I did not write this story, my good friend Drew Harcourt did, he wanted me to share it with you, I hope you enjoy it! Seth~
The summer hadn’t yet come, but Boystown already had that “feel”. If you’ve been there—or countless other “homohoods” easily recognizable in any decent size urban area—than you already understand, if you haven’t ever been, than words can’t properly paint the scene, but homos love to talk—so I’ll try.
Eric rode the train down early—it was about 8:30. The hood doesn’t really start to “hop” til 10:30 or 11:00. The preshow on Halsted—Boystown’s fag drag— wasn’t much—a mix of “can’t waits”, curiosity seekers, and those too old to start at 11:00 and end at 3:00 or 4:00 or 5:30 (depending on which afterhours bar you favored or when your most recent one-nighter snuck you past his passed-out roommate—or boyfriend—and shoved you back out on the street with a peck and exchange of phone numbers that both of you would dump the second you were out of eyesight.)
He tried to stifle the wave of excitement that came back as the conductor—what a joke, actual conductors have been gone for years—as the canned voice announced “next stop Addison, exit on the right”.
It still amused him that the CTA used a canned male voice instead of a female one—everything in Chicago is a fucking gay joke.
He exited the train— scampered down the stairway from the platform—checked up his excitement—slowed his pace. Eric glided through the brand new turnstile at the Addison station and spilled past the drunken remnants of the crowd from that afternoon’s Cubs game—he was surprised at how pissed off wasted straight people still made him—fuckin’ amateurs.
He still had no clue why he was doing this—he hadn’t been down here for 2 years. Well, he knew his excuse for doing this—but he had been given opportunities before and had always shrugged them off—he was done he kept telling himself and to anyone who pretended to care when he explained all the reasons why.
Anyway, there he was a quick block and a half away from the city’s gay fuckin’ wonderland—just there to see a friend who tended bar at one of the bars on the strip.
Gay friends—that’s an interesting oxymoron. Friends in fagland are either
(a) those that wanted in your pants but you wouldn’t let in,
(b) anyone you are still trying to shag,
(c) those that you fucked with as a one-nighter but ran into before you could look at them and, with a glance look past them, and plausibly deny that you knew who the fuck they were,
(d) the few that could actually dance a bit—keep up with your drinking pace—match your level of queer conversation and bitchiness, and
(e) those so queeny they made you laugh.
OH--Queers LOVE lists.
But, Miles was different—Miles had never been any of those—somehow Miles was an actual friend. Eric hadn’t seen him in 2 years—but they occasionally texted. And, after much persuasion, Eric was back down in fuckin’ rainbowland.
Halsted Street hit Eric even quicker than he hit it. Amazing how you can take one-step and EVERY memory of a place—good and evil—can lunge at you at once. He headed South.
Everything was still damp from the rain earlier in the day. And, it was hot and moist. The street was just beginning to fill—for some—the night ending, for most—just starting.
This was always his favorite time. Everyone was out. The old leaving or barely hanging on—the twinks just filtering in. If you don’t know what a twink is—fuck you. And, of course, the cars—and buses. He had forgotten the traffic. Oddly, he loved traffic. He got a twisted thrill as the straight people had to slam on their brakes to avoid running over a gaggle of young fags darting out from between parked cars to get from one club to the next without walking to the corner. He was amused at how much power even fags had as pedestrians.
Eric walked faster than most—of course he did—he was alone—not amongst a throng of 5 or 6 or 10—laughing, squeeking, giggling, twirling—doing all the things queers do in groups on the street.
He past the ex-drag queen panhandler sitting up against a building with her plastic cup. FUCK—she’s still working the street like this. Then he felt bad—he backtracked a couple steps—gave her two dollar bills—he felt good about himself. “Thanks ya SUGA, god bless,” she yapped. He barely heard, he was already on the move again.
Somehow the street still gave him that energy—and he hated it for that—and was already regretting this venture. He ducked his head and plowed on—determined to meet his mission’s end without the fucking nostalgia. He bowed outwards to avoid a small cluster of queens too young to be down there and ran right into—HIM.
