South

South by Dalyn A. Miller

Ravenous Romance www.ravenousromance.com

Copyright ©2011 by Dalyn A. Miller First published in 2011, 2011 NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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South by Dalyn A. Miller

South By Dalyn A. Miller A Ravenous Romance(R) Original Publication

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South by Dalyn A. Miller

A Ravenous Romance(R) Original Publication www.ravenousromance.com Copyright (C) 2010 by Dalyn A. Miller Ravenous Romance(R) 100 Cummings Center Suite 123A Beverly, MA 01915 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review. ISBN-13: 978-1-60777-393-1 This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. This story was originally published as part of The Manthology, edited by John Jockel.

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South by Dalyn A. Miller

South Dalyn Miller On the road south, Kenneth taught me that if you wet your sandals down it takes the cloth straps a long time to dry. "When you're driving," he said the first day, "the warm wind will blow in through the windows on your wet sandals and keep you cool. Your feet are the thermostats for the rest of your body; and if they're cool, you'll be cool too." We stopped every 50 miles or so to wet our feet with hoses sprouting out between restrooms at filling stations, and to sit on the tailgate of the truck swinging our feet back and forth in the stifling August heat while the ancient truck we traveled in "cooled down". Kenneth pointed at the very first stop to his wet sandals. "Remember that on your trip back," he said. "It'll make not having an A/C almost bearable." On the road south, Kenneth slept, drove or stared out the window. I slept and drove when he didn't. Behind the wheel I watched the road ahead and I watched Kenneth. I watched the way his eyes glazed over on the long Nowhere, U.S.A. stretches of the Nevada desert. I watched as he willed himself to sleep while he thought of who knows what, but certainly not me. Or, maybe he was thinking about me: how he wanted to be free of me; how he didn't love me anymore; or maybe about how he'd never loved me in the first place. Well, either those things or casinos and rolling snake eyes. 5

South by Dalyn A. Miller

I watched Kenneth thoughtlessly flick smoldering cigarette butts out the window in Arizona, and I imagined the dry shrubbery lining the roads flaring up in billowing smoke and fire behind us. I studied him, as I had for five years, and recognized every little nuance of his being. I watched him absentmindedly scratch the inside of his shaved bicyclist's leg with his middle three fingers, pinky extended. I flinched, as I had a thousand times before, as he slammed my truck from first into second, third, fourth and finally fifth gear; finally stuck with no place else to go. Like a tremendous full body spasm, his left leg would slam into the floor and crush the clutch beneath his foot as his right arm jerked the stick up and down, back and forth. The muscles on his upper right leg twitched as he edged the truck up to 60, 70, and 80 miles per hour before shifting down again. "Makes me feel like we're going somewhere fast," he would say as we lurched south, back to Alabama where Kenneth was from; back to his home, where he would stay and I would not. He would move back into the bedroom he grew up in, with a loose brass doorknob. He'd live there again until he was ready to branch out and start over someplace new. Alabama, where I would stay for a night or two on the couch of Kenneth's parents' house before beginning my journey back to lonely Seattle and the run-down studio apartment I'd moved to several months before. Our road trip was nothing more than a business deal. "Take me home," Kenneth had asked. "You have the truck. I don't even have a car. I'll pay for the gas and pay you two 6

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hundred dollars on top of it all. You could use the get away, I need to get away, and I need to go home." We stopped along roadsides at rest stops and campgrounds. We slept in a tent in two sleeping bags side by side. We showered at the campgrounds, in huge community showers, side by side. "Wear your sandals in the shower," he told me. "You have no idea what's on those floors." He pulled a sandaled foot through his boxer shorts and stepped behind the corrugated tin wall. Standing naked next to him, I reached out to soap his back, as I had during hundreds of showers over the past five years. I caught myself before actually making contact and quickly withdrew before he caught and stopped me; or worse, before he caught and didn't stop me. He leaned forward and soaped his firm thigh before running the bar up and each hairy calf. Back on the road, I spun the radio dial again and again as Kenneth dozed next to me. The heat radiated from the black asphalt below the truck and I watched as the temperature gauge rose and hovered at the mid-point before beginning to creep upwards. It was late in the day, but the heat felt worse than it had at noon. Fifteen minutes, I told myself. I'd become an expert at second-guessing the truck's needs. In 15 minutes we'd stop for a half an hour, wet down the sandals, drink a bottle of water or maybe a beer, and let the truck cool while we sat on the tailgate talking about the weather or the desert or anything but us and the years behind us; all smoke and fire. I glanced at Kenneth. His head 7

