A New Start with an Old Friend

~~

Our final activities of the day, in order, are: tennis, massages, facials and mani-pedis. On the tennis court, I say to Mac, "So your plan was to wear me out with everything else first so I couldn't kick your ass in tennis." I figured out the other night when we played basketball with Jonah and Joe that Mac is actually quite competitive. I personally don't care, but it's fun riling him up. I have to poke the bear.

Mac attempts to set the tone from the start, "Tennis isn't a game. This is a real sport. Sports are what I do."

"It is too a game. It's ping pong. We just happen to standing on the table."

He laughs again and points his racket at me, "You're funny. But you're about to get schooled."

It turns out that tennis and ping pong are in fact two different things. Nevertheless, I'm good at it. Mac and I are pretty evenly matched. The difference is, Mac is working really hard for it while I easily glide across the court and effortlessly stroke the ball.

Mac grunts and strains and sweats out every point. I can tell that he really doesn't want to lose. In the middle of our set, he asks me, "Are you hanging in there okay, Alexander?"

I just smile and say, "I'm cool as yesterday's used cucumbers."

He laughs again.

It takes a thirteenth game to decide our one-set match. We've each won six games and now the tie-breaker game is tied six points each. Mac looks spent. I look like we just started. It takes another twelve points but I finally beat him, 13 -- 11 and win the set 7 -- 6. I decide to not gloat right now. I can take the high road. Besides, I like the idea of having this moment in my back pocket for future use.

As we walk to the spa center for massages and beautification, Mac hooks a sweaty arm around my shoulders and says, "I gotta hand it to you Alexander. You were pretty damn good out there. We could have gone on forever if I hadn't decided to let you win."

I'm about to explode my incredulity at him when I turn and notice his huge grin. Instead, I smile too and simply say, "Bullshit."

He laughs and gives my shoulder a light squeeze.

~~

After dinner and back in our room, I sit on my bed across from Mac and say, "Last night at the restaurant, our conversation was interrupted. We were in the middle of something before we were so rudely interrupted. I have to admit, I didn't hear the last thing you said. I was steeling myself for the situation unfolding behind you." I lean forward, closer to Mac, "What were you saying?"

"Oh, I don't remember," Mac drops his eyes. "I'm sure it wasn't important."

I point at him, "Wow. Good people are bad liars and you're the worst. Come on. Spill it, Mac." I won't let it go, "We were talking about emotional connections. I told you that you deserve the best and not to settle. And then you said something. Or at least started to say something. What was it?"

He looks up and meets my eye, "I said, what if this person that I deserve, the one who's 'the best', what if I already know who that person is?"

I think my heart misses a beat. "That's...great? Have you told this person how you feel?"

He shakes his head, "Not yet."

There's a slight hitch in my voice, "Why not?"

"I never had a chance. This person did a very brave thing 10 years ago. He was vulnerable and trusted me enough to reveal his secret. His true self. And then life happened and we were separated for a decade."

Mac has held my eye this whole time. It's taking all of my strength to not look away. I wanted a clue as to how Mac feels about me. Here it is. Maybe this isn't so one-sided after all. The sudden silence is deafening.

"The thing is," Mac continues, "I've felt this way for way longer than this person can possibly imagine. I might not have realized or understood my feelings at the time, but it goes all the way back to middle school. I took too long to really understand myself. By the time I did, this person was gone. And now that he's back, I don't know how he feels or if there's even a flicker of interest there."

I clear my throat, "There's much more than a flicker."

"You think?"

"I'd bet my life on it."

~~

Mac had undressed and brushed his teeth first. By the time I exit the bathroom in my boxer-briefs and an undershirt, Mac is lying face-down on his bed, propped up on his elbows reading his book. He's again wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. As I pass by the foot of his bed, an impulse overtakes me. I leap on his bed, straddle his legs and proclaim, "This is the payback I promised for calling my car a crisis." I swipe up and down the soles of his feet. He should be trapped. He should be at my mercy. He isn't.

Mac, nobody's victim, is stronger than me. He easily flips right-side-up, hooks his arms through mine and wraps his hands together behind my head in what I imagine to be a half-nelson wrestling move. I could be wrong though. I know as much about wrestling as I do about golf or inorganic chemistry. He pulls so we both fall backwards on his mattress.

