Brushfire - 3. Chapter 3

There's an Argentinian writer, Jorge Luis Borges, who wrote a book about scoundrels and thieves and thugs and murderers and liars. The English translation of the title is A Universal History of Iniquity.

Yeah, shut up. Just because I'm a Texan and a math boy, that don't mean I never read anything.

Anyway, as I called up my wife to lie about where I'd be the next couple of hours, I couldn't shake the feeling that what was about to happen to me belonged right in that book next to the story about the despicable Lazarus Morell, or one chapter over from that fraud Tom Castro.

I could have put the brakes on, as Fitz put it. I should have.

I didn't.

In response to his rhetorical question, I sighed. My shoulders slumped a little bit. I shook my head and looked at him and said, quietly, "Okay. I'm tired of fightin' it."

I ordered him one more beer and said, "Let me go make a phone call," and that's when I called up and lied to my wife.

Of course she was nothing but understanding. She offered me sympathy. So unfair how hard I had to work at these summer courses. She'd see me when I climbed into bed. I should wake her up, she said, and she'd give me some welcome-home.

Jesus.

I wasn't sure how I felt when I got back and sat down. I looked at him, shrugged, and said, "Fuck it."

He raised his eyebrows, grinned, and said, "'It'?"

I snorted. "Okay, fuck you, then."

"Now you're talkin', hoss," he tossed back at me, smiling wickedly as my heart began to pound in my chest.

I looked around briefly to make sure nobody was watching, then put his hand in mine and clasped them together. "God help me," I said.

His expression was tender as he patted me on the shoulder. "I can't speak for God, but I'll help you, bud. Always. And you'll definitely be helpin' me."

"Let's go, then," I said. "The La Quinta up the road."

Funny, the things you remember. I remember the ugly blue-and-white patterned tablecloths that struck my eye as we walked out of the bar together. I remember Sheryl Crow singing over the loudspeakers, asking me if I was strong enough to be her man. I remember falling deeper as I watched him walk. He was six paces ahead of me, and I was fixated on the broad shoulders that before the night was over I'd be kissing, caressing, possessing. And I remember the vaguely Asian-looking college guy whose eyes were glued to Fitz's ass as he walked toward the door. He couldn't have been a day over twenty-one. Yeah, you wish, kid, I remember thinking, smiling to myself. He's mine tonight; you're just gonna have to go home and jerk off to the memory of it

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

I pulled up in the parking lot right next to him. I'd been one car behind him the whole way over. I got out and went over to him; he sat there with the window rolled down, quiet expectation on his face.

"I'll get us a room; just stay here," I said.

"I'm not goin' nowhere 'cept with you," he responded.

I filled out the paperwork, and the lady behind the desk gave me a key to Room 451.

Very funny. It didn't help my mood much; it was pretty damn clear Fate never destined me for no cooling oasis.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Behind the door, Fitz put his hands on my shoulders and pulled me toward him.

"No," I said, pushing him gently away. "Not with the shirts to come between us."

I backed him into the room until the bed was directly behind him, then started in on his shirt buttons, from the top down. When I'd gotten the last one undone, I pushed the shirt down off his shoulders and pulled the sleeves off his arms. Folding it carefully, I put the shirt to my face and inhaled.

Jesus.

Overpowered, I let my face rest on his shoulder, trying to recover. The cotton fabric of his t-shirt was impossibly soft against my face; intoxicating. Hands shaking a little, I put my arms around his waist. He stroked my hair with his hand, kissed the top of my head.

I tossed his shirt onto the nightstand and reached for his t-shirt. Lifting up, I bared his abs; they were rock-solid and baby-smooth. Devastating in their beauty. A surprisingly bushy trail led from his belly button into his trousers.

My eyes followed the lines of his torso upward, drinking him in. His pecs were barely dusted with hair. Small pink nipples, standing at attention, waited for us to do things we shouldn't be doing.

I put my mouth on one, ran my tongue around the perimeter. He groaned; my cock spasmed in response, and I let out an involuntary whimper.

I lifted the t-shirt onto his arms, exposing his armpits. Medium-brown hair lightly covered the upper portion and the lower portion, leaving a bare spot in the middle.

Wriggling his t-shirt off and throwing it onto the floor, I focused on the visuals, and then, before he'd had a chance to put his arms down, I brought my nose to his left armpit and buried my face in it.

