15 comments/ 43333 views/ 28 favorites Running the Hills By: JWTaylor36 This is my first attempt at erotic writing - I would really really love any feedback or constructive criticism! A three-sport athlete all through high school, and a captain of my college's club rugby team, I've always been in good physical shape. At 6"1', 200 lbs, I've got the build of a linebacker – big chest, solid legs, broad shoulders – generally muscular and strong. But as I began pushing 30, I found myself slipping just a bit. My stomach wasn't quite as flat as it used to be, my legs were starting to get just a bit less "solid" and more just "thick," and I found my energy level waning a little. I wanted to be back in the shape that had always made getting girls relatively easy in my youth. That's not to say that I was doing this just to get girls. My girlfriend swore she didn't notice a change, and our sex life didn't reflect any lack of desire, but this was more for myself, for my own peace of mind and satisfaction, to be able to keep up with the young Turks in the office. So here I was, 29, in Northern Virginia on a sunny September morning, running hard up the hilly wooded path near my home. It was relatively isolated and little-used, and a pretty challenging run, with steep climbs and tricky down slopes, stretching over a seven-mile loop that would take me back to the street that ran past my driveway. I had gotten to the point where I was doing the seven miles relatively easily three times a week, and felt good about myself. I had also gotten to the point where I didn't worry as much going down the hills. So my mind was elsewhere as I descended the second-to-last hill before I would turn onto my street. I was sweating pretty good considering the cool morning air, my gray t-shirt darkened in the center of my chest and under my arms, but I felt good. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful day, I was just about done with my run, well before 9 AM, and I had the rest of the day to look forward to. And my mind must have been dwelling on that, because as I went down the hill, I suddenly felt my feet slip from beneath me and I crashed to the rock-studded earth, rolling over twice before managing to stop myself against a thick tree trunk at the side of the path. I sat there a moment, catching my breath, breathing heavily through my mouth, hesitantly searching my body for any serious injuries, feeling a few scrapes and what would soon be bruises on elbows, knees, shoulders. But all-in-all I seemed okay. I pulled myself to my feet and took a step and my ankle gave out. I sat back down quickly, wincing, looking down at my right ankle. It looked okay, but I could feel it throbbing now, a twinge on the outside. I had broken the ankle before, playing basketball in college, a pick-up game, but this felt different, more like a sprain. I tried putting a little weight on it again, without standing, and felt pain. Tried rotating it a bit, more pain. I was angry at myself, stupid, careless. Now I'd be laid up for weeks, maybe a month, unable to jog, having to hobble around everywhere. All because I lost my concentration for a second. Idiot. To make matters worse, I heard someone coming down the path behind me. Great. Some asshole's going to laugh as he blows by me. Awesome. But then, even worse, I heard the footsteps slow. Fuck. They were going to stop. Just keep going, I'm fine, I thought. But the footsteps stopped, just next to me on the hillside. "Are you okay?" Inevitable. Without turning my head, I nodded, "Yeah, I'm fine, just twisted my ankle." Keep going. Move along, nothing to see here. No such luck. "Yeah, these hills can be tough if you're not used to them." That was a bit much. I turned my head, squinting against the morning sun that was just spilling over the hilltop, behind the speaker to the east. I could tell from the deep voice it was a man, but I could see little more than a silhouette against the glare. I raised a hand to shield my eyes. He was bare-headed, his dark brown hair damp at the brow and around his ears, neatly-trimmed. Athletic shorts coming to just above his knees, a dark blue t-shirt, darker against his chest. He stood with his hands on his hips, breathing steadily, apparently little winded from the recent climb. His face reminded me a bit of a politician's – almost too central-casting handsome and all-American looking. He was older than I, probably in his early to mid-40s, but looked younger than his age. He had a similar build to mine, fit and solid, obviously an athlete in his youth but still taking care of himself. I could see the outline of his chest through the t-shirt, that and the definition of his arms made it apparent he lifted in addition to his runs. His eyes were in shadow. "I run here all the time, actually." My reply came out less bitter than I had