How did we end up together? Right time, right place, and a screw-up in a hotel reservation. It was as simple as that.
Okay, let me back up. We had known each other a long time. Business associates, gym buddies, best friends, really. Since our marriages went south, his then mine, a long time ago. Neither of us had any interest in going that route again, so it was work, and some community projects that took up our time. That and the gym, bodybuilding.
So we were there because a bunch of guys at the gym had subscribed the weekend to support one of the young dudes who was competing. We signed on because they needed two more to make up their quota. The deal included transportation and accommodation, but we opted to drive down, arriving in time for the semi-finals in the afternoon, with the finals in the evening.
We figured we would register, drop our bags and come on down for the events. When we got there, the room had not been made up. The desk, with apologies, said they could complete the check-in so we would not miss the afternoon, and gave us our keys, on the promise all would be ready and our luggage waiting in the room when the event was over.
As the afternoon crowd dispersed, I went on up, he was to follow. The luggage was in the room, as promised, but the room was a single. We had been guaranteed a double.
Back at the desk, the clerk apologized, and assured us – he had joined me by then – the oversight would be righted immediately. But when the clerk checked his occupieds, he discovered to his chagrin there were no doubles available. He explained the predicament to the concierge who immediately got on the phone, searching nearby hotels for alternate accommodation. There was none. All rooms sold out. Besides the competition there were two conventions in town.
The concierge rechecked the occupieds, apologized again, said there were no doubles to be had, but the hotel could offer us a king-size single.
Not on. We were adamant. At this point I should make it clear that both of us were straight as an arrow. Then.
So, looking at each other, we sort of asked the other what we should do.
“Well, it is what it is,” he – my guy that is – said, “It’s not what we had been guaranteed, but let’s not dick around. I am not really keen on four hours drive home in the middle of the night.”
I was not so upbeat.
But he prevailed. “It’s one night, and it’s not like we haven’t shared a room before,” he said.
I caved. “Okay.”
The concierge, relieved, immediately said, ‘Then we would be pleased to have you stay as our guests. I will have the night auditor comp the charges.”
“Well, that certainly sweetens the deal,” we agreed.
“It is our error,” the concierge said, “and we appreciate you working with us through what for us is an embarrassing situation.”
In the evening finals, the kid placed second. There was an impromptu lobby reception, him still in his briefs, trophy in hand, posing for photographs, congratulations, hi-fives, thank you’s all around. And general criticism and comment on the judging, “It should have been yours. Next time.”
After that it was, .. well, as I said, it was a matter of the right time, right place.
Right time. Right place. And the right guy.
So, immediately we’re in the room, he was kicking off his shoes, making himself at home. Shirt out of his pants, unbuttoning it, then shirt and pants off. He retrieved a bottle of scotch from his overnight bag, got two glasses from the console, poured himself the requisite dram, straight up, and asked, “You want?”
“Thanks, no,” I said. Then I changed my mind, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
“Port or starboard?” he asked.
“Hmm?” I replied.
“Port or starboard? Left side or right side?
The bedding arrangement. I shrugged. “Right, I guess.” Meaning I would be on his right, and he would be on my left.
“Right it is,” he said.
“I’m sleeping naked. Just so you know,” he said.
“You’ve got your side. I’ve got mine,” I replied, but, ‘Fuck,’ I thought, ‘seriously what have I said ‘yes’ to?’
“Works for me” he said. “Shower?”
“Go ahead. When you’re finished.” I said. He stepped out of his slacks and shorts, and, bare-assed, disappeared in the bathroom.
I kicked off my shoes, unbuttoned my shirt, likewise got out of my slacks, folding them at the knees, legs together, draping them over the back of a chair. Then I settled in a side chair with my scotch, clicking through the TV channels, the door to the bathroom open.
He came out, hair still damp, flipped back the bed-covers, punched up the pillow, and dropped onto the bed. “What’s on?” he asked, indicating the TV.
“Just the local sports,” I replied.
“Anything about our boy? ” he asked.
“Not yet anyway,” I replied, offering him the clicker, “You want it?”
“Naw,” he said, then changing his mind, “well, maybe.”
I went into the bathroom. Showered. Dried off and hung up the towel.
Then, back in the room, I pulled on a fresh pair of gotchees. Like him I preferred to sleep in the altogether, but in deference to the current arrangement, I thought it appropriate for one of us at least to have a minimum of modesty.
I walked around to my side of the bed, sat down, swung my legs up and onto the bed and stretched out straight.
He was thumbing through his Blackberry, hunkered on the bed with his knees up. He glanced at me in my gotchees, and snorted.
“Whaat?” he asked, “You think I want to jump your frame?!”
“A guy can dream,” I retorted. Ironically, I have thought how many times later. But then, thinking of getting it on with anybody, let alone a guy, let alone a guy whom I considered to be my best friend, nn-nn, no way.
Nevertheless, getting into bed beside him, I could feel myself coming up with something of a chubby. I pulled my knees up, like his, and thumbed through my Blackberry, looking for what messages there were.
He looked over, sizing up my predicament. When I stuffed my hand down through the elastic top to rearrange my stuff, he snorted. “You’re gonna strangle yourself.”
Then continued, “What the hell,” he said, “be comfortable. ‘Let it all hang out’. ‘Let the wind blow free’.”
I looked over at him in all his glory, and figured, ‘Okay. What the hell,’ raised my ass, shugged off the shorts, and pitched them over to the chair where I had hung my pants.
“Yeah,” I had to concede.
He downed the last of his scotch, and put his Blackberry on the bedside table.
“You ready for the light?”
“Yeah,” I said.
All the time he was thumbing his Blackberry he had been fondling his balls. He gave himself a couple of final strokes, pulling the foreskin down from around his head, then letting it slip back up. One last quick stroke, then he twisted to turn off the lamp, just as I was leaning over to put my Blackberry on my bedside table. Our asses bumped.
“That’s one!” he said, just as he clicked off the light.
Lights out, settled and laying on his back, he began to speculate on what it would take for our boy to win the next regionals.
Repositioning to lean on his elbow, our legs brushed.
“Sorry,” he said.
“That’s two,” I said,
“Any more and you’d think we were up to something!” he came back, amused, then carried on with his ideas for the kid to take the title.
I countered, ‘yessed’ and ‘no-ed’, embellishing, enlarging, modifying, concurring on what he was saying.
Then discussion over, he dropped off his elbow to lay on his back, stretching out full length, settling beneath the covers. “Y’okay?” he asked.
“Okay,” I replied.
