It took Steve almost a week to pluck up the courage to take Robin's advice and buy gay porn. He waited until he'd finished work before driving to the 7-Eleven on the road leaving Hawkins towards Lafayette. He figured he was less likely to bump into anyone he knew there. Still, he took the precaution of wearing a baseball cap and aviator sunglasses just to be on the safe side. He walked as casually as possible into the gas station, trying to ignore the sound of his heart beating in his ears. The guy at the checkout didn't even look up when he entered, too engrossed in his crossword to even notice he had a customer. The store was otherwise deserted, which suited Steve just fine.
He headed over to the wall of periodicals at the back of the store and picked up a copy of National Geographic, absentmindedly flicking through the pages while he cast furtive glances at the titles of pornographic magazines that dominated the top shelf. He'd bought Penthouse and Hustler in the past—he still had a couple of old issues hidden under his mattress—but he'd never bothered to look at the skin mags further along before, all with young, muscular men emblazoned across the front covers. Blueboy, Freshmen, Manshots… there was a magazine called Bound and Gagged that had a tanned blond guy tied up in white rope that simultaneously scared and intrigued him. He looked around the store again to make sure he was still the only customer and quickly grabbed one of each magazine available.
He walked briskly to the counter and placed the pile of magazines on the counter, tossing a packet of Skittles and a box of AA batteries on top for good measure. He didn't need the candy or the batteries, but he didn't want to give the impression that he was a pervert. He was a man out getting the essentials who just happened to be buying a half dozen skin mags. At least, that's the story Steve told himself.
The clerk glanced at the pile of magazines. "Find everything that you need?"
Before Steve managed to stammer 'yes' in response, the clerk began ringing up his purchases. Everything was going smoothly until one of the items—the magazine with the guy bound and gagged on the front cover—wouldn't scan. The clerk frowned and waved the barcode in front of the scanner several times but nothing happened.
Steve tapped his fingers against the counter in mounting panic. This was taking too long. "Sorry, but I'm kind of in a hurry."
"Just give me a sec," said the clerk, taking their time to type in the UPC number.
The store door entry chimed, signaling the arrival of another customer. Heavy footsteps approached the counter.
Steve felt a bead of sweat trickle down his neck. "Honestly, it's fine. Just leave it."
"Almost done," said the clerk.
Steve jumped in fright as someone slammed a six-pack of Schiltz beer onto the counter. A familiar voice said, "Evening, Jeff. I filled up on Pump Two."
"No problem, Chief," said the clerk. "I'm just finishing with a customer."
It took every fiber of Steve's being to stop himself from turning tail and sprinting out of the store. He could practically feel Chief Hopper breathing down his neck. The clerk hit return on the cash register and smiled at Steve.
"That'll be $52.73," he said.
Steve's hands fumbled with his wallet as he tried to retrieve cash.
"Evening, Harrington," said Hopper.
Steve froze. Feigning surprise, he turned and smiled at Chief Hopper.
"Hey, Jim. What're you doing all the way out here?"
Hopper cocked an eyebrow at him, probably because Steve had never called him Jim in his entire life.
"Working," he replied gruffly. "What about you? Not impersonating a police officer again, I hope?"
Steve forced a laugh. "No, that was just a misunderstanding, I…" Hopper's expression hardened and Steve replied meekly, "N-no, sir."
Hopper's gaze flitted from Steve to the magazines on the counter. His eyebrows rose in surprise but he said nothing.
"They're not mine," Steve stammered. "I mean—I'm buying them for a friend."
"Not my business, kid," said Hopper with a note of amusement in his voice.
"Right," Steve mumbled, handing the cash to the clerk. He quickly gathered his things and dashed for the exit. "Nice seeing you."
He had only taken two steps when the clerk called after him. "Sir, your change!"
Steve stuttered to a halt, turned and snatched the cash from the clerk's outstretched hand. A couple of the magazines slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor, one of them opening to reveal a naked man tied to a St. Andrews cross while another man, dressed head-to-toe in black leather, whipped him. Steve felt his soul leave his body as Hopper bent over to scoop the magazines off the ground.
"Don't—" he pleaded, but too late.
Hopper closed the magazines and handed them over to Steve. "You're a real butterfingers today."
Steve grabbed the proffered magazines, muttered thanks, and ran from the building.
"Have fun," Hopper called after him.
After Steve got home and screamed into his pillow for a solid minute, he locked the front door (Robin was at Vickie's again but he was taking no chances), laid the magazines out on top of the bed and tried to decide which one to look at first. He didn't think he'd be able to look at the bondage mag again without Chief Hopper coming to mind, so he tossed that one in the wastepaper basket only to retrieve it moments later and stuff it under his mattress to peruse another time.
