Soft-mouthed Sandy Pt. 02

I dug in my pocket for his keys. "Thanks for the loaner. You put that engine in, yourself?"

He smiled. "Damn, you are so straight."

I nodded. "So I've been told."

"Interesting morning?" He asked, sipping the coffee again, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I have creamer here," I said. "If you want." I pointed to the jigger of cream and the various packets in the carrier. "You can fix it any way you like it."

He sipped the coffee again. "Classic dilemma," he said. "When two men dance with each other, who leads?"

"Well, I bought the coffee," I said. "Are you going to drink it while I watch, or are you going to invite me in?"

"You could barge in," he countered.

"Is Sandy short for something?"

"Alessandro," he nodded. "I'm assuming Sean is just Sean?"

I nodded. "Sean Grisham."

"Alessandro D'Goya," he said. "If your middle name is Patrick, do I get a prize?"

"Ryan," I said. "My older brother's middle name is Patrick, though. What sort of prize did you have in mind?"

He stepped back from the door and extended a hand. "Mi casa es su casa," he said. "What's in the box?"

"Well," I said, entering and moving to the kitchen. "I've got one strawberry cream-cheese danish and two sausage rolls. Nan took the blueberry scone. Cass took the apple fritter."

"Split the danish?"

"You're on. Where do you keep the plates?"

He pointed to a cupboard. I retrieved two plates.

"Cutlery?"

"Butcher's block by the stove. You know you make a charming house-husband."

"And you're too hungover to be funny."

"You could have fucked me last night, Sean."

"Well, I didn't."

"So you came back this morning just to bring me a coffee?"

"Seemed neighborly," I said.

"Nice jeans," he said. "Are you wearing cologne?"

"So, you were saying last night about how hard it is for you to get dates...?"

He winced. "Sorry, the caffeine is just beginning to kick in. Is this a date, Sean?"

I put a sausage roll and half a danish on a plate and pushed it toward him. "There you go, Fag."

"Oooh, Kitty has claws!"

"Well, I'm sorry if last night was my first time, Elton John. I didn't start blowing guys in middle school!" I started marching towards the front door. I had Nan. She was hot. I had a date with Fiona. She was cute and sensitive. Fuck this queer!

"Wait. Wait! You're right. I'm sorry. You can see why I strike out with guys a lot, though? Right?"

I sighed, turning back. "Show me the bedroom," I said.

He blinked. "Th-The bedroom?"

"Yes," I said. "Show me your bedroom."

"Look, I didn't mean to be insulti--"

"I'm leading, Tinkerbell! Show me the bedroom."

He held up his hands. "Alright, Mr. Gisham. If that's the way you feel about it."

He stood up from the bar-stool by the kitchen counter. He walked down the hall to the closed door at the end of the hall past the bathroom. He paused and turned back. "Tinkerbell?"

"Too gruff?"

"Sorta," he said, then he opened the door.

I moved past him into the room. It was 15 by 15 feet. A double bed was made-up with a down comforter and matching pillows in shades of purple and grey. A desk with a large computer monitor and a corkboard drowning in colorful note cards and post-it notes hung affixed to the wall above. Over the bed was a poster, "The Maltese Falcon," starring Humphrey Bogart. There were heavy curtains and Venetian blinds.

It was clean, neat, cozy.

There was a stereo set atop a chest of drawers.

"So you're a film major?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "And you are?"

"Journalism," I said. "And Poly-Sci. Do you usually put some music on?" I asked.

He went to the stereo and selected a CD. "Tattoo You by The Rolling Stones?"

"Are you asking or recommending?"

He considered, then pushed the button, opening the CD tray. "Let's roll the dice."

The first track began.

If you start me up, if you start me up, I'll never stop...

I nodded. "Okay, the music is on," I said. "Now we eat breakfast."

"Oh?" He smirked. "I don't have to do a strip-tease?"

I shook my head. "No," I said. "Music is on in the bedroom. We start in the kitchen. You try very hard not to be a dick through track one. We eat through track two..."

"Which is "Hangfire" if I'm not mistaken? Have you done this with a girl before?"

"What's track three?"

"Slave," Sandy supplied.

"Yeah, that usually breaks out into dancing with a girl," I supplied. "Come on... eat your breakfast."

"Okay, Peter Pan."

I paused in the doorway and shot him a glance.

"All's fair in love and war, right?" He said. His hand came out and rested on my shoulder.

"I suppose," I said. "But turn bitchy again, and you're on your own past "Black Limousine," bud."

"So whose Jagger and whose Bowie?"

"You are so gay," I laughed.

"Fair enough," he said.

Now, in 2009 (when this story takes place), technology was inspiring. You could put an album with an A-side and a B-Side into a player and hear the whole album without having to flip the compact disk.

We ate, we joked, we laughed. And about the end of "Little T & A," Sandy's hand reached out and touched mine.

I took his hand in mine.

