Obeying The Rule
He hasn’t moved it yet, it’s just cupped snugly around me, but it’s only a matter of time. I look at the dashboard clock to mark the time then turn to face Brian. He’s driving, that look of concentration on his face. His eyes shift from the side mirror to the road ahead, to the rear-view mirror then back to the road.
I lay my head back against the headrest and watch him drive. I like watching him. Always have.
Everything he does is interesting. Probably boring to everyone else, but not to me. Almost every sight of him has the potential to be a work of art. My first drawing of Brian ever was from watching him sleep and after he bought me the computer to help me draw, the first thing I drew on it was him.
I was staring off into space, feeling sorry for myself about losing my ability to draw and he came out of the bathroom with just a towel wrapped around his waist. He laid down on the bed, grabbed an apple and a knife and began cutting chunks off and eating them. He didn’t know I was watching him and I know what you’re thinking, ‘geez, he’s just eating an apple, what’s so special about that?’ Well, I can’t explain it, but it was a beautiful sight to me and I just had to draw it. On my new computer. The one that he’d bought for me.
I wish I could get to my sketchbook right now because I would really like to draw ‘this’ Brian. This new Brian. Happy, content, at peace Brian. There’s a different look about him now. Something about his face. It’s softer; the hard, cold, distant edges aren’t there anymore. I used to have to look really hard to see the real Brian, but now I don’t. It’s just right there, for all to see. No more hiding. He’s genuinely happy and it shows.
Everything seems to be going really well for him. He runs his own agency now and I’m sure the freedom that gives him has a lot to do with it. But I also think it has something to do with the fact that he only lasted those eight and half minutes before he had to touch me. Me, the person that he calls his partner.
He starts rubbing my cock and I begin to harden under his palm. I shift my eyes off him and onto the dashboard clock. It’s now been twenty-three minutes since our trip began and I’m already thinking that I need to look for a rest area.
Brian’s been working hard, trying to drum up some clients and he found out about this one from the least likely of places. My mom.
She told us about it one night when we were over at the condo for dinner. Yes, we go to Mom’s for dinner, once a week actually. Brian makes jokes about it, but he goes without much protest. Anything that is remotely considered a hetero or dyke-y thing to do, he can’t resist making fun of. That’s okay, I don’t mind and just laugh along with him. Only I’m not laughing at us doing these things, I’m laughing at how he reacts to us doing these things ‘cause I don’t think about them in the same context that he does.
She’s my mom, she’s a great cooks, I want to visit her but I hate being away from Brian, so I want him to go with me. What’s the big deal about that? Besides, he likes getting a good meal too. It’s not like either one of us cooks and if it weren’t for the weekly meals at my mom’s and at Debbie’s, we’d be eating avocado and peanut butter sandwiches every night because we can’t really afford to eat out all the time. So why is that considered hetero or dyke-y? I mean, just because we’re gay doesn’t mean that we don’t want to eat. And everyone’s got a mom.
And what about when we go to Debbie’s house for brunch on Sundays? She’s like Brian’s mom, she cooks good and feeds us there too. But us going to Deb’s together doesn’t seem to bring out the snarky Brian like going to my mom’s does. I just don’t see the difference, is all I’m saying.
So anyway, it seems another realtor in mom’s office mentioned that her and her husband had gone to this new place and how wonderful it was. They’d only found out about it because of a friend of a friend. Evidently this place was really great but they weren’t busy because they didn’t advertise, so no one knew it existed. The realtor friend was worried they’d go out of business from lack of income and she didn’t want that to happen since they’d enjoyed it so much.
So mom mentioned it to us knowing Brian needed clients, and this was a prospect. You don’t turn away from prospects when you’re starting your own company. At least that’s what Brian says. He said it should be a good match and that was his pitch to get the meeting.
“Very simple,” he told them, “you need an advertising campaign and I need clients. Match made in heaven, I’d say.” The owner liked his simple yet honest approach so they met for lunch.
It was agreed that before any contracts could be signed, or even before Brian could come up with any brilliant ideas, he would need to come for a visit and see what it was all about. So they invited him to his bring his wife and come up for the weekend.
It’s a lover’s retreat, come to find out. A place that straight, married couples go to re-kindle the flames of their love life. If they were like us, they wouldn’t need to drive ninety miles north on Interstate 629… they could just go to the backroom of Babylon or some other place like that. Public, voyeuristic sex keeps our sex life fires burning pretty well, if you ask me.
