Date: Mon, 3 Mar 2008 22:18:02 -0800 (PST) From: Ted M Subject: Taking Mark's Virginity: Part 6 "Hey." Mark jabs me awake. "Hey." "What's up." I ask groggily. "You said I could choose, right? That it was my choice...whether I was a man who belonged here or in the first hotel. The nasty one." "Yeah." I rasp, trying to get clear in my head. "I said that." "Well, I've been thinking about it. And I decide I like both hotels and everything, and you know - yeah yeah - your metaphor is taken...I can fit wherever I want." "Yeah. Good." I'm glad he got it. I just wish he could have waited until morning to share it with me. "Well, I been thinking. I want to go back to our motel." "The shitty one?" I ask him, suddenly awake and leaning up on my elbows. "Now?" He nods seriously, his eyes large. "Right now." I rub my eyes with my thumb and forefinger. "You realize there's a corner of that room that smells like cat piss." He nods. "I don't care. It's our room. It's where you filled me up the first time. I wanna go home. I wanna wake up in our bed." We check out at 1:45 a.m. Mark has the five soaps in his suit pockets. *** It's 3:30 a.m. He's snoring next to me and, really, I'm trying to ignore it. We drove to the Nasty Ass motel and he slept the whole way there. I think I've broken my Marky. He's seriously unconscious. Too exhausted, too many sensations, too much stimulus, too much feeling for roughly a day and a half. He refused to wake up, so I carried him over the cheap threshold, which would have been romantic and symbolic if he were A) conscious and B) not drooling all over my $100 shirt. So now he's deeply snoring in the cheap bed and everything about him is deeply adorable. The way he mumbled while I stripped him of his sexy 007 suit, the way he fell face down in the stink and sweat of our unchanged sheets (daily service costs extra) and the way he instinctively purred and humped the bed while breathing in our copious sex scents before he almost immediately stopped moving and resumed snoring. The problem is, his snoring is adorable to me. Everything he does is adorable to me, which is like I said, problematic. Especially for my cock. Because my tool is approximately 12 inches from his snorin' ass and my dick doesn't understand the proper etiquette of waiting until someone is awake. My cock contacts me in cock language. "Breed." It whispers and I start to rack my brain remembering if this was a fantasy of his. Did he express any interest in getting fucked in his sleep? I don't think he mentioned it but I really wish that he did. I want to remember this is true. I attempt to remind my cock that just a few hours ago, in front of a plate glass window, we got to breed this particular muscle butt. In the window's reflection I watched the excess sperm slip down the base of my shaft and slime the exterior of my hairy balls while Marky's body was racked with sobs. In fact, the surviving colonies of that slimy dump were still establishing camp inside his warm and fertile butt when we checked out. Mark had refused to flush it out. "I can hold it." he told me at the time. "Seriously." "Breeeeeeeeeeed." My cock whispers and I catch the scent of insistence. Maybe I'll just take a look at his ass and not doing anything to it. I roll him over onto his stomach. He's a heavy sleeper, this one. Naked sleeper, too, of course. I don't know why the curve of his ass gets me so much. It's not like you can actually "do" something with a curve. But Mark's ass is a geometrical wonder nevertheless, that amazingly high muscley cheek and delicious plumpness of form. I trace the curve with my eyes and then fingers. God, I want to fuck this butt. I gently poke his right cheek a few times just to see the indentation and the beautiful flesh give way. Maybe if I just take a look at his anus, that would be enough to satisfy me and then I can fall asleep. The room is dark, but it's a cheap motel, so there is plenty of light filtering in. Cheap motels rarely care about you actually being able to sleep in the room. Nearby highways, tacky parking lot lighting, thin walls...cheap hotels are rarely conducive to sleep. This dump's poor parking lot schemata means that harsh, parking lot fluorescent light floods the window all night. A couple of broken slats in the blinds let that light flow. I pull apart Mark's butt cheeks gently to survey the damage. The guy has taken a good deal of pounding this weekend. It's hard to see, despite the light, because of shadows and the hidden nature of this crevice. And so I can't really see his swollen anus. However, the pale light in the room does seem to glint at what appears to be liquid in the area. This is not helping. The word floats back through me like a