Read Online Studs: Gay Erotic Fiction by Emanuel Xavier Richard Labonté - Free Book Online Page A

practice, working with various guys in random situations. When we met, he turned out to be quite a stud. Of course, the fucker insisted there would be no touching between us, which I agreed to, but then he put his hands in his pants, showing me what he wanted me to do, and asked if he could see the base of my cock, maybe I could pull my briefs down a bit, just a little more? He mentioned how I was giving him a hard-on, grabbing his jeans and proving his point. I got harder and harder and he asked me what I wanted to do, and before I knew it, I was beating off. He ended up taking seven hundred photos. He gave me a CD of them, swore up and down that they would not be used for anything…but I can’t believe those pics will not end up in a magazine or on a website somewhere.
    Especially since he got me to put on those motherfucking latex shorts. He got enough good shots to put a real layout together; didn’t seem to me like he needed any practice, but what do I know.
    Shit.
    I have still never worn those shorts and played with anyone but Dimitri. They don’t even make me feel horny anymore. They make me feel sad. Foolish. And alone.
    Yes, loneliness has been creeping in. I like my apartment. I like being alone in my apartment, when I get home from the seedy bar with the dark, smoky patio. I’ve got all kinds of crazy shit to keep me company: Cheap Thrills, The Idiot, Radio Ethiopia, Abraxas, Young Americans, Volunteers, Damned Damned Damned, To Bring You My Love, Born to Run, Sheer Heart Attack, Computer World, Too Much Too Soon, Todd, Mental Notes, Rattus Norvegicus, Entertainment!, The Grand Wazoo, Southern Nights, London Calling, Songs the Lord Taught Us, and Let’s Get It On. (Not to mention stuff like Tweedles, Giant Robot, Black Acetate, and Opera Tuna Teen Ox) .
    I’ve got paintings on practically every square foot of wall space; it’s a riot of color, my cozy downtown studio. I’ve got homemade coleslaw, organic potato chips, Dubliner cheese, homemade tuna salad (chunky white tuna—dolphin safe—lemon mayo, oregano, parsley, garlic, celery, carrots, onion, apple—all finely diced, of course—a little mustard, and fresh ground pepper), plus seeded spelt crackers and coconut macaroons, all of which is thoroughly delicious to a health-food nut like me. The books on the shelves range from Genet to Anne Lamott, with plenty of room for Beckett, McMurtry, Wolfe, Dostoyevsky, Hornby, Vonnegut, sci-fi favorites Rudy Rucker and Robert J. Sawyer, and miraculously talented writer-friends like Michelle Tea, Lynn Breedlove, Kirk Read, Justin Chin, Carol Queen, Ian Philips, Greg Wharton, and Daphne Gottlieb. I’ve got Kill Bill and Funny Girl , Amadeus and Batman Begins , Shaun of the Dead , A Star Is Born (the Judy Garland and James Mason version, thank you very much), Spun , Priscilla , and Trick .
    Oh my god, I almost forgot to include Kung Fu Hustle and Angels in America . Shoot me.
    But goddamn, it gets quiet when a man has made his presence felt here and then suddenly stops visiting.
    I wanted to share my stuff with Dimitri. I did get to read him something by my poetry brother Trebor Healey. No matter what it does to my poor prose, I need to quote the first few lines of “Krsna” to render a taste, else no one will believe Dimitri’s reaction.
    Cobalt-cocked blueboy
    Gopi fucker
    I wanna fuck you till you’re blue…
    Dimitri started breathing weird when he heard this, and he spoke in these broken phrases, like a man in shock from seeing something too bright for his eyes.
    “How did he do that?
    “Each line is like its own hard-on…
    “But it’s transcendent, at the same time…
    “I feel high just from hearing it.”
    When he added, “Let’s read it again,” I took the first step on the path to falling in love with Dimitri. In spite of all my caution and past hurts and scar tissue and uber-fear, my heart opened up and experienced a feeling which in words could only be described as At last.
    It was not