by Lilie Berlin

The sky clapped and tore once, loudly, then echoed through the dim grey clouds hanging overhead, hiding the stars high in the cosmos. It was a typical Seattle evening in the beginning of June. There was rain, but it came after a heat wave that had gripped the Northwest in the prior two weeks. Cooler temperatures brought from the Gulf of Alaska clashed with the stifling heat rising from the chalky lattice of pavement weaving through the city. It created a tremendous electrical display rarely seen in those parts. Most people on the street that Friday night remained outside, braving the downpour, eyes toward heaven for a glimpse of this rare event.

It was a dramatic welcome to the Emerald City. Bobby and I had just arrived after a relentless seventeen-hour journey roaring through the Rockies and Cascades from Denver in his piece of shit Buick. It was now abandoned in Pioneer Square, and we were lumbering through the crowds to a jazz joint.

Bobby, who I had been following religiously for thousands of miles back and forth across the country, led the way down First Avenue. I trailed behind and caught myself watching his signature strut rock his perfectly rounded ass underneath worn-out loose fitting Levis. I imagined them pulled down around his knees like that time in Tucson. Fucking that sweet creamy giggling girl in the backseat of the Buick, while I was half sitting, half laying in the front seat with the back of my head pressed against the passenger side window, pretending to sleep, but watching every thrust, listening to every grunt, sensing every motion of the car under their influence. My fingers found their way around my own cock in a tight fist that yanked up and down in sync with Bobby's motions. I timed it just right so that we both froze and exploded together. His receptacle was the soft wet chafed walls of her vagina, mine, my own tingling fingers.

We were now in the north again, looking for a fix of booze and jazz.

"Smokin'!" He exclaimed and swung open the door to the establishment. I followed him down the darkened stairwell into the underground bar.

The damp cellar was refreshingly cool and smelled like mildew and stale cigarette smoke. I looked at the performers on stage through the haze of swirling clouds of smoke dispersing to the ceiling.

The band was just breaking into a slow sultry tune lead by the Contra Bass in the back corner. The lead woman singer stood in the front, weight shifted to the side, her full hips rounding out the flimsy cotton dress that hung limply from her shoulders. Her big round eyes scanned the room, and she smiled once before licking her lips and putting them to the microphone.

"Edible." Bobby commented, and plopped down at an empty table. He leaned back and crossed his long legs casually at the ankles. He was the kind of guy who looked confident and comfortable wherever he was. He belonged everywhere, because he belonged nowhere. He ordered beers for us like he had been there a hundred times.

I shifted my attention to the singer whose deep raspy Billie Holiday-like voice complained of the sweet pain of love and yearning. My soul ached for all those things that none of us could and would not ever have. All those miles that had unfolded behind us came to an end right there and I knew it. My trip was over, and I knew I had to stop now or go on like this forever.

I mumbled that I wasn't feeling well and rose to find the bathroom. When I paused at the door and looked back, I saw Bobby turned in his seat, watching me worriedly past the ass of our waitress that was standing between us.

I locked the door behind me and splashed cold water on my face and neck before catching my eyes in the mirror on the wall above the sink.

The singer hit a high note which screamed through my veins, and I decided I wouldn't return to our table. I would leave and go into the stormy Seattle night alone, away from Bobby and without him forever. He must have known with that secret sense he had about all people that I was about to bail, because I heard a knock on the door and his voice coming through the crack asking me to open it.

I let him in and returned to the sink as he went to the toilet and unzipped his pants. I ran the water so I didn't have to hear the heavy stream of him relieving himself two feet behind me.

"I was thinking we should head back down to Frisco. I know some people that would put us up for a couple of days," he said over his shoulder, and I caught his profile in the mirror when I looked up.

The song on the other side of the door finished and there was muffled applause from the crowd. I didn't respond.

"That singer is hot," he said, and flushed the toilet.

"Yeah," I said, wondering if I could spend another night sleeping on the floor listening to him fuck another woman in whatever apartment, house, or hotel he would convince her into taking us to.

"She reminds me of you."

"What?"

"The songs she's singing. Turning tragedy into something beautiful."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I asked nervously, hiding my emotions like always, playing the part of his sidekick hetero buddy.

An impatient patron pounded on the door, I whipped my head to the side to stare uneasily at the graffiti laden surface.

"Ignore them," he said, and I turned around. I took a sharp breath in surprise when I looked down. He had left his penis hanging out of his pants. I recognized every inch of that splendid uncut beauty that swelled to a healthy, fat, and long length with excitement. An excitement coming now from somewhere, it was growing right before my eyes and I felt my own groin beginning to stir at the sight of it.

"This is new for me," he said, and took two steps toward me until I was backed up against the sink. "James, I like girls, but I need you."

He grabbed my shoulders and urged me down to my knees on the littered linoleum floor. His hardness curled his shaft up against his belly and I stared at this magnificent maleness right in front of my face. I opened my mouth and licked once, apprehensively, from the base up to the crown. My eyes darted insecurely up to his face. He just smiled with familiar cool arrogance, daring me to try to meet his expectations, this challenge being irresistible to women and myself alike.

I leaned forward and slid my lips over the top all the way to the bottom. The mushroom tip beat against the back of my throat and I forced it past my gag reflex until every inch was inside my head. His loud groan was met with another forceful knock on the door.

I savored his musky, salty taste and breathed excitedly through my nose. Apprehension was lost and I grabbed his pants and pulled them down to his ankles. I wet my finger in the saliva dripping from his heavy balls and reached between his legs up to the hole behind him. It was a tight resisting ring that I beckoned to open by massaging in circles then gliding my finger inside. He grabbed handfuls of my hair and pulled my head against him tighter.

"Stop now," he ordered, and I pulled back with my mouth still open, begging for more of his cock that slapped against his belly when I released it.

He pulled me to a stand before undoing my pants and turning me around to face the sink. I watched in the mirror as he stood behind me and licked his hand. His wet fingers grazed my eager anus and I moaned hungrily. I bent over the sink and he accepted my invitation with a slow entry that filled me when the front of his thighs were finally pressed against the back of mine. He moved in and out slower than I usually saw, but with the same scowl of unyielding ecstasy on his face that I studied while he fucked other women, and was now reflected in the mirror. This time I wasn't being fucked vicariously through other women. It was his hard-on up my ass and my dick in his hand that he pumped furiously until I spurted a long heavy arc onto the porcelain sink.

When he pulled away from me, my ass closed around what he left inside and I leaned against the sink panting.

"So? What do you say?" He asked, his eyes twinkling between droopy lids of satisfied content.

"Frisco. Sounds fine."

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