Horny Little Devil

 

 

Goddamn it, Marty, I know you're there. Answer the phone.

Hey, Marty! What's up?

Cool. You're finally going to have a date with Ken, huh? Well, it's about time. So, you got a minute?

Yeah, it's about my date last night. Kinda. Really, it's about another date afterwards--

I do work fast, don't I? Well, listen, you're not going to believe this. I mean, you are not going to believe this. And this is going to take more than a minute. OK? Yeah, I'll be graphic, don't worry.

You remember that guy Robin that I've had my eye on for a while. Right, of course, he's the guy I went out with last night. Well, kinda. Anyway. I first began to notice him waiting for the El at Belmont about a month ago after I couldn't walk to work anymore because of my leg getting hurt in that accident, and he was so cute--you saw him, and you know how happy I was when everyone started growing goatees--that I finally got up the courage to talk to him. I wasn't sure what to talk about, but I guessed that I'd just wing it. So there he is, with this jet--black hair and these really blue eyes, and I walked up to him as best I could and said, "Hi!" and smiled, and he smiled back. Major panic. I didn't know what to say at all. Then I saw that he was wearing a pentagram on a chain around his neck.

Pentagram, Marty. Pen-ta-gram. As in witchcraft, you know? Yeah, that star thing. Only with five points, not six. So I asked him if he was a warlock, and he told me that he preferred being called a witch.

You wouldn't have laughed if he'd been looking at you the way he was looking at me, man. He was skinnier than I usually like them, but his face was really friendly. Great smile. Great ass, too. Yeah, right, a bubbler as you would say. Yeah, well, I agree with you now, but let me go on, alright? At the time I had a major crush on him, or whatever.

So anyway. I said, "What are you doing tonight?" and he grinned at me and invited me to a ritual he and some priestess were going to perform.

Of course I didn't mention that to you before. What kind of shit would you have given me if instead of saying, "I'm going on a date," I'd said, "I'm going to a witchcraft ritual"? It was still a date, I mean, this was a little different than setting up a rendezvous at Our Lady of Perpetual Eternity or Temple Beth El. I was going to suggest dinner and a movie, but what the fuck, I don't get invited to seances or whatever too often. He gave me the address and the time, told me not to show up high or drunk or anything, flirted with me a little more. You know how some guys'll lower their heads just a little and to the side and then kinda look sideways at you and grin? God damn, if he'd told me to meet him for a night of unnatural experiments at the hands of aliens, I'd have said yes by then. But then his train showed up, so he told me he'd see me later and left. It was chilly that morning, but I wasn't cold any more. My leg was still bothering me enough to where I had to take the train, of course. Yeah, that's right, the car accident was four months ago. I'm almost glad it happened because otherwise I'd have still been walking to work. Well, anyway.

Yeah, sure, I can hold on for a minute. Hurry up though.

OK. So it turned out that the ritual was happening in one of those big brownstones right around the corner from me. I showered and got myself presentable and walked--right, limped, wise guy, thanks--over there. A big woman in a blue gown answered the door to the apartment; I told her who'd invited me, and she led me in with a big, goofy smile. No, I wasn't scared. On the contrary, I felt stupid. There were about twenty people crammed into the living room, candles everywhere, incense, too. Seemed like women outnumbered the men two to one, and most of the guys set my gaydar off bigtime. They had some Celtic music playing in the background, and everyone was chattering away. I'd expected things to be a little more sinister and somber, but I guess these were good witches, I don't know.

I'm getting to that, Marty. Hold your fucking horses. Yeah, I saw Robin. He was way over at the other end of the room holding court with several kinda hippie-looking women in a corner by a sofa. Frankly, I had been wondering what the hell I was doing there--didn't exactly feel like I was in my element--and when I saw him, I don't know, he didn't seem as hot as I'd thought before. Maybe the ambience affected my perception.

Fuck you, I am not high. I don't need to be high after last night. Yeah, well I'm getting to that.

No, I called you, right? So you're going to shut the hell up and listen, got it?

