Bodily Fluids
I try to exercise caution when my gaydar goes off; I’ve had a couple of awkward surprises. This time, however, it didn’t much matter whether it was accurate or not - nothing was happening between me and this kid. He was my student, for Christ’s sake, and I knew that keeping my dick in my pants was a smart career move.
I’d been free-lancing as an illustrator since I graduated from Tyler School of Art in Philadelphia, and I’d had good times and bad times, fat times and lean. That’s the nature of free-lancing, and so is the isolation of working by yourself. So when I heard about the position at The Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Arts’ Department of Graphic Design, I was ready for a change.
I noticed him almost as soon as I walked into my Layout and Visual Indication class at the beginning of the semester. It’s an upper level class, and there were only a dozen students enrolled. One sweeping glance around the room before I introduced myself, and I saw him: blond hair, very blue eyes, smooth pale skin, and a hypnotically sensual mouth. I think my breath took a little hitch; I’m not sure.
I went through the usual first-day-of-class routine - wrote my name, Steve Sobel, on the blackboard, gave them a quick synopsis of my career, told them my philosophy vis a vis class participation (good) and skipping classes (bad) - then I asked them to introduce themselves. “Besides your name, of course, I’d like to know what year you’re in, and any applicable work experience you’ve had.” When it was the blond’s turn, he said, “My name’s Justin Taylor, I’m sort of between my third and fourth years, and I got credit for a semester internship with the Vanguard agency.”
It seemed to me that a couple of heads swiveled when he said his name…but who wouldn’t be interested in such a gorgeous kid?…and that he put a little emphasis on the word ‘credit’ when he talked about his internship. I also thought I saw a couple of eyebrows go up at the same time, but I wasn’t sure.
Even if I wasn’t putting any moves on this “Justin Taylor”, there was no rule that said I couldn’t look, so I did. I was careful to be subtle about it; I didn’t want any of the students…including him…to notice my interest. The more I looked, the more convinced I was that not only was he gay, but he was no sexual novice. He didn’t come on to me or to anyone else in the class, he didn’t flaunt his sexuality or appear aware of his outstanding good looks, but he moved with an assurance, a lack of hesitancy, that spoke to a man…not a kid…in control of his life. All facets of it, including his sex life.
I started getting to know the other instructors and professors pretty quickly and, like teachers everywhere, we swapped gossip about students and staff. It wasn’t hard for me to work the conversation around to Justin Taylor. “I checked his birth date,” I said, “and he’s one of the older kids in my class. What’s up with that? A late bloomer?”
Deena Gibbons gulped down a mouthful of Pepsi Lite. “No. He was supposed to start with the class that graduated last year. He’s taken a couple of detours on his road to his degree.”
“Detours?” I looked around the table.
Deena said, “Yeah, detours like starting a semester late after he was hit in the head with a baseball bat, losing another semester because he was caught screwing the guy who was his boss when he did an internship.”
“You’re kidding. All this happened to one kid?” So my gaydar was correct. Surprise, surprise. Imagine that. Not to mention my guess that he knew his way around.
Sam Cohen laughed. “Yeah, our Justin Taylor is a living, breathing soap opera, but he’s a nice kid, an amazing artist, comes to class on time, works hard, and doesn’t give anybody any trouble.”
Nobody thought it was odd when I had a lot of questions to ask, but I didn’t get much more information. The bashing had taken place at the end of his senior year in high school, so he hadn’t started until the following spring. He had residual damage from the attack that made it difficult for him to draw for long periods of time, hence his interest in the graphic arts. As to his suspension and re-admittance, the consensus around the table was that, yes, he’d been suspended for fucking the boss but no one could figure out why the suspension was reversed.
Deena had the last word, “He’s a nice kid…not very outgoing…keeps to himself… doesn’t seem to hang out with anyone in particular.”
