Date: Thu, 11 Feb 2010 16:51:25 -0800 From: Oregon Bear Subject: Being My Valentine This story contains graphic descriptions of adult male to male gay sex. If this is offensive to you or it is illegal for you to read, please leave this site. Copyright 2010. Oregon Bear. Oregonbear9@gmail.com Being My Valentine Tonight, we will go to our favorite cafe, and enjoy a drink. He will have a gin and tonic, and I will have a good single malt Scotch and soda. We will linger over our drinks; enjoy the fireplace, and the soft light of the bistro style cafe. We will talk about what we did today, his work and my work. And we will talk of art and music, and friends, and books, and poems we have loved. And sometimes, we will talk without words, using our eyes and a nod and a move of our face, in a way that only we will know. The waiter will tell us the specials, which will sound fabulous, but we will each likely order our favorite. He will have steak and I will have fish. We will order a good wine, probably a red. And, when dinner comes, we will change our conversation and talk about where we have been together in our lives, and where we want to go. Oh, not geographically, but metaphorically, spiritually, romantically. We will look deep into each other's eyes as we sip our wine and enjoy first the salad and then the main course. And, as the wine will nearly be gone, we will split a dessert, probably a chocolate truffle cake, and sip the thick, rich coffee the cafe is famous for. He may also order a brandy and I will finish the wine. We will lapse into a comfortable silence, before we head back home, driving leisurely down the road, and soon find ourselves back home. He may light a fire, or we may just sit on the couch together, with a single candle lighting the room, and talk some more of our love and the joys of sharing our lives together. And we may slip into the hot tub on the deck, and watch the stars in the darkness, and discuss the phase of the moon and the constellations of late winter, and look for meteors. We would have stripped off our clothes and grabbed a towel, before we went out on the deck, the night air cold against our skin, and our feet chilled by the cold boards of the deck. I'll watch the sculpted curves of his muscular butt flex a bit as he slips into the steamy water of the hot tub, and watch his nice fat cock dance a bit over his furry balls, before he slips into the steamy water. I'll watch the water move up his hard, muscular legs and furry crotch and then up his furry belly and the sweet contours of his chest, water drenching his furry armpits and splashing a bit into the thick whiskers of his beard. He would be bringing a candle out with us, and the night breeze will cause it to flicker a bit, moving the shadows and lines of light on his face, and the drops of water on his moustache and beard. Then, he'll watch me drop my towel, and step into the tub, my own cock swollen a bit, a bit hungry, knowing that he is watching me, and watching my cock sway a bit above my balls. He knows me well, my lover. He has tasted and licked and had my cock in so many ways, so many times. He knows my every moan, my every twitch and gasp, as his tongue and lips and the tough calluses of his fingers. He knows my cock, my balls, and every tiny bit of the tip of my cock, and the curves and hairs of my crotch. He knows how to fire up my nipples and when to lick and when to nip and when to suck, and how I moan when he lights my fire. He brings me higher and higher, and he knows when to wait and when to keep going, going, until I thrust hard into the depth of his throat, exploding and exploding again, until my balls ache, until that spot just behind my balls, at the root of my cock, tingles and aches and almost hurts, drained and spent, and almost, but not quite, hurting. And, he watches, looking at my chest and my butt, my balls low and swinging in their furry bag, and everything else, until I, too, am neck deep in the water, until a bit of the water and the steam gather in my beard, sparkling a bit in the light from the candle. And, I soak up his watching, knowing that he knows me better than I know myself. Knowing that he has spent hours and days touching and feeling and exploring me, sending me waves and pulses of pleasure, as his fingers and lips and the muscles of his arms and the hairs of his thighs, and the soft skin of his cock and the furry wrinkles of his ball sac and every other part of him has known me, again and again. And, he knows of all the ways I move and breathe and sigh and sweat, as he explores me and touches me, making love to me, again and again, nearly every day that we have been together. He knows more of me than I know myself. He has felt and heard and seen and tasted me in every way, each time I've risen to the end of