Fear-Boners and Unpleasant Dreams

Fear-boners and Unpleasant Dreams

As you may be aware, work I posted on Lit was recently plagiarised and published without my consent. I've had the stories taken down, but I didn't enjoy the experience.

I write as herdirtymind on this site and as Jesse H Reign on others. If you see work I've published here under any other name, please let me know.

For the avoidance of doubt, no part of this story may be reproduced without my written permission.

Thanks, and Happy Halloween to those who celebrate.

Jesse

*****

"

That's

what you're wearing?" says Hadley. His incredulous tone draws the attention of Jeff, who comes to the door to inspect me.

"

That's

it? Is this a joke?"

I'm wearing jeans and t-shirt and a cowboy hat I bought when I still lived in Austin. I knew I'd take flack for my low-effort outfit, but the hat's the real deal. It's made of tan leather that's been worn in. I hoped that would count for something.

"We spoke to you about this last year, Dan. We were very clear."

"Honestly," sighs Hadley, "you spend so much time with us, sometimes it's easy to forget that you're not gay, but when you pull shit like this, it makes it

abundantly

clear."

"Mmph, a

bun

dantly," agrees Jeff.

In stark contrast to me, these two have spared no effort. Hadley is dressed as David Bowie, complete with make-up, a wig and a surprisingly authentic-looking asymmetric leotard. Jeff is a gladiator or a God of some sort. He's wearing bootie shorts and a Caesar crown and is covered from head-to-toe in gold paint.

"It's a real cowboy hat, I got it i..."

"Don't care," says Hadley, cutting me off.

"I don't even think they'll let you in like this, I really don't," says Jeff, in mock despair. "Take off the top, at least."

Hadley nods his agreement, his eyes gleaming in mischief. "Yes, it still won't be ideal, but the shirt off might help a little."

"Take it off."

"Take it off."

"Take it off," they chant in turns.

I shake my head and sigh as I pull the t-shirt off over my head. These guys have been my friends for a while. A long while. Mainly we're friends, but sometimes we're friends who fuck. The flirtatious banter between us is one of many reasons I like hanging out with them. I might not be gay, but I'm sure as hell bi.

"Much better," says Jeff.

I almost manage to resist the urge to flex, but I can't. They don't miss it. Neither of them do.

"Oooh, hello abs," trills Hadley, as Jeff rakes his fingers down my belly with a well-practised purr.

We pre-game at their place for a while. A handful of other guys join us and by the time it's late enough to head out, we're all in the mood to get into trouble.

We get to the club, and I'm instantly hit by the intense beat and the heat and the pulse of the sea of men dancing. The club is unreal. It's new and has mirrored surfaces and avant-garde lighting that makes it look a bit like a spaceship. Despite fact that I've got a nice buzz going, I feel suddenly sober and a bit out of place. This always happens to me when I'm in a place like this. We've barely walked in when we spot a gaggle of cowboys. In contrast to me, their costumes are well put together. Hats and boots and neckerchiefs, shiny and perfectly co-ordinated with cut-off denim shorts that show half their asses, and that's putting it mildly.

"You see, Dan," says Jeff, never one to miss an opportunity to teach, "

that's

how cowboys dress."

I shrug and laugh and then I head to the bar and shuffle around until I find an open seat. I order a beer and lean back against the bar, watching the scene. The guys I came with are dancing nearby. They're on top form. I love seeing them like this, though personally, I'm the kind of guy who doesn't dance unless I've had shots, and lots of them.

I nurse that beer and the next one. I'm feeling removed from the vibe to the point that I'm almost ready to call it a night.

Maybe next year, I'll do something more low-key.

I look around for the guys, planning to see if I can make an escape without causing a scene. I don't spot them immediately. I scan the room slowly, looking for Hadley's distinctive wig. I can't find him, but I find something else. Someone else. Someone different. Someone I recognise instantly. Someone I didn't realise until precisely this moment, I've been expecting. I've been waiting for him. I recognise him right away. I recognise him from a teenage dream. My dream. A rare combination of hair, teeth and limbs I concocted in my mind. Body parts and chemicals I assembled and sewed together in the night and then promptly forgot all about. But here he is, seemingly animated by nothing more than a spark of my imagination.

It's him.

Him.

The most beautiful boy in the world.

The place is packed, but there's space all around him. He's dancing. He's moving like water. Like magic. No-one can touch him. The lights are bouncing off his face. Pink and then blue.

