s where everyone is now.

I recognize all the faces, more so the ones of my friends; Kathleen with her bright red hair and nose ring, Chase with his thick glasses and telltale slouch, and … I don’t know this one. Towering above almost everyone else (except for Chase) is a boy, clearly new here. I know I would have remembered him. He has poker-straight white-blonde hair that hangs to his shoulders and thin silver glasses perched on his pointy nose. He’s wearing the uniform with a puca-shell choker and what looks like a sharp tooth hanging from a long, thin leather rope around his neck. His eyes are shielded by his hair and glasses but they’re a dark orange color and they’re looking right at me.

Then, I realize, everyone’s looking at me. I shrink down when Tim the manager’s eyes meet mine. He’s a short, dark man with big eyebrows and a fat stomach. He doesn’t like me.

“Carnie,” he asks, making everyone’s eyes turn to me. “You’re late.”

“Sorry sir.” I drawl, a half a second away from saying ‘who cares’. He lets it go and keeps talking as I step forwards into the group. Chase swivels around a few people to stand next to me, gaze turned to mine out of the corner of his black eyes, giving a slight nod of his head in greeting.

Chase is like ... two feet taller than me, and I suppose he’s my best friend. We were friends through-out grade school only because we needed each other, we were both alone. So we became inseparable, having similar interests; we joined the same clubs, took the same classes, all so we could be around each other. We didn’t want to be alone, and we never were. It works out, even if we don’t talk.

“We have a new member to the team today,” Tim tells us, catching my attention in a flash, even if I hate how he calls it us a ‘team’. The blonde boy steps up next to him with a sheepish blush on his cheeks and a crooked smile on his … pink … damp … full … lips …

Uh oh.

“Jeff Albertson is our new part-time stock boy!” he says with flourish; we’ve been short on help lately, he’ll take anyone he can get. “Jeff? Say a few words?”

Jeff scratches his neck. “Uh, hi.” he says, voice soprano and … silvery. “I guess I’m glad to be working here.”

And with that, we all break up, knowing what we should do after such a long time of being here. I trudge across the store towards the meat department to get to the stock room. I feel weird. I feel flighty and heavy at the same time. I think I’m walking weird, my footsteps sound off.

But that might be because of the sound of sandals following me. I pause momentarily and look over my shoulder. It’s him, the new boy. Jeff. Smiling at me … no, wait. Smirking at me.

I swallow and look forwards, holding my hand out to push the swinging door open. I don’t hear it shut behind me; he’s followed me in. The stock room is wide and full, bulk boxes of various products lined on tall steel shelves all the way to the ceiling, aisles lined with cherry-picker-like things to get up to the high ones. I heave a deep breath and look carefully out of the corner of my eye for Jeff, I don’t hear his footsteps.

That’s probably because he’s right next to me. I look up at him, never cursing my short height more; I’m barely at his shoulder. His face is soft and youthful, I guess he’s younger than me, but not by a hell of a lot, not with a body like that. He smiles at me and I choke on my tongue.

“What did Tim call you?” he asks.

I blush to the roots of my hair. “Um, my name’s Brandon Carnovale.”

“I didn’t ask what your name was, I asked what Tim called you. It wasn’t Brandon.”

He’s so forceful. I blush even more. “He called me ‘Carnie’. Because of ‘Carnovale’. I don’t like it … I mean, I didn’t ask him to call me that. A lot of people do.” I pause in my nervous rush. “Call me Brandon.”

He leans against one of the steel beams and gets that look on his face again, that malicious smirk of a smile that makes me slink away from him. Or something like that. “Why do you let other people call you that, but don’t want me to?”

I don’t want to tell the truth, and as cliché as this sounds, I don’t think I know it yet. So I sort of lie. “I figure I can get people to stop it if I start telling them to.” which I hope makes sense.

He looks away, upturned nose now in profile along with his sharp jaw line and pointy throat. I can’t not look at him. It’s embarrassing, but I really can’t stop it. Just as I look away, he looks to me. Neither of us care that we aren’t working right now.

“Oh, that’s good. For a second, I thought it was ‘cause you were trying to make a good first impression.” he says a little sarcastically. I freeze then melt all in the same second. Something’s horribly wrong with me, but I just can’t handle him. He makes my blood boil in a very good and very bad way.

“Yeah, right … I’ve gotta go.” and I leave him there, accidentally brushing our arms as I walk by him, sending the short hairs on my arm into seizures, shivering all the way to my shoulder. Part of me wants him to stop me from going, and part of me doesn’t really care. This is scary.

I don’t talk to him for the rest of that day, too weirded out to even make eye contact.. But the following afternoon, he finds me. I’d been avoiding him because he’s terrifying, all tall blonde and evil. He hasn’t done anything to make me avoid him, he’s been nice. But it was just that way he acts, he questioned almost everything I said; I’m so not used to that. So I’m running away like some shy schoolgirl bitch.

I should have known he wouldn’t take that.

I’m in aisle twelve with a cart of canned cranberries behind a Campbell’s chunky soup display, putting the canned berries tediously up on the top shelf. Each one feels like it’s getting heavier as boredom sets in, it’s such annoying work, my stupid nametag seems like a thousand pounds, my head is crushing my body. It’s BOREDOM at it’s best, but I’m leaving soon anyhow. Still … something breaks it; three short hard taps on my shoulder with a fingertip, Chase’s calling card.

I turn around, ready to bitch about cranberries, but it isn’t Chase. It’s him, big surprise. It’s always him.

I stutter and open and close my mouth … he came up so silently. He smiles down at me, all innocence and angels and pink lips.

“What?” I ask, voice strange and thin, too weirded out to be polite.

“Are you into bondage?”

I swallow the spearmint gum I’d been chewing and I start to cough, dropping a can from my hand, denting it on the floor. I’m looking down, covering my mouth with my hand as I hack and gag. I can still see his legs and shoes, black flip-flops under immaculately painted blue toenails. I stare at them, I don’t know whether to throw up or moan.

I stop my coughing fit and he’s still standing there, that insufferable smirk on his lips. It takes me so long to realize that he’s actually asking me what I’m into, he’s asking me about sex, he’s thinking of me and sex in the same sentence, inadvertently or on purpose. My brain is still stuck on that word; BONDAGE. It’s just … I shiver.

He laughs and claps a hand over my shoulder, heavy and warm and paralyzing. He smells like soap. “I’ll give you some time to think about that.” and he giggles, flouncing off down towards the dairy section, leaving me in a wake of boy-smells and the fwap-fwap-fwap of foam sandals hitting his heels. He disappears at the end and only then I do what he says. I think about it.

I shudder hard and come in my pants.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

I ran out of there so fast I don’t think anyone saw me, I hope no one saw me. I feel sick and horny, I’m lying in my bed now, slate-colored bedding tangled around my legs after having jacked off for the past twenty minutes. Keith isn’t home, mom isn’t home, the house is dark, my room is dark, even my computer is off. I’m left with my thoughts and my shame, wearing only white socks and a stained red tank top.

I can’t believe this, I can’t believe him.We’ve known each other for two days, we’ve barely spoken and he’s made me fucking come in public. I haven’t done that since I was fucking fifteen years old, I’m practically an adult now, that isn’t supposed to happen. I’m not some fucking hormonal teenager anymore. I roll over and groan into my pillow, frustrated with that stupid bastard.

