Four days later, and that kiss was still haunting me. It had been a stupid thing to do. I’d known that when I’d reached for Dieter and initiated things, yet it had felt so right at the time. Right but stupid. That could be the title of my autobiography. Right but Stupid: The Trent Hanson Story – available where books about misguided fucktards are sold.”

The sigh that left me was legendary. I ended the tape of Tennant Rowe’s skating talents. I’d been there in the manager’s office of my rink for over an hour trying to concentrate and pick out where I thought the Railers needed work. Or perhaps I should say what I could add to their skating skills. I’d hidden myself away in this little stuffy cubicle to get some time away from the cameras. My gods, but I was tired of them already. It seemed as if I couldn’t take a piss without someone with a camera or a makeup tote appearing at my side.

That morning had been a particularly bad one. I’d woken up as hard as a locust fence post and beaten off to a sultry fantasy that had involved my dick in Dieter Lehmann’s ass. Knowing that the man was under my skin so deeply irked and titillated me. Maybe my irritation with myself for letting an ape like that into my fantasies was what had made the orgasm so intense. Yes. That was what we were going to say it had been.

Then the call from Mom at “really, mother” o’clock informing me that my stepfather, aka Voldemort, had called and begged her to go visit him and talk. The fact that she had to call me and see what I thought about the idea had lit me up like a Fourth of July firecracker. I hadn’t yelled at her, of course, I’d merely tried my best to talk her out of going to see him. After the call had ended with her still fluctuating between saying no and saying yes, I’d ripped into my poor house like a dervish. I’d tossed my sewing room. Tossed it. Now I’d have to go home with a stupid camera crammed up my ass and set the area where I created my costumes to rights.

“Why are people such twats?” I asked the office. The AC hummed in reply.

I moved to the next video and groaned. Dieter was on my screen now. His power on those skates was undeniable, but he also could use some refinement. And my hands on his thighs…parting them so I could wiggle between them and take what I was sure was a fat, long cock into my mouth and suck him so hard and so well he passed out from the pleasure.

Voices slipped into the porn reel in my mind. I jerked my hand from my crotch, aghast at being so weak-willed, and cocked my head slightly. Was someone singing “Fox on the Run” while someone else hissed at them to stop? No one was supposed to be there for another thirty minutes.

I pushed myself from the hard chair I’d been moping and daydreaming in and peeked around the door of my rink manager’s office. There in the corridor, alone, were Layton Foxx and Adler Lockhart.

Adler was the singer, if that was what you wanted to call the caterwauling. Layton was waving a hand at the hockey player as if trying to quiet the man. Then Lockhart leaned into Foxx, pressing him gently against the wall and kissing him as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

Well, now. Looked like Tennant, Jared and Dieter weren’t the only ones on the team who were marching under the rainbow flag.

I leaned on the doorframe and watched the passionate moment. When they broke apart, Foxx caressed Lockhart’s face so lovingly it made me ache. Being a sour little queen, I cleared my throat. Adler leaped back as if he’d just painfully discovered a hornet in his cup. Foxx spun to look at me. I wiggled a couple of fingers at the lovers.

“You may wish to have your assignations in a more private place. May I suggest this office?” I waved a gloved hand at the room behind me.

“Look, it wasn’t what you think it was,” Adler stammered.

I cocked a slim eyebrow.

“Okay, it was what you thought it was, but please don’t out us.”

“Oh my gods. Do I look like the type of man who would out other men? Please.” I walked down to where they stood like a pair of petrified trees. “Just be careful if you’re hiding this relationship. I mean it about the cameras. They followed me home and taped me sitting on the couch watching TV. They even asked if they could film me talking to my mother about the scandal. Maybe she’s smart to keep her distance from this whole fiasco.”

“Christ,” Foxx murmured.

I nodded.

“Thank you for being so…”

“Gay and understanding? My pleasure. Now go off and be happy lovers somewhere else. The kids will be arriving shortly, and so will the damn cameras.”

Adler slapped my shoulder so hard I winced. “You’re a good guy even if you do wear lipstick the same color as my mom.”

Layton groaned and took his affable kissing-mate off by the hand, the social media man’s mouth going a mile a minute.

How wonderful it would be to have someone to scold about silly little social gaffes. I slipped back into that tiny office, closed the door, and spent the next forty minutes watching Dieter on ice. By the time the children were ready for me, I was a hot mess, but I put on my makeup and my performing smile and I sashayed out onto the ice like the fucking star I was. My skaters – the kids ranging in ages from six to sixteen – all applauded and gathered around me.

“Look at you all,” I gushed, hugging as many as I could. Some, like Scotty the ten-year-old transgender girl, were exceptionally special to me, but I adored them all. “Are you going to give the TV show cameras your best today?” I asked, moving through the adoring fans to get a last-minute costume and make-up check. They all shouted yes. They made me so proud.

