I Want His Touch

I started early. Sprawled on my back, on my bed, robe open, cock out. My bedroom was dark and quiet. I smoked a joint and the dirty air filled my lungs and that calmed me. I closed my eyes and exhaled the fumes. I touched my cock. I pulled the skin of my shaft tight. I stroked my balls. I tugged on my pubes.

It's been a long fucking time, I thought.

Too fucking long. Six months fucking long. I'd been stuck in this house on account of the 'rona and the HIV and the risks and the precautions and the blah blah blah blah blah.

I was craving a fuck like I used to get. You know the kind—Rough. Hot. Sweaty. Smelly.

All I got these days were walls closing in on me and the stroke of my hand.

Ugh.

I took another hit of the joint.

Fuck.

*******

I used to have a lot of sex.

Like—a lot of sex.

Once, back when things were—you know—normal, I was fucking this trick on my bed and doing him real good. He was a petite thing I met on the apps. He messaged me 'cause he liked my muscles, then begged me to fuck him after he saw my cock. So he came over that night, and I had him on his back a minute after he walked through the door. His legs were over my shoulders. I fucked him hard. He was moaning. He was yelling. I drilled into him, hitting his prostate just right. When he was close to coming, he yelled out: "How!"

How what? I kept fucking. He elaborated between moans. "How do you know?" As in: how do I know how to fuck him so good? How do I know what spots to hit to make him come just from my cock up his ass, stretching him out, filling him up...

"Practice, baby," I replied, myself sweating from the exertion. "Lots of practice."

He kept moaning. Then he moaned louder. Then louder. He smiled wide, teeth showing, tongue almost falling out of his mouth like a dog. The cum oozed out of his cock like a slowly erupting volcano, and the high-pitched sounds of the orgasm left his mouth several seconds later.

*******

I had another regular who I used to face fuck a lot. He would come over and we'd sit on the couch and smoke a joint and watch TV. Then he'd pull my pants down and lick my balls and put them in his mouth. He'd work his way up my shaft and suck the head and swirl his tongue. He'd end up on his back too, but I didn't fuck his ass. I would stay at his mouth, fucking the wet hole. My balls used to slap against his chin, and that felt good. When I was about to come, I'd pull out and jack off on his face.

He'd look at me and smile.

Yum.

*******

Nowadays, I didn't fuck anyone. Not in the ass, not in the face. It had been six months of jacking off to porn and sexting with strangers on the apps. I had them all: Grindr, Scruff, Jack'd, the rest. I got a good stream of dick pics from hot guys and less hot guys, and every night I'd jack off to them telling me how much they wanted to fuck. Some of them were serious. Some of them begged. But I knew the risks. I followed the rules. I always resisted.

Well... until today.

*******

He was on his way.

I lay on my bed, sprawled on my back, robe open, cock out. I took another puff off the joint. I felt chill, and even so my heart was skipping. Anticipation filled my stomach. Soon there'd be a hot stud here in the flesh. Soon the drought would be over. We might touch. We might kiss. We might fuck. We might...

A tapping sound. Several more taps.

I sat up on the bed. I looked to the source of the noise. The blinds were closed over the sliding glass door. Another tap on the glass.

I stood up, put the joint on the nightstand, and closed my robe. I walked to the sliding door and pulled back the curtain. Sunlight poured into the bedroom. A man stood before me.

He was taller than me. Thirty something to my forty something. Black hair, tan skin. He had on a wife beater, and his sizable pecs pulled taught its fabric. His six-pack was visible. His biceps were big.

He had a black face mask and wore basketball shorts, and the outline of his cock ran down his right leg. It looked stiff. Already hard. Constrained to his body by the encasing of his shorts. His hand came over his cock and he rubbed it.

I touched my own cock, which was stiffening against the weight of my cotton robe. He smiled at me; eyes locked to my crotch.

Fuck, it felt good to see him. This stranger, with his muscles and his lust, was something I'd missed over the past months. Human contact.

Or—almost human contact.

I let my robe fall open, and my cock sprung before me. The tip of the head nearly hit the glass door. His brow furrowed, and his gripped tightened around his own cock. I hadn't even touched myself again, but my cock was already twitching.

He reached for the door handle and placed his hand over its metal grip. He looked at me with raised eyebrows. It was a question. Can I? it asked.

