An Attack of Loneliness

When he was done, Frank called out "Your turn now," to DeLay, who had stripped off his jeans--he wasn't wearing briefs--who exchanged places with his roommate. DeLay fucked me in a missionary, laying me along the sofa cushions, moving his knees between my spread legs, and holding my legs out by gripping my ankles. Both of them were using Trojan Magnum condoms they were pulling out of one box. He, big and thick, entered me slowly and with effort as I yodeled, "Shit! Fuck! You're so big! God, I can feel the ring!" and fucked me and fucked me and fucked me.

Yodeling for him, I glided my hands over his magnificent chocolate torso and moved my hips in rhythm to his thrusts. He rowed my legs back and forth, folded into me with his thrusts, and pulling my legs back with his back swings. At one point, I tried to lift my chest to his, but he backhanded me across the cheek, growling, "Lay there and take it," and I lay back, as commanded, the fuck being all about him and the way he wanted it. I was just providing the vessel of the moment for their release.

I left no doubt from either one of them that I wouldn't give them what they wanted. It was clear, though, that what they wanted was just to get their rock off with some new conquest. They did not give or make any effort to take care of my needs. They took and took and took, doing a couple of rounds of tag teaming on the sofa, getting their rocks off and withdrawing until they were hard again.

I harkened back to the previous night, to their party and what I could hear through the wall. I now understood how it went down with the stripper. I could understand his verbal responses--asking guys to slow down who didn't and for mercy that didn't come--in terms of how he got gangbanged. If there had been more than just these two here, now, I'm sure they would have let me be gangbanged as well.

They were in magnificent shape--young, fit, and virile. And they were rough with me. They forced me into the positions they wanted, slapped me around when I didn't comply fast enough, and stuffed themselves inside me faster than I was comfortably able to spread for them. It was all new and different and satisfying in its own way. It didn't do anything to alleviate my feeling of loneliness, though. We weren't making love. I was being gang fucked.

This was accentuated when they took a break, going back to the leftovers and bottles of champagne and then out to the balcony for a smoke. They left me to whimper and moan on the sofa. They didn't invite me to join them. They didn't do a damn thing but to realize that I was just a piece of new meat to them with a hole to stretch and fill.

The feeling of loneliness flooded in.

After they'd taken a break, they came back inside, moved me from the sofa to one of the double beds in the bedroom, and answered another question I'd had about them. Yes, they were both tops. Yes, they hunted together. And, yes, they shared in sex.

They put me between them and showed the various ways two tops could share one submissive, both of them inside me and fucking me together. I sobbed and suffered, but I gave them what they wanted. At that point, I didn't have any other choice. I convinced myself it was what I wanted, but they didn't care whether or not I was having a good time.

They were both asleep and snoring, one on either side of me, when I maneuvered my way out from between them, picked up my clothes, and returned to my neighboring studio apartment and to my own, solitary bed. I was sore from the rough treatment and for all the trips they'd made up my channel. I was still sobbing and whimpering, but I also was giving a little smile. I didn't blame Frank and DeLay for anything. They'd taken care of the heat I was in. And they hadn't promised to take care of my loneliness.

* * * *

"Ah, yes, that's much the best size. Far less painful. Closer to what I can provide. And glad to see you gave up on the possibility of the eggplant."

"Excuse me?" I said, before turning around and seeing that it was the Food Lion produce guy from New Year's Eve. No reason why he shouldn't be here. This was the produce section of the Highway 501 Food Lion on the late afternoon of day two of the new year. I was holding a very-suggestive size and shaped zucchini. Smaller than the one he'd held up on New Year's Eve, but still formidable in the context that had been hinted at.

"Oh, hi. I thought I bought a zucchini the other day and I was bringing together the ingredients for my dinner and found I hadn't bought a zucchini."

"That would be a dinner for you and...?"

"Just me, I'm afraid."

"Do you really know how to cook a zucchini?"

"No, not really. But there are cook books."

"And you have such a cook book?"

"No, not really. But how hard can it be to cook up a zucchini? There's always the Internet, as needed."

"I know how to cook one--several different ways. All delicious."

Was this a come-on? I wondered. Was he angling for dinner with me? I looked at him. Apron off. Looking really good in his tight black T-shirt, worn jeans, and combat boots. And he was carrying some sort of musical instrument case. I must have looked at it too hard, because he laughed.