My turn to stretch out full length, my left arm back and burrowing under the pillow, cradling my head. “I’m okay. Yeah,” I said, and to myself. ‘Just kinda weird we should be in the same bed.’
He moved again, kicking out his legs, stretching, flexing his pecs and shoulders, trying for a comfortable position. Then another, the kicking, stretching, and repositioning starting all over.
He moved again. And again.
‘Okay, enough,’ I thought.
Now I wanted to change position.
Turning over, my hand landed flat out on his thigh. I think I was as surprised as he must have been, but in the instant before I could take my hand away, even as I was formulating what would be a stuttered apology, before even we knew what was happening, his arms were around me, and mine around him, pulling and holding us together, our mouths searching out and finding each other, hungry, our tongues probing deep, deeper, and hungrier. Insatiable. Our mouths wanting more and more, our arms holding us tighter and tighter together.
Between our bellies, his cock, my cock, coming up hard. My pelvis, his pelvis, humping, rocking, rolling. Deep in my groin the vague but powerful ache. Then warm, pumping, shooting, viscous, molten, hot, spunky, he, I, ejaculating simultaneously. Him moaning, and me moaning, holding each other. Tight.
And we continued to hold each other, but now gradually coming down, our pelvises still grinding, lava between our bellies.
I was cheek to cheek with him. His cheek, hard, male, masculine. The stubble of his beard, bristly, the complete opposite to the feminine softness a lifetime-ago of my wife’s cheek.
Then, his mouth to my ear, I hear him asking, not the shrill vituperation I once might have expected, instead, low-keyed, husky, non-accusatory, “What the hell just happened?”
I panicked. ‘He’s pissed. Maybe worse. Fuck. How long I have known this guy, appreciated his friendship, appreciated his company, appreciated his counsel, and now – blown out of the water. Gone. Done with. That and what else. Fuck.’
We broke apart, and lay there, neither of us saying anything. Me, silently beating myself up. ‘Fuck it. Damn it. Damn it all to hell.’
‘Fuck it. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck and fuck’
‘Damn it all.’
Then his hand was on mine. “You okay?” he asked.
I swallowed, hard.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I’m okay if you’re okay,” he said.
I grasped his hand, held it tight. His grip tightened on mine.
Neither of us said anything more.
It was a long pause, then he asked again, “You okay?”
“I’m okay,” I said again, tentatively, but at the same time realizing ‘yes, I was okay’.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, now more resolved.
Okay. What had happened was totally out of nowhere. Totally not us. Not him. Not I. And it took us a long time – a good year or so – to get our heads around it. And when we did, what we came down to, was, way more than just needing to get our rocks off – hell, we had long time mastered that as solo performance art, – in so many words, the need for sexual intimacy, to get it on with somebody, close up and physical. Something we had long ago suppressed, or sublimated in our work lives, when our marriages went south.
Neither of us, when we had gotten married, were sexually experienced. We were virgins, and as married life went, we had just sort of reverted to virginity. Any sexual needs we just sort of buried. For half a lifetime. For two half a lifetimes. But they were still there, ready and waiting for the right time, right place and right other. And who other better than your best friend.
At the time though it was pretty scary. He says he was terrified. ‘It was like looking into the abyss,’ he said. What we had going, all those years as friends, which he, we, valued above just about anything else, on the brink. As it was we came out of it all right.
He cleared his throat. “So,’ he urged, “What are you thinking?”
“Hmmmn,” I dodged.
“Hmmmn, like ‘Is he going to like me in the morning’?” he was asking.
“Something like that!”
“Will you like me in the morning?”
“Yes,” I said, forcefully, and meaning it.
“And ditto,’ he said. He sounded relieved, but still needing assurance.
Then, “So you’re cool?”
“Okay,” he said, definitely relieved. “So we’re good. You and me, mate?”
“We’re good, yeah,” I said, “You and me .. mate.”
‘Mate.’ I picked up on the word. Sounded good then, still does. ‘Mate.’ It was the right word.
Suddenly I began to shiver. Then my whole body was shaking. Twitching. Wave after wave of energy flowing down head to toes, then back up again.
“You okay?” he was concerned.
“Yeah,” I said, “I think so.”
‘I think so,’ I told myself, because it was like in the shivers, and the waves of energy, every one of my muscles, my whole body, was coming alive.
Then he began to shiver. Then he was shaking. Twitching. And later he would tell me it was the same for him, coming alive. His self, his whole being, our selves, our whole beings, energizing.
He was holding my hand. The shivering and twitching slowed and stopped. After it stopped he continued to hold my hand.
Then, on my belly I could feel the semen liquefying, and the pool was beginning to run to my side.
“Kleenex,” I said. He quickly pulled one from the box, and I swiped at it. Then swung my legs off the bed to head for the bathroom.
“Guess we better,” he said, pulling out another Kleenex, wiping himself down, off the bed and with me heading for the bathroom.
I soaped a washcloth, and lathered my belly. Just as I was about to rinse and wring it out, “Gimme,” he said. He took it from me and lathered his own belly.
‘Ooo, ooo. That’s bumping things up a bit,’ I thought.
Our eyes met in the mirror, for just an instant. Straight on, rock steady, no quick looking to one side, no hint of ‘we might just have gone too far.’ Just a slight mischievous upward curve in the corners.
But in that instant it was like I had looked into his soul. Straightforward, outgoing, fun-loving, sincere. No duplicity, no hidden agenda. Surefooted. Masculine. One all right, all round, okay guy. It was a moment of pure friend-with-friend, male-with-male, man-with-man recognition, like a warm, firm, sincere handshake. I told myself, ‘if it was going to be anybody, I was lucky it was him. You are one lucky dude.’ I could only hope he had seen and saying the same thing.
I looked back to what he was doing. His belly, now wet, skin glistening, soapy, our semen in the lather. He rung out the washcloth under the cold, rinsed it again under hot, and handed it off to me. “There you are, lucky,” he said.
‘Lucky.’ It was like a jolt of electricity went through me.
I quickly rinsed off my belly, and handed him the cloth, and watched as he rinsed his belly, then rinsed the cloth out under the cold again, wrung it, and dropped it on the rim of the tub.
I smiled to myself, ‘So that’s how he takes care of it!’
Back in bed, we lay on our backs. Close, but not touching.
“Lights out? Again,” he said, hand on the lamp switch.
“Lights out,” I confirmed.
‘Lucky’, he had said. Why had he said that?
“Lucky?” I quizzed him.
“Mmm, mmm,” he replied. Then, realizing it was a question, ‘What?”
