Chapter 2 – Chapter 2

Chance Encounter 2: Adam Sattler

To use my grandfather's words, Adam was the "spittin' image" of John Rocker, the Atlanta Braves reliever whose career derailed after he made some boneheaded or offensive – depending on your perspective – comments about riding the subway in New York City. Adam's brown hair was short, his brown eyes were lively, his cheeks were round, and his teeth – a little too big for his mouth – gave him a bit of a chipmunk quality. His body was lean and muscular. His hands were strong, their form and shape confirming they were useful. They built and worked on things. Although he worked in an office, they were not the soft hands of an office worker. They were – to quote the old commercial – working hands.

I met Adam on September 08, 1992, the day my Ninth Circuit clerkship started. I was clerking for Judge Witken, a landed Californian who had moved his chambers from San Francisco to Reno to avoid California's state income taxes. Adam was clerking for Judge Brundege, who – like Adam – was a native Renonian.

I had graduated the previous Spring from the University of Chicago School of Law, and I had spent the in between summer interning on Capitol Hill and debauching my way around Washington D.C., drinking as much as I could and having as much drunken sex as I could. I arrived in Reno thicker than usual and a little strung out.

I was twenty-four years old. I was supremely confident on the outside. I was cripplingly diffident on the inside.

As I pulled into Reno, I was certain I had made a mistake in choosing to clerk in – and move to – Nevada. Growing up, my mother had contended the surest way to get me to do something was to tell me I couldn't or wouldn't. The choice of Reno confirmed her contention.

Eighteen months before, I had been sitting in the Hyde Park apartment I shared with three of my classmates. We were all trying to clerk, and we were talking about the offers we had. At the time, clerkship candidates were allowed to hold only two offers simultaneously. When they received a third, they had to give one up.

That afternoon, I had received my third offer, from Judge Witken. My other two were on the Seventh Circuit, in Chicago.

We were drinking beer and smoking pot and talking about which offer I should surrender. Scott insisted I yield Judge Witken's offer, as there was "no way" I was moving to Reno for a year.

"I don't know," I answered. "I might."

"You won't. You're too hidebound. You're not going where you know nobody."

"I'm not hidebound."

"You are. You don't even pretend not to be."

Terry returned to the kitchen from the bathroom. "What're you debating?"

"Nicky's offers," Scott clarified. "He's pretending he may go to Reno."

My name is Daniel Nichols. In law school, everyone called me Nichols, which truncated to Nick and then expanded to Nicky. To all of my roomates, I was now only Nicky.

Terry looked at me and asked "Reno?" without uttering a word.

"I don't know," I answered, responding to the question he had not asked. "It may be my only chance to live out west."

"You're not adventurous enough."

I hated the theme that was developing. I decided to fight back.

"I'm adventurous."

"Yes, in the way an old dog is adventurous. You'll venture out on the porch, but you woni't leave it. Not even to wiz in the yard."

I knew they were both right. I was hidebound, and I was not adventurous. I liked my routines, and I was skeptical of new experiences. I wanted what I knew, and I eschewed the unknown.

"Nicky, it's fun to talk about, but you know – and we know – that, when push comes to shove, you're staying here in Chicago with us, not heading to the land of 'Unforgiven'. Look at you. I can't imagine anyone who'd look less comfortable in boots and a belt buckle than you, You'd be giant turd in a tiny punch bowl."

"I'm going," I announced, impulsively and for no other reason than to prove them wrong. I hopped off the counter, grabbed the telephone receiver from the wall, and dialed Judge Witken's chamber before I lost my nerve.

His secretary, Jo, answered. Jo was a smoker. Her face was shriveled like a raisin. Her voice was deeper than the aunts on the Simpsons.

"Hello, Jo. This is Daniel Nichols. Is Judge Witken available?"

"Depends," she grumbled. "Is this bad news or good news?"

"I guess that depends, too," I parried. "If he hopes I turn him down, it's bad. If he hopes I accept his offer, it's good."

"I'll put you through."

The line clicked and Judge Witken authoritatively announced "I am Judge Witken." I thought is was a haughty way to answer the telephone, especially for a very down to earth multi-millionaire (his mother had owned Orange County before it was subdivided).

"Hello, Your Honor. This is Daniel Nichols. I am calling to tell you it would be my high honor to clerk for you, starting in the Fall of 1992."

"Thank you," he answered. "I look forward to it. Understand, you must keep your grades up. In the meantime, I'll tell Beth."

Beth was one of his current clerks. She was managing recruitment for the year after next.

When I interviewed with Judge Witken, he announced that, although he was a Reagan appointee, it did not matter to him if I was a Democrat or a Republican, it mattered only that I was smart. I answered "Fret not, Sir. I was bred a Democrat but became a Republican when I learned to think."

He responded by slamming his hand down on his desk and saying, "Goddamn, that'll help you."

I answered "I thought you said it didn't matter."

He laughingly responded "I said that in case you were a Democrat. I'm not hiring any goddamned Democrats in this office."

I hung up the telephone, turned around, and tried to hide the panic that was flooding my body. Scott and Terry were stunned into silence.

"What's going on?" Jon asked, returning to the kitchen from a pot run to his bedroom.

"Things . . . just . . . got . . . interesting," Terry intoned, hitting each work like a hammer hits a nail. "Nicky just jumped off a cliff. He accepted a clerkship offer in . . . wait for it . . . wait for it . . . Reno, Nevada."

"Dude, the biggest little city?" Jon asked, pulling me into his hairy chest and giving me a noogie, as if I was his little brother, not his classmate.

They all treated me like a little brother, likely based on my 5'6" stature. Scott was 6'4" tall. He had played basketball for DePauw before law school. From Minnesota, he had blond hair, blue eyes, and was devoutly Lutheran. I was his first Catholic friend. He had grown up not believing Catholics were Christians and was prohibited from playing with them.

Scott had lost his athletic luster at Chicago. Like the rest of us, he ate poorly, drank too much, and spent too much time on his ass studying. It was too bad, as his body had been his best physical feature. His face was non-descript except for his nose, which was too large even for his large frame. Before he became one of the "Horsemen" (what out classmates called the four of us), we had – at least behind his back – called him "Snuffy," short for Snuffleupugus from Sesame Street.

We each had a role. Scott was the funny one. His observational wit was Daniel Tosh before Daniel Tosh was Daniel Tosh. He and I shared a room in our three bedroom Hyde Park apartment. It worked, as he was the only Horseman I did not secretly long to seduce.

I most wanted to seduce Terry. I was smitten with his dark hair, dark eyes, and dark skin. From Austin, Texas, Terry was in a band (he played guitar and sang), was the one who introduced pot into the apartment, and was the most casual of us all, probably because he came from oil money and didn't have a care in the world. While the rest of us were paying obeisance to corporate America, Terry was letting his black hair and beard go, wearing peasant shirts, and training for a marathon to train for his post-graduate trek through Nepal. He didn't have to work; he was in law school only for something to do.

He was trim, but not muscular. His 6'2" inches were lean. When he reclined in his chair and strummed his guitar, he was objectively beautiful. When I masturbated, it was often to images of his scruffy face, scruffy chest, and long fingers.

