Dearest Milton James by N.R. Walker

Chapter Thirteen

Nothing.

That’s what I found on Raymond who lived in Northbury in 1972. I needed a surname, and I couldn’t get that without accessing school records. And that was even if he went to high school in Northbury and not the bigger town half an hour away.

I searched Facebook, as Cherry suggested. Found plenty on Northbury and the high school, but only recent posts. I searched historical sites for that region of the state. I tried blanket variation searches of Raymond Northbury and, very unsurprisingly, found diddley squat.

His aunt Kath had worked at the council offices, so I searched Northbury Shire offices and found photos online of the buildings, but most news articles revolved around the amalgamation. I had no idea if Raymond’s aunty was married, so even if I could find the names of any women who worked there in 1972, which I could not, I wouldn’t know what side of his family she was on or if her surname had changed when or if she married.

Another dead end.

So then I decided to switch gears. I couldn’t find anything on Raymond so I decided to focus on his mystery man.

I typed in Northbury Shire, Vietnam War. Surely if some of the boys from the region were going to war, there’d be something in the local newspaper. The Milldale Star paper had proudly been in print since 1921, apparently. Or so the website said.

There were articles, yes. Mostly historical archive information, but . . . very little. Most just reported on the news, and any mentions of war were usually a small paragraph on page four or five.

For fuck’s sake.

Then my phone rang and Julian’s name appeared on-screen. I’d lost track of time and answered quickly. “Hey.”

“Hello, I have a delivery of Japanese dumplings for a Mr Malachi Keogh.”

I laughed and let him in. “Mmm, dinner and a snack.”

He chuckled, and seeing my laptop and notes all over the couch, he put the takeout on my tiny dining table. “Been busy, I see.”

“Yes. And I have much to tell.”

His eyes went wide. “You found him?”

“No. I didn’t. Cherry found the town using business registration information on the hardware store owner.”

“But it wasn’t in his name. I checked.”

“No, it was some holdings company that owned a bunch of businesses, but there was a director and a son and a cousin three times removed and a billy goat guarding a bridge . . .  She should work for homeland security. I’m not even kidding.”

Julian smiled at me, then slid his palm along my jaw and pressed his lips to mine. It was warm and sweet and made me feel as light as a feather. “I’ve wanted to do that all day.”

“Mmm,” I hummed dreamily. “I would like you to do that to me all day.”

“Dinner first? Sorry, I’m starving.”

I laughed and grabbed two plates. “Yes, of course, and I can tell you what else I found. Or what I didn’t find.” Then I checked the time. “Holy shit, Great British Bake Off starts in ten minutes.”

I relayed all of what I’d found and not found while we ate, then I shoved my laptop and papers onto the coffee table and propped a cushion at one end, patting it for Julian to sit lengthways on the couch. Which he did. Then I proceeded to plant myself between his legs, my head on his chest.

He wrapped his arm around my chest. “You good now? Comfortable?”

“Yep.”

He chuckled and kissed the side of my head. It felt so good and so warm and comforting. I felt safe and . . . I felt his dick pressing against my lower back. And then, of course, my dick answered the call and I suddenly wasn’t too interested in watching the TV.

I wiggled back a little bit and held his hand that was on my chest. His strong fingers threaded with mine, and he shifted to get more comfortable or to get more friction. I wasn’t sure which.

Then, with the worst timing ever, I remembered . . . “Oh, how’d your meeting go with my dad?”

“It was fine,” he murmured against my ear. His deep voice rumbled right through me. “I only spoke to him for about ten seconds. He asked how you were fitting in. I said you were the sexiest man I’d seen in a long time.”

I laughed. “You did not.”

His hand pressed down on my chest, his other hand gripped my hip, holding me against him. His dick was hard now. I might have groaned like a B-grade porn star. Julian’s lips were at my ear, and his hand went from holding my hip to palming my cock. “I told him I had trouble controlling myself around you.”

“Oh fuck.”

“I said I wanted to hold out, to treat you right, but every time I see you, my body reacts.” He kissed down my neck and rubbed my erection through my jeans. “Malachi, I’ve never wanted someone the way I want you.”

