Author's Note: Due to life (and an unfortunate incident involving my face and a large block of concrete), it has been nearly a year since I have posted anything. I am posting again, and I'd like to thank everyone who stuck with me throughout my long hiatus, with an extra special Thank You to my beloved beta, Nelle1022, who obviously has the patience of Job.
People are such dicks. I cannot tell you the number of times some asshat has chewed me out for doing my fucking job. But then, I work in a callcenter. For some unknown reason, people who would never be rude to your face think nothing of treating the person on the other end of the phone like shit. Instant asshole, just add technology. It had only been twelve days since Black Friday, and I was literally counting down the hours until the Christmas rush was over. Having the option of available overtime was great and all, but I didn't think the boost in pay would actually be enough to cover the immense amount of psychotherapy that I would require if I didn't take my days off. The day had been especially bad, and I'd spent most of it wishing I'd had a little button on my phone that I could've pushed to electrocute the person on the other end of the line, but since I couldn't have that, I needed a drink. Or ten. Hostile, bitter, and working my way towards cirrhosis of the liver at the ripe old age of twenty-two. It didn't give me much hope for a bright future.
I stood just inside the door for a minute, trying to adjust to the drastic temperature change, and doing my damnedest at impersonating a wet dog, shaking some of the rain water off of me. Raking my sodden hair out of my eyes, I stepped up to the bar and slid a ten across it.
"Hey, Wyn." The bartender tilted his chin in greeting and pushed a shot, a beer, and a roll of quarters back at me.
Yeah. That's me. Wyn Blake. In case you don't know it, Wyn means white, and Blake means black. It can also mean white, but my parents didn't know that at the time. And because the 'rents were assholes on a whole different level, my middle name is Rory, which means red. They intentionally named me White Red Black. Seriously.
And yeah, I'd been to this bar before. It was my second favorite haunt. It was the one I went to when I wasn't looking to pull. Although, sometimes that happened here too. Which was the reason that the bartender sold me the quarters; not something they did for just the average barfly. Honestly, it was just a quickie blowjob in the bathroom, and he didn't even let me return the favor, but if it got me special privileges, who was I to bitch? But that night, I wanted to be alone, and being a Wednesday night in December, it was mostly dead, making it the perfect bar for that.
"Thanks, Chad." I tossed back the whisky and peeled myself out of my leather jacket. "Can you hold this for me?"
Chad nodded, reached across the bar to take my jacket, and stored it behind the bar. I picked up the beer bottle and the roll of quarters and made my way to an open pool table.
There were six billiards tables, four dart boards, and several video games. The music was usually rock, a smidgeon on the hard side, with some ballads thrown in for good measure. However, someone must have been feeding the jukebox, but thankfully it wasn't Christmas music. The Pretty Reckless rolled to Halestorm, which was significantly heavier than the bar normally played, and suited my mood perfectly. I racked up the balls and knocked back the beer while I tried to forget the day ever happened.
By the time the pool table had eaten the entire roll of quarters, I no longer had any idea of how many drinks I had consumed, but suffice it to say, I was feeling no pain. But I WAS feeling a stirring in my loins that I wasn't altogether unfamiliar with. I slid onto the barstool just as Chad set another bottle of beer in front of me. I fished my debit card out of my wallet and pushed it across the bar.
Chad reached for the card. "Would you like me to call a cab for you?"
I rested my hand atop of his over the plastic. "I have a better idea. Why don't you take me home instead?"
He glanced down at where my thumb was tracing small circles on the back of his hand. "I don't think that's a good idea." He gently pulled his hand out from under mine, taking the card with him.
"I think it's a fantastic idea." My voice was a little slurred, but I thought it just added a little more sex appeal. I pushed the barbell of my tongue piercing through my lips and leered at him seductively.
His eyes darkened with lust, and his body shuddered, before he turned his back to me and cashed out my tab. He returned with my charge slip and card, silently setting them on the bar in front of me.
"Come on, Chad. I know you like me. And I don't work tomorrow. I don't mind staying 'til close for you."
