Chapter 2 – Chapter 2

*****This is a follow up to The Dairy State Boy, not a sequel. This follow up finds Kevin in Chicago, after law school and committed to an adulthood of "good friends and casual sex." This is a casual sex follow up.*****

After Carleton, I committed to a life of "good friends and casual sex." Love was hard, and unrequited love was harder.

Looking back, I was wrong about the unrequited part. Kip had loved me, in his way. So had Attie.

But, they had not loved me like I had loved them, and the imbalance wounded me deeply. The need to protect myself from further wounds led to my new commitment.

I am now 35 and living in Chicago. I satisfy my emotional needs through Thomas, my best friend. I satisfy my physical needs through hookups. If I start getting "the feels," the hookup gets "curbed," a shorthand Thomas an I use for "kicked to the curb."

Thomas insists "everyone needs a theme song" and that mine was or should be Simon & Garfunkel's "I Am A Rock."

"You are walled off," he opined. "You romanticize a relationship long since dead that, when alive, didn't actually last very long. You hang only with those who don't want in, the straight boy in college, the married man on the down low, the coupled guy who is looking for something on the side. You never hang with an available, single guy. You never hang with someone who may actually want you, Kevin, as a life partner, not a sex partner."

"I like being a sex partner. I like being able to cum and go, no strings attached."

I had gotten "no strings attached" from Attie. I had made it my mantra.

"I just don't want you to wind up old and alone."

"I'm, not afraid of it."

I wasn't. I wasn't Thomas, who fell in and out love like a teenaged girl.

Early in our friendship, Thomas and I had taken each other for a test drive.

Of course, we were drunk driving, Thomas in my kitchen after we had day drunk a winter day and a bottle of Ketel One away. Thomas asked why we had never fooled around, I answered that I didn't know, he asked if I wanted to try, and he answered "Why not?"

We kissed in the kitchen, groped each other through our clothes, and wound up making out and jacking each other off as we kneeled on the kitchen floor. After, Thomas was thrilled, and I wasn't.

We lasted two dates and then stopped. I didn't want to ruin our friendship when I inevitably curbed him.

At 8 p.m. on Monday nights, Thomas and I met at a local eatery, where we sat at the bar, ate, and ogled Josh. When we first started, Josh had a full head of curly brown hair, a face that suggested he'd been in a fight or two, hands that suggested he knew his way around a worksite, and an ass and legs that suggested he had been heavily involved in competitive soccer.

As the years passed, Josh's hair thinned and his waist thickened a bit, but that ass and those legs retained their muscled glory.

Josh was straight, but he played along with our ogling and tolerated Thomas's flirting, even when it was wildly inappropriate.

"Josh, have you ever had a tossed salad?"

"Of course," Josh responded, not knowing that Thomas was referencing analingus, at least not until Thomas sniggered like a child at his response and then explained what it was.

"Josh, how do you know you don't like it if you have never tried it?"

"The same way I know I don't like haggis. It does not even sound good."

On and on they went. I think Josh credited me for not bowing down.

After about three years, Josh disappeared. Thomas was crushed.

"He moved one," Claire, the owner and hostess, told us. "Your boy had to grow up. He's getting married and is going to be a father."

I barely gave him another thought until, about two years on, I was at a high top alone, and he was at the bar, talking wine. I must not have taken my eyes off of him because, after a bit, he asked if he could join me at my table. Of course, I said "Yes."

"Do not worry," I said when he did. "Thomas's not coming."

"You were the one staring a hole in me."

I blushed and then choked out "How's married life?"

"Rough, can't you tell?" he asked, pointing to his now totally bald head.

He was wearing a white shirt that was open too far and that had short sleeves, which showed that he had clippered his arm hair. He was also wearing yellow khakis.

"You clipped your arm hair," I said.

"You noticed that?"

"I notice everything."

"What else have you noticed?"

"You have great chest hair."

He did. It was flat, not curly, thick without being a thicket.

"It's not as great as you think," he said, unbuttoning his shirt a little more and spreading it wide to show me that his great chest hair was concentrated in the center of his pectorals.

"You don't clipper your chest?"

"Nope. Just my arms — it makes 'em look better — and my, you know, which makes it look bigger."

I almost said "It's too bad you feel compelled to make it look bigger," but I didn't. It seemed too much.

He ordered a bottle of wine he was certain I was going to love. In exchange, I offered to buy him dinner.

He showed me pictures of Cora, his two year old. He also showed me pictures of Melody, his stunning wife.

"I hope she loves your dick," I offered. "Every man's wife should love his dick."

"She used to. Now that we have Cora, it's more toleration than love."

We were quiet across the table, his eyes on mine and mine on his. I smiled, and he smiled back.

"Excuse me," he said, standing and gesturing to the Men's Room.

While he was gone, I talked with Claire.

"God, Thomas and I used to sit at the bar and dream of that ass and those legs."

"You and everyone else," she answered.

When Josh returned, Claire betrayed me. "Kevin was just reminding me how he and his buddy used to stare holes in your dockers," she said.

"Back or front?" he asked, immodestly.

"Back," I joined in. "You always had an apron covering the front."

"I don't now," he said, standing and showing me the front, including a visible penis line stretching toward the right pocket.

"Jesus," I moaned, when he sat back down. "Do that again and I'll chase you to the bathroom next time."

Without skipping a beat, he stood up, showed me his line again, then slowly turned around so I got a 180 of his backside.

"You sure know how to tease an old man," I said, raising my eyes to his.

"You're not an old man," he said. "And, who says I'm teasing?" he asked, standing, whispering "keep your word," and stalking toward the bathroom.

I chased, elation mixing with fear. As soon as I entered, Josh pushed me back against the door, his left forearm across my chest.

His face was close to mine. His breath was acrid, a combination of coffee, tobacco, and the rest of his day.

"My dick is so fucking hard for you," he said.

"I noticed."

"I noticed you noticing…. Do you want to feel it?"

"More than anything."

"Do it," he said, moving his arm so there was no obstruction.

I reached my left hand down and ran my palm along his shaft. He was right; he was really fucking hard. So was I, as I felt like I had ventured into a porn shoot.

I stopped at the end and worked his glans with my thumb and forefinger. When a low moan escaped his lips, I wrapped my hand around him as tightly as I could and slid and squeezed and did what I do as good as I could do it.

