4. Nate
I could kick my receptionist’s rear end from here to Dallas for suggesting this sorry excuse for a book. I’ve been wanting to get back into reading after I learned about Bennet’s addiction to gay romance novels. I figure it can be a way for us to bond. While my connection with Benji is stronger than it’s ever been, Bennet and I still feel like two ships passing in the night. We offer each other pleasantries, and I provide him with anything he might want. But our relationship remains surface level, and I’m tired of it. I want to know him. The real him. The boy he keeps hidden away.
Unfortunately, I don’t think we’ll be bonding over this damned book.
AnnaLeigh is always reading something at her desk, so I figured she could point me in the right direction. When I asked her for something with queer representation, she practically shoved a paperback book called The Right Side of the Rainbow into my hands. She’d been carrying it around in her purse for some reason, and once she handed it over, she was beaming ear-to-ear with unearned pride. Then she mentioned she authored the book.
The cover has a picture of a man holding a burning rainbow flag. At first, I assumed it was a tongue-in-cheek depiction of what my son refers to as a “flamer.” Not the case. The book is just lowbrow smut about a gay man miraculously overcoming “his affliction,” and fully realizing his true heterosexual nature, much to the horror of the ex-gay man’s now-ex-husband. The book promises “a love story for the ages,” but—as something else my son might say—it’s giving conversion chíc. I mean, the damn blurb alone makes it sound like an abomination. “Gay rights activist Rex Redmond always knew he was gay,” it says, and then, in a big swirly font, “Until her.”
I’ll need a new receptionist.
Since we won’t be bonding over this book, I’ll need to find another. I guess I could ask Bennet for suggestions, but then he’ll probably ask what I’m doing reading gay romance. Truthfully, I don’t mind the idea of reading about two men falling in love. In fact, I think it might make for a nice mental vacation. I’ve never looked at another man sexually—actually, aside from my wife, I’ve never looked at anyone sexually—so it would be nice to get swept up in a story without having to worry about self-inserting myself into one of the character roles.
After spending the evening with my boys, I took a quick shower and readied myself for bed. As an avid stickler for routine, I’ve selected the same standard sleepwear I’ve worn all my adult life. A white tee and a pair of pajama pants. I’ve got an entire arsenal of them in my designated pajama drawer. Some have little cats, others have puppies. The ones I’m wearing now are gray and covered in uppercase B’s. Bennet and Benji gave me the pajamas a few weeks ago, and I’ve worn them every night since. Each time they see me in them in the morning, their cheeks burn a little darker. I wash the pajama pants every afternoon so they’ll be ready by bedtime; just to see my boys smile.
I’m plugging my phone into the charger on my bedside table when a knock at the door startles me, sending my phone falling to the floor.
“Come in,” I shout. My phone landed near the foot of the bed, so I rise to my knees and lean over the side of the bed, reaching blindly. Behind me the door opens, and once I’ve got my phone in my hand, I look over my shoulder, surprised to see Bennet and Benjamin. The only thing they’re wearing are skimpy underwear leaving little to the imagination. They’re holding hands, their fingers weaved together in grips so tight, their knuckles have gone white. Confusingly enough, their eyes are locked on my backside. If Bennet’s put another “Kick Me” sign back there without my noticing, we’ll be having words.
“Hey, boys,” I greet with a smile. They blink dazedly before breaking the hypnotic hold my rear end seems to have on them. Goodness. We really need to find these boys a proper Daddy. If they’re so backed-up they’ll resort to staring at my old, flabby behind, they must be in dire straits.
Once I’m seated, I pat the empty space beside me. Benji’s rocking back and forth on his feet like he’s wanting to run to me, but he’s scared to make the journey. At his side, Bennet’s staring down at his feet, his face as red as a stop sign.
“We need your help,” Benji says, rocking even faster on his feet. “It’s really important.”
I nod, holding out a hand for him. I don’t like to see my boys nervous like this.