He was also the most sensual. He caressed how own face the back of his hand. Even the way he held a beer seemed seductive.

Yet, he appeared to be asexual. Throughout our co-habitation and friendship, he never mentioned a romantic interest or made a comment about anyone – female or male – being attractive. Attractions and sex seemed not to exist for him.

Jon ran somewhere in between Scott and Terry. Jon was handsome (curly brown hair, bright blue eyes, a wicked smile that was more of a grin than a smile), but he was also a Miami of Ohio "frat boy." He called everyone "Dude." He greeted people with "yo." He abbreviated everything; complete words were anathema to him.

He was also a world-class hound. About half the time, we listened through the walls as he pounded this or that girl into submission. He was a big boy (also about 6'2", but built like a chunky linebacker), and he bragged he liked to "fuck hard." The squeaking and screaming we heard from his room suggested there was fact to the brag. Listing to him was like listening to a porno at full volume.

Jon lamented TSB, which he said was short for "toxic semen buildup." He claimed he needed to come regularly to avoid it, and self-inflicted cum shots didn't count. He was a charmer, and he charmed his way into a lot of panties. Girls you'd never suspect to yield to his "frat boy" persona wound up screaming and spread beneath him and then slinking away in a "walk of shame."

I'd have been happy to charm my way into his pants, too. As I listened through the wall to him pound this girl or that, I often imagined I was beneath him, my legs spread, and his sweat dripping onto my chest as he ravaged me.

More often, I imagined it was Terry ravaging me. On the many nights when it was just Terry and I in the apartment, I fantasize that his high would make him horny, one thing would lead to another, and I'd wind up satisfying any curiosity he had.

We never did. I don't think the other Horsemen even knew I wanted that sort of thing. I had dated Liz almost from the start of law school, and she was publicly "a very sexual person."

I also betrayed any stereotypes they had. I was an athlete, was generally disinterested in my appearance, and watched almost nothing but sports on television. I was hiding in plain sight.

When we graduated, we dispersed. I headed to DC to intern before heading to Reno to clerk on the Ninth Circuit. Scott headed home to study for the bar before heading to Ann Arbor to clerk on the Sixth Circuit. Jon stayed in Chicago, where he was going to study for the bar and then clerk on the Seventh Circuit. Terry headed back to Austin, where he was going to complete his training before heading to Nepal for a trek of indefinite duration.

Like I said, I spent my internship drinking too much and having a lot of drunken sex. I was indiscriminate in selecting partners. I picked up girls in bars. I picked up a guy in the Soviet Safeway. I picked up another guy in a DuPont Circle bookstore. I seduced one of my fellow interns, an engaged blue blood from Birmingham, Alabama who allowed me to persuade him it was not cheating if all he did was accept a blow job. Of course, that was not all that happened. Once we started, my "Southern Comfort" and I didn't stop. We spent the last three weeks of our internship doing all of the things he swore he'd never do. Our last night in DC, I convinced him to let me penetrate him. I argued he should know what it's going to feel like for his fiancé when he finally penetrated her (they had never had sex; they were waiting for their wedding night). Having done everything else by that point, I didn't have to argue hard. I also didn't have to argue the next morning; he begged me to do it again.

As I drove to Reno over Labor Day weekend, I was riddled with anxiety. It was a dreary drive into a drearier town. During the seventeen hour trip from Denver, I mentally prepared myself for a year of isolation and self-improvement. I could go a year without friends, I thought. I'd read books. I'd join a gym and "hone the temple." I'd return to Church. I'd meditate. I'd do all the things I should've done in college and law school when I was instead partying and doing the minimum I needed to do to make the grades I wanted.

I was still pondering my year of solitary confinement when all thirteen of the new clerks met for lunch on September 08. As I usually did in new groups, I stayed to the side and surveyed the group, like a cat no one knew was watching. For the most part, it was a cookie cutter group. Two people stood out: Michaela, who was from LA, had gone to USC for both college and law school, and appeared to be completely careless about both her appearance and her demeanor; and Adam, who was from Reno, had gone to Willamette for both college and law school, and exhibited a social awkwardness that belied the barbed wire tattoo around one bicep and the motorcycle chain tattoo around the other.

Adam was easily the most attractive male of the group. In my mind, I always played a mental game of "Who would you do?" Adam was the only male qualifier from the group, so I maneuvered to sit next to him as we ate.

It was like pulling teeth, but I discovered over lunch that he was very conservative, raced go-karts, and – to my dismay – was married to his high school sweetheart, Danielle, whom he called "Dani" and who was a grade school librarian.

In light of that news, I spent no time pursuing Adam. Of the remaining male clerks, two were Mormons from BYU, one was an overweight nebbish from Tufts, and the last was an unrepentant nerd from Princeton. I spent no time pursuing any of them, either.

Instead, I wound up with Michaela, who I called Mick. We started off as friends, two peas in a pod who preferred the comfort of small group, if not a single companion. After awhile, Mick decided we should scratch each other's itches and suggested a "no strings attached" sexual relationship. I thought the offer too good to be true. I was wrong. We made the "this and that" of Elaine and Jerry work long before they tried and failed on Seinfeld.

Mick and I forged a strong friendship with Leslie, a hilariously funny clerk from Hastings who had never been east of Reno and so knew no one who went to church, owned a truck, or voted Republican. We also forged a strong friendship with Adam and Dani. When Adam had a little to drink, he abandoned his muteness and was quietly lethal, his one-liners hitting the their targets right in the bullseye.

Dani never abandoned her muteness. She was a mouse, scurrying hither and yon and trying not to be noticed. We wondered whether, when it was just the two of them, they went days without saying a word to each other.

The year turned out 180 degrees differently than I had feared. I wasn't isolated. It was not a year of self-improvement. It was a continuation of the debauchery of my DC internship. I drank a ton. And, I fucked almost as much as I drank. Mick liked to drink, but not as much as she liked to be fucked. She was hornier than Liz, who had earned the UofC moniker "Slamhound."

When our year together was over, we all scattered. Leslie returned to San Francisco, Mick returned to LA, I returned to Chicago, and Adam and Danielle stayed in Reno.

Two years later, we reunited in LA for Mick's wedding. We were all pretty much unchanged, but for Danielle. No one mentioned it, but it was clear that, at some point in the intervening twenty-four months, Danielle had gotten breast implants. Like the Grinch's heart at the end, Danielle's breasts had grown and grown and grown. It was a marvel she did not fall forward as she walked.

In 1997, we reunited in Reno. By then, Leslie was almost married, and I was out. I had shared with Leslie that I had "gone gay," and she apparently trumpeted the news through an email blast to anyone who might care.

"So," Adam had emailed. "Leslie says you've gone gay."

"I didn't 'go gay'," I answered. "I just decided to release the hounds."

"Cool," he answered, surprising me. "Life's hard enough without fighting to keep the hounds penned up."

"No shit," I responded.

"I have some questions."

"I'll answer them in person at the reunion."

I flew to San Francisco and then drove with Leslie to Reno. "Is there anyone you didn't tell?" I asked as she drove.