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was pressed against the doorframe, dark circles forming under the armpits of his light T-shirt. Kenneth's shorts were thin, and an unmistakable erection tented them slightly to the right. I averted my eyes and fixing my vision on the road ahead. Goddamn him, I fumed, at 36 he is still like a teenage boy, unable to fall asleep more than five minutes without becoming rock hard. During the good times, this fact hadn't bothered me. It had made for some amazing mornings. After our very first drunken tumble the night we met, I waked before him the next morning. My tongue was sand paper and the taste of my own foul boozerot mouth nearly made me wretch. The essence of gin and lime seeped from my pores. I wanted desperately to slip out of bed, take a shower, and find a big glass of ice and coke served up with a spicy breakfast burrito at the nearest greasy spoon. I spotted a warm glass of water on the stranger's bedside table. I downed it and savored every last stale drop before glancing around, desperate to plot my escape. Kenneth was fast asleep, his blankets kicked off. He lay nude beside me, one leg dangling off of the side of the bed. His snore was deafening. His nicely defined chest heaved with each catching, irregular breath and I admired his arms and his legs; but his less-than-perfect abs reignited my desire. Perfection is nice, but what the fuck do you do with it? A respectable meat-and-potato-loving beer belly is much more comforting to discover on the stranger lying next to you the morning after. A fine, light fur pelt covered Kenneth's belly and led down to where his cock stood rigid at attention. It wobbled a bit 8

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with his breathing, but was fully engorged. I wanted desperately to quietly gather my things and leave. But his dick bobbed and waved at me, a dancing cobra rising from its rattan basket minding my every move and demanding attention. On the other beside table were four or five unused condoms and a bottle of lube, still open and clumsily knocked on its side. A few drops had dribbled onto the table. Next to it was the used condom from the night before. My ass twitched at the thought that crept uncontrollably into my mind. Hung over but so boned up I couldn't help myself, I grabbed a condom, ripped it open with my teeth, and snapped it onto the almost foreign cock before me. Kenneth grunted but didn't wake. I lubed him up and slid two, then three, fingers inside my ass. I was tender from the drunk fuck the night before, but hungry for more. I straddled my trick, positioned Kenneth's cock head at my hole, and sank down onto him. I moaned and rolled my eyes back into my head as I felt him sink into me. He jolted up, suddenly awake. "Oh yeah," he moaned, his expression of shock quickly replaced by hungry approval. He thrust once, twice, shook his head, and rubbed his eyes. His hands reached behind me and grabbed my shoulder blades. Kenneth pulled me to him and our cottonmouth tongues wrestled between lips. His thrusts became rougher and he found a tender, but not unpleasant, spot deep inside of me. My jagged moans were unavoidable and he rolled me over onto my back so he was above me. One of his hands held my ankles together over his shoulder and the other massaged my chest as he piston fucked me. 9

South by Dalyn A. Miller

Smack, smack, smack. My own hard cocked bounced against my belly. "Take it, Dave," he hissed. Smack, smack, smack. "It's Daniel," I wheezed back at him, grateful I wasn't the only one with a fuzzy memory from the night before. "Whatever," he responded, panting. Smack, smack, smack. With little warning I felt my balls seize, an electric current raced through my body, and my toes curl. "It's—happening—NOW!" I gasped as thick white ropes of come shot out of my smoldering, angry cock and landed on my stomach, chest, chin and bottom lip. "Fuck!" my trick yelled. "Fuck!" Deep inside of me he jerked, his thrusts turning erratic. He pulled out and slammed back in, holding me in place for several seconds. His orgasm was as intense as mine. He collapsed on top of me, his sturdy frame pinning me to the bed. Our alcohol-infused sweat mingled in the still air hovering around the bed. I felt his cock slip from my slippery, battered ass. "Thanks Man," he said breathlessly. 'You are one hot fuck." "You too, Kevin." It was a long-shot, I knew it, but maybe I'd be lucky. "Kenneth," he corrected me. "I am never fucking drinking again." He rolled over and closed his eyes, the come-filled condom hanging half off his deflating dick. Kenneth opened his eyes with a gasp as I swerved to avoid a dead snake in the middle of the road. "Wha—where are we?" he asked, confused. "What happened?" "Nothing," I said. "Dead animal." 10

