A gay story: Flip and Trey Ch 02 Flip and Trey Ch 02
Meet the ‘Rents—at least some of them
This story is entirely fictional. All characters engaged in sexual activity are over 18. References to past or present Broadway musicals are co-incidental. Man yof the characters is this series will be familiar to those who have read one or more of the Flip series. But these stories are written to be stand-alone. © 2024, Brunosden. All rights reserved.
Two weeks ago Trey had asked me to arrange tickets for his family (8 of them) for Oklahoma! It proved difficult even for me since the two country stars were just beginning their engagement, and the box office was wild. But, I pulled it out: 8 seats in the second row, center. Meanwhile, Trey’s Dad (call me “Jack, my Dad was always Andy”) had blown a good piece of the family savings on a week in New York in suites at the Waldorf. Fuck, they were coming for a week! Next week! And Trey and I had still not decided how or if to break the news of our relationship. What were we going to do with them for a week?
We had met with Brent and Kirk and asked their advice, but really were no closer to a solution. Neither had had parent issues—Brent’s Dad had died unknowing of his son’s “sexual persuasion” and Kirk’s family had always known. But, Brent warned. “It’s going to come out—probably next week. So be ready with a response as between the two of you. Do you know what you want? And what you need? Trey, is Flip more important to you than your family, if it comes to that?”
That conversation had set the fire. Trey and I had talked. We had decided that we were a couple, and that we were ready to shoot for a long future. But, then those nasty circumstances came up. I was about to undertake the career making role of my life. Rehearsals were starting in two weeks. Imagine starring in an ALW musical?
Trey knew what his family expected. His future had been decided for him—and it was in Mobile, or possibly Birmingham, where the largest manufacturing facility existed. His mother would find him a girl. He was a talented engineer. He loved the challenge of theatre lighting. He was growing to love New York. But family was big, really big in his life. Obviously not all of this was possible.
Theoretically, I could go back to being an electrician—and possibly might even find a role in the Maguire Empire—but I was first and foremost an actor. I didn’t think I could return to the South—and certainly not as part of a gay couple.
And all of this assumed his family would accept us as an US. And not disown him or banish him.
Trey said it first. “If it’s between you and my family, it’ll be you, Flip. It’s really not a choice at all. If you’ll have me, that is.”
I paused, confused. “Trey, I want you with all that I am. I’d even give up the theatre for you. But, in a few years, would I resent you for having taken this from me? Or would you resent me for taking you from your family—and your fortune? Can’t we both have everything?” It wasn’t as final a statement as the one he had made, but it was as close as I could get at that moment.
So with that foundation, Trey went to greet his family at the Waldorf when they arrived. He had decided he was going to continue to work—which meant the four night minimum, but he had warned the union that we wouldn’t be taking on any other responsibilities that week. He decided to live with his sister every night that week. And he even staged a “fight” with his girl—which would explain no dates that week. The work of course would mean he didn’t need to be with them every night. And we had decided that we weren’t going to do the couple act this week, but if the issue came up, we’d admit it and bolster each other to withstand the storm.
The first night was a dinner (Trey wasn’t working) with cocktails in their suite before. (I wasn’t invited—so most of the rest of this is third hand from Trey’s account later.) That gave his Mother hours to find out what was “really” going on with her only son. Trey was careful, drank little and conveyed even less. His sister had dropped the news of the fight, but that didn’t stop questions about what she was like, where she came from, who her family was and on and on. Trey ducked most with a good deal of diplomatic skill. But then, in frustration, his Mother proclaimed, “Boy, you’ve been dating this girl for six months. You can’t tell me you don’t know anything about her. Is it because you’re ashamed? Of us or her? Is she a Yankee? Colored? What are you not telling me? I can handle a lot more than you give me credit for.”
Everyone in the suite gazed over at the pair as Momma’s voice had been raised in a very un-ladylike, un-Southern way. So all were poised for his answer.
