The sun was just starting to come up the next morning when my eyes partially opened. During the night Rob and I had changed positions in bed, which is to be expected. We were each on our sides but lying back to back, pressed against one another. Quite a cozy feeling, all in all. Rob was still asleep so I figured I'd ease out of bed and begin the process of waking up. Pulling together what little mental control I had that early in the morning, I slipped out from under the covers and rearranged them, gently tucking them around Rob, and then went into the bathroom.
After entering the bathroom I shut the door so nothing I did would waken Rob. Fumbling around in the dark I found the light switch and flipped it. Damn! Fucking bright lights. Not a pleasant experience first thing in the morning. I'd put a dimmer switch on my lights years ago; I'll need to do the same for Rob. Still completely enveloped in my usual morning mental fog, all I was aware of was that I needed to pee so I walked over to the toilet. Damn! The thing is sticking straight out in typical, super hard morning erection fashion. Putting my left hand on the toilet tank I bent over, pushing my dick down with my right hand to get the proper aim so I wouldn't miss. What a way to have to have your first pee of the day. Last summer when I remodeled my bathroom (and I do mean I remodeled it, doing all the work myself under Dad's instruction and supervision) to rip out the tub and put in a large shower stall, I also made another improvement. I installed a urinal. Hey, if women can have a bidet why can't men have a urinal? Dad thought it was a great idea. Not only does it make peeing in general more convenient, it is particularly handy when you've got a morning boner; it also makes keeping the bathroom clean a lot easier and uses less water per flush than a toilet. So there.
After flushing I went over to the mirror. Yeah, it's still me.
Good morning, Clayton, you look like your regular, raggedy-ass morning self; eyes not focused, droopy eyelids, mouth hanging open and a major case of bed hair. But thanks to Rob's help last night, you only have a 5 o'clock shadow (at 7:30 in the morning) instead of your usual scruffy morning face. Hmmmm. Maybe I should go wake Rob up and we could take a morning shower together; that would be a nice way to spend the twenty minutes or so it takes you to wake up. Nah. Let him sleep. He needs it after last night.
Okay, Clayton, stretch and yawn some to get the blood circulating in your brain again. Now, find your toothbrush and do your morning oral hygiene routine. Your toothbrush has the red handle; Rob's is blue. Remember? Kinda cool. Your toothbrush next to Rob's in the holder. Okay, Clayton, no big deal here, just do it like you do every morning, you don't have to really think about it, just follow the normal habit. Brush. Rinse. Spit. Don't forget to put toothpaste on the toothbrush before you start, okay?
All right, now you're free from the ravages of morning breath. But your hair looks like shit. Clayton, why are you wasting your time trying to finger-comb that mess into place? You do that every morning and it never works, you idiot. Rob is right; you really are stupid about the most obvious things. Do something productive: make coffee.
Hey, the coffeemaker's not here. Where did it go? Oh, shit, Clayton, you're in Rob's bathroom, not yours. Ordinary people do not have a coffee bar in their bathroom. Yeah, you've got one but that's 'cause you're all addled and clumsy in the morning and don't want to have to go trudging all the way to the kitchen first thing in the morning. Remember that morning you got lost on your way to the kitchen and locked yourself out of the house in the front yard wearing nothing but boxer shorts? Wouldn't have been really all that bad, except that it was raining.
Now, flip off the light before you open the door so the light won't wake Rob up. Where's the damned doorknob? This fucking bathroom is really dark without the light on. I wonder if Rob develops photographs or raises mushrooms in here? Ah. There it is. Open the door quietly, don't bang it open. Now, go to the kitchen. Get yourself prepared. This is going to be a challenge. You should have gotten the coffee ready before going to bed last night, just like you do at home so all you'd have to do now is flip the switch. Just take it slow and think about what you have to do to make coffee. Try really hard to think, Clayton.
Okay, you're in the kitchen. Now where does Rob keep all the coffee stuff, you know, coffee, filters, coffee scoop? I think I remember where the spoons are. Not sure about the location of the mugs or the sugar bowl either come to think of it. Rob always had the sugar bowl down on the counter the other mornings I was over but it's not there now. Probably hiding in the cabinets somewhere with the rest of the stuff. Hmmmm. Don't want to wake Rob clattering about the kitchen hunting for stuff. Better go shut the bedroom door.
Yep, he's still there, just like you left him. God, that's sexy looking, him asleep in bed. So peaceful. And to think not twelve hours ago you were fucking his ass off right over there in the middle of the floor. Clayton! Dammit! Quit playing with your dick! Jeez. Standing in the bedroom door still three-quarters asleep looking at your boyfriend stroking your boner. What a pervert. Save it, you dumbass, he might want some of it when he wakes up. Shut the door and go back to the kitchen.
No, Clayton, that's the bathroom, the kitchen is the other way. Maybe I should have put on some shorts or a robe instead of stumbling around naked. Nahhh. I'd just have to take 'em back off when I climbed back in bed with Rob, so why waste the effort? Okay, Clayton. You're back in the kitchen. Concentrate really hard and make coffee. Okay, the coffeemaker is there next to the sink. Logically, the coffee should be in the near vicinity. It's probably lurking in one of those canisters next to the coffeemaker. Nope, not this one. Sugar. Oh, well, if I can't find the sugar bowl at least I can use this. Try another one. Aha! Here it is. God, I'm glad Rob is so practical. The filters and coffee scoop are in the coffee canister on top of the coffee.