He glanced around to see if anyone else was in earshot because this wasn't a gay bar. I didn't give a rat's ass who knew I liked guys, but Chad obviously did. But then, I didn't consider myself gay. I didn't consider myself straight either. When I was looking to score, I didn't concern myself with genders. I went with whatever, or whoever, I was drawn to at the time. Although, admittedly, it was far more likely for that person to be male than female. If I added them up, my male partners outnumbered my female partners by a hefty percentage. Good ol' Kinsey woulda ranked me somewhere around 4.5.
There was no one else in earshot, and Chad must have decided it was safe enough. "I don't do the casual sex thing, Wyn."
I barked out a laugh and arched my eyebrow at him. "We both know that's not precisely true."
He frowned. "That was a mistake. It was before I knew about you."
My lips curled up in a smirk. "Knew what about me?"
He grimaced and struggled to find words that weren't outright insulting. He needn't have tried so hard. I wasn't easily offended. "Look, Wyn. You're all about NSA hookups. I like my strings. I'd get attached, and you wouldn't. Life is hard enough. I don't need to set myself up for pain."
"What if I promise not to hurt you in any way that you didn't really, really enjoy?" I wiggled my eyebrows at him with a teasing grin.
He half smirked, half grimaced at me and rolled his pretty blue eyes. "You're such a slut. Why don't you go tempt someone else with that tight ass of yours and leave me in peace?"
A no is a no, but I couldn't resist taunting him a little. "My ass IS tight. And remember, I owe you one. So anytime you're ready to cut those strings holding you back and take a piece of me, you let me know."
Right about last call, I made my way out the door and climbed into my car. Chad was right, I was way too drunk to drive, but I didn't want to leave my car at the bar either. I laid my seat back and grabbed the blanket that I kept in the back seat. I was too tall to sleep comfortably in my car, but I had done it before, and I was plenty drunk enough to not give a shit.
I woke to a tapping on my driver's side window and opened my eyes to see Chad holding up my leather jacket. I had no idea how long I had been asleep, but the rain had stopped. Well, hell. I must have been further gone than I had thought. It was fucking freezing, and I loved that jacket. I couldn't believe that I had walked out and forgotten it.
He sighed dramatically at my fumbling attempt to unlock and open the door. "Damn, you're fucked up. Scooch over. I'm driving you home." He waved his hand at me to indicate that I should move. I clambered over the center console into the passenger seat, and he slid into the car behind the wheel. "What's your address?"
I slowly came to around two the next day. I carefully crawled out of bed sporting a major hangover; light, sound, and movement all hurt. I had no idea how I had gotten home, much less undressed and into bed. The one thing that I did know for sure was that I hadn't gotten laid. There were no tell-tale remnants of dried, flakey cum on my body, my hole wasn't tender, and my mouth didn't taste like ass. Okay. It did taste like ass, but in the way that told me I'd drank too much and slept with my mouth open, not in the way that indicated that I'd been eating someone's ass.
I was also alone. How disappointing. The last thing I remembered was Chad getting into my car. I must have passed out. I could only assume that he'd brought me home. He, apparently, was too much of a gentleman to take advantage of my drunken state. Too bad.
I had toast and Gatorade for breakfast and then got in the shower while the coffee brewed. I just stood under the spray and let the water pour over my head and sluice down my body while I waited for the Gatorade to do its job. As soon as my brain stopped trying to pound its way out of my skull, I placed one palm on the wall of the shower and wrapped the other around my neglected cock. My hand was never my favorite lover, but there was enough residual alcohol in my system to make sure that I was horny as fuck. I needed to come.
The light and gentle caresses were enough to get me rock hard but not nearly enough to make me come. With the aid of a little shower gel, and a slightly wider stance, I tightened my grip on my shaft and let the water pound on my back while I pounded my cock. Fuck. The tingling pulsed throughout my body, and my muscles clenched and rolled in waves. My eyes were closed, and my breath hitched and stuttered, as I reveled in the pleasure of my hand, slick with gel, pumping my length in rapid strokes.
My thoughts drifted back in time to the sight of Chad on his knees, looking up at me. Only, in my mind's eye, the fantasy quickly evolved. My hands explored and stroked his naked body while his dick filled my mouth, slowly thrusting and stretching my throat. I imagined the way he'd feel, taste, and smell. I could clearly picture his body quivering and thrashing while his throaty cries of pleasure rolled over me like warm molasses, and his thick, hot cream coated my mouth and tongue.
