Brew had thought about his experience in Chase’s bedroom every mile of the fifteen miles into Noble. For some wild, insane reason, the guy was turned on by him. Maybe as much as he was one hundred percent aroused by Chase.
He thought over and over about Chase’s quiet, insistent need, and about his own exuberant climax as he sucked the man’s immense cock. Scenes like that took place somewhere in a porn flick—not in his lonely life.
Brew guided the Saab 9-3 carefully up the tree-lined drive. He’d felt a few loose stones on the undercarriage yesterday on this driveway and didn’t want to chance getting any damage to its sleek black chassis. These days, Dad drove some kind of Cadillac and didn’t seem to care if its skin got pitted or not. In Brew’s well-considered opinion, his father had too goddamn much money.
He thumbed the remote garage-door opener and his car purred into a spot next to Mom’s Mazda grocery-getter. He knew he was being a little harsh on his father, since the Saab was a graduation present. Certified pre-owned, as they say, a 2000 model that even now, nine years later, looked like it could take center stage at the Frankfurt Auto Show. Brew had always thought of it as a kind of bribe—Cranley Lloyd’s way of keeping his son from feeling emotionally starved. Withhold the affection; slide in the sports car. Works every time.
He got out of the car and watched the garage door snick shut, annoyed that his thoughts had begun to dwell on his father instead of Chase Grayson. Still, the image of his dad, overweight and sweating, hitting the oven of Chicago in his wrinkled linen suit, being welcomed into the bosom of a stricken family… He shook his head and opened the door from the garage into the rec room.
He tossed the ignition keys on the pool table and went to the fridge, always well stocked with domestic and imported beer. He chose a Heineken. It would start a nice buzz. Settling back on the leather couch, his feet up, he grinned at the incongruity between the dusty wingtips and the dingy, ill-fitting denims Chase had dressed him in.
He wanted to daydream a little more about Chase. Instead, his thoughts riveted on Monday, two days ago when he’d first arrived back home. He’d sat right here, rigidly upright, while his father took the chair across from him, separated from him by the oversized coffee table. Dad hadn’t changed one damn iota. Twenty pounds too heavy, his face florid from the rosacea the doctors could only control but never cure, he seemed to sweat even in this temperature-controlled room.
He seemed to wheeze as he spoke. “You’ve been…okay, son?”
“Oh, yeah, Dad. Good. Can’t complain.”
“And close to a business degree, eh?”
He had hesitated. How much should he admit to? If he could prolong twenty-two credit hours into a year or more, he could become one of those professional students whose folks sent money while they majored in Horse Shit 101. How much should he let his father pay for? How many years did Cranley Lloyd owe him?
“Close enough. Right now, I’m looking for a job. In fact, I might have a shot at working for a CPA firm in the Valley, not far from L.A., while I take classes. So I need to get back soon. Not let it slip away, y’know?”
He couldn’t make himself look into his father’s eyes. He’d just fed him a bunch of crap, wanting to escape this cow-dump town as soon as his folks got back from Chicago. Going back for a job seemed like a good line of bull at the time, and one his father couldn’t criticize.
Leaning back and letting the flavorful beer roll down the inside of his parched throat, Brew winced inwardly. Now he’d met Chase, and he knew he’d be willing to sweat his balls off for the rest of his life on a gravel side-hill, as long as he was close to the big, sexy guy.
He wanted to allow his imagination to linger even more on his encounter a while ago with Chase’s big cock. But his conversation with his father still stood out sharp and clear in his mind.
“I spent a while with my friend Roy this morning. Couldn’t help him much with the legal stuff, trying to fight city hall, but he’s looking for summer help. Why don’t I give him a call and tell him you’re needing some extra money?”
“Um, that’s…that’s okay, Dad. I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“What trouble? I’ll call him. Great idea. Well…” His father had stood, looking around as if to orient himself in his own house.
“Dad, I’m sorry about uncle Don.”
“Sure, Brewster. Thanks.”
Brew had looked at his father directly for the first time, seeing how his somewhat unfocused eyes looked even more distant than usual. Was it sorrow, or the look of a man trapped in the same room with his homosexual son, terrified he might say or do something personal?
Brew couldn’t help it. He’d spoken, not to torture his father, but to relieve a pain, like heartburn, that wouldn’t leave his chest. So he’d persisted. “Uncle Don was good to me. When other people in the family weren’t…so, ah…open.”
“Brewster, don’t bring up stuff we can’t change.”
“Maybe we can, Dad.”
The powerful lawyer who knew how to fill a courtroom seemed to shrink into the creases of his linen suit.
“I said don’t. Please. I need to see if your mother needs me.” He had walked from the room, hunched a little, as if to guard against a rear attack from his queer kid.
And that would be exactly the first time you’d answer Mom’s needs, you cowardly sack of crap.
Brew swallowed the rest of the beer and got up to get another.
Shit. He needed to put all that out of his mind. Chase would be here in a while. He wanted to show him a good time. He’d show him, really slow, how good it could be between them.
Halfway to the fridge he stopped, feeling the blood leap into his cock, relishing the sudden tightness of his balls. Yeah, think about Chase.
