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Learning the Ropes Ch. 01

By: herkimur



Long time reader, first time submitter. Please leave any feedback you like! I have ideas for more chapters in progress.



I pull another shirt from the dryer, grasp the shoulder seams and shake it out. As I fold it and lay it on the pile, I remember the last time my wife wore it, the dark navy v-neck contrasting with the lightly freckled skin of her decolletage, the sparkly swoosh design leading down to her white shorts that left her toned legs exposed for my admiration. I smile to myself as I recall peeling it off her torso, can feel for a moment her nipple hardening against my tongue, see the skin pucker as I blew cool air on it, and hear her playful moan as I switched to warm breath before taking it back into my mouth.

"Daddy!"

Daydream over, I yell "Just a minute!" back up the steps, placing the piles into the basket and grabbing it before I head up the stairs.

"Where's Mommy?" she asks as I come into my bedroom.

"She had to work late tonight," I say, glad that I'm not euphemizing this time.

I lift her pile and beckon her into her own room, where she climbs into bed while I put her clothes in the drawers. I read her a chapter of her latest Junie B. Jones book and give her a kiss goodnight, reminding her that I love her as I leave.

Back in my room, I feel the exhaustion wash over me, but set about the task of emptying the laundry basket. I tuck the last shirt into my drawer and collapse on the bed. My mind is a blur of the last few months - conflict, anger, and fear, from which better communication, cooperation and caring have started to emerge. I don't know exactly what the future holds, but don't feel as desperate as I have in the past.

I will myself into the bathroom and brush my teeth and collapse back into the bed. I set the alarm, turn off the light, and close my eyes.

As I'm drifting off, I feel my wife slide into the bed behind me. She leans over and gives me our now-customary goodnight kiss, on my cheek. But instead of immediately turning back to her side of the bed, I feel her press her body against my back and her arm drape across my chest. She idly strokes my torso for a bit, and then, perhaps testing to see if I'm actually asleep, she starts to trace her fingers over my nipples through my shirt.

I continue to lie still, eyes closed and breathing as steady as I can manage, waiting to see where this might go. I feel her shift and she props herself up on one arm, and the other one moves from my chest to my shoulder, starting to move away. She's decided that I'm asleep.

I wonder for a moment whether I should contradict her. I sense her head moving in for another peck on the cheek, but then I feel her tongue slide up the back of my earlobe. She breathes into my ear, not saying anything, but I hear a faint hint of humming from the back of her throat. She pulls her lips back and bites lightly, then sucks the lobe into her mouth. When she lets go, she blows into my ear again, and her hand moves up to gently trace the line of my jaw.

I give up my charade and squirm my butt back against her crotch, starting to turn back towards her. "So, tough night at work?" I whisper.

She nods, smiling with her lips pursed to let me know she doesn't want to talk right now. I turn my head towards her as she plants a row of kisses along my jawline. She reaches my chin and moves her lips towards mine. I strain my head towards her, but she nips my bottom lip with hers and pulls her head away.

She sits up a little more and pushes some hair behind her ear, still grinning that sexy smile at me. I turn over a little more and reach for her, but she catches my wrist and pins it to the bed. Swinging a leg over me, she grabs my other arm and pushes it to the bed above my head with the other one. She raises one eyebrow and grins, knowing that she's surprising me a bit. She lowers her head towards mine, but keeps it just out of reach. But I'm no longer straining against her - this is one of the hottest things she's ever done.

She gives me a gentle kiss on the inside of my bicep, and then another, moving down to my shoulder, and then up my neck. She takes my earlobe in her mouth again, and then breathes hot air into it. "I want you so bad, my love," she whispers.

I nod in agreement, and she pushes my arms into the bed to keep them there, and then moves her hands to the hem of my t-shirt. I lift my torso slightly so that she can remove it. Throwing it onto the floor, she uses one hand to keep my wrists pinned while she kisses my neck, and then my collarbone. Her other hand comes down and pinches one nipple. With a push to let me know they should stay there, she releases my wrists so she can continue kissing down my body. She kisses my pec and then licks at my nipple, before sucking it into her mouth and flicking her tongue across it. I groan, and then strain my hips upward when she scrapes her teeth across it. 

One thigh is now pressing against my rock-hard dick, and I push up into it. But she moves the leg away, pulling her whole body away from me. I reach for her, but she slaps my hand away, telling me to keep both hands on the headboard. She takes her shirt off, and as I see those perfect pink nipples start to pucker from the excitement and the cold air, my hunger for them is too much, and I lunge for her body again. 

She laughs, and says, "You don't follow instructions very well, do you? We'll have to do something about that." She reaches into the cabinet where we keep our toys and pulls out the soft rope cuffs. I put my hands back by the iron headboard and she slips the cuffs over my wrists, the middle wrapping around the bars. "That's better," she says. 

She resumes kissing my torso, starting at my hip, just above the waistband of my boxers. She stays off to the side, leaving my cock to strain by itself as she works her way back up to my nipples. She slowly closes her teeth across the surface of one while sucking cold air in across it. Again, she teases me with the promise of a kiss on my mouth, only to pull away at the last moment. Then she crawls down between my legs and starts mouthing the inside of my knee, moving slowly towards my groin. One hand slides up the leg of my boxers and gently cups my scrotum, and wiggles its fingers towards my butt. Finally her kisses reach the hem of my shorts and she mutters, "There's something in my way," grasping the waistband as I arch my back and she pulls them off. I lie there, naked and bound at the wrists as she surveys my body and playfully asks, "Well, what shall we do with this?"

In answer, she lowers her head towards my waist, again kissing the point of my hip. She slowly moves her head towards my tool, which is twitching almost involuntarily. She slides a hand up my thigh and grasps the root of my prick to hold it still, and then opens her mouth wide over it. She breathes hot air over the head, and then down the shaft. Drops of fluid are glistening on the tip. She extends her tongue and licks from the base to the head in one smooth motion before pulling away. She uses her hand to stroke me and massage the pre-come into my skin before finally lowering her beautiful lips around my head, flicking her tongue out at it.

My body is screaming for more contact, more pressure, and I arch my hips up at her, but she won't relent. She licks up the top of my dick, slowly, and then each side, before suddenly plunging her head down and wrapping almost my entire tool with her hot lips, mouth and tongue. She stays as far down as she can for a moment, wiggling her tongue against the bottom of my shaft.

"Oooonnnnh," I moan, loving the intense sensation after the build-up. She pulls her head back, and then slides down again, beginning the rhythmic tongue massage she knows will bring me to climax. After several strokes, she pulls her head off and grasps my cock, sliding her hand up and down, her index finger stroking my glans. "Mmm," she purrs. "Are you going to come for me?"

"Oh, yeah," I say, and she drops her mouth back onto my dick. She rubs harder and harder on the underside with her tongue, occasionally pausing at the top of the stroke to swipe her tongue around the head. 

I stretch my legs out to the side as my toes begin to curl. "Oh. My. God," I manage to whisper. My lover adds her hands to the sensational mix, tickling my sac with one and wrapping the other around the shaft to help her mouth. My hips are bucking up at her, and every nerve in my body is buzzing. 

"Oh!" I shout, and she plunges down, holding her mouth over most of my cock. I press my hips into her face as the first jet spurts out of my dick, and she keeps swallowing as more and more erupts. She gradually begins a few slow steady strokes as I come down, carefully avoiding my over-sensitive head. I start to soften and she lets my clean dick fall from her mouth and slides her body up next to mine.

"Mmmm," she purrs in my ear, then kissing my cheek.. "That was fun."

"That...was fantastic," I gasp.

She fetches a towel off the floor and gently wipes some of the sweat and saliva from her mouth, and then my body, throwing the towel into the now-empty laundry basket. She slips the cuffs off of my wrists and I wrap my arms around her, trying to get our bodies as close as possible. I kiss her face and neck slowly. 

"You are so amazing, my love. Thank you so much. Now, what can I do for you?"

Learning the Ropes Ch. 01



Author's Note: I suppose most of these notes are self-evident, but I include them here to circumvent getting comments about them later. I've read many a story where the comments section has left me scratching my head; it's always a good reminder to me that, just because an author puts something in a story, it doesn't mean (s)he endorses or agrees with it.

All characters engaging in any funny business are over the age of 18, as well as the age of consent in the (fictional) areas in which they reside. The characters are human beings and do not, therefore, always act with the highest moral integrity; this does not reflect my own views, nor do I personally endorse any of their actions. On the contrary, I may privately outright disagree with them, but the following is their story as they have told it to me-over coffee. This is, after all, a work of fiction but also their collective autobiographies. Exercise your own good judgment when out in the world, and for goodness' sake: play nice with others.

Oh, and I know there are glaring grammatical and idiomatic errors in the prose (i.e., subject-verb agreement, English idioms used incorrectly). They're all as intentional as they are flagrant. This story is told in the first person, and the narrator's register reflects his upbringing. No need to point them out; each was placed there with tender loving care for a particular reason.

Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride. And leave me a comment! I love hearing from you!! Thanks to all the kind folks who've left me a word or two in the past. Rest assured I've read each and every one of your wonderful notes. Much obliged.

P. Alinea

*****

Learning the Ropes: Chapter 1

So I'm at work on a Saturday night. It's this sit-down burger joint: family-friendly, I guess, but popular enough with the high school and college crowd that it's a go-to spot for proms and other get-togethers in the area. Anyways, so I'm finishing up my shift when in comes these two guys, and right away, they're turning heads.

Partly, it's because they're dressed pretty flashy. Mostly, it's because they've got their arms slung over each other's shoulders. And that's not all: their opposite legs are so close, they're practically joined at the hip before they've taken two steps in through the front door.

They come in and sit down next to a family of six: Mom with bangs curled up in a ski slope and a backcomb to make 80s Cher jealous, Dad in matching royal blue track suit and baseball cap. The local team. From the looks of it, he either plays for them or has season tickets. Anyways, their four kids are fidgeting and screaming, but soon the two of them are the ones looking antsy on the wooden bench in the waiting area.

The two young men next to them are sitting on each other's hands. It's totally obvious and intentional. Never seen anything like it around here. I mean, a guy and a girl, sure. Two guys? Well, you obviously haven't been to these parts.

One of them's got sandy blonde hair, same color as mine but with bleached tips. Think late 90s boy band and you've got the right idea. Tight white shirt with open collared button-down over it. Ripped, faded boot-cut blue jeans and shades. White sneakers tied up real loose. About 15 years too late, but he doesn't seem overly concerned.

His partner - that what you're supposed to call it? - is Latino with closely cropped hair all gelled up. He's wearing khaki cargo pants and a black button-up. He's built, a bit heavy in the middle, with broad shoulders and thick forearms. This guy's stereotype macho while Mister Backstreet is a pretty boy.

Their hands are slipped in each other's back pockets now. Mister Backstreet is whispering something into his bronzed boyfriend's ear to which the more athletic man smiles and returns with a whisper and a pinch to his round ass. He squirms in his seat, and Mother of Four gives them the stink eye. They're oblivious, though.

"I'll get this one, Erin," I say, my eyes never leaving their rambunctious forms. I grab a couple of our tall laminated menus and clear my throat.

"Thanks, Will. You know I can't deal with that."

I turn to grin at the pudgy blonde standing next to me and pulling her hair back in a ponytail.

"What, the flirting? I guess it is a bit raunchy."

"Nah," she replies, smacking her gum. "That kinda stuff happens in here every Saturday night. It's the faggotry."

Ouch. I hope she's joking. Who says that? Is it even a word? I resist the urge to tell her where she can stick the homophobia and put on my most hospitable smile before walking over to my overeager customers.

