We were just kids, when he said, "I promise, Mikey, I'll protect you, no matter what. We'll always be friends." And, as small as I was, I believed him. I was just a slip of a child, built smaller than most of the boys in school. Tommy wasn't built very big, but was dramatically bigger than me. I loved him, even then. His bright blonde locks seemed to glow in the sun, and he always had a smile. It was a joy to be around him.
Then, when we both were fifteen, I lost him. His parents moved away, taking him with them, and thus, taking my protection. I was thoroughly devastated. And, those bullies of the school made it necessary for me to start seeking self protection.
I started self-defense classes, as well as muscle training. Over a four-year period, I experienced a rather massive growth spurt. I went from a four-foot waif, to a man of six feet, and well developed muscles, and decent looks. My black hair still remained, and I saw no reason to get rid of it. I also was rather hairy. Thick fur covered my chest, legs, and arms. I was a man, and secure in that.
Still, I always kept my Tommy in my mind. I worked, and thought of him. Sometimes, I would silently cry, wishing he was still in my life. To say I loved him would have been a gross understatement. I wrote letters that never got sent, because I knew of no way to contact him.
I now lived alone, in a nice two story apartment home, more accurately called a condo, and I worked at home, doing systems analysis. I made a decent amount, and actually owned the condo. It was a good life, if a lonely one.
One day, I decided to get out of the house, and head to town to eat a bite. I went to a diner I'd never been in, and sat down to a plate of Chicken Parmesan. I ate, and read the paper for a while.
Then, as I paid, a figure caught my eye. He was sitting in a corner booth, alone, and focused on a sheet of paper with handwriting on it. It was his hair, I suppose, that caught my eye, followed closely by his intense gaze, and full lips. I took a careful breath and said quietly, "Tommy?"
He looked up and I knew it was him. I slowly walked closer and sat hard on a chair nearby. He was back.
I fainted. I know I did. Because, when I heard that voice, and saw those eyes, I blacked out for a moment. Mikey... I quickly came to, though, and saw a panicked Mikey looking into my eyes, and patting my cheeks. "I... I'm alright, Mikey... Just very startled. And happy." I threw my arms around him, and hugged him as tight as I could, which, to be honest, was not a lot, considering the way life had been lately.
We talked, and despite my protestations, he paid for my meal, then invited me to his house for a chat and a drink. I instantly accepted. He asked the diner's owner if we could leave my car for a while, which was allowed. He led me to his car, and opened the passenger door for me. I climbed into the nice sedan, and sat in the plush seats. I relaxed instantly, and just breathed.
Then, my promise from our early in our lives came back to haunt me, as it had many, many times. And, I started silently crying. I'd told him I'd protect him, and now, that was just a dream. And, I felt a failure.
The years had been incredibly kind to Mikey, kinder than they'd been to me. He'd grown into a rather big man, apparently tall and strong, whereas I, on the other hand, was only a five-and-a-half foot waif. I had been sick for a good two years after the move, stunting my growth somewhat. I'd added some weight, too, but still, despite now being quite healthy, I was not able to gain a lot of muscle and weight. Maybe it was for the better.
My weeping caught Mikey's attention, and he said, "What's the matter, Tommy? Why are you crying?"
I broke, and told him everything. At age fifteen, I moved with my family, settling several states away. Although I loved my parents, and knew they wanted the best for me, hence the move to another state to get a better income, I couldn't get Mikey out of my heart. I missed him intensely.
At age eighteen, I was diagnosed with clinical depression as well as asthma. It had become rather easy for me to become overworked, and therefore, I was placed on the permanently disabled list. I knew, secretly, and subconsciously why I was depressed. But, this secret I hid from myself as well as everyone else.
I longed for home. I longed for Mikey's company. And as I became a man, I longed for Mikey himself. Long, slow masturbation sessions, imagining him kissing me, touching me, usually culminated in me spraying thick ropes of cum over my stomach and chest.
Truth told, I was a virgin, and this meant I had little knowledge of how sex worked, or of the pleasure that could be had. So, I decided to do some research. I admit, my research was flecked with bouts of gay porn, but through study of writings and through many videos, I was introduced to the idea of anal penetration.
