17. Cory
17
CORY
S uddenly, my feet touched something solid. Wood, old and polished from use. I could feel it under my toes.
Wait, toes ? Why was I barefoot? And where was I?
“Cory? I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Curtain’s up in fifteen minutes.”
My eyes snapped open. A gorgeous guy dressed in velvet and silk walked towards me across a dimly lit room. He was tall and lanky, with blond hair that just reached his chin. His blue eyes gleamed brighter than they should have in the dusky atmosphere. He looked like a young Leonardo DiCaprio.
“Curtain?” I said as the guy approached me.
I was completely disoriented, and a feeling of dread spread through my stomach when I realized that not only did I have no idea where I was, I had no idea where I’d been a minute ago, or ten minutes before that.
I knew who I was, but any memory of how I’d gotten here was just…gone.
I looked to my left and saw a heavy maroon curtain with thick folds five feet away. To my right was a set of steps and plywood arches, painted to look like stone. A cloth backdrop with a picture of rolling hills and olive groves hung behind that.
“What, did you forget what we’re doing here tonight?” The guy said, coming to stand right in front of me. His voice was light, and he laughed as he gave my shoulder a pretend punch. “I’m jealous. I wish I could get rid of my nerves like that.”
We were on a stage, I realized. Wait a second, not just any stage, but the one in my high school auditorium. For our production of—
“Romeo,” I breathed, the guy’s velvet doublet suddenly making sense.
The guy smiled, took off his hat, and ran a hand through his straw colored hair. “I mean, you could just call me Chad, but Romeo works too, I guess.”
I shook my head, trying to figure out what was going on. Romeo and Juliet was our fall play during my senior year. I was assistant stage manager. But wasn’t Neil was the lead in Romeo and Juliet ? So where was he, and who the hell was Chad? I couldn’t remember meeting him before tonight.
“Sorry.” I shook my head again. I was so confused. Was I having a stroke? I needed to sit down. “Opening night jitters. Maybe I should go and—”
“Wait, wait—” Chad caught my arm as I turned away. “Before you go. There’s something I wanted to say to you.”
I looked back to see his eyes on me, intense and focused. His lips were parted like he was about to ask a question, and it softened the otherwise arrogant cast to his face.
On the other side of the curtain, I could hear murmurs as the audience took their seats and the rustle of paper as people flipped through the program.
God, I felt weird. Why couldn’t I remember anything? Did I need to see the nurse? No, that was stupid, the nurse wouldn’t be here for an evening performance. But I needed to see someone. My dad wouldn’t be in the audience—not when he hated my involvement in queer theater productions. But maybe I could find Franny or Neil before the show began.
“What?” I said to Chad, my heart thumping loudly in my throat.
“Come here,” he said, his fingers still on my sleeve. He drew me to the back of the stage, right in front of a plywood arch painted with granite stones and terra cotta urns.
“Boys!” A new voice cut through the empty stage like an axe.
Both of us turned to see Steven Manfredi, my senior year English teacher, standing in the darkened wing, stage left.
“Thirteen minutes ‘til showtime!” Mr. Manfredi said, pitching his voice so it wouldn’t carry to the people in the audience. “Make sure you’re ready.”
“Yeah, thanks!” Chad gave Mr. Manfredi a thumb’s up. “We will be.”
Mr. Manfredi’s form flickered, reappeared, then flickered again, like a television screen with bad reception. His body distorted for a moment, getting pulled sideways, before resolidifying into the man I recognized.
But that didn’t make any sense. People didn’t flicker like that. God, maybe I was having some kind of stroke, or heart attack, or something .
Mr. Manfredi checked his watch. “Twelve minutes and thirty seconds, now,” he said, before slipping back into the darkness offstage.
“Maybe we should go,” I said, turning back to Chad. “I think I might need to see someone about—”
“In a second,” he said, and when he swallowed, I fixated on his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. I felt like I’d stared at that for months, aching to touch it, and with that thought, a rush of memories flooded back.
