New Texas Mail Order Omega

NEW TEXAS MAIL ORDER OMEGA

by Tabatha Austin

NEW TEXAS MAIL ORDER OMEGA

Tabatha Austin

TabathaAustin.com

All Rights Reserved ©2018 Tabatha Austin. First Printing: 2018.

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Author’s Note: All characters in this story are 19 years of age or older.

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Chapter One

EARTH

THOMAS

Take it, straight man.

It’s no secret in the community; homophobes are the best lays, including the mustached, brown-haired man shuddering in this hotel bed. There’s a closet full of theories. It’s a chance to let go, simmering pressure, or role-playing. For one night they’re not them, but someone that likes the cock. No matter the reason, they’re putty in my hand.

I looked down to the Sheriff. What I had in my grip wasn’t soft like putty, and neither was the rest of him. I ordered him to keep his brown shirt on but buttoned low. Yeah, me. Thomas. The short guy with dark blond hair gave an order to six feet of police authority. He obeyed without question.

A uniform and country grown muscles were a perfect combination. His pants were already off by the time we got to the bed. There wasn’t any part of him that wasn’t hard. Some guys look good but aren’t strong, others have thick muscle-fat and can throw a bale of hay. Then we got men like him. They use their muscles every day, and it shows – my personal choice. Being on a farm isn’t for me, but I love Country Boys. You’d think I wouldn’t have my pick, but I do.

Either I’m lucky or smart. I’m a small gay man in an equally small Tennessee town, and I love my people, even if a big percentage don’t return the favor. Plenty of guys like me end up in a terrible spot – a smile to the wrong guy or seen coming out of a gay bar on the outskirts of town. At best it’s harassment, and at worse something else you can’t shake off easy.

Then there are the ones like me; we know there’s plenty of ‘part-time gays’ in small towns across America. Towns are full of men who’ll do anything for a taste. Take it as literally or figuratively as you want.

Sheriff Thompson for example – the man whose eyes rolled back up while I fisted his dick? The guy who trembled his lips every time I ran pre-cum over his end? This straight man ran several successful re-election campaigns on Family Values. He used to insult gays publicly until the world changed around him. Staying homophobic with gay aliens above the cities is hard. Well, you can, but it’s best to keep it to yourself.

My voice drew out. You like that?

His brown hair was as sweaty as his mustache. There was a frown on his face, but he nodded. Yeah, they loved it. They’ll never admit it after they leave the hotel, but they do. I wonder what men like him think when they leave? Do they ‘remember’ what happened?

I leaned in and ground my cock against his. There’s a bad joke: ‘It’s only gay if cocks touch.’ It’s gay, that’s for damn sure and he’s not getting an out. Doing the straight guy has its thrill but it gets old fast – I want them to remember. Maybe it’s pride or ‘poking the dragon’, but I make sure they see me out in the street. My smile’s wide while I stare at gazes that dart away from me. I’ll pick the table at Millie’s Kitchen where they see me staring back. That’s just in public.

Tomorrow he’ll see the scratches on his back and the hickey I left. It’s common, but an undeniable reminder in the mirror, one they can’t explain away. Back in the straight world, he’ll see the purple skin around the nipple or around his thigh, even around the neck if I’m feeling especially mischievous. Then there are other ways.

I lowered my voice to a whisper. Legs up.

Even in the shadows, I saw his Adam’s Apple bob out. Ain’t doing that. I’m not...

Queer? I finished.

His lips pressed into a fine line. Don’t press me, boy. I remember when–

–you busted me for carrying. Such a good lawman, too. Got me with an ounce of weed. Thank God the good people here were saved from that! I winked. "It was so nice of you to let me work it off. I pumped his cock to every word. Repaid... my... debt."

The grimace told me how close I was getting, so my hand left his manhood. It’s not what you’re supposed to do if you want to get the guy off. I got time for that and other things. My moves weren’t quick, and they didn’t have to be. Maybe my reflexes are fast, or he wanted me to do this. No matter the reason, he merely stared while the police handcuffs went over his wrists and around the bedpost.

He gave a pitiful whispered murmur but nothing more. Straight guys have to fight or give the appearance they aren’t too eager. If they said something, they didn’t give in, so they’re not really gay. ‘That queer boy handcuffed me, and I was helpless’ is their excuse. I reached to the side table and picked up a clear bottle of lube. I know the Sheriff’s washed down there. He’s been clean before when we’ve gotten close to ass fucking. A few more sessions and he’ll beg for it.

