The Fenestra Penetration
By
Amy Lane
Fenestra—a window or opening
Steve Gillian, UPS driver, sort of loved his job.
It wasn’t that he got to keep his long-limbed, rangy body fit, but that was a nice side effect. He ran his ass off every time he stopped his truck and leapt out, very aware that he could be observed by Corporate on any given day.
It wasn’t that usually, when people got packages, they were happy with what they got—although that was a plus. Even if he was delivering urns with ashes in them, there was at least a sense of relief, of “Oh thank God, that’s where Grandma went! We can put her on the mantelpiece now!” and sometimes, there was more. Sometimes there was “Oh my God! My dad bought me season tickets to the Kings game!” or “Woot! The shoes I ordered that might not make my feet hurt like a sonofabitch have finally arrived! I’m so happy!” Or even, “Aw, my husband sent me flowers!”
He had to admit, those made his day—but they weren’t really the reason he loved his job.
The real reason he loved his job was that he got to look in lots of windows.
Not in the dirty, pervy way (at least not usually), but in the flight-of-fancy way. He would walk by a window and see, say, a kid’s destroyed room, and he’d wonder what it would be like to have a kid who wore the Darth Vader costume and the bunny costume and the princess dress. And then he’d wonder if there were two kids in that room. Or if the boychild was gay or the girlchild trans, or vice versa. And then he’d imagine what that conversation would be like when said child grew up enough to talk to parents. Would there be a fight? Would the parents be happy? Would there be social awareness? Or would there be fights, heartbreak, and broken homes?
Steve was mostly a happy guy—he was always rooting for the happy parents and the social awareness, so he’d imagine that, and then he’d move on to the next house. Look at that living room—see that hand-knitted doily on the back of the corduroy recliner? Was there an elderly woman in there? Was she widowed? Did her children come talk to her and play cards? Grandchildren? Did she teach them how to cook? How to knit? Did she pass on the secrets of the ages? Or was she like that horrible old harpy he delivered to once who greeted him with “It’s about damned time!” and sent him on his way with “If you got paid by delivery, you fuckers wouldn’t stand around all day picking your asses!”
Again, he was rooting for the happy granny, the type he had, who had greeted his news of coming out with a serene smile and a request for help with her fashion.
“I’m sorry, Grandma—I really don’t know clothing brands. Mostly I just keep in shape so I can get laid.” (Well, he’d been in college at the time.)
“Oh,” she’d said, looking depressed. He did have to admit, her velour leisure suits really could use an update.
“I’ll tell you what—the guy I’m dating right now really does know clothes. His mom’s a stylist, and he’s always pretty snazzy. I’ll bring him over, and we can make a day of it.”
Ah, Scotty. He hadn’t lasted long as a boyfriend, but he was a pretty smashing friend, and his husband Ryan was a catch. Scotty, Steve, and Grandma Janey all still went shopping together every now and then, and she took Scotty’s arm and told him that Steve had been a fool to let him get away.
Good times!
So Steve hoped for the good kind of granny when he saw the doily on the couch, and the happy/sloppy mom when he saw the chubby woman typing in the mess at the kitchen table, and the excited, imaginative kids when he saw the yard sale of costumes on the bed.
And that was the best part of his job.
So he was really sort of depressed when he recognized the box that went to the house with the drawn shades.
The box was… well, every boy knew that box. There were only a few suppliers of fine erotic enhancement products, and most of them had code names. Probably so the nineteen-year-old college student still living at home could experiment with the items of his or her choice.
Geoff and Johnny Enterprises only really catered to the “his” in that equation.
Specifically, Steve’s type of “him.” Not the type of “him” who went for the giant multicolored vibrating dildo—cum-tube optional—that was shaped like no human penis had ever been shaped in the history of ever or the type of “him” who went in for the leather-cock-ring/steel-butt-plug combination, optional peen plug available for a small charge. The quieter, more vanilla type of “him”—the kind who was happy with a butt plug that didn’t shame the next guy coming along, a basic cock ring, and the nipple clamps that didn’t make you bleed.
Seeing that box—and the one small imported car in the driveway in the comfortably shabby neighborhood—made Steve wonder who had ordered that specific box.
And when he saw the house and saw that all of the windows were shaded without a glimpse inside to be had, his first instinct, that of a fenestra voyeur, such as it were, was to more specifically wonder if the him who ordered that specific box was single.
So Steve took a calculated risk.
If the package didn’t require a signature, he was supposed to knock on the door, wait the count of five, and then set the package down, or, if it was an envelope, put it in the mailbox.
Today, he waited for a count of fifteen. Sixteen. Twenty. Twenty-one. Oh, damn, he wasn’t going to see--
“Hold on! I’m on my way!”
The voice stopped him just as he was about to turn away, and he managed to be back and looking tidy and friendly as the door opened.
The man who opened it was…
Promising.
He had a boyish face with even white teeth and mussy hair in what was probably a decent cut, if only he had a little product. He was wearing gym shorts and nothing else, and his nicely shaped chest had a sheen from working out, and had been waxed smooth, right down to the underarm hair.
A little excessive maybe, because Steve didn’t mind a little man-hair, but all in all, not bad.
“Oh!” the man (Gordon Jeffries—that’s what it said on his label) said, looking a little confused. “Usually you just leave it on the porch.”
Steve smiled, feeling predatory. “Yeah. Usually, I know, and you don’t answer.”
He saw it. That moment when Gordon (Gordie?) got it. His mouth parted, his lower lip thrust out just a little, and he breathed in enough to move that sculpted chest.
And then the blush washed over him—from the waistband of his shorts, up past his stomach (not waxed), over his chest—and mottled his throat and fair-skinned cheeks. Steve got to watch it all.
And then he got to watch Gordie’s eyes dilate with the sudden heat of arousal.
Very deliberately, Steve adjusted himself.
“I’m, uhm, you know, not using… I mean, I have a weight room, and I’m… I mean, you know, it’s not like I—” Gordie took the box and made what would be a lewd gesture with it, if twerking at chest height with a cardboard box was at all attractive. And then he stopped and patted the box on the head.
And then Steve watched in amusement as the mottled flush lost its mottle, and Gordie’s face turned an enchanting shade of maroon.
“Gordie?” he said slyly, cocking his head and raising his eyebrow ever so.
“Ungh?”
“I’ll think about you and your box,” Steve said. He used Scotty’s time-honored method of batting his eyelashes. “And the next time I deliver one, I’ll be sure to wait for you to… finish, before I leave the package at the door.”
And with that, he winked and sauntered slowly away from the front porch of the trim little gray house with the shades tightly drawn. He knew what was framed in one of the shaded windows now.
A piece of gym equipment, probably a Bowflex or the type with adjustable weights judging by the clearly defined, nonbulky muscles on that very lickable chest. Cheerfully, Steve pictured the gym—probably in the same spare room as the desk, with a piece of cardio equipment—an elliptical?—and the weight machine and a yoga mat. Yes, he probably did yoga.
In fact, maybe he did one of those positions where he laid down on his back?
Or better yet, that one on all fours—downward dog?
Doggie style?
Yes.
Doggie style.
Naked.
With whatever was in that cardboard box, fenestrating what was probably a delicate, waxed orifice.
Mm…
Delicious.
By the time Steve was done with his route, he was pretty sweaty himself. He made his way to his own apartment—a loft with a great window view out over Sacramento and a king-sized bed. He stripped to his shorts, did a good half hour of cardio, showered, and then, while still clean, opened his own cardboard box, the one he kept under his bed.
There were a variety of fine products from Geoff and Johnny Enterprises in that box.
He selected his favorite two and made free use of both.
And the whole time, he was picturing Gordie doing the downward doggie-style with his own hands stroking Gordie’s flanks and his cock drilling solidly in Gordie’s ass.
***
Gordon Jeffries had never really thought of himself as hard up.
But when he’d gone from full time at his engineering firm to a work-from-home video engineering consultant, he hadn’t counted on losing his real-life-friend and dating base along with his commute, heartburn, and love handles.
