“Love is a form of prejudice. You love what you need, you love what makes you feel good, you love what is convenient. How can you say you love one person when there are ten thousand people in the world that you would love more if you ever met them?”
‒Charles Bukowski


Balancing my laptop case atop the pile of clothes in the laundry basket, I stepped through the propped-open front door of my girl’s apartment. It was a large bundle. I’d have to set it down outside and go back for my cell phone and keys. No sooner had I placed the basket on the outdoor patio than I heard the slam and pop of the door shutting and locking. I turned, moaning and closing my eyes in abject self-loathing.

“Great.”

A full load of laundry, my computer, no cell, no keys—so I couldn’t get into my car—and it was getting late. My girl had let me stay to do my laundry at her place. She left to spend the weekend with her girlfriend at some lake. I searched my pockets for change. I had none. Even if I had, I doubt I would have found a payphone anywhere.

I heard the sound of a door opening and closing on the next level up. I rushed through the outer door, calling up as I went.

“Hello? Hey, I’m locked out.”

He was a thin guy, a bit smaller, and—I’m sorry to sound a bit prejudiced—by the tightness of his jeans and the way he wore his hair, my immediate impression was gay.

Now, I am not a homophobe. In fact, my girl, Nancy, and I were pretty eclectic in our group of friends. Nancy herself is bisexual, and I have never had a problem with it. Moreover, I have been lucky enough to watch her and one or two of her women friends a few times.

The guy, whom I’d never met, but whom I’d seen more than a few times coming and going, smiled and nodded understandingly. “You don’t have a key, do you?”

“No.” I shrugged bashfully, “And Nan’s gone out of town for the weekend…”

He held up a hand. “I get the idea. Come on up, you can use my phone, and we can get the super out to let you in, huh?”

I nodded. “Okay, let me just get my stuff.”

I didn’t feel too crazy about leaving my laptop and clothes out on the patio where just anybody could come along and take them. I hefted the large bulk of the laundry basket and walked to the stairs taking them slowly.

The guy stepped aside for me, pulling his aviators down on his nose. “Heavy load.” He smirked.

“Yeah, it’s a bitch, ain’t it?” I chuckled.

“I’m Sandy,” he said, walking up quickly to get the outer door for me.

“Sean,” I said.

He produced an electronic key card and fed it into the lock on his apartment door, opening it and holding it for me. The place was just like Nancy’s, only the posters and furnishings were different. I set the laundry basket down on the tile by the door and wiped my forehead. “Thanks, man,” I said.

“Don’t mention it.” He went to where the cordless phone sat on its jack on the kitchen bar. He picked it up and tossed it across the room. “Beer?”

I started dialing. “Uh, sure.” I finished dialing the number for the management and listened to the phone ring three times before a machine picked up. “Shit.” I turned around, and the guy handed me a beer.

“What’s wrong?”

“Office is closed ’til eight tomorrow morning.”

Sandy popped the top of his beer and sucked on his bottom lip. “Well, if you need a ride someplace… I was on my way out to the club anyway.”

“I… Uh…” I nodded. “Sure, I mean, I don’t want to impose.”

“What are neighbors for?”

“Technically, I’m not your neighbor, though…”

He smirked. “Well, Nan’s a neighbor, at least. And it would be mighty un-neighborly of me to let her boyfriend twist in the wind, now wouldn’t it?”

“True. Thanks.” He was about my age, though I’m sure he passed for younger. With his build and movements, it was hard to put him much past twenty-one. He was not quite my height and lithe with a tan that he probably spent hours earning. His very dark hair was cropped short on the sides but spiked on top with product. I took all this in at a glance before he pointed at the beer he’d handed me.

“You going to drink it or just hold it and let it sweat?”

I smirked and popped the tab. “Sorry, thanks.” I took a few quick chugs of the ice-cold beer before asking a question. “What club are you going to?”

“Oh, none you would have been to.” He wiggled his eyebrows, and I let out a little laughing breath.

“Oh, one of those clubs?”

He nodded. “Guy’s got to get love someplace, right?”

I shrugged. “Fair enough.” I sipped the beer and looked around the apartment. There was a poster of Bob Dylan on one wall. I pointed to it. “I have that same picture on my wall at home..”

“I’ve always liked Dylan.”

“Me too.”

“Where do you live, by the way?”

“About twelve blocks west. Not far, but…” I indicated the basket of laundry. “Well, that would have made it one hell of a hike.”

“I wouldn’t have made it up the stairs.” He chuckled. “You want to sit down? I’m in no hurry.”

“I…” I couldn’t think of any place I needed to be. My job in the student aide center on campus was furloughed during spring break. And I didn’t have to be back on campus until Monday. “Sure.”

“It’s kind of nice to meet you officially, I have to admit,” he said, plopping down on the sofa. “From what Nan says about you and what I hear through the floor, you’ve become a bit mythic.”

