Running Blind

(Sequel to "Running on Empty")

I was out running alone, at one of the city's parks. It was the coldest night of the year – so far, I tell myself. My breath was getting shallow, but still put out healthy puffs of steam as I willed my legs to keep going. I knew it was going to be five degrees out, so I dressed for it. Nice and thick black runner's pants, still skin tight but meant for winter running. My legs kept toasty and felt tight and fast, and the pants showed off some nice muscles for a guy with a desk job. The pants had long silvery reflective stripes that seemed to slide from my ankles all the way up the sides of my legs to my waist. I also wore a looser matching running jacket on over the Under Armour shirt clinging to my torso. I'm Batman, I laugh to myself.

This was my first year trying to run outside all winter. Friends told me I was insane for doing this, but none of them run. Sure, it's harder than warm-weather running; the air stabs at your lungs, your breath freezes any protection you give your face against the cold, and your jaw aches as you start to thaw out after. But there's something very satisfying I get from the run, and the bragging rights are nice. It's gratifying to hear "Wow, you ran outside last night?" from someone who might be admiring your legs.

My left foot slipped on an icy patch – I caught myself before falling. It threw off my cadence but I recovered a few steps later. I shook my head at the voices within telling me that this is crazy. If I'm going to injure myself, at least it's doing something I love.

It wasn't long before I found my stride again, this time with a more careful eye on the ground. The warmth my body generated gave me a nice glow against the night's cold. I could feel a few beads of sweat leaking from my skin, which were quickly slurped up by the dry air. I traded nods with the few other runners I pass on the trail; there's a certain solidarity built into running that gets magnified under such extreme conditions. An acknowledgement of our membership in a strange runner's union.

My breath was coming harder, shallower. I slowed to a jogging pace, and noted that I ran roughly a 5k that night. Time to call it and start my cool-down. In some ways walking isn't as easy, but at least the body is still warm enough for a while to stave off the shivers. Shortly I noticed that someone else was not far behind, also walking.

"Good run?" he asked, trying not to freak me out.

I turn my head to see who's speaking. I recognized him as one of the other runners I passed and slowed a little for him to catch up. He was an older guy, late 50s, so I didn't feel endangered; I've always felt more at ease with maturity. "Yes, but hard on the lungs after a while."

"The warm up is really important," he smiled warmly. "Breathing is the biggest reason people drop out of winter running."

I nodded. "What do you do for warm ups?"

"I start with some yoga inside. Put on my running pants and shirt so I can get them nice and warm, and do some postures that get the blood flowing. Soon as I feel right, I get out."

"Don't you cool off by the time you get here?"

"Nah, I live just off the park. Over there," he pointed across the field.

"Convenient," I said noncommittally. "I have to drive here."

"Best place for a run, though. They keep this path pretty clear even after blizzards."

"That's why I'm–" I yelled in pain and went down, grabbing my right calf.

Without saying a thing, he knelt down in the snow next to the leg I clutched. He tore off his gloves and I felt his hands slip between my claws and leg. I couldn't relax the muscle, but his hands encircled my calf and began gently squeezing and kneading along its length. It took a minute, but the pain wasn't nearly as bad with his hands there.

"You need some water," he told me, helping me back to my feet. "I can tell from your leg that you're used to running, but I don't think you know how drying this air is."

I nod, wincing with the next step. "I have some in the car."

"My house is just over there. If you don't feel weird about it, you can come over. And maybe I can help you out better with that cramp."

We made our way to his house making small talk along the way – my mind raced with possibilities, scenarios ranging from the mundane just-a-glass-of-water-and-on-your-way to the tantalizing have-your-way-with-me. I figured I'd not assume any undertone to the offer... but, the way he held my calf...

I decided to test things a little. Halfway to his house, I stopped and leaned on a tree, putting all my weight on my left leg and moaning a little. He reached out. "Here, let me help. Put your arm around my shoulder." We walked the rest that way, my arm around his shoulder and his arm around my waist.

It felt good, comfortable. Safe.

Once inside, he helped me limp to the sofa and brought me a glass of water from the kitchen. He sat down at the other end, patted his lap, and said, "Put your legs up and I'll see what I can do for them."

I laid back and his lovely hands did their magic on my sore calf. The soreness quickly dissolved, leaving only pleasure. I must have purred. He smiled, and his hands began working their way up to my thighs. My eyes closed. "You're good at this," I breathed, "really good."

"I used to do sports massage. Good thing I still have the touch."

"Oh, you do."

"I could do more."

"Yes?"

"These running clothes are in the way."

I smiled wider. "I think we do something about that."

"I was hoping we could."

I opened my eyes. "Is there a more comfortable place?"

"Of course there is."

He lowered my feet to the floor and stood, holding out a hand. I took it, and he helped me up almost chivalrously. He held my hand and guided me down the hall to his bedroom. It was dark, so he lit a candle. He turned back to face me and the dim light flickered between us. "Thank you," I said, "for helping me out tonight." I reached out and hugged him. He hugged back and didn't let go after the standard uncomfortable male duration either. I could feel his shoulder blades under his running jacket. I let my hands explore and I found the long crevasse leading from his neck, along his spine, down between his buttocks. This guy was pretty solid. I wondered what the rest of him felt like.

"Let's get rid of these," he said, stepping back and unzipping his tight jacket. I did the same, and soon his chest was bare and mine was still covered by tight Under Armour. "Hmmm," he smiled, "I like it." He reached out for another embrace, which I gladly fell into. "Shall we peel off the rest?"