My boys. Huh. Funny how that’s turned out. I’ve known them for over a year. First as Tatum’s friends, then as more, and then as less. Now, we’re closer than we’ve ever been. Maybe it’s down to the fact that my world pretty much revolves around them now. Aside from AnnaLeigh and my patients, they’re all I have. I think they might be all I need. My boys. My family. I need them to know they can trust me with anything.
Hesitantly, Benji shuffles across the room, dragging Bennet behind him. Benji takes a seat in front of me, crossing his legs on the bed. Bennet’s at his side, framing us into a triangle of sorts. I offer my left hand to Benji, and my right to Bennet.
“What can I do to help?”
Benji’s hand is cool against mine. Like ice, really. His skin is still damp from his nightly shower, and the scent of their body wash mixed with vanilla wafts around us. It’s an intoxicating aroma I can never get enough of. It clings to both boys all day, usually still lingering as we cuddle up on the couch after dinner, Benji and me watching television, Bennet reading his Kindle.
“It’s about the Daddy stuff,” Bennet says cautiously, refusing to look me in the eye. We’ll need to work on that.
“It’s just . . .” Benji closes his eyes and sighs. “It’s been a long time since we’ve . . .”
“Had sex?” I finish for him, relieved when he nods. “Boys, I want you to look at me.” I wait for Bennet to meet my gaze, smiling as encouragingly as I can manage. “You know I’m a licensed sexologist, right? I’ve heard it all. You’re not going to make me uncomfortable talking about sex. It’s a natural part of life.”
Benji chews his lip, his sky-blue eyes searching my face; for what, I’m not entirely sure. Whatever he’s looking for, he must’ve found it, because after a decisive nod, he looks at Bennet and smiles.
“Bennet and I want to have sex. With each other.” Benji blushes, but he doesn’t let his nervousness stop him. “Him and me. Doing the sex.” His voice takes on a husky tone when he adds, “Together.”
I almost choke at the abruptness of his statement, but somehow manage to play it off as a cough. They want to have sex? With each other? I don’t know all the workings of their past sexual experiences, but they’ve made it clear they have never touched each other intimately. They see themselves as brothers. They’ve said it more times than I can count.
“But we’re not sure how,” Bennet adds. He sounds mortified right now, so I grip his hand tighter, wanting to reassure him. The corner of his lip tugs into a half-smile, but it doesn’t stay there long. “We’re both bottoms, so we can’t . . .” To my surprise, when Bennet finally looks up at me, the nervousness in his voice doesn’t match the look in his eyes. There’s fire roaring in them, whipping up and around his blue irises. “We can’t fuck each other.” He licks his lips. “Sir.”
The way he says the words makes them sound so scandalous . He’s not breaking eye contact either. It’s like he’s daring me, but for what, I’m not sure. Part of me wants to scold him for his language, but I can’t seem to do anything but stare at him, almost in a stupor.
“We need you, Nate,” Bennet whispers. “You do this for a living. You help people open themselves up sexually all the time.” Bennet’s free hand has been resting on the bed since they crawled in next to me, but he slowly moves it over his thigh until it’s resting on his best friend’s bulge. He grips his package tighter, and witnessing him like this has me seeing stars. He’s never been like this before, and it makes my heart swell with pride, because it means he finally trusts me. You don’t go to just anyone asking for sexual guidance. You go to someone close. Someone you can trust. Someone you love? “Help us. Please?”
“Please?” Benji adds. “Open us up.”
“Okay.” The waves of pride are still rushing through my chest as I nod. “I’m happy to help however I can. Have you boys tried anything with each other yet?” They shake their heads in unison. “Well, it’s probably best if we start out small. You can start by touching each other. Get used to each other’s bodies. You don’t have to dive in headfirst. Try to see what makes your friend tick.”
Benji slides closer toward Bennet, and he cups his hand around his best friend’s bulge. “Like this, sir?”
Good Lord. They’re touching each other. I didn’t mean for him to do it right here. I just assumed they’d return to their room and explore each other freely. Clearing my throat, I suggest, “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable doing this in your room?”
Bennet flashes me a pleading glance. “We tried earlier. It felt wrong. There’s always been someone else in the room with us when we played with other guys.”
