Sugaring Ben Page 6

  He laughed.

  I laughed.

  He kissed me again.

  I kissed him back that time.

  And before I comprehended the moment, playing by his rules, whatever they entailed, I didn’t listen to my head and heart. I escorted him through the house, upstairs, and closed the both of us in my bedroom.

  * * * *

  “Damn you have a muscular body,” he said, checking out my nakedness from toes to head, smiling from ear to ear. “It’s good to know you take care of yourself. I like that in a man.”

  I did take care of myself. With too much coffee, donuts, strawberry-cream cheese filled French toast, ice cream late at night, fried foods, and so many other bad goodies and high-sugared sweets that were horrible for me. Had Ben known that, there and then, he would have ditched my ass; not that I would have blamed him.

  With our clothes in a pile next to his feet, I admired his frame and felt like a lucky man. Ben was athletic in all the right ways, toned perfectly, hairy, freckled, and just drop dead gorgeous. I scrutinized his nakedness for quite some time, open-mouthed, and in a state of disbelief concerning his handsomeness. Never had I seen such a gorgeous guy. The perfect Greek statue. Model material for Playgirl. An inspiration for an erotic novel. Naughtiness in one package, and all for my pleasure.

  “Now what?” I asked him, stammering, blown away by his good looks.

  “I start to kiss you. You kiss me. And then we’ll see where it goes.”

  “You make it sound so easy.”

  “Because it is easy,” he said.

  And he was right, closing in on my mouth with his own, broaching our worlds together as one.

  * * * *

  “Ben?”

  “What?” he whispered after our interlude of sex, aligned with my body, having our hips touching.

  “I’m taking a trip to Pittsburgh this weekend. I have to speak there at Wassamere College. My lecture is short, and I’ll have a lot of down time. I’ll be leaving on Thursday evening and coming back on Sunday. I was wondering if you wanted to go with me?”

  Panting, spent, he rolled on his left side and brushed fingers against the middle of my chest. The room still smelled of sex between us. “I love the city and think I’d enjoy spending a few days with you.”

  “I won’t drive you crazy?”

  “You might, but I think I can handle it.”

  Crazy was falling for his seduction in my kitchen. Crazy was letting him kiss me. Crazy was rushing into a relationship with him, falling for the guy, and having no control over my feelings for him whatsoever. Crazy was leading him up to my bedroom and letting him slip me out of his clothes. Crazy was our intimate activity on my bed. And crazy was…feeling something for him that I didn’t want to feel, still a stranger to his faults and imperfections, whatever they entailed and hadn’t been shared with me as of yet.

  Chapter 11: Hays Golden (II)

  Cooper Marlow. He was one of my interests. I read all of his books in a row, spending hours upon hours within the folds of his words, sentences, and chapters. And then I watched all of his movies: The Dying Bear, Rise to Purple, Midnight Banish, Tempt Me Tuesday, Brawny Summer, and Margaret Down. The author was always working on something. A book, play, short story, or screenplay. He even did two teleplays in the last year for Lifetime: Yesterday Dream and Yesterday Come. His movies made him more money than his novels. His books of short stories usually bombed. But he was still wealthy and popular in Radar. If you asked people who Cooper Marlow was, they knew. How could they not know him?

  I played the fuck game with him any chance I could get for four months, prior to my involvement with Ben Cutter. Four amazing months of dreamy shit that had left me numb and hard at the same time. Cooper wasn’t young by any means; not that I really gave a shit about the man’s age, but he was in shape. Definitely over forty. Definitely the typical cliché: tall, dark, and handsome. Definitely had a great body and big dick. Single. Curly black hair. His handsomeness could have swept anyone off their feet, men and women included. No children. Two houses. One by Lake Erie. The other next to the Gulf near Barefoot Beach in Florida. Could have turned me around in either house and had his way with me. That’s what I wanted/needed/desired/demanded from him. I swear to God that’s what he had to give me, and I would take, take, take his dick without any complaints whatsoever. Fuck me. And fuck me hard.

