The day is finally here...my mother's 90th birthday, and the release day for Out of Bounds! I wasn't sure I had another book in me, but here it is. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it. Enjoy!
He fell for another man.
Then he met the perfect woman…
The Kickoff
I stole another peek at him, praying
to God I could keep my ass in the chair instead of grabbing him and kissing him
senseless.
Yep. He was still there and still as
irresistible as ever. Those big, brown puppy-dog eyes and dark, tousled hair drove
me absolutely wild—every single day. I was dying to tangle my fingers in that
hair when I kissed him, gliding my tongue between his soft, sensuous lips. Lying
with my head on his stomach while I devoured him would be sheer heaven. I
wanted his cock hard and slick in my mouth. Wanted to feel his body tighten
right before he came in my face. Then I wanted to get lost inside him and never
find my way out.
I would be
careful—never hurt him or be too rough. I would take time to explore his body,
making love with him gently at first, and then harder and harder until he was
groaning and screaming in ecstasy. I wanted him to be mine—all mine—forever. I
wanted him bad.
Of course, if he’d
had any idea what I was thinking he’d probably punch my lights out—and who
could blame him? The best I could tell, he wasn’t into guys. He liked girls,
and it was my tough luck that I happened to be a guy. I usually liked girls
myself, but this guy, this delightful David, made me wish we were both gay. But
we weren’t, and knowing we could never be more than friends was just about to
kill me.
David. It wasn’t even a name I
particularly cared for, being a bit overused. I wouldn’t name my son that, for
example, preferring something a bit less traditional, although for some reason it
suited him perfectly. His last name was Adams, which was also fairly common,
but what’s in a name? David, by any other name, would have been every bit as
sweet, every bit as enticing, and every bit as irresistible.
He was beautiful.
Hell, he even smelled nice. Not like some guys I’d hung out with over the
years. Made me wonder how they ever got laid. Women don’t like shit like that. They
like their men fresh and clean, not stinky and scuzzy. At least, that was my
take on the subject.
Women liked me
okay. I’d dated quite a few in my time—maybe not as many as I had during my
playing days when the media referred to me as Kyle “Golden Arm” Sorenson—but
several. Sometimes a woman would hang around for a while, although most of them
didn’t. Of course, I’d never loved any of them, which was probably why they
never stayed very long. I’d been alone for a couple of years now, and lately I
hadn’t even been looking—mainly because of the distraction sitting at the desk
beside me.
I tried to figure
out exactly what it was about him that was so fascinating, but I had no idea,
really. He was beautiful in the male sense of the word—not feminine at all—so
that wasn’t it. I only knew that every time I’d try to tear my eyes away from
him, almost before I realized it, they’d go creeping back in his direction. He
was so cute, so hot, so adorable.
I’d never
considered men to be adorable—or cute. Babies were adorable. Baby rabbits and
puppies were cute, but not you-make-me-want-to-fuck-you cute.
The worst part was
the office we shared was so damned small, I couldn’t help bumping into him once
in a while. Well, okay, so maybe I was starting to look for ways to do it on
purpose, because I sure as hell couldn’t tell him how much I craved his touch. I
wanted him naked in my lap while I fondled his cock or leaning back against my
chest with my arms around him, his dick in one hand and his balls in the
other—in my hands, I mean. He could put his own anywhere he wanted.
Hearing David
saying to me, “Man, you are so hot. I’d love to get my hands on you sometime,”
would be a dream come true.
Dream on, Kyle. Not gonna happen. No way, no
how.
Even that pearl of
wisdom didn’t stop me from fantasizing. The trouble was with my penis in fucking
mode all the time, I was having difficulty concentrating on anything else. After
all, David and I did have work
to do, but I couldn’t help wishing maybe someday we could take a break and go
suck each other off in the men’s room. Or maybe the women’s room. That would
freak them out, wouldn’t it? Then again, some of them might stay to watch
us—might even help out a bit. Maybe that hot, leggy blonde who worked down the
hall. We could both go down on him together. She could suck his balls while I
sucked his cock.
No. That was no good, because I really
didn’t want to share him with anyone. I wanted his hot little ass all to
myself.
My attraction to
him wasn’t only about sex. I really, truly liked him. He was kind, he was
funny, and the way he cut through the bullshit was refreshing. He was lovable,
warm, and—charming? Is that the right word? I think so—either that or engaging.
I had no idea what other people thought of him, but I couldn’t understand why
the whole damn world wasn’t as crazy about him as I was.