The heat was incendiary. He smelled of sweat and sex and soap and Axe Kilo. The combination drove out what little cognitive function remained. I pushed my face harder into him, kissed the tender skin, and inhaled deeply.

I couldn't stand up anymore; I pushed him gently backward onto the bed. Standing over him, I pulled the Polo shirt over my head and tossed it onto the nightstand, on top of his.

"Halfway there," he said, smiling, as he motioned me down toward him.

"Not even close," I said in reply.

I sat down on the bed beside him. It was going so fast, so hard. I needed to get my head back.

I reached out to him with my words. A naked, honest moment.

"Jesus, man...I didn't have a clue."

He sat up beside me and began massaging my shoulders, kissing my neck. "Yeah, you did," he said. "From the first second. I know I did."

"Fitz..." I turned to look at him, to search his eyes. "Are you gay?"

He laughed. "I dunno, Jeff," he said, "But given the circumstances, does it much matter what I answer?"

"Guess not," I said quietly.

He put his hands on his knees and paused, deep in thought. After a moment, he continued. "If you need an answer, well, yeah, I guess I am," he said. "I've had my share of women...I mean, right up to last week! And it's good. I keep trying, man. I want to be like my buds. And I was raised a good Baptist boy. I keep trying to get away from this. Trying to leave it behind. That's part of what fucked me over at college. There were guys, and...I don't know, I did a lot of drinking, and smoked a lot of dope. But I was havin' a lot of trouble facing myself, and just couldn't get my shit together enough to study. I just couldn't face it, couldn't deal with it. I ran away instead."

I nodded, leaned over, and kissed him on the shoulder. He smiled, tousled my hair, and continued.

"I got into the Air Force to get away from myself. But what I discovered is that you can't fly high enough, you can't run fast enough, you can't shut your mind down hard enough. I tried, buddy. I tried so damn hard."

I know, I thought bitterly. Trust me; I get it.

"I'm not no little girl, but sometimes I just fuckin' break down at night and cry into my pillow so nobody'd hear me," he said. "For the longest time, I didn't wanna be this way. I thought if I could just think straight thoughts, do straight things, shit like that, I'd get back normal. So, you know, I laugh at the damn jokes; hell, I tell 'em myself. I've said awful things about gay people."

He paused a little, breathing heavily and clearly trying hard for some control. His eyes shone with moisture, but the dam never gave way.

I sat there, admiring. The self-control he was exhibiting broke my heart. It was all I could do to keep from taking him in my arms and holding him and trying to kiss all the painful shit away.

"I think I'd be insane by now if it weren't for Ryan," he said. "I met him here at Lackland. Ryan...he must've been able to look inside me and see a guy who's had to face the same thing he did. He taught me it was okay, showed me how to be gay and all right with it. He's a strong man, stronger than any of them other guys. With his help, I was finally able to stop beatin' on myself. From time to time I still hook up with women. I don't even know why, really, but I know this: I gotta keep it all in for now, but when I get outta the Air Force, Jeff, I'm not gonna lie any more just to make people comfortable."

He reached out a hand and slowly stroked my cheek. Turning my face toward his, he leaned in and, closing his eyes, put his lips on mine. We sat there, kissing, the room totally silent except for our breathing and the sound of our lips getting to know each other.

Pulling away, he sat up again, and said, "I don't believe in that 'gaydar' stuff, but, I dunno, when I sat down next to you that night..well, this is gonna sound totally weird and stupid..." he trailed off, blushing.

"Tell me anyway," I grinned. "You're a big, tough Air Force guy, right? You're not afraid of anything."

"Fuck you," he said, grinning back at me. "Okay...well, what I meant was you don't look gay, whatever that means. I'm saying I wouldn't 'a picked you out in a crowd. But I couldn't keep my eyes off you; God put you together just right, you know what I'm sayin'? And then I'd look into your eyes and--this is the weird and stupid part--it's like I could see your hurt, man; and it...well, it looked like mine."

Shit; now it was my turn for the room to get bleary and blurry. I took a deep breath in and steeled myself as he kept talking.

"And you know the other kind of thing guys like us do."

I didn't, actually. Or in any case, I didn't really know what he was talking about at the moment.

"I watched your eyes. I watched what you were watching. It's what we do, right? I could tell you liked me. I mean, of course we hit it off all them other ways, but that's not what I mean. Sometimes when you'd think I wasn't noticing, I'd catch you staring at me and it's like you were a starving man, or like you were in pain or something. I know that look, Jeff. I knew you wanted me."

