Mind Caviar Fiction

Alexander Renault  is the pen name for an author who has published in several genres. He has worked in the mental health field for fifteen years.  His erotic fiction has appeared also at Ophelia's Muse, Velvet Mafia, and Scarlet Letters, as well as in the International Journal of Erotica. Renault's non-fiction has been published at Erotica Authors Association and the Erotica Readers and Writers Association. He writes a monthly column at Beefyboyz.com and also has a collection of non-fiction essays and interviews, Pornographic Pulsar, published at his Web site. Renault lives in rural Pennsylvania with his partner and their two Boston terriers, Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi.

Email Alexander Renault. Visit him at AlexanderRenault.com.


Cinema Scrimmage

Inside this new love, die.
Your way begins on the other side.
Become the sky.
Take an axe to the prison wall.
Escape.
Walk out like someone suddenly born into color.
Do it now.
You're covered with thick cloud.
Slide out the side.  Die,
and be quiet.  Quietness is the surest sign
that you've died.
Your old life was a frantic running
from silence.

The speechless full moon
comes out now.

~ Rumi, c. 1250


 I have never really known someone who was physically challenged until I met Bradley.  When I first started as an usher at the movie theater where he worked the concession stand we took an instant dislike to one another.  That was unusual for me since I'm a fairly nice guy, at least for being 22-years-old (feels like I'll never finish that damn degree).  Bradley had a sneer of pretension and disdain that really pissed me off at first until I discovered he was handicapped.  Then I kind of felt sorry for him.  

 You should have heard Bradley lose it when he heard me say "handicapped."  He was kind of cute for a creep but when he got angry (and that was often) the veins on his neck protruded and his face flushed.  When it happened I thought he would start screaming but he just kind of snorted like a wildebeest and gave you this look like he had just caught you shoplifting.  He was cute though, in a worn kind of way, with curly brown hair cut short over the ears and ridiculous little preppy outfits.  Bradley kind of looked like his mother picked out his clothes.  Some days, sporting a tie, he reminded me of all the guys in high school you hated because they always wrecked the goddamn grading curve.  He even had the compulsory sneer.
 

*  *  * 


 "What the fuck are you looking at?"

 Embarrassed, I turned my head away toward the trash bins by the snack bar. Damn him, that gimp had eyes around the back of his head.  His ass was a little strange and I was just checking it out.  A little asymmetrical but tasty nonetheless.  I couldn't help staring because he was wearing beige corduroys that were snug in all the right places.  I found that I could not stop looking at him.

 "Piss off.  I'm busy."  I said.  That was the best I could do at the time.  Looking downward I was pulling large black trash bags out of the big waste cans.

 "I can see that.  Do you always pull the empty bags out of the cans or is this some kind of special holiday?"  Snort.

 I felt my face grow hot as I looked down, the empty trash bags streaming over my hands like a black shiny waterfall.  I started putting them back into the cans.

 "You're kind of a mongoloid, aren't you?" Bradley said with a smirk that was just on the edge of a smile.  It was difficult believe such attitude coming out of such a pretty little mouth.

 "And you're an asshole, Bradley Boy." 
 

*  *  * 


 Legg-Calve Perthes disease is caused by a malformation of the upper bone in the thigh, the femur.  Although it is not a painful condition, it requires a cane for stability while both walking and standing stationary.  People with this condition will eventually need to have hip replacement surgery. Specialists do not like to have this condition corrected at too young an age because a hip replacement has a life span of approximately only 20 years.

 Bradley was told to wait until he was at least 30 to go under the saw.  I involuntarily flinched just thinking about it.
 

*  *  * 


 "I heard that movie sucked a dead dog's dick," he said laughing.  Bradley did have the cutest dimples in his cheeks when he smiled.  He lowered his voice as he started filling the popcorn machine with uncooked kernels.  

 "No, seriously.  I heard it was funny so I just bought it.  I got it cheap."  There was a lot of trash today because it was Saturday evening.  People could be like a herd of swine at a trough at the movies on a weekend.  

 Filling the straw container he said, "Well, I heard it stunk.  We didn't even run here when it was released.  It bombed bit time."

 "We can watch it tonight."

 "Fuck you, Trash Boy." Bradley turned but his cane caught the edge of a soda tank and he lost his balance.  I was only standing about 3 or 4 feet from him but he stumbled into me with a horrified look on his face.  The look changed to one of mortified embarrassment, like being caught in a junior high school class with a boner.  

 I helped him regain his balance, putting a hand on his chest and the other on his waist.  The feel of his chest through the cotton of his button down Oxford shirt was in direct contrast to the feeling of having my hand violently knocked away.  He hurt my wrist.