all that I can take, every time I've spurted and shot, every time I've cum and cum again, my armpits suddenly drenched in my sweat, my balls tight and hard in their furry sac, my cockhead red and wet and slippery and hard, as my seed flies and flies again, my chest heaving and sweaty and hot. We will sit there, silent, feeling the heat move into our muscles and into our bones, feeling the tensions of the day turn to rubber and then be gone, until all that is left is the heat and the unwound, untied feeling of nothing but bone and muscle and skin and heat, until all that is left is just that. And, the poisons and dirt of the day and the week are forgotten. And, all that matters is simply being there and being together, watching the light flicker against the skin of my lover's face, and his thick neck, and the top of his hard, thick shoulders. And, I will lean back, feeling the heat of the water high on my neck, feeling the water soak out the last of the tensions at the bottom of my skull and the top of my spine, until all that is left of me is heat and wet and flesh that has finally relaxed and finally turned to feeling alive and loved, turning to just being. The candle will putter, low and nearly out, and I will hear him sigh, watching his thick, hard chest move out and then in, his thick nipples rich, wanting to be tasted and sucked. He will move up a bit now, his meaty shoulders and arms outstretched on the rim of the hot tub, steam rising above his chest, almost hiding the thick forest of his armpits, now dripping with steamy water, and the hard line defining his pecs sliding down from his shoulder, and under his nipples. The thick pelt of his curly chest hair will splay wide across his chest, the red nipples almost bright against the background of his fur. Water will drip down through that warm, wet hardness of his muscle, down the center of his chest, the place I like to lay my head and listen to his heart beating hard and fast, just after he's cum, my head riding fast and deep on him as he gasps and finally stops moaning and whispering my name, his seed still spurting, one last time, into my hand, or my ass or however we've finally ended up, in the many ways we have wrestled and stroked and pumped and thrust. And, he will look over at me, catching my eye, knowing what I'm thinking, as he follows my eye to the center of his chest. He knows me too well, this lover of mine. He knows what I want before I even can begin to think of what I want from him tonight. He knows me oh so well. His hand will move into mine and he will give it a squeeze. And, I will squeeze him back, taking in the calloused skin of his fingers and the muscles of his thumb and his fingers, the ones that have held me and stroked me and brought me, again and again, to the height of what it means to be a man. And, my cock will remember and will swell a bit, remembering those hands and remembering him. And, I will hunger again, hunger for him in my arms and in our bed and hunger for him to run his furry face slowly down my chest and my stomach and deep into the thick hair of my crotch and the hardness of my aching manhood, and around my balls and around my hole, and everywhere he wants to be. And, he will look at me now with the same hunger, the same look for what I do to him. And, I will hunger again, again to take my time to feel him, touch him, and stroke him, to feel him rising hot and slick and hard in my hands and against my lips, and inside my hole. I will want him to sweat and moan and thrash around, his lusty sweat spicy and hot in my nose, his chest sticky and sweaty and hot. And, the sweat around his balls will be a different hot, a different spice, rich and fetid in my brain. And, I will want to smell that slick, hot stench of his exploded cum wet and drippy and drying a bit, drying into a sticky glue, tacky and messy, hair and sweat and skin. And, on a good night, a night when I will be especially horny, I will want to see a strand or two of cum slide, sticky and smelly, into his beard, tangling the wiry hairs of fur, sticking whiskers and cum against his skin, until it all slowly dries in the heat from his fully fucked self. The candle will flicker again and then the light will end. The last of the molten wax will cool quickly in the night air, and all that is left to light his face will be the outlines of the gods of the night sky. We will watch them look down on us, their weapons and their companions silent in their dances, their world slowly, oh so slowly turning around above us. His hand will move down now, out of my fingers, and down to my thigh. And, I will know we are just beginning our dance tonight, the dance that lovers have danced forever. And, I will know that I am loved and that I am also a lover. And, that is all I will need to know.