Andy Stevenson vs. The Lord of the Loins by Kage Alan Read Free Book Online

been wronged, but women played with your mind by making you wait and wonder when vengeance was going to come.
    Tristan waited with his ear to the door until he heard the main entrance of the building shut. Once he was satisfied she was gone, he walked over to the stereo and turned it on. How appropriate the song turned out to be: “I Do What I Do,” the title track from the film .1/2 Weeks .
    "This sounds familiar.” I couldn't think of anything else to say.
    "It should, since you just reviewed it in the Vault section of your music column.” He sat down on the couch next to me. Whew! It was really starting to warm up now. “I really liked how you described the songs as ‘a collection of intimate fantasies capable of being acted out in real life as well as on the screen, only with less mess.’”
    "Well, I don't think the majority of the American people think of sex as involving an item from each of the four food groups.” Oh, good. That was bound to turn him on ... not.
    "You really shouldn't assume something like that without first finding out for yourself.” He leaned closer, and I believe I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my forehead, but just a single bead. “I didn't ask you to stay for a conversation about semantics and definitions, though. I just chose the disc because it seemed more appropriate then say ... Alphaville."
    Okay, so he didn't want to talk. I liked talking, though. It calmed me down, and he was moving a little too fast for my taste.
    "Well, I like Alphaville, but I can see your point. After all, they sang ‘Forever Young,’ not ‘Forever Hung.’”
    "Are you hung?"
    "Hello?” That was blunt. Now I was starting to feel genuinely uncomfortable.
    "Well?” His face was only an inch away now, and I could feel the heat of his breath. I think I also smelled Crest. Why wasn't I responding to him the same way he was to me? This didn't feel the same as when I'd been with Jordan in California. That had been natural. This wasn't, and Tristan's bluntness seemed, well, cheap.
    "Um...” What was the question again? “Did I say hung? I meant ‘Forever Tongue,’ sort of a ballad about Gene Simmons of Kiss and his ... tongue ... and ... and ... What are you doing with my hand?” He'd taken hold of my left hand and started to massage it.
    "I thought I heard you say you fell on it. I'm just trying to make it feel better. Here.” He moved it over and rested it on his thigh, still massaging it. “How's this?"
    "Closer ... to better, sure.” I was sweating up a storm! If I didn't get out of these clothes—room, I'd be a soaking mess in no time flat. “Uh, where is this piece you wanted me to help you with?"
    "Oh, that's right here.” He moved my hand further up his thigh, and I believe I gasped. “You seem a little timid. Why do you think I invited you over here tonight?"
    "I wasn't sure,” I lied. “Things like this don't happen to guys like me."
    "Guys like you?” He continued to massage my hand against his leg. I wasn't sure which leg it was, but it was one of them. “I like guys like you."
    "This is still kind of new to me. I mean ... I ... Well, it's...” Quit stumbling! “I thought you might like me, but I wasn't sure.” In a sense it was true. “This just doesn't feel right, and I'm not looking for a one-night stand."
    "I'm not either ... and I think everything feels right,” he whispered. “Can't you tell?"
    "Well, you did just stick your tongue in my ear and ... ooh...” I involuntarily shivered. “That's giving me goosebumps.” He started nibbling on my earlobe instead. “That's not helping. I think you're also holding my hand against your...” Something moved. “Yep, you are.” Something else moved. Actually, it was me, and I found myself standing straight up. “This is too fast. It feels wrong."
    "You're right.” Tristan stood up, too. “It is wrong. Your clothes are still on."
    Despite what must have sounded like a half-hearted objection, he unbuttoned my shirt,