I toyed with the
idea of putting in for a transfer so I wouldn’t have him in my face every day,
having to look at him, smell him, hear his voice, listen to the rhythm of his
breathing—even the tap of his fingers on the keyboard. Blocking him out was impossible.
Besides, I didn’t want him to think I was ignoring him or didn’t like him. The
fear of hurting his feelings had kept me quiet so far, and I certainly wasn’t
going to mess it up by blabbing about it now. I tried to be a good friend,
because I wanted him to think of me kindly, even if I couldn’t hope for more. I
spent a good, solid hour at the gym every night trying to work him out of my
mind—and I’d still go home to my empty house and jack off thinking about him.
I tried checking
out the other men at the gym—believe me, I tried—but they didn’t
do a damned thing for me. They never had, and God knows I’d seen plenty of
naked jocks in locker rooms through the years. I mean, I normally liked women
as much as the next guy, and I still did, so why David? What the hell was wrong
with me? Was I gay, straight, bisexual, or confused?
The Friday before
Labor Day was long and frustrating. My damned computer kept spitting things
back at me, locking up, or shutting down altogether. I’d missed lunch, was
starving to death, and the back of my neck felt like it was on fire. I had my
fingers on the keyboard and had dropped my head down to stretch my neck in a
desperate attempt to get some relief, when I felt his hands on me.
“Hurts right here,
doesn’t it?” he asked as his fingers ran intuitively over the center of my
pain.
“Yeah,” I replied,
which was about all I could say, because his touch was sending a wave of
thrills throughout every fiber of my being. My brain turned to pulp and I
couldn’t think of another thing to say. Nothing remarkable or witty, which
wasn’t too surprising since I’d never been known for my clever tongue. My
post-game interviews were notorious for being composed of one cliché after
another.
He didn’t ask if I
wanted it, didn’t ask my permission, but began a slow, deep massage of my neck
and back, and before long, I was practically in tears with relief, along with a
healthy dose of sexual arousal. And then David, my charming, adorable David,
had the audacity to say, “You need to loosen up, Kyle. You’re way too tense.”
Understatement of the year.
“No shit. I work
out all the time and it doesn’t do any good. What do you suggest? Herbal tea? Meditation?”
I knew what I would have liked to suggest, although going down on him at
that point was totally out of the question.
“Might help,” he
conceded. “But I was thinking more along the lines of going home and having a
beer or something.”
“Yeah, well, that
couldn’t hurt either. I—what time is it?”
“Quarter ’til
five.” His gurgle of laughter brought a warm flush to my face. “We’re almost
out of here for the long weekend, buddy. Got any plans?”
“Nope.” This was
nothing new. I never seemed to have “plans” anymore. “Just gonna go home and
crash, I guess. Although I have plenty of work to do there.” I always
had work to do at home. Sometimes I wondered if it wasn’t the only thing keeping
me sane. There’s a lot to be said for hammering and drilling and sawing and
painting and—
“Want some
company?”
“Sure,” I replied
before I had the chance to register what he’d meant.
“Got beer?”
“Some.” I shrugged.
“Might not be what you’d like, though.” David still had his hands on my neck,
and I was almost to the wet rag stage—except for my dick, which was as hard as
ever and oozing all over my shorts. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.
“I’m not
particular,” he said. “Any beer will do.”
“We can always get
more,” I said, although I knew that getting drunk with David around was a bad
idea—a very bad idea. I might end up doing something really stupid, and
the devastation I would feel when I saw the horrified look on his face if I’d
ever come on to him wouldn’t be worth it. Then again, since it took several
beers to get me even the slightest bit tipsy, I could probably risk drinking
one or two.
“Think it’ll take
that much?” he asked.
“What do you
mean?”
David shrugged. “To
loosen you up.”
“Shit, I don’t
know,” I mumbled. “Actually, you’re doing a pretty good job there, David. I don’t
think I’ll need any beer if you’ll do more of that when we get to my place.”
“Sure, Kyle,” he
replied. “Anything you like.”
I choked back a
sob. He couldn’t possibly have known what I wanted—his nonchalant response
proved that much—and I’d certainly be the last one to ever tell him. Women
usually seem pleased if you act like you’re interested, but this was so different. Guys don’t ever want
anyone thinking they’re gay, and they don’t want to attract the interest of
anyone who is. I didn’t consider myself to be gay—at least, not in the
strictest sense of the word. Like I said before, I didn’t prefer men in
general; I only had the hots for David.
“Actually, one
beer is plenty for me,” David said. “More than that and I get—well, I’ll tell
you about that some other time.”
