The Oysterman Weekend

by Okie Muskogee

I knocked softly on the door of the 1950s-era house, after carefully making sure its address matched what I expected it to be. My car was parked out of sight around the corner. It was a September, pitch-black Saturday night, moonless and overcast, cool and comfortable. The gentle breeze pilloried me as I wiped one palm on my jeans while holding a duffle bag in the other.

A dim light inside the home turned off and I could hear motion inside, but the door stayed shut. Not sure what to do, I stepped back a bit from the doorway, waiting.

I heard the right-side gate of the home's backyard fence slowly open, followed by the sound of soft shoes walking toward me. In the dark, I heard more than I saw.

"Hey," said a voice. Muted, almost a whisper.

"Hi," I said, as quietly.

"This way."

Mystified. As I moved toward the summoning voice, its owner turned and walked toward the open gate. Dimly washed by a passing Chrysler's headlights, I could see the six-foot-tall man was wearing denim and a black T-shirt. He walked loosely, as if he might need to move quickly any minute, and peeked backward from time to time as I followed.

After he walked through the open gate, he turned to face me, with his left hand resting on the top of the gate. His right hand motioned me to keep walking. I took a quick look at his eyes as I stepped past him; they were softened and dim. As I entered the yard, I became surrounded by shrubs and darkness. I stopped walking and turned back toward him in uncertainty. He was moving toward me, pulling the gate closed behind him.

"Watch out, it's very dark here," he said.

As he walked past me, he took hold of my wrist and led me through the darkness and bushes to the back of the house. We emerged from the flora onto a patio where I could see a little better in the light spilling from a tiny electric candle on the window sill.

"OK, we're good here," he said. "It's just us."

I dropped the duffle bag, then stepped close to him, and took him in a hug and held him tightly. In a moment, he returned my embrace. I felt relief, and understood why people shed tears sometimes in situations like this.

"It's been a long time," I whispered.

He said nothing, and I rubbed my arms and hands over his back and ribs, then one palm over his groin as I rested my forehead against his chest.

"How long do we have?" I asked.

"I've got nothing planned," was the answer.

The fingers of both my hands slipped inside the top of his jeans and I clasped the top of his pants and shook roughly, as if to rip them off.

He took hold of my wrists, like he wanted me to stop, then groped me a bit.

"Where?" he asked, as I started to breathe heavily.

"We're alone?" I double-checked.

"Yeah. No one can see us, but we need to be...sorta quiet."

In answer, I pushed him slowly but firmly backward to his picnic table. Looking into his eyes, I pulled his T-shirt up to his chest. With my forehead placed just above his solar plexus, I started nuzzling, kissing, and licking his sternum. I continued doing this downward until I reached the top of his jeans.

I unsnapped and unzipped his jeans and pulled them down a few inches. I reached through the fly of his underwear and pulled his stiffening member and swelling scrotum through and into the open air. His hands reached up by his sides to take hold of the picnic table.

I crouched down, then took his dick in my mouth and began moving up and down the shaft. It soon stiffened to a thick seven inches and I bobbed up and down on it with a passion that years of avoidance bring. I took his balls in my warm hands and alternately fondled, tickled, and held them.

I worked him furiously for several minutes, much to his surprise. With my right hand and mouth working in unison on his johnson, he made a long series of muted moans mixed with increasingly heavy breathing. Leaning back slightly, he whispered, "I'm cumming!"

And he did. "UhhhhnnNNNN," he exclaimed, as loudly as he dared.

A quick jet of cum shot across my face before I could get my mouth back over his penis to catch the rest of his geyser. He pumped unconsciously with his hips, and I moved with him while he did. Then he grabbed the back of my head with both hands and shot his cum in waves into my mouth, and it flowed backward around his dick and out of my mouth onto the patio. Then he leaned forward and over me, lowering my position, and his throbbing dick suddenly thrust far down my throat, and I gagged while I felt his warmth pulse down my throat. Soon he was spent, and I could breathe again, in gasps of humid air.

As his dick went softer, I slowly caressed it with my wet mouth and glossy hand as he suffered the waves of pleasure that diminished over the next few minutes as he caught his breath. He hovered above me, and he breathed slowly and deeply, as if ready to fall asleep.

"Let's go inside," I said.

