The following is a work of erotic fiction. Although it may be based on real life events, the content, names, and all details should be viewed as fictional and should only be read by readers 18 and over.

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Delayed takeoff. Missed connection. Late arrival. My first trip to Los Angeles was off to a great start. At least I had Arthur’s familiar warm smile waiting for me. The beard was new, the thicker meat on his bones was new, but the smile: the smile was still the same.

As we drove from LAX to Venice Beach, I almost wished the drive had been longer. Our brother-like dynamic; it was as if the years since graduation never existed. We were still giving each other shit and talking about guys in Art’s Jeep, only this Jeep had actual doors and we didn’t have to yell above the sound of the cold air blowing all around us. I forgot how much I missed having Art in my life. 

We tried to be quiet as Art showed me to the guest room, tucked in the rear of the building on the ground floor, directly underneath the bedroom where his partner Bjorn was already asleep. Art apologized for the guest room being small, but the attached bathroom alone was still bigger than the studio apartment we used to share back in Boulder, Colorado. Perspectives change over time, I suppose.

Art said goodnight and went upstairs as I settled in. It didn’t take me long to unpack and realize that it had been nearly six hours since my last nicotine fix. I stepped outside onto the adjacent patio, grateful to feel textured wooden planks and not the coldness of concrete beneath my bare feet. I inhaled on my cigarette and exhaled the stress of travel. I stretched, arms almost touching both the back fence and the plastered walls of the house at the same time. I closed my eyes and tried not to feel the claustrophobia that comes from big cities. A warm breeze from the Pacific Ocean reminded me I was far from the acres of open land I was used to back home. There were no night birds to listen to. Only the sound of the occasional car driving by and a faint murmur of hushed voices. I followed my smoke up and to the source of the voices, coming from the open window of the master bedroom above. I listened, wondering what they were talking about, hoping that I hadn’t bothered them with my presence. But the voices grew quiet. I listened closer. And then the voices stopped. All I could hear was the crackle from the cherry on my cigarette as I inhaled with curiosity. And then the faint sound of slurping could be heard, harmonized by deep moans of appreciative pleasure. I quickly stubbed out my cigarette and quietly slid the sliding glass door behind me. On the bed, I lay on my back, staring at the four hoops mounted in the ceiling, knowing full well what was going on above me, even if I couldn’t hear it any more. I smiled and thought to myself, Get some, Art.

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5 a.m. Alarm on my phone. Fuck; I had forgotten to turn it off last night. And now I had to piss. I walked into the bathroom, careful to avoid looking into the massive mirror that lined the wall and the visual reminder of my failure to look good. The past couple of years, with COVID and quarantining, had not been kind to me. I had not been kind to me. I had let myself go. I kept my head down; I was neither caffeinated nor nicotined enough to deal with the self hatred so early in the morning.

I stepped outside and lit a cigarette. The sky was still dark. There were still no birds. And I could hear moaning coming from the upstairs window. Again. I stood, I smoked, I listened. Heavy slaps of skin-on-skin. Art was moaning something unintelligible. And then a deep voice bellowed, “I’m gonna cum.” It was not a warning, but a declaration. A roar. Then silence. I barely noticed as the cherry on my cigarette burned my fingers. I walked back into my room as I heard the shower above me turn on. I lay on the bed and pulled my dick out of my shorts. I kept my shirt pulled down so I wouldn’t see my own belly as I jerked off, thinking about being used the way Art had just been. I came into my hand and closed my eyes. I licked the cum from my fingers, and imagined it was someone else’s. Someone hot. Someone different. Someone who wasn’t me. And I fell back asleep.