Safe in His Arms (3 page)

He knew as he took care of Lon’s needs that just because the man was accepting a blow job from another guy, it didn’t mean he was gay. A blow job is a blow job, right? It doesn’t matter if the mouth is male or female. But then Lon had done the kindest thing that anyone had done for Casey in a long while. Lon had
asked
him what
he
wanted. Most people either assumed they knew what he wanted, or thought that Casey was so fucked up that he couldn’t make a rational decision.

Lon had asked Casey if he wanted his mouth, his hand, or his fingers. It was a hard choice. All of the above? Lon’s willingness to reciprocate pleasure indicated that he was in fact gay. Thank the Lord! But it was the appreciative looks afterward that sealed it for Casey. Lon’s big body had sheltered Casey, making him feel safe enough to come—something that he hadn’t done in the presence of another body for ages. And now Lon was taking Casey with him to his bed.

Lon’s van was pretty standard. Rusting, white-fading-to-gray exterior, deflated tires, and with a large annex attached. The spiderwebs and weeds underneath the van proclaimed that it hadn’t been moved for ages. The annex was made of army-green canvas and Lon pushed inside, allowing Casey to follow through the flap. It had a canvas floor that had been covered with a couple of large foam mats. There was a single reclining lounge chair in front of an unplugged TV on a pile of boxes, a small, square table with three chairs, and a stack of plastic tubs in one corner. The room was illuminated with the exterior light on the caravan.

Casey watched with interest when Lon stripped the towel from his muscled body as soon as he was inside. He draped the towel over the back of one of the chairs at the table and continued inside, into the caravan. There was a clatter as Lon dumped his toiletries somewhere inside before calling, “Hurry up, I’m nearly asleep on my feet.”

Casey hurried on up the stairs. The caravan had a small kitchen, a curved seat around a small table, and a double bed at the far end. Lon was standing near the bed, unashamedly naked and pointing his finger in the direction of the mattress. “You can have the wall. Jump in while I secure the door. I plan to be asleep in thirty seconds.”

A shiver spiraled down Casey’s spine as Lon pushed past him and back out. That huge cock was a monster—both flaccid and aroused. It was accompanied by a large sack with two large balls inside. It was the biggest Casey had seen in person—which really wasn’t saying much, but was still worth noting. And Casey wanted to take lots of notes. If the subject of Lon’s cock had been a high school subject, then he’d have been a star pupil. His notebooks would’ve been filled with writing, and his homework completed every single night.

He quickly stripped, eager to obey Lon’s instructions. He had no nightclothes—not even boxer shorts to slip into—so he crawled across the mattress naked and dived under the sheets. He heard a zipper sound as Lon locked the door of the annex, then the van tilted slightly as Lon reentered. He closed and locked the caravan door, extinguished the lights, and then climbed into the bed.

“Good night.”

Lon’s rough voice floated over to Casey where he was curled up against the wall. The bed was too small for Lon, so his feet were surely hanging off the edge. He knew that Lon was tired, but Casey needed the human contact, so he snaked a hand under the covers until it hit skin. Then he curled his fingers around that piece of flesh, which turned out to be a solid, hairy forearm, and sighed, relaxing into the soft mattress and pillow.

“Thank you,” he whispered into the darkness and heard Lon grunt in reply. Within seconds Lon was asleep. Casey could tell by the way he crashed—his breathing deepened, his whole body relaxed and—oh, yeah—the couple of snores that chain-sawed from his mouth were a good indication. Casey didn’t mind the snoring. It was a real thing. None of that fake emotion that some guys gave you.

Casey’s head had been fucked with too much for him to decipher real emotion from pretend. First his father had fucked with his mind, and then his therapist. He should’ve really found another therapist since moving to Perth, as he’d promised his mother he would, but somehow that had been lost in his need to feel normal. Normal people didn’t need therapists, and Casey so much wanted to be just a regular Joe.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness in the caravan to a point where he could see Lon’s shadowed face. He’d watched earlier as Lon had shaved both his face and his head, but he knew that in the morning, Lon would be a big bear again. He shivered in anticipation. Was his desire for Lon real? Or simply a figment of his psyche?

He remembered the first meeting with Margaret, his court-appointed, government-paid counselor. At that stage he was still a shell-shocked fourteen-year-old, reeling from the events of the previous week and still wearing the fading bruises his own father had put there. He’d been scared, apprehensive, and weary of his life being torn apart by forces he had no control over. His mother had driven him to Margaret’s office and then left him. He knew now that his mother had been dealing with her own guilt and couldn’t face what she had allowed to happen, but at the time, it had seemed like another betrayal. Margaret had welcomed him with a pleasant smile and a calm tone. He’d allowed a sliver of hope—maybe this woman could take all the bad away.

She had helped. Oh, she didn’t take the bad away, but she helped him
deal
with the bad stuff. She made him realize it was not his fault, that he hadn’t asked for it, that it wasn’t right, and that sometimes bad things happen to people who don’t deserve them. She’d been great—for a while. The government had assigned him an older female as a therapist so it wouldn’t be so confronting to him.

Casey knew now that he should’ve asked for another counselor.

After six months of weekly sessions, Casey—then fifteen—had finally opened up another crack and admitted something to Margaret that he’d never spoken of before.
I feel attracted to men. I don’t care about women or girls. I like looking at men.

Unfortunately Margaret hadn’t believed him. She’d tried hard to get Casey to think that it was a result of his abuse, that he’d spent so much of his life trying to do everything to please his father that his own sexuality had been skewed.

It had been a long, long slog to try and change his attraction to older men. That was the worst thing that Margaret had fucked up with. She told him that his lust for bigger, older males was because he was looking for a father figure. Someone to replace the man who had meant so much to him and whom he’d tried so hard to please.