I couldn’t imagine
anything worse than what I was thinking of doing to him, although everyone has their
limits. I began to rethink the idea of letting him come over. I should have
come up with some excuse, should have lied…
“Aren’t you going to
ask me to explain that?” He gave my shoulders a squeeze. “Aren’t you the least
bit curious?”
I dropped my head
again. Of course I was curious. I wanted to know everything about him, right
down to how often he trimmed his fingernails. I wanted to know every detail—from
the momentous to the mundane—especially the things no one else would ever know.
His deepest secrets, his hopes and dreams, his failings and his strengths. I
wanted to know all of those things, but in all honesty, I hardly knew anything
about him—including how to reply to what he’d just asked me without saying the
wrong thing.
“I figure you’ll
tell me when you want to,” I said with what I hoped was an indifferent shrug. “I
can’t force you to talk.”
“True.” His
fingers trailed over my back, up my neck, and then into my hair, almost as
though he’d forgotten what he was doing. “So, what do you say? We spend the
weekend crashing at your place?”
The entire Labor
Day weekend? How could I possibly get through three days with David in my
house?
The answer was
quite simple, because if I drank even one beer, he’d probably be gone within
moments, owing to the fact that I didn’t think I’d be able to keep my hands off
him. Simply being alone with him in my house would probably be enough; I
wouldn’t have to take that first sip to be all over him. David had his hands on
me already and all I could think of was how much I wanted to turn around, wrap
one arm around his hips and unzip his fly with the other hand. Then I’d play
with his dick, licking and sucking it until he shot his load. The mere thought
sent an involuntary shudder of desire through me.
His hands froze on
my back. “Don’t like that idea?”
“N–no, yes,” I
stammered. “That’s not what I meant. I think it sounds great. I haven’t done
that sort of thing since college.”
“Me, either.” The
wistful note in his voice was impossible to miss. “I used to love hanging
around the dorm with the guys on weekends, doing whatever we felt like. I miss
that.”
I’d have been
willing to bet he’d never done any of the things that I was thinking about
doing with him while he lived in the dorm. No, the guys he’d hung out with had
probably gone out chasing girls all weekend. That’s what I’d done—when I wasn’t
studying, or working out, or going to football practice, that is. We all wanted
to get laid back then, but we liked being together too. Goofing off and doing
stupid stuff.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Those
were the days.” Viewed from the perspective of the ripe old age of thirty-six,
my college days were on the verge of becoming a distant memory.
“So, can I take
that as a yes?”
“Sure,” I replied.
“Like I said, it sounds great.”
“Okay, then,” he
said with the most exuberance yet. “I’ll run by my place, pick up a few things,
and be right over.”
I wrote down my
address and told him how to find it. Then I went home and spent the next hour
or so trying to convince myself that I wasn’t about to make the biggest mistake
of my life.
***
When I opened the door for him, I
couldn’t help staring. He had on an ancient sweatshirt with Whatsamata U and a picture of Bullwinkle
the Moose on the front of it. Somewhere along the line he’d cut out the neck
and the waistband and chopped the sleeves off just below the elbow. My eyes
swept downward, taking in the chinos and flip-flops that completed his
ensemble. Carrying some spare clothes stuffed into a grocery bag, a sack full
of snacks, and a six-pack of Michelob Lager, he was simply irresistible.
He flashed a warm,
ingenuous smile at me, let out an enthusiastic, “Hey, Kyle!” and I fell in love
with him all over again. Fighting an overwhelming urge to take him in my arms
and kiss him until he melted, I stood back from the door while he breezed on
past me, chatting the whole way.
He walked straight
into my kitchen as though he’d known exactly where it was. “I didn’t know what
you’d like, so I got whatever looked good to me. We can always go shopping for
more. Oh, yeah, and this beer is cold.” He plunked it down on the counter. “No
time like the present.”
I watched,
spellbound, as David pulled out a bottle, twisted off the cap and chugged it
down faster than many a college frat boy. Of course, that was essentially what
he was—or had been—and not so long ago either, since I guessed him at somewhere
in his late twenties. The smile I received after that was even bigger than the
first one. Honest to Pete, it was all I could do to keep breathing.
“Haven’t done that
for a while.” He chuckled. “And you can’t make me leave now, ’cause I’d be too
drunk to drive.”
Clearing my
throat, I asked in a voice that sounded a lot like it had when I was going
through puberty, “Why would I make you leave?” Now that he was there, I toyed
with the idea of locking the door and swallowing the damned key so he couldn’t
get away.
