The Sweet Side Of The Ropes: Enthralling Tales Of Male-Male Romance Read online

  "Okay, drop your drawers and have a seat,” he said when my cane chinked against the porcelain. There was a smile tilting his lips, I just knew it. I could hear it in his voice.

  "Sit? I only have to piss."

  "Doesn't matter. The easiest way to relieve yourself when you're visually impaired is by sitting down. Otherwise, it's pretty much hit or miss."

  Jesus. I'd never thought of that. I hadn't peed sitting down since I was in potty training.

  Jules chuckled. He probably guessed what I was thinking. “I suppose you can handle this by yourself. I'll be right outside when you're done."

  I heard him leave, closing the door behind him. Quickly, I attended to my business, flushed, washed and dried my hands, and did all of it without falling, tripping, or cracking my skull open on the bathtub.

  Opening the door, I was smiling as broadly as any three year old who'd finally mastered the art of the toilet.

  "Jules?"

  "I'm in the kitchen!” Jules’ voice echoed in the hallway.

  Following my nose, carefully sweeping my cane in front of me, I made it to the kitchen and took a seat at the table. Delicious smells were coming from the direction of the stove, making my stomach rumble.

  A few moments later, the aroma of eggs and bacon wafted up as I heard Jules set my plate down in front of me. He took my hands and placed them over a napkin and a cold metal utensil. “Here's your fork.” He let my fingers feel the shape of the tines. “Glass of orange juice is at one o'clock. On your plate you have scrambled eggs at six o'clock and bacon at twelve."

  Eating without seeing was an experience in and of itself. Half a dozen times my fork reached my mouth with nothing on it. I spilled the orange juice and knocked over the salt-and-pepper shakers.

  In the end I managed to feed myself. I couldn't imagine having to have cooked anything, though. I'd probably have set myself on fire, and told Jules so.

  He laughed. “You've only lost your vision for a day, Devin. Children who lose their sight or who are born blind learn as any child would, but it takes in-depth rehabilitation to learn to care for yourself and to be independent when you become visually impaired as an adult."

  He cleared the table and then took my arm. “Come on, I want to show you something,” he pulled me up from my seat.

  Jules led me back into the bedroom. “Wait here for a minute."

  I could hear clothes rustling, felt the breeze of his passing as he moved about the room. Finally, I felt his hand on my arm. “Do you trust me, Devin?"

  "Of course I trust you,” I answered without hesitation. “Why?"

  "Because I want to show you what it's like."

  "What what's like?"

  He didn't answer. Instead, I felt Jules’ lips, warm and petal-soft, press against mine. Suddenly, I was enveloped with the subtle fragrance of his cologne, detecting hints of orange and chocolate in it that I'd never been aware it possessed, even though I wore it myself. I could feel the bristles of his facial hair against my cheek; I could almost hear them scrape across my skin.

  Moaning, I opened for him, welcoming his tongue. It was cool and sweet from the orange juice he'd drunk. I warmed to the kiss quickly..

  I found myself enthralled by the texture and taste of him. It was as if I'd never been kissed before. My entire world was reduced to his velvety tongue, to his warm breath, to his sweet taste. To the sounds of his breathing, and the small, eager noises he made in his throat as he kissed me.

  Touching him, revealed bare, sleek skin. I ran my hands over his biceps and shoulders. Cupping his scruffy cheeks in my palms, I tried to picture him in my mind. I knew his face well, knew the angle of his jaw and the shape of his nose. In my mind I saw the fullness of his lips, the deep cleft in his chin, and the beauty of his eyes.

  His fingers unbuttoned my shirt, sliding it from my shoulders. The cooler air raised the hair on my arms, and sent a shiver down my spine. Jules’ long, elegant fingers ran lightly over my chest, pausing to tease at my nipples. His touch was electrical, light and easy, then gone as he worked my belt free and unzipped my khakis.

  "Lie down on the bed.” Jules pressed against me, backing me up until my calves felt the mattress behind them. I sat, and felt him pull at my shoes and socks, first one foot then the other.

