Okay, okay, okay.

You didn't like the last chapter.

I changed it.

If you don't tell me what you wanna read, I don't know what to write.

So try this one.

No Advantage
Chapter IV

I decided I should just get in the car and head over to Rob's taking a long, slow route to kill the time rather than goof around the place. I needed to practice on my language for the role of Prince Clayton and figured it would be better to do that alone in the car. If I started walking around talking to myself in Elizabethan English, anyone who heard me, even my parents, would conclude I had gone completely nuts.

I went back into the house to fix Wilbur's supper; it wasn't quite six o'clock yet, but I figured Wilbur wouldn't object to eating a bit early. I picked up his food bowl from the kitchen floor and sat it on the counter. Since it was somewhat of a special day for me I decided Wilbur deserved something special as well. A can of beef chunks with a package of cat food mixed in. Don't ask me why but Wilbur goes ape over cat food. I guess that's just additional proof he's as weird as the rest of the family.

After mixing together the somewhat disgusting conglomeration destined for Wilbur's stomach, I took it to him out in the back yard. Wilbur was preoccupied across the yard, seemingly stalking a squirrel. I whistled and yelled, "Wilbur! Dinner!" That got his attention. Wilbur came bounding across the yard, skidded across the patio to a stop landing on his ass and then scrambled back to his feet poking his nose in his bowl. Wilbur is generally a very polite eater, except when it's cat food and then he gobbles like a pig. As I expected, Wilbur was doing his pig imitation tonight.

Mom looked over at Wilbur and remarked, "You'd think he never got fed around here."

"It's his favorite, Alpo and Tender Vittles."

"Oh," replied Mom. Looking at me she asked, "Why are you feeding him out here?" Wilbur usually dines in the kitchen.

"I just figured he might like dining al fresco tonight, 'tis such a pleasant evening. You and Dad doing anything tonight?"

"Your father is going to be digging in the yard later."

"Digging what?"

"Holes, of course. I bought some flowers while I was out this morning. After supper, Ted and I are going to spend some quality time together planting them."

"You broken the news to him yet?" In one sense, Dad is a typical father; his idea of gardening is to plant things you can eat, like tomatoes.

"No, but perhaps I should before he comes up with alternative plans for the evening," said Mom as she closed her book and stood up.

"Well, I'm off to Rob's. Say bye to Dad for me."

"Bye, dear. Have fun," replied Mom as she was walking back to the house. I loved it; "have fun." If she only knew.

I walked across the yard, through the gate to the driveway, got in my car and pulled away from the house. After settling into the driving routine I began practicing my language skills for the night. After messing around with the words a little bit it got to be fun.

"Forsooth! The apparition of thy stately manhood, so full in blossom, makes me quiver in anticipation." Hey, that is much better than "Man! Great dick you got."

I continued practicing. "With thy kind assent, may I cease uttering phrases upon thine ears and instead employ the mechanisms of my speech to the satisfaction of thy lust?" Not bad for a beginner, Clayton. That sounds a lot sexier than "I wanna hoover down on that raging boner of yours."

Yeah, I could already tell tonight was going to be a lot of fun. I had the concept down so I decided to forget practicing; just go with the flow and let things happen.

My thoughts reverted back to the events of the afternoon and then it occurred to me how different my coming out was from what Rob had experienced. Rob's background was the opposite of mine; one of the few things in common about our growing up was he also grew up in the Houston area. I was very fortunate, what with my parents, being an only kid, living in a nice neighborhood and having no money worries.

Rob never mentioned anything much about his background to me when we first got together. About all I knew was that he was the third of five kids; his family was not poor, but they were not affluent. When he was around fourteen, he began following his instincts and started having sex with guys. Rob left home before graduating from high school and went to work. As he put it, his family didn't like the fact he was homosexual, so he got out. I could tell that his childhood probably wasn't all that pleasant, particularly in comparison to mine, so I never made any inquiries to avoid making him feel embarrassed.

While we were working together at the moving company, Rob and I had arranged to spend a few nights together. It wasn't all that difficult. Since we often had to work at nights and on weekends, it was not unusual for us to have to work until past midnight on Friday and have to be back at work again on Saturday morning. On a few of the weekends when we didn't have anything going at work, I just told my parents we had a large weekend job and so that I could get more sleep, I'd just stay with Rob since he lived near the office, thereby saving me the longer trip home and back.