  Families were important to Cooper since he had six brothers and two sisters, Vivanne and Mathilda. The Marlow family had gone through one of the most terrible events in 1994 when the children all lived under one roof in Buffalo, New York. A week before Halloween, during the middle of the night, a lunatic entered their Victorian home on Snyder Street in downtown Mitchford, a well-to-do and tiny suburb of Buffalo. The male intruder, a thief in the area with a history of violence, high on meth, encountered rage on the night he broke into the Marlow house.

  Cooper’s youngest sister was raped and strangled. The psycho then strangled Cooper’s parents: his mother outside of Vivanne’s bedroom as she went to check on her daughter, probably because she was awakened in the middle of the night from “strange” noises, and his father in his parents’ bedroom. The madman left the house with over five hundred dollars, which Cooper’s mother, a guru with finances, but lacking common sense, hid in the kitchen’s freezer in a white envelope.

  The strangler/rapist/thief was never found. In fact, the murder file was still open in Mitchford and was called by most who remember it happening that night, “One of the deepest scars Mitchford has. It’s something that will probably never be solved.”

  I went to the same gym as Cooper. A place called Lifts that was owned by two lesbians. Bumped into him on purpose many times. Watched him. Coveted his calves and muscles and brawn and workouts. Showered with him and saw what I was getting myself into: muscled legs, chiseled stomach, and the longest dick I had ever seen in my life. A fuck-me porn star body all the way. Not young by any means, but he looked young. Things I wanted to eat, suck, and chow down on, and—oh my God!!!—could I take cock on because of its size? Hell, yes, I could. Don’t ever fucking underestimate me! Never! Showered with him again, again, and again on purpose. Obsessed. Lost in that sexy, older fucker. And knew, deep down in the pumped veins that lined my dick, that we were meant to be together, as one, us. Men in love, lust, or something.

  Loved him. But didn’t love him like I loved his big dick. I wanted to love him more, more, and more, inch after inch, craving his ejaculate. White shit that I wanted to rub all over my body. All I could think of was his dick and semen. All the time. Every breathing second of the day. And I loved no one else. I loved nothing else, just his cock. That big, swollen, veined, and uncut mass between his legs. Oh, so much love. Ohsomuch love. Ohsomuchlove. In love with his dick. Wanted his dick inside me anytime I saw him. And I saw him everywhere. Because I went out of my way to see him…his dick. Yes, his dick. Love. Nothing but love for his dick.

  It’s true that I attended a book signing for Cooper Marlow’s masterpiece, The Praying Violets. The place: Turn the Pages in downtown Radar. The time: 6:30 P.M. Cocktails and a reading were served. Cooper joked that he would even kiss you if you asked him, but only if you purchased two of his novels instead of one. Hardbacks at $28.00 each a pop! Fucking whore. So I did buy two hardbacks. And he kissed my cheek.

  And he pulled away, saying, “I know you. Tell me I know you. I’ve seen you in places. You’re not a stranger to me.”

  And I said, “If I buy four of your hardbacks, can I suck your dick?”

  And he yelled, “Security! Security! Security!”

  I dreamed of sucking him off in a dirty hotel room. A sex room where you pay by the hour. I dreamed of letting him come in my mouth, shooting his load down the back of my throat. I dreamed of his semen all over me, dousing my lips, cheeks, neck, chest, and erection. His dick-juice all over me. His spew covering all of my body.

  I dreamed that he told me, “If you love me…If you love me at all, lick it all up. Every drop of it. And remember, there’s plenty where that came from. Don’t ever forget that. Never. Because we have Ohsomuchlove.”

  When I woke up from that semen-dream, I started sending him more things, day after day. Pictures of my dick. Asshole shots. Close ups of my nipples. A nine-inch dildo (the same size of his dick) down the back of my throat and inside my asshole. And then I sent him a plastic package of my semen to go with the pictures.

  On the outside of the plastic package, I wrote: apply this when necessary.

  And I sent him even more pics. A hundred or more. Eating a banana. Posing in ripped shorts. Wearing nothing but cowboy boots. Chained to a bed. A cucumber shoved inside my asshole.

  And I wrote him a love letter in my semen: I’m Your American Sweetheart because Ohsomuchlove I have for you!