He neatly slips out from under me and uses just his left hand to clasp both of my wrists together, pinning them high over my head. This is the same position he had me in a few nights ago. I'm already starting to respond. His body is on mine and I'm trapped. There's literally nothing I can do, so I stay still and await my punishment.

For a few seconds he does nothing. He's probably planning his attack. His right hand finds its way under my t-shirt and his palm rests flat on my bare stomach. I quiver in anticipatory fear. His eyes are boring into mine and our faces are just inches apart. Suddenly he releases my wrists and shifts his weight off me. He's still staring into my eyes, our noses almost touching, but I'm no longer trapped. I could get up, if I want to. I could leave his bed, if I want to. I don't want to. He lowers his head and gently kisses me. It's like a test kiss. A sample. He lifts his head back up, looks me in the eye and wordlessly asks. I hold his eye and wordlessly consent.

He tells me, "It's always been you, Alexander," and he kisses me again, deeply this time. Even more than his kiss and his touch, those words cause a warmth and a tingle to spread through my whole body. His right-hand slides further up my stomach while his left traces down my inner arm. I wrap my leg around his and entangle my fingers in his hair.

He frees me from the constraints of my t-shirt and he stares down at exposed upper body. My inclination is to fold my arms over my chest and cover myself in any way I could. I know what I look like and I'm particularly impressed. I am not my type. I'm too skinny, too soft, except for a light trail from my navel that disappears below my waistband, I have almost no body hair... If I were someone else, I would pass me right by. But Mac? He's looking at me with a lusting and a hunger that makes my heart flutter and my face flush. But my face couldn't possibly show too much of a flush because it feels like 90% of my body's blood is concentrated on the most raging erection I've ever had in my life.

Mac says, "I could look at you all night."

I squirm a little and become aware of the cold, sticky wet spot on my underwear. I look up at the man kneeling between my legs. He towers over me. His arms and shoulders and chest are textured and contoured by the curves of his muscles and bones. He doesn't have a lot of body hair either, but more than me. Just the right amount, really. His caramel skin is rippled over washboard abs that surround his perfectly circular innie belly button. His underwear strains and protests over its prisoner, desperate and fighting to escape. If I were to design the physically perfect man, Mac would be my mold. He's...flawless.

I reach out to touch him but he stops me buy taking my wrist. He turns it over and kisses the palm of my hand. He says, "We're gonna go slow. We have all night. I'm going first. Reach up, grab the headboard and don't let go."

I do as I'm told.

With my arms up, my skin is pulled taught and my belly button is pulled into a vertical oval. Both his eyes and his grin widen even more. He really does like what he sees.

He starts his fingers up at my wrists and slowly glides down my inner arms. My whole body pops with goosebumps. As he gets to my arms pits, I worry that I might be subjected to another tickle torture, but that doesn't happen. He strokes gently by and I quiver at his caressing touch. His glide continues down my ribcage and down my sides, all the way to the waistband of my boxer briefs. He makes two 90 degree turns and his fingertips stroke my lower abdomen. I involuntarily quiver some more. My stomach is my most vulnerable, sensitive spot, but Mac still isn't tickling me.

He places both hands palms down on my stomach and slides up, like he's smoothing out sand on the beach. He leans down and kisses me again, this time parting my lips and finding my tongue with his. Mac tastes amazing. He tastes good, he smells good, he feels good... I want to wrap myself around this perfect man on top of me, but I keep ahold of the headboard, not defying my instructions.

He lowers his weight onto me and the kissing intensifies. We kiss and kiss and kiss some more. It's wet and sloppy and the most amazing hour of life, although I suspect its crown will be lost to the next hour that's about to follow.

He slides his mouth across my cheek and down to my ear, giving me a fresh round of goosebumps. His tongue travels to my neck where he stops for almost too much kissing, licking and sucking. I never knew how sensitive my neck was. At this point, anywhere Mac touches me with any part of him, I pretty much turn to goo.

He lifts his weight back onto his knees and his warm, wet sucking mouth finds my chin and begins a long southward journey. By the time he's down to my Adam's Apple, his hands fumble around down below until his thumbs hook under the waistband of my boxer briefs. Suddenly my underwear is around my ankles and my erection has sprung free.

His mouth is past my neck and at the top of my sternum when one of his strong, rough hands grips my shaft. I gasp from the shock. Mac does not hurry. The decent of his mouth is long and slow as he continues to stroke my throbbing cock.