After I went back to school, the overnight stays ended since no valid-sounding excuse was available to me until Halloween came. By prearrangement with Rob, I told my parents that I was going to a party the Saturday before Halloween; there would be booze at the party and if I thought it appropriate, I'd just spend the night and not drive. In actuality, the plan was to go to the party for a little bit, then head over to Rob's and spend the night.

The Halloween party wasn't all that bad, but it wasn't all that great. I went as a kangaroo (rental costume, not an eBay purchase). Everyone thought it was a really cool costume but it turned out to be a real pain. People kept stepping on my tail and I kept knocking things over with it. On top of that the thing was not quite big enough for me, was hot as hell and guys kept stuffing empty beer bottles and cups in my pouch. So after a couple of hours and a couple of beers I left, giving the excuse I had another party to go to (which I did, in a way).

I got back out of the kangaroo suit and headed over to Rob's (you can't drive a car in a kangaroo costume because that damned tail prohibits you from properly sitting down; that's why I had a change of clothes with me). After getting to his place I called Mom and Dad, told them I would not be driving any more that night and that I'd leave my cell phone turned on so they could call me. As I knew it would be, they were cool with everything.

Rob knew I was coming over, but he was somewhat shocked to answer his door to be confronted by a kangaroo (and I got some really weird looks from people while I was putting the thing back on in his parking lot). We messed around for a little bit, got me decostumed, then hit the bedroom. After we had each blown a load we took a shower together then got back in bed, just cuddling and talking. As was customary, the only light in the room was a candle in the corner, but there was enough light for us to see one another.

I had long ago noticed the scar on Rob's right cheek along with a few others on this back and shoulders; they weren't big, ugly things, but they were there and I asked him how he got them, figuring he'd fallen out of tree or something like that as a kid. When he did not immediately answer I knew this was something I shouldn't have asked and quickly told him I didn't expect a reply. But Rob did answer, very quietly, holding his head down, "That's where my father hit me with the buckle end of his belt when he found out I was gay."

I didn't say anything; I just hugged Rob and repressed my urge to cry. Rob could tell I was upset so he gently stroked my face and quietly told me everything was okay with him now. I volunteered to listen if it was something he wanted to talk about. He said it was something he'd never told anyone (other than a few, bare essentials to the people at the hospital and the police), but maybe it was time he did talk about what all happened, both then and afterwards. We then started a conversation led by him that lasted several hours.

The whole series of events started in the garage behind Rob's house just before his seventeenth birthday. He and another kid were in there. Rob's father (unknown to Rob) had gotten home early from work that day, walked into the garage and found Rob down on his knees giving a blowjob. The other kid managed to run away since he was standing up, but Rob couldn't get to his feet in time to escape.

His father grabbed Rob by the collar and started punching him in the face, breaking his nose and giving him a black eye before throwing him down on the ground. But it didn't stop there. The sorry bastard started kicking him, severely bruising his genital area and breaking four ribs that caused some internal bleeding. After the kicking stopped, Rob tried to stand up and get away but his father kept pushing him back down on the ground with his foot, forcing Rob to crawl out of the garage, across the yard and out into the alley.

With Rob crawling away, his father stood over him, hitting and whipping him with his belt, screaming at him, calling him horrid names and telling him to crawl away and never come back. After Rob somehow managed to get out into the alley, the son of a bitch gave his son one last insult; he went over to a dumpster, pulled out sacks of garbage, dumped them all over Rob and walked away, leaving him laying there in the alley covered in filth. I guess this proves that while anyone can be a father, it takes someone special to be a dad.

Someone called 911 and Rob was taken to the hospital where he remained for three days; luckily, there was no permanent physical damage. All that Rob told the police was simply that he had been beaten up; he refused to tell them by whom or why. The police probably investigated it but nothing ever happened. In a really sad statement about our society, the law didn't do anything to his father for beating Rob, no charges for child abuse, assault or anything. Why should they? Just some queer kid who got what he deserved. That's the way the criminal justice system works in Texas.

When Rob was released from the hospital he had nowhere to go. So much for social services. A minor kid gets beaten up by his father, the county hospital patches him up a little bit and then sets him out on the street. All he had were the clothes on his back and a little under twenty dollars in his pocket. Actually, the clothes weren't even really his own. His had been cut off in the emergency room; the ones he was wearing when he was released came from some charity organization at the hospital.

