CHAPTER SEVEN

Paul was dusting his Elvis Presley plates on the top shelf of his display rack when he heard Sammy and Brenda on the landing in front of his door. He watched through the peep-hole as Sammy kissed the woman before unlocking the door to his condo.

Such a waste! A man like Sammy Taylor with a woman, any woman -- but especially Brenda Reed. She was about as plastic as Nancy Reagan had been and saccharine sweet like Laura Bush.

Paul was pretty sure he knew what she was -- Sammy's life preserver when he hit the gay community looking for clients. Only, she stayed glued to the poor guy even when they were alone.

He forced his thoughts away from his next door neighbor and went back to dusting Elvis' memorial plates.

He'd gotten down to his Liberian JFK gold coin display on the bottom shelf when he heard someone on the steps outside. Standing, he looked through the peep-hole and saw it was the little man from the Chinese carry-out. He watched the man cross the landing to Sammy's door and knock.

He'd just turned back to his display when he heard Sammy's door open and Brenda say something about calling her. He frowned. Through the peep-hole, he watched Brenda start down the stairs. Paul opened his door and looked out.

The Chinese man was standing in front of Sammy's door, and Sammy was fumbling in his back pocket and struggling not to fall. He looked crocked.

Paul stepped out on the landing. "How much?" he asked the delivery man, pulling his wallet out of his pocket. The man gave him the bag of food and left. Sammy was still trying to get his wallet out of his back pocket.

"Looks like I invited myself to dinner," Paul told him and pulled the door to his own condo closed. "What're we having?"

"Moo goo..." Sammy stumbled over the rest of it, and Paul knew that his neighbor was indeed soused.

"Let's get inside," he said, his hand taking the younger man's elbow.

Sammy wove unsteadily, using his hand on the wall of the entrance foyer to steady himself. He leaned heavily against Paul when the wall ran out.

"How much have you had to drink?" Paul asked as he got him to the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room.

"Just a couple. Doubles." Sammy thought a moment and smiled ruefully. "Too many for an empty stomach."

"The thing to do then is to fill that stomach up with food," Paul said and set down the bags. He pulled down a couple of plates before bringing out utensils for two settings.

"You get the majority of the rice, Sammy," he said as he began dishing out the food. "It'll absorb most of that alcohol."

Paul fixed coffee as Sammy began to eat. He'd never thought that taking the younger man's condo as his personal cleaning project would come in handy for anything other than his desire to be close to him. Touching his things, smelling his scent even -- they lent a fullness to the videos that made Paul's desire for him a lot more real than just the grainy images of the man balling his girlfriend.

"So, talk to me, guy," Paul said as he set a cup in front of him. "What's gotten your panties bunched up around your dick this evening?"

"Brenda's got real possessive recently -- now she's bringing religion into it."

"I don't know about the religion, but relationships tend to go that way. One person starts getting serious and he or she starts making demands."

"Yeah." Sammy brought the coffee up to his lips, sloshing it unsteadily.

"The question for you is whether you want it to go up to that next level." Paul grinned. "That's the level just under the one where you say 'I do' and open yourself up to pure hell if you've guessed wrong."

"There hasn't been another girl since Brenda and I started seeing each other."

"Maybe not. But you always have that option on the level you're at now. The next level is where you give up that option."

"You sure know a lot about this shit," Sammy chuckled and missed the saucer with his coffee cup. He watched the liquid spread across the counter. "How do you know so much about girls?" he asked finally, his words slurring.

Paul laughed as he tore paper towels off the roller and began to sop up coffee. "A relationship is a relationship. It doesn't matter what kind of equipment the people in it have, we're all pretty well programmed to build the perfect little love nest with Mister or Miss Right."

"Yeah, I guess," Sammy mumbled, staring at the uneaten moo goo gai pan on his plate.

"You don't sound too sure about this. Maybe Brenda isn't the one for you after all, Sammy." Paul took the wet paper towels to the garbage can.

"Maybe."

"Is it the religious stuff you mentioned earlier?"

"That's part of it."

"Something's not working for the two of you?" Paul asked.

Sammy managed to get his elbows firmly planted on the counter and brought both hands up to his face.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "In bed."

Paul looked sharply at Sammy then. The younger man was hunched over his plate.

This didn't sound right. Paul had watched tapes of this man plowing his girlfriend almost every night. It'd been obvious as hell that Sammy had gotten off. The way Brenda always looked when he'd rolled off of her had all the appearances of post-orgasmic satisfaction.

"The sex isn't right for both of you?" he asked finally and moved to stand beside Sammy. "I thought you two had a really full sex life going."

"It -- not since the weekend," Sammy mumbled softly.

"Tell Uncle Paul all about it," he said as he sat beside the younger man.

"I -- shit!" Sammy turned and looked directly into Paul's face. "I'm bi."

