Absolute Convergence
Chapter Sixty

John Yager

This is the sixtieth chapter of an ongoing series. I have appreciated all the comments, questions and encouragement I've received from readers and hope to continue hearing from you. I try to answer all messages promptly. If I'm slow at times it is only because of the pressure of work or my somewhat demanding travel schedule.

Andrew has continued to give 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.

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"Good morning, lover," Roger whispered.

I roused a little and looked at him.

We lay in my bed, disheveled, grimy, and unshaved. The stubble of his beard, darker than mine, gave his jaw a powerful, manly, almost menacing look.

My memories of the night before were hazy at best. I remembered watching him as he stood in the shadows and talked to me, his words, coursing through my body like electricity. I remembered coming in long, powerful jolts, untouched, pushed over the edge by words, by the suggestion of his words. I remembered him coming into my bed, holding me, gentling me, soothing me to sleep, to sleep in his arms.

Now in the morning light, our naked bodies touched lightly and I felt a charge flow from his bare thigh to mine, from the touch of his fingers on my shoulder, from his eyes.

His lips were just barely parted, giving him a pouting look, Elves, maybe, full of longing, wanting, blatant unquenchable desire.

The odors of sex, male bodies, sweat, stale bed linens, all mingled in the warm morning air. I looked over at Roger, still half asleep. A beam of sunlight slanted through the window by the bed and flecks of dust dancing in the light behind his head.

"Um," I purred, barely awake but hard, aroused, wanting sex more than food, wanting Roger.

I rolled onto my back and reached for him.

Roger's body on mine was heaven; the weight, the mass, the hard reality of him, pressing against me, fully on me, making me squirm, making me buck and writhe with lust.

In seconds I was nearing climax. I couldn't take it any longer without coming and I didn't want that yet.

I rolled him off, rolled him over onto his own back and yanked his legs apart. I knelt between his legs, letting my eyes rover over him as his had roved over mine the night before. We were both breathing hard, our bodies hot, radiating heat, radiating sexual energy and sexual smells.

Roger's left leg was stretched out fully on the bed. His right was raised a little so the knee was bent and lifted slightly off the bed. The position gave him a relaxed, comfortable appearance as if he was okay with being supine below me and in no sense on guard.

I wanted to study him, learn him. Maybe, my fevered brain tried to reason, if I could know him well enough, I could somehow comprehend him, understand him, even know how to please him as I longed to do.

I stared at his body as his chest rose and fell.

His chest was smooth, hairless. It was chiseled and hard. His abdominal muscles were ridged, as if he was holding himself balanced, ready to rise up, to set up and grapple me. I felt my own body tense.

He was a wrestler, I reminded myself. To what extent was that a part of sex for him? Did he want to grasp and hold, subdue, possess? Did he need to conquer? If he did, I'd give him one hell of a fight, but I knew he'd win.

I let my eyes follow the muscular curve of his shoulders, down and out away from his sculpted torso, were his arms lay spread at his side the way my own arms had laid the night before. Was this some instinctive sign of yieldedness? Perhaps it was a gesture all men knew, a way of saying "do whatever you want, I won't challenge it."

The muscles of his arms were relaxed, but hard, as hard as spring steel, ready to bolt into action, to defend or attack. Yes, Roger was a predatory creature, I fully realized for the first time. Wrestling with him would not be some painless boyish sport. It would be a hard fought fight, and if you won, you'd know you'd really won. There'd be no easy victory.

For now, though, it was as if he was giving himself to me, letting me have a respite, a little time, to study him as he'd studied me the night before, to have my way with him.

My eyes moved again, down over the ridges of his stomach were a narrow trail of hair, darker than the light brown and gold of his head, ran in a line to his groin. There it exploded into a grove of curls from which his cock protruded, jutting up against this belly.

When I glanced up, I saw his eyes were fixed on mine. We smiled. Yeah, I thought again, an amazing man, one really handsome guy.

Like me and most of the guys I knew, he was cut. In size he was also very much like me, neither unusually large or small, but well proportioned to his height and build. Unlike me, I saw at once, that while I was perfectly straight, Roger's cock curved up slightly in gentle arch which made my ass twitch, knowing it was perfectly formed to make my prostate throb.

