Men I Might Have Known

by Brad Saunders

Genres: LGBT Gay

Synopsis

Everyone experiences it--that moment when you lock eyes with a perfect stranger and feel a shiver of requited lust. Too often, those opportunities slip by unexplored. But in this steamy, imaginative collection, Brad Saunders turns "what if" into "what happened," recreating the sizzling chance connections he's experienced--and playing them out in uninhibited stories that tap into our deepest fantasies about what can happen when we take the next step. From a glorious day on a sun-kissed Greek beach with a beautiful German man, to a college crush that turns out to be deliciously mutual, these stories are sometimes tender, sometimes torrid, and always deeply erotic. A gym buddy provides a workout to remember. . .. Venturing up to a Manhattan rooftop party yields a spectacular view--and not of the skyline. . .. And on a city crosswalk, saving a handsome artist from traffic earns the kind of gratitude that can't be conveyed in words. Hedonistic threesomes, hot nightclub trysts, sweet and sensitive first times. . .whether set in exotic locales or on in your very own bed, these intimate, provocative stories inhabit the space between fact and fiction--where nothing is too wild or too wicked and the only limit to pleasure is your imagination. . . Brad Saunders currently lives in Los Angeles and is hard at work on several books and screenplays. When he is not writing about the men in his life, he writes about food, travel, and the arts for several publications. This is his first book.

Release date: October 27, 2009

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 257

Sample

Martin and I had been feeling each other out all summer. We were working together as counselors at a summer camp in the lake-studded woods of Minnesota. I was a slender, olive-skinned seventeen-year-old from the coast of California, with a nut-brown complexion from the summer sun and a boundless supply of wide-eyed energy. Martin was the picture-perfect Iowa farm boy fresh from the fields. He was nineteen years old, friendly, tall, well muscled, with a healthy glow in his cheeks and soft brown eyes. I adored him the minute I saw him.

Our days were full of corralling rowdy kids from activity to activity, tending to their cuts and bug bites, building campfires and leading sing-alongs. Every few days, we would manage to slip away for an hour to take long, humid, solitary runs down leafy forest trails before cooling off in the crisp waters of the clear sky-blue lake nearby, often stripping down to just our underwear when no one else was around—sometimes splashing and wrestling in the muddy shallows near the shore.

The summer had been full of little moments like that. Moments when our eyes met from across the crowded, noisy dining hall, when we quickly smiled and looked away. Moments when we hung back at the campfire to talk while we put out the dying embers, letting the other counselors get the campers to bed, just so we could walk back to our cabins together in the moonlight. Moments before we knew for sure that the other liked boys instead of girls, before we each knew ourselves we liked boys instead of girls.

Then there was the moment that started one night with my announcement, “I’m going to go look at the stars.”

“Mind if I come along?” he asked.

I smiled to myself, knowing I did not mind at all. Without giving any hint of my quickened pulse, I replied, “Not at all.”

We said good night to the other counselors in the dining hall, gathered our backpacks and strolled out from the main hall into the warm, still night. Mosquitoes buzzed around us, but neither of us paid much attention. We were caught up in delicious silence of walking side by side.

We hiked down the dark, wandering path to our separate cabins and deposited our things in our bunks, taking care not to wake the sleeping campers at that late hour.

We met again down in the counselors’ lounge—secretly grinning to ourselves that the other had actually shown, and that this was actually happening—and took the large plaid blanket that we would lay out on the grass.

We chose to stargaze in a dark corner of a nearby field, settling down and stretching out next to each other on our backs. Our arms brushed against each other’s lightly, but neither of us moved.

For a moment, it seemed as if we were indeed just going to look at the stars. And we did. For a while. Testing each other’s knowledge of astronomy and renaming the constellations. Poking and grabbing one another’s arms as we each found star patterns we thought we recognized.

Then the mosquitoes started biting, and I tried to cover my face with a corner of the blanket. This was an insufficient defense, so I took an entire edge of the blanket and rolled it over my body lengthwise. Martin asked what I was doing. I told him I was making “a human crepe” of myself.

Martin, laughing, “Human crepe?”

