"What else do you remember about the night we met?" asked Justin, picking up where their conversation had left off at Babylon hours ago.

He liked to talk after sex. Brian had grown used to it, had even come to enjoy it-provided they didn't talk about relationship-type issues. Unfortunately, these days, everything seemed to revolve around the unspoken assumption that they were in a relationship, however open and non-binding; and, unfortunately, lately, he had begun to feel that soon he would have to make a decision regarding their future. Their future. Not his. Not Justin's alone, but theirs. His throat tightened and he found that he needed a moment before he could speak. He guessed Justin assumed he was thinking about his question. In truth, he didn't have to think about it. He had vivid memories of that night. Yes, there were gaps in the record but the things he did remember he thought he would never forget.

"You were standing under a street light. Like in a movie."

"What movie?"

"A horror movie," Brian replied. "A Nightmare on Liberty Avenue," he teased, biting Justin's ear.

"Fuck you," Justin said, pushing his attacker away.

Brian looked up from beneath thick lashes. "Maybe next time."

"Promises, promises." Justin rolled over onto his belly and pillowed his head in his arms. He had to stay awake, had to go home, school tomorrow, and Deb had said that he had to cut down on the number of nights he spent at Brian's place. Besides, Brian seemed a little restless tonight and if he stayed they'd end up fucking until dawn and he needed to get some sleep tonight. As if he had read Justin's thoughts, Brian reached over and stroked the teen's bare flank. Justin captured his hand and kissed his fingers. "What else?" he asked, hoping to distract him.

Brian smiled knowingly. Indulged him. "All right." Took a deep breath and let it out, venting the sudden build-up of desire. "I remember thinking you were so young. And beautiful. And so fucking young," he repeated.

"Not anymore," countered Justin. "I'm eighteen."

"When's the first Social Security check coming in? You can spring for dinner at Papagano's."

But Justin just as quickly replied, "You don't do dates, remember?"

"I'd make an exception. On my birthday," he said referring to their date to celebrate Justin's birthday.

"Then," began Justin, "maybe we can go Dutch. Since you'll be collecting benefits too," he taunted, knowing how much Brian dreaded turning thirty. As if he'd turn from a studmuffin to a total geriatric case over night. Sometimes Brian showed a stunning lack of common sense and logic.

Brian grabbed him and rolled him over onto his back. Kissed him hard and growled, "Just for that, I'm not letting you go."

As if that was punishment, thought Justin, forgetting all about Deb and her rules, just wanting to feel Brian hard against him once more. But thinking about Deb made him think about the decision he had to make regarding college. Only he couldn't really concentrate with Brian licking his throat and stroking his cock. He needed time to think about what Brian had said to him at Babylon, to think about his parents, about everything. Brian kissed his way down to his breastbone. God, he had to put an end to this. Grabbing the back of Brian's head, Justin said, "I can't. I can't," he reiterated as Brian stopped kissing and looked up at him.

"Why not?"

"I have to go home."

"Now?" Brian lowered his head and made to begin once more, as if the decision had been reversed.

But Justin drew his head back up again. "Now."

Brian squeezed his sac, eliciting a groan. Then let the length of Justin's cock rest against his palm. "You sure?"

As much as he wanted to say, 'Fuck me,' he didn't. "Yeah."

Giving Justin a final kiss, Brian got up and hunted for his jeans. "I'll drive you home."

Before he got out of the jeep, Justin asked, "Why don't you ever kiss me goodnight?"

"I don't hold your hand either when we cross the street and I don't hear you complaining about that."

Justin was about to get out when suddenly he turned and took hold of Brian's face and kissed him softly beside the mouth. "'Night."

Refusing to look after the teen as he turned the key in the lock, Brian waited until the front door closed before speeding away from the curb. He didn't know whether to be angry or not. Justin steadfastly held on to the belief that they were a couple and no matter what he did to dissuade him of that notion, the boy refused to surrender it. Only, Brian asked himself, how hard are you really trying? Even when he didn't reciprocate, he allowed Justin to express his feelings. He hadn't kissed Justin but he had let Justin kiss him. If that had been anyone else, he would have pulled away, refused them with a harsh word. Then why let Justin do it? Why these double standards?