He can’t do this to me, I’ve decided. He can’t make me this worked up because I bet anything that he doesn’t even care, I bet he’s out with friends right now, laughing and talking, not thinking a second thought about me. I bet he doesn’t remember my name either; I hope he doesn’t think of me as ‘Carnie’. God, he’d better remember my name.

Jeff Albertson, that was his name, right? Ugh. Jeff. Stupid Jeff. Jeff with his blonde hair and glasses, that nose, that skin, that throat. His wide shoulders, slim waist, built chest, huge hands, huge feet. Always that inch of bare, perfect, tanned skin showing between his t-shirt and belt at his back where the apron never covers, showing just the hem of his underwear, always some bright tone of red barely hugging the curve of his ass.

I moan before rolling over onto my back again, looking at the dark white ceiling with it’s water stains and remnants of glue from phosphorescent stars. I close my eyes for a long time, and I open them. I think about a younger me, the kid who put those stars up, and I sigh. I think about Jeff and I grab my dick again.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

I wake up the next morning disoriented and cold. I left the air conditioner on overnight and my room is like the arctic, the blankets still caught in my legs aren’t doing anything to keep me warm. I check the small glowing alarm clock on my desk for the time and it tells me that it’s seven. I groan and roll out of bed, literally. I lie face down on my carpet for a few minutes, half asleep in a tangle of sheets, bare legs and ass exposed to the emptiness of my room. I roll over again and eventually end up rolling until I hit the door where I stand on shaky legs and leave, trudging down the hall to the bathroom.

Keith’s in the kitchen so I have a nice long shower, steam rising, clouding the mirrors. The water’s almost scalding hot, just like I like it, washing the sticky dried come from my legs. I close my eyes and tilt my head back into the spray, rinsing the dollar-store shampoo suds from my hair. I consider shaving but I’m too relaxed to bother with it, I decide I don’t mind it when I run my hand over the growing stubble on my jaw and neck.

I open my eyes and look down to the row of shampoo on the ledge. My eyes fall on the bright pink bottle of Keith’s conditioner; he spends a lot of money on that stupid hair-care shit. I always yell at him for it, saying how we can’t afford it, and it’s true. But … something makes me use his pink stuff today. It smells like fruit and girls and it’s a light pink color; it could not be any more wussy. No matter that it looks like, Keith has nice hair and I end up scrubbing the stuff into my scalp.

In the back of my mind, I know it’s because of Jeff that I’m doing this. Somewhere in my twisted thoughts is the tiny hope that something will happen between us, something that involves his hands in my hair. It’s not going to happen, I know it’s not going to happen, but in case it does, I’d better be prepared. On that note, I masturbate and come twice during the course of my shower, just to try and stop a repeat of yesterday’s humiliating events.

I reluctantly turn off the shower and finish getting ready before Keith even leaves, giving him time to ask me why I’m being so ‘speedy’. I chuckle and grab more celery from the crisper, answering his question with a nonchalant ‘you’ll understand when you’re older’. One of my favorite big-brother responses, being seven years his senior. The weather’s clear today, a few wispy grey clouds on a white sky, no rain on the dry streets. The streetlamps are still on for reasons I’m not sure of, casting an orange glow around everything. It’s sorta nice.

I chew on my celery and think about how my day might go. Kathleen promised me cashier today so I’m relatively excited about that; it’s better than other tedious jobs. I think about Chase and other people I know, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t make my thoughts go anywhere other than Jeff. So I stop trying, and I relax and just think about him.

I park next to the yellow beater again, close to the doors. I go past the shopping cart corral and through the second set of doors into the store. Everyone’s gathered as usual, but not quite so many since I’m early. Jeff is there, I notice, chatting somewhat merrily with Chase (which is a bit of a shock; Chase is dark and dorky, Jeff looks athletic and fairy upbeat). I saunter up as casually as I can; Chase notices me and gives me a smile and a nod. Jeff waves, a feminine one where just his fingers twinkle at me.

They go back to talking and I sort of pay attention but I’m more focused on Jeff’s mouth. The pink of his lips, carefully glossed with lipstick, just a small amount, small enough that no one would notice unless they were looking like I am now. His teeth are perfect and straight, a little big with harshly pointed canines. I can’t help but wonder what it’d feel like to be bitten by him. I bet it’d hurt.

Chase nudges my arm and I stop staring only to realize that both of them are looking at me in very odd ways. I somehow take my eyes off Jeff’s lips and look up at Chase, he has an unamused pierced eyebrow raised. “You’re on cashier today, right?”

I nod.

“Okay, good. Me too.” he pauses and grins. “Kathleen let you?”

“Yeah,” I smile at him because I’m in a good mood, even if it’s just a little.

“Of course, that’s the only reason she’d let you. Must be nice having friends in high places.” he laughs, low and raspy on smoker’s lungs. I laugh back, always keeping an eye on Jeff, looking at me with that smirk again. I wonder what he’s thinking.

Kathleen calls the meeting, Tim’s gone today and she’s the closest position to manager. She’s nicer than him, giving better jobs to the part-time teenage kids, letting the older ladies take the standing jobs. Tim’s a bitch when it comes to that, making sure everyone is rotated evenly, and it sucks pretty bad. But there’s those few days where Tim’s gone, and everyone has a better time.

She puts me on checkout number five, right in the middle of the row. Jeff’s working in the back room all day, apparently stacking bulk packs of q-tips or something like that. I am not pleased, to say the least. I was hoping he’d be at a cashier near mine, maybe we’d talk or something. The stock room could not be farther from where I am. He brushes his arm with mine when the meeting adjourns, rubbing by me to get to the back of the store. The optimistic part of me thinks he did it on purpose, the pessimistic part of me thinks that I just got in his way and he hates me for being a dolt.

Most of the day goes uneventfully. I get a break at lunch during which consists mostly of sitting on the fire escape with Kathleen and Chase, them smoking, me just watching. Chase mentions Jeff briefly, saying how pleasantly ‘spunky’ he is, finally getting some attitude in this store. I can’t agree more.

It’s about a half hour before I leave for home that Jeff finally talks to me. I really want to answer the question he asked me yesterday but I can’t just bring it up now, I’ll sound like an idiot. So I missed my chance by choking and spazzing; it’s like thinking of a comeback a week after someone insults you.

Anyways, it’s almost time to leave. I’m ringing in three sticks of butter and a carton of eggs for some middle aged woman and her daughter, and the next person in line is him. He’s smiling at me again and I look down, too scared and weird to smile back. I finish with the lady and he saunters up to the counter, I’m still looking down and I can see his fingers curled against the green speckled counter edge, lined with black plastic. His fingers stand out so nicely, nails painted with a clear gloss finish, sharp knuckles almost a pink color. I start thinking really dirty thoughts.

“Brandon?” he says my name and it just rolls off his tongue.

I finally look up at him. “What?” I meant to say ‘yeah’, to sound a little nicer, but it just came out weird. He doesn’t seem phased.

“You’ve worked here for a while, haven’t you?”

I nod carefully.

