Anniversary

Watching the numbers gradually increase one by one, I was sure I had
never been in a slower elevator. My frustration must have shown on my
face, because when I looked over to Eddie he was shaking his head with
a small smile on his face.

"We do have the room for the whole night, you know. There's no
hurry," he said in his deep, calming voice, massaging my arm.

"It's your own fault for looking so damned good in that suit," I
replied, winning the advantage as his cheeks flushed.

And what could he say? He knew it was true. All night the sight of
him had been driving me wild. For a man who considers matching socks
to be formal dress, Eddie had no business making a suit and tie look
so sexy. From the second I saw him walk in the restaurant to this one
I'd been trying to talk my cock down from its hardened state, and so
far my words have had no effect.

Eddie first suggested the idea 6 years ago, and I like it as much now
as I did then. Every year on the anniversary of our first meeting, we
celebrate by blowing a few bucks on a big night out on the town. One
of us chooses the restaurant and the other the hotel. We prepare and
arrive separately, not knowing what to expect from the other, so we
can each relive those delicious moments of anticipation and discovery
we both treasure. (Though after I wore my Harley tie to Spiaggia a
couple years back, Eddie did have to lay down a few more ground rules
on the dress code...)

Tonight he had chosen Everest as the location for our meal and I the
Raphael Hotel for our night's stay. I had given myself enough time to
perform my hotel preparation duties to make sure I would arrive
slightly early to Everest, partially so I could take in some of the
wonderful view of downtown Chicago this 40th story restaurant
provided, but mostly to ensure myself the even more spectacular view
of Eddie walking into the room.

I picked up a cocktail and wandered a bit before staking out the
perfect vantage point, near a window for one view and with an
unobstructed, but slightly out of the way sightline to the front
entrance for the other. The only downside was that this seat also
provided me with a view of myself in a nearby mirror, a sure-fire way
to trigger a wave of self-consciousness. 46, 5'8" and stocky (to put
it kindly), with brown-fading-to-gray-fading-to-scalp hair, a beard
that wavered between bushy and downright unkempt, and glasses over my
dark brown eyes, I felt a bit out of place amidst this crowd of
Chicago's young, slim, expertly coiffured hoity-toities.

I'm positive this is the main reason Eddie keeps picking these posh
places in the first place - he does thrill in watching me squirm - but
after straightening my tie for the fifth time in as many minutes, I
took a deep breath and convinced myself that I looked as good as I
ever would. I'd grown in enough various directions over the years to
provide a healthy challenge for any tailor; all I can say is thank God
for J.C. Penney. Luckily between my engineering job and his work as a
contractor, our suits usually stayed safely hidden from sight in the
back of the closet.

I sat and tapped my fingers on my leg, checking the door every, oh, 3
seconds or so. It never ceases to amaze me, this attack of nerves I
get before these "dates." This year marks the 14th anniversary for
Eddie and me - what did I have to be anxious about? As if he hadn't
already seen me from every possible angle, put up with my worst moods,
heard all my jokes, swallowed my fricking cum, for god's sake. If he
hasn't gone running for the hills yet, I don't know what else it could
possibly take.

I'd been waiting about 15 minutes and was on my second drink when I
finally saw his familiar face (and shape). Truthfully, it would be
difficult not to notice such a man in this environment no matter what
your predilection - there just weren't that many 6'3" 260-pound men in
the joint. But add in his full head and beard of dense
salt-and-pepper hair, kind, twinkling hazel eyes, and a smile that
could melt half of Siberia, and you have what I define as a real
head-turner.

I admit I shrunk down for a few moments while he scanned the room -
I've found I love watching him in public without him knowing. Despite
his size, he can take on the appearance of a lost child in such
moments, as if he has not yet made complete sense of the world, but is
determined to leave himself open for whatever may come.

Finally he glanced my way and I felt obligated to reveal myself. I
stood and raised my drink to him, and he quickly spotted me and gave a
small nod. While he made his way over to the bar, I took a few steps
in his direction and began drinking in his appearance. He had worn
his black suit and my favorite of his ties, dark blue with green
flecks that brought out his eyes perfectly. His walk was slow and
cool, and the way the dark fabric shifted over his burly frame as he
moved was pure poetry. With a pair of sunglasses and an earpiece, he
could have passed for someone's bodyguard or a Secret Service agent,
but then those people don't usually sport such big grins on their
faces, do they?

"Hey good looking," he growled as he reached me, wrapping his arms
around me before I even had a chance to respond. I hugged him back
with my free arm.

"Hey. Careful, I don't want to spill on you."

