Carnal Knowledge in Corporate America

Go through downtown in any major city and you see them, those glass boxes. They are the modern cathedrals to capitalism where investment banks, law firms, corporate headquarters and the like tower over the rest of their respective communities, lording their strength and influence. Interesting that they are called glass boxes since one ordinarily associates glass with transparency, but today's glass is colorful and shiny, but opaque from the outside. You wonder what really goes on behind all that false transparency. More than you might imagine for a bunch of tough guys.

Inside, they're clean, new, quiet and posh. The other side of the glass pushes common problems far away, leaving gentle landscapes of green without a problem in sight. Your house or life might be ablaze in the distance, but from up here, it's an interesting shape of smoke drifting up to the sky. This environment is where I work, where lawsuits are litigated, deals are done, and if I'm lucky, butts are buggered.

The paradox of the glass boxes sometimes extends to our lives. To the rest of the world, I'm a fit specimen of one of those tough guys – in my mid-thirties. I work out each morning, shower and have breakfast with the other power brokers at our club. We chat about rumored deals, torrid affairs and our short game that needs work. After eating, I dress in my in tailored suits, gold cufflinks and handmade lace-up shoes. I drive my Porsche Carrera convertible to my parking space in the basement of our building. I take the series of elevators up to my office on the 34th floor of the glass box and watch the sun rise over the horizon as I began the relentless pace. I exemplify the whole package, with one exception. Similar to the manner in which the pristine outer facades of these buildings hide the constant, twisted turmoil inside, my secret inside belies every other facet of my life. You see, I'm bisexual.

This small blemish on my tough guy persona could create horrific problems in my world. Up here, surrounded by well-heeled vermin, rodents and reptiles, being labeled a fucking fag directly and immediately leads to death. It would not be a physical death, of course. Physical death would be a welcome alternative when compared to the emasculation that would follow being "outed." In my world, in which one must be sized up based upon perceived ability to do what has to be done to succeed, not simply doing one's best, any tendency towards homosexuality would lead directly from titan of power to purveyor of women's shoes, figuratively and literally. I exist each day knowing that one revealing slip could lead to permanent cancellation of my membership in the tough guy club I fought so hard to join.

It's hard, stressful work, often too intense to even rest a bit over lunch. I usually eat at my desk to keep the dollars flowing all day long. Finding something to eat is usually a dreary chore. A few months back, though, life got spicy. I found a particularly tasty Cajun restaurant with a take-our counter. It was manned with a young stud named Chris. Why is it that slender but shapely studs with longish blond hair, piercing blue eyes, perfect faces, and of course, tight round asses all seem to be named Chris? My outside persona befriended Chris with platitudes about their food, the weather, college football and bars. Inside, my mind mentally undressed. Chris is no fag, you see, but I soon realized that he and I could carry on a conversation, simultaneously with the spoken one, using only our eyes. These visual conversations began with just a bit too much eye contact. It advanced to glances at asses and then stares at packages draped by soft cloth on either side. Chris, an exceptionally bright pre-med junior working part-time to make ends meet far below the glass boxes, sensed my interest from the get-go. The insightful drive that fuels my businesses acumen soon began hatching a plan to give young Chris a practical lesson in male anatomy.

Negotiating deals and implementing strategies for a living teaches that closing the deal is usually a function of testing and proving interest in creative opportunities upon which the deal may be structured. My plan, conceived from this familiar lesson, was cautiously tailored to my peculiar circumstances of wanting to have sex with Chris with the corresponding least possible chance of being caught. The first step was to see if Chris was truly interested in what he saw or just careless with his glances. This would have to take place well away from my haunts so that there would minimal opportunity to be seen out of place and role. At this place, I would further explore the periphery of that which I perceived to be his potential – or real -- prurient interests in that which I offer, thereby testing my hypothesis that Chris might also be bi, or at least bi-capable. Each deliberate step would provide both an opportunity to build further interest upon any in me he might possess and show, while always keeping a window nearby to exit the situation should my necessarily well-developed sixth sense for identifying the right partner had, in fact, betrayed me.

Step one was finding the right venue where we could both open up. I queried Chris on bars he frequented. He identified several, and I suggested that we meet next week at one I knew after his mid-term exams. He smiled and said sure. Step one complete.