"Welcome to the Roadhouse. My name's Will. I'll be your server, but seeing as we're short on staff this evening, I'll also seat you and bus your table. Tips welcome."

The boy band boy flashes me his bleached whites and giggles. "You're pretty funny."

"Well, I've been trying to get 'em to agree to let me do some stand-up on Saturdays, but it's Saturday and, well, here I am. You can guess how well that went."

"Oh, stop... Baby, isn't he funny?"

The guy next to him smirks at me. I notice his eyes are looking me up and down a few times before he turns to kiss his companion on the cheek.

"Uh, can I show you to a booth?" I offer.

"We don't mind a table," Backstreet replies.

"Nah. I'm sure you wanna sit together." I pause here and throw a glance at their hands, which are still going to town. "Anyways, I opened a booth for you." I stop myself from telling them the booth is in a corner where they might not be on full display.

"That's sweet. Isn't that sweet, baby?"

"Fuckin' faggots."

I turn to see Father of Four chewing on a toothpick and scowling at us. I'm sure my eyes must be as wide as the dinner plates on all the tables. Is this guy for real?

"Ugh..." Backstreet groans. I'm sure this isn't the first time he's had that kind of language slung at him. He's pretty femme.

"'Scuse me, sir: We're a family establishment. Now, I don't know what kind of language you use at home in front of your kids, but around here, that's not gonna fly." I'm trembling even as I hear these words come out of my mouth.

What the hell am I doing? Since when do I make waves? Everybody knows you don't make tips trying to play the hero. I don't even know what my own deal is, but I grip the menus tight to my chest with both hands as a shield. I set my jaw, gritting my teeth and trying to look like I mean business. I narrow my eyes and flare my nostrils. That's right, asshole: I'm in attack mode.

"Who you think you're talkin' to?" Mister Baseball says, standing up and turning red in the face. What a douche.

Then, he lurches forward a step in my direction. Oh, shit.

"You heard him. He said you need to show some respect or you're gonna have to leave." I could recognize that sass anywhere. I turn to see Erin with her hands on her hips and a scowl that makes Mister Homophobe look like Mister Rogers.

"Now, what'll it be, sir? Can I show you to a table, or are we gonna call it a night early? Your little ones look like they've been looking forward to dinner with us this evening." Here, she gestures at the kids. One little boy is tugging on his sister's hair. The two others are listening to what's going on with their folks.

"You're prolly a little fag, too."

Me? Does he mean me? Not hardly. I open my mouth to counter that claim, but he practically spats the next words in my direction before I can start.

"Come on, Con. Let's take our business someplace else. I don't need to take none of this shit. Specially not from some fag-loving teenagers."

"I am not a teenager!"

Erin throws a hand on one hip and another in the air, exasperated. She's obviously got her priorities set.

Backcomb scoops the littlest girl up in her arms and takes her brother by the hand. Mister Baseball practically yanks the arms off the other two, tugging so hard I wonder for a second whether he's dislocated them. They go flying off the bench in the foyer, giggling as they're pitched into the air.

Dad walks away, kids in tow, muttering more profanity. Father of the Year. Makes my old man look like a saint.

"I'm really sorry about that," I offer to the two still sitting on the bench. "Can I show you guys that booth?"

"Yeah," says Mister Buff. He stands, and I finally get a good look at him. He's tall and built, muscled but with a little ponch after all, and bronzed by the summer sun. He smiles at me. "Thanks for stepping up for us, bro."

He claps me on the back and grasps my right hand in his. Right away, my palm is drenched. I can feel myself pitching my weight slightly forward onto the balls of my feet, inching closer to him, a grin spreading on my face. Damn.

Instinctively, I flip the menus in my hand down to my waist, clear my throat, and spin on my heels. "OK, let me show you that table. Err... Booth."

My cheeks are on fire. I clear my throat again and shuffle through the noisy dining room, past the rows of bright red booths and long tables, the guys following close behind. Standing with my back to them, I let them slide into the booth before slapping the menus down in front of them with gusto.

The specials, I can rattle off without even thinking. I take their drink orders, confirm they'll need a few, and promise to be back momentarily with a complimentary appetizer to make up for the fiasco in the foyer. Mozzarella sticks alright? Everyone loves deep-fried cheese. I head over to where Erin is organizing the kids' menus and the crayons that go in the little kiddie buckets.

I'm still shaking when I reach for my soda from its place in the cupboard in the foyer. I can't help but wonder whether it's residual adrenaline from telling a customer off or something else altogether.

"Damn, Will. Looked for a minute there like that guy was gonna deck ya. He was pissed. What a dick."

"I thought you weren't so much with the faggotry."

Erin is pulling her hair back into a ponytail for the third time since we got on shift. "Don't misunderstand. I'm just looking out for my friend. But look at you: Didn't know you had such a soft spot for the gay rights crowd."

"I don't! I mean, that guy was swearing, and there's little kids around. We can't let a bunch of redneck homophobes ruin the mood in here, you know? It's bad for business."

She holds a knife in one hand and is critiquing her teeth in its reflective surface. Finding them white enough, she puts it down and turns to me.

"I don't know that that's all it was. You had that look me and my friends did when we found out about that puppy mill two towns over. You know: righteous indignation. It's like a story we read in Intro to Soc last quarter. You were a regular champion for social justice."

She giggles and continues, a hint of mischief in her tone now. "And from the looks you were giving Mister Latin America afterward, I wonder whether I might hafta have a little talk with Sharla one of these days."

She slaps me on the ass here to make her point and a spray of diet soda pops out on impact.

"Jesus, Will! It was a joke. No need to go all Sea World on me. Look, your shift's over in ten, and speaking of Sharla, aren't you two supposed to be catching the new Marvel movie down the street in twenty? Captain Planet, was it?"

"That's not it. And we were." I sigh. "She got a call from Steph. You know how she's not doing so hot after her breakup with Brad?"

"Ugh. What a prick." She makes a face. "Still, that sucks. Well, then, maybe you really should pull up a chair and join the two cuties in the booth after all. You might be able to talk them into taking you home to make a Marvelous flick of your own."

"Shut the fuck up!" I hiss a little too loudly. A woman who looks the better side of seventy is just walking out of the bathroom and clasps her hand to her chest over a red God Bless America T-shirt. You can't make this shit up.

"OK, Will: Keep it PG. This is a family joint!" With that, Erin slaps me upside the back of my head in mock consternation at my language. To Granny, she flashes her pearly whites and nods her head. "Sorry, ma'am. He's new. I'll make sure to wash his mouth out with that industrial soap in the kitchen before he clocks out."

The woman, whose eyes have just about popped out of her head, scurries off into the dining room muttering something that sounds like "Yeah, you'd better."

Erin heaves a sigh of relief. "Jeez. I was just ribbing ya, Will. We sure are touchy this evening, aren't we? What's your deal?"

"Sorry, Erin. Guess I don't do so good with the faggotry myself."

She snorts. "I was joking about the faggotry. It's just not something you see every day around these parts. Doesn't mean it's not there." She pats me on the shoulder. "Besides, you don't strike me as much of a homophobe. It doesn't suit you, Slim."

Here, she gestures to my lanky lags. "If anything, I'd say you might get mistaken for a twink if it weren't for those arms." She squeezes my bicep here for effect. "Oh, and your god-awful fashion sense."

I groan. "I'm gonna take off. Thanks for taking that booth. Cheese sticks on the house. Extra dipping sauce, charge them."

"Sure. Shame, though. I'm sure as heck not gonna get the tips you woulda from those two."

"I'll be sure to put in a good word and flash 'em a nice view of my ass when I walk out," I say, sticking my tongue out at her for good measure.

"I knew you weren't afraid to sell it."

"Good night, Erin," I say with finality. And then, softening, "Thanks."

She winks at me and heads toward my guys.

My heart is still thudding in my chest when I climb into my little red Toyota. It's sizzling hot. Summer nights and all that. I inhale a chestful of air and exhale with a whoosh, partly willing my heart to slow down. But more than that, I'm trying my damnedest to get rid of this goddamn stiffy I've been trying to cover up since that guy touched me.

I look at my hazel eyes in the rearview mirror and rake my hands through my sandy blonde locks.

"You're not queer," I reassure myself. "You can't be. You've got a girl." I squeeze my eyes shut. My head feels fuzzy. "You were on varsity with the guys for four years and never once made a move in the showers. Even when you had the chance, you didn't. You don't swing that way..."

The words don't sound as reassuring as they usually do, though. I sigh, tilting my head back into the seat, and twist the key in the ignition. The stereo comes on blaring; the engine roars to life.

It's too early for a reckless romp around town, and Sharla's busy. Most of my other friends are either at the park or out of town for the holiday weekend. Even my parents are bound to be out at the park for the concert heralding the end of summer.

I don't head over to theirs every weekend for dinner or anything, but I've decided a barbecued hamburger for the holiday sure would hit the spot. Hopefully there's still some patties left in the fridge, either cooked or not.

Sharla and I were set to catch an early movie and then head up in my car to our usual spot. It's supposed to be our annual ritual on the Labor Day weekend: a final summer action flick and cheap dinner in the car before a walk outside and, if I'm good, a little fun inside.

A smile crosses my lips at the thought of last year. DC movie, two slices of cardboard pizza and hopelessly big buckets of soda before getting down to business with our own little Labor of Love.

But Steph just found out Brad was screwing around with two different girls, one of them real close to Steph and Sharla. And so, my girlfriend stocked up on Ben and Jerry's and is no doubt baking up a storm now. She always says nothing beats a little kitchen therapy. She's too nice. Maybe I am, too.

I sigh. Nothing else to do but hightail it home and try going out for a run and then having an icy cold shower. I groan, realizing I haven't even jacked off this week. No wonder I'm so wound up. I was supposed to take care of her and me tonight.

I adjust the crotch of my jeans. Have they gotten tighter? I swear they're cutting of circulation to my dick. I fiddle with the air conditioner, blasting icy cold air onto my knees. It works. I'm feeling calmer in no time, and there's freed up real estate in my boxers.

"Finally..." I mutter aloud and flip the dial on the stereo to something a little livelier.

When I pull through the old neighborhood and bring the car to a stop in front of the garage next to my parents' condo, I notice a black SUV I instantly recognize. Mark's home! He won't mind my crashing his Labor Day Saturday. Maybe he'll even let me order takeout and eat it with him at his. I'll have to count my tips, but there's got to be enough for a pizza or some Chinese.

Mark's real chill. He always lets me have a beer or two when we're eating and watching the game on TV. I'm a soccer fan; he's from Canada and won't let me forget it, so he's always watching hockey. Neither of us is very lucky when it comes to good coverage of our favorite sports, as you might imagine. Luckily, Mark's got satellite.

I pull my car into my parents' spot and switch the car off before running the usual checks and then running up to Mark's before even showering. I just want to make sure he's not got plans, too. Wouldn't be unheard of; after all, everybody else has left me high and dry without anyone to share food and end-of-summer fun with.

A few knocks but no reply. Nobody home, so I head over to my parents' place. Depositing my keys in the little basket Mom keeps in the entryway, I shuck off my clothes on the way to the bathroom to splash water on my face before heading out on a run.

I'll admit an evening run in the late summer heat wasn't my most inspired idea or even a safe one. I end up running 90-30 interval sprints and calling it quits after twenty and the first signs of heat exhaustion. I'm pouring with sweat and cursing the fact I didn't bring a towel with when a familiar voice bellows through the evening air.

"Hey, kid."

I'm just wiping the sweat off my face with my shirt, abdomen fully exposed, and flip around without thinking. Beads of runner's sweat scatter, some hitting the man standing in front of me.

