South
by Dalyn A. Miller
Ravenous Romance
www.ravenousromance.com
Copyright ©2011 by Dalyn A. Miller
First published in 2011, 2011
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South
by Dalyn A. Miller
South
By Dalyn A. Miller
A Ravenous Romance(R) Original Publication
3
South
by Dalyn A. Miller
A Ravenous Romance(R) Original Publication
www.ravenousromance.com
Copyright (C) 2010 by Dalyn A. Miller
Ravenous Romance(R)
100 Cummings Center
Suite 123A
Beverly, MA 01915
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be
reproduced in whole or in part without written permission
from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief
excerpts in connection with a review.
ISBN-13: 978-1-60777-393-1
This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to
persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
This story was originally published as part of The
Manthology, edited by John Jockel.
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by Dalyn A. Miller
South
Dalyn Miller
On the road south, Kenneth taught me that if you wet your
sandals down it takes the cloth straps a long time to dry.
"When you're driving," he said the first day, "the warm
wind will blow in through the windows on your wet sandals
and keep you cool. Your feet are the thermostats for the rest
of your body; and if they're cool, you'll be cool too."
We stopped every 50 miles or so to wet our feet with
hoses sprouting out between restrooms at filling stations, and
to sit on the tailgate of the truck swinging our feet back and
forth in the stifling August heat while the ancient truck we
traveled in "cooled down". Kenneth pointed at the very first
stop to his wet sandals. "Remember that on your trip back,"
he said. "It'll make not having an A/C almost bearable."
On the road south, Kenneth slept, drove or stared out the
window. I slept and drove when he didn't. Behind the wheel I
watched the road ahead and I watched Kenneth. I watched
the way his eyes glazed over on the long Nowhere, U.S.A.
stretches of the Nevada desert. I watched as he willed himself
to sleep while he thought of who knows what, but certainly
not me. Or, maybe he was thinking about me: how he wanted
to be free of me; how he didn't love me anymore; or maybe
about how he'd never loved me in the first place. Well, either
those things or casinos and rolling snake eyes.
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I watched Kenneth thoughtlessly flick smoldering cigarette
butts out the window in Arizona, and I imagined the dry
shrubbery lining the roads flaring up in billowing smoke and
fire behind us.
I studied him, as I had for five years, and recognized every
little nuance of his being. I watched him absentmindedly
scratch the inside of his shaved bicyclist's leg with his middle
three fingers, pinky extended. I flinched, as I had a thousand
times before, as he slammed my truck from first into second,
third, fourth and finally fifth gear; finally stuck with no place
else to go. Like a tremendous full body spasm, his left leg
would slam into the floor and crush the clutch beneath his
foot as his right arm jerked the stick up and down, back and
forth. The muscles on his upper right leg twitched as he
edged the truck up to 60, 70, and 80 miles per hour before
shifting down again.
"Makes me feel like we're going somewhere fast," he
would say as we lurched south, back to Alabama where
Kenneth was from; back to his home, where he would stay
and I would not. He would move back into the bedroom he
grew up in, with a loose brass doorknob. He'd live there again
until he was ready to branch out and start over someplace
new. Alabama, where I would stay for a night or two on the
couch of Kenneth's parents' house before beginning my
journey back to lonely Seattle and the run-down studio
apartment I'd moved to several months before. Our road trip
was nothing more than a business deal.
"Take me home," Kenneth had asked. "You have the truck.
I don't even have a car. I'll pay for the gas and pay you two
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hundred dollars on top of it all. You could use the get away, I
need to get away, and I need to go home."
We stopped along roadsides at rest stops and
campgrounds. We slept in a tent in two sleeping bags side by
side. We showered at the campgrounds, in huge community
showers, side by side.
"Wear your sandals in the shower," he told me. "You have
no idea what's on those floors." He pulled a sandaled foot
through his boxer shorts and stepped behind the corrugated
tin wall. Standing naked next to him, I reached out to soap
his back, as I had during hundreds of showers over the past
five years. I caught myself before actually making contact
and quickly withdrew before he caught and stopped me; or
worse, before he caught and didn't stop me. He leaned
forward and soaped his firm thigh before running the bar up
and each hairy calf.
