So, How Was Your Weekend?

I won't say it caught me completely by surprise to find myself falling for another man. Hell, everyone's been curious before, whether they'll admit it or not, and I'm no different. What's more, I've never been one of those uptight guys who constantly worries about it. When I was seventeen, I sat down and took a good long look at myself, finally decided that guys didn't really do anything for me, and that was that, or so I thought at the time. I asked the question, which is more than most guys have the balls to do, and was perfectly satisfied that I was straight as an arrow after all. I promptly dropped the question and set about the regular youthful pastime of trying desperately to get into girls' panties with a new singleness of purpose.

Some inkling of curiosity may still have lurked in the back of my mind, but I was now secure enough in my sexuality that it didn't matter much. When I got to college, I gleefully bedded as many girls as I could, and my luck was considerable. I even managed to build up a bit of a reputation as a lover of no slight skill and passion, as I learned (to my considerable delight) when one of my "companions" mentioned between exhausted gasps that I was "even better than they said." That sort of thing just does wonders for a young man's ego.

Then, in my senior year of college, I met Jack, and the Big Surprise. As I said, it wasn't the fact that I fell for another guy that shocked me so much. It was how perfectly natural it all seemed that really surprised me. I'd have thought for sure that my first time with a man would be awkward and tense and scary. But we found ourselves in bed together after the very first night we met. It was a double blind date – Katie, a girl I'd slept with before and remained friends with, had set it up, with Jack as her blind date and her friend Janine as mine. Jack and Katie didn't hit it off very well at all, and Janine was frankly a bit of a domineering bitch, but Jack had hit a chord with me the first time I saw him. A connection was made, and when, after the date, I found myself holding him in my arms and kissing his forehead after our first lovemaking session, it didn't feel at all odd. THAT's what surprised me.

That, too, was what I was thinking about as I lay in bed eight months later, eyes still closed, with warm sunshine streaming through the apartment window onto my face. The space next to me was empty but still warm, the smell of strong coffee filling the apartment. I rolled out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom to shave and brush my teeth, the mirror still foggy from Jack's morning shower. My Saturday morning ritual is a lot like my weekday morning ritual, only not as hurried, so it was another fifteen minutes before I emerged and walked through the living room.

Jack walked out of the kitchen in his boxers and a white tee-shirt, handing me a cup of coffee and kissing me good-morning. Some mushy words were exchanged, and we sat down on the couch together to drink our coffee and watch the morning news.

To tell the truth, though, my mind wasn't on the news. I was still thinking of that first night together, and watching him out of the corner of my eye. It always has amazed me how simply beautiful he is. Since falling for Jack, I've been able to look at men differently, even enjoying some gay porn now and again, but Jack's always been different. I don't want him the way I would want a woman, or even the way I find myself wanting men these days – I want Jack the way I want Jack. And so I set my cup on the coffee table, grabbed the remote control, turned off the television, and told him so.

He responded by grabbing my face in both hands and pulling me into him, his mouth warm and soft and tasting of strong coffee. I ran my fingers through his shortish, brownish hair, sucking gently on his bottom lip, and slid my hands up his shirt to enjoy the feel of that toned muscle under my fingers. The shirt came off a few seconds later, and I found myself on top of him, kissing his neck, feeling him get hard through his boxers, breathing in his scent of strong soap and cheap cologne. I felt my own tee shirt pulled up and over my head, and then the warmth of his skin against mine. That warmth felt wonderful, and we lay like that for a long moment, lips pressed together, his hands on my back, my hands tugging playfully at the waistband of his boxers.

One of the more endearing things about Jack is the adorable way he takes in a sharp little breath and nibbles his bottom lip whenever I first take his cock in my hand and gently slide the foreskin back. It never fails, and is usually followed by a slight whimper and a pleading look from those deep brown eyes when I slowly start to glide my hand up and down. I smiled warmly at him, watching his familiar signs as I played with him, and finally leaned forward and took him into my mouth.

I had taken a liking early on to giving Jack head, feeling that warm, gently pulsing dick in my mouth, feeling his fingers gently play with my hair. The fun is mainly in Jack's reactions, the way he squirms under me while I suck him. I lifted my eyes to see him staring right back into them, moaning shamelessly and bucking his hips in gentle rhythm with the flickings of my tongue against the underside of his head. I spent perhaps half an hour like that, my tongue flicking under his head and tracing slow circles around, before lowering to take as much of him into my mouth as possible, then repeating. His moans took on a new urgency when I began sucking in earnest, my cheeks pulling in slightly, my tongue still flicking against his head, my eyes still trained on his face. He didn't spend as much time looking back now, mostly lying back with his eyes closed and moaning. It became a game, me trying to get his attention so he would look back down at me, and I succeeded a few times by applying more pressure with my tongue, or by turning my mouth's attention to his balls, my hand taking over for the moment. That look on his face, with his eyebrows knitted above those chocolate brown eyes, was all the encouragement I needed.

His eyes were still closed when I took a sip of the still-hot coffee, and he let out a surprised yelp when my newly-warm mouth closed back around his head. I was sucking harder now, in quick little pulses that brought his hands down to grip my hair, and I knew he was close. I had one last surprise in store for him, something I had done to me a few times by a cute little redhead named Jen back in high school. He gasped out that he was going to come, and I immediately slowed down, sucking hard but in slow, long pulses, my hand very slowly sliding his foreskin up and down. He pulled harder at my hair and practically screamed through gritted teeth as I patiently drew the orgasm out of him with an agonizing slowness that his frantic grunts told me he hadn't experienced before. Salty come spurted out of him in four bursts, with about fifteen heavenly, unbearable seconds between them. Poor, lucky bastard. I knew exactly what he was going through, and almost felt guilty. The orgasm you get from that kind of stimulation is overwhelming, but is so slow and brutal it almost hurts, almost feels like you're going to injure something. It took him a full minute to finish coming, and when he was done I looked up at him with what I hoped was a playful gleam in my eye, letting him watch as I swallowed in one big gulp. He stared at me in disbelief for a long moment, then grabbed me and shoved his tongue down my throat.

Five minutes and much frantic groping and kissing later, I found myself on my back in the floor, looking into his eyes. One hand played with my hair, the other busied itself on my cock. His rhythm was quick, foreplay evidently long over.

I whispered into his mouth that I was about to come, thinking he was going to kiss me as I came. He's always liked that. But instead, I opened my eyes to see him smirking mischievously, and moaned in anticipation, pleasure, and something like dread when he said, "now, let me try that new trick of yours."

This was Saturday morning. By Sunday, we were getting noise complaints from the neighbors.

On Monday, we both decided to call in sick to work, and spent the day in bed without sleeping a wink.

So how was YOUR weekend?