Beauty And The Bookworm (10 page)

“Okay, bring your toothbrush and be there before bedtime.”

Gran and her friends were slobs. I spent the next two hours cleaning the house. I didn’t mind, though. In fact, I was humming while I cleaned. It’s funny how a good blowjob can improve your mood for
days
. I was just finishing up the vacuuming when Gran came into the living room and pointed to the couch.
Here we go.

I put the vacuum in the utility closet and sat down on the couch. Gran took the recliner facing me. She folded her arms across her chest and said, “Well.”

I smiled. “Well?”

“I like him.”

What?
“You do?”

“Yeah, he’s alright. A little too much swish for my taste, but I know you like swish… so, he’s alright. Looks like a damned movie star.”

She hadn’t uncrossed her arms, which made me suspicious. “I’m waiting for it, Gran.”

She turned grandmotherly. “Well, isn’t he a little large?”

“You mean tall?”

“Yeah, I mean he’s got half a foot on you easy. Have you fucked him yet?”

“Gran!”

She put her hands on her knees, a jaded attempt at looking sane. “I’m just asking.”

“Why?”

“Have you?”

Do I tell her he sucked me off while I read a book? No, she’d enjoy that too much.
Still, I knew she wouldn’t let it go. “We haven’t done
that.
”

“Well, that’s what I’m worried about, sweetheart. When you try to top him – isn’t it going to look a little bit like a small man climbing a tall mountain?”

I did the only thing I could do, I buried my face in my hands. “You are full-tilt crazy. I’m having you committed.”

She came and sat next to me, putting a grandmotherly arm over my shoulders and patting my knee gently. “I just want what’s best for you, Mason. We’ll work this out together. I think it would be more
…
symmetrical
if you fisted him.”

She had me beat. Sometimes it’s just go along or go crazy. “Fine, Gran. I’ll fist his ass.”

“Oh, good. I’m sure he’ll love it.”

I fled to the bath, showered, ran to my room, packed a bag, and got the fuck out of there.

Chapter 11

More Dicks, But No Fisting

Shane was waiting for me with a glass of champagne in his hand. He handed it to me, but stopped my taking a drink by planting a sweet kiss on my lips. When he pulled away, I took a sip and just stared at him. I think the stare went on a little too long, because he started to look a little uncomfortable. “Sorry,” I said, “I just like looking at you.”

“I was just afraid you might be picturing me with tattoos.”

I put my glass down. “Not in a million years. You’re perfect.”

“Your grandma didn’t think so.”

I waved a hand. “Don’t worry, you passed as far as she’s concerned.”

“I think she
’d prefer you were dating my brother.”

“She does have a criminal record fetish.”

He took my glass and set it on the coffee table. “Speaking of fetishes. Have you decided which of yours you’re going to inflict on me tonight?”

I really wished I had a fetish besides jockstraps. I was feeling a bit tame. “Let’s just go to the bedroom and I’ll see what I can come up with.”

I followed him, staring at his big, beautiful ass the whole way. I think I’d figured out what my fetish was. It was pretty old-school, but I hoped he’d let me do it. “Are you wearing a jockstrap?”

He turned. “I know you like them, so, of course.”

He stripped for me. It wasn’t exactly a
Magic Mike
moment, but it was damned close. He took everything off slowly, making sure to turn around for the big reveal. The jockstrap was plain, old high school white, but the ass was unbelievable. “I want to fuck you.”

Shane turned toward me and pulled me up to his lips. We kissed for a few minutes, deep, slow kissing that quickly had me panting. He broke the kiss and whispered into my ear. “Fucking me is no fetish. Fucking me is something you should be doing every
night, at least on the nights I’m not fucking you.”

I whispered back
. “You’d like bottoming for me?”

He pushed me onto the bed
. “I’d love bottoming for you.”

I peeled out of my clothes and threw them on the floor. Shane watched me, rubbing himself through his jock. His dick was stiff and pressed at the fabric. I’m pretty sure my mouth was hanging open.