We met, drank and chatted on the appointed day after-hours in a tough guy watering hole, a sports bar. I noticed that Chris didn't have much to say about women, and with his intense studies, I knew he didn't have many opportunities for getting off beyond that which is self-induced. In response to his questions about corporate America, I regaled him with (interesting, I thought, to an outsider) war stories, legends and lore. I knew by his questions and genuine interest he expressed that I had an opportunity to take this plan to the next level. We approached the next decision-point in the algorithm. I proposed that we take a peek at our new offices. He was all over this offer. I wondered if this was just another inquiring mind broadening its horizons or whether he had the same thing on his mind as did I. The eye candy wasn't a bad downside even if the latter. I picked up the tab, and off and up we went to the 34th floor.

It was eerily quiet by this hour. The tough guys were at home, and the staff had vacuumed and cleaned. Only a few corridor lights were on when we stepped into my office. The view of the setting sun reflecting on the clouds was spectacular with my office lights off. Chris just said "wow" as I closed and quietly locked the thick mahogany-clad door. I turned on a small credenza lamp and pulled the bottle of single-malt from my desk and poured more drink. I stepped up behind Chris, who was mesmerized by the view, and handed him his drink. The warming of the whiskey emboldened me. As he began identifying landmarks, I gently aligned my arm with his to point out a few more. I was close enough to smell his cologne, see a few sun freckles on his neck and hear and feel his voice resonating with excitement. He raised his arm to point out another landmark, and the light colored hair on his muscular arm lightly touched my arm. It was an electric non-verbal answer to my wonder about where this field trip for Chris might lead. I had to repay his bravery of crossing into uncertain territory, so my front lightly grazed his protruding backside. Not the least flinch!

As the sun disappeared below the distant horizon, I invited Chris to sit while we finished our drinks. We relaxed on the soft Italian leather sofa and watched the city lights begin to shimmer in the increasing darkness. I carefully choose the next line; still not sure this – if there is a "this" -- will be completely secret.

"So, been getting any," I ask.

Softly, as though he too is unsure where this might lead, he replies, holding up and rotating his left hand, "[humph] all I want."

Chris continued. "Truthfully, I sit in anatomy classes and think about naked bodies all day. It's kinda hard to keep my mind off sex with beautiful hard bodies. I have to run back to my dorm room and jerk off so I can study. But please, you're not going to say anything, are you?"

"Hell no," I reassure. "This is just two guys talking – no one gets to listen in. That works both ways, of course."

Chris reassures me, now: "Nobody gets to know." (I think he said hard bodies with no reference to gender.)

Chris sees the paradox of the glass skin on the building as I absorb the visible parts of his soft, white skin. "This is a cool place to talk in secret with all this open glass."

More assurances of secrecy from me: "you ever notice that you can't see inside a high-rise? It's about as private as it gets."

Chris keeps the sex banter going. "How about you, your sex life, I mean?"

I admit "my sex life is pretty barren lately, I'm afraid." We stare a long moment into each other's eyes then look down, the verbal conversation having worn thin. I can see that his dick is pressing downward and becoming hard. The warm buzz of good scotch further emboldens and promises not to betray what we now realize about each other's secrets, I push to the next level by setting my drink on the table. Chris follows suit.

After an awkward moment of silence, Chris posits, "I bet this sofa would be a sweet place to get laid."

"Indeed," I reply, becoming consumed by the excitement of where my overly cautious plan has led, and where it may soon lead. My dick engorges to a raging hard. I rather obviously stare too long at his package, wanting him to know how much I want him, but still with a one bit of me still in the tough guy world, too scared to just make the leap.

Chris sees me looking at his growing hard-on, seeming a bit embarrassed, and says "sorry, I've been studying bodies all day, and to get to the bar on time, I didn't have time to get sex off my mind, if you know what I mean."

Chris slowly breaks into a grin with his full lips framing long rows of teeth. After far too long, I feel a good deviate fuck coming on. The fear of being caught in a tough guy's office with a blonde, hot GUY is overcome by growing lust that eradicates any lingering reservations I still have. This is safe. This will be great.

Ready to take the last step into a relationship forbidden in my world, I reply "you know that could be fixed right here if you like." Chris is staring now at my raging hard. Again, I try to reassure his doubts about this situation, saying as I look down at my hard pushing through my trousers "well, you can see, I could stand to relieve the pressure too."

Also ready to cross a forbidden line in his outside world, he asks "and nobody will know?"

"Nobody will ever know. I took the liberty of locking the door, and there's nobody around. I rest my hand on his leg and promise "it'll be ok."