I looked at his hand. My chest rose and fell with an exaggerated pace because of the excitement. The exhilaration. The yearning...

I wanted to let him in. I wanted him to slide the door open so I could grab him and throw him on the bed. So I could rip off his clothes and eat his ass and slide into him. I wanted to make him scream in ecstasy, to beg for more, to shoot his load all over his chest and stomach and face.

But...

I put a balled fist against the glass door. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

I shook my head.

My eyes opened. I'd told him before he came that I couldn't. Or that I shouldn't. My fucking immune system, this fucking virus.

Well, both of the fucking viruses.

The man on the other side of the glass nodded. He understood. He was cool with it.

He pulled his wife beater off and then his shorts and underwear. He stood before me naked, except for his sneakers and his mask. The sun shone like spotlight behind him, and his shadow fell over half of my body.

His dick jutted out, curved to the right. His balls were big and hung heavy between his legs. His black pubes were trimmed short.

Fuck, he looked good.

I gave him a thumbs up. Though we would have been able to hear each other through the glass, neither of us spoke. I twirled my finger, motioning for him to turn around. He turned and looked back at me over his shoulder. I made a motion of my cupped hands parting, as though I were spreading the cheeks of an invisible ass. He bent forward slightly and spread himself open. I crouched down to my knees and marveled at his pink hole. Hairless and tight. Spread slightly open by the force of his pull. It contracted with the pulse of his excitement, and his smooth balls hung nicely between his legs.

I put my fingers against the glass, as if they could break through the barrier and press against his flesh. The coolness of the glass against my fingertips contrasted against the heat my mind expected to feel at the sight of an eager, pulsing asshole.

The man turned, and I was face to face with his cock. His hand pumped the skin of the shaft, and pre-cum wet the tip of the head. He slapped his cock against the door, and the fluid dotted the glass. I stood and did the same. Our cocks, though separated by the transparent barrier, felt connected through the vibrations caused by the blows. The movement stimulated the underside of my cock, and when we struck the door simultaneously, it was as though we were touching. I could feel him, even though I couldn't touch him.

We rubbed our cocks against the glass, and my pre-cum acted as lubrication that smoothed the movements.

The man pulled back, and he jacked himself off slowly in the sun. The greenery of grass and trees in my backyard created a smeared green background while I focused on the manly specimen in front of me. I yearned to get on my knees and suck his cock. He rubbed the head and breathed deeply as he did. I continued rubbing the underside of my cock head against the glass.

I moved back down to my knees. It was almost instinctive to fall to this kneeled position in the presence of a beefy, masculine form. I jacked off my cock and imagined his member against my lips. Sliding deeply into my throat. My mouth opened. My tongue pushed out.

The stranger's eyes crinkled, and I could tell he was smiling beneath his mask. He walked towards the sliding glass door. He jacked his cock harder, and his legs tightened. His knees locked. His hips pulsed forward as he pumped his cock, as though he were sliding in and out of an ass instead of his hand.

My cock pulsated, and I could feel the start of an orgasm in my clenched ass, my tightening taint, my aching balls. The smell of my ripe scrotum permeated with every pump of my cock.

The stranger contorted his eyebrows. He looked at me, nodding. His pendulous balls swung back and forth as he fucked his hand. The tip leaked clear fluid.

He grunted. His open hand fell against the glass door, and he held himself up by his arm as the balls of his feet raised from the ground. For first time, he made a noise. A loud grunt. A mumble of incoherent words. A final yell.

Ejaculate shot in spurts onto the glass. The man's cock was like a water gun, spraying its liquid in spurts. His face scrunched up in pleasure. His balls swung between his legs. His cock shot its load in plentiful bursts. All this visual pleasure hit me like an electrical jolt, and I looked down to see my cock point straight up at my face. My hand pumped it only once more before a load of cum shot from its hole. The shot caught me by surprise, and I barely had a moment to close my eyes as the fluid hit my face. I pointed my cock away, letting the remaining squirts hit the door and fall to the carpet. It was then that the orgasm hit me, and I felt the aching pleasure roll through my cock and extend across my body.

I wheezed through the pleasure, opened my eyes, and looked up at the man. His cock was plump, and fluid coated the tip. He looked down at me.

"Fuck," he said.

I wiped my face with my hand, and my sweat and cum smeared across my skin.

Rough. Hot. Sweaty. Smelly.

I smiled.

"Fuck is right," I replied.