By John Yager
This is the twenty-sixth chapter
of an ongoing series. I want to thank all the readers who've written concerning
this story. I'm surprised and pleased by the response the series has prompted.
All your comments are read and I try to respond promptly. If there is a
delay in my response it's usually because I'm traveling.
In the introductory notes to Chapter 21 I asked if anyone had information about the roots of the words "Gay" and "Gaydar," or would be willing to share their own memories of the first time they heard those words used.
In the introduction to Chapter 22 I gave a brief report on the replies I'd received to that point. Several readers seemed to think the word Gay was in use in Great Britain by the end of the nineteenth century and that it probably came into common usage among the US military during the Second World War. There also seems to be general agreement that the word Gaydar was in fairly common usage in both the British and US military during the Korean Conflict.
I've since heard from readers in the UK, the USA and Australia who confirm common usage of the word Gay during WWII and the word Gaydar by the late 1940s or early 1950s. I've since heard from readers citing usage of the word Gay in its current sense as early as the 17th century.
If any readers have other references I'd be glad to receive them and will post them in the introduction to a later chapter.
My objective in writing Absolute Convergence is to deal with issues which have impacted and influenced the lives of gay people in the period between the 1960s and the present time, or put another way, from "Pre-Stonewall" days to the era of "Don't ask, don't tell."
Many readers have asked if this story is, at least in part, autobiographical. I wouldn't be honest if I said it wasn't. I do want to make it clear to readers that I'm not Rob, Rick, Steve, Sammy or Roger Bardwell, all of which have been suggested by readers as my counterpart. I'm not any other specific character in the story and none of them, individually, is me. The story is raising many more questions than it's answering and I certainly don't claim to know the answers. It's my hope that by raising questions I may prompt more consideration of issues facing gay people in the USA and throughout the world.
Many readers have commented on the religious strains of the story. I must say that I am a Christian layman, but not a trained theologian. I have asked for advice from several clergy friends, including an Episcopal clergyman and a Rabbi but want to say again that the opinions expressed are my own.
Andrew continues to provide much needed proofing and editorial help, for which I am sincerely grateful. I could not post chapters as quickly as I've been doing without his invaluable assistance.
This is a work of fiction and in no way draws on the lives of any specific person or persons and any similarity to actual persons or events is entirely coincidental. It's obviously a work of gay erotic fiction. If you shouldn't be reading such material, or if such material isn't to your liking, please exit now.
This work is copyrighted © by the author and may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written permission of the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author.
All the stories I've posted on NIFTY can be found by looking under my name in the NIFTY Prolific Authors lists. If you'd like to receive e-mail notification of subsequent postings, please let me know by sending your request to the e-mail address below.
"Thanks," I managed to say, my voice not quite working right.
Steve stood there naked with a big grin on his handsome face. His body seemed to glow in the dim light coming through thick drapes. I saw that his sandy pubic hair was still matted with the residue of our passion. A path of flaky white stuff also ran up over his hard abs to the cleft between his pectoral muscles.
"Sleep well?" I asked as I took the mug.
"Oh, yeah. After the workout we had I slept like a baby, that is until you woke me snoring about half an hour ago."
"What time is it?"
I looked at him again, letting my eyes run boldly over his body. Steve and I were almost the same height, both just a little over six feet. We weighed more or less the same and our bodies had both taken on a honed edge with all the weight training we'd been doing. His eyes were a dark hazel which seemed to be green in sunlight and could look almost black in subdued light. His cock drooped loose and soft over his big, low hanging balls, its head now normal in size, its mass unthreatening. I marveled at his beauty and felt my body respond, wanting him.
"Why don't you get back in bed," I suggested.
"Nope." He sipped from his own mug of steaming coffee. "We're going to take a shower together and then I'm going to challenge you to a wrestling match. We may just as well make use that mat in the basement."
"Why don't we just wait and shower after I whip your ass. We'll be all sweaty by then."
"Because I'm not just going to whip your ass, Mr. Ballinger, I'm going to pin you down and fuck you like you've never been fucked before." He paused and grinned, letting the implications of his threat sink in. "And I want you clean when I shove my cock into you."
"Yeah, right," I bluffed, feeling my own cock respond to his words and the dominance of his tone.
I got up out of the very disheveled bed and we went together to the bathroom. Trying to regain a little sense of control, I reached into the huge glass enclosed shower and adjusted the water. Steve just grinned and got into a cupboard for towels.
