Silver Heat Ch. 03

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Can a couple of old guys really love.
6k words
4.64
11.6k
4

Part 3 of the 4 part series

Updated 09/22/2022
Created 06/18/2013
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robertreams
robertreams
158 Followers

The shower door slides abruptly open. Lance stands there, gaping. Neal ogles. Lance sings softly as he steps into the shower: "If it's you my life lines trace. – Hi Neal, nice meeting you here." he slips into the fold of his new partner's arms, kissing his lips and reaching for the soap. "Turn around, let me wash your back," he says, grinning.

Neal obliges, saying nothing, but turning to present his back. Lance soaps his hands into a fluffy lather, the soap smelling cleanly of lavender and spice. He begins with the back of Neal's neck. Taking his time, he gently laves his way across Neal's firm broad back. Lance's object is to soothe and heal. To express his genuine affection for this strong fine man, in words might be misunderstood, so he endeavors to transmit his feelings through his fingertips. Using fairly firm pressure, he seeks not so much to wash as massage. Nonetheless, touching Neal in any way now causes in him the strongest, hardest erections since he and Martha were youngsters.

Neal places his hands flat on the shower wall for support and leans into them, surrendering to the pleasure of Lance's soothing hands.

Lance's hands descend to Neal's buttocks, kneading and working deep into the muscles there. For easier access, he kneels. When Lance's hand slides soapily under his ass cheeks, Neal spreads his legs wider, adjusting his footing in the slippery shower. Encouraged to experiment, Lance slides two fingers between the firm tight cheeks,washing up and down, first with the two on the left, then the right, alternating several times. The first three times Lance's fingers encounter Neal's tightly puckered anus, he can feel it contract in response.

Neal spreads his legs even farther. Taking this move as an invitation, Lance inserts the tip of his middle finger. "Ooh." Neal gasps. Lance reaches for the soap again, lathering up once more. For the next several minutes, Lance washes Neal's ass thoroughly inside and out, using copious amounts of the fragrant soap and all his fingers at one time or another. Finally, Lance's middle finger is inserted full length between the muscled cheeks, turning back and forth and around, washing deep inside his friend. When he turns his finger fully around, pointing down, he contacts Neal's prostate. Neal's anus squeezes tight around his finger and his hips involuntarily lurch forward, almost dislodging Lance's finger.

Lance removes his finger. Stands. He takes a few moments to thoroughly wash his hands, pausing now and then to caress an ass cheek. Hands cleansed, he speaks for the first time. "Turn around Neal, let me do the front."

Neal complies. His long thin beautiful cock is standing straight out in front of him, brushing against Lance's much fatter, longer shaft. Neal begins to speak. "Lance I. . ."

Lance shushes Neal with a finger to his lips. He reaches down and pulls back his long loose foreskin, reaches for Neal's smaller thinner cock. He puts the heads together, one pink, one darker, purple. Then he slides his foreskin forward to enclose about one third of Neal's penis. Stretching a bit farther, he holds the two dicks, joined together, tightly in his left hand. He puts the soap in Neal's hand, turned palm up. "Hold that," he says.

Lance rubs the soap in Neal's hand with his fingertips. "Close your eyes," he says. He washes Neal's face, gently, sensuously, beginning with his eyelids. He thoroughly washes every space his fingers contact on their journey, even inside and behind the ears. He moves to Neal's neck and shoulders, touching so gently, so softly that every touch brings a new crop of goose bumps to Neal's skin. Neal's nipples, like tight pink pencil erasers, stand up proudly in the center of darker aureoles sprouting a forest of tiny hard bumps. First, Lance washes them using circular motions of thumb and forefinger. Then he bends and briefly suckles at each taut nipple. Neal's reaction to every touch, each caress, is transmitted to Lance through their adjoined cocks and back again. Each tender cock head feels the heat, the pulse, the wetness, of the other.

Lance releases their dicks and steps back half a pace. There is an audible 'tssk' as their cocks plop apart. Lance regains the soap from Neal and soaps his palms again. Next, he thoroughly washes Neal's underarms, his flanks, his taut belly.

Lance goes to one knee, places one foot at a time on his other knee and laves it, top and bottom, under the toes, and each toe individually. In front of his face, Neal's rock hard dick jerks and jumps when each toe is touched. Lance has learned something about his friend. Smiling, he reserves the knowledge for a later time.