“Yeah. You lie next to another person on a blanket, and then roll the side of the blanket over yourself, then keep rolling over the person next to you, pulling along the blanket, until you’re both covered evenly.”

“Oh, I see.”

“I’m trying to make one now to protect us from the mosquitoes.”

Martin playfully grabbed the corner of the blanket and rolled toward me, asking, “Like this?”

“Uh-huh.”

Those were the last words we spoke for quite a while. Martin rolled toward me and I rolled up even further in the blanket toward him. A sense of fearful delight enveloped us along with the blanket.

As the night progressed—for it took rather a long time—we became more and more entwined in one another, steadily pulling closer and closer, little trickles of sweat forming on our foreheads and lips since it was so warm. But that didn’t matter.

Our breathing became louder as our faces approached one another. Our legs wrapped tighter around each other’s bodies. Our hearts began to beat faster as more and more physical contact was inevitably made.

What to do? Go on in this gradual embrace that was sweeter than all the romantic intimacies either of us had known before, or retreat from the threat of the unexplored?

Before we could really make that choice, our lips met, to our mutual astonishment. And once they met, there was no retreat. We became bolder. Our hands were no longer hesitant explorers upon vast new continents but sovereigns duly claiming tribute from conquered territories.

Hand caressed hand. Lip caressed lip. Tongue caressed tongue. And all were temporarily fused by the tremendous, pent-up, and finally admitted heat of the passion that had brought us together—like the physical forging of a human chain of misdirected energy finally channeled into its full power.

It was the most wonderful thing I’d experienced in my seventeen years of life so far. Every touch of Martin’s body brought a wonderful new sensation. His lips were soft but forceful. He hadn’t shaved that day, so his sparse stubble scratched my face with an intoxicating roughness. His arms were lithe and powerful as they wrapped around my waist and my shoulders. His torso was toned and solid, and literally took my breath away as we passionately embraced, trying to get closer and closer in our blanket under the stars.

Before our clothes could come off, we stopped to take a breath. And then came the questions.

“I’ve never done that before, have you?” I asked.

“No…but it was…really…fantastic,” he replied.

I smiled, but I was still preoccupied. “Does this mean we’re…gay?”

Martin looked thoughtful for a second. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you want it to be?” he asked.

I didn’t know what to say, so I said, “Let’s talk about it tomorrow.”

“All right.”

But I had to say something else. “But this was…wonderful.”

“Yeah…it was.”

I wanted to kiss him again so badly. But I stood up instead, my heart racing. And all I could say was: “Good night.”

“Good night,” came his response from the dark ground. He started folding up the blanket as I walked back to my cabin, smiling and alone.

 

But we did not speak of it the next day. It was not that we avoided one another, but we had not marshaled our thoughts, nor was there time for a conversation with all the campers’ activities, meals and other various duties. But I knew we were both thinking about the same thing all day long—those few, fleeting, frenzied moments when we had held each other the night before, and whether we would do so again tonight.

That day lasted a lifetime. Each meal plodded along at a sleepy pace, each conversation seemed completely irrelevant, and the sun had never seemed to take so long in its journey across the sky. But eventually evening arrived, and the stars came out as we trundled the sleepy campers back to the cabins to turn in for the night.

It was with a mixture of both excitement and dread that I walked over to Martin’s cabin that night after I had tucked my own campers into bed and told them a ghost story.

The lights were out in Martin’s cabin, but I could hear his voice as he told his campers a story. I looked in the screened windows, trying to make out his shape as he paced through the room, weaving his tale. Finally, he finished and bid the kids a good night. My heart began beating harder and harder. I had to remind myself to breathe. At last I heard the cabin door open, and watched as Martin’s familiar imposing shape walked up to me.

All he said, with a little smile playing on his lips, was, “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Without another word, he took my hand and led me toward one of the paths into the woods. I was carrying a flashlight, but I didn’t turn it on. Instead, we walked in silence and in darkness. I, brooding, he, setting the brisk pace to the place he was taking me.

After a few minutes, we came to a little beach on the lakeshore that I’d never been to before. There was a lonely little dock that extended about ten feet into the lake. The moonlit ripples calmly lapped at the wooden slats of the dock, lulling even the crickets to sleep.