Back on the road, I spun the radio dial again and again as
Kenneth dozed next to me. The heat radiated from the black
asphalt below the truck and I watched as the temperature
gauge rose and hovered at the mid-point before beginning to
creep upwards. It was late in the day, but the heat felt worse
than it had at noon. Fifteen minutes, I told myself. I'd
become an expert at second-guessing the truck's needs. In
15 minutes we'd stop for a half an hour, wet down the
sandals, drink a bottle of water or maybe a beer, and let the
truck cool while we sat on the tailgate talking about the
weather or the desert or anything but us and the years
behind us; all smoke and fire. I glanced at Kenneth. His head
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was pressed against the doorframe, dark circles forming
under the armpits of his light T-shirt.
Kenneth's shorts were thin, and an unmistakable erection
tented them slightly to the right. I averted my eyes and fixing
my vision on the road ahead. Goddamn him, I fumed, at 36
he is still like a teenage boy, unable to fall asleep more than
five minutes without becoming rock hard. During the good
times, this fact hadn't bothered me. It had made for some
amazing mornings. After our very first drunken tumble the
night we met, I waked before him the next morning. My
tongue was sand paper and the taste of my own foul booze-
rot mouth nearly made me wretch. The essence of gin and
lime seeped from my pores. I wanted desperately to slip out
of bed, take a shower, and find a big glass of ice and coke
served up with a spicy breakfast burrito at the nearest greasy
spoon. I spotted a warm glass of water on the stranger's
bedside table. I downed it and savored every last stale drop
before glancing around, desperate to plot my escape.
Kenneth was fast asleep, his blankets kicked off. He lay
nude beside me, one leg dangling off of the side of the bed.
His snore was deafening. His nicely defined chest heaved with
each catching, irregular breath and I admired his arms and
his legs; but his less-than-perfect abs reignited my desire.
Perfection is nice, but what the fuck do you do with it? A
respectable meat-and-potato-loving beer belly is much more
comforting to discover on the stranger lying next to you the
morning after.
A fine, light fur pelt covered Kenneth's belly and led down
to where his cock stood rigid at attention. It wobbled a bit
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by Dalyn A. Miller
with his breathing, but was fully engorged. I wanted
desperately to quietly gather my things and leave. But his
dick bobbed and waved at me, a dancing cobra rising from its
rattan basket minding my every move and demanding
attention.
On the other beside table were four or five unused
condoms and a bottle of lube, still open and clumsily knocked
on its side. A few drops had dribbled onto the table. Next to it
was the used condom from the night before. My ass twitched
at the thought that crept uncontrollably into my mind.
Hung over but so boned up I couldn't help myself, I
grabbed a condom, ripped it open with my teeth, and
snapped it onto the almost foreign cock before me. Kenneth
grunted but didn't wake. I lubed him up and slid two, then
three, fingers inside my ass. I was tender from the drunk fuck
the night before, but hungry for more. I straddled my trick,
positioned Kenneth's cock head at my hole, and sank down
onto him. I moaned and rolled my eyes back into my head as
I felt him sink into me. He jolted up, suddenly awake.
"Oh yeah," he moaned, his expression of shock quickly
replaced by hungry approval. He thrust once, twice, shook his
head, and rubbed his eyes. His hands reached behind me and
grabbed my shoulder blades. Kenneth pulled me to him and
our cottonmouth tongues wrestled between lips. His thrusts
became rougher and he found a tender, but not unpleasant,
spot deep inside of me. My jagged moans were unavoidable
and he rolled me over onto my back so he was above me.
One of his hands held my ankles together over his shoulder
and the other massaged my chest as he piston fucked me.
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Smack, smack, smack. My own hard cocked bounced against
my belly.
"Take it, Dave," he hissed. Smack, smack, smack.
"It's Daniel," I wheezed back at him, grateful I wasn't the
only one with a fuzzy memory from the night before.
"Whatever," he responded, panting. Smack, smack,
smack. With little warning I felt my balls seize, an electric
current raced through my body, and my toes curl.
"It's happening NOW!" I gasped as thick white ropes of
come shot out of my smoldering, angry cock and landed on
my stomach, chest, chin and bottom lip.