“To tell the truth, Momma, Angela doesn’t exist anymore. We broke up two weeks ago. And it’s final. I’m not dating any girl in New York now, Momma. I’m not ready to date New York girls yet. My experience has taught me to avoid them all.”
Sis was about to ask the potentially devastating follow-on question—so where are you all the nights you’re away from the apartment since the breakup? But, Daddy announced that the cars were downstairs waiting to take all to dinner. The question was averted—and Momma and Sis (and the three Aunt Em’s) had time to ponder what was going on, imagining all kinds of scenarios, except perhaps for the real one.
The conversation didn’t turn back to Trey over dinner. Rather Momma began to third-degree Sis—who also wanted to tell as little as possible about her guy. Evie had her dream job. She had graduated from Loyola in New Orleans with majors in fine arts (painting) and museum curatorship. She had applied and been hired to the four-person team at the Museum of Natural History to renew the dioramas. (There were forty showcases in all, and each had to be “renewed” every ten years. The team did four a year—so their jobs were essentially secure forever.)
Neither Trey nor I had ever met Evie’s “boy”. We knew she had met him at Loyola, but nothing more. We later learned he was a painter, living in his studio in the West Village. He hadn’t had a show yet, and was nearly penniless—so Evie had been bringing food for their “dinner dates” which typically ended in his small loft bed. We also learned (again much later) that his work would be considered blasphemous or perhaps even sacrilegious by Trey’s Evangelical family: it depicted God doing ordinary human things (like drinking with the guys and sleeping with women)! Declan wasn’t a feared “Yankee.” He was an Irish exchange student who had overstayed his visa (and was thus “illegal”), and, God have mercy, a Roman Catholic! And not just a Catholic, but one who was still practicing! And expected Evie to convert. She might be in love, but she was definitely in trouble!
Trey managed to escape after dinner and returned to his sister’s place—afraid that the Angela alibi would no longer work. (Evie just assumed that Trey was sleeping with various Broadway starlets or groupies that he was picking up at the theatre. She didn’t probe, because she too didn’t want to talk or answer any more questions about her own situation.) The family’s night at the theatre was next.
*****
Jack and Dolly Maguire were delighted with the terrific seats and floored when they opened the Playbill to see a wedding photo and “Congratulations on your Thirty-Fifth from the cast of Oklahoma!” tipped into the first page. Trey’s status went up at least ten points! Even with Evie and the one sister who had come to New York.
The performance was terrific. Kirk had left the cast, but I had talked Lisa and Jake into making an appearance at the Green Room where the three of us joined in “Happy Anniversary” as a cake was cut and champagne was uncorked. A few brief speeches were made, and Lisa and Jake excused themselves, after signing the Playbills. They had fans and groupies waiting.
Trey then introduced me to Jack and Momma. “Flip has been my work-out buddy for months—ever since he saved my butt from disaster when we were wiring at the Barrymore. Daddy, in addition to being a star, Flip is a top electrician. Everyone in the business knows him. We were floundering with no leadership and a deadline. Flip arrived and saved the day. Even at his age, he’s considered one of the mentors of new lighting management for the modern theatre. And, HE got the tickets!”
I shook hands all around, noting that Momma and Sis were both eying every movement I made very carefully. (Both insisted on hugs—”hand-shaking is for guys”.) So I was careful to stand apart from Trey and engaged Jack in shop talk about the inadequacies of modern stage lighting. They invited me back to the Waldorf for a nightcap, but I begged off. “I’ve got a matinee and an evening performance tomorrow and a long session with my new voice coach. Maybe next time. It’s been a pleasure to meet you both.” I looked around, “All of you. Enjoy your time in New York”
As I left, Momma pulled me aside and I stiffened for the worst. “I guess I need a new recording. Your rendition of “Lonely” was the best I’ve ever heard. I don’t think I’ll ever listen to “Poor Daid Jud” again without tears. Now, can I interest you in spending some time with my daughter… Either one?”