Since he was a minor, none of the shelters would take him in, although they graciously offered to keep him until his legal guardian could pick him up. Yeah, right. So he then lied about his age, saying he was eighteen. On his third night in a homeless shelter, attempting to get some semblance of order back into his life, being a rather handsome kid despite the injuries to his face, he was gang raped in a storage room; because of his broken ribs he couldn't effectively fight back or resist.

He called some of his friends but the one or two who wanted to help couldn't because their parents wouldn't let them; the rest of his purported friends refused to do anything to help a queer. Rob couldn't get any kind of a real job even though by this time he was seventeen. The only piece of identification he had on him was his driver's license. Since he couldn't produce a social security card no one would hire him, or at least that was their excuse. As for getting a duplicate card, well, just how do you do that when you have no address? Besides, getting a duplicate takes time and you gotta eat. So he did what he had to do.

As he looked at it, the gang rape had put his health at risk since the persons who did it were probably also doing needle drugs, so he felt he didn't have much more to lose. Rob described to me all the horrors of becoming a boy street prostitute, in the gay vernacular, a hustler. All you can say about it is that it is an awful collection of violence, drugs, sadists and other really fucked up people; despite how bad you may imagine such an existence to be, it's actually much worse. I suppose that's why after learning all this I actually prefer to be called "queer" rather than "gay." Using the word "gay" lulls you into this false belief that a so-called "gay lifestyle" is somehow nothing but a light-hearted, cheery and merry thing. It's not. The "gay lifestyle" has as much of an ugly side as does a so-called "straight lifestyle." Sure, there are a lot of good, responsible homosexuals out there, just as there are a lot of good, responsible heterosexuals; I like to think that most people, straight or gay, are this way. But being a rotten, sorry person has no boundaries when it comes to sexual orientation, just like there are no such boundaries to being a good person or a bad one based upon a person's race, color, gender or the like.

>From time to time Rob would get picked up by a decent guy with nothing weird about him other than that he had probably had too much to drink earlier that night. These guys were actually more interested in having someone to hold and to be held for the night rather than having sex. If any sex was involved, from what Rob said, all they usually wanted to do was perform oral sex on him, never asking for anything in return. Rob calls this sort of guy a "lollipop:" absolutely harmless and only wanted to suck (yeah, as a slang term the word would suggest the guy wanted to receive a blowjob rather than give one; however, like other slang words queers use, the obvious meaning is not always the one actually intended).

Even though Rob was, so to speak, in the sex business, his personal pleasure played no part in what he did; it was strictly business. As he explained to me, he had a lot of factors to take into consideration when it came to making money, all of which he figured out himself. It was not just stand on a dark street corner and wait for some horny guy to pull up and ask you about having sex. You have to constantly decide who you let pick you up and when. You oftentimes turn down an offer in hopes of getting a better one based upon a lot of things.

First and foremost, you keep your orgasms down to an absolute minimum. Reason: you're never turned on by any of this so you have to keep your sexual tension high such that you can get an erection; if you climax, you're finished for the day.

A car job (giving a blowjob in the front seat of a car) or being a driver (getting sucked in the car; you sit in the driver's seat so things don't look so suspicious) brings in less money than a fuck session, but it's fast money and you can do several in the same amount of time a fuck session takes up thereby pocketing more cash. Plus, a suck session is safer than a fuck session; the probability of the guy getting violent is abo ut the same, but you keep your clothes on and it's easier to run away if things start to turn.

Being a driver pays more than a car job since guys who want to get sucked off are cheap, arrogant bastards. If the guy wants you to be a driver, accept only if he is going to jack off while he's going down on you; after he gets off he'll lose interest and you haven't wasted a cum shot and the rest of the workday. If you pick up a lollipop you're shot for the rest of the night since they always want and pay extra for you to spend the night at their place. Your chance of getting arrested for a car job is pretty high, but getting arrested with a lollipop is non-existent (Rob was lucky, he never got arrested). Lollipops usually are out after dark but before midnight cruising while car guys tend to go out hunting either right after work or very late, around the time the bars close at two in the morning.

