The Sweet Side Of The Ropes: Enthralling Tales Of Male-Male Romance (8 page)

"Booger..."

"Aw, forget it. Guess it was a piss-poor idea, huh? I'll untie you."

Travis looked up into Booger's eyes. Soft blue, the same color as the creeping myrtle that grew wild on the hills around the cabin, they were shadowed with regret and a longing that both confused Travis and seared him to his core. What the hell was
really
going on inside Booger's head? He wasn't just talking about ropes, for sure. More than that, why was Travis’ body tight with lust, when he should be fighting tooth and nail to get free?

Maybe, Travis realized, it was because nobody else he knew wanted Travis
McGentry
. His fans, the record label, the corporate sponsors, hell, even Bernie only wanted Travis
Steel
.

Not Booger. Booger didn't know the man Travis had become. He only knew the man Travis used to be and that was the man Booger had tied to the bed.

Wasn't that why Travis had come home? To shake himself loose of Travis Steel and find the man he'd once been? It had been so long since he'd had someone touch him without worrying about cameras or tabloids or YouTube videos...

"Wait,” he whispered. “Show me. Show me the sweet side of
these
ropes, Booger."

Booger's cheek hitched in a smile. “You sure? Because if you still want to get loose..."

"You're gonna make me beg, now?"

"Maybe."

"Booger! You bas—"

Laughing, Booger leaned down and pressed his finger against Travis’ lips, silencing the retort that was dancing behind his teeth. “Hush up, now."

Booger stared hard at him, silent, until Travis actually began to squirm on the mattress under his unwavering gaze.
He wasn't doing anything. Why wasn't he doing something?
“Booger..."

"Now, I said to hush, and I mean it, Travis. I reckon that pretty voice of yours could call the birds down from the sky, but I don't want to hear it right now. Not a word, not a sound. If'n you can't keep quiet, I've got a rag handy..."

Travis pressed his lips together tightly, shaking his head.

"Good boy.” Booger's fingers left the rope that bound Travis’ hands and slid slowly down his forearm, following the contours of the muscles under Travis’ skin. They skimmed over Travis’ shoulder to his chest, stopping midway between his nipples. “Got yourself a fine chest, Travis. Strong. Sexy. Know that album cover of yours, the one with you in that blue work shirt? Mmm, mmm, spent lots of nights looking at the picture, at the little bit of skin you was showing, wanting to rip it open and run my fingers through the hair on your chest. Just like this.” Booger spread his fingers, pushing them through the curly blondish-red chest hair sprinkled over Travis’ torso.

Travis bit his cheek to keep from crying out when Booger pinched one of his nipples, giving it a playful twist that sent a bolt of heat straight to Travis’ groin. His cock jerked in response, bobbing up as if to tempt Booger's hand to play with it next.

Strong fingers trailed over Travis’ flat stomach, circling his bellybutton, ghosting over his hipbones, squeezing his inner thighs—stroking him everywhere but the one place Travis sorely wanted Booger to touch. They wandered to the back of Travis’ knee, his calf, the inside of his ankle, his instep, then slowly back up, over his hip, across his stomach, his chest, until Booger's hand cupped his jaw. Never once did Booger even brush against Travis’ erection, and his dick was making its displeasure known. Travis couldn't remember the last time he'd been this turned on, this needful.
Damn it, Booger
, he thought,
it you don't do something soon, I'm gonna pop like a shook-up bottle of Coke.

Booger's fingers tightened on his jaw, as if he could read Travis’ thoughts. Leaning in, he kissed Travis hard, tongue pushing in, warm and wet and taking no prisoners.

Lord the man can kiss
! Travis thought, trying to arch up into it, to taste more of it.

Booger wasn't having any of it, though. The flat of his hand smacked onto Travis’ chest, pushing him back down. “Don't tempt me, boy. That rope can surely sting if'n I take it to your backside. Set still."

It was all Travis could do not to whine when Booger pulled away and stood up, but as he began to undress, Travis forgot his disappointment.

Under his flannel shirt and worn jeans, Booger was all lean, hard muscle. There wasn't an ounce of fat to spare on his long frame, just pounds of finely molded, firm flesh. Like a kid set loose in a candy store, Travis’ eyes danced here and there, from shoulder to stomach, from hip to calf and back, not sure where he wanted to look next.