  Something warm and wet slid up the center of the sole of my left foot, and it took a moment for my mind to register that it was Jules’ tongue. Funny, but I'd never realized how exquisitely sensitive feet were, not until his lips closed over each toe in turn, pulling them one by one into his warm and wet mouth. His teeth nipped at the delicate skin over my anklebone, his fingers massaging my instep. By the time he turned his attentions to my right foot, my hands were twisted in the sheets and my body burned for him.

  His hands slid under my hips, pulling both my pants and underwear off. Blood suffused my skin, warming it to a blush, knowing that I was now lying naked on his bed. God knew why—I was hardly a virgin and Jules couldn't see me. Maybe that was it—he was seeing me with his hands, with his mouth, and somehow that made it much more intimate than any other encounter I'd ever had. There was no hiding anything from his gently probing, questing fingers and tongue.

  Something soft and silky dragged across my belly and chest, making my skin ripple and my cock fill. I saw a shadow of light against the gauze pads that covered my eyes as Jules removed my sunglasses, then full dark returned as he draped the silk over them. He lifted my head, tying the scarf in place. Each silken fold of the material caressed my skin like cool water; I could smell his cologne in the fibers.

  I felt strangely vulnerable, and a shiver ran through me. No wonder Jules had asked if I'd trusted him—I couldn't imagine doing this with someone I only knew casually. Not knowing where he would touch me next was unnerving; not being able to see the expression on his face was downright frightening. Was he enjoying himself? Did he like the way I felt? Or was he repulsed and just going through the motions? I was besieged by a sudden, paralyzing uncertainty.

  "Jules?” My fingers danced in the air, searching for his face. “I'm ... are you...?” My chest began to tighten as a familiar vise squeezed. I'd always been claustrophobic, uncomfortable enough in elevators to avoid them at all costs. Any small space drew the same reaction from me—my heart would begin to race, a cold sweat beading on my brow and panic clawing at my gut. Now, for the first time since I'd voluntarily surrendered my vision, I felt the beginnings of a panic attack. Even though I was in a large, airy bedroom, the darkness pressed against me, flattening me to the bed.

  "Shh ... breathe, Devin.” Jules’ whisper was soothing. He stretched out next to me, wrapping his body around me.

  His closeness calmed me further. Grateful that he was so patient, so understanding, my hand found his cheek and I pulled him closer, resting my forehead against his.

  "Just lie back and feel, Devin. Let me show you.” He kissed my palm.

  His soft kiss reassured me further. I lay back, taking a deep, calming breath, but it was difficult. Although the gauze and silk only covered my eyes, I felt as if the darkness was suffocating me. But even more than that, I wanted to see Jules, wanted to watch him touch me, wanted to look into his eyes to see if I pleased him. It took all of my willpower to resist tearing away the silk that covered my eyes and ripping away the gauze pads.

  Jules’ body slid along mine. My skin felt hypersensitive; my body was exquisitely responsive to every hair, every pore, and every subtle imperfection of his skin. I was acutely aware of every point where his body touched mine—his thigh resting across my leg, his chest against my arm, his fingers brushing my nipple.

  His touch was as light as air as his fingers ghosted over my flesh, a whisper made corporeal. I moaned, wanted more as he drove me crazy with his feather soft touches and butterfly kisses. Hard, my body was painfully needy; hungry for all of him instead of the teasing he'd allowed me thus far. My hands reached out, feeling for his and sought for him to hurry along.

  His teeth nipped at
the delicate skin under my jaw, and I heard him chuckle.

  "Impatient are we?” Jules's breath tickled my ear, his tongue following his words, swirling along the folds, his teeth nibbling at the lobe.

  Growling, I trapped the hand that had been worrying at my nipple. Wrapping my fingers around his wrist I forced it down toward the part of me he had steadfastly ignored.

  Hissing through my teeth as his fingers wrapped around my length, I was unprepared for my body's reaction to his touch. Every muscle contracted momentarily, my back arching in an ecstatic spasm as he stroked my cock. Not since I was a teenager had I come so close to climaxing at a single touch.

  My body was electrified, every molecule charged with need and want, every nerve ending exposed and screaming to be satisfied. In a small corner of my mind I realized that my nervousness and claustrophobic fear had evaporated, leaving behind only a hunger so sharp that it was almost a physical pain.

