Chapter 3 – Chapter 3

The Dairy State Boy, The Final

*****I remained committed to good friends and casual sex until I got with David, a handsome (he looked like Gonzo Gates, from the 80s "Trapper John, MD"), successful chemical engineer who scaled the walls surrounding my heart. I started dating David when I was 38, and we spent ten years together. They were a good ten years, but they were also a finite ten years. Hyper logical to a fault, David had decided that no romantic relationship should last more than ten years. I was his second, and he told me from the outset that he'd be leaving on our ten year anniversary. He never wavered, I never disbelieved or doubted him, and he was true to his word. The following is the story of my first hookup after he left.******

___________

When David left, I had to do all of the things he had done, most of which I had taken for granted after ten years together. He was the most organized person I had ever met, a spreadsheet for this and a spreadsheet for that.

On April 14, one of those things I had to do was waiting for the Clean Sweep technician to arrive and treat the chimney and fireplace.

When together, we had used the chimney as often as we could. We we ended, I continued to use it, as soften as I could.

We had known the end was coming. Having watched his parents fall out of love and then into hate, David had vowed as a teen that he would never allow that to happen to him.

He and Kyle had been together five years when my friend, Thomas, and I met them at a party. They were great together, the way so few couples are, mostly because they were in every moment kind to and about each other.

We didn't believe them when they insisted they would part ways on their tenth anniversary.

"They won't do it," we speculated.

"They're too good together," we assured ourselves.

David had tried to prepare us for their parting.

"I never want to end up hating someone I love," he answered. "I'd rather leave too soon than too late."

He was analogizing party guests to relationships. He would never accept that the analogy was inapt.

"Who says you have to leave at all?" I asked.

"I do. And the odds do."

David was true to his vow; he and Kyle parted ways on their tenth anniversary. They even had a Parting Party. Thomas and I cried. They did not. They celebrated, like it was the most normal thing. Then, they remained friends, even setting each other up on dates.

Kyle had set me up on one of those dates with David. "He's the best human I have ever met," Kyle claimed. "I have literally never heard him say an unkind word about another human."

We slept together after our first dinner, me needling him to come in for "just one drink" when he tried a chaste kiss on the cheek in the front seat of his sport car. Once I got him in the door, I threw myself at him in the sluttiest way. I didn't think I'd get a second date, so I wanted to end this one with a fireworks display.

"I never do that," I said the next morning, my backside sore, my sheets filthy with our fluids.

"Could've fooled me," he answered, kissing my nose.

Kyle was right. David was kind. But, Kyle had buried the lead; David was also great in bed. And, by great, I don't mean great great, I mean "holy crap, I never knew it could be like this" great and "now I finally understand what all the fuss is about" great.

After he kissed my nose, we went at it again. And again. And again.

He moved in that day. We didn't talk about it, he just never went back to his apartment. It operated as a storage unit for six months and then we closed it up and purchased a historic home on a quiet street.

"Are we really going to do this?" I asked, about ninety days out from our tenth anniversary, as happy then as I had been the day we went at it again and again and again.

"Yes," he answered, matter of factly, as if there was no reason not to. "We have to quit while we're ahead. So, I can keep on loving you, the way I have kept on loving Kyle."

He and Kyle were still very close. We all were.

Like him, I had been a bystander to a lot of relationship carnage. My sister's marriage had crumbled. She could barely speak to her former husband, even though they shared custody of four sons under the age of ten. The man she had once adored she now wanted dead, her hatred overwhelming her love of her sons.

Friends, too, met the same fate, whether gay or straight. Beautiful wedding days full of hope and promise turned into bitter divorces full of acrimony and animosity. Friends had to choose sides or got bartered to this spouse or that.

They weren't all that way, but there was so many it was hard to counter-point the logic of David's vow.

"I love you, V. I want to always love you. I don't ever want to hate or resent you."

"I'll miss you."

"I know. I'll miss you, too."

"Promise me we'll always be friends."

"We'll always be friends."

*****

David left everything behind, including our home and our two cats. We referred to them as "the kids."

The fireplace was one of the reasons we had purchased and then loved our home. It was massive, in a massive room, and we had used it whenever possible from Thanksgiving to Saint Patrick's Day. In his absence the past two winters, I continued to use it whenever possible, warming me as I tried to temper my loneliness with Tangeray and Tito's.