He laughed, his mouth right next to my left ear. "Yeah, what do you
use again to get out a tonic water stain? Red wine?"

"That's club soda, smart guy," I said as he gave a final squeeze and
pulled back. Keeping one hand clamped on my shoulder, he gave me the
official once over. He still had that goofy grin on his face,
obviously enjoying seeing me "dressed up" just as much as I enjoyed
the sight of him.

"Not bad, not bad. Still fits you pretty good," he remarked while
running his hand along my lapel.

"All right," I said, rolling my eyes and pushing his hand away. "You
know you're the only person who can still get me into one of these
things."

"And out of one too, I hope," he promptly added, laughing
lasciviously. I could only hang my head in shame for giving him such
an obvious setup. "Come on, let's see if our table's ready. I have
the feeling we're going to be need a lot of calories to burn later
on."

"You're shameless, you know that?" I said, allowing him to lead me
back towards the maitre'd.

He let out another cackle. "I certainly hope so."

* * * * * * * *

The meal and conversation, though highly pleasurable, became a blur as
a soft "ding" announced the elevator's ascension, at long last, to the
9th floor. Eddie, that naughty smile still on his lips, held the
elevator door open and gestured for me to lead the way.

Walking down the hall, he slipped an arm around me, and I nestled my
head back against his shoulder. The hallway was quiet and deserted,
and neither of us broke the silence - even our footsteps made no sound
in the plush carpeting. Arriving at room 908, I dug out the key card
while Eddie stood behind me, surrounding me with both of his massive
arms. I opened the door but did not turn the knob, finding no reason
to move from this position immediately. I leaned back into him and
allowed him to lightly kiss the top of my head, then turned myself
around within his embrace to face him, my eyes at about the level of
his chin.

We seem to find ourselves in this position often - not just the
physical arrangement, but both of us enjoying the anticipation of
being together so much that we go out of our way to prolong it,
consciously or unconsciously. So there we stood, pressing ourselves
together, just looking at each other. We were so close to a kiss that
our beards were touching, but neither of us wanted to break the spell,
not yet. We wanted every aspect of the evening to endure as long as
possible.

After a few wonderful moments like this, he finally murmured, "You're
something else, kid, you know that?"

"Yeah?" I replied. My heart pounded a little harder - I knew he only
slipped into the "kid" talk when he was really feeling good. "Well,
you're pretty hot stuff yourself."

The waiting started to turn from intoxicating to unbearable, as our
internal flames burned hotter and hotter. Even so, I forced myself to
wait four more excruciating seconds before burying my face in his,
finding his lips with mine, and pouring myself into him. It was lucky
he was holding me so tightly, as my knees started to tremble from the
passion he gave me in return. It was more than a kiss; I wanted to
swallow him whole, and be swallowed by him, and as it worked out we
ended up somewhere in between, pulling and sucking and touching. He
tasted like dessert.

Wisely he managed to get the door open while this was going on, or who
knows how far I'd have taken him right there in the hall. We stumbled
into the room, trying to get the door closed and the lights on without
detaching ourselves, but after I backed him into a table, tripped over
one of our bags, and almost sent what was surely a very expensive lamp
crashing to the floor, sanity returned for a few seconds and we
untangled ourselves.

"Don't move, I'll get the lights," I spoke between gasps. He slowly
let me out of his grip while I felt around on the closest wall. I
managed to find a light near the bathroom, and with this illumination,
I soon switched on several more lamps. Eddie slowly browsed about the
suite. The hotel originally dated from the 1920's, but thankfully had
been renovated a little more recently (charm is fine, but darn it we
like comfort too!). While we did not have the largest suite in the
place by any means, it was more than adequately sized. The "living
room" was well-appointed with the usual television, sofas and chairs.
The bathroom, right inside the door, was just as spacious and
tasteful. Our interests, however, led us elsewhere...

I walked into the bedroom and turned on a bedside lamp, and Eddie
followed. This room was also filled with the numerous lovely little
touches one would expect in such a place, but more to the point, it
contained a big sprawling king-size bed right in the center. I opened
the curtains enough to show Eddie the view of Lake Michigan, but his
interest was sidetracked by his discovery of the "accessories" I had
laid out on the bed earlier. I tried to hide my smile as he pawed
through the pile of candles, massage oil, and lube and started to
single out the stranger props I had included. "Well well," was all he
said while fingering the can opener, and apparently the tube of
polyurethane sealant left him speechless entirely.

"We'll get to those later," I said in my best seductive tone,
returning to him and running my hands up the front of his body, then
clasping them behind his neck.

