Monday, July 30, 2012

Stripped.Down. Ch. 1

This is part one of a two-part story I wrote last fall. Please enjoy.

You were mine the minute you walked into my bar.

You have spent a lot of time this past year in my bar. I have watched you. I have wanted you. You just don't realize it yet.

I know almost everything that's important about you. For instance, you're a cop, not much beyond a rookie. You seem young, maybe in your early twenties, but you aren't stupid. You grew up in Illinois, and your family has been in law enforcement for generations. You are a nice kid and have an easy-going attitude. You're Irish with a good Irish name- Brian- that happily trips off my tongue. Brian Marshall.

Halloween was the first time. The first time ever I saw your face. By the way, that’s the title of a 1972 Roberta Flack song from the Clint Eastwood movie, Play Misty For Me. Yeah, once you get to know me better, you’ll find I’m a huge Clint Eastwood fan, and his Dirty Harry flicks are among my favorites. I always go for the strong-but-conflicted cop type.

Sorry, I’m getting sidetracked. Last Halloween was your first time at O’Shea’s, the bar I own which, thankfully, you now frequent. When you sauntered in, my mouth all but dropped open in lust. You were totally drool-worthy with wavy blonde hair in a standard short cut and pale eyes like chips of ice in your round, boyish face. Your nose looks like it’s been broken a few times, and the cheeks are dimpled. You have a medium complexion and no facial hair, not even noticeable stubble. You take care of yourself and exercise. Slightly shorter than average, you’re on the slender side with a strong body that’s made for loving.

On that October night, the crisp gray t-shirt you sported delineated the muscles in your forearms and back, and your soft black jeans weren’t tight, but they definitely showed off your cute butt and toned thighs. Yum! I couldn’t help noticing your rosy lips and flushing cheeks, but I’ll reserve the option of blaming the chill outside for their coloring. There was something about your innocence that made me want to protect you, cop or not, and don’t go giving me lip about how you put your life on the line every day to protect others. I know that. Let’s just say you snagged my attention fast and it never let go.

You were with a friend, a short, young Latino with a straight black hair and coffee-colored eyes. Okay, maybe he wasn’t a friend. He didn’t look particularly friendly or happy to be there, but you grabbed a table near the door. You sat against the wall so your vision always faced into the crowd. The two of you drank Guinness beer, and you were having an intense conversation that lasted over an hour.

Then some guy walked over and asked your young friend to dance. He turned bright red and began to stammer angrily, and for the first time you looked around my establishment with a shocked expression on your face. Typical bar and tables, a pool table in the far corner, juke box near the dance floor. And my clientele is almost exclusively male, many in couples. The dark-skinned man jumped up to swear loudly and chastise you for dragging him into a gay bar and stormed out in a huff. You stayed, your sleepy eyes wide in wonder, like you didn’t even know places like O’Shea’s existed. Your ‘aw-shucks’ grin just about did me in, and I truly hoped you weren’t straight.

Thankfully, you weren’t, but you didn’t show your face for almost two months, and I was afraid something scared you off. Your loss and mine both, I figured, and I tried to forget you. The cops have their own hole-in-the-wall bar on the other side of town, and as a matter of routine, you probably have to hang out there. I identify with living on the down-low. I’ve been out for years, but maybe that isn’t the case with you. Please know that I understand and I want you to be comfortable. However it works out, I’m willing to give you all the time you need.

You walked back in on a cold, snowy night in December just before Christmas. Alone. Same mode of dress- conservative casual, nothing to draw attention to yourself. Took the same seat, your eyes scanning the room as if memorizing it. You spent the evening observing the comings and goings and didn’t say much to anyone. I got the impression you were trying to determine if you’d be a good fit here. You seemed rather shy and lonely but I refrained from chatting you up. You ordered a couple of Brian Boru Reds. You have good taste in beer.

The next week you brought a friend, a different one. He was a tall man, and you gave me the vibe of being intimate with him, although there was no hand-holding or kissing, no gentle touches or standing close. It was the way you looked at him, but I didn’t see him respond in the same vein. You stayed an hour and played two games of pool. You tried to get him out to dance, but he refused and kept giving you impatient looks. Finally he stood up and walked out, and you followed. I think I was witnessing the dying gasps of the relationship.

In late January you were back, single again. Over the next couple of months I finally got up the nerve to ask your name and talk to you. The fact that you made me nervous scared the shit out of me because I’ve never been shy with anyone before, and I wasn’t even trying to pick you up. You struck up friendships with several of my regular patrons, and you began coming in more often. You seemed to enjoy the camaraderie, but you never went home with anyone. I’m almost a hundred percent sure you were not part of a couple or you would’ve brought your boyfriend with you. You seemed content, maybe not happy, but you did alright.

