Pacific Rimming Read online

  “Yes, yes, I—” A guttural cry against Ken’s skin.

  I felt Ken’s hands on my hips, guiding me to lie on my side. He spread my legs just as far apart as I had Jason’s. I didn’t realize his intent until I felt his wet tongue against my own hole.

  I groaned into Jason’s opening. He was clenching, loosening, clenching again. Hot and alive, and so tight the tip of my tongue could barely probe it. I followed Ken’s lead, sweeping over Jason’s hole when Ken swept over mine, teasing tight circles around the rim when Ken did the same to me. Jason’s ring grew more lax, first enough to take a wet fingertip, then an entire finger as I continued to lave the sensitive pink skin of his opening.

  Jason’s moans grew louder and more wanton, and Ken’s too as he worked a second finger into my ass. Ken shifted again and suddenly Jason’s sounds were muffled. I had my suspicions how and peeked up to see.

  My suspicions were confirmed. The three of us were arrayed in a triangle on the king bed, ass-to-mouth-to-ass-to-mouth-to-ass-to-mouth, Jason’s face buried between my husband’s round cheeks. The sight made me even more ravenous. I devoured Jason until his asshole started devouring me, pulling my finger in deeper and refusing to let go. I lubed up a second finger and slid it into Jason’s hungry hole.

  “Oh God. Fuck me, please,” he murmured. He slid his mouth from Ken’s ass to his balls while wrapping a hand over Ken’s condom-sheathed cock.

  I rolled Jason onto his back. He sighed in frustration when Ken moved away from him, but I replaced Ken’s balls in his mouth with my tongue and the frustration turned back into arousal. His mouth was as delicious as his ass—fleshy, warm, and needy—and he kissed me harder as Ken rolled a condom onto my dick and lubed me up.

  Jason nipped my tongue when I pressed the first inch of my cock in.

  “Too much?” I said.

  “No. Perfect. Just got a little—oh, God. Yes.” Jason’s eyes rolled back in his head and he sucked in a hard breath. “Excited. It’s good. Really…” His ass fluttered around my crown. “More, please.”

  I meant to sink in slowly, incrementally, but when I got past the second ring his muscles began tugging me in. I was half-deep before I could stop. Jason dug his fingers into my biceps with bruising strength. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t—” And then, making eye contact with Ken over my shoulder, he let go of my arms and switched to sign. “More cock. All. Now.”

  Ken hummed his approval and pushed my hips forward, sinking me in to the hilt. I went almost dizzy from the heat. It had been close to a year since I’d last topped, and I couldn’t remember it as being anywhere near as good as this, tight and slick and near-revelatory in its intensity. Jason was gorgeous, his eyes wide and pupils expanding until only the thinnest blue rings were visible around them. I had a sudden sense memory of the second time Ken and I were together, the way he’d looked up at me like I was some kind of gift from the heavens.

  Something inside me was unfolding—and not just because Ken was teasing me with his dick, brushing the head up and down over my hole, making it unfurl at his touch. I was open and ready, an anemone ready to consume him. He sank into me in a rapid, delicious swoop.

  “Fuck!” I moaned into Jason’s mouth, my insides trembling in a way that felt a lot like coming. Jason’s ass clenched around me, his dick pressing against my stomach as he emitted his own choked-off cry.

  I was too overwhelmed to move. Ken moved for me. He pulled out and slammed back in, jolting my hips forward to fuck Jason even deeper.

  We kept fucking like that—Ken doing most of the work, hammering me into Jason with each of his thrusts. They kissed me and each other, bit my neck and collarbone, ran their fingers over skin and hair and muscle. In-out, in-out, Jason’s slick heat gripping me, Ken’s cock expanding inside, the three of us grunting like animals, my voice going raw from pleasure. Whenever I came close to the brink, Ken would slow down, say something conspiratorial to Jason like, “We can’t let him come yet, can we?” and Jason would smile and shake his head. Ken would drop the pace to molasses slow, hold my hips still if I tried to fuck back against him or into Jason. “Not yet,” he’d say, and Jason with his flushed cheeks and heavy lashes would lick his lips and sign, “We all need more.”