"I didn't tell anyone I don't know," she answered, laughing.

"Well, there's that," I conceded, half-heartedly.

"Actually, that's not even true. I was totally surprised. I told everyone at work. I couldn't believe it. I mean, you and Mick were pretty thick while we were in Reno."

"Yeah," I answered. "I was still in motion."

"What does that mean?"

"You know, accepting that I preferred boys to girls."

"Had you been with a boy before?"

"Of course."

"Did you like it?"

"No," I answered sarcastically. "I hated it. I decided to do it for the rest of my life. But I hated it. You know us Catholics, it's all about self-loathing."

When we stopped laughing, she asked if I had a type. "Sure," I answered, thinking of Terry. "Unkempt. Dark hair and dark eyes. Like Mathew Fox from Party of Five."

"Or Adam."

"No, not 'or Adam'," I lied. "He's not unkempt."

Leslie and I stayed in Tahoe that night. Adam and Dani met us the next day to climb Mt. Tallac. It was more difficult than we expected, and were exhausted by the end of the day. I noticed Adam looking at me in his rear view mirror before I fell asleep as he drove us down the mountain and into Sparks. He wanted to show us their new home, and we were going to eat and then sleep there that night.

The showers put a little pep back in our step. We drank and laughed as we cooked and then ate. I was next to Adam on the couch, and I noticed for the first time how handsome his feet were. Like his hands, they were strong. Unlike his hands, they wear clean and well-maintained. There were tufts of hair on each toe and a swirl of hair on the instep.

"You have nice feet," I said, not thinking about what I was about to say before I said it.

"Thank you, I guess," he answered.

I had meant it. I find feet attractive, and I had somewhere gotten in my head a correlation of nice feet equals nice meat.

"You know what they say about nice feet?"

"Nice shoes?"

"No. Nice feet equals nice meat." I was venturing out, responding to what I had seen in the rearview mirror.

"Hmmm . . . . . Who are they?"

"You know, the theys. The ones who say things."

"Oh, them. Yeah, I've heard of them. They say a lot of things."

I had never seen even the hint of Adam's meat. He always wore compression shorts, at least as far as I could tell, which by their nature limited any VPL. When I asked why, he responded simply "junk control."

Danielle was the first to bed. Leslie – with whom I was to share the floor of the empty spare bedroom – was not far behind.

Adam asked if I wanted another beer. I said sure. I leaned back into the sofa. Adam sat on the edge, like he was thinking about doing something but couldn't quite figure out how, or saying something but couldn't quite figure out what. Looking down at his feet, he finally said, "You don't have to sleep on the floor if you don't want to."

Obtusely, I thought he was offering the couch. "If anyone gets the couch," I answered, "it should be Leslie. I can sleep anywhere. I'm a world class sleeper."

"I wasn't offering the couch," he stammered. "I was offering our bed . . . . You can sleep with us . . . . If you want."

I was both shocked and surprised. I wasn't sure what to say. It had clearly taken him some effort to work up the gumption to make the offer.

"You guys do that?" I finally asked.

"We do," he answered, earnestly.

"Really?" I asked, my voice betraying my whirling brain more than I wanted it to. You could've knocked me over with a feather. Mute Adam and the more mute librarian took walks on the wild side.

"A little."

"Like, how much?"

"Well," he said, settling back. "We've swapped a few times. We've had other women in a few times. We had another man in once."

I was intrigued. "What happened with the other man?"

"It got pretty intense," he answered. "Dani jacked us both and then sucked us both. Then I watched him have sex with her."

"You watched someone have sex with your wife?" I asked, wondering if this was a game and I was on candid camera. "Didn't it bother you?"

"Not at all . . . . It was pretty hot, actually. Dani likes watching me fuck other women."

"Wow," I answered. "I'd have never thought."

"Still waters run deep," he said, smiling at me.

"I guess they do."

"So . . . .?"

I was reeling from the revelation. While I was intrigued by the thought of sex with Adam, I was repelled by the same thought with Dani.

Like my friends said, I was hidebound and not adventurous. I decided to take a pass and then conjured an excuse to make it look like it was an informed pass, not a diffident one.

"I don't think so. I don't think we could explain my absence to Leslie."

"You're probably right," he said, standing up and revealing that he had become aroused by the prospect of the three way. "Anyway, good night, Danny."

"Good night, Adam."

That night, I was not a world class sleeper. In fact, I didn't sleep a wink. I spent the night wondering what'd be happening if I had taken a walk on the wild side and said yes.

The next day, Adam drove us back up the mountain to Leslie's car. When it was time to part, Leslie hugged Adam good-bye, and then I did. When I did, he whispered "I've been waiting all weekend for this" in my ear.

*****

Years later, we were planning a ski trip to Tahoe over the Martin Luther King, Jr. weekend. I was flying into Reno, and Leslie and her husband were driving over for games on Friday night and to ski with us on Saturday. Adam and I made the plans through email. About two weeks out, I entitled an email "Pontiac" and wrote "I'm excited to see you and Dani. I'm also excited to see Leslie and to meet Greg. Have you met him?"

"I have. He's a bit of a doofus, but he's a kind doofus. Pontiac?"

"Yes, Pontiac. I'm excited, and Pontiac builds excitement," I wrote, borrowing their "We build excitement" advertising slogan.

"Do you want to ski or snowboard on Saturday?"

"Ski. I don't have snowboard equipment."

"You don't have to worry about equipment. Other than my shoes."

"Your shoes?"

"Think about it."

I did, but I was a bit lost. I thought he was talking about snowboarding boots, and I assumed they were for rent like everything else we needed. And, I wasn't sure why I'd need to worry about his boots, but not my own.

A few days later, I received an email from Leslie. "Are you staying at Adam's on Friday night? He said we can't. He said they don't have room because of the construction."

Adam and Danielle had a new house between Carson City and Reno that they were remodeling from the ground up. He had told me it was in a state of disrepair. He had not told me there was not room for me to stay.

"I thought so," I answered. "I'll check. I haven't made other plans."

"You are," Adam responded. "But they're not. There's room for you, as long as you don't mind the floor. There's no room for them."

I wasn't sure, but I started to suspect what he meant when he emailed I was to worry only about "the shoes."

The day before my flight, Adam emailed me. "FYI, Dani won't be here tomorrow or Saturday. She needs to go to Phoenix for a weekend. I told her to go this weekend. She leaves about the time I pick you up and will be back Sunday."

My wonder resolved. Adam's obtuse reference to his "shoes" and "think about it" was a code. He was greasing the skids to act on the "I've been waiting all weekend for this."

To avoid raised expectations to be followed by deeper disappointment, I decided to confront the issue head on. I answered his email about Dani with a direct one of my own:

"I can be a bit dense at times. But, I'm catching a pretext vibe heading into the weekend."

"Finally."

Friday night, the four of us drank beer and played Hearts and Spades. Adam had been right about Greg. He was a doofus, but a kind doofus. He also adored Leslie, which is all that mattered to me. She deserved to be adored.

The pretext vibe was also patent. One, there was plenty of room for Leslie and Greg, if they didn't mind a hint of roughing it. There was a lot of empty floor space.

