Best Gay Erotica 2015 Read online

  “Just look at you!” Rodney, a mutual acquaintance of the happy couple caught me as he walked by and came over. “Tough ride here?” He crouched and leaned on the open car window.

  Before I replied, several more familiar guests passed and distracted Rodney with greetings. Up went my zipper and on went my sunglasses, a final look in the visor mirror assuring a semi-respectable appearance. The smell of the motorcyclist lingered. I wanted more.

  “Vino?” Rodney turned his attentions back to me.

  “Oh yeah,” I replied and attempted to shake the memory of the cyclist from my head.

  The parking lot led up to the vineyard’s main buildings, which included a tasting room stocked with assorted gourmet tidbits and unnecessary extravagances that were focused on weary tourists and wine-addled foodies. Gardens of abundant and fragrant herbs surrounded the place, and intimate wrought-iron tables, hidden wooden benches and a man-made lake suggested secluded escapism. As I’m an easy sell and was feeling a bit romantic, this obvious spell worked on me. Meaning, I imagined sucking and fucking all over the place.

  “Here comes the bride.” Rodney nudged me out of my deviant fantasies as one of our hosts, Jeremy, approached.

  “Hey, guys!”

  “Hey,” I said as Jeremy embraced me, “congrats and all that!”

  Jeremy’s sunny Californian good looks were magnified by his obvious excitement. “Thanks!” His blue eyes sparkled. “I’m glad you’re both here.”

  “Is it too early for happy hour?” Rodney asked as they hugged.

  Jeremy smiled. “It’s happy hour all weekend. Let’s get you drunk!”

  Much wine ensued, followed by pleasantries with Jeremy’s soon-to-be husband, Carl. After exchanging witticisms with other guests, I took my tipsy ass out onto the back veranda. The majestic view stirred something in me. Vineyards spread to the mountains and the sun’s descent set the landscape on fire with color, distant shadows giving an otherworldly aura to the scene.

  Behind me friends laughed, drank and celebrated, and while I loved being there to celebrate Carl and Jeremy, selfishly I wanted to be with someone of my own. Thoughts of the cyclist rushed in, but I shook my head and downed the excellent syrah.

  Rodney came up and stood beside me. “You all right?” “How could I not be?” I gestured with my glass at the moun-

  tains. “Look at all this.”

  “Jeremy never throws a bad party or pours cheap wine.” Rodney downed the last of the red in his stemless goblet.

  Before I agreed, Jeremy came out. “Guys, come inside. The Greenleafs are presenting a toast with one of their rare vintages.”

  “Greenleafs?” Rodney snorted as Jeremy scooted past us. “That’s really the family’s name?”

  “Let’s do it,” I said and nudged Rodney inside.

  Jeremy caught my arm. “They’re the oldest, most successful family-run vineyard in the area,” he whispered. “You should feature them in your column.” He paused at a table with rows of pristine wineglasses and offered me one. “Trust me, there’s a story here.”

  I took the glass and dinged my glass against his. “I’m on vacation. Positively no writing while drinking.”

  Carl came up and put a muscular arm around Jeremy. “Ready, groom?”

  “Oh god,” Rodney snipped, but smiled as Carl led Jeremy through the crowd.

  The sound of multiple wineglasses being dinged drew my attention over the assembled guests to a handsome, silver-haired man and a distinguished-looking woman by his side.

  “We’d like to propose a toast.” The man raised a formidable glass.

  “Silver Daddy Greenleaf is my vintage,” Rodney said and lifted his glass.

  “Too much,” I replied and nudged him. “Patriarch stealing is a crime in wine country.”

  The woman standing beside Silver Daddy Greenleaf lifted her glass. “But before we do,” the woman said in a distinctly rich voice, “let’s pour some damned wine!”