There stands Mark looking disheveled in his crumpled suit and white shirt. He's wiping the sweat off his brow with a handkerchief.

"Hey, kid: I'm happy to see you, too, but say it, don't spray it, eh?"

"Mark! Shit, I'm sorry. Just got back from a little jog." I pause and assess. He looks a mess. "What's your excuse?"

"Walked home from work. Well, from the bus stop. Been away from the gym too long and too many late nights with takeout. It's been salad and daily walks since Memorial Day."

"Ah, man! Here I was hoping I could talk you into letting me call for takeout and we could catch up. It is Labor Day weekend after all. Gotta live it up a little, right?"

"No can do, Slim. I'm not about to fuck my diet over for an American holiday. 'Sides, I don't wanna end up looking like most of your compatriots."

I flip him the bird and laugh. "The People of Wal-Mart, you mean?"

"Exactly. Canadians are hotter."

"Can't argue there," I blurt out without thinking. He raises an eyebrow at me.

"Well, not every Canadian," I quickly recover. "You're lookin' old these days."

"Didn't your parents teach you that that's no way to speak to your elders?"

I'm just giving him shit. Mark is anything if not youthful. He's not five years younger than my parents, putting him in his early forties, but he looks at least ten years younger. If it weren't for his graying hair, he'd look about thirty or so.

His ex, Cheri, was always after him to dye it. He staunchly refused, saying his "ashen locks" were a mark of dignity that comes with age. My personal theory is he's too lazy to keep up with the routine trips to the salon keeping up a masquerade like that would take.




Learning the Ropes Ch. 01



"Tell ya what, big guy: Come on over for pho and some spring rolls. I stopped by the Asian market over on Tenth and got all the herbs and toppings to fix it up just like Mom used to make. The broth's been steeping away in the crockpot since six this morning."

He glances at his watch. "It's getting late, though. You gonna go down and catch the concert?"

"Nah, thought maybe I'd catch it on TV. You?"

He makes a face. "Fight those crowds? Nuh-uh. No thanks. Thought I'd catch some movie on the online movie service or something. But I gotta get all this stuff washed up and chopped up first."

He motions to the plastic bag full of leafy greens and exotic aromatics. "In fact, come over right away. You can have a beer while I prep this stuff."

"I won't be long: just need to shower."

"You can shower at mine."

"Yeah, but it's not a long ways across the parking lot. Besides, my clothes are drenched."

"You can borrow something of mine," he insists, and then he's fishing in a pocket for his keys. "It'll be like old times, eh? Don't take away my only chance to play host this summer."

He climbs a few stairs now, never looking back over his shoulder. "You coming or what?"

I feel a strange fluttering in my stomach. I wonder why he's so insistent on my coming over right away.

"You're dreaming, kid," I chide myself. And then, disgusted at the fact I'm even going there, I dash off after him.

"Hey, wait up!"

Mark's place is part bachelor's pad and part newlywed bride turned loose on the Pottery Barn catalog. He's gotten rid of the dining room table since I last visited, setting up a smallish home gym up in its place.

"Awesome setup, man. Thought you said you're having trouble getting to the gym."

"I did. That's why I got rid of my dining room set and put that up last week. Pulled a muscle the first day, so I decided to take it slow."

He pulls at his tie and then begins untying it with nimble fingers and painstaking care. "You gotta remember: I'm an old man."

"Forget that. You're not old. You can keep up with the best of 'em. If I'd a known you were looking to get in shape, I'd've offered my services."

He pulls off his suit jacket and goes to town with the Fabreeze now. He grins and shakes his head. "Services?"

"Yeah, I know a thing or two about staying in shape. I used to run track and cross-country."

"That's right. What about these days? You're not on any sports teams at the college?"

"Nah, too busy with work and class to do that."

"Remind me again why you're not living at home, eh? You live, what, twenty minutes away? Seems like you could be saving yourself a lot of money if you just lived at home. I mean, you're going to the local place anyway. I could see it if you'd gone off to university."

"If you must know, I'll tell you, but first let me use your shower?"

I begin peeling off the skintight running shirt. My skin is covered in beads of sweat, little droplets that make me practically shine in the low light of the living room.

"Dayum," he teases and then wolf whistles. "Take it off!"

I'm instantly red in the face but more concerned with a familiar pressure starting to build in my groin. I brush my hand across it, trying to adjust myself without drawing any attention to that particular area.

He finishes unbuttoning his own dress shirt and pulls it off to reveal a tank. His biceps are sculpted, triceps popping. I knew he was being modest when he said he wasn't in shape.

"I thought you said you were outta shape. Those arms could crush a man."

"I meant outta shape for a man. Not a boy. I know I could own you in arm wrestling."

"My great aunt arm wrestles the cousins at family reunions. If you wanna prove you still got it, how about a real man's sport?"

"What'd you have in mind? I can take you any time, anywhere."

I laugh and crouch down, ready to wrestle.

"You've gotta be kidding."

"Alright, if you're scared..." I offer. And then he shucks off his shirt and crouches to match my stance. Contrary to his complaints, his body is sturdy, muscled. He has some softness around his middle, but, heck, so do most guys my age; he's definitely in better shape than most men whose age is better than thirty.

I take in his physique: Mark's mom is Vietnamese. I've met her a few times. Sweet lady, awesome cook. His Dad was a card-carrying Quebecois and passed away a few years back. Mark's got a blend of Asian and Caucasian features thanks to his blended heritage. He often jokes he's the original multicultural poster child, in fact.

His skin is bronzed from the summer sun and his dark eyes are almost almond-shaped. He has a slight widow's peak, which he hides with a straight part down the middle of his salt and pepper hair.

His chest is muscled from years of playing sports, and he has a defined abdomen despite the extra softness that's got him eating salads. He's in good shape, and the sheen of sweat makes him look kind of like a middle-aged boxer.

"Like what you see?" he asks, alerting me to my wandering eyes. Here I choke on my own spit, resisting the urge to hurl some snide remark or run the other way.

Fuck. What the hell is wrong with you?

No matter how many times I ask myself, no answer comes. I repeat this like a mantra in my head even as I brace myself for the impromptu wrestling match to come.

"Ready?" I ask.

"You know it. But what're you gonna do when you lose?"

I snort. "The day you pin me is the day I eat your Mom's pho buck naked."

He busts out laughing. "And I'm gonna have to hold you to that, you little shit. Loser loses his clothes. No trow, no pants."

"Underwear," I offer. "We're in the U.S., Mister Canada. On this last summer holiday weekend of our great nation, I'd appreciate if you call it by the Yank name."

"Fine. No underwear for you while you eat your noodles." He jeers. "You ready, kid? I'm gonna pin you and then smack your ass like your mama shoulda for sassing your elders." His attempt at a southern accent is pretty awful.

"Bring it," I counter. "One... Two... Three!"

And then our bodies collide in the middle of the living room, a few feet away from the oversized chest Mark uses as a coffee table and from his home gym. The smack of skin and spray of sweat is followed by grunting and struggle.

I lock my hands on Mark's shoulders and feel tension fill his muscles and mine. I pitch my weight left and then right, twisting my leg against his and then press hard into his torso. We cling together in the film of sweat and our body heat. I squeeze his deltoid and pull him off balance.

We fall to the ground. I crawl halfway onto his back. I'm sure I have him when I feel his forearm come down on my shoulder; he's pinned one side of my torso to the room rug. He flips me onto my stomach and the other shoulder comes down next.

I'm stunned at how fast it's over.

"Pinned ya," he declares. I stop struggling and drop completely to the rug. I'm covered in sweat and heaving in and out. I can feel the tight muscles of his arms and abdomen against my back. I notice I can feel his pelvis brush against my ass and I'm instantly rock hard.

Fuck. A wave of anxiety tears through my stomach. It feels like the ground has fallen out from under me. My heart is thudding in my ears. The room starts to spin.

I'm just thankful my dick is pressed against the carpet and not the other way around. This was stupid. What the hell possessed me even to tease about wrestling considering my... current condition?

"Alright. Drop trow," he says, rolling off of me and laughing.

"Yeah, about that..." I protest, never moving from my place, hugging the floor. I'm praying that my body will cooperate and let go of this tension between my legs. I know the minute I stand up, he'll know I've been hard. I have on my running boxer-briefs. They leave nothing to the imagination.

"Don't tell me you're getting cold feet now. No need to be shy." He laughs and then pulls me up to my feet. We're both standing there in our pants, as he calls them. And I see his eyes dart down to my groin.

"I uh..."

"Whoa, someone's happy to see me."

"Shit. Sorry, man," I stutter. "I was, uh, supposed to be spending the night with the girlfriend and, you know, I'm a little excitable. So, um..."

He guffaws and slaps my ass. "Hit the showers. Make it a cold one. Listen, I'm gonna finish off that broth and all the fixings while you're in there, and then you can mix up some drinks and boil the noodles while I get a shower in."

"Not going with beer?" I ask, trying not to be too obvious that I'm relieved he's not freaking out over the wood I'm sporting through my shorts.

"Too many carbs. Let's go with some highballs."

"What's that?"

"Whiskey and soda."

"Sounds good."

"And you can keep your shorts. I won't make you sit through dinner in your birthday suit. But you'd better catch me up, kid. I didn't realize you had a best girl."

"I'll tell you all about it," I promise.

He claps a hand on my sweaty shoulder and I forget about the possibility of getting rid of this lump in my underwear. It's harder than ever.

Mark doesn't seem to notice. He talks me through how to use the shower and shows me into the bathroom.

"Shampoo, body wash... And here's a towel," he says, tossing terry cloth at me. I go to catch it but it hits me in the face.

"Too slow, Joe. You alright?"

I mumble something about heat exhaustion and cover my waist with the towel, happy to be able to cover my inconvenient little problem. Mark turns on his heel and is almost out the door when he stops and flashes me a thousand-watt smile.

"Hey, Will-don't sweat it, OK? At your age, anything physical is liable to get your blood pumping. I'm not worried about it, so neither should you be."

I try to smile and nod. He closes the bathroom door and I breathe a sigh of relief. Alone at last.

I'm covered in sticky sweat and hard as steel. I peel off the confining boxer-briefs and step into the shower. Before turning on the water, I get a good look at myself in the mirror.

If Mark is fairly thin, I'm downright lanky. Though I've tried weightlifting and even dieting in the past to try and put on some muscle, it's mostly no use. I don't mean I'm not trim and toned. Running keeps my muscles showing, and I do the push-ups and ab work I need to stay in shape.

I run my hands through my sandy shag of hair. Need to get a cut. My hazel eyes are looking a little tired, which must be the heat and the wrestling match earlier.

Not the smartest move ever, I decide, turning on the cold water tap and letting it cascade over my shoulders before allowing it to hit my pecs and then my groin. It has the effect I have been hoping for. The tension drains from my aching cock, and I set about lathering my body up, running my hands over sore muscles. My eyes drift to the whirlpool that springs up from the drain.

Up from this whirlpool floats an image from high school. I was good friends with Shane, a guy who transferred in from out of town. The city. He was really different from everybody else. Urban. He had traveled a lot and even spoke some Chinese or something. When he joined cross-country, nobody else would give him the time of day. He was soft-spoken and there were these rumors going around he was in a cult. And bi.

Well, it turned out he wasn't in a cult, just Buddhist. And I don't know if he was bi, but one day, we happened to be hanging out and watching a movie after going out for a run. Must have been summer break, I guess. Anyways, so we were watching this movie with subtitles. He was always getting me to watch the foreign stuff. I always complained I did enough reading in class, but he insisted it was good for me.

This particular movie was about these high school guys who go to this camp and are on a swim team. Well, one of them realizes he's gay and has a crush on one of the other guys. At one point, they're making out for what seems like forever.

