Numbers Game Read online

  “Like what you see?” he asked, leaning in close enough so that only he and I could hear.

  “I’d like to see more,” I managed, breathless.

  He slammed his lips against mine.

  I, too horny to argue, opened my mouth and accepted his tongue in, allowing it to dance across my teeth, my tongue, and my lips.

  “Come on,” he said, taking hold of my hand. “Let’s blow this popsicle joint.”

  ***

  We were too drunk to care about what happened between the two of us. Alone, together, in his apartment, we stripped out of our shirts and explored one another’s upper bodies with our hands and tongues. I immediately lavished over his pert nipples, ensnared beneath a loop of chains, and dragged my teeth upon them. The response I received was enough to compel me further—to fall to my knees and take hold of his belt; to pop the snap and then remove it from his waist.

  “You gonna suck me?” he breathed, his voice a sexy Texas drawl that turned me on even more.

  “Anything you want,” I said.

  And it was true. In my current position—before him, on my knees, and with his belt held firmly in my hands—I would do anything for this beautiful man, this amazing, alternative work of art. For that reason, I unzipped his jeans, reached into his pants, and withdrew, through the slit in his boxer briefs, his beautiful seven inches.

  Then I swallowed him.

  He groaned, taking hold of the back of my hair, and thrust into my mouth, sighing as the hairs on my well-kept beard dragged across his balls and created symphonies of pleasure throughout his midsection. He shucked his underpants after several short moments and stepped out of them before walking to the sectional that lay no more than a few feet away, where he spread his legs and tempted me with a full view of his throbbing and leaking cock.

  “Hunter,” I managed.

  “Don’t speak,” he said. “Just suck.”

  So I did, returning to my place between his knees and taking him into my mouth without a care in the world—breathing, tasting and reveling in his person. His cock was thick—much thicker than I’d anticipated—and as a result was hard to swallow at times, but somehow I managed, whether it was the result of pure lust or sheer desperation.

  After several long moments of sucking him, during which time I bottomed out at the base of his length several times, he lifted his eyes and said, “I want to fuck you.”

  “Where’s your lube?” he asked.

  “This way,” he said, standing.

  He led me through the living room and into a small bedroom at the side, wherein there was a multitude of replica medieval weaponry and portraits of faraway lands and mysterious worlds plastered upon the walls. He pushed me onto the bed and snapped open a bottle of lube that was lying on its side of his dresser before undressing me with his eyes—willing me, by gaze alone, to remove my pants, to expose myself, to submit to him.

  Hell—who was I going to refuse?

  I shucked my jeans, brought my arms up around my legs, and waited for him to slide a well-lubricated finger into me before groaning.

  “Hunter,” I managed.

  “Shhh,” he whispered. “Don’t talk.”

  I didn’t, instead groaning and throwing my head back as he applied two, then three fingers into my waiting asshole. My sphincter throbbed around his digits, drawing them in further the more he fucked me in and out. Then he was lining his cock at the base of my entrance and sliding into me.

  I groaned.

  He moaned.

  I spread my legs and beckoned him further in.

  He fucked me—first slowly, with intent I knew was to loosen me up, then more harshly, the bedsprings bouncing with our combined weight. Eventually, the headboard began to slam against the wall, creating a staccato drumbeat that caused me to reach down and take hold of my throbbing prick. I stroked—slowly, in tune to his gentle thrusts, then more rapidly as he picked up the pace.

  “You’re so fucking hot,” I managed as I reached up to press a hand to his chest, to run my fingers through what little hair adorned his torso.

  “You’re not bad yourself,” he managed. “Your ass is like a furnace down there.”

  “You like that?” I groaned.

  “I love it,” he said.

  He devoured my mouth, sliding his tongue between my lips as he fucked me in tune to the primal sounds of our coupling.

  Eventually, he began to pick up the pace, slamming me even harder and with longer strokes than he had before.

  “I’m gonna come,” he managed.

  “Breed me,” I said.

  He thrust three more times, then cried out—a harsh, deep sound that raised the hairs on the back of my neck and along my arms.

  The sound of him coming caused me to come almost instantly.

  “Fuck yeah,” he growled. “Fuck.”

  “God,” I managed as I shot ropes of come across my chest, across my face, across the space of mattress beside me. “Fuck yeah, Hunter. Fuck my ass.”

  “Hell yeah baby,” he said, slamming into me several more times.

  He did this for a few short moments until his deflating cock slipped from my asshole. He then collapsed at my side—panting, groaning, and smelling of sex and sweat.

  “Fuck yeah,” I managed after a moment, reaching down to wipe and then lick the come I’d shot from my fingers.

  “Someone’s a kinky bastard,” Hunter said, rolling atop me. He dragged his tongue across my lips and began to lick the come from my chest, devouring it with the ferocity of a dog who’d been starved of water for days on end. He then kissed me—hard—and shared my juices between the two of us before collapsing on top of me.

  “Ugh,” I grunted.

  “I’m not too heavy,” he said, “am I?”

