Christmas Eve. Rain washed the windows in formless patterns, obscuring the motel's parking lot. Behind the counter, the manager handed David a room key. "You're like our only guest," she said with a smile as fake as the tree in the lobby's corner. She was too old to say like. "Sucks to travel by yourself at Christmas."

With a fake smile of his own, David palmed the key and left. Around the back of the motel he noticed another car in the lot -- guess he wasn't the only one, after all. But the manager was right, holiday travel did suck. His partner Thomas had never come to terms with the time David spent on the road. Ex-partner, David reminded himself as he sprinted from his car to his door. Thomas's last words summed it up: "I can't love a man who's never home."

At the door David fumbled the key into the lock. It turned, revealing a dark, empty room. As he reached in for the light switch, the door beside his opened. A young man in a bathrobe stepped out, fuzzy slippers on his feet. From his haircut and quick smile, David recognized a fellow salesman. "Hey there," the guy said. His gaze drifted down, a quick once-over meant to be inviting if David was interested. Maybe ... the guy was cute.

"Bad night," David said. He juggled his suitcase and samples bag to extend a hand. The fellow shook it with a strong grip that David could easily imagine on his ass or dick. A once-over of his own, and he noticed a pattern of black diamonds beneath the robe: fishnets.

Suddenly, he was interested. "You alone?" he asked.

With an exaggerated frown, the guy nodded. "You?"

David opened the door wider, his own invitation. "Hopefully not for long."

THE END

"Mack's got it," the drag queen known as Dee Vyne tells a makeup assistant when asked if he needs a drink. Sinking into his vanity chair, he waves her away with his hands as if drying his well-manicured nails. She leaves.

In the mirror he plucks off glittery eyelashes that leave his tired eyes red. He wants to lie back, dip his fingers into a tall glass of water, and press the wet tips against his shadowed lids. Where is that bouncer?

Propping his feet up on the vanity, he stretches out, his head on the back of the chair. His wig falls to the floor; his eyes slip shut. Absently he unties the corset he wears. Beneath it he sweats. Water sounds wonderful ...

Someone enters his dressing room. "It's about time," he mutters without opening his eyes. "You better be Mack."

The door shuts as a gruff voice confirms, "It's me." Suddenly something hard and cold and wet presses against Dee's forehead -- an ice cube. "You wanted water?"

"Please," he sighs. The ice moves down his nose, chilling a path to his open mouth. Mack rims his lips with the cold chip but when his tongue licks out, the bouncer pulls away. "Please." Almost a sob.

The ice glides down the curve of his neck into the hollows of his throat, then trickles over his chest to melt somewhere around his navel. At his crotch, a rough hand cups the erection straining his panties. Fingers ease beneath the silky fabric to stroke him hard. "Please." He could cry.

The corset is open now, the panties pushed aside. Strong fingers encircle his cock. "My hose," Dee cautions as he thrusts into the bouncer's hand.

Mack toys with the lacy hem of the black thigh-highs and says, "Leave them on."

THE END

It's been three weeks since he walked out of my life and I'm finally sick of looking at his toothbrush next to mine. In the bathroom, trashcan in hand, I toss away everything left of his -- disposable razors, cologne, dental floss. But an old jar of Noxzema in the back of the medicine cabinet stops me. Was that his, too? It's not mine -- what the hell would he use it for?

Opening the jar, I take a deep breath. The unique, familiar scent of camphor, menthol, and eucalyptus makes me close my eyes and suddenly I remember our trip to the shore last summer, just the two of us, still new to each other and so in love. A lonely stretch of beach, his pale skin burning a deep red by the end of the day. This jar of Noxzema bought at the first store we found. The two of us back in the hotel, him lying naked on the bed while I rubbed the cooling cream into his raw skin. His heat beneath my fingers, his sigh as I massaged the pain away.

Then -- the moment comes back to me now -- I undressed and lay on top of him, propped above his back. I remember the heat radiating from him and the medicine-sweet smell of the cream. I remember rubbing my dick between his buttocks, slowly at first, until he lifted his ass beneath me and moaned, "Please." I remember easing into him, my length slick from the tingling cream. Noxzema.

I replace the lid, closing it tightly. The scent lingers; I rub at my nose to make it go away. The blue jar looks cool, inviting, the memory of us trapped inside.

Before I can think about it, I drop the jar into the trashcan and mutter, "Goodbye."

THE END

A hot hand clapped me on the back and I turned as a young man shouldered his way beside me to the bar. He had large, dark eyes half-hidden by a fall of bleached blonde hair, and full lips that spread into an impossibly large grin. A Mick Jagger grin. Leaning close to my ear, he shouted, "Listen," then fell silent. His warm breath smelled of whiskey -- where it touched me, it curled the ends of my hair and flushed my cheek.

Raising my voice over the crowd, I hollered back, "What?" I could hear my boyfriend Robert on my other side, his laughter high and thin like glass about to break. "Look, I'm with someone --"

The guy shook his head. "I like you," he said, his words a slur that I only made out by reading his lips. "So listen, I'll blow you in the bathroom. A cheap dick licking, how's that sound? You got a twenty?"

Once his words sunk in, I laughed. "Sorry, pal," I told him. Nodding at Robert beside me, I said, "I got a boyfriend here who'll do it for free. How about I buy you a drink or something?" Like he needed another one.

He leaned past me to get a look at Robert. "Listen," he said again. "I'll do you both, fifteen apiece?"

I shook my head. "No, really --"

"Together," he added. "At the same time." I glanced up at that wide smile again and imagined my dick between those lips, Robert's crammed in beside it. Saliva slick on our erections, our swollen tips bumping together in the hot furnace of that mouth. He could take us both, no question.

"Together?" I whispered. At his nod, I nudged Robert, my gaze never leaving those lips. "Hey babe, listen to this."

THE END

My freshman year at State, I spent more time flirting with my roommate Steve than I did on homework. Despite his protests, I thought he might be bluffing when he said he wasn't gay. A jock, on scholarship, with tight buns and a cock I could almost taste through his boxers ... I wanted him, bad, from the moment we met. I dropped hints, feigned passes, but it was always the same. "Sorry Mike," he'd say. "I'm not like that."

Didn't hurt to try. When I headed home one weekend, I "accidentally" put away porn DVD in his Korn CD case. I also left a few copies of Freshmen scattered beneath my bed -- he'd see them when he stooped down to raid my footlocker full of snacks. Nothing overt, really, but enough to get him thinking.

At most, I thought he'd call me on it when I got back. We'd have a laugh, I'd say something suggestive he would brush off, and that would be it. But when I unlocked the door to our room, I was surprised to find him on my bed, naked ass in the air, Jockeys down to his knees. A pair of my dirty briefs pulled over his face. One hand fisted in my sheets while the other yanked his dick in short, hard thrusts. Glossy Freshmen models smiled up at us from the floor.

I shut the door. "Mike," he moaned, the hand between his legs squeezing out the thrill of being caught. He pushed my underwear aside to peer at me through a leghole. "Look ..."

My hands fumbled with my belt, fingers pressing into my own erection as I unzipped my jeans. "Don't move," I told him as my pants slipped to the floor. Finally -- I had him right where I wanted him.

THE END