He parked and took the elevator upstairs. Threw his jacket across the back of the sofa and stripped again. Climbed into bed. Only he couldn't sleep.

Had he done the right thing at Babylon, coming down so hard on Justin? Was staying in Pittsburgh the best thing for him? There were good reasons for Justin to go and to stay. He just wanted Justin to be truthful to himself. Ruefully, he shook his head and reached for a cigarette. Lit it and took a deep draw. Truth. How truthful was he being to himself about Justin? But he rejected that train of thought. He was always truthful. The problem was the truth shifted, mutated, proved elusive. He'd re-examine his beliefs to find that they had transformed, maybe metamorphosed. The naturalness of his feelings for Justin sometimes alarmed him. He wanted to tell himself that it was just the drugs or a desire not to crush the kid or a hundred other excuses but the fact remained that Justin had remained when so many others had been sent on their way. Not wanting to examine that too closely, not tonight, he pushed the thought away. Only, it refused to budge.

Why Justin and not the others? What others? he snorted. It was a well-known fact, he didn't do guys more than once. Of course, that wasn't exactly the truth. There were a few. He could count on both hands the number of men he'd been with more than once. God, what a group…

10

If he could have erased his memories of Cam, he would have, but some things were beyond even his control. To have to remember the good times in the midst of the bad didn't seem fair when all he wanted was not to remember anything at all. If he could have lied to himself and told himself that they had never been in love, that he had never felt anything but hatred for Cam, he would have slept easier; but if he was brutally honest when it came to others, he was just as hard on himself. Most of the time.

So he was stuck with these unwanted memories that surfaced from time to time to remind him of the way it used to be. To recall the pleasure of feeling Cam's hands around his waist, holding him as they fucked, as he sank down upon his lover's cock. The candlelit dinners, the parties where they danced every dance together, Sunday brunches in bed, the way Cam would whisper his name from across the room and make the hairs stand up on the back of his neck…

Brian jerked up and shook his head. Not tonight. Let it go. Let him go.

9

The thing he remembered most about Chet wasn't that he liked to wear diapers while Brian spanked him, it was how they met.

As he entered the elevator he felt the man's eyes on him, checking out his suit, his hair, his shoes, his basket. Tsk tsk. Brian grinned, punched the button for his floor, and stood with his back to the guy. Didn't even notice the other three people on the car. They didn't register. Beneath his radar. The man, he had possibilities. Older than he usually liked them but not yet forty he guessed. Successful. The suit was an Armani from the latest collection. Nice. Good haircut. Looked like he worked out at least three or four times a week. Brian hated fat. He sensed a movement behind him as the car came to a stop. The three other people got off. No one got on. Making a split-second decision, Brian punched the stop button and turned just as the man reached for him. They banged against the wall of the elevator as they kissed, the man unzipping Brian's pants and grabbing his cock through the thin material of his underwear. He worked the briefs down and dropped to his knees. Brian sighed as the man's mouth closed around his cock. He had a meeting in twenty minutes but they didn't need twenty minutes. He could already feel his dick getting hard. Ten at the most.

Just as he was about to blow, the guy stood and turned him towards the elevator wall. Got behind him and grabbed his dick once more. Jacked him until he came. Cum splattered the steel wall of the car. As he put his cock away, he watched the man kneel and, with a linen handkerchief, wipe the cum from the shiny surface. He replaced the handkerchief in his pocket and smiled. Removed a Montblanc pen and a business card. Wrote something on the back and handed it to Brian. He glanced at it as he pressed the run button. Smirked. "Eight it is," he confirmed, before stepping out of the opened doors onto his floor.

8

Cross-country trips could be so boring which was why his eyes lit up the moment he saw the hottie in flight attendant drag coming out of the cockpit into First Class. Timothy, his name tag said. Well, Timothy, thought Brian, this is your lucky day.

Timothy came over to take his drink order. "What can I get for you, sir?"

"Jim Beam, straight up," he replied, flashing his brightest smile, and before Timothy could inform him that they didn't have Jim Beam, he added, "or bourbon if you have it."

"Kentucky, sir."

"Is there any other kind?" he asked.