Benji removes his hand from Bennet’s bulge and wraps it around my wrist. His touch is like fire, making it feel like my blood is bubbling. “You love us, don’t you, Nate?”
“Of course I do,” I answer without hesitation. Ever since they moved in, it feels like I’ve got a family again. It’s been so long since I’ve had the chance to dote on someone. Now, the Bens are home where they belong, and it feels like I’ve got a purpose. “I love you like you’re my own.” I turn slightly, staring into Bennet’s eyes. “Both of you.”
Bennet tugs his bottom lip between his teeth and doesn’t respond—not that I expect him to—but Benji keeps stroking my wrist. The fact he’s touching me with a hand that was just cupping another man’s penis should probably make me pull back and retreat, but it doesn’t. I don’t mind it. It’s just an extension of our bond.
“We were hoping you could help walk us through it,” Benji says. “You can tell us if we’re doing something wrong, or when we get something right. We’re not used to all this pressure.”
Bennet nods. “We’re used to having a daddy who takes the lead. We’re no good on our own, sir.”
I arch an eyebrow at them. “You want me to critique your performance?” There’s life fluttering below Benji’s jockstrap, and I watch as a small tent forms.
He shrugs. “It would help a lot.” He glances over at Bennet. “I want to learn to make him feel good until we get a daddy to focus on.” His grip tightens. “Please, Nate? You said you’d always be there for us.” He looks at Bennet as if he’s seeking backup, but Bennet looks like he’s in a daze, so he’s no use to Benji. When it’s clear Bennet won’t be coming to his aid, Benji huffs out, “A fat lot of good, you are,” before turning his attention back to me. “So, will you?”
All I can do is say, “Okay.”
They share a quick smile that almost looks like a smirk. Benji stands up from the bed, and Bennet quickly follows behind. They’re standing in front of me, each giving the other a nervous glance. There’s an unspoken conversation happening between them—a sight I’m more than familiar with. There’s a small part of me buried deep, deep down that almost resents the fact they can converse without speaking a single syllable. I’ve never had that level of connection with anyone. With my ex-wife, Lindsay, words often went unsaid, and it was that same silence that snuffed out our spark. With Bennet and Benji, the silence is like sunshine warming the world around them. I want to be that for someone, someday. The light in their day. An unspoken promise that I am theirs and they are mine, whoever that person may be.
Their eyes meet mine, and though they’ve got their thumbs in the elastic bands of their jockstraps, neither of them makes a move. I don’t know what’s got them nervous, but I want that nervousness gone. It doesn’t belong here. This home is their safe space. My room is their refuge.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Bennet’s cheeks are solid red as he stares down at his feet. “We’re not very big,” he whispers, and there’s so much fear in the statement, I almost can’t stand it. “Down there. Promise you won’t laugh?”
Benji’s gnawing his bottom lip, nodding, refusing to meet my gaze. It hurts to see them embarrassed like this. It hurts to know this is clearly something they struggle with, because it’s something they can’t change. Their discomfort is a feeling I know well, so I’m hardly one to talk. My shame isn’t down to the size of my penis, though. It’s down to its inability to rise to the occasion. When I was younger, I struggled to achieve and maintain an erection, but sometime after I hit forty, it’s given up even trying. Medication doesn’t work. Pornography doesn’t work. Even the sight of my beautiful wife didn’t work toward the end.
“There’s nothing for you to be ashamed of,” I assure them. “It’s not the size of the rod that lures the fish, boys. It’s what’s hanging on the line.” Wanting to prove it, I stand from my place on the bed and I bridge the small distance separating us before placing a hand on each of their cheeks. “You’re both beautiful and kind. You’re both the total package, and any man would be lucky to have you call them Daddy.”
“Yeah?” they ask in unison.
“Absolutely.” I press a kiss against Benji’s cheek, then do the same with Bennet. “There’s no shame in this room. I will never judge you. I swear it.” They still don’t seem very convinced, but a bit of their nervousness has eased.
Benji looks at Bennet. “Okay. Let’s do it.” Bennet gives Benji a quick nod, and then they slide their underwear down, leaving themselves bare before me.