 "Are you okay?"

 "Oh course I'm okay, you idiot.  If you weren't standing so close to me I wouldn't have lost my balance!"  The old flare of the nostrils again.  I did not know whether to feel sorry for him or inflict a bitch slap across his moody little face.

 I was going to start yelling back but more people were heading for the counter.  He was so sad at that moment--trying to manage popcorn and candy orders, the money tray, his hand trembling in a death grip around the cane, his wooden embarrassment.  His albatross.  

 "Just think about that offer," I said turning quickly as I left to collect and tear tickets.
 
 

*  *  * 



 I knew Bradley felt ashamed by the stiffness of his body.  The DVD was supposed to be a comedy (I hoped it might lighten the mood) but it dragged on and on, perhaps because the situation in which we found ourselves was anything but humorous.  After shifting uncomfortably on his side of the couch I told him to pull up his legs and stretch out.  Bradley tried to be nonchalant when I pulled his legs onto my lap but his body was tighter than a circus performer's tension wire.

 When my hand brushed against his upper leg he acted as though a jolt of electricity ran through him.  He jumped, an involuntary movement like when you dream you are falling and wake yourself up, and pulled his knees closer to his chest.

 “Relax,” was all I could muster at that moment.  “Come on, stretch out,” I whispered softly.  “I won’t bite.”

 His eyebrows were close together and his face held a painful little scowl but I managed to pull his legs over my lap.  I began by simply massaging one of his shins and although he relaxed a tiny bit he kept his face looking toward the television.  The hardness in the muscles of his legs were in sharp contrast to the silliness, the shouts and jabbering coming from the screen.  I picked up the remote control and pressed STOP.  Looking over at Bradley I saw the silhouette of his beautiful face in the soft blue light of the television, and then he turned his face toward me.  His thighs were releasing like stones tossed into a deep swimming pool, heavy but with little burden.  Just floating.  With my hands touching him it felt as though his legs were part of a musical instrument.  

 I lifted Bradley's heavy legs and shifted on the couch, then dropped to my knees before him.  After pulling myself up I kept a hand on his leg and slowly, very slowly, ran a hand up his thigh.  He made the saddest sound as my hand crossed over his hip, like an animal in pain, an unconscious overload of the senses.  The strange curve of his thigh and hip were warm and we looked one another in the eyes.  His were full of resignation while mine must have betrayed a glimmer of lust and he knew in an instant I was dying to make love to him.  His whole body was trembling.

 I leaned at my waist, bending into him.  As my face was reaching his, he pulled his head back slightly but I by then I would not be refused.  With one hand on his waist and the other grabbing the hair on the back of his head I pulled him toward me until I felt his soft lips against mine.  

 “No!” he whimpered,  “I can’t.”  He looked like he was about to cry.  “Please don’t do this to me . . . “

 Oh, by then it was too late and we both felt it.  I pulled his head toward mine once again without speaking, my lips now the matador’s flaming red cape, my tongue the hidden spear that would slay him.

 Our mouths locked and my tongue found a gate of teeth, clenched in protest.  I put both my hands now on the sides of his face and mouthed his lips, sucking them in, one at a time, then both, as I purposefully breathed in long and forcefully.  The sucking sound as I drew in the air of his closed mouth, then the puff sound as Bradley opened his mouth so slightly.  The air in his lungs, inside his body, passed into my own and then like a sensuous vacuum my tongue was deep within him.

 The kiss.  Jesus, the kiss.  It lasted forever.  It was over in a second.  I had to move.

 After gently pulling his button down shirt from his belt line I ran my hand across his flat stomach.  My fingers spread, I circled down to the other hip and repeated this slowly until finally running my hand over his fly.  His hardness flipped a switch inside me and I felt myself breathing harder, preparing for any sacrifice required for Bradley's pleasure.  Up along his stomach's hairline my fingers traveled while my other hand flicked open the buttons of his expensive shirt.  The last one at his neckline was stubborn so I grabbed the front collar and yanked hard.  Bradley's eyes widened with the discovery that I could wait no longer for him, hearing the sound of the button bounce across the wooden floor, then roll under the couch.

 A mouth on his hardening nipple produced a tender moan from his throat before I moved my tongue to his underarm.  The taste of his deodorant was sour but when I felt his hand caress the back of my neck I kept going, knowing he was giving in to it, to me.  A last quick tooth across his nipple that was hard as alabaster, and then my face was in his neck, biting and sucking as if I wanted to swallow him.  My mouth found his again, our lips parted, my tongue reaching into him even deeper than before (how long ago was that?).  

