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Once Every Five Years - conclusion

Posted by: SoloTouchArchive Author: admin Posted on: 03 Nov 1999 1 comments
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By 303Tom I woke up the next morning cuddled up next to him. I was hugging him from behind, my morning piss-hard nudged between his hairless, smooth, muscular cheeks. The sweat that had built up in that trench overnight was enough to lube that trench. I was humping him. As I became more awake, my body reminded me that several things had to be emptied FAST! After finishing up, I was walking back towards the bed when he woke. Oh, oh! What do you do with a sobered-up str8 when he opens his eyes and sees a stiff faggot dick heading his way? He answered my unspoken question by stretching his muscular body in the most sexy way, putting a smile on his face, and sleepily mumbling "c'mere". As I complied, he said, "Now that's what I was waiting for last night - my hangover hard-on!" With that he pushed back the covers to show his woody, with the pink head peeking out of its little cover. I smiled, reached his side of the bed, and bent sideways a bit to play with his little buddy. As I did, he scooted around and devoured my bare pal. God, it felt good. His tongue work was as good as the night before, even better since he was sober now. We continued to play. I looked down at his str8 face, entranced at how he had let his gay side out without any inhibitions. He really must have known himself well, to be so comfortable. Deciding to test him, I playfully said, "Hey, what are you doing?" "Suckin' dick" came out, mumbled out the side of his full mouth. "What?" "Suckin' dick," he said more clearly after he pulled away with a sucking, slurping sound. "And what does that make you? I asked. "A cocksucker!" he said proudly as he went back to work. After a while I complained about the cold, and said I wanted to get back in bed. He asked me to stay in bed, he needed to get rid of the rest of the beer from last night. He finished quickly, got back in, and we resumed the positions we had when I woke up. As I humped away, he asked if I could lube up before I fucked him. I carefully explained again that was not in the stars for him today, but added that if he really needed his itch scratched, I wouldn't mind giving him a good finger-fuck. He mumbled his assent, but asked me to continue humping for a while - "your hard-on feels so good back there." As things progressed, I reached around his firm waist, took hold of his stiffer, and made the leaking head play peek-a-boo using his pliant foreskin. "Man, that feels good" he muttered. "Want to feel something even better?" "What?" I silently got up on my knees, turned him over on his back, got his legs together and hopped in the saddle. As I lined up the undersides of our boners, I grabbed the squeeze bottle of lube and the poppers bottle from the night stand drawer. He looked down curiously as I flipped the lube open and squeezed a little of that magic clear goo over our dickheads and onto my fist. As I started my favorite motions, rubbing up and down, back and forth, stimulating out two "sweet spots" together, he started moaning. "Gee, that feels great! I've never done that before. I can't believe it!" "Yeah. Buddy to buddy, helpin' each other out. So who's jerkin' who? Are you jerkin' my dick with your dickhead, or am I doin' yours?" "I don't know and I don't care. Just DO it!" We really got into it. He couldn't keep his hips still, fucking upwards, then relaxing. This was the first time I had done it with an uncut guy. I was fascinated how, as I held the shafts firmly, his head would slip out, travel up, and his g-string would tickle my sweet spot. I reached down, opened the poppers with my free hand and took a good snort. He looked at me doing this, gave me a questioning look, and took an experimental snort himself. Capping the bottle, I told him to grab all of our balls and play. He really got into it - groaning, snarling, mumbling, rolling those four balls around, rubbing his hairless sack against my furry one. All of a sudden, we both started to climb up off the plateau to the peak. Grunts, groans, "Oh, yeah", "Gonna do it", and then "Fuck!!" "Shit!" "Oh God!" as we both started squirting. Gobs and gobs launched out of our swollen peckerheads, parting those tiny lips with their force. Splatting on his hairless belly, his muscular chest, his pink distended nipples, pooling at the base of his throat. Streaming in white rivers off him onto the sheet below. We slowly came off our mutual high. I grunted as my joints, not used to being in the saddle of a bucking bronc, stretched even more as I dismounted. I sunk down on the bed, hugging him as he hugged back. We got each other wet as his slimy torso rubbed up against my dry one. "That was great!" we both mumbled as we sank into a morning nap. I woke first again. The sun had climbed a little higher towards noon, and those big, uncurtained South windows were doing the job I had intended - passively warming the huge open space and my loft bedroom. I kicked off the covers, got up and thirstily went to the little fridge in the closet. As I poured a cool one for me he awoke, saw what I was doing, so I poured another for him. Mmm - chilled wine in chilled glasses in a warm room with a hot man. We talked, we played, we smoked a joint, we lazed away the midday in bed. Then he slowly, gently reminded me of that itch that needed scratching. I smiled as I reached into the night stand drawer and withdrew a condom. As I unrolled it slowly over two fingers, he got the idea. He laid back, spread his legs and gave me access. I teased his re-hardened dick, that smooth nut sack, his ass lips. With my other hand I slowly rubbed that massive chest with my hands, tickling one nip or the other as they passed under my fingers. I lubed up and started penetrating. Slowly, gently. After all, it had been five years. As his ass opened, I could feel the pressure of the muscular walls press my fingers together. "Oh, yes!" he moaned. I took his dick in my other hand. Gently pulling the foreskin down, then riding it back up, feeling the ridge slide in my fingers, underneath the stationary skin. I got a little braver, increased the jacking speed, and just a centimeter before I would have been stopped by the web between my fingers, I found it! His magic button! I concentrated on it, massaging it with my fingertips. He groaned, he moaned. I felt that rock-hard cock getting even firmer in my grasp. As I sped up even more, the hip pumping began again. Here was my bucking bronc back, and I was hanging on for dear life. I couldn't let go of the saddle horn, and my excavation was about to hit pay dirt. As I watched in amazement, the geyser erupted again. Like Old Faithful, there was a rumble, a few little spits, and then high up into the air it came - all over him, my jacking arm, my probing palm. I was a little less proud of my past performance - obviously he was responsible for most of the last flood. I was so turned on, my dick looked like an iron spike. I ripped off the condom and jerked like a young teen as I stared down at his heaving chest, the white rivulets running down into the lowlands like mountain freshets during Spring runoff. I was in a trance as I knelt beside him, pounding away like a 14-year-old. He opened his eyes, took in the scene, and reached out to cradle and nuzzle my balls with his gentle musician's fingers. That did it! Bam! I added to the runoff, squirting that masculine chest with my own load, puny as it was in comparison. We got up, showered (separately, dammit!) and dressed. While he was washing and dressing, I threw together a proper East Coast faggot brunch for 2PM. I got him back home by 4PM. As he was leaving my truck, he surprised me by asking for my number. Didn't offer his, but with a wife and stepson, I didn't expect him to. Besides, he did say once every five years. I lost my job there and moved back to Denver. The phone company said they'd put on a recording giving out my new number for six months. I got back to my new place one evening, and on the machine was a message. From him. "Please call, Tom. I want to talk." No return number. I sometimes wonder what would happen if I travel up there some Sunday night, stop by that C&W bar in the middle of the trailer parks for a beer, sitting beside a set-up in front of an empty stool