It Began at the Grocery Store

I considered all that happened in my thoughts. "What kind of man spends all his attention on my pleasure without asking for or expecting his own pleasure? But he really does look satisfied. Mark really knows what love is, and he loves me!" I drifted into a quick and contented sleep.

I woke up a few hours later to pee. Mark wasn't in bed. I relieved myself then went to find him. He was at the dining table writing something.

"Hey Meatball, whatcha doin'?"

"Sweetie! I hope I didn't wake you.

"No."

"I had some creative inspiration and had to write it down so I didn't forget."

I looked over his shoulder to see what he was writing. It looked like a strange language. I thought I'd see musical notes or lyrics. It was a series of numbers, some with dashes, others with small abbreviations next to them.

"Is that some kind of alien language? Are you from another planet or something?" I laughed.

"No." He chuckled. "It's called the Nashville Chord Number System. It lets me chart out a structure for a song without worrying about what key it's in."

"If you say so. I'm heading back to bed. Don't be too long -- the bed feels empty."

"I'm ready now. I have enough written down to rekindle my inspiration."

"If I wasn't so tired, I'd let you rekindle me!"

"Sweetie, you should save your energy for tomorrow. The pleasures have only begun."

*****

I woke up with Mark spooning me from behind. His hand cupped my breast, and his morning wood poked my butt through our underwear. I wanted to savor that feeling and hold it for hours, but with the morning came the need to pee. I carefully removed myself from his grip and shuffled to the bathroom while Mark continued to sleep. I brushed my teeth to alleviate potential dragon breath and climbed back into bed behind him. I always fantasized about how I would wake a gorgeous man sleeping next to me.

I snuggled, not wanting to wake him too early, and waited for signs of stirring. I spent ten minutes just enjoying the feel of him under my hands. When I felt him move to place his hand on mine - that was my queue.

I began lightly touching his back, the back of his legs, and his bum. I saw the goosebumps form as he rolled slightly towards his stomach to give me better access.

"Good morning Meatball."

"Oh yeah, it feels like a very good morning."

"Relax and let me play."

"I'm in your hands, Love."

My roving hands caused Mark to make the same kind of appreciative utterances that he makes when eating something he likes. I had no trouble determining what he really liked versus what was good, but just okay. He really liked the touch on the back of his legs and butt. His legs parted enough that I could draw my light touch across his balls over his underwear. His moan spoke of strong approval.

I removed the covers completely and slipped his underwear off. He was still on his stomach so I couldn't see what I so looked forward to. But from behind, I saw a beautiful, strong rear end, and powerful legs. I kissed while moving up the back of his legs, over his bum, and up his back until I reached his face. I wanted to kiss him and thought ahead of time he may worry about morning breath, so I slipped a mint between his lips and he thanked me appreciably as he turned on his back and kissed me good morning.

While we kissed, my hands moved down over his stomach and played with his pubic hair. He went to touch my breast, and I moved it away.

"My turn. Lay there and take it like a man!" He grinned widely and obeyed. "Good boy."

Still kissing him I toyed all around his manhood, grazed his balls making him shiver with delight. I moved my mouth down his neck and attacked a nipple as I reached his morning steel with a squeeze.

"Oh, wow!" he exclaimed with a groan of appreciation.

"Oh wow!" I said as I realized what I was holding. I had to inspect it.

Mark is definitely not Hunter's size. My hand wouldn't completely encircle it. I wrapped my hand around the base and the exposed portion above my grip was longer than Hunter's entire penis.

I began stroking and looked into his eyes. "You're one sizeable man, Mr. Danton!"

"Thanks, sweetie, but it's all yours."

"Have you ever measured it?"

"Every guy does."

"So?"

"It's just under eight and a half inches."

I was thrilled and concerned. "Would this sucker fit when the time comes?" I thought. I willed myself to make sure it did.

I continued to gently stroke. Mark was not a three-pump-and-done like Hunter. I kissed him and stroked him with varying intensity for over fifteen minutes as he wiggled and moaned. I fought the urge to push the boundaries but maintained my composure. I really wanted to taste him.