Where’s the fun in that?

My two slippery fingers glistened with gel. There’s a long string of dripped fluid over the mattress. With my clean hand, I lifted his right leg and then did the same for the other. There’s no effort. The Sheriff’s used his muscles to help me. He just couldn’t be obvious about it.

His voice shook as I slicked his ass with lube. Don’t, I’m the law. That would work for ninety-nine percent of the people around here but not for me.

There are sayings I could give. ‘Fuck the police’ has a certain appealing vulgarity, but I said nothing. It’s better this way. Like he’s not worthy of a response. He wants to be taken. For one sweaty night, he’s not an officer. There’s no authority from him, but more importantly no responsibility.

Mister Muscles With a Badge is powerless, and that’s almost enough to make him come. Someone else took charge, and he can’t do a damn thing about it. It’s not the handcuffs that set the situation, it’s his body. No matter what questions he’s got about his sexuality, he’s still a man. No guy, straight or gay is going to turn down an orgasm.

His voice was just a whisper, and it’s almost pathetic. I’d complain if it didn’t make my own cock throb out. I’m small, but I work out. There are muscles in my lean swimmer body and plenty of endurance. Yet, I’ve felt what he’s feeling. We’re two sides of a coin, a mirror image of each other. ‘Straight’ and gay. Tall and short. Brown and blondish. Closeted and so very out.

Men like him used to push me around. They have power on so many levels, but it comes down to their cock and balls. They’re all the same, even the Volardi hunks high above with their technological miracles. They all want to get off.

My cock slipped in far easier than I would have suspected from someone straight. Someone’s been fucking themselves. He’s tight but should be tighter, not that it matters. His ass ripples around my dick, and I’m not even all the way in. His ring is against my cock head and I’m not leaning against it, he is. I could push it in, like with other first-timers. I’m at the middle ground, that grey area where they don’t want it, but they do.

Say it.

He shook his head fast. No.

I leaned back ever so slightly, and I can feel his ass cheeks grip around me as if trying to pull me back in. With the lube and my pre-cum, there was no way. In the old days, I would have worn a condom. The ones who go ‘down-low’ travel to unwise bars and back alleyways. Take that as a euphemism if you want. They still go where men can be gay even if it’s for a night, and sometimes I’m there. Thanks to the Volardi, it doesn’t matter how risky you get. They haven’t shared all their technology, but they want to make sure the Earth gays are healthy. Our gays might be theirs one day, hence it’s the free love days again. I won’t complain. No more fumbling around for a condom and I can feel someone’s ass around me without bothersome latex.

Another inch back and my dick’s barely in his ass. It’s against every instinct I had. God, I want to plow deep inside and make him ache. Give him a pain that’ll throb out tomorrow and the next day. Fuck him hard and imagine every homophobe that ever gave me grief.

I rock forward a bit. What’s the magic word?

His Tennessee country accent thickened. Fuck me.

No, that’s not it.

I’m not gay. For a split second, that authority comes back. He’s got a nightstick but so do I. The difference is I’m using mine right now.

Gay men love a cock in the ass. I pressed forward, and my voice turned into sing-song. What do you like?

Even in the dulled light and the beads of perspiration, the red flash on his face was impossible to miss.

I’ve never been one to give into gay stereotypes, but this drove the point home better than any cock would. He’s in bed with the gay guy; the one everyone in town knows about. ‘Gay Tommy’ or ‘Thomas the Queer Boy’ if they want to get formal. All the desires he won’t admit to, I thrust in his face. My cock throbbed out in his ass and I’m sure it kept him at the razor’s edge of orgasm. It would be almost cruel if it wasn’t for what was coming soon.

Once his eyes closed, I knew I won. Your cock. I love your cock in my ass okay? We going to fuck or what?

Next time I might push it more, take that too how you will. The good officer did it just fine, and for now it’s enough. I told him how gay men love cock in their ass and I got him to admit he loves it. It doesn’t take a genius to make the leap.

Yeah, you do, I said as my dick pushed in deeper. You like being fucked like a little bitch.

His lips thinned, and I wonder if I went too far. There’s poking the dragon, and there’s standing under his flame. Instinct took over, either self-preservation or sexual desire. No matter the reason, my hips went back and forth. His anger washed away with every thrust. I’m hurting him, but good sex has pain. Great sex has more, but he can’t let me go – every ripple of his ass muscles begged me to stay. Part of me wished he was on his hands and knees, it just seemed more subservient that way and I can get deeper. Fortunately while the universe made me shorter than most men, I’m blessed in other areas. What I got is plenty; long, wide, and bulging with veins. Pride or truth, it’s your pick.

