Best Gay Erotica of the Year Page 2

  But The Natural just rolled his head to the side and grinned, cuffing Lloyd with a left hook that sent the seasoned veteran stumbling the other way. Lloyd quickly regrouped, jabbed at Washington’s face, and then banged a right hand in underneath, against Washington’s kidney. Some body-beautifuls couldn’t take it to the torso, to the kidneys, ribs, and stomach. Washington, though, merely took a step back and then shot out a right that slammed into Lloyd’s short ribs and gushed breath out of his mouth.

  Lloyd fell up against Washington, grabbed on, gasping for air. In his groping mind, he realized that the only thing that was going to stop The Natural from taking him apart in the ring was a gun with a full load in every chamber. He clung to the slick, muscled fighter, reeling—in more ways than one.

  But as he pressed his bare chest into Washington’s bare chest, held his arms tight around the man’s torso, he suddenly felt something weaken inside his opponent. It was like the other fighter had gone soft with their hot, damp skin kissing together, their chests heaving against each other, their nipples rubbing.

  Lloyd thrilled with excitement and energy.

  He lifted his head off Washington’s chiseled shoulder and looked him dead in the eyes. The young man’s dark peepers were hooded, his thick lips parted, face slack. Lloyd clenched him tighter, squishing their hard nipples together. He thrust his lower body in closer, their cocks rubbing—heavy and heated and swelling, in fact. Washington softly moaned in Lloyd’s face, eyelids fluttering.

  Lloyd exulted, rubbing his chest into Washington’s chest, his cock into Washington’s cock, the pair moving across the moonlit ring in a sensuous, sweaty slow-dance. Pretty Boy had found The Natural’s weakness—and he shared it. The clean-cut All-American, it seemed, was infatuated with men. And so Lloyd bobbed his head closer and kissed Washington square on the lips.

  The young man seemed to melt in his arms, his cock jumping against Lloyd’s pressing prick. Lloyd kissed him again, letting it linger this time, soft and wet and sensual, their cocks still pressed up snug, nipples still melded together.

  The Natural went true to his nature, almost swooning in Pretty Boy’s arms, awkwardly kissing Lloyd back. Then Lloyd felt Washington’s cock spasm, the man jerking in his arms as a groan escaped from between his full pink lips. He felt the sudden wetness against his crotch—the spreading come-stain from Washington’s spurting prick.

  Lloyd sealed his lips to Washington’s gasping mouth and held the man tight in the clench, rocking with the shuddering joy. It looked like the wily veteran could teach the young, inexperienced pugilist something after all—at least in the sexual arena.

  “Now, ya know I don’t like ta pry,” DeSalvo said the next day at the gym.

  Lloyd grinned and nodded, pounding on the heavy bag. Like hell the greasy guy didn’t like to pry; like every good trainer, he was part mother hen.

  “But I want ya to cut out all the bedwork, if ya know what I mean. Sex kills the legs. So, for once in your boxing life, Lloyd, I’m beggin’ ya, knock it off with the dames, okay? After all, we got three weeks to go to the match.” DeSalvo’s liquid-brown eyes went puppy-dog pleading. “Don’t leave your game in the hotel room this time, huh, Pretty Boy. Let’s just concentrate on the fight.”

  Lloyd hammered a right into the big bag DeSalvo was clutching, knocking his trainer backward. He followed it up with a lightning-quick, thunder-heavy series of lefts and rights. “Okay, you got it, boss,” he told the rattled old man.

  And this time, for once in his fight life, Pretty Boy actually meant it.

  But that didn’t stop Lloyd from meeting up with Washington in his crummy hotel room after both men had put in their training for the day. The Natural shut the warped door and darted his eyes around the threadbare room. “I—I really shouldn’t be here,” he stammered, his voice breaking. “My trainer thinks I’m sleeping in my bunk back on the farm.”

  Lloyd took the young man’s trembling hand and placed it on his crotch, planting his own hand on Washington’s. The Natural’s fine features went fluid, his eyes glazing over and his mouth dropping open. He really was green when it came to guy-love. Still, he seemed eager to learn.

