11. The Perfect Moment #2
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!”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“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?”
“I’m 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.