Chapter 6
A week later, Paul was beginning to have his doubts about his affair with Rick. He was finding it increasingly difficult to talk to the boy. For one, Rick spent much of his time away from the house now. For another, Rick found one excuse after another not to have sex with him Somehow, the boy made him uncomfortably aware of his own empty life and his homosexuality. It seemed Rick did not consider himself a homo; he fucked women, didn't he? Didn't that make it all right? He was fooling himself, of course, but he firmly believed that Paul was something he was going through and it would soon be over. Paul felt this, and he had reason to because of questions like: "Are fags the only people you know?" and "Why in hell do you put that sissy cold cream on your face every night? You smell like a cunt!" and "You mind keeping that hard dick of yours to yourself?" this in the middle of the night, "Is that all you think about-sex?" It upset Paul. He defended himself: "Is it wrong to be my age and have the appetites of a healthy male animal?" Then the cutting retort: "Male animal! Man, is that a laugh!"
The house was silent. Too silent! Rick was out; as a matter-of-fact, he had not returned from the previous evening. Paul wondered where he could be. Certainly not with his mother-she had called earlier. He could not stop thinking of the boy. Had Rick found someone else? Laguna was overrun with sex-hungry fags. Anybody would make a play for Rick. He wondered why Rick was no longer content with having him for a sex partner. He had tried to make the relationship more than just sex. He'd tried his best. He'd tried to give the boy something worthwhile, something permanent. Tried to steer Rick, encourage him to write, aid him mentally and spiritually. What does Rick want? What's Rick-? He was at a loss to finish his own thoughts; it was beyond him.
He bathed, combed his hair, and stood for a moment at the mirror, scrutinizing his face. His complexion was good, his flesh was firm, his eyes were clear. There were no screaming age signs. He had a good muscular body, and he was certainly okay in the cock department. No, he did not look his age. Not that he was old. But thirty nowadays seemed old. Everyone was so young, especially in Laguna. He stopped looking at himself, realizing that there was no serious point to this examination. The trouble was not him physically or mentally-the trouble was Rick!
It was true that he loved Rick, but there were other reasons he did not want to lose the boy. Important reasons, at least they were important at the moment. The truth of the matter was he was stone broke. Rick had moved in at the right time. By accepted forty-two dollars and fifty cents from Rick, Paul had managed to meet another month's rent. But it had taken all of his money. The rent for the art studio he shared with a fellow artist was also due. He could not pay it. He would lose the studio. He'd hocked a diamond ring his mother had left him, and he sold two of his paintings for a ridiculously low price, and still he needed money. It was too early in the season for tourists, so there would be no paintings sold this month. He should be working, painting like mad, so that he would have at least fifty completed works for the summer trade. But he was depressed, and, besides, he needed more canvases, more paint, brushes, and God knows what else. Without it he could not paint.
He realized that at the center of his confused feelings was a need to find a security of his own. It had always been that way with him. He'd never had anything. He'd lived with his parents until they were killed in an auto accident. After he had gone through the insurance money, he'd taken one menial job after another until he decided to make a career as a painter. After all, his work had always been admired. So he painted. And at the rate he was going he'd end up a bum. It wasn't that he was a bad painter, on the contrary, he was damn good. But painters were a dime a dozen, good ones included. The competition in Laguna was overwhelming, and it grew steadily worse. He had to be sponsored, that was the only way. Or he at least had to have someone sharing the expenses; he could not possibly do it alone. It wasn't that he hadn't tried. He'd played the field, always hoping to meet up with some old rich queen who could be talked into parting with his money, hoping to be kept, to be cared for and fed in return for his body. In a way this had been in the back of his mind with Rick. Maybe on a smaller scale.
He sighed. Now it was too late. Obviously Rick wasn't going to stay on. Meanwhile he was broke, damn broke. There wasn't even enough money for grub. The trouble with me, he told himself, is that I'm not a big enough taker. When would he learn to reach out and grab? He was confused by Rick's sudden rejection, confused and angry at his own inability to make a successful life for himself; its intensity frightened him.
