The Price Of Dick

 
The Price Of Dick

By

Dan Skinner

My special thanks to Laura Harner and Tina Marie
Adamski, without whom this book would not be. And to the real "Alexes" who are the glue that holds us together.

Thank you to my betas: Christy, Lara and Lauren.
Special thanks to Lisa and A.J.

Okay, what is this you
’ve latched on to here? Well, it’s not so much a confessional as it is a documentation of how you can screw your life up when you think with your dick instead of your head. It’s a tell-all, so you’ll enjoy the drama and sex and cum-splatter that goes along with that. Enjoy the ride. Look to your left. I’m the guy walking miraculously away from the car wreck on the side of the road.

Well, here I am. Most of you know who I am and what I do. I
’m J.J. Johnstone. One of those guys whose parents blessed him with three names starting with the same first letter. Just to be defiant, I learned to sign each name with a different style “J.” It stands for Jeremiah Justin Johnstone. No one has ever called me either of those first two names. I’ve always been J.J.

You
’ve seen my photography on practically every gay blog, on countless male/male romance novels and in the magazines. Most of you know I’ve written a little gay romance novel. It’s done rather well, lots of five star reviews and most of you didn’t expect that because... well, it was written by a photographer. I have a unique way of mixing the profane with the poetic as any artist does, so beware. I’ve been doing all this for a while now. Almost thirteen years total, which is why my name is well known and my style recognizable. However, very few of you know anything personal about me because I’ve always been a very private individual. For a lot of reasons. But mainly one. The man I lived with for all that time. The monster in the closet who I protected.

That
’s about to change right now. And there are a number of reasons why I’m suddenly going to reveal intimate, really dirty damn secrets about myself in ways I’d have never thought to do even a year ago. Things change. Sometimes not for the better. Sometimes strangely. I hope you have the good fortune and common sense after reading this to learn from my errors. If not, then just sit back and enjoy my really big, fat, gay, perverted soap opera.

I
’m a bit older than when this began, but I was thirty years old when I met the incredibly beautiful young man who eventually tried to ruin my life. He was twenty-one, fresh out of college. I was just out of a long-term relationship that ended well. The two of us had managed to go our separate ways and stay friends. I like that. I like being able to part with someone and be nice about it so that when we see each other unexpectedly at a party it’s not pistols at twenty paces. It’s nice to be able to carry on a conversation like the gentlemen we consider ourselves to be.

Back to the gorgeous bastard who created all the hell for me in spite of how many times we sucked each other
’s dicks over the last few years, how many times we fucked each other, how many people we’ve paraded through our house for mutual sexcapades that were wild, torrid, and sometimes depraved. You’d think with a history like that, we’d be celebrating every year like it was a golden anniversary; flowers, dinners at expensive restaurants, surprise boy toys to share in bed. Unfortunately, that’s someone else’s story. I’ve joined Calvin Klein’s club. And why is that not us celebrating over there, you ask? Because he’s a closet case. Not a typical one, but the worst closet case on planet earth. And I couldn’t take it anymore. When my patience ran out, that’s when the gates of hell opened.

Don
’t worry. I’m not going to solicit your sympathy. I blame myself one hundred percent, have kicked myself mentally many times by now. I don’t know who I’m angrier with…me, or the real boogie man who lived in there among the coats and hangers. But truly, honestly, deep down, I should have expected trouble...I nurtured this creature.

I met him in a gym. Saw him right when he walked in; couldn
’t take my eyes off of him. Now as I describe him, I want you to understand that I’m a photographer, so I find the oddest things attractive. My description of handsome would probably not be the same ideal the fashion or bodybuilding magazines deal in. I like faces that are intriguing and different. I don’t mind athletic bodies, but they aren’t a required component in a beautiful man for me. He had that kind of intriguing face that my artist’s eye is drawn to. Almost like an anvil with all its sharp angles. Two inches of hard chin, high planed cheekbones, deep set, large blue eyes and blond wavy hair. He was taller than me by four inches, muscular in a nice but not overdone way, and rather hairy. By that I mean his chest and upper torso were covered in hair, but it grew in an appealing way that I admired as a photographer. It was dark blond like the hair on his legs. (And ass, which I finally saw in the shower.) And it was a nice, ample ass. Definitely his most prominent feature, and one I certainly couldn’t take my eyes off the first few days of that first week he came into the gym before I forced an introduction of myself onto him.