South by Dalyn A. Miller

"Really." He turned to peer out the rearview mirror and scan the road behind us. "We need to stop again soon," I said. "It's hot out here and Betsy can't pull the long hauls she used to." Kenneth had named the truck Betsy during the early days of the gym. "She's a good old girl," he'd said more than once as we loaded equipment into the back. Betsy had hauled barbells and dumbbells and adjustable benches, and picked up gym gear from all over the greater Seattle area. That which we hadn't bought new and had delivered, Betsy hauled. We'd been together almost two years when Kenneth leaned over to me at brunch one day and said, "I've been thinking. I know this is going to sound crazy, but you need to trust me." And he laid out his entire plan for the K&D Fitness Center. "We'll have massage therapists," he said. "Trainers, yoga classes, spin classes, a protein shake bar! Just listen," he went on. "I know it sounds crazy, but we can make this work. I'm going to be laid off any day. You're limping along in your job as it is. We both have some money in the bank, so why don't we just put off buying a house for another year or two?" That's exactly what we did. Once Kenneth was let go and his layoff package signed, we took out a lease on a space and sunk more money than we actually had into equipment, marketing, staffing, insurance, and so on. It had all come together unbelievably well. The night before the gym's grand opening, Kenneth and I went out to a local bar with good friends who believed in us almost more than we believed in ourselves. We had an 11

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innumerable amount of beers and shots. We were all loaded when Kenneth stood up on a bar stool, shot of whiskey in hand, and whistled for everybody to stop speaking. The bartender turned the volume on the music down. "I'd like to make a toast," Kenneth announced, raising the tiny glass above his head. His tongue was a bit thick, but he wasn't too bad off just yet. "I'd like to raise a glass to the man of my dreams, the man who gave up everything he knew for me, who sunk his entire life savings into our business, the man who truly believes in me. Danny Boy, this is for you!" The crowd howled and whistled, and several people thumped me on the back. I felt heat rush to my face. Kenneth downed his drink in one gulp. "I love this motherfucker!" he yelled, pointing at me. The crowd cheered even louder. He hopped off the barstool and grabbed me, planting a huge kiss thick with whiskey on my lips. His tight embrace said "thank you" and "please don't let go whatever you do" all at once. The music returned and another round of shots appeared on the bar. "Why don't we call it a night here?" Kenneth asked. It was only dusk and the southwestern sky was a striking panorama of orange, pink and blue. We could drive for hours more, stopping and starting again, but the service stop up ahead looked like Nirvana. The neon sign heralded "Gas! Food! Gift Shop! Salo n!" The second neon "o" had apparently burned out and nobody bothered to replaced it yet. Underneath the sign was printed information about a secure campground on the premises with clean showers and running gas and water. 12

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The thought of setting up camp and then sitting in a bar, having a few drinks, and turning in early appealed to me. "Sure," I said. "Why not?" I parked in the lot and stepped into the restroom for a much-needed pee as Kenneth rented our camping plot from the registrar in the gift shop. The campgrounds weren't much, but they were clean; and the shower and restroom facilities were passable, if a little dingy. There weren't many people around. I figured it would fill up as the night went on. I helped Kenneth with the tent. We stuck pegs in four corners, hooped guide wires around, and attached aluminum posts to one another to form the frame. It was the same thing we'd done the past two nights and would do again for several more. We unrolled two sleeping bags side by side on the floor of the tent and threw our pillows in along with them. I wiped off my hands and Kenneth turned to stretch. "Let's grab something to eat," he said. "Aren't you going to zip up the tent?" I asked. He shrugged. "Why bother?" That was Kenneth, getting the job 90 percent done. Details were a nuisance to him; details took extra time. It was so easy to gloss over the tiny things, like maintenance schedules on fussy weight-bearing cables. If he didn't schedule the maintenance check this month, his thinking went, he'd just get around to it the next—or the month after that. There were more pressing issues in his mind: salaries to pay, vending machines to restock, membership specials, and weighttraining competitions. I'm sure it never occurred to him that one of those under-maintained cables might snap 13