  The crowd went wild and the Greenleafs smiled. “Our son, Montgomery,” intoned Silver Daddy Greenleaf as he gestured to an extravagantly but tastefully decorated table, “will be pouring the Greenleaf Syrah of which we are most proud. This vintage is distinct in both…”

  But I didn’t hear the rest, and I nearly dropped my glass. I made my way past the enthralled group and stared at the man behind the table. Montgomery Greenleaf didn’t see me, and I was allowed a brief interlude to appreciate his casual, aloof sense of obligation. Carelessly groomed, but effectively stylish and sexy, he appeared perfectly imperfect. Raven-black, restless curls crowned his head and his equally onyx eyes scanned the room with a sly curiosity that intrigued me. I’d paid so little attention to his dark beauty when presented with it ocean side and butter drunk, that now he compelled me. I wanted more of his wildness.

  When his parents signaled for the wine to be poured, he smiled, but I had the feeling it was not for the crowd. He opened the bottles of wine with the finessed grace of someone distinctly unaffected by its contents but willing to put on a show for his own amusement. When he lifted the bottle from the first pour, he saw me. A slow, satisfied smile spread across his lips.

  He’s not surprised, I thought as I approached him.

  “Hey,” he said as he handed me a glass.

  “Hey,” I managed. My hands shook as I took the wine.

  “You drinking it all yourself?” A familiar voice chimed from behind, but I couldn’t move. My feet were frozen to the spot.

  “Duncan, you’re holding up the toasts!” Rodney elbowed me, and I got brushed aside, but didn’t take my eyes off Montgomery. I worried if I did, he’d vanish.

  He poured more wine, smiled, winked and made conversation until all glasses were full. He’d chanced several lingering glances in my direction, then grabbed a bottle of wine, came from behind the table and stood near me.

  “To the happy couple.” Mrs. Greenleaf raised her glass and everyone joined. “It’s about time this state got with the program!”

  Cheers and laughter filled the space until Silver Daddy Greenleaf’s voice cut through the noise. “We celebrate you, Jeremy and Carl, and welcome you as part of the Greenleaf history. Many happy years to you both!”

  As the crowd raised their glasses in another toast, this time carried out by Rodney, Montgomery leaned over to whisper, “Let’s go.”

  Before I responded, he walked away. I downed the wine in my glass and slipped out unnoticed. I caught up with Montgomery, but we didn’t speak until he stopped amid the shadowy grapevines, then looked at me.

  “You,” he breathed.

  The warm smell of ripening grapes mixed with the aroma of dirt and Montgomery’s musky cologne made me unsteady. I stared down at the corked bottle in his hands. “I’m drunk.”

  Montgomery lifted the bottle, pulled the cork out with his teeth and spat it aside. “Not yet.” He took a swig, then pressed the bottle to my lips. The wine spilled down my chin, and he lapped it up. “You,” he said again, licking my lips.

  “Kiss me,” I grunted, but Montgomery pulled away.

  “Let’s go deeper.” He grabbed my hand and led me farther into the vineyard.

  The buildings drifted away and the shadows grew long. No longer could I discern the direction we had come from or were going. When he stopped, I bumped into him. He took another drink, then ground his ass against my crotch.

  “I need you to fuck me.” Montgomery must have sensed my hesitation. “Don’t say anything. Just pull your pants down. There’s a rubber in my back pocket.”

  Wine muddled and possessed by a bacchanal spirit, I thrust my hand into his pocket and grabbed the condom.

  Montgomery undid his belt and dropped his pants. “Pour it on your cock.” He handed the bottle of wine back to me.

  Before I could take it, he tipped the bottle. Ruby fluid trickled into his furry asscrack. I dropped to my knees and buried my face between his cheeks. He poured more wine, and I slurped and sucked until his groans made me unable to th
ink straight. I reached down, undid my pants and yanked my precome-slicked cock from my boxers. I stroked it a couple of times.

  “You got the rubber on?” he growled. “I need you in me!” I grunted and undid the condom package with wine-soaked

  fingers. “Ready?” I didn’t expect or need a reply. I toyed with his hole with my fingers, but he pulled away.

  “Your cock!” Montgomery demanded.

  I grabbed the bottle from him, splashed some across my cock and between his asscheeks and then plunged inside.

  “Fucker,” Montgomery gasped and bucked beneath my second thrust.

  I almost stopped, but again he sensed my hesitation because he pushed back against my dick. “Harder!”

