Cherry on Top - 1 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and 

incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are 
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, 
organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental 
and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher. 

Cherry on Top 
TOP SHELF 
An imprint of Torquere Press Publishers 
PO Box 2545 
Round Rock, TX 78680 

A Better Fate than Wisdom copyright © 2010 by Lee Benoit, 
Cooking Lesson copyright © 2010 by Miza Izanaki, Going 
Home Again copyright © 2010 by Kiernan Kelly, The Ivory 
Dungeon copyright © 2010 by Syd McGinley, Sweet Cherry, A 
Hammer Story copyright © 2010 by Sean Michael, Stairway to 
Evan copyright © 2010 by G.R. Richards, The Bad Boyfriend 
Club and How I Left It copyright © 2010 by Tracy Rowan, My 
Best Friend copyright © 2010 by BG Thomas, Green Carnations 
copyright © 2010 by G.S. Wiley 

Cover illustration by Alessia Brio 
Published with permission 
ISBN: 978-1-61040-017-6 
www.torquerepress.com 
All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this 
book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as 
provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address 
Torquere Press. Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680. 
First Torquere Press Printing: July 2010 
Printed in the USA 

Cherry on Top - 2 

Table of Contents 

Introduction – 4 

Going Home Again by Kiernan Kelly – 5 

A Better Fate than Wisdom by Lee Benoit – 34 

Green Carnations by G.S. Wiley – 54 

Stairway to Evan by G.R. Richards – 74 

The Bad Boyfriend Club and How I Left It 

by Tracy Rowan – 91 

The Ivory Dungeon by Syd McGinley – 118 

My Best Friend by BG Thomas – 139 

Cooking Lesson by Miza Izanaki – 154 

Sweet Cherry, A Hammer Story by Sean Michael – 170 

Contributors' Bios - 198 

Cherry on Top - 3 

Introduction 

Lots of things are better with a cherry on top, which is 
exactly what we're bringing you in this sequel to the Cherry 
anthology. 

We've got first time lovers, we've got first time cooks, we 
even have an infamous Dom discovering that side of 
himself for the first time. Just like its predecessor, this 
anthology brings you stories by Torquere veterans and 
newcomers with that common cherry-popping thread. 
Whether the lovers are new or committed couples, vanilla 
or kinky, they're all trying something new. 

So sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride, with a cherry on top. 

M. Rode 

Cherry on Top - 4 

Going Home Again 

By Kiernan Kelly 

Atlantic City, New Jersey 
August, 1969 

Summer would never be the same again, although Daniel 
didn't know it at the time. 

Waves sluiced into foam along the shoreline, the music of 
the ocean competing with the buzz of transistor radios and 
the happy shouts of swimmers. Sunlight dappled the water 
silver, turquoise, and green; seabirds cried and swooped 
low over the cresting whitecaps. The sand stretched as far 
as the eye could see in both directions, blindingly white, 
blisteringly hot, and speckled with seashells near the 
water's edge. 

Gaily striped umbrellas dotted the sand, towels and coolers 
marking patches of territory claimed by beach-going 
families. Children screamed and splashed, adults floated or 
jumped the waves. Beneath the water's surface, small fish 
darted between the waders' legs in silvery flashes. 

The Atlantic City Boardwalk, capitalized in Daniel's mind 
as any famous landmark like the Taj Mahal or Buckingham 
Palace might be, cast its shadow along the beach for four 
miles, its wooden planks suspended ten feet over the sand. 
Shops and amusements lined its sunny stretch: the Wax 
Museum, the Penny Arcade, and James' Famous Salt Water 
Taffy among them. Rolling wicker chairs pushed by 

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cheerful young men in shirtsleeves squeaked across the 
boards. Wooden piers extended from the Boardwalk over 
the sand and water like fingers: the Steel Pier with its 
flashing lights, rides, and amazing Diving Horse; the 
Steeplechase; and the Million Dollar Pier with its double-
decker carousel and sideshow attractions. 

Like the inescapable ebb and flow of the tide, families 
flocked to Atlantic City every year for summer vacation. 
They baked on the sands during the day, skin browning like 
a roast in the oven, marinated in suntan oil. Every night, 
soon after the sun set and the temperature cooled, they 
strolled along the length of the Boardwalk, eating freshly 
roasted peanuts or licking cones of frozen custard. 

It was late August, 1969. The nation was buzzing about the 
Apollo moon landings and gay rights marches at Stonewall. 
In a muddy field in upstate New York, Country Joe and the 
Fish had played to a crowd of thousands of long-haired 
flower children under the banners of peace and love, while 
other boys, barely old enough to shave, were dying a half a 
world away in the jungles and rice paddies of Viet Nam. 

None of that mattered to Daniel, a nine-year old kid with a 
fresh cast on his right arm, sitting on the hot sand and 
looking longingly at the cool waves. All that did matter was 
the fact that he was facing two weeks of total and complete 
boredom, frying in the heat, tempted by the sounds and 
smell of the ocean but forbidden to enter it courtesy of a 
fractured ulna. Not even the nights held any promise for 
him. The cool evening hours looked to be as dull as the 
burning hot days. Unable to roll a skeeball, pitch a dime, or 
toss a ring except with his weaker left hand, and forbidden 
to ride the roller coaster or the Himalayan because of his 
parents' fear that his injury would be jostled. 

Cherry on Top - 6 

Daniel pondered the unfairness of his fate as he got up and 
walked along the water's edge, feet sloshing through the 
foam that lapped the shore. He stopped every so often to 
toe a particularly colorful shell, or to poke at the remains of 
a jellyfish with a stick of driftwood, not really paying 
attention to how far he'd wandered from the spot where his 
parents lay baking in the sun. 

The Million Dollar Pier stretched over the sands, extending 
out onto the water. Cooler shadows beckoned under the 
wooden dock, promising relief -- however small -- from the 
burning rays. He hurried underneath and sat on the hard-
packed sand, looking up at the gaps between the boards far 
overhead. 

"Hi. I'm Tony Baranzo. What's your name?" 

Daniel was startled to find that he wasn't alone under the 
pier. 

The boy looked to be Daniel’s own age or close to it, 
skinny and dark haired. There was a smattering of freckles 
across the bridge of the boy’s nose, and a narrow space 
between his front teeth showing through a friendly smile. 
He wore a swimsuit, the same robin's egg blue as his eyes, 
and had a brightly colored, striped towel thrown around his 
shoulders. 

"Daniel Carter." 

"What happened to your arm?" Tony flopped down on the 
sand next to Daniel. Tony smelled like coconut suntan oil 
and ocean brine. 

Cherry on Top - 7 

"Broke it. I fell out of the tree in our yard." It was an out-
and-out lie, but Daniel knew better than to tell anyone the 
truth. Not even his mother knew how he'd really broken it. 
His father did, though, and Daniel hated him for it. 

"Cool! Was it a big tree? Was it, like, a hundred feet high?" 

"Yeah, it was pretty big," Daniel said. "Are you here with 
your folks?" It was a stupid question, Danny knew, but he 
didn't want to talk about his arm. He couldn't. It was too 
dangerous. He might slip up. 

"Nah, my grandparents. They take me every year for a 
couple of weeks in the summer. They live here. My 
grandpa owns a pizza stand on the Million Dollar Pier. Are 
you hungry? Want to go get a slice? I get all the pizza I 
want for free." 

Suddenly, there seemed to be a bright spot in Daniel's 
dismal immediate future. He felt his depression lift at the 
prospect of having a friend to share the boring hours. Of 
course, Tony might not want to be his friend, not once 
Tony found out that Daniel couldn't do anything 
worthwhile, but at least Daniel would have company for a 
few hours that afternoon. He smiled and nodded. 

To Daniel's surprise, Tony didn't mind at all that Daniel 
couldn't swim or go on the rides. He'd been perfectly happy 
to spend time walking the beach or the piers, exploring the 
shadows under the Boardwalk, and gorging on gooey pizza. 
Each day, Daniel would wake, dress, breakfast with his 
parents, and then run off toward the Million Dollar Pier, 
where he knew Tony would be waiting for him. 

Cherry on Top - 8 

Tony's grandmother, a round woman who wore her long 
gray hair woven into a braid wound tightly around the 
crown of her head, loved Daniel on sight. Mrs. Baranzo 
insisted that Danny call her "Nonna," and repeatedly 
clucked her tongue, telling him he was too skinny. "Just 
like my Antonio. Mangiare," she'd say, before slapping 
another slice of pizza on Danny's plate. 

Mr. Baranzo was a slender man with stooped shoulders, 
who was mostly bald except for sparse gray hair circling 
his shiny skull in a monk's fringe, and unfailingly wore a 
white, tomato-splashed apron cinched around his narrow 
waist. His hands were gnarled with age, but they could toss 
a circle of pizza dough high into the air without ever failing 
to catch it. Danny loved to watch him coax a pizza pie out 
of a round lump of dough, flouring it, kneading it, turning 
it, and finally tossing it with practiced hands until it was 
transformed into a uniformly thin, circular crust ready for 
the tomato sauce and cheese. 

The days sped by much faster than Daniel would have 
guessed when he first arrived. Before he knew it, he was 
facing the last day of his vacation. His family would leave 
for home the next day. 

He wished with all his heart that he could remain in 
Atlantic City with Tony and Tony's grandparents. The 
knowledge that he couldn't had him in a dark mood. 

"Hey, penny for your thoughts," Tony said as they walked 
along the sand under the Million Dollar Pier. "You got real 
quiet. What are you thinking about?" 

Daniel shrugged a thin shoulder and dug his toes into the 
warm sand. "Don't want to go home, I guess." 

Cherry on Top - 9 

Tony stooped to pick up a shell and chucked it into the 
waves. "Yeah, me, either. Don't want you to go, I mean. It's 
gonna be boring without you here. I don't leave for another 
week." 

"My father broke my arm." Daniel gasped, slapping his left 
hand over his mouth. He hadn't meant to say it, but the 
words had flown out of his mouth before he could stop 
himself. 

"What? You said you fell out of a tree. Your dad did that?" 
Tony's blue eyes flew open wide. "On purpose? What did 
you do wrong?" 

"Look, forget I said anything," Daniel growled. He 
suddenly felt angry at everybody and everything -- at his 
dad for hurting him, at himself for not fighting back, at his 
mom, even at Tony for having the sort of family Daniel 
wished he'd had. "Go on back to your stupid pizza stand. 
I'm leaving." 

"Hey, don't get mad. I was just asking. My mom's whacked 
my backside a few times with her wooden spoon when I 
answered her back, if it makes you feel any better." 

"It doesn't. It's not the same thing. Just forget it, okay?" 

"Yeah, sure. Sorry." Tony grabbed Daniel's good arm, 
pulling him to a halt. "Don't go, Danny. Come on, I said I 
was sorry." 

Daniel tugged his arm from Tony's grasp, but he didn't run 
off as he'd intended. He sat down on the sand instead, 
pulling his knees up, resting his chin on his kneecaps. "I 

Cherry on Top - 10 

shouldn't have told you. I'm not supposed to tell anybody." 
His anger washed away in a sudden flood of anxiety. "You 
gotta promise not to tell." 

"I won't. I swear." Tony sat down next to him. They stared 
out at the water for a while, watching the seagulls. "What 
did your mom say?" 

"She doesn't know. She thinks I fell out of a tree." 

"Maybe you should tell her." 

"And maybe you should mind your own business!" Daniel 
snapped. "I can't tell anybody. My dad said if I ever told, 
he'd... oh, never mind. I can't tell, and that's all there is to 
it." 

"I'm glad you told me, then. That means we're, like, best 
friends, right? Sharing secrets and stuff?" 

Daniel felt his lips tilt in a smile, despite the unease still 
twisting his stomach. "Yeah, I guess so." 

Tony shifted on the sand, digging into the pocket of his 
swimsuit. He pulled out a postcard and handed it to Daniel. 
"Here... I bought this for you. It's like a souvenir." His 
cheeks turned pink under his tan. 

Daniel took the card. On the front was a picture of the 
beach, showing the Million Dollar Pier. Two stick figures 
had been drawn underneath it with a Magic Marker. 
Written on the back of the postcard in carefully printed 
block letters were Tony's name and address in Brooklyn. 

Cherry on Top - 11 

"See? I drew you and me under the pier. You can write to 
me, if you want. I'll write back, too. Promise." Tony's smile 
made his cheeks dimple. 

Daniel wasn't sure what to say. "Okay. Thanks." 

"You promise to write?" 

"Yeah, sure," Daniel said, standing up, feeling better than 
he had, lighter. "I promise." Somehow, he knew he would, 
too. If there was one thing he needed in his life, it was a 
friend. 

*** 

Atlantic City, New Jersey 
September, 1985 

Daniel stepped off the train, lugging his single suitcase with 
him. The smell he remembered from his youth hit him 
squarely in the face, instantly bringing back with a startling 
richness his favorite recollection from his youth. He was 
nearly overwhelmed by his recollection of the ocean and 
the taste of salt water on his lips, the Boardwalk, soft 
custard cones, salt water taffy, and the riotous sound of the 
amusement piers. They brought a smile to his face, and the 
memory of one person front and center in his mind. 

Tony. 

The one thing Daniel had managed to keep with him 
throughout his tumultuous teen years spent in a long string 
of foster homes was the faded, creased postcard of the 
Million Dollar Pier in Atlantic City Tony had given him all 
those years ago. Tony had been true to his word, 

Cherry on Top - 12 

exchanging letters and photographs faithfully until ten 
years ago, when Daniel's letters suddenly went unanswered. 

When Daniel was emancipated, he tried to put his past 
behind him and carve out a life for himself. His pen-pal 
friendship with Tony -- or sudden lack thereof -- slipped to 
the back of his mind. He figured it happened that way 
sometimes. People grew up, drifted away. 

It was almost a miracle he'd held on to the postcard, 
keeping it safe and as intact as possible. It wasn't such an 
easy task when you were being shuffled from foster home 
to foster home like a cast-off piece of bric-a-brac sold to 
strangers at a series of garage sales. Once, one of his foster 
mothers had taken all the correspondence she could find 
between Daniel and Tony and destroyed it in a fit of anger. 
The postcard had been the only thing to survive her wrath. 

Soon after he'd turned eighteen, he'd tried to find Tony, but 
there was no one by the name of Baranzo living at the old 
address in Brooklyn, nor did the current residents have any 
information on Tony Baranzo. Daniel asked around the 
neighborhood and found a man at the corner newsstand 
who remembered the Baranzos. Tony's grandparents had 
passed on, and his parents had moved to Boca Raton in 
Florida, but the man didn't know what had become of 
Tony. 

Then Daniel met Stephen, and for a time he thought he'd 
finally found a place for himself in this world, and someone 
with which to share it. Daniel's vision clouded with a 
memory of their last night together. 

"Stephen, where were you?" 

Cherry on Top - 13 

"Out." Stephen's words were slurred, but there was no 
hiding the irritation in his voice. 

"I know that. Where?" 

"Who are you... my mother? I said I was out." 

Daniel could smell booze on Stephen's breath. There was 
another scent clinging to Stephen's clothing. Cologne, and 
it was neither Stephen's nor Daniel's brand. Daniel had 
smelled it more and more frequently of late. His temper 
exploded. "You always seem to be going 'out' lately, and 
without me. You fucker! I won't sit by and let you cheat on 
me, Stephen. Not anymore." 

The fist came out of nowhere, without the slightest warning. 
It knocked Daniel flat on his ass, and he sat on the floor 
feeling stunned, pinpoints of light dancing in front of his 
eyes. 

"Fuck you!" Stephen growled. "I do what I want, with 
whoever I want. I'm done with you and all the clinging and 
whining. We're done. I'm leaving." 

Before Daniel could gather his wits or even pull himself up 
from the floor, Stephen had thrown his belongings into a 
bag and slammed the door on his way out. 

Just like that, two years of what Daniel had thought of as a 
solid relationship were over, ended in violence. 

Violence, Daniel thought, seemed to be a way of life for 
him. 

Cherry on Top - 14 

Why did everyone he loved hurt him? He couldn't 
understand it, but felt that it had to be his fault. He was 
unworthy of love. It had to be. Every time he let himself 
care for somebody, they hurt him. 

Everyone, he realized, except Tony. 

Maybe it was just that he and Tony hadn't been in the same 
room since that first summer. Maybe, if they were together, 
Tony would hurt him like everyone else had. 

But maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't. 

It was a hope Daniel clung to. He didn't have a current 
address for Tony, and there was only one place he could 
think of to start looking. 

The last place Daniel had seen Tony, the one location that 
held purely happy memories for him. 

Atlantic City. 

As soon as the lease on his apartment was up, he'd taken a 
leave of absence from his job, packed a suitcase, put 
everything else in storage, and bought a ticket on the first 
train heading south. 

He sighed and hailed a cab for the short ride to the 
Boardwalk from the train station, even as he wondered 
what the hell he was doing. Even if, by some miracle, he 
found Tony, there was nothing to say that Tony would 
remember him, or want to resume the friendship they'd 
shared as children. He was taking a chance by trying. 

Cherry on Top - 15 

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the 
postcard. That summer was the one truly good memory he 
had. It was worth a shot, he decided. The worst that could 
happen was that he wouldn't find Tony, right? 

No, he corrected himself. The worst that could happen was 
that he would find Tony, but Tony wouldn't remember him 
or want to be friends. 

Wasn't there an old saying about not being able to go home 
again? Nothing would be as he remembered it, not the 
Boardwalk, not the piers, not the beach, and certainly not 
Tony. Too many years had passed. Tony was probably 
married by now, with six kids and a mortgage. Or divorced. 

Or dead, for that matter. 

No, not dead. Daniel refused to believe Tony could be 
gone. He clung to the thin hope that he would not only find 
Tony, but that Tony would be glad to see him. 

He didn't care if Tony was gay or straight, married or 
single. Daniel wasn't looking for love between the sheets. 
He was looking for a friend. 

That hope was all he had. 

"North Carolina Avenue and Boardwalk, pal." The cab 
driver's voice startled Daniel out of his thoughts. "You 
want I should drop you off in front of Resorts?" 

Resorts? Oh, yeah, Daniel thought. The Resorts Casino. 
"No, this is cool. Thanks." 

Cherry on Top - 16 

Daniel paid the cabbie, picked up his suitcase, and headed 
up the block toward the Boardwalk. The smell of the ocean 
was much stronger than it had been at the railway station. 
To his left, the towering structure of the Resorts 
International Casino and Hotel loomed, casting him in 
shadow. 

He walked the short, wooden ramp leading up onto the 
Boardwalk. Before him, the wide Boardwalk was alive with 
people, although he quickly realized it was a different 
demographic than he remembered as a kid. There were 
fewer children here, fewer families on vacation. People 
who came to Atlantic City now were more inclined to feed 
quarters to the slot machines than breadcrumbs to the 
multitude of sea gulls on the beach. 

Taking a moment to gather his bearings, Daniel looked 
around him. To his left was the Steel Pier, but its character 
was different than he remembered. It was shabbier, 
somehow, worn and tired. The Million Dollar Pier was to 
his right, far in the distance. He began walking in that 
direction. 

Everything had changed so much, just as he'd suspected. 
Most of the small shops and restaurants Daniel remembered 
were gone, replaced by souvenir stores selling T-shirts and 
cheap trinkets. He noticed that many other properties had 
been demolished, and several tall buildings, probably 
casinos, had been built in their place. 

The beach looked narrower than he remembered it to be, 
although he didn't know whether it was due to beach 
erosion or the fact that he was much bigger than he'd been 
the last time he'd been there. The ocean looked and smelled 
the same, though. Waves rolled in as they had since 

Cherry on Top - 17 

Pangaea first broke apart, forming new coastlines. They 
sluiced onto the sand as gulls flew overhead, riding the air 
currents, their cries rising above the rumbling thunder of 
the waves. 

He realized the Million Dollar Pier had changed long 
before he drew abreast of it. Standing on the Boardwalk, 
suitcase in hand, he stared at the entrance, shock rendering 
him motionless. The marquee proclaimed it to be the 
"Shops on Ocean One." Developers had turned his favorite 
pier into a mall! He'd wondered before whether the pizza 
stand would be gone or if it remained, and if Tony still 
owned it, but he'd never even considered the possibility that 
the pier itself would be changed so drastically. 

Go home, he thought, thoroughly dejected. Go home, and 
forget Tony. Start over. Running all the way down here was 
a stupid idea. He turned away from the pier's entrance and 
began walking toward the next exit to the street. He'd grab 
a cab, get on the train, and chalk the trip up to a brief lapse 
in sanity. 

Flashing lights in the window of a shop wedged next to the 
lofty Caesar's Palace Casino caught his eye and froze his 
feet. He stood stock still, as if he'd thrown down roots. 

Baranzo Pizza. Serving the best pie on the Boardwalk since 
1955. 

A burst of excitement coursed through him. It was still 
here! They must have changed locations when the pier was 
renovated. He tried to calm himself. Maybe someone else 
owned it now and kept the name because it was branded in 
the area, or perhaps someone else in the Baranzo family 

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had taken it over. Just because it retained the same name 
didn't mean Tony was the operator. 

Still, just seeing the name Baranzo lifted Daniel's spirits. 
He hurried toward the door, slipping inside. He hadn't even 
realized how hot it was outside until the cool air hit his 
face, drying the sweat beaded on his forehead. The savory 
smell of tomatoes and garlic made his stomach growl, 
reminding him he hadn't eaten since breakfast. 

The restaurant was long and narrow. Small tables dressed 
with checkered plastic tablecloths were set against the wall 
opposite the counter. He took a seat at an empty table, 
shoving his suitcase underneath it. A waitress who looked 
so young, he doubted she'd been alive the last time he was 
in Atlantic City, handed him a laminated menu. She 
cracked gum, waiting with pen poised over an order pad. 

"Pepsi, and a couple of slices of pepperoni," he said 
without even glancing at the menu. 

"Be right up." 

He touched her elbow before she could slip away. "Oh, by 
the way, did you ever hear of a man named Tony 
Baranzo?" 

The waitress nodded. "Tony? Sure. He's in the back. You 
know him?" 

"I think I used to," Daniel said. His heart felt like it'd been 
jumpstarted, banging wildly against his sternum. "Would 
you ask him if he remembers Daniel Carter?" 

Cherry on Top - 19 

One razor-thin shoulder shrugged. "Sure. Be back with 
your order in a minute." 

It might not be him. It probably isn't him, Daniel thought as 
he watched the waitress saunter away toward a door at the 
rear of the restaurant. Lots of big Italian families often had 
more than one child with common names like Maria or 
Anthony. Feeling the need to expend some of the nervous 
energy he felt building along with anticipation, he picked 
up a paper napkin and began shredding it into tiny pieces. 
He watched the snow of paper fall to the placemat and pile 
up in small drifts. 

When he looked up, a man was emerging from the back 
room, wearing a white apron tied around his narrow waist 
and a paper hat on his head. Daniel felt his eyes widen. 
Older and taller, with dark scruff dusting his cheeks, there 
was still no denying the identity of the man. Daniel would 
have known him anywhere. 

"Daniel? I'll be damned... Daniel!" Tony yelled from across 
the room. His face split into a wide grin as he hurried 
toward Daniel's table. 

Daniel jumped up and met Tony halfway. Tony swept him 
up in a rib-crushing bear hug that left Daniel gasping for 
air. "Hey, Tony! Man, I was worried you wouldn't 
remember me. You look good, man." 

"You, too," Tony said. His eyes, the same robin's egg blue 
that Daniel remembered, sparkled. He motioned to the table 
and took the seat across from Daniel. "What are you doing 
here? On vacation? Jesus, I never thought I'd see you again. 
Why'd you stop writing?" 

Cherry on Top - 20 

Just as Daniel remembered, Tony spoke almost without 
taking a breath, one word sliding into the next. "I didn't 
stop -- you did." 

"Nope. It was the year I turned sixteen. I wrote you every 
week for almost three months solid, but you never wrote 
back." 

Daniel frowned, thinking back. When he was sixteen, he'd 
lived with a foster family named Bruber. It was the year 
he'd come out. They hadn't taken it well. His foster mother 
had destroyed all the letters from Tony that she'd found in 
his sock drawer, mistakenly thinking Tony was Daniel's 
boyfriend. Had she made sure no other letters reached him 
as well? "Shit. My foster mother must've thrown your 
letters away before I could find them. I thought you 
stopped writing to me." 

"I wouldn't do that, man. We were buds, right?" 

Daniel nodded. "I should've known. She was a bitch, 
through and through." He gestured toward the counter. "I 
see you took over for your grandpa. I was sorry to hear they 
passed." 

"Yeah, they died within a few months of each other when I 
was seventeen. Pop ran the business until a few years ago, 
and I took over when my folks retired. So, what have you 
been up to? You married? Got kids?" 

"Me?" Daniel looked startled, then realized he'd never told 
Tony he was gay. He'd never had the opportunity -- the 
letters had stopped soon after he'd accepted the truth about 
himself. "No. You?" 

Cherry on Top - 21 

Tony shook his head. "Nope." His familiar grin returned. 
"No time. I got a date with the pizza oven almost every 
night." 

"I hear that." 

Just then a voice called out from the counter. "Yo, Tony! 
The timer on the oven is playing your song again." 

"Okay, Vito. I'm coming," Tony called back. He looked at 
Daniel. "You got plans while you're in town?" 

"Not really," Daniel said. "This was a spur of the moment 
trip." 

"Good. How about I talk Vito into closing for me and we 
grab some dinner? Play some catch up? Where are you 
staying?" 

Daniel smiled. "Sounds good. I need to find a hotel room. 
I'll meet you here, huh? What time?" 

"Whoa, you don't have a room? That's going to be tough, 
Danny. The hotels are booked because of the Miss America 
Pageant." 

"Oh, shit... I forgot about that. They still hold it in the 
Convention Center?" 

"Yeah. The parade is tomorrow, in fact. Listen, it's not a 
problem. I've got room, if you don't mind a pull-out sofa." 

Daniel shook his head. "I couldn't do that. I--" 

Cherry on Top - 22 

The waitress arrived bearing a plate of pizza and a tall glass 
of Pepsi. She set both in front of Daniel, along with the 
check. Throwing a gum-cracking smile at both men, she 
left. 

Tony swiped the check before Daniel could reach for it. 
"Bullshit. I'll put your suitcase in the back until later. Eat 
your lunch and go sightsee for a few hours. Be back about 
six o'clock, and we'll head over to my place. I've still got 
my grandparents' house over in Brigantine." 

"Are you sure, Tony? I don't want to put you out." 

"Don't insult me. That's what friends are for, right?" 

Friends. They were still friends. Daniel felt a rush of 
warmth and a feeling of relief fill him. He nodded and, not 
trusting himself to speak, picked up a slice of pizza and 
took a bite. "It's just as good as I remember," he said after 
he finished swallowing. 

"Damn straight. That's Nonna's recipe," Tony said. He 
looked as happy as Daniel felt as he stood up and picked up 
Daniel's suitcase. "See you tonight." 

As Daniel finished eating, he realized people had it wrong. 
Sometimes, he thought, you can go home again. 

*** 

Tony's house was a tiny bungalow in the pretty shore 
community of Brigantine, a block in from the shore. It was 
so small that, to Daniel's amusement, Tony conducted the 
grand tour without ever leaving the living room. 

Cherry on Top - 23 

"The kitchen is through there. That's the bathroom, and my 
bedroom is through that door," Tony said, pointing to each 
room. "The sofa opens up. I'll get you some sheets and a 
pillow." 

"Thanks, Tony. I mean it. This is great," Daniel said. He set 
his suitcase next to the sofa. 

"Are you kidding? I'm looking forward to reminiscing. 
What do you feel like eating tonight? I would suggest 
Italian, but Nonna would spin in her grave if I made you eat 
anything but home-cooked, and pizza is sure as shit off the 
menu." 

Daniel laughed and took a seat, making himself 
comfortable. "Anything is good. I'm easy." 

"Good. I feel like seafood. Let me grab a shower and get 
changed, then you can take a turn." 

Daniel nodded, trying not to imagine Tony naked and wet 
and soapy. His cock was already twitching awake, turned 
on by the totally male scent of sweat and garlic Tony was 
giving off. If he got a full blown hard on and Tony noticed, 
he'd either have to think fast or come out. Oh, I know I've 
got a boner, but don't let it bother you, Tony. I'm just gay 
and fantasizing about you washing all those hot nooks and 
crannies you own. Yeah, that'd go over well. 

He picked up a magazine from the coffee table and 
struggled to concentrate on the first article he found. It 
wasn't easy, but he managed to get his cock back under 
control. 

Cherry on Top - 24 

By the time Daniel dug out clean clothes from his suitcase, 
Tony finished showering, and all of Daniel's hard work 
went flying out the proverbial window. His body hardened 
so swiftly he had to bite his cheek to keep from grunting. 

When Tony stepped out of the bathroom, he was followed 
by a cloud of steam and dressed in a skintight T-shirt and 
worn jeans. He looked hot enough to fry bacon. The shirt 
clung to his muscles, and his nipples were small, hard 
points poking through the fabric. Short sleeves only 
accentuated the curves of his biceps. His jeans were tight 
enough to showcase the powerful muscles of his thighs and 
calves, as well as giving Daniel a good idea of the 
substantial package lying between Tony's legs. 

"Is it hot in here?" Daniel muttered under his breath. He 
swiped his forehead with one hand even as he sidled past 
Tony into the bathroom. He didn't wait for an answer, but 
closed the door and leaned against it. 

God! His body felt like it was a walking ball of sexual 
tension. He hadn't been prepared to feel such a powerful 
attraction to Tony, or his body's reaction, and he had no 
defenses in place. He turned on the water in the shower and 
quickly adjusted the temperature, then stripped off his 
clothes. 

Daniel slipped under the hot spray and closed the clear 
glass door, letting the water beat on the tense muscles of his 
neck and back. He tried to relax, but after a few minutes it 
became clear his plan wasn't working. His cock was hard 
and aching, and the water droplets felt like pinpricks 
against his engorged flesh. 

Cherry on Top - 25 

Knowing the only sure-fire way to relieve the tension was 
to literally beat his body into submission, he grabbed a 
bottle of conditioner from the shower rack and squirted a 
healthy dollop into his hand. 

He leaned against the cold tile, stroking his cock. He tried 
not to think of Tony, but it was like trying not to think of a 
pink elephant in a tutu. No matter how hard he tried, he 
couldn't. He decided to let the daydream run its course, 
although he felt guilty doing so. It was almost as if he were 
betraying Tony's friendship, even if the fantasy was only in 
his head. Still, maybe he'd get this infatuation with Tony 
out of his system if he did. 

Eyes closed, his hand making slick sounds as it slid over 
his dick, Daniel didn't hear the bathroom door open. 

"I've got a towel for you -- oh, God. Danny, I'm sorry. I 
didn't realize you'd be..." 