When he’d been working full time and heading for a heart attack before thirty, he’d had all the offers he could handle—and even some he took up. But now that he had an hour of former commute time to work out each day and he could feed himself only the best rabbit food available at the organic food market and he even had enough time to get his hair cut fashionably so he didn’t look like a slob…
He didn’t talk to anybody who wasn’t online.
And, well, a boy got a little desperate.
He’d started surfing the erotic enhancement websites during his self-allowed lunch hour. Embarrassing? Yes. But this way he could find himself a battery-operated boyfriend in the privacy of his own home. His first purchase had been the Berry Gumdrop Butt-Plug, which, now that he’d seen the box in his toy drawer for a month, sort of grossed him out. Because, well, butt and food. Not a great combination, and the material—a sort of cheap silicone—fell apart with the first application of the approved lube. He’d gone online to complain, and that’s when he’d seen all the accolades for Geoff and Johnny.
His first try with them had been another plug. Slim, made from quality silicone, went well with the prescribed lube—his best orgasm since his last boyfriend.
Perfection.
This was his second try—a modest, six inch sort of a try—but as he clutched his much anticipated cardboard box to his chest and watched the undoubtedly fine ass of the deliveryman sashay away, he couldn’t help feeling that Disco Dick would be a sort of sorry second to the guy who’d delivered Dick to his door.
Broad shouldered, narrow hipped, “Steve”, as his nametag proclaimed, had wavy blond hair, green eyes, a wicked smile, and calf muscles that could cut steel. He’d had some chest hair under his uniform, but not overmuch, and more importantly, he’d had a square jaw and flirty green eyes.
Oh, those flirty green eyes and wicked smile.
Gordie hadn’t felt such a slam of attraction in his gut since he’d been fifteen and discovered Neil Patrick Harris was out.
This guy had guns as wide as NPH’s head. (Ah, Neil—Gordie was nostalgic about his first.)
And he’d looked at Gordie’s new little friend as though he strenuously approved.
Gordie’s erection tented his workout shorts, and he ran for his bedroom in the back of the house, tearing at the packaging as he went.
He showered (and washed the toy under the hot water with the hand soap) and then dried off while fondling the sparkly purple length.
He liked the pretty colors, dammit—he liked knowing that this was a tool and not a boyfriend. It reminded him to keep looking for the boyfriend, which was always a good thing.
And today, it reminded him that Steve the delivery guy had ogled him, approved of him, licked his lips and shook his hips and walked away, knowing that Gordie was going to do exactly what he was doing.
Shoving his cat off the bed, spreading his legs, greasing his new friend, and becoming very well acquainted while he waxed his knob.
Ah… ah… ah… the stretch and burn was a little more intense, a little bigger than it had been with his last little friend, and for an irrational moment, as Gordie closed his eyes and saw a bright ring of fireworks, he wondered if maybe his virginity hadn’t come back, it had been so long.
And then the flared head of the thing eased past his orifice, and he was… oh wow. He was naked, and his back end was full and a little sore in a very good way, and his nipples were prickling in the cooled air from the overhead fan, and his cock… oh God. His cock was full and slapping on his abdomen in time with his breathing and the trembling little thrusts of his hips up in the air.
His hand felt warm and a little sweaty when he grasped himself, and abruptly, he wanted…
More.
He wanted someone else’s grip on his cock, someone else’s body inside of him.
Even as his body rushed, rushed, rushed toward orgasm, crested, and came, a little part of himself acknowledged that he missed doing this with another human being.
A real boyfriend really wasn’t glittery, purple, and made of silicone.
His breathing stilled, the thing slithered out of his ass and onto the towel under his hips, and Gordie started to clean himself off.
The whole time, he was thinking about Steve’s full mouth and the way he’d licked his lips, and Gordie wondered if he gave big, warm kisses and if he liked to hug.
With a sigh, he rolled to his side and looked around his sunny hardwood-embellished bedroom and at the indignant cat who was too affronted to even play with his impudent toes. It was a nice place, right? He kept the shades closed because, well, he didn’t dust a lot and he tended to forget to close them when he was changing, besides the fact that the sun just scorched his eyeballs in the mornings, but seriously—he had some nice prints on the walls, and his bed was firm without being too small.
Someone would want to keep him company here, right?
Glumly, he looked at his purple friend. Well, this guy would, but then, he’d be happy back in his plastic packaging after a good bath and a pass with the antibacterial soap.
Someone breathing perhaps. Someone like Steve.
After he’d packaged up his disco-loving friend, he got dressed and went in to work on his current project. But before he did, he wandered—nonchalantly, like you do—to the sex-toy website, Geoff and Johnny Enterprises.
And there he decided to get a little playful. He got something a little larger than Disco Dick and a cock ring that didn’t look like it was going to break when he got hard. And a pair of nipple clamps that didn’t look like they’d make him bleed.
He also bought condoms. He already had plenty of lube.
When shipping options came up, he picked the second-cheapest one, because it had tracking.
And this way, he’d know exactly when it was coming to his door: sometime on April first—April Fools indeed!
***
Steve saw the address when he was looking over his day’s deliveries.
A part of him went, “Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy!” because hey! Gordie was getting another delivery, and maybe he’d be working out, and maybe he’d be without a shirt, and maybe he’d be all breathless and blushy and…
And what was Steve going to do, then?
Shove the box at him and know he was going to go play with whatever was inside? Oh hell. Hell hell hell hell…
Steve wanted to play too!
But that whole cliché about the delivery guy going from blowjob to blowjob really was just a myth. If his time was undocumented, he could lose his job. How would Steve get to look in windows if he didn’t get to deliver packages? (Not to mention afford his awesome apartment and deliveries of his own?)
During one of his early deliveries, he pulled the package out and set it next to him on the seat, where it stared at him as though he had X-ray vision and could see the goodies within. What did Gordie get this time? Something bigger? Sparklier? More intense? Less intense? What could possibly be in that cardboard box?
And would it be more or less welcome than what was growing increasingly larger and more uncomfortable in Steve’s khaki shorts?
Argh! Steve gently banged his forehead against the steering wheel while he waited for the light. It had been a while since he’d had an honest flesh and blood person—he was usually just too happy by himself to look that hard. But Gordie had been… fun. Cute. Blushy.
The blushy especially turned Steve’s key, because it meant Gordie might care what other people thought of him—and that way usually lay niceness and, sometimes, a good sense of humor.
That was the other thing you didn’t get from a butt plug/cock ring combination. Not only was snuggling limited to a cat—if you had one—but the thing from the box was not a good source of laughter and jokes during afterglow.
Really, what would it say? “Geez, guy, I’m sorry I was a pain in the ass?” “The accommodations were great! Warm and humid, just the way I like it!”
“Some of us take the road least traveled, and that has made all the difference.” Of course, the real question was, if Steve’s sex toy ever did bust out with a one-liner, would he ever be able to fuck again? Because as much fun as Geoff and Johnny could be, nothing beat a living, breathing human being to cook you toast and share the shower afterward.
Steve drew up close to the neat little gray house and narrowed his eyes.
Well, he could take the foolish risk of the short and quick, or he could take the long-term risk for something a little more lasting.
With a sigh, he put the delivery truck in idle and eyeballed the package again.
What the hell. He pulled out his handy-dandy delivery-guy ballpoint pen, grabbed the package, and started to write.
***
Gordie looked at the package and couldn’t decide if he was excited or disappointed.
He’d worked out early, bathed, waxed, applied hair product, and even dressed in a tight tank and hip-hugging jeans, all in the hopes that he’d get to flirt with the hot delivery guy one more time. The knock had come, but Steve the delivery guy was roaring off as Gordie opened the door and the package waiting for him contained a surprise.
He had not been counting on this.
I’d love to come by and take you out to dinner.
Or I’d love to come by and see you dressed in Geoff and Johnny’s best.
Your call.
I get off at 5:00 and I’ll be here at 6:00. If you don’t want my company, leave a Post-it
Steve
Gordie stared at the note, biting his lip.
Dinner or a quick fuck? The lady or the tiger—which one would Gordie be? More pertinent, which one did he want?
Gordie regarded the incriminatingly plain cardboard box thoughtfully and tried imagine the contents in full use. Then he imagined Steve helping him use them.
