I Like Him
The music thumped in time with my heartbeat.
As I spun, the dress flared out. The patrons stepped back, giving me room to perform. Hair whipped about as sweat dripped down my collarbone and along my cleavage. The song softened, the bass dropping. While the synthesizers filled the club, I held out my hands, gesturing for the crowd to go lower.
Hundreds of Maine’s queer community joined. Bit by bit, we dropped until we were all but squatting on the floor. The music had all but faded, but we all knew what came next—a moment of silence before the crescendo.
We bobbed to the beat. As it grew louder, my hands urged them up. We rose as one, unified by the music. As we stood, hands continued rising into the air until we waited for the beat to drop.
Boom.
The crowd roared. I turned, waving them to part. Two steps and I bent down into a one-handed cartwheel, turning in a roundabout. I hit the ground, sliding into a split as they cheered.
My final show would be remembered as a spectacle.
The boys helped me to my feet as they offered farewell hugs. Like always, I exited on my terms. It’d be talked about for years, and nobody would forget the name Mabel Syrup. Especially that handsome man sitting at a table in the corner. He gave a chin nod, and I offered a flirty wave.
Our eyes locked, and there was no way I’d leave without getting this burly man’s name.
Stomping across the floor, I stopped short of his table.
The people who had been flanking him had vanished.
The only thing separating us was the small table.
He leaned forward, resting on his elbows, a smirk growing.
He’d remember. I grabbed his tie, wrapping it around my hand. Gently pulling, he leaned forward, half draped across the table. I closed the gap until I breathed in his ear.
“Fancy meeting you here.”
He didn’t speak. I let my lips drag along his cheek until I found his. With a flick of the tongue, I let go, giving him a push. He flattened against his chair, fingers tracing the line from his ear to his mouth.
I blew him a kiss, spinning around. I stormed across an empty club. The music had died, and all that remained was the clicking of my heels. Throwing open the back door, I headed toward my dressing room. No matter how far I walked, the first door on the left never got closer.
Just when the handle came within reach, something tugged at my shoulder. I spun around and didn’t have time to register anything except for the grin. The hand slid along my neck, cupping my cheek as he pressed his lips against mine.
Vanilla.
I kissed back as his lips parted. His other hand found the small of my back, pulling me tighter against him.
We turned until he had my back to the wall.
He was thick, but beneath the soft padding, he used his muscles to hold me in place.
I could already feel the rigidness in his pants as he ground against me.
He held my bottom lip between his teeth, just enough pressure to elicit a whimper. His fingertips slid along my shoulders, down my arms until he reached my hands. Holding mine in his, he raised them above my head, pinning them to the wall. I wrapped a leg around his waist, pulling him tighter.
His lips moved to my cheek, then to my neck. Each soft kiss had me moaning. I wanted him to take control, to have his way with me. This became the only spectacle I wanted to remember. If I had my way, I’d already have his belt off and zipper down.
As if he had read my mind, he released my wrists. Before I could reach for his belt, he turned me around. I braced against a workplace safety sign as his fingers danced near the slit of my dress. Pushing back, I made it clear exactly what I wanted from him.
He pressed against my back as his lips moved to my ear. “I’m going to—”
VROOM.
My eyes shot open.
“Dammit,” I hissed. Thanks to the lawn mower, a perfectly delightful dream had been wasted. Even if I could fall asleep again, it’d never end the way I wanted. The mower and I were in a fight to the death.
Staring down at the floral blanket, it bulged where my cock pointed skyward. I swore I could feel the echo of Sammy’s belly pressed against my back. I knew exactly how I wanted the dream to end.
Throwing back the blankets, it swayed, refusing to go away. I slid out of bed, shaking away the sleep. Wiping my eyes, I stumbled my way across the room toward the bathroom. Flipping the shower on, I waited until the steam filled the stall.
Stepping in, I let out an audible sigh. Hot water fixed everything. I let the spray work its way down my back. It wasn’t so different from what I wanted to happen in the hallway. Me, braced against the wall while Sammy’s hands moved to my hips, holding me in place.
He hadn’t flinched when I grabbed him by the tie. The grin hadn’t faded as I teased. I wanted to indulge in the fantasy, in the way he reached for my hip and pulled the dress to the side. It wasn’t a hesitant touch; he knew what he wanted, and he was going to take it.
I reached for my cock. With a tight squeeze, I shivered.
Idly stroking, I imagined his belly resting on the cleft of my ass.
