coming closer

nothing beats pawing at someone warm watching mindless movies on the couch. nothing. not even getting down to fucky fuck time either, i'm just talking about that close quarters mob up playing with hair and attempting to find the perfect posture to be as close as possible.

i shifted one more time to get my delicious couch mate flush up against my front. snaking an arm over his solid chest i grappled for his right hand to knead in my fingers. he sounded like an over fed rotweiler in front of the fireplace, grumbling contently and melting just a bit more into me.

"your hand and wrist muscles are so tight."
"i didn't realize. just keep doing whatever it is you're doing."

his big hand slipped around in my fingers as i pushed into the skin and really fought to separate the terse muscles. his knuckles were all dents from chipped out pieces of skin and forged knuckles worn down from their original state. some of the tattoos on his hands were nicked and interrupted in places from heavy abuse.

i have to admit, i have a soft spot for visible tattoos and when i first met him i noted the sweeping lines extending beyond his dress shirt. being a buttoned down type came with the territory of being an admin assistant for years. it's too conservative for flashing heavy tattoos, or at least at the places that i managed to stumble into. so it's all the more thrilling when i can meet someone who doesn't give a shit and has a ton in hard to miss places. tho i find it hard to meet guys like that. i'm not a bajillion piercings/blanketed in ink person so those lads assume i'm not interested in them. which is total bullshit. i'd probably maybe think about quitting my job at doing reception at a tattoo studio, i like the scene! but whatever, it's usually just me staring at a hot guy on the streetcar thinking about dazzling sleeves wrapped around me. but.... but i had lucked out. oh well, i mean, this isn't the boy you bring home to mother. but that's my favourite type of all.

we had made a firm agreement not to fuck around right off the bat. the pace had originally been set that it was all contact and we'd get to cum at least twice when hanging out. *i* was ok with it. i mean, holy fuck! i don't have a lot of thick, dark eyed men wanting to show up and have me strip them at the front door. dating be damned, i'll take it.

Anto's Croatian sensibilities short circuited a little when he finally figured out he was a homo. so much of what he had programmed in him had to drop. yet, there were odd flare ups that were stunning to see. you can't escape your childhood i guess.
we had met though work where he was an associate for a major club owner in town. and by associate, i mean the blooded mob that did all the security and other clean up items for the golden goose. i had been over tired and worn down from a couple high maintenance smut stars i had been babysitting for a week. i was either going to break a bottle off in one of their asses or attempt to sleep in the coat room when the club owner spied me up for a chat.

he wasn't even the usual shitbag owner either. rather efficient and knew the game inside and out. didn't do drugs, didn't slut around, but was a solid winner for his financial backers. Anto was lingering around behind him trying to look at the walls instead of the bacchanal of hot men and dancing vibrating all around. the owner shook my hand and made a crack that i should go home to bed and take my boys with me. great, they weren't just pissing me off either. i looked back at them and shook my head. the owner laughed and clapped a hand over my shoulder. told me not to stress so much and just enjoy myself.

i didn't take the owner for a queer at all. lots of fag bar owners are just super wealthy people who know an investment when they see it. you gotta at least be tolerant to be on the floor like this tho and i appreciated that he didn't give me the shank shame eye when i was wrangling whores all night. like trying to keep a dog in the bathtub. oy.

the owner leaned into my ear closely. "this is my associate Anto. he's a new boy so he's been hanging off me like stink. take him for a bit, yes? i'll get your boys into the vip room. you get a break, and me too." popping a none too subtle glance over his shoulder Anto was oblivious to being traded around with porn stars and questionable men in a dark club.

he was eye-poppingly hot. like that tall and thick that you just wanted to climb up and hump until you finally have a blood vessel pop from over excitement. ok wait, let me take a step back and quantify.

i hate saying i find non traditionally good looking guys hot. it makes it sound like "i like ugly guys because i'm ugly too!" which.... let's be real honest here, is fairly accurate. still, what i consider upper echelon hot might not be in a magazine but it was teeth-grittingly arousing to me.

Anto was maybe a hair taller than my dubious 5 foot 9 inches of stacked shit. the main difference is that he was more familiar with the inside of a gym than i am or ever will be. brown eyes turned black in the poor lighting and some plush lips with a solid scar cutting through top to bottom. which causes me some sort of bizarre hormonal reaction further impacted by seeing all the tattoos crawling out from under clothing.

there was a rush intro and Anto seemed stunned that he had been swapped over to me. it's like leaving your dog at a friends place for the weekend. they look a little frantic and dumbfounded that they could ever be left behind.