Okay, we're on a roll here. Pull the coffee basket thing out of the coffeemaker. Damn! The thing won't pull out. What's wrong with this fucking thing? Oh, it's hinged and slides open to the side like the one in the kitchen at home. Hmmmm. Even has one of those little valve things on the bottom that keeps coffee from running all over the place if you pull the pot out before the thing is done brewing. All right, stick a filter in. Why do these damned filters always stick together? There, got it.
Oh, fuck. How many scoops of coffee and how much water? Let's see, I'll need two heaping scoops and five cups of water for my coffee, but how much will Rob want? Okay, it's one scoop for two cups, but if you heap the scoop twice you get an extra cup . . . ohhh, fuck the math this early in the morning. Just double what you do, Clayton. If Rob wants more just make more. Quit trying to plan things more than two minutes ahead this early in the morning.
All right, here we go. This scoop looks the same size as mine so it will work fine. There we go, no problem. Shit! I lost count. Was that four heaping scoops or only three I've dumped in so far? Crap. Now what? Start all over again, Clayton. Pull the filter out of the basket, pour the coffee back in the canister, put the filter back in the basket. Now count, shithead, you know you're still not awake. One for Clayton. One for Rob. Two for Clayton. Two for Rob. There. Now stop, put the filters and scoop back in the canister. Put the lid back on the canister. Good boy, Clayton.
Now do the water. Okay, five cups for Clayton, five for Rob. That makes ten cups of water total. Now where the hell is the number ten on this damned pot, oh, there it is. Put your finger on the number so you'll remember where it is and go to the sink. Shit. How am I gonna turn the water on with one hand tied up holding the pot by the handle and the other hand tied up with my finger pointing to the number ten? Maybe I can remember where the ten is just by sight. Okay. Got the water going. Goddamnit, Clayton! Flip open the fucking lid of the pot with your thumb before sticking it under the faucet! Now you're gonna have to try to find paper towels to wipe up the water splashed all over the counter. Damn! Oh, screw it, it's only water, it will dry up all by itself. Okay. Water's going. Lid on pot flipped open. Now where was that ten? Oh, there it is, right where it was before. Put your finger on it so you won't lose it. Okay, here we go. Shit! I can't see my finger, the faucet is in the way. Well, just do your best.
That looks about right. Take your finger off the pot and shut off the water. Hold the pot up to the light, check and make sure, Clayton. Hey! Right on the money. You're beginning to wake up my boy. Excellent job of estimating by sight. Yeah, sure, you ain't worth shit estimating your dick size but when it comes to estimating when to stop filling a coffee pot, you're a champ.
Okay, now pour the water into the coffeemaker and try not to spill it. Where's the hole in the top of the coffeemaker for the water to go in? Oh, must have a lid that covers it up like the one in the kitchen at home. Yeah, just like the one at home. I wonder if Rob and Mom shop at the same appliance store? I'll try to remember to ask later. Okay, water's all in, pot is back in place. Wait a second, wait a second. I remember this part. The coffeemaker in your kitchen is different from the one in your bathroom. It's got that little valve thing on the bottom of the basket. So, to keep things straight, you gotta shut the coffee basket thing before you stick the pot back in place. If you don't do that the little valve thing hangs up on the pot and the thing is a real bitch to get shut. Yeah, you're coming to your senses, Clayton, you'll be fully awake soon. So, remove the pot, shut the basket, now put the pot back in place. There, all done. Now just flip the switch. Bingo! The little light came on. You'll have coffee soon.
All right. Now what? Hmmmm. Can't drink coffee without mugs, so go find some. You'll need two. One for you, one for Rob. Now if I were a coffee mug, where would I live in this kitchen? Well, if Rob's coffee mugs are as lazy as you are, Clayton, they'll be residing in the cabinet above the coffeemaker. Yep. There they are. A whole family of them. Hey, and they live right next door to the sugar bowl. Great. One mug for Clayton. One mug for Rob. Now you two mugs stay there on the counter and don't run away. Here, visit with the sugar bowl while I go find a spoon. Damn! Clayton, shut the fucking cabinet door so you don't bang your head on it you dumbass! Ugghh! That hurt. Nope, didn't draw any blood. Stupid door. Hope I don't get a knot on my forehead.
Now what was I . . . oh, yeah, spoon. Let's see, when I unloaded the dishwasher for Rob the silverware went in the top drawer next to the dishwasher; I didn't have to walk halfway across the kitchen to put it away like I do at home. Rob has a much more convenient kitchen arrangement. Course our kitchen is about the size of this entire apartment. Dad needs one that big but Rob don't. In fact, most people don't. Ah, well. Lay off analyzing kitchen designs and get on with it. Where's the dishwasher? Hey, right where it was the last time I unloaded it. Nobody's moved it. Lo and behold! There's the silverware still in the same drawer next to the dishwasher. Shit! Do I need one spoon or two? What the fuck, one's enough. You and Rob share beers, wine glasses and other eating stuff, so why not a spoon as well? Hell, the way you kiss if either one has some orally transmitted problem the other one's bound to have it as well. So what's the prob' about sharing eating and drinking utensils? Besides, it cuts down on the amount of dishes you have to wash.
Okay, Mr. Spoon. Introduce yourself to the Mugs and Mr. Sugar Bowl and have a little chat with them here on the counter while the coffee finishes. Clayton's gonna go for a walk in the living room to get awake some more.
This is a nice apartment Rob's got. Not really big enough for two people though. Well, not for Rob and me both, not with all my junk and his. I wonder when it will be that we can go apartment hunting together? We can't move into my place. Well, I guess we could, but it wouldn't work out. But maybe it would. Just another subject to bring up with the 'rents.