Chris' grin gives way to that pensive glare of arousal. A loaded train going 110 mph cannot stop this. Chris reaches down, and we hear that universal sound of impending carnal knowledge, a zipper traveling south. We stare into each other's eyes as I provide the echo with my zipper. Chris slides out a cut, smooth 8 inches surrounded by blonde pubes a shade darker than the golden yellow mop on his head. We both slowly stroke our dicks for a moment, as our comfort with the situation – or at least comfort with the knowledge that we can do this with no one else knowing, and I make the next move. I reach over and grip his hard dick, stroking the soft skin up and down the engorged vein, the workings of which he undoubtedly studied.

Feeling his soft skin encasing the hard core of his dick makes all my muscle contract into a squirm. I observe to myself that it's like any other, but if you have felt one, you want to feel them all.

Chris' long, thin fingers reach across and repeat on mine my motion on his. Staring again into each other's eyes, he deliberately begins leaning toward me, and I then toward him. We close our eyes, and Chris presses his full, moist lips to mine; tongues follow. Soft moans and hard breaths through our nostrils heighten our feast of human sensations.

After a reasonable exploration of each other's mouths with our tongues, I stand and take Chris' hand and lead him to edge of the glass. He is standing on a 500 foot cliff above the unknowing street life where we are poised to leap into sex that is forbidden in both our outward lives. I make the first physical move and remove his black polo shirt. There is a smattering of reddish blonde hair across his chest and a thin trail of the same color hair leading down from his navel to the top of his pants. I inhale deeply and plant my lips on his erect, brown right nipple. I hold it very lightly in my teeth and suck and stroke with my tongue. I repeat this treatment of his left nipple.

"God, that feels great," Chris responds.

We plant a long and hard kiss as only men can perform. I take a seat in a guest chair while Chris remains standing. I unbuckle his belt and unsnap his jeans. Turning him sideways to me, my hands slide his pants down; left hand gliding over those beautiful, round mounds that are his ass, and right hand pulls his cloths around that stiff 8 inch, now-horizontal pole, with a slight upward bend. He places his right hand on my shoulder and pulls off his shoes and pants into complete, beautiful nakedness. His darker reddish blonde hair trails across his genitals, around his smooth, plump ass and surround his long, legs down to his ankles. His large nuts pull his sack low. I turn his raging hard toward me and go to work. I slowly begin running my soft wet lips downward. That unmistakable male scent that slowly grows between a man's legs during a day is intoxicating. I'm giving the best blow job I know how to apply. His breathing tells me he's getting the best blow he ever had.

After a few minutes of this absolutely fine fellacio, I taste pre-cum. I take his nuts into my mouth one at a time as they slowly begin to tighten. I return to his pole and lightly nibble his vein with my lips and front teeth. I again take his dick into my mouth as he gently fucks my face.

I pull back and abruptly turn Chris so that he is facing the glass. I stand and push the back of his head toward the glass while holding his abdomen steady with my other hand. Chris braces himself by planting the side of his face and spread palms on the glass as he bends forward and spreads his legs. Chris can see the unknowing street life 500 feet below. I can see Chris' beautiful ass right before my face where I am again seated.

I grasp a warm, smooth ass mound in each hand and lean forward to run my tongue up and down this gorgeous ass cleavage covered with blonde fuzz, until I slowly – finally – spread his ass cheeks apart to reveal that small, pink hole. I pause a moment to let the warm light of the lamp display this supernal site of intimacy. Chris is expecting a finger or my engorged dick, but doesn't flinch. His heavy breath fogs the glass telling me he wants that which we know will follow. I surprise him as I attack the warm prey with my tongue. My tongue traces his wrinkled perimeter and then begins to catch and flick the small opening. My warm breath exhales heavily onto his hole. I begin to try and penetrate as far as I can with my tongue, but his tight sphincter muscle needs a more rigid tool for deeper penetration. Chris, with eyes open peering out the window, provides the instructions.

"Damn! Don't stop. Lick my anus. Push in. That's it."

We're both in a state of complete, uncontrollable lust, ready to fuck each other's brains out like Spock during mating season. My all-consuming lust controls my speech now and asks: "you want to be fucked good and hard?"

Chris, with hands imprisoned on the glass, turns his head to look back at me and his voice and blue eyes staring into mine pleads in a high-pitch voice I know is also consumed, "will you?"

