Drawing by Numbers

By Benjamin Ashton

Following their success online, the stories of Benjamin Ashton are now published in a single collection for the first time. Raw and moving, graphic and biting, they chronicle both random and intense encounters, they sketch portrayals of modern gay men - conflicted, vibrant, resolute, or hedonistic. With unflinching, explicit and introspective honesty, "Drawing by Numbers" toys with the codes of gay erotica to explore questions of intimacy and bonding, levity and expectations, friendship and sex, and the seductive allure of storytelling.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Benjamin Ashton
• Release date: May 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311925763

Benjamin Ashton

Benjamin Ashton was born in Philadelphia, PA. He lived on both coasts before settling in Washington, DC.

Book preview

DRAWING BY NUMBERS

Collected stories

Benjamin Ashton

Distributed by Smashwords

Copyright 2015 Benjamin Ashton

Cover picture by Luis SH, with the permission of the photographer.

Discover his work at http://luisshphotos.tumblr.com/

Smashwords Edition, License Notes: Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

Foreword

Washington, DC, Winter 2010

Hunter Mountain, Winter 1997

Boston, Fall 2007

Fishers Island, Summer 2002

Barcelona, Summer 2011

Lower East Side, Spring 2003

Columbia Heights, DC, Winter 2009

Cape Cod, Spring 2008

About the author

Foreword

These stories were written between May, 2014 and August, 2015 and posted online. Most names, locations and dates have been changed; creative liberties have been taken. They are published here in an order similar, yet not identical, to which they were written. They do not have to be read in the sequence suggested, though that sequence does its own meaning and purpose. These stories are chronologically bookended by two previously published novellas: The Other Side of the Pool and How Far Into the Trees.

My thanks go to all the readers who have taken the time to encourage me, to share their own stories, to push to write more and, hopefully, better, all the readers with whom these stories have resonated.

Special gratitude goes to a handful of fantastic individuals who shared their insights and editing skills. You know who you are.

Washington, DC, Winter 2010

I don't get him, I said dragging on a cigarette. We were outside, on the curb of the hotel, lit by its neon signs in an otherwise pitch black night. I had badly wanted to smoke and Tom had come down, wanting to let his room get some air with the window ajar. It was freezing and my underwear felt uncomfortably sticky. I don't get his life.

And I don't get why this vile cigarette was so important to you that we had to come out in this polar weather, Tom said, before hugging me from behind, to warm himself.

That strange, long day had begun with me waking up in Tom's hotel room sweating profusely. It was freezing and overcast outside, but neither Tom nor I had been able to work out the remote for the heating system before we went to sleep the night before. Tom had tugged just a corner of the white duvet on the small of his back, his round pasty ass was glowing in the early morning light, sliding through the curtain. His long legs were spread wide, one feet dangling over the bed. I placed a kiss on his hairy thigh, the muscle reacting with a slight flex.

I've always loved staying in a hotel in a city where I lived and Tom's visit in DC for a three-day conference offered such lovely opportunity. The conference was at the Hilton and Tom had gotten in town two nights before. I lived not too far, in Logan Circle, and I had walked to his hotel the night before, after having drinks with a couple of friends. Tom had had some networking duties his first two evenings, but last night’s event was finished early enough for me to drop by and hang out.

I had been friends with Tom for ten years. He was originally the best friend of one of my first boyfriend. We had instantly hit it off and had managed somehow to keep our quite animal attraction towards each other in check. When I became single, he was dating someone, which kept me from pursuing anything. Yet one drunken night, after an evening of our legs rubbing under the table at a dinner party and a frantic making out session in the bathroom, we had found a way to end up at his place, alone, and had finally been able to relieve the built up sexual tension between us. I felt awful afterwards for his boyfriend, he didn't, yet we decided to try and keep our hands off each other and the possibility of building something together for later, more auspicious times. This never happened, even if we did hook up periodically. We lived in different cities, our relationship statuses never matched and by the time something like a budding romance could have materialized, we had become the perfect fuck buddies, as he once introduced us to some guy in a bar he was trying to hook up with.

I hadn’t seen Tom in over a year. He hadn't changed. He seemed to have eschewed the slight addition of weight I so often noticed in my friends, the discreet kind, the kind that comes with turning 30, with making money in a job that involves lunches and dinners, but leaves little time for breakfast. His features were sharper, the lines around his eyes framing more crisply the playful, mocking, leering wickedness that glinted almost permanently.

