A heaping plate of both sweet and savory confection from a master of the gay male short story. Romance is “the thing” of this thirty-story anthology on man finding his man, the complex made simple, bitter becoming sweet, problems solved, dreams coming true, and otherwise sooner or later happy endings despite many a varied and painful journey to that satisfactory outcome. Warning: This title contains M/M, graphic language, anal sex, group sex.
Gabriel turned to me and grinned, all pearly white teeth and sensuous lips, showing me in that one gesture just how much he loved these California coastal hills and their bounty of rich grapes. He gestured for me to follow him, and I watched the motion of his lithe body as I followed him into the vineyard terraces. It hit me once again that Gabriel had been in perpetual motion since the first time I had seen him. Even when he was standing still, his torso was languidly moving. His motion made my juices flow. I wanted to capture and harness that perpetual motion. I could feel myself getting hard, and the sign of vigor gave me a thrill.
I loved watching him move. I felt myself melting into him and, and I ached to feed on his youth, to absorb it, to fuck him hard and deep until we were one fine-tooled motion machine—to ram my thick cock far up his young and tender ass repeatedly and to hear him groan and moan for me. I wanted him as I had wanted Clem, if not more.
When Gabriel halted, deep down the corridors of the grapevine support fences, I stripped off the gauzy white shirt that had loosely covered my torso, and we worked hard, side by side, for nearly an hour. Gabriel showing me which grapes were begging to be plucked and how to harvest them without bruising their tender skins. And all the time his torso was in perpetual motion, moving like a master dancer.
The sun hadn’t reached its zenith when Gabriel called for a respite. He fanned out a blanket on the ground under a tree, where a section of the vineyard made way for an olive orchard, and began unpacking the basket he had filled before we had come out into the sunlight. There were several bottles of wine, uncorked, ready for tasting. With a merry laugh, Gabriel took one of these and handed me the other one. He leaned against a tree and saluted me with the bottle before drinking directly from it in a long gulp. He looked entirely too young to be taking deep swigs from a wine bottle, I thought. Even leaning against the tree, his body was in languid motion.
I saluted him back and took a long drink from the bottle he’d given me. The wine was refreshing and smooth, with a slight kick to it at the end—just the thing to top an hour of hard work in the fields.
Gabriel was grinning at me, swaying his torso, and I ached for him. But he looked oh so young.
I couldn’t help myself. “Just how old are you, Gabriel?” I asked in a scratchy voice, having difficulty broaching the subject.
“Old enough, Skeeter,” he said and flashed me that beautiful smile again.
“Old enough?” I asked. “You know what I was asking?” I asked with guarded hope. “And why?”
“Of course, Skeeter. I saw it in your eyes at the tasting bar. If you had not asked to come to the fields with me, I would have asked you to come myself. I was thrilled when I saw in your eyes that you desired me.”
“Come away from that tree, Gabriel,” I said huskily. “Come over here to me.”
“It’s cool here under the tree, Skeeter,” he answered, asserting himself, showing me some backbone. “I am hot; I need to be cooled down.”
“You need to be cooled down?” I responded. And then, impulsively, I walked over to him and upended the wine bottle in front of his face, watching the dark red fluid cascading down his lithe, undulating torso and staining his cotton trousers and plastering them to his pelvis. I could see that it was true about long sensuous fingers and toes. He had a long cock curled up in that basket of his, the front of his trousers now translucent thanks to the flowing red wine.