'No more,’ he said, panting but triumphant. The space between them shimmered with tension. Joe's cock stood out from his charcoal wool trousers like one of his pirate ship's guns. 'You fuck me face-to-face or not at all.'
Sure of his allure, whatever his position, Sean tilted his seam-splitting bulge until it tapped Joe's scrotum and set it swinging.
'Oh, really?' he cooed. 'Then you better make sure I enjoy it, big man.'
Joe reddened. A muscle ticked in his jaw. The overwhelming scent of testosterone had me squirming in my chair. I'd grown wet the minute Sean slammed his hand on the table, but now I was soaked.
Joe loomed over Sean, pressing closer. Before he could twist away, Joe covered his mouth and forced it open with the strength of his jaw. The instant their tongues clashed the two men melted, moaning and clutching each other as if they hadn't kissed in years.
I almost left the room then, but Joe caught the motion from the corner of his eye and waved me back to my chair.
Well, if he insists, I thought, hardly indifferent to the appeal of watching - especially when they were so into it.
Together, the heavy-breathing pair divested Sean -and only Sean - of his clothes. His powerful body gleamed under a coating of sweat. Joe wasted no time running his hands over every inch he could reach. But he soon ran out of patience.
Gripping his friend beneath the arms, he lifted Sean until their heads were level. Slowly, as if he couldn't believe he was allowing Joe to take the upper hand, Sean swung his legs around Joe's waist and crossed his ankles. His hips canted forward, positioning himself to be entered. Rapt, I watched the pucker of his anus flicker within its whorl of golden hair - with eagerness, I suspected, though trepidation might have played a part as well. Joe was no bantamweight.
'Kate,' Joe called, his voice reedy with strain.
I jumped to attention. By now, I knew how Joe's mind worked. I pawed through Sean's discarded clothes for the necessary accoutrements, finding what I wanted in the breast pocket of his plaid flannel shirt.
Joe paled as I rolled the sheath over his juddering erection, then whined through his teeth when I slathered KY Jelly down its length. I finished as quickly as I could.
'If you short-change me, I'll kill you,' Sean threatened,
recognising
Joe's Fm-about-to-die noises.
'Don't you worry,' Joe gritted back. 'I'm going to take my time and enjoy this.'
I wagged the lubricant in Sean's direction. 'Some for you?' I suggested gaily, feeling like a game show hostess.
'Why not?' Sean glanced down between their hard male bodies. Their cocks stood like crimson lances poised for battle. 'He's got a big piece of meat down there.'
Not fooled by his nonchalance, I knelt beneath him on the linoleum and squirted a generous dollop on to my fingers.
I took longer than I had to working it in. Whatever Joe claimed, I knew the heady novelty of playing top for once would preclude a long engagement. But if Sean were as primed as I intended him to be, brevity wouldn't matter.
I reached deeper, two fingers, then three, searching out his secret joy spot. The dark smooth passage clamped tight as I hit the walnut-sized swelling. Sean's moan sounded as if it were yanked from his throat. Gently, I massaged the hidden gland, awed by the power of this masculine mystery.
'Careful,’ Sean said, even as his body curved to intensify the pressure I was exerting. 'Don't make me come.'
I reckoned he was primed enough then. I slid my fingers free with a tiny squelching noise. Both men quivered at the sound. I dropped a kiss on to Joe's shoulder and returned to my seat.
By that time, Sean required little coaxing to accept his burden. Joe nudged him once with the head of his cock, released a soft, wondering sigh, and pressed sleekly inside.
They kissed again when he hilted, open-mouthed and greedy. I felt that old sense of invading their privacy, though I knew they wanted me there. My discomfort was not strong enough to make me leave, however. I loved watching the rhythm of their thrusts. It was subtly different from a man and a woman's - because they were equals in strength, because different places wanted rubbing, and because they were hard and hard rather than hard and soft.
After a certain point, Sean lost control of his reactions. His eyes slid shut, his hands opened and closed on Joe's back, and his head lolled against the freezer door. He looked utterly debauched, flushed from head to toe and ravished with pleasure.