“I think I messed up with the stock room, can you come check?” he says, worry clearly written in his tone and on his face. I just nod silently, swallowing hard, and I get the bag boy to cover the till while I follow Jeff like a puppy on a leash past the bins full of mushrooms and peppers to the wide stock room doors. The coldness hits me like a train, so different from the warmth of the rest of the store. It smells like metal and the hum of the lights is loud.

He doesn’t turn around and keeps leading me back to nearly the corner of the stock room. The lights are badly spaced and it starts to get darker where we walk. My heart is beating too fast because we aren’t near q-tips of any kind, isn’t that what he’s supposed to be working on? He must have gotten switched, he definitely got switched, he’s not … he can’t be.

We stop near a row of plastic-sealed ketchup bottles, and he turns to me. His eyes are dark, glasses glinting in what small light we have. I’m breathing through my mouth, looking up at him, lips parted just a little. He steps a little closer to me and puts his warm hand on my arm; I flinch away on instinct. He isn’t saying a word. Neither am I. His fingers curl tight against the bare skin on my forearm, holding my arm out towards him. My breathing gets worse, my pulse is shaking my vision.

He raises my arm up, turning it over in his hand, and he kisses the inside of my wrist. A repeat of yesterday nearly happens; his lips are wide and sticky and soft, warm air blowing carefully on my skin out his nose. My entire body contracts as I shiver. He pulls my arm closer towards him, kissing up my arm, longer each time, ending with a long, wet, tongue kiss on the inside of my elbow. I groan because his tongue feels like velvet.

He spreads his other hand over my shoulder blades, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. His eyes are dark as ever and we’re so close …

“Tell me you want me.” he hisses right into my ear, teeth grazing my earlobe. His entire body is warm and stifling like a sauna.

I’m so close to closing my eyes, I just look at him as best as I can. “I want you so bad …” I moan as sexily as I can, which sounds a little like a dog dying. He sucks on my ear and his hand starts to wander down my body. He pinches my nipple through my shirt and I squirm pleasantly. His mouth is so damn hot and it hovers over my neck; I guess he’s concentrating or something because his hand keeps traipsing lower, finally resting on my waist. He pauses.

“Go ahead …” I whimper, not wanting him to feel like I’m unwilling. He doesn’t waste any time after that; I think he was just testing the waters up until now. He has permission and he clinks my studded belt free, ripping my pants down around my knees, yanking black boxers with them. I barely have time to register that I’m naked in front of him before his fingers are slipping against my cock that’s getting harder and harder by the second. I groan and hold his shoulders with bruising force as he leans me back against a steel beam, hand starting to carefully stroke me up and down, so amazing even if it’s just because someone else is doing it. It’s been way too long.

I don’t know why he’s doing this, I don’t know what he’s thinking or planning, I’m not even sure if this is him. For all I know, my obsession-addled brain has made some random boy look like Jeff. But I don’t care right now, because he’s fucking touching me (or someone who looks like him is). He’s biting my neck and it hurts just like I thought it would, his right hand is spread protectively over my back, pulling me close to him while his left hand works some fucking magic I can’t even explain.

Since this is me and since this is him, I come embarrassingly quickly with convulsions and a loud groan into his ear as fireworks of white go off behind my closed eyelids, I’m biting my lip to keep from moaning his name, going completely jelloid in his arms. He doesn’t hold me up and leaves me to lean against the metal beam for support. He raises his left hand, covered in my come, and he smirks as he runs a finger over my bottom lip. It leaves a faint white streak.

“Suck it off.” he says lowly. I raise my shaking hands to his, holding it still while I lick my tongue between his fingers, sucking my own come off him. With a wide swipe to his palm it’s gone and I finish with a small kiss to the tip of his middle finger. I wonder what he’s thinking; I’m too worried to look at him.

“You look so cute when you come.” he laughs, and I’m sorta offended. I don’t think that sex, or anything like it, is supposed to be cute. I wasn’t going for cute. I don’t want to be cute. I want to snap something back to him, but I don’t say a word. I hold his hand in both of mine and I stay perfectly silent.

“It’s pretty much quitting time for you, isn’t it?” he asks, and I nod in response. “Do you wanna come home with me?”

My body does that contracting thing again, making me clutch his hand a little too hard, but he doesn’t even flinch. I know my answer already, but I’m having a tough time getting it past my lips. I end up just tightening my grip on his hand while nodding a few times. His other hand gets my pants back around my waist, hooking my belt back into place before giving me a reassuring pat on the ass.

“You don’t like talking, do you?”

I shake my head.

“Are you always like this?”

I shake my head.

“Is it because of me?”

I hesitate for a few seconds, then nod slowly. He makes a thoughtful noise in his throat then starts leading me back towards the front of the store, his damp hand still in one of mine.

“I don’t mind, you can be quiet. Just come with me.”

And I do. I let him lead me all the way out of the store, he doesn’t stop for a second, despite the fact that we’re supposed to sign out. It’s kind of muggy outside with a faded orange sky looming over us and the wide, crowded parking lot. I feel dizzy and light-headed and I’m not even paying attention, I think he’s moving my feet too. I hear the scrape of metal against metal and it snaps me back in time to see Jeff struggling with the lock to his car. The stupid yellow one.

I want to laugh and point fun at his ugly rusty car, but I still can’t talk. Not because I don’t want to, but there’s something wrong and every time I open my mouth to say something I think of how he made me come again and how I was beating off to the thought of him making me come and I get too embarrassed to even live.

I have to let go of his hand to get in the car, which I reluctantly do. The inside is a little nicer than the out, it smells like Jeff but stronger and not as warm. The car dips when he gets in, he shuts the door behind him and I don’t miss him sigh. It seems a little sad, but I don’t say anything about it. He starts the car and drives somewhat recklessly between the other cars, soon leading out into the street.

It’s still drippy and grey outside, numbers on the Esso sign flashing a digital red glow that sticks to the fog. He drives down the long curved street past the Superstore and a Wendy’s. He turns at the Jysk on the corner and I rest my elbow on the edge of the door, forehead against the glass. I can hear him breathing and I can’t believe I’m in the same car as him after only a few days. It’s mind blowing, I don’t even think this is seriously happening, but then I risk a glance at him and he’s still here.

He pulls into the parking lot of a dank-looking apartment complex, beige with brown-painted wooden balconies lining the walls. He parks in a empty spot far from the doors and turns the car off, resting his forearms on the steering wheel, then he rests his forehead on his arms. His hair covers his face but I just look anyways, focusing on the soft little ears parting his thin hair.

“You might not like talking, but you need to tell me you want this.” he says quietly, just before he turns to look at me. His hair is drooped over his face, caught on his nose and lips as he’s just turned his head, still resting on his arms. “You know what’s going to happen, right?”

I swallow hard. He’s definitely thinking the same thing I am, there’s no doubt now. I fidget.

He takes my silence the wrong way and continues talking. “If you don’t want to do anything, I can drive you back to the store. No repercussions.”

I stay quiet for another few long seconds, maybe close to a minute. He’s looking at me with almost drowsy eyes through his hair; I put my knees together and look back. “Yeah. Kiss me.” I finally say.

“What?” he sits up.

I repeat it again, scootching to the left of my seat. “Kiss me.”

