A gay story: Auto Erotic
“Any objections if me and Roger take a trip down to Carr’s this afternoon? You need anything?”
Carr’s was simply the baddest, best hardware store in the Berkshires, in Pittsfield to be exact.
Barb’s eyes met mine, turning her head from the sink, her hands working on Friday night’s dinner pot. The slightest of smiles flickered over her face.
“You asking permission?”
“Depends.” I hooked my suspenders with a pair of thumbs and rocked back on my heels, hoping I channeled some old confident yeoman farmer in his venerable backwoods New England domain. We stared at each other in our old kitchen with its ancient windows, glass unglazed, a bit rattly in wintertime winds. I was aware I might look ridiculous.
Barb arched her left eyebrow. I wish I could do that. Both of mine always go up at the same time. But I loved the quizzical, dare-me look that emerged on her face.
“Depends, you say? Well you wouldn’t have asked if it was just a legitimate errand.”
She put emphasis on the word “legitimate.” Each of us would play this little game out for kicks.
“Both.” I shifted my feet. “Legitimate hardware needs. For the VW.” I stood there feeling the lovely little frisson that accompanies matters of the groin. “But the other as well.”
Barb wiped her hands on a towel and looked into my face.
“Okay by me. I know it has been awhile for you guys. Hope you get what you want.” The barest hint of an amused smile.
She was ambiguous on purpose. Could be referring to the hardware store but probably the something else.
“So do you need anything?”
A more definite smile. “Only that you tell me about it tonight. And please save something for me, okay?”
I could relax my face. “You’re on, love.”
A little kiss and I was out the door.
Hot damn. Roger and I hadn’t had a chance at each other for weeks, and I could scarcely contain my excitement as I fired up the old red and white two-tone vintage bus, glad my twelve-volt conversion made starting the thing easy. And the VW hadn’t had a proper drive in ages, either.
The old sex life had gotten both simpler and more complicated since midwinter, when our bombshell event occurred, and Barb had found out about my little preoccupation with Roger’s penis. On one hand, things had vastly improved, so long as I got the go-ahead, which had occurred just now in our kitchen.
On the other hand, Roger and I hadn’t seen nearly as much of each other as before we got discovered. Back then we had gotten real good at planning and hiding our trysts with a certain amount of reckless abandon that actually proved quite exciting. Until now that it wasn’t so common, I almost hadn’t realized just how often we had hooked up for a good sperm-relief session. But at least we were no longer sneaking around.
Roger hopped into the cab with a grin on his face and a spring to his step.
“Clay. Super to see you.” He patted my groin across the bench seat. “Business first, then pleasure?”
“Not sure we’d qualify as New Englanders if that wasn’t the order of things.”
The change in status had affected Roger more than anyone else, I reckoned. Barb and I had done some sexual rekindling, which was good, but it left Roger much more out of it all. I had two sexual outlets, he was down to just me, and not as often. His wife Carrie couldn’t handle his guy desires and had withdrawn from the sexual arena almost entirely.
But just thinking about what was in store for the two of us today was enough to keep my mind racing and excited.
We had a new topic to discuss on the drive down to Carr’s, not one that had entered our world before.
Bondage.
In our altered circumstances, and a longer, colder spring than usual, our little get-togethers had been sparse and abbreviated. We’d mitigated the scene a little by sharing porn site clips, each of us doing some online exploratory stuff on our own.
Roger had sent me a Pornhub link to a steamy little threesome, two bi-guys with handsome cocks and a busty female which had involved tying the MILF up while the guys alternately did stuff to each other and then teased the womanly wench into a series of arousing climaxes.
Among other things, I observed to Roger how hard it was to find porn that exactly fit your tastes. And of course bisexual stuff was the hardest. It was easy enough to find gay bondage, with some guy tied up and getting teased or worse. Ditto for hetero, but somehow Roger had found this very sweet little vignette.
There was something intoxicating about seeing a handsome woman tied by all four limbs, spread-eagled, while the two friends with their quivering cocks took turns with her.
We talked about the possibilities of rope, securing someone so they couldn’t move or affect matters. I shouldn’t have been so excited by this, not a kink that had ever come into my thoughts much before, but it came up powerful now as Roger and I ran through our thoughts,.
“I take it you have never done any rope stuff then?” Roger’s eyebrows went up as he asked me.
“Nope. Closest I came was a long time ago, in college. I was in the early stages of a relationship, Marla was her name, and somehow or another ropes came up. She looked at me shyly and said she wouldn’t mind being tied up some night. ‘Might be fun,’ she said.”
I shook my head. “Not the first time in my life that I should have acted quickly. By the time I had gotten around to getting some rope, a few weeks later, we were done as a couple. Missed my chance. And pretty much haven’t thought about it in decades.”
Neither of us had any interest in the pain or humiliation part of BDSM, just a huge curiosity about what being restrained, and doing the restraining, would be like as participants.
Carr’s, as usual, was great.
We took our time in the rope section, trying to figure out size and type of rope. Neither of us knew a thing about what we were planning, everything played out like a couple teen-aged guys in an adult bookstore for the first time.
I snugged some 5/8 inch cotton rope against Roger’s right wrist.
“That feel okay?” The cotton seemed like it would be smooth enough against the skin, unlike the hemp I had fondled a moment before.
Roger gave me a look while I tightened the rope around his wrist. I couldn’t imagine what some store clerk would think if he came around the corner just then, we were obviously not planning on rigging out a ship.
“Yah, that’s okay.” But his eyes got wide as the thought dawned on him of what we might actually be doing with our purchases. Restraint for sexual purposes had mostly been an academic exercise until now.
We then made our way to the “nautical” section of the store. You wouldn’t think a store in Pittsfield Massachusetts would have much in the way of ship supplies, more than hundred miles to the ocean and all, but there were enough rich folks around who piloted boats in the nearby lakes that Carr’s stocked all manner of boating accessories, basic and complex.
We chose some nice silver galvanized eye-bolts, sized right for the rope and went to the cashier with some hardware and fifty feet of cotton rope, most likely way more than we needed, but we’d have it in our supply setup anyway. We returned to the car with stupid grins on our mugs.