Soft and Silky

This story was told to me by a friend who insists it is mostly true. Mostly! He highly recommends trying this if you have not done so already.

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When I was 16 years old, my mother said to me; and I quote "I hope the devil feeds off your flesh himself and you spend an eternity suffering in the flames of Hell." This was her response when I told her I was gay. What a great lady, aye?

Throughout her berating me and throwing my belongings out the front door, she managed to tell me that I was just like my father. I was stunned to learn that the man I thought died when I was an infant; who my mother had always refused to discuss or give me any information about, was alive and well and get this, A HOMOSEXUAL. Apparently, he discovered his true self after being married to my mother for one month. He left and never came back.

I convinced my mother to give me his name and then walked out the door. The whole episode lasted no more than 20 minutes. Those 20 minutes were the last I ever saw of her.

I gathered my belongings from the front yard then continued down the street. I never looked back and I never cried. My mother had always treated me with contempt and I had a feeling I was on my way to meet the man that caused her such anguish. If anything, I felt sorry for her since she was obviously unable to get on with her life and be happy.

I went to the local library and Googled my father's name, Jeffrey Imos. I was lucky. One hit and it listed a telephone number and address. I pulled my mobile phone from my pocket, hoping that my mother had not already cancelled the service in the short time I was gone. It showed full signal strength, so I took a deep breath and dialed the number listed.

When the line picked up, I felt like I was going to throw up. My heart pounded so hard, I expected the other patrons of library to report me for excessive noise. I could feel trickles of sweat roll down my neck, dampening the collar of my Tommy shirt. Through the haze in my head, I realized that the party on the other line was saying, "Hello." I swallowed and asked for Jeffrey Imos. "This is he", the other party replied.

"Mr. Imos, my name is Terry." Suddenly I felt calm and that everything would be alright with the world. "I'm sorry, let me start again, my name is Terry Imos and I am your son.

Present Day

That day occurred nearly 13 years ago. I lost my mother and found my father within one hour. My father took me in to his home and raised my as if I had been with him my whole life. His live-in partner, Richard, adopted me as his own. They were appalled at my mother's actions. My father was equally upset that she never told him she was pregnant with me.

All of those memories trampled through my head as I stood at my mothers grave. She died alone, with no one to hold her hand or comfort her in those last minutes. A few years before, when my father had passed on, I called her to let her know. She laughed and said, "Good. May he burn he Hell and you join him," then she hung up. I stayed at her graveside for a few moments longer before whispering into the wind, "I forgive you Mom, I hope you rest in peace."

Back at my apartment, I realized I was truly alone. At 29, both my parents were deceased, my father's partner Richard was killed in a car accident one year before my father passed. I always thought not having Richard was just too unbearable for him and he gave up on living.

Now you might think; what about boyfriends, lovers, friends, etc... I had none. I dated two men in my early twenties. Both were short lived and produced no desire to seek further companionship.

Living with two gay men, although showed me that gay people can live as happily as straight people, did not have any effect on my personal contacts and interactions with other people. My father and Richard were truly in love for over 20 years and in all the time I was with them, they never went to gay bars or encouraged me to visit any. Their friends were of both sexes and orientations and they never told me who was gay or who was straight. They weren't flamboyant and neither were their acquaintances. You knew they were a gay couple only because of the love and affection they shared with each other. You would have to have been blind to miss that.

My sexual education was limited to the two people I had dated earlier. Now that I think about it, besides my own hand, I haven't has sex in over five years. I thought about visiting bath houses and porn bookstores, but I always felt I needed more than those placed could offer.

I do have something of a fetish. I don't know if it is truly a fetish or if it is just simply weird. I'll let you decide.

When I need a release from various tensions, I strip naked and lay my most plush and softest towel across my bed. When I am comfortable, I take a bottle of baby powder and shake it liberally across my body. I enjoy the slight tickle and coolness I feel where it lands on my skin. I breathe in heavily to take in its wonderful scent. I let the powder fill up my inny navel and coat my penis, hiding it under a sensual pile of white silk.