Then he went and changed his jeans before he cut off all circulation entirely, because the jeans he was wearing could have strangled a garden snake, and Gordie was built better than a garden snake.
As he was pulling his pants off, he noted the baggy cargo shorts he’d cast aside while getting dressed.
And had a wonderful, awful idea.
***
Dinner was amazing.
It was only a first date, so Steve took him to Noodle Emporium, where he had the pad Thai and Gordie had the Bangkok pork. They enjoyed their dinner, but Steve said he liked more authentic Thai, and Gordie said he had the perfect place one suburb over, and they started talking about their area and their favorite places to go eat or go to the movies or surf the net.
They talked for hours and drank so much soda that Steve finally called a halt to the talking over their napkins and dirty dishes and asked if Gordie wanted to go get dessert at Starbucks and maybe wander around the Best Buy , which was only a parking lot over.
Yeah, yeah, sure, that would be fine.
It wasn’t until they were walking across the parking lot that Steve noticed Gordie walking a little funny. He had a hitch in his step, and about half a dozen times, he moved his hand to his front to adjust himself and then to his back to pull down his underwear.
So far, Steve’s mystery date had been funny, interesting, and reasonably sane for a guy who spent a lot of his days working alone from his home office. Being pervy and fidgety hadn’t been on Gordie’s list of character traits, until now.
They rounded the corner of the mall, where the shadows from the overhang shielded them from view against the wall of a vacant store, and Steve grabbed his hand.
“What’s up?” he asked, half laughing.
Gordie looked at him slyly. “What do you mean what’s up?”
“That’s, like, the fifth time you’ve pulled at your jockey shorts—did you get a bad pair? ’Cause nothing’s worse than the creepers with the blown elastic that you have to fish out of the crotch of your jeans.”
Gordie laughed and pulled Steve back farther, into the alcove of the nonexistent shop. Nobody was out and about right now—Best Buy would only be open for another hour—but they couldn’t even see the lights from this angle.
“What?” Steve asked, sensing an opportunity to kiss coming up and gearing himself up for it. Oh, he’d been right. Knocking on the door to that trim little gray house had been so nerve-wracking this time out. No package in hand, just him, freshly showered and shaved, wearing his date clothes and a hopeful smile—he couldn’t remember feeling this vulnerable in a long time.
But if he was going to get a shy kiss in a darkened alcove, it would make all of that nervousness worth it.
Gordie stood on his tiptoes then and kissed the hollow of his ear, and Steve shivered.
“Nice,” he whispered.
“Yeah?” Gordie pulled back and smiled wickedly. “You know what would have been nice?”
Steve narrowed his eyes, waiting for a shoe to drop. “I have no idea.”
“Getting laid this afternoon. That would have been nice.”
Steve groaned theatrically, because he could tell his date was playing with him—that sense of humor that would not be present in the sex-toy combo fully present in Gordon Jeffries. “God, would it. But then I would have gotten fired, and I wouldn’t have been able to deliver your packages anymore.”
Gordie grunted, like he was pretending to be mollified. “Still, it was like an evil April Fools’ joke. ‘Hey, I’m gonna get laid!’ ‘April Fools—you’re gonna have a date instead!’”
Laughter rumbled in Steve’s chest. “Yeah? Well, sorry about that. What are you going to do in return?”
Gordie leaned forward and nuzzled his jaw. “I already did it,” he purred. “You know how I had to choose between going out to dinner or Geoff and Johnny’s best?”
Oh dear lord. Steve’s skin tingled all over. “Yeah?”
“I chose both.”
And with that, Gordie bumped his groin against Steve’s thigh, and Steve could feel the solid, impossibly hard length of his cock. Steve reached down to fondle, and even through the cargo shorts, he could feel the leather cock ring at the base.
Gordie whimpered and thrust up against Steve’s hand.
“Oh God—do you have a plug in too?” he asked, thinking about Gordie’s attempts to straighten his underwear.
Gordie’s reaction was to whine and clutch desperately at Steve’s chest under his shirt. Steve wrapped his arms around Gordie’s back and groaned, so hard in his slacks that his erection rivaled poor Gordie’s.
“What was your plan?” Steve asked, raising his face away from those soft lips and that square chin.
“As long as you didn’t turn out to be a psycho, I was gonna jump your bones when you took me home,” Gordie panted.
“April Fools,” Steve whispered, lips teasing Gordie’s ear this time.
“What’s the joke this time?” Gordie moaned.
“I can’t wait until we get home,” Steve said, unsnapping Gordie’s cargo shorts and shoving them down to his thighs as he dropped to a crouch.
Gordie’s long sigh of appreciation as he leaned back against the doorway drove Steve on. Oh man, how long had it been since he’d tasted a real man’s flesh in his mouth? Looking through windows was great as a hobby, but that was no way to conduct a love life.
Steve grasped Gordie’s backside in both hands and pulled his hips forward, tasting the head of his cock in his throat. Gordie grunted and laced his fingers through Steve’s hair, more for purchase than to dominate.
Steve could relate. He wanted handfuls of that ass. It wasn’t too squishy, but it wasn’t diamond cut, either. It was like the dinner and conversation and laughter this night: just right.
He tightened the suction of his mouth and pulled back, trusting that the cock ring at the base would keep up pressure there. When he pulled back, he swirled his tongue and played with the slit and then spent extra time on the super-sensitive little cord of flesh on the underside of the head. Gordie let out a little whine that told Steve his effort was appreciated, and now he did guide Steve’s head forward.
Steve closed his eyes and relaxed into the blowjob, letting his throat ease so he could go deeper, letting Gordie guide him, since he wasn’t being too hard or too soft—again, God, just right.
Suddenly Gordie started to shake, his hips jerking spasmodically, and he breathed, “Coming.”
Steve hated to let him go, but a safe boy is a happy boy, and he let that lovely cock slide out of his mouth and turned his head just so, keeping up the pumping action, speeding it up until Gordie begged, “Slower, harder… ungh…”
Steve remembered his other hand then and rested his weight against the side of the alcove so he could reach up, explore… ah, there it was. Firm rubber plug… tap tap tap!
“Oooooooh…”
Gordie’s sex noises became the third thing Steve didn’t get from toys alone, and Steve’s cock spurted a little pre-cum just at the sound and at the way it vibrated through Gordie’s body—including his dick. Steve tightened his hold and stroked hard and slow, continuing that teasing tap on the rubber lodged firmly at the entrance of Gordie’s ass.
As Steve looked up, avid for the expression on Gordie’s face, Gordie pulled a hand from Steve’s hair, bit his palm, then screamed into it and came.
The jizz went whizzing right by Steve’s left ear and landed on the walkway with a splat, again and again, until Gordie whimpered a little, making a helpless gesture with his hands around Steve’s face.
“Mm,” Steve responded gently, lowering his head and kissing Gordie’s hip. Tenderly, he unsnapped the cock ring and tucked Gordie’s cock back into Gordie’s underwear while pulling up his cargo shorts. He stood up and nuzzled Gordie’s neck, then his ear, all while fastening his fly, and when Steve was done with that, he wrapped his new lover into a secure hug and let him shiver the last of his orgasm into Steve’s warmth.
“That was awesome,” Gordie breathed, body on instant snuggle.
“Sayin’.” Steve felt a sort of justifiable pride. Gordie had not only come, but he’d bonded, and that was the best thing sex could do for a person. Steve was a fan.
“You didn’t come,” Gordie said, sounding confused and disappointed. “I even brought condoms.” He shifted uncomfortably. “And…”
Steve grinned. He’d been there. He hadn’t had a lover in almost two years. Once, in a fit of desperation, he’d worn one of those things through his entire shift of delivering packages. At the end of his shift, he’d driven home, walked into his apartment, leaned on the door, unzipped his pants, and ejaculated on the living room rug.
“I, uhm.” He smiled into Gordie’s hair. It was a little stiff with product and sweaty with sex, and Steve wanted to run his hands through it and make him look completely undone. He lowered his lips to the shell of Gordie’s ear. “I’d love to see your bedroom,” he whispered. “Since you keep the shades drawn and all.”
