Shawn's Law (10 page)

“Excellent.”

I put it down to the fact that I wasn’t wearing my glasses and therefore didn’t see it coming, but when Harley kissed me, I was totally surprised. I got over that surprise pretty quickly. After all, Harley was
kissing
me. Hello!

His hands weren’t shy at all about exploring me. If he wanted to touch, that was A-OK with me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and floated away on the sensation of being completely seduced. His hands slithered down my back and slid under the water until he was gripping my buttocks. He squeezed them and groaned into my throat.

“Oh, my God.”

I pulled back with shock. Did someone just mutter the OMG saying while kissing/touching/looking at me?

“Are you all right?” I asked in trepidation. Perhaps the OMG saying was a cry of pain, not exaltation.

Harley didn’t bother to open his eyes. He pulled me in closer, his hands still kneading my bum, and buried his face in my neck. Another groan was pressed against my skin, and I couldn’t believe that it was in reaction to me. One hand gripped my thigh and dragged it over his lap until I was straddling him in the water. We both groaned in symphony as our dicks met for the first time.

I glanced down and saw us through the water. Harley was all tanned skin and light brown, sun-kissed hair. I was pale with black pubic hair. But we were both very aroused. This was ranking as an excellent second date in my books.

“Fuck, Shawn. I wasn’t planning on moving this fast, but shit, man. You’re just too sexy.”

Me? Sexy?
I wondered if I should point out a need for a visit to an eye specialist, but then he distracted me by pushing a hand between our bodies until he could grip both of our erections. We slid wetly together in the water and I writhed on top of him, trying to find more friction. He had one hand on my bum still, urging me on faster.

His chest was gleaming in front of me, completely unexplored and unloved, and I needed to do something about that. I brought my hands up to touch and fondle his nipples roughly. I kissed everywhere I could find without losing his grip on my dick.

“Oh, my fucking God, Shawn.”

That made it official. If he’d dropped two OMG sayings to me, then I was a superstar. My day was made, and I needed to make it just as memorable for him. There was only one thing that I could think of doing.

“I want to suck you. Now.”

Harley froze, panting slightly as he peered at me quizzically. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. So get that cock of yours out of the water because I have no plans to be drowning today.”

We rearranged ourselves so that Harley was sitting on the edge of the pool, dangling his feet in the water. I swam up between his open legs, grabbed hold of his thighs to stop floating away, then tried to remember everything I had learned in the ten years since I’d given my first blow job.

Harley

Saving Carnaby’s cockatoo.

W
HAT
I
remember most about that second date? Revelation.

That was the day the universe opened its heavens to me and showed me what I had been missing.

On the day of our second date, I was a relatively young but well-rounded gay guy. I was thirty (rapidly approaching the age of thirty-one), somewhat attractive (or at least handsome enough to never want for company), well-traveled (I had
plenty
of experience), and I had never denied my sexuality (even from a very young age). I had received a profusion of fellatio in my life and considered myself quite the connoisseur.

But then along came Shawn and taught me something I didn’t realize when it comes to the art of oral pleasure.

Emotion matters.

Before Shawn, if you had asked about my best times, provided I was feeling somewhat tipsy, I might have listed the twins, the older man I met in South Africa and stayed with for a while, or perhaps even the semifamous soccer star who was still denying his gay side to the media. But then Shawn showed me different. He showed me that the most practiced of oral givers are secondary when the person on the end of your dick
cares
about what he’s doing and
cares
about you.

The enthusiasm that Shawn showed me when he took me into his mouth sent me into raptures. The way he groaned his own pleasure and stopped to check with me if I was receiving pleasure too was amazing. He constantly watched my expressions, judged my reactions to his ministrations, and changed his technique if it wasn’t eliciting enough sound from me.

I remember looking down at his adorable face, his mouth stretched wide to take me in, his eyes watching me carefully. I thought of everything I knew about him. I remembered my extended stalking of him as I took the dogs for a walk the long way so I could see him. I thought about his gorgeous, meaty arse, which I had now managed to get my hands on. I had nearly ejaculated from the sensation of finally touching him there. I thought about the fall on the steps, the snakebite, and every other calamity he’d mentioned, and felt a jolt of fear go through me. I’d just found Shawn and I didn’t want to lose him anytime soon.

I think I fell further in love with him, right then and there. Not the most romantic story, I admit, but I remember looking down at the guy giving me a blow job and feeling something for this guy that I’d never experienced before in my life.

The heavens opened to me at that moment, and the pleasure I was experiencing increased exponentially. I had to work through my emotions and memories later that night, when Shawn was back at his house, but I remember being perplexed and wondering what had suddenly changed? Then I remembered thinking, at the exact moment when Shawn took me deep in his mouth,
I could really fall in love with this man
.

Revelation.

Epiphany.

Love.

It’s phenomenal how my emotional response to Shawn increases the physical pleasure I feel when we’re together.

I blew my load instantly, coming without even giving him warning. Something that I hadn’t done in years. Shawn coped well, only choking once and managing to swallow the majority of my cream.

I slid into the pool and hauled him into my arms, my hands
shaking slightly and my knees weak. But the need to get close to
Shawn was overwhelming. We hugged for long minutes in the blue water before I came back to my senses and felt him, still hard against my stomach.

“Oh, my God. That was amazing, Shawn.” He held me tenderly as I trembled in his arms until I had my emotions under control. Then I turned to him and asked, “Your turn? How and where? You name it and I’ll do it.”

