by Greg Scott
All the usual stuff about you must be old enough in your jurisdiction, etc. In other words, if you are underage, don't read this unless you have a really cool teacher who assigned it. Otherwise, come back in a few years, when nobody will yell at you.
------------------------------As I drew closer to my destination, the sense that my two hour drive would be wasted intensified. I grew more certain that my brief acquaintance from nine days before would not arrive at our meeting location. I began to wonder how long I should wait for him at our rendezvous restaurant.
Despite my growing skepticism, I pulled off the interstate two exits early at an old fashioned roadside motel, now surrounded by its more contemporary competitors. I registered for a room, making up a totally implausible story about why I needed a room only for the afternoon. I don't know why I felt the need to concoct a story of any sort, since the middle-aged woman behind the desk had not asked me any questions.
I returned to my car, feeling much more embarrassed by the absurdity of my story than by my real motivation for wanting the room. I didn't even bother to peek into the room before leaving.
I'm a punctual man, fairly atypical for a gay guy, so I arrived at the restaurant about ten minutes early. I pictured myself sitting alone at a table sipping coffee for an hour before finally ordering a sandwich.
Instead, when I walked into the restaurant's anteroom, my new friend had already arrived. I was pleasantly surprised. No, that's an understatement. I was astonished.
We had played eye tag sitting in the hotel lobby for about ten minutes. We had spent a few minutes in a cramped hotel men's room fondling and admiring each other, and we had exchanged enough words to set up today's meeting. That was the extent of our relationship. Yet, the force of the attraction had brought us together again.
He rose from his chair as I entered. We exchanged brief, awkward greetings, and I asked if he was ready for lunch.
"I'm not really hungry, let's go," he said without inquiring about my preference.
I was a little startled by his brusque reply, but the thought of getting this guy alone in private compensated for whatever offense I might have felt.
I had tried to picture him with as much detail as I could during the previous nine days. As each day passed, I became more certain that he was not the Adonis that the urgency of my sexual drive had constructed at the hotel the weekend before last.
In fact, in the sunlight, he was even more beautiful than I had remembered. His hair, his face, his clothes, his walk--all were even more alluring than my fading memories had conjured.
I find a wide variety of men attractive. I seem to possess equal opportunity lust. But if there is a kind of look that renders me unable to resist, that look is made up of the characteristics of this young man. Blond. Clear, fair skin. Trim body, About five feet, eleven inches. Maybe 160 pounds. Well kept. Confident posture. Inviting blue eyes. Full lips.
Walking across the parking lot, we decided that it would be best for him to ride with me to the motel. I would bring him back to get his car later.
Rather than getting back onto the interstate, I decided to take city streets to back track to our love nest of a motel. That would give us a little extra time to talk and get to know each other a bit. In retrospect, that may not have been among my best decisions. The streets seemed to curve unperceptibly, and I found myself completely disoriented. We eventually found our way back to the highway from which I easily found the motel.
As I backed out of my parking space, he told me that I should consider becoming a professional model. This faux interest in me was really just an excuse to mention that modeling was his profession. Much to his delight, I probed him about this. In fact, I am fairly familiar with models and their jobs, but it seemed the courteous thing to pursue the matter and feign interest.
So it was that we had a little more time to talk than would have been ideal. I discovered that he had one major interest. Himself. On the other hand, he learned nothing of me except for commenting upon my personal appearance several times. He asked me no questions, although he certainly attempted to stroke my ego. His compliments were tempered by me realizing that, in his mind, we were practically twins. Consequently, when he said something about my looks, I realized that he was in fact complimenting himself.
During the course of the conversation, I was able to deduce that his real job was as a sales clerk for a department store. His modeling gig was for catalogs and sales flyers for that store. It was a sort of part time job, and I suspected that the store was just looking for ways to keep their advertising budget under control.
During our time in the car I also learned his preference in clothing brands, skin creams, shampoos and other personal care products. The conversation actually served to make me more frustrated about getting lost on the way to our destination. This guy was a total bore. But he was beautiful, so I decided to simply tune him out and admire him with the volume mentally muted.
Now, I'm sure that you are too chaste to have gotten yourself into a similar situation, so I'll tell you a little about the protocol for events such as these.
This is not similar to a date. When you're on a date, you spend much of your mind trying to figure out what the expectations of your partner are. Is he interested in taking this to an intimate level? Am I interested in taking this to an intimate level? Will he invite me to his place, or should I offer my place?