“SHIT—sorry man,” Eric began to exclaim. The boy turned to acknowledge and accept Eric’s false apology—and the recognition was instant. “You’ve got to be fuckin’ kiddin me” the dude exhaled. Eric was stunned.
(1) He had no fuckin’ idea what this dude’s name was,
(2) he was 100% sure he had fucked him,
(3) he was pretty sure he ditched him unceremoniously,
(4) and probably worst, he was pretty sure he’d fuck him again if given the chance.
Luckily, the name hit him quick—Ben he thought. Unfortunately, it wasn’t fast enough to mask the temporary memory slip or the fact that this encounter had been more anticipated by Ben than it was by Eric.
Somehow, Halsted remembers everything—and now the whole scene washed back over Eric. This was not your typical—yeah we fucked, how you doing, see you later, kiss kiss encounter. Ben wasn’t a one-night stand. Ben was a two-night stand—the absolute fuckin’ worst thing in the whole fag universe. A one-night stand is clean—good fuck—see you round—maybe a nod of recognition at club run-in—maybe even a drink if you had mutual friends. Two-night stands were a whole different thing—and they were definitely to be avoided.
Fucking twice means simply this. For person (A) it means, god that dude was hot and damn he had a great ass or cock or both and shit he was noisy. For person (B) it means, god I really like this dude and am falling for him. Eric was A and he was pretty sure by the look on Ben’s face, that Ben was B. A two-night stand inevitably means there is talking in between the two fuck sessions. Person A will, understandably, say anything he has to in order to get back at that ass or cock or both. Person B actually cares what he is talking about.
Now, a couple of the Ben’s buds spun around. All Eric could think about was—how he was going to stammer his way out of THIS. He had done the gay tap-dancing-with-your-mouth bullshit a million times. Shit, he was a pro—back when he was IN the game. But, he was out of practice—and this was begging for superpower skills.
The look in the eyes of Ben’s buds as they spun to face Eric spoke everything Eric needed to hear. HE had been talked about. Scratch that—he had been bitched about--pined over, whined about, DISCUSSED in that way that only fags and 16yo girls can bitch. No doubt, Ben had already formulated a plan for this encounter—and had role played it with his buds countless times as they chatted about assholes they dated. And, there-in lay the problem. To Ben, Eric was a date. To Eric, Ben was a fuck—and unfortunately, a fuck too good to pass on a second romp with.
“UMM…ugh” Eric stammered, then quickly regained some verbal footing “How you been Ben?”
“Like you actually fucking care—fucking amazing” Ben shook his head and quickly deflected Eric’s first salvo.
Normally, this would have been enough to send Eric into escape mode—say something witty or catty—and flee. But, and the pause made him wonder if something HAD actually changed in him, he actually did somehow care.
“Hey, I don’t blame you, I mean…” Eric blathered. His eyes locked on Ben’s. Eye contact is always a NEVER—except when fucking—certainly a never when dismissing a past fuck. But, behind the anger that made Ben’s green eyes seem black, Eric saw something or thought he saw something. It was hurt.
Ben was taller—by about 2 inches. He was lanky and had adorable shaggy black hair that was never quite correctly done—not in that perfectly mussed up fag way—Ben’s hair was actually a mess. And, his eyes were HUGE—and emerald green. The kid was 22 or 23 or 24, but probably only had to fuckin’ shave once a week—and even if he didn’t, the stubble was imperfect and it made him look cute or younger or both. He was mess—but a fuckin’ cute mess.
As Eric looked up—trying to complete his sentence—the words spilled out—before he could even catch them—“I’m sorry.” (Now, you could be tied and bound, on your knees, locked in a cage, inside a dungeon—and you’d be LESS submissive than if uttered the “S” word.)
But, somehow it was Ben that was now on the defensive. This was NOT what he had played out. He worked to maintain his rage—2 years of anger and invested emotion.