“Oh, Nancy talks about me, huh?”

“Incessantly. To the point of being depressing.”

I took a seat in the easy-chair. “Depressing?”

Sandy smirked. “Well, the rules of girl talk… I shouldn’t say.”

“Suit yourself.” I sipped the beer and looked out the open front door. It was becoming a lovely night, and the wind had died down. “So, what’s your favorite album?”

“Dylan? Oh, I don’t know. Highway 61 Revisited, maybe? Are we really forcing small talk?”

“Hey, I tried to make things interesting, you balked, and now we’re talking music.”

He chuckled. “You make it sound like a set of procedures.” He set his beer on the coffee table. “Then again, a guy who’s had the same girlfriend since high school must be some kind of operator. She says you two seldom argue, and you’ve been really great about her experimenting.”

“Yeah.”

“She’s grateful. Says you showed her how to have fun and open up to new ideas.”

“And how…” I smirked.

“You don’t approve of the new lifestyle.”

That was an excellent direct question. I pondered. “I’m not adverse.”

“You mean, you like to watch two women?”

“Well, I haven’t really set in with them,” I shrugged. “Mostly, if I’m there, they just sort of start petting and then excuse themselves, leaving me on the couch in the living room.”

“You don’t get curious about them?”

“Of course,” I said. “People making love, having sex, fucking… It can be beautiful. But, I let them have their privacy. Besides, I’m learning how to share.”

He nodded. “Ah, so she left to go fuck her girlfriend by a lake, and you’re left doing laundry and pulling your pud, eh?”

“Something like that.” I swilled the last of my beer. “Like today. She was off like a shot. Left a note on the pillow. And boy, I had a beauty when I woke up.”

“A boner?”

“Yep, big vengeful sonofabitch. Who-ee, I cranked it three times today, and the fucker’s still on a hair-trigger.”

Sandy laughed and stood, taking my empty beer can and taking it into the kitchen. “Man, the way you talk…”

“What about the way I talk?”

He came back with a second beer already opened for me. I took it, and he sat down and popped the tab off a second for himself. “I don’t know, just ultra-masculine. I mean, not uneducated or Neolithic, but…”

“Corse.” I nodded. “Yeah, I know. But hey, I say what’s on my mind, and that’s what’s on my mind. My girlfriend’s munching rug, and I’m filling my palm with knuckle juice.”

“You see, the way you talk, it reminds me of the guys in the locker room after gym in high school.” He rolled his eyes. “And that’s a memory that makes me empathize.”

I coughed and took a pull at the beer.

“I’ve made you uncomfortable?”

I shook my head. “No, now I’m just thinking back to high school and wondering if guys were checking me out without my being aware of it.”

“Not something straight people think about, I guess.” He sipped his beer. “But it happens, trust me.”

I cocked my head, and he shot a little glance my way.

“More girl talk?”

He shrugged. “I’m just saying, you wear nice tight shirts, man.”

I swigged my beer, taking the statement into simple consideration. Here the guy was being nice, letting me drink a beer, taking up his time on a Saturday night. “Well, thanks, I guess.”

He studied me for a moment. “You ever thought about it?”

I looked out the door. “Not really. I mean, I grew up with a brother, attended scout camp, nothing too special about seeing a guy naked.”

“Ever had a guy suck you off?”

We chuckled, a tad uncomfortably. “No,” I said at last. “Have you ever been with a girl?”

He smiled. “Virginia Peters, Sophomore year. It was in my, ‘well, something was missing’ phase.” He moved his hand down to the crotch of his jeans. I noticed a bit of a growing bulge there as he adjusted himself casually.

“And the ‘something missing’ was another one of those?”

He chuckled. “Yes, sir.” I had to admit, I was aware that his hand was still resting on the apex of his tight jeans, and the sight was oddly arousing. I glanced away and then back again. I looked up, and he was studying me.

“You know, Nancy says you got a nice one.”

I shifted, leaning back a bit in the chair. “Much good it does me when she decides to take off like this.” I lay my head back and looked at the ceiling. “I mean, it’s not like I can’t go out and find someone for a random thing, you know. No strings, no muss, just… fun, you know?”

He nodded. “It’s the best kind of relationship if you ask me. Just something you do on a free night every week or so. Nobody knows or cares, and when it ends, it’s like when a good movie goes out of theaters.”

I shook my head. “You talk about how I talk…”

He looked hurt. “What?”

“You spout faggoty prose like that…”

He cracked a grin. “You know, that’s a derogatory term.”

“I didn’t call you a faggot. I said your prose was faggoty.”

“And now we’re arguing semantics…” He ran a hand up and mussed his hair. “Ah well, I suppose I don’t really feel like going anywhere tonight after all.”