After a winter of use/over-use, the firebox needed to be cleaned and the chimney needed to be "swept," although the sweeping was really a vacuuming at this stage of the world.

The technician — according to the text notifications, a man named Ray Varner — was scheduled to arrive at nine, but Clean Sweep cautioned that his actual arrival could vary by two hours either direction. So, I was a up and dressed at seven, just in case, just like a former Eagle Scout would be. I needn't have been. Ray rang the bell almost precisely at nine.

I expected Ray to be a soft, middle-aged to older man, both because "Ray" seemed the name for such a man and because I couldn't imagine a young man finding himself a chimney sweep in 2022.

With that expectation, I was stunned to open the door to a stunningly handsome man of about thirty, wavy dark hair framing dark eyes, a smallish nose, bright red lips parted in a smile to reveal bright white teeth, a dimple on the left cheek unmatched on the right, and a hint of stubble, like he may have shaved last night instead of that morning.

I stood 6'0''. I had to look up to meet Ray's eyes. He must have stood 6'4" or a little more.

My mind immediately jumped to Pornhub and some of the stilted setups concocted there for hookups. "If only," I thought to myself, imaging Ray pulling off his shirt because "it's too hot in here" and me licking my lips as he worked.

"Mr. Michaels," he said, his hand extended. "I'm Ray Varner. I'm your technician today."

"Kevin Michaels," I answered, shaking his bigger hand and lowering my eyes to notice the hint of tattoos starting at his neck and a very sturdy body under his strong chin.

He was dressed for chimney work, a black, long-sleeved tee over black jeans, latex gloves covering his hands, and latex boots protecting my floors from his work boots.

The shirt was loose, but not too loose to hide that he took care of his body.

The jeans, on the other hand, were tight, but not too tight to hide that he filled out the front quite nicely.

I wished he was wearing white. Then, I could have plausibly suggested that he doff his shirt and jeans, to protect them against the soot and other detritus within the chimney and the firebox.

I also wondered whether it would be odd if I spectated while he worked. Deciding it would be more creepy than odd, I showed him the fireplace, told him that I would be in my office around the corner, and warned him that the kids — Etta and Leo — were nosy and would likely watch him work.

"Not once I turn on the vacuum, they won't," he answered, turning to his work, my lame attempt at small talk falling flat. "It's loud."

"We'll see. They prove the adage that curiosity killed the cat."

I went to my office. Against my better judgment, I searched Facebook for information about Ray. I didn't expect to find any. He seemed too casual and too cool to be a Facebooker.

I found one. And, my brief perusal showed that what was and what seemed were unrelated. He was a prolific poster, and his near daily posts appeared evenly split between pro-cannabis screeds, snowboarding videos, and workout selfies.

The workout selfies — some of which involved tank tops and some of which were shirtless — revealed that the tattoos that were barely visible around the collar of his tee covered most of his visible body, extending from his collar bone to his wrists and ankles. The were elaborate, and included a lot of color.

I didn't know what to think of them. Normally, I didn't care for tattoos. On Ray, I did care for them. A lot.

They made him seem dangerous. I was in the mood for a little danger.

The workout selfies also confirmed what the fullness of his jeans suggested. When he worked out, he primarily wore grey, cotton shorts. They were revelatory, like the site "guys in grey sweatpants."

I was staring at them when he interrupted me, which caused me to slam my computer shut, a slam that was necessarily an admission of something untoward. No one slams their computer like that unless they are looking at porn or internet stalking.

"Mr. Michaels," he stammered as my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. There was no way he could have seen that I was looking at him, but I was certain he thought he had caught me looking at porn, at just after 9 a.m.

"Yes," I answered, trying to collect myself, but only achieving a slight stumble out of the desk chair that I had not pushed back far enough to stand fully.

"I'm finished. Your firebox needs some tuck pointing, which I don't do. If you want it done, someone from the office will contact you to schedule it."

"Yes, yes," I said, righting myself and standing up. "I want it done. That fireplace is very important to me. I want to remediate anything that needs to be remediated."

"It's a great fireplace. It's the biggest I've seen, especially in this neighborhood."

I thought of making a "size queen" joke. But, then I unthought it.

"This neighborhood" was a historical one just east of Loose Park. The house was a craftsman that had been built in 1914 painstakingly restored to its original condition by the prior owner. The painted woodwork was once again stained. The leaded glass windows were once again functional. The hardwood floors gleamed.