The kind of encounter that I was in had none of those questions. In these sorts of arrangements, both people know what will eventually happen. The only real question is how to get from point A to point B.
I confess that this was not my first such experience. Normally, at such times, there is a period of awkwardness. Some time is spent sort of testing the waters. A little talk, maybe a couple sips of drinks, a hesitant touch on the shoulder or leg that is urgently reciprocated, and then hormones take over.
Awkwardness was not on the agenda as we entered the tastefully decorated room, flooded with light from the large window. I walked over to close the drapes; working with that small gap that refuses to fully close where the two sides of drapery meet, something that always exists in any hotel room.
By the time I had finished that preliminary task, I turned to see my companion stepping out of his briefs. He had managed to discard shoes, socks, pants and shirt in the length of time that I had worked with the drapes. They were strewn along side the bed.
I consciously thought that as good as this guy looks in clothes he looks even better out of them. With his considerable cock already pointing toward the ceiling, he practically bounced into the bed and pulled the sheet up to his waist.
Since I lagged behind his enthusiastic disrobing, I felt as if I had been thrust into a spotlight as I unbuttoned my shirt, with him staring at every move I made. I arranged my clothes carefully on the desk chair, trying not to seem rushed, although I was quite excited to join him in the bed and begin a tactile exploration of what my eyes had so enjoyed already. I felt extremely self conscious and was made even more so by his running commentary about his pleasure with the appearance of each body part I revealed.
As I removed my underwear, exposing my rigid member, he said the exact same thing that he had said in that men's room nine days earlier.
"We're exactly alike!" He said it with enthusiasm and wonder.
There was something about that statement that made me uncomfortable, but I couldn't quite figure out what it was. Perhaps this observation was a threat to my own individuality, my sense of self. I have always felt that each person is unique and that I am the most unique of all. Maybe my discomfort resided in my recognition that he was right. Our penises, at least as far as we had examined them so far, were identical in every detail. Same length; same girth; same shape; and, at this moment, the same level of lust.
But I was also uncomfortable because he had made it clear that his statement applied to more than our dicks. He believed that we had other physical characteristics--other parts of our respective bodies--that were surprisingly similar. That assessment I did not share.
Frankly, he was much better looking than I was. His skin smoother, his body trimmer, his hair more perfect and his lips more inviting. His assessment did not ring true to me, and it made me wonder about the lens through which he viewed the world. It especially made me wonder if I was the focus of his desire or if some fantasy vision of me excited him.
I joined him in the bed, facing him and moving so that my cock pushed firmly against his hip. I started to gently rub his smooth chest.
He nudged me, indicating that he wanted me to lie on my back. I obeyed his unstated wish. He pushed down the sheet, and he grasped each of our dicks.
Raising his head to be able to examine them more or less side by side, he said, "It's amazing."
I said nothing, but awkwardly reached across my body to begin circling one of his erect nipples with my index finger. I followed a spiraling path moving ever closer to the dark nub.
He did not respond in any way to my touch, but continued his examination of our two admittedly majestic cocks.
"Look," he commanded.
"Don't you think they're exactly alike?"
I said that I did, although I didn't seem to find the striking similarity as fascinating as did he. I had seen my dick plenty of times from this angle, and seeing it in duplicate was not exactly what I had in mind for our time together.
At last, he let loose of both of us. I rolled back onto my side facing him and scooted into position where my lips could find the nipple that I had previously entertained without reaction. I moved my mouth up his chest, across his shoulder, and I began a subtle tongue caress of his neck. My tongue felt the ultra-short bristles of whatever his razor had missed this morning.
I continued my upward path, intent on reaching those full lips with my own.
Suddenly, he jerked back as if I had literally hit a nerve.
"I don't kiss," he stated urgently.
"You don't kiss?" I had not expected this. It seemed an odd thing for someone to say--someone who had so enthusiastically agreed to meet a virtual stranger for sex.
"Well, I kiss; I just don't kiss men." He said this as if it would answer all of my questions.
"What do you mean? Why not?" I was not going to let him off the hook that easily.
"I only kiss my wife."
"Your wife? You're married?" I was quite astounded.
He nodded his answer. I was confused. I had a hard rule about doing anything with married men, primarily because I didn't want to help anyone live in the closet as a lie. On the other hand, my libido had absolutely no interest in my political views or ethical rules. Another battle between the big head and the little head ensued.
