Lover Boys Forever (24 page)

I moved to Pittsburgh and taught English at one of the public schools. The teaching job sucked
, and I felt like a full-time baby-sitter; so much for that career and four-year degree being of much use. The job lasted me six months before I said fuck it and quit. When misery is found, make better; this is what I always say.

Two weeks later I started an office job at Mills & Tucker Insurance. I was an assistant
’s monkey boy. My duties entailed proofing insurance letters, filing, buying office supplies, making coffee, and … frequently getting banged by my immediate supervisor over the Xerox copier.

The bottom
-banger just happened to be Coop, my long-time crush; a rather pleasurable fringe benefit that came with the job.

It was typical sexual harassment in an office setting that was accomplished by Coop:

“Mr. Blue, can you please bend over and pick up my Waterman?”

“
Mr. Blue, I think you’ve been working out … Let me touch your bicep.”

“
Mr. Blue, we need to discuss your ass … I mean tasks.”

I put out on his desk, under his desk, against his city
-view window, in his office chairs, against his walls, and just about every place I could put out. Most of the time we practiced baseball positions (catcher and pitcher) together opposed to reviewing insurance claims. Not that either of us gave a shit, though, since we found each other irresistible.

After six months underneath him, he gave me a raise and a new title: Extraordinaire Office Hump. I took it. What underling wouldn
’t?

# # # # #

How and why did I fall for a guy like Cooper Diller? He wasn’t Hollywood good looking. He wasn’t rich. He didn’t drive a Bentley. And sometimes his shirts were horribly pressed. The man worked out a little too much, and he was a health nut. He liked to gossip and rarely visited his relatives. But … none of those details prevented me from being his sex-toy, lunch-fuck, or officer-bangee. I liked him completely, not just for the sex. I could cry on his shoulder if I needed to. I could tell him dark secrets when there was no one else to tell. I could …

There was a tinder box inside my apartment on Moss Street in South Side. Every single time he visited me
, he placed a piece of scrap paper inside the box. One word was printed on each piece of paper: hug, kiss, suck, food, pat, jerk, mad, blow, hold, date, sleepover, beer, movies, eats, trip, and many others.

We played another game with each other; we always played games with each other.

The Bromance Game we called it.

The rules were simple: you removed a slip of paper from the tinder box; you read it; you did what was on the piece of paper to your partner. Coop was always my partner; no, let me restate that … Coop was my only partner, just the way I wanted it.

If the small slip of paper said fuck, we fucked. If it said hold, we snuggled for the evening. If it said trip, we went gambling. If it said eat, we went out to dinner in Shadyside or Greentree. If it said blow, we did a sixty
-niner on my bed or on the apartment’s secondhand sofa.

The game never got old; the games still never get old.

# # # # #

2003. Bush was President of the free world
, and it was the year when NASA launched the space shuttle Columbia, the United States planned to invade Iraq to capture Saddam Hussein, and Coop and I became monogamous with each other. Our relationship took off, exactly the way we knew it would. Serendipity at work. Real dates occurred. Ice skating. Movie dates. Walks in Frick Park. Boating on the Monongahela. Bar dates. Poker nights with his male pals. Roller derby. Penguins games. Gambling at The Mountaineer in West Virginia. Steelers games. Bicycling. Rock climbing. Shopping dates. Just about every date we could possibly share together, we did, and happily.

The sex on those dates was original by all means. Coop read John Patrick short stories and tried every position the queer author wrote about. Stories by Patrick became our sexual guide in and out of the bedroom. Heated sex between our bodies ensued for the next month, three months, six more months, and then …

“I have this idea, Mark.”

“
What kind of idea?”

We were at The Mortal Man Bar & Grill on Glenbury Street, drinking our asses off and trying to pick up a cute and well
-built redhead to have a safe threesome with. The bar wasn’t packed since it was only four o’clock in the afternoon. A few other queers lingered about the place, mostly drunken fags with broken hearts who were listening to The Stones on the overhead speakers.

“
Spill it. What kind of idea?” My gaze scanned a musclehead with a bulging chest, lisp, ginger-colored hair, and almost-amber tinted eyes. The guy was drop dead gorgeous. I knew he was the one we would go home with and spend a few hours fucking.

“
An on-line dating site for fags. What do you think?”

“
That’s a bad bromance ready to happen.”

My boyfriend grinned from ear to ear again.
“Exactly the opposite, my friend. I like that name. You’ll be partners with me, right?”

Was he talking about a
website-based business relationship or becoming his partner for life? Something told me he was talking about both.

“
Our Bad Bromance,” I said. “It has potential.”