Boy I'm glad this apartment is at the back of the building and built over a parking area and the laundry and utility rooms. No downstairs neighbors to disturb. They'd have really been raising hell last night if there was anybody living down below. Ewwww. I hope I didn't mess up the wall banging the headboard into it like I did. Oh, well, if I did it can be touched up.
Aha! Marlboros still on the coffee table just waiting for Clayton to have his morning cigarette. That always helps get your brain going. Man I wish Dad had been the one to invent these disposable lighters. We'd be millionaires. How 'bout a little change, Clayton? Sit in the recliner instead of on the couch. Oh, take the ashtray with you. Boy I wish cigarettes weren't bad for your health.
Hang on a sec. Rob's coffeemaker has that valve thing on it. You don't have to wait for the whole pot to be made to have some. You can have coffee with your cigarette; that'll really get things kicked in. Okay, put the cigarette in the ashtray and go get coffee, don't try to do two things at once like hold a cigarette and pour coffee. It's still too early for that.
Here we go. Spoon. Lid off sugar bowl. Two spoons of sugar in mug. Leave spoon in mug. Put lid back on sugar bowl. Remove pot from coffeemaker. This is cool. The little valve works. Nothing's spilling all over the place. Okay, back to business. Pour coffee. Replace pot. Stir. Lick spoon. Damn! Don't burn your tongue. Spoon back on counter. Pick up mug by handle. Clayton! You've done it! Now take your coffee back to the living room, sit your butt down in the recliner, drink the coffee, smoke your cigarette and finish getting your act together so you can have a good day.
Whoa! Coffee's kinda strong. Probably cause all the water hasn't gone through the coffee grounds yet. Ought to get a real java jolt here in a minute. I wonder what Rob will be like when he wakes up? Horny I hope. And he loves me, he really loves me. That was really strange last night. Finally admit we love one another and then I power fuck the hell out of him. But he really liked it. First time I ever made him cum just by fucking him. I wonder why I never thought about using The Rhythm before for fucking? I'll have to teach Rob so he can do it to me.
God, we've had sex just about everywhere in this apartment. My dick is stil l hard. I wonder if it went down any while I was in the kitchen? Even got stuff starting to leak out of it. I wonder. Mmmmm. Doesn't seem to have any taste at all to it. Rob says it tastes great. That's weird. Maybe cum is like a fart. You know, your own farts never seem to stink too much. Maybe it's the same way with cum, you can't really taste your own, only someone else's.
Damn I like what Rob did giving me this body trim. I really am hung like a horse, although it doesn't look as big staring down at it as it does seeing it in the mirror. Maybe that's something else you don't realize about yourself, how big your own dick really is until you see it in a mirror and see it the way other people do. Well, maybe it is a good thing I never trimmed my hair before. If Debbie had seen that thing she'd have never asked me to put it in her, then I wouldn't have known for sure I was queer and may not have ever gotten together with Rob. Boy, that was weird. Fucking Debbie. She never would play with my dick, only touched it a couple of times with her finger then gave that stupid giggle. Wouldn't put her whole hand on it but wanted me to put it in her pussy; that makes no sense. She wouldn't even hold it to guide it in. Like to never found her hole that first night, feeling and poking around in the dark, all that puffy skin. Good thing we didn't have a light on, though, if I'd seen it, no way. Like that day at the lake. Uggghhh. Seeing the actual thing was worse than any picture of pussy I'd seen on the Internet. Hey, my dick's going down. Maybe that's another way I can get rid of an unwanted hard on: just think of Debbie there on that blanket with her legs apart, spreading that ugly ass thing open with her fingers telling me, "Clayton, I know you want it." Yuck. She'd had way too many wine coolers that afternoon. Ewwww. And that smell. I don't guess there's any way girls can completely get rid of that smell, regardless of how much they douche.
Okay, stop it, Clayton. Think pleasant thoughts. Get ready to go please Rob. Hmmm. Maybe I ought to call Mom and Dad. Tell them I'm fine and that Rob and I are going to go have breakfast together. That'll buy us the morning together. I wonder what Wilbur is doing? Dad's probably already let him out so he can go get the paper. Wilbur really is cool. You always hear about dogs going out to fetch the paper but Wilbur is the only one I know who really does it. And he loves it. Like that morning Dad got a phone call and left Wilbur out front for half an hour. I would have loved to have seen that. Dad opening the front door and there's Wilbur, surrounded by newspapers he'd swiped from all the neighbors. Oh. This is Sunday. Wilbur doesn't like the Sunday newspaper. Too damned big. Can't pick it up in his mouth, has to drag it along the ground, can't run with it. Hope Dad remembers to give him an extra Milk Bone for his additional effort.
Yeah, Clayton, go ahead and have another cigarette. Why not? You're pretty much awake and that should do the trick. Then call home, then go get back in bed with Rob. I wonder how he's doing?
Open the door real quiet, Clayton. Hey, you can do two things at once now without having to think: open a door while holding a coffee mug. Oh, that's precious. Rolled over the other way with his arm out on my side of the bed. I wish he had the covers pushed down further so I could see if he has a hard on. Damn he's beautiful when he's naked. Goes right to my dick. Yeah, that's right, buddy, get big and hard again; you've got a husband you have to take care of now whatever he wants. You're Rob's dick now too, not just Clayton's. Better go call Dad and Mom.
Ease the door shut and turn the doorknob so the latch won't click shut. There. Go get some more coffee.
I wonder why I always put the sugar in the mug before I pour the coffee in? Everybody else seems to pour the coffee and then add the sugar. Guess I'm just destined to be different.
