At a club in LA, Addy Monroe meets rock singer Zak Roscoe—the man who unwittingly taught Addy who he is. A private and guarded person, Zak allows himself to be seduced for a night of pleasure, but the morning after brings reality into the fantasy.
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Twice By Chance
As a teenager, Addy Monroe had a life-changing experience—although technically the “experience” was happening to someone else in the steamed-up backseat of the taxi stuck in traffic next to him. Six years later, at a club in LA, Addy meets rock singer Zak Roscoe—the man who unwittingly taught him who he is—and gets a shot at experiencing Zak for himself.
A private and guarded person, Zak finds Addy’s determined advances both annoying and intriguing, and he allows himself to be seduced for a night of pleasure. Unfortunately, some old habits die hard: Zak’s postcoital nature leaves something to be desired, and Addy quickly realizes that sometimes fantasy and reality don’t have much in common. If wishes were second chances….
WITHOUT a shadow of a doubt, I knew I was gay when I was fifteen… when I caught a sneak glimpse into that secretive and alluring way of life through a car window in broad daylight.
I, Adrian Monroe—or Addy to my friends and family—was sitting, bored out of my skull, in the backseat of my uncle and aunt’s maroon-colored Toyota that had that awful car air-freshener piña colada smell clinging to the upholstery. Being fifteen, a lot of things bored me, and often. We were stuck in Los Angeles traffic. My uncle and aunt were bickering in the front seat. She said she’d known this route would be terrible this time of day, and he said she barely knew how to drive. Things had a tendency to escalate from there, so I tuned out best I could without my trusty iPod to save me.
That’s when I saw the cab next to our car.
I don’t know how long it had been there, or if it had just moved. But all of a sudden staring at it was all I could do.
In the backseat, just outside my window, were two guys making out in a big way.
It was the kind of action I expected to find in a gay porno movie. Just like the ones I had stashed under my mattress, knowing they were far less secure than Fort Knox’s gold and had probably already been discovered by my mom way back in the day, because sometimes she gave me “the look” that clearly spelled out her bewilderment, concern, and love all mixed up.
Anyway, there I was, minding my own business—until I wasn’t.
I swear my jaw must’ve made a clicking sound when it fell open, and my eyes popped open as wide as the Grand Canyon.
Falling into the shadows of the cab was a guy whose head was thrashing back against the headrest, and I could see only that he was dark-haired and fit as a fiddle.
My main focus was on the other man, who was practically crawling all over him. Hovering, more like. He was tall and sleek, tanned and ripped, every taut, hard-lined, and fine-tuned muscle accessible to the eye—my feasting eyes. Never in my entire life had I seen a more gorgeous specimen of the male gender. Short blond hair accentuated the angular, masculine features of this man’s face. He had golden, dusky stubble that must’ve given the other—clean-shaven—man the beard burn of his life, because the blond guy was all over him.
The athletic blond guy was lapping the dark-haired guy’s chest and suckling on the right nipple. Apparently quite hard, too, and maybe grazing with teeth, since the receiving man shuddered and—I suspected—moaned loudly, because the cab driver glanced back with amusement. The dark man had no shirt on, but the blond man was still dressed in, from what I could make out, a gray T-shirt and blue jeans. All very predictable, but damn, they enhanced his figure in an erotic way that either made my pants magically shrink or my cock wish it was over there playing, instead of trapped in a car with feuding relatives and equally stuck behind the zipper of too-tight jeans.
Gliding his tongue over to encircle the left nipple of the dark man, the blond guy sucked hard, probably bruising. I couldn’t tell what his right hand was doing, but I could guess, since the bucking motion of the dark man’s hips was unmistakable.
As I was busy almost creaming myself, digging my fingernails painfully into my thighs to prevent making a spectacle of myself in front—well, behind, to be accurate—of my aunt and uncle, the blond man opened his eyes, using his fingers to pinch and twist the nipple he’d freed from his mouth.
God, it was so fucking hot I could barely breathe.
All of a sudden those eyes—deep, hard gray, like steel blades and storm clouds and faraway mountains—looked up, dazed at first but then clearing in an instant.
He looked right at… me.
I flinched but couldn’t look away as my eyes widened to the size of saucers. I’d always wondered if it was true that eyes could be magnetic. That they could hold you as intently as a physical touch.
Now I knew.
I wanted to look away from those piercing eyes but was unable to do anything, as my own green eyes were locked with his. It was as if my heart had stopped in between beats, and my breath hitched in my constricting throat. I held my breath so hard I was beginning to see flashing spots in my field of vision.
