Yo! As y’all know, I’m Wyatt O’Brian Evans, author of the hawt, sexually-charged and action-filled series of novels entitled, “Nothing Can Tear Us Apart.” The latest installment is “FRENZY!” Check out: wyattevans.com/nothing-can-tear-us-apart-frenzy-book/
Now, due to popular demand, I’m re-presenting a fast-paced, tension-filled and sexxxy short for yo’ reading “pleah-zure!” Entitled “Ferraris and Football,” it’s the saga of two star-struck lovers, Ja’Shon (Shon) Benjamin and Wali Antonio Ramirez (WAR). Instead of a dark and stormy night, it all begins on a bright and sunny afternoon at an upscale Washington, D.C. eatery…but ends (or does it, really?) on a windy and treacherous evening.
Ya see, these two big boyz are all caught up in a tangled and rather messy “luv thang.”
So, let’s down to it and git wit it…!
It was 1:08 p.m. at Fogo de Chao, a Brazilian steakhouse chain noted for its impeccable cuisine and service. And it was an absolutely glorious autumn day in September, with leaves blowing every which way. Although the sun was shining quite strongly and ever so brightly, it was on the rather cool side for that time of year.
Well, Mr. Ja’Shon Edward Benjamin, simply was not on the “cool side”—not one little bit. The President/CEO of JSB P.R., Inc., he kept glancing back and forth at his watch. A prospective client was minutes late, and this public relations guru was thinking, “Ohhhhhhhh, Lawd…here we go! C.P.T (Colored People’s Time) has struck again!” The adjectives irritated and perturbed couldn’t quite come close to what he was feeling, because tardiness was one of this business owner’s pet peeves. Besides, time is (fuckin’) money!
At just 30 years old, this Black native Washingtonian had the bona fides and was quite accomplished and rather connected. His JSB P.R., Inc. was a sought after public relations firm in the nation’s capital; quickly, he was becoming a major player in the industry.
And being from an ultra-respected, upper crust family certainly didn’t hurt, and gave him that “leg up.” (Indisputably, Benjamin believed in the power of “Con-nec-tions.”) His father, Jason Edward, was a trailblazing defense attorney, while his mother, Elizabeth Marie, was a prominent rectal/colon surgeon.
Particularly beginning in high school, the brutha felt like the proverbial football—Mom aggressively tried to coax him into the medical field; meanwhile, Dad mounted a full-court press to pull him into the legal profession. He had dreams of his son joining him as partner in his storied and prosperous firm. And when Ja’Shon was a senior, Dad wanted him to attend “Hawvahd” (Harvard), while Mom wanted Yale.
Defiantly, however, Ja’Shon chose Morehouse. He wanted the experience of a historically Black institution. And besides, being gay/SGL, this brutha wanted to have that “special secondary education”–along with the primary one he was really there for. (Do you catch my drift? Are ya feelin’ me? ‘Sho ya do! LOL.) In other words, he wanted to be “Where The Menz Are.”
Determined, Ja’Shon was adamant about carving out his own destiny. A “news junkie” and very political, he fell in love with journalism and political science. Then, on the precipice of his senior year at Morehouse, he had an epiphany: start his own public relations firm! He certainly had the savvy and the people skills for it.
So after earning B.A. degrees in both journalism and poli sci, he returned to D.C. and entered the Masters of Business Administration program at the George Washington University. He needed that if he were to make a business one helluva smashing success.
Midway during his time at GWU, he got his APR (Accredited in Public Relations) accreditation. And right after graduation, he convinced his parents to release his considerable inheritance early; and with much of it, he put up his shingle.
Sitting at his table in the center of Fogo, this President and CEO peeked at his stately Rolex Oyster Perpetual once again. He was becoming more and more irked and miffed by the second. Part of all THAT had to do with his personality, which was ¼ entitled, ½ confident, and ¼ imperious.
Mr. Benjamin was cerebral, buttoned up, and more than a little closed-off emotionally, tending to keep his cards pretty close to his vest. As well, he had the uncanny ability to adapt to and navigate any situation for the benefit of his clients. And of course, for himself.
The oh-so pleasingly “mas-cu-line” Mr. Benjamin had a dashing side: his beloved cherry red Ferrari California convertible was a testament to that. (By the by, his jet black Mercedes E300 4MATIC Sedan was sitting in the garage of his impressive home in upscale Chevy Chase, Maryland.)
(And, did I mention that the bro was closeted? Yessum! That fact created problems for him–as you’ll see later.)
