Taut and drawn.
Pitzintekutli Xochipilli / México
Fotografía Carlos Quezada
Yes, this boy’s full name is Pitzintekutli Xochipilli Méndez Zenteno. Apparently he goes by Pitzintekutli Mendezi. I found a video of him doing an audition here and nailing it. Mexico is lucky to have this beautiful, talented creature representing them in the classical dance world.
The biggest thrill was being had.
For five days a week, Ray was a buttoned-down, on-top-of-things guy at work, and for two days every weekend he finished the honey-do list at home, went to his kids’ events, and maybe carved out three hours on Sunday to watch the game. He led, managed, fixed, and loved; he was the guy, the dude, the Man.
But now this business trip had changed everything. Jack, who was only supposed to be another cog in the wheel, a junior manager whom Ray was actually sent to evaluate in preparation for a potential dismissal, had seen something in Ray he didn’t even know was there, and now here he was, the last day of his trip, walking in a leather jock and leather boots,his ass bare to the world, his body viewed and appreciated by a street filled with hundreds, hand-in-hand with a man who spent all last night cherishing him, unlocking him, adoring and making love to him. Hurt? Like hell. But worth every moment.
He was had, and it was wonderful, and he just didn’t know that he’d ever be able to go back.
There is no back, only forwards.
John got a text on his phone: “Get over here right now, Markie is about to work out.”
I jumped on my bike and pedaled half a mile like an idiot through the streets of Boston to get to John’s house. I walked in like it was no big deal, red in the face. John pressed a beer into my hand and guided me to the sofa. The TV was on. I plopped down and watched Markie do push ups. He was wearing this tiny pair of red shorts – my favorite color – that barely covered his muscular ass. The V-shape lead my gaze down between his legs to were his balls bulged. The cropped shorts also provided a peek of the pure white straps of his jockstrap which gave me a stupid boner almost immediately. I sighed again in contentment and adjusted myself, then crossed my legs.
Markie paused and looked over his shoulder at the sound two people sitting on the sofa. “Am I bothering you guys? I can do this later if you want to watch TV.”
“No, it’s fine. We can see the TV fine,” John said smoothly. I nodded and sipped.
“Cool,” Markie replied, then went back to his work out.
I looked over at John; I mouthed ‘you are the best straight friend ever’ and we shared a fistbump. God, I had such a crush on Markie. I liked to think he was keeping his body primed for me, you know, for when I actually got the courage to go after him. No one knew if Markie was gay or straight. I would get to the bottom of that eventually, but for now, I was perfectly content with the view. I had even long-ago forgiven him for being a Cubs fan in Boston.
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Text is fictional.
“….Someone partied a little hard last night hm?”
“Nng…”
“Well, I’ll make you some coffee…”
“I’m up, I’m up,” he groans. “Just make sure there’s no Halloween candy in sight.”
“No no, stay down. I’m enjoying the view, Captain Tightpants. I’ll bring the coffee to you,”
He grumbles something about having a gay roommate before falling back asleep. I took a while to prepare his coffee. I swear, it was because the dog was so comfy, I swear.
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Text is fictional.
I yawn, ruffling my hair as I amble into the kitchen. I pause in the doorway, slightly startled to see a slightly older man cooking in the buff. His focus is on a pot on the stove. I tilt my head and rub my eyes. I didn’t think anyone else was home. George didn’t mention he had a houseboy. Well, some men don’t think to, they get so used to having them around.
“Morning, how about some coffee?” I say, sounding sluggish.
He glances in my direction, but doesn’t say anything back. I shrug it off, figuring he’s a silent type, then go about pouring some cereal into a bowl. I add the milk and sit down to read the paper. Halfway through on article on an all male ballet revue, I realize I still don’t smell coffee.
“Hey, do you mind making some c-” I tilt the paper back. The houseboy isn’t there. I look left and look right. I began to feel odd and the hair on the back of my neck is standing up. The stove is clear; the towel is hanging on the oven.