Without replying, Timothy continued down the aisle taking drink orders and returned a few minutes later to dispense them. As he handed Brian his glass of bourbon, his fingers brushed against Brian's and lingered a moment too long. Brian pursed his lips, eyes sparkling. "Just what I needed."

"Glad to be of service, sir." Timothy was leaning over him still; having discharged his duty, he found it hard to leave. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Not at the moment," he answered. Finally, Timothy left. Brian sipped his drink and thought about the fun he would have with Timothy. Later.

It turned out that the flight crew was based in Seattle and this was their regular run. As he exited the airplane, he shook Timothy's hand. The flight attendant palmed the slip of paper with Brian's hotel and room number on it like a pro.

Despite the fact that he had an early morning meeting Brian stayed up half the night fucking his guest. Timothy turned out to be surprisingly flexible. "You're a goddamn contortionist," Brian told him as he stood over him, thrusting down into Timothy who was on his back and bent nearly in two.

Lucky for him he had a couple more trips to make out to Seattle and, surprise surprise, Timothy worked each flight. This was definitely flying the friendly skies.

7

Graham was intelligent. Erudite some would say. He would definitely say. A bit of a priss. An elitist. He took great pride in surveying the great, unwashed masses from above, from an earned position of privilege. Constantly taking great pains to elucidate the differences between a snob and an elitist: "A snob has pretensions. An elitist earns the right to be superior."

They encountered one another in a bookstore. Brian was supposed to meet a trick there but the guy was late. His patience running thin, he was about to leave when a man accosted him and held a book up to his own face. "What do you think?" the man asked. "Is it a good likeness?"

On the verge of responding with some withering put-down, Brian laughed instead. The guy had balls. And a published book. Brian snatched the slender hardcover from him and flipped it over. It was a porn novel. He laughed again, and carried it to the counter. Paid for the copy, then handed it back to the author. "So… can I get your autograph?"

Graham took the book and slipped it in his pocket. Looked Brian over from top to bottom. "Exactly where would you like me to sign?"

Over the next several weeks Brian helped him with the research for his next book. In the middle of the night Graham would call him with some new idea and Brian would drive over to his house and help him figure out the mechanics. It was an equitable arrangement; and it was with a tinge of regret that they parted, the latest masterpiece completed.

6

Brian fought to catch his breath as Ramon licked the last of the gazpacho from his body. Aroused to the point that his cock had begun to leak, Brian had spent the last few minutes of his exquisite ordeal writhing about as Ramon's tongue and lips cleared the cool soup from his skin. Upon his arrival at the apartment, Ramon had ladled it onto him and spread it over his skin with his hands. Crawling up onto Brian, Ramon kissed him and pronounced everything to be, "Just perfect." Then he slipped a condom over Brian's dick and rode his cock while reciting the recipe. "One medium cucumber, one medium green bell pepper… oh… a small onion… fresh parsley leaves… two and a half pounds of ripe tomatoes-Mmm… a cup of tomato juice… red wine vinegar… extra-virgin olive oil… and two cloves of garlic…" He did love to cook.

So much so that he missed a scheduled assignation with Brian and was told, the next time he called, to 'fuck off.'

5

It was probably not a good idea to fuck your tailor but after seeing Dakota in head-to-toe leather at Babylon, Brian knew he had to have some. Especially since he possessed a ten-inch cock that looked every bit of seven inches in diameter. Plus he had nimble fingers. Cupping Dakota's leather-covered crotch, Brian had whispered, "Maybe it's time you undressed me instead of dressing me."

"I've been undressing you in my dreams for months," Dakota replied.

That should have sent off warning bells, but at the moment Brian was busy listening to his cock, and the sound of its need drowned out any other noise. Giving the tailor's basket a final squeeze, he tugged on the waistband of the jockstrap. "Come on."

Roughly fucking Brian in the doorway of his bedroom, holding onto the doorframe and Brian's hip, Brian bent over the steps, Dakota rode his ass hard, pounding his hole until he thought he would split him open. Then he jerked out and skinned the condom from his cock. Brian, released, turned over and lay half-on, half-off the steps. He grabbed his dick and pulled on it, his shaft slick with pre-cum. Cried out as the first spurt erupted from his slit dotting his belly with cum. Dakota tugged on his cock and was rewarded with a stream of cum that splattered Brian's hand and dick. They continued to jack off until both were empty and Brian was streaked with their efforts. Running his hand through their cum, he painted his cock and balls, his asshole, his belly and thighs. Then, legs spread open, he gazed up at Dakota and smiled. No other invitation needed, Dakota squatted between his thighs and began to lick him clean.

