Brook's Deja Vu (All Over Again) Ch. 02

Saturday mornings were early ones. We opened at 7. So our morning desire festered throughout the day. Periodically during the day, I would look over at him and stare at the hardness in his shorts, barely concealed by his tight jock. He would look back with those dark piercing eyes and wet his thick lips. Occasionally a customer would notice. But fortunately, most of his clients took it as a compliment and kidded him about his unstoppable libido and his eveready dock —and offer to take him home to bed to "help him with his problem."

Saturday nights were my turn. And my technique was entirely different. I teased and edged for long periods of time before I brought him to orgasm with my own. I learned every erogenous zone—there were many— nipples, the soft underside of his arms, the baby-like inside of his thighs, his earlobes, the nape of his neck where his defined delts yielded to softer skin. And of course, his balls. He writhed in passion when I took them into my cheeks and teased with my tongue. Time and time again, I would take him to the brink. Then pull back and circle and squeeze his shaft. With each round, it would swell. And his pre-cum would melt on my tongue. The sweetest nectar, worthy of the gods.

At the end he would swear—and he had an enormous vocabulary of sordid words—in English, Sicilian and a few other languages that I could only guess. He would threaten, "Put the fucker in now, or I'm gonna roll over and ram your ass so deep, you'll feel it in your throat." But, through it all, he was essentially gentle. I felt his love. And his restraint.

And when finally I would move him onto his side and push one of his legs forward, he would smile and wait for my entry. I always started by eating him some. I knew how much he loved it. Then I pushed in gently. When I bottomed, it was his signal. His anal ring would go into action, massaging and sucking me deeply inside. He'd roll back and, holding himself above me, would plunge his ass repeatedly on my upright dick. I would push him back and dive deep. Thus, the climax was not gentle—only the path of arousal to it. I thrust hard and rough. He would groan in pleasure. And we would simultaneously blow. He was always so full of cum. His cream would completely destroy the sheets. I would push him into it and stretch out on top, reveling in the odors of our commingled essences. (Sunday morning was laundry day fortunately.)

I would spoon and carefully re-insert my still slightly chubbed cock inside. My hand would go to his soft moist balls and lightly fondle them. And we would fall into a deep dreamy state of euphoria.

Shower sex, mutual blows, various toys (he REALLY got off when I inserted a remote prostate vibrator as he pummeled me with his throbbing cock) appeared on Sunday morning until finally sated and happy. Then, we would dress to meet Marie and Jacques for brunch. We'd part in the afternoon, knowing where they were headed. Just as they knew we too would have a busy early evening!

Marie never did reveal the rapist. And presumably he never appeared at the gym again. Jacques moved in with her—another new apartment. And finally Tony began to relax that his little girl had some protection. He had had a "long talk" with Jacques, and we were convinced that he would take care of her (or else).

The gym became very successful. A year later we bought out the lease, enlarged the bar, and in the summer we had the the hottest outdoor pick up club in Detroit. BTM's Place was the place to work out, train—and pick-up. And as we had imagined, it became one of the hubs of the newly gentrifying downtown Detroit, a Renaissance City.

Almost one year after I first hired him, Tony made it official and moved into the condo with me. I'm not sure his father even knew—or if he did, that he cared.

I had found my soul-mate. And my partner in pleasure. It was good. Very, very good. And I even stopped comparing him with Jeff. I never finished the Lit story. My character research at O'Malley's was somehow permanently interrupted.

BD