After half-a-dozen classes and a lot of covert observation, I began to form some fairly accurate ideas about Taylor. It had been apparent from the get-go that he was serious about his work, and I suspected that that seriousness was natural to him. I couldn’t see him being interested in the bar or club scene or actively tricking. He seemed much more likely to be involved in an on-going, domestic relationship. The boy friend would be a few years older than him, good-looking but not flashy, an academic type, probably. (Okay, so the boyfriend should resemble me - so sue me!) Dates, I thought, would be to an indie movie or maybe the occasional dinner at a trendy restaurant. Hey, if I were living with Justin, I’d want to show him off at the trendiest restaurants I could find.
I had a hard time figuring out how that business of fucking his boss fit in with the Justin I saw three days a week. The easiest explanation was that the guy - his boss at Vangard - used his position to over-whelm Justin’s good sense and get him into bed. But…to tell you the truth…Justin didn’t seem like the kind of guy who over-whelmed easily. So maybe he fucked the guy to get a better evaluation…nah. Not possible. Didn’t happen. Maybe it was just one of those spontaneous things where two people got carried away…I could see that happening, especially on the boss’ part. Or…and I thought this was the most likely explanation…the suspension was a mistake, someone saw something that they misinterpreted - innocently or maliciously - and when the truth came out, he was readmitted. That fit with the Justin I was getting to know.
Personally, I’m not one for the bar and club scene myself. As you may have guessed, I am a dinner-and-indie-movie type guy. I was beginning to build a circle of friends in Pittsburgh, mostly made up of the younger instructors at PIFA and their friends. I went out a couple of times with one of those friends, a guy named Lance - tall, slender, a minimal conversationalist without much of a sense of humor - in other words, nothing serious. We did the movie thing or had dinner with a bunch of guys from school or just hung out and watched DVDs. Usually we ended up in bed.
It must have been our fourth or fifth ‘date’ when Lance said, “How about hitting a club tonight? We could have a late dinner and get to Babylon about 10:30, 11:00.”
I told him I wasn’t crazy about the club scene but he wouldn’t give up.
“It’ll be something different. Babylon’s O.K., as far as clubs go, and tonight they’re having a Hunk-a-Licious contest. Should be fun.”
What are you going to do? You can’t always have things your way, so I said yes.
Dinner at Costa del Sol was fine, we got to Babylon about 10:30, and the Hunk-a-licious contest was a raunchy hoot. By the time the thumpa-thump-thump came on, I’d had three over-priced drinks, and I’d lost Lance. I had that gawd-awful alone-in-a-crowd feeling, and all I wanted to do was get in my car and go home. Best case: go home with someone. That someone would probably be Lance, so I decided on one more drink to give him a chance to find me. It was becoming painfully obvious; I sure as hell couldn’t find him.
I was standing at the bar, waiting for my Cosmo, idly watching the dancers, when the crowd parted and almost directly in front of me I saw…Justin Taylor. My serious student wore jeans that fit like a second skin and a tight, sleeveless tee that rode up whenever he raised his arms, showing off his sleek midriff. This was not the Justin Taylor that showed up at Room 218 in the William T. Sherman Building three days a week. I blinked, shook my head, and looked again. Yes, this was a seriously hot man gyrating a couple of yards away from me, his blond hair catching the lights as he moved.
Once my alcohol-addled brain processed that impossibility, I realized that Justin was with somebody, very definitely with somebody. His back was to a tall, slender man who was intently watching every provocative move Justin made. As I watched, Justin twisted around, looked up at his companion, said something, and slowly ran his tongue over his lips. The man laughed and reached for him, but the blond was too quick. He slipped past the reaching arm and headed for the bar and…coincidently…me. The man followed him, still laughing.
In the few seconds it took the pair to reach the bar, I tried to memorize Justin’s companion. A beautiful body, showcased in jeans that fit perfectly and a black wife-beater. Features that individually were unremarkable but which together were compellingly sexy. Take that back: there was nothing unremarkable about that man’s mouth. One look and I wanted his mouth all over me.