Me watching Chad audition and sighing at the pure, loving look in his eyes as he stood across from the girl reading for Juliet. Me watching Chad rehearse, laughing and joking with Mercutio, play-wrestling with Tybalt. Me watching Chad during late night run-throughs, pacing and murmuring his lines as though he hadn’t been off-book since our second week.
And the whole time, I had ached and yearned. Wanted to joke with him. Fought the urge to reassure him. Wished desperately for his eyes to look at me like—well, like they were looking at me now.
What was I thinking, not remembering Chad? Of course I remembered him. Of course he was Romeo. Of course he was—
Touching me?
I stared as his fingers let go of my sleeve, only to slide down my arm and catch my hand in his. His fingers were softer than I expected, but his grasp was firm as he tugged on my hand, drawing me to him.
I stepped forward, off-balance, and bumped into his chest. Chad, all gallantry in his velvet costume, swung an arm around my lower back to keep me from falling over. I looked up into his eyes, still burning bright, my breath catching. His face, inches from mine, was beautiful in a harsh way. The straight line of his nose was unflinching, the curve of his lips demanding. But then he smiled, and once again his features became softer. More approachable.
“Hey,” he whispered. He bit his lip, like he was the one who was nervous. Like I was the confident one, not the guy about to vibrate out of his skin from excitement and fear.
“Hey,” I whispered back.
“God,” Chad said. “I’ve wanted to touch you for so long.”
His arm tightened around my back. It didn’t make any sense. Guys like him—popular, athletic, only doing drama to round out their college applications—didn’t want guys like me. Guys like him didn’t know the Cory’s of the world existed, except to make fun of them. They were supposed to be disgusted by the fact that I was hard right now.
“So quiet,” Chad mused. “Always in the background, always watching. But you give away nothing. Do you have any idea how long I’ve wondered what you were thinking, behind those gorgeous eyes of yours?”
I would never have called my eyes gorgeous, and there was no way I was going to confess to Chad what I’d been daydreaming about all semester. It was like our standard roles had been flipped on their heads, like some kind of fever dream.
Dream ? The word caught in my mind, giving me a moment of deja vu. Was there something I should remember about dreams? About one dream in particular?
“I’ve spent all semester wishing you would talk to me,” Chad continued, pulling my attention back to the present. “All semester hoping you would catch me after rehearsal and ask me to stay.” He leaned in so close that I could feel his breath on my face. His voice was barely audible. “All semester wanting you to pull me behind these curtains and—and—”
His lips touched mine, and every last bit of air escaped my lungs as I exhaled into his mouth. He pulled me so tight against him that I couldn’t have inhaled if I wanted to. The kiss was all heat and pressure. His tongue pushed between my lips and curled against my own. He tasted like sweat and purple Gatorade.
I felt myself melting, going deeper, my muscles going weak. When Chad pulled back, I gasped for air, then yelped as he bit my lower lip.
“Baby,” he said, and I wasn’t sure if it was a term of endearment or him chastising me. But it was enough to pull me out of the moment. When his lips hit mine again, I tried to let go, to sink back into that surrender, but something felt…off, now.
But what was it? Chad was gorgeous, and this was all I’d ever wanted. For him to notice me, to talk to me. To want me. And as his free hand dipped lower to palm my cock through my jeans, it was obvious I was still hard as a rock. God, I wanted this.
So why did it feel strange?
“Boys?”
Mr. Manfredi’s voice cut through the air again, but this time it came from somewhere behind the plywood edifice. It sounded higher up this time. Chad and I jumped apart, and I looked around wildly.
“Eleven minutes!” Mr. Manfredi said, and I looked up to see him sticking his head out from Juliet’s balcony.
“Yeah, great,” Chad said, running his hand through his hair, trying to play it cool. “Thanks for the heads up.”
Mr. Manfredi disappeared, and Chad turned back to me, laughing. “Close one.”