“Sorry, ma’m. I’m up to my neck in rehearsals right now. Trey has done a good job of selling, you can bet. She is really cute.”
“And smart…..and rich some day. Just like her brother.” She smiled a broad knowing grin, grabbed my upper arm and asked, “Can I get a kiss from a Broadway star? We’d love to see more of ya. I just knew he’d find a gym partner who was as strong and good-looking as he is. And remember my daughter. I’ve got four of em! We’d love to see you in Mobile. You’d change my social status for years.” Then she laughed, but somehow there seemed to be something more in her invitation and her laugh.
“Yes’m.” And I pulled the door closed behind me, with the feeling that she knew and understood everything.
Apparently she then turned to Trey to get details about the breakup with Angela—and, curiously, when he started to recite some fiction, she changed the subject and wanted to know everything about me.
Trey spent several more lunches with the gang, did some touristy things and ushered them back to the plane. They had had a wonderful experience that they would always remember.
Trey came immediately home, clearly exhausted from the week of charade. “I guess we survived that.” Then he added, “Momma made a curious comment as I kissed her goodbye. She said, ‘If that boy makes you happy, don’t let him get away like Angela. Best friends don’t come along every day. Do you think she knows?”
“Of course, she does. But, she’s going to wait until you tell her. And she’s not going to tell Jack either. Momma’s have a sixth sense about such things. Remember she did your laundry for years…. And she’s probably found your stash of porn.”
I went in to clean up for bed, and when I emerged from the bath, Trey was waiting for me. He was nude, spread out in the center and quite obviously aroused. “I can’t believe how much I’ve fuckin’ missed you. Four fuckin’ days. You’re turning me into a fuckin’ monk. And I’m not even Catholic.”
“And a New Yorker.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You’ve already adopted the New York minute with your impatience. Your language—which I presume you bottled up with Momma around. And exaggeration.”
“Fuck impatience. Patience is way over-rated.” He pulled me toward him and pulled the tee over my head, returning to grab and squeeze my nipples. His head dove to my pecs and his teeth chomped, not too lightly, on my nipples. Fuck, he was so hot.
He pushed me onto the bed, pulled off my shoes and jeans, and pounced. His erection planted firmly in my cleft as he nipped my lobes and sucked hickeys into my nape—just below the collar line. My own arousal began to respond. He was wild. And hot. Oh, I think I already said that.
Not so slowly, his tongue trailed down my spine, causing me to tingle with the cool moisture—and the anticipation. The tongue reached my tailbone as his jock hands pulled my cheeks apart to permit the tip of his tongue to continue its journey to the Promised Land. He circled the rim, curled and poked. I opened and he took full advantage, plunging in as far as his tongue could go. He held it there until I begged for release.
Trey sat back on his haunches and within seconds I felt the soft tip of his rigid pole pushing against that unseen barrier. Again I relaxed the muscles, and he slid in. That first thrust! Fuck! So good! And then the smooth glans rubs along the sensitive nut, pulls back and massages forward again. It’s love at first touch—prick and prostate. I raised my ass to meet him, and he responded by reaching under and fisting my cock and cradling my balls, running them through his fingers like those giant shooter marbles, warming them for luck. Then he dove and bottomed. “What did they feed you, boy? I’ve got to know. I think it grew you a few inches. You are huge! Fuck, you are so good in there. Welcome, home. Welcome home. Hope you can stay awhile.”
Trey proceeded to play me like an instrument. His bow was striking all the right chords. And I was at the beginning of the Hallelujah! Chorus. I felt him stretch and I felt the pressure of his head deep inside. Then, there was the slight spasm, that momentary change of pace and pressure that signaled that he had tightened his glutes and given up: his nervous system was taking over. He lengthened and expanded. Spasm, followed by a generous dollop of wet precum. Another and an explosion of creamy jism. Another. And another. Each one cradling and punching the prostate. The last pushing me over the edge as his fingers relaxed on the base of my shaft. I leaked, then spurted, then, as his fingers massaged my balls, I squirted again. And I was empty, but totally full of his cock, his seed—and his affection. He had milked me dry and filled me back up with his spunk!