breeze. "Breeeeeeeeeed." I wonder how much of me has leaked out. I'm not a big fan of leakage. I'm old fashioned that way – I believe that my kids really ought to stay where I drop `em off. This midnight river is a narrow trail and I can see from the reflected glint that it trickles down to Mark's nuts. It's chunky and erratic, this flow, not a slim trail of liquid and I can see sticky webbing where the juice is trapped between the two muscles that protect his hole. I try telling myself that it's probably not going to be that tasty. Or that I've already tasted it once dripping out of his butt and so why bother doing it twice? How utterly boring to do this again. These lies do not work; I am not fooled. However this lie does succeed: I'll just smell it. Yeah, smell it. That will probably be enough to satisfy this middle-of-the-night lust. I inhale deeply and the entire day comes to me through my nose: his sweat, the taste of his mouth, his excitement driving around Newark, the feeling of his lips on my nuts as he stares up at me, the look of pride in his eyes, the smell of his nervous sweat in the mens' clothier, his triumph at the restaurant. That feeling – the one in the restaurant – comes flooding through me again. I am afraid of this feeling, the bigness of it. I am here in New Jersey to lovingly bring this man into true adulthood. And while it was always a distinct possibility that he might acquire greater feelings for me, those feelings - that crush – will fade with a little time. I am not supposed to reciprocate. He is too young. He needs to be free to choose his life and life mates without one man – his first man - hovering over him pleading, `Pick me! Pick me!' It seems only natural, then, to symbolically kiss him goodbye. I lean in and give his anus a sloppy, loving kiss. My lips come away connected to the goop by a long strand and I lick my lips to make it go away. The texture on my lips is creamy, smooth. I like it. Now, the problem is that the long connecting strand has broken off and dribbled over his left ass cheek. If I just leave it there, it will certainly get smeared into the sheets. We might wake up sticky. Couldn't let that happen. I lap it up gently, not wanting to wake my bro, though it seems unlikely. His snoring is still adorable. Now his left ass cheek glistens with spittle. And the problem with tasting some of the goop is that it has awakened a hunger for more. I am stealthy. I start in the middle, breaking the semen river in half with my tongue, careful not to let my goatee touch too much of this soft skin. The sensation might wake him. I lap at his butt in short little strokes, swallowing each time, resisting the urge to just take a chomp on his ass with my teeth and leave him a beautiful fat hickey. Add that to tomorrow's growing list of To Do's. I'm efficient at cleaning up the mess without waking him. Though if he were awake, I'd certainly make sure he could hear how much I was enjoying this. And yet there's a certain quiet delight in eating his hole without him twitching everywhere and me having to clamp his damn ass to the bed so I can get inside. Turns out that I was wrong. Just like `having one small kiss' did not quench my desire to lap him up. Lapping up the released sperm didn't quench my desire to part that butthole with my dick. I am vibrating with lust and my dick is spitting furiously. Seems a shame to waste all that natural lubricant. I am now pressing against his anus, my hard dick full of confidence. The rest of me is not so sure. This is the problem with getting overly emotionally involved. It's hard to exhibit self-control. `He's not ready for this.' I tell myself. `This is a six-month-move. Maybe three-month. He just got fucked the first time yesterday. He'll wake up freaked out. Don't ruin his perfect night.' That stupid sensation in my chest is pounding, radiating. It's stronger than the lust and it's getting a voice. `Love him.' It says to me. "Love this man. Put your love in him.' This cannot be. He's not ready. I decide to stop. But just as I decide to stop, a funny thing happens. My cock head lurches slightly forward and I am half inside. That sweet anus makes a gurgling, suckling sound and I know that I'm not really *inside* his ass, I'm actually just sitting in the middle of his fleshy anus. The sensation sends a shiver through me. I could blow just like this – right now – and he might never even wake up. Aw, how much fun would that be for Marky? I don't look forward to telling him that we had great sex AGAIN, but unfortunately he wasn't awake for it. He'll pout. I should pull out. For the first time since being with Mark, I feel very lost, unsure of what to do. This is not good. I rely on his