No fancy boxers or silky shorts for Booger—his underwear was as basic and as functional as he was, his white briefs turned a little gray from frequent washings. He shimmied out of them quickly, leaving the rest of him bare to Travis’ eyes.

His chest was smooth, his nipples large and peaked. Booger's stomach was ridged with muscle, undulating slightly as he breathed. Travis ached to touch him, to run his fingers—no, make that his
tongue -
across Booger's satin skin from his sternum to his crotch
. Lord,
Travis thought,
I could spend a month of Sundays down there alone
. Booger's cock was hard and thick, his balls swollen. Travis squeezed his eyes shut, taking a long, deep, shuddering breath.
Can't do it
, he thought.
Can't keep quiet and still when he looks so damn good!

The mattress dipped, and a weight settled over Travis’ chest. Travis cracked open his eyes, his vision filled by Booger's heavy cock. He took a deep breath again, this time filling his nostrils with Booger's scent. Man and sex, thick and rich.

Wet with precum, Booger painted Travis’ cheeks with fiery designs, dragging the head of his cock over the bristles of Travis’ beard before brushing it over Travis’ lips.

Without being told, Travis opened his mouth wide.
Give me
, he thought, looking up at Booger, silently begging. The first salty drop hit his tongue as Booger obliged; Booger's fat cock sliding past Travis’ lips tasting better than anything Travis could remember putting in his mouth before. He opened even wider, lifting his head up, closing his lips over hot velvet skin, sucking hard.

"Lordy, Travis! You know how to do more with that mouth than sing, and that's the gospel truth.” Booger moaned, and his hips tilted, feeding Travis more, until Travis felt Booger's cock hit the back of his throat and the fur on Booger's balls hit his chin. “Oh, fuck, yeah!” Booger howled as he came. “Take it, boy. Take it!"

Travis took it, all of it, as much as Booger wanted to feed him and still found himself wanting more. But Booger pulled away, dribbling the last few drops over Travis’ bottom lip. Breathing heavily, he smiled that one-sided grin of his then scooted his bottom back a piece until Travis’ aching cock was settled neatly between his cheeks.

"You've been a good boy, Travis. Did as you were told, didn't fuss. I reckon you earned it, huh?"

Travis nodded, still not allowing himself the smallest of sounds. His hands were numb, his arms ached from being tied overhead to the bed; his legs were stiff from his spread-eagled position, but he wasn't about to do a damn thing to ruin the moment. He wanted this so badly, more than he'd ever wanted anything, including his latest album to go platinum. He wasn't going to question the why of it—he just wanted to enjoy it.

Booger began to move, rocking Travis’ cock between his cheeks as Travis’ precum slicked the way. The hair that dusted Booger's asshole scraped against the sensitive skin of Travis’ erection; his balls bounced lightly against Travis’ belly. It didn't take long at all before Travis was there, right there, gritting his teeth to keep from shouting out. He teetered for a moment then fell over the edge, coming in spurts like an overheated volcano, hips thrusting up under Booger's ass.

Travis’ head flopped back onto the pillow as he gasped for air. He knew he was smiling, grinning like a damn Cheshire cat, but he couldn't help himself. How long had it been since he'd experienced an orgasm like that? Hell, had he
ever
had one that powerful? His body felt as boneless as a sack of jellyfish, satisfied from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes.

Booger returned his grin. “Now, don't these ropes beat those fancy velvet ones you was talking about?” He leaned down and pressed a soft, sweet kiss to Travis’ smile.

"Oh, can I talk now?” Travis somehow found the energy to cock an eyebrow. He was sleepy in that warm, incredibly sated way a man got after emptying his balls until they rang hollow, and was wallowing in the happy, lazy feeling. His arms sagged, pulling at the ropes that bound his hands.

Snorting, Booger worked at the knots, letting Travis’ hands fall free., They flopped onto the bed like a pair of dead fish. “I suppose so. Don't know why you want to waste that pretty mouth on words, though. It was doing just fine without them.” Booger laughed, then untied his ankles and rolled off Travis, stretching out next to him.

Taking a deep breath, summoning his strength, Travis flipped over on top of Booger, his hands seizing Booger's wrists tightly, holding them over his head. Using his body weight, he pinned Booger to the bed and grabbed the ropes, quickly securing Booger's wrists to the bedposts.