All right. Butt in chair. Cigarette. Phone. Coffee. Yeah, got everything I need. Boy I'm glad there's no camera on the phone. Dad would freak out. Talking to him while sitting here having coffee and a cigarette, naked with a hard on about to go be a boy toy for my husband in the next room. Well, not completely naked, I got on a commitment ring. Ohhh. Need to talk to Rob about that one. I guess I could have him put it back on my right hand and tell Mom and Dad it was a coming out present from him. But that would mean I'd have to tell them he's gay too. I don't think Rob would care about that. But then, what would Mom and Dad think, knowing all the time he and I spent together? Definitely need to talk this over with Rob.
Okay. Dial the phone. Funny, we still say "dial" when you're actually pushing buttons. Push the phone? Punch the phone? Nah, that don't sound right. Get off it, Clayton, and just fucking call.
One ringy dingy.
Two ringy dingy.
Three ringy din . . . "Hello."
Why the fuck do people always answer my phone calls when I'm right in the middle of taking a drink?
"Hi, Dad, it's me, Clayton, how's everything hangin' this morning?"
"Fine, Son, how's everything hangin' with you?"
I suppressed the urge to laugh. My hard on clearly was not hanging. I could just imagine saying, "Great; I've got a huge eight-inch boner I'm about to go stick up my boyfriend's ass as soon as I get off the phone with you." Little early in the revelation of Clayton's queerdom to be doing that yet, if ever. So I toned it down to, "Just fine. I feel great this morning. I just wanted to call and let you know everything is fine."
"You awake yet?" Naturally my parents are aware of my extended morning grogginess, they call it being "sleep drunk."
"Sure, I've been up for about fifteen or twenty minutes, had coffee and all that stuff."
"Okay, just wanted to make sure. Been drinking plenty of fluids?
"Yes, Doctor Dad."
"Have a decent piss this morning?"
"Daaaad. What's that got to do with anything?"
"Clayton, don't you remember anything about first aid? When you get dehydrated you stop pissing. When you start pissing again it means you're getting sufficient fluids back in your system. So how was it?"
"Same as usual, I guess."
"No funny colors or anything?"
"Not that I remember."
"Well, keep an eye on it," continued Dad, "piss is an excellent indicator of your body's condition."
I could detect Dad was about to volunteer more helpful information about urine. Time to change this topic of conversation. "How's Mom and Wilbur this morning?"
"Fine. Your mother and I are just having coffee and reading the paper; Wilbur's out in the back yard doing whatever it is he does. I think he misses you, he slept on your bed last night. Your mother doesn't seem to care." In the background I could hear Mom angrily yell "Ted!" to express her obvious disagreement with Dad's last statement.
That's neat. Wilbur sleeping on my bed. We're not completely sure where he usually sleeps during the night since we've never actually seen him, but it's probably in my father's chair in the den; Dad says it's usually warm in the morning when he sits down to read the paper.
Picking up on the reference to Mom I told Dad, "Nice to know somebody still cares about me. Get your flowers planted?"
"Those are not my flowers. They belong to your mother."
"Not nearly as attractive as tomato vines or green beans, huh?"
"Absolutely not," replied my father in agreement.
"So was I the major topic of conversation while you and Mom were spending quality time together last night?"
"You're a conceited little shit, you know that?"
"C'mon, Dad, tell me." I knew they had to have been discussing my newly revealed homosexuality as well as my medical status; what parents wouldn't?
"It's none of your damned business. Oh, by the way, I apologize for calling you a dumbass or a shithead or a fuckwad or whatever it was I called you last night on the telephone. You know me, I didn't mean it, I was just worried."
"That's okay, Dad. I don't even remember what it was you called me that time."
"Well, you're damned lucky Rob was there; if you haven't thanked him, you really need to. That guy is something else. Calls over here last night, just as calm and collected as he can be. Tells me, 'Mr. Pelletier, this is Rob Davis, Clayton's friend. There's something not right with Clayton.' I remember he specifically said that, 'something not right' with you; not 'something wrong,' but 'not right. As if we haven't all known that for years."
"You're welcome. Anyway, he tells me, calm as he can be, how you came stumbling into his apartment, covered in sweat, fall down on the floor, ask for water, throw up after gulping down a glassful, then pass out. Boy, you sure have a way of winning friends and influencing enemies."
"Hey, at least I try to make an impression."
"Yeah, you always manage to do that. Anyway, he tells me it looked like you had heat stroke; rapid breathing, racing pulse, elevated body temperature, and even though your shirt was soaking wet with sweat you weren't sweating, your forehead was dry. So he's got you in his shower under cold water to get your temperature down. Now, if that's not enough, the guy has the wits to call us before calling 911 to see if you have any medical condition, like epilepsy or something. God, most people would have been running around freaking out."
This wasn't making me feel very good. That was really stupid for me to have done that; Rob must have been scared silly. All I could manage to tell Dad was, "Yeah, that's Rob. He was like that at work. Didn't matter what happened, he never lost his temper or anything, regardless of what happened. It seemed the worse things were, the calmer he got." Even though he had been there just a little over a year when I went to work there last summer, Rob was one of the senior supervisors at the moving company. He could handle the guys better than anyone else. There was no goofing off or horsing around on his jobs like there usually was with other supervisors. But Rob wasn't harsh or anything, everyone enjoyed working on his jobs and everything always went well. If any problems came up, all you did was tell him what was wrong and he handled it.
"You know, talking to him on the phone, I could feel that his demeanor was keeping me calm and collected as well," my father continued. "There I am, my son passed out clear across town somewhere and I know everything is going to be fine. It was more like Rob and I were practicing for one of those Red Cross first aid tests over the phone or something, with you being the dummy. I'm telling you, Clayton, Rob is one fine young man."