It was time for him to consolidate his conquest. He drew my arms in and cocooned me with his thighs. His head rested in the crook of my shoulder as his lips teased my cheek and the edge of my mouth. “You are now plugged, dear boy. Well and duly plugged and seeded.” It was at these moments, that I realized how big and strong he really was. That “Bama” football jock had captured his prey. And there would be release only on his terms. I shivered at the feeling.
It was a long time before he rose and moved into a spoon, holding me tight for the rest of the night. We had weathered the first onslaught of his family. But, somehow we both knew it was only days or weeks before Momma was going to call in her chips.
******
We spent the next few days together. Trey was distracted and I couldn’t resist asking. He had been fooling around with the programming on the lighting sequence at the Barrymore. There were several issues with the existing soft and hardware. If an actor (or actress) missed a line, or a cue, or didn’t hit the appointed spot on the stage, a human needed to adjust the lighting—instantly if possible. That’s why productions always had two techs—one with hands poised over the keyboard and the other with joystick in hand. Most good techs (and I included Trey and myself in that description) were quick enough to do a manual override and catch the action. But, when it occurred, almost all of the remaining lighting cues had to be manually adjusted. The program—and the configuration of the wi-fi lights didn’t “learn” and didn’t “adapt.” It was, to use a designer’s word “dumb.” Miss a cue and throw the rest of the program away until the next scene, or perhaps even the next act.
Trey had been working on various techniques to override the mistake and to build in a self-correction—so the tech only needed to catch the misstep and guide the lights for a few seconds. Then the lights would pick up the resumed action.
In addition, Trey began to play with improv. Much of Broadway and film was moving to improv. And computer lighting was limited. Several different configurations and sequences could be programmed—but a tech had to cue each one. Some of the most popular comedians refused to remain still—or sit on a stool. They wanted to travel around the stage—in an unscripted and volatile pattern. Trey wanted a lighting system that would “learn” logical sequences and operate to overcome glitches and mistakes. He had spent months working on the problems, but one serious obstacle remained: what happens when actors use improv to work back to the script? Couldn’t the program recognize when the pre-programmed sequence was again being followed and reprogram itself?
This would require the system to “listen” to what was going on onstage, and maybe even to “watch” it—using variations on speech and face recognition technology to restore itself to utility. State of the art theatre lighting technology didn’t address any of these issues. In fact, it was just one step above fully manual adjustments or even fixed stage lighting.
He asked for my help. And together we worked on the problems—and created scenarios to test programming solutions. He focused on the software; I gave my attention to the hardware. LED lighting and wi-fi control technology was moving faster than anyone had dreamed five years ago.
Finally, we thought that it was far enough along to engage mass coding support and create some hardware prototypes. Trey wanted us to go to Mobile to sell the idea to his Dad. He needed the investment capital and the manufacturing. It would represent a significant new line of business for Maguire Electronics—a potentially very profitable one.
I was finishing my Oklahoma! run in a week. And, ALW had decided he needed a few weeks to rework some of the music in his new musical—so rehearsals were being suspended for two weeks. We’d have a week—only a week, next week, to travel to Mobile.
We both knew that if we went to Mobile, we’d leave with everyone knowing of our relationship. But, we also knew that if Trey’s invention was to see the commercial light of day, the trip was required. So we agreed. And he called his Dad to set up meetings to expose the technology and ideas and to gain corporate support for development. Jack was, to say the least, overjoyed that his only son was coming home—and with a potential for significant business expansion. When Trey added that I was joining the trip as a co-inventor, Daddy was okay. But Momma yelped for joy (quietly and inside, of course). And started cooking.
Reservations were made, and Trey doubled up on work to justify a week’s absence while I applied myself to the voice coach and the gym.