I put the paper down and glance out of the window toward the driveway; not a soul. I wander around the house, hoping to find him there or in the backyard. Feeling slightly frightened, I launched myself up the stairs to George’s room and find him safe and shaving in the bathroom.
“Hey um, George?” I pant.
“Hey is everything alright?” he asks, mid stroke.
“I …I don’t know. I ran into your houseboy downstairs and now he’s vanished. I was wondering if maybe I was wrong in thinking he’s your houseboy and someone broke in the house and….George why are you looking at me that way?”
He swallows hard. “I don’t have a houseboy.”
“….What?”
George’s eyes are wide. “Well, I mean…I did, but he…he passed away a couple years ago.”
“Christ,” I gasp and lean against the door-frame. “I swear, there was a guy I saw downstairs. He was cooking something on the stove.”
George finishes shaving as quickly as he can. He washes his face off and we scramble downstairs to the kitchen. The towel is on the floor when we get there.
George kneels and picks it up. “Ivan always used to wear this over his shoulder when cooking. I used to chide him when it fell off, which was often…” his voice catches in his throat.
“Jesus, George.”
George walks to the living room, clutching the towel, and gestures to a photo on the mantel. “That was us.”
My skin breaks out in small bumps. “That’s him!” I squeak, “That was him. He looked at me!”
“His name is Ivan,” George says, sniffling. “Oh god, why is this happening. Ivan passed away two years ago. He had cancer, it got into his brain. Why did he show himself to you and not me?”
Suddenly, George is crying and I’m embracing him, trying to comfort my new boyfriend. I’m soothing him and stroking the back of his head as he mourns when I smell it.
I sniff the air. George holds his breath and sniffs too.
“Do you smell that?” he asks, hesitant.
“Yeah I do,” I reply, swallowing my fear in my throat again. “It’s the smell of fresh coffee.”
We both look at each other and bolt to the kitchen. The scent is fading. There aren’t any full cups on the counter. No steam comes from the pot. However…the cupboard revealing the cups is open.
George and I are speechless.
“I …I think he wants me to make coffee,” I volunteer.
“Why would he want you to do that?”
I think. “Maybe he wants me to take care of you.”
George face lights up. “You think so? You think it’s his way of approving of you?”
“Perhaps so,” I say with a smile. I go about making coffee and a nice breakfast, looking over my shoulder the entire time.
George and I were on edge all morning, but there were no other traces of Ivan on that day or any other day. I kept dating George and eventually moved into his house. I mostly assumed Ivan had moved on. Although, once in a while, I would come into the kitchen to make dinner and find the towel on the floor, and I would wonder…
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Text is fictional. Happy Halloween. Be nice to have a source for this.
Milo jumps with a yelp when he feels a flat hand strike his ass. He whirls around.
“Who did that?? What was that for!”
Rodriguez grins at him. “Just doing what it says on your jacket.”
Milo glowers at him. “You’re washing all of our flak vests now.”
“Wooorth it.”
Nah. He’d put the jock on because—well, because he was a jock, right? I mean, he didn’t play anymore, but he had, he used to, and so wearing it was a habit, something he’d just never given up. This little piece of bro-hood that he kept with him, even as he’d grown and changed and moved on. That’s what it was.
It wasn’t at all a function of his new identity, the one he felt like he was still trying out sometimes, like a new pair of kicks or a new pair of sweats or, yeah, like a new jockstrap. It wasn’t that it framed his ass just so, wasn’t that it divided his body up, managing to emphasize both the rear he’d been starting to work so hard on (“It’s motherfuckin’ squats, man,” he’d said with a laugh when he got his first whistle at his new gym) and the dick he kept coiled in the pouch, the dick that (it turned out) liked locker rooms, athleticism, and bros just as much as he did. It wasn’t that he wore one so that then he could feel the fabric of his shorts sliding over his skin all day like a caress, wasn’t so that he could caress it himself, just run a hand along a cheek nonchalantly, you know, touching it, the same way other guys constantly and unconsciously scratched their nuts.