I couldn’t agree more. I still felt strangely floaty and disconnected. I was at my school. We were doing Romeo and Juliet. Chad was the lead, and I’d been crushing on him all semester. I knew that.
But why couldn’t I remember what I’d had for breakfast this morning? And why was Chad into me, after a semester of barely noticing my presence? And come to think of it, if I’d been dying for something like this to happen all semester, why was I suddenly questioning it?
“Maybe we should…” I started to speak, not sure how to finish the sentence, or if I even wanted to. Why was I trying to stop this?
“Go?” Chad said, stepping in front of me again.
I nodded silently, my heart beating fast as he traced a finger down my neck and onto my chest, rippling the folds of the black T-shirt I was wearing.
Black T-shirt. Who else wore a black T-shirt? Why did I feel like I’d seen one on someone recently?
His finger traveled down to my stomach, then reached the button on my black jeans.
“We could go,” Chad said playfully. “But I think it would be much more fun to come .”
He emphasized that by squeezing my cock through my jeans, and God help me, I moaned. The sound leaked out of my mouth against my will.
His eyes lit up. “Sounds like you agree.”
Before I could say anything, he was walking me backwards until my legs bumped something heavy and blunt. I looked back to see an old wooden bench that the drama department had borrowed for this production.
When I turned around again, Chad’s fingers were unzipping my jeans. He dipped a hand inside, sliding it underneath my boxers to stroke my cock. The touch of his skin was electric, and I moaned again—loud enough that I darted a glance at the curtain, wondering if I was audible to the people on the other side.
“Eleven minutes, Mr. Manfredi said,” I whispered to Chad. My heart was in my throat. “I don’t think we should be doing this. Not—not now.”
God, his skin against mine felt so good. I couldn’t believe I was objecting to this. Who could say why Chad had suddenly decided to find me fascinating after months of ignoring me? This might be my only shot with him.
“Do you really mean that?” he asked, leaning in to kiss me roughly as he continued to stroke my cock. He pulled back, nipping at my lip again. “Do you really want to stop?”
Yes? No? God, no. Not if I was being honest. I didn’t want to stop.
“No,” I said, barely audible, but Chad heard me just fine, because his lips were on my neck now, sucking a hickey into my skin.
“I thought so,” he said, and he pulled his hand out of my pants, only to pull my T-shirt off over my head. My skin pebbled immediately, but I barely had time to think about that, because he was already pulling my jeans down my thighs, then dragging my boxers down so my cock came free.
“So good,” he said, and then he dropped to his knees.
I gasped as he wrapped one hand around the base of my cock and brought his lips to the tip. Was he going to suck me off? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Normally it was me on my knees, my mouth full of another man’s cock.
Normally ?
I blinked, confused. What the hell was I thinking? This was the first gay thing I’d ever done. I’d never so much as admitted to myself that I was gay before.
So why did it feel like I’d been with other men? Why did it feel like it should be me, taking another guy’s load down my throat?
Because you’re disgusting . The thought flitted across my mind. Small at first, but when I tried to shake it loose, it just grew larger. Because there’s something wrong with you. Because Dad’s right. You’re perverted, and everyone can see it .
Chad’s lips parted, sliding around the head of my cock, and I had to clap a hand over my mouth to keep from moaning so loud the entire town heard me. Chad’s mouth was so sweet, so slick and hot. As his tongue swirled around the tip, my knees buckled and I sank down onto the bench.
Chad didn’t even blink, he just adjusted to my waist’s new level. As his mouth enveloped my entire cock, I bit my palm to keep from crying out. It was so good. I was tingling all over—and terrified.
Terrified Mr. Manfredi would come back. Terrified the audience would hear us. Terrified I’d come too soon and embarrass myself.
Terrified of what this said about me.
Disgusting. Useless. Pathetic . My dad’s words echoed in my mind. He knew there was something wrong with me from the beginning. Knew it before I did. You’ll never be a real man .