He glanced at his watch. It was early. Early enough for him to give Eric a call. Now, there was a rich queen. A smile cracked Paul's face. Yes, Eric was loaded, but he was damn smart. All Paul could hope to get out of him was a free dinner and invites to gay parties and an occasional cruise on the fat slob's boat. Yet, if Eric was in the mood to play his sex games, Paul could make a bundle. Eric was like that. Eric liked him, liked his body. He'd be taken to a classy restaurant and they would end up here at his place.
"Might as well," Paul sighed, walking to the telephone. He certainly couldn't stay here and pine away for Rick. No percentage in that. Besides, he hadn't had a cock date for a long time.
After dinner, just as Paul anticipated, he and Eric were sipping cognac and watching television at his house.
"That was a great dinner," Paul said. "Thanks."
"It's always a pleasure eating with you." Eric gave him a lecherous smile. "And eating each other!"
That was the length of Eric's humor, Paul thought. Fag jokes about cocksucking. He forced a smile, "Oh, Eric," he said. "You're too much." He finished his drink, got up, and poured another. "Want one, Eric?"
"No, dear. I don't want to get too high before the big event."
Paul smiled. Then the old fag was in the mood for his sex game. Paul returned to the couch and lay on his back, staring at the television set. The fragrance of aphrodisia cologne was strong in his nostrils. Eric must have used the whole bottle. He felt Eric's fingers under his shirt across his taut abdomen. He stretched his legs and felt the all-familiar warmth in his loins. His limp cock stirred, then roused itself and began to lengthen. A friend's remark leaped to Paul's mind. 'That Paul ... if Hitler touched him he'd get a hard on." The joke happened to be the truth. Paul didn't find Eric attractive, fact was he thought him to be downright ugly. But the second he was touched....
"I think," he said, trying to ignore Eric's hand on his pectoral muscle, "that Bette Davis, that is early Bette Davis, was quite talented. What happened to her?"
"What happens to all of us, darling, she got tired," Eric laughed. "Hell, how long can one go on? Anyway, who the hell cares?"
Paul turned to look at him Eric had gotten fatter and, he seemed, shorter. He was now almost bald. Paul wondered why the man didn't buy a wig, after all he could afford the best one made. But then he thought a wig would not help; Eric had too many things wrong with him. He had jowls that hung loosely, and a complexion the color of phthalocyanine green (an oil color Paul used in his painting), and his eyes were a washed-out blue, and his lips were blubbery. He sweated something terrible (thus the heavy usage of aphrodisia, Paul's unfavorite cologne), it really upset Paul, it was all he could do to keep from gagging. Thank God, Eric refused to take off his clothes. He'd never seen the man naked, and hoped he'd never have to. The only good things going for Eric were his money and his cock. And thinking of cock....Paul's gaze dropped to Eric's lap. Sure enough, the old fag had it out, balls and all. It really is a monster of a prick, thought Paul, too bad it isn't attached to a more attractive body. His eyes returned to the set and Bette Davis.
"Oh, shit," Eric said. "I can watch the telly at home." He rose and snapped off the set. "Fuck Bette Davis."
Uh-huh, thought Paul, he's starting early tonight. He saw Eric turn and smile, finger his testicles, then gesture for Paul to come to him.
What I won't do for a free dinner, Paul thought as he got up. He'd been to bed too many times with Eric not to know what was to follow. Well, he mused, everyone to his own kicks. He reached into his shirt pocket for the capsule of amyl nitrite, then stood waiting for Eric's command.
"Get on the floor," Eric commanded. "And listen to me good!"
Paul had to suppress a smile. Eric's soldierly order was given with a sibilant s.
Suddenly Eric pulled himself tall, parted his legs, and glared at Paul. When he spoke, it was with a German accent.
"You prisoners are nothing but trouble, always trying to escape from camp. Veil, I'm going to teach you a lesson!"
Oh, so that was it. Eric was playing Nazi this evening. Well, that should be good for twenty-five dollars, Paul thought.
