Another wave of peony wallpaper curled from the ceiling and sank into a defeated heap on the floor. Brandon’s shirt stuck to him as the steamer slowly transformed Anthony’s bedroom into a pressure cooker. He wasn’t complaining, though. Both a designer who saw a room desperately in need of reform and a lover who craved a place where he could eventually sleep next to Anthony, Brandon had attacked this next project with a vigor that had surprised even himself. But for every new swath of battered plaster he unveiled came an increasing unease that he had no vision for the room—he was practically flying blind. He had never been afflicted with a lack of inspiration before. Not even when faced with the most demanding of clients.
He stepped off the ladder and crossed the red rug that still anchored the room, sinking to the floor with his back next to the closet door. He looked at the paper that littered the floor in heaps and shreds, seeing none of it. Something about this room sucked the oxygen from his mind. He closed his eyes and watched himself look at Anthony from across the car on their ride home from the weekend retreat. The windows were down, and some of the first truly sun-warmed air of the year pushed into the interior and whipped their hair. Brandon hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of him, hadn’t been able to stop smiling. They had spent their first night together, and Brandon was sure that everything was going to be different.
Brandon pushed his fingers into the pile of the bedroom rug as he allowed himself to relive the moment, when he had thought (perhaps foolishly) that Anthony would ask him to spend the night at the house. And perhaps the night after that. The wind whistled through the windows, but this time in the bedroom, snapping the sheers over the shards of peonies on the floor. Brandon opened his eyes and surveyed the low-ceilinged room. As long as he clung to the hope that this would eventually be his room, too, he would never be able to see its metamorphosis through.
He clicked off the steamer and shoved the wilted paper into a garbage bag, which he slung over his shoulder and carried downstairs. He paused on the covered porch, watching Anthony through the screen. He was standing at the grill, beer bottle hanging loosely at his side with the neck hung on two fingers. He absentmindedly swung a spatula in the other hand. Brandon felt a smile play on his lips as he watched him. Anthony hadn’t said that he didn’t want Brandon to spend any nights at the house. He hadn’t said anything at all after their return two weeks ago. And Brandon knew that Anthony lived a life of floating islands—estranged wife, friends, job, YouTube videography—all of them neatly isolated from each other by design. Brandon was also aware that he threatened uncomfortable collisions among these for Anthony if he pushed too hard. And perhaps—for now—the weekend retreat was just another island. If that was the case, he hoped to visit again soon.
Brandon pushed through the screen door and clomped down the back steps. Anthony turned from the grill and smiled. “Hey, bro. How’s the bedroom looking?”
Brandon dropped the garbage bag into a rolling container and slammed the lid with dramatic finality. “Looking sadder than before, if you can imagine.”
“Of course I can imagine,” Anthony responded, his voice serious. “Nothing was going to ever top that wallpaper.” He turned and prodded the steaks on the grill. “I tell you, that pattern was pure sunshine.”
Brandon chuckled faintly as he came to stand by Anthony. The flames leapt up in a delicious sizzle as he deftly flipped the slabs of meat over. Brandon let his eyes linger on Anthony’s strong wrist as it twisted the spatula.
“What are you thinkin’?” Anthony posed as he lowered the lid of the grill, providing a reprieve from the blast of heat against their faces.
“About how mighty fine you are looking today, my friend,” Brandon casually replied, not afraid to rake his eyes up and down his body while he watched.
“Oh yeah?” He grinned boyishly. He looked down at himself, taking in what Brandon had already appreciated: the untucked button down with the short cuffed sleeves that showed off his arms, the skinny gray cargos, and most obviously, the bright red Osiris Rize Ultras on his feet. One couldn’t help but notice them for their sheer size and brilliance. Anthony looked back at Brandon with shining eyes. “Can’t thank you enough for the kicks. But it doesn’t feel right that you gave me a present on your birthday.”
Brandon shrugged. “I never got you a Christmas present. Besides—those shoes are as much for me as they are for you,” he said, thrusting his hands in his pockets and knocking Anthony playfully with his elbow. Anthony chuckled. “I kind of meant them to be a replacement for the red Adidas,” Brandon continued. “I haven’t seen them around. I thought maybe you had gotten rid of them on account of—well, maybe you thought I had ruined them.”
