10. Graham
10
GRAHAM
I didn’t get my growth spurt until senior year. I was seventeen. I’d been home schooled for the two years prior to that due to the intense bullying I’d suffered at the hands of bigger boys and even a handful of girls at my co-ed Catholic high school. No one cared who my family was—or they did care, and they hated me for it. I was an easy mark. Five foot three, a hundred pounds. Glasses. Baby face.
Father Michael was my only source of solace. I was his altar boy, one of his favorites. I’ve heard the word on the street about Catholic priests, and I’m not saying Father Michael was purely innocent, but all he ever did with me was show affection—the kind of affection my family didn’t show. Long hugs. Soft strokes of my hair. Holding my hand and occasionally rubbing my shoulders—listening to me.
He was the one who convinced my parents to take me out of school when the bullying got to be too much—when I had no chance of ever being accepted by my so-called peers.
“He actually sounds like a nice guy,” Silas says. “Not a creep.”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “You hear enough, and you wonder whether you just got lucky. ”
“Has anyone ever accused him of anything?”
“Not that I know of.”
“And he helped you get through a tough time?”
“Yeah.”
“Then maybe he just knew what you needed and gave you that. I’m pretty sure not all priests are groomers and pedophiles. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me.”
“No,” I say. “I remember it well. And I remember not trusting him, too.”
“Why?” Silas asks.
We’ve hit a steady jogging pace I’m able to keep up with and breathe at the same time. My shins are killing me, but not so bad they make want to stop. I’m determined to finish this run—as determined as Avery was to wear those heels.
“I don’t know. Maybe I thought everyone was out to get me. Like it was a trick. Because some of the kids at school used to do that, too. Make me think they were being friendly and then end up embarrassing me. Public humiliation was like a competitive sport to them.”
The girls were the worst. Sitting with me at lunch only to distract me long enough for someone to sneak up and pour milk over my head. Tricking me into thinking they wanted tutoring after school only to set me up to get my ass kicked by a circle of jocks. The most embarrassing thing was how long it took me to figure it out. I kept wanting to believe that there was good in people—the way Father Michael always told us. But after one too many brutal beatings, one of the guys finally broke my arm, and that was when my pissed off parents pulled me out of school.
“So it’s about trust?” Silas asks after I explain everything. “Why you don’t have many friends?”
I don’t have any friends. Not unless I count Avery, and I think of her more as a co-conspirator. Another transactional relationship. She knows more about me than most people do—not as much as Silas now does, but I wouldn’t consider her a friend. More of an ally.
“What about college?” Silas asks. “When you finally got taller and started getting some hair on your chest.”
“Head down, studying. I was Valedictorian of every class I ever graduated from. Including Harvard Law.”
“And that was enough for you? You never went to parties or anything?”
“Nope.”
“Seems like such a waste.”
“I don’t think of it like that,” I say.
“How do you think of it?”
“Like my focus got me where I am today. No scandals. No people coming out of the woodwork to spill the beans about me?—”
“No fun.”
“I never said it wasn’t fun.”
“How could it have been fun?” Silas asks, turning us down another isolated trail.
I have to admit, I’m not used to being in this city without a hundred eyes around at all times. It’s amazing there are public places where you can still manage to be alone. “I was focused,” I say. “My reward system was doing well in class, earning the praise of my professors, respect from my peers. Having my papers published.”
“And when people asked you out?”
I laugh. “Why would you assume anyone did that ?”
“You’re not unattractive, Senator.”
I can’t help the broad smile that breaks on my face. “Oh, thank you. That’s nice of you to say. But no—once you turn down a couple of invitations, people stop asking.”
“Why turn them down, though?”
“Because what if they were a set up?” It’s an answer that begs for therapy, but just because I had a little chest hair didn’t mean I automatically started trusting people again.
“So, your isolation was a trauma response.”
“Maybe.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“Also,” I add, “I was afraid if I let myself go to some party and get drunk or smoke some weed, not only would that come back to bite me in the future, but also that I wouldn’t necessarily be able to hide…”
“The fact that you’re not straight?” Silas asks when I trail off.