Truly, Mr. Benjamin was a class act all the way! He was dressed to the nines in a perfectly fitting, black Emporio Armani pinstripe suit, crisp white Armani shirt, and Brioni burgundy tie with slight, white stripes. And to top it off, he was simmering in Chanel Egoiste Platinum—just enough to titillate, to tantalize…to impress.
And so, so very easy on the eyes! Smooth milk chocolate brown. Shaved head. Thick eye brows. Brown, penetrating and piercing “eagle” eyes behind stylish designer frames. Neatly-groomed Van Dyke. Affecting, engaging smile. His Teddy Pendergrass-esque voice added to his presence, his stature—when he walked into a room, he pretty much owned it.
His “dee-li-cious” physique completed the primo package! This beefy, muscled bear of a man was 5’7” and clocking in at a little over 190 pounds. One could see that the gym had been particularly good to him. (LOL.)
“Mr. Benjamin, puleeze fo’give me for bein’ late.” The deep, syrupy loudspeaker voice startled Ja’Shon, who seemed to be in another world. As he popped straight up in his chair, his eyes bucked and bulged! Then fluttered. He simply couldn’t believe this mountain of a man who was standing—so tall, large and in charge, like a freakin’ living oak tree. And he was directly in in front of him!
The enticing bass voice—with just a tinge, a smattering of a Latin accent—belonged to the P.R. guru’s prospective client, who followed up with, “It’s been one heck of a day! Had an office emergency, then got all caught up in this dang downtown traffic! And in a rush to meet’cha on time, I somehow forgot my iPhone. Otherwise, I would’ve called ya.”
Then flashing a sparkling, broad smile, he affirmatively stated, “I’m Wali. Wali Antonio Ramirez, your one o’clock.”
Now grinning, he added, “Actually, your 1:15.” He’d taken stock of his watch.
Swallowing hard and rising, the flustered bro replied, “Uh…no worries, Mr. Ramirez. Things happen! Great to meet you.” Immediately, Ja’Shon’s annoyance evaporated! Rapidly, in actuality.
Working to recover his composure, he extended his thick, meaty hand. And when Ramirez grasped it with his own meat cleaver of a mitt, Ja’Shon was in for another helluva surprise!
The prospect’s handclasp was so self-assured, so sturdy, so confident…and so freakin’ warm, almost like a furnace! Sweet, sharp sparks of electricity zipped from one hand to another, flowing all throughout each man’s body.
And then, without warning, that ole wondrous “thang” called chemistry totally enveloped and consumed the pair! Somehow, someway, they immediately knew “what time it was,” that they were “on the SGL”—and in such a fuckin’ hawt, masculine way.
Their eyes were locked and loaded onto each other. And, it wasn’t clear when disengagement would occur—if at all! The prospect uttered, “Ahh…I appreciate that. By the by: call me Wali.”
Ja’Shon thought, “Lawd and Geesus Chryist! What a masculine, ruggedly handsome and built mufuker!” And the Paco Rabanne’s 1 Million cologne he was submerged in certainly added to Wali’s rather intoxicating appeal. Sho’ nuff.
Wali Antonio Ramirez (his nickname was War) was Blatino—his dad was Puerto Rican, and his mom was African-American. At 38, he was medium brown. And at 6’1” and 270 pounds, he was all “stevedore bear” muscle. He wore his dark hair military style (of course he would; he was a former Marine). His ‘stache and full beard were neatly trimmed.
Ja’Shon’s eyes drifted to and lingered on Wali’s full, luscious lips. Next, they darted to the thick black hair peeking out of the top of his partially open azure blue silk shirt.
And dang—the nips, the nips, the nips! They were like twin peaks workin’ to pierce their way outta that fabric! Instinctively, Ja’Shon knew that somebody had nurtured and cultivated “dem babies,” and that he surely wouldn’t mind picking up the mantle! (LOL.) The bruh suspected that Mr. Ramirez was hairy all ovah—from head to toe. Such a fuckin’ turn-on!
Wali was poured into a pair of formfitting designer jeans. He rounded off his ensemble with a pair of truly kick ass, black cowboy boots.
At this point, the only thing that crossed Ja’Shon’s mind was, “The azz! The azz! What does it look like? I’ve gotta see the azz…” Ya see, Mr. Benjamin was an anal top. However, he was orally versatile.
Concurrently, Ja’Shon’s dick was “thinking” the exact same thang! As proof of that, it was growing. Pulsating. Widening. Thickening. Expanding.
Meanwhile, Wali was just as taken with Ja’Shon! He was turned on by his looks, size, and demeanor. Quickly, the construction business owner spied the PR guru’s hefty, now quite visible tool.
