This story is a work of fiction. It is not intended to imply anything about the true sexuality of the celebrity, Zac Efron, involved. I have no personal knowledge of Zac Efron's private life. This story is an original work of fiction; the author retains all rights. Your comments are appreciated: email@example.com. Future chapters, depending on the response, will be forthcoming.
Zac Efron in Connecticut
My arms were wrapped around Zac Efron's body when I woke, my face buried against the warmth of his back, my cock nestled between his firm butt cheeks. I held him tightly, like I was fucking him. My cock was so hard it almost hurt.
The night before, when we had finished, we had fallen asleep quickly. It had the best sex of my life and had been too overcome with bliss to think. Without realizing it, it had been barely 9:30pm. So, now, as I sat up in bed and looked over at the clock on the bedside table, it was only 1:30am. Late. Early. Depending on your schedule. I rarely slept more than a few hours at a time. So, for me, these strange, early hours were almost mystical. It was a time that the phone never rang and e-mails weren't returned quickly. The city was quieter. The world was quieter like the continents were tiptoeing. The people who were awake now were people who had emergencies or good reasons to pick up people at the airport and people who couldn't make it work at the clubs. These were the magic hours. When I wrote, this was when. And, maybe because the warm body next to me was so mesmerizing or maybe because it felt so good to feel him inside of me, I was struck with the strongest desire to write.
There under the sheets, I held his body tightly for a moment and felt his pecs and stomach. They were still firm and strong. It felt so right and natural to hold his hard pecs in my hand, especially as I ran my nose up and down his neck. His body seem so much more massive than mine. His torso was probably twice as wide (or maybe slightly less than that) as mine and he was probably five or six times stronger than me. He was a little taller. And, then, being careful not to wake him, I brushed the back of my hand over his face. His beard was stubbly, but the shape of his face, the angle of his jaw, his check bones, was simply hard to look away from. His hair fell perfectly over his face, even when he was asleep. I leaded down and kissed his shoulder. I had to admit: of his entire, steaming perfect body, his shoulders were what I loved the most, what I wanted to hold and touch during sex.
I sat up and rolled out of bed. And then, just to be sure, I peaked under the sheets to check out his cock. Still large, even flaccid. Still beautiful. Looking at his cock, I felt like I couldn’t possibly wrap my lips around it and that I wanted him fucking my throat.I was pretty sure I get some more time with it. His shoulders and his cock. Maybe two favorite parts.
I went into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee, still thinking about Zac’s thick, delicious cock. I went back into the bedroom and pulled on some flannel pajama pants. Zac was still asleep and looking mighty fine. I stood there and watched his belly rise and fall slowly as he breathed heavily, his abdominal muscles made beautiful changing shapes in the subtle shadows and light. I had to admit that on some level, I wondered what he was doing here in my bed. I'm not so insecure as to immediately doubt whoever sleeps in my bed. I know I am capable of seduction. But, Zac wasn't some pretty boy from a club that I could impress by flashing a little money or wearing nice clothes or whipping out a quote from Voltaire. Surely, Zac understood the implications to his career if our night together became the stuff of the gossip columns and tabloids. He must have known that and still, here he was, sleeping in my bed. With so much potentially on the line, he couldn't be sleeping around with lots of men peripheral to the movie business; there would simply be too many stories in a small town like this. It had to be unusual for him. And dangerous, almost. And at the same time, however much it felt like he had wanted my body as much as I had wanted his, the idea that had spent the night out of sheer sexual attraction or romantic attraction seemed unbelievable. I wanted to believe that we could even have a future together, but maybe I was getting ahead of myself or maybe I wasn't being sensible because he was such a good lay. His shoulders and his cock still swam around in my imagination.
I turned away and went back into the kitchen. I poured myself a cup of hot coffee, stirred in a little sugar and cream, and made my way to my desk.
When I saw Troy a years ago, after having masturbated over Brad Pitt’s ass for a few weeks, I had decided to read The Iliad. A few years before, I had read a very expensive edition of The Odyssey that my father had given me. So, I was reading The Iliad out of sequence. But, the story was still strong and the poetry was strong. And it was sort of required reading for anyone of any cultural literacy.
