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Picture Perfect

Category: Gay Male
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We broke up for a lot of reasons, Angela and I, as people always do. It was the laundry that triggered it. We must have squabbled over the laundry at least a dozen times before, but for whatever reason, this time the proverbial camel collapsed under the pressure. I’d been putting through load after load, trying to get through it all before she got home from work, hoping she’d appreciate coming home to a tidier living space.

I was even starting dinner as she walked into the basement suite we shared. She huffed out an exhausted sigh as she dumped her purse and keys on the table and trudged to the bedroom. I heard the squeak of the bedsprings as she flopped down.

You’re welcome for making dinner, I thought, but instead called, “Rough day, babe?”

She didn’t answer. Five minutes later she stomped into the kitchen with a bra dangling from her outstretched hand.

“Again, Jason–you did it again!” she growled, glaring at me with unmitigated fury.

“Aw, shit–I’m sorry, babe. I know those aren’t supposed to go into the machine.” I shrugged helplessly. “I swear I looked. It must have been tangled into a shirt or something.”

“Right. It’s never your fault, is it?”

I furrowed my brow at her. “Can you relax a little? It’s just a bra. Honest mistake. Here–I can be your bra.” I grinned playfully, cupping my hands near her breasts as I tried to defuse the situation with humour.

“Don’t you dare!” she snapped, pulling away as if I were some random pervert, and not her boyfriend, who had touched her breasts on a regular basis for nearly two years. “I’m so sick of this… I’m so sick of all of it!” She flopped down at the table and burst into tears.

It all came out then–every petty frustration, every held grudge. How I never cleaned up after cooking, how I tracked dirt everywhere, how I forgot sometimes to pay our phone bills by the due date, and so on. Things came out that caught me completely by surprise. She was frustrated that I could never have a deep conversation with her, how I was rude and tactless and hurt her feelings constantly, and her friends all apparently shared this opinion and thought she was an idiot for staying with me. I knew I was a bit on the brusque side, but I’d always figured, why say something in twenty words what you can say in two? If I’d hurt her feelings she hadn’t exactly expressed this to me with any kind of clarity. I guessed it was one of those situations where I was supposed to just know when her feelings were hurt. Or, possibly, she hadn’t really been hurt but was convinced by her friends, who had hated me from Day One, that she should be.

I did my own share of venting since the gloves were off at this point. I told her, speaking of rudeness, maybe she could have thanked me once in a while for doing the laundry or making dinner instead of finding fault all the time. I claimed to do a lot more of the housework than she did, though this was a point of fervent disagreement between us. I criticized her for gossiping about me to her friends instead of confronting me about her complaints directly.

Things got a little less mature from there, I’ll admit. I had a few things under my skin that I hadn’t thought worth bringing up until this very moment; now those things seemed enormous. I told her how annoying it was when she told people her name was Angel, and how it was tenfold annoying when she’d started to buy little teeny-bopper t-shirts and cutesy jewelry that said “Angel” on them in glitter. I told her it wasn’t cute–I told her her name was Angela, and going around with sparkly crap that said “Angel” on it made her look like a stripper, and it certainly didn’t help that she wore way too much makeup, her clothes were too small, and why the hell did she buy so many high heels she could barely walk in? I think I used the term “disgustingly pretentious” at one point, and I didn’t even know how true it was until I’d let it cross my lips. I’d despised her pretensions for so long, and had swallowed it all back to avoid a fight.

She was weeping plenty by this point, wailing about how horrible I was for staying with her if I hated her so much, and maybe I just kept her around for sex. I grimaced at the ghastly black trails of mascara running down her face and pointed out that we hadn’t done it in nearly a month because she was so goddamn frigid, or maybe because she was getting it somewhere else. This did not go over well, but I still took the opportunity to call her out on her regular and shameless flirting with our upstairs neighbour, this pretty-boy bohemian type whose name we didn’t even know but called “Artsy McLonghair”. At this she stormed out of the room, effectively ending our final battle.

Angela found a friend to stay with and moved out very quickly. I decided to enjoy the sudden peace and freedom I’d been granted rather than getting depressed over the split. The only thing that really troubled me was how untroubled I was. I could hardly think of a thing I even liked about Angela now–it’s funny how one’s perspective changes after a breakup. Funny and disturbing. How many people, I wondered, were stuck in soul-killing relationships just because of routine?

I actually did start to miss her a little, in a moment of weakness when I was next doing a load of laundry. I started digging through my clothes as I filled the machine, making sure there were no delicates to separate, then suddenly remembered Angela was gone and delicates were a thing of the past. The thought brought both relief and a pang of loss. We’d been together for a long time–it was inevitable I’d feel like something was missing.

I heard a key in the lock, and one of my neighbours stepped in. There were four suites in the building–a sprawling old converted heritage house–and we all shared the laundry room that happened to adjoin my suite (the lone perk of living in the basement). There was a schedule, and today was my day for sure. I’d double-checked.

“Oh… sorry!” he said. It was Artsy McLonghair himself, holding a white shirt in his hand with a blotchy pinkish stain on it. “I know it isn’t my turn, but I’ve had a paint emergency.” He smirked. “I was hoping I’d get lucky.”