Yeah, right.

Casey shook his head at that way of thinking. Did Margaret truly believe that he wanted another man in his life who would tell him what to do, beat him purple if he displeased him, threaten him, and take advantage of him? Did Margaret really think that someone who had been
forced
to suck dick would do it voluntarily if it weren’t already a part of their genetic makeup?

Margaret had been all prune-mouthed and prudish when he pointed out the type of man that got his heart rate tripping. When she finally accepted that
perhaps
he
could
be gay, she warned him away from blokes like Lon. As a result Casey had never slept—in a bed—with someone as beautiful as the man beside him.

And he’d never felt so safe.

Morning arrived too soon for his liking. His bladder insisted it was time to get up, but he wanted to remain with Lon. They’d moved during the night. Lon was on his back still, but with his arms flung wide, taking up the entire width of the bed. Casey had migrated down until his back was curved into Lon’s side, his head resting on the mattress, below Lon’s armpit.

Casey snuck a quick look at his watch and marveled that it was 8:00 a.m. and he’d slept for at least eight hours straight. A record for him.

Lon slept on, so Casey carefully twisted around until he faced the large, muscled body of his hero. The man was literally covered with fur. The black stuff started on his shoulders and covered his entire chest all the way down. For some people it was a turn off, making them reach for the wax strip or razor, but to Casey it was gorgeous. It was a reminder of Lon’s masculinity. He wasn’t a pretty boy or a youth. Lon was man—all man—starting at the scratchy stubble on his chin and spreading everywhere. Lon was a bear. There was no doubt about it.

Some guys defined a bear as someone overweight with a hairy, tubby belly. But there was not an ounce of spare flesh on Lon. He was pure, pure muscle.

Casey sat up quietly, careful not to disturb the sleeping giant, and stared at Lon’s biggest and best feature. His cock was sleeping gently on one large, hairy thigh, and Casey looked his fill while he could. It was a darker color than the skin surrounding it, with large veins visible. Casey remembered the feel of it in his mouth and blushed. Had he really dropped to his knees in a shower room and sucked off a stranger’s gigantic erection?

Casey’s own erection was making itself known, reacting to memories and visual stimulation. He wondered what it would be like to have the right to touch that cock whenever he felt like, to curl up in bed every night with someone like Lon, to have the man at his side permanently?

Even if Casey were ready for a relationship, it wouldn’t be someone like Lon. Someone like Lon wouldn’t choose someone like Casey for a boyfriend. Lon deserved someone much better.

He crept off the bed and gathered his clothes, quickly stepping into them without waking Lon. As he did, a photograph caught his eye, displayed in a plain, black frame and hung on the wall above the microwave. There weren’t any other pictures or photographs in the van that Casey could see, so this one had to be special in some way. It was Lon—a younger Lon without the beard, but still recognizable. He wasn’t as pumped in the photograph, but he still had muscles on display in the tank top and shorts he was wearing. His arm was slung around the neck of another guy, their heads together, grinning at the camera as they stood on some beach on a bright day. The look of happiness and love in Lon’s eyes was magical.

Casey moved closer and stared at the other man—the one that Lon obviously loved to pieces. They were of similar age in the photo—about mid-to-late twenties. The other man was thin and had darker skin—perhaps of Aboriginal heritage? He had bright white teeth with caring brown eyes and his arm was encircling Lon’s waist.

Casey wondered where this man was today. If Lon still displayed their photo together, then he was someone special. An old boyfriend Lon still desired? Who dumped who? Maybe they were still in a relationship together, but just not in the open.

Unable to admit to the lump of disappointment that had formed in his stomach, Casey gave the hunk on the bed one more glance and snuck out, gently closing the door behind him. He was grateful to Lon for providing eight hours of peace, but he knew it couldn’t last.

Chapter 3

L
ON
SURFACED
a bit before midday with a rumbling stomach, a bursting bladder, and a monster erection that was begging for some relief from a cute little twink. Unfortunately the twink had disappeared.

Lon swallowed his dissatisfaction and got on with life. His first day home was usually pretty busy—clothes to wash, the van to clean out and around, bills to pay, friends to catch up with. But he kept thinking about Casey. Did the guy often blow strangers in the toilet and then follow them home? What was he scared of? When did he leave? How could Lon find him again?

He caught up with some mates at the local hotel for a couple of beers and a pub meal, but didn’t stay long. It usually took him a few days to readjust his body clock, so at 9:00 p.m. he waved goodbye and walked home. He didn’t own a car, for it would have to sit for two-thirds of the time. Besides, his legs worked just fine.

The park was quiet as he entered through the front gate and wandered down the access road to his van. He waved to Terry and Sue, who were still sitting in front of their cabin sharing a bottle of wine, and noted that Mrs. Saxby’s little fence needed some screws—he’d do that for her tomorrow. There were some new people in Mr. Graham’s place, now that Mr. Graham had been moved to an aged-care home. Lon knew that Mr. Graham didn’t want to go, but he had to admit he was glad the old guy was getting some help. Lon used to worry that he would be the person to find the dead body should Mr. Graham pass away while living at the park.

Lon’s van stood on the second to last row, so he was well adjusted to the dim lighting in the park when he spotted the person waiting in the shadows between his annex and Mrs. Petersen’s van. He could see shoes and legs in the soft light, and just a dark shadow where the body was sitting and leaning against his canvas. Lon’s steps faltered for a moment as he quickly scanned the area for other would-be muggers. Then he focused and strode quickly to the space between the vans, determined to scare the guy enough that he’d not only shit his pants, but never again think that elderly people in a caravan park were a soft target for robbery.