butt to tell me. If it's too much, he'll squeeze me out, almost instantly. Inch by inch, I slowly descend to that place where I have burrowed all weekend. I'm fully inside him and he does not respond. His butt feels like home: thick, warm, welcoming. I probably should have eaten more of his ass just to make sure I remember the smell. Eh, I'll do that after I cum. I pull out just a little, and he sleep-whimpers. I tell myself that this isn't respectful. It isn't right. But then, Mark twists a little and my cock is gone again, a few more inches disappearing into that olive-oiled muscle mass. `Love him.' The voice inside me says again and I am trembling. "Show him love." And that's what happens. For the next 15 minutes, I put my cock deeply into him in slow, agonizing strokes. I pull out most of the way and each time I push back in my chest hurts with this feeling, this thing in me that I am trying to lock out. Perhaps other fucks I've thrown Marky were about my skill as a top. It's true, I had already truly loved him with my heart during each one of those as well. I meant what I told him over pizza when I talked about different kinds of love. But this is the feeling that isn't supposed to happen until grown over time. This feeling is love love. I cringe. Only junior high kids resort to using words like, `do you love him or love love him?' I do not want to feel like a junior high kid. It's hard to say when Mark wakes up, when he felt my love. He feigns sleep through the whole thing, as if I could deep stroke his already bruised hole and he wouldn't happen to notice. And his anus is a swollen cauliflower at this point, a rippling mass of fucked-up sensors that don't understand pleasure and pain anymore. Mark plays along, extended sighs and moans pretending to be sleepy gasps and unconscious utterances. His instant acceptance of this game while rising to consciousness, his ability to meet me in the playing field as a true equal is not helping this `love love' feeling. Marky fully gets it now – that we're the team, that every game is just a record of how far we can push ourselves. That the only winners are us, and if we play to our strengths and rely on each other, we always win. How far we can both push this role play without acknowledging each other, without acknowledging that I started fucking a man asleep? Eventually, after what feels like another 20 minutes of loving deep strokes, I edge myself closer and start fucking him hard and yelling while I do it. He plays possum, but his butt keeps throbbing, clenching and releasing, welcoming my powerful thrusts through the path of most resistance. Mark has discovered that resisting my deep penetration can be a powerful aphrodisiac for both of us. He tries to manage a fake snore every now and then, but he's mostly getting bounced around the bed. Subterfuge is absurd, but he keeps it up. My chest is exploding with love love. I keep yelling, keep fucking. He needs my spooge and we both know this. I am convinced I won't be complete, can't sleep until he's carrying more of my seed, that one last load. Maybe the last million sperms didn't finish the job - take the gold medal - but surely this latest batch of swimmers will see the job through. "I'M REALLY CLOSE," I yell. "I'M BREEDING, I'M BREEDING, BREEDING..." "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" cries a shrill womanly voice through the thin wall. "SHUT UP, FAGGOTS!" Apparently we have neighbors now. "NO, YOU SHUT UP," Mark roars at the top of his lungs, "WE'RE TRYING TO FUCK!" I am so unbelievably stunned, so ridiculously proud of Mark that I start ejaculating instantly. My love pours out of me uncontrollably, and I'm dispensing my best magic in his warm and beautiful butt. I can't even pump his ass this time; I am frozen. He has shocked my orgasm right out of me and I love him without measure. I close my eyes, visualizing each juicy pump and blessing each squirt to go into this man and stay there. Permanently. Love love. Mark purrs, feeling me inside juicing him up, quite familiar with the squishy sensation I create when I flood him. He's pushing back to meet my vibrating cock and his ass is clenching what's left of my hardness, threatening violence if it doesn't relinquish every last dribble of my DNA. I am still stunned by him, still amazed at who he is already. We breathe in unison, both of us keenly aware of the sperm in his ass, the cock in his chute. "I'm sore." He says. "I'm sore." I groan. "Dude," he says raggedly, imitating Roscoe's accent, "you're like the greatest, coolest fuckin' Father ever, man. I wish my old man took me out for a steak after my first time." "Ingrate." I warn him. "Roscoe was very good to us..." He giggles and