When David left, I was bereft. Even though I knew it was coming, it ravaged and savaged me, like nothing ever had before. Until the end, I thought he would break his vow for me. He didn't.

I had initially thought that I would have to sell our home, that I would not be able to bear to live with the memories that floated through every room. After a little time had passed, I scrapped that thought, as I could then not bear the idea of living someplace that he had not, that didn't smell of him, that didn't have those memories lurking, even if some of them were painful. As Dr. Berger said in Ordinary People, "Feelings are scary. And sometimes they're painful. And if you can't feel pain, then you're not going to feel anything else, either."

Two years on, I was only now starting to consider the possibility of feeling anything else. Right as we needed, the pandemic started, so I was able to wall myself in from family and friends the way many who are grieving want to but are not allowed to by well-intended, but often tone deaf, family and friends. No one could try to force me out, to do things I wasn't ready to do, as they, too, were walled in. I was able to grieve in my own time, the way I wanted to grieve.

In my flowing script, I wrote a check and handed it to Ray, his hands no longer gloved. He took it and shook my hand. Again, my hand was engulfed in his. "If he ever grows into his hands and feet," I thought to myself, thinking back to how my grandfather used to predict the size of dogs by looking at the size of their paws as pups.

Ungloved, his hand was cleaner and softer than I expected. The nails were trimmed and sootless. And, the pads of his finger and palm were uncalloused, which I did not expect from one who daily worked with his hands. I thought he would have a mechanic's hands. He did not.

"Thank you, Mr. Michaels," he said. "Someone from the office will contact you to schedule the tuck pointing."

"Thank you, Mr. Varner," I answered, letting go of his hand, which I realized I had shaken a little too long.

I watched him go, waving from the porch like an idiot as he backed his pickup out of the driveway.

"There goes that," I thought to myself, certain I'd never see him again.

Thirty minutes later, my certainty was shattered.

I was again at my desk, Ray's Facebook page open on one side of my split screen and my work open on the other. I was still in the casual shirt and shorts I had worn for Ray, but I had removed the socks and was now barefooted.

When the doorbell rang, I initially ignored it. I was not expecting anyone, and David and I had long ago gotten into the habit of ignoring unexpected doorbells.

"Are you expecting someone?" he'd ask.

"No. You?"

"No."

With that, we'd stay where we were, even when the shades were up and the ringer could see that we were home, sitting in our living room, ignoring that the ringer could see us through the windows. Every once in awhile, the ringer would knock on one of the living room windows that fronted the porch. We still didn't move.

When the doorbell rang for the third time, I frustratingly stood and marched toward it. I assumed I would open the door to some twat who was ignoring the very prominent "No Soliciting" sign that we had stuck to the storm door. Instead, I opened it to Ray, shifting foot to foot and smiling.

"I was afraid you weren't going to answer," he said.

"I wasn't…. You were persistent…. Did you forget something?"

"No, no, no," he said, looking much less comfortable than he had earlier, even though he was wearing the same clothes. "My 10:30 canceled, so I'm free until noon." It was barely ten.

"So you came here?"

"Yeah, I thought I caught a bit of a vibe earlier, so I thought maybe you'd want to hang out."

"A bit of a vibe?"

"Yeah, you know," he said, stepping in. "A vibe. The way you looked me up and down. The way you held my hand a little longer than you should have."

I was embarrassed at being clocked.

"Did I misread?" he asked, his body close to mine.

"No," I answered, stepping back, trying to create some space but unable to because he moved with me and because the entryway was perpendicular to the door.

My back was quickly against the wall. Just as quickly, his hands were on the sides of my head, turning my face to his, his mouth taking mine, slowly at first, softly, superficially, then faster and harder, his tongue forcing his way into my mouth and tangling with mine. He tasted of coffee and something sweet, like maybe he'd had a donut or a cinnamon roll on his way to mine at nine. He swallowed all of my air.

"I'm so hard," he said, proving it to me by pressing his groin into my stomach as I tried to catch the breath he had stolen with what was, to that point in life, easily the most devastating kiss I had ever received. "Oh my fucking God," I thought to myself. "I'm in over my head."

"Me, too," I whispered, in response to his claim of hardness.

"Take me to your room," he insisted.