Justin said, “Look, Brian, it’s Mr. Sobel.” His eyes were open wide, and he seemed a bit unsteady on his feet. My serious Justin Taylor was inebriated.
Brian said, “Hi, Mr. Sobel.” Then, to Justin, “Who the fuck is Mr. Sobel?”
“Mr. Sobel is my teacher. He’s teaching me all about Layout and Visual Indication.”
“How bor…educational.” He looked at the bartender. “Another J.B., please.”
“He is cute, isn’t he? He doesn’t dress this nice at school.” Justin giggled, and I shook my head again, trying to clear it. The Justin I knew never giggled.
Brian looked at me appraisingly, and I tried to exude sexiness. I rarely do that, but there was something about this man that made me want him to want me. I think they call that charisma. Even high…and he was obviously somewhat buzzed…this Brian had charisma pressed down and running over. “My name is Steve,” I said brilliantly. I was working on my fourth Cosmo, and between the alcohol and Brian, I had a severe case of brain burn, most of which I blamed on the man, not the drink.
Besides being dazzled by Justin’s trick?...date?…partner? I was having considerable difficulty processing the Justin I was seeing. My speculations and guesses had been way off the mark. The determined, hard-working Justin I knew couldn’t be this half-wasted club brat, at home with the drinking and the drugs, the noise and the music, and the bumping, grinding, sweating men, on the prowl for their next trick. Then there was the boyfriend. That…that predator can’t be with Justin, I thought, but it was clear that he was. Brian was, I guessed, at least my age, perhaps older, and more sophisticated than I’ll ever be. He was also sex on two legs.
As I watched, Justin turned toward Brian and freed one side of the man’s shirt from his jeans. He ran his hand sensuously up under the shirt until his hand reached Brian’s tit, pulling more and more fabric from his jeans and hiking it up higher and higher. I felt my cock twitch. “Brian,” Justin said, and it was almost a whine, “I don’t want another drink. I wanna go back to the loft and ingest some bodily fluids.”
Brian swayed toward him, but he was looking over Justin’s shoulder at me. He smiled that predatory smile that was so attractive in a dangerous way. “Why don’t we just go to the backroom, and you can ingest some there?”
“I don’t wanna go to the backroom, I wanna go home.”
Brian sighed, then grabbed Justin’s hair, pulled his head back, and said, “O.K., we’ll go home.” He looked at me as he bent his head and kissed Justin, quick and hard. “Do you have a car with you?”
I stood there stupidly for the full minute it took me to process the fact that Brian was now speaking to me. “Yeah,” I said, even more stupidly. “Yeah, I drove myself here.”
“Where are you parked?”
I told him, and he said, “Why don’t you go to your car and wait for us. I’ll come by in mine, and you can follow us home. I drive a dark green ‘Vette.” I nodded, speechless. Brian - ‘Vette - Justin: it made sense. Of course a guy who drove a Corvette would want Justin to adorn the front seat.
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As I sat in my little Toyota Echo waiting for the Dynamic Duo to show up, I tried to give myself a severe talking to. I am a rational, cautious human being, and what I was doing was neither rational nor particularly safe. I was planning on following home a man I didn’t know, a man who looked capable of making some fairly scary moves. True, Justin didn’t scare me, but I didn’t look to him for protection, either. He was feeling no pain.
Then there was the teacher-student business. If anyone at PIFA found out about this, both Justin and I might be out on our asses. (I was finding the fucking-his-boss story more credible by the minute.) This time Justin might not be readmitted, and I’d be…I’d be up shit creek without a paddle.
On the other hand, my cock was getting harder as I thought about Justin’s hand sliding up Brian’s rib cage and caressing Brian’s tit. My cock wanted Justin’s hand on my tit or my hand on Brian’s tit. Either or both. And more.
The Corvette pulled up next to my Toyota Echo - a chick-car, my sister says - and moved slowly past me. I pulled away from the curb and swung into its wake. Sometimes the brain rules, but tonight my cock was in control.