Daniel's eyes flew open, his hand freezing in place with a 
fistful of cock. Tony was on the other side of the glass door 
staring at him. Or, rather, at Daniel's dick. 

Tony seemed to realize he was staring and turned his back, 
but that didn't make Daniel feel any more at ease. It did the 
trick on his cock, though -- his erection wilted like wax in 
the sun. "Uh, thanks. For the towel, I mean," Daniel 
muttered. He was mortified, but there was nowhere for him 
to go. He was trapped in the shower stall, and Tony was 
standing between him and his last shred of dignity. 

"Yeah. I realized you'd need one. There are only hand jobs 
on the rack. Hand towels, I mean." Tony stammered before 
he fairly flew out of the bathroom. 

Cherry on Top - 26 

A light went off over Daniel's head. Tony had acted 
completely and utterly flustered, and he was sure he hadn't 
imagined Tony staring at his cock when Tony first came 
into the bathroom. 

His arousal returned, but when he fantasized about Tony 
this time, it was without a trace of guilt. 

*** 

Dinner was an exercise in self-control for Daniel. 

Tony was uneasy at first, probably feeling abashed after 
being caught staring at Daniel in the shower, but after a few 
drinks he loosened up. They reminisced about their shared 
summer in Atlantic City and told each other about their 
respective lives afterwards. 

Daniel couldn't stop watching Tony. The way Tony's 
dimple showed when he laughed, the way his eyes closed 
when his lips closed over his fork, and the way his tongue 
swept his lower lip after taking a drink were fascinating. 
Daniel found himself in a constant battle to keep from 
flirting openly with Tony. 

Not here, he thought. Not in a public place. But when we 
get back to the house, all bets are off. He was fairly 
confident that he and Tony buttered their bread on the same 
side, and couldn't wait to test his theory. 

Back at the house, they sat on the sofa and turned the 
television on, but Daniel's mind was not on the reality show 
Tony tuned in. It was on the warm smell of man Tony 
exuded, and the way his shirt clung to his pectoral muscles. 

Cherry on Top - 27 

Tony had some damn fine pecs, Daniel thought. He 
couldn't wait to lift that shirt and get a better look at them, 
and decided the time had come to broach the subject. 

"Tony," Daniel said in a low, sultry voice. "Can I ask you 
something? If I'm wrong, just tell me and I swear I'll never 
bring it up again." 

"Sure. Shoot." 

"When you came into the bathroom while I was, er... taking 
a shower, did you like what you--" 

Tony suddenly bolt up from the sofa, startling Daniel into 
silence. Sure, he knew there was a chance that he was 
mistaken about Tony, but he didn't think Tony would react 
so strongly. Tony was pacing back and forth, his face 
crumpled into a deep scowl. 

"Tony, look... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset--" 

Tony spun to face him. "It was me! Okay? Fuck. I didn't 
know what was going to happen. I just wanted you to be 
okay!" 

Daniel blinked, trying to make sense of what Tony was 
trying to say. His fault? For what? Getting an eyeful of 
Daniel in the shower? "I don't understand, Tony. So you 
saw my dick. It's not a big deal." 

"Huh? No, I'm not talking about the shower, for God's 
sake." Tony thrust his hand through his hair. He looked 
caught halfway between frustration and anger. "It was me, 
Danny. That summer. I'm the reason you got sent to foster 
homes." 

Cherry on Top - 28 

Daniel felt a cold finger trace his spine, making him shiver. 
It had been shortly after returning from Atlantic City that 
the first caseworker had shown up at the house. "What are 
you talking about?" 

Tony sank onto the couch next to Daniel. He bent over, 
holding his face in his hands. "It's my fault, Danny. I 
promised you I wouldn't tell, remember? I broke that 
promise. I told my grandparents." 

"Told them...?" 

"That your dad broke your arm. Nonna went crazy, but 
Nonno calmed her down. He said maybe it was an accident 
or something. Nonna agreed, but she made him call the 
state." 

Daniel sat back against the sofa cushions, stunned. "They 
sent a caseworker. After she left, my dad beat me black and 
blue. He accused me of telling after he warned me not to. I 
think my mom was scared of him, but the caseworker came 
back the next day. I think my mom called her. The 
caseworker had the police with her, and they took me 
away." 

"I'm so sorry, Danny!" Maybe it was only the booze, but 
Tony had tears in his eyes. "I've felt so fucking guilty all 
these years. I wanted to tell you in every letter I wrote, but I 
couldn't bring myself to do it." 

"My folks didn't want to take me back. I think my dad was 
still furious that he'd been caught out and that my mom 
didn't trust him not to hurt me if I came home. I went to see 

Cherry on Top - 29 

them once after I turned eighteen. Neither of them was 
particularly glad to see me." 

"If I had known the state would take you away, I never 
would've said anything, I swear! I thought they'd just make 
your dad stop hurting you. I'm so sorry, Danny." 

Daniel thought he should feel angry and betrayed, but he 
was too used to keeping his feelings buried. "Don't be. You 
were only a kid yourself. Besides, most of my foster 
families were okay. The last one was a little nuts, but at 
least nobody hurt me anymore. I'm okay, now." 

"You sure? You forgive me?" 

"Yeah. I mean, I've got some issues, but they're not your 
fault." 

Tony rubbed his face, obviously uncomfortable with his 
show of emotion. "Issues? Like what?" 

Daniel shrugged. "Sometimes I just get the feeling that 
maybe I deserve to be hurt. My dad hit me, and so did my 
boyfriend." 

Tony's head shot up, thunderclouds suddenly boiling in his 
eyes. "Your boyfriend hurt you? Who is he? Where is he? 
I'll fucking kill him. Nobody deserves to be hit, Danny." 

Something broke through the numbing cocoon Daniel had 
erected around himself. It was as if his entire emotional 
façade had been riddled with cracks and, with Tony's 
confession, had burst. Still, he was shocked to feel 
anything, let alone the fury that soured his stomach and 
brought the sting of tears to his eyes. He squeezed them 

Cherry on Top - 30 

shut. "Don't worry about him -- he's gone. But maybe you 
can explain to me why everybody who ever said they loved 
me has hurt me." 

There was silence between them for a few moments, thick 
and heavy. "I didn't," Tony said in a low voice. "Not on 
purpose. I was only trying to help you, Danny, not hurt 
you." 

Daniel opened his eyes at the touch of Tony's warm hand 
on his. "You don't understand--" 

"No, Danny. You're the one who doesn't understand." 
Tony's blue eyes were wet. "I've loved you since that 
summer, Danny." 

"Tony--" 

"It's true! I tried to find you, Danny. The state wouldn't 
give me any fucking information. I went to your parents' 
house, but they didn't live there anymore. I even placed an 
ad in the newspaper, hoping you'd see it. I never stopped 
hoping. When you walked into the restaurant today, I 
thought I'd finally lost my mind, that I was seeing things." 

Daniel stared at Tony, unsure of what to say. Sure, he'd 
been hoping to seduce Tony, but this shed a whole new 
light on things. "We were only kids then, Tony. We've 
changed. You don't know me. I don't know you." 

"We can learn." 

"It was your first crush, Tony. That doesn't mean--" 

Cherry on Top - 31 

Tony shook his head. "No. I've never felt like this about 
anybody since, Danny. I love you. Or at least, I know I will 
if you'll let me." 

"Tony..." 

"You said everybody you've ever loved has hurt you. I 
haven't, and I won't. Give me a chance, Danny." 

Tony leaned in toward him. His lips were slightly parted, 
and oh, so tempting. Before Danny could stop himself, he 
met Tony halfway. 

 The kiss was tentative, soft, and far too brief, but it stirred 
Danny's body and did something odd to his chest 
somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. They broke apart, 
eyes searching the other's face for a hint of what the other 
was thinking. 

"Danny, I want more," Tony whispered. His fingers were 
calloused but gentle, touching Daniel's cheek. "I want you." 

This was the moment Daniel had sensed coming. He 
needed to make a decision. He could take a chance and 
possibly get hurt again, or walk away from the one person 
who'd been his friend throughout all his troubled years. The 
man who'd happily accepted Daniel back without question. 
Tony was the one person who could not only hurt Daniel, 
but completely devastate him. 

Daniel looked into Tony's eyes, guileless and hopeful, and 
knew. "Yeah? Me, too. If you're sure." 

"Am I sure?" Tony chuckled. "I've only been fantasizing 
about this for the last fifteen years!" 

Cherry on Top - 32 

Daniel's lips twisted into a sideways smile. "I hope I can 
live up to your expectations." 

"Don't worry." Tony's hand slid to the back of Daniel's 
neck, pulling him in for a deeper, longer kiss that Daniel 
felt all the way to his toes. "You're so fucking hot, there's 
no way you can disappoint." 

The bedroom was only a few short steps from the living 
room, and about as typically bachelor as any Daniel had 
ever seen. A queen-sized bed took up most of the room. 
The only other piece of furniture was a four-drawer dresser. 
The white walls were blank except for a New Jersey Devils 
pennant pinned over the dresser. Light came from four 
candlelight bulbs in the ceiling fan fixture. 

Daniel snickered, standing in the doorway while Tony 
hurriedly snatched odd pieces of clothing from the bed and 
floor. "Tony? I really don't give a shit if your room is 
messy," he said. 

"I'm not usually such a pig. I was just--" 

"Tony. Get naked. Now," Daniel ordered as he pulled his 
T-shirt up over his head and kicked off his shoes. That last 
kiss had pushed him over the edge. His body was strung 
tight with need, and quite frankly, at this point, now that his 
decision had been made, he didn't care if they had sex in a 
dumpster, as long as they had sex. 

Tony stood stock still near the foot of the bed, one hand 
holding up a stray black sock, and the other a pair of jeans, 
staring at him as Daniel shucked his pants and underwear. 

Cherry on Top - 33 

Daniel shook his head and walked over to Tony. Seriously, 
the man had a deer-in-the-headlights look that would make 
hunters cream in their bright orange pants. He decided the 
only way to move things along was to take control of the 
situation. He dropped to his knees and reached for Tony's 
zipper. Without ceremony, he slid open the zipper and 
yanked Tony's jeans and underwear down, baring Tony's 
erection. 

Tony's cock was thick and hard, rosy red and glistening 
with precome. The musky smell of arousal filled Daniel's 
nostrils as he closed his lips over it, one hand stroking the 
stalk, another cupping Tony's heavy balls. 

"Oh, God. Oh, fuck!" Tony groaned. His fingers slid 
through Daniel's hair. "More like that, Danny. Suck me." 

Daniel threw himself into it, sucking hard, flicking his 
tongue over the tiny slit at the head. He massaged Tony's 
sac, giving it a few gentle tugs. 

"Please, Danny. Gonna come. Want to. Please!" 

Daniel released Tony's dick, and looked up at him. "Come. 
I want to watch you." He began jerking Tony's cock with 
light, quick strokes, the way he'd want to be touched. 

Tony's head snapped back, his mouth open in a silent cry, 
and Daniel felt spurts of wetness. With a last shudder, 
Tony's eyes opened, darkened by his orgasm. "You now," 
he said. "You, Danny." 

"Lie down on the bed," Daniel ordered. Once Tony was 
lying spread-eagle on the bed, Daniel straddled his 
shoulders. "Suck me." 

Cherry on Top - 34 

Tony's mouth felt like wet, hot heaven. It was all Daniel 
could do not to come quickly as Tony's teeth scraped his 
dick's sensitive skin, and tongue laved the rounded tip. He 
lost the battle for self control when Tony's fingers found 
the crack of his ass and gently probed his hole. He pulled 
away, jerking off, painting Tony's face with white streaks 
of come. 

"Fuck, that was good," Daniel sighed. He slid over onto his 
back, lying next to Tony. 

"And it only took us fifteen years to hook up," Tony added 
with a laugh. 

"I take it I didn't destroy all your fantasies?" 

"Not even close. You were fantastic. Better than I ever 
imagined. Of course, this was only our first time. I've got 
fifteen years' worth of fantasies for us to re-enact." 

Daniel propped himself up on one elbow. "First time? 
Listen, Tony... I don't know if I'm ready for a relationship 
yet. I don't want to destroy our friendship just when we 
found each other again." 

He found himself lying flat on his back in an instant, with a 
pair of robin's egg blue eyes glaring at him. "Danny, if you 
think I'm going to let you walk away from me, you're nuts. 
You want to take it slow? Okay. I can do that. But please 
don't tell me you don't want me because you're afraid I'll 
hurt you. I can't accept that." 

"It's not impossible, Tony. You might get tired of me. Or I 
might piss you off, or--" 

Cherry on Top - 35 

Tony silenced him with a deep, long kiss. "Nothing you can 
ever do would make me want to hurt you. You need time to 
learn to trust me, for me to prove myself to you? Okay, 
you've got it. I waited fifteen years for you; I can wait a 
while longer. Just promise me that you'll give me a 
chance." 

Danny looked into Tony's eyes, and saw again the young 
boy who'd promised to write and had been true to his word. 
He saw the boy who had Daniel's best interest at heart even 
then, when they'd only known each other for a couple of 
weeks. He saw the man who'd tried to find him, and who'd 
never stopped hoping they would see each other again. 

And he knew he'd come home again. 

Cherry on Top - 36 

A Better Fate than Wisdom 

By Lee Benoit 

Sister City, 1978 

1. Alex 

Just another Saturday night, right? Alex could do this. He 
knotted his polo sweater a little higher over his lemon-
yellow Izod and pushed open the door of the club. Not his 
usual place, but he was here on a mission. The place 
sounded just like he'd expected -- hard-driving rock and roll 
played at eardrum-rupture volume. If that were the only 
difference, he'd have been relieved. The usual round of 
disco hits and mixes got a little tired after a year or two of 
Saturday nights. 

But no, Steamroller was dark, monochrome. No mirror ball, 
no neon. The drinks in men's hands were monochromatic 
on the beer-to-whisky spectrum, and the men themselves 
were monochrome, too. Alex had never seen this much 
black leather outside of Drummer magazine. Not that he 
read Drummer. He was more a GQ type. Leather was just 
so... rough. Not Alex's style at all. Nope. He was here on a 
mission for the local gay rag. Alex suspected his editor had 
assigned him this story as a joke, or maybe as revenge for 
Alex declining his advances. Alex should never have shot 
down his boss, but seriously, the guy was, like, thirty-five, 
and Alex's ten-year rule wouldn't take the strain. 

Cherry on Top - 37 

So. Find old-guard leather guys and interview them about 
their place in the New Gay Culture. Shouldn't be too tough 
to do in a leather bar. Alex ordered a Cosmo -- it was the 
wrong color drink, to be sure, and he ought to at least try to 
fit in, not that a Cosmo was a usual accessory for his part-
time reporting gig. He was dressed to work, not to trick, but 
even if he’d been dressed for a night out, that fitting in 
thing was just not going to happen. The bartender gave him 
a seriously grim look, but Alex stood his ground, right 
down to his loafers, and the man mixed the damn drink. 

Alex scanned the room, wishing he had a contact at least. 
He considered going back to the bartender, but the guy was 
scary and no mistake. Beefy older guys in leather held 
court here and there, and younger guys paid tribute. The 
stereotype was in full flower, that was for sure, with chest 
harnesses and leather vests and -- oh sweet Jesus, were 
those chaps? Tempting as it was to roll his eyes and 
dismiss these guys, Alex had enough self-awareness to 
know that his own brand of gay guy was a joke to these 
men, too. Common ground -- that would make a good 
theme for his article. Alex redoubled his efforts to find an 
approachable port in this sea of leather and testosterone. 

Oh, hello. Over by the dance floor -- if you could call that 
dancing -- sat a leather-capped, mustachioed, hairy, burly 
general of the leather legions. And with him was a denim-
clad demigod -- a lieutenant, maybe. The sidekick was dark 
and brooding and -- oh, God, yes -- staring twin bottomless 
holes right into Alex's soul. 

Okay, that was a gross exaggeration. But the guy was 
giving Alex a pretty thorough once-over. Contact! Alex 
found his best smile, aimed it right back at the guy, and let 
it lead him and his Cosmo across the crowded room. 

Cherry on Top - 38 

2. Bruno 

"Fuck!" Sir guffawed as the little club clone made his way 
over from the bar. "Looks like Dorothy took a wrong turn 
down the rabbit hole." 

No one teased Sir in public, but if they'd been alone, Bruno 
would have called him on his messed-up allusions and 
taken any lumps for it. Old man had one thing right, 
though. Pretty boy was way off his home turf. 

Bruno felt a flash of guilt for sending the kid the signal that 
was bringing him over here. Sir wasn't exactly a welcoming 
sort to outsiders. Hell, it had taken Bruno months of 
haunting Steamroller to get Sir to notice him. Sir was what 
any boy would want, and Bruno had been raised to set his 
sights high. Licking jackboots probably wasn't what his 
sainted father had in mind when he drilled that catechism, 
but Bruno had gotten what he wanted. 

So why was he ogling some honeysuckle nancy boy? 
Bruno missed the kid's polite introduction, but gathered that 
he was some kind of social critic for some kind of queer 
'zine and wanted to interview Sir. Bruno got the feeling any 
sir would do, and that was bound to piss off his particular 
sir. 

Sure enough, Sir took thoughtful sips of his single malt 
while taking the kid's measure and cutting him down in one 
fell swoop. 

"Hear that, boy? Judy here wants my pronouncements on 
the relevance of leather culture!" Sir laughed again, his 
proud dome of a belly heaving and his eyes hard and 

Cherry on Top - 39 

pointed as drill bits. He turned those eyes on Bruno. "Why 
don't you take him, Bruno? Give him the low-down." 

The words sounded generous, like Sir trusted Bruno with 
the responsibility of speaking for men like themselves. But 
Bruno knew the language of Sir's body and tone. This was 
a kiss-off. To the little reporter and to him. He glanced 
around their part of the club, and his traitor heart sank. 
Crossing the room toward them was Dan, Bruno's nastiest 
rival for Sir's attention. 

"Sir, I haven't even earned my leathers yet. Surely Dan 
could give more accurate information. Especially about our 
history." Bruno knew he was being catty, emphasizing the 
last word as Dan reached earshot, but he didn't want to get 
sent away on some fool's errand and leave the way open for 
Dan. Sir wasn't all that constant in his affections, and 
Bruno knew it too well. 

Sir narrowed his eyes. "Go on, boy. Dan and I have 
business to discuss anyway." He turned to the reporter with 
a razored smile. "It was lovely meeting you, Alice." 

Bruno wouldn't give Dan -- or Sir -- the satisfaction of 
losing his cool, so he turned to the reporter and pointed 
toward the back door. "Might as well talk in the alley. 
Quieter." And he stalked away without a backward glance 
at any of them. 

The reporter caught up before Bruno had taken five steps, 
apparently flowing like water around all the leathermen 
blocking his way. Bruno was surprised to feel the guy's 
hand on his arm and, when he whirled to growl, even more 
surprised to find they were almost the same height. The guy 
looked so little, talking to Sir. Height or no, he was still the 

Cherry on Top - 40 

prettiest thing Bruno had seen in Steamroller, and somehow 
that thought gave him a thrill instead of a shudder. Go 
figure. 

"Alex," the reporter said. 

"What?" 

"My name. It's Alex, not Alice." The reporter cocked his 
head and gave a queeny eyeroll, which Bruno answered 
with as menacing a scowl as he could muster. It felt like 
scowling at a daisy, though, futile and ridiculous. Not 
bothering to dislodge Alex's hand from his arm, Bruno 
continued toward the door to the alley. 

"And I believe the Generalissimo back there called you 
Boy? Surely that's not your name." 

Oh, surely not. "Bruno," said Bruno, and slammed the back 
door open. The summer smell of asphalt and garbage was 
most welcome, if only because it meant Steamroller was 
behind him, at least for tonight. 

The soft hand ran up and down Bruno's arm, coming to rest 
on his bicep with a flirty squeeze. "Bruno. Much better. 
You can't possibly be anyone's boy." 

Bruno would have blinked in confusion, but his eyes were 
too busy bugging out. Was this guy for real? 

Cherry on Top - 41 

3. Alex 

The air of the alley was warmer than that in the club, and 
Alex tried to breathe through his mouth to avoid smelling 
the rotty fug of the narrow, dark space. 

"Interesting place for an interview," he said, and his voice 
came out thin and airy. "You leather boys have the most 
delightful sense of style." 

"Knock it off, man," Bruno said. "You can't be that much 
of a fairy." 

Of course he could, Alex thought, but didn't say so. The 
thin breaths he'd been barely managing to draw were stolen 
by Bruno's looming nearness as the man invaded his space. 
He backed up until he could go no further, his shoulders 
flush against the bricks of the club's wall. 

He was mortified to discover that his hips weren't likewise 
braced, but rather leaned toward the thickness of Bruno's 
body. "My, what a big boy you are," he camped to cover 
his embarrassment at his own sluttishness. This Bruno was 
most definitely not his type. The boys at the paper, or even 
worse, the gallery that was his primary job, would laugh 
their carefully-coiffed heads off if they could see him now. 

Bruno was leaning closer, positively looming, and, oh, the 
smell of him erased the stink of the alley. He smelled of 
laundry soap, the aggressive clean of a guy whose mom 
still did his laundry. Where that thought came from, Alex 
had no idea, but it made him giggle. When he did, Bruno 
eased back away from him and the alley smell rushed back, 
making Alex gag lightly. 

Cherry on Top - 42 

Bruno didn't look at him, didn't apologize for violating his 
space, didn't comment on Alex's reaction to his advance. 
"Guess you'd better just ask your questions," he said. 

Alex was so grateful not to have to justify his strange 
reaction to this rough, slightly scary man that he replied 
without thinking. "Why don't we do it at my place? It's 
quieter and... cleaner." 

"Sir won't be looking for me anyway," Bruno said as if to 
himself. "Not with Dan there." He looked at Alex and held 
out his hand, grinning wolfishly. "Sure, let's do it at your 
place, Alex." 

How nice his name sounded in the man's deep voice! Alex 
didn't think twice about taking Bruno's hand until after he'd 
done it. Something about Bruno felt safe. The feeling 
surprised Alex. Surely he felt safe with his friends from the 
club scene. His random hookups weren't as random as they 
seemed, as his network of acquaintances pretty much vetted 
any new attendee at their soirees and club nights. He's gone 
home with strangers, of course, but they'd always been 
strangers known to someone he knew. 

No one he knew, knew Bruno. Alex was as sure of that as 
he was that Bruno's mom did his laundry. Those two 
thoughts should have cancelled each other out and made 
Alex retract his offer. They could do the interview just as 
well in a coffee shop. 

But Alex left his hand right where it was, wrapped in 
Bruno's big, warm fist, and led the man home. 

Cherry on Top - 43 

4. Bruno 

Alex's apartment surprised Bruno. It gave off more of an 
impoverished student vibe than the self-conscious urban 
chic Bruno would have expected. And if Alex's one-eyed 
cat was standard issue for the modern gay man about town, 
Bruno was definitely behind the zeitgeist. 

"He came with the apartment," Alex said, scooping up the 
scruffy feline and cooing in its tattered ear. "We suit." 

"No need to be defensive," Bruno said, laughing. "I have a 
cat, too." 

"I won't tell, promise," Alex said. "I thought you fellows 
were supposed to keep decommissioned police dogs or 
something." 

"Nah," Bruno said. "Older guys keep boys like me. Boys 
like me..." 

"Live with their moms and have pet cats?" Alex finished. 

Bruno shrugged. "Yeah, and work in our dad's barber shops 
and live deep in the closet." Oh, shit. That was definitely 
too much information. He looked around the small 
apartment. No way out except through Alex. 

"Don't worry, fella. Secret's safe and all that. So, how do 
you want to do this? You could tell me your life story, or I 
could ask questions, or whatever." 

"How about you ask me your questions in the morning?" 
Bruno said. What was he saying? Oh, fuck, Sir was going 
to chew him a new one if this got out of hand. 

Cherry on Top - 44 

Alex grinned, and suddenly Bruno didn't give a rat's ass if 
Sir got pissed. 

"I have a feeling you might just answer all my questions 
before morning," Alex said. He sashayed like a drag diva 
toward the apartment's bedroom, laying it on thick. 

Thick was Bruno's new favorite word. For the second time 
that evening, he followed where Alex led. 

Once inside the tiny bedroom, Alex unwound the preppy 
sweater from his shoulders and whipped off his polo shirt 
to reveal a smooth, pale expanse of skin. He looked 
delicious and fragile, like zeppole on St. Joseph's Day. 

Bruno's cock stretched out as best it could in the well-worn 
basket of his jeans, but Bruno didn't make a move. He was 
forced to admit that he didn't have the first clue what to do 
next. If he was with Sir or one of Sir's friends, he'd drop to 
his knees and drive them crazy with his mouth. But Sir had 
never prepared him to take a boy of his own. Not that that 
was what was happening here. Was it? 

"What say we start with a kiss, big boy?" Alex crooned 
from beside the bed. 

Cherry on Top - 45 

5. Alex 

I'm such an idiot, Alex thought to himself as he skinned out 
of his pants. He was camping it up like he would with one 
of his usual club tricks. It was part ironic and part self 
defense, and one hundred percent stupid if he wanted to 
make it with Bruno. 

Whatever leather dudes did together, Alex was reasonably 
sure it didn't involve crooning and silliness. Bruno wasn't 
quite what Alex had expected, but he was still a leather 
man, right? Maybe it was because he was young, maybe 
some other reason, but Bruno didn't have that hard edge the 
type called for. Or maybe it was true, what Alex's editor 
had said, that there really was a man behind every 
stereotype, and all you had to do to break down barriers 
was get to know someone. 

Glancing across the room, Alex watched Bruno shed his 
denim jacket. The white T-shirt he wore underneath was a 
hair too tight -- or just right, Alex thought, and felt his 
smile returning. Thick, hairy forearms led his eye up to 
hairless, softball-sized biceps. Yum. The shirt's hem 
disappeared behind a wide black belt and into those 
insanely tight jeans. Man, they looked like Bruno had 
sandpapered the crotch -- how else could he have faded and 
softened the basket so it highlighted Bruno's rebar cock and 
prominent balls? Oh, yes indeed, Alex was ready to get to 
know Bruno, cock first, so he'd be less likely to say 
something that would send Bruno running for the hills. 

Then Bruno reached for his belt buckle, and Alex knew 
exactly what he wanted next. 

Cherry on Top - 46 

Completely naked, Alex crossed the room hastily, 
abandoning seduction for the moment and stopping just shy 
of touching Bruno. "Leave them on? Please? I want--" 

This close, Alex could feel the heat and catch the scent of 
the man. Smoke from the club was fading, and that 
bleachy, laundry smell he'd noticed in the alley was giving 
way to the musk of horny man. The smell made Alex want 
to seal himself against Bruno's body and just breathe. 
Plenty of time for that, Alex counseled himself, which 
wasn't true because Bruno would be gone as soon as they 
both came. At least, Alex hoped they'd both be coming. If 
he had anything to say about it, Bruno would be coming 
really soon, down Alex's throat. Which was why he'd 
rushed across the room like an honor student late for the 
school bus. 

Bruno hadn't said anything, just stood there watching. He 
seemed to know what was on Alex's mind, though, because 
he crossed those arms, really slowly, letting the muscles 
flex all the way from wrist to shoulder. The movement 
plumped up his pecs under the T-shirt, and Alex could 
swear he saw the ridges of chest hair underneath. He 
definitely saw the darker protrusions of Bruno's nipples. 
Man, he wanted... 

Just then, Bruno widened his stance, all slow and 
deliberate, and canted his monster package toward Alex, 
and Alex's mouth flooded with spit and need. 

"What do you want, boy?" Bruno rumbled, and it was like 
the sound alone strengthened the force of gravity in the 
room and drove Alex to kneel. 

Cherry on Top - 47 

"I want to suck you. Then undress you and suck you some 
more." Alex didn't wait for permission. He wrapped his 
fingers around the warm leather of Bruno's belt and tugged 
him closer. Bruno didn't break his stance but simply let his 
hips angle even more sharply forward. 

For some reason Alex thought that was the sexiest thing 
he'd ever seen. His cock gave a surprised little lurch and 
tried to deny gravity altogether. 

But it would have to wait. That soft, soft denim over that 
hard bulge called to him, it really did, in a deep dark 
baritone that required an answer. Alex opened his mouth 
and closed the distance. God, the smell of the man! Tide 
and Niagara spray starch and smoke and musk. Alex found 
the join of Bruno's balls and cock and pressed his open 
mouth there, lipping the fabric like a hungry lamb until he 
couldn't wait one more minute to taste flesh. 

He reached up blindly and unbuckled the heavy belt, slid 
the brass button through its hole, and dragged the zipper 
down until the tab met his upper lip and he had to draw 
back to get Bruno bare. The man's briefs were dazzlingly 
white in the murky room, and there was a damp spot to the 
left of the placket. Alex dove for that patch, adding his own 
spit until he could mold the jersey to the broad head of 
Bruno's cock. It was one of his favorite moves, and it 
usually drove guys wild, so why wasn't Bruno--

Hands landed on Alex's hair, and though Bruno didn't say a 
word or shift his boulder-like stance, Alex knew he had his 
man. Oh, yeah. He used his teeth to draw the band of 
Bruno's briefs down, pulling it out over the head of that 
magnificent prick, letting the elastic drag a bit, and settling 
it under the man's prodigious balls. The black hair there 

Cherry on Top - 48 

was silky and plentiful, and Alex spent long, happy 
moments pasting it down with his spit before dragging his 
tongue up -- and up and up -- Bruno's length and sucking 
hard. 

That got a response, and Alex pulled off long enough to 
grin up at Bruno, still in his T-shirt. "Off," said Alex, 
tugging the hem. "Can you go twice?" he asked. 

Bruno's face was hidden within the fabric of his shirt, so 
Alex couldn't see his expression when he growled, "Not 
usually." 

That was something to work on, then, but not tonight, and 
where had that thought come from anyway? Surely this was 
a one-off. If all Alex had was this one night, he knew what 
he wanted. He gave one, final, fast, deep-throating suck, 
just so Bruno would know what he was missing. 

"Guess you'd better fuck me, then." 

Cherry on Top - 49 

6. Bruno 

Bruno flung his shirt in the general direction of his jacket, 
and hauled Alex up to face him. "You want me to...?" 

"Fuck me." Alex crossed surprisingly buff arms and 
regarded him primly. "Yes, I most certainly do." 

Sir never wanted to be fucked, of course, and neither did 
his friends. No one thought Bruno was ready for a boy of 
his own, not until he scored his leathers, so a particular fact 
about Bruno's experience had never been an issue. Alex 
should know, though. "I've never fucked anyone." 

"Ridiculous," Alex said, and reached around Bruno for a 
mostly-full tube of KY jelly. "Look at you." 