I reached my left hand for his, so I could lead him upstairs. When I did, I noticed the gold band around his ring finger. I almost asked whether he was married, but I quickly dismissed the question. I didn't want the answer. I also didn't want to sober him about what he'd come back to do.

As I climbed the stairs, he took little nips at my butt, the way Leo nips at me when I try to pet his belly.

"Ouch," I said, when his teeth caught me a little harder than he intended.

"I'm about to bite you a lot harder than that," he threatened, playfully, or so I thought.

I had never been bitten. I wasn't sure I wanted to be, but I was sure that I was about to let Ray do whatever he wanted to do to me. Nothing like this had ever happened to me, and I was going to do whatever I needed to do to see this sordid little scenario through to the end. I was ecstatic as we climbed.

In my room, I started to pull my tee shirt over my head. He stopped me.

"Let me do that," he said, pulling me to him and again kissing me, softly at first and then harder, just as he had kissed me before. "If he kisses like that," I thought to myself, as I again felt him swallowing my air, "I can only imagine what else he can do."

I was saved only when he pulled back to pull my shirt over my head.

"Wow," he said. "I wasn't expecting this."

"This" was my muscled torso. After David, I initially stopped caring about my appearance, and I sublimated my grief with food (and Gin and Vodka). In six months, I gained thirty pounds. I had spent the last eighteen months losing it through intermittent fasting and, when the lockdown ended, Orange Theory. Six days a week of OTF had muscled me in a way that I had never been muscled before, re-arranging my weight from my gut to where it belonged.

As Ray kissed me again, he slid his hand into my shorts and grabbed my erection.

"Or this."

I was jangled. I had not been kissed, much less touched, for two years. I felt almost as unmoored as I had the first time a boy had kissed me, when I was in college and he told me he suspected I was gay, I told him I was not, and he told me there was only one way to find out. It took less than an hour for him to prove his suspicions correct.

"I want to undress you," I whimpered, my erection feeling small in his big hand.

"In due time," he responded, before sinking his teeth into my neck, biting me hard.

"Ow… Fuck," I said, as I twitched away.

"I told you," he said. "I like to bite."

"I'm not a chew toy."

"I won't do it if you don't want me to. But, I want to. Really badly. I love biting. So, I'd like to bite you, if I can."

"I want you to do whatever you want to do," I answered, yielding all control and power to him. Again, I wanted to do whatever I needed to do to ensure this sordid little scenario was not truncated. I had never been chased by someone like Ray, and I doubted that I ever would be again. "Seize the moment," I reminded myself.

"Perfect," he said, again claiming my mouth with his, owning it, almost suffocating me as he reached his hands into the back of my shorts and aggressively gripped my cheeks.

"Let's lose these," he whispered, pulling back so he could watch me shuck my shorts.

"Jesus, Mr. Michaels," he said. "You're hot as Hades."

"V," I whispered through my embarrassment at being fully exposed to him.

"What?"

"V. My name is Kevin, but my friends call me V. From the V in Kevin."

"I'm not your friend. I'm not calling you that. I'll call you by your last name, Michaels."

"You're not my friend?"

"No. I barely know you. I'm here for one thing and one thing only, and friendship ain't it," he said, taking me back in his hand as he reclaimed my mouth. Like the prior kisses, this one went on and on and was devastating. I felt like I was being rended.

I tried to pull his tee out of his jeans, but I could not. It was tucked in too tight.

"Not yet," he said. "We're doing you, not me. And, I'm about to do the shit out of you."

"You are?" I asked, as my tongue fell from his.

"I am," he said, as he again moved his neck to mine, not biting me like he had before, but instead nibbling gently with his teeth and then sucking. "That's going to leave a mark," I thought to myself.

But, I couldn't resist what he was doing to me. It was otherworldly. He was so good at it all, I felt pliant, like wet clay in the hands of Donatello.

He backed me to the bed, gently pushing me onto it.

"Raise your hips," he said, pulling off my shorts when I did and then repositioning me fully onto the bed. Like a cat, he was then over me, his knees beside my hips, his hands above my shoulders, his mouth finding mine and delivering yet another devastating kiss, which he ended with a hard suck of my tongue and then a small nip of both my tongue and my lips.

He started down my body, biting my shoulder so hard that I sucked air between my teeth.