"Oh fuck," he said, the surprise in his voice palpable, "I'm going to nut."

I hadn't heard "nut" since it had escaped the lips of Attie, way back when I was his p.r.n. cockboy.

I kept doing what I was doing. His eyes glassed over, his hips flinched, and he, in fact, nutted.

"Fuck," he said, through clenched teeth. "Fuck fuck fuck."

I kept my hand on him, sliding and squeezing. At the tip, I could feel through the twill of his khakis what he had spilled. He looked down and saw the large wet spot. I did, too.

"You need to get out of here," he said.

I did, opening and then scurrying through he door. I walked back to the table, the same mixture of elation and fear driving me.

I expected Josh to walk past our table on his way out. He didn't. He slid into his chair, covered himself with his napkin, and offered "I feel like a fucking teenager."

He wasn't. He was all man.

'You're no teen," I said, trying to reassure him.

"Tell my dick. I just fucking nutted in my pants from a little grope. I had better dick control when I was fifteen."

Our conversation became a little stilted. I couldn't tell if he was uncomfortable because a man had made him come or if he was uncomfortable sitting in a restaurant with an obvious cum stain on his yellow khakis or if he was uncomfortable because he had nutted before things got interesting.

He resolved the question when Claire asked "Would you boys like dessert?"

"Yes, but not here," Josh said.

"Where?" Claire asked.

"His," Josh answered, nodding his head toward me and drawing a raised eyebrow from Claire.

"Well," she finally said. "I'll leave you two to it then."

After I paid and we left, Josh mused "You must live close."

"I do."

"Let's go."

The evening was brisk. We walked in silence to my Astor Street brownstone.

"You live here?" he asked, as I unlocked the gate.

"Yes."

"Wow."

"It's not that much."

"You're a fucking liar."

We were both right. The house wasn't large. The first floor was an open living room, dining room, and kitchen, with a small powder room under the staircase. But, my decorator friend had zoned in and made the space glamorous, too glamorous for me.

The second floor was two bedrooms, each with its own bathroom. My bedroom, the master, was in the front. I liked being able to see the street.

Two leaded glass windows framed my bed, which was a decadently overstuffed down mattress with a down comforter and down pillows. I slept on a cloud.

The second bedroom was in the back. But, I had converted it into an office/relaxation room. It was where I worked and, on the rare occasion something interested me, watched television.

I had lived there for ten years. I had paid too much, but the value had more than tripled during my ownership, Chicago's Gold Coast evidence of the growing chasm between the haves and the have nots.

At the door, I paused, looked at him, and asked "are you sure" with my eyes. He answered by grabbing his erection and whispering "I can't wait for dessert."

I didn't make him wait. As soon as we were in the door, my hand went to his belt buckle. There is nothing quite like the thrill of opening someone's pants the first time. It's more exciting than the first gift on Christmas.

With Josh, I was so jazzed up, my hands were shaking as I fumbled with his button and zipper.

"Here," he said, "I'll do it," grabbing the waist of his pants and pushing them down, taking his briefs with them.

His erection stuck straight out, but curved slightly to the right. It was shaped like a torpedo, thick in the middle, narrower at the base and at the tip.

Dessert involved me sucking the torpedo in the foyer of my condominium, his pants at his ankles, his shirt open, my hands on his chest and stomach, and his dick in my mouth as the rank smell of cum and piss and sweat filled my nostrils. It was a purposeful blow job. When he came, I swallowed. I wanted to give him every pleasure I could. I suspected it was the only time he'd come in my mouth, and I didn't want to waste any of what he gave me.

Unlike his wife, I loved his dick. It wasn't a great dick. It was, in fact, average in almost every way.

But, it was attached to a manly man, and that made it special. It was also attached to that ass, and that made it even more special.

I assumed he would be abashed when it was over, look away as he buttoned his shirt and tugged his pants up, and then skulk off into the night, embarrassed he had given into whatever carnal instinct had him follow me home and let me suck his dick.

I assumed wrong.

"Do you have wine?" he asked, stepping out of his pants, but pulling his briefs up and leaving his shirt open.

"Sure," I said. "There," I added, pointing at the collection. "You choose."

He chose my most expensive bottle, the one I'd been saving for a special occasion. In my world, this counted.

We went onto the balcony.

"This is a great place."

"It is."

"Have you ever eaten a dick out here?"

"No."

"Want to?"

"Yes."

Josh turned and leaned his back against the wrought iron railing. I kneeled on the concrete, tasting him through his briefs, which were a bit rank. I didn't care, once I got used to it.

Josh took control, sliding his briefs down and stepping one foot out of them so he could spread his legs wider. I swallowed him as he hissed "holy shit."

I gave him long, slow strokes, wanting to replace his memory of the furtive, needy foyer blowjob with a delicious, languid one. From the noises he was making, my want was being filled.

He started matching my mouth with his thrusts.

"God, you can suck dick," I heard.

I wanted to say "Yes, yes I can," but I couldn't stop what I was doing. So, I started humming around his dick, letting him know that I enjoyed sucking him as much as he enjoyed me sucking him.

"I need to lie back and enjoy this," he said. "My legs are giving out."

"Let's go inside."

He laid back on my sofa, his right foot on the floor, and his left foot across the back. He was wide open, and I worked him as good as I could, treating his orgasm like a foe that I was dancing around. I'd have kept it up, but he couldn't.

"Fuck, dude, you gotta let me nut."

I didn't need to be begged twice. I grabbed his balls, added my hand, and bobbed as fast and as hard as I could. Just before his second load gagged me like the first had, I heard "oh God oh God oh God" and felt his entire body tense as he cried out and bucked.

A half hour later, I pushed him out on the ledge a bit. We were still on the sofa, our wine glasses half full, Josh's limp dick curled over his balls, Josh totally comfortable exposed and nude in front of me.

"You know how Claire said I stared a hole in your ass?"

"Yeah."

"I want to eat it."

"No one ever has."

"I remember. You told Thomas."

"That was a long time ago. A lot could have happened since. It hasn't, but it could have."

"You'll love it."

Without a word, he got up and walked to the bathroom, his open white shirt now his only clothing. I heard water and a flush and then more water.

"All fresh and clean," he said, walking back toward me, the shirt now gone, too, his naked body almost too much for me to bear. "But, you're going to want to launder that washcloth before you use it."