Let’s see, in the spring the large, newly-built mall opened up for business in the Valley, bringing an influx of people from out of the area looking for jobs. My business swelled a little; a cute couple in their mid-30s and five singles took up residence, livening up the place. May 6th was the night you met Thaddeus, a manager of a high-end department store, and the two of you were immediately attracted to each other. I saw it at once, the way your eyes lit up when he walked through the door, little nudges and sweet smiles and how he licked his lips like he was going to feast on you. I kept a smile on my face, friendly as always, and tried not to show the hurt I felt.

If you don’t mind my saying, Thaddeus was a bastard. Cruel! An ego the size of Alaska, no respect for you and he treated you like a bitch. I mean, there’s submissive and there’s just wrong. Your life with him was just wrong. I never saw two people so poorly suited for each other. Drama, tears, romantic make-out sessions when you’d get along followed by fights in which Thaddeus all but threw things at you. I wanted to be supportive but I had a hard time showing leniency towards that asshole. He was definitely bringing a very bad karma to my place, and many of the crowd wanted me to toss you both out on your asses. But I felt I had to keep an eye on you for your own good. If this was how he was acting in public, I was scared half to death over what he did to you in private. I never saw any bruises but that doesn’t mean they weren’t there. I was glad when the two of you broke up over the summer.

I think it was at this point that I worked a more determined effort to make you aware of me. I can be very witty, and I’d save my best jokes for you, relishing your laughter. Or I’d do the whole check-out thing on your arrival, hoping I was getting through but not sticking around to find out. Twice I caught a smoldering glance from you and smiled back briefly. I never wanted to make you feel embarrassed, so it was easier to look and release, hoping you got the message. I relied on nonverbal clues, not knowing if they worked. No rushing, no stress.

Oh, I forgot all about Motorcycle Guy. We can’t not talk about him.

Was it late August or early September? I guess it doesn’t matter. You stumbled in to take a seat, and I could tell right away that something was very wrong. You weren’t the friendly, in-control Brian we here at O’Shea’s have come to know and love, but you wouldn’t open up and talk about it. You sat by yourself and refused all offers of company and recreation. You also got hammered- the first time I’d ever seen you drunk, and I was worried. Thank God, I was worried.

Four bikers walked in an hour later. You were already three sheets to the wind, and within a matter of minutes they began eying you. You were so far gone I don’t think you saw them at all. But when you got up to leave the bar at eleven, which by the way was incredibly stupid considering that you’re a cop and know the DUI laws, one of them followed you. I knew he was up to no good. I made a beeline for the door at the same time the cute mid-30s couple realized the danger, and we managed to get to the parking lot in time to see Motorcycle Guy with his hand on your ass, trying to hustle you around the building to the alley. Oh no, nobody is going to hurt my little dude, Brian. We put that guy to rights immediately, and he and his buddies left. You never mentioned it, never seemed uncomfortable, so I have to assume you don’t remember him. I’m glad too because it probably would’ve made it awkward between us.

Since that night, your life has smoothed out and you seem to be okay. One of the guys in here said you moved and got a nice apartment of your own. I heard you might be up for a promotion, meaning a job reassignment to a better division on the police force. Good for you! You follow a strict routine of work and fun, but I think you’re by yourself. I wonder if you’re lonely or if you’re at peace with this stage of your life and plan to work on a relationship later. I’d bet you long for enduring love. Don’t we all?

The calendar has circled around back to October again. It’s been almost a year, and I can’t stand this half-life I’m living. I’m getting older, nearly thirty now, and I’m as lonely as you are. I see you in the bar, and you make my entire being hurt. Feelings I want to share and words I need to say. I guess I must wear my heart on my sleeve because some of my best customers already know of my feelings for you and gently tease me over it. It’s even possible they are steering you in my direction, bless them. I certainly hope you’re catching on to how I feel. It is my deepest wish, tightly anchored to my soul.

Brian, you are so perfect, with such potential, and I know we could make each other very happy. I want to take you in my arms and kiss you and touch your golden skin. I want to thrust against you and into you. I want to take you into my mouth and make your dreams come true. I want to soothe all your hurts and show you a true, committed relationship with a lover who puts your needs first. We would complete each other.

It is Monday, one of the nights you show up here at O’Shea’s without fail and stay a little later because you usually have Tuesdays off. Tonight, for better or worse, I hope to reveal my feelings for you.


I am behind the bar. It’s an hour and a half after your normal arrival time, and with every cold draft of wind I feel gusting in with a new customer, I look up, expecting to see you striding in. I’m getting nervous. No, more than that, I’m feeling a little scared. You’re late.

The front door opens for another shivering entrant, and my brain goes into emotional overload. There you stand, dressed in your typical boots, jeans, t-shirt and jacket, your eyes flickering to your favorite table to see if anyone sits there. Unfortunately, with your tardiness, it’s occupied by two new men who began drinking here last week. In fact, the place is fairly well filled up tonight, so you approach the bar and take a seat at the end.