At last Lance begins to wash his friend's penis. Neal is so hard, so intensely excited, he nearly cums at the first touch of Lance's insistent hands. His knees go weak and he nearly slips. Lance's arms reach around his hips and buttocks for a moment to steady him. Lance holds back his friend's foreskin with one hand and washes thoroughly round and round the head and around the frenulum. Sliding the foreskin forward, he uses two fingers to wash underneath the foreskin. He uses his cupped fists alternately in long stroking movements to scrub the outside of Neal's cock. He reaches under and thoroughly, but gently massages each ball in its tightening sac.

Lance lifts Neal's form from the wall, guides him under the shower and uses the still hot water to rinse everything. This done he reaches for Neal's hand, guides him out of the shower, pauses in the hall to grab a large fluffy towel, drags him into what is fast becoming 'their' bedroom, and spends several long, long minutes drying every nook and cranny of Neal's body. It occurs to Lance that now he was sure that every part of Neal's body was squeeky clean, (after all he had done it himself), he could now feel free to kiss or lick any body part. This brings a smile to his lips. Once many years ago someone had licked his ass. He remembered it as feeling pretty good once he had recovered from being grossed out.

The men sit on Neal's large bed, perfectly comfortable with each other's nakedness, discussing wives and lovers and almost lovers, successes and failures and might-have-beens. Throughout their prolonged conversation, they touch each other often, here and there, erections blooming and subsiding; free and easy with each other's bodies, attuned to each other very much like new lovers.

Lance, having previously told Neal about his 'other Neal', from the Air Force, now relates the story of his almost sexual encounter on the beach, expressing his great regret at not having followed through, at not having expressed what had clearly been love.

Neal takes Lance's face between his hands, eyes boring into his psyche. "You think that's what we have, Lance. You think it's love?"

"Geez, Neal, I don't know. It's surely something, something important. Maybe discussing it, over thinking it, will ruin it, whatever it is. Right now I think I am too sore, too vulnerable, to make rational decisions. I always said my love for Martha had been a rational decision, with benefits. Huh, did you hear that? I just said 'Martha' and my voice didn't choke. Perhaps I am healing. Thanks to you. Thanks very much to you, my dear dear friend."

"You know, Neal. Something just occurred to me. In all my relationship with my "other Neal' I never kissed him once. And even with Michael, my long time lover, I can only remember kissing him once. Isn't it odd? Kissing another man always seemed much more intimate and strange than say, sucking his cock. In the old days, I would suck a stranger, but I would never have kissed a stranger. And yet, I have no trouble at all kissing you. Maybe that means something."

"Well, kiss me and let's find out. The men kiss, laughing about it, then more deeply, more seriously. Neal interrupts. "You know Lance, if it would make you happy, we could try, er, uh, uh, what you didn't do with 'your other Neal'."

"Wait, ho, I didn't mean to imply that or anything. I wasn't trying to. . . "

"I know that. No sweat, it's not, you know, like that. I just want to make you happy."

Lance breaks into soft laughter. "Well, good buddy, and I sincerely do mean, good buddy, you are being very successful so far. You have made me happier than I have been for many years. Not that life with Martha wasn't happy. It's just those last years, with her cancer and all, er, everything. Well, you know how it is. Battling outside forces one can't control, can't fight, can't win. . . It. . . It takes a lot out of a man. But you. You are the best thing that has happened to me in a good long time. It truly feels like fate, or good karma or something coming back to me."

"I got an idea," Neal says. "Let's get that stupid looking trailer of yours, 'the monster', as I call it stocked up and let's go way off in the woods someplace, just the two of us and rough it, be alone, stay naked all the time, fish for our meals and scratch and fart and drink beer and all that stuff."

"And give up all this luxury?"

"Well, you said 'the monster' does have a big shower."

"And aren't you glad?" Lance pushes Neal down on the bed. They horse around, pushing and 'punching', tickling and teasing like a couple of teenagers. But also pausing now and then to kiss, finger, lick like a couple of horny old men. Lance wins the 'wrestling match', sitting astride Neal, pinning his arms out to the side, his long cock nudging Neal's collarbone. Neal's cock is nestled warmly against his buttocks. Suddenly everything seems much more serious.

"Oh god! Oh fucking god!" Lance is suddenly racked with sobs. Hard-ons, nakedness, wrestling, all is forgotten.

Warm wet tears fall on Neal's taut belly. He pulls Lance down to him, rolls them over to their sides. "What? What is it buddy? Throwing his arms and legs around Lance in a furious embrace, Neal murmurs, "It's okay, lance. It's okay buddy. Talk to me. Tell me. What is it? What's wrong?"