He was wrong. I was going to save it.

"How do we do this?" he asked.

"It's easiest if you're on all fours, your ass high and your knees wide."

I didn't need to tell him twice. He kneeled on the sofa, his hands on the arm. I kneeled behind him, my hands on his hips, my mouth and tongue on and in his hairy ass. I ate him out until I couldn't eat anymore. From his noises and his squirming, I could tell he liked having his salad tossed.

"You could have stopped a long time ago," he said, when I told him I couldn't take anymore.

"You're a naïf," I said. "I couldn't have, even if I wanted to, and I didn't want to."

"Let's go to the bedroom," he said.

"What's in the bedroom?" I asked.

"Me, in a few seconds," he said, grabbing his erection and walking backward from me, the whole scene a "follow me."

I followed him, his round firm ass dangling in front of me like a carrot as I climbed the stairs. In my room, he pushed me down on the bed, straddled my chest, and pushed his erection toward my lips.

"I like it this way best," he said. "I like to feel like I'm in charge."

He was. He used his power and his strength to fuck my face. I choked and gagged, but there was no way I was going to give him up.

He fucked my face hard. Even if I had wanted him to stop, I couldn't have made him. He was crazed.

"Fuck, here comes my nut, here comes my nut" he groaned.

"Fuck," I thought, as he came, his smaller load still enough to gag me in this position.

When he finished, he rolled off of me, and I rolled out from under him. I wasn't sure what I was thinking. I felt both thrilled and violated.

"Sorry, dude," he said. "I kind of lost it there."

"It's alright," I said, resolving my thoughts in his favor.

"You eat a mean dick."

"Thanks, I guess."

I wasn't certain what to do. I was fully dressed, but I was in bed next to a totally nude straight man who I had already made come four times, three times since joining me in my house.

Josh resolved my uncertainty.

"I'll try reciprocating, but I don't know if I can."

"You don't have to."

"I'm not an asshole."

I pulled my shirt over my head and laid back on the bed. Josh rubbed me through my jeans and then undid my belt, my button, and my zipper. I raised my ass and pulled my jeans and briefs down together.

Josh looked at my erection and then took it in his hand.

"Is it, you know, gross?" he asked. "Having a dick in your mouth, I mean?"

I had gotten the question before, and it always baffled me. If it was gross, then why would he expect anyone to do it?

"If it was gross, I wouldn't do it."

"Is it safe?"

"Very."

"I don't think I'm going to be very good."

"Cover your teeth and you'll be fine."

He was right. He wasn't very good. On Pornhub, the reluctant straight guy loses his reluctance and ends up power sucking his first dick. This wasn't Pornhub. Josh started reluctant and tentative and stayed that way, willing and unwilling at the same time.

"Wow," he said, pulling off. "It's harder than it seems…. Am I doing okay?"

I moved to kiss him, but he averted his face. I wanted to say "you just had my fucking dick in your mouth," but I didn't. Instead, I just told him to follow my hand.

I laid back, Josh moved between my legs, and I slid my hand up and down my shaft as Josh tried to keep pace with his mouth. When I was getting close, I told him. He asked me not to come in his mouth.

"Alright," I said. "Then stay off."

I finished on my stomach, stepped out of my clothes, and went to the bathroom to clean myself up and to rinse my mouth. While in there, I heard Josh hacking and then spitting into the bedside trash.

When I returned to the room, I was suprised to find Josh sprawled on my bed. Again, I had expected to find him abashed.

I crawled in next to him, placed my hand on his chest, and then ran it down until I was holding his flaccid dick. I had been wrong about him thickening over the middle; he hadn't thickened, he was just thick. His wrists were thick. His ankles were thick. Everything about him was thick, including his dick.

When he removed my hand, I thought it was a signal that we were done. It wasn't. It was only so he could retrieve our wine glasses and bring them to bed. When he laid back down, he opened his legs to give me access, and I took it.

"You like my dick?"

"I do."

"I can tell."

"I'm surprised you found out?"

"Me, too. At the restaurant, I started playing. I don't know why I started, but, once I did, I didn't want to stop. I wanted to toy with it and see how far it would go. Then, I got so fucking hard, thinking about how far it could go, and I thought 'why not test your limits'?"

"That bathroom scene was pretty fucking hot."

"So was the foyer. I watched the whole thing. I love watching my dick get eaten, especially when it's eaten good."

While we talked, I worked his dick with my hand, wondering if I could conjure a final load from him. It hadn't responded, so I changed course, tickling his abdomen, through his trimmed pubes, along his inner thigh, and around his full sack.

"Have you been with a guy before?" I asked.

"Me? Nah. But, my wife and I watch Hot Guys Fuck. She likes the guys. I like the girls. We watched an FFM threesome. I told her I'd love to watch her eat a bush. Then we watched an MMF threesome. She told me she'd love to watch me eat a dick. I said 'no way'. She called me out on my shit. She was right. If I think a woman should eat a bush, then why shouldn't a man eat a dick? Then, she found her favorite — a hot guy with a monster dick — in a gay scene, which was weird, because he was totally not into dick in his MMF scene. Anyway, she showed me what she found, and it was pretty hot. He's straight, but he was eating dick and fucking ass and I thought 'why not'?"

I knew the MMF scene he was talking about, and he was right about it. Neither actor even looked at the other while they played with "Lucky Latina." In my mind, if you have even a hint of gay, you look at the other guy while he's fucking or getting sucked.

"I love that guy. You've seen him in a man on man scene?"

Instead of answering, he grabbed my iPad, held it out for me to punch in the security code, and easily pulled up the scene. I moved in, and we watched the scene unfold together.

"He doesn't seem to like dick at all," I said, watching the actor treat the other guy's dick like I would expect a straight guy to treat a dick.

"He doesn't."

"But he seems to like ass."

"He does."

"Do you, like dick, I mean?"

"Like I said, it was harder — more difficult — than I expected to it to be. But, it wasn't a big deal, once I stopped 'oh my godding'. I mean, I have sucked tongues, sucked clits, and sucked ass. I don't know why a dick is any different than any of those things."