His hair is shoulder length and blue-black. He has large doe eyes, impossibly long lashes and heavy eye make-up. There's a soft, fleshy curve to his lips.

Pink.

His jawline is sharp. Could-cut-ice-on-it, sharp. His limbs are long and lean. He's tall and lithe, but as he moves shadows cut into arms and his abs, in perfect time with the music.

Blue.

That little hint of musculature, of masculinity, combined with his beautiful face, is so sexy I start to stiffen immediately. I watch him for ages. I forget all about my beer. I don't move a muscle. He's bare-chested and is wearing a black combat-style kilt and boots. I have no idea what he's dressed as, possibly some sort of anime character I'm way too uncool to know about. It's neither here nor there though. Whatever or whoever he is, I like it.

I'm not the only one who has noticed him. He's drawing a crowd. Guys are jostling to get close to him. They're dancing hard and wild, shaking their cocks and their asses to get his attention. For his part, he pretends not to notice, but he must. No way he couldn't. Maybe for him, this is normal. Maybe causing this type of stir is just par for the course for him.

The song changes and he stops moving. He says something to one of his friends and then starts walking to the bar. I don't take my eyes off him. I can't. He weaves his way through the crowd and walks towards the bar, straight towards me. My heart beats harder, pulsing in my neck and my ears.

Be cool.

Don't panic.

I sit up straighter, shoulders back, subconsciously widening my stance. I raise my beer to my lips and take a careful sip. I flex without thinking. I hate myself for it, but I flex hard enough to burst something.

He squeezes into the spot beside me and looks at me with a little disdain, "Don't worry, Cowboy, I see you."

He's even more beautiful up close. He's wearing lilac contacts that make his pupils look bigger than they would if he was a mere mortal. His chest is coated with a fine sheen of perspiration from dancing. Both his nipples are pierced and God, that excites me.

By some miracle, I don't skip a beat. "How'd you know my name was Cowboy?" I say, looking down and tipping my hat at him.

He cracks a wry smile, "I guess I'm psychic, or something."

"You know, I wouldn't put that past you."

He smiles a little more.

"So, d'you want to know my name?" He says, cocking his head and raising a perfectly arched eyebrow.

"Oh, I know your name," I drawl, leaning into my Texan accent and allowing my words to swirl around in my mouth.

"Mmph, psychic too, are you?"

"I have my moments."

"Go on then, tell me my name."

I lean in close. I'm careful not to touch him. I don't want to be like all the other guys grabbing and groping him, but I hope he can feel my breath on his neck.

"Your name is Trouble."

He rolls his eyes and laughs despite himself, eyes creasing and then lighting up. "Well, who'd have thought it. You really are psychic."

"What are you drinking?"

"Margarita."

I look at the barman with a desperate look that says, "I will tip the unholy hell out of you if you serve me next." It works. We watch as he mixes it, and Trouble smiles as he takes his first sip.

"Thanks, Cowboy," he says, taking a step back, ready to head back onto the dancefloor.

"Don't mention it. I did it more for myself than for you."

"Oh really, and how's that?"

"Well," I shrug, "I like tequila, see? And now I know you're going to taste all sweet and salty when I kiss you later."

He widens his eyes and drops his mouth open in an attempt to show contempt for the sheer audacity of me, but I can see he's trying not to laugh.

He heads back onto the dancefloor, and I watch him go. He walks like he has music deep in his bones. I follow his legs from his ankles to his knees up as high as his kilt will allow. I wonder what he's wearing underneath.

Is he going commando?

God, I hope so.

I watch him intensely, hoping that a turn or a spin will give me some clue. It doesn't. All it does is give me the impression that if I want him, I'm going to have to get my ass on the dancefloor. There are guys all around him. Not just flirting or hinting now. They're making a serious play for him. From where I'm sitting, he seems to be into one of them. Or, if he's not into him, he's not exactly averse to him. To me, the guy looks like a dick. A good-looking dick, but still a certifiable dick. The type of guy who has the word, 'alpha' in every single one of his bio's, if you know what I mean.

I order myself a tequila and shoot it. It doesn't help. I'm still not ready to leave my perch at the bar, so I just keep watching him. Now and again, he meets my eye and gives me the slightest hint of a smile. When his drink gets three quarters of the way down, I order him another and wait, hoping he'll come over to me to get it. He does.

"Thanks," he says, lifting the swivel to his lips and taking it into his mouth. His lips curl around it, so soft and so full, all I can think of is replacing that swivel with my finger, or even better, my cock. "Hey Cowboy, why'd you keep looking at me like that?"