I moved to a sitting position so I could reach my new toy with both hands but still see Mark's face. With one hand I gently stroked him while fondling his balls. I never spent much time touching anyone's scrotum, and I was fascinated by how it felt. Occasionally I'd bring both hands to his dick and alternate between two-handed pumping and a twirling, twisting motion. His pre-come generated some lubricant but I added some coconut oil when I felt the friction was too great and might be getting uncomfortable. I alternated between one hand and two hands. My arms and hands were getting tired. I didn't care. I loved seeing the faces he made from the pleasure he was feeling. His moans and coos gave away everything he was experiencing. I had no trouble knowing what pleased him.

I sensed his back arch, his legs quivered, and his face contorted in the most adorable way. He was close, and I stepped up the pace to help him over the edge.

"Sweetie, I gonna come!"

He was warning me. He's so sweet and considerate. Mark was groaning louder and louder - then he let loose.

"Arrrrghhh.....! Oh, my. Arrrrrrrrrgh! AAAAHHHHH!"

He just kept squirting and coming with eight or nine large pulses. The strongest reached his neck. His stomach had beautiful globs pooling all around. His navel filled and looked like a little serving dish of pudding. Even more flowed back over him, down my hand, and though my fingers. I slowed my pace as he recovered and kissed his lips. His mouth and tongue attacked mine with surging passion.

I always thought men went limp shortly after coming, but Mark was still very rigid. I continued to lightly stroke, and then stopped when it seemed too much for him and just held it in my hand.

"You enjoy that?" I asked.

"That was more powerful than I've ever felt! Can we do this every morning?"

"Well we'll do it a lot other times of the day, but how about an every Saturday tradition for a wakeup call?"

"I vote yes. But what about you?"

"After last night, don't even think about it. This was your morning. But I have a question. I thought it would go down afterward. Why are you still stiff as a board? Do you need more attention?"

"No, I'm quite satisfied. My little guy has a mind of his own and will relax soon. But I can stay hard for a long time and can come four or five times before he gives up for the night."

"Oh, my. We are going to have a lot of fun in the sack, aren't we?"

"That's my plan."

"I think I'll fix some breakfast first, and then I think we should take a shower -- together of course. And then -- let's play." I gave him a huge smile as he pulled me on top of him into a deep and passionate tonsil tango. Our bodies smashed into each other and now seemed glued together by the copious amount of baby batter that Mark had produced.

As our lips parted, I suggested a change in the agenda.

"I think maybe the shower should be before breakfast. You've made quite a mess!"

"Sweetie -- I think you had a hand in that too."

That day was spent exploring, playing, kissing, and thoroughly enjoying each other. We stayed happily at second base. Oral pleasures were extremely tempting, but we held strong. This was the limit and we knew it. Our love grew exponentially. We were as much of a single body as we could be until the final lifetime commitment was made.

Mark knew how to build me into a series of orgasms, each stronger than the other teasing with the promise of the grand finale. And then it came. I came. A final, earth-shattering release would shake me to the core and steal my breath away. I would be completely spent. I now knew what La Petite Mort meant. My consciousness drifted on the edge. Like sleeping beauty, only Mark's kiss would bring me back among the living.

*****

Over the next several days, Mark and I drew even closer. Our make-out sessions became more intense and intimate.

The Wednesday of spring break week, I finally went to Mark's apartment and he was going to cook for me. He lived by himself only five blocks from my apartment. I was amazed at how spacious it was compared to my expectations for a college student living by himself. It was a large, open concept, two-bedroom loft complete with a grand piano.

While Mark prepared his specialty, Chicken Marsala, I sat at the piano and toyed with a few songs I knew from memory. He was sincerely impressed with my skills. The dinner was amazing, and even though he was the chef he still made the same appreciative noises and did the same happy dance. I tried to copy him but it was clear I was forcing it.

"Am I doing it?" he asked.

"Yep. But I can't get the hang of it. Can I just tell you it's amazing without sound effects?"

He laughed at me. "Always be yourself, Sweetie."

We cleaned up together, then I coaxed him to the piano.

"I need to hear you play right now."

"Not without motivation. I need those precious lips of yours."