Because if it's curve, Roger's cock now lay tight against his belly, throbbing and already wet, drooling clear fluid which was abundant enough to flow into the concavity of his navel. I leaned down and licked the length of his cock, starting at his balls and slowly proceeding up along the veins and ridges of the shaft until I reached the sensitive flair of its head. Only then did I touch it with my hands. While I grasped the hard shaft and gently pulled it up away from Roger's belly with my right hand, I squeezed and stroked his balls with my left. His shaft was so hard that I feared I might hurt him by pulling his cock up to a more vertical angle from his reclining body.

He moaned but didn't stop me and when I had his cock elevated to a ninety degree angle from his body, I lowered myself again and took the head and first few inches of the shaft into my gaping mouth.

"Oh, yeah," he moaned as I let my saliva bath it and my tongue work in circles around it.

I felt his heartbeat as the veins of the shaft, pulsed in my mouth, as the sweet, salty ooze reached my taste buds.

The curve of it was working against the curve of my throat and I couldn't take him fully in.

Giving him a quick smile, I reversed positions, swinging my body over his so I was kneeling with my legs on either side of him and my ass pointed provocatively toward his face. Now, with the curve of his cock conforming perfectly to the anatomy of my mouth and throat and I was able to take him in, feeling the warm thrill of his cock head slipping by the entrance to my throat and finding a happy home in the dark, wet recesses of my gullet.

"Yeah," he moaned again."

I held the now wet shaft of Roger's cock in my right hand, teasing the part of it that, on the outward strokes, was not in my mouth. With my left hand I continued to work his balls, which were now also very wet with the overflow from my mouth.

Roger lifted his knees and I found I had a little more access to the tempting region behind his balls. I let my wet fingers slide and probe along the nether county, feeling, exploring, seeking the twitching bud of his ass.

"Yeah," he moaned again, giving me approval to caress and probe him there.

His own hands were firmly planted on my buttocks, spreading them as he kissed his way into my flattened crack and his lips closed over my exposed ass.

We were both moaning and I quickened the pace on his cock, taking it all the way in, then backing off, only to dive forward, driving it into my throat again.

His tongue was gaining ground. I could tell by the feel of it that he'd curled it into a hard, ridged tube and was intent on fucking my ass with it as deep as it would go.

Our mouths were too occupied to allow any intelligible speech but the noise we were making expressed everything we needed to know. We were both on the edge and I knew what he was doing to my ass was more then enough to drive me over the edge.

As my ass loosened, Roger's tongue backed off and was replaced by first one finger, then two. He was probing, going deeper, moving his fingers quickly in opposite directions and then in quick little half twists, driving me wild.

I pulled off his cock, not able to stand it anymore, and turned around just enough to see his face.

"I want you cock," I growled.

"You got my cock," He growled back.

"In my ass, man, fuck my ass."

"Where's your stuff?"

"In the drawer," I said, pointing to the bedside cabinet.

Hurriedly, I rolled off him and onto my back, spread my legs and waited as he found condoms and lube. He grasped the foil packet with his teeth, ripped it open and unfurled the pre-lubricated Trojan over his cock.

I was shaking with anticipation as he moved into position between my legs.

"Relax, lover," he whispered as he squeezed lubricant onto his fingers and again probed my ass.

I sighed, loving the feeling of any part of him in me, but wanting more, wanting his cock.

When he had me and himself ready, he wiggled forward a little and lifted my legs. With my knees over his broad shoulders, he positioned the head of his cock against me and pressed.


"Yeah," I moaned, and winced a little as the bulbous head of his cock forced its way passed the hard, muscular ring of my ass. Roger was in me. For the first time I was feeling what I'd dreamed of for four long years, the power of his manhood, the willing giving of myself to him.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just give me a minute. It's been a while." I realized I'd not been fucked since Steve and I had done it our last night in Oxford in May - well over two months and I'd missed it.

"Okay," I whispered when my body had adjusted to his incursion.

With his eyes fixed on mine and mine on his, he slid slowly in.

When he was fully in he waited again but I thrust up against him and he began to slowly withdraw and then enter me again. I moved my legs so I could lock them around him and he leaned forward, most of his weight still supported by has arms. His triceps bulged and his expression was one of tenderness and concern.

"You all right?" he whispered as the force of his thrusts increased and the speed increased.

"Oh, yeah," I moaned. "I love getting fucked."

"Me too," he said, his voice only a whisper as he concentrated on the business at hand. "Next time, you do the honors."