"Whoa!" I said. "They can pan away any time, right?" I laughed. Silence. So, I turned over to look at Shane, and he had this glazed-over look on his eyes. In a trance, I guess. I tapped him on the shoulder, and that's when he asked me.

"Will, do you think anything like that could ever happen?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, you know, two guys realize they have feelings for each other."

I shrugged, squirming in my place next to him on my bed. We were sitting side by side, watching on my little TV that sat on top of my dresser. I looked down at my bare feet. "I guess. I mean, you don't really get a telegram about that kind of thing. I guess you just sort of figure it out sooner or-"

I turned over to judge his reaction, and he launched himself forward to catch my lips with his. My face was instantly ablaze, my ears thudding with my heartbeat and a faint ringing. His hand reached over to caress my cheek. It caught me off-guard, and I didn't pull away just then. His lips tasted like salt and sweet from the carb gels we ate during our long-distance run.

As luck would have it-and I have the devil's own luck sometimes-the door opened just then and my father saw us. He never hit me growing up. He had a mouth on him, and he would threaten to, but he never did. Well, that day, he did. He hit me, and he hit Shane. And he said words you don't ever want to hear your father say. And he made threats you never want to imagine your father could make. Shane ended up out on the front stoop with a bloody nose and threats that, if my father ever caught his faggot ass around his son again, he wouldn't be walking away from it.

We never spoke again.

My mother really worries about what other people think, and she has some weird ideas about what to do in situations like this. She called Mark up and asked him if I could stay over at his while she and my father went out of town, last minute. Family emergency, she said. Evidently, she was going to try and calm my father down and decide what should be done with me.

They ended up shipping me off to work in the fields near my grandparents' for the summer for less than minimum wage. They fed them some bogus story about my being caught shoplifting and how they thought it was from a lack of discipline. Where did we go wrong and all that. I was so embarrassed and ashamed, I just went along with it and endured lectures almost every night from my grandfather about the importance of living with integrity.

You'd better have your story straight when it comes to what you value. Walk your talk. All that.

But that first night, I went over to Mark's. Cheri was there, too, later on. Fridays were yoga night, so she didn't show up until quite a bit later on. At first, I remember sitting at Mark's dining room table with an open bottle of seltzer water in front of me, the only non-alcoholic beverage he had on such short notice besides coffee.

"You wanna tell me what this is all about?" he asked, opening a bottle of beer and taking a sip.

"What do you mean?" I asked. "My mom told you: family emergency."

He sighed. "My mom is the queen of that kind of 'emergency.' She played the same card whenever I got caught doing something I wasn't supposed to, which was more often than I would like to admit."

"Why's that?"

"I don't like to admit I got caught."

I made a feeble attempt at laughing. It was a funny joke; I just wasn't in a jolly mood.

"So, I know what it's like. I've been there."

"Oh, you've never been here like I am right now."

"Try me."

"I kissed a guy. Well, he kissed me."

Mike's eyes widened, but he recovered quickly, taking a swig of his beer and nodding. "And your mom wasn't too happy?"

"My dad," I corrected. "And unhappy is just the tip of that iceburg."

"I'm sorry, Will."

"I didn't ask for it. I mean, he's a guy on cross-country with me. Has a bit of a reputation, I guess you might say, but we were watching this movie, and then he kissed me."

"Did you kiss him back?"

"No!" I dropped my eyes back to the seltzer water. "I mean, I don't think so. It happened so fast..." I realized this left things too muddled. "I am not queer."

"Nobody said you were. And if you were gay, what difference would it make?"

"Oh, come off it, Mark: you and I both know that's just something people say to make kids feel better. Nobody, least of all my parents, is OK with two guys kissing."

"Maybe nobody in this town, but there are plenty of good people who are just fine with it. Hell, some people are even more than just fine with it." He laughed at his own attempt at humor.

"I just didn't ask for this, you know? I haven't even had a girlfriend, and then this fag from school comes over and fucks me over like this."

Mark slammed his bottle down on the table. "Hey, Will, what's wrong? That's not you, kid. I know that's not you. Why you talking like that, hmm?"

I rubbed at my eyes. The stinging in them told me I was precious seconds away from tears. I sighed and looked up at the vaulted ceiling in the dining room. "I just don't want things to get all fucked up. I'm not gay."

"Things are only as fucked up as you believe them to be. You're, what, fifteen? Nobody knows what they like at fifteen. And your hormones are going wild. So, you kissed a guy?"

"He kissed me," I countered.

"So what? Who cares? It doesn't matter. Did you slip him the tongue?"

I screwed up my face at the thought. "Gross, Mark!"

He grinned at me and then sighed. "What a waste."

"Come again?"

"This is your time to figure stuff out. You're young. You're not tied down. Why the hell not? If this guy liked you enough to kiss you, you should've kissed him back."

I sighed. This guy was crazy. Here I was with a bruise on my arm from where my father hit me and nursing a bigger bruise to my pride, and he was telling me I should've been French kissing some guy who came on to me? Still, I guess it made some weird kind of sense when he said it.

"You ever do anything like that?" I asked.

"Kiss a guy?"

"Yeah. Or whatever."

Mark got this far-away look in his eyes then. "No."

"See?"

"No, but it doesn't mean I didn't ever wonder. And if some guy would have kissed me when I was your age, I probably would have just gone with it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

"You're a weirdo."

"I guess I just don't have the same hang-ups you do."

"I don't have hang-ups."

"Then why are you using the language of the ignorant?"

He had a point. I nodded and took a sip of my seltzer water.

He handed me his beer.

"What's this for?" I asked.

He shrugged. "You kissed a boy for the first time. Might as well add another first to your day to round it out."

We talked well into the evening until Cheri came home from the gym. She cooked a quick stir-fry and made bright conversation to take my mind off of the family emergency my mother had phoned about. Mark didn't correct her but also assured her there was nothing to worry about. My mother had called to tell him that much. He didn't miss a beat. The guy was solid when it came to crises of the personal type. It was that night, when I lay in bed looking into the darkness, I realized I loved him more than my own father.

I shut off the water and towel myself dry. I study my reflection in the mirror a moment longer before realizing I don't have any clothes to change into. I go to open the door when I see they have been set out on top of the little cart beside the bathroom door. A pair of navy boxer shorts and a black tank top. These, I slip into, and I step out of the bathroom, swiping at my wet hair with the towel.

Mark is just bringing a small spoon to his mouth from over in the kitchen. The kitchen is open to the living room, save for a wrap-around bar with barstools lined up. He stands at the counter on the other side of the bar, his eyebrows creased in concentration.

"Is it soup yet?" I ask.




Learning the Ropes Ch. 01



"Definitely," he says. "But it's missing something, and I can't quite figure it out. I'm going to give it a think, but why don't you show me a thing or two on the bench before I hit the showers?"

I nod. "Sure. You want to bench or what?"

"I have no clue. What do you suggest?"

"In that case, a bench press, a dumbell fly, and a chest press."

"OK, then. Teach me how to do those last two and check my form on the bench."

He steps over the bench, straddling it, and sits down. "I'm all yours. Tell me what I should be doing."

I smile, picking up two two-pounders and hand these to him.

"What, don't you trust me with the big boy weights?" Mark always has some snide remark prepared.

"I would, but we're just going through form. Didn't you say you strained something?"

"Yeah," he says, rubbing his pectoral to illustrate.

"Well, then, we go light."

We run through the bench press, and I critique his form. He's throwing the weights up, which tells me he doesn't have the control he needs to lift with good form. When I mention this to him, he nods and asks about the fly. I stand at his shoulders and take his wrists into my palms.

"So, you're going to bring your arms up straight above your chest; extend fully here. Then, you drop them out to the sides."

I release his wrists and bring a palm to cover his right pec. "You should feel pulling here." I brush my hand over his taut chest muscle to check the tension and nod. "Like that."

"That smarts a bit."

"Well, if you strained anything, that would explain it."

He nods. "What about the chest press?"

I take his wrists into my hands again and bring his arms straight up. "All you do is lift alternating arms to extend them straight up. This also works your shoulders." Here I touch his deltoid. "And you might feel it in your arms, too." My hand runs along his tricep, and I feel a stirring between my legs again.

This is getting ridiculous.

"Anyways, I'm starved. Do you want to go through it one more time, or..."

"No, that's OK. I think I've got it. I'll just hop in the shower. Why don't you pour a drink and I'll be out before you can say 'My name is Will' in Vietnamese."

"Yeah, well, I can't even remember how to say that, so you'll definitely be out before then."

He smiles and is gone. I set about mixing up drinks but soon have doubts about the ratios. I add some seltzer water to whiskey and taste. The burning in the back of my throat tells me I've gone way too heavy on the alcohol. After a bit of trial and error, the fire in the glass has died down, and I am able to drink without much problem. It's still a little heavy-handed; I decide there is no way I will be getting a job as a mixologist any time soon.

With drink in hand, I fall back onto the brown leather sofa and kick my bare feet up onto the chest. It takes a minute to figure out the remote, but soon I'm toggling through Mark's collection of saved movies and TV shows. Most of these are documentaries and sitcoms I've heard of but never bothered to watch. My eyes dart to the final title in the list and my finger faulters on the remote.

David & Felix - First Time

My heart thuds against my ribs. I throw a nervous glance at the hallway leading to the bathroom. Still no sign of Mark's return. I can hear the water running. Without another thought, I hit the large circle in the center of the remote control, and the screen goes blank.

A still camera comes into focus to reveal a male duo sitting on a white duvet. One of them is beautiful. There is no other way to describe him. His hair is longish and brushed to the side, thick auburn locks swept across his pale forehead. His blue eyes peer into the dark eyes of the man rubbing his bare chest. His muscles tense when his companion begins to kiss his neck and rake at his chest with one hand. They exchange no words but the beautiful one is letting out low whimpers from time to time.

Without warning, the other man tugs on his auburn locks and forces his tongue past his pouty lips. He gasps and opens his mouth to the oral assault. His hands go to the other man's T-shirt and lift it above his head. The beautiful one rakes his hands through the other man's cropped black hair and begins kneading his newly exposed pecs. He pinches the nipples and pushes the man down onto the bed before bringing his narrow hips down on the other man's crotch.

"Fuck..." the bigger man declares, and then he is tugging at the thinner man's belt. This comes off, and then he is unbuttoning the fly.

I know I shouldn't be watching this. The two of them are obviously having sex. Gay sex. On Mark's TV. Mark. Newly divorced Mark. Family friend Mark. I love him like a father Mark.

Before I can carry that thought any further, the bigger man starts fisting the smaller man's dick. He pushes the smaller man onto the mattress and claims both his cock and one nipple.

"Fuck..." It takes a moment for me to register that this was not a line of dialogue but words passing my own lips. I have one hand buried in the boxers I've borrowed from Mark. I have a finger rolling along my slit, tracing the sensitive head and leaving a trail of precum.

The remote drops from my hand, and my other hand dives under my tank. I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on the heat gathering in my chest around my nipple. I strum my fingers across it and sigh as more precum spills from my dick.

"Hey, Will, how about that drink?"

My eyes shoot open to see Mark walking out from the hall, bare-chested and drying his hair with the towel draped from his shoulders. His eyes fly from the screen to the hand in my lap molesting my rod.

"Fuck," I say again, only this time, with a totally different meaning.



Learning the Ropes Ch. 02



Chapter 02: Exploring the Ropes

Continuing from Chapter 1 - despite the title of the emerging series, there's no bondage in this portion. But I will get back to that theme. 

After my wife surprised me by tying me up and giving me a mind-blowing blow job, I offered to do something for her, and asked for suggestions...