"Fuck!" my trick yelled. "Fuck!" Deep inside of me he
jerked, his thrusts turning erratic. He pulled out and slammed
back in, holding me in place for several seconds. His orgasm
was as intense as mine. He collapsed on top of me, his sturdy
frame pinning me to the bed. Our alcohol-infused sweat
mingled in the still air hovering around the bed. I felt his cock
slip from my slippery, battered ass.
"Thanks Man," he said breathlessly. 'You are one hot fuck."
"You too, Kevin." It was a long-shot, I knew it, but maybe
I'd be lucky.
"Kenneth," he corrected me. "I am never fucking drinking
again." He rolled over and closed his eyes, the come-filled
condom hanging half off his deflating dick.
Kenneth opened his eyes with a gasp as I swerved to avoid
a dead snake in the middle of the road.
"Wha where are we?" he asked, confused. "What
happened?"
"Nothing," I said. "Dead animal."
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"Really." He turned to peer out the rearview mirror and
scan the road behind us.
"We need to stop again soon," I said. "It's hot out here
and Betsy can't pull the long hauls she used to." Kenneth had
named the truck Betsy during the early days of the gym.
"She's a good old girl," he'd said more than once as we
loaded equipment into the back. Betsy had hauled barbells
and dumbbells and adjustable benches, and picked up gym
gear from all over the greater Seattle area. That which we
hadn't bought new and had delivered, Betsy hauled.
We'd been together almost two years when Kenneth
leaned over to me at brunch one day and said, "I've been
thinking. I know this is going to sound crazy, but you need to
trust me." And he laid out his entire plan for the K&D Fitness
Center. "We'll have massage therapists," he said. "Trainers,
yoga classes, spin classes, a protein shake bar! Just listen,"
he went on. "I know it sounds crazy, but we can make this
work. I'm going to be laid off any day. You're limping along in
your job as it is. We both have some money in the bank, so
why don't we just put off buying a house for another year or
two?"
That's exactly what we did. Once Kenneth was let go and
his layoff package signed, we took out a lease on a space and
sunk more money than we actually had into equipment,
marketing, staffing, insurance, and so on. It had all come
together unbelievably well.
The night before the gym's grand opening, Kenneth and I
went out to a local bar with good friends who believed in us
almost more than we believed in ourselves. We had an
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innumerable amount of beers and shots. We were all loaded
when Kenneth stood up on a bar stool, shot of whiskey in
hand, and whistled for everybody to stop speaking. The
bartender turned the volume on the music down.
"I'd like to make a toast," Kenneth announced, raising the
tiny glass above his head. His tongue was a bit thick, but he
wasn't too bad off just yet. "I'd like to raise a glass to the
man of my dreams, the man who gave up everything he knew
for me, who sunk his entire life savings into our business, the
man who truly believes in me. Danny Boy, this is for you!"
The crowd howled and whistled, and several people
thumped me on the back. I felt heat rush to my face. Kenneth
downed his drink in one gulp. "I love this motherfucker!" he
yelled, pointing at me. The crowd cheered even louder. He
hopped off the barstool and grabbed me, planting a huge kiss
thick with whiskey on my lips. His tight embrace said "thank
you" and "please don't let go whatever you do" all at once.
The music returned and another round of shots appeared on
the bar.
"Why don't we call it a night here?" Kenneth asked. It was
only dusk and the southwestern sky was a striking panorama
of orange, pink and blue. We could drive for hours more,
stopping and starting again, but the service stop up ahead
looked like Nirvana. The neon sign heralded "Gas! Food! Gift
Shop! Salo n!" The second neon "o" had apparently burned
out and nobody bothered to replaced it yet. Underneath the
sign was printed information about a secure campground on
the premises with clean showers and running gas and water.
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by Dalyn A. Miller
The thought of setting up camp and then sitting in a bar,
having a few drinks, and turning in early appealed to me.
"Sure," I said. "Why not?" I parked in the lot and stepped
into the restroom for a much-needed pee as Kenneth rented
our camping plot from the registrar in the gift shop. The
campgrounds weren't much, but they were clean; and the
shower and restroom facilities were passable, if a little dingy.
There weren't many people around. I figured it would fill up
as the night went on.
I helped Kenneth with the tent. We stuck pegs in four
corners, hooped guide wires around, and attached aluminum
posts to one another to form the frame. It was the same
thing we'd done the past two nights and would do again for
several more. We unrolled two sleeping bags side by side on
the floor of the tent and threw our pillows in along with them.
