Coming Together: With Pride (18 page)

"In your dreams," he said, watching my hips rise and fall beneath my lingering hands, "you say I touch you. How? Like this?"

His hands came down over mine, following the movements exactly. I bit my lip.

"Yes, just like that."

I guided Gabe for a bit, writhing beneath our combined caress before letting him take over entirely. Then I lay back on the bed and watched the angel of my dreams do what I had so desperately wanted for so many years. He stroked and fondled my cock, playing with the head and teasing my weeping slit. And all the while, he kept watching, studying my shame and desire. When his eyes finally moved from my groin to my face, I thought I might die.

"God and your mother would not be pleased," he whispered. The words sent a shiver through me, but his tone was one of fascination, not rebuke. His eyes stayed locked on mine, and his hands continued stroking, touching.

"Is that so?" I managed to gasp. "Well now we're going to do something they really wouldn't like. Put my cock in your mouth, Gabe."

He arched an eyebrow at me, and I squirmed, mortified by my own request. "Please," I whispered.

"You mean like a kiss?" he asked.

"Better than a kiss. You wrap your lips around my dick, and suck... oh, God, yes!"

I could touch myself, but I could never give myself head. I just wasn't that flexible. So I had no idea how good it would feel when Gabe's lips closed over my cock, enveloping me in wet heat. He sucked gently, his cheeks collapsing with each draw on my dick. I watched him, as fascinated with him as he had been when he watched me. His head moved up and down, synthetic saliva coating my shaft. I curled my fingers in his golden hair and urged him on. Countless memories flooded my brain—night after night of me touching myself, then Gabe gently forbidding and restraining my hands. Now his hands picked up where mine had been forced to leave off so many times. My guardian angel gripped my cock in his fist as he sucked on the head, fellating me toward holy rapture.

Then without warning, he stopped.

"What's wrong?" I demanded, suddenly cold. "Why did you stop?"

"I feel strange," he replied.

I looked down and saw how his robes tented over his groin. The sight made me want to jump up and praise God. "You're aroused. That means you want it, too. Come here."

I drew Gabe to me and closed my mouth on his beautiful full lips. My hands pulled at his robes, which came open with surprising ease. Pretty soon, Gabe was naked and kissing me back. He was gorgeous, like an angel was supposed to be. His sculpted figure was hairless, even under his arms and between his legs. I reached for his smooth groin, cupping his balls and then fondling his cock. Gabe gasped and arched his back.

"Daniel, what is happening to me?"

I pulled the robes out from beneath him and tossed them to the floor. "The Second Coming?" I suggested, planting kisses on his neck and chest. "Or maybe the first for you, since you've never done this before."

Gabe grabbed my hand and placed it between his legs again, rubbing it hard against his swollen dick. I pulled it away, and he groaned.

"Payback is hell, Gabe. You tortured me for years. Now I get to torture you. Not for too long though. I promise."

I kept kissing and exploring, moving as slowly as I could. Gabe writhed beneath me, a vision of torment and delight.

"Is this how it felt, all those years?" Tears gilded his eyes. "Is this the sin I strove to prevent? How could you bear it? How did you survive?"

His hips moved against mine; his fingers pulled at my nipples. I hissed and bit his neck. Long legs wrapped around mine and we twined, serpent-like, on the sheets of my childhood bed. I came first, spraying white hot ropes of semen all over his silky, hairless body. Then I rolled Gabe onto his back and sucked on his cock so that he too could experience the rapture. His first orgasm made him cry out, and afterward, he curled against me until I grew hard again and started humping his leg once more.

And so we went, back and forth, invoking Heaven on Earth for hours on end until the sun came up and exhausted, we finally fell into blessed sleep.

****

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.
I was a dirty, nasty boy last night, and I blew my load all over an angel's face. He looked just like you...

"Gabe, are you sure about this?"

We stood outside the entrance to Santa Luciana's Hospital, the place where I once stayed years ago after slitting my wrists. It sat just outside the borders of Bible Land, a haven beyond the reach of the Moral Minority. The sprawling hospital building gleamed pearl white in the afternoon light, with its emerald gardens stretching out in all directions. It was a peaceful place, a place of life and hope. It was where I first learned that maybe it was okay to feel want and desire. And it was where I first saw Father Raphe.

Gabe held my hands, his thumbs gently stroking the palms. "I am not sure of anything anymore, Daniel. Before last night, I was a guardian angel. I followed my programming, certain that I was doing God's will. Now that programming is gone, and all I have left are questions." He let go of my hands and sighed. "I want to do God's work the way it should be done. I want to watch over people and heal them, not drive them to harm. If this place helped you heal, then here is a good place to start."

"But you're my guardian angel." I grabbed at his robes, trying to pull him back to me. As oft times before, Gabe gently pulled my hands away.

"No, Daniel. I am the one who sinned against you. I do not have the proper programming yet to undo the harm I did to you, and if I stay with you I may hurt you even more."

My lower lip trembled. "So who's going to watch over me, if not you?"

"Why not your real guardian angel? Does he not already look after you?"