The orgasm is coming but so’s my favorite part. His hips moved on their own; first forward and then back. It’s a few seconds until we synced up, but each thrust is met with loud, wet slaps. The hotel’s room was elegant but the sounds within were obscene.

The soft, wet sucking sound from the lube added its own noise amid the groans of two fit and fine men near the limits of their endurance. If there’s a symphony for gay sex, this was it.

I inhaled deep and took in more of his muggy male sweat. I’ve teased him, but he’s all man. Anyone that can take what I’m giving must be. I haven’t been with many city boys, but in the country their smell gets me hard. Outdoor and woodsy with sweat before it becomes unpleasant. I leaned in and licked his chest. Men like him don’t like that. They want a cock in the ass or mouth and no more. No kissing, no affection, just pure fucking. This makes it too gay. Too much like being with a girl or at least a relationship with a guy. I don’t care, and he won’t argue when there’s a dick in him. With limberness most men don’t have I ran my tongue down his stomach and devoured his sweet-salt taste. It’s a quick swallow and then back to all business.

Back and forth I went, and pulled him close with every thrust. His body wasn’t his, but mine isn’t either. He has to take, and I have to give. He’s split open, spread wide and claimed. He said ‘My ass was his’ when he busted me, but now the reverse is true. I held him higher, and I nearly lost it as I watched my thick shaft pump in and out. The wet, frantic sounds synced with every heavy breath. Better hurry.

My balls slap against him as I fuck. There’s no other way to put it. It’s pure sex. I lifted his legs a few inches higher and heard a throaty scream as I slammed against his prostate. It’s never been what I’m into. Not all gay men like being fucked there, some like to do the thrusting. From our positions, you can figure out which one I am.

One, two, three… then twenty-one long strokes. Lucky twenty-one and I emptied myself into him. After several convulses, police cum splashed against my chest and chin, and I turned away. Not that it bothered me, but it’s more efficient for cleanup. My thrusts were short but no less intense. Every push sent me into the good officer, and he takes it.

It’s another minute of pounding. Either to make sure he remembers me or eons of sexual evolution. I’m gay and can’t impregnate another man like the Volardi, but there’s still that male reluctance to pull out. Eventually I did, and I saw the straight man come back. Without looking at me he walked to the bathroom. Thanks to the Volardi, you don’t have to use a condom anymore. That made things easy for guys like him. I could throw it away, and they could go out the door. Now he’s got to shower and scoop ‘me’ out.

I lay back on the bed and pulled up slowly on my cock. One big pool collected at the end.

Five minutes later he left, and I got police protection again.

Then he’ll be back. Wash, rinse, and repeat. Just like all the others.

***

Chapter Two

THOMAS

Olivia! Time for breakfast! I shouted. Hope it wasn’t another late night at the restaurant.

I took another sip of coffee and ran a finger over the teak wood kitchen table. The guy said the brand name was ‘Hooker.’ I guess there’s a certain humor, even if I’m not a prostitute. I accept gifts. Southerners are known for their hospitality and refusing something is rude. I smiled. Why, that’s even worse than being gay.

Olivia shuffled in and mimed a slow wave in my direction. Her slick, jet black hair slid over her cocoa colored skin. Sometimes I wondered if our parents would let her have coffee. I didn’t know what was proper with a teenager. I figured I wouldn’t have to worry about that for a long time, if ever. A car crash corrected that assumption. I took another drink and decided there were better things to think about.

She sat. Like clockwork, the first drink was a gulp. The second less than that. The third one just had a hint of coffee left in the cup.

I fucked Sheriff Thompson last night.

Her hand went up to her mouth and her forehead scrunched while she coughed several times. No coffee came out. There’s a reason I waited. Most of it was teenage girl drama – I think. Her shoulders rose, and I saw facial expressions worthy of any daytime soap-opera. "Why do you tell me these things?"

We’re kin, and share.

"We’re brother and sister. No brother and sister shares like we do."

We do.

Because you insist. Her fingers went against her forehead and she shook her head. It was several seconds before she spoke. So, does this mean…

… your ticket’s gone? It better be.

It was a statement, but it sounded like a question. Thanks?