"Yeah, I was thinking about taking him out for a nice breakfast." Well, I was, in a way. Maybe not exactly bacon and eggs or waffles, but I really did intend to serve him in bed.
"Do that. Oh, that's something else Kathy and I were talking about. Why don't you have him over this afternoon for Sunday dinner; we haven't seen him for a while and we'd like to thank him personally."
Okay, Sunday dinner at our house is, like so many other things, a little different. On Sundays there's not an early breakfast to start the day; instead, it's more of an early brunch Dad fixes around ten after the coffee and Sunday paper thing. Then instead of a lunch and supper, there's a single large meal around four or five in the afternoon. Dad loves to cook and it's his one opportunity every week to really do it up; it's really more like a hobby of his rather than a family ritual.
"Okay, I'll ask him when he gets up, he's still asleep."
"Let him know it's nothing to be scared of. I figured we'd eat outside tonight, you know, chow down while admiring your mother's new flowers." Although I heard nothing in the background I could tell Mom was glaring at Dad over that last comment.
"Okay, Dad, see you later this afternoon. Bye."
I put the phone back in place and sat back in the recliner. This was even better than I had expected. I didn't have to worry about being home until early afternoon. Rob and I had a good solid four or five hours more together. I decided to go check on him again. He was still asleep, but instead of being on his side he had rolled slightly back over onto his back, lying kinda crooked in bed. This change in position had caused the sheet to get stretched over him below his waist and there clearly was a tent in the fabric. My erection had gone down while talking to Dad but the sight of Rob was causing it to return.
I left the bedroom door open and went to the kitchen to fix Rob's coffee then took it into the bedroom and placed it on the nightstand on his side of the bed. Yep. He definitely had a hard on. That beautiful banana dick of his was curved back on his stomach. Of course in that position, the head of it was not visible through the sheet, but the shaft was. I could clearly see the round ridge along the bottom, you know, the urethra or whatever you call the piss tube in your dick.
I went back to the living room, got my coffee and the cigarettes then refilled my coffee mug in the kitchen. After thinking about it for a few seconds, I decided to turn off the coffeemaker. It might be a while before either of us left the bedroom, and we could always make a fresh pot later if we wanted to.
I padded back into the bedroom and placed my mug and the smokes on the nightstand on my side then walked around the bed. I stood there for a few minutes just looking at Rob while he slept. I really do love him and I let that feeling spread over me. It made me feel a little weak, but really nice. It's much nicer than the feeling I get when I'm just horny, a feeling I've always enjoyed but that Rob has taught me to really appreciate.
Before I got with him, when I got horny, which is at least once or twice every day, my desire was to go jack off and get a nut as soon as I could. There were even a few times I had jacked off in the bathroom at school after getting worked up looking at some guy in class. But after I met Rob that began to change. I learned to enjoy feeling horny and began to prolong having an orgasm, whether I was masturbating or having sex with Rob. I learned to appreciate how good an erection feels while being massaged by my hand, or Rob's warm, wet mouth or his soft, tight ass. In a sense, I began to treat an erection like a good wine, don't gulp it down, but sip and savor it over time.
I even began to occasionally use a cock ring (again, Rob's idea), not because of any need for it to help me keep an erection, but because of the way the thing keeps my dick fully swollen and super hard and even more sensitive, particularly the head. Rob also likes it when I wear one. He says it keeps my dick in the same condition as when I climax; he loves the way it feels for the head to stay flared and the veins to remain really sticking out, whether in his mouth but particularly when it's in hisass.
Remembering this, I walked back around to the nightstand on my side and opened the drawer looking for my cock ring. Actually, I have two; Rob got them for me. One is the standard round metal ring, the other is a small leather strap with a snap on it. The leather one is easier to put on when I'm already erect, but the metal one keeps my dick just a little bit bigger and harder and therefore more sensitive. Unfortunately, because the things have to go around your whole package, it really hurts trying to pop my balls through the metal ring when I've got a boner; the first one is not so bad but the second one really hurts. With the leather one, no problem. Just wrap it around the base of the package below my balls and snap it together.
I really wanted to please Rob so I grabbed the metal ring, closed the drawer and went back into the living room. Okay, Clayton, this is for your lover, pinch the head. Ugggh. Yeah, it hurts, but not nearly as much as trying to get that second testicle through the ring would be, particularly considering how exceptionally hard I already was. I sat back down in the recliner and placed the ring over my dick as it decreased in size; the cold metal resting on top of my ball sack also helped. After about fifteen seconds my erection had gone down in size sufficiently to allow me to painlessly pull my balls and scrotum through the ring and get the thing firmly in place against my groin. Okay, Clayton, now get it back up. Think sexy thoughts.
I sat back, closed my eyes and recalled my favorite turn on memories (although that may change, after last night): Rob climbing out of the swimming pool, followed by our mutual fucks of one another in my back yard. It happened last summer.
Because the company Rob and I worked for specialized in moving offices rather than residences, the hours were rather weird. While there was day work there was a lot of work at nights and on weekends, that being the time businesses would be closed and therefore could move with less disruption. However, because of this I could not plan on being able to do the yard work on Saturday like I did when I was in school. Along in late July or early August, after we'd been seeing one another for a little over a month, Rob and I both had a weekday off, like a Tuesday or a Wednesday. He volunteered to come over and help me mow the lawn, edge and trim hedges, figuring we would go swimming afterwards, as well as a little fooling around in general.