  The rougher I fucked, the more he wanted, and my cock took full advantage of his velvety depths and accommodating width. Sweat rolled down my back as I paused to rip my shirt off. “I want you naked.” I pushed him off my cock. “Take it all off.”

  He quickly kicked off his shoes and shucked the rest of his clothes and watched as I followed suit. “Your cock is—”

  “Don’t talk.” I pushed him down. “You wanted me to fuck you,” I positioned my cock at his hole and thrust back inside, “that’s what you’re getting.”

  Naked amidst grapevines and whispering shadows, we fucked until the spirits of wine and pleasure released us from their grasps.

  “Gonna come,” I gasped and plowed deeper into him. “Wait!” Montgomery barked and arched off my cock.

  He spun around and grabbed my steely prick and furiously stroked.

  “Shit, fuck.” I spat the words as an orgasm overtook me. Montgomery lifted the wine bottle to my prick and milked

  my come into the bottle. “Yeah, nice,” he intoned and lowered his lips to my spurting rod. Whatever missed the bottle glazed his lips.

  Shaken and drained of come and sexual vigor, I couldn’t figure his actions, and could only watch as he lowered the bottle to his own cock.

  “Come here,” he insisted.

  I went and knelt beside him. He pulled my hand toward his cock. I stroked him, savoring the wet fatness of his prick. Because he was uncut, his precome felt like a load, and despite having just blown, my cock twitched to life.

  “Fuck, faster.” Montgomery arched back and handed me the wine bottle. “Make me shoot in there.”

  I did as he ordered, and soon his body shook with orgasm. I couldn’t tell how much of his come made it inside, but I felt the warmth of his gush as some spilled along the sides of the bottle and tricked across my fingers.

  Done and spent, Montgomery clasped his arms around me. “You,” he shook his head, “fucking you.”

  “Yeah,” I managed as we sat beside each other in the dirt. Montgomery took the wine bottle, put his palm over the

  opening and shook it. I heard the remaining wine splashing against the sides. When he stopped and took a drink, I winced.

  “Really?”

  He let out a long satisfied sigh as he lowered the bottle. “Abso-fucking-lutely.” He handed me the bottle. “It’s my vintage.”

  I took it and stared. The entire day blurred into a dream. Had it happened or had I slipped into some shadow world? I lifted the bottle and downed the contents. Bitter, sweet and pungent…I couldn’t taste anything but grapes and something indistinguishable. I wanted to fuck Montgomery again. “Addicting,” I said and handed him back the empty bottle.

  He tossed it into the vines. “How long you staying?”

  “The weekend,” I replied.

  “Bet you could stay longer.” He reached down and stroked my cock. “If you wanted.”

  I imagined writing my column from the back veranda of the winery, watching the sunset over the vines. “Right now, I believe anything is possible.” I pulled Montgomery closer and kissed him. He tasted of wine and something more.

  Outlaws and Bad Men

  Kenzie Mathews

  I was hitching on the wrong side of the Mississippi when he picked me up in a black 1970 Chevy Impala that’d seen much better days. I looked up and down the road. The Impala was the first car I’d seen in hours since leaving the country gas mart. Chances were slim to none that I’d get a better ride. He reached over to open the door; I glanced inside. He was clean-cut, J-Crew-model pretty, with sandy blond hair cut short, small square-rimmed glasses, strong classic nose and cleft chin. Not my typical hustle, no, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  Something nineties-rock and growly played on the radio. That decided it for me. I got in, seeing as I got myself a real hard-on for American grunge and metal. Brings around good memories—and I’ve been finding good times most rare these days. The Impala roared down the empty country highway. Neither of us said where we were going, then again I guess it didn’t really matter in the long run.

  In any case, I figured I could at least get a meal out of him, maybe even a decent fuck and a shower. God knew I needed both. I pulled the visor down to check the mirror. You’d think it’d come to naught but some of those old folktales are just made up. In other words, the mirror gave me a reflection: a man with silvery ghost eyes darkly rimmed, shoulder-length greasy blue-black hair, angled bone face, pale skin and a fetching mouth all looked back at me.

  Ah, yes, the road could get nasty, the nights tacky and long, but still those incubus looks would always help me along. And if you should miss something necessary the next day, say your wallet or your wedding ring or maybe a pint or two, well, there was always the memory of my capable mouth and long, thick cock to persuade you to leave the cops out of it.

