ART FOR ART ’S S AKE
…His mouth tasted of peppermint. Luscious and invigorating, alluring and fresh. How appropriate, ...
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ART FOR ART ’S S AKE
…His mouth tasted of peppermint. Luscious and invigorating, alluring and fresh. How appropriate, I thought, since the flavor summed up exactly my feelings about tasting a man’s lips for the first time in my life. I kissed him back, my enthusiasm showing by the way that I thrust my tongue deep into his mouth. I wanted to experience more of that seductive flavor, more of him. I needed to savor every moment of the kiss, taking full advantage of the wild situation and my newfound enlightenment regarding my soul’s most primal desires. I delighted in the moist warmth of his tongue, and shivered as his facial stubble ran rough against my upper lip. He crushed his groin against mine, solid bulge to solid bulge, rocketing chills of joy throughout my entire body. His hands roamed up and down my backside, while mine eagerly did the same to his. And the kiss deepened even more, whether by his instigation or mine, I didn’t know. Nor did I care. All that mattered was that the kiss continued indefinitely, giving me the long-awaited opportunity to explore with my tongue. He gripped my buttocks and languidly dry-humped my groin. The feel of Novak’s erection against mine rivaled no other sensation I had ever known. I longed to shed my annoyingly tight blue jeans and briefs, tear the clothes from him also, and have our naked cocks slipping and sliding against each other. I wanted to stroke his throbbing flesh, to
squeeze him, to finally fall to my knees and taste him the way I had always imagined doing to another man. The artist withdrew his tongue from my mouth and pulled back his head. “A pleasant experience, I presume?” In reply, I kissed him with uncontrollable hunger…
ART FOR ART’S SAKE BY KARMA EASTWICK
AMBER Q UILL PRESS, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com
ART FOR ART’S SAKE AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2008 by Karma Eastwick ISBN 978-1-60272-180-7 Cover Art © 2008 Trace Edward Zaber
Layout and Formatting provided by: Elemental Alchemy
PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
To Karin Story, a terrific editor and a new friend. Thanks for your invaluable suggestions and insight, and your encouragement and guidance during these many long months of indecisiveness on my part. Thanks, also, to Trace Edward Zaber and the staff at AQP for accepting me into the family. And finally, this book is dedicated to the love of my life!
ART FOR ART’S SAKE
CHAPTER 1 “Enter that room at your own peril.” The unexpected and dire pronouncement startled me. I jerked my hand from the greasy, fragile-looking doorknob and spun around. My alert eyes hunted the penthouse hallway, lit by only a single, dust-laden light bulb glowing directly above me. Apart from the ancient and tarnished cage elevator from which I’d just exited at the end of the long corridor, I could see no other doorways from which the voice might have originated. My mind was playing tricks on me, I decided. Yeah, that had to be it, damn it to Hades. A lingering effect from last night’s binge of tequila shots and Corona beers, I told myself. 1
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A lethal combination for certain if wielded by an inexperienced boozehound… But then again, a nagging inner voice reminded me, my vast training in that area had never before given me hallucinations. Or put phantom voices in my ears. No novice boozehound here, that’s for sure! So what the hell was going on? The longer I stood in the corridor, the more I recollected my morning, piecing it together like a jigsaw puzzle to make certain I hadn’t forgotten an element that could have caused me to hear disembodied voices… I had barely felt a hangover after I awoke and showered— or rather, I had barely felt it after I’d gulped down the two icycold Coronas I’d discovered wedged into the back of the communal fridge. My roommate’s “secret stash.” I had decided that “hair of the dog” would become the perfect breakfast treat, and I hadn’t erred in my reasoning. Screw Jeff and his childish “buddies don’t have to share everything” dictum. All’s fair in love and war—and college roommates and hidden booze, especially when a hangover raged total war within one’s head. And never once since awakening with a head-banging sensation had I regretted the decision. Until now, that is. Nope, no way in hell had I imagined the voice, the words of warning, I’d just heard. Certainly, it probably wasn’t nasty remnants of the booze after all, I concluded, since by now I felt my normal self. Perhaps it was the atmosphere that induced my fantasy. 2
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And why shouldn’t it? After all, here I stood on a Saturday morning in a seemingly abandoned office building in the center of the town’s historical district. The edifice, itself, had likely passed its one-hundredth birthday long ago, and it showed. The stained and peeling wallpaper, the cobwebbed rafters crossing the cracked ceiling, the eerie shadows and the squeaky floorboards beneath my booted feet…it appeared the building’s cleaning and maintenance crew had taken a century-long siesta. Spooky as anything out of a Stephen King novel, to tell the truth. The only thing missing was a thunderstorm to add Hitchcockian-like movie effects to the mix. So why shouldn’t I imagine hearing voices, ghosts of the past to accompany the building’s many creaks and groans of old age? An instant before I made the decision to turn back to the door, to ignore whatever it was that had just happened, I finally detected the silhouette of a man. He stood in a darkened alcove only a few feet away. I gulped. And to say a mere quiver ran through me would have been like describing the infamous 1906 San Francisco Earthquake as a mild shift at the fault lines. Damn! No tremendous comfort in my discovery. I wasn’t loosing my mind after all, just risking my life. Renewed alarm rushed through me. Nevertheless, I puffed out my chest, the one I’d worked so hard to develop through the past few years, and held my voice as steadily as possible. “Peril? Excuse me, buddy? What do you mean by that?” 3
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Surprisingly, a good-humored chuckle poured from the shadows, sounding anything but sinister. In accordance, my wise-ass nature and suspicion took over. Could this be Jeff, giving me just-revenge for that morning’s “Corona theft”? Or one of my other roommates playing a decidedly unfunny prank on me? Lord knows those crazy buffoons had all razzed me enough after learning about the appointment that had brought me here today. And I wouldn’t have put it past one of those jokesters to show up at this building just to razz me some more. “I beg your forgiveness,” said the stranger. “I suppose ‘peril’ was not the most appropriate word. I do tend to have a flair toward the dramatic. Please know, I did not mean to startle you, or sound so ominous.” Nope, no college buddy, I decided, as the voice didn’t sound familiar in the slightest. In fact, I couldn’t recall ever hearing a timbre so deeply rich and musically masculine. And I detected a slight accent, yet I couldn’t quite pinpoint its origin. European, perhaps. “Then what do you want? What did you mean?” “I guess I just wanted to make certain you knew what you were getting yourself into by entering that room.” “Should I be afraid? Is that what you’re implying?” “Well, peculiar things—things a sane man would not typically expect to happen—sometimes do occur in there.” “Is that so?” Peculiar things, similar to an unexpected encounter with a mystery man in a darkened corridor? I wanted to ask, but didn’t. “Well, what sort of things? It’s just 4
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an art studio, for heaven’s sake—” “Just an art studio? Well, if you can say that, then you truly have no clue what to expect once you venture inside. Someone has not done his research, hmm?” “Oh? Care to enlighten me about what I’ve neglected to discover?” More chuckles, ones that tickled the hairs on my arms and chest and the back of my neck. Almost as if a variant breeze had cut through the rotten air and into my clothing to tease my flesh. “You see, ’tis not just any art studio, my friend. This one belongs to Skylar Novak.” “I know that!” “You do? A splendid start. But how well do you know the man himself?” “I…I…what I mean is…I…I…” poured from my mouth, the suppressed idiot inside me revealing himself and embarrassing the stuffing out of me. “Some say Novak is more than just a brilliant artist, you know?” “Actually, I don’t know,” I admitted. “I met the man only last evening.” The black silhouette of a head nodded. And I thought I detected a tsking sound. “Ah, I see…you sought him out, like many others have done through the years, did you?” “It was the other way around.” “Truly?” A note of genuine interest filled the melodic voice. Or interest masquerading as sarcasm, I couldn’t be 5
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certain. Instinctively, I puffed out my chest and flexed my arms. “Are you calling me a liar?” I asked, my voice rising a level in pitch along with my defenses, much to my regret. I hated confrontation of any sort, especially with a stranger who likely, for all I could surmise, had been standing here in this otherwise abandoned corridor just itching to slay his first victim in a bloody-crime-spree weekend. Finally, the unseen man stepped forward. I held my breath and felt the muscles in my arms coiling in preparation for the defensive. Then, for some odd reason, I started to relax, but not of my own volition. Light from the lone bulb reflected off large leather boots, then tight-fitting jeans, then the hem of a knee-length leather jacket. A silver belt buckle momentarily ricocheted a shard of light into my eyes before I saw a T-shirt—skin tight—which covered what appeared to be a lean yet muscular torso. The man was donned entirely in black—black denim, black leather, black cotton. No wonder he had blended so perfectly into the shadows. I swiftly sized up his frame and deduced him to be about even with my own six-foot-two stature. And I wondered whether I could either make it back to the elevator before he stabbed my gut with a sharp blade or if I could hold my own in a one-on-one fisticuffs festival. Quickly taking a mental inventory of my skills as a fighter, I thought perhaps the latter result might apply. Nevertheless, I preferred to avoid the situation if possible. 6
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“And Novak recruited you to sit for him this morning, did he?” Still unable to view the stranger’s face, I battled to hold my growing irritation—and fascination—in check. I still couldn’t determine whether this guy meant any harm. After all, why would he be lurking in a dark hallway of an office penthouse unless he had mischief in mind? On the other hand, a professional mugger would have found a more populated location to ply his trade. Still, I told myself, no sense rushing headlong into danger. No sense employing the skills I had learned in karate class all those years ago and instigating a fight from what could still be nothing but a harmless encounter. I tried to keep my voice as light as possible, yet found myself taking a step backward. “And that is your business, how?” “Oh, I suppose it is not,” he responded, his own voice revealing no indication of evil intent. “’Tis just that I am always intrigued by the type of models Novak actually hires to pose for him. The occasions are all too rare, I am sorry to say. I must admit, however…” A lengthy pause. “He certainly has exceptional taste.” The unexpected compliment made me blink several times. Heat flared in my cheeks. Suddenly, I felt painfully exposed in the realm of the corridor’s only light source, especially when this man insufferably remained, for the most part, cloaked in shadow. As if reading my thoughts, he took another few steps 7
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forward, finally revealing a face that not only stunned me with its attractive features, but also inspired a closer examination. I originally estimated his age to be in the mid to upper twenties. Still, I couldn’t be sure, since a pair of celestial blue eyes, housed above high cheekbones, bore a wisdom far beyond those years. A slender nose resided above a generous mouth, partially shielded by a black mustache. What appeared to be a three- or four-day-old beard stubble darkened his firm jaw line, giving him a scruffy yet not unappealing look, and long dark hair cascaded in waves down to his shoulders. Recalling an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer I had once watched a long time ago, I instantly thought of a biker vampire. Then a rock star from the 80s. Then a pirate in black leather. Yes, that’s what the man looked like, with his captivating good looks and attire—a biker-slash-rocker-slash-pirate. A wild, yet thrilling, combination. I took a deep breath and swallowed hard, attempting to squelch the fresh and vigorous notions of another sort bombarding my brain. No, I silently reprimanded myself, now was not the time to indulge in those types of fantasies. Those deepest, most private fantasies that even my three roommates knew nothing about and… But aren’t those very fantasies the reason you showed up here in the first place? Damn that inner voice! I took another breath. “Th-thank you for the compliment,” I said. No, alter that—I croaked. I hated that my voice made me sound like a teen suffering through puberty instead of a 8
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virile, twenty-one-year-old man. I cleared my throat and shifted the topic off of myself. “How do you know Novak?” “Everyone in this town knows him, or knows of him, anyway. He is our most famous artist. Our only local celebrity, if you will. People come from hither and yon to seek an appointment with him, begging for a portrait sitting.” I barely suppressed a laugh. Hither and yon? Although the man’s style of dress made him appear like he’d arrived here from the previous century, his archaic words added a hundred years to that impression. “Well, as I implied, pal, I didn’t know of him until last night.” “Probably because you are a recent transplant to the old Huntsville College, is my guess. A struggling college student needing some extra party cash, no doubt.” When the man cocked his head, the light bulb reflected an almost prurient twinkle in his blue eyes. His left eyebrow arched as that twinkle redoubled. “And perhaps…perhaps a young man needing something more…something he has revealed to no one but himself…if that…” I shivered at how well this stranger seemed to divine my personal agenda. My mind raced for something to say, anything to steer my thoughts away from the sudden surge of desire, pure and primal, that came from being under the scrutiny of this sexy man. Yes, sexy! There, I fully admitted it to myself, finally. Despite his appearance, despite his oldfashioned phrases, this dude was about the sexiest creature I had ever encountered. And it took my breath away. Yet it also scared the shit out of me! 9
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Sure, I had agreed to pose in the nude for money. I had to pay for my new car stereo, not to mention the growing credit card debt I had accumulated—mostly bar tabs, unfortunately—since my parents’ last allowance check had arrived. And as far as the modeling itself, I had never been the bashful type when it came to my body. Especially since a decade of track, playing baseball and field hockey, and recent weekly trips to the gym had provided me with well-developed arm and leg muscles, a nice set of pecs and six-pack abs. But I had also arrived at this building today with an ulterior motive—the opportunity to be in the same room with Skylar Novak again. In private. Damn it, yes, in private! And nude! Ever since the mysterious and elusive artist had approached me the previous evening at my buddy’s party, I couldn’t get the man out of my head. Novak’s own intense and satisfying good looks, his own muscular physique, along with his vehement scrutiny of me, had given me a boner that had found no relief. I’d gone to bed last night, drunk as a proverbial skunk, yet annoyingly alone. I had attempted to jack myself to climax, but one too many beers had foiled that plan. Nevertheless, I spent the night fantasizing about Novak and his tempting offer of posing for five hundred bucks. And all the while picturing him completely naked and imagining what might happen today between us. I had clearly viewed the look in his eyes last night—he wanted my body for more than 10
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just “modeling.” And with that type of money at stake, and those similar desires to venture into unknown territory driving me mad, I hadn’t regretted my decision. Little did I expect, however, to meet, just outside the studio’s doorway, another man who would have a similar effect on me. And instantly. Or an effect maybe even more profound. Unable to stop myself, I lowered my gaze to the stranger’s crotch and clearly viewed something else profound. His bulge left little to the imagination, with each ridge defined by the taut material. Without warning, blood gushed into my own cock. In seconds, my jeans became annoyingly tight, as tight as my fists and ass cheeks clenched in an effort to quell my escalating horniness. “So you say Novak is more than a brilliant artist?” I asked, proud of myself for steering the odd conversation back to the artist and not my secret intentions without so much as a croak issuing from my vocal chords. “Most assuredly. His paintings are nothing short of spectacular. He has an almost magical ability to delve into the very souls of his models…a rare talent. One can actually feel the various, deep-felt emotions his hands depict on canvas with such vivid intensity. But there is so much more to him…so much you will undoubtedly learn very soon.” “For example?” From beneath the man’s mustache, the moist lips pursed in amusement, then blossomed into a devastating smile. “Some actually say he is attuned to the ‘other side.’” 11
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“The other side of what?” More twinkles lit his eyes and sent my mind reeling. I unwittingly imagined that face looking down at me while I wedged his throbbing erection into my mouth, tasting a cock for the first time in my life and doing my damnedest to bring him to climax, to live out one of my ultimate sexual fantasies. Before I realized it, the man had taken a few more steps toward me. He now stood within arm’s length, and the intoxicating scent of male musk invaded my nostrils. I could smell his carnal arousal—or at least I imagined I could—and my balls began to tingle in response. “The other side of what, you asked?” His gaze clawed over me from head to toe, then swept up to clamp on my groin. His smile widened even more. “’Tis hard to say, for certain, but I am sure you will discover for yourself and quickly come to appreciate Novak’s work.” “Like yourself?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “I have overwhelming appreciation for the man and his…talents…” “Then you’ve posed for him?” “On numerous occasions…numerous satisfying occasions, I might add.” An unwarranted envy tightened my stomach muscles. Oh, what I wouldn’t have given to see this sexy man pose naked for the artist in question. Or learned exactly, in lush detail, just what “talents” had brought the man such satisfaction on those occasions. Then it hit me like a slap to the face—could that be the 12
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reason this stranger had been lurking outside Novak’s studio? Could he be a jealous lover, trying to scare away potential competition for the artist’s time? Yes, a possibility for certain… Again, I felt the burning need to apologize—but for what, I didn’t know—and to support the reason for my visit. “As I said, I met the man only last evening, so I have no clue as to what you’re talking about. And as far as I know, I’ve never even seen his work.” He raised his right arm, holding up his large hand in a gesture of surrender. “No need to explain further, my friend. ’Twas not my intention to raise your hackles in alarm, or for you to take a defensive stance. As I said before, I was merely curious as to the type of man Novak…selected…for his sitting today. Nothing more.” “Is that so? Are you his paid watchdog or something?” Another chuckle issued from his luscious mouth. He eyed me for a long time, his gaze again alighting on my crotch and making my balls ache for release. When he finally answered, his eyes seemed to once again send sparks through the murky atmosphere and directly into my soul. “Yes…or something…” “What does that mean?” His chest puffed outward on a deep breath. “You will discover the answer to that question before too long, I am sure…” “Huh? What the hell are you—” The snapping of a latch startled me into silence. I choked off my question and spun toward the studio. There, in the open 13
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doorway, appeared the topic of the recent conversation, Mr. Skylar Novak himself. I had to admit, the thirtyish artist looked as appealing today as he had the previous evening when wearing his more elegant attire, even if he now wore a tight and paint-stained Tshirt, ripped blue jeans, and no shoes. His short, jet-black hair stood in disarray, as if he hadn’t combed it since awakening, and his dark stubble gave his already swarthy and handsome features an ultra-Bohemian cast. He held the doorknob with one hand, and with this other hand, he tapped a paintbrush against his muscular thigh, where a gash in the jeans displayed a furry leg. The muscular arms poking out from the T-shirt sleeves, the hefty bulge behind the faded denim crotch…even more masculinity to behold, more for me to absorb and attempt to ignore—at least for the moment—on this exceptionally strange morning. Fuck, I thought, glancing toward the floor and suffering more inner turmoil. Even the man’s bare feet were as perfectly formed as the hands I remembered so clearly from last night’s party; the toes chiseled to perfection in just the fashion I’d imagined when picturing him naked and attempting to jack myself to completion at bedtime. All around me, the rotten air practically sizzled with testosterone. Tingles spirited up and down my spine, then settled with a bang between my legs. Stifling a groan of defeat, I accepted the situation. I found myself drowning in a closeted gay man’s worst nightmare—or, on the optimistic side, drifting in his biggest thrill. Either way, having the 14
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mysterious stranger enflame my libido with his physique, voice, and probing stare, and now facing this equally sexy artist who openly emitted raw sensuality, I wondered how much more I could take. How much more visual bombardment could I consume from these two hunks before my cock speared through my taut zipper and spurted my primal desire in a geyser of cum? “Ah, Mr. Rhodes, it’s you,” said Skylar Novak, his toothy smile adding heat to the fire already rushing through my groin. His brief and swift glance toward my crotch didn’t help matters either. “I’m so pleased you could make it after all. I was growing—” “Please, Mr. Novak, as I told you last night, call me Matthew.” “Splendid, Matthew. And, as I also mentioned, call me Sky. I was wondering what was keeping you. I had grown fearful you found my directions to the studio a bit nonsensical, or worse, had changed your mind about today’s sitting.” “No, no, certainly not. In truth, I was actually here on time.” “Is that so?” “Y-yes, b-but I met someone and—” His sharp, ebony gaze elevated to peer over my shoulder. “Ah-huh, I thought I heard voices.” “Do you know this guy—?” I turned to indicate the stranger who had kept me from my appointment, knowing he would give me a viable reason for my tardiness. Knowing his presence wouldn’t make me appear as crazy as I sounded. 15
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And then I received the shock of my life when I found the hallway behind me completely deserted.
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CHAPTER 2 I blinked once. Twice. Then my eyelids fluttered. “What the—? Huh? I mean—holy fuck!” I babbled gibberish for several seconds before racing to the alcove where the stranger had originally stood in the shadows. Nothing there now but cobwebs. Yet I had not heard the man creep away behind me, and the elevator at the end of the hallway remained empty and lifeless, so he had to be in this hallway. Somewhere! But where? I went to another alcove, then another, continuing all along the hallway, and in each I discovered nothing but unoccupied gloom. The stranger’s muscular frame had to have been at 17
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least two hundred, perhaps two-twenty pounds, so the creaking floorboards should have given me a clue as to his movements. Not to mention I should have seen an indication in the eyes of Skylar Novak, who had been facing in that direction during our brief conversation; certainly the artist would have noticed some movement behind me and followed it with his eyes. Especially the movement of a six-foot-two hunk of a man tiptoeing back into the penthouse murk, considering that the lone light bulb shone almost directly above the studio’s entrance and the man had been illuminated when Novak opened the door. Matthew Lawrence Rhodes, you’re just a fucking imbecile! You’ve got to lay off the booze, damn it, before it drives you to the loony bin! Drinking? No, no, the two Coronas wouldn’t have done that. Unless they had been laced with PCP or LSD or another three-lettered hallucinogen, I thought sarcastically. I shook my head in utter confusion. Yes, maybe I was going batty. Completely bonkers. I was a certifiable nut—NU-T—although not a drug, another three-lettered word. Hell, lunacy ran in the family, on my dad’s side anyway. My Uncle Clarence continues to spend his days in an upstate booby hatch making animal figurines out of fudge-bar sticks, or so the story goes. So the concept wasn’t such a stretch, and the thought did nothing to calm my nerves. For the first time since entering college, I cursed myself for dropping the Psyche 101 class in my freshman year and shifting my major to Journalism. Maybe with better insight 18
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into the complex workings of the human brain I could have determined now what had brought about today’s bizarre phantasms. Other than insanity, that is. Thankfully, I swiftly settled on another reason; I’m sure desperation led me to it, but the explanation seemed fairly logical nonetheless. Carnal anticipation…yes, that could be it. The giddy expectancy of what I planned to do today, of what I had hoped would happen between Skylar Novak and myself, had me on the edge. The unbridled horniness I already felt had likely played havoc with my senses, and yes, I really had only imagined the mysterious stud in the hallway. The stud who had nearly made my dick erupt with his hungry scrutiny of my body and his killer good looks… I shivered at the lush memory of that brief encounter. And what a vivid imagination I had, since the man’s stunning features had been etched into my brain. Even now, I had a sneaking suspicion I would remember that face for the rest of my life. And, damn it, I wanted to remember it…remember all the things I had fantasized doing to his sublime body—to his cock—while those deep, blue eyes caressed me with that intense gaze… Slamming back to the moment, I took a shaky breath and released it on a windy sigh. As my cock finally deflated, all the blood in my body seemed to surge upward, and my cheeks began to sizzle in embarrassment. I returned to the studio to confront the artist and found a smirk curling his lips. Those full lips surrounded by stubble…those sexy lips that would likely taste so damned delicious and… 19
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“Looking for something in particular?” asked Novak. “Huh? What?” Shit! Could I make it through the next five minutes without thinking about my hidden desires? Once again viewing the sinewy arms and the bulging crotch of the artist standing before me, I sincerely doubted it. All this raw masculinity I had confronted in just the past few minutes, both actual and imagined, would be the key to the asylum in my future if I didn’t pull myself together, and fast! Hey there, Uncle Clarence, save a place for me in the rubber room. Novak leaned casually against the doorframe. “Are you ready to pose for me, or do you plan to continue your game of hide and seek indefinitely? If so, you must explain the rules, since I’m not quite sure what you’re hoping to accomplish out here in the hallway. Should I be hiding or seeking?” “Hiding? Seeking? Huh? No, sorry, you don’t understand. It’s not what you think.” “Oh? And what do I think?” “You think I’m a whacko. A full-fledged lunatic.” “Why in the world would I label you as such?” “Because you’re sane.” “Excuse me?” “What sane person wouldn’t think me a nut-job?” My voice dropped to a whisper and I spun toward the empty elevator again. “Shit…here I am…standing in the hallway and babbling like an idiot…recently having an honest-to-fuck conversation with someone who wasn’t really there…now I’m 20
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peering into the shadows as if I’d just seen a ghost…but that might be what I actually did see and…” Behind me, Novak cleared his throat. “You’ll have to raise your voice to audible levels if you want me to distinguish what you’re saying.” “Is this building haunted?” “It’s old enough, so I wouldn’t be surprised. Is this part of the game?” “Forget about the game. There is no game. I just…I mean…I’m only…” “Only what, Matthew?” “I’m only”—only about to lose my fucking grip on reality, that’s what!—“I’m…err…oh, never mind.” Not hiding his amusement, Novak’s grin widened, his teeth flashing in a Colgate-bright smile that sent another quiver of longing into my gut. It also shot a blatant truth into my soul, and I decided to face that truth head on. I thought back through the years and realized now, in no uncertain terms, that no amount of naked tits or bared pussy had ever affected me like the mere smiles of the two men I had encountered here today. No simple “curiosity” had brought me to this studio, but an out-and-out necessity to embrace my “gayness,” even now bubbling up inside of me. I heard myself actually groan in surrender. As if sensing my plight and gleaning my decision, the man stepped forward and patted my shoulder with his free hand. I welcomed the physical contact. Cherished it, actually. “Listen, I know ‘nervous’ when I see it. This is your first time, isn’t 21
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it?” “F-first? Why, yes. How did you know?” “Many of my models find it difficult to pose nude the first time.” “Oh, posing? Yeah, this is my first experience doing it. I guess I’m more nervous than I expected.” “What you need, my friend, is a stiff drink of alcohol before we begin the session.” Just hearing the word “alcohol” had saliva coating my tongue. And the notion of pouring any form of booze into my belly seemed to calm me. Or perhaps it wasn’t that particular notion after all, but the way the man’s hand rubbed back and forth over my shoulder, the way his beautifully sculpted fingers gently dug into my muscle and kneaded away the growing tension. I made my decision. “No alcohol, thanks.” “What? All of a sudden you don’t drink? Hmm…I seem to recall you putting away a string of tequila shots last evening.” “Oh, yes, I drink, and probably too much…and that’s likely what started this in the first place.” “Started what?” “Forget about it, Mister—” “Ah-ah-ah!” He punctuated the reprimand by stabbing his clean paintbrush against my chest. “Sorry, Sky.” He lifted the brush and playfully tickled my chin with it. “That’s better, Matthew. Much better.” I gazed into his attractive face, now just inches from mine. 22
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Like the previous evening at my friend’s party, I thought I saw something flicker in the dark depths of those eyes, more than just a fiery intelligence, but a fervent passion for his art, and a flaming desire for my body. A desire I wanted—no, I needed—to experience. Of its own volition, my head moved even closer to his, and my lips actually tingled in impatience. I needed to taste that mouth…that moist mouth that seemed to beckon me. I needed to feel his tongue stroking mine while my hands explored the ridges and valleys of his arms and chest and— Without warning, he stepped back and released my shoulder. The abrupt severing of our physical contact left me feeling so damned empty, so damned lonely. Enough to make me want to weep in anguish. I had come so close…so damned close… But today’s session has only just begun. That thought allowed me to pull myself together just as Novak swept open the doorway and gestured me into the studio. From above, amber rays of the midday sun poured down from a four-paneled skylight, and several tall windows offered additional illumination. It took my eyes several moments to adjust to the startling brightness. Unlike the decadence of the hallway, the studio appeared almost pristine by comparison, apart from several splotches of paint on the polished hardwood floor and a few crumbled pages of sketch paper that lay beside a small trashcan. Additionally, the man had a wealth of “artistic” accouterment—not only empty easels and sketchpads, brushes 23
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and pencils on every flat surface, which I had fully expected, but cameras and tripods and other photography paraphernalia. In several corners stood directional lights, floor-to-ceiling backdrops of sundry scenery, and extra props, including chairs, pillars, tables, a rack of costumes, and who-knew-what else just waiting for use. But something else gained my full attention. In all directions, in nearly all the works of art on display, cocks met my vision. An amazing display of beautiful male genitalia in varying hues and states of arousal. Years earlier I had heard someone declare, “A cock is a cock. Once you’ve seen one penis, you’ve seen them all.” Only now, confronting this outrageous assortment of phalluses, did I fully realize the tremendous inaccuracy of that statement. Lengthy and stubby, plump and slender, cut and uncut, both smooth and craggy with veins…all had been fairly represented in this man’s extraordinary collection of art. Additionally, the conglomeration of work consisted of more than just cocks; it also included depictions of men in varying stages of undress. Full nudes—both front and backside—close-ups of handsome faces, torsos and asses, both hairy and shaved, and even detailed illustrations of hands and feet all met my gaze at every turn. For a long moment, I stood speechless, in complete awe. Viewing this wondrous diversity of nudity—created in everything from grayscale charcoal sketches to subdued watercolors and prismatic oils—made me truly appreciate the richness of the human male at its most fundamental level. 24
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How many models must have sat for Skylar Novak through the years, I couldn’t even begin to imagine, but the man had obviously seen more naked men than I had seen in a lifetime. And, damn it, I envied him to the depths of my aching libido. And talk about a shock to my closeted gay existence. My own penis stabbed my zipper as blood gushed downward to my crotch. My balls inched closer to my body, and I could actually feel the seed churning at the base of my hard shaft, just waiting—begging—for an invitation to spew. By the way my gaze eagerly leapt from one work of art to the next, not to mention the drool I felt unwittingly forming at the sides of my mouth and the bulge I could no longer hide at my crotch, I realized that Novak knew my true sexual desires. When he stood beside me, again just inches away, his sly smile told me as much. And it excited me. Especially when I glanced toward his own groin and noted that his package had also grown heftier. “You like what you see?” he asked. “Th-this is beyond amazing,” I mumbled. His dark eyes twinkled from the flattery. “Thank you, but frankly, you haven’t seen anything yet…and I say that with all modesty shoved aside.” His bare feet slapped against the floorboards as he led me to an open doorway on the far side of the room. “Care to have a look in here?” Lord knew what visual thrills my eyes would encounter when I entered that room, but I couldn’t wait to find out. Briefly brushing against Novak, who made little attempt to completely step out of my way—the manly scent of him and 25
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the muscular biceps pressing against my own drove me wild— I stepped inside the area. And stopped dead in my tracks. My jaw descended and my heartbeat started a furious gallop. If I had deemed the work in the previous room as X-rated, then the art displayed in here earned a triple. Again, a delicious bevy of cocks met my eyes. But in every picture I viewed, on each canvas and in every sketch, fingers enwrapped the rigid shafts, or a mouth or an ass consumed them. Yes, in this room, each work of art detailed sexual acts being performed between two or more men. A virtual smorgasbord of male meat in an orgy of charcoal, watercolors, and oils. My boner throbbed in a rhythm of pure agony. When Novak came to stand just behind me, I felt the warmth pour off his body in exhilarating waves. He set his paintbrush on the shelf of a nearby easel, then draped one arm around my shoulders and used his free hand to gesture around the room. “So, Matthew,” he said, his voice taking on a lazy, justbetween-us-pals nonchalance. “What do you think? Do you find the art in this room even more amazing as I predicted you would only a moment ago?” “I…” “You can be honest. Trust me, we working artists have tough skins in order to deal with criticism.” “I-I’m speechless.” “Truly? Is that a good or a bad thing, I wonder?” 26
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I found it difficult to tear my gaze from each painting in order to view yet another. Apart from the provocative scenes, portrayed in such lifelike detail, I could almost sense sexual energy pouring off the canvases. It seemed as if the men being jacked or sucked or fucked and shooting their loads in the various scenes had left a piece of themselves—an aura of the ecstasy they experienced—behind them somehow. The stranger in the hallway had been correct in his assessment of Novak’s work, saying how the artist possessed an almost magical ability to delve into the souls of his models and depict their deep-felt emotions. The magnificent and salacious paintings, the heat from Novak’s body and his touch, made it impossible for me to maintain the last remaining defensives I had long-ago built around myself. With the man’s question hanging in the air awaiting a response and my dick ready to explode, I yanked my gaze off a painting of an ejaculating penis and turned to him. “A good thing, most definitely.” His nostrils momentarily flared as a smile dimpled his cheeks. “A very good thing indeed, since your barriers have disappeared.” Fuck, he had read my mind after all, the same as he must have read the minds of all the men who had posed for these captivating works of art. “How did you know?” “As an artist, it’s my job to know…to delve deep into the heads of my models, to see what makes them tick, what excites them, what scares them, all in an attempt to put nothing but the unvarnished truth on canvas.” As he spoke, he 27
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placed his free hand on my chest, over my thumping heart. His fingers drew slow, invisible circles on my Disturbed T-shirt. “When I met you last evening, I immediately sensed that my art—or rather, the subject matter of my art—would appeal to you. But I also sensed that you might not be so quick to admit that. The problem, however, is that I needed you to admit it before today’s session began.” “Why?” “In order to portray you to the best of my abilities.” “And now that I’ve admitted it to you, what comes next?” I asked, my throat tighter than my clenching ass cheeks. Novak’s hand took a detour from my chest, straight down to my crotch. His palm crushed against the base of my steelhard rod while his nimble fingers danced along the remainder of my bulge. “What comes next? Why this, of course.” When he pressed his lips against mine, I felt as if I would melt in the molten heat.
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CHAPTER 3 His mouth tasted of peppermint. Luscious and invigorating, alluring and fresh. How appropriate, I thought, since the flavor summed up exactly my feelings about tasting a man’s lips for the first time in my life. I kissed him back, my enthusiasm showing by the way that I thrust my tongue deep into his mouth. I wanted to experience more of that seductive flavor, more of him. I needed to savor every moment of the kiss, taking full advantage of the wild situation and my newfound enlightenment regarding my soul’s most primal desires. I delighted in the moist warmth of his tongue, and shivered as his facial stubble ran rough against my upper lip. He 29
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crushed his groin against mine, solid bulge to solid bulge, rocketing chills of joy throughout my entire body. His hands roamed up and down my backside, while mine eagerly did the same to his. And the kiss deepened even more, whether by his instigation or mine, I didn’t know. Nor did I care. All that mattered was that the kiss continued indefinitely, giving me the long-awaited opportunity to explore with my tongue. He gripped my buttocks and languidly dry-humped my groin. The feel of Novak’s erection against mine rivaled no other sensation I had ever known. I longed to shed my annoyingly tight blue jeans and briefs, tear the clothes from him also, and have our naked cocks slipping and sliding against each other. I wanted to stroke his throbbing flesh, to squeeze him, to finally fall to my knees and taste him the way I had always imagined doing to another man. The artist withdrew his tongue from my mouth and pulled back his head. “A pleasant experience, I presume?” In reply, I kissed him again, on the lips, then on his whiskered jaw and cheeks, working my way over his neck and his jumping Adam’s apple. “Another positive response. Very good. That pleases me also.” He released my ass and stepped away from me. His lips curled in a smile when I groaned my disappointment. “Patience, Matthew, patience. We’ll have time to play later. But for now, let’s get to work, shall we?” Work? Oh, shit. So consumed by passion, elated by my first sexual contact with another man, I had nearly forgotten the reason he had asked me here today. “Yes, sorry.” 30
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“No need to apologize, handsome.” He leaned forward and planted a gentle, lingering kiss on my mouth. “Your zeal is greatly appreciated. In one way, it will certainly make the first part of the process much easier for me. But in another way…” He looked downward and gave my boner a firm squeeze while studying its outline through the faded denim. A sigh spilled from his lips. “I fear it could quickly become a distraction for me if I don’t keep my mind on the business at hand and work fast.” Novak snatched my right hand and led me back into the outer studio. He told me to stand on a plush ivory carpet, where a stark white backdrop covered the paneled wall. “Strip for me, Matthew. Let me see you naked.” I happily got rid of my cowboy boots and socks, then pulled the T-shirt over my head. All the while, Novak studied me with those dark eyes, his pupils flashing with increased sexual heat as I revealed more and more of my bare flesh. Although it initially seemed an agonizingly slow process, by the time I finally released my erection to the air and tossed my black cotton briefs onto the pile of clothing I’d created, I realized I had probably never shed my attire so damned quickly. Considering how my hands trembled from expectation, it had been no mean feat either. For several minutes, Novak scrutinized me, every inch of me, while instructing me to turn one way or another, to flex my arm or chest muscles for him, or to stroke my erection. I did so with great eagerness, especially after seeing the way his nostrils flared in excitement and how his crotch seemed to 31
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gain additional bulk. Knowing that he approved of my nakedness pleased me. Immensely. I couldn’t remember any of my past girlfriends ogling my nude body with such evident lust. In fact, a few of them had even eyed my cock with something akin to fear, knowing my nearly ten inches could prove quite uncomfortable for them. And I couldn’t even begin to count the number of girls who had refused to suck me off because of my length and girth. But here, under this man’s profound and hungry inspection, I felt more than appreciated. He obviously viewed my penis as a work of art, not as a weapon springing to life to inflict damage. Art, pure and simple, and more importantly, a feast for his sexual appetite. Novak stepped onto the carpet and positioned himself before me, so close that my erection stabbed his firm belly. Within seconds, the bottom of his T-shirt grew damp with the juice leaking from my cock-head. He used his fingertips to caress my shoulders and arms, feather-light strokes that sent shivers of longing from my head to my toes. Eventually, his fingers ventured onto my chest. He traced the defined ridges of my breastbone, toyed with the sparse brown hair growing in the center, and tweaked my nipples into hard points. The deep moans of desire that issued from his throat vibrated through me, making me tingle. I gulped. “Evidently my body meets with your approval.” “Last evening at the party, when I saw you wearing that muscle shirt and tight jeans designed to drive any sexually charged person wild with lust, I had envisioned you naked. 32
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But I must admit, my imagination had never quite conjured up such a sublime specimen of mankind. Frankly, Matthew, your physique is an artist’s dream come true.” “That’s extremely high praise, especially coming from someone who has seen dozens and dozens of men in the buff.” “You undoubtedly take good care of yourself.” “I do my best, but with classes and studying, it’s difficult to make it to the gym as often as I’d like. I’d actually prefer a bigger chest and—” “Nonsense!” His fingers traveled toward my navel, lingering on the valleys of my abdomen that formed a six-pack of muscle. “In my opinion, too much ‘muscle bloating’ makes a man look almost cartoonish. Some people are of the notion that ‘too much is still never enough,’ and they end up pumping way too much iron and start to look as if some hideous disease has morphed them into deformed creatures. But your body…hmm…” His fingertips dipped into my pubic bush several times, tickling the base of my shaft, and more chills cascaded down my spine. “Your body looks natural, which is what I prefer in my models…and in my lovers.” Lovers…holy fuck. How I relished the sound of that. I wanted to grab that handsome face and crush his lips to mine, to once again thrust my tongue into his tasty mouth prior to ripping off his clothing with my greedy hands. Before I could make a move, however, he stepped around me. Now, my backside received his scrutiny and the breezy caresses of his fingertips. “Such muscle definition…and such flawless skin. 33
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Actually, your tanned flesh is almost completely free of noticeable blemishes.” “Not entirely true,” I said, feeling his touch descending the length of my spine. “As you’re about to discover.” His fingertips paused at the very base of my spine, just above my clenching buttocks. “What I see, Matthew, is a tattoo of a panther’s head. Not the best tattoo, I’ll admit, as the colors are a bit bleached, but certainly the work itself is not amateurish.” “True, but if you look closely at one of the panther’s eyes, you’ll see the reason why I wanted the tattoo. It’s actually masking a weird birthmark.” As the words left my mouth, Novak’s hands stopped roaming, and I could have sworn I felt a tremor go through his fingers. “A birthmark?” He sank to his knees for an intimate inspection. His torrid breath on my ass cheeks made my dick throb even harder. “Oh, yes, I can see it now. One of the panther’s eyes is actually—” “My birthmark. Right. A crude five-pointed star. God, I’ve hated that damned thing since childhood, so I asked the tattoo guy to hide it and—” “I’ve never seen anything like it.” “No?” I laughed. “That’s good, since it means you’ve not had any of my brothers pose for you.” “You mean your siblings all have the same mark?” “Not all. Only the boys. My father has one also. Some weird-ass genetic thing between the men in my family.” I laughed again. “Weird-ass—no pun intended.” 34
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“And all in this location?” “More or less. Each has the birthmark on their lower backs, although mine is the only one that far down. God, how I used to get teased as a kid, my brothers asking whether I’d ‘missed a spot’ with the toilet paper and—” “And you say your father has the same birthmark?” “Yeah, and even my grandfather. My dad said it’s a mark passed down from generation to generat—” “How far back?” “Excuse me?” “How far back through the generations?” “Gee, I’m not sure. Apparently forever, if my dad is to be believed.” “What is your nationality, Matthew?” “Is this some sort of test regarding my patriotism?” I asked, my forehead scrunching in bafflement. “Why I’m American, of course.” “No, no, before that? Do you know your family’s country of origin?” “Well, let’s see…my mother is half-French and—” “Your father’s side of the family. Do you know your paternal origins?” “Part Italian, some French and Greek and Hungarian, and a few other things, I think. My granddad always claimed that his ancestors were nothing but a band of roaming gypsies, so who knows for certain?” Novak said nothing for several seconds, then climbed to his feet. “Interesting…very interesting…” 35
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“What is, Sergeant Schultz?” I joked. “The birthmark? My ancestral tree?” I spun around, and once again the head of my dick poked his belly. But I forgot about my sexual cravings when I viewed his face. His handsome features had adopted an expression of amazement, with a hesitant elation creeping in, similar to how I thought someone like Alexander Graham Bell might have looked when he heard a voice actually coming from the other end of the line during the world’s first telephone call. Or how Louis Pasteur might have appeared after he injected his patient with the world’s first rabies vaccine and the patient actually recovered from the illness. “Hell, it’s only a birthmark, Sky. Nothing to get excited about, I’m sure.” He stood in silence, chewing his lower lip and staring at my chest. Although he actually seemed to be looking through me, not at me. I chuckled, then cupped his stubbly jaw in the palm of my hand and lifted his gaze to meet mine. “Earth to Novak, Earth to Novak. Come in, Novak.” “Huh?” He snapped back to the moment. “What was that you said?” “My stupid birthmark…it’s hardly the stuff of miracles.” Obviously still distracted, he stepped away from me and nodded. “Oh, yes, sorry about that, Matthew. I’m sure you’re right.” He sprang across the room and picked up a camera, returning to the carpeted area almost immediately. “Now then, back to the business at hand.” 36
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“What are you doing with that? You’re not going to draw me or paint me?” “Oh, I eventually will, but I primarily work from photographs. I’ll take shots of you from various angles, using the best of the best as my ‘models.’ You must understand, an entire portrait will take untold hours, sometimes days, maybe even weeks for me to perfect.” “Sorry, that never dawned on me.” His dark eyes twinkled in flirtatious mirth. “Plus, think about the type of art I create. It would be a gargantuan task for you to maintain a solid erection all that time. But then again,” he added, waltzing his fingers along my throbbing rod and slamming me with that sexy dimpled smile, “you might have the stamina for such a task after all.” “I certainly wouldn’t mind trying.” He laughed. “And I just might give you the opportunity some day. Although I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to resist this beautiful stiff cock for long. No, it would prove too damned tempting.” As he spoke, he wrapped his fingers around my thick shaft. He stroked me slowly, yet firmly, so that my foreskin covered my entire knob with each upward motion. Soon, warm pre-cum covered the tip, making it shimmer in the rays pouring down from the skylight. Fucking hell! Watching the sexy artist stroke me, I nearly climaxed right then and there, proving his point. It would indeed be a colossal chore attempting to keep a boner when this man made me want to spew like a long-dormant volcano. As if sensing my current predicament, he clamped the base 37
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of my cock with his fingers. “Yes, having you hard and needy during a long session would prove tortuous not only for you, but for me. As a sexual being, I would feel it my duty to offer you satisfaction again…and again…and again…” “I like the sound of that, too.” He released my dick, then placed his hand on the back of my head and grabbed a chunk of hair. Without warning, he yanked me forward and crushed his lips against mine. I moaned my ecstasy as his tongue invaded my mouth. The peppermint flavor still lingered, and I basked in the taste. When he finally let me go, we both gasped for air. “Enough playtime,” he said in reprimand, more to himself than to me, I was certain. He went to the corner of the room and selected a tripod-legged stool, which he dragged toward me. “Sit on this for me, if you please.” I took the stool from him, set it onto the center of the carpeted area, and did as he instructed. For a few minutes, he circled me, snapping photographs of my head, then my torso. He backed away a few inches, but continued to step around me. “Now, grab your cock, Matthew. Keep it nice and hard for me.” He didn’t have to instruct me twice. I jerked myself in a lazy rhythm, especially when he sank to his knees, eye level with my groin. “Now, take away your hand.” I did, and Novak’s camera clicked and clicked with a frenzy as he took shots of my erection from various angles. As before, I felt his hot breath on my skin, but this time on my 38
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cock itself. It took all of my willpower not to erupt, and I almost did several times, even without the aid of my hand. Finally, he sank even lower toward the floor, snapping photos of my legs, then my feet. I couldn’t help but notice a small damp stain forming off to one side of his zipper, where his stiff cock strained against the taut fabric of his blue jeans. Eventually, he made his way to my backside, and the camera kept clicking away. “Now stand up for me, Matthew.” When I did, he yanked away the stool before circling me and taking head and torso shots once more. This time, however, when he worked his way around to my backside again, I counted an inordinate amount of clicks from the area of my buttocks. What the hell did he find so damned fascinating about my tattoo? Or rather, the ugly birthmark partially hidden by the panther? I couldn’t even begin to guess. Nor did I want to, especially when he moved back to my front side and sank to his knees, directly in front of my crotch. Without instruction, I once again started to masturbate. “Ah, good boy. You’re a quick study.” “Tell that to my professors,” I quipped. “Poor grades, my friend?” “Passable, but I know I could do better. It’s just…well…” “Too many other distractions that interfere with a funloving party animal like yourself?” I laughed. “Yeah, something like that.” Novak moved lower, once again photographing my thighs, knees, shins, and feet. When he finished, he finally took the 39
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camera away from his eye, but continued to kneel before me. “Then I suppose the last thing you need is another distraction, hmm?” “That all depends on what type of distraction we’re talking about.” With his free hand, he gripped my wrist, then pulled my hand away from my cock. The moist crown bobbed just inches before his mouth. He licked his lips several times, and I could almost hear the war raging in his head, his scathing words of self-reprimand about getting distracted himself when he should be concentrating on his work. But unlike the last time he got sidetracked from his artistic endeavors, now he flicked his tongue over my knob, lapping up a bead of fresh pre-cum that had started to form at the slit. My entire body quivered, and this time I was the one who clamped my fingers around the base of my shaft, stopping the seed from shooting. Shit! Seeing his hand on my rod earlier had been highly erotic, but the sight of his handsome face as he tasted my juice proved too fucking hot for words. A visual aphrodisiac that thrilled me to the soles of my feet. I had to squeeze the root of my cock to painful degrees before my cum stopped churning in my balls. He acknowledged my distress by backing away, but not before blowing a stream of cool air over the length of my pounding shaft. “Sorry,” he mumbled, his cheeks blushing boyishly. “No problem,” I lied, still attempting to master control of 40
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my body. Novak winked at me, then reclaimed his feet. He went to a table and reloaded his camera with a fresh roll of film. “Why don’t you lie down, stretch out on the carpet for me. Face down first, okay?” “My pleasure.” No sooner did I get into position, with the sunlight bathing me from above in its amber warmth, that the artist returned to take more photographs. And once again, when he ventured to the area of my buttocks, I counted a few extra clicks from his camera. I made a mental note that, after we partook in whatever sexual adventure would follow the work session— and please, dear God, let it be soon!—I would ask him to explain to me the reason why my birthmark/tattoo so enraptured him. “All right, Matthew, turn over and lay on your back.” I did so, looking up at his muscular body, and noticing how the moist spot beside his zipper had grown. What had once been a stain the size of a quarter had now increased to the circumference of a fist, darkening almost the entire left side of his jean front. Fuck, and I thought my dick leaked pre-cum like a faucet! This time, Novak knelt and started taking close-ups of my feet, then worked his way up my hairy legs. Before he continued higher, however, he threw one of his legs over mine, straddled me, and parked his ass on my thighs. “That’s it, Matthew, we’re almost done, buddy. Hang tight…” He clicked away at my belly and chest, leaning forward to 41
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take extreme close-up shots of my nipples. He instructed me to stretch out my arms, then proceeded to take photographs of my hairy pits, obviously leaving no area of my body to chance when deciding what portrait to paint. And then, he focused his attention on my groin. Looking straight down from his perch on my thighs, he snapped away for what seemed an eternity. Occasionally he would use one of his hands to slide my cock to the right or the left and take several photos, until my ten-incher moved—or rather, throbbed—back to its original position and pointed once again at my belly button. He asked for several “stroke shots,” but for the most part he wanted no hands in this series of stills. Finally, he lay the camera on the carpet by his side, then sat up straight. His chest muscles expanded and contracted as he pulled several deep breaths. “You know, Matthew, all the photographs I’ve taken so far have been in color. I wanted to capture your beautifully tanned flesh, making certain I have the correct hues for the portrait. I had planned to also do a series of black and white shots, using them to make charcoal sketches of your magnificent physique, but…” “But what? Anything wrong?” “No, nothing’s wrong. In fact, everything is just too right. Too damned right, and I can’t take it any longer.” Without further discussion, he crossed his arms at the waist, grabbed the hem of his T-shirt, and yanked it up and over his head. My gaze encountered the sort of male torso of which I had always fantasized—muscular, with ridges along the abdomen, and a sea of dark, swirling hair that covered the 42
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chest and led downward to surround the navel. Manly as all fucking hell. Yes, indeed, give me an Alec Baldwin or a Pierce Brosnan type of chest any old day, and keep all the Brad Pitt and Justin Timberlake shaved, baby-smooth torsos for the drooling females who preferred their men to look more like women. Confronted by such divine masculinity, I could barely breathe. Not even thinking, I lifted my hands and ran them over that bared flesh, delighting in the velvety skin, the rockhard sinew beneath the surface, and the crisp hair. I started to rise, aiming to take one of his large pink nipples into my mouth. But Novak stopped me. “Not yet. Let me pleasure you, my handsome model. Let me pleasure you until you scream your joy.” He struggled with the button and zipper of his blue jeans. In seconds, his cock sprang outward, pointing toward the skylight. He wore no underwear, so now it made sense how his jeans had gotten so damp so damned fast. From a thick forest of black pubic hair, his shaft stretched a good eight, perhaps eight and a half inches, and to my satisfaction, he also had a foreskin, its shade a bit darker than the crimson crown of his penis. A network of purple veins ran along his entire length, and a stream of fluid oozed from his slit and down to nearly the base of his rod. He took my erection in hand, then used his thumb to hook onto his own shaft. I groaned in rapture when he squeezed our cocks together. He stroked them in tandem, and they quickly 43
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became slick with our combined juice. “How does that feel, Matthew?” he asked, his voice a raspy whisper. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t have done so even if I’d tried. Indeed, I could do nothing but grab handfuls of the soft carpet and force myself to concentrate on other things—the English exam from last week, my friend’s upcoming birthday party, the sunlight spearing through the open windows—anything to keep from shooting my jizz right then and there. But fuck, the task proved more difficult than anything I had faced during my lifetime. One of the sexiest men I had ever met, with a body to die for, had started me on a journey of sexual enlightenment and I didn’t know how much longer I could hold out. “That good, hmm?” he asked after several moments, a lecherous chuckle rumbling from his throat. “Perhaps you’ll also like this…” He released his cock, but continued to stroke mine. Then he lowered his head and ran his tongue all along my shaft. I squirmed and bucked beneath him, a blissfully tormented and willing prisoner of his sexual tutelage. Each lick from his expert tongue, each stroke from his masterful hands, sent me farther into the stratosphere. And I couldn’t help it. Not when my fantasy had come to fruition. Nevertheless, in a valiant effort to regain control, I battled to recall all the state capitals I could… Salem, Oregon… Sacramento, California… 44
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Olympia, Washington… Cum City, Nevada?… No, Carson City, you stupid fuck! Now, where was I?… And then he slid back my foreskin and took the head of my cock into his mouth. The mouth that had previously tasted of invigorating and alluring peppermint. The damp, hot mouth I wanted to savor forever and a day before sampling every inch of his muscular and furry body. Heavens on fire. His tongue painted urgent circles around the crown, flicking over the sensitive ridge and toying with the flesh that connected my foreskin with my shaft. He opened wide and devoured nearly my entire length; no former girlfriends had ever been able to perform that trick. But then again, I’m sure none of them had a fraction of this artist’s experience when it came to fellatio. And by the way Novak kept deep-sucking me, with the head of my dick continually stabbing the back of his throat, I could tell he had performed this sexual deed hundreds of times. Oh, shit, oh, shit…Helena, Montana… Cheyenne, Wyoming… Bismarck, South Dakota… Pierre, North Dakota… Oh, wait, did I get those last two backward? Probably, but who cares?…yes, who the fuck cares anymore? With both hands, I gripped Novak’s head and started fucking his mouth. Grunts and groans tore through my throat, 45
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and my balls once again started to contract. But this time, I did nothing to stop them. I erupted in a series of eye-watering spasms, filling the artist’s mouth with all the semen that had been collecting since my disastrous attempt at masturbating last night in my drunken state of horniness. To my amazement, he continued to suck me, and I heard him swallowing wave after wave of my seed. His moans of approval sang a melodic counterpart to my own, and it seemed to take forever for my eruption to taper off to the point where I could once again breathe. Gasping for air to feed my starving lungs, I lifted my head and peered at my crotch. Novak looked at me with those ebony eyes, now glowing with unadulterated lust, as he continued to lap at my still-hard prick. A small stream of pearly white cream crept out of one side of his mouth. The juice covered his lips and chin, making them glisten in the morning sunlight and giving him an even sexier appearance. “Oh, holy fuck!” Until my voice echoed back to me, I hadn’t realized just how loud I had said those words. Then again, how could I judge the volume of my voice when my heartbeat pounded against my eardrums? With most of my cock still wedged in his heated mouth, Novak issued a guttural chuckle. The reverberations went through my shaft and into my groin, making my balls tingle. He gave me another deep-throated suck, then released me with a popping sound. “See, Matthew, that’s why I work better with photographs, since having an honest-to-goodness real erection staring me in 46
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the face for too long would be impossible to resist.” Novak licked his lips free of my milk, then took another few sucks on my rod. He ran both hands over my belly and onto my chest, where he playfully twirled the hair growing between my breastbone. When he again released my dick, he laughed. “And I have a sinking feeling I would never be able to get enough of you, which means if you were to do any ‘live posing’ for me, I’d never get any work done. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.” “But how do you think I’ll be able to concentrate on anything for the rest of the day?” “Oh? What do you mean?” I glanced downward and viewed his cock, still at rigid attention and looking so fucking delicious. “You’ve already taught me so much, but I’m a willing pupil who is just dying to learn more.” “You’ve waited a long time for this moment, haven’t you?” “Nearly twenty-two years.” “Then I won’t make you wait any longer.” Bequeathing me with that sinfully wicked smile of his, Novak repositioned his ass on top of my thighs. Without another word, he lifted my right hand and slowly wrapped my fingers around his pulsating shaft.