He picked up one called Blueboy that had a topless guy on the front cover that looked the double of John Stamos. He took a deep breath, opened it at a random page and was greeted with a glossy double feature of a very large, erect penis. The picture wasn't as off-putting as Steve expected it would be but it wasn't particularly titillating, either. If he wanted to see an erect penis (albeit a smaller, paler one than this monster), he needed only look between his legs.
He flicked to another page and his body had an altogether different reaction. The next photograph was of two guys; one was sitting on a chair fully clothed but his jeans were pushed down to his ankles and his legs spread wide. The other guy—a brunette—was naked and knelt in front of the clothed man in a submissive pose. The flat of the brunette's tongue was lapping at the hard cock, saliva and precum dribbling down his chin. Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Okay, maybe he was a little bit gay.
He flicked through each magazine cover to cover before returning to the photograph of the guy getting sucked off. One thing he'd always enjoyed with girls was going down on them. While a lot of guys were content to get themselves off without any consideration for their partner's pleasure, it had always been a point of pride for Steve to give the girl an orgasm first if he could. This was, in part, a practical thing; once Steve blew his load, he wasn't fit for anything except snuggling. But he also enjoyed it. Nothing compared to the feeling of a woman's body writhing with pleasure beneath his tongue and lips, desperately grabbing fistfuls of his hair as she came. But could he do that with a guy and enjoy it? He wondered what it would be like to suck a cock and his own twitched with interest. Steve still wasn't sure if he was gay but his dick certainly seemed to be.
Steve stared at the photograph and bit his lip. While the image gave him a hard-on, there was still something lacking about it. Suddenly, inspiration struck and Steve retrieved the Rolling Stones magazine that he kept tucked under his mattress. He flipped through the well-worn pages to the picture of Eddie posing with his B.C. Rich NJ Warlock guitar. Steve had no love or real knowledge of guitars but he'd read the article enough times to memorize the kind that Eddie owned. Steve felt a little guilty and a whole lot dirty doing this, but he figured nobody but him would know, so he proceeded despite his reservations. He grabbed a pair of scissors and sticky tape from the kitchen, cut out Eddie's face and taped it across the head of the guy sitting in the chair. If you squinted, it kind of looked like Eddie was the one getting sucked off now. Steve was no Picasso but it would have to do.
Steve felt a little giddy as he pulled off his boxers and climbed onto the bed, his back against the headboard and spread his legs wide. He held the magazine in his left hand and took his cock in the other. He was ready. Tightening his grip, Steve gave his cock an experimental stroke. He let out a shaky breath as white-hot pleasure bloomed in his groin and spread with each leisurely stroke. God, that felt good. All the tension that had been building up in his body over the past week melted away with each stroke.
Steve kept a steady pace, his eyes flitting between Eddie's picture and the brunette licking the large cock like it was a half-melted ice pop. As he jerked himself closer to climax, fleeting, fanciful images of Eddie flashed through his mind: Eddie kissing him, pressing his soft lips against Steve's neck as his hand slipped beneath the hem of Steve's boxers… Eddie's eyes, warm like honey, half-lidded with desire and fixed on Steve as he fell to his knees and pulled at his belt buckle… Eddie tipping his head back and moaning with pleasure as Steve ran the flat of his tongue along the shaft of Eddie's cock—
"Oh shit," Steve gasped.
That last thought sent a deep, sharp spark of pleasure through Steve and he jerked himself faster. It only took a couple more strokes and he was coming. Hard. Steve threw his head back as he came, clattering his head against the headboard but he barely noticed as a wave of ecstasy crashed over him. He kept pumping his slick cock until it was too sensitive to continue, then carefully released his wilting member from his vise grip.
A half-hysterical laugh burst out of him and he lolled his head back, basking in the post-orgasmic afterglow. That was the quickest and hardest he'd come in a long time. The results were conclusive and the evidence spoke for itself: Steve was most definitely a little bit gay. Robin was going to be thrilled.
It didn't take long for the post-coital tristesse to rear its ugly head and he grimaced at the Frankenstein's monster he had created with Eddie's head and an anonymous porn star's body. While it had helped Steve get the ball rolling, it turned out he had an ample amount of imagination when it came to things he'd like to do with Eddie Munson.
Steve closed the magazine and tossed it to one side. As illuminating as this experiment had been, Robin was right—if he wanted to shoot his shot with Eddie, it would be better to wait until after Dustin's wedding. There was no need to unnecessarily complicate matters, especially since they'd both just agreed to set aside their differences and work together to be the best of best men for Dustin's sake. Steve sighed and closed his eyes. It was going to be a long, torturous few months.