"Jesus," I whispered. "Fitz, I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be doing this. I don't even think I'm gay."

"But you're here, aren't you?" he said with compassion. "I can't help you with the 'shoulds' and the 'shouldn'ts.' But I've learned a lot about lying to myself. I've learned that it was gonna kill me. Is it gonna kill you?"

"I don't know," I muttered, staring at the bedspread. "All I know is that I'm here with you, and I set it up to be with you tonight, and I lied to my wife so I could be with you, and I..."

He put an arm around my shoulder. "Look, I hear how it's rippin' at you," he said. "But if you're fucked up," he added as he leaned in and kissed me, "well, you got you some company."

I looked at him, my mouth hanging open. "Fuck," I muttered.

"Sounds like a plan," he said, grinning. "We done talked enough."

* * * * * * * * * * *
 

You wanna hear, I guess, about the sex. Thing is, I don't know, to put it in words...well, hell, words can't even touch it. So maybe just a little.

We got the rest of the way naked.

I'd never held a man in my arms naked before. Or dressed, for that matter. I wanted as much of my body to touch as much of his as was physically possible. We lay, side by side, in each other's arms, my mouth sealed against his, my tongue reaching out for his and his for mine, our nipples brushing against each other. My dick was smearing its juice all over his and there was nothing in my mind but white noise and desire and Fitz.

I guess it's crass for me to talk about Fitz's dick in my mouth. Probably falls into the category of "too much information" for me to assault you with the details of how I felt, what it tasted like, when he groaned...and how he tightened up, pushed my face into his crotch, and blasted five jets of semen into my mouth, down my throat. Maybe if you've ever wanted a man you understand how deeply emotional an experience it is to take another guy's stuff in your mouth. It's like, it's not enough that my eyes were full of the look of him, my nose full of his scent--the scent of young, and beautiful, and sexed-up; on top of all that, he filled my mouth with the intimate, life-giving essence of him. Fuck, I know that's ridiculous and I sound like a damn drama queen, but I'm just sayin' I was just awash in him, you know? Overpowered and, for once in my life, totally filled, totally fulfilled. It was like I'd found my way back to a place I didn't even know I was missing.

You need proof? Well, how's this: When he blew his cum into my mouth, my own rocket launched. And I didn't even touch myself. He was standing, and I was kneeling at his feet, and when he came, my dick pumped cum up and out and all over his thigh.

I don't know; maybe that proves nothin' to you. But it sure as hell said something to me.

It was a first for me; and, thing is, as sexy as it was, what I felt the most was how much I needed him.

It was wicked tender. It's the tender that sunk me, that marked me, that ensured I'd be needing it, and needing him, pretty fuckin' chronically. Well, to be specific, it's the tough with the tender. This strong man, this flyboy, bringin' that kind of vulnerability to me and fuckin' offering it to me: I don't know, that combination of tough and tender, hard and soft--that's where I belong; it's where I've always belonged. I know that now.

It's incredible to kiss that; to be kissed by that. There's nothing I can compare it to. It's like kissing a woman, but so much more intense; so much more fierce, more primal. I have to tell you, it's fuckin' transcendent. You feel bigger than yourself. You start thinking about the cosmos, about the fuckin' Mysteries. I thought about whether women picked up that combination of tender and tough when we were with them. If they do, hell, no fuckin' wonder they love us.

After we came, I flipped off the lights and we slept for a little bit, his ass spooned up against my dick, my arms around him. Somewhere around two in the morning I got caught up in a dream and began kissing him on the back. I wasn't even sure he was awake when he pushed his ass against my dick. I felt my nutsac tighten, and ever-so-gently I began thrusting my dick up and down the length of his crack. I can't do this, I thought. I can't rub off on him like this while he's sleeping, that's just creepy. In response, I stilled my body and tried to will my erection down.

He was awake, though. "It's good, Jeff; it's okay, man. I want it. Lube it up with your spit and put it in me."

Hearing that was almost enough to make me squirt. But I'd never fucked a guy's ass before. Hell, I'd never fucked a woman's ass before.

I sat up and turned on the lamp on the nightstand. "Aren't you afraid I'll hurt you?"

He laughed a little and sat up himself. "You're not that big, killer. I done this before."

Horny as I was, I was nervous and wantin' to talk, stall for time. "You like it on the bottom, then?"

"I like it both ways. You'll see eventually."

