Glances, Men Pt. 02

"I don't think this will work. It's not your fault, you are a very nice man. I just don't know what I want. Maybe I will figure it out someday. But I want to thank you. I enjoyed the conversation."

"I did, too" he said. "But I got up early to make the coffee. So, I think you owe me a favor."

"Of course" I said. I felt bad that I had led him on, but relieved that this encounter was nearly complete and I could go back to real life.

"Just show me what I am going to miss." He took me by the hand and led me to the stairs. He turned and walked up. I looked up at him, frozen. This wasn't going to work. I had finished it, said goodbye. Then my feet moved forward and I found myself climbing the stairs behind him, my heart suddenly thumping. What was this? Could he be a killer, enticing seekers and then garroting them in the stillness? What was I doing? My feet were moving on their own.

It was dark in the hallway. There was a bedroom to the left as we reached the top of the stairs. He didn't stop there. He rounded the corner and went down the hall. There was a bathroom directly ahead. I could see the light reflected on old white tile. Bedrooms were to the left and right. He paused at the door of the one on the right and I stopped behind him. He gestured at the striped coverlet on a neatly-made double-bed. I wondered if he had slept here last night, or if he reserved it for something else. A clock on the nightstand next to the bed radiated the time in blue light. It was wrong by several hours. The room was bathed in soft orange light from the rising sun. The furniture was in keeping with the house, old and dark and solidly built.

"Why don't you take off your shirt and let me see what you look like" he said. "That's really all I need." His eyes twinkled in amusement and the corners of his mouth turned up in a knowing smile. I considered his request as my fingers went of their own volition to my collar and loosened my tie. I removed it, looking at him. I turned and placed it on the bureau. I unbuttoned my collar and slipped the suspenders from my shoulders and let them hang at my side. I finished unbuttoning my shirt, and pulled the tails from my trousers. Then I took it off slowly. I laid it atop my tie. I turned back to him, avoiding his eyes, looking down.

"Thank-you." He said. His voice was soft and reassuring. I crossed my arms across my chest, self-conscious and feeling vulnerable. The room was warm and still, the smell of the old house mixed with something else, something vaguely familiar. Like Old Spice. The pause was awkward. I took a step toward him and he matched it. His arms came around me. I tensed and then slowly relaxed in his arms and laid my head on his shoulder. I drank in the smell of him. There was soap there from his shower and the Old Spice. There was something else, too, a musk that was deep and rich and multi-textured.

We stood that way for a long time, I don't know how long. I drank in the smell of him. My heartbeat began to return to normal, and in a very natural way my right hand reached out and gently felt out his manhood. He responded. This too went on for a long time. I marveled at the weight and mass. I could feel him swell against my fingers and I could feel myself respond in kind. His smell was intoxicating. This was not a fevered rush. It was a blossoming. My head came up from his neck, eyes closed, and my lips sought his. I brushed the short stubble on his cheek from his morning shave They were full lips and they opened to meet me. Our tongues met, gently probing. I tasted coffee and the cigarette and warmth of his saliva. Contained in the kiss was an offer and an acceptance. At the right moment our embrace loosened and he took off his tee-shirt. I unfastened my trousers and let them fall to the floor. He unbuttoned his shorts and skinned them off.

He wore white briefs and the bulge of his penis distended them in the front. I dropped my boxers on the trousers and we stood and looked at one another, wordless. He hooked the top of the elastic with his thumbs and peeled them down. The tip of his penis was the first exposed, then the dark mass of his pubic hair and finally his balls. His cock stood out proudly, arcing up to the right from his trim belly. I stepped to him and cupped his balls with my hand. They had a velvety feel beneath the coarse texture of his hair. They moved smoothly and independently under my touch. I caressed his shaft.