  I finally surrendered to them. I gave up on chasing my own orgasm, let Ken steer both me and Jason the way he wanted. It was like déjà vu. I had a sense that this was the moment in time where I most belonged. Jason panted and moaned, rolling his head against the pillow, clamping down on my cock like he would never let go. He lost the ability to sign and then almost to speak, until the only words that made it out of his mouth were “fuck” and “yes,” over and over, a stream of sound as steady as the rush of waves outside.

  Ken slipped his hand between Jason’s body and my own, wrapping his strong fingers around Jason’s leaking cock, and that was it—Jason came, hot streaks of semen wetting my stomach and chest, his ass squeezing me tighter than even Ken’s hand had the day before. Ken continued his thrusts, pounding into me, pounding me into Jason’s exquisite heat.

  I started coming before Ken did, but he wasn’t too far behind me, his dick swelling suddenly, his fingers digging into one hip, his other hand shaping “I love you” against the other.

  We let Jason slept over. Or rather, we asked him to when he got up to go.

  “You sure?” he said, then repeated it with his hand when we showed him the sign. “I don’t want to impose.”

  “You’re leaving tomorrow,” Ken said. “And we want to fuck you again.”

  Jason giggled. “Already?”

  We didn’t fuck again right away, of course. We fell asleep tangled together like yarn. A couple hours later we were awake again and tangled together in a different way. And so it was, on and off all night, urgent and irresistible. We’d doze off for a few minutes and then wake with our hands curled around one another’s hips or chests or cocks—swelling, growing harder, needing another fuck. I couldn’t remember feeling this insatiable since the early days of my relationship with Ken, when we had to stop sleeping over at each other’s houses on work nights because when we did, we never could manage to get any sleep.

  Their bodies were magnets to me.

  In the morning, Jason had to go. He pulled on his spa robe—it was all he’d worn from the hot tub to our room—and pulled out his phone. “Do you want to link up on Facebook? No worries if you don’t. I know it’s just a vacation fling.” He sucked in his bottom lip nervously as I signed his words to Ken.

  Ken rolled out of bed and grabbed his phone to hand to Jason. “We should text too. Deaf people can’t get enough of texting. Put your number in.”

  It wasn’t until that night when Jason messaged us with Thanks for the memorable vacation that I noticed the area code. I held the screen in front Ken’s face.

  “What?”

  “Look at his phone number.”

  Ken is proudly Deaf, but he didn’t lose his hearing until he was in his early teens, well after he’d learned to swear in English. When he’s really surprised, the curse words still tend to come out in his first language. “Holy shit.”

  Jason had the same Chicago area code as we did.

  “People move away all the time and keep the same phone,” I signed. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

  Ken eyed me suspiciously. “Are you trying not to get your hopes up?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “You like him, don’t you?”

  “I hardly know him.”

  “I barely knew you when I fell for you.”

  “Don’t compare the two things. It’s just a crush. It will go away.”

  “It doesn’t have to.”

  We texted Jason when we got back to Chicago. Yes, he wrote back. I’d love to see you again.

  We saw each other almost every week after that. We fucked just as often—sometimes at his place, sometimes at ours, once in the restroom at the Field Museum when we couldn’t wait long enough to get home. Jason’s sign languag
e got better each time we saw him. He started taking classes at the Deaf Center.

  “Is that weird?” he asked two seconds after telling us about it. “I don’t want to assume…”

  Ken gave him a peck on the cheek. “It’s not weird. It’s nice.”

  He started spending entire weekends at our condo. It was easier than going to his—we had dogs, and he had a roommate. Sometimes we’d miss him midweek and meet up with him for breakfast or dinner. My job as an interpreter occasionally took me near his work, and we’d have lunch and perhaps a quickie—but usually just lunch. I loved simply spending time with him. That’s how head over heels I was.

  Snow came, and then spring. We went to see the cherry blossoms in Jackson Park. Later, over postcoital coffee in Jason’s apartment, he bit his lip as nervously as he had his last morning on Vancouver Island and signed, “We should stop fucking.”