I casually stroll over. “Good evening, Brian. What’ll you have?”

“Hey Shaun,” you answer, not really looking at me. You’re just trying to warm up and relax. “The usual, I think.” The usual is a Sam Adams.

I bring the beer. “You’re late tonight. I was getting worried.”

Your eyes flick up at me, puzzled by my apprehension and wondering what spurs it. “The governor was in town campaigning,” you say. You explain how the security detail took longer than expected. “Why the concern?”

I think about the question. “You’re almost two hours late and it goes with your job, Brian.” I see your hackles begin to rise as you get miffed; you hate it when people act like your youth means you’re inexperienced or careless. I hold up my hand to forestall an argument. “I know you’re well-trained and can take care of yourself.”

You’re still not convinced, but I can sense you’re less defensive.

“We might live in one of the lowest crime rates in the region,” I say, “but shit can come out of nowhere. I have heard enough horror stories from my brother-in-law and cousins; they’re cops too. I know the risks.” I smile easily to disperse any lingering tension. “Let your friends worry about you sometimes.”

Finally, seeing that I meant no disrespect, you smile and raise the bottle. “Thanks.”

I have work to do so I reluctantly go tend bar, keeping my eye on you all the while. The front door bangs open and a new customer brings in a gust of rain showers. That prompts a flurry of people to leave before the storm really moves in, and for once I don’t care how full the bar is or if I lose money. That isn’t important tonight. I am feeling even more nervous now and wondering when I will get the break to ask the question that might open up what I want to discuss. But what if I’m wrong? What if you are dating or aren’t interested in me?

I move down to the other end of the bar to pour whiskey for another patron, saying goodbye to the mid-30s couple as they leave, giving me a thumbs’ up. I grin. Presently, I walk back to you and bring another beer. “On the house,” I tell you.

“Thank you.” You look surprised, but your smile is boyishly sweet.

“So how is life treating you?” I ask, already knowing the answer because I keep my ears open in my place. I’m just trying to extend a conversation here, but my heart is beginning to beat faster.

You open up and talk about your family, including an older sister who is about to get married. Yes, you’re in line for that promotion, and your apartment is larger and closer to work. Your voice is light and friendly with no evidence that you suspect deeper meanings to my queries. There’s no mention of a boyfriend.

“Are you seeing anyone?” I am treading on what could be a slippery slope. This is it, the all-important question. My mouth goes dry, and I feel the faintest pinpricks of sweat in my pits.

Your ice-blue eyes stare into mine, and I can almost see you lining up the clues in your head. “No, not since Thaddeus.” You clear your throat, and I see pain on your face. “He left me a mess to deal with.”

I nod. “Judging from Thaddeus’ reputation, he would be the type to leave a lot of messes for others to clean up.” I clear my throat and try to be casual, but I hate Thaddeus for hurting you. “He didn’t deserve you, Brian.”

You grunt your thanks. I can’t take my eyes off you, and you are staring back, a curious expression on your face. For some reason, your gaze is the more dominant, and I have to look away. I am never the first to break eye contact, but in this case, I am acknowledging the strength inside you that wants to heal and it seems the best thing to do. I know we are both feeling this connection.

I look down, and your forearms are resting on the bar, hands playing with the napkin. I can see a light sprinkling of golden hair peeking out from the long sleeve of your t-shirt. I hesitate, fearing that I might frighten you away. But there’s no better time than now when I’m feeling courageous and you are right here. Holding my breath, I lift a hand and lay it gently on your wrist, fingers curling over your warm skin.

A few seconds pass. I need to breathe, but I can’t get my throat unstuck until I know how you will respond. I’m keeping my eyes down, and through my eyelashes I barely glance up at you, and your cheeks are flushing beautifully. I can’t see your eyes because they are closed, but you have not moved your arm. I take a breath and, encouraged, begin to rub your wrist. Your long, beautiful fingers flex. My cock starts to get hard.

It feels like minutes rushing by but it’s only seconds. You still don’t move, and I continue to stroke your wrist. I curse myself; I don’t know where this shyness is coming from, and I know I have to look at you at some point. I feel your body move and am about to lift my hand, but all you do is shift on the barstool. I am positive that if I could see your crotch, you would be getting hard too. My eyes come up, and yours are dark and hooded, filled with need. You smile at me and turn your arm over to take my hand in yours. My heart thuds in hope. Oh my!

The bar begins to empty out, but some of my customers need refills on their drinks. I am torn because I don’t want to shatter the moment. What’s going on at our end of the room is in full view to all, and I catch quite a few guarded smiles and teasingly raised eyebrows. Jeremy, one of my regulars who has helped me tend bar during special events, gets up and begins to pour beer and mix drinks. He grins at me, and I flash him a look of sheer thanksgiving.