“Huh?”

He looked over. “I’m a small guy. Two beers, and I’m buzzed.”

I drained mine and stood. “Me, I take at least four or five.”

“In the fridge.” He held out his empty can. “Put that in the recycling under the sink for me while you’re up.”

“Sure.” I took the can, and when I did, my fingers brushed his a bit. It wasn’t anything significant, but they touched, and it wasn’t weird or anything. “You want a third?”

“Actually, there’s whiskey in there too.” He pointed. “Bring the bottle.”

“You got shot glasses?”

“In the cupboard over the fridge.”

I tossed the two empty cans and went to the fridge. I took out two beers and the fifth of Scotch.

“This is good stuff,” I said, reaching up and finding the shot glasses. I took down one and put it over the capped mouth of the bottle, and I moved back into the living room. He’d stood up to get the remote and was standing with his hip cocked, flipping through channels.

He took the bottle and the shot glass. “You shooting with me?”

I shrugged and went back for a second shot glass. When I came back, he’d plugged in a DVD, and I joined him on the sofa. I poured two shots and popped the beers open while the opening credits rolled.

“What are we watching?”

“To Catch a Thief. You like Hitchcock movies?”

“Who doesn’t?”

He held up his shot, and we did a cheers and drank. I was surprised to see he didn’t chase his shot with the beer. Instead, he just made a slight wince and then leaned forward to pour each of us another.

“So, you drink like this a lot?”

He shrugged. “I’m kind of antisocial. Not that I don’t like getting laid. I just don’t like going out and dressing up to do it.” He indicated his clothes. “It’s a costume, though. Got to give the boys what they want.”

I shrugged. “Can’t you just be yourself and pick up a guy?”

“I wish.” He held up his shot. “Of course, they all have to put on a show. The twinks have to be all irresponsible and girly. And the pretty boys have to act like Olympian gods. ‘Admire me but don’t touch.’ Then there are the man sluts, and that’s a bit like spinning the S.T.D. wheel of fortune.”

“You make it sound so glamorous.”

“I’m not going to lie. I’m not really that into the lifestyle so much as the feeling of having a stiff cock hammered lovingly up my ass while a firm hand jacks me. God, the fucking thrill of the sex!”

The movie had started. Women were screaming as images of a cat stalking over the rooftops of Cannes played across his flatscreen.

Sandy shifted, putting one of his boots up on the coffee table. One hand was on his knee. The other held the remote in his lap. “Or just sucking cock. God, I remember back when I was a freshman in high school, this guy and me, we’d been friends since kindergarten, we’d sneak off after school and blow each other in the equipment locker by the soccer field. We did that through most of high school. It was like a daily thing. It never got old, either. The bell would ring, I’d grab my bag, we’d meet in the hall by the lunchroom and pal around with some people, and then we’d walk home together, you know? Stop in the shed, spend about twenty to thirty minutes blowing each other. I’d tell my dad we’d stopped by the arcade on the way home.”

“The arcade?”

He lay back, chuckling. “It was our little joke. Spending twenty minutes playing with each other’s joysticks, it was better than PacMan at the pizza parlor any weekday afternoon.”

“So what happened to him? Your friend, I mean.”

He shrugged. “What happens to most high school friends? Got into different colleges, he met a dude… such is life.” He stopped, looking over at me. “And since him, nothing to write home about. I’m twenty-three, a prize young buck, and since I’m not into old guys and the posers aren’t into me, I end up coming home alone a lot and getting drunk.”

“Well, sorry to put a damper on your night.” I took a swig of beer. “You look nice, probably would have bagged someone.”

He smirked. “I even had it all worked out, you know? Walk up to some random guy and just…”

“Just what?”

He sat up straight and cocked his head. “Well, say we were in the quieter part of the bar, you know, perhaps a bit tired from all the dancing. Do you dance?”

“Not too much. Nan drags me out with her and her friends.”

“Well, you know, having a cool-down drink at the bar, maybe I’d spot some nice looking guy, and I’d just walk up to him and say, ‘excuse me,’ and then I’d reach out like this…” He placed his hand on my knee. “And then, depending on his reaction…” He shrugged.

“Reaction?”

“Well, sometimes they feel like busting a nut, and sometimes they don’t.”

“You’ve just reduced queer theory to a Mounds commercial.”

He kept his hand on my knee as I watched the Cary Grant as he walked up the beach to rest in the sand, Grace Kelly in the background watching him surreptitiously. I couldn’t tell you why I didn’t slap it away or ask him to stop as I felt his hand move slowly up my thigh. I was horny, and when I felt his hand rub the length of my growing hard-on through my cargo shorts, I sighed a bit.

“Yeah, I hate bars,” he said, positioning himself so that he was more or less snuggled up closer to me. “But I love cock.”