******
We arrived in Mobile on Monday (I couldn’t drop two Sunday performances), via Atlanta, of course, in the early afternoon. Then it was a short drive to the plantation (now one of the mansions at the Mobile Heritage Golf and Country Club). It was set on a large lot, with a long drive, lined in magnolias. Tall white Ionic columns marched down the front and one side, creating first floor porches and second floor balconies. Almost all the windows were French doors. And everything was blindingly white. Exactly what one would picture when asked to describe an Ante-bellum planter’s place.
We entered a wide center hall. Rooms on either side were furnished in dark antiques with Oriental rugs—very old money, very Southern. A servant offered sweet tea over ice (I guess you have to acquire a taste for it), and we were led upstairs. Trey, of course had his old room, and mine by coincidence (?) was next to it. Both opened onto the same shaded balcony. Momma wasn’t really into subtlety.
We gathered for pre-dinner cocktails and discussion in the enormous “conservatory” which had been added to the rear—a house wide room of glass, wide heart-pine floors and very comfortable leather furniture. Clearly this is where the family lived. Beyond the pool was a long fairway, shielded only partially by banks of azaleas and rhodos. The terraces were old brick and an enormous cooking area flanked one side—with grills, ice dispensers and even a pizza oven.
Momma had already set the ground rules. Business was for tomorrow and “at the plant”—not in her house. Three daughters joined us, all carbon copies—tall, honey blondes with freckles, athletic poise and Tom-boy clothes. One had a “beau” who seemed very intimidated by the whole thing. He just trailed along behind her. Daddy had apparently already put the fear of God in him. He was polite, preppy and in his last year at Alabama. He and Ellie (you guessed it, all the girls had “E” names—Evie (in New York), EllieMay, Estee and Echo. Would you believe Echo? Just think of what she had to put up with!)
I expected the discussion to be difficult. Both Trey and I suspected that she knew—and we arrived together from New York, I’m sure she drew her own conclusions. In addition, Momma abhorred business-talk at home. But Momma steered it toward the New York musical stage. She wanted to know all about how I had broken in and what it was like to be a “star.”
I recounted the circumstances—assuming that I had been “born” in New York. She wanted to know about the family in Texas, and so I explained briefly that Dad lived on a ranch, and that my one brother was now at Texas A&M, a senior, and a star of their football squad. I told her that we hadn’t had a Mom since I was a boy too young to remember anything about her. Fortunately, she didn’t pry about a divorce. Frankly, I didn’t even know whether my father had ever gotten one. I told her that my brother and I were close and talked often, but that he hadn’t been to New York. My silence about my Dad told her all she really needed to know.
Then I added that, because I didn’t think we were going to be able to afford college, I had followed an electrician’s career path, that I had qualified as a Master Electrician in Texas—which transferred to New York. “I’ve had theatre in my blood forever, and, when I learned that there was a specialized exam in New York for theatre electricians, I studied for it and passed. Soon it became obvious that I was a natural. I was in great demand.”
I had been happily “doing lights” on Broadway for almost a year when the guy playing Jud and his understudy had been seriously injured in a car accident. “Lightning struck, and here I am.”
Then I spent some time describing the upcoming rehearsals for the prequel to Phantom–which was still unnamed. We intended to open in January without off-Broadway shakedown performances. Already a London cast was being assembled for a near simultaneous opening.
She asked where I lived. I of course told her about the Montana and the extraordinary luck I had had in securing the two bedroom coop. I mentioned Brent and Kirk, the guy whose voice she had heard on the last version of Oklahoma! He’s done some TV and is doing more now. “Brent and Kirk live upstairs from me. They’re both really good friends. Brent is the only non-actor—other than Trey—in my circle of friends. He’s an investment banker—and he owns most of Oklahoma!. Trey, Brent, Kirk and I occasionally have meals together.”
“How did you meet Trey?”
