Date: Tue, 27 Jul 2010 20:32:29 -0500 From: Michael Subject: Stephen my love pt 1 If you like the story let me know what you think. obiwankenokie@gmail.com "Why do you have those gay magazines under your bed?" my girlfriend yelled at me. I thought of several things to say but didn't say anything. I stood frozen looking at this girl who I liked a lot, but not enough to tell her that I craved dick as much, if not more, than her. "I come in here thinking that I would do something nice for my boyfriend, help clean up his pigsty of an apartment and what do I find but a stack of magazines filled with naked men with the pages all stuck together. What are you some kind of fucking fagot?" I said nothing and I was determined to not say anything until she got tired out, or left. I sat at the kitchen table and began to look at the mail that I had grabbed on my way up to this tirade. Bills, a letter from my insurance company, an advertisement for a hair salon for men with a strikingly beautiful man on the flier, and a letter from Stephen. My heart jumped. Stephen was one of the few guys who tried to have pretty handwriting. And he did have beautiful handwriting. While my girlfriend continued to rant around me throwing things around I stared at the letter with my heart beat racing. It had been a year or more since we saw each other last. He was my best friend until we floated down a river in Arkansas and became something more, something more than he could handle. He wasn't ready to be lovers then, perhaps this letter was his plea for a second chance. My dick twitched at the thought. I smelled the letter and it did smell like him, not perfumed like a love sick teenagers pen pal correspondence, he had a manly smell but that was still sweet. I used my keys as a letter opener and pulled the letter from its sheath. It was a long letter. "What the fuck, you're going to read a letter when I am talking to you?" my girlfriend shrieked. Before I did it I knew that it was wrong, but I knew it would work. I grabbed her head and pulled her into a kiss. I was a good kisser and I knew it. It was how I got out of fights like these. I kissed her and she melted into my arms. I kissed her and the room fell silent. Then we broke apart and she stared up into my eyes. "I forgive you, I love you. Make love to me." she begged. "No. Tomorrow." I said. "Ok," she said. "I love you and I really don't care about the magazines." "I know." I said. I walked to the door and opened it for her. "I will see you tomorrow." She walked through the door and off to her own apartment. I closed the door behind her and latched the chain. I had a letter to read. I sat in the lazy boy chair that my dad gave me when I went to school and flipped on my reading lamp. It was a long letter. Six pages filled with remorse, sadness, and frustration. In it he said that he always knew that he was gay, that our experience on the river was his first and only experience with another person and it fueled his "masturbatory activities" his words not mine. This letter was the kind of porn that no one but the intended would ever understand or enjoy. This letter made me hard not because it talked of sex exactly, but because it reminded me of that day and the sex he and I had together. The best part was that at the end of the letter was a precious seven digit number. I grabbed my phone and pressed in the numbers and with the first ring I became nervous. "Hello" Stephen said. "Hello, Stephen." I said with my voice shaking a little. "You got my letter?" he said excitedly. "I am so glad you called. I was afraid that you wouldn't ever want to see me again." We talked for over an hour about everything we used to talk about before the float trip. It was as if it had never happened. We arranged to meet. "At the mall, in the food court?" I confirmed just before we said good bye. After the call I refolded his letter and re-sheathed it into the envelope. I grabbed the stack of porn now on the kitchen table and crawled into bed, flipping straight to the guy in the G String bikini in the International Male catalog. Mr. G-string had been my Stephen replacement since I found it three months ago. My Stephen replacement was tall with dark hair, smoldering eyes, and pale skin which set off his dark brown trail of hair connecting his navel to whatever he was hiding behind the neon orange g-string swimming suit. The imaginary Stephen would stand in front of me and let me touch his chest, lick his nipples, and trace his dark trail right to the treasure under the bright orange. He would sigh as I touched his expanding cock nudging the wrapping of his package out of the way. He would moan with ecstasy as I leaned forward and suckle on his manly teat, caressing his testicles urging his magic milk to explode into my hungry throat. He would scream with pleasure as I dug my fingers into his anus, milking his prostate, and catching every last drop of his love juice. As my fantasy unfolded I jacked my cock with one hand while I cradled my balls with the other. I moved so I could see myself in the full length mirrors that made up my closet doors. I watched my reflected twin work his cock and knead his balls as I did mine. My reflection and I worked our cocks at an even pace, scooped up the precum leaking freely from our cocks to use as lube and we rocked back on our hips shoving our fingers deep into our assholes. We ejaculated loudly as ropes of cum shot onto my forehead. More to come.