I sighed. I didn’t interact with the guy much, but he irritated me almost as much as Angela, with his long, girly hair and his thick Scandinavian accent. He was just plain odd, and seemed to have an endless flow of equally odd visitors of varying ages and genders. I knew he was an artist, as I’d see him sometimes hauling large canvases up the stairs, and he almost always had paint splatters on his clothes, skin, and even his otherwise maddeningly perfect hair.

“Why’d you paint in it if you didn’t want paint on it?” I asked, my voice betraying some of the irritation I felt.

He seemed completely unfazed, and in fact, smiled wider, revealing a set of perfectly straight, white teeth. Maddeningly perfect. “Call it a blond moment?” he chuckled, flicking back a stray blond lock from his forehead. He was one of the blondest human beings I’d ever seen. His hair, eyebrows, and lashes were almost white. “Sometimes inspiration strikes, and I stop for nothing. Forgot what I was wearing. I guess I could soak it some more for now, and come back in a couple of hours…?”

I shrugged and glanced at the shirt in his hand. It looked like he’d already worked at the stain as thoroughly as possible, and it wasn’t likely to bleed paint into the rest of my clothes. “Nah, just throw it in with mine if you like,” I offered. “I just started a load.”

He glanced in as I lifted the lid of the machine, giving an appraising glance over the mass of clothes that were just starting to get sudsy. “You don’t separate your colours,” he stated.

“Goddamn it, you too?” I laughed humourlessly. “Sorry–touchy subject. Seriously though, I always wash everything together, and my whites still come out white. No lectures, please.”

“All right,” he said lightly, dropping his shirt in and shutting the lid. He gave me a lingering, thoughtful look. “Have some drama recently, I guess? I saw your… female companion… moving some boxes the other day.”

“Yep–that’s over,” I said bluntly. “Good riddance.”

He seemed slightly amused by my assessment of the situation, though his pale blue eyes still showed sympathy. “It’s always a bit tragic when relationships die, yes? But I think you can do better. She seemed very… artificial, if you understand my meaning.”

“Hunh… yeah, I know what you mean. You pretty much nailed it. Funny–to hear her tell it, she’s convinced that she could do a lot better. Well, good luck, ‘Angel’.” I paused and rolled my eyes. “Sorry… I shouldn’t be venting at you. We don’t even know each other.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. Perhaps we know each other a little now, yes? It’s Jason, is it not?” He chuckled at my mildly suspicious glare. “I got your mail in my box once. I’m Aleksi.”

I shook the hand he offered. His hand was large but thin, and weirdly soft–it gave me the creeps. He smirked, almost as if he’d read my mind, and hung onto my hand a bit too long.

“That’s a nice manly handshake you have there,” he remarked playfully before finally letting go. “You’re a tradesman of some type?”

“Gasfitter,” I said, backing toward the door of my suite. “Well, uh…”

He nodded. “Thanks for letting me in on your laundry day. I’ll come back for that later. Nice meeting you properly, at last, Jason.”

“Sure–you too,” I mumbled before retreating fully to the safety of my own home.

I lounged in bed with my laptop while I waited for the laundry, and random surfing turned quickly to porn. Angela had always hated porn and couldn’t stand the thought of it in our home, and so I’d mainly abstained out of respect. Now it was my home, my laptop, my Internet, and my cock. I found a promising video of two heavy-breasted girls instructing a third in their slutty, Sapphic arts, and started off stroking myself slowly through my pants. A nice, leisurely buildup would be awesome. I imagined spending a good hour or two edging, building up to a really intense release.

But after nearly twenty minutes, nothing much was happening. I’d gotten a bit hard here and there, but it had gradually waned the moment I tried to encourage it. I swore furiously at my cock, at Angela, at the Internet, and gave up, slamming my laptop shut and just turning on the TV instead.

I’d managed to forget about Aleksi’s shirt by the time my laundry was finished. I moved my basket inside and then found the shirt halfway through sorting. I went to put it back in the laundry room for him to pick up later, and then changed my mind, figuring I might as well be neighbourly and bring the guy his shirt. His place was two floors up, and I felt like stretching my legs.

Despite being in my own building, I felt as if I were crossing into foreign territory as I approached the landing on the third floor and knocked. After a moment I heard a distant reply from within.

“It’s open!”

Hesitantly I turned the knob and pushed the door open. Immediately that feeling of being in foreign territory ramped up to an almost dizzying level of disorientation. The top floor suite was practically the antithesis of the basement. I lived in a dark cave of cold concrete furnished with ancient, temperamental appliances and pipes running back and forth across the ceiling that sweated and dripped on me in the summer. The penthouse was high-ceilinged, airy, warm and inviting with large windows, hardwood floors, and modern appliances. The main area was an open concept kitchen-dining-living area, and above was a large loft. It was so much bigger than I would have ever expected–almost impossibly big. I knew I would have to examine the building closely next time I was outside to make sense of this.

“Who’s there?” Aleksi called from the loft above. His voice echoed off of the vaulted ceiling.

I opened my mouth to answer, and then noticed the art lining the walls. It was a mixed lot of oil paintings, watercolours, sketches, and photographs. Some were a bit abstract, sort of impressionist or post-impressionist maybe (I’d never been an artsy guy), but mainly they were nude figures.

“Allo?” Aleksi called.

“Sorry–it’s Jason!” I replied finally. “Your shirt…?”

