Mikey and the Chickadee Ch. 11

"Right," he said. "Title track. Man, you know your music. I bet you've got it on vinyl, too, huh?"

"In fact, I do. Is that alright with you?"

"Of course. I would expect nothing less from a good hipster like you."

"Fuck yeah," I said, flicking through my phone, ignoring his bait.

He tapped me on the shoulder and I twisted myself around to face him. "I kind of want to suck you off now," he said.

"Kind of?"

"I've been wanting to all day."

"Okay," I said. "That is certainly something we can do-right here, you mean?"

He sat up on the couch, square in the middle and motioned me over. "If it works here, the yeah."

I listened for any measure of hesitation in his voice, but there was none. I rose up and felt myself through my pants with one hand, outlining for him the growing presence that waited underneath. I laughed quietly at the absurdity of putting on this kind of show for him.

"I really think I'm ready for this," he said.

"I know. I trust you when you say you are. Do you want to take your shirt off? I don't think I'll have any trouble finishing and I'm not sure where you want it to go."

He began to undress his upper-body. "On my chest, I guess."

"Okay," I said, unclasping my belt.

Now with his broad chest exposed, he looked up at me with the surrendering expression of a person who places the whole of their security into the hands of another. I removed my pants and stood before him in my t-shirt and underwear.

"I'm glad to see you're ready for this, too," he said, looking down at my middle section.

I peered down and then back at him. I tore my underwear to the floor and stepped out of them. I then took two steps forward and straddled him on the couch, half-kneeling in order to level myself with him. His mouth was no great distance from me now; he placed his hands at my hips and pulled me just slightly toward him. Because my cock stood straight out when erect and did not tend toward either the right or left, there was almost no space left between me and him. I looked up so that he could feel more fully an unattended freedom to explore. I no longer saw him, but felt the warm, wet inside of his mouth suddenly envelop me.

He pulled back after a very short time and laughed. "Man, this is crazy. I don't know...it feel so much bigger in my mouth."

I looked back down at him. "Don't do anything you don't want to."

"Are you kidding?" He took me between his lips once again, evidently caring little about whether or not I watched.

I could see now how he tested this new and peculiar circumstance with evenhanded, glimmering curiosity and an absolving lack of shame. With Mikey, more than with anyone else, I had noticed that a staggering majority of my pleasure during intimacy had so far been derived from a conceptual premise. As a habit I thought a lot-too much, to be sure. During sex, I thought about Mikey, about the man he was in an ideal sense (indeed, how ludicrously hot) and related it to his present actions. I had grown so attracted to him that, although he had absolutely no clue yet how to handle me inside his mouth, the sheer concept of being within his warmth, in this way, saw me profoundly stimulated.

He pulled back from me and laughed again. "Fuck, Chickadee. How the fuck do you do this? It's hot as hell for me, but I can tell I'm not doing shit for you."

"Yes you are. You don't have to take it very far in. Just keep sliding it in and out. That's all I need, I promise."

With renewed confidence he did as I had described. Already I felt an inevitable storm mounting inside me and knew that I would not last much longer. All at once he slowed, gripped me more firmly at my hips and beckoned me into him. I felt my length move with a soft pop, cleanly back into his throat; he had all of me now, his lips arriving with finality at my base. He gagged plainly but not distressingly and released me.

Something about him seemed fulfilled now as he returned to his earlier motions, and this sent me precisely over the edge. I warned him and tore myself away. I did not stroke but aimed downward, let out a short vocal gasp and shot myself over an extensive portion of his chest. At first we had made brief, fierce eye contact, but then he laid his head back and closed his eyes as I emptied onto him.

When it was all over I stood and stepped back. He looked down at himself, immediately took down his own pants and began to jerk himself with great fury. I stood in silence and watched him pleasure himself. I don't believe I would have had the ability to do anything else; I was transfixed during this very brief period, at the end of which his seed exploded forth, mixing in over and over with my own and canvasing the shadowy expanse of his chest. He let out a tiny whimper as the event occurred and then lay back, still fraught with small spasms.

The next moment basked in a faint afterglow. Mikey did not say a word and I didn't feel the need to speak to him. Many seconds passed in this way before I moved toward him and offered to help him clean up.