“You want me to keep this on while you fuck me?”

I have died and this is Heaven
. “Yeah, keep it on. Get on the bed – all fours.”

He grinned
. “Yes, sir.”

Shane climbed onto the bed and got onto his hands and knees. I situated myself behind him. His back was arched and his ass was sticking up in the air. I just looked at it for a second, a small man pondering a climb up a large mountain.

Shane turned his head toward me. “You okay back there?”

“Yeah,” I gulped, “your ass is… perfect.”

He gave his ass an inviting wiggle and I pounced. I leaned forward, spread his cheeks to expose his pink hole, and stuck my tongue in deep.

“
Oh, my God,” he cried, “I didn’t think you’d eat my ass.”

I stopped
. “You don’t like it?”

He reached around and pulled my head back toward his butt. “Chow down.”

I laved his hole with my tongue. I spit on it. I pushed my tongue into it. I kept his cheeks forced apart with my hands, kneading each of them roughly. My dick was so hard and leaking there was some real danger I’d never get it in there. I pulled away. “Condoms and lube?”

Shane’s voice was husky. “Nightstand.”

I found what I needed and rolled on a condom. I coated myself with lube and then rubbed some onto Shane’s hole. I stuck in a finger, then two, wiggling them back and forth. It was hot in there, and tight. I finger-fucked him slowly, trying to get him relaxed.

Shane was pushing his ass back onto my fingers. His back was covered in a sheen of sweat. I leaned over him and licked up his spine, producing a shiver in him that made me smile.
I went for three fingers and started getting a little more rough.

“Jesus, Mason, put your cock in me. Fuck me. Now!”

I got to my knees and placed the head of my cock against that gorgeous pink hole. I pushed just the tip in. Shane hissed, and I waited. I ran my fingertips over his sides and he shivered. I pushed in a little bit more, and I waited. His ass was so hot and tight. The waiting was over, I pushed in until my hips rested against his cheeks.

“I’m all the way in,” I panted, “are you okay?”

“
Better than okay. Pound me.”

I pulled out slowly and then pushed in again
. The tight heat was overwhelming. I knew I wouldn’t last for long. I twisted my hands into the fabric of Shane’s jock and started fucking him hard. He’d buried his face in the pillow and was letting out a steady series of moans. I very happily realized that Shane loved getting fucked.

I buried myself in him and wiggled my hips, searching for just the right spot. I knew I’d hit it when Shane yelled, “Oh, fuck!
Just like that!”

I rode that spot deep inside him for all I was worth. Sweat was pouring off me, landing in droplets on Shane’s broad back. Every thrust brought me closer to the edge and I knew he was close, too.

“Can I get my cock out now, Mason?” he begged, “can I come?”

“Do it.”

He freed his cock from the tight fabric and gave himself a few strokes. I knew he was coming because he tightened up on my cock like a vise. I pushed him flat onto the bed and gave a last few hard thrusts and then I was coming. I was coming in Shane. I’d never felt anything better and I didn’t care if it was a once in a lifetime thing. If I got to feel that good just once, it would be enough.

I pulled out and flopped onto my back. Shane scooted down the bed and pulled the rubber off my cock, tossing it into his bedside trashcan. Then he grabbed my cock again. He stroked it slowly, but it was still too sensitive. I pushed his hand away, laughing. “Give me a sec.”

He kissed the tip of my dick. “Shower?”

I couldn’t move. “You might have to carry me there.”

He took my whole cock into his mouth, giving it a hard suck. My whole body shook and I pushed him away as he laughed and said, “I thought that would get you moving.”

In the shower, we washed each other, exploring each other’s bodies.
We scrubbed, rubbed, kissed, and gently bit each other everywhere. Soon, we were both squeaky clean and hard again.

Shane was washing my hair, massaging my scalp with his strong fingers. He whispered into my ear
, “That was one hot fuck.”