His shyness overcame him, so we moved things into the more private gazebo. I returned the favor of a blow job, but I’m sure with a lot less finesse than I had just received. He didn’t complain. He never does, and it’s adorable. The guy gets into so much trouble over little things, but he never whines about his bad luck. He’s fallen out of our bed so many times that I’ve put special sheepskin rugs either side of the bedframe in an attempt to soften his fall. The third time after I had to come home from work because he’d locked himself out of the house—again—I left keys with three of our neighbors so he wouldn’t rip up all the plants in the garden looking for that special fake rock with the hidden key holder.

These days when we go hiking, I’ve learned to pack extra snacks, water, and first aid supplies, because I’m damn well sure I’m going to need them.

Our third date was another barbeque and swim at my house the following weekend. After that, we stopped calling them dates. He managed to pop over my house a couple of evenings and one more weekend, and I hotfooted over to his house twice after he rang me and told me his mother was in bed early. But the fifth weekend after our first date, I had promised my Sunday to my mate, Matt. Despite his strenuous protests, I dragged Shawn along with me to help.

“I really can’t hike, Harley. I’m not being stupid or a wuss. I just don’t like putting Shawn’s Law to the test.” He’d explained the concept of Shawn’s Law to me on the first weekend, but I didn’t believe him. We were traveling to an isolated and secret location Matt had given me. We had a GPS and a number of coordinates that he wanted me to check out.

“We’re not hiking. We’re just taking a gentle stroll through the bush to certain places. Then you can stand safely on the ground while I do a little tree climbing, and that’s it.”

“Will there be snakes?”

“Probably,” I shrugged. “But I’ve done this for years and never stepped on one.”

Shawn groaned a little. He was wearing jeans again, cut off at the knees, and sneakers, which were the closest things he had to hiking boots. I vowed to buy him a pair, and soon, because I love hiking. His mother had been in a mood that morning, and Shawn hadn’t had time to shave. I shivered as I imagined that stubble against my bare skin. Nothing is more arousing than the sight of Shawn and stubble.

“C’mon,” I coaxed. “Think of the great environmental favor you’re doing. You’ll be fine.”

I heard him muttering to himself and laughed, but he said, “Harley, you’re looking at the guy who broke his ankle tripping over a crack in the sidewalk.”

“Shawn, I’m looking at the guy I can’t wait to give a blow job to in the middle of the bush and have him shout so loud that he scares the damn birds we’re looking for.”

As I had hoped, he forgot about his clumsiness and grumped instead, “Fine. It’s your funeral. Now tell me about these darn galahs and why we’re wasting the day stomping around in the hot bush instead of swimming naked in your pool.”

“They’re cockatoos, not galahs,” I corrected. “They’re called Carnaby’s black cockatoos, and they’re an endangered species we’re desperately trying to protect. They’re only found in southwestern Australia, and due to clearing of the land, their breeding numbers have plummeted. They’ll be extinct in ten years unless we do something about it. These birds are majestic. They can live to fifty years and fly a large distance to utilize the same breeding ground each year. That’s what we’re doing today. The chicks have all left the nests, so we’re going to check which hollows have been used, which hollows need to be repaired, and report on any birds we see.”

“How are we meant to find the hollows?”

I smiled. “Matt has sent me GPS coordinates of known nesting sites, but we really just need to tramp around and keep an eye open.”

“How are you going to check the hollows?”

Now I grinned. “Climb. Remember I told you I’d been arrested twice for protesting? I used to participate in the protests of logging the old-growth forests. I would climb trees and stay up there for days so the machinery couldn’t knock them down. I have climbing boots with spikes and plenty of ropes to help me.”

“Oh, dear God. There’s so much that can go wrong with that.”

I didn’t let his morbid state get me down, and soon we headed off with my climbing gear, some supplies, and Matt’s list. The Australian bush is stunning, and since I’d grown up wandering around it with my father and brothers, I didn’t think much could go wrong.

Shawn showed me different.

Three minutes into our walk to the first set of coordinates, Shawn screamed and tried to jump on my back. “Snake!” he yelled. I fell, tumbling headlong into a melaleuca tree and scratching my face.

I quickly pulled myself free and spun around, half expecting a nest of snakes to be attacking the guy. Instead I was confronted by a harmless bob-tail lizard who opened his mouth at me as if to say “What a dunce,” then slowly crawled into brush, going a top speed of about a meter per hour.

I laughed. “That’s a lizard, Shawn. Didn’t you see his legs? Or was he running too fast for you to see?” Since the poor creature was still trying to hide itself, I’m sure Shawn got my humor.

He gave me a dirty look. “Sorry. Just a bit jumpy.”

I gave him a quick kiss and said, “Now, tell me—am I bleeding?” My face was smarting a bit from the branches I’d just fallen in to. Shawn assured me there was no blood, and we set off again. We found the first tree, and I slipped on my spurs and wrapped a rope around the trunk of the large wandoo. The nesting hollow was about ten meters up.

“How do you climb?” he asked.

I showed him the saddle and the clips. “This piece of leather goes around my butt and supports my weight in the loop of the rope. The spurs on my boots allow my feet to grip the tree, and I push outward with my legs. As long as the ropes are taut, they’ll keep my weight. I use the loop to climb the trunk where there are no branches. Once I can reach a branch, then I just climb the best I can from boyhood experience.”

I slipped into my fingerless gloves with the grippy palms, slung the camera around my neck, attached my extra rope for a pulley if I needed it, and began to climb. I easily reached the hollow and took a look. I had a small torch in my pocket and shone it inside, calling the information back down to Shawn so he could record it in the book for Matt.

“This hollow has been recently used, but not by Carnaby’s. The down feathers are pink, so I’m guessing a Pink and Grey Galah.” I snapped a picture, then took a moment to scout around other nearby trees to see if I could spot another hollow. I couldn’t, so I climbed down, and disengaged my ropes. We walked on.