The scene was in full throttle by then, and it was turning me on. Josh noticed and, pushing the iPad toward me, said, "take this." When I had, he slid out of the right side of bed, walked around it, and climbed in the left side side. When I looked at him, he held up his left hand, said "I'm a southpaw" and wrapped his hand around my erection. Normally, I would have responded by clamping my mouth to his, as I like to mash when I get jerked. But, I remembered his earlier aversion, so I didn't force the issue; I kept my eyes glued on my screen.

"You're good at that," I said, his grip tight but somehow tender.

"I've had a lot of practice," he answered. "I have been jerking off at least once a day for close to twenty-five years."

Maybe it was from the practice. Maybe it was from being jerked lefty for the first time. Either way, it was the best hand job I had ever received, my orgasm taking my breath, my cum erupting when the actor's did in the outtake at the end. I shivered and then wiggled.

"What was that?" he asked.

"I shiver after I come really hard. I always have, from when I first started."

"Watching you come was hot," he said, tracing his finger through the fluid spread over my chest and stomach. "I wish women ejaculated when they orgasm, so you knew it was real and not faked. A man can't fake it."

I put the iPad on the side table. I had a plan for it when Josh left.

Surprising me, Josh slid his cum covered forefinger into my mouth. I sucked it clean.

"I have to go soon," he said.

"I know," I answered, acknowledging his other obligations.

"But this was fun," he said, standing and moving to whatever clothes were in my room.

"It was," I said. "It really was."

Josh didn't turn away to dress, as I expected him to. I watched his every move.

"Can I get your number?" he asked at the door, surprising me.

"If I can get yours."

"It may be better if I reach out to you."

"And if you do, I'll have your number."

"True…. Be discreet, please."

"You, too."

I was thrilled at the prospect of a recurrence. I loved sex without strings. And, I thrilled at the notion of married straight guy sex without strings.

I didn't feel bad for his wife. I know some dispute it, but I never thought it was my job to keep someone else's house clean.

* * * * *

It didn't take Josh long to reach out. The next day, I received a "you left me limp" text.

I didn't answer. I was proving I could be discreet.

But, I typed an answer. I wanted him to see the bubbles and know I had thought of being indiscreet, but ultimately chose to be discreet.

Less than a week after our first encounter, I received "What r u doing 2nite?"

I decided to be cheeky and answered "U?"

His response was immediate. "No, but I'll do u."

I hoped he meant it. "I'll be home," I answered.

Josh arrived at 8:30. I didn't know where his wife thought he was, and I didn't care.

"Feel how fucking hard I am for you," he said, as soon as I had let him in. I palmed him through his jeans and confirmed he was, in fact, rock hard.

"You're not wearing underwear," I said.

"I know."

"Are you going to fuck me?" I asked, deciding to get it out there. I had readied myself, just in case.

"If you'll let me."

"Let's have a drink first."

"Okay, but let's make it a quick one. I'm horny…. I really want to fuck you. I have been thinking about it all week."

I poured us both whiskeys, neat. Josh poured his down his throat in one fell swoop, not swallowing.

"Whoa, Cowboy," I said, acknowledging his jeans were Wrangler and he was wearing boots. If his general existence hadn't been hot enough, his "Brad Paisley" impersonation moved his hot needle way, way into the red zone.

He didn't whoa. He sidled to the stairs and up, his ass filling his Wrangler jeans like no ass had ever filled another pair of Wrangler jeans.

I downed my whiskey and followed. I wanted him to Cowboy Up.

When I got to my room, I watched him strip. When he was down to only his jeans, he unzipped them to show me his bush, then walked to me, put his hand behind my head, and put his mouth to mine. He wasn't a good kisser.

"I didn't expect that," I said, when the kiss was over. "You turned away…."

"I turned away because my breath was awful. I could taste how bad it was."

"I thought it meant you were not into kissing."

"I'm into whatever you want. Like I said, I'm not an asshole."

"Finish stripping."

He hopped up on the bed, reminding me of Brad Pitt in "Thelma & Louise." He turned away, slowly baring his ass, before spinning around, flopping down on his back, and spreading his arms and legs. He was a sight, his body bare, his dick hard against his belly.

I stood, dumbfounded and still.

He took his erection in his hand, jerked it a couple of times, looked at me, and mouthed "ride me."

I did exactly as he suggested. I stripped my clothes off, lubed my ass, sheathed his rock hard dick, and straddled him.

When I started to suggest what he should do, he cut me off.

"I know how to fuck," he said.

When I started to suggest fucking an ass was different, he cut me off again.

"When my wife is really horny, she begs me to fuck her ass."

I slid down, my hands on his chest, his bush against my ass. As I was riding him, I put my mouth to his.

This kiss was no better. He had a tongue, but it was virtually impossible to find.

He rolled me off of him and onto my back. He grabbed my ankles and pushed them up. He re-entered me from his knees and used my legs as leverage, his hips driving his dick in and out of me.

He was right. He knew how to fuck. He didn't wham-bam me; he used his dick like a wand. He'd speed up, get close, then back off. He was gently rough and roughly gentle. He was powerful but not forceful, rough but not violent.

I wasn't used to being fucked for as long as he fucked me. I told him so.

"I can't take much more."

"Can I take the rubber off?"

"Will that help?"

"Yeah. It's hard for me to nut in a rubber."

Carelessly, I told him he could.

"Oh fuck," he said, when he had fully re-entered me, his bare dick in my bare ass. "Much better."

I wanted him to hover over me, so I could grab his ass and, if I wanted to, suck his mouth. He didn't. He stayed on his knees, his hands behind my knees, his hips driving his dick in and out of me.

I jerked my dick as he fucked me. I came first, my thick load pooling in and around my navel.

Josh came not long after, deep inside me. I could feel his load as he growled.

When he was finished coming, he collapsed onto me, his body sweatier than mine, of course, as he had been doing all the work. I was surprised when he wiggled his torso, spreading my cum with his body. It was more playful than I expected from him.

"Run the bath," I said, sliding out from under him. "I'll get us more whiskey."

I was suprised by the bubbles. He was surprised by my preferences.

"You'd really rather suck and get fucked than get sucked and fuck?"

"Yes."

"I don't get it."

"You're not gay. You don't love dick. I am and I do."

He stood up and walked toward me. He was soft, but he put his dick right in my face as bubbles ran from his crotch and down his legs.

"We are a good match, you and me," he said. "You like sucking, and I like being sucked. I like fucking, and you like being fucked. You'd be perfect if you had big, round tits."

I ignored his tits comment and took his silky glans into my mouth. He hardened as I toyed with him.

"This is so fucking hot," he said, and I looked up to see him looking down, watching himself get hard in my mouth.

I surprised him by sliding my finger over his opening as — in his words — I ate his dick. He surprised me by spreading his legs to give me room to play with and then penetrate him.

"Fuck," he said, his body tensing. "Eat that dick… Yeah…. Just like that… Fuck… Here comes my nut…. Oh God, here comes my nut…."

When we were back downstairs, him in my robe and me in a towel, I told him I was surprised he was back so soon.

"You really know how to eat a dick," he answered. "I have never come so hard."

"I've had a lot of experience."

"It shows. It's like, I don't know, you treat it like a brand new toy you can't stop playing with."

"Like I said, I love doing it."

"I have been eaten a lot, but I don't think it's always been a means to an end, not an end in and of itself."

I didn't answer. I just smiled and sipped my whiskey.

"And, I like how 'just sex' it is. Even when my wife is so horny she just wants to fuck, we don't just fuck. I know she's keeping track, filing it away to reference or use later."

"Oh, I'm filing it away for reference and to use later."

"Yeah, but for you, not against me…. You're making deposits into your spank bank."

I was fascinated by the way he spoke. "Eat my dick," "I'm going to nut," and "spank bank" were just a few of the installments in what I thought of as his "dude talk."

"I don't call it a spank bank," I said, laughing.

"You can call it what you want. But, it is what it is."

"You seemed needy."

"I was. Other than in my own hand, I didn't nut all week. Mel's mad at me. When she's mad, she's closed for business."

"Do you like eating her out?" I asked, even though it was none of my business.

"No…. I fucking love it. I love getting her so wet she begs for my dick."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. I don't want to talk about this."

* * * * *

At first, Thomas didn't believe me. Then, he got very jealous.

"I claimed him," Thomas said, the following Monday over dinner.

I didn't remember any such claim. And, we didn't honor claims in any event. We were mercenaries.

"You have to find out his deal," he urged, encouraging me to figure out how it was that I sometimes found this married man setting up and then following through on hookups.

"I don't."

"Are not you curious?"

"I'm not."

"I am. Find out for me."

"I like things just as they are."

"You would."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's perfect for you. Sex with no strings. It's your dream scenario."

"Wrong," I corrected. "Great sex with no strings is my dream scenario."

"Is the sex great?"

"Boy can fuck."

"Tell me all about it."

I did. I was graphic and invented details to rend Thomas out.

"Tell me about his dick," he insisted, when I had finished the fuck chapter.

"It's shaped like a torpedo, thicker in the middle than at the base or the tip. It curves a little to the right, too."

"Is he a shooter?"

"Yes."

"Does he taste good?"

"You know how I feel about cum."

"I do…. It's like pizza, even when it's bad, it's good."

"Yup."

"Does he kiss?"

"Yes, but not very well. His lips are really mushy and his tongue disappears."

"Too bad."

"I overlook it."

"Have you eaten him out?"

"Yes."

"Tell me about his ass…. You know how I feel about that ass."

I did. Again, I was graphic and invented details to rend Thomas out more than I already had. I didn't have to invent the bush; Josh trimmed his front for me, but he left the back natural, curly and covered.

"You should fuck him," Thomas concluded, hitting the him hard.

"You're right. I should."

* * * * *

I took my time, not raising the issue until we'd been fooling around for six months or so. By that time, I had delved into him only enough to learn he'd been an angry teen who got into a lot of fights, usually against bigger and older guys; he'd thought about fucking around with a couple of buddies when he was in his late teens, but had decided that if he could be with girls, then he should be; and that he and his wife fucked a lot, that I was an addition, not a substitution.

When I raised it, he didn't blanch. "Sure," he said. "Like I said, I'm up for whatever. And, I'm not an asshole. I have one, but I'm not one."

"I know," I answered, chuckling. "I've had my tongue in it, remember?"

"Yes, yes I do."

I made it as relaxing as I could for him, sitting on his ass and massaging his shoulders, his back, and his sides; sitting between his thighs and massaging his ass; and I lying between his legs and eating him out like I had never eaten out another.

I took my time and made it as easy on him as I could. But, your first time is your first time, and it's never easy, no matter how much preparation you put in.

"Are you okay?" I asked, once I was all the way in and had been moving a little.

"Totally," he answered. "I have been pegged before. It ain't no thing."

"You've been pegged?"

"Yeah, I had a girl that was fucked up. She liked to pretend she was the guy, I was the girl, and she was fucking me."

I would never had imagined. Never.

Still, I could tell from the tension in his body that he wasn't "totally okay." But, I knew from my experience with him that he would never admit to being other than "totally okay." He had the "boys don't cry" and "act tough" view of masculinity that led my grandfather not to cry at my grandmother's funeral and Bob Gibson to pitch on a broken leg.

Nevertheless, his "totally" gave me permission to fuck him, and, gently and then roughly. I knew when I found the right rhythm and the right spot, his groans turning to moans.

I felt my orgasm build and spread like a fire in my belly. I raised myself to my knees, pulled him to his, and doggied him until I was finished and collapsed onto his back.

"How was it?" I asked, once I had discarded the condom and we had settled against my headboard.

"Better than expected," he said. "About halfway through, it went from 'no' to 'whoa'. I liked it better than sucking you, to be honest."

"So I get to do it again?"

"Like I said, I'm up for whatever."

"Me, too."

"You're not much up for kissing."

"Yeah, not much."

"Why is that, if you don't mind my asking?"

He probably thought it was some kind of "fear of intimacy" or "Pretty Woman" thing. It wasn't. I really liked kissing, in the abstract.

"Can I be candid?"

"Sure," he said, the tone in his voice betraying his answer.

"You're not very good at it."

"Fuck me," he said, before adding, "I have been told that before…. A lot…. It used to piss me off. But, everyone can't be wrong. There's wisdom in crowds. Will you teach me?"

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

I did, showing him how to go from hard to soft to hard again, explaining and showing how to use his tongue, and then explaining and showing how to control the moisture in his mouth and on his tongue. He didn't get good, but he got better.