“Oh, I still have them. And they are totally ruined. But that was way more my fault than yours,” Anthony admitted, taking a sip of beer. “I’ll pull them from their hiding place in the back of the closet sometime and show you.” He winked.
Brandon pushed back from the patio table and groaned in satisfaction. After multiple plates heaping with steak, potato salad, fresh corn, and salad greens, he felt more stuffed than he had in a long time.
“You doing okay over there?” Anthony asked from across the table.
Brandon let out another groan. “That was amazing.” He winced. “But maybe I should have stopped a plate ago.”
Anthony shook his head dolefully. “I’m sorry to hear it, bro. Because there is more to come.”
Evening was settling over the backyard. The sky had cleared into a deep blue and the glow of the citronella candle in the center of the table was just starting to show traces of golden touches on Anthony’s face. Brandon stared at him, wide-eyed.
“It boggles the mind to think that there could be more,” he said in a pained expression.
Anthony pushed back from the table. “Well, let’s take a break from the food part, then,” he said, rounding the table. He rested his hand briefly on Brandon’s shoulder as he walked past him and ducked into the garage. Brandon watched him disappear into the inky shadows behind the door in bewilderment. When he reemerged into the evening light, it was with a box in his hands. He moved Brandon’s abandoned plate from the table and set the box in front of him. “Happy birthday, bro,” he said softly as he lowered himself back into his chair.
Brandon was amazed. It wasn’t that Anthony wasn’t thoughtful—on the contrary. Anthony sometimes knew what Brandon was thinking before he did. He just wasn’t organized. So it was a complete shock to see the evidence of forethought sitting before him, wrapped in paper and with a bow, no less.
“Wow,” he managed, his voice cracking. “I don’t know what to say.”
Anthony waved off the sentimentality. “You haven’t even seen what it is—don’t get too excited.”
Brandon tore the paper from the box and lifted the lid. Two items were inside. The first was in a white envelope, which lay atop the second, wrapped in tissue paper. Brandon lifted the envelope from the box and held it up, his eyebrows raised in a question. Anthony nodded.
“Open that first.”
Once Brandon had slid his finger under the flap and removed the folded paper, he could see that it was a printout of an old email thread. As he scanned the text, the characters blurred and swam in tears. He brought his thumb and forefinger to his eyes and mopped them out. “Fuck,” he exhaled. He looked at Anthony who was staring intently back. “Our first emails.”
Anthony nodded. “I wanted to commemorate a the beginning of our friendship.”
Brandon looked down and read the conversation. The words were a little over two years old, but they were from a lifetime ago. To say that both of them had changed since then was a gross understatement. Or had they actually changed? Maybe they had just stopped pretending.
Brandon lifted the tissue wrapped object from the box and smiled. The unmistakable shape of shoes could be felt through the crumply paper. He unfurled it, to find himself looking at a pair of black canvas Vans slip-ons. They were worn. They were Anthony’s. Brandon felt the familiar ache in the back of his throat that connected down to his loins as he ran his fingertips over them. He looked up at Anthony, who was now smiling.
“And I also wanted to commemorate the beginning of…our relationship,” he said, stressing the last word. “If I’m not mistaken, those shoes were a bit of a turning point for you. Were they not?”
“Oh, I think you know it,” Brandon said softly, but with a hint of playfulness. “And if I’m not mistaken, you yourself have experienced the power of these shoes.”
Anthony bobbed his head to the side. “Yes and no. It isn’t exactly the same for me. I have enjoyed some moments with those, too—it’s true—but that was more about you, not the shoes themselves.”
Brandon picked one up and put his nose in it, still looking across the table. “And how do you know that my enjoyment of these shoes wasn’t just as much about you? Who’s to say that if anyone else had worn this very pair of shoes I would have even given them a second glance?” He closed his eyes and enjoyed the faint smell the gum soles. “I love my gifts,” he said after a minute. “But I’m afraid I’ll be lending these back out to you. Their work isn’t done just yet,” he said with a knowing look.
