11. The Perfect Moment #3
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.”