Ebb Tide Read online

  “That was—that was great,” he whispered. Then he started nudging forward again, hinting that he was ready for a second, perhaps even stormier, dunk. His flushed cock pushed up at me, trapped between his pale stomach and the waistband of his khakis. I realized then that I couldn’t come again—not with him. I hadn’t wanted him enough, after all.

  I dropped his hair and pulled my cock away. The glistening strand of spittle snapped with a wet, popping sound. I let Timothy rock back on his haunches. He blinked at me through his glasses, confused.

  “This is no good,” I said, stripping off the sweat-moistened condom and stuffing my wilting hard-on out of sight. I pushed the pouch of condoms back down inside my shirt. “I can’t stay, Timothy. Some people are expecting me where I’m staying.”

  “We could go to my apartment,” he offered, but I was already leaving the stall. Timothy hastily composed himself and jumped to his feet. The guys at the bar looked up and smirked when he came rushing out of the rest room after me.

  “In the afternoons I do my writing at the public library,” he shouted as I stepped out into the rain. “You can find me there anytime.”

  I gave him a brief wave over my shoulder. I was glad I’d already warned him that I wasn’t a nice guy.

  When I got back to the cottage, my clothes were soaked and my cock engorged. Duane was back on the couch in the small living room, wearing only his torn jeans. His nipples stood up flushed and red, his bare feet stretched out in front of him. While I hung up my wet coat, I found myself counting the gold, curling hairs on his chest.

  “Where’s Fletch?” I asked him. A note of suspicion crept into my voice. It almost would have served Fletch right, I thought, if Duane had fucked him senseless and then cleaned out his wallet.

  “Asleep.” Duane said, then shrugged. “He didn’t want to wait until bedtime, I guess. What I did at the restaurant turned him on.”

  “I’m not surprised. Fletch isn’t really used to shenanigans like that. When we were together....Well, never mind.”

  Duane’s ice-blue eyes drilled me. “Did it turn you on?”

  I tried to laugh angrily. It came out as a shrill bark. “I’d say you know the answer to that.”

  Duane stood up, his narrow lip curving into a smile that was three-quarters sneer. “In that case, if your theory about me is correct, you must owe me one.” Planting his bare feet on the rough wooden floor, he unbuttoned his jeans slowly. They slumped into a pale, bluish puddle at his ankles. “As it happens, I’m running a special tonight.”

  His hard cock curved out at me, long and red between his ivory thighs. The dark slit, glossy with sex fluids, mocked me with a soggy wink.

  With a growl, I tore open the leather pouch and whipped out a condom. Duane, his hands creeping toward his naked crotch, licked his lips hungrily as I unzipped my jeans and kicked them toward the sofa. As my huge cock unfurled, I slammed the rubber over its thick head.

  “Get down there,” I rasped, pushing him onto the sofa and gripping him under the knees. I tilted his legs until his muscles locked and he yelped in discomfort. Between his upturned ass-cheeks, his hair-fringed pucker was winking naughtily at me. The pink flesh looked swollen and torn, relentlessly battered by Fletch’s prick.

  “He always was an ass-man,” I muttered as I forced his legs wider. “Unfortunately for you, Duane, so am I.”

  “That—must’ve—been—hard for you,” said Duane, reaching down to squeeze his rosy ballsac. His own cock was already swelling with anticipation. For some reason, knowing that he’d just put on a similar show for my ex-lover, I found myself annoyed with him.

  “Sometimes. But I’m going to make up for it now.” I took a tiny single-use tube of fuck-gel from my leather pouch, squirted some between his cheeks, and clenched my dick like I was wielding a sledgehammer. Duane tensed up as I fitted it against his hole and pressed just the rubber-clad head in. Then, without so much as a preliminary stroke to stretch him out, I crammed my whole dick up his clutching chute. The hairs on my crotch crackled like a clump of electric wires against his velvety rear end as I assailed him with a vigorous sawing motion.