"Lay on the sofa," I command. He immediately complies.

Chris lays face down on the sofa, his ass mounds pointing upward from the straight plateau of his tight body. I position my self on knees across his legs. I sheath and lubricate my mighty sword. I grab his waist, pulling that most fuckable ass into position. Chris lowers the small of his back, magnifying the roundness of his ass mounds and openness of his insides, inviting me inside him. Chris again turns his head to look in my eyes and visually communicate his need to be filled and fucked good and hard. My pole points the way as I lean forward. The tip of my pole docks with his anus. I gently press, resistance, and then my head slips in. The feeling almost causes me to unload.

Chris jerks his head back forward and up as his nerves communicate the searing pain. He holds his breath and exhales several times as the pain passes.

"Hold it – wait a second," he gasps between his pants. I comply.

"Go ahead."

With his uncommon knowledge of male physiology, Chris knowingly makes a low grunting sound and pushes his round ass back to open his inviting back door wider. My full length and breadth slowly slides in, deeper and deeper. This is a sphincter that has not been stretched, I think. Between deep, short breaths, he provides guidance by turning his head to look back at me again. He is in a state of ecstasy but manages additional instruction.

"Lift your body a little so you hit my prostate gland – that's it."

I start to fuck Chris with long, deep strokes, aiming the full insertion toward his prostate. I look at the blonde mop on his head, down his muscular back and see my pole buried completely to my pubic hair in his sweet ass. After a few minutes, I keep almost fully inserted and begin to pound his gut. Shock waves resonate with each stroke through his ass mounds and up to his back. Chris grunts with each stroke. I am consumed by the stimulation of the sights, the smells and the tight sphincter clamped onto my dick. I pound and pound his ass and begin sweating. After a while, I feel the electrifying current from the extremities of my body until I am engulfed in a magnificent orgasm, filling Chris' ass with all the cum loaded in my gun. I collapse on top of Chris, who is still on all-fours, as sweat drips from us both. We collapse together onto the leather cushions. We savor the moment with my dick still buried deep in his gut

"Jeeesuuus" is all I can muster.

Chris turns his face to the side to reveal a sublime grin.

"God, why did you stop?"

I stand, knees weak, and pull up on Chris. I take seat on the sofa and pull Chris astraddle me so that his dick and blonde pubes are staring me in the face. I start masturbating his 8 inch pole with my mouth and hand. Chris' dick becomes even harder. His male musk is stronger. I stick a finger into his freshly fucked ass, then two, to feel where my dick has been. He inhales deeply and moans softly. My face and right hand fucking his pole, while my left hand fingers gently message, soon pays off. In only a few minutes, the pleasure is too great, and Chris' load comes pouring into my mouth – bitter, viscous string-after-string across my tongue. I take every drop. Chris lowers his ass onto my lap and leans forward to kiss my mouth and taste his seed. We finally break off the kissing and sharing and gaze deep into each other's eyes. Our hair is wet with sweat, and we are still breathless. We both smile.

Still on fire from the lingering feel of his massive orgasm, he observes "that was awesome."

Still wobbly from my orgasm, I can only reply "no shit!"

After another decent make-out session, with Chris still on my lap, I take Chris' pole to measure his pulse. He's hard again.

"Fuck me – like I fucked you," I command. Chris abruptly finds his footing and grabs my hands, pulling me up. He pushes me into the glass on the cliff. I assume the position. Chris rolls on a condom which is stretched thin. He takes lube on two fingers and this soon-to-be doctor probes my hole repeatedly, deeply with one hand as the other presses my neck and face into the glass. Chris takes his hand from my neck and grasps my shoulder to pull himself closer. He begins inserting the biggest dick I have ever taken and slides in as I instinctively search in vain for relief by trying to grasp the surface of the polished glass, but it's too late. Pain radiates, and I gasp for air – relief. He returns the courtesy of allowing my sphincter to adjust and the pain to subside. Finally, it numbs with each deepening stroke. I can fell that he is fully in as his blond pubes brush against my ass. He begins pounding my ass unmercifully. My mind is a jumble of racing thoughts: fear that the force could shatter the glass, sending me over the cliff; the visualization of his thick, long rod plunging into my stretched hole; and just all-consuming lust wanting this feeling to last forever. Still in my position, I turn my head back and look into his eyes. We visually converse as my eyes plead for more, and Chris' responds with more forcefully filling and fucking me completely.