"Gladly," I moaned as he began to pound into me in earnest. "Yeah," I moaned again, "Yeah, yeah, yeah," in rhythm with his thrusts. I wanted him to know I was okay and enjoying the increased force.

I'd been right about the curve of his cock. With each inward stroke the head of it was slid over my prostate, sending bolts of energy through my entire body.

We moved together like two athletes at the peak of their training. I locked myself to him and went along for the ride.

The sun had risen further and was no longer just a gentle early morning beam. It was blazing thought the window and our bodies glowed in the light. We were both sweating and the sounds of our union were raw and loud. The odor of old, stale sweat from the night before was augmented by the added stench of fresher sweat and the unmistakable odor of fucked ass. The slurping sound of his cock pounding into me was wet and vulgar, almost as arousing as the feel of him in me.

I clung to him with arms and legs, locking our bodies together and holding on for dear life.

Roger was relentless. I realized that this was the end-all and be-all of his love of wrestling. This was the ultimate conquest, the ultimate surrender. This was the decisive act of sexual surrender, the definitive taking of one man by another, the crucial act of penetration and possession. Roger was ruthless in taking and I fully surrendered of myself.

I can be rather loud when engaged in sex. The noises I make are not contrived, but with Roger deep in me, they were an involuntary response to the reality of our joining. With Roger's cock pounding into me, I moaned continually, begged for more. I cried and whimpered like a bitch, blatant, wanton, utterly depraved by lust.

I wanted him in every way one man can take another. I was his, completely, conquered, surrendered, subjugated.

He leaned further forward and pressed his mouth to mine. I opened willingly, tasting the tang of sex, the raunchy musk of my own ass, as his tongue fucked my throat as forcefully as his cock fucked my ass.

When the end came it was mercifully fast, like an execution, a little death. My body shuddered and I came. Jolts of my white seed shot up to lodge between the hard muscles of our conjoined chests. I felt as if my body had betrayed me, as if I was undone.

The gripping of my ass triggered Roger's own orgasm and I felt him swell and jolt in me.

We collapsed in a tangled mass of twisted arms and legs, still clinging, locked together as our bodies shuddered and then gradually relaxed. I felt my cock soften and then, moments later, felt and heard, the slurp and pop as Roger's cock slipped out of me.

I laughed, embarrassed by the vulgar sound if it.

Our bodies uncoiled and we lay together for a while. We were too exhausted to leave the rank ruin of my bed.

I was roused from an exhausted doze by Roger stroking my arm.

"So what are your Sundays like?"

"I usually go to church."

"Let's go then."



"We don't have to, Roger," I said.

To get up and shower and dress and suddenly assume some sense of normalcy, of ordinary respectability, to go off to church like two regular people, seemed impossible after what we'd just experienced together. It actually seemed irreligious, perhaps immoral.

How could we go from raw lust of fucking to the piety of church? How could we lay aside the carnality of sex for the spirituality of hymns and scriptures, a sermon and the bread and wine of communion?

"Do you find the idea shocking?" Roger asked, smiling at me, again comprehending my thoughts.

"Yes, it's at least a major mental shift."

"Why? What is religion about if not about life?"

I rolled over and looked at him. He lolled in my bed, stretching himself like a languid beast, a sleek, exotic jungle cat. He was naked and unashamed, as beautiful as a any man I'd ever seen, any man I'd ever even envisioned. He was a lithe feline creature. Yes, a jungle cat was all I could compare him to.

"Cat got your tongue?" he smiled. Was he in my head again?

Roger Bardwell, the most intelligent, most erudite person I'd ever known, was lying naked in my bed. He'd just fucked my ass raw and now he was prepared to get up and go off with me to church!

"You're serious."

"Perfectly," he smiled, his finger tips gliding over the muscles of my upper arm. "We'll shower together and then I'll pull on the clothes I have with me. If you don't mind, I'll borrow your car. I can get go back to the hotel and get into something more appropriate for church while you get ready here. While I'm there, I'll check out and put my bag in your car. I'll be back before you know it and we'll go off to church. What time are the services, anyway?"

I looked over at the clock. It was almost nine o`clock.

"The last one's at eleven."

"Well, then," he smiled. "Afterward we can go someplace for brunch and then you can drive to LAX in time for my flight to Memphis. It seems like a perfectly workable plan."

"Alright," I said. I leaned down and gave him one quick kiss, then rolled from bed and walked to the bathroom as he lazed along behind.


To be continued.