OK. Now. As I was saying. Robin noticed me looking at him and motioned me over, introduced me to his friends, and was about to tell me what this ritual was about when a bell sounded and everyone got up, put down their fruit drinks or whatever, and started facing toward me, which scared me for a second--like, was I tonight's sacrifice or what?--until I realized they were looking behind me. I turned around to see a door. Some guy with antlers on his head, that's right, antlers, was on the other side. Lucky me, I was first in line, and I didn't want Robin to think I was chicken, so I just strolled on in. The antler man, maybe he was some kind of witchcraft altar boy, rubbed oil on my forehead. Ha ha, that's funny, no, it wasn't lube, lube doesn't smell like lavender. Maybe your lube does, sweetie. Anyway, so he rubs oil on my forehead and gives me a hug and whispers something about perfect love and trust in my ear, and I'm thinking, You have perfect bad breath, dude. I mean, rank.

Inside the room there was an altar with flowers and candles. The woman who had let me in was there, still in the blue robe but now with a crescent-moon headdress on. I have to admit I was impressed by the amount of labor that had gone into that room . . . fabrics on the wall, weird stuff in some foreign language painted on the floor and ceiling.

What really caught my eye, though, was the statue on the altar. One of them, anyway. One was some kinda fat fertility goddess, and the other was Pan, you know, the one with the pipes and horns and hooves. Oh, fuck off. No, it wasn't the hooves. The upper half of his body was all man and I mean all man . . . really tight muscles, a suggestion of hair in the cleft of his pecs and under his arms, and a nice thick beard. The look on his face just took my breath away. Yeah, he had horns, but I didn't care. I'm serious, it was just a statue, but whoever made that statue had to have been into men . . . \the curve of his mouth under all that hair, the way the eyebrows were angled, I don't know, Marty, but it was really sexual. Which, from what I know of Pan, makes sense I suppose.

After the other folks had filed in and been lubed by the antler boy, Robin appeared wearing a green robe. He picked up a sword and started chanting stuff at one wall and then another. I wasn't really paying attention. You know I've never been one for religion. Good for Robin and his friends, if they find meaning in this shit, great. Then he took the sword and traced a circle on the ground. The furnace must have kicked in, because I began to feel kinda warm. Well, anyway, while they were invoking whatever it is, or whoever it was, they were invoking, I kept staring at that statue of Pan. My crotch got warm and I thought, Hey, if you're out there, if you're a god and you look like that, I'll worship you all you want! Maybe it was the surroundings, but gradually I started to really get into it. Seriously. I actually felt different . . . like I was praying with my dick. This sounds awful new-agey, but I could feel . . . energy . . . running up my back from my dick and going off somewhere. Yeah, funny after what I just said about religion, isn't it? Well, I never got a hardon in church, and Emerson did say that a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds. What? Emerson. Oh, never mind. Some guy I used to fuck.

Well, I don't know what they were doing. All the time I was thinking about Pan there on the altar. To wrap it up, the ritual ended, I came out of my trance or whatever--and I really think that's what it was--and suddenly I had to get out of there. I didn't want to be anywhere near Robin. Everyone filed out of the room after more swords were waved, and I told Robin, who didn't look that cute anymore, that I didn't feel well (which was true while I was talking to him, I actually thought I was going to puke) and was going to leave. He flashed me one of those smiles that had just killed me earlier that day, and I said goodbye and hobbled at full speed out of there. Yeah, which wasn't too speedy.

By now it was about eleven o'clock, and I thought I'd just head home and read a book or check out IRC or something. I felt kinda wired, but after dealing with all those people in that small environment, being social wasn't appealing to me. Well, I was about to open the door to my building when I heard a voice. Oh, har de har har. No, it didn't tell me to free Charles Manson. You want to know what it told me, wiseass? It said, "Go to Cabaret." Right, that bar just the other side of the El tracks there . . . yup, that's it. I hadn't been there since the 80s because one night one of the bartenders, this Morticia Addams wannabe--remember when they all wanted to be her or Lily Munster?--really pissed me off. Bitch. Anyway. The voice was loud, but I could tell that only I'd heard it, like . . . how do I explain this...my brain had heard it, but my ears hadn't. Does that make sense? And when I heard it, I felt myself agreeing with it, I didn't even have time to think Screw that. So I went there, past the corner where all the speed freaks hang out, past the pizza joint, past the building with the weird stuff on the sidewalk in front. Took me a good while to limp down there, but I figured it was good physical therapy, you know?