  “No. You’re perfect.”

  He grinned and pressed a sloppy kiss to my mouth.

  It wasn’t long after that we passed out.

  I woke the following morning in a room that was not my own.

  What… happened? I thought, lifting my head and locking my eyes on the nearby doorway.

  Where am I?

  The throbbing sensation of the hangover hit me then and there, causing me to groan and collapse back onto the bed.

  “Fuck,” I groaned.

  “Sounds like someone can’t hold their liquor,” someone said at my side.

  Hunter?

  I opened my eyes to find the man lying beside me—vulnerable, prone, and worst of all, naked.

  Oh shit.

  We couldn’t have had sex last night? Could we?

  I looked down at my body—still covered in residual traces of come—and realized that had been exactly the case.

  Shit.

  Had we had protected sex, or had we barebacked?

  “Hunter?” I asked, rolling onto my side to receive another stabbing sensation of pain within my head.

  “Yeah?” he asked, turning his green eyes to face me.

  “We fucked around last night, didn’t we?”

  “It would seem so,” the man replied.

  “Do you see a condom anywhere?”

  He pushed himself upright and scanned the floor. “Shit,” he breathed.

  “Shit what?” I asked.

  “I don’t see one.”

  “Fuck,” I managed, reaching up to run my hands through my hair. “Just fucking great.”

  “I’m clean, Adam. Really. I am.”

  “It’s not about whether or not you’re clean,” I said. “It’s about the fact that we were too drunk to care.”

  “I’m pretty sure we both enjoyed what happened last night,” he said, reaching out to run a hand along my upper back. “Come on, Adam. How about round two?”

  “Not right now,” I said, casting my eyes to the bedside clock. “Shit. Shit!”

  “What?”

  “I’m supposed to be in class in thirty minutes. I need to get home.”

  “Why?” he asked. “Just shower here. It’s not like I’m going to s
top you.”

  “That’s not the point,” I said.

  What was the point then? That I had slept with him? That I had fucked him, without protection no less? I barely knew Hunter, let alone his sexual practices. Did he do this often? Or was this just a one-off thing that’d happened because we’d both gotten drunk at the club?

  I knew I couldn’t think about it—not now, not when I had to rush my ass over to the school.

  Rather than wait for Hunter to instruct me on where the bathroom was, I dragged myself out of bed, gathered my clothes from the floor, and made my way out into the hallway, where eventually I found a bathroom and slipped inside.

  Goddammit, I thought.

  I couldn’t believe how irresponsible I’d been. I was better than this, smarter than this. I never had unprotected sex unless it was with a long-term monogamous boyfriend. Unless— I was sure.

  I shook my head as I climbed into the shower and turned the water on—at first jarred by the cold splash that radiated across my torso, then relieved as the warm water began to spray across my being. I washed myself as fast as I could from head to toe, only briefly considering the shampoo and then taking it from the shower rack, before hopping out of the shower and grabbing a used towel to dry myself off with.

  Hunter was standing in the threshold to his bedroom when he appeared, naked and terribly beautiful as could be. “I’m sorry, Adam,” he said.

  “Don’t be,” I snapped. “It’s my fault just as much as it is yours.”

  I reached into my jeans to fumble for my keys, then made my way into the living room, where I crouched, took hold of my long-sleeved shirt, then pulled it over my head.

  “Will you at least call me when you get off?” Hunter asked from behind me. “I don’t want this to get between us.”

  “There’s nothing between us,” I managed, spinning to face him as I opened the door.

  “Nothing between us but attraction.”

  With that, I opened the door, exited, then slammed the door behind me before stalking down the stairs and making my way toward the carport that lay just across the street.

  ***

  On top of the teaching I had to do today, I had to worry about the possibility that I’d contracted one of many STDs.

  You know you’re fine, I thought after a moment’s hesitation. You know that nothing’s going to go wrong.

  No. That was the problem. I didn’t know that, which was why I was panicking. I knew that there was only a short period of time during which I could receive a post-exposure prophylaxis regimen in order to prevent the contraction of HIV, and even then, that didn’t protect me from anything else like Herpes or Hepatitis, or even of the minor STIs that could be contracted as a result of unsafe sex.

  “Mr. Warwood?” a student asked. “Could you help me with this math problem?”

  “Sure,” I said, looking down at the paper as it was presented to me. At least numbers made sense, were concrete, their solutions possible in the fabric of their context—unlike people, who were enigmas in their own right, me included.

  I sighed.

  “Something wrong, Mr. Warwood?” the student asked.

  “No,” I replied, shaking my head. “Nothing’s wrong. No worries. Just thinking about something.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like how easy this math problem would be if you flipped the fractions into more plausible numbers,” I laughed, taking a pen before talking then student through the problem. She listened to my instruction, replicated the task on her own, then turned and walked off, leaving me to think on Hunter and everything that had occurred last night.