* * * * *

We were not romantic, but we had romantic moments. One holiday weekend, "the she" — what I called Josh's wife — took Cora downstate for a family reunion. To Josh's great joy and surprise, she gave him the option of avoiding the misery and staying in Chicago, and he exercised the option.

"Plans this weekend?" he texted, just before I fell asleep on Thursday night..

"Yes," I answered. It was a holiday, and I had friends. I didn't live a life that left me alone on Labor Day weekend.

"Can u cancel them?"

I immediately typed "yes," but then deleted it and asked "Y?" I wanted to know what I was in for.

"I have a hall pass 4 the whole weekend."

"In," I answered.

Josh showed up at 7:30 on Friday, just him, no bag.

I was bemused. "I thought you had a hall pass."

"I do."

"Where's your stuff?"

"I don't need stuff."

"What'll you do for clothes?"

"I don't plan to wear any."

"What a toothbrush and, I don't know, deodorant?"

"If you don't have spares, I'll use yours."

Friday night was unbridled. We fucked and kissed and sucked and kissed until neither of us could get hard again. It was after two when we finally conceded and fell asleep.

Saturday morning, waking Josh was like waking the dead. I tried to wake him with my mouth, to no avail.

I finally had to shake him.

"Hey, Sleephyead, you're going to sleep the whole day away."

"What time is it?" he asked, groggily.

"A little past ten."

"I never sleep this late."

"It's probably the blackout blinds."

"Or the exertion of last night."

"I tried to blow you awake this morning."

"I may be a little whiskey dicked."

"You hungry?"

"God, yes."

We ate breakfast on the balcony, Bloody Marys serving as a little hair of the dog. Josh was in my robe; I was in shorts and a tank top.

"This food is so good it's bringing my dick back to life," he said, showing me that he was semi-erect down his right leg. Just the sight of him had blood surging into my dick.

"You seem really comfortable with all of this."

He did. We were still on a predominantly one way street, my giving way more than I got.

And, there were still things he wouldn't do, like let me come in his mouth.

But, he was unabashed in his nudity, unflinching in the face of my own, and very good at telling me exactly what he wanted and how I was making him feel.

"I was born comfortable," he said. "I have always been good with whatever."

"Still, I think most guys with your background would get a little hung up now and then."

"If you disassociate a little, it's easy. I'm a bit of a libertine. I like my body. I like sex. I like adventure."

"What are you disassociating?" I asked, thinking that, if our time together was any indication, he was more than "a bit" of a libertine.

"Acts from actions, motions from emotions."

I looked at him, "elaborate please" on my face.

"Look, I like fucking, a lot. As an act, not as a symbol of something bigger. I have fucked a lot of women who didn't interest me as anything other than the other half of a carnal act. I wasn't attracted to them. To be crude, I didn't want anything from them other than a place to bury my dick. When you're in that mental space, there's not much of a leap from a pussy to an ass. I like what feels good. I can and do treat sex like jacking off, as a means to an end. It does not have to be imbued."

"You never freak out, even a little."

"I never freak out, even a little."

"Even when my dick is in your mouth?"

"No. Again, if you can disassociate 'a dick' from everything everyone attaches to it, it's just a dick. I like the feeling of my dick in my hand. So, why wouldn't I like the feeling of another dick in my hand? I like the power of sucking a clit, of taking someone else's control into my mouth. So, why wouldn't I like the power of sucking a dick?"

"You won't let me come in your mouth."

"Your cum smells terrible. I can only imagine how it tastes."

"Accepting what you say as true, why am I your first man?"

"I wasn't born enlightened and free. I achieve enlightenment and freedom."

"Prove it," I said, standing, showing him I was hard, and heading into the house. "Take my control."

He did, kneeling on the kitchen floor as my toes curled under me, my arches cramped, and my cum splattered his neck and chest. He fucked me in the shower, my hands pressed to the wall, my head hanging so the spray of water wouldn't drown me, my mind whirring with the notion that I was, for all intents and purposes, one of those lifelike dolls you can buy on the internet.

Late morning, we went for a long walk along the lakefront. At times, it was all I could do not to take his hand in mine.

That afternoon, Josh watched football while I daydreamed, comparing Josh's so-called enlightenment with Kip's. In Josh's world, the other person didn't matter at all, the gender of the person irrelevant, no meaning desired or required. In Kip's world, the gender of the person was also irrelevant, but it was the meaning that rendered it irrelevant.

"Does your wife know?" I asked, slipping back into reality.

"Does my wife know what?" he asked.

"About your worldview?"

"Of course."

"Does she agree with it?"

"I don't think agree is the right word. But, she gets where I'm coming from. There are times when she wants to make love. There are also times when she just wants to fuck. She sees the difference."

"So, you don't always disassociate."

"I don't always do anything."

* * * * *

That night, I braised pork chops, poured wine, and sat across from Josh as we ate, leisurely and at peace, his "enlightenment" bouncing around in my head like a Superball.

"What?" he asked, quelling the ball.

"Is there anything you want me to do that I have not?"

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"I'd like you to blindfold me, tie me up, and then do whatever you want to me."

"Whatever?"

"Whatever."

"I thought you liked to be in control."

"I want to know what it's like to have no control whatsoever."

We went to my bedroom. I sat in the chair and watched him undress. He took his time, his comfort palpable.

"I love how you watch me," he said. "I can taste how much you want me."

I twitched at his confession. He reinforced for me the difference between need and want; to need someone, you need love; to want someone, you need only lust.

When he was naked, he flattened himself in the middle of my bed, his arms together over his head and his legs spread wide. I used striped ties to bind his hands together and to the headboard, to bind his ankles to separate bedposts, and to blind him. I covered his ears with headphones, classical music playing to drown out whatever noises I would make. I wanted him to have no idea what was coming.

I did everything I wanted to do. I explored the front of him from head to toe, my tongue in his armpits, my lips on his nipples, my mouth around his fingers, my mouth around his balls and dick, my tongue where his legs met his pelvis, my my mouth around his toes, my tongue between them.

At my request, he had stopped manscaping. His chest hair was fuller, and his bush had thickened and held the smell I liked so much from a man.

When I had issued my request, he had objected that his wife liked him "tidy." I figured he would choose her over my request. He didn't.