  He was actually much tighter than I’d expected as I plied my tool inside his hole. Looked like Fletch hadn’t been getting his money’s worth, I thought, clubbing his rear end into a churning wad of liquid lust. His wet flesh strained audibly around my rigid mallet. The sweat ran in rivers from my buttocks and thighs. Hot, pungent moisture slicked his ass-crack as well, providing a natural lube as I fed my meat into him.

  His damp flesh made loud squishing noises as it skidded against mine. Our soggy melody was punctuated only by deep, shuddering gasps and the hard crack of my crotch as I slammed it against Duane’s butt.

  By now, my cock was so aroused that it felt as dense and scalding as an iron bar straight from a fire. It blazed inside me, flaring with heat, the bulging head hammering his innards. I plowed into him with such raw urgency that I squeezed my eyes shut as a searing pressure rocked my hips and ignited my whole groin.

  “Ohhh,” he wailed, flailing his lips left and right while I pummeled his pucker. With every thrust, his ass-walls kissed my cock’s bulging veins. In no time at all, Duane had siphoned the first spurts of cum from my tight balls.

  “Take it,” I grunted, pushing so deeply into him that my spine ached and my dick seemed to collide with his tailbone. Duane was crying out silently, his jaws hanging open while I split him wide, wider. “Take every last, hot, fucking inch of me.”

  This is for you, Fletch, I raged, firing off a sharp, hot volley that forced my knees into the small of Duane’s back. His hole squeezed me like an angry fist. My boiling jizz in the condom seemed to weld my shaft and his colon together.

  “Ohhh,” he moaned again, when I finally wrenched myself out of him. His feet slid off my shoulders as I braced myself and pulled away. Next, he squeezed his eyelids shut and started to jerk himself off with both hands. Almost at once, a tiny load of froth bubbled up over the tops of his fists. Drained to the core, I simply stood and watched him.

  He opened his eyes when he was finished. They glittered at me, oddly defiant.

  “Now you’re going to tell me you’re with Fletch because you love him?” I demanded. My softening cock, slick with my own fluids, dangled like a challenge between my spread legs.

  “I don’t have to tell you anything,” he retorted. “Fletch makes things right for me. That’s all.”

  I leaned in close to his face, very close. My breath disturbed the lock of hair that fell into his face by design. “Then what the hell were you just doing with me up your skinny ass?

  He shrugged once, forcefully. “That was just because I liked you. Fletch still likes you, too. We understand each other. He wanted you to fuck me. He told me so.”

  “Oh, right,” I snorted. But my cock bobbed an inch or so higher between my legs.

  “Think what you want. It’s the truth.”

  With that, he pulled his jeans up and padded out of the room. Standing there in only my shirt, I heard the water running in the bathroom down the hall, and then the click of Fletch’s bedroom door.

  Not bothering to dress again, I blustered down the hall to my own room. Should I have asked Timothy to drop by later? When I flopped on the bed, I heard the rustle of quilts and sheets on the other side of the wall.

  ****

  For the next two days, Duane and I screwed, sucked, and yanked each other every chance we got. Luckily, we had no phone in the cottage, so Fletch had to make frequent trips to town to use the pay phones. He’d always been the type to wander off for an early morning jog or drive to Wellfleet to pick up some banana-flavored coffee beans for breakfast. Whenever he’d disappear, Duane and I would head straight into my room, or I’d push him down on the couch.

  One time, when Fletch had gone out on an errand we both knew would keep him gone no longer than ten or fifteen minutes, I had Duane yank down his boxer shorts and bend over the kitchen table. I took him right there, wi
th my hard cock up his backside. While he was twisting and grinding his own hard-on against the edge of the table, he knocked down a coffee cup and shattered it. We had to stop and clean up the mess immediately. I was sure that Fletch would be able to read our guilty faces as soon as he came in the door, holding a newspaper.