I leaned back against him
. “
You’re
one hot fuck.”

Shane laughed and climbed out of the shower, leaving me to rinse off and follow him back to bed.

We held each other and kissed, eventually moving on to stroking each other’s cocks and getting wet and sticky all over again. I lay on the bed, feeling as if every bone in my body had been magically removed. “Back to the shower?”

“No,” he moaned, “I don’t have the strength.”

We cleaned up with a warm washcloth and fell asleep in that tangle of arms and legs I’d read about so many times.

Chapter
12

We’re Having
A Baby?

The monitor in the doctor’s office showed a little, green pulsing blob. I squinted at it. It didn’t look like a baby to me.

Dr. Sharma, Twyla’s obstetrician, pointed at the blob. “That’s the baby there.”

I was holding Twyla’s hand. I smiled down at her. “It looks like Mason Jr. has some growing to do.”

She squeezed my hand. “About five months’ worth of growing.”

Dr. Sharma smiled at what I’m sure he assumed was a happily unmarried couple expecting their first child. “I will get the jelly off your belly and you can go and feed him… or her.”

I was dying to ask. “You can’t tell what it is yet?”

Twyla bolted up from the gurney. “Don’t say anything, Dr. Sharma! I don’t want to know.”

The doctor smiled. “My lips shall remain sealed.”

Twyla got dressed and we were about to leave when Dr. Sharma said, “You two are a lovely couple.”

I opened my mouth to correct him, but not before Twyla smiled and said, “Thank you, that’s very sweet.”

Huh?
I should have really examined that statement from Twyla, and it did make me think back to Gran’s warning about putting a little distance between Twyla and myself, but I pushed the thoughts away. It was Twyla’s day, not mine. If she wanted the doctor to think she was shacking up with a super-hot guy in a cardigan, I wasn’t going to stop her.

Twyla had scheduled her appointment for our lunch break, so we choked down burgers in the car as we headed back to the library. Between bites, she asked, “How are things going with that guy?”

“Shane?”

“Is there more than one guy?”

I shook my head. “Things are going great… better than great. He’s amazing.”

She looked over at me, bug-eyed. “Wow! I don’t think I’ve ever heard you gush before. He must be really good in bed.”

That statement annoyed the hell out of me. The sex
was
good – the best I’d ever had, but Shane was so much more than that. I tried to respond to her without heat. “He’s a really good guy. He’s kind and generous and…”

“Why are you being so defensive?” Twyla interrupted.

“Defensive?”

“Yeah, you’re talking like you need to defend the guy. Is something wrong with him?” She covered her mouth in horror, “Does he have erectile dysfunction?”

I sighed. “He does not have erectile dysfunction.”

She looked puzzled, then a light bulb went on over her head. “He’s a freak, right? What did he do to you?”

She was pissing me off and I couldn’t say why. I felt the beginning of a wall going up between us, a wall I didn’t want, so I tore it down. “He likes to suck my dick while I read.”

Twyla shook her head. “That’s it? How boring is that? Jesus.”

“Trust me,” I grinned, “it wasn’t boring at all.”

She got quiet for a minute, introspective. “Can you come over for dinner tonight?”

I had plans with Shane, but she needed me and I knew it. “I’ll be there.”

“It’s okay, really,” Shane told me over the phone, “I know your friend must be having a rough time and feeling fragile.”

I felt panicky, like I was
trying to reel in a big fish with a great ass. “I’ll make it up to you and I promise I’ll never ditch you again.”

“Don’t worry. I’m glad you’re there for your friend. You’re just proving to me what a good man you are.”

I laughed. “Did you have doubts?”

“Only a few thousand. You’d better be over here tomorrow night or I’m going to read
War and Peace
without you.”

“You know what they say ‘reading
War and Peace
on your own will make you go blind.’”

Shane growled out a laugh. “Says the guy who shot come in my eye.”

