Nonfiction writer Benry Noir is single and needs a date for a wedding. If he doesn't attend the fun-filled function, the two grooms (and his dearest life-long friends) will be offended. The wedding can't be missed, and Benry doesn’t want to go alone, so he places an ad online for the perfect date. When the advertisement fails, he decides to borrow his best friend’s lover Just for a few days.
Just’s boyfriend Armin loves his mate, but sometimes he seems to like work and travel more. When Benry first asks to borrow Just for the wedding, Armin refuses. But an opportunity to take a trip to Greece changes his mind. Still, Armin has strict rules the two men must follow, or there will be hell to pay.
When Benry and Just are alone together, they’re on their best behavior and act as complete gentlemen. As hard as it might be to resist Just’s charms, Benry manages to comply with Armin’s rules. But once the wedding is in full swing and alcohol flows freely, the rules are forgotten, unravel, and break.
Will their indiscretions ruin Benry’s friendship with Armin? He thinks he has found the perfect mate, but will things work out between them, or will Just disappear when the weekend ends?
Bold yellow-gold light stretched into that strange room and glazed my naked back, shoulders, and bare bottom. I opened my eyes and saw that I was naked on top of Just. How I got that way was beyond my thinking. My bare chest touched his and my face lay on his massive left shoulder. His swollen cock pressed against my stomach, aligned perfectly, and his arms lay at my sides, motionless against my skin. I smelled his rank morning aroma of ripe sweat, which was sort of enjoyable on my part, and felt the pungent liquid cling our bodies together. He breathed heavily underneath me, and my body rose and fell to his every inhalation and exhalation.
What happened last night? How did we end up naked? Why was I on top of his colossal frame? How much did I have to drink?
My head spun with morning pain. Jolts of soreness moved about my stomach. A hangover had discovered me and my muscles stung for some strange reason.
I opened my eyes and welcomed the morning light inside the room, which was blistering and shifted in through the bedroom’s single window.
Unconditionally, I wanted to turn my head to the left and run my tongue along the cords of his neck. My right hand craved to slip between our sweat-sealed bodies and find his erection with straying fingers. I wanted to kiss, lick, and hold our bodies together until noon, dinnertime, and evening drinks, until we were sticky and spent, and madly in love -- inseparable.
I placed my palms on either side of him and did a push-up. I found myself seated on the side of the bed and stared at his titanic-size body, which was sweaty, massive in size, and rippled will muscle. I was just about to reach out for his cock when my sidekick stirred awake, semi-opened his eyes, yawned, and asked, “Where are we, Dorothy?”
“Erectionland,” I joked, and saw our underwear on the bedroom floor.
“What did we do last night?” he groggily asked.
I shook my head and replied, “I’m really not sure.”
He reached down and provided his shaft with a little crank and said, “I’m hard as a rock.”
“That makes two of us, but maybe for different reasons.” He was hard because he probably had to piss, and I was hard because I was horny.
He sat up, found part of the white cotton sheet, and covered his cock and balls. “I can’t remember a thing.”
I told him I remembered dinner, the Rothshire Red wine, our walk to the cottage, and slipping into bed together. “The rest is a blur.”
“Do you think we fucked?”
Answering him, I shook my head, and said, “I’m really horny. That tells me we didn’t fuck.”
“I’m getting a shower, Just.” Half of me wanted to invite him to join me. Why not? Soap and shower water was always fun with another man, wasn’t it? He had a boyfriend though, and was faithful. And home wrecking on my part was out of the question.