I didn’t do it for her per se, even though there’s little I wouldn’t do. She was family and blood, even if most people wouldn’t think it from looking at us. My sessions with the Sheriff were more to smooth things over. If I’m ever involved in something and it comes down to believing the ‘queer kid’ or anyone else, the gay man’s going down, and not in a good way either. Sure, I’ll flaunt the law a bit and use my ‘Get out of Jail’ card but it helps when a new officer feels he needs to teach the ‘queer’ a lesson.

And I get to help Olivia.

Well, thank you, she said. I wouldn’t ask you to…

… pound the Sheriff.

The soap-opera actress returned. Stop. Although with her it sounded like Sta-a-a-ahp. Her eyes narrowed, and she smiled. The length was too long to be genuine.

What’s wrong?

The smile stayed. Nothing. I’m with my brother. Got a great cup of coffee.

I breathed in deep. What happened?

Her hands went out. Nothing. It was three more questions before the smile faded. Just some asshole at work.

Did he touch you?

No. She leaned in. Nobody touched me. At least believe that. I did but there was something else. She held out her hand. I stared at flawless brown skin that belonged on a hand cream commercial. Some guy said I was pretty for a…

I waited for what I knew was coming but gave her time to say it. She didn’t.

"Colored girl?" I asked.

She smiled softly. It’s like you were there.

No, I remember the stories – all of them.

Sometimes I wondered who had it worse. Me, the ‘White’ gay guy or the straight ‘Black’ girl. She was just as White as I was, and the reverse was true. One of our ancestors was Black, and she got the genetic result people associate with that. She said her skin was dark, but I thought she looked exotic – one of the few women I could stare at and admire their beauty. If she wasn’t in a town with assholes, she’d rule with her looks.

Who said it?

I don’t need you finishing my fights.

It wasn’t the race comparison that was insulting. There’s nothing wrong with ‘Timmy’ but if people called me that, you know they’re trying to get to you. People knew we were kin, although some classmates used to say we ‘found’ her one day. Too many tried to put it in her head she was adopted.

I stared back into the face of someone who was blood but most importantly family. I’ve been lucky, and I’ve made my own luck. I’m a queer man that gets away with things in the South. Likewise, I kept my sister. There are plenty of stories of guys like me. They come out and their family disowns them and blood’s not so thick then. I like to think I’m tough but after our parents died, I couldn’t handle losing her.

Her voice lowered to a whisper. It’s just an asshole. She pointed to her face and did the pose from Madonna’s ‘Vogue’ video. I’m flawless, like you said.

My lips curled into a smile. Flawless? That’s our word.

Yes, and I’m borrowing it… like I did with your makeup.

That was one night and for a charity event.

My luck. Lancôme makes a great product.

Expensive too.

Too bad our Volardi Smart-Boxes can’t recreate it for free.

I took a sip. Yeah. That and skin products. Between you and me, we go through… well, maybe it’s best to not think about it.

We weren’t poor anymore, nobody who dated the men I did would be. That and a Smart-Box was enough to keep you comfortable. If you weren’t greedy you could recreate nearly anything you wanted. The Volardi made sure there was enough, so people didn’t end up on the street. Hungry people could get a ready to eat sandwich. Someone without heat could request a winter coat. Trademarked items were fine, but you had to pay the company directly. The Volardi got a cut I’m sure.

That’s what you need, said Olivia. A Volardi boyfriend.

Eh, they don’t really do boyfriends. They’re looking for husbands? Is that the word where there are three?

Olivia beamed since this was her time to show off. Lifelong Bond Mates, but it’s the same thing. We just use different words. Alphas or Soturi, as they say, are the big ones. They impregnate the Femeni. Then there’s Daras in the middle. We call them Betas. They’re just men, but still cute. The ones that have the babies are Omegas or Femeni to them, she said.

Sounds too much like ‘Female.’

And is there something wrong with that?

I bit my lip. One would think to be gay meant I wouldn’t get in trouble with women. Some people think we instinctively get them, but it’s not true. They’re even more perplexing since I don’t date one. If it wasn’t for my sis they’d be well… alien. I would say as much as the Volardi, but they made sense. A race of gay men, although their men could have babies. At least the Femeni could.

Well… the ones that are left, anyway.

A hand wave took me out of my thoughts. Tommy? Thomas?

Oh sorry, just thinking about the Volardi.

She nodded and grinned. Yeah, I bet.

My hands