I straddled the front of him. I forced his mouth into the crack of my ass. I slapped his face with my dick. I slid between his pectorals. I slid my erection against his. I buried the head of my dick under his scrotum and thigh fucked him. I sucked his dick until he came in my mouth. I don't know why, but I then let was in my mouth slide off of my tongue and onto his. He swallowed before whipping his head away and bellowing "Fuck! Was that my fucking cum?" I didn't answer. I just watched him shake his head and use his teeth to clean his tongue.

I moved to the chair and just sat and watched him.

"Kevin?" he asked. "Are you in here? I can't hear or see a fucking thing."

I didn't acknowledge him or his inquiry. He had asked to be stripped of control, and I was going to strip him.

"Kevin?" he repeated, his voice raised.

I sneaked to the foot of the bed. I licked the bottom of his left foot. I then moved over and licked the bottom of his right foot.

"I'm going to untie you, roll you over, and then re-tie you."

"Okay."

When I had, I repeated what I had done to the front of him. I chewed on his heels. I licked behind his knees. I buried my tongue in his ass. I bit his ass cheeks. I licked up the middle of his back. I nibbled his shoulders.

I pressed my dick between his cheeks. I knew he wouldn't be able to resist. I was right. He arches his hips, opening his ass to me.

I sheathed myself, lubed us both, and took my time fucking him. I was as deep as I could get. My hands were in his. My arms were on his. My chest was on his back. My legs were on his. My toes were entwined with his.

I laid there electrified, every part of me that could touching every part of him. When he used hips to try to get me to move, I resisted. When I coudn't resist any longer, I raised up on my arms and fucked his hot ass as hard and as long as I could.

He moaned his acceptance and resistance. When I stopped, he begged me to restart.

"Tell me what you want," I said.

"I want you to fuck me," he answered.

I gave him what he wanted. There was nothing in the room but two people fucking.

* * * * *

I was surprised to wake up to Josh's mouth on me. I propped my head on my pillow and watched him. I liked watching my dick get sucked.

"I'm close," I said when I was, honoring his "don't come in my mouth" routine.

He raised his eyes to mine, wrapped his hand around me, and kept sucking. Our eyes went wide as I came in his mouth, the first time I had ever come in his mouth.

He didn't swallow. He sucked me dry, then pulled off and walked to the bathroom and spit my load into the sink or the toilet, I'm not sure which.

"Well, that was a nice way to start the day," I said, after he had climbed back into bed and I moved between his legs to return the favor.

"It's Sunday Funday," he answered.

"What should we do on Sunday Funday," I asked, my tongue lapping at the wetness in the slit of his glans.

"So…. I'd like to spend Sunday Funday like this," he said. "In your mouth. You eating my dick and swallowing my nut. Actually, I'd like it to be Dick Suck Sunday, not Sunday Funday."

We did exactly what he wanted. I sucked his dick in the bed, in the shower, at the breakfast table, on the sofa, against the island, on the balcony, anywhere and everywhere. He'd come, I'd swallow, he'd force me off because he was too senstive, I'd get back on, he'd get hard, and the cycle would start all over.

I stopped to make a light dinner. He hid himself in shorts while I did.

"You havesucked me soft," he said, wrapping his arms around me from behind.

"I know," I said. "I'm pretty full."

He slid his hand into my shorts and found my erection.

"I'm going to jerk you off," he whispered in my ear. "While you cook."

He did just that, his left hand around my stomach as his right hand slid and twisted until it coaxed a load onto the front of my oven. It always surprised me how much better the hand of another felt than your own.

"Fuck," I said.

"Never underestimate the power of a good handy," he said.

We retired early, Dick Suck Sunday having exhausted both of us. Josh was on his back, his arms behind his head. I was on my side.

"I have to leave early tomorrow morning," he said.

"I'll eat your dick before you go," I promised.

"Why don't you eat it now?" he asked.

"Are you hard again?"

"I can be. That way, I can fuck you in the morning before I go."

"Can we try something?"

"Sure."

I laid on my back and hung my head over the edge of the bed. Josh straddled me, pushed his dick down my throat, and fucked my face.

"Christ," he said. "I have never been this far down a throat. You havegot my whole dick."

I knew what I had. I could feel him in my gullet.

It surprised me when he came, as he hadn't been pounding my mouth for long.

It surprised me more when he dropped onto my dick and made me come, again in his mouth.

It surprised me most when he didn't head to the bathroom, but instead swallowed what I had given him.

"How was it?" I asked, when we were back on our pillows.

"Terrible. I don't know how you eat that shit. I almost puked."

"I love it," I said. "I don't know how you don't."

The next morning, Josh pinned my knees against my chest, held my feet against his chest, and fucked me while he stood at the edge of the bed. By the time he finished, my legs were cramping and my ass was wide open. When he had finished, he again took me in his mouth and, when I was finished, swallowed my load.

When I expressed my surprise, he repeated his mantra: "I'm not an asshole."

* * * * *

Valentine's Day, we had a similar weekend. It was Cora's birthday, and her mother took her downstate to celebrate it with her grandparents.

Until I got Josh's text, Thomas and I were supposed to spend a "Lonely Hearts Weekend" in Milwaukee. Once I got Josh's text, Thomas and I were on thin ice.

"FY" he texted, in response to my tardy "Sorry, but COP."

"INY" he texted moments later, before I could respond. "Josh+NSA=Jilted."

He's pique annoyed me. We were forever friends, but we had never been possessive. We indulged each other, the last minute "fortunate fuck" always easily and readily forgiven.

I buried my annoyance, apologized unreservedly, and prepared for a rarity: more than a wham bam with Josh.

"You're ridiculous," I said, taking the heart shaped box of chocoloates and mocking him for bringing them. We were in an Indian Summer, and it was a balmier Friday night for February.

"They are a joke," he said.

"I know."

"Let's walk."

We did, south to Goudy Square, east to the Concrete Beach, and then north to Burton. It wasn't a long walk, but Josh surprised me by taking my hand south, east, north, west, and south again. It made me more uncomfortable than it should have, but not enough that I pulled away.

When we had made our way back to the house, we were both chilly.

"I'll build a fire," I said.

"Come on baby light my fire," he sang.

"Oh my God," I answered, "I think I blew my first load thinking about Jim Morrison."

"The time to hesitate is through…. It's time to wallow in my mire," he sang, pressing his hands against his crotch to show me what he thought his "mire" was.

