As requested, a follow up. I'm not as proud of this one as I was the first, and I think that's because I saw the first as finished. I hope you enjoy it, though.
*****
I was on my way out to work when I heard the sound of something hitting the side of the house. It was the distinctive sound of someone shooting hoops in my driveway. Only one person would be doing that. Jake Turner.
Lupe rushed into the living room and looked at me in an accusatory way.
"This is your fault," he told me, "You just had to go stir that hornet's nest. Did you listen to my infinite wisdom on this matter? No. You just had to go and fuck that guy."
"We didn't fuck," I lied for the umpteenth time. I promised to keep Jake's secret, and I did. It wasn't my fault he had me screaming loud enough for Lupe to hear me down the hall.
"I remember that night, Eric," he told me in no uncertain words, his hand resting on a cocked hip, "Either he was fucking you, or he was beating you, and I don't see any bruises."
Good thing he couldn't see my ass. It's taken me the whole of the last week to recuperate from the best fuck of my life. Jake set my body on fire with lust, and even as I denied the event ever happened, I smoldered with the lingering memory of his big cock buried in my ass. Even as I denied he ever fucked me, I lay in bed alone at night, wrecked and ruined by a man I knew I couldn't have.
"I told him he could shoot hoops anytime he wanted, and I'm keeping my word on that. Besides, maybe he wants to be friendly."
"Oh, my God!" Lupe exclaimed, turning dramatically in a little circle, "That man doesn't have a friendly bone in his entire body."
"The way you tell it, he has at least one." Lupe just stared at me. My joke must have flown right over his head, or he just didn't think it was funny. I couldn't tell which.
"I have to go, Lupe. It's alright. Just let him be and everything will be fine." I took him in for a hug. "I promise."
"Okay, I trust you," he told me, pulling out of the hug. "It's him I don't trust."
I exited the house through the door that led into the garage, to get my bike out. I stood at the garage door, trembling, and waited until Jake made another shot, then pulled the garage door open.
There he was, wearing nothing but basketball shorts and high tops. His broad, hairy chest heaving with his physical activity. He looked at me. I looked at him.
"Hey, Jake," I said in a friendly voice as I pulled the garage door closed.
"Hey," he said with a nod. As cold and distant as ever. "Where are you heading?" he asked as I rolled my bike into the street.
"I'm on my way to work," I answered, hiking my leg over the top tube, "I work as a bartender at the Stallion."
"That's a gay bar, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is." I smiled.
"I'm not a fag," he told me, his voice was defensive.
"There are plenty of straight guys from the neighborhood who hang out there. We have cheap beer."
"That's not what I mean." It took me a moment to realize he was referring to the other night.
"Oh," I said, my heart feeling heavy in my chest, "I never said you were." Silence lingered between us as we just stood there, looking at each other. "I really need to go, or I'll be late."
"Sure. Maybe I'll see you around sometime."
"That would be nice," I called back to him, kicking off and peddling away. I cursed myself for smiling most of the trip. Why was I getting all mushy about Jake? We had some fun, and he was clear that he wasn't looking for anything more than that. I was setting myself up for heartbreak. Maybe Lupe was right. I never should have let him fuck me.
Being a Friday night, the bar was hopping, and I was kept so busy I didn't have any time to think about Jake Turner. That didn't stop me from looking up every time someone entered or exited the front door, expecting to see his hostile looking face.
I rode home feeling energized and light. I loved my job. The energy of the bar's patrons like a psychic vampire. It was a rare night that I ended a shift feeling tired. Horny, yes, but never tired.
As I approached my house, I slowed and looked over at the house Jake shared with his father. Someone was standing in the window. The curtain was quickly pulled back into place as I brazenly waved to whomever it was that was looking out. Was it Jake? Was he waiting up for me to come home?
Nonsense, I told myself as I returned my bike to the garage. It was probably his lunatic of a father spying on the neighbors again. I remembered when Lupe and I first moved in. Jake's father came out, cursing about the fags moving in across the street. He all but carried a protest sign up and down the sidewalk.
With the memory of my night with Jake on my mind, I went upstairs and locked my bedroom door. Lying in bed, I pulled out my dildo and slipped it into my ass, pumping it in and out of me, trying to replicate Jake's movements. The dildo wasn't as large as he was, and my manipulation of the latex cock wasn't as skilled as Jake's fucking. I gave up on the ass play and stroked myself off, falling asleep soon after.
Three days later, it was raining cats and dogs outside. I pulled my umbrella out of the stand next to the front door and walked out onto the front porch, stilling myself against the prospects of walking six blocks in that mess, debating if I was being paid enough.
Across the street, I saw Jake run from his front door to get in his car. I stepped off the porch, unfolding my umbrella against the onslaught. As I made it to the sidewalk, Jake pulled up next to me and opened the door.
"Get in," he called to me.
I obeyed and climbed into the front seat with him. He took off as soon as I had my door shut.