He responded by straightening his clothes. I picked up my duffle bag and led the way, opening and stepping through the back door into the home. Wordlessly, he followed. After he closed the door, he turned on the light over his kitchen table and sat down. He lit a cigarette and began smoking it at leisure.

I walked past him and headed toward his bathroom. There, I started the shower running. While the water warmed, I cleared jism from my throat and mouth into the sink. I dropped my clothes and stepped into the shower. The hot water and soap rejuvenated me. I got out, dried off, and changed into clean clothes--pajama bottoms and a cotton white T-shirt.

I carried my bag into his bedroom; behind me, I heard him walk into the bathroom for his shower routine.

While I waited for him, I laid flat on his bed and closed my eyes. I didn't fall asleep, but I did tune out, floating in the comfort of the bed, my loose, soft clothes, and the feeling of relaxation in my groin. I was in no hurry.

After awhile, I heard him walk out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. I opened my eyes halfway, looking at the ceiling. In my peripheral vision, I could tell he was naked. He continued on into his closet and came out a minute later in a terrycloth robe. He laid down on the king-size bed, to my left.

"Tell me what that was like," I said.

He lit another cigarette and commenced smoking it.

"It was good. I don't know the last time I came so much. Or wanted to. It was like I couldn't have too much cum shooting out of me."

Another puff.

"I got kind of rough. Sorry about that; it was hard to control."

"It was tough, trying not to gag," I replied. "That was a first, going down my throat like that."

"Hmmmm," he said, and smoked on.

"We've tried deep throat before," I continued. "But it never seemed to work like it was supposed to."

"Yeah," he said. "I think this was the way it is supposed to be. I could feel the tightness of your throat around my cock. Compressing it, with that slick tube feeling. I could hear you starting to gag but I couldn't stop. The pumping was a new feeling; so tight, and with no back of your mouth to stop me from going deep. I don't think my balls have ever clenched so much."

Another thoughtful puff.

"I felt like I was in charge," he said, as he stubbed out the cigarette.

I reached over with my left hand under the robe and held his penis.

"It's odd," I said. "How much pleasure there can be. Makes me wonder how much there could be."


He got up on his knees next to me, and pulled my pajamas off and dropped them to the carpet. He produced a bottle of lubricant from somewhere, and massaged its slickness over my shaft and balls. I resolved to relax, instead of tightening up, to keep from blocking the sensations. I wanted this to last.

After a minute or two, he positioned himself between my legs, with my knees bent and my lower legs resting on his back. He sucked deep, and I could feel the silkiness of his throat. And my dick throbbed with it, aching to cum.

I reached down with my right hand and pushed his mouth off my dick. He looked up at me, quizzically.

"Take that off," I said. "I want to fuck you."

He removed the robe, then took up a lowered position, kneeling, but leaning his torso forward and resting on his forearms.

I came up behind him, not exactly sure what the best mechanics to use were. But this was a day of new things, I thought to myself. I lavished the lube on myself and him. I slowly ran my sword up and down his backside.

"Go slow," he said.

I aligned myself and pushed.

"Relax," I commanded, and pushed harder. And he did, and I slipped inside a few inches.

"AHHHH!" he exclaimed, and lurched forward a bit in surprise and pain. "Oooh."

I froze for a moment, then started to slowly thrust back and forth and move in small circular motions. He made painful noises and his breathing picked up. After a minute or so of this, his sounds of pain ebbed and became sounds of labored breathing. I made longer thrusting motions over time, and his breathing became louder, intermixed with slight "uhhn" noises.

My cock hardened as much as it ever had, and I began to thrust fully, as deeply as I could. My glans penis had a fullness then, as it pushed against his warmth and tightness. I took a moment to spoon over him, kissing him several times between his shoulder blades. His breathing slowed somewhat, but it was still deep and laced with discomfort.

"Now's good," he muttered.

I pushed him forward from his kneeling position into a lying position, with his legs spread far apart and a pillow under his crotch to hold him up. Then I drove on, plowing as deeply I could with my engorged dick pulsing as I rose up on my fists and curved my body to lead with my pelvis. And I came; oh, man, did I cum in what must have been ten shots from a fire hose. The moment was mine, and I let loose into him with abandon.

The ejaculations soon abated, and I could feel a steady seepage of cum from my dick. I laid on top of him, and planted kisses on the side of his neck while our breathing slowed. Then I lay still, and I felt the tingle of my dick being pushed out of his body. A few moments passed as we recovered in silence together.