The Iliad and Troy are not as closely related as one would like. I can appreciate that something is lost in the making of a movie, of course. Lost or gained, depending on your perspective. It’s a different medium. But, I still thought that too must was lost. And not enough gained. There is so much psychology to be exploited by the storyteller, strange psychology before gods that seemed layered under storyline, and the subtleties of a wealthy aristocracy. The gods of The Iliad weren’t interested in useful things like farming or fertility. They were arbitrary and powerful, cruel and beautiful. The armies and generals they sent into battles were extensions of power; it wasn’t about a noble purpose. And love and beauty sat ethereally above the daily lives of people.
So, I began writing a script for my own version of Troy. In mine, however, I envisioned a trilogy. I wanted to devote an entire movie to the actions before Menelaus leaves Greece with his armies. I wanted to focus on Paris and the goddesses Athena, Hera, and Aphrodite and Helen. In the movie, Paris is played by Orlando Bloom. He’s very handsome, but weak and cowardly. And, not too bright. Reading The Iliad and then reading some other sources, like Lucian’s Dialogs, I was convinced that Homer’s Paris was far more complex. After all, the Trojan War was not about power; it was about beauty. The three goddesses were each competing for the title “the most beautiful,” and Paris was the judge. With Athena and Hera offering Paris military skill and political power, it is a comment about the power of beauty that Paris chooses Aphrodite and her offering of Helen, the most beautiful woman.
The power of beauty and, more interestingly, the power of seduction. Seduction. It was more powerful than power.
And, I wanted to depict Paris as being somewhat helpless in the whole affair. We can call it a ”choice.” But, he couldn’t have choose otherwise. And he must have known it.
I worked for about an hour and half. My scripts never seem to be finished. Every part was there. The beginning, the middle, the end. Each scene is where it should be. It’s not the story that needed help. It’s the occasional line that I can write and rewrite endlessly. So, it was always getting better. But, never done. I was never really satisfied with anything I wrote. And, I knew it would never really be a movie.
I worked on a scene about two thirds of the way into the movie. Paris had met Helen two scenes before. And he’s been told that this is most beautiful woman in the world and that, per Aphrodite’s will, she will fall in love with him. He knows it’s a done deal. He goes to her.
How could I write the dialog? So many things to consider. Is it really seduction? Does he enjoy the seduction anyway? Does she know that her feelings come from Cupid? Does she care? Would she have loved him anyway?
I fiddled with it for an hour and half. I wasn’t really satisfied with it.
When Zac came out of the bedroom, about 3:00 in the morning, he was completely naked. His beautiful cock and his beautiful balls swung every so slightly as he walked. Because his muscles were so perfectly defined and pronounced, I could see the muscles in his legs contract and relax as he moved. It was like watching a beautiful moving version of an anatomy textbook.
“Zac, please tell me that you like to walk around naked,” I said as he approached.
“Hey,” he said and smiled. “What are you working on?”
“Oh, this is just a script I’ve been kicking around,” I said, turning and looking at the screen. He put his hand on my shoulders and massaged them gently as he read the screen.
“Paris?” he asked. “This is the Trojan War?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Cool...” he said, reading on. “Can you print it out? Can I read it?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s not done.”
“Oh, come on...” he said.
“I’ve been working on this thing for...” I stopped as he bent down and kissed my neck softly.
“So, you’ve seen my work,” he said.
“Sure,” I said.
“So, let me see your stuff.”
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?”
He smiled. “Yeah, exactly.”
“I don’t know,” I said. He kissed the other side of my neck and reached over my shoulders, rubbing my chest and stomach.
I swivelled in my swivel chair and faced him. I took his hands in mine and pulled him a little closer to me. I leaned forward to kiss me. He hovered, inches from my face, as if he was smelling me. Gently, he rubbed his nose against mine and looked into my eyes. He extend his tongue slowly and licked the full length of my lower lip. He turned his head and licked my face from chin to my lower lip to my upper lip to my nose. I didn’t move, savering the slow, wet feeling. His tongue came again and lingered on the inside of my upper lip. I closed my lower lip around his tongue and touched my tongue to his. He licked the outside of my lower lip again, licking upwards, and as he reached my upper lip, I sucked deeply on his tongue and pulled his tongue into my mouth. And then, as his tongue pushed against my tongue, I pushed into his mouth, licking at the inside of his lips and over his teeth. Our mouths were now completely against each other, our lips at each others lips, and our tongues at work with each other in the space that we both occupied.