It was a short drive to Brian’s building, in a borderline part of town. It wasn’t quite the factory district, and it was a little out-of-the-way for Queer Town. I couldn’t be sure what use the building itself was put to; there were no lights in any windows. Brian held the front door open for Justin and me, and by the time he let the door go, Justin was wrestling with the controls of an industrial elevator. I could feel the rational part of my brain reasserting itself, telling me that perhaps this was not a good idea. Brian reached over Justin’s shoulder and gave the door a strong shove, and then he waved us onto the elevator.
As the elevator slowly rattled its way up, Brian leaned against the rear wall, his arm crooked around Justin’s neck proprietarily. Justin seemed to have sobered up a bit in the short ride from the club. He twisted a little to smile up at Brian, and I thought he was definitely more clear-eyed and alert now. Staring into each other’s eyes, they shared a kiss. I felt very alone, standing by myself on the other side of the elevator. The not-a-good-idea feeling got stronger. I began to think that staying on the elevator when we got to our destination and taking it back down might be a wise decision. That is, until Brian said, “You were watching us.”
Involuntarily my eyes flicked from Brian to Justin and back again. I couldn’t disguise my fascination with this odd couple, my urge to watch and watch and watch until I understood them and their relationship. At the same time, watching them in the privacy of this elevator seemed intrusive in a way it hadn’t at Babylon. I wanted to look away but couldn’t - I might miss the clue that would explain the mystery.
Brian smiled mischievously, “Like what you see?”
I nodded and smiled back, and my cock began to perk up again.
As soon as the elevator jolted to a halt, Justin had the door open and was across the landing, unlocking a beat-up, forbidding-looking sliding door. My brain tried to cope with the thought that Justin had a key to the place where Brian lived…or where they both lived. Without thinking, I said, “How long have you two been together?”
Brian cocked an eyebrow at Justin.
Justin said, “Three, three-and-a-half years?”
“With time out for interruptions and disruptions…sounds about right.”
I hope I didn’t look goggle-eyed. That would have made Justin about seventeen when they got together.
Brian answered my thought. “Yep. Your arithmetic is right.”
Then I walked into their loft. It consisted of a huge space with an ultra-modern kitchen to my right and a screened in area beyond it - probably the bedroom - and not much in the way of furnishings. But before I could comment, Justin walked toward the enclosed room, pulling off his tee and dropping it on the polished hardwood floor. As he approached the steps, he turned, pushing his jeans and briefs down. An impish smile crossed his face, and he stuck out his tongue at us.
Brian gripped me by the back of the neck and turned me to face him. I looked up at that sensual face and found myself staring into an extraordinary pair of hazel eyes. “Still wanna play?” he asked.
I swallowed and nodded.
Brian’s grip on the back of my neck tightened, and he half-pushed, half-pulled me across the room. My eyes were glued to the slender blond. He had lowered his pants all the way down, revealing his partially erect penis which bobbed as he used one foot to push his pants down over his sneaker. The maneuver made him lose his balance, and he sat down with a thump on the step.
“Ow,” he said, and I was close enough to see tears in his eyes.
“Did the widdle boy faw down and go boom? Shall I kiss it and make it all better?” Brian asked.
Sounded like a good idea to me. Brian pulled Justin to his feet with one hand and began to kiss him. With his other hand still on my neck, holding me in place, I watched, inches away from their mouths. Brian’s kiss morphed from gentle to overpowering, as he demanded Justin’s compliance…and got it. Rather than battle for dominance, Justin melted into Brian. I was equally in Brian’s power. His grip on the back of my neck never weakened. I was held in the strange position of intimate observer.
Brian broke off the kiss to nip at Justin’s ear and nibble his way down his neck. Justin squirmed and moaned and got harder. I watched, excited but uncertain, not knowing what my next move should be. I had never been in a three way with strangers or with two such highly charged, overtly sexual men. I looked toward Brian for guidance - he was obviously the alpha male here - but unexpectedly it was Justin who solved my problem. With some difficulty, he broke away from Brian and started tugging my shirt out of my pants, then pulled it over my head. It hit the floor next to his pants.