He smiles, showing a glimpse of his two front teeth. He reaches his hand out and brushes the back of his knuckles against my jaw, making my eyes flutter almost shut. He leans over the CD compartment between the two front seats and brushes his lips carefully against mine; I inhale sharply and press forwards. It’s been way too long since this happened too. One of his hands is braced against the compartment and the other is stroking carefully against my cheek, scrape of unshaved stubble breaking the silence along with the sound of our lips.

“I can tell …” he whispers, mouth moving away from mine for only a second before I follow his retreat and kiss him again. His hand drops to my shoulder and holds me back. “… that you’re going to …” but I kiss him again with a desperate kind of hunger, running the tip of my tongue over his bottom lip. I don’t care what he has to say right now, I just want his fucking lips. “… make this interesting.” he finishes with a gasp.

I try to climb into his seat, but he stops me with a laugh. “Woah boy, you can’t wait ‘till we’re upstairs?”

I crawl back into my own seat, looking at him petulantly out of the corner of my eye. He laughs behind his hand, but I end up just nodding at him. He gets out of the car, tossing his keys in his hand, and comes around the front to open my door. I glare at him but step out none the less, giving him a long kiss once I’m on solid ground.

We stumble across the parking lot and into the building, kissing and groaning the entire way; I almost come again in the elevator. When we stop on the third floor, I run into someone. I whip around as quickly as I can to apologize, seeing a heavy-set middle aged woman behind us, glaring hard not at me, but at Jeff.

“Bringing home another one, slut?” she snarls at him, and I feel his arms tighten around me.

“Fuck you.” he spits back just as viciously, I feel like I’m caught in the crossfire. I nuzzle my nose carefully against his chest and I get uncomfortably stuck on the word ‘another’.

“Don’t you swear at me, you filthy faggot!” she shouts as Jeff ushers me down the stale smelling hallway, holding tight to my elbow.

Jeff doesn’t say another word and ignores the woman’s shouted insults, but I catch a glimpse of his face and he looks very … strained. He stops at a door marked ‘217’ in faded golden letters and reaches into his pocket, fishing a keychain of keys out, shoving one into the lock just as the woman’s screams get closer. He all but pushes me inside and slams the door behind him, locking it and putting the chain on before leaning his body back against it as if that woman could still get through.

“Sorry.” he pants. “She always does that.”

I cock and eyebrow and fidget. “Always?”

He fidgets too; this is the first time I’ve seen him uncomfortable. “… Yeah. Always.”

But it’s still different from when I’m uncomfortable because he recovers so smoothly from his. He pushes back off the door and steps towards me, hand sliding into the soft hair under my ear, making me forget any complaints I had. I don’t care if he’s fucked the whole damn city, he’s here with me now. Just me. I wrap my fingers carefully around his hips, leaning up into him. His eyes go heavy and his wide lips settle in a small kiss on my nose, making me shiver even more. He holds my head in his hands and guides my face towards his, mouth sucking and nipping at mine.

He leads me through his almost-bare apartment with it’s grey walls and floor to a bedroom of some kind, furnished with only a iron framed bed and a wardrobe. He grabs both my elbows and tosses me back onto the mattress; the white quilt and sheets jump beneath me, settling around me like clouds, obviously freshly washed. Contrasting so much with the bed I’ve ended up lying on, his hard body settles on top of me, abs pressed to my weak little stomach.

His hands push up my shirt and his sharp teeth gnaw at my throat, breaking only to say: “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

My eyes open, an unamused expression plastered on my face, I’m glad he isn’t watching me right now. I have a feeling that awkward sex with my ninth grade lab partner isn’t going to help me right now, so no, I haven’t done this before. “Is it that obvious?” I croak out, staring at a dirty ceiling that reminds me of my own room.

His tongue slides a warm, wet path to my ear that cools rapidly in the air. “You’ve got ‘virgin’ written on you as clearly as ‘whore’ is written on me.”

I twitch a bit. “You aren’t a whore.”

“You don’t know me.” he says simply, kissing my temple then up into my hair, facing me with his throat. “You have no idea what kind of person I am. You don’t know what I like or don’t like. You have no idea if I’m a whore, you just hope I’m not.” he inhales a deep breath in my hair. “Don’t you?”

I stutter a few seconds, he completely called it, he’s smarter than he looks, definitely. And that’s all true, I don’t know what I’m doing here, he’s a stranger. But I have my reasons, I’m not a kid, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.

“I don’t care.”

“You don’t?”

I shake my head, pushing him back so I can sit on my elbows. “Not really.” I decide.

“What if I give you diseases?”

“If you are a whore, you’ll have condoms around here somewhere.”

I’m happy because that makes him laugh. His hands dive back under my shirt and scrape along my ribcage to my stomach, stinging in a good way. His lips are right back on mine, stifling giggles. “You are going to make this veeeery interesting.”

I smile a little, tilting my head back, burrowing into the quilt. I hope I make this interesting, I hope I’m not bad at this. God, I’d better not be bad at his. His hands are huge but oddly soft, rubbing over my sides and up my chest, thumbs toying with my nipples; I squirm half-heartedly to get away. He trails the point of his nose up the column of my throat, breathing in so deep that I think he might be smelling me. I wish I wore cologne or something right now, all I’ve got on is woman’s deodorant.

He licks and nips just under my ear, hands bunching my shirt up under my arms and his fingers are everywhere as he gives a heady moan into my ear. He grabs me and forces me to sit up when he tugs my shirt over my head. The sheets feel freezing against my back and I jolt upwards, inadvertently pressing into him. He wraps both arms around me, hands on my back, keeping me held just above the bed. He’s kissing me in a kind of hungry, demanding way, tongue flicking in my mouth, trying to coax my own out.

His lips leave mine, he’s breathing a little heavily as his hands start working my pants off for the second time today. I grab at his arms, sort of trying to stop him, more trying to find something to hold onto. My belt slips between his fingers and he eases off me onto his knees, lifting my hips off the bed to get my pants down and off my ankles.

He keeps my boxers on for now, but they’re tight and don’t leave much to the imagination. After throwing my pants over my head to rest near his pillow, his hands trail up and down my thighs, sending shivers sparking dangerously hard through my nervous system. He leans down over me, smiling.

“You didn’t answer me earlier, y’know.” he purrs at me, and I blink at him and think of something to say, but his hand nearly slides between my legs and I just die.

“W-what?”

“You didn’t answer me. I asked if you liked bondage.” he says simply, simultaneously rubbing three of his fingers against my balls.

I groan and come again, just from those words and that touch. He jerks backwards in shock, then bursts out laughing. I blush bright red and squirm like mad, trying to sink back into the mattress. He’s still laughing, curled up near my knees and I’m so fucking embarrassed, that was pathetic, he barely touched me and I came. I sit up on my elbows and the front of my boxers are soaked.

I knee him in the ribs. “Shut the fuck up.” I mutter and after some stifled giggles, he sits up and smiles at me.

“Are you this horny all the time?” he laughs.

“Yes, shut up.”

“You’re not done, are you?”

“No, shut up.”

“Why are you telling me to shut up?”

“I’m embarrassed, shu- be quiet.” I snap.