The air was stolen from my lungs, and a moan tore out of my throat, when my orgasm ripped through me. My head dropped, chin down to my chest, as I struggled to regain my breath. I continued to milk the remainder of my wasted seed from my body in long, slow strokes. I wasn't going soft, and I was pondering rubbing off another one when my phone started ringing. I didn't bother to get out of the shower to answer it, but I did take it as a reminder that I had things to do that didn't include standing in the shower all day, jerking off. Recalling that I was due at my parent's house in a couple of hours, to help setup the tree and shit, very effectively eradicated my erection and any desire to work it up again. Thinking about my parents was always the ultimate mood killer. It was far more efficient than any cold shower ever had the hopes of being.
He didn't turn his head to look at me until I sat on the edge of his bed to pull my boots on. "Leaving?"
I rolled my eyes, but I was facing away from him so he didn't know it. "Yeah. I gotta work in the morning." Which was a bald-faced lie as I had absolutely nothing planned for the following day. I snagged my shirt off the floor and stood to put it on. He was face down on the bed, and I took one last, longing look at him. He had long, dark, gorgeous hair, lots of ink and piercings, a beautiful body, and a stunning face. He looked like a fucking rock star. He even had an amazing cock. It was long and thick, and he didn't have the slightest clue how to use it. He sucked dick like he hated it, and he fucked my ass as if he was the only person involved.
His dick felt great inside me, and I got off, but not from anything he did. If I had known he'd be such a lousy lay, I'd have ridden that gorgeous cock instead of letting him on top. Unfortunately, I had really just wanted to be held down and pounded into a blissful oblivion. What I got was three minutes of him thrusting haphazardly until he shot his load and rolled off me. I was nothing more than a glorified pocket pussy. The dickhead had no respect for the amount of effort I'd put into preparing myself for this shit. I'd ended up jacking myself off. I'd have been better off to have stayed home with my favorite toy.
I guess I'd spent too much time staring at him wistfully because he made a move as if to get up. My voice was probably higher than it should have been in panic. "No! Stay there. You look comfortable. I'll just see my way out."
He smiled at me, and I nearly swooned. Damn, he looked good. "Okay. I'll see you around."
"Yeah. We should do this again. I had a good time." I left his apartment thinking that I was such a liar, and he was such a waste of great potential. I mean, seriously. The very least he could have done was to have made an attempt at a round two. There's no way that he could have possibly believed that was good for me. That wasn't even worth what I'd paid for the condom. Did the asscricket have no pride at all? I checked my phone as I closed his front door. It was barely after two-thirty, but the bars were all closed, so it was too late to pick up anyone else. I decided to stop by IHOP on my way home. If I couldn't get a decent fuck, at least I could have some pancakes. Or waffles. Oh God, yes. Waffles.
The place was pretty empty, so I snagged a booth. After the waitress went off to get me coffee, I scooched down and propped my feet up on the vacant seat across from me to peruse the menu. The club had been playing dance music, of course, and I'd been listening to my genre of choice, classic rock, in my car. I had even enjoyed the 80s music that the dipshit had put on to fuck to, although I didn't get to hear much more than INXS's 'Devil Inside' before the fucknut had spent himself. But the diner was piping in holiday music, and it was like nails on a chalkboard. I suffered through about forty-five seconds of 'Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree' before I slipped in my earbuds and set my playlist to shuffle. I jumped, startled, when I felt someone smack my feet, and I looked up from the menu.
I smiled. "Hey, Chad."
He shoved my feet off the seat, and I sat upright while he slid into the booth. "Hey, Wyn." He craned his neck around to signal the waitress that he wanted coffee.
"Long time, no see."
He chuckled at the joke. "Yeah. I didn't mean to startle you."
I shook my head while winding up my head phones and slipping them in my jacket pocket. "It's fine. I was just trying to drown out the God awful music."
His eyes opened wide in surprise. "You don't like Christmas music?"
"Hell no. It's horrid."
"I love this stuff. I love everything about the holiday season. It's my favorite time of year."
My only response was an amused chuckle. He looked so enthusiastic about it, and damn, that killer smile on his face could make even 'Jingle Bell Rock' tolerable.
He tilted his head slightly, evaluating me. "You look good."