"Mmmm. Well, cuddle me while we catch our breath, for starters. And after that, well, you know that it was a lot of work for me to be the take-charge one just then. You know the things I like...just do them to me!"

She turns so that her head is resting on my arm and we're facing each other. I give her a kiss on her nose and smile. "Well, I do have some ideas. Let's see what happens, then!"

She closes her eyes and smiles and I stroke her bare back with my free arm. I start slowly scratching her back, from the tops of her shoulders to where the small of her back starts to curve back out to her gorgeous ass. Up and down and across, pausing to knead the muscles around her shoulder blades.

Eventually, I run my fingers down her well-toned arm, and intertwine my digits with her own. I lift her hand to my mouth, kissing above her knuckles as one would do a Victorian lady. But next I open her hand and slowly massage the palm, working out to the tip of each finger, caressing each digit and admiring her always-flawless polish job. I give the palm of her hand a passionate kiss, and then more kisses down her taut forearms to her elbow, and then up the creamy skin inside her bicep. I push her away now, onto her back, and free my other arm. I want this to be slow and sensuous, and I take her now-free right arm into my hands.

I start to massage her other hand, and look down at her face. Her lightly freckled forehead is smooth and relaxed, her carefully shaped eyebrows arching delicately over her closed eyes. Her cheeks are lightly flushed, her nostrils flaring slightly from the stimulation. Her lovely, talented lips part just a bit so she can breathe a small sigh. I allow myself a moment to take in her beauty, and think about this amazing gift of a woman that went so unappreciated for so long. I can't undo the past, but I want to show her how much I need her in my life now. I know that great sex won't solve all our problems, but I can't make time, the key ingredient in our slow return to one another, move any faster. So I look back at her arm, planting another tender kiss in the crook of her elbow. 

I move then up her arm to her shoulders, and run one hand up her side, stroking the soft skin on the side of her breast. I place my lips there next, mirroring my slow ascent of her right globe with my fingers on her left. Mouth and fingers inch towards her nipples, their brown nubs tightening and protruding from the aureole. Goosebumps appear there, and a more forceful sigh escapes my lover's lips. Finally I close in on my prey, and flick one nipple with my tongue, and the other with my finger.

After a few assertive tongue lashes, I purse my lips and blow. I'm close enough that I can feel her skin cool before I open my mouth and devour the tip of her breast. I rub her with my tongue as hard as I can. I pinch the other side a little tighter, rolling the rubbery skin between my fingers.

She starts to moan a bit, shifting her hips on the bed. I know that this is making her juices flow, and I long to taste them, but want to make her wait a bit longer. I switch sides, moving between her legs to better assault her left nipple with my tongue. She lifts her hips, wanting pressure on her dampening sex, but I keep my legs just out of reach. I begin to reverse my earlier trip, kissing and nibbling my way down her boob to her rib cage. 

She runs her hands through my hair, and I briefly consider restraining them with the rope, but I have a different exploration in mind today.

I stick my fingers inside her panties and slide them down her legs, and can smell how hot she is and how badly we both want to get my tongue wrapped around her clit. But patience is a virtue, and so I start a leisurely trip up her leg starting at her ankle. I'm not a foot guy, but a well-defined ankle is a basic must for me as an unabashed leg man. The legs don't have to be long, but when they're firm, with a bit of muscle showing and a slender, strong ankle at their base, I want to devour them.

And so I do - kissing her calf, the back of her knee and then moving up her inner thigh. I try to tease rather than tickle, but she seizes up at one point and shrieks. I apologize and start in again closer to my target. Her delicate skin gives way to coarse hair. I open my mouth wide and suck in as much of one of her outer labia as I can, evoking a moan from the head of the bed. I do the same on the other side, and then move my fingers up, gently spreading her flower open for me.

Her inner lips are slick with her dew, and I put my tongue at the bottom and swipe up, sliding inside of her as far as I can go. I pull back and start again at the bottom and lift my whole head until my tongue reaches her little nubbin. I flick back and forth across it, and get an appreciative "Yes!" in response. 

Unable to wait any longer, I plunge in, covering her clit and the surrounding area with my mouth, sucking it in and bearing down with my tongue. She spreads her legs wider to give me better access. I moan myself, adding those subtle vibrations to the thrashing her clit is getting from my tongue. My hands reach under her legs and up to her breasts, and I pinch each nipple lightly between my fingers, rolling them back and forth in rhythm with my oral assault on her magnificent pussy. 

"Oooh," she moans. "That feels so good. Put something inside me, too!" 

I lift my head just long enough to wet my middle and ring fingers in my mouth, and then slide them into her vagina. I make a few in-and-out strokes and then concentrate on the area just inside her opening, using the pads of my fingertips to massage back and forth on her upper wall as I continue to lick and suck her clit.

"Yeah, that's it. Keep doing that," she begs.

I keep it up for another couple minutes, but I have another idea. "Hold on a sec," I say in response to her whimpers, when I get up and move to the edge of the bed. I duck my hand into the toy cabinet and grab a couple of things and then turn over onto my back. "Come get on top of me, baby," I ask.

She looks over and says, "Well, hello, there!" when she notices my newly hard cock sticking up from my middle. I open the condom packet and roll it on my member, and then she obligingly gets up on her knees and swings one leg over me. Arms on either side of my head, she leans in for a deep kiss, then says "I don't know if I can come like this, sweetie. And I need you to make me come - you do it so well."

"Let's see what we can do," I suggest, and reach down to hold my prick up. She obliges, and lines her soaking twat up and slowly sits back, sinking me into her. 

As she starts to rock back and forth, I reach under the pillow for my other prop, and turn the end to start it up. I pull the buzzing vibrator out and her eyes widen in surprise. "I thought this might get us at least closer to the holy grail of coming together - no faking required," I explain. 

I pull her down to me for a long kiss, tweaking her nipples as I thrust up into her. Her wet warmth grasps my penis, and I thrust up and stay there, grinding my pelvis into this gorgeous woman, almost wishing we could stay like that forever. I start stroking again, knowing I have some catching up to do if we're going to make this work. The buzzing numbness of sexual ecstasy slowly starts creeping up the back of my neck, and so I push my lover to sit up. Once back on top, she leans back slightly and uses her strong legs to work me in and out of her. 

I take the vibrator and tease her a bit with it up the inside of her legs, but move quickly to our meeting point. I slip a finger between us and find her love button and strum it a few times, then replace it with the toy. 

"Mmmh. Oooh," she says, eyes closed as she concentrates on the feelings gathering in her groin. I feel her walls convulse slightly and envelop my member, and I start thrusting up again. Somehow I manage to keep pushing into her with my hips while keeping the vibe on target, allowing my wife to lean back and just enjoy the sensations. My balls begin to ache a little as they start to draw up, and I see her brow creased in concentration, her lips alternately pursed tightly and slightly agape as she moves closer to her own reward.

The buzzing plastic sends tremors along my dick through the walls of her delicious canal, and I can tell I'm getting closer to another face-melting orgasm. Now I know why the ladies love these things so much! As I reach the point of no return, I hear her "yeah, yeah, yeah," letting me know she's right on the edge. Her contracting, vibrating vaginal walls are gripping me and making this feel incredible. 

I make one last stab towards her womb and my jizz starts to fill the condom. My explosion pushes my spectacular wife over the edge into her own blissful orgasm, and she gasps, throwing her head back and moaning as it washes over her body. I start to pull the vibrator away, but she grabs my wrist to keep me there, enjoying the aftershock rippling through our joined bodies.

We gasp for a few moments, and then I reach for her to pull her back close to me. The warmth of her body against mine comforts me, as I slowly shrink and fall out of her. I stroke her hair and caress her back as we wordlessly enjoy the moment. My enormous good fortune, nearly squandered, to be with this person who fulfills me in so many ways rushes into my consciousness, and I wrap my arms around her to pull her close, praying that we'll never be pulled apart.



Learning the Ropes Ch. 02



Author's Notes: Thanks to all who left feedback and who left their rating for the last installment. I really appreciate it. Hope you will consider leaving some comments on this one if you should read it. The last one was predominately set-up and backstory. In this installment, the main characters get down to it... And so, I would like to remind you once again, dear reader, that all characters getting down to any business between the sheets or elsewhere are over the age of 18 and/or the age of consent in the (fictional) areas in which they reside. The ethical choices of the characters are their own and, therefore, do not necessarily reflect my own beliefs and/or values. Similarities to persons living or dead are coincidental. Appreciate all the feedback on my author's page, too. Rest assured I read every bit I receive. Thanks and let me know what you think. =)

P. Alinea

==

I swallow. My mind goes white: completely blank. No excuse, no plausible story can begin to explain the two studs rutting on screen or the hand I have thrust into the crotch of the boxers I've borrowed from Mark. I should've left well enough alone. I should've been more careful. I should've at least waited until the middle of the night, when I could be sure he wasn't going to catch me in the act.

Neither of us says a thing. I ease my hand out of the fly of the boxers. The lump in my throat will not seem to budge, my eyes weighted down with hot, stinging shame. My mind is racing now. Where there was nothing but blank space a moment ago, dozens of thoughts collide.

I know he has more to answer for than I do: it was his video, after all. That hardly seems to matter. It doesn't change facts. The fact that I care so much about him, about our ties. The fact that I was snooping in his private business. The fact that I was overcome with lust for the men on the screen.

"I-I'm sorry," I stammer. With my head in my hands, I stoop over, rocking back and forth now. "Mark, I'm sorry."

I feel his hand on my left shoulder. He squeezes it, and I realize just how tightly I've been tensing the muscles there without even noticing. A sigh of relief escapes my lungs. I cover my eyes with my hands and rub them a few times for good measure.

"How about that pho?" he asks, picking up the remote and banishing the images of the two young men.

I can't imagine how I'll possibly get myself to eat just yet but nod and look up at him, searching for some way to understand his casual tone. His warm brown eyes are peering at me. Through me. To the very core of me.

I clear my throat. "Yeah, how about that pho?"

We prepare the meal in silence; it's like a ceremony of sorts. He slips a large packet of noodles into boiling water. I tip whiskey into two glasses. The alcohol already coursing through me keeps me a little heavy-handed with the stuff, and I try to make up for it with a generous splash of soda water.

I hand Mark his drink and set about helping him snip up cilantro. He slices limes and chops up a bunch of lime leaves. Out come spicy red and green peppers. The longer we go without exchanging words, the more hopeless it feels that we'll be able to strike up casual conversation after the pornographic fiasco earlier.

It's not until we sit down and Mark takes a few tentative sips of the broth from his bowl, tossing over some cilantro, that he says something.

"You're probably wondering about what you saw..." He's donned a black tank that matches my own, the towel still draped around his shoulders. "And even if you're not, I don't know that I'm gonna feel right about the whole thing if I don't try and explain."

I say nothing, instead scattering cilantro over the noodles in my bowl and look up at him, waiting.

"I don't know exactly when, but I started having doubts." He clears his throat but never makes a move to look away, his eyes locked on me. "How do you get to where I was and not know, you know? I mean, I had a career, this place, a wife, a marriage. I still have my career and this place, but I don't have a wife anymore. It's been nearly a year already, a year since we went our separate ways. Now she's just someone I send a check to."

I nod. There is nothing else to do. Is he suggesting he had doubts about the marriage, about his sexuality? That would explain the hot and heavy video from earlier, at least.

"She wanted kids. She's a few years younger than me, so we took things slow at first. Still, we were getting to that stage where you have to make decisions about the big issues: a mortgage, kids, where we were going to grow old together.