You are perched on the barstool like a statue, face flushed, lips open and trying to draw breath between them. Your eyes look far away. “Since before Thaddeus,” you whisper, explaining when you first noticed me. “But I didn’t think I had a chance with you, and then he came in like a tornado and took over.” You shrug. “You were so kind to me when it got bad. When they,” you toss your head backwards, indicating the other bar patrons, “wanted you to kick me out and you refused.”

I nod and wiggle my hips, fruitlessly trying to loosen my jeans around my crotch. “The first night you came in,” I inform you. “Last Halloween when you were with the little dark dude, the Latino.”

You laugh at the memory. “I was given a special assignment by my captain. Not exactly undercover work, but I was to talk to this guy about a burglary. He was afraid of being seen with street cops. I was kind of new and an unfamiliar face. I chose here without checking it out. Big mistake, but I got the information I needed from him.”

I intertwine my fingers with yours. “You can’t call it a mistake if it brought you here.”

You turn red and laugh, a light musical sound. “True.” You seem to be working up to ask a question. “Is tonight our first date? Sitting in this bar with you three nights a week for the last year, it’s like I’ve known you forever.”

“Same here,” I say. I want to kiss you so bad. I can’t wait to get out of here. “What the night turns into is up to you entirely, Brian.” I look at you and when you understand your eyes become dark and intense again.

“I’m not looking for a one-nighter or short-term, Shaun,” you say softly. You are tugging on my hand, bringing it closer to you as if you could pull me over the bar.

I’m flooded with optimism and suddenly feel light on my feet. “Me neither, but it helps to start slowly.” Your hand feels good, and I look down, at your fingers linked into mine. I walk around the end of the bar so I am in back of you. You lean into me, your head resting on my chest, and it makes my voice go husky. “So what do you know about me, Brian?”

“What?” you ask, and I remind you that you said it’s like you’ve known me forever.

You shrug and blush shyly. “You’re twenty-nine. You own O’Shea’s with your brother who is overseas in Afghanistan. You’re out to everyone, including your family who are supportive. You haven’t been with anyone for at least a year. And you live in an apartment above this place.”

I laugh. “That last is very important to know.” I fold my arm across your shoulders, clasping you close.

You sigh and smile. You are just too fucking cute, and I can’t imagine how I got so lucky to find you. I wish I could hurry the night, but I have an hour until the bar closes. On Mondays, I shut down early but it seems interminable.

But maybe some of the night’s good luck that you have bestowed up me is beginning to rub off in other ways. Luck of the Irish? As I glance around, my patrons are finishing their drinks and shuffling out the door with a wave or thumbs’ up. Jeremy’s cousin yells, “Shaun’s got a hot date.” The remaining customers laugh, we both turn red, and the crowd miraculously thins out. Twenty minutes later, the place is empty except for you. I hurry to lock up and turn out the lights. I take care of the basics and leave the cleaning for morning.

You are beginning to look a little apprehensive, and I wonder if I’ve presumed too much. It’s nearly dark where we are standing, and I can’t read your face. I take your hand in mine. “What are you thinking?”

You don’t say anything for a minute, then you look me full in the face. “When do I get to see your apartment?”

I give you what I hope is a comforting smile but your question is rattling around in my brain. I sense your anticipation. “Do you want to? I don’t want you feeling rushed.”

In answer, you stand up to lean in and kiss me hard. I grab you by your arms and pull you into an embrace. Lips and tongues meet briefly. I’m quickly getting hard again, and as I press against your body, the same thing is happening to you. You stand back with a wicked grin. “Does that answer your question?”

I want you. Upstairs. Now. We rush to the other end of the bar and around back by the bathrooms is a locked door to my private dwelling. I fumble for the keys, and the door takes forever to unlock. I don’t think my feet even touched every stair. We are barely through the door of my apartment when we are in each other’s arms. I don’t bother to turn on lights.

I kiss you firmly on the lips, and your mouth has already opened to accept my tongue and explore my own. You taste good, not just of beer. You begin to groan right away, and our tongues are battling for supremacy and I can only win. I ravish your mouth, sucking, nipping at your bottom lip, taking everything you want to give me and more. I am not into pain but I will dominate you. I feel you go weak in my embrace, and my mind is doing a victory dance because you are here with me. I have dreamed of this moment for almost a year.

I hasten you towards my bedroom with my king-size bed, my lips never leaving yours. Clothes are flying off both of us. You hop up and down removing your boots. My jeans get caught on my ankle and I almost trip. We’re stripped down to boxer shorts, and I push you to the mattress, following behind. I fall into your arms, and we kiss passionately again. I hear you moaning above me, and I feel your hard cock against my thigh.