When he finally reaches my navel, he takes even more time. Like I'm a sampling platter he ordered off a tasting menu, he kisses, nuzzles and sucks all around. Aside from physical sensations, Mac is making me feel desired...wanted...lusted after...loved. A few hours ago, I was happily having dinner with my straight best friend. I had no idea that I would be his dessert. Or that I could ever be this happy.

Finally, he resumes his southbound journey. His gripping hand releases me, but that warm, wet mouth takes me in. I think about average size down there. 5 3/4 inches -- yes, I've measured -- just shy of 6 inches. At any rate, I'm not particularly large, but I'm not small either. Mac has no trouble taking all of my length in as his lips and nose press into my pubic hair. One of his hands begins to stroke my scrotum and my eyes roll back into my head.

Suddenly, he's doing something different. I don't know what it is or how he's doing it. He still has my whole length enveloped and his tongue is pressed against my sensitive underside. His tongue begins to ripple and roll like magic fingers in a massage chair. How is he doing this? I never dreamed that sensations like this existed. Mac has had me more turned on than I've ever been in my 28 years for more than 3 hours now. I can't hold out any longer. I'm about to explode, literally. I want to grab the back of Mac's head and entangle my fingers in his hair, but instead I grip the headboard tighter.

I let out a warning moan, alerting Mac to the tsunami that's about to follow. Mac does not stop. His relentless tongue action continues all through the most intense orgasm of my life. My body rocks and quakes and my toes curl as Mac sucks me dry. He knows the exact right moment to stop; long enough that there's zero mess to clean up, but just before pleasure turns to pain.

Mac is back to a kneeling position and he's grinning as he peers down at me. I'm still gasping for breath and my body still racks sporadically as I slowly come down from my natural high. His eyes continue to hungrily move all around my body and he says to me, "Alexander, you are the most beautiful man alive."

Permission or not, I let go of the headboard and wrap my arms around the man of my dreams.

My bed spends the night cold and alone.

~~

This is the second morning in a row that I wake next to Mac in the same bed. It's surreal. It's amazing. I gave Mac his turn last night, but he spent so much time on me that we were both pretty exhausted. I did right by him, but I feel like I owe him another turn. Right now.

Like yesterday morning, Mac is pretending to still be asleep. I carefully peel back the sheets and reveal Mac's naked body. Just the sight of the Adonis lying next to me and there's an awakening in my own crotch.

He seemed to respond yesterday when I finger drew on him, so I start with more of that. I start at his chin dimple and go down his neck. I can already see the beginning of his response. I draw around his neck for a while before crossing over to his shoulder. Why do I find his shoulders to such a turn-on? His arms, his chest...I'm in bed next to a sculpted work of art. The bed sheets are white and Mac's brown skin pops in stark contrast. I trail down his bicep then his forearm and check on my progress. Mac officially has a semi-erection at this point. He keeps his eyes closed.

I sit up next to him with crossed legs and use both hands. I circle around his chest and see another tick up in his "status". I gently squeeze his nipples and he bobs up another degree taller. My hands roam down to his abdomen. His abs are like a cobblestone road, but fortunately, they frame a beautiful, round innie. Outies gross me out, though I'm sure if Mac had an outie, he'd convert me. As I gently strum those abs, he continues to grow.

I draw circles around that perfect innie and, though he fights it, Mac's lips begin to show a small smile. I look at my progress and he's now at full mast. On my first day back, I noted that Mac is a full shoe size bigger than me and a full inch taller than me. He's got me beat by a full inch somewhere else too. Lucky me!

I spend a long minute just admiring my accomplishment. I turned Little Mac into Big Mac without directly touching it. It's a little like a magic trick. I feel proud. I think he genuinely likes me. I mean, come on. I'm staring at 7 inches of proof.

Last night, I gave him a blow job. I don't yet have Mac's mad skill set. My tool box isn't as full as his, but I'm a willing and eager student. But not right now. This morning, I just want to use my hands and watch the show. I want him to keep pretending to sleep while I have my fun.

I maneuver myself between his legs, face to face with his sensitive underside. I wrap my hands around his ramrod stiffness and he again can't completely conceal his reaction I gently twist my hands, like I'm rubbing pine tar on a baseball bat and Mac's hands grip the sheets. I thought he fully erect, but he just got a little harder still.