Bruno looked down his body, past his hairy chest with its 
prominent nipples to his fuzzy belly and rampant dick 
rearing up from its unruly coat of pubes. Maybe in Alex's 
world a big, hairy bear of a guy was expected to top, but in 
his world, well, no. At least, not yet. 

Bruno worked on kicking out of his boots and jeans to buy 
himself time. "You don't top, ever?" he asked Alex, hoping 
there might be a way around this little snag. 

Alex squirted a dab of lube onto his fingers. "Not if I can 
help it," he said. Then he turned and braced one arm against 
the mattress, reaching around to probe his hole with his 
slick fingers. 

It was hairless and looked sweet. Bruno huffed out a breath 
and grabbed Alex's wrist before he the man could touch 
himself. With a thud, Bruno landed on his knees behind 

Cherry on Top - 50 

Alex and used both of his big, dark hands to prise Alex's 
cheeks even wider. "Want to taste," he mumbled before 
diving in. 

Alex's reaction was gratifying, to say the least. He bucked 
and squealed like a kid in Bruno's papa's barber shop 
getting his first crew cut. Bruno didn't dig his fingers into 
the flesh of Alex's hips the way he might have with one of 
Sir's buddies. He didn't want to hurt the smaller man. 
Instead, he chased that little hole around, getting in a lick 
here and there, humming and slurping and eventually 
laughing his ass off. Sex had never been so much fun. 

Then he remembered what Alex wanted him to do, and he 
pulled back a little, inciting a groan of protest from Alex. 
Bruno needed a minute, though, so he took his time laying 
openmouthed kisses all over Alex's rump and even letting 
himself suck up a tiny mark. The sight of the love bite 
made his dick lurch. "You sure you want me to?" he finally 
said. 

Alex turned to look at Bruno's face. "You don't want to?" 

Alex looked so uncertain that Bruno rushed to say, "It's not 
that. It's just, you like it?" Bruno tried to keep the 
incredulity out of his voice, but knew he'd failed when Alex 
turned all the way to sit on the bed, bracketing Bruno's 
body with his long, smooth legs. 

"I do. You don't, I take it." 

"That's just it," Bruno said. "I take it. I take it like a man, 
and you don't seem the sort." 

Cherry on Top - 51 

"I'm not." Alex's mouth would have been a firm line had he 
not been sucking Bruno's soul out his prick minutes before. 
"I am the sort that likes a good fuck with a handsome man. 
I more than like getting fucked. It's not something I just 
'take.' So relax, would you?" 

Bruno leaned in to steal a kiss from the swollen lips. "Not 
likely. I don't want to hurt you." 

Alex kissed him back and playfully poked Bruno's puffy 
nips before angling down to suck on them. 

"Aah!" Bruno grunted and arched. His nipples were his 
Achilles' heel. 

"You're a big old teddy bear," Alex said around his fleshy 
mouthful. "You wouldn't hurt a bee for honey. You won't 
hurt a boy for hiney, either." He leaned back to display his 
lean, silken torso and his wet, heavy cock. "Unless you 
leave me hanging, big boy." 

The sight of that sweet bod offered up just for him made 
Bruno's decision for him. This time, he reached for the KY 
himself and dolloped his fingers. "Just remember, you 
asked for it." 

"No, baby, I begged for it, just so we're clear." And with 
that, Alex clambered higher up on the bed and presented 
his ass to Bruno. 

Bruno wasted no time, especially once he found how 
yielding Alex's hole was to one finger, two, three. Alex was 
making the most amazing, wanton sounds and clawing 
peaks in the bedspread. 

Cherry on Top - 52 

"Now," Bruno warned. 

"Better be," Alex warned back. 

And Bruno glided home. Alex didn't speak at all after that, 
and even his noises lost their voice, becoming nothing more 
than ragged, sharp-edged gasps. Guiding Alex with a hand 
firmly in the small of his back, Bruno tried different angles 
until he found one that made Alex shudder with every 
thrust and sob with every withdrawal. All the angles were 
good for Bruno, and he was glad he'd jacked off in the 
shower that morning because this would have been over 
well before he followed Alex's advice -- relaxed -- and 
discovered that he really, really loved to fuck. 

"And you're really, really good at it," Alex said a few hours 
later, after they'd collapsed in a sweaty, spunky pile and 
napped until dawn. "You should definitely fuck me again. 
Stay for breakfast?" 

Sister City, Present Day 

"That breakfast was the first of many." Alex buttered his 
scone and smiled affectionately at his lover. 

"How many mornings after are there in thirty-two years?" 
Bruno returned the look and winked at the kid behind the 
bakery counter. 

"You guys are too much," little Sammy said with an 
admiring grin, and poured them their twelve-thousandth 
morning coffee. 

Cherry on Top - 53 

Green Carnations 

By G.S. Wiley 

"'The only thing worse than being talked about is not being 
talked about,'" Lord Anthony Rothesay said between stiff 
lips. 

"Oscar Wilde." James Rivest dipped his paintbrush into a 
smudge of black on his palette. He daubed it onto the 
canvas in front of him, into the shadow of Lord Anthony's 
family robe. "You needn't worry about standing still for the 
moment." 

"I've met him, you know." Lord Anthony visibly relaxed, 
rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms. 

"Indeed?" James had seen Wilde only once from afar, 
dining at the Savoy with an impenetrable coterie of 
beautiful young men. "What is he like?" 

"Taller than one would expect." 

James wiped the paintbrush on a rag and squinted at his 
work. "Not much longer, my lord," James assured his 
subject. "I just want to get the colors right." 

"Of course, of course." Lord Anthony nodded and stilled, 
his back straight and his eyes fixed on some point over 
James' shoulder. "Walter tells me you usually paint children 
and dogs." This was Walter Dorans, the mutual friend who 
had introduced James and his latest subject. 

Cherry on Top - 54 

"Not by choice." If he'd had a choice, James would have 
liked to be the next Michelangelo, painting inspirational 
scenes to last generations. But the market for generations-
lasting inspirational scenes was small, and the market for 
sentimental portraits of wide-eyed children and droopy-
eared spaniels was seemingly endless. 

"I don't know. Seems like they could lend a portrait a 
certain gravitas if they were done right." Lord Anthony 
smiled. "Perhaps that's just what I need. You could throw in 
a mastiff or two here." He gestured beside him. "Might 
make people think I'm a man not to be trifled with." 

"I'm certain nobody thinks that, my lord." 

"You clearly haven't met my brother." 

James laughed aloud. He glanced up from his canvas to see 
Lord Anthony looking back at him, his astonishing blue 
eyes meeting James'. James licked his lips and looked 
away. "If you continue to distract me, my lord, you will end 
up with a portrait that is talked about for all the wrong 
reasons." 

"I have my doubts about that," Lord Anthony replied. "As 
soon as people see I've been painted by the great James 
Rivest, they're bound to think I'm someone important." It 
was flattery, and idle flattery at that. James still felt his 
cheeks redden under the weight of the compliment. "You 
know," Lord Anthony went on, "it might do me some good 
to be seen with you in public. How would you feel if I 
asked you to dinner? Depending on how much I like the 
portrait's progress, of course." He winked. 

Cherry on Top - 55 

James swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. It was not his 
nature to flirt in the shameless way of Walter and some of 
their other friends, but Lord Anthony was a very handsome 
man. As Walter had promised, James had felt an attraction 
toward him from the moment they met. Walter was always 
devilishly astute when it came to such matters. "I would be 
tempted to consent," James replied. "Depending on how 
much you like the portrait's progress. Of course." 

Lord Anthony roared with laughter. James returned to his 
work, his heart beating faster beneath his artist's smock. 

*** 

"He is entirely perfect for you," Walter Dorans had said, as 
he and James sat in a little bohemian teahouse in 
Bloomsbury. A cigarette smoldered in an ashtray in front of 
them. The entire place had a smoky, incense-and-tobacco-
like smell to it. "Lord Anthony Rothesay." Walter repeated 
the name, rolling it over his tongue like he was savoring a 
fine port. "Absolutely gorgeous and just the kind of man 
you like." 

"Is that right?" James sipped his tea. At the next table, a 
small group of very intense-looking young men were 
engaged in a heated debate. From the snippets of 
conversation James kept catching, it seemed to be on the 
subject of Catholicism, one of the favorite topics for a 
clientele such as this. "And what kind of man is that?" 
Walter was a very dear friend, but since he had met the 
American expatriate Jasper Wentworth, whom Walter 
called his "heart's true mate," he'd been insufferable about 
trying to introduce James to eligible men. 

Cherry on Top - 56 

"Older, but not too old," Walter explained. "I think he's 
about thirty-five." It was a good beginning. James 
appreciated the downy beauty of youth as much as the next 
man, particularly if the next man happened to be Walter, 
but at twenty-nine, he was rapidly losing patience with its 
callowness and self-serving attitudes. "He's divorced, but 
that was so many years ago, the scandal has very nearly 
died down to nothing. Most people aren't even aware he 
was ever married. He's the brother of the Marquess of 
Aldershot," Walter paused, as if to give James time to 
recognize the name. "And he loves your work." 

James raised his eyebrows. "What has he seen?" 

"Lady Bosanquet showed him the portrait you did of her 
granddaughters. He thought it was marvelous." 

"Then I cannot commend his artistic taste." 

"James." Walter shook his head indulgently. "You are too 
modest. The portrait is a triumph." It was, in fact, a 
pedestrian study of eight blonde girls of various ages and 
temperaments forced against their will into matching 
diaphanous dresses and hair ribbons. The sittings had been 
a nightmare for all concerned. "If you are not yet 
convinced, I can only tell you again that Lord Anthony is 
exactly your kind of man." He emphasized the last word. 
James knew what he meant. 

James was open minded. He had friends of all social 
statuses and backgrounds, and he liked to think he could 
find something of value in just about anybody. When it 
came to lovers, however, he was extremely picky. In affairs 
of the bedroom and affairs of the heart, James wanted a 
man who was a man, strong and powerful, who could care 

Cherry on Top - 57 

for him and dominate him and overwhelm him in the best 
possible way. It was why James and Walter had never 
succeeded as more than friends. "Two green carnations," 
was how Walter described them, "each in search of a 
prickly hawthorn bush to call his own." Walter had 
evidently found his "hawthorn bush" in Jasper Wentworth 
and had taken it upon himself to find a corresponding one 
for James. 

"I know you are cautious," Walter went on. "So you needn't 
jump into anything. Lord Anthony's interested in giving 
you a commission." 

"A portrait?" Not, James hoped fervently, of a snub-nosed 
Pekingese or a red-faced infant. 

Walter nodded. "Of himself in his family regalia. If you 
take a liking to one another, who knows where it might 
lead?" 

"Perhaps to more commissions." Lord Anthony doubtlessly 
had friends with just as much money and just as little sense. 

Walter rolled his eyes. "I had thought of something a little 
more romantic." 

James shrugged. "I suppose we shall have to see." 

Despite himself, James was excited when Lord Anthony 
came into the studio for the first sitting. James was always 
excited to begin a new painting. When the subject was as 
handsome and alluring as Lord Anthony, the task was even 
more pleasant. 

Cherry on Top - 58 

Lord Anthony didn't say much at first. Like most subjects, 
he thought he had to sit immobile for hours, that the 
slightest twitch of a finger or shift of position might ruin 
the entire portrait. James focused on his work, sketching 
the outlines of Lord Anthony's admittedly fine figure in a 
rich red, ermine-trimmed cape and thigh-high leather boots. 
At the second sitting some days later, James was able to 
exchange a few words with Lord Anthony. By the third 
sitting, when Lord Anthony invited him for dinner, James 
was beginning to think there might be some remote 
possibility of Walter being right. 

Lord Anthony waited in the sitting room adjacent to James' 
studio while James changed into something more suitable. 
He selected a dark green jacket and matching velvet 
trousers from his wardrobe and ran a silver brush through 
his hair, which was longer than most men's without being 
outlandishly bohemian. James placed an embroidered hat 
on his head and paused for a moment, wondering whether 
he ought to add a green carnation, the symbol of the 
aesthetic movement and of a gentleman of certain tastes 
and temperament. He decided against it. Walter's 
assurances aside, he did not know Lord Anthony well 
enough to anticipate how the other man might react. 

In the sitting room, Lord Anthony sat on the low ottoman, 
peering at the collection of a hundred stuffed birds in glass 
cases. 

"I inherited them from my grandfather," James said, lest 
Lord Anthony think he had gone out and shot them all 
himself. "I use them in my paintings on occasion." 

"Lovely," Lord Anthony said. "I'm a keen hunter myself 
when I'm out in the country. Don't know if I could shoot 

Cherry on Top - 59 

one of those little jobbies, though." He pointed at a tiny 
blue tit posed on a thin twig. "Certainly not after a few nips 
from the hip flask." He stood. "Shall we?" Surprisingly, he 
held out his arm. James took it and walked with him down 
the stairs to the street. 

They went to the Palace Hotel in Piccadilly. The staff 
recognized Lord Anthony at once and, with much bowing 
and scraping, led him and James to a table by the window. 
Outside, hansom cabs bounced along the streets in the 
sickly yellow light of the gas lamps, their wheels thumping 
rhythms on the cobblestones. 

"The lamb is excellent," Lord Anthony said, as James 
unfolded the menu. "As is the foie gras. The best I've had 
outside of Paris." 

"Do you go there frequently?" James had toyed with the 
idea of moving to Paris when he was younger. A man, a 
would-be poet named George Pickering, had kept him in 
London, and by the time the affair fizzled out, James no 
longer possessed the wherewithal to uproot his life. 

"I lived there many years ago, when I was a much younger 
man. It was where I met my wife." 

James looked up. He had not planned to mention Lord 
Anthony's long-ago scandal. It was hardly a topic for casual 
conversation. "She was a dancer," Lord Anthony continued. 
"Still is, as far as I know, although I would suspect she's 
getting a little long in the tooth for it these days." 

James didn't know what to say. Before the awkwardness 
became unbearable, Lord Anthony smiled brightly. "Your 

Cherry on Top - 60 

man Dorans must have told you how much I liked your 
portrait of Lady Bosanquet's granddaughters." 

"He mentioned it, yes." 

"It's a wonderful piece. All the portraiture skill of a George 
Frederick Watts combined with the all the artistic soul of a 
Millais. I felt that I knew the girls simply by looking at 
their pictures." 

James found himself blushing again. "You are too kind, my 
lord." 

"Not at all. And you must call me Tony." The waiter 
appeared at his elbow. "I'll have the onion soup and the 
lamb, and a bottle of... shall we say the '88 burgundy?" He 
glanced at James, as if James was in a position to agree or 
argue. James nodded mutely. 

"And you, sir?" The waiter turned to him. 

"The same, please." 

The waiter left again, working his way through the tables 
toward the kitchen. The restaurant was busy, alive with 
soberly dressed men and tastefully dressed women. 

"I adore art of all kinds," Lord Anthony went on, as if they 
had not been interrupted. "Well, as long as it's good, 
anyway. As boringly middle-class as it sounds, I have to 
admit a particular fondness for the Old Masters. Da Vinci. 
Raphael. Michelangelo." He sighed with evident 
contentment. That was the same way James felt when he 
looked upon a Michelangelo in a book or on a postcard. 
"I've been to the Sistine Chapel three times." 

Cherry on Top - 61 

"I have never seen it." It was James' burning ambition to do 
so. He always promised himself that as soon as he sold 
another painting or won another commission, he would let 
his flat for a few months and go. But he was not 
independently wealthy like many in his circle, and money 
always seemed to rear its ugly head at the most inopportune 
moments.  

Tony raised his eyebrows, evidently surprised. "Oh, my 
dear, but you must. It's endlessly inspiring even to a 
hopeless amateur like me. I can only imagine what you will 
be capable of producing once you've stood beneath the 
ceiling. We'll go together. I was planning to return to Italy 
myself sometime in the next year or so." Tony reached out 
suddenly to where James' hand lay on the snow-white 
tablecloth. Tony placed his over top of it. Startled, James' 
first instinct was to pull away. He quashed it. Instead, he 
glanced about, but no one seemed poised to report them for 
public indecency. No one was even looking in their 
direction. 

"That's a very kind offer, L... Tony." 

"I hope very much you will take me up on it. There has to 
be a first time for everything." The hand squeezed and then 
withdrew as the waiter arrived with their wine. 

The evening passed quickly. The food was good, as 
promised, and the conversation was better. Tony and James 
talked about France and Italy, about art and poetry and 
plays. Tony had an unexpectedly biting wit, and several 
times during the course of the meal he beckoned James 
closer to impart some whispered gossip such as, "Do you 
see Mrs. Carnahan over there? She's divorcing her husband 

Cherry on Top - 62 

on the grounds of non-consummation, and they've been 
married ten years!" 

After the dessert, the brandy, and the coffee, Tony and 
James stepped out onto the street. James' stomach was full 
and his heart was fuller. Tony hailed a hansom cab and, 
when they were safely ensconced inside, James threw 
caution to the wind and took Tony's hand in his. Tony 
seemed pleased. He held James' hand until the cab pulled 
up outside the house. 

James licked his lips, anticipation mounting as he turned to 
his new friend. "Will you come in for a cup of tea?" 

James had never offered a more blatant invitation. It was 
far more than most of his men friends usually required, but 
Tony smiled and made no move to alight from the cab. "I 
had better not. But I very much look forward to my next 
sitting on Thursday." He raised James' hand to his lips. He 
kissed it, once, then squeezed it and released. "Good night, 
my dear James." 

James blinked, unsure whether he was meant to feel 
disappointed, embarrassed, or charmed. He was still 
wondering when he got out of the cab and watched it 
disappear around the corner. 

*** 

"So how did it go?" Walter burst in the next morning, as 
was his wont, while James was still at breakfast. The 
landlady Mrs. Phipps followed behind, waving her arms 
and squawking in outrage. James gave an apologetic shrug. 

Cherry on Top - 63 

"How did what go?" James asked, once Mrs. Phipps had 
huffed out of the room, mortally offended, as always, at 
Walter's lack of manners. 

Walter pulled out a chair and helped himself to a piece of 
James' toast. "Theodora saw you dining with Lord Anthony 
Rothesay at the Palace last night." 

"Who on earth is Theodora?" 

"A perfectly charming young lady of my recent 
acquaintance. She's divorcing her hideous old brute of a 
husband. Ten years they've been married, and he's never 
laid a finger on her. Poor thing thought that was usual." He 
shook his head sadly. "Still, at least she's come to her 
senses. Oh, my God." Walter's smile evaporated in an 
instant and his eyes grew saucer-wide. "He's not still here, 
is he?" He looked about the empty room wildly. "I didn't 
mean to interrupt. I can be on my way in half a tick, just 
say the word." 

"He's not here." 

"Oh." Walter looked relieved and then disappointed in 
quick succession. "Why not?" 

"We had a lovely dinner," James replied. At least, James 
had enjoyed it. He'd thought Tony had as well. "He brought 
me home, I invited him in, he declined." 

"Oh," Walter repeated. He frowned, clearly as confused by 
such an action as James was himself. "Perhaps he is a 
gentleman. Or perhaps he is shy." 

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"Perhaps." Or perhaps he wasn't interested in men, or in 
James in particular. 

"Would you like to come out with Jasper and I this 
morning? We thought to take a turn of St. James' Park and 
perhaps lunch near Whitehall. There's an American lady 
poet doing a recitation at Mrs. McGarrigle's tea room. 
Jasper is quite keen to hear it." 

"That sounds dreadful, but thank you for the invitation." 

Walter sighed. He reached out and placed a hand on James' 
sleeve. "Don't worry, James. All will be well." He gave 
James a parting kiss on the cheek and was gone, leaving 
James with his toast and marmalade. 

*** 

James awaited Thursday with a mixture of anticipation and 
trepidation. He worked on Lord Anthony's portrait, along 
with two or three others he was in the process of 
completing. On Thursday morning, he donned his paint 
smock, arranged his hair in the mirror, and waited. 

Tony arrived a quarter of an hour early, carrying a small 
package wrapped in brown paper. He smiled when James 
let him into the studio. "Good afternoon, James." Tony held 
out a hand. James took it, expecting a friendly handshake. 
Tony kissed his hand, then passed him the package. 

"What is this?" 

"A gift. For you." Tony removed his jacket and took his 
ermine robe from its hook behind the silk dressing screen. 
While he changed, James unwrapped the paper. It was a 

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small book, with the title "A Little Italian for Travelers" 
printed on the cover. 

"Do you like it?" Tony stepped out from behind the screen, 
fastening the antique robe around his shoulders. "It will 
come in useful when we make our trip. Some of the locals 
have a smattering of English, but on my last holiday, I had 
a devil of a time finding someone who understood 'a cup of 
tea with cream and sugar, please.'" He laughed and got into 
position. 

"It is a very thoughtful gift." And a very puzzling one. 
James set it aside. "Thank you," he said. Nothing else 
seemed appropriate. Tony smiled, and James took up his 
palette. 

Tony told stories while James painted, about his travels in 
Italy and his family home in Hampshire. "It's a terribly 
drafty old place. I swear my brother and his wife only filled 
it with children in the hopes of warming it up a little. What 
of your family?" 

"None to speak of." James' mother had not survived his 
birth, while James' father was a carpenter who had gone to 
his deathbed never forgiving James for not taking up the 
family craft. James had two elder sisters, both married with 
a slew of offspring. James had not seen them for years and 
did not even know where they lived. "Walter Dorans is the 
closest I have, as sad as it sounds." 

"Walter is a fine man," Tony replied quickly. "Jasper is 
quite devoted to him. He is very charming, although rather 
too American for my tastes." James knew exactly what 
Tony meant. Jasper was very American, all big teeth and 
loud, grating voice, but he and Walter adored one another. 

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As usual, James quickly lost track of time. Tony stood 
obediently still, and by the time James looked up the sky 
was darkening. "I've finished for today." James wiped his 
brush on a nearby cloth and stood back to admire his 
progress. Tony stepped off the dais and came around, 
resting a hand on James' shoulder. 

"Remarkable." Tony shook his head, awe in his voice. "I 
cannot begin to fathom the depths of your talent." He 
sounded sincere. He always sounded sincere. That was 
what made it so difficult for James to judge his intentions. 

James half-turned, which nearly put him into Tony's 
embrace. Tony, several inches shorter, looked down for the 
briefest of moments before leaning in to kiss him. 

It was soft and unhurried, and the sensation sent a jolt of 
lightning through James' body. His body was filled with the 
familiar urge to be swept away, to be taken over, to feel the 
hard length of Tony pounding into him as they both rode 
waves of ecstasy. James clutched Tony's robe in his hands, 
luxuriating in the thick fur between his fingers, until Tony 
stepped back and gently disengaged his hands. 

"Tony..." James did not know what to say. 

Tony shook his head. "While you are painting the portrait, 
you are technically in my employ, are you not?" 

"I suppose, but..." That had never stopped James before. He 
did not make it a general habit, as such, but he had dallied 
with subjects on more than a few occasions, and he had 
desired none of them as hotly and fervently as he suddenly 
desired Lord Anthony Rothesay. 

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"I have no desire to seduce a man who may feel he is in no 
position to refuse me. That is a habit of my brother's, and it 
was a habit of my father's. It would be against my nature to 
emulate them." Tony smiled. Before James could reassure 
him, Tony embraced James again. "When the painting is 
done and our transaction completed, it will be my pleasure. 
And yours, I hope." Tony's smile grew mischievous. The 
sight of it sent another tremor of lust through James. 

James stepped back, trying to regain his breath while Tony 
changed clothing. Tony kissed James again before he left, a 
sweet expression of courtly devotion. James didn't know 
whether he should feel flattered or insulted at Tony's 
explanation. 

*** 

James was not the type of artist who insisted on dozens of 
sittings for his subjects. Three were usually enough for the 
basic work to be complete. Once the sittings had finished, 
he usually took between a fortnight and two months to put 
the finishing touches on a portrait. Lord Anthony Rothesay 
had offered him some additional motivation to finish, and 
within a week he was able to inform Tony that the painting 
was ready for viewing. 

He sent the news via letter, and then he waited. He tried to 
occupy himself with the other works in progress, one of 
Mrs. Beadsley's English spaniel and another of the two 
young Misses Cavendish. In truth, he spent more time 
pacing back and forth, glancing out of the windows that 
gave onto the street and hoping to catch a glimpse of an 
approaching cab, than doing any actual painting. 

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The one time a cab did appear, James' heartbeat increased 
in an instant, his face blushing and his hands practically 
trembling with excitement as he watched the door swing 
open. Walter stepped out. Jasper, resplendently American 
in a shining purple cravat and red rose boutonniere, 
emerged behind him. James locked himself in his studio 
and called through the keyhole that he was working. 

Finally, just as James began to fear he might go as mad as 
the lily-white heroine in some romantic poem, Tony came. 
He was dressed in tweeds and had a worried look on his 
face when Mrs. Phipps showed him in. "I'm dreadfully 
sorry, James, I only just received your letter. Some friends 
invited me for a weekend in the country, and you know 
how it is with friends. They simply won't take 'no' for an 
answer." James knew. Avoiding Walter and Jasper's tedious 
invitations was at times a very strenuous occupation. "So 
where is it?" 

Some artists viewed their paintings as their children, as 
extensions of themselves, and as such were heartbroken 
whenever their work met with the slightest criticism. James 
was not among this group. His paintings, particularly those 
commissioned by others, were work. He did the best job he 
could on them, but once they were out of his hands, James 
didn't care whether they were praised or reviled or used to 
light a fire to warm the hands of the penniless beggars on 
the banks of the Thames. 

This time, it was different. James felt a twist of nerves as he 
unveiled the portrait. For a long moment, Tony was silent. 
James resisted the urge to search his face for some hint of 
emotion. At long last, Tony let out an ungentlemanly 
whoop and pulled James into his arms. 

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"You, my dear, are a genius. I've never looked so well in 
my life." James was about to protest that Tony was far 
more handsome in the flesh than on any canvas when Tony 
stopped the sentence before it began. He pressed his lips 
against James', sliding a tongue between them and lapping 
into James' mouth when James let it slip open. 

Tony's strong hands came around James' back, nearly 
lifting him from the floor. James clung to the front of 
Tony's jacket, feeling himself harden in an instant when 
Tony took James roughly by the shoulders and crushed 
their bodies together. James was left with a panting, 
breathless desire to be filled. A corresponding wildness in 
Tony's eyes led James to believe he was in a similar 
position. James led Tony through the forest of paint-stained 
tablecloths, easels, and canvases to the cramped bedroom. 

Tony began to undress as soon as James shut the door 
behind them. James leaned against the door, savoring the 
sight of slowly revealed flesh. Tony's body was pale, his 
little pink nipples nearly obscured by a thatch of dark hair. 
When Tony unfastened his trousers and released a large, 
flushed cock, James couldn't help himself. He fell to the 
floor and crossed the small intervening space on his knees. 
James wrapped his mouth around Tony, reveling in the 
sound of Tony's groans in his ears and the feel of Tony's 
hand weaving through his long hair. 

James would have been content to stay there, but Tony 
clearly had other ideas. After a moment, James felt warm 
hands on his shoulders, and Tony pulled him up until they 
both sat on the edge of James' messy, unmade bed. Tony 
kissed him again, leaving James short of breath, his head 
pounding. "Take me," James murmured, then hesitated, a 
little taken aback at his own forwardness. Still, that was 

Cherry on Top - 70 

James' wish. He was almost dizzy with desire for it. He did 
not know how to react when Tony said, "I had something 
else in mind." 

"Oh?" James blinked. Men like Tony never had anything 
else in mind. They wanted to have him as much as James 
wanted to be had. It was practically a law of nature, 
untested in James' experience.  

"Please, James." Tony's voice was hoarse, infused with 
naked pleading that made James' own cock twitch. 

He swallowed. "I've never... I mean, I haven't..." 

"Never?" Tony didn't sound incredulous. He sounded 
pleased. 

"No," James admitted. He'd never felt the urge to.  

"Are you sure?" James asked. The last thing James wanted 
was to go into this only for Tony to regret it. Tony nodded, 
sweat forming on his shoulder blades. Pushing his own 
nerves aside, James reached for the little bottle of oil he 
kept amidst the dust beneath the bed. 

James had never envied his lovers their pleasure. He 
doubted anyone, even the men who sweated and puffed 
above him, their faces red and their eyes rolled back in their 
heads, could receive as much pleasure as James felt with a 
strong man over top of him and inside him. Now, that 
belief was about to be tested. 

James swallowed hard and faced the challenge head on. He 
prepared Tony carefully, encouraged when Tony writhed 
and gasped beneath his hands. Perhaps, James thought, this 

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would not be so bad. And perhaps, if James gave Tony 
what Tony wanted, then Tony would be happy to return the 
favor. 

Drawing on the hazy, lust-sodden memories of his previous 
encounters, James positioned himself. His heart was 
beating so loudly by this point that he was certain Mrs. 
Phipps could hear it downstairs. He hesitated, frozen in 
place, until Tony glanced back. "Don't worry, my dear." 
His smile was unsteady and his eyes were unfocused, but 
James did not think that was due to fear. "A first time for 
everything." 

Indeed. James returned the smile and sallied forth. 

It was unlike anything James had ever felt before. He had 
never known such heat or such tightness. For an instant, he 
was afraid he might spontaneously combust, leaving a little 
pile of cinders behind. Instead, James groaned in time with 
Tony and heaved forward, thrusting into his willing body 
again and again. 

James could not compare the pleasure of this act to the 
pleasure he received from the other. The sensations were 
related but unique, like oil painting and watercolors, and 
both had their own distinct advantages. Perhaps I ought to 
try watercolors more frequently. It was his last coherent 
thought for some time. 

James' ecstasy spiraled higher and higher. When he reached 
his peak, flashes of white appeared behind his eyes, and he 
gripped Tony's shoulders hard as he came. 

Hours or perhaps mere minutes later, James opened his 
eyes to find himself lying on his back, Tony's head resting 

Cherry on Top - 72 

on his narrow chest. James' hair felt damp, beads of sweat 
still lingering on his skin. The room smelled stuffy. James 
contemplated getting up to open a window once he was 
able to move again. 

"Hmm." Tony made a contented noise, his throat vibrating 
against James. "You're certain that was your first time?" 

"Quite sure." Although at the moment, James couldn't think 
why he hadn't done it much, much earlier. 

"I suppose it should come as no surprise that you are as 
talented at this as you are at everything else." That was 
hardly the case, but the mere fact that Tony would say so 
brought a fresh wave of elation to James. He wiped a hand 
across his over-warm forehead. 

"Perhaps that is due to inspiration more than any innate 
skill," he suggested with a smile. 

Tony laughed, his breath gusting over James' sweat-
dampened skin. "In that case, I am doubly eager to bring 
you to Italy." He kissed a spot on James' chest. 

James embraced him, wondering hazily how it was that 
Walter Dorans knew him so much better than James did 
himself, and how much more insufferable the man would 
be to live with once Walter knew his matchmaking was a 
resounding success. 