I am incredibly turned on. My cock is hard too. Both of us are gasping for air, but we’d rather mash our lips together and stick our tongues down each other’s throats. You cup my ass and pull me tighter into you. My hands are going wild on your body, strumming down neck to shoulders to chest. I find your nipple and twist it. You cry out softly and begin to buck against me. I swing slightly to the right so your cock is bumping up against mine, and we’re thrusting our pelvises at each other. The sensation of your cock on mine is mind-blowing. I’m tingling and groaning. It feels so good, but I don’t want to waste time and act like horny teenagers. I move apart from you, breathing raggedly. Already I feel cold where the contact of your body used to be.

You look at me and understand why I rolled. We are laying next to each other on the bed getting back in control. Then we start to laugh at the vision of ourselves. The laughter breaks the tension that has been building since you walked into the bar. Now we can decide how to proceed. We reach out to hug each other and begin kissing again, more sedately now. I cuddle you against me and stroke your stomach. I try to put how much I love you into my touch. You mean everything to me.

We take off our shorts and I pull down the covers. We are lying on my bed, naked, stroking each other. You say you like my cock. I am just average in size, about six inches, circumcised and rather thick. My pubic hair is brown and curly. I thank you and you give me another deep kiss. Your fingers are in my hair, tracing the edge of my ear and along my jaw. They feel good, soft but strong. You kiss my neck and nip at me, and your hands knead my shoulders. You are proving how much you want me too.

My mouth recaptures yours before moving to your earlobe, and I bite it. My hands have been roaming across your skin and stroke the strong muscles of your chest. Like giving a massage, I run the palms of my hands flat against your body, and you groan. I bite into your neck and pinch your nipples. I love your pink nipples on your golden skin. They are so sensitive, and turn puffy, swollen, and bright red when I play with them. I nibble and suck on them, and you groan loudly. I love the noises you make in bed. Getting addicted to you will come easy. You are beautiful.

We have agreed that we want to be fully involved with each other and will take turns instead of tasting each other simultaneously. I give you the option of choosing, and you want to go first. I am glad because you are younger and less experienced. I have had a long day and feeling more tired than usual, and I’m afraid if I climax first I might not have the energy to love on you the way I want to. But my cock is so hard it almost aches. Patience, I tell myself. Concentrate on you.

I settle you on the pillows of my bed and work my way down to your thighs. “Oh, Brian, you are gorgeous.” Close up, I see your cut, fully erect cock is longer than I first imagined, probably seven inches, with a knobby head and distended vein running down the back. Your blonde pubic hair looks soft and lies close to the skin, and your balls are oval and identical, one lower than the other. It’s all I can do not to drool over you.

Before I begin, I run my hands down your body again, and you gasp and wiggle. I kiss your inner thigh, running my teeth gently across the tender skin as I edge toward your cock. Another gasp. Your dick rears when my mouth and hands tease you. Between nibbles of thigh, I occasionally lick your pole, and you are strung out on delight, moaning and twisting. “Don’t torment me,” you plead, your eyes huge. I grin because you are tormented enough to beg.

I use my fingers to pleasure you and get you ready. First I separate your legs to make it easier to reach you. I reach between the golden cheeks of your ass, and you jump. When I touch your puckered hole, your hips buck automatically. You strain your ass towards me, trying to impale it on my finger, and I withdraw a bit out of your reach. I will explore this orifice eventually but not tonight. I begin to play with the hole, fingering in circles around it. “Oh, Shaun, yes,” you beseech me, groaning. Your breathing speeds up and shallows out, and I know if I keep up, you will cum before I even have a chance to taste you.

I don’t want to deny you the pleasure of my mouth so I back off, much to your dismay. I slide the finger up across the perineum, as I hear a sharp intake of breath from you. Your balls lay like small hills in your pubic hair, and they are the next to be conquered. My fingers skim over them in weightless touches, rolling the sac around the orbs, and you groan again. I can see precum dripping from you like a faucet, a string stretching from cock to abdomen, and I shiver with the realization that I can turn you on like this.

It is time. Rising up on an elbow, I kiss your hip bone, and you jump. Pleased with the reaction, my mouth zeros in on the same spot, and I nip your skin with my teeth and suck gently. Your hip tries to buck again but I am holding you down, and I smile. There, you are marked; I have left a tiny red bruise that claims you for myself.

My lips kiss across your hard abs, and my tongue dives into the hollow of your navel. “Unnmm,” you moan. You make the most delicious sounds! My mouth moves south and laps at the precum there, and it is salty-sweet. Yum! You cock is poking my cheek, reminding me of why I’m there. You leave a drop of precum on my skin, and I whisk it off with my finger and lick it. Then I blow hot air on your cock, and you writhe again.

“Brian,” I grunt. “Do you want me to suck you now?”

“Oh please, yes, please Shaun. Suck me.” Your voice is high-pitched, frantic.