He ran his hand up over my stomach and chest, stopping to rub my nipple. Apparently Justin Taylor had a thing for tits. Then he leaned forward, as though to kiss or lick or suck it, only to stop mid-lean. He looked over at Brian, clearly puzzled. “Am I allowed to fuck Mr. Sobel? He’s my teacher.” Justin might have sobered up a little since we left Babylon, but he was still obviously the worse for wear.
Brian looked at me. “Can he fuck Mr. Sobel?”
“No,” I said, “he can’t fuck Mr. Sobel.” I paused, and they both turned to me. Justin looked puzzled, Brian just looked sardonic. “He can fuck Steve.” For once in my life, I thought, I had a relatively snappy answer when I needed it.
Justin touched Brian’s chest and said, “I’d rather ingest your bodily fluids.”
“You can fuck Steve now and ingest later,” Brian said. His voice sounded a little thicker, a little huskier, and my gaze dropped to his crotch. Yep, action taking place down south.
Justin completed his interrupted move, caught my nipple gently between his teeth, and gave it a delicate nip. I gasped and sucked in my breath; I could practically feel my irises dilating. Justin ran his tongue over the nubbin, and I swallowed hard.
Brian said, “Pants off, Steve.”
I undid the top button on my jeans, and then looked at Brian. It registered that Justin was naked - he’d gotten the other sneaker off, along with shucking his pants - and when I got my pants off, I’d be naked, too, while Brian was still fully dressed. No way, I thought, am I trying to drag his shirt off…I don’t have that kind of balls…but I gotta take the lead in something or I’ll be a complete zero in this threesome.
Gathering myself together, I reached over and unsnapped his jeans, paused for an instant to gage his reaction…none that I could tell without actually looking up at his face…so I unzipped him. No underwear. No fucking underwear! His penis sprang out, already more than half erect. I looked, fascinated, then bent down and captured the cap between my lips. I probed his piss slit with my tongue, tasting him.
He grabbed me by the back of my neck again and pulled my head up. “Not yet. I said, pants off.”
Willfully misunderstanding him, I pushed his pants down, almost to his knees.
“O.K., then get rid of the shoes.”
As I went down on one knee to remove his boots, I felt Brian pull off his shirt, then lean toward Justin. By the time I stood up, they were both naked and deep in an another erotic kiss, mouths locked together, hands roving over shoulders, arms, lean bellies, and firm buttocks. I moaned, experiencing my own arousal. Brian pulled away from Justin - I was treated to a flash of his tongue leaving Justin’s mouth - as I stepped out of my jeans. Brian grabbed the back of my neck once again and steered me up the steps and toward the big platform bed.
We paused at its foot and, again, I didn’t know what to do. I twisted to look at Brian, knowing where my instructions would come from, and he gave me a push toward the bed. I crawled up on it as he swung his long, beautiful body onto it in front of me, leaning against the piled up pillows near the wall under the glowing orange light. I stared as Brian let his legs fall apart, exposing his cock and balls. Saying a silent prayer that this man would soon give me a clue as to which part I would be playing in tonight’s events, I licked my lips and glanced longingly into his eyes. I was relieved when Brian smiled and crooked his finger. He was intimidating and I couldn’t imagine topping him. Given Brian’s proprietary air, I didn’t think I was going to be topping Justin either.
I scooted toward Brian on my knees, and then bent forward to lick firmly up the vein on the underside of his penis. I was very aware of how exposed this position…head down, ass up…left me. I fought both the urge to lie down and an urge to look over my shoulder to see what Justin was doing. I felt vulnerable…and excited.
“Good,” Brian said in that thickened, husky voice. He moved his head a little to the side. “Now spread your legs further apart so that Justin gets a good look at your balls and cock.”