"Raise your arms over your head," he directed. When I did, he buried his face in my armpits, first the right and then the left, his tongue navigating both hollows the way it had navigated my mouth.

"Mmmmm," he breathed as he moved back to my lips. "Taste your smell on me." I did. It was musky.

When he ended the kiss, he dragged the back of his tongue down my chin and neck, over my Adam's apple, and down my sternum. He then swiped the front of his tongue to my right nipple. When he got there, he again bit down, hard. I again sucked air through my teeth.

He then swiped the front of his tongue to my left nipple. When he got there, he again bit down, hard. I again sucked air through my teeth.

I was writhing under him. I was so hard that I was raising my hips to him, searching for contact between my erection and any part of his body that I could find.

He nipped at my abdomen. I thrust my erection into his chin. I wanted to be in his mouth. I wanted him to fellate me more than I had ever wanted anything. I used my hands on his head to try to force him onto my erection. He resisted, moving back up my body, kissing my lips quickly before raising up so we were looking into each other's eyes. His were glistening.

"I'm not going to suck you," he said. "I don't suck guys. I fuck them, I don't suck them."

"Oh my God," I thought. I hadn't been fucked in years.

He moved his mouth back to mine and repositioned himself so that his weight was to my right, not on me. He lowered his mouth to mine and delivered yet another devastating kiss.

"I want you to come while I'm kissing you," he whispered, his right hand moving back to my erection and starting to work it up and down. I was so hard, I knew I was not going to last long.

Simultaneously, his hand and his mouth were working magic, his hand working my erection and his tongue working my tongue.

"Oh God, I'm close," I breathed into his mouth.

"Come for me, Michaels, come for me," he breathed back.

I did as he suggested, raising my hips off the bed, straightening my legs, and dropping one of the largest loads I could recall dropping. As I did, he sucked my tongue as hard as he could and squeezed my erection tight, both of which sent shockwaves ricocheting to my core, back out, and then back in again. I finally shivered from head to toe, shaking like a wet dog.

"That's quite a load," he said, tracing his finger through what had hit my chest and then through what had hit my stomach.

"It's been awhile," I said.

"I like it. I'm going to play in it for awhile."

As he did, he started asking me questions.

"How old are you, Michaels?"

"50. You?"

"30. Since yesterday."

"Happy belated birthday."

"Thank you."

"What's your story, Michaels. Are you married?"

"I was. I'm a widower," I lied. It felt like it was too much to explain the Ten Year Rule, so I chose the easier path of death.

"You're young to be a widower. What happened?"

I made up a cancer story. I felt bad, but it must have been a good one.

"Fuck," he said. "That's rough. I've never been to a funeral. I've never lost anyone."

"It sucks."

"I bet."

"But you don't," I joked, trying to lighten the mood I had stupidly darkened.

"I don't."

"What about you? Are you married?"

He answered by holding up his ring. "Dead give away," he said as he did.

"Man or woman?"

"Woman. Almost five years."

"Does she know, about you, about this, I mean…." I was babbling.

"Sure. I mean, we're on the same page. We got married because we wanted to be married, but we don't buy all the marriage bullshit. We're not monogamous. Never have been. Never will be. Don't even understand the concept, to be totally honest with you. It literally makes no sense to us. Ninety percent of all mammals agree."

"Does she know you're not monogamous sometimes with men?"

"Sure. We're both like 80/20 straight. Every once in awhile, she gets with a chick. Every once in awhile, I get with a guy. It's all cool."

I marveled at how differently different people viewed things. David and I had been totally monogamous. To my knowledge, neither of us had ever cheated on the other.

"Am I you first customer?"

He smiled a "come on" smile. I mean, he was so fucking hot, there was literally no way that men and woman hadn't thrown all of themselves at him.

"Why don't you suck guys?"

"I don't like it. I tried it once. It wasn't for me."

"But you fuck guys?"

"I do. I like it. I tried it once. It was for me."

"Are you going to fuck me?"

"Yes, when I'm done playing in your cum," he said, moving clumps of it around. "It's so viscous and slippery."

I grabbed his arm. I wanted him, no I needed him, inside of me.

He lowered his mouth to mine, again kissing me like kissing was the only thing that mattered.

"Someone's impatient," he breathed.

"Yes, I am," I whispered. "But, I have a little work to do first. I'll be right back."