"hey, did you want a drink?"
"sure... no... i'm working. I think?"
"let's just get a drink."

i found the optimal spot to talk and not feel like you have to be shouted at to be heard. we kibbitzed and he didn't even put on airs pretending he was terribly committed to being straight. he enjoyed being away from all the din of jackassery and i utilized my impressive cold reading skills to drill into him and find a goldmine of conversation. more drinks and he took off his dress shirt to relax in a dastardly tight t shirt. not for one minute did i assume he'd put the moves on me. without even over thinking it it, i just believed that he'd get randy from the drink and kicking back to go out on the hunt. but.... he stayed and leaned in closer. resisting the urge to lean in an bite at his nipple through his shirt i called his bluff and leaned in more. i love getting near someone and getting the sent of them warmed up with their heart beating heavily.

more drinks, more talking, more sussing him out and absorbing as much as i could. finally a hand on the inside of my thigh. i'm sorry, i don't give a shit who the hand is attached to, but put a move on me after months of inactivity and i'll respond. there's nothing tastier than laying into a deep kiss with someone who fancies themselves as a top and spin the dynamic around to make them feel like a shaking bottom. sucking shared breaths out and firm grasps is merely guidance. you just have to see what the reaction is. i do surprise myself with the number of times a top in the moment has a little breakdown and craves being the one on the bottom so to speak.

i don't even really recall how we got home. and it was out of this world for me to ditch clients. i said a silent prayer that they'd make it home and not raped and dead in the bottom of the lake and pressed up against Anto in the elevator. i think i've been in this apartment complex before? maybe? yeah that doesn't make me feel like a whore at all. that surge of personal anger spilled out inside the apartment. my usual polite self dictated that i would ask if there were roommates to mind but instead i just told him to strip off in the doorway while i waited. stunned look, yet he complied like a good lad and we trotted off to the bedroom. sparing you the details it was a little more than rough but nothing that i would say is beyond the intensity of a make up fight fuck.

we had been in a steady rhythm of meeting up and pounding each other with lovely come down sessions of weed and chatting in bed. this was perfect for me. someone who texted me once a day and then would let me tie him up for a while to mack all over his tattoos. and scars. both of which there were plenty to sample from.

Anto finally asked to meet up for a coffee, which i found
strange since i would be put off trying to feel up his cock in the middle of starbucks.
"can we...."
all the scenarios... what the fuck have i been doing? don't call me. never tell anyone about this, i've been high on PCP the whole time and really made a bad decision.
"can we date? i want to actually be with a guy, not all physical stuff you know?"
"oh! really?! sure! jesus, i thought you... well, you know, the mind makes stuff up and... yeah never mind. let's date. we'll get a coffee and talk about boys and then we can go to the AGO."
"The what?"
"Art gallery. if you want to date, that means i get to drag you out to places that you have little to no interest in visiting. those are the rules."
"ha ha, smart guy. i LIKE art so i win."

it... it.... it was kinda nice. i didn't tell another living soul that we were dating, or even any mention of it. it felt like if i said anything out loud it would evaporate. i mean, it had to end, but right now in the irresponsible moment it felt fantastic. even now on the couch i loved resisting the urge to dig into his jeans and squirm around in a sexy closeness.

psycho ex's and jizzy bed sheets

"hey, question: is there any chance you had sex in my bed?"
"No, i have memory foam on my bed. i like getting the extra support on my knees when i'm going down on a guy."
"yeah, well it definately looks like someone fucked in my bed this weekend."
"really? did you swab it? is there a mouldering condom in there?"
"I make my bed in a REALLY specific way!"
"Fuck you are INSANE. No. I didn't fuck in your bed."
"Who did?!"
"Why don't you ask the only other person you were stupid enough to give our spare key to?!"
Stunned i watched him rapidly digest the thought. On through the process of going from who on earth.... to oh god damn it.
"Jimi was here?"
"So, remember when you stomped in the house and i said 'oh hi i missed you and we should talk about something?""
"this is what we need to talk about, I guess."
"sit."
I slid onto the floor into the cup of a pillow pile and invited him to join me. no one likes giving bad news, especially me. thankfully i had essentially chugged a bottle of wine out of panic and stress waiting for Brad to come home. so that lubed me up enough to feel motivated to talk. i did have to caution myself not to run off like a greyhound as i usually do when i'm drunk and chatty.
"I got in from Vegas early..." which was bullshit. i wasn't even in vegas, i went up north to get topped by some older dude for the weekend. i just didn't want to tell anyone in case it was a total wash out. oh hey, no, i do tell people. but it's more to give a cell number and address in case i got murdered. you know, safety first. "vegas" was my catch-all excuse to be gone for the weekend. it suited me fine as most people assumed i was in some porn industry orgy. i'd rather they have that fantasy and damned if i want to tell people when i'm going to sit in a sling for 2 hour rounds doing poppers and seeing if i can finally get a proper fucking.
"how early did you get in?"
"Saturday... it was a write off and whatever i came home super early."

truth? my ass hurt too much to take more reaming so we got lunch, had a kiss in his truck and i took the bus home.
Being an awfully good liar i had made sure to move my car out of the parking garage so it looked for realsies that i had taken off.

