Calvin’s Cowboy

Chapter 2-5

Storming out of the curtained exam room, Calvin’s left elbow securely held in his right hand, Brock pushed through the crowd ahead of them. He didn’t know which emotion he felt the strongest. Anger, relief or…lust. Propelling Calvin through a door into a bathroom, Brock made for the handicapped stall. He slammed the door behind them and flipped the lock. Whirling round to face a shocked-looking Calvin, Brock launched himself at the man and crushed their mouths together in a savage kiss.

Brock felt the man opening his lips, accepting Brock’s tongue, and then thrusting back with his own. Someone was whimpering, Brock didn’t know—or care—who it was.

Finally running out of air, Brock disengaged. Panting, they both looked at each other. Calvin’s lips were swollen; Brock bet his were in a similar state.

“A scab. A f*****g scab!” Brock shouted, the noise echoing off the walls of the stall.

“Yeah. Who knew they could look so like melanoma.”

“You…I—” Brock couldn’t organize his thoughts. “I thought I was dying.”

“Yeah. I did, too. Honestly, it looked just like—”

Brock silenced him with another kiss, this one less crazed, more…thoughtful…more meaningful.

“I know,” Brock said when they separated, but not by much. Brock could feel Calvin’s breath on his face.

“When the doctor took that bar of soap and lathered up that gauze swab and then rubbed it on your wrist, I thought I was going to explode. I mean, what kind of quack cure was he trying to pull?”

“Yeah. But when he explained that if the thing flaked off like that—”

“I know. Sorry, man. Sorry for over-reacting like I did.”

Brock stared deep into Calvin’s eyes. He hadn’t noticed before what a deep shade of green they were. Suddenly Brock needed the guy, needed to tell him—show him—just how grateful he was for caring, for being willing to step up to bat for him. Brock didn’t know of anyone else who would have. Before he could change his mind, Brock sank to his knees and was pulling at Calvin’s zipper.

“What are you doing?”

Brock didn’t reply. If Calvin didn’t know now, he soon would. Zipper down, Brock reached inside and, after pulling aside the black silk boxers—something he’d have to rag Calvin about later—Brock pulled out the guy’s d**k. It wasn’t easy as it was an impressive size, and hard as iron.

Licking the exposed crown a couple of times, Brock captured a pearl of juice. The flavor exploded on his tongue, but Brock didn’t have time to savor; he had to get to the main event. Taking a deep breath, he swallowed Calvin to the root.

“Jesus!” Calvin moaned, putting his hands gently on either side of Brock’s head.

This would not be the most finessed blowjob he’d ever given, but Brock tried to put all he was feeling into it, as he knew he’d not be able to put it into words. Calvin had believed in him, hadn’t listened to his bullshit about being okay. Instead he’d taken charge of everything, marched him to the ER and demanded they get treatment. Sure, it’d been embarrassing as hell standing at the desk, but secretly Brock had admired Calvin for standing up for what he believed in, sticking up for him.

“Oh, God!” Calvin groaned when Brock started to hum around the head of Calvin’s d**k. “Not gonna last long.”

That was the idea. This hard floor was hell on Brock’s knees.

Pulling off a little to take a breath, Brock put his tongue to work by rolling it around Calvin’s shaft.

“Jesus, man.”

Brock redoubled his efforts to make it good for Calvin.

“Oh, man, gonna…gonna…!”

Brock felt his mouth fill with warm pungent sweetness. Levering himself up with the aid of the toilet seat, he stood.

“Wow. I—”

Brock silenced him with a kiss, feeding Calvin’s seed back to him. They swapped spit for a minute or so, before the enormity of what he had just done began to dawn on Brock.

“I sure wasn’t expecting anything like that,” Calvin said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

Brock froze when he heard the outer door open and close. Footsteps echoed in the tiled room, then came the sound of a stall door being latched. Suddenly the stall he was in felt too small, the lights too bright, the smell of disinfectant too strong. What had he done?

With shaking fingers, Brock unlatched the door and fled. This should have been about saying thank you to Calvin, but his good intentions were crowded out by images of other blowjobs given—and received—in other bathroom stalls. Those had all been about getting off, relieving an urge. Brock felt cheap…dirty.