'Deep,’ he said. The word came out slow as treacle. 'Fuck me a-all the way in.'
Joe shifted his feet, adjusted Sean's fit, and shafted him deeper. Even through his trousers, I saw his buttocks hollow with every stroke.
'How much longer?' he asked, his breath huffing between the words.
'Little longer,’ Sean said in that same dreamy voice. 'Ah, Joey, that's good. You're so long. You're killing me.'
Joe laughed. 'Please die soon.' Though his face was red with effort, his eyes shone with affection.
'I'll come the minute you do,’ Sean promised. His head dropped back, exposing his throat. 'I'm floating ... right on the edge.'
Joe took him at his word and increased the pace. He mouthed Sean's strong white neck and clutched his buttocks until at last they both cried out, a harsh, primitive sound, victory and surrender mixed as one.
A shadow of their pleasure jolted through my sex -sweet but melancholy. What they shared between them, I could never know.
I looked at the array of copper pots on the exposed brick wall, at the bundle of thyme that hung from the beam above my head. When I looked back, Sean had both feet on the floor and was stroking Joe's head the way a man might stroke a fierce, beloved dog. Joe bent his neck to accept the caress, still mastered despite his recent adventure.
'Better now?' Sean asked, his palm smoothing Joe's glossy blue-black hair. 'Not so shaky?'
'Yes.' Joe clasped Sean's naked waist, leaning into him. 'Much better.'
Sean looked past his shoulder to wink at me. 'You better go see to your sweetie, then. She'll think you forgot all about her.'
Joe's head turned. Concern creased his sweaty brow.
'Later,’ I said, reassuring him with a smile. I didn't want to take away from their moment, their memory.
Joe's furrows deepened. 'Are you sure?'
'You know what the cooks say, Joe. Hunger is the best sauce.'
Normally, I let Keith rule the roost on Fridays, but I knew I'd chew my nails if I stayed home. I decided to put in a half-day at Mostly Romance. Our new manager seemed disappointed to see me - until I handed him the company credit card and ordered him to Strawbridge & Clothier to buy holiday decorations for the shop.
With both hands, Keith held out the shiny American Express card, goggling as though it really were gold.
Then he dashed off before I could change my mind - or send him to Woolworth's instead.
Once he'd left, I parked myself behind our second cash register and prepared to schmooze customers. A few of my old
faithfuls
popped in to chat and before I knew it, an hour had passed without my dwelling on Joe more than a few hundred times.
Around ten, the man himself blew in on a gust of panic. He headed straight for me. 'Kate,' he said in a confiding, breathless tone. 'Do you know where I left my lucky eye-patch?'
I handed my customer her books and hoped she wasn't listening too closely. 'I wasn't aware you had an unlucky eye-patch.'
He jittered with impatience. "The one I brought home the day I got the part is the lucky one.'
Of course it was. I thought for a moment. 'You checked the gym?'
'I turned it upside down.' 'What about the laundry room?' He squinted in confusion. 'Remember last Tuesday?' I prompted. His
expression cleared.
'Oh, yeah.
That was
fun. Thanks, Kate. I'll run home and check.'
He turned to go but I called him back. I smiled at his worried, open face, more aware of his youth than I had ever been before.
Then again, my thirty-five-year-old husband had sworn by a lucky purple polo shirt. He never played squash without it, even when it started growing holes. Maybe what people say is true: men are always boys. I laid my hand on the shoulder of Joe's worn bomber jacket. 'Joe,' I said, judging his self-image too shaky right now for 'sweetie'. 'I hope you find your lucky eye-patch, but between you and me, you carry all the luck you need inside you. Your music is wonderful. Your singing is wonderful. Everything is going to be fine.'
Joe hung his head. 'I know. It's just a little extra insurance, to make me feel lucky.'
I was about to tug him across the counter for a kiss when Marianne strolled out from the back. I guess hope does spring eternal, because the sight of Joe perked her up at once.