“It’s really not all that mysterious. I was just starting in the Jud role and not at all sure whether I’d have a job when the injured actor returned. So I was keeping my electrical connections open. I got a call from the BTE asking me to help out a floundering worthless crew at the Barrymore.” I looked over at Trey with a sly smile. I was passing the baton to him.
Trey interrupted, “We’all weren’t floundering! Those ridiculous set designers had changed the staging idea at the eleventh hour and expected three techs to redo everything in time for the opening. They had primitive infrastructure. So it was going to be a big job. It was not gonna happen. Three guys can’t do the work of six—even if one of ’em is a ‘Bama boy.” (I noted that with every hour we spent in Mobile, Trey’s diction was changing—and his pace of response and conversation was lengthening. It was charming. I loved it, and so did another part of me that was responding to the expectation of what was coming—or is it cuming?)
I decided to tease a bit. “Not quite the way I remember it. It seems to me like I was running a pre-school in basic lighting tech. You college-educated engineers don’t know a volt from a watt once you get out of the classroom.”
I noticed Jack perked up when I compared my practical experience with Trey’s college-educated background. I guessed that he didn’t have a degree.
Trey punched my arm, and was about to add something more, when his Dad broke in. “So you both have been doing roughly the same kind of work for some time now? Is that how you met?”
“Yeah. On the job, but there was more. It was really another coincidence. Evie’s apartment is only two blocks from mine. So Trey and I were using the same gym for workouts. The weekend after I helped him out, we happened to be be in the gym at the same time. I was usually alone, and we agreed to spot each other that day since we seemd to be using the same equipment and weights. Thus, we became friends. Really based on our common love of exercise. I workout just about every day.”
Mom interjected, “And apparently a common love of muscles.” She turned and winked at Trey, but I caught the nuance. Of course, she had guessed.
Dinner was pleasant and talk turned to the great season that the Crimson Tide had just posted—again. There was a TV game that night (not the Tide)—one of the late-season college games that would determine titles and invitations to bowls. So Mom disappeared—but not Trey’s sisters. They too were avid followers. I watched politely and managed not to make a total fool of myself. I knew about as much as any young guy about football, but I was a track nut. I had no practical gridiron experience and any remarks I might make could betray my ignorance. But, fuck, those asses and those packages—and the way they lined up, like they wanted their asses to be taken right on the field! This should be required viewing for any gay.
As the game ended, we made arrangements to spend the next day at the plant and headed off to bed. I noted that the girl’s rooms were on one side and the guest rooms on the other with Trey’s room. The Maguire’s had a first floor suite. Trey headed for his room, but whispered first, “There’s no crime to speak of in this part of Mobile. I never lock my door to the porch. Sometimes, when the weather is good, I even sleep walk out there.”
A minute or so later, clad only in a tee and some sleep shorts, I moved to the porch outside my room. It was dark, humid and the air was perfumed with the blossoms of the Deep South. I took a couple of steps; then ran flat into Trey who was leaning over the balcony inhaling the perfumed, humid air. My dick nestled quite nicely into his naked cleft. Fuck, he was naked and pushing his ass out toward me. He whispered, “I didn’t think you were cuming.”
I whispered, “Boy, you’ve gotta slow down. We’re in Mobile. It’s only been a minute.” I milked his cock for a few minutes; then backed off and pulled him into me. We embraced and my hands immediately drifted down to massage his ass cheeks. “Fuck, this ass is so nice.” Cocks dueled between us and I guess our moans and groans drew loader in the still, moist Alabama night. And I guess we didn’t notice that the old cypress floor boards of the porch and the railing were creaking loudly and with a regular intensity that suggested a rocking stimulation.
Finally, Trey pulled away, “Not out here. There might be skeeters. Or you’re gonna push me over that railing with your re-enactment of the War of Northern Aggression.”
