- Author
- 01/03/2016
- 742 Words
- 3,966 Views
- 24 Comments
.thumb.jpg.64fa2767cd8dd6e9d9cd3bbf6494012a.jpg)
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
American Steel - 1. 50th Birthday
50th Birthday
I rode the bike to the old Conch house Bart had inherited from his parents decades ago, found a spot in between two cars parked too close to each other for another one to fit in between, and backed the Harley into it. Uncertain of what my best bud had planned, I sat on the motorcycle for a few minutes, staring into the void, trying to clear my head of all the bad memories of the past. What the fuck was it with me and landmark birthdays?
At twenty, my angst over being gay led to me to drop out of school, after four straight semesters of mediocre grades. I had spent those two years in college too horny, too poor, and too scared the guys I hung out with would find out I was gay. Who had time to pay attention in class or study?
Some asshole gave me gonorrhea right before my thirtieth. Once the drips started, I knew what it was, and cursed up a storm on my way to the clinic. The doctor suggested blood tests for every possible STD, I agreed, and went home that day with a packet of information about HIV. I was numb. Sure I was aware it was risky to bareback, but in the heat of the moment, common sense had gone out the window. I’d allowed the hot stud to fuck me bare. He went back home after his vacation, leaving me with a surprise birthday present. At least I think it was him. Catching the bug ain’t the easiest thing in the world.
After a few of years, I met someone who ended up moving in with me. What a mistake. Not sure if I was desperate or just stupid, but the guy turned out to be a nightmare. Following twelve months of wild sex keeping us together, things went downhill real quick after the lust was gone. His lack of interest turned out to be lack of interest in me. He was fucking and getting fucked by anyone and everyone, while I was out on the boat working. I threw him out right before my fortieth and swore I’d stay single for the rest of my life.
Then Bart came into the picture. We’d known each other for a long time, but had never been close friends. That changed when he divorced his wife and came out of the closet. We messed around some, but both of us were relationship shy and agreed we’d be friends with benefits and nothing more. We decided to celebrate our understanding with a pub crawl. Never made it past Sloppy Joe’s. Too much fun partying with locals and tourists alike. Not sure how we were able to walk after all the rum, but we made it back to his place. The following morning we both woke up hung over and sore. Me more so due to his size.
Three months ago Dad died. We’d lost my mother the previous year, and my father hadn’t been the same since. With both gone, I now owned the big house by myself, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to move there. Too many memories right at the moment. Bart was a true friend. He stuck by my side and helped anyway he could. I knew I didn’t want to do anything special this year, but he insisted we at least go out to dinner. So now here I was―he better not have any plans other than going out to eat. I wasn’t in the best of moods.
“Happy birthday, bud!” screamed Bart as I walked through the screen door. My jaw dropped when I saw him. I closed my eyes and shook my head. And then I started laughing. Laughing so hard I ended up bent over, heaving, and wondering if one could get a heart attack from the kind of surprise he’d sprung on me.
My big black friend was almost entirely naked, sitting on the couch atop an old beach blanket. On the coffee table was a cake with candles burning―one shaped like a five, the other one a zero. He had on flip-flops, and an old torn shirt like three sizes too small. And he was hard. Damn was he hard. The fucker knew how to make me smile; he had tied a pink ribbon around the baseball bat he carried between his legs. Happy birthday to me!
-
29
-
2
-
4
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Recommended Comments
Chapter Comments
-
Newsletter
Sign UpSign Up and get an occasional Newsletter. Fill out your profile with favorite genres and say yes to genre news to get the monthly update for your favorite genres.