Cabaret had changed a lot since my last visit, and I'm glad Morticia wasn't tending bar. Probably in back sticking pins in Mr. T dolls. Bottles and glasses reflecting light from the video screen. Not a whole lot of folks there. I got a beer and sat down on the ledge along the wall in the front room, thinking back on all the idiot Flock of Seagulls haircuts that used to haunt the place. I tell you, time flies, but sometimes it oughta take a Concord. I sat and drank my beer, feeling dumb and out of place as the vibe was still pretty goth and here I was in a flannel shirt and jeans, albeit fresh from getting down with a pack of witches. I drank some more. And then the door opened and this guy walked in.

Oh, fuck off. Why do I even call you, Marty. Yes, this is where it starts to get good, asshole. This guy walked in, and I checked him out. Remember that guy at the last Pride parade, the one you wanted so bad? And then I saw him and agreed with you that he was the hottest guy I'd seen in years? This guy topped him. Ha ha ha. Well, for all I know, I do mean that literally. I'm sure even Robert Dornan would have thrown his legs in the air for this man. Really dark, thick hair . . . in the lights it almost looked like black hair in the comic books, with the blue highlights. Very coarse features, very handsome at the same time, great body. Huge basket. Jeans stretched just right. And when he went to get a drink . . . fuck, what an ass! I mean, what an ass. I can't begin to describe. I was in lust. Seriously. Wide shoulders . . . oh, man, don't get me started.

Of course, he got his drink, sat about three feet from me, and took out a cigarette. Yeah, we still have cigarettes in our bars, unlike where you live. I hadn't smoked one in years and years, but I thought, I'll bum a smoke off him and then I have an in to talk to him, if he talks to guys like me. Hell, if he'd pulled out a syringe and some smack, I would have held the spoon and tied him up.

"Can I borrow one of those?" I asked, turning my head slightly, and thought, Duh, like I'm going to give it back.

"As long as you promise not to give it back," he said, offering me the pack. He had hair on every joint of his fingers. Jet black. I looked up from his hands to his face and just about fell off the ledge. His eyes were very dark and almost teary, wet looking, kinda, but I felt like I was looking into the eyes of a panther at close range. A hungry fucking panther. He smiled, and his teeth were too white to be real. Then I saw he had a filling in one.

"Sure," I said. All I could think was, What do I say, what do I do, I don't want to fuck this up. "Thanks," I said. He lit it for me and continued staring at me and smiling. I tried to move the conversation along.

"Uh, what's your name? I'm Ray."

"Jesús," he said. He was looking at me like I was a slab of prime rib.

OK, I thought, I've hit pay dirt. "¿De verdad? ¿Hablas español?" I asked. "Really? Do you speak Spanish?"

His face didn't change. "No." He just kept smiling and smoking and checking me out. I noticed how thick his beard was, how big his biceps were. What was he doing here with all these new-wave leftovers? What was I doing here? My mind was racing. Didn't help that I was catching a mean nicotine buzz.

"Oh really?" I blurted out. I was almost scared by now, man. Hunky or not, he was starting to give me the creeps, the way he was looking at me. "Most of the men I know named Jesús speak at least some Spanish."

Well, he brought his face a little closer to me and said, "I used to tell people my name was Emmanuel, but no one ever got the joke."

I'd been in midpuff with my cigarette, but I spat it out on the floor and just laughed and laughed. Seemed like the funniest thing I'd ever heard for some reason. When I calmed down, he drew closer. "Actually, I'm Sylvester," he said. He offered me his hand and shook mine in a very courtly way, not like I expected him to. Really hyperpolite. Didn't expect him to be named Sylvester either. Butch, maybe, or Hank, or something Mediterranean. Then he looked me up and down. "You're a very verbal person, aren't you? You must feel really isolated."