I wiped off my hands and Kenneth turned to stretch.
"Let's grab something to eat," he said.
"Aren't you going to zip up the tent?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Why bother?"
That was Kenneth, getting the job 90 percent done. Details
were a nuisance to him; details took extra time. It was so
easy to gloss over the tiny things, like maintenance schedules
on fussy weight-bearing cables. If he didn't schedule the
maintenance check this month, his thinking went, he'd just
get around to it the next or the month after that. There were
more pressing issues in his mind: salaries to pay, vending
machines to restock, membership specials, and weight-
training competitions. I'm sure it never occurred to him that
one of those under-maintained cables might snap
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unexpectedly; and that the man pressing 180 pounds with
triceps he'd worked tirelessly on and watched grow over the
past six months would have no idea what had happened to
him. He'd have no idea, until he came to screaming in agony
with a laceration that sliced cleanly through his cheek to his
gums and took with it one beautiful blue eye.
I'm sure it never occurred to Kenneth that this might
happen; or that if it did, the victim would sue and take every
last goddamned thing Kenneth and I owned, including the
gym. It probably never occurred to Mr. 90 Percent that the
courts would leave us with nothing but the clothes in our
closets, family photos useless to anybody else, and a 12-year
old Toyota pick-up truck. The details: why bother?
Inside the "salo n," Kenneth and I took two seats at the
bar. On the television screen anchored above the top-shelf
liquors, the Red Sox played the Yankees at Fenway Park and
led 5-2 at the top of the fourth. I watched the game, my only
other option talking to Kenneth. We still had at least three
days to go, and I'd run out of small talk.
I ordered a Corona and a shot of Tequila. Kenneth held up
two fingers to the bartender; and within moments two beers
and two shots, along with lime slices and a salt shaker,
appeared. Kenneth licked the back of his palm and I
remembered that first morning when our sandpaper tongues
wrestled one another as he pressed himself sharply into me.
He raised his shot glass to me: "Cheers, Queer." I couldn't
help but laugh.
"Fuck you, you cocksucker," I replied more playfully than
I'd been since before the accident. The road had exhausted
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us. We both gulped down the Mexican fire-water. Kenneth
squinted his eyes, shook his head, and gasped. He held up
two more fingers.
The Red Sox won, although it got dangerously close at the
bottom of the eighth. I was blurry-eyed by then, as was
Kenneth as he began to lap me in beer. Playful barbs turned
into passive-aggressive snips; tiny accusations and little
earthquakes. There were only a few people in the bar and the
bartender didn't seem to notice.
"I'm going to sleep," I said as the game was called. I tried
to make out the total on the little white slip in front of me.
"Let me," Kenneth spit, and grabbed the bill out of my
hand. "Just two more!" he hollered down the bar to the
bartender, who shrugged and grabbed two more shot glasses
and the bottle of golden liquid from the shelf.
"I'm done, Kenneth," I said.
"Just one more," he said, as the bartender put the shots in
front of us. Kenneth unsteadily crawled up onto his barstool.
First on his knees and then standing, he wobbled drunkenly.
"What the hell are you doing?" I demanded. "Get down.
You're drunk."
"Can I get your attention?" Kenneth called out to the few
truck drivers and weary travelers scattered throughout the
bar. "Hello? Yeah, hi, I'd like to make a toast." I wanted to
melt into the sticky floor beneath me.
"Get down," I seethed between clenched teeth.
"I'd like to raise this drink to my ex-lover, Dan, here," he
waved the shot glass in my direction. I looked around quickly.
The bartender raised an eyebrow and stood frozen, transfixed
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on Kenneth; the cigarette smoldering between her fingers all
but forgotten.
"Ladies and Germs," he continued, "our Danny boy is an
upstanding kinda guy. That's right, he's a good man, he's
smart, kind I mean for real he'd never hurt a fly, and he's
downright hot. Look at 'im!" A trucker a few stools down from
us cleared his throat, emptied his beer bottle, and motioned
for the check from the bartender. She ignored him. Here eyes
were glued to drunken Kenneth.