Rob got over to the house about ten in the morning; Dad was at work, Mom was at school, so we had the place to ourselves until around four that afternoon when Mom would get home. Rather than jump one another's bones immediately we decided to do the responsible thing and get the yard done first. It was hotter than hell that day, and really humid; a typical Houston summer day with the temperature over one hundred degrees. God only knows what the heat index was, when it gets that hot, you don't want to know the details since that only seems to make it worse. So we're out doing the yard, wearing only caps, shorts and sneakers, drinking bottle after bottle of Gatorade, sweating it out as fast as we drank it.
While we were doing the front yard Rob commented about two girls who kept driving by in a car together, driving by rather slowly the second, third and fourth time, obviously checking out the two half naked studs doing yard work. After we were done in front and were ready to start on the back yard, Rob actually had the nerve to go out and stand on the street to stop the two girls on their fifth driveby to ask them if they were lost. After they managed to concoct the lie about what address they were looking for, Rob tells them he's not familiar with the neighborhood and hollers at me to come over and give them directions.
Walking over to the car I could tell by the look on his face what he was up to, so I decided, what the hell, give 'em a show. Rob's on the passenger side so I walk around to talk to the driver. She rolls her window down and stammers out the address they can't find, which was probably her own, it was just three blocks away. Plus, and here's the really stupid thing, you have to drive down that street in order to get to my house since we live at the very back of the subdivision, there's no other way to get here. Lost my ass; they clearly were checking Rob and me out. So while I'm giving her directions I casually run my right hand palm down over my chest, wiping away the sweat and plastering down my chest hair so she can get an eyeful of my pecs, then wiped my hand off on the leg of my cutoffs, finally tugging a little bit on the leg of them to rearrange my balls. While I'm doing this I'm doing a superb job of keeping a really idiot dumb jock look on my face, appearing to be totally oblivious to what I was doing other than giving her directions in a bored tone of voice.
While I'm doing this I can see Rob changing position, turning away from the passenger, talking to her through her open window, leaning against the car with his elbow on the roof so she could get a really good look at his five star butt right in front of her face (why do women find a guy's firm butt attractive anyway?). I couldn't see it but Rob told me later he also had his right hand on his waist and was "absent mindedly" playing with his treasure trail and belly button with the tip of one of his fingers.
After carefully confirming with the driver she had her directions correct (she only had to ask for clarification three times), Rob and I both stepped away from the car, smiled, told them to drive carefully, waved bye (both being sure to flex our biceps in so doing) and walked back into my yard stifling our laughter; Rob, of course, had to scratch his butt a little after turning and walking away from them.
After walking around a hedge so we would be out of sight and could safely laugh our asses off, Rob grabbed me by the shoulders, gives me a quick kiss and then in his best, high pitched, screaming-nelly-queen-faggot lisping tone of voice (and Rob can do a really good one, too, complete with all the facial expressions and body gestures), says to me, "Oh, Clayton, those two dears were just fabulously adorable. I do hope they're lesbians so we can all go out on a double date together!" Of course we both started laughing uncontrollably, but I thought I was going to die when Rob managed to tell me the passenger had given him her phone number. Okay, maybe it was a little on the cruel or sick side, but nobody got hurt and it was funny; those two girls clearly had no idea they were drooling over a couple of queers.
We started doing the back yard, still laughing over what we had done. My backyard is very private with a combination of hedges and fencing that blocks the view. Since nobody could see or hear us, we began doing really faggy imitations, you know, limp wrists, effeminate voices and the like. But it was too hot to be wasting energy over such shit, so we soon dropped it and concentrated on finishing the yard. After we're done with the yard, and have the equipment put back away in the storage portion of the pool house, I went in the Shack to get a couple of cold beers, which I figured we deserved. We have a lot of yard. It usually takes me well over four hours to do the yard by myself. With Rob there, we had finished in just under three hours.
When I came back out in the yard I saw that Rob had walked over by the swimming pool and was having a cigarette. I went over, handed him his beer, then walked over and lay down in a lounge chair under an awning on the shady side of the pool house, getting one of his cigarettes from the pack on the table next to me. Rob came over and flopped down in the chair on the other side of the table next to me and we started some idle chatting about the yard and stuff. Yeah, in the back of our minds we were thinking about sex (at least I was), but there was no rush for time and it felt good to be just relaxing together, continuing to laugh about the two girls. After a little bit Rob looked over at me and asked, "You got nosy neighbors?"
"Nahhh. They're all cool. Besides, there's no way they can see in here."
"Great," replied Rob as he sat his beer down on the table, stood up, jerked off his cap, toed off his sneakers, pulled off his shorts, underwear and socks, then ran over to the pool and dove in. It wasn't a deep dive since he was at the shallow end of the pool, but a shallow surface dive. He swam along under water for a moment and then stood up, mid-chest high in the water, turned around and faced me. He shook his head, slinging water all over the place, then began to walk through the water back toward me. Reaching the end of the pool, he came up the ladder. After getting out of the pool he walked back over to me, shaking and wiping himself off while he walked, then leaned over and gave me a kiss on the forehead before flopping back down in his lounge chair.
Don't ask me why, but there is something about that short scene, which lasted not more than thirty seconds, that just makes me go limp and drool. The sight of his butt, flexing as he headed toward the pool, then tightening up as he dove in and disappeared under the water. The sight of his shoulders and upper back as he stood up out of the water. The absolute beauty of his body coming into sight as it rose out of the water as he came back toward me, water running down his chest, straightening the hair that sparsely covered his pectoral muscles. The image of his biceps flexing as he climbed the ladder, thereby revealing the rest of his nude form. His genitals in their soft, wet nest of hair. The overall motion of his arms, legs and torso as he walked and shook himself. And then there was the smile on his face the whole time; a gentle, open-mouthed smile of true happiness mixed with a hint of desire for me.
