Shooting Matt Ch. 16

He blushes. If he was any more adorable he'd be a fucking puppy.

"I don't know, 60-40, maybe 70-30," he says and shrugs under my arm. "I drove Brad crazy sometimes. He likes to bottom, too. He said it wasn't fair that I only had to deal with his little dick and he had to deal with mine." He's quiet for a moment. "His dick wasn't little. We were pretty much the same size, which is average. It bugged me that he'd say that. He was a damn doctor and he would still fall for those make-your-penis-bigger ads. Not the pills, he wasn't totally stupid but he bought this exercise booklet -- it was basically swinging and stroking your dick. He even mentioned surgery. I never understood..." Kent's voice trails off. He tilts his head to look up at me. "I'm sorry. That was dumb; dragging Brad into bed with us."

"Don't be an idiot. Whether we talk about him or not, he's here. Whether we talk about my ex, or Matt or Liam, any of them, they're all right here. They're all part of you or part of me. You listen to Springsteen?" I don't wait for an answer. "There's a line from Tunnel of Love, 'It's just the three of us, you, me, and all that stuff we're so scared of'. Bruce is a fucking genius in my opinion. 'All that stuff' is succinct and conveys the message. If I get worried you're too fixated on 'all that stuff' I'll let you know. Did you ever fuck Brad like you did me? Or him, you?"

"No. We had some intense times, don't get me wrong. He was a very passionate guy but I don't think we ever went at it that hard." I feel his head move. I assume he's looking at me but I keep my eyes closed, listening. "None of that, none of the fucking, was intended to hurt you."

"Bitch," I smile. "I know that. You did though, not hurt, but made me ache in a most marvelous way. What was the craziest thing you two did?"

"I blew him in the stairwell at the hospital once."

I chuckle, enjoying the feel of Kent's head bouncing on my chest. "Perfect. What about Brad? What's the craziest thing you and he did? If you don't want to tell, you don't have to."

"He jerked off under the cafeteria table once, while we were having lunch."

"No way? Really? Outstanding. No wonder you loved the guy."

"I did. I loved the guy."

"I know. That's a good thing. A fucking amazingly good thing." I roll toward my lover, sealing a yawn behind quivering lips. "How 'bout a little sleep?"

***

I don't know how long we slept. The world outside the bedroom is dark. I lie there in the dark, enjoying the feel of Kent's hand wrapped around my cock. That, and the soft whistle of his breath against my neck, lulls me back to sleep.

It's still dark when I wake the next time. I've rolled onto my back in my sleep. My cock isn't in his hand any longer; it's in his mouth. I lie still, enjoying the feel of his mouth on my cock, trying to find that hazy place between wakefulness and sleep. Maybe I can make this even more dream-like than it already is. I focus on my breathing, doing my best to keep it slow and even. Satisfied that I have my breathing under control, I shift my attention to my cock. One by one, I isolate every other sensation -- the feel of the light breeze, the damp pillow under my head, everything except the feel of his mouth on my cock -- and shut them out.

The only thing I want to feel is Kent's mouth on my cock. Well, that and the feel of his chest hair on my thigh and how warm his body feels along my side and the soft grunts he makes as he sucks my cock and the feel of his hand on my balls, but that's it; well, except for the brush of his hair on my belly when most of my cock is buried in his throat.

I swallow a sigh of disappointment when his mouth leaves me. My cock feels alone; alone, wet and cold and abandoned. He surprises me when he throws a leg over my waist. I thought I'd been doing an excellent job of pretending to be asleep. He puts the fingers of one hand in his mouth then rubs them in the crack of his ass. He grabs my cock as he lowers himself. He has to know I am awake, doesn't he?

I'm not sure his spit will provide enough lubrication. He holds the head of my cock against his asshole. His hand is wrapped around my shaft, just below the head. I feel more and more weight. As I'm ready to tell him to wait, let me get the lube, my cock pops into his ass. He goes slow. Don't let anyone tell you ass fucking isn't easier with lube. He goes slow but soon I feel his ass resting atop my naked thighs. He's impaled himself on my pole.

He leans forward. His lips caress my right nipple. I shiver but otherwise lie still. He kisses the side of my neck and I shiver again. When his lips brush mine I give up the pretense of sleep -- stupid idea anyway -- and kiss him back. My arms go around him. I pull my feet up to give myself some leverage and begin to make love to him.