Struggling for control, Lance shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's okay. I'm just a big baby. It's just. Oh never mind. I'll be okay. Just give me a minute."

"Hey buddy, take all the time you need. When you are ready, talk to me."

Sobs subsiding after a few quiet minutes, Lance finally speaks. "I don't think I can talk to you about this Neal. I feel like such an idiot, such a fool. Listen, I think I am going to get on a plane as soon as possible and go back home. It's time I got my shit together, started living my life again, started having some responsibilities again."

Neal pushes against Lance's chest with both hands, creating space between their two bodies. He looks Lance straight in the eyes. "Now just a goddam minute." His anger is beginning to rise. "What the fuck you mean, 'go back home'. Don't I have anything to say about this?"

"Well," Lance says, still struggling to subdue his sobbing, "that's just it. I mean, you have been so wonderful. Putting up with me day after day, feeding me, helping me. It's just no good. I can't stay here and be dependent upon you. What kind of life is that? I've got. . . "

"Now just hang on a fucking second," pushing himself a bit further away. "Where is this coming from. Ten minutes ago we were 'frolicking'. I know things are tough, with losing Martha and all, but I thought, well I thought, well I just thought. . ."

"Thought what? Thought we had something, have something. What? What do we have? A couple of old queers hangin' on to each other 'cause they don't have anything else."

"Is that how you feel? Is that how you really feel about. . . about. . .us?"

"How else can I feel? What, exactly do we have? Can you define it. You wanna get married?Sooner or later the bloom is gonna wear off, the vacation is gonna be over. Reality is gonna set in. Then what?"

"Now look, Lance. Cut it out! Shut up your stupid fucking mouth 'cuz you are really pissing me off." Neal pushes up off the bed, begins pacing back and forth across the room, his shapely penis swaying sharply back and forth as if to emphasize his statements. For about fifty paces, he says nothing, taking deep breaths to control his hurt, his anger. "If you want to leave, if you need to leave, for some deep reason you may have that I don't understand, then, okay, go. go ahead, leave. But what about me? You gonna come here, make love with me, play with my emotions, use my body, then just leave me hangin' here. I took a big risk, being with you, having, er, uh sex with you, trusting you. Now you're gonna throw it all away. For what? Where you gonna go to be happier than here with me? Who you gonna be with? The boys at the Legion Home? Talk about reality. This is my reality. Here is my reality. Now is my reality. You are my reality. Or can be. Could be. Why not?"

"What are you saying, exactly?

"I'm asking why, that's all, Why? Why can't we continue? Why can't you just stay here? With me? Why can't there be an us? Who says?"

"But what happens next? We just grow old, two old bi-sexual hags sitting here slobbering on ourselves and remembering when we used to be able to get it up?"

"What's the alternative? Sitting alone? Two lonely old bi-sexual hags with no fond memories of hard-ons or anything else, and no one to care? What the fuck is wrong with us being together, having each other to care about, learning to live together, learning to love one another."

"Love? Is that what we have? Is it?"

"I don't know and I don't care. I thought at lest we would have each other. Now you want to throw that away. I just don't get it? Why?

"I am not sure I can love again, not even sure I can love a man."

"Is that what this is about. Are you afraid to be 'queer'? Or just afraid to love again, live again. I think I am starting to catch on. You ARE afraid to love, afraid to be hurt again." Neal crosses the room, leans over Lance, lays his palm tenderly on Lance's face. "Oh Lance. You loved her that much. I can only imagine your pain. And now after a lifetime of love, she left you. Alone. Believe me, I know how that hurts. But I am not asking anything of you. Only to be with you."

"I don't know if I can. If I can live like this. Two men. Everyone knowing. Laughing at us like that barrista the other day. I just don't know."

"Well, what the fuck happened to 'carpe diem'?"

"Yeah well, that's okay for vacation, but kind of reckless for everyday life."

"I only have one more thing to say. Then I am through. Take it any way you want. Leave if you want. I can't stop you."

"Maybe we don't love each other at least not in the way you are used to. But love can take as many forms as there are people. Remember your first Neal. Way back when. You told me you had always regretted, Martha or not, that you had not accepted what was surely love for and from Neal. In fact you told me yourself that you had loved two men in your life, at least. Here I am. Here it is. Give yourself a chance. Give us a chance. Stay with me! Please!"