He was right, I realized. And if he only knew what I was doing now—letting another guy suck me off, moaning from pleasure—all the beatings he’d given me before would have seemed like sweet caresses compared to what came after.
Wrong. Wrong. There’s something wrong with me .
I had to stop this. It was too much, too dangerous. What if someone found out and told my dad? What was I doing, letting this happen in public? On stage, for Christ’s sake. If my dad found out, I was dead.
“Wait,” I gasped. “Wait.”
Chad pulled back and looked up at me, his eyes alight with lust. Lust for me . My insides felt like they were pulling apart. I wanted this, and I also didn’t. It wasn’t fair. Why did I have to be like this?
“What?” Chad asked.
Fuck, his lips were so soft and wet. I melted, losing the internal resistance I’d had a moment ago.
“I—I—” I didn’t know what to say. “Fuck.”
I closed my eyes so he couldn’t see the tears of frustration welling up. When was this ever going to happen again? It didn’t make sense that it was happening in the first place. It was like someone had cast a spell on Chad, and I was afraid to break it. I’d spent so long trying to deny what I was. Maybe, just for one night…
“I want this,” I whispered.
“And I want you,” Chad said. He leaned in and licked a long stripe along my cock.
I whimpered, then clapped a hand over my mouth, looking towards the curtain again. “They might hear us,” I hissed at Chad.
“That’s part of the fun.” He grinned. “We’re both eighteen. Nothing illegal about it. Let ‘em listen.”
My stomach twisted with a new fear—what if he wanted us to get caught? But no, he couldn’t really, right? That was insane.
He pulled at my pants and boxers, still bunched around my ankles, and tossed them aside, next to my crumpled T-shirt on the floor. He brought his hands to my torso next.
“Here, spin around.”
“I—what?” I said, as he moved me so I was lying back on the bench, lengthwise. My legs dangled over the edge, and the next thing I knew, he was spreading them apart, his hands hot on my thighs. He slid his hands underneath my legs, then tugged sharply, bringing my ass right to the edge of the bench.
My stomach turned a somersault as he leaned in and put his lips on the tip of my cock again. It was so warm and wet, and it tugged at something in the core of my being, like he was unlocking a room inside me that I’d never known existed.
Chad slid his tongue up and down my shaft, then sank his mouth around me again, sheathing me in pleasure. When he pulled back and teased the head of my cock, my thighs began to shake. It felt so good. Too good. I was so close to coming.
And then, as he took me all the way down again, I felt something new. Chad’s fingers, firm and slick, playing with my balls, then moving past them, back to—oh, holy shit. I gasped as his finger brushed across my asshole.
No way. He couldn’t be about to—but he did. He rubbed a little circle against my hole, putting pressure on the very center.
Oh God, oh God. I couldn’t let him do that, could I? It was one thing to let him suck me off, another thing entirely to—
Let a man enter you? said a cruel voice in the back of my mind. Let him see what you really are? Not a real man. Just a slut who deserves to be fucked by one. A slut who spreads his legs and begs men to come inside
It was such a cruel thought, and it sent a bolt of electricity through me, turning me on even more. I wanted this so badly.
I glanced down and caught sight of Chad. His left hand was pumping his own cock furiously, like teasing my hole was the hottest thing he could imagine. He brought his right hand back to his mouth, slipping his index finger inside, pulling it out again covered in spit.
My stomach clenched. The moment I let this happen was the moment I lost all plausible deniability. But I couldn’t stop it—not when I wanted it this much. The last of my resistance gave way as Chad’s finger pushed inside me. I gave a cry that was half desire, half desperation, as my muscles relaxed and his finger slid all the way in, like it belonged there.
On the other side of the curtain, I heard a hush. The people closest to the stage must have heard me. Must be wondering what was going on.
Or maybe they already knew?
The thought sent panic through my body, but Chad’s finger was working in and out of me, easing me open, showing me what I was meant for. His mouth moved back to my cock, and I was so, so close.