I gladly paid the price.

Mark moved to the piano bench as I stood in the crook of the piano's body and watched. He smiled at me, then placed his hands in the ready position. His face took on a serious look with an almost pained appearance that was evidence of him focusing on his emotions as he prepared to pour himself into his art. He began. His hands floated over the keys, fingers flying with precision and feeling as he exposed his soul through his craft. His playing brought tears to my eyes. It was beautiful - I was experiencing a slice of heaven. When he finished, he looked drained of all energy as if he had run a marathon. I could see why he was so highly regarded by mentors and peers. Mark was beyond gifted. He was one with the music and the instrument.

"That was... I don't have words to describe how amazing you are! Look at me -- my face is a mess covered in tears."

He came to me and embraced me while kissing away the moisture on my face.

"I love music with all my being. It's a part of me just as much as bones, muscles, heart. But I love something even more... you!" His kiss was tender yet intense with deep feeling.

"Sweetie, I heard you play, but I want to hear you sing. I'll play for you. Do you have a song in mind?"

"Are you sure you want to hear me sing?"

"I bared my musical soul for you. I want to see yours."

"You don't have any of my music."

"I don't need it. What was the last song you sang in church?"

"It's called 'What a Beautiful Name.' Do you know it?"

"Sure. Do you know what key you sang it in?

"The original is in D, but I prefer Eb."

He began to play it as if he had the music in front of him and had practiced for weeks. I took a deep breath and began to sing. In the chorus, he sang harmony with me. I had goosebumps. This was another level where we connected. It felt as if we fit perfectly together.

When we finished, he turned with his legs straddling the bench and motioned for me to sit across from him. He grasped the back of my neck and pulled our lips together. I could tell it in his kiss -- he knew we had in common the things that mattered most to him -- to us. It felt as if music was the last key ingredient. Our love had a physical and spiritual singularity. We naturally belonged together. This was meant to be.

When our lips parted, I rested my head on his shoulder. I noticed the paper next to the music rack was the very one he felt compelled to write in the middle of the night several days ago.

"Mark, the song you were working on at my apartment... is that it?"

"Yes. I have the structure done and I'm starting to arrange it."

"Can I hear it?"

"The finished product is a surprise for you, so I won't play it yet."

"Why for me?"

"You inspired it."

"What do you mean?"

"How do I explain?"

He looked up as he considered what he needed to do to make me understand.

"As I touched you intimately for the first time, I watched and felt your passion build, and shared in each climax you experienced. Physical love like that is closely related to the structure of great music. Do you know what I mean?"

"I'm not sure. I think so."

"Let me show you."

He prepared to play the basic structure of the song with just his right hand while his left hand caressed me. He ran his hand through my hair as he started playing.

"The song starts in a minor key, making it feel very close and personal. This is the introduction. It's just like what I'm doing with your hair -- building the anticipation, soothing and stimulating at the same time -- preparing for what is to come. The first verse stays in minor but it's more intense - just like when I caressed your breasts like this."

His hands followed his words.

"The second verse immediately follows the first and repeats the feel of the first, but more intense like when I stimulated your paradise region. It's like foreplay - the stimulation constantly builds pleasurable tension."

His hands moved to follow his words again but remained over my clothes. The combination of the music, his words, and his touch were as powerful as skin to skin contact. I felt myself building towards a blissful release.

"The end of the second verse builds, creating tension still in a minor key. But the transition to the chorus builds just like when I rubbed your clit building you towards a climax. It builds and builds as the climax approaches. The chorus starts with a powerful chord in the minor, and changes to the major on the second note in the third beat giving you your release. It's powerful and lasts most of the chorus."

I felt everything he said. The climax was real, but he wasn't done.

"The chorus comes to an end on a soft major chord, then transitions into another verse in minor for more stimulation - preparing for the net climax at the repeat of the chorus."

I felt his words come to life within me.

"Then the foundation is set for the big one. The bridge is intense. It builds with a pedal tone -- the same bass note driving the emotion as the melody and harmonies build. The bridge leads to the last chorus with all the volume -- high intensity - and explodes into a rapturous climax and holds you there until it mercifully relaxes you as it moves to the end in a blissful afterglow. You're left in a euphoric state of contentment and peace."