"I sure hope not," he laughed, embracing me back. He leaned down and
we shared another sweet kiss, more playful than the last, but also
filled with the promise of what was to follow. After it ended, I
pushed my face into his chest, deeply inhaling his soft, somehow still
exotic scent. I could feel his body vibrate slightly as he spoke.

"Do you want to jump in the shower while I get things set up?" he
asked, running his nose and lips over my forehead. I had been
half-expecting this, for we knew each other well - I knew that he
preferred me clean and fresh, and he knew that I wanted him "as is,"
whatever state that may be. He also knew one other thing - there was
no way I was going to miss watching him undress.

He'd heard me speak on this subject often, and I still believe it:
when done correctly, watching a man take his clothes off can be almost
as sexually exciting as any other physical act. And Eddie showed a
natural, remarkable talent in this field.

Without another word I backed up a few feet to give us each a full
view of the other. I sloughed off my jacket and threw it on a nearby
chair while he lifted each foot and removed his shoes, tossing them
off to the side. As I loosened and removed my tie, he pulled off both
socks and his belt. Just this and I was already hard as a rock, and
if I knew him, he was 90% there himself.

Not wanting to take my eyes off him for a second, I struggled to kick
off each of my shoes, unmindful of how I was surely squashing them in
the process. Rewarding my labored efforts, he pushed his marvelous
chest out and shrugged his jacket over his wide shoulders and down his
powerful arms. He then moved to his cuffs, revealing a great patch of
hairy forearm as each button was slowly released. My motions became
much more automatic and practical as he transfixed me with his
(somewhere in here I got out of my pants and socks). But this was
another area where he knew I received a great deal of pleasure, so he
had learned to be happy putting on the show and not see much of one in
return.

His hands now moved to his neck, where he teased the knot of his tie
loose, then pulled it from around his neck. Pitching that aside, he
started in on the Feature Attraction - unbuttoning his shirt. He
started at the top, and as the gap in his collar grew wider, so did
both of our smiles. Two, three, four buttons undone now. It makes no
difference that I've seen what's underneath thousands of times, when
this unveiling of one of my favorite parts of his body stops thrilling
me, I'll know it's time to pull the plug.

The first thing that people (including me) usually notice when Eddie
has his shirt open this far is that you still can't see any of his
skin - the mat of hair on his chest, starting maybe half an inch below
where his beard ends, is that dark and dense. As the days go by, more
and more of his hairs are choosing to switch from black to gray, but
they all still seem to be getting along well, and isn't that the
important thing?

He's told me how it used to embarrass him, his extreme hairiness, how
back in high school when changing after gym class or football
practice, he would have to endure endless juvenile cracks like wasn't
the zookeeper going to be angry about his escape or could he check to
make sure a missing comb hadn't gotten lost in there somewhere, to the
point that he contemplated shaving some of it off, a truly horrifying
notion, but that he eventually accepted this aspect of his appearance
and even grew to enjoy the looks of surprise, almost awe, that he
could produce just by removing his shirt, and that now it is one of
his favorite things about himself, something he can really take no
credit for or control. I've long admitted it was one of the first
things that attracted me to him, and hopefully that fact has also made
him more thankful for those genes.

But these and all other thoughts fled from my mind as he reached
buttons five, six and seven and pulled his shirttail out of his
trousers. He knew that this was the part I lived for, so he of course
played it up, unwrapping the rest of his torso and arms using only the
most agonizingly slow movements. First he would move one side of the
shirt part way down an arm, then change to the other side and repeat
the effort, then back to the first side again, little by little, inch
by inch, uncovering that amazing body. How often I've wished I could
draw, or paint, or sculpt, or do anything to immortalize him, thus
allowing all the future inhabitants of our planet to share and
appreciate his beauty, because simple words cannot do it justice.

By the time his shirt hung only from his wrists, I had serious
concerns about the integrity of my boxer shorts, so I did the only
prudent thing and yanked them off, letting my cock spring free. Eddie
glanced down and giggled. "Boy, I hope you never stop being so easily
impressed." He doesn't know the half of it.

I worked on getting rid of my shirt while he rolled his up and flung
it away. I now had the full, stunning view of his upper body - if the
description "barrel chested" hadn't already been invented, someone
would have had to think it up for Eddie. How else can you describe
someone whose broad shoulders support a massive, muscular chest, its
pecs so developed they hang over his round, firm belly by an inch or
two, with a pair of upper arms to match, sheer bulk disguised as
biceps, tapering off to forearms that would give Popeye an inferiority
complex. The fact that he came by this body naturally and hadn't set
foot in a gym in years drove every man who knew him insane - if only
it were that easy for all of us.