I fuck him slowly, gently, mindful of the minimal lubrication. Even if we'd slathered my cock in lube, I'd still have gone slow. We'd been fucking. This is different. My hands move from caressing his back to squeezing his ass cheeks and back. One moves to his head and pulls it back so that I can kiss the hollow at the base of his neck. I stretch and twist to flick his nipple with my tongue.

I lie back. He sits straighter. Our hands lock and he begins to move up and down on my shaft. I pull one hand free and stroke his beautiful dick. He sits on my cock, tilting his pelvis back and forth. He tightens his ass, relaxes, leans back, jerks himself, bouncing his balls on my belly. He leans forward and buries his face against the side of my neck. Time slows, we follow the lead of our bodies. We take all the time in the world because, for the moment at least, we have all the time in the world.

I'm surprised when a stream of his cum lands on my neck. I'd not notice any change in his movements. I hadn't felt his cock swell in my hand. He doesn't moan, low and deep in his throat, until after the second jet laces across my chest. I continue to stroke him with the same slow, soft, motion.

My own orgasm begins to coil deep in my belly. I do my best to control it. I do my best to let it unwind in slow motion. I don't shove myself into his ass. We keep up the slow, steady rhythm. It's easier now that my cock is slick with cum but we don't vary the pace.

Kent collapses onto my chest. Before I fall asleep, I feel my softening cock slip out of his ass. I could so get use to that sensation.

***

Small shower or not, we shower together. I make us breakfast. We're just finishing when the sod truck pulls up to the curb. They stack the pallets of rolled up sod in the driveway. I've paid for the sod only. The installation is up to me. I rented a roll earlier. I fill it with water, wondering if it's too late to have the sod guys come back and just install the shit for me; the job seems a lot bigger in reality than it had in my imagination.

As I'm wondering if I've made a mistake, Kent grabs the wheelbarrow, throws a roll of sod in it and heads for the curb. He tips out the roll. Lines it up along the edge of the driveway and starts to unroll it. The strip of sod is not quite as wide as the space between the curb and the sidewalk. We decide to center the sod. There'll only be an inch or so on either side. The grass will fill that in.

Like with our fucking, we quickly fall into a rhythm. While Kent unrolls a strip of sod, I fetch another one. While I unroll that one, he gets another. Once we have a large enough section covered, one of us uses the roller to tamp it down and then I get a sprinkler going. It's at that point I see the major flaw in my re-sodding scheme. I don't have a sprinkler system installed. I'm the sprinkler system. I've tied myself to the new sod for at least a couple of weeks until it takes root. Hmm. There's fuck all I can do about it now.

The front yard is done and we have a good third of the back done before we break for lunch. It's a quick one. The sun is baking the rolls of sod remaining on the pallets. The back yard goes slower. The trip from the driveway to the back yard is longer. I wasn't smart enough to start at the back edge of the yard and work forward. Even so, I'm setting up the last sprinkler at roughly the same time I'd normally get home from work.

We shuck out of your muddy cloths on the car port. Showers tonight are individual affairs; the goal is to relax over-worked muscles and get clean. We're so beat we've got very little appetite. I fry up some bacon and scramble some eggs. I stick to water to drink. Kent claims he can drink a pot of coffee at nine o'clock and be asleep at ten. He makes a pot and, as if to prove his points, proceeds to drink it, iced, over the next few hours.

The Tribe has an off day, so there's no baseball I care to watch. We sit on the couch and watch a couple of episodes of Naked and Afraid. Invariably, the more the dude brags about making nature his bitch, the more unsuccessful he is at hunting, getting water, building a shelter etc.

We brush our teeth, hip to hip, sharing the sink, and drop into bed.

I fall asleep a fraction of a minute after Kent does. I have just enough time to appreciate what a perfect day it's been and then I'm gone.

***

I wake to Kent sucking my cock. The room is full of light. This is something else, I could get used to. I wrap my fingers in his hair and pull him up to me. We kiss. I nudge him into lying diagonally across the bed. When I turn to lie with my head towards his feet he gets the idea. Our bodies couldn't be better suited for 69-iing.