  Jules’ thumb circled the head of my cock, spreading the wetness that had gathered there, my body shuddering in response. I imagined I could feel the nearly imperceptible swirls of his fingerprints against my skin, feel the pulse in his palm beat against my shaft.

  Kissing his way down the length of my body, Jules’ lips were warm and soft, his tongue hot, wet velvet that swirled over my nipples, teased at my navel. Then ... oh, then it was there, lapping at the head of my cock, searing me right to the core.

  It traced the length of my erection from tip to root and back, following the thick vein that pulsed beneath the delicate skin. Flicking lightly under the ridge, his tongue brushed over the tiny slit, there, gone again, back. Again. Again, until I thought I'd lose my mind for want of more.

  He must have felt me tensing, because just at the moment when I thought I would lose it and cry out begging for him to do more than just taste, he swallowed me whole.

  Reason left me.

  I'm not sure if in that moment I would have been able to remember my own name, had I been asked. The only thing I was aware of was his mouth on me, and the combination of wet heat and silk that enveloped my cock. The moment stretched forever, and yet wasn't nearly long enough.

  "Julian.” His name was a prayer on my lips, an entreaty, a warning.

  A splash of something hot and wet against my leg and a groan that vibrated around my cock set me off, rocketing, crying out against the sheer pleasure of it as an orgasm so powerful that it stole the breath from my throat, roared through me.

  I finally settled, breathing hard, waiting for my heart, beating wildly against my breastbone, to quiet. I realized that the gauze covering my eyes felt wet. I was crying, although my clenched teeth caught my sobs. It was over, and I didn't want it to be. I wanted it to go on, greedy to keep him close, loathing the smallest space that might separate us. I'd never felt closer to another human being in my life as I did in that moment.

  "Devin?” Jules” soft voice touched me as much as the fingers gently stroking my cheek. “You okay?"

  Mutely, unable to trust myself to speak, I nodded.

  "Intense, huh?"

  Again I nodded. “I could feel everything, with every molecule of my body."

  "I know."

  His lips curved against my shoulder as he smiled and kissed me there. He placed another whisper soft kiss under my jaw, then another on my lips, sweet, warm, all too brief. “But here's the thing—it wasn't because of the blindfold. It's because you trusted me, opened yourself up to me. That's what I wanted to show you."

  "I don't understand."

  "Did you ever wonder why I backed away when you made it obvious that you wanted more out of our relationship? It wasn't because I didn't want you—on the contrary. I wanted you so badly that it nearly killed me to say no to you. It was because you didn't trust me."

  "I always trusted you!"

  "Not in the way you think. You didn't have faith in me, in my abilities. You didn't really believe that I could be an equal partner. You worried when I went out alone, especially at night. Tell me, can you tell if it's day or night right now?"

  "I answered slowly. “No. Dark is dark. I guess going out at night for you is no more dangerous than going out during the day."

  "You constantly tried to move things out of my way. Did I have to run in front of you, pushing things out of your way so you didn't trip? Do you understand now how emasculating that would be for me?"

  Again, I nodded my head.

  "Whenever we had dinner together, you cooked. On the rare occasion you agreed to let me near the stove, I know that you checked to make sure I turned if off afterwards. Whenever we went out, you opened the doors. Whenever we—"

  I moaned, feeling like an idiot. “I get it, I get it. I was totally insensitive."

  "No, not insensitive, exactly ... you just didn't trust me. You didn't understand that, visual imparity aside, I'm no different from you. You treated me as if I were fragile, helpless. I couldn't let you into my heart, because I knew you would break it, Devin, even if you never meant to."

  "I'm so sorry. Why didn't you just tell me I was being a jerk?"

  Jules laughed then kissed me again. Thank God he wasn't angry, wasn't pulling away from me. I don't think I could have taken that.

  "I didn't tell you because I was afraid. That's why I didn't want you to do this experiment. What if you still didn't understand? What if you still didn't trust me?” He laid his head on my chest. “But when I looked at you sitting in the kitchen, scrambled eggs on your shirt and orange juice pooling in your plate, I had to touch you. Had to know what it might be like if you opened yourself up to me, trusted me to take care of you."