“Did you come all the way up here to bring it to me? You doll, you didn’t need to do that! Come on up.”

My eyes raked over a few of the naked photos as I stepped cautiously toward the stairs. I tried not to look at the male figures, focusing on the tits instead. But they clearly weren’t meant to be viewed erotically–they represented a wide range of ages and body types, and none were in suggestive postures.

I ascended the stairs to the loft with a bizarre sense of unreality. Upstairs was what turned out to be Aleksi’s bedroom and studio. It was a chaotic mess of arty crap, with an enormous bed in one corner, the sheets and blankets twisted and bunched and lying mostly across the floor. I had expected a man who fussed over separating laundry to be a bit tidier. My eyes went to the walls, where there was more art, mainly photos. Here the figures in the pictures were almost exclusively male, and many were paired in distinctively erotic poses, in stark contrast to the more tasteful ones below.

“Ah hell…” I muttered, briefly feeling like I had to flee from this place. My eyes couldn’t help noticing that Aleksi was in many of the photos, completely and unapologetically naked, though all of the photos were carefully posed so as to cover the genitalia. In a few he was passionately kissing various men. Well, of course he was gay–I didn’t know why it hadn’t been obvious to me from the start. I appeased some of my discomfort by silently mocking Angela for flirting with him.

“You can just toss it on the bed.”

I glanced over at him finally. He was standing shirtless, daubing flesh-coloured paint onto a canvas. He seemed to be fiercely concentrating. I put the shirt on his bed as requested, and stood awkwardly in this extremely homoerotic space. I didn’t know what to do with myself, but the instinct to flee had faded. I looked at some of the photos again, actually finding them rather aesthetically pleasing. It was a surprising feeling. I’d never been homophobic, exactly, but I always considered myself extremely straight.

My eyes were drawn to one painting, not hung on the wall but leaning against a pile of other canvases on the floor. It was a stunning portrait–blue-eyed, full-lipped, incredibly sensual. I gawked at the face for a while and almost asked who this gorgeous woman was, but realized suddenly that the face was notably androgynous. It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize it was a self-portrait. I looked at Aleksi again; his back was to me. His spine and ribs were well defined under his pale skin.

“What do you think?” he asked in a low, almost purring voice. I had no idea what he was referring to. Was he asking how the shirt turned out? What I thought of his art, or his home? What I thought of him? I felt a tickle crawl up my spine and couldn’t decide if it was pleasant or not.

“I think you need to eat a few burgers and get out in the sun more often,” I blurted out, needing to criticize in order to keep myself grounded in reality.

He finally removed his eyes from his painting and turned to face me, his forehead ever so slightly creased with concern. His thin, boyish, starkly pale chest didn’t have a single hair on it. I realized that, despite my assessment of him and his apparent displeasure with it, he was completely unselfconscious. He stood tall and proud, not hiding a thing, tacitly inviting me to look.

“I actually like my body,” he said simply, finally smiling. I was noticing his mouth now that I’d stared at that self-portrait. Soft, full lips. “You should watch your words, though. Thin people don’t generally like being told they should eat, just like fat people don’t like being told they shouldn’t. Body types rarely have much to do with burgers.”

Well, I’d been schooled. Rubbing the back of my neck absently, I mumbled, “I guess I didn’t really think about it.”

“I actually eat very heavily–plenty of fat, and meat as well,” he continued, still smiling tranquilly, his hand delicately gripping a paintbrush. “I’m just naturally bony. And it’s perfectly okay, even if conventional Western aesthetics want men to be bulging with muscle and machismo. Also, I’m European–the sun and I don’t get along.” His smile widened before he turned back to his painting and continued making careful strokes.

“Hunh,” I grunted, silently considering his words for a minute or two. I was starting to wonder what I was still doing here. “Well…” I began, intending to excuse myself.

“Hold on–don’t run away yet,” he said quickly, making a few final strokes and rinsing his brush. I watched him clean up his supplies, moving back and forth across his studio space with grace and ease. His movements were perfectly fluid, and perhaps it was partially because of all the nude photos on the walls, but he had every appearance of being more comfortable in his own skin than anyone I had ever seen. It was hard not to watch him–he was catlike, even effeminate, and it actually didn’t bother me. I usually felt a mild aversion, or at least annoyance toward effeminate men, but his self-assuredness was magnetic.

He touched my shoulder as he walked by me to have a look at his shirt. He held it up to the light and examined it thoroughly. “Looks like it all came out–fabulous!” he concluded. He tossed the shirt back onto the bed and approached me, gesturing to the stairs with a delicate, long-fingered hand. “Join me in the kitchen, yes? I at least owe you a drink for your trouble.”

“Oh–you really don’t owe me anything,” I protested, but I headed down to the kitchen area with him close behind me.

“A drink between neighbours, then?” he suggested, letting out a boyish giggle and tossing his long, blond hair back as he opened his fridge.

“Not gonna say no to that,” I replied with a shrug. I had to concentrate now on not staring at him. This is a dude, I reminded myself. He’s a dude. And even if you were bi-curious, what’s attractive about a skinny, pale boy chest? But I knew exactly what was attractive about it–the fact that he loved his body, and owned it.

“A beer?” he suggested.

“Sounds good.”