"I think the temperature is okay," I said as he came back to join me.
The shower stall was at least five feet square, probably a little larger. It had a clear glass front and hinged door. The side and rear walls and floor were covered with white ceramic tile which ran up to the ceiling. Along the back wall there was a sort of bench or ledge, also covered with the same white tile. It was about a foot and a half above the floor and a little over a foot deep and ran across the entire width of the stall.
We stepped into the shower together. I reached out for him, drawing him into a close embrace as we slowly turned so each of us got thoroughly wet. I pulled back from him, worked the soap between my hands and then ran them over his chest and shoulders as he did the same to me.
"Um," he said, his voice almost a sigh, "this feels wonderful."
I ran my hands lower, working the thick lather into his pubic hair and then still lower as I stroked his increasingly hard cock. Steve's balls quickly drew tight against his crotch and I felt them almost tremble in my hands.
I knelt and washed his legs and feet. As I rose I gave the now hard head of his magnificent cock a slow, wet kiss, then stood. When I rotated him around to face the wall, he spread his legs without any command from me and, reaching out, braced himself against the tiled wall. I took this as permission to work the suds deep into his crack, and began to do so.
Steve shuddered when my soapy fingers ran over the bud of his ass.
"Like that?" I questioned, my lips against his ear.
I circled his pucker with one soapy finger and then pressed it in about an inch.
"Yeah," he groaned again. I pushed my finger in further and felt him push his rear back against my hand. Soon I had my finger in all the way and began to rotate it slowly, using the lather as lubricant.
"Get another finger in me, Rob, open me up."
I leaned forward and kissed his neck as my fingers continued to tease his ass. "I thought you were going to fuck me, fellow, not the other way around."
"Oh, yeah," Steve moaned, "that was the plan."
He was leaning against the rear wall and thrust his rear out toward me. As I continued to prod his butt with two soapy fingers and then with three, he continued to moan and push back against my hand. The boy clearly wanted to be fucked, not that I had any objection. I had been looking forward to having his big cock in my own ass but I could take care of him first if he wanted.
When I felt his sphincter loosen up I removed my bunched fingers and pressed the hard, drooling head of my cock to the pulsing opening of his ass.
"Yeah," he moaned again when he felt me at his entrance.
I pressed forward and felt the head of my cock pop into his willing ass. He moaned again and I moved slowly forward, resting my own hands on Steve's shoulders and leaning into him. I slid in easily and deeply with no obstacles and no indication that I was causing him any pain. I knew from what he'd said that he'd done this many times before and I began to wonder if he'd had bigger things than my cock in his butt before.
All the way in, I began to pull out and thrust back, fucking him slowly at first, but gradually increasing the force and the speed. Within a minute I was pounding into him like a pile driver, like a riveter, like an heavy duty industrial strength drill press. I was delivering punishing thrusts, out of control. I was loving it and it was clear Steve was loving it too.
"Oh, yeah," he moaned, "oh fuck yeah."
I was pounding into him like a madman, going from slow to fast and then back to slow again.
I'd never liked fucking Rick in a standing position and I had no idea why it was so different with Steve. I looked down and saw that he was standing about three feet from the wall, his rear thrust out and his back almost horizontal. He was supporting his upper body with his arms straight and the palms of his hands pressed flat on the tiled bench. I also saw that he was rising and falling on his feet, flat on the floor of the shower when I rammed into him, rising on his tiptoes when I withdrew. Maybe that was the difference, maybe the angle was just different enough for it to feel unlike anything I'd ever done with Rick.
It must also have helped, of course, that Steve had done this enough that he knew how to use the muscles of his ass to maximum advantage. When he tightened the ring of his sphincter around my cock as I drew back, it felt as if he'd squeeze it off. When he released those same muscles as I plunged forward, it felt as if my body was being sucked into his.
It was incredible. We were both moving inexorably toward orgasm but we were taking our time getting there. It felt as if we could keep up this wild ride for hours, maybe days. Not true, of course, but that's how it seemed for a long time.
When my own climax hit it hit hard. I had no time to let Steve know, no time to really prepare my own mind and body for the assault which struck me like a wall of hot lava. One moment I was moving along, knowing that we'd get there, but not thinking it was close. The next moment I was over the top, plunging into one of the most powerful orgasms I'd ever experienced.