Cherry on Top - 73 

Stairway to Evan 

By G.R. Richards 

"Eww... how can you eat that stuff?" Kenzo asked, tossing 
his black hair out of his eyes. He flipped the page in his 
graphic novel as Evan pulled a steaming bowl of ramen 
from the microwave. "It's nothing but salt and MSG." 

Setting the bowl at Kenzo's table, Evan said, "At thirty-
three cents a packet, my budget made the choice for me." 
He thought all Japanese guys loved ramen -- was that 
racist? He shouldn't make generalizations, not even in his 
mind. 

"Yeah, after taxes, it's practically a volunteer position 
working here." Kenzo chuckled as he snacked on a sliver of 
red bell pepper. 

Evan hadn't noticed the plastic container Kenzo had hidden 
behind his book. "What have you got there?" 

Kenzo seemed reluctant to give up his secret. He lifted his 
graphic novel out of the way at snail's pace. "Want some?" 
he asked, pressing the colorful tray of fresh carrots, 
cucumbers, pepper slices, and mushrooms across the table. 

By the tentative look on Kenzo's face, Evan could tell it 
was an empty offer. Still, Kenzo's food was so colorful 
compared to Evan's beige soup, and it had been so long 
since he'd eaten his veggies, he couldn't resist. He snapped 
a carrot between his teeth, never expecting it to be so 

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flavorful. "I should pick up some of these. How much did 
they cost?" 

"A dollar twenty-nine for the bag." Kenzo smiled 
sheepishly. After disclosing the price, he didn't seem so 
concerned about Evan eating his food. "But you know what 
I'd buy if I had the cash?" 

The door to the lunchroom swung open, and a belly as big 
as a house poked through, followed closely by its owner. 
Dropping a stack of files on the next table, Tanisha swung 
open the door to the fridge. 

Evan turned to watch her. "Don't tell me you're working 
through lunch." 

"God, you sound just like Kelly," she chuckled. "Girl won't 
even let me wash the dishes -- says I should stay off my 
feet so I don't stress the baby." When Tanisha opened the 
lid on her lunch, the air filled with the sharp scent of 
vinegar. "Word to the wise," she went on, taking a forkful 
in her mouth. "Kelly made me bean salad for lunch, so 
you'd best steer clear for the afternoon. I'll be farting Dixie 
all day long." 

"Nasty," Kenzo laughed as he sucked an entire mushroom 
between his lips. 

Turning back to the conversation Tanisha's grand entrance 
had nipped in the bud, Evan asked, "What were you going 
to say you'd buy if you had the cash?" 

"Oh," Kenzo coughed, with a mouth full of mushroom. "A 
gym membership. I really want to start working out again." 

Cherry on Top - 75 

You really need to start working out again, Evan thought. 
Pursing his lips, he gave himself a mental slap on the wrist. 
Without seeing Kenzo naked, Evan was in no position to 
judge. Oh, great! Now he was picturing Kenzo naked --
sapling arms and legs, narrow shoulders, nothing but dark 
little nipples sticking up from his undefined chest, birch-
pale skin, and a shock of dark pubic hair at the apex of his 
thighs. In his mind, Evan tried not to downplay the 
potential length or girth of Kenzo's wang. Who knew? It 
could be huge. 

"You should do the stairs," Tanisha said as she shoveled 
beans into her mouth. "That's what I did for exercise until I 
got busy." 

"Busy?" Evan laughed. "Is that lesbo-code for knocked 
up?" 

She tried to swat him with a file folder, but her big belly 
prevented her from leaning in close enough. "Busy with 
work, you little jerk-ass. At lunch hour, I used to change 
into running shoes and workout gear, and I'd climb the 
stairs all the way up to the top floor and back down again. 
Up and down. It's great cardio, and it's free." 

"Hmm," Kenzo cut in. "Up and down, it's great cardio, and 
it's free? What are we talking about, again?" 

With a shy smirk, Evan considered the benefits of working 
up a midday sweat. "Not a bad idea. We could bring in 
weights to carry and kill two birds in one. Why don't we try 
it out a couple days a week?" 

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"I'd show you how it's done," Tanisha offered as she rinsed 
out her dish. "But these days I can barely waddle, let alone 
climb twenty-five flights of stairs." 

"Twenty-five?" Kenzo shuddered. Tapping his finger 
against Evan's arm, he said, "You might have to carry me 
part way." 

*** 

Even in high school gym class, Evan had never felt 
comfortable changing clothes in front of other guys. He 
figured they'd be looking at him the way he'd look at them -
- watching their broad shoulders roll as they tore out of 
their T-shirts, ogling their naked boy bodies, drooling over 
their tight asses. Not that Kenzo would be inclined to lust 
after his squat frame and pimply back, but he felt bashful 
nonetheless. 

The moment Evan stepped out of the stall, he caught sight 
of himself in his green track pants and charity run T-shirt in 
the mirror and started to step back in. Nearly ten years 
later, and he was still that gym class nerd. The only thing 
that kept him from retreating into the stall was the sight of 
Kenzo in tennis whites. Those shorts rose up nearly to the 
top of his thighs and his polo shirt would have been a better 
fit on an eight-year-old girl. 

"What's with the socks?" Evan chuckled, pointing. They 
came just short of Kenzo's knees. 

Kenzo didn't seem to take the insult to heart. "What? I don't 
want my calves to get cold." 

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"And the shoes?" How he wished he could be less catty, but 
old habits died hard. 

"What? High-tops are in style again." 

With a satisfied grin, Evan parked the tote containing his 
work clothes on top of Kenzo's gym bag under the sink. 
They'd be safe there. The washroom door had a punch lock. 
Anyway, they didn't see much riffraff on the tenth floor. 

They decided they'd start at the bottom and work their way 
up. Walking down stairs wasn't exactly taxing -- it made for 
a good warm-up. When they reached lobby level, they 
tapped their rubber-coated hand weights and wished each 
other good luck. 

"You'll need it," Evan added, taking off up the staircase like 
a thickset Olympian. By the second floor, Kenzo and his 
long, lanky legs shot past. By the third floor, Evan lost 
sight of his friend. When he reached the sixth floor landing, 
trudging all the way, he found Kenzo perched against the 
wall and panting like a dog in the sun. 

"Man," Kenzo said, tapping his blue and green weights 
together. "I am seriously out of shape!" 

"You're out of shape?" Evan tried to laugh, but it came out 
like a wheeze. "At least you ran all the way! I walked the 
last two flights." A pang shot across his side, and he 
pressed it with his weighted fist to temper the pain. Though 
he sucked in breaths again and again, he never seemed to 
get enough air into his lungs "God, exercise is painful!" 

Kenzo nodded his head. "Yeah, nice idea to race to the top. 
I say we walk it from here." 

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"Agreed." Evan didn't move. Neither did Kenzo. "In a 
minute." They both slid to the floor, pressing their backs 
against the glossy beige wall. The stairwell was 
surprisingly clean. It seemed to see little use. 

Sitting close enough for Evan to feel his raging body heat, 
Kenzo lifted his weights -- left, and then right, green, and 
then blue. "I can't believe Tanisha could climb all these 
stairs..." 

"Wait a sec," Evan interrupted him. "Why's one of your 
weights an eight and the other a ten? You don't have two 
the same?" Evan turned the numbers on his own weights 
away so Kenzo wouldn't see they were both fives. 

When Kenzo didn't say anything, Evan looked up to meet 
his sly gaze. "Oh, I have two the same," he finally relented. 
Setting his eight-pounder to stick up between his legs, 
Kenzo rubbed the end like he was teasing his cockhead. He 
traced his fingers down the grip and stroked it like a hard 
shaft. In a wistful tone, he went on, "It's just that my right 
arm is already so much stronger than my left. Why do you 
think that might be?" 

Was that a come on? No, couldn't be. Why would anybody 
come on to Evan, let alone someone who saw him every 
day and knew what a nerd he was? Caught in a trance, 
Evan fixated on Kenzo's impeccably trimmed fingernails. 
He shook his head and tried to laugh. "I hear ya, man! The 
salami ain't gonna slap itself." His voice sounded weak and 
unsure. He cleared his throat as Kenzo leapt to his feet. 

"Come on," Kenzo said, setting one high-top on the next 
step. "We've only got an hour for lunch." 

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Pressing his hands down against his weights, Evan eased 
onto his feet and bent to crack his back. "God, this is 
ridiculous. I feel like an eighty-year-old man!" 

Kenzo waggled his eyebrows, and played on words. "I 
generally steer clear of GILFs, but suit yourself, man." 

“GILFs?” 

With a nod, Kenzo  chuckled, “Grandpas I’d Like to Fuck.” 

"Aw, that's sick," Evan said, following Kenzo up the stairs. 
He pumped his baby irons, wishing he'd brought bigger 
ones. Suddenly, he felt like he needed to impress the guy 
he'd worked with for months. "There's no grandpa in the 
world I'd like to fuck." 

"Yeah, right," Kenzo laughed. "I bet you love the silver 
daddies." 

An image flashed to the fore of Evan's mind -- John, his 
chest a mat of shining silver hair, stretched out naked on 
the bed. Beckoning. A blissful Wednesday afternoon of 
servicing the daddy, of taking all John had to give. A kiss 
on the forehead before he went home to his wife and two 
daughters. John was nobody's grandfather, but he was no 
spring chicken, either. Evan had loved him. Too much. It 
had to end, and it did end. Still, Evan had loved that body. 
Evan had loved that cock. 

Evan realized he hadn't responded to Kenzo's joke. It was 
too late now. Flustered, he forced a chuckle. "Daddies. 
Yeah." He looked straight ahead as they carried on up the 
stairs. 

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"On the other hand, a good fuck is a good fuck, no matter 
what the guy looks like." Kenzo seemed to be backpedaling 
now, making reparations and trying to lighten the mood. 

"Yeah." It seemed strange that Kenzo would comment on 
other people's looks. He was respectably cute, but neither 
he nor Evan would be appearing in the next beefcake 
calendar. As far as Evan was concerned, they were in no 
position to judge. 

Silence always made Kenzo fidget -- Evan had noticed that 
in the lunchroom. "Hey," Kenzo said with a high-pitched 
chuckle. "What's the weirdest place you've ever fooled 
around?" 

"Uh..." Sex wasn't Evan's favorite topic of discussion. He 
felt shamefully inexperienced when forced into detail. 
"You go first." 

"Okay," Kenzo said, pumping his weights to his chest. He 
puckered his lips and screwed up his eyebrows like he was 
thinking really hard and he wanted Evan to see it in his 
face. "The library bathroom was pretty bad." 

An inadvertent smile broke across Evan's lips. "God, I must 
be the only gay guy in the world who hasn't had sex in a 
washroom stall." 

"The library bathroom was a girl," Kenzo amended. "That 
was university. We worked there part time... well, until 
somebody reported weird sounds in the bathroom..." 

Evan's heart thumped against his ribcage. "Oh." 

Cherry on Top - 81 

"Let me think of a weird one with a guy," Kenzo said as 
Evan bowed to tie a shoelace. "Oh, I know -- back when I 
worked in a movie theater, my manager and I were closing 
up one night..." 

A weight tumbled out of Evan's hand, and he caught it with 
his foot before it could hit the next stair. As he picked it up, 
an ache in his gut brought him to the swift realization that 
he didn't want to hear the rest of this story. He didn't want 
to picture Kenzo with other guys, or even other girls. With 
the intrusive laughter of a drunk guy at the movies, Evan 
said, "Do you sleep with all your co-workers?" 

Kenzo hopped two stairs and stood tall on the landing, 
extending his arms so Evan couldn't pass. He smiled 
widely. "Only the cute ones." 

Evan's laughter was nervous this time. "Well, there goes 
my chance." 

"What?" Kenzo cried, like he couldn't believe his ears. 
"You're one of the cutest guys I've ever seen!" 

"Don't bullshit me," Evan chuckled, brushing off any 
possibility Kenzo could be serious. "I do own a mirror, and 
it doesn't do me any favors." 

Exhaling a sharp breath, Kenzo maintained his 
commanding stance on the landing. "Listen to me -- this is 
not bullshit: when I first started working here, back when 
Sunil was on staff..." 

Evan smiled at the thought. "See, now he was cute." Cute 
and unattainable. 

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"If you think so, maybe he was, but that's not the point. 
When I started here, I'd met you once and I couldn't 
remember your name. I asked Tanisha, 'Who's that cute 
guy?' and she said, 'Sunil,' and I said, 'No, not him, the cute 
guy.' And she gave me this weird look and she was like, 
'What, you mean Evan?' Do you see what I'm saying?" 

With a hollow chuckle, Evan replied, "Yeah, Tanisha 
doesn't think I'm cute." 

"You're missing the point." Kenzo shook his head. There 
was an irritated ring to his voice Evan had never heard 
before. "The point is that I thought you were cute. I still 
do." 

When he looked up to meet Kenzo's tense gaze, Evan's 
heart stopped in its tracks. After a moment of wondering if 
he'd died and gone to heaven, it started up again, inflating 
with every beat. He felt warm all the way down to his toes. 
The beads of sweat collecting under his arms had nothing 
to do with their workout. He felt at once nervous and 
ecstatic. 

Courage streaked through Evan's muscles, driving him up 
the stairs. Pressing Kenzo against the wall, Evan kissed him 
full on the mouth. He met with no resistance. Those thin 
pink lips gave up their guard. Teeth opened up like pearly 
gates to let his tongue pass. Kenzo's mouth tasted hot and 
fresh, yet Evan abandoned it to kiss his neck. 

"Do you know how long I've waited for this?" Kenzo's 
voice was tattered silk, frayed at the edges but always 
smooth. 

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Evan couldn't keep himself from poking fun -- the scourge 
of the unworthy. "Another on-the-job conquest, am I?" 

Shaking his head, Kenzo pressed Evan's shoulders away 
with his weights. "No," he said. "No, Evan! Can't you take 
anything seriously?" 

One chance, and Evan's stupid reaction was ruining it! He 
backed up a step, placing his weights on the floor like a 
hostage negotiator setting down his gun to convince the 
criminal he was safe. "I'm sorry," Evan said. Standing very 
still, he gazed up into Kenzo's glistening hazel eyes. "I 
don't generate a lot of interest on the meat market. It's hard 
to believe a guy like you would be interested in me." 

"A guy like me?" Kenzo opened his mouth like he was 
going to say more, but then laughed instead. He set his 
weights on the floor next to Evan's. "Seriously," he went 
on, leaning against the back wall. "You can't tell me you've 
never fooled around in the workplace before." 

With an eager smile, Evan closed in on Kenzo. "Are you 
kidding? I've never fooled around outside my bedroom!" 
He suppressed the fleeting images of afternoons with John. 
Married men played it safe -- no sense in getting caught. 
Evan had a comfy mattress in secure surroundings. Evan 
drew excitement from their shared sense of deceit and 
wrongdoing. They looked no further. 

"I don't believe it," Kenzo said. With a flirtatious smirk, he 
tossed shining black bangs away from his eyes. They fell 
right back, and he tossed them again. "You've seriously 
never gotten laid outside your bedroom?" 

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"Well, okay," Evan amended. "In the shower, too, a couple 
times." 

Kenzo giggled like a schoolgirl. "But never outside your 
apartment?" 

"I know -- ha ha, laugh at the virgin," he said, rolling his 
eyes. 

But Kenzo wasn't laughing. His eyes blazed. His gaze grew 
so intense Evan hardly knew what to expect. "Want to try 
something new?" 

Without warning, Kenzo grabbed him by the shoulders and 
turned his whole body around until Evan's back was 
pressed to the wall. In what seemed like one inexplicable 
motion, Kenzo drew down Evan's green joggers and pulled 
off his T-shirt. 

"What are you doing?" Evan seemed both to whisper and 
cackle at once. "What if someone comes by?" 

When Kenzo's gaze drizzled down Evan's sweating skin, he 
turned instantly silent. He stood staring at Evan’s naked 
body. Tossing his hair from his eyes, he said, "Aren't we 
naughty? No underwear. I like it." 

"Well, I forgot to bring an extra pair, and I didn't want to 
wear sweaty Jockeys all afternoon." Evan said absently as 
Kenzo used his damp T-shirt to tie his hands behind his 
back. "What are you doing? What if they catch us?" 

"They who?" Kenzo asked, dropping to his knees in front 
of Evan. At least Evan could comfort himself with the 
thought that most of his pimples were on his back side. 

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"How many people have you seen the entire time we've 
been climbing these stairs? None." 

Evan's cock surged visibly when Kenzo ran his fingernails 
up Evan’s thighs. And what could he do to stop it? 
Nothing. Well, he could easily wriggle out of the T-shirt 
securing his wrists. But did he want to stop it? Hell, no. 

Pressing his shoulders back against the wall, he leaned his 
ass against his hands. His ensnarement only added to his 
feeling of rapture as Kenzo traced firm fingers up to Evan's 
stomach, and then down his shaft. He trembled, sensing the 
tides rising in the blood of his body. As Kenzo stroked him, 
his cock grew in those pleasure-giving hands. His skin 
jumped when Kenzo leaned in to kiss his belly. Bite. 
Nibble on flesh. Evan tossed his head back and looked up 
at a neutral ceiling. It was like nobody had ever been in 
exactly this place before. They'd be the first to leave their 
imprint on the memory of this space. 

But panic shot through the bliss as Kenzo's mouth 
approached his cock. "Wait," Evan pleaded in a voice that 
seemed to come from outside himself. "I'm all sweaty and 
gross." 

Kenzo shot him a teasing glance. "You say that like it's a 
bad thing." 

Without another word, Kenzo sucked his cockhead into a 
warm waiting mouth and closed soft lips around it. Evan's 
spine grew straight as train tracks as Kenzo inhaled his 
shaft, all the way down to the base. He felt taller than he'd 
ever been. He could feel Kenzo's nose brush the amber hair 
above his cock. The tenderness of the moment wasn't lost, 

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even as Kenzo went at him like the world was coming to an 
end. 

Everything felt uniquely intense -- unique because every 
move was Kenzo's orchestration, and intense because 
Kenzo never seemed to do anything half-heartedly. When 
Kenzo sucked his cock, it went hard and fast. When he 
wrapped his long fingers around the base of Evan's shaft, 
he gripped it hard. He held it steady as he flicked Evan's tip 
with an eager tongue, lapping the pre-come like honey 
straight from the comb. 

The sounds emanating from Kenzo's throat lifted Evan to 
yet a higher level of arousal. Every high-pitched squeak 
and low-pitched moan made his cock feel bigger and his 
arms feel stronger. Evan writhed against the wall until his 
T-shirt became loose around his wrists. He caught it as it 
started to fall and pulled on the ends to tighten up the knot. 

Stroking Evan's cock base to tip, Kenzo sent his tongue on 
an exploratory mission. When those pink lips sucked the 
flesh of Evan's sensitive ball sac between them, Evan 
cringed with shame. "God," Evan whispered, "You don't 
have to do that. I must taste like ball-sweat!" 

"Oh, yeah, you do," Kenzo growled, licking up the center 
seam with a wide and wet tongue. "You taste like sweat, 
and I love it!" 

Evan's muscles surged as Kenzo sucked his balls into the 
hot mouth one by one, and then both together. Evan 
gasped. His body threw itself back against the wall in fits of 
pleasure. The joy was violent. He felt like a giant had 
picked him up off his feet and slammed his shoulders into a 

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rock. Kenzo sucked on his balls until Evan's knees went 
weak. "God, I can't stand it. I can't stand." 

Evan was sure he couldn't support himself anymore, but 
Kenzo wouldn't get out of his way to let him sit down. 
Pressing Evan's hips against the wall, Kenzo licked from 
his balls all the way up his shaft. Kenzo’s tongue burned 
white against Evan's throbbing cockhead. The heat sizzled 
the blood in his veins as he struggled to stay upright. Kenzo 
sucked him. Running a fist up and down Evan's shaft, 
Kenzo trapped Evan's tip in the suction of his hot mouth.  

Inside his running shoes, Evan's toes tingled. The sensation 
rose past the jogging pants tossed down around his ankles. 
The muscles in his bare calves shook. His thighs trembled. 
When Kenzo took a ball in each hand and squeezed, that 
was it for Evan. His balls pumped his come out through his 
cock like icing through a pastry bag. Kenzo swallowed, 
making 'mmm' noises like Evan's jizz was the best thing 
he'd ever tasted. He trapped Evan's entire spent cock in his 
mouth, sucking through the aftershocks, and reverberations 
resonated through Evan's orgasmic body. When Evan 
couldn't take any more pleasure, he tried to back away, but 
of course he was trapped between the wall and Kenzo. 
"Please," he begged. "No more. It's too good." 

If Evan didn't feel like his shoulders were pinned to the 
wall, he would have fallen on his ass the second Kenzo 
backed away. Sitting on the floor, butt resting on his high-
top sneakers, Kenzo gazed up at him with eyes full of 
wonder. "Now you can't say you've never fooled around 
outside the bedroom." 

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Evan teased. 
Slipping his T-shirt from his wrists, he put it back on -- its 

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fresh wrinkles gave it a tie-dyed look. He pulled up his 
pants before sliding to the floor across from Kenzo. "Thank 
you." 

Kenzo's gaze held Evan's with the insistence of cat's eyes. 
For a while, they didn't speak. They explored each other's 
depths without moving a muscle. 

"You know what else?" Evan said, though he hadn't wanted 
to admit it. "I've never done this with someone my own 
age. That's another first." 

Nodding, Kenzo held out his hand. When Evan placed a 
palm in Kenzo's, Kenzo gave it a squeeze and rose to his 
feet. "A good first?" 

In the time of John, which now felt long ago indeed, Evan 
thought he'd enjoyed their arrangement. It had given him a 
sense of dirty pleasure, knowing they had a secret 
understanding even John's wife didn't know about. Maybe 
he even put himself on a bit of a pedestal -- he was 
attractive and desirable enough to be someone's boy toy. 
But did those feelings get him through the lonely nights, 
when he wanted John at his side? No, schadenfreude never 
helped ease loneliness. The only cure for loneliness was in 
knowing a relationship could take him forward into the 
future. 

"A good first," Evan said, nodding as Kenzo pulled him 
upright. "The first of many?" 

Kenzo grabbed Evan's weights and handed them over 
before picking up his own. 
Though they hadn't yet reached the top, Kenzo and Evan 
turned on their heels and headed back down. The hour was 

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almost up. "In every day, there's a lunch hour," Kenzo 
assured Evan. He tossed his bangs back and wriggled his 
eyebrows. "And in every lunch hour, there's a stairway to 
Evan." 

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The Bad Boyfriend Club and How I Left It 

By Tracy Rowan 

I have no common sense when it comes to love. None. Zip. 
I know this because my taste in men, while good on the 
surface, is just rotten in every other respect. But see, they're 
not all bad guys, I'm not saying that. For example, take 
Timmy, my first boyfriend, and that lasted all of about a 
year when we were in eleventh grade. Oh, my god, Timmy 
was gorgeous. Every girl in the school had their panties in a 
twist over him, but anyway, I digress  Eleven months and 
two weeks of that year were spent sending each other 
soulful notes in class, taking long walks, and talking about 
the spirituality of our love. 

Almost a year to the day after we met, just before we 
started our senior year, I had a bad case of blue balls from 
all that soulful talking and the occasional chaste kiss, which 
was a big deal with us. Because y'know, our love was pure. 
That's what Timmy liked to say. "Our love is pure, 
Edward," he'd say, and I'd nod and wonder why he never 
called me "Eddy" like everyone else did. But, y'know, that 
was Timmy. 

So I invited him over to the house because my folks had 
taken my little brother and sister to the amusement park one 
last time before school started, as a kind of bribe to be good 
for at least the first fifteen minutes of the new school year. I 
took him up to my room and gave him this speech about 
how the depth of my love was such that I didn't think I 
could survive if we couldn't just once become one. 

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Yeah, I actually used the phrase "become one." It seemed 
like the right thing to do. And, by golly, it worked. We 
were suddenly kissing and tearing at each other's clothing, 
and I realized I was finally gonna get laid by the love of my 
life, this six-foot, blond, blue-eyed hunk of burnin' love 
who was mine, all mine. I got him out of his jeans and got 
his cock in my mouth and mine in his and we were going at 
it like our love was also really, really impure, and then the 
fucking doorbell rang. 

It was just the UPS guy dropping off a package for Mom, 
and I told Timmy that, after I scraped him off the ceiling, 
but I promise you I have never seen anyone dress that fast 
in my life. 

"I knew I shouldn't have come, I knew it. This was wrong, 
we were wrong, we're going to be judged for this, 
ohgodohgod," he said as he wrenched his clothing back on. 
He didn't even give me the chance to argue the point, but 
was out the front door in under two minutes. 

Never mind, I told myself as I jerked off in the bathroom. 
There's always tomorrow. I got him horizontal once, I 
could do it again. 

But it didn't happen because Timmy never spoke to me 
again, except when he absolutely had to in school or at 
parties and stuff. He got himself a girlfriend who was as 
blonde and pretty as he was, and apparently they went at it 
like monkeys. He married her the day after graduation. The 
impurity of their love caught up to them in a really concrete 
way. Their daughter is a stunner, though, so I suppose some 
good did come out of it. He cruises the bars occasionally, 

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but I don't talk to him unless I absolutely have to, which 
would be, like, never. 

I took a leaf from Timmy's book and got myself a girlfriend 
for a while. She was another cheerleader type, and chummy 
with Timmy's girlfriend, but it ended badly when I decided 
that I might as well be getting sex from someone and ended 
up disgracing myself in front of her. She told all her friends 
how I couldn't get it up and she figured I must be a queer. 
Let me tell you, that's a rumor you don't want going around 
your twelfth grade class, because it gets you all the wrong 
sort of attention. 

A lot of the bully boys thought they'd get their jollies 
picking on me, and discovered that this was a queer who 
could bust heads better than they could. (My old man, 
who'd been a Marine, decided that if I was going to be gay, 
I'd have to learn how to defend myself.) And then some of 
them came creeping around afterward and tried to get in my 
pants because yeah, some of the biggest bullies are queer, 
too, though they won't admit it. 

I'd like to say I sent them all packing and told them that 
until they got their heads on straight (so to speak), they 
weren't getting any from me, but the flesh really is weak. I 
ended up having a fantastically torrid affair with one of the 
guys on the baseball team, who wouldn't even look at me in 
public. I figured that at least I was getting laid, so I should 
probably just shut up and enjoy what I was getting. 

In college, I had a string of boyfriends who were pretty 
much losers of some sort. I dated a guy who was a gay 
activist and spent more time worrying about telling 
everyone we met that we were a couple than he did actually 
doing something about it. I dated a guy whose major was 

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gay studies, and he spent a lot of time analyzing what it 
meant if I wanted to fuck his ass, or he wanted to fuck 
mine, or whose dorm room we did it in, and I have to tell 
you he was more depressing than the closeted, Jesus-freak 
boyfriend I had for three weeks between high school and 
college. 

I had a boyfriend who hit me. Once. I told him that if he 
ever did it again, I would take him apart. He didn't listen. 
Yeah, that ended badly. But then I got a guy who wanted 
me to hit him! What is wrong with people, anyway? I don't 
get that. We were in bed one night and he said "Hit me!" 

I said "What?" 

He said, "I want you to hit me." So I gave him a slap. Not 
hard, but enough to be kind of sexy. 

He said "No, I really want you to hit me. Just knock shit out 
of me and then fuck me senseless." And that's when I think 
I must've broken Timmy's land speed record for getting 
dressed and getting out. 

There were some others; trust me, they don't bear talking 
about. 

Into this vast wasteland walked Denise, a girl so fucked up 
that she loved it that I was gay and wanted us to be together 
forever in a pure marriage of the mind and heart. (What is it 
with this purity stuff?) I tried being nice, and then I stopped 
being nice and started avoiding her. 

She sent me e-mails about her undying love for me. Then 
she sent me e-mails saying that she would die if I didn't 
love her back. Then she promised to kill herself if I didn't 

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get back in touch with her, so I sent all of them to a 
counselor at the school, who phoned her parents, who didn't 
believe that we hadn't slept together even though both 
Denise and I told them we hadn't. Turns out she was still a 
virgin, so that pretty much ended their finger-pointing. 
Yeah, I'm not too good at women either. 

It was about that time -- my junior year, for anyone who is 
all about the timeline -- that I swore off love for good and 
sex for the immediate future. I went into therapy to find out 
what it was about me that seemed to draw all the loonies 
and freaks. I mean, I hope they're all okay, it's not like I 
hate them or anything, but dear god, I am not equipped to 
deal with this sort of craziness. I just want some good sex 
and someone to cuddle with afterward. 

I didn't get many answers from therapy, except that it 
seemed to me that I was probably better adjusted than my 
therapist. I'd tell you more, but I figure the doctor-patient 
confidentiality should work both ways. 

After about a year of therapy and celibacy, around the time 
I was getting ready to graduate with absolutely no idea 
what I was going to do with a degree in history, I decided 
that I was tired of having sex with myself and went out 
looking for someone who could at least make me feel like I 
was having some kind of sex life. I was careful, I used 
condoms, I did all the right things. And I thanked them and 
left right afterward. It seemed to work. I got the a la carte 
sex without all the sides of crazy I'd been served in the past. 
And when my family asked if there wasn't some special 
guy, I'd say, "I'm too young to settle down just yet. Give it 
time." 

Cherry on Top - 95 

I also got a job working for a realtor, learned the business, 
took all the courses, and eventually became an agent 
myself. It really wasn't what I had intended, but then my 
whole life was Not What I Intended, y'know? If I had 
nothing else, I had a job I enjoyed and a good sex life. 

I went on that way for about five years, occasionally 
allowing myself to get a bit more involved and regretting it 
later. By then, I'd begun to think that it was probably me, 
that I just didn't have it in me to have a normal relationship, 
which was a pretty hard pill to swallow. To be honest, it 
was kind of depressing, and I thought about going back into 
therapy, but even that hadn't worked out the last time. I 
wrote myself off as a no-hoper who would pretty much be 
alone forever, and thought about getting a dog. 

At this point, the experienced reader will know what's 
coming. The rest of you, just sit back and let it wash over 
you. 

One afternoon, Mom called me at work and said, "Honey, I 
have a client for you." 

"Oh, yeah?" 

"You remember my friend, Mildred Wingate?" 

"Sure." 

"Well, her son just moved back here from... oh, it was 
somewhere in Africa, I think." 

"What the hell was Don Wingate doing in Africa?" 

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"I don't know, missionary work? No, wait, Mildred told me 
he was teaching." 

"Teaching? Don Wingate? Jesus, those poor kids." I 
remembered Don. He was a gangly, buck-toothed character 
who wore horn-rimmed glasses, dressed like a scarecrow, 
and was perpetually bewildered by life. He'd been a few 
years ahead of me in school, and I can honestly say that he 
got picked on more than I did. I think I even rescued him 
from an ass-kicking once. He was brilliant, but apart from 
academics, he was a total loser. 