He gave me a mischievous
smile. “Well, I did warn you about what I’d do after one beer.”
“No, you didn’t,”
I said. “You told me you’d tell me later.”
“Oh, yes, I guess
I did.”
After a long,
silent moment, I finally asked, “Well, are you?”
“What?”
“Going to tell
me?”
“In a minute,” he
replied. “It hasn’t had time to hit me yet.”
I let out a long
groan. “Oh, please don’t tell me you’re a mean drunk. I can’t stand that shit.”
He pitched the
bottle into the trash can. “Me, either. Nasty drunks are the pits. And, no, I
don’t get mean.”
I stood there
staring at him, waiting for him to go on, or get drunk enough to tell me, or
something. When he didn’t, I shrugged and picked up the shopping bag and opened
it. Chips, hot dogs and buns, summer sausage, pretzels and—my personal
favorite—Cheez-Its. The BIG ones, and a can of sharp cheddar Easy Cheese to go
with them. I came within a heartbeat of asking him to marry me right then and
there. He’d even gotten the right kind of beer.
“Everything okay?”
He peered into the bag. “Like I said, I wasn’t sure what you might like.”
He was so close,
the scent of him filled my head, sending it spinning off to God knew where. Somehow,
I managed to speak. “No, you did great. All the right stuff.”
His shoulders
dropped in apparent relief as he pulled another beer from the carton, twisted off
the cap, and handed it to me. “You need to get started. I don’t like to drink
alone.” He cleared his throat and continued in a much deeper tone, “Never drink
alone, Kyle. Someone always finds out and it ruins your reputation.” Obviously noting my blank expression,
he said, “Rhett Butler in Gone With the Wind—with a few modifications. Haven’t you ever seen that
movie?”
“No,” I replied. “I
guess I should, though.”
“It has everything
in it you need to know—or quote. The only movie that’s got more quotable lines
is The Godfather, except I don’t like that one. Too violent. Of course,
my personal favorite for quotes is The Frisco Kid. Not as universally
recognized, but loads of fun.” His voice changed again, switching to something
sort of Yiddish. “So, wha’do ya say we go out an’ have a little fun?” In his normal voice, he added, “Not a
direct quote, of course, but close.”
I was still
staring at him, completely and utterly fascinated as he moved briskly about my
kitchen, making himself right at home as he stowed all the things he’d brought
either in the fridge or the cabinets.
“Hey, aren’t you
going to drink that?” He gestured toward my bottle of Michelob. “Come on now,
Kyle. Drink it all down. You’ve got some catching up to do. We’re gonna have
fun, remember?”
I felt like I’d
been dropped into an episode of The Twilight Zone. Even though I’d
worked side by side with him for a good while now, this was an aspect of his
personality I’d never known existed, and I liked it—a lot. If he’d been
actively trying to make me fall for him, he couldn’t have adopted a better
strategy.
Then a terrifying
thought struck me. He wouldn’t get nasty the more he drank; he would simply become
more and more adorable. Would I be able to stand it? I was about to blurt out
something—I have no idea what—when he started giggling.
“Oh, here it comes,”
he announced. “The hot flash.”
And with that, as
I stood there watching him with my eyes practically popping out of their
sockets, he pulled off his sweatshirt, laid it across the back of a kitchen
chair, kicked off his flip-flops, and had his pants around his feet in less
time than it takes to tell it. For a moment, I was convinced that my daydreams had
taken on a life of their own.
“Hope you don’t
mind,” he said, “but after one beer, I get hot and have to take off all my
clothes.” I couldn’t imagine what else he might need to add to that, but,
unbelievably, he went on. “After two beers, I’ll be sucking your cock, and
after three”—he stopped there and gave me a huge grin—“I’ll be down on my hands
and knees begging you to fuck me in the ass.”
I blinked and
glanced down at the bottle in my hand. I couldn’t possibly have taken more than
a couple of swallows so there was no way I was intoxicated enough to hallucinate.
I had to be insane. I stole another peek at him, and David, my adorable David,
was standing before me with the most stunning hard-on this world has ever seen,
and he’d just said… “What?”
He tossed me
another grin before repeating his words slowly and distinctly, “One beer:
naked. Two beers: sucking your cock. Three beers: begging you to fuck my ass.” He
paused a second or two before adding with a sweeping gesture that encompassed
his entire, gorgeous self, “You get all this, and HIV negative. Guaranteed.”
Without hesitation, I held out my beer. “Drink up.”For buy links and other info, visit my website. http://www.cherylbrooksonline.com/id25.html