Neal turns away, goes to the closet, pulls on a pair of soft cotton draw string pants and a Hawaiian shirt. He leaves the room abruptly. Lance hears the sound of Neal's old Lincoln firing up, the sound ebbing as the car leaves.

And now Lance experiences true loneliness. Never in his life has he felt so alone. The tears come once more. Hot and wet they pour from him, washing out grief, washing out anger, washing out fear. He cries and cries until there are no more tears, then drifts off into fitful slumber, dreaming of old clowns and the circus audience that laughs at them.

The eerie green glow of the alarm clock pulses 2:45 when Lance is awakened by an engine revving, a screen door slapping. The bedroom door opens. Neal stands wavering, silhouetted in the glow of moonlight off the ocean.

"Hi," Lance says.

"Hello der you shexy thinf wif the big dick. Did you know that you are shleepin' in ma bed? Heh heh, Whoosh been shleepin; in ma bed?"

"You're drunk!"

"Stunk as a drunk, Heh heh." Neal begins disrobing. Even drunk this is easily accomplished since he wears only two articles of clothing."

"What are you doing?"

"Goin' to bed wif my bestest frien. Watchoo think." he plops down on the bed beside Lance, immediately planting drooling kisses over every body part he can reach.

"But wait. Stop. You're drunk."

"You already shaid that. I don care. I wan shoo."

"What?"

"I want to fuck you. Been wantin' it forever. Roll over."

"What. Get away. What do you mean?"

"Whaja dinkI mean? DinI shay it redy. I wanna fuck you cush you are my asshole buddy."

"Hang on. Uh, uh. Gimme a sec. Ah, I know. I'll go get you a drink. Would you like that? Another drink.?"

"Hokay, budurry, I wanna fuckya."

Lance hurries from the room, stays gone as long as he can.. returns with a steaming cup of black coffee. Neal is passed out on his back, naked, arms spread, half on, half off the bed, snoring loudly enough to wake himself if he had been sober. Lance carefully lifts his friend's legs onto the bed, covers him with a light blanket, and quickly and quietly leaves the room. He establishes himself in the guest bedroom he had stayed in on his first night here. The far off shussh shussh of waves breaking on the shore was like a sad, lonely song in his heart. It would sere him right if he ended up lonely. He had made his own stupid decision. Why couldn't he ever learn to accept what was, what is, without analyzing everything to death? As sleep finally found him, dawn was casting a cold silvery light thru the chinks n the blinds. His last thoughts before crossing the line into sleep were about Neal's drunken ramblings. "Had he really wanted to fuck me for a long time? What would that be like?" He had done it to a few others. And certainly he had more than enough to fill anyone. "Anyway," he told himself, Neal thinks I am leaving? Am I? Shit! Why does life have to be so hard?"

It was long past daybreak, but still silvery gray and sunless when Neal awakened in his own bed. At first he had no memory of the previous night. But his throbbing head reminded him of the most outstanding feature of last night. He had been drunk. Dead drunk. Then he remembered why he had gone out drinking. Then he looked around him. Lance was not in their bed, not with him. He roused himself with difficulty, battled his way to the bathroom and downed two aspirin. He was sick to his stomach, but not from booze or aspirin. He realized with a deep aching hurt, that Lance had said he was leaving.

"Lance! Lance? He screamed as he stumbled down the hallway. Lance, where are you? Are you here?" He pushed his way into the spare bedroom and there he was. "Lance!, Oh my god. Lance. You're here, you're really here."

Lance was slow to respond, having slept fitfully. By the time his eyes were fully open, Neal was upon him, hugging him for dear life and kissing his face.

"Of course I'm here," Lance replied. "Where else would I be? Go make some coffee and brush your teeth. I'll be here when you get back."

"Then you're not leaving, not going away?"

"We'll see, we'll see, just go make some coffee."

Lance sat on the edge of the bed, naked. He seemed to spend a lot of time naked lately. Sometimes Neal didn't even seem to notice. Things came so easily, so naturally to him. Kinda like my old Air Force Neal. We were often naked together also, also without seeming to notice. "I wonder if he would have accepted my love had I given it at the time. I wonder what that would have been like," he asked himself. "You probably would have wondered it to death," he answered himself, laughing at himself.

Neal entered with the coffee. Lance patted the bed beside him and Neal sat. They sat side by side in silence for a long time, sipping coffee and saying nothing. "I was thinking," Neal finally said, "about getting some more of that weed. What do you think?"

robertreams
robertreams
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