Chapter Two
Prosper Woods Chronicle. Letters to the editor:
“At the saloon last night, a customer asked me for a hamburger made of aspirin. I wasn’t sure he was serious since he’d been at the bar for the last two days and nights getting his drunk on. I just wanted to write and tell everyone that the bar doesn’t sell drugs in any shape or form.” Signed, “Just Say No.”
Romeo
I woke up with a raging hard-on and slid my hand into my boxer briefs, turning my head and glancing at the clock. It read 6:17 and I sighed. The sun wasn’t even up yet. I hadn’t slept all that well. It was too quiet. Once in the night I’d thought I’d heard the howling of wolves but as I finally drifted off, I’d realized that was crazy. There were no wolves in the California redwood forests. They preferred to make their homes up north in Oregon or Washington, places that got more snow.
I turned away from the clock and looked up at the ceiling, grabbing my thick shaft and giving it a few long, slow strokes as I pictured the last guy I’d fucked. The encounter had been months ago but the little bottom had cried out my name as I gave it to him hard, pounding into him and making him writhe on the bed like the greedy little bottom he was. The truth was, he’d wanted me the moment he’d spotted me in a club I used to frequent in LA. They all wanted me. Sometimes I invited the attention; most of the time, I didn’t. They all flocked to me anyway. Since true tops were unicorns in the gay world with a ratio of one top to every nine bottoms, I never went home alone.
Out here in the woods, things would be different. I was sure of it. I pictured the man’s mouth on me, the way he’d hollowed his cheeks and sucked me like a Hoover, all the while batting his lovely long lashes at me. When I’d pulled out and come all over his face, he’d shut his eyes but still managed to catch most of my load on his tongue. Still, I’d made sure to paint his smooth cheeks, lips, and chin until he’d glistened with creamy splashes of white spunk. I’d always thought facials were hot and my trick that night had endlessly whined as I’d cleaned him off with my tongue, begging me for my number even though I shut him down more than once. I never fucked the same guy twice.
I didn’t want to give anyone ideas of long-term. I shuddered at the very thought of it.
I tightened my fist and stroked harder, throwing back the covers and looking down at the weeping head of my dick. I brushed a calloused thumb over the slit and just that little bit of stimulation and thinking about the way that bottom’s lips had glistened with my come had me shooting high onto my chest. I grunted as I milked thick, creamy streamers that gathered into puddles between my cut abs. After I’d emptied my balls, I sighed deeply, blowing out a long breath, and feeling energized, ready to start the new job.
I reached for the old T-shirt I’d discarded in the middle of the night and wiped myself down from chin to groin before climbing out of bed. I padded across the cold hardwood floors to my bathroom with even colder tile and reached into the shower, turning it on to let it heat before walking over to the sink and staring at myself in the mirror.
At thirty-two, I looked younger, even with the black stubble that grew over my square jaw. My black hair was tousled from being in bed. I reached up and ran my fingers through the wispy strands on top, staring into my brown eyes, once again wishing that they were blue like my stepbrother, John’s. My gaze stopped on my lips. They were prominent, called pouty by one dreamy-eyed lover who’d made me smile at the compliment. My lashes were thick and black, my eyebrows thick and black, and once, just weeks before an 80s retro party at work, I’d let my mustache grow out.
Big surprise. It had grown out thick and black. I’d shaved it the next day.
I turned away from the mirror as it was beginning to fog with steam and stepped into the shower, more to wash the scent of jizz off me than anything else. I certainly wouldn’t want Sally catching a whiff of sex coming off me at work. I had no idea whether we’d be sharing her patrol car today. Once I was out and dressed in blue jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and my sheriff’s uniform shirt with the shiny new badge Sally had given me the day before, I padded downstairs to my kitchen to begin poking through cabinets.
As I waited for my coffee to brew, I fixed myself a bowl of oatmeal and sat down at the table, grabbing my phone, and pulling up the page for the local newspaper called the Prosper Woods Chronicle. After reading about a new antique store moving into town, the fact that the local boy scout troop’s shed had been vandalized, and that Buck Walters had been jailed overnight on a drunk and disorderly the day before, I turned to my horoscope.
The horoscope was on the same page as the syndicated Dear Abby column and something that read like a town gossip column/police blotter. I chuckled in amusement at someone who’d complained about being stared at by racoons and then grinned widely after reading about someone fearing that aspirin might be the beginnings of a drug problem in Prosper Woods. I’d seen the devastating effects of illegal drugs in Los Angeles and I
