I pulled away in time to see a male cyclist pass close by us.
"Queer."
Feeling again that surge of power, I shouted, "And proud of it!"
Drew said, "Kiss me again, you courageous queer man."
I did, and this one was more intense, more insistent, and more—well, arousing. When I pushed myself away from the chair, I was laughing. I squatted down beside Drew. "So. What now? Around the mountain? Or a trip up your elevator?"
He was surprised, I could tell. And delighted. "No contest. I’ll race you."
And he was off toward the stables.
During the drive back, the more road that passed under the wheels, the more ready I felt for what was about to happen. And the more curious I felt about whatever the contraption was that would allow him to f**k me the way he’d described over dinner, and that is
