Chapter 2: Ian Underwood
494 Words
Chapter 2: Ian Underwood
Some blond with hazel eyes, a cleft in his chin, and broad shoulders receives a blowjob by a bald rugby player. The blond sits behind Corey’s desk, and the rugby player is on his jock knees, bobbing his head up and down, slurping and sucking like a hustler.
Upon walking into the office, Corey says, “Oops,” and backs into me, pushing me out of the office. Once the door is closed, he says, “That was Ian Underwood at work.”
“Which one?”
“The one in the chair. My business partner for the past two years. Co-owner of this bar.”
“He’s not bad to look at.”
“Everyone says that. Ian’s a w***e. It’s why he wanted to open The Warehouse in the first place. His motto is to have a different guy on his c**k every night. The bastard will be single forever though, fearing commitment.”
“I can handle that,” I play, grinning.
“Yeah, right, Mr. Shy from the country.” He rolls his eyes and smiles at me.
“I’m not shy anymore. Look how many guys I had clinging to me on the dance floor.”
“Meth will do that to partygoers.”
I’m pushed against the office door with Corey’s two fists. He clings his mouth to mine, shoves his tongue down the back of my throat, pulls off and away, and says, “That’s so you shut the f**k up.”
“I’m an auctioneer on the weekends when I have time. Ranchers like me never shut up.”
“If I shove my c**k in your face, you will.”
“Promise?” I inquire, feeling lightheaded from the fruity drink and grass contact buzz.
“Don’t beg for c**k,” he says, “you don’t wear it well.”
“I’ve never begged for anything in my life,” I say, and mean it.
“Let me remind you of a sleepover we had in eleventh grade. You begged me to f**k you.”
“And you didn’t, which really pissed me off.”
“I was high and drunk. I couldn’t keep it up.”
“You jerked off and went to sleep. You ignored me. I wasn’t a part of your plan that night.”
“You still sound pissed about it,” he says, strumming fingertips against my cowboy chin.
“You scarred me for life. I was rejected by you and no other guy wanted me after that." It was total bullshit, but whatever.
“Get over it,” he says into my ear, nuzzling his chin against my earlobe, turning me on.
“I’ll never get over it,” I answer. “You broke a part of me.”
“That’s a pity. I suppose you want me to make it up to you.”
I reach out and graze his denim package of semi-inflated c**k, and say, “This could make it better.”
“You’re begging again.”
“You like it and know it.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Time will tell.”
I break down, lost in the moment. The bar's thumping music, strong smell of s*x, and the rainbow lights that flicker on the dance floor make me feel like a different type of person. Someone wild, free, and without Kansas limits. I say to him, “You should know something about me.”
“What should I know?”
“I missed you. Thanks for finding me online Although I’m out of my Kansas element, I’m glad to be here for three days and am having the time of my life.”
“Stop being a sentimental fag,” he says, licks my earlobe, a part of my neck, and covets me just the way I want him to.
- Writer