Two, it was clear Adam was ushering them out: He yawned and stretched. He talked about being tired. He finally intoned "We should wrap up soon, if we are going to ski all day tomorrow."

It was only ten. Historically, our game nights had stretched out. Leslie raised an eyebrow at me. I raised both of my eyebrows back at her.

"I know when I'm not wanted," Leslie said, as she stood and gathered herself to leave. "Let's leave these boys be, Greg."

Adam seemed unconcerned by Leslie's insight. Greg seemed unaware of it.

After ushering them out, Adam returned and stood in front of me. He was clearly aroused, the outline of his erection up and to the left.

"I'm nervous."

"Me, too."

"I wasn't nervous my first time with a girl."

"Jesus," I said. "I was. Like a whore in church."

"How do we start?" he asked.

"Any way you want," I answered. "You orchestrated it."

"Do you like kissing?"

"I do."

"Me, too."

He pulled me up, put his hand on my neck, and lowered his mouth to mine. His lips were full but soft.

We started slowly, our mouths closed and barely touching. Then his lips parted, and he ran the tip of his tongue along my lips. When I started to open my mouth, he whispered "not yet" and returned to licking my lips.

I couldn't wait any longer. I opened my mouth and let his tongue find mine.

The mood turned. We started making out hard, his tongue dominating the kiss. I reached around and pulled him tight, driving his crotch into mine. Our teeth hit together, and it hurt. He pulled his mouth off of mine. "Don't stop," I insisted.

I slid my hands under his shirt. His skin was on fire.

He reached behind his neck and pulled his shirt over his head. I kissed his neck, his collarbone, his chest, and his nipples. He had the same swirl of hair on each pectoral that he had on his feet. He was trimmer than I remembered.

"You're fit as a fiddle," I said, raising back up.

"I got in shape. I figured you were used to guys who were in shape."

"You got in shape for me?"

"I did."

"How long have you been planning this?"

"Honestly?"

"Yes."

"Years."

"Wow. That's flattering."

"Well . . . . I've been curious. And who better to satisfy my curiousity than a friend?"

We moved in front of the fireplace, where Adam had made a "bed" for me. We kneeled down and took long swigs from our beers.

"Are you ready for more?" I asked.

"I am," he answered, grabbed his erection through his jeans to show me.

"Should we get naked?"

"Let's leave our underwear on, at least for now."

"Okay," I answered. "You first."

He stood up. From my knees, I watched him finish undressing. His thighs were thick with muscle and covered with fine hair. His calves were, too.

"And now," he announced, pulling his socks off. "Ta da!"

He was in nothing but black briefs. "Jesus," I said, soaking him in. "You look so hot standing there like that, the fire flickering off your skin."

He did. He was muscled, but not muscular. And, he had just enough extra that he looked like he was trying, but not too hard.

His briefs were tented. His erection stuck straight out in front of him, a small circle of moisture betraying the location of the tip.

"Your turn," he said.

"In a second," I answered, kneeling in front of him. "I can't wait any longer," I added, placing my mouth on him through his briefs. He groaned when I did.

I slid my hand through the leg openings into the back of his briefs and squeezed his ass. He pressed himself into my face. I couldn't resist. I moved my hands to the front of him and pulled his briefs down from inside.

"Wow," I said, as I revealed his erection.

"Like you said," he answered. "Nice feet equals nice meat."

"You have no idea," I replied. He had a beautiful dick. It was about seven inches long and appropriately thick. The head was a bell, and it was a perfect cap to the shaft. Like Billy, he curved up.

His bush was thick, a man's bush.

His balls dangled. Surprisingly, they were hairless.

I was like a kid in a candy store. I licked my lips and slid them over and down him. I felt him twitch as I did. I had developed my skills since Billy. I took him down my throat until my face was buried in his bush, which smelled of shampoo and sweat.

I started moving back and forth. I intended to make him cum, but he stopped me before my intentions were realized. He pulled me up by my arms, planted his mouth again on mine, and unbuttoned and then unzipped my jeans.

"It's only fair," he announced into my mouth. "I shouldn't have to be naked alone."

Still kissing him, I stepped out of my jeans and underwear. He pulled my t-shirt over my head and stepped back, looking me over from head to socks.

"You're bigger than I expected," he said.

"Fortunately, I'm not proportionate. I'd be tiny if it was." I was not tiny. I was not as big as he was, but I was bigger than my body suggested I would be.

"How many guys have you been with?"

"Why?"

"Comparison purposes."

"Gosh," I wondered aloud, trying to figure from Billy forward. "I started eighteen years ago. I'm afraid I've averaged one per month. Eighteen times twelve is,what?" I was trying to find the number in my head, but I was a bit embarrassed to say it out loud.

"You've averaged one per month?"

I had, easily. It was likely more than one per month. I had had dry spells. But, I had also had weekends where I hit a homerun early on a Friday night and a double late and then repeated the same pattern on Saturday night.

"I don't know," I lied. "Maybe."

"So . . . . How do I compare?"

"Adam, you're incredibly hot. And," I said, lowering myself to my knees and, just before taking him back in my mouth, adding "you have an awesome dick."

He ran his hands along my back as I slowly milked him. It was early, but I really wanted him to come.

He stopped me again, forcing me up by my shoulders. "Slow down," he said. "We have all night." I sat back on my haunches. We were both smiling.

"Not in a million years," I said, breaking the silence.

"You could have done this years ago," he answered.

"I thought so. But, I'm not sure I'd have been into it with Dani there."

"She just wanted to watch."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Then why'd you send her away this weekend?"

"I was afraid you'd balk again."

"I couldn't have. And, all you'd have had to do three years ago was whip that thing out," I said, looking at his erection. "No self-respecting gay could pass that up."

"You like it?"

"Obviously."

"Show me."

I leaned over and took him back in my mouth. I savored and toyed with him, alternatively kissing, licking, and sucking. Just when I thought he was going to let me take him home, he pulled me off. Again.

"My turn," he said, pushing me back on my haunches. "Two questions first. . . . Is it hard?"

I looked down at myself and then looked back at him. "That's a dumb question, isn't it?"

"I mean, is it difficult?"

"I didn't think so, my first time."

"Is it safe?"

"Very. I get tested regularly." I added, "I'm as clean as a whistle," although a whistle has never struck me as very clean, what with all the spit and other germs.

"Good," he said as he lowered his face, used his thumb to wipe away what I had leaked, and tentatively took me into his mouth. He hit me with his teeth a couple of times, but – for a first timer – he was not bad. Since he was straight, I may have been giving him credit where it was not due. I also may have been so excited I could not be objective.

"It's more difficult than it looks," he said, coming up for air.

"I think we should stop being so clinical about this."

"How so?"

"I think it's time for a good old-fashioned role in hay," I said, pulling him over and next to me. For the next hour, we ground up against, jacked, kissed, and sucked each other. The fire was hot, and we were slick with sweat.

"I need to come," I finally announced.

"I want you to fuck me," he answered, shocking me at a point where I thought I could not be shocked by him.

I lowered my face to his. "Not tonight," I said. "We have to save something for tomorrow night."