"Can't help it," I answer truthfully, "you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Oof," he says grimacing slightly, "God, don't tell you're sweet."

I put my hand on my heart and smile, "I swear I'm not sweet."

"Phew. A sweet Cowboy would be too rich for my blood."

"Nah, I won't give you a sugar rush, Trouble, I promise. There's no chance of that. In fact, I was just sitting here daydreaming about what you're wearing under that kilt. I sure do hope you're being authentic about it."

"I hate to disappoint, but I'm not.

"You're not? That's a damn shame. Tell you what though," I say, tracing my jaw thoughtfully, "I won't report you to the Proper Decorum of Kilt-Wearing Authority if you come to the bathroom with me right now and show me what you're wearing under there."

He gasps an exaggerated little gasp and places his hand over his mouth. "I will do no such thing."

I raise my hands in surrender, "Okay, okay, just tell me then."

He leans in close, "I'm wearing lace panties," he whispers. I swell and stir in my jeans, more than I already was.

"Mmh," I say, a little out of breath and a lot out of words.

"Yeah, I have to," he sighs, "I have to wear something. I can't go commando."

"How come?"

He takes a step back and throws his head back a little, cracking a wicked smile, "You see, Cowboy, the thing is, my dong is so thick and so long, if I don't wear panties, I just keep tripping over the darned thing."

I burst out laughing. It's the last thing I was expecting him to say, "Damn, boy, you sure know how to live up to your name, huh?" He takes a couple more steps back, ready to head back to his friends. "Trouble," I call after him, reluctant to let him leave, "just tell me one thing...these panties of yours, what colour are they?"

He smiles angelically, a picture of mock-innocence. "They're black, Cowboy," he shrugs unapologetically, arms open wide, eyes darkening. "Black like my soul."

This time when he leaves, I feel a pit in my belly.

I have to have him.

I won't be alright if I don't.

He disappears into the throng of bodies, and I lose him. Hadley and Jeff and the guys come to get a drink and check up on me. I'm so distracted, trying to find him in the crowd, I can hardly follow the conversation.

Shit, I can't find him.

Has he left?

Fuck!

"Guys, can you give me a minute," I say, "I'll be right back."

"

Rude

," says Jeff, with an indignant click of his tongue.

"Sorry! This round is on me, okay?" I peel off a bunch of notes and give them what I hope is a my most winning smile.

I check the bathrooms quickly and then I head upstairs to one of the balconies to try to get a better outlook. I spot him at last. He's sitting in a booth on the other side of the dancefloor with his friends.

Thank fuck.

By the time I get downstairs and work my way through the crowd, he's moved again. I scan the place again and this time I spot him immediately. He's on his way to the bar. I intercept him.

"Are you looking for me, Trouble?"

"I was actually. I'm leaving now, but I wanted to say good-bye."

"I don't want to say good-bye."

"No? What do you want to do instead?"

"I want you to come home with me."

He smiles, "And why would I want to do that?"

"Because," I say, digging deep, scraping the bottom of the barrel, "if you do, I'll fuck you and I swear, I'll fuck you better than anyone has fucked you in your whole life."

"Ha!" he bursts out laughing. "A bold claim if ever I've heard one."

"I give you my word," I say solemnly. "You may not know this about me, but my word is oak."

He laughs again, "In that case, colour me tempted, Cowboy. The problem is, I've got a feeling you can't handle me."

"Why not? What makes you think that?"

I can handle him. Believe me.

"Oh, just the fact you assumed I'm a bottom."

Ooh shit, maybe not.

"Huh? Come on, Trouble, don't tell me you aren't a bottom." I clutch my chest, "I can't take it."

"I'm vers, okay?"

"That's cool," I'm so relieved, I can't help smiling a little too wide. "That'll work just f..."

"I don't mean I'm a vers guy who sometimes tops. That's not what I mean."

I feel a little lost and a lot horny and I'm struggling to see the problem, "What do you mean then?"

"I mean, if I let you top me, there's a price you have to pay. A high price. A price you pay with your ass."

Oh shit.

I'm suddenly uncertain. I'm almost exclusively a top. It's been ages since I've bottomed and when I've done it in the past, I've always been in a serious relationship with the guy.

"See," he shrugs, "told you you couldn't handle me."

"It's not that, I just..."

"Nah, you look unsure. I'll pass. It was fun meeting you though."