They say when you die your whole life can pass before you. I think in that moment my brain was firing off images of every sexual experience I'd ever had. I understand in some cultures an orgasm is called `the little death.' I know why. In those split seconds I was fucking Rick, fucking Sammy, fucking Steve. I was beating off in a booth at a porn shop in Memphis watching Chad or Todd fuck in a tent in the mountains of California. Then I was back in Bardwell's fancy shower, my body collapsed over Steve's. I was still pounding my cock into his ass as his own climax made him convulse under me. His white seed streamed down the tile wall in front of us as my cream roared into his gut like an out of control steam engine into a station.
"Oh God, Rob," he whimpered, his voice little more than an echo of mine.
At some point we finished washing each other off and dried on Bardwell's big, soft towels. Staggering back to bed we dozed.
Eventually I rolled over and saw that Steve was more or less awake. "Are you still up for going to church with me in the morning?" I asked, my voice was again rough with sleep.
Steve grinned, lifted the sheet and looked down at his limp cock. "Would you care to rephrase the question?" he said.
I gave him a jab in the side.
"Okay, I know what you mean," his voice midway between a laugh and a groan.
"Yeah sure, Rob, I'll go." He rolled over and looked me squarely in the eyes. "I guess I don't understand why it's important to you, but it is, so I'll go."
I'd only attended services at St. Peter's a few times that fall, not because of any lack of interest, but just because my schedule had been so full. Sunday mornings were one of the few times I could get any extra sleep. When I had gone, I'd appreciated the services and had found the congregation friendly and welcoming.
I'd learned that the building dated from the 1850s and throughout its history it had had a close relationship with Ole Miss. St. Peter's first clergyman had been a professor and later the Chancellor of the university.
The building, which had been designed by Richard Upjohn, an important architect of the 19th century, had survived the burning of Oxford during the War Between the States and was the oldest church building in town.
I was also impressed to learn that St. Peter's had played a beneficial role during the racial integration of the university and had taken on many civic and social causes in the years since.
Now that he'd said he'd go I suddenly felt uncomfortable about pressing the issue.
"Thanks, Steve," I said, "I appreciate it."
From what he'd told me, Steve's family was not particularly religious. His father had come from a long line of Presbyterians and his mother from an equally long line of Unitarians. Both of his parents and the rest of his family, from what Steve had told me, were more or less non-religious. As a result, I wasn't at all sure how he would take to the more formal, liturgical worship I was used to.
"I guess what amazes me about your commitment to your church," he responded, "is that you let an antiquated institution have that much influence in your life."
"Doesn't everyone accept outside influences from one direction of another? If it doesn't come from religion it comes from social or political or professional directions."
"Um, maybe," he said. We'd shifted in the bed so that we were both lying on our sides, looking into each other eyes as Steve's free hand moved gently over my shoulder and side and my free hand moved over his stomach and thigh. It was, I was beginning to think, a wonderful way to spend a lazy Saturday.
"But you said there aren't really many people in your church who'd be very sympathetic to your sexual orientation if they caught on to it."
"Probably not many but there are a few. I told you about Ted Tucker back home."
"Yeah, but he's gay, too."
"And he's been bullied into silence by the old geezers who really run the show."
"More or less," I had to admit.
The conversation sort of took a back seat when I began to gently stroke his cock, which was sort of relaxed, if not really soft when I started, but quickly became very hard. I was fascinated by its huge head and loved seeing how it swelled as it became erect.
"Do you know the word `Grace,' Steve?" I asked.
"Sure, Rob, in the religious and nonreligious senses."
"How would you define it, in the religious sense?"
"Well," he began, speaking slowly and thinking it through. "I guess it would be like you do the best you can and then God steps in and makes up the difference between your good intentions and a level of goodness he wants in us, a degree of virtue we aren't capable of on our own."
I thought about that for a while and then responded, "I think as far as I'm concerned, it's more like I have no goodness at all and God steps in and gives me his."
"I can't buy that, Rob. You have a lot of good qualities of your own, a lot of virtue."
"But it isn't good enough, Steve. In God's eyes it`s worthless."
"Are you beating yourself up because of your sexuality?"
"Oh, hell no. It's not just me, nobody's virtuous in God's view. My problem may be lying and another person's is stealing, but we all miss the mark."