With that, I crawled out of the bed and sort of half staggered to the bathroom, my legs still weak from the power of the orgasm he had wrought. In the bathroom, I readied myself as good as I could. Before exiting, I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like I felt, I bit overwhelmed. I also was going to be bruised some of the places he had bitten me.

When I returned to the bedroom, Ray was undressed and sprawled in the middle of the bed. I was disappointed. I had wanted to unwrap him.

I expected them, but the tattoos still jarred me. They were intricate and colorful. "They must have hurt," I thought to myself.

"Yay or nay?" he asked. When I only raised an eyebrow in response, he added, "The tattoos. Some people hate them. Some people love them. Where do you fall?"

The body they covered was beautiful. He had long, sinewy muscles. He had no body fat. He was hairy in the right places — under his arms, between his legs — but not in the wrong places.

He was thick, even when soft, as he was at this point. His head was a bell. His scrotum was full.

My mouth watered as I took him in.

"Normally, I think they'd turn me off. Today, they're turning me on. Somehow, on you, they just fit."

I moved to the bed. I wanted to inspect them more closely.

I ran my hand over them. It was as if they had softened his skin.

"They're very elaborate," I said, my hand on his chest and then his stomach. "It doesn't matter whether I like them. It only matters whether you like them."

"But you like them."

"I do. A lot. It must have taken forever. It must have killed."

"I have no idea how long. I've been adding for a decade. Some of them didn't hurt at all. Others — especially on the sensitive parts — hurt a lot."

"I bet these hurt," I said, raising his arm and tonguing the inside of his bicep.

"And these," I added, moving to the length of his side.

Repeating the same two words, I worked through him, from his side to his abdomen, then down to his calf and up to his inner thigh.

While I worked, Ray breathed heavily and hardened. When I was finished with his inner thigh, I took one testicle and then the other in my mouth. As I did, I made eye contact with him. He was watching intently.

"Jasper, meet Michaels. Michaels, meet Jasper."

"Jasper?" I asked, taking his six thick inches into my hand for the first time.

"I don't know," he said. "He looked like a 'Jasper'."

"Hi Jasper," I said, guiding him into my mouth, tasting a man for the first time in a long time, the silky glans, the throbbing flesh.

I had loved giving head since that first time, in college. I had taken to it, like a duck takes to water. I was home with a dick in my mouth.

With David, I had done it almost daily, regularly putting his morning wood to use. "You're a glutton," David would say. I was. I loved blowing him. He was a bowl of vanilla ice cream.

He'd call out the one he wanted. Fast and Furious, when he just wanted to get off. Low and Slow, when he wanted to linger. Regular, when he wanted a little more than the former and little less than the latter. The Treatment, when he wanted me to make love to his erection.

Ray was getting The Treatment, as much for my enjoyment as his. "God, you're good at that," he said, as I took him all in over and over and worked him with my mouth and my throat, my right hand flat on his stomach, my left holding his hefty sack.

I pulled to the tip, only his glans in my mouth, my tongue circling it furiously and then attacking the slit. Our eyes were locked. His eyebrows were raised.

I wanted him to fill my mouth, even if it meant I wouldn't get what I had prepared myself for.

I went all the back down. Again and again. I could feel him closing in. He spasmed in my mouth. He squirmed under me.

"I'm so close," he hissed, grabbing my head and adding a slight hip movement up to my downstroke.

I wanted to edge him, but I couldn't. I was too excited. I used my hand and mouth together. I worked him hard. I was in a haze.

I half-heard "oh fuck, oh fuck, here it comes, here it comes."

He arched up off the bed as the first shot exploded into my mouth. I gulped shot after shot and kept sucking, not stopping until he stilled me with his hands.

"You have to stop," he said. "It's too much," he insisted. "Too too much," he added, trailing off.

I slowly pulled my mouth from him, cleansing him as I did.

"Wow," he said, rubbing his hands over his face as I sat between his legs. "That was incredible. I don't usually like head. But, that was sublime."

"You don't usually like head?"

"No. It's a distraction from what I really want, which is ass."

"I love giving head."

"It shows. Your skills weren't stale. They were top notch."

"It's like riding a bicycle."

"What time is it?"

"Ah, yes," I reminded myself. "This encounter has a start and a stop time."

"11:20."

"Damn, you blew me for like 30 minutes. That was awesome, but I better get going. I can't miss my next appointment. I already canceled one today. I'll be in the shithouse if I cancel another."