 I was dying for knowledge of his body.  As I kissed the very center of his forehead I whispered, "You're so beautiful."  When I pulled my head away I saw a tear run down his cheek, icy blue in the light of the blank screen.  I licked it and the salt slid over my tongue.  Mmmmmm . . 

 Without protest Bradley let me pull off his shirt.  Two of my fingers were in his mouth before leaving a tiny slick line over his bottom lip to his swallowing throat, from chest to navel, then the zipper unlocked his secret.  The realization of what was happened stunned me when I took his throbbing cock into my mouth, hearing him gasp.  It was the sound of true discovery and all at once I knew he had never gone this far before, was probably a virgin.  He tasted like the clean of a recent shower and I was surprised by the girth of his member, a smooth and slippery surface upon which no one before had ever fallen.  I wanted him to want me and from the feel of his hands on my head, and the increasing thrust of his pelvis, he wanted me just as much.

 The cry of Bradley's ejaculation felt like a firecracker in my throat followed by the snakelike jumping of a water hose.  I swallowed hard, working my tongue around the tender underbelly of his thick crown, working it with all my attention and wrath, tightening and strengthening his first shared orgasm.  I knew it had come from very deep within him.  While he was cumming and crying out I could feel his legs thrashing as I held him down on the couch with all the weight of my upper body, my hand on his hip.  I could feel the tightening of his balls in my other hand as he exploded.  Looking down for a second, I saw his ankles turning in circles as if each were having an orgasm of their own, the toes flexing and releasing through his thick white nerd socks.  Then nothing but a steady breath from his mouth and the hard pounding of his heart in my ear as I lay my head down on his chest, caressing his inner thigh.  Oh, Brad, if I could have stayed like that forever . . . 

 He was too far into his post-coital haze to react to my telling him to stay still just before I left the room.  Upon my return I set down a few supplies and whispered into his ear as softly as I could, "I'm going to make love to you.  Trust me and just let it happen.  If you say stop then we stop."  I took another deep breath and exhaled slowly, saying within the exhalation, “But, God, please don’t make me stop . . . “

 I gently turned him onto his back and had him lean over the front of the couch.  It seemed an odd sight at first with Bradley's hip and leg splayed out as if they were foreign, not part of his body.  He was trembling as I put my mouth between his buttocks, my tongue reaching his virgin pucker.  I knew I was reaching into him when he loudly said, "Yes."  With a grunt from his throat he leaned farther over the couch, spreading his thighs, opening his core to me.

 With a gob of lubricating gel I stuck a finger into him.  The sounds he made could only be described as primal, animal urge with a little fear.  I gently bit into the muscle on his back as I inserted a second finger into his anus.  His tight wet ring was clenching my fingers and was incredibly strong.  After unwinding the condom over my shaft I lubed myself and prepared to mount him, this strange enigma on my sofa.  God, how I wanted to fuck him.

 It was terrible for Bradley at first, I know.  It can be excruciating the first time but I moved like a sloth, in slow motion.  I firmly kneaded the muscles in his neck and shoulders as I slid deeper, his pain intensifying with each throbbing, achy millimeter.  Once I was all the way into him, up to my balls, I waited as I then shifted and held myself up with my hands on the back of the couch so I wouldn't crush him, pushing forward so that I was more on top of him than behind him.  I wasn't sure what kind of pressure that hip and leg could take.  

 The slow pumping.  Bradley moaning beneath me as I felt an animal urge fill me.  I wanted to invade him, to feel him from the inside, to heal what God was apparently too busy to look after at the moment of this man’s birth.  All that anger, the frustration of not being like everyone else, never like the others--I imagined it all gathering inside him at the head of my throbbing, rock solid cock.  I smashed them, every last one, with my frenzied pumping. Destroying everything and anything that hurt through his twenty-something years.  I would bash the myth of separateness to pieces.  I wanted to fuck the life out of his torment until it lived no more.

 Being buried inside Bradley so deeply I couldn't stop the connection and I wanted to take him with every last sensation.  Even though he was dazed from his orgasm, then by the war of my hard meat's merciless invasion, he could respond enough to move to the carpet after I disengaged.  Putting his legs over my shoulders was tricky and I was more than a little afraid I would let his leg slip, hear it crash to the floor.  After steadying myself I locked his knees at my forearms and elbows, my hands in push up position on two knuckles like those we did at football practice.  At that moment I was grateful for sturdy hands and a strong back.