He giggles and licks me just under my eye, smiling all the while. His hands rub my arms up and down and he just nips at me. It’s so painfully cute that I just lie there under him; he climbs back on top of me, toes curling against mine. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he whispers, running his tongue over my closed eye. “I think you’re cute.”

I blush like a girl, nuzzling his cheek just a little. “I don’t wanna be cute.”

“But you are …” he insists. “… you’re very adorable. But you’re also very …” he trails off, making his point quite nicely when he runs a finger up my thigh, down between my legs, brushing the head of my dick. I squirm some more, burrowing back into the sheets again. He rubs it between his thumb and index finger, sitting back and watching me twist and groan with a satisfied look on his face.

“Very …?” I can’t stand not knowing exactly what he was thinking. He wraps his fist around my cock and leans in close, going to kiss me but sort of missing, leaving the corner of my mouth covered in spit. I thrash and grab at his back, grabbing the back of his head and forcing his lips to mine. He leans away a little so he can talk, barely having time to.

“Very … gorgeous.” he mumbles, nipping my nose. “Very tempting.” he nips my chin. “Very … mmmmmh.” the last one isn’t so much of a word because he buries his face in my shoulder. I bite the inside of my cheek as he keeps jacking me off, I keep my eyes closed and clench my hands in his hair, moaning when I feel his hard dick start to rub into my thigh.

I can’t think straight anymore. “O-okay.” I mumble quietly and feel him giggle.

After some inaudible whispers and the longest minute of my life, my whimpers and groans get to a high-pitched dog whistle sound and I come again, jerking up into him and pulling his hair, soaking the shirt and pants he still has on. He’s laughing again, more quiet than before. I slap him.

“Shut up!”

He shuts me up with a kiss that I don’t exactly stop. I’m tired as hell but nowhere near done, I kiss him back sort of lazily, experimentally squeezing muscles in his shoulders. He’s definitely no where near as noodle-armed and weak as I am, which is awesome. He sits back, resting his palms on the bed, and he looks at me. I feel too weird looking back so I look sideways, staring at a random shirt hanging out of a drawer.

“You kiss like you’re drunk.” he tells me.

I turn my head to look at him, glaring and blushing. “I hate you. Get off me.” and I go to sit up. Of course, there isn’t enough money in the world to make me leave right now, but I want to see if he’ll stop me. This might be a bad idea, I’ll be embarrassed beyond belief if he just says ‘fine, go’, because then I’ll have to stop and say ‘no wait, I was kidding’ and then … ugh.

Fortunately, just as I sit up, he puts his hand on my chest and shoves me back down. I grin because he’s frowning. “You aren’t going anywhere.” he says.

“What if I want to?” I challenge, carefully putting my hands on his knees.

“Too bad.”

“Would you rape me?”

“Yeah.” he answers with absolutely no hesitation, so quickly that I think he knew what I was going to ask beforehand. I just blink up at him for a couple of seconds, not sure whether I should be flattered or scared. I end up grinning at him.

“Cool. Take off your shirt.”

He laughs at me and hooks one of his thumbs in the hem of his shirt, pulling it off to the right, showing a bit of his stomach that’s just as tanned as the rest of him.

“Want me to keep my glasses on …?” he asks, other hand poised on the metal frame of one of his lenses, waiting for an answer.

I hum, thinking for a second. “Let’s see you without them for a sec.”

He takes them off, brushing his hair away from his face so I can see him. The hair flops right back when he looks down at me, a little smile on his lips. “I think I look weird.”

He looks … different, definitely. He looks a lot more average and his eyes are a brighter orange. He looks a lot younger and more boy-ish too. But he thinks he looks weird, so I’ll let him make the choice.

“Then keep them on if you want to.” I say quietly, a little awed as he slips them back on his nose with a smile.

“Thanks.” is all he says before pulling his shirt over his head, dropping it next to me. I nearly choke at the sight of him shirtless, using all the willpower in the world not to come again. His skin is absolutely flawless and soft and smooth and ohmygod. I stare and stare and stare and end up grabbing him by his shoulders, flipping him over and back onto the bed; I thought that’d be harder to do, but I think he was helping.

I kiss him again, feeling weird and dominant and horny. He lets me get on top of him and I know he’s allowing me to do all this, I couldn’t dominate my way out of a paper bag, he could rip me to pieces if he wanted to and I hope he does. It doesn’t take long for him to get tired of this and he sits up, pulling me into his lap. He nips at my jaw as he talks and I’m glad for it, it might be a bit awkward if he just looked at me.

“You are a virgin, right?” he asks, which makes me realize that I didn’t quite answer him last time, which in turn makes me realize that I’ve never answered things he asked me.

“N-not really.” I say hesitantly, wondering exactly why he’s asking.

“Did you have sex with a girl?”

That makes me hesitate too, I’m not sure what you should say about hetero sex to someone who’s obviously gay. “Yeah.” I say honestly.

I hear him laugh and he moves quick after that, pushing me off him, turning me around and keeping me pressed down into a pillow. One of his hands is hard just below my last vertebrae below my neck, hard enough that I couldn’t get up if I wanted to. My face isn’t in the pillow, I can breathe, but I can’t see anything other than the metal headboard with it’s chipping gold finish. I can’t help but notice the small marks and dents in the wall, lining up perfectly with the bars.

“Sex with a girl is nothing like this, you’re a virgin as far as I’m concerned.” he says in a voice that could have been a leer, except that he ends it with a giggle. Now that he’s said that I’m all nervous again. The fact that I’d had sex at all made me feel a bit superior (not that I think he hasn’t had sex, as he said, he’s got ‘whore’ written all over him, as much as I don’t want to admit it). But either way, now I feel completely dwarfed; I’m smaller, weaker, sickly and inexperienced. I might be a year older, but that doesn’t matter now.

I feel him shuffle behind me, taking his hand very briefly off my neck. My ass is in the air and I’ve never felt more vulnerable, and it doesn’t help that a few seconds later he throws his pants next to me with the rest of our clothes. A few seconds after that, just out of the corner of my eye, I see a bright red flash of something and I know he’s completely naked.

I turn desperately to look, but his hand is suddenly back at my neck, pushing me back down. His remaining hand is pulling at my boxers, yanking them down around my knees where he leaves them. That vulnerable feeling rears it’s ugly head again and I shrink into myself, burrowing my face into the pillow.

He laughs again. “You’re completely terrified, aren’t you?” he teases.

I groan. “Shut up.”

“I’ve started to take that as a ‘yes’.” he tells me, leaning over me, thighs against mine, chest against my back as he kisses one of my ears. His cock’s pressing between my legs and I can’t concentrate. “You’ll be okay.”

I nuzzle the pillow; it smells like him. “Mmhhmmm …” I mumble.

He moves away and I get a little cold. I hear the rustle of the quilt and something else I can’t quite place, but it only lasts a few seconds before he moves back. Something cold’s dropped against my lower back and I cringe. His fingers are there with it and I crane my neck to the side to try and look, he eases his hold on my neck.

“What the fuck?” I stare with an eyebrow raised. He’s got a pair of handcuffs and some other stuff in his hands, resting on my back. “Don’t use my ass as a table!” I screech, blushing because of the handcuffs and I think I see a condom.