"She was so sure about everything. And why shouldn't she be? We'd been married almost five years. I thought I was just as sure when we started off down the road together. We'd talked about it. At the time, I couldn't wait to get started with her."

He drains half his glass of whiskey and soda, grimacing. "Shit, kid. Who taught you to mix? These could take paint off the pavement."

"Nobody taught me. I think that's the problem."

He smiles. "For us, the problems started when she decided we were going to try for kids. She was ready to be a mother. She'll be an amazing one. Her talking about it made me realize I wasn't sure I was ready to be a father. I didn't doubt how ready I was before that, not until she started telling me all about her ideas for the future, I mean.

"The more I heard, the less sure I was. And then, in a flash, I knew without a doubt I wasn't ready. I couldn't guarantee my kid a good life, couldn't say for sure whether I was going to do right by her. For me, that was a deal breaker. I couldn't, in good conscience, bring a beautiful baby into the family when I didn't even know for sure who I was.

"I wasn't intentionally deceitful, you know..."

"But how do you get married when you're not even sure about..."

Your sexuality? Your interest in men?

Even starting to ask these questions makes me feel like a dick. I mean, aren't I facing the same doubts in my own relationship? Sure, we aren't married, but that's just splitting hairs.

"You'd be surprised. Happens more often than you might think. My upbringing didn't leave much room for questioning. I never thought of myself as one to have hangups about my sexuality. In fact, I always thought I was pretty sure of myself and what I liked.

"That all changed when a guy from work came on to me one night after we'd had too much to drink. One thing led to another..."

"You had sex with him?"

"Nah, just some heavy petting." He laughs, but it sounds hollow, half-hearted. "In all seriousness, though, it was enough to be kissed like that and realize that I liked it. I won't go into all the gory details, but I was happier to see him than I could remember being to see my wife in quite a while, if you know what I mean..."

I nod. I do know what he means. I've been dealing with the same problem for weeks now. Brushing a guy's hand can give me a stiffy, but making out with Sharla doesn't seem to be fanning the same flames as of late.

"I couldn't bring myself to tell her, though..." He swallows his drink in one go, eyes falling to the empty glass.

"You didn't tell her you were having doubts, or that you kissed a guy and you liked it?"

"What good could telling her do either of us? It would just hurt her pride and confuse her." He pokes at his bowl of noodles. "Instead of going into that whole mess of unresolved feelings and unspoken emotion, I just played the asshole.

"It was the last role I wanted to step into, and not because it would make me look absolutely horrible, which it did, believe me. It's more because I'm pretty sure it broke her heart a little. Something went out in her eyes when she looked at me.

"I don't mean love for yours truly. I'm not that narcissistic. I mean something more basic. Trust. Belief that people are basically good. I hurt something in her when I chose to keep this to myself."

He looks up at me.

"But I'd do it again. I know the truth would have hurt her far worse. Would've damaged her self-respect. Everything she believed about us and about what we built over five years. It's better she believe I'm a cold-hearted asshole than worry about what my sudden affinity for men might mean."

I'm not entirely convinced that lying, or selectively withholding the truth, I guess, is the best policy, but then I'm being hypocritical again.

Mark stands from his place huddled at the coffee table.

"Care for another drink?"

I've barely made a dent in the one I have, but this doesn't seem like any time to refuse, so I drain the glass in one gulp, screwing up my face at the bitter aftertaste, and extend my glass in hand.

"Make it a double."

He smiles and tousles my hair before taking the glass and heading for the kitchen.

"How about a mojito with honey and whiskey instead of sugar and rum? We've got the lemons and mint."

Without waiting for my blessing, Mark rustles through the cabinet for the ingredients. Just as well. I'm starting to feel lighter and less inhibited; I'd drink just about anything if he promised it'd keep the buzz going.

"And how about you? You said there was a reason you didn't stay at home even though you're out at the college..."

I nod. "Yeah. My dad."

"Your dad?"

"I don't get along with him. At all."

"Really? John's a good man, but then you know that," he offers, bruising the mint with the back of a wooden spoon and depositing half in each glass.

"He's a good man when you don't have to live with him. You don't want to know who he is behind closed doors. I learned from having my arms all bruised up and my teammate's nose all bloodied up."

"I wish I'd have known."

"I was so embarrassed when it happened. Mortified after. He stopped coming to my sports meets after that. Stopped asking me how school was that day. It was like a different person."

He nods. "And that's why you asked for a ride all those times?"

"I'll never be able to repay you for the gas money."

"Or the damned five o' clock wake-up calls every single time your team was up to win anything at all. How many times did we end up eating convenience store breakfasts while you were carb loading?"

I laugh. "Come on, that was fun, right?"

He snorts, pouring honey into my glass. "Not hardly. Remember those toaster waffles we tried warming up in the microwave at the Mini-Stop?"

"The ones that turned into frisbees?"

Now it is Mark's turn to laugh. "Wait, wasn't that the time you went to State? We had to take off at, what, four?"

"Yup."

"You were wearing those tiny track shorts and a tank, and had to be freezing, it was so late in the season."

"Freezing my nuts off."

"You shoulda brought sweats--I did! So, I had this bright idea we'd buy something and warm it up--"

"And I thought the microwave at the truck stop would be perfect. Little did I know that it would turn those waffles back into plastic."

"Didn't you fling one out the window?"

"Yeah, I think I almost hit someone jogging past with their dog."

"That's right!"

I look down at the chest and stop speaking. A glass touches down in front of me and suddenly I feel a warm embrace.

"Mark?"

He says nothing but holds me tighter still.

"Remember when I had to go to my grandparents', how you put me up when my parents left to figure out how to deal with that kiss?"

He says not a word, instead squeezing me tighter still and tousling my hair again.

"You were so cool about it. It was the only reason I didn't go over the edge. I knew I had someone to look up to, to talk to... I know I haven't been around since going off and getting my own place. I missed you, Mark..."

Here, I wrap my arms around him and return the embrace.

He strokes my back and I feel myself getting hard again. At this, I push away just slightly. He takes the hint and releases me.

"Drink up before the ice all melts," he says, clearing his throat and taking a drink from his own glass.

We sit in silence for a spell. There's so much I want to ask, so much I want to say to him. Instead, I slurp some noodles up. While I'm making headway in the drinks department, I can't seem to find my appetite despite the earlier run.

"It's really good." I grin.

He smiles back at me and picks up his chopsticks again. "How about you?" he asks a second time.

"How about me what?"

"You're seeing somebody, right? You mentioned you've got a special someone..."

"Yeah, I do..." My eyes drop to the chest. "Or I think I do. I'm having about the same problem you seemed to be..."

I look up at him. He wears a look I can't immediately place. He seems to be searching my eyes now. If it were anybody else, I think I'd have dropped my eyes, but I find it easy to hold his gaze. Comfortable, even.

"I just wish I wasn't having this problem, you know? It's scary... Yeah, that's the word: downright scary. I don't like not knowing. I never asked to have these doubts. But I feel awful about it. She doesn't deserve to have a boyfriend who isn't all right for her..."

"Why do you think you're not all right for her?"

I hold my breath and then exhale. "I thought you got what I meant. I guess I'm finding myself worked up around guys. I got worked up when we wrestled earlier. And I'm not so worked up around her. And it's got me pretty psyched out."

"Hey, listen up, kid. There's nothing wrong with not being sure about stuff. You don't wanna end up on a ride you weren't sure about signing up for just because people pushed you to buy a ticket. That's what I did. There's no shame in being unsure. Heck, take all the time you need to keep being unsure. This is your time to figure stuff out. And try having some fun while you do it, eh?"

"But my parents, you know, they'd never understand. I mean, my dad..."

"I know. I know, and it breaks me up inside to see you conflicted like this. I know there's stuff about you you think you need to change. But the truth is: some of it, you can't. You can't change who you love any more than your fingerprints.

"And you shouldn't feel like you need to. Nobody has the right to make you feel like you're not good enough because you don't fit their idea of normal or good or valuable. OK?"

I look at him and immediately there are tears.

"Goddamn it!" I shout, and then I'm sobbing. "This was supposed to be a chill evening, you know? I was supposed to forget about all the pressure of trying to put myself through school and working so much and trying not to screw up.

"But the one thing I wanted to forget more than anything was this... This attraction I didn't even ask for. And I was supposed to be spending it with somebody I know I can trust to be cool with me because he was cool with me even when my Dad wouldn't be. Even when he couldn't be."

"You don't need to go burying anything to spend time with me, kid. You can just be whatever, you know? And I'll just keep loving whoever shows up. Because that's what we're supposed to do. All of us. We just need to get reminded sometimes."

I lunge forward and press my lips to his. I put my hand on his knee. He presses his hands into my chest and I'm almost sure he's going to move things forward when I feel him pressing away with a feather touch.

"I--I'm sorry," I stammer. "I thought... Shit, I don't know what I thought. I'm just... You know, I'm gonna take off. I can sleep off the highballs at my parents and I've gotta do a bunch of work for these summer classes I'm taking."

I push off the ground with one hand and ready to stand myself up when I feel him pull on one wrist.

"Stay."

I look down at him. He pulls me close and holds me again. He smells like the mojito and lime leaves and the shampoo we've both used. And he's warm and solid. He pulls me closer somehow and strokes my damp hair. "Stay."

So I do.

My eyes open to black. I feel parched and half-dead. The room spins a bit, reminding me I ate too little and ran too much to have drunk anything, much less the clumsy concoctions I served up. I yawn and reach for the water bottle on the nightstand. Three hearty swigs later and I'm beginning to slightly less like I've been washed up on shore and then baked in the sun.

I turn over to see Mark. That's right. I climbed into his bed. He tried to get me to go to the guest room, but I'd insisted I couldn't sleep alone. I think I could have slept about anywhere, though, as drunk as I was. The thought strikes me as funny, so I chuckle a little and close my eyes.

When my eyes open again, I'm aware first of Mark's soft but steady breathing. Another glance at the clock radio confirms its still early morning, a quarter to five.

"Mark?" I venture, not whispering but not wanting to startle him, either. I almost give up and roll back over when I hear him respond.

"Hmm?"

"Can I... Can I Come closer?"

Not moving, he mutters, "Mm-hmm."

I pull myself over to his side, heart thumping all the while. At first, those last few inches feel like a chasm between us. "Just move..." I scold myself. And then, gulping in a lungful of air and courage, I pull myself to him and feel him let out a sigh. His arm flops over my chest, and again, he is asleep.

I reach out and rub his back in large, slow circles. He sighs and I can make out a smile creeping over his face even as he drifts off again. This time I can't help letting my dick press into his thigh. I press myself to him as my hand dips lower into the small of his back.

Lower and lower my hand goes until it's resting on the ridge just above his ass. He has a pretty high set of cheeks, and they're firm and slightly rounded. I stroke them and let my hand dip down to cover them through the silky shorts he's wearing. I try grasping the globes of flesh and then rubbing them. Something about it makes me feel like everything is new. Like I'm touching another person for the first time. I'm harder than I've ever been.

He groans but doesn't stir or open his eyes, so I continue.

I let my hands move upward and turn him over slightly. He makes no move to stop me, turning over exactly as I wanted. On his back now, he turns his face slightly away and sighs, his arm rising to slip behind the pillow beneath his head. I rub my hands down his chest to his tummy and rub his abdomen. He's relaxed here and I take the chance to stroke his belly and touch the ridges of muscle on the side. I also stroke the softness here and gasp at how smooth it is.

My eyes can just make out where his cock slumbers in his underwear. I want to touch it so bad, but I remember my attempt at kissing him from the night before and stop. Instead, my hand trails upward to rub his pectorals. They must be sore from the wrestling match the night before and the reps on the bench I spotted him on.