His words, his breath in my ear, his hands set my insides on fire. I turned in his arms and claimed his mouth with my own. He pulled me flush against him, his hands sliding down to my arse, and he squeezed, grinding me against his huge cock.

Pleasure wrapped itself around my spine, sparking a fire inside me. Rubbing myself against him, feeling his arousal, his tongue in my mouth, his strong hands, his body underneath me.

Could I come like this?

I think I could come like this.

Just a bit more . . .

“Malachi,” he breathed.

“More,” I moaned. I sounded desperate, frantic. I was desperate and frantic.

God, this is so hot but not enough.

I needed more.

I pushed harder, I kissed him deeper, imagining his massive dick sliding into me just as he gripped my hips and thrusted, shuddering and groaning. His head pushed back, grunting from somewhere low in his chest, and he came.

His face was pure ecstasy; his eyes rolled closed, his neck corded, and he convulsed with a moan. But he held me tighter as he rode out his orgasm, bucking into me, and the feel of his cock pulsing between us was enough to send me over the edge.

He took a hold of my face and looked into my eyes as I came, watching with wonder and fire in his eyes. “Oh, Malachi,” he breathed. “So beautiful.”

When my mind returned to my body, my bones were made of jelly and all I could do was laugh, I collapsed on top of him, burying my face against his neck, breathing in the scent of him and the smell of our sex. We were a sticky mess but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

“We missed the technical challenge,” he said. “On the Great British Bake Off.”

I started to laugh. “I think we made our own. Ten out of ten. I’m still seeing stars.”

Julian’s hand found my hair. “We made a bit of a mess.”

I reluctantly pulled myself up and unglued myself from him. “That means we can shower together.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

I took his hand and pulled him to his feet. “Yep. And my shower is small, so we’re gonna have to stand really close.”

Still holding his hand, I led him to the bathroom, then peeled off my shirt and pulled my jeans down. I’d never been shy about being naked. I was a pale skinny guy with an average-sized dick, and I refused to feel shame for any part of me.

Julian, on the other hand, unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall from his shoulders. He wasn’t as pale as me, but he was by no means tanned. He had a dusting of chest hair which I just had to run my fingers through. I don’t remember ever seeing body hair on a guy I’d been with. Most of them shaved or waxed. But this . . .

“This is hot,” I murmured. Then I tweaked his nipple, just because I could.

He unbuttoned his pants, unzipped, and pulled his briefs down over his thighs.

And I’m here to tell you . . . the man was hung.

You know in those porn movies when the skinny nerdy guy has a dick halfway down to his knees? Well, they exist in real life.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I breathed, staring at it. At him. “That is the biggest, most beautiful dick I’ve ever seen.”

Julian’s cheeks flamed pink. “It’s . . . it’s been an issue for some guys.”

I put my hand to my chest. “Believe me when I say, I am not some guys. And my mum never raised no quitter.”

Julian laughed and gave himself a slow pull. “I can ease you into it if you think you’d like to try.”

“Now?” I asked. “I can be on my bed face down, arse up in two seconds.”

He burst out laughing. “I thought we were waiting for Friday for the full cleaning of bathrooms.”

“Well, I guess, if you want to . . .”

“Weren’t we going to try a few other things first?”

“Like we did just now?”

“Tomorrow night you could come to my place. I’ll make you dinner,” he said, brushing his lips against mine. “I’d love to taste more of you.”

My knees did that wobbly-jelly thing again. I let out a breathy laugh. “I’ll have you know, I normally conduct myself with some modicum of decency, but you talk to me like that, and you touch me, and I turn into Insta-ho.”

He laughed before kissing me with smiley lips. “Is that your superpower?”

“Uh, more like my kryptonite.”

His cock, spent and hanging heavy, twitched between us and he kissed down my neck. “You are my kryptonite.”

“Fucking hell,” I breathed, giving him more of my throat.

He groaned and pulled back. “Maybe we should make this a cold shower.”

Shower?

I looked around as if seeing we were in my bathroom for the first time. “Oh, right.” I laughed and turned the water on. Julian followed me in and kissed me under the stream of water. He kissed me as we washed each other, and he kissed me when we dried off.