Tom was three years younger and one inch taller than me. His slim, lanky, tight, hairy body was at times surprisingly strong and flexible, not unlike Tom himself. He had bushy eyebrows (which he liked to raise) and thin small lips (which he liked to curl). He played incessantly with his thick mop of dark hair and used, charmingly and adroitly, his infectious smile. He was fun, wild, daring and insatiable. A lot of our discussions or correspondence was about sharing and dissecting at length our sexual experiences and fantasies. He took me to a sex club a couple of times, we cruised online together to find a willing prey, I fucked him in every position I could imagine. Tom had kinks and fetishes that I didn't particularly share, but he was so enthusiastic and exhilarated when he talked about sex, that nothing did phase me or turn me off. He did respect my boundaries – even if he did rolls his eyes occasionally. I had an age-bracket (shifting, arguably, but ageing does that to you), while he clearly didn't. I had a height-, a weight-, a girth-bracket (shifting, arguably, but experience does that to you), while he laughed at them, pitying me. He was completely and eagerly versatile and no body fluid seemed firmly catalogued outside the realm of sex. Neither statement really applied to me. He claimed to never say no to sex; I've often found the question sexier than whatever may follow.

So when Tom emailed me he was going to be in town, I had become instantly horny at the prospect. When he opened the door of his room that night, wearing nothing but his briefs, I felt my cock slightly hardening. He closed the door, took me in his arms and kissed me hungrily. I laughed and pushed him away; I had layers and layers (as well as gloves and hat) to protect me from the cold and the room was very warm.

As I got in and undressed, I noticed his laptop was switched on, on his desk. He wasn’t' watching porn, he said before I could ask it myself. He was giving a presentation tomorrow in the morning and was finishing up work. He sat back at his desk and began to type furiously. I took all my clothes off, kept my boxers on and sat on the bed, resting against the head board. I was watching him work, watching his shoulders, the back of his head, his naked hairy legs. I was very happy.

While still typing, he told me I have to tell you about last night. I laughed. He slammed shut his computer, said a loud and resounding Done. He then jumped on the bed, sat next to me, planted a big smooch on my crotch, put his hand on my thigh, and started to tell me about his previous night.

He was at the opening reception, here at the hotel, chatting up the people that he needed to. He kept flirting with one of the waiter (Tyler. Hot name) and, as the room was emptying, he went and started to talk to him. Tom is very direct and his blunt, sexy charm usually works in getting him what he wants. Especially towards the end of the evening. This was no exception, apparently, and Tom convinced Tyler to take him somewhere semi-private (Something like a broom closet, maybe?). The eager waiter led him to the restaurant's Assistant Manager's office, which was never locked, and Tom found it sexy and thrilling enough to fuck Tyler (Hard, and fast, and really fun) with barely any foreplay.

Tom's cock was hard, just by recounting the story; so was I, just by watching Tom's horny smirk. We locked eyes and smiled. Tom silently and knowingly raised himself and move to the edge of the bed, kneeling in front me. His eyes motioned me to sit in front of him, resting on my elbows. He spread my legs apart and took my cock through the opening of my boxers. He sighed contentedly and took me in his mouth, just before asking "What have you been up to?"

I told him about my life in DC, snippets without much coherence or logical flow. He had once told me to think happy thoughts while he blew me (What, like a beach? I had quipped), so I talked about running in Rock Creek park, about playing soccer off 17th Street with Italian and Brazilian expats, about the beautiful Iranian doctor I had fucked a few days before, about the Mall in the snow, about the drummer of an obscure rock band who had given me a hand job in the bathroom after a gig in a dive on U Street. Then I stopped and watched him devour my cock with increasing speed. I motioned him to slow down and he let my dick go with a noisy slurp. I want to hear about you, I said.

He stood up and went to turn off the light and half-close the curtains. Only the moonlight was now illuminating his pale body and his hard cock, bobbing up and down as he walked across the room, nudged me to lie on the bed, and positioned himself on all fours to resume his blow job. He alternated deepthroating dexterity and animated retelling of his recent sexual escapades. We had done this before, on a couple of occasions, and I played along as I knew where it was headed: he would get us both extremely hard by recalling his adventures with coworkers, online horndogs, strangers in a sauna, or distant male family connections. Tonight, he stayed particularly long on how he revenge-fucked a guy from his high school he connected with on Facebook, a member of the school wrestling team who had been in his teens a particularly nasty bully. I couldn't tell whether the story was true, but experience had told me that Tom's most unlikely stories are usually the ones which have actually happened. When he went into graphic details about how the guy came without touching himself while Tom was brutalizing his ass, he must have sensed the perilous throbbing of my cock in his mouth.