Eric—adroit as ever—felt the sea shift. “F…F…Fuck you!” Ben hammered out—but it was woefully unconvincing--so obviously so, that Ben’s friends stepped up behind him to offer their support.
And, NOW, Eric knew his play. “Honestly, I can’t blame you—you should be pissed” he hissed in an even, not-in-charge-yet, tone.
“What did I do…” Ben replied—the anger fading, the hurt taking control—the little crack in his voice letting each of the four there know that control had now completely passed back where it belonged—to Eric. And, with that, Eric slid his hand lightly on Ben’s right arm—just above the elbow. “You didn’t do anything Ben—is there any” Eric looked around and, still working his best apology voice, “chance we can talk?” Ben looked to his friends for help. Both of them had eyes that SCREAMED “NO”. Neither said a word.
“I…I’ll catch up with you guys at Spin” Ben dismissed them. Both of the twinks took a step back—shot their best “don’t fuck with our friend” looks at Eric—only to be met by Eric’s “fuck you faggot” look. The two slithered off—hissing back to Ben about texting them or some crap.
Ben looked at Eric. Eric looked back at Ben. They were on the main street and although Ben had shown his weakness, this battle wasn’t over, and Eric was uncomfortable. He took Ben’s wrist—gently—and tugged him down a side street—just a few steps—but those few steps cleared them from that world.
“I can’t explain, and won’t even try” Eric uttered. “All I can tell you is I know I was wrong, and an ass, and I always meant to...but then it became too late to…and my life is so different now…and I’m not a part of this…and.” Eric steered Ben so that the boy’s back was now against the wall of the building. Eric stepped in—slowly—but close—the asshole knew how to make even an apology an intimate experience.
Eric sensed the kill.
He held Ben’s hand. Ben’s mouth moved but nothing came out. Eric could have read the words—but didn’t need to—he knew they would have just been unconvincing objections. Eric’s next move was swift, but sensitive. He slipped his fingers into Ben’s—it worked that the boy was taller. Eric squeezed—hard—not too hard—then he reached up for Ben’s neck. He knew he’d meet resistance, so he didn’t tug hard. “I’m not sorry I ran into you today though” Eric admitted.
“I…I…” Ben muttered. No more resistance needed to be broken. It was Ben that lunged for Eric’s mouth. Eric pushed Ben against the bricks and squeezed his fingers tighter in Ben’s. Their lips mashed. Their tongues wrestled furiously. Eric made sure Ben had no room to rethink his position. Ben fought at Eric’s mouth with pent up passion and residual anger.
Eric knew the next move had to be Ben’s, but…somehow…he misplayed his hand—something different was happening. Eric backed off—a move he shouldn’t have made—no way he should have given Ben a chance to think. “Is your place close?” Eric asked. Ben recaptured himself and some of his rage and most of his hurt. “NO, we can’t…I mean I can’t”. Eric tried to recover from his mishap and played his best card. “I understand” he said and then sighed. He took another step back, looked up, and flashed his wide blue eyes. “I don’t blame you” he offered in mock support. Ben melted as Eric guessed he would.
Ben grabbed Eric by the hand and led him down the street a couple buildings—up the stoop—through the door—fumbled with the key for his unit—and into his first floor apartment. Eric couldn’t believe Ben lived in the same apartment—no fag stays in the same place for two years—and no young fag lives on the fuckin’ first floor. First floors are for old queers and the yuppies with one kid taking over the neighborhood.
Eric stepped in past Ben—pushed the door shut—and slammed Ben against the door. He knew he had to obliterate any remaining resistance. “I never should have been so stupid” Eric pled. He really wanted to say “mean” instead of “stupid”. Eric recognized that he actually meant the apology he had offered earlier, but he didn’t want to give Ben a chance to remember the pain he caused. He pushed his lips against Ben’s as he pressed him against the door.
Ben never had a chance—and he now knew it. The pretending was over. Ben sunk his hands between their bodies and fumbled with the drawstring on Eric’s shorts. Eric remembered how awkwardly ambitious Ben was when stripping him—and how fuckin’ hot it was. Ben finally undid the string—and as his tongue darted into Eric’s mouth, his long fingers sunk into Eric’s shorts. The shorts needed no extra help. They fell quickly.