  “Why?”

  Jason blinked. He looked at Ken, then at me. “I’m in love with both of you. This has to stop.”

  Ken leaned back in his chair. “No it doesn’t.”

  Jason glared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He’d learned that phrase from me.

  “I’m not,” Ken signed. “Mike’s been falling in love with you since Vancouver Island. I wasn’t far behind. We were just waiting to see if you wanted us the same way.”

  Jason stared at us, open-mouthed. And then, “You’re fucking kidding me.”

  I scooted closer to Jason and put my left hand on his knee. “Did you really think you were just our toy?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being a toy.” Jason’s expression was minxish.

  “True. But we love you. I love you.”

  Jason stayed perplexed and disbelieving for about three minutes. Then he pulled us back into the bedroom. We signed I love you, I love you over and over against each other’s skin. It was a relief to finally give that to him.

  Eight months later he moved into our condo. We joined another mattress to our bed and sewed up custom sheets.

  Two years after meeting, we returned to Victoria Island for our own hippie-ish wedding. We didn’t require our guests to hike all the way from Big Beach to the Ancient Cedars. Jason wore his ridiculous hiking sandals anyway.

  I have heard stranger love stories, but this is my favorite.

  It’s ours.

  The End

  DID YOU ENJOY this story? Please consider leaving a review at your favorite online book vendor or review site, such as Goodreads.

  OTHER BOOKS BY DALE CAMERON LOWRY

  THIS LIST INCLUDES Dale Cameron Lowry’s entire library at the time of publication, but more books are coming out all the time. You can find them all at dalecameronlowry.com/books/.

  Ebooks

  Love Unmasked (published by Dreamspinner Press)

  Far from Home

  Multi-Author Anthologies

  Untethered: A Magic iPhone Anthology

  Age is Just a Number: A Wayward Ink Publishing Anthology

  Simmer: A Dreamspinner Press Anthology

  Silence is Golden: Contemporary Kink-Inspired Erotica

  Mix’ n’ Match: A Wayward Ink Publishing Anthology

  Mad About the Boys: A House of Erotica Collection

  Men in Love

  Licked

  The Xcite Book of Gay Romance

  AUTHOR'S NOTES

  IT’S ALWAYS A challenge to decide how to represent another language in an English-language story. In “Pacific Rimming,” I adopted the common (but not universal) practice of translating signed speech into English, emphasizing that the words are a translation by use of italics. I strove to retain the sense and tone of the discussion I was imagining, but did not attempt to represent the grammar or exact vocabulary of American Sign Language.

  American Sign Language is the sign language most often used in the United States and Canada. When writing in English, it’s common among American Sign Language users to capitalize “Deaf” to refer to a culture or cultural identity, and to write “deaf” when referring specifically to a partial or complete lack of hearing. I have reflected these conventions in the story.

  Last but not least, the tattoos worn by the models on the cover are abstract depictions of the American Sign Language word meaning “I love you.” The sign looks like this:

  Image © 2014, www.Lifeprint.com. Used by permission. For more American Sign Language (ASL) resources check out Lifeprint.com.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  DALE CAMERON LOWRY lives in the Upper Midwest with a partner and three cats, one of whom enjoys eating dish towels, quilts, and wool socks. It’s up to you to guess whether the fabric eater is one of the cats or the partner. When not busy mending items destroyed by the aforementioned fabric eater, Dale is a writer and editor who enjoys wasting time on Tumblr, listening to podcasts, studying anatomy, getting annoyed at Duolingo, and reading fairy tales. Previous careers include sign language linguist, grocery store clerk, journalist, gardener, and camp counselor.

  Dale began writing for fun at the age of eight and has been making up stories ever since, from overly workshopped literary fiction to off-the-cuff fanfic. Queer Mormons have a way of popping up in Dale's work, whether it's romance or erotica, sci fi or fairy tales, slice-of-life contemporary fiction or spine-tingling suspense. So do immigrants and emigrants, people with disabilities, multilingual folks, and others who live their lives navigating multiple cultures.

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