"Thanks. So do you." But then, he always did. His blond hair had a lot of body, and he wore it intentionally tousled. His piercing blue eyes always seemed to be looking deep into my soul. It both unnerved and aroused me. Every time he glanced at me, I got a flash of memory of seeing his gorgeous eyes looking up at me when he had my cock in his wickedly talented throat. A shudder gripped my spine that had nothing to do with the ambient temperature. I was forced to reach down and relieve the sudden pinching as my dick plumped up. And, yeah. I confess to palming the underside a bit while I was at it. "Thank you for getting me home safely last night. You could have stayed the night."
He shook his head and waited until the waitress had left after dropping off his coffee, menu, and flatware. He smirked at me and took a sip of his coffee. "Too much temptation."
"It's not as if I could have seduced you. I was kinda unconscious."
He arched his eyebrow. "Who said I was talking about for you?"
We just blinked at each other for a minute. It was nice to know that he wanted me, even if he refused to follow through on that desire.
He shot me an impish grin. "Do you know that you have something in your hair?"
"Do I?" I raked my hands through my hair until I came upon a dried, crusty clump on the side of my head. I licked my fingers and attempted to work what was obviously ejaculate out of my arrow-straight locks. "It's okay." I shrugged. "It's mine."
He laughed. "Sure about that? That must have been a hell of a shot."
I snickered, shaking my head. "It wasn't. Trust me. It was probably just on my hand."
"So you've been wearing that around all night?"
"Nah. Thirty minutes or so. I was at 20/20 earlier."
"The dance club?" His voice went up in surprise. "You dance?"
I chuckled. "Sure. I like to dance."
"I did not know that you hung out at gay bars."
I shrugged one shoulder. "I only go there for club take-out."
"Ah. No luck?"
"Nothing worth ordering twice."
He was silent for a minute while he looked over his menu. I could tell by the expression on his face that he was itching to say something, but I waited until we'd placed our orders before I prodded. "Go ahead, Chad. Say whatever it is that's eating you alive."
He grimaced. "Why do you do that?"
"What? Have sex? It's not some big secret. I like sex."
He scowled. "No. Have sex with total strangers. What's so wrong with having a boyfriend?"
"There's nothing wrong with it. It's just not for me."
I sighed. "I don't want to answer to anyone. I don't want to have someone telling me what I can and can't do."
"A good boyfriend wouldn't do those things."
"No?" I arched my eyebrow in disbelief. "So if you were my boyfriend, you'd be okay with me going out drinking and fucking someone else?"
He huffed out a scoff. "Of course not. But you wouldn't need to be picking up random tricks in bars if you had a boyfriend."
"Really? What if you're at work and I'm horny? How about you're just not in the mood and I am? I'm an extremely sexual person. I need a lot of sex. And before you tell me that I should curb those feelings, tell me why it's the person with the higher sex drive that has to sacrifice? It's just as unfair to ask the person who wants sex to go without as it is to ask the person that doesn't want it to put out when they're not in the mood."
"How? What's the compromise there? Either you're sexually satisfied or you're not. There's no middle ground there."
He thought about it for a while. "So you find someone who's just as sexual as you are."
"Are you that person, Chad? Because I don't know anyone. The last thing I need or want is someone tying me down so I can't enjoy life, and suffocating me until I'm fucking miserable all the time."
"You act like all commitments are some sort of parasitic relationship."
"No. They're symbiotic."
I chuckled. "You do realize that's not necessarily a good thing, right?"
"Yes. I meant it that way. Some relationships are unhealthy for one or more of the members. Some, the right ones, are beneficial for everyone involved. You're thinking about this strictly from the viewpoint of your dick. What about all the good things relationships can provide?"
He started ticking the benefits off on his fingers. "Comfort, security, companionship. Someone to be there for you in your old age when you just aren't hot enough anymore to pull at bars every night."
"So you're basically saying that the only reason you want a boyfriend is a fear of being alone?"
"No. Love, Wyn. I'm talking about love. Someone to share your life with. Don't you want that?"
I shrugged. "I don't have any sort of life that's worth sharing with someone. I work a job that I hate, and when I'm not at work, I'm in a bar either trying to get drunk or laid."
"Maybe you'd have a better life if you spent less time in bars and more time with someone that you love."