And it certainly—definitely, definitively—wasn’t that it made him feel so, so sexy.
“Well, now what do we have here?”
“Oh! Um, Coach that’s …well I- I…”
“Wearing your best brand jock strap to boxing practice? I think you want to impress someone, Richie.”
“Gosh Coach, I’m so embarrassed you found out this way…”
“I think you wanted me to find out. You have a cute butt. I was right about that.”
“…You really been checking me out, Coach?”
“Well not as much as you’ve been checking out me,” he said, releasing the elastic and cupping Richie’s left cheek.
“You could tell??” Richie said, sounding shocked.
Coach tried to suppress a laugh. “Your eyes always lingered in certain places, boy. You are a tremendous flirt and are always trying to get my attention. Too shy to take the first move? Have you worn these for me every time, hoping one day I’d notice?”
“I- I- well -um-”
“You have a hot body, Richie. I mean, I sculpted it myself, but I’ve never gotten to taste it. Why don’t we hit the showers early?”
“Oh wow, Coach, you mean it?”
He reaches around and squeezes Richie’s cock between his shorts. “Unless you want everyone to see you get fucked over the weight lifting bench.”
Richie gulps. “No, Coach, I want you all to myself!”
“You are one of my best students Richie. You know why? Because you listen and respect your superiors. Come on, let’s go. We’ll finish up your lesson later.”
“Yes Coach!” Richie asks, pulling off his boxing gloves in a hurry.
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Text is fictional.
Happy Birthday to my favourite Sir who can get as many hugs, licks, spanks, moaning boys, kisses and positive energy as he wishes. I reckoned a jockstrapped ass would be a safe choice for your bday card. =)
Take care, Sir!
x
Oh gayboykink, you make my life better. Thank you!
Aw, this is sweet. Happy Birthday youthfuldominance. Did you get birthday spankings?
As he put away my coat, a bing came from the kitchen. “Ohhh the roast is ready.”
Before I could say anything my houseboy jogged back to the kitchen, his pert butt bouncing behind him. I followed him there. “Henry, what is that smell?”
“Roast chicken,” he replied, matter of factly. “I put a lot of butter on the potatoes this time cause I know you like that.” He pulled out an impressive looking dinner and set it on the stove.
“Damn, that looks amazing. But no I mean, the other smell. It smells like a candle factory exploded.”
My boy pulls off his oven mitts and blinks at me. “Ohhh that.” He moves to the cabinet and begins to make me a vodka cranberry. “It’s spices. I thought since we live in a climate where we actually get seasons now that it would be appropriate to get into the mood of things.”
“Things…?” I repeat.
“You know, fall! Autumn! Pumpkins. Pies. Cinnamon. Apples. The leaves outside are turning colors! Here’s your drink Sir.”
I accept it, and sip it. “Thank you, boy.” I enjoy watching him move about the kitchen, fussing over the chicken and setting the table. “So you lit a candle?”
“No Sir, I had to change the air filters so I rubbed a mix of cinnamon and allspice and cloves on them.”
“How did you come up with that?”
“Well they were at the grocery store, but they were expensive, so I just decided to do it myself.”
I stare at him. “Well that’s quite intelligent.”
“Is it? Thank you Sir.” Henry frumps around with making gravy. “You know, I was thinking, why don’t we have a little house warming party?”
I nearly choke on my drink. “Boy, I don’t think that’s a great idea. People are avoiding me at work because I was upfront that I was gay. I just moved here, I don’t want to ruffle any feathers.”
Henry pauses and tilts his head. “Forgive me for saying this Sir, but I think having a housewarming party would be even more useful this way. Perhaps the people you work with aren’t used to ‘homosexuals’, or whatever they call us. It’s a perfect opportunity to show them that you’re a normal person, you live in a normal house, have a normal life. We don’t have a dungeon in the basement… well, yet. Plus, I’m a damn good cook.”
I smile. “That you are. You know, you might be right.”