"Well, lookee here. How's it feel, Booger?” Travis grinned down at him. “Maybe I'll keep you tied up for the rest of the week, see how you like it.” He wouldn't, of course. Not the whole week, anyway. He'd liked what Booger had done, how Booger had made him feel, but his pride insisted that he return the favor, if only for a little while.

To his surprise, Booger grinned at him. “Knew it,” he said, looking up at Travis, beaming.

"Knew what?"

"That you'd learn."

"Learn
what
, Booger? How to tie a knot? My daddy taught me how to do
that
when I was ten."

Booger laughed. “No. How to fight. How to take back control. You forgot
how
, Travis. That's why those people out in California got you all twisted up in them velvet ropes. You
let
them, Travis, just like you let me tie you up."

"Damn it, Booger...” Travis sighed. “Okay, okay. I get the picture. When I get back to LA, I'm going to have a talk with Bernie.” He smiled and bent his head, taking Booger's earlobe into his mouth. He worked his way down, nibbling at the sensitive skin below Booger's ear, slowly rubbing his softened erection against Booger's tight abdomen. When he had Booger squirming on the mattress, he let go and grinned down at him. “Who knows? Maybe I'll move back home, fly to Nashville or out to LA when I need to record. But there's one thing we're going to need if I do decide to move back,” Travis said, looking directly into Booger's eyes.

"What's that?"

"A helluva lot more rope.” Travis laughed and then kissed Booger until his eyes crossed and his knees knocked.

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Foreclosure
.

It's an ugly word that ranks right up there with
castration
and
emasculation
. God knows it has damn well near the same results, at least for me.

Yesterday, I owned a beautiful three bedroom, two-bath ranch on a quarter acre of land in a peaceful if older, pretty little subdivision. Today, all I have to my name are three small cardboard boxes and a plastic Hefty bag full of clothes, old remote controls, and a few mismatched pieces of dinnerware.

The bank took everything else.

Or rather, the bank took whatever my ex had turned her surgically sculpted nose up at during the divorce. Which wasn't much.

Bitch.

It was Tennyson, I think, who said, ‘
Tis better to have loved and lost then never to have loved at all
.’ Bullshit. I've loved and lost, and trust me, the lost part sucks the big fat one.

Actually, that isn't really fair. I know that I never really loved Holly. But the divorce still sucked big time, and believe me, I'm paying for my crimes in blood.

She wasn't content to simply dump me and run off with her new boy toy with his tennis whites, bottle tan, and capped teeth. Oh, no. She had to grab my balls in an iron fist and tear them clean off my body, via my wallet. No anesthetic either, unless you counted the bottle of Jack Daniels I drank last night during my final hours in the house I used to own. It didn't numb the pain, but it did give me the satisfaction of blowing chunks all over the new rugs we had put in last spring.

The only reason she'd been generous enough to give me the house during the divorce was because it was mortgaged up to the shingles. And did I see a single penny of the money we'd taken out against it? No, of course not.
She
needed a new BMW.
She
needed a cruise to the Virgin Islands.
She
needed a fucking fifteen hundred-dollar blue horse coat Shar Pei, whom she promptly named Princess, spoiled rotten, and slept with more than she did me.

All
I
needed was to have my head examined. But as with everything else, what I needed wasn't on her priority list.

The mortgage payment was simply beyond my means now I had to pay alimony. I'd tried everything to keep it, taking on an extra part-time job, advertising for roommates, but it wasn't enough. I tried to sell the house, but the market was in a slump. By the time sales revived, it was too late. I'd lost my home.

But that's the story of my fucking life—a day late and a dollar short.

And so I'm sitting on the curb with a handful of worthless junk and a hangover that could bring Superman to his knees as the sheriff slaps a big, silver padlock on the door of what used to be my home, waiting on the one person in my life that I knew I could always count on. Demetrjusz.
Dimi
to the world at large—only his mother, an immigrant from Poland, called him by his full name. Hell, only his mother could
pronounce
it.

Growing up, Dimi's family lived above the delicatessen they owned down on the corner of Midland Avenue. I spent many nights in Dimi's family's kitchen eating
golumpki
and
pierogis
, listening to Dimi's mother sing off-key in Polish while Dimi's father sat in front of their old 19” television set laughing his ass off watching
Night Court
and
Family Ties.
As time went on, they became more family to me than my own.