*
* * * * * * * *
I didn't tell him about my abuse history, but I told him that I had a
psycho stalker ex-boyfriend who hadn't been around in a year but who
could appear out of nowhere any time and plunge us both into an insane
and unpleasant ride.
I told him about my utter commitment to my son and how anything
resembling an intimate relationship between me and someone else, no
matter how casual or serious, would have to account for that, be shaped
by it.
And as a potential deal-breaker, I told him about my allergy to latex,
and I told him that in light of that, things were going to be pretty
tame until we were both tested for everything under the sun,
repeatedly. I also told him that after all that, I'd need a mutual
agreement for us to be monogamous. I couldn't allow someone into my
son's life who didn't take things seriously.
After I'd finished my dick-wilting spiel, I expected him to make some
excuse, remember that he had some last-minute work he had to get done
before tomorrow's deadline, or just say, "Wow, you got issues, I'm out
of here."
He wrinkled his brow and frowned, and I waited for the next shoe to
drop.
After a silence so uncomfortable it made my skin crawl--during which he
stared nonstop into my eyes--he spoke:
"Tell me where I can go to get tested."
I was completely unprepared for that response, and my face must have
shown it. He laughed, and pulled me into him. "If that's the
worst you got," he said, "I'm in."
He began kissing me again. The warm insistence of his tongue dancing
against mine pushed past the layers of emotional protection I'd laid
down for myself, and my dick went steel again. He'd been letting his
hands wander all over me, always inching closer to my erection, but
always respectful, always careful.
Finally he let his hand graze over my fabric-covered package. I jumped,
and felt my whole body jolt with desire.
He backed off, smiled a little, and said, "That okay?"
"Uh...yeah," I sputtered. Tentatively, I put my hand on his crotch and
began returning the favor.
After a while, all that clothing between us was irritating.
Frustrating. Maddening, actually. Finally, he looked at me and loosened
his belt. He undid the fly, then let his slacks fall down around his
ankles. He stepped out of them and let them lie
there on the floor.
"We'll limit it to just-hands," he said. He lifted my shirt off over my
head, folded it, and put it on the couch. Then he removed his, and put
it on top of mine.
I stood up and said, "Be right back." I went to the bathroom, grabbed a
bottle of lube, and came back. "Uh...I...we might need...I mean...see,
this bottle is..."
"Yeah, I get it," he said, grinning. I felt like a total dork. He took
the lube from me and sat it on the end table. Where the hell was I when
they handed out the playbook on how to be smooth sexually?
He suppressed his grin, knelt down and took my shoes and socks
off.
Undoing my belt, he opened the fly, and slid the slacks down around my
ankles. Then, as I stepped out of them, he tossed them aside. He stood
back up,
faced me, and slowly, sensuously, seductively, lowered his boxers.
Clearly he'd gotten
the playbook.
My mind wasn't fully there anymore. Thankfully, it wasn't in some bad
place; but I'm not sure any intelligent thought was going on in my head
at this point.
He sat down beside me and massaged me through my boxers; our breathing
got heavy and ragged.
After a while I pulled away, stood up, and slipped my boxers off. My
dick was at full attention, and he watched as it came into view. After
a few seconds, his eyes grew wide.
"You're uncut," he said.
"Yeah," I said, feeling myself blush for the third time that night.
"That okay?"
"Okay? It's beautiful," he
said. My face got
even hotter; I felt like a heat lamp. A horny one.
He reached a finger out and slowly began to run it up and down the
length of my cock. I took in a
sharp breath of air when I felt him touching me, and reached over to
touch him there too. He was already sticky with precum, I noticed. With
my free hand, I grabbed the lube from the end table, squeezed some on
his dick and my hand, and
began working him. He moaned and collapsed back against the back of the
couch.
We went at it like that for a minute or so. The only realities
that
registered with me were his deep breathing, the velvet insistence of
his cock, and the smooth, wet feel of my hand traveling up and down on
it.
After a while, he sat up and said, "Lemme have
the lube." I replied, "You don't need so much with me."
He looked at me, puzzled. "Huh?" Then his eyes widened, and I could
tell he got it. "Oh, yeah, you can just use your skin..."
"Yeah," I muttered, my eyes not meeting his. He grabbed my dick, and I
put my hand back on his, and we began masturbating each other together.
It was the hottest thing that had happened to me in ages. And it was
pain-free. There were no painful flashbacks; no ghosts.
Well, almost no ghosts.
Occasionally, against my will, an image of Brian, naked and
smiling, like I'd seen him that day at the canyon when I'd first seen
him naked, would flash through my brain as I was giving myself over to
the sensations. This happened a couple of times. When it did, I'd sigh
and try to focus on the man who had me in his hands. It worked, by and
large.
It was over all too soon. He got me to come, violently, because I'd
been pent-up sexually for a while, and hadn't even jacked off in over a
week. When I shot off I covered his hand in goo, which embarrassed me a
little. Then I concentrated on giving him a happy ending. As his
breathing got faster, I increased the speed of my pumps on his dick,
until finally he went rigid and fired off about five shots. The
first one hit him on the lips and the second on the chin. I was
astounded.
After he'd shot the last volley, he laughed and blew a jet of air to
clear the gunk off his lips, then wiped them with a hand. "Look what
you made me do," he said. "I haven't shot like that in forever."
I cringed. Talking about sex explicitly made my Inner Shy Guy come
raging to the forefront. But I smiled, too. Could it be that I was
finally leaving the bad stuff
behind and moving on to another, better place? It was the end of March;
I began to hope that the coming spring would bring me a rebirth of sorts.
--------------------
As best as I can tell, there are about five more chapters coming. I
don't know exactly, because I'm working from notes that don't cleanly
divide the narrative into chapters.
I know many of you might be saddened at the news of Dan's passing. I
could never replace Dan, but if you'd like to contact me , you can do
so at aaptx79@yahoo.com.
--Adam Phillips