He pulled my hands, which still holding his at our sides, to his side and pulled me even closer to him so that I stood up slowly. His cock was getting hard as was mine. Our waists came together. My cock in my pajama pants, his cock rubbing against me. Our bare chests came together. I feel his abdomen against my, his strong, broad chest against mine. I could feel sexual energy like there was an arch electricity between us. He could overpower me with his eyes.
“Do you want to go again?” I asked, pulling away and looking into his eyes. I wanted him to say ‘yes.’ I wanted to lick every inch of his body and sit on his cock and watch him orgasm.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “I’ll suck your cock if you’ll read me part of your script.”
He grinned at me. I ran my hands up his arms, noticing how the veins in his biceps stood out.
“I was kind of hoping to suck your cock,” I said. I reach down and cupped his balls in my hand. I could see a wave of pleasure run through his face. And watching face as his lips opened slightly as I grazed my fingers lightly through his pubic hair, I couldn’t help but want to climb on him and let him read whatever the fuck he wanted to read.
“Here, let me print it.”
I turned to my computer and hit ‘print.’
My back was turned to Zac and he saddled up behind me, put his arms around my waist and held me in his arms. He pressed his hardening cock against my butt and kissed at my neck, sucking at it wetly. I moaned softly as the printer came to life, printing pages in a slow and steady rhythm. And reached up and touched his face as he sucked at my neck. He kissed at the back of my neck and then down my back. He licked in long strokes up my back.
“Oh, my god... Goddamn...” I said, as the long strokes of his tongue started lower and lower down my back. He was almost kneeling, holding my hips, kissing at the base of my spine. He pulled my pajama pants down and I kicked them off.
I leaned forward on my desk, supporting my weight with my arms, and arched my back, presented my asshole to him. His tongue move ever lower, his grip on my waist ever tighter.
“Don’t stop,” I said. I knew how good it would feel. It expected it. But, the sensation was still surprising, somehow. He spread my cheeks open and pushed his face and nose deep in between them. I could hear him breathing in, smelling me. And, then his tongue gently tickled at my asshole.
“Oh, fuck!” I said. The feeling was intense. Suddenly, intense. It was like a small orgasm each time he touched his tongue against my asshole, pushing into me slightly, like he was trying to taste inside me. The waves of pleasure, with each stroke of his tongue, seemed to radiate deep with my belly. He licked lower, to the very base of my penis, almost to my balls.
I was almost positive that he was going to start fucking me, but just then, I realized that the script had finished printing.
“Zac,” I said.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Did you want to read this?”
“Yeah,” he said standing up. I turned and faced him. He grinned at me, knowing how incredibly his tongue had almost brought me to orgasm. He pulled me in close to him, our cocks rubbing together. I reached around and grabbed his ass. He kissed me and I got to taste what he had tasted. And I wanted to taste it more. I sucked his tongue deeply into my mouth.
“Yeah, let me read it,” he said, once I let his tongue go.
He had me wrapped around his finger -- I had to admit it. If he had asked me “Do I have you wrapped around my finger?” I would have answered “yes.”
My apartment is on the fifteenth floor of a seventeen story building. It is a modern building and none of the four walls which form the outer walls connect at ninety degree angles. The outer wall is curved outward and, except for a narrow, foot high shelf, is made completely of tall, ten-foot windows. It has an alcove which shelters my office, which is really just a large glass desk. Opposite of this, there’s a small hallway which leads back to the two bedrooms, one of which is a rarely used guest room, each with a private bath. There’s a half bath in the hall towards the front door, next to the built in laundry room with washer and dryer. In the kitchen, there are stainless steal appliances and a nice marble counter island. I have a great view of downtown and the building comes with parking.
Happily, I own the entire place. And, of the three other apartments on this floor, I happen to own the next unit over, facing the same direction. I rent it to a Japanese businessman who spends about five weeks a year there, which suits me fine. But, I was always mildly aware that I could double the square footage that I occupied. And, yet, my apartment was already probably too large for me.
For the most part, it is unadorned, very white, and very bright. There are a few book cases. I have a record player and some vinyls. I’ve always wanted a potted plant but I haven’t managed to make that happen. I collect photography a little. So, the few photographs I have are framed in clean, black frames. Mostly, I collect portraits of cute guys and by my tastes, that’s the sort of beautiful, brooding, poetic types. The types who keep journals. The types who take their shirts off and paint oil paintings in loft apartments with no drywalls. James Dean, basically.