So, I bought quite a collection of anal toys and lubes over a year's time, and one rainy night, began to masturbate while slowly fucking myself. I imagined that it was Mikey doing the fucking, and imagined the pressure of his body above my own, pistoning within my hole. I moved the toy in a spiral motion, and suddenly found my p-spot, causing me to cry out, and to cum harder and more explosively than ever.
Cleaning myself up, I knew that I had to be with Mikey at some point. At that moment, I made my mind up to return to my home city, no matter what. I went to sleep, then, heart resolved. From that moment, I was a total bottom, and knew what I wanted most from the man of my dreams, other than his loving arms, of course, and a life with him.
It was when I turned twenty-one, when my parents gave me two things that changed my life. The first thing they gave me was a trust fund that payed me the equivalent of an upper-middle-class salary, in the form of a weekly check, of three thousand dollars. They'd worked it out with my bank, so that I'd not have to work again. Second, they gave me a new Dodge Charger, red in color, and with red trimmed gray interior, and a fantastic sound system.
My mother, speaking for them both, told me, "Son, for years, we've tried to do what's best for you. We wanted you to be taken care of, and we made sure of it. While we did what we thought best, we have seen we were wrong in one area. We took you from someone you cared deeply for. Now son, we know you are gay, and that's alright. We want you to go to your man, and make your life with him. And when you can, come visit, or even move out here to be near. Just make sure that he loves you back." With that, they both hugged me, and released me. I left two days later, heading east, toward my true home.
As much as I wanted to get home, another stay in a hospital was in the cards. Three weeks I stayed in the hospital, victim of pneumonia. My asthma made it worse. Once I was better, I continued my trip.
I arrived in my hometown, seeing that nothing much had changed. I stopped at a diner, and ate a meal. And, it was at this point, that I heard his voice. The rest, as they say, was history.
I withheld nothing from him, in the telling of the story, not even the fact that I loved him, nor the self-explorations I'd gone through. All of it spilled out, my voice refusing to get loud, or to go beyond his hearing. I told him everything. Of course, I feared what he would say, but I had to get it out.
Six years of being without the one you love, even if you don't really know you love that person, can be difficult, by anyone's reckoning. I raptly listened to Tommy's story, stunned by what he'd gone through, and how life had changed us both. Tears fell from my eyes, as I drove to my condo, caught up in all that had happened. At times, I raged at the things that he told, stories of how he'd been treated, not necessarily by family, but by weak-minded bigots. At other times, I rejoiced at his tales of triumphs, no matter how meager, including his family's eventual acceptance of him. I was rather turned on by his admission of love, and what he'd done to ease the ache. I hurt with him, as he told of his hospital visits, hoping with him that it never would happen again.
After parking the car, we went into the condo, and sat with a couple of beers, to continue our talk. At his urging, I told my story, and left not one of my hidden emotions uncovered. This is what I told him.
I loved you from the start, Tommy, even if I didn't accept it. The day you had to leave, I thought my heart would shatter. It was broken, true enough. But, I held you in my heart, remembering the fact that you said, "We will always be friends." I knew, no matter what might happen, if we ever met again, our friendship would be as fresh as it was at first.
My mother and father are gone now, Tommy. They both passed shortly before I turned nineteen. I had come out to them when I was seventeen, telling them then that I intended you to be my husband if you ever returned. I still feel that way.
The first time I saw you sexually, and not just as a friend and companion, was after my parents had passed, and I had turned eighteen. One evening, I was resting, after a particularly rough day at my new job, where I was apprenticing. My thoughts roamed, and played images on the backs of my closed eyelids. At first, I saw my parents, the memory of them making me smile softly. After some time, my thoughts turned to you.
This turn of thought reinforced the longing I'd already had, but this time, there was a new, and arousing element. I started imagining your lips on mine, your body against mine, and the feel of your hair in my hand, as I would caress your head. The response of my body was, as you can imagine, rather hard to ignore, and for the first time in my life, I shed my shorts, and took matters into my own hands, as it were, the feeling of the arousal at once foreign, and familiar to me.