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CHAPTER 4 To touch another man’s penis… For as long I could remember, I had fantasized about this very moment—with no small amount of guilt that kept me up at night, especially during my teenage years. And now, here I lay on the plush carpet in this sun-swept studio, surrounded by drawings and paintings of naked men, and living out the fantasy with another man’s actual erection beneath my fingertips. The reality of it all seemed so overwhelming. I thought I might actually swoon while my senses sought to interpret the tactile pleasure I experienced by coming into contact with another man’s genitals. In many ways Novak’s solid, 48
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throbbing flesh felt like my own, yet in other ways, much different. I couldn’t quite decipher the reasons why; I just knew that I loved feeling the taut, velvety soft skin over the steely hardness, the way I could detect his racing heartbeat as the corded veins relentlessly pulsed. My encircling fingers moved up and down the shaft, and a powerful surge of blood made the cock fatten and stretch even more. I watched in utter fascination as the scarlet head kept sliding out of the cowl of darker foreskin, and the sight made my mouth water. I squeezed the shaft with about the same amount of pressure as I typically squeezed my own erection, and to my satisfaction, a drop of crystalline fluid escaped from his slit. When it gained mass, I used my thumb to capture the warm droplet and smeared it around and around the crown’s bulging ridge. Novak’s groans of pleasure, his discernible shivers, coaxed me to repeat the process several times— stroking and squeezing and smearing the seed to make his knob shine gloriously in the sunlight. “It appears you’re enjoying your first experience so far,” said the artist, his voice almost a whisper. I realized then, with my mouth agape and my eyes rounded in lustful awe, that I probably looked like some moronic halfwit. But Novak said nothing of the kind, just leaned forward and gave my lips a simmering kiss. When our tongues met, I no longer tasted the peppermint, just a tangy and slightly salty flavor—the aftertaste of my own semen. Throughout the years, curiosity had enticed me to 49
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sample it on several occasions, but finding my flavor in another man’s mouth became the supreme turn-on. I started to suck his tongue, savoring the tang of my milk, and my cock once again sprang to life. I could feel blood filling my shaft with incredible speed, and as I continued exploring Novak’s mouth, I wondered how I could have lived so long without experiencing such mind-numbing rapture. Reluctantly I broke the kiss and looked into his sparkling black eyes. “Teach me more, Sky. Teach me what you did to me a few minutes ago.” “You’re sure?” “Positive. I want you in my mouth, every inch of you.” I gathered another globule of his pre-cum with my thumb, then brought it to my mouth. “And every drop of you.” A grin formed on his lips as he watched me lap up the clear juice. I licked my lips afterward, tingling at the knowledge that I had just sampled another man’s milk. And not just any man’s milk either, but the very essence of the sexiest creature I had ever met. He had his own flavor, a bit spicier than my own cum, and I realized how much I truly hungered to swallow more. “How do you like it?” In reply, I pulled down his head and kissed him, once again sucking his tongue to display my unquenched desire. He lifted his head away from me, laughing. “As I said before, you certainly are a quick study.” He glanced down between our bodies, then stroked my own hard cock several times. “And a horny fucker at that, by the looks of it.” 50
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Without another word, he released me and climbed to his feet. I watched in giddy joy as he slid the blue jeans down his legs, then kicked them off to the side of the carpeted area. Statuesque in the amber sunlight, he looked so fucking gorgeous, his lengthy cock plainly bobbing to his pulse as it jutted out from the patch of ebony pubic hair. And for the first time I noticed Novak’s balls, a pair of plump orbs that dangled nearly halfway down his furry thighs. Propping myself up on an elbow, I extended my free arm and cupped the warm sack in my hand. As I gently kneaded his nuts and tickled the base of his rod with my fingertips, I left a trail of lingering kisses up and down his left shin. Suddenly recalling a specific daydream from my youth, I stared up at him again and blinked several times. Holy fuck! Skylar Novak, artist extraordinaire, looked more like a model extraordinaire. In fact, gazing up at him, his well-developed body reminded me of Michelangelo’s David, only with a big, fat cock just begging for attention. Even as I continued teasing the root of Novak’s penis and fondling his balls, I trumpeted thanks to the powers above for my extraordinary good fortune. It seemed almost too wonderful to be true that fate would provide a first-timer like me with a lover who possessed a physique rivaling David. In all honesty, that damned statue—with or without the fig leaf that occasionally covered the genitals in encyclopedia and art book photos, depending on the year of publication and the publisher’s level of prudishness—had always given me a prompt and rock-hard stiffy. In my early teens, when finding 51
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my attraction to males growing more profound, I had often daydreamed about what might happen if that flawless statue had somehow made its way into my bedroom, magically come to life, and claimed me as its mate. Ah, the outlandish whims of youth… Novak sank to the floor and stretched out on the carpet beside me. With his hands behind his head, he now looked like a robust, furry David basking in the sunlight. The sight made my dick throb even harder. Quivering in salacious need, I allowed my instincts to control my actions, determined to play out as many of my youthful fantasies as possible before the day ended. I rolled on top of him, then started to bathe his torso with my tongue, enjoying the way his chest hair tickled my face. This time he didn’t stop me when I took one of his nipples into my mouth, and I sucked it into a hard point before moving to its twin. All the while, I squirmed atop him, relishing the feel of his bare flesh against mine, the intertwining of our body hair, the firmness of our sinew as it pressed together. And especially the way his slick cock pounded a savage tempo as it snuggled next to mine against our bellies. While my tongue painted a trail of saliva down to Novak’s ridged abs, renewed memories of my David daydreams ran through my head. They had always stayed with me, no matter how many times I had attempted to shun them. Concentrate on females, I had tried telling myself during my teen years. Discover the appeal of women, damn it, and forget about nude males, no matter how sexy you find them, no matter how the 52
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sight of a hot guy’s bared cock gets you stiff in a heartbeat. But my body and mind had simply refused to listen to those internal directives. I finally realized I was different from the other boys I knew. I would never be able to understand why my brothers or buddies tucked away copies of Penthouse or Oui magazines under their mattresses, especially when the ultimate “Boner-Producing Physique,” the perfect “Bathroom Jack-Off Material,” could usually be found in the nearest encyclopedia—under “M” for “Michelangelo”! Once again, I smiled at the fleeting, confusing, and sometimes-painful “horny teenager” memories and dug my tongue into my lover’s belly button. Then my smile widened at the way he chuckled when I tugged the fur on his abdomen with my teeth. I burrowed my fingers into his chest hair and moaned my pleasure. Certainly through the years, my taste in men had changed, but not by much. I still loved them lean and muscular, like the magnificent David, but I eventually came to also appreciate the natural beauty of hair on a male body. I liked observing the various patterns it produced on a man’s torso; I liked the texture of my own when I ran a hand over the center of my breastbone. Even to this day, I couldn’t begin to imagine why any guy would shave and wax himself in an attempt to look more like a chick. Oh well, to each his own, I supposed, and definitely not a question to ponder at this moment. Not when Novak’s warm flesh, his crisp hair, his hard nipples and muscles felt so fucking fantastic against my palms. And definitely not when 53
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my lover’s dick lay less than an inch from my lips, just waiting for my needy mouth to take its first taste. I noticed how a small pool of Novak’s pre-cum had matted the hair just below his navel. I greedily lapped at it, painted my lips in the slick and limpid juice, then finally flicked my tongue over his swollen cock-head. “That’s it, Matthew, taste me,” he said breathlessly, his fingers delving into my thick head of hair to massage my scalp. “Taste what you’ve craved for so long…taste your very first cock…” Actually, I needed no verbal encouragement from this sexy man. The enticing manly musk arising from his crotch and the sight of another drop of clear liquid forming at his slit proved much more powerful than mere words. I buried my fingers in his thick ebony bush and wrapped my fingers around the base of his shaft. Lifting it to point toward the skylight, I observed it from various angles. I still marveled at the way it pulsed beneath my digits and how the foreskin draped over the crown when I stroked upward. Two thick veins on the cock’s topside, just at the root, drew my attention. When I licked the skin over those twin purple roadmaps, the scent from Novak’s pubic forest drove me wild. In response, I ran my tongue higher and higher up his pillar of flesh, all the way to the beautifully moist crown. Before opening wide, I kissed the tip of his erection, wetting my lips with his fresh juice, then lowered my jaw and slid a few inches of his rod into my mouth. Now, my drooling tongue detected his racing heartbeat, marking time with the 54
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tempo beneath my fingertips. And my taste buds seemed to come alive at the contact with his solid meat. I danced my tongue around the ridge of his cock-head, savoring the slightly salty flavor of his flesh, then clamped my lips around his knob and began to suck. Gently at first, not sure what to do with my damned teeth, not wanting to hurt him or to disappoint him in any way. But once again I allowed my instincts to control my actions. I knew how I liked being sucked—what felt good, what didn’t—and recalled the masterful technique the artist had used on my cock only minutes earlier. I curled my lips slightly inward, using them to cover the edges of my teeth, then began a pumping-sucking action. My downward thrusts fed me more of his shaft, inch by delicious inch, while my hand stroked in counterpoint. I eventually decided I must be doing okay, considering how Novak’s hands gripped my scalp and his moans increased. And his dick leaked more tangy cream each time I swabbed it with my tongue. Slowly, then with increased speed, he began to buck his hips, meeting my downward thrusts. On several occasions, I attempted to devour his entire shaft. Although proud that I had managed to squelch my gag reflex when he stabbed the back of my mouth, I couldn’t deepthroat him, no matter how hard I tried. It royally pissed me off. But that ability would eventually come with practice, I reassured myself. And damn it, if Novak allowed me to do so, I certainly planned to practice every fucking chance I got, to master the 55
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technique as he had done. As my lover continued to invade my mouth, his rod plunging deeper with each thrust and his tempo growing more frantic, groans of pure and unabashed ecstasy escaped my throat. I reached down to snatch hold of my own dripping cock and stroked myself to his same excited rhythm. Oh, God, yes…tasting and sucking this handsome stud, luxuriating in his manly scent and his rough yet gentle touch…it just felt so fucking right. So mother-fucking right! The very thing I had sought for years. Deep down inside I sensed that sharing this form of carnal intimacy with a man could—would—become addicting, but I didn’t give a shit. Now that I was finally living out my ultimate fantasy, with my entire body aflame with lust, I knew I would never revert back to my old uncertain and cowering self. I happily, greedily, embraced my sexual identity, lock, stock, and barrel. And more than anything, I hungered to give the sexy creature who had shown me the path to fulfillment the riproaring climax he so deserved. “Matt-Matthew… I’m getting close… so… so damned close…” In response to his warning, I sucked him even harder, flicking my tongue as fast as possible over his drooling knob. “D-did you hear me?…I’m not…not kidding…I’m going to shoot…shoot my jizz…” I grunted and moaned, and as best I could, clamped my lips around his pulsating, slippery meat. I hoped to convey to 56
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him that I hadn’t lied earlier, that I truly wanted to sample every appetizing drop he could deliver. He obviously understood my wordless message, because he pulled most of his shaft from my mouth, leaving only the crown inside. “I-it’s going to be a…a big load…since you’ve got me…got me so f-fucking horny. S-swallow fast…so you…don’t choke…” I nodded. Releasing my own cock, I fondled his shrinking ball sack and tickled his furry thighs. After an agonizing yet thrilling moment of expectation, he growled, and I felt a quiver run through the length of his shaft. Hot juice hit the back of my throat. As much as I wanted to savor it, to roll it around my tongue and bask in the taste of his seed, I did as he had instructed and swallowed. Thankfully I had listened to him, since another jet of juice, then another, then a fourth filled my mouth at unbelievable speed. I nearly did choke, but managed to swallow all of it. Or so I had thought, until I felt dampness on my lips and jaw. More of his cream coated my tongue, but since he had started to taper off, I could finally allow my taste buds to fully sample it. Somewhat bland, somewhat spicy, somewhat sour—and altogether more fucking savory than I had imagined. I ran my tongue around his still-dripping prick, sucking hard in an attempt to draw from him as much of his essence as I could. He yanked the crown from my mouth and his dick slapped against his belly. “S-so sensitive…so fucking sensitive…” I swallowed the rest of his cum and licked my lips. “Shit, I’m sorry, Sky, I didn’t mean to—” 57
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“Don’t you dare apologize, Matthew. That was so damned fantastic!” He panted for a moment, then released his last breath on a heavy sigh. “Especially for a first-timer. Shit, you’re a natural at this.” “Maybe.” I once again wrapped my fingers around the base of his semi-erect cock. Careful not to apply too much pressure with my tongue, I slowly licked the white juice from the long, vein-laced shaft and leaking head. “Or maybe, as you said before, I’m just a quick study, huh?” He fell back onto the carpet, his arms thumping down at his sides. “I’ll say. With this sort of aptitude, I’m surprised your grades aren’t higher.” “Too bad cock-sucking isn’t a credited course and you’re not my professor.” I slipped his dick back into my mouth, continuing to enjoy the remnants of his stellar climax. I groaned again several times. Yep, addicting, just as I had predicted. Novak laughed and stroked my hair, then grabbed one of my arms and dragged me upward. He maneuvered me onto my back and rubbed his taut belly against my erection. “Come for me again, Matthew. Only this time, let me see you shoot your excitement.” He lowered himself until his breastbone came into contact with my thudding rod. When his right hand moved down, I thought he intended to jack me off. Instead, he imprisoned my shaft between his soft palm and fur-covered chest and started to slide my throbbing flesh back and forth. I propped myself up on my elbows and watched the lewd 58
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play. For several minutes, my cock rolled from side to side beneath his hand, my thick foreskin alternately masking and unmasking my cock-head, driving me wild, while his crisp chest hair tickled, teased, and taunted, adding fuel to the fire growing in my balls. Pre-cum oozed freely from me, making the ebony tufts of hair in the center of his chest shiny with dampness. From time to time, Novak bent down and sucked some juice from my exposed helmet, then stretched upward to kiss my lips. “Do you like this?” he asked. “Fucking hell, yeah!” I said on a groan, already feeling my balls preparing for another volcanic eruption. “Shoot for me, Matthew. Come on, buddy. Cover my chest with your hot fuck-juice. I want to see it dripping through my fingers and streaming across your beautiful six-pack. Give me that dick-cream…give it to me…” Novak’s filthy talk, almost as much as viewing my prick rolling back and forth against his sexy chest, proved to be the perfect detonator. With my entire body tingling as molten blood gushed through my veins, my cock blasted with what seemed to be a never-ending stream of semen. The initial shots splattered my chest and shoulders, then left streamers of ivory all along my quivering belly. The artist sighed his lecherous approval and smeared his chest with the juice dripping from his fingers. Before I had even finished shooting, he bent down and took me into his mouth, draining me of the final drops and moaning his satisfaction. He then licked some of the cum from my belly 59
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and kissed me, his tongue invading my mouth to share it. Again and again he repeated the process, until my torso glistened with saliva. I heaved an exhausted breath and plunged backward onto the carpet. Sunlight blanketed me in warmth, and my heart pounded in joy. Here, in this fantasy-filled studio crammed with obscene artwork and the sexy artist who had created it returning to suck my shrinking penis, I found myself in heaven. Or at least I thought it might be heaven. Sexual heaven for certain. And I never wanted to leave. Never in a fucking million years.
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CHAPTER 5 “Where the fuck have you been all morning and part of the afternoon? And where the fuck is it?” My head snapped around at the sound of the accusing voice, which somehow sliced through the heavy metal music. In the hallway of my apartment stood one of my roommates, Jeff—full name, Jefferson Pennington Bogart, he of the wealthy Bogart clan who lived upstate in one of those SnootySnootyton “exclusive community with tennis courts and swimming pools” type of towns. Barefoot and wearing, as usual, only jogging shorts and a wife-beater T-shirt—hardly the proper attire for someone who came from one of those upstate Snooty-Snootyton mansions 61
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staffed with maids and butlers—he looked a mess. But a damned cute one, for certain, with his dark blond hair all sleep-disheveled and a rather handsome face that hadn’t been shaved for at least two days. My gaze momentarily descended to the top of his T-shirt, where a dusting of chest hair poked out from the scooped collar. I sighed…I never could stop myself when it came to checking out bits of the male anatomy I found sexy. His muscular arms crossed over his body. He tapped his left foot in impatience, which just so happened to coincide with the same furious tempo as Iron Maiden’s “The Number of the Beast,” thundering from the CD player in the corner. “Well, I’m waiting…where the fuck is it?” I let the door snap shut behind me, then turned down the stereo’s speakers. “Shit, Jeff, for a moment I thought I’d stepped back in time. You actually sounded like my mother— apart from the foul language, of course—poking her head into my room at home and trying to scream over the music. Besides, what’s it to you where I’ve been, anyway? And to what ‘it’ are you referring?” “I was hoping you had just crept out to buy us some fucking beer, especially seeing as how you stole my last two Coronas. I had hoped the guilt of your theft would’ve been too much for your conscience to handle.” “Ah, you discovered them missing already, did you?” “I sure as shit did, you son of a mongrel.” “And what made you think it was me and not Darrin or Vance?” 62
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“Because not more than ten minutes ago they raced the fuck out of here without even showering first. They forgot to set the alarm clock last night and were late for meeting their family. They hardly had time to find my stash, let alone drink those beers.” “Wow, Jeff, Sherlock Holmes has got nothing on you.” “And don’t you ever forget it!” He huffed. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to get dressed and head to the Swift Mart myself.” “Guess so.” I plopped onto one of the arms of the secondhand sofa—donated to the apartment by Jeff’s parents, of course, along with most of the other furnishings—then yanked off my boots and socks. Jeff leaned against the wall and shook his head in annoyance. “I had hoped you’d take the hint while you still had on your boots and go get us at least a twelver. Oh, wait, fuck the twelver, since you owe me at least a case by now.” I groaned. Why is it that the richest guys always seemed to be the cheapest? Or could that be the reason they were so rich, because they always nickel-and-dimed you to death? “Don’t worry, Mr. Penny Pincher, I’ll pay you back.” “Oh, yeah? When, Mr. Booze Hound, when? Fucking A, you didn’t even chip in this week for our alcohol shopping spree. My wallet is getting a bit thin and—” “Stop, already!” I tossed my balled-up socks into the corner and tugged my wallet from a back pocket of my jeans. The leather bulged with bills—five hundred smackeroos, in crisp tens, twenties, and fifties—for the first time in what 63
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seemed like forever. Actually, today was the first of many important things in my life, I thought with a satisfied smile. “Here! How much do you need?” “How much you got?” To make room on the coffee table, I pushed aside two nearly empty Domino’s pizza boxes, several beer bottles that had cigarette-floating swill left at the bottom, a pile of Sports Illustrated and Hustler magazines, and an overflowing ashtray. In a grand gesture, I plucked a bill from my wallet and slapped it on the table. “Will a twenty shut your big yap long enough for me to take a shower?” The way Jeff’s jaw plummeted toward the stained beige carpet seemed almost cartoonish. It wouldn’t have shocked me had his eyes bulged in their sockets like little Lotto balls. “Where’d you get that kind of cash, Matt? Did you knock off the Swift Mart instead?” I laughed. “Some of us actually got up early and worked, even after partying half the night.” “Worked?” He snapped his fingers, and I saw a light-bulb go on in his bright blue eyes. “Oh, wait, didn’t you have that thing this morning? That bizarre nudie thing with that artist you met last night? What was that dude’s name again?” “The dude’s name is Skylar Novak.” “Oh, yeah, Mr. Novak, artist of the century. Local celebrity and whatnot. I totally forgot you had that appointment today.” “Hard to remember things when you’re sleeping off a bender, huh?” 64
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“You’re one to talk. This must be the first time in history you’ve gotten up before noon on a Saturday morning, so suck my big fat dick.” Remembrances of what I’d done about an hour earlier with Skylar Novak filled my mind, and I almost told Jeff to whip it out and I might just accept his offer. Since moving into this apartment at the beginning of the school year, I had wanted to do just that on numerous occasions. Sure, Vance and Darrin, the two cousins who shared the apartment with us, were nice enough fellows and decent roommates, but nothing much to rave about in the “Looks Department.” Certainly not the type of guys whose faces or physiques could get my dick hard. But Jeff, on the other hand, possessed that lean-andmuscled-and-hairy type of body that had always so enamored me. Though not quite as handsome, not quite as “perfect” as Skylar Novak, Jeff definitely had what it took to send blood to my groin. Frequently seeing him strut around in his jogging shorts and wife-beaters usually had me in the shower masturbating. Especially after the night I’d seen him completely naked with an erection. During one drunken bash several months ago, he had dragged me into his bedroom, where his girlfriend-du-jour lay nude on the mattress. She’d wanted a threesome, he’d explained, and for the next hour, he and I took turns fucking her mouth and pussy. I’ll never forget that night—my first ménage and my first real-life observation of another man in action. I had maintained an erection simply by eyeing his perspiring body, watching those muscles flexing in his arms, 65
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torso, and ass as he fucked the girl, and fantasizing about what I really wanted to do to him. I wonder what he might have said that evening if I had joined the girl in sucking his dick and sharing the load he’d delivered into her mouth like I’d so desperately wanted. But after what happened today, I had actual experience in that particular area. What would he do now that I had confidence and no more fear of the “first time with a man” crap that had kept me from making a play for him? I pondered the idea, imagining myself creeping into his room in the middle of the night and showing him all I had learned today. Yes, I could definitely picture myself slurping on Jeff’s seveninch rod and swallowing his load. My dick stirred at the notion, but more so from my remembrance of Skylar Novak and his delicious body…and damn, the taste of him still lingered in my mouth. No, although quite tempting, Jeff would remain “off limits” to me since I wanted no strain in our friendship and roommate relationship. Now, the left side of his mouth curved upward in a cocky grin. “So, how did it go, stud muffin?” “How did what go?” “The posing shit. I clearly see you took my sage advice and got cash from that dude instead of a rubber check.” “He offered cash, so I didn’t need your sage advice after all.” “But is the painting done?” “Done? You think he uses magic or something? Not even 66
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close. I don’t even think he’s started it yet.” “Not started it? Then what the hell did you do over there today?” I got up and stepped into the kitchen, hoping Jeff wouldn’t see the blush I felt seeping into my cheeks. From the refrigerator, I grabbed the nearly empty bottle of orange juice and swigged it down. “Nothing much,” I said over my shoulder. “He took a lot of photos of my face and stuff and talked about how he would use those as his guide in doing the actual painting.” “Sounds weird, as weird as the guy himself.” “He’s not weird at all. Indeed, I liked him very much.” That had to be the understatement of the century. “And the way he works makes sense if you think about it, since the photographs sure save me the trouble of standing in the same position hour after hour after hour while he paints.” “And also saves you from having him ogle your dick all day long, too.” “Ah, who cares about that?” “I’d sure care, ol’ buddy.” Proof positive that I’d made the right decision about not crossing a line with my roommate. If I did, and he rejected my advances, he’d probably try to kick me out of here, signed lease or not. I tossed the empty OJ bottle into the trash bag beneath the sink, then turned to face him. I twisted my lips in a snide smile. “Well, that’s what makes us different, Jeff, ol’ buddy. Those of us with sexy bodies don’t care who sees us naked.” 67
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He laughed. “Fuck off, model man. So, do we actually get to view the damned thing when it’s done?” “Not sure. Are you that anxious to see me nude again? To ogle my dick?” “Don’t flatter yourself. Besides, once you’ve seen one dick, you’ve seen them all.” Wow…a variation of that same phrase had come to my mind just after walking into Novak’s studio, viewing all that diverse artwork, and realizing the inaccuracy of that statement. “You’d be surprised,” I mumbled, padding back into the living room and removing my Disturbed T-shirt. “What?” “Oh, never mind. Anyway, I’m not sure how long it will take before it’s done. Sky says it could be several weeks, maybe longer, depending on his schedule and the pose he decides to use. He told me just before I left today that I’ll probably be needed for some additional sessions.” Actually, just before he gave me a heated kiss goodbye, Novak had said that he wanted to see me again, not just to pose for him, but on a social level, for more “playtime.” Of course, I had readily agreed, and the thought of our next meeting made me shiver in anticipation. But I had no intention of sharing that information with my roommate. “I sure hope he’ll be paying you for those extra sessions.” “Why are you always so damned concerned about everyone else’s finances? Don’t have enough money of your own? Isn’t your thousand-dollars-per-week allowance covering your expenses?” 68
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“Because we’re always out of beer, that’s why! And I seem to be the one who’s always paying for it.” “Not always,” I said, pointing to the neglected twenty on the coffee table. It didn’t surprise me when Jeff snatched it up, as if fearful it would miraculously vanish before his very eyes. “Anyway, Sky said he would pay me each time I sat for him, and I believe him.” Jeff folded the twenty in the center, then stuffed it beneath one of the shoulder straps in his T-shirt. “I don’t know, pal, you sure have guts.” “What makes you say that? Big deal, so I posed nude.” “Not just that. It takes guts going into a spooky old building and stripping for some strange dude who may or may not pay you in the future as he promised. He might be a lying pervert or something.” “He’s not. Just a very talented artist who gets top dollar for his work.” I patted the billfold in my back pocket. “And his word is good, as you saw firsthand. He won’t shaft me—” Oops, bad choice of words. “He’ll pay as promised.” “But, God damn it, even though he didn’t look it, he might be a fag and put the moves on you—” “And if he is gay, what does it matter? No big deal. Besides, what exactly do gay men look like anyway? What are the signs? Do they have a scarlet symbol on their foreheads or something? Maybe a special T-shirt or a badge or something that the law requires them to wear in public to identify themselves? What?” Jeff held up his hands and backed up a step. “Yo, buddy 69
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boy, get off that soapbox and take it down a notch, would ya? The neighbors might complain about the noise yet again.” “Huh?” Only then did I realize just how loudly I’d raised my voice in anger. “Oh, sorry, but you know how much I hate bigotry of any kind, and your choice of words, Jeff…well…” “Listen, I really didn’t mean anything by it. Really! I was only saying it might be a little weird and a whole lot of creepy to have a fa—err, sorry, a gay dude—looking at you in that way.” “Yeah, it might be, but it wasn’t. Trust me. Sky’s a great guy, and whether or not he’s gay doesn’t matter. Besides, I’m proud of my body and I can take care of myself.” “Last night at the party it was nothing but ‘Mr. Novak this’ and ‘Mr. Novak that.’ Now it’s ‘Sky.’” “Yeah? So?” “Sounds like you’re buddies with him now.” “We are.” Actually, “lovers” is the more appropriate word, Jeff. Or perhaps you’d prefer “faggot suck-buddies” instead. I clamped my lips shut before I could voice the rebuttal. “Now, if you’re through interrogating me, may I please take a shower?” “Not a problem.” “Thank you,” I said, heading for the bathroom. “Besides, I need to go out and get some Coronas anyway, on your twenty bucks, of course.” “Of course.” “Hey, Matthew, one more question. If we bought that painting and it’s small enough, do you think we could use it as 70
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a drink platter? Or better yet, how about a dartboard? It would be a challenge, of course, seeing who could get a dart close to that really tiny, itty-bitty target of yours. Wouldn’t that be a hoot?” His chuckle filled the hallway. “Yeah, Jeff,” I said over my shoulder, exasperated. “A hoot. You’re always a regular riot.” I stepped into the john, shut the door behind me, and dropped my voice to a whisper. “And a fucking oaf.” I cringed. I’d only half meant that. Jefferson Pennington Bogart really wasn’t a bad guy. Certainly not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree—fascinating, since his parents had paid top dollar to give him a first-rate education—yet I had never found him to be purposely cruel or hateful. Just a tad snobbish and condescending when it came to money issues, and more than a touch on the ignorant side when it came to other races, other religions, and alternative sexual preferences. Could I ever tell him the truth? Perhaps, but it had to be done the right way. Had I hit on him without warning, he probably would have freaked out to no end, and I had already decided that would never happen. But simply coming out of the closet to him? I truly didn’t know how he’d react, especially since we’d engaged in that ménage. Maybe I’d tell him one day, but definitely not when we were living together. I just couldn’t take that chance and possibly ruin what had been a generally harmonious living situation. Unfortunately, that meant I couldn’t tell Vance and Darrin either. They would likely be fine about it; they seemed rather accepting of most people and situations. But if I came out of 71
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the closet to them, I ran the risk of word getting back to Jeff. Too much booze flowed into the bellies of my roommates, and secrets always have a way of popping out of the mouths of drunken fools. So no, my roommates would not know about what happened to me today, or what I planned to do in the future. Thankfully, the “posing for a painting” excuse would come in handy for a while and I planned to use that for all it was worth. Nevertheless, that also meant that, for the time being at least, I was unable to share my joy with anyone. Hell, I wanted to scream my elation from the rooftops, but that couldn’t happen, and the thought saddened me. After stripping off the rest of my clothes, I stepped into the bathtub and turned on the shower. Seconds later, steamy, invigorating water cascaded over my body. As I lathered my chest and belly, washing away any remnants of cum that might have dried on my flesh, my mind returned to the exciting events of the day. As I expected, my cock started to lengthen when I recalled the shared blowjobs, and especially the way Novak’s warm cream tasted as it coated my tongue and slid down my throat. Even now, I wanted to be in his strong arms, feeling his body pressed against mine. I wanted more of his hungry kisses, his luxuriant caresses. I wanted his big cock in my mouth, feeding me another hot load of semen. I ran my soapy hands over my erection and began to vigorously pump myself. After two enormous climaxes today, my horniness had definitely not subsided, so I guess I truly was, as Sky had joked during our 72
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sex, “one horny fucker.” At least I was when it came to him, sure enough. Shit, I had known him for less than twenty-four hours and already I couldn’t get enough of him. As the shower spray hit my flesh like tiny needles and I nursed my boner, I imagined Novak standing before me, holding the back of my head as I sucked him. I closed my eyes and recalled the taste of his stiff meat, the way his sweet precum flowed so freely into my mouth, and the way his cockhead stabbed the back of my throat. I also envisioned being able to deep-throat him the way he had done to me, to bury my nose in his pubic hair while his plump knob wedged into my gullet. To feel his ass clenching beneath my hands as I yanked him toward me, making him fuck my throat. To hear his sighs and moans as he neared the brink of release. And, finally, to once again taste that spicy-salty juice as if spilled into my greedy mouth. I would suck him until his cock went soft, then lightly nibble his foreskin or bathe his nuts with my tongue, lick every inch of his hairy torso, his legs, and kiss and suck his toes. And eventually I would head back to his groin where I would tease him into another rock-hard erection. Then I would suck him off again and again, all fucking day long if possible, or until my jaw ached from exertion. I opened my eyes in time to see sperm shoot out of my cock and splat against the shower wall. The next few blasts I directed into my free hand, creating an ivory ocean in my palm. I rubbed the warm cream over my chest, even licked some from my fingers, all the while imagining it was Novak’s 73
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load. Fuck…oh, fuck…I want him so damned badly I could cry… Panting, my heart galloping against my rib cage, I adjusted the shower spray and temperature. The water cooled to almost icy levels, making me shiver, but it still took a while for my cock to fully deflate. I resigned myself to the fact that no matter how hard I tried, I would probably never be able to recall today’s activities without popping an erection. Damn it, Sky, what marvelous thing have you done to me? Yes, as Jeff has said a few minutes earlier, it had been a weird day. From the building, to the outrageously hot artwork, to the way Novak had elevated my libido into heights unfathomable. And even the stranger… I shut off the shower and shivered again. Not from the coldness of my flesh, but from the remembrance of that odd and sexy man I had met just before entering the studio. Fuck! I had completely forgotten about that bizarre encounter. As I listened to water drip from my body and strike the porcelain tub in an agitated rhythm, my mind continued to race. Had that man been another of Sky’s models? Or a spurned lover, as I had originally thought? And how could he have disappeared so quickly? And to where? Perhaps I would never learn the identity of that stranger, but I’d be certain to raise the question with Novak during my next visit to the studio. Novak…Novak…Novak… Yes, I had already grown obsessed with him. With the 74
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thought of having sex with him. He had freed me from my sexual prison, and in doing so, had created an insatiable beast. His introductory tutorials in the ways of man-love had provided me with previously undiscovered pleasures, and I craved to learn even more. So much more… I shook my head to clear my brain, but ended up doing nothing but flinging water from my hair and spattering the shower walls. Groaning, I stroked my dripping dick a final time, then climbed out of the tub, wondering how long it would take before the luscious memories of my new lover required me to jack off again.
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CHAPTER 6 Friday couldn’t have come fast enough! So pent up with energy that afternoon, I had decided to jog the one and a half miles from my apartment to the art studio. Above the picturesque college town of Huntsville, fluffy clouds skidded across the rich blue heavens, while in the various gardens of stately homes, dozens of flowerbeds perfumed the air. From the treetops, squirrels chittered and birds chorused, rejoicing in the warmth of a halcyon day. In every direction across the vast campus, students lazily flung Frisbees or tossed footballs, perused Dickens or Shakespeare beneath shady elms, or lounged on the verdant, freshly mowed lawn beside gurgling fountains or duck-filled ponds. 76
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A nimble breeze dried the perspiration from my chest and pits as I turned off campus, passing Dingle’s Donuts, Ye Old Town Coffeehouse and Computer Café, Riley’s Bar and Pool Hall, and Olga’s Oracle and Occult Bookstore, all businesses I had visited, except for the latter, on a regular basis. But I wouldn’t visit any of them today. No, today I had desperate business of my own that drove thoughts of donuts and coffee and alcohol and pool, let alone books on the occult, from my one-track mind. Finally, I sprinted onto Main Street toward the town’s business and historical district. Despite being winded, when I saw that seven-story building at the end of the last block, I picked up speed, like a runner doing the final lap toward the finish line with the competition hot on his heels. Ever since last Saturday, I had been unable to concentrate on anything except my memories of that wonderful day, and now I dashed toward the studio, my stomach fluttering with excitement. I skirted shopping pedestrians, meandering bicyclists, traffic signs, and fire hydrants; zigzagged around parked vehicles, a startled hot dog vender and a swearing T-shirt salesman, probably causing several near-collisions in the process. But no-fucking-body and no-fucking-thing would keep me from my lover another fucking second. The sex junkie desperately needing a fix—yep, that described me in a nutshell. Novak had called yesterday afternoon, setting up today’s appointment. “I desperately need to see you, Matthew,” he’d said, his voice breathlessly arousing as if he’d just been 77
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masturbating. “Can you come to the studio tomorrow? I’m free after three o’clock.” “Yes,” I had instantly replied. Shit, I had nearly shouted the single word into the phone. How could I not have responded to Sky with such rabid enthusiasm? His raspy, seductive tone had given me a mega-boner, and my heart had slammed a wild beat against my ribcage. I hadn’t even thought twice about blowing off my Ethical Issues in Mass Communication class, which coincidentally started at the same time. Ethical Issues be damned when a sinfully sexy and wellhung lover requested one’s presence. After the phone call, I had become nearly impossible to live with. Poor Jeff and Vance and Darrin. I almost felt sorry for them. For the past twenty-four hours, my roommates had resided with an obsessed lunatic. One who relentlessly paced the living room or kitchen or hallway, continually stared at the various clocks, didn’t eat, barely slept, only drank a few beers—purchased on my own dime, thank you very much!— and took an inordinate amount of long, hot showers. My roommates had eyed me with skittish amusement. Needless to say, I had wanted to confess everything about my newfound sexuality and my first gay experience before I exploded. Hell, I couldn’t begin to count the number of times I had listened to one of those guys drone on and on about the intimate details of a hot date. The “pussy stories,” as I had deemed them months earlier—mostly fiction, I had also decided—seemed to get more elaborate each time. I didn’t realize, however, how difficult it would be to hold back such a 78
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riveting encounter of my own, one of mystery, self-discovery, and truly steamy sex, all wrapped up into one bawdy tale. Now I knew firsthand why those guys consistently felt a need to share their scandalous yarns with anyone who would listen. Problem was, I couldn’t share mine with a living soul. I had wanted to kick open that invisible closet door and spill the juicy details with someone before I went nuts, but instead I had to suffer in silence. Unfortunately, that silence caused speculation as to my plight. Vance and Darrin concluded I was just nervous about posing nude again, while Jeff surmised with all-knowing authority that I was simply worried about whether Novak would pay me in cash or try to pass off a rubber check this time. But of course I wasn’t nervous about posing, or worried about the cash. All I wanted was a chance to finally be with my lover again, the sexy creature who had refused to leave my mind since indoctrinating me in the ways of pure carnal bliss. Now, deep in thought, I found the building looming before me. In the nick of time, I came to a stumbling halt before careening into the front door. After drawing several breaths, stretching my limbs, and swallowing the lump in my throat, I stepped inside the gloomy interior. The cool, dank air turned the skin on my perspiring arms and legs to gooseflesh. As I hastened toward the rickety elevator at the end of the hallway, the rubber soles of my sneakers screeched against the floorboards like an army of scurrying mice. The ride up to the penthouse seemed an eternity, but it also 79
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gave me time to think. What would happen if I once again encountered that biker-slash-rocker-slash-pirate dude hiding in a dark alcove? Demand answers, that’s what. Find out once and for all what he was doing there and what his relationship was with Skylar Novak. But would doing so be justified? Fuck, I could picture myself losing my cool and going over the top, making me sound like a jealous lover. And if discovering an intimate relationship between the stranger and the artist did exist, I would indeed be seething with green-eyed envy. But as much as it killed me, I also had to face a cold and brutal reality. Although Novak and I had certainly become lovers, it had been nothing more than a “one-morning-stand,” so I could hardly lay claim to him, to label his cock exclusive to my greedy mouth. Doing so would probably earn the artist’s wrath—the last thing I wanted—and make me look like a blithering fool. No, I decided, I would have to tread very prudently. I would have to select my words with the utmost care and try to receive answers without harming a relationship that was still in its infancy, a relationship I prayed would continue indefinitely. But when I slid open the elevator cage and stepped into the penthouse hallway, I quickly realized my fevered musings had been for naught. I found nothing but cobwebs and dust and that single light bulb aglow. No signs of the black-clad 80
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stranger in any of the murky alcoves. And I searched every fucking one to make absolutely sure. As before, when I entered the studio, it took my eyes a moment to adjust to the brightness spilling into the room from the skylights and the open windows. In every direction I saw the painted nudes and the tools of Novak’s trade, but didn’t see the artist himself anywhere. Suddenly, my stomach twisted in extreme nervousness. The same sort of gut-wrenching apprehension one experiences after a highly successful first date and just before embarking on the second. Questions bombarded my brain. Were the feelings between both parties mutual? Had our sexual encounter been just a one-time fluke or did an actual relationship have a chance to develop? Would the same chemistry exist between us today, or in the past week had some deranged god-scientist farted with the delicate concoction and screwed things up for all concerned? Novak had said on the phone that he desperately wanted to see me, yet he hadn’t gone into detail. I thought I had detected the note of craving in his voice, but did I only hear something that I’d wanted to hear? Now that I thought about it, I mean, really thought about it… Fuck! I prayed I hadn’t made a mountain out of a molehill, that I would see the feelings and attraction I possessed for Novak mirrored in his own eyes, and until I did…shit! I took several deep breaths to halt the wave of panic I felt building on the emotional horizon. After a moment, I summoned my courage and molded my 81
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hands around my mouth like a megaphone. “Sky? Yo, Sky? You here?” “Hey, that you, Matthew?” he called from the adjacent gallery, the “Triple-X Room” I had christened it since last being in the studio. “Sure is.” “Great! Relax and I’ll be with you in a second, my sexy stud. Just finishing up some work.” “No rush.” Liar! I wanted him to rush, God damn it. I wanted him to drop everything and reassure me that I hadn’t constructed castles in the air with the bricks and mortar of flimsy erotic daydreams. I rubbed my belly, hoping to halt the bothersome churning, and forced myself to calm down. Okay, yes, he sounded normal a moment ago, not like he was preparing to sever our burgeoning relationship with a verbal ax anytime soon. And he called me his “sexy stud.” Not like a more formalized greeting he might have given another model. Or did he call all of his models his “sexy stud”? Fuck! Shit! Piss! If only I knew for certain— And there he stood in the doorway, instantly terminating my dismal thoughts and making me shudder in burning need. He wore only a pair of faded cut-off jeans, and used a rag to rub blotches of red and blue and orange paint from his fingers. The stubble on his face had grown into almost a full-fledged beard and mustache, as if he hadn’t shaved since the last time I saw him. And that chest! His large magenta nipples looked 82
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more suckable, his chest hair more luxurious, and my fingertips actually itched to be buried in that forest. Those long muscled and furry legs, those perfect feet, and that enticing bulge in the crotch sent my pulse racing to a deathdefying beat. Fuck, he looked so goddamned sexy. And I wanted him. Now! And then I saw the answer to my prayers—the dimpled smile aimed in my direction, that lascivious twinkle in his black eyes. Yes, our mutual desire continued to exist. What happened last Saturday wouldn’t be a one-time-only deal. I had to physically stop myself from leaping for joy. To further prove my fears unwarranted, he tossed the rag onto a nearby easel, then took my face in his hands and thrust his tongue between my lips, deep into my waiting mouth. Instantly, the flavor of peppermint assaulted me, a flavor I knew I would forever cherish. I wrapped my arms around his bare torso and groped the corded muscles along his backside, conveying to him all of my pent-up lust in one prolonged and heated exchange of passion. He broke the kiss, but continued to hold me close, to waggle his crotch against mine. My body tingled when I felt a boner forming behind his zipper, pressing against my own hardening rod. “You been running?” “Huh?” I asked, then realized how perspiration continued to darken my blue jersey in an elongated V-shape just below the collar. And how my scent might have offended him. “Oh, 83
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shit. Sorry about that. I jogged here today, so I’m probably in need of another long shower.” He chuckled. “Never apologize for that. I like a sweaty man.” “Really?” “Let me show you just how much.” He yanked the shirt over my head and tossed it aside, then licked the damp patch of hair in the center of my chest. As he proceeded to suck my nipples into aching peaks, he lifted my left arm, ran his hand over my sweaty pit, then kneaded my biceps and triceps and deltoid muscles. Not only that, but he kissed his way to my arm and drew a deep breath of my hairy armpit. He exhaled slowly, almost appreciatively, obviously relishing my musk. Probably the same way I relished his at the moment—the combination of heated male flesh, the faint scent of soap, and the slight tang of oil-based paint and turpentine. “Oh, yes,” he said, returning to my torso and tonguing my chest hair once again. “I always enjoy a man’s natural scent— ah, within reason, of course.” I laughed and ran my hands over his shoulders, to the nape of his neck, and into his uncombed head of hair. I grabbed a handful of his ebony locks and tugged his head backward, then planted kiss after kiss on his mouth. I had thought that last Saturday’s slight beard stubble turned me on, but now having an almost-full mustache and beard scratch my face really made my cock throb. As if sensing my thought, he reached down and squeezed the outline of my erection in my jogging shorts. “Damn, just 84
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as hard as it was in your photos…the photos that drove me wild all fucking week.” “You’ve been working on the painting, then, huh?” “I’ve made some headway, but every time I studied your beautiful physique in those photographs, I found it almost impossible to work long hours. Other things needed to be accomplished from time to time before I could continue, if you catch my drift.” Oh, yeah, I caught the drift all right. He wasn’t talking about other clients or appointments or sittings, he was talking about the exact same thing I had done several times each day in the shower or in bed while fantasizing about his body. Holy fuck, the mental image of him actually jerking off to my photographs thrilled me down to the tips of my toes. Novak wedged his left hand under the right leg of my jogging shorts, then into my jock strap, and fished out my cock. “This is what I’ve wanted to hold all week, Matthew,” he said, stroking me and kissing his way down my belly. “Your photographs are excellent, but they are certainly no substitute for the real thing.” When he landed on his knees, he brought my dick close to his face and tugged the foreskin upward. He dipped his tongue into the crater of flesh he’d created, tickling my knob hidden below. I could feel the pre-cum already leaking from my slit, and he lapped it up and groaned his gratification. I started to kick off my sneakers, picturing us once again going at it like sex-starved maniacs on the carpeting a few feet away. 85
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But he stopped me. “Not now, and not here. Hang on.” He got up, then went to the main studio door and locked it. “One of my other clients said she might stop by this evening to pick up a finished painting. Although she said she would phone first, one never knows. I don’t want her to walk in and catch us in the middle of doing something wickedly wonderful.” I smiled. “She? I assumed all your clients were male,” I said, gesturing around the room to the dozens of beautiful cocks on display. “You might be shocked, but the majority of my clients are actually female. I do a lot of ‘gifts’ for women who want to surprise their sweethearts or husbands with a painted replica or drawing, or want to remember someone special in their lives. They bring me the photographs they want created in oils or watercolors, and I happily supply them. Although I would certainly love to see the faces of some of the men who are to receive a nude portrait of themselves. Those men probably are shocked.” He came back to me and stroked my erection. “I occasionally do some female nudes, but as you can guess, I prefer—and specialize—in male physiques, which is why my business is sort of ‘underground.’ After all, we’ve all seen paintings of nude women hanging on a wall in a person’s home, or in a restaurant or museum, but how often do you see the subject matter of my artwork in or out of museums?” I laughed. “Never.” “Exactly. A cock, especially a colossal and majestically erect one such as yours, is still considered too taboo for 86
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modern society, therefore, I’m running an ‘underground’ business, with an exclusive clientele, and most of them just happen to be women. That’s part of the reason I love this ancient edifice on the edge of town. It discourages the ‘average’ customer from venturing up here to find me. People who know my work, who are determined to have a nude of their husband or lover hanging in their bedroom, will dare to enter a spooky old building. The others, however, will simply leave me alone and find another artist to paint their dogs or cats or children or boring bowls of fruit.” Another chuckle spilled from my lips. “And the other reason you have your studio here?” “The rent’s damned cheap and I’m too lazy to find another location.” He released my cock, then took me by the hand and led me into the “Triple-X” room. “Besides, I’ve lived here for years.” “Lived?” I couldn’t help but gaze at several paintings of men engaging in sexual activities. “I can just imagine my roommates coming back to an apartment decorated like this.” Now, he laughed. “No, silly, this part of the penthouse is just the studio.” He led me to the center of one of the white-painted walls. Only when I got up close could I view the outline of a door, one I hadn’t noticed during my initial visit. Of course, why would I, with so many ejaculating cocks staring me in the face the last time I’d been in this room, not to mention experiencing my first kiss from another man, a hidden door had been the last thing on my mind. 87
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He hooked his fingers under what looked like a notch in the wall, but it proved to be a latch of sorts, which he pulled forward. “This is where I actually reside.” The door opened into an impressive bathroom, lit by candles and several ornate wall sconces. To my left, a walk-in shower, a toilet, and a black marble bathtub held center stage. To my right, a row of marble countertops, with twin sinks and a wall of gold-framed mirrors above, dominated. Opposite from me, with a plush and colorful Oriental rug dividing the white linoleum floor, another door stood ajar. I whistled under my breath. The man certainly made a pretty penny from his artwork; so much for Jeff’s theory about Novak trying to force a rubber check on me. “Welcome to my home,” said Novak, fully opening the other portal. A long, dimly lit hallway lay before us, with several additional doorways on each side. Instead of grabbing my hand, he wrapped his fingers around my semi-hard dick, still poking out from the right leg of my jogging shorts. His touch pumped additional blood into my groin, and by the time we reached the first door on the left side of the hallway, my cock stood fully erect. “Normally I would give someone a guided tour of my residence, but that can come later. Right now, this room is just screaming for use.” Still holding my dick, he pulled me into a palatial bedroom. Burgundy throw rugs dotted the hardwood floor, and a large bearskin rug stretched out before a dormant 88
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fireplace of black marble. Plush beige chairs and a matching couch, along with a wide-screen TV, an entertainment center, and a mini-bar commanded one side of the room, while an antique chest of drawers and a few tables stood between potted palms and knee-high urns. Several floor-to-ceiling mirrors made the room seem cavernous. And at the far end of the room, on a two-foot high platform, a king-sized bed awaited. He had been absolutely correct; I didn’t need a tour, not when that cozy mattress seemed to beckon. In fact, the moment I saw it, I immediately kicked off my shoes and reached for the button of his cut-off jeans. We shed every stitch of our clothing in record time. Our hands and tongues explored our upper bodies while our stiff cocks dueled a sword fight at our groins. How we made it across the room to the bed without stumbling and breaking our necks, I would never know. Once we settled on the mattress, we rolled back and forth from one side of the bed to the other, making out like horny teenagers, petting and groping, tickling and giggling, while our hard dicks got reacquainted with the satiny feel of each other’s flesh. Before long, the burgundy-colored blanket and sheets and pillows lay rumbled and askew, giving the appearance of an all-night sex party. And I prayed for that very thing. When our bodies finally pulled apart, we simultaneously gazed down at our groins. Our dicks throbbed side by side and the treasure trails of hair on our bellies lay matted with shiny 89
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and sticky pre-cum. Novak studied our cocks for a long moment and appreciatively licked his lips, as if viewing the dual columns of flesh with an artist’s trained eye and debating how he could translate the arousing image onto canvas. After a second, he took my left hand and wrapped my fingers around both of our rods. I squeezed and stroked, rubbing them together and using my thumb to paint both tips in our clear juice. “How’s that feel?” I asked. “Another lesson well-learned. Now then…” His left eyebrow arched in amusement. “I’m sure we’re both anxious to be the first man to feast on the meat, correct?” “Hell, yeah.” “But that wouldn’t be fair, considering our mutual lust, would it?” “Probably not. But do you have a solution? Age after beauty?” He reached around me to slap my ass. “Piss off, you horny punk! I’m not even thirty yet, and far more fucking beautiful anyway.” “Is that so?” “Yes, that’s so, and don’t argue with your elders. So age before beauty, or age after beauty—it doesn’t matter, Matthew, since I win no matter which way you flip that statement.” Laughing, he palmed my jaw with his right hand, then traced my mouth with his thumb. After a moment, he sobered, and I viewed a flame of tenderness, of actual affection, vividly 90
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displayed in his black eyes. It made me shiver in delight, and I squeezed our slippery cocks even tighter. “Damn, who am I kidding?” he asked. “You have the most handsome face I’ve ever seen, and I’m sure even a blind man couldn’t help but fall in love with it.” “Don’t sell yourself short, Artist Man, because I can’t get enough of looking at yours.” “Okay, Matthew, so maybe ‘beautiful’ isn’t the correct word to use when describing me, but certainly ‘more worldly looking’ with this facial hair. By the way, do you think it makes me look more Bohemian? Like what people would expect from an ‘Artist Man,’ especially one who paints big fat cocks for a living?” Grinning, I gave him a deep kiss, loving the way his short whiskers tickled my flesh. “I think it makes you look fucking sexy as hell, and don’t ever shave.” “I’ll have to ponder that notion later, and don’t be too disappointed if I go against your wishes. But for the time being, however, I’ve got a way to solve our current dilemma.” “You mean who feasts first?” “Exactly. I think it’s time for you to learn yet another lesson.” I smirked and released our cocks. “I’m putty in your hands, oh learned one, so mold me.” His laughter rumbled through my tingling body like thunder. “A quick study like yourself will need no special instructions, I’m sure.” With that, he licked a path over my chest and toward my throbbing dick. Before I could protest 91
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about him beating me to the punch—or to the dick, as the case may be—he twisted around on the mattress so that we lay groin-to-mouth. “Oh, yeah,” I said, eyeing the crimson cock-head poking out from the duskier cloak of foreskin just inches from my lips, “I know this little game. And I approve!” I slipped his meat into my mouth, and in tandem, he did the same to mine. My tongue drew circles around his ridge, raced all along his plump shaft. He tasted just as salty and as spicy as I remembered, but even more palatable now that I finally had a chance to savor him again. I stroked the root of him with my trembling hand, tickled his balls with my pinky, and feasted on his leaking cock. And all the while, he did the same to me. Our moans of hunger wedded in my ears, a symphony of carnal pleasure. And our actions mirrored each other—he licked, I licked; he sucked, I sucked; he stroked, I stroked, while the rhythms accelerated and subsided in perfect harmony. I’m unsure what I liked better, me pleasuring him, or him pleasuring me. It almost seemed as if I was performing on myself, something that had never occurred while sixtynining with any former girlfriends. Yes, Skylar Novak knew exactly how to suck my cock to provide the utmost pleasure, and I prayed I gratified him in return. With his dick still fucking my mouth, he rolled on top of me and took my entire length into his throat, holding it prisoner. Chills exploded from my groin and rocketed through my veins. I clutched at his thighs and buttocks, likely gouging 92
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the poor man’s flesh with my fingernails, until he finally came up for air. Then he repeated the process. His tongue caressed my shaft from root to tip and I never once heard him gag. In fact, I could actually feel the tip of his tongue digging into my pubic bush. He cupped my balls in his hands, gently kneading them while teasing the wispy fur that led to my anus. This time I clutched handfuls of the blanket beneath me and squirmed, feeling my climax building with unrelenting force. I sucked his prick with renewed determination, and to my joy, I finally felt his crown slip deep into my throat so that I now swallowed his entire shaft. I would have shouted my triumph had my mouth not been crammed with his solid erection. His nut-sack covered my nose and smothered me in his manly scent. I held his cock in place as long as possible, never wanted to let him go, damn it, but my need for oxygen proved too strong. When I gasped and pushed up on his thighs, he pulled out of my mouth, then waited a few seconds before plunging into me again. How long we played in this manner, I couldn’t begin to estimate, but I somehow managed to suppress the urge to shoot my load. Thankfully! I had a week’s worth of hunger to appease, and goddamn it, I planned to make the most of every minute with him. We switched position several times, with me taking turns on top of his muscular frame. I loved watching his toes curl in pleasure as I deep-throated him and toyed with his balls or finger-combed the fur on his thighs, but not as much as I loved tasting the never-ending stream of pre-cum that flowed from 93
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his dick. Fucking hell, I wanted to drink from his majestic penis until the end of time. Occasionally I would release him from my mouth and kiss his shaft, tracing the numerous veins with my tongue or fingertips. Other times I would nibble on his foreskin or snuggled his pounding flesh against my face, smearing the clear milk leaking from the crown over my lips or cheeks. And my nose never tired of being buried in his pubic hair, where I would take lengthy whiffs of his masculine scent before returning to feast on his genitals. But fire continued to build in my groin, and I sensed I wouldn’t be able to contain my orgasm much longer. Novak, the master of fellatio, seemed to know my weaknesses, and habitually directed his tongue to lick or stroke or caress all the right spots at all the right times. I found myself in a quagmire of blissful torture. His hands also touched areas where no woman had ever explored, and when he tugged apart my butt cheeks and his fingertips crept closer to my hole, I soon found myself not only nearing the boiling point, but also whimpering my impending surrender. To my surprise, he suddenly clutched my bucking hips and lifted me upward, freeing me from his mouth. I looked down between our sweating bodies just in time to see him blow a stream of cooling air along the length of my twitching, marble-hard dick. “Oh, please, Sky! Damn it! I was close…so fucking close! And so were you…I could sense it…” Even as I looked back at the cock in my hand, I saw that tasty crystalline nectar oozing from the head and running down the shaft to baptize 94
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my fingers. “Oh, please, let me shoot…let me make you come. I’ve waited a whole fucking week to eat your load again.” He placed his lips against the base of my erection. A combination growl-chuckle reverberated from deep within his chest and into his mouth, vibrated through my quivering shaft. “Calm down, lover. I’ll get you there. Just have patience.” He kissed the tip of my cock and flicked his tongue over the slit, lapping up a bead of fresh juice. And his hot breath bathed my sensitive flesh, which drove me wild. “Yes, patience.” “But patience has…has never been one of my…my greatest virtues.” “Trust me. I want your climax—our climaxes—to be spectacular. I want us to unload buckets for each other.” “I think I could do that now.” I returned my attention, my lips, to his dripping penis. “And I’m sure”—I licked his knob and moaned—“yes, I’m sure you can do it, too.” I started to take him into my mouth, hoping I could persuade him to do it my way, to feed me his warm jizz right now, but he rolled me onto my back before I had the chance. He scurried off the mattress, and I attempted to clutch his arms or legs and drag him back to me. When he avoided my seeking fingers and burst out laughing, I moaned my abject misery. “Please don’t make me jack off alone,” I teased. “I will, you know, I fucking will, just to spite you.” “You won’t.” Novak stepped to a bedside table, opened the top drawer, and plucked out an item. “Don’t resort to sexual blackmail, Matthew. It doesn’t suit you. Plus I have a feeling you won’t mind what I have in store for your huge pecker.” 95
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“What’s that?” “Well, seeing as how you’ve successfully deep-throated me, it’s time you experienced something more. Learned another lesson.” He crawled back on the mattress and knelt beside my head. His tool bobbed bewitchingly with his heartbeat just inches above my panting mouth. I raised my upper body and lapped up a stream of seed that had trickled down to his furry balls. “Something better than swallowing every drop of your hot load?” He looked down on me with that lecherous twinkle in his eyes and that sexy, dimpled grin on his face that I’d come to treasure. “Oh, you’ll have your fill of that before too long. No, this is something else that I hope you want as badly as I do. Perhaps another one of your many fantasies…something I want to teach you. And, if you follow my directions to the letter, I will definitely give you much more of me to taste.” “Then damn it, by all means, let’s do it. What are you offering me?” “Myself, Matthew.” He unwrapped his closed fingers and showed me the item in his palm—a condom. “I’m offering you myself.”