He turns and starts to head off. As I see the flick of his raven hair and the sensual curve of his back, I'm filled with an indescribable sense of panic and loss. I feel like I'm losing something big. Something major. I feel bereft, even though what I'm losing is something that was never mine in the first place.

"Trouble!" I yell, "Wait!"

He turns back, shaking his head and laughing at me. "Tell you what, Cowboy," he says, "if I see you again, I'll take it as a sign that it's meant to be."

And with that, he disappears into the crowd. I push my way through, desperately trying to get to him.

"Where do you think you're going?" says Jeff, catching my arm playfully.

"I told you, didn't I? I told you Dan was going to do a runner tonight. I could see it written all over him. I've got a sixth sense for that type of thing," says Hadley.

I'm in a full panic now, "I've got to...there's this...there's a guy, I've got to go!"

"Rude!" says Hadley.

"Mmph,

rude

," echos Jeff.

"But also go. Go, go, go!" says Hadley shooing me in the direction of the door.

I bolt out of the club, hit hard and sobered slightly by the cool night air. I look left and right. There are a few stragglers here and there, but no trace of him.

Fuck!

Which way did he go?

I head right. Quickly scouting four or five places that are still open. Each time I tear in and look around frantically. There's no sign of him. I look up and down the street desperately. He couldn't have gone very far. He must have gone left.

Shit!

I run down the street, feeling increasingly aware of the fact that I'm shirtless and chasing a phantom. I run back past the club and check out two more places. Nothing. My heart sinks. It's been fifteen or twenty minutes since he left. I get the feeling he's not the kind of guy one should keep waiting. I'm about to give up, but I decide to try one last place.

It's the kind of place that's open late but feels more like a coffee shop than a bar. It's pretty quiet and has a chilled vibe. I bet if you asked, they'd have a few board games stashed away somewhere. I spot him right away. He's sitting on a bar stool drinking coke out of a glass bottle. He looks down at his watch when he sees me.

"I was about to give up on you, Cowboy."

"I, uh, I went right," I pant. "You went left. I thought I lost you."

"Nah, you've got me."

I smile and nod and move so close to him that his knee touches my thigh and sets it alight. He tilts the bottle in his hand towards me, offering me a sip of his coke. I take it. Relieved and refreshed by the sweet coldness of it.

"So," he says, "now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?"

"Come home with me, Trouble. You're way to pretty to be roaming the streets on your own at this time of night. Come home with me and I'll give you shelter."

"Shelter, huh?" he smiles, "Is that what they're calling it?"

"Yeah," my voice is deep and hoarse with longing.

"So you accept my terms?" He raises both eyebrows, "I'm yours for tonight, but tomorrow you're mine."

"I accept 'em." I put my hands on his thighs, under his kilt. I rub them up and down, feeling his hair on my palms. "Is this okay?" I murmur.

He gives me a nod and a smile. His lips are parted and despite his contacts, I see a dark swirl of desire in his eyes. I grip his thighs tightly in each hand and spread his legs roughly, moving between them, and jerking him to me, so our groins press hard up against one another.

"And this?" I ask, knowing full well he's just as hard as I am.

This time he just nods. I stroke a strand of his hair out of his face before wrapping my hand around the back of his neck and leaning in. His lips are parted, and he closes his eyes before I even tilt my head to kiss him. His mouth is so soft and inviting, I groan, right there in the bar. Our tongues touch. Just slightly. A light touch. A flicker. The second they do, chaos is ignited in me. Complete chaos. Not just chaos, carnage. I pull away quickly, as if I've been burnt.

"We need to get out of here,

now."

*

By the time we get to my place, I'm so worked up I can't keep my hands off him. I hand him my keys and sweep his hair to the side so I can kiss his neck while he unlocks the front door. As soon as we're inside, he turns to me and we kiss. We kiss for real this time. Hungry. Both of us desperate. Soft lips. Mouths yielding. He arches his neck and sighs softly as he opens his mouth wider, causing the kiss to shift gears. Now it's not just a kiss, now it's me fucking his mouth with my tongue. Deep. Hard. Until he omits a sweet, soft little sound.

I pull back and take in his beautiful face, more perfect now than it was before. His eyes are narrowed slightly, lips parted and there's a tension in his jaw that's new. I turn him around with one hand on his hip. He spins fast. His kilt flaring out a little. I catch it by the hem and lift it sharply, exposing the back of his thighs and his panty-clad ass. Flawless, pale fleshy globes both hidden and exposed by the sheer lace.