I slowly stroked my member, wanting the pleasure to last. The image of you in my head started divesting itself of clothing, exposing you to my lustful imaginatory gaze. I only got harder, and more aroused. This wouldn't do, I told myself.
So, I tested myself. I forced myself to imagine other men, as well as many women, in similar situations. But, their faces and bodies always morphed into you. Tommy, I knew then, I was addicted to you, and I had never seen you naked, nor tasted your lips, nor smelt your scent. I could only imagine what all these were like, and frankly, my imagination, though good, was not very accurate. Everything I see now, Tommy, is far better.
With your name on my lips, and my hand vigorously stroking my cock, I came hard, spraying my chest and body with effluent. I was blown away. For the first time, and not for the last, I had masturbated with your image in my head, and your name on my lips.
I studied the 'art' of gay sex, if you will, and learned as much as I could. I watched videos, and imagined the two of us in those situations. Only when doing that, did I cum. I made a decision, as a result. I'm gay for you, and only you. I don't get aroused by anyone except you. I love you, and that's all there is.
Tommy, you kept your promise, whether you know it or not. Even your leaving, in a way, protected me. It forced me to do something about us. It forced me to take measures to become a man. And, you protected my heart. Because, even when you left, you never gave yourself to anyone else. You drove yourself to find me, even when sickness was on its way. You forced yourself to get well, and to find me. And, when you did, the surprise of me finding you first stunned you.
For all of my life, you've done everything you set your mind to. Yes, you protected me. And, yes, you found me. Now, Tommy, I wish to return to you the promise you made to me. I will protect and love you. I will keep your heart safe. I will make you the happiest man in the world. I promise this, and swear by whatever oath you wish to devise.
The story I told took my mental strength from me, and I cried openly as I told Tommy this. Everything I said, I said with the entirety of my being. And now, I was drained.
My mind was blown, but not so much that I could not respond. Immediately, I stood, faced him, and for the first time in my life, began to dance. I wanted this dance to be as seductive as I could make it. I hoped that my thinness that sickness had caused was not a turn-off. I was not excessively thin, but I was somewhat lithe.
I moved my hips to the music in my head, and stared into his eyes. I could see the love and arousal growing in him, and I was cognizant of my own hardness. I turned slowly, rotating my hips, and letting my ass move in smooth patterns. While my back was to him, I slowly unfastened my shirt, and slowly let it fall to the ground, then just as slowly did the same with my pants. Off came my shoes and socks in that same moment, leaving me dressed only in my tight black and silver-gray briefs, that left little to the imagination.
Still my hips moved, as my hands caressed my own body like a lover. I turned slowly to face him, and danced up to him, just as slowly. I straddled him, and kissed him, still dancing. I felt his tongue drive deeply into my mouth, and I sucked on it. I slowly unfastened his shirt and pants, and somehow divested him of both, leaving him in his own underwear, which, to my surprise, was a simple blue jockstrap. Frankly, that turned me on even more.
I stood again, and resumed dancing, alternately spinning from front to back. For several moments, I danced, as he softly rubbed his crotch through his jock. After some time, I stepped forward, and pulled down his jock, divesting him of it completely, exposing his rather large, turgid member. It was beautiful, to my eyes. It stood up from his crotch, about eight inches long, and about four inchs in circumference. It stood proudly, with a slight curve toward his belly. The cut member was topped by a mushroomoid head, broad and thick, which was significantly larger than the shaft, in circumference.
I smiled, and leaned in, and for the first time, another cherry of mine was popped. I licked his cock from balls to tip. I discovered something in that moment. There's nothing sexier to me, than to hear that beautiful man moan as I make love to his cock. Several long licks came next, then I took the plunge. I opened my mouth, and took the member into my wet, warm maw, accompanied by loud gasping moans from my man.
Oh, my gods... Never in my life had I felt such a huge amount of pleasure from one source. First the dance, then the striptease, then the blow-job, and now my mind was mush. I constantly breathed his name between moans of pleasure. My hands found purchase within the curls of his nearly white, thick, blond hair. I could not stop my fingers from exploring his scalp, which seemed to cause moans of pleasure to emanate from.
