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- 11/14/2016
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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 - 3. Making it Right
Making it Right
I need to find a way to make this right.
Standing in front of the bathroom door, I can hear him sobbing. How the fuck do I get myself in these situations? I keep my voice low, trying not to wake our host sleeping in his bedroom. I bet he didn’t have to deal with this shit from the trick he’d brought home around midnight.
“Hey, kid. Come on, open the door.”
“Leave me alone. And I’m not a kid!”
“Oh, yeah? How old are you anyway?”
“I’m twenty-two.”
Fuck! I’m old enough to be his father! This isn’t what I had in mind when I left Key West two days ago. Wilton Manors was meant to be the first stop of my new adventure. My parents’ house and the business had been dealt with, I’d loaded up the motorcycle, and ridden the four hours listening to the throaty thunder of the Harley. Music to my ears. My bud has a place within stumbling distance of a dozen bars; I’m always welcome to crash here whenever I leave my little island paradise at the southern tip of the Overseas Highway.
“Okay… so what’s your name again? I need to call you something and since you don’t like kid…”
“It’s David… Dave.”
I met my host a few years back. He rode his beautiful teal and white Road King down to celebrate a birthday or another and stayed at Island House. We met at a bar, I followed him to the guest house, tumbled into bed together, and woke up wrapped around his beefy body. We repeated the activities the next two days, spending most of our time naked, sweaty, and sticky. The sex was a temporary thing. The friendship endured.
“So, Dave, do you live with your parents? What time do you have to be home?”
“Fuck you! I have my own place. Well, I have a roommate. And I don’t have a curfew, okay? I’m an adult.”
Then start acting like one. My bud and I went out for drinks after dinner and the bar was hopping. Mostly mature men, lots of bears and otters, and a few admirers. The kid―Dave―fell into that category. Good looking, mop of floppy brown hair, piercing green eyes, and thick lips begging to wrap themselves around my cock. Not my usual cup of tea, but he was insistent and I was horny. The beers didn’t hurt. We strolled back here for a little fun.
“Listen, Dave. There’s clean towels in the little closet in there. Why don’t you take a shower and after you’re done come out here so we can talk. I’ll make some coffee. Do you drink the stuff?”
“Okay… yeah, I drink coffee and I could use some.”
If I thought he was lapping at me in the bar, what hit me when we walked in the door was a tsunami. Barely made it to the bedroom. And when we did, waves of pleasure rolled over me. He dropped to his knees, unzipped me, and gobbled me down like a starving man. Serious mad skills.
I held his head and pumped myself in his mouth until he started gagging. His throat wouldn’t open. So I grabbed him under the arms and tossed him on the bed. I mean, I outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds and it felt good to manhandle him. He didn’t complain. Instead, he ripped off his clothes and I followed suit.
“Good. Listen, I’ll start the coffeemaker and I’m gonna sit outside to have a smoke. Come on out when you’re ready.”
“Okay…”
A pack of Marlboros and my Zippo in hand, I walked outside after slipping on a pair of gym shorts. The night was balmy and I sat at the patio table staring up at the measly stars visible through the city’s light pollution. How different from the Keys where a sky full of stars was the norm. I smiled remembering how the kid―Dave― couldn’t stop running his fingers through my chest pelt, complaining about the sparse amount of hair on his own.
He kept it up as I fingered lube in his hole, rolled a condom on, and took my time breaching him. Tight motherfucker, like only a youngster can be. I ain’t small but not porn material; even if I don’t mind an audience. But damn it was a snug fit. I took my time, stroking his nice uncut piece while I dicked him.
“Is it alright to come out in my boxers?”
“Yeah, for sure. Grab a chair and I’ll get us a couple of mugs. How do you like it?”
“Black’s fine.”
“Be right back.”
The kid might as well been riding a pogo stick the way he bounced on my unit. Fucker kept calling me Daddy and it was a definite turn on. When he shot all over his own chest and stomach, I pushed his legs further back and went to town. Didn’t take me long to find my happy ending.
And then I pulled out. He’d obviously flushed himself out before heading to the bar, but I didn’t come out clean. There was blood and the condom had broken. Fuck my luck!
“Look, buddy, I gotta make this right. The plan was to leave town in the morning, but I think I’m gonna stick around for a couple of days. I’d like you to hang out with me for some of that time.”
“Why? How come?”
“Because like I told you, I’m HIV positive but my viral load’s undetectable. Your chances of getting infected are nil. And I don’t have any other bugs. You’re gonna be fine. But wanna take you to be tested whenever one of those places that do it for free opens up. We’ll wait for the results together. And next time I ride through town, I wanna see you again. I’ll take you to be tested one more time. Just to make sure. I know it was an accident, but shit happens. You’re going to be fine and I’m going to stick by your side until you realize I’m right.”
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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.
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