"I didn't know this was a multi-night thing."

"I'm here until Monday . . . . you're about to find out how much you want it to be," I said, as I moved my face down his body. I coated him with my saliva and slid my mouth around him. I sucked him with purpose. There was no way he was stopping me again. I added my hand and started twisting. I started to moan in rhythm with my slurping. I felt his orgasm start and then move through him.

"Oh my God, Danny," he said. "I'm really close."

I kept at him. I heard "Oh God . . . Oh God . . . Oh God," felt him raise his hips from the floor, and then felt a stream of hot, thick fluid fill my mouth. I gulped and kept going. So did he, filling my mouth again. When he finally returned his hips to the floor, I noticed his right hand was between his legs and his middle finger was a knuckle deep in his ass.

"You have to stop," he said. "I can't take any more."

I pulled off of him completely and swallowed whatever I hadn't. He tasted great.

"Did you swallow it?" he asked.

"Sure."

"Awesome," he said, smiling.

"Doesn't Dani?"

"No. She rarely sucks me. When she does, I can't come in her mouth."

"Why not?"

"She says it's gross."

"Do you make her come with your tongue?"

"Yes."

"You don't stop when she's close?"

"No."

"Then she shouldn't either."

"Tell her that."

"Sure. That sounds like a good idea. 'Hey Dani, when I sucked your husband's dick, I let him come in my mouth, and he really liked it. You should, too.'"

"Well, we may have to sugar coat it a bit."

"Ya think?"

"Yes, but you could certainly teach him a thing or two."

"You enjoyed?"

"Oh my God, couldn't you tell? I came so hard."

"I know. It was, like . . . abundant."

"Sorry. I should have warned you. I come hard. And a lot."

I moved my mouth toward his. He made a face like he was about to eat a prune. "What?" I asked.

"Am I going to be able to taste it?"

"Maybe. It doesn't taste bad."

He didn't answer. Instead, he moved over me and announced it was my turn. He skipped my torso and went right to my crotch. "Don't come in my mouth," he pleaded before starting back at me.

I didn't. I let him suck me until I was set to pop. Like a good boy, I then tapped him on the shoulder and finished myself off once he stopped. It didn't seem fair. I wanted to fill his mouth like he had filled mine. Instead, I coated my abdomen.

I cleaned up. He settled next to me. I raised up on my arm and ran my right fingers through the hair on his chest.

"That feels good," he said.

"You feel good," I agreed.

He raised his arms over his head, and I took advantage of the opening and smelled his arm pit. He smelled like a man.

"Dude, that's a little weird."

"I like armpits. A lot."

"And . . . that's a little weird."

"No weirder than liking your dick in my mouth."

"That's probably true."

"Ain't no probably about it."

I inhaled again, deeply. I allowed my tongue to venture out, licking through the mat of armpit hair and to his left nipple. I flicked it with my tongue and then started licking and sucking it, hard.

"Oh shit," he said. "I love having my nipples sucked."

It was an admission he shouldn't have made. I started sucking his nipple as hard as I could as he squirmed under me. I took his dick in my right hand and started jacking him as I continued to suck his nipple.

"Goddamn," he hissed. "I'm gonna blow."

I jacked and sucked and jacked and sucked until I felt him buck and come. I felt each shot speed through my right hand.

I couldn't stop. I slept jacking and sucking until he begged me to stop.

His stomach was covered in cum, and his navel was filled with it. I licked what I could up, and then I sucked his navel empty.

"Jesus," he said. "That seems a little over the top."

"What can I say?" I asked. "I like your cum."

"I get it. But, that still seems a little over the top."

I moved my head to his shoulder and my hand back to his chest. "I like being over the top."

"Raise up," he said. I did, and he slid his arm under and around me. I moved my hand between his legs and put it on the inside of his thigh, right where his groin and leg met.

"What're you thinking?" I asked.

We were still naked and still in front of the fire.

"Me? I was thinking we should get some sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

"We do."

"Is that okay? I mean, I've come twice, and you've only come once. Is that selfish?"

"It's not. I'd rather make you come than come myself."

"I'd be happy to come again, but I'm beat. I think it's the beer and the fire."

"It's all good. Do you want me to sleep here or with you?"

"It doesn't matter to me."

"It should."

"Why?"

"Because if I sleep with you, you're going to get at least one blowjob in the middle of the night. If I sleep here, you won't. I like you and all, but I'm not going to get out from under a warm blanket to track you down in the middle of the night."

"It's a no brainer, then."

He took me by the hand and led me to his room. My ploy had worked.

"Clothed or naked?" he asked.

"Naked," I answered. "It'll be less work when I wake you up."

We stripped and slid into the bed. I thought I heard him sigh.

"You okay?" I asked.

"I think so."

"You feeling bad about Dani?"

"No . . . . I'm feeling bad that I didn't let you finish in my mouth. It doesn't seem fair."

"Jesus Mary and Joseph, don't sweat it. I'm good."

"Really?"

"Really."

"How do you sleep?"

"Stomach?"

"Me, too."

We moved to our stomachs and rolled our faces toward each other. I could make out his features, even in the dark. He was so handsome. I reached my hand over and ran it down the bridge of his nose.

"Hey," I whispered. "Flip over when I ask you to."

"Okay."

I fell asleep. In the night, I delivered what I'd promised. Around two a.m., I woke up totally dehydrated from the beer and the fire. I made my way to the bathroom, drank water straight from the faucet like a pauper, and then returned to bed. Adam was on his back. I didn't know if he had been there or if he had moved there for me. I rubbed my hands together to make sure they were warm and then reached for Adam's dick. It was soft. I started tickling it and his balls.

"Hey," he said, rolling his head toward me.

"Hey," I answered.

"I'm still really tired."

"You don't have to do anything. Just lie back and relax."

I moved down and took him in my mouth, my head resting on his abdomen. Even though I had given him permission to be completely passive, he moved his hand into my hair and started rubbing my head as he hardened in my mouth. I worked him slowly, my head barely moving. Before long, I could tell by his grip on my hair and the tension in his legs he was getting close. I devoured him, sucking his head and shaft as hard as I could while moving as little as I could. When it was time, I received another large load, this time with no warning other than a grunt and a thrust as it came.

I woke him up the next morning the exact same way. About halfway through, he rolled over me and, on his hands and knees, used his hips to meet me halfway. I gripped his dangling balls as he straddled me and fucked my face. He straightened up as he came, which popped his dick out of my mouth and resulted in him coming on my face. Surprising me, he grabbed himself and directed his stream toward my lips and mouth. When he was finished twitching, I slid my mouth back around the head of his dick and sucked hard, draining him of whatever was left as I carried him from sensitive to too sensitive. When he couldn't take anymore, he pulled out and collapsed to my left. I scuttled to the bathroom and cleaned my face. When I returned to the bedroom, he was flat on his back, his arm over his eyes. I grabbed his right foot and brought it to my mouth. He squirmed and then thrashed as I licked between and sucked his toes and then licked and nibbled on the ball of his foot. He reacted the same when I moved to his left foot.

"Fuck, Danny, you have to stop."