“You called me ‘lucky’?”
“Did I?” “No, you called me ‘lucky’.”
‘Lucky,’ I thought again. ‘Yeah, I am lucky. The one I considered to be my best friend, here, in bed, beside me. Him, with that muscled body, that beautiful, muscled body that he had sculpted and hardened, that beautiful muscled body I had spotted as he sculpted it and hardened it, living, breathing, here in bed beside me. Best friend. And now something more than best friend.
Then, beneath the covers – ‘No! Fuck!’, – on its own, spontaneously, with no thought or intention on my part, my hand is in his crotch, groping it, feeling for what is between his legs.
‘Oh, man,’ my inner voice is yelling at me, ‘what the fuck are you doing?’ ‘Fuck. Oh, no. Now he is going to be pissed. Oh, man.’
Except I am aware his hand is in my crotch, feeling out what I’ve got between my legs.
All systems on high alert.
‘No. No. This cannot be real,’ I’m thinking. ‘Weird. Too fucking weird.’
His is thick, half-erect, in my hand. I stroke him down, pop his head out of his foreskin, pulling it down, riding it back up.
He has my balls, gently squeezing them, just enough that I get that hurting in my gut.
‘This is so not happening,’ I’m thinking. ‘No way he’s working me between my legs. No way I’m working him between legs. Kneading his balls. Rolling them in his scrotum. Feeling them hanging long and low between his legs.’
He’s up and over my head, squeezing me, strong, stroking me. Down, then back up. Down, then back up again.’
Now I’m thumbing around his head, feeling for where the frenulum joins the foreskin to his shaft. He draws in a breath. Obviously a pleasure point.
And I stroke him down, then back up. I feel hair, half-way up, wiry and stubbly, trimmed like his pubes. He’s hard in my grip, but somehow not hard. Not hard. Not soft. Funky. Mysterious. The head, firm, ripe. And leaking pre-cum, lots of it, sticky all through my fingers. I feel his fingers working my head, and it’s wet and getting wetter as he works it.
‘Oh, man, oh, man, oh man, oh man,’ I am thinking. ‘Surreal. Me glomming him, him glomming me. Absolutely freaking surreal.’
Pulling his foreskin back, down the length of his cock, then releasing it, pulling it back and down again, and releasing it. Him, his hand around mine, stroking it down, the length of it, to my pubes, then back up again, and down again. And I wasn’t going to stop him. Nor was I going to stop stroking him. Man, I had to admit, I was enjoying this.
So was he.
‘Mmmm,’ I heard him moan.
We threw the covers back, not missing a beat. In what light there was I saw him wrapping a long loop of my precum around his thumb. Then he brought his thumb to his mouth and licked it. I felt a jolt in my guts. I wrapped a loop of his around my thumb, and licked it off. Pungent. Salty. A taste of almonds. Him. In my mouth.
Suddenly I wanted more than just to be tasting his pre-cum. I wanted him in my mouth. I wanted to go down on him. I wanted to take his dick in my mouth, suck it, make him blow his load in my mouth. In his ear, I said, ‘I want to try something.’ I twisted to get my face to his cock, opened my lips, tongued him around the head, and under his foreskin, then opening my mouth, went down on him. He was thick, and warm, and strange. ‘Oh, man,’ I was thinking, ‘I got that cock, that beautiful, thick, veined, hard cock, in my mouth and I am sucking it.’ ‘Holy fuck,’ I said to myself.
Time to time, going down on my wife, I had wondered what it would be like going down on a guy. Now, reality. I’ve got it, this beautiful, thick cock in my mouth, and I am sucking it.’
And it is way better than any vinegary muff-diving. Way, way better.
I am liking it. Surprise. I am liking this. I am really liking this.’
And so was he. ‘Wow. Oh, wow. Whoa, whoa, whoa’, I had heard him. He jolted and bucked when I first went down on him, his belly tightening, his hips jerking. He was moaning, even more, ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa’.
I came up, “You want me to stop?”
“No. No. No.’ he said. I went back down. He bucked again.
Then, moving, still keeping my mouth around him, he said, “Let’s try this.” He maneuvered himself around so his face was at my crotch.
“69,” he said, rubbing his lips, wet, around my head.
I thought for sure the top of my skull was going to explode. He was taking in my cock, tonguing, sucking, massaging it. I bucked, humping, sheer pleasure energizing my pelvis. I could hear myself moaning.
“You like that?” I heard him ask. “Oh, fuck,” I heard myself saying, his cock out of my mouth for an instant.
We were both moaning, sucking, our hips bucking as we sucked. Me, enjoying the feel of him, the taste of him in my mouth, the feel of being in his mouth, being sucked by him. Deeper, stronger. Trying out, discovering different little tricks. Pleasuring each other. Then feeling it coming, the climax building, his cock, my cock, engorging, then, – no stopping it -, passing the point of no return, hands now grabbing asses, pulling them. Exploding, shooting, hot, molten, deep into my throat, deep into his. Hands now holding hips. My mouth now filled with his liquid, living matter. His with mine.
“Don’t swallow,” I heard him. Then his mouth was on mine, lips hot, hard, open, what he had in his mouth being put into mine, what was in mine being put into his. Then both of us swallowing, and swallowing again, the taste and feel of it lingering, caustic. Then his hands holding my head to his, mine holding his head to mine, tongues eagerly exchanging what remained, savouring it, then swallowing again.
We broke. “Whoa,” I heard him. “Too much.”
‘Too much is right,’ I said to myself, pulling his whole body into mine, holding him tight, our mouths together again.
“Too fucking much,” he said when we broke again. His palm was on my chest, and inside I could feel what we had swallowed warm, and the warmth spreading. I put my palm to his chest, sure that I could feel it warm inside him, and the warmth likewise spreading.
“Too fucking much,” I concurred, and we both pulled each other close, holding each other chest to chest, belly to belly.
He had his hand on my balls, gently working them, and I took his, velvety smooth, in my hand, working them. “Too fucking much,” he kept repeating.
“Tell me, friend, your wife ever do that to you?” he was asking.
‘Whoa,’ I thought, that was hitting below the belt. We, both of us, in all the years knowing each other, had forever steered away from any questions about our marital life, figuring maybe it was just something best not talked about.
Now. “Okay,” I replied, “Disclosure. No, she didn’t. You gotta understand when we were married, it got to be more or less a threesome, – me, and her, and her girlfriend, – and I was really odd man out. And, no, just for the record, I wasn’t boffing the girlfriend. A three-way is not my idea of a good time. So, yeah, once, she said she would suck it, but first she wanted her girlfriend to do me while she watched. Put me off. Put me right off. After that, well, that’s when I kinda got kicked to the curb.”