From the base to the tip he seemed enormous, and the glans was fat and assertive. It appeared thicker at the end, thicker than the base even before the pouting shape of the helmet. It was a wonderful and hypnotic sight. "May I kiss it?" I asked. It sounded ridiculous to me, surreal, the words floating there in the air. I hadn't come here for this, had I? This was too fast.

"Of course" he answered. I sank to my knees, eager to examine this marvel. At eye-level he was even more massive. I ran my tongue along the length of him, delighting in the texture of the veins and ridges. I was careful not to take him entirely in my mouth. I was concerned about ingesting his semen. I wanted this to be safe. I licked him like a child would lick an ice cream cone. I kissed his balls, tentative at first, but with growing confidence as his hips squirmed in delight. "You like this, don't you?' he said. I nodded against the mass of him, inarticulate, my nose filled with his smell now ripe. It welcomed my lips and began to fill my senses fully.

At some point, and I am not sure how, he was seated on the bed, my face buried in him. And then he was reclined, me on my knees, suckling on his balls, first one and then the other. His shaft was moist and slippery with my spit, and I stroked him until the spit dried and became sticky. He stopped my hand. I was afraid I had done something to displease him. I looked up apprehensively from my work on his testicles and I saw him smile. "You have to keep it wet, silly." He scooped a gob of saliva from his mouth with his fingers and ladled it onto his penis. "Now" he said. "Nice and slippery."

It was. I made a mental note. I stroked him with more urgency. My erection waved between my knees. When it brushed the bed it gave me an electric shock. He gripped my shoulders, trying to bring me up on the bed next to him but I shook my head against his genitals. I wanted him to come first and I knew that I would climax quickly. He relented and stroked my shoulders instead. I felt him stroke my hair and I could feel him coming near and then he shuddered and my fingers and hand were coated with his ejaculation and spurts of ropy white jetted over his belly. I slowed my rhythm as he softened, continuing to nuzzle his testicles. Then I traced my forefinger through his jism. Then I caressed his belly with my palm, rubbing it in. I kissed his balls in farewell and rose to my feet. "I need to be going" I said. "I don't want to be late." I glanced at the clock, trying to correct its erroneous message to the actual time. It was disorienting. I felt giddy from what I had done, still aroused. My erection arced up and away from my body. I could taste him on my lips.

"Not so fast. Come here." He gripped my hand and pulled me to the bed. I laid down as he scrunched up beside me. I tensed, uncertain what he wanted of me. He surprised me by rolling on top of me. I spread my legs so our groins came together, him soft now and me hard. He kissed me hard and I opened my mouth to welcome him. He pressed his tongue deep into my mouth. His weight was all on me and he pinned me, leaving me helpless. I wrapped my legs around him and hugged him hard against me. I began to move my hips in the primeval way and my cock felt the sticky residue of his come, imprisoned between our bellies. I felt myself rising and bucked frantically against him until I too erupted, flooding us. I clutched him in the afterglow of my climax. "My God," I whispered.

"Yes indeed" he whispered back in my ear. "Yes, indeed."

After a time he pried himself from me and rose. He walked out of the bedroom and opened a closet next to the bathroom door. He pulled out a towel, pink and thick, and tossed it to me on the bed. I could not move. "Blue for boys" he said with a grin. I think I blushed.

I don't recall much about dressing. When we were once more in the foyer I kissed him chastely on the cheek. "Can I see you tomorrow?" I asked.

"Tomorrow isn't good. Wednesday?"

"Same time?"

"That would be fine."

I counted the hours.

Wednesday scared me and Wednesday drew me to it. Wednesday I tried to swallow his cock, all of it down my throat. Wednesday I wanted him to come in my mouth and flood me with his juice. Wednesday I bucked my hips against him and I knew with crystalline clarity that I wanted him to fuck me, to split me open, ram that bludgeon of his into my ass and shoot his load into me. Wednesday I realized I was out of control and Wednesday scared me shitless. Wednesday he was good and in control and he didn't do any of it. But the speed with which I raced through the mental barriers I had established filled me with despair and plunged me into depression. I didn't call him for months. I went back to my normal routine. I destroyed my list of men and resolved not to succumb to the heaviness in my loins. Never again, I resolved. I had no will power. It was straight to AIDS and straight to hell unless I could control myself.

