South African Safari Sequel Ch. 02

He picked up the case and led me to the largest guest room—the one he was occupying, at the far end of the corridor. "Don't worry. We're alone. Uncle Charles doesn't deign to come to Florida until January. I have no idea where he is now—probably Europe, trying to convince young co-eds that he's only 30—when he's really 50 and definitely a dirty old man. I don't think he's worked a day since his trust fund kicked in."

I walked into the room and carefully removed my suit. "I brought a shirt for Monday, but I've got to wear this suit for my walk of shame."

"Fuck, not a walk of shame. A walk of honor. You are absolutely a champion fucker. You are mine. I'd never let you feel shame. That would shame me as well."

I stripped off the rest and reached into my bag for shorts. Breck quickly stepped up behind me. "You won't need those tonight." He grabbed them from my hand and threw the shorts on the bed. Then he pulled me into his gut from behind, and I realized he was already nude—and his cock was already at full mast. It was already poised to take my ass. Oh, god, yes. He can have me.

"I presume that is what you wanted to show me before we eat?"

He moved me toward the bed and pushed me forward. His chest bent over me to hold me in place as his thighs batted mine wide apart. He reached under my gut and pulled me up toward him. He fisted my cock and began to stroke. Then I felt his enormous cock pushing at my opening. Fingers spread lube around the rim and pushed it inside. He was about to take me, probably roughly and with one thrust. Oh, I needed that.

Then the past flashed before my eyes. I thought immediately, this is another Billy. Breck started to apply pressure to enter as he whispered sweet encouragement into my ears. I wanted him inside. I needed him inside. But, I was tense and afraid. Suddenly, he stopped. "You aren't ready, and this is not what you want right now. I can feel your tension." He backed off. "I'm sorry. You turn me on so quickly and so effectively—and it's been a week since I've been inside. Please let me do this, Paul. Please. I am so hard and so full. I promise to make it good for you—if not this time, then in an hour or so." I hesitated for a moment. My silence was enough. "But, if you're not ready, then I'll wait. I don't rape. Period. Full stop." He'll pulled back, helped me to stand and pulled me into a deep embrace while taking my lips with his. His cock was so big and so hard and drooling so much that he had to pull his hips back awkwardly when he did so. It looked angry. By then of course, I too was rigid with desire. We simply didn't fit at that moment.

I didn't know what to say. We were at a cross-roads. "Give me a few minutes, Breck. And I promise you won't regret it. Let's get a drink. I need to talk."

He released the clinch and walked to the bar where he poured Bombay generously into two tumblers, dropped a few cubes in each, and a lime wedge, and handed one to me. I noticed he hadn't poured tonic in his. We walked to the two recliners which faced the Intracoastal and the setting sun. Breck's erection had barely changed—it lofted from his crotch; mine had disappeared. But, I could see the apprehension, maybe fear in his eyes. Guys typically run from moments like this.

"I've told you that I was sexually active when younger. I was probably not entirely honest. That was pretty much an understatement. At prep school and in college, I was fucking just about anyone in a skirt. Every week, sometimes more than once a week. In fact, I was a legend. But, hardly ever did I go back for seconds. I was into quantity, not a relationship. I think I was trying to prove who I was—to me, and to avoid the inevitable consequences of any suggestion that I might be gay. I just denied it and fucked another girl."

Breck interrupted, "So you're afraid of a relationship after two weekend dates?"

"Let me continue."

"In college, the summer between junior and senior years, Billy Morris, a childhood friend, invited me to go camping in the Indiana Dunes. Billy was big—bigger than you are now. He was a star varsity half-back. And I was smaller then. During the trip, he seduced me and ultimately tore up my ass with his giant cock. He took me over and over, without asking and even when I was hurting. I didn't realize at the time, but I'm a bit of a neurotic—always craving acceptance and love. I have what has been called an addictive personality. That week changed everything for me. I let him own me.

For the next three years, Billy used me, really used me, as his bitch. He fucked me when he wanted without any preliminaries. I blew him when he wanted. He lubed when he wanted—but sometimes didn't--so I'd "feel" him inside. Once or twice, he tried bondage, and he hit me. Then there was denial which he used very effectively. I knew he had others, men and women on the side, but I did everything he wanted to please him. He absolutely owned me, body and soul. And I was okay with it. I deserved the pain. I had ruined the first time for so many and lied to myself that I was gay."

"Then, a little over a year ago, circumstances broke us up. I needed to be in Miami, and he hated Miami. I was devastated. But it was definitely over—and it still is.

I took a trip that my grandfather had rewarded me with after graduation, and here in Miami I've been trying to put my life back together. But that has mostly meant that I've been back to casual sex—one-nighters and hooks, usually initiated at MiamiBods. I typically do the choosing. I typically decide whether I'm going to bottom or top, usually top. And they're gone the next morning."

"Then you entered the picture. In so many ways you are so Billy—big, masculine, blonde, athletic, hooded and hung. And that cock that I'm staring at is trophy quality. In so many other ways, at least up to now, you are not Billy. You're more intelligent, more confident, apparently more compassionate. But, we really don't know each other that well. And I remain afraid. I can't fall back through that rabbit hole. I can't become a sub, a slave, someone utterly dependent on you and your tool."