“Yeah.”
“When did that one hot kiss happen?” he asks.
“Law school. Didn’t I tell you that?”
“I’m just wondering how it managed to happen if you never went out?”
“It was a school function. An award ceremony. There was a man—Rhett—a teaching assistant in my civic law class. We started talking when other people started mingling and we wound up outside so he could vape. Next thing I knew, he was shoving his tongue down my throat and grinding… Anyway—a group of people came outside, and it stopped. Never happened again.”
“Why not? You didn’t like it?”
“ I did, but he never spoke to me after that. Pretended it never happened—or maybe he forgot. I don’t know. I figured it was for the best. It was an incredibly risky situation, and I didn’t need the distraction. I’ll be honest—my entire campaign, I was on edge, thinking someone might have gotten a picture, and it would surface in October—blowing any chance I might have had at winning. Or he’d send me some sort of blackmail threat.”
I still worry about that. I realize being a Republican isn’t exactly popular with the LGBTQ+ community. I don’t know what kind of pressure I’ll be facing in the actual senate once I’m sworn in, or what the years before me will look like—my backbone has yet to be put to any real test. While I have certain beliefs that differ from my family’s world view—specifically that my being attracted to men isn’t a sin—I don’t know what the next six years hold or what will be required of me.
I trust my ability to put country over party—to find gray areas and exploit them—to act more moderately and find common ground, but I also recognize that I’m walking a thin line between what would benefit my family and people like us versus what would benefit the greater good of the country. I hope I don’t let anyone down. Including Silas, although if he voted, I’m relatively sure he didn’t vote for me.
“I’m assuming you can’t afford blackmail?” Silas asks, bringing my mind back to the topic at hand—Rhett Butler’s rock-hard thigh against my aching erection and his hot tongue in my mouth.
“Honestly, if it came down to that, my family would almost certainly handle it,” I say. They might never speak to me again if they found out the truth about me, but they’d make the truth disappear from public view. Of that I have no doubt.
“Can you afford to live up here, Graham?”
“I mean, it’s tight. You’ve got your mom—I have a sister who needs a lot of help, which I’m happy to do, but I have a back-up plan in case things ever take a turn.”
“Mind if I ask?”
“I own a property—an apartment in Chelsea. I could always sell it. It was a gift from my parents when I graduated law school. A no-strings gift if you can believe it. Avery doesn’t even know about it.”
“Sneaky.”
“I live my life with the full understanding that things could fall apart at any moment.”
“I’ve never heard a guy like you say anything remotely like that.”
“A guy like me? ”
“You know—white guy born with a silver spoon in his mouth. You dudes don’t usually plan for bad shit. More like you’re entitled to all the good stuff.”
“Some of us have to work for it.”
“Why do you have to work for it, though?” he asks.
“Lawther family values. Self-made men.”
“Ah.”
“Don’t get me wrong. There’s a big pot of gold waiting for me if I make it to the end and don’t get disinherited like my sister did.”
“I won’t ask.”
“You can if you want.”
Silas shakes his head, and I can’t help noticing my own disappointment. Like he’ll talk to me, but there’s a line he won’t cross in getting to know me. I understand, I guess. He’s my trainer, not my friend, and I am sort of stalking him today. My explanation for that isn’t just that I find him interesting or fascinating or smoking hot, but he knows my secret in a way no one else does. I don’t have to pretend with him. “That’s fine,” I find myself saying. “I get it. You probably don’t appreciate your clients dumping all their shit on you like you’re some therapist or something.”
“It’s not that.”
“What then?”
“Respectfully, Senator, I don’t want to get to know you better.”
That actually stings. “Then why all the questions?”
“Sometimes I talk before I think,” he says simply as his watch gives another beep. “Time to head home. For me anyway.” Silas comes to an abrupt stop.
I do the same, turning to face him. “Hang on. I have some questions for you, first.”