snuggles against my sweaty chest. "I love you, Daddy." "I love you, Marky." By the time we're both touching sleep, I'm not sure if my cock is still inside him or not. If not, then we're still connected by the warmth and a trail of goo that links his swollen, glistening anus to my limp and drooling cock. *** He's sitting on the bed rubbing his face when I return with doughnuts and soda. Frowning. Morning sunlight is illuminating my Marky, my incredible man. He is looking grungy and weary, perhaps not his very best, but I think he's beautiful. "I thought you left." He says darkly. "Without saying goodbye." I study him. "I woke up and you were gone." He says flatly. "I mean, yeah, I figured it out pretty quick." Mark takes one of the Diet Dr. Peppers from me. "All your stuff was still here and you didn't pack it up. So I knew you didn't leave." He takes a few gulps. Ignores me. We're approaching the goodbye part of the weekend. I sit next to him on the bed. "I wouldn't leave that way." I tell him. "Don't fuck with me." He says gritting his teeth. "I'm in love." We're quiet for a bit. "How do you want to spend our last morning together?" I ask him. *** This is not exactly what I imagined. We're in a graveyard. There are thick tombstones around us. It's a Catholic graveyard, so they're showy: weeping angels and inspiring crucifixes. Drama. It's deserted. I guess I would have thought there would be someone here paying homage. It is Sunday morning, after all. Mark walks us to a grave and gestures me to it as well. We stand at its side and I notice the same last name. "This is Patty." He explains. "She's my older sister." Mark has never mentioned her. I stand beside him, hands folded together. I'm in my suit; Mark is in his. "She died when I was nine." He says without emotion. Then he's quiet. "Hey Patty." He says at last. "I'm in love." Mark says to her. "He's kind of a controlling dick at times, but I can't help that; I'm in love. Actually, I kinda like it when he's controlling. I like it a lot, if you must know. Oh, and he likes to make speeches. He sort of thinks he knows everything. He's pretty tough, and he grew up in Chicago, but he's also super lonely and he doesn't even know it. He needs me. A lot. And he doesn't even know that either." Mark is quiet again. "But he's really smart. And he listens to everything I say and he doesn't think I'm stupid, even when I'm being an idiot. He treats me good. Better than good, actually. Last night he bought roses for me that were right on the table where we had dinner, but I never had a dude buy me flowers before, so I ignored them because I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to say. And he didn't say anything or make me feel small about it." Mark pauses. "And when we kiss, I feel like I'm somebody." I see his hand trembling and so I take it in my own. "I remember how you used to sing this song, this stupid song. It was about a way of being free. A stupid Beatles song you used to sing." Mark gulps. But he is strong. "And I kept hearing that song in my head this weekend, all weekend. Being free. And I finally understood it. You know, what you were singing." "This is him." Mark says, squeezing my hand. "Oh, he's also kinda a bad dresser, but also I think that's sexy too." "Hey Patty." I say softly. We're silent for a while longer. "I miss you." He says finally. And then he turns to me. "I wanted you to meet her." I can't breathe. "Let's go." says Mark and he turns away. "Oh, wait." He turns back. "Also, he made me agree to these three idiotic rules before he flew to Newark. First that I would eat two McDonalds breakfast sandwiches to clean out my ass for fucking if decided to `go there.' Which we did, more than a few times. It was awesome." "Also he made me agree that he would pay for everything, which pisses me off, because I'm not a freeloader and I've been carrying a wad of $200 cash in my pocket but he won't even let me buy a fuckin' Starbucks for either one of us. He's like a macho shithead that way." "And the third rule," Mark deliberately ignores me, "is that after our weekend together we wouldn't be in contact for three full weeks afterwards. He says it's the most important rule and is going to bring about world peace and shit. I had to agree to this or he wouldn't come to New Jersey. He said that after the weekend, we're going to need spend some time apart." "Can you believe it?" he says to the patch of grass. "Yeah, me neither." We're silent for a moment longer. "NOW we're done." He says and he grips my hand. Leads me away. Away. *** Our last fuck is gruff and oddly silent. Mark is staring at me fiercely the whole time and we fuck with a hunger that suggests starvation. I never want to