He drops the other stuff to the bed near my calf and strings the handcuffs between his thumbs, holding them out to me with a grin.

“Since you’ve avoided the question a few times, I’m going to assume that was a ‘yes’ to the bondage question?”

I think about that, looking at him, looking at the handcuffs, and I slowly and carefully nod. It coaxes another laugh from him. “The shy ones are always the best.” he pauses, looking down at the cuffs. “You can use these ones, or …” he leans over the side of the bed and I finally see part of him naked, just the curve of his ass visible past my own feet. While he isn’t looking, I lower my own backside to regain some of my dignity, turning over with a little difficulty since my boxers are still strung between my knees.

He sits back up holding a stretchy elastic cuff a few inches wide, it’s a bright lime nylon color. “These’ll hurt less …” he says before dropping them on the bed with the first pair. He reaches to the ground again and comes back up with a different pair. “And these’ll hurt more.”

I blink at what he’s holding. They’re metal again, but not like standard handcuffs, these are thick and wide and look heavy. The chain connecting them is heavy too, and the edges of it look sharp and a bit crudely made, as do the cuffs themselves. I swallow and stare at them.

Jeff starts laughing again, throwing the other two pairs off the bed. “The look on your face says it all, you pervert. Turn around.”

“Waitwaitwait!” I hold my hands up, scootching back against the headboard. “I didn’t say I wanted those! Don’t assume!”

He smirks. “Then which do you want?”

I play with my hands and stare at his dick. I sigh and roll my eyes. “The heavy ones.” I end up mumbling in embarrassment.

“Good. Now, you don’t get a choice with THIS …” he drops the cuffs (I was right, they’re heavy. They make the sheets jump) and he picks up this thing that looks like just a length of black cloth. He sees my confusion and pulls me towards him, holding the back of my head. He kisses me nice and deep then he … ties that thing around my head.

I try to say something but he puts it through my open mouth, tying it in a knot at the back. It’s tight and keeps my mouth open, I bite on it experimentally; it’s a little rough. I can’t really talk with it in.

“It’s a gag.” he smiles, and I glare at him because it’s a little obvious now. I think I like this anyways. “You don’t mind?”

I hate admitting this kind of thing, it makes me feel all weird and perverted but something tells me he’s weird and perverted too, so I nod and blush. He kisses my cheek and brushes his knuckles teasingly over my cock, not going any further than that. He rubs his cheek to mine and whispers in my ear. “You sure you want to do this?”

I smile a bit and I can’t talk because of the gag, but I nod and rub my lips to his cheek. He smiles back but it’s a little evil and he pushes me down again just like before, holding the back of my neck down into the mattress. I feel him run two fingers up my thigh and his lips nip at my lower back. I shiver and unintentionally move back on him, biting at the gag.

I feel him laugh again and I bring my foot up to kick him in the stomach for it. He snarls and grabs my arms from where I had them folded under my chin. I cry out as he twists them behind my back, both of my wrists held in one of his hands, a considerable amount bigger than my own. The handcuffs’ chain jangles and I struggle a little but they’re on me no matter what I do. They’re still really heavy and a little loose; the chain hangs over my back and my shoulders hurt from being wrenched back so hard.

“You don’t get to kick me.” he says lowly, tugging on my hands.

“Whatever.” is all I can think to say, closing my eyes.

He makes that growl-snarl-hiss noise again and gives a harsh open-palmed slap to my ass. I gasp and flinch, it stings and leaves a mark but I’m still surprised to feel come start to drip out of my dick. I squirm and gasp and I think he’s either really experienced or he can read me well, because he does it again, harder this time. I cry out and bite the gag, struggling half-heartedly against the chain.

He reaches into the stuff he got earlier along with the medium pair of handcuffs and I can’t see what he’s doing anymore, I’m whimpering and squirming and needing him to do stuff to me now. I whine his name out through my teeth, rubbing his leg with my toes. He hums in response and I feel one of his fingers trace down my ass covered in something wet that I pray is lube.

“I knew you were kinky.” he says, an undeniable tone of joy in his voice. “From the second I saw you. I could tell.”

The tip of his index finger pushes inside me and my eyes slam open because this is nothing like doing it yourself. My body clenches and contracts and he doesn’t say a word but I know he feels it. He pushes it deeper to his second knuckle and curls it a bit and just that makes me squirm and moan some more. “I guess that’s what made me like you.” he says simply, as nonchalant as we aren’t even doing this. I still spark happily when he says he likes me, though. “You’re one of those innocent boys that turn out to be …” he trails off for a moment, pulling his finger out before pushing it back in; he leans back over me and tugs at my ear with his teeth. “… dirty.” he finishes.

I gasp and chew the gag; pushing back against the body behind mine. He’s gone back to laughing quietly and I’m a little insulted again because I wish he was as flustered as I am, it makes me think I’m doing something wrong. “Stop laughing …” I breathe, choking a little on my own tongue.

I can feel his knuckles briefly against the back of my thigh and he uses his other hand to hold himself up, resting most of his weight on my back. I hear the rip of plastic and something damp runs up my leg and I don’t realize it’s the tip of his dick until he slides it just an inch inside me. I moan and buck, pushing him in the rest of the way, mostly by accident. I finally hear him make a noise that sounds like a moan and I’m glad because I must be doing something right. This doesn’t hurt as bad as I thought it would, barely worse than what I’ve done to myself with certain things I bought at a drugstore, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed.

“Oh god …” he buries his face in my hair, leaning so tight against me that my bound hands are pressed against his chest, in that hollow just below his ribcage. His hands clutch my thighs, nails digging in deep enough to burn. I grind the fabric in my mouth between my teeth, arching me back down into the bed. “… god oh god oh god …” he whines, and I can’t help a small smile.

I hum and pinch his chest just because I can; he shivers and then growls again, slapping my ass hard with his right hand. I fidget and quickly realize that doing that is his way of retaliation, not that it’s really punishment at all. He shifts his hips back and then forwards, his cock moves inside me and I start gasping for air. This is too much added with his nails in my thighs and I start coming already, staining his already-white sheets. I shake and urge him on, biting down hard on whatever I can get to, shoving my hips back into his, still horny as ever.

“Oh god,” he repeats, biting the back of my neck with one of those sharp canine teeth. He’s actually fucking me now and each one of his thrusts jerking me forwards, making the mattress squeak beneath us. “… oh god you’re so fucking tight …”

I laugh a bit and decide that I like it when he swears. His nails are so deep in my thighs now and it’s amazing and rough and he’s pulling me back into him with the rhythm of his thrusts and he is so far from being a virgin, he screams it silently with every single one of his so nicely coordinated movements. The actual sex itself is starting to hurt a little more in a really good way, I’m shivering and groaning and trying so hard not to come so I can hold on forever, I never want him to stop this.

He kneels behind me and pulls out almost all the way before stopping. He breaks the beautiful rhythm he had going and I scream in frustration, clenching my teeth so hard I think I might have broken one. He chuckles, tracing the tip of his finger down my sweat-slicked spine; I bite down to shut myself up.

