Light woke me angling up off the night’s fast-melting snowfall and through the bedroom’s south window. I’d never gotten around to drawing the curtains. Stretching, my arm grazed Paul’s chest where his torso lay curled up and over my shoulder, his face nuzzled into my hair. My feet were untied, the rope lying near the foot of the bed. My head clearing after a minute or so, I started to grasp that what had seemed a wonderfully bright morning was in fact the light of mid-day. The clock, confirming the worst, read nearly 11.30.
Oh, hell. Paul had stirred, settled back into me, his
lips languidly browsing the back of my neck, his hand grazing the left side of
my chest. I broke the embrace, prodded his shoulder, heard the anxiety in my
own voice as I announced we’d overslept. I leapt out of bed and into the robe
draped over the armchair by the window.
“I don’t know that I
can get out of your way before Jim’s back,” he said. “My morning routine’s a
pretty slow deal.”
“It’s OK,” I told
him. “Best thing is I let him know I slipped up, then you come down so I can
introduce you. I just don’t want him to walk in on us still up here in the
thick of it. Take your time getting up.” I hesitated. “Or do you need a hand?”
“I do it by myself
all the time,” he said. “Just hand me the braces.”
Passing them to him
from where he’d dropped them on the floor, I gave him a last kiss and tore
downstairs, started the coffee, set out juice and muffins. Overhead, I heard
the toilet flush, then the sound of water running in the sink. Out the kitchen
windows, wet snow lay over the herb garden, the beds mounded in stippled, spiky
relief against the paths’ framing grid. As the coffee-maker went into its final
asthmatic spasms, I tried with a rising sense of unease to parse apart the
roiling mix of what I felt: the exhilaration of meeting a sweet, hot man I
wanted not just for the night we’d just passed, but again; my fantasies of how
I wanted to get it on with him already outstripping the memories of what we’d
done; the remorse of knowing I’d already crossed a line; the knowledge that Jim
wouldn’t hold it against me; and the knot of panic in my stomach that none of
the above could explain, as though the fear of being caught out had little to
do with the situation, and everything to do with the anxieties escaping from my
own Pandora’s Box. With the desire to
have a man in my life who took as much pleasure as I did in the sex I really
longed for. With the edge of frustration I felt with Jim’s ever-uncensored
demands for what I couldn’t give. With the contortions I had to go through to
divert him from his own sexual agenda far enough to meet me halfway to mine on
uneven common ground. With the satisfaction of his companionship from day to
day, which felt as essential to me as food, clothing, and shelter.
Shaking off the
flickers of irritation I didn’t want to deal with and reining in my anxiety, I
imagined how Jim’s homecoming would play out.
A welcoming kiss. A first cup of coffee as we sat down at the table and
he gave me his report of the night before. My explanation of the trick still
upstairs amidst our Sunday ritual. By the time he walked through the kitchen
door, I’d settled enough to feel confident it would all unfold benignly.
He wore an
ear-to-ear grin above the heavy knitted muffler that burgeoned out of his
leather jacket. His eyes dancing, he reached for my waist with both hands and
pulled me into a tight hug. Underneath the smell of soap, his beard still gave
off the faintest whiff of crotch.
“You had a good
night,” I ventured.
“I had a fabulous
night,” he said. “And now I’m home with my fabulous husband. Whose car’s in the
drive?”
“Uh, yeah. Sit down
and have some coffee and I’ll tell you about it.”
Annoyance flickered
across his face as I waded into the explanation. His face softened again when I
got to Paul’s living arrangement.
“Well, he’s still
here, and no harm done,” he finally broke in as I continued tripping over
myself, assuaging the guilt that kept welling up from within. “Sooner or later
something like this was bound to happen.” The ice of his blue eyes warmed to
summer sky, and his grin turned to a smirk. “More to the point, is he as cute
as you say? Let’s not call him down for introductions. Let’s go back up so I
can see for myself.”
Before I could
answer, he’d risen from the table and was bounding up the stairs.
Paul was standing
next to the bed in his paisley boxers, his braces at an angle against the edge
of the mattress, his head through the neck of his sweatshirt, his arms tangled
in the sleeves, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The fly of his shorts
was a little tented. The dusting of black hair across his pecs, the trail of it
down the cleft of his belly to his waistband stood out stark in the bright
light of noon. Jim’s greeting came a little too loud, his cordiality laced with
a little too much mischief, however friendly his tone. Paul lost his balance
and flopped onto the mattress.
“Oh, jeez, sorry,”
Jim said.
“So Paul, meet Jim,”
I said.
“I guess I just did.
You should know I don’t always fall for guys like this,” Paul offered.
All three of us
cracked up with the tension’s release. Jim offered Paul his hand, but Paul
righted himself to sit on the edge of the bed. “Let’s just compromise with
gravity for the moment and leave the standing for when it’s absolutely
necessary,” he said. “I gather we’re working outside the standard repertory
here.” His own embarrassment showed in the slightly disjointed delivery of this
last quip.
“Pretty much,” Jim
offered. “So I figured I might as well come up to meet you as ask you
downstairs. Can’t say I can blame Tim for bringing you home,” he smiled,
turning to me with a wink that Paul could see as well. “I’d have made the same
call myself, I bet.”
An awkward silence
opened up, till I offered, “I’ll put the breakfast stuff on a tray and bring it
up for the three of us.”
“Maybe later,” Jim
said. “I was kind of hoping you guys would replay a little of last night for my
bleary eyes. I’m way too fucked out, I’m happy to say, to do more than watch,”
he went on, brushing a hand along the inside of Paul’s leg, the fingertips just
inside the leg of his now more prominently distended shorts and laying the
other over the mound at the crotch of his own jeans, “but I bet what you’ve got
in there kept my Timmy happy till the wee hours, and it looks to me like you’ve
maybe got a little something left to work through.”
Paul looked toward
me a little confused, clearly waiting for me to call it. When I hesitated, Jim
slid up to sit with his back against the headboard and started undoing the
buttons of his fly. “Usually all I get is the second-hand report. I promise to
keep out of the way if you can fill me in on some of the night’s high points.”
With another horny
grin, Paul shucked his boxers back down below his hips, patting the mattress as
his already swollen cock started to twitch across his thigh. I shrugged back
out of my robe and lay down on my stomach, splayed between his legs, and began
to lick him in long, slow strokes up the length of his shaft, from the loose
hang of his scrotum up to his frenulum, still salty with the last of the load
he’d fired all over me as I’d lain beneath him most of the way to dawn, hips
pinned to the mattress by the weight of his torso as he straddled me. Suddenly
aware that most of the night’s cum was still encrusted on my belly, my gaze
floated to Paul’s face and then on to Jim’s, who had finished pulling himself
out and stroked languidly as he watched us. “This is how I tongue another guy’s
dick when you’re not around,” I slurred.
“Well, not quite the
same way,” Paul chimed in. “If Jim really wants a replay, we’re going to have
to tie you back up.”
Jim cocked an
eyebrow at me in silent query.
“No,” I said to
Paul, as a dozen stray shards of myself suddenly fell back into their rightful
place. I nodded toward Jim.“We’re going to tie him up.”
“No way,” Jim said,
laughing. “I’ve got nothing left.”
“We’re not asking
you,” I shot back, gathering the rope up from where it lay snaked at the foot
of the bed. “I’m telling you.” I pulled his jeans down his thighs and ripped
the buttons off his shirt pulling it apart from the collar. “Tie his wrists,” I
said to Paul. “But never mind giving him room to manoeuver. Make it nice and
snug.”
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