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CHAPTER 7 I stared at the small square packet for several seconds, then looked into his eager face. This muscular macho man was asking me to…? Damn! In truth, I had never given the topic of anal sex much thought. It had been a long journey for me to get to this point in my life, and up until now, my mind had been consumed only with the whimsies of kissing and touching and tasting a man. Learning how to suck cock was one thing, but this…? “You mean—?” “I want you inside me. No, correction—I need to feel your beautiful cock deep inside my core, Matthew. Have you ever 97
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done this with one of your former girlfriends?” “Never.” “Then are you inclined to experiment now? To learn this additional lesson in how to pleasure a man? Or more specifically, how to pleasure me?” Even as he finished asking the question, he ripped open the wrapper with his teeth and fished out the plastic disk. “I don’t make the offer to just anyone. Indeed, it’s been more than a year since the last time I’ve made love in this fashion, and I’ve done it only with several men I had known for long periods of time. But with your ‘newness’ to all of this, I thought it wise to ask first and not to assume your willingness.” I glanced at my cock, recalling the occasions when several of my girlfriends had eyed its length and girth with fear in their eyes. I lifted a hand to his buttocks and slipped my fingers against his hairy hole. Once, twice, I probed his tight passage with just the very tip of my index finger. He visibly shivered, and I could tell that this part of his body desired attention. But hell, the size issue alone… “Are you sure you want this big ol’ monster inside of you? God, I can’t even begin to imagine how I’ll hurt you and—” “To me, it will feel wonderful.” Novak smiled, then bent forward and kissed my cock. “Because it’s yours.” “What do you mean?” “From the first moment I laid eyes on you at that party, I knew I wanted you, Matthew. But I never realized quite how much until you stripped for me and…” He momentarily sucked the top half of my dick, then licked up and down the 98
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sides, painting my length in saliva and pre-cum. “But it’s not just the sex. There’s something special about you, and I can actually feel something more between us, although I’m not sure if you can understand—” “I do, Sky. I confess, I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m obsessed with the thought of you, with being with you, and not just because you showed me the path to sexual enlightenment, but…hmm…damn, I don’t know. What I feel for you is nothing I’ve experienced before. There is a connection between us, but I can’t quite explain it.” He nodded. “Neither can I, but I’m working on it.” “At the risk of sounding like one of my dad’s broken phonograph records, I repeat, what do you mean?” “Later…all in good time.” Again, he took my rod into his warm mouth and bathed it in moistness. “For now, I need you inside me, to fill me completely. There’s a reason fate brought you into my life, and as corny as it might sound, I feel that you’re…well, you’re my destiny.” His words struck a mysterious yet familiar chord deep in my heart. In my soul. It felt akin to déjà vu, although not exactly the same, yet just as eerie. Through the years, I had certainly been attracted to men, and many times I had definitely been tempted to act on those feelings. But no matter how badly I’d wanted the experience, I’d always stopped myself. Whether out of fear or something else entirely, I had no clear understanding. Yet the moment I’d met Sky at the party, I somehow knew that this man would be the one to break down those damned 99
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barriers I’d constructed around myself. And I had welcomed the opportunity for him to do just that. When he’d asked me to pose for him, I felt the underlying heat, viewed the prurient glow in his eyes, and had known immediately that he’d wanted to seduce me. Unlike the other offers I’d had in the past, I’d jumped at this one, and I still couldn’t put my finger on the reason for that either. Why hadn’t I accepted any of the previous offers I’d received, some of which from extremely attractive guys? What made Skylar Novak so different from the other potential lovers I’d declined? Could I have somehow been waiting for that one special man to come into my life? Perhaps, although how could I ever know the true reason why this winsome artist touched something deep inside me, something somehow magical, that freed me from my inhibitions? What I did know, however, is that his declaration rang true regarding my own circumstance. That, from this point forward, my life would feel empty without this wonderfully sexy man in it, connected to him in some remarkable and unique fashion. Knowing he shared a similar compulsion to be with me thrilled me to the bone and made my heart flutter in unquenchable desire. And it certainly wouldn’t pose a problem for me to think of him as something more, a part of my destiny. Hell, I already felt possessive of him, already felt the sting of envy when thinking about him and any other lover. Those passionate feelings had come on so suddenly this morning, I still couldn’t quite comprehend them either. But instead of dwelling on the issue of fate and how it 100
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worked its bizarre sorcery, I took his advice. For the moment, other matters of greater importance demanded immediate attention. “Damn it,” said Sky, “I need you to hold me, Matthew, to fuck me like you’ve never fucked anyone before. So what do you say? Is it too soon? Do you need time to get used to the idea?” “Hell, I think I’m game to try anything once, as long as it’s for you.” I snatched the condom from his hand and sheathed my dick. A wide smile wreathed Novak’s handsome face, as if I’d just given him the greatest gift in the world. He stretched his body toward the table drawer again and withdrew a small bottle. After squirting some of the liquid into his palm, he thoroughly lubed my dick and jacked me. Unlike those women in my past, he eyed my ten-incher with not a look of dread, but one of voracious challenge. “Oh, yeah,” he said, his voice husky with urgency, “I think I’m really going to enjoy this.” He bent forward and gave me a lush kiss on the mouth, then straddled my waist. “You’re sure, now?” I asked, grabbing my cock at the base and playfully stabbing his anus with the greased tip. “Last opportunity to back out.” “Not a chance in hell, lover.” With that, he planted his slippery hands on my biceps and, ever so slowly, impaled himself on my erection. Mother of hell! His muscles expanded and contracted around my cock-head, like a hungry monster preparing to 101
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devour my rod of flesh. I clutched the rumpled mishmash of blanket and bed sheets at my sides, wrenching them in my fisting hands as I happily suffered this new brand of torment, one of dazzling and breathtaking ecstasy. Novak’s moans and tremors matched my own as he took another inch, then several more, into his ass. Every time he would lift up to capture only my tip, he would slide back down and consume even more of my shaft. Soon, his ass cheeks caressed my pubic hair, then eventually the root of my dick completely disappeared, and I couldn’t help but marvel at his amazing accomplishment. He started riding me at a lethargic tempo, his hips slightly swaying in barely detectable circles as he clutched me with his quivering muscles. Holy shit! No pussy had ever felt this damned good. Never had I fucked anything so feverishly hot or so blissfully tight, and I had to consistently force myself to keep from blasting my load. I also had to turn my head and shut my eyes. I couldn’t watch the way the sinew in his arms and chest bulged with his escalating pleasure, or how his balls bounced against my pubic bush. And I definitely couldn’t ogle the way his hard meat repeatedly slapped my abs and stippled my six pack in shiny pre-cum. All these sights would push me over the edge of no return. Like last weekend, a laundry list of State capitols started racing through my mind, only this time followed by the names of U.S. presidents, then football stats, then planets in the solar system along with all of their individual moons. Whether music, science, or literature—you name the category, I swiftly covered the topic. I felt like a participant on some deranged 102
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and X-rated version of Jeopardy, a contest of trivia knowledge and sexual endurance all wrapped up in one naughty game. A game I decided I loved, especially with his sexy and furry beast as its host. During the brief periods when I would temporarily master control over my impending climax, I would stroke his hairy chest, or lean up and take his nipples into my mouth, or yank his head toward me and thrust my tongue into his gasping mouth. I refused, however, to take his cock into my hand and pump him. As much as I wanted to, I knew the satiny feel of his taut flesh, the thump of his pulse racing through my fingertips, would conquer me. Instead, I returned my hands to the safety of the bed sheets, clawing at them until I again vanquished the craving to spew. Up to this point, I had barely moved my lower body. Thankfully, Novak had done all the work, since I knew that fucking him would swiftly turn vigorous, animalistic on my part, and I already had enough trouble with my nuts about to explode. But now I started to feel guilty for not contributing to his further gratification—apart from providing the cock, that is. And my previous fears about the possibility of hurting him with my size had completely disappeared, especially in light of his apparent enjoyment. So I gave myself a stern reprimand, warned myself that if I came before he had a chance to climax, there would be hell to pay, and I would be the one dishing out my own punishment. With my shaft growing more accustomed to his moist tightness, I felt I could now manage a bit better. 103
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When I started bucking my hips, hesitantly thrusting upward to meet his downward plunges, his growls filled my ears. His palms, which had clutched my pectorals the whole time, started moving wildly against my torso, his fingers snatching handfuls of my flesh or rubbing against my peaked nipples. “That’s it, buddy, fuck me! Yeah, you’ve got the hang of it. Fuck me! Fuck me hard!” Okay, you asked for it! I gripped his thighs and slammed upward again and again, filling him with my entire shaft. “Goddamn it, Matthew, your cock is so fucking huge! I love it! I love it!” I continued cramming my hardness inside of him, enjoying the look of sheer rhapsody that distorted his handsome features. Goosebumps popped up all along his arms and his cock banged against my belly like a dripping drumstick. When he started to pull himself off of me, however, I thought perhaps I had done my job all too well, that perhaps I had indeed hurt him. My momentary concern disappeared when he repositioned himself. Now, facing toward the ceiling, he placed his feet against my waist, and leaned backward, his hands clutching the mattress beside my knees. When he rode me, his boner waved ferociously back and forth between his thighs, or jumped up and down, whacking his rippling belly or swatting mine. It looked like a veined and lethal billy club being wielded by an insane policeman, and I couldn’t help myself from capturing it and holding it straight out from his writhing and bucking body. Before long, his clear juice practically streamed from the head, drowning my thumb and 104
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the back of my hand, making it hard to maintain a grip. At those times, I’d swap hands, then lick some of the tasty juice from my fingers. Eyeing this beautiful man fucking me, me fucking him, his head thrown back on his shoulders and his impressive physique heaving and shaking with savage wantonness, his tanned flesh glistening with sweat in the soft bedroom lights, finally proved my undoing. “Shit!” I screamed. “I’m gonna come! I can’t…can’t stop it.” “Yes, Matthew, fill me with your jizz! I’m almost there myself. Come for me, Matthew, come for me!” No sooner had his manic encouragement, his authorization for me to climax, left his mouth and pounded my eardrums, I felt liquid fire rocketing from my balls and into my shaft. I trumpeted my explosion from sputtering lips. Muscles along my neck corded, and the remainder throughout my entire body flexed and burned, as if trapping the molten fire surging through me. Tears and perspiration blinded my eyes, my heart galloped in my chest, and my lungs groped for oxygen. All the while, brutal jets of semen raced up my shaft, still being devoured by Novak’s sinfully tight anus, and I wondered if such a violent eruption would shoot my cum right through the rubber, savaging the sheer material in a bid for escape. My head actually buzzed in bliss. I came crashing down to Earth when my lover wrenched himself off my still-spasming cock. For a moment I wondered if my cum had truly geysered out of the condom, sending him 105
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into the heavens with its power. The entire mattress bounced when he barreled forward, plopping down with his knees resting just below my armpits. He started whacking his dick so fast, the sight blurred. “You want my cum, Matthew? Huh? You hungry for my load?” “Fuck, yes! Give it to me, Sky. Feed it to me. I’ve wanted to taste you all week. Don’t make me wait any longer. Please! Feed me!” With his free hand, he rubbed sweat from his eyes, then cradled the back of my head and lifted my face toward him. “Stick out your tongue, lover boy.” Just as I did as he commanded, hot cum shot from his dick, hitting the back of my throat and covering my lips, chin, and outstretched tongue. I quickly lost count of how many blasts cannoned from his cock-head, but gobbled up as much as I could. When semen started to ooze instead of squirt from him, he swatted his shaft against my tongue several times, smearing the fluid over my taste buds. “Milk me dry, Matthew! Suck my fucking dick and eat the jizz you’ve craved!” He didn’t have to tell me twice. I slapped his hand out of the way and took hold of that throbbing meat while I slurped on the crown, swallowing every drop I could suck from him. Holy fuck! He tasted even better than I remembered. “You like that, huh? As much as you did before?” “Hmm, yeah,” I murmured, continuing to roll his seed around on my tongue. I playfully bathed his now-deflating 106
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boner with the salty and spicy juice, but made sure I left none of it behind. When it comes to his juice, I guess I’m just a greedy bastard. He seemed to sense my internal musing, since he used his fingers to clean the liquid from my face, licking only some of it off his fingers but using most of it to paint trails of ivory cream along the bottom half of his shaft. I hungrily devoured every morsel; to me it tasted like nectar from the gods. I crammed his entire cock in my mouth, gripped his ass, and buried my face in his damp bush. The scent of his genitals and cum made my head spin in the same sexual heaven I’d experienced the previous week. Only this time, more profound. For a long while, perfectly content, we stayed like that, with him kneeling and panting and continuing to wipe perspiration from his brow and chest, and me running my tongue around and around his flaccid shaft, under his foreskin, and savoring his manly bouquet. All too soon, he withdrew from my mouth, then carefully pulled my own dick from what looked like an overflowing rubber. He made a knot of the open end, then held the lewd packet up toward a ceiling light. “Fuck, yeah! Look at that load. Now, didn’t I tell you it would be better to wait instead of spewing earlier?” I licked my lips, then laughed. “Okay, okay, I guess I know better than to argue with you about things like that.” “Damn right.” He tossed the condom into a garbage pail beneath his nightstand, then turned back to my groin and gave my soft dick a prolonged suck, moaning when he finally came 107
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up for air. Afterward, he settled atop my body. His deep kisses, the way his tongue frolicked with mine, told me his orgasm had been just as satisfying. And the taste of my own cum mingled with his in a savory recipe. For a long while, we made out. Not like before, where we’d rolled around and groped like horny teenaged animals with insatiable hungers. Now, in the warmth of afterglow, with that hunger momentarily appeased, we caressed and petted with our hands and feet, nibbled each other’s faces and chests, each delicate stroke, each gentle kiss, conveying the passion of something more between us. Much more. He smiled and toyed with my chest hair, lightly twisting and twirling the strands in his fingers. “Before we got…well…sidetracked, you asked me some questions.” “I did?” I wracked my brain to remember, but it wasn’t easy. Why did being in this man’s strong arms turn me into an imbecile with amnesia? Just the softness of his lips against my cheek, the whiskers teasing my face, the warmth of his hands or feet stroking my sensitive flesh, drove all thoughts other than rutting from my head, and it took me a moment to remember. And when I finally did, it made me laugh. Oh, yes, we had briefly discussed the reason we’d both felt drawn to each other, the very reason why that very closeness made us abandon all sane thought. Stupid me! But I knew no serious discussion could take form, or would have any lasting impression, until I withdrew from his arms. So as much as it killed me, I pulled away from his 108
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comforting embrace. I resettled on the mattress, putting a few inches between us, and propped myself up on an elbow. “All right, where did we leave off? Something about how you were attempting to figure out why we seem to share an emotional connection. Right?” “Matthew…” A serious expression whisked away the playful one he’d had only a moment before. His lips quirked, as if he struggled to find the perfect words to convey his thoughts. I couldn’t help feeling some of the anxiety I had experienced earlier this afternoon before holding him in my arms again, before feeling his lips on my mouth. “What is it, Sky? Is something wrong?” “No, no, it’s just that…as I said before, when I saw you for the first time, I felt a connection. Your good looks captivated me, of course, but it was so much more than that. So much I couldn’t explain. And you also confessed to sharing similar feelings.” “Exactly.” “Do you believe in fate? A greater power that drives us, steers our lives into specific and pre-selected directions?” “Until now, I never really thought about it.” “There’s where you and I differ. I’ve always thought about it. I’ve always felt that somewhere, at some time, I would meet a person created especially for me. Call it a ‘soul mate,’ if you will, although I find the term rather bland, considering the enormity of the emotional connection that accompanies that special relationship, if one truly does exist.” He sighed. “And then I saw you at the party.” 109
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“And you felt we were soul mates?” “I wasn’t sure, Matthew, but I knew it was a definite possibility, if my subsequent actions were any indication…” “I don’t understand.” “Why would you? How could you? Indeed, we barely know anything about each other. Shit, I don’t even know your middle name, or whether you even have one—” “It’s Lawrence, by the way.” “Thanks.” A smile momentarily curled his lips. “But my point is that we hardly know each other, so I don’t expect you to comprehend that what has happened to me since meeting you, the actions I’ve taken since meeting you, are so unlike me.” “For instance?” “Well, for starters, this might shock you…I have never once seduced one of my models upon meeting him.” “With all those hot men out there in paintings and drawings? You mean you never slept with any of—” “Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’ve had relationships with a few of those men. Some frivolous, some moderately serious, but none of them so damned emotionally intense. And none of those ‘affairs’ had started just after meeting the men. In fact, out of all of those delightfully nude models you see on canvas, I’ve taken only three or four into my bed. This bed, and only after weeks and weeks and sometimes months of getting to know them better. I guess you could actually call me ‘emotionally bashful,’ always afraid of getting in too deep and way too fast with a man. I suppose I always knew, somewhere 110
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deep in my heart, that each of those men weren’t right for me, that the relationships could develop only so far, and that’s why I took them very slow and cautiously.” “Then why me? Why was I different?” “That’s exactly the question I’ve been asking myself this past week. But I knew, Matthew, from the moment I saw you, that when you came to pose, I would make love to you. I needed to make love to you. Trust me, I shocked myself, but I didn’t care. All I knew was that before you left the studio last Saturday, we would become intimate.” Chills raced along my backside, and I felt my testicles contract. Again that odd feeling, the one not quite déjà vu yet similar, made me almost dizzy with its newfound severity. “I don’t believe it, Sky.” “Again, why should you? As I said, you barely know me and—” “No, I mean what you were talking about, knowing that you and I would become lovers last Saturday and the feelings you had about me? What I don’t believe is that’s exactly how I felt about you. I took one look at that handsome face and a part of me instantly…well…fell in love, I guess, for the lack of a better term. Or at least, I thought it was love.” “I’m not certain either, Matthew, but that’s what a part of me thought also.” “Why else would I have acted the way I did? I had always backed away from my feelings—my urges—when it came to other men. Until you. Somehow I knew I would forfeit my ‘gay virginity’ to you in some way, shape, or form during my 111
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posing session. And since last weekend, I’ve been a lunatic. Like a caged tiger, ready to jump out of my skin until your phone call finally arrived. And afterward? Fuck! Just ask my roommates how crazed I acted yesterday if you don’t believe me. I haven’t been able to get you out of my thoughts, and let me tell you, I’ve never jacked off so damned much in a single week’s time.” “Same with me. I couldn’t stop looking at your pictures and I’ve barely gotten any other work done.” Relief washed over his face, but only for an instant. “But…but there’s more to this than animal attraction, then the desire for hot sex.” “I sense that also. But what?” “I think I’m in the process of shedding light on that very answer.” “Yes, I remember you saying something like that earlier. Hey, you’re not watching the Oprah or Doctor Phil shows in order to dig into your soul for this answer, are you? Although I’m sure those would be more illuminating than Jerry Springer.” He grinned at my joke, but I could tell he had something much more important to discuss regarding his theories, whatever they might be. Once again, another chill chased my spine, right down to the crease in my ass. I could almost imagine my panther tattoo bundling up from the arctic cold. “No, Matthew, I’d receive no answers by watching those shows. Indeed, I’m quite positive none of those talk show hosts has covered the topic I’m about to suggest. I mean, I don’t know of anyone who can explain what I think is 112
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happening between us.” “Now I’m really intrigued. But you sound almost… ominous.” “Again, you don’t know much about me, Matthew. Since the time I was a teenager, I knew I was different.” “Yeah! Tell me about it!” “No, I don’t mean just gay, I mean… well, I have certain gifts, talents.” “I know that. You’re one of the best artists I’ve ever seen.” “Thank you, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Or at least, only partially. Yes, I can draw and paint, but the talent that flows through these fingers is…I’m not sure how to describe it. I’m sure it’s what other artists experience to a certain extent, a compulsion to put their visions onto canvas. But there’s something more to mine. It’s almost like…almost like…” “What, Sky? What are you trying so hard not to say?” “You’ll think I’m crazy.” “Hello? Look at who’s lying beside you in bed. The poster boy for your friendly neighborhood funny farm. Sure, I don’t know you very well. In fact, hardly at all. But what I do know is that you’re a sensitive and caring guy, and intelligent. I’ve spent enough time in your company to know you are not crazy. Just say what’s on your mind.” “Okay, here it is.” He sat up and crossed his legs Indian style, then looked me directly in the eyes. “I feel—especially since moving to this studio—that the visions I put onto canvas are…are sometimes…” 113
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I put a reassuring hand on his knee and felt a slight tremor. “Say it. Say it, Sky, before you do go crazy. What about the visions you put onto canvas?” He took a deep breath, then let his words flow in a haunting whisper. “That they’re somebody else’s visions and not mine.”
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CHAPTER 8 His statement startled me. Again, the skin prickled all along my backside, and the hair on my arms and legs snapped to attention. Images of my Uncle Clarence, the one who resided in the upstate mental hospital fashioning animal figurines out of fudge-bar sticks, flashed through my head. Last weekend, while hunting the dingy hallway for the darkclad man who’d seemingly vanished into thin air, I thought I’d swiftly be joining my dear old uncle in the booby hatch. But now I debated whether I should pack a suitcase for two and drag the artist along with me. Hell, at least we’d be together. I wonder if they have a Honeymoon Rubber Room Suite… 115
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Okay, okay, so maybe my new lover was crazy. As whacked out as I was last weekend. Maybe insanity ran in more families than just my own. And maybe I didn’t have a goddamned clue when it came to judging someone before I fucked them. Good going, Ace! You picked a real loony-tunes to act as your instructor in the art of gay sex! But no, damn it, no! I couldn’t believe the man sitting beside me belonged in a straight jacket. I had meant what I’d said a moment earlier, that Skylar Novak seemed a mildmannered and tender guy, and probably more astute and more rational than most of the men I’ve ever known. And certainly no crazier than myself. Within the black pits of his eyes, I noted various emotions—bewilderment, with no small amount of trepidation, yet a deep sincerity. So, I decided, although he might have a few screws loose, at least he actually believed the truth in what he’d confessed. “Will you please say something, Matthew? Anything? You’re worrying me. I knew you’d think I was nuts, but I swear to God I—” “You’re telling the truth.” I gave his knee a firm squeeze in reassurance. “But yeah, I also admit, this does seem a bit farfetched, even though you believe it’s true.” “But it is true.” Grunting in frustration, he leapt off the mattress and started to pace beside the bed, his feet slapping the burnished floorboards. He chewed his lower lip and fisted his hands. “I don’t know how it happens or why, but sometimes when I work I…well, I can’t help wonder what 116
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inspires me to paint or draw something in particular.” “It’s probably just your vivid imagination. Part of being a good artist, I’m sure.” “Yeah, yeah, I’ve thought about that also. Yet sometimes, it’s almost as if my hands are being…being…” “What?” “Being guided…being controlled by another force. As if some entity is using me to create specific images and I’m its conduit to the canvas.” “Sky, come on, this is really starting to sound a bit like—” “Twilight Zone territory. Or perhaps One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest might be more apt.” “Well, yeah. It kinda does.” “Don’t you think I know that? Shit! I’ve told no one else about this, Matthew. No one! For years I thought what happened to me was just the product of my vivid imagination, as you stated. I told myself that I should accept my talent for what it was, that I shouldn’t question how or why I received inspiration to create various paintings. And I remained quiet all this time. I had even convinced myself that how I worked was normal for any artist. But now I can’t do that anymore. Now I’m all confused again and…” “I don’t understand. What’s changed to make you rethink the theory that what you paint comes from someplace outside of your own mind?” He stopped pacing and looked directly at me. “You.” Alarmed, I sat up straight and scooted to the edge of the mattress, dragging some of the bedclothes with me in my 117
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haste. My bare feet thumped on the floor to punctuate the only word that came to my lips—“Huh?” “It’s you, Matthew. If I hadn’t met you, I probably would have gone on existing day to day thinking nothing unique or bizarre was happening to me. Or rather, has been happening to me for many years. But after meeting you in the flesh…well…I have to face the possibility that my original hypothesis, as cuckoo as it sounds, might be correct.” “So you’re blaming me for whatever is happening to you?” “‘Blame’ isn’t the right word. You’re just the—the catalyst to help me confirm my theory of what I’ve always known to be true but wanted so desperately to ignore. That sometimes I paint not of my own volition. And you, my sexy lover, were the missing piece I needed to prove I wasn’t going insane.” “Okay, you’re really starting to scare the fuck out of me, Sky.” I was only half-kidding when I said those words, and he apparently sensed it. Shoulders slumping in defeat, he buried his head in his hands. “This is not going well, damn it. Why can’t I find the right words to explain? Why?” He drew a long breath as if to calm himself, then revealed his face once again. Crimson dotted his cheeks, and his lips had curled downward in despair. He sank onto his haunches beside the bed and peered up at me. Tears shimmered in his eyes. “Matthew,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “You feel this connection between us. You’ve said as much.” “Yes, but what does that have to do with your art and—” “I know patience isn’t one of your greatest virtues. 118
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Although I’m failing miserably, I’m nevertheless doing my best to explain this to you. So please, hear me out, okay?” Sighing, biting back the many questions forming on my tongue, I nodded. “Now, neither of us has been able to truly explain what we’ve felt for each other since last weekend. And this—” He gestured to indicate our nude bodies, then rested his hands on my thighs and gently stroked my flesh. “What we’ve experienced since first meeting, these sexual impulses outside the realm of our normal routines—me with an insatiable desire to seduce one of my models, which I had never done before, and you determined to finally come out of the closet—you have to admit, that’s odd. Plus, we’ve mutually developed an obsession for each other, an uncontrollable one. Also odd, yet correct, right?” Again, I nodded. “I feel something deep inside me”—he took one of my hands in his and pressed it against the center of his chest—“in my heart and soul. What has, and is, happening between us is no mere coincidence. That there’s something more powerful at work—call it ‘fate,’ call it ‘destiny,’ call it whatever—seems the only logical explanation. And all of what’s occurred between us is also connected in some unfathomable, magical, crazy way with my theory about how I paint.” I tried to digest his words, but they made no sense. Or did they? Yes, I couldn’t deny that our shared attraction and our recent actions—how many times had I jerked off in the past week with my obsession growing by leaps and bounds?—did 119
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seem more than coincidental. But fate? Predestination? As long as we’re at it, how about hocus-pocus fucking-ocus? I didn’t know if I could believe any of that. There had to be some sort of natural explanation for the powerful connection we’d felt since meeting. Lust? Maybe. Love? Possibly. But how the hell did our feelings for each other somehow tie in with how he painted? No, it truly didn’t make any sense. Parts of it, sure—but all of it? No fucking way in hell! “Matthew, as I said before, from the moment I met you, I felt you were someone extremely special, someone who would somehow play an important role in my life. And then when you stripped for me, and I…I saw the…” “Saw what?” I asked, but a part of me, probably the one that chilled me to the bone, already divined the answer. “When I saw your unique birthmark hidden within the framework of that panther tattoo, I simply knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you were my destiny.” He climbed to his feet and continued to hold my hand. “I need to show you something, Matthew, and the reason for my firm beliefs will hopefully become quite clear. And with any luck, maybe you will also believe my theory as well.” Unable to imagine what in the world he could possibly show me that would sway me to believe his outlandish and ludicrous concept, I said nothing. Instead, I decided to humor him and got off the mattress. He led me to the other end of his 120
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bedroom, toward what I had assumed was a closet. When he opened the set of double doors, however, I realized my mistake. Almost as vast as the bedroom itself, this windowless room appeared to be another studio. Easels abounded along one wall, holding works in various stages of completion, along with several tables laden with art supplies. The faint scent of oil and turpentine hung in the air, along with a trace of cinnamon, as if he’d recently burned incense. Unlike the other two studios, however, with their nearly bare hardwood floors and stark white-painted walls, this room boasted a beautiful hand-woven floor tapestry in the center area, while what looked like silk brocade covered the walls in shades of burgundy and beige. At one side of the room, a tall polescreen with shield-shaped panels of embroidered art partially masked another black-marble fireplace, and several leather chairs and a sofa comprised a comfortable seating area. As in the other studios, paintings lined the walls, but of a larger scale and with grander, more ornate frames that also featured directional lights to showcase the art they housed. With the room’s soft illumination and the elegance of the decor, I instantly sensed that Novak had deemed the works in this room somehow distinguished, worthy as keepsakes in this private gallery. It flattered me that he would allow me to view this sanctuary, yet I also wondered why. The reason quickly became apparent. I recognized Novak’s unmistakably captivating visage and lean, well-developed physique in each of the paintings. He had 121
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captured to perfection the spark in his ebony eyes, his full lips and regal nose, along with exceptionally detailed replicas of his torso, buttocks and limbs. And I instantly identified his genitals—the darker foreskin and blood-engorged crown, the network of purple-red veins decorating the hard shaft, the plump and furry balls—seeing as how closely I had studied them in the flesh, memorized them, during our lovemaking sessions. The art nearest the door seemed to be all selfportraits, but the farther I ventured into the room, I noticed how the paintings began to depict other men along with the artist. In one, Novak had a large erection buried in his mouth and cum trickling from his lips. In another, he sat atop a giant dick, his own shaft squirting semen across his lover’s heaving chest. In still another, he lay on his back, his arms spread at his side and his face wrenched in ecstasy, while his legs encircled the waist of a well-hung man obviously fucking him into a state of bliss. I couldn’t help but pop a gigantic boner, and it surprised me. Seeing my lover pleasuring and being pleasured by other men turned me on more than I could have ever guessed. Funny, I thought, considering the pangs of jealousy I had felt earlier that day when only imagining someone else bidding for the man’s attention. But now, viewing these outrageously lifelike images of Skylar Novak in the throes of passion sent blood to my groin in a heated rush. Just behind me, Sky cleared his throat, snapping me out of my carnal revelry. He kissed my shoulders, then wrapped his 122
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arm around my waist and started stroking my shaft. Since entering the room, his cock had also grown considerably, and I felt it press and throb against my buttocks. I rested back against his furry body, enjoying his ministrations while savoring the scenes of lewd gratification going on within the various highlighted frames. Another painting featured Sky holding a sizeable and ejaculating penis inches before his face and capturing jets of the creamy semen with his tongue. Another showed him rubbing his cock against the center of a muscular torso and pumping streamers of his own ivory juice across his lover’s patch of chest hair. Yet another painting depicted the artist straddling his lover’s waist, masturbating both cocks in the same hand as they erupted twin geysers of jizz high into the air. As I continued to stare at the paintings, Sky’s hand squeezed me harder and stroked faster, and I could feel the pre-cum oozing from me in a steady flow. His hot breath invaded my ear canal in a gentle fuck of exhales. “You recognize the man in the paintings, of course. Remarkable, isn’t it?” “Y-yes, your talent is absolutely phenomenal.” “That’s not what I mean. Now after seeing the paintings in this room, you can probably understand why meeting you has thrown me off balance…why I believe my theory is correct.” “I still don’t know what you mean. What does your art have to do with us? Or with the unusual and magnetic attachment we feel for one another?” All at once, his hand left my cock. He stepped around me 123
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and stared into my eyes, his mouth agape. “Do you still mean to tell me that our meeting, our becoming lovers, is no mere coincidence? How can you continue to suggest that some strange phenomena is not at work here, or somehow running through my hands to create these paintings?” “I’m sorry, Sky, but that’s exactly what I’m saying. I’ll admit, seeing these impressive images has gotten me excited, as you can obviously tell. But I still don’t follow your logic. What exactly do you want me to comprehend by viewing images of you screwing other guys? I don’t get it—” “Other guys? Look closely, Matthew. Stop concentrating on me in the paintings and look closely at the other man.” “Huh?” “Look again, damn it, look!” Previously I had indeed focused my attention on his likeness, the object of my unquenchable sexual desires, instead of scrutinizing the other figure in each of the paintings. Now I did as he commanded, scanning them with a fresh eye. And then I saw what had coerced Novak into thinking he was crazy, because renewed worries of insanity raced through my own head. And not regarding his mental state, but my own. A blast of arctic air couldn’t have chilled me more. With my feet frozen in place, I shivered as my gaze leapt from one painting to another and I finally recognized the telltale marks of the other man’s body. It was mine! My head started to swim in an eddy of frantic thoughts, 124
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and I heard myself babbling gibberish until my throat closed in panic. To keep from collapsing, I clutched Sky’s broad shoulders. He wrapped his arms around my waist and kept me propped up. The warmth of his bare flesh did nothing to halt the brutal shivers that stampeded along every inch of my body. I swallowed several times and drew deep, cleansing breaths until I found my voice. “Th-this can’t be,” I whispered, yet seeing evidence to the contrary wherever I directed my gaze. “It’s some kind…some kind of trick. It has to be.” “No, Matthew, this is no trick. But I can certainly empathize with your initial reaction, because it’s the same one I had last weekend after seeing your nude body for the first time. Now you know why I didn’t show you my private art collection before attempting to explain. I tried my best to prepare you for this, hoping to lessen the impact, but I can see I’ve failed miserably. I’m so sorry…so sorry…” I pointed to a painting only inches away from me, the one in which Novak, being pummeled by a thick cock, had his legs encircling his lover’s waist. There, just above the juncture of the man’s clenching buttocks, a mark in the shape of a fivepointed star marred the white flesh. “It’s…it’s…” “Your birthmark. Yes, Matthew. Now you know what had me so damned captivated when you told me the story of the birthmark, how it runs in your family. And now you know why it fascinated me to the point of astonishment.” I looked back at the first painting, the one with the kneeling artist devouring a spewing cock, and sure enough, I 125
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clearly viewed the small five-pointed star, the same as I now saw in every painting where I could study the man’s backside. Novak moved around me, yet continued to hold me against him. One of his hands left my waist and settled directly in the center of my chest. “I’m sure you also recognize the muscular torso with the patch of brown hair between the breastbone.” As he spoke, he buried his fingers in my chest hair, calmly stroking the fur. “And by now you probably note the lengthy penis with the cowl of foreskin draped over the hood, the sinewy arms and legs, the large yet graceful hands and feet—” “All mine!” “Exactly. But the face…I could never quite capture your features.” I saw what he meant. In most of the paintings, the man’s face had been turned away, although he did possess my thick brown head of hair. And in the few profiles, the features seemed cloudy, nebulous, unlike the rest of the highly detailed painting. “I’d tried, believe me, Matthew, I’d tried to ‘see’ the face in my mind when creating these works of art, but I couldn’t quite depict it to my satisfaction. That’s why I didn’t recognize you when I met you. Only when I saw your birthmark, however, then acknowledged the elegant lines and curves and bulges of your musculature, the chest hair pattern…well, then it all came together. For the past week, I’ve compared your photographs to these paintings, and I must admit, I had eerily managed to capture every inch of your manly physique.” 126
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“How is this possible, Sky? How?” “I have no idea, Matthew. But hopefully now you can understand what I was talking about earlier, how somehow, someway, I was able to envision your body to the point of perfection. Or rather, down to the five points of that star birthmark. I’ll admit, your panther tattoo threw me. I had never once imagined that. But the birthmark remains on your body nevertheless, which means I actually captured the image of your physique in its natural state. So I repeat, it’s as if some greater power used my hands to depict you in all of these paintings and, for whatever the reason, wants us together as lovers.” Holy fuck! Although his theory now started to actually make sense, I just couldn’t believe it. Fuck, I didn’t want to believe it, because that could mean I was indeed off my rocker. My rational mind still clung to the notion that some elaborate hoax had been perpetrated. When the chills abandoned me and my body returned to its normal temperature, I pulled out of my lover’s arms and examined several nearby paintings, frantically searching for signs of a ruse. In each canvas, in the bottom right-hand corner just below Novak’s distinctive flowing signature, I noticed a date. They went back as many as seven years. Seven! Long before my chest hair had sprouted up, long before the years of playing sports and visiting the gym had developed the muscles I had today. “A-ha!” I exclaimed, glancing over my shoulder. “How do 127
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I know you didn’t add these dates earlier this week?” “Even if I had, where would I have found the time to create all of these finished works?” That bit of reasoning swiftly knocked the wind out of my sails. So much for your detective skills, Columbo! Yes, with the simple stroke of a brush, Novak could have added the dates, but he made a valid point. Had it been one, maybe two paintings, I might have thought it a trick, yet compositions done in such skillful detail would have been impossible to rush. Although I had painted nothing in my lifetime, I still knew that much. With the dozens upon dozens of pictures lining the walls, this collection had taken many months, even years, to complete. “And even if I had altered the paintings,” continued Novak, “to revise the body of my lover to match yours, it would have taken me days or weeks for each one. Sure, I could have easily plopped a small star on every ass, but the remainder of the physique…? With the work I’m completing for other clients, not to mention all the hours I’ve spent this week with cock in hand and memories of you on the brain, I would have never found the hours to alter a single painting, let alone all of them.” He didn’t sound defensive, or confrontational, just stating the facts. I turned around, again seeing the light of sincerity in his dark eyes. I nodded. Perhaps I needed to accept the fact that what I viewed around me was nothing short of unexplainable phenomena. That my lover had a gift of unknown origin, one provided to him by an unknown source 128
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for an unknown purpose. “Okay, Sky, now I get it…now I finally believe you.” His breath came out in a relieved exhale. He wrapped his arms around my waist and gave me a heartfelt embrace. “But what does this all mean? What do you think is happening here?” “I don’t know, Matthew. I truly don’t. All these many years, painting the same physique of my ‘fantasy lover,’ I thought I was simply creating the man I subconsciously craved, although a part of me had always hoped that I might one day find him. My mother had been a firm believer in fate and destiny, and some of that rubbed off on me, so a large part of me supposed you would one day come into my life if only I waited long enough. And looked close enough.” His moist lips trailed over my right shoulder, the fresh whiskers tickling, and he kissed me on the back of the neck. “That’s the reason why I never got too serious with any other man. But after all these years, I had just about given up hope of ever finding my fantasy lover. And then you stepped into my life.” “And you started painting my image—my current image— seven years ago?” “That’s right. Just after I came to Huntsville and moved into this building. Indeed, just hours after I’d settled into the penthouse, I woke up in the middle of the night, inspiration goading me into this very room and doing the preliminary work on the first painting of you and I together.” He pointed to the picture of him on his knees, sucking a cock. My cock! “That’s the painting that started it all. As the painting 129
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progressed, I remember wondering why I added the star symbol just above the butt cheeks. After all, it is actually quite small, so it hardly made a difference in the overall presentation. Yet, it somehow mattered.” “What do you mean?” I asked, clutching his arms and sinking into his embrace. “I had actually removed the birthmark on several occasions, but each time I did, a nagging sensation kept running through me. One night, I couldn’t even get to sleep until I returned to this room and added the damned thing yet again. The painting just didn’t feel ‘right’ without it, and the thought of not having it pestered me to the point of distraction. So since that night, I’ve never again questioned my gut instinct—that driving force that impels me to paint a certain image.” “I certainly don’t know what’s happening here, but the idea that you actually painted my adult image when I was only a teenager is beyond comprehensible. It’s like you were able to see into the future. I think we’re back to Twilight Zone territory again. Do you have a crystal ball hidden around here or something?” His gruff chuckle vibrated through me and stirred my cock. “Nope, just the overpowering compulsion to paint what I see in my head.” “Well, although I don’t think I’ve ever been so damned spooked, I’m glad you did paint these pictures.” “Why is that?” “Because with so many on display, that must mean we’ll 130
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be together—hot and hungry lovers, by the looks of it—for a very long time to come.” “I hope so. Yet…” “Oh, shit! I now know you well enough that I recognize that hook in your voice. What else are you afraid to tell me?” He released me, then turned me to face him. “You haven’t looked at the full collection of art in this room, only a small fraction.” “You mean there’s something more I need to see?” “Much more…and I’m not quite certain how you will react.”
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CHAPTER 9 It took me a second to gather my courage. What would I see if I continued this tour of his naughty private collection? How bad could it be? Somehow I couldn’t imagine Sky proudly displaying a painting that depicted our tragic parting of the ways, or a bitter break up that rivaled any Hollywood marriage. Plus he didn’t appear fearful or despondent, like what he planned to show me somehow forecast terror or doom for the both of us. I had already lived through one enormous shock. Hell, even now, I could oddly feel myself getting used to the idea that my lover had some sort of voodoo running through his veins, allowing him to spy into the future. So what the hell, I decided, let’s have a look at whatever the future 132
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held for me…for him…for us and deal with the fallout. When I nodded my consent, he took me by the hand and led me across the long room, toward the fireplace and seating area. Along the wall, dozens of additional scenes of Skylar and I caught in the act of lovemaking met my vision. The sight of our sweating, heaving bodies as we stroked or sucked each other’s cock, seeing my erection buried deep in his ass as I took him in every position imaginable, watching us cover each other in massive amounts of cum, once again shot fiery blood into my groin. By the time we reached the opposite end of the room, I had another real-life boner jutting from my crotch and juice weeping from the slit. My penis actually ached, as if begging me to hurry up and live out the various scenes I had so recently viewed as an outside observer. All in good time, I thought, just as my eyes focused on another painting, all in good— My feet ground to a halt, and I blinked several times. Again, Novak came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. His fingertips playfully tugged on my pubic hair and teased the base of my erection. “So you noticed, I see?” “How could I not?” “Since entering this studio, Matthew, you have taken a step-by-step tour through history, in a manner of speaking. You’ve viewed the paintings in the order in which I completed them, the oldest to the most recent. And here is where another series begins.” “I can see that!” 133
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I couldn’t tear my gaze from the newest picture, another depiction of my lover and I engaged in oral sex, but with one major difference. A gigantic one—literally—spearing out from the crotch of another body! The canvas showed Novak and I, side by side, and on our knees before a third man. One of his large, commanding hands rested on each of our heads. Our arms enwrapped his hairy, beefy thighs, like boas coiling around tree trunks, while our lips sandwiched the shaft of his enormous, dripping penis. His testicles, which hung nearly halfway to his knees, seemed to bulge with an overabundance of sperm. In the open area between the man’s spread legs, our own leaking cocks overlapped each other in perfect symmetry, like crossed swords of throbbing flesh. The highly arousing composition had been completed to focus on Novak and I, so only the other man’s legs, groin, and waist showed, along with just the bottom section of his belly, where a thick line of hair descended from his navel to a thatch of swirling black hair. “Fuck!” “Is that a good ‘fuck’ or a ‘bad’ fuck?” Novak whispered in my ear. “Neither, I guess. It’s more like an I-don’t-know-what-thehell-to-think-about-this ‘fuck.’” It had been weird enough a moment ago when I first viewed the extraordinary images of my lover and I sucking and fucking to our heart’s content. Although I had never been bashful when it came to my body, one of the reasons I had 134
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decided to sit for Novak in the first place, I had never expected to find already completed paintings of myself participating in lifelike carnal activities. The shock, nevertheless, despite the fact the paintings hung in a private gallery, had been akin to the notion of stepping out of the house any typical morning only to discover that, sometime during the night, someone had plastered a giant photograph of your cock on a billboard for the world to view. Now I had an inkling of what Tommy Lee and Pamela Sue must have felt when their indecent video stills surfaced in the tabloids. But now seeing myself—albeit with a blurry face, unlike Sky’s—savoring another man’s penis in tandem with my lover, I didn’t know what to think. Likely the same as any celebrity that had become the victim of Photoshopping. A bit outraged or offended, or a bit amused or flattered, depending on one’s personality. The gamut of diverse emotions raced through me now. Yet despite the shock, I couldn’t deny that I also found the painting extremely stimulating, similar to when I first saw the pictures of Sky being fucked into ecstasy by—what I thought at the time was—another man. In proof, my cock throbbed before me in a wild beat. Novak fondled my shaft, giving it a firm squeeze. He captured a drop of my pre-cum with the tip of his forefinger and smeared it over my exposed crown. “Well, it’s evident that this painting doesn’t disgust you, at least. That’s good.” “And again, this image…the inspiration to paint it…just…just…” 135
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“Came to me? Right. I don’t know why I placed another man into the canvas with us, but I did. And since then, I’ve felt an overpowering urge to create even more of these ménage scenes.” Before moving on to the next framed work of art, I glanced into the bottom corner of the current painting to read the date—August of the previous year. August? Those damned invisible icicles returned to prickle my spine. I couldn’t stop the fresh wave of shivers from wracking my body. “What’s wrong, Matthew?” “Have you been painting these ‘trios’ ever since this date?” “And with always the same man with us each time. Why do you ask?” A thought leapt into my mind, although nondescript, like a light you might see out of your peripheral vision, yet when you turn your head to actually view it, it disappears. I attempted to snatch the fleeting notion before it could fully escape. “You said you began all of these paintings—that you started seeing me in your mind—about seven years ago, right? Just after you moved into town?” “My first night in this very penthouse.” “And you started adding this other man into the paintings only since last August?” “Again, correct. But what—” “Damn it, Sky! This might be part of the answer.” “Answer to what? Matthew, what are you thinking?” I dragged my gaze off the painting and turned to face him. 136
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“Before I respond, one more question…why did you move to Huntsville in the first place?” “What do you mean?” “I mean, of all fucking places you could live and set up shop, why here? Why not New York City or Paris or somewhere else with a thriving art community? Why select a one-horse college town like Huntsville?” He frowned. “You know, that’s an excellent question. I guess I truly never thought too much about it.” “Try to remember now. What were your reasons?” “I suppose, due to the nature of my art, the need to isolate myself came into play, and what better way to do that than to locate in a ‘Hicksville’ U.S.A. type of place? I never truly had a driving ambition for fame, so I had no burning desire to reside where I could gain faster recognition for my work. And again, my type of preferred artwork is hardly something the critics, not the mention the general public, would accept as ‘art.’ Plus, a college town allows me to easily have access to students who might want to earn some extra cash by posing nude, although that kind of makes me sound like a pervert, huh?” He issued a sardonic laugh. “Regardless, this town somehow appealed to me. It’s small enough that I would have little distraction or unwanted visitors popping in at all hours of the day, yet close enough to the wealthier communities upstate where my more ‘underground’ business can thrive. No need to put on shows to impress the snobbish critics who would likely castigate me for my subject matter, and I have a plethora of sexy young college guys nearby, therefore, no shortage of 137
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models.” “Thousands of similar towns exist all across the country. So why this one?” Again, his forehead creased in thought. Finally, he shook his head. “I truly don’t have an answer for that. It just appealed to me, and that’s the best I can explain it.” “Could it be that whatever ‘being’ is using you to paint its visions for it—if such a damned thing exists in the first place—had somehow steered you toward this town? As if it knew that I would one day be living here, and guided you to me? ” “Oh, I see what you’re saying. If that’s the case, then I also appreciate this ‘entity’s’ intelligence. Had it compelled me to move into a large metropolis, the chances of locating you would have been like finding the proverbial needle in a haystack.” “Or the correct birthmark on the correct ass!” He laughed again. “Exactly. Living in a town of only a few thousand people gave my ‘subconscious search’ for you a better chance at success. And here’s a question for you…why did you transfer to this college, of all places?” “I admit, I also have no good reason. I didn’t like the State College, but my parents thankfully could afford a private one. But why did I select Huntsville?” I shrugged. “Although their Journalism Department is above average, it’s hardly the highest rated in the country, let alone the state. But last summer, when I stepped on campus, I somehow felt like…like…” 138
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“Like you were home?” “I guess so. The same as I feel when I’m in your arms and kissing you.” His grin warmed my heart. “Okay, Sky, so what do we have now? We both came to Huntsville without any important or specific reasons for selecting it. On your first night here, you all of a sudden decided to paint me with my cock down your throat, seven bloody years before I even looked as you envisioned me. And now that I think about it, seven years ago is also about the same time I started seriously questioning why I always popped a boner when looking at other guys. Just another coincidence, or another example of this weird phenomena connected to your artwork, connected to us?” Novak whistled under his breath. “As you can see”—he stretched out his arms and gestured around the room—“I’m becoming quite accustomed to strange things, so I’m definitely open to the possibility.” “And this painting, Sky, you created the same month I actually transferred to this college. It’s almost as if…” “What?” “As if this ‘spirit guide,’ knowing I had arrived in this town, was now laying the groundwork for the next step in its plan.” “The third man?” “Yes, the third man. But why? All I want is you. Oh, sure, I’m not saying I’ve never fantasized about what it would be like to play with more than one cock at a time. I’d be lying 139
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otherwise. But you…oh, fucking hell…” I ran my hands over his torso, combing his crisp chest hair with my fingers. Soon, my mouth followed my hands, and I kissed and sucked his nipples into solid peaks. “Damn it, Sky, all I truly want is to indulge in your beautiful body, to lick every inch of you, to pleasure you again and again and again…” By this time, his erection had risen up to meet mine. Like our counterparts in the nearby painting, our rods started a sword fight of lust. Our lips met in a passionate kiss, with our tongues dueling for supremacy of each other’s mouth. He dragged me into his arms and crushed his body to mine. My balls ached for release, and I could tell his excitement had also escalated by the way his cock left damp patches all along my abdomen as it delightfully stabbed my flesh. I could think of nothing except rutting, savage and noholds-barred rutting, like a primal beast in heat. It felt as if I’d lost my head to the lechery rising up within me. I somehow knew that if I attempted to stop kissing him and touching him—and, damn it, loving him—I wouldn’t have been able to do so, even with a packed arsenal of self-determination to aid me. I don’t know how long we stood there, maybe five minutes, maybe an hour, our bodies rubbing together as we clutched handfuls of bulging muscles and smothered each other in ravenous kisses. Time no longer had any meaning while we bit and nibbled and sucked each other’s flesh, passionately branding our necks and chests and arms in the form of blood-red hickeys. Our pulsating shafts turned 140
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slippery with oozing seed as we humped each other’s furcovered bellies, our testicles alternately caressing or thumping together. The friction quickly became all too intense, and before I knew it, my cock prepared to erupt. Skylar seemed to sense this, although I’m not sure how. Perhaps he recognized the special moans that spilled from my mouth. Or a pattern of telltale shivers that wracked my body. Or maybe even a bizarre form of communication being transmitted from cock to cock as they pressed together. All I know is that he dropped to his knees just as I started to shoot. Cum spattered his face and chest. Using both hands, he grabbed my wildly bobbing erection at the root and wrapped his lips around my knob, consuming the remainder of my hefty load. I fucked his mouth for a blissful moment, clutching the back of his head, my grunts of pleasure echoing back to me in the cavernous room. Watching him suck me, and viewing the semen dripping from the corners of his mouth, it suddenly dawned on me that we were actually replicating the very first painting he had created of us as a couple. Whether we acted subconsciously or not, I have no idea. But at the moment, I didn’t care. I just wanted to return the gigantic favor. My cock, shiny with spit and seed, slipped out of his mouth. I took the opportunity to grab him under the armpits and urge him to his feet. I happily cleaned off his chest and face with my tongue, then he kissed me long and hard, allowing me to taste even more remnants of my salty juice before I sank to the floor. 141
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I lapped his prick from base to crown, groaning my increasing appreciation for the way that the tang of his solid flesh and warm pre-cum tingled on my palate. I experimented with something new, sliding his nuts into my mouth, singularly, then together, and gingerly cuddling them with my tongue while I squeezed his slippery shaft and masturbated him in a hurried tempo. Finally I returned my full attention to his cock. So eager to satisfy him with the same proficiency he’d shown me a moment ago, I devoured his entire erection, but nearly choked when his fat tip poked the back of my throat. I ordered myself to curb my impatience, forced myself to remember that the real me—not the phony one who had been sucking cock for seven years in lifelike paintings—but the real me, still required a ton of practice when it came to fellatio. So I took it as slowly as my zeal would allow, clamping my lips around him, dancing my tongue along his ridge, and drawing from him his steady flow of pre-cum. He soon began fucking my mouth as I had done to him a moment ago. Almost immediately, I could sense him nearing the edge. I tried to deep-throat him several times, but the slight upward curve in his shaft prevented me from swallowing him at an agreeable angle. Now, had we been sixty-nining again, well… Nevertheless, I did the best I could, working his shaft with as much skill as I currently possessed, and loving every fucking minute of it. With my hands, I clutched his buttocks and pulled them apart, then slipped one of my index fingers into his puckered hole. When I buried my digit to the knuckle, 142
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I flicked it against the walls of his tunnel, then started screwing him with it. That proved to be the final incentive for him to blow his wad. With only a grunt as a warning, semen gushed from his twitching cock, filling my mouth even as I hungrily gulped it down. I had come to savor the taste of his seed, and I continued to milk him until long after he went soft. Only after I drank the last of his offering did I release him. Holding my head, he looked down on me with a gleam in his dark eyes. The sparkle not only relayed his satiation, but also his passion for me. And something more. “You look almost amazed,” I said, smiling and planting kisses on his thighs. “I am amazed, Matthew. You’re becoming quite adept at giving pleasure. I didn’t even have to tell you to finger my ass. You just seemed to sense what I desired.” “Remember, I’m a quick-study.” “That you are.” He helped me to my feet, then thrust his tongue deep into my mouth, kissing me with a fervor that left my mind drifting in an euphoric sea. After another quick peck on the lips, he stepped back from me and drew a deep breath. “Now, then, shall we return to our mystery?” “Huh? Oh, yeah, the paintings. Sorry, I don’t know what came over me a while ago. I just got so damned horny and needed to—” “Don’t apologize. Now you know what I go through every time I visit this room.” He smirked. “But thankfully, I now have someone to accompany me and help me scratch that particular itch.” 143
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“You poor baby. Having to spank the monkey all by your lonesome is a chore, huh?” Novak grinned. Cupping my still-tingling nuts in one of his hands, he appreciatively eyed my genitals. “In a way, it was a chore this past week, seeing you in these paintings, knowing the ‘real you’ was so damned close, yet being unable to touch you…to taste you…to fuck you and—” He tore his hand away from me. “Damn it, I’m already growing hard again.” “I can see that,” I said, eyeing his elongating shaft and licking my lips in remembrance. “What is it about this room?” “These paintings are difficult to observe without getting horny as hell.” “I agree, yet, I don’t know…there’s something more going on here.” “Oh-oh, I feel another theory about to emerge.” “Joke all you want, sport, but you know I’m right. A while ago, I’ll bet you felt the same way I did. I couldn’t have yanked my hands or lips away from you if I’d tried. I needed to shoot my load right then and there, and nothing in the world was going to stop me.” I gaped at him, then nodded. “It’s almost like I was under a spell, like I was…” “Being controlled?” “Exactly.” For a long moment we stared at each other, my single word hanging in the air. And I finally understood. Now I had a sampling of what he must have gone through all these 144
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years, feeling that an unknown force had guided him to paint the images on these canvases. Yes, these canvases! Deep in my soul I felt certain that they held the puzzle pieces to our mystery. I said as much to Sky. “So let’s continue that tour and see if we can piece together an answer as to why this is happening.” “And before we have to unload again?” He smiled. “Although I wouldn’t mind that at all.” I mischievously swatted his semi-hard erection with the fingertips of my right hand. “Down, boy, down,” I jested, but more as a reminder to myself than to him. Already I could feel the familiar tingle of blood gathering in my penis, the foreskin automatically receding from my crown as my shaft started to lengthen, and I didn’t want to be distracted from our quest for the truth. “Okay,” said Novak, “let’s try to stay focused. Now then, what do we have thus far? Number one—my moving to Huntsville was no mere coincidence, seeing as how you were destined to also arrive here years later, and your own vague reasons for selecting the college. And two—that my visions of you began immediately upon moving into this penthouse.” “Another thought. Could this building also be connected to the mystery? I mean, had you rented space in any other building, would you still have felt the need to paint me?” “Who knows? Let’s add that to our list as another possibility. Then number three, an appropriate number, as luck would have it—the issue of last August, when you finally 145
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transferred to this college and the focus of my paintings immediately shifted to a threesome.” I turned back to the paintings on the wall. “We’re definitely on to something, Sky.” “I have a feeling you might be right and—” A distant ringing spooked me. I tensed until I realized it was only a telephone. “Damn it, I’ll bet that’s the client who was supposed to pop in tonight to pick up a finished canvas.” Novak started toward the door but continued talking over his shoulder. “I’d love to get a phone installed in this room some day, but I’ll be damned if I allow some phone guy to see our special paintings.” “And for that, I thank you!” Novak left the room, but I clearly heard the distant sound of his feet thumping the floorboards as he raced to answer the call. The ringing finally stopped, then a minute later, he returned to the gallery. “Just as I thought. She called from her car phone and will be here in a few minutes. I need to throw on some clothes. You going to be okay in here while I’m gone?” I lifted my chin in mock haughtiness, pretending I was my roommate Jeff’s father speaking from his Snooty-Snootyton mansion. “Just think of me, Mr. Novak, as the art critic to beat all art critics, giving your masterpieces a thorough and honest perusal in your absence.” “Great! That’s the last thing I need in my life!” “Oh, fear not, lowly artist man, I shall be as kind as is 146
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humanly possible, or as my stomach will allow.” His dimpled smile shot daggers of renewed lust into my heart. “And how can I be certain of that?” I dropped the façade and lowered my voice to a growl. “Because I’m damned biased when it comes to seeing you bare-assed naked, that’s how.” “All right, but try not to get too aroused until I return.” With that, he left me alone to my own devices. I immediately focused my attention on the last painting, the first one to feature a threesome. Sky’s final statement continued to echo through my head even as my dick once again started to twitch. I couldn’t help it. The sight of him and I sharing another man’s cock proved too damned tantalizing for words. To the best of my ability, I pulled rein on my maturing randiness and moved on to the final painting on this side of the vast room. Once again, the picture focused on my lover and I, and the third man could be seen only from the navel downward. This canvas featured a similar scenario, but with me licking the tip of the unknown man’s erection by my lonesome and Sky bent forward with my cock buried in his mouth. Another highly sensual image. I could almost feel the lust radiating from the brilliant depiction, and feel Novak sucking me off. I could almost taste the flesh of the unseen man’s penis, and my tongue brushed over my lips, as if to better imagine its manly flavor. I soon realized I sported another imposing boner. Worse, I had an incorrigible impulse to touch it, to jack myself into a writhing frenzy. It took several moments for me to clasp my 147
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hands behind my back where they could provide no aid. Nevertheless, I couldn’t stop staring at the painting, or fantasizing about somehow being transported into that erotic setting to experience the threesome first hand. A wry smile twisted my lips when I imagined myself yanking the frame from the wall and setting it on the floor, then leaping into it like some demented male version of Mary Poppins. Plunging into a chalk sketch on a sidewalk might work in a Hollywood fantasy for the fictional and magical nanny, but in real life, it would reward me with only twin foot holes in the center of Sky’s lascivious masterpiece, along with a flood of guilt for my utter stupidity. Or insanity. With all of my energy, I tore my gaze from the painting and took a moment to calm myself. What the hell was happening to me…to us? It felt as if the Hollywood movie machine had indeed taken control of our lives and had plopped us into a big-screen paranormal blockbuster. Way too bizarre. Growing up in a large family, I’d certainly seen my share of what a person might call “bizarre.” One of my brothers getting a peanut stuck up his nose, not on a single occasion, but on three separate ones, while another brother did the same goofy thing, but with several Fruit Loops. My eldest sister climbing out a second-story window in the middle of the night to meet her punk boyfriend and plummeting smack-dab onto my father just after he’d removed the ladder she had placed for her escape. My maternal grandfather always wearing pajama bottoms, a shirt, and a tie to formal Thanksgiving dinners. And not to mention Uncle Clarence, sitting in his underwear on the 148
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garage roof, playing a banjo and belting “I’m A Yankee Doodle Dandy” at the top of his lungs for the entertainment of the giggling neighbors and the men in white coats from the booby hatch, poised with their nets. Yes, all bizarre incidents, but relatively speaking, all “normal bizarre.” Certainly nothing like the strange situation in which Sky and I now found ourselves. This seemed the ultimate in surreal, and I wondered if anyone other than Novak would believe me if I even attempted to speak of it in the future. With my erection finally flagging, I spun around to face the gallery on the opposite wall. At a distance, I began studying the paintings from left to right, weaving through the history of Sky’s progress. Throughout the various images, Novak and I pretty much remained in the same position, taking turns sucking off the third man or each other, but both of us on our knees before him. But the overall focus of the scenes started to shift. It seemed that with each painting, more and more of the third man emerged, the invisible camera slowly tilting upward to finally include his entire ridged belly. By the time my gaze reached the seventh, then the eighth painting down the line, I could clearly view his bulging upper arms and well-developed chest, also covered in a mat of dark hair that nearly buried his pink nipples. Finally, his shoulders, then throat met my eyes, and then— The face! “Fuck!” I dropped onto the nearby couch, trying not to faint from 149
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the shock of seeing the unforgettable face of the mystery man. The same captivating face of the biker-slash-rocker-slashpirate I had encountered in the dingy corridor the previous week and had expected to discover lurking this afternoon. Shivers wracked my body, and my whirling mind eventually settled on one inevitable thought— Make room for me, Uncle Clarence, ’cause I’ll be joining you soon!
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CHAPTER 10 “Matthew? Matthew, are you all right? What happened? Can you speak? Please answer me.” I heard Sky’s urgent voice, although muffled, as if shouted from a distance through a thick London fog. I felt him shake me several times, but only when he knelt before the sofa and grabbed my hand did I snap out of my shock-induced trance. The crevices of deep concern on my lover’s face acted like a blanket of warmth around my heart and helped to lessen the chills that had assailed me for untold minutes. “Are you sick? Matthew, please say something—” “Sick…no, not sick.” “Then what the hell is the matter? You’re as white as a 151
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ghost.” I laughed—although “cackled” might have been closer to reality. Either way, I’m certain it sounded as demented to Sky’s ears as it did to mine. “Ghost! Ha! Funny you should say that word, because I think I’ve just met one.” “What?” “No, let me clarify…I think I actually met one last week, but saw him again only a moment ago.” More laughter spilled from my mouth, and the louder it got, the more Skylar’s eyes rounded in alarm. “Too bad I don’t play the banjo or know all the lyrics to ‘Yankee Doodle,’ because I feel like singing right now. Singing so loud that the men in white will come and give me something to calm down. My uncle’s not so bad off, considering. He gets three square meals a day along with a daily dose of Thorazine. It’s a peaceful existence, really, despite the restraints on the cozy bed. I suppose I could be able to live like that.” “What the hell are you babbling about? You’re making no sense.” He helped me to stand, then led me toward the door. “Although I have no Thorazine to dispense, I have alcohol, and you definitely need a drink. But perhaps some food first. When was the last time you had something to eat? I can whip up—” “Thanks, Mom, but no food for me. Not now anyway. But a drink? That sounds fucking great! How many bottles do you have on hand, bartender?” “Matthew, please, tell me what’s the matter.” Halfway to the door, I came to a dead halt, pointing across 152
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the gallery toward the painting that had caused my heart to pound and my head to swoon. Toward the face of the man who had once again left me with notions of insanity. “It’s him!” Sky spun around. “Oh, yeah, I should have warned you. I would have, were it not for the phone call. Regardless, I finally began to envision his face several months ago, so I started to include it in the paintings—” “Who is he?” “I haven’t the foggiest idea. I’ve never seen him before, other than in my mind, that is.” “That can’t be true! It can’t be! If anything, you must have seen him last weekend when…” “When what, Matthew? Was he at the same party where I met you?” I clamped my lips shut, recalling how Sky had made no indication that he’d noticed the stranger in the hallway last Saturday. I remembered his anxious and amused expression as he watched me frantically search that murky hallway for someone who hadn’t been there in the first place. Some handsome phantom that my mind had conjured for unknown reasons. Like Sky’s mind had also conjured all these months… Fuck, this was all getting too damned disturbing and way too damned spooky for my taste. Now, Sky looked at me as if I was one Ding-Dong short of a box. The same as I’m certain the men in white would look at me. More shivers waltzed along my spine, and I felt even 153
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more blood drain from my face. He grabbed my elbow and steered me toward the door. “Please talk to me, and let’s get you that drink.” Even though I allowed him to guide me across the private gallery, I couldn’t help from turning my head several times to view the intense gaze in the painted blue eyes and that beautifully chiseled visage that had so enthralled me in the flesh last weekend. When we entered Sky’s bedroom, I almost immediately regained my wits, or at least some of them. Enough to be able to breathe steadily again and walk without the aid of my sexy “crutch” fussing at my side like a doting and distressed nurse. Perspiration broke out on my forehead, despite the cold that continued to weave in and out of my body like threads of icicles. As I shook the fuzz from my mind, I noticed how Sky had thrown on a pair of jeans and a plain white T-shirt in order to meet his client. Yes, I thought, clothing sounded good. Clothing sounded warm! I scanned the floor for my previously discarded threads, deciding to dress in the hopes that my body would regain a steadfast heat. “Where the hell’s my T-shirt?” “It’s in the outer studio, remember?” “Oh, yeah…” When I stooped to gather my jogging shorts, jock strap, and socks, Sky stopped me. “We’re the same height and about the same weight. Let me get you something fresh to wear and I’ll toss your things in the washer later.” 154
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I didn’t argue, but gratefully accepted the offer, although declined the socks, preferring to remain barefoot. From his dresser, he plucked out a pair of cotton briefs and another plain white T-shirt, which he tossed to me. The faint scent of laundry detergent met my nostrils, a comforting and homey fragrance, reminding me of youth when my mother made certain all of her children wore only the freshest clothing and snuggled in only the cleanest blankets. I hurriedly donned the items, and by the time Sky handed me a pair of Levi’s from his closet, my shivers had completely subsided. The jeans, although a tad loose at the waist, fit me well enough and further stabilized my body temperature. “Thank God, you look better,” said Sky, palming my cheek, then my forehead. He kissed my lips, and I appreciated his tender concern. “You’ve regained some of your color, but I think you still might need that drink.” “I won’t question your prescription, Doctor Novak.” He stepped to the mini-bar. “Okay, name your poison. I have whiskey, Scotch, vodka, gin, maybe some—” “Yes.” Sky offered a weak laugh. “I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.” “You think I’m kidding?” “I pray that you are.” “Yeah, well, I guess I am. But I certainly wouldn’t mind getting stinking drunk right about now.” “Why do that to yourself? You have a good head on your shoulders, so you shouldn’t drown your brain in alcohol.” 155
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“My brain is already on the fritz. I’m sure I fried even more circuits just now after seeing…him.” “Him, yes…whiskey okay with you?” Without waiting for a reply, he poured several shots of Kentucky bourbon into a tumbler, then slammed the bottle on the bar and cursed under his breath. Profound wrinkles channeled his brow, and his cheeks mantled an angry crimson. He looked on the verge of tears. “I knew it. I just knew I shouldn’t have showed you those paintings. It was way too soon. I should have realized that, but I was too damned eager to have you believe my story.” “What are you going on about?” A combination of guilt and self-reprimand shimmered in his dark eyes. “I’m so sorry, Matthew. It’s all my fault. I should have waited until you’d had a chance to better comprehend what has been happening to me. To us. I should have never sprung it on you like that. I should have told you about the paintings first, prepared you for the shock. I’m such an idiot!” “You’re nobody’s idiot.” “I’m older and more experienced, so I should have known better. There’s no excuse.” “How could you have predicted that I would recognize him?” “That’s beside the point. Just seeing yourself in those paintings only a week after having your first gay experience might have been shocking enough, but to see yourself depicted in a threesome? What the fuck was I thinking?” 156
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“I’ll admit, I was a bit shocked, but not so much by seeing myself nude and having sex with you in dozens of paintings. Actually, now that I think about it, I rather enjoyed viewing those imaginative scenes. They gave me a slew of fun ideas— you know, future reference and all.” My ribald suggestion and sly wink didn’t even break a smile on his face. “No, Sky, I’m talking about the other stuff—this invisible force that’s compelling you to paint these canvases or allowing you to glimpse into the future, the impulses we’ve both shared, these damned puzzle pieces that aren’t quite fitting together. That’s the shit currently rattling my cage.” “Still, I’ve been openly gay for a long time, Matthew, more than a decade. Although time has softened both the beautiful and the sometimes-torturous memories of coming out, I should have tried to remember my own experience and taken them into consideration.” He paused to gulp down some of the liquor originally meant for me. “I should have been more sensitive, damn it! I should have taken into account the roller coaster of emotions you must have felt this past week. The feelings that accompany anyone coming out can be overwhelming enough, but toss in a hot and heavy relationship—one full of high emotion, first-time sexual experiences, and an unnerving obsessive nature—and no wonder your brain is on overload. And then, the fool that I am, I also add in this craziness with the paintings.” He drained the tumbler, then grabbed the whiskey bottle. “Maybe your idea of getting sloshed wasn’t so bad after all.” 157
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“I’m glad you told me all of that, Sky, so don’t you dare think of yourself as a fool.” “You’re glad? That’s too kind of you, Matthew, but my insensitivity, my burning need to share this bizarre experience with someone actually involved, could have caused you serious emotional harm. I’m surprised you haven’t barreled out of here already, vowing to never see me again and cursing me to the depths of hell.” “I would never do that!” I stepped to the bar and clutched his wrist in firm yet loving reassurance. “Actually, I’m extremely moved that you cared enough to tell me the whole truth, and more than flattered you trusted in me, felt you could confide in me about what’s been happening to you. I can certainly understand why you needed to share that information.” “Can you?” “My God, how maddening it must have been for you, how isolated you must have felt, painting these images, feeling you had no control over it, then not being able to tell a living soul. It’s like being a closeted gay man. So yes, I can understand— don’t think I haven’t wanted to shout my feelings for you from the rooftops. But I can’t. Or at least, I can’t do it now because of my current roommate situation. Nevertheless, it’s eerily ironic. I came out of my closet, at least partially, while you’ve been trapped in one of your own.” “You’re quite wise for your age, Matthew. Okay, maybe you can understand, but I shouldn’t have been so foolhardy to rush things.” 158
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“To finally meet me in the flesh after all these years of painting me must have made you want to burst. If anything, I admire your restraint for not telling me sooner, for leading into this as slowly as you did.” I gave his wrist another squeeze. “So do me a favor, never again let me hear you chastise yourself for doing something that took enormous patience and courage.” He stared at me for what seemed a century. When tears started to leak from his eyes, he blinked them away before they could fully develop. “How did I get so damned lucky?” “What do you mean?” “With you. Hell, for all I knew through the years—still not certain whether you even existed outside my own mind, or my paintings—you might have been a gorgeous stud with zero personality and less for brains. A frivolous and pompous selfserving ass who cared only about material things and not other people.” “No, that’s my roommate, Jeff…you probably remember him from last weekend’s party,” I joked. Sky’s lips pursed in amusement. “No…actually, I had eyes only for you, and I’m glad for that. But seriously, can you imagine my worst fear? To wait what seemed a lifetime for a fantasy lover only to realize I despised him when I found him? But you’re nothing like the ‘dream man turned nightmare’ I dreaded. Instead, I discovered a sexy hunk, all right, but one with a fantastic sense of humor, a keen intellect for his meager years, and a caring and sensitive nature. Yes, I do think I’m damned lucky.” 159
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My heart surged in unbridled affection. I leaned over the bar and gave his lips a wet, lingering kiss. When I slipped my tongue into his mouth, my pallet tingled from the mellow zest of bourbon. I broke the kiss, but rested my forehead against his. “No, I’m the damned lucky one, Sky. I don’t know. Maybe we are soul mates, as you said earlier. Maybe ‘fate’ or whatever you want to call it does want us together for some enigmatic or divine purpose. But I don’t give a shit, since I want you no matter what. I can’t explain it, but I’ve never felt closer to another human being.” “Same here, Matt.” He bussed my lips, then stood up straight. His gaze caressed me, and he gifted me with one of those dimpled smiles that stirred my exhausted libido. “Feel better?” “Yeah, but shouldn’t I be asking you that question? You’re the one who’s had the recent shock, and here I am, allowing you to comfort me.” He looked down at the empty tumbler and whiskey bottle. “And drinking all the damned booze myself.” He grabbed an empty glass from the bar, then poured several fingers into both. I gulped a mouthful, tossing back my head and allowing the liquor to cut a smooth burn down to my gut. Almost instantly, fire spread through my limbs and heated my cheeks. Finally, I felt my old self again. “So, if you think you’re ready,” said Sky, “tell me all about our mutual lover…the well-hung stud with the mustache.” “You mean my biker-slash-rocker-slash-pirate?” 160
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“Your what?” “That’s my nickname for him, the impression I got when I met him. Although you’ve obviously seen him only naked this whole time—a ‘wow’ body, if I ever saw one—I’ve seen him clothed, and that’s how I described him to myself. Black leather, black jeans and boots, and that shoulder-length hair.” “And those eyes…so blue…so…” “Intense. Yeah, I know. A yummy package, for certain.” After finishing my drink, I set the tumbler on the bar and walked to the nearby couch. I sat on the arm, then flopped backward onto the cushions, my feet dangling over the side. “But actually, that’s all I know about him. In fact, I had planned to ask you about him today, but I completely forgot…getting sidetracked, of course, thanks to the sexy master of sidetracking.” Smirking at the compliment, Sky came toward the couch and looked down at me. “And you thought I would know this guy? Why?” “Because he was here.” “Where? At my studio? What do you mean?” “Remember last Saturday, when you opened the door because you’d heard voices in the hallway? Well, that’s the guy I was talking to, only he—well, kind of vanished into thin air.” “What do you mean ‘vanished’?” “I mean exactly that. One minute we were deep in conversation, and the next, poof.” I clicked my fingers. “Gone, just like that. I had turned my back on him when you opened 161
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the door and interrupted us. I can’t quite figure out how he disappeared so damned fast, and to where, especially without you noticing.” “Lift your head for me.” When I did as he asked, he settled onto the sofa. After planting his bare feet on the coffee table, he drew me back down and pillowed my head on his lap. With his left hand, he brushed the hair from my brow and rubbed small circles at my temples, while his right hand dove under the collar of my Tshirt and his fingers playfully fiddled with my chest hair. He released a contented sigh, which mirrored my own. “So that’s why you were acting so odd when I met you in the hallway. I thought you were just nervous about posing, having second thoughts. Tell me everything that happened, everything you remember about that meeting.” In preparation to tell my story, as well as to appreciate my lover’s manly musk, I drew a long, deep breath, then to the best of my ability, did as he requested.
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CHAPTER 11 For the next fifteen minutes or so, I luxuriated in Sky’s ambrosial companionship, lounging on the couch with my head in his lap, savoring his tender touch, relishing his blessed affection. In telling him the basic tale regarding my chance encounter with the mysterious stranger, I purposefully took my sweet time. I didn’t want the tranquility to end. I just wanted to bask in the balmy heat of his body for as long as possible, imagining we had no frustrating mystery to solve, no pressing commitments in the world except to one another. And I also prayed this serene time together would help us weave that delicate tapestry of our budding relationship into a powerful bond of love. 163
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Yes, love. Although I had stretched out my tale for as long as possible, I hadn’t blueprinted every detour in the narrative, hadn’t orchestrated every breathless pause. Several times I found myself looking up into that handsome face and totally losing my train of thought. My heart would thump against my ribs, my stomach would ache, and my balls would tighten, making it difficult to return to the story without first replenishing myself with a taste of his sweet lips. Yes, damn it, I felt myself falling in love with this man. And hard! Through most of my story, Sky sat in pensive silence, occasionally shaking his head in astonishment or asking for clarification on certain points. When I eventually finished, he rested his head against the sofa and stared at the ceiling. “Go back to something you said a while ago. You thought he could actually read your mind?” “Strange, huh? Yes, he seemed to know exactly the reason I showed up here last Saturday, for less-than-artistic reasons. It’s like he already knew that I planned to come out of the closet that day, that I wanted to pursue an intimate relationship with you. What also struck me was that he questioned whether I was certain I knew what I was doing. At first I thought he wanted to scare me off from posing or spending any time with you, that maybe he was a jealous lover or something.” “And you said he talked about my work?” “Like he knew it intimately. If I remember correctly, he said it was nothing short of spectacular, and that you possessed an almost magical ability to capture the souls of 164
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your models on canvas. Oh, and something even more bizarre. He even went so far as to say…damn, how did he put it?…that you were ‘attuned to the other side.’ Yeah, I’m almost certain that’s what he said.” “The other side? The other side of what?” I chuckled. “That was my question exactly. Now I wonder if he was referring to your ability to see into the future with your artwork.” “Or if he knows who or what is driving me to do it.” “Or maybe if he, himself, is responsible.” “Why would you think that?” “Something about him…or actually, something about the way he vanished into thin air. That’s certainly not normal. And the way he spoke, the words he used. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but he talked as if he came from a different time, a different era. Plus, as I mentioned, he had a slight accent, but I couldn’t place it.” “I remember how you asked me that day if this building was haunted. Now that also makes sense.” “And that question still hasn’t been answered, by the way.” “You think we’re dealing with a ghost or something?” “Not that I believe in them, mind you, but it would explain a lot of these strange things. Anyway, when he said you were attuned to the other side, it left me with a creepy feeling.” “How did he respond when you asked him to clarify?” “He didn’t. Yet all the while, he had this shrewd gleam in his eyes. You know the sort…that parental type of ‘just wait until you grow up and discover I’m right’ gleam. I have to 165
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admit, it unnerved me.” “I’ll bet. This is getting very confusing, and annoying as all hell. He knows my work, but I never met him in the flesh. So far he’s been only a figment of my overactive imagination.” “Like me, up until last week.” “Yes, like you. Therefore, how uncanny—no, make that miraculous—to have painted not one, but two actual men whom I had never met. Yes, this is getting more freaky by the second.” “Freaky, damned freak—” I yanked my head off Sky’s lap, then scrambled to sit up straight. “What is it, Matthew?” I clenched my hands into fists, closing my eyes and concentrating. “I’m trying to remember. As I said, I thought he might have been a model, perhaps one with a crush on you, someone who wanted to scare me off. So I asked him point blank whether he’d posed for you.” “And he said…?” “Shit! How did he answer…he first said, ‘on numerous occasions,’ and then went on to add, ‘on numerously satisfying occasions.’ Or maybe he used the word ‘gratifying.’ Either way, it certainly implied he’d been intimate with you, so obviously I assumed I would have my work cut out for me.” “I swear to God, Matthew, he’s never posed for me, and I’ve never met him, so we’re definitely not lovers.” “No need to get defensive, Sky. I’m not accusing you of lying. I might have earlier, before I saw the paintings of 166
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myself, but certainly not now. I know something unnatural is happening, and those paintings are proof positive.” Those damned paintings! I snapped to my feet and went to the bar, where I grabbed the bottle of whiskey and the two empty glasses. When I returned to the couch, I gazed at Sky’s face, staring into the dark pits of his eyes. He looked unsettled…spooked, exactly the way I felt. “We need another shot.” He only nodded. After I poured the whiskey, I handed him his glass and held mine out before me. “Here’s to solving this damned mystery.” “I’ll drink to that.” He clinked his glass against mine, then downed the liquor with the same haste and enthusiasm as I did. He swiped his free hand across his lips, then set his glass on the coffee table. Apart from the ticking of the mantle clock and the steady tap of light rain against the windows, another protracted silence filled the bedroom. Questions bombarded my brain, the same ones that I’m certain pestered my lover and etched a frown on his face. Finally, Sky stood up. “You know, Matthew, in a way, he is my lover. Not in the physical sense, like you, but in the fantasy sense.” “The same as he’s now my lover also, in the same manner that we were lovers prior to last Saturday. Lovers on canvas. Hell, we’ve been making love that way for seven years.” “Exactly.” He pursed his lips, and I could tell something 167
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else bothered him. “Yet you’re real, and now we are actually lovers. And now I realize this other man is also real and not just a figment of my imagination. So what does that mean?” “Although he’s already confronted me, I still have no idea why. I think I’ve remembered all the important things he said to me, yet it’s done nothing to shed light on our situation. In fact, I’m more confused now than I was earlier today.” “Same here. And I also find it odd that he has yet to visit me. If he was lurking in the hallway, why didn’t he just come into the studio and introduce himself? If ‘fate’ has somehow decided to place him into our lives—and based on my paintings, that seems to be the case—then what is the overall purpose?” “I wish I had the answers, Sky, but I don’t. I’m sorry.” He smiled and pulled me into his arms. “No need for you to apologize. Still…” “What?” “We have to face facts, or the ones we know about, anyway. This unknown man is destined to play a role in our futures, for better or worse. And—” He looked me square in the eye. “On an intimate level. For seven years I’ve painted you and I together, and now it’s become a reality. And last August, I started adding him into the mix. If my paintings are indeed a true forecast of what’s to happen…well…how would you feel about that?” “I’m not sure.” Just before he rested his head on my shoulder, I saw the anxious look in his eyes, one he plainly attempted to mask or 168
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downplay, and I sensed his underlying question. I hugged him as tightly as I could, loving the solidity of his flexing muscles as they crushed against mine. Loving the way he groped handfuls of flesh along my backside and the way he squeezed my buttocks. And especially loving the developing hardness on the other side of his zipper and the way my cock responded in turn. “As I told you before, a part of me has always wondered what it would be like to have more than one man in bed with me. And I’ll admit, I found him extremely sexy.” “I do, too, even if I’ve seen him only on canvas. Painting all three of us together? Well, it’s extremely difficult, if you catch my meaning.” “Could be a fun evening, I suppose. Have you ever had a ménage? Or more?” “I’ve experimented, yes.” “Was it everything you had expected?” “It can be, with the right people.” “But I’ll bet it’s better—or perhaps I should say, more meaningful—with that special person, isn’t it?” “I’m beginning to feel that way, Matthew, for the first time in my life, with you.” I beamed with joy at his confession and hugged him even tighter. “Okay, so this threesome thing…fun is all it would be, if it even happens. Sex, simply sex, and nothing more.” “You say that now, but…” “But what? As I told you earlier today, I would be more than happy to live the rest of my life with only you at my side. 169
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He might be as sexy as sin, but so are you—tenfold—and what I feel inside for you is more than I could ever feel for him, which makes the physical part of our relationship even more spectacular. You’re all I truly need.” “How do you know for sure?” “I have it on good authority…my heart told me.” When he lifted his head, his rapture apparent on his handsome face and his relief more than evident in his twinkling eyes, blood thundered through my veins, and my stomach started an agonizing flutter. Now I finally knew what it felt like to fall in love. Yes, truly fall in love, and to have your feelings shared. The kind of sensation that invades your entire body, that makes your fingers and toes tingle, that makes you want to jump for delight and shriek praises to the heavens, while your brain whirls with notions of hot and insatiable lust. The kind of sensation that makes you want to tear the throbbing heart from your own chest and happily place it in the safekeeping of the person who now owns it. As if charged with a magnetic current, our lips came together. Mouths opened wide and tongues engaged in frantic exploration. Hands clawed and petted without mercy, while hardening erections struggled for freedom from the confines of snug prisons. He tore his lips off of mine and panted, while his eyes mirrored my savage hunger. “It’s getting rather late, and it’s raining. Don’t you think we should talk about you spending the night?” “I hadn’t really thought…oh, fuck, who the hell am I 170
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fooling? For the past week, I’ve thought of nothing else but spending the night in your arms. If the truth be told, I jogged here today, not because of the beautiful weather this afternoon, but because the weatherman predicted rain developing this evening.” He laughed. “You scheming bastard! Although a clever scheme, for sure. But what if I said I would be more than happy to drive you home?” “You wouldn’t.” “And what makes you so certain?” I reached between us and wrapped my fingers around the steel-hard tube that had formed behind his zipper. “Because this exposes the truth.” “Curses. I’m sure I’m not the first man who’s been betrayed by an insistent and greedy cock.” “And you definitely won’t be the last.” “Do you need to phone your roommates?” “Let them think I got lucky!” “Oh, you will definitely get lucky, but not with the person they might think. Or maybe they will, since they knew you were coming here today.” “Frankly, Sky, in the words of the dashing Rhett Butler, ‘I don’t give a fucking damn.’” “Those weren’t his words.” “Close enough, and same meaning. I just added the ‘fucking’ to emphasize my point.” “I don’t think your point needs any emphasis.” He also reached between us and mirrored my actions, squeezing the 171
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throbbing mound at my groin. “All I think it needs is a good working-over to relieve the horrendous pressure.” “And that’s your expert opinion? Do you think you’re man enough to handle such a hefty task?” “I’m willing to do my damnedest. But first…” He crinkled his nose. “First what?” “It’s been a long and very active day for the both of us.” He took my hand and led me out of the room, down the hallway, and finally into the elegant bathroom that wedded his apartment with the Triple-X art gallery. “Do you prefer the shower or the bathtub?” “As long as you’re planning to join me and you don’t mean ‘I’ll take one and you take the other,’ I don’t care either way.” He extended his hand into the shower stall and turned on the water, then spun back to me and started yanking off my clothes. I did the same to him, until we stood mouth to mouth, chest to chest, cock to cock. Pre-cum already leaked from both of our slits, and when I jerked both hard poles with my left hand, they quickly became slippery with our budding passion. We stepped into the shower, vast enough to hold four, perhaps even six, full-sized men. A wickedly luscious prospect. But instead of engaging in fantasy, I focused all of my attention on the red-hot lover standing before me. Water sluiced over his well-defined muscles, making his flesh shimmer under the soft overhead light. We each took turns with the soap, spreading liberal amounts over each other’s 172
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torsos and backsides, kissing and tickling and splashing each other into giggling fools. Steam rose from the floor, swirled upward and cloaked us in its warmth, while the water drenched us from dual showerheads and elevated our lust. As I expected, our frolic eventually took a serious turn, and before long, our kisses deepened and our groping escalated. “I want you inside of me, Matt. I want you to fuck the hell out of me.” I reached around him and slid a soap-slick finger into his welcoming channel, then two. His muscles clenched my digits with dynamic force, giving me a clear indication of how he would massage my throbbing rod once I filled him with it. I started to turn him to face away from me, but he stopped me. “Not in here. I have a feeling our energy will quickly become our downfall…literally.” I saw what he meant, since the shower floor, swirling with soapy water, had nothing on which the soles of our feet could firmly grip. The last thing I wanted was to have either one of us get hurt from making love. I could see the local headlines now— Local Artist Fucked Into Emergency Ward By Horn-Dog Student —and imagined the faces of my roommates when they read the details of how I ended up with broken bones and a naked male lover! Sky turned off the water and led us out of the stall. He 173
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grabbed towels from a shelf, and we hurriedly dried each other’s bodies. “Where?” I asked, my dick pleading for fast relief. He sat on the marble countertop, between the dual sinks. Leaning backward, he spread his legs for me, then pointed down to his left. “In there?” “Huh?” I located a drawer and immediately found what he had no doubt intended—a box of condoms and a small bottle of lube. I sheathed myself as swiftly as I could, then he slathered his hole and my shaft with the oily substance. Unlike our previous encounter of this type, I entered him like a lecherous hellhound, filling him down to the base of my cock in one firm thrust. A possessive thrust, I realized, one that marked my territory while also showing him just how passionately I wanted him. Just how desperately I needed to provide him with the utmost pleasure. I kept him impaled for a long moment, awaiting the onslaught of climatic tingles to subside from my nerve endings, and allowing his wildly contracting muscles to once again grow accustomed to my length and girth. He writhed beneath me, his hips bucking upward, the heels of his feet banging against my shoulders. When I regained firm control over myself, I slid nearly all the way out of him, leaving only my crown for him to milk. “Screw me, Matt. Screw me with your big fucking dick! Give me everything you’ve got again, bud! I need it! I need your cock so damned badly!” I gave him another full-fledged jab, skewering him down to the nuts. But before I pulled out of him, I waggled my hips, 174
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making certain he felt fucked from every possible angle, that every inch of his hole would be able to recognize every inch of the cock that claimed him as its own. His guttural growls indicated his wholehearted approval of my efforts. “Oh, yeah, that’s it! Fuck me, lover! Fuck me with that huge dick! Faster! Faster!” I gave him exactly what he demanded, dragging myself from his grasping hole and plunging down to the hilt, again and again, my tempo gaining momentum as his pleas increased. His veined erection slapped against his furry belly in an arousing display, and his chest rose and fell in erratic spasms of air. To better ground himself to my frenzied assault, he reached out to both sides and clamped his fingers around the dual faucets. His knuckles turned white almost immediately. “Oh, yeah, baby, fuck me senseless! Give me that big fat dick, you horny stud! Let me feel every inch of you!” Seeing Sky like this, his face scrunched in ecstasy, his arms spread wide to match his legs, again reminded me of one of the paintings I’d viewed earlier that day. Only I enjoyed seeing him much better in the flesh. Now I could hear his sighs and grunts, see the blaze of wantonness in his eyes, feel the walls of his canal rhythmically compress around my slippery shaft, and savor the musk of our groins banging together. But I felt something missing, felt not all of my senses had been appeased. Another fantasy popped into my head, something I had wanted to do since viewing his flawless body. 175
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I grabbed hold of his left leg, licked and sucked his shin and anklebone, then worked my tongue over that sexy foot. I nibbled the sole with my teeth before sucking those perfectly chiseled toes. Now, each of my senses came alive with our lovemaking. I abandoned that leg in favor of the other, now tickling his right foot with my tongue and working the digits in and out of my mouth. Soon I felt my testicles contract in preparation for release. But no, I ordered myself, not until I brought my lover to the splendid orgasm he so richly deserved. “Do you feel it, Matt? Do you feel it?” “What, Sky?” “Do you feel how much you fucking thrill me? How much you make me want to shoot my wad?” He released one of the faucets and used his hand to claw at my bulging biceps, to rake the ridges on my belly with his fingernails. My slamming thrusts, however, which by now had intensified into a fevered pace, started to slide his body sideways on the marble. He let go of my flesh and once again gripped the faucet to regain stability. “Goddamn, Matt, no one has ever screwed me like this before. No one!” I wrapped one of my hands around his cock, jerking it to the same tempo as I penetrated his ass. Juice drooled from his crown to bathe my fingers, and from time to time I licked them clean, tasting more and more of his burgeoning climax. “That’s it, lover, keep doing that. Oh, God! Fucking A! I’m gonna shoot, Matt! Gonna shoot just for you, my sexy 176
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lover!” “Yeah, give it to me!” “You want it? You want my jizz?” No sooner did the words leave his mouth, than his quivering shaft blasted. His first ejaculation torpedoed into the air, nearly as high as my head, before splattering onto his breastbone, creating ivory rivers in the black tangle of chest hair. Another blast crisscrossed the lines, creating lewd Xs of cock juice. More discharges left running puddles on his belly before the remainder of his semen covered my hand in gooey warmth. I brought my fingers to my lips and licked them clean, savoring every drop of my lover’s milk. Unable to get enough of him, I lowered my torso and lapped up some of the cum from his chest. Instead of swallowing, however, I pressed my mouth against his, loving the way his sucked my tongue and shared the salty treat. That pushed me to the absolute brink. On trembling legs, I stood up straight, barely managing to maintain my balance as I tore off the condom. Sky’s hands immediately went to work, running just the very tips of his fingers over my shaft from top to bottom, again and again and again, butterfly caresses that spat waves of fiery blood through my veins. With a howl of rapture spewing from my lips, my cock erupted all over his hands and arms and belly, baptizing him in hot seed. When my blasts subsided, he mimicked my earlier actions, licking the juice from his hands or painting my lips and chest 177
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with the moisture. I planted my palms against the cool marble countertops and, somehow, succeeded in staying on my feet. He squeezed together our deflating dicks, lethargically milking them of their final drops. “Holy shit, Matt, you’re getting damned efficient at this.” “I learned from the very best.” I laughed. “But so much for our shower.” “Oh, well, that’s the price you pay when you’re too horny to care.” He got off the counter and gave me a long kiss, then pulled me back into the shower stall. As we soaped each other for the second time tonight, I remembered how we had duplicated yet another one of his paintings during our recent fuck. I opened my mouth to comment, then decided not to bring up the subject. The puzzle regarding those damned canvases, the sexy stranger, and all the rest of this weird situation, had caused us enough mental and emotional distress for one day. And after this last uproarious lovemaking session, I felt the energy flowing from me as swiftly as the water swirled into the shower drain. Despite the invigorating moisture pelting my flesh, I could already feel my eyelids growing heavy, and a yawn building in my throat. Yes, tomorrow would be soon enough to reintroduce the topic, and perhaps after a good night’s sleep and with clearer heads, we would be able to shed some light on the annoying mystery. In no time, we returned to the bedroom and burrowed under the sheets and blanket. With my head resting on Sky’s 178
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shoulder, our legs intertwined, and my fingertips buried in his still-damp chest hair, I released a contented sigh. This was my dream come true, the moment for which I had yearned the entire week, and within minutes I drifted into exhausted and blissful slumber.
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CHAPTER 12 The following morning, I awakened from out of a magnificent and vivid dream, one in which Skylar Novak and I had rutted to our heart’s content in various positions and in diverse locales. We had been beasts in perpetual heat, enthusiastically frolicking beneath the moon and stars, in the sunlight or in a driving rainstorm, clawing at each other’s trembling and perspiring bodies, satisfying our most primal urges, and forging an undying bond of love and devotion. After the previous day of sexual experimentation, having a dream of a passionate nature, especially one that packed such a mighty wallop, hadn’t surprised me in the least. Nor did my throbbing boner, tingling vivaciously as I stretched beneath 180
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sheets that still bore the delectable musk of our previous coupling, begging for a firm hand or a moist mouth or a heated hole to appease it. What did surprise me, however, was rolling over to discover that I shared the mattress with no one. My heart pinged of sudden loneliness. My body ached for the feel of his strong arms around me. Where had my handsome lover gone? Good God, Ace, pull yourself together. You sound like a desperate Cinder-fella in a fairytale! After rubbing the crust of sleep from the corners of my eyes, I sat up and peered around the room, now lit by only the mellow glow of a table lamp and a wash of cloud-filtered daybreak spilling in from the windows. And not a sign of Sky. Well, fuck a duck! With the dream still fresh in my mind, and the lecherous hellhound rejuvenated from last evening’s bathroom romp rising up within me, I had wanted to wake my sexy lover by giving his morning wood a lengthy and thorough sucking. I had imagined watching his eyelids snap open, and the comical yet prurient expression on his face when he discovered my method of rousing him. I could almost hear his moans of approval as he gripped my head and firmly fucked my mouth. Plus, I couldn’t think of a better breakfast feast than his warm cream flowing down my throat, and my taste buds yearned for it even as the notion filled my mind. But now, what the hell was I going to do? Sighing my extreme disappointment, I flopped back onto the pillows. I waited several minutes, thinking Novak might 181
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have gone to the bathroom and would return any moment. But several minutes stretched into a dozen, then another, and curiosity as to his whereabouts finally got the better of me. I got out of bed and stretched, then made my way across the room, the floorboards cool beneath my feet. The ornate mantle clock ticked toward the hour of six, and from outside the window, a bird chirped weak praises to the overcast dawn. I intended to head for the hallway, thinking I might find my lover lounging in the tub. Or perhaps the aroma of coffee or breakfast fare would lure me to the kitchen, which I had yet to see. I didn’t make it to the hallway, however, getting detoured when I noted how the double doors to the private gallery lay open. Great! With my cock still stubbornly clinging to its morning erection, the last thing I needed was another view of the arousing paintings, but my quest to locate Sky took precedence. And that’s indeed where I found him, sitting on a tall stool before an easel. In profile and completely naked, his hair in typical “just woke up” disarray and his facial whiskers one day older, he looked sexy as hell. With all of his attention focused on the canvas, he didn’t notice my presence, so I seized the opportunity to study him at work. In his left hand he held a palette, blotched with small circular mounds of various colors, while his right hand wielded an ultra thin brush. Deep lines of concentration crinkled his forehead as he applied paint to the canvas—dotdot, stroke-stroke, dab-dab, slash-slash, blot-blot—in varying 182
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degrees of pressure. For a moment, his hand moved so fast, it actually blurred. After pausing a split second to dip his brush into another color from his palette, he returned to the painting—dab-dab, blot-blot, slash-slash, stroke-stroke, dotdot—another sequence, but the same frantic pace. He looked almost manic, as if some invisible timekeeper stood off to the side, brandishing a stopwatch in one hand and a million-dollar prize for the world’s fastest artist in the other. For untold minutes I watched him repeat the process again and again, and soon found myself mesmerized. But as I crept closer to him, something else snatched and held my attention. From out of the dark patch of hair between his legs, his cock jutted forward, bobbing and throbbing to his frenetic movements and relentlessly dripping clear juice. His entire shaft shimmered with it, and several small puddles had actually formed on the hardwood floor between his feet. Even now I watched as one fat drop of pre-cum gathered at his slit, then rivered halfway down his shaft before plummeting to the floor on a glistening string of seed. All the while, Sky seemed not to notice, or didn’t care, so rigorously immersed in his newest creation. I, on the other hand, certainly did care. Indeed, the lewd sight had me drooling with desire, and my cock, which had immediately sprung toward the ceiling, started a steady drip of its own. I couldn’t help but lick my lips and growl my appreciation. Sky’s head snapped around. “Matthew? You scared me. Sorry, I didn’t hear you—” 183
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My tongue, plunging into his mouth as I crushed my lips against his, effectively silenced him. I pulled back, then wedged myself between him and the easel and sank to my knees. “What are you doing?” “What I had originally planned to wake you up this morning, but you foiled my scheme.” “A dream roused me in the middle of the night. I couldn’t sleep after that. I desperately needed to paint, to put this image onto canvas. And I think you need to see it—” “Later.” “But Matthew, things have taken a startling turn and—” “I said, later. For now, say nothing, just keep doing your work, and let me do mine.” “Huh?” To answer his question, I licked his cock from root to tip, slowly cleaning his shaft of the sweet-tasting juice and slurping up another plump bead before it could crash to the floor. “Damn, you’re one horny fucker,” he whispered. “So you keep telling me. But look who’s talking, cum boy.” “Oh, yeah…that usually happens when I paint in this room.” “What a pity I haven’t been around to reap the benefits.” “But you’re here now, aren’t you?” “And plan to take full advantage of the unique situation.” I squeezed his cock-head, and another pearl of cum formed at 184
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the slit. I painted it over my lips, then looked up at him and smirked. “See? Now we’re both artists. You paint your canvases, I paint my lips.” “I like your method of painting much better than mine.” “Any special reason?” “Because it portrays the mood of the scene, conveys the most primitive human desires, with greater clarity than I could ever hope to achieve.” “Then you had best practice your technique and let me savor mine.” I took his crown into my mouth and gave it a few vigorous sucks. A shiver wracked his body. I actually saw the hairs on his thighs stand on end. “I-I don’t know if I can continue painting with you doing…that…” “I didn’t mean to disrupt your work. Do you want me to stop?” “You are insane if you think the answer is ‘yes.’” “Then continue on the best you can, artist, and pretend I’m not here. Oh, and don’t worry about making a mess.” Looking into his eyes, I flicked my tongue over his leaking slit. “I’ll be more than happy to clean up after you.” I engulfed nearly his entire penis in my mouth. I held him there for a moment, my nostrils rejoicing in the masculine aroma of his pubic hair. Tightly clamping my lips around his satiny flesh, wiggling my tongue over the twitching shaft, I sucked hard as I pulled upward. When I got to the tip, I dug my tongue under his folds of foreskin, teased his slit, and captured even more of his sweetness. I palmed his hairy balls 185
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in one hand, and used the fingers of my free hand to roam his belly and chest. For a long while I repeated my actions, maintaining a lazy, seductive rhythm and enjoying the outpouring of tasty juice. I occasionally glanced upward. At first, Novak made several attempts to paint, dipping his brush into color from the palette, then reaching past my bobbing head to dab at the canvas. The pace of his efforts soon lagged, and before long, I could almost see little white flags of surrender flashing in his dark eyes. He finally set aside the brush and palette, then clutched my head and redirected his full attention to me. Grunting, he gripped handfuls of my hair and started jabbing his cock into my throat. My lethargic tempo obviously didn’t suit him, and he set a new pace, slamming into my mouth at an accelerating velocity. I didn’t mind, because I knew I had worked him into a frenzy of lust, and the notion of pleasuring this man had taken over my life. I also knew that he would soon gift me with his most intimate fluid, feeding me like the greedy slut inside of me craved. “You’re becoming quite the…the grand master of cocksucking, aren’t you, boy? That’s it, suck that fat dick! Suck it! You love having that cock shoved in your mouth, huh?” “Mmm…mmm…” I moaned around his slippery shaft, slurping up more and more of his pre-cum. My lips and chin had grown damp from it, along with what seemed like gallons of saliva dribbling from my mouth. “You just can’t get enough of my meat, can you? I’ll give it to you, lover! Suck me! Suck my big fucking dick!” 186
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Novak leapt off the stool so fast, it skidded away, then toppled over, banging the floor. He planted himself before me, spearing my mouth in a relentless fuck. His fingers curled almost painfully in my hair, while his gasps and moans increased. I alternately clawed at his thighs or buttocks and waggled my hips so that my own cock slapped against one of his hairy shins. I debated whether to stroke myself, but decided I wanted my hands only on his trembling body. As I’d done on a previous occasion, I spread his firm ass cheeks and tickled his puckered hole with my fingertips. “Damn it, Matt, you’re going to make me come! That’s what you want, isn’t it? To swallow my milk? Tell me, you hungry cock-sucker! Tell me you want my cum!” “Mmm…mmm…” I mumbled again, but truly wanted to scream—Yes, damn it, I want to drink your fucking hot load! I want to sup from you until the end of eternity! Feed me, feed me! “Then eat my jizz, lover boy! Eat all of it!” Waves of hot semen cascaded over my tongue. So much, in fact, that I started to choke. It spewed from his spasming dick in torrents. I could barely swallow one mouthful before another blast hit the back of my throat. Steady streams oozed from the corners of my mouth, bathing my chin, neck, and chest in sticky warmth. Holy shit! Novak had always delivered sizeable loads, but nothing had prepared me for this. I could only wonder how long he’d been working on his latest painting this morning, how many hours he’d been sitting before that canvas, his balls building up the delicious 187
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reservoir. Although his cum continued to flow, his erection thankfully started to subside, giving me more room to swallow at my leisure and to finally savor his salty-spicy cream. I sucked his crown for several minutes, draining every drop from him—God, his balls must have hurt like hell to carry so much!—then licked his shaft clean. He pulled me off his dick, then dragged me to my feet. His lips crushed against mine, and his tongue invaded my mouth. When he wrapped his strong arms around me and ground our crotches together, nerve endings all along my throbbing erection came alive. The tickle of his body hair, the velvety feel of his flesh, sent me over the top. I couldn’t help it, but being too damned horny and my cock being too damned neglected, I started blasting my load between our squirming bellies. Novak dropped to his knees in time to take me into his mouth. He sucked out my final eruptions, his hungry moans filling my ears. His hands rubbed the ivory juice over my sixpack as he deep-throated me, then finally came up for air. He danced his tongue over my crimson crown just before it retracted into the moist folds of foreskin. “My God!” I exclaimed, the tangy aftertaste of his seed still potent in my mouth. “Did you take some cum pills or something? I’m sure I’ll be sloshing when I walk for the rest of the day.” He climbed to his feet, giving my belly a thorough licking before meeting me face-to-face. “I told you, Matt. When I 188
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paint in this room, my dick becomes a virtual hose.” “Next time, remind me, okay?” “After nearly drowning in that cum bath I just gave you, there’ll be a next time?” “Many, if I have anything to say about it. Damn, that was good!” He kissed me, deeply and violently, his tongue pillaging every nook and cranny of my mouth. When he drew me into a firm embrace, our crotches rubbed together. Instantly, my cock started to twitch and elongate; his did likewise, perhaps in response. At first I thought the taste of our mingled seed had brought around this renewed, almost uncontrollable urge to rut. But then I remembered our location. What was it about this damned gallery that made me feel so perpetually horny? The paintings covering the walls, for certain. The varied and raunchy depictions within the ornate frames had definitely affected my libido yesterday. Novak’s as well. But now? Since entering the room this morning, I hadn’t actually looked at any of the artwork, but had focused solely on my lover. Hell, I hadn’t even glanced at his work-inprogress, not with his mammoth erection beckoning to me. Yet here we stood again, just minutes after ejaculating, clawing and growling and kissing with an animalistic hunger. I could barely restrain the overwhelming impulse to throw Skylar down on the floor and fill his ass with every inch of my cock. And by the way he gripped my buttocks and urgently 189
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thrust his tongue into my mouth, stabbed my belly with his fresh erection, he obviously shared the urge. I would have loved to think our persistent sexual drive came strictly from our affection, our lust, for one another. But a part of me knew better. Something about this room itself and the paintings it housed added fuel to our fire. But how, or why, I didn’t know. As much as it killed me to do so, I tugged myself away from his delicious body. “W-wait a moment.” I panted for air, holding up my hands, palms facing him, halting his steps toward me. “We need to get out of here for a while.” The turbulent flicker of carnality in his eyes almost immediately began to vanish, soon replaced by the steady and lucid light of reason. “Oh, God, you’re right, Matt. We need to talk, and we won’t be able to achieve that in this room. Not when all I want to do is ride your cock for hours and hours on end.” He started toward the door, but not before wrenching the canvas from the easel. “What are you doing?” “This is one of the things we need to discuss. Now let’s get out of here.” Once inside his bedroom, the temperature within my body started to cool, and it became easier to concentrate on matters other than sex. I recalled the same thing happening yesterday when Sky had led me from the studio after I recognized the stranger in the paintings. “It’s the room, isn’t it?” “I think so,” he replied, setting his newest creation on the floor, where it leaned against a table leg. “No, let me rephrase 190
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that. I know it to be true. It came to me just a split second ago when—” “Yes, Sky, when I started getting hard again, I had the same thought. I realized that something about that room makes it nearly impossible to think straight.” I plopped onto one of the sofa arms and caught my breath. “But how can we be certain?” “Do you want to fuck me?” “What?” “Right this very second…do you want to fuck me?” Frowning, I glanced up at him. As always, the sight of his nude body stirred my blood, and the notion of pleasuring him excited the hell out of me. I puffed out my chest, filling my lungs with air. “I suppose so, but give me a second, will ya?” “Why?” “What do you mean, ‘why’? Because I need a moment to get—” That’s when it hit me. Less than a minute ago, my cock felt on fire, my boner almost painful in its pulsing solidity. I could barely think about anything except burying myself to the hilt in his warm and welcoming passage. But now, my dick had almost completely deflated. And somehow, I felt “normal” again. I noted the penis dangling between his legs, also flaccid, and finally saw his point. “Yes, of course I want to fuck you, but it’s of my own free will.” “Exactly! Lord knows I’d love to jump your bones right now also, Matt, but a moment ago I felt as if I had no choice.” 191
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“So not only are your artistic endeavors being controlled by this unknown presence, but our cocks are also?” “That’s my guess, or our sex drives, anyway. And this ‘force’ is emanating from that room. Or at least it seems to be the strongest in there. Does that make any sense?” “More than you know, although I would have never believed the theory before yesterday.” “But I wonder, could it be the paintings also?” “My vote would be on the room itself. Unlike yesterday, Sky, I didn’t even glance at the artwork this morning. All I could ‘see’ was you.” “Well, what I’m wondering is, whether just the presence of the paintings is either causing the phenomena, or adding to whatever force is concentrating in that gallery itself.” “That first night you spent in this penthouse seven years ago. You said you awoke with an uncontrollable urge to paint that first picture of us together. Did you use that room at the time?” “Not at first.” “What do you mean?” “As you know, I had just moved in. The entire place was a mess of boxes and crates. The only room set up for actual ‘work’ was the outer studio-slash-gallery, the one where visitors enter…where I also do the photography.” I lifted an eyebrow in lechery. “Ah, our special room, the place where we first did it.” He smirked, then came to where I sat on the sofa arm. “Yeah, the room where you shamelessly seduced me with this 192
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hot bod.” He ran both of his hands over my chest, then kissed my lips. To keep him close, I wrapped my legs around him, hooking his calves with the heels of my feet. “This private gallery was empty at the time?” “Hardly. It was crammed with painting supplies, extra furniture and whatnot. I had no idea what to do with it at that time, no plans to turn it into an extra studio, let alone a private gallery.” “So you started the original painting of us in the outer gallery, but you didn’t finish it there? What happened?” “I went nuts, that’s what happened. Or at least that’s what I’d thought. Seriously, I spent an hour or two in that outer studio and finally realized I couldn’t paint a goddamned thing. Of course, as any artist might do when they seemingly lose their ‘gift,’ I panicked and cursed the irony—just when a solid vision comes to mind, that’s when the talent peters out. Like an author with a hot story who can’t get that first sentence down on paper. Very frustrating.” “I’ll bet.” “Anyway, with that image of us racing through my brain, I could not bring myself to surrender. I had to paint it. So I dragged an easel and supplies into the next studio, the one you call the ‘Triple X’ room, but the same thing happened. It seemed my hands lost their ability to do justice to this particular scene. Hoping a change of atmosphere would aid me, I continued setting up the easel in different rooms. Hell, I even tried the bathroom. But only when I set up shop in that room, what was to become my private gallery, did the magic 193
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happen.” “Magic?” “You know, the magic. The je ne sais quoi, as the French say. It happens when artists—whether painters, authors, dancers, musicians, etc.—find that ‘something special’ in a performance or a piece they’re working on, when things flow so damned smoothly and flawlessly, it seems almost magical.” “And when you started painting us in that room, did the same thing happen to you like I saw a while ago?” I wrapped my fingers around his soft cock, marveling at the four or five inches of vein-laced perfection. “You know, did you get all worked up into a frenzy?” I did my best Austin Powers’ impression, a rather poor one by my own standards. “Did you feel randy, baby?” He smiled. “Certainly, yet that’s been known to happen to me whenever I paint a nude that particularly interests me, or when I created many of the paintings now hanging in the Triple X room. And most of those I painted in the outer studios. Although I’ll admit, the salacious feelings that come over me in the private gallery are nothing compared to what I might experience in the other rooms while working.” “So there’s something about that room after all, even without the paintings it houses.” “Definitely, but as the years pass, the more I paint in there, the feelings grow stronger. So, whether the addition of all those paintings is ‘feeding’ the force or not, I don’t know. Or whether the subject matter—us as a couple, or with your stranger friend as a threesome—is causing the ‘heat level’ to 194
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rise, is another possibility.” “Hey, didn’t you have something to show me in the fresh painting?” “Damn, I had almost forgotten!” He raced to the new canvas and turned it to face me. “What do you think of this?” The painting remained unfinished—many of the details not yet perfected—thanks to my interruption a while ago. Yet I could clearly make out the scene. Once again, the canvas featured the characters I had come to expect—Skylar and myself, along with our mysterious stranger—engaged in sexual activity. But I noticed a few major differences this time around. First, my face was no longer as blurry as in the other paintings. Certainly understandable, now that Sky and I had met in person and he could translate my features to canvas. Second, whereas the other paintings had plain white backgrounds in order to keep the observer’s eye undistracted and directed at the writhing bodies, this one had another background—one of blackness, like a moonless night, and what seemed to be ringed planets like Jupiter and Saturn riding in the sky. No, not ringed planets, I realized upon closer inspection, but eyes. Two glowing eyes. And third, the final change in the composition, the one that truly startled me, was my position within the trio. In this scene, I lay on my back, Skylar’s cock wedged into my mouth as he knelt beside my head, while the handsome biker-slashrocker-slash-pirate pummeled my ass with his gigantic erection. 195
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“And you had a vision of this scene last evening?” “That’s right, Matt. A few hours after we fell asleep, a dream awakened me, and this is the image that stayed in my head. I had the usual compulsion to paint it, although this time, I felt a particular urgency about it. That’s why I was working so frantically this morning, and the reason why it’s nearly completed. This has to be the fastest painting I’ve ever done from initial sketch to execution.” “Amazing,” I whispered, unable to drag my gaze from the fierce-looking erection buried halfway into my open ass. Sure, I had wondered what it would be like to bottom for a man, but I didn’t know whether it even appealed to me. If Sky asked me to try it with him, I’d probably agree—hell, I’d do just about anything for my lover, including spreading my legs. But having another man inside of me…geez! It looked horribly painful, yet at the same time, wickedly erotic! Sky put down the painting and returned to me. “A bit different, huh?” “I’ll say. And whose eyes are those in the sky?” He shrugged. “Just another question to add to the many we’ve already collected. I wonder whether we’ll ever discover what it all means.” “Well, although we have no definite answers, we do have a place to start in our quest for the truth.” Sky wrapped his arms around my neck. “Oh? What’s that, my sexy Sherlock?” “We research this building, that’s what! You were drawn to this town for a reason, and moved into this particular 196
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penthouse, and it might be because of something in that very room.” “It still surprises the shit out of me that you aren’t getting straight As.” I grabbed his face and gave him a long kiss. “Then I take it you approve of my idea?” “Of course, but where do we start asking questions?” “We have one huge benefit…this is a college town, meaning we have access to tons of professors and scads of books. I know several of the former, and despite my lack of top grades, I actually do have a passing acquaintance with some of the latter. Let me make some inquiries and see if I can come up with anything that will help us.” “And of course, Matt, this building is in the historical district, so I can head over to the town’s records department and the historical society and see if they have any information that might interest us.” “Sounds good. Leave no stone unturned. Hell, if it means getting the answers we seek, I’ll even be willing to pop into Olga’s Oracle and Occult for once.” He leaned back and presented me with his dimpled grin. “Olga’s what and what?” “That crazy-looking bookstore just off campus. The one with all the stars and moons and broom-riding witches painted on the windows and awnings.” “There really is such a place here in Petticoat Junction? You’re not making this up? Damn, I need to get out of this penthouse more often and explore this little burg. It’s proving 197
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more interesting with each passing year.” I laughed. “After seven years, it might be about time.” “But Matt, this is the weekend. Professors and historical society buildings and other record offices won’t be readily accessible until Monday.” “Gee, Sky,” I said, giving his cock another squeeze, “what do you suggest we do to fill the void between now and Monday?” “Don’t you have any homework to do? Papers to write? Books to read?” “Just because you’re a few years older, don’t give me the parental speech. And no, I’m actually caught up on my current assignments. Still, I suppose I should go home tomorrow and peruse my notes for Monday’s classes.” I tickled his balls. “Still, that gives us the rest of today, and tonight. So any other suggestions?” “We can certainly make a list of everywhere we need to check, just so we don’t cover the same ground, and make a list of all these puzzling questions so we don’t forget to ask something of importance should we find someone to help us…” “We can do that later. What else?” By this time, his penis had sprung to life, rising from out of that aromatic thatch of hair like a grand royal scepter. Another of his forceful, dimpled smiles stirred my libido. “I’ll make us some breakfast, but first, a morning shower could do us both some good.” “Now you’re talking! But let’s make it a hot, steamy bath 198
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instead…it will take much, much longer.” Without a word, he grabbed my hands and led me toward the door.
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CHAPTER 13 Sunday morning sunlight poured down from a clear eastern sky. As I jogged to the west, toward campus, my long evasive shadow gave me silent company. Birds twittered from lofty treetops, and dew-covered flowerbeds and lawns perfumed the air with a bracing scent. All along Main Street, shops lay dark and dormant, with “Closed” signs emblazoned on locked doors and colorful awnings lazily fluttering in the temperate breeze. Street corners stood deserted of hot-dog, popcorn, and T-shirt vendors hawking their wares, and barely a car passed by. Only a nearby convenience store showed any signs of activity. Several customers exited with thick weekend newspapers 200
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wedged under their arms, attempting to juggle tall cups of coffee, powdered donuts or sticky sweet rolls, lotto tickets or packs of cigarettes. Yes, for the most part, loneliness imbued the silent streets of Huntsville and settled over my aching heart. Not ten minutes had passed since I’d reluctantly left the art studio, since I’d kissed Skylar goodbye, yet it already seemed a dreary eternity. Ironically enough, I’d been with him for approximately thirty-six hours straight, yet those exhilarating hours seemed to have flown by within the space of a heartbeat. As I trotted through the town’s lifeless shopping district, I barked a humorless chuckle. Love, ain’t it fucking grand? It could reward the lucky recipient with parallel feelings of euphoria and jubilation, misery and melancholia, gift-wrapped in dynamic hues of longing and desire, all in one gigantic package. Like a funhouse ride, it jerked one’s emotions in various directions, and at whiplash speed. And now, the heartsick emptiness hit me like a mighty wallop to the gut. It churned in the pit of my stomach, refusing to relinquish its nasty grip. Sky had offered to drive me home. Even though I would’ve had more precious minutes with him, I had eventually declined, preferring to jog instead. And for several reasons. For one, I didn’t want to risk having to say goodbye to him in front of my apartment. If one of my roommates or any tattletale neighbors spied me planting kisses on him—and they 201
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possibly would, since I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of him—all hell could break loose. Because I hadn’t talked to Jeff or the others since Friday, I’d have enough explaining to do when I returned home, and to be outed over my lack of diligence could be disastrous. And, unfortunately, when I did explain my whereabouts for the past day and a half, I would have to lie up a storm. Jogging home would also give me time to think, to concoct a plausible scenario. I couldn’t tell anyone the truth, as much as it would kill me. Not yet, anyway. I needed to wait until summertime in case I had to secure alternate lodging before next year’s classes began. Plus, after summoning the willpower to leave Sky’s strong arms, I had convinced myself that jogging would do me a world of good. I needed to work off any lustful energy still lingering within my muscles, and it actually surprised me just how much I had to spare. For the remainder of the previous rain-filled Saturday and into this morning’s blazing dawn, we had enjoyed each other’s companionship—eating and drinking, talking and dozing, bathing and screwing. Mostly screwing. And, goddamn it, how I loved the screwing! Even now, within the confines of my supportive jock strap, my cock never felt so wonderfully sore, my balls so amazingly drained. Nevertheless, I would have happily returned to the studio to invade my lover’s tight ass once again, if only the reality of academia and roommates and keeping up appearances hadn’t shattered my sexual fantasy. Just after I turned the last corner of the main shopping 202
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district before reaching the campus, I glanced toward my usual haunts—Dingle’s Donuts, Ye Old Town Coffeehouse and Computer Café, and Riley’s Bar and Pool Hall—also closed on this Sunday morning. Oddly enough, however, Olga’s Oracle and Occult Bookstore, the shop I’d mentioned to Sky the previous day, seemed to be open for business. Beneath the breeze-swept awning, decorated with stars and moons, signs of the zodiac, and broom-riding witches, lights poured from out of the tall windows, and a “Welcome” sign dominated the door’s single windowpane. Strange hour to be open for business, I thought, yet I supposed the owner of such an establishment wouldn’t exactly be the most devout churchgoer. Yeah, look who’s talking, Mr. “I Haven’t Gone To Church Since Middle School” himself. Regardless, why I stomped to a halt and back-jogged to the door, I have no idea. Most likely the desire to begin hunting for answers regarding the bizarre paintings, the old building, and the unseen force driving my lover and I to lecherous heights. But stopping to look and actually entering were two different matters. I stood and caught my breath, debating what to do. The rather cheesy-looking graphics in the windows, posters advertising everything from new books on horoscopes and other mystical topics, to notices regarding “palm reading classes” and “weekly chakra cleansings,” might have normally 203
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deterred me. But after this past week, after experiencing what could very well be paranormal events in my personal life, I decided to take a risk. What the hell! The worst that could happen was that the proprietor wouldn’t be able to steer me toward any worthwhile books on the topics of “artistic hauntings” or “mysterious strangers lurking, then vanishing in hallways” or “invisible entities that get you horny as fuck”! And besides, at this ungodly hour, after a night likely fraught with wild college parties, I doubted I’d run into anyone I knew and have to suffer extra embarrassment. Without giving myself time to change my mind, I entered the shop. A bell dingled above the door. The odor of dusty shelves, exotic plants, and decaying book pages, marginally masked by the overall aroma of sweet-smelling incense, assaulted my nostrils. What looked like a recently opened carton of used books stood in one of the long aisles, while near the door, several scarred and rickety chairs surrounded a table replete with a gigantic crystal ball, ouija board, and a deck of tarot cards. In every direction, clogged bookshelves ranged from floor to ceiling, and behind the glass counter, additional shelving and cabinets held everything from packets of incense and herbs to candles and crystals, and whatever else might be absolutely obligatory for hocus-pocus and mumbo-jumbo and razzle-dazzle in this quaint college town. Despite my best intentions, I lost my nerve. I started to back up, hoping I could escape unnoticed and go on my merry way. But then, from behind a black curtain at the rear of the store, a woman emerged to foil my plans. 204
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She swept down the aisle toward me, her array of multicolored, knee-length scarves floating behind her like parade-ground pendants. A sari-style dress of beaded, burgundy silk covered her round, rather diminutive body. And her hair, also mottled with different hues to match her scarves, had been haphazardly pinned up in several places, the shorter tufts reaching skyward like a rooster with a bad hair day, and the longer locks cascading like streamers down and over her plump bosom. Her wild hairdo and whimsical attire reminded me of a cross between Cyndi Lauper and Stevie Nicks—at the beginning of their careers—and a stereotypical gypsy fortuneteller one might meet at a traveling circus. “Oh, hello! You’re new!” “New to what?” “I mean I’ve never seen you in the shop before, Silly Billy.” She came to stand before me, her heavily ringed hand extended in welcome. I shook it, listening to her numerous bracelets jangle, and stared down into her smiling face. She appeared to be in her mid to late forties, only with all the blush on her high cheeks and the vivid ruby-red lipstick emphasizing her Kewpie-doll mouth, I decided I couldn’t judge with any true accuracy. Her eyes, however, the color of freshly mowed grass in the springtime, sparkled with a youthful vitality that would have made a toddler look ancient and decrepit by comparison. “Welcome to Olga’s,” she said. “And I assume that’s you.” 205
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“I’m actually Magenta.” “Sorry?” “Like the color.” She snatched one of her scarves. “Like this. Magenta. You see?” “Yes, I see, but—” “My real name is Magenta Freedom Tatiana Scrutolowenski, but that seemed a bit too long to put on a store window and on business cards, don’t you think? Not too catchy. Besides, it practically advertises the fact that my parents took one too many hits of acid in the sixties. Flower children, flower power, and all that. Therefore, I simply go by the name Magenta. Easier to remember, wouldn’t you say?” “Err, yes, but the store is named ‘Olga’s.’” “And…?” “Why isn’t the store named ‘Magenta’s’?” “Because they call me Olga.” “I don’t understand.” “Neither did I at first, but then they told me that Olga was my real name, my spiritual moniker, not to be confused with my earthly moniker bestowed on me by my parents, therefore, I named the store after myself. Or the name they told me was actually mine. Understand now?” “Frankly, you lost me somewhere around ‘hello.’” “Don’t feel badly. Not everyone grasps the concept initially, but you will once you’re more in tune.” “More in tune with what?” “With the ‘other side,’ love.” I sucked in a startled breath. There was the phrase again. 206
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I’d heard it more than enough times in the past week to last a lifetime. Maybe I had stumbled into the right place for answers after all. “What exactly is this ‘other side’ people keep talking about?” “People? What people? Anyone I know?” “People, in general. And where do I find it?” “Find it? Why, sweetie, you’re standing in it.” Utterly baffled, I looked around the store, searching the various potted plants and bookshelves for hidden microphones or video equipment, wondering if perhaps I’d unwittingly become the star of a modern-day version of Candid Camera. I thumbed toward the window. “The sign says ‘Olga’s Oracle and Occult Books’—” “I know what it says. I painted it myself. Are we back to that Olga and Magenta thing again? Do you need me to go over it one more time?” “No, it’s just that you said the store is called ‘The Other Side.’” “I said nothing of the sort.” She made a tsking noise. “Listening isn’t one of your strong suits, is it?” “Actually patience is where I’m lacking.” “I could tell that right off the bat, since you’re too antsy to listen carefully.” She giggled. “My word, you can’t even stand still for a moment, can you? All jittery and fluttery. As skittish and as darling as my Fancy Pants.” “Your fancy what?” “My pussycat. She came tearing behind the curtain when you entered the store, almost as if she’d just seen a ghost. Oh 207
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my, she does have issues, that dear old soul. As do you, I see. How long have you had them?” “Issues?” “No, the jitters. Try to follow the conversation, sweetie. I might have some herbs for you. Remind me to check the storeroom and give you a recipe for a special tea that will calm you down.” “Calm me…recipe…huh? No, listen, Magenta, I—” “Olga.” “Oh, yes, real name Magenta Freebird Tatiana Scrutolowenski, but everyone calls you Olga—” “Then you were listening earlier? How delightful!” She patted me on the shoulder like a proud schoolmarm. “You’re a quick study.” “So I’ve been recently told.” I ground my teeth together to keep from shrieking and drew a long breath. “Olga, what exactly are you telling me about this ‘other side’?” “Oh, yes, that’s the point where you stopped being attentive, isn’t it?” “What?” “There you go again, not following the conversation. You obviously have a sharp mind, so I wonder what has you so preoccupied. Love, is my guess. Love will do it every single time. So you need my help with a love charm, do you?” “No, no—” “Ah-ha. Then you want to fend off someone you has designs on you? Well, you’re a fine looker, so that makes sense.” 208
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“Olga, no, I want to know about this ‘other side.’” “I already told you, but your lovesick heart must have pumped too much blood upward to clog your ears.” “Then please, do this lovesick boy a favor and repeat your answer.” “What I said was that you’re already in the ‘other side.’ We’re all in it. The ‘other side’ is all around us, everywhere we go, although most people don’t see it. Only unique individuals have that gift.” “And do you see it?” I asked, figuring that if she responded in the positive, I would hightail it out of here to call those men with the nets. “Me? I should be so fortunate!” I started to breathe a small sigh of relief— “But I hear it just splendidly!” —and then I stopped. Somewhere on Earth, 1-800LUNATIC was just waiting to receive this woman’s phone call for emergency aid. “What you have to understand, sweetie, is that I can also sense it through my fingers, and in my thoughts. The ‘other side’ is just another part of our existence on this world. As you know, concurrently, there are different states of consciousness, different levels of reality, different…” Her kindly face scrunched in concern. She took a moment to observe me from head to toe. “When I said you were new, little did I realize you were really new to this. You haven’t the foggiest idea what I’m talking about, do you?” “Finally, the first thing you’ve said that’s made any sense.” 209
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“Then you’re just a dabbler?” “A what?” “A dabbler, a college student bored with the human existence who is seeking a thrill until it’s time for the next happy hour or fad to come along. I have a lot of dabblers popping in every week. Or perhaps you just want your fortune told, or your palm read?” “What I want are some books. Or at least some recommendations regarding specific books.” “Books? Well why didn’t you say so? This is a bookstore, for pity’s sake. Instead, you’ve been going on and on about herbs and charms and potions, you had me confused.” “You’re not alone.” “On what?” “On being confused,” I said through clenched teeth. “Books on being confused? Now I truly am bewildered.” “No, Olga, I don’t want books on the topic of ‘confusion.’ I answered one of your questions but you thought I meant…oh, never mind.” “Never mind the books?” “No, forget this talk of ‘confusion’ and let me start again.” “That would be helpful, sweetie.” “What I want are books, or recommendations of good ones to read, regarding—” “Oh, let me guess…the ‘other side,’ right? You brought it up earlier.” “Yes…well, no…I mean, you brought up the subject of the ‘other side,’ actually. And that’s not quite why I came in here 210
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this morning, although I suppose that could be part of it.” “Then what is the other part? You want recommendations on books but have no specific topics in mind. You don’t want herbs to calm you down, not a love charm…oh, wait. I can save us both a lot of time.” She snatched my right hand again, this time dragging it toward her bosom where she cuddled it and closed her eyes. After mumbling something incomprehensible under her breath, she snapped open her eyelids and looked at me in surprise. “So that’s why you came here this morning. You have a spirit attached to you!” Her statement shocked the shit out of me. “I have a what attached to huh?” “A spirit! An actual spirit is attached to you somehow, or you’ve recently encountered one. And…oh, dear me, and something more…” “What more could there be?” I asked, already flabbergasted by her last pronouncement. “Please don’t tell me I’m possessed or something.” “Or something. The correct term would be ‘oppressed.’” “‘Oppression,’ ‘possession,’ what’s the difference?” “During a possession, the spirit resides inside you, controlling your every action while using your body as its host. During an oppression, however, the entity can influence your actions, your thoughts, and perhaps your words also, from outside your body. It depends on the nature of the ghost, his intent, or even his energy level. But that’s not what I was 211
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talking about a moment ago.” She squeezed my hand with extra force. “You’re marked, aren’t you? A marked man!” “You make it sound like I’m some character on The Sopranos who’s about to get whacked.” “No, actually I’m an alto, and you sound more like a tenor. But I’m not talking about singing voices. You really must concentrate and try to follow the conversation. I’m talking about a mark on your body, dear boy. Somewhere! A birthmark, right?” “E-everyone has birthmarks.” “But not everyone has a special kind. You do, don’t you? No wonder you have a spirit attached to you!” I felt the color drain from my face. She dropped my hand, not in fear, but to clap her own hands in joy. Her gleeful giggle echoed through my skull. Jesus! Had some pesticide entered the drinking water in Huntsville to drive people batty? By the way her eyes rounded into huge green circles of astonishment, I’d almost bet on it. “I’ve never in my life met a marked man before. Oh, I’ve read about them, sure enough, but have never come face to face with one. I’m so glad they sent you to me this morning.” “Lady, nobody sent me. You must have me confused with someone else.” “No, certainly not! The vibrations didn’t lie. They never lie, especially to me. I mean, honestly…do you think I’d open the shop at this ungodly hour just for the fun of it? No, they told me someone would come this morning to seek my help, but little did I realize he would also bear a mark. An actual 212
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mark! How delicious! Now, where is it, I wonder? Where?” “I beg your pardon?” “I’ll need to study it. The shape is important, you see?” “No, I actually don’t see a thing.” “Oh, then it’s in a hard-to-find location, is it?” She started circling me, scanning my arms and legs, every inch of my exposed flesh like a horse trader might study a stallion before whipping out a checkbook. “Where could it be? A-ha, I’ll bet it’s in a private place. Oh, that’s probably it. Am I right? A naughty place? The naughtier the better, they sometimes say. Gee, I wonder if you would…” “I’m not about to strip for you, if that’s what you’re driving at.” “You know, that’s not a horrible idea, actually. I may be old enough to be your moth—err—big sister, but I’m certainly not opposed to viewing a muscular male physique if one is willing to show it off. With your body type, you could very well be a stripper by profession. A successful one at that. Are you?” “No!” “A stripper? Or a successful one?” “Neither!” The blood that had drained from my face a moment earlier came flooding upward. “Too bad. I was all prepared to slip a few dollars into your g-string.” She came back around me and looked into my face. Another giggle spilled from her garish lips. “Relax, sweetie, relax. Your cheeks look about as red as a spanked fanny. I was only joking. Oh, not about the ‘marked’ part, but about the 213
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‘stripping’ part.” A sigh of relief practically erupted from me. “Magenta—I mean, Olga—what the hell are you talking about? I simply came in for some books and—” “Does this birthmark run in your family? All the males, correct?” Frozen needles of fear prickled my spine. “H-how did you know?” This time, she sighed, but in exasperation. “Once again, you weren’t listening, were you? I told you, the vibrations never lie to me.” “Oh, I heard you, I just don’t have a bloody clue what you’re telling me. Are you saying that vibrations are talking to you about my birthmark?” “Of course! When I held your hand a moment ago, they spoke quite clearly.” Uncle Clarence, I think I’ve found a whacko girlfriend for you! I stopped short of asking this crazy dame if she knew the lyrics to “Yankee Doodle Dandy,” for future reference and all. “How in the world can vibrations talk?” She looked up at the ceiling and dramatically held out her arms in surrender. “A novice! Why, oh, why did you send me a complete novice? As if I haven’t enough on my schedule today, now I have to play tutor?” Her performance might have been comical had I not experienced another eerie and profound chill, one that told me I’d likely receive insight regarding my unsolved mysteries if only I would bite my tongue and rein in my mounting 214
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impatience. Maybe I did need some of those special herbs she’d mentioned. Or maybe my impatience acted as a mask to my increasing dread that what she had to tell me might change my life forever. All this talk about spirits and birthmarks and the “other side” had my head spinning and my gut clenching. With a shrug of resignation, the woman huffed to the door and locked it, turned the “Welcome” sign backward, then yanked a drawstring, causing curtains to descend over the storefront windows to effectively shut out the sunlight. Before I could ask what she had in mind, she planted a hand on her hip, used the other to point toward one of the rickety chairs, and gazed into my eyes. “You, sit. You need to learn the basics.” Oh, shit, what the hell have I gotten myself into?
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CHAPTER 14 For the next ten minutes—although it might have been more, I couldn’t be certain—my head swirled in a sea of mystification. I somehow managed to maintain my composure; I didn’t leap up and crash through the locked door, escaping this craziness, even though I’d occasionally flirted with the idea. Still, after formally introducing myself, I remained fairly silent, unable to tear my gaze off the woman. She fluttered around the shop like a jubilant butterfly on steroids, gathering objects and bringing them to the table, and all the while rambling on about birthmarks and spirits and places called Bhuvaloka and Paataal. Not countries, as I’d originally 216
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thought, or cities in some far-off land, but locations in the universe. “Nether regions and Hell itself,” she’d explained. I’ll admit tuning out much of what she’d said, since it made little sense. Indeed, I felt as if I’d just plopped down in the wrong classroom with a professor who spoke in a foreign tongue. Yet, when I managed to follow her roundabout manner of talking and forced myself to concentrate, I actually started to grasp various tidbits. “So those regions you mentioned…this is where these supposed ghosts supposedly reside?” “Nothing supposed about them or their spiritual residence, Matthew,” she answered from behind a display case, where gargoyle and fairy figurines stood on sale beside candlesticks and red-stickered miniature cauldrons. She knelt down, momentarily disappearing from sight and rummaging through drawers. I could only imagine what additional items she would eventually bring to the table. “Ghosts, devils, demonic forces, guardian spirits, they’re all real. Make no mistake. As are the regions I mentioned. But what you also have to understand is that these various regions are all around us, coexisting in the same place, just in different dimensions, different planes of consciousness.” “How is that possible? Two different dimensions beside our own?” “Two?” Her heavily rouged face popped up from behind the counter, her green eyes blinking like broken traffic lights. “Why, dear boy, there are many more than two. Higher regions, lower regions. Indeed, there are seven regions of hell 217
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alone, or so they tell me. And do not forget about the heavenly regions. And yes, all of these various regions mingle with our ‘reality’ on Earth at the same moment in time.” She finally stood, her arms laden with items. One of them—a long stick with what looked like a small crystal affixed to one end—made me laugh in nervousness. “Don’t tell me…you’re going to zap me with that magic wand?” “Don’t be silly, sweetie, it’s a quartz crystal point. And I never zap!” “Oh, sorry, color me embarrassed.” “Nothing to be embarrassed about,” she said, smiling, either missing or electing to ignore my heavy sarcasm. “Now, how do I explain these overlapping regions to you so you can understand? How? Hmm…I know. What are you sitting in?” “Is this a trick question?” She raised the wand as if to hit me, but I somehow knew she wouldn’t. “Just answer me and learn. What are you sitting in?” “All right, all right. A chair—one that appears to have been purchased from a yard sale about a million years ago, I’ll wager.” “I wonder, did they exist back then?” “Chairs?” “No, yard sales. Listen, a word of advice—never purchase anything from yard sales. People, whether intentionally or not, always try to pawn off haunted items to the unsuspecting. Oh, sure, that toaster or that blender may appear pristine and in 218
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good working condition, and that unusual vase or coffee mug may be quite a bargain for a dollar and a quarter, but you never know what you’re getting. Spirits can hide in the most unassuming objects and—” “Olga, Olga, stay focused, please.” “You asked me about yard sales.” “No, you were telling me about the overlapping regions, then got sidetracked.” I bit my tongue before I could add the word, “again.” “Ah, yes, Mr. Smarty-Pants, I guess I did. Anyway, you are sitting in a chair. Now, what else is around you, around that chair?” “Besides dust?” Her Kewpie-doll lips pursed in exasperation. “I dusted only yesterday! What else?” “I don’t understand.” “Air, water vapor, elements—real elements—you can’t detect with the naked eye.” “So what you’re saying is that these elements exist in the same region as the chair, even though they’re invisible. Okay, that concept I do understand.” Giggling, she pinged my shoulders one after the other with the crystal wand, like a queen knighting a brave soldier. “There’s hope for you yet. Now, on occasion, and depending on their skills and their needs at any given time, spirits and entities existing in these different regions are free to travel back and forth between them.” “Can they materialize before you, looking like just another 219
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living, breathing human being, then vanish into thin air?” “The older, more powerful spirits certainly can. Especially if they seek something in particular.” “Ancient…I don’t know. He didn’t exactly look ancient, although perhaps a decade or two behind the times.” “He likely took on the attire of how he expected you’d best respond to him.” I thought about my instant attraction to my mysterious vampire-slash-rocker-slash-biker and realized he’d probably made a wise choice. He certainly gained my full and rapt interest in that sexy bad-boy get-up. “Yet he spoke with a faint accent—European, I think—and used archaic phrases—” “Spoke? There have been numerous cases of people claiming to have actually conversed with someone who turned out to be a ghost.” I reluctantly raised my hand. “And I think I’m one of them.” She shrieked, like a women who’d just discovered a million dollars in unmarked cash lying on her doorstep with no IRS man in sight. “It’s rare you hear about such encounters. You must tell me everything, but not until after I read your vibrations. I don’t want any information muddying the waters.” “But how rare can it be? Isn’t there a popular television show about this very thing, about a woman with the ability to speak to ghosts?” “I wouldn’t know. The last television show I watched in its 220
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entirety was The Partridge Bunch…or was it called The Brady Family? I wonder if that’s still airing.” I laughed. “You’ve actually mixed up the names of two shows, and they both disappeared about a decade before I was born.” “And I also wonder if that odd group of castaways ever made it off that island…the professor, the movie star, the millionaire and his wife…” “Yes, fear not, Gilligan and his friends got rescued—about forty-odd years ago. You’re aging yourself, Olga.” “Be that as it may, what happened to you is extremely rare, Matthew. It’s one thing to be able to mentally communicate with spirits, but to meet one face to face and carry on a verbal conversation? Yes, it’s rare indeed.” If she only knew the other manner this entity has been using to communicate with my lover and I, she’d likely freak out. Images of Sky’s paintings rushed through my mind in a lewd slideshow and I felt a blush creep up my cheeks. “And for me,” Olga continued, “meeting you today is the rarest of the rare. In a technologically advanced society such as ours, it’s all too easy to dismiss paranormal occurrences based on scientific reasons. The lack of overall spiritualism I’ve witnessed is disheartening. There are too many skeptics who think they know it all and make it a campaign to ridicule someone who steps forward with a supernatural tale. It’s not like the old days, when people seemed more open to the paranormal and non-Earthly entities. So to meet you…well, it’s a gift, and I look forward to picking your brain for all the 221
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juicy details.” “So how did it happen? How did I meet this spirit?” “You have to understand that Earth is typically a stopping point in their travels. Or perhaps he’s somehow bound to this world. Sometimes spirits cannot leave this plane of existence, they cannot progress to the various regions where they can grow or learn from their deeds on Earth. This is what causes hauntings, whether in houses or in everyday items.” “Are you talking about heaven and hell and reincarnation and all that jazz?” “Jazz…jazz…that reminds me. I need music. You’ve gotten me so excited, I’ve completely forgotten the music!” She set the wand on the table, then dashed to the back of the store, slipping behind the black curtain. In her absence, I studied the props she’d placed beside me. Herbs and small bottles of oil, several candles already in ornate holders, a small pentagram made out of ivory or marble, and a gleaming and ultra-sharp knife. I picked up the blade and tested the fierce point with my index finger. What the fuck…? Music blasted from wall speakers stationed above the storefront window. “I’m on the Highway to Hell…Highway to Hell…” The knife fell from my hand, clanking onto the table. I nearly jumped out of my seat when Bon Scott’s recognizable voice belted out the chorus of AC/DC’s heavy metal classic. Concurrently, a cat screeched, gifting me with another mini heart attack. The animal, pure black except for a patch of white fur that gave it the appearance of wearing a diaper, tore 222
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from behind the curtain. It scampered through the bookstore aisles, around my feet, then scurried for cover under a nearby shelving unit. “…Highway to Hell…Highway to He—” The track died to a startling silence. A giggle carried from the storeroom. “Oops, sorry, Matthew—and sorry to you, too, Fancy Pants. Wrong CD.” A moment later, the mellow strains of new-age music filled the air, and the volume blessedly sank to a barely perceptible level. Olga emerged from the back, smoke trailing behind her. At first I thought she’d somehow lit her flowing garments on fire, until I saw the item in her hand. It looked like an oversized joint of marijuana, and frankly, after spending time with this dizzy dame, this sixties child, I wouldn’t have been surprised had it been exactly that. She walked in circles around the table, humming melodiously and waving the stick back and forth like a smoking baton. “What are you doing now?” I asked, blinking the sting from my eyes. “Smudging you.” “Say what?” “Cleansing your aura with sage. I want to make certain the vibrations are clear when I read you again. We can’t have any outside forces misleading me, can we?” “No, we can’t have that,” I mumbled, holding my nostrils closed with one hand and swatting the smoke away from my 223
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face with the other. When she finished, she set the stick into a small dish on a counter, then took a seat in a chair across from me. “Are you ready to get started?” “What are you planning to do with all of this stuff?” I pointed to the dagger. “And especially that? It’s one thing for people to hold up a store at knifepoint, but this is the first time I’ve heard of a shop owner holding up a customer.” “Oh, you are such a Silly Billy. Your sarcastic wit becomes you, however, so I’ll forgive you and your ignorance. This is my athame. It’s used for rituals. But don’t concern yourself with any of these items, or at least not yet. I may not need any of them, but I always like to keep things at my fingertips”—her voice dropped to a sinister whisper—“just in case.” “In case of what?” “In case demons and vampires slam into our reality and try dragging you to Hell where they’ll feast on your flesh and blood for all eternity!” My scalp prickled. “What?” “Got’cha!” Another cheery giggle filled the air as she pushed the items, including the large crystal ball, to the edge of the table. “You’re not the only one with a sense of humor, sweetie. Although mine is a bit dark, wouldn’t you say?” “Yeah, yeah, a bit…” “Now, please stop squirming about and give me your hands. I promise, I won’t bite, but if you break my chair, I can’t promise I won’t turn you into a toad.” 224
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I grunted my annoyance, yet did as she requested, placing my hands on the table before her. She caressed them, closing her eyes and drawing deep breaths that made her bosom rise and fall in a steady, hypnotic rhythm. Meanwhile, I employed every ounce of patience I could summon and allowed her to take her time. Despite the woman’s exasperating behavior, I supposed I truly liked her, and I trusted her enough to go along with this crazy game. Besides, she had piqued my curiosity, especially after declaring that I’d had a recent encounter with a spirit and proclaiming her knowledge of my special birthmark. Coincidence? Perhaps. But somehow I didn’t think so. Too many coincidences had happened in the past week for me to discount another. Sure, part of me wanted to get the hell out of here, but to flee the bookstore now, just when I’d started to receive answers, would be like leaving a movie theater prior to the film’s climax. I knew that, whatever the outcome, I needed to see this through, needed to get to the bottom of the mysteries that plagued my lover and I, and for the moment, like it or not, this eccentric gal seemed my best hope. My only hope. If Sky could see me now, he’d know just how much I love him…love him with all of my heart and soul that I’d go to any lengths to free us of whatever unseen force is meddling in our lives… She blinked open her eyes. “So you don’t need it after all, do you?” 225
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“Need what?” “A love potion or charm.” Olga’s cheeks flared with a girlish blush, darker than the makeup she wore. Her lips puckered and her eyes widened, looking like a woman who had just stumbled upon a libidinous tryst between a preacher and a choir mistress. “I can see you’ve already found your true love.” My own face grew hot with embarrassment. Had this women really read my mind, viewed the X-rated images that had raced through my head a moment ago when thinking of my love for Sky? Or had she only guessed? “Now, now, stop that annoying fidgeting. There’s no need for chagrin or shame. Love is love, no matter in which bodies souls inhabit. He obviously makes you happy and—” “He?” I asked as a test of her abilities. Another sigh spilled from her mouth, one I had grown accustomed to hearing. “Remember what I said about the vibrations?” “Yes, yes, they never lie.” “Never!” She closed her eyes again and rubbed her thumbs over the tops of my hands. “I’m glad you have each other again.” “What do you mean by that?” “You and he are old souls. In fact, your paths have already connected in a previous lifetime.” “Reincarnation? I don’t know if I believe in all of that—” Nonsense, I’d wanted to say, but didn’t. Before this past week, I hadn’t believed in a lot of other nonsensical things 226
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either. Like paintings of myself engaged in salacious acts created years earlier. Like sexy strangers who could disappear at will, then pop up in someone else’s imagination to be included on additional canvases. Like unnatural and lustful obsessions that consumed one’s life without warning. No, I could no longer deny that whatever existed between Skylar and myself seemed out of the ordinary, seemed predestined. So what better explanation than reincarnation? At least it provided me with an answer to that part of the puzzle. And before today, I had also never believed that someone could actually possess a sixth sense, yet this woman had already proven me wrong on several occasions. “Do you not feel a connection with your sweetheart?” she asked. “Very much so. My lover…” I went another step in kicking open that insufferable closet door, and it gladdened me to finally talk about Sky to someone. “He is probably the most important person in my life, and it’s been only a week since I’ve met him. Amazing, isn’t it? I’ve never felt so in tune with anyone before.” “As I said, you’ve already known each other, so when you linked up with him again, it felt like—like—” “Returning home.” A perceptive smile curled her lips. “You’re learning by leaps and bounds, Matthew. I guess I won’t have to whack you about the head with my quartz crystal point as I suspected I might.” Again, she closed her eyes and concentrated, her head cocking from side to side and her mouth moving, but no sound 227
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escaping for several moments. “There is a roadblock for you and…hmm…I want to call him by the name of a bird, but I’m not sure if I’m correctly reading the vibrations. His name certainly is not ‘Meadowlark,’ yet they’re telling me it is, showing me the image of one.” “A meadow—?” Then it hit me, and I gasped. “No, it’s not meadowlark, but it’s very close to another name for that same type of bird.” “Skylark! Yes, that’s it, Matthew, they’re confirming that I’m correct.” Her right eyelid came open, and she looked at me. “Why would any parent bestow such a ridiculous name upon a child?” “This coming from a women named after a color?” “Point taken, Smart Mouth.” Her eyelid shut once again. “His name is actually Skylar.” “That makes better sense…but not much…” “What roadblock? You said something about—” “Yes, there is definitely another force at work, one that is somehow using you to achieve a goal, but I’m uncertain what goal that is.” “It’s that spirit, isn’t it?” “I believe so. It’s an ancient soul…and extremely powerful. Yes, he’s definitely attached himself to you.” “Why me?” “After everything I’ve told you this morning, can’t you guess?” I did, and it scared the hell out of me. “The birthmark?” Her small nod confirmed my conjecture. “Who is this spirit?” 228
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“I can’t answer that, Matthew. I’m sorry.” “But why? You already know so much. You knew about the spirit, my birthmark, even my lover’s sex and name. Why can’t you tell me about this?” She opened both eyes this time, and her green irises grew dark with commiseration. “I can relay to you only what the vibrations send to me, sweetie. You, I can physically touch, therefore I can communicate with the particular vibrations radiating from within your soul. But this spirit is too vague, too hidden. If I could hold his hand, or even the object he haunts, I would be able to translate his vibrations.” “So you’re saying you can tell me nothing.” “I didn’t say that at all. Oh, I might not be able to tell you his name or the reason for his presence, but I can read enough of his vibrations through your soul to translate his deep emotions. I feel his frustration, his misery, his restlessness. He feels trapped, caged, yet for the first time in many generations, he also feels hopeful and so desperately yearns for his freedom.” “Freedom from what?” “From a form of purgatory in which he exists. From…” Her mouth formed a ruby-red “O” of surprise. “From a curse!” “There is such a thing?” Although she said nothing, her face took on the sour expression to which I had grown quite familiar. I issued a sardonic laugh. “Of course there is! After experiencing all of these other occurrences, after my belief system has been shattered and reconstructed in numerous 229
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ways this past week, why not toss in a curse as well?” I sighed my annoyance. “Can you help this spirit break the curse?” “I might be able to lend a hand, but ultimately, it will be up to you to free him.” “Why—?” But I already sensed the answer. “The birthmark, again. It all comes back to that, doesn’t it?” “I’m afraid so. You are the chosen soul, and the birthmark designates you as being the solution. You are the one he’s been seeking…or at least, the one he’s seeking now.” “What do you mean by ‘now’?” “As I mentioned, he’s an old spirit, which means he’s been trapped in his prison for many years, gathering power and focusing his energies on you. Yet it stands to reason that he’s attempted to escape before, probably once in every generation when a new ‘chosen soul’ comes along. Did you not confirm that your birthmark runs in your family?” I nodded. “Only the males.” “Then I suspect one of your male ancestors in each generation faced a similar ‘disturbance,’ for the lack of a better term, during their lifetimes. Yet for whatever the reason, they were unable to help the spirit in his desperate quest. So now, it’s up to you.” I yanked my hands from Olga’s grasp and used them to rub my forehead. So many questions bombarded me, my head started to spin from the pressure. The notion that other men in my family had faced a similar situation…good God, had their situations mirrored mine? And in what manner? A sexual one? What had they gone through, and why hadn’t they been able to 230
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help this damned entity? A single horrifying thought centered in my brain, coercing me to ask Olga another question, even though her answer could impact my entire future. “W-what happens to a man who is haunted, yet can do nothing to remove the spirit from his life?” Olga chewed her lower lip. The network of wrinkles on her forehead gave me the impression that she found herself engaged in a heated mental debate. “From everything I’ve read—and all around us there are countless books on this very subject, which I can show you—the results vary. Not every person reacts the same, of course, so you need to keep that in mind when—” “Tell me, please! I know there are always exceptions to the rules, but what happens to the majority?” “They…they usually go mad.” Uncle Clarence! Could it be? Supposedly insanity ran in my family. Although I’d heard it whispered for years, I knew nothing specific about what happened to any ancestors except Clarence. I did know, however, that his heart-shaped birthmark was also located on his lower back, just above his buttocks, like mine. My brothers had teased me about it for years, ever since the “Yankee Doodle” incident. Could other male ancestors before him, marked in the same location as Clarence and I, have also lost their minds because of the same spirit who had targeted them as his potential “rescuer” from his purgatory? And will I also go insane in the process? 231
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“Matthew, are you all right? You’re trembling! Let me brew you some of that tea I mentioned earlier. It will calm you—” “Can you see into the future, Olga?” I grabbed the crystal ball on the table and held it aloft. “Can you look into this and tell me what the future holds? Or use the tarot cards or something?” “Certainly I can use those tools, but they never convey as much information as the vibrations supply.” “Then use the vibrations. Please.” “Unfortunately, they typically communicate only past events, or a person’s current feelings, or events of only the immediate future, such as whether the phone is about to ring. Or when I sensed you would arrive today seeking my aid. Only those with true second sight can look into the ‘other side’ and view images of the far future. Famous psychics abound—I stock books by several, of course—but whether they truly possess a gift as a ‘seer’ or a gift as a ‘con-artist,’ no one knows for sure. All I know is that I’ve never personally met one.” Another thought hit me with the strength of a dynamo. I could almost feel an electrical current coursing through my veins, and my head actually buzzed with its power. Skylar! The paintings! “Would a person know they had this gift if no one told them? I mean, could they live their lives and not realize what was happening to them?” “I suppose. It would all depend on the overall degree of 232
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their abilities. For instance, you could be a whiz at mathematics, but if you relied on a calculator for everything, you would never know your mental aptitude for such things. The next great basketball star would never know his or her capabilities if they never grabbed a basketball and stepped onto a court. In other words, those with marginal ‘seer’ abilities likely wouldn’t realize they had them, or might not even attempt to use them. While others with more potent gifts…” “What?” “Well, I’ve heard of some cases where, and oddly enough, many of these powerful ‘seers’ have also gone a bit ‘off the shelf’…they had visions and dreams, but didn’t comprehend that what they saw was the future, and specifically, the far future. France’s Michel de Nostredame, better known as Nostradamus, was a perfect example of someone who could view the ‘other side’ and predict events of the far future, although whether he went crazy in the process is up to sixteenth-century historians to decide.” I snapped to my feet. “Olga, would you mind if I called you in the next few days? Would you be willing to—” “My dear boy, of course I will help in any way I can. As I told you earlier, I sensed someone would need my guidance today, so I opened the store and prepared for your arrival.” She raced behind the counter and grabbed a business card. Before handing it to me, she scribbled something on the backside. “The business number is on the front, of course, but my home phone is on the rear. Feel free to use either whenever 233
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questions arise.” I slipped the card into my jogger’s belt, then began to turn toward the door. “Matthew, are you certain you’re all right? You’ve regained some of your healthy color, but you still look a bit woozy.” I viewed the genuine concern in her eyes, and it touched me. Despite her many peculiarities, she really was a sweet soul and I could tell she had only the best intentions. I leaned down and planted a kiss on her cool forehead. One of those lively giggles tinkled from her mouth. “What was that for?” “Your kindness and insight. You’re a unique person, Magenta Freedom Tatiana Scrutolowenski—otherwise known as Olga—and I thank you.” Grinning like a schoolgirl, she palmed my cheek, her many rings clacking together. “You stay in contact, Matthew, and if there’s anything you need, do not hesitate to call. And give your handsome lover a big kiss from me, and also tell him to use those numbers if he needs me.” “And how do you know he’s handsome?” Again, that exasperated look. “You know the line by now, sweetie—the vibrations never lie!”