“You aren’t fighting back enough.” he sneers, wrapping his hand around the back of my neck in slow languid motions. “Most boys would fight this kind of pain.” and he slaps my ass again, putting pressure on my neck at the same time. On reaction, I try to jerk upwards but am obviously stopped, causing pain to crack down my spine, making me groan. “You like it, don’t you?”

I squirm, so sore and horny that I don’t even know what to do with myself. “I dunno.” I say as best as I can, muffled severely against the gag between my teeth. He rocks forwards on his knees and slides back in, leaning over me again to nuzzle my hair as his hands drift back to my thighs, nails dragging vertical cuts up the already bleeding horizontal ones. I pull my hands apart, finally putting up a struggle against the handcuffs, rattling the short little chain between them. Jeff chuckles and I try to slip out of them to grab him, I’m so close.

“That’s better …” he starts moving again, hands leaving my legs to grab the topmost rung of his headboard, just over my head. He stops hurting me and starts fucking me, I pull my wrists against the restraints, desperate for something more, anything, any bit of control. He’s moaning and shouting louder than I am at this point, slamming the headboard against the wall with every one of his thrusts. I’m being loud too, screaming against my gag, concentrating on him and his body and the blood slowly dripping onto his sheets underneath me.

“Oh god oh god oh god, I - I ca -” he’s stuttering like hell, body shaking from holding back but he comes anyways, freezing completely still for a few long seconds and I feel him pulse hard inside me, I’ve been coming almost constantly since my hands started bleeding. I can’t breathe anymore, I’m gasping and twisting, rocking almost uncontrollably into him, loving the way he sounds when he’s coming, it’s no wonder he’s had so many boyfriends.

We both stop moving and he’s holding onto the headboard so hard his knuckles are white, panting deliciously hard. I slump my face into the pillow, trying not to move my mouth too much (the gag’s rubbed the corners raw) when I try to control my breathing. After an eternity, he leans back and carefully pulls out of me, which hurts a bit more than I thought.

He rolls the condom off and slaps it on the back of my leg just to be a brat. “You okay?” he asks, shuffling next to me and kicking our clothes onto the ground as he does so. He pets my hair and unties the bit of fabric, pulling it out of my mouth before dropping it on the ground with everything else. He unlocks the handcuffs too, making a little disapproved clucking noise with his tongue when his eyes fall on the cuts.

“You’re pretty beat up, huh?” he asks, holding my shoulders to roll me over, pulling me to sit up after tugging my boxers off from around my knees. He wraps an arm around me and I get my first good look at him in a while; he’s sweaty and flushed, glasses smudged by fingerprints, eyes shining happily behind them. “You’re either very perceptive or very lucky, but you can certainly get me going.” he says a bit quietly, fingering the bleeding marks on my thighs. “Sorry.”

My vision starts to swim a little, I blink a lot. “It’s … alright.” and I pass out, forehead thumping against his shoulder.


xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I sleep at his apartment that night, which is far from uneventful. He wakes me up at some point during the night and starts sucking me off; when he’s done I do the same to him then he comes and we fall asleep.

I wake up early the next morning with a sore ass, among other things, and I’ve got an arm across my chest that isn’t mine. I remember what happened and everything, but I’m certainly not used to waking up with someone after twenty two years of doing it alone. I try to look over at Jeff without jostling the fingers so gently curled around my throat. He’s asleep, face smushed into the single pillow on the bed, his hair’s a mess and his mouth is open and drooling. He looks peaceful, so I smile.

Somehow finding a way to slink out bed, I stumble (naked) to his bathroom in the dim morning light. I flick the light and a row of bulbs gleam to life over a tall mirror occupying one of the walls. My eyebrows shoot up when I see my reflection staring back at me: I’m bloodier than I thought. My thighs are criss-crossed with short cuts from his pointed nails, little half-moon marks dragged across my skin. They’re stinging even now, but not as bad as my wrists from the hard edge of the restraints, and the corners of my mouth are a bright pink, having been rubbed raw.

I don’t really know what to think about all that, so I don’t think anything. I piss and clean the blood off with wads of damp toilet paper, not having the courage to borrow a washcloth or towel. Without a haze of lust and bad judgement clouding me, I look around his apartment a little better this time. It’s not so dumpy as I thought, it’s sorta cozy-like. One couch, a little TV, a little kitchenette near the door … very cozy. I decide that he lives alone by the look of things.

I borrow a red shirt and grey jeans from him and leave while he’s still asleep. They’re miles too big for me but beggars can’t be choosers, my work uniform was covered in come and is now in a plastic bag swinging at my side. He drove me here so I take the bus home, I know this neighbourhood and the bus stop isn’t too far from Jeff’s building. I sit alone at the plastic bench next to the sidewalk, one hand keeping the neckline of the t-shirt from dropping off my shoulder.

Was this a really bad idea?

I don’t know Jeff. I don’t know where he grew up, I don’t know what he likes, I don’t know about his family, I don’t know his birth date, I don’t even know how old he is. I just had sex with a stranger, something I would never do. But I guess that isn’t right to say because I obviously would do it because I just did. I never would have considered doing that … before I met Jeff, anyways. Does he want a relationship now? Signs point to no. Do I want a relationship?

… Maybe. I’m not sure. Sure, he looks like a god and he fucks like a porn star, but is that what I want? I want someone I can talk to, someone I can be around all the time, someone I won’t get tired of. I want someone that’s my best friend and my boyfriend (Chase is nice, but he’s not much to look at), and maybe some incredible sex on the side. But maybe that’s too much to ask for?

The bus screeches up in front of me and I climb on, dropping in the dollar and a half that I had left in my wallet. There’s only a few open seats, most people are getting to work or school by now. I shimmy into a seat next to a guy about my age, facing the back doors. Our legs touch but I barely notice now … if this was last week I’d be tingly and nervous (being a closet-queer takes it’s toll after a while).

I think about Jeff the whole ride home and I keep thinking about him until I open my front door. It’s warmer inside than out, for once.

“Where’ve you been?” is what I hear as soon as I kick my shoes off. I look up to see Keith curled up in a blanket on the couch watching some kind of sitcom. He looks concerned and a little mad, but I guess that’s normal, I’ve never stayed out all night.

“Out.” I say simply, skidding on the kitchen with one hand holding up Jeff’s jeans. Keith stands with the plaid blanket wrapped around him, trailing under his feet like the statue of liberty as he stalks into the kitchen, peering over my shoulder as I put bread in the toaster.

“Why’re you all beat up?” he says, pointing an index finger at my wrists.

“Rambunctious sex can do that sometimes.” I say nonchalantly, making him leap back.

“Gross! You had sex?!” he says from afar like he’s five years old. He’s almost sixteen, he should have had sex by now anyways. I don’t see why he’s so shocked, it’s not like he knows it was with a tall blonde MALE stranger.

“Yup. Leave me alone.”

“Ugh, who would have sex with YOU …” he mutters, returning to his nest on the sofa.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was Friday when I was at Jeff’s, so I don’t have to deal with him for a few days. But then I have to work on Monday and my fear and insecurities come back. I hate conflict, I hate talking about awkward situations, and I’m more than sure that gay sex falls under that category. I’ve got his clothes in a grocery bag, deciding it’s my duty to give them back all clean and in tact (including his boxers, blush blush.)