Gordie moaned breathily. “Yeah,” he said, clinging to the hug like Steve’s big body was keeping him upright. After another moment, he straightened gingerly and looked around. “But can we, uhm, wash off the sidewalk first? Man, that was really hot, but I gotta tell you, just leaving that there feels sort of dirty.”
Steve grimaced, then nodded. “Here. You recover, and I’ll go get a bottle of water. Be right back.”
He trotted away, adjusting himself as he went. He was gonna see what was on the other side of the window. He was gonna see Gordie’s bedroom.
***
Gordie was afraid that frantic blowjob in the shadows had taken the edge off the sexy-sexy, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. After washing off the sidewalk (and Steve could have been a jerk about it, but he wasn’t, he was totally in tune, which spoke volumes about the guy’s sense of decency) he led Gordie back to his car with a warm, gentle hand in the small of his back. That hand, sitting possessively, warmed Gordie from his back outward.
One night, ten nights, or ten years—it didn’t matter. The touch there, on Gordie’s hands, on his shoulder, the kind hand on the back of his neck before pulling him into a kiss—all of it made a moment, a time, a breathless pause before jumping into something sweet and deep.
Those same touches guided Gordie up to his porch, and when they got there, Gordie felt like he had to make it official, make it real. He caught Steve’s face between his palms and pulled him down slightly (’cause Steve was slightly taller) into warm, wet kiss. Gordie pulled back for a moment, liking the dazed, unfocused look in Steve’s eyes, and brushed one unstubbled cheek lightly with his thumb.
“Still coming in?” he said, checking.
“Oh God, yes please?”
Wow. So worth the risk, the date, the real human contact. He grinned, grabbed Steve’s hand, and pulled him along as he unlocked the door and led the way down the hall.
Steve wanted to look around first.
“Hey!” he said happily. “Yellow and red trim! With the gray outside, I thought it would be—”
Gordie whined and did toe stretchies, the plug shifting in his ass as he moved. Thank God Steve had taken off the cock ring or Gordie’d be incoherent by now—as it was, his erection had already returned with interest. “Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“You got the job! If I promise you can stay the night and explore in the morning, will you take me to bed and fuck me now?”
Steve grinned, all excitement, then grabbed Gordie’s hand and mashed it against the fly of his slacks.
Oh wow. Oh wow. Larger than life, thick as a water bottle, Steve’s magnificent body strained against his zipper. Steve captured Gordie’s hand and thrust against it, hard, harder, until Gordie pulled his hand away.
“Now,” he whispered and then turned and ran down the hall.
His cat hung out on the bed, unbothered by the two-person sex that was about to go on. (He’d probably been inured by all the one-person sex Gordie had been having beforehand.) Gordie ignored him and stripped, unselfconscious and so excited. Steve had seen all of him at this point and, even better, had talked to him, in person and in real life, for hours.
And still liked what he saw.
Gordie liked what he saw too—a fun companion, hot and exciting and more interested in Gordie than in himself. And a great kisser. A real person. A real lover, one who would ease the exquisite, delicious torture that had been taunting his asshole for the last four hours.
Steve was right behind him, and their clothes fell in a single, determined puddle. Gordie heard the crinkle of foil and he glanced behind him as he was crawling on the bed.
Yes, Steve had a condom and lube, which said nice things about preparedness and consideration.
He also had…
Gordie made a little O face.
“Is that your cock?” he asked, too entranced to feel stupid.
“I hope so,” Steve said, grinning down at it. “I’d hate to think there was someone else in the room.” He looked up at Gordie and made eye contact and then very deliberately stroked said cock in his fist. His fingers didn’t touch, and that stroke went on a long time.
Gordie heard his own swallow in the suddenly quiet room. He gave a helpless, yearning whimper, then bent over and buried his face in his pillow.
And wiggled his plugged ass in the air.
So worth the risk.
Steve cackled behind him, and the foil packet crinkled some more. In a moment, Gordie felt Steve’s big hands on the roundness of his rump, the quivering muscles in his thighs and flanks, and up over his ribs.
And just when he was expecting to feel twiddling around his asshole and then the sweet, sweet relief of being fucked with the best toy a boy could ever have—another boy!—he got something completely unexpected instead.
He got a kiss, a string of them, gentle kisses down his spine, complete with a teasing line of tongue along his crease.
Gordie shivered and made a sound he’d never heard, much less heard from his own throat.
“God,” he breathed into the pillow. “Just keep touching me.”
Steve licked another stripe, this time laving each cheek and finishing up with a bite and a suckle on Gordie’s left yab.
“Steve…” Gordie whined.
“Gordie?”
“God, quit dicking around and fuck me!”
His response was to suckle another mouthful of flesh and laugh, low from his stomach, so the vibrations rattled Gordie right to the rim of his ass…
Which was dilated with the plug.
Gordie buried his face in the pillow and saw stars. When he could breathe again, he managed, “I’m going to come without you,” before he buried his face in the fluffy pillow and panted, counting backward from a hundred.
Oh God—there it was. Pressure on the plug, and Steve pulled it out, slowly, stretching him open again, stretch, stretch, stretch…
“Augh!” Because God, the relief of the pressure was wondrous, but he wasn’t done yet, not even close, and… “Augh!”
Oh wow. Steve thrust inside him quickly, taking advantage of his willingness and the sloppy, lubricated welcome of his slackened rim.
But Steve was way more awesome than a plug.
God, warm, giving flesh, and so much of it, thrusting hard, long, and slow…
Just the way Gordie liked it.
And when Steve hit bottom, Gordie thought his eyes were going to pop out.
“Oh God…” he panted. “Steve… Steve… just…”
“More…” Steve breathed.
“More!”
And Steve did, because Steve was a good guy… a great guy… a spectacular big-dicked boyfriend who was about to make Gordie come so hard he passed out!
Slow was no longer an option. Fast, fast and hard, and Gordie made little squealing sounds at every slap of their flesh, and then again when Steve’s flared cockhead rolled over his prostate, and then again when he…
“Faster!” Gordie shouted, and the sting of Steve’s pop on his backside only made him more excited, only ramped him higher, only made him—oh God, he did it again--
“Come!” Steve shouted, and Gordie spurted, convulsed, shook, and howled, his entire body so awash in orgasm he couldn’t have controlled himself if he’d even wanted to try.
Behind him, he heard Steve shout again, felt his hips jerking against Gordie’s ass, fingers clenching into his flesh, until Gordie’s knees gave out and he collapsed on his sodden sheets, that big beautiful man right on top of him.
***
Later.
Eons later.
Steve had done all of the considerate boyfriend things—gone for the warm washcloth, taken care of both of them, gotten Gordie’s underwear—and his own—and then climbed into Gordie’s bed, the sweat cooling on both their bodies.
“Well,” he said, grinning and tired and so, so happy, “come here.”
Gordie looked at him, bemused and dear. “Cuddles? You do cuddles too?”
“Well, yeah,” Steve said, feeling the joy spread warmly from his happy groin outward. “Otherwise, I might as well be a sex toy.”
Gordie chuckled and lined himself up with Steve’s big body, laying his tousled, sweaty head on Steve’s shoulder while tracing musing patterns on Steve’s moderately haired chest.
A quiet moment—a companionable one—and Steve took a moment to look around.
“What an awesome room,” he said, liking it very much. Gordie liked dark hardwood floors with bright area rugs to keep toes from chilling. The wall near the window was hardwood, and the white-painted blinds stood out in relief. The window behind the bed—the one not facing the street—had the blinds up, and warm spring moonlight filtered in.
“Why do you keep the blinds closed?” Steve asked, not really complaining. The room felt more sacred this way—more special, since he’d had to penetrate Gordie to penetrate the mystery within.
“’Cause the sun comes in that window,” Gordie slurred against his shoulder. “Do you have to work tomorrow?”
Steve hummed, “No,” because God was good and he had Saturdays off.
“Awesome,” Gordie said, sounding pleasantly relaxed. “Tomorrow I’ll make you toast, and maybe we can do that again.”
“Perfect,” Steve breathed, kissing the top of his head.
And it was.
Sometimes—especially with a warm man in his arms—being on the other side of the window, having the happy moment, really was better than being the guy looking in.