“Bummer,” he replied.
“Your’s?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah,” he replied, “Oh, yeah. When we were first married. And I would go down on her.”
He was smiling to himself. “Something else,” he mused. Then, wistfully, “Then things changed. And, one thing after another, and, well, you know. Learned to live without it. Forgot, – no, never forgot really what it was like.”
He continued, “You ever suck dick before?”
“No,” I shot back, truthfully, but maybe a little too forcefully.
“Because you’re good. Better than my wife. And she was good,”
Okay. It was a compliment. But I didn’t know how to deal with it. I spluttered some sort of response. Not a thank you, but not not a thank you.
“Didn’t realize how much I actually missed it. Until now,” he said, then said again, “You’re good.”
“So are you,” I said, when I finally got my tongue untied, adding “I think. Seeing as how I have never been sucked before.”
He continued to play with my balls, squeezing then, gently.
“You like?” he asked.
“I like. Yeah, I like!” I replied.
Silence. I reciprocated, my hand in his crotch kneading his balls and enjoying the feel of them. Firm but not hard. Globular. Egg-shaped. And I knew he was enjoying it as much as I was.
“All this time. All these years ..,” I heard him saying, ” .. where have we been, and what have we been doing, all these years?”
“Holy cow,” I thought, realizing what he was saying. ‘Holy cow,’ I thought, now suddenly realizing I was thinking the same thing. ‘Twenty years .. when all the time if only we had realized .. if only ..’
Then, abruptly, he said, “Know what I want?”
“Hmmnh? What?” I asked.
He had his hand now between my legs, his finger reaching beyond my balls.
“I want your ass.” Slow, deliberate, precise. He continued, “I want to fuck you. I want you to fuck me. I want my dick way up in your ass. And I want your dick way up in my ass. I want to know you from the inside out. I want you knowing me from the inside out.”
“Holy fuck,” I blurted out.
Suddenly, I wanted his ass. I wanted to fuck him. I wanted him to fuck me. I wanted my dick way up in his ass, and I wanted his dick way up in my ass. I wanted to know him, like he said, from the inside out. I wanted him knowing me from the inside out. My dick probing him deep inside. Him, his dick, probing deep inside me.
There was a moment’s hesitation, then he asked, “You good for it?”
My guts tightened.
Then, “I’m good for it,” I said. I was good for it. More than good for it.
“Mine for yours?” he continued.
“Mine for yours,” I replied.
“Then, if you want it, you’re going to have to take it,” he said, joking, and flipped, like he was trying to pin me to the bed.
Instead we ended up grappling on the floor, all arms and legs.
‘Two grown men,’ I thought to myself, ‘fighting for who’s going to get into whom first.’
I thought he had me, then I, somehow, got my arm under his knee and was pulling his leg up, and there it was – my hard-on touching his hole.
“Touchdown,” I said.
“Touchdown” he conceded.
“On your back,” I said, “belly to belly. I want to see you looking at me.”
He lay back on the bed. I opened his legs, and reached into his crack, fingering for his point of entry, finding it, puckered, closed tight, guiding my hard-on to touch it. I put my hand to my mouth, spat a wad into it, then slathered it between his legs. I spat another wad into my hand, and lubed my head. He spat a wad into his hand, and slathered it between his legs.
He was pushing hard against me. I was pushing hard against him.
He began rocking his hips, trying to get me in. I began rocking my hips with him. I could feel my head against his pucker. It was not giving.
Later, we would know to do a little finger-fucking to get things opened up. But then, no foreplay. Right to it.
I kept it there as he rocked back and forth. Another slather of spit. He rubbed his hand around my head, and I had to groan. He was holding my cock to his opening, his hips pushing it up hard.
In the half-light I could see his eyes were open wide, looking at me. It was a look of, what, – anticipation. Anticipating hurt. Anticipating pleasure. Wanting whatever was about to happen.
I licked my finger, and circled his hole. I heard him suck in a deep breath, hold it, then exhale, forcing the air out. And just as he began to exhale, almost imperceptibly, I could feel him opening. He was pushing hard against me. I was pushing against him. Harder. And harder. He took in another breath, released it, and I felt him opening now. I heard him yelp, quick, short, a sound of hurting, yielding, and I was in. My head. Just my head. But I was in him.
‘Fuck,’ I exclaimed to myself, ‘I’m in him.’ Repeating. ‘I’m in him.’ ‘Him, my best friend. Him with all those beautiful muscles. This beautiful person. That beautiful voice. My mate. Mine. Mine for the taking.’
Exaltation. Jubilation. ‘I’m in him.’ ‘My mate.’ ‘Mine.’
“Holy Fuck,” I said aloud. “Holy Fuck.”
He had both hands on my ass pulling me to him, grinding his ass around me now even harder, the muscles in his asshole working to pull me in further.
“Oh, man,” I heard him, and repeating it. “Oh, man.” In his voice, hurting. Pain. Still his hands on my ass pulling me to him. No progress. Then, writhing beneath me, ‘Too much. It’s too much. Oh, man, you’re big. You’re fucking big. It’s hurting, really hurting me.” His hands were still on my ass pulling me to him.
He changed position, my cock still at his ass. “Oh, man,” he was moaning, “I want you, but, man, you’re big. You are one fucking big dude.” “Fuck,” he said, ‘Fuck. Fuck. I want you ..”
Then he was grunting, long and hard, guttural, and I felt him pushing down, – I’m thinking, ‘Geez, he’s going to burst a blood vessel,’ – then more grunting, moaning, long, agonized. And, writhing around my dick head, slowly, slowly, slowly, I could feel his asshole yielding to me.
Another groan, urgent, prolonged, more pushing, and more pushing from me, and I could feel his asshole opening, ever so slightly. Tight. Really tight.
Another groan, and another, and another, and still there was no yielding. “Oh,man. Oh, man. Oh, man,” he kept saying.
“You want me to pull back?” I asked.
“No! No. No, no,” he said. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.” he said.
Then he was pushing, hard, with one, long, wordless sound that seemed to go on forever, and I knew, I felt, stretched beyond stretching, he was was letting me in. Not in him yet, but tight, in his sphincter. The sound ended. I reached between our legs, felt for my dick at his asshole. I reached up to my mouth, spat on my fingers again, and rolled them around my dick. He pushed again, hard, and I pushed, that sound again from deep in his throat, then, harder, intensifying, pushing hard like he was pushing out a big one, and suddenly, his asshole was yielding, and,slowly, slowly, slowly, I was into him, further, and further, and further, I could feel I was coming into him.