"Down!" Eric ordered, pretending to crack a whip.
The trick was not to laugh, Paul warned himself. The minute he did, Eric would storm out of the house. It had happened before. He needed the fat slob, so he kept his face serious.
Eric's fat, anxious fingers undid Paul's clothing. He pulled the shirt impatiently from his back, ripping the material, and was now fumbling with the belt of Paul's trousers. Didn't matter, Paul told himself, tomorrow or the next day a package would be delivered to him and it would be a very expensive shirt from Eric.
"Now, back on your knees." Eric glared down at him. "Move!"
Naked, except for his socks (Eric thought feet were ugly), Paul stared up at Eric's massive erection.
"You know what you're going to do, don't you?"
"No," Paul whispered, assuming a helpless, confused attitude.
"I'll tell you. You're going to suck my fat dick!"
Paul looked up with frightened eyes. Lay it on good, he told himself. "No, please ... don't make me do that. I can't ... I've never done that before."
Eric's rasping breathing was heavy now as he jerked Paul's head back and down onto the floor. One hand locked around Paul's neck, choking him, while the other guided his fat penis to Paul's mouth. "Just open your mouth and take it," Eric said, low animal-like moans coming from his throat.
The odor of the man's foul-smelling cock came to Paul's nostrils. It wasn't exactly his favorite smell. But a buck was a buck.
"Suck!" Eric's voice was harsh, demanding, with rising passion.
Paul reached out and touched the moist velvet flesh of the cocktip. It certainly was huge, he'd always been fascinated by it. It had to be all of eleven inches, and it was as fat as a slab of baloney, with heavy blue veins, and the head of it was massive under the silky foreskin. But what was so intriguing was its hardness-like steel. Paul had never known as hard a prick as this one. He pushed back the foreskin and brought his lips forward to kiss it. The teeming organ throbbed.
"Suck!" Eric lisped.
Paul opened his mouth, devouring the fat rod.
"Yes, like that ... like that, you damn Jew!"
Eric was really playing Nazi. Thank God there weren't any gas chambers, he was sure Eric would throw him into one.
Eric's hands rubbed along Paul's hairy, muscular torso, then he maneuvered himself down onto his knees to the floor and reached for Paul's heavy, well-formed cock. He held it tightly, feeling of its hardness. Then he squeezed it savagely.
"I am the master race. You are my slave. You will die a slave!"
God, thought Paul, he'd seen too fucking many war pictures.
Eric squeezed Paul's cock.
Paul groaned from the sudden pain. He pulled his mouth from Eric's penis and was about to curse the man when Eric cupped Paul's testicles, his fingers tightening around the full hanging balls.
"Watch it!" Paul cried. "Rough is rough, but when you-"
"Shut up. If you don't like it why'd you call me in the first place?" Then Eric smiled. "Because you need dough. Well, if you want my money, then work for it!" His hand squeezed Paul's balls even harder.
Paul gritted his teeth, sucked in a mouthful of air, took the pain as best he could. Finally Eric let the aching balls drop.
"Well! What do you think of it?"
Without looking at Eric, Paul said, "Your cock is beautiful."
"And what does it do for you?"
"It-it thrills me."
"Well, play with the damn thing!"
Paul cupped the heavy balls, huge things, as big and round as golf balls.
"You like sucking me off?"
"Yes, very much." He saw Eric stiffen.
"Yes, very much-sir! " Eric commanded.
"Yes, very much ... sir!" Paul repeated.
"And remember to sir me from now on, you slave!" He took his prick in his hand and then pressed it against Paul's mouth, pushing it from side to side, sliding it almost into the full closed lips.
Paul felt a heavy drop of come on his lips; he tongued it, taking it into his mouth.
"Yeah, lick my come, lick it good," Eric whispered. He rested his cocktip at one comer of Paul's lips. "I want to see you eat me," he husked.
It'll take some doing over that big, fat belly of yours, thought Paul. Suddenly Eric forced his cock into Paul's mouth, and then worked his hips back and forth, forcing at least six inches of himself inside. Quickly he pulled himself out.