By
Amy Lane
Fenestra—a window or opening
Steve Gillian, UPS driver, sort of loved his job.
It wasn’t that he got to keep his long-limbed, rangy body fit, but that was a nice side effect. He ran his ass off every time he stopped his truck and leapt out, very aware that he could be observed by Corporate on any given day.
It wasn’t that usually, when people got packages, they were happy with what they got—although that was a plus. Even if he was delivering urns with ashes in them, there was at least a sense of relief, of “Oh thank God, that’s where Grandma went! We can put her on the mantelpiece now!” and sometimes, there was more. Sometimes there was “Oh my God! My dad bought me season tickets to the Kings game!” or “Woot! The shoes I ordered that might not make my feet hurt like a sonofabitch have finally arrived! I’m so happy!” Or even, “Aw, my husband sent me flowers!”
He had to admit, those made his day—but they weren’t really the reason he loved his job.
The real reason he loved his job was that he got to look in lots of windows.
Not in the dirty, pervy way (at least not usually), but in the flight-of-fancy way. He would walk by a window and see, say, a kid’s destroyed room, and he’d wonder what it would be like to have a kid who wore the Darth Vader costume and the bunny costume and the princess dress. And then he’d wonder if there were two kids in that room. Or if the boychild was gay or the girlchild trans, or vice versa. And then he’d imagine what that conversation would be like when said child grew up enough to talk to parents. Would there be a fight? Would the parents be happy? Would there be social awareness? Or would there be fights, heartbreak, and broken homes?
Steve was mostly a happy guy—he was always rooting for the happy parents and the social awareness, so he’d imagine that, and then he’d move on to the next house. Look at that living room—see that hand-knitted doily on the back of the corduroy recliner? Was there an elderly woman in there? Was she widowed? Did her children come talk to her and play cards? Grandchildren? Did she teach them how to cook? How to knit? Did she pass on the secrets of the ages? Or was she like that horrible old harpy he delivered to once who greeted him with “It’s about damned time!” and sent him on his way with “If you got paid by delivery, you fuckers wouldn’t stand around all day picking your asses!”
Again, he was rooting for the happy granny, the type he had, who had greeted his news of coming out with a serene smile and a request for help with her fashion.
“I’m sorry, Grandma—I really don’t know clothing brands. Mostly I just keep in shape so I can get laid.” (Well, he’d been in college at the time.)
“Oh,” she’d said, looking depressed. He did have to admit, her velour leisure suits really could use an update.
“I’ll tell you what—the guy I’m dating right now really does know clothes. His mom’s a stylist, and he’s always pretty snazzy. I’ll bring him over, and we can make a day of it.”
Ah, Scotty. He hadn’t lasted long as a boyfriend, but he was a pretty smashing friend, and his husband Ryan was a catch. Scotty, Steve, and Grandma Janey all still went shopping together every now and then, and she took Scotty’s arm and told him that Steve had been a fool to let him get away.
Good times!
So Steve hoped for the good kind of granny when he saw the doily on the couch, and the happy/sloppy mom when he saw the chubby woman typing in the mess at the kitchen table, and the excited, imaginative kids when he saw the yard sale of costumes on the bed.
And that was the best part of his job.
So he was really sort of depressed when he recognized the box that went to the house with the drawn shades.
The box was… well, every boy knew that box. There were only a few suppliers of fine erotic enhancement products, and most of them had code names. Probably so the nineteen-year-old college student still living at home could experiment with the items of his or her choice.
Geoff and Johnny Enterprises only really catered to the “his” in that equation.
Specifically, Steve’s type of “him.” Not the type of “him” who went for the giant multicolored vibrating dildo—cum-tube optional—that was shaped like no human penis had ever been shaped in the history of ever or the type of “him” who went in for the leather-cock-ring/steel-butt-plug combination, optional peen plug available for a small charge. The quieter, more vanilla type of “him”—the kind who was happy with a butt plug that didn’t shame the next guy coming along, a basic cock ring, and the nipple clamps that didn’t make you bleed.
Seeing that box—and the one small imported car in the driveway in the comfortably shabby neighborhood—made Steve wonder who had ordered that specific box.
And when he saw the house and saw that all of the windows were shaded without a glimpse inside to be had, his first instinct, that of a fenestra voyeur, such as it were, was to more specifically wonder if the him who ordered that specific box was single.
So Steve took a calculated risk.
If the package didn’t require a signature, he was supposed to knock on the door, wait the count of five, and then set the package down, or, if it was an envelope, put it in the mailbox.
Today, he waited for a count of fifteen. Sixteen. Twenty. Twenty-one. Oh, damn, he wasn’t going to see--
“Hold on! I’m on my way!”
The voice stopped him just as he was about to turn away, and he managed to be back and looking tidy and friendly as the door opened.
The man who opened it was…
Promising.
He had a boyish face with even white teeth and mussy hair in what was probably a decent cut, if only he had a little product. He was wearing gym shorts and nothing else, and his nicely shaped chest had a sheen from working out, and had been waxed smooth, right down to the underarm hair.
A little excessive maybe, because Steve didn’t mind a little man-hair, but all in all, not bad.
“Oh!” the man (Gordon Jeffries—that’s what it said on his label) said, looking a little confused. “Usually you just leave it on the porch.”
Steve smiled, feeling predatory. “Yeah. Usually, I know, and you don’t answer.”
He saw it. That moment when Gordon (Gordie?) got it. His mouth parted, his lower lip thrust out just a little, and he breathed in enough to move that sculpted chest.
And then the blush washed over him—from the waistband of his shorts, up past his stomach (not waxed), over his chest—and mottled his throat and fair-skinned cheeks. Steve got to watch it all.
And then he got to watch Gordie’s eyes dilate with the sudden heat of arousal.
Very deliberately, Steve adjusted himself.
“I’m, uhm, you know, not using… I mean, I have a weight room, and I’m… I mean, you know, it’s not like I—” Gordie took the box and made what would be a lewd gesture with it, if twerking at chest height with a cardboard box was at all attractive. And then he stopped and patted the box on the head.
And then Steve watched in amusement as the mottled flush lost its mottle, and Gordie’s face turned an enchanting shade of maroon.
“Gordie?” he said slyly, cocking his head and raising his eyebrow ever so.
“Ungh?”
“I’ll think about you and your box,” Steve said. He used Scotty’s time-honored method of batting his eyelashes. “And the next time I deliver one, I’ll be sure to wait for you to… finish, before I leave the package at the door.”
And with that, he winked and sauntered slowly away from the front porch of the trim little gray house with the shades tightly drawn. He knew what was framed in one of the shaded windows now.
A piece of gym equipment, probably a Bowflex or the type with adjustable weights judging by the clearly defined, nonbulky muscles on that very lickable chest. Cheerfully, Steve pictured the gym—probably in the same spare room as the desk, with a piece of cardio equipment—an elliptical?—and the weight machine and a yoga mat. Yes, he probably did yoga.
In fact, maybe he did one of those positions where he laid down on his back?
Or better yet, that one on all fours—downward dog?
Doggie style?
Yes.
Doggie style.
Naked.
With whatever was in that cardboard box, fenestrating what was probably a delicate, waxed orifice.
Mm…
Delicious.
By the time Steve was done with his route, he was pretty sweaty himself. He made his way to his own apartment—a loft with a great window view out over Sacramento and a king-sized bed. He stripped to his shorts, did a good half hour of cardio, showered, and then, while still clean, opened his own cardboard box, the one he kept under his bed.
There were a variety of fine products from Geoff and Johnny Enterprises in that box.
He selected his favorite two and made free use of both.
And the whole time, he was picturing Gordie doing the downward doggie-style with his own hands stroking Gordie’s flanks and his cock drilling solidly in Gordie’s ass.
***
Gordon Jeffries had never really thought of himself as hard up.
But when he’d gone from full time at his engineering firm to a work-from-home video engineering consultant, he hadn’t counted on losing his real-life-friend and dating base along with his commute, heartburn, and love handles.