"I pulled in and noticed Jimi's car down there and I thought maybe you had come home early as well. Up to the apartment and i can hear the tv on and some bustling in the kitchen so i walked in and screamed 'Lucy! i'm home!' and Jimi was in the kitchen naked and let me tell you, he's kinda gone to seed since you two broke up." nice. way to throw in a diss. that'll solve everything! fuck.
"WHAT?! he was just in the apartment naked!?"
"yeah... and remember last month when we got high on that really shitty e..."
"that was just speed?"
"that night. do you recall how we wound up in a screaming match about how you thought i was eating your expensive hippy cereal and i thought you were scamming my l'occtaine shampoo?"
"ah not one of our finer moments..."
"So THAT mystery is solved. he was eating a huge bowl of the cereal and you know how that shampoo just flutters around in the air with that delicious smell? clearly he had jumped out of the shower after putting a handful into his hair."
Brad was still stunned so i kept things moving. it was an impending crisis and my instinct is to be wordy and take my time getting to the punchline.
"i asked him if you were here and he shook his head no. that's when i, you know... freaked the fuck out."
"what the hell did you do?!"
"lunged at him and shook the shit out of him like a rag doll screaming at him for being in my apartment and gave him a big shove into the living room."

my anger was propelled beyond my normal limits knowing that this piece of shit had gotten me banned from my favourite bar for 6 months due to him fighting with Brad and I. and another violent rush from me came from thinking about seeing Jimi grab Brad's arm so roughly it left him bruised to the bone.

"I took my jacket off and stood over him screaming. it made no sense, but i was clearly upset." that's the dumbed down version.

truth?
"you rotten little piece of shit! how did you get in here? tell me you don't have a key!" a mighty slap across the face. he was suprised by my entrance so i had to ride this wave before he stood up to me and most likely curb my jaw off the toilet bowl. i gripped his wrist in my patented owch hold and pinched deeply. i wanted to break his arm and knock out what few real teeth of his remained after a long childhood of abuse and neglect. i knew if i broke something i'd have to talk to the cops. fuck that.

Back to the Brad Version.
"He screamed at me, "Stop! Stop!! i have a key! i didn't think anyone was home...."
"Stop stop what?"
"uh... stop stop...being... mad?"
"real convincing... did you hurt him?"
"Nothing permanent. Do you want to hear this... or?" god help you if you interrupt me telling a story.
"Nathan!!"
"ok ok speeding things up. He said he didn't think anyone was home and that's why he was hanging out at the house."
"How would he know?"
"easy enough to find out that you're out of town. my car was moved out of the garage... i mean, i obviously moved my car out to go so he tailgated someone into the garage. I think he was waiting to see me leave as well."
Brad looked sick. this whole rant was started with a terse investigation on who fucked in his bed and knew the ending wouldn't be good.
"so he clearly had a key. did you give him one?"
"of course not! never. even when we got back together."
"Cute. so he took the key and got it cut."
"wh... who... was he here with someone?"

Truth?
I was just about to dummy this fuck head in the face a couple of times and saw someone sit up on the couch.
"well who in the FUCK is this?!" ready to get tag teamed i reared up like a trapped animal to look much bigger of an opponent than i actually am. 8/10 times it works. for the other two times you get your ass kicked or you run away.
the new naked boy clamped a pillow to his crotch.
"THOSE WERE MADE BY MY DEAD GRANDMOTHER! DO NOT GET YOUR DICK CHEESE ON THEM! DROP THEM!" new naked was crying and looked scared. ok, so he's on the back burner. the one in my grip was the main issue.
"You've been coming in here while we're gone and using it as some sort of swanky fuck shack, haven't you?! this isn't some villa for you to escape to! you go to the bathhouse like every other stupid whore and you get a fucking towel rental!!"

Brad looked so sad. let's get it over with.
"yeah he was with a guy."
"who?"

Truth? it was The Boy. The Boy being that one boy who got away from Brad. The Boy provided a steamy affair and was the muse for his second novel. which actually was my least favourite that he did. it was too lame and happy. i like tears and Irish famine-levels of despair. Brad wasn't the type to get his heart whisked away so from the assorted conversations we had on the topic i knew how much Brad liked him. he said after the novel came out he spent the better part of 8 months suicidal and incredibly depressed after The Boy dumped him to be single. he was thriving on all the attention from being that guy in the book. no one can blame him for wanting to cash in on it. so The Boy broke Brad's heart and as much as he had fucked, screwed and blew his wad on a ton of great guys, i was never convinced it was ever resolved.

"ah, man.... listen. i don't want to hurt you."
"don't... i'm just going to pull the sheets off my bed."
"want to sleep in my bed? let me tell you, that memory foam really cradles you while you're trying. trust."