  He had the biggest balls, just like his dick. Cooper Marlow, man of big cock and balls, found out where I lived. Knocked on my front door. Arrived with a box of my pictures. With the plastic package of my semen. With my love letters to him. And he threw the box of shit at me.

  And he yelled at the top of his voice, “Are you out of your fucking mind? Are you sane? What kind of problems do you have? You don’t even know me. You don’t know me. And you’re not my American Sweetheart and Ohsomuchlove, whatever the fuck that means! Do you hear me? Do you fucking hear me, asshole?”

  And then the civil lawsuit for stalking was dropped on my lap, and a restraining order occurred. A judge proclaimed that I caused repeated acts of stalking and instilled fear regarding Cooper Marlow’s safety. Judge Bestinger called my behavior a pattern that intended to cause fear, a perfect description of stalking. Bestinger ruined all my fun by saying that I was a high risk of a serious assault pertaining to Cooper. The restraining order was
placed against me for five years. Cooper had the ability to request a renewal of the restraining order approximately three months before it expired, or he could request for the restraining order to be permanent. Such a decision would be based on my behavior.

  The fuck game was over.

  So sad.

  Fuck Cooper Marlow.

  Fuck him.

  Chapter 12: Riverside

  Thursday.

  The next morning, after Ben left the saltbox without breakfast and a shower, returning to his estate in his shiny Jaguar bullet, I suggested that Kat and I take a walk through Ladmar Park. The woman politely declined, said it was too snowy out, which was exactly what I expected from her. Kat abhorred the winter months, claiming them unapproachable. I couldn’t grasp her discontent and wondered why she didn’t pack her bags and move back to Miami. Some people liked to bitch about the weather all the time. That was the group I had assigned her to since she always said it was too hot, sticky, chilly, or rainy.

  “I have the morning off, Kat. Do something fun with me before my trip to Pittsburgh.”

  “You’re leaving tonight, right?”

  “In the evening. After I do the six o’clock weather. I have a speech or lecture, whatever you want to call it, at ten-thirty on Friday morning at Wassamere.”

  She basically ignored me and said, “I saw Ben Cutter’s Jag parked in your drive last night. Would you like to tell me about that? Or do I have to pry it out of you?”

  I told her about my time spent with Ben and how he had stayed the night. “He left this morning. But I’ll see him tomorrow evening. He’s going to Pittsburgh with me. We’ll spend the weekend together there.”

  Kat gasped, surprised. “You’re going on a road trip with the man?”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted to happen between us?”

  She burbled, “It was. But so soon? I thought the two of you would have a few dates together before jumping in the sack.”

  “That was my intention, but Ben is smooth. He seduced me. Things like unexpected sex happens between two men.”

  “You could have fought him off, Sand, and played hard to get.”

  “Let me be frank, Kat. I tried to, but he’s hard to say no to. Plus, I wanted him, more than I realized. It was nice to wake up with him this morning in my arms. It was something I needed.”

  “Jesus,” she whispered, judging me. “And now you’re going to the city with him for three days. Part of me wants to tell you to have a great time and good for you, but the reality is, it’s too soon to do something like that with Ben. You should get to know him a little better first, then plan a trip together. Honestly, you need to slow whatever you have with him down. Jumping into bed with him wasn’t a very good call on your part.”

  My heart sank, and my mind drifted. I was now glad that she ignored me about doing something fun with me before I had to be at the station. My disappointment because of her lack of support regarding my weekend plans with Ben fell heavy on me. I thought she would have been happy for me, thrilled beyond words, and layered in excitement. Like determining the weather sometimes, I was wrong. Kat thought I was rushing things with the pastry chef. How upsetting. How real.

  Before our conversation ended, she told me, “Rethink this, Sand. Find a way to tell him that you can’t take him with you. Save yourself now from a disaster. Take this romance slow. Put on the brakes a little. You don’t want to scare the guy off.”

  * * * *

  I didn’t cancel the trip to Pittsburgh with Ben. Rather, I knew it was going to snow all weekend and rented a Tacoma pickup for the two of us on our three-day trip. My Fusion couldn’t be trusted in the snow, and I had told myself to play it smart and rent a 4x4 vehicle for the trip. The last thing I wanted to happen was to become stranded in a snowdrift somewhere, incapable of moving and trapped in my hybrid.