"Oh my! How did you do that? How, with barely touching, did you give me so much pleasure?"

"If you think that was something, wait until you hear the finished product. When you do, think of all the things I just said. Imagine them happening... the touches... the caresses... all of it. Remember when you hear it that I poured all my love for you into it, and all my desire to please you."

We slept together that night in Mark's bed. I do mean slept. We cuddled, spooned, and surrounded ourselves in each other's love. We were happy and content.

*****

As difficult as it was for each of us to stay within the boundaries, the lines were never challenged. Mark and I shared the burden of exhibiting will power. Neither of us entertained the discussion of crossing the line. We knew once we talked about it, the line would be destroyed.

In the weeks that followed we were together almost every night -- usually in Mark's apartment. We were freely intimate. Mark loved to touch me, to give massages, and caress every part of me. With as much expertise as he exhibited playing the piano, his hands and fingers played me like a symphony.

Mark and I established favorites - Our favorite song, a favorite wine, a favorite time of day, favorite places to kiss, and favorite places to touch. We both enjoyed letting the other relax while we gave our lover stimulation ending in a passionate release. But those special times almost always ended with a joint effort. We grew skilled at bringing each other to a simultaneous mind-blowing final orgasm. Completely spent, we enjoyed the final dessert of passionately kissing, tasting each other's love. I wanted to be one with Mark more than anything I could imagine. We were almost there. I had no doubts that the day would come.

The following three weeks were heavenly. The semester was ending and Mark and I made summer plans. Most nights we slept together. We continued to show our love, our care, our passion. In our sleep, Mark's morning wood almost inadvertently crossed our boundaries several times. He decided to wear underwear to bed to be safe. I was not so encumbered. We stayed strong in our resolve. The next step may be a long way off but we can wait with the understanding that if that's where our love takes us -- it will be worth it.

Mark's concert day arrived. Mark invited my parents and sister to join me and his parents. It was the first time either of us has met the other's folks and we were doing it all at once. Knowing our families, we weren't worried.

The concert was Temple's School of Music's end-of-the-year recital. It was no small deal. It was held at The Academy of Music in Philadelphia. Mark's status as a featured artist afforded him a balcony section right next to the stage for his guests. We'd be able to watch his face from our seats.

At 4:00 the families met us at a great restaurant called Estia. It was right across from the stage door of the Academy. Mark's family frequented the restaurant when they attended concerts, and his dad was treating for the evening. Mark ate very lightly, not wanting to be too full before performing. The families blended together beautifully and had a great time teasing us both and sharing embarrassing stories about us.

Mark had to go to the theater at 6:00 to prepare for the 7:00 concert. At 6:45, the rest of us made our way to our seats. I had been to the Academy a number of times. It's where "The Nutcracker Suite" was performed every December. I saw "Wicked" twice -- my favorite musical. Every time I entered the hall I would scan the beautiful architecture in amazement. It was modeled after famous opera halls in Europe.

The concert began with full orchestra and choir performing a Samuel Barber piece. In the third piece, Mark was featured along with a classical guitarist playing a challenging version of "Asturias." I watch Mark's every movement. He poured himself into it and performed magnificently. He played without music in front of him. He explained that having to rely on music sapped the emotional content from the performance. Tears gave away that fact that I could feel the depths of his immersion into the music.

The concert was magnificent and varied between orchestral and choral offerings. Mark and the guitarist were two of only five featured artists. Marks primary feature piece was the last on the program. The song was an orchestral transcription with piano soloist called "All of Me" by Jon Schmidt. Again, I was touched to the core by the emotional impact.

I was not prepared for what came next.

As the standing ovation died down, the conductor made an announcement.

"Ladies and gentlemen. We are honored tonight to offer a unique encore. Three weeks ago Mark Danton, who you just enjoyed at the piano, approached me with an original piece completely orchestrated and ready for performance. I normally wouldn't consider such a late addition, but it is such a marvelous work that I had to include it. I invite you to enjoy -- 'For the Love of Amy' by Mark Danton."