  "Oh, believe me, I trust you. I would never have been able to survive the afternoon without you. You took care of me, Jules. You taught me, helped me, but never made me feel incompetent. And now you..."

  "Loved you? Yes. And I will again, if you still want me, and if you can accept me as an equal partner."

  "I like the sound of that. Partner,” I smiled. Partner. Lover. Yes, I definitely liked the sound of those words. They made me feel warm from the inside out.

  My fingers touched the silken folds of the scarf he'd used as a blindfold, feeing the gauze pads underneath it. I realized that I really hadn't needed the experiment to understand him. I had only needed a little blind faith.

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  FIREHOUSE HEAT

  Heat.

  Ash Collins remembered his Lieutenant telling him heat is a firefighter's worst enemy and best friend. At the time he'd thought the man was being overly dramatic, but now, as Ash stood in full turn-out gear readying himself to follow his Lieutenant into a working house fire for the first time, and felt sweat already beginning to dribble down his spine and collect in the crack of his ass, he realized the truth of the statement—at least, the worst enemy part of it. It was the best friend part that left him puzzled. Ash hadn't even gone through the doorway yet and already he felt as if he were melting. He couldn't imagine how he would find himself friends with the unbearable heat.

  Part of it was the fault of his equipment. His bunker pants and coat were of a heavy, water and flame resistant material and, added to the weight of the rest of his turnout gear, including his helmet, Nomex hood, boots, gloves, and SCBA pack, he was carrying at least fifty extra pounds of weight. Ash was physically fit, his 190 pounds of lean muscle sitting well on his six-foot frame, but carrying that extra weight in the middle of a hot August day made the inside of his gear feel like a sauna.

  Add to that the adrenaline rush that had started when the bells rang in the firehouse and the call came over the scanner for a 10-75, their code for a fully-involved house fire, his nerves that were already stretching to the breaking point as he faced the front of a house belching smoke and flame, and the temperature inside the blazing building which might at times reach 1200 degrees Fahrenheit, and you had the makings of one soggy probationary firefighter.

  Air whooshed softly in his facemask and echoed in his ears along with his thudd
ing heartbeat as his Lieutenant, Joe Murphy, forced open the front door with a Halligan tool, a spike used for forced entry. A staggering wave of heat blasted them. The room beyond was sizzling with heat and crackling with flames. The two firefighters moved inside the house, making their way slowly through thick, black smoke. As the first two firefighters on the scene, it was their job to perform a quick search for anyone who might be trapped inside the burning building.

  Other firefighters advanced on the house carrying an inch-and-a-half hose, ready to blast a jet of water on the raging inferno. Behind them the scene on the street seemed chaotic to the casual observer, but was in fact a well-choreographed dance. Red lights flashed, and sirens wailed as pumpers and aerial trucks arrived, and people sprang into action. Firefighters pulled hose and tapped hydrants, while police erected barriers, and paramedics set up a triage area.

  None of which was at the forefront of Ash's mind as he followed closely behind Murphy. All he could think about was procedure, keeping up with his Lieutenant, searching for victims, and trying not to get dead in the process. As they reached the second floor of the building, they searched room by room, quickly and efficiently. In the last room, a bedroom, they find the remains of the elderly couple who lived in the house.

  Regardless of how prepared he might have thought he'd been before entering that bedroom, the sight of the dead couple nearly overwhelmed Ash. He'd seen photos of fire victims during his training, listened to lectures by seasoned firefighters and psychologists warning about the trauma a firefighter could experience in such a situation, but no photographs or speeches could truly prepare someone for this. In the firehouse, bodies in this condition were referred to as “crispy critters,” an unfortunately accurate description of the human remains that lay heaped on the floor near a burning bed.

  He swayed in his gear, but a strong hand on his arm held him upright. Looking into the facemask of his partner, he could see Murphy's blue eyes looking back, concerned but at the same time stern.

  "You okay? Suck it up, Collins! We've got to get them out,” Murphy ordered. His voice was muffled by his breathing apparatus, and his hand remained on Ash's arm as if waiting to make sure the rookie wasn't going to keel over or sick up into his facemask.