I edge nearer and breathe on you again. My tongue dives onto your cock to catch the precum that is about to drop on to your stomach, and you let out this long moan of divine need. I begin to slather around your dusky mushroom head. You are soft and spongy, with the firmness underneath the skin and my mind breaks free into praises that I have you here with me so I can make love to your cock. I use my teeth to gently scrape over the head, and you groan loudly. I can feel the fingers of your hand rubbing my shoulder and neck, and I know it is your little way of showing appreciation.

I take the warm head of your dick into my mouth and moan. You, Brian, are mine, all mine. My lips caress you, coiling around the ridges of your cock, and my tongue licks underneath across the vein. Your thighs jump, and you whimper in your throat. Your fingers tighten on my shoulder, kneading my muscles, and I can feel your desire. I slurp you into my mouth, taking most of your erection, and I begin to dip and rise over it. The more I suck you, the more of your cock I take into my mouth, and the faster I move. You are already in a place of rapture, and your body dances on the sheets, your head thrashing against the pillow while you make pleased sighing sounds deep in your chest. I know what gives you the most pleasure, and my duty, my desire, my need is to bring you to the most intense climax you’ve ever had.

I am bobbing on your cock as fast as I can move, up and down, lips sucking and tongue tap dancing against the length. Your mouth is making sounds I don't understand, whispered partial words that can only come from intense pleasure. My hand rides the shaft in a flurry of vibrations from base to where my mouth has grabbed hold, and I can tell by the undulations of your ass that you are nearing orgasm. Harder you pump into me, and I can’t help but wonder how you would feel inside my own ass. You taste good, you smell good, and your moans are the energy I feed off of. I reach up to grasp one of your pink nipples between finger and thumb, giving it a hard squeeze, and you tense with a forceful “oh”.

Dragging fingers across both nipples now to play with them, I bring you closer to the edge. Your pelvis lifts and drops, forcing your cock into my mouth, and my palate tries to accommodate it before the gag reflux kicks in. I can almost take your whole dick, but not entirely. You are a sweating, rolling ball of need all wrapped up in the most delightful man on the planet. Up and down you writhe beneath me, and I use my other hand, the one not on your chest, to firmly massage your balls in the palm. You nearly come undone, and the end is very close. I love you, Brian.

You say something I understand. “Suck me hard, Shaun, oh shit, oh fuck!” All of a sudden, your cock makes a gentle implosion in my mouth, signaling that you are about to cum, and my lips make a tight seal to slide all the way to the head to draw your semen into me. Your voice is a keening wail of ecstatic anguish, punctuated with moaning "aaahhh"s and "ooohhh"s, and your hips still for a microsecond. Your cum shoots forth in a stream of salty heat. I swallow it, I want more, and your cock obeys my command. You erupt again and again, filling my mouth with your cream, each pulse sent to me by way of your thrusting hips which you no longer have power over.

Your musky scent fuses with sweat and cum, and it sends a signal of heady desire straight to my dick. You have managed to grab hold of my head with your hands and you are squeezing me so hard you will probably leave marks from your fingernails, but I don’t care. This is about your bliss. Your body is out of control, nerves and muscles strain, everything focused on your ejaculations. And then it is over; you are coming back into your own conscious mind and thanking me over and over for making you cum and loving you and not letting you hold back.

I listen as your ragged breathing slows to a normal rhythm, and you shiver when a cooling breeze from the window blows over the drying sweat of your soft skin. You stretch then, a leonine move of strength, joy and satisfaction and flip on your back. Your hand shifts to my rigid member and your fingers begin to stroke it in loving but heated touches, making it rear and buck above my abdomen. I can feel the precum dripping and pooling under the tip. My balls tighten ever so slightly under your light massage, and I groan.

“I want to please you,” your husky voice begs. “Please, Shaun, let me suck on you.”

I grin and act as if I’m about to give in, but first I roll you over on your back and attack your lips again with mine. Yours already have deepened to a lovely red, and I’m nipping at your bottom lip and sliding my tongue inside like a demon. You are so determined to show how much you love me that, when I deny the use of your mouth on me, you enclose my cock with your hand, and you are fisting it, trying to jerk me off. I decide that if you are that desperate, the time has come to let you suck on me. Hard and throbbing, needing release, hot desire courses through me as I give you one last kiss and rake your nipples with my fingers. You shudder. Then I release you to hunker down on the bed next to my hips. Your gaze begs me, and I smile at you.

You give me an innocent, dimpled smile, your pale eyes never leaving my face, and I watch that rosy mouth open to greedily encircle my throbbing erection. Lips, cheeks, tongue trap me inside. “Oh Brian, oh love.”

The minute my cock is enclosed in the velvety wet warmth of your mouth I can tell that I am home. You insist on being a tease, and at first you only wrap your lips around the head of my cock. I am so hard and needing to cum that I’m nearly hissing with urgency, and my back arches towards you. But you insist on gently rubbing the shaft with your hand to hold it in place so your tongue can thrust and parry to your heart’s delight. You are playing with me with your mouth and I smile, knowing the games are heightening my arousal.