Wali mused, “That dick! That dick! That fuckin’ dick! Does he really know how to use it! How does it feel?” Y’all, the openly-gay Mr. Ramirez was a total anal bottom—and who so ab-so-lute-ly loved to suck dick.
But make no mistake: he’d only give himself to a man he really cared for and about. For a number of reasons, this H-U-G-E ex-Marine had difficulty finding a suitable partner because the vast majority of the guys he dated wanted him to top them.
Finally, Mr. Benjamin said, “Wali, let’s sit down.” He followed up with, “Do call me Shon.”
Flashing sparkling eyes and an engaging, infectious smile, Wali answered, “My pleasure…Shon! Great name, by the way.”
“Ah, thanks…Wali.” As Little Richard would say, “Good Golly Miss Molly!” Shon’s gut told him that this guy was gregarious, sensitive, easy going and emotionally open–unlike himself to a large degree. These qualities made Wali even more intriguing, even more appealing.
Shon didn’t like to admit it, but he was just not the most emotionally open and accessible guy. And he could never figure out why. He constantly kept his guard up; as a firewall to protect his heart.
Lickety-split, the waiter took their orders. Shon began, “Wali, tell me what your needs are.” (Both men thought, “What a helluva loaded question!”)
Wali was the sole owner of Ramirez Construction, located in the urbanized, southernmost part of Silver Spring, Maryland. It’s a major business hub that lies to the north of Washington, D.C. After a stint in the Marines and getting a Bachelors in Business Administration from the Catholic University in D.C., he formed Ramirez Construction. The owner was looking to hire a public relations expert to maximize his business, to take it to the next level.
After a little small talk and when their meals were served, they “got down to brass nails and tacks.” “Ramirez Construction is doing quite well—but it can be doing much better,” stated Wali.
He continued, “I’ve researched your track record. And according to my sources, you come highly recommended. I wanna become a real major player, and I believe you can make that happen.”
“So, you’ve done your research, eh?” Shon smiled.
“Oh, fuckin’ aye,” Wali shot back. Whoa! Shon liked his ‘tude.
“Good man,” Shon responded. “Well Wali, here’s what I’m thinking: construct a PR campaign to level the playing field against the competition. This would include raising your local/national profile. Conduct market research. Write and distribute press releases. Pitch articles about you and your company. Plan special events and increase community involvement, which is critical. Networking/partnering with local businesses.”
“Damn. I like the sound of all that.”
“When I’m done, you’ll have zoomed past the competition.”
As the conversation ensued, both men had to work to totally focus on the business at hand. “The Chem Factor” was spiking, escalating…intensifying! Corners of their minds were drifting off into…well, other thangs. (You feelin’ me? ‘Sho you are. LOL.)
At the end of the meeting, the contract was signed. “Your campaign begins today, Mr. Ramirez,” Shon announced. “I’m very much looking forward to putting everything into motion.”
With a sly wink, Wali replied, “And, I can’t wait for THINGS to be put into motion, either.” Now, wasn’t that a saucy double-meaning! Shon thought, “This man ‘done did’ it! He’s overtly flirting with me…and I like it!”
Shon got up from the table. With his own style of sly wink, Shon, in his best bedroom voice responded, “No doubt.”
After both men shook hands (Uh, oh! There went that electric, sexual energy again!), Shon said, “I’ll be in touch. Very soon.”
Then, out of the blue, Wali had a brain flash! He said to himself, “This guy wants to see my azz! Lemme give him sumthin sumthin to salivate ovah.”
“Thanks, Shon! Gotta take a leak. Have a great day.” And without haste, he turned—marching away.
That mesmerizing sight blew Shon the fuck away! Wali had one gloriously delectable azz! It was muscular. Bubblelicious! Juicy. Perfectly formed. An indisputable basketball azz! And for full effect, Wali was workin’ it to the nth degree. Proud of himself, he was grinning from ear to ear.
Shon whispered to himself, “OMG. That was more than worth the wait…”
With that, the PR guru picked up his leather briefcase and headed out…with nastee, lascivious thoughts running through, and playing out in his head!
And a dick as hard as a slab of concrete.
Over the following weeks, the two men had several meetings about the campaign. In no time flat, they become completely comfortable and at ease with one another. Over and over, Wali thought, “This man is so exuberant, good-natured and self-aware! What an incredible aphrodisiac…”
The exchange of furtive glances. Mutual knowing, and longer than necessary looks. The back and forth of (somewhat) sexually suggestive double entendres. All this fueled their attraction for each other, which burned brighter, stronger—and mo’ and mo’ fierce!