On the screen, Cary Grant and the other guy were meeting in the flower market. I felt warm lips kissing the back of my neck, and my cock, nestled in my underwear, was already pulsing with anticipation. He could feel it, and as his lips touched against my lower earlobe, I listened to the small individual clicks of my zipper being pulled down in slow-motion. I imagined being a teenager again, thinking about the friends I used to walk home from school with, who I’d showered with in the gym, all the guys with nice bodies that got nicer during wrestling season. I remembered how some of them had had big cocks nestled in beds of thick dark curls, while others had shaved so that their skin was soft and smooth.

I pulled my shirt over my head, keeping my eyes on the screen but letting my mind wander. How many times had any one of them wanted to sneak off? How many of them would have been okay with me asking them to sneak off? Thinking hard about it, probably not many of them had been gay or bi. But imagining them, looking at me, remembering subconsciously looking at them, memorizing their lean torsos, their bouncing cocks in the soapy spray after countless practices, as he tongued a nipple, I closed my eyes. I remembered the first time I’d ever had a woman suck on my cock.

I’d been seventeen, and I’d dated the girl for two years, begging her the whole time before she gave in. I remembered she’d complained about the taste, about how it had felt so half-hearted on her part, and how that had made the experience almost pointless. I thought of Nan, her lips kissing down my flat stomach, her tongue darting out to wet a little circle around my navel, and then I gasped as I looked down to see this man, this person who’d been a stranger only an hour ago, working his mouth down around the tip of my fully encouraged eight-inch cock.

I helped him push my shorts and boxers down off my hips, his mouth not letting my cock slip from his lips as I sat back down.

I felt fingers caressing my shaven balls and a palm flattening on my chest as I let my fingers wander into his hair, clutching his scalp making him moan around my cock. On the screen, I watched Cary Grant and Grace Kelly walking down the hall together, him opening her door for her, and then she turned to kiss him suddenly without provocation or shame before closing the door.

I felt his mouth leave my cock as his hand moved up to jack me. He laughed.

“I always loved that scene,” he said.

“Me too,” I said.

He looked up at me then. I couldn’t tell what color his eyes were in the glow of the TV screen. He kissed my abs, keeping his eyes locked with mine. “Thank you,” he said, closing his eyes as he licked slowly down over my flat stomach to lick along the underside of my dick and then back up to take the head between his lips and allowing the whole length to slide down his throat slowly.

My eyes widened as I gripped his shoulder, and then I let out an awkward groan as the suction increased, and he began pistoning his mouth up and down on my cock, sending shivers up through my body. I rubbed his back and closed my eyes as I felt the fingers on my balls move lower and one press lightly against the pucker of my asshole.

I was too far gone in the ecstasy of this man’s mouth and throat to care, and then when he pressed inside, I gasped, and he gripped my thighs and gobbled my cock as I felt hot jizz spurt in rapid long bursts down his hungry hot throat. He swallowed it, licking little dollops off the tip of my penis finally before letting his head rest on my thigh, his face turned toward the TV screen.

We lay there like that, me with my shorts around my ankles, him fully clothed, his head on my thigh for the rest of the movie. When it ended, and the final credits rolled, he picked the remote up off the floor where it had fallen when he’d repositioned himself. He flipped off the TV and the DVD player.

He went to the back of the apartment, where I heard a door open and then the gargling of mouthwash. I stood and pulled up my shorts. There was no mess to clean up. He came back with his shirt half undone, his shaven chest half-exposed in the half-light of the room. He picked up his car keys from the counter where he’d ditched them earlier and tossed them to me.

“I’m too wasted,” he said. “Take my car. Bring it back in the morning when the office opens.”

I looked at him, this man who’d just given me a thrilling blow job. I wanted to stay and go at the same time. “You trust me with your car?”

He pointed at the bundle of laundry and my computer still sitting by the door. “Leave that here,” he said. “You can stop by in the morning after you get your keys and give me back mine.”

I nodded. “Which car is yours?”

“It’s in slot thirty-four out front. Perhaps we can hang out some more when you return the keys,” he walked up and kissed me lightly before whispering in my ear. “I mean, if you’re cool and don’t mind. I loved sucking your cock.”

I jingled the keys and backed away, smiling. “You’re good,” I said. “See you at eight-fifteen.”

I left, taking the steps thoughtfully, turning to watch the light in his bedroom pop on and a shadow play across his blinds. I walked the path to the parking lot beside his building in the complex and pressed the button on the key fob. Lights flashed, and there was a little security beep. I walked up to the little British-racing green Solstice. I shook my head at the pretty little machine and climbed in. I had to push the seat back all the way so that my knees weren’t in my ears, but when I started it and put the thing in gear, I sighed.

I might have asked to stay the night. But I knew there would be more to come with soft-mouthed Sandy.