And what games! You circle the crown generously, and I won’t deny it feels magnificent. You gently use your teeth and make little nibbling moves down and back up that don’t hurt but find the endings of the nerves all the same, and small pulses center in my balls. A groan flies from my lips. When you attack the edge of the ridge down the back at the juncture of the shaft, that little package of nerve endings packs a wallop that leaves me writhing on the bed and moaning in pleasure. This causes you to moan back, and oh, so not fair that the vibrations echo through my cock and take me to a higher level of bliss.

“Oh God, Brian,” I exclaim in another groan as fevered throbbing radiates from my cock with every stroke of your tongue. “Feels so good.”

I am quivering in expectation, and my body tingles. You certainly know what you’re doing. You have progressed from languorously teasing the head of my dick to sucking up and down the shaft. Going down tip to base, with your talented tongue feathering top, front and back, you then move back up to create a vacuum with your cheeks that pulls more precum from my cock. I can’t even describe the intense pleasure the bobbing is creating, and you are burying your face in my pubic hair. That is so hot!

In fact, I can’t believe you can fit the whole of it in your mouth. Slowly and expertly, you are deep throating me, something that I often can’t do because of my gag reflex, and when you take my ball sac in your hands to gently massage and roll it between your fingers I can’t help but beg for more. Your fingernails are scratching gently on the underside of the sac, and my mind is screaming in delight. “Ohhhhh!” Sweat breaks out all over my body as heat engulfs me, and my hands caress your spiky blond hair. I am reaching the point where I need you to suck on me faster than you can move, and already my groin is setting up its own rhythm to meet this need. Just be there for me, Brian, and hang on for the ride.

The way you are sucking my cock is heavenly. I can feel the head lying in your throat, and those muscles are grasping and releasing every time I thrust into your mouth. I concentrate on a vision of the two of us as if staring down from above, with your open mouth sliding over and around me, sucking me hard, and it is so erotic I can hardly stand it. The crescendo is building; your mouth feels like wet silk, your tongue like a snake that writhes and slithers against me. My entire body is in motion, hips thrusting back and forth to fuck your magnificent mouth, hands grasping and releasing the sheets or holding your blonde head in place, feet and toes flexing in absolute pleasure. My lungs need air. I am groaning endlessly because any other sound wouldn’t make sense, even to me.

One short, labored breath, I am so close to the edge that I don’t know how I’ll be able to stand it another moment; the second, I feel my balls tighten and draw up inside me. My cock surges, and you must have felt it because now you are slurping on me so hard. “Brian…” I roar in ecstasy; tipping, tipping and then falling, as hot sperm shoots from the base of my penis into your mouth.

My back jackknifes under the intense convulsions, and it’s like every tendon inside me is caught in a paralytic rigidity. Waves of pleasure radiate outwards to engulf my whole body. Five times I unload inside your mouth, powerfully expelling my seed inside your waiting warmth, each emission smaller and weaker. You swallow all of it, and I can feel my cock starting to soften as my taut muscles finally relax. I smile up at you in gratitude and love. “Oh Brian,” I exclaim. “I haven’t cum that hard in years.”

Spent, we relax in the glow of our orgasms. I crawl back up the bed to lie down next to you and begin to play absently with your cock. I run my fingernails down it and you gasp. I’m not trying to arouse you again; it’s just that I love your elegant body so much and the way you respond to me is an aphrodisiac. I reluctantly choose to stop the teasing before I give you an erection because I don’t have the strength left to do anything about it. I feel tired and peaceful.

You are facing me, blushing again, so cute in your embarrassment. Your eyes are dark and unreadable. “Do… do you want to fuck me, Shaun? Or for me to fuck you? Because if you want to, I w-will.” The hope on your face is mingled with anxiety, and you are actually shaking. Your reaction makes a lie of your words, but I know the reason for your fear. I am not Thaddeus, Brian, and I will spend the rest of my life proving it.

I tenderly brush your hair with my hand. “No, Brian, not tonight.” I soothe the firmness of my decision with kisses and touches to ensure that you don’t feel rejected. Sure, fucking is a bodily function that any two people can do. But I want it to be more for us. I want the emotional connection that two people deeply in love share, and love also brings a higher level of pleasure and relies on trust. Trust takes time to build. I want you to trust me so much that any lingering fear of Thaddeus is totally eradicated from your mind.

You seem to understand. In fact, you seem to be relieved, and you lean over to give me a long kiss. I bat at you because it’s time to sleep, not play. You move to the center of the bed and rest your head against the pillow, lying on your side, all quiet and tired. I lie down behind you, covering us with the quilt and snake my arm under yours and across your torso to cuddle into you. I can feel you grin, and I give you one single nip on your neck before stroking your stomach to calm and quiet you.