'Hello, stranger,' she said in her best smoke-and-sugar croon.
She wore navy for once, a body-skimming, cleavage-baring velveteen dress. Her hips swayed with her approach and her heels clacked like gunshots on the hardwood floor. Joe winced when she grasped his jacket flaps and spread them apart to expose his nice charcoal suit.
'Don't you look professional?' She tapped the knot of his tie with her long red fingernail. 'Job interview?'
Joe shuffled backwards but Marianne followed without showing the least awareness of rebuff.
'Urn, no,’ he said. 'I've got my first performance tonight.'
'Of course! Your wonderful play.' She pressed her hands together in front of her full red lips. 'How silly of me to forget.'
I rolled my eyes at that. I hadn't told her the date -not because I wanted to exclude her, though that might be a good idea, but because every time I mentioned Joe or Sean she turned bitchy.
'Well, don't worry, Joey dear,’ she said now, leaning close enough to whisk his jacket with her boot-black hair. ‘I wouldn't miss your grand debut for the world.'
'Great,’ Joe said weakly. He took a more determined step back. 'See you there.'
He didn't release his breath until she twitched her way back to the office. I noticed, however, that he was human enough to watch the seductive roll of her behind. He shook his head when she finally disappeared. 'I know she's your friend, Kate, but -
yeesh
- what a dragon.'
'She's got a crush on you,’ I said, childishly pleased by his disapproval. 'And who can blame her?'
That brought a smile to his face. He pressed a wet, smacking kiss to my nearest cheek. 'I'm the luckiest guy in the world to have a friend like you.'
Me, too, I thought, watching him bounce back out the door. Me, too.
I did not expect such a grand theatre. A buckled wooden stage maybe, or a student auditorium through which Joe's music would swirl like cognac in a plastic cup.
Stepping out of the cab, I looked about me in wonder. Beyond the modern silhouette of the Annenberg Theatre, I saw the softer brick and limestone of the older campus - Ben Franklin's campus. I hoped these privileged academics would be kind to my sensitive young lover. I had my doubts when I read the posters hanging inside the fancy glass displays. They all trumpeted well-known Broadway shows, featuring professional actors.
I turned to Sean with concern tightening my throat, a concern he didn't seem to share. A half-smile lit his handsome face. From the way he dressed at work, you'd never know he owned nice clothes, but tonight he'd trotted out his finery. He wore an up-to-the-minute Gianfranco
Ferre
suit, a red silk tie, polished shoes and -wonder of wonders - cuff links. With complete self-assurance, he cradled our opening night bouquet. The crinkling cellophane held three dozen red and white roses. I'd told him they
symbolised
desire and aspiration. He liked that enough not to balk at the cost. Of course, these days neither of us had to stint. Lawyers might be pond scum, but they paid him well.
Sean punched my shoulder. 'You've never been to the Annenberg Theatre, have you?'
I shook my head. 'Never. I had no idea. Look at this crowd. Some of those women are wearing evening gowns!'
Thank heaven I'd let Sean bully me into wearing my emerald shantung sheath. I had feared I'd be overdressed, but now I saw as much silk as denim.
Sean nodded towards a woman with her hair piled elegantly atop her head. 'Most of the dressed-up women are professors. Everyone on campus has been talking about Captain Blood. Our little Joe is about to make a big splash.' His own words
energised
him. He took me by the elbow and tugged me in the direction of the entrance. 'Hurry up, Kate. I want to find someone to take these flowers backstage.'
'My heels,' I protested with a laugh for his eagerness.
He looked down at my feet and paused for one gratifying moment to admire my ankles. Then he sighed and proceeded at a more gentlemanly pace. 'I don't know why you women wear those things. They're an accident waiting to happen.'
I smiled to myself. That brief, burning glance reminded me all too clearly why I wore high heels - now and then, at least.
The theatre was packed but, thanks to his position as composer and star, Joe had wangled us spectacular, centre-front seats. I could have kicked my shoes into the orchestra pit - though I doubted the musicians would have appreciated the contribution.