  Lloyd didn’t waste any time. He kissed Washington, ran his tongue around the man’s full lips. Then he pulled back, yanking Washington’s T-shirt out of his pants and up over his head. The fighter’s bare chest gleamed darkly in the dim light. Lloyd lowered his head and touched his pink tongue to one equally pink nipple, then the other. Washington gasped and shivered.

  Lloyd placed his hands on the man’s chest and dug his fingers in, kneading the fibrous muscles. He took a hard nipple into his mouth and sucked on it, then bounced his head over and sucked on the twin. Washington gulped and shuddered. Lloyd could feel the throbbing need of the man through the thick nipple in his mouth. He dragged his tongue down Washington’s ridged stomach to the guy’s belt buckle as he sank down to his knees.

  Looking up at the gaping man, Lloyd unfastened the belt, unbuttoned the pants, stuck his hand inside and pulled out the long, hard, pulsating pole that truly and fully revealed Washing-ton’s passion for his fellow man. Lloyd wrapped his pale, skilled fingers around the wrist-thick shaft and shunted his warm palm up and down the forearm-long length of Washington’s unabashed manhood.

  “Oh yes. Please,” The Natural groaned, a tear of precome sprouting up and glistening in the yawning slit.

  Lloyd lapped up the salty drop of spunk, pumping his hand up and down the pulsing snake. He barely had time to suck the domed hood into his mouth, tug on it with his lips, before Washington grabbed on to his head and groaned in sexual agony, shooting his heavy load into Lloyd’s mouth.

  Washington jerked around like a puppet on a string, Lloyd playing the young man’s spouting pipe with his pumping hand and sucking mouth. He swallowed just as fast as Washington spurted, drinking in The Natural’s strength straight from the hose.

  They weren’t done for that night, though, not by a long shot. Washington had a capacity for recovery—and sperm. Lloyd led him over to the bed. He stripped off his clothes, crawling onto the bed on all fours.

  “I—I can put my . . . my pecker in your ass?” Washington asked, fresh-faced and hard-hung.

  “You’d better,” Lloyd responded, grinning.

  But when the young man jumped onto the bed behind the older man and tried to plow his reconstituted dong into Lloyd’s dry asshole, the veteran had to show him the ropes about lube.

  Once properly greased, Lloyd pressed his face into the sheets and reached back with one hand to spread his plump cheeks, then reached back with his other hand and planted Washington’s mushroomed hood into his parted pink pucker. Washington moaned when cock-skin met ass-skin, then howled when Lloyd pushed his ass back, plunging a third of Washington’s dong through his ring and into his chute. The Natural excitedly drove the rest home, slamming his prick into Pretty Boy’s tight hole.

  “Oh god! Yes! Yes!” Washington cried out, his entire cock squeezed hot and tight in Lloyd’s ass.

  Lloyd had to push back even more, bounce his buttcheeks off Washington’s trembling thighs, to get the man fucking, to experience the true pleasure of penetrating another man’s ass. Washington gripped Lloyd’s waist and exuberantly pounded into Lloyd’s hole, his huge, churning cock searing Lloyd’s man-tunnel.

  It took a ton of willpower that Pretty Boy didn’t even know he possessed to stop himself from grabbing on to his own flopping hard cock to jack out his own steaming joy, but he resisted the urge, rocking back and forth to The Natural’s raucous banging. The young man shouted, jerked, spasmed off Lloyd’s rippling cheeks. It was then that Lloyd felt another huge, hot load spout inside of him, tasting it with his bowels this time.

  Washington came with a thunderous disregard for the consequences, letting loose for possibly the first time in his life. He poured his essence into Lloyd’s chute and then collapsed on top of his opponent, spent and exulted. This was surely a hundred times more satisfying than knocking out another fighter in the ring.

  Pretty Boy kept after his man. The Natural needed no encouragement. He eagerly arrived at Lloyd’s hotel room every night leading up to the fight, expending a ton of energy and an almost equal amount of semen fucking his opponent in every conceivable position, getting his cock and balls sucked and drained by both mouth and ass, until Washington finally left late in the night for that long ride back to the farm, clearly exhausted from the frantic sexual workout, with hardly any energy left for the following day’s training session.

  Lloyd, on the other underhand, only exhausted enough energy to get Washington coming—and coming, and coming. He kept his own vital juices bottled up inside. So that the following day in the gym, he tore into the heavy bag and his sparring partners with an animal ferocity born of sexual frustration and physical fight hunger.