"Or," he grinned, "my vice may be sucking dick and the next guy's is chasing pussy."
"Crude bastard, aren't you?"
"Maybe. Maybe just honest." He rolled over onto his back and looked up at our images in the overhead mirror. "I guess at about ten or twelve I sort of burned out on the idea of having to be good. With my Presbyterian grandparents it was a question of being good or going to hell. With my Unitarian grandparents it was a question of being good because that was the ethical path, the way to lead a good life. If God wanted us to be his perfect little robots he should have just made us that way in the first place."
"I agree," I said, "but I don't think that is what he wants."
"Sure he does, man, that's what all religions teach."
"Not really," I said as I rolled over so I could run my hand over his chiseled chest, tweaking first one nipple and then the other. "I think he just wants us to relate to him and believe him. When it comes to the virtue stuff, he takes care of it or it doesn't get done. We sure aren't capable of it on our own."
"I never heard that in any church service I ever went to."
"Well, maybe you should have. Scripture says Abraham believed God and it was credited to him as righteousness."
"Yeah? Don't I remember him messing around with his wife's maid or something?"
"And that didn't land him on the wrong side in the divine approval process?"
"God credited Abraham with righteousness because of his faith, not because of his own innate goodness or good behavior."
Steve put his arms around me and pulled me over onto him. "Okay, enough theology for today. I said I'd go to church with you, damn it."
Later, after lunch, sitting at the kitchen table, looking deeply into each other's eyes, I managed to ask what had been on my mind over the last hour.
"Steve, what the hell happened back there?" I said, remembering our wild time in the shower.
"I don't know." He put down his mug and reached across the table to run the tips of his fingers over my left hand. "All I can say is that it was one amazing fuck."
"I thought I was dying, man."
We sat there for a while longer, wearing only very tented gym shorts. I loved letting my eyes roam over Steve's honed body, not ashamed, not hesitant, knowing he was looking me over with equal care. He got up and moved to the sink, giving me a great view of his muscular back and his bulging butt.
"So are you ready for a little wrestling?" He grinned as he put his mug on the cabinet.
"Okay, here are the rules."
"Rules?" I said, grinning. "I figured this was sort of no holds barred."
"Well," he smiled, "it more or less is. Just a few safety precautions."
"I expect to."
"Rules, Chapman," I said with a mock growl.
"Right, rules. First off, we wear jockstraps, just jockstraps."
"That sounds sexy as hell."
"Yeah, it does, doesn't it? But it's not just for sexy, it's for safety. I'd really rather wrestle with you nude, but we don't want to damage valuable appendages."
"Okay, what else?"
"Well, actually, that's about it. Like you said, no holds barred. We'll begin from a normal start position in the center of the mat and just see who pins who."
"Okay, then what?"
"Then what? Then the winner collects his prize."
"Right, ass. You pin me, you can fuck me. I pin you, I fuck you."
"It strikes me, Steve," I grinned, "that there really aren't any winners or losers in this sport."
"Well, let's get into uniform and go for it."
We went back to the bedroom and rummaged in our bags. I found a clean jockstrap, pulled off my shorts and wiggled in to the supporter, tucking my equipment securely into the pouch. When I stood up and looked over at Steve he was staring at me.
"God, Rob, you are so sexy."
I couldn't help laughing. He stood there naked with his own jockstrap in is right hand. His cock was fully hard, standing out proud and pulsing and not likely to bend into the pouch any time soon.
"Maybe you'd better take another shower, Steve," I laughed. "A cold one."
"Come on," he said. He bent to take a squeeze bottle of hand lotion out of his bag and then walked off down the hall. "We'll get ready and my dick will cooperate eventually."
In the brightly lit basement we stood on opposite sides of the mat as Steve explained how we'd start and how the guy on the bottom could slap the mat to indicate he'd had enough, knowing of course the consequences of giving up. As we talked I guess Steve got his mind off sex enough for his cock to relax a little. I grinned and pointed at it as it became increasingly limp.
Steve grinned back and pulled on his athletic supporter. With his cock and balls jammed into the bulging pouch it looked almost obscene but also very erotic.
"So, you ready?" he asked.
"I guess, not too confident, but ready."
We moved to the center of the mat and Steve crouched so I could get my arms around his chest as I leaned over him. Having more experience, he'd volunteered to take the bottom position, giving me a theoretical advantage.