"But," Kenneth continued, he swerved and I thought he'd
fall off the stool. "I fucked it up. That's right. This idiot put all
of his faith in me and I fucked it up. So I just wanted to say
Dan, I'm sorry. Alright? I'm sorry I ruined my life and I'm
even sorrier I ruined yours. Just don't hate me anymore. I will
always love you no matter what." He lifted his shot glass to
his lips, spilling half of it down the front of his T-shirt. He fell
backward onto the bar, smashing a pint glass and crushing a
half-empty can of beer. People in the bar let out a collective
gasp.
I felt the blood in my neck blazing with embarrassment,
but I leapt up with worry. I reached forward to pull Kenneth
up before he fell off the bar, and tucked him under my arm. I
walked him to a bench in the lobby and ducked back inside to
settle the bill with the bartender. All eyes were on me.
"Good luck with that one," she said, handing me the
change. "Not for nothing, but it sounds like you have some
fixin' to do."
"Thanks," I muttered. Kenneth sat where I left him, tears
streaming from his eyes.
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"Are you okay?" I asked, and I reached under him to lift
him to his feet.
"I ruined our lives," he sobbed. "And I think I broke my
back."
"You didn't break your back," I said, and guided him
across the well-lit parking lot to the campgrounds beyond.
"You're drunk, but you'll definitely feel that fall in the
morning."
"You're drunk too," he laughed, spittle and snot flying out
in front of him.
"Yeah," I laughed. "I sure am. Let's get you in the shower
and sober you up."
The campground bathroom was dark and silent. I felt
around the inside wall until I found a light switch, flipped it,
and illuminated the room. To the left were three empty toilet
stalls and to the right were four individual showers with
flimsy, blue plastic shower curtains.
"I don't need a shower," Kenneth protested.
"Yeah you do," I said. "You'll feel a hundred times better in
the morning if you take one now." I guided him toward the
showers and reached down to peel the sweat- and Tequila-
soaked T-shirt off of his muscular torso. He was even more
built than he'd been that first night, thanks to our gym. A
desire I hadn't felt in a very long time suddenly rose inside of
me. Kenneth reached down and dumbly released the button
holding his shorts up. They slid down to his ankles. He stood
before me completely naked with the exception of the sandals
still on his feet.
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"What?" he said, catching me staring. My heart ached at
the renewed realization it was all over. We were strong before
the gym, but ironically weak after it. The accident destroyed
us. The sex had stopped immediately, and the space between
us in bed turned into a vast desert landscape. I blamed
Kenneth for being reckless and disorganized, and in return he
blamed me for not supporting the business enough. Kenneth
moved out of the bedroom; I moved out of the apartment.
"Turn around," I said. "I want to have a look at your back."
He smirked. "I didn't know you still cared."
"You know better." I spun him around. An angry red streak
spread across his lower back from his hard landing on the
bar. The skin hadn't been broken, but the rash was a bright
red. "That's gonna hurt like hell tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" he scoffed, looking over his shoulder and
pouting playfully at me. "Big boo boo."
"Get in the damned shower." I shoved him gently forward.
Kenneth reached in and adjusted the temperature before
stepping into the dingy stall. "I'll go and get the soap."
"No need," he said, holding up a yellowed sliver he found
on the ancient soap dish hanging from the crumbling tile.
"Fine," I said. "Pull the curtain closed. I'll keep watch." But
he didn't close the curtain, Kenneth instead soaped his solid
chest, his furry torso, and ripe, sweaty armpits right in front
of me. He swayed his hips back and forth to the sounds of an
imaginary tune playing in his head. He closed his eyes as his
hands traveled down, a trail of soap and bubbles following it
along his furry skin. He stroked his cock a few times and then
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reached beneath his large, low-hanging nuts. I stared,
transfixed.
"My back aches," he whined drunkenly, darting his eyes in
my direction and catching my stare. "I can't reach around to
wash it. Help me."
"Okay," I muttered. I stepped to the opening of the shower
stall and reached for the soap. A few drops of water splashed
me and my own T-shirt. I didn't care, it was cool and
refreshing. I reached up to soap Kenneth's back and he
grabbed my arm. He quickly dragged me, fully dressed, into
the shower with him. The soap slipped out of my hand.
"What the fuck!?"
"Sshh." Kenneth held a finger up to my lips and grabbed
my head, pressing his lips against mine. His sour breath
tasted of Tequila and beer and...Kenneth. I remembered our
first morning together. His tongue charmed its way into my
mouth. I pushed him forcefully off me.