"Now, be nice." 

"Okay, so what is it he wants? Someplace to live?" 

"He wants a house." 

"Well, you've called the right man." 

"Oh, Eddy," she said in that Mom-voice of hers. 

"Have him phone me, Mom. Gotta run." 

"You'll be nice, won't you?" she said as I made kissing 
noises and said "Bye, Mom, bye-bye!" and hung up. 

God. Donald Wingate. I started looking for cheap houses 
with lots of electrical outlets for his computers. 

After a couple of weeks, I'd convinced myself that absent-
minded old Don had simply forgotten that he wanted to buy 
a house, so I'd stopped looking for likely properties. And 
then, of course, he called. 

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"Hi, Don," I said. "Long time, eh?" 

"No kidding. How've you been keeping?" 

"Just fine. You?" 

"Same." 

"So I hear you want a house." 

"I guess." 

"You guess? So you're not sure?" 

"My mother has decided I want a house. I might as well 
look at some and make her happy, and who knows, I might 
find one I like. Nothing too big, Eddy, okay? One bedroom, 
one bath is good enough. Though I'd like a nice kitchen." 
He said it as if he was looking for some kind of approval 
from me, like I was going to judge whether he was worthy 
of granite and stainless steel. 

"I can certainly find you some places, but you might want 
to think about the future, Don. Any chance you'll be getting 
married down the line?" Because the geek girls were sure 
to be lining up now that Don was back in town. Yeah, 
okay, that was mean. Forget I said it. 

He sighed. "Probably not, and anyway, that's not a reason 
to buy a big house, is it?" 

"No, it's not. You're right." 

He gave me a couple of target areas and his price range, 
and I asked him when he'd be free to look at the properties. 

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"Any old time," he said. "I'm not working right now." 

That didn't bode well for him getting a mortgage, but I 
didn't say anything. We could drive off that bridge when 
we came to it. 

After hunting through stacks of properties, I found six that I 
thought he might like. I arranged to meet him at the first 
one, a bungalow in a nice residential area, at nine the next 
morning. 

I waited on the front porch, sitting on my notepad because 
you never sit on concrete if you can help it. Even on a hot 
day. At twenty past there was no sign of Don, and I started 
wondering if he was coming. I checked my phone for 
messages and decided to give him ten more minutes before 
I phoned him or left. At about nine-twenty-five, I got up 
and brushed myself off, figuring I'd go sit in the car. As I 
got to the sidewalk, I noticed a jogger heading my way, and 
he was something fine. Couldn't hurt to just wait a couple 
of minutes more for Don, I thought, and stood there 
watching this tall, tanned runner, wondering if I tripped 
him would it be the start of a beautiful romance. 

Then he stopped in front of me and said, "I am SO sorry, 
Eddy. I got turned around and ended up heading west 
instead of east. I've lost my city legs. And I haven't gotten a 
new cell phone yet..." 

"Don?" Oh, no, it couldn't be. This vision was not Don 
Wingate. This was some joke being played on me. 

"This isn't the best way to get off on a good foot with your 
real estate agent, is it?" He extended his hand and I shook 

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it. It was warm and firm and a little sweaty. I nearly 
swooned. 

"Are you okay?" 

"Oh... oh, yeah, fine. I was just a bit worried. Did you run 
here all the way from your mom's house?" 

"Yeah." 

"But it's, like, miles." 

"Three. Well, four this morning because I'm an idiot. Can 
we go inside?" 

I escorted him into the house and started the real estate-
speak which is basically terms like "hardwood floors," 
"granite countertops," and "two-car garage," held together 
with a few simple verbs. 

"Floor's not level," he told me after walking across the 
dining room. 

"Really?" I walked in his path, and sure enough, there was 
a noticeable dip right in the center of the room. "That's not 
good," I observed, marking it down in my notes. We 
continued on out to the tiniest kitchen I'd seen in a long 
time. He peered out the back window. 

"I could enclose the porch, I guess, and knock this wall 
down. Or knock down the wall to the back bedroom and 
pantry and make it bigger that way." 

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The bath was tiny, too, as was the front bedroom. We went 
down to the basement and discovered that not only wasn't it 
finished, the floor was still dirt. 

"This really isn't what I had in mind," he admitted. "It's an 
awful lot of work." 

"No, I see that. Wow, I'm sorry. I thought it'd be a bit 
larger." 

"Hard to tell until you're in it, I suppose. Anything else to 
show me?" 

"Oh, yeah, I think there are some better ones in the batch. 
Come on, I'll drive. I won't make you run to the next 
place." 

Now understand, I'm a good realtor. I can usually hit the 
mark pretty quickly with people, but for some reason, the 
six properties I'd picked out for Don were like the real 
estate version of The Eddy Keenan Bad Boyfriend Club. 
They were awful! One had a mousetrap on the stove and a 
bag of garbage sitting on the kitchen floor. ("How could 
they have mice?" Don wondered out loud.) 

One looked like hoarders lived there, and I even saw a 
mayonnaise jar of yellow liquid sitting on a bedside table in 
that place. "I don't even want to think what that might be," 
Don said as we stared, slack-jawed with horror at the 
bedroom. 

The fourth one literally had a hole in the roof covered with 
a tarp. Don just blinked at it and said, "You're kidding, 
right? What's next on the list, a hovel?" 

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I was so embarrassed. "I swear it's usually not like this. I'm 
really sorry I hadn't visited any of these before. Look," I 
suggested, "let's go have a bite of lunch, and we'll skip the 
fifth house which I also have not seen, and we can go view 
this condo I picked out. I've seen it, and it might be just 
what you're looking for." 

He looked skeptical. "Condos aren't..." 

"I know, but just humor me because I've done so well for 
you so far." That made him laugh, and he agreed. 

Over lunch, I asked him about Africa. "Where were you?" 

"Zambia, teaching at a technical college." 

"Why?" 

He shrugged. "Why not? It was a decent job, they can use 
help with their technical sector -- did you know they're the 
only country in Africa to manufacture cell phones?" 

"Um, no. But you don't have a cell phone?" 

He laughed. "I did, and it was a good one, but it got stolen 
by a baboon. You don't argue with baboons. So, 
somewhere out in a Zambian national park, a flange of 
baboons is dialing Alaska on my dime. Eh, I needed to get 
away for a while. Personal stuff. What about you?" 

"Well, I got out of college with a degree that was pretty 
much worthless unless I wanted to try to teach somewhere, 
which I didn't really, so I went into real estate. It's a good 
job. I enjoy it." 

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"I get that." 

"Really?" 

"Sure. It's sort of neat to be able to go into someone else's 
home and look around at the way they live. At the very 
least, it reassures you that you're reasonably stable and 
well-adjusted. And tidier than you think you are." 

That made me laugh. I was surprised that I was liking Don 
as much as I was. It wasn't high on my list of expectations. 
"Y'know, I remember you as being very different." 

He smiled wryly. "Oh, yeah, you remember Nerd Don. I've 
changed a bit." 

"So what happened? If you don't mind my asking." 

"Oh, he's still in here. Nerd Don has just learned to put on a 
good front. It happened when I went out to Oregon for a 
job. I was working for a tech firm, which I figured would 
be safe because I'd be working with geeks like myself, but 
most of them were not all that geek-like. They looked like 
ordinary people, and I was feeling really out of place. I 
went to my boss and told him I had rethought the job and 
wanted to go back home. Are you going to have dessert? 
Because they have cannoli, and I haven't had any since I 
went off to Zambia." 

"Sounds good." He flagged down our waiter and ordered 
cannoli and coffee for two. "So anyway," I prompted. 

"So anyway, he asked me what the problem was and I tried 
to explain, but it kept coming out all wrong, like I wanted 
to go home to be with my mommy and daddy or something 

Cherry on Top - 103 

like that. It was just nuts, I was going to pieces right there 
in his office because for me the fitting-in part is..." He 
sighed. "See, you probably don't understand this, but I had 
never fit in anywhere, not really. I'm really smart and 
socially inept..." 

"You're doing pretty well today, Don. Seriously, you're 
about as socially ept as anyone I've ever met." 

"It's brilliant camouflage." 

"And as far as being an outsider, I do get it. I've known I 
was gay since I was about ten. I fit in at school about as 
well as a turd in a punchbowl." 

His laugh was big and genuine, and I realized that I was 
happy that he was laughing at my joke. And then I felt kind 
of sick because this was the last thing I needed, to fall for a 
straight guy. It would just put the whipped cream and 
cherry on the top of my hot fudge sundae of stupid 
mistakes. "So what happened?" 

"I was lucky. My boss took pity on me and said: 'Look, let's 
see if we can't help you fit in a bit better, okay?' Turns out 
he'd wrestled with his own inner geek and won. He showed 
me a photo of himself in high school, and it was like 
looking in a mirror. He taught me how to dress, he taught 
me how to talk to people, he took me out and taught me 
how to behave in public. It was an intensive course in being 
like everyone else on the outside." 

"And on the inside?" 

"Well, it's amazing how much that can change when you 
stop seeing other people through distorting glasses. You 

Cherry on Top - 104 

behave better, they treat you better. It's a social contract. 
That, and falling in love." 

It was said with such off-handedness that I nearly missed it. 
I was dying to ask, but I settled for "So things got a lot 
better?" 

"Yeah. I started fitting in, people seemed to like me. I had a 
good life. And then the boss died at forty-seven of some 
congenital heart problem." 

"Oh, jeez, I'm sorry." 

"Yeah, it was very sad. He'd left the company to the 
employees in his will, and as far as I know, it's still 
humming along. It made its IPO a couple of years ago, I 
guess." 

"So why didn't you stay?" 

He got an odd look on his face and seemed to be about to 
say something, but then dessert arrived. By the time the 
waiter left our table, his expression had changed, become 
more guarded. 

"I guess what I mean is I wonder why you left what I 
assume was a terrific job at a place that you actually owned 
for a teaching job in a third world country. Admirable 
though that might be," I added quickly. 

"I needed a change. So tell me about this condo. How big is 
it?" 

Nice segue, I thought. "About fifteen hundred square feet, 
which I know is bigger than what you say you want, but it's 

Cherry on Top - 105 

well within your budget, and it has a kickass view of the 
local park." 

"I'm keeping an open mind. And if there are no mousetraps 
or jars of suspicious liquid lying around..." 

"It's completely empty and has been for three months, 
which is why the price is so good. The owner had to move 
and just wants to be done with all the fees and 
responsibilities." 

"Are the fees stiff?" 

"No, but I expect he finds it annoying to be paying for 
something he's not using." 

Don was very quiet on the way over to the condo, and I 
imagined all sorts of things from bad memories to some 
inadvertent offense I might've given him. But once we got 
there, he brightened up. He liked the condo, loved the view, 
and fell head-over-heels for the kitchen with its stainless 
appliances and dark cherry cabinets. "This is great," he 
said, kind of stroking the huge refrigerator. I had to look 
away because it was having a definite effect on me. 

"Let's look at the rest of the layout." I showed him the first 
of three bedrooms. "This is the smallest. It would make a 
great office or guest room, and there's a Jack and Jill 
bathroom it shares with the other bedroom." We walked on 
through a nice, though rather plain bath to another small 
bedroom. 

"This is a lot of space," he murmured. 

Cherry on Top - 106 

"I know, it really is. But that does give you some 
flexibility." 

"I suppose. Let's look at the master." 

It was a good-size room, the floor covered wall-to-wall 
with some unfortunate carpet. He made a face, and I 
reminded him that there was good hardwood under all the 
carpeting in the house. "It won't be difficult to take up. I'll 
even come and help you." 

"Really?" He turned and smiled. "Why would you do that?" 
His damn eyes were so green and beautiful. But there was 
something in them that unnerved me. While it wasn't a 
great idea to fall for a straight guy, it was even worse to fall 
for one who had weird issues like, oh, say, coming on to 
gay men for a joke. 

"Because I'm a nice guy," I told him. "Let's take a look at 
the bath; I think you'll love it." 

I was right, he did love it, with its big tub, separate shower, 
and discreetly partitioned-off toilet. And carpeting. "Why 
in the name of all that is holy would anyone put carpet in 
the bath?" 

"It was big twenty years ago," I explained. "The owner is 
an older man who never did much updating after his wife 
died. 

"Ugh. Still, as you said, it should be easy to take up." He 
walked back to the master bedroom and closed the curtains 
on the floor-to-ceiling windows. "Well, that doesn't keep 
out much light, does it?" he asked. "What's the exposure on 
this side? North, isn't it?" 

Cherry on Top - 107 

"Yes. New drapes won't cost much." I felt as if I was 
babbling. When he came up to me and put one arm around 
my waist, I said, "And you can get blackout drapes if you 
really want it dark in here." He cut me off with a long, 
achingly sweet kiss. 

"There's something I haven't told you," he said, his mouth 
so close to mine that our lips brushed when he spoke. 

"I think I can guess." Somewhere during the tour of the 
condo, it had fallen into place: his boss had become his 
lover. When he died, Don hadn't been able to stay where 
there were so many memories, so Don went halfway 
around the world to forget. It all made perfect sense. 
"You'll tell me if I'm guessing wrong?" I asked as I drew 
him down to the floor, feeling grateful for the carpet, no 
matter how ugly. "If you neglected to tell me that you're not 
really interested in buying real estate, for example?" 

"That's not it," he said, unbuttoning my shirt. 

"Or if you forgot to tell me that you're actually looking for 
a farm?" My hands were shaking a little, but I managed to 
slip his T-shirt up over his head and off. 

"Nope, that's not it, either." He lay back and let me place a 
line of kisses down the center of his chest. 

"Lift," I told him as I pushed his shorts down. "A jock. 
God, that turns me on," I told him. "It's like high school 
gym class." I put my mouth over the white cotton and wet it 
down so that the contour of his cock showed clearly 
through the thin material. 

Cherry on Top - 108 

"Condom?" he asked. 

I groaned. "It's not part of my realtor's kit. You?" 

"I hadn't planned on getting laid today." 

I flopped down onto the floor beside him and laughed. 

"Y'know, I used to give the condom lecture to my classes 
about once a week. AIDS is endemic in Africa, so when 
you have a captive audience, you talk to them constantly 
about safe sex, hoping to raise their awareness. And yet 
here I am without one. That's how you know Geek Don still 
lives inside my head. Utterly oblivious to any form of 
reality known to man. To be fair, though," he said, rolling 
over and raising himself up on his elbow, "I hadn't expected 
that you'd turn out to be such a hottie." 

"You think I'm a hottie?" 

"Eddy, I haven't had sex in four years by choice, and in less 
than four hours you've got me almost naked on the floor of 
an empty condo, kicking myself for not having protection. 
Yes, I would say that you're a hottie." 

"We can still... you know." 

"I know." He leaned in and kissed me again. "And there's 
something so good about even being able to kiss you." 

Maybe so, but I have to say that the feel of his hand on my 
cock was more what I'd been thinking about. And his cock 
in my hand. A long, slow session with, yeah, a lot of 
kissing and more sweetness in an hour than I can remember 
in the whole of my sex life put together. Oh, and a 

Cherry on Top - 109 

surprisingly intense orgasm for a hand job, because Don 
Wingate? So completely my type he could have been 
created from my specs. 

No, I don't make a habit of having sex in the houses I'm 
trying to sell; thanks for asking. 

So, all this kissing and affectionate lovemaking, it scared 
me a little. Not enough to sell him the condo and get out of 
his life, but enough that I knew I was holding back, and so 
did he. But he didn't say anything about it. I did sell him the 
condo, though, and he bought it with cash, a legacy from 
that first, dead lover. True to my word, I came over and 
helped him get that ridiculous carpet torn up. 

"I'm sort of fond of it now," he admitted as we worked. 
After his closing, we'd come over with champagne, pillows, 
a blanket, and plenty of condoms, and made love all night 
on the floor of his new master bedroom. It was just too 
nice, too wonderful. Don was the nicest guy I think I've 
ever known. So of course I turned it into a problem, 
because I understood problems, they were my natural 
métier. I worked in relationship snags the way artists 
worked in oil or watercolor, painting broad swathes of 
paranoia. I was waiting for the big fuck up, the mistake that 
would send me running out of his life forever. 

"Y'know, I think maybe you should move in with me," he 
said one night over dinner at our favorite restaurant, an 
Irish pub that served great burgers and Guinness on tap. 
The alarm bells went off immediately, and I started talking 
about something else, I don't remember what. "You think 
it's a bad idea?" Don asked. 

Cherry on Top - 110 

"Um... well, not as such, no. But it's sort of sudden." Did I 
neglect to mention that we'd been sleeping together for 
almost eight months by that time? Yeah, well, it wasn't 
sudden at all, and saying it out loud made me feel like a 
complete horse's ass. "Well, no, I don't mean sudden so 
much as unexpected." It wasn't unexpected, either, but I 
made believe it was. And that's when I got what I was 
waiting for, the flash of temper that I admit I deserved, but 
which was enough for me to grab hold of and make into a 
problem. 

"Unexpected? Eddy, we've been lovers for months, you 
know how much I care about you." 

"Could you keep your voice down, please?" 

He sat back in the booth and stared at me. "No, I don't think 
I can make anything about myself much smaller for your 
sake, Eddy. I did that for years; I'm not going to go on 
doing it just to try to win you over." 

"I have to work in this community," I hissed at him. Inside 
my head, a little voice was congratulating myself for 
turning the relationship into what I was used to. Unstable 
ground at last! 

But there wasn't a scene. I'd expected one, if not at the 
restaurant, then afterward in the car or at his place, but he 
didn't even invite me in. He just said, "Night, Eddy," and 
walked away. Another rousing success. It was what I was 
expecting, after all, and it was a relief, like when the other 
shoe drops, but I felt odd in a way I'd never felt before, as if 
I'd kicked a puppy or stolen money from a Salvation Army 
kettle at Christmas. I didn't feel vindicated or justified, I 
felt downright wrong. 

Cherry on Top - 111 

I decided to go have a few drinks, maybe dance, maybe 
even have sex with a stranger. Because I was a free agent 
again. I hit one of the bars near my place, and who should I 
find there but Timmy. My first love, my first 
disappointment. Oh, what the hell, I thought, let's just go 
for the worst night ever. 

"Hey." 

He looked surprised. "Hi, Eddy." 

"How you doing? Can I buy you a drink?" 

"I'm good, thanks." He was staring at me like I might whip 
out a stiletto and stab him to death or something. "Uh, so 
how are you?" 

"I'm okay. Been better. How's the family?" 

"Oh, you know..." 

"No, actually, I don't. Listen, Timmy," I began, not even 
quite knowing where I was going with this. "The thing is 
I'm sorry the way things turned out between us." Wow, 
why was I saying this? But once I started, it was like the 
truth just kept pouring out. "But you really, really hurt me, 
and it's made me feel like I'm not good enough. All these 
years, I haven't been good enough for anything better than 
the crazy people and the one-night stands, and I didn't 
realize until I saw you standing here just now that I don't 
know what I did wrong that day. Will you please tell me?" 

He stood there, just staring and shaking his head. "No, 
Eddy, you didn't do anything wrong. I was scared." 

Cherry on Top - 112 

"Yeah but that was one minute out of all that time we spent 
telling each other how much we loved one another. One 
minute. And you never even looked at me again. You never 
even made eye contact. Was that whole year a lie?" 

"No!" 

"Then what did I do?" I begged. "I've gotta know. I mean, I 
know pretty much why the others didn't work out. I picked 
them all, and they all were exactly what I thought they'd be. 
That's all I thought I deserved, Timmy." 

"I couldn't live like that." 

"Like that? Like what? What was I asking? I wanted to 
make a life with you, but you went off with whatever her 
damn name is and now you're looking for sex in bars." 

He turned away and said, "Just leave me alone, Eddy. I 
can't do what you do. I'm not brave like that." 

After he walked away, I didn't feel much like drinking or 
dancing, and I sure didn't want sex. Not with a stranger, 
anyway. I went out and walked around a little, trying to 
clear my head, get rid of the icky feeling I had that there 
was something under all this unhappiness that was trying to 
come out, and if I could just get to it, just understand... 

There's an ice cream shop near my place, so I walked on 
over and took my time looking at the available flavors. An 
elderly man ordered a cup with a single scoop of chocolate 
and two spoons. "My wife likes the chocolate," he said to 
me as the girl fixed his order. "Me, I like a fruit flavor 
better." 

Cherry on Top - 113 

"Why don't you get one of each?" 

He shrugged. "We don't eat as much as we used to, and it's 
not really good for either of us. So next time, maybe 
strawberry. Or chocolate." He smiled. "Sixty-one years in 
November. The secret is to let her have chocolate if she 
wants it." He paid and carried the cup off to the table where 
his wife sat. They took tiny bites of the ice cream and 
talked together quietly. I watched them and understood 
something about myself. 

"What can I get you?" 

"Um... a pint of the peppermint stick, please." I paid and 
walked back home quickly, got in my car, and drove over 
to Don's place. He was still up. 

"I like chocolate ice cream," I told him as I walked in. "You 
like peppermint." 

"I do know that." 

"I brought peppermint, not to make anything up to you but 
because I know you love it, and I love you. Don, I will 
always bring you peppermint ice cream because I love 
you." 

He laughed. "And I love you, too, Eddy, and not for the ice 
cream, either." 

"I want to live with you," I told him. "I want to spend the 
rest of my life with you. I've never wanted that before, not 
with anyone." 

Cherry on Top - 114 

"Well, your boyfriends before this..." 

"Don, they weren't that bad. Look, get a couple of spoons 
because we need to eat this, and I need to explain." 

We ended up cross-legged on his bed, sharing the pint of 
ice cream, and I told him the absolutely true story of my 
love life. 

I never loved Timmy. I learned that when I stood there and 
tried to get him to tell me that I was good enough, that he 
loved me and he'd fucked up, that he was sorry, sorry, 
sorry. But the simple truth was that I didn't love him. Yeah, 
he'd hurt me, but we were kids, they don't even begin to 
understand what love is about. Instead of moving on, I held 
on to that hurt for a long time. I was the one making the 
bad choices, and whenever I managed to choose someone 
that I might have been happy with, I pushed and found fault 
and made him miserable until he lived down to my 
expectations, and I could just walk away. 

"Feeling sorry for myself is something I'm comfortable 
with. Being happy? Not so much. Say something?" 

"I don't get wanting to be unhappy. When Adrian died, I 
couldn't stop crying. I cried for days. I thought I was losing 
my mind and ended up going to my doctor to get something 
that would make me numb so I wouldn't feel what I was 
feeling. That's why I went to Africa. I needed to get away 
from myself and all those memories. I don't understand 
someone chasing unhappiness." 

"I thought I wasn't good enough to love. I thought that's 
what Timmy was telling me, and all the others in those first 
couple of years when I was trying to figure out what it was 

Cherry on Top - 115 

all about. Tonight I went to the ice cream shop, and thought 
about loving you, and it seemed to me that if I wasn't ready 
to eat peppermint ice cream for the rest of my life, I wasn't 
trying hard enough to be a good boyfriend. So I bought 
peppermint and came here to tell you that I have never, 
ever loved anyone before I met you, Don. You're my first." 

That made him smile in that shy, happy way he had when 
something touched his heart. "I've never been anyone's first 
before." We shared a peppermint-flavored kiss, and he put 
the carton down on the floor beside the bed. 

Somehow it felt just like the first time. Like what the first 
time should have felt like without any sort of fear or 
reservation between us. I felt almost like a virgin that night 
because no one had ever owned my heart the way Don did. 
There was no negotiating, no bargains, no sense that there 
had to be some kind of sexual reciprocity or there would be 
something out of balance. We couldn't be out of balance if 
we tried. Not now, not ever, I hoped. I promised myself 
that if I was ever angry with Don, I would go buy some 
peppermint ice cream and we'd talk. Because I loved him. 

A week later, I moved into the condo with him. We became 
the cute gay couple on the block. Our neighbors waved to 
us when we walked our dog. Yeah, yeah, we got a dog. 
And a cat. We were so domestic it made my eyes roll back 
in my head. 

Every once in a while, I see Timmy. I feel kind of sorry for 
him, but also grateful, because it was seeing him in that bar 
that made things click into place. He and I both tried to 
deny who we were; he denied his body, I denied my heart. 

Cherry on Top - 116 

I survived. I got through it. And I've learned to love 
peppermint ice cream. 

Cherry on Top - 117 

The Ivory Dungeon 

By Syd McGinley 

"Mike will be coming to dinner tomorrow, boy. He'll be 
bringing his new boy to stay for training. I want full dinner 
service, but you and the boy may have boys' servings in the 
kitchen after you've served coffee. I've written a menu for 
you to make." 

"Yes, Sir. Do I need to prepare a room for the boy?" 

Dr. Rønne smiles at me. "No, boy. Prepare one for yourself. 
Mike's boy will take over the foot of the bed for the next 
few weeks. You may use the freed up time for studying for 
your finals. Dr. Suravk told me you had a B at midterm in 
his social science stats class." 

I hide an intake of breath. Dr. Rønne is already looking 
back at his grading, so he misses the sulky expression that I 
couldn't quite smother. I pick up the book I'm working from 
and return to recording the bibliographic data. I peck away 
at the keyboard, trying to disentangle whether I'm more 
hurt by the exile from the bedroom or the disappointment in 
Dr. Rønne's voice over my grade. As usual, my owner 
knows what I'm thinking. 

"Boy. It's just training, and you need study time. You'll be 
back in my bed as soon as finals are over. Your degree is 
important." 

"Yes, Sir." 

Cherry on Top - 118 

"Don't get pert with me. Have you prepared your next 
semester schedule for me to approve?" 

I sigh. "Yes, Sir." 

I'd been hoping that he'd not ask just yet, and the new boy 
had raised my hopes that he might be at least a silver lining 
of distraction. Now there is no way Dr. Rønne wouldn't not 
notice that, once again, I have attempted to avoid the 
computer literacy class he has deemed necessary. And 
worse, I've listed Renaissance Literature as an elective. 
Hell, I'll take anything to avoid another social science class. 

I've dutifully completed all the pre-reqs to major in 
anthropology next year, so I can become his research 
assistant after I graduate, but I need a term for my soul. I 
need words that transcend. The end of this academic year is 
going to be rough when I have to declare a major. One of 
us is going to have his nose out of joint. 

Dr. Rønne picks up the fees that my grants and scholarships 
don't cover, so he does have a real say in what I study. And, 
he's my owner. I've agreed to be his twenty-four/seven. I 
don't get to choose. Not unless I invoke my walk-away 
option. But, shit, I'm not sure I can be a social scientist. I'm 
drawn to literature. Poetry explains man, I'd tried saying, 
and he'd laughed. Poetry makes excuses for man, he'd said, 
sounding extra Scandinavian as he did so. Science explains. 

"Let me see it." 

Crap. I pull out the planning grid from the registrar. 

Cherry on Top - 119 

He grunts. "Well, you do need a Liberal Arts elective. And 
fencing class will tone your thighs. The others meet your 
program requirements. Good enough. You will take the 
computer class in summer school." 

I blink. That was easy. Perhaps he's feeling lenient since he 
knows I'm a little jealous about the new boy. 

Fuck. I'm a lot jealous. This year of living with Dr. Rønne 
has been calm for me -- despite the beatings and service. Or 
perhaps because of them. My life is stable. Disciplined. Dr. 
Rønne has shown me that you can live the life of the mind. 
You can be a strong man and care about ideas. Studying 
and working. No television. No endless music. I relish it. 

I'm not stupid. I don't think Dr. Rønne is my new father. 
For a start, getting beaten and fucked throws that idea right 
out. And I get more respect from the man who has me 
scrub his john and suck his cock than the one who raised 
me. 

But I am getting the role model I need. 

I enter five more bibliographic records into Dr. Rønne's 
research database and move to my next task. He keeps me 
busy with housework and assisting in his research, but he's 
more than fair about time for me to study. And I get one 
extracurricular activity per semester as well as time to 
exercise. It beats working the third shift at the diner and 
sharing a dorm room. 

I have no right to be jealous or possessive. My owner is a 
trainer, and I'm lucky to have been taken on by him. Others 
pay him for what I am getting. Falling asleep in his class 
and attracting his attention was my lucky lightning strike. 

Cherry on Top - 120 

"Boy," he says softly. "Don't crash around. I know you 
don't like Mike, but sulking changes nothing." 

I blink. Mike is not the problem. I bite my tongue. Perhaps 
it's better that Dr. Rønne thinks I'm reluctant to serve his 
friend than my revealing my doubts about his career plans 
for me or my petty jealousy about sharing him with another 
boy. 

"Sorry, Sir." 

He's right about one thing, though: I have been clattering in 
the kitchen. I rinse the spinach for the salad while the 
tomato sauce I've been so noisy with simmers. It's my easy 
standby dinner that Dr. Rønne tacitly allows every so often 
-- and especially the day before a service dinner with other 
Sirs attending. Spinach salad, eggplant parmesan, and 
seasonal fruit for dessert. Good, simple food. 

I get my headspace back for dinner service. This is my last 
evening alone with Dr. Rønne for a few weeks. I should 
take advantage of it. He's goddamn hot, and I'm looking at 
a stretch of being second banana. Or, worse, servicing 
Mike. I don't like him. He's a big old leather daddy bear. 
That part's fine. The part I don't like is how fussy he is. He 
picks at every little thing and won't leave a boy alone to 
work. 

I groan. I'm going to have to help this boy, Chris, out. Mike 
is a micro-manager supreme. He and Dr. Rønne are both 
members of a local leather chapter, otherwise they'd never 
have crossed paths. Dr. Rønne doesn't approve of tattoos or 
overt leather displays, and Mike is covered in ink and 
wears a leather vest under all circumstances. To be fair, he 

Cherry on Top - 121 

is a tattoo artist who has a sideline as a leatherworker. Dr. 
Rønne, as I know to my cost, has several of his handmade 
whips. 

They are, now that they've met, great friends. Mike snipes 
at Dr. Rønne for being an ivory tower academic, and in 
return Sir makes jokes about Mike's man cave of a home. 
Mike has visited more than once, and my ass was left all 
the rawer, inside and out, for their friendship. It behooves 
me to like and assist Chris. 

Dr. Rønne laughs. "It does, boy. You've spent too long 
without company if you're muttering to yourself." 

"Sorry, Sir. And, yes, Sir. You're the first person I can..." 

Dr. Rønne cuts me off with a ruffle to my hair and 
dismisses me to the kitchen to have a sandwich. 

Tomorrow night's chance at leftovers is a real treat. My 
owner says boys regularly eating the same food as their Sirs 
or cooking for themselves makes them uppity. In Dr. 
Rønne's house, I live on cold cuts and cereal. He's not 
unkind or foolish, though. He puts a generous amount on 
my school cafeteria account, so I have hot lunches during 
the week. But it is cafeteria food, and cooking food I can't 
eat is a torment. I'm constantly aware of my status, and I 
know that's just what my owner intends. 

