Date: Tue, 12 May 2009 06:45:52 -0700
From: Oregon Bear <oregonbear9@gmail.com>
Subject: The Waiter

This story contains graphic descriptions of adult gay male to male
consensual sex.  If you are offended by this topic, or it is illegal for
you to read this, please leave this site.

				The Waiter

	I'd gotten into the little resort town later than I'd wanted.  My
last meeting ran late, and I'd rushed down the freeway and then cut over to
the coast.  Rushed and pretty hungry, I'd asked the desk clerk for a quiet
place with a good meal.  He'd sent me here.  I'd thrown my bag and my
laptop and all the other gear for my big presentation tomorrow into the
room, and jumped back in my car for what I'd hoped was a quiet place and a
good meal.
	The week had been more hectic than usual, and I was a bit stressed
about giving my big presentation at the conference.  I'd been working on
the topic for quite a few months, and a number of people in the industry
kept telling me I should speak at the annual conference.  The last of the
crises and panics at work were behind me, at least for the week, and my
power point presentation was all ready to go.  I could relax a bit, and
take a breath.
	The place didn't look like much when I drove up and there were only
a few cars in front.  Still, it looked pretty quaint and laid back, and a
bit of smoke curled out of the stone chimney, and I could hear some quiet
music playing inside.
	The hostess showed me to a table by the fireplace, and brought me a
Scotch and soda on the rocks.  I took a sip, and realized it was my
favorite twelve year old Scotch from a fairly obscure distillery in the
Highlands.  Not too many Scotch drinkers knew the brand, and I was
impressed.
	I kept sipping the Scotch and browsed the menu, spotting my
favorite dinner as one of their specialties.  The fire flickered a bit and
I could feel the tension slowly ease from my shoulders.  And, the Scotch
went down pretty easily, too.
	He brought me a small loaf of the house's special sourdough wheat
bread and herbed butter, and asked me if I had any questions about the
menu.  Yet, my hunger slipped away, as I took in his hard, large shoulder,
his firm chest, and the slight bulge in the crotch of his black dress
pants.
	I took him all in, the stubble of his cheeks, his goatee,
moustache, and the curve of his butt, the cloth of his pants tight and firm
against his cheeks.  And my cock and my brain wondered, dreamed, of what he
was like, just a fraction of an inch beneath the cloth of his pants, and
his white shirt, and his bow tie, tight against his neck.
	He wasn't strutting his stuff, he wasn't coming on to me, and it
was my mind, my cock, that took him in, and slowly stripped him naked,
opening him up to my eyes, my fingers, and my already stripped bare chest,
holding his warm, naked chest next to me, as I tasted his lips, and felt
the heat of his butt in my hands.  At least in my dreams, my fantasies.
	Now, he was only my waiter, doing his job, taking my order.
Wondering what dressing I wanted on my salad, at the same time my cock
wanted to know what color the hair around his balls was, and whether he was
cut or uncut, and whether his belly hair ran all the way up to his chest,
and how stiff his nipples were when I could suck on them, tasting them
right now.  And how the fish should be cooked, when I really wanted to be
hefting his balls and feeling their weight, and wondering how he wanted me
to suck him and hold him, wet and hot, against my tongue, feeling the pulse
of his heart in his cockhead, and waiting for him to shoot his cum deep
against my tongue, splashing his seed against my face, and drip it down my
chin, until it fell with a splat on my chest.
	I tried to be so sober, so clean from lust, as I answered his
questions, as I tried to be the straight, sober customer, and not the sex
crazed bull who would shred his jeans and rip apart his shorts, and plunge
his cock deep into my mouth, and suck him until he was hard and panting,
and then, shoot deep and sweaty down my throat.
	My heart raced and sweat drenched my pits and my cock stiffened and
pushed against my pants, and I watched him walk away, my order taken, my
needs so unanswered.  The curve of his butt, the outline of his lats
against his shirt, his shoulders firm and round, as he walked away, leaving
my hunger unsated, unmet.
	And, as sweat still dripped down my pits and along my ribs and
chest, and dampening my shirt, he came back, salad and bread in hand.  He
smiled and I wanted to take him right there, tongue against tongue, lips
against lips, my cock hard against his pants, my hand groping and grasping
and pulling down his zipper, until I held him, hot and damp in my hand,
until I could taste him and feel him harden against me, until I could feel
the blood of his hunger pulse against my tongue, his balls rising hard and
firm, his seed rising, ready for me at last.
	The ice water tossed down my throat only raised the flames of my
lust, as my brain saw him naked in my arms, against the sheets of my bed,
just us, alone, in my room, and all of the night ahead of us.  And, still,
the fire burned.  My chest rose and fell, and rose again, hot and damp and
hungry for the touch of his naked furry chest against mine, his shirt
stripped away, tossed in the corner, as I pulled open his belt, and felt
his rising cock against the last shred of his pants, hot in my hand.
	And, dinner lasted forever, my real hunger unsatisfied, unmet, as
my cock twitched and pulsed, hard against my pants, each time he came,
first the salad, then the dinner, and then more water, and then, dessert.