"Ready?" he asked again.
"Yeah, although it's kind of nice like this."
"No way. I'm not letting you fuck me twice in one day."
"Ah, shucks," I whined. "Okay, if you insist, I'm ready."
"On three." He paused and then counted slowly, "One, two...three."
On three I tightened my grip around his chest, thinking that would hold him. In fact, his first move was dependent on the amazing strength of his legs. He suddenly straightened up and with a powerful buck threw me off his back.
I staggered back a step or two but stopped must short of the line which ran around the edge of the mat. In a second he was on me, grabbing me around the waist and lifting me as he turned. The next second he propelled me backwards onto the mat. I landed on my back, my legs spread and my arms flung out in an attempt to break my fall. One second my breath was being knocked out of me from the force of my back hitting the firm mat and the next by the even greater force of Steve's body landing on me as he dove forward. His chest landed on mine and I felt as if I was going to die. At least in football, I thought as my brain went into a crazy spin, you are protected by all that gear.
Steve rose up to an almost kneeling position and his arms shot out to grasp my arms. His powerful hands seized me just above the elbows, squeezing my upper arms to the mat. At the same time he attempted to bring his legs up so he could use his knees to hold my torso to the mat.
I was still gasping for breath but I managed to lift my legs and get them over his shoulders. I locked my ankles together and, pinning his neck between my legs, I rocked my legs back with a sudden jerk. I think it was such an unconventional move that it caught him off guard. He was pulled back off me, giving me a few seconds to get to my knees facing him. I'd learned that it was important to keep my own center of gravity as low as possible.
In a split second Steve was on me again. He dove for me, ramming the top of his head into my belly, pushing me back, but failing to knock me over. As he lay for a second in front of me, I slammed my own body forward, landing with my chest against his back and my face buried in the crack of his ass. It was an interesting position to say the least.
We were both breathing hard but Steve was still able to give a quick laugh. I think I'd knocked the air out of his lungs as effectively as he'd knocked it out of mine seconds before.
"Go ahead, eat it," he chuckled between gasps.
I bent my face in further and nuzzled the crack of his buttocks with my lips. We'd not shaved and I realized how my whiskers were grating over his tender skin.
"Oh, yeah," he gasped.
As I was distracted by the warmth of his ass and the earthy fragrance rising from it, he twisted and managed to turn half way over under me.
Now I was lying on his side with the bony projection of his hip pressing against my chest. I tried to grasp his legs but he kept jerking them back and forth in a kind of scissor action so I couldn't get a hold.
He made another sudden move and rolled again so he was on his back and my face was now pressed into his crotch. The pouch of his jockstrap was bulging and a damp spot had formed where the head of his cock was clearly visible as a dramatic knob.
I leaned down and licked it, feeling a tremor run through him as I nibbled at the soft, wet fabric.
"Foul," Steve called out, his voice breaking with laughter.
He was bucking under me but I managed to hold him down. We were in a classic sixty-nine position and my own crotch was pressed into his face as obviously as his was into mine.
"How about calling a time out and just enjoying this position for a while?" I suggested.
"Um, tempting," he said, but instead of yanking my strap he gave me an impressive lift and roll. From being on top, I suddenly found myself on the bottom with Steve sitting on my stomach and his hands pressing down full force on my shoulders. No count was necessary. I was pinned.
We were both breathing hard but that wasn't stopping Steve. We'd ended up in the middle of the mat, almost exactly where we'd started. "So you do concede, Mr. Ballinger."
"Yes," I wheezed. I was beginning to get my breath back. My eyes were watering so badly that the strip of lights overhead blurred into one.
Steve rose quickly and retrieved the bottle of lotion he'd dropped by the stairs. Coming back he stood over me, looking down with a pleased look on his face and a growing bulge in his jockstrap.
"So do I collect my prize here, or do you want to go back up to bed."
"Here," I groaned, "I won't be able to climb the stairs for an hour."
Still grinning, Steve reached out with his right foot and kicked my left leg to the side. With his left foot he repeated the process, moving my right foot over, spreading my legs about as far as they'd go. Still looking down at me he slowly stripped his jockstrap down over his legs, standing first on one foot and then the other as he removed it and tossed it to the side. His cock was rampant, hard and pulsing and standing out at right angle from his body, as straight as an arrow. The head was swollen to its maximum size, a huge club of a thing, oozing and frightening.