He opened the door from the rec room to the hall, and a blur of something attached itself to his leg.
Ah, hell. He’d forgotten about the freaking dog.
“Okay, boy. Okay.” He bent and tried to pet it. Like trying to stroke a whirlwind. The little thing had been penned up all day, and he’d been a prick to forget about it. “Let’s go outside and wee-wee. Okay?”
Timing its frenzied path, he scooped it next to his chest. He walked back through the rec room, out another door leading to the back, while all the time, Mom’s dog struggled to be free. As soon as he set it on the grass, the little thing ran in circles for a while, lifting its leg every so often, so excited to be outside that it ran and pissed, ran and pissed, while Brew stood laughing.
“You’re too much.” He tried to remember its name, then gave up. “Come on, Fuzz Nuts. Let’s make dinner. Just you and me.”
Back in his mother’s kitchen, Brew hunted for and found a likely frozen dinner in the vast fridge. He put it in the microwave and hit the timer with his thumb. He remembered where Mom had told him the dog food was and opened a can of Yummy Beef Bits, while the dog jumped and yipped its pleasure.
Pretty soon he was eating the human version of Yummy Beef Bits, as the pooch nosed its metal food dish along the slick tile floor, searching for the last yummy bit. He laughed as he ate, surprised at how much he appreciated the company of this hairy little pooch. Not one he’d ever choose as a pet, but cute as hell, now that he looked at it.
“Okay, Fuzz Nuts, you settle down while I take a shower and get dressed. Oh, you want to come with me? Okay, but don’t you dare take a dump on Mom’s rugs, or I’ll have to spank you. Come on.”
Grinning, Brew took the stairs to his room three at a time, and the wiry-haired dog was waiting for him when he reached the landing. He opened the door to his room, letting the dog bounce in ahead of him.
His bed was unmade, of course. He’d left this morning in a foul mood, thinking about the trap his father had set, sending him out to some godforsaken ranch to get his hands dirty. He hadn’t even bothered to draw the spread up over the pillows.
Now he pulled the cover back and took his time smoothing the sheets—silk, the color of quicksilver. Then he drew the spread up, admiring its subtle sheen in the overhead lighting. The mood lighting had been put in before high school, at his insistence, when he’d begun to discover hot jazz and his own insistent cock. Mom had remembered his preference for soft sheets and had dressed his bed the way she knew he liked. He felt a sudden prickle of understanding and deep appreciation for her. Mom always made being home a little bit bearable, even when she wasn’t here.
He opened his leather shaving kit and found the tube of Deep Fury gel. He placed it on his bed stand, lined up neatly with the box of tissues and the pack of condoms. He set a small plastic lined wastebasket at the foot of the stand. Then he arranged his colognes and aftershave on the dresser. All Leather Lion, his favorite. He hoped Chase wouldn’t mind the scent of his cologne.
He almost hated to take off Chase’s clothes. Too late to buy other duds. I’ll wear the tee again tomorrow and feel horny just letting it rub against my tits. He folded the muscle tee and pulled off the denims. Those he folded, too, then he put them both on a Grecian-style bench near the closet.
Brew went into the bathroom with his shaving kit and hung his Mustang Penultimate douche kit over the shower fixture, then started the shower. His electric shaver was already on the basin from this morning. Removing the other stuff, he set it all neatly on the shelf over the basin. He pulled off his briefs and tossed them into the open hamper. Then he took a second to appraise himself in the full-length mirror.
His stomach was flat; his hips were trim. He’d never had a tendency to put on extra flesh. He turned a little and surveyed his own ass. Decent. Passable. No pimples, no pits. Not a bubble-butt, but not exactly skinny either. His cock was…just a cock. But goddamn serviceable. Long and sensitive.
He raised his head and tried to look at himself as Chase might see him. Dark, dark hair, just curly enough to frame his face without being lanky. Eyes to match, some unfathomable deep color. Mom had always said she wondered where he’d gotten that deeply black hair. He saw dark stubble a few guys had told him was sexy. To him, it was just scratchy. He felt his chin, remembering the same shadow on Chase’s face. His was downy, like he’d imagine feathers of a duckling or a kitten’s belly.
Let tonight be the start of a new life. Let Chase get into me, not just into my ass.
He stepped into the shower and spent some time with the douche, making sure he was squeaky clean. Any other time, with his prick full to bursting, Brew would have jerked himself off while he made the custom-shaped douche nozzle squirt up his asshole. No way. I’m saving all this for Chase. He used it quickly, until he felt clean, then he removed it from the shower head and lathered all over, especially his groin, and even the soles of his feet. His armpits, his belly, everywhere Chase might put his mouth—all of it had to be immaculate, inviting.
When he was dressed and ready, Brew let the dog precede him down the stairs and back to the rec room. Chase would be here any time. He didn’t want another beer, not until his new friend showed up.
Brew sat on the leather couch. And this time his thoughts were entirely on the man who’d made him happy to put in the first hard day’s labor of his entire life. Attaching a trailer rig. Hoisting a stock tank. Scrubbing down a calcium-caked metal trough.
His muscles had already begun to ache with a sweet tightness. He laughed out loud. And then he heard the doorbell ring.