Journey Thru Abilene Ch. 01-02

"Thursday then? I'll meet you here at six and take you to dinner and then the movie?"

And then what and where? Gordy's mind was screaming. Where will he take me to do it? Will I have no control? I have some control when I take them upstairs. But he guessed he was way past bringing that up now. He hadn't rejected the idea when it had been flatly stated. The Marine lieutenant was just too good looking and smooth to turn down. "Yeah, sure. I'll be here; it'll be good to get away from the bar," is what he said.

"And you'll take my cock? We have to be clear about that."

"Yeah," Gordy answered, "You can fuck me."

As Dean got up from the bar, not finishing his second beer, making clear that it wasn't beer he'd come in to the bar for, and moved off toward the door, Gordy's first thoughts were "nice buns" and boy he's tall—but broad shouldered. His next thought was that he had forgotten to name a price. But maybe this one was special. Maybe he didn't want to whore himself for this one.

And the guy had said he'd pay for everything on the date. Gordy didn't get many offers that good. Being a rent-boy if a town this small didn't pay that well.

* * * *

Gordy didn't remember afterward what they ate, but since it was at a pizza restaurant, with them eating there because Dean had asked him what he wanted to eat, it must have been pizza. Nor did he remember much from the Spiderman movie. He remembered being courted when the guy didn't have to, as the guy had already established he was going to fuck him. That was nice—that the guy was treating him right. And Dean was someone it wasn't hard to go with. The man towered over him, slim but with great musculature, looking down at him with a nice smile as they walked along. Dean wasn't holding Gordy possessively, but he was stooping to whisper how cute Gordy was, what a nice body he had, how nice his smile was.

And he was touching Gordy here and there—on the arm, the thigh, a palm to the small of Gordy's back as the Marine politely held the restaurant door for Gordy to go through, a palm on Gordy's butt as they went through the doors into the theater, holding Gordy's hand in the dark theater, inserting a finger into the palm of Gordy's hand and making Gordy shudder at the feel of the finger moving back and forth, suggestively, keeping Gordy thinking that after all this the guy was going to put his dick in him and move it like the man was moving his finger on Gordy's palm in the theater. Not just that, but Dean put an arm around Gordy's shoulder in the theater and turned his head for a kiss as Dean's hand went to Gordy's basket and traced the hard cock it found there. Gordy's cock had been hard since before Dean had picked him up at the bar. Gordy pushed his groin up into Dean's hand and he covered it with his own. Oh, yes, Gordy was going to let Dean fuck him.

Gordy had never been courted—and prepared—like this. Ever.

"Well, I guess this is it for the night. That was very nice," Dean murmured in front of the garage in back of the old house on Harrington Street, running up from the Beaufort harbor and Bay Street. Gordy was living in a small studio apartment above the garage, only partially paid for by Gordy. Josh Cardwell liked someplace more private he could go to for his trysts with Gordy, so he footed most of the bill.

Gordy didn't know what Dean was saying was nice. The laid-back evening they had shared or the deep kiss they had just joined in the shadows of the back of the garage, around the corner from the lit stairs up to Gordy's rooms.

"Aren't you going to come up?"

"I don't want to push it on the first date," Dean answered in a low, hoarse voice. "I want to do this one right. I think you're special. I know what I said about the date—what I mind you say you'd do. But I think you're too nice to push like that. You should have a say in this."

Dean gave a little jerk and shudder then, though, as Gordy was pulling the zipper down on his trousers, wrapping an arm around his neck, and pulling his face in for another kiss. Pulling away from the kiss, his hand already gripping Dean's hardened cock, Gordy went down on his knees between Dean's legs. The Marine braced his arms on the clapboard boards sheathing the back of the garage and whispered, "Oh, god, oh holy shit. Yes, like that," as Gordy swallowed his cock.

If Dean was just working Gordy so he'd want it, it was working.