Never pick up a sober guy who wants to fuck you; they're almost always cheap, mean and really rough. Never do a guy with a beard who's going bald; such guys who pick up hustlers are almost always into S&M as the master, not the slave, particularly if they have tattoos. Don't waste your time going to public parks; there's too many amateurs there giving it away for free. If the guy wants you to fuck him, stick some cotton from a used cigarette filter up your nose to kill your sense of smell; because the guy is drunk, he won't take a shower first and, at a minimum, he'll be reeking of alcohol. All in all, not exactly the sort of rules they teach at the Harvard School of Business.

As a hustler you have to develop negotiation skills. You always work out exactly what you're going to do in advance and get paid before anybody's pants get unzipped; otherwise, you'll have an unhappy customer and that increases the chance there's going to be violence.

The better actor you are during a fuck session, pretending to enjoy what's going on and faking a climax, the more money you can make as a tip, which is not really a tip but just a bribe to get you to come back another time since the guy also always gives you his phone number as well. If you're asked for your phone number you always give one, just make sure it's not really yours. If you're able to get some regular clients, get a pager and only give them that number; when you return a page, only do it from a pay phone.

You have to be somewhat of a magician, creating illusions like how to make a guy think the stuff that landed on his chest, face or back after you faked a climax is cum instead of just snotty saliva you spit on him between your groans and moans.

Lastly, for you to have any hope of ever getting out of this, no drugs. There is a terrible temptation to get zonked out to forget, at least for a little while, how awful your life is, but if you ever start doing drugs the only future you have is to eventually either wind up in prison or dead.

Rob's father did more than just beat him up and throw him out of the house; he cast him into an absolute hell. Knowing all this stuff about Rob does bother me, but not in the way you'd probably think. Whatever all it was he did in the past is of no consequence to me as far as Rob is concerned, other than the emotional hurt it caused him. What really bothers me is that there are stupid, righteous parents out there who will continue to throw their teenage sons into this morass because of something the poor kids don't have any choice about: their sexual orientation. From what Rob said, once in, most never get out. They start doing drugs, lose their looks and resort to street crimes to get money. Because of their drug habit, if they don't die of an overdose, they wind up going to prison. Dopeheads never commit perfect crimes and get away with them, they're too fucked up. They do stupid things and eventually always get caught.

Because of the type of person he is, Rob eventually worked himself out of that mess. He got an apartment and all that stupid paperwork in order so he could prove who he was so he could get a job, but they were lousy ones at first, so he had to continue supplementing his income with his night work for a while. Finally he got to where he was making enough money to live on and was able to get out of all that shit, once and for all. He wasn't making as much as he did hustling, but it was enough and things gradually got better. Once he knew he was away from all that forever, he went and had the medical tests done and somehow everything came back negative. Rob had done what he could to practice safe sex with his customers and he managed to escape getting any sexually transmitted diseases. Then he went for a year without having sex with anyone, getting retested every three months just to make sure.

Learning all this about Rob made much more sense out of a whole lot of things. That first time I went to his place, his showing me his medical report was more than just a courtesy or an assurance. In a sense he was showing me his diploma that he had finally graduated from the school of hard knocks and could have a normal life. As for our games and playfulness, he's sorta making up for the happiness and fun he should have had and deserved, but didn't. Sure we're fuck buddies, but we do lots of other things together than just have sex because we are really good friends; in fact, we're best friends. What I appreciate the most is the honesty we have between us; he spent too much time being a liar and a fake just to keep himself fed, clothed and sheltered. Being with Rob has caused me to understand and appreciate a lot of things about people, and also myself.

We were up until about four in the morning the night he told me about his past. Although I got emotional from time to time Rob never did. All through his description of things he never cried or laughed, smiled or frowned. Just an even tone all through it, even when he would stop to comfort me when I got upset over things he told me. I hardly said anything that night, other than to occasionally ask him to clarify something I didn't understand.

When he was finished, there was nothing I could say that would have been of any consequence other than "let's go to sleep." I pulled him over to me, placed his head on my shoulder, put my arms around him, he placed his around me and we went to sleep together, holding one another with me stroking his hair.

