Free Look Closer: No Safe Words Here 1-4 out of 5. Boxed Set by Mercy Walker Page A

blasted hunk of metal at me.
    Grudgingly I took it and stared bewildered at the prim looking woman with a bouquet of wheat in her long, lovely arms.  I put my nine-year-old reading skills to the test.
    Virgo the virgin.  I didn’t have to read any further.  In ten second flat I’d gone from king of beasts to a virgin with wheat.
    Talk about emasculating.  And to pour salt in the wound, I’d remained a virgin all my eighteen years—and not by choice.  I wanted to get rid of this boulder noosed around my neck.  I was young and horny, and fairly well built.  I ran track, and had a lean, strong athletic build.
    But I was painfully shy.  So shy I hadn’t said two words to anyone that wasn’t a teacher—or my parents—in nearly four years.  Not that anyone would notice.  I was practically invisible at Crest View High School.
    But I’d had one friend.  He was a year older than me, and had for some unfathomable reason stood up for me my first day of high school, even though we’d never met.  He’d backed down a cadre of over developed football jocks that were trying to stuff me into my locker.
    Ever since then everyone had gone out of their way to leave me alone—and I slowly just faded from memory, no longer existing.
    But Marcus always, always said hello.  He always sat with me if he caught me alone at a table at lunch, and he didn’t just sit there, he asked questions.  Important questions.
    Like whether I thought Mr. Yagger, the chemistry teacher, was secretly sniffing the chemicals in the store room: most definitely yes.  Or whether I was going to go out for the football team that year: a decidedly firm no there.  And then one day, while waiting to board the bus to go home, he sidled up beside me and asked how long I’d known I was gay?
    What-The-Fuck?!?!
    I was about to turn and run when he nudged me with his shoulder and told me he’d figured it out in seventh grade when Richie Corwin had mooned the gym class during kick ball.  I knew who Richie Corwin was, and agreed that the sight of his fine naked bum would turn any red blooded guy gay.  He had a really great butt.
    I told him that I’d figured it out while watching Smallville .  I had it bad for Clark Kent…and his hunky father, played by John Snyder.  I’d even bought the complete series of The Dukes of Hazard just so I could see him young and shirtless, and dripping with southern sweat.
    Marcus chuckled goodheartedly and chucked me in the arm.  “Older men…that’s really twisted.” And ever since then I’ve been head over heels, over the moon—hard as a fucking brick!—in love with him.  
    And he hadn’t had a clue.
    But then I’d been running my usual seven miles on Christmas Eve last year, and slowed down at the sounds of gasps and grunts outside the Sherwood’s two car garage.  I was moving up the alley that led behind their house, since it led to my back door as well, when I heard the groans.  I stopped, tip-toed silently to the dimly lit window of the garage door, and peered through the spotless glass. 
    There stood a naked Tom Sherwood, pinning an also naked Marcus Wilkes to the hood of his shiny blue BMW.
    My jaw dropped and I watched mesmerized as Mr. Sherwood pounded what looked to be a log of firewood up into Marcus’ rather willing ass.
    As it was tonight, the sight of them together had been a double edged sword.  I couldn’t look away, and I didn’t want to.  I’d dreamt of seeing Marcus naked for years.  And it was so freaking hot to see him getting his bottom pounded by the older, well endowed man.  And shit if old Tom fucking Sherwood wasn’t a hot fucking asshole.  From his neatly groomed full head of hair, to his bulging…well, his bulging everything, he was a prime specimen of the male anatomy.
    But what the fuck was a forty-year-old Mayor and litigator doing boning an eighteen-year-old high school senior?   Not that it was illegal—though Mr. Sherwood was committing adultery in the