I grimaced. "You make it sound like this is gonna happen again."

He looked at me seriously. "I...you...you don't want it to?"

I sighed. "Fitz, man..." It was late, and my brain was reeling, and, horny as I was, the guilt was starting to rise.

Whatever. I shook it off. "I guess it's too late for second-guessing," I said, shaking my head. "I'm in. For as long as we can ride it. Not like I can walk away, anyway." I felt sorrow rise in my throat, but I batted it back. I grinned and pushed him back down on the bed.

He laughed and sat back up. "What happens is what's supposed to happen, Jeff. You been pushing some shit away for too long. Maybe you and me..."

He looked at me and I could almost see him push away the wistful. Then, shaking his head and shoulders he said, "Maybe you and me oughta quit talking so much and get your dick up me."

I wasn't done stalling though. "I don't know, man. You think we should do it bare?"

"I promise not to hit you up for child support if I get pregnant," he said, then burst out laughing.

I was about to tell him to cut the crap when he said, "You been out fuckin' around condomless?"

"Not since I was 15," 'cept with Michele," I said.

"Well, guess what, bud, I never had unprotected sex ever. And I get tested twice a year. So I think we're good. Now would you please just shut up and fuck me?"

He lifted his legs and let them rest on my shoulders. After I'd gotten my dick and his asshole all spit-slick, he squirmed around and got into a comfortable position. I reached over to the nightstand to turn the lamp off, but he said, "No, man, I wanna see your face."

I grabbed my dick, looking for the right angle, the right alignment, until the head of it was up against his pucker. "You ready for me?" I asked.

"Dude, you have no idea," he said. He smiled and said, "Now take me hard. Don't be fuckin' gentle with me. Ram it in."

Whoa.

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?"

He replied, "What? You afraid you gonna rip me up or something? I told ya, Jeff; you're not that fuckin' big."

"Fuck you," I said, blushing.

"Yeah, you keep saying it," he laughed;"don't you have the cojones to do it?"

That did it. I took him hard and fast. Before he'd realized I was going to.

God, he was so tight and hot inside.

He took in a fast breath and let out a chest-deep groan of pain.

Alarmed, I said, "Shit, Fitz, I'm sorry man."

I started to back out, but he grabbed my ass and clutched me into him.

"Don't be sorry; I told you to do it. Just be still for a minute."

I lay on top of him, feeling his warmth grip me. He began massaging me lightly with his fingertips. He started at my neck and moved slowly, sensuously down to my ass, then back up.

Chills ran up and down my spine.

He smiled and lifted his head to kiss me. "Okay, Big Tex. Fuck me."

* * * * * * * * * * *
 

Again, I don't have the words.

I could talk about the mechanics, I guess, and some of you perverts would be splattering your screen and havin' to wipe it up before the wife gets home. And that's fine; hey, I like a jerkoff story as much as the rest of you.

But I'm just saying that talkin' body parts won't even capture it.

The need. The ache. The need met, the ache eased.

The powerful sense of belonging that I'd lost since the day I'd said, "We'll keep in touch," and watched Grant get on a plane and fly away from my life forever.

Fitz. Buried deep in his guts, I didn't feel like a stranger in my own body anymore. Licking his tongue, the inside of his mouth, biting his lip, claiming those moist places with my own, I didn't feel exiled from my own existential country anymore.

The sex was fierce and hard and mindless, and, above all...hot. The flames roared and the heat was all-consuming.

I'd chosen hell, and I'd chosen myself--my real self--and I'd chosen him, and there was a unity to all of it that felt more like me than I'd ever felt before.

Sweat coated our bodies as I slammed into him. Sometimes he'd lick it off my neck. It dripped off my forehead into his eyes, his mouth.

When I came, I growled and collapsed into him. I felt myself expand inside of him, spasming again and again and again and again. Fucking him with my tongue as my dick dumped its seed into him, I felt the walls between the two of us grow permeable and indistinct. I didn't know who belonged to which body part, I couldn't tell the man fucking from the man being fucked.

Before I was halfway empty, he grabbed himself, moaning as my tongue continued to thrust into his mouth. He jerked himself to climax, splattering my neck and his upper chest with his spunk.

Spent, I collapsed on him. As we rubbed our chests together, the sweat and the semen got smeared around and mixed together until we were both coated in goo. Clowning, he ran a finger through the mess and put it into his mouth. "Pretty fuckin' good," he said, grinning.

No shit.