Yeah, I've said we're nothing more than truly good friends and so does he, but I suspect we may be beginning to love one another. And I think he's beginning to suspect the same thing. Just as I have unstated understandings with my parents, I also have them with Rob. One of these is that we never use the big L-word when we talk about our feelings for one another. I suppose the reason for this is that if that is what is happening with us, we want to both be completely sure before we say anything to the other.

When I woke up after that night when Rob told me about himself, it was midmorning. I'm not exactly what you could call a morning person. It's not that I wake up grumpy, I don't. It just takes me a long time to wake up. For me, sleep is not just slumber, it's more like a near death experience. When I go to sleep I am completely out of it. When I open my eyes after sleeping (as opposed to a nap when I just doze) I can physically function, in very slow motion, but it takes a while for the brain to kick in. Usually it takes about twenty minutes for my body and brain to get their act together such that I can be deemed fully awake.

Rob and I had spent the night together a few times before so he was aware of my waking up habits. When my eyes first open in the morning, my mind is still in some sort of a hypnotic sleep state. I'm aware that I'm still on the planet, but everything is soft and dreamy and nice. And I always wake up with a hard on.

After meeting Rob and learning the joys of fucking, the typical morning routine for me after I realize I'm starting to awaken (unless I need to stumble into the bathroom and take a leak first) is to reach under the bed, grab the towel, pull the pillows down a little bit, spread the towel out, reach in the nightstand, grab the bottle of lube, squirt some into my palm, replace the bottle in the drawer, shut the drawer, massage the lube over my hard dick with my right hand, push the towel up under the pillows a little bit to form a pocket with my free left hand, firmly grasp my cock with my right hand while laying down on top of the pillows, put my left arm around the pillows, push my dick and hand up into the little pocket in the towel between the pillow and sheets, snuggle myself into the pillows and then begin stroking my dick, increasing and decreasing the intensity of my grip as I move my hand up and around the head then back down the shaft with each stroke.

As the good feelings start to set in, I start moving my butt around, creating the dual sensation of my fist continuing to stroke my cock while beginning to use my body to slide my prick around in my fist. By this time the sexual memories and fantasies are really kicking in and I start enjoying the horny feeling that begins working its way from my brain down all through my body. After I'm completely enveloped in being physically horny all over, my hand stops moving and I start rocking my body up and down, over and over again, fucking my fist with my dick. Slow and easy at first, then faster and harder as the thoughts in my brain begin working out a direct path to my dick.

With everything finally in high gear, I gradually begin to lose mental awareness of everything except the sexual thoughts, as well as consciousness of all physical sensations throughout my entire body, except for those in my dick, which continue to increase and grow. I finally lose all awareness that my body is making the movements it is, other than keeping my face shoved into the pillows to muffle the noises and sounds coming out of my mouth. All I am aware of are the eroticisms in my brain and the sensations in my dick. As the balance of these two starts to rapidly slide in favor of the sensations in my dick leaving the fantasies and memories behind, that wonderful sensation suddenly shoots throughout my body and mind announcing that an orgasm has started and I am about to ejaculate. That feeling then triggers some involuntary physical reaction, causing all of my bodily movements to stop for an eternal moment, with my butt and torso left slightly arched upward, every muscle I have tensed. And then my mind and body cascade over the edge in a final rush, causing a final slow, deliberate but involuntary forward thrust of my dick into my fist, pulling my body behind it.

During that final thrust, all the tensions in my muscles release as the first squirt of semen builds up then races from my groin, through my dick and out of my body. With all the tensions in my muscles now gone, additional squirts of cum follow, accompanied by spastic, forward jerks of my hips that reduce in size and intensity as my climax completes, leaving me collapsed in bed, my body and mind numb, aware of little else other than my erection gradually dissipating as I continue to hold my cock in my wet and sloppy hand, wishing it were Rob beneath me rather than just a pillow.

That's how I prefer to jack off and it's not a bad way to kill the time while I'm waking up. Other guys may prefer to do things differently.

Anyway, when I woke up that Halloween weekend morning I was flat on my back in bed. As my eyes gradually opened I became aware of the feeling of Rob's hand, slowly, gently and lightly gliding over, around, across, down, up, back and forth over my chest and stomach. While I was asleep, Rob had opened the window blinds so the room was filled with light. After my eyes were fully opened, I inhaled deeply, blinked a couple of times, exhaled and then turned my head to look over at Rob next to me on my left. Seeing him, a smile worked its way across my face. He was on his right side, his head propped up on his right arm, just looking at me and smiling. We looked at one another for several moments, his caresses continuing, until he broke the silence with, "Hi. Remember me?"