I rebelliously sneak a breaded eggplant cutlet and some 
sauce into my sandwich and add some slices of cheese. 
God, it's good. I want to bolt it down, but I chew slowly. 
Dr. Rønne rarely comes into the kitchen while I'm eating 
and cleaning up, but I stay alert. I don't want to be caught --
I'm not acting out to provoke anything. I know myself 

Cherry on Top - 122 

better than that. Yeah, I'm pissed about the new kid, but I'm 
hungry and I want to make one fucking decision for myself. 

I get the kitchen scrubbed down and prep myself for bed. I 
gargle mouthwash to get rid of any betraying food scents. 
Dr Rønne is still grading, so I grab my stats book and sit by 
his feet. I did get a B, but it was a mercy one -- 79.5 
rounded up -- and I'd gotten lucky on some of the multiple-
choice answers. If I'm going to pull an A, I have to really 
get my head around this stuff. 

I can do practical math. I can do a budget and build a 
bookcase. And I never once totaled an order wrong on the 
days I covered for wait staff at the diner. But what the hell 
is this standard deviation shit all about? I snigger a little. 
How can a deviant be standard? I'm sure not. 

I flip to the start of the chapter and begin again. The 
overview makes sense, but then they start throwing in 
Greek letters. There's a freaking giant sigma in the middle. 
Damn. Why the hell would you square something and then 
square root it? Oh wait, add them up in between. Then 
divide by something else. Then square root. I groan. 

Dr. Rønne is watching me. 

"Doesn't come easy, does it, boy?" 

"No, Sir." 

"You'll value it the more when you get it," he says mildly, 
and turns back to his papers. I'm too dispirited to glare. 

An hour later, I've worked several samples correctly. But 
I'm just following steps. I don't get it. I read the next 

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paragraph. Bessel's Correction. What the fuck? They have 
to correct it? And I've just spent all this time on it? Man. I 
shut the book. Gimme a page of Latin instead. Or a sonnet. 

"Bed," says Dr. Rønne. "If necessary, I will hire you a stats 
tutor." 

I squirm internally as I follow him upstairs. I hate feeling 
dumb. Serves me right for asking why a university needed 
a writing center. That was my first punishment beating 
from Dr. Rønne. How dared I sneer at anyone trying to 
improve? 

I turn down the bed for Dr. Rønne and take his clothes as 
he undresses. I fold them and then place them in the 
laundry hamper. That's a weird rule, too, but I don't mind it. 
It's strangely soothing to drop the neat piles in, and laundry 
day is like an archeological dig of our past week together. 
Nicely stratified, and sorting the wash loads is easy. 

My owner stretches out and watches as I strip. I give the 
cushions on the floor a questioning look, and he laughs. 

"No, boy. In the bed. Do a good job and you can sleep here, 
too." 

I grin. I hate the floor at the foot of his bed. I feel so put in 
my fucking place there. I know enough to be grateful that I 
have been granted a room to sleep in while the trainee is 
here. What's really hard is sleeping on the cushions while 
my owner fucks another boy in the bed. 

Dr. Rønne likes to kiss and tease and play in bed. He thinks 
it's funny that I don't like being silly, and he's always trying 
to get me to lighten up. He plays fair, though, and if I even 

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hint at being taken too far by something he's doing, he 
backs off. He finds it hilarious that I can take a whipping, 
but was reduced to weeping and safewording after a few 
seconds of tickling. Although he was amused by the 
contrast, he nodded solemnly when I said tickling a 
ticklephobic counts as torture in my opinion. He's promised 
that I'll never under any circumstances be tickled. 

He still won't stop kissing and hugging, though. The fact 
that I don't like it isn't enough grounds. I slide into his arms 
and suffer through some tenderness. He runs his hands over 
my ribs. 

"Still so skinny." 

I bite back a snide remark about how three hot meals a day 
would help, and squirm in his grasp. I reach for his prick 
and work his foreskin back and forth over his cock head. I 
love that he's uncut. It's a bonus part of having a foreign 
owner. He feels sorry for American boys and their naked 
pricks. 

I bend forward to suck him. 

"Just for a little, boy. I want your ass tonight." 

I hide my huff with a kiss to his slit. Getting fucked is 
something else I'm not wild about. I fill my mouth with 
cock and ponder. There's a lot recently that I don't like 
about this, and even though I willingly serve Dr. Rønne, 
I'm not in love with him. 

But, damn, I love sucking cock. 

Cherry on Top - 125 

Yow. Dr Rønne has pulled me back up by my hair and is 
rolling me onto my back. Crap. It's going to be a face-to-
face fuck with my knees by my ears. 

He's generous with the lube and I moan despite myself. My 
dick rolls back and forth on my belly, and Dr. Rønne palms 
it briefly. 

"Safeword, boy." 

I tense. For just a fuck? Well, it's better than being tender, I 
guess. 

"Whorfian Hypothesis." 

"Good boy. Hold tight." 

My recurrent irritation at not even having chosen my own 
safeword gets me through the first penetration. I hate that 
feeling. Dr. Rønne said I had such a weird vocabulary that 
he wanted to be sure I was safewording and not going all 
smart undergrad on him. 

"Hard and fast," says my owner, and leans down for a kiss 
before he settles into pounding my ass. 

I sorta like fucking. I always come. But getting fucked feels 
like a hard workout: hot, sweaty, ridiculous looking, some 
exhilaration, and feels great when it stops. Just like when I 
work out, I cling to believing in its long-term payoff. 

I press my palms flat against the bed and put my back into 
pleasing my owner. 

Cherry on Top - 126 

God, he's taking forever. By hard and fast, he did not mean 
over quickly. I could safeword from exhaustion by the time 
he shoots deep into me. He roars and rests heavily on me. 
My own orgasm came and went a good five minutes ago, 
and now I'm worried about my hamstrings as they stay 
stretched. Dr. Rønne's sweat drops into my eyes and I yelp. 

"Stings, Sir." 

He rumbles a laugh, props himself up on one elbow, and 
wipes my sticky face. 

"Good boy. Don't fuss if Mike wants to stay over tomorrow 
night, okay?" 

My heart can't plummet anywhere -- I'm still full of my 
owner -- but, shit. 

"I never fuss," I say with all the dignity my literal and 
figurative position can muster. 

*** 

I've done my usual Saturday whole-house clean, spent my 
two study hours on my Latin translation and writing my 
weekly letter to Mom, served lunch, and now I'm preparing 
the guest room. For myself. It's bitter, but Dr. Rønne has 
said I can take all my books there and consider it my study. 
A room just for books and thinking. Luxury! 

Since I'm not being punished by this visit, Dr. Rønne has 
sweetened the pot by saying that when I pass the computer 
literacy class this summer, he will pick me out a used 
laptop from the school's surplus store. 

Cherry on Top - 127 

I sigh. I'm wrestling with the idea that, while I will miss 
sucking Dr. Rønne's cock, I'm not at all bothered by Chris 
getting the fucking duty. 

I grimace. I have to get through the evening with Micro-
Manage-Mike, and there's the possibility that my new study 
space will be where I spend the night serving him. I shove 
the bed back against the wall and pretend it's not there. If I 
face the other way, I can see a room for just my mind. I 
could get territorial about it. 

I see Dr. Rønne's car pull in as he returns from the grocery 
store with what I need for dinner. My owner has vetoed my 
learning to drive until I graduate. Based on the few lessons 
I had with Dad, I really don't mind at all. In fact, I conclude 
sneakily, it's fewer potential chores to be assigned. I really 
hate shopping. 

I amble down to the kitchen. There's no need to hurry. 

"Aw, fuck." 

"I beg your pardon, boy?" 

Dr. Rønne has set the brown paper sacks on the table and is 
pouring himself a beer. 

I compose myself and start to unpack. "Nothing, Sir, but 
did you change the menu?" I hold up the asparagus as non-
accusatorily as I can. 

He chuckles. "Forgive me, boy. I was tempted by the 
produce display. Surely steaming some asparagus for a 
starter won't overly complicate your work?" 

Cherry on Top - 128 

I shrug. I won't be sucking my owner's cock anyway, and if 
Mike does want to use me, he's an ass man. It'll only be the 
new boy who gets asparagus cock. 

I put the salmon in the refrigerator. Dr. Rønne has chosen a 
fiddly menu: salmon en papillote with julienne mix of 
carrots, red peppers, and fennel, served with wild rice. And, 
apparently, asparagus. It's a bit frou-frou in my opinion, but 
it should taste good. And he's bought a selection of 
Häagen-Dazs ice creams for dessert. 

I spend the afternoon muttering as I julienne vegetables and 
practice folding the paper packets. Holy hell. The paper has 
to be cut into a heart shape. I study the instructions to see if 
that's some faggy designer idea or not. Good job I checked. 
It's necessary to make the folds that stop the steam from 
bursting the paper. I sigh. I miss the diner. Hash browns 
and cheese grits are more my speed. I roll a fennel bulb 
around and ponder how the hell you evenly chop such a 
weird shape. 

Having prepped the dinner as much as I can, I go to shower 
and shave. Dr. Rønne has specified full service while Mike 
is here. That means silence, barefoot, commando under just 
shorts, and a collar. At least I don't have to shave my body 
hair. I buckle on the collar and scowl in the mirror. I hate it. 
I know Dr. Rønne plans on offering me a long-term one 
when I graduate. 

If I stay. 

Shit. Where did that come from? I run a finger under my 
collar and feel wretched. Disloyal. 

*** 

Cherry on Top - 129 

Chris is a mousy kid. Shy and a little chubby. He's probably 
a few years older than me. Dr. Rønne calls him Mike's cub, 
and I do laugh at that. He sets to kitchen scutwork right 
away as I cook. If I set anything down for a second, he 
grabs it and washes it. 

I growl. "I still need that knife." 

"Oh. Sorry. Sir gets antsy if..." 

I sigh. "Yeah. Your Sir..." I pause. Criticizing an owner sits 
wrong, but Chris needs to know that he's not the hangup 
here. 

Chris grins. "Sir is a fusser." 

I snort. The boy knows his owner. And he's cute when he 
smiles. I feel a stupid urge to help him in his quest to be a 
better boy. 

Chris gives me a sweet, sideways look. "I wish I could help 
Sir relax more. I -- uh -- feel bad that he can't trust me 
alone. He has to work so hard while I serve him." 

We trade looks. We both know that Chris is being driven 
nuts by Mike supervising too much. 

"I'll let Dr. Rønne know how you'd like to improve." I fold 
the last paper shut over the salmon and vegetables, and pop 
the tray in the oven. "He's very good at knowing what 
needs to be addressed." 

Dinner goes smoothly. The asparagus is delicious -- so I 
suppose, since Mike and Dr. Rønne empty the dish -- and 

Cherry on Top - 130 

the salmon has cooked to a fragrant perfection. When the 
paper packets open, Mike growls like a big old grizzly 
hooking his dinner from a stream. Chris goes pink with 
mirth when I tell him that, and he can hardly eat his own 
portion. 

To my infinite relief, Mike leaves after dinner. He rumbles 
something about not making it harder on his boy than it has 
to be. I have my suspicions that he's leaving to stop himself 
from kibitzing at my owner. 

I stretch out in my bed and revel in the privacy, comfort, 
and crisp, clean sheets. I can read in bed and sprawl as I 
wish. I can faintly hear Chris weeping as Dr. Rønne beats 
him, but it's a soothing backdrop to my decadent solitude. 

*** 

The next few weeks are bittersweet for me. I have less 
work to do, and very few sexual duties. Chris is doing all 
the housework -- really well -- and all I have to do is show 
him Dr. Rønne's preferences. 

He's also spending every night with my owner. Studying 
statistics isn't made easier by the extra time. I still don't 
understand it, and I'm distracted by trying to process why I 
really don't seem to mind that my owner is with another 
boy. I'm not jealous now that Chris is actually here -- that 
brief spell in anticipation seems to have been it. 

I'm finding a quiet satisfaction in watching Chris get things 
right. I even like cosseting him after he's been beaten. His 
ass bruises so beautifully. I get hard while I rub ointment in 
for him, but that must be because I haven't come since he 
arrived. 

Cherry on Top - 131 

Just when I think I'm going to go mad with blue balls, Dr. 
Rønne makes it worse. He's training Chris to hold off on 
his orgasms, and guess who gets the task of sucking Chris 
until he's on the brink and then stopping? Chris and I both 
give Dr. Rønne the stink eye the first time he orders us to 
stop. 

He guffaws. 

"What a silly pair of sulky boys. Chris, it seems my 
beatings are not deterrent enough. Boy, get my riding crop. 
Let's see if taking his punishment from another boy does 
the trick." 

I suspect it will. Chris has already flushed red with 
humiliation and lost his hard on. I, on the other hand, am 
still rock hard. I flex the crop. I've handled it before, since 
Dr. Rønne usually sends me to fetch it when I screw up, but 
I've never had the chance to swing it. 

Chris is sniffling before the fireplace, but is obediently in 
position. Dr. Rønne has kicked back on the sofa with a 
glass of scotch. 

I give the crop an experimental swish. Dr. Rønne nods. 

"Go ahead, boy." 

Holy shit! Chris' sweet rump ripples under the blow and he 
groans. I caused that! My dick twitches. Hell, I even love 
the motion of my arm, and the vibration back up the crop as 
I hit Chris again. 

Cherry on Top - 132 

His ass is rosy, and he's weeping steadily when I finish. I 
forget my place and pull him into my arms and tell him he's 
a good boy. 

"He is," snaps Dr. Rønne. "You, on the other hand! Get in 
your corner." 

I let go of Chris and feel a stab of ice in my chest. Damn 
him! I pivot on my heel and march to the corner. I kneel, 
facing the wall, and fight the rage. 

"Make sure he doesn't leave his position, Chris. No talking, 
either of you. I'll be in my study." 

The foul indignity of having Chris watch me kneel must 
surely be worse than being beaten by me was for Chris. 
And I'm not even sure how I've pissed Dr. Rønne off quite 
so much. He knows the corner is what I hate the most. 
Yeah, I overstepped by comforting Chris, but that wasn't so 
bad. Perhaps he could tell how much I liked beating a boy? 

He comes back in an hour and doesn't say a word to us 
about either of our misdemeanors. If anything, he seems 
almost conciliatory to me. I feel an odd little ember glow. 
Dr. Rønne knows he was unfair! 

The evening is peaceful enough. Chris makes dinner, and I 
even get an unprecedented bowl of soup as I study. My 
stats exam is in the morning, and Dr. Rønne wants me 
rested. I'm resigned to getting a high B at miraculous best, 
but he still thinks I'll pull an A. Honestly, my perfect gpa 
going is bothering me more than the beating I'll get. 

My Latin exam is in the afternoon, but I feel fine about 
that. The grammar is a snap for me, and I've drilled 

Cherry on Top - 133 

endlessly on the vocabulary. I even like doing the prose 
translations. I could be a Classics major in a heartbeat. I 
doodle as I run through a conjugation. Right. There's no 
way Dr. Rønne would countenance that! I look at my 
doodle, and gulp. I scratch it out fast, but I know what I 
wrote: Non amo te. I do not love you. 

*** 

We all pile into the car together in the morning. Dr. Rønne 
is giving an exam, and he's sending Chris to swim and then 
grocery shop. I'm to meet them in his office after my Latin 
exam. 

My stats exam is worse than I thought it would be. I make 
the fatal mistake of starting to think about the fucking ideas 
instead of just plugging and chugging the techniques. I 
second guess my answers and erase half the sheet. I feel 
physically ill. I have never done so badly on any test in my 
life. I send a baleful look at Dr. Suravk. He and Dr. Rønne 
don't seem to have any qualms about sharing my grades. 
I'm screwed. I fill the rest of the bubbles in randomly and 
leave. 

I stomp around in the quad for a bit to break my mood, and 
then I bum a cigarette from some of the goth kids hanging 
out by the flagpole. I sit on the steps and smoke. Dr. Rønne 
is going to be mad if he smells it on me, but I need some 
fucking autonomy. 

What the hell is wrong with me? I'm so antsy. Dr. Rønne 
and I agree about the importance of discipline. I take a drag 
on the cigarette and stub it out. I only needed to remember 
how much I liked nicotine, not to actually smoke. I have 
self-discipline. 

Cherry on Top - 134 

"Shit," I mutter. I don't want to be on the receiving end of 
anyone else's discipline. I may need Dr. Rønne's support, 
but I don't want an owner anymore. I am trapped. 

I brush my jeans off and go to my Latin exam. I know I ace 
that one. 

Dr Rønne attributes my quietness on the way home to being 
tired from the exams, and sends me to bed early. I 
appreciate the aloneness, but it rankles. I consider jerking 
off, but breaking Dr. Rønne's rules just because I'm angry 
sits wrong. But, shit, I feel as if I've been sent to my room. 
I flop on the bed and think. There's a day of reckoning 
coming. When he gets my stats grade, I may as well tell 
him I don't want to do the anthropology major. 

*** 

I'm finished for the semester, but Dr. Rønne has all his 
grading to do. He's gone out to his campus office to work. 
So long as we get the chores done, Chris and I have a day 
to ourselves. Chris defers to me even though we are alone. 
He even gives me sweet, under his lashes looks as we 
work. It gives me shivers. I go outside to mow the lawn. 
The boy is pushing my buttons. 

I'm nearly done when he comes trotting out with a glass of 
iced tea for me. Oh, fuck. He's serving me. 

"Don't," I snap. "Chris, don't." 

He looks crushed. "I want to please you." 

Cherry on Top - 135 

"Staying in your role would please me." Crap. He's not 
taking that how I meant it. He's flirting openly now. 

"Dr. Rønne won't be home until four. We could..." 

"No! Damn it, boy. Get in the house!" 

He sucks in his breath. "You are just like them!" He 
trundles back into the house. I want to laugh -- bear cubs 
are not built to flounce -- but I'm too horrified by my 
reaction. Maybe I am a Sir? I snort. I'm nineteen. Sirs are 
graybeards! 

*** 

Dr. Rønne doesn't help the situation. He's tired from 
grading, but in a good mood at having wrapped up his 
semester. He leans back in the sofa after dinner and tells me 
and Chris to try the oral training again. Getting intimate 
with Chris isn't what I want after his pass earlier, but I feel 
a wicked twist in my belly. He gets one killer blowjob from 
me, and the little slut weeps when Dr. Rønne calls time. His 
cock is red and slick with my spit and his own excitement. 

Dr. Rønne had chuckled as he saw how enthusiastic I was. 
My own cock is rigid and painful from not coming. I've 
kept his damn rules. 

"Boy. You've served well since Chris joined us, and you've 
studied hard. Since I'm tired, why don't you service Chris' 
ass for me? Mike wants him beaten and fucked daily." 

Chris wails. "No! Dr. Rønne. That's not fair!" 

Cherry on Top - 136 

I snort. There's nothing more guaranteed to ensure my 
owner will do something. "Sir? I've never fucked an ass 
before." 

"Then it's time you learned. Chris -- get yourself ready and 
report back." 

I'm trembling. Nerves and desire. I'm terrified this won't be 
as good as I've hoped. Dr. Rønne sure seems to like 
fucking. And, oh, yeah, my cock is pretty thrilled to have 
Chris point his rump at me. My owner kneels next to us and 
offers hints. Thank God it's not Micro-Manage-Mike next 
to us, or Chris and I would both be in trouble. Dr. Rønne 
suggests I finger fuck Chris a little. 

Oh, man! He's so hot and tight around my finger. I want to 
thrust and make him moan. Dr. Rønne says something 
about fisting, and I gasp. I've had his hand up my ass, and it 
was too fucking trippy for me. Wonderful, but too much. 
But getting my hand in this sweet, tight tunnel? Oh, hell. I 
can hardly imagine what it's going to do to my cock. 

Chris is whimpering and rocking his hips. I blink. He's 
happy about this now he's past the indignity. I cup his balls 
and work my finger. 

"Oh!" he yells. "Yes!" 

I give my owner a look, and speak softly. "Is the boy 
allowed to come when I fuck him?" 

Dr. Rønne laughs. "Why not? But one of you blows me 
when you're done." 

Cherry on Top - 137 

"Me!" I say hastily. I want my owner's cock in my mouth. 
But first, there's an ass waiting for my prick. 

Chris' hole yields perfectly when I push against it. The 
resistance is so fucking sweet, and he's like a furnace 
inside. Chris groans and starts to pump his ass. He weeps 
and begs as I fuck him. My spine is melting. God, all the 
things I hate having done to me are making Chris bloom. 
And I love doing them to him. 

"Slut," I hiss. "You like this, huh, boy?" 

"Yes! Oh, Sir! Please!" 

Dr. Rønne slaps Chris' face. "There's only one Sir in this 
room." 

Chris whimpers, but keeps bucking his hips. Damn. I may 
not be a Sir, but I know I'm not a bottom. This is so much 
better than getting fucked. 

Chris screams as he comes -- maybe my nipple twist was 
too much -- but he's aglow and still panting when I feel my 
come shoot deep into his belly. Oh yes. That's home. Deep 
in a boy. 

I crawl over to my owner to blow him. The knowledge that 
I want a boy, not to be one, weighs on me, and my soul 
cracks a little as he ruffles my hair as he thrusts, and 
mutters, "You're a good boy, Johnny." 

Cherry on Top - 138 

My Best Friend 

By BG Thomas 

To Angel, who pointed the way. 

Jesse Campbell was the most popular guy in school, and he 
was also my best friend in the whole world. Ah, Jesse... 
Tall and stocky, with a muscular chest covered with a mat 
of fur as dark his deep brown eyes and shaggy hair. We met 
in high school, and I think I fell in love with him instantly. 
He was just so damn gorgeous and manly to my barely 
pubescent eyes. He was everything I ever wanted to be and 
thought I never could be. 

Unlike me, he was also very popular, and I was never sure 
why he let me pal around with him. I was just glad he did. I 
hung at his heels like a puppy. The reason I finally got 
popular at all was Jesse made it clear that if people wanted 
to hang with him, I was part of the deal. He didn't care 
about the games high schoolers played. He didn't care if he 
was popular or not. He didn't need to prove anything and 
everybody knew it, and so, everybody wanted to be around 
him. 

I wasn’t a big sports fan, but when he joined the football 
team, I never missed a game, not once. I even snuck out of 
the house when I had a temperature of over a hundred. He 
sure was shocked to see me in the stands, and I am so glad I 
went because he won the game that night, single-handedly. 
He gave me a good punch on the shoulder after, though. 

Cherry on Top - 139 

"What were you thinking?" he said. "You sick and all!" He 
helped get me home and somehow my mom never knew. 

I liked to write stories, and Jesse encouraged me all the 
way. It's why I write today; I feel that every character and 
world and story I create, I do it for him. He’s found his way 
into more than one as well. But this is the first time I’ve 
actually told his story. 

We did everything together: meals with each other’s 
families, homework, movies on Saturdays at the dollar 
theater. We’d go for walks or campouts out in the woods 
behind his house, and sometimes we’d skinny-dip in the 
pond at his grandmother’s. It was growing up and watching 
our bodies change that made things begin to happen in my 
head. 

I began to realize that my feelings for Jesse went beyond 
what the other guys felt for him and much closer to what 
the girls did, and that I wasn’t interested in girls at all. I 
began to have sexual dreams about him. This all left me 
very confused, and I didn't know what to do. And as much 
as I tried not to, whenever I beat off, it was Jesse -- his 
smiling face, his chest, his cock -- that filled my mind when 
I came. 

A year after we graduated, I finally accepted I was gay. I 
could deny it all I wanted, but it changed nothing. I liked 
men. And most specifically, I liked Jesse. 

Jesse knew I was going through something, but I wouldn't 
tell him what it was. I couldn't. I couldn't take the chance of 
losing his friendship. And while I wanted more, what I had 
was better than nothing. I’d read stories about gay men 

Cherry on Top - 140 

falling in love with their best friends, and those tales almost 
always seemed to end in disaster. 

Yet Jesse was determined to find out what was wrong with 
me. So he got me drunk and managed to get a distorted 
version of the real truth. 

I told him I thought I might be "bisexual." 

I could tell he was very startled, despite the fact that he 
regained his composure quickly. "That's cool, Mike," he 
said, "You like sex with dudes as well as girls, huh?" 

Then I had to admit that I'd never had sex with a guy or a 
girl. 

"Hell," he said, "let's take care of that, then!" 

My heart leapt into my throat! Was he going to...? But, 
alas, he was not suggesting what I'd hoped. He decided he'd 
get me laid with a female. 

"That way we'll know for sure," he informed me. 

And so we fucked his girl. He took me over to his 
girlfriend's house and told her she had to let me fuck her. 

She wasn't too happy about the situation, but she relented. I 
understood. If Jesse had been fucking me on a regular basis 
and then given me the same ultimatum he'd given her, I'd 
have fucked anyone and anything. Which was what I was 
doing, wasn’t it? I'd do anything to stay friends with Jesse, 
including fuck a female. 

Cherry on Top - 141 

That was the first time I had ever seen Jesse with a hard on. 
It was incredible. I knew mine was about average at six 
inches, and he was at least a couple of inches longer. It took 
all my self-control not to fall on my knees and beg him to 
let me suck it, or to leap on the bed and scream, "Forget her 
-- fuck me!" 

I almost came just watching him, his huge uncut cock, his 
hairy ass bobbing back and forth, and the occasional 
glimpse I got of his asshole. It was incredible. It wasn't sex 
with Jesse, but if there was a next best thing, that had to be 
it. 

The problem of course, was that as soon as he was done, I 
had to fuck her. 

Jesse stepped aside and I took his place and I immediately 
lost my hard on. I couldn't help it. I was looking at her, and 
her body was just... wrong! For me, that is. Instead of 
strong, fur-covered pectorals, she had large, round breasts. 
Instead of a furry belly, hers was smooth and pink. And 
there was no large, hard, uncut cock waiting for mutual 
pleasure, but a triangular patch covering the mound of her 
sex. All I could think of as I climbed in between her legs 
was that she was not Jesse. I looked at her face. It was very 
pretty, but not the rugged, razor-stubbled, handsome face I 
loved so much. But before we could do anything, there was 
the problem of my sagging equipment. I began to stroke it 
frantically, trying to get it hard again, but nothing was 
happening. 

Finally, I heard Jesse whisper, his breath hot in my ear, his 
chest hair just brushing my back, "Relax, buddy, you can 
do it." I felt his still-hard cock and crotch hair touch my 
ass, and that was all it took. My cock reared up to a 

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hardness that almost hurt, and I did it. I fucked a girl. Hell, 
I fucked the hell out of her! But then, I couldn't come. It 
felt okay, but she wasn't a man. 

Then Jesse moved to my right side and gripped my ass 
tightly in one hand and began to stroke his huge dick with 
the other. And that put me over the edge. I was surprised at 
just how hard I came. 

We dressed, and he gave her a little kiss and thanked her. I 
mumbled something myself.  The look in her eyes. 
Something passed between us, and I couldn’t help but think 
that she knew. She knew. 

As he drove me home, I was feeling that I'd proven myself 
to Jesse when he said, "Didn't work, did it?" 

"Huh?" 

"You still want to get it on with a dude, don't you?" 

"I... Jesse..." I couldn't believe it! Hadn't I done well 
enough? 

"It's okay, man." 

"Jesse, I... Why do you think..." 

"Hey, guy, I was there, remember? Looked like you were 
having a little trouble getting into it at all." 

"I was nervous... It was my first time. You were watching. 
My dick is so much smaller than yours..." 

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"Guy, you don't have to make excuses with me." Jesse 
turned his car down a street several blocks before mine and 
into his apartment complex. "I'm your friend. That's why I 
got you laid. I just wanted you to at least try a girl." He 
stopped the car and got out. "Come on, Mike, you need a 
beer." 

I didn't say a word. I just got out of his car and followed 
him up the flight of stairs to his apartment. 

When we got inside, he turned on the stereo and 
disappeared into the kitchen. "Get comfortable," his voice 
echoed back from the kitchen. 

I plopped down on the couch and kicked off my tennis 
shoes. A moment later, he was back in the room with some 
beers. He handed me one and, sitting next to me, opened 
his. "You've never done it with a guy?" 

I couldn't look at him, but shook my head. 

"Can I ask you why you think you'd like sex with a man?" 

I wanted to shout, Because I'm in love with you, but I didn't. 
I didn't say a thing. 

Jesse slugged back his beer and opened a second. 

"Well, you tried it with a girl and didn't seem to like that. I 
guess you need to try it with a  dude, huh?" 

This time I couldn't even nod. I just sat there. Was he going 
to make me fuck some male friend of his while he 
watched? 

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There was a long time where neither of us said a word. 
Finally, looking down at his feet, Jesse said, "Look, I don't 
want to put you on the spot or anything... so be honest... 
but, would I be okay?" 

I froze. I couldn't believe what I'd heard. 

"I mean, I don't know if I'm your 'type' or if you'd feel 
funny, us being buddies and all..." 

"No," I practically shouted. "I mean... Jesse! I can't believe 
you would..." 

"Would do what? Have sex with you? You're my best 
friend. I love you, man!" 

"Wouldn't it gross you out?" 

He reached out and grabbed my chin. "Look at me." 

I did, and what I saw there was so amazing. There was so 
much caring in his eyes. I wanted to cry. And then he 
leaned forward and kissed me. Just lightly at first, but soon 
he was kissing me hard, opening my mouth with his, 
tangling his tongue with mine. Blood was rushing to my 
face and there was a deep pounding in my ears. He pulled 
away. 

"Geez, Mikey! You sure know what you're doing!" 

"I... I..." 

He smiled, and I swear I could feel my heart melt. "You're 
scared to death, aren't you?" 

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"Yes," I whispered. 

I saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, and then he 
whispered back, "Me, too." He stood up. "Come on." He 
grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet and led me into 
the bedroom. 

This can't be happening, I kept thinking, it can't! 

"Lie down," he instructed. 

For the second time that night, he undressed in front of me. 
Only this time, it was for me. He really put a show, too. He 
pulled off his sweatshirt, very, very slowly, unbuttoned his 
jeans, pushed them down, and pulled them and his gym 
socks off. Then he stood before me, and his cock, which 
was half hard, jumped up slightly as he slowly pulled off 
his underwear. 

My heart was pounding so hard. 

He stood there before me, beautiful and naked, hands held 
at his side. "Is this what you want, guy?" 

I still couldn't talk, but I didn't have to. He climbed onto the 
bed next to me. He kneeled back on his heels, placed his 
hand down on the tremendous tenting in my trousers and 
gently squeezed. My God! He was touching me. He was 
touching my cock. "Yes," he said in a low voice, "no 
hardon problems now..." 