“Ooo that means I can decorate the house. I could carve a pumpkin. Make that cinnamon apple cake I like… god I love parties.”
I set the drink down on the kitchen table and sink into a chair. “Come here for a moment, Henry.”
He sets a serving spoon down on the counter, wipes his hands on a towel, and walks over to me. “Yes sir?”
“Sit on my lap, boy.”
He lifts up the apron and straddles my thighs. I give him a kiss on the lips and squeeze his ass with my hands.
“God I love it when you’re domestic,” I admit, low and husky in his ear.
“Do you Sir?”
“I have no idea why, but it makes me want you. You just get this glow about you when you get into one of your moods…”
“Well, I am happy when serving the man I love.”
I capture his mouth with another kiss. My right hand moves forward, under his apron. I give his locked cock a proper tug, then cup his balls in his hand and massage them as I kiss him. Henry moans against me and grinds into my hand.
“You must really like buttered potatoes,” he breathes.
“Mmnn…I think I just really like autumn,” I say. “Are you prepared?”
“Yes Sir. I always lube up right before you get home, just in case you want to relieve some stress.”
“That’s a good boy,” I murmur. “Stand up a minute.”
He does so, so I can unzip my pants and extract my cock. I groan when the wet tip touches cool air. Henry takes over and strokes me with his hand, his eyes fixated on me. He’s flushed, but I can’t tell if it’s from cooking or from stimulation. When I’m breathing slow and properly stiff, Henry crawls back into my lap. He holds onto my shoulders so he can raise his ass up and position my cock in the right spot. I bite off a cry when I feel his body envelope me, a slow, tight heat around me, down to the hilt. I plunder his mouth again and push his waist downward so he’s sitting on my lap once more.
“God that’s it, Henry,” I murmur. He rides me, without even asking. I watch in fascination as his pelvis and hips roll while his shoulders stay mostly still. His eyes are glazed over now. I notice there’s a wet spot flourishing on the apron. Soon, I cannot stay still any longer and drive up into him. Henry cries out, begging me to keep moving. We collide over and over until he’s squeezing my shaft so hard I can’t even breathe.
I shout and explode inside of him. Henry whines, a loud needy noise, and then I feel something hot and wet pool through my work pants. I realized I haven’t breathed in what seems like forever and so I inhale, sharply. The world spins around me, and I cling to my houseboy. He is staring me with love all over his face, looking completely blissed out. I bless him with a few more kisses, then we slide apart. He looks upset at the loss, but enjoys playing with my softening cock after settling back down without it inside of him. My seed drips out of his hole and back onto my legs too. Instead of feeling filthy, I feel deeply possessive and horny again.
“That – that was a wonderful surprise Sir,” he says, his sternum heaving.
“Mnnnh…you were divine. Did I trigger something? You made a mess on my leg.”
Henry lifts up the apron corner. “I think you triggered a small anal orgasm, Sir…I felt like someone was blowing up a balloon in me and it popped and then it just felt wonderful. I feel so light.”
I smirk. “That is how it should be. That is the joy I give you.” I plant a kiss on the tip of his nose.
“Thank you Sir, for that gift then.” Henry nuzzles my cheek. “I am afraid I have soiled your pants Sir.”
“You can scrub the semen stains out after dinner. I don’t think I can get up right now Henry, fetch me a clear pair of slacks would you?”
I watch in great amusement as a pouting Henry dismounts me and wobbles off like a baby deer, one hand pressed between those round ass cheeks. I sip my cranberry vodka and look over at the chicken roast. I must be the luckiest man in the world.
As I sip, my thoughts drift back to that idea of a housewarming party. I like the idea more and more. I want every homophobe in that office to be jealous of what I have with Henry. I want them to see our chemistry, our happiness. I also want them to see hickeys. I swirl the ice in my glass. Yes, yes, for sure. I can hear Henry approaching with my pants. After dinner, after he’s scrubbed my pants and done the dishes, I will fuck him silly and give him those lovebites for the week.
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Text is fictional. I pulled this image from this post.