"You mean Father Raphe?" I covered my face with my hands. Slow heat crawled up my neck. How many times had I called out his name last night when I was in bed with Gabe? "He used to work here as a counselor," I confided at last, hugging myself. "He'd come by my room everyday to talk, but I always ran away and hid."

"Don't run away anymore. Go see him, face to face. Please?"

"Maybe. We'll see."

I reached for Gabe and stole one last kiss. When I was done, he said, "Your mother would be disappointed. But I am not, and neither is God, I think. I will pray for you, Daniel."

"Okay. I'll pray for you, too."

And that's exactly what I did all the way home. I chanted Gabe's name to God until I was too tired to masturbate anymore.

That was three days ago. Today I'm standing on the steps of Santa Sophia cathedral in Old Los Angeles, watching the parishioners file in and out. Just beyond the doors, I can see the old style confessional boxes lined up along the walls of the entrance hall, and I'm tempted to run inside and hide in one, but I force myself to wait. It seems like an eternity before the box I've been watching opens and a priest steps out. He's tall and beautiful, with full lips and a touch of silver in his blond hair, and he reminds me of an angel I knew once, a long time ago. He heads outside, sees me on the steps and smiles. It's the polite smile one offers to people they don't know or recognize. I walk toward him, my heart in my throat.

"Father Raphe?" my voice cracks.

He stops abruptly, surprise clear on his face. It takes every ounce of will I have not to flee.

"Daniel? Is that you?"

I can't speak. I just stand there, shaking. What does he see as he looks at me? A sinner? A freak? Will he speak to me, or will he turn away?

Father Raphe smiles and holds out his hands. "It is you, isn't it? Come, I've waited so long to see you."

I can't do anything but collapse in his arms. "I love you," I manage to get out. It's the most frightening confession I've ever made.

"I know," he says, holding me. "I love you too, and I'm glad you're finally here. Why don't we go inside and I'll introduce you to Sister Anna. I think it's time we found you another confessor," he murmurs into my hair. "In light of the new relationship we're about to embrace. What do you say to that?"

I wrap my arms tight around his waist and laugh. "I think I say, 'Amen,' Father. Amen to that."

©

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Don't Look Down

Mari Freeman

He sat at the far end of the bar, his attention on the heavy crystal glass in his thick fingers. A brush of gray at his temples set off his haunting, silver-blue eyes. A slight twitch to tense muscle flexed his jaw. His tongue reached out and captured a drop of amber liquid left on his lower lip from his last sip. Cynthia shivered and watched as he gently shook the empty tumbler and set it on the polished mahogany, pushing it toward the bar keep.

This one was no uptight accountant, no ladder climbing cube dweller. He wore a tailored jacket over a fine turtleneck sweater that looked luxuriously soft. Her fingers vibrated with the want to touch it, to explore the man underneath. Dark jeans hung low on his hips instead of the slacks that should have accompanied the jacket. Too much disguised masculinity hid under those clothes. Veiled passion danced in his eyes. No, this one worked for no one. He called his own shots; a predator with charged charisma apparent in every movement.

He took a deep breath that made him appear impatient. Was he waiting for someone? She shifted in her seat, re-crossed her legs to ease the ache of her growing arousal, the movement unintentionally getting his attention. He looked in her direction, his gaze drifting lazily up her body, ending on her face, steel blue eyes locking directly with her moss green ones. She held her breath, clenched her thighs.

The noises of the bar drifted around them. The bartender slid a refreshed drink to the stranger, but his gaze remained locked on her. She was sure he hadn't blinked. His blatant masculinity was as arousing as his dominance was overwhelming. Appraising, then approving expressions moved over his face. No question. His intention was absolutely clear without uttering a single word. She could see his finger tap twice on the bar:
I will own you.

At the realization, gooseflesh traveled down her spine, adding another sensation to the sea of responses her body was having to his gaze. If she broke eye contact, looked down, submitted in any way, she would answer the question in those silver eyes. He was counting off. Four taps, five… did she have until ten to make up her mind? Didn't know, wasn't sure she was ready for this. Six, seven… His lip twitched into the barest hint of a knowing smile. Eight, nine…

She looked down into her glass. An answer.

A deep steadying breath did nothing to calm her racing heart. Taking the stem of the wine glass between shaking fingers, she tried to count to ten to calm herself, but only managed to remind herself of the thumping of his finger. A test. She hoped she passed.

Closing her eyes, not lifting her head, she took a timid sip of the wine, hoping the tartness of the alcohol would ease the shaking at her ankles that threatened to run up her body as easily as his gaze had done. No such luck. She slipped one hand down to grip the edge of the bar. Her nails dug into the highly varnished wood to prevent herself from fleeing toward her room.

So many nights, alone, thinking of a nameless, faceless
him
, dreaming of it. Hoping to find the one who could push her past her need to control and teach her to release, teach her liberation from accountability, freedom from liability. Was this the man to possess her, to push her past the fear? She'd put herself out on the limb. Now she had to be strong enough to hold on.