  “Chase,” my driver eventually informed me. I grinned at him. “Lochlan.”

  He glanced my way, startled. “Irish?” “Yeah.”

  “Are you here on a work visa?”

  I chuckled. “Somet’ing like that.” My accent had nearly gone with age, but like me, always managed to barely hang on.

  Chase was silent only a moment, one hand tapping the wheel. “Did it expire?”

  I looked out the window, closing my eyes for a short lie-down. “Dunno.” I exhaled. “You a cop or somet’ing?”

  Now it was his turn to chuckle, like a small rumble in his chest, just as sleep was overtaking me. “Uh-huh,” he replied, “something like that.”

  I woke to his hand rubbing my cock. My jeans clung to me wetly and my prick was steadily rising, most appreciative of his attentions. He grinned at me, J-Crew American, something like a cop. What’s his fuckin’ name again? Ah, yeah, Chase. We were in some parking lot, nestled right up next to some great public building. I widened my legs a little to give him full access to my cock. I put my hand on his to guide him a little. I love the possible risk of being found out, witnessed by an audience.

  “Not just yet,” he said, slowly removing his hand. He jerked his head sideways, motioning toward the large stone building. “I need you to keep the car running, though. Can you drive?”

  “Yeah, but what’s your bleedin’ rush?”

  Chase grinned wider. “My rush is coming.” And with that he got out of the car, carrying a large duffle bag like something you take to the gym. He gave me a shiny, slick grin and pulled out a hairy mask from his jean’s back pocket before pulling it over his head and shooting me a peace symbol. Now he’s the Wolfman. Beauty. I gave him a double thumbs-up, him with a mocking snarl. Whatever. His rush.

  I slid over to the driver’s seat and watched him go up the long stairs and into the building. I was sitting there for the longest time and starting to get mighty bored when he came running back out with the gym bag now fat and heavy. He was practically screaming with laughter.

  Two guards came swinging out the front doors and started shooting at the car, at Chase—at fucking me. Chase slid over the car hood, landing hard on the other side, and he was barely in when the front windshield burst under gunshot. I revved the car as the guards ran down the stairs and into the street to shoot at us some more.

  We were a good five blocks away when I heard the first sirens. Chase th
rust his forearm in my face, pointing somewhere out the window. During those brief few moments, he’d taken off his mask and was now back to being just Joe Criminal again. “Park there!”

  I pulled into the Motel 6 parking lot, and before the car even stopped, Chase was out and looking for another ride. By the time I reached him, he’d jimmied the lock on a sporty Jeep. He jumped in and hot-wired the car, jerking wires outta the dash’s underside. I stepped to the other side, waiting ’til the car roared to life. It was a bit of a wait then, the two of us staring like junkie idjits, and it kinda seemed like he wasn’t too sure he wanted me to come along for the ride.

  Truth is, I felt a little vulnerable. I’m so used to being the hustler, and it was odd to be on the other side of it. He stared at me and I dunno if it was my fine Irish looks or simply the meeting of monsters but he finally reached over and let me in. I shut the door just in time before he sped off in the opposite direction. We passed several cop cars going the wrong way, but we were free now, out in the world and up to no good.

  We burned our way out of town and ran farther down the highway ’til the adrenaline would let us breathe evenly, and then he found the first turnoff he came across. He couldn’t get my raging cock in his mouth fast enough, and sucked me dry, bringing me to a whimper, a hollowing that felt like I was dry desert inside, scraped clean, my balls empty and tight. I returned the favor, nearly devouring his head, my saliva numbing his cock to my needle teeth, my tongue stroking and cradling all the while. I sucked him ’til he jerked and then licked him clean like a kitty with a bowl of cream, nary a drop left. Sometimes the blood bothers them, you know, gets them worried.

  You’d not see them if you wanted to, my needle teeth that is, seeing as they hide behind the canines. I call them needles for the obvious: they withdraw and take, and I need them to live. It’s best though if the blood is mixed with come. Has to do with the salt and the cream of it all. It’s like a meal and dessert all at once.