I hired an interior decorator. Without ever understanding why, there was a large, empty six-foot vase in one corner, a strange, twisted lamp in another. The furniture, I liked. It was large, black, boxy and leather. It was very clean and it commanded the space well.
Zac walked over to the large, black leather chaise lounge. He stretched out over it, looking very long and lean. He laid flat on his belly and propped himself up on his elbows, the script resting open in front of him. It made his shoulders flex and all the various ridges of muscle down his arms. His muscular back was long and cut into deeply by his spine. His butt was round and firm and rose beautifully into the air.
For about ten minutes, I watched him read. His face took a beautiful seriousness. Somewhere on my hard drive, there was a folder with photoshoot images of Zac that I occasionally masturbated to. I wondered if I would ever tell him about that folder. And I thought about my favorite images. I had to admit that it was those the same seriousness, the same studiousness. His eyebrows crooked upward with emotional sensitivity. Very cute.
I tried to give him a little space by checking my e-mail. But, I get turning around and looking at his naked body.
Without asking, I walked over to him and climbed on. I sat on his upper thighs so that my cock, still erect, laid between his butt checks. I leaned forward and took hold of his shoulders, massaging them gently. I squeezed the tissue that ran from his should up his neck and traced each muscle that ran down his back.
I found myself gently rocking a little, moving my cock between his butt checks, and using my grip on his shoulders to pull myself forward. I found myself completely intoxicated with the shape of his body, the exactly perfect shape of his ass. It was pure muscle so it was incredibly firm. I put all of my weight on it and feel totally supported and embraced. A perfect ass that I could rest on comfortably.
I began licking his back in long strokes, like he had licked at mine. I felt his spine with my tongue, licking upwards slowly. I licked and sucked at Zac’s neck.
“Mmmm....” he said. I loved how engrossed he was in the script. I knew that everything I was doing was giving him pleasure and I loved that he wasn’t doing anything to my body. He was just enjoying what I was doing and reading my script.
And I could have enjoyed his body endlessly. As I licked his back, licking lower with each stroke, I came closer and closer to his butt. I got on my knees so I could tongue his asshole comfortably. I held both checks in my hands for a moment, feeling them and squeezing them. And then I spread them open and leaned down. He smelled like a thick, rich sexual Earth. He smelled like hiking through the mountains and fucking in a warm spring somewhere. My face, buried in his butt, felt surrounded by his warmth.
I remembered what it felt like when Zac had tried to push his tongue into me when I began licking at his asshole. He sucked in his breath quickly and tilted his head back in pleasure.
“Oh, fuck,” he said.
I worked at his asshole, giving him the same pleasure he had given me and enjoying being this close to a part of body that -- I suspected -- no one had ever enjoyed before.
He pushed his butt higher into the air, arching his back. I took to the opportunity to reach around and take hold his cock, which was beautifully hard. I began to slowly jerk him off while I continued to lick at his asshole.
“Fucking shit...” he said.
“Do you like that?” I asked, and quickly resumed.
“Feels so fucking good...” he said, mumbled it. He was completely consumed by the pleasure. In his hips, he was beginning to thrust as I stroked his cock gently.
The script fell to the floor.
“Wait,” said Zac and I stopped. He turned over, kicking his legs over me so I was face to face to his cock. He reached down and picked up the script.
“I want to read this to you,” he said. He flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. I held his cock in my hands and cupped his balls gently in my hands.
“‘Look at me. Look at my body, my entire body. Behold me carefully and understand me and this thing that I will tell you.’”
I kissed the head of his cock softly.
“‘You look upon me. I have looked upon you, as well, Young Paris. I have watched you when you come to learn about Love. You are handsome and beautiful.’”
I took his cock into my mouth and suck at the head of his penis. With my tongue, I licked at every inch of it. He moaned and pushed his hips into the air. I sucked deeply, like I was trying to suck the cum out of him.
“‘And, why, young Paris... why...’” he stopped reading, as I continued to suck his cock. “Oh, fuck...” he said quickly as he dropped the script on the floor again.
Methodically, I bobbed my head up and down, sucked as hard as I could on his cock. Each time I moved up and down, I would change slightly the angle of my head on my neck, trying to create a slightly different sensation for Zac. I stroked his cock with my hand and massaged his balls, switching hands every few moments. I went as slowly as I could. I knew that the slower I went, the crazier it would drive him. He was holding his butt six inches off the surface of the chaise lounge. With his hips, he was thrusting slightly, like he was trying to hump my face.
