Bullfighter

I remember it like it was a flashback from a drunk night, the one moment of lucidity in a week of blackout. His hands. His hands on my waist. They were rough against my skin, smooth and supple in spite of itself. How many days, nights, cut classes, spent dreaming and jacking off had I spent. And after all this time you just show up. "Howyadoin Justin, It's been a long long time." He smiled his cupid's bow smile, the kind a bull would smile at you before he got you with his horns. My life was settled into a strange routine of celibacy and random sex, a man on the roof of my artist loft building, a quick roll behind the bar at the local bar, and then solitude for the next six months. In the broad sense of things I had what I wanted, an unconventional life outside of the confines of society, a loft where I could spend my day painting, and the kind of life that had no boundaries. The truth, the real truth which I could never bring myself to say was that I thought about him constantly. When you want someone, want them inside you, want anything of theirs in something of yours, you know it in a second. I had just been fifteen that moment that I had to hide my instant hard-on. I was in the prescence of a bull. His ears were stretched to two guage silver rings and he wore a ring which only emphasized his huge hands. "My name's Brian." the voice came from deep inside him, his massive neck, which was as big as my waist, his incredible chest. The same chest I dreamt about for years. His pierced nipples poked through the wifebeater he was wearing, and exposed his huge arms, arms that could hurt, arms that could restrain. They were tattooed. He had been in Prison. He brushed up against me inthe hallway we occupied, staring each-other down. When we touched, I froze, my fight or flight response instantly turned to fight or fuck. From that moment I needed him to survive. We knew each other as friends for an agonizing six months. I helped him get girls, and then I would get them to tell me everything they could about his body, the sounds he made, what he looked like under the jeans and the wife-beater. Whether his hairy chest went down to the dick that I knew instinctively was huge. "I need you." I responded when I came back to reality. He was reality. From there we almost ran to my place. We couldn't make it to my loft before Brian's shirt was off and I ran my pink tongue over the metal and tender flesh of Brians' nipples. In my mind, and in my eyes everything flowed between us. The world exploded around our pleasure. Brian's shaved dick was already out of its pants and throbbing by the time I unlocked my door. I pinned Brian to the door with my mouth, trailing down his soft, smooth, hairless skin to his huge cock. "I knew it." I murmured through my mouth of rock hard mancock. Brian was the man, the only man who I could ever be this turned on by. For anyone else the ten inch ramrod of a cock would have been too much for me to put in my mouth. But I needed it in me so badly. If I could have only kept it there. Brian's hands pushed mine towards his smooth crack. His ass, he wanted me to finger his wet asshole. It was so beautiful, soft, velvety. I massaged his prostate and worked his head against the back of my throat. He was about to cum, I could feel his head pulsing, throbbing, and I could hear the change in tone of his moans, as loud as they were they were getting louder. I stopped, snapped my fingers. "I need you inside of me." I growled once we were eye level. I bent over, waiting to receive him, the anticipation running from my nipples to my cock and back again, I thought I was going to explode if he didn't stick something inside me. Instead, he stood me up and backed me into my ragged sofa with his eyes. Starting with my nipples he released every pent up desire I had ever had for him. He pulled on my nipple-rings with his teeth and put his hands once again on my waist, squeezing my stomach muscles and ribs. He worked his way down with his tongue, dragging his strong tongue from my hole to the head of my dick until my entire body threatened to explode, my muscles convulsing. And then he did it, he gave me what I wanted all along, and he gave it to me until his huge hanging balls slapped against me. For what seemed like hours he went from his head to his balls. Drenched in sweat he finally came inside me, my sphyncter contracting and relaxing involuntarily as he twitched throbbed onto me. He let out a long, loud groan. He collapsed on top of me, still inside me. His cum, his gift to me seeping out of me and onto my sofa. I managed to turn over while he passed out on top of me. After a second of rubbing up against his strong stomach I came on him, further gluing us together. I gave up my art for almost a month. I gave up leaving the apartment for anything besides food, and only when I couldn't get a delivery man to bring us something. We never got to have a last time. He had stabbed a cab driver and was jumping bail for mexico. It wasn't assumed or offered that I join him. I think about him less now though, but anyone else I fuck is just ridiculously inadequate. Who knows, I may be going to mexico in spite of myself, but for now I'll just keep painting bulls..