Even though they both were quite hesitant about “mixin’ bizness with pleasure,” Wali had had enough! He had to do something. No longer was there any getting around it.
He said to himself, “Somebody’s gotta make the first move, so it might as well be me. He can only say ‘no’; and if he does, it certainly won’t kill me.”
So early one Friday evening, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, sucked it up and made the decision to call Shon. His oversized hand trembled a tad as he punched in the digits:
“Hello, Shon! How’s it going?”
“Wali! It’s going well. Did we have a meeting scheduled?” (Now, the meticulous PR guru knew that wasn’t the case. He was trying to be coy.)
“Ah, nothing scheduled. (Pause.) Hey…I’d just like to clear the air about sumthin.”
(Shon was somewhat taken aback! However, he sort of knew what was coming.)
“Lissen, Man…I’m just gonna come clean. (Pause.) We both know ‘what time it is’: ya see, I’m very much attracted to you! And from the vibes I’m gittin’ from you, you are feelin’ the same. (Hesitation.) Am I correct?”
(You could hear the proverbial pin drop!) “Well, AM I???”
(The flabbergasted shortay gulped.) “Yes, Wali. You ARE right on the money! I’m quite into you.”
(Now, Wali let one helluva guttural laugh rip.) “Well, don’tcha think it’s time we do sumthin about it? To get to know one anotha bettah?”
“And Shon—I’m ain’t talkin’ about just sex. I mean, if it happens, it HAPPENS. First though, let’s hang out, and see where things go. Comprende?”
“Si papi…si!” (Yo! Those words—in that spicy Latino accent–turned Wali the fuck on.)
“Tell ya what: I’ve got tickets to the ‘Skins afternoon game for tomorrow, Saturday! And after that, we can get a bite to eat. Sounds good? (Pause.) You like football, don’tcha?”
“It’s cool. And if they paid me, I’ll be their most ardent, enthusiastic cray-cray fan.”
(Wali fell out in laughter). “Well, I’ll have more than enough enthusiasm for the both of us! I’m a rabid fan, particularly where the ‘Skins are concerned.”
“Aight Wali—let’s do it. And since you made the offer, I’ll pick you up.”
“In the Ferarri?”
“Did you really have any doubt? (Shon chuckled.) What time should I pick you up?”
“2 p.m works!”
(Then, a bit of awkwardness followed.)
“Well…see you then, Wali.”
“You got it, ‘Partner’.” (Shon thought, “Did he just say THAT??? And with such a seductive voice?)
Aight now! Game on.
It was a close game, with the ‘Skins losing by 3. “What a helluva bummer!” Wali exclaimed.
Afterwards, they headed to La Ferme, an upscale French restaurant with an elegant country-farmhouse décor. The eatery was located in Chevy Chase, a few miles from Shon’s place. Since it was such a gorgeous autumn day, they took seats on the porch.
Suddenly, both men became reticent and reserved. They were dying to jump into bed because they were so into each other physically: each was a muscled, beefy bear who wanted another muscled, beefy bear!
As well, they shared similar points of view and outlooks on life. And, they seemed to have an emotional and mental connection developing. Shon went for guys who were more emotionally expressive and accessible; Wali was into daddies who weren’t quite as free with their feelings—for a while, anyway. You see, he enjoyed the experience of “opening them up,” if you will.
At a point half way through their meals, Shon got super serious. With steely eyes and in a commanding tone, he declared, “Look, Bro: no more playin’ around! I want you, so…”
“Let’s do it! NOW!” Wali cut him off, staring back at him with piercing eyes. (Pause.) I was gonna tell you the same thang! You just beat me to the punch.”
Like a machine gun, he followed up with, “Your place is fine. Besides, we’re not that far away.”
Next, Wali reached under the table and gave Shon’s hefty right thigh a firm, sensuous squeeze. That sent shivers up and down Shon. “I’m no longer hungry for food…but ‘hongry’ for you.”
“Let’s git the fuck outta here,” Shon grinned.
As Shon’s cherished cherry red Ferrari California convertible roared to its destination, the two bruthas were tight-lipped. They were thinking—no fantasizing—about what was to CUM. However, they were very, very touchy-feely.
“Shon, you have an amazing home here!”
“Thanks for saying that, Wali.” Then, immediately pulling him into him, Shon moaned, “But you’re the truly amazing one.” And with that, he deftly grasped the Blatino’s thick neck, pulling his face into his.