“Holy Fuck,” I said again. And again. “Holy Fuck,” I was through his sphincter, into him, totally.
Then he let go of the rest of the sound. “Fuck,” he was saying, and kept repeating it. “Fuck. Fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Man, you are big.”
He did not move, and I just lay there, in him, and knowing I was in him.
“Oh, man,” he was saying, “I was figuring it was going to hurt, but fuck. Oh, fuck.”
I pulled back slightly. “Don’t move,” he said, “just lay still.”
“Oh, man,” he repeated, “You’re one big dude. You are one big dude. I like this. I’m liking this. Just stay where you are.”
I lay my cheek on his chest, savouring what I was feeling. What I was thinking. I reached round him, my two hands pressed into his belly, thinking, ‘I’m in there.’ ‘Way up in there.’
More than just his belly, it was like I was in him in every muscle in his body, in every cell in his body, in the very fibre of his being. And it was like I could feel him in every muscle in my body, in every cell in my body, in the very core of my being. A whole new world. A whole new dimension. ‘Holy Fuck,’ I said in my thoughts trying to get my head around it.
I touched up against another barrier. He stiffened. I obviously had hit on something that hurt. But his hands kept pulling my ass into him, harder, and his asshole kept squeezing on me, pulling me even further in. I pushed, holding myself to this barrier, and slowly it too yielded – I could hear him moan – and I was in, deep. I felt for his asshole, fingering my cock where it was in him, measuring how deep I was in. Fuck. only a finger’s breadth between his asshole and my pubes. I was in, deep. Very deep.
We lay there, neither of us moving. He was moaning, ‘You’re so big. You’re so big.”
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said, “I’m okay. More than okay. Fuck, you’re so big. Like I want more, but I can’t take any more. Like you’ve got me stretched to my limit. Way beyond my limit.”
I felt his ass muscles working around me. I was pushing to go deeper. I heard him groan, not so much a groan, but something more guttural, visceral. His muscles were yielding, then tightening. The sound again. I pushed. And I heard him. The sound again, this time from deep in his belly, this time protesting. Then his muscles were pushing against me, wanting me out, squeezing me out. Back through the channel. The barriers closing behind me. Then I was out of him.
“You’re okay?” I asked him again. Urgently.
“I’m okay,” he said. Then, “Oh, man, you’re big. You’re so fucking big”.
My cock was still in his ass-crack. I reached in and fingered his asshole.
He winced. “Whoa,” he said, “Tender. Very tender.”
He snorted. “Fuck no! Just give me a minute ’til my guts get themselves sorted out.”
My belly to his belly, I hugged him, tight, holding those beautiful muscles to me. ‘Mine,’ I thought, ‘Mine, for just a moment maybe, but mine. For the taking. Unbelievable.’
We lay there, him holding me to him, me holding him to me, his asshole pulsing, opening and closing.
Between us I could feel his hard on, iron rod hard.
And I wanted it, hard, in my ass. I rolled off him onto my back.
“Mine for yours,” I said. I spat a wad into my hand, and smeared his head. Then another, going down his shaft.
“Fuck,” he snorted. “You’re sure you want it?” he teased.
“Fuck you,” I said, facetiously.
“No,” he said, “fuck you. I’m gonna fuck you. Mine for yours it is. You think you’re big …!”
He straddled me, push up position. He spat into his hand again and smeared my asshole. Twice. Then guided his hard on to where I was going to let him in. I felt his head touching it. I grabbed his ass pulling him to me, hard, knowing, but not knowing what was coming. He was pushing against my asshole. I pushed my hips up to help him. He was pushing, but there was no way my asshole was going to yield to him.
“Just keep it there. Keep pushing,” I told him. I tried flexing my anus to get it to open. He kept pushing against it. Hard.
“Relax,” he said, “just take it easy.”
Nothing. I couldn’t remember him being this unyielding. He slathered another wad of spit onto it. I could feel his finger probing, into my anus, working it to open. Then his dick again. I tightened up even further. I began humping my hips, then grinding them round him. Still nothing. If anything more unyielding.
“Deep breath,” he said. “Deep breath.” I took a deep breath. And just as I filled my lungs to hold it, I felt him enter. “Holy Fuck’, he is in me.’ The realization of him being inside me swept through me, like a charge of electricity.
Then I felt him reach the sphincter into my rectum, a sharp jolt as he pushed against it. Repeated sharp jolts as he pulled back then pushed again. My hands went to his hips, pushing against him, wanting him to go slow. Deep breaths. Deep breath and holding it. Then pushing down on him, hard, hurting, – hurting beyond belief, – the muscles around the ring stretched, and stretched beyond what I ever thought they could be. Then, just as I was beginning to think I would have to ask him to stop, suddenly I could feel the muscle yielding, – a break through – his hard-on pushing through, entering me, slowly, half-inch by half-inch, penetrating me, huge, and hard, into my rectum, filling it. More than filling it.
“Fuck,” I said, and kept repeating it, “Fuck.” “Oh, fuck.”
“You’re okay?” he wanted to know.
“Mmmm, fuck, yeah,” I said, “more than okay.” ‘Oh, man, I’m loving this,’ I thought to myself.
I reached round to where I could feel his cock in my anus. I measured three fingers. Three fingers more. I wanted it all.
I began squeezing, working to draw him further and further in, at the same time thrusting up my hips up to him – the muscle hurting, on the point of being able to take no more, ignoring it to push against him, wanting him in deep. Hurting again, the muscle stretching till it was like I couldn’t take it any more, at the same time, wanting to accommodate him, him inching slowly into me. Fuck it hurt. Fuck I wanted him. I took his hand and put his palm on my belly so he could feel himself in me. ‘Oh, man, I’m loving this,’ I thought to myself again, then I said it aloud.
“Oh, man, I’m loving this.”
“You’re not the only one,” he said. He began grinding his hips into mine, going deeper and deeper, pulling back slightly then thrusting again, deeper still, filling me, like I never felt so filled in all my life.
The hurting was now pleasure, pure physical pleasure, just like when I was in him, every cell in my body vibrating. And more than that, just like when I was in him, he was in every cell in my body, in the very fibre of my being. ‘Way too much,’ I was saying to myself. Then I said it aloud.
“Way too much.”
“I said this is way too much. Way too fucking much. That’s one helluva unit you’ve got, and much more of it, it’s gonna tear me wide open. And it’s hurting like hell, and I am enjoying every inch of it.”
