Somone Else's Man by Kris Klein

Heat Rating: Bonfire

Content Warning: GLBT homoerotica, gay sexual practices, sex in a public place.

Diego is someone else's man, but that doesn't stop Cory from wanting him.

"Do you have a woody?"

I turned around sharply in the crowded toy store, already smiling at the question. Sure enough, there he was--Corey Anderson--the cute little blond freshman from Rainier University who'd been following me around like a puppy for a couple of months now.

I was standing about halfway up a wall ladder, putting back a Dress-Up Tiffany Dream Mansion that a customer had decided against, on a particularly high shelf... but when I heard the familiar voice asking that insanely ridiculous question, I looked down to see Corey staring up at me--a Garfield the Cat stuffed doll in one hand, Snoopy from the "Peanuts" comic strip in the other.

"These are nice," Corey said, blinking up at me innocently, "but I was really looking for a Woody Woodpecker doll." He licked his lips seductively, big blue eyes shining. "So I'll ask again: Do you have a woody?"

"You are such a dick," I replied, laughing as I climbed down the ladder. "What are you doing here? I thought you had class today."

Corey shrugged. "We had a test; old Carmichael let us go soon as we were done, so I thought I'd come see my favorite assistant manager. How's work?"

"It sucks--as always. We're getting busy with the Christmas season just around the corner--yet according to corporate, sales are down this year. But hey," I added, playfully poking at him, "what about you? How's life going at the Cineplex?"

Corey rolled his eyes. "Ugh. Six-fifty an hour to sweep up popcorn and take out the garbage. But hey--it's work."

"Amen." I admit it, I found Corey really attractive--even if I wasn't available. About 5'8" in shoes, if that, with curly blond hair and eyes bluer than the sea, Corey Anderson was the perfect example of the eighteen-year-old all-American gay boy. Dimples out to here, a perfect bff (best boyfriend forever) smile, and a hot little athletic body that wouldn't quit if you shot at it didn't hurt him, either. He'd relocated here, to Chicago, to attend Rainier on the northwest side of the city from some po-dunk town in Kansas--and looked the epitome of middle-America farm boy; sweet, unspoiled, and fresh as a field of daisies.

The fact that--in reality--he was a major-league flirt with a dirty mind and sexually suggestive mouth, who favored tall Hispanic guys and went after them or, at least, me like nobody's business, only added to his mystique and boyish charm. He was a newborn buck in a city full of seasoned wolves, ready to be used and abused no matter how urbane he thought he was, and that was the main reason I put up with his advances--it allowed me the opportunity to keep an eye on him.

And boy, were Corey's advances getting stronger. Even as I climbed down the ladder to speak to him, I cocked my ass in the other direction so he wouldn't have a chance to pat it, something he'd done twice already since I'd known him.

"What are you doing tonight?" he asked when we were face to face--well, as face to face as we could be, considering I was 6'1".

"Well, I get off at six," I replied. "Then I have to get right home, shower and change. Juan and I have tickets for the new show at the Steppenwolf. Why?"

But Corey ignored my question. "Oh. Juan. Why you gotta go out with him again?" he asked, sticking out his lower lip in a pout.

I rolled my eyes, laughing. "Well, I don't know Corey, maybe ‘cause it's the kind of thing you do with your live-in lover of four years. Ya think?" I asked, tapping the top of his head like he was a bad dog.