Some of his definition is blurred to the untrained eye, of course, by
the warm fur covering almost every surface. The spot in the middle of
his chest, right between those pecs, seemed to be the source; here the
hair was so thick that it's easy to imagine that upon shaving it off,
one would find nothing left underneath. From there the hair sweeps
boldly up his chest, covering all except for his large brown nipples,
continues onto his shoulders, thinning only slightly, at which point
some splits off to cover his arms and the rest continues onto his
back. In the other direction, it stays in an unusually narrow line as
it travels down the center of his belly, until it meets up with a wild
nest of...

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Freeing myself from my shirt, I now
stand naked before him except for my glasses, which I'll be damned if
I'm taking off yet. His eyes moved admiringly over my body, and I've
trained myself to stand still and enjoy this, despite any adequacy
issues I may have on the subject. As the saying goes, there's no
accounting for taste, and I don't care WHY he likes what he sees, as
long as he sticks around. I am not nearly as well-muscled or hairy as
he, but instead have what he sweetly calls a "cuddly" body, thick in
the chest and middle but not flabby, with a decent pelt of brown fuzz
on my chest and forearms.

There was one part that I lucked out on, however, and that is where
his eyes finally landed. While perhaps not much to look at in its
normal state, even with my modesty I have to say that my erect penis
is an impressive sight. Rising out of my bushy pubic hairs, it stood
up at a 45 degree angle, straight except for a slight curl towards the
end. The shaft is good and thick with a few prominent veins,
providing a handful or two of meat to grab on to before reaching the
head, which is big and wide, almost the exact size and shape of a
large strawberry. A few drops of precum had already collected at the
tip, but with the way Eddie was licking his lips I had the feeling
they wouldn't be around for long.

He took one step towards me as he undid his own pants, speeding up his
striptease. With a few rapid movements, he had whisked his pants and
underwear off together, and stood up again to face me. He was
certainly no slouch himself in the endowment department, but since his
was more in keeping with his overall size the effect was not quite as
dramatic (one of the advantages to being short, I guess). I gazed
lovingly at his still-hardening member - he was uncut, and it was
always a pleasure to watch the head push its way out of the foreskin
as the whole thing happily grew. Eddie was also blessed with a great
pair of balls, together about the size of a baseball, though again
this was difficult to see through the forest of black hair that hid
them. You just have to be willing to get in there and look for them!
Of course the legs supporting everything were also huge and hairy -
anyway, you get the idea by now, I think. The man is a big furry
mountain.

As though my dick was a magnet and his a hunk of iron, he moved closer
until the two heads met (luckily by standing up so tall, mine made up
for some of the height difference between us) and nuzzled together.
We looked into each other's eyes, enjoying all the sensations coming
to us: the cool air on our skin, the serenity of the room, and the
sweet friction of our throbbing rods rubbing gently together. After a
few moments like this, further contact was sorely needed, so I was
glad when Eddie put his hands on my shoulders and pulled me in. We
were instantly lost in a deep kiss, our hands roaming freely over each
other's bodies, through the hair on his shoulders, down and around his
ass, our chests and groins mashed together, as if through force of
will we could actually become one body.

Finally I realized that if I was going to take a shower, it had to be
then, as I didn't think I'd be able to walk after a few more seconds.
"I'll be right back," I rasped in between kisses, easing myself from
his grip.

He answered correctly: "I'll be waiting."

* * * * * * *

I all but jumped into the shower, cleaning myself thoroughly but also
as-fast-as-I-fucking-could. The warm water and soap encouraged my
erection to stay around a while longer, and I had only lost a fraction
of it by the time I'd dried myself and jogged back into the bedroom.
The sight that greeted me there took care of that problem in about
half a second.

The bedroom was now lit only by a dozen candles scattered around the
room. He had the boombox plugged in and a Miles Davis tune floated
through the dark (though knowing him this would probably be followed
by an old Clash song - hey, to each their own). Incense infused the
air with mysterious smoke. A couple of beers chilled in the ice
bucket (tried champagne, like this better). And there, lying in the
bed, the covers pushed down to near his knees, was my man.

In a flash I was nestled in there next to him, delighting in the
feeling of my skin, still warm and wet from the shower, against his.
Our lips found one another again in the dim light, dancing and playing
together for a few moments, then locking down. I began to grow
lightheaded as I wrapped myself around him, my tongue in his mouth,
while he kept one hand on the back of my head, holding me to him,
using the other to caress my chest and belly and...ooooohhhhh.

As much as I hated to do it, I actually had to nudge his hand away
from my cock, as it always takes me a while to recover from an orgasm
and I didn't want to go off that soon. "I'm already real close," was
how I put it to him, and I received a deep affectionate growl in
reply. "I know something else we can do, though."