And he stood there in my tiny bathroom wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, with his wet hair and a goofy smile. And a semi-hard dick, which was mighty impressive given its length and girth.

But he never pushed me for more, which both impressed and disappointed me.

His trousers were mostly spared from his jizz, though his underwear and shirt went into the washing machine. My jeans, briefs and shirt were a splotchy mess, so I pulled on some old jogger pants and a T-shirt, then handed Julian a light knitted sweater.

It was fuchsia pink with a hot pink argyle pattern.

“Oh wow,” he said, holding it up. “It’s . . . a bold choice.”

I snorted. “And it will look so hot on you.”

“And tight.”

“Exactly. That’s why I chose it.”

Julian laughed but pulled it over his head. I nodded because I was so right. “Tight, and hot.”

He risked a glance at the mirror, then looked again. “That’s actually not bad.”

I put my hand to my chest and gave him an Oscar-winning imitation of Marilyn Monroe. “You may doubt my sincerity and doubt my good name, but darling, don’t ever doubt my fashion sense.”

Julian laughed and put his glasses back on. “Well, I think we missed the baking show.”

“I’m okay with that.”

“Me too.”

“Sooo, tomorrow night. Did you mean that? About cooking me dinner and sucking my dick, or was that just in-the-moment talk?”

Julian’s eyes went as wide as his grin. “I don’t recall saying the dick-sucking part.”

“You said you wanted to taste more of me. I just assumed . . .”

He cupped my face in both his hands and kissed me again. “That’s exactly what I meant. And yes, dinner too, if you want.”

“Oh, I want.”

He closed his eyes, his forehead against mine. “God, tell me to leave. I don’t want to go, but if I don’t go now, I will take you to bed.”

“Well, that’s not a very good argument for me to tell you to leave.”

He groaned out a laugh. “Malachi, I’m trying to pace this. I want to do everything to you, with you, but I don’t want to go too fast in case we burn out. I haven’t felt like this in so long. I’m trying to take it slow and do the right thing.”

I kissed him, soft and sweet. “I want to do everything with you too,” I whispered. His eyes were brown-and-gold galaxies. “So dinner tomorrow night sounds lovely. And we can have all the usual dating conversations, like favourite movies and books. And we can talk about families and friends and embarrassing childhood stories, our first times, and all the things you want to know about me.” I pecked his lips with mine. “And then you can do all the tasting of my dick you want.”

Julian hummed. “And you can taste mine.”

“Sure. I’ll just unhinge my jaw like a snake so it fits.”

He scoffed at that. “Okay, so I’m not that big.”

“Fear not, good man,” I proclaimed boldly. “I spent my later teen years devouring giant all-day suckers in preparation for this moment. It’s my time to shine.”

He laughed, his whole face so damn happy. “I should go. Thank you for tonight.”

“My pleasure. Literally. And thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, my shirt . . .”

“I’ll bring it with me to your place tomorrow night. Text me your address and I’ll book an Uber. What time should I arrive?”

“I’ll pick you up around six thirty,” he replied. Then he took my chin in between his thumb and forefinger and kissed me. “Like a proper date. I’ll pick you up, feed you, take care of you, and drop you home whenever you want. I want to treat you right, Malachi.”

“Sounds good.” It sounded better than good. It sounded great.

With a soft, lingering kiss, he left. And I cleaned up a bit, let a disgruntled Buster Jones in from the balcony for his nightly squander of free food, and I went to bed feeling all floaty.

I was happy.

On that new-romance buzz, the thrill and excitement of every look, of every touch. He was different to any guy I’d ever been with. He was genuine and lovely and kind. He totally had a bit of a daddy vibe, which suited me just fine. After all, I was a twenty-seven-year-old twinky man-boy that probably needed looking after more than I wanted to admit.

I wanted him to look after me.

His strong arms, his gentle touch. To eat dinner with me, to watch TV with me, to laugh and talk with me, then to whisper in my ear all the filthy things he wanted to do to me. God, I wanted that. I wanted him to use my body like a sex toy. He was what I wanted.

Yeah, I was happy.

I told myself it was too early for love.

I couldn’t call it love.

It was lust and infatuation, excitement and butterflies.

It was far too soon for love.

Wasn’t it?

Wasn’t it?