A gay story: The New Neighbor Ch. 02 The knock came again, louder this time—three sharp raps. Here I stood, dried come matting the hair on my chest and stomach, and a visitor at the door. I thought at first to ignore the interruption; probably a peddler or Jehovah’s Witness—at 7:45 a.m.? But an instinct crept upon me, something inside telling me that this was no intrusion. I made my way silently to the front door, unlatched the dead bolt and opened the door a mere crack. To my amazement, there stood my neighbor in tee shirt and sweats, bleached hair tousled from sleep, a press-pot of coffee in one hand.
Thoughts shot through my mind. Nothing like this had ever happened to me! I’d just masturbated to a fountain orgasm in front of a complete stranger, and here he was standing on my porch! So much for the anonymous if invisible barrier of our shared street. Lost in my emotions, I literally had to blink to regain my vision as his voice brought me back to consciousness.
“Well, are you going to open up?”
I took a deep breath and opened the front door wide. His face beamed with an easy, lopsided grin.
“Uh, hi,” I managed.
“Hi yourself. That was some show.”
“Thanks.” I could feel my face reddening.
“I’ve been watching you every morning since I moved in, wondering what else you were doing behind the blinds except having a smoke. My suspicions are confirmed.”
All I could do is smile and shake my head.
“What’s with the coffee?” “I figured your cup must have gotten cold by now. That is,” he added, “if you don’t mind me coming in.”
We sat at my kitchen table—Scott and I—grinning over steaming mugs and at first attempting a bit more common nice-to-meet-you conversation. But the topic at hand—so to speak—came back quickly.
“You don’t strike me as a guy who jacks off in his window all the time.” “Ah, no.”
“So, what happened today?”
“Come on. First you’re a shadow, then you’re showing me your body, and then a cock in full view and so big I see it from across the freakin’ street! What else was I supposed to do?”
“Well, I loved it.”
“Thanks.”
“And I’d like to return the favor.”
Scott stood straight up from the chair, then braced himself against the kitchen wall. I could see the outline of his erection forming behind the curtain of his sweats, then he pulled them down to his knees in one motion and his cock sprang upward tall and stiff. It stood almost vertical to his stomach. From my window it looked big, but a couple feet from my face it was down right impressive: long, probably eight or nine inches, but not much thicker than my own six and a half, slightly wider at the base and tapering up the light-colored shaft to a head in perfect proportion. If I had to chisel my idea of a perfect cock, this is what the statue would look like. And here it was, hard and pulsing right in front of me, head growing dark and engorged, balls round and tight.
I watched him watching me; he was obviously thoroughly enjoying showing himself off. I felt my own rejuvenated erection begin to grow, and thought I’d double back on the returned favor. I pulled off my sweats completely and strode naked to reach for his rigid shaft.
“Uh-uh,” he said. “Not yet. Just watch.”
Frustrated—I’d never been so close to such a wonderful cock without being all over it—I sat back down and let my own erection throb in full view for his pleasure. He started slowly, at first lightly, fingers to balls, shaft, then head, growing so hard his cock no longer bobbed with his pulse but almost touched his stomach.
“Tell me,” he said, now slowly stroking his entire shaft and head, “What would you like to do with my cock?”
“What wouldn’t I like to do with it?!”
“I don’t know. Tell me.”
I’ve never been good at the verbal aspect of sex, but here we were, hard cocks exposed to the morning air, stroking ourselves just a couple feet away from one another—what better time to practice? I was now fully erect, the same aching hardness as before, and I told him everything he wanted to hear. I described how perfect his cock looked, how I wanted it in my hand, wanted to stroke him up and down slowly, cup his balls and squeeze them as my hand flowed over his hardness. I told him how I’d make him stiff as stone, then kneel in front of him and open my mouth as he guided himself inside. I’d suck him gently at first, allowing my lips to wrap around him as my tongue swirled over the ridges at the base of his cock head, open wide to take him deeper, feeling the hard pressure against the back of my throat as I relaxed for him. I asked him if he’d like to fuck my mouth, and he groaned in affirmation. Do it, I told him. Give it to me. Slide it in over my lips and tongue. But remember one thing: be sure you fuck my throat before you come on my face.
That got to him, I could tell. I knelt in front of him, and he did as I’d demanded. The head of his cock was so hot on my lips it startled me. But I took him just as I’d said I would, slowly maneuvering his length deeper and deeper into my mouth, sucking him back up toward his head, then deepening further still. Despite his length I didn’t rely on my hands, letting them rest on my own thighs to give him control. Little by little the sway in his hips, forward and back, grew more pronounced, and I felt surprised that I could take his cock as easily as I did. Then his breath quickened. He thrust himself not as deeply in my mouth, but faster and faster. I tightened my lips around his head, allowing my tongue to massage his cock from beneath.
“Okay!” was all he said, and all he needed to say. He withdrew from my mouth and took himself in hand. I parted my lips and looked up as he completed the final few strokes until his cock head erupted, shooting straight into the air but landing on my mouth and chin, thin come at first, splashing off my face and onto my chest, then thicker strands that clung to my cheeks and lips, warm and tart. He leaned back hard against the wall, and I reached for him and took him again in my mouth, cleaning him off while I rubbed the come from my face onto his cock and into my hands, over and over, until we both gleamed in it.
“That was amazing,” Scott said, after catching his breath.
“That’s what I was going for.”
“We should do coffee regularly.”
“Sounds good to me.” Then I noticed the wall clock. “Oh, shit!”
“What?”
“It’s 9:15! I was supposed to be at work forty-five minutes ago.”
“Well, you definitely need a shower before you go in.”
“True.”
I called my boss, lamented of car trouble, told her I’d make it just as soon as I could. She completely empathized, told me take whatever time I needed. The whole day if necessary. I tossed the phone onto the kitchen table, tugged Scott’s hand and led him toward the bathroom and a steaming shower.