Soon he was lying on his stomach (on top of a few pillows so his penis
still had a little room to stretch) while I perched on his ass,
massaging his wide back. We had long-ago discovered a massage cream
that was neither too greasy nor something that clogged up among his
hairs, and it even had a pleasant taste as an added bonus. I worked
it deeply into his skin, squeezing and working his muscles, being
careful not to tug on his fur. I hold it as a point of deep-seated
pride that he claims he never enjoyed a massage before he met me, as
no one knew how to deal with all that fuzz.

I worked slowly around his neck and upper back, down along the spine,
then concentrated on his lower back, where he normally had the most
complaints. My attention to my work had served at least one of its
purposes - my cock had subsided to half-mast, despite it's comfortable
resting place in the cleft of his ass.

He groaned his appreciation as I rubbed out a particularly dense knot,
then spun around in my place and turned my attention to his legs. I
ran my hands along his wonderfully hefty thighs and stroked his
calves, as big as cantaloupes, I swear. I even gave each of his feet
a thorough rubdown, as I was feeling especially loving, (okay, perhaps
I had an ulterior motive...) then announced that it was time for him
to turn over.

I moved aside for a moment while he arranged himself on his back,
enjoying the view. He dropped his head back on the pillows, with such
a peaceful smile on his face that I felt a new surge of devotion swell
up within me and my hands were quickly back on his body. When dealing
with his front side, it was even more ridiculous for me to pretend
that the massage was anything but a thinly (if at all) veiled way for
me to rub and touch him anywhere I liked.

I kneaded his chest, working from the center out to his nipples, my
fingers luxuriating in his soft hairs. Neither of us are driven into
total delirium through nipple play, as some of our luckier friends
claim to experience, but I knew he enjoyed a few light twists, so I
got one between each index finger and thumb and turned them like
dials. They must have been the volume dials tonight because this
action resulted in an increasingly loud hum of satisfaction that
seemed to come not from his mouth, but from his entire body.

Sitting as I was on his upper thighs, it was a good chance for our
dicks to mingle some more, and soon they were dancing together
happily. Each tiny tug on his nipples would produce an energetic
twitch down below, and these momentary contacts soon had my guy
standing up straight and tall again. Feeling my patience wearing
away, I allowed my hands to leave his chest and begin swirling slowly
over his belly, until they eventually found and closed in on his cock.

God, is there anything better than a hard cock in your hand? I
suppose there must be, but at this moment stroking and squeezing that
big friendly penis was the only wish I had. Even Eddie's gasps of
pleasure seemed far off as I tried to focus all my senses on the
sensations in my hands. Up and down the thick trunk, the utter
smoothness of the skin on the head, the furry base where it grew out
of his balls, all of it, every bit, over and over and over, that's all
I wanted. Even in the dark I had the perfect image of it in my mind,
but it was as though I needed to recheck the dimensions every second,
just to be sure nothing had changed.

Even I couldn't tell you the exact moment where I changed positions
and had that whole hot thing in my mouth instead of my hand, but it
happened somewhere in here. I'm only human, after all. Despite the
physical exertion the task demanded, this act always filled me with
the most profound sense of peace. I can only shrug in confusion when
homosexuality is decried for being "unnatural," as I have found
nothing on this earth as undeniably right for me as sucking a cock.
It just seems like such an obvious thing to do with it, doesn't it?
Why all the fuss?

Anyway, the point is I was enjoying myself, and I think Eddie was as
well, if his squirming and loud groans of pleasure were any
indication. Up and down, in and out... I can't claim to have any
innovative fellating techniques to lend anyone, but enthusiasm can go
a long way. I treated Eddie's dick like a tiny king, showing my love
for it and him any way I could think of - light licks, soft kisses,
tight hard sucking, and everything in between. He rubbed my shoulders
and neck as I went at it, keeping me nice and limber, and it wasn't
long before this feeling of warmth and well-being I described came
over me, and while part of me was still very much enjoying the present
moment, I also found my mind wandering back, as it so often does in
this state, to the night Eddie and I met.

* * * * * * * *

It was one of Rod and Victor's parties, always crowded and boisterous
affairs, and even though most of the other guests were usually
strangers to me, it was hard to turn down the invitations.
Surprisingly enough the amount of serious cruising that went on was
always rather low - most of this group was already paired off, with
their wild days already behind them. Their house was large enough,
however, that an industrious twosome could usually find some privacy
if necessary.