“Fine,” he says. “But understand I’m under no obligation to answer any of them.”
“Why are you being an asshole? ”
“This is not me being an asshole. This is boundary setting. There’s a difference. You crossed a line showing up here today, and I humored you, but?—”
“Why?”
He squints. “Why what?”
“Why humor me?”
“You were here—you were dressed the part. And I’m not an asshole.”
“Why are you blowing me off?”
He shifts from foot to foot, then lifts his left one off the ground, catching his shoe in his hand and pulling his quad into a stretch that makes the muscle bulge. I try to ignore the faint stirring in my shorts at the sight of it. I feel like I’ve done a good job today of keeping things casual. But honestly, I’m not sure why I expected someone who made it clear to me from the beginning he’s got a price tag to be my friend. Or whatever.
Now I’m being shitty, but I’ve got feelings. As much as I might try to stuff them into some dark cavity inside me and pretend they don’t exist, they surge up from time to time.
“You really think it’s a good idea to be seen with me?” he asks. “In public? Running in the park? I’m not exactly in the closet. I haven’t ever been.”
Ever?
“You—you’re my trainer. We’re working out.”
“Were you gonna Venmo me for the session? Because I thought we were scheduled at five.”
“Jesus Christ. Fine. It was stupid. You don’t have to rub it in. And yeah. I’ll fucking Venmo you. Whatever.” I turn and start walking away.
“Shit—Graham. Wait.”
I don’t stop, forcing him to catch up with me.
He puts a hand on my shoulder, and I stop. With the same hand, he gives a tug, forcing me to face him again. What I see in his eyes is slightly wild. “Look. This — You — Fuck .” He shakes his head and takes his hand back. “If you want to keep up this act of yours—hanging around me isn’t the way to do it.”
“What act?”
“Straight-laced senator with a wife. I know different.”
“Yeah. I know you do,” I say, even more pissed off— and turned on. It’s got my mind going haywire. There’s no one around at the moment. The area we’re in is heavily wooded. Heavy enough to hide a body. Or two. Come to think of it, I’ve got no idea where we are in relation to Park Avenue. I’ll need to map my way out of here on my phone if he leaves me high and dry.
“You show up here unannounced in that fucking shirt with this goddamn hat and tell me all this shit that makes you sound like the loneliest dude on earth, and I’m just supposed to what? Act like I’ve never had my cock in your mouth? Pretend you didn’t blow my goddamn mind on your first try at sex? Forget you drool enough to blow four guys at once? Sorry, I’m not made of stone.”
I lick my suddenly dry lips as the memories coat my brain with all their heady, orgasmic power. The potency of his words have me fully erect, predictably, and he has to know that’s exactly the effect they would have. So if he doesn’t want me…
But that’s not what he’s saying, is it?
I can barely process his reversal, if that’s what this is, and I’m not falling for one more stupid prank the universe or some asshole is playing on me. I thought I’d grown out of being so naive and trusting, but maybe not.
“Can we get off this trail?” I ask, my voice coming out shaky and low.
He glances around, into the heavy trees, and then calls me out. “You wanna go someplace no one can see?”
I say the sluttiest thing I’ve ever said in my life. “I might not be able to pay your fee, but I can still compensate you for your time.”
His pupils blow wide. “What’d you have in mind?”
Everything .
There isn’t anything not on my mind. I want his cock. I want his hole. I want his tongue, and I want to suffocate myself in his balls. I want every fantasy I’ve jerked off to over the last several months right here, right now. My guess is I’ll last about two seconds.
Shit, if he takes a step closer to me—if one part of him grazes one part of me—I’ll probably jizz my pants. I didn’t know he could heat up like this. He was so casual in the hotel. So laid back and professional. Easy. This is different. This is Silas —the guy who’d milked my cock for every last drop of cum while I was buried in his ass. The less than professional version who’d urged me to give it a second shot when he could have easily claimed his job was done.
He’d wanted me then in a way I hadn’t fully appreciated, but I see it more clearly now. “Have you been pushing me away?” I ask.