I couldn't, of course. But I tried. In the Spring I called him again. He did not seem surprised to hear from me. Cool on the phone. I told him I was determined to have a relationship in which I could manage my lust. On the first visit we had coffee and I told him I was going to try to be adult about our friendship. He nodded and smiled and as I left he pressed himself against me and I felt his arousal. It was two more morning coffees before I begged him to come on my face, and he obliged with a smile. Two more visits and I was I lying across him on the floor of his finished basement rec-room, nude, a political debate in the TV in the background. I licked and slurped him to a climax and captured the warm salty semen in my eager mouth. It was good beyond my wildest dreams and thereafter no visit was complete with the taste of him on my lips and palate, and the taste of me in his mouth joined in a sloppy sperm-filled kiss.

We never did have anal sex, though we tried. The visit after that he taught me to lubricate his shaft carefully as he instructed me on safe sex procedures. I rolled the condom down over the glans and carefully down the shaft. He could not penetrate me though, because I was too tight and his erection not firm enough to skewer me properly. But I resigned myself to pleasing him orally. I was his cock-sucker and that was good enough for both of us. I came to pride myself on my prowess. We found the position that we liked the best. He would straddle my chest and rest his weight on the headboard. Then he would lower his cock to my mouth and then fuck my face. I could grip his firm buttocks, massaging the globes. He liked it as I learned to take both orbs into my mouth at once, gently sucking on them and rolling my tongue against their surface. His fat penis would wander over my nose and forehead. I loved the sensation of its heaviness.

After he came he would sometimes turn around and fellate me as I sucked on his softened penis. He liked it when I sucked him when he was soft. But above all, I loved it when he rested between my legs and I could feel the weight of him pressing against me, taking me, as he rode me to completion.

It was the perfect relationship. He had no need of me, no craving my constant company the way a woman does. The craving was physical, the heaviness of our desire in synchronization once or twice a week. Casual, with an intellectual appreciation of the political life in our town. Politics and jism. Perfect. But he moved away, for the lights of a resort town and a more casual retirement with another lover who was not closeted. I was devastated. I had found security and fulfillment at the end of his penis, and I did not have the heart to start the hunt again. I saw him once more. His lover had died, not of the plague but of Parkinson's, and he had a prostate cancer scare which left him healthy but impotent. I sucked his balls once more, for old time's sake, and he was encouraged by a mild surge of blood to his once-proud cock. He took me in his mouth and brought me to climax and then filled my mouth with his tongue and my juice. It was almost as good as his.

And that is how I found myself cruising through the classified ads. I decided on the "Glances- Men" section. I composed this, and felt a familiar tension in the pit of my stomach : "Transfer to the Red Line 11/17. Your dark eyes met mine. You asked where I was going and I said "Uptown." I should have gone with you. You recently changed careers. We should talk soon. Coffee?"

I ran the ad for two weeks. In the end, that was twice what was necessary. Having fired him, I thought it would be useful to play the submissive and submit to his mastery. You would have been right to imagine me on my knees between his, his average-sized dick deep in my mouth. His dick might not have enormous, but he must have cum a quart when he demonstrated his mastery of me. Actually, I loved taking him all warm in my belly and listen to the nasty little insults he chose to throw at me.

We moved that along, and while I don't think either of us considered a real long-term relationship, we did get to some fascinating parts of our sexuality. I found, to my surprise, that I enjoyed being punished by spanking before he reamed me a new and larger asshole, or that the most tender abasement I could generate was cleaning his cock with my tongue, taking his millions of sperm directly to my tummy.

That lasted a few years, and I hope he was able to work through his bitterness to the company. If not, I would be happy to submit to him again.