"Please," he said. He was crying. "Please, I'm sorry. I'm
sorry for what our lives have become, and I'm sorry for
dragging you down with me."
I was stunned. He had never apologized in the months and
months of agony we'd been through. He sunk to his knees
and wrapped himself around my waist, water pouring down
over us.
"Get up," I said, trying to pull him to his feet. Kenneth held
on tight. "You're drunk."
"Yeah, I am," he admitted, "but I mean it. Please believe
me." The tears turned into deep soulful sobs. I put my arms
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around him and tried to choke back my own tears. After a few
moments he stood. I immediately leaned in and kissed him.
I held Kenneth's head in my hands as he stripped my
soaking wet shirt off of and tossed it onto the floor outside
the shower stall. With one hand he released my shorts and
kicked them into a corner. Naked and wet, we pressed our
bodies against one another. His mouth found my ear and his
stubble scratched my sensitive neck. I moaned. Kenneth's
teeth next gnawed at my hard nipples, nipping at them
playfully.
"Harder," I breathed. Kenneth chewed and pulled at one
nipple and then the next, reaching up to tweak the
abandoned one between his thumb and forefinger. Our cocks
grew hard and agitated. Kenneth's pressed up against my leg.
I could differentiate easily between the shower water and
thicker, juicier pre-come leaking from Kenneth's tip. I knew
mine did the same.
Kenneth dropped to his knees again; but this time sorrow
and agony were replaced by hunger and lust. His hand circled
the base of my balls as my cock disappeared down his slick
throat. His soft tongue worked up the length of my shaft and
back down. I hardly noticed as his free hand reached down to
grab the sliver of soap from the shower floor. I was in
ecstasy, my cock throbbing in his throat.
His mouth released my cock and he spun me around so I
faced the wall of the shower stall. Kenneth's hand slid
between my legs, forcing them apart. I felt his stubble burrow
between my cheeks. Electricity shot through me as his tongue
expertly lapped at my puckered opening. I moaned louder
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than before. In and out, his tongue dove deep. Water from
the shower flowed down my back, through the crack of my
ass, and over Kenneth's furry face. The hand with the soap
reached around and began to suds to my engorged cock. I
leaned my arm against the shower wall and rested my head
in the crook of it as Kenneth stroked my slick dick and
tongue-fucked my ass. I felt like I was going to explode.
Kenneth sensed it and instantly he stopped and stood up. He
spun me around and I was about to sink to my knees to
return the favor, but he held me up.
Kenneth turned his back to me and leaned against the wall
as he guided my soap-slicked cock to his ass-crack. After
we'd tested negative together years earlier, the condoms
disappeared. But opportunities to fuck my lover had been few
and very far between: He was a self-proclaimed top.
With no more than one second's pause, I grabbed
Kenneth's hips, lined the tip of my cock up with his opening,
and sunk deep inside. Kenneth inhaled sharply.
"Whoa, Cowboy," he slurred. "Easy there, all right?" I
paused long enough for him to adjust to my thickness, and
then slowly thrust in and out. His moans grew louder and I
matched them, my onslaught picking up pace. Smack, smack.
His hand reached around and cupped my firm ass as I thrust
deeper and harder than before.
"Oh fuck!" he spit. I felt his ass tighten around my cock,
holding it in a vice grip as his body shook beneath me. His
cock hopped up and down fiercely as it spit on the wall and
floor. Hot water washed it down the drain.
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Kenneth's squeezing ass triggered my own orgasm and I
unloaded my multi-day's worth of load deep inside of him.
"Ah, yeah," I breathed. "Oh, that was fucking hot." My
knees were weak.
Kenneth stood up straight, steadying himself on the wall
with one hand and releasing my dick from his ass. He turned
to face me.
"I meant it," was all he said. It was all he had to say.
Early the next morning, Kenneth behind Betsy's heat-
splintered steering wheel, the sun rising in the east and two
freshly water-soaked pair of sandals on our feet, the truck
edged to the entrance to the highway. To the north lie our
scarred but not entirely horrible past and to the south lie
countless miles of loneliness. I heard the tick, tick, tick of the
turn indicator and waited for Betsy to move forward.
THE END
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