“Yeah,” I said. Because I did. For some reason, Vince Taylor loved Paul Auster. It was one of those things I couldn’t really explain but wanted to hold on to forever, even when my self-doubt tried to get the best of me.
“And you know it’s real, right? You and me? Because I can tell you again if you need me to.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
“It’s real, Paul. And if I have my way, it always will be.”
Have you ever had someone wearing suspenders be earnest toward you before? If so, then you can probably understand why I got half a chub from that image alone. I was a weak, weak man. I said something like “G’largh.”
But he understood what I meant. He always did. “Good.” He leaned forward and kissed me sweetly, and I might have whimpered a little into it, but hey. I was allowed. He pulled away and said, “Because in a little over three weeks, I’m going to marry the hell out of you.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay?”
I shrugged because it really was as simple as that. “Okay.”
“Good,” he said, looking relieved. “Thank God we got that out of the way. Now you might want to hold on to something because it’s time for sex face.”
“I might want to hold on to what because of what!”
But he was already on his knees in front of me, hands at the front of my slacks, palming my dick roughly. The sound I made at that point would not have been out of place during a rigorous mating between sea elephants. The back of my head hit the door with a loud thump.
“What are you doing!” I whisper-shouted down at him.
He shrugged. “I was gonna suck your dick a little bit.”
“We’re at our place of business. There are people standing right outside the door.”
“Better be quiet, then.”
“You know that’s not possible. I can’t—and now you’re unbuckling my belt. Why are you unbuckling my belt?”
He frowned up at me, licking his lips. “If you don’t know why, I must be doing this wrong. I’m trying to get at your penis. I can’t suck you off through your pants.” Then he looked forward, straight at my crotch. “Or can I?”
And then he leaned forward, mouthing at my cock through my slacks. I was not proud of the squeak I made at the sight of him, mouth wide, the wet heat pressed against me. He scraped his teeth against the outline of my dick. I didn’t know what to do with my hands because I most certainly didn’t want to urge him on, but I really didn’t think he should stop, so I ended up putting them over my mouth as I attempted to keep all the noise at a minimum.
“Yeah,” he said, sitting back, lips a little swollen. “I could totally do that. We’re gonna need to try that at home.”
I glared down at him, hoping that it came off as we shouldn’t be doing this here, you bastard, and did I tell you to stop? Get back on that!
Apparently, Vince Taylor was fluent in the Glares of Paul, because his hands came back up and unclasped my slacks, then pulled down the zipper as neat as you please.
Now let’s be honest here: erections are ridiculous things. When men are aroused, it’s plainly evident, and there’s really nothing we can do about that. So there I stood in the supply closet at work, my penis out there and practically screaming, I FIND THIS VERY GOOD, PLEASE LOVE ME LONG TIME, and there wasn’t a single thing I could do about it.
Well, there was. And there was also something Vince could be doing, but once he got my underwear hitched below my balls, he just sat there, staring up at me, a flushed look on his face.
I dropped my hands and tried a different glare.
Nothing doing.
“Come on,” I said, thrusting my hips forward a little bit. “Do it.”
He licked his lips.
“Just a little bit,” I said. I leaned forward, aware of how ridiculous it was when my dick hit his cheek. “Come on. It’s right there.”
He bit his bottom lip unfairly.