Unfortunately, he grew tired of Dakota and refused to see him after the third fuck session. In retaliation, the tailor made a few stitching errors when he altered Brian's brand new Hugo Boss. There was an ugly scene. Things were said in the heat of the moment that both meant quite seriously and they parted, Dakota to find another fuck partner, Brian a new tailor. Some things you just didn't screw with and Hugo Boss was definitely one of them.

4 and 3

Brian Kinney at a baseball game. He looked around hoping that no one he knew was there and had seen him. Of course, no one he knew would be caught dead at a baseball game, especially the minor leagues, least no one whose opinion he cared about. Then again, he didn't really care about anyone's opinion. Feeling better now that he had solved his quandary, he slipped on his sunglasses so that his client wouldn't see that he was paying about as much attention to the game as he would have to a Miss America pageant. Which was to say, not at all.

And then they came onto the field. Even from behind the sunglasses he could see that they were something special. Twins. A pitcher and a catcher. Playing for the same team. He smiled. Maybe they played for his team as well. No matter. He was completely convinced that given the right motivation, even a straight guy would give it up for him. After all, he was an advertiser. He could sell anything. And the best product he had to work with was himself.

He gave the twins another look, taking off his sunglasses this time. It'd been a while since he'd been adequately challenged. They'd do. They'd do just fine.

The twins had been flattered to hear that they had a fan. Expecting a kid, they were surprised to come out of the locker room to find Brian waiting for them. Looking like every gay boy's dream in a pair of tight blue jeans and a russet sweater, his hair tousled, sunglasses perched on his nose, black leather jacket opened, leaning rakishly against the wall seemingly oblivious to the looks he was getting from men and women alike. Only he was aware of everything. Aware of the twins' confusion, their hesitation. He shifted and they moved forward, both of them, involuntarily. A grin spread across his face. He had them.

That night he was surprised that his downstairs neighbors didn't call the police. The twins, James and John, were as rough off as the field as they were on it, and just as talented. The three of them spent hours in bed, Brian fucking James and being fucked by John-they played exactly the opposite positions off the baseball diamond. When the two brothers left in the morning, Brian had to lay in bed another hour just to find the strength to get up and shower. Definitely the right call.

After that, whenever the boys were in town for a game, they paid a special visit to their number one fan.

2

So fucking Kip had turned out to be a gigantic mistake, an almost career-ending mistake. Everyone was entitled. He just wished he knew why the little asshole had dropped the suit. Not out of any sudden onset of conscience. Of that he was certain. Which meant something else happened which made dropping the suit the only option available. And what the hell could that have been? Following Mel's advice, he hadn't sought out Kip, decided to let it go. Only, it continued to nag at him.

What had he seen in him anyway? He wasn't that great-looking, okay-looking, but not beautiful, not stunning. And he definitely was not the world's greatest lay. So why had he compounded issues by fucking him twice? What had come over him? He remembered what happened in his office with crystal clarity and at no one moment could he stop his recollections and say, there, that's the moment that I realized I really wanted him. If Kip hadn't made that overture, he would have let him walk out of his office without a second thought. But Kip had wanted him and, he guessed, if he were being honest with himself, he would acknowledge that the thought of Kip wanting him had turned him on. But why? It wasn't as if men didn't want him all the time. He turned down more advances in one night than most people in their entire lifetimes. And still it wasn't enough. He understood that. What he didn't understand was why. Justin had asked him once why wasn't he enough, and he remembered at the time thinking that he had said almost the same thing to Cam. Maybe that was it, that he needed to be wanted, to feel wanted, desired, to convince himself that he was enough for someone. Only it was never enough because that someone was never Cameron. And he didn't understand that either. How, years later, he still thought needed something from Cam, something he would never get: validation.