Still lost in the waning hypnosis of sleep, all I could manage as a response was a long "mmmmmm" and a larger smile. After a bit I rolled over on my side to be facing him. As his left hand slid off my chest, I grasped it with my right, pulled it toward my face and began softly kissing his fingers. Rob laid his head down on the pillows and, still holding hands, we jointly moved our free arms under and around the other's neck and starting slowly playing with one another's hair, looking into one another's eyes and smiling. This continued for several minutes until Rob asked, "Want some coffee?"

I closed my eyes and thought about coffee in bed. On my previous overnight visits after I started to waken, Rob had gotten up, gone to the kitchen to get the coffee going and came back to bed. While the coffee was making in the kitchen, Rob took care of my morning erection, not with a simple blowjob, but a wonderful demonstration that deserves the name fellatio.

Remembering this with my eyes still closed, I became aware of something very out of the ordinary for me; I didn't have a morning erection. I reopened my eyes and looked back at Rob. After the revelations of the previous night, I realized there was a different man in bed with me. A man I wanted much more, very much more than the Rob I had known before, and not simply in a sexual manner. I felt a little well of tears build up in my eyes and I told him, "No, I want you," then leaned forward to begin a long kiss.

When we finally broke our kiss, Rob looked at me for a moment and softly uttered one word, "How?"

I released Rob's hand from mine and slid my hand downward underneath the covers to his groin and gently took him into my hand; like me, he too was not erect. Very softly, and very slowly, I began to massage Rob's cock, encouraging it to grow into the condition necessary for Rob to give me what I so badly wanted. In silence we lay there, continuing to play with one another's hair, looking into one another's eyes while I tenderly helped Rob come to full erection. Once that was achieved, I released him from my touch and repositioned myself in the bed, stretched out on my stomach, my legs slightly spread, my head on the pillows, still looking at him. I uttered one word, "Please." I sensed Rob could tell there was something different I wanted from him; I didn't know exactly what it was I wanted, but it was something more than just a pleasure fuck to start off the day.

Before I met Rob, I was like every other male on the planet. I thought the only reason a guy would consent to being fucked would be so his partner could have some pleasure. I did not believe it possible to have anything, including a dick, stuck up my butt without it hurting or, like a doctor's fingerduring a physical exam, at least very uncomfortable.

During one of our initial times together Rob asked me to fuck him. I tried, but I didn't enjoy it. Despite his repeated assurances and encouragement for me to continue, I thought I was hurting him. I knew there was not any way I could get off doing that, so we stopped and jumped in the shower together.

Returning to bed, Rob got on top of me and began giving me one of his award winning back rubs. The first time Rob had given me one I found out that I had something in common with Wilbur, my dog: I too love to have my butt scratched, or rather, massaged. It feels great, particularly when Rob digs his thumbs into the small dimples on the outside of each butt cheek, hitting a nerve (the sciatic?) that shoots down to my feet leaving my legs all limp and watery feeling.

That day the back rub continued on its familiar course from my shoulders down to my butt; if I had possessed a tail like Wilbur did, I would have wagged it. Rob then began to do something different. He slid down between my legs and began to lick my balls from behind. It kinda tickled, but it felt good so I spread my legs a little further apart so he could continue. As my dick began to harden, Rob's tongue began running over my perineum, that area between your balls and your butt; I suppose that's where your dick actually starts since it also gets hard when you get an erection. The strokes of his tongue increased in length as he began to gradually work his way up and down the cleavage of my butt.

We've all heard the phrase "kiss my ass." I'd always considered it derogatory. Boy, was I ever wrong. It felt great. I spread my legs a little further apart to indicate to Rob for him to continue. He did. Using his hands to massage and spread my butt cheeks, Rob's tongue began to go in circles until it finally landed on my hole. I'd seen pictures on the Internet of guys rimming and always thought "ewwww, yuck." Well, guess what? Clayton was wrong again. Getting my butt cheeks licked and kissed was great; getting rimmed was fantastic. It felt a little weird at first, but it was a really good weird. So I spread my legs fully apart indicating I wanted Rob to continue. Giving a little chuckle Rob deviously said, "Looks like we found something Clayton likes," and then plunged in, giving me a real tongue lashing so to speak. As his tongue continued its onslaught I began to get extremely horny. Suddenly, a desire I had never had came over me. I wanted Rob to put his dick in my ass and fuck it. I don't know why I wanted that, but I suddenly did.