“Just trying to stay sane, Senator.”
“Am I a threat to that?”
“Not if you understand boundaries. Which I’m not sure you do.”
“I can do boundaries,” I say, rising to the occasion right alongside my throbbing cock.
“Then let’s not make this personal. You said you like things transactional? Let’s keep it that way. Cardio training costs extra. How’re you gonna pay me?”
“I could suck your cock,” I say with more confidence than I feel.
“Deal.”
He walks off the trail, and I follow him, careful not to stumble in my blind need to get to him. Where we wind up is incredibly secluded. Overgrown and isolated. I can’t see a person, trail, or even a sliver of the city from here. He could slit my throat, leave me for dead, and some curious dog would have to stumble across my scent in a few days to locate my body.
I shake the dark thought away as Silas takes a final glance around, pierces my gaze with his, and slides his tight pants down to expose his cock and balls. His reddened crown is slick and taut. Saliva pools in my cheeks, and I drop to my knees. He takes off my sunglasses, and I flinch when he reveals my face.
But we’re so alone here—or it feels like we are. What are the chances that some random person would recognize me, especially once I swallow Silas’s dick and bury my face in his groin? It’s the perfect disguise.
He puts a hand on the back of my neck, positions his cock, and I go for it, hiding myself between his strong legs.
At the hot, salty taste of him, a groan rips from my throat just before he stuffs it full. I wrap my hands around his tight ass and hold him there, adjusting, fighting my gag reflex, and inhaling the sweaty, masculine scent of him.
“Fuck,” he grunts, pulling his hips back before nudging in again. “Your mouth…I still have wet dreams about your fucking mouth.”
Like last time, I’m producing enough drool for an army. Hollowing my cheeks, I suck him with quick, confident draws, having visualized this enough by now to seem like a pro. What I didn’t imagine however, was that I’d get the opportunity for a repeat performance. If he’s wanted this, he’s shown zero sign of it. With each taste of him—every sweep of my tongue along his slippery shaft—I grow hungrier.
My lips squeeze and slurp and pull, my teeth graze, and my head bobs a rapid pace.
“Slow down. Jesus, you’re gonna make me come,” he whispers urgently.
Isn’t that the point? I don’t ask, and I don’t slow down. If anything, I’m more determined. Taking him to the root, I choke on his dick, not letting up until tears are streaming down my face, and his load is pulsing down my throat. He’s got me by the neck, pulled flush against him, suffocating me. When I palm my dick, I explode in my pants, convulsing on my knees—coughing on his unforgiving cock. My vision tunnels, and I close my eyes, giving into the helplessness—the lightheaded ecstasy filling every cell in my body with pure, radiant bliss.
“Jesus,” I vaguely hear him mutter as he releases his hold on me.
I instinctively pull off to breathe. My hands on my knees, I duck my head, trying to get some of the blood to return to my brain. As it does, I notice the small stain that made it through my underwear to my sweats, high and slightly to the left of the center seam. Quickly, I pull my sweats down so no more seeps through.
My underwear looks like I shot an elephant load. Feels like I did.
Fuck.
Still panting, I glance up at him. He’s pulling up his pants and gazing down at me, uncertainty on his face. “You all right?”
“Yeah.”
I wipe at the remnants of saliva on my chin and pick up my sunglasses, but I don’t put them back on yet. He crouches down so we’re at nearly eye level. “You sure? Maybe I went a little too far…”
“No.” I regret nothing, even if my voice is hoarser than before he had his way with my throat. “How’d I do? Or are you gonna chalk the first time up to beginner’s luck?”
“I think you know how you did, Graham.”
I drop my gaze. “Tell me anyway.”
“Best head I’ve ever gotten in Central Park.”
I manage a laugh. “Good to know.”
“One of these days, maybe you’ll let me show you what it feels like.”
“What would I owe you for that?” I ask.
“Are you kidding?” He wipes my lower lip with his thumb. “I’d happily pay for the privilege.”