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unexpectedly; and that the man pressing 180 pounds with triceps he'd worked tirelessly on and watched grow over the past six months would have no idea what had happened to him. He'd have no idea, until he came to screaming in agony with a laceration that sliced cleanly through his cheek to his gums and took with it one beautiful blue eye. I'm sure it never occurred to Kenneth that this might happen; or that if it did, the victim would sue and take every last goddamned thing Kenneth and I owned, including the gym. It probably never occurred to Mr. 90 Percent that the courts would leave us with nothing but the clothes in our closets, family photos useless to anybody else, and a 12-year old Toyota pick-up truck. The details: why bother? Inside the "salo n," Kenneth and I took two seats at the bar. On the television screen anchored above the top-shelf liquors, the Red Sox played the Yankees at Fenway Park and led 5-2 at the top of the fourth. I watched the game, my only other option talking to Kenneth. We still had at least three days to go, and I'd run out of small talk. I ordered a Corona and a shot of Tequila. Kenneth held up two fingers to the bartender; and within moments two beers and two shots, along with lime slices and a salt shaker, appeared. Kenneth licked the back of his palm and I remembered that first morning when our sandpaper tongues wrestled one another as he pressed himself sharply into me. He raised his shot glass to me: "Cheers, Queer." I couldn't help but laugh. "Fuck you, you cocksucker," I replied more playfully than I'd been since before the accident. The road had exhausted 14

South by Dalyn A. Miller

us. We both gulped down the Mexican fire-water. Kenneth squinted his eyes, shook his head, and gasped. He held up two more fingers. The Red Sox won, although it got dangerously close at the bottom of the eighth. I was blurry-eyed by then, as was Kenneth as he began to lap me in beer. Playful barbs turned into passive-aggressive snips; tiny accusations and little earthquakes. There were only a few people in the bar and the bartender didn't seem to notice. "I'm going to sleep," I said as the game was called. I tried to make out the total on the little white slip in front of me. "Let me," Kenneth spit, and grabbed the bill out of my hand. "Just two more!" he hollered down the bar to the bartender, who shrugged and grabbed two more shot glasses and the bottle of golden liquid from the shelf. "I'm done, Kenneth," I said. "Just one more," he said, as the bartender put the shots in front of us. Kenneth unsteadily crawled up onto his barstool. First on his knees and then standing, he wobbled drunkenly. "What the hell are you doing?" I demanded. "Get down. You're drunk." "Can I get your attention?" Kenneth called out to the few truck drivers and weary travelers scattered throughout the bar. "Hello? Yeah, hi, I'd like to make a toast." I wanted to melt into the sticky floor beneath me. "Get down," I seethed between clenched teeth. "I'd like to raise this drink to my ex-lover, Dan, here," he waved the shot glass in my direction. I looked around quickly. The bartender raised an eyebrow and stood frozen, transfixed 15