After timidly telling Rob what I wanted he teasingly asked, "You sure, big boy?" In my best melodramatic voice I replied, "Yes, but be gentle with me." Using plenty of lube, Rob began massaging my guts with his index finger. When he touched my prostate I then fully knew why a guy would enjoy getting fucked. Every gentle stroke of his finger against that gland inside me washed waves of pleasure and horniness over me. I could hardly wait for Rob to replace his finger with his dick. He continued to verbally tease me as additional fingers entered my butt, cheerfully asking me questions such as, "You sure you really like this? Only queers are supposed to like this. Is Clayton a queer?" Sex with Rob can be a very happy experience and I was having a blast that morning. With each one of his teasing questions I would reply with similarly stupid remarks, such as, "Molest me like a faggot, you sodomite you."

Well, to make a long (and very pleasurable) story short, Rob proceeded to give me my first fuck, and I loved it. Until then, I thought sexual ecstasy was having Rob's dick in my mouth; having it in my butt was even better. The best way I know to describe how it feels when Rob screws me is to imagine that relaxing sensation that rushes all over you when an orgasm starts. It's that feeling you get as you know you're past the point of no return but just before your cum starts to squirt out. It lasts for about one second at the longest. But when Rob fucks me, that same feeling continues, on and on for the entire time his dick slides in and out of me.

The other great thing about getting plowed by Rob is the way it makes me feel when he gets his nut; experiencing his orgasm, feeling his body heat up and his dick swell and spurt is just as pleasant for me as having a climax myself. I suppose you could call it a vicarious climax to the long feeling of orgasm that starts when he enters me and finalizes with his ejaculation. The other super thing about that first fuck was that by learning how fantastic it feels, I thereafter also enjoyed fucking Rob since I knew that I am giving him that same type of pleasure and satisfaction.

So that morning after the Halloween party, Rob carefully positioned himself over me, slowly and tenderly prepared me for his entry, and then gently mounted me. I could tell right away this was not going to be just a fuck, something else was going on. Coupled together, his body on top of mine, his arms around me, our faces pressed together, Rob started a slow rocking motion. He was fully inside me, his cock staying completely buried all the while, gently but firmly pushing himself in, flattening my butt, then releasing, back and forth, massaging me.

From time to time I could feel a small spasm in his body, accompanied by him quickly inhaling a short breath of air while the head of his dick would quickly swell and shrink in a surge and Rob, his arms softly but firmly around me, rapidly jerking me into him, then releasing. This same unison of four continued: body spasm, breath spasm, dick spasm, arm spasm. I could not predict when the next set of spasms would happen, nor could I tell in advance how intense or light the next would be. But all the while the gentle rocking motion of his body continued, broken only by occasional light kisses upon my cheek, neck and shoulders, or the soft, wonderful scraping of his unshaven morning face against mine.

I was a melted puddle beneath him. It seemed the only thing holding me together were Rob's arms. I'd never felt anything like it and I still can't describe it adequately. To say it was an intense glow is a vast understatement but it's the best I can do. Soaking in this wonderful feeling, the realization came to me what it was. I was feeling love.

It's rather sad that we have just that one, four-letter word to describe so many different types of emotion. I love my parents. I love my dog. I love swimming. I love corned beef and cabbage. Yes, they all have something in common, but each is different. But the type of love I first experienced that morning with Rob surpassed every other emotion I had ever felt. I've mentioned before that Rob and I usually talk during sex. That morning we were both silent, other than for occasional soft whimpers. What I was feeling from him was not just sex. Words would have destroyed what was happening. None were necessary.

Then, as I began to understand and comprehend the feeling I was getting from Rob, something else happened. That same feeling of love began to flow out of me into him. I knew Rob could tell; I knew he could feel what I was feeling, what I was receiving from him and what I was giving to him. I knew in my heart I was right since Rob then started softly crying. And so did I. Tears are funny things. You just can't make them happen or fake them. They can only be set off by an intense emotion, such as sadness, laughter or, as I learned that morning, love.