  His strategy was simple—and as dirty as it came: let The Natural do the heavy lifting in the bedroom, blowing out his balls and his legs and his stamina with all the sexual activity, thereby dissipating his strength, just as Lloyd himself had done so many times in the past during his stunted fight career. Lloyd guided the enthusiastic youngster’s man-lust, unleashed it, but he held back on his own coming out party—that is, until fight night.

  * * *

  The temperature was over a hundred degrees in the outdoor ring that night, the humidity eighty percent. The Natural came out strong in the first few rounds, letting Lloyd have it with everything he had. But Pretty Boy held on, rubbed, rode out the storm, wily veteran that he was. And by the fifth round, Washington was already huffing and puffing, his mouth hanging open, gloves down, his legs lead weights that refused to carry him away from Lloyd’s sharp, accurate punches.

  Lloyd caught Washington up against the ropes in t
he tenth and pummeled him viciously, forcing the referee to step in and stop the fight. The Natural was out on his feet. He was fast asleep by the time they got him back to the dressing room.

  DeSalvo jerked up his fighter’s arm with glee. “We’ll get more big money TV fights now for sure!” he bellowed over the roar of the crowd. “You were sensational!”

  Pretty Boy Lloyd grinned, hardly a mark on him, his hard-on almost bursting his protective cup loose. “I could go another ten rounds—in or out of the ring,” he boasted back. “But I’m going to go check on Washington. See if I can console him.”

  “Yeah, you go give that bum some tender lovin’ care,” DeSalvo jibed.

  “Couldn’t have said it better myself, boss.”

  APPETITE

  Jordan Castillo Price

  Jonathan tried to make a show of pouting, but he was lousy at it. Or maybe he was actually too good at it, because I was putty in his hands whenever he made that sulky little face. He tilted his chin down, let his dark hair spill across his eyes, and urged me on in that sexy Hungarian accent, saying my name with that sultry roll of the R. “Just try, Mark.”

  I sighed. It’s not that I thought what he was asking for would be dangerous. Even with the small dose of aspirin he took, he was still a quick clotter. Quick enough that what he was proposing might not even work.

  He sidled over to my desk and closed my laptop, which gave a mournful beep at being so rudely dismissed and then went into sleep mode. “Tonight.” Jonathan’s eyes bored into mine.

  I had a feeling I wasn’t going to get out of it, but I had to at least nod toward decorum. “Why tonight?”

  “Because while you were up here writing, I’ve been getting ready.”

  This thing he’d been angling for—I hadn’t realized there was any way to prepare.

  But now we subscribed to all the V-magazines, even a lurid one from Germany, as well as the special subscription cable channels and the V-world website set as our home page. If a special preparation existed, Jonathan probably knew exactly how to go about it. I looked back at him and raised my eyebrows in expectation.

  His long-sleeved T-shirt was a black V-fabric affair that hugged every chiseled contour. He pulled it up slowly, inch by inch, exposing his rock-hard abs, muscle after muscle. The tiny line of dark hair under his navel. His ribs. His nipples. I shifted a little but couldn’t look away. He slid the shirt over his head, his hair momentarily trapped, then spilling down almost to his shoulders in a glossy, black tangle.

  “Okay,” I said. “You’ve got my attention.”

  His shirt dropped to the floor. He wet his mouth, and then trailed a fingertip across his chest.

  “Look,” he said.

  I blinked and wondered what I was supposed to see. It was brutal, so much hotness, like staring into the sun. His paint-stained finger trailed over his chest, up his shoulder, down, languidly, as if he were modeling the wedding band he’d designed for us. But then I realized he wasn’t showing off his handiwork—he was showing me a vein. I glanced up at his eyes and he smiled, satisfied.

  “They’re bulging,” I said.

  “Weight training. Don’t worry, I was careful not to overdo.”

  I reached out to him, ran my finger down the vein he’d shown me, noticed everywhere it branched, connected, forming a whole network beneath his pale, translucent skin. And it turned me on, got me salivating, all at the same time. My god. I was drooling over the thought of what he wanted me to do. Damn him for his persistence.

  “How long do we have?” My voice sounded dry.