The texture of baby powder sends shivers down my spine. You can close your hand around it and squeeze, but never feel it. Once I am done dousing myself, I tenderly spread it over my entire body. I continue to breathe in the scent of the powder as it stimulates my arousal. My movements are slow. With my eyes closed, I circle both nipples before gathering a layer a powder between my fingers and using it stroke each nipple. The bolt of shock I feel as I pinch my nipples with velvety fingers causes my body to jerk. My nubs are like diamonds encased in a drape of softness.

Continuing on, I move my hands down my sides, across my chest and belly. Slow. Soft. Breathe. When I reach the heap that has hidden my penis from view, it is cool to the touch. I shiver and quake with excitements. I pick up handfuls of powder and let it sift through my fingers. My cock is growing hard with anticipation, but I need to continue my explorations.

My hands leave my groin area and continue down my hips. I raise my butt of the bed and knead my mound, coating it with silk. The crack of my ass does not miss out as I glide my fingers up and down. A pinch of powder on my fingertip pushes it way inside my puckered hole. I gasp as cool meets hot. The sensation is breathtaking. After depositing my prize, my hands continue on to my thighs. Oh how I love to rub them together, sliding back and forth across each other. I flex my ass muscles and my balls jump.

My calves and feet now get the same treatment, covered in bright white velvet and soft as the air. I try not to laugh as I stroke my feet. My touch is light and I feel goose bumps along my arms. I sit up and grab the bottle again. The weight of the bottle in my hand suggests plenty remains. I twist the cap to clear the exit holes and squeeze the bottle hard. My cock jumps at the same time. I let the air carry the powder to my face and I inhale. AGAIN. AGAIN. AGAIN.

My cock is now throbbing and bobbing up and down. It is no longer hidden and I can see a streak in the white dust that covers it. It smacks my belly on its descent and leaves proof of its desire. I move the bottle towards my cock and turn it upside down. Icy sprinkles land on my heated cock and I groan. Finally, I squeeze and a torrent of coolness rains down on my penis. The feeling is so intense; my precum starts to ooze continuously. When my pouring is complete, my cock and balls are once again invisible.

I reach into the pile and locate my balls. They are wrought tight and nearly inside me. I give them a few strokes. The weight of the powder is almost nonexistent, but I can feel it gliding around my balls and seeping through the crack of my thighs, over my perineum and to my ass. It slithers and works it way deep into the crevices of my body.

I reach into the pile once again, this time with both hands. I grasp my cock and pull it into view. I know beneath the white, is a purple head, but I find the starkness of the brilliant white to be incredibly erotic. I groan as I look at the vision before me. Not one piece of flesh can be seen. I began to stroke with one hand while plying on more powder from the stack nestled around base of my cock. The coolness of the powder touching my skin causes me to pant. I feel like a million feathers are stroking my nerve endings. I close my eyes and continue my actions, suppressing the orgasm that has been waiting to be released.

As I stroke faster and squeeze my cock harder, I bring my other hand completely loaded to my face. In no time, my hair, face and neck are covered. With the remaining dust in my hand, I bring it to nose and inhale deeply. My cock explodes. One, two, three times, then again and again, six, seven, eight unbelievably huge globs of cum shoot out of my cock. My body twitches uncontrollably with every spurt. Each one can be felt as they leave my balls, travel the length of my cock and jettison onto my belly.

Finally, I climb off the electric fence and try to gain control of my erratic breathing. My balls are empty. My cock is still spurting; finding minute traces of cum to release, but mostly, nothing else comes out. I am exhausted as I take in my surroundings. Powder is everywhere. My sweat and cum mixed with the powder has created a sticky paste. I smile and lay back into my pillow.

These are the most intense and draining orgasms I experience. They can be so painfully strong, that I only allow myself this treat once a month or if the stress of day requires a special outlet. Not to mention, cleanup can be a bitch. A well worth it bitch. I know by tomorrow, my cock will be bruised from the heavy jets of cum and the dry ejaculations.

The only thing that would make my fetish even more fun, would be a handsome guy to share it with. Who knows? I'm young with a bright future ahead of me. I'm sure I won't be alone for every. I'll find my Richard just as my father did. Maybe Mr. I like soft and silky too, is just around the corner. Maybe, just maybe, he will be in my next tale.