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CHAPTER 15 I stood outside the bookstore for breathless moments, glancing up Main Street in the direction of the studio, then spinning to the west and scanning the empty campus, the shortcut to my apartment. For the first time since Friday, I cursed myself for not packing my cell phone in my jogger’s belt. I had purposely left it behind, not wanting any interruptions during my time with Skylar. But now I regretted my decision as I debated whether to head back to the studio and tell my lover all that I had learned, or proceed to my apartment as originally planned. Certainly I could have gone back into Olga’s and asked to use the phone, or retraced my earlier steps to that open convenience store, but I didn’t want 235
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anyone to overhear my conversation with Sky. Actually, the more I thought about it, I decided that what I needed to tell him required not only privacy, but also face-toface contact, where I could gauge his reaction. Therefore, I elected to follow through with my original plans and return home. Lord knows I already had enough explaining to do to Jeff and the others, and I needed additional time to absorb the information Olga had given me. Although I physically sprinted toward the campus, my mind flew in a million different directions at once. I guess being targeted by an old spirit for some mysterious purpose will do that to a person. Regardless, I had not regretted my foray into the bookstore. I had vowed to find answers, and that’s exactly what I’d received. Although not enough of them to satisfy me, and now I had even more questions. I still couldn’t identify this entity, or define its long-term goals. I still didn’t know how Skylar fit into the puzzle, or why the spirit haunted the art gallery, using him to create the X-rated paintings. And what did the paintings signify anyway? A foretelling of the future, or some message? And Sky’s odd abilities…could my lover actually view the “other side”? But of greater importance, I still didn’t know for certain whether my Uncle Clarence, or any of my other ancestors, had been contacted by this same ghost, or in what fashion, and whether the mental illness that ran in my family finally had an explanation, one of the otherworldly variety. Trotting over the winding campus pathways, past the duckfilled ponds, the picnic areas, and the silent administration and 236
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classroom buildings, I came to realize that, for the most part, I truly didn’t know shit! I had a feeling I would be seeking Olga’s help again, and in the near future. When I finally made it home a short while later, I counted my blessings. Oh, not the royal mess that greeted me upon entering the apartment—scattered pizza boxes and alcohol bottles everywhere, and a keg of beer sitting in a tub filled with water that had certainly once been ice—but the fact that none of my roommates awaited me, tapping their feet and eyeing their wristwatches. They were undoubtedly sleeping off outrageous hangovers, if past history and the current setting proved anything. Therefore, I kicked off my sneakers, tore off my socks, and headed for the privacy of my bedroom. When I got there and clicked on the light, however, I discovered someone using my bed. Shit! Now my roommates would know what time I’d arrived home. And worse, as I crept further into the room, I recognized Jeff’s tousled hair and robust physique. During slumber, he had somehow tangled himself in my blanket, the material enwrapping two of his limbs, leaving his bare left leg and right arm open to the air. He hugged a nearly empty tequila bottle to his naked chest, looking like a contented and ultra cute skid-row lush. Had this been any normal day, I might have taken the time to really study him in slumber, admiring the ridges and contours of his muscular chest, the succulent roundness of his nipples, the dusting of fur that swirled over his breastbone. I might have spent hours observing him, fantasizing about burrowing into that blanket, our hot, bare flesh caressing as I 237
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tasted him from torso to toes. Today, however, was anything but normal. It was paranormal, actually, if I could believe everything I’d been told that morning. And with questions buzzing through my head like nagging bumblebees, I had more important issues to ponder than embarking in reveries of sucking off my homophobic roommate like that girl had done during our single ménage together. Besides, Jeff’s obnoxiously loud snore practically rattled the mirror over my dresser, shattering my brief foray into sexual fantasyland. The rhythmic cacophony drowned out my string of curses as I grabbed the cell phone from its charger and slunk out of the bedroom. I closed the door behind me and stood in the hallway, also littered with empty plastic cups and crumbled napkins. They must have had one hell of a party, but since I’d had one of my own—a wonderful gala for two with Sky—I didn’t regret missing theirs in the least. I poked my head into Jeff’s room and quickly discovered the reason he had bunked in mine. A semi-nude figure lay on his bed, and I recognized his brother Beau—real name, Beauregard Bogart. What a moniker! I also instantly noted the family resemblance by the way the rumbling freight-train noise poured out of his open mouth. Damn, no privacy in here. A quick check of the third bedroom, the one Darrin and Vance shared, indicated the cousins also lay dead to the world, one mumbling in his sleep, the other drooling onto his pillow. Well, the party’s aftermath could have been much worse, I decided. At least I didn’t have to contend with half-naked 238
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chicks yammering up a storm in the kitchen or living room, monopolizing the bathroom or blaring the television, or worse, flirting with me or trying to make inane small talk. I guess no one aside from myself had gotten lucky last night after all; I couldn’t help but smirk in satisfaction at the thought and once again counted my blessings. The bathroom seemed the most secluded area for me to use the phone. I locked the door behind me, then sat on the edge of the tub and punched in the number. But not my lover’s. During my jog, I’d settled on the idea of gathering even more information before I talked to Sky. Besides, the most pestering questions only one person could answer with any real authority. Someone picked up on the second ring. “Hello?” “Mom, it’s me, Matt.” “It can’t be. It’s way too early on a Sunday morning for my Matthew to actually have rolled out of bed, let alone felt the need to call his mother.” “You’re a laugh riot, Mom.” “I thought you’d like that. Not only did that one line allow me to reprimand you on the evils of drinking too much on Saturday nights, but it also allowed me to play the guilt card.” “You forget, we’re gentiles…guilt doesn’t work on me,” I lied. It actually worked quite well, as all of my siblings could attest. “Why haven’t you called lately? I haven’t heard from you in weeks. Of course, saying you’ve had your nose buried in textbooks will get you marginally off the hook.” 239
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“Classes are going fine, so thanks for asking in your roundabout fashion. Listen, is Dad there? I need to ask him something?” “Where else would your father be on a Sunday morning?” “Ah, well, church perhaps?” “Hell hasn’t frozen over, has it? Although I haven’t switched on the morning news, so I wouldn’t know for certain.” Shuffling noises ensued, my mother attempting to cover the phone’s mouthpiece with her hand, which she never seemed to be able to accomplish satisfactorily. I suspected on purpose, especially when her next words, although muffled, clearly reached my ears and gave my guts a motherly jab. “Jamison! Jamison! Your youngest son wishes to speak with you. And wonder of all wonders, he actually sounds sober! I guess all that money we’ve spent sending him to a private college hasn’t been a total waste.” “I can hear you, Mom. Still trying to toss out that guilt card, huh?” “Don’t be such a smart-ass, sweetheart. Here’s your father.” “Hey, Matthew. What’s wrong? How’s the car?” “Hi, Dad, nothing’s wrong and the car’s running just fine.” “Oh…” I detected the disappointment in his voice and couldn’t help but grin. Nothing made Jamison Rhodes feel more like a stellar father-turned-superhero than coming to the rescue when one of his offspring had vehicle problems or he could offer mechanical advice. “So how are things?” “A bit…odd. Listen, Dad, I have to ask you some 240
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questions. Normally I wouldn’t bring up a subject like this on the phone, but since I’m not sure when I’ll be home next and a particular matter can’t wait, I need some answers now.” “Answers about what?” “Some family matters. Specifically”—I took a deep breath and mentally crossed my fingers for luck—“Uncle Clarence.” Silence followed. It dragged on for so long I wondered if we’d been disconnected. Then he sighed. “What about him?” “I know this might be hard for you to talk about, but I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have an important reason for doing so. Could you please tell me how he came to be…well…the way he is?” “Not much to tell. He’s off his rocker.” “But why?” “What do you mean, why? You were old enough to remember what happened that day at your grandfather’s house, with him and that banjo, so I don’t know why we need to go over it again—” “Yes, I remember, Dad, but what I need to know is what the doctors said regarding the cause of him coming fully unglued like that. Did it happen overnight, or was it a long process before that final episode?” “No, not overnight. He was getting worse through the years.” “Was he taking drugs? Or boozing it up?” “No, nothing like that.” “Then what happened?” “Matt, you know this runs in my family. My own uncle 241
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also had some serious problems, and one of his uncles before him…Lord knows how far this goes back. So that’s the only explanation I can give you.” “I’m sorry, but that just won’t cut it. I need more info, Dad. I need to know if anything specific caused them to spiral out of control.” “Why? Matt, are you…oh, God, are you feeling okay?” “Yes, yes, it’s nothing to do with me,” I lied again, this time emphatically, not wanting to worry him. With the illness in his family, oddly connected only to the male offspring, he always seemed especially watchful of signs when it came to my brothers and I. “I’m involved in…well, a research project. One of my classes…” “For journalism?” “Yeah”—Think, idiot, think!—“I have to do a mock-up article, as if written for a New York Times type of magazine. I guess you could call it a thesis on the topic of mental illness in this country, along with the care patients receive and early detection, what can be done to improve hospital conditions, and other crap like that.” “You intend to use the word ‘crap’ in your thesis? You might as well kiss that passing grade goodbye.” “Ha-ha, very funny. Seriously, I figured maybe, with some personal insight from my own family’s history, I could actually ace the paper and bring up my grade point average.” Nothing like tossing in a bit of “improving grades” talk to counteract any fatherly reluctance. “My professor loves that whole ‘this is how it affects me personally’ angle, so I thought 242
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I had a possible leg-up, so to speak.” “Oh, I see. Well, good for you, Matt. But I’m not sure how much I can help.” “Clarence is your eldest brother, so you were able to observe him earlier in his life. Do you remember any signs that, now in hindsight, led you to believe he would end up that way? Was he always a bit ‘off’ during his childhood, or when did it start to happen?” “In all honesty…?” “I expect nothing less from you. If anything, you and Mom have always been honest to a fault when it comes to us kids.” I also felt adding a touch of praise would help to whisk away any lingering diffidence. “I appreciate that, Matt. We tried.” When he paused, I could hear him sip coffee, undoubtedly from the “World’s Greatest Father” mug that he toted around the house with him like a trophy. “Well, to answer your question, it started years before the ‘garage roof incident,’ probably when he was in his early twenties, after he’d endured some heavy pressure.” “What do you mean?” “Clarence was generally a decent student, but my father— your grandfather—really pushed him to work even harder, being the firstborn son and all. Anyway, during his junior year in college, his grades kept sliding lower and lower. Your grandfather went ballistic. But that just seemed to make matters worse, and eventually Clarence dropped out of school, and he never quite seemed the same after that.” “How so?” 243
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“He would have the occasional flights of fancy. He stayed locked in his apartment more and more, couldn’t keep a steady job, that sort of thing. Hell, he seemed downright paranoid at times, became a loner, always looking over his shoulder, jumping at the slightest noises. And it got only worse, until the day of that family reunion picnic and that nasty ‘garage roof incident’ at your grandfather’s.” “So you think the pressure of getting good grades in college caused him to snap? Truly? Are you sure it wasn’t something more?” “Oh, not just good grades, but the best grades! That’s what your grandfather demanded. You have to understand something about our upbringing, Matthew. Your grandfather, God rest his soul, was of the ‘old school’ in many ways—no pun intended—and absolutely relentless, almost tyrannical, when it came to academics. You think your mom and I are on your ass? Holy Moly, you don’t have an inkling of all the vehement lectures and berating Clarence and I suffered if we so much as received any grade less than an A.” His deep groan clearly conveyed the angst he felt at the memories. “Your grandfather simply refused to lighten up on us boys, especially on Clarence, and I’m sure your uncle just couldn’t cope any longer. I think he came to realize that no matter how hard he studied, he just wouldn’t be able to get straight As and please our father, so he gave up and, instead of outright rebelling, went a bit nuts. Well, okay, a lot nuts.” “Grandpa did seem rather stern at times, but I can’t quite picture him as an ogre.” 244
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“That’s because he changed later in life, Matt. Too late, unfortunately, at least for Clarence’s sake. Yet your grandfather was certainly man enough to take responsibility— he put the blame for what happened to Clarence on his own shoulders, eventually realizing himself how his prior actions had affected his offspring. No, Matt, the grandfather you knew was only a shadow of the man who raised us, a gentler and remorseful version of his former self.” “I never knew any of this. At least Grandpa learned from his mistakes.” “Very true. He couldn’t deny his role in the tragedy, especially after Clarence’s initial ravings upon leaving school.” “What sort of ravings?” “My brother would occasionally ramble on about being pressured to do things he couldn’t, or didn’t want to do, and how his tormentor would—” “Tormentor?” “We always assumed he meant your grandfather, since he occasionally used that name for him during our teenage years. Anyway, Clarence would rant about how his tormentor kept hounding him and hounding him, that he couldn’t keep living under the constant torture to change.” “Change what?” “I…well…again, we assumed he meant to change his study habits, like your grandfather kept insisting Clarence do through the years. Especially that last year at school when Clarence’s grades plummeted. Face it, some people are cut out 245
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to be class valedictorians, and some are not. I suppose being pressured to fit into a role you were not meant to play could drive a man insane. And your grandfather never quite understood that concept until after this happened. That’s why your mom and I, although we drill it into your head that you need good grades to make it in this world, we don’t come down too hard on you if you can’t quite achieve them. We just want you to do your best and not sluff off. We know there are limitations and, with what happened to Clarence, I didn’t want to add any undo pressure. I just want you kids to always know that we love you no matter what sort of grades you receive— but we would be tickled pink if you came close to a fourpoint-zero average.” I barked a laugh, but my eyes welled up with moisture. “Thanks, Dad. I appreciate hearing you say that, and I love you and Mom for your insightful parental skills. I’m sure the other kids feel the same way.” “Good. I have to admit, I was a bit worried about you for a while.” “Oh, why me? Did you think I had the ‘stupid’ gene or something?” He chuckled. “No, but last year when you asked to transfer to Huntsville College…well…” “What? Say it.” “A part of me was pleased because of the school’s stellar reputation. But the other part of me…let’s just say I had serious reservations. Yet your heart was set on going there. Damn, you were downright insistent. So as much as it killed 246
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us, your mom and I put aside our concerns. I’m glad Hunstville seems to be working out for you and that any fears we might have had sending you there were unjustified.” “What fears? And what do you mean, working out for me?” “Why, Matthew, didn’t you know? Clarence also attended Huntsville College.” The shivers that had occasionally plagued me this past week returned with a vengeance. “He what? I thought he went to one of those big ivy-leaguers.” “He did, but for only the first two years. Then he dropped out, and insisted on an immediate transfer to Huntsville. So when you requested the same thing…well, now you can see why your mother and I felt more than a bit uneasy, why we initially resisted your request. Of course, I knew I was foolish. I knew I couldn’t blame a college for your uncle’s illness and that history wasn’t repeating itself. Still…” I heard him draw another sip of coffee—or maybe just a quick intake of air. “Regardless, that doesn’t matter now, since you’re doing fine at Hunstville, aren’t you? Aren’t you, Matt?” “Yes, yes, doing just fine, Dad.” Once again, I had lied. At this very moment, as my brain absorbed my father’s startling revelation about Huntsville and my uncle, I truly didn’t know if I was fine or not. Another question tripped off my tongue. “Dad, do you know if any of your uncles went to Hunstville also?” “Huh? Why?” “Just curious. I mean, the college is certainly ancient, and 247
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since I didn’t know about Clarence and his connection with the school, I wondered offhand if any of our other ancestors went here. It sure would be a coincidence.” “Sure would. But as you said, Huntsville is an old school. I think it dates back to the days of the original colonies, and it’s a reasonable distance from where the family located after traipsing here from Europe. Who knows? It’s possible, I guess.” I rubbed my eyes, hoping to alleviate the slight throbbing that I knew could very well develop into a full-blown headache. The last thing I needed today. But I had a feeling, with all of this new information bouncing around in my skull, ricocheting back and forth like stray bullets seeking a target, I had a real barnstormer in the making, one that only a bottle of aspirin and a peaceful sleep would cure before classes tomorrow. “So, do you have enough for the article?” “The what? Oh, the thesis? Yeah, I think I have more than enough. For the moment, anyway.” “Matt, are you sure you’re okay?” “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just been a long morning.” “The day’s barely started. Unless you never went to bed last night. Was your mother correct, or do you actually have a hangover? Or perhaps you’ve met someone who kept you awake all night, if you catch my drift?” “Huh?” “Is there a special girl you haven’t told us about yet?” This time my stomach churned, not so much from keeping 248
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my closeted existence momentarily intact when it came to my parents, but from thoughts of the special guy who had turned my life wonderfully topsy-turvy. And how much I longed to feel Sky’s arms around me even now, the warmth of his naked flesh as he embraced me, kissed me, loved me. The thought of it stirred my cock. “All in good time, Dad. Listen, I have to hang up. I appreciate the help. I know it wasn’t easy for you to talk about.” “Anything for my kids.” “Love you for saying that.” “Love you, too. And don’t forget to call your mother more often.” “Damn! Now she’s got you delivering the guilt for her! How much is she paying you?” “Not enough. Take good care, and let me know if you have any troubles with the car.” With that, he hung up. I set my phone on the bathroom sink and grabbed my crotch. A stiff-as-steel boner had already tented my jogging shorts. Even though the puzzle pieces continued to mount regarding my eerie mystery, they couldn’t diminish the horniness that overwhelmed me whenever I thought of Sky. Perhaps this unknown entity had helped to construct this bridge of lust between my lover and I, but at the moment I didn’t care. Seeing as how I was already in the bathroom, I decided to take full advantage before my roommates rose for the day. I stripped off my clothes, turned on the shower, and jerked 249
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myself into ecstasy, with memories of Sky’s sizzling kisses, his heated touch, and the salty taste of his flesh acting as my sole inspiration.
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CHAPTER 16 I hate conducting research. Absolutely detest the process. Not the finest trait for a man who envisions himself a future investigative reporter for an influential magazine. But just the idea of having to research a subject, especially one of a personal nature, made my palms sweat and my knees jitter. I loathed the notion of spending hours in a stuffy library, grabbing book after book that, in the long run, may or may not provide the answers I sought. But Monday morning, I’d lucked out—in spades! Had I received an award for my efforts, I would have definitely thanked Mrs. Beatrice Robbonzi, the blue-haired college librarian, for pointing me in the right direction. The prim-and251
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proper dame had the patience of a proverbial saint, and when it came to dealing with someone who possessed my insufferable impatience, that said a hell of a lot. The woman certainly knew her job. I almost wondered if she had a sixth sense herself by the way she indicated the exact aisles, the exact shelves, the exact ledgers without even pausing to look up a damned thing in one of the dozens of file cabinets or computers. I can’t say I was altogether thrilled, however, with the particulars I eventually uncovered… From the meticulously preserved and detailed school records, I discovered that a male with the last name of “Rhodes” had indeed attended Huntsville College once every generation, approximately every twenty-five to thirty years. And in every instance, the student had transferred to the college sometime before his junior year and either dropped out or flunked out within a year to fifteen months thereafter. Certainly I didn’t know for a fact that all of the students named “Rhodes” were actual ancestors of mine, but my gut instincts confirmed that they were. And although math had never been my strong suit, a quick calculation of the spacedout dates confirmed that these men could have indeed been relatives. I located Clarence’s details without a hitch, and found all the others within the next hour or so. Ten names in total, not including myself, dating back to just before the 1800s. Mrs. Robbonzi explained that there might have been more, but the early records had been destroyed during the American Revolution, and the first nearly fifty years of data 252
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had been lost for eternity. But that didn’t matter much to me, not when I saw the clear pattern developing as I dug deeper and deeper into the student rosters. Okay, so what did my pages of scribbled names and dates tell me? Not a whole lot on the surface, yet my imagination filled in many of the blanks. One of my male ancestors in every generation had felt an overwhelming impulse to transfer to this particular school and that, during his time in this vicinity, something had obviously happened to cause him distress of some sort. Could it have been the ghost currently haunting me, and could each of these men have borne a similar birthmark as my uncle and I possessed? In either case, I didn’t know for sure, but I clearly suspected as much. Too many strange coincidences no longer made them coincidences, but an eerie and endless pattern too evident to ignore. Needless to say, the discoveries and my conclusions spooked the hell out of me. It had been like locating long-lost and severed branches of a family tree, and making me wonder if my name would one day join the roster of shame, being listed among the drop-outs or the flunk-outs and sharing my uncle’s fate in the booby hatch. After the library, I spent the rest of the morning and afternoon suffering through classes, realizing I hadn’t a clue what had been discussed in any one of them. Yesterday I had also lucked out—once Jeff had awakened and jumped into the shower, I’d reclaimed my bedroom and sequestered myself away until this morning. And now, my luck thankfully continued to hold as my professors didn’t bother calling on me 253
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as I had feared they might. My brain remained solely focused on the information I had unearthed, along with concern and curiosity over what Sky might have also discovered at the Historical Society or the town’s hall of records. Throughout my final class, I continually eyed my wristwatch, counting the seconds before I could hightail it back to the studio and compare findings with my lover. Perhaps, by the end of the night, we might have more concrete answers regarding how and why this was happening to us. And better still, how we might be able to stop it…if possible. When the class ended, I leapt out of my seat and raced out of the building, heading straight to where my car awaited my arrival in the parking lot. Fuck jogging today; despite the forecast of warm and sunny weather, I hadn’t wanted to waste any time and had planned accordingly. I immediately drove to the art studio. I found a curbside parking space almost directly in front of the building, then grabbed my notes and made my way up to the penthouse as quickly as the rickety old elevator could lift me. The instant I entered the studio, however, all thoughts of my recent discoveries abandoned me. I saw Skylar in the middle of the room, wearing form-fitting jeans and a black Tshirt, and barefoot. Since yesterday morning, he had clipped off most of his fresh whiskers, but had kept the lower half of his face dark and sexy as hell with stubble. Likely, he had recently finished one of his private art classes, since he was now in the process of dragging a group of empty easels to 254
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their usual out-of-the-way places. When he looked up at me, the dimpled smile on his face bespoke of his affection and lust, mirroring my own. My heart surged with unmitigated joy, and my dick performed a cheerful lurch behind my zipper. It felt as if I’d been deprived of his company for years, yet it had been only a little more than twenty-four hours. I barely managed to toss aside my papers before we dashed across the room toward each other, like magnets in heat. I half-expected our unknown entity to decrease our movements into slow-motion speed like you’d see in a romantic movie where lovers sprinted across a field of daisies and slammed into each other’s arms. His mouth met mine before his arms even enwrapped my torso. My tongue plunged into his mouth, tasting the peppermint I had come to savor, and I instantly started yanking up his T-shirt, groping the bulging muscles all along his backside. Bare flesh, that’s all I could think about now. I needed to touch him, to taste him, to feel his hard cock throbbing against mine. Damn it, I needed to love him with every fiber of my being before I screamed my burning desire. He seemed to share my cupidity, since he reached between us, his fingers fumbling with my belt buckle and zipper, even as I pulled my mouth from his. “W-where?” “Here! I need you inside me, Matt, right here, right now!” “But the door…still unlocked…” “No one’s expected.” 255
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“Wait…condom…?” “We shared each other’s personal histories this past weekend. I trust that you’ve told me the truth.” “I did.” “Then fuck me, damn it, just fuck me into oblivion!” We stripped each other like crazed madmen, haphazardly tossing aside our clothing without a care, except for sating our overwhelming hunger for one another. We took turns sucking each other’s nipples, drawing complex patterns in each other’s chest hair with our tongues. His teeth sank into my neck and shoulders, greedily nibbling my flesh as I dug my fingernails into his pliable buttocks, grinding our erections together between us. His scent, smacking of soap, after-shave, and the delectable tang of his natural musk, had the power to pump even more blood into my crotch. Our cocks soon turned slippery, making our bellies sticky and damp, attesting to our manic arousal. He sank to his knees and took me into his mouth, slathering my pole with his warm saliva, sucking more juice from me, and preparing me for what promised to be a royal fuck. I watched him enjoying his feast, envying him, desperately wishing I had his meat filling my mouth as well. After stroking himself, capturing a dollop of pre-cum from his slit, he reached beneath his bobbing cock and plump balls to finger his anus. He repeated the process several times. I grabbed his head, clutching handfuls of his uncombed ebony hair and slamming myself deep into his throat. He gasped and moaned, but never gagged, accepting every inch of my 256
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pounding flesh like the consummate master of fellatio. All too soon, he pulled back. He turned, positioning himself on all fours like a beast in heat, begging me to fill his exposed hole. Without a beat of hesitation, I eagerly complied. On one leg, I knelt behind him, keeping my opposite foot firmly planted on the white carpet, and slid my dick into his hot tunnel. Just the crown at first, then the remainder of my slippery rod. Inch by inch I filled him until my pubic hair grazed his spread cheeks. I held myself steady for a long moment, marveling at the glorious sensations racing through my cock, now free of the rubber enclosure that had previously necessitated my exploration. All the while, his muscles squeezed and groped while he pleaded for my reentry. Damn it, I thought, shivering in excitement, his ass walls stretched to accomodate me, fit me like the proverbial glove, matching the way my soul felt somehow linked to his. Never would I feel so connected with another individual, I decided. It seemed somehow perverse to even ponder the ludicrous concept, and my thrumming heart told me as much. Finally, I yanked myself out of his ass, then plunged into him once more, then over and over again until both of us broke out in a profound sweat. Rays of the late-afternoon sun spilled through the skylight, and the bulging muscles in his backside and upper arms glistened enticingly, making my cock even harder, if possible. Several times I attempted to clutch one of his shoulders for leverage, to yank him backward as I lunged forward, but my fingers annoyingly slid off his perspiring flesh. Yet it didn’t matter, since he bucked beneath 257
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me, meeting each one of my fierce, branding thrusts with a backward one of his own. I skewered into him from the left, then the right, stabbed upward, then downward, making certain my tingling rod caressed every centimeter of his stretched cavern. I wanted him to feel owned, possessed, consumed with my love and my staggering appetite for him, and only him. I wrapped one of my arms around his waist so that I could masturbate him. His cock, a plump tube of slick flesh, tapped a racing pulse against my grabbling fingers, which soon grew greasy with his milk. Shit, I wanted so badly to spin him onto his back, to lick the spicy juice from his cock and suck him dry even as I fucked his hole. But I didn’t dare shatter the gratifying, almost mesmerizing rhythm we had achieved so effortlessly. We coupled at a frenetic pace for God knew how long, quivering and basking in debauched rhapsody, until I felt the telltale tingles of impending release building within my aching nuts. Sky sensed my approaching surrender, so attuned to each other’s signs we had become. He clenched his ass muscles, kneading my shaft and cocooning me inside him. “Oh, fuck, Matt, give me your jizz. Fill me with cum! Give me all of it, damn it, all of it now!” Mini-explosions of undiminished abandon poured out from my groin and through my limbs like flames of molten fire. My testicles contracted in ecstasy. I pumped my seed into his hole, wave after brilliant wave, my cum oozing from his passage to bathe my exposed shaft and, more than likely, his jiggling 258
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balls. I soon collapsed on top of him, grinding his sinewy physique into the carpet and burying my still-spurting shaft even deeper into his rectum. His clenching butt cheeks teased my pubic bush as I crushed my frame against his, slick flesh to slick flesh. “Shit, Matt, you’re killing me, damn it! I love it! I love it!” His muscles continued to milk my shaft, while his body began a series of extreme shivers that indicated his own imminent climax. I could not forsake him, especially not when I needed so damned much to pleasure him to the same degree as he’d pleasured me. The pulse within his granite-hard dick, still encased in my hand, pounded against my fingertips, advertising his accelerating rapture. It took only a few swift strokes before he spasmed and spat, his load drenching the carpet beneath his belly. His body adopted a regular series of movements—back up, clench, discharge; back up, clench, discharge—while the gasps and sighs of fulfillment poured from his mouth and he had my fingers quickly drenched with his seed. How long we stayed like that, my still-erect shaft plugging his hole and his penis erupting in a twitching frenzy, I didn’t know. I just wanted it to last a lifetime. Hell, a fucking eternity would have not been long enough! At that moment, my brain spiraled a billion miles from Earth, and I never wanted to return, just wanted to float in the euphoric bliss for as long as gravity would elude me, allowing me to savor our mutual orgasm. Sky reached behind and clasped the back of my head, 259
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tugging my mouth down to his neck. “You’re so fucking talented with that dick, lover. I want your huge cock inside me until the day I die.” “And I can think of no other place I want it to be. Damn it, Sky, I love you.” “What did you say?” “Something I’ve wanted to say since our first time together in this very room. I love you! I fucking love everything about you!” His ass muscles stopped gripping me, enough so that my deflating erection slipped out of him, along with my copious deposit of semen. He turned beneath me, looking me in the eye. I noted a touch of fear emblazoned on his dark irises, yet also a sparkle of hope. “You love me?” “More than anyone I’ve ever known. More than I could ever imagine loving another human being. Damn it, I love you. And I’m also in love with you, if that makes any sense.” He kissed me, his tongue plundering my mouth, his lips almost bruising in their intensity, while his hands grasped and clawed my buttocks, thighs, and back. Despite the number of times we’d already engaged in this ardent frolic, I had never before felt such zealous passion from him as I did at this moment. He broke the kiss, then pressed his forehead against mine. “I’m in love with you, too, Matt.” My heart performed a happy dance against my rib cage. “You are?” “Hell, I think I’ve loved you from the first moment I 260
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envisioned you all those years ago, painted your sexy body from my imagination. And now, with your magnificent form touching mine, with your actual flesh beneath my fingers, with your personality warming my soul, I realize I’ll never come close to loving any other man as I love you.” He planted more kisses on my mouth and cheeks, my shoulders and upper chest, rolling me over in the process so that he lay atop me. “And I’ll always love you…no matter…no matter what…” He buried his face in the crook of my neck. I felt sudden moisture on my skin, and realized, to my complete shock, he was silently sobbing. What the hell had happened? I lifted him by the upper arms so I could gaze into his eyes. “What’s wrong, Sky? Please, tell me. And what do you mean by, ‘no matter what’?” He glanced away, lifting his chin and “manning” it up for me so I wouldn’t look at his tears. A deep breath hinted at his yearning for stoicism. “We need to talk, Matt…desperately need to talk.” The violent pinch in my gut agreed. “About what?” “I did some research today, seeking answers?” “And?” “And I found something…very strange…something that could…” “Could what?” “Make a difference in the way we feel about each other.” “That will never happen!” I insisted, annoyed he might even consider such a thing. “Never say ‘never’…” 261
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As if by mutual understanding, we grabbed our abandoned clothes and toted them with us, forsaking the carpet in the outer studio for the one in his bedroom. He lit a cozy fire in the mantle and settled on the rug, dragging me down beside him along with several plump pillows from the sofa. We held each other, our feet toward the flames, and basked in each other’s sinewy warmth for untold minutes. As we passionately kissed and petted, celebrating our recent admissions of love, my cock started to stiffen again. A large part of me, the horny part, longed to take his penis into my mouth and tease him to an explosive climax, to swallow load after load of his salty essence. I wanted so badly to plunder his ass on the rug, to screw him for the remainder of the day, but I also knew we had more important things to accomplish this evening than just sucking and fucking each other into oblivion. Although I had left my notes in the other room, I had already relegated their contents to memory. Yet Sky seemed reluctant to talk, and eventually I could take the restive silence no longer. “Am I to assume you went to the Historical Society?” “And made some phone calls,” he answered against my chest. “Something very odd…definitely supernatural…is happening here.” “I know.” Bracing himself on an elbow, he shot upward, looking down at my face. Light from the fireplace gave him a flickering amber halo. “How could you?” 262
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“I made a few discoveries myself yesterday, and this morning.” I proceeded to tell him everything I could recall about Olga and her bookstore, the fact that she had immediately indicated a spirit had attached itself to me, and her bizarre knowledge of my birthmark and what it could possibly signify. I then relayed the information my father had passed along about my uncle and the coincidences between us when it came to this town, then wrapped up with my findings regarding the student records at Huntsville College. Throughout my recital, Sky remained mute, although by the gleam in his eyes, I knew he absorbed the information, attempted to allocate answers to various questions, probably based on whatever details he had also gathered. I’d kept one question hidden until the end of my discourse. “Sky, do you think you might have the ability to see into the future somehow? To see this ‘other side’ Olga talked about?” I told him about what she’d said, how some people may have the ability and not even realize it. I had expected reluctance, even shock, on his part, so I felt nothing but amazement when he nodded, seemingly unfazed. “I’ve come to that conclusion myself, earlier today.” “How so?” “You’re not the only one who has eerie patterns of behavior running through his family. I discovered some things today about my own ancestors and…” He slumped into my arms, running his fingers over my breastbone and teasing my chest hair. “I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the 263
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beginning, okay?” “By all means.” “First thing this morning, I headed to the Historical Society. As it turns out, it proved the finest starting point for answers, since the old man on duty knew quite a bit about this building. Enough so that I didn’t even need to visit the hall of records. Aside from several wings in various college buildings, this is the oldest structure still standing in Huntsville, although it’s obviously been refurbished at least a few times through the centuries.” “Centuries? So hold old is it?” “The original structure dates back to the mid-1700s.” “Pre-American Revolution era?” “Exactly. And, as it also turns out, much of the building materials—the bricks, the woodwork, even the marble used to construct the various fireplaces, like the one a few feet away from us—are original, or still contain some of the original elements after mending and refurbishing had been done. Anyway, some of the materials even date back farther, but no one knows for certain.” “What do you mean?” “As Mr. Abernathy at the Historical Society explained, the man who first owned the property had arrived from Europe and settled here. His enormous wealth actually allowed him to have sections of his ancestral home dismantled and transferred to America one at a time, where he commissioned the architect to construct this building brick by brick into an almost identical structure as the one in the old country.” 264
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“Wow!” “You’re damned right, wow! But it gets even better—or weirder, depending on how you look at it. You’ll never guess the name of this building’s original owner.” He dragged himself out of my arms and sat up, resting against the edge of the sofa. “Novakni. ” I jerked upward into a sitting position. “You mean your— ?” “Yes. Seeing as how my father passed away more than a decade ago, I called one of my uncles to verify the information, and he assured me that our family name of Novak had been shortened generations earlier, although he couldn’t quite recall the original name. Regardless, the coincidence is—” “No coincidence. I definitely agree. So your ancestors built this structure and lived here all these years? But how did you not know that?” “You’re partially correct. It seems the Novakni family resided here until the 1860s, then the property changed hands during the Civil War. From that point on, various people owned the building, and the one-time residence eventually became zoned for commercial purposes also. Oddly enough— or perhaps not, considering everything you and I have experienced—at least one member of the Novak family resided here, at least for a brief period of time, once every generation. And, are you ready for the final kicker?” “I’m riveted.” “Each one of my ancestors who resided here was an artist.” 265
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“What?” This time I scrambled to my feet, unable to contain my sudden burst of restlessness. I felt as if some creepy crawly insects had just burrowed into my flesh and set up shop along my spine. I couldn’t stopped shivering, even after I positioned myself just inches from the blazing fire in the hearth. Blood pounded at my temples while I mined my brain for answers, digging for connections to the puzzle laid before us. After a moment, I put voice to my thoughts. “So with ancestors of mine enrolling in this college for decades—shit, for centuries!—and one of your ancestors residing here every generation since the 1700s, can we dismiss these facts as mere coincidences? Fuck no! Bloody fucking no! When it comes to our ancestors, how much do you want to bet that the dates of their ‘mutual stays’ in this town also corresponded?” Sky shook his head. “I wouldn’t take that bet. And I don’t even have to compare the dates you’ve researched with mine, since my gut tells me they will correspond, the same way as our meeting in this town seems to have been no mere accident.” “My gut tells me the same thing. But now, why?” “Why our guts feel—” “No, why this never-ending pattern? What the hell is happening here, in this town, in this building or at this college, to have history repeating itself time and again? I feel as if something has just thrust me into the annoying spin cycle of some cosmic washing machine and I can’t find the escape hatch!” 266
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“Hair standing on end? Skin prickling with gooseflesh? Balls shriveling?” “Exactly!” “Yeah, I know the feeling, since I’ve had it since this morning.” The fingers on Sky’s right hand gently curled around my ankle. As much as I savored any physical contact with my handsome lover, his touch offered little comfort. And fewer answers. But then I thought of one person who might be able to help. “I need to make a call. May I?” He pointed toward the phone on the bedside table. “Who’re you going to call? And I swear, if you say ‘Ghostbusters,’ I’m going to scream!” “No, not Ghostbusters, but maybe the next best thing.” I sped across the room to where we had tossed our clothing, then fished my wallet from the back pocket of my jeans and plucked out a business card. “A crazy woman. One with an even crazier name who might possibly shed some light on this bedeviling mystery.”
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CHAPTER 17 Normally, I would have thought it fortuitous, yet not altogether strange, had Magenta Freedom Tatiana Scrutolowenski—owner of Olga’s Oracle and Occult Bookstore—somehow been immediately available and able to answer my urgent telephone call. But imagine my heartstopping shock when she not only answered her shop phone on the first ring, but also addressed me by name— “Matthew? Is that you? I’ve been waiting for your call, sweetie.” —Without even hearing me speak. Gripping the phone receiver tighter in my shaking hand, I cleared my throat and located the voice that had momentarily 268
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escaped me. “How the fu—err—the heck did you know it was me, Olga?” “I received some profound vibrations only a while ago, as if I was needed, that I should prepare myself to aid someone. And of course, I thought of the attractive young stripper who showed up at my shop yesterday.” “Oh, not again. I told you, I’m not a stripper.” I waved a dismissive hand toward Skylar, who stood across the room beside the fireplace, smirking and cocking an inquisitive eyebrow at my statement. “I couldn’t recall if you said you were, or just not a successful one. Regardless, you’re the one with the stripper’s physique and that’s what I envisioned when the telephone rang. I was sitting beside it for the past half hour, just waiting for a call.” “You were? Why?” “Do I need to explain to you yet again what I feel regarding the vibrations?” “No, no, I get it, I get it.” “Good. Now what can I do for you? I sense some sort of urgency.” “You’re batting a thousand so far today.” “How did you know I like a good game of baseball? You must be a bit psychic yourself, darling.” “I wish, then I might be able to figure out what’s happening.” “Is it your ghost? “I think so, Olga. We have a weird situation here, and we 269
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need some answers, some guidance.” “Well, that’s why I’m here, sweetie. What can I do?” “I’d like to see you in person, if possible, to explain some unnerving coincidences and—” “There’s no such thing as coincidence. Everything happens for a reason.” “I think I’m beginning to realize that…and…” I glanced up at Sky, who had crept closer toward the bed during the phone call. He eyed me expectantly and ran a hand over his breastbone, over his heart, shifting the pattern of his chest hair into another intricate and sexy design. Against the wall of my own chest, my heart thudded, the rhythm of love and lust banging loud in my ears. I didn’t dare focus my attention on his groin, since I knew studying his cock would have made me hard within seconds. Despite my concerns regarding the disturbing repetitiveness of historical events and our current situation, I couldn’t believe that a ghostly force could control every aspect of my attraction to the artist. Sure, the entity might have drawn us together like it had our ancestors, but it had not placed the abundance of love for this man into my heart. No, only pure, hot-blooded, animal magnetism could wield that power, and only Sky possessed that power in spades. He could thrill me to no end. And without a doubt, I also knew I had met a man who could ground me, could give me a solid basis on which to build the rest of my life, and who would become a true partner until my dying day. I took one of Sky’s hands in mine and kissed his fingers 270
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and palm. His dimpled smile blanketed me in warmth, and I sighed. Yes, no matter what this spirit had planned for my lover and I, regardless why it had lured us together, I decided I couldn’t be anymore grateful for the gift it had already bestowed on me. “Matthew, are you still there?” asked Olga into the phone. “Huh?” “You were saying?” “Oh, yes, sorry. I was saying that I’m beginning to firmly believe in a lot of things, everything from this supernatural poppycock to”—I gave Sky’s palm another kiss—“to locating one’s true soul-mate.” “I’m glad to hear that. You’re broadening your horizons by the second, and I’m quite pleased. Except for that word ‘poppycock,’ however. Nevertheless, you’re becoming enlightened. Now, tell me what I can do to help. I’m practically jumping out of my brassier with excitement!” That vivid notion painted a smile on my face. “Can you come here to meet with us? To the actual site of these odd happenings? Sometime today, if possible?” “Sometime? If possible? Goddess Bless, sweetie, I’ll be there in two shakes of a witch’s broom!” “You will?” “You’re inviting me to the actual concentration of the paranormal activity? To the place where you’ve actually encountered your ghostly manifestation in the flesh, correct?” “I have a feeling this building is somehow connected to what has been happening between me and…my friend.” 271
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“You mean your handsome lover, don’t you?” My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. I’d forgotten that I had not only come out of the closet to this woman yesterday, but had burst out, filling her ears with praises for the man who had stolen my heart. “Yes, I do mean that. My lover and I need your help. We have a ton of new information, but still can’t quite piece together the puzzle. Will you come here and see if your infamous vibrations can communicate anything to you?” “Don’t mock the vibrations, Matthew. Indeed, I’ve had a pencil in my hand since the phone rang, sweetie. Address, please!” I told her the information, then heard an almost jittery sigh from her end. “Is anything the matter?” I asked. “The matter? My darling boy, for years I have been dying for just such an invitation to that spooky old building. It’s the oldest in Huntsville, you know? Filled with echoes from the past, I have no doubt. It will be my honor to scope out the place. I’m getting tingles just imagining it. And to aid you on top of it, well, that’s my pleasure. Give me five minutes.” I glanced down at my nude body, then Skylar’s, and heat expanded from my cheeks and into my ears. Just the thought of having her view me like this… “No, wait!” “Excuse me? Do you want answers or not?” “Definitely. It’s just that I…I…” She giggled, that tinkling girlish laughter I recalled so well from the previous day. “Oh, I see. You need a few minutes to make yourself—how do I phrase it?—presentable, is that it?” 272
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“I…yes…I mean…” “You’re quite the frank charmer in many respects, Matthew, but you’re also a bit of a prude in others. I can’t imagine how you, with such a Victorian attitude toward your own body, could be a stripper. Perhaps that’s why you’re not a successful one.” “Olga! I don’t have a Victorian attitude. And I’ve told you countless times, I’m not a strip—” “You still have no clue when I’m teasing, do you?” More giggles poured through the receiver. “Relax, sweetie, I was only ruffling your feathers. And I was merely exaggerating regarding the time of my appearance. Do you think all I need to do is snap my fingers or twitch my nose like that darling witch on television and I’ll pop in on you, finding you in flagrante delicto? I should be so fortunate.” “Huh?” “Goddess, no! I need to gather some items to bring with me before I can close up shop. I actually have a customer at the moment also. So it won’t be five minutes, as I said, but certainly enough time for you to properly clothe yourself. Plus, I need to test my available broomsticks to see which one will carry me the fastest.” Another round of laughter. “You’re a regular pip, Olga! Has anyone ever told you that?” “Only the vibrations have been so bold.” “Then bully the vibrations.” “Yes, bully them. See you soon, dear one.” With that, she ended the call. 273
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When I settled the phone in its cradle, Sky bent closer to me and spread his arms wide, his eyebrows scrunching in query. “Well? Is she going to help us or not?” “Get dressed, and fast, or you’ll quickly have one horny and eager gaze clawing over your firm, bare ass.” One side of his mouth curled upward in a devilish grin. “Besides yours?” Now it became my turn to laugh. “You have no idea.” We dressed faster than porn stars evading an FBI raid, yanking on our underwear, jeans, and T-shirts as if our lives depended on it. And then as I looked at our appropriately attired frames, a horrifying thought hit me with the power of a mammoth bulldozer— The paintings! Good God! Without a thought, I had invited this oddly delightful woman to an art studio crammed with paintings of naked men engaged in sexual debauchery—men including myself. Why the hell did we bother dressing, since the woman would soon be seeing my exact replica with a full-blown erection, buried in a variety of lewd places within my lover’s writhing body? More heat flooded my face, and I wondered if I would ever live through the forthcoming humiliation. *
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About an hour later, a knock rattled the door. Earlier, Sky and I had entered the outer studio to await our expected visitor, so now he sprinted across the room to welcome her. When I saw Olga standing before me, I nearly laughed. 274
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Not only did she have her multi-colored Cyndi Lauper-style hairdo in haphazard place atop her round head, but she had also donned a flowing black garment, a cape of sorts, that would have brought shame upon Stevie Nicks for not having worn such a devilishly witchy get-up on stage. From head to toe, the woman seemed to radiate paranormal abilities, with her flowing scarves of black lace and severe blackish and dark blue makeup, but she also toted a carpetbag that looked about a thousand pounds and bulged with Lord-only-knew what form of aid. She eyed me and shook her head in disappointment. “So you did have time to dress after all?” she asked, her rotund form swooping into the room. “A shame, a crying shame.” “You’re one horny broad, Olga.” “Tell me something I don’t already know, sweetie. By the way, I left my transport parked in a No Broomstick Zone—do you think I’ll get ticketed?” One of those patented girlish giggles issued from her bright red lips. She spun toward Skylar. “Matthew just adores my sense of humor, once he actually realizes I’m joking, of course. He can get a bit confused at times, you know? Occasionally takes life a bit too seriously. Nevertheless, he thinks it’s quaint.” “Irritating” might have been a more appropriate word, although I was certainly getting used to her odd yet charming ways. Olga held out her free, heavily ringed hand toward my lover. “Oh, Matthew, he’s even more delicious then you claimed. And he probably is hung like a racehorse, just as you 275
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also conveyed.” “I-I never used the word ‘delicious,’ and I certainly mentioned no descriptions of a horse when telling you about— ” “Did I say you told me verbally? Of course not! But that’s not to say that your vibrations didn’t fully communicate the absolute deliciousness of your boyfriend…along with many of his admirable physical qualities.” Her laughter filled the air as Sky took her hand. He actually bent forward to gallantly kiss her knuckles. “Oh, Matthew, no wonder you’re hopelessly in love with this hunk, regardless of how he’s hung.” I couldn’t have been more mortified had my long-dead grandmother barged in on me in the throes of having sex. Still, Olga didn’t even seem fazed by the notion that the two men standing before her—blushing, befuddled, and anxious—had shared intimate relations. Her accepting attitude toward Skylar and myself as a couple—better yet, a legitimate couple— actually endeared her to my heart. When I made the appropriate introductions, Olga’s eyes rounded into spheres of jade. “Not the Skylar Novak?” she asked. “You’ve heard of me?” “Who is this town hasn’t? Your name is especially renowned amongst the art patrons.” She glanced around the studio, her gaze alighting on the painted images of male body parts in all their vivid detail. Once again, she didn’t seem at all fazed; not even the hint of additional red touched her plump, highly rouged cheeks. “All I can say is, yummy, yummy, 276
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yummy, I’ve got love in my tummy ! That was a wonderful song, by the way, but I’m sure it’s way before your time. Still, the chorus certainly applies when it comes to your enchanting artwork. No wonder you’re so popular, Mr. Novak.” “It’s Sky, please.” “And no wonder you took a shine to Matthew. With your talent for painting the male physique, I’m sure his sexy body impressed your artistic eye.” She pointed to several canvases. “Which one of these peckers is his?” I gasped. “Olga, please—” She turned to my lover and shook her head in irritation. “Is he as shy around you as he is around me? I fluster him so, the dear boy, especially when I even dare bring up the subjects of nudity or sex.” “No, he’s actually quite open about those topics…or at least he is with me.” “I’ve no doubt. Yesterday his vibrations said that I remind him of his grandmother. I wonder if she was a dirty old broad, too. I almost brought along a pile of crisp one-dollar bills, thinking I might stuff his g-string should he decide to perform one of his stripper routines for me.” “I believe I’m the only one, thankfully, who has the privilege of watching Matthew perform in such a naughty fashion.” My face felt about ready to explode. “Hey! Are you two chatterboxes almost done? I’m in the room, you know.” “And blushing up a storm,” remarked Olga. “I do love making you blush. You’re so darned scrumptious when you 277
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blush.” Laughing at my chagrin, Skylar reached out to take the carpetbag from her. “May I?” “He’s a gentleman, too? Matthew, you’ve hooked a whale of a fish.” “Err, yes, I know I have.” Sending me an amused glance, Sky took the bag from her hand and his entire body jerked from its weight. “What the hell did you pack in here? The kitchen sink?” The bag clunked when he settled it on a nearby table. “Just a few odds and ends that might come in handy. And fear not, Matthew, I left all those dollar bills at the shop.” She smacked her hands together, then cast an eager eye around the room and adopted a let’s-get-down-to-business stance. “Now, Matthew, where did you see it? Point me in the direction of this attractive ghost you told me about. Then show me every location of paranormal disturbance. Oh, Goddess Bless, I can hardly contain myself.” I gestured to the door. “You actually passed the spot of my encounter on the way into the studio.” “You met him in the hallway that day?” “Just before I knocked on the studio door.” Nodding, Olga exited the room and stalked down the long corridor toward the elevator. Before she could take several steps past the realm of the single glowing light bulb, however, she halted. She raised her arms to her sides, looking like a bird preparing for flight, and her bejeweled fingers fluttered as if playing an invisible piano. Her head swung to the right, almost 278
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as if she’d heard something in one of the many shadowy alcoves—the same one in which the stranger had been lurking all those days ago. Shivers chased my spine. So she did feel a presence in that spot! If I hadn’t already accepted the fact that this silly woman possessed paranormal gifts, I would have certainly done so now. She stepped into the space, and blackness swallowed her rotund form. “Olga?” I called after a few breathless moments. No answer arrived. I looked at Skylar in query. He shrugged, then nodded at the corridor. Together, we crept toward the cobwebbed grotto into which the woman had seemingly disappeared, the floorboards barely creaking beneath our bare feet. “You really need to add a few extra light bulbs into this hallway, buddy boy,” I whispered. “Tell that to my landlord. He keeps putting them in, and they keep blowing out after several hours. I’ve been bitching about it for years.” When we reached the nook, my eager gaze hunted the darkness. Thanks to Olga’s multi-hued hairdo and the small amount of exposed skin not enclosed by her black cape, I eventually spotted her in the murk. I breathed a small sigh of relief. Although I truly hadn’t expected her to vanish into thin air, too many strange things have happened in the past week for me to dismiss the possibility. She seemed to be hugging the wall, her palms caressing 279
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the wood and her forehead planted against it. I detected a gentle and steady hum coming from behind her closed lips. “What the fuck is she doing?” Sky whispered into my ear. “Talking to the vibrations, I guess.” “The what?” “I’ll explain later.” Olga’s hum grew louder, and over the course of the next ten or fifteen seconds, the volume continued to increase until the drone became hypnotic. When she cut off the sound to draw a breath, the silence startled me. Almost instantly, the hum began anew, and she continued performing her weird ritual for untold minutes while Skylar and I watched in riveted and open-mouthed curiosity. Finally, her fluctuating drone faded to nothingness. She huffed for air several times, then released a windy sigh. “Thank you.” “For what?” I asked. “Not you, Matthew,” she replied, spinning toward us and stepping from the alcove. When she smacked her hands together, a wave of dust spiraled through the stale atmosphere. Dark smudges marred the ivory complexion of her forehead, and dirt blotched her cape where it covered her bulging breasts, all points of her body that had made full contact with the filthy wall. “Oh, sorry, you were thanking the vibrations, weren’t you?” Her teeth glistened in a proud smile. “You’re learning quickly now, sweetie. And they had a lot of information to 280
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share.” “They did?” “They always do, but in this case, they came through loud and clear. Blabbermouths!” A giggle burst from her. “I’ve never had such an ethereal chat like that!” I took one of her elbows and escorted her back into the studio. “So? What did the vibrations communicate? Do you need to sit down? Do you need some water or—?” “Sit down? I’m actually all a-tingle. Indeed, I feel as if I have the power to fly!” She twirled in a circle, her cape and scarves streaming around her in black tendrils. “Sit, you ask? I don’t think I’ll be able to sit still for days. I suppose I’ll need to brew some of that herbal tea I mentioned to you. By the way, you never did say whether you wanted any to help calm your—” “Olga! What did you learn?” “Many things. Not only about this building, but about the entity who haunts it.” “So there is an entity in this building after all? The same one attached to me?” “Indeed, my dear boy! And he wants you.”
