Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 3

started groping. Me, not him. And started growing, because, fuck, who wouldn't? Alex was a hot number, and he flicked with that tongue.
    Remember I told you I'm long, right? The men, they started noticing this as I grew. And of course, you know I've got an exhibitionist streak, so right there, I stiffened more—until I was hard as a length of rebar, thinking that damn, I'd sure like to do something with this, and shootin' off for our audience was starting to seem like a fine ambition.
    The guys started hooting like we were up on stage, and here I was, playing stripper or some shit, it got me off. Someone started chanting, and soon everyone was joining in, me and Alex trying to serve up trays, pulling beers, mixing highballs, and we're hearing "Body shot, body shot, body shot."
    So, fuck. We did. Alex wasn't much for beer or straight liquor, I knew that. He liked the sweet stuff. He snagged a bottle of pre-made margarita (strawberry—ugh), passed it to me, and said "do it," as he dropped to his knees.
    Holy cow. Peering down at this hot piece of flash, tongue out, tickling just above my pubes—all my sense flew out to sea. I may not drink, but I don't mind bathing in the stuff. I poured, long down my chest, over my navel and goggled as Alex lapped the shit up, shutting his eyes and grinning as it splashed in his face, and there I was—thinking he'd look awful fine with spooge in place of margarita.
    We stopped when the bottle ran out. Alex stood, laughing. Me...well, shit. I hadn't whipped it out yet, but my dick was sticking out like a damn tent pole. Got the guys hooting again.
    That's when I looked up and saw Tomás. He was across the room, leaning against the wall. Watching. And I thought, Jesus Christ, what was he doing here? He hadn't come since that first night—didn't even like the place.
    Thing was, he didn't look pissed, didn't look amused. Just sort of...neutral. Thoughtful.
    And that pissed me off. Just. Fuck. If he'd been laughing, I'd have been good with that. Perfect, in fact. If he'd been fuming, it'd been easy to write him off as an over-entitled asshole, and I'd have been good with that, too. But no, he just watched. I thought I saw a shadow of disappointment as he met my gaze, and fuck if that didn't stoke me even further.
    I'd told him. Point blank, I'd told him, and he'd damn near challenged me to prove it to him. Who told you that?
    The chants of the patrons grew loud in my ears. Ribald laughter, dares, laughing taunts.
    I could prove it. If he needed to see who I was, I could give him that show, demonstrate the real man behind the one he'd thought a nice boy.
    You ever watch yourself go charging towards a cliff? Screaming at yourself to stop, except it's like one of those dreams where no words come out and you just keep going...
    Yee-haw. There I went.
    I pushed Alex face first over the ice bin. He squeaked in shock, but grabbed for the edge and propped himself up. Then he spread his legs and cocked his ass high. Nice. No fight.
    Kicking his legs wider, I pulled on that zipper all smooth. The sheer stretch of his camo tights split like the skin of an overripe fruit, exposing the baby smooth flesh of his ass. The catcalls ramped up. Thumping on his hole with one thumb, I stretched across the bar, and fished in the condom bowl until I found one my size. Someone tossed me a packet of lube. Ugh. Berrylicious. Alex wiggled his ass.
    From the corner of my eye, I could see the shape that was Tomás. Still watching. An ache stabbed at my gut. Anger; it was anger. So yeah. What a show. I fucked Alex. Behind the bar, with an audience of thirty, maybe forty horny men cheering me on.
    Never done nothing like that before. I crested in Alex, Alex creamed in the ice bin. He tugged up his pants, laughing, giving a little shimmy for his audience.
    Me? I threw up.
    ****
    I did make it to the back toilet first. Even better, managed to save Alex's dignity and give him a kiss and grin before I split.
    Tossing cookies after a fuck. Classy. Couldn't even blame it on alcohol. I was bent over the sink, rinsing my mouth when I heard the bathroom door shut behind me. I snatched a paper towel and turned, wiping my face. Expecting El Viejo, finding Tomás.
    Of course .
    "You like that." He leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed at his chest.
    "What? Fucking? Well, yeah." My stomach was empty, but it roiled again. I eyed the towel dispenser. Wanted to hit it. Wanted to hit him.
    Wanted him to hit me.
    "Sex is