After this I too stripped and jumped in the pool to wash off, then quickly ran to my room to fetch some lube and a towel, dropping them on the ground in the shade beneath a large tree. Rob came over to join me and we stood kissing one another surrounded by the smell of freshly cut grass. I told Rob what I wanted but he had an improvement on my plan. Taking a garden hose, he lightly sprayed water over the grass in the shade of the tree to cool it down. We then resumed our kissing, but this time on our knees before one another. We took our time, looking, kissing, touching, smiling and licking, getting supremely horny.
After I couldn't stand it any longer, I gently lubed Rob's erection after preparing myself, and then laid down on the cool, damp grass, offering myself to him. Usually Rob and I copulate front to back, the recipient facing away from the other. Whether laying down, on hands and knees or standing, Rob and I both find the positions more comfortable that way. But that afternoon I pulled my legs upwards so Rob could enter me, keeping them pressed against his sides and wrapped around his back.
The sight of Rob fucking me was wonderful, particularly when he became situated and started fucking me for his enjoyment to satisfy his desire. He was beautiful, muscles working in unison for the sole purpose of shoving his dick in and out of me. All the time he pumped me he was smiling, a really big open-mouthed grin, and it really satisfied me that he had let loose and was rapidly and unabashedly screwing my ass with abandon. The only words we exchanged were his "You want me to come on you or in you?" followed by my "Whatever you want." Rob's fucking slowed slightly while he momentarily thought what to do then he told me, "I want you to see how much I want you." He began fucking me in real earnest then and after about ten seconds he jerked his dick out of me and squirted his cum shots on my chest, stomach and face. Rob clearly wanted me a lot that afternoon, judging by the amount of semen he produced and the surprising number and lengths of the squirts. From first entry to final exit, Rob had taken less than two minutes to come to climax.
As soon as his ejaculations had ceased, still panting for breath, Rob grabbed the lube and began smearing it on my dick, bringing my erection fully back to life. Usually after one of us gets off, we take a break; our orgasms satisfy the other that much. But not that afternoon, Rob was still horny and so was I. Getting my dick back up, Rob reached around to prepare himself, ordering me with his soft but passionate plea, "Dog fuck me, Clayton, fuck me like a dog from behind, right here in the open, hard and fast." Rob's demeanor and voice triggered something in me and I felt as if I could not control my horniness. As Rob turned around and got on his hands and knees, I positioned myself in back of him, entered and began fucking him purely for my pleasure as he had done with me, his fresh, warm cum still oozing down my face and torso. Forget anything about enjoying the pleasurable sensations of my dick sliding in and out of his soft but tight ass. I wanted to get off. And I did, also in about two minutes. However, unlike Rob, I buried my dick into him to the hilt to enjoy my orgasm, and I knew Rob could feel and was enjoying how much cum I shot out deep in his guts.
Pulling my spent dick out of him, I pulled Rob to his feet and we ran together hand in hand to the pool and jumped in, washing ourselves off before finding a place in the pool where we were neck deep in the water and then began a long and tender kissing session. For whatever reason, that brief encounter, two fucks in less than five minutes, was one of the best Rob and I ever had, or at least I think so.
Now, this morning in the recliner in Rob's apartment, I was preparing myself so that my lover could have whatever he wanted when he awoke after our first night of married sleep. The memories of that summer afternoon, how truly beautiful Rob is, jumping in and getting out of the pool, the incredible sight of him satisfying his desire between my legs, and the raunchy image of the two of us fucking like animals out of doors quickly worked their usual magic. My dick looked and felt like it was carved out of flesh colored marble, except for the head, which was a dark, deep red.
I walked into the bedroom over to Rob's side of the bed and picked up his coffee cup. Reaching over, I gently placed my hand on his naked shoulder and softly shook him awake. His eyes opened then blinked a couple of times. I gently said, "Good morning," and he looked at me standing by the side of his bed and that wonderful, open-mouthed smile of his appeared, tinged with just a hint of desire in his sleepy eyes as he realized what was before him. Extending the coffee mug I told him, "Room service, what would you like for breakfast?"
As Rob sat up in bed I reached in back of him to adjust his pillows so he could comfortably sit upright from the waist up. Taking the coffee mug from me he slowly said, "Hmmmm. Let me just lookat the menu for a moment."
I continued to stand there before him like a good waiter, my hands folded behind my back, a smile on my face and my erection pointing straight ahead at his face. While Rob sipped his coffee he eyed me over, top to bottom, a pleasantly wicked look came into his eyes. In my mind I ran over all the possible things Rob might want, becoming increasingly hornier as I waited for him to make up his mind what he would wish first. Finally, after studying me over several times, Rob took a hefty and loud slurp of coffee from his mug, sat it down on the nightstand, licked his lips and said, "I think I'll start with this," as he leaned forward and took my incredibly erect cock into his mouth.
In the direct opposite of what I had felt the previous night when Rob placed his cold, wine-filled mouth around my dick, the incredible warmth of his coffee-warmed mouth this morning shot through my aching erection and all over my body and mind. I felt my knees go weak and my body shudder as a sudden crying moan came out of my lungs and semen spurted out of my erection; I couldn't tell which was more intense, the cry or the ejaculations.
I've read about premature ejaculation, how the slightest touch to some men's penis when they are sexually aroused induces them to immediately ejaculate. But the thought of a single touch being able to make a guy's dick blast off escaped me. Sure, I can get off pretty quickly when I want to, but I never comprehended how a single touch could set a guy off, until now.