Anthony nodded his approval. “Are you ready for dessert?”
Brandon said set shoe back in the box and exhaled loudly. “I honestly don’t know if I can take another bite.”
Anthony pressed his eyebrows together, the light from the candle casting a dark shadow in the furrows on his forehead. “Who said anything about food?”
Brandon stared back blankly for a moment before he suddenly felt a probing between his legs. When he looked down, a beautiful red Osiris Rize Ultra was lodged between his shorts. They let out a satisfying creak as the high padded collar rubbed against the khaki material. He looked back at Anthony, who was passively observing him from across the table. Brandon and Anthony had not engaged in any play since the weekend at the lake. It had almost been an unspoken challenge between them. For Brandon it was out of a desire to pull back and not suffocate Anthony. For Anthony, it was a quest to find comfort with other means of intimacy. And while neither was entirely convinced in his success in the endeavor, both felt that effort of their abstinence alone had meant something.
Brandon laid his hands on the smooth synthetic material of Anthony’s shoe. “Are we really going to do this?”
Anthony shook his head. “You are.” Brandon cocked his head. “Tonight is about you. Not me. Although…” he paused. Brandon’s leaned over the table, Anthony’s shoe pushing further into his crotch.
“What?”
Anthony stared thoughtfully at Brandon for a moment. “There is something I would like to get out of this evening. I’d like you to talk to me.”
Brandon narrowed his eyes. “Talk to you?”
Anthony slowly nodded. “Let me know what you’re thinking. What you’re feeling. Help me to understand what you want.”
Brandon smiled and glanced down at the red skate shoe against his cock. “You already know what I want.”
“No I don’t. I know the fastest way to get you to cum.” Anthony took his foot from between Brandon’s legs and stood up, pulling the chair around the side of the table to face him. He reached over and grabbed the arms of Brandon’s chair, and pulled his chair to face his. The two were practically sitting knee to knee now. Anthony leaned forward and put his hands on Brandon’s knees. “Let’s take it slow. It would be better for both of us.”
Brandon swallowed and nodded silently.
“What do you want?” Anthony asked softly.
Brandon looked down at Anthony’s shoes, two bright red statements in the gathering darkness of the patio. “I want you to put your shoe back up here,” he answered, motioning to the space on the chair between his legs. Anthony complied, putting his left foot against the edge of Brandon’s chair. Brandon stared at it, the longing for it growing between his legs.
“Talk to me,” Anthony repeated.
“I don’t know what to say,” Brandon admitted. “This isn’t the kind of thing that one usually tries to pair with words.”
Anthony gave a crooked smile. “I think you’ll find that it’s a whole lot sweeter for both of us if you try.” Brandon looked at him nervously. “Trust me.”
Brandon felt like he was floundering. His fetish had always been an unspoken, buried truth. Even the time had come to actually engage in his desires, they had been purely animal. Words had never entered into it.
“I—I want to put my hands inside your shoe,” he finally stammered. It felt so clunky to put it in words. Even as he did, he felt his cock shrinking in humiliation.
“You do, huh?” Anthony teased gently. “Why?”
“To see your foot. To feel its warmth. The feel the inside of the shoe rub against my hands.” Brandon looked up, astonished. That had just tumbled out.
Anthony smiled. “Well alright, then. Since you have a reason.” He assumed a helpless expression on his face. “Would you help me loosen it?”
Brandon felt a renewed surge of excitement. “Of course.” He tugged gently on the strap of the shoe, the tearing of Velcro cutting through the moment.
“I can feel that,” Anthony murmured.
Brandon looked up. “Feel what?”
“The way the shoe loosened when you pulled the strap open. There had been a little pressure of the tongue against my leg and it’s not there now. You see?” Anthony gazed at Brandon. “Words. Did they make you harder?”
Brandon gave a long blink and exhaled. “Yes,” he admitted. “Tell me what else you notice.”
“I notice how tall they are. That they wrap up over my ankles. Kind of like boots, but a with more give. Loosen the laces and pull on the tongue. Feel the inside of it.”