They only made it to the couch inside the door of Gordy's rooms for the first fucking. Gordy's chest was resting on the arm of the couch, his head and arms dangling toward to the floor at the side of the couch, his body streaming out along the bench of the couch, while the fit Marine was suspended above him, doing an endless set of pushups above Gordy's back, with his cock thrusting down and pulling back with each pushup. After twenty minutes of it, exhausted, Gordy had just collapsed along the sofa and let the Marine take his time. Gordy had already ejaculated.

For the second fucking, on the bed, in the missionary position, Dean crouched over Gordy's chest, their eyes glued to each other, as the Marine showed the famous stamina and vigor of his service in pumping Gordy long and hard again. From time to time the fingers of Dean's hand moved close to the rose tattoo on Gordy's hip, but each time the young blond brushed it away, murmuring, "No, please, I want to do this right. I don't want this to be because of that."

Dean had no idea what that meant, but he was lost to Gordy, followed the young blond's lead, and fucked on.

When they subsequently met, Gordy gave in to Dean's discovery of the power of the tattoo and their lovemaking became wilder. Gordy refused to take money for it, saying it was too important to him for that.

The two managed to meet and fuck nearly every day for the next three weeks. Josh Cardwell noticed the change in Gordy, quizzed him about it, and didn't like Gordy's evasions one bit. Leaving the bar one evening, he saw Gordy arm in arm with a Marine who was showing up at the bar more frequently than he had been in previous weeks. The two obviously were headed back to that garage apartment Cardwell was helping to pay for on Harrington Street.

Cardwell hadn't fucked Gordy in a couple of weeks. Cardwell had been preoccupied with a business problem, and Gordy never seemed to be around except to do his job and then to bug out before Cardwell could get his hands on him—and, more tellingly, before one of the male patrons mounted the stairs to the second floor of the bar behind Gordy. Those second-floor visits didn't pay much. Cardwell was losing financial opportunity on the young man—and he was missing the wild fucks that stroking Gordy's sweet sex spot got him.

Part of Cardwell told him to do something about the situation. He knew guys who would do whatever he wanted. Another part, though, told him to just let it ride out. Gordy was a little whore. This was just a passing infatuation. He'd be back in the saddle soon.

And then Gordy was, indeed, back into the old grove. He wasn't his former self, though. He had always been withdrawn and distant, but now he was more so and was a bit testy and morose in the mix as well.

Cardwell had been right about the Marine lieutenant being a passing phase. One day he was there, upstairs in Gordy's rooms, fucking the young man in various languid positions. And the next day he was gone, without a word. But then Cardwell knew more about the why of that than Gordy did.

Three weeks previously Dean had gotten his assignment—to Billings, Montana, as a Marine recruitment officer. And he'd told Gordy about that, almost apologetically.

"It's not anything like Rome," he'd whispered in Gordy's ear as he held the young blond into his stomach, both of them on their sides on the bed, only Dean's pelvis moving as he fucked Gordy slow and deep from the back. "It isn't even anything like Beaufort in terms of liveliness," he said.

"But you are going there."

"I've been assigned there. I'm a career Marine. I go where I'm sent. It isn't Afghanistan either, which is good for us, although Afghanistan would be better for my career."

"Good for us?"

"Because you can go with me. You couldn't go to Afghanistan with me—unless you enlisted. And I don't want you to do that. I don't want you to take that risk."

"Go with you?"

"Just think about it."

Gordy didn't have to think about it. He knew he'd go. He'd somehow get to Afghanistan even if he had to—to be with Dean. But the fucking got a bit intense and he didn't have time to answer. He was asleep when Dean left him, having to spend his nights at the base.

And then there was no opportunity to give Dean an answer. Dean just didn't show up again. Dean had abandoned him. It had all just been so that Dean could dip his wick for free while he was waiting out a temporary Parris Island assignment.

Gordy waited for a week and then grieved for a couple of weeks and then went back to the bar, offering himself even more often and freely than before. Because now Gordy was sure he wanted to leave Beaufort. To get far, far away from Beaufort. He decided to head for the West Coast. That was as far from Beaufort as he could conceive he ever could go. Dip his feet in the Pacific. Yeah, that's what he'd do, he decided. It had to be better than the Atlantic. Anyplace must be better than here.