"What, this? This is my tenor sax case," he said. "I'm coming off work. It's Friday night and I'll be hitting the jazz clubs later tonight--after I've figured out where I'm having dinner." Again that anticipatory look as if this was where I invited him to dinner.

"You play the sax? At jazz clubs? They have jazz clubs in Myrtle Beach? Even off season?"

"Yes to all of that. You haven't found Ziggie's or the All That Jazz club yet? Or other places where guys like us hang out and develop circles of friends in Myrtle Beach? How long were you planning on being in Myrtle Beach?"

What I wanted to do was to challenge him on the "guys like us" comment, but I didn't. I gave up on that. He was gay; I was gay. The question was whether we would be compatible. I was an exclusive bottom. Was he a top? He sure looked like one. The tenor sax meant we could be in some realm.

"My stay here is pretty open ended," I said. "And, no, I haven't found any place to hang out here in Myrtle Beach. Jazz clubs would be good. I play jazz on the piano and I've worked rooms with small jazz ensembles before."

"Then you must let me introduce you to Ziggie's and the All That Jazz club," he said. "We could go tonight after we've figured dinner out. Then there are some other clubs for later, if you're interested."

"We could have dinner at my place," I said. "You could teach me how best to cook up this zucchini."

"Yes, it would be much better for dinner than other uses it could be put to. You could have the real thing if you wanted." He gave me 'that look.' I knew what he was saying, and suddenly I was in heat again.

"I have a condo in Camelot, which is over near 19th Avenue North," I said.

"I know the place," he answered. "My name is Ryan."

"I'm Richard. But my friends call me Rich."

"I might like to call you Dick," he said. "Might like to call that name out in the night. Dick, Dick, Dick. Let's have a Dick. Hello, this is my Dick." He was smiling.

I didn't have an answer for that so I just blushed and put the zucchini in my shopping cart.

* * * *

I lay there, purring, and watching Ryan moving back and forth in his bungalow bedroom and bath in the mellow early-morning light. He was getting ready for work, he said.

"I don't work full time at the Food Lion," he'd told me the night before. "My family owns the store and I help out when I'm needed--more in the off season like this. I have a putt-putt course near the SkyWheel on Mr. Joe White Avenue. I'm starting to refurbish that for the season today."

Ryan had done everything with and to me. I hadn't had time to feel sorry for myself or to feel lonely. He'd known what to do with a zucchini in the culinary sense. He'd playfully known what to do with it in another sense to help open me up in foreplay. Another something new for me--lying on my back on the bed, legs spread and bent, pelvis slightly elevated, while, hovering over me and capturing my eyes with his, Ryan worked me open with a curved zucchini before rolling over on top of me, and working me with his similarly sized shaft.

He'd also known what jazz clubs were open and where they were located. He was welcome on stage in both of them and dragged me up to the piano. We made beautiful music together and I inherited an instant circle of friends who welcomed me back to play anytime. Later he proved to me that there were gay clubs in town even in the off season. There I picked up more friends of Ryan's who were happy to be friends of mine, as well. I was being given ample reason why I should never free lonely or alone in Myrtle Beach anymore no matter the season.

After 1:00 a.m. on the morning of January 3rd, after an evening that felt to me like New Year's Eve--the advent of not only a new year but also a new life--he brought me back to his small, two-bedroom bungalow on Dunbar Street.

"It's all mine, such as it is," he'd said as his tour through the house ended in the master bedroom.

As small and humble as it was, and as the other houses around it in this section were, it was well kept up and tastefully decorated, and it was located in a highly desirable section of town. When I checked on its Zillow valuation in the next week, I was surprised to see it valued at $480,000.

Ryan wasn't hurting for money. More important, he was hurting for sexual expertise.

He introduced me to a whole new world in bed, fucking me totally and repeatedly, while constantly being solicited that I was having as much pleasure as he was. He was a master of "hide the zucchini," both literally and figuratively. We made beautiful, harmonized sexual music together. We even managed to come together. He didn't just fuck me--he did that well because he was every bit the muscular, demanding, rough construction worker type I fantasized about--he made love to me--constantly. Throughout the night.

Dressed, he came back and stood at the foot of the bed.

"You have two choices," he said. "You can laze around here all day and be ready to do the town again when I get home, or you can get up, dress, and come help me work on the putt-putt course."

"You'd want me around you all day?" I asked.

"Yes, that would be my choice. Not letting each other out of the other's sight for the rest of eternity."

There certainly wasn't anything lonely about that.