When he’d been working full time and heading for a heart attack before thirty, he’d had all the offers he could handle—and even some he took up. But now that he had an hour of former commute time to work out each day and he could feed himself only the best rabbit food available at the organic food market and he even had enough time to get his hair cut fashionably so he didn’t look like a slob…
He didn’t talk to anybody who wasn’t online.
And, well, a boy got a little desperate.
He’d started surfing the erotic enhancement websites during his self-allowed lunch hour. Embarrassing? Yes. But this way he could find himself a battery-operated boyfriend in the privacy of his own home. His first purchase had been the Berry Gumdrop Butt-Plug, which, now that he’d seen the box in his toy drawer for a month, sort of grossed him out. Because, well, butt and food. Not a great combination, and the material—a sort of cheap silicone—fell apart with the first application of the approved lube. He’d gone online to complain, and that’s when he’d seen all the accolades for Geoff and Johnny.
His first try with them had been another plug. Slim, made from quality silicone, went well with the prescribed lube—his best orgasm since his last boyfriend.
Perfection.
This was his second try—a modest, six inch sort of a try—but as he clutched his much anticipated cardboard box to his chest and watched the undoubtedly fine ass of the deliveryman sashay away, he couldn’t help feeling that Disco Dick would be a sort of sorry second to the guy who’d delivered Dick to his door.
Broad shouldered, narrow hipped, “Steve”, as his nametag proclaimed, had wavy blond hair, green eyes, a wicked smile, and calf muscles that could cut steel. He’d had some chest hair under his uniform, but not overmuch, and more importantly, he’d had a square jaw and flirty green eyes.
Oh, those flirty green eyes and wicked smile.
Gordie hadn’t felt such a slam of attraction in his gut since he’d been fifteen and discovered Neil Patrick Harris was out.
This guy had guns as wide as NPH’s head. (Ah, Neil—Gordie was nostalgic about his first.)
And he’d looked at Gordie’s new little friend as though he strenuously approved.
Gordie’s erection tented his workout shorts, and he ran for his bedroom in the back of the house, tearing at the packaging as he went.
He showered (and washed the toy under the hot water with the hand soap) and then dried off while fondling the sparkly purple length.
He liked the pretty colors, dammit—he liked knowing that this was a tool and not a boyfriend. It reminded him to keep looking for the boyfriend, which was always a good thing.
And today, it reminded him that Steve the delivery guy had ogled him, approved of him, licked his lips and shook his hips and walked away, knowing that Gordie was going to do exactly what he was doing.
Shoving his cat off the bed, spreading his legs, greasing his new friend, and becoming very well acquainted while he waxed his knob.
Ah… ah… ah… the stretch and burn was a little more intense, a little bigger than it had been with his last little friend, and for an irrational moment, as Gordie closed his eyes and saw a bright ring of fireworks, he wondered if maybe his virginity hadn’t come back, it had been so long.
And then the flared head of the thing eased past his orifice, and he was… oh wow. He was naked, and his back end was full and a little sore in a very good way, and his nipples were prickling in the cooled air from the overhead fan, and his cock… oh God. His cock was full and slapping on his abdomen in time with his breathing and the trembling little thrusts of his hips up in the air.
His hand felt warm and a little sweaty when he grasped himself, and abruptly, he wanted…
More.
He wanted someone else’s grip on his cock, someone else’s body inside of him.
Even as his body rushed, rushed, rushed toward orgasm, crested, and came, a little part of himself acknowledged that he missed doing this with another human being.
A real boyfriend really wasn’t glittery, purple, and made of silicone.
His breathing stilled, the thing slithered out of his ass and onto the towel under his hips, and Gordie started to clean himself off.
The whole time, he was thinking about Steve’s full mouth and the way he’d licked his lips, and Gordie wondered if he gave big, warm kisses and if he liked to hug.
With a sigh, he rolled to his side and looked around his sunny hardwood-embellished bedroom and at the indignant cat who was too affronted to even play with his impudent toes. It was a nice place, right? He kept the shades closed because, well, he didn’t dust a lot and he tended to forget to close them when he was changing, besides the fact that the sun just scorched his eyeballs in the mornings, but seriously—he had some nice prints on the walls, and his bed was firm without being too small.
Someone would want to keep him company here, right?
Glumly, he looked at his purple friend. Well, this guy would, but then, he’d be happy back in his plastic packaging after a good bath and a pass with the antibacterial soap.
Someone breathing perhaps. Someone like Steve.
After he’d packaged up his disco-loving friend, he got dressed and went in to work on his current project. But before he did, he wandered—nonchalantly, like you do—to the sex-toy website, Geoff and Johnny Enterprises.
And there he decided to get a little playful. He got something a little larger than Disco Dick and a cock ring that didn’t look like it was going to break when he got hard. And a pair of nipple clamps that didn’t look like they’d make him bleed.
He also bought condoms. He already had plenty of lube.
When shipping options came up, he picked the second-cheapest one, because it had tracking.
And this way, he’d know exactly when it was coming to his door: sometime on April first—April Fools indeed!
***
Steve saw the address when he was looking over his day’s deliveries.
A part of him went, “Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy!” because hey! Gordie was getting another delivery, and maybe he’d be working out, and maybe he’d be without a shirt, and maybe he’d be all breathless and blushy and…
And what was Steve going to do, then?
Shove the box at him and know he was going to go play with whatever was inside? Oh hell. Hell hell hell hell…
Steve wanted to play too!
But that whole cliché about the delivery guy going from blowjob to blowjob really was just a myth. If his time was undocumented, he could lose his job. How would Steve get to look in windows if he didn’t get to deliver packages? (Not to mention afford his awesome apartment and deliveries of his own?)
During one of his early deliveries, he pulled the package out and set it next to him on the seat, where it stared at him as though he had X-ray vision and could see the goodies within. What did Gordie get this time? Something bigger? Sparklier? More intense? Less intense? What could possibly be in that cardboard box?
And would it be more or less welcome than what was growing increasingly larger and more uncomfortable in Steve’s khaki shorts?
Argh! Steve gently banged his forehead against the steering wheel while he waited for the light. It had been a while since he’d had an honest flesh and blood person—he was usually just too happy by himself to look that hard. But Gordie had been… fun. Cute. Blushy.
The blushy especially turned Steve’s key, because it meant Gordie might care what other people thought of him—and that way usually lay niceness and, sometimes, a good sense of humor.
That was the other thing you didn’t get from a butt plug/cock ring combination. Not only was snuggling limited to a cat—if you had one—but the thing from the box was not a good source of laughter and jokes during afterglow.
Really, what would it say? “Geez, guy, I’m sorry I was a pain in the ass?” “The accommodations were great! Warm and humid, just the way I like it!”
“Some of us take the road least traveled, and that has made all the difference.” Of course, the real question was, if Steve’s sex toy ever did bust out with a one-liner, would he ever be able to fuck again? Because as much fun as Geoff and Johnny could be, nothing beat a living, breathing human being to cook you toast and share the shower afterward.
Steve drew up close to the neat little gray house and narrowed his eyes.
Well, he could take the foolish risk of the short and quick, or he could take the long-term risk for something a little more lasting.
With a sigh, he put the delivery truck in idle and eyeballed the package again.
What the hell. He pulled out his handy-dandy delivery-guy ballpoint pen, grabbed the package, and started to write.
***
Gordie looked at the package and couldn’t decide if he was excited or disappointed.
He’d worked out early, bathed, waxed, applied hair product, and even dressed in a tight tank and hip-hugging jeans, all in the hopes that he’d get to flirt with the hot delivery guy one more time. The knock had come, but Steve the delivery guy was roaring off as Gordie opened the door and the package waiting for him contained a surprise.
He had not been counting on this.
I’d love to come by and take you out to dinner.
Or I’d love to come by and see you dressed in Geoff and Johnny’s best.
Your call.
I get off at 5:00 and I’ll be here at 6:00. If you don’t want my company, leave a Post-it
Steve
Gordie stared at the note, biting his lip.
Dinner or a quick fuck? The lady or the tiger—which one would Gordie be? More pertinent, which one did he want?
Gordie regarded the incriminatingly plain cardboard box thoughtfully and tried imagine the contents in full use. Then he imagined Steve helping him use them.