pull out. He doesn't want to let me out. "Take it," I whisper right at the end. He pulls me into him, wrapping his arms so tight around my back that I wonder if he's leaving a mark. I nut inside him again and again. Over and over. When I juice him up, it's one of the few seconds I see him soft and tender again. He kisses my eyebrow and into my right ear whispers, "Good." *** Twenty minutes later, he's facing me naked on the bed. Head up on one arm, staring angrily. He's waiting for me to acknowledge him. "Say it." I order him. "This is bullshit." He sputters. "You and your stupid bullshit rule. You think I'm stupid? You think I can't tell?" He hops off the bed and stands up tall and straight. Damn. This is a Man. "Go on." I tell him. "This is the only time I have ever had sex, right? With you. But you think I don't know? Do you think I have to have sex with 30 other guys before I can tell that this was something weirdly special? I'm not stupid." "I know." I say softly. "It's not like this, is it?" he asks me and tears are pouring down his raging face. "It's not as good as this was most of the time. Am I right? This wasn't normal!" "No." I continue my soft tone. "It was pretty unique." "Yeah, well, three fucking weeks isn't going to change anything. It's not going to make this anything less." My guy has some big balls on him. "Look, it's necessary." I tell him. "Three weeks." He flips me off. "The first week is like detox." I explain. "You gotta get rid of my scent, my sperm, my everything. Let it all drain out of you. You'll think about me every day and it'll drive you nuts." "Boy, you sure think a lot of yourself." he says coldly. "The second week you start getting back to normal, you start finding your life again. You stop counting the minutes until we talk." He flashes an angry look at me. "By the end of the third week, you figure it out." I tell him. "You begin to understand whether it was just incredible sex or maybe something more. And it's okay if it's just a mind-blowing weekend of sex. At the end of the three weeks, we talk. You can call." "Oh, thank you, Master." He says sarcastically. "HEY." I say sharply. He stops pacing. "I'm sorry." He looks at me with anguish in his eyes. "I hate this rule of yours. This sucks." I nod to him. "Trust me, on this Marky. I had some bad experiences and figured out how to make this work." "I don't care." He says with less vehemence. "It sucks. You suck." I say nothing. "And I'm not a kid either." "You're not a kid." I repeat to him. "Don't talk down to me." He snarls. "I know what it is to be talked down to." "Good." I tell him warmly, crossing right to him and standing in his space. "Then you'll recognize it when someone else does it. Because I'm NOT talking down to you, Mark. I'm repeating it - YOU'RE NOT A KID - so that you know I'm hearing you. So you know I'm LISTENING." I grab the back of his neck and snap him forward so that his lips are next to me. "I didn't come here to fuck a kid. A child. I came here to fuck the brains out of a man." Mark is shaking, trembling. "And, man, oh man, did I get one." I say through clenched teeth. "The horniest, sexiest, tightest, fuckin' MAN I ever nailed. Holy shit did I get a man out of the bargain! Smart as fuck. Perceptive. Stubborn as hell. Incredible fucking lover. My dick has NEVER been this insatiable!" He's breathing heavily and his clenched fists are unwrapping around my neck, pulling me in. "We should be together." He is crying into my chest. "I belong to you." "Three weeks." I answer him softly, holding him against me. "If you want to give yourself to me, I want to know you're doing it with a clear head. Or at least a clearer head. I want to know that what I'm getting is *all* of you. Not some after-buzz emotions from crazy hot sex." He is quiet for a moment and I hear him sniveling against my shirt. "I *was* crazy hot." He finally says. "Yup." I kiss his forehead. "You were amazing." "Geez," he pushes me away. "You take the fun out of trying to insult you." Mark wants to be pissed at me. And hey, I get it. "It's not always happily-ever-after." I say gently. "Not always." "I know that." He snaps at me. "But this time it is. You fucking know it." I stand before him silently. "You know a lot more than me, fine." He sputters. "More about sex. Other stuff. Fine. But not this, because this I know. I know. And you can cop this worldier-than-thou attitude, but you fucking know it too." "There are lots of other guys out there..." I tell him. "Hot men you haven't even begun to experience." "Fuck that." He says angrily. "Guys with bigger dicks...bigger muscles..." "Fuck you." He glares at me. "Guys who can turn you on to more..." "Fuck you." He glares. "Mark, what