I was so embarrassed and scared and humiliated… and aroused. Not knowing what I wanted—spontaneous human combustion, or getting swallowed by the earth, or just vanishing into thin air—I stared at the sexiest man I’d ever seen, feeling afraid, lost, and helpless.
Then those thin, sensual lips curved into a wicked, lopsided grin, and he winked.
That’s right. The hottest man on earth winked at me—while I was busy settling into my new career as a Peeping Tom and invading his privacy by ogling him having sex with another guy. Although in my defense, he was doing all that in a public cab in a public street in a very big city. So I suppose I wasn’t being too creepy….
I couldn’t help but wonder why he was flirting with me, considering my appearance was so far removed from his perfect, sexy masculinity that they barely existed in the same universe. I was fifteen, let me remind you, and hadn’t yet grown into a man. My mess of brown hair was like a nest of twigs stuck up in a tree, and being relatively short for a guy—apparently capping out at five-nine—meant I was perpetually trying to prove myself and my physical prowess. I guess that’s why my dad had led me to martial arts when I was a kid, so I wouldn’t get picked on by bigger kids who just didn’t “get” gay. Not that that had prevented me from getting beaten up after school, since I was reluctant to actually hurt or injure people—no matter how much bigotry, ignorance, or downright hatred they displayed toward me. In any case, I may have been on the smallish side, but I had muscles to balance that, and they had already begun to show. And when I grew up….
Yep, I couldn’t wait.
Especially if I had that to look forward to with guys. Absolutely yes!
Kissing the guy’s chest, the gorgeous man I wished were crawling all over me instead kept grinning and locking his gaze with mine. Eyes wide, I stared at the debauched scene that tipped the scales for me about my own sexual curiosities and desires, my sexual self, and as if there were scales falling from my eyes, I felt a certainty emerging from deep within me that had nothing to do with lust. Well, almost nothing. It was a moment of self-discovery, an epiphany of a sliver of eternity opening before me, like lightning from the clear blue sky, a click of a greater machination. A sense of empowerment cascaded over me when the veil of obscurity was lifted, and I knew who I was—and that I was so very gay.
I wanted what those men had. Not just the sex, mind you. I wanted the intimacy, the closeness, the experience of being with a man and unafraid to show my true self. I longed to feel the warmth of a man’s breath on my nape, the grip of a man’s hands on my hips, the hard weight of his body poised above me, the pressure of his cock in my ass. The weirdness of the situation did not escape me as I discovered what kind of animal I was in the back of my uncle and aunt’s piña colada-scented Toyota.
Nonetheless, I examined the spectacular view of two men loving each other physically outside my window, and felt an elation of foreknowledge that, one day, I too would feel that closeness with a man.
So for the first time ever, I smiled at a man in a gesture that was more flirtation than friendliness.
Yes, my expression was a bit hesitant and a lot nervous, but that blond wet dream still smiled back at me, nodding in a greeting of like minds. I felt ripe for the plucking, like a juicy apple during harvest season, and if that guy had hopped out of the cab and jumped into my car with the intent of fucking me then and there, a big part of me would have, without contest, knelt on all fours and squealed with joy.
Yes, fuck me, please.
Sex-on-a-stick naturally—and to my infinite dismay—did nothing of the kind. He kept giving me furtive and suggestive glances through the car windows that separated us while his mouth was busy doing divine things to that man I wished could magically be replaced by me. I wished for time to stop ticking away and space to halt its spinning to lock us into this fleeting second between heartbeats, into this place, stuck in rush hour traffic, trapped in a heated car smelling of tropical drinks. Slipping out of the confines of reality, I leaned my forehead against the window, relishing this vision of indulgence—and clarity.
Suddenly our car jerked, accompanied by an audible sigh of angry relief from my uncle, who was still being verbally harassed by my aunt, and we started moving away from the still-halted cab at my side. Farther and farther, this perfect man disappeared from my sight—and consequently out of my life—until I could no longer see the cab behind me amidst the sea of car tops, and too many of them were cabs anyway.
My erection fading to nonexistent, I slumped back into the seat, sighing quietly, physically exhausted and emotionally drained. As I closed my eyes, much of my relationship and sexual future bid me welcome in the form of a crystal-clear path—and I had this unknown man to thank for my revelation.
I vowed then that if ever I met him again, I’d thank him from the bottom of my heart—and then I’d seduce him into my bed and show him fireworks, shooting stars, and the earth shifting.
Yes. Now there was a plan if I ever heard one. I grinned.