I reached a decision the moment his mouth engulfed my engorged cock. I promised myself to determine marital status prior to getting to this point in all future connections. As for the current circumstance, it would be rude to deny this man his moments of pleasure. Rationalization is a wonderful gift, and I could rationalize with the best, especially if I had a hard-on.
His technique was practiced and superb. My pleasure was intense. My mind reeled as I watched him perform his magic. I was spellbound.
Suddenly he stopped and said, "I always wondered what it felt like for someone to have my cock in their mouth. Now I know."
That spell was broken as I realized that while he sucked my cock he fantasized about his own. This was getting a little weird. Again I remembered my rule about married men. Perhaps I should be strong and resist after all.
Of course, it wasn't a burst of morality that had me reconsidering this whole thing. It was that I found myself in a very awkward role playing situation. This realization hit me hard.
Role playing can be fun. It can bring excitement and help fulfill long held fantasies. I've been a doctor examining a patient, a stranger waiting expectantly in a forest and even a high ranking military officer. Never before, though, had I played the role of the person I was with.
This guy had me playing the role of him. In a way, I was like a film actor portraying a real person while that person is still alive. I've heard such actors interviewed, and they all worry about how the person they are portraying will critique their performance. In this case I was performing in the same location as my real life character. Furthermore, he had the other leading role in the unfolding drama. He was both audience and performer.
It turned out that he was also the director.
"Let's sixty-nine," he said, immediately flipping around on the bed into the appropriate orientation.
Before I had time to consider the ramifications, my cock was in his mouth again. Inches away was his lovely cock, anxious for some reciprocal attention. I gave in.
I decided to stop thinking entirely, except to focus on the sensations, which were quite phenomenal. His tongue and mouth were massaging my dick with a respect it had never encountered. My mouth, in turn, was worshipping his large and shapely member. We were both moaning.
I thought of nothing except the exquisite feelings. I unconsciously started massaging his butt as I made passionate love to his appendage. He rubbed my lower back with one hand and gently cupped my balls with the other.
I don't think that my eyes literally rolled back in my head as my semen worked its way to its destination, but they might have. I had no sense of anything other than what I was physically touching and what was touching me so masterfully.
I have heard women describe climaxes that begin in the toes and finger tips and work their way throughout their entire bodies. I momentarily had that experience. It was like a tsunami only instead of starting in a single spot and working its way outward, it started in multiple locations and crashed into my groin with shattering force.
It was as if my cock was going to explode in a literal sense, and perhaps it did. I don't know how much I released into his hungry mouth, because it did not happen shot after shot as usual. It happened in one very long, continuing burst.
During that time, I somehow had enough presence to realize that his cock had begun to throb in my mouth, and I tasted a salty and surprisingly sweet liquid fill and then refill my oral space. I heard a distant scream, but I didn't care. Only afterwards did I even recall the sound, at which time I realized that it had originated from around my own exploding penis.
We each came down to earth at our own pace. He apparently regained control faster than I as, after a few minutes, he jumped out of bed and proceeded to dress nearly as quickly as he had cast off his clothes.
I laid there for a few more minutes, until I began to remember the strange context of this whole thing. I had just experienced the most intense orgasm of my life with a married man, who doesn't kiss men, who thinks that he had just sucked himself while he was being sucked by himself or some such thing. By trying to figure out what was going on in his mind, I became confused about who did what to whom.
As I glanced at him, with his cock now safely tucked away in his fashionable clothes, I still could not see that much resemblance between us. I briefly thought that I would love to look like him, but I would much rather be me. I wouldn't trade my identity for his looks.
It's odd that we didn't speak until we were back at the restaurant parking lot where he had left his car.
As he reached for the door handle, he turned to me and said, "Thanks. That's a dream come true for me."
"Thank you, too," I sincerely replied, grateful for the memorable climax if not for all the baggage that went with it.
"Do you want to do this again, sometime?" he asked expectantly.
"I don't get here very often," I replied.
"Well when you do get down here again, look me up."
"Sure thing," I said. "And if you're no longer married and willing to kiss guys again, let me know."
We both knew that we wouldn't be contacting each other. We had exchanged no phone numbers, no email, no addresses, no names--just bodily fluids. That was really all that I wanted to exchange with him.
I saw him again...in an underwear catalog about a year later. Like all men, I proudly smirked and thought to myself, "I've had him!" He looked damned good though, but not at all like me.
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