“Ohhhhhhhhhh, Gawd,” Wali purred as Shon’s full lips hungrily and utterly consumed his. And in a hot second, Shon’s tongue entered Wali’s overheated and willing mouth. After their tongues did the swirly-swirl, they did a variety of dances: the mambo, the boogie-woogie, the tango.
“Daymn, Shon! Nobody’s kissed me like that in a long time…”
“No…daymn yourself, boi!” Shon chuckled as he stroked, and then squeezed Wali’s bubblelicious basketball butt. “What a primo azz you got.” (By the by: Wali got off on Shon calling him “boi.”)
“And I know you liked it when you were watching me work it when I walked away at our first meeting.”
“Hell yeah! No doubt.”
“And, I knew I’d like THIS.” Without warning, Wali clutched…and then pumped Shon’s big-headed tool, which had considerable girth, width and length. A deep, protracted groan flew outta the recipient’s mouth.
“Wait here,” barked Shon. “I’ll be back for ya in five minutes.” Turning, he sprinted up the elongated staircase.
In less than that, Wali found himself in the center of his host’s spacious,
darkened boudoir, with its undeniable African influence. The soft, smooth jazz, the burning incense, and the multiple lighted candles strategically positioned in various parts of the enormous room created an intoxicating, sexually-charged atmosphere! And, the mirrored walls captured any and all of the raw and funky action that was to transpire.
As Wali’s eyes adjusted to the candlelight, he found Shon’s warm, slippery—and oh so talented—tongue back into his mouth once again! At the same time, each man was using his hands to explore each other…and they so liked what they were feeling!
“Let’s get outta these clothes,” Shon ordered. And in seconds, they were both in their B-DAY suits.
They just stared at each other. Y’all, The Gym had been very, very good to both these guys! They’d put years of HARD work, smarts and sweat into their workouts, which produced beefy, rock hard and nicely proportioned physiques.
There was no need for words, as each man’s eyes (and stiff, straining dicks) showed exactly how much they both approved of –and desired–the other’s body. The bonus for Shon was that Wali’s series of tats heightened his arousal.
Now, they found themselves bumpin’ and grindin’ on the massive waterbed, and it fell soooooooooooo dang good! When Shon discovered that Wali was hairy from head to toe, a big ass, bright smile stretched from one corner of his mouth to the other.
This spurred the brutha to freakin’ devour Wali’s protruding nips, one of the Blatino’s foremost erogenous zones! And after Shon was done, those teats were like cones of flesh, the size of pencil erasers. In the meantime, Wali’s powerful hands were sampling each and every inch of his partner’s smooth, humongous physique.
Both men’s pulsating, meaty and stiff “chocolate sausages” (Don’tcha know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout? Of course ya do…LOL!) were leaking like fuckin’ sieves! Ready to explode at any moment, second, juncture.
Shon’s milk chocolate brown, 5’7”, 190 pound brickhouse of a body continued to slither down Wali’s medium brown, mammoth, 6’1”, 270 pound body. The shimmering candlelight enhanced the effect and impact of the highly eroticized atmosphere. And certainly, let’s not forget “dem” mirrored walls!
Our man Shon licked his plump, inflamed lips. After ogling Wali’s stiff and quivering tool—the size of a torpedo and spurting copious amounts of precum—he clutched, and then stroked that ample sausage with his huge, lukewarm right hand. That motion caused the recipient to tremble, and moan ever so deeply.
And then, without warning, Shon’s slick, spit-filled and searing mouth to-ta-lee consumed the chocolate meat! Down to the fuckin’ root…
“Geesus Chryst, PA! Si, goddammit! Suck my motherfuckin’ bicho grande (big dick)!!! I haven’t been eaten in such a fuckin’ long time…” Shon loved it that Wali had called him the “P-word.” He happily went about his work.
As the ravenous “Ultimate Oralist” sucked, slobbered and swallowed, he reached under and gripped his partner’s round, voluptuous azz. Not wasting any time, he inserted one of his thick fingers DEEP inside the warm, quivering—and anticipatory—butthole. “Si, Pa! Si, Si!!!” Carefully, slowly…and deeply, that finger probed the steamy, tight and juicy orifice.
That action caused Wali to grip the Ultimate Oralist’s head and thrust and pump his engorged and still-growing cock in and out of that sucker’s greedy mouth. And freakin’ back again! As well, that swollen cock kept spurting ounce after ounce of slippery and delectable precum all into the ravenous mouth–and down the willing throat!