Brandon slowly drew the laces out in loose loops. “I love the way they make that creaking noise,” he said softly as the shoe relaxed around Anthony’s foot. He pulled the enormous tongue away from Anthony’s shin and slid his hand inside. “That is soft,” he murmured. He peeled the tongue back further, as though opening a banana. He gave a small gasp.
“What is it?” Anthony asked, peering down his leg toward his foot.
“Your sock,” Brandon breathed. Nestled in the deep padding of the Osiris, was Anthony’s foot clad in a gray and black banded ankle sock, his bare ankles pressing against the lining of the collar. “You’re wearing ankle socks,” he said almost in disbelief.
“Is that a disappointment?” Anthony pressed.
Brandon slowly ran his hand over the top of Anthony’s foot, enjoying the texture of stubby knit of the cotton, warmed by its wearer. He leaned forward and breathed deeply. It smelled of faintly Anthony’s sweet perspiration, but mostly of the plasticky aroma of a new shoe. “Not at all,” he replied. “It’s a surprise. I’ve never seen you wear ankle socks. Your ankles are so beautiful.”
Brandon grasped the shoe and pulled it from Anthony’s foot, letting it clomp to the patio. He cradled his foot in his hand for a moment, then set it down between his legs.
Anthony flexed his foot. “God, you’re so hard,” he observed.
Brandon nodded. “I am.” He ran his hands up Anthony’s ankle and under his pants, feeling the heat from his skin and the hairs on his leg between his fingers. “But I need you to know something,” he said, looking up at Anthony. “It’s not just about the shoes. You know that, right?”
“Tell me.”
“It’s you. Yes, the shoes are a turn on. But it’s you that I want. Whether it’s your foot in the shoe….or your hand on me.” He locked eyes with Anthony, his cheeks burning with having spoken the truth. “That’s what I want. I want your hand here. And I want you to look at me.”
Anthony slipped his foot back into his loose shoe, and took Brandon by the hand. “Come, on,” he urged, and Brandon followed him into the house, leaving the candle guttering in the center of the darkened patio table, casting dancing shadows across the flagstones.
Anthony stood in the center of the bedroom and briefly surveyed the gray mottled plaster walls, the occasional remnant of paper still stubbornly clinging. He turned and smiled at Brandon. The tongue of his left Osiris lolled over his foot.
“It’s not exactly the Four Seasons,” he admitted.
“It never was,” Brandon said wryly. He laid himself across the low bed. He propped his head on his hand and looked up at Anthony, who hesitated.
“This is going to sound crazy, but…”
“You’re nervous?” Brandon offered. “I know. Me, too.”
Anthony absently rested his left shoe on the mattress, flexing his foot and watching the tongue dance with the movement. “I guess this time it’s about something different.”
“You want me to use words. I want you to look at me.” Brandon shrugged. “That’s another level of connection.”
Anthony nodded and draped himself across the bed facing him. Brandon wriggled his shorts down to his knees. Anthony lightly ran his fingers over the tops of Brandon’s thighs and spiraled his index finger around his naval. Brandon breathed heavily and watched frozen as though a wasp had landed on his stomach. A single clear drop lowered on a thread to the comforter.
“Shit, the bed—“ Brandon began.
“Don’t sweat it, bro,” Anthony said softly. He trailed his fingers lightly up Brandon’s shaft. Brandon let out a quavering exhalation.
“I have to tell you something,” he practically whispered after a minute or two of tense silence. Anthony slowly raised his eyes from his work to meet Brandon’s.
“What?”
“I’m pretty sure I came after the first time I met you.”
Anthony’s lips quirked as he looked back at his finger, which he slowly traced around Brandon’s glans. “Is that right?”
“It was the first day I watched you make a video. You topped your Hunter.”
Anthony remained focused. “Remind me.”
Brandon was finding it difficult to talk, his words interspersed with small gasps for air. “Where the river had overflowed near that covered bridge.”
Anthony’s head bobbed in recollection. “You had accidentally flooded your boot. And you turned to me and said that I might want to look away. You knew I was trying to break the habit. And you knew I was vulnerable.”
Anthony teased the frenulum with the tip of his index finger and looked back at Brandon. “I guess that didn’t work out the way I had intended then huh?”