He moaned deeply and quietly, his head turned from side to side. His eyes were closed and his kept quivering. He ran his hands through his hair.
“Fuck...” he said quietly. “Oh, my god... so fucking good...”
While I was enjoying Zac’s balls, taking one into my mouth at a time, sucking at his sac, I remembered a dream I had had about him. We were sitting on a stage with a group of actors and maybe a director, talking about a movie we had made. It wasn’t so much an interview as a discussion for an art school or some sort of professional society, so we could talk on pretty thoughtful level. I noticed that there were no cameras and there were no gigantic posters. Somehow, I knew that Zac and I were a couple and everyone knew it.
We were taking questions for the audience.
“Was Zac your inspiration?”
“Well, with someone like Zac, it’s hard not to be inspired,” I said and an “Awww...” went through the crowd. I smiled at Zac and he smiled at me.
And then (and this is the way dreams go) he started singing “Get Back.” “Jo Jo was a man who thought he was a loner, but he knew it couldn’t last...”
It was a vision of the future, I thought. Or hoped. A vision that Zac could be come one of the biggest names in Hollywood, recognized for his talent and beauty. And, I, there by his side, could write movies that would challenge convention and change the sort of stories we told. And, we would promise to have sex at least twice a day, no matter what. And everyone would know that we fucked each other. A power couple.
I wanted Zac to cum down my throat. He was very close, thrashing around on the chaise lounge as I sucked on his cock, playing with his balls. I loved the noises he made. Grunts that were almost songs, slowly becoming higher in pitch and more frequent. He couldn’t keep his arms or hands still. He would touch his face and lips, run his hands though his hair, touch his chest, and run his hands over his beautiful stomach.
But, he sat up and stopped me. Moving with remarkable grace, he turned me over and laid me down on my back. He kissed my cock gently and licked my balls once, before lifting my legs into the air. On his knees, he held my ankles and lined his cock up with my asshole. I stretched my hand out and took hold of his cock. I rubbed the head of his cock against my asshole a few times. He pushed in slowly and I guided him.
The pain in the first few strokes was overwhelming. He had taken no time to rim me or use his fingers. I reached up and touched his chest, trying to slow his pace, even though he was going slowly. He could see that it was too painful. With his cock still deep inside me, holding it very still, he leaned over and full length of his sweaty torso came to rest on me. We were face to face, his cute, sexy, beautiful face. I reached up and took hold of his face.
He licked my lips and grinned at me. He was so beautiful. I almost came just feeling his tongue against my lips. I looked into his eyes and he looked into mine. He licked at my mouth and lips with remarkable curiosity, not simply wanting me to open my mouth and let him kiss me. He wanted to lick the outside of my mouth and my face. It was like he was introducing himself in some strange sexual language.
He slowly began to thrust his cock into me a few more times.
I wrapped my legs and arms around him and licked at his ear as he laid his head next time.
“I want to fuck you,” he said into my ear. He was so close that his breath tickled me.
“Fuck me,” I said to him and began sucking on his ear lobe and kissing at his neck, scraping my teach against his neck.
Zac has such a fat cock and he began to push into me. He moaned with each slow thrust and I breathed heavily. The pain and the pleasure were becoming one overwhelming feeling. I didn’t want to think. I couldn’t think. I only wanted to experience it. All I knew was that the most perfect person I had met or could image was fucking me and groaning with each wave of pleasure into my ear, groaning because my body was giving him pleasure, because he wanted me to know how good it felt to fuck me, because he couldn’t help himself. My arm were wrapped around his body and I could feel the muscles of his back. I ran my hands up to the back of his neck and the back of his head.
“I’m going to cum,” he mumbled through his heavy breathing and panting.
He began to fuck me harder. My cock was between us and I realized that I was about to cum, too.
Harder and harder. Faster and faster. He was gripped my entire body so hard that I thought he was going break my ribs or smoother me.
“I’m going to cum,” he said again.
“Cum inside me, Zac,” I said to him.
Each thrust now seemed to involve his entire body as he plowed into me, grunting with each thrust. I could feel the orgasm building within him. Each thrust was individual and punctuated. I almost screamed with each thrust. I was digging my fingers into his back.