So I pulled out, rolled him over, grabbed his ankles and inserted my dick in his ass. Tom laughed with pleasure, rolling his eyes and curling his fingers in the air. I had rarely seen Tom serious during sex; he never had the bewildered, startled, slightly alarmed or vacant look I had seen in so many men getting fucked, nor the penetrating, pouting squint some of them seemed to want to emulate from the porn they watch on their lonely nights. Tom's eyes were usually bright and open, winking or chuckling, stunned with glee or alight with wicked hilarity; a metaphorical high-five, an intimate cheerful bonding.

We fucked and fucked some more, before both standing up, hugging and jerking each other off. We came at the same time, on each other's chests, and stomachs, and pubic hair. We crashed on the bed, panting. It was so hot. We fiddled forever with the remote for the heating system, but it seemed to be broken. There was no way we'd call for maintenance then, we were too tired, too naked and too drenched in cum. So we just lay there, holding hands, and fell quickly asleep.

I took a cold shower in the morning; it was still early and the sun hadn't completely set yet. Tom opened one eye and muttered:

Why don't you have breakfast with me here? Great buffet. 

Will you sneak me in?

Yeah, sure.

I kind of want to see you give your presentation. Mind if I sit in the audience?

Nah. It'll be hot to know you’re close. Just don't distract me.

I won't. Let me go home and change my clothes. I'll call you from the lobby when I'm back, ok?

Great. See you in a minute.

I called in sick while walking home, brushing off the creeping pang of guilt.

Soon enough, we were having breakfast, a little exhausted but still exhilarated from the previous night. While Tom ate, he was concentrating on his notes, getting ready. As he finished his coffee, Tom scanned the room and his eyes grew wide. That’s Tyler, he said, nodding towards one of the waiters. I tried not to be too obvious, but Tyler saw us across the room and darted towards our direction.

Hey guys, he said, in a soft, hushed tone. Tyler’s looks were pretty much as Tom had hungrily described them. Spiky hair, neatly trimmed beard, large shoulders and the tiniest ass. He had a raspy Southern drawl.

Hey, how've you been? Tom asked.

He blushed a little, before saying Well, this has definitely been an interesting week. You guys at this conference are quite the horndogs.

What do you mean?

Well, I almost hooked up with another attendee last night. Hot guy, looks like a football player, he kept checking me out. I slipped him a note with my cell number on it. He texted me ten minutes later with his room number.

Did you go?

Yeah. When I got there though, he was like all nervous and freaked. Turns out he's married and he is all confused and tormented and all that. He kept babbling about it. Total turn off.

So, nothing happened?

Well, I opened my fly at some point, just to relax him or to shut him up. It did the trick. He started to blow me. Nothing like I had during my time with you, though. He started to jerk off, but then his phone rang and he freaked out because it was his wife. For a moment, I really thought he was going to answer! So I took over and sucked him off a little. But the dude came as fast as a thirteen year old. He was even more freaked out after that. So I just left, with major blue balls.

Anything we can do about that? Tom asked, his attention then firmly away from his notes.

Nah, that's cool. I jerked off at home with some good porn. Thanks, though, he winked. Well, you guys have a good day.

Wait, I said, is the guy somewhere here?

He looked around carefully, then said Yeah, actually, he is. The dude there, at the buffet, by the toast machine? We both looked and saw a tall and bulky, somewhat serious-looking man, in his late twenties, wearing an ill-fitted blue suit and a grey tie. His name is Simon something. You guys should break him in; he really needs to loosen up and get laid big time.

I recognized the guy, I had seen him passing me by in the lobby and heading towards the restaurant. He didn't look very social, a bit rough, awkward and austere. Since Tom and I had been sitting at our table together, I had noticed he seemed to glance at us constantly, but hadn't figured out whether it came out of lust or of some sort of queasy curiosity, like a Mormon football player who had never seen gay guys before. His figure was both attractive and rough, massive and somewhat intriguing. A small square head with strong jaws resting on a short, bullish neck. His upper body was impressively strong, hulking and muscular, making his suit jacket appear too tight at the shoulders and too loose at the waist. His cropped light brown air, his two-day trimmed stubble, his large, flat nose and his small eyes were all a little brutish. A first glance, he had the generic look of the gruff, oblivious, slightly conceited straight guy you pass by at the gym or in bars, whose tastes, conversation, fashion style, sports teams and work-out routine are eye-rolling predictable and bland. His thin eyebrows and his soulful eyes did have a dissonant softness, almost a delicate elegance, but it was mostly the looks Simon Something had been giving us that morning (and, arguably, the story Tyler had just recalled) which displayed the hints of vulnerability, slight yearning, and contained fluster that displaced him from masculine orthodoxy into the realm of volatile uncertainty and of willing preys.

