A Cocksucker's Journey

And then there's Kevin...

He is not perfect in every way. Though warm and caring, he can be aloof and moody at times. He whines at the most inconsequential of things. He can be intolerant of those who look, or act, differently. Coming from a moneyed family, he is something of an elitist; the best clothes, the best restaurants, the best toys. He openly sneers at my Outback while he drives a leased BMW.

But he has a cock to die for. A long, thick, meaty tube of manflesh that feels exquisite in my mouth. And he doesn't just ejaculate; he gushes inhuman quantities of creamy white jizz that -- no shit, guys -- has the approximate taste of slightly salty vanilla. He gives an award-winning blowjob, loves cum play, and has an amazing vocabulary of disgusting, perverted words and phrases that make me laugh out loud while moving me to abandon any decorum or decency I might have pretended to possess.

He wants no part of anal, and that's a big strike against. He seems willing to play the role of occasional, casual cocksucker, making no demands that would threaten my time with Michael. I think he likes the role of surreptitious lover; finds it titillating, risky, a little dangerous.

Me? I'm feeling both guilt and excitement at having a second cock -- a different taste and experience -- on the side. I hate that I'm cheating on Michael. I justify it in my mind by saying that this thing with Kevin will end soon, that it's only temporary.

I don't know what I'm going to do, though I certainly know what i should do. Unfortunately, another complication has recently reared its wonderful head.

++++++++++++++++++++

It's the following Saturday, pouring rain. Michael is at work, Kevin is at the Cape with Eric, I'm driving down Elm, headed home after grabbing coffee and a danish at Grinders. I spot Jamis on the sidewalk, hurrying through the downpour, jacket held over his head, trying without success not to get drenched.

I honk, pull to the curb and swing the passenger side door open. He stops, looks suspiciously at the interior of the car, recognizes my face, flashes a thousand watt smile, and tumbles into the front seat, sending a shower of water droplets splashing my way.

"I'm sorry!!" he grins, "Sorry, sorry... I'm a mess, I'm drenched..." He touches my arm and says, "Thank you for stopping for me. You are such a sweetheart. I didn't know who it was at first, but when I saw it was you I was so happy and relieved... I'm making a mess of your car. I'll get a towel and dry everything... I'm so sorry... I haven't seen you in weeks and then here you are just when I need you..."

I can't help but smile at Jamis' nonstop, mile-a-minute patter. It's so familiar and instantly brings back memories of an earlier time. I put the car in gear and pull away from the curb.

Jamis. Jamie as most of us call him. I've known him forever... since high school, actually, when he was the lightning rod that defined our perception of right and wrong. I thought he was gay but could never confirm it. He was a sprite; a smiling, diminutive, effervescent presence in the hallways and classrooms that threatened some and delighted others. As was so typical of high school during that period, he was ridiculed and tormented by the jocks and goons; pursued, protected and cradled by my group of artists, gamers and self-proclaimed intellectuals. We were always friends, never boyfriends, seldom discussed matters of sexuality or lifestyle or race. The girls loved him, I adored him but we were just friends, part of a consistent circle of (mostly) guys who always gravitated toward the same places, events, activities.

I came out before he did. When he found out I was queer, something changed. He withdrew a bit, seemed shy and somewhat uncomfortable around me. There were times when I thought he was flirting. When I responded in kind, he would detach and back off. I tried several times to talk to him about his feelings, about our shared emotions and similarities, but he never committed, never opened up.

We went our separate ways after graduation; me to Cornell, Jamie to Columbia. He worked in the city for awhile. I did graduate work at Colorado, then moved to the coast for a few years before returning home. Jamie always occupied a corner of my mind, as well as a prominent place in my nighttime fantasies.

I didn't know he was "out" for sure until I heard last year that he was dating a professor at the community college. When I saw them together at a gallery opening in April, some of the old emotions returned. We hugged briefly, but never had the chance to exchange more than a few words. We promised to stay in touch and we did talk briefly from time to time, but weeks and months passed with each of us moving in different circles, building relationships and careers. He has a Masters degree in developmental psychology and has done some amazing (and published) work with autistic children at the Livingston Center. I wonder, with both pride and sadness, if brighter lights and greater challenges will some day lure him to some far-off city or research center.