It had been decided that I’d do one of my short programs from Sochi and then work with the kids, bringing in the Railers to show how harmonious we all were and how inclusive ice sports now were. Which was a huge pile of steaming shit. I remembered all too well the scathing remarks made about me by TV announcers – who were retired figure skaters – during my silver-medal performance. I’d been called many terrible things since I’d first come out about liking boys at a tender age, but what those announcers had said about me being too feminine and too odd to be associating with young boys still turned my stomach. It had made me cry back then, and it would today given my state of mind if I’d only let it. But I refused to give shitful people like that the pleasure of seeing my tears. Besides, my skaters needed Trent to be Trent. And so, for them, I was always brave in public and shed the tears in private.

“We need to get this jacket up just a bit more,” I told Gayle. She pulled out box of pins from her purse – she was learning how to agent a figure skater well – and began pinning the hem of the short white jacket. “If it’s too low it hides the curvature of my ass.”

“Hold still before I jab you.” She worked quickly.

I smiled at the children, then found the hockey players lined up on the other side of the boards. I could feel Dieter before I could see him. I knew his eyes were on my ass, which was why I had to make sure that it was viewable.

“Are you feeling better?” Gayle asked.

“Yes,” I lied. “Thank you for coming over and talking to me this morning. You’re an angelic agent,” I whispered as some tall man with a bun and garlic breath touched up my eyeliner and gloss. As if it needed touching up. I knew how to apply, thank you.

“Remember that when the producers of the show ask to go on a date with you.” She smiled at me, then gave the sparkly white jacket a firm tug. “There. All pinned and high enough to show off that pert ass. Now go show the people at home why you won that silver medal.”

We bussed cheeks, then I skated out to center ice, inhaled, artfully raised my arms over my head, dug my toe pick into the ice and waited for the music. It was one of my favorite routines, performed to “Carmen”, and showcased my flair and strengths. As soon as the music began, my mind went to the routine – the jumps, the sass that signaled that Trent Hanson was performing this skate. Through the salchows and lutzes, the toe loops and axels, I felt hot, steady eyes on me. Knowing Dieter was right there, engrossed by my ability and my body, feeling his hungry eyes on me as I worked my magic, made me feel lightheaded and giddy. Combined with the sheer joy of ice and music, when I ended with an impromptu Johnny Weir slide, the darkness of the morning had lifted.

The kids boiled out onto the ice like ants from a hill. They were followed by the Railers. My gaze locked with Dieter’s, and the rest of the hoopla melted away like spring snow. He wanted me. Right now. I could see it in his eyes. I wanted him just as badly. That kiss and all the sexual promise it held mixed with the churning emotions inside me left me in a state of heightened bubbliness.

The next hour was remarkable and torturous. I loved my kids and my rink, and I was beginning to like the apes on skates as well. The Railers were wonderful with the kids, laughing and showing them that they also had skate prowess. Adler and a few others picked up the smaller figure skaters and raced around the rink with them. There was so much laughter and happiness that I knew I’d be frothing over like a freshly popped bottle of champagne when we left the ice.

And I was. See how well I know myself.

“Let’s all gather together and go somewhere to eat. The studio will pay for it!” I announced in my most spirited voice. The show producers began to balk, but the chance of us all being out and getting the public’s reaction was just too much for them to pass up. “I’ll just slip into the locker room and change. Can someone run to Dan’s office – he’s the rink manager – and get my street clothes from the chair in the corner?”

And just like that I found myself waiting in the men’s locker room for Dieter Lehmann to come back with my city togs. I removed the white skates and placed them neatly by my feet, folded my hands in my lap, and waited. He appeared not two minutes later, filling the doorway and then the damn locker room with his broad shoulders and appealing sulking demeanor.

“Bring them to me,” I said flatly, my hands still lying in my lap.

He seemed to be locked into some kind of internal battle. Maybe he wasn’t used to a man who was so much smaller than him being so pushy and domineering. If he knew me better, he’d know that I’m always pushy and domineering. As well as a few other less than flattering terms.

Finally, his big feet broke free and he walked my clothes to me. I remained seated, but my eyes traveled up his body. He looked edible in that blue jersey and jeans. His eyes were smoldering green and gold embers that never moved from my face.

Funny how what I reached for wasn’t my trousers, dress shirt and sleek blue vest. Maybe my reaching for his belt and pulling him to me wasn’t funny at all. Maybe it was chapter two in my stupid book. Probably. But oh, how my body hummed with desire the closer he came. I brushed my nose against his jersey and drew in deeply. He smelled like dark sandalwood and mystery with a dash of sex. Just my type. Add in a sprinkling of heartbreak and you’d have all my past lovers. But who cares? One quick blowjob in the locker room wouldn’t hurt anything. So I slid off the bench, so hot to have him come down my throat that the knowledge that I was ruining the white knees of my skating slacks had no impact. That was how bad I had it.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice thick and smoky.

I tugged down his fly and slid my hand inside his briefs. The backs of my fingers brushed a wet spot on the cool cotton of his underwear. Someone had been aroused for a long time. That knowledge made my dick throb in time with my rapid pulse. Out came his cock. I had been right. It was fat and long. Hard, too, and slick with precum.

“Do you really not know?” I asked before I licked the round head of his cock clean. He sucked in a sharp breath, my clothes still in his hands.

He groaned. “Hurry up. I’ve been hard for fucking hours because of you.”

“Only hours?” I rolled my tongue around him, pressing on the knot of nerves under the head of his cock. My fingers held the base of his dick firmly. I felt the shudder that rolled through all those powerful muscles.

“Days. Ever since that kiss. Shit, Trent, stop teasing and suck me off before someone walks in.” He thrust his hips outward, his cock sliding from my lips across my cheek. “I dreamed of seeing that gloss of yours smeared on my cock.”

I turned my head to swallow him down, eager and hungry, I took him as deeply as I could.

“Fuuuuuuck.”

There was no time for finesse. We both knew that. He tossed my clothes aside and slid his hands into my hair.

“Gelled, too. You’re high maintenance, aren’t you? I bet you are. I think I could get into that.”

I had too much cock in my mouth to reply. He didn’t really seem to be searching for an answer. He just started pumping, and I started sucking as hard as I could, my hands on his hips urging him to fuck my mouth.

His final thrust made my eyes water. I swallowed greedily, pulling off the best I could to ensure all that cum didn’t go down my throat. I wanted some on my tongue. I needed to savor the taste of the man. He released his hold on my head and watched as I pulled off his prick then licked him clean, my hand still wrapped around him.

I got him as clean as I could, then sat back on my calves, glanced upward, and used the tip of my index finger to dab at the corners of my mouth.

Dieter just stared down at me, his chest still heaving and his eyes glassy from lust. I still wanted the man. The head I’ve just given him had been an appetizer.

“Are you shocked?” I asked, then shoved his still-wet cock back into his jeans and carefully zipped him back up.

“I’ve never been with a man like you.” He offered me his hand.

I took it and he tugged, getting me up off my knees quickly. “There are no other men like me.”

He smiled. It was akin to someone pulling back the drapes on what had been a room filled with mourners and allowing life to reenter. It rocked me to the core and set off about four hundred warning bells. A man this stunning with so many dark corners was bad news. Bad, bad, bad news.

“Yeah, I believe that,” he replied, and swept in to take a kiss that ended with me flat against the wall and his hands down the front of my white spandex pants. “I want to get at you now. You good for that?”

“God, yes,” I panted, then nipped at his bottom lip. We’d have been rutting like wild beasts had his cell not rung at that moment. “Ignore it. I need your mouth on me.” I grabbed fistfuls of hair and pulled his mouth back to mine. The damn phone kept ringing. He leaned into me, pressing all that firm hockey player against my chest. I was finding it hard to breathe. I was fucking loving it.

“Yo, Deet, man, you coming or what?”

The sound of his name rolling out of one of his teammates doused the fire well. Dieter danced away from me, his face flushed and his pupils so large it was hard to see any color at all. I spun around to try to do something with the stiff dick tenting my pants, but there was nothing to be done with it. The dance belt I wore under my skating pants didn’t hide erections well. Maybe I needed one with more padding…

“Yeah, I’m just waiting for Trent,” he shouted, then jogged to the door to block off whoever it was who had come looking for him. “He’s taking a shower.”

“Oh, okay.” I ran in the direction of the showers and hid behind a cool tiled wall. “We’ll meet you at the restaurant. It’s a Brazilian steakhouse over on Chestnut Street that Trent’s agent said is the hot new spot to be seen at, so the show is all behind us getting there now.”

“Right, okay. We’ll find it on Google maps. Catch you later, Arvy.”

“You okay? You sound spacey.”

“I’m good.”

The conversation faded off. I let my eyes close and rested my brow on the tiles. Then I heard him come around the corner. I lifted my head and opened my eyes. He pushed the pile of my clothes at me.

“I still want to get at you,” he informed me.

I took the clothes from him and wet my lips. His gaze settled on my mouth. “I still want you to get at me.”

With that, I slipped around him, wrinkled outfit in hand, and left him staring at my ass. The ball – or I guess that would be a puck – was in his court. At his end of the ice. Whatever. I suck at making sporty witticisms but excel at leaving men wanting more. I chanced an over-the-shoulder peek, just to be sure, and saw that his sight was riveted to my ass. Mm-hmm. As I thought. His gaze darted up to ensnare mine. This was going to turn into way more than just a quick BJ in the locker room; I could feel it riding the air currents like a line of summer storms.