I stood up from my bar-stool at the counter and leaned in.

My lips brushed his. He came forward, his body melding to mine. I felt his legs wrap around me. I felt his dick against me. And suddenly, my conscience was tranquil. "Enjoy, boy-o."

I peeled that collared button-down off over his shoulders, biting at him feeling his hot kisses on my neck, his tongue darting timidly at my ear.

"Fuck it," I moaned. I tore his flimsy wife-beater and kissed his naked chest.

My hands, which had been cupping his ass, plopped him down on the barstool. I was pawing at his fly when the song ended. His hands gripped mine firmly and stopped them.

"Wait," he said. "Count to twenty."

It wasn't a command. It felt more like... like a dare.

He slipped away from me. He went around back of me from the kitchen counter and down the hall. I counted. 12... 13... 14...

I heard a shower-head spring to life.

15... 16... 17...

I stood from the stool, walking in a trance.

18...19...

I came to the open door of the bathroom. His clothes were on the floor. The glass was fogged. Steam billowed in the Tuscan-tiled little cave.

He peeked around the fogged glass. "If you don't get those jeans off soon, your cock is going to rip right through them, Sean-boy."

Now, there is an old joke about how a man has two brains and only enough blood to fuel one at a time. I must confess, my cock was in control at this moment. It was a thick throbbing veiny vengeful bastard of a brain... and it had only one place it yearned to be.

I tore aside my belt-buckle, tore open my fly. I lept out of those ass-hugging jeans and skimpy pale-blue briefs in less than half a heartbeat. My cock was going up that little faggot's ass today. It was alive and totally in control.

I stepped around the fogged glass and gripped Sandy tight around his slender waist. I felt my dick slide between the cheeks of his taught bronzed ass. The swollen tip of it nearly touched my navel.

"Oh, Daddy!" He moaned. "Hold on a moment, though."

He reached to a shelf in the shower and took down a little bottle. He snapped the cap open and squeezed out a generous portion of lube onto my angry member. His left hand found my shaft and stroked me three times, coating my cock.

"Let me," he said. And with his hand, he guided the tip of my rigged cock to the pucker of his tight little ass. "Softly, please," he said. "Just the tip, then count to 20."

I pressed. The head of my cock met resistance. I counted five. And the tip sank in. I held myself, feeling his muscles loosen a fraction. I counted 10. The tip was in, and I felt his ab muscles shudder under my hand. I counted 15. And I was three inches inside of him. Then 20.

"Okay?" I asked.

"Better than," he moaned. "Now all of it slowly, the first few times, please?"

I went from three inches deep to four, then five, then six. Then I pulled back.

"Good," he moaned. "Keep it slow, but I can take more."

Five inches, Six, Seven.

"Damn, babe," he laughed. "Okay... slow again. But up to the root this time."

Six, Seven, Eight... and then, all I had in reserve. I was balls deep in another man for the first time in my life. And when his body shuddered, I felt all the resistance of his anus fall away.

"We're golden, Sean-boy. Now you can speed things up!"

I kept it slow but deep for about a minute... To be honest, it was a new sensation for me. I mean, Nan and I had done butt stuff before, but in this instance, My balls were just a hair away from another set of balls. The moans and yips were from a man's throat, not a woman's. And instead of reaching up to cup tits, I found my hand, almost naturally, traveling south...

I found a firm and fully erect dick. My right hand molded around it. Holy shit, it was bigger and more swollen than mine!

My thumb came to rest at the apex of Sandy's massive erection, capping the mouth of his cock like a cap on an old-fashioned coca-cola bottle.

"First time," Sandy panted. "Already maestro of the reach around. Stroke me, Sean-boy. Stroke and fuck me!"

I did as instructed. I stroked him with my hand -- fast while keeping a steady pace. Somehow I knew that was the key to him cumming first."

"Come on!" I hissed into his ear. "Come on, you little homo... Cum for Daddy. Cum so Daddy can feel it!"

It was seconds. It was hours. But eventually, Alessandro, my little Sandy, shot off a load of hot jizz in the shower. I felt it at that moment. His asshole gripped my rock-hard cock with such force that I also came, a half a second after him, and with such pressure and velocity, I'm surprised he didn't taste it at the back of his throat. I felt I coated that little hot hunk of a man's brains in my hot semen.

I'm not exactly sure which of us was holding the other up in the two to three minutes after we'd both cum. I know it was Sandy who shut off the shower-head. I'm pretty sure I got us both towels off the rack.

"Tinkerbell?" He panted after we'd had a minute to recover.

"Hey," I said. "It worked, didn't it?"

"Fag!" I countered.

"Touche." I nodded. And then, feeling a bit feisty... I held up my hand in a fist. "Fistbump?"

He burst out in laughter. He doubled over in the dissipating steam for a good 10 seconds. Then he brought up his fist and bumped mine. "Whatever, babe. Just as long as you do that again, and soon."