“Actually it was that your concern for me that I found irresistible.” Brandon’s voice was slowly straining into a whimper as Anthony’s deft finger tease turned into a torture of delayed release. “Although I can’t deny that seeing you in that situation was hot as fuck.” Anthony arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, I peeked,” Brandon admitted.
Anthony’s fingertip slowly trailed down beneath Brandon’s scrotum. He pressed into the perineum. Brandon’s back arched as another glistening rope fell to the bedspread. As he fingers pushed into Brandon’s very core, the inside of his wrist teased the very tip of his head.
“I’ve got something to tell you, too,” Anthony said after a moment, his soft, controlled voice contrasting with Brandon’s audible moans. “You are kind of the reason those red Adidas in my closet are ruined, but not in the way that you think.” Brandon pulled his head off the bedcovers, and looked at him expectantly, his shoulders rising and falling with his heavy breath. Anthony continued as he pushing his fingers deeper into Brandon’s prostate. “I was thinking of you when I plastered them…I don’t even know how many times.”
Brandon put his head back and directed a sharp laugh at the ceiling. Anthony smiled as a finger trailed up past the perineum and gently probed between the cheeks. “That’s not all,” he teased as Brandon’s outburst dissolved under strained ecstasy and he looked back at him, glassy-eyed. “The habit started last winter during the time we weren’t speaking.”
Brandon registered disbelief along with the pleasure from the torture of his fingers. “Wha—?” he gasped breathlessly.
Anthony shrugged. “I was into you than you realize. And as much as I don’t like to think that I’m gay…” he leaned forward and put his forehead against Brandon’s, “I think you’ve also ruined women for me,” he whispered. As his breath settled across Brandon’s face and his words sank in, Anthony’s fingers brought him to orgasm. He cried out, putting his hand behind Anthony’s neck to brace his head against his.
“I want to kiss you,” he gasped between waves.
Anthony smiled. “Then do it.”
Brandon did. And even for Anthony, it was a perfectly natural kiss.
When Brandon finally released him and Anthony pulled back, Anthony held his arm up, dripping with sticky semen. “Is there anything you want me to do with this?” he giggled.
“Oh, god, I’m sorry,” Brandon laughed, wiping it from him with the comforter. “How about you?” he asked , putting his hand on Anthony’s bulge. Anthony laid his hand over his.
“No. Not tonight. That was already great for me. I told you. This was about you.”
Brandon pulled back and sat up, looking at Anthony with satisfaction. “You’re turning out to be pretty amazing, you know that?”
Anthony rolled onto his back and waggled his eyebrows playfully. “I know.” He grinned and winked.
Brandon pursed his lips together in thought, then finally said, “why don’t you get some stuff together and sleep at my place tonight? I know you might not be ready to have me here. But—I want to spend time with you.”
Anthony was quiet for a moment. “I love that you get that.” He traced a finger along a seam in the comforter. “That you are giving me space to sort this out. I was kind of wondering how long it would take for you to ask.”
Brandon grimaced. “Did I just fuck up in asking?”
Anthony shook his head. “No. No, that was perfect. I’d love to come over. Let me take care of the cat and grab a bag. I’ll be fifteen minutes behind you.”
Brandon woke up with a start. There was knocking on the steel loft door. He must have dozed off on the sofa waiting for Anthony. He stood and blearily made his way to the door, glancing at the stove clock. 12:17. He had been out for nearly three hours.
He wrenched the door open and found Anthony standing in the lobby. His face was drawn, his eyes tired.
“Jesus, Anthony—what happened?” Brandon stood aside as Anthony entered and dropped his bag to the floor, running his hand through his hair. He stood and stared off across the loft. Brandon shut the door and walked around to face him, taking in his vacant, despondent expression. “My god, what is it?” he said breathlessly.
When Anthony looked at him, his bloodshot eyes were watery. “The phone rang right after you left,” he said. His voice cracked. It shook Brandon to the core to hear it. “It was Katrina.” Anthony closed his eyes, his exhalation a ragged shudder. “She’s pregnant.”
Shoe Horny 