He gives me directions to his home; he rents an apartment in a stately Victorian near the river. As I pull up the circular drive, he invites me in. I decline with a mumbled excuse about the weather and errands to run. "Please," he says, with a pleading look in his eyes. "Just for a few minutes. I have so much to ask you and so much to tell you. It's been so long since... since we knew each other."

His apartment is tastefully furnished and neat as a pin. Still soaking wet from his walk in the rain, Jamie runs to the bedroom to change. He returns in pajama bottoms and a too large t-shirt.

-- Comfy?

Jamie grins. "This is my uniform at home. Not used to having guests."

We sat on his sofa. Jamie choosing a spot closer than I expected. Interesting...

-- You're not seeing anyone?

"Not anymore. Not for awhile. You?"

-- I have a boyfriend. His name is Michael. Less than a year, getting more serious by the day.

"I've always wondered who you would hook up with. I'd like to meet him sometime. He must be very special."

-- We'll set up a dinner. Do you still play hearts? Maybe we can find a fourth and get a game going.

"It's been years since I played," said Jamie. "I miss our games." He rested his hand on my knee. "I've missed you, too."

I inched a little closer and placed my hand on the back of his head. He has let his hair grow long, it's almost shoulder length now. Still kinky and curly. It looks good on him. And it's still a bit damp from the rain.

-- I've missed you too, Jamie. I wish we hadn't lost touch with each other. You were a very special part of my life back then.

"Did you know I was in love with you?" he asked. He moved his hand from my knee to his lap. I could tell he was nervous. "All through high school, even when I was away at college. I didn't know if it was right or wrong. I was so scared to show it because I was so scared you'd turn me down."

-- I didn't know. I wish I had. I wanted so much for us to be more than friends.

"I knew that, at least I think I knew. But the thought just paralyzed me. I didn't know how to deal with it, so I think I just decided not to deal with it at all." He smiled, and added, "I was very good at being confused."

-- You don't seem too confused now.

"I'm not. I know who I am and what I am. I know what I want now. But our window of opportunity has passed now, hasn't it? I know I'm being unfair. I know you have a life with someone else." Tears welled in Jamie's eyes. "I wish I knew there was some hope."

My heart was pounding. I wish I had heard these words years ago. "Hope for us?" I asked.

Jamie nodded and smiled. He looked scared but hopeful, determined and insecure... all at the same time.

I took his hand and moved it back to my knee. I leaned closer and with my hand at the back of his head, pulled him toward me so that our foreheads were touching. With my other hand, I cupped his chin and lifted it up. He closed his eyes. I kissed him gently on the lips, holding it for long seconds until he melted closer, put his arms around my neck, and returned the kiss. The warmth from his soft, full lips was amazing; the wetness, when they parted slightly and allowed my tongue to brush his, was exhilarating. We stopped for just a fraction of a second, then resumed. We both pursued the moment. We both explored with our tongues... lightly, discretely at first, then with passionate urgency. I moaned. I couldn't help it. He was in my arms now. My heart was pounding as our lips parted and we embraced, his face buried in my neck, mine against his ear, whispering... "Jamie, my sweet Jamie... you are so beautiful... so perfect..."

He pulled away then, held my face between his hands, smiled that beautiful joyous smile and said, "I can't breathe!"

I giggled then, and told him, "I feel like my heart is going to explode."

"No," he said. "Not going to let that happen. I lost you once. I won't lose you again." He kissed me, then again, then a third time.

I responded the only way I could. My hand found his thigh, then the outline of his cock through his pajamas. I held it, squeezed it, while he gasped and smothered my mouth with another kiss. "Yes, Jonathan," he whispered. "Yes... please..."

In the bedroom, standing, embracing, I tugged his pajamas down. He wasn't wearing anything underneath. His chocolate-brown cock, perfectly proportioned to his slight frame, was stiff. His cockhead, glistening and swollen, was the color of the blackest coal. I was out of my shoes, pants and shirt in a minute. He pushed my silk bikini briefs off my hips and they fell to my ankles. Naked, we held each other for minutes, discovering at last the feel of our bodies pressed together, our cocks touching, hands caressing ass, finding lips for soft, wet kisses. He stepped back and crawled onto the bed. On his back, legs spread, cock throbbing with anticipation, his smile invited me to a world -- Jamie's world -- of glorious, passionate, most intimate excess.

+++++++++++++++++++

Michael.

Kevin.

And now Jamie.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry.