Maé Pt. 01

There is a small landing at the top of my building's staircase, rising above the 4th floor (where I live), that exits to the rooftop. The door to the roof is, understandably, alarmed; but unlike other buildings I've lived in, the landing itself is not monitored by some ear-splitting, motion-detected alarm. This affords a small, removed space that is detached from the usual doings of the building (not that there are many) and that I sometimes claim as an extension of my own apartment: I've taken the random morning coffee up there while the sun begins to spark its daily fire through its gabled skylight, and I also sometimes use it simply as a reading nook.

The small dinner party I had hosted for Braxton's birthday had been going on for a few hours, now. Somewhere around midnight Maé and I found ourselves alone in the kitchen, while rest of the party (by now chatty and happy with tunes buoying a serene mood) seemed to unintentionally close itself off into a circle in the living room, leaving us leaning against the counter, talking about the random introductory nothings two people talk about after having met a few drinks before.

Maé was tall and thin, an avid runner, his bleached blonde hair stylishly cut short. He wore a thin, knee-length, spaghetti-strapped, flower-print summer dress baked in yellows that showcased his clear shoulders and fine, long neck. He wore a shimmery pink lipstick, his make-up an elegant, lightly-sparkled touch. After a while, holding coupe glasses in desperate need of refilling and chatting casually, the conversation turned, as naturally can at a party, lightly flirtatious and giggly. His laugh was elegant, shy, his features feminine, graceful.

An awkward moment presented itself: I had, in the midst of telling the climax of some stupid anecdote, taken one of his elbows in my hand, and drawn him closer in order to divulge the punchline. His turned towards me, and I was surprised to discover his stiff member drawing the dress away from his body. A moment. Maé turned red and apologized, trying to bend the unbending stick in some less attentive direction, which only made it seem to persist in its forward posture. He bade me continue the story; I realized my hand was still at his elbow. After another moment's silence we both withdrew a half-step and stumbled apologies over each other, but then another moment of silence passed, and I was suddenly trying to manage a racing pulse.

"Should we join the others?" I said, motioning with my glass, not knowing anything else to say.

"Well...I...think it's obvious I'd rather stay with you," he said, looking down.

A third moment.

By now our hands free hands were on the countertop, and I slid mine over his, partly to assuage the awkwardness, partly because he was so beautiful.

What to do? I glanced into the party, a rolling boil of chatter and laughter in the other room. Deering was retelling one of his greatest hits, exaggerating the usual points to make a dull story quite enthralling. They'd be listening to him for another hour.

"Come with me," I said, thankfully struck by some divine inspiration.

We left out the kitchen door to the back hallway that accessed the aforementioned staircase, my leading Maé up by the hand. We climbed to the removed landing at the top, and it wasn't until we stopped our small hike and looked at each other that we realized we were still holding on to our (empty) glasses. We laughed nervously.

I clumsily introduced the space to him. The coffee, the reading.

A moment of indecision was masked by us both quietly discussing the "landlord yellow," slightly crummy landing the way one regards the Parthenon, or a nice painting.

"Your dress is beautiful," I finally said, once our review of the landing was exhausted.

"I love it," he said, looking down at it, pulling the hem out to display it. "Spring, you know." He let go of the hem and it fell, once again, to outline his erection. He looked up at me in the dimness of the staircase, and smiled shyly. He stepped close to put his hands on my chest.

We kissed. It was delicate, light, and I tasted the liquor of our previous drinks. I could smell a light fragrance on him, sweet, young. Spring, you know. The muffled beat of the music and the muffled chatter of our friends came from below. I took our glasses and placed them by the forbidden roof door, and then we took up the kissing again, my hands cradling his head, my thumbs brushing his cheek. I moved to his neck, long and fine, kissing the area under his earlobe, along the jawline.

Both of us were shivering: spring was technically here, yes, but the nights were still chilly. His lean, stringy body wrapped its arms around me, his hardness bending away against my thigh as he pressed to me. My own developing stiffness was angling in a separate direction, down my pants-leg. I took off my sport coat and put it around his shoulders, and we sat down next to each other, backs against a wall, and continued our sweet, elegant kisses, soon twisted at the hips. Soon our tongues began to involve themselves, and our breathing escalated.

"Are you too cold?" I asked.

He shook his head.

More kissing. I felt the sinews of his neck, his lean, feminine arms. We were like high schoolers making out for the first time. As he was to my right, I let my left arm explore further down his torso, while my right hand caressed his cheek. His skin was hairless, smooth, lissom. I slipped the right strap of his dress off his shoulder, and ran my hand against his chest, letting my thumb rub his right nipple into hardness.

His whimpers, his breathing, all exquisite. Slowly, my left hand began to trace down his side, along the outside of his thigh, feeling the fabric of his dress, then down his calf, and then, as he spread his legs slightly, I slowly traced my hand back up along the inside of the same thigh.

But slowly, slowly. Nothing rushed, my fingers spider-like.

"Please," he whispered. "Please," he begged.

He drew his knees up and apart, letting his dress slip down his thighs to his waist, and he scooted his butt a bit forward from the wall, exposing his shining, immaculate member. It was rod-straight, and no longer than 5 inches, at most. His balls clung close, two little hairless buttons. I traced lines around the base of his penis, played spider's-legs around those little balls, setting his stick twitching. I traced wide circles up and down his thighs, teasing him. He was now twisted towards me, his face in the crook of his neck, and he circled my shoulders with his frail arms while I suddenly grabbed a hold of his cock, taking the length of it in my hand in a surprise move, and squeezing.

His pleasured yelp seemed to echo down 4 flights then run back up the staircase to us, and he instantly put his hands to his mouth, his look of shock at what had just happened. I stifled a laugh, which put him at ease, and finally he laughed as well, and then I rotated my grip and squeezed harder, and his laughter became ecstasy, seemingly taking all the breath from him, and then he assailed me with kisses on my own neck as his hands caressed my face.

I could feel a few droplets of his fluid, and I used it to lube his short length. I slowly continued to rotate my grip with its new slipperiness, while my other hand replied to his caresses. He took great breaths through his nose as we kissed, and he tried to spread his legs farther, moving his hips to my rotating grip, slowly up, slowly down.

"Please." He kept repeating, dreamily. "Please."

I took such pleasure in his moans, in stroking him off to the sound of his breathing, the scent of his perfume, the squeeze of his hands.

Slowly up, slowly down.

He pulled his head away, his hands came to a stop, he seemingly stopped breathing, and his mouth opened while he pushed out his hips and came, great streams of jizz slapping at the wall opposite us. He convulsed, he whimpered, and then he drew his knees together, turned against me, and squeezed his arms around me in the midnight chill. His breathing steadied, and we spent what seemed to be another hour slowly kissing, embracing, kissing, nuzzling.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" I finally asked.

"Nothing."

"Stay with me tonight."

"As long as we don't have to sleep here, too," he said. We laughed, and kissed.

"Let's get back to the party," I said, and he nodded. We stood, and leaned against the wall, lingering with our arms around each other for a bit, then I led him by the hand back to the party.