I was surprised by dinner at Twyla’s apartment. What was surprising was the fact that she had actually cooked. I went in expecting to find a box of pizza or lots of little boxes of Chines food, but, nope, she’d actually managed to pull together something that resembled a casserole. I didn’t have the nerve to ask what was in it. I just gave my compliments to the chef and dug in.

Twyla ate like a pregnant lady, which made me smile. I was happy to find that Mason Jr. was getting enough to eat. I myself managed to get down most of my plate. I made sure to leave a little because I did
not
want her to offer me seconds.

“I’m looking for a house,” she opened, “an apartment is no place for a baby.”

“That’s very grownup of you. There’s no rush, though. The little one’s not going to need a yard for a while.”

“I know, but there’s so much to be done. I want everything ready when the baby gets here. I’m going to be too busy to supervise you painting the nursery
. And you’re going to be too busy changing diapers and rubbing my swollen feet to even try to paint the nursery.”

What’s that feeling like a troupe of tiny
Rockettes dancing up and down my spine?
“Yeah, I guess you’ve got a point. You should probably start looking.”

Twyla spoke around another bite of food. “Exactly. The realtor has a few places lined up for us to look at on Saturday.”

“Shane’s running a marathon on Saturday.”

“And…”

That irritation with her was back. I hated myself for it. I was such a selfish shit. “And I want to go and watch.”

Twyla snorted. “
You
want to go and watch a marathon? You’ve got it bad.”

There was no keeping the ice from voice. “Yes, I’ve got it bad. I want to see him run.”

Twyla’s face fell and I tried to make it up. “Why don’t you come with me and we’ll look at the houses after?”

She looked just
slightly
mollified. “I guess I could see if the realtor can move things around.”

My phone buzzed. It was a text from Shane.

I miss you.

Have you ever stopped to examine the power of the phrase “I miss you?”
Reading it made my stomach do a roll and my heart do a happy somersault. Yes, I had it bad.

I was staring happily at the phone until Twyla’s voice brought me back to reality. “It’s rude to answer your phone during dinner, Mason.”

“Sorry,” I said, “I’ll just turn it off.”

Chapter 13

A Day At The Races

I reached over to massage Twyla’s lower back. She’d been complaining about
it from the second we sat down on a bench near the marathon’s finish line. The pain in her back wasn’t hurting her appetite, though. She was finishing her second chili dog and washing down each bite with a shot of milkshake.

“You know these things last like
hours
, right.”

“Not for the winners,” I said smugly.

“And you think Shane’s going to win?”

“He’ll win.”

I looked down the length of the blocked-off street as the first runners came into view. Shane led the pack. I felt like a fool, but didn’t care, as I stood up and started cheering for him. The runners behind him didn’t stand a chance. Shane crossed the finish line and fell into a crush of people waiting to congratulate him. I took advantage of my height and snuck to the front of the pack, wrapping my arms around him as soon as I got close enough.

“You did it! I knew you’d do it!”

Shane leaned down and kissed my cheek. He was panting like he might die, but obviously very happy. “Yeah, and now I need to go and get fed pasta intravenously.”

I had to shout over the throng. “You get fed and I’ll see you soon.”

He was bent at the waist, but he looked up at me with surprise. “Soon? I’m going to the party at Zippers. I thought you could come with me.”

“I meant to tell you, but, I promised Twyla we’d go house hunting.”

Shane was a hell of a nice guy, but I could tell he was hurt. “Okay, maybe both of you could come by later? The party’s going to go on all night.”

I kissed him. “I’ll be there.”

I was walking away as Shane shouted, “Bring Twyla! I want to meet the other woman!”

Do you really have to guess who the realtor was? I mean, is there any doubt in your mind? Yes, folks, your favorite go-getter and mine, Mona Lisa, sold houses in her “spare time.” And, yes, she specialized in “green homes.”