I didn't. Instead, I gnawed on the ball of his foot with my front teeth. He laughed and screamed at the same time.

When I finished, he was on his side, in the fetal position. I climbed in behind him and slid my hand under his arm and around him.

"I need a little nap," he said.

"Me, too."

*****

We didn't discuss as we drove up the mountain what had happened the night before and that morning. I assumed he had "straight guy remorse," and I didn't want to force him to confront it.

I was not good at snowboarding. In fact, I sucked at it. I spent most of the morning falling face forward into the snow. At lunch, I switched back to skis. If I hadn't thought to bring the wrist guards I wore when rollerblading, I'd have probably broken both of my wrists that morning.

As we drove back down the mountain, we were again silent. With each mile, my expectations for the night dwindled. Finally, Adam announced he had some questions.

"Shoot," I said.

"Is that what it's like with two guys? All blow jobs all the time?"

"No. Sometimes we fuck."

"That's not what I mean, it's just that, I'm not used to that much sex."

"When you're in a relationship, it slows down. But, it's not a bargaining chip or a prize. We fuck even when we're fighting. Hell, sometimes we try to fuck the fight away."

"Three blow jobs and a hand job in twelve hours is like an oasis in the desert. Dani hasn't blown me three times in the last month."

"There's more where that came from," I said, licking my lips. "I love your dick. It's a beauty. And, I like your cum. It's delicious."

"It's weird to talk about that."

"You don't agree?"

"I didn't really like having a dick in my mouth."

"No surprise. You're straight. I'm not. I love having a dick in my mouth. It'd be weird if you did. It'd be just as weird if I didn't."

"You're really good at it. I mean, I know people who'd pay money for head like that."

"Luckily, I'm offering it to you free of charge."

"I want you to fuck me tonight."

"Really?"

"Yes. I put my finger in my ass when I jerk off. I like when Dani puts things in my ass, especially if she's blowing me. I want to know what it's like to get fucked."

"Then, I'll fuck you tonight. But that means you have to stop on the way home. We need some supplies."

We stopped at a Walgreen's. To spare him, I told him to wait in the car. I bought two Fleet enemas, three condoms, and the best lube they had. When we got home, I told him how to use the enema, and then I sent him to his bathroom to get ready. I did the same in the other bathroom, just in case he wanted to reciprocate.

We stripped, built a fire, and ate cheese and crackers in front of it. We drank beers and then scotch.

"I'm getting anxious," he said. "I really want this to happen."

"I need to spend some time getting you ready. There's a big difference between a toy and a dick."

I told him to get on all fours in front of the fire. Once he had, I used my tongue to tease the rim of his ass. When he started to push back against me and moan, I ate his ass with abandon. I thought sucking dick was awesome. I thought eating ass was a close second. I tried to overwhelm him.

As my tongue worked him over, I moved my right index finger into position and slowly probed him, knuckle by knuckle. When he tensed, I told him to relax. I took as much time as I could, but I was leaking a stream in anticipation of popping his cherry. By the time he was ready, I feared I wouldn't last as long as a high school boy. I rolled the condom on, lubed us both, and moved into position.

"Adam, this is going to hurt. I'm not going to lie to you. My dick is obviously bigger than my fingers, and stiffer, too. If I hurt you, just say so, and I'll stop."

"Stop talking and fuck me."

I did as I was told. Even with the preparation, it was difficult to get started. Once I got most of the way in, I suggested he lower himself to the floor, so he was flat. I followed him down and slid the rest of the way in as I settled on top of him.

I was cramped. I needed him to yield.

"You probably feel really full. And like you may need to, you know, number two. You don't. You're clean. Just relax. When you're ready, just let me know. Until then, I'll just wait."

"I'm ready now."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, godammit. Just go."

He was wrong. He wasn't ready. I was still cramped.

I bit the back of his neck.

"Ouch," he said. As he did, I felt him yield.

"Oh," he added. I was in, and he knew it.

I spread his legs with my knees and started moving slowly in and out of him. When he flinched, I asked if I had hurt him.

"A little, but I'm okay."

"You need to breathe deeply." The fire was hot, and sweat was building between us. I licked some of the moisture off the back of his neck. He flinched again.

"My neck is really sensitive. That tingled."

I used my teeth to gnaw on his neck. He laughed and relaxed. I slid in deeper than I had been.

When he didn't blanche, I raised up on my arms for leverage, and started to give him a better stroke. He was so tight I wanted to pull out, pull the condom off, and bareback him so I could feel the full length of his smoothness.

Like he was reading my mind, he asked if it felt different without a condom. When I said yes, he said "you can take it off." I did, as quickly as I could. I then worked back into him.

"Wow," he said. "It feels totally different."

"It does," I whispered. I hadn't barebacked in forever, and doing it was going to reduce my stamina substantially.

I raised back up and started giving him my best stroke. He started to grunt with each thrust.

I didn't know what he expected, but there was no way I was not going to finish inside of him. I had to.

I could feel my orgasm build and then seek him out. I buried myself as I felt the first shot fire. I held perfectly still as I fired shot after shot. I couldn't help myself. I bit his shoulder. Hard.

I started back at him, working out every drop that I could. It was euphoric. When I was finished, I pulled out, rolled off of him, and covered my hands with my face. My orgasm was lingering, and my whole body was tingling.

Adam moved over me, straddling my chest. He started to work himself. Compulsively, I took him in my mouth and matched the rhythm of his hand. He grabbed my head and started driving himself in and out of my face. It was base and brutal and beautiful.

Adam again came a ton, but it was too much too fast, and I couldn't swallow it all. By the time he was finished, my cum was dripping out of him all over my chest and his cum was running from the corners of my mouth.

"Fuck a duck," he said, after he collapsed onto the floor next to me and while I was wiping myself clean. "That was unbelievable. That had to be the most sexual experience of my life."

"It was. We're pretty good at this."

"It's easier than I thought it'd be."

"How long before you bounce back?"

He turned to me and asked "what next" without uttering a word. I rolled toward him, kissed his cheek, and told me I wanted him to return the favor.

"I'm not a teenager," he answered.

"I can wait."

We stayed like that, looking at each other. I put my right hand on his face and traced his nose and lips with my thumb.

"This is a little freaky," he said.

I got what he was saying. It was a moment of intimacy, not lust. Still, I didn't stop.

"Close your eyes."

He did. I leaned over and kissed and then gently licked both eyelids. I traced down the bridge of his nose with the tip of my tongue. I licked his lips, again with just the tip of my tongue. When he opened his mouth to kiss me, I shshshed him and continued over his jawline.

To speed his recovery, I asked him to tell me about the first time he had ever fucked a girl. While he did, I licked his neck, collarbone, and nipples. I could feel his voice as I did.

To my surprise, it had been the summer after his Senior year in high school. And, at 49, she had been a woman, not a girl.

He had not wanted to go to college a virgin, so he had somehow convinced the divorcee down the block to take him under her wing, so to speak. She had taught him how to pleasure a woman and how to control his dick.

"We fucked the summer away," he said.

"Did your parents know?" I asked into his chest.