“You like, eh?” he said, playfully, and thrust himself in deeper.
“Oh, fuck, do I like.”
Then, deep inside, he hit on something that felt way up in my solar plexus, sharp and not so much painful but a warning that it could be very painful; that there was danger in proceeding further; that maybe the game was over and I had better get him out of here. My guts started churning, wave after wave working at expelling him from my rectum.
“Easy. Easy,” he said, “Deep breaths. Take deep breaths.”
I took in a deep breath. Then slowly exhaled. Another, exhaling again.
He lay perfectly still, still in me, but not moving.
“Too much?” he asked.
“Yeah. Whatever you hit there ..”
“Sorry,” he apologized. “We’ll give it a rest.”
He had his arms around me, holding us chest to chest.
Then, slowly, I began to feel him rotating his pelvis around where he had me. Slowly, setting up a roll. I began to roll with him. Slowly. Then circling wider I could feel he was exploring me, on the inside. Thrusting, in and out. And each thrust finding a new pleasure spot. “Yes. There,” I heard myself, ‘Give it to me.” “Give it to me, there.” “There.” Again.” “Yes.” “Yes'”, I heard myself saying, “All of it, I want you to give me all of it.”
Slowly, setting up a momentum, matching his rhythm. I began rolling with him. Then we were rocking. Rocking and rolling. ‘Oh, man,’ I was thinking, ‘this is too good. Too good.’
I heard myself moan. Then his mouth was on mine, mine searching his, hungry, wanting it, wanting it bad.
Then somewhere down near my pubic bone he hit on something that sent a shudder through me, and everywhere, indescribable pleasure, like fireworks, giant chrysanthemums exploding, my whole self exploding.
“Oh, oh, oh,” I was moaning. Ecstasy. He hit it again. Again fireworks, chrysanthemums, double chrysanthemums, red, blue, white, purple gold, repeating and repeating, trailing stars. Again. Ecstasy. Higher and higher.
In my ear his voice was saying, “You like?”
“I like,” I am saying, “I like!” Emphatically.
Then our mouths merged, pressed together. I was frenzied wanting more. More of his mouth. More of what he was doing to me in my belly.
The rhythm of his thrusts was changing, now short, quick, deeper, like he was swelling in me. ‘He’s coming,’ I thought. I am moaning in his ear. “I want it,” I am saying. “I want you.”
I am rocking with him, drawing him further and further into me with each thrust, beyond the point of hurt, hurting that has become pleasure. Pure pleasure. And each time, hitting up against whatever it was – my prostate – firing off those chrysanthemums of sheer ecstasy
I can hear him grunting, thrusting. Then one prolonged thrust, and another, way deep into my guts, his, my muscles tensing. Then one prolonged thrust, longer, deeper than those before, and the release. Flooding into me. The warmth of it spreading through me. Surrendering to it. Surrendering to the moment. Me, surrendering to him. Body and soul, surrendering, yielding myself to him. And I can feel him yielding, surrendering to what was happening between us, the very essence of himself being transferred from him to me. I feel it. His living matter. Deep within my belly. A fusion of himself with myself, radiating through me, then flipping, positive for negative, negative for positive, in cosmic wave after cosmic wave.
A shudder, surging through both of us.
Then him, expelling his breath, muscle after muscle relaxing, his whole being dispelling the last of its energies.
“Holy fuck,” he said, “Ho-ly fuck!”
“Ho-ly fuck!” I repeated after him.
We were wrapped around each other, legs intertwined with legs, arms holding us together, belly to belly. Him in my belly.
“Holy fuck,” he said again, “Ho-ly fuck!”
And I repeated after him, “Ho-ly fuck!”
Him in me. The whole length and breadth of him. And for how much it might have started out hurting, out of the pain, pleasure. Pure, undeniable pleasure. And deep inside, way deep inside my primal folds, accepting the living matter he had shot into me, the his essential self, him within me. And knowing it was there. Holy fuck. Joy, indescribable joy. Ecstasy.
Then his lips are on mine, pressing him to me, holding him to me.
When we broke, he was looking into my eyes, me into his, wordless.
Between our bellies, I was hard. Hurting hard. With a load wanting somewhere to go.
He burrowed his hand between us, and took hold of it. “Mmmm,” I reacted.
“You’re close?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, “it’s not going to take much.”
“I want it,” he said. He reared back. Again the searing pain, his withdrawal the reverse of his penetration. Like he was stretching me beyond what I could endure as he withdrew. ‘Easy’, I thought, ‘easy’. Then, just as I felt I could take it no more, and wanting him to stop where he was, he was out of me. I felt suddenly empty, a void.
But high up, deep in my guts, warm still, him still, there.
He flipped onto his back. He reached up and spat in his hand, then worked it between his legs.
“You,” he said, holding out his hand to my mouth. I spat a wad into in, and he brought it down to between his legs.
My asshole still pulsing from him pulling out of me, I reached between his legs and found his asshole, now wet, and fingered it.
He sucked in a deep breath. “Whew,” he said.
“Tender,” I asked.
“You better believe it!”
“You’re sure you want this?
He flung his arms around me, pulled me in tight, and said, “If it kills me!”
I spat a wad in my hand and lathered it between his legs. He twitched every time I hit his asshole. I spat another wad, and spread it around my dick, praying, ‘Not yet. Not yet.’
“Okay, look at me,” I said.
“I want to be looking at you, and I want you to be looking at me.”
I touched my cock to his hole. I saw flickers of hurt, then anticipation, then wincing to the hurt when I pushed against it.
He sucked in a deep breath, holding it, then another. Eyes opening wide, surrendering to the hurting, when I entered him.
“Just keep it there,” he said. I did. And I could feel his ring of muscle striving to open and pull me in. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, I was coming into him. More and more. Still more. And then I felt the sphincter to his anus, now familiar.
“Oh, man, you’re big,” he said, “So fucking big.”
“That the way you like it?” I teased, “Big?”
” Yeah. You,” he said, “Oh, yeah.”
We were working now to penetrate his rectum. Another deep breath. Then opening. Then penetration. Long. Slow. Tortured. Until, “there,” he said, “just keep it there. I want to feel what it is like there.”
We lay together, treasuring our intimacy. Then I slowly began thrusting. And slowly increasing the intensity. Then I pulled back, and thrust again, going deep. Pulled back, and going deep again, I hit his prostate. Chaos. The muscles in his belly jerking, abs in full flexion. His hips bucking, slamming up into mine.