He had the lyrics wrong, but the intent was clear, and I was into it.

He continued singing and tried to move like Jim Morrison. He had a decent voice, but no moves.

I sang and moved along.

"Our love became a funeral pyre, come on baby light my fire, come on baby light my fi-ire…."

"I have been told I look like a bald Jim Morrison," he said, laughing and flopping into a chair once our song was over.

He was ridiculous. Jim Morrison was all about his hair. A bald Jim Morrison was a sheared sheep.

Still, I googled Jim Morrison and… Holy… Shit. Josh was Jim Morrison, without the flowing curls.

We called it our 60s weekend. We listened to the Doors and the Stones and Janice and Jimi and fucked and fucked and fucked.

"Why are you back?" I asked when I awoke on Saturday, the morning still wrapped around us.

"Well… I like the way you eat my dick. No one has ever eaten it like you do. I like that you let me nut in your mouth. That's hardly ever happened, and it never happens with my wife. I like that you eat my nut. And, I like that you don't pester me for anything when we are done. You're not a puppy. You don't follow me around. You're okay when I nut and bolt."

I had nothing to say. All he had said was accurate and true. And, it reiterated that he came back for him, not for me.

I was fine with that. I didn't want more than he was offering.

"What's your favorite way to do it?" I asked that evening, when we were in bed and he asked if he could fuck me.

"The way we usually do it…. You on your back, me on my knees, your legs open… It's my favorite way to fuck. It's called the Eagle or the Hero, depending on where I put my knees."

"Or the Bandoleer or the Crossed Keys," I thought to myself, and then that thought launched a thousand ships.

"So," I said, "let's google the 100 positions of the Kama Sutra and work our way through them."

"In," he said.

We started with the Bandoleer. After all, it was first.

"Talk to me," I said. "Tell me how I feel."

"You feel so fucking good," he said. "You're so tight…. I love fucking your ass…. Do you like when I fuck your ass."

"Yes."

"Tell me."

"I like when you fuck my ass?"

"Do you want me to fuck it harder?"

"Yes."

"Tell me. Beg me to fuck you harder."

"Fuck me harder," I demanded as he grabbed my hips and slammed in and out me, his body slapping against mine.

"Oh my God," we both said, in unison, the bed shaking under the power he was exerting over me. I was reaching for him, but I don't know why. I didn't want him to slow down or stop. He was hitting my prostate, and I was almost delirious with pleasure.

"Harder," I insisted.

He — finally — moved over me, his hands beside me so he could use them for leverage, my knees tucked in his arms, my legs spread wide. I was helpless, he knew it, and he ravaged me, the slick and wet sound of his dick pistoning in out of me drowning out the bouncing of the bed.

"Oh fuck," I said, the head of his dick pounding against my prostate as my toes curled, my feet cramped, my balls clenched, and my cum shot from the head of my dick like a fountain. "Ahhhh," I growled as I blacked out, at least for a moment.

"Ahhhh," he echoed, as he drove his dick into me as hard as he could and then erupted, his orgasm coating my canal as my body went complete, totally, utterly flaccid. I was spent.

The next morning, Josh woke me with his erection, his head pressed against my ragged hole.

"No fucking way," I said over my shoulder. "After last night, I think that door is going to be closed for a long, long time."

"Oh, was I too much for you?" he asked, nuzzling his head into the back of my neck.

I grabbed his dick. "Not too much," I said, mocking his averageness. "Too hard. Way… Too… Hard."

"You wanted it harder."

"I did. But, sometimes, there are consequences when you get what you want. And, this morning, I'm feeling the consequences. I'm lost, at least back there."

"Well, if we can't fuck, maybe we can do this…" he said, re-routing me and pressing his lips to mine.

"Goodness," I thought to myself. "This is a whole new ballgame."

"I have been practicing," he said, when I asked why that kiss was so much different than the prior kisses.

I wanted to ask "with whom?" But, I didn't want the answer. If it was his wife, I didn't want to know. And, if it was someone other than his wife, I really didn't want to know.

I took the high road. "It shows," I said, before allowing his mouth to meet mine and his tongue to engage mine.

The kissing rejuvenated me. "Okay," I said, "fuck me."

"You want it?"

"No, I need it."

I braced myself against the wall and arched my back, and Josh entered me from behind, as we scratched "From Behind" from our list. When sore, "From Behind" was my favorite position, as it allowed me more control.

Josh took me slowly and steadily, like he was being careful with me. When he was finishing, he bit my shoulder. When he was finished, he slid his arm around me, took me in his hand, and jacked me to orgasm, my dick so hard and the release so strong that I cried out, craning my neck so I could place my mouth on his.

"I need or want to tell you something, I'm not sure which," he said, as we lounged in bed in the after.

"Shoot," I said, trying to be casual.

"You're no longer my only one. Mel and I had a three way with a friend of hers. And then another with a guy I know."

"Were you safe?"

"Yes."

"Did you like it?"

"Kind of, I guess. As a precursor, Mel wanted to watch. It was clear he wasn't comfortable or knowledgeable. It was also clear I was and did. Mel and I have not talked about it, but the 'Josh has man-sex' cat is pretty much out of the bag."

I was totally jealous, which bedeviled me. I feared I was getting the feels for Josh.

"What all did you two do?" I asked.

"We kissed. We groped. We jerked. I sucked him and let him fuck me. I watched him fuck Mel. I tried to fuck him while was fucking Mel and he was like 'no no no'. I tried to get him to suck me while he was fucking Mel, but he wouldn't."

"It does not sound like he'll be back."

"I'm not sure. He was into fucking me. And he was totally in to fucking Mel."

"You didn't need to tell me."

"Maybe not. But, it felt like I did."

* * * * *

When Josh was dressed and ready to leave, I walked him to the door.

"I don't think we should do this anymore," I said, embracing him.

"Really? Why not?"

I couldn't tell him. I could not give him the power of knowing I was starting to miss him and need him and, well, love him.

"We're ripe. We should stop before we rot."

"We could try friends without benefits."

"No, Josh, we can't. Sex with you is incredible. Now that I know that, there's no way I can be around you and not have you. It'd be like putting ice cream in front of a kid and then telling him he can't eat it."

"I get it. It's the same for me. I get hard just thinking about you…. So this is it?"

"This is it."

And that, as they say, was that.