For a moment, a split second in time, guilt niggled at Mike for thinking unkind thoughts. Ted’s slapping his chest and proclaiming, “I am the man!” soothed Mike’s conscience.
Well, if Ted got lucky with an ad, maybe Mike could too. Some fleeting bit of hope found him checking out the local Craigslist site.
M4M. Passing through. Good lkg, 26, NSA fun Friday nite. U host.
Hmm… Another drifter like himself. Twenty-six years old, so not too much older than Mike. Good-looking. Didn’t all men think they were good-looking?
He could host, since he had the trailer. No, not his trailer, just where he slept for now. Dare he answer the ad? What did he have to lose but a bit of loneliness? Whoever posted the ad wanted a one-night stand.
Mike wanted more, so much more, but he’d learned not to expect too much out of the men he hooked up with.
He typed, “Gay male. 22. Versatile. Can host for NSA, possibly more.”
Feeling daring, he uploaded a picture of himself from the neck down… naked. My how he’d changed since his choir boy days.
He showered, got ready for bed, and checked for an answer. Nothing yet. What had he expected?
Lying in bed alone, he imagined the man who’d posted the ad, running his hand over his chest and pinching a nipple. For too long he’d settled for his left hand. How he longed for touch, to feel another’s skin against his own.
To be kissed. Too many of his closet cases hadn’t wanted to kiss, like somehow sleeping with a man wasn’t the point of no return to the illusion of a straight life, but kissing was.
Tossing and turning in bed, he couldn’t help imagining someone there, arms to hold him, lips to kiss him, a body to see to his needs.
But most of all, he wanted someone to talk to.
Or make sweet music with.
What? Since when had he gotten all stupid and romantic? No happy-ever-after waited for him down the road.
He’d settle for happy-for-now and stroked his hand over his cock. Felt good, but not as good as someone else’s hand might, or someone’s mouth. Oh, to have lips wrapped around his prick, bobbing up and down.
Would the stranger who’d placed the ad be tall or short, built or slender? Blond or brunet? Redhead? Cut or uncut? Well hung?
His toes curled and he reached his other hand behind his balls, applying pressure to his taint.“Ah, yes, like that,”he’d tell his lover. The mystery man would run his mouth over Mike’s pecs, tasting, nibbling, taking a nipple inside warm heat.
Oh yes, oh yes! He stroked harder, breath coming in shallow gasps. His imaginary lover worked a slick finger into Mike’s ass, finding the perfect spot, bringing their mouths together in a savage kiss.
Mike bowed off the bed, yanking furiously at this dick. Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Drops of cum slid over his fingers, splattered his stomach and chest.
Fuck, cumming felt good. Not as good as he wanted, but a release. He lay panting on the bed, moonlight shining through the crooked blinds over his bedroom window.
He’d make the writer of the Craigslist ad very happy indeed, if given half a chance.
Mike cleaned up with a handful of tissues and drifted off to sleep, dreaming of not being alone.
* * *
Killy hauled his stuff into a dingy room and settled his laptop on a rickety desk to search for gold. First, he checked the Triksterz line-up—he huffed and rolled his eyes at the cover band’s name—approving some choices, wondering what the hell they were thinking with others. He replied, “I’m afraid I don’t knowHighway.” He’d play any other song from his band’s three albums, exceptHighway.
AndAfter. No way, no how.
Next, he checked his posting. His ad paid off with five responses—two from spambots and one from a right-winger.
You’re going to hell, you damned pervert!
Tell him something he didn’t know.
Two other messages left.
