I fucked him. Slow and deep. Relentless. But savoring each and every moment. God it was so fucking good. I rolled him over further so we were both on our sides, giving me access to the deepest part of his ass. But my hands and mouth were every much a part of him. My hands rolled across him, reveling in his sweaty body. The feel of his taught muscles, so unlike the body of a woman… funny, after all this time I still almost expected to feel tits in my hands, but there was nothing but the hard muscle of his pecs. And his hair. God I fucking loved the feel of the curly hair on his chest. Light against my hands.
Fuck.
I drove deep inside. Our bodies responding to each other, in synch. Matching our movements perfectly. Awake with the memory of fucking each other. Responding. I fucked him. Kept fucking him deeply. I kissed his neck, murmuring sounds of wet pleasure. Still I fucked him. His own hands met mine and our fingers meshed. My dick filling his body as I fucked him. Fucked him. He pulled my hand to his mouth and he licked my palm, grinding across his face, his stubble stabbing me. And I was fucking him. Fucking him. Always fucking him. I mouthed his neck relentlessly, my tongue lapping the beading sweat. And I fucked him. Fucked him. No break, no pause.
He fucking surrendered to me. His body opening. Swallowing me. Holy shit. The most masculine guy in the world fucking surrendered to me.
My thrusts inside him became more relentless. Harder. Triggering him. Fucking to bring the cum out of his balls. His body wildly pressed back against me, and I pulled him tighter. Fucking. Fucking. Fucking. My hands ranged across him, demanding him. Claiming him. My dick filling him. His movements became more frantic, more needly. His sounds changing pitch. I could feel his balls churning and his hole spasming around my cock as it relentlessly filled him. He was fucking close.
And I was going to fuck the cum right out of him.
I started trusting deeper, faster, triggering him. I swear I could feel that river of cum build in his balls and shoot throughout his body until it finally came blasting out his cock. Thick. Heavy. Smelling of warm sea water. I caught as much as I could and then smeared it up and down his cock. Roughly. I brought my cum-drenched hand to my mouth and sucked at my fingers. And I fucked him. Reached back down for his cock. And I fucked him.
Fucked him.
Nate’s body finally rebelled as my cum-filled hand jacked him. He was sensitive from having just shot, and he began jerking wildly and making strangled noises. But there was no fucking way I was going to let up. I kept fucking him. Holding him tight against me. With my firm hand around his cock and my hard cock balls deep inside him, there was nowhere to go.
Now it was my fucking turn.
I stared pounding him. Fucking POUNDING him. Jacking him all the while. Flooding his entire body with primeval sensations. Nate started bark-howling like a bunch of rabid baboons, simultaneously trying to escape the raw feelings while begging for more. His body was bucking like a rodeo bull as I fucking slammed into him. Exulting from the friction of skin on skin.
The weird thing was, at that moment my eyes lifted, and I was flooded with images from the TV. Images of series of cat-and-mouse games holding a runner on first, with unparalleled closeups of the first baseman’s ass pointing right at us, his uniform so tight around his butt I could make out the outlines of his jockstrap. Quick shots of the catcher making signs, his fingers flashing around his crotch. Then back to the first baseman’s ass. Back and forth. Ass, then crotch, then ass. And the sound: the crowd was cheering wildly in anticipation of a pickoff. In my mind, they were cheering for Nate and I. It all fused together, the TV pictures with all those physical sensation, into one incredible moment. Of me fucking owning Nate’s ass. Taking it, and fucking using it to drive him out of his fucking mind.
That was it. No more Mr. Nice Guy. I grabbed his belly for support and started hammering the fuck out of his ass. BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM Nate’s whole body ricocheted with each blow, the couch groaning as loud as we did. Our bellows finally joined into rhythmic barks as each hammer stroke landed. Nate reached down and started jerking himself off furiously, the sound of skin on slick skin soaring above this absolute symphony of masculine sound.
BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM
Finally I unleashed, blasting off so hard it felt like my entire body exploded. Nate was right there with me, screaming out a roar that nearly shattered all the accumulated beer bottles. I couldn’t believe it… two full loads back-to-back. The crowd on the TV roared, seemingly in approval.
God, he was so fucking amazing. My Nate was so fucking amazing. A fucking hero right out of an ancient epic. I was so lucky. So very fucking lucky.
The curious thing is that the rest of the evening was so… quiet. Like our bodies had said everything we had to say, and words were fucking useless. Distracting. I also think we were both very well aware that this was our last bit of private time together, and the enormity of that overwhelmed us. In the end, we were both so flummoxed by what to say that we didn’t say anything when I finally left that night after the game ended. We just hugged, and I slipped away back home.
* * *
Over the next few days, I ended up kicking myself for having left so much unsaid. When we first got together, we had to come to terms with who we were, what it all meant for us. Now a new problem presented itself: what to do now?
And I had no fucking idea what to think.
It was one thing to come to terms that man sex was fucking good. That I could love it, and not be any less of a man for loving it. But… should we do it? Should anything change between us? In our families? For either, both, or neither of us? I had no way to answer these questions… and the only person I knew who had any experience with any of this stuff was the one person I couldn’t ask.
Plus, this was a crappy week ahead for us, meaning there wasn’t likely a chance for us to get together as usual. Not only was work crazy, but my inlaws were planning to stop for a visit, and there was no way I could delicately slip away to pound one out with Nate. Even if his wife wasn’t there. Shit.
And so I stewed. And in that empty space, I had way too much time for my heart and head to sucker punch each other in a fucking grudge match inside me. Maybe there was an answer there.
Maybe the fact we couldn’t get together was the fates trying to tell us something.
One morning a couple of weeks later, I was loading up my car to head into work. Shannon, Nate’s wife, pulled out of their driveway, and waved cheerfully as she headed off to work. I smiled and waved back, then just stood there. Like a fucking idiot. My stomach tied into knots.
Fuck it.
I whipped out my phone and texted Nate. “Hey, u free 2 talk for a min?” Agonizing wait.
Finally, “Hey man sure”
I got into the car, drove around the corner and was knocking at his door in less than a minute.