Then he went and changed his jeans before he cut off all circulation entirely, because the jeans he was wearing could have strangled a garden snake, and Gordie was built better than a garden snake.
As he was pulling his pants off, he noted the baggy cargo shorts he’d cast aside while getting dressed.
And had a wonderful, awful idea.
***
Dinner was amazing.
It was only a first date, so Steve took him to Noodle Emporium, where he had the pad Thai and Gordie had the Bangkok pork. They enjoyed their dinner, but Steve said he liked more authentic Thai, and Gordie said he had the perfect place one suburb over, and they started talking about their area and their favorite places to go eat or go to the movies or surf the net.
They talked for hours and drank so much soda that Steve finally called a halt to the talking over their napkins and dirty dishes and asked if Gordie wanted to go get dessert at Starbucks and maybe wander around the Best Buy , which was only a parking lot over.
Yeah, yeah, sure, that would be fine.
It wasn’t until they were walking across the parking lot that Steve noticed Gordie walking a little funny. He had a hitch in his step, and about half a dozen times, he moved his hand to his front to adjust himself and then to his back to pull down his underwear.
So far, Steve’s mystery date had been funny, interesting, and reasonably sane for a guy who spent a lot of his days working alone from his home office. Being pervy and fidgety hadn’t been on Gordie’s list of character traits, until now.
They rounded the corner of the mall, where the shadows from the overhang shielded them from view against the wall of a vacant store, and Steve grabbed his hand.
“What’s up?” he asked, half laughing.
Gordie looked at him slyly. “What do you mean what’s up?”
“That’s, like, the fifth time you’ve pulled at your jockey shorts—did you get a bad pair? ’Cause nothing’s worse than the creepers with the blown elastic that you have to fish out of the crotch of your jeans.”
Gordie laughed and pulled Steve back farther, into the alcove of the nonexistent shop. Nobody was out and about right now—Best Buy would only be open for another hour—but they couldn’t even see the lights from this angle.
“What?” Steve asked, sensing an opportunity to kiss coming up and gearing himself up for it. Oh, he’d been right. Knocking on the door to that trim little gray house had been so nerve-wracking this time out. No package in hand, just him, freshly showered and shaved, wearing his date clothes and a hopeful smile—he couldn’t remember feeling this vulnerable in a long time.
But if he was going to get a shy kiss in a darkened alcove, it would make all of that nervousness worth it.
Gordie stood on his tiptoes then and kissed the hollow of his ear, and Steve shivered.
“Nice,” he whispered.
“Yeah?” Gordie pulled back and smiled wickedly. “You know what would have been nice?”
Steve narrowed his eyes, waiting for a shoe to drop. “I have no idea.”
“Getting laid this afternoon. That would have been nice.”
Steve groaned theatrically, because he could tell his date was playing with him—that sense of humor that would not be present in the sex-toy combo fully present in Gordon Jeffries. “God, would it. But then I would have gotten fired, and I wouldn’t have been able to deliver your packages anymore.”
Gordie grunted, like he was pretending to be mollified. “Still, it was like an evil April Fools’ joke. ‘Hey, I’m gonna get laid!’ ‘April Fools—you’re gonna have a date instead!’”
Laughter rumbled in Steve’s chest. “Yeah? Well, sorry about that. What are you going to do in return?”
Gordie leaned forward and nuzzled his jaw. “I already did it,” he purred. “You know how I had to choose between going out to dinner or Geoff and Johnny’s best?”
Oh dear lord. Steve’s skin tingled all over. “Yeah?”
“I chose both.”
And with that, Gordie bumped his groin against Steve’s thigh, and Steve could feel the solid, impossibly hard length of his cock. Steve reached down to fondle, and even through the cargo shorts, he could feel the leather cock ring at the base.
Gordie whimpered and thrust up against Steve’s hand.
“Oh God—do you have a plug in too?” he asked, thinking about Gordie’s attempts to straighten his underwear.
Gordie’s reaction was to whine and clutch desperately at Steve’s chest under his shirt. Steve wrapped his arms around Gordie’s back and groaned, so hard in his slacks that his erection rivaled poor Gordie’s.
“What was your plan?” Steve asked, raising his face away from those soft lips and that square chin.
“As long as you didn’t turn out to be a psycho, I was gonna jump your bones when you took me home,” Gordie panted.
“April Fools,” Steve whispered, lips teasing Gordie’s ear this time.
“What’s the joke this time?” Gordie moaned.
“I can’t wait until we get home,” Steve said, unsnapping Gordie’s cargo shorts and shoving them down to his thighs as he dropped to a crouch.
Gordie’s long sigh of appreciation as he leaned back against the doorway drove Steve on. Oh man, how long had it been since he’d tasted a real man’s flesh in his mouth? Looking through windows was great as a hobby, but that was no way to conduct a love life.
Steve grasped Gordie’s backside in both hands and pulled his hips forward, tasting the head of his cock in his throat. Gordie grunted and laced his fingers through Steve’s hair, more for purchase than to dominate.
Steve could relate. He wanted handfuls of that ass. It wasn’t too squishy, but it wasn’t diamond cut, either. It was like the dinner and conversation and laughter this night: just right.
He tightened the suction of his mouth and pulled back, trusting that the cock ring at the base would keep up pressure there. When he pulled back, he swirled his tongue and played with the slit and then spent extra time on the super-sensitive little cord of flesh on the underside of the head. Gordie let out a little whine that told Steve his effort was appreciated, and now he did guide Steve’s head forward.
Steve closed his eyes and relaxed into the blowjob, letting his throat ease so he could go deeper, letting Gordie guide him, since he wasn’t being too hard or too soft—again, God, just right.
Suddenly Gordie started to shake, his hips jerking spasmodically, and he breathed, “Coming.”
Steve hated to let him go, but a safe boy is a happy boy, and he let that lovely cock slide out of his mouth and turned his head just so, keeping up the pumping action, speeding it up until Gordie begged, “Slower, harder… ungh…”
Steve remembered his other hand then and rested his weight against the side of the alcove so he could reach up, explore… ah, there it was. Firm rubber plug… tap tap tap!
“Oooooooh…”
Gordie’s sex noises became the third thing Steve didn’t get from toys alone, and Steve’s cock spurted a little pre-cum just at the sound and at the way it vibrated through Gordie’s body—including his dick. Steve tightened his hold and stroked hard and slow, continuing that teasing tap on the rubber lodged firmly at the entrance of Gordie’s ass.
As Steve looked up, avid for the expression on Gordie’s face, Gordie pulled a hand from Steve’s hair, bit his palm, then screamed into it and came.
The jizz went whizzing right by Steve’s left ear and landed on the walkway with a splat, again and again, until Gordie whimpered a little, making a helpless gesture with his hands around Steve’s face.
“Mm,” Steve responded gently, lowering his head and kissing Gordie’s hip. Tenderly, he unsnapped the cock ring and tucked Gordie’s cock back into Gordie’s underwear while pulling up his cargo shorts. He stood up and nuzzled Gordie’s neck, then his ear, all while fastening his fly, and when Steve was done with that, he wrapped his new lover into a secure hug and let him shiver the last of his orgasm into Steve’s warmth.
“That was awesome,” Gordie breathed, body on instant snuggle.
“Sayin’.” Steve felt a sort of justifiable pride. Gordie had not only come, but he’d bonded, and that was the best thing sex could do for a person. Steve was a fan.
“You didn’t come,” Gordie said, sounding confused and disappointed. “I even brought condoms.” He shifted uncomfortably. “And…”
Steve grinned. He’d been there. He hadn’t had a lover in almost two years. Once, in a fit of desperation, he’d worn one of those things through his entire shift of delivering packages. At the end of his shift, he’d driven home, walked into his apartment, leaned on the door, unzipped his pants, and ejaculated on the living room rug.
“I, uhm.” He smiled into Gordie’s hair. It was a little stiff with product and sweaty with sex, and Steve wanted to run his hands through it and make him look completely undone. He lowered his lips to the shell of Gordie’s ear. “I’d love to see your bedroom,” he whispered. “Since you keep the shades drawn and all.”