My God, I already had a boner a cat could scratch. I moved my knees apart, then - at a gesture from Brian - apart again. My dick got harder, impossible though that seemed. Hands gripped my ass firmly and pulled my cheeks apart. I gasped and sucked Brian’s dick deep into my mouth. Justin touched his tongue to the top of my crack, then slowly licked down to my asshole. My whole body clenched together in anticipation of what came next. I moaned, stopped breathing, stopped thinking, and stopped playing with Brian’s dick. I concentrated on my asshole. When Justin licked my hole and blew it dry again, I heard myself make a strangled sort of sound around Brian’s penis. The penis that I was supposed to be sucking, as an authoritative hand on the back of my neck reminded me.
I felt the chill of lube flowing down my crack, as first one finger, then two slid in. Justin pushed deeper against my resistance, then scissored his fingers, and I sucked in air. Not good when you are supposed to be giving head. I sucked strongly and was rewarded by a deep growl.
Justin slowly withdrew his fingers, and I heard the small sounds of a condom being put on. I worked Brian’s cock enthusiastically. His thighs tensed, and he arched toward my mouth. I ran my hands up and down his legs, feeling his muscles strain, turned on by the power I had over him. Then the tip of Justin’s penis was at my hole, brushing back and forth, and I had a moment to wonder how wise this arrangement was.
Justin was obviously about to fuck me. (I wondered about that for a moment…why Justin, not Brian?) In the normal course of events, what was happening to my ass would distract me from what my mouth was doing. And teeth were involved. I’ll be very careful, I promised myself, darting a quick glance up at Brian. He didn’t look worried.
Justin pushed in slowly but firmly. I grunted, feeling the stretch, the pain. At the right instant, I bore down to let him all the way in. He paused to let me adjust, and I felt him lean toward Brian. Brian pushed himself up on his elbows - I lifted my head - and I heard them kiss. Justin’s sweaty body was plastered to my equally slick back, and I swear I could feel the hard nubs of his tits.
As Justin once again lifted himself up, he nearly pulled completely out, then pushed firmly back into me before setting up a steady rhythm. I needed something to brace myself on, to keep from sliding into Brian. I tried to stretch my arms out past him, reaching for the headboard, but Brian understood and solved my problem. His hands settled on my shoulders, warm and strong, and he pushed me back, hard, against Justin’s thrusting. The force shoved Justin’s dick even more deeply into my ass, and I think I screamed as his balls hit me. But, oh, the feeling, to be in the middle of these two sensual, self assured men; if I died right now…that…would…be…just…fine.
I clamped my lips over the cap of Brian’s penis, afraid to take him any deeper into my mouth. I flicked my tongue across the tip in time with Justin’s thrusts. With one hand I had a death grip on Brian’s hip, and with the other I started jerking myself off. A hand…Justin’s this time …knocked my hand away and replaced it with his, jerking in time to his thrusts. Sensory overload set in. Justin thrusting, Brian pushing, the taste of Brian’s pre-cum as I licked and probed his slit, Justin’s hand on my dick, these two amazingly perfect men, surrounding me, pleasuring me…. “God, god, god - yes, yes - right there, right fucking there - oh shit shit shit shit.” I shot hard once and once again.
My legs were shaking. “Justin?” I said.
He stopped moving without pulling out.
“I need to change position.” I may have whimpered.
Justin patted my shoulder, and I twisted around to look at him. He looked beautiful, flushed and sweaty, his hair sticking to his forehead and his fair skin rosy with arousal. Cautiously, we both moved back little by little, until I was thankfully flat on the bed. Justin’s arm snaked out and he grabbed a pillow, bent it in half, and shoved it under my hips.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
He dropped a kiss on my shoulder, surprising me. Somehow I hadn’t expected any such gesture in what I assumed was just a fuck. I risked a quick look up for Brian’s reaction. There was none. All his attention was on Justin. He was looking at the blond intently, an expression on his face that conveyed commitment more clearly than words. I knew I was seeing an emotion that was too private for me to share, and suddenly I understood exactly why Brian wanted this three way. I bent my head down to his cock, as much to give him his privacy as to resume sucking him off.