I was having an orgasm, a very intense orgasm, simply feeling my lover's mouth close around my cock. Sure, I was really hard and sensitive, thanks to the cock ring, and Rob's mouth was exceptionally warm, due to the coffee drinking. But still. This was unbelievable, cumming this way in Rob's mouth. I looked down and could tell he hadn't expected this either. His eyes darted upwards to look at me, wide open with surprise as the dick he held in his mouth finished spurting.
After the spasms of ejaculation had ceased, I pulled my cock out of Rob's mouth and stood by the side of the bed looking at him. I felt terrible. I had wanted to spend hours and hours with him on this special morning, pleasing him in whatever way he wanted. And what do I do? Screw the whole thing up in less than six seconds.
Rob sat back on the pillows looking straight ahead, a confused look on his face, and began to swallow. Several times. Giving his head a slight shake, he looked up at me with a combined smile and look of amazement on his face and said, "Wow, Clayton, now that is what I call having cream with your coffee. How did you do that?"
"I dunno," I meekly answered, ducking my head down, "It just happened."
Looking back at Rob I could tell by the look on his face that he could tell I felt lousy and embarrassed. He threw back the covers as he scooted across the bed and gently told me, "Here, get in bed with me."
I got in the bed in a sitting up position while Rob placed the covers over me to my waist. As he slid his left hand and arm across my back below my shoulders to put his arm around me, I started crying. Not loudly or anything, just uncontrollable sniffling with a few tears. Rob placed his right hand on my left cheek and pulled my head to his shoulder asking in a worried tone, "Clayton, what's wrong?"
Sitting there, my hands in my lap covering my deflated cock beneath the covers I sniffed out, "I wanted this morning to be so special for you, whatever you wanted, and I've gone and fucked it up."
"Fucked it up?" Rob exclaimed, "What have you fucked up?"
"Giving you anything you want, I mean . . . ." I pulled back the covers, pointed at my flaccid dick, replaced the covers and continued, "I can't do nuthin' with that now, and I figured that you might . . . ."
Rob cut me off, putting his hand over my mouth, then back on my left cheek quietly saying, "Clayton, Clayton, Clayton, what am I going to do with you?" Kissing me on the forehead, Rob released my face and pulled his left arm from around me and sat up next to me staring at me. After I worked up the nerve to look over at him, in a stern and determined tone of voice he said, "Okay, let's get this picture fixed."
Rob reached over and grabbed the lube out of the nightstand drawer, squirted a glob into his right hand, snapped the cap in place and dropped it on the bed between us. Throwing the covers off of him, he grabbed his erection and began rubbing his hand up and down the shaft, sliding himself down in the bed until he was flat on his back. Rob began to furiously jack off, not an ordinary jack off, he was masturbating with a vengeance. Eyes tightly shut, grasping his balls with his left hand, his body rigid and tense, pushing and forcing himself as stifled short grunts came through his clenched teeth while his clenched hand roughly and rapidly moved around over the head of his dick.
The overall view was somewhat frightening. It looked like Rob was punishing himself rather than pleasuring himself. While I was trying to figure out what to do or say, Rob's head and shoulders rose from the bed as he sucked in a breath and then grunted out, "There!" and began stroking his shaft with his encircled thumb and forefinger, milking out one continuous stream of thick, milky-white semen that gushed out in flowing spurts upon his stomach.
Rob dropped back to the bed clearly exhausted. I've seen a lot of cum shots come out of Rob. Usually, he has six or seven separate, distinct squirts; a small one, then two big ones that really fly out, followed by three or four, sometimes five or six, smaller ones of decreasing size. The hornier he is the more squirts he has and the further he shoots; I've seen him blast spurts over his head. But this cum shot was nothing like I'd ever seen, either out of Rob or even in a porno flick. The cum didn't shoot out, it flowed out of his dick in a series of gushes like a tide, ebbing and flowing without a break to create an actual puddle of cum on his stomach the size of my palm. Not only was the manner of his single, continuous ejaculation amazing, the quantity of semen was incredible. It would take me a week or more to jack out that much jizz, and I'm no slacker in the cum shot department either.
After just a few breaths Rob pushed himself back up to a sitting position and panted to me, "Hand me the towel, under the bed." I leaned over and felt around under the bed, located Rob's cum towel that I also had used last night, pulled it out and handed it to him. Rob proceeded to wipe off lube from his hand and then his cock, but didn't touch the cum puddle that was oozing and spreading down his stomach toward his bush. Tossing the towel down on the floor Rob looked over at me and said, "Well, Donkey Boy, looks like you're not the only one who can jack off in less than a minute. Now that we've both had a nut, and therefore don't need to have sex to be satisfied right now, let's lay back, relax, have our morning coffee together and talk about how much we love one another."
Then, in a rather crude but lovable and caring way, Rob reached down and scooped a large quantity of cum off his stomach into his palm, which he extended to me saying in a waiter's tone of voice, "Would you like some cream with your coffee, sir?"
Thanks for letting me know you like the story. And, while you're at it, let some of the other authors on Nifty whose stories you enjoy hear from you as well, even if it's simply a "Hi. Liked your story very much. Thanks." little note. There are some really cool guys out there, and hearing from readers keeps guys writing.
As for other junk I've written, none of it can be classified as gay male erotica, so it doesn't really belong here on Nifty. But, if you're really bored, you can find it at www.geocities.com/lylester 2001 and also leave me a message there. Yeah, they don't let you post fun pictures and stuff on GeoCities, but the site was free.