"Bi?" Paul's heart beat faster. He reached out and took Sammy's hand in his. "You've always been about the straightest guy I ever knew."

"That sort of changed this weekend on the mountain," Sammy mumbled, the slurring obvious.

Paul's eyes widened. "You had gay sex with some hillbilly?"

Sammy nodded dejectedly.

"Jesus!"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Sammy, this is queer Auntie Paul Estes you're talking to. I know from gay sex and relationships. If whatever happened this weekend is worrying you, I'm about the best person around for you to talk to." He looked at the younger man's plate. "You through eating?"

Sammy nodded.

"Maybe we ought to get you into a cold shower to get the blood flowing so you can sober up faster."

"Ugh!" Sammy grumbled but eased off the stool to stand before Paul. He swayed unsteadily and Paul grabbed his arm.

"Talk to me, Sammy," Paul told him as he guided him toward the bathroom. "Tell me everything that happened this past weekend and don't leave a thing out."

Sammy told him about wanting to jack off in the outhouse as they crossed the living room and arrived at the bathroom. He continued his story as Paul undressed him.

"So, you dreamed that you got fucked and that you liked it?" he asked as he sat Sammy on the toilet and pulled his trousers off.

"Yeah. It was so fucking weird, Paul. I've never thought of doing anything with another guy and, there I was, riding the hell out of that dream dick and loving it."

Paul started to pull his boxers down and Sammy lifted his hips to help him. "Is that all?" He wanted to tell his neighbor after that he ought to try out the real thing but bit his tongue.

"Nope." Sammy giggled. "It gets weirder. I sucked myself off Saturday."

"What?" Paul yelped and sat back on his haunches to stare at the man.

"Yeah. I sucked on that thing and ate my load."

"Did you like it?" Paul asked slowly, wishing he could have seen Sammy doing that. He'd heard of guys doing it and even saw a couple of self-sucks in porn movies, but he couldn't really believe it. He sure as hell couldn't do himself and, looking at Sammy's equipment, the man couldn't be much bigger than he was.

Sammy shrugged and almost fell off the toilet. "Yeah," he answered as he caught himself by grabbing the side of the tub.

Paul noticed that Sammy was becoming tumescent and smiled to himself. His own cock snaked down his leg inside his shorts in answer.

"That afternoon, I sucked and fucked a cousin of mine -- a senior in high school up there."

"You'd better watch that shit," Paul said quickly. "Statutory rape gets you at least five years in Georgia."

"He's eighteen."

"You were safe then. Did you like it?"

"Yeah. He was sure a lot tighter than any pussy I've ever had."

Score one for the A team, Paul told himself. He reached out and ran his fingertips slowly up the inside of Sammy's thigh, stopping just before he reached the man's balls. Sammy got harder. Score two for the A team, Paul told himself and allowed himself to wonder if he was finally going to have Sammy Taylor after all.

"That night, I had the same dream as before -- I got porked in a pool and under a waterfall. I think I had that big dick in me the whole dream."

Sammy was all the way hard now. So was Paul.

"Let's get you under another waterfall, my man," Paul told him and turned the cold water on. He helped Sammy to his feet. Holding him by the waist, he lifted one leg over the side of the tub. Then the other one.

"Move up a little," he told Sammy, "get under the shower head."

"It's not on," Sammy said and chuckled as he moved to the front of the tub.

"It will be." Paul reached over to turn on the shower, making sure the back of his hand brushed the head of Sammy's dick.

Sammy instinctively threw up his hands and screamed when the water hit him.

"Don't move!" Paul ordered. "Stand right there under that cold water until I've turned it off."

* * *

When I was able to prance under the cold water without having to grab the showerhead to keep my balance or have Paul grab me, Paul let me out of the shower. I sure didn't have a hard-on any more.

My teeth were chattering as Paul threw a towel over my shoulders. "You bastard!" I grumbled but pulled the towel around me. "I think you enjoyed watching me freeze to death by degrees."

"The only thing dead about you," Paul chuckled as he backed into the open doorway, "is that shriveled up thing between your legs."

"If you put it someplace warm, like your mouth, it'll resuscitate fast enough," I shot back grinning. I began to rub the towel over my arms.

"Do you want that?" Paul asked after watching me a moment.

"Want what?"

"A blowjob."

I stopped toweling myself and studied him. A moment later, I pulled the towel around my waist and knotted it. I had to admit the idea sounded good, but I wasn't sure that I was ready to come out to Atlanta.

"I don't know how I feel about that, Paul," I said softly. "Let me think about it."

Paul shrugged. "No problem," he said nonchalantly. "Want another drink to relax with?" His gaze stayed on the part of the towel that now covered my dick.

The thing took on a life of its own and started growing again.

Paul's face broke into a grin when he saw it.