  “I hope the rental office doesn’t try to charge us for that,” he commented, getting another cup from the shelf and calmly filling it with coffee. He sat down at the table and unfolded his newspaper, sipping from his mug. A drop of Duane’s jizz gleamed on the table just a few inches from his elbow. It shone almost metallic in the strong sunlight. Duane and I stared at each other, swallowing. Just when I got up enough courage to say something, Fletch got up, folded his paper, and walked away.

  “We should tell him,” I said, but Duane only shrugged.

  That night, I decided to make a conscious effort to stay far away from Duane. Things hadn’t gone far enough that there would be no turning back, and Fletch was still too infatuated with Duane to suspect the depths of his perfidy. Leaving the two of them alone in the cottage, I wandered back to the bar where I’d first spotted Timothy. He was there again, all right, sipping the same imported beer as on our night of aborted passion. I sat down beside him, and he regarded me with wary eyes.

  “Hey, Poirot,” he said cautiously. “You get home okay the other night?”

  “Sorry about that,” I said, waving my hand at the bartender. “Two more of those,” I said, pointing to Timothy’s brew even though I’ve never liked imported beer. “Things were a little... complicated. But they’re better now.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Timothy flattened his lips around the new bottle, his breath making a hollow sucking sound in the glass reservoir.

  “I guess I was hoping I could still be in your book.”

  His shoulders tensed a little. “Well, I’m not sure. It has a lot of characters already. I guess a private eye would give it a touch of mystery—if you were telling me the truth about that.”

  “Unfortunately, I was. You can see my license, if you want to.”

  He blinked at me through his thick glasses. “That’s not really something you should flash around in a place like this. People might get the wrong idea, you know. But if you want to come back to my apartment, I could take a look at it—you know, for the book.”

  “Of course,” I nodded, draining my beer. “For the book.”

  In his apartment, in the dingy glow of a single, naked bulb, Timothy stripped for me. Then he got down on his knees and proceeded to work me over with his teeth, lips, and tongue. A deep flush crept across my thighs as he slurped me in to my hilt and tightened the muscles deep in his gullet. The two of us were soon humping and pumping in a sensual fuck-rhythm, Timothy rolling his head from side to side to put added pressure on my shank.

  His improvised technique paid off a bit more quickly than I’d expected. I felt his sharp intake of breath around my boner, then heard his muffled wail of disappointment.

  “Mmm, nice,” I murmured, flipping him over and prying his buttocks as far apart as they would go. Soon I was wedging the tip of my rubber-clad cockhead against his open hole. The thick, dark curls of my bush rasped against the silky flesh inside his crack. I could feel the muscles in his asshole clutch, drawing the tip of my cock against his sphincter.

  Then I nudged myself inside me while he moaned. His ass muscles sucked me back like a small, starving mouth.

  His sphincter muscle spasmed again and again, contracting and then flexing open with pleasure. I raked my nails against Timothy’s bared thighs as I grunted with effort and slicked all the way inside him.

  Perspiration dripped from my nipples and thighs as I slammed myself against Timothy’s butt. Timothy was yelling, too. Talk about inspiration and life imitating art! I couldn’t wait to read the scene in his book.

  But for some reason, I pictured the main character not as Timothy, but as Duane.

  ****

  Back at the cabin, I slept fitfully, my skin feeling flushed and clammy by turns. At one point, I imagined I was lost in a vast, maze-like catacomb. The pale blue beam of my flashlight warred with the blinking strobe on the walls. In the middle of the central chamber, I was screwing Duane, who was on his hands and knees in front of me. When turned his head and looked at me, I saw that he had Fletch’s eyes and Timothy’s gel-styled hair.

  Only in stages did I realize that those colors weren’t just part of my dream. I opened my eyes to see a crimson-and-blue haze streaking the window from outside. When I propped myself up on my elbows and looked out, I saw a cluster of State Police cars parked in our driveway.

  My bedroom door opened, and a gruff voice ordered me out of my room. I blinked, my eyes finally focusing on a uniformed cop.