As we walked through the first house, made entirely of recycled materials and beams of moonlight, I kept a smile plastered to my face. I tried to pretend to be interested in passive-solar power and Japanese toilet/bidet combos that came with built-in butthole detectors. Apparently, you did your business, a mechanical arm shot out to just the right spot, and gave your no-no a good polishing. While the contraption might be fun at a certain kind of party, I didn’t find it absolutely necessary in a home.

The house was nice, I guess, but it seemed so generic. Call me a traditionalist, but when I buy a house, I’d like a history to come with it. You know, a murder or two, lead paint, and at least one ghost. That house had obviously never been lived in. I finally spoke up, “It just doesn’t have any character, Twyla.”

Mona Lisa turned on me, she had been doing her
Vanna White thing in front of the European washer-dryer combo. She didn’t even try to hide her hostility. “Who needs character when you’ve got a perfect energy score? The power company will be sending
you
a check every month.”

I wasn’t about to be intimidated by that Kale-powered dynamo. “It feels like the inside of a box. An
empty
box.”

“Did I mention the rainwater storage system? You’ll never have to water the lawn. Never.”

I rolled my eyes. “This is Portland. Why would anyone store rain?”

She waved a hand. “Droughts happen everywhere, dude.”

Twyla finally spoke up. “Mason’s right, Mona Lisa, I think we’d really prefer something traditional. Do you know of any old Victorians for sale?”

Poor Mona Lisa fell out. “Victorians? Have you ever heard of a carbon footprint? Every Victorian house in Portland should be burned to the ground.”

I didn’t bother to point out that burning down a quarter of the city’s older houses would leave one hell of a carbon footprint because Mona Lisa was obviously past reason. She was hyperventilating in her outrage at the thought of someone wanting to live in a house that could murder the planet all on its own. I was getting kind of worried about her and finally thought of a way to calm her down. “Twyla really needs an older place with a yard. Someplace she can raise chickens for
organic
eggs.”

Magic. “Oh,” Mona Lisa gushed, “Organic eggs! I see where you’re going. We’ll find you a nice old Victorian with a big yard. We can see about putting enough money in your loan to up the energy score… maybe solar panels on the roof… rain barrels in the backyard… and a chicken coop!”

We spent the next few hours looking at Victorians. Twyla loved each one more than the last and ended up telling Mona Lisa she needed a few days to think about it. Mona Lisa smile and promised to bring diagrams of solar-powered chicken coops to the next meeting.

I literally had to drag Twyla into Zippers. She refused to believe in the existence of something called a “juice bar.” She insisted it must be a front for Scientology or the KKK. I reminded her that I’d gotten out alive and promised she only had to stay long enough to meet Shane.

We found him standing in a circle of athletic groupies. They were all still in their marathon getups, looking long, lean, and a little too proud of themselves. Shane broke from the group and loped over to us, drawing Twyla into a big hug. He had a lot to learn.

Twyla disentangled herself with as much grace as she could muster and said, “I hope you’re Shane.”

He was beaming. “I am. I’ve been dying to meet you… and congratulations on the baby.”

Twyla did what I can only call an aggressive curtsy and said, “We’re very excited. Mason’s got a lot of plans for the nursery.”

Shane cocked an eyebrow for just a second, but I noticed it. Then he smoothed his features and smiled w
ith the wattage of one thousand beefy erections. “I’m sure he does. Mason knows about everything. It really amazes me, but I guess you must be really smart, too. I can’t imagine him spending any time with a dummy.”

That seemed like a good point for me to interject myself into the conversation. I did so by giving Twyla a gentle shove and pulling Shane down into a kiss. He tasted like wheatgrass and pineapple. I smirked, “What
have
you been drinking?”

“Just something to replenish my fluids.”

“Hm.” I snickered. Then I looked over at Twyla. She did not seem amused.

“Private joke?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“I was taught that private jokes are rude, and, in your case, probably also disgusting. Can you pay attention to me, please?”