“Gawd Pa—how I’ve needed this…” Smiling to himself, Shon continued to deep throat. Over and over again. (Besides, it was all quite tasty, too!)
All of a sudden, Wali pulled his dick outta Shon’s mouth. Rolling over on his stomach and spreading his majestically muscled thighs, he growled, “Eat my azz, SIR!”
Lickety-split, Shon dove off the bed. He positioned Wali doggy style, with the luscious melons hanging at the very edge.
Without hesitation, he parted the muscle cheeks, spit in the manhole’s center…and jammed his tongue right in! “Ohhhhhhhhhhh FUCKKKKKKKK, Pa! What are ya doin’ to me!”
Lifting his sloppy wet mouth out of the puckering, pinkish brown, anticipatory hole, Shon growled, “What the FUCK you’ve been wanting me to do! (Pause.) Now, enjoy the ride…” And, Wali did just that. For quite some time.
“Dammit,” Wali shouted, “Gotta suck you!”
“Well, turnabout IS fair play,” Shon howled.
Immediately, the Blatino swallowed him up, pushing his mouth all the way down to the root of the phat, wide, throbbing piece–which also was leaking gobs of thick, slippery precum. Shit! Shon felt as if his rocket had shot from the launching pad. And ready to explode!
After his oral feast, Wali peered up at Shon with shining, piercing eyes. “Shon, take my culo (azz)! Make love to me.”
“Are you sure about that?” (Shon swore he spied a tear or two forming in his expressive eyes.)
“Yes, Pa. Without a doubt.”
Then he whispered, “Just be easy. Man, it’s been a long time.”
Wali continued. “I feel a special connection between us already! So, I’m ready…more than ready.”
“Baybee, I feel it, too.”
Shon then quipped, “Now, don’t worry: you’re in good hands…you know, like Allstate!”
That cracked Wali up. “Yo, you funny!”
At once, Shon got as serious as a heart attack.
His eyes capturing Wali’s, he proclaimed, “Baybee, I promise I’ll take great care of you. My mission is to make our lovemaking an experience you won’t soon forget! Trust and believe.”
Wali’s eyes were still locked onto Shon’s. “Somehow, my heart tells me that that’s the truth.”
Feeling overwhelmed by emotion—which he wasn’t used to—Shon wasted no time generously prepping Wali with the silkiest, most expensive lube on the market. Next, he stretched a purple, extra-large latex condom over his engorged, throbbing…and marble hard dick. Lightly slapping the melons, Top Man growled, “Roll ovah on your belly for me.”
“Si, Pa! Fuck my culo…and make love to me.”
Bottom Boi shuddered as Top Man slowly and meticulously glided into him; and concurrently, Top Man’s entire body quaked! Seemingly in one voice, they cried out, “Gawd daymn!”
Shon was true to his word: he delivered an electrifying, passionate, and sweaty lovemaking experience! So sweetly special. And, trust and believe: it was not a one-way street, for Wali gave as good as he got!
Their feelings, their connection for one another intensified as their copulation transpired two more times, into the late night and the early dawn.
However, the reality of the situation was that Wali was opening up his heart to Shon more than Shon was opening up his to Wali.
Alas, that would prove problematic for the unfortunate Blatino—causing him a world of pain. And embitter him.
It was now a little after 10 a.m. the next morning, and both men were basking in the afterglow of their sumptuous and stupendous lovemaking. As Shortay was cradling his guest in his bowling ball biceps, his guest’s head was resting on his cavernous chest.
“Have…have you ever been in a relationship?
“Yep, I have,” he smiled up at Shon. “Three, as a matter of fact. You?”
“Well, if you don’t mind me askin’, what happened between you guys?”
“They were too possessive! I felt like there was a fuckin’ choke chain around my neck. Know what I mean?”
“I feel ya.” Now peering so deeply into Shon’s eyes, Wali added, “When I’m partnered, I give my guy all the space he needs. I understand that we’re both busy, and that we’ve had lives before we got tagetha. Hey: I don’t believe in smothering a brotha!
“That’s good to hear.”
“I also believe in healthy compromise. It’s critical in sustaining and nurturing a relationship.”
Next, he added: “However, there’s one thang I NEVER, EVER compromise on.”
Shon’s ears perked up. “Wha…what’s that?”
“Monogamy! Once we are committed, that’s it! I don’t share.”
“I understand. Gotcha ya.” For whatever reason, out of the blue, Shon became uncomfortable. He was feeling the unsettling waves of being overwhelmed. He worked to clear his throat.
