Sis amplexibus Amor alios mututa memini et amoris in mutationes memini.
May you be embraced by a love beyond recall that alters others
and a love within recall that alters you.
It was 9:50 when Alex arrived at Story. Enough time to put on his official wait staff shirt and apron.
“Replaced Linda that fast.” Cally smirked.
“Whaddya mean.” Did he smell any different after being with Harris? Box breath was one thing but man sweat was another.
“You have look in your eyes that you get when you’ve just fucked some girl’s brains out.”
“First off I don’t dig ‘girls’ I prefer women. Adult women, preferably with jobs. And second it’s none of your business and you can tell Linda that too.”
Saturday was one of the live music nights at Story. Tonight was a regular band – Plusher an Usher cover band. Slinky, but loud, soul which Alex found easier to take than Meatillica, a Metallica tribute band that was merely loud and distorted. Plusher brought in women whereas Meatillica brought in over-the-hill guys in their forties who thought they were still in their teens. The women smelled better, tipped better and the men didn’t annoy the female staff by trying to get lucky.
Loud music always meant lots of leaning closer than usual to tables to hear orders. Sweet smelling women were always more enjoyable than guys who hadn’t showered and hoped their aftershave would do the job.
His duties were to clear, pass orders on to wait staff and sometimes deliver them. He got his usual share of women flirting with him and at least two inappropriate touches. He’d learned never to shave before going to work on Plusher nights. The women couldn’t resist feeling his stubble. One went further and actually rode her hand under his apron to get a good feel of his equipment.
He stopped her. “Ma’am. The zipper is always up.”
She laughed. “That’s not what I heard. I’m a friend of Gemma. You know from last week. She recommends your special back alley service very highly.”
“Thank her for me.” he disengaged her hand. Her heavily jewelled bracelet sparked in the light. Is that what real diamonds look like? “Tonight is strictly table service.” He stepped away. Her musky rose perfume seemed to cling to his apron as he smoothed it down.
“Too bad.” the woman made a playful yet disappointed face. “Here, hot stuff, this’ll change your mind.”
She a handed him a twenty folded around a tin-foil twist. He knew it was coke.
“Thanks.” He took the twist out and pocketed the twenty.
“As you can see there is more than one of us tonight who have heard about the great service here.” She nodded to the two women who were with her.
In this light they all appeared to be in their late 20’s. Not the sort who’d have to resort to this, but what they wanted was control, the sense of power that came from buying what they wanted when they wanted. He understood that.
“There’s more where that came from especially if you can get him …” she eye-balled Dezum, one of the bartenders. “ … to join in. After work of course.”
“I’m flattered but I could lose my job.”
“Didn’t seem to bother you and Gemma, did it?”
He cleared their table and went over to Dezum, gave him the twist. “A tip from the gals at 12. They asked for your black ass in partic’lar.”
Dex looked over and women waved to him.
“Tempting.” Dezum chuckled.
“Fend for yourself.”
Alex took a tray of drinks to another table. He saw Dezum go over to thank the ladies personally and could hear his deep laugh as he joked with him.
Normally this was an offer he’d accept but tonight it was more amusing than appealing.
The head of his cock twitched as he recalled it sliding along Harris stomach. The seemingly endless smoothness of it. Like a pussy without lips but friction. To fuck that flesh without a safe. To know he could shoot off and not have to worry if it was too soon or if some broad had an orgasm herself. Not to have to prove his manliness by pleasing her. To shoot off and not worry about getting her knocked up.
Then there was the feel of Harris’s legs clamped around his. Strong muscular legs that Alex wasn’t afraid of bruising or breaking as he humped harder than he’d humped before. Without needing to be delicate here, hard there. One solid endless thrust.
If that was gay sex then he dug it. Sex without penetration. How fucked was that. He was glad his apron covered the boner he had developed.
The night went quickly. Twice he gently but firmly declined the party and play offer from the women who had made the generous offer. At the end of the night he assured them they be well pleased with Dezum and Hassler the two barman who had agreed to ‘see them home safely.’
Riding his bike home he replayed his tumble with Harris. Harris never surrendered but didn’t resist all that much either. The pulse of his coming was clear in his mind. The thrill of it building, his rearing up to give it room to explode, the feel of Harris’s cock as it bumped against his balls. The panic when he felt it touching his butt threatening to go up his ass. No way that was in the picture. No way.
His cock up Harris’s big round ass, maybe, but never the other way around.
Yet that panic, the fear of the pain of being fucked in the ass give his orgasm an endless thrust that he had shot off twice. Twice! Who knew men could have multiple orgasms.
He was hard when he stored his bike between the houses.
As vivid as his memory of his orgasm was and how clear the feel of his cock against Harris’s stomach was, he couldn’t recall what Harris’s cock looked like. Had he seen it? Sure he had played with it through the barrier of clothing but he hadn’t handled it. The accidental brush of it against his asshole didn’t count as touching.
If he hadn’t touched a cock, or had his handled by a man, he couldn’t be queer. He was another oversexed guy who didn’t care how he got off. Right?
The last time his mother called to say she had a surprise it was that his folks were going to Florida for the winter.
“What would Sunday brunch be without a surprise of my own.” He gave her a selection of the face cream samples that SofSknX had sent to dE.tail. They had sent enough for a staff of twenty.
“Thank you Harris.”
“Morning Dad.” He and his Dad exchanged quick shoulder hugs. “I’ve read the Tobias pages a few times. He fell under the spell but never knew it.”
“I know. I know. But we do have a surprise for you.”
“I’m all ears.”
“It’s upstairs. In your room.” His Dad grinned.
They followed him as he went up the stairs.
“You mean you’ve finally remodelled it? About time.”
He opened the door and crossed legged on the floor was a young man reading one of Harris comic books, with dozens of them strewn all around him. Harris felt he had stepped through a time warp and walked in on himself twenty years ago.
“Hi. Cool collection.” The young man stood quickly, careful not to step on any of the comic books. “You must be Harris. I’m Marshall Caldwell.”
They looked one another up and down. Harris was wishing he had worn less comfortable clothes. Their eyes met.
“You are my father!”
“Oh yeah. I’m your father Luke.” He laughed. Without seeing paternity results Harris knew in his bones that this was his son. Son! He sat on the bed.
“We’ll leave you two to get acquainted. Come on Tom you can help in the kitchen. If you promise to stay out of the way.” His mother pushed his Dad out of the room and shut the door.
“How long … when did you find … cripes I don’t know what to say or where to begin. There are loads of questions in my head. Like how old are you? I’m trying to do the math here.”
“Thirty-three. You’re …”
“Nineteen in a month. which made you ….
“Almost fourteen.” Harris shrugged. How much did Marshall know about the curse?
“Wow. You were hitting it pretty young.”
“I guess. Not that I have much memory of it.” He began to put the Black Boxer Boys set back into their protective plastic sleeves.
“You too? Must run in the family.” He handed Harris the Slap Shott he had been reading.
Harris flipped through it. He loved the big double finish of it where Shott hit the mind eraser into the open mouth-like spaceship bay of the aliens who had sent it to Earth while saying ‘Return to sender.’ On the next page was the aliens’ space craft blowing up.
“What do you mean?”
“My mother calls it acting out. I’d been caught with my pants down more than few times at school. Incorrigible is what the teachers called it. But I never could remember what I had done. What’s up with that? She sent me to a shrink.”
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