"Yeah," I said slowly. "I think I do."

"What happened between you and Brenda?" Paul asked, stepping into the corridor to allow me to get pass him.

"Let's get comfortable first," I suggested.

Outside, night was rapidly falling over Atlanta. Paul filled a drink glass with ice at the refrigerator before entering the living room and pouring me another scotch. I sat on the sofa and stared at the fireplace.

"Tell me what happened," Paul said as he sat beside me and handed me my drink.

"She's been pissed at me the last week."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, she was ready to go to the big art auction last weekend. But Dad was killed and I found I had a pretty well-heeled family of hillbillies for clients. Then, I was called up to the mountain to meet them, instead of going to the art auction. I decided not to take her with me and that pissed her off even more."

"So, you two haven't fucked since?"

"We did it last night. Only..." I took a sip of my drink. As I lowered the drink, my gaze returned to the fireplace.

"Only?"

"I got hard enough -- but it was like those rubber things girls and you guys use."

"A dildo?"

"Yeah."

"You shot a load though, didn't you?"

"Yeah. Only, I lost it real fast in her when I did. I couldn't even keep going to get her off. I was too soft."

"What were you thinking about while you fucked her?"

"That dream I had two nights running up on the mountain. Me getting porked."

"And you came while fantasizing that?"

"Yeah." I looked down then. "Me getting fucked up the ass," I mumbled.

"Do you feel guilty about that?"

"Yeah," I answered about as hollowly as I felt. "I've never needed to fantasize when I'm fucking." I looked over at Paul then. "And I've gotten the girl off every time since I was fifteen -- right after I learned that they had orgasms too. It became really important to me to give the girl I was with one."

"You two didn't do anything tonight then?"

I shook his head. "She just started in on how prayer helps her daddy heal people with impotence."

"You aren't impotent, are you?" Paul asked as he stood up.

"Hell no! Not unless you're bringing a preacher into the bedroom with me."

Paul laughed. "Sounds like your girlfriend is the one with problems to me. Hell! You just lost your father."

"Jesus will overcome..."

We both laughed at that one.

"So say the bigots making their living off the gullible," Paul snorted and looked down at me. "I think you should go to bed. I'll give you a massage to relax you. I also think you really should try out the real thing instead of just imagining it."

"I probably should," I told him, a smile trying to curl my lips. "I'm still thinking about it."

I was. I was wondering how Paul'd feel in my butt.

"Okay." He smiled back. "Drink up and let's get you on your bed."

I pulled the towel off and tossed it into the bathroom as we passed through the hallway. I knew what I was doing. I was probably legally drunk but I still knew what I was doing. All the scotch had done was lower my inhibitions. I wanted to make fantasy real.

I wanted to forget about Brenda and her mumbo-gumbo and her trying to control me. I wanted to try what I'd been dreaming about. The same itch high up in my ass that I'd had Saturday night in my dream was flaring bright. My dick was almost hard as it swung from thigh to thigh.

As I led him toward my bedroom, I hoped that Paul was looking at my naked butt and getting ideas. I thought about swishing some to make sure I had his attention but figured that would probably be pushing things.

I'd almost reached the bed when his hands touched my shoulders -- gentle, butterfly touches. I stopped and let him come up against me, his hands caressing down my arms.

His breath touched the nape of my neck before his lips did. I melted back against him and felt soft hair pressing into my back. He'd lost his shirt back in the hallway. I wondered how much more he'd gotten rid of while he was following me.

His arms closed around my chest, hugging me to him as he placed little kisses around one ear and out to my arms, and back to my neck to reach the other ear before moving out to the other arm.

I felt his hard, cloth-covered dick press against my asscheek and knew he hadn't managed to get rid of all of his clothes. I started to look over my shoulder to see if he still had his shorts on or if he was down to just his underwear. His lips met mine and his tongue marched into my mouth. The fingers of one hand began to tweak one and then the other of my nipple.

His other hand traveled down over my abs to wrap its fingers around my hard pecker. I began to grind my butt against his groin. That itch up inside me flared even brighter. I knew I was going to be fucked tonight. It was what I wanted. What I needed.

"Let's get on the bed, Sammy," he said, breaking our kiss. He smiled at me and licked the tip of my nose.

I laughed and threw myself onto the bed. Lying on my back and slowly stroking myself, I watched him push his underwear off.

He was hairy. Although it didn't do anything for me, it didn't turn me off, either. He had a hard, defined body that looked good. He also had a hard-assed dick sticking straight out at me.

It was smaller than my dream blond's -- shorter and not as thick. It was cut like mine. And I figured that, for my first time for real, it would do nicely -- especially compared to the monster Henry had sported or the behemoth the blond had been shoving in my butt in my dreams.