He thrust once more into me, almost violently, and, then, he came in an beautiful, perfect moment. He threw his head back and his moans became one long, steady noise, like some strange sexual song. I felt his warm cum shoot into me. I buried my fact into his chest with its light brushing of hair, almost biting at him. I stretched my hands out and reached as far as I could, grabbed his butt, like I was pushing him and cock into me. He kept thrusting as his ejaculation continued. He bucked with pleasure and and the spasms seemed to run through out his entire body.
And then, the thrusts of his cock within me which had been so forceful slowed so that we could hold his orgasm between for a long moment. His energy and heat, stillness and motion upon me. He seemed like pure masculinity and body.
“Fuck,” he finally said, catching his breath. “Fuck...”
And then he collapsed on me, his cock still inside of me, the cum still warm. His breathing was still and he didn’t speak.
I sucked on his neck for a second and then he sat up and looked at me.
“You are amazing,” he said.
I didn’t say anything. I simply beheld his beauty. He was breathing heavily so I could see the muscles of his stomach with each breath. He looked sweaty and strong and sexy. I wanted him. Even in that moment, with his cock softening inside my ass, his cum warm within me, I want his body.
He understood that I hadn’t cum, so he pulled his cock out my butt slowly and swung my legs over the side of the chaise lounge, kissing my calf as he did. I knew that this would be about my pleasure and my body, but watching him move me around, I knew he could have done just about anything to me.
He knelt on the floor in front of me. I reached out and ran my hands through his hair, feeling each lock as it lay mysteriously on his forehead. He caught one my hands in his and gently sucked on one of fingers. I felt his tongue and lips for a moment before he kissed my pubic hair and the shaft of my cock, and then buried his nose and face into my balls.
He had figured out how sensitive my balls were and he sucked on them almost exclusively as he slowly jerked me off.
We kept our eyes locked and he grinned at me, boyishly and seductively, making long strokes with his tongue in utter allure. His wet lips were red. He reached up and felt my chest. I felt his arms.
I could feel the orgasm building with me as he stroked my cock. My hips started to me move, undeniably. I couldn’t keep still. Zac lifted my legs into the air and licked at my asshole. I wondered if he could taste his own cum. And the feeling was intense and I found myself humming slowly, deep humming noises.
And then, he let my legs call and my cock into his mouth, moving his head quickly to illicit the orgasm that was now rumbling hotly within me.
“I’m going to cum...” I said to him so he would know what to do.
He squeezed my balls and suck my cock all the more intensely.
“Zac... I’m going to cum,” I said. “Oh, fuck...”
I threw my arms back and came in to his throat as he sucked lovingly and deeply, my balls between his fingers and his other hand against my abdomen. He swallowed and kept swallowing. He looked up at me as I kept cumming, we locked eyes.
“Yes,” I said to the unasked question. It felt wonderful, it was feeling wonderful, I said with my eyes. And with his eyes, he told me that it felt wonderful for him, too, my cock in his mouth, my cum in his mouth, down his throat, on his lips, moving into his body like my soul.
There is an amazing stillness that follows mind-blowing sex. The orgasms were so strong that Zac and I didn’t stand up for awhile. We laid on the chaise lounge, our still-tender cocks resting gently against each other, my legs between his, his legs between mind, my torsos against each other, hot and sweaty. Our breathing was deep and I rested my face against his neck, wrapping my arms around him. He held me tight against him. The scent of sweat and cum surrounded us.
“Zac,” I said, after a long, long time.
“Yeah?” he said.
“I really like your cock,” I said.
“Yeah?” he said.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Do you like it when I fuck you with my cock?” he asked me.
“When you fuck my ass with your cock?” I asked.
“Yeah, I do,” I said. And I meant it. When Zac fucked me, it was the best thing I knew.
We went back to my bed and held each other closely. We kissed each other for a few moments, enjoying each other’s tongues. I held Zac’s cock in my hand, and before long, we both fell asleep.
In the morning, I woke slowly, mildly aware of movement around me and the aroma of coffee in the air. He set a cup on the bedside table next to me and kissed my face once, quickly.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Is this for me,” I said, reaching for the coffee.
I sat up in bed and folded my legs, sitting cross-legged. I noticed that Zac was naked, especially when he swang his legs up on the bed and crossed his own legs, sitting opposite me. His cock, in the morning light, was still beautiful. I looked at his stomach and chest as I sipped the coffee.
“Last night was really amazing,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said.