Tyler left us, returning to work. Later, we made our way to the conference room, I wished Tom the best and went to sit in the audience, third row - not too far, not too close from where Tom and the rest of his panel would be seated. A few minutes later, as I was scanning the room, I noticed Simon entering and heading to the panel. He stopped in his tracks for a split second when he saw Tom sitting there. I could tell he was a little rattled and he looked around him - only to catch my staring at him. He quickly turned his eyes away and resumed walking towards his designated seat, which happened to be just next to Tom. It is then that Tom looked up, saw him and instantly turned to me, with a huge grin on his face. I stopped myself from laughing, but winked at him. He winked back, with his winning smile. I discreetly raised my hand and made a pretend high-five. He did the same.

Tom and Simon introduced themselves politely; Simon was trying to be collected, but it was now obvious that the numerous glances I had caught from him came from lust rather than curiosity.

Tom was first to speak, his presentation went smoothly. Simon was second. He was nervous, a bit sweaty, but got into his business groove quickly enough and became the handsome, serious, young businessman that fit his burly good looks and conservative clothes.

When he was done, Tom whispered to his ear Very nice and put his hand on his shoulder, just for a moment. I could see, almost feel, Simon shudder. The rest I know from Tom, who later filled me on with all the details. Tom started to press, very gently, his leg against Simon’s, while looking straight at the room. Then Tom tested him: he gently pulled away and, yes, Simon's leg definitely tried to catch his back. Tom pressed back and both, their legs were now touching and rubbing slowly. By a movement of his eyes downward, Tom made me understand what was going on and I smiled at him.

This went on for a while. Then Tom looked discreetly towards Simon’s crotch. Simon had a large waist and wore his pants tight. His erection was obvious, a perfect outline in display. Tom couldn’t help but wink at me to let me know. Our exchange, however, was noticed by Simon, who whispered who's your friend? with a mix of alarm and curiosity. Tom told him Someone you need to meet. Simon was not blushing any longer, but it was still tentatively that he said I'd like that.

Carefully, and as discreetly as possible, Tom’s hand reached the very tip of Simon’s hard cock. With just two fingers, Tom caressed it and made slow circles around its head, all the while pretending to be absorbed by the third speaker at the podium. Don't! Simon said in a breath. Please don't. Tom could feel and see Simon’s cock throbbing, and his cheeks becoming very red.

The panel moderator cast them a disapproving glance: chatting was frown upon while the presentations were going on. Tom rubbed his legs again, then took a small sheet of paper and a pen. I saw him scribbling something then passing it on to Simon, who read it, blushed, then looked away and pretended to listen to the speaker. After a while, I saw Simon taking a pen too and furiously making a short note on Tom’s sheet of paper. After he passed it back, Tom read it, smiled mischievously, folded it in two and grabbed the attention of a waiter, standing by with a jug of water. Tom gave him the note, whispered something to him and pointed at me. 

The waiter made his way towards my row, while Simon witnessed this, looking mortified. I received the note and unfolded it. I could spot Tom’s handwriting on the first line, and figured Simon wrote the next. It said:

WHATEVER YOU HAVE IN MIND, WE 3 SHOULD DO IT

I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU. BUT YOU GOT ME THINKING --

The whole session seemed to drag on forever, even if, with very few questions from the audience, it was over quite soon. Tom had rubbed his leg against Simon’s the whole time, occasionally glancing at his erection coming and going. When the crowd started to disperse, I walked towards them. Simon seemed a little disoriented, but made an effort to stay stern. Tom was childishly excited. I felt the need to cool things down for both their sakes, to deflate somewhat the agonizing sexual tension between them two. After introducing myself, I said, Why don't we go and get a drink at the bar. It's noon, it's early enough.

No one said a word the whole walk to the bar. We sat at a booth, Tom in the middle, and as soon as we were settled, Tom spread his legs, pressing them against both Simon's and mine. I took his hand and squeezed it. We all assumed straight faces and composure when the waiter came to get our order. Simon drank beer, I noticed, some foreign brand I never heard of.

Someone had to say something. Tell us about yourself, Simon, I asked.

Well, he said, I'm 29, I'm from Connecticut and....

Simon, Tom interrupted, this is not a job interview. Relax.

Yes, Simon sighed, then looked away, a little chastised and visibly nervous. You guys are together? Like, a couple? he asked, turning back to face us.

No, we're friends, Tom said.

