12 #2
He was so slim through the shoulders and chest. His belly was flat.
Some twinkie guys, when they got older, started to look too thin, and while I wished Noah had been eating more, he still had that faint hint of definition in his arms and upper body that made him, well, fucking perfect.
As he ran one hand down his stomach—the other hand was still playing with his dick through the silk—he said, “Not at all?”
I shrugged. But Noah just kept staring at me until finally I said, “No.”
A wave of embarrassment washed over me, and I waited for something from Noah.
Some throwaway line about how I was still a closet case, or about internalized homophobia, or what was wrong with me.
But it was the truth; I hadn’t hooked up with anyone.
Not since the divorce. And I was, apparently, too stupid to lie.
“God,” Noah breathed. “Do you have any idea how hot that is?”
I tried a laugh. “Yeah, I don’t know—”
He put one arm behind his head. He always kept his armpits shaved, but a hint of blond stubble showed tonight. His other hand pushed down the front of the panties to expose the root of his dick. “I’m so hard right now.”
And me, being a motherfucking genius, I said, “I see that.”
A grin crooked across Noah’s face. “Are you hard?”
Was I hard? God, my dick was pulsing, trapped under the joggers.
My face must have been answer enough, because Noah slid the panties off. He was shaved there, too—he always was. He had such a nice dick. Small, pink, pretty.
“Noah,” I said. And I had the strangest sense that the ground was crumbling out from under me. I needed to be the reasonable one. I needed to be the responsible one. Sure, this was hot, and God, it had been so long, but—
But what?
We were adults.
We obviously cranked each other’s motors.
Fuck, we were still married, so even the Jesus-bangers didn’t have anything to complain about.
“Can I see?” Noah asked.
If there’s a record time for a man getting out of a sweatshirt and joggers, I probably broke it.
On the other end of the call, Noah was getting himself settled on the bed, the phone propped somewhere between his knees to give me a view of him from the dick up.
I tried to copy him, but I had to prop the phone against a couple of pillows and move everything around a few times before I finally settled back.
My dick wasn’t bothered at all; it was hard as ever, poking me, leaving a line of pre just below my belly button.
“Oh my God,” Noah moaned. He was cupping his balls, but not playing with himself. Not yet. His other hand tickled his chest and stomach. “How are you so hot? It’s not fair.”
“You’re hot too,” I said. Which was, yeah, the worst fucking response ever, but it made Noah smile.
“I’ve been going crazy since this morning.
I have been so fucking horny.” His hand started to move now—light strokes, gliding along the shaft, his thumb brushing the head of his cock to gather the little bead of pre there and then spread it along the shaft as his hand moved back down.
His other hand moved to play with one of those small pink nipples. “I wish you were here.”
The cough happened again, only this time it sounded like my tongue was stuck in my throat. Somehow, though, I managed to say, “Me too.”
Noah’s head rolled back. He had a beautiful neck, which was one of those weird things I’d never thought before I went full homo. I liked the faint bulge of his Adam’s apple. I was feral about the line of his jaw.
When he brought his head up again, his eyes seemed even darker, and his nipples were stiff. He was still stroking himself with those delicate touches. “What would you do if you were here with me?”
And I wasn’t quite so cock-drunk that I didn’t think, briefly, that he lived ten minutes away, tops, and I could be there.
In under ten minutes, if my dick was doing the driving.
But for maybe the first time in my life, I thought I knew what was going on.
And why he’d waited to do this over the phone.
I couldn’t help my grin.
“Not that!” But Noah giggled. “You don’t get the booty right away.”
“You’re the one who brought it up.”
“I was reminiscing. I was being romantic.”
“We could stress-test some of the walls in that fancy condo.”
“No, no, no, no, no, no, no.” But he was grinning too. And then the grin faded into something more serious as he continued to touch himself.
“Well, first I’d get your hand off your dick,” I said. “Because we’re going to play with that later.”
Noah swallowed, and the last of the grin faded. He let go of his dick.
“I’d kiss your shoulder,” I said. “I’d kiss your neck. You know that spot behind your ear?”
Noah made a soft sound and raised two fingers to the spot.
“I’d play with those pretty tits,” I said. “You keep touching them, but you need somebody else to do that for you.”
“Your fingers are so strong,” he murmured.
“Yeah, and I love playing with your pretty titties. And I love playing with your pretty dick, too.”
For the first time, I let myself touch my own dick. I was harder than I’d realized, and even though I didn’t normally leak, a fat drop of pre gleamed on my slit. I gave myself a tug and made a sound—part need, part something else, something animal.
“I’d want your mouth on my dick,” I said, “before I let you come.”
Noah’s pink lips parted as though he was ready for me.
“You’d jerk me while my dick was in your mouth. You’d get me real close.”
“You’re so big,” Noah said. “God, Howie, I forgot how big.”
“You didn’t forget,” I said with a laugh.
And Noah blushed—a deep, startled red that bloomed in his chest and ran up his neck. His mouth opened a little more, and he made a noise like he was shocked and hurt and needing. And like he was ashamed of it.
I could feel the veins on the shaft of my dick.
Feel myself closing the gap. “Do you want to jerk off while I’m fucking your face?
” I said. “Or do you want me to shoot my load all over you, and then play with your pretty little dick until you’re crying for me to let you come, begging me to fuck you, anything to get yourself off. ”
“Oh fuck,” Noah muttered in a different voice. “Howie.”
“Go on.”
He grabbed his dick and started to jerk. My own hand moved faster and faster.
“Oh fuck,” Noah said again, this time the words high and strangled, and then his head fell back, and he shot his load all over his stomach. Three spurts. Four. Five. That cute little dick came with an expanded magazine.
For me, it came like clouds gathering at the horizon, everything closing in, the load building until it seemed like it was at the tip of my dick. And then I came, and the world narrowed.
It took me a few seconds to reboot. Fat streaks of come covered my chest, but I’d gotten some on my jaw and cheek, and more had gotten in my hair.
Probably not the first self-facial in the history of dicks, but maybe another new record.
The smell of it filled the room. My dick was still half-hard, and for a single moment, I thought I should drive over right now and fuck Noah, because with us, sex had always been better after we’d taken the edge off.
On the other end of the call, Noah made this distressed little bleat. He squirmed around against the pillows he’d used to prop himself up, curling up like a cat, eyes half-closed, face soft.
“How are you doing over there?” I asked.
A satisfied sound came in answer.
I laughed. “So, what’s the deal here? Normally…” But suddenly it felt like a weird road to go down. Normally we’d cuddle. But. “I guess I’ve never done this before.”
“Well, you get an A-plus,” Noah said with a sleepy smile, eyes still closed. “Thank you, Howie. I really needed that.”
“Uh, yeah.” And then, because I’m such a fucking charmer, “Thank you, too.”
His smile grew. His eyes flicked open to amused slits. “Are you okay?”
It was such a strange question, mostly because Noah was the one who sounded like he’d died mid-nut. I mean, my God, I’d forgotten he made noises like that.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Oh my God. Do you have come in your hair?”
“It’s been a long time, thanks very much. You should take it as a fucking compliment.”
Noah’s smile was sleepy, but serious too. “You’d tell me if you weren’t okay, right? You’d tell me if I made you feel weird?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. I just…don’t want to mess anything up.”
And he didn’t say again. But we both heard it.
“I had fun,” I said. “Did you have fun?”
He nodded against the pillows.
“Then everything’s okay.”
“Good.” He reached for the phone. “Goodnight, Howie.”
I hesitated. Because it seemed like there was something else I was supposed to say.
But the call had already ended, and the screen was dark when I finally said, “Night.”