He pulled out two bottles and nudged the refrigerator door shut with his hip before grabbing a bottle opener from a drawer and popping open both beers. I took the bottle he offered and glanced at the label. It was one of these highbrow, ultra-pure microbrews, probably expensive. I cringed inwardly knowing that expensive beer was probably wasted on me, but when I took a sip it was immediately an otherworldly experience, just as it had been walking into his suite.

“Oh god–oh my god,” I exhaled, looking at the bottle again.

“Good, hm?” His eyes seemed to gleam with electric intensity as he watched me enjoy the beer.

“Incredible.” I sipped again, savouring every moment of it. It was a deep red ale, full-bodied, creamy with just the right amount of sweetness and a distinct flavour of roasted hops. For the first time in my life I felt like I was tasting beer for what it was intended to be.

We sat at his kitchen table. I glanced across at him as I drank. He kept his eyes on me as he sipped from the bottle. His mouth was so goddamn pretty, full and moist, and the way it wrapped around the mouth of the bottle was actually turning me on a little. Was I really that horny?

It was an illusion, I told myself. Like an optical illusion. His long hair, delicate features, sensual lips, and natural grace were fooling me into seeing him as I might see a beautiful woman. His androgyny was seriously messing with my brain. I could appreciate him on the level that I appreciated his portrait, I decided. I could accept that he was beautiful–I could find him nice to look at, and it would be okay, because that’s all it was. Maybe with Angela out of my life I was finally letting myself mature a little. I could appreciate both a very fine beer and a very beautiful man on entirely new and sophisticated levels. Sure–that was okay. At least as long as no one knew.

“Do you like my art?” he asked.

I nodded gradually. “You’re talented. I’m not a big art person, but… sure, you’re good at what you do.”

He smiled between sips. “Do you like my photos?”

“You mean… the ones you took? Or… the ones you’re… in?”

He giggled at my discomfort, and sighed fondly. “You straight boys are just precious.”

I clenched my jaw, not sure I was enjoying being teased. I tried to look anywhere but him–anywhere else. It was really difficult. His kitchen was done in dark cherrywood and black tile, and Aleksi, sitting there across from me with his milky skin and snowy hair, seemed to practically glow in relief against the background.

Ethereal. It was a word Angela might have used if she wanted to sound smart. It wasn’t a word I thought I would ever use. But it was the word that fit.

There was a pink bakery box on the table, tied up with twine. He reached out with those long, delicate fingers and plucked at the bow. He brushed aside the twine, flicked open the top of the box, and nudged it toward me. “Help yourself, sweetheart.”

I could feel my cheeks burning a little at being called a cutesy pet name by a man. I glanced into the box. It was crammed with a wide assortment of cookies and pastries. For a moment I felt like Hansel. “You having a party or what?” I asked.

“No–just trying to fatten up,” he quipped, helping himself to a chocolate-filled croissant. He grinned at me over the pastry.

I managed to laugh, relieved that he wasn’t resenting my earlier comment about his body. I selected a macadamia nut cookie.

“Actually, they’re not just for me–I like to keep treats around for company. I have a lot of models come around.”

“Models eat this stuff?” I asked dubiously.

“Not ‘models’ in the professional sense. Just people I know who don’t mind taking off their clothes for the camera, or my pencils. Of course, sometimes I do end up eating most of them myself.” He placed a hand in front of his mouth and gave a playful, ‘oops-I’m-a-naughty-boy’ expression not unlike the Coppertone baby.

“So. All those odd visitors coming and going…”

“Models, yes. Sometimes boyfriends. Well, boyfriends are usually both.” He grinned widely and took an indulgent sip from his bottle.

I thought about the photos of him kissing various men. He had probably fucked them too, after the camera was off. Men fucking–right up there in that loft, where I had just been. Maybe they photographed that too–surely there were thousands of photos that didn’t make it to the walls of his studio.

“You like them, don’t you?” he purred. “The photos.”

Oh god–he knew exactly what track my mind was following.

“I can show you more if you like,” he continued, devouring the last large bite of his croissant. He kept steady eye contact as he licked his fingers with languid indulgence, removing every trace of chocolate and powdered sugar.

“It’s really not necessary,” I rasped out, realizing I was not going to get out of here in a hurry–I’d have to chug the remaining half of my beer, and it was far too good to chug.

“Neither was bringing my shirt up,” he pointed out, standing briefly to fetch an album from a side table. “And yet, here you are.” Returning to the table with that graceful, fluid gait, he slid into the chair next to me, shifting close to my side. He opened up the front cover of the album, spreading it on the table before us both.

It was difficult to swallow all of a sudden. I took small, careful sips from my beer. The album was full of homoerotic nudes, some singles, some couples. Aleksi showed up in several. The pictures were sexier than I could handle. My jeans were becoming painfully tight.

What’s wrong with you? I scolded my cock. You don’t show up for lesbian porn, and at this you’re excited?

I felt a warm tickle at my back and shuddered involuntarily. Somewhere along the line Aleksi had rested his hand on the back of my chair, and his thumb was ever so slightly brushing against my back.

Damn, he was good.