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on Kenneth; the cigarette smoldering between her fingers all but forgotten. "Ladies and Germs," he continued, "our Danny boy is an upstanding kinda guy. That's right, he's a good man, he's smart, kind—I mean for real—he'd never hurt a fly, and he's downright hot. Look at 'im!" A trucker a few stools down from us cleared his throat, emptied his beer bottle, and motioned for the check from the bartender. She ignored him. Here eyes were glued to drunken Kenneth. "But," Kenneth continued, he swerved and I thought he'd fall off the stool. "I fucked it up. That's right. This idiot put all of his faith in me and I fucked it up. So I just wanted to say Dan, I'm sorry. Alright? I'm sorry I ruined my life and I'm even sorrier I ruined yours. Just don't hate me anymore. I will always love you no matter what." He lifted his shot glass to his lips, spilling half of it down the front of his T-shirt. He fell backward onto the bar, smashing a pint glass and crushing a half-empty can of beer. People in the bar let out a collective gasp. I felt the blood in my neck blazing with embarrassment, but I leapt up with worry. I reached forward to pull Kenneth up before he fell off the bar, and tucked him under my arm. I walked him to a bench in the lobby and ducked back inside to settle the bill with the bartender. All eyes were on me. "Good luck with that one," she said, handing me the change. "Not for nothing, but it sounds like you have some fixin' to do." "Thanks," I muttered. Kenneth sat where I left him, tears streaming from his eyes. 16

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"Are you okay?" I asked, and I reached under him to lift him to his feet. "I ruined our lives," he sobbed. "And I think I broke my back." "You didn't break your back," I said, and guided him across the well-lit parking lot to the campgrounds beyond. "You're drunk, but you'll definitely feel that fall in the morning." "You're drunk too," he laughed, spittle and snot flying out in front of him. "Yeah," I laughed. "I sure am. Let's get you in the shower and sober you up." The campground bathroom was dark and silent. I felt around the inside wall until I found a light switch, flipped it, and illuminated the room. To the left were three empty toilet stalls and to the right were four individual showers with flimsy, blue plastic shower curtains. "I don't need a shower," Kenneth protested. "Yeah you do," I said. "You'll feel a hundred times better in the morning if you take one now." I guided him toward the showers and reached down to peel the sweat- and Tequilasoaked T-shirt off of his muscular torso. He was even more built than he'd been that first night, thanks to our gym. A desire I hadn't felt in a very long time suddenly rose inside of me. Kenneth reached down and dumbly released the button holding his shorts up. They slid down to his ankles. He stood before me completely naked with the exception of the sandals still on his feet. 17

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"What?" he said, catching me staring. My heart ached at the renewed realization it was all over. We were strong before the gym, but ironically weak after it. The accident destroyed us. The sex had stopped immediately, and the space between us in bed turned into a vast desert landscape. I blamed Kenneth for being reckless and disorganized, and in return he blamed me for not supporting the business enough. Kenneth moved out of the bedroom; I moved out of the apartment. "Turn around," I said. "I want to have a look at your back." He smirked. "I didn't know you still cared." "You know better." I spun him around. An angry red streak spread across his lower back from his hard landing on the bar. The skin hadn't been broken, but the rash was a bright red. "That's gonna hurt like hell tomorrow." "Tomorrow?" he scoffed, looking over his shoulder and pouting playfully at me. "Big boo boo." "Get in the damned shower." I shoved him gently forward. Kenneth reached in and adjusted the temperature before stepping into the dingy stall. "I'll go and get the soap." "No need," he said, holding up a yellowed sliver he found on the ancient soap dish hanging from the crumbling tile. "Fine," I said. "Pull the curtain closed. I'll keep watch." But he didn't close the curtain, Kenneth instead soaped his solid chest, his furry torso, and ripe, sweaty armpits right in front of me. He swayed his hips back and forth to the sounds of an imaginary tune playing in his head. He closed his eyes as his hands traveled down, a trail of soap and bubbles following it along his furry skin. He stroked his cock a few times and then 18

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reached beneath his large, low-hanging nuts. I stared, transfixed. "My back aches," he whined drunkenly, darting his eyes in my direction and catching my stare. "I can't reach around to wash it. Help me." "Okay," I muttered. I stepped to the opening of the shower stall and reached for the soap. A few drops of water splashed me and my own T-shirt. I didn't care, it was cool and refreshing. I reached up to soap Kenneth's back and he grabbed my arm. He quickly dragged me, fully dressed, into the shower with him. The soap slipped out of my hand. "What the fuck!?" "Sshh." Kenneth held a finger up to my lips and grabbed my head, pressing his lips against mine. His sour breath tasted of Tequila and beer and...Kenneth. I remembered our first morning together. His tongue charmed its way into my mouth. I pushed him forcefully off me. "Please," he said. He was crying. "Please, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what our lives have become, and I'm sorry for dragging you down with me." I was stunned. He had never apologized in the months and months of agony we'd been through. He sunk to his knees and wrapped himself around my waist, water pouring down over us. "Get up," I said, trying to pull him to his feet. Kenneth held on tight. "You're drunk." "Yeah, I am," he admitted, "but I mean it. Please believe me." The tears turned into deep soulful sobs. I put my arms 19