I pulled back, thrust, and hit it again. Again chaos. Pushing to expel me, and the same time they were pulling me further and further into him.
His mouth now on my mouth. Hungry, Greedy. His tongue working mine. His hips thrusting up into my pelvis, my pelvis responding to grind into his hips, driving me deeper into him. Then, quick, strong thrusts. Out of control, driving, hard. Hard. And harder. We were close to the point of no return and getting closer.
“Grab my dick,” he said. “I want to come with you.”
Between our bellies he was rock hard. I grabbed onto it. Now he was arching his back as he drove his hips up to me. I was driving my dick just as hard.
Then, at the last second, I said, “Look at me.” I was exploding into him, my loins shooting into his. In his eyes, a sudden look of surprise, then wider and wider, and a look of sheer pleasure and of satisfaction, deep, deep, within him. The essence of my being, from deep within me, to deep within him.
Then, knowing I was filling him, again it was like he was filling me, every cell in my body jangling. Heady. Like the moment between lifter and spotter, when mind and muscle triumph over gravity, the metal at full extension with the last expenditure of energy before exhaustion. Or, crossing the finish line, touching the tile, breaking out of the water, victory and hearing the roar of the crowd. Yes. Then the burn, spreading from head to toe. Vital. Alive.
“Mmmmm,” he was saying. He brought his legs up to wrap around me, holding me in him. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him to me, feeling every one of his muscles that I was filling. Bliss. This was pure bliss.
“This is good. This is too good,” I kept saying to myself.
“Mmmmm, mmmm,” I could hear him moaning. Not in hurt. Pleasure. Pure pleasure.
“Holy fuck,” I heard him say. “Too fucking much. Too fucking much.”
We held each other, body to body, sensing, muscle into muscle, sinew into sinew, soul into soul, our bodies, our selves, melding into each other. Ecstasy. Rapture.
Then, coming down, neither of us moving, neither of us saying anything, still in the moment.
Until, untangling, arms and legs, stretching out, continuing to savour what had happened between us. The afterglow. Warm, intimate, sublime. Him stretched out beside me. Me stretched out beside him. Somewhere in space, way out beyond the stratosphere.
We lay there for a long time, saying nothing, feeling each other’s presence.
He began nuzzling my ear. It felt good. Then he lifted his nose and lips away and asked, “So, mate, what do you say for yourself?
“Mmmmm. Mmmm. What do I say for myself? … Fucked,” I said, “Fucked and fucked good. Buggered. Had. Spent. Done. Two up, three down. Knackered. You?”
“That pretty well covers it,” he chuckled. “Fucked. Well and truly fucked.”
We continued to lay there. My shoulder touching his. His thigh against my thigh. I put my head on his chest. Muscled, strangely familiar, now strangely new against my cheek. Sweaty, his scent tantalizing, musky, slightly pungent, manly, him. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest. My breathing was coming into sync with his. And in his chest, I could feel and hear his heart beating. And my heartbeat likewise coming into sync with his.
He said nothing, and I said nothing.
Then he asked, “You cool?”
“I’m cool,” I replied.
I put my hand on his belly. Deep inside him, I knew that I, what of myself that I had ejaculated into him, was there. Then I put my hand to my belly, knowing that deep inside what he had ejaculated of himself into me was there.
I felt his arm now under my shoulder, cradling me, his hand on my head, fingers running through my hair.
It all felt good. Right, somehow.
I heard him say, “I kinda think we’ve let a genie out of the bottle.”
‘I kinda think we have,’ I replied, ‘And I kinda think there sure ain’t no putting him back.’
My hand was on his belly. It was sticky with what he had ejaculated, and what was on his belly was liquefying. I began rubbing my hand in it, then round his belly, his abs, feeling them firm, then up and around his pecs, likewise firm, his shoulders, likewise hard to my touch. Then he rubbed his belly, and likewise rubbed mine, my chest and shoulders.
Then he took my hand and licked my fingers, and continued holding my fingers to his mouth.
We laid there, content, my hand on his belly.
And then I was asleep.
Waking, I was aware of daylight. I heard him come out of the bathroom and opened my eyes. There he was, standing, his ass to me. His ass, his back, shoulders, thighs, legs, all beautiful muscle, alive. He turned. Magnificent. Beautiful. Chest, abs, belly. Ripped and cut, clean-shaven head to toe. The bodybuilder. The full monte. His cock, long, thick, veined, the ripe chestnut of the head just emerging from his foreskin, more than magnificent.
Him and that cock I had seen how many times in the showers at the gym, but it was like I was seeing it like I had never seen it before. And remembering where it had so recently been. And me sucking it. And wanting it.
‘Once you’ve tasted cock …,’ somebody, somewhere had said …
Twenty four hours ago, hell, twelve hours ago, no way, not in a million years … Now my guts were in revolt from last night’s pounding, and I am thinking it’s gotta happen again, and sooner rather than later.
” .. morning,” I said, stretching, coming out of the reverie.
” ‘.. morning, yourself,” he replied. “Not going to ask how you slept. But how did you sleep?”
“Fuck you,” I smirked.
“Yup, did that,” he shot back, likewise smirking.
I had to get to the bathroom. I swung my feet to the floor, standing up. Awkwardly. And groaned. Every muscle in my body was protesting.
He was laughing.
“You bugger,” I said.
“Bugger? Me?” He was still smirking.
“With number one – you’re okay,” he said. “Number two – not so sure about that yet!”
“Like that, eh?” I said.
I flushed, washed my hands, and checked myself in the mirror. Puffy. Bleary eyed. Sleep deprived. ‘Unh. Rugged.’
‘So,’ feeling my beard, examining it, one side, then the other, ‘this is what you look like when you’ve been fucked,’ I said to myself, ‘Bum-fucked. By your best friend. And you spending the night bum-fucking him.’
Then, lifting my chin, feeling my beard under it, ‘Like you’ve been dragged through the proverbial knot hole, backward,’ I told myself.
And with a kind of smug grin I could not suppress, “Not bad,” I said, winking to my reflection, “Considering.”
He was laying on the bed. I attempted to sit down beside him. Not easy. He had his head propped on one elbow, checking me out, smirking. I managed to stretch out full length.
He had his hand on my belly, finger circling my navel. I took his hand, and with it idly rubbed my belly.
“So?” he asked.
“So? What?” I asked.
“The question. ‘Do you still like me in the morning’?”
“You gotta be kidding,” I said, snorting, remembering him hot and exploding inside me, our arms holding us together, our legs tangled in the bedsheets.
His hand was still on my belly.