Eric kicked off his beat up running shoes as he gripped Ben’s thin shoulder in one hand—his neck in the other. Ben filled Eric’s mouth with his tongue as he fought futily not to be put into his place so quickly. The pressure on Ben’s shoulder mounted as Eric broke the kiss and slid his mouth to Ben’s ear. His tongue probed—Ben’s surrender was swift.
“I’ve thought about this” Eric moaned “for too long.”Ben collapsed to his knees. Eric glanced down and watched as Ben’s fingers stretched over the soft white mesh cotton covering his tool. Ben gazed at the lump, looked up at Eric briefly, then watched his fingers dance over the fabric.
Eric waited. Ben took his time—determined to control something here. Eric obliged—briefly— and let Ben’s hand grope his impressive tent.
Before the command could escape Eric’s mouth, Ben tried to yank the jock down. The thick mushroom head of Eric’s rigid 7.5” cock snagged—Ben smiled---then yanked harder to free his prize.
“God this is almost worth the last 2 years” Ben exclaimed. Wrapping his hand around the shaft, Ben stretched his mouth WIDE and lunged for Eric’s swollen knob. The first slurp was gentle as Ben cleaned the string of pre from Eric’s dick. Eric laid his hand lightly in the mop of black hair hiding what was about to feast on his meat—he twisted his hand easily. Ben peered up for a moment—smiled—then his eyes disappeared under his carpet of tussled hair. Ben’s hands gripped the back of Eric’s legs and in the same instant his hand slipped from Eric’s curved shaft and his mouth stretched wider as he sank his lips down the pole.
“FUCK!” Eric grunted and gripped Ben’s head tighter. Ben slobbered and moaned.
“God I can’t believe I fuckin’ forgot how good you are” Eric moaned. Encouraged by the compliment, Ben bobbed eagerly on Eric’s throbbing shaft—making sure he worked against the head with the roof of his mouth.
“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK” Eric stammered.
Ben paused—released the bone from his mouth—slid his lips slowly along the shaft as it rubbed against his face---tugged Eric’s sack—“I’m fuckin’ ready” he announced. The pace was so quick and the turn so surprising. Eric fought to recapture his composure and control of the situation. Ben was having none of it now. He kicked off his flip flops as he unsnapped his jeans. They sank and slid to his ankles as he stood up. As he kicked them off, his hand landed on Eric’s chest and he backed him down the hall to the bedroom. Eric stumbled—Ben didn’t care. With a firm shove to the chest, Ben’s hand landed Eric’s back on the bed. Before Eric could utter a word of protest, Ben’s boxers were gone. The dude was even hotter than he remembered—but he had always been a sucker for the long lanky type—somehow though—this one was different. Ben’s cock was cute—not huge—but nice—and, as always, totally eager. Ben walked over and straddled Eric’s face—his stiff bone slapping near Eric’s belly. Eric began to reach around for it as it slid on his stomach. “NO!” barked Ben as he pushed his smooth tight ass back at Eric’s face “Eat that instead.” This was different—not the rimming—that was always a part—as if Ben had a choice—but the authority of the command was new. Eric wasn’t in a state of mind to put up a fight for control—besides he kind of enjoyed the tone of force in Ben’s voice. He gripped each of Ben’s small round cheeks—each fitting perfectly in one hand as Ben shifted back. Eric tried to pause and get a glimpse of the small pink hole before he leaned forward—but, he wasn’t given enough time. Ben’s impatient crack was in his face almost before he could look. Eric’s own slab grew even stiffer—as if that were possible.
His tongue darted out to meet Ben’s entrance. As he worked his tongue furiously against the twitching bud, Eric felt the boy slam his lips back down on his throbbing prick—soaking it in spit. Eric’s moans were stifled as the dude’s ass crack smothered his face. Ben lubed up Eric’s dick like he didn’t notice what was happening behind him. Eric attended to the horny hole as if he didn’t feel his cock being bathed.