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CHAPTER 18 The blood drained from my face. “Me?” “Oh, don’t look so scared, Matthew, since he means you no harm. He just needs your aid. And not just yours, but the pair of you,” she clarified, gesturing toward Skylar. “A team! And a splendid team at that, if the vibrations are to be believed. The most promising team he’s ever encountered. He’s quite excited and finally feels he has a chance of breaking this nasty curse once and for all.” “Then yesterday, you were right about that also?” “He’s trapped in this realm for eternity unless he can free himself from a spell cast upon his soul centuries ago.” “Why was he cursed? And who put this spell on him?” 282
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“Those questions, only he can answer, yet I’m certain it has something to do with your ancestors, Matthew. And yours also, Sky. That’s why you’re inter-linked, why your families have been connected for centuries. From what I can gather, you, Matthew, are the key to removing the curse. It’s the birthmark! As I told you yesterday, you are the chosen one, the soul he’s been seeking for years. And you, Skylar, just happen to be the director of this grand affair.” “This grand what?” asked Skylar, looking almost as lightheaded as I felt. And he obviously shared my confusion, if the wrinkles in his brow gave any indication as to the many questions flashing through his head. Olga smiled at him. “Through your extremely talented hands he has been sending messages, no? First, he needed to prepare you, to condition you, to keep an eye out for Matthew’s arrival, to know him when you spotted him in the flesh. I’m assuming the birthmark once again came into play. Then, after that scheme seemed destined for success, he started sending you more visions to paint, this time with him included. It’s his way of preparing both you and Matthew for what he has in mind.” Sky visibly shivered, running his shaky hands over his exposed forearms. “How did you know all of this?” “Tell him, Matthew,” she directed, giving my shoulder a playful whack. “The vibrations provided her with the information,” I dutifully explained. “Exactly.” Olga spun in circles again, wildly fluttering her 283
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arms, giggling her joy, and making me dizzy just observing her. “You see, Skylar, the vibrations are my way of communicating with the spiritual realms. I gave Matthew a brief lesson yesterday regarding the various planes of existence, about spirits and demons and ghosts, about the ‘other side’ and how these entities travel back and forth between their world and ours.” She stopped spinning and looked directly at him, her left eyebrow arching in eagerness. “Perhaps I could give you a lesson also, if that would help you to understand?” “No!” I interjected before my lover could respond. “It’s a long process, Sky, trust me, and you don’t really need to know all of that.” Olga didn’t seem disappointed in the least. “Well, be that as it may, I find the spirit’s cleverness so delightful.” “His cleverness?” I asked, trying so desperately to grasp every tidbit she conveyed. “Yes, cleverness. The reason he selected Skylar as his ‘spiritual messenger,’ I suppose you could call it. It’s art for Art’s sake.” “Art for what?” “Art for Art’s sake, Matthew, please pay attention. That phrase is wonderful. I find it extremely quick-witted and amusing, don’t you? Although I suppose if you’re a trapped entity seeking freedom, you have years and years of time on your hands in which to scheme, to find the most clever ways to communicate with living humans and use a witticism in the process.” 284
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I stepped forward and put my face close to her smudged one, hoping to direct her focus. “Olga, what are you talking about? You’re making no sense.” Her bosom rose and fell a final time, while her shoulders slumped and her features sagged. She looked as if I’d just let the air out of her balloon-like body. “Oh, shame on me, sweetie, and Goddess forgive me. I keep forgetting you can’t hear the vibrations yourself, therefore, you didn’t catch the pun. And here I’m rattling on and on about—” “What pun?” “The name of your ghost just happens to be Arturo—or ‘Art’ for short. He’s having Skylar paint works of art as a way of communicating for him. Therefore, art for Art’s sake. Now do you understand?” Great! Just what we needed was a spook with a bizarre sense of humor. “Yes, I get it. But what did you learn about him?” “I was correct yesterday, Matthew, when I felt he was an old soul. He is definitely mature, and has existed in spiritual form for many centuries. He came with the building, whatever that means, but that’s what the vibrations claim.” “Came with the—?” Skylar snapped his fingers. “Remember, Matt? This building was supposedly constructed from materials transported from Europe and rebuilt into a replica of—” “Your ancestral home,” Olga finished for him. “H-how did you know that?” Olga glanced at me and smiled. “Matthew…?” 285
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“The vibrations told her so,” I answered yet again, thinking one day I’d have that phrase stenciled on a T-shirt. It certainly would make it easier when people asked the same old “How did you know?” question of the woman. “But is it possible for spirits to attach themselves to objects?” “They do indeed, Matthew,” she confirmed. “Sometimes it’s not the building in general that’s haunted, but only parts of it, or the objects inside. And sometimes spirits are not attached by their own choice, but are imprisoned. My guess is that his spirit has been held captive within the materials that make up this structure—the wood, the stones and bricks—so if the building was dismantled then reconstructed in another location, his spirit went along for the ride.” I nodded, then took a moment to explain to Olga what Sky and I had learned regarding our ancestors and our connection with both this town and the building. At the end of my discourse, she clapped her hands and giggled. “Oh, how utterly delicious! A man from each of your families—one a student, the other an artist—being drawn to this building every generation for centuries, yet unable to break the curse for a ghost who’s trapped here? The coven will never believe this story. Never!” “Coven?” asked Sky. “My sister witches and I. Oh, they will certainly envy me, I can tell you, especially with little ol’ me being smack-dab in the midst of the latest attempt at curse-breaking. Why, this is even more spectacular than the hauntings my fellow sisters have personally encountered. Grander than the whispering 286
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fireplace in Lynchburg Falls. Or the ghostly freight train in Plainfield. Or even the headless piano player in Canooga Springs!” She frowned and bit her lower lip. “Gee, I wonder if I could do it…” “Do what?” I asked, also frowning. “Find a publisher who would be interested in such a tale. Of course, I have no idea how to write a book. I suppose I’ll need the aid of a ghost writer.” She burst out in laughter. “How appropriate, yes? Nevertheless, a blockbuster book might get me onto ‘Montel Something-or-other’s’ TV show. My coven sisters claim he features a psychic every week on his program. Is that true? I really need to buy myself a television one of these days. It seems I’m missing so much. First about that Gilligan and his friends getting rescued off that deserted island, and everything else you mentioned yesterday and—” “Olga, Olga, Olga,” I said, bowing my head in frustration, “please try to stay on topic.” “Weren’t we talking about my future book? And Matthew, please tell me that, if I were to write a best seller and appear on that TV show, you would tune in! Wouldn’t you?” “I don’t know about him,” said Sky, laughing, “but I sure would. You, madam, are more entertaining than most everything appearing on television.” “Aren’t you sweet,” she said, patting his scruffy cheek. Girlish twinkles danced amid her green pupils. “This one”— she cocked a thumb toward me—“is too antsy anyway, so I expect he wouldn’t be able to sit through an entire television 287
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show. Do you know he actually refuses the aid of my herbal tea?” “You don’t say.” “I do say. And all the while he claims he has no need for it? But just look at him, Skylar. Foot tapping, body all atwitter, face burning crimson. He’s in denial about his impatience and rattled nerves, pure and simple.” “Yes,” said Sky, grinning at me, “he certainly is.” I buried my head in my hands. “Oh, please, you two, stop ganging up on me. The last thing I need is a tag-team of griefgivers!” “He also doesn’t have the foggiest idea when I’m teasing,” said Olga. “Didn’t I tell you so, Sky? He’s clueless! Lighten up, Matthew, and employ your Goddess-given patience. You’ll live much longer. Now then, before I can write my blockbuster, I need to know more details about this unique haunting and this curse.” “I don’t know what more we can tell you, Olga,” said Sky. “Oh, not from you, dear one. I need to have another chat with—” “Let me guess? The vibrations?” She giggled yet again. “Like Matthew, you’re also a quick study, Mr. Novak. Now let’s just pray you have the patience he does not.” As I groaned under my breath, biting back my shriek, Olga wobbled toward her carpetbag, still sitting on a low table where Sky had placed it earlier. She rummaged inside, plucking out several items. 288
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Meanwhile, Sky stepped forward to whisper in my ear. “She really is a riot and a half, you know? You think she’s completely legit?” “I do. Especially since she’s doing this out of the goodness of her heart, asking for no money.” “And she certainly seems to know a lot about what’s happening here.” I nodded. “Now, if we can just tolerate her behavior long enough, we may actually get some answers.” “She’s right about something else, too…you really are an impatient fellow.” “Oh, please, don’t start.” I kissed his lips and grinned. “And you, of all people, know just how patient I can be when it comes to certain…activities.” “Don’t get me horny thinking about that. We have a guest.” Olga turned toward us, her arms laden with the items she had removed from the bag—some candles and holders, one of those enormous “joints” of sage, the “magic wand” with which she had whacked my shoulders yesterday, and a crystal sphere the size of a bowling ball. “Where are they?” “Where are what?” asked Sky. “These canvases Arturo has ‘psychically commissioned’ you to paint for him. His communications with you. Lead me to them.” “Do you really need to see the paintings?” I asked, already mortified at the prospect. Olga smirked and batted her eyelashes almost flirtatiously. 289
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“Are they naughty pictures of you, Matthew? Extremely naughty?” Heat blazed in my cheeks and plainly answered her question, which made her giggle. “Oh, yes, these paintings I must see this instant!” “You have no qualms about viewing the naked body, I assume?” asked Sky. “To view the act of physical love, whatever the sex?” “Not a qualm in the least. I’m a child of the sixties, you must understand, raised in a peaceful commune amongst individuals who spent the majority of their time in the nude and making love. ‘Make love, not war,’ was the ultimate slogan in those days, and those ‘flower children’ lived it.” She lifted her chin in pride. “My parents took me with them to Woodstock, you know?” “You don’t say?” “I clearly remember viewing all that unabashed nudity, people making love in the grass and in the mud, and regardless of gender. Passion and music filled the air. Ah, those wonderful days of free love…what a glorious concept…” She released a nostalgic sigh, then yanked herself out of the past without any help from us. “Anyway, I learned at a very young age that the human body is a magnificent creation, a work of art in and of itself, and only a fool would be embarrassed to view something so beautiful. Nudity and the sexual act is filthy only to the person who possesses a filthy mind, while those of us more attuned to Mother Earth and the Goddess’s gifts find the demonstration of physical love nothing but entirely sacred and lusciously pure.” 290
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“As an artist, I couldn’t agree with you more,” said Sky, beaming. “So then, lead the way to these paintings, my dear boy. I want to view Matthew’s firm, bare buttocks on canvas and watch his face turn an even darker shade of red than what it is right now.” More giggles spilled from her mouth. Suffering in silence, I trailed behind as Sky guided the woman into the “Triple X” studio. Olga, although glancing at the canvases of virile men making love in duos, trios, and groups, merely issued an occasional “Ohh” and “Ahh” and complimented Sky on his use of color and shadow, but did not comment or seem at all disconcerted by the depictions themselves. I breathed a small sigh of relief, yet my gut still clenched at the thought of what she might say in a few moments when she saw my nude body. But damn, if she didn’t surprise me when she eventually entered the private gallery devoted to paintings of Skylar and myself…and our ghostly lover, Arturo. No ribald comments spilled from her mouth, no girlish giggles filled the air, no chastising glances shot from her eyes. She simply admired the artwork for several moments, then walked to the center of the room. After she settled her items on the hand-woven floor tapestry, she stood up straight, closed her eyes, and visibly shivered. And not from the mild temperature, I suspected. Like she did in the outer studio, she spun in circles, but this time not with joyful buoyancy, but with an almost weighty emotion that I couldn’t quite decipher. Sky and I observed her, waiting for her to speak. It seemed 291
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to take forever before she ground to a halt, and her eyelids fluttered open. “Yes, yes, he is here. Arturo is here in this room. I can feel him eagerly studying us even now.” She sped toward one of the most recent paintings of Skylar and I performing oral sex on the stranger, then raised her hands and used her fingertips to trace the contours of Arturo’s handsome face on the canvas. As her touch descended over his broad shoulders, then onto his torso, she seemed to fall into a trance, humming and swaying and cocking her head from side to side. When she yanked her hands away from the painting and spun to face us again, her lips turned upward in a smile, yet unshed tears placed sparkles in her eyes. “I sense his abysmal desperation, his abject loneliness, yet he’s finally filled with hope, an ecstatic optimism he has not experienced for decades, if ever. You, your individual characters and your recent actions, have pleased him immensely, although in what ways exactly, I cannot say. But can’t you feel his energy? It’s almost palpable.” Now that she mentioned it, I did indeed feel something other than the uncontrollable horniness I typically experienced when entering this room. Certainly, my cock had already hardened, which I’d expected, and the pestering urge to tear the clothes from my lover’s body and savor every inch of him with my hands and tongue had already begun to consume my mind. But now my skin actually prickled, while the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck seemed to come alive and vibrate. Electrically charged air swirled around me, variable in 292
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its speed and direction, yet barely detectable. I could almost hear it pop and crackle, like invisible bubble wrap being squeezed just outside the range of my eardrums, and the air felt heavy, as if a double dosage of molecules bombarded my exposed skin. I could see that Skylar experienced a similar sensation, since he ran his hands over his arms, as if attempting to iron out the sudden appearance of gooseflesh. Olga returned to her items, then reached inside her cape and produced a matchbook. After lighting the fat stick of sage, she meandered around the gallery, mumbling under her breath and “smudging” the area, especially Skylar and myself and the entire side of the room dominated by the paintings of our ménage with Arturo. Like yesterday, the smoke made my eyes water, but I didn’t bother to cover my nose, growing accustomed to the scent. Eventually, Olga plopped down on the floor beside her other tools. One by one, she lit the candles, six in all. She stuffed then into the ornate holders, then got up and placed them several yards apart from each other to form a wide circle—or rather, to represent the points of a pentagram, I suddenly realized. After settling the crystal ball into the center of the area, she sat down again and gestured for Skylar and I to join her. We obliged, although my ripe erection made it rather difficult to find a comfortable position in tight blue jeans. “Let us join hands,” she instructed and extended her arms. I held her left hand, Skylar took her right, and we formed a human triangle. Olga gazed into the crystal ball, all the while 293
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humming and slightly swaying to an erratic rhythm. The air seemed to grow even denser than it had a few moments earlier, and now, as if someone sitting behind me had just poured milk over a breakfast cereal, I could actually detect the snap, crackle, and pop within the atmosphere itself. When I glanced toward Skylar, our gazes collided. His pupils shimmered, as if an oscillating fire blazed in their depths, and I wondered if he viewed a similar inferno in mine. He squeezed my hand even tighter, confirming my thought. I wanted so savagely to release Olga’s hand and drag Skylar into my arms. I yearned to consume his mouth in a gluttonous kiss as I ripped away his clothing. I ached to free my throbbing cock from its blue-jean prison, allowing the swirling air to caress the sensitive flesh before burying it into my lover’s luscious mouth or welcoming ass. Bestial lust rampaged through me, and my entire body started to tremble. I could clearly see Skylar combating his own overwhelming urges. His long toes curled against the floor tapestry, while his fingers painfully kneaded the bones in my hand. God damn it! I needed to feel his rock-hard muscles pressing against mine, to feel the warmth of his naked flesh and crisp texture of his body hair as we ground our erections together. I needed to fill my mouth with his stiff and lengthy cock, to taste his hot semen squirting over my tongue and flowing into my throat. Every fiber of my being needed him so fucking desperately, I no longer cared about anything or anyone or— A swirling white haze appeared across the room, seizing 294
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my full attention and banishing my sexual thoughts. It seemed to flow out of the newest painting, the one that depicted the stranger filling my ass with his gigantic penis. If I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn someone had rigged the canvas to emit dry ice vapor. Olga’s humming increased, and with it, the mist gained density and bulk, while the gyrating motion achieved an even swifter momentum. As the cloud eventually reached toward both the floor and ceiling, like a tornado mirrored horizontally, I started to distinguish additional hues appearing within the stark whiteness. Reds and blues and yellows materialized and mingled and merged, soon creating a writhing whirlpool of secondary tones, some dominating for a split second before other colors overtook them. Skylar’s strengthened grip on my hand clearly communicated that he, too, watched the unbelievable prismatic storm with the same degree of fascination, alarm, and bewilderment as I experienced, so I knew I hadn’t gone mad alone. And then I saw him, coming into view within the colorful eddy, his body being pieced together molecule by molecule, pixel by pixel, and reminding me of computer-generated graphics. The tall, muscular, and completely nude man solidified, his long dark hair whipping around his handsome face, his muscles bulging and shiny with sweat, and his mesmerizing blue eyes alive with energy. My heart thumped against my rib cage, while my pulse thundered a wild tempo in my ears. Shivers wracked my entire body, but I quickly came to realize they had nothing 295
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whatsoever to do with dread or horror at watching a man—a ghost!—appear before my skeptical eyes. No, my tremors came from pure and untamed lust. Especially when viewing the mammoth erection jutting from a jungle of black pubic hair, a fat and vein-laced penis already moist with pre-cum and pointing in my direction. I had envisioned this cock the first time I’d met him in the hallway, this cock I now wanted so desperately to touch and taste, to savor and share with my lover like we had countless times in the various paintings. And I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, before the night had ended, I would get my wish.
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CHAPTER 19 To the very depths of my being, I loved Skylar Novak. I loved being in his company, loved fucking him, loved loving him. I viewed him as my future and foundation, my mate in body and soul for eternity. But something about this stranger, this handsome biker-slash-rocker-slash-pirate, this magnificently sexy creature from another realm, stirred primal desires within me that I could not ignore. Skylar obviously experienced similar yearnings. Not only did I feel his hand tremble, but I also heard the purr issuing from deep in his throat. I knew that sound intimately, since it usually rumbled through his chest when he sucked me off, or when I slid my cock into his beautiful ass. Yes, he wanted the 297
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ghost as badly as I did, and the notion of my lover’s escalating excitement sent even more blood into my groin. I held my breath, expecting at any moment for Arturo to break free of the swirling and colorful cloud, to speak to me the way he had when we’d originally met. But he didn’t move, just stood within the mist, his hair fluttering around his head, his hypnotic eyes shooting sexually charged bullets at us, while his erection bobbed at a frantic pace. Olga’s hums and mumbles ended on a sharp gasp, and I saw that she had opened her eyes and glanced over her left shoulder. “I did it! I actually did it! My coven sisters will never believe it! And he’s so yummy. I’ll bet my sisters never encountered such a luscious—” “W-why isn’t he moving?” I asked. “Why is he just standing there and—” A disjointed and indistinguishable series of tones cut off my words. The noise sounded almost like a distant human voice, only one being played backward on a tape recorder at varying speeds and put through a variety of filters that muffled it and gave it a slight metallic quality. Then I saw the ghost’s lips moving and realized it was speaking, or at least attempting to do so. “What? What? I don’t understand you?” “That’s because he’s still trapped between realms, Matthew,” said Olga. She squeezed my hand tighter, and I could only assume she did the same to Skylar’s. “A force is holding him there. Let me try to interpret what he’s saying.” She turned back to her crystal ball, and for the first time I 298
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noticed whirling fog inside the globe. More noises poured from the entity. Olga cocked her head and closed her eyes, then nodded. “I was right. He’s unable to break free of his prison, but he can speak to me through the vibrations. Oh, what fun! You may ask questions and I’ll answer for him.” “Who are you?” I blurted. More garbled words. Olga smiled. “He confirms his name is Arturo… Arturo… something. Hmm?… Spaghetti? That makes no sense. Repeat that, please?” She shook her head. “I think he’s trying to say ‘Spagonzi’ or ‘Spagoonzi’… something that sounds like an Italian meal. I find that quite silly and… what?” She tsked like a librarian issuing a reprimand to a noisy reader. “How rude. He’s telling me his surname doesn’t matter and that I should move on to more important issues.” I nearly chuckled. I liked the ghost already, since he obviously shared my impatience when it came to this woman’s rambling. “He says he’s waited numerous lifetimes to find you. That none of the others chosen through the centuries were appropriate, but you two individuals have given him hope. And you can help him.” “But why us?” I asked. “And what exactly do you want with me?” When the muffled response arrived, Olga giggled. “Oh, how naughty! You wicked, wicked spirit.” She paused and listened. “No, I won’t say that. It’s ungentlemanly and 299
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unseemly, not worthy of a soul from your gentler era!” Another pause, then more listening to the weird tones. “You should be ashamed of yourself. If only I had a bar of soap handy, you’d be eating it. Such language. I can’t repeat—” “Tell me, Olga. Please!” I begged. “Just translate what he’s saying without the added commentary.” Her eyelids fluttered open, and her Kewpie-doll mouth pursed in a tart smile. “You want his exact words, do you?” I nodded. “He says he needs to ‘fuck you raw.’” “He what?” Another giggle. “There now, Matthew. Are you satisfied?” Fire rampaged through my cheeks. Well, I’d asked for it! “As I said, he’s naughty and wicked and argumentative, and apparently way too randy to mince words.” “Is this some sort of a cosmic joke?” Olga waited for the full answer, then shook her head. “He says, ‘No joke. Being with you in that manner is the only way I can break free of the bitch’s curse. She’ll have it no other way.’” “Bitch? Curse?” interrupted Skylar. “How is him fu— err—being with Matt supposed to do that?” Once again, Olga allowed the metallic voice to finish speaking, then tsked one more time. “He’s a rogue, this one. Downright insulting”—she glared over her shoulder—“and I’m starting to take offense!” “What did he say?” Skylar and I asked in perfect unison. “He says that it’s too long of a story to be relayed through 300
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the mouth of a”—she squinted in annoyance—“a prickling and vexatious chatterbox! Yes, rude, petulant, and ungentlemanly. I suppose they had no manners in the seventeenth century after all! So much for the historians who assumed otherwise. How absolutely—” “Olga, please, ignore his remarks,” I urged. “He has, after all, been trapped for centuries and probably has a lot to tell. Consider how anxious he is to speak after all this time.” “You’re right, Matthew. How silly of me to take offense while I’m prattling on. Goddess forgive me.” I looked toward Arturo, noting the way his generous lips curled upward beneath his mustache. Obviously my words on his behalf pleased him. “But I don’t understand. You were able to speak quite clearly to me a week ago. Why can’t you speak for yourself now? Why can’t you appear to me in person? And what can we do to get you here?” His mouth moved, then Olga translated. “He says he can accumulate enough energy for such an encounter only after many, many weeks and months. It’s a draining effort and he doesn’t have enough power stored. But you can help him gain additional strength.” She looked at Skylar and I. “That’s how it is with spirits. It takes them a while to build their energy, all depending on their age and skills. One of my witch sisters had an encounter with a ghost who could make his presence known only once every ninety-three days. And then, all he would do, she said, was an impersonation of Groucho Marx. Seems like a foolhardy waste of energy, don’t you agree? Unless, of course, that spirit was indeed Groucho Marx. Now 301
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wouldn’t that have been something? Clarinda’s quite young and probably doesn’t even know who the Marx Brothers were, let alone be able to recognize—” “Olga, don’t veer off the subject, please.” “You were asking me about spiritual energy, weren’t you?” “Yes, but then you sidetracked into a ghostly outtake from One Night At The Opera. Focus, please. What I need to know is, if Arturo doesn’t even have enough energy to materialize, how in the world does he expect to—to make love to me?” “A very good question, Matthew,” said Olga, “and a much better choice of verbs, unlike some people—or rather, some boorish ghosts!” An incomprehensible flurry of words shot from out of the writhing mist, yet I could clearly detect emotions within the garbled gibberish—annoyance and frustration. Whatever had been said, Olga parried with a venomous glance across the room. “No need to fling additional insults, my not-so-good man. Do not forget, I am communicating for you. If you prefer that I leave so you can return to your brooding inside the wood and bricks for yet another generation, I will be more than happy to oblige.” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “You wouldn’t really do that, Olga, would you? I need you to help us stop this haunting and—” She gave me a sly wink just as another round of incoherent and chaotic utterances filled the air. The proud smile on her face advertised her complete victory. “I thought you’d see 302
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things my way! All right, Mr. Spaghetti, your apology is accepted. Now then, answer Matthew’s questions, and hold the sass while doing so. What do you need us to do in order for you to materialize? How do you expect to engage in sexual antics when you’re sapped of your energy?” Another response, this one a bit lengthy. To Olga’s credit, she concentrated, even asked for clarification on several things he had said, then nodded. “Is that all? Then why in the name of the Goddess didn’t you just come right out and say so?” She waited a moment, then a healthy dose of red imbued her plump face. “Smart ass! He said he would have stated so earlier if he could have gotten a word in edgewise. Yes, a seventeenth-century rogue through and through! And a very impatient one as well, another soul in dire need of my calming herbal tea.” “So how do we get him here?” asked Sky. “He says all you have to do is focus your concentration on him, on his painted images, and he can feed off your energy, your desire. But you must truly want him to appear. In fact, he used the word ‘yearn’…you must truly yearn for his presence. Yearn for the experience depicted in the various works of art in this room. Once he’s here, he will explain more.” I might have jumped off the floor in excitement had my wickedly tight jeans and a rock-hard cock not prevented me from doing so. “Then let’s do it. Let’s concentrate.” “Not me!” declared Olga, wriggling around on the floor and finally struggling to her feet. “What do you mean?” 303
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“I, for one, have no desire to meet Mr. Smarty Pants in the flesh, thank you very much! Therefore, I’m leaving before I say something unladylike and things turn ugly.” “But Olga, you can’t—” “Fear not, Matthew. He assures me you and Skylar can fully summon him without my aid.” “But we don’t know witchcraft”—I pointed toward the crystal ball, still filled with a strange fog—“or how to use this dad-blasted thing.” “No need for that. I’ve done the hard part, giving him enough power to appear in this form. Now you and Skylar must do the rest. But I’ll be no party to it! I’m returning to my shop.” Without gathering her belongings, she turned toward the exit. “Oh, and whatever happens between the three of you, stay within the candlelit pentagram. This area is where the magic is now concentrated”—she spun toward the spirit and haughtily lifted her chin—“thanks to me!” Another round of jumbled speech shot from the spiraling fog. “No, I won’t accept another apology! But I’ll get my revenge, you naughty, egomaniacal spirit! When I write my blockbuster, I think I’ll trim at least six or seven inches off the member of which you are so darned proud.” A mumble from the spirit. “I will!” Another muttering. “Oh, but I will! By the time I’m through with you, you’ll be known worldwide as the ghost with the needle dick. How 304
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smug do you feel now? Hmm?” With that, Olga stomped toward the door, but looked over her shoulder. “Oh, boys, once your encounter is over, you will please collect my belongings and return them to me at your leisure. And do not drop that crystal ball! Meanwhile, my darlings, have fun with the future Mr. Needle Dick.” I half-expected her to turn back to the mist and stick out her tongue, but she didn’t. When she exited the gallery, Skylar and I looked at each other, our jaws dangling in astonishment. “Well?” he asked. “What the hell do we do now? Do we actually summon him to us?” “Do we want to be haunted for the rest of our lives? Do you want to spend the remainder of your career painting what he coerces you to paint? Do I want to end up like my Uncle Clarence or the other men who’ve gone nuts? Apparently they did so because of him, or because of something that happened when faced with this situation. Therefore, I don’t think we have a choice.” “I know, Matthew. It’s just that I don’t…I’m…I…” Gleaning the reason for his reluctance, I nodded, then leaned forward and gave his mouth a deep and lengthy kiss. He still tasted of cool peppermint, and my tongue savored its tang. When our lips broke apart, I settled my forehead against his and stroked his hair, enjoying his closeness, his scent, and loving him. “I understand, Sky.” “Do you really?” “Part of you is horny as hell, envisioning me having sex with another man.” 305
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“You’re damn right.” “Shit, just the idea of seeing you with him also gets my cock ready to erupt. But the other part of you is filled with fear, with jealousy.” “How do you know?” “Because you’re human. A part of me also fears that you’ll look at another man one day and fall in love, and out of love with me. Indeed, that’s my worst fear. But as I told you the other day, if we do this with Arturo, or any other man in the future, it will be for fun only, and only with our mutual consent.” “So if we don’t agree, then we remain monogamous?” “Exactly. I trust that your love for me is secure, and I hope you also know that I love you more than life itself. As I told you earlier, not only do I love you, but I’m also in love with you, and nothing I can foresee will ever change that fact. Feel better?” He nodded. Once again, our lips and tongues met in a heated exchange. This time, Skylar broke the kiss and gifted me with one of his sexiest grins. “We do need to do this, don’t we? This is the reason we were drawn together—literally and figuratively. And I don’t know about you, but I’m dying to solve the remainder of our mysteries. I’m practically bursting with questions for him.” “Same here.” I turned back to the swirling mist and clearly viewed the panic, the frustration, and the sizzling desire blazing in Arturo’s eyes. I also couldn’t help by ogle his gigantic dick, pointing in my direction and looking so fucking 306
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tempting. I felt myself drooling in anticipation and licked my lips. “And I’m bursting with something else entirely also, if you catch my meaning. Well, if we’re in agreement, what do you suggest we do first?” Skylar stood up and carefully toted the crystal ball toward the edge of the area. “I don’t know about you, buddy boy, but I’ve wanted to do this since we entered this damned room.” He yanked the T-shirt over his head, flinging it outside the candlelit pentagram, then unzipped his jeans and released his own prodigious erection. “Relief is not spelled R-O-L-A-I-DS, but U-N-Z-I-P! Damn, I thought I was going to die from the pressure!” Smirking in full agreement, I quickly followed his example. When I freed my cock, the pain of its imprisonment finally subsided. We hurriedly tossed the rest of our clothing outside the area, then stood side by side, completely nude, and faced Arturo…all three of us ready for action. “Now what?” I asked, looking at Skylar. With the flame of lechery rekindled in his dark eyes, he fisted my cock and started stroking me. “Come join us, Arturo. This is what you want, isn’t it? You want a taste of this stiff cock, don’t you? Believe me, it’s delicious as hell.” Gasping my pleasure, I took Sky’s cock in my hand and mirrored his actions. “You want to feel our flesh with your hands and your mouth? And you want us to do this to you, don’t you?” “Join us, Arturo,” said Sky, scooping up a drop of my precum with his thumb and smearing it over my cock-head. He 307
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took a moment to kiss me, to thrust his tongue into my mouth, making me burn hot with desire. He dragged his lips from me and turned toward the ghost. “It’s been a long time since you’ve made love, Arturo, hasn’t it? We want to share our bodies with you.” “Yes, join us, Arturo. We need to touch and taste you also, like we’re doing in all of these paintings. We need to see what you can do with that enormous tool of yours.” Our words and actions seemed to be working, but in the opposite manner than what I’d expected. I thought the mist would blossom, but instead, it started to disintegrate. Only then did I realize that whatever curse prevented the spirit from fully developing, from freely moving about, came from the strange swirling fog. The more we spoke to him, begged him to join us, the more the cloud dissipated. The lack of density allowed Arturo to step forward, inch by agonizing inch. I could see him struggling to break free of its failing hold, his biceps bulging as he whipped his arms from side to side, punching holes and streaks in the writhing atmosphere. His grunts, no longer a garbled mishmash of metallic sounds, began to ring in my ears, clearer and louder with every step he managed to take toward us. Then, with a thunderous crack, he broke free of the wispy tendrils. He barreled toward us, his arms circling at his sides like a swimmer doing the breaststroke and looking like a pirate who’d been shot out of a cannon. Behind him, the remaining threads of mist disappeared back into the painting, as if an invisible Dirt Devil had been turned on the clean up 308
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the smoky atmosphere. Guided by a shared instinct, Skylar and I released each other’s cocks and stretched out our arms between us, creating an impromptu blockade. I braced myself for the unknown. At first I wondered whether the ghost would whoosh through us, perhaps leaving behind some sickly and oozing green residue on our flesh. The line, “He slimed me,” from Ghostbusters, popped into my head. Or perhaps he would sail into us, then drag our flailing bodies behind him like a flesh-and-blood comet’s tail before spattering against the far wall. But real-life paranormal activities were like nothing I’d ever seen in the movies. Instead of what I’d imagined, Arturo, his perspiring and sinewy body all too human, slammed into our muscular barricade, causing both Skylar and I to stumble backward. Somehow we managed to stay on our feet and within the candlelit pentagram, helping the ghost to right himself without plummeting to the floor. Panting, eyeing us in disbelief, he held onto our shoulders until his body stopped swaying. “I-I can barely believe it. The two of you have accomplished the task. And not only that, but that exasperating old witch actually performed magic to help me.” “She’s a fine woman with a generous heart, and you treated her like a scoundrel,” I said, feeling somewhat protective of the woman to whom I’d oddly grown attached, despite her ways. “You will please send my renewed apology the next time 309
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you see her. ’Tis just that she has a way of driving a desperate man—” “Crazy?” Skylar finished for him. “Yes, we know.” He squeezed Arturo’s biceps, then his forearms. “You feel quite intact. I’m assuming you have enough strength to keep you here for a while?” The ghost stood upright, his beautiful, furry chest expanding as he pulled a deep breath. “More than enough, thanks to the pair of you. Your sexual energy is…well, ’tis like nothing I’ve ever encountered. Not since that infamous night all those many centuries ago. You make a virile and formidable duo. One quite impossible to resist.” As he spoke, his gaze raked over our nude bodies. I became all too aware of the way his hard shaft also felt fully human as it slapped against my own cock. In the space between our bodies, all of our erections met, a triumvirate of throbbing and dripping swords, and the sight made me shiver with arousal. It must have had the same effect on Arturo. He stared down for only a brief moment, then snaked his arms around our waists and yanked us against his hard and trembling body. Growling his sexual hunger, he kissed Skylar, his tongue venturing into my lover’s open mouth. Watching this man-ghost delighting in Skylar’s luscious lips, seeing my lover respond with equal enthusiasm, turned me on more than I had ever imagined. Yes, I had viewed similar scenes in the paintings, but nothing had prepared me for the blistering reality of it. I started clawing at both of those hairy chests, then imagined dropping to my knees and sucking 310
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both cocks. But I stopped myself, fought against the wave of horniness until I could inch my body away from theirs. “W-wait a second. Wait!” Skylar immediately broke the kiss, turning his head toward me and lifting his eyebrows in query. But Arturo kept lapping at my lover’s cheek, his tongue drawing a path down to Skylar’s neck. “Hey, spook man, I said to stop!” Arturo raised his head, his blue eyes glowing with lust. “I cannot. It has been too long. Way too long. I need to feel your bodies, your mouths. I need to taste every inch of you and—” “And I need answers before this goes any further!” With that, I stepped backward, grabbing Skylar’s right arm and tugging him away from the horny spirit. “We need to know what the hell you’ve been doing to our relatives all of these centuries. Why you’re stuck in this limbo and how the hell we’re all connected to each other. And most importantly, what the hell do you want besides just a good old-fashioned romp?” Nodding and apparently putting his burning desires on hold, Sky took another step back and wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Damn it, Matt’s right,” he said, clutching my body almost protectively against him. “You owe us an explanation about what’s been happening here, how you’ve managed to delve into our heads and forced us to do your bidding all these years.” “That can wait.” “No, it can’t. You’ll not touch either of us again until we’re satisfied with your answers.” 311
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“But I—” Arturo started, reaching for my crotch. “No ‘buts’!” interrupted Sky, yanking me backward. “Especially ‘man-butts’ or ‘man-cocks’ or anything else until we get what we need. You’ve apparently been horny for centuries, so a few more minutes won’t…I was going to say ‘kill you,’ but since you’re already dead, that just proves my point.” “Yeah, start talking!” I demanded, doing my damnedest to sound firm while ignoring the exciting way Skylar’s erection wedged between my ass cheeks and pulsed against my skin. “And you can start with who you are.” “I will warn you, gentleman, ’tis a lengthy tale.” “Then give us the Reader’s Digest version,” I countered. “The what?” I smirked. “Never mind. Despite what Olga claims, I’m generally a patient man, and we’ve got time. As do you. Now talk!” The ghost’s wide shoulders slumped in defeat. “If I must, but damn it all to hell, gentlemen, you are making this so fucking difficult.”
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CHAPTER 20 Once Arturo settled himself on the floor tapestry, propped up on his left elbow and stretching out his impressive body like a lithe panther, he gestured us down to join him. I forced myself to concentrate on his face, yet the urge to focus on his exquisite and muscular torso, his sinewy and furry legs, or especially his rigid shaft arising from a dense thatch of ebony hair, proved persistent. I still could not quite fathom that this sexy man, this flesh-and-blood creature lying before me, was actually a ghost, a man who had been dead for centuries. This certainly put a final end to my preconceived notions of spirits being only invisible, or perhaps flimsy wisps of smoke, tiny dots of light, or pudgy puffs of goo such as 313
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Casper The Friendly Ghost. “Where shall I begin, gentlemen?” “As a wise man once said,” uttered Sky, plopping down beside me, “at the beginning. Why don’t you start with your name?” He sighed in resignation. “I was born Arturo Spattalagonzi in the year 1667.” His eyebrows drew together in annoyance. “Not Spaghetti, as that irritating, insufferable, obnoxious woman kept insisting!” “Leave Olga out of this,” I warned, “or if you must refer to her, do so with a respectful tongue.” “Yes, yes, I apologize, but she…oh, never mind. It matters not. As you can rightly deduce by my surname, my family was of Italian origin, although where exactly I was born even I am unsure. My family, you see, had left Italy many generations before my birth, traveling through Central Europe and never quite settling down. I suppose you could call us ‘wandering vagabonds’ or a ‘band of gypsies.’ But for the purposes of the story, that also matters not. My earliest recollections were of my family finally settling in eastern France, in the region of Burgundy. Near Dijon, my father secured employment in the mustard trade, then several years later, we relocated further into Côte d’Or, where my family labored in wine production. It was there, in 1691, when I went to work for a wealthy family named Novakni.” Skylar’s jaw dropped. “My ancestors?” “I was but a mere house servant, but they treated me well and made me generally comfortable in my position and 314
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lodgings. It was there that I also came to grips with a personal issue, one that had weighed on my shoulders like a ton of granite.” Lines of painful memories etched deep crevasses on his forehead. “You see, gentlemen, since puberty, I had been physically attracted to those of my own gender. I must admit to envying you.” “Why?” I asked. “As you must understand, in those days of strict mores, desires such as mine were considered sinful, unnatural, and were not tolerated by society.” “That’s not too far off the mark from what many ignorant people still think today.” “But look how advanced your society has become regarding this issue. At least you are not automatically imprisoned and regularly put to death for such inbred desires. At least you can talk openly about your feelings. What is the phrase that is so popular in this modern world? Coming ‘out of the closet’? To make matters worse for me, I didn’t know about this ‘closet,’ and even if I did, I would have had no choice but to stay locked inside it.” “What do you mean?” asked Sky. “I knew I was different, but what I did not realize is that I was not alone. I suppose, even as a man in my early twenties, I was more than a bit naïve—I spent most of my teenage years in a fairly sheltered existence on various farms and vineyards, surrounded by only family and a scant amount of friends, other laborers mostly. Therefore, I witnessed marriages between a man and a woman, plain and simple. I could talk to 315
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no one about my proclivities, and I came to the conclusion that, had I been a leper, I likely would not have experienced an iota of the same mental isolation I daily suffered. But then…” The lines in his forehead vanished, and his eyes sparkled with the light of ardent nostalgia. “Then what?” I asked, intrigued by his tale. “I realized I was not alone after all. Surprisingly enough, I stumbled upon the knowledge that one of my employer’s sons shared similar yearnings. Claudio Novakni…” A sensual growl escaped his throat, and I couldn’t help but notice the way his fat penis thumped like a club against his belly. I ached to leap forward and devour the cock-head in my mouth, to lap up the clear droplets dripping from the slit and dotting the rug, but I somehow restrained myself when Arturo continued his narrative. “What a strapping young man he was, handsome and dashing and…well, let me just state that you, Skylar Novak, have inherited his splendid good looks and physique, not to mention his exceptional talent. You see, he, too, was a gifted artist like yourself.” “What happened?” asked Skylar, his hand languidly stroking my left thigh. “I’m guessing you became ‘close’?” “Indeed. Claudio took a liking to me, and not just as an employer might grow fond or dependant on a particular servant, but as one man to another. He soon began to treat me as a friend, an equal, and a confidante. But there was so much more. His fiery glares could have melted the moon with their intensity, and more often than not, I felt those glares directed at me. At my crotch. They excited me beyond compare. But of 316
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course, I need not tell you, gentlemen, how they made me feel, since the glances Claudio sent in my direction are quite similar to the way the two of you ogle each other at every opportunity. With such incessant yearning, such unquenchable passion.” Sky and I shared a heated smile. Even now, as we talked in this nonchalant manner to an actual ghost lying before us, when we should have been dumbstruck with horror or consumed with blood-tingling awe at the situation, I felt nothing of the sort. Just a deep-seated devotion for the man I loved…as well as a dick-throbbing hunger to rejoice in the flesh of my lover and this entity from another realm. I could read the same emotions in Skylar’s eyes, so I completely understood what Arturo must have experienced when Claudio Novakni looked at him with hungry eyes. “Excuse me, gentleman, are you still with me?” asked Arturo. I dragged my gaze from Skylar. “Huh?” “You insisted on a full tale before gifting me with your sublime bodies, did you not? So the least you can do is allow me to finish as expeditiously as possible so we can begin the festival of flesh and I can break this intolerable curse.” “Sorry,” Skylar and I said in stereo. “Thank you. Now, where was I?…ah, yes, Claudio. At first I told myself that I had imagined his lustful glances, so convinced was I that no one else in the world survived with such wicked sexual cravings as I had endured. But then came the night when he touched me, placed a hand over my groin and fondled me as I attempted to pass him in the corridor 317
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outside his bedchamber. Certainly, that single touch clearly made his intentions known. But of greater import, with that touch came the enlightenment that I was no longer isolated in my desires, that other men also kept similar longings hidden from general society. When he invited me into his room and showed me just how much he yearned for me, I realized I had actually found a kindred soul.” He closed his eyes and shivered, then released a long and windy sigh. “That moment changed my entire life…and ultimately led to my untimely demise…” “How so?” I asked, riveted. “As you may have surmised, Claudio and I became insatiable lovers, and I had never known such ecstasy. ’Tis why I could not stop myself from tasting your lips earlier, Skylar. Your resemblance to Claudio brought back such vivid memories of those marvelous days and nights of sexual discovery. For weeks, at every opportunity, Claudio and I feasted on each other…just the notion of tasting his body, of having my shaft buried deep within his tight passage consumed my every waking thought. I am guessing the two of you have experienced similar desires for each other, have you not?” I leaned toward him. “Then you did not put them into our heads, these fierce cravings we have for one other?” “As much as I would like to take credit for supernatural oppression, especially of a carnal nature, I cannot.” “Supernatural oppression?” interrupted Skylar. “Which means?” 318
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“Similar to ‘possession,’” I answered, “which some entities can do to humans by occupying their actual bodies and completely controlling them. Remember The Exorcist? That’s ‘possession.’ But ‘oppression’ is having control over someone’s actions from outside the body. Influencing them to act or think or even speak a certain way, but not possessing them from the inside.”’ Both Sky and Arturo looked at me in startled silence, but my lover spoke first. “How the hell did you know that?” I lifted my chin in pride. “Olga, of course. Despite what she thought at the time, I was listening to her babbling.” Arturo laughed. “Well, as much as I hate to toss horse manure on your expert theory, I have embarked on a course of neither ‘possession’ or ‘oppression’ in your cases, or in the matter of your ancestors. I am merely a ghost with marginal skills, not a magician or warlock, not a demonic entity or a lesser god. I cannot control the actions of a man, nor can I dictate his desires. Therefore, whatever you feel for one another comes strictly from within your own hearts.” “But the paintings?” said Sky, blinking his evident confusion. “How can you say you have no control over a person’s actions when I’ve been painting Matthew for years without even knowing him? I felt as if I’d had no other choice. The same as when I added your likeness into the mix in recent months.” “I simply placed those images into your mind, Skylar, nothing more. Certainly one might argue that it was a form of ‘supernatural oppression,’ but I did not, however, force you to 319
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act upon them. I did not steer you to the paintbrushes, chain you to a stool before a blank canvas, and manipulate your arms to create the magnificent works of art in this room. You did that all on your own.” “And what about me?” I asked. “The same goes for you, Matthew. I merely transmitted mental images of this town into your head, like I also did to Skylar, hoping to entice the pair of you, praying you would ‘heed my call’ and arrive here one day and meet. But I had no control on whether you would even transfer to this college, or whether Skylar would move into this building, like his forefathers had done, and locate the man with the birthmark. Certainly, I have honed my skills through the years, improving my mental persuasion. Yet I am hardly a puppet master. If I were, do you not think I would have broken free of this goddamned curse with the aid of your ancestors? Shattering this spell has been—what is the term?…hit or miss?—a cruel challenge with no guarantees of success, one that has taken centuries to progress to this point. But with the recent change in modern-day society’s outlook on men such as us? Well, I had prayed that, in this generation, my ‘time for freedom’ had finally arrived.” The revelation regarding Arturo’s limited sphere of control brought me enormous relief. I had feared that my passion for Skylar, at least partially, might not exist without this entity’s influence. I had also dreaded the idea that, should this confrontation with Arturo end successfully and we freed his spirit from this world, I might wake up tomorrow only to 320
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discover that my feelings for Skylar had also evaporated. But now I fully realized that what I felt for the artist sitting beside me, the love and lust for him that pervaded my heart, had originated within me and had blossomed on its own. Unmitigated joy rushed through my veins, yet another question popped into my head. “But where do I—where do my ancestors—fit into your story?” “Feeling left out?” asked Arturo with a smirk. “Fear not, Matthew. I have not yet finished my tale. As I mentioned earlier, Claudio was an artist, and he began using me as one of his models. It proved to be a helpful ruse, at least partially. It would explain the reason why we spent so much time in each other’s company should someone query us, and it would also explain my nudity should any of his family members or another servant stumble upon us in his private art studio.” I nodded in complete understanding. I’d also used my “posing excuse” to explain why I’d spent so much time with Skylar whenever my roommates questioned me. “Unfortunately,” continued Arturo, his rich voice dropping in volume and pitch, “we did not think outside the realm of his immediate household. His family and servants respected his ‘private space,’ as it were. But damn our stupidity! We did not expect an outsider to discover our secret and…oh, wait, I am jumping ahead of myself. Regardless, that was our ruse—an artist and his subject, nothing more. Of course, Claudio had hired other models to pose from him on occasion—perhaps to add legitimacy to our claim of innocent actions, although I am unsure—and that is when he met another young man and 321
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invited him to pose one afternoon. Gregor Rhodeleska.” The name surprised me, although I knew it shouldn’t, considering how many European immigrants had altered or shortened their surnames when arriving in the “New World.” Nevertheless, I had never heard anyone in my family hint at the fact that our name had been changed. Perhaps none of them had an inkling. Arturo smiled. “And you, Matthew, also look quite like your ancestor. Another fine figure of a man. No wonder Claudio insisted on painting him. Gregor was quite the captivating creature, his aura dripping with masculinity, and his body designed for sex.” He paused to stare at my cock. His hypnotic blue eyes seemed to devour it. “Yes, you are very much alike.” Not once during his entire narrative had my erection flagged, but continued to stretch toward the ceiling in the relentless pursuit for sexual appeasement. My belly had grown sticky with pre-cum, and as Arturo’s gaze caressed my groin, another drop of juice rivered down my shaft, adding to the dampness that had gathered in the hair on my aching testicles. Without warning, Arturo reached for me, but my lover intervened, clasping his wrist and stopping him. “You’re not quite finished with the story,” said Skylar. “Just one touch! Just one stroke! A little taste to satisfy me, please!” begged Arturo, his attention leaping back and forth between Skylar’s stiff penis and mine. “Trust me, there will be more than enough cock to go around, but only after you’ve answered all of our questions.” 322
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“Damn it, you gentlemen are too cruel.” “Not cruel, but inquisitive. Just seeking answers to the mysteries that have plagued us for too long, mysteries that have involved our forefathers. And don’t forget, you’ve already stated how we’ve brought you the farthest from out of your limbo. We’ve decided between us that we won’t forsake you, but you must also stick to your agreement or we will have to rethink our end of the bargain.” Skylar released the ghost’s wrist only after the latter responded with another assenting sigh of conquest. Now with both arms free, Arturo rolled onto his back and started playing with his genitals. He wrapped the fingers of his left hand around the bottom portion of his dick, and used his right hand to languidly stroke the upper half. I’ll admit to empathizing with the ghost’s horniness, since watching him pleasure himself became almost too much for me to bear. “Continue the story,” I commanded, more as a reminder to myself than to him to stay on track. “What happened with Gregor Rhodes…I mean, Rhodeleska?” “Sex happened! Blistering and mouth-watering and electrifying man-sex!” He stroked his cock at an accelerating pace. “It started one afternoon when Claudio asked Gregor and I to pose together, as a team, depicting warriors on a battlefield—only nude, of course, as Claudio always insisted. I was to portray the fallen hero, on his knees and begging for mercy, with Gregor standing over me, sword in hand, and glaring down as his conquered foe. ’Twas then that we discovered Gregor’s true nature. Perhaps I had positioned my 323
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face too close to his groin, that my hot breath gave his beautiful penis one too many caresses. Regardless, he quickly became erect. Unable to restrain myself, I took him into my mouth. Claudio applauded my instincts, encouraging me to continue while his hand sketched the lewd scene being enacted before him. Gregor showed equal enthusiasm, holding my head as he plundered my mouth with his sizeable tool. Eventually Claudio gave in to temptation as well, shedding his clothing and joining us. He stood behind Gregor, planting kisses along his neck and shoulders, and enwrapping the man’s deliciously sculpted torso with his arms and massaging his chest. It became too much for Gregor, and he suddenly erupted in my mouth.” All the while Arturo spoke, he masturbated faster and faster to the point that I’d feared he would also soon erupt. I couldn’t even imagine what centuries of abstinence could do to a horny ghost, or what impressive results Skylar and I would witness when Arturo’s climax arrived. Likely another Mount St. Helen, with ghostly seed replicating the lava. But the spirit finally released his shaft, apparently regaining control of himself. “Even after all these centuries, if I close my eyes and concentrate, I can still perceive Gregor’s manly musk, can still taste his creamy nectar filling my mouth that afternoon. And more than anything, I can still hear his gasps of pleasure, his cries of glorious anguish, ringing in my ears. It had been his first time with another man in that special, intimate way, you see, and afterward he stated in no uncertain terms how he had 324
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lived his entire life yearning for such an experience. Yes, we had discovered another kindred spirit, Claudio and I, and we happily welcomed the handsome and eager young man with open arms. The three of us made love into the evening, taking turns pleasuring each other, filling each other’s holes and begging for more and more and…oh, what a fantastic and magical night!” He closed his eyes to the memories and groaned. “Magical, it turns out, in more ways than one.” “What do you mean?” I asked. “Remember how I had said earlier that we had not taken enough precaution when it came to someone discovering our secret? As I also stated, his family and servants had grown respectful of his studio space, therefore, they left him to his own devices. Therefore, we had grown lax in our vigilance. For many successful weeks, Claudio and I had carried on our torrid affair, and not once did we suffer any intrusion upon our private sessions. Thus, our good fortune had provided us with an air of false security. Little did we anticipate, however, that someone from the outside world would discover our secret”— he moaned his discomfort—“but she did.” “Who?” Skylar and I asked, our wedded voices blasting through the room. “Gregor’s betrothed.” “He was engaged to be married?” I asked. “Indeed! It was to be an arranged union, as was the custom in those days. The woman came from a local family of dark and questionable character, yet their wealth and influence in the region took precedence, therefore Gregor’s father had 325
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arranged the joining several months earlier, much to the young man’s dismay. Claudio and I discovered this information only during the heated exchange between Gregor and his fiancé that followed her arrival. She had skulked into the family home and located the art room—one that looked much like this very gallery—just as Claudio and I had finished pleasuring Gregor for a third time. She had hunted him down, and in doing so, had caught us in the act of passion.” Beside me, Skylar flinched. “How embarrassing.” “You do not know the half of it. I can still picture the poor young man, humiliated and horrified, scrambling to clothe himself as the woman stormed about the room, shrieking her outrage like a banshee, flinging about paint supplies and halfcompleted canvasses, and vowing wicked vengeance. But little did any of us realize the power this viper possessed, or just how swift and venomous and wrathful her sting.” The ghost shivered, obviously from the painful memories of that evening. “What did she do?” prompted Skylar after a moment of silence. “When she entered the room, she clearly viewed our actions, our positions within the ‘vile triangle,’ as she called it. I had just finished spilling my seed into Gregor’s rump and had yet to withdraw from his body, so in her eyes, she viewed me as his violator, his corrupter…his rapist. Gregor attempted to explain that a mutual agreement had existed between us, he had wanted our affection, and that if she should take her anger out on anyone, it should be him and him alone. Yet the bitch 326
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turned a deaf ear to his pleas. I’ll never forget her eyes, shiny with demented violence, fiery fury, as she gazed upon me.” He pointed across the room. “Those damned eyes!” I viewed the painting Skylar had finished only days earlier, the one in which Arturo was gleefully filling my ass while those eyes in the background observed our every action with unmitigated disdain. “Those are her eyes! The bitch’s eyes, the way they looked that night just before she did it!” “Did what?” “Murdered me!” My lover and I gasped. “She sped across the room toward me, her arms outstretched, and mumbled phrases in a foreign tongue. To my shock, rays of crimson light actually shot from the tips of her fingers, spittle formed at the corners of her mouth, and pure evil radiated from her pupils and practically skewered me. ‘You have taken my Gregor from me,’ she wailed. ‘You have ruined him, robbed him of his manhood, and you shall pay for your sin.” “What did you do?” I asked, quivering in anticipation. “What could I do? Her powers, as I mentioned, were inhuman, and more lethal than any of us could have imagined. I later heard—being a ghost and learning news about the event days afterward—that her family bore high amounts of gypsy blood, thereby gifting them with magic capabilities, and she had frequently practiced the black art, indulging in its destructive influence and building her power. She had also 327
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grown obsessed with Gregor, attempting to seduce him, but to no avail. There is nothing more dangerous than a jealous woman—unless it is a jealous woman who also bears an obsession and magical powers. She used her witchery at every opportunity, thus easily allowing her to track Gregor on that day like a bloodhound to a scent.” “And you could do nothing to stop her attack?” “Not when confronted with the unexpected. With the lethal sparks ejecting from her fingertips aimed at me, I started choking, as if invisible and merciless hands throttled my neck. Claudio and Gregor attempted to restrain her, to yank back her arms and redirect those deadly flashes toward the ceiling, but it proved too little too late. My demise came almost instantly. And in between bouts of demented laughter, she continued to place her curse on me.” “Which was?” I asked. “In essence, that I would never leave that room, that it would become my purgatory. But she also added a challenge, a potential means of escape that she hoped would further torment my soul. I would need to locate a Rhodeleska male, one who possessed Gregor’s star-shaped birthmark just above his derrière, who would actually welcome my ‘violation’ of him. The woman assumed, like most people of the era, that sexual behavior between persons of the same gender was a ‘forced’ action, a depravity instead of an intrinsic urge of the heart. She could not wrap her mind around the notion that Gregor possessed these inbred yearnings, and that he would never look upon any woman—and especially her—with the 328
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same degree of passion as he felt being with a man.” He shrugged and shook his head. “One could almost feel sorry for her and her situation, were it not for her wicked heart. Nevertheless, the die—I apologize, a bad choice of words. I meant, the curse had been cast, and I found myself, my conscious being, existing in the damned room. Being a part of the wood, the mortar, the bricks…” “Good God,” muttered Skylar. “For centuries I have sought to prove my innocence. To prove that another man—more specifically—a man of the Rhodeleska family would indeed welcome me in the same manner as Gregor had welcomed me, and that I was not a liar as she had adjudged. And seeing as how I was tied forever to the Novakni family, or their residence, I needed to devise a plan involving all three families. I must admit, her challenge has been pure agony. The role your ancestors—and you, Skylar—would play proved an easier task, thanks to the artistic abilities passed down through the ages. But searching for a Rhodeleska male with the birthmark identical to Gregor’s who also bore a passion for his own gender?…’twas like searching for the proverbial needle in the haystack. One man in each family, one in each generation. A single possibility for freedom every twenty to thirty years. Imagine my horror when the Novakni family tore down the original house and had the materials shipped piece by piece to this country. And then imagine my enormous relief when the first member of the Rhodeleska clan immigrated to America. Nevertheless, I thought I would never break free of her spell. After countless 329
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Novakni and Rhodeleska men proved unable or unwilling to aid me, I had begun to believe the bitch’s words—that the feelings Claudio, Gregor, and I had possessed were indeed a horrid, misguided choice or a mental sickness.” “So our ancestors were completely worthless to your cause?” I asked. “Occasionally I located willing participants in my scheme, but never both men in the same generation. Mostly, some thought themselves mad when I attempted to contact them, and as a result, they killed themselves, or died out of fright. Several others had homosexual urges but refused to admit it, or act upon them, and also went insane or fell into a deep state of depression, fleeing from this town never to return. As I said, through the years, I had honed my persuasive techniques. Yet no matter how hard I tried, it proved always to be nothing but a gamble. I could never locate the perfect duo—the appropriate Rhodeleska and Novakni males of the same generation—who not only shared similar yearnings, but also allowed the mental images I supplanted in their minds to lead them to their destiny. That is why you, gentlemen, have given me my first true hope of success.” “What happened to the witch?” I asked. “Did Gregor actually marry her after what she did? And does that mean that my ancestors have her blood running through my veins?” “Fear not, Matthew.” Arturo looked me directly in the eye. “Just moments after my death, Claudio and Gregor slaughtered her, ripping her to shreds with impromptu weaponry. She simply refused to relinquish her fury, and in 330
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truth, Gregor saved Claudio’s life, which also saved him from a similar purgatory as I had endured.” Sudden tears spilled down his cheeks. “For that, I will always be grateful to Gregor…to his spirit…for that final act of bravery. He plunged a knife into the bitch’s heart, thus ending her uncontrollable mayhem. But not ending it ‘once and for all.’ I was already trapped, and had to endure the years afterward watching my lover’s suffering, unable to comfort Claudio, unable to relieve his anguish for what had happened in that room. Without knowing it, she enacted revenge on the both of us.” He used both fists to thump the floor. “That Scrutolowenski bitch be damned! I hope her soul and the souls of her descendents rot in Hades—” “I warned you to not speak of Olga that way!” “Olga?” Blinking, the ghost spun his head toward me. His sinfully intense blue eyes came aglow with bewilderment. “What does that insufferable witchy woman have to do with anything? I am talking about the gypsy bitch who cursed me to endure this limbo!” “Scrutolowenski? Although she goes by the name of ‘Olga,’ her name is actually Magenta Freedom Tatiana Scrutolowenski and—” My skin turned to gooseflesh, although I should have grown used to it after these days of paranormal buffoonery. “Wait! Are you saying that—?” Arturo’s lips quirked, letting me know he had pieced together the information at the same time as I had. And his expression immediately advertised mischief. “Then she—that woman—is related to that vicious, bloodthirsty viper who—?” 331
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“If she is, leave her alone!” To emphasize my point, I leapt to my feet and stood over the spirit like I’d imagine Gregor doing during that “painting session” Arturo had mentioned, only without a sword in hand. “Olga has been nothing but kindhearted to me this past week, has done nothing but accept me for who I am. Who Skylar is! And she has done nothing but help us. Fucking crap, to help you escape your purgatory! If she is related to this gypsy woman, and you’re already plotting some voodoo revenge on something her ancestor did to you, I can assure you, I will protect that woman with my life!” Arturo grabbed my cock with his left hand. His firm strokes felt so damned good, so damned enticing. “Matthew, you can help me. Together we can—” “I’ll do nothing of the kind. “You would allow her to get away with murder?” “She’s not getting away with anything. She knows nothing about what her ancestor did to you, or she would have said something, would have felt something through her vibrations.” “She’s lying, perhaps? Or evading the truth.” More strokes on my throbbing dick followed, along with additional and silent persuasion. “Yes, you can aid me. We can prove her a liar and—” “If anything, the woman has been open and honest almost to a fault. And there is not one duplicitous bone in her body. Besides, your historical bitch is the one who killed and cursed you, not Olga.” I stepped backward and yanked my erection out of his hand. “And quit touching me in an attempt to sway 332
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me. I thought you a better man—or ghost!—than that, not a male harlot who would use sex as a means of getting what he wants. So help me, Arturo, if you embark on a savage course of retaliation against Olga, I’ll have no part of it.” “But, Matthew—” “For all I care, you can continue to enjoy the wood and mortar and bricks as your permanent home, damn it, and stay here for all fucking eternity. I’d rather spend my remaining days suffering your wrath, even drooling into matching cups with my Uncle Clarence, than to aid you in harming that gentle soul.” A growl of frustration escaped the ghost’s lips. He eyed my cock for a long moment, then ogled Skylar’s genitals, finally thumping the floor with his right fist like a judge banging a gavel. I could tell by the subdued light in his eyes that my adamant words had some affect on him, that perhaps his better wisdom had prevailed. He obviously needed my help more than he needed to retaliate. Or did he? “So, what’s it gonna be, Arturo? Do you use this moment in time to perform a hateful deed, one which will insure you remain in purgatory this generation, or do you perform a loving act with us, one which will finally free your spirit to move onto another plane of existence?” Arturo’s gaze leapt to Skylar. But before the ghost could utter a word, my lover climbed to his feet. He stood beside me as part of an united front and glared down at the spirit with fierce determination. 333
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“Don’t look to me for assistance. I’m with Matthew all the way! So what’s your decision?” “Gentlemen, gentlemen, gentlemen,” he responded, his expression crestfallen, “since you leave me little choice in the matter, I guess I will have to act according to my heart.”