“We should stop,” I gasped, more because I knew I should say it than because I wanted to.
“Why?” Chad asked, his finger twisting and teasing inside me.
“Because they can hear us.”
“Good,” he said, still stroking his own cock. “Maybe I want them to.”
He leaned down, his tongue caressing my balls as a soft chime went off in the auditorium and the house lights dimmed once, twice, three times. There were only two minutes left until curtain. Any minute now, the actors would be taking their places.
There was pressure at my hole again, and I felt myself stretch to accommodate a second finger. It was wet, so wet, but it was still a lot to take. Again, I moaned in spite of myself, and a gasp from the other side of the curtain told me people were definitely listening now.
I needed to stop this, needed to… but my thoughts faded to an incoherent buzz as heat built up inside me. I didn’t want to stop. I wanted Chad to keep touching me, keeping fingering me until I—
“Cory? Chad? What are you boys doing out here? You know you have to—”
Mr. Manfredi’s voice drifted across the stage, followed by his footsteps, but he stopped abruptly when he saw what we were doing. Or, rather, what Chad was doing, and what I was having done to me. What I was accepting.
“Boys, stop that this instant. You can’t just—”
“Mr. Manfredi, I can’t find my hat!” A second voice cut across the stage as Hank Alameda, who played Tybalt, hurried across the boards. “Have you seen my—”
But he stopped short as well, gaping at the sight of me spread out naked on the bench, Chad kneeling between my legs.
Chad didn’t even notice. He just kept sucking on the head of my cock, his left hand stroking himself as his right hand moved against my ass, his fingers lodged deep inside me.
I wanted to die, with the eyes of my teacher and fellow student on me, judging me, seeing me for who I was. But I was still so hard, and so close, and I just needed—
A faint wrench sounded across the stage, and suddenly the curtains were going up. A moment later, the stage lights came on, and a second after that, a horrified gasp went up from the audience.
Chad and I were illuminated for all to see. Angry shouts and disgusted words filled the auditorium. I looked out at the audience and came, my body shaking as I released into Chad’s mouth.
My face was on fire. I was mortified. And it felt so, so good. When I could finally move again, I pushed up on my elbows and looked down at Chad. Cum dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. His left hand was shiny and white too, covered in cum from his own cock. I saw the disgusted looks on Mr. Manfredi’s and Hank’s faces, heard the revulsion of the audience.
I opened my mouth to say something, and the auditorium began to fill with a silver mist. It curled in from the back of the stage, through the doors at the far end of the room, and out from underneath the seats. Within ten seconds, I couldn’t see anything.
I closed my eyes, shaking my head against the confusion, and opened them, only to find myself back on the couch in Professor Romero’s rooms. I took a shaky breath, looking around me. Everything was just as I’d left it. The only change was that Romero was leaning forward in his chair, peering at me intently.
“Cory,” he said, relief evident in his face. “You’re back.”
I shook my head, still disoriented. “I’m—yeah. I’m back.”
I slid further upright, taking comfort in the detailed sensations of the fabric beneath my fingers, the faint smell of sandalwood. I was back. It was all just a dream.
But not a dream I’d been able to control. Not a dream I’d been aware of, while I was in it. Fuck.
“Did it work?” I asked Romero, panic rising in me again. I didn’t want to go through another dream like that tonight.
“I think you’re better positioned to answer that than I am,” he said.
“How long was I under?”
“About forty-five minutes.”
“I barely felt like I was asleep at all,” I said slowly.
“What happened, while you were asleep?” Romero asked. “Did you find him? Did you dream?”
I swung my legs off the edge of the couch, coming fully upright. I still felt a little dizzy, like I’d resurfaced from the depths of the ocean. My brain flashed back to the sea of stars. Maybe I had.
I shook my head. “I didn’t find him. I wasn’t even sure how to—fuck. It was all just so different. Nothing like I expected.”