Yeah, it was
me. I went after it. The way the women were eyeing him in that gym, if I didn’t make a beeline to him through the crowd of female flesh surrounding him, they’d have made themselves like barbed wire, impossible to get past.

Just
being around him gave me an erection. I started to wear longer workout shirts just to be able to have a conversation with him. Especially when he got up from a bench to pick up or put down some weights and his shorts rode up the crack of that nice, plump ass.

Now, of course, most of you don
’t even know what I look like, so let me first start by telling you what I looked like back then when I was a hot thirty-year-old. I was five foot eight inches of solid, maturing man muscle. I had a nice tan from jogging outdoors on a regular basis, and I drove a brand new Camaro. Yep, the stereotypical symbol of the madness of encroaching middle age. My hair had always been natural platinum blond. Went that way when I was twenty-one, but when you’re only thirty, people don’t assume it’s gray. They just think it’s very, very blonde. And I was quite a sexual person. Especially recently untangled from a long-term relationship with a man who was older than me. I was definitely sowing some wild oats... but we’ll get to all that in just a bit because that sowing is actually what I used to seduce the handsome hunk. I need for you to get to know him a bit better because if I’m going to be really fair in this story, I have to tell you all the things that made me mad crazy to have him naked in bed with me at first.

In the week after I introduced myself by walking up and asking to work with him on some weights.
..(How many gay guys in a gym haven’t used that line? Fess up!). He introduced himself as Richard Fitch,
“but everyone calls me Dick.”
I learned he worked in investments at the company right up the street from the gym, North American Investments. He was a newbie. He joined the gym with his twin older brothers and dad to play handball, and he was the only one of them who actually used the weight facilities. After I saw them, I could believe it. He was the pick of the litter in that family for sure.

I tried not to be too obnoxious
by moving in on him every time he came into the gym. There were quite a few days I didn’t approach him at all. But I watched his every move in the mirrors. As for his demeanor, I will say right off, he’s not someone you’d think is gay or even bisexual based on his mannerisms. He works the manly-man, Navy SEAL tough exterior like a pro. Anyone else would look at him and think him straight, and that, as you will see, was extremely important to him.

I did sense a very strong
sense of curiosity. He didn’t mind people paying attention or looking at him. There was a narcissistic streak broader than a stretch of four-lane highway. He knew that both women and men watched, and he probably knew that the attention I was paying to him was because I wanted to get into his pants. I think that knowledge is what generated a certain degree of arousal. Knowing that somebody really wanted him gave him the sense of power that he craved. I certainly don’t mind letting people think they have the power in our relationship if it helps loosen the zippers and gets me what I want as well. They can play King Kong all day long, and I’m happy to play their Faye Wray.

The good thing I had going for me in the beginning was that he didn
’t make himself too friendly with the others around him in the gym. They needed to impose their presence on him like I’d done. Waiting for him to approach them would get them nowhere. That indicated to me that there was still a degree of youthful insecurity in him.

Anyway, the innocent
chitchat persisted between us for a month or so. The turning point was when he heard me having a conversation with someone else about how I’d grown to loathe my Camaro because it was like an uncontrollable sleigh when it came into contact with the slightest amount of precipitation. It had done a one-eighty on the highway when I applied the brakes during a rainstorm, and left me facing traffic, terrified. I was ready to find something to drive that didn’t jeopardize my life. This time he actually walked up to me and offered advice on buying a car because the rates were blah-blah and they were going to be blah-blah for the entire year. It was something he knew from his job. That day, I went out and bought a brand new PT Cruiser. Something that could stop on a dime...and on a wet street. Safely. The next day I let him know I’d taken his advice. I could tell it stroked his pride. I was ready to take advantage of that. I invited him out for a drink at the local Houlihan’s. He accepted. I could practically taste his dick in my mouth. I think I had an erection the minute he said, “Sounds good, sure.”