Those moans woke me up a bit, and I took good note of the fact of that pleasure point with my baby. I grinned, and reached down, pulled him into my lap, and kissed him hard, my hands still massaging his scalp. Deep moans coursed through both of us, and he somehow got his briefs off, a feat which to this day confuses me. I began to touch his lithe, smooth body, running my fingers over every part I could touch.
After many moments of kissing and touching, I wrapped arms around him, and picked him up bodily, carrying him tenderly into the bedroom. I lay him down on the bed, kissed him again, and whispered, "Stay here, love, I will be back." I jogged to the bathroom, opened the cabinet, and extracted a few items, three different clean dildos, lube, and condoms, secretly hoping the latter item would never need to be used.
I walked back in, and was surprised to see my boyfriend turned over, on hands and knees, with his ass fully exposed to me. I stood for a short moment, and just looked at him. Nothing could have been more beautiful to me. I stepped forward, and softly caressed his rump, knowing what he offered me was precious.
I slowly began to massage that sweet rump, and then leaned down to have a taste. It was like an explosion in my mouth, and in my head. I suddenly knew what addiction was. I knew I would need this forever. I heard his moans, felt his writhing body, and loved every movement, those lithe movements just spurring me on. I was so incredibly aroused, I almost could not think.
I flattened my tongue, and let it slowly drag up his taint, and across his palpitating hole, and felt his body flex against my mouth. I pushed the tip of the tongue into his warm hole, and began to drive it repeatedly into him. He let out a loud moan, and breathed my name. I almost exploded then and there.
I've played with myself often, but nothing compared to the feelings that filled my body when my boyfriend did the thing I'd always imagined he'd do. He literally made me have an orgasm without ever actually ejaculating. I was harder than I'd ever been. I needed him, and I nearly shouted that need out. I begged, told him I'd be a good boy, if only he'd take me and make me his. And, still, he tormented me.
He lifted from his position, and lubed up one of the dildos, then pushed it slowly into my hole, not stopping, inexorably pressing it to the hilt. I loved being penetrated, especially when it was my boyfriend, my dream man doing it. I knew it would be amazing when he actually started fucking me for real. So, naturally, I started begging for it even more than before.
After two more toys, each stretching me more, he lifted up, flipped me onto my back, lubed his cock up, and pushed into me, with a slow, steady movement, not stopping once. His nine-inch member seemed to split me, then massage every centimeter of the inside of my anus. I pushed back, and his member slipped deeper and deeper into me.
He held onto me, and began to pull back. He pulled completely out, much to my dismay, then suddenly pushed right back in. That was the point at which my mind stopped. The pleasure was too much, and I reveled in it, as he slowly made love to my hole, and touched my body with his strong hands. He leaned down, and took my right nipple into his mouth, sucking and biting on it. I know a scream of pleasure left my lips, as I came over my stomach.
Looking at his body as he came, I knew yet another reason I was addicted to him. At that moment, I lost control, and began fucking him with a vengeance. I could not get enough of his hot, tight hole, and deeper I plunged. Stronger and stronger built the pleasure, until I blew my thick load into him. My body stiffened, and my hips drove into him strongly. I blacked out.
I must have fallen onto him, because when I woke, I was still inside him, with his legs and arms around me, his voice whispering his love in my ear. I was suddenly fiercely embarrassed, and I pulled out gently, then laid down beside him, and said, "Sorry I blacked out. It was just too good."
He kissed me softly, and replied, "Believe me, you have nothing to be sorry for, my love." He cuddled close, and said, "I've been wanting to do that for years, and now, I have no reason to leave you. That is, if you will let me."
Without a single moment's delay, I told him, "My home is your home, my bed is your bed, and my life is yours. I still am yours." I pulled him closer, and kissed him deeply. "You still protect my heart, and I am going to protect yours as well."
"Thank you, Mikey. I love you." He buried his head against my chest, and we snoozed there.
The next day, we went to retrieve his car, and then parked it at my home. We spent the day together, and we moved him into my home. It was not easy to keep my hands off of him, and he, apparently, had the same problem.