Not that I’d had any expectations for what it would be like, but definitely not that. Strangely beautiful, and terrifying, all at once. And then the dream—
“It’s like I got sucked into a dream,” I said. “I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t get out. It wasn’t him—Geoff. Just some other guy, someone I’d never met before.”
Romero nodded. “I can see how that would be disorienting.”
“You could say that.” I shook my head again. “It was so weird. Once I was in the dream, I had no memory of anything that had come before. I didn’t know why I was there, or what I was supposed to do.”
“Hmm. Interesting.”
“Is that supposed to happen?” I asked. “Is that how it works?”
“I’m not sure.” Romero pressed his lips together and looked at the ceiling, like he was working through a mental math problem. “I can’t see how that would be helpful, for an incubus not to know they were in someone else’s dream. But everything I know about the subject comes from books. Secondary sources. I just don’t know enough to give you a better answer.”
“I’m not even sure it was his dream,” I said, thinking over the events in more detail. “The guy was new, but the dream felt like something from my past. It was my school’s production of Romeo and Juliet , but with different actors. And I was as old as I am now. And the guy—at first I didn’t know who he was, but then it was like I’d known him for years, I had all these memories of him, of having a crush and—”
I broke off, my cheeks heating.
“That makes sense, in a way,” Romero said, still looking at the ceiling. “An incubus in control of their powers should be able to control many aspects of the dream they enter. You’re not able to control your powers yet, but perhaps your mere presence was enough to shape the dream into something familiar to you.”
“But I didn’t—I mean, what we did—what he made me do—”
Romero’s eyes snapped down to me in an instant.
“He made you do something?” he asked sharply.
“Well, I…” I trailed off.
“As I understand it, an incubus can never be made to do anything they don’t want, no matter whose dream they’re in. The same way that you can only bring a dreamer to do things they’re willing to do, they shouldn’t be able to make you act against your will either.” He gave me a worried look. “Perhaps we should call Dean Mansur.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” My stomach twisted. The last thing I wanted was to discuss this night with anyone else. “I…misspoke. He didn’t make me do anything. I—I liked it. I wanted to.”
In fact, I’d asked Chad to stop several times, and he had. It was me who kept pushing, who kept things moving. I had no one to blame but myself.
“If you’re sure…” Romero said.
“I am.” I nodded, my face still hot. “Very.”
Romero looked unconvinced, but all he said was, “Well, now that you’re awake, I can say that you look better. Your color has come back, and the circles under your eyes aren’t quite so deep.”
I blinked, startled. Some of the color might be from humiliation, but forty-five minutes of sleep wasn’t enough to change the circles under my eyes. At least, not forty-five minutes of normal sleep. And now that I thought about it, the tugging in my core was gone.
“Does that mean it worked?” I asked again.
“Did you and your partner achieve orgasm in the dream?”
It was such a clinical phrase, but it made it easier to answer, somehow. I swallowed and nodded. I had evidence of that orgasm drying in my boxers.
“Then I think we can assume—cautiously—that it did. You’ll need to keep me or the dean apprised of any changes over the next day, though. If you start to feel worse again—”
“Yeah, yeah,” I interrupted. “I’ll let you know.”
I popped up off the couch, suddenly desperate to get out of there. It had to have worked, because I didn’t want to have to go through this again tomorrow. If I had forty-eight hours before I needed to enter the dreamworld again, I was going to put this as far out of my mind as I could until then.
“Alright, then.” Romero stood up and walked me to the door. “In that case, I’ll see you back here in two days. Same time, alright?”
“Got it.” I bobbed my head and ducked out into the hall.
“Sweet dreams, Cory,” he called out behind me.
I shivered as I walked away. Sweet dreams? Not likely. Not until I could get this under control. And maybe not even then.
I clenched my hands into fists as I made my way down the corridor. I would get control of this, and once I had control, I’d find a way out of it.
There had to be one.
There had to be.