"No. They never would have expected. I was a decent looking kid. She was not an attractive woman. She may have been at one time, but she had let herself go. She was overweight and did little to nothing to make herself presentable. But, she had the bits and was willing to play the part. And, boy, could she suck dick. Until you, she had given me the best blow job I ever had."

"I was the same age as you," I said, before adding, "my first time. He was my best friend until high school. We met up at our graduation party. I blew him in the woods behind the house. I haven't talked to him since."

There must have been regret in my voice. Adam grabbed my head and raised it.

"This isn't the end of our friendship," he promised.

"I hope not."

"It's not . . . . And, I'm ready if you are."

I looked down. Adam's dick was staring up at me, curved and hard.

I moved down and took him in my mouth, coating him with nature's lubricant. I then spit in my hand and prepared myself.

"Hold it straight up," I said, moving over him. He did, and I worked my way down, gently, slowly.

"Jesus, Christ," he said. "You're tighter than any woman I've ever fucked. Even Dani. And I took her cherry."

"Men aren't made to be fucked," I reminded him.

We locked eyes as I started sliding up and down. When it became too intense, I closed my eyes and rode the wave toward the beach. I was so thrilled by what was happening, I beat him to the finish line. I came without touching myself, all over his chest and stomach. He followed right behind. I clenched as he did, doing all I could to intensify his pleasure (and my own).

I opened my eyes and looked down at him. His eyes were still closed, but his face was flush with pleasure.

"How was that?" I asked.

"Awesome," he answered, his eyes still closed. "I had no idea gay sex could be this good. If I'd known, I'd have tried it sooner."

I went to the bathroom to clean myself out. While in there, I looked in the mirror. I, too, was flush with sex.

I joined Adam in his bedroom. He was propped on the bed reading a magazine about trucks. He was naked, his soft penis lying on his right thigh.

He looked up at me and patted the bed next to him, misinterpreting my desire to watch him as diffidence about whether I was invited to spend the night with him. I slid into the bed and put my head on his shoulder. He put his hand in my hair and kept reading.

"I'm learning a lot," he said, out of the blue.

I thought he was talking about the magazine article he was reading. He was not.

"I didn't know a guy could come like that," he said, "without touching himself."

"You were hitting my prostate. It's like an ass clit. When it gets hit, it takes me over the edge pretty quickly."

"I also knew it felt different to wear or not to wear a condom. But, I didn't know it felt different for the other person. I totally preferred no condom when you were, you know."

"Fucking you?"

"Yes," he conceded. "Fucking me."

I fell asleep on his shoulder. When I awoke, the light was out, Adam was under the covers, and I was snuggled against him, my hand on his chest. I slid my hand down his stomach and to his crotch. He was soft.

I moved down him and took his softness into my mouth. I loved the feeling of a man hardening in my mouth. I also assumed this weekend was an aberration, and I was going to get as much as I could while I could.

"Hey," I heard him whisper, his hand in my hair. "I'm not sure I can go again. I think my dick's beat."

Pulling off, I turned toward him as best I could. "You don't have to go," I said. "I just want to taste you a little. If you go, you go. If you don't, you don't. Just relax and enjoy the warmth and wetness."

I took him back in my mouth. As I suspected he would, he lengthened and thickened as I licked and sucked.

I never sped up. I gave Adam the most languid blow job I could. I could tell by the roiling and twitching that he had been wrong and that he was about to go again.

He gave me a small load. After swallowing it, I laid my head on his stomach.

"413," he announced.

"Huh?" I asked, not turning my head.

"413 times," he said. "I counted. It took 413 sucks for you to get to the center of my tootsiepop," he said, echoing a popular commercial from when we were kids.

"The fact you were counting probably meant it took more."

"Probably. But I was in no hurry. You didn't seem to be either."

I moved my head and moved over him. I pressed my erection under his scrotum and moved my mouth to his. We kissed deeply. He pulled my head into him and buried his tongue in the back of my throat.

"Fuck me again," he said, once I'd broken the kiss. "Like this."

He raised and spread his legs. I prepared myself and him and then worked my way in. I pressed his knees back against his chest.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Sure," he said, although the grimace on his face suggested otherwise. "Just give me a sec."

I adjusted my hips and felt him release. His eyes opened with a start.

"Sorry," I said.

"Don't be," he said. "It feels way better now."

"Keep count," I said as I started sliding back and forth. I moved as slowly as I could. I knew I couldn't get to 413, but I wanted to get as high as I could. I was being a little self-centered.

I have never when fucking someone face to face been able to keep my mouth from hers or his. When I moved my face toward Adam's, he grabbed it, pulled our mouths together, and kissed me with ferocity.

The intimacy was too much for me. I tried to ward off my orgasm, but I couldn't.

"Goddammit," I said into his mouth, as I felt cum move out of me and into him.

"177," he said, once I'd finished and collapsed onto his muscled, hairy chest. I wasn't certain, but it felt like my high water mark.

I laid there, his hands on the back of my head and my dick softening and slipping out of him. I couldn't have moved if I had been threatened.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Did Rose Kennedy own a black dress?" I answered.

We recovered like that until Adam admitted he thought he was leaking. I told him how to clean himself out and then retreated to my side of the bed. I was asleep before he returned.

We were supposed to go skiing the next day and then pick Dani up at the airport before going to dinner. We were too tired to get up to ski. We slept in and then stayed in bed. All day long, Yaz's "I just can't get enough" was in my head. By the time we had to shower and retrieve Dani, Adam had fucked me thrice more, I had fucked him once more, and we had sucked each other dry. As we waited at the gate, our bodies, not just our dicks, were flaccid.

Dani's flight was late. As we sat at the gate and waited, Adam said "I'm really glad you came."

"Which time?" I answered.

He smirked and said "All of them, I guess."

"Some were better than others."

"There were a lot. Like a year's worth."

I had tried to keep count. I thought Adam was in double digits. I lagged behind, although I didn't care.

"It wasn't a year's worth on my side," I said. "It was what we call 'a good weekend.'"

"Really?"

"Well, maybe a little more than that. But, not a lot more."

"It's good to be gay."

"I think so."

During dinner, I went to the bathroom. While there, I wrote Adam a note on a paper towel: "I think I want more." When Dani was in the bathroom, I passed it to him.

"There's more planned," he said. "Dani wants to watch us."

"Really?"

"Really. She wants you to fuck me."

"Not you fuck me?"

"No. She told me I couldn't fuck you."

"But you did."

"She doesn't know that."

I was tense as we drove back to their house from dinner. Every once in awhile, I caught Adam's eyes in the mirror, as I had years before. Each time I did, he winked at me.

We stopped at a Rite-Aid. Adam went in, leaving Dani and me in the car. I wanted to know why she wanted to watch, but I was too timid to ask.

"Have you and Adam had a good weekend?" she asked, challenging the awkwardness.

"Yes, but I'm not the snowboarder I had hoped to be."

"That's what Adam said," she answered. "But, he said you're very good at other things."

I was flummoxed. Like, seriously, tongue-tiedly flummoxed.

Adam opened the door and tossed the bag to me before I could respond to Dani's provocative statement. I looked inside the bag. There was another enema, condoms, and lube.

