Chapter One

Beautiful.

The one word repeated itself over and over in my head. It bounced around in my thoughts, playing tag with my emotions.

Never before had I seen a man of such—there was no other word for it—such beauty. He had shoulder-length brown hair, crystal-clear green eyes, and supple lips surrounded by a day or two’s worth of stubble. The man was sensual. He was beautiful.

He was Beauty.

A large hard-on filled the crotch of my faded jeans. My penis pressed against the fabric of my pants, stretching. It was as if the man's beauty had given birth to my erection.

I didn’t even know the guy’s name. I was sitting on a bus, heading home, a paperback copy of Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby open on my lap. Thankfully, this concealed my hard cock. However, if I flexed my penis just a little bit, the book would move.

This amused me, and I smiled. It wasn’t until the grin was firmly plastered on my face that I realized I was still looking at the man I had decided to call Beauty. It seemed odd, unorthodox, to call a man Beauty when the word was so obviously feminine. Men were not born to be beautiful. Men were born to be masculine.

The man named Beauty smiled back at me, and there was nothing feminine about that smile. It simply was, formed by lips that seemed to have been made for me to kiss. My heart skipped a beat. It wanted to explode inside my body, fluttering behind my rib cage like a caged sparrow or a hummingbird trapped in a prison.

My erection grew harder. If I didn’t relieve myself soon, I feared there would be a lovely stain on the front of my pants, dark like water mixed with honey dropped onto clean cloth. I blushed at being caught and looked down, away. Before I did, however, I saw the man smile. White teeth against rose-colored lips.

I had made Beauty smile. His eyes flashed a clear sheen of green, and my breath caught in my throat. I imagined it was Beauty’s penis that was stopping the flow of air to my lungs. I could see it now, as the fly of Beauty’s pants unzipped. What was behind the layer of tough cotton? White undies, virginal, sacrificial underwear. I shook my head.

I looked up. Beauty was staring at me. Had he seen the hot flash in my cheeks? I thought he had.

The twinkle in his eyes said he was predisposed to mischief. Fun. Midnight cemetery séances. Chocolate milkshakes at three in the morning.

Beauty stuck out his tongue at me. Shocked, I stuck my tongue out in return. And then Beauty laughed. It was the first sound I had heard him make, and it would be etched, sewn, into my head. It sounded like sex, a deep-rooted desire that bubbled up to the surface like a geyser begging to be heard as well as felt.

My erection was harder than ever. It seemed someone had poured cement or concrete into my shorts and formed something phallic out of it, filling my penis with a rock-ness as opposed to a softness.

Somewhere above me, a bell rang.

My breath caught once more when I watched Beauty stand and walk toward me. He couldn't get off the bus here. I felt a momentary pang of loss, brief and painful, and then he was in front of me.

He was even more beautiful up close. I wondered if I could ever be that beautiful, if I could ever be that gorgeous. I smiled at him, wondering if he would forget me after he left the bus.

Beauty smiled back at me, leaned down. "You want to go somewhere?" he asked.

I hardened further at the sound of his voice, the timbre like honey dipped in sex, and I knew then that I wanted to hear him utter my name. I nodded. "Sure."

We didn't say anything else as we waited for the bus to stop. When it did, I got off with Beauty.. My heart beat fast in my chest, and I wondered where we were headed.

He stopped and turned to face me.  "Are you a top or a bottom?"

"I can be whatever you want me to be," I told him.

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