  “Plenty of time.” He unhitched the buttons on his jeans with one hand and let the front fall open. His lower belly was a road map of veins.

  My breath caught.

  “See?” He sat on the floor and pulled me down beside him. When he shoved my hand down the front of his pants, I felt the bulging blood vessels, hard, pulsing and vibrant. “You like it.”

  My salivary glands continued working overtime and I had to swallow—and swallow again. “It’s definitely . . . well . . .”

  “Come on.” He fell back. “I’m ready to be ravished.”

  He grinned up at me and used the tip of his tongue to toy with one of his fangs, causing me to wonder who was getting ravished, him or me? Not that I was complaining. My gaze trailed from his sinful, dark eyes, inching downward, enjoying every carved hill and valley, until I again came to those veins beneath his navel.

  “I want you to bite my neck.”

  I felt a thrill that my puritanical brain tried to smother. “That’s too dangerous.” Okay, I know. Like anything was dangerous compared to surviving the ravages of the Human Hemovore Virus.

  He pouted. Oh, man, what a pout. “My shoulder, then?” I didn’t answer. He sighed and raised his eyebrows. “What is it? You want me to beg?”

  “You beg pretty well; I’ll give you that.” I straddled his legs and buried my nose in his hair. It smelled like shampoo with an undertone of linseed oil and turpentine from his studio. “But no. You know I’m not into power plays.”

  Jonathan slid his hands up under my shirt and dragged his fingertips along my back. He wedged a knee between my legs and rocked his crotch into my thigh. Another wicked thrill—the way he approached it, sex, always flustered me and turned me on at the same time. The guy who’d once been unable to complete a successful pat on the arm was now humping my leg; copping feels in taxis; whispering dirty, dirty things in my ear at boring dinner parties where we couldn’t eat anything anyway.

  “Mark, fuck me while you do it.”

  My hands, as if outside my active control, grabbed his jeans by the front pockets and started tugging them down. Where’d he learn to talk like that in English—porn videos? I couldn’t say things that crude. Not out loud. He twisted to dig something out of the back pocket while I stripped him, tossing the items on the floor beside us. A small bottle of lube and an X-Acto blade. I shivered.

  He’d been barefoot, and once I got the jeans off, he just lay there looking up at me, naked, waiting. My gaze roamed his body. Veins showed everywhere, so much more prominent than usual, bulging over his shin, a pale blue web on his inner thigh. His hard belly, though—I couldn’t stop looking there; it had me mesmerized.

  I dropped my face to his stomach and kissed it. His hands went to my head and held me by the hair while he sighed, and I felt him stiffen against my collarbone. I dragged my lips over him, his fine, silky skin stretched over rock-hard muscle and bone—and now vein.

  My salivary glands continued to pump as I took an abdominal vein between my lips, grazing it with my tongue. I could feel his pulse pounding, my heart stuttering as if to time itself to Jona-than’s rhythms.

  “Or there,” he gasped. And he didn’t sound so cocky anymore, pardon the choice of words. “You could do it there.”

  But it seemed a shame to waste all that good spit. Plus, he was sliding his hard-on along the side of my neck, so things pretty much handled themselves. I trailed my tongue lower, lavishing his stiff cock with attention while he panted and clutched my hair. I’ve told him to go easy on the hair, but he always seems to forget when I’ve got his dick halfway down my throat.

  I had him nice and wet and all the way in, my head fixed between his hands while he flexed his hips upward, moaning. “Please.” I tried to imagine us as we were back before his virus took me, a positive/negative blood-bond where the nourishment only went one way. I just couldn’t picture it anymore, though. Couldn’t imagine not kissing him, not touching him, not tasting him. More power to people who can live on flowers and poetry, but it just wasn’t me.

  I relaxed my throat and concentrated on the sensation of him sliding along the roof of my mouth, the faint hint of salty precome, the big vein I could feel rubbing against my tongue. Jonathan’s hips dropped down to the carpet, but his hands stayed clenched in my hair. “I don’t want to come yet,” he said.

  Normally, I’d keep going and figure I could always bring him to that point again, maybe even a few times over the course of the evening, but there was some challenge that appealed to me in choreographing the blood and the sex and both of our climaxes. He let go of me when I eased him out of my mouth. I gave the salty tip a final lingering lick.