"That time, I felt like you were in charge," he finally said.

I lifted myself off his nude body, then went back to the bathroom to have another shower. This was going to be a slower shower, a hotter shower. I closed my eyes and let the shower head spray my face. The old-style plumbing was great, having no water control devices to diminish the cascade. The warmth fell down my front and over my shoulders as my arms were outstretched against the wall in front of me.

This was when I heard him walk into the bathroom; I just nodded slightly, acknowledging his presence.

He stepped into the shower stall behind me and closed up behind me. His arms reached around me and I could feel his forearms and palms rest on my chest. His dick was flaccid and pressed up against me.

"Hmmmm," I said. "How was that?"

His palms eased their way down to my scrotum and penis and started to rub them, building up a slight lather. I got a little harder, about like you'd expect.

"Sore," he said. "And dripping."

"That will last awhile."

"It feels weird, like I've been shoehorned open. I better take it a little easy."

"Okay. But I do want to have another go at something; to me, this is the time to cum early and often."

"Hmmm." I knew his mind was riffling through ideas. I was getting moderately hard.

"Let me know when you're ready," I said.

He kissed me behind the left ear twice and rested his chin over my shoulder. He continued rubbing me, but slower, with more affection.

"Here," I said. "You can have the shower." I moved around him and let him experience the waterfall. I took care of him, soaping him up and turning him round from time to time. I put shampoo in his hair and acted like I was waterboarding him when rinsing it out. I nibbled some down his right shoulder blade. Playing.

I stepped out of the shower and started toweling off. "I'm going to watch TV. Come out whenever." I walked out naked, carrying my clothes with me. I went to the bedroom and put on his bathrobe, then went to the front room to find something to watch.

I'd gotten the original "Planet of the Apes" movie started by the time he finally joined me on the couch. I could see he was wearing a change of underwear and a large, loose T-shirt. He sat down and I tossed him one of the quilts I'd found.

It was about the time the spaceship crashed on the future Earth that I looked over and saw he was fading out.

"Lie down," I motioned. "Go to sleep." And he did, with his right ear on my left thigh, covered in blanket.

I fell asleep, too. I woke up, then went back to sleep a time or two.

The last time I woke up, I could tell that it was very early Sunday AM. He had left me with the quilts and the TV sound off. A distant kitchen light gave me some illumination. I got up and found him in the guest bedroom. Stripping naked, I climbed into bed with him to his right. He moved some, but stayed asleep, curled up slightly on his right side, still in his shirt and underwear with my left hand's fingertips tucked just inside the waistband.

He pulled the pillow off my face. "Awake yet?"

I swallowed and cleared my throat.

"Yeah," I said. The light in the room made me think it was around 9:30am.

"Open your mouth and close your eyes."

I did, and in popped a blueberry. I opened my eyes and started to slowly chew, then swallowed it.

"Again," he said. "Keep 'em closed."

Another blueberry. After I swallowed it, he continued.

"Now open wide. Wider."

He slid in a green banana, then moved it in and out like he was fucking my mouth. I let him have his way for awhile, then finally took a bite.

"Ouch," he said, laughing and pulling the banana away and throwing the pillow back over my head. He pushed the pillow down hard over my giggling face, using both hands and pushing with his weight. "You brute, you brute, you brute, you brute!" he squealed in a Richard Simmons impersonation. He paused for a moment, continuing to push on the pillow while his face lowered to just above my groin and licked his way up to my solar plexus. There he hovered, with his tongue pushed flat against me.

"Go get in the shower," he finally said. "I want to play with you."

For the third time since I'd arrived, I started the shower. Right away, he came into the bathroom carrying a chair and shut the door behind him. He placed the chair, then sat on it and watched me take a shower. He was wearing underwear and carrying a hand towel. He said nothing while I sudsed myself and rinsed, nor when I shampooed.

When I reached to turn the shower off, he said, "Let it run a little bit. Hot water."

Twisting the knobs to achieve the effect he wanted, I reached for a body towel and started to dry myself while being splattered a bit by the waterfall.

"Hold on," he said when I was halfway through.

He reached into a nearby cabinet and pulled out a couple of disposable razors and a can of mousse shaving cream. He pulled the chair up next to the tub and motioned me to stand in front of him. And I did, with my towel draped around my neck.