"Say it!" he demanded.
"Say what?" Paul was confused.
"Say-I love you!"
Paul swallowed hard. Jesus, he thought, he wanted a lot for his money. "I-I love you!" he breathed.
"Damn you," Eric's rasping voice swore. "Say it like you meant it."
"I love you-"
"Better. But haven't you forgotten something?"
Paul clenched his teeth. "I love you ... sir!"
"Yeah, that's what I want to hear." Eric eased his cock into Paul's mouth, then shoved his fat hips forward, sinking it deep into the man.
Paul choked at the deep invasion, then became accustomed to the enormous rod in his mouth. He moved his mouth and lips in piston-like movements, conscious of Eric watching his every move, extracting delirious enjoyment from every movement.
Now Paul felt the teeming head working against his tongue and cheeks. Eric suddenly thrust his hips forward, sending his big cock deep into Paul's throat and Paul started to choke. But Eric could care less. Another shove, and the entire length of his fat dick pushed far into Paul's mouth and down his throat. He gagged violently. He choked and found it hard to breathe. Still the cock remained. His discomfort was tremendous, but he sucked onward, hoping Eric would come. Finally Eric gave up a few inches, and the tears rolled down Paul's cheeks. He swallowed hard, already feeling the start of a sore throat, as Eric started a slow sawing motion, easing his dick in and out in short strokes, ending with one very deep lunge, all the way down. Finally Paul got used to the rhythm and timed his breathing so that he would not choke. He felt pudgy lips kissing his navel. The mouth worked down and he felt Eric's teeth graze his cock.
"Mmmm, aghhh," Paul groaned in pain.
Then Eric seized his cock in his big wet mouth. Paul moaned at the sudden delicious feeling. Now if Eric wouldn't get rough! The mouth sucked hard, anxiously, excitedly, expertly, slipping all the way down to the very root and back again. Paul made himself suck harder at the other man's cock; he became excited. Eric's big, surprisingly cool nuts pounded heavily against his nose, his forehead, and his eyes. He closed his eyes and moaned as Eric's attentive mouth and tongue sucked ravenously.
He'd become accustomed to the short strokes of the man, but suddenly Eric changed and pistoned full length, hard into him. Paul choked and gasped for breath. He wanted to pull away. The cock was much too big; it completely filled his mouth from cheek to cheek and his tongue had a hard time under the pushing cock's underside. His throat felt raw and tight and he thought he would faint. He felt Eric's mouth and tongue swirling over his own hard cock and he tried to pull himself out of the mouth and at the same time tried to push the man's fat belly away, but it was like trying to move a Mack truck. He began to get almost hysterical and tried to moan, but couldn't; he was choking so much.
All of a sudden Eric's cock eased from Paul's throat until only the massive slippery head remained in his mouth. Saliva ran down his chin and cheeks as he struggled for air. Just as he was beginning to feel better, the cock moved, pushed forward, pulsated, and throbbed in his mouth. This is it, he thought. He felt the wiry pubic forest rubbing his chin hard, the prick deep in his throat beginning to swell. He slapped Eric on the buttocks to get his attention-was he about to shoot his load? But Eric was feasting ravishingly on the prick in his own mouth. Then the cock stiffened even more in Paul's mouth (how was it possible?), and he felt the gushes of come shoot down his throat. He remembered suddenly Eric's explicit instructions. Quickly he took the amyl nitrite capsule he'd been holding so long in his hand, cracked it open, and put it to Eric's nose. Eric inhaled deeply, let out a loud groan and Paul felt the man's big frame stiffen then go into jerky convulsions as he screamed loudly his pleasure. He lunged his fat hips into Paul's face and Paul thought he would die. It was too much, too much. Eric erupted spasm after spasm after spasm of hot, bubbly come. Paul thought it would never end.