“
You have potential,” he admitted, kissed me on the lips, got me drunk, and took me home with the musclehead guy with red hair.

# # # # #

Kain was the guy’s name that we picked up. He had a ten-inch cock that was cut, pierced nipples, and a sun tattoo on the nape of his back. That’s really all I knew about him that first night. No last name. No age. No history. No phone number. A stranger for our needs. A find for us. A toy for that November night.

The erotic details with the play
-thing were hardly forgettable. Kain begged for our cocks in his mouth and asshole. Coop was good with that and took over the guy’s face. I was in charge of his tight and hairless ass. Together we worked him over while Kain was on his hands and knees. A video camera filmed the whole thing. Coop said he thought about uploading the hour-long flick to the Internet, but never did. Heatedly, we stared at each other while we banged the guy. As I plowed his bottom, Coop plowed his mouth. It was adult film making to the nth degree. Our labor of lust was unstoppable and prize-winning and … glue that kept us together and sent our relationship to new heights – always.

# # # # #

Kain lived with us for about two months. Talk about an uber-alternative relationship back then. Three men under one roof and … each other. Three men who showered side by side by side, and ate together, went clubbing together, and had sex with each other. The ultra-bromance. Our life of threesomehood.

We never asked Kain to leave; he did that on his own. He met a professor named Milton. An English guru from Pitt. They fell in love and … I think they
’re still a couple today. In fact, I believe Kain obtained a doctorate in English and teaches at the university with his lover, in the same department. I wouldn’t be surprised if the two weren’t writing a gay mystery together, or something like that for queer readers. The perfect faggot couple. Queen bliss.

“
Just the two of us,” Coop said after Kain’s tender goodbye.

“
The way it ought to be.”

“
I’ll miss him.”

“
Likewise.”

“
But it doesn’t mean I fell in love with him.”

“
No way.”

“
That stuff is between you and me.”

“
What stuff?”

“
The love stuff, Mark.”

He totally caught me off guard
, and I stared hard at him. “You love me?”

“
Something like that.”

I was drawn into his hulking arms and he kissed me. Thereafter, the conversation was soon lost because we had guy
-with-guy sex together for the rest of the evening and long into the night … just the two of us.

The world was such a small place, even in 1993. How old was I back then? Twenty-three? Twenty-four? Some irrational number that screamed I was young, fun, and filled with cum. Most of the guys I dated called me handsome and hard, a sex maniac, a porn star. Others simply liked me for my brain: he knows how to spell, and he’s quite crafty with beads and glitter.

When Coop and I graduated from high school
, we lost a few years together. But there were times when we saw each other, particularly in 1993 when
The Piano
and
Jurassic Park
ruled at the box office, when Meatloaf sang about doing anything for love, and Janet Jackson rocked the house with “That’s the Way Love Goes,” and people were reading
The Bridges of Madison County
, crying their asses off, and others were reading
Lasher
by Anne Rice. A blizzard froze over a quarter of the country that year, IBM took a huge loss, and Bill Clinton succeeded George H.W. Bush as the forty-second President. Rodney King testified that his civil rights were violated. Microsoft released Windows 3.11. President Clinton announced his “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy.

Was it a good year? Some would say yes. But honestly, I only thought it was good when I bumped into Coop, and we shared some heavy
-duty quickies …

# # # # #

Winter:

I stood in the three
-feet of snow that took over Pittsburgh in March. The gas tank in my Buick 88 was almost empty, and I was pumping fuel into it. The wind was biting, and the sky was nothing but a sheet of white frosting. Some thought it was the end of the world. Armageddon had finally discovered the human race. Others thought Jesus was going to slip out of heaven and rescue us from the damnation of the world’s fury. I just thought it was a pretty wild snowstorm and nothing more.

I had stopped smoking weed, but I hadn
’t stopped drinking. No longer was I addicted to amphetamines; I read six hundred-page novels to keep my mind off the pills:
The Stand
,
War and Peace
, and
Gone With the Wind
. I was sleeping around a lot; I remember that like it was yesterday. I didn’t have a boyfriend, I had sleepovers: Richard, Dodger, Phil, Hank, and Quall. I was underweight and needed to put some muscle on my body; all the sex I had didn’t help. I was mostly tired and rarely ate.

Coop found me at Mercano
’s Fill-up. He snaked around one of the pumps and bloomed with a smile of intoxicated interest. As a hug ensued, he said, “I thought that was you.”

“
One hundred percent me.”

We kissed in public, which could have gotten us killed back then. We stood in the freezing cold for the next ten minutes and talked about the last year: he was taking business classes at Pitt; I was ingesting drugs; he lived in an apartment in North Side, next to Three Rivers Stadium; I stayed with whomever I could.