I use my fingertips to gently run up and down while my other hand strokes his scrotum. His ball sack contracts from the sensation and his lips smile again. Like Mac last night, I take my time. I play, I caress, I massage and most of all, I enjoy the view. Mac's naked body splayed out in front of me is better scenery than any vacation I can imagine.

His breathing begins to intensify and I switch to clockwise circles with mu thumb just below mushroom cap. I can tell it's just a matter of moments now. His grip on the sheets tightens, his back arches and he lets out moan of pleasure.

Like Mac last night, I continue my attention until he's completely milked dry, but stop short of going too far. I tell him not to move. I get up, head to the bathroom and return with both damp and dry towels. I tenderly and lovingly clean up the mess I made on him. When I'm done, cuddle into the crook of his arm and lie next to the sexiest man on earth.

"Are we supposed to be getting up and running or something?" I ask.

"I think we worked hard enough yesterday that we earned a day off."

I playfully elbow him in the ribs, "I'm not sure that's the attitude I want in my personal trainer."

He starts to get up, "Well, if you insist-"

I grab his arm, pulling him back into the bed, "Kidding. I'm good just like this." I slide my big toe up his shin.

Mac focuses his lake blue eyes on me, "I suppose it's time I officially tell you that I'm pansexual."

I smile so wide, my cheeks hurt, "Thank you for telling me. Although, by about an hour into your examination of every part of my body last night, I began to suspect that you might be somewhere on the spectrum. The queer spectrum, that is."

Mac laughs and hugs me closer. He tells me that we don't have to check out until noon. We have three more hours to continue taking turns.

~~

That night, I take Mac to the Cubs game. I haven't been to one in 10 years and it's been even longer since it was a night game.

Only residents can park in the street after 6:00. I pay $50 for a spot in a private garage in an alley over a mile away from the ballpark. It's all part of the charm of the neighborhood. I say to Mac, "Maybe public transportation wouldn't have been such a bad idea."

The Cubs are not awesome this year, but just for us, they win tonight.

We make our way to the garage that holds my car, but before getting in, I wrap my arms around him. "You're a pretty fun date."

He smiles, "Here's the best thing about being dating roomies. The date isn't actually over until we fall asleep."

Leaning against the passenger door of my car with my arms around his neck, I ask him, "How do you feel about PDA?"

He pulls me against him, "With you by my side protecting me from giant bullies...yeah, I'm good with it."

I shake my head disapprovingly, even though a smile creeps onto my lips.

Mac asks, "Too soon?"

"Just a skosh."

"Sorry. It was a serious question and I made an inappropriate joke. It was only partly a joke though. With you by my side, in most circumstances, I feel pretty damn good about it. I never had to consider it before you."

I press my forehead to his, "I feel the same way." I take a furtive glance around the alley then find Mac's mouth with mine. "This is going to be the longest drive ever and not just because of the traffic. I want to be at home with you right now. Can you try that genie thing? Wiggle your nose, fold your arms and blink us back."

Mac laughs before actually giving it a try. He gives me one more kiss then pushes me into the passenger seat. "Just relax and let me battle the city congestion."

Not that he'd let me drive my own car anyway, but I wasn't gonna argue. I titled my seat back a little and closed my eyes. I put my hand on Mac's as he shifted gears. It didn't feel thrilling and dangerous like it did the other day; it felt even better. It felt comfortable and right. It felt like affection. PDA. A private display of affection.

Mac says, "I wanted to become your friend in sixth grade, the day I met you. By high school, I was crushing on you big time."

I look at his profile, "If we had known that about each other back then, imagine what might have been. If we had been braver, who knows what could have happened?"

"Or...we could have tried, failed and wasted our chance," Mac says. "It took me too long to figure out who I was and catholic school didn't exactly make things easier for us. Eventually, I wanted to ask you to prom, but I didn't know for sure if you were..."

"Open to such things?" I try.

"'Into dudes', I was going to say."

I snort.

"But like you said, maybe the timing wouldn't have been right." I tighten my grip around his hand. "You are the one. And let's set aside for a moment how indisputably gorgeous you are. Not that that's something I could easily ignore or deny, but it's Mac the person that I've been falling in love with for, what, over a week now? You had me from that first lunch on that first day. Hell, I felt in your hall when you first opened your door."