His pectorals, I stroke in slow circles. And then, without thinking, I bring my fingers around his right nipple and stroke it back and forth.

He lets out a sigh that gives way into a moan. I flick my fingers, feather light on his hard right bud, back and forth. I feel a sinking feeling in my stomach: I'm not supposed to be doing this. He hasn't given consent. I'm molesting him in his sleep.

Entranced by my own perverse exploration of uncharted territory and the hot aching need to be opened wide to this man and let him see the side of me I have been so careful to hide even from myself, I continue to touch Mark's slumbering figure.

He gasps out a puff of air and his breathing is ragged now. I can't tell whether he's fully awake but can't stop myself from putting my other hand over his left nipple and giving it decidedly harsher treatment. I tug gently at it and push my fingertip into it before backing off and flicking at both of them so gently.

His hand goes to his boxers and he fishes out the head of his cock, rolling his fingers around the dripping head. He opens his eyes to look at me. There, I see a harsh warmth. Desire? No, more than that. Need. This is what it looks like to need touch, to need someone to make you feel.




Learning the Ropes Ch. 02



I watch him hold his cock still with one hand and trace a gentle ring around the head with the other.

"Will," he strains out, "We... We shouldn't be doing this... We need to stop before things get out of hand."

"You're not doing anything wrong," I reassure him. "I'm the one who started feeling you up in your sleep. Your body responded, and now you're just doing what comes natural. I just wanna watch you. I wanna see you enjoying it. That's all..."

"Oh my god..." he chokes out and a new streak of wetness pours from his cockhead. He pumps his man muscle up and down a few times but never takes his eyes off of me. They go to my hands playing at his nipples and then to my eyes and back again. He rolls his cock back and forth across his palm.

I'm grinding my hips into his thigh now. It's a low place on his thigh, nearer to his knee than his groin, but it feels so forbidden and so good. My rod is aching for the stimulation.

"That feels good," he confesses, finally dropping his head back into the pillow and closing his eyes. He is panting and arches his back, giving me unrestricted access to his nips and practically crushing himself into my greeting fingertips.

I continue gently touching one nipple and start tugging at the other, pinching it and strumming at it with my fingertips.

He lets out a burst of air and puts one of his hands over mine. I can feel the wetness from his precum on his fingertips. The thought alone almost makes me come in my boxers. He flattens my hand so my palm is rolling over his nipple. He nods in encouragement as I adopt this technique and really begin tugging at the other side. The combination of sensations is getting him worked up.

He lifts his other hand away from his straining cock and a dewy strand of thick precum dangles from his fingertip. My hand darts out, and I have my lips on his fingers before he can react.

"Will..." he pants. Seems the perverse boldness has shocked him awake. "What are you... What are we doing? We gotta stop before I lose it."

"I don't wanna stop." I whisper, my tongue rolling around his index finger to catch the last traces of him. "I wanna see you lose it. I wanna lose it, too."

"This isn't right."

I slip my hand under the waistband of the boxers he leant me, the boxers I've stained with my precum and desire for him. I stand before him, naked. But somehow, I'm even less ashamed, less timid, less unsure standing here in front of him so wide open now.

"It feels right to me. And I think you feel it, too. You said I didn't need to go burying parts of me to spend time with you..."

I climb back into bed and my hands go back to find the warmth and hardness of him.

"This was -ah- not what I meant..." One of my hands is busy rubbing his sensitive cockhead now, catching the wet tip between the pad of my thumb and forefinger. I knead the spongy head softly, letting it spill out more precum onto my fingertips.

He begins to whimper. "You gotta stop, kid. I'm getting close..." he moans out and his hand goes to my wrist.

I stop caring for his cock and my mouth closes down on his sensitive nip. First I touch it tenderly with my teeth and then suck at it as hard as I can.

"Oh jeez, kid... What are you trying to do to me?" He releases his grip on my wrist and I content myself playing with his rod again, this time pulling his foreskin up and down and smiling around his nipple as I am rewarded with more precum. He's so sensitive to every move I make.

"Seriously, kid, what do you want from me? You're driving me nuts... Fucking a..."

I have switched to pinching his nipple with one hand while I tongue the other and run my hand up and down the underside of his cock.

Without another thought, I mount him, climbing up so my cock is just above his, and I begin pressing myself up and down the length of his rod. I grind our sex together and gasp at how perfectly we fit together.

"Oh, yeah..." he moans. I wipe the precum from his weeping slit and push my finger into his mouth. He shakes his head in protest, but I can feel his tongue lapping at my digit. I press my mouth over his and lap at the traces of salty precum on his tongue.

"Oh, fuck... Where'd you get that idea, kid?" he gasps out when I drop away and really start grinding my cock into his.

"Mark..." I whisper. It is a request. It is a plea.

"Yeah?" He gazes into my eyes.

"Mark, I wanna go all the way... Take me. I want you to. Please go there with me."

"Hey, now..." he begins. And then he stops, his eyes dancing as he studies my eyes and how tightly my jaw is set. "You know that's not right, kid. I'm twice your age..."

"So what? I love you like family, Mark. You said I was confused, but I'd figure it out... You told me it was OK to look for answers, to enjoy figuring it out. I wanna find out. I wanna find out with you. Right here, right now."

"I just don't want you to regret it. We got something special, you and me. You don't know how doing something like this might change things."

"Neither to you."

"Exactly." He smiles. "Exactly, kid." He strokes my cheek. I feel a streak of wet precum and saliva on my skin where he's touched me. Even his attempts to calm me down are stoking the flames of lust and infatuation and a deep fraternal love I harbor in my belly.

He raises my chin so I'm facing his eyes again. "I don't want things to get weird, to let things go bad. It's gonna get complicated if we go on doing this."

"I'm already at complicated. I've been stuck there a while. I need this to figure it out... And you've been in just about the same place as me, right? Or are you still there? I need it to be you. For me, it's you."

I press my erection into his softening penis and feel it harden again. My own cock is finally beginning to let go of some precum. I rub my wet, sensitive head into the underside of Mark's hard cock and kiss him hard. It's our first proper one.

All of a sudden, he's kissing me back. Short little tugs at my lips at first, his kisses become deeper and more intense until he's diving into my mouth and forcing his tongue all over mine. He begins to eat my mouth, orally dominating me.

I pull away and gasp for air. He's breathing heavy, too. My hands are trembling. I pull at his shoulders and hold myself to him.

He strokes my cheek again. "I don't want to do anything you don't wanna do, anything that's gonna make you sad you did it later, Will."

"I want this. I'm gonna keep wanting this. After we come, I'm still gonna want this. It's not gonna be some regret I try to bury inside after my hormones calm down. It's something I feel about you. It's something I feel for you. And me. You helped me see it can be OK for me to feel whatever it is I feel."

I take his hand and squeeze it before bringing it to rest on my cock. His other hand, I bring around to rest on my ass while my mouth covers his again. He rubs my dick in slow circles before I feel both his hands reaching around to my ass. He begins working my sore muscles with his fingers. I moan out and writhe against his cock.

Between messy kisses, I pant, "Yeah, grab my ass..." He obliges, massaging the taut flesh there. I feel him pulling my asscheeks apart and then pressing them together. All of a sudden, drunk on the sensation and forgetting who this is I'm with in bed, I moan, "Mark, slap my ass... Slap my fucking ass."

Mark's attentions to my ass falter and his lips loosen. I swallow. I've gone to far. It's too perverted for him.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I just got carried away. You don't have to..."

Crack! My eyes jump open as I feel his open palm make contact. The sound is terrifically arousing. It sounds much harder than it feels. Again and again, he slaps my ass, rubbing my skin in tender circles after each strike.

"Fuck, Mark. Yeah, that's it... Fucking smack it." I moan, grinding against him and feeling the tender abuse to my cheeks. I bring one of his hands to my nip and squeeze his fingertips around the tip. "Make me feel you..."

He obliges, tugging at my nipple and slapping my ass with his other hand. I'm grinding my cock into his again. We're both hopelessly wet, our slippery fuck rods gliding back and forth. I rock into him and groan more profanity.

I can't seem to get close enough. I'm closer than I've ever been to anyone, and it's too far away. He's rough, and I only want him to be rougher with me.

"Mark, fuck my ass..." I whisper between kisses. "Fuck me. Make me come with your cock up my ass..."

He moans at the vulgar proposition. I wrap a hand around his dick and begin tugging at it before he has a chance to say no or give me any reasons why it's not a good idea. I pull the ridge of taut skin back and forth over the head, his tip getting wetter and wetter.

"Ah..." he moans out and nods. "OK, OK... But, this is your first time. It's not like in the movies..."

"What movies do you think I'm watching?"

He smacks my ass playfully. "You know what I mean. It can hurt the first time. It's not all romantic or sexy or hot, usually..."

I hug myself to his torso and bury my head in his neck. "I wanna get closer to you. Let me come closer..."

He nods. "Come closer, then," he offers, pulling me tighter against his body. "You can come in closer to me, then..."

I look up into his eyes from my place on his chest. Is he offering what I think he is?

"Do you mean..."

He nods and kisses me. "Be gentle, eh? I'm not very experienced myself. You gotta remember I'm just figuring all this stuff out myself. I'm only about three steps ahead of you."

I feel a heady rush of adrenaline course through my body. Kissing my way down his chest, I lick both of Mark's nipples before running my tongue down his abs and dipping into his belly button.

He chortles and pushes my head away. I smile and dive onto his sensitive dick, taking the head into my mouth. This brings a moan from him, so I bob up and down, curling my tongue and raking it back and forth on the sensitive underside. I cup his balls in one hand and rub the sensitive area just beneath them, pressing here with the pads of my fingers.

"Will..." he whispers. His hands go to my hair and rake through them. I snake my index finger further back and trace a line to the new place he has opened up to me.

I ease my tongue around his crown while my finger works in soft circles around his hole. It clenches and opens, urging me on. I press the blunt of my finger across it and hold it there. My tongue, I stiffen and begin running the length of it along the underside of his cock.

"Right there," he confesses. "It's right there, kid..." I know I've hit home for him. I run my tongue around his swollen head, tasting him.

"Mark, do you have..."

He smiles and kisses me before reaching over to rifle the drawer of the nightstand. Slipping the bottle into my hand, he kisses me again.

"I can't believe this is happening," I whisper. If I say it too loud, I'm liable to break the spell. I hold my hand over the spout of the bottle and warm the cool liquid up with my fingers before setting it down on the nightstand and leaning in to kiss him again.

I kiss him first on the lips and then bring my lips to his cheek. My wet fingers go his tight opening, never slipping in to push against the taut flesh but only tracing around the outline. I continue kissing his cheek and then kiss him just next to his eye.

He laughs a little. "That tickles. What's gotten into you, stud?" Mark wraps his arms around my neck and returns the kisses my cheek. He then flicks his tongue and touches my cheek in a move that feels playful at first blush and then completely smoldering the next moment.

"It's not just about this..." I say, finally. He begins to reply and then jerks his head back into the pillow and whimpers. My fingers have dipped beneath the surface of him now. The pad of my middle finger slides just below the surface. "Mark, I swear it's not..." I whisper.

His hand goes instinctively to his cock. I plunge my middle finger, sopping wet with lube, into his tender butthole. Mark's beautiful cock is dribbling now. It's dribbling onto the sheets and onto his splayed fingers and onto his bare thigh.

"Fuck..." whispers. "Fuck, Will..." His breath catches in his chest. He grinds back against my finger. I ease it all the way down to the hilt in him.

"How's that feel, hmm?" I ask, knowing full well. "That good for you, Mark?"

He says nothing, screwing his eyes shut and nodding.

"You like having my finger up your asshole?"