Oh, if he knew what dessert I really wanted.
	The rest of the crowd left, and we were the only ones left.  The
fire in the fireplace burned hot, but not as hot as my cock and my balls,
burning with my fire, wanting him, oh so badly, right there and then.  My
fire burned hot and sparks flew, firing up my balls and filling my chest
with lust, with visions of him naked and open before me, my cock buried
balls deep in his ass, chest hair and sweat and chest hair and gasps
pushing and thrusting hard into the night, as my cock ached and rose and,
finally, spurted deep inside of his sweet ass, answering, finally, my
hunger this night.
	And, so we finally were alone, he and I.  And, the dessert was
finished, and the coffee cup drained, again. Unlike my balls, and my hard
cock, begging for release, begging to be held and sucked and emptied deep
inside of him, now, now.
	"Anything else, sir?"
	Oh, yeah.  Oh, yeah.
	And, I told him my room number and he said yes, and touched my arm,
squeezing my bicep, and then ran his hot hand across my chest, caressing my
already hard, aching nipple. Then, he ran his hand down my back and grabbed
my ass, and cupped my balls, at last.  At last.
	And, he nodded and said, yes.  Yes, in ten minutes.  He had to
close out the till and lock the place up.  And, then he would be there.
Yes. Yes, he wanted me, too, ever since he'd walked up to take my order.
Ever since he saw me sitting there, staring deep into his eyes, not
listening to him talk about the dinner, but looking deep inside of him,
wanting him, wanting to take him right there, deep and hard and wet and
hot.
	It was then, he knew, that I wanted him, and that he wanted me,
too.  It was how I held the fork, how I speared the tomato, and he knew,
then, that he wanted me deep in his ass, hard, and sweaty, and deep.  And,
tonight was the night.  It had been too long. Too long for both of us.
	I drove back to my room at the resort, wondering if I'd just been
dreaming, and hoping against hope that the dream was over, that it would be
just another long, lonely night on the road, and that I'd wake up in the
morning, hard and horny and lonely, once again.  But, part of me knew he'd
come, that he'd be rapping softly on the door, and that when I opened the
door against the darkness of the night, he'd be there, a grin on his face,
and take me hot and soft in his arms.  And, it was that part of my dream
I'd wanted to believe.
	It had been too long, for both of us.  And, it was time.  He'd been
waiting, waiting for a long, long time.  And, so had I.  And for far too
long.
	No need for another cup of coffee, for the real dessert was just a
few minutes away, as I slowly untied his tie, pulling the black silk away,
undoing the knot, pulling silk against the shirt, and opening that first
button.  Giving him some air, and giving some light to that first curl of
hair against his chest, gleaming in the night, from the light of the fire.
And, I held him close, feeling him warm, hot, almost sweaty in my arms,
feeling the beat of his heart against his shirt, against his chest.
	And, soon, my hand against the hardness of his chest, against the
fur, and the stiffness of his nipples, to hear him moan oh so softly, as I
played with his stiff nipples deep against my lips, against my moustache,
taking him warm and damp into my mouth.  And, to smell him, warm and spicy,
so manly, deep into my nostrils, to smell his lust, his need, and to feel
him hard against my own hardness, crotch to crotch, cock to cock, only a
few layers of cloth between us.
	Time stopped then, as sweat drenched my pits and pooled against my
balls and in the pits of my crotch, my cock hard and eager, pushing against
him, needing him, right now.
	He took his time, each button of my shirt, each bit of my zipper,
each loop of my belt, until I was his, all his, naked and hard and sweaty
and eager.  And, at each step, his hand took me, all of me, inch by inch,
until he knew all of me, more than I knew myself.  He knew my song, my
dance, and played me for everything I wanted, everything I needed.
	And, we kissed and we stroked and we touched, and soon we became
one, skin against skin, and rolling against the satin of the sheets, muscle
and skin and balls and cocks and cheeks across white sheets and on top of
big pillows, the fireplace burning hot and smoky, and the rest of the room
dark and close.  It was just us, just two lovers taking each other in,
taking each other to a new level, a new experience, a new intimacy.
	The cracklings of the logs, and the heat of the flames kept the
room afire for the rest of the night. Yet, the real fire burned hot and
furious across the sheets and on top of the bed, as we touched and sucked
and pushed and sweated and rose again and again, spurting our seed deep and
wide, and across hungry, needy flesh.  And, we danced and tasted and drove
each other deeper and harder, until, at last, we lay sweaty and drained,
fur against fur, cock against cock.
	And, the fire died slowly, cooling to embers and smoke, and the
sweat and the cum slowly dried, sticky and dry against fur and muscle and
cock and balls, and hearts slowed and ball sacks drained and fell away from
once steel hard cocks to sag against hairy thighs, and cocks dripped the
last of spent cum against the damp fur of crotches and once thrusting butt
cheeks.
	And, the first light of dawn began to turn the room a soft pink, as
he whispered my name in my ear, and cupped my balls hot in his hand.
	"I want to love you more today than yesterday."
	And, he did.

Copyright 2009.  Oregon Bear