Chapter 12 – Chapter 12

We went on like that, making out like teenagers in his office, but never again a marathon session like that first one. It was too risky, there being no reason for me to be in his office for hours and there being no explanation for him heading home so late, no call or text to alert his waiting wife.

"It's intoxicating," he said, one day when we finished our twenty minutes or so. "Being wanted."

"I want you."

"I know you do. I don't think I've ever been wanted before."

"If not, then that's only because you've never been known before. To know you is to want you."

"You're sweet."

"Sometimes."

"I want you, too, you know."

"You can have me."

"I can't."

"I know."

"I'm sorry. I can't. I feel terrible about the kissing and the wanting. I'd break if I acted on the wanting."

I wanted to enlighten him on the stupidity of monogamy, on my view of it being an unnatural state concocted to avoid unwanted pregnancies in eras before abortion and birth control were accessible. But, l knew my words wouldn't matter, that he wouldn't accept them and change course, so I instead pressed my forehead to his and took his hands in mine, holding them to my chest.

"I love you, JJ."

"I love you, too, H."

"Would things be different, if I had met you before you met Claire?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. I don't think I'd have invested the time to let you know, to find what I've found. I'd have found a Claire and gotten married. It's how I've always imagined my life, with a wife and children."

We didn't often discuss Claire or the girls. When we did, we both felt badly about the fact that, even though it was sexless, we were having a love affair behind their backs. In some ways, I thought the love affair was worse than a tryst. A tryst could be explained away as a momentary weakness. A love affair could not.

I had been invited twice more to their home. I declined them both. I was in too deep, and I couldn't witness what I wanted and couldn't have.

Before Spring Break, JJ told me he was going to start training again. "I want to do the Boulder Peak Triathlon this summer. It's going to take me a good three months to get in shape. I think you should train with me."

"I don't know," I said, looking down at my soft body. "It seems awfully rigorous."

"Think," he said, kissing my forehead, "about all the time," he added, kissing my nose, "we'd be spending together," he said, kissing my lips, "in the water," another kiss, "on the bike," another kiss,"and on the trails," another kiss.

I'd do anything for more time with JJ. "Alright," I said, dreading the rigor to which I had committed.

For Spring Break, the Masters went to Green Bay. I headed the other direction, to Dallas. I needed to sex JJ out of my head, and a college acquaintance — Barrett — was willing to give me a go.

At Oberlin, Barrett had been openly bisexual. At a party Junior year, he and I had hooked up in a stranger's bedroom, the pot he had smoked and the Molly I had taken clouding our judgment just enough.

"Can I top you?" he had asked as we waited in the keg line.

"What?"

"Can I top you? I'm horny, and I just noticed your ass. I want to tap it. To do that, I have to top it."

"Rude."

"So yes?"

"How do you take 'rude' as 'yes'?"

"It's not 'no'," he said as he grabbed my arm and pulled me from the line. "And anything but no is yes."

We tried two doors before we found the empty bedroom. Barrett locked the door and started undressing. When I moved to kiss him, he stopped me. "This isn't that," he declared as he stepped out of his jeans and stood before me in black Calvin Klein boxer briefs.

He was about 5'10" and thick, solid, not fat. He had wavy black hair, light green eyes and a bearded face that made him look a little like a bandit.

He had a hairy chest and stomach and, I noted as he lowered his boxer briefs, a full bush and thick, six inch erection.

"On your stomach," he commanded as I stepped out of my underwear. Reflexively, I turned and lowered my chest to the bed, my ass at the edge and my legs dangling.

"My God," he said as his breath and then his tongue hit my opening. I don't know how long he rimmed me, but it was by far the best rim job I had ever received. He went after me like he loved rimming, like my opening was the forbidden fruit and he was desperate for sin.

I wanted to cry when he stopped. Instead, I just waited for what the tearing foil and hands on my hips told me was coming: penetration.

"God, you're tight," he hissed as he tried to force his way in. He hadn't properly prepared me. Of course I was tight.

I was too high to protest, the Molly cushioning the pain that accompanied the breach.

I let myself drift away, the pleasure of his rhythm and my high fostering a feeling of escape. I was in front of him, but I wasn't really there. I was floating

It barely registered when he flipped me over and took my erection in his mouth. "Wow, he's really good at this," I thought as the quality of his oral work registered through the ether.

As a general rule, I come hard, almost convulsively. When I'm prone, my back arches as my meatus opens, then my stomach contracts and doubles me over as the pleasure spills out of me.

So, I usually don't have to issue a warning; I telegraph what's happening.

With Barrett, I was too far gone to convulse. I didn't even realize I was coming.

"Fuck, dude, you're supposed to warn me," he said, as he spit my cum on the carpet, not caring that it was someone else's.

"I'm sorry," I answered, still a bit lost. "I didn't know it was happening. It didn't register."

"Next time, warn me. I don't mind a mouthful, but I like to know it's coming."

We booty called each other the rest of our time at Oberlin. After, we texted here and there, enough to keep in touch but not enough to be in touch.

For Spring Break, I asked if maybe he wanted to host a sex party. He answered "always dtf u" and so I found myself in the passenger seat of his car, his beard gone, his right hand kneading my left thigh, my left hand on the back of his right hand.

"I'm glad you suggested this," he said. "I love your ass. I've missed it."

"We're going to kiss."

"Totally fine."

"It never was before."

"That was then. This is now."

Barrett was no longer bi. "I'm totally converted," he said. "Dicks only. Speaking of which, take yours out. I want to hold it while I drive."

I worked it out, his kneading of my thigh having given me an erection already.

"Nice," he said. "I'd forgotten how nice it is."

"Fuck it," he said, taking an exit ramp, taking a right, and taking another right into a neighborhood, before parking on a side street.

"What are we doing?" I asked, dusk settling around his Charger.

"I need to suck it. I can't wait."

And, just like that, he leaned over, took me in his mouth, and sucked me bone dry. It was a fast and furious blow job, but a good one that portended a great week.

"Fuck, dude," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after swallowing the evidence of my orgasm. "You're supposed to warn me. You know that."

"I forgot," I said. I hadn't.

We spent the waking hours that he was not at work inside of each other, his body glistening with sweat as he took me on my back, my side, my stomach, sitting, standing, my body glistening with sweat as he took me all the way to the base, his already excellent oral skills having improved dramatically as he embraced the "dicks only" phase of his life.

He even let me top him, once, the morning I was leaving. "I don't really like it," he said. "I mean, I like the physical part of it, but I don't like the emotional part of it. I feel like I'm giving too much of myself away."

"I don't care," I said, coldly, as I slid into him and he gasped. "Hold it all back. I'm not making love to you. I'm fucking you."

I was but I wasn't. When I closed my eyes, the hairy, dark man beneath me transformed. He became a staid, fair man with big teeth and bigger dimples and a wife and two daughters and my heart.