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around him and tried to choke back my own tears. After a few moments he stood. I immediately leaned in and kissed him. I held Kenneth's head in my hands as he stripped my soaking wet shirt off of and tossed it onto the floor outside the shower stall. With one hand he released my shorts and kicked them into a corner. Naked and wet, we pressed our bodies against one another. His mouth found my ear and his stubble scratched my sensitive neck. I moaned. Kenneth's teeth next gnawed at my hard nipples, nipping at them playfully. "Harder," I breathed. Kenneth chewed and pulled at one nipple and then the next, reaching up to tweak the abandoned one between his thumb and forefinger. Our cocks grew hard and agitated. Kenneth's pressed up against my leg. I could differentiate easily between the shower water and thicker, juicier pre-come leaking from Kenneth's tip. I knew mine did the same. Kenneth dropped to his knees again; but this time sorrow and agony were replaced by hunger and lust. His hand circled the base of my balls as my cock disappeared down his slick throat. His soft tongue worked up the length of my shaft and back down. I hardly noticed as his free hand reached down to grab the sliver of soap from the shower floor. I was in ecstasy, my cock throbbing in his throat. His mouth released my cock and he spun me around so I faced the wall of the shower stall. Kenneth's hand slid between my legs, forcing them apart. I felt his stubble burrow between my cheeks. Electricity shot through me as his tongue expertly lapped at my puckered opening. I moaned louder 20

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than before. In and out, his tongue dove deep. Water from the shower flowed down my back, through the crack of my ass, and over Kenneth's furry face. The hand with the soap reached around and began to suds to my engorged cock. I leaned my arm against the shower wall and rested my head in the crook of it as Kenneth stroked my slick dick and tongue-fucked my ass. I felt like I was going to explode. Kenneth sensed it and instantly he stopped and stood up. He spun me around and I was about to sink to my knees to return the favor, but he held me up. Kenneth turned his back to me and leaned against the wall as he guided my soap-slicked cock to his ass-crack. After we'd tested negative together years earlier, the condoms disappeared. But opportunities to fuck my lover had been few and very far between: He was a self-proclaimed top. With no more than one second's pause, I grabbed Kenneth's hips, lined the tip of my cock up with his opening, and sunk deep inside. Kenneth inhaled sharply. "Whoa, Cowboy," he slurred. "Easy there, all right?" I paused long enough for him to adjust to my thickness, and then slowly thrust in and out. His moans grew louder and I matched them, my onslaught picking up pace. Smack, smack. His hand reached around and cupped my firm ass as I thrust deeper and harder than before. "Oh fuck!" he spit. I felt his ass tighten around my cock, holding it in a vice grip as his body shook beneath me. His cock hopped up and down fiercely as it spit on the wall and floor. Hot water washed it down the drain. 21

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Kenneth's squeezing ass triggered my own orgasm and I unloaded my multi-day's worth of load deep inside of him. "Ah, yeah," I breathed. "Oh, that was fucking hot." My knees were weak. Kenneth stood up straight, steadying himself on the wall with one hand and releasing my dick from his ass. He turned to face me. "I meant it," was all he said. It was all he had to say. Early the next morning, Kenneth behind Betsy's heatsplintered steering wheel, the sun rising in the east and two freshly water-soaked pair of sandals on our feet, the truck edged to the entrance to the highway. To the north lie our scarred but not entirely horrible past and to the south lie countless miles of loneliness. I heard the tick, tick, tick of the turn indicator and waited for Betsy to move forward. THE END Visit www.ravenousromance.com for more hot stories!

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