I was about to answer yeah, all the time, but doesn't anyone in a big city full of people you don't know, when he patted my leg and said, "Would you like me to massage this leg of yours? I bet you'd like that."

Yes, it was my bad leg. No, he hadn't seen me walking, I'd been sitting there the whole time. My mouth opened because I'd had a thought that wanted to come out, but I think it saw him and got scared. So what did he do? He leaned over and kissed me. Stuck his tongue right in my mouth and gave me this incredible kiss, like he'd known me for years, and put his hand behind my head. I hope I made some attempt to kiss back, but I may have been paralyzed. Most of me, anyway. My dick got hard in seconds flat, and I got dizzy, like I'd been dosed with ecstasy or something.

He moved his mouth to my throat and right ear, licking me. Almost expected it to feel raspy, like a cat's tongue. Really gentle, but I could tell this was just a teaser for his, uh, massage. I was in heaven, Marty.

Finally he drew his head away from me a little and then brought his nose to mine. "Shall we go then?"

Hah. Got your attention now, eh? Thought so. Usually I wait at least a half hour before agreeing to go home with someone, but I said "Sure," and so we got up and left. Turns out he lives right across the street, kitty-corner, in that big stone building that used to be a bank. He led the way, and I followed, partly because my leg was killing me and partly so I could check out his ass some more. Bee-yoo-ti-ful. The Mexicans on the corner just stood and watched us as we passed under the streetlights.

Of course it sounds poetic, you douchebag, it was poetic. You wish your sex life were poetic. Oh, yeah, right, I forget that Bukowski was a poet. Pray forgive my lapse. If it helps, they were probably staring at me with a limp and a big bulge in my crotch from him kissing me like that.

Right. He led me up the stairs slowly, and walked down the hall to his place with his arm around my shoulders. He smelled really good...not like cologne, but like . . . incense maybe, or spices, or moss or something. Really good. "We'll fix you up right," he whispered in my ear and started licking me again.

I was fucking speechless. I'm no prude, but someone could have seen us, and here he is swabbing my deck. He stopped walking and just grinned at me. "We're home."

I was not prepared for his apartment. I don't know what he does for a living, but it pays well. Plants and fabrics with what appeared to be gold woven into them everywhere and a fat, sleepy boa in a glass tank. Strange to have all that stuff in a studio apartment. The bed was right in the middle of the living room. "Wow, this is cool!" was the best I could come up with. Lame, I know, but I was getting used to my lameness in comparison to him.

Yeah, metaphorically and literally, you're right, douchebreath.

"You like it here? Good. Maybe you'll come back then," he said. I just stood there like a fool, not knowing if I should sit or what. The only place to sit would have been the bed. I noticed the hair popping out of the top of his shirt, and the boots he wore as he stood there next to me. There was a music stand in the corner of the room near the refrigerator, and when I asked him about that, he said he played the flute.

I was about to say some stupid shit in an attempt to say anything at all and not feel so awkward. He just stood there staring at me. I tell you, Marty, it would have been creepy if he hadn't been so fucking hot and if, I don't know, it's weird, man. Like I knew he wasn't going to hurt me. Still, it was strange. But I didn't have to say anything because he turned to stand in front of me, grabbed me in his arms, and started licking my lips and face and beard. Yep, licking. And grinding himself into me. He was hard already, and I was, too, by then.

Oh, you are, huh? Yeah, me, too. No, I don't mind, man. Think I'll join you, as a matter of fact--yeahhh. God, what a man. Ohhhhh oh oh oh. Damn, that didn't take long. I'm rock hard here man.

I licked him back, and he opened his mouth on my tongue and wrapped his lips around it like it was my dick and sucked on it while our hardons rubbed together through our jeans. I reached down and felt his ass as he flexed into me. Fucking beautiful ass. Oh, man, he must've liked that, because he growled and suddenly I was on the bed on my back with him on top of me, humping me and rubbing his beard into my neck.