The picture laid out in front of me is an absolute vision. They look so alike. They have the same small stature. Same piercing blue eyes. Same bashful smiles, aimed right in my direction. Their nipples are pale-pink against their creamy skin, drawing my eyes to them like the cape of a matador to a bull—not that I support bullfighting.
My boys stand motionless in front of me as if seeking my approval. To own the truth, it doesn’t feel as strange as I thought it would to stand in a room with two naked men. It feels like a bonding experience.
I meet their eyes, because even though they’ve clearly asked me to watch them, I still want their permission to look lower, considering how self-conscious they seem to be. With nervous nods, I’m given my answer. My eyes dip down to the sources of their worry.
Are their penises small? Yes, but so are Bennet and Benji. They’d look ridiculous with more than what they’re already working with. If I were a betting man, I’d say they’re maybe four inches, tops. Bennet is the bigger of the pair, though not by much. As with their chests, there isn’t a hair to be found on either of them. Not on the skin above their dicks, and not on the wrinkly, pink coin purses underneath.
“That’s a very nice penis, son,” I tell Bennet, then I turn to Benji. “Yours too, buddy.” Feeling an air of camaraderie, I pull them to me, hugging them close. “I swear, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Every inch of you is perfect.”
They pull back, breaking the hug, their eyes widening. They turn to each other, sharing a secret glance. When Benji looks back at me, he’s grinning from ear to ear. “You’re sure? The monster . . . he used to say?—”
I shake my head, cutting him off. “The monster is an idiot. He had the perfect packages right in front of him, and he threw them away.” I kiss Benji’s forehead, then Bennet’s. “If I were gay, I would make sure you knew how beautiful each inch is.”
Bennet whimpers before reaching for his shaft and giving it a cautious stroke. He’s trusting me with something he’s clearly been struggling with for years, and it sends a protective surge through my body.
“They’re perfect,” I repeat, feeling more lightheaded the longer I stare at them. Bennet’s stroking himself slowly, his eyes moving back and forth between me and his best friend’s dick. “Jesus, Bennet.” His right hand is twitching at his side, and I can tell he wants to take Benji into his hand, but Benji seems oblivious. He’s just staring at me with a far-away look in his eyes. He must be worried about crossing the line with Bennet, and since Bennet seems to be on board, I call out his name.
“Yeah?” he says, sounding breathy. “Yes, sir?”
“Go on,” I urge him. “It’s okay. Touch him.”
Benji startles, his eyes darting back at his friend. They’re lost in wordless conversation, but it doesn’t last long. With a shaky hand, Bennet reaches for Benji and curves his fingers around Benji’s shaft.
“Bennet,” he gasps. “Oh, my God.”
Bennet’s got his cheek sucked in, and he’s chewing on it like beef jerky. He’s focused on Benji’s dick, his hand slowly rising and falling. With their small size, the head barely peeks over the edge of Bennet’s fist. Benji’s hips are rolling forward, and when his eyes meet mine, his smile widens.
“Am I doing okay?” Bennet asks.
“You’re doing great,” I say, wanting to encourage him.
“And it feels good for you?” He’s eyeing Benji curiously, but as Benji’s eyes roll back in his head, I’m pretty sure we’ve got his answer. They keep up like this for a while, Bennet stroking his best friend’s cock like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hand looks form-fitted. Heck, maybe it was. Maybe God, in all his or her infinite wisdom, saw fit to create each with the other in mind, and I’ve simply been blessed with the task of leading them into something more than they already are.
Bennet’s hands are everywhere. On Benji’s shoulder. His arm. His butt. He’s exploring his matching half for the first time, and it genuinely feels like there’s an awakening happening. It hums in the air like power lines—never stopping, never fading.
“Benji,” he rasps. They’re face-to-face, foreheads touching, their breathing heavy. By the twitch of Bennet’s lip, it’s clear he wants this thing to progress, but he’s still too scared. His eyes are glued to Benji’s lips.
Someone wants a kiss.