"You canceled it?"

"Yeah. I lied a little bit earlier."

"You canceled it to come back here?"

"Yeah. Like I said, I thought we vibed. I wanted to see if I was right… You're hot… I really wanted to fuck you… What's the rest of your day like?"

"I work from home."

"I'm finished at 4. If it's cool with you, I can come back then, and we can finish what we started."

"Really?" I asked, my voice higher than I wanted it to be. "That'd be fantastic."

"God," I thought. "I'm going to be like a kid on Christmas Eve."

"I'm going to be hard all day," he said, standing and sliding his boxer briefs on. "And, when I get back, I'm going to hit this… so fucking hard, you're going to see stars."

On "this," he had leaned over and bit my right ass cheek.

"Are you really coming back?" I asked, as he finished dressing and prepared to leave.

He took off his watch — announced "it's my grandfather's" — and dropped it on the bed. "I'm really coming back," the drop said.

I spent the next four hours jangled. I showered three times. I cleaned my outside stem to stern. Repeatedly.

I also cleaned my inside. Repeatedly. When I was finished, the water ran perfectly clear. There was no way there'd be any unpleasantness.

I lubed and inserted a plug. Then, I paced and paced, watching the clock as if it might run off, listening to music, watching the clock, and listening to more music.

"Fuck," I thought. "A watched clocked barely moves."

The hours ground on. I tried to sleep, but there was no way that my body would accept sleep.

I got up and watched the driveway. At 4:15, his truck pulled into it. At 4:16, his tongue was in my mouth. At 4:18, we were both naked and waiting for the shower to warm. "I have to shower," he had said, leading me by the mouth back to my bedroom. "I'm dirty and stinky."

I wanted him dirty and stinky, but I was afraid to tell him. So, I simply asked if I could join.

We washed each other. His smooth, soft skin was slippery under my soapy hands.

"What's this?" he asked, touching the knob of the plug as he washed the crack of my ass.

"It's been awhile," I said, sheepishly. "I wanted to be ready."

"My God, you dirty little pig," he said, bending over and kissing me while he worked the plug in and out.

"That feels really good," I whispered.

"I have something that'll feel a whole lot better," he whispered back, pressing what he had forward, against me. With that, he turned off the water not caring that both of us were still soapy in places.

"Playtime's over," he said, stepping out of the shower, pulling my naked, wet body to the bed, kissing me as he did and then as he lowered me, his mouth following mine.

"Spread your legs," he said. "And raise your hips."

When I did, he worked the plug in and out. "Oh yeah," he grunted. "It's showtime."

He pulled the plug gently from me. He lubed the fingers on his left hand and then my entry. He worked his big fingers inside of me, way deeper than the plug had been.

"I prefer to go bare," he said. "I don't have to, but I want to. I really really want to."

I knew I shouldn't let him. I had spent my entire life being careful, and I had no idea who he was or how many asses he had fucked.

But, I was mentally and physically incapable of doing anything that might derail the train approaching me. I wanted it more than anything I had ever wanted.. "Bare's fine," I admitted. "Feels better for me, too."

He coated himself with lube. Grabbing my legs, he pulled me to the edge of the bed.

"Here we go," he said, looking down at me as he lined himself up and started pressing in.

"I'm going to fuck you so good," he said, sliding past the first ring of resistance and then the second.

I must have scrunched up my face. "You're okay," he assured me. "Just a little bit more."

I whined as I took "just a little bit more."

"That's it," he said. "I'm all the way in… Jesus, you feel so good… so warm… so tight."

Something released in my channel, and I sad "Oh" at the same time that he said "Oh." Simultaneously, our eyebrows shot up. Without a word, we were in the same moment, in the same space.

"Tell me when," he said. I knew what he meant.

"It's showtime," I said, his words now mine.

"I'm Tina Turner," he said. "I'm gonna start nice and easy. And, then I'm gonna do it rough."

"I like it rough," I lied.

He wasn't kidding. He started sliding his hips back and forth, his thickness spreading me more and more open with each stroke. I was in heaven. I loved the feeling of long, slow strokes penetrating me, spreading me. I was tingling from head to toe.

"Look at me," he said. I had not realized my eyes were closed.

I looked at him. He was bewildering, the combination of beauty and lust mystifying. I couldn't believe I was responsible for the fire in his eyes.