He whimpers. I begin stroking against the inside of him in the way I guess I'm supposed to from stolen glances at websites I had little business reading and furtive searches for information. His body is responding, and I know I've hit home when I feel my finger rub up against a little bump now.

His hand grasps my bicep now.

"Slow, Will..." He squeezes my arm and holds one hand up again his eyes, a whimper escaping his lips. He is writhing against the pillow, precum dribbling from his rock-hard member. I adjust the speed of my strumming against the delicate part of him, barely flitting across it now. He nods and shudders.

"That's it... Nice and slow, stud..."

I smile at the new nickname. Better than Slim, I decide, and reach down to kiss him. He slides his tongue into my mouth right away, throwing both arms around my neck and moaning into our kiss.

"How's that, hmm?" I ask.

He nods.

"You like that, hmm?"

"Yeah... Feels good," he confesses. "Don't stop, Will. Keep touching me there."

I smile and kiss him. He gazes at me, eyes slightly out of focus, glazed over with pleasure and, I hope, desire for yours truly. I take his prick into my hand and roll it back and forth in my other hand, rubbing it against my palm.

"Look how wet you are..." I whisper. "It feel that good? Hmm?"

He whimpers and nods.

"You like having someone play with your ass?"

Mark turns his head away. I begin assaulting the underside of him with the pad of one finger. His cock drools more precum, and this I use to lube him up.

My fingers slide from his cock. I bring my lips up to his and then feed him his own precum. There is something so erotic about watching him suckle at my fingers coated in it. I lick at his tongue and then at his cheek.

More lube, and then I am assaulting his opening with my index finger.

"Yeah..." he coos.

"You ready for more, stud?" I ask him. He nods, and I slide the tops of two fingers into him, just under the very surface. I pause, feeling his inner muscles contracting and pulsing. Once the pulsating begins to subside, I know instinctively I can pleasure him without fear of going too fast.

My fingers bob in and out of the most tender part of him. I feel so close to him, somehow; he's made himself so vulnerable to me, without reservation.

I look at this man writhing in pleasure next to me. He holds the heel of his palm over his eye, seized by a fit of whimpers when I curve the two fingers inside his tight opening and feel them catching on his little gem. A sob rises from his chest, and then he's clinging to me and kissing me with frenzied swipes of the mouth.

"Will... Fuck, Will... Fuck me, baby..."

I need no further coaxing. I ease my fingers from Mark and thrust my tongue into his mouth. He clings to me, eyes closed, tongue draped out. He is in ecstasy, here and a thousand miles away.

"I wanna make you feel good, Mark..." I confess. "Tell me, okay? Tell me what feels good for you." I sheathe and slick up my cock with lube from the bottle, pumping more onto my fingers to take care of him.

"Mark..." I whisper. His eyes are closed, a hint of a smile on his lips. His cock is still hard and wet. I marvel at the perfection of him, the taut strength of his chest and arms, the slim abdomen with the softness I love to stroke. And my eyes drop to his erect manhood.

I feel a stinging pressure behind my eyes. It throws me at first. I'm happy. Ecstatic. Horny as hell. All I can think of his sliding into his warm, tight ass. And yet, another me within myself wants nothing but to take him into my arms and never let go. All the sorrow, all the loneliness and confusion--I want to bury it in our warmth and stay so wrapped up in him I never have to worry about any of it again.

I want him. Maybe this is more than fraternal and erotic. I let go of this thought and press my lips to his. Again, he lolls out his tongue and licks at mine, his arms lying outward, limp. He's helpless, drunk and drowning in sexual ecstasy.

"Fuck me, Will... Fuck me up the ass and come with me..."

I feel my sensibilities melting away. I feel a primal urge to rip off the condom and plunge into him bare, fucking him until I erupt and spill out into him. This, I shake away and go to him. I spread his legs and bring them up to bare his beautiful derrière.

This man with his knees resting on his chest, legs splayed out and rosebud exposed to my eyes, is Mark. My Mark. The man who used to let me sneak ice cream before dinner, the man who let me have my first beer when I was shaken up, the man who helped me with my math homework and took me to and from sports meets when I didn't have a ride. This is the guy who was waiting with a water bottle and a towel when I came back from running and couldn't walk another step.

"Will... Please... Make love to me."

I feel the pressure of him. Gingerly, I press my hips forward and feel it give way. And suddenly, there is somewhere new to be. There is somewhere that was secret and locked away, hidden. And now, I'm there.

His eyes open; his mouth falls slack. Mark's eyebrows rise as he realizes that my dick is sliding into place, pressing against him from the inside as I inch along. His breathing is heavy. He doesn't even blink, eyes locked on mine. He grasps both my biceps and squeezes just above my elbows.

My hungry prick slides upward, inching toward the root of me. And then, I am there. My abdomen bumps against his ass. He gasps out and throws his arms around my neck, pulling me into his breast, his hands stroking my hair.

"Don't move..." he whispers. "S-stay..." A tremor rips through him. Trembling, he strokes my hair and nods against my head. "Will... You're here..."

I nod, the pressure behind my eyes nearly unbearable. "I am... I'm here..."

I reach out for him and hold him tighter. Soft tendrils of pleasure unfurl from the root of me, spreading through my abdomen and all around us. Unable to resist, I move within him. The delicious friction against the most sensitive part of me has me seeing stars. I shudder against him. He nods against my cheek.

"Fuck, stud... Fuck me... Yeah, like that. Long and slow."

I am rocking against him, coaxing coos and little yelps of pleasure from his lips. He's so tight, his opening a velvet sleeve enveloping me. Our kisses are messier now, Mark's eyes gazing up at me with a flame I have never seen but cannot gaze at long enough. There's so much I want to say. So much I want him to hear. I move against him, letting my body speak in tender verse. Maybe no words could do justice to what I feel. Maybe only being with him like this can carry my emotion to his heart. I press one hand into his breast, feeling his fluttering heart against his ribs.

"I feel you... God, Mark, I can feel you all around me." I hook my arms under his armpits and roll him over, his legs dropping to either side of me. He moans when our hips collide, driving him down onto my rod. His cock drools precum that glistens down the length of him. Mark leans down to press his lips to mine, a frenetic kiss that speaks everything neither of us can say.

What happens next, I will never forget as long as I live. Mark reaches down to massage my pecs, squeezing my nipples and grinding his hips down, jerking my cock back and forth in his ass.

I cry out in pleasure and surprise. He's fucking me with his ass, I realize. I don't even know who's on top anymore; I don't fucking care. His fingers are pinching at my engorged nips now, his hips bucking back and forth along the ridges of my abdomen.




Learning the Ropes Ch. 02



"You're so hard," he tells me. He reaches out for my stomach. "Your cock... These abs... Will, I--"

I thrust upward to meet his movements, silencing him and reaching up to return the treatment of my nipples. He nods, closing his eyes and throwing his head back. I marvel at the beauty of his exposed neck. I stroke his chest and along his neck, rubbing his shoulder and then reaching out for his rod. He thrusts forward to meet my hand now.

"Why do you always know where to touch me?"

I smile. "I just know. Mark, I..." I stop, unsure how to continue. He opens his eyes, the same warm flame still there.

He reaches down and presses his hand to my chest, over my heart. "I know. Now--do me good, OK?"

I slide out of him, kissing him all the while, and turn him over. I push his hips down into the mattress so that his cock and belly are flush with it and begin inching my cock between his tight asscheeks. If his ass was tight before, this position makes things decidedly difficult to keep a hold on. I move forward and back, coaxing whimpers from Mark. I reach out to turn his cheek and in to claim his lips in a frantic kiss.

"I feel you... I think--I think I love you, Mark..."

He smiles into our kiss and pulls away. "Shh... I've just got you all worked up. Now, fuck me, stud."

My breath seizes in my chest a few times, and then I am able to resume rocking. My hips have a mind of their own, and soon I am thrusting in and out, back and forth across Mark's taut inside.

He moans and pushes back against me. I reach with one hand to press his ass down, grinding his cock into the mattress. I ride him, bucking my hips back and forth and demonstrating the same dominance he showed while on top. I swivel my hips now, twisting slightly left and then right as I pump in and out. Every thrust tugs at my cock from a deliciously different angle.

"Fuck, Will... You've got me so wet, stud. Fuck that ass. Yeah, right there..." He pulls me toward him and kisses me, his tongue lolling its way into my mouth. "So fuckin' good. Make that ass yours, Will..."

I nod and begin thrusting downward into the mattress. The wet hotness welcomes me with tight tugging and then pushing against me. I'm not going to last much longer. I smack his ass, and Mark moans and arches his back, twisting my cock upward from inside. I gasp and spank his cheeks again, rubbing his ass with all the tenderness I can muster. Crack! Crack! Like a man possessed, I continue to fuck his ass, spanking and then rubbing at his taut skin.

"Fuck, Will... Fuck my ass. Yeah, stud: Bust it up."

That vulgar plea--that's what does it for me. With a shudder, I feel something inside my abdomen snap, and the tendrils of pleasure that have built up splay out from my center of gravity, across my belly, and to out to my fingertips, my toes, my temples. I can feel myself melting into him.

Frantic to help him come up to where I can feel myself going, I thrust into Mark, pulling upward and then down along his beautiful crack. I reach around to grasp his cock. My hand slides between the mattress and his abdomen to grip him. "Come on, Mark. Come with me..."

I pump him back and forth, swirling my thumb around the head, and then I feel his abdomen tense in telltale fashion even as my own frantic coming begins to slow. I run my cock deep into him when his muscles begin to contract all around me.

"Will... Will... That's it. I'm there, stud."

I kiss him, shuddering with the last spasms. His hand strokes my cheek. He nods into our kiss. His hot cream spills out all over my hand, running over and onto the sheets.

"I love... I love the way you feel..." I whisper.

It's happened. We are so tender helping each other into the shower and then washing each other off. I can't stop reaching out for him and touching him. My hands keep wandering to his stomach. He swats my hand away and mutters something about being embarrassed, but I can't help but feel drawn to that part of him as much as any other. I realize I'll have to figure out some way to convince him. I soap him up and stroke his back before rinsing him off.

Mark throws my towel at me. This time, I catch it. He smiles and pulls a set of sheets from the linen closet in the bathroom. Later, and after changing the bedsheets, he climbs into the bed and sighs. I crawl across the bed and unabashedly curl up next to him. We're practically joined at the hip, I think, and smile at the notion.

"Hey, Mark..."

"Yeah, Will?"

"What's on the ole agenda for Sunday?"

"Sleep. Breakfast..."

"I hope you've made time for another session..."

"Exercise?"

I punch him in the arm. "I'll make sure you get a workout."

He smiles. I kiss him, slipping my tongue between his lips. He sighs.

"What?"

"I just can't believe this..."

I hug his shoulder and yawn. "Let's just get some shut-eye. Nothing complicated now. Nothing heavy. Too early."

"Sure."

"Mark?"

He sighs and then laughs a little.

"Yeah, Will?"

"Promise me?"

"What's that, Will?"

"You'll fuck me, right?"

I look up at him. There is a hint of a smirk on his lips. I feel his cock twitch ever so slightly. Never content to let things lie, I lick his neck. Just a little swipe.

"Will, come on--let a guy have a rest, eh?" he pleads, keeping his eyes closed but catching me in an embrace with both arms.

"Then promise me..."

"I promise. If you're good."

"I was pretty damn good judging from how much you came."

"Good night, Will..." he says, a grin breaking over his face, his eyes never opening.

I yawn and lean over to my vibrating phone. Six missed calls. My mother. A message, also from her.

"Where r u? @ Sharla's? U'r blocking the garage!"

Damn.