He's already hard. I discover it's hard to suck a guy's dick while he's sucking your cock. It's not the angles or distances or differences in height. It's mentally difficult. I keep finding myself getting lost in the sensations coming for my cock. In the end, I give up. I rest my head on his outstretched thigh. I caress him, fondle his balls and let him suck me off. I bury my face in the space between his dick and thigh when I cum. His mouth never leaves me, though he does ease up, aware of how sensitive my cock will be. When he releases my cock, he stretches out beside me, one hand cups and plays with my soft cock.

I shift position slightly and get back to work, able to savor the texture and taste of his dick. I'd never stopped playing with his dick while he blew me. The head of his dick is shiny and slick. I lick around the crown, dipping my tongue into his piss slit, fishing for more of his precum. I take my time. I've got a lot to do but none of it is as important as sucking this man's dick. I don't rush. I take my time. I gobble him up and enjoy the feel of him in my throat. I hold his dick like a lollipop and lick it like a lollipop. I rest my head on his leg and watch as I stroke his gorgeous dick. In the end, I hold just the head in my mouth, teasing his crown with my tongue and jerking him off into my mouth as he came.

I fall back onto the mattress, my head on my outstretched arm, and fall back to sleep.

***

I pull on a pair of gym shorts and leave Kent sprawled in the bed. I get a pot of coffee going and head outside to check the sod. I'd shut the sprinklers off before we went to bed. I drag the two in the backyard to new locations and turn on the water, scrunching my face up in anticipation of the squeal the faucet makes. The front yard is smaller but I still need to move the sprinklers. I move them to the opposite end of yard. I hear a car parking. I don't pay much attention. Several of my neighbors park on the street.

When I straighten up, Mary Beth is standing at the foot of the driveway. My heart does the slow slide into my stomach that is my body's conditioned response to the sight of my ex-wife. Once it's nestled, all snug as a bug someplace near my spleen, it will start to race. My head will begin to ache and a sour taste will fill the back of my throat. It's Pavlovian. Fuck me. Fuck her. I do not need this shit.

Her face twists into a hint of a smile, a sad smile but a smile.

"I'm not here to cause any shit, Randy," she tells me.

That throws me, not that she seems to be reading my mind, we've been through this scenario over and over and over again. It's the tone of her voice that cuts through the self-defense shields that have automatically descended at the sight of her. The tone of her voice and the wisp of a smile. She hasn't smiled, a genuine smile, in over a decade, at least not in my presence.

Her smile widens. It loses none of the sadness but it widens. Her eyes twinkle. Now, I'm really confused. I'm not sure I've ever seen a smile reach her eyes.

The smile fades.

"That can't be true, Randy? Can it?" She sighs, squares her shoulders and walks up the driveway. I've lost the ability to move. I stand there, at the edge of the driveway, and watch her approach. I stand there when she puts a hand on my arm. I stand there when she leans in and kisses my cheek. If she hadn't tugged at my arm I would have probably stood there while she walked to the house.

"Come on. Coffee should be ready." She turns and looks at me over her shoulder. The twinkle is back in her eye. "Besides, I want to meet this new boyfriend of yours."

WTF?

Kent is standing in the kitchen in his boxers, of course, that's the kind of morning this appears to be turning into. He's not naked but the boxers gape open and you can see a good bit of his bush and the base of his cock. He's smooth. He doesn't jump, scream, or run for the bedroom but he does move as if to cover his crotch with his hands. That causes coffee to slosh out of the cup in his right hand, where it falls on top of his bare right foot. That's when he jumps and, while not, strictly speaking, a scream, he does mutter "dammit" under his breath.

Mary Beth chuckles. As if being turned by an invisible hand, my head turns to stare at her.

"Oh, stop it, Randy," she chuckles. "I'm not a space alien hiding in your ex-wife's skin. It's me. Introduce me to Kent and pour us both a cup of coffee, then sit down."

She reaches over and tears off a paper towel. Kent also seems stricken by paralysis. He stands there as my ex-wife bends at the waist, wipes the top of his foot and the floor and then straightens up. She crosses to the waste basket, tosses the paper towel in, and turns back to face us. She frowns.

"Oh, for Great-aunt Fanny's sake. I'll do it myself. Sit down."

She's filled two cups with coffee and is almost to the kitchen table before I get my feet to move. Kent doesn't manage to move until after I've sat down. She holds a hand out.