I arrived and it looked like it would be a typical evening; enjoyable,
certainly, but fun of the low-key variety. Eating, drinking, sitting
and chatting. Normally this was my preferred sort of party, but I was
in the midst of an unbearable sexual dry spell at that time and my
hormones were looking for a chance to assert themselves. I had
certainly never been mistaken for a pretty-boy, and the 80's were
definitely not the decade in which to be overweight, rumpled and gay.
I still managed to find the occasional adventurous soul, who probably
just saw a romp with me as a novelty after a series of smooth gym
boys, but even those hollow nights had become fond memories as of
late.

I was sitting on the arm of the sofa, carefully balancing a plate of
food, a glass of wine, and yet another discussion of "Dynasty" when
Eddie walked in. I literally did a double take - glancing over
casually at the newcomers, glancing away, and then zooming my head
back around to make sure my eyes were not deceiving me. With the way
I jumped I don't know how I managed to avoid covering myself in
spinach dip, but I was soon able to control my outward reaction to
plain and simple gawking.

He had arrived with another couple, Timothy and Dave, and seemed to
know no one else there, based on his rather glazed look and pasted-on
smile. He nodded hello to one and all (most of whom were just as
dumbstruck as I by his appearance, though from what I knew of their
proclivities, the typical reaction would have been more of "does this
guy have the right house?" than "Me first!" - which was fine by me)
and quickly disappeared into the kitchen.

I promptly excused myself, quite probably looking like the slobbering
idiot I had become, and worked my way over near the guys who had
brought this magnificent creature into my life. Eavesdropping, I
presently discovered that Eddie was a recent Chicago transplant,
didn't know anyone in the city, and had been introduced to Tim and
Dave through another mutual friend, as they were the only other gay
people he knew (so of course they'd all instantly hit it off, right?
Typical - but in this case I won't complain...). They didn't know
what else to do with him so they brought him along here. Last I heard
they were saying how nice a guy he seemed to be as I went off on the
hunt.

I turned the corner to the kitchen and found myself right behind him
as he stood awkwardly picking through the vegetable tray. I screeched
to a halt and tried to appear like I was walking into the kitchen like
any normal man (ha!). I moved to the buffet table myself, mimed
looking over the food, and after what seemed like an appropriate few
seconds, turned to him, extended my hand, and introduced myself.

He quickly wiped his hand on his shorts, still chewing half a carrot
stick, and announced himself as "Eddie O'Brien" in his deep whiskey
voice.

We apparently engaged in conversation, and I remember snippets about
how he had just moved from Cincinnati (and couldn't be happier for the
change), had found a place near Grant Park, how he'd met Tim and Dave,
and so on. Fortunately my brain is able to compartmentalize different
tasks, so while one group of neurons kept me talking, the rest was
feverishly scribbling down information on this man's amazing body. It
was summer and he wore a white t-shirt and baggy tan shorts, allowing
my first precious glimpses of his colossal arms, ultra-hairy neckline
and powerful legs. I was working hard at mentally uncovering the rest
of him when he suggested we go out on the deck where it would be
"quieter." I don't know if he had read the look in my eyes yet, but I
would have followed him straight into the furnace at that point.

We exited into the night air and found we had the back porch all to
ourselves. We each settled into a deck chair and continued what was
turning into a lively discussion. Despite my general sense of awe by
his physical attributes, his open personality had quickly put me at
ease, and we were already discovering many common interests and a
similar sense of humor.

We talked for the better part of an hour without interruption, but
eventually, as one would expect, others in the party began to spill
out onto the porch as well. Our conversation hadn't yet turned all
that personal, but we both seemed to run out of things to say as parts
of a larger group. Well, at least our mouths weren't talking - I
glanced over to Eddie after a few minutes of listening to Paul prattle
on about some new shampoo or something, and felt a tangible jolt as my
eyes met his. He had obviously been looking me over, but now caught,
he didn't look away, or even blink. This type of prolonged eye
contact is difficult for me to maintain but I made the effort, and
with our eyes locked together we made it through the next 15 minutes.

Finally I felt something had to give, and with an unaccustomed
boldness, I flicked my eyes towards the house and gave a slight tilt
of my head. Eddie picked up the sign immediately and responded with a
tiny nod. I excused myself, claiming I was off to get a new drink,
and returned to the kitchen. Eddie followed in about 30 seconds.

Since no one else had offered, I felt the only hospitable thing to do
at this point was offer Eddie the grand tour of the house. Hmm, let's
start with the upstairs! I heard the party whispering as I led him up
but paid no mind. Chances like this didn't come along often enough
for me to worry about innuendo.