  I knew I shouldn’t have been such a dick to him earlier that morning. The fact that I’d stormed out without so much as a thank you or a goodbye was enough to make me feel like the worst person in the world. Still—I couldn’t completely blame myself, just as much as I couldn’t completely blame him. Alcohol had been a factor in this dynamic, and as consenting adults, we’d thrown ourselves to the wind when indulging in it. That was a fault on both of our ends, and didn’t weigh more on one end of the party than the other.

  With a sigh, I leaned back in my seat and began to consider what I would do once I got out of class.

  I decided, in no uncertain terms, that I would go to the clinic, get a free HIV test, and then call Hunter back. That would be the only proper and polite thing to do.

  I stared at my cell phone with more humility than I’d ever experienced in my entire life.

  Knowing that I would need to call now rather than later and apologize for acting like a complete and utter toolbag after coming back with a negative HIV test, I scanned my list of recently-contacted numbers until my eyes centered on Hunter’s name and sighed as I pressed my finger to bring up his contact information.

  Well, I thought. Here goes nothing.

  I tapped the call button, waited for the dial tone to kick in, then pressed the phone to my ear.

  “Hunter,” the man said.

  “Hey, Hunter,” I replied. “It’s me. Adam.”

  “Oh. Hey, Adam.” He didn’t say anything after that. He merely remained silent, obviously waiting for me to continue further.

  “Look,” I said with a sigh, reaching up to run my hand through my hair as I paced my small apartment. “I… wanted to call and say I was sorry for my behavior this morning. It was completely uncalled for.”

  “I see,” Hunter said.

  “I just got scared was all. I haven’t been unsafe with a guy in such a long time, and the fact that it was after I got drunk was, well… a bit disconcerting.”

  “I understand.”

  “I want to make it up to you,” I said after a moment’s hesitation. “Can I maybe take you to dinner sometime? A movie?”

  “Can we just hang out again?”

  There it was, that phrase. Hang out.

  I frowned and said, “I’d be up for doing whatever. I just want you to know that I’m not mad at you.”

  “I know you’re not mad at me. If it’s any consolation, I went and got tested myself, just to give you some peace of mind.”

  “And?”

  “I’m negative.”

  “Good,” I said. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “Stuff happens, Adam. I’m sorry we were irresponsible last night, but I don’t regret what happened. I… remember bits and pieces of it, and… well… honestly…” He trailed off here, as if struggling to expand upon what he wanted to say. When he finally spoke, it was to say, “I really enjoyed what happened.”

  “I did too,” I laughed. “God. I really enjoyed it.”

  “So you would be cool with meeting up again? Like I said: we don’t have to have sex or anything. You seem like a genuinely interesting guy and I’d really love to get to know you some more.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

  “And no alcohol this time,” Hunter laughed. “We know what happens when we get drunk.”

  I laughed in response. “See you later, Hunter.”

  “See you,” he said.

  I disconnected the call and looked down to consider the phone in my grasp.

  Things were cool between us.

  I couldn’t be more thrilled if I tried.

  ***

  We decided it would be best to meet up at a location where we wouldn’t get into any trouble.

  For that reason, we chose a local coffee shop mostly inhabited by alternative people with piercings and tattoos like Hunter and ordered chai lattes to help pass the time. I sipped mine casually, not used to coffee and the affects it could have on me. Hunter, meanwhile, downed his with gusto, and ordered another before returning with a smile on his face.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” he replied. “I’m just glad I get to see you again.”

  “I am too,” I replied.

  “Did I tell you that we’re having a big company party to promote the shop?” Hunter asked.

  “No,” I replied. “You didn’
t.”

  “I was wondering,” Hunter said, “if you’d consider going with me. As my date.”

  “Your date?” I asked. The man nodded and sipped his second latte. “Why do you need a date if you’re only be there to promote the shop?”

  “Because my other coworkers are going to be bringing their wives or girlfriends and I don’t want to feel left out.”

  “I see,” I replied, considering the situation for what it was worth. “Will there be drinking at this party?”

  “Probably,” Hunter said, “but I could abstain for the night and come pick you up. I’d promise not to drink. And who knows? Maybe we’d have a good time.”

  “I’ve had a good time every time I’ve gone out with you,” I laughed. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

  “It’s just… after what happened the other night, I don’t want anything to be weird between us.”

  “Hunter,” I laughed. “There’s nothing weird between us.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure.”

  I reached across the table and took hold of his hand, lacing our fingers together to assure him that there was, in fact, not any bad feelings brewing beneath the surface. He tightened his hold on my hand, revealing the letters L-O-V-E tattooed across his knuckles, and smiled as he considered my hand. “You’d look good with hand tattoos,” he said after a moment’s consideration. “You’ve got the best skin for it.”

  “My job would kill me,” I replied.

  “I know. How’s your tat healing up?”

  I pulled my short-sleeve shirt up over the tattoo to show it in all its healing brilliance. Scabbed over and resembling a patchwork representation of its former self, it looked absolutely horrid.

  Hunter merely laughed at the sight and gestured me to pull my sleeve back down.

  “See?” I asked. “Horrible.”