I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the pine-scented night air, and followed Martin to the end of the dock, where he was dangling his feet over the edge and into the cool waters of the lake.

When I walked up beside him, I noticed a rolled-up sleeping bag on the other side of him. He saw me looking at it and grinned, offering an explanation. “I put it out here earlier today. In case we got cold.”

I pretended to shiver in the warm, humid air and said, “I’m feeling a little chill. Maybe you’d better unroll it.”

He smiled again, then stood up, taking a moment to look me in the eyes before untying the sleeping bag and laying it open on the dock. Then he held out his hand to me, and sat me down next to him at the end of the dock.

We sat like that for a few moments, with our feet in the water and our heads in the stars. But I could not take it a moment longer. I had to say something.

“So…about last night…”

“Yeah?” he said, smiling. The moonlight was shining off his shaggy auburn hair. All I wanted to do was run my fingers through it, but I tried to focus.

“I don’t know what I am, or what this means…” I started.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“But I liked it. And I like you,” I ventured.

“Me too,” he said.

“So…” I started again. I wanted to say more, but I also wanted not to have to say anything else. Luckily, Martin felt the same way.

Before I could get another word out, he reached his hand over to my face and gently guided my mouth toward his own. And then we were kissing.

He had shaved that day. His face was smooth and soft, and smelled a little like shaving cream. It got my heart racing as I kissed him more and more urgently. He smelled like a man, and he felt like a man, and it felt good. He seemed more timid than he had the night before. His kisses were softer and gentler. He was using his lips and his tongue to tease me, drawing me in closer and closer, but not going any further than that. When I could take it no more, I put my hand on the back of his neck, using my tongue to explore his tongue, quickening the pace at which our lips sucked on one another. He kissed me back with the same urgency and pressure that I kissed him. There was barely time to breathe, let alone think.

Finally, Martin broke off the kiss to catch his breath. He was smiling. Still a little uncertain, I asked, “Was that okay?”

He laughed. “More than okay. That was incredible,” he said.

I was about to go in for another kiss when he caressed my cheek, then moved his hand down my chest, over my stomach to the bottom of my shirt. We were looking into each other’s eyes. Slowly, he started to pull the bottom of my shirt up over my body. I lifted my arms over my head, and he pulled it all the way off. Then he ran his fingers over my lean torso. He played with the downy little patch of hair that was starting to sprout in the middle of my chest, then worked his hands out to my nipples, cupping them gently, before tracing his fingers down my rib cage and back to my belly button, where a light line of fur ran down to the waistband of my jeans. He dipped the tip of a single finger below the button holding my jeans on, playing with the elastic of my underwear before resting his hand back on my chest. He could see that I was breathing quickly and that I wanted to kiss him again.

He brushed his lips lightly over my own, then pulled back again. This time, he slowly pulled off his own T-shirt, and I gazed at his athletic body. His chest was solid and muscular compared to my own wiry frame. His arms were sinewy and lean. I could see his ribs and the grooves of his taut stomach muscles as he breathed in and out. His body was completely smooth except for a single trail of hair that led downward from his belly button.

He took my tentative, delicate hands in his own larger, calloused ones and guided them over his upper body. After a moment, he let go of my hands, and I gently ran them from his collarbone down to his hips, using just my fingertips to explore his supple skin.

As I became bolder, using my hands to rub the muscles in his back and to cup his pectorals, he used his own hands to gently squeeze me around my rib cage and my hips, pulling me closer to him. Then slipping one arm behind me, he softly lowered me onto the sleeping bag and positioned himself on top of me, leaning on his other arm to support himself.

Our whole bodies were touching each other. I couldn’t tell if the amazing amount of heat we were radiating was from the friction we created as we rubbed our bodies against one another or if it was just because we were both sunburned. But it wasn’t long before we were glistening with a light layer of sweat mixed with dew from the night air. I could feel both of our cocks starting to swell underneath our jeans, and it wasn’t long before I was completely hard.