It feels good to be sharing my bed with you for the first time. My hips and thighs cradle your ass, and I absently wonder how many times one of us will wake up before morning, wanting to touch and suckle on each other. It brings a smile to my face that you can’t see, and I gently brush my fingers across your hard abs again. I listen as your breathing deepens and you fall asleep. That sounds like a wonderful idea, and finally I begin to drift off too, completely content. I love you, Brian. You are mine.

(To be continued...)

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

Goodnight Sweetheart

For those of you who follow Literotica, you might know of an author in the m/m category who goes by the name of JadedAndy. His real name was Emery Lynn Thomas Owens, and he was nineteen years old.

He wrote several stories on Lit, but the three biggest ones concerned his real-life boyfriend, Kendal Marcus Owens, and he serialized their love affair in a multi-chapter story that was named after him. He wrote about meeting Kendal in high school in 2007 and how they discovered they loved each other. Both boys grew up in dysfunctional families where they weren't loved or taught to cope with the hard times life threw at them. Only having each other to lean on, they became close, and Emery was shocked at how amazing Kendal was, despite his horrible childhood.

Earlier this year he took the Kendal chapters down and turned them into one long piece with an update entitled A New Chapter. This was followed by Beginning of the End, the account of Kendal's abuse at the hands of his family, and his slide into mental illness, drug use and self-harm. The last part of this tale was named Tonight and Forever, the tragic story of Kendal's suicide in December 2010 and how Emery was coping with the aftermath.

Yesterday afternoon, July 16, 2012, Emery took his own life when he traveled out of state and hung himself in a remote cabin belonging to an uncle. He had been miserable and lonely for quite some time, reliving their life together in Kendal's belongings and the places they frequented, experiencing a lot of guilt over his boyfriend's death and unable to move past it. Emery and Kendal became lovers on the Fourth of July which has always been a very difficult time of year for him since Kendal passed, leaving a lot of painful memories. The boys considered themselves married, and Emery had even taken his last name. But since the tragedy he hadn't been able to shake the depression that dogged him, and time did not heal all wounds, as he complained to me bitterly. They just made Kendal's absence hurt more.

Indirectly, Emery's death is the result of homophobia. Part of the reason Kendal committed suicide was because of his father and brother's view of homosexuality which they used as an excuse to rape and torture him. He was burned with cigarettes and beaten on a daily basis, and no part of his body was spared. At the time of his death at barely nineteen, he was a walking skeleton, the sole breadwinner of the family working two jobs and getting very little sleep. He felt no safety at home and no way to handle the pain. Kendal coped by cutting on himself and abusing alcohol and drugs. The boys had argued over cheating and parted ways when they needed each other the most, and Emery was desperate to get back together with him. But by the time he realized how much abuse Kendal was going through, it was too late.

Kendal had a daughter named Addie who is now five and was living with his foster-father, but he he also left a son, four-year-old Jayden, that Emery was raising on his own. He tried so hard to be a good father to Jay but always felt that he was falling short. He took full responsibility for Kendal's suicide, despite not having all the pieces to the puzzle, so to speak. Since his boyfriend's death, he has been trying to deal with the crushing guilt of being unable to save him, and he didn't even understand how so immensely over his head it would have been to do so. I mean, he was only seventeen when Kendal died, and yet he expected himself to do what the adults in Kendal's life refused to?

Emery couldn't put up with that kind of abuse either and was being beaten and raped by an ex-boyfriend/drug addict living in his mother's house and another former friend. They even put him in a coma at one point, but Emery thought he deserved it because he believed he had abandoned Kendal to the same fate. Although he was finally convinced to move out at the end of June for Jayden's sake in order to stop the abuse, he unfortunately couldn't leave behind the pain. He couldn't stop blaming himself for Kendal's decline and suicide. These two boys needed each other like breathing, and once his lover was dead, Emery didn't have the strength nor the will to go on without him. Over time Kendal turned into an obsession.

I got to know Emery through his stories, and we became good friends. We e-mailed each other and chatted on Facebook. He was so warm and compassionate and had the ability to draw people to him effortlessly without even knowing how special he was. He didn't like talking about himself or his problems; instead, he focused on the people he cared about. He called me Mom because his own was so negligent, cold and unloving, and he was like a son to me. I loved him, but I couldn't talk him out of his depression or lighten his load. I couldn't turn him off the path I knew was waiting for him. He grieved so hard for Kendal, and it was heartbreaking to witness. I am going to miss him very, very much.

Emery, I hope you're free of your pain. I hope you are soaring with Kendal just as you wanted to be. I hope you finally know what it's like to be completely loved. I look forward to seeing you again at some point and would dearly love to be introduced to him. Rest in peace, sweetheart.