We go way back, I added.

And you're both gay? Simon asked.

Yes, we replied simultaneously, me with a tone of reassurance, Tom full of promise.

I see, Simon said, with a hint of disappointment.

And you're married, Tom asked.

How do you know? Simon shot back, a little alarmed.

Your ring. Your wedding band, I said.

Oh, yes, he said, suddenly playing nervously with his ring. He took a deep breath and said, fast and nervous, Listen, I… I've never done anything like this. I'm not sure exactly what you expect and… I don't know. It's just a bit surreal, it's the middle of the day, I'm here for work, I'm supposed to meet with colleagues for lunch, attend my boss' presentation this afternoon and –

Listen, Simon, seriously, relax, I said, leaning towards him. It's okay, we don't have to do anything right now. Why don't we meet up later, for a drink, a proper drink with a proper conversation? Hang out, talk, see where the evening takes us.

He grabbed his jaw with his strong hand and squeezed it tightly, taking another deep breath. Yes, that'd be nice, he finally conceded.

Deal, Tom quipped.

There's a lounge at the Hotel Rouge, on Scott Circle, not too far, you can take a cab or walk if you don't mind the cold. You won't run into any of your colleagues there. Why don't we meet there at 6 tonight? I said, placing the note he had exchanged with Tom on the panel firmly in his hands.

Tom and I had lunch in Dupont Circle and walked back to my apartment. I spent the afternoon doing some work, Tom lay on the couch, his tie loosened, his shoes and socks dotting the white shag on the hardwood floor. He took a nap, then watched a documentary on the Rat Pack.

Do you think Simon will come? I asked at some point.

He will, Tom answered distractedly.

He seemed nervous.

He is. And he is not, Tom said knowingly, after pressing the pause button. "He's apprehensive, maybe. Because he doesn't know what we want, who we'll be when he does actually get naked in front of us. He knows what he wants, however. He knows who he wants to be."

What do you mean?

Well, he started, shifting his body to sit cross legged on the couch and grabbing his now lukewarm mug of tea, I don't exactly buy the whole I've-never-done-this-before act, to be honest. He is not that innocent. Or, I don't know, virginal. He can't be.

What, do you think he's lying? He's wearing a fake wedding ring? I chuckled.

I'm not saying that. I'm saying, this guy went straight for a quick drink with us and quite readily accepted to meet us later. It doesn't seem like something someone who's a cock virgin would do. We're hot, but we're not that hot, he smiled.

"Okay. So do what did you mean by he know who he wants to be?"

I think that's his shtick. I don't know how much action he gets on the side, but he likes to be, he needs to be, the guy for whom all this is new, and dramatic, and disturbing. And beyond his self-control.

And you got all that from the ten minutes we spent with him?

Yes, I did, he said confidently as he stood up and walked towards the kitchen area to get some juice in the fridge. He stopped to kiss me softly on his way.

And you said he knows what he wants, too? I asked.

Yes. But that, my friend, I'm not a hundred percent sure what it is and I'm very much looking forward to finding out.

He didn't go through with it with Tyler, though, I said, thinking out loud.

What do you mean?

If he is so experienced, why would he panic with Tyler? Why would he almost back out?

His wife called. We'll need to make sure he turns off his phone, is all. Listen, I'm not claiming this guy bangs everything that meets his eyes. All I'm saying is, don't surprised if he gives great head or takes your cock like a champ. He's done it before and, right now, I'm guessing he is looking forward to do it again. On his own terms, he added, straddling me on my desk chair.

Which you will accept? I teased, kissing him.

Gladly. I like his type. I'm not into the closeted guys who overcompensate by going all nasty on you, calling you their fag slut. I like the ones who spread their legs and ask nicely to be taken somewhere incredible, he said, kissing me back.

We arrived on time at the bar, but Simon was already seated, fiddling with his phone in a secluded small couch in a corner, a beer half full on the small coffee table. He had changed and had assumed yet another generic look which suited the outward appearance expected from the guy that he was or had to be: a tight plaid shirt, chinos and loafers. Tom was still wearing his suit and tie, I had a sweater and a hoodie, dark blue jeans and a pair of Stan Smiths. We were not an assorted threesome.

Hey, he greeted us huskily, when he looked up.

I'll get us some drinks, Tom said before heading to the bar.

I sat in front of Simon and pulled the chair closer. You found the place alright?

Yeah. I walked. It's fucking freezing.

I know. Beautiful, though.

Tom came back, holding three beers. He too sat in front of Simon, and he too pulled his chair closer. He instantly started to chat him about the conference,