“Yo,” he exclaimed. “Let’s lighten up this conversation…and do this.” And with that, Shon pulled Wali on top of him…
…and the Hawt Fun began in earnest once again! (Freakin’ YOWZA.)
During the weeks that followed, there were more dates…and mo’ hawt “sexcapades!” Wali became more emotionally invested in Shon; while Shon…well, not so much.
Actually, as Wali was opening up his heart to Shortay more and more, Shon was pulling back, little by little.
Of course, Wali took notice. Although it confused and irritated him, he played it cool; he didn’t sweat Shon.
And then, tragedy struck a few days after Thanksgiving! Shon’s dad had a stroke, due to years of mounting stress and overwork. Although Shortay’s relationship with his father had been strained for years, he was shaken to his very core. Leveled, in fact.
Wali made a beeline to the hospital as soon as he found out. “Come with me, baybee,” he whispered, escorting the nearly broken man to a quiet corridor.
“Look at me,” he continued. “It’s gonna all work out. And besides, you’ve got me. I’ve got your back, and I’m right here by your side.”
In tears, Shon looked up at Wali. “Thanks…I know my dad and I don’t see eye-to-eye often, but I can’t lose him! I just can’t…”
“And you won’t! I promise,” Wali vowed, wiping Shon’s swollen eyes.
Seconds of silence went by. Then, with his eyes transfixed on Shon’s, Wali declared, “Shon, I love ya…and am in love with you.”
Shon was shocked! But then again, he really wasn’t.
This admission, this utter and complete baring of Wali’s heart, frightened Shon to no end! You see, it had always been nearly impossible for Shortay to receive true and pure love from an intimate partner—and to return it in kind. That’s why he tried never to get to close, never reveal too much.
But wasn’t this man, Wali, different? Couldn’t he take the chance?
Suddenly and without another word, Wali gathered Shon up into his boulder-shaped arms…and held onto him. For what seemed like an eternity…and a day.
Shon couldn’t handle it. Any of it. As a consequence, he pulled away from Wali. Abruptly. Sharply.
During his dad’s illness and convalescence, he claimed he was “simply too emotionally drained” to be involved romantically. So, the only real interaction they had was on the telephone, conducting business.
Po’ Wali! He was befuddled, perplexed, bewildered, exasperated, and hurt. Big time! His gut told him that the issue was so much more than Shon’s father being ill.
He kept asking himself, “Did I do something wrong? Was it my fault?” The second-guessing was driving him cray-cray. And, he couldn’t take it any longer.
So, one evening a few days shy of Christmas, he decided to pay Shon an unexpected visit at his house. Needless to say, Shortay was…well, blindsided.
After Shon gave mucho obfuscation and a litany of lame excuses, and did the “avoidance dance,” Wali blew his top.
“Dang, bro. I just figured you out.”
Staring him dead in the eyes, he proclaimed, “You’re deathly afraid of emotional intimacy! You’re simply too petrified to let someone in. Why? Why?”
Turning away from Wali, Shon announced, “Wali, lissen…even though I enjoy you tremendously…in soooooo many ways…and Lawd knows I do…I want the option to see others.”
Po’ Wali! He was floored, his mouth left hanging open.
“I…I’m just NOT ready to settle down with just one person.”
“But Shon! Look at all that we’ve shared! It was more than just sex…for me, anyway.”
Shortay was stone-faced; he was becoming disengaged, turning colder by the second.
“So, you wanna be a man-whore? Is that it, Shon? Dammit, I told you I wasn’t into playin’ around. After what we shared, I really thought you wanted sumthin monogamous, too.”
Now, that “po-ti-cu-lar” adjective really rubbed Shon the wrong way, got under his skin! “Yo bro–I never agreed that we’d be monogamous,” he shot back.
Wali was incredulous! Working to fight back tears, he sniffled, “OMG. I just thought…oh, how wrong I was…AM!
Shaking his head, he moaned, “I’m such a freakin’ idiot! I’m burned again.”
Reaching out for his arm, Shon sighed, “Puleeze…don’t say that, man.”
“Don’t fuckin’ touch me, you fake ass!” The Blatino swatted the hand aside. “And you know what else? You really don’t wanna be OUT! Why can’t you be open and honest about your sexual orientation—who you really are?
“I mean, you don’t have to wear it on your sleeve! Just stop workin’ so damn hard to hide who you really are!”
Now, that commentary, that assessment, stung…no rankled Shon! “I ain’t ready to do that! And I don’t feel bad feeling that way!”
“Shit man, you NEVAH will be ready! Never.”
“There’s no getting through to you,” the dejected Wali mumbled. “I’m done.”