  Keeping my hands—and that other conspicuous part of my anatomy—in plain sight, I yanked my jeans on and stumbled out into the hall. Fletch, I thought desperately. Had Duane tried to rob him and gone too far? Or had he figured out that Duane and I had betrayed him and had a heart attack—or worse? But the whole atmosphere seemed too calm, too clean, for something like that to have occurred.

  A uniformed Statie was leading Duane past me in handcuffs. He was clad in red boxer shorts with little prints of lobsters and crabs all over them—a gift from Fletch, I guessed, in honor of their first vacation together.

  He grinned at me as they pushed him along. “Sorry, man. I forgot to tell you I had another reservation. See you in a couple of months, I guess.”

  Just then, I heard Fletch’s raised voice from the back of the cabin, demanding badge numbers and the name of the precinct where Duane was being taken. My head pounding, I entered his room to find him sitting on the bed in tears and a pair of flannel sleep pants. A cute cop was scribbling down the requested information on a spiral notepad.

  “Tracked us down with a warrant,” Fletch told me, his voice high and strangled. “Jumped bail. Not his real name after all.”

  Sour-faced, the cop tore off the tiny sheet of paper and handed it to me.

  When we were alone again, Fletch wiped his eyes and blinked up at me. He looked lost, older. I opened my mouth, but he answered my question before I’d even asked it. “Passing bad checks and using stolen credit cards. Got them off some older man he’d been seeing. Should have let you check him out after all.”

  I sat down beside him on the bed, slinging an arm over his shoulders. “Hey, I’m sorry, Fletch.”

  He looked up at me with surprisingly dry eyes. “I’m sorry, too. Duane could have made this trip a lot more relaxing for you.”

  My arm slipped down on his shoulders, my mouth dropping halfway open. “What, exactly, do you mean by that?”

  Fletch snorted with laughter. “I knew what Duane was doing in the restaurant. Then, afterwards, I heard you in the living room. Duane even told me about it when he came back to bed. He said you were just the way I had described you.”

  “You—you didn’t care that I was screwing him? You would have let me do it again?”

  “Oh, get real, lover. Why should I care? It was a way to feel close to you. And I knew that, when it was over, Duane would always come and sleep in my bed. What possible objection could I have had?”

  “I—I don’t know. None, I guess. None.”

  Fletch sighed, more deeply than I’d ever heard him sigh before. “Duane used to tell me how some of the men he’d been with acted like—like they were ashamed of him. At least I never did that.”

  “No, you didn’t.” My face grew warm with a sudden influx of blood. I kept my arm on Fletch’s shoulder until the muscles in my wrist began to ache.

  “I suppose he didn’t love me. Is a young man like Duane capable of love? Still, I think he did appreciate the fact that I was good to him.”

  “I know he did,” I told him, glancing up as the last of the cop cars turned out of the driveway. Through the window, I saw the blue lights die slowly along the silvery, low-hanging clouds. Fletch had changed a lot since we were together,
I thought. A lot more than I had.

  Fletch’s eyes had followed mine. “Well, I suppose it’s too late to do anything for him at this hour. They’ll hold him overnight, at least.”

  I summoned up enough professional detachment to nod. “We’d only make things worse for him. And for ourselves.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” he mumbled.

  It had been a long time since Fletch and I had shared a bed, but all the same I stretched out beside him. The front of my jeans felt scratchy on my nuts as I spooned my body against his. My forearm settled over the soft flannel of his pajama pants.

  “Tomorrow,” he decided, “I’ll see if I can post his bail.” A long, heavy silence stretched between us, broken only by the patter of the needle-like rain on the roof. “You don’t have to help me,” he added.

  Though Fletch never would have guessed it, at that very moment I’d been visualizing our hapless young fugitive. Alone in his cell, he’d be thinking of Fletch while he stroked those cloth lobsters.

  “Will we come back here next year, I wonder?” he asked suddenly, just as I was falling asleep. “Not with Duane, probably.”

  I rolled over slowly, stretching the kinks from my left arm. “Oh, don’t be so damned pessimistic,” I grumbled. “That’s always been my job.”

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