I felt, suddenly, like there was something between us, a topic of conversation that we weren’t addressing. I knew that there were questions that I had decided not to ask myself, but now there were rising in my mind, swirling in my mind. Zac seemed to enjoy fucking men and was entirely willing to me cum in his mouth. What did that mean? Every blog that I read seemed to indicate otherwise and there were endless photos of Zac strutting about on Hawaiian beaches. Even though I had masturbated to those photos, nothing in those photos made me believe that he’d one day be eating my ass.
And, then, maybe all of that was just an elaborate PR campaign, something Disney put together, something that became essential somewhere between one of the High School Musical movies. Stranger things had happened in Hollywood.
Would Zac want to keep that campaign going? Was I just one of several men he had slept with? It would have to be an occasional thing, or maybe he secret relationships that went on like any other relationship.
And of course, all that really depended on what he thought about me. And how he felt. Maybe he would politely tell me that he thought I was great but that he didn’t think it would work out. I had heard that before. I had said that before. That was how it goes sometimes.
And, at the same time, I knew a great deal of the conversation we might be about to begin was up to him. I knew what I wanted. I wanted him. I wanted to live with him and have his body and for him to have mine.
“There’s a song,” I said, sipping my coffee again. “Claudine Longet sings it. The lyrics are almost a poem.”
Zac smiled at me. I wondered if would find my desire to quote poetry annoying. Or charming.
“‘Nothing to lose if we are wise. We’re not expecting rainbow-colored skies,’” I said. “‘Not right away. What can we lose? We know the score. Let’s wait before we talk of evermore.”
I waited for him to digest that. It’s a beautiful song. And, Claudine Longet’s vocals, while never thought to be powerful, and regarded with nostalgia as soft and gentle and womanly.
“That’s nice,” said Zac. “But, you left out the next few lines.”
“You know that song?” I was genuinely surprised. I thought that my obscure tastes in music were my own.
“Sure,” he said. “What are the next lines?”
“‘One day we may,’” I said. “‘Nothing to lose if love decides to stay.’”
“Right. It’s not about...” he thought for a moment. “You’re saying it’s about two lovers --”
“Like us,” and he smiled at me. “Two lovers who shouldn’t talk about the future and should just enjoy the moment. But, that’s not what the song is saying. It is initially but at the end there, it turns it around and says that we shouldn’t talk about those things because one day we might. It’s not about avoiding those conversations. It’s about waiting for those conversations to happen.”
“Yeah, but it also supposes that it’s not up to us. That it’s up to love, like is a third party.”
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I want to know how you know that song.”
He laughed at that.
“I’ll tell you what I think,” he said.
He leaned over to one side on his elbow, his penis flopping over.
“I like you,” I said quickly, before he could speak. “I thought I should say that.”
He looked at me and suddenly there was extraordinary emotion between us. It wasn’t sexual, but as intense. Many more intense. I almost trembled like I was afraid. He leaned towards me and kissed me. He put his hands on my knees, kissing me slowly.
“I like you, too,” he said, looking into my eyes. “And, I... I want to spend time with you. I want to get to know you. And, I want to know if this can work.”
“You and me?”
“Yeah. I’m not proposing anything, I just want to keep hanging out.”
“Yeah,” I said. Maybe that was enough for now. ‘Hanging out’ could mean frequent sex. It could mean more. Frequent sex would be great. And for while, it would probably be enough.
“I want to be able to say more,” Zac said.
“But...” he looked at me. “If you and I held hands outside this building for more than about ten seconds, it would be international news within an hour.”
There was a little anger in his voice.
“I get that,” I said. He rolled over onto his back and put his arms behind his back. I set my coffee back on the bedside table and then stretched out beside him. I rest on one elbow and put my other hand on his chest, gently stroking his chest hair.
“I’m not trying to do that to you,” I said.
“I know you’re not,” he said.
“Does it scare you, though?”
He didn’t answer. But, his face seemed so beautiful to me in that moment of thoughtfulness. I pulled the blanket over our naked bodies and put my hand down and cupped his balls tenderly while he was silent. I rested my head on his shoulder.
I had to remember that even though I was beginning to feel that I wanted this to last forever, I had only know Zac for less than a day. And, even though we fucked beautifully, maybe we wouldn’t be able to stand each other if we went shopping together. Or, drove from LA to San Diego in traffic. And of course there was something scary in that. Being so happy was a risk. Holding his body now was a risk. Maybe Zac didn’t have an answer, but feeling his balls in my hand, I had my answer. It was a risk I was willing to take.