Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 3

right, and wanted him to be telling the truth, because I swear to you, sometimes I just got so tired.
    The tide crept in. Gentle waves, gathering in a low hiss, flattening in a "shh" on the sand. Was hypnotic.
    "I've missed you." With my toe, I dug a furrow in the sand. "I can try. I mean. I don't want to fuck up; I might, but—"
    "You haven't been with anyone." He didn't issue it like a challenge. More like, he knew I hadn't and he was simply making an observation.
    So I said, "No. Not since—" Not since bending Alex over the ice bucket, sticking it to Tomás as much as to Alex.
    "Why?"
    "I don't know. I just—lost heart, you know?" After that night, the entire scene had just felt so lurid and pointless. Like drinking to excess—fun at first, then simply sloppy. I felt a grin tickle my mouth. "'m kind of horny, though."
    He laughed. A soft breath of a thing. After a moment, he said, "Are you mine? I must know."
    I thought about that. Felt like a Valentine's card, one of those cardboard hearts you got in third grade. B-Mine. But who had ever asked me since then? "I want to be. Yeah." I risked a glance at him. "But I..." I swallowed. As cliffs go, this one seemed like it might have a soft landing. Lead me places I wanted to go. I said, "I'm all yours, Tomás."
    Brilliant white teeth caught in the last of the moonlight. "So then," he said, "I swear to you Erik, I am yours."
    Have you ever fucked on the beach? Let me tell you, it sounds romantic as hell, but sand. Jesus. Sand scraping up your anus—or along your dick, for that matter—is not erotic. Save the beach for blowjobs.
    Except, it worked. I couldn't tell you how. And Jesus fuck, I finally got to feel that dick fill me up. Stripping my shorts, rimming me until I begged. Then he spit-slicked his dick and pushed in. Nice and easy, and I winced, waiting for it to hurt like hell, thinking I'd put up with that for him, except that the pain never came.
    Not like the dream—it wasn't that easy. But the burn was good, the kind of hurt that lets me know I'm being fucked and fucked good by a monster. A sea snake, fat and domineering and insistent. I remember choking a short laugh at that thought, but then I was groaning and clutching at him, fingers like tentacles grasping at his shoulders, heels clamping down on his ass like a crab.
    To the music of the surf, we made love.
    ****
    It took a little getting used to, you know. A little while for me to recognize that what we were building was real and permanent and good. Maybe he knew; I didn't. Even now, he always seems to know just what is what while I wander around in a dazed fog of what-the-fuck?
    I do now, though. Know what we have. How good it is. How much I love him.
    We have this house, about a mile from the beach in a town that's real friendly. It's pretty cool. I teach disabled kids sailing at a local camp and help Tomás with his books. I've always been pretty good with numbers and I like being part of what he's building.
    Tomás, he has his garden. Makes him happy. Fat tomatoes, peppers and beans. And he does his investing and giving away money and shit. It's all about the oceans, of course. Every so often, he flies to L.A. I stay here. Suzie homemaker.
    And he still smells like the ocean and sunshine and sand. Even if he hardly ever swims anymore.
    THE END
    Author bio: In her mundane life, Eve Ocotillo plays a scientist. She escapes from the grind by conjuring tough and conflicted men and then throwing them at each other in romantic and not-so-romantic situations. Her stories range from science fiction to alternate history to contemporary and are influenced by her interest in diverse social issues, her fascination with the natural environment, and her fundamentalist upbringing. Oco writes to feed her id and to learn more about herself, her values, and her belief systems. If her readers enjoy her stories, too, she counts that as a win-win. Oco has one published short ("Higher Learning": Dreamspinner), a few on-line stories, and several too many WIP's. Oco is currently building a webpage at eveocotillo.com
    ****
     

FIRE
    by Chauncey Watson

    He stood behind the police barricade watching in horror. His house was engulfed in flames. "Where's my son?" he cried, trying to get through. "Where's my son?"
    ~ Susinok

    genre: contemporary
    tags: firemen; masturbation; slash; men with children; HEA
    word count: 6,323
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    FIRE
    by Chauncey Watson
    He stood behind the police barricade