My cock pulsed in his grasp. His was rising more, the head 
beginning to peek from the foreskin. 

"Tell me what you want." 

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"I... I..." 

"You must have fantasized about this. Jerked off over it. 
What'd you want to do when you finally had a man naked 
in bed with you?" He took his other hand and cupped my 
chin again so I would look into his eyes. "Here he is, 
buddy. What do you want to do?" 

"I, I want..." 

"Yes?" 

"I want to suck your cock, Jesse." 

"Then suck it, baby." 

He moved his hand away, and before my eyes his cock 
reared the rest of the way up, and the foreskin peeled back 
to reveal the deep purple-red head of his cock. Slowly, a 
pearl of clear liquid formed at its tip. "Go on, Mike. This is 
for you. Taste me, baby. It's okay." 

I leaned forward, touched the wetness with my fingertip, 
and looked up at him. 

He grinned and nodded. "Go ahead..." 

I touched my finger to my mouth and tasted Jesse. 

"Well?" he asked. 

"Sweet!" Then, taking the base of his cock in my hand, I 
leaned forward and took his hard flesh into my mouth. 

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My God. How can I find the words to describe what it was 
like? It was wonderful. It was fabulous! I had Jesse's cock 
in my mouth. It was so thick. And hot. I had never 
imagined that it would radiate such heat. The head was so 
smooth. And the smell... I shoved my head forward, trying 
to take as much of it in my mouth as I could, but only 
gagged. 

"Easy, baby, it's not going anywhere, I promise. Take your 
time..." 

So I did. There were so many sensations going through my 
head as I began to give my first blowjob. So much to feel 
and taste and smell. The magazines, the straight porno 
films, years of masturbation, nothing had prepared me for 
this. I was sucking Jesse Campbell's dick! 

"God, that feels good, Mikey." His words brought a 
powerful moan from me, and, hearing that, he began to 
encourage me with gentle words. "Yeah, Mike. That's nice. 
Back and forth... Nice and slow... God! Your tongue is 
magic! Suck me, buddy. This is really beautiful." 

'Beautiful.' Imagine. He thought what I was doing was 
beautiful. 

All the while he was squeezing and stoking my jeans-clad 
hard on. Suddenly, I felt him pop open my pants and pull 
down my zipper, and my white-covered erection was 
pushing up through the opening. His hand moved under the 
elastic band of my underwear and grasped my naked dick. 

I stopped sucking him. "No, Jesse! You don't have to do 
that! I wasn't asking you to do anything!" 

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"Shh, don't say anything!" he commanded, and pushed me 
back onto the bed and climbed between my legs. To my 
utter shock, he freed my cock from the tangle of jeans and 
underwear. "We're best friends, Mike. And I want this first 
time to be right for you." He looked down at my throbbing, 
straining dick and said, "I want to do this." With that, he 
bent down and sucked the head of my cock into his mouth. 

Electricity shot through me, and, completely involuntarily, 
my groin arched up, pushing more cock into his mouth. His 
hands shot under my ass, and he pulled me up inside him. 
Suddenly, I felt the most incredible pleasure I've ever felt, 
like a powerful force that started in my head and slammed 
its way down my spine. I was going to come. I tried to pull 
away, but Jesse only held me harder. "Jesse" I yelped, "I'm 
going to come!" But he wouldn't let me pull out. 

I came. The come shot through my swollen cock and 
exploded in Jesse's mouth. I heard him gag once, but he 
still didn't pull away. I came and came and came until I 
thought I would come to death, and finally, I stopped, and 
my rigid body and dick went slowly limp in his arms and 
mouth. 

He let me slip to the mattress and sat up, looking down at 
me, a smile on his lips. "That was incredible, Mike! I 
hardly did anything!" 

"Oh, Jesse! Why did you do that?" 

"Because I love you, man!" 

"But Jesse, don't you see, you proved that by letting me 
suck your cock. You didn't have to suck mine!" 

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"Have to? Oh, Mike, I, I... I said I love you, baby!" He 
reached down and easily pulled me into his arms. "I love 
you." 

"Jesse, what are you saying?" 

"You heard me," he whispered. 

"I don't understand. You're straight. You've got a 
girlfriend!" 

Jesse pulled back and I saw that he had a strange look on 
his face. "Mike," he said very quietly, "I have to tell you 
something." For the first time since I met him, I saw 
something that actually looked like fear in his eyes. "I... 
you're not the first guy I've ever had sex with." 

My eyes nearly popped out of my head. "What!?" 

"A couple of years ago, I was driving home from a concert. 
You were out of town with your parents on vacation, and it 
was a group I wanted to see with you, and I was so 
frustrated. Then, out on this dark road in the middle of 
nowhere, I saw this hitchhiker and I stopped and picked 
him up... and... We had sex." 

"Jesse..." 

"It was really hot. I couldn't believe how hot it was! And all 
through it I just kept thinking about how it would have 
been better with you. He even looked a little like you, and I 
bet that’s how it happened. It scared me. I wanted to tell 
you, but you're my best friend, and I didn't want to take the 
chance of losing that. So I haven't been with a guy since." 

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"Jesse, you're gay?" I asked, stunned. 

"I'm yours..." 

"This can't be happening." 

He hugged me. "It's happening, Mike." 

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" 

"Because you've always treated me like I'm a hero! I was 
afraid if you knew that your hero... about the things I was 
feeling, I'd lose you." 

I couldn't believe it! He was feeling the same things I'd 
been feeling. "Jesse. I've been in love with you since I was 
thirteen!" 

He shook his head. "Hell, Mike, why didn't you ever tell 
me?" He laughed. "Oh, Mikey, when you told me you 
thought you were bisexual, geez, you don't know what that 
did to me. I had to back up. I had to make sure. And when 
you didn't like my girlfriend... God... I knew the moment 
had come, but I was so afraid when I asked you if you 
wanted to have sex with me that you'd say no and..." 

"I can't believe you're saying this," I exclaimed. 

"Haven't you ever noticed that you're the only person that I 
care about?" 

I sat there for a moment, and just like that, it all became 
clear. How had I never seen it before? It was like 
something had been lifted from in front of my eyes. He 

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really hadn't given a shit about those high schoolers. He 
cared about me. 

"Jesse," I said, "I love you!" 

He pulled back and looked in my eyes. "I love you." In a 
moment, he pulled off the rest of my clothes and kissed me. 
Then he lifted my legs high in the air and buried his face in 
my crack. 

"My God!" I shouted, my hands pounding the mattress, 
"Oh, Jesse!" More miracles. Jesse was licking my hole and 
God, I was opening up to him. 

After several minutes, he spread my legs and let them fall 
on either side of his waist. "Now," he said, "I'm going to 
fuck you." 

How could a dream come so true, I asked myself as he 
positioned himself against my asshole and slowly pushed 
the head of his cock into me. It hurt so bad, yet so good, 
and abruptly my sphincter opened and let him in. He began 
to thrust very slowly in and out of me, allowing me to 
adjust to my very first fuck. To my surprise, the pain 
slowly vanished, to be replaced by a pleasure so intense, it 
made everything else that had come before seem like 
nothing. He fucked me like it was the most important thing 
he'd ever done. Not the slam-bam way he'd fucked his girl, 
but long and deep and slow and caring, letting us both love 
every single inch. 

He never looked away until, finally, the last moments when 
his pace suddenly sped up.  Only then did he squeeze his 
eyes shut, his cock driving in and out of me, as he fulfilled 
his own needs. He came. He shouted and shook and cried 

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out and then I was coming, too! White cream was firing 
into the air between us before it arched back and fell on my 
face and chin. He collapsed on top of me. 

After a long moment, he kissed me. 

"I love you," we said at exactly the same time, and then 
began to laugh. We kissed. And soon, we were making love 
again. 

I haven't spent a night alone since. Not even when I go on 
book signing tours. He broke up with his girlfriend, and we 
were both pretty surprised when she didn't start a fight with 
him. She even called me up and wished us luck. 

It wasn't long before everyone found out. But it was cool. 
See, Jesse doesn't care what anyone thinks about him. 

Except for me. 

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Cooking Lesson 

By Misa Izanaki 

Fen glanced at his watch as he stepped out of the elevator 
and headed toward his apartment. It was nearly nine in the 
evening, which made him late, very late. Usually, he was 
out of his office and home by six, seven at the latest, but 
not today. Fen rubbed his neck with a growl. Work had 
been particularly hellish today, but at least it was over with. 

Werewolves were never meant to work at desk jobs, even if 
it was in the main office of a zoo. There was just too much 
damned paperwork for Fen's wolfy brain. Sure, Fen had 
been born and raised human, but there was still a lot of 
wolf in him, and that wolf hated being cooped up in an 
office all day. What else could he do, though? The zoo was 
one of the few places that gave Fen the flexible hours he 
needed but still paid well enough to keep him and Loki 
living comfortably. It also helped that no one there seemed 
to mind the furry lupine ears that peeked through his hair, 
or the tail for that matter. Fen's co-workers just though they 
were body mods and never gave them a second thought. 

Either way, it was good to be home. Fen just hoped his 
lover, Loki, wasn't too angry at him for being late. Loki 
was a sweet boy, but Fen's pretty lover was also restless 
and had a tendency to get himself into trouble if he was left 
on his own for too long. 

"I'm home!" Fen opened the door and dropped his keys on 
the small table in the entry way. He had expected to be 

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tackled or at least assaulted with questions, but no one was 
there. Fen glanced around the empty living room. "Loki? 
Sorry I'm so late, but I swear they were trying to bury me in 
paperwork today." 

There was still no answer, which was odd. Loki had been 
there when Fen had left that morning, and it wasn't like him 
to go wondering. Fen's lover never left the apartment by 
himself. Well, he had once, but that had been after a 
particularly bad argument, and had ended with Loki getting 
picked up by Animal Control and spending a few hours at 
the pound. Fen sighed. Things like that were bound to 
happen when you brought a wolf-born shifter to the city. 
Loki had spent most of his childhood running wild in the 
forests near Mt. Rainier and moving to Seattle had been a 
big change. One he was still getting used to. 

Fen's keen ears picked up the sound of someone 
rummaging through the refrigerator. Ah, maybe that's why 
Loki hadn't heard him. Poor guy must have been starving. 
Fen peeked into the kitchen, only to see the back half of a 
lean black wolf sticking out of the fridge. 

"Loki?" 

"Fen, you're home!" The wolf bounded over, his tail 
wagging happily, and almost bowled Fen over. "I was 
getting worried." 

"And hungry, I see." Fen looked past Loki's furry ears to 
see a crinkled and bloody piece of butcher paper lying on 
the floor. 

Loki glanced away with an almost guilty look in those 
pretty silver eyes. "I didn't know when you were coming 

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home, and I didn't want to get picked up by the dog catcher 
again, so I -- I ate the steaks you bought yesterday." 

"It's all right, love." Fen knelt down and smoothed Loki's 
soft, dark fur with his fingers. "I should have called or at 
least made sure that you had something for dinner." 

"So, you're not mad?" Loki sat beside Fen and gave him a 
hopeful look. It was hard to stay mad when Loki made sad 
puppy eyes at him. Not that Fen was that angry to begin 
with. He could always buy more steaks. 

"No." Fen tugged on one of Loki's ears teasingly. "I am 
wondering why you're in wolf form, though." 

"Raw meat tastes better when I'm a wolf." Loki nuzzled 
Fen's cheek affectionately. "I don't like it as much when I'm 
human. And since I didn't know how to cook them, I 
figured that it would be easier if I shifted and ate them as 
they were." 

"You could have called me, you know." 

"I didn't want to bother you at work." 

"Loki." Fen kissed the top of Loki's furry head. "You're 
never a bother." 

"No, but you probably would've run home, and that would 
have gotten you in trouble at work." Loki's ears drooped 
unhappily. "And I don't want you to get in trouble because 
of me." 

"You're far more important than work, love." Fen looked 
his lover in the eye. "You know that, right?" 

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"I know." Loki nodded unhappily. "But I shouldn't have to 
depend on you for such simple things." 

Fen sighed again and gave those dark ears a scratch. Loki 
had always been very independent. At least, he had been 
before he followed Fen to the city. Poor guy, their whole 
living situation must have been driving Loki crazy, and Fen 
had never realized it. The only question was, how Fen 
could fix things before they got worse? 

Fen's ears perked as an idea popped into his head. It was a 
small step, but it might help, if Loki agreed to it. "How 
about this, then? You shift back to human, and I'll teach 
you how to cook. You know, so you won't have to resort to 
eating raw meat again, next time I'm late." 

"I don't know. You know what they say about teaching an 
old wolf new tricks." Loki hung that dark shaggy head. Fen 
didn't miss the nervous look on his lover's face. Loki had 
always been a little uneasy when it came to doing things in 
human form. 

"Twenty-three hardly makes you an old wolf, love." Fen 
nudged Loki's muzzle up. "Besides, a cooking lesson or 
two might do you some good." 

"I don't know. Cooking seems very... complicated." 

"It can be, but I'll be right there to help in case you get 
stuck." Fen gave Loki an encouraging smile. "Come on, 
love, it'll be fun." 

Loki seemed to think about it for a few seconds before 
nodding in agreement. "Okay, but teach me things that you 

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like to eat. That way, I can make you dinner sometimes." 
He sighed, his ears and tail drooping a little. "It's about 
time I did something to earn my keep, right?" 

"Loki, this isn't about earning your keep." Fen wrapped his 
arms Loki's neck and buried his face in his lover's fur. "I 
know how independent you are, and I just want to help you 
get a little of that back. Feeding yourself is the first step." 

"I can feed myself just fine." 

"Love, eating raw meat or out of the garbage doesn't 
count." 

"Okay, okay, I get the point." Loki rested his chin on Fen's 
shoulder with a sigh. "Where do we start?" 

"Shift and grab an apron." Fen pushed himself to his feet 
and headed to the large bookshelf in the living room. "I'm 
going to find us something to make." 

Fen pulled one cookbook off the shelf, then another. He 
wanted to find a simple, tasty recipe with basic ingredients 
that he usually kept around. Fen could have taught Loki 
something from memory, but he figured it would probably 
be easier for Loki if there was some sort of reference 
material. 

After flipping through both cookbooks and a binder of 
random recipes that he had collected over the years, Fen 
settled on the Beef Tomato recipe that a friend had given 
him. It was basically a beef stir fry with tomatoes in it, 
cooked in a savory and slightly sweet sauce. It was quick, 
easy, and very tasty, especially over hot rice. 

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"I found the perfect recipe to start with." Fen stepped back 
into the kitchen and almost dropped the recipe sheet. "Are 
you read-- Wow!" 

Loki had shifted into his human form and was very naked 
beneath his apron. Damn, that was sexy. Loki always 
looked good. How could he not with that lithe body, pretty, 
boyish face, and lush tail attached just above Loki's pert 
ass? Something about that apron, though, just made Loki 
all the hotter. The hint of pale skin and the potential of 
what was hidden beneath the heavy cotton made Fen 
hungry in a very different way. How the hell was Fen going 
to teach Loki anything with all that distracting him? 

"What's wrong?" Loki cocked his head to one side, and his 
ears perked with interest. 

"Nothing," Fen had to resist the urge to drag his pretty 
lover off to their bedroom. "You know you're supposed to 
wear something under the apron, right?" 

"I suppose, but I thought it would be more fun this way." 
Loki slipped closer and snuggled against Fen's side. He 
glanced up, and Fen could see the disappointment and 
worry on his face. "I can get dressed if you want." 

"N-no!" Fen kicked himself mentally for ruining the 
moment. Distraction or not, Loki was perfect as he was. "I 
like the idea." Fen slid one hand down Loki's bare back and 
gave that perfect ass a squeeze. Lots of things were more 
fun naked. Why couldn't cooking be one of them? "And I 
like the way you look in that apron." 

"It would be even better if you got out of your clothes, too." 
Loki nipped at Fen's shoulder with an eager grin. 

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There was no arguing with that. Fen tugged off his shirt and 
pants. He did leave his boxers on, though, since he didn't 
have an apron to protect his more sensitive areas from 
splatter. That definitely would not be fun. "Is this better?" 

"Oh, I think so." Loki licked his lips and ran his hands over 
the hard muscles of Fen's chest. "I've always liked you 
better without clothes." 

"Just remember, we're cooking first." Fen tapped his lover 
on the nose. "Anything else will have to wait until after 
dinner is done." 

"I know." Loki nipped at Fen's finger teasingly. "What do 
we do first?" 

"Get a red pepper, the celery, a chunk of ginger, and the 
tray of stir fry beef from the fridge." Fen gave Loki's butt 
another pat and pulled an onion and a couple of tomatoes 
from the basket on the counter. 

"Okay, now what?" Loki came back with everything Fen 
had asked for. He carried the veggies and meat in his apron, 
which gave Fen a good look at Loki's long legs. What were 
they doing again? Fen shook his head; teaching Loki like 
this might be harder than he'd thought. 

"Fen!" Loki whapped Fen impatiently with his tail. 

"Sorry." It was hard to pry his eyes away from all that 
tempting flesh Loki was baring, but Fen managed. He took 
the meat and ginger and tossed the onion and tomatoes into 
Loki's apron with the other produce. "Can you wash those 
for me?" 

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"Will do." 

While Loki was busy at the sink, Fen pulled out a cutting 
board and a knife and set his wok on the stove. He opened 
the pantry and fished out a bottle of soy sauce, a box of 
corn starch, and a few other things they would need. 

Loki set his freshly washed items on the counter beside 
Fen's cutting board. "Maybe I should be taking notes or 
something? I'm not going to remember all of this." 

"Don't worry, love, that's why we have a recipe." Fen set 
the laminated sheet in front of Loki with a grin. "This 
should tell you everything you need to know." 

"What's a 'tbsp' or a 'tsp'?" Loki studied the recipe, tracing 
over each ingredient with his finger. He gave Fen a 
confused look. "You didn't tell me that I had to learn a new 
language to do this." 

"That's a tablespoon, which is this." Fen fished his 
measuring spoons out of the silverware drawer and held the 
tablespoon up. He did the same with the teaspoon. "And a 
'tsp' is a teaspoon, which is this one." 

"Ah, okay." Loki blinked at the recipe again. "I suppose the 
'c' is for cup?" 

"Exactly." Fen nodded approvingly. Loki was doing pretty 
well for someone who had never cooked in his life. 

"Got it." Loki carefully measured soy sauce, sherry, and a 
bit of sugar into a small bowl. That went into a plastic zip-
top bag with the meat. 

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Loki watched in curiosity as Fen chopped the garlic and 
ginger and tossed them in with the meat and marinade. 
"How can you cut things so quickly?" 

"All it takes is a sharp knife and a little practice." Fen 
gestured for Loki to take his spot in front of the cutting 
board and handed his knife over. "I'll show you." 

Fen guided Loki through peeling and cutting the onion, 
cleaning and slicing the celery and red pepper, and 
chunking the tomatoes. With his hand over his lover's, Fen 
guided Loki's knife strokes and showed him how to cut 
everything into even pieces. 

It was also a perfect opportunity to press against the warm, 
velvety skin of Loki's back. If there hadn't been a knife 
involved or the potential for onions and tomato all over the 
kitchen, Fen would have said to hell with dinner and 
pushed Loki against the counter for a quick fuck. Loki 
probably had the same idea running through that pretty 
head, given the boy was taking every opportunity to rub 
against Fen's chest and groin. 

Despite the distractions, they managed to get everything cut 
and ready to cook. Oh, once dinner was done Fen was 
going to carry Loki off to the bedroom and fuck him silly. 

"Okay, love, what does the recipe say to do next?" Fen 
carried the meat and veggies to the stove and turned the 
heat on. 

"Um, two tablespoons of oil go into the pan, and then we 
brown the meat." Loki glanced from the recipe to the wok. 
He set the paper down and dripped some oil into the pan. 

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Once the oil seemed hot enough, Loki dumped the meat in. 
His ears flicked, and Loki took a nervous step back as the 
oil popped and spit. 

"Now, you have to watch the meat and make sure it cooks 
but doesn't burn." Fen fished a wooden spoon out of 
another drawer and handed it to his lover. "Make sure you 
stir it around, too, so it cooks evenly." 

"I can do that." Loki poked at the meat with the spoon. "I 
think." 

"Good," Fen needed something else to focus on besides 
Loki's gorgeous backside. They weren't going to make it 
through the cooking lesson otherwise. "I'm going to get 
some rice going." He grabbed the pot out of the rice cooker 
and poured two cups of rice into it. Water went in to the 
proper line, and Fen set the pot back into the cooker along 
with the lid. "I'll show you how to work the rice cooker 
later. It's pretty simple." 

"Sure." Loki nodded and poked at the beef again. "I think 
the meat's done." 

"Hmm? Oh, right." Fen grabbed a plate and helped Loki 
dump the meat onto it. Once the meat was out, the onion, 
celery, and pepper pieces went in with a bit of salt. "Now 
we cook these." 

Loki kept an eye on the veggies while Fen threw together 
the sauce. They cooked the veggies until the onions were 
soft, and added the beef back to the pan along with the 
sauce and tomatoes. 

"Is that it?" Loki eyed the bubbling mixture cautiously. 

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"It has to simmer, but that can wait." Fen turned the stove 
off and slipped his arms around Loki's midsection. He 
pulled his lover closer. "You're far more tempting right 
now." 

"Mm, what did you have in mind?" Loki glanced over his 
shoulder. Fen could see the eagerness in those pretty silver 
eyes. He felt it, too, as the soft fur of Loki's tail brushed 
against the straining bulge in his boxers. Oh, if that wasn't 
an invitation, Fen didn't know what was. 

"Bending you over the table, for one thing." Fen purred and 
nipped at Loki's pale neck. "Riding that sweet ass of yours 
came to mind, too." 

Loki turned in Fen's arms so they were facing each other 
and grinned mischievously. "It sounds like you'd rather 
have me for dinner instead of the food we made." 

"What can I say?" Fen lifted Loki up and carried him to the 
kitchen table. He leaned closer and nipped at his lover's 
throat. "You're tastier than anything I could ever make." 

"Mm, sounds like you're in love." Loki wrapped his arms 
around Fen's neck and lapped at his cheek. "Or in heat, 
maybe both." 

"Both, I think." Fen set Loki down and tugged the apron 
over his head. He knelt down and nuzzled Loki's lean chest. 
"It's hard not to be horny with you around, my pretty little 
wolf." 

"Now you're just teasing." A bright blush colored Loki's 
cheeks as he fingered one of Fen's ears. 

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"I mean it, Loki, you're beautiful and very sexy." Fen 
trailed warm, nipping kisses down Loki's flat belly. He 
moved lower and flicked his tongue over the tip of his 
lover's cock. "And, like I said, very tasty." 

Loki moaned and lifted his hips. Loki was very sensitive, 
and Fen loved to take advantage of that. He knew exactly 
where to lick and where to nibble to bring Loki to the edge, 
and it was fun for him, almost as fun as mating... almost. 
He licked at Loki's prick again before swallowing his lover 
down. That dragged a soft whimper from Loki's throat, and 
those lean fingers tightened in Fen's hair. Fen grinned 
around Loki's cock. It definitely sounded like his lover was 
enjoying himself. 

"Fen, I'm going to come if you keep doing that." Loki 
tugged eagerly on one of Fen's ears. "A-and I don't want to, 
not yet. I want you in me, first. Please, Fen." 

"Okay, love." Fen couldn't refuse Loki anything, especially 
when his lover pleaded like that. He pushed himself to his 
feet and patted Loki's hip. "Roll over for me, and I'll be 
right back." 

"Where are you going?" Loki hopped off the table and 
leaned over it with his ass in the air. He glanced over his 
shoulder and eyed Fen with curiosity. 

"Just grabbing a little lube, that's all." Fen snatched a bottle 
of oil off the counter and held it up for Loki to see. 

"Olive oil?" Loki cocked his to one side. "I thought you 
were going to slick me up, not make a salad." 

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"Funny. See, I knew you had a sense of humor in there 
somewhere." Fen wiggled out of his boxers and ruffled his 
lover's dark hair. "This will have to do, unless you want to 
wait while I fish the lube out of the bedroom." 

"No, it's okay." Loki settled with his stomach pressed 
against the smooth surface of the table and his head 
pillowed against his arms. "I don't think I can wait that 
long." 

"So impatient." Fen flipped the cap of the olive oil with his 
thumb and dripped the slick stuff against his lover's velvety 
skin. 

"Can't help it, you make me so needy." Loki lifted his tail, 
giving Fen easy access to his more sensitive parts. "I want 
to feel you." 

It was tempting to just slide his cock into Loki's tight body, 
but Fen had more patience than that. He wanted to take his 
time and get Loki nice and slick. He rubbed the oil between 
Loki's cheeks and eased two of his fingers into his lover's 
ass. 

Loki moaned and pushed back against Fen's hand eagerly. 
Damn, Loki was so tight and hot around his fingers. No 
matter how many times they had sex, the feel of his lover's 
body and the sexy sounds Loki made always got to him. 
Fen licked his lips and wiggled his fingers, making Loki 
moan again. Oh, there was nothing better. 

Fen leaned closer and nuzzled Loki's back, all the while 
moving his fingers in and out of Loki's ass. "Ease up, love. 
You need to relax or I can't fuck you." 

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"I'll try." 

"Oh, much better, love." The grip on Fen's fingers relaxed, 

and he slid them out of Loki's sweet body. 

"Good, now fuck me already, I'm tired of playing." Loki 
gave Fen a long and needy look. 

"Is this what you want?" Fen rubbed more oil onto his cock 
and slid it teasingly against Loki's slick skin. 

"Fen!" Loki growled. Fen could hear the desperation and 
the need in his lover's voice. 

With one slow thrust, Fen pushed into Loki's ass. Slick heat 
pulled Fen in and rippled around his prick. Fen closed his 
eyes and took a calming breath. If he wasn't careful, Loki 
was going to make him come right then and there, and 
where was the fun in that? 

"More, please..." Loki seemed to have other ideas, though. 
He rocked his ass back, riding Fen's cock. 

Fen took the hint and started to move his hips. Together, 
they found a rhythm, Loki meeting each thrust of Fen's hips 
with a push of that sweet ass. Fen leaned against Loki's 
sweat-damp back and nipped at his lover's neck. His fingers 
slid over a pale hip and wrapped around the slim length of 
Loki's cock. 

"Are you going to come for me, love?" Fen whispered as he 
nuzzled Loki's ear. He slid his hand over Loki's eager 
length and flicked his thumb over the tip. 

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Loki bit back a moan and nodded. Those pretty silver eyes 
were closed, and those slim hands were clenched against 
the edge of the table. Fen could see the pleasure on Loki's 
face. His lover was lost in the easy friction of their bodies 
grinding together. Oh, that was so good. Fen picked up the 
pace, fucking Loki hard and deep. 

That must have pushed Loki over the edge. He tossed his 
head back against Fen's shoulder and his body tensed and 
rippled around Fen's cock. 

Oh, damn! Fen slammed his hips forward one last time and 
howled as he came. He couldn't help it, not with Loki 
milking him like that. He braced himself over Loki, panting 
and trying to catch his breath. 

Loki rolled onto his back and smiled up at Fen. "I think I'm 
going to like these cooking lessons." 

"I told you it would be fun." Fen grinned back. He stood 
and turned the stove back on. "Come on, we can get 
cleaned up while dinner simmers." 

"That would be good." Loki hopped off the table, his tail 
wagging contentedly and followed Fen toward the sink. 
"I'm all sticky." 

"I know, love." Fen ran a dish cloth under some warm 
water and cleaned himself up. He rinsed the cloth again and 
wiped the come from Loki's skin. "How's that?" 

"Much better." Loki snuggled against Fen's chest. "So, how 
long before dinner?" 

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"Not much longer." Fen stirred their food again. "Are you 
hungry again already?" 

Loki stood on his tip-toes and kissed Fen on the nose. 
"What can I say? Cooking seems to stir up my appetite, 
especially when I do it with you." 

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Sweet Cherry, A Hammer Story 

By Sean Michael 

Rafe had read the same page forty-two times and hadn't 
comprehended a single fucking word. 

Hell, he wasn't stupid. 

He wasn't. 

Really. 

Mostly. 

Rafe chuckled at himself and stood, stretched. Hank was 
still in Macroeconomics, so he had some time to himself 
with his laptop and his favorite stories and his left hand. 

He had the files password protected and hidden -- files with 
names like Tommy's Boy and Hand to Ass and Binding 
Billy. He knew they weren't your average reading, but... 

Well. 

They were damned hot. 

Especially now that he'd seen the club -- The Hammer. 
He'd come home from that horrible, stupid night drinking 
with his cousin Mike and all his frat brothers and started 
Googling. 

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It had taken a while, but he'd found things. It was real. 

A real BDSM club-thing. With shows and Dom Days --
which, what did that mean? -- and beer and food and... 

He slipped his hand in his shorts and started rubbing, just a 
little. He'd gone by three times, just to sit in the 
Laundromat and stare. Look at the men coming in and out. 
They looked older and wealthier and fine. Really fine. 

His cock filled easily and he groaned, imagining someone 
looking at him the way he'd seen those men looking at each 
other. 

Oh, god. He kept jacking, mouth open, thoughts of history 
papers and Tudor England and finals the furthest thing 
from his mind. 

God, he wanted to... He wanted someone to... 

Oh... 

He came, quick and hard, just from a handful of wishes and 
a bunch of fiction. He was so lame. 

Rafe chuckled and went to clean up. Lame, but he had the 
cleanest fucking laundry on Earth, didn't he? 

*** 

Bobby sat at his usual table and surveyed the club. He 
nodded whenever he caught anyone's gaze, and tried not to 
sigh. Same old, same old. 

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He almost hadn't come tonight, but at least at the Hammer 
he knew the food was good and there was always the off-
chance that an exciting or innovative show would follow. 
He had a second glass of wine while he waited for his 
dinner to arrive. 

He overheard two servers chatting as they cleaned the table 
next to his. "...did you see him? He's there again, 
pretending to read." 

"He's got to have the cleanest clothes on Earth." The little 
blond chuckled. "I keep expecting him to get the balls to 
come knocking." 

"You think he will? He's pretty enough, I guess..." 

How curious. And precious little seemed curious to him 
these days... 

"He should. He's been out there staring for three weeks 
almost every night." 

"Three weeks?" 

"Must be a student." 

Well, Bobby had to admit it; he was intrigued now. 

Who would watch the place for three weeks and never 
come in? It was a contradiction -- that patience and staying 
power versus the lack of bravery needed to come in. 

"Must be." The server smiled over at him, nodded. "Your 
meal should be out in just a few moments, Sir." 

Cherry on Top - 172 

"Thank you, lad." It was one of the reasons he kept coming 
back instead of going elsewhere -- they took good care of 
you here. 

On a sudden whim he took out a piece of paper and wrote 
"Join me. Bobby" on it. Folding it, he called the server 
over. 