Of course, Brian, being the new Brian, intolerable of dishonesty and the straight view of family values told them right away that he didn’t have a wife, and that he was, in fact, gay. Brian said that Mr. Martin, that’s the owner, didn’t flinch at all and without missing a beat asked him if he had a ‘significant other’ then. Brian said he couldn’t help but chuckle a little at that, but told him, ‘Yes, but we like to say partner nowadays.’ Mr. Martin just responded with ‘Well great, bring your partner, then.’ That’s how come I’m tagging along.
Brian asked if they would accommodate gay couples at the retreat and he was assured that they would but they hadn’t as of yet and might need Brian’s guidance to making some adjustments. After Brian arched an eyebrow, Mr. Martin smiled and leaned in real close to whisper, ‘It’s a sex retreat with all the extras. I don’t know what those extras should be for gay couples.’ And well, Brian’s the expert on gay sex so Mr. Martin was definitely in good hands.
So, Brian’s on a business trip really… to a sex retreat… with his partner. How lucky can one get?
His rubbing and my thoughts of what possibly awaits us in another, um, fifty-five minutes now, makes my dick really, really hard, so I start smiling. He does too. He knows that I’m one big bundle of horniness right now. A whole weekend to do nothing but fuck. I can hardly wait to get started and since his hand is really working on me right now… I know that he wants to get the fuck-fest started already, too. But being the responsible driver that he is, he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. I start wiggling my hips underneath his hand and he pulls on the snap and zipper then slips his hand inside.
My hand starts moving towards him. I want to touch his dick because I want us to get off together.
“Nuh, uh, uh,” he says, stopping me from reaching my goal but never taking his eyes off the road. I huff my disgruntlement. I really hate this damn car.
I’m not allowed to touch him when he’s driving. It’s a new rule, because of this car. I used to give him blowjobs all the time when he had the jeep, but the jeep had more room so he could drive even with my face in his lap. But the ‘vette is smaller and the first time I tried, my hip knocked the gear stick into neutral and of course Brian freaked. If it had gone into reverse it could’ve damaged his precious classic. So no blowjobs while he’s driving anymore.
That left only one alternative… hand jobs. I gave him one once after the ‘no blowjob’ rule went into effect but because I have this oral fixation thing, as Brian calls it, I couldn’t just jerk him off. I had to kiss him, lick his ear, suck on his neck and well, he almost crashed the car. So now he won’t let me near him when he’s driving. I guess that’s a compliment to my talents, but it still pisses me off.
Of course, the rule doesn’t mean he can’t play with me; which is exactly why he is. And yes, I enjoy it, but I like being able to do stuff to him too.
“Brian,” I say in a throaty groan. And he knows. I want him to find a rest stop, pull over, anything because I need to touch him.
Shit, this was supposed to be just a short drive. Why did he have to start this when he knows the rule? I’m about to go out of my mind.
I leak with every stroke, and he rolls his palm over the top to slick his hand, which makes the next stroke more slippery, which makes it better so I leak again, and again he sweeps across the top. It’s this exquisite act of pleasure… the phenomenon of a Brian Kinney hand job. God, I want to touch him.
I grab his arm with my left hand, the padded armrest on the door with my right, and I grip tightly, digging my fingers in. That makes him pick up speed. Oh, shit. I’m breathing hard and still watching him as he strokes me but when that all too familiar feeling of euphoria washes over me, I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath. The only thing that could make this kind of orgasm better is if his followed soon after… but because of the stupid rule and this damn ‘vette it doesn’t get to happen that way and I’m left to crest this wave all by myself.
I reach for the towel that we keep under the seat for just such emergencies, clean myself up then toss it at him. It lands in his lap; he didn’t even try to catch it. I look up at him and he’s licking one finger with a smile on his face. He’s just doing it to taunt me because he knows it will.
“That’s so unfair,” I tell him and he chuckles, holding his hand out to me.
“Want some?” he innocently offers. Yeah, right. Asshole.
I nudge his hand away from my face, grab the towel and push it into his hand. I narrow my eyebrows at him but it’s for no reason really, he’s not looking at me, he’s still watching the road. But he still knows. He cleans off his hand, tosses the towel back to me then chuckles again.
“We have all weekend, Sunshine. I’m sure that’s enough time for payback.”
I backhand his arm playfully and we both laugh because we know... it’s definitely going to be one of those weekends.
We ride the rest of the way in comfortable silence. I’m sure he’s thinking about work and possible ideas for the campaign; but me, I’m thinking about how I’m going to even the score once we get there.