Then, in one fluid motion, he knelt between my widespread legs, still looking down at me. "You understand I'm going to fuck you now."
He reached forward, tookhold of the waistband of my jockstrap and unceremoniously pulled it down over my legs. I lifted my butt a little to help him but he pulled it down with such force that it would have come off anyway, with or without my help. My cock was hard and pulsing and it snapped up against my abs with an audible slapping sound.
"Oh yeah," Steve crooned, looking me over from head to crotch. "I'm going to enjoy this."
He leaned forward, placing his hands on the mat, either side of my chest, and lowered his lips to mine. His kiss was tender but firm, his lips closed against my gaping mouth. He could have fucked his tongue deep into my throat but he made no attempt to do so.
"I love you, Rob," he said gently as he rose back into a kneeling position.
"I know," I said. "I love you, too."
"This is going to hurt."
"Yeah," I said, looking again at the huge angry head of his cock.
"I won't be hurting you because I want to. I don't get any pleasure out of seeing you in pain."
"Yeah," I said, not entirely convinced. He might not get pleasure from seeing me suffer but I couldn't help feeling he got a lot of pleasure out of the act of domination.
"It's just something we have to get through," he went on, his voice low and reassuring. "After I've fucked you a few times you'll be able to take my cock without it hurting. Then we can both enjoy it more."
"Yeah," I whispered again. "Okay." I just wanted him to do it. I knew it wasn`t going to be easy and I knew it would hurt, but I wanted him in me.
"Okay then," he said, reaching down to grasp my legs. He lifted them so my knees rested over the ridge of his shoulders and my lower legs and feet dangled limply down over his back. In that process my rear was lifted off the mat and my ass was exposed to his touch. He smiled at me and reached for the lotion. He squirted a generous amount of it into the palm of his right hand and began to work it into the cleft of my ass while his left hand gently massaged my abs and, from time to time, gave my pulsing cock a bit of attention.
I felt his index finger circling my ass, gently working the lotion into the opening and then his finger moved slowly in.
I moaned as he worked it in. When the full length of his finger was in me he began to rotate it, spreading the lotion over the soft interior walls of my ass.
I moaned again as I felt my sphincter relax. Steve felt it too, and added another finger, working it in, slowly massaging my yielding muscles until there was room for a third.
I was drifting now, feeling lighter than air. I'd felt that sensation before on the few occasions Rick had played with my ass, working his fingers into me. I almost dozed. I felt disembodied. I was humming now, a soft, gentle, contented sound that came from deep in my chest.
Several men have since told me they have had that same sensation when their asses were being gently prodded, or when they were slowly, lovingly fucked. It's as close to an out of body experience as I've ever had. The muscles of my ass were like putty, yielded to Steve, open for him to do whatever he wanted to do with me. I felt him withdraw his three probing fingers and then sensed him working his wedged hand into me. Four fingers, but not his thumb, formed into a wedge, began to push and turn, gradually loosening me even more.
When I felt his knuckles slip past my sphincter I opened my eyes and looked up at him.
"How you doing, lover?" he said, his voice low and reassuring, his eyes looking deeply into mine, his lips curved in a gentle, caring smile."
"Great, Steve, really great."
"I think we can do it now."
"Tell me you want it, Rob."
"Oh, yeah, I want it."
"You have to tell me what you want."
I looked up at him as if he was part of a dream. "I want you in me, Steve," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I want you to fuck me."
"Good boy," he said as he withdrew his hand and squeezed more lotion into his palm. Still kneeling between my legs, he stroked his hard, pulsing cock, spreading the lotion over it.
He moved forward a little until the huge knob was pressing against my ass, then shifted a little. I felt the massive head of it slip through the ring and into the waiting channel of my ass.
"Yeah," I moaned again, "Oh, yeah."
Steve had repositioned his hands on either side of my chest, supporting himself on his muscular arms. My legs were bent up so far that my knees were against my shoulders and my ass was rocked up, giving him free access. He lowered himself as he moved slowly forward and with each slight change in his position, I felt myself being spread, opened, invaded by his huge cock.
I felt a wave of heat pass through me. I closed my eyes, squeezing them tightly closed against the pain. There was a moment of panic when I knew I was being opened wider than I'd ever been before. I really felt as if the massive knob of his cock could rip my guts. I knew then that when Steve had come fully into me I would never be the same again. My cock had gone limp and I felt a succession of tremors run through my body.