"Please, take this out and give it to the Laundromat 
watcher. Don't read it, just hand it over." 

"The little dark guy? Yes, Sir. Should..." He got a quick, 
clever little smile. "Should I wait for an answer or just tell 
Jeremy to let him in, Sir?" 

Oh, the little shit. 

He shook his head and waggled a finger at the lad, enjoying 
the cheekiness. "Just tell Jeremy to let him in." 

"Yes, Sir." Quick as a flash the kid was gone, ass wiggling 
away. The lad might be fun for a night or two of playing if 
the watcher didn't take up his invitation. 

Bobby shook his head at himself and actually chuckled. 
He'd just invited a man to join him, sight unseen. Now, that 
wasn't boring. 

His food arrived before the waiter had returned to the club 
and Bobby dug eagerly into his braised buffalo. He hadn't 
enjoyed a meal this much in ages. 

The huge Texan bouncer came over when he was about 
halfway through, hovering. "I'm sorry, Sir, but there's this 

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kid with a note from you and a duffle full of laundry. He's 
not dressed approp... Xavier asked me to make sure you 
asked for him." 

"Have Xavier store his duffle and then bring him over to 
my table, please. I'm sure we can forgive his lack of 
appropriate dress for one day, hmm?" 

The big Texan smiled and shrugged. "I'm sorry, Sir, not my 
call, but I'll speak to the boss immediately." 

He watched the interplay between Xavier and Jeremy, then 
Jeremy and the little one at the door. Brown and lean, sharp 
features -- Bobby was intrigued. 

Then he was given a chance to watch as the man walked 
over to him. Jeans, T-shirt, little black goatee, and button 
eyes -- he approved. 

"I... Are you Bobby?" 

"I am. And you're the boy from the Laundromat." He 
pointed to the chair across from him. 

"I am. Rafe. Rafael. Nice to meet you." The man sat, 
looking over. "Thank you for your invitation." 

"I thought it was time you actually came in, instead of just 
watched." 

Those thin cheeks pinked. "It's pretty obvious that it's 
exclusive. I didn't mean to pry. I... I wasn't trying to 
interfere." 

"But you wanted in." 

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Look at that pretty face. 

"I did. I wanted to know, you know? If the things I read 
were true." 

Bobby raised a hand and got the waiter's attention. "We'll 
continue our conversation in a moment -- what would you 
like to eat?" he asked Rafe 

"Oh, I don't... I don't even know what the options are." 

"Are you hungry for a full meal, an appetizer or a dessert?" 

"I... Just an appetizer would be fine, thank you." He could 
see the discomfort Rafe's face, the hint of worry. 

He gave Rafe a smile and then turned to the waiter. "Can 
you tell us the appetizers for tonight, please?" 

"Of course, there is a shrimp cocktail, a lovely fried 
mushroom and an antipasto plate with olives, cheeses and 
marinated vegetables." 

"I'm allergic to shellfish, I'm afraid." 

"So noted. Which of the others would you like?" He leaned 
partway across and murmured, "I'm partial to the fried 
mushroom." 

"That's fine with me. I'd be happy to share." 

"An order of the mushroom and a glass of white wine, 
please." 

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Once the waiter had gone, Bobby turned his attention back 
to Rafe. "So, Rafe, what exactly are these things you've 
read about?" 

"I... Well, this is a little awkward, huh? Because what if I'm 
completely wrong and this place isn't what everyone says it 
is." Look at that smile. 

Bobby chuckled. "You could always wait until the stage 
show begins. Or you could be brave..." 

"I read a lot, on the internet, about things people did 
together, things men did." Those black eyes weren't afraid 
at all. "I didn't think it was real. I thought it was all stories. 
Then I saw this place." 

"And do you want them to be real? Do you want to be one 
of these men who do these things you've read about?" He 
wasn't going to put Rafe out of his misery. 

"I don't know. I mean, it's exciting fantasy material, but it 
may not be cool in real life. I'm intrigued enough, though." 

Bobby grinned. "It is cool in real life." 

"Yeah?" He got a smile back, the look fascinating and 
alive. "Then I'm lucky you invited me in." 

He thought perhaps he was the lucky one, but he wasn't 
going to disabuse Rafe of his beliefs. "So tell me, what 
most fascinated you?" 

"About here?" 

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"About here, among the things you read." 

"I... I think that it's so unusual, so outside the norm, so 
incredibly sexual. I mean, some of the things I read about 
made me nervous, but mostly they just made me randy." 
God, talk about open. 

"How much sexual experience have you had?" He had to 
know. 

"You mean with this? Or with men? Or with just sex?" 

"Yes." 

"Uh. Well..." That blush got deeper. "Zero. None. And, uh, 
well... I dated a girl for three years, but nothing happened." 

"We're you using her as a beard or were you just 
confused?" Because there was nothing wrong with his 
gaydar, and Rafe pinged it hard. 

"I have this religious family, man. They said that being gay 
was like being possessed. I thought it was just God testing 
me. Then I got out." 

"I'm sorry." Families could be so messy. Nasty. 

"Oh, I'm not. I mean, they just don't get it. My cousin is in a 
fraternity here; he's been calling me a faggot for twenty 
years. It wasn't a huge shock to them." 

"But this might be." Bobby made a hand motion to 
encompass the whole place. "The fact that you're here at 
all, that you're as intrigued as you are." 

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"I don't think I'll probably ever go, 'hey Mom, I get off on 
submission. Pass the peas'." 

Bobby laughed, delighted. "So what made you horny, 
Rafe?" 

"I'm a twenty one year old, Bobby. A stiff breeze can do it 
for me." They laughed together, the sounds mixing well. 

"How about what you want to try out first? If it's real, of 
course." 

"Well, honestly I just... I don't know. I have to tell you, I 
don't do skeezy very well." Those black-black eyes met his. 
"I was at Charlie's, that gay club, and tried to do the whole 
blow job in the bathroom thing and I couldn't do it." 

Bobby raised an eyebrow and looked around the place 
before returning his gaze back to Rafe. "Does this place 
look skeezy to you?" 

"No. No, that's why... That's why I watched." 

"There are rooms here, if you were interested in trying 
something out." He leaned forward, holding Rafe's eyes. "I 
can assure you they are far from skeevy." 

"I... You mean you, with me?" Rafe stared at him, looking 
a little shocked. 

Before he could answer, the pretty little waiter came back 
with Rafe's wine and mushrooms. 

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Bobby waited until they were alone again. "Why so 
surprised? I know you didn't come to try the mushrooms." 

"No. No, but... I'm not very... Sexy, maybe? And you, man, 
you're really intense." 

That answer surprised a laugh out of him. "Sweetie, trust 
me, you're sexy." 

"You think so? I mean, God, that sounds all weird and 
fishing for compliment-y, but, no one's ever thought so, so I 
thought maybe I was screwed." 

"Wouldn't that be not screwed?" He winked and went back 
to his half-finished dinner now that Rafe had his food as 
well. 

He wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve this sweet, 
curious virgin, but he certainly wasn't bored anymore. 

Rafe cut one mushroom, carefully sliding it over toward 
him. "I promised to share." 

"So you did." Instead of spearing the half-mushroom with 
his fork, he leaned forward and opened his mouth, waiting 
for Rafe to feed him. 

"Be careful. They're warm." Rafe brought the fork to his 
lips, eyes focused. 

He held that gaze as he wrapped his lips around Rafe's fork, 
and he tugged the mushroom off and licked his lips. 

"Mmm." Oh, that was a fine sound. "Are they good?" 

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"Yes. Have one." He took his own fork and speared the 
other half mushroom, holding up for Rafe. 

Rafe leaned forward, lips open. Oh, God. What a natural. 
He could just imagine that sweet mouth wrapped around 
his prick. 

"How is it?" 

"Luscious. A hint of garlic, red pepper. I'll have to 
remember this." 

"Do you cook?" It always surprised him to find out people 
cooked. Probably because he didn't do it himself. 

"I love to cook. That's the biggest suck about being in the 
dorms. No kitchen." 

"Fascinating..." He cut off a bit of his buffalo and offered it 
over. "What about this?" 

Rafe tasted it, then frowned. "It's... gamier than beef, isn't 
it? It's amazing. Is it... elk?" 

"Close. Buffalo. That's quite the palate you have." 

"Buffalo. Dude! That rocks." How on earth hadn't someone 
grabbed this... joyful man? 

"It does." And to think, fifteen minutes ago he'd been bored 
and despondent. 

They ate, talking about simple, easy things. Rafe was 

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clever, happy, focused on him and eager to listen. It was the 
most enjoyable dinner he'd had in a very long time. 

By the time they were done, the stage lights had come up 
on a man on a St-Andrew's cross, arms and legs bound with 
rope. 

Bobby got them both shifted so they were sitting side by 
side, his arm across the back of Rafe's chair. "Here's your 
chance to see that this lifestyle is very much for real." 

"I... It's okay to watch, huh? It's not rude to stare?" 

Franz came out, one of Goodfellow's floggers in hand. 

"Sweetie, that's why they're on the stage, hmm? So people 
will watch, get off on the show." He let his fingers slid on 
Rafe's shoulder. "This should be good, too. Ben is a slut for 
being whipped." 

"Does someone love on him after?" 

"Franz will. Most of the scenes here are performed between 
committed pairs." 

"Oh. Oh, good." He got a smile. "I wanted that part to be 
true." 

"Oh, it's true. Subs are cherished, Rafe." He slid his fingers 
along one sweet cheek. 

Those dark eyes went wide, the skin there soft, smooth. So 
lovely and so innocent. 

It was his lucky day. 

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Then the show began, the flogger landing with a deep thud 
across Ben's back. 

Bobby kept his eyes on Rafe. 

Ben moaned and shifted, then began talking, begging Franz 
for more, thanking Franz, letting them all hear his pleasure. 

Rafe looked fascinated. Aroused. 

Bobby spoke into Rafe's ear. "Are you imagining yourself 
in Ben's place?" 

"No. Yes. Maybe?" Rafe turned his head, their mouths 
almost touching. "I want to feel as happy as he sounds." 

"That's an excellent goal." He let his free hand drop to 
Rafe's thigh. 

"Bobby, I..." The soft voice lower. "I've got a woody." 

"I was hoping you did." He slid his hand slowly toward 
Rafe's crotch, drawing the touch out. 

"That's cool here?" He could feel Rafe vibrating. 

"Ben and Franz would be disappointed if you didn't." He 
found Rafe's erection, his hand closing around it through 
the man's jeans. 

Rafe's eyes went wide, lips forming a perfect 'o'. 

"Sweet," he murmured against Rafe's ear. 

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"You'll make me come. I... I haven't..." 

He grabbed a napkin from the table, handing it to Rafe 
before returning his hand to the surprisingly large prick 
pushing at Rafe's trousers. 

"I..." Rafe swallowed hard, staring at the stage. 

Bobby popped the top button of Rafe's jeans and slipped 
his fingers in, searching out the hard heat. He waited for 
Rafe's protest, but none came. He found a thick, solid prick, 
heavy and hard as nails. 

He rubbed the tip and then slipped his hand in deeper, 
circling that heat. He kept his eyes on Rafe's face. Rafe 
looked at him, pretty eyes wide. He watched them as he 
began to stroke, wondering how many it would be before 
Rafe came. 

"Oh, my God." Rafe went bright pink, breath coming 
quickly. 

"The name's Bobby," he murmured, teasing gently. 

"B...bobby. Bobby, I'll... Right here." 

"That's what the napkin's for, sweetie." He moved his hand 
a little faster. 

"Thank God the lights are low..." 

He chuckled, leaning in to blow gently into Rafe's ear. 
"Come on, Sweetie; it's okay to let go." 

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Heat spread over his fingers, Rafe shaking and whimpering 
softly in his chair. He could smell Rafe, musky and sweet. 

"I... I can't believe I did that..." Oh, no. No shame. No guilt. 

He pushed the napkin into Rafe's pants, cleaning both 
Rafe's cock and his own hand. "You see that man three 
tables over with the sandy hair? His lover is underneath the 
table, sucking him off. And that couple there, necking? 
That's what this place is for, hmm?" 

"Oh, that felt so good." Rafe relaxed against him, breathing 
hard. "Thank you." 

"You're welcome." He was hard, aroused. "So that was 
your first time with someone else?" 

He got a single nod, those eyes searching his. 

"That was just the beginning, sweetie. Would you like to go 
to one of those rooms I was telling you about?" 

"I would. I would very much. With you." 

"Oh, yes, I meant with me." He smiled and did Rafe's jeans 
button back up and then stood, holding out his hands. 

Rafe reached for him, the act as natural as breathing. 
"You'll have to tell me if I'm doing this wrong." 

"So far you're doing everything right." Very right. Bobby 
hadn't been this turned on in a long time. 

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"Oh, good. It feels easy." Rafe fit against him, sweet and 
solid. 

"There's no reason for it not to. This place... well everyone 
knows what they're here for, yes?" 

He led them to the bar, getting a key from Xavier, who 
must have seen him coming, because the man just handed it 
over, eyes twinkling. Rafe nodded, offered Xavier a smile. 
Bobby didn't stop to chat or introduce Rafe properly or 
anything -- he was eager for the first time in so long, to get 
to their private room. 

His hand fit on Rafe's hip, the lean body almost bony. 

They were in room three, and he unlocked the door, 
holding it open for Rafe. 

"Thank you." Rafe went in, looking at the simple, elegant 
sofa, the freshly made bed, the low lamplight. The toys 
were in the chiffarobe, so the room looked innocuous, like 
a pleasant hotel room. 

He watched Rafe look around, the slender body drawing 
and holding his gaze. 

"It's nice." Rafe turned to look at him. "I don't know what 
to do next." 

"How about a kiss?" He held his arms open. 

"That sounds imminently doable." Rafe chuckled and 
stepped close, letting him feel the length of that sweet body 
for the first time. 

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Groaning, he lowered his head and brought their mouths 
together, the hair of their goatees rubbing. The kiss was 
clumsy, but eager, sweet as spun sugar. He moaned softly 
into it, their lips vibrating, leaving a tiny tickle. It made him 
smile and he was almost chuckling as he opened Rafe's lips 
with his tongue. 

That was a dear, gentle sound, and Rafe stepped closer. He 
put his hands on Rafe's back, starting with the shoulders 
and sweeping slowly down, all the way to Rafe's ass. 

Rafe was thin, lean, but that little ass was like a pair of 
bubbles, pushing into his hands. He loved the eagerness, 
the instincts -- Rafe's body knew what it wanted, even if 
Rafe himself didn’t. There wasn't an ounce of fear, either, 
just a pure, simple joy that turned him on. 

He squeezed Rafe's ass as he deepened the kiss, pushing his 
tongue into Rafe's mouth, and tasting that joy. Rafe fed him 
little sounds, tongue tentatively sliding against his, then 
growing more and more confident. 

Bobby pulled Rafe tight against him, letting Rafe feel the 
strength and heat of his need. The little gasp he got was 
satisfying as hell. He slowly led Rafe to the couch, sitting 
on it and drawing Rafe down with him, all without 
breaking the kisses they shared. 

Rafe's hands slid down his stomach, exploring him 
carefully. 

"Yeah, sweetie, touch me." He wanted that mouth, but he'd 
take Rafe's hands to start with. 

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"You're so warm. It's so different, than kissing a girl..." 

"I should hope so." He took Rafe's hand and slid it down to 
lie over his crotch. "Very different." 

"Yeah. Can I... Can I see?" Rafe's fingers slid and explored, 
petting him. 

"Yes, please." The words came out as more of a groan, but 
he spread his legs and pushed his hips toward Rafe. 

Those long fingers carefully opened his fly, eased his cock 
out of his boxers, the fingertips dancing over the shaft. 
Groaning at the gentle touches, he stayed still, letting Rafe 
look and feel to his heart's content. 

"You smell good. So many people don't." Fingers wrapped 
around the crown of his cock, tugging gently. 

"How do you know that?" God, his voice had gone deep 
and husky, the sweet touches affecting him more than he'd 
thought possible. 

"I live in a dorm. There are lots of stinky people." 

Oh, that was funny. Chuckling, he pushed gently with his 
hips, sliding his prick through Rafe's hand. "I bathe," he 
murmured when his chuckles had faded away. 

"You do." Rafe's nostrils flared. "And you use milk and 
honey soap." 

"That's right..." Rafe had an amazing nose. "I'll have to try 
a different one for next time." 

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"Mmm. Next time." One fingertip slipped over his 
cockhead, rubbing gently. 

"Fuck, that's nice." For someone who'd never done 
anything with someone else, Rafe had good instincts. 

"Good. I jack off a lot. I know what feels good to me." 

"What's a lot?" He thought maybe a good first step for Rafe 
would be not allowing him to jack off. A test. 

"Uh. Every morning. Every night. Sometimes during the 
day, if I get all stressed out." 

His eyes were half closed as Rafe worked him, but he 
watched the lovely face closely. "What would you do if you 
couldn't?" 

"Hmm? I don't know. I mean, it's how I wake up, how I go 
to sleep." Those cheeks were pink. 

He wrapped his hand around Rafe's, sped his movements a 
little. "You know a little bit about how this works from 
your reading, right?" 

"Yeah. Yeah, a little." Rafe watched their hands, his cock, 
fascinated. 

"You're a sub, I'm a dom -- you know what that means?" 

Rafe nodded. "You're a Dominant - that can mean a lot of 
things, but you make the relationship move." 

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"That's right. And I want you to not play with yourself until 
tomorrow night when we meet again." 

Rafe groaned, a dark spot appearing on the man's pants. 

"Don't worry; you'll come one more time before you go 
home." 

"Okay." He got a nod, those eyes fascinated and focused 
and right there. "You trust me not to?" 

"I'll know if you have or not. And if you have and try to 
pretend you haven't? You'll be punished." 

"I'm not big into lying." Rafe's hand squeezed, distracting 
him. 

"Good. Although punishments can be fun." 

"What kind of punishments?" Their hands moved faster. 

"Span... spanking. Keeping you from coming. Tying your 
hands behind your back. Doing my laundry." He figured 
Rafe had to be good at laundry. 

"I'm good at laundry. The idea of spanking scares me a 
little." 

"Yeah? Are you hard?" He pushed Rafe's thumb across the 
top of his cock, groaning. 

"God, yes. Aching." 

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"Then we'll have to see just how scary it is." He moved 
their hands a little faster. "Do you want to suck me?" 

"I never have, but I want to try. It looks so... so hot, so... 
intimate?" Rafe stopped, rolled his eyes. "You have to 
think I'm an idiot." 

"I think you're charming and sweet and very, very sexy." 
He cupped Rafe's cheek with his free hand, thumb opening 
Rafe's lips. "You can suck me if you want. All you need to 
remember is no teeth." 

Rafe's tongue lapped at his thumb, so hot. "Do you have a 
rubber?" 

"For sucking?" The room came fully equipped, if Rafe 
insisted. Most men didn't, not for sucking. 

Or perhaps it was just that membership at the Hammer was 
exclusive and there was testing available once a month. 

"I... I don't know. I just... Isn't that normal? I'm sorry, I'm 
very new at this..." 

He tousled Rafe's hair. "Hey, easy, sweetie. It's entirely up 
to you. In my experience most men don't for blow jobs. 
And I can assure you that I'm clean. But if you're more 
comfortable using one, that's your prerogative, hmm?" 

"Okay. Would you... I mean, if you were me, would you 
feel comfortable?" 

"I don't give many blow jobs, though I admit -- I'll make an 

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exception for you. And no, I wouldn't use a condom." Of 
course Rafe was a virgin. "I am not, however, a virgin." 

"No. I didn't expect you to be." That thumb slid on his 
cock, over and over. 

He groaned, the heat in his belly increasing at that touch. 

Rafe lifted his hand up, licking the clear liquid away. 

"Fuck... tease." 

"No. No, just curious. Honestly." Rafe leaned down, tongue 
pressing, so softly against his slit. 

His eyes wanted to drop closed, but he kept them open, 
eager to watch as that soft tongue sent pleasure shooting 
through him. 

The touches were feather-light, gentle little licks and 
careful kisses guaranteed to drive him mad. He spread his 
legs a little farther, more to keep himself from humping up 
into Rafe's mouth than anything else. 

"Sweet Rafe..." 

"Mmm." Rafe's hand kept moving, fingers sliding down to 
cup his balls, so carefully. 

"You've got good instincts." When was the last time he'd 
enjoyed a blow-job? It didn't matter -- he was enjoying this 
one. 

The man's smile burned through him, then the tip of his 
prick was taken in, so carefully sucked. He made a garbled 

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sound, his whole body going tight with the effort not to 
thrust, not to just take that sweet mouth like he wanted to. 

That swollen, pretty mouth popped off his cock. "Did I hurt 
you?" 

"What? No, no, sweetie -- that was a good noise." He 
tousled Rafe's hair. "You could do it harder, even. 

"Harder? You don't let me hurt you, now." 

"Sweetie, unless you're using your teeth and biting, it won't 
hurt." A demonstration was obviously in order. After he'd 
gotten off. 

Rafe chuckled, "No biting." Then that mouth wrapped 
around his cock again, the suction fierce and hot. 

"Fuck! Yes!" His hips snapped, sending his cock deep 
before he managed to back off and let Rafe have control. 

Rafe sucked hard, both hands wrapped around his shaft so 
he couldn't push too deep. He slid his hands into Rafe's 
hair, fingers curling around the silky strands. Rafe kept 
working, sucking and licking, even as Bobby could tell his 
jaw tired. 

"Play the slit with your tongue." 

Rafe hummed, licking and lapping his slit, the sensation 
tickling. 

"Harder," he growled, wanting to finish before Rafe's jaw 
gave out. 

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Rafe pushed harder, tongue fucking his slit. 

"Fuck! Yes!" His hips bucked, his hands holding Rafe's 
head right where it was as he came, spunk pouring from his 
cock. 

Rafe gagged a little, gasping, blinking randomly. "I. Oh." 

He stroked Rafe's cheek. "Mmm... very nice." 

Rafe pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, hands shaking 
as he cleaned his face. 

Bobby tugged Rafe up into his arms, finding that the man 
fit perfectly curled into his side. "So what did you think of 
your first blow job experience, sweetie?" 

"It was intense. You taste better than I expected." 

"What had you expected?" Every man tasted different, 
though Rafe should have had an idea from his own spunk. 

"I expected it to be more bitter. Less sexy." 

"It's not the same as tasting your own at all, is it?" God, the 
things he could teach this sweet man. 

"No. No, not at all." Rafe leaned into him, breathing hard. 

"Getting is far better than giving." 

"It was good, knowing you liked it." 

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"There are men who've turned it into an art form. I'm not 
one of them, but I can still make you love it." 

"What... what do you like? I mean, sexually." 

"I'm partial to intercourse, sweetie. Long and slow, quick 
and hard, up against the wall." 

"Oh... Does it hurt?" Those hands landed on his belly. 
"Sometimes I read that it's terribly painful, sometimes not." 

"It's like the teeth in the blow-job -- it can hurt, but if you 
do it right, it's mmm-mmm." 

Rafe chuckled, "Good to know." 

"You don't need to worry -- I'm very good at it." He tugged 
Rafe closer, his prick trying to fill again as they talked 
about it. 

"Are you? What else do you like?" 

"Most of the things we do here at the club do it for me to 
some extent. Having a sweet young thing in my arms? 
That's pretty fucking good." 

"Ah, now the truth comes out. I have to make sure not to 
age." That laughter was happy and teasing, warm. 

He leaned in to kiss Rafe, taking that laughter in. Rafe 
tasted like him. Fuck, that was hot. Groaning, he took the 
kiss deeper, bending Rafe backward. Rafe leaned, 
whimpering into his lips, cock hard between them. 

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"Time to further your education," he murmured, pushing 
Rafe so he was lying back on the couch. 

"I'm a good student." 

"Not too good, I hope. I'd like to think we'll need to 
practice. A lot." 

That laugh pushed into his lips, Rafe's beard tickled at him, 
hands slid over his shoulders. 

"Open your pants and take yourself out. Stroke it a few 
times for me." 

"I. Okay. Okay." Those cheeks went a rosy pink, Rafe 
sliding down his zipper. 

He loved that slight shyness, the way Rafe pushed through 
it. 

Rafe's prick was cut, surprisingly thick, the veins heavy. 
Groaning, Bobby leaned in and traced them lightly, almost 
teasing. Rafe's hand worked with his, sliding up, working 
the tip. 

"Nice." Leaning in farther, he traced the veins again, this 
time with his tongue. 

"Oh..." Rafe went perfectly still, watching him. 

Looking up to watch Rafe's face, he batted away Rafe's 
hand and took a swipe of his tongue across the tip. 

"Oh..." Rafe arched, hips bucking. "So hot." 

Cherry on Top - 195 

Rafe was the hot one, but he was going to take the 
compliment happily. He wrapped his lips around the head 
of Rafe's cock and sucked, tongue sliding back and forth 
across the head. 

The lean hips sawed up and down; the pretty, heavy cock 
spread his lips wide. 

So sensual. He still couldn't believe Rafe hadn't been 
snapped up by anybody yet. 

He let Rafe in deeper, let the sweet movements take his 
mouth. He could feel Rafe's cock start to swell, drops 
splashing on his tongue, faster and faster. It wouldn't take 
long, not Rafe's first time getting blown. 

He pushed his hand down into the boxer's, finding and 
rolling Rafe's balls. Someone liked that little ache, body 
going tight, rocking into his lips as seed pulsed into his lips. 

He swallowed Rafe down, enjoying the taste. It was salty 
and more sweet than he'd have expected. 

Rafe blinked down at him, swayed. "I. You. Wow." 

Smiling, he slid up to lie half on, half next to Rafe and 
patted his cheek. "You're welcome." Bobby had to admit, 
he felt very smug. And very not bored. 

"I..." Rafe reached for him, pulled him into another kiss. 
"You taste like me. Bobby, please. Tell me we can do it 
again." 

Cherry on Top - 196 

He smiled, licked Rafe's bottom lip. "Again and again, 
sweet boy, until you scream." 

Nope. Not bored at all. 

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Lee Benoit 
Before dawn and after dark, Lee Benoit is a writer of gay 
fiction, some contemporary, some speculative, some 
historical. During the daylight hours Lee is a professor of 
sociology, and round the clock a two-spirit, single-by-
choice parent of two. 
http://www.leebenoittales.com/ 

Misa Izanaki 
Originally from Hawaii, Misa has been writing since she 
was twelve.  She has a fondness for cats, squirrels, and 
anime. Most of her stories come from her muses, the 
constantly evolving group of pretty anime-style men who 
live in her head, and she is constantly poking at them for 
new ideas. When she's not writing, Misa can be found 
painting war game miniatures or trying in vain to catch up 
with her backlog of comics and books. 

Kiernan Kelly 
Kiernan Kelly lives in the wilds of the alligator-infested 
U.S. Southeast, slathered in SPF 45, drinking colorful 
tropical, hi-octane concoctions served by thong-clad cabana 
boys. 
All right, the truth is that she spends her time locked in the 
dark recesses of her office, writing gay erotica while 
chained to a temperamental Macintosh, drinking coffee, 
and dreaming of thong-clad cabana boys. 
Sigh. 
Kiernan's webpage is: http://www.kiernan-kelly.com/ 

Sean Michael 
Often referred to as "Space Cowboy" and "Gangsta of 
Love" while still striving for the moniker of "Maurice," 
Sean Michael spends his days surfing, smutting, organizing 
his immense gourd collection and fantasizing about one day 

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retiring on a small secluded island peopled entirely by 
horseshoe crabs. While collecting vast amounts of vintage 
gay pulp novels and mood rings, Sean whiles away the 
hours between dropping the f-bomb and pursuing the kama 
sutra by channeling the long lost spirit of John Wayne and 
singing along with the soundtrack to "Chicago." Check out 
Sean’s webpage at http://www.seanmichaelwrites.com/ 

Syd McGinley 
Syd McGinley writes the Dr. Fell series and other gay 
fiction. Syd is a Sexuality Studies program advisor and 
English lecturer who fled Thatcher’s England in the late 
1980's, and has lived in the American Midwest since then. 
Frying pan and fire comes to mind. Visit Syd at 
www.sydmcginley.com and Dr. Fell at 
www.inlocodomin.com. 

G.R. Richards 
There's a reason guys growl for G.R. Richards Erotica. You 
would never know it by the love of public television 
documentaries and great food in high-end restaurants, but 
G.R. Richards pens some of the world's steamiest guy-on-
guy stories. Be on the lookout for Richards' two hot 
Christmas stories, *Ivy League* and *Vintage Toys for 
Lucky Boys*, from Dreamspinner Press, *Devil's Eyes* 
and *We the Bus People* from Torquere Press, *The 
Brothers of Hogg's Hollow *from Amber Allure, and *A 
Descent into the Mailroom*, a gritty BDSM office menage 
tale from eXcessica Publishing. Richards is also a 
contributor to *Rainy Days and Mondays *(Torquere 
Press) and many upcoming anthologies including 
*Someplace in the World *(Torquere Press), *Men at 
Noon, Monsters at Midnight *(STARbooks), and *Skater 
Boys* (Cleis Press). 

Cherry on Top - 199 

http://www.grrichards.webs.com/ 

Tracy Rowan 
Tracy Rowan has done office work, sold books, made and  
sold all manner of arts and crafts, taught beading, edited 
tech manuals  and been a long-term caregiver.  But the 
thing she's found most difficult and therefore most 
fulfilling is writing.  She lives in a craftsman-style two  flat 
on Chicago's northwest side where she and her housemate 
spend a lot of time  planning the garden,  hanging with their 
friends and laughing a lot. 

BG Thomas 
B.G. Thomas lives in Kansas City with his husband of over 
nine years and their fabulous little dog.  He sees his 
wonderful daughter just often enough to miss her when she 
isn't there. He has a romantic soul and is extraordinarily 
lucky to have many friends. 

He loves science fiction & fantasy, horror and romance and 
has gone to SF&F conventions his entire adult life, and 
been lucky enough to meet many of his favorite writers.  
He has made up stories since he was kid; it is where he 
finds his joy.  In the 90s, he wrote for gay magazines, but 
stopped because they wanted all porn without plot. 

Excited about the growing same-sex romance market, he 
started writing again.  He sent out a story and was thrilled 
when it was almost immediately accepted. 

“Leap, and the net will appear,” is his personal philosophy.  
“It is never too late,” he states.  “Pursue your dreams.  They 
will come true!” 

Visit his web site at:  http://bgthomas.t83.net 

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GS Wiley 
I'm a writer, reader, teacher, traveler, sometime painter and 
semi-avid scrapbooker who lives in Canada. I have a 
fantastic husband, who indulges me in all these pastimes, 
and makes a mean omelette while he's at it. Visit me on the 
web at http://wileyromance.googlepages.com 

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