I press my hand against the small of Bennet’s back. He startles at the touch, but it doesn’t take him long to recover. He looks up at me with love-drunk eyes, completely dazed. “Nate?”
I lean down and kiss his scalp. “Yeah, buddy. I’m right here.” I lock eyes with Benji. “Do you trust me, Benjamin?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Because I think there’s something Bennet’s wanting, and I want you to give it to him.” I touch Benji’s cheek, encouraging him. “Go on, baby. Give our boy a kiss.”
Benji’s eyes widen, and any foggy headspace he may have been wading through seems to clear. He looks panicked. I can’t have that, so, wanting to calm him, I kiss his cheek, right at the corner of his mouth. I don’t know what prompted the action, but it feels right.
“Just like that, Benjamin, but an inch to the left, this time.”
Benji eyes his friend curiously as if trying to decide if Bennet’s serious about this. Considering Bennet’s dick hasn’t shown signs of deflation since their underwear came off, it’s pretty clear he’s into this.
“You’re sure?” Benji asks him.
“It’s not too weird, is it?” Bennet checks.
Benji shakes his head. As they inch closer, their eyes are widening with fear, but then the strangest thing happens. Their lips touch, Bennet’s mouth opens slightly, and they’re sharing a tender kiss. It’s not like the ones I’ve seen them share before. Heck, it’s unlike anything I’ve seen before. They effortlessly bridge the gap between platonic affection and passion, leaving a heavy aura of overlapping emotion in the room. As Bennet deepens the kiss, he wraps his fingers around Benji’s cock again. Each stroke makes Benji moan into his mouth; then Benji reaches down and takes Bennet into his hand, whimpering at the connection. Their hands explore each other timidly, and all the while, their fists remain locked around each other, pumping at a matching rhythm.
It goes on for a while, lips against lips, cocks in hand. Eventually, they pry themselves away from each other, looking at each other in disbelief.
“Benji,” Bennet whispers with so much hope in his voice, I almost can’t stand it. He sounds so damn happy.
“Bennet,” Benji says, his voice cracking.
“Boys?” They slowly break eye contact, giving me their undivided attention. “That was beautiful.” I give each of them an assuring smile, caressing the small of their backs affectionately. Then I lead them to the bed, and they climb in, kneeling in front of each other, waiting for me with their pre-cum coated hands held out. I know I should just get in the bed and watch, but the light keeps reflecting off their wet hands, and it’s like the visual equivalent of a siren’s song, luring me closer to them, making me take their wet hands into mine and give them a squeeze. “Go on. I want you to come.”
Benji’s pumping feverishly, his hand a blur of rubs and tugs. Bennet’s got his face pressed against Benji’s, breathing heavily. They’re working each other’s cocks like it’s the last thing they’ll ever do, and surprisingly, the sight of them—so completely uninhibited, despite being watched by a paternal figure—has my heart racing faster.
“Nate,” Benji moans. “God. I’m close, Nate. I’m so close.”
“Me too,” Bennet says, his voice little more than a whimper. “Sir.”
I don’t know why the urge to move closer to them is so strong, but it’s been there ever since they entered my room. It’s the protector in me, demanding I wrap my arms around them and remind them they’re loved. Protected. Cherished. So, that’s what I do. Giving in to my protective urges, I hang an arm around each of their shoulders. Their bodies tremble at the contact, and their eyes slam open, staring at me.
“Nate,” they say in voices I’ve never heard before.
They’re staring at me like I’m a god. Like I’ve come down from on high, just to allow them to bask in my presence. I dig my nails deep into their shoulders, loving the soft moans it earns me.
“That’s it. Go on, little guys. I’ve got you. Let go.”
“Where?” Benji quickly asks. “Where should we come?”
Damn. We clearly haven’t thought this thing through. As much as I love my boys, I don’t love the idea of sleeping with a cum-covered blanket. It’s not so much the semen itself, but the fact I’ll have to wash my bedspread in the morning.
“You can come on me,” I finally say. “Like Benji did this morning.”
Their eyes widen, and like adorable cartoon characters, they look dazedly at each other, then back at me, their voices mixed in concert when they say, “We can?”