Chase ambushes me as soon as I get inside those automatic grocery-smelling doors. His pointy nose it at mine, eyes wide and inquisitive. My feet fall a step back in shock, hand absentmindedly covering the quickly-fading mark on my neck made by a certain someone’s over-zealous teeth.

“You fucked him!” he says, voice a few octaves higher than usual. I blush and study his face for a second, trying to figure out what I should say based on his apparent reaction. He’s gotta be talking about Jeff, right? How does he know?

“What?” I play the dumb route that I do with a lot of people.

“The new guy! The new kid, you fucked him, didn’t you?!” he repeats, so shocked he’s like paralyzed, and I can’t help but smile a little. I haven’t gotten a rise out of Chase in YEARS.

“Who, Jeff?” I tease, but not in a teasing voice. I plaster the most confused look I can get onto my face.

“Yeah! Did you have sex with him?!” he persists, snatching the bag from my hands, opening it and going through it. “What the fuck’s this?”

“Jeff’s clothes.” I say nonchalantly.

“So you … You fucked him?” he shoves the bag back at me, looking sort of upset, but still more shocked than anything.

“Yeah.”

“You - Why?” he runs a hand through his hair, getting restless and antsy. I smile at him, a really sincere smile. Because we might not be the closest of friends, but we’re friends.

“He’s nice, and I wanted to.” I tell the truth, more or less. I want to ask him if he’s mad, but I stay quiet after that, twisting my fingers in the plastic bag. He looks so shocked, so amazingly shocked, and I’m very proud of myself for this. I’ve never been interesting or shocking, not in the slightest. "You knew I was gay, Chase. You knew that the first day we met."

“You'd never done anything on it!”

“And you care? Thanks, man.” I just barely have time to say anything before I see Jeff’s head bobbing down aisle twelve, just behind Chase. He gets right behind him and smiles over a dark-clothed shoulder, smiling down at him, then at me. The smile for me is a bit different and I blush. Chase sees my gaze and spins around, looking a little scared. Jeff just smiles passively.

“G’morning.” is all he says to Chase, just a normal greeting between acquaintances, and it makes Chase dart off down past a toblerone display and into the deli department, long skinny legs flailing under him; he looks like a black scarecrow.

“Hey.” he says, taking a lavishly executed step closer to me, decorated and overdramatic like an actor, bending and swooping far too much at the knees. He has those caramel forearms blooming from the drab color of his t-shirt, those spindly fingers with their rosy worn knuckles and square blunt fingernails filed to perfection. They’re laced in each other with a delicate grace that reminds me of silk on steel. There’s that virgin-white skin at the inside of his elbow; I can’t help but remember it’s sticky-sweet taste of sweat. His biceps are so defined, so slim but strong, a careful bulge of muscle stretching out the sleeve of his shirt. This is just his arms, just two single body parts, and I think they’re beautiful. This makes me think this is more than a crush.

“Hi.” I say quietly, no where near as graceful as all his beauty. I stare at the tips of my scuffed shoes, scuffed beyond fashionable reason, scuffed so much I can see the tips of one of my socks. My own arms aren’t pale but an odd yellow color donned with a bit too much arm hair, my knuckles are wrinkled and red, my cuticles ripped and torn by my own teeth. I’m sickly and too thin and I’ve got perpetual blue bags under my eyes, I don’t know why he bothers with me.

But then he’s smiling at me, a tiny strip of snowy teeth between two wide pink lips, dimpled just a little at his cheeks, so bashful and kind and beautiful that I don’t even care about my knuckles or arm hair or tired eyes. Because he’s looking at me and he’s happy. He’s happy because he’s looking at me.

“I told Chase what happened, I hope you don’t mind,” he says, just as quietly as I am. He takes a few steps back and I follow him mindlessly, slowly.

“Naw, it’s fine. He’ll get over it,” I tell him, because I hope that’s true. Not that Chase really matters to me that much, if I had to choose between the two of them it would be Jeff in a heartbeat, stranger or not.

“Good,” he says in a sort of clipped voice. We both hesitate; I step from foot to foot, side to side, waiting for him to say something or make a move. Is it always going to be this quiet? He steps closer, I’m just watching his painted little toenails. He puts his hand on my arm and I look around on instinct to see if anyone’s watching us. A few people are. “Are you busy after work?”

I work my jaw a little, biting the inside of my cheek, still sore (as the rest of my body is) from biting it Friday night. “… No,” I decide. Keith wanted me to get home quick, but … this is Jeff, and Jeff is Jeff, and I can’t resist Jeff.

He breaks out into that same glorious smile that had disappeared in the recent silence. His fingers rub the skin just under the end of my sleeve and goosebumps take me over like wildfire, provoking a shiver that, judging by a certain devilish smirk, Jeff notices. “Good. You’re coming over.”

“O-okay.” I blush again at the forceful way he talks, it keeps reminding me of what else he does forcefully.

“See ya later.” He grins and after a whiplash-quick look around, he kisses my temple with those beautiful wide lips, leaving me standing there a few full minutes after he’s flounced off.


xxxxxxxxxxxxx

I’m a little less nervous this time. He’s waiting for me near his car eating … a stalk of celery. I almost kiss him right there but we’re surrounded by shoppers, so I just grin. We talk on the way to his apartment about various things, the city, our childhoods, politics. It’s animated and cute and he’s really smarter than he looks, college material anyways. I ask him why he hasn’t gone, and it comes as a shock when he tells me that he’s going to go, he’s only nineteen right now. He really doesn’t look it.

The mean woman in his building is nowhere to be found this time, we’re sure to be quiet because she apparently lives just down the hall. The very second we get in the door it’s freezing cold and he’s got me pushed against the counter of the kitchenette. We aren’t kissing yet, but he’s just looking at me with those eyes again from only inches away. Our noses brush and he smiles.

“Sorry it’s so fucking cold in here, if I don’t leave the heater on it’s like the arctic,” he whispers, finally bumping our lips together in a clumsy sort of kiss. He takes my bottom lip in both of his and sucks gently, letting his eyes flutter shut while mine stay open so I can watch him. His hands drift to my hips and push carefully under my shirt, just skidding over my abdomen.

He gives me a few short kisses before pulling back, stroking my hair a bit before striding across the room to turn the thermostat, then he flops down onto the couch. He pulls a blanket from off the floor and throws it around his shoulders, craning his neck to look at me, still standing in the kitchen.

“C’mon, we can watch CSI. You like that, don’t you?” he questions, finally a little insecure. I step closer, putting a careful hand on the top of the pepper-weaved sofa.

“We’re not gonna have sex?” I question. I sort of expected that we would, ‘cause … that’s … just what I expected.

“You want to?” He turns to me, a little surprised. “I’m still little tired from Friday, 'cause that wasn't your average night in the sack. You took quite a beating too …”

I smile at him. “You don’t want to?”

He shrugs. “I’d rather watch CSI, not to be mean.”

I leap onto the couch and curl into him, grinning into his shirt. He’s still a little surprised but he wraps an arm around me complete with the blanket, letting me rest my head on his shoulder. I put my hand on his thigh and kiss his shoulder, making him giggle and squirm. “Me too,” I say truthfully.

He tells me to shut up and kisses my hair before flicking the channel. We’ve been together ever since.







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