That's right. He was on top. Of me. Hell. First time for everything, Marty. This guy was obviously calling the shots, and his aim had been perfect so far. Fuck, he felt great pressing into me like that. Drove me nuts that he still had his clothes on though, made me even hornier. Oh. Ohhhhh yeah.

So he starts licking my neck and then my upper chest . . . undoing my shirt buttons and lapping at me as he exposed me and scooting down on me until he had my shirt undone and was on his knees, getting my belly right above my belt buckle soaking wet and rubbing my cock and my legs and just driving me fucking nuts, making me squirm on the bed. "You want me to unbuckle this?" he asked me, looking at me and smiling, and I said "Oh fuck yeah" and he did and asked if he could unbutton my jeans and then take off my shorts. Unnnhh. Yeah, stroke that cock buddy. While he did that he didn't touch my cock at all, just took off my clothes, and I was getting harder and harder just watching him do it . . . and he kept looking up to my face and smiling. I wasn't creeped out anymore, uh uh. Noooooo way. But then he licked my balls . . . just one good long lick . . . that made me moan out loud, and when his head came up, he said "You can't stop me from sucking your dick now, you know, your dick is mine" and then, oh fuck, Marty, yeah, he started using his tongue to roll around and press down from the shaft all the way up, man it felt good, and rubbing my leg and then sucking on the head real wet and loud and smooth, yeah, oooooh fuck are you as hard as I am Marty? Yeah, man, he took me in his mouth and I could feel the hot breath coming out of his nostrils, his beard as he wolfed down my cock, those lips tight on it and his tongue . . . god, his mouth was so hot . . . oooh yeah . . . working me like I can't even tell you man. Aaaaaah fuck yeah. Then he started rubbing my stomach and chest and playing with my nipples while swallowing me . . . oh fuck me! did his throat feel good and I started fucking his face like mad, which he liked, he started growling, not fakey growls either but I don't know, he was actually growling like an animal, not like a man trying to sound like one, and sucking me harder, and deeper, unhhh, and my balls got tight and I told him I was going to shoot, you know, warning him, and he slipped a hand under the small of my back and lifted me into his mouth farther, oh oh oh fuck Marty here I cum, yeah, and he kept sucking and I lost it and started yelling and blew this big ole load right down his throat--ohh man--yeah--yeah buddy, aaaaaaaa Christ YEAH!! aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggghhhh.

Hoooooooooey! Got it all over myself man. You too? Heh heh, sounded like you had fun buddy. Couldn' t help it. So. Dammmmn . . . where was I. Yeah. So he kept sucking me after I came until I start spazzing out 'cuz I was so sensitive and then climbed on top of me and gave me a big kiss . . . could taste my cum in his mouth . . . and then he whispered in my ear that he had to get up really early so he had to crash now. Alone. Bummer! I hadn't even seen him with his clothes off yet, and I was dying to get him off like he'd done me, but I figured there was no point in arguing . . . anyone who could prioritize like that must have a serious agenda, right? So after a few minutes more of cuddling on the bed we got up . . . yeah, dummy, of course I got his phone number, what, do orgasms reduce your IQ even farther? . . . yeah, fuck you too...and he gave me another big kiss and then looked me in the eyes and you know what he said? He said, "Thanks for calling me, wish I had more time" and grinned with his forehead against mine and then he said, "Anyway, next time you'll be in better shape for me to fuck the living hell out of you" and then he put his mouth on my Adam's apple and licked my throat, which got me hard again. Yeah, in real life, too...fuckin hard here still . . . So he gives me a peck on the cheek and smiles and we said good bye and I came home and crashed bigtime. And now you've heard the rest of the story. I'm really tempted to call him tonight. We'll see if coffee changes my outlook. Maybe I should wait a while.

Oh, I don't know, I'd say it's about a five-block walk. Yeah, sure was nice out last night. So what did you--

No, my leg feels fine, now that you mention it, Marty, why do you ask?

© 2000 Gregor Everitt