originally intended. My pride had subsided a bit as my adrenaline slowed. He was obviously just trying to help a fellow runner in need. "Don't know what happened – just stopped thinking for a second and I was down." He laughed softly, not unkindly. "Yeah, that'll do it. Could happen to anyone." He crouched down on his haunches next to me, close enough that heat from his workout radiated off his body. "It's just a sprain nothing's broken, right?" I looked down at the ankle in question, turned it a little, winced again, but managed to reply, "Yeah, no, it's not too bad." "Can you make it out of here?" I nodded, pointed down the trail. "I live not far from here, over on Carlton. I can make it." "You sure? Wouldn't want you to take another spill trying to get down these hills." "Yeah, I'm fine." I pushed myself up to my feet, grimacing as I put weight on my ankle, and felt his hand on my arm, steadying me for a moment, and then it was gone. I took a step, hesitantly, and pain shot through me. It was all I could do not to cry out, but apparently the pain was obvious, because I again felt his hands on me, one on my elbow, the other on the small of my back. "You don't look fine. I'm going to help you down the hill." His hand pressed my t-shirt against my lower back, just above the waistband of my shorts, and I could feel the warmth of him through the fabric, his big hand nearly spanning my hips. I could only nod in thanks. Pride could only carry me so far. We began moving slowly down the hill, avoiding loose rocks and gravel, the sun filtering through the tree cover overhead. He didn't speak accept to introduce himself as Mike, and that took until we were about halfway down. I told him my name, and that was the extent of the conversation. Twice I put too much weight on my leg, wincing visibly each time, drawing a sharp breath, and each time I felt Mike's hands on me, steadying me, taking my weight easily. After the second stumble, he stopped for a moment and lifted my right arm up over his shoulders so that he was basically carrying my right side, my foot not having to make contact with the ground. I felt his body against mine, felt the firm muscles of his shoulders beneath my arm, felt the heat from his side pressing against me, and then his thigh brushed mine as we stepped together down the slope and suddenly I felt myself growing hard. I almost fell again. My mind screamed, blood rushed to my head and my heart was suddenly pounding in my chest. This was new. And it wasn't a Seinfeld-esque "It moved." This had quickly turned into a full-fledged throbbing hard-on, within seconds, and now I was desperately trying to think of anything but the closeness of his body and the smell of him and the feeling of sweat beneath his t-shirt as he helped me down the hill, trying to think of anything that would calm me. My throat was dry, I couldn't breathe. I could feel myself straining hard against my the boxer briefs I always wore when I worked out, prayed silently that they were constraining me enough that there wasn't some obscene bulge in my shorts. Why was this happening. Was it just the injury, the endorphins rushing through my system? Just an unconscious reaction to the touch of another person? My girlfriend would not be happy. Then we were at the street. I could see the back of my house, my small backyard, the glass doors that led to my living room. I stopped, took my arm from off his shoulder and quickly bent over at the waist, reaching for my ankle, feigning concern for the swelling there, trying to shield his eyes from what I was sure was a massive bulge in my shorts. "How's it feel?" I heard him ask, his voice deep. To my relief, I felt my mind pass the point of no return, the throbbing in my crotch subsiding. I slowly straightened up, not making eye contact, not trusting my body to not betray me once again. "It's okay, I think." It actually didn't feel too bad. The pain had ebbed just a little, but I could see the ankle was swollen in my sneaker. "I'll be fine." "You sure?" The concern in his voice was obvious. I turned to him, saw his eyes and his face clearly for the first time. He was tan, obviously good-looking, his eyes dark brown. I saw the definition in his jaw line as he swallowed, his face clean-shaven and smooth, his skin clear. "Yeah. Thanks, though, for your help." I smiled, the sun warming my face. "I live just over there," I said, pointing, "I can make it the rest of the way." He glanced at my house, looking away, neither of us speaking for a long moment. The morning sun felt good, burning away the last of the cool air from overnight, blossoming into a slightly unseasonably warm September day. A light breeze moved through the trees above us, branches dancing, rustling, the movement of the air over my skin drawing goose bumps that disappeared with the wind. Neither