He dispensed a dollop of shaving cream onto one palm and commenced to smearing it on my dick and balls. The mousse had a menthol smell; it tightened my scrotum and created a cooling effect. It was also a bit slick, which was nice.

"No hard feelings about that ass fucking, I hope," I joked.

He glanced up at me, razor in his hand.

"You woke up this morning, didn't you?"

"Yeah," I conceded, unassured.

Shaving this way is slow progress, of course, and he had to frequently clean the razor in the hot water stream and gingerly, repeatedly visit each area as it took many passes to shave it smooth. I had to rinse myself off a few times during the procedure. I otherwise stood very still.

"There," he said, as he ran his fingertips over my sack. Smooth and silky.

"Now what?"

He looked up in bemusement.

"Now you shave me," he said.

With both of us so-shaved, he stood over me in his bathrobe as I lay naked flat on my back, staring up at the ceiling. He lowered his scrotum into my mouth and I sucked on it, tonguing it. While I did this, his dick got hard and he thoroughly lubricated himself. Then he pulled my body toward him so my neck craned backwards over the edge of the bed.

"When I push, you need to swallow it down," he said.

I knew this from reading about how to deep throat; extend and flatten the tongue as if saying, "aaaah" and take it in. Despite the freak moment on the patio and our attempts of years ago, I still had trepidations about making this work for very long.

With my mouth and throat aligned, he pushed himself inside. I flattened my tongue, then he began a slow thrust forward, and it slipped in. I got the gag reflex and he knew to hold his position while I extended my tongue more and then pulled it back to further the penis down my throat. It took repeated attempts, but we got to where he could slide into my throat and I could time my tongue movements to keep the gag reflex under control. Of course, I couldn't breathe with his dick down my throat, so I had my palms on his hips to guide his motions and to control the breaks so I could catch my breath.

With patience and practice, we got to where he could get repeated thrusts in between breaks. He would run his fingertips over my nipples and ribs and waist while I took him in. After about ten minutes of this, he started getting excited and more vigorous and quicker with his thrusting. During the breathing breaks I could see his reddened dick pulsing in strobes of hardness. I took him in one more time and his body quivered, then his knees almost gave way as he punched his load down my throat in four deep, long pushes. I concentrated on not gagging and not gasping for air while this went on. He then pulled out and, as I took in gulps of air, he masturbated himself vigorously, shooting a volley of sperm ropes onto my chest and belly.

After he finished, he straddled my face. I could feel him reach into the pocket of his robe. He then leaned his upper body forward and onto me and the stickiness. Then I felt his forearms rest on my inner thighs and his elbows take his weight. His hands started to stroke me to hardness. His penis was poised over my neck, dribbling cum onto the underside of my chin.

He then took my dick in his mouth and he began a patient, slow mouthing. After a few moments, I could feel my whole groin area tingle with the cool sensation from the tiny mint candies he had surreptitiously slipped from his robe into his mouth. Tired from my ordeal so far, I simply gave in and relaxed completely with it, thinking only of how I was his right now and how much I loved him and how much he loved me as I freely gave myself to the pleasures he controlled. He gently yet firmly coaxed me towards orgasm, and I soon gratefully surrendered my spasms to his willing and receptive warmth.

After awhile, he lifted himself off of me; I could feel our skins grudgingly unstick at the spots where his semen had decorated my upper body. As I listened to him, once again, start the shower, I slowly pulled my head back on top of the bed and let the remaining ejaculate dry into little islands on my body. I replayed last night's hours in my head and considered them against the canvas of my life that he had helped paint over the years.

After awhile, he came back into the guest bedroom, half-dressed.

"What time is it?" I asked. I'd probably napped a bit.

"One o'clock. Do you want to get something to eat?"

"Shoot. I need to get back on the road. Nah, I'll get something on the way. I hope my car's still where I parked it."

I carefully got off the bed and took my shower, then got dressed. By then, he was sitting on the couch, watching TV and smoking. I had my duffle bag in my hand.

"Leaving?" he said, standing up.

"I'd better. It's a long drive and I don't like driving in the dark," I said, while walking toward the door.

Walking me to the door with me, he said, "Let me know if you come back this way." He held out his hand.

I shook slightly from chuckling as I took his hand to shake it.

"No goodbye kiss?" I asked.

"Uhn-uh," he declined, looking down for a moment and cringing slightly. "That's too weird for me."