Read Online The Artifact of Foex by James L. Wolf - Free Book Online Page B

now, as Fenimore had done—less than an hour ago?
It seemed longer.
    Chet glanced around at the others. Knife and
Fenimore were looking at one another with the same intense, hungry
expression. Chet frowned, uncertain what they were thinking. Then
Fenimore slowly stretched. Every movement languid, Fenimore began
removing his shirt. His chest still had dust clinging to it. Chet
noticed curiously that Fenimore’s torso wasn’t like those of
bodybuilders: he was hairy and covered with imperfections, the most
prominent of which were smallpox scars and healed knife wounds.
Nevertheless, when he moved Chet could see his muscles ripple in
the shadows. Then Fenimore
leaned
into Knife, his whole
body arching over him like a bridge. Fenimore took hold of Knife’s
shoulders and tried to push him down.
    Knife was smiling, his eyes knowing. He
reached up and grabbed Fenimore in turn, tossing Fenimore lightly
to the bed beside him. “If you think you’re to be on top, you are
surely mistaken.”
    “I think you should throw yourself upon your
back and stick your feet in the air, Flame, and be grateful about
it,” Fenimore growled, fighting for leverage.
    “Is that what you think?” Despite his
satisfied purr, Knife didn’t quite have Fenimore pinned. Fenimore
was smaller, but his reach was sufficient, his will just as
intense.
    Chet froze as he watched them play, not sure
what he was seeing. Their movements were like a wrestling match in
secondary school—only the guys in secondary school didn’t fight
nearly so dirty. Maybe it was more like watching mating animals,
except there was no male or female here, no obvious conclusions
based on anatomy. They were writhing intently, each trying to gain
ascendency over the other. Sometimes a moan emerged, sometimes a
growl. Knife lost ground by getting Fenimore’s pants off; he
immediately went under. Fenimore’s uncircumcised dick was hard,
ready to go, his hips already bucking. Yet Knife wasn’t giving up
without a fight.
    Chet wanted to shield Journey from this, then
realized she was no lady, she was Flame. Her eyes were shining as
she stared, and her right hand... Chet’s inhaled in shallow bursts.
Her right hand was inside her panties, touching herself with slow,
circular movements. Her left hand, in turn, was stroking her satiny
bra. The smell he’d noticed in Journey and Knife’s presence before
had filled the van full force. Again, he was reminded of his former
roommate Steve, though the connection felt inappropriate.
Especially because Chet’s cock responded readily, rising to full
mast.
    “Hah!” Fenimore had Knife’s boxers down, but
an instant later he lost leverage as Knife grabbed him from
beneath, flipping him onto his back. Chet gulped at the sight of a
naked Flame. There was nothing obviously wrong with him, though.
Knife’s penis was long and unusually thin—on purpose?
    Knife threw himself on Fenimore and crooned
in his ear, “That’s right, boy. You’re mine.”
    “You can’t perforate me dry!” Fenimore
snarled. He seemed genuinely outraged, and they both paused, as if
the game were in timeout. Then they turned to look at the curtain
separating the driver’s seat.
    “Excuse me, miss?” Knife called out. “Do you
happen to have any oil-based lotion or cream on hand?”
    The prostitute stuck her head though the
curtain. Chet, who hadn’t seen her before, blinked in surprise.
Flaxen skinned, she was chubby cheeked and amazingly young; she
actually looked like one of his sisters. She didn’t seem at all
shocked at the position Fenimore and Knife were in. The idea of two
men—or a man and a Flame, rather—in such a compromised position
didn’t seem to faze her. Did she often harbor homophiles in her
van?
    The prostitute pointed helpfully. “Look in
the second wire rack from the top, behind the magazines. See
it?”
    “Thank you,” Knife said.
    Chet craned his head. He hadn’t noticed the
organization racks screwed into the back of the seat.