******
Little did Trey and I realize that Dolly and Jack were engaging in one of their forbidden pleasures just below us. They were stretched out on chaises, side by side at the edge of the pool, sipping bourbon, frosty-iced with a sprig of mint. And if one looked closely, two “firefly” lights burned steadily. Both had lit up and were savoring their once-each-week Cuban cigars. They both, of course, picked up the sounds above them and only a few feet away. Dolly smiled at Jack, “It sure looks like those boys really like each other.” Then she snickered—and placing her finger over her mouth, warned Jack to remain silent. They listened for a few more minutes. Then they heard the French door close.
“Wha’dya want me to do Momma?”
“It’s easy. He’s our only son. He’s found love. He’s just following the way the Lord made’m. And you’re gonna make something good happen for him. If you adopt Flip, you’ll have two sons. If you turn Trey away, you’ll have none. Not a very hard choice, I’d say. I’ve already made up my mind. I can just picture those two handsome hunks pleasurin’ each other. Now, Daddy. Are you too old to take me to bed? Those young guys have turned me on something terrible. And that actor could melt an iceberg with those eyes—and those abs.”
“Mommya you’re too old for that stuff.”
“Just you come inside, and I’ll show you what I’m old enough to do. I can still make you stand up and take notice, luv.”
*******
I pushed him back into his room where a dim light shone on all the golden trophies on his shelves. Fuck, it was like a museum. First this, second that, first again, MVP, top scorer. Even the “he-also-was-there” trophies had been displayed—and kept polished by an adoring family. And they all portrayed young, muscled semi-nude athletes (Southerners tend to like Neo-Classical figures on their trophies)—but none came close to Trey. “Your head must get awfully big when you sleep in this room.”
“Not sure about that. But when you’re in this room, my other head swells up and salutes!”
I pushed him onto the bed, pulling his shorts the rest of the way off as I did so. He was not exaggerating. He was already hard and leaking. His cock bounced off his cut gut and stood tall—like many of those trophy boys. Fuck, his cock was so beautiful. So long and straight and hard. I was wrong, fuck the trophies, I’ll take the real flesh and blood.
“It’s rodeo night , Trey. I’m ridin.”
I straddled and began to stroke his flanks, slipping back to fist and squeeze his butt cheeks. He was hot and pulsing, begging to take me. I swiped my dick between his hard-square pecs, loving the friction, and did it again. His head lifted and his tongue stuck out and licked the drops from the tip. Then his legs came up behind me, and I rested back into them, holding him by his ankles. My dick launched up between us.
I reached back and lubed, and then slowly backed down over his cock. Then I reclined and positioned his cock right smack on my nut. He bucked a few times, ramming my love nut with each rise. Fuck that was exactly what I needed. He bucked several times, taking me harder and deeper with each push. Then it was my turn. I bent over and started to nurse on his tits, raising myself from him with my thighs. That gave him room to push up. Repeatedly he rose, penetrated, scraped, bottomed and withdrew. Then, his hands which had been holding me tight moved. Demonstrating his incredible strength, he lifted his torso and pulled us into an embrace, seating me fully in his lap with his cock deep inside. He moved to the edge of the bed and stood. He was using the maximum gravity to impale me. I hung on to his neck as he bounced and bounced, his strong hands on my glutes, forcing me to ride and ride. Fuck it was deep. And hard. And filling. My knees came up and pressed into his sides, opening me even deeper. Fuck, he was so far in. He was tapping the second gate. Then it opened and flooded him with moisture.
“I’m cumin Flip. Prepare for blastoff.” Then I felt the ignition, the missile rose slowly from the launch pad, and the explosion burst from the capsule. I responded immediately, covering our chests with my jism. He dropped back onto the bed and held me close, tickling my nape with his kisses. I turned and he gripped me hard into him. We pulled up the sheet. Seconds later we were both in dreamland. After, our first time in his bed and in his home.
And as they say, “When you fuck a Southern boy in his own bed in his own house, you’ve crossed the Rubicon, Caesar. You better be ready to marry him—or face his Daddy’s shotgun.”
TBC BD