Then Paul writhed his hips at the feel of the throat contractions around his own cockhead. But Eric stayed inside of his mouth, his cock still as hard as steel. He writhed his hips and Paul could feel his throat contracting over the man's cockhead. He was gagging and at the same time ready to shoot his load. He shoved his hips in, fucking the man's mouth brutally. Then he came, a big load. He thrust his hips hard into the man's face. Swallow that! You fucker, he thought, like I was forced to do.
They lay there for at least five minutes before Eric finally pulled his cock from Paul's mouth.
"You suck cock beautifully, Paul." Eric was being Eric again, dropping his accent completely. "I swear to God there isn't a better cocksucker in all of Laguna."
Spare me the compliments, thought Paul, excusing himself so that he could vomit out what he'd been forced to take in. That, and to gargle his sore throat and dress. When he was through in the bathroom, he returned, poured them both another drink, and waited for the big moment.
"Well, doll, it's getting late," Eric said, peeling some bills from a roll he took out of his pocket. "I know my lover boy is having a bad time of it, so here's a little bonus for you."
Paul took the money without looking at it. He slipped it into his pocket, kissed his fat slob of a date good-night, and saw him to the door. When he heard the car drive away, he searched his pocket to count the money. Fifty bucks! And he'd suck-earned every penny of it. Thank God, he thought, I'm saved for a while.
"What in hell was that all about?" a voice asked from the darkness of the kitchen.
Paul whirled around.
"Rick!" he whispered, surprised by the boy's presence. "When-how long have you-"
"I saw the whole thing."
"You could have made your presence known."
"And spoil all your fun? Boy, you must be hard up. What'd you bring that fat old queen home for?"
"Guess?" Paul said, turning away from Rick.
"He gave you money. Is that the reason?"
"You tell me."
"Christ!" How could you do it? Nobody can be that strapped for money."
Paul turned sharply to face Rick. "Well, I am. Is that so hard to understand? Not everybody has a rich mother to support them. You don't know how fucking lucky you are. Besides, what's wrong with taking his money. I gave the sonofabitch what he wanted, didn't I? I-" Paul turned away so that Rick wouldn't see the tears. "-I needed money. Shit, I don't even have any oils left, and I make my living painting. I'm about to lose my studio. Next month I won't even have the money to pay the rent on this house. Hell, I don't even have money to eat."
Rick was at Paul's side, sensing the desperation in Paul. He embraced him, holding him tightly in his arms.
"Hey, come on. I'm sorry I said those things." He kissed Paul on the cheek. "Come on, babe, stop crying. I didn't know. I was just thinking about my own problems. Babe-come on now, stop crying," he whispered tenderly, stroking Paul's cheek. "I'm back. I'm back now. You won't have to see the sonofabitch again."
"You mean it, Rick? You are back for keeps? Oh, Rick, you just don't know how much I love you," Paul breathed.
"Okay," Rick smiled, "is that anything to cry about?"
Paul blinked back the tears and laughed. It was a quick, shallow laugh, but a laugh all the same.
Rick tilted Paul's head up and grinned. "Tomorrow you go out and get yourself all the paint and canvases and stuff you need. And don't worry about the studio. I'll pay the rent. Hell, Paul, why didn't you tell me?"
"Because-I-I was ashamed."
"Not with me, Paul. Don't ever be ashamed with me."
Paul buried his face into Rick's chest. It was so strange. Rick was so tender; he'd never known him to reach out and touch him, it just wasn't Rick's way. But now, it was different. The quick male warmth of Rick reached out and engulfed him. In one split second he had managed to convince Rick of his urgent needs. Because the boy had witnessed the scene with Eric, a newfound tenderness and love seemed to come from Rick, a tenderness and love that had been missing. It wasn't his imagination-Rick did feel something for him.
"Paul?"
"Yes, Rick?"
"Remember this, Paul. Tomorrow is the very beginning of your life. Yesterdays don't count-only tomorrow," Rick whispered. "I read that somewhere, and it stayed with me. Only tomorrow."
"Yes, Rick." It was happening, Paul thought, as he felt Rick's lips on his own. He was going to get what he wanted.