"Tell me," he said. "Tell me…. How you want it."

"Faster," I pleaded. "Please, just faster."

He started going faster. He wasn't going fast enough.

"Faster," I insisted. "Please, just faster."

He was going as fast as he could. My bed was rocking. So was my body.

He was wrecking me. Sweat coated my body and his. We couldn't catch our breath. He started laughing, and so did I.

"Kiss me," he said, leaning down, changing the angle, and burying himself deeper.

I locked my legs around him. I pulled his face to mine. I kissed him as he kept thrusting, the way we were joined ethereal.

"Turn over," he demanded, into my mouth.

I did. He draped me over the edge of the bed and re-entered me. He hooked his arms under mine and pounded me harder than he had pounded me missionary. He was relentless.

"I don't like this," I said.

"Me either."

"Let me up."

He did. I moved to the wall, bracing myself with my palms and raising my hips.

He moved behind me and was back inside of me. His hands were on my hips, bracing me for leverage. He again pounded me harder than he had pounded me missionary. Make no mistake, this was not lovemaking. This was fucking, pure and simple.

I was meeting him. Our bodies were slapping against each other. My dick was slapping against my abdomen. We were on the verge of spasmodic.

We were soaked with sweat when he finally announced, "I'm almost there… I'm almost there."

I squeezed as much as I could as I felt him expand and start to fill me, his body suddenly still as he pulsed inside me over and over and over.

We collapsed to the floor, his wet body covering mine. "Holy shit," he said, sliding out of me. "I mean, I've never."

"Me either. I mean…."

I hadn't come and was still hard. I wiggled around until I was free of him. He saw my erection and dove, taking me in his mouth. "He doesn't suck," I thought.

He was sucking. He was sucking hard. I grabbed his hair, trying to pull him off of me. I couldn't.

"Ray, stop," I demanded. "I can't… I'm gonna… Jesus… Fuck."

I came. Hard. Ray choked and then gagged. It was too much. It spilled out. But, he didn't pull off. He kept going. He kept going until I was done, spent. He kept going until I was eviscerated.

"I thought you didn't… " I started, once we were side by side on my bed, drifting off.

"I don't," he said.

"But you did."

"I did."

"Why?"

"I couldn't help myself."

He fucked me two more times that afternoon, both times like the first. Insane. Intense.

"My God," I thought to myself, lying next to him, sated and satiated.. "I can't believe I've been depriving myself of this."

He was sleeping. His dick was soft. It looked delicious. I slipped around and took him in my mouth, fitting him comfortably inside. I could taste myself on him. It was not as bad as I expected.

I used my tongue under him. As he started to harden in my mouth, I started bobbing back and forth, working him to a full erectin.

"Hmm," he said from above. "This is a great way to wake up."

I raised my eyes. His beautiful eyes were looking back at mine.

"Cum for me," I said, silently, without words.

He smiled. He raised his legs so he was on his heels. He started thrusting his hips up to meet my downstrokes.

"V," he yelled. "It's coming! It's coming!"

I was processing that he had called me V when he filled my mouth, over and over and over. I gulped it all. I was sure this was our last load, and I wanted all of it. I didn't want to lose of miss any of him.

"Motherfucker," he said, when he was soft and no longer in my mouth. "I mean, that's grade A stuff, V… Like, top notch, all world."

"I like doing it."

"No, you don't. You love doing it."

"I totally love doing it. More than anything."

"It shows. You're great at it."

We slowly disentangled. I felt like neither of us wanted it to end, but that may have been a wishful feeling.

"I need to get going," he said, pulling on his boxers.

"I know."

"This was great. Thank you."

"Thank you," I answered. "I had a great day. I'm glad you came back… both times."

"Me, too," he said, turning my head to his and, for the final time, taking my mouth in his.

"Jesus," I thought. "This boy can sure kiss."

"Sorry," he said at the door. "But, we don't repeat. It's one of our rules."

"You broke the rule. We're at three, not one."

"I take liberties," he said.

"Can you take more liberties with me?" I asked.

"No," he answered, his hand on my cheek. "I mean, you're great, but a lot of people are great… But, the next time you need your chimney cleaned, give us a call. They might send me," he said, bending down, rending me again with a kiss that was otherworldly.

After that, every time I was getting sexed out, I referred to it as "getting my chimney cleaned."