I opened my eyes a bit and saw Steve looking at me, his expression full of attention and concern.
"We're almost there, babe. You can do it."
"Yeah," I said weakly. I tried to relax, to compel my body to yield to him.
"Come on, Rob, take it. You can do it, I know you can."
"Yeah," I groaned again, shifting my body a little in an attempt to impale myself on him, attempting to drive the massive head of his cock deeper into my gut. I wanted him in me. I was desperate to feel him all the way in, buried in my ass, his pubes pressed against mine.
I locked my ankles together behind him and pulled him forward into me. There was a sudden snap, a final yielding and suddenly he was in.
"Oh, yeah," I moaned again.
"That's it, lover, I'm all the way in."
We held very still as I adjusted to the presence of his body in mine. The pain slowly receded and as it left me I was filled with a new sensation of completeness and love.
His body in mine, the thought ran through me, thrilling me. Steve in me. I guess it was then that I fully understood how Rick had felt when I fucked him. It wasn't just the act of penetration, not even the act of submission. It was that wonderful feeling of being occupied, being filled with my lover's body, being joined to him in the most powerful way any two human beings can experience.
"Oh, Steve, oh yes, Steve" I crooned.
He brought his lips to mine in another gentle kiss. I brought my hands around him, holding the back of his head, my fingers twining through his short, golden hair, my lips parting, willing him in.
My own tongue swept across his still closed lips, asking permission to come in.
Steve's lips parted slightly. I could feel by their movement that he was smiling. I smiled back as my tongue began to dance over his perfect teeth.
Steve's tongue darted into my mouth, pressing forward, hard, thrusting, fucking my mouth with as much passion as I felt in his cock as it too began to move. His muscular hips pulled back a little and them moved forward again, still gently but with new force, new determination. My body rocked with his.
My own cock was hard again. I could feel it pressed between us, feel it pulse, feel it drool.
I pulled back a little from his consuming mouth. I wanted his tongue in my throat as deeply as his cock was in my ass, but at the same time, for a few seconds at least, I needed to speak, to tell him what I was feeling, what I wanted.
"Yeah," I moaned. "Fuck me hard, Steve, fuck me really hard."
"Sure," he said. I wasn't sure if it was an answer or a question.
"Yeah, pound me, break me if you have to, make me yours."
His mouth moved suddenly over mine, making further words impossible, unnecessary. I groaned my submission into his open mouth as his tongue darted forward again, gagging me for a second, then taking possession of my throat.
His hips drew back more this time. Only the huge head of his cock was still in me. Then with no warning, he pounded forward again, driving himself into me with more force than I'd ever felt before. I felt as if my whole body was being opened and shaken to my core.
He pulled back again and pounded forward, not giving me any time to recover between thrusts.
Again and again he pounded in to me, all the while his eyes fixed on mine and a look of unswerving determination on his face.
It was too much. I was broken, like a stallion exhausted by his rider's strength. I felt my body going slack. I felt as if I had no reserve left, nothing more to yield.
I looked up at him, my eyes, telling him everything, telling him that he had taken me, broken me, made me a limp toy for his use. I saw that our bodies were covered with a glistening film of sweat. His muscles were bulging and the veins across his chest and along his arms were huge and pulsing with his strength, with the sheer masculine majesty of him.
Then as suddenly as it had started, his approach
changed to one of amazing tenderness. He'd withdrawn again. I was steeling
myself for another heart pounding thrust when, instead, he moved with incredible,
maddening slowness, tenderly lowering his body onto mine, letting me feel
his whole weight, but doing so in a way which suggested caring and love,
As he hovered above me, his breath gentle on my lips, he whispered, "I love you, Rob."
"I know," I whispered back. "I love you, too."
I wrapped my arms around him and we moved slowly, gently, in a peaceful rhythm which was full of affection and tenderness.
When our climax came it was of such gentleness I felt as if we'd slipped into some tepid desert pool. I was sliding and I held on to Steve, pressing him to me, feeling his strength, his warmth. His body pulsed and I knew he was pouring his life into mine, filling me with his love.
"Yes," he whispered, "yes."
I felt my own body respond, felt my cock explode, felt the scalding substance of myself pour out between us, pressed into the hot, damp, confined space between his belly and mine.
To be continued.