At the house, Adam disappeared upstairs. I suspected he was using what he had just bought, just in case. Dani and I had beers and made small talk.

"You seem excited," I said.

"I am. I've wanted to see this for a long time."

"It doesn't strike you as a little weird?"

"A lot of what we do strikes me as a little weird. But, it's also fun. I like stepping out of my comfort zone. I like wandering every now and again onto the wild side. I'm a school librarian most of the time. I can't be one all of the time."

Adam wanted me to take him on his back, as I had the night before. I centered him in the bed, raised his ankles to my shoulders, put a pillow under his ass, and fucked him while sitting on my haunches. In no time, I forgot we were being watched. I was too intent on watching the various emotions and reactions that swept across his face. By the time I leaned down to kiss him, it was clear he had become lost in it all.

"Oh, God," he said. "I think you're hitting that thing. This feels really good."

I kept at him. The look on his face sent me over, and I filled the condom with all I had.

After I came, I licked and sucked his feet and toes until he squirmed. When he couldn't take anymore, I pulled out, removed the condom, and took him in my mouth.

"Pay attention," I heard him say to Dani.

Since I was putting on a show, I decided to display all the skills I had. I gave him what I called "my full Hancock," after Mike Hancock, the pornhub guy. I licked his slit, swirled my tongue around his head, and then took him down my throat. For as long as I could, I used only my mouth, making sure I was coating him with a thick sleeve of saliva. When my need for his load crossed over, I added my hand, twisting him and extending my mouth. When I thought he was close, I inserted the middle finger of my left hand into his rectum. Adam groaned, bucked, and came.

I swallowed and continued sucking him. When he couldn't take any more, I pulled off. He immediately curled into a ball. I clambered out of bed to rinse my mouth and retrieve my clothes. When I returned, Dani was behind Adam, stroking his back and head. I went downstairs to my bed in front of the fireplace. I was soon fast asleep.

When Adam shook me awake, I asked "What time is it?"

"3:30."

"Where's Dani?"

"Upstairs. In bed."

"Did she like the show?"

"She loved it. She got really turned on. I'm sure you could hear how turned on she was."

"I could. I put headphones on. I couldn't listen to you two having sex."

"She was hoping you'd hear her and come find out what was going on."

"I knew what was going on. I've heard sex before."

"Are you hard?"

"No."

"Can you get hard?"

"I don't know. My dick's pretty beat."

"Try. I have one thing else to do. It's why I couldn't sleep."

"What's that?"

"Get hard and you'll see."

I reached into my briefs and took hold of myself.

"How can I help?"

"Whisper in my ear. Tell me what you liked best about the weekend."

He slide his hand into my briefs and replaced my hand with his. Then, he started whispering. He told me he had liked how I sucked his dick, like it was an end, not a means to an end. He told me he had like it better when I rode him and came without touching myself.

"I like to give pleasure more than I like to get it. I love when I make Dani come, especially with my dick. I loved that I could make you come with my dick. . . . The best part, though, was the feeling that you couldn't get enough of me. I've never felt that before. It was awesome to be wanted the way you wanted me."

"I feel a little like Eve, corrupting you with the forbidden fruit."

"That's funny, especially since my name's Adam. But, I was pretty corrupt before you came along."

I was rock hard in his hand. I loved whispering. It always turned me on.

He moved his head to my abdomen. "I liked when you did this to me . . . Eve" he said, taking me in his mouth.

As with the other times, he caught me a couple of times with his teeth, but it was his best effort otherwise. I closed my eyes and drifted away. When I was close, I tapped his shoulder and said, "Adam, I'm really close. I mean, really close."

He kept going. I couldn't wait. I came in his mouth. He stayed on me, toying with me until I was completely soft.

"You didn't have to do that," I said, clearly referring to eating my spunk.

"I know. I wanted to. I wanted to know how it tasted."

"You could have just tasted your own."

"I have. . . . I also wanted to know what it felt like when the eruption happens."

"So . . . How'd it feel?"

"Awesome. Like I said, I love giving pleasure. But you taste bad . . . terrible actually."

"It was the broccoli."

"Really?"

"Yes. Bitter food makes your cum bitter. Sweet food makes it sweet. If you want to please Dani, drink pineapple juice and eat pineapple. Your cum'll taste much better."

"And avoid what?"

"Asparagus, broccoli, . . . . Green vegetables. They all make your cum taste terrible."

"Good to know. Lesson number 13 of the weekend."

"What were the other 12?"

"It's too late to list them. You have an early flight tomorrow."

"Yeah. I should get some sleep. Good night, Adam."

"Good night, Eve."

"And, Adam, thanks for a great visit."

"Backatcha."

Adam drove me solo to the airport the next morning. Since it was a half hour drive, I offered him a roadie. Like I said, I assumed the weekend was an aberration. I wanted to get as much of him as I could. I also want to feed his ego and his feeling of being wanted.

He tried to plea exhaustion. In support of his plea, he pulled his shorts out and showed me his limpness.

"You can try," he relented. "I really like the way you suck me. But, we've already had a ridiculous amount of sex. I'm not sure I can get up for anymore."

"Well, maybe if you wouldn't have fucked your wife last night . . . ."

"What was I supposed to do? Say, 'Sorry, Dani, but the other Danny and I have had so much sex this weekend that my balls are almost empty. And, I probably ought to save one for the car ride tomorrow, just in case he wants the last drop I have?'"

"Well, road head is always worth more points."

"Points?"

"In college, we had a point system. Straight head was worth two points, road head was worth four."

"Well, give me my four points then."

I unbuckled my belt as he raised his hips and pulled his shorts down. I took his soft penis in my hand and covered him with my mouth. As I knew he would, he slowly hardened in my mouth. I had never known a man, even a ridiculously drunk one, who did not get hard when a warm mouth was enveloping his dick.

I sucked him from the side. When he raised his hips, I added my hand and milked his orgasm into my mouth. The broccoli had the same effect on him that it had on me. His load was pungent. It didn't bother me.

We were at a stoplight. When he was finished, I sat up. It was clear the man in the truck next to us knew what had just happened and was appalled by it. He mouthed "faggots" through the window. I smiled and worked my tongue in my cheek to resolve any doubt he had about why my head was in Adam's lap. He sped off as Adam and I speculated about how badly his day had been ruined.

*****

I have seen Adam only once since that debaucherous weekend. About five years later, I took my nephew to Reno to watch Mizzou play UNR in a non-conference football game. Adam pre-gamed with us and told us we should cancel our hotel and stay with him and Dani. I looked at my nephew, and he shook his head back and forth.

"Thanks, but no thanks," I said. "We're spending tomorrow at Tahoe. You're in the opposite direction. We're staying in Truckee tonight."

"Suit yourself," Adam answered. "But, I had some cool new shoes I wanted to show you."

"Maybe another time."

"That was weird," my nephew said, as we drove to the Embassy Suites in Truckee.

"What?"

"The thing about the shoes. What guy thinks another guy would be interested in his 'cool new shoes'?"

I smiled to myself. "Adam's a weird guy."

"Obviously."