“This is one of my favourites,” he whispered, finally turning the last page. The final photo featured an enormous black man facing the camera directly; standing in front of him, facing him so that their fronts were pressed together, one slim hand on the other’s muscular chest, was Aleksi. His paleness against the rich, brown-black of his companion’s flesh was striking and beautiful. He also had an amazing ass; it faced the camera fully, and he was looking over his shoulder with a teasing smirk that was almost obscured by the wild strands of his disheveled white-blond hair. The black man’s hand rested securely on the small of his back, as if claiming him.

“Wow,” I breathed.

“Tell me what you like about it,” he pressed.

“Um,” I stammered. I could feel him looking at me; I kept my eyes on the photo. “The, uh… well, the difference, and… like, the two together… contrast. The contrast. There’s a word I can’t think of. Two things, like, compared next to each other….”

“Juxtaposition,” he supplied.

“That’s the one.”

He was smiling. I could sense it. “Anything else?”

“Well… it’s also pretty goddamn sexy.”

“I think so too,” Aleksi breathed. “He was a lot of fun.”


I felt his thumb against my back again, and got that shuddering feeling. This time the rest of his fingers crept up to my back, and my spine straightened involuntarily as his hand slid up to my neck. I had no instinct to pull away–those thin, delicate fingers combed through my hair, and it felt amazing. Did I actually find his hand creepy earlier on, when we shook hands? Clearly I just hadn’t been able to deal with how good it felt. I didn’t know how to deal with it now, but I was at least accepting the undeniable pleasure of it.

“You should let your hair grow out a little,” he whispered. “You look like you’ve got lots of natural curl. You could be such a sweet Adonis.”

“Uhhhnn…” I moaned, pressing into his touch. His fingers massaged across my scalp, and I couldn’t get enough. “Huhh–how are you doing this…?”

“Doing what?” he teased, standing up and positioning himself behind my chair. He rubbed my shoulders, neck, and scalp with both of his soft, precise hands.

“Mmm… making me… question my… sexuality,” I huffed, melting beneath his hands. Nothing had ever felt so pleasurable as Aleksi’s hands on my neck and shoulders–I couldn’t even imagine him using them other places. Every inch of me was tingling; some parts were throbbing.

“Ohh, sweetheart…” he sighed, affectionately condescending. “I’m hardly even trying. You’re ripe for this. You want it pretty bad, hmm? I can see you’re going to need a new pair of jeans soon if we don’t do something about that. Like to come back upstairs with me?”

“Hell yes.”

He took my hand to help me up, and drew me close against him as we half-walked, half-stumbled to the stairs. I was embarrassed of my erection for a moment, but when I felt it bump against his, I lost control and moaned aloud. He nodded, as if to give me permission. I ground against him a bit, and we both gasped. His face was like it was in the painting–eyes brilliant ice blue, cheeks flushed, lips moist and slightly parted and sensual. I needed his mouth so badly I almost couldn’t breathe. I hooked my hand around the back of his neck, my fingers twining into his long, soft hair. Soft, every part of him was soft, except his cock, which pressed against mine with throbbing intensity through several layers of fabric. He brought his head down to mine and I could feel his breath on my lips. I groaned with need. I felt the barest feather touch of a lip and ground my hips against him again. He smiled and pulled his head back, teasing me.

“Ahhh fuck!” I groaned.

“We’ll get there,” he laughed, extricating himself from the embrace so we could ascend the stairs without hurting ourselves. He held my hand as we ran up and headed straight for the bed. I reached for him again to continue, but he intercepted my arms and pushed them up into the air. He grabbed my t-shirt at the bottom and slid it up and over my head, letting it drop to the floor. His sensitive fingertips raked across my chest and stomach. I wondered if he’d find my body hair objectionable considering his natural boyish bareness, but he didn’t seem to mind. His fingers even got playful, tangling through the hair on my chest as if stroking a beloved pet. I thought back to the variety of men I’d seen him in photos with, and realized Aleksi found beauty in just about everyone.

He pulled me onto the bed; we collapsed together and rolled around, grappling one another in a tangle of mutual desire. He rolled on top of me and pinned my arms above my head.

“Unnhh,” I grunted, bucking my hips a little. I was still consumed with the need for his mouth on mine, and now he was going to give it to me. The anticipation had put me into a practically drugged state–I lay there beneath him, helpless, suggestible, eyes glazed beneath heavy lids, jaw slack, all ability to speak words completely stolen from me.

“Oh, look at you…!” he breathed, smiling down at me with a dreamy expression. He was reverent, as if gazing at a family of deer he didn’t want to frighten off. He stroked my cheek and lowered his head so that his hair spilled all about, forming a screen around our two faces, private and intimate. I felt his breath again and trembled. This time he didn’t make me wait. His lips, cool and moist and unimaginably soft, pressed against mine, and we were still in that first intense moment for some time as my heart pounded with an intensity I could feel all over me. He began to move a little, sliding his lips on mine with delicious friction that drew a moan from me. I heard the tremble in my voice and couldn’t even believe that desperate noise was coming from my own throat.

He sucked my bottom lip into his mouth, and then I felt his teeth nibble gently. I gasped so hard I felt dizzy for a moment, and ground my hips against him with painful pressure. When he let go of my lip and sat up a little I felt paralyzed, my eyes locked on his face, waiting desperately for something more.

“Oh, your face in this moment,” he marvelled with that same reverence. “Wait–don’t move a muscle. Stay just as you are.”