Martin started to kiss my neck, gently biting at the skin here or there, pausing at my Adam’s apple to give it a light kiss before tenderly sucking on my earlobe. All my nerves were tingling at his lightest touch. His tongue delved into the folds of my ear, then down my jawline until his mouth was back on mine. It was warm and soft and moist, demanding more and more pressure as his tongue swirled around my own.

My hips heaved against his, our pelvic bones locking in a frantic coupling beneath our pants. Though he was larger than me, I used my momentum to flip over on top of him, and feverishly licked at his neck and ears until he started moaning with pleasure.

I gave him a quick, deep kiss on the lips, then kissed his chin, making my way past his throat. I ran the top row of my teeth down his chest to one of his round little nipples—a spot of fleshy pink on his tanned skin. Then ever so gently, I ran my tongue back and forth over it a few times until it was hard.

When it was, I kissed it, using my lips to keep it hard, and taking pleasure in the slow, heaving breaths Martin was taking as I worked on him. Then I ran my chin over his nipple, using my stubble like light sandpaper to tingle and torment him. He gasped, then pulled my face back up to his to kiss me strongly and deeply, assaulting my mouth with his tongue. At the same time, I rubbed my hips back and forth over his own so that our hardened cocks were pressed against each other under the thick layers of denim.

When I’d had enough, I went back down to his chest, where I used my finger to rub and pinch his other nipple until it, too, was at attention. Then using my palms, I massaged his chest muscles as I slid my face down to his belly button. With my tongue, I taunted the little dimple in the middle of his stomach, and played with the silky hairs that grew beneath it.

Then I was at his jeans. I could see the outline of his cock running sideways from his fly all the way up to the waistband of his jeans. It was straining against the fabric, and pulling at the waistband so that it was hard to unbutton his jeans. But I did. And then I unzipped his fly, running my fingers along the rim of his jeans before pulling them down his legs and over his feet, then throwing the jeans onto the dock.

All Martin had on was a little pair of white cotton briefs that showed off the powerful curve of his ass—molded into a perfect bubble from long cross-country runs and afternoons working in the fields of his family’s farm. The tip of his penis poked up just above the waistband of his underwear, and throbbed slightly with every breath and with every stroke of my hands as I ran them up and down the insides of his legs. I could see that he was circumcised like me and that there was already a tiny drop of precum glistening from his slit at the top of the shiny pink head.

Martin sat up and I found myself practically sitting in his lap. He pulled my butt up onto his lap, sucking at my nipples while I buried my nose in his soft, clean hair. He started rubbing his crotch against mine and biting my shoulder before swinging me back down onto the sleeping bag and ripping at the buttons on my jeans. With a single pull, he whipped my jeans and boxers down to my ankles, then over my feet and off my body. I was completely naked, and when I reached up to pull down his briefs, so was Martin.

He knelt in front of me on the sleeping bag, and I was still on my back, my legs on either side of him. He pulled me up so that we were both kneeling facing each other, and he kissed me as he pulled my body against his own.

Our chests touched, then stomachs, and then, as we brought our hips together, so did our cocks. The two pink tips of our dicks brushed against each other lightly, and the precum now trickling freely from his cock was lubricating the tip of my own rod. Martin gyrated his hips slightly so that our shafts rubbed together. His cock was perfectly round and thicker than mine. It had a big vein that ran down the top of it from the base in his soft tuft of dark brown pubic hair to where the globe of his mushroom head met his shaft. My own cock was thinner than Martin’s but longer and smoother, and it was as hard as rock.

Then he gently pulled his body away from mine. He bent toward me to lick at my nipple, then kissed his way down the side of my torso. He got down on all fours, and I stroked the line of his spine with my hand, gently delving for a moment into the crevice of his perfectly formed ass and playing with the glossy hairs that ran along it. I could tell how excited he was as I ran my fingers down his ass crack, because he clenched and unclenched his cheeks, and the soft, fleshy skin in the crevice got hotter and hotter as I ran my fingers along it.

I closed my eyes in bliss as his tongue tickled my body. And then I gasped at the most pleasurable thing I had ever felt. Martin wrapped his mouth around the head of my cock. He was only sucking gently as he ran his tongue around and around the tip, lightly poking at my hole. His mouth. . .