I nodded and sat down on his bed, my eyes never leaving his. There was a hunger there, I saw, and now I was going to strip for him. He helped me pull off the shirt (those are always tough to get off after a run), and I struggled off the leggings. While he peeled his pants off, I lay back in his bed and stretched.

There's something so sensual about laying in another man's bed for the first time. It's so different, feeling what he's used to in firmness, what kind of sheets he prefers, being surrounded by his scent. Knowing that, while you may not know what's about to happen, you're probably going to enjoy it. A lot.

"Flip over," he said, "I'm going to work the kinks out of your legs." I turned over on my stomach, and heard the top popping on what I assumed was a bottle of lotion. He rubbed his hands together and sat down next to me. His bare thigh pressing against mine felt so good. But his hands gliding along my bare legs felt wonderful.

He didn't use lotion, it was unscented oil that warmed my skin wherever he touched me. He didn't rush; unlike so many professional massages I'd paid for, every bit of his motion was sensual. I could really get used to this, I told myself. After what felt like forever focusing on my legs, he got up and straddled me, his hands moving up to knead my buttocks. I wished I'd have taken my underwear off. Reading my mind, his hands slid under, and began pulling them down. I lifted my waist, then my knees off the bed, and we were totally naked.

He oiled his hands up again, straddled my thighs, and began working on my lower back. By now I was pretty much an oil slick, and it felt amazing. As he worked his way up my back, I felt his cock tip and scrotum brush my ass cheeks. I was tingling at the thought of his cock being that close to my ass. I'd never had anyone inside me before, but the way he was making me feel, if he wanted to he could have me. I decided to tantalize him a little. Every time I felt his cock brush a cheek, I arched my back and pressed my ass upward a little. Just enough to feel it more. He quickly got the idea and slid his cock along my crack. I arched upward again. This time he slid his hardening cock between my cheeks, laying it down along inside the crack. That drove me wild. He lay down on me, pressing his cock along my crack harder, and I pressed up. He moaned softly. I made him moan.

We lay like that for a few minutes, feeling the pressure, gently grinding away but otherwise not moving. I felt him breathe, his chest expand rhythmically against my back, and his deep breath in my ear. I turned my head slowly toward his breath, paused, and kissed his lips. He seemed not to expect that, but after a moment he returned the kiss. I opened my lips to allow his tongue to explore, first just the surface of my lips, but gingerly he slid deeper into my mouth. I was so hard by then that I had to reach under my waist to shift. He reached both hands underneath me and felt my aching hardness. He cradled my cock and balls lovingly, as if to tell me not to worry, he'll take care of everything tonight.

After a few minutes of kissing, pressing, and fondling, he sat up and finished my back. The shoulders took a while, and he did some amazing stretching with the back and sides of my neck, but soon he stood up and asked me to roll onto my back. I was eager to feel him on the other side of my body too.

Just as before, he began at my feet. He spent a good twenty minutes massaging them, working out all the stress that builds up day after day, and especially with running. Then he worked up to my legs – not a long this time, since most of the problematic muscle is in the back.

Then he straddled my waist. As he worked on my chest (a part that they never do in paid massages), his cock – now firm – brushed against mine. Now that we had made our intentions clear, I brought one arm in and held our cocks together. He paused and closed his eyes in pleasure, as I gently squeezed. His lips let in a small gasp and I let up the pressure. As he continued the rubdown, I gently stroked our cocks together with my now oiled hand.

I must have been doing something right, because he soon gave up trying to concentrate and began rocking his pelvis with my stroking. I let go of my cock and focused on giving him pleasure. But I didn't guess what he had in mind. While rocking, he was gradually moving up my torso so that he covered my cock. His movements began to push my tip between his cheeks, rubbing it around. The feeling was magnificent, and I probably would have come if he kept that up longer. Instead he stopped rocking, lifted himself up on the balls of his feet, and squatted down over my crotch. I couldn't believe it! This guy I'd just met, who was already making me feel fantastic, was about to show me what making love to a man was like.

At first, my cock wouldn't cooperate. It was plenty hard, just couldn't figure out where it needed to point. He started this by offering to deflower me, so I decided to finish it and meet him halfway. I reached down between his legs and held my cock still, pointing straight at where I thought his hole would be. He lowered himself down gently, felt where my tip was, repositioned, then lowered his pelvis some more.

I slipped in easily.

He paused, relaxing his sphincter, and lowered himself all the way. I was completely engulfed by his amazing warm, wet, tight darkness. But it wasn't motionless in there. He was contracting and relaxing his internal muscles, and moving his pelvis slightly to get the perfect angle. I watched his face in the dim light, his eyes closed, while he moved. His expression changed subtly but distinctly, and I knew he'd found his spot. I didn't want to move, so serene did he look at that moment. I was so used to thrusting during sex with women, but I didn't want to stop the feeling he was clearly getting from this, from me. Thrusting might ruin that (and do who knows what kind of damage).

After a few breaths, he opened his eyes and began to move again. During sex with a woman, I usually felt in control – of the motion, of the mood – but in this situation, he was totally in control. My guide – my new lover – was showing me how amazing sex could be, and it didn't have to involve screaming names or a lot of thrashing. It could be serene, subtle, tranquil. Tender. This was making love, his eyes told mine as he did whatever magical things he was doing to me inside himself.

The moment was coming fast, I at first didn't notice the tingling sensation sprinting up my legs. "Oh! Is it okay?" was all I could say in warning. He nodded and smiled, locking eyes with me as I spilled inside him at length.

He stayed on me for a moment longer, allowing us to appreciate the afterglow. He slid up off me, stood, and handed me a towel. He wiped the sweat off his brow with another one. "Well," he smiled, "I hope that helped. Let me know if you have any more leg cramps. I'll be here."