Justin started moving again, slower now. Brian still had one hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place, while he reached for Justin with the other. I could hear the small intimate sounds they made as they kissed and nibbled and licked, right above me, and I thought that Justin was really topping Brian, not me. I was only a conduit for their love-making. I shuddered. My body might not be capable of arousal yet, but my mind was over-heating.
Suddenly Brian grabbed both my shoulders and shoved, hard, and Justin pushed back powerfully, penetrating me deeply. I gasped and moaned. Justin drove into me again, and then twice more, and I felt the burn…that good pain/pleasure burn. I pulled my knees back under me and raised my ass so that I could push back against Justin’s thrusts on my own. I felt and heard Justin’s deep groan, then he yelled, “Brian, god, Brian, Brian,” and came hard, rocking me against Brian’s hands.
I pulled the pillow out from under me and collapsed on to the bed, my nose buried in Brian’s thatch of hair, redolent with the smell of sweat and sex. Justin pulled out carefully and rolled on to his back next to me. He turned his head toward me and gave me a radiant smile, and I felt my heart expand. Almost simultaneously I felt Brian’s hand on my neck again, so I gripped his thighs and pulled myself up into position to bring him to completion.
As I began moving up and down his shaft, sucking strongly, I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. I cut my eyes toward Justin and saw Brian’s strong, beautiful hand ruffling Justin’s hair, over and over. Once again, I had the feeling that I was seeing something too private to share, and I closed my eyes and concentrated on Brian’s cock.
Brian moaned, and I felt his thighs clench. His body arched up, driving his cock deeper into my mouth, threatening to set off my gag reflex. I concentrated, sucked harder, and was rewarded another deep thrust by Brian as he bowed his body. He growled deep in his throat and shot into my mouth. I swallowed and swallowed and rubbed my chin and mouth on the duvet.
After Brian came, I looked at Justin. His high-wattage smile was directed at his lover…his partner. I let my eyes sweep down his body and saw that he was once again semi-erect, hardened by the sight of Brian coming. I shot a quick glance at Brian and I knew I was not needed or wanted here anymore. I turned away and looked for my clothes.
When I was dressed, I turned back to the lovers once more. They were curled together, face-to-face, legs entwined, and Justin was licking circles around Brian’s nipples as Brian ran his hands up and down Justin’s back. I whispered, “Thank you,” and left quietly. I didn’t think it would be too long before Justin got to ingest some bodily fluids.
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I went to school on Monday determined not to show, by the slightest change in my treatment of Justin, that Saturday night had ever occurred. I expected the same reaction from him, and that’s what I got. My adventure had no repercussions, thank God.
I’ve thought a lot about that night. Do I regret this experience? No. Do I think it will ever be repeated? Never. Would I want to repeat it? I don’t think so, but it did make me think about my life. I want…not what Justin and Brian have, whatever that is exactly…but something as strong for myself. I’m giving myself more of a chance to make a connection…not settling for Lance…but going out more, to Babylon once a month or so and regularly to a gay bar, the Piebald Pony. Tricking occasionally if someone looks interesting, since I am definitely on the hunt now. No one has yet grabbed me by the back of the neck - no one realizes the effect that would have on my dick.
Oh, yes. I called Vangard a couple of days later and asked for Brian, very nonchalantly. I didn’t want to speak to him, but I felt as though I had to know his last name. The receptionist’s voice turned frosty. “Mr. Kinney is no longer with Vangard,” she said. So I guess Brian got his ass fired for fucking the intern. I still don’t know why Justin was re-admitted to PIFA, but I found out later that Brian had opened his own agency, Kinnetik. I’m not surprised. Those two will always land on their feet.