“Do you still like me in the morning?”
“Fuck you,” I retorted, grinning.
“No,” he insisted, “You cool?”
I looked at him, straight on. “I’m cool,” I said. And added, the realization of what I was saying sweeping through me as I said it, “Never more cool about anything in my life.”
He sucked in a breath. It was a powerful hit.
Then, absorbing it, he replied, simply, looking at me straight on, “Ditto,”
We neither of us were saying anything more, just looking at each other, taking in what we were looking at.
He broke the impasse. “Okay, mate,’ he asked, “coffee?”
Then a pause, “.. Or?”
“Or what .. mate?” I responded.
“Or hair of dog.”
“Meaning?” I asked.
“Hair of dog. Move over.” Then he flipped, and had my dick in his mouth.
“Mmmmm,” I couldn’t say anything else. Again it was like I was going to explode, every cell jangling. I was soft but coming up hard as he sucked, hard, his head working me up and down. ‘Oh, oh, oh, oh,” was the only sound I could make, Then, finally, I was able to say, “Let me.” I flipped, head for toe, and went down on him, 69. And I heard and felt him saying “Mmmmm.”
“Mmmmm.” Over and over again, “Mmmmm.” He was humming as he sucked me. The vibrations from the sound were crazy and driving me crazier. I reciprocated, “Mmmmm,” driving him into a frenzy, eating me, gobbling my knob. And I did the same, eating his, gobbling his knob, setting up a spiral that had me, him, soaring off into some distant dimension, our hips pumping, driving our dicks deeper and deeper into our mouths, until setting off spasms of gagging, we had to back off.
I grabbed his, and he grabbed mine, each of us pumping. Now my lips around his head, his around mine, sucking, pumping. Past the point of no return. Then exploding, him into my mouth, me into his. I held it, working it with my tongue, flipping to meet his lips, him opening his lips, mingling what I had in my mouth with what he had in his, savouring it, playing with it, swallowing it, a little at a time.
“Pheew”, I heard him when our mouths finally parted.
“Hair of dog,” I said. I could taste him, again like almonds, ever so lightly caustic, etched in the back of my throat.
“Hair Of Dog,” he said, emphatically.
“Let the genie out of the bottle,” I began to say. He finished he sentence, “… and there sure ain’t no putting him back!”
“What the hell are we doing?” I asked, in the daylight a moment of reality settling in.
He took a moment, then replied, slowly, thoughtfully, “Well, for me, after how many years knowing you, I’d say I’m really just getting to know my best bud.” He took my hand and held it to his chest. “You?”
I felt his hand on my chest. I looked down at it. “Goes for me,” I said, and he squeezed my hand.
“In a Biblical manner of speaking,” he said, his eyes twinkling with his joke.
“In a Biblical manner of speaking, yes,” I said, returning his line in kind.
“Cool?” he asked.
“I’m cool,” I replied.
Then needing air, we shook free of each other.
We started to say something, both of us at the same time.
“You.” he said, “What were you going to say?”
“I was going to say you are beautiful,” I said. And added, “And I just don’t say that to everybody.”
He blinked. He started to say something. Then didn’t.
“Whaat?” I said.
“I was just going to say the same thing about you.”
There was a long pause while we looked into each others’ eyes. Again, straight on. Rock steady, no hint of ‘us having gone too far.’ Outgoing, fun-loving, sincere, surefooted. As before, it was a continuing, friend-with-friend, man-with-man moment. And more. It was like two strong arms, clasping. ‘Here’s somebody I could trust with my life,’ I was thinking, ‘Here’s somebody I could trust with the rest of my life.’ One wonderful human being. I could only hope he was seeing the same in me.
And then, suddenly, his arms were around me, and mine were around him, his mouth, my mouth pressed together, tongues probing deep, his body, mine, pressed firmly together, thighs, bellies, chests. And then, just as suddenly, we were holding each other even closer, grasping each other tighter, his body, my body, heaving with wave after wave of sobs threatening to break through, struggling to keep them in check, on the verge, but hanging on not to lose it all together.
The convulsions subsided, and, looking at me, he reached up, and with his thumb, smoothed out tears that had overflowed onto my cheeks. And I likewise reached up to his face and thumbed the tears that were flowing onto his cheeks. Then quickly his lips locked on mine, holding firm, his body again tight to mine, mine to his.
And then we separated.
Then, wiping at his eyes, he said, simply, “Man, you sure got to me.”
“And you sure got to me,” I said, pinching my face, squeezing my cheeks, choking off a further outburst.
“You’re okay?” he asked.
“I’m okay,” I replied, “You?”
“I’m okay, yes,” he said.
We broke, and then he asked, almost with a smirk, “So, mate – you figure maybe we could make it as BFWBs?
My turn to blink. Before I could recover, he continued, “No need to answer right now. Just something to think about.” He was smirking.
Then he patted my ass. “Okay. Breakfast. Or have you had your protein for this morning?”
“Smartass,” I shot back.
“Smarting ass, you mean,” he retorted, grinning.
I decided against going for a comeback. All I could do was shake my head. Grinning.
“Okay, okay, to the matter at hand – and no double entendre – room service, or do you want to go down?” He looked at the clock radio on the bedside table. “Room service is off. Brunch?”
“You want?” I asked. “Coffee and whatever is good enough for me.”
“Okay,” he said, “I am heading into the bathroom, then I am going out and getting us some brekkie. I’ll bring you back something.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said.
A quick shower and shave and he was out the door, and, my turn, I was off the bed and into the bathroom.
Towelled dry, shaved, I was not yet dressed when he came back. Take-out coffee and breakfast sandwiches from the coffee shop. And a silly look on his face.
“What?” I asked.
“We really gotta be back tomorrow?” he asked.
“No,” I replied, “not really, I guess. Why? What are you thinking?”
“Well, it’s an okay room,” he said, “thinking maybe if we could see if it was available for another night .. ” He paused.
“And?” I asked.
“And, ” he replied, “I stopped by the gift shop and got us a tube of lube.” He pulled it from his pocket and dropped it on the bed.
‘A tube-a-lube.’ It rhymed in my head. “You think that will be enough?” I shot back.
“That’s why I bought two,” he replied, and dropped a second on the bed. “And that’s all they had.”
“Holy fuck,” I shook my head, “We’re sure not in Kansas now.”
“Nope,” he said, “we’re sure as fuck are not in Kansas now!”
He picked up the phone, negotiated the second night, then walked to the door, opened it, hung the ‘Privacy Please’ tag on the knob, closed it and flipped the slide-lock.