"I'm Mary Beth," she tells him in a perfectly normal voice. We could be introducing ourselves at a PTA meeting. "Whatever Randy has told you about it me is, unfortunately, true. It's nice to meet you, Kent."

He takes her hand out of habit.

"How do you know my name?"

She chuckles again. She hasn't been able to avoid all the ravages of being a junky but she's still got her teeth and the lines around her mouth and eyes, look more natural when she smiles. Her shoulder length brown hair is pulled back in a ponytail. I notice streaks of gray.

"Beats the shit outta me, Kent. I can tell you but I don't know if you'll believe it. I'm not sure I do."

"The railroad man?" I don't know why I ask. I'm not even aware of being about to speak.

She looks at me over the top of her coffee cup and nods. "Uh-huh," she whispers.

***

Mary Beth looks at the needle. It's a real needle not one of those tiny insulin needles. The syringe isn't an insulin syringe either. The numbers on the side go up to "10", cc's she assumes but doesn't really care.

"Nurse, give Ms. Druggie Cunt, 10 cc's of black tar heroin stat. Put the bitch down," she giggles to herself as she draws up the dark liquid.

She bought four baggies. She's cooked four baggies. She's not planning on getting high. She's planning on getting dead. She's sick of being the butt of everyone else's joke. She's sick of the way her fucking asshole ex has turned her kid against her. Fuck all of them. She wonders again if there's any way to make sure her mom gets some nice 8x10 glossies of the crime scene photos. That gives her an idea. She hurries down to the bathroom and grabs a lipstick, bright red. She looks at herself in the mirror. Her tits sag. She's fucking old. Fuck this shit. She takes her time and writes across her chest: "fuck you mom".

She goes back to the living room of her crappy little apartment. It's not all that crappy. It's a shit ton better than any place she's had in the past five years. So, what? She's been clean for over six months, she has a job, a nice place. So, the fuck what? Liam ran off to be with dear sweet back-stabbing faggot Randy. Sure, the pressure to play mom had been driving her nuts but Liam had bolted. He could give a shit. Fuck him, too.

She sits down with her back to the sofa and adjusts the make-up mirror sitting on top of the coffee table. It's not plugged in but that's fine. Her veins are shit. There's no way she can find one that will take the big ass needle laying in front of her. She looks in the mirror, takes a breath and bears down. The vein in the side of her neck bulges out. That fucker can take a big needle. That fucker could take the whole damn syringe. It can sure as shit take what's in the syringe, take it straight to her heart, good-night Irene and fuck you world. She wonders if she'll have a few seconds to enjoy the bliss.

She picks up the syringe. The needle is sharp but it's big. It fucking hurts more than she imagined. Her finger finds the plunger.

"Fuck you Randy, you asshole prick cock-sucker; this is for you," she whispers through pursed lips, afraid if she screams the words like she wants to that the vein will collapse.

"He's not an asshole, you know and you most definitely aren't doing this for him."

The voice comes from behind her, from the couch. She screams and scrambles away. The syringe falls to the carpet. The needle pivots, slicing a small hole in her external jugular. It's a small hole but it's a big vein. Blood pours down the side of her neck. It's hot but when it flows over her right nipple, the nipple gets hard.

Some old fuck sits on the couch, wearing fucking dusty overalls and a weird stripped baseball cap.

"Who the fuck are you? Get the fuck out of here?" she screams.

The old man smiles at her. "Why are you afraid? What can I do that's worse than what you've been doing to yourself? Or worse than what you're getting ready to do?"

The voice is soft. Neither it, nor his face, carry the slightest trace of judgement. She starts to cry. The old man moves off the couch and kneels beside her.

"You're bleeding," he tells her and presses a finger to the small hole in the side of her neck. The pain stops, not just the pain in her neck. All of it.

She feels her pain being drug out of every nook and cranny and hiding spot in her body and mind. It tries to hold on, barbed needles drag at her flesh. Even that isn't capable of hurting her. Her pain hurdles through her body, being drug toward the old man's fingertip. She swears there's an audible pop when it exits her body.

The old man sits back on his heels. A tiny black worm writhes on the tip of his finger. As it does, she sees teeth, sharp pointy teeth that seem to reach for her before collapsing back into the worm's pulsating body, to be replaced by lips that mouth silent obscenities at her, her mother's face, her father's, the look on it the first time he fucked her, whispering it was because he loved her.