"Don't get me wrong, Breck. Until just a few minutes ago, everything we did together was okay. It was my choice. From the very first night when you asked if I'd bottom if you came home with me."

"I'm not sure what you need in your life right now. Unfortunately, I still need reassurance that I'm a whole, good person, in control of my life, attractive to sex partners—and with the ability to choose when and how I'll have sex and with whom. Right now, I'm choosing you, Breck. And if you can deal with a neurotic boyfriend, I think we should head back into that bedroom for some fun. But, any suggestion that you are forcing is going to send me up a tree."

As all of these words came rushing out, Breck darkened and seemed to shrink into the leather chair. He looked like I had whipped him.

"I'm not sure what to say. I've only known you a couple of weeks. But I like what I've learned about you. I really like being with you. And, it goes without saying that you are a fantastic lay. Are you breaking up with me? I was already beginning to think we might have a future."

"No, I'm not breaking up with you. At least, I hope not. That was not my intent. But, I need to be your partner, Breck, not your bitch."

"I guess we really don't know each other all that well. Shall we start again? And this time, shall we take it a bit slower?"

"I couldn't ask for more. I really do like you Breck. But, I'm not sure how slowly we can take it when you're sitting just a few inches away from me, totally naked, and with that body and that cock! I am totally into your body."

"Let me get this straight. You like me. You really like my body. My cock turns you on. You like it when I fuck you. You like being with me. But, you're ready to break us up because you like me too much? Is that what you're saying?"

"I guess I'm not being entirely coherent. I know myself and I know how I react to guys who look and act like you. I need to feel a level of self-control. And if I'm really into a guy, I lose that ability. But, I've said what I needed to say. Let's head back to the bedroom and enjoy an appetizer."

"Sure. But, later tonight, I want you to fuck me. I think that might be good therapy."

"Yeah, doc. Definitely. You got it. I thought you'd never ask." I chuckled, bent over and kissed him on the lips—and then on his dickhead.

We stood and headed back, hand in hand. The crisis had been voiced—but clearly not yet resolved.

I started to fall onto my belly on the bed—assuming he wanted to take me as he had started before. But, Breck leaned over and flipped me. "If I'm going to be your doc, I need to gauge your emotions. I want to see that face and those eyes when I enter, when I pump, and when I fill you up with a dose of my very potent medicine." He leaned in, wrapped his arms around me, and took my lips as we rolled around on the king, each trying to crawl inside the other. I ended on top. "Ride me, Paul." With those words, he pushed to the edge of the bed and pulled me into his lap and chest. I reached over and took a few generous globs of lube to prepare him and me. I knew where this was going—and I was going to need the lube. I shivered in anticipation. I think his cock was even bigger than it had been when we started earlier in the evening. Surely he had lengthened—the head was almost completely out of the hood. It wasn't accustomed to so many time-outs. It was ready to go.

I was absolutely accurate in my predictions. We started slow. I bounced a few times as he inserted, penetrated, and scraped the prostate. The heat and tempo were rising. He was slowly stretching and molding me to his incredible manhood. My arms encircled his ropey neck as his arms held my waist and slid down to my ass cheeks. I thought. Here it comes. And it did.

Breck grabbed my butt hard and stood. My legs went around his slim waist. A standing front-to-front fuck is as deep as it gets—especially when the bottom is using gravity to advantage and the top is a strong athlete. He was deep, regularly bottoming and pushing at the tight second ring. My prostate was going to pop with the pressure of his girth. He bucked a few more times, and holding tight to his neck, I dropped back, putting all my weight on our point of connection. As I did, he slid his deepest—and pushed through the inner ring. It stung for just a second. Then I was flooded with euphoria. Holy shit. He was deeper inside me than anyone had ever been—physically or emotionally. He too sensed the enormity of what had just happened. His eyes widened in wonder, and his smile reached the sides of his beautiful masculine face. The apprehension was gone. This was pure pleasure, plain and simple, between two strong physical men.

He spun around, placed my back at the edge of the bed and began to thrust, swirling with each stroke. My precum was soaking my abs. His eyes were wild. He was struggling to breathe. And then, he looked deep into my eyes, as though to hypnotize. "I love you, Paul. You're going to be mine. But, before that I'm going to be yours, I promise." My whole body shuddered as I began to spurt line after line of spunk between our chests.

Then he started gushing hot and deep inside. He fell over me and opened his mouth to mine as our breathing synchronized and quieted. Then he dropped back onto one of the pillows and invited me with his eyes to cover him with my body. TBC BD

Author's note: There is more. I've tried to explore what is perhaps the most difficult emotional aspect of homosexuality for me. Society has conditioned us—at least most men—to associate being a "receiver" or a bottom with weakness, perhaps even femininity. Yet, many homosexual men enjoy topping masculine men. And equally so, many masculine men enjoy being taken—the prostate is a powerful organ of aphrodisia and pleasure. So where is the line? How does a hyper-masculine bottom maintain self-esteem and self-worth? I think reciprocity, mutual respect, and love may be keys, but are probably not the only answers. Paul is going to continue to grapple with these issues as his relationship with Breck deepens.