Poseidon's Pleasure (A "The Southern Cross" Story)

...“So how’d you get to be Poseidon, Brett?”

“Wrong place, wrong time, is my best guess. They cornered me.”

“Aw, come on. Don’t tell me you’re not having any fun at all.” He offered me some sort of meatball on a toothpick. I accepted it and chewed; its peppery, bourbon-tinged flavor made my mouth water for more.

“I can’t say that. Actually, I’m flattered they asked. How’d you get to be a member of my court?”

“I’ve no clue. When I checked in, there was an envelope waiting for me at the front desk informing me I’d been selected, if I wanted to, so I said why not?”

I looked him in the eye. “That ‘why not’ used to get you in all sorts of trouble.”

Mark nodded and met my gaze without flinching. “I know, but I’m more careful these days.”

It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Sure, you are, Mark. I believe you.”

He leaned in, his green eyes hot and serious. “I am, damn it! I grew up. Now stop trying to make me feel seventeen again.”

Why should he get off the hook? The years dropped away, and I regressed to seventeen again, too. I drilled him with my best stare and kept my voice down. “You gave me the clap!”

Mark’s fingers closed around my wrist. “Christ! I didn’t do it on purpose, you know.” He scanned the crowd, and so did I. No one was paying any attention to us.

“And I don’t have it now, for your information. I don’t have anything.”

I really wanted to believe that, but I knew I couldn’t. “Bully for you. I’m not going to be your fuck buddy for the next few days, so if that’s what this is about, you can get over it.”

“Fuck bu… Have you lost your mind?”

Yes, I had, and I didn’t care if I got it back. I stared at him as he forged ahead.

“I wouldn’t fuck you again, Brett Houston, if you were the last man on the island! I loved you, man, and you just walked away like I was nothing more than dog shit you needed to clean off your shoes.”

“You told me you weren’t out fucking anyone else. That was a lie, you little twink. You tricked your way across town and back.”

Mark ripped off his mask and glared at me. “You were the older know-it-all, the one in too much of a hurry to put on a fucking rubber!”

He had me with the truth on that fact. “You weren’t the only one who was younger, Mark.”

“And that makes it all better?” He leaned back and blew out a long breath. “Okay, okay. Can we not do this? We haven’t seen each other in twenty years, and we’re going at it like it’s only been twenty minutes.”

He had me again, because he was right again. Nothing would be served by sniping back and forth. Seeing him thrust me back to an uneasy era in my life. It was time for me to act like the man I was if I wanted to stay in touch with him from now on, maybe even call him friend.

“I’m sorry, Mark.”

He gawked at me, then stuck his pinkie finger in his ear and wiggled it around. “I’m going deaf. I would swear I heard Brett Houston say he was sorry.”

“Funny. See me laugh? I mean it, Mark. I’m sorry for a lot of things.” But I’m not sorry about those times I had you.

He handed me another meatball. His eyes asked me to accept it as a peace offering.

“I was young, dumb and full of cum, Brett. If it was the wrong thing to do, it came naturally to me. But you know that.”

I accepted the meatball, making sure my fingers stroked his as I grasped the toothpick.

“Yeah, I know. And I forgot what it was like to be young and free. I remember it better now, for some reason.”

Mark’s hand touched my thigh. My whole body tightened, my balls drew up, my cock swelled. I didn’t want to react so strongly to him, but I was glad I did. I’d forgotten what it felt like to make love, to touch more than some man’s hard dick. I ached to feel alive again...