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CHAPTER 21 The ghost’s physical response came swiftly and eagerly. Before I knew what had happened, Arturo leapt forward and clamped his lips around the head of my cock. Simultaneously, he used his left hand to fondle my balls, and his right hand to grasp Skylar’s fat erection. “Holy fucking blowjob, Batman!” I said on a groan, attempting to tug my shaft out of Arturo’s mouth. It felt like someone had flicked on a Hoover vacuum at full suction capacity. “What the hell are you trying to do, draw my nuts straight out through my dick?” He released me, and a sheepish grin appeared beneath his bushy mustache. “My heartfelt apologies, Matthew. ’Tis been 335
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a while, you know, and the taste of you…well, I am famished…” “Yeah, I do know, but take it easy, huh?” “With pleasure, Gregor…I mean, Matthew.” Using his tongue, he scooped up a drop of juice he had coerced from my slit. He gave me several more teasing licks, moaning his joy. “Oh, yes. With great pleasure…” Arturo once again took me into his mouth, practically down to the root this time, but he thankfully adhered to my request. He lovingly stroked me with both his moist tongue and his torrid exhales, then began to suck the way I liked it. The way Skylar always sucked me. Skylar… Just as my lover’s name raced through my mind, the yearn to touch him making my palms itch, I felt his firm, perspiring body behind me. He wedged his cock between my ass cheeks, fashioning a human hotdog, then wrapped his strong arms around my torso. His fingers combed my chest hair, massaged my pecs, and tickled my nipples into solid points. He planted hungry kisses on my neck and shoulders, gently biting my flesh like a fledgling vampire learning to feed. Occasionally, when his darting tongue fucked my ear canals, his damp groans drove me wild. Meanwhile, Arturo clawed at my thighs and shins, his fingers occasionally running down to my ankles and arches, and all the while his mouth continued to gratify me. To have one man thoroughly working my upper body while another man—or whatever the hell Arturo was—administered to my 336
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lower half, causing me to tingle and squirm, was like nothing I had ever experienced. During their play, I wondered if both of them had grown extra sets of hands, or additional mouths and tongues, since the erotic massage and oral stimulation seemed all encompassing. Just as I closed my eyes and started to drift on a cloud of carnal ecstasy, I realized the three of us had positioned ourselves into a replica of the scene Arturo had described during his tale. Whether subconsciously or not, I didn’t know. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help wondering if the souls of Claudio and Gregor had somehow crept under the skin of my lover and I in order to reenact that infamous night. Yet that night had ended on a bitterly sour note. A tragic finale to a passionate and beautiful encounter. I certainly didn’t want that to happen here. Yet with Arturo working my shaft with his greedy mouth, I could very well climax soon, as Gregor had done, repeating the pattern from that evening all those centuries ago. But unlike my ancestor, this wasn’t my first sexual encounter with a man. Over the course of the past week, Skylar had performed fellatio on me countless times and with adept skill, and I now had enough experience that I could hold back my orgasm when I focused on anything besides the handsome face at my groin. So, wanting to break the cycle, to make this event entirely ours and not have our lovemaking become an exact duplication of Arturo’s night with his ancient lovers, I managed to squelch the urge to shoot. I yanked my dick out of the ghost’s mouth and bent forward, planting my lips on his. Since our initial encounter, I 337
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had wondered what it would feel like to kiss this biker-slashrocker-slash-pirate, to thrust my tongue between his luscious lips, and to have his shaggy mustache tickle my face. Chills spiraled through my body when he returned the passion, his saliva flavored with the saltiness of my pre-cum. I sank into the wonder of his lips, and at that point, I no longer thought of him as a ghost, a spirit from another century, but only as a man. A hot-blooded and sex-starved man who obviously wanted to pleasure me as much as I wanted to return the favor. As I continued to lock lips with the arousing creature kneeling before me, Skylar licked a path down my spine. During our lovemaking this past week, he had frequently used his fingers to tease my anus, usually just as I prepared to pump my seed into his mouth or ass. A way to heighten my orgasm, which always succeeded. This time, however, he spread my cheeks and tongued my entrance. I nearly skyrocketed to the ceiling. Never had I experienced such a foreign sensation, yet an oddly welcome one, especially when the tip of his tongue screwed into my hole, digging deeply and tenderly. Simultaneously, Arturo broke our kiss and climbed to his feet, bringing his gigantic dick level with my mouth. How many times I’d ogled this very cock when studying the dozens of paintings in this room, I had no idea. But now, having that same vein-adorned penis just inches from my mouth, throbbing in excitement and oozing a steady stream of fluid, sent my libido into the stratosphere. Though his whispered pleas for me to taste him caressed my eardrums, he needn’t have wasted his breath. 338
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I happily molded my lips around his crown and started to suck. Only then did I note a startling difference between the man who had become my lover this past week and the ghost who now filled my mouth with his suffocating cock. The scent, or rather, the lack thereof. During my many lovemaking sessions with Skylar, I had come to appreciate his masculine musk. I especially enjoyed the way his aromatic bush tickled my nose when I sucked him, and had come to savor the slightly sharp fragrance of perspiration and sex that left my nostrils quivering in delight each time I plunged downward onto his tool. How many times I simply buried my face in Skylar’s pubic hair this past week, drawing ravenous breaths in a bid to fill my senses with his erotic perfume, I couldn’t even begin to count. His manly bouquet alone had the ability to stir my cock, to keep me solid and throbbing for release. Yet Arturo had no scent whatsoever, at least none pungent enough for my senses to detect. It was as if the mist, when piecing together the molecules of the body’s outer shell, had, in its haste, eliminated some of the complex internal workings of the human body. And until this moment, I hadn’t realized just how much I loved the scent of a man. What the ghost lacked in the aroma department, however, he made up for in other areas. Against my lips and tongue, his shaft pounded to a brisk beat, as if a legion of tympani raced blood through his groin. And the sounds pouring from deep within his chest, the intensifying grunts and growls and gurgles, became a primordial chorus of a man on the verge of explosion. I imagined that, after all these centuries of existing 339
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in another realm and desperately longing for human contact, Arturo battled heroically to stem a volcanic climax. His precum flowed as if from a broken tap, tasting different from Skylar’s, slightly sharp and bitter, slightly aged, yet nevertheless delicious to my aroused palate. He grabbed handfuls of my hair and continually stabbed the back of my throat with his stiff pecker, while Skylar continued to tongue-fuck me from behind. Both my mouth and my ass were being stretched and teased to new dimensions, and I loved it. I would have reached down to jerk myself into a frenzy had my hands not been too busy clasping Arturo’s beefy thighs, kneading his muscular and fur-covered flesh, and tugging him forward to valiantly attempt deep-throating him. Suddenly, Sky’s moist plundering of my anus took a different and exciting turn. The artist, who had always been oddly attuned to my sexual needs, once again seemed to sense my craving. He crawled between my spread legs, then sat on the floor and drew my needy shaft into his mouth. As he vigorously sucked me, mirroring my actions on Arturo, he reached beneath my balls and slid a finger, then two, into my slick hole. The feel of his pliable tongue had strangely delighted me, but now the solid digits digging even deeper inside my cavity and opening me more fully, gifted me with a wealth of fevered chills. My groin buzzed with renewed urgency. I soon found myself bucking backward to meet his determined thrusts, then forward to bury my crown in his throat, then slurping on Arturo’s delicious shaft, realizing how the rhythm of our mutual fellatio mirrored the tempo. 340
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Wordlessly, we had synchronized our movements in an elegant and lewd ballet. I also realized, however, that the more I grasped the invading fingers with my ass muscles, attempting to capture them before they could retreat, the more I felt my balls tightening. With barely a warning, the climax barreled down on me like a battalion of charging warriors, overtaking me in the blink of an eye, and I could do nothing in my power to stop it. I pulled my mouth off Arturo’s cock and stood upright, burying my fingers in my lover’s silky hair. “I-I’m coming, damn it! I’m coming!” Just as I started to discharge my load, Arturo dropped to his knees. He tongued my shaft’s exposed root and lapped up the stream of ivory juice that escaped Skylar’s lips. The artist shared my cock with our new lover. Watching both men take turns sucking the final blasts from my knob, seeing them licking my cream from their shiny faces and swapping hungry kisses, kept me more than horny. Despite my shuddering release, my erection gave no signs of flagging; indeed, the pulse pounded even harder through my veins and I knew I was far from finished. As if by mutual agreement, the men pulled me down to the floor to join them. I found myself lying on my back with Skylar and Arturo nibbling and tonguing me from head to toe. When they kissed my mouth, the taste of my own semen rushed even more blood through my veins and into my groin. They jacked and sucked me, and I happily did the same to 341
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them when they dangled their cocks above me, reveling in the medley of flesh coming at me from different sides. At one point, both men knelt beside my face and took turns filling my mouth with their shafts while they kissed and caressed each other’s torsos. Sometime afterward, I teamed with Skylar to plunder Arturo’s mouth, then later, the ghost and I allowed Skylar to feast on our erections. The teams changed yet again, this time focusing on pleasuring the lone recipient. I lay on my back and watched as Skylar and Arturo licked the sides of my shaft or took turns sucking my pole or laving my balls. Then the ghost and I went to work on Skylar’s crotch, and finally my lover and I savored Arturo’s fat boner and plump testicles. For luscious minutes, we flicked our tongues over the head of his cock, or sandwiched his length between our lips. We deep-kissed each other to share his tart pre-cum, or sucked him while the other watched. The up-close sight of my handsome lover performing fellatio on another man—one as sexy as this mustachioed entity—had the power to again push me close to the edge. And when Skylar observed me consuming the ghost’s erection, I couldn’t miss the gleam of lust in his dark eyes, nor could I dismiss the way he jacked himself with abandoned reserve. Suddenly, he knelt beside Arturo’s waist, huffed like a wild beast, and erupted. His initial blasts painted streaks of white across the ghost’s hairy belly and chest. “Give me that huge dick!” He grabbed Arturo’s turgid erection from my hand, then pressed his own cock against it. 342
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His cream rivered down the sides of the ghost’s veined sausage, lacquering it from tip to root. When he finished shooting, I sucked the helmet of my lover’s oozing cock, draining him dry. Then together, we cleaned up the salty-sweet jizz from Arturo’s dick, then his torso. Our lips and tongues met often, feeding each other Sky’s savory fare, and all the while Arturo squirmed and grunted his pleasure beneath our grasping and seeking hands. The ghost suddenly grabbed his cock and stroked so fast it became a blur. “Gentlemen, your bawdy frolic has pushed me to the point of no return. I can…can no longer…contain…” Before he could finish the sentence, a dense, ropey fountain of semen spewed from the head of his cock. In a stunning display, the bands violently streaked toward the ceiling, at least four or five feet into the air, before spattering down on our upturned faces in a warm, pearly white rain. More blasts followed—I quickly lost count of just how many—each soaring nearly as high as the first. Before long, both Skylar and I, not to mention the ghost’s saliva-matted torso, shimmered and dripped with his seed. I looked at the head of Arturo’s dick, where cum continued to ooze over his hand as he milked himself. For an instant, Sky and I stared at each other in jawdropping silence, awestruck at the extremely impressive sight we had just witnessed. I’d sensed that when Arturo exploded, it would likely be with a royal vengeance, but little did I realize just how horny a ghost would become after centuries of residing in brick, mortal, and woodwork. Only a male could 343
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truly appreciate the spectacle, and I somehow felt sorry for our ancestors, knowing what they had missed. I also couldn’t help wondering just how much money this spirit would make should he materialize for good in this modern-day world and seek employment in the porn industry. A fucking fortune, that’s for sure! Talk about a money shot! Obviously sharing a mutually powerful and uncontrollable craving, Skylar and I took turns hungrily devouring the stillflowing juice from the head of Arturo’s penis. We lapped up the fresh cream from each other’s faces and the entity’s body, and this time we planted kisses on the ghost’s lips, sharing the debauched banquet. And even after we’d finished thoroughly cleaning each other, I found myself still famished for more. I whispered a silent “thank you” when I noted how all three of our cocks remained rigid and ready for additional action. Had it been only a week since first experiencing the act of lovemaking between men? Just when had I turned into a ravenous satyr, a whore for man-flesh? The answer immediately arrived—the instant I’d tasted Skylar’s cock for the first time, that’s when! I suddenly had an inkling of what a heroin or cocaine addict must go through when not being able to satisfy their insatiable needs… All three of us fought to catch our breath, yet stroked each other’s dicks in preparation for Round Two of our delightful game. It was then that I noticed the different lights coming from inside the crystal ball, completely forgotten and sitting forlornly near the edge of the candlelit pentagram. The fog within the sphere had lost its perfect whiteness, becoming an 344
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eddy of spiraling shades, various hues merging and changing colors. I fleetingly wondered if the more sexual satisfaction Arturo received, the more vivid and diverse the colors inside the globe would appear. To test my theory, I took him into my mouth again. The faster I tongued his meat, the more I used my teeth to nibble the folds of foreskin, the livelier the gyration within the mysterious orb became, and the more swiftly the colors changed. I didn’t have time, however, to point out my fascinating discovery to Skylar, not when Arturo’s powerful arms dragged me upward and settled me on top of his hard body. We lay mouth to mouth, chest to chest, cock to cock, his hands venturing down to my ass. I felt his thumbs drawing lazy circles around my unique birthmark, the star-shaped symbol that had branded me as his target, while his fingertips teased open my virgin hole. “Are you prepared for the main event, Matthew?” he whispered against my lips. The lively thrumming of his erection against mine advertised his readiness to get started, and the lust ablaze in his hypnotic blue eyes confirmed his zeal. Before answering, I looked toward Skylar, lying at our side and combing my hair with his fingers. Unfortunately, his scruffy face and dreamy expression gave no clues to his current thoughts. Coming into this situation today, I had envisioned a clear path. But now, my gut pinched in uncertainty. Inside my head, a heated debate began. Should I or 345
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shouldn’t I? The ultimate question. To make matters worse, I knew that whatever answer I selected would determine not only my future, but Skylar’s future as well. Not to mention the fate of Arturo’s spirit, and perhaps the destiny of future generations of the Rhodes and Novak families who were bound to confront Arturo’s spirit should this crazy matter not be resolved once and for all. By me! Damn it! Up until now, only the tactual or oral aspects of making love with a man had engrossed my carnal reveries, and touching and tasting Skylar’s body this past week, jacking his beautiful erection and sucking him to climax countless times, had more than fulfilled my pent-up curiosity. Taking him in full-fledged intercourse, however, had never been my intention. Yet last week, when he gifted me with his sublime body in that very special way, I couldn’t resist the opportunity for further experimentation. Besides, I would have done anything to pleasure him, and I had loved every second doing so. But I truly never fancied having a cock stuffed into my anus. I didn’t seem like something I would enjoy. Hell, I’d never even thought about taking the bottom role in a relationship until the other day when I viewed Skylar’s final painting, the one with my legs spread and Arturo boring into me. I glanced around the room and located that very canvas now, recalling the first time I saw it. I’ll admit to being unnerved at the thought of losing my anal virginity, but not completely opposed to the notion. Had Skylar asked for the opportunity, there would have been no question. I would have 346
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happily given myself over to him. Shit, he could fuck the stuffing out of me day and night and for the rest of eternity if only he desired to have me in that manner. Yet this ghost—as sexy as sin, most certainly, and driving me gonzo with his fantastic body and seeking fingers—was not the man who occupied my heart. Nope! Skylar had laid claim to that precious territory a week earlier. And in matters concerning my ass—another highly valuable domain, thank you very much!—I had some serious reservations about opening it to anyone other than the man I loved. Still, I had to also consider this weird predicament, this “paranormal pickle” that had embroiled men in my family for centuries, and had affected Skylar’s bloodline as well. I’m fairly certain no other human being had ever experienced this bizarre situation. Unless, of course, it was commonplace for ghosts throughout the world to seek human partners in order to “break free of evil curses placed on them by demented witches as punishment for perceived sexual sins.” Yeah, right! An everyday occurrence? Fat fucking chance, no pun intended! Therefore, it all came down to me, and me alone. The power to release this spirit from his purgatory, to free Skylar and I from being haunted for the rest of our lives, lay solely in my hands. Or solely in my rectum, to be more precise. Damn the fates! Regardless, I knew I couldn’t allow this haunting to continue indefinitely, and the sooner I finished it, the sooner Skylar and I could live the rest of our lives in each other’s 347
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arms, loving each other until the end of time. When I glanced back at Skylar, I finally viewed the spark of approval in his dark eyes. Yes, he knew me well, and had likely divined every thought that had contributed to my decision. I looked down at Arturo and sighed. “All right, let’s do this. Can you whip up a ghostly rubber from the ether?” He blinked. “A ghostly what?” “Never mind. Sarcasm helps when I’m nervous.” “There is no need to be nervous. I will be quite gentle.” “I’ll be the judge of that, Jumbo Dick. Regardless, no condom is needed, I’m sure. With you living for all these years in the woodwork, I suppose the worse thing I can get from you is a nasty case of woodworm or splinters.” I kissed him, not only to halt the additional questions I saw forming on his lips, but to also clear the confusion clouding his eyes. “Just do me a favor.” “Which is?” “I want to be in Skylar’s arms.” “Whatever you wish is my command.” I barked a laugh. “I guess I could wish for a million bucks once you’re done, but that would make me sound like a whore. An expensive one, but a whore nonetheless.” At the same time he dipped his tongue into my mouth, he slipped two of his fingers into my hole, well past the thick knuckles, by the feel of it, and massaged my walls in tender intercourse. The alien sensations rushing through my body momentarily robbed me of breath. I shuddered uncontrollably, 348
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not so much in skittishness but, oddly enough, in pleasure. Before I knew it, Arturo passed my body into Sky’s waiting arms. I used my lover as a mattress, one of his wide shoulders pillowing my head, and savored the hair-covered flesh and sinew beneath me. Arturo positioned himself behind me, then spread my cheeks and buried his tongue into my hole. More shudders rippled through me, and I groaned. “You don’t have to go through with this, you know?” Skylar whispered into my ear. “Yes, I do.” “I’ll happily live the rest of my life being pestered by this spirit rather than force you to do something that will make you at all uncomfortable.” “I appreciate that, but I need to do this for his sake, for the sake of our descendents. Plus, I don’t want us to be haunted forever, but free to love each other without outside influences governing our thoughts. Can you understand that?” “Of course.” He planted a long, compassionate kiss on my forehead. “And it makes me love you even more.” I grabbed his face with one hand, his stubble grating against my palm. “And I love you, too. More than I ever thought possible.” I buried my tongue in his mouth, delighting in the hunger he displayed. “Promise me something.” “Anything.” “That when he’s through, you’ll take over. I don’t mean ‘fuck me,’ but ‘make love’ to me.” “I always will.” The tongue slid out of my anus, replaced a moment later 349
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by what felt like a plump ball. It took me a moment to realize that Arturo now used the head of his cock to probe me. Skylar’s hands moved down my side and gripped my butt cheeks, prying them apart with his fingers to aid the ghost’s entrance. All the while, my lover and I kissed, our bodies squirming against each other and creating a delectable friction that kept my dick as hard as granite. The tip of the ghost’s cock smeared additional pre-cum against my tingling hole. “So, you willingly give yourself to me, Matthew?” he asked, his voice a growl of desire. “W-willingly?” “I just want to make absolutely certain you want me to fill you. That you, a descendant of Gregor Rhodeleska, willingly wants my cock inside of him, that this is not rape.” “Yes, yes, damn it, I want your cock inside me!” Seemingly of their own volition, my hips bucked backward in a futile attempt to capture more than his crown within my asslips. “I want you to fuck me, Arturo. Do it now! Let me feel that cock inside me now!” Once again, he breached my entrance, only this time, he slid farther into me, adding inch after inch of his abundant erection. And fast! A proctologist’s exam from hell. I bit my lower lip, suppressing the whimpers and groans as the agony increased. “Hey, Doctor Dick, go slower, huh?” I barked over my shoulder. “Sorry, Matthew. I will try to curb my enthusiasm.” Arturo withdrew most of his shaft, giving me a momentary 350
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break, but then he pushed into me again, deeper this time. But, true to his word, he did proceed at a lethargic pace, giving my tunnel walls time to get used to his foray. Regardless of his speed, I gasped for breath. My ass muscles quivered, but to my surprise, actually started to grow accustomed to the foreign object, and the pain eventually began to subside. Okay, overall, not the most pleasant sensation, I’ll admit, but certainly not the worst I had ever endured. Nevertheless, when Arturo thrust deeper still, initiating a slow and steady rhythm to his invasion, my muscles clamped around his pole and I wondered if I could bear it much longer. “Just relax, Matt,” whispered Skylar. “Try not to fight it. Release the tension in your muscles and let your body react on its own. Allow his cock to bring you pleasure. Concentrate on that…” The soothing tenor of my lover’s voice helped even more than his advice. I focused my attention and soon found a strange delight in the way the lengthy shaft rubbed against my inner walls. My prostate came alive with an energy that felt almost electrical, and waves of warmth speared through my veins. It also helped that Skylar continued to massage my backside with his strong hands, his lips leaving trails of saliva along my shoulders and the corded muscles of my neck. He waggled his lower body, also making certain his cock stroked mine from side to side, which kept me hard and added extra fire to my crotch. Finally, I felt Arturo’s pubic hair tickling my buttocks, and realized he had filled me to the hilt. He held me to him for a 351
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moment, long enough for me to actually detect the profound and untamed throbbing of his penis within my tunnel. And long enough for me to familiarize myself with his entire length. When next he moved, any lingering pain gave way to a comforting heat, and soon my head buzzed from the unique stimulation my bowels received. Without warning, he slid his cock out of my hole, leaving me to gasp at the startling emptiness. When I felt Arturo reach between our bodies and take Skylar’s shaft in hand, I turned my head. “W-what are you doing? Why aren’t you finishing?” “Because there is something I have longed to see while observing the pair of you this past week.” “Which is?” Without answering, he smiled and lowered his head. Beneath me, Skylar shuddered, and a satisfied groan escaped his lips. Only then did I realize the ghost had taken my lover’s dick into his mouth. For a few moments, the unmistakable sounds of cock-sucking filled the air. Skylar kissed me, his tongue delving deeply into my mouth and his moans of pleasure rumbling through me. Suddenly, another object breached my ass-lips, one as rigid as the previous pole, yet somehow not as painfully obese. When Skylar yanked his mouth from mine, his moans morphed into growls, and I quickly deduced that Arturo had guided my lover’s erection into me. “Love him, Skylar,” instructed the ghost, his deep voice crackling with lust. “Let me see you love Matthew in this special way.” 352
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Obviously needing no additional encouragement, Skylar gripped my ass cheeks and plunged into my chute. Like before, my muscles molded around his length, but the twinges of being stretched out of proportion did not return. I felt only a mellow and agreeable ache that once again rushed heat through my veins and had my head floating in a sea of bliss. Skylar’s accompanying kisses took on a renewed hunger, and the beautifully masculine body I had explored time and again this past week became a platform of writhing muscles, a wanton funhouse ride for me to enjoy. Arturo flicked his tongue over my birthmark, then ventured lower to my hole. He spit several times, his saliva greasing my lover’s shaft as it cautiously pistoned in and out of me. “This past week, you performed many a show for my entertainment, gentlemen, and it did my heart good to feel the distinct and burning passion you share for one another.” I used my muscles to squeeze Skylar’s cock each time he filled me to the brink, not wanting to let him go, not wanting to feel the emptiness without him. His burning kisses conveyed his appreciation, and his tempo eventually accelerated. I found myself bucking backward to meet his loving thrusts, savoring the way his throbbing shaft pervaded every inch of me. “Yes, gentlemen, make love to each other…make love every moment you can…” said Arturo, planting kisses along my spine and moving upward toward my neck. “I knew you would come to my aid. I knew you would be the perfect duo to help me break free of my hellish and lonely prison.” His 353
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mustache tickled my cheek while his tongue entered my ear canal. “Love each other as much as you can…love each other until your dying day and let no one stand between you and your happiness. Waste no time…live for the moment in each other’s arms…” Skylar and I took turns kissing his moist lips. He tenderly stroked our hair while tears leaked from his eyes, dotting our faces and merging with our sweat. “I envy you. Take advantage of this world in which you live, this world in which your love is accepted more readily and without shame. Stand proudly as a team and do not cower in fear. Do not live in the shadows like my lovers and I were forced to do. You have no witches to place curses on your souls, no laws that put you to death for following your hearts, so live freely and make love as your yearning dictates.” Arturo burrowed his head between our bodies, forcing me into a sitting position atop Skylar’s rigid pole. For the past few minutes, with the friction of my lover’s cock against my walls and my own shaft brushing against his ridged belly as he fucked me, a fire had already built in my loins. But when Arturo took me into his mouth, his wiggling tongue adding extra heat to my internal furnace, I could hold back no longer. I climaxed with a strength I had never thought possible. Inhuman howls echoed through the gallery, and only the pain in my throat told me the sounds had issued from my vocal chords. Shudders wracked my body, while my muscles spasmed around the solid cock inside me. I felt as if I would topple over, perhaps even melt from the endless wave of torrid 354
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shivers racing through me, but Skylar and Arturo’s secure hands anchored me in place. The ghost continued to milk me with his mouth, draining my penis before releasing me. He kissed my lips, then Skylar’s, allowing us to taste my cum, then lifted me off my lover’s shaft and reclaimed his position behind me. When his mammoth erection once again filled my hole, more howls poured from my mouth, this time merging with Arturo’s grunts and gasps. The spirit fucked me like a madman. In high contrast, Skylar held me against his body, and like before, stroked and massaged my backside in a loving manner, kissing my upper chest, shoulders, and neck. His muttered declarations of love reached my eardrums, even through Arturo’s cries of approaching climax. A flash of light in my peripheral vision caught my attention. I turned my head and looked at the crystal ball. No longer swirling with colors, the inner fog had gathered into a solid ball of light. It blinked like an out-of-control quasar, faster and faster, matching the thrusting speed of Arturo’s hips. “The light! What is that light?” shouted the ghost. He pointed, not at the crystal ball, but over my shoulder toward the last painting Skylar had completed, the canvas from which Arturo had emerged. “There’s no light there,” barked Sky, speaking for the both of us. “But there is!” contradicted Arturo. “’Tis more beautiful 355
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than…than anything in this world…and…and…” He plunged into me, filling me with his entire shaft. With abnormal strength, he grabbed my shoulders and yanked me backward against him, fully skewering me and holding me in place. “And I see…I see Claudio! Dear Claudio! My lover! Beckoning me with Gregor at his side! ’Tis a breathtaking sight and…” His words ended in a series of guttural growls that signaled his orgasm. He waggled his hips, his cock painfully stretching me to the hilt. I craned my neck to look behind me, intending to beg Arturo to release his super-human hold on me. That’s when I noted his transparency. Damn, I could clearly see the flesh of my own shoulder as the hand clutching me started to evaporate. His arm followed suit, and although I couldn’t turn my head far enough, I imagined that the rest of him had also begun to fade. Meanwhile, the crystal ball started to tremble, then darted around the carpet in a wobbly motion, as if an unseen soccer player used it for practice. Inside the sphere, the light took on the appearance of a star about to turn supernova. And all around us, the air seemed to come alive once again, snapping with electricity. “Remember…remember my words to you, gentlemen. Love…each other…forever…” A bellow erupted from his mouth. Simultaneously, hot fluid filled my bowels. “…and thank you…” Behind me, the ghost shuddered a final time. I felt a feather-like touch at the base of my spine, as if Arturo had bent down to kiss my birthmark. Then— 356
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Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The crackle in the atmosphere vanished, along with the powerful entity imprisoning me on his rigid cock. The pain in my insides dulled to a tingling ache, and I could no longer feel the warm cum that had flowed into my body a moment earlier. A few inches from Skylar and I, the crystal ball ground to a halt, its interior now devoid of light. I hastily glanced around the galley, finding no signs of the spirit apart from the handsome face and magnificent body depicted in the many canvases lining the walls. The only treasures we had left by which to remember him. A surge of absolute joy rushed through me, making me almost dizzy in its intensity. Not only had we successfully broken the curse and aided Arturo, allowing him to reunite with his lovers in another realm of existence, but I now knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that souls truly did exist outside this Earthly plane. And unlike the empty crystal ball, my love for Skylar overflowed within my heart. From the expression on his face, the sparkle in his eyes, I could also clearly see that his feelings for me hadn’t changed as I feared they might without the ghostly influence. The knowledge that he and I could—and would, if I had anything to say about it—continue our love affair long after we departed this world for the next, gifted me with unimaginable tranquility. In my euphoric state, I nearly jumped off the ground when the rigid pole invaded my ass. “What the—?” “Fear not, my love,” said Skylar, his eyes crinkling in lustful amusement. 357
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“Huh?” His cock slid effortlessly into me until his pubic hair tickled my buttocks. “’Tis not our spirit friend come to fuck you anew,” he said, his voice adopting Arturo’s rich, European tenor. “’Tis only I, your Earthly lover, who intends to follow his advice to the letter. To not waste one precious moment and to make love to you at every opportunity.” I squeezed my muscles around his shaft. “You have no other choice, since I don’t intend to release you.” I bent down and gave his mouth a gluttonous kiss. “Or at least until I feel your hot cum inside me.” Without warning, he rolled me onto my back. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he tugged his penis from my hole, his crown poised just at my entrance. I waited for him to delve back into me, but he hesitated. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “You know, Matt, I haven’t had much practice in this particular role. I’m usually on the receiving end. Plus, I’ll likely explode at any second.” “So what? You think you won’t be the supreme Fuck-anator in my eyes?” He smirked. “Well, yeah, something like that.” “And what makes you think I’ll be the perfect Fuck-anatee? Up until last week, I hadn’t even touched another man’s dick. I’m still learning. Shit, in a way, I guess we’re both still learning, especially when it comes to living without a ghostly presence driving our every action, so we can experiment together. Besides, you and I are a lot alike. Olga 358
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said so herself earlier today.” “She did? Refresh my memory.” “We’re both ‘quick studies.’ The only trouble is, I have little patience, remember?” With that, I wrapped my legs even tighter around his waist and used my heels and calves to tug his buttocks forward. His cock slid halfway into me. “Now show me what you’ve got, Artist Man. Be my Fuck-a-nator. And later on, I’ll return the favor as many times as you want.” “As many times?” He laughed and plunged all the way into me, making me gasp in pleasure. “I’m not sure you can count that high, let alone have the stamina for such a chore.” “The way you make me horny, I know I’ll prove you wrong.” When his lips came down on mine, our tongues engaged in a passionate joust. A moment later, his hips began to piston and he quickly showed me just what sort of “Fuck-a-nator” he could be—gentle and loving, manly and fierce, all at the same time. He proved he could take on any role required of him, and I sensed our love life would never be without variety. Oh, yes, I’d gladly let him fuck me anytime he wanted, and I intended to screw the hell out of him every chance I got. When he finally filled me with his torrid juice, I held his shuddering body close to mine and basked in renewed joy.
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CHAPTER 22 “You’re what?” “You heard me correctly. I’m gay.” Jefferson Pennington Bogart, wearing only his typical jogging shorts and a wife-beater T-shirt, tapped his bare foot on the kitchen’s scuffed linoleum floor. By the way his handsome face became a map of wrinkles and ridges, and the way he avoided direct eye contact with me, I could practically see the wheels spinning frantically in his head. He pointed toward the apartment’s living room, littered, as always, in empty pizza boxes and beer bottles. “I suppose he put you up to it, huh?” Skylar stood beside a huge stereo speaker, his hands buried 360
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in the pockets of his blue jeans. He gave me a look of encouragement, but said nothing. He had come with me this morning to lend only his muscles and moral support, and had promised me earlier that when it came to dealing with Jeff, he would leave it up to me and not interfere. “I knew something was going to happen with you posing in the raw for this—this artist!” Jeff spat the last word like a vile curse. “And you slept at his gallery this past weekend? Did he force himself on you? Did he convince you to change?” “Yeah, Jeff, that’s exactly it…Skylar has a monthly quota to fill.” “He what?” “He needs to corrupt a certain number of innocent straight dudes each year so he can keep his memberships in the Cher and Madonna fan clubs.” It took Jeff several beats to catch the sarcasm and sheer lunacy of my statement. When he did, he huffed. “Very funny! So, how long since you’ve been a fa—err, gay?” I sighed. At least he tried to use politically correct terminology, letting me know that his current anger and shock hadn’t erased all our months of friendship. “I’ve been gay my entire life.” “You’re entire…? Shit! But half the girls on campus would fuck your brains out.” “I don’t want them.” “You did when you first moved in here.” “It was an act. A façade, plain and simple.” 361
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“A what? No, I’ll tell you what it was. This artist put you up to it, enticed you in some way and—” “It’s not like a light switch you can turn off and on, or like a ‘gay bulb’ suddenly lit up inside my head. And it’s not like I posed for a painting and—poof—I became gay. I’ve always been gay.” “So you were gay when we…when we did that chick together?” Color imbued his face as he obviously recalled that I’d been just a tongue-length away from his boner during that drunken escapade all those months ago. “Is that what you’re saying? You were gay that night?” “Yes, Jeff, that’s what I’m saying.” “But you don’t act gay, damn it! Hell, even he doesn’t act gay.” “And how do you expect us to act? Do you still believe that all gay men flutter around wearing tutus and tossing fairy dust into the air?” “Of course not…” “Or perhaps they all strutted around wearing leather, chains, and studs with whips in their hands like Rob Halford of Judas Priest?” “Hey! Halford ain’t gay. It’s all a media fabrication. Now Freddie Mercury, on the other hand, I can believe. But Halford…? No way in fucking hell.” “Oh, Jeff, Jeff, Jeff…what am I going to do with you? Have you learned nothing in all these months? We’ve had several serious discussions about your stereotypical viewpoints and—” 362
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“Yeah, yeah, we sure have. But I never thought you were talking about yourself, damn it! You should have told me! That’s what’s pissing me off!” “Fair enough. I apologize for not having the courage to admit it all these months. Hell, all these years. The truth is, I’ve never wanted to admit it to myself…until now.” “And what makes now different? Him?” “His name is Skylar. And yes, after spending time with Skylar, I came to realize that I could no longer live a lie. I needed to come out of the closet and just be myself. Otherwise, I’d be miserable.” “And this is what you want? This is how you’ve decided to live your life?” “Decided? Haven’t you been listening? Yes, I want this, but I also have no other choice. This is who I am. And you have no idea the relief I’m experiencing at this very moment just by admitting it.” Grunting his frustration, he spun from me and stomped across the kitchen. With both hands planted against a countertop cluttered with food-encrusted dishes and eating utensils, he took several long breaths. When he turned around, I noted how his cheeks had flushed with scarlet. “You know what this means, don’t you?” “I’m sure you’ll enlighten me.” “I-I don’t think I want you to live here any more.” “I figured you’d say as much. That’s why I came prepared.” “What do you mean?” 363
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“Skylar and I rented a van for the day. I’m packing my things and moving out.” “So that’s it, huh? No compromise? No willingness to change in order to finish out the school year in this apartment like we’d planned? I thought our friendship meant something to you!” I kept reminding myself that Jeff had never been a meanspirited individual. His words, his current attitude, came from not hatred or bigotry, but from simple ignorance. Therefore, with all of my might, I held my fury in check. “I could say the same, you know?” “About what?” “Friendship. I thought we were friends, and I hope we can continue to be. But instead of understanding what I’m saying, you’re dishing out an ultimatum…‘either go back to being straight, or don’t live here.’” “So?” “So it doesn’t work like that, buddy boy. Once again, and for the last time, I have no choice in the matter. I’m queer, a homosexual, and I’ve always been this way. Don’t you get it? I can’t ‘turn straight on demand’ just to keep you happy, and keep my apartment, as much as I’d like to fulfill my commitment. Until the lease expires or you can find another roommate, I’ll pay my share of the rent each month, of course, which is the right thing to do. But I can’t live here knowing you don’t understand or approve of my relationship with Sky. The tension would certainly destroy whatever friendship we might have remaining, and that wouldn’t be fair to you, or to 364
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Vance and Darrin. I suspected this might be tough for you to deal with, so I’ve made other arrangements.” “And where will you live? With him, I suppose?” “Yes, last night Skylar invited me to move in with him. I couldn’t refuse. And for what I’m about to say, I wish you would look me in the eye. Please.” He finally did, but with obvious reluctance. “Why?” “Because it’s important, and I want to make sure you comprehend.” I took a few steps forward and kept my voice calm. “I know I dropped this bomb on you from out of nowhere, and I know you’re probably feeling betrayed, shocked, furious, and uncomfortable. But please know, our friendship means a great deal to me. And I respect you enough to tell you the whole truth. So please, can you try to understand what I’m saying to you? I am who I am—period— and for that, I won’t apologize. I love him, Jeff. I love Skylar with all of my heart. That’s the God’s-honest truth.” For a long moment, he said nothing, just stared at me, as if judging my sincerity. Finally, to my enormous relief, the lines of anger in his face slowly dissipated. The shock of my news seemed to be wearing off, at least for the moment. “Okay, okay, I don’t like it a fucking bit, and it’ll take me a while to get used to how this whole ‘gay thing’ works, but I get it. Or at least I think I do.” “That’s all I wanted. Thank you.” “Well, you’re welcome.” He actually blushed. “You know, I guess you don’t have to move out if you don’t want to. I mean, we have only a few more months on the lease and I 365
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suppose I can live with this whole thing—” “I appreciate you saying that, more than you’ll ever know, but I couldn’t keep using my room here. It’s way too small.” “What do you mean?” “I’ll need a much larger place, a central location in which to operate, for when I’m issued my own quota for ‘gay recruitment.’” A ghost of a smile turned up the corners of Jeff’s mouth. He tried to fight it, I could tell, but he couldn’t quite master the task. “You just think you’re so fucking smart and amusing, don’t you?” “I have my moments.” “So what the hell do I tell your parents when they call?” “Nothing. I’ll be informing them about the move later today once I get resettled. And I’ll be telling them the full reasons for the move next weekend when I go home for a visit.” “And Vance and Darrin?” “Tomorrow’s Tuesday, so I’ll come back when they have their afternoon free period and explain. They deserve to hear the whole truth from me.” “And…and…” “And what?” For a split second, I thought I noticed moisture in his eyes. “And who is gonna be my willing guinea pig when I whip up all of my booze concoctions? Who am I gonna wake up when I need help getting rid of the crazy broads that refuse to leave in the mornings? And who the hell is gonna help me with my 366
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goddamned English homework? You know the cousins are morons when it comes to that crap, so I’ve got no one! No one!” I smiled. I’ll miss you, too, Jeff. Yes, given time, our friendship would probably survive after all. To make certain he knew it, I extended the proverbial olive branch. “You’ve still got me. I’m just a phone call away. And if you want, I can drop by anytime. It’s not like I’m moving to Pluto, you know, just a ten-minute jog away. Besides, you need the exercise, pal…all that beer is starting to give you a spare tire.” “Hey! I’m in fine shape. But I guess I don’t need to tell you that, considering you’ve probably been ogling my body at every goddamned opportunity!” “Ah, yes, you know me so well, Jeff. Care to be my first recruit into the Gay Army?” Again, he turned his back on me, but not before I noticed another grin forming on his lips. “Fuck you, dickhead!” “Is that an offer?” “Go to hell! And you had better not grab my Maiden or Sabbath or Priest CDs, or there will be fucking hell to pay!” *
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Nearly an hour later, after Sky and I had loaded the van with my belongings, he got into the driver’s seat and released a lengthy sigh. “Well, that could have gone much worse.” “No kidding. He’ll be alright, I think. And I need to thank you once again for being here with me, yet maintaining your distance and keeping your cool.” 367
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“You’re welcome. And you did a splendid job all on your own.” He leaned over and gave me a kiss that quickly turned passionate. “But enough about him. Ready to move into your new home and officially begin our life as a proud gay couple?” His voice lowered to a sensual growl. “I have a great deal of plans for this evening.” “I can only imagine, and I’m definitely ready. More than you’ll ever know. But don’t forget, we need to make a second stop, and this could put a damper on your so-called plans.” “Oh, yeah, I forgot—Olga. Couldn’t we put that off until tomorrow?” From the van’s floorboard, I grabbed the heavy carpetbag she had left at the studio the previous day. “We could, but I’m not sure how long she can go without her crystal ball and the rest of her do-dads.” “What do you think she’ll say when we tell her what happened with Arturo yesterday? Especially when she learns she’s more connected to us than she ever imagined?” “Lord knows, but with her talking in her usual roundabout and crazy circles, we may not get back to the studio before nightfall.” He laughed. “Well, look on the bright side. At least our visit to her bookstore could prove profitable. For one of us, anyway…” “How so?” “If you finally surrender to her demands by performing one of your sexy stripper routines, you might collect enough cash in your g-string for a luxurious dinner. A way to 368
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celebrate our newfound living arrangement, you know?” “You’re a fucking riot, Sky.” “To quote you from earlier today, ‘I have my moments.’” He started the ignition and put the van into gear. “And then later, perhaps you’ll do one of those same routines for me.” “And can I expect even more cash?” “Oh, you’ll get something, all right, if you catch my drift.” I planted another long kiss on his mouth. The flavor of peppermint sent a tingle through my body and into my groin. “Worth all of the money in this or any other plane of existence.”
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KARMA EASTWICK
Born in New York City, Karma Eastwick (a pseudonym) grew up in the entertainment industry. Both of her parents are playwrights, her brother directs for television, and her sister currently works on the Broadway stage. Although bitten in college by the acting bug herself, Karma came to the conclusion early on that she preferred life behind the curtain, so she followed in her parents’ footsteps and tried her hand at writing. She has several plays and screenplays to her credit, but discovered she truly enjoys writing novel-length genre fiction the best. During the past decade, she has had several “straight” romance and erotic romance novels published under various pen names, as well as a handful of shorter works published in the fantasy, dark fantasy, and paranormal genres. She uses the “Karma Eastwick” penname only for works that fall under the “gay erotica/man-love” category and hopes to write more of these stories for Amber Quill Press once she finalizes several other key projects. Now in her early thirties and (reasonably) settled, Karma currently lives in Connecticut and is married to a Broadway and “Soap” actor. They have two pesky golden labs, Samantha and Rocky, who “run” the household, and a lazy and aloof cat named Drucilla who barely tolerates all of them. When not writing, Karma enjoys gardening, travel, horseback riding, and charity/fundraising work.
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