“Just wet enough to get me ready” Ben snapped—just after pulling his warm wet mouth from Eric’s meat.
And in that instant, somehow, he spun himself around. This whole approach was fresh—and Eric was more excited than ever.
Ben pushed Eric’s shoulders into the bed and leaned forward and bit gently on Eric’s neck. As he did, he shoved his hard little ass back, reached behind, grabbed Eric’s raging bone, and guided it to his crack. Eric squirmed—no one had ever made him squirm. Ben wasn’t about to let loose of the reigns. His lips sunk down to that muscle between the arm and the pectoral—the spot he knew drove Eric wild. And, just as he clamped his teeth down, Ben forced his pucker onto Eric’s cock.
Eric roared as he felt his bone force its way into the tight ass “OH fuckin’ ride me bro.” Ben winced momentarily, but then thrust his ass back harder, making sure his ass claimed its trophy.
Eric held Ben’s waist and tried to manage the pace. Ben refused to part with ownership and pinned Eric’s chest as he vigorously bounced.
“I always wanted your seed and I’m getting it!” Ben exclaimed. Eric tried to pant out a reply—it was useless. His head thrashed as Ben held him in place and dropped his ass back down on his cock.
“Any…any…anytime you want” Eric pled. “I’ve heard that before” Ben retorted.
“I promise. I won’t hurt you again. I love you. I need THIS” Eric answered—and as he said it, his cock leapt deeper into the taut clenched hole and erupted.
Ben grunted “fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck me” as his pole slid back against Eric’s smooth flat belly and exploded all over the man’s chest. Ben’s eyes rolled back in his head and his hold on Eric’s chest first tightened then relaxed.
Ben tried to focus and look down, but he couldn’t regain his composure and his cock gushed and his ass spasmed and filled with Eric’s juice.
The words hung out there—the brief moment stretching into an eternity. The worst words in the gay language had been confessed. For a flash, Eric wondered if Ben had caught them.
Eric regained his poise quicker and steadied the boy—his rigid flag just beginning to relax in Ben’s ass.
Ben quivered—then steadied—his big emerald eyes fixed on Eric. Eric knew he had heard and he understood the question Ben’s eyes were asking “Was this true?”
Eric wished for a second that he hadn’t said it—but he also knew it was true. He was scared. Eric could be a lot of things, but never scared, and being scared, scared him more.
“I do…I mean I did before too…and I still do” Eric explained. “Fuck you” Ben hissed as he tried in vain to argue.
“Why…I mean we could have…I can’t be hurt again” Ben pleaded. Eric gripped Ben’s wrist to slow him down. “You won’t be…I want to be with you…I always did…I knew it before…I was too scared…and stupid” Eric assured as he gained his confidence.
“I love you too” was all Ben could spit out. The two embraced.
The door buzzer broke the moment and Ben leapt up. He staggered for a moment, then scampered to the door, grabbing Eric’s shorts from the hallway and pulling them up as he answered.
He opened the door and greeted his friends “Ummm…oh…hey…I was just about to text you.” They both just stared at Eric’s shorts on Ben’s thin frame. They were stupid, but even they figured this one out.
Eric pulled on a pair of sweatpants he found on the floor, slid them on, and ambled down the narrow highway to stand behind Ben.
“You’re fucking kidding me” one of the two lisped. “It’s OK” Ben protested as he felt Eric’s arm engulf his waist “We talked.” Eric didn’t say a word, he didn’t have to, his eyes just darted out the same “fuck you faggot” look he had shot them earlier on the street.
Just then, he heard his cell vibrate in his shorts, the ones Ben wore. He slid his hand in and read the text to himself.
“Where you at?” texted Miles.
Eric smiled, then sighed, as his fingers quickly pounded back out “Back in the game, we’ll be right down.”
He looked at Ben “Get dressed, we’re going to see Miles.” Then he looked at the two confused prissy bitches at Ben’s door. “You two coming?” he asked.
“Of course we fucking are” they cheered.