I reached into the bedside and pulled out a condom. I grinned up at Paul as his knee touched the mattress. He was stroking his pole. I spread my legs and handed him the packet when he got close enough.

I collapsed into unconsciousness just as he took my foot and began to raise it toward his shoulder.

* * *

Paul took the rubber and moved between Sammy's legs. In the twelve years that he'd been on the Atlanta gay scene, he'd never seen a man he wanted more than he wanted his neighbor at that moment. Once Sammy got used to being his bitch, Paul was sure that he could lead him into at least letting him spank him before they got down to a good fuck.

He reached down and took Sammy's foot in his hand. He grinned as he began to lift it, riding its sole over his hard abs.

|You ain't going to fuck him, boy!|

Paul jerked involuntarily and quickly looked around the room for the speaker. The foot against his bellybutton pushed suddenly and he was falling backwards.

Stunned, Paul sprawled across the bed, his head and shoulders extending past the foot of the mattress. Before he could blink, he realized that Sammy had spread his legs and was between them and holding his arms against the mattress.

Paul looked up into Sammy's face. He was absolutely sure that it wasn't really Sammy he was seeing. Only, that was impossible.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, breaking eye contact. "I guess I sort of got carried away by the moment."

|You want to fuck, boy?| Sammy growled in a mountain twang and settled his body over Paul's. |I'll give you a fuck you ain't about to forget any time soon.|

Sammy moved down Paul's front a couple of inches and released one of his arms to guide his dick into place.

"You aren't...?" Paul cried, staring up at his neighbor.

Sammy grinned. |That's what you want, ain't it?|

Paul felt the blunt head press up against his pucker. He hadn't been fucked since he moved to Atlanta. Even in the beginning, when he was his master's slave, he'd been the top in sex.

Suddenly, he did want it. Completely. Desire was a flood crashing through him, tearing his resistance from him. His pole leaked and got even harder.

"Use the rubber," he mumbled and held up the packet in his hand. He raised his feet onto Sammy's fanny and crossed his ankles. The entirety of his lower body pulsed with anticipation as the dick at his asshole pulled away. He heard the plastic making wet sounds as it was rolled down Sammy's dick.

The blunt knob returned to Paul's pucker and began to press against it, spreading it. There was only the physical pressure building inside him -- and the desire to have Sammy inside him.

He gasped when the head broke through the band of muscle. There was no pain, just a growing fullness. Inch after inch of shaft followed, pushing the knob over his prostate. Paul almost came then but managed to stay on the waves of pleasure spreading through and over him.

He felt Sammy's bush brush his balls, caressing the bottom of his sack like the leather strands of a whip whispering across a bare butt. His dick rode his abs. He felt complete.

"Fuck me!" Paul groaned and reached for his pole.

Sammy began to move inside him -- slow, deliberate strokes aimed for his prostate.

"Faster!" Paul growled. "Harder! Oh, God!"

Paul pushed himself up on one elbow and reached for Sammy's face. They kissed, Sammy's tongue taking easy possession of Paul's mouth as he continued to work his pole in his butt. Paul stroked himself in time with Sammy's thrusts and rode the currents of pleasure flowing through him.

Time ceased to exist. The only meaning in Paul's universe was Sammy's dick plowing his ass.

He'd came but didn't know when or how many times. He stayed hard, his pole swinging across his belly like a pendulum in time with Sammy's movement in him. Stars nova-ed around him as he climbed ever higher on the crests of pleasure crashing over him. He never wanted it to end. Sammy in him forever. Fucking him. Chewing his bottom lip while his smooth body moved on Paul's. Nuzzling his ear and jaw as their nipples dueled. The feel of Sammy. Never ending.

Paul woke with the sun streaming through his bedroom windows. He was more fully sated than he'd ever been before. He stretched and the hairs of his belly pulled like they were glued to his skin.

He opened his eyes and lifted his head to look down his front. "Jesus!" he groaned aloud. "A fucking wet dream."

He felt the throb in his butt then. Curious, he reached beneath his balls to feel the abused pucker of his asshole.

That wet dream must have been one hell of a lulu! he told himself and laid back against the pillows. "I just wish I could remember it," he mumbled aloud. All that he could recall of the dream was Sammy's dick and how well he'd used it to make Paul feel good. Whatever had happened in the dream, though, he knew now that he wanted Sammy Taylor between his legs any time and all the time. He might be a top, but he'd make an exception for his next door neighbor.

In the shower, parts of the dream began to come back to him. Paul grinned as his dick filled. Sammy had sure done a job on him, all right.

A small voice in his head, however, told him that it hadn't been Sammy plugging him.

But it had to have been him. There had been nobody but the two of them in the room.

Still, he couldn't shake the doubt that lingered in his mind. Nothing about the man who'd fucked him so long and well had been like the neighbor he'd come to know.