Wali’s resignation produced one of the strongest visceral reactions Shon could ever remember having! As the Blatino began to bolt to the door, Shon shouted, “Wait, baybee!”
Facing Shortay, Wali growled, “For freakin’ WHAT???”
“Can’t we just…well, you know?”
“F.W.B.? Friends with benefits?”
“Yeah,” gulped Shortay.
“You MUST be cray-cray! No dice.”
Then glaring at and eyeing the beleaguered man up and down, he declared, “And, I will not work with you anymore.”
Shon’s composure was completely shattered! “Don’t…don’t do that, Wali. C’mon now..,”
But Wali wasn’t hearing any it. He charged outta the door, nearly slamming it off its hinges.
And po’ Shon! He slumped down to the floor, head in his hands…
…and crying some big ole crocodile tears…
Christmas was an ab-so-lute-ly horrible time for both men! Wali was off licking his wounds, and trying to make the best of a fucked-up situation.
Surprisingly, Shon was taking the breakup the worst. He just couldn’t get Wali outta his head! His gut told him that the Blatino was on the money about pretty much everything.
And Lawd knows he missed Wali! This included all the emotional, mental—and definitely physical—“goodies” that came with the “package.” Fo’ real.
So, near the end of January, Shon sought counsel from Carlton, one of his best buddies.
“Shon, you need to look within yourself. Really examine why you put up the barriers that you do.”
“I…I don’t know if I can,” Shon dropped his head. He began to sob.
“Shon…from what you’ve been telling me, Wali is everything you’ve ever wanted! Why push him away? And, why do you keep pushing folk away?”
“I don’t know…”
“Well, you need to find out soon. I’m going to refer you to a solid pro so he can help you do just that. Because we’re friends, I won’t see you in a professional capacity.”
“Cool. I need to do this.”
“Yes, you do. And there’s no time to waste.”
So, Shortay immediately made an appointment—which led to others. Shon began to explore and deal with feelings and certain truths. And one of those major truths was that he needed, wanted…and loved and was in love with Wali.
Therefore, Shon proclaimed: “I’m gittn’ my man back!”
“Wali…I’m soooooooo sorry! I was wrong…”
“Look, man! Don’t call me again! EVER.”
“Puleeze, Wali…lemme explain.”
“Just fuckin’ STOP IT! You’re wasting my valuable time, and I ain’t havin’ it.”
“Wali, will ya hear me out? Will ya gimme a chance to explain my behavior?”
“I’ve fuckin’ moved on, Shon! It’s a wrap.”
“What do ya mean, ‘moved on’?”
“It’s just what I said.”
“Wait, Wali! Dammit…”
And then, the phone went, “click.”
Geesus Chryst! Shortay’s panic morphed into a RAGE! Actually, a FRENZY! As a result, the to-ta-lee undone bro decided to do what Wali had done weeks earlier—confront.
So, he jumped into his treasured and much-adored cherry red Ferrari California convertible and screeched outta the driveway. In mere moments, he’d made it onto the interstate.
It was a windy and bone-cold winter evening. The falling sleet caused poor visibility. The slick pavement, covered with patches of snow and ice, was treacherous.
Shon didn’t have his full attention on the road, for all he could think about was Wali—and what could have been.
And now, what might NOT ever be!
Lost in regret, pain, and emotion, his Ferrari got wayyyyy too close to the grey Cadillac Escalade right in front of it.
“Ohhhhhhhh, shit!” Shon shouted. You see, he’d just plowed into the back of that vehicle! And as his head lurched back, he would be able to see the imminent impact of the extra-large, red and white U-Haul van directly behind his beloved Ferrari…
Lights out, Y’all.
“Wali. This is Carlton.”
“’Sup, Carlton. Lissen—if you’re on this phone to plead Shon’s case, well…”
“Wali, I don’t mean to interrupt you. I’m calling because Shon’s been hurt.”
“HURT??? What…what are ya talkin’ about?”
“He’s been in a horrible car accident.”
“HOW? What happened?”
“Lissen—just get down to Georgetown (hospital). I’m here already, in emergency.”
“Carlton, tell me? How was he hurt? How bad is it?”
“It’s mighty bad! He was rushing to see you! He plowed into a vehicle, and then a truck hit him in the back. He probably didn’t have his mind on the road…”
“Oh, God! Oh, Gawd…I’m on my way!”
Inhaling deeply and shutting off his iPhone, he bounded out of the house.
With tears in his eyes, and like a bat out of hell…
To Be Continued…?