I went through the motions of showing Eddie the rooms (about which I
knew next to nothing) while the air separating us became more and more
charged. Near the door to their study, he finally placed his hand on
my shoulder and the whole world changed. I stumbled to complete my
sentence about Victor's desk chair and turned to find this beautiful
man looking longingly into my eyes, a nervous but sweet smile on his
face.

"I think I need a closer look," was all he said.

I tried to swallow but my throat was dry. "Then let's get you one."

We stepped quietly into the study together and closed the door.

Despite what anyone (and everyone) would tell you, not much more went
on in that room than some urgent kissing and fondling-through-clothes,
at least as far as physical actions go. But when Eddie asked me
between kisses if I was with anyone, the only answer that made any
sense was "I am now."

* * * * * * * *

A gentle but insistent pressure on my neck brought me back to the
present. "Baby, baby, baby, slow down down there, I'm begging you,"
he whispered, rubbing my shoulders and lifting me off his cock in one
motion. "You're going to make me prematurely insane."

Getting one last lick in, I slid back up to face him, enjoying the rub
against his chest on the way. "Sorry. You know I can't be held
responsible for my actions when I'm in that position."

Thankfully instead of continuing the conversation he kissed me and
then kept on kissing me. An unmeasurable amount of time drifted by
this way, his arms around me, mine around him, our faces and bodies
pressed together tightly, war declared on any air molecules foolish
enough to come between us.

For me this is the boundary that separates having sex from making love
- a guy can stick his cock through a hole in a wall and someone on the
other side can bring him off and they can each say they've had sex.
But there's no way you can do *this* to some stranger (or at least I
never could); to want to get this close, this intimate, eyeball to
eyeball, for this long without some emotional connection.

Or maybe it's the love we already have for each other that brings
meaning to the actions. Perhaps I could lie in the arms of some
random man and do the same things, but I could never believe it could
feel like this. It wasn't just his lips I was feeling, his hands on
my back, his legs against mine. It's what I felt inside, something
hopefully every one of us will someday experience because it is
impossible to describe. A lightness? A tingle? Buzzing? Like warm
honey poured out over my brain, filling in all the cracks.
Caterpillars tiptoeing across my heart. (Okay, so I may not be up
there with Shakespeare, but I can understand why this is the feeling
writers have been attempting to capture for centuries.)

We finally had to stop to breathe a little. It was dark but I knew we
were looking into each other's eyes, and though I couldn't see the
full effect of his bottomless brown pools, the feeling was still
wonderful. I could see the shadow of that little-boy smile still on
his face, however.

"I think now I'll have a go," he declared. My mother taught me never
to turn down sincere hospitality, so I laid back as he dotted my chest
with feather-soft kisses. His gentleness never failed to take me by
surprise - he looked like the kind of guy who would only know how to
throw someone up against a wall and screw his life away, but actually
he only did this when I begged him to (hee hee) - the rest of the time
he was an overgrown kitten. His path was long and winding, but as
usual, all roads lead to the cock. He didn't kiss it immediately, but
instead lightly grazed his soft whiskers against it. Paradise.

He worked his arms under my legs and carefully lifted them until my
thighs were on his shoulders. Once everything was arranged, he opened
his mouth and sucked in half of my burning hard-on. I had to hold
myself back from out-and-out screaming with joy, though I couldn't
muffle a few loud cries. His left hand roamed across my chest, his
right hand played with my balls, and his mouth and tongue took care of
the rest. Wow, was all I could think, he really is one hell of a
cocksucker!, as I grabbed onto the sheets to keep from shooting off
into space. Again, there's no trick to what he does, it's nothing
fancy, just good old-fashioned hard, passionate sucking combined with
an active tongue.

I generally don't relate to straight guys and any feeling of "power"
during sex. It's not like I'm ready to rule the universe because I'm
enjoying a good blow job. But I have to admit there are times when I
look down and see this m0n5t3r of a man down between my legs, doing
his utmost to pleasure me, and well, it feels pretty damn good. But
then since I know I had been in his position myself only moments ago
(and would be again soon, god willing), it isn't a feeling of
superiority or dominance, but something more like gratitude. You
know, I bet if all the world leaders went down on each during their
summits before they negotiated, each giving and receiving, the world
would be a much better place. I must remember to write a letter to
the United Nations...

That'll have to wait. Right now I just want to push my cock as far
into Eddie's mouth as nature will allow. Christ, how could anything
feel so good? It's amazing to me that even though the human race (and
men in particular) knows that this activity will produce such ecstasy
time and time again, we still spend most of our time sitting in
offices or standing in line in the grocery store. When will we evolve
into creatures that do nothing but have sex all day? Hopefully soon.