It
was on this occasion that I learned enough pertinent, though incidental information about Dick that should have told me to back off and allow him to remain a warm and fuzzy masturbatory fantasy. But I was a man and thinking with the part of me that throbbed under the zipper in my jeans.

He was a recent graduate from
a college within our state university system with a degree in whatever gets you in the door of a prestigious financial investment firm. He still lived with his folks, although his brothers, both older, both married, had kids and their own homes. He was single, recently broken up with a girlfriend from college. He described her in a non-specific, non-important way, which made her sound almost fictitious. This pleased me no end. His mother was the head of the Catholic Pro-Life committee of the state and his family was chock full of staunch, die-hard, Reagan-worshipping Republicans.

I know. Run.

Damned dick. Never listens.

Because of two hard heads, I ordered another round of beers. He relaxed, leaned back in the booth and munched
on the onion ring appetizers we’d ordered. I loved looking at him. I was hooked. It’s always like that with bad choices, isn’t it? Can’t seem to resist the temptation. We parted that evening as friends. He asked me for my phone number. I took his and we planned to get together to “do it again.” Said he’d see me at the gym the next day. To me that was as good as a date to the prom.

Okay, now the part where you can think I
’m a pig. I had just come out of the aforementioned long-term relationship and felt entitled to explore and experiment to my heart’s, and cock’s content. I’d met a guy at the pool in the apartment complex where I lived. His name was Mike. He cleaned the pool and doubled as a lifeguard. I liked him because he was young and hot and approachable. He wasn’t really what I’d call my “type”, because I’m not into the twinkie, Brent Corrigan-early-days type, but he was a willing participant, had a nice ass and didn’t mind bottoming. He was good for a couple nights a week. And then there was the young lawyer from the gym who liked to drop by at least once a month for some “oral shenanigans.” His words, not mine. He had a nice face but was already getting a lawyer’s paunch at the age of twenty-something. In ten years he’d be notching that belt out a few holes looser, with another chin to wipe beer off of, and I’d not be interested. It always annoyed me that when he sucked me off, rather than swallow, he’d spit it back out on my dick and then try to rub it into me like hand lotion. Never understood that. By twenty-something, you know half the fun of having someone go down on you is coming in their mouth and watching how many times they had to gulp to get it down. Someone needs to write an instruction manual on this important stuff.

*  *  *

Anyway, I looked for Dick the next day at the gym at the usual time, but he didn’t show. No fibbing, I was disappointed. I’m just like every other average Joe in lust with a fine piece of meat. And like any other Joe, I anticipated. Hard.

I did a half-assed workout and with one last look around the gym, resigned myself
to accept that he wasn’t coming in that day. I didn’t want to speculate that I might have scared him off like we all imagine we do when someone promises to be someplace to meet us and then isn’t. So I hopped in the sauna to sweat out the beers I’d drunk with him the night before. I cranked up the heat, poured water on the rocks to generate some steam, and baked in silence, wrapped in my towel and dreaming of the hairy investment boy with the face like an anvil. After ten minutes, I felt cooked and was getting ready to step out into a cold shower when the door yanked open, and there he was; wearing a smile and a towel himself. All six-feet of his hairy, almost naked muscle on display for me. I could see that enticing, several long inches protruding in the front of the white cotton towel.

“
There ya are,” he said. “I thought I missed ya. Didn’t get a chance to call. Forgot I had a late meeting. Sorry I missed the workout. Just didn’t want you to think I was breaking my promise.”

I was so
gonna have a headache because I wasn’t getting out of that sauna just yet. The thrill that had injected itself like illegal drugs in my veins with those words would keep me in the hotbox a little longer just to be near him. Watching the sweat drip off that granite chin and drizzle down through the hairs on his chest to the towel and bench. I could smell him, and it was delicious.