we did...that was just one style of love making. There are lots of other ways men relate sexually. You gotta explor—" "I know what I want." He snaps. He jumps and lands horizontal on the bed with his arms crossed. I sit next to him. We stay in silence for a while. His breath relaxes. His arms come down. "That `worldlier-than-thou' comment was pretty sharp." I tell him. "Yeah." He grunts. "Heard it on the Daily Show." "Mark." "I'm cool." He says quietly, still lying on the bed. "I just kinda...I dunno, freaked out or something. I'm good." "That freak out is called love." He rolls his eyes at me. "Holy fuck that is the cheesiest thing I've ever fucking heard!" He crosses his eyes and mocks me, "That freak out is called love..." and suddenly he starts giggling. I guffaw. He snorts. We both start laughing until suddenly we can't stop. We're gasping and howling, and he's rolling on the bed. We brainstorm a whole afterschool special around it, chortling over which B-level actor is going to say the big cheesy line. This dies, eventually, and we're both wiping our eyes, his giggles are shutting down. He's still on the bed with one hand supporting his head. "I wanna stay here for a while after you leave." He says, staring at the bedspread. I wait until he looks at me and I nod. "The key's on the TV." I tell him. "You don't have to check out until tomorrow if you wanna stay another night." We're quiet again. "Hey." He says to me, instantly serious. "Thank you." I nod. His eyes well up with gratitude. "I mean it." I nod slowly at him. The moment passes and is remembered. Mark wipes his eyes and jumps out of bed, glancing around the floor. "You won't find your underwear." I inform him. "I already packed it in my stuff." He grins and says, "Pervert." Clearly, he's pleased by this news. He finds his jeans and pulls them up. I watch his chocolate brown bush disappear in a snap and a quick zzzzziiiip. Oh, and that gorgeous, brown-skinned, not-quite-virgin ass. My cum is up that butt. Lots of it. I ache for his ass already. He dresses causally, more relaxed now, and the big drama of the day is finished. Nothing of mine is in the room, except for him, so I'm ready to go. My gear is packed in the truck. "I gotta go." I tell him. "Yeah," he says with his shy and bold smile. "I know. It's cool." I stare at him a moment. Pull a pen out of my leather jacket. "Gimmie that napkin." I tell him, walking to the rickety thin table that counts as a desk in this shitty room. "What napkin?" he says. I smirk. "The one you put in your jeans pocket last night when you thought I wasn't looking." Mark slowly breaks into a big grin. "Buuuuuus-ted." He pulls it out from a front pocket and hands it over. Inside are the words I wrote last night: I CAME TO NEW JERSEY TO BE WITH YOU. AND ONLY YOU. I flip it over and write a few lines on it. "Here. Put it back in your pocket." My Marky obeys. "Sometime this week when you feel like you're going to die if you don't talk to me right away, you uncrumple that napkin and read it. But I'm warning you now...if you read it right after I pull out of the parking lot, you won't have anything to look forward to for a few weeks. So make sure you don't use it until a moment where you absolutely need it." Mark nods somberly. He gets it. "I gotta go." I say again. He nods. I walk him to the door and before opening it, I kiss Mark deeply. I gently caress his left jawbone and the back of his skull. There's no perfect kiss to end this, no way to bookend this weekend that magically captures what happened here. All we've got is our imperfect selves. So we kiss deeply and affectionately but it's oddly formal; it's a goodbye kiss. I walk out the door and face him only when I open the truck door, five feet away. He's standing in the door frame, shirtless, leaning against it. His brown eyes are glinting. "Three weeks, huh." he says with resolve. I do believe I hear grit in that man's voice. "Three weeks." I say slowly in his direction. Mark looks at me doubtfully. *** Will he call? Hard to say. I never count on anything being a done deal. But something tells me I might just hear from this young fucker. And what if he doesn't call? Well, I try not to think about that. As I drive out of the motel parking lot, I wonder how long it will be before he uncrumples the napkin note. When he finally reads it, he will see my scrawled signature and above it, this message: I TOOK MARK'S VIRGINITY HE IS A POWERFUL, AMAZING MAN I WILL ALWAYS BE HONORED HE CHOSE ME ******* The End ***************** Feedback welcome and appreciated. Mpls_ted@yahoo.com Thank you to all the men who have emailed me with blessings of love and support. Wow. Intoxicating and overwhelming. I am truly grateful.