Eddie had me at the point where I would have gladly signed my soul
away to Rosie O'Donnell just to stay in this position for another
second, when he had to pull off temporarily to rest (hmm, probably
just as well). He took a few deep breaths, exhaling lightly over my
straining prick. "Goddamn," was all he could say between huffs and
puffs, and so he repeated it several times for emphasis. "Goddamn.
God DAMN!" You said it, mister.

But I was in no mood to damn anything once he started back up again.
To the contrary, I felt like running through the streets, blessing one
and all.

Can you imagine if somehow we had the same sorts of nerves that we
have in our cocks over the rest of our bodies? If, say, sorting the
laundry or reading the newspaper could provide similar sensations?
(I'm sorry, but these are the sorts of pointless thoughts I tend to
get during such occasions - now back to the action!)

He was really going to town now, sliding about 3/4 of my meat into his
mouth with every lunge. He can get moving up and down so fast that he
seems to defy several laws of physics, but who am I to complain? His
tongue paid constant attention to my head, sliding around the
circumference and prodding the tip. I must have started producing
some pre-cum, as his tongue was spending a lot of time right near the
slit, teasing out and consuming each drop. He abruptly stopped the
deep approach for a moment and wrapped his lips around the spot where
my cockhead joined the shaft, and started flicking his tongue softly
against the opening. I had my fingers woven into the hair on his head
and we were both moaning and groaning like wild beasts. This type of
work takes us deep inside our animal selves, I'm telling you. For a
little while there I thought I'd started mooing.

Finally I realized I had to have him again and I rearranged us into a
69 position as quickly and painlessly as possible, both of us now on
our sides. His erection had quieted down a little without any direct
stimulation, but this was a short-term problem. I took him and he
took me and that was all there was to it, a couple of hogs in slop.
He fucked my face like a real champ as he continued to lavish favor on
my penis, and I worked a couple fingers against his ass while feasting
on his fabulous prize. Time again dissolved into meaningless
fragments. Whole civilizations could be born, develop, and
disintegrate in flames in the span of each stroke. Worlds found,
rejoiced, forgotten, and rediscovered.

Philosophy soon was urgently replaced by physicality, however, as I
concluded that either my cock needed to explode or the top of my head
certainly would. This time there could be no holding back. I quickly
locked into my final, perfect groove, slipping in and out of his lips
in a joyous, steady rhythm, feeling like a pilot on his final descent
to a flawless landing. A series of whimpers led me to believe he was
on that same brink, so I also strengthened my mouth's grip on him, and
from that point it was all over but the shouting. (I knew there'd be
plenty of that, though.)

I'd have to see the results of the photo finish to know for sure, but
I think he started a few microseconds ahead of me. His whole groin
suddenly made an almighty leap into my mouth, followed immediately by
the first sizzling gush of his semen. This thrill instantly started
my hips bucking wildly and my own exhilarating release was mercifully
granted. My mouth was already full from his first steaming shot, but
I soon found he had much, much more to give me. As he emptied his
love into me and I into him it was not difficult to imagine that my
monumental eruptions were in fact shooting all the way through his
body and back into mine, an endless cycle of delirious bliss.

I drank in as much as I possibly could before my lungs' need for a
decent breath tore me off, gasping. He still had his arms around my
middle and my exhausted erection buried in his mouth, where his tongue
greedily sought out any neglected drops. In the meantime, his penis
pulsed its final pearls out onto my chest. Half-formed words babbled
out from deep inside me in between heaving breaths; I'm sure I could
have conversed easily with a Martian. After a few more heavenly
moments, he languidly slid his mouth from me, cleaning my shaft
completely in the process (I tell you, he isn't human!), and laid his
head back on the pillow for a few well-earned inhalations of air.

As soon as a tiny amount of energy had crept back into my drained
limbs, I clambered around to be face to face with him once more. His
eyes were closed, but I could sense the traces of a euphoric smile on
his lips as I lightly touched them with mine in the darkness. I
nuzzled my head into the hollow of his chest and we collapsed
together, quietly riding up and down on one another's deep breaths, an
old Edith Piaf number completing the exquisite lull.

Eventually I heard him murmur, "You get the number on that truck?" and
I smiled, still too spent to actually laugh. His arms and legs
encircled me and I squeezed into him tightly in return and the haze of
our love thickened around us.

This is the man I want to live and die with. This man is the
culmination of human history, created to give meaning and light to my
days on this planet. The man for whom I myself was created. The man
always there to hold me in my darkest moments and my brightest, able
to multiply my happiness and to divide my sorrow.

The man who somehow, some way, would make me shriek with wild elation
and shoot fountains of cum two more times before the sun came up.

And checkout's not 'til noon!