Even with his pants on, I’d push back to feel the stiffness.
I hoped he raced for his belt before he fumbled with the zipper.
The thought of his pants around his ankles while heaving his package over his underwear waistband… my hand froze.
Focused on the moment, I nearly came. The image alone was enough for me to shoot my load, but I’d want it to drag out. He’d pull the dress out of the way and with a hooked finger, drag the thong from the crack of my ass.
“Fuck,” I whispered. In the shower, I pushed my ass back.
It wasn’t needing a cock in me; it was this specific cock. Lining up, he’d hold my hips, pulling me onto him. The confidence of his hands, their determination to bury himself balls deep, would have me dripping. I’d savor every inch, waiting for him to throb.
It’d be a steady stroke. Him taking out all but the head. He’d tease and wait for me to whimper before burying the length inside again. I’d gasp, giving him exactly what he needed.
I resumed stroking, thinking of it happening in time with his thrusts. Each time I pulled my foreskin forward, I danced on the edge of orgasm. I’d hold off, only coming after he bred me. I wanted Sammy inside, his cum dripping inside my hole.
My balls tightened. I picked up my pace, remembering his face as I swallowed his load.
The tingling started in my toes and rushed through my muscles.
The orgasm hit, and I braced both hands against the wall, imagining Sammy’s fingers tightening on my hips.
Looking down, I watched as my cock throbbed, cum hitting the shower wall.
Gasping, the fantasy ended with the thought of him panting, draped across my back. Cum continued trickling from my foreskin. I hadn’t had an orgasm that intense since… well, since a handsome man jerked me off.
I couldn’t help but smile as my body shook.
“Damn,” I hissed.
Part of me wondered if that night at Spectrum could have ended closer to the fantasy? If I had flirted a bit more and let Mabel be her brassy self, could it have led to a raunchy encounter in the hallway? I doubted it, but the what-if persisted. If she were around, she’d make it a reality.
I shook the thought from my mind. No, I needed to find my own way forward.
Though… the temptation lingered.
Nick: Who’s ready for flash mob practice?
Simon: I’m at work.
Jason: Ditto.
Tyler: What I’m hearing…
Tyler: Practice is at the Bistro.
Charlie: Hell, no.
Seamus: What he said.
Chris: Charlie and Seamus are on float duty.
Charlie: Fine.
Seamus: Also, no.
“This is the saddest flatbed I’ve ever seen.”
I couldn’t argue with Charlie. We both stepped back from the eighteen-wheel freight truck. For the last hour, we hung streamers and applied rainbows in an attempt to make a proper Pride float.
“So sad,” I said.
“If Gladys sees this, she’s going to be pissed.”
“Gladys? If this gets out, we’re going to have our gay cards revoked.”
“Mine got revoked when I complained about Cher on the jukebox.”
I gasped. “I hope they took away your toaster.”
Of all the bears, I knew Charlie the least. I once cast away evil spirits so his boyfriend could be rid of some bad juju.
Typical Monday in Firefly, but Charlie remained an enigma.
It had been Gladys who convinced me to join the Quilting Guild to transform ourselves into tattooed deviants to prove the town loved him.
He had joined the fold kicking and screaming, but he had become part of the town.
“The Glitterati will slash the tires before they let this leave the garage.”
He scoffed. I had been warned he could be a Seamus in training.
We continued backing up until we bumped into a workbench.
Mr. Thibideau had loaned us the use of his garage and one of his trucks.
Gladys decided the bears would get the big float, and right now, it looked like she vastly overestimated our theatrical abilities.
“How’s that going?”
That? Charlie hadn’t been at Spectrum for the retirement. Patrick warned me that Charlie steered clear of the town gossip. He might live in town, but he did his damnedest to avoid secondhand info. Avoiding the whisper network required acrobatics I’d never attempt.
“I retired.” It was the first time since Spectrum I had said it out loud. In the garage’s vastness, it almost sounded like a whisper. “Just boring ol’ Mike these days.”
“Boring ain’t bad.”
While we questioned our design sensibilities, I kept eyeing the tats covering his arms. In his tank top, it appeared as if there was more ink than skin. I had thought about getting one once upon a time, but never found a design that caught my eye.
“How many tats?”
“No clue.”
“Really?”
He nodded. Definitely a Seamus in training.
“Hurt?”
“In a good way.” He shot me a grin. “Thinking about it?”
“You offering?”
“Of course.”
“Sure.”