I didn't know exactly why Rob was crying, but I knew why I was. I was with an incredible man who wanted to be with me. We weren't just two queers fucking in bed. We were two men, coupled together as an expression our affection, our respect and our need for one another, not just physically, but more importantly, in an emotional sense.

Clearly sensing my feelings, Rob's body gave a sudden, hard, sustained jerk; his arms tightened around me with what seemed all of his strength and he lunged into me, forcing himself further inwards than I thought possible. When he released his body grip on me he withdrew slightly, only to immediately and fully enter me again. Deep inside me I could feel the hard shaft of his penis become turgid, the glans swelling and flaring out, triggering a body spasm in me that clamped down and held his penis momentarily motionless. When my spasm passed and my body grip on his swollen member released, he slowly withdrew and then quickly and firmly reentered, again swelling inside me causing me to react in the same fashion. This pattern repeated itself, over and over again, the only change being that each stroke of his dick in and out of me became longer than the previous one. Involuntary sounds began coming out of me; a small cry on each entry, a moan with each swelling of his cock and accompanying body shudder of mine, and a long whimper during each retreat.

Our faces pressed together cheek to cheek became wet as the tears flowing from our eyes mixed together. My ears filled with Rob's soft, sobbing moans as our copulation continued and increased in intensity. His legs between mine, Rob began pushing his legs outward, forcing mine further outward as well. I knew from previous experiences that Rob would climax only when his legs were pressed together, either against one another or against me if I was between them. By keeping his legs spread apart he could delay the onslaught of an orgasm. I realized this action of his, delaying his ultimate satisfaction had but one purpose: to allow him to continue so he could fully and completely satisfy me.

And he did. Being fucked by Rob is an immensely pleasurable experience for me, so relaxing that I usually don't have an erection; the feeling of approaching orgasm he produces in me makes me go limp. But this morning as Rob began spreading his legs I became aware that I was erect, so fully erect that my dick hurt slightly but pleasantly. Also different were the feelings I was having. In addition to the emotional outpouring we were sharing, I was filled with an intense desire for him. After spreading his legs, Rob began rapidly pumping in and out of me and for the first time that morning I felt an overwhelming sexual yearning for him. That realization triggered something and all of the waves of pleasure Rob had been sending throughout me since his initial entry suddenly concentrated in my brain causing it to explode in a fantastic rush of passion for this wonderful man. Simultaneously, I began to ejaculate. It was not just my dick squirting cum; I felt as if my entire body was being shot all over the bed.

As a long, continuous animal sound emitted from my lungs, my back arched, raising my butt upwards to better receive Rob. I felt his legs come together and while my ejaculation continued, Rob began to furiously pump and pound himself in and out of me. As my cum shots ceased I felt Rob's dick swell and stay swollen as he plunged in and out of me five or six more times in rapid succession and then a final long, slow and steady push that flattened me into the bed, leaving Rob atop me, moaning, jerking, surging and squirting. A hot flush blasted out of his body and through mine, leaving him heaving and sucking in gasps of air as semen shot out of his loins, sweat poured out of his body and tears flowed from his eyes.

Rob continued to lie atop me, still coupled together, as our mutual shuddering and crying subsided and our ragged breathing returned to normal. I could feel his erection begin to dwindle as the blood drained from his cock, leaving his penis again flaccid, but still in me. As my body resumed its calm, my relaxed butt continued to hold Rob's dick in a gentle grasp. My first time to make love had ended.

We silently rearranged ourselves in bed, facing and holding one another. We both knew something incredibly different had just happened, and it was somewhat frightening. Instinctively, we clutched one another in a tight grip, pressing our faces together as our feelings of need for the other continued to mix and be shared. The memory of the intense, mutual orgasm we had just experienced was replaced by an even more wonderful and satisfying sensation as we resumed gently caressing and softly kissing and nuzzling.

That morning I found myself drawn closer to Rob and not just for the sex. We had become a different type of friends than we were before. I thought I might be, and probably was, falling in love with him, and I thought the same was probably true for him about me. But, I still am not certain. I haven't said anything to him, or he anything to me. Yeah, I suppose on how you define it, Rob and I are boyfriends, but we don't use that word either.

Well, let me know what you think.