1

If someone would have asked him what came to mind when he thought of Justin, his first response would have been that he didn't think about Justin and then he would have said his smile. He remembered the way Justin had smiled in the jeep saying, "You do. You give a shit." Smiling when he realized that Brian had just asked him to come over and play. When Brian declared his jambalaya to be 'Not bad.' All it took was one kind word from Brian or a little attention and he beamed. It should have made Brian ashamed but it didn't; because he did make Justin smile.

And then he'd say he often thought of them having sex, the way Justin moaned as if he couldn't contain all the pleasure he was feeling. His moans sent shivers up Brian's spine, made him hard, made him dizzy. No matter what it took, he did it, just to hear the delicious sound of Justin moaning in ecstasy. Sometimes all it took was for him to just lie there while Justin sucked him off, moaning around his cock, the vibrations traveling the length of his shaft like electric shocks until he had to clench his teeth to keep from screaming.

He thought of Justin telling him that he loved him, needed him, wanted him, cherished him. Not just with words, but also in the way that he was there when Brian needed him, whether Brian wanted to admit it or not; the way that he listened when Brian bitched; comforted him when he was upset; yelled at him when he needed to be set straight. Only it wasn't all one-sided. He was there for Justin too, taking him in when he had no place else to go; trying to protect him from his parents, from the world, even if he couldn't; listening to him vent when Justin needed to let off steam; giving him advice, particularly if Justin didn't want to hear it.

He poured himself another drink and wandered around the loft. Time had gone by so fast. They had known each other almost six months. Half a year. And in a few more months Justin would be graduating, maybe leaving Pittsburgh, the state. Discovering a whole new world outside of Liberty Avenue, where he could make his own way, find his own place. Why should he stand in the way of that? What was he offering him? Nothing concrete, just vague promises along with just enough affection to ensure that Justin remained hopeful. And why? So that he'd have another Mikey tagging behind him now that Michael had begun to build a life of his own? But Justin wasn't Michael, had never been content just to be petted and kissed and then put away. Justin demanded a place in his life and had, chip by chip, carved out a niche for himself. Only they couldn't remain like this forever. Justin would grow tired of being nudged aside by Brian's inability to commit. One day they would argue, and Justin would leave, and he wouldn't return. Brian gazed at himself in the mirror. How would you like that? he asked himself silently. He had no answer.

Returning to bed, he wrapped himself in the sheet, smelling Justin still, his scent woven in the strands of cotton. Laid his head upon the pillow Justin had used, a blond hair becoming entwined with his own. He stared at the cellphone on the nightstand. Finally he picked it up and dialed Deb's house, hoping she and Vic had gone to bed and that Justin hadn't. After two rings he started to hang up and then he heard a sleepy, "Hello." Justin.

"Hey," he said hoarsely, his heart beating rapidly, and not from his recent exertions.

"Brian?" the teen asked.

"Yeah."

Instantly Justin became alert. "What is it?"

He paused before answering, aware that there would be no turning back from this point on, that he had left himself no secret exit, no hidden trapdoor through which to escape from his own feelings. Even if Justin didn't realize the importance of what he was doing, he did. And it scared him. "I… I just wanted to say goodnight."

There was silence on the other end of the line and then he could see Justin smiling, could feel the warmth. "Goodnight." Pause. "I…"

The rest of Justin's words were lost as Brian lowered the phone. He felt like someone had just shot him from the barrel of a gun and he was traveling about a thousand miles per hour. Had felt that way since the moment he first met Justin. "What else do you remember about the night we met?" Justin had asked and he could have told him, "I remember seeing you standing in the lamplight, just like in a movie; and thinking that you were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I remember asking you if it was your first time and telling you about me and the coach. But what I didn't tell you was that I was just as scared as you, because it was your first time, and I was your first, and I didn't want to hurt you. I remember looking into your eyes, knowing that you trusted me, that despite everything, you trusted me. And you didn't even know me. Or maybe you did." He wished he had been able to say all those things to Justin on the phone instead of just "Goodnight," meaning, 'Goodbye. I'll miss you.' Yet, somehow, he thought, Justin might have understood anyway. Maybe that's what it meant, being connected, that you could hear the intent behind the words. And that by saying goodbye this time, knowing that they'd see each other soon, he would never have to say it for good, watching Justin leave forever.

Heels Over Head | Stories