 "Are you okay?  Let me know if I hurt you and we'll stop."

 "Don't . . . "

 With a tiny wetness rolling down the sides of his head I pumped and pumped my energy directly into his body.  Spiritual energy knows no bounds, including latex.  After leaning forward I locked my mouth onto his and drilled my tongue between his lips, into his hot wet mouth.  I could feel him sweating as he ran his hands down my back, moist with heat, sweat running into my crack as he met my tongue for every mad jab.  He was groaning louder which sounded like a plea echoing in my own mouth.  He grabbed my ass cheeks and pulled me into him as far as he could while I kept a steady rhythm of bucking and tensing, gyrating in circles, then a super pump like a printing press banging out the daily newspaper because the harder I banged, the more intense his face.  As his expression expanded and lit the room I pumped him with every ounce of strength I had in my mind, body, and soul.  At one moment we both laughed.  Those dimples made him so beautiful . . . 

 The heat of his asshole felt incredible around my cock and the room temperature was rising as well.  Sweat ran off my nose and Bradley licked at it with a tongue gone mad.  I spoke frantically while pumping into him.  What I told him, I could not stop myself.

 "God, I love your body . . . your hot body . . . your hole . . . beautiful . . . I could fuck you forever, sweet baby . . . "

 Our eyes were locked as he writhed beneath me, below this machine that I had become in his service.  His eyes let me in as I stared into him, my hips pumping wildly.  At that moment he was wide open.  I looked over his body, from the ecstasy on his face, to his chest, down the hair trail, to my ramming cock.  I could feel him hard again so I grabbed the lube, squirted some onto the center of my palm, then leaned back.  I slicked his taut cock and began jacking him off, his legs spread as wide as they would go.  Then Bradley made the move that sent me over the edge.  The unexpected detail of which the most explosive supernova orgasms are born . . .

 In the middle of this mad fucking Bradley relaxed his arms, reaching both his hands behind his head.  Seeing him there, his natural masculine beauty came to life beneath me, just before I peaked.  The thickly muscled underarms, the black hair of a man's armpits, the way his nipples stretched with the tension, his stomach a flat runway for my seed.  He opened himself to me, his mentor of sodomy, reaching his arms back, resigning his defenses, his arms now locked behind his head.  His trust finally came forth and he let me take complete control.

 As I felt an electric tickle in my balls and the heat spreading from my prostate, I knew I could control nothing more.  Bradley's face lit up when I yelled my impending stream of cum and he tensed roughly.  I knew he was close, too.  He looked at me with wide eyes, then closed them, his head leaning back, his chest rising with the hard curving of his spine, lifting himself upward.  His tongue darted in and out and then the sound escaped him.  A cry of release, of abandon.  The cry of the maid as she sloughs off the burning skin of her virginity.

 I pulled out of Bradley with an audible pucker pop and tore off my rubber, leaning into him.  I thrust and hand fucked my throbbing cock over his chest and stomach, ready to shoot, to add to the pool of jizz from his thick, harder second ejaculation.  

 Again, he whispered, "Yes . . . " and I climaxed.  It felt as though my cock had reached directly into his heart, to his core.  I bucked violently as the orgasm tore through me like a frightened doe in the woods, from my face to my curling toes, and back again to my sore, aching balls.  Suddenly my sac felt heavy and I collapsed on top of him, still spurting the last drops of my love between us.

 The blanket, now crushed into the corner of the couch, was within reach so I pulled it down to the floor and covered us.  My skin was prickly and sticky, flushed and fulfilled.  I lay my head on his chest, smearing my cheek with our ejaculate while I gently ran my fingertips across his stomach, hip and thigh.  It was a moment when the primal and the spiritual converged, of the wild, of knowledge and salvation.
 

*    *    *


 A small butterfly fluttered through my stomach as I dressed for work.  I tried to tell myself it did not matter, it was not like I was in love or anything.  He will probably ignore when I get there, anyway.

 The drive seemed longer than usual and I was twenty minutes late.  Walking up to the front door of the theatre I held my breath and grabbed the handle.  Once inside I tried to walk casually, but when our eyes met it seemed like time stopped for a moment.  Bradley’s eyes were a little bloodshot and at first I thought he was upset, then I noticed the mess on the floor and the stains on his pants.  He must have slipped. I just walked straight up to the concession stand and was determined to break the ice.

 “You have an accident or are you just happy to see me?”

 Bradley looked down at his soiled pants and blushed.  Then he smiled widely at me and said, “Nobody’s perfect.”

Copyright © 2002 Alexander Renault. All rights reserved. Do not copy or post.


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