I couldn’t have moved if I wanted to. He reached for his bedside table and picked up a camera. He made some quick adjustments, and I heard several clicks as he took some shots of me. I didn’t react–just kept watching him, which was exactly what he wanted.

He set the camera aside and drew one of his thumbs gently across my lips. I sucked in a breath.

“You’re so responsive,” he purred. “You’re just a sweet, quivering puddle of desire. There’s nothing sexier in the world. You want more, baby?”

“Uhh,” I grunted, managing a tiny nod.

He leaned over to kiss me again, this time working my mouth open and slipping his tongue in. I moaned against him, writhing involuntarily. The inside of his mouth was warm and wet and tasted sweetly of chocolate. I had never understood chocolate as an aphrodisiac before, but the taste of it on Aleksi’s lips and tongue was sending me nearly into spasms. I would never think of chocolate the same way again.

His mouth devoured mine. I could feel the pleasure of it over every inch of me, as if my entire body at once was being teased with his tongue. I did my best to reciprocate, but I was barely conscious of what I was doing–whatever it was, it was probably horribly clumsy. I was disarmed, completely at his mercy. I was being pleasured beyond anything I’d ever experienced or expected, and I still had my pants on. That had to change.

I took one of his hands and pushed it clumsily toward my waistband. He gave me a final few soft, delicious kisses and sat up with a giggle, sliding down my body. “This must be giving you such trouble,” he chuckled, tugging open the button and unzipping my fly. My cock tried to leap out eagerly, stretching hard against the cotton fabric of my boxer briefs, which were soaked in spots with the amount of precum I’d been oozing.

“Oh, so ready–so eager!” he sighed, sliding down me farther. He grabbed the waist of my pants and underwear together and tugged. I raised my hips to help him, and soon the rest of my clothing had joined my shirt on the floor. He knelt between my legs and slid his hands up and down my bare thighs, gazing down at my twitching erection. I marvelled that he actually looked hungry for it. His face was alight with lust, even when his long, tender fingers began to comb through the dense thicket of pubic hair that girls usually found off-putting. I sucked in sharp breaths as his hands teased around my sack. I squirmed, thrashing my head back and forth, at a loss to handle the anticipatory pleasure.

“Taut as a bowstring,” he sighed. “Oh, you’re so ready–are you going to explode the moment I touch you?”

I gazed up at him, thinking idly that his eyelashes were like a tiny dusting of snow. “Unh…?” was all I could manage in reply. It was quite possible. I hadn’t been far off from creaming my jeans while he was kissing me. I hadn’t been this horny since my early teens, when I’d barricade myself in my bedroom and masturbate over and over until I passed out from exhaustion.

“Let’s try to draw it out a little if we can, hm?” He grinned, the amusement on his face betraying that he clearly didn’t believe I would last long. His hands converged on my shaft, gripping, squeezing, tugging gently. Those long, thin, soft fingers. I cried out and thrust into his hands, tightly gripping the sheets beneath me. I was still oozing excessive amounts of precum–Aleksi watched it grow into a generous bead of clear moisture, and just before it was about to roll away down the head of my cock, he ducked his head down and caught it, drawing his tongue firmly across the slit.

I think I screamed. He stopped jerking me for a moment. We locked eyes. He looked fierce and beautiful, savouring the taste of me in his mouth. His eyes lowered then, examining the tip of my cock. I watched his perfect mouth draw itself into a delicate “O”. He inhaled softly, and then exhaled a warm stream of gentle breath across the head of my cock. Something in my brain seemed to explode at the same time as my cock did–I actually saw a burst of bright stars as I heard my own cry bouncing off the walls and ceiling. My entire body arched up, and what seemed like years’ worth of stored fluids from the extreme depths of my body raged forth, erupting from my cock in violent response to that one soft breath. The term “blowjob” made sense, finally.

I writhed and spasmed and managed to blink myself back into reality in just time to watch him catch the last few hot spurts–he was opening his sweet mouth to receive all of it as it surged forth with each twitch of my hips. A few drops had missed the mark, and it dripped languidly down his chin and one of his cheeks. He continued gently jerking me until my voluminous climax had subsided completely, and then slid his hands up my body and collapsed half beside me, and half on top of me with a contented smile.

“Oh…!” I squeaked out.

“I know,” he chuckled, stroking my stubbled cheek. “That was rather spectacular.”

I moaned softly as he raised his hand to his face and finally caught the drips he’d missed, drawing them toward his mouth hungrily and licking his fingers as he had after the pastry.

“S…. sorry!” I stammered.

“For what?” he wondered, kissing my nose.

“I… couldn’t last.”

“It’s all right,” he chuckled, looking down at my cock. “I consider it a compliment. Besides… I think you’ve got more for me yet.”

I followed his line of vision and realized my cock was still mostly hard, standing well above horizontal. “Yes,” I breathed. “I can… I think I can go again.” I looked at his eyes again, at those snowy lashes bordering icy blue, and sighed. “Fuck, you’re so… pretty.”