“I live around the block. Do you want to come over and have a cup of cock?”

He said that. No shit. No lies. And I laughed.

“I meant coffee. Yeah ... coffee.”

“
Of course you did, Coop,” I sarcastically replied and winked at him in a playful and agreeable nature.

We climbed into our cars
, and I followed him to his apartment. Once inside, overlooking the blizzard, secluded in his one-bedroom place with the heat at full blast, our clothes came off, we bumped bodies together, and I spent the next twenty-four hours with him, mostly under his weight and flannel sheets.

# # # # #

Spring: Early June.

I ended up at Coop
’s apartment on Sass Street, naked and snuggled between his legs. His nine-inch cock was pressed into the tunnel of my throat, and I toyed with his droopy balls. Slurps, moans, and grunts of erotic pleasure exited my mouth. Hip-thrusts from the guy gagged me, but I really didn’t care much. My fingers discovered his hairy chest, rolled over his furred abs, tweaked his pert nipples, and touched the base of his smooth chin in a moderately sexy manner.

“
Blow me,” he whispered above me. “Don’t stop.”

I didn
’t stop … at least not until he decided to come. What kind of afternoon fling was I if I had stopped blowing him before he burst his creamy and bittersweet load all over my face, which was exactly what I wanted him to accomplish?

Where was Coop
’s boyfriend during that springtime afternoon when the warm and cozy June sun splayed over our naked bodies? Jake, John, Jonas – whatever his name was – had a meeting in Oakland at Pitt. While the boyfriend was away, I played … with Coop. Why not? Any horny young man like me would have, right?

He choked me with his cock. Something told me he wanted to, and laughed about it. Coop
’s fingertips dug into the back of my skull and he pushed my face over his sultry and alluring goods, which almost suffocated me, but in a good way, of course. “Suck the ooze out of me, guy,” he called down and over my bare back. “Don’t be shy.”

I didn
’t eat any man’s juice, not even Coop’s. Yes, I had a lot of sex, but it was always safe. A blowjob was fine to carry out, but not a cum-lunch for my gut. Instead, my head bobbed up and down in an uproarious manner. I used my tongue on his pole, applied suction to the meat and …

He huffed and puffed above me on the queen
-size bed where he fucked his boyfriend of six months: Jake, John, Jonas – whatever his name was. Grunts of euphoria filled the room from his mouth. A long moan of passion echoed off the walls. Then he quickly pushed my head away and gushed a load on my right cheek and neck. Spew shot out of his hard pecker and drizzled my flesh. Warm, sticky churn glazed my skin, ending my blowjob on the bed with him, our afternoon quickie, and something that prompted my immediate escape from the apartment before his boyfriend returned home to enjoy some sloppy seconds with his dude.

# # # # #

Summer:

The day was steamy hot and all the city boys chose not to wear shirts. Beefy chests glowed in the summertime sun. Sweat rolled down and over carved abs. Treasure trails were coated in thin layers of masculine perspiration. Biceps gleamed with bronze tans. Navels were puckered and dribbled with enriching sunshine.

Jake, John, or Jonas was no longer Coop
’s boyfriend. Coop had another man attached to his right arm: Stone. A medium-size guy who looked exactly like Jesus. I bumped into the pair on the Birmingham Bridge, which crossed the Monongahela River. Coop and I almost ran into each other, grazing shoulders together. Stone almost took my face off because he obviously suffered from an anger management problem and felt that I was bothering his boyfriend.

“
Coop, how are you?” I started the conversation, glowing with a smile.

He was apprehensive at first to answer me. Almost shy. It took me less than ten seconds to realize he was acting.
“What’s your name again?”

I told him.

“Yeah, that’s right. I’ve been great, how are you?”

“
Swell.” Hard for him. Horny for him. Needing his cock in my throat again.

“
How long has it been?”

Honestly, it was three days ago. I enjoyed a face fuck with him on Sass Street. Stone was out with a bunch of his buddies
, and Coop stayed behind, so I could use his cock like a toy. “I can’t remember.”

“
Stone, this is Mark Blue. We go way back.”

I shook Stone
’s hand.

Unimpressed with me, he nodded his head. Then he asked,
“Were you two boyfriends?”

Coop and I both shook our heads.

“Just wondering,” Stone added and …

Almost ten hours later, when Stone went to see Green Day in concert at the Civic Arena, I ended up back at the apartment on Sass Street, between his boyfriend
’s legs, under his weight, and had Coop’s condom-covered cock pressed into the deepest reaches of my bottom … until he shot his load in the plastic that separated our connected bodies in relentless lust.