  I had reservations for three nights at a private bed-and-breakfast called Riverside that was owned and operated by a retired married couple named Dan and Bob Horshire, a married gay couple whom I had never met before during my previous weekend trips to the city. I didn’t make dinner reservations for Friday and Saturday, though, deciding that Ben knew more than me about Pittsburgh restaurants since he was in the food preparation business.

  Having forgotten Kat’s unsupported opinion of my road trip with Ben, I thought I would be nervous about traveling with the pastry chef, and stranger, for three days. There were no butterflies floating and gliding around my gut, though. Nor were there dots of perspiration on my arms. As the old saying went, I was calm as a cucumber, steady as a rock, and actually looking forward to spending some quality time with the man, getting to know him better, with or without my clothes on.

  * * * *

  Before I realized it, time flew by and Thursday evening of that holiday week came. I did the weather at six o’clock and six-thirty, wrapped up my day at WRDR, and drove the rented Tacoma to Marshdale Estate. My bags were already packed for the three-day visit in Pittsburgh. Kat said that she would check on Beginnings, feed and entertain the feline while I was gone, which I appreciated.

  Ben seemed as prepared as I was. He plopped two bags behind his front passenger seat, climbed inside the Tacoma, and cheerily asked, “Are you ready for a good time?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  He reached across the seat, squeezed my hand, and comforted me. Thereafter, I popped the Tacoma into drive and headed south to the city, a weekend adventure, and loads of fun mixed with some romance; whatever the city, destiny, and world had in store for us.

  * * * *

  Miles down the road, driving Interstate 79, I told him, “By the way, my gay coworker, Kent, was right.”

  “Kent Karson. Your sidekick at the station?”

  “I’m glad you watch our weather forecasts.”

  “It’s the only news I follow. Besides, you’re a babe to look at and make me hard. I get a thrill out of it.”

  “Which brings me to what Kent told me about you.”

  “About me?”

  I nodded in the semi-darkness, slowed the pickup down because of the slick road, and replied, “Yes. You. He warned me that you had a big dick.”

  Ben laughed: strong, potent, and relentless. After his spell of laughter, he asked, “How does Kent know about my big dick?”

  I shrugged, but Ben probably couldn’t see the action. “People like the talk. Even if it’s not the truth. But, in your case, it is the truth. You do have a big cock.”

  “I won’t deny that and never will. The few men I’ve slept with never complained about it, and that’s probably how the masses know about it now.”

  “How many men would that be?”

  He counted on his fingers, recounted, and started to whisper three digit numbers, teasing me. “Three men. Maybe four. The fourth one I can’t really remember and don’t know what happened. We were quite drunk. How about you? How many men have you slept with?”

  “Five men. Two jocks. A daddy when I was nineteen. A mailman. And a boxer.”

  “So I’m number six?” He asked. “And the best.”

  “And the best,” I repeated, telling the truth.

  * * * *

  Our conversation continued after a quick stretch and piss at a truck stop along the interstate. Ben and I pissed with two urinals between us.

  That didn’t stop a middle-aged man with a greasy face, chewing tobacco in his mouth, and a 357 Magnum attached to his right hip, from calling out to Ben, “You a faggot? You like to eat dick?”

  I sensed the hillbilly trucker wasn’t looking for a date. Rather, he was more interested in a gay bashing.

  To save Ben, and me, from ending up on the front page of the local newspaper, I quickly mumbled to him, “We need to get out of here fast.”

  Coffee out of the vending machine wasn’t going to happen, and nor was purchasing a candy bar that we could have shared. Ben never answered the trucker’s question, bolted for the pickup’s passenger door, and I flew to the driver’s door.

  Once back in the vehicle, protected from the hillbilly, Ben asked, “Were you ever beat up for being queer?”

  “Once. But it was minor, in high school. And it was all my fault. I tried to put the moves on Tenner Base, a wide receiver of our football team, the Titans. Tenner didn’t like his cock in my mouth and bloodied my bottom lip.”