He grinned widely at the compliment. Somehow I’d known he wouldn’t mind being called “pretty”. He kissed me again, and I wrapped an arm around him this time, squeezing him tight against me as I devoured his mouth, now tasting of me as well as chocolate. His leg slipped between mine, brushing up against my cock and balls, and I could feel his hardness against my thigh. He still had his pants on–I wasn’t sure how he could stand it at this point. I slipped a finger through one of his belt loops and tugged in gentle suggestion. I felt him smile against my lips. He drew back and rose up onto his knees, unbuttoning his pants at a leisurely pace, making me wait. I watched intently as he slid them down, revealing the curves of his hip bones first, and then finally a hint of a golden trail of hair. I was tense with anticipation of seeing all of him finally. I wasn’t yet entirely sure I could be into another guy’s cock, but after all of the sexy photos with everything showing but this, after feeling my hardness rubbing against his, I had an aching need to see that hidden pleasure.

The light golden trail gave way to a fuller mass of curls, and then his shaft became visible; I held my breath. He slipped his pants and underwear all the way to his knees, and out popped his eager hard-on at last. My eyes flicked momentarily up to his, and he was smiling widely at me–I realized I was smiling too. I don’t know what I had expected–perhaps some kind of superhuman monster cock, just because of his out-of-control sexual energy and the endless stream of lovers catalogued in his photos–but it wasn’t especially impressive in either length or girth. It was just the right size for him. I found I was relieved, rather than disappointed. I don’t know what I would have done with a monster cock.

He sank down onto the bed to kick off the remainder of his clothes and sighed, stroking himself a little. I sat up and leaned over him, reaching to get a feel of his member. Another guy’s cock. It was weird and wonderful and just wrong enough to be right. Our fingers tangled together around his shaft, and he sighed. The dreamy smile on his face was angelic. He removed his hand so I could have full access to his equipment, and folded his arms beneath his head. I explored him, stroking slowly, loving the softness of his skin. My fingers tickled around the head, making him gasp. I cupped his balls and tugged gently; he twitched and bit his lip. There was a bead of moisture forming at his slit. I collected it with my thumb and rubbed it against my forefinger, feeling the slick texture. I brought my hand to my mouth and carefully licked my finger, and then my thumb. Sweet and salty.

“Hey,” Aleksi whispered. I smiled down at him. He patted the bed next to his head. “Scoot down–I want more of you.”

I shifted down so I was lying next to him with my cock near his face. I shivered as I watched him press his perfect lips to the head, and then slide down to my shaft, taking me into his warm mouth.

“Haaa… yeahhh…” I exhaled, unable to tear my eyes off of the delicious visual for a while. Again the sensation was as if his tongue was covering all of me at once. He swirled it around my shaft with perfect intuition and dexterity, now and then sliding his mouth up to suck on the head, occasionally nibbling. His hand reached around to caress and massage my ass, to my extreme delight. My whole body was a mass of pleasure in his mouth and hands.

Finally I forced my attention away from his delights to reciprocate a little, experimentally wrapping my mouth around the tip of his cock. He stopped what he was doing long enough to murmur, “You don’t have to.” I took more of his shaft into my mouth and sucked hungrily. The unadulterated scent and flavour of his hidden places was earthy and seductive. He groaned and went back to sucking me with even greater intensity, coaxing me rapidly back to full arousal. Now and then his hand slid up my back to my head, cupping, grabbing at my hair, pressing me harder against him. I copied his movement a little, reaching for his long hair, stroking and tugging. I thrust against his mouth a bit as my desire ramped up.

Abruptly he slid a slender finger between my cheeks, pressing into my asshole, and I tensed, raising my head. His cock dropped to his thigh with a wet slap. He released mine and made eye contact, his shining blue eyes showing a touch of concern. “No?”

“Uh… I’m not sure,” I panted.

“Hold on.” Aleksi reached for the drawer next to his bed and fumbled around, finding a bottle of lube. He coated his middle finger liberally and tried sliding it into me again. “How does this feel for you? Think about how it feels.”

I’d fingered myself a little on occasion, but mostly avoided the ass stuff. I tried to relax around his slick finger, as everything he’d done so far was magic. “Oh…!” I exclaimed suddenly as his finger went in all the way to the knuckle and began a deft movement that ramped up my arousal to an unexpected level. “Oh–huhhh…!”

He smiled sweetly at my reaction, kissed my cock a few times, and lapped his tongue against it just enough to tease. “Fancy a cock up your ass, baby?” he purred.

“Ah–!” I grunted, pressing back against his hand. The question turned me on as much as it scared me. “I-I-I-I don’t know! It’s… it’s nice but… I don’t know if I can… take anything bigger…!” I watched his face, worried about disappointing him.

“Not to worry, baby,” he said soothingly. “It’s your first time to the party. You’re doing so well. But I won’t push.” He slowly removed his finger from my hole, drawing out a small moan from me, and affectionately squeezed my ass, and my cock, before turning himself around so that we were face-to-face again. He kissed me deeply, his hand sliding up and down my side. Finally he whispered against my lips, “Fuck my ass–yes?”

“Unnhh!” I moaned, thrusting hard against him.

“Yes–I think that is a yes,” he chuckled, smacking my bottom lightly. He rolled over and perched in a kneeling position, sticking his perfect behind out teasingly as he grinned at me over his shoulder. He grabbed the lube bottle and poured plenty over his fingers, making a tempting show of fucking himself indulgently, first with one finger, then two, and then three. I watched with intense fascination and lust.

“Should we, uh… doggy style?” I wondered, not really knowing how else this was done.