Gordie moaned breathily. “Yeah,” he said, clinging to the hug like Steve’s big body was keeping him upright. After another moment, he straightened gingerly and looked around. “But can we, uhm, wash off the sidewalk first? Man, that was really hot, but I gotta tell you, just leaving that there feels sort of dirty.”
Steve grimaced, then nodded. “Here. You recover, and I’ll go get a bottle of water. Be right back.”
He trotted away, adjusting himself as he went. He was gonna see what was on the other side of the window. He was gonna see Gordie’s bedroom.
***
Gordie was afraid that frantic blowjob in the shadows had taken the edge off the sexy-sexy, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. After washing off the sidewalk (and Steve could have been a jerk about it, but he wasn’t, he was totally in tune, which spoke volumes about the guy’s sense of decency) he led Gordie back to his car with a warm, gentle hand in the small of his back. That hand, sitting possessively, warmed Gordie from his back outward.
One night, ten nights, or ten years—it didn’t matter. The touch there, on Gordie’s hands, on his shoulder, the kind hand on the back of his neck before pulling him into a kiss—all of it made a moment, a time, a breathless pause before jumping into something sweet and deep.
Those same touches guided Gordie up to his porch, and when they got there, Gordie felt like he had to make it official, make it real. He caught Steve’s face between his palms and pulled him down slightly (’cause Steve was slightly taller) into warm, wet kiss. Gordie pulled back for a moment, liking the dazed, unfocused look in Steve’s eyes, and brushed one unstubbled cheek lightly with his thumb.
“Still coming in?” he said, checking.
“Oh God, yes please?”
Wow. So worth the risk, the date, the real human contact. He grinned, grabbed Steve’s hand, and pulled him along as he unlocked the door and led the way down the hall.
Steve wanted to look around first.
“Hey!” he said happily. “Yellow and red trim! With the gray outside, I thought it would be—”
Gordie whined and did toe stretchies, the plug shifting in his ass as he moved. Thank God Steve had taken off the cock ring or Gordie’d be incoherent by now—as it was, his erection had already returned with interest. “Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“You got the job! If I promise you can stay the night and explore in the morning, will you take me to bed and fuck me now?”
Steve grinned, all excitement, then grabbed Gordie’s hand and mashed it against the fly of his slacks.
Oh wow. Oh wow. Larger than life, thick as a water bottle, Steve’s magnificent body strained against his zipper. Steve captured Gordie’s hand and thrust against it, hard, harder, until Gordie pulled his hand away.
“Now,” he whispered and then turned and ran down the hall.
His cat hung out on the bed, unbothered by the two-person sex that was about to go on. (He’d probably been inured by all the one-person sex Gordie had been having beforehand.) Gordie ignored him and stripped, unselfconscious and so excited. Steve had seen all of him at this point and, even better, had talked to him, in person and in real life, for hours.
And still liked what he saw.
Gordie liked what he saw too—a fun companion, hot and exciting and more interested in Gordie than in himself. And a great kisser. A real person. A real lover, one who would ease the exquisite, delicious torture that had been taunting his asshole for the last four hours.
Steve was right behind him, and their clothes fell in a single, determined puddle. Gordie heard the crinkle of foil and he glanced behind him as he was crawling on the bed.
Yes, Steve had a condom and lube, which said nice things about preparedness and consideration.
He also had…
Gordie made a little O face.
“Is that your cock?” he asked, too entranced to feel stupid.
“I hope so,” Steve said, grinning down at it. “I’d hate to think there was someone else in the room.” He looked up at Gordie and made eye contact and then very deliberately stroked said cock in his fist. His fingers didn’t touch, and that stroke went on a long time.
Gordie heard his own swallow in the suddenly quiet room. He gave a helpless, yearning whimper, then bent over and buried his face in his pillow.
And wiggled his plugged ass in the air.
So worth the risk.
Steve cackled behind him, and the foil packet crinkled some more. In a moment, Gordie felt Steve’s big hands on the roundness of his rump, the quivering muscles in his thighs and flanks, and up over his ribs.
And just when he was expecting to feel twiddling around his asshole and then the sweet, sweet relief of being fucked with the best toy a boy could ever have—another boy!—he got something completely unexpected instead.
He got a kiss, a string of them, gentle kisses down his spine, complete with a teasing line of tongue along his crease.
Gordie shivered and made a sound he’d never heard, much less heard from his own throat.
“God,” he breathed into the pillow. “Just keep touching me.”
Steve licked another stripe, this time laving each cheek and finishing up with a bite and a suckle on Gordie’s left yab.
“Steve…” Gordie whined.
“Gordie?”
“God, quit dicking around and fuck me!”
His response was to suckle another mouthful of flesh and laugh, low from his stomach, so the vibrations rattled Gordie right to the rim of his ass…
Which was dilated with the plug.
Gordie buried his face in the pillow and saw stars. When he could breathe again, he managed, “I’m going to come without you,” before he buried his face in the fluffy pillow and panted, counting backward from a hundred.
Oh God—there it was. Pressure on the plug, and Steve pulled it out, slowly, stretching him open again, stretch, stretch, stretch…
“Augh!” Because God, the relief of the pressure was wondrous, but he wasn’t done yet, not even close, and… “Augh!”
Oh wow. Steve thrust inside him quickly, taking advantage of his willingness and the sloppy, lubricated welcome of his slackened rim.
But Steve was way more awesome than a plug.
God, warm, giving flesh, and so much of it, thrusting hard, long, and slow…
Just the way Gordie liked it.
And when Steve hit bottom, Gordie thought his eyes were going to pop out.
“Oh God…” he panted. “Steve… Steve… just…”
“More…” Steve breathed.
“More!”
And Steve did, because Steve was a good guy… a great guy… a spectacular big-dicked boyfriend who was about to make Gordie come so hard he passed out!
Slow was no longer an option. Fast, fast and hard, and Gordie made little squealing sounds at every slap of their flesh, and then again when Steve’s flared cockhead rolled over his prostate, and then again when he…
“Faster!” Gordie shouted, and the sting of Steve’s pop on his backside only made him more excited, only ramped him higher, only made him—oh God, he did it again--
“Come!” Steve shouted, and Gordie spurted, convulsed, shook, and howled, his entire body so awash in orgasm he couldn’t have controlled himself if he’d even wanted to try.
Behind him, he heard Steve shout again, felt his hips jerking against Gordie’s ass, fingers clenching into his flesh, until Gordie’s knees gave out and he collapsed on his sodden sheets, that big beautiful man right on top of him.
***
Later.
Eons later.
Steve had done all of the considerate boyfriend things—gone for the warm washcloth, taken care of both of them, gotten Gordie’s underwear—and his own—and then climbed into Gordie’s bed, the sweat cooling on both their bodies.
“Well,” he said, grinning and tired and so, so happy, “come here.”
Gordie looked at him, bemused and dear. “Cuddles? You do cuddles too?”
“Well, yeah,” Steve said, feeling the joy spread warmly from his happy groin outward. “Otherwise, I might as well be a sex toy.”
Gordie chuckled and lined himself up with Steve’s big body, laying his tousled, sweaty head on Steve’s shoulder while tracing musing patterns on Steve’s moderately haired chest.
A quiet moment—a companionable one—and Steve took a moment to look around.
“What an awesome room,” he said, liking it very much. Gordie liked dark hardwood floors with bright area rugs to keep toes from chilling. The wall near the window was hardwood, and the white-painted blinds stood out in relief. The window behind the bed—the one not facing the street—had the blinds up, and warm spring moonlight filtered in.
“Why do you keep the blinds closed?” Steve asked, not really complaining. The room felt more sacred this way—more special, since he’d had to penetrate Gordie to penetrate the mystery within.
“’Cause the sun comes in that window,” Gordie slurred against his shoulder. “Do you have to work tomorrow?”
Steve hummed, “No,” because God was good and he had Saturdays off.
“Awesome,” Gordie said, sounding pleasantly relaxed. “Tomorrow I’ll make you toast, and maybe we can do that again.”
“Perfect,” Steve breathed, kissing the top of his head.
And it was.
Sometimes—especially with a warm man in his arms—being on the other side of the window, having the happy moment, really was better than being the guy looking in.