“Is that what you want?” he asked, handing me a condom from the well-stocked drawer.

“Well… I’d like to be able to watch your face,” I admitted as I tore open the packet, feeling my cheeks flush. “Your eyes are just….”

“Oh, doll,” he sighed, leaning over to kiss me. “You’re so sweet. You’ve never done anyone in the ass, have you?”

I shook my head, using the condom as an excuse to look down.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, stroking the back of my neck lightly until I shivered. “Yes, you can watch my face as you fuck me. Why don’t I get on top, since it’s your first time? I’ll have control, and you’ll just get to lie back and enjoy.”

I smiled at this idea, finishing with the condom and looking up. I kissed him several times, hard and fast, and then settled down on my back. He squirted out some more lube and slicked up my impatient, condom-clad erection. I thrust into his hand a little, making him chuckle at my eagerness. Finally Aleksi stretched one leg across me and straddled my middle. He gazed down at me intently, using one hand to prop himself up, and the other to reach behind him and guide my cock toward his well-prepared bottom. I rested my hands on his hips and sighed as I felt him press against me. His opening relaxed around the tip of my cock, and slowly, slowly, I felt myself slide into the tightest, choicest hole I had ever experienced. My mouth went slack. He reared back, rested both hands on my chest, and bore down hard, an expression of ferocity making his angelic features somehow even more beautiful. He panted and squeezed his eyes shut, throwing his head back with a groan. He stayed there for a short while, back arched, thin chest heaving, as he got used to the feel of me inside him. Then he grinned, opened his eyes, and leaned down closer to me so we could watch each other as he began to move up and down my shaft with a slow, steady motion. I could feel him tensing around me with each stroke as he fucked himself on my cock with luxurious indulgence. I made a helpless whimpering noise, gripping his hips tightly and keeping my eyes locked on his.

“Like my ass, yes?” Aleksi panted, eyes gleaming.

“Oh–fuck! So tight!” I burst out, my voice louder than I had intended. I started to thrust my hips up hard against him each time he pressed down, trying to get in as deep as possible.

He reached for his camera again and took several more shots.

“You on top now,” he huffed after setting the camera aside. He sat back fully on my cock, burying me in him up to the hilt, and drew his legs up so his feet were on my shoulders. Gripping my arms tightly, he rolled us both over. I landed on my knees, arching over him, as his legs wrapped around my middle. I was still inside him.

“Fuck me proper now, baby,” he commanded.

“You sure?” I gasped, sliding my hands under his ass cheeks and drawing him close. “I’m not gonna hurt you?”

“Fuck me hard!” he insisted, his face twisting with desperation.

I wasted no more time and obeyed, thrusting in all the way with a groan. I started up a steady, fervent stroke, huffing and whimpering at his exquisite tightness. His eyes rolled back, and his jaw dropped. He wailed out some words I was pretty sure weren’t English. He reached out a hand for me and I leaned down, pressing his twitching cock tightly between our bellies as I maneuvered myself to kiss him. He plunged his tongue past my lips, clawing at the back of my head. He bit my bottom lip, growled, and then broke the kiss, his head falling back as his groans increased. He hugged me tightly with his legs to keep our bellies pressed together. He was going to come, I realized. I could feel the pulse of his cock between us. He tore at his hair, started to thrash, and squealed as a first hot spurt of fluid surged out over both of us, followed by several more.

“Fu… uck…!” I roared, jackhammering my hips against his ass for a final few strokes as I reached my second climax, and released several generous gouts of fresh cum, pounding savagely into him with each squirt.

My chest heaved as I tried to catch my breath, easing my now softening cock out of his asshole and collapsing beside him. He collected the condom for me and tossed it into a nearby wastebasket, then slung a leg over me and cuddled up to my side. He kissed my neck, my shoulder.

“You’re a good lay, baby,” he panted.

“Oh, god… oh, you are,” I breathed, circling my arms around him. We let our bodies calm for a few minutes, and then he groped for something nearby to clean off most of the stickiness from our fronts. He looked down afterward and realized it was the shirt I had just brought him. He looked back up at me with an ‘oops!’ expression. I burst out laughing.

“I’ll wash it for you again,” I promised.

He grinned and kissed me, and then reached for his camera. He turned on the digital display to review the photos he’d taken.

“Aw, shit,” I chuckled, facepalming. “I’m not sure I want to know what my sex face looks like.”

“I’m sorry about these,” he said humbly, stroking my chest hair a little. “I got carried away and needed to immortalize your incredible expressions. I will delete if you don’t like them. But first, look.” He smiled and settled back next to me, holding the camera where we could both see the screen.

“Oh… whoa,” I whispered as he scrolled through the shots. “That’s actually…”

“Sexy, yes?”


“Do you mind if I keep?” he smiled sweetly as he waited for my permission.

“Sure, you can keep them. I don’t know if I’m comfortable with them showing up on your walls though.”

“No–just for me, baby.” He kissed my cheek.

I cuddled him for a few minutes more, and then asked hesitantly, “So… is this like, a one-shot deal?”

“I hope not. I can hardly stand to think of you all alone in that cold basement now. I like you here in my bed. Also, I have an empty album waiting for some new photos. Fill it with me–yes?”

“Yes, baby,” I chuckled.

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