of us moved. Finally, he spoke. "Hey." He seemed to pause, and I saw him swallow. "You mind if I come in and use your phone? I never carry my cell with me, and I should call my wife and tell her I'm running a little late. She'll be wondering why I'm not home yet." I felt a chill rush through me as he mentioned his wife, similar to the feeling one gets when a dreaded appointment is not kept. Relief mixed with questions. What had I wanted him to say? He was inviting himself in, but to call his wife? Was I thankful he was married? I didn't know. My mind raced, my pulse throbbing. I glanced down, at his hand, saw no wedding ring. But there was a tan line where it should have been. He caught me, and laughed, almost sounding forced. "I always take my ring off when I go running. I lost the first one just after we got back from our honeymoon on this same trail. She was not happy." I smiled, thankful for an excuse to act normal. "You're not married, right?" I shook my head, my mind having trouble producing thoughts, working through the permutations of what was coming from my mouth, not knowing the reasoning behind it. "No, I'm not. I've got a girlfriend though." I don't know whether the last was intended as a boast, or a warning, or something else. He nodded, looked back at my house. "You guys live together?" I shook my head again. "Nah, not yet. She's over on Madison." He nodded, his gaze going to the tops of his sneakers, then back up, directly at me, looking like he wanted me to speak. I didn't know what to say. "So, could I give her a call?" I felt myself blush. "Oh, yeah, your wife. Sure, of course, yeah. Least I can do." I began shuffling slowly across the quiet street, wincing slightly each time I set my injured foot down, the pain lessened, probably from the swelling. He followed at my side, watching me for a few steps. "You need help, or you got it?" "I got it, thanks. It feels a little better." I smiled, "Probably shock setting in, right?" "Yeah, probably." I could hear him smiling back, in his words. "Make sure you get some ice on that." "Yep, not my first one of these!" "I guess it comes with the territory – keeping in shape, you're bound to have an accident sometime." We had reached my back door, and I put my fingers down the front of my shorts, pulling out the drawstring to which I had tied my doorkey. As he watched, I used it to open the glass patio door, pushed it open, feeling the rush of the air conditioned interior. I stepped aside and gestured for Mike to go in ahead of me. "Thanks." He moved inside, and I followed, closing the door behind me. "The phone's in the kitchen." I gestured to the next room. "Not sure why I still have the landline, guess I just never bothered to get rid of it. Help yourself to a glass of water." "Thanks," he said again, and stepped into the adjoining space. I felt my eyes following him, and I averted them quickly, but not before getting a good look at his hard calves, the muscles clearly defined, thick and strong and solid, up to big thighs, dark hair, tan. I heard the sound of the phone being taken off its wall mount. I made a choice. "I'm gonna run rinse off real quick, before I can't move on this thing," I said, loudly, in the direction of the kitchen. "Make yourself at home." Before he could answer, I moved as quickly as I could towards the downstairs bathroom. I closed the door behind me, letting the pain in my ankle subside, resting myself on the clean porcelain sink for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest, my shorts strained once again at my audacity. I didn't know what I was doing, but I knew what I wanted. I sat on the toilet and unlaced my sneakers, pulled my socks off after them, seeing my ankle swollen, not as much as I had feared. Maybe it was just a strain. Then I stood and pulled my damp t-shirt off over my head, seeing myself in the mirror over the sink, admiring my chest for a moment, my stomach, my arms, avoiding my eyes, my face, not willing to meet my own gaze. Then I hooked my thumbs in my shorts and my boxer briefs, pulled them down and off together, stepping out of them, leaving them in a pile on the bathmat. I saw myself, hard and swollen, hanging between my legs, my dark hair neatly trimmed, my balls still pulled up tight against my body from the exercise. I scratched myself absently, smelling the scent of sweat and musk, and then reached into the shower and turned on the water. The water pressure was good, and I quickly stepped in, adjusting the temperature, feeling the warm water pouring down over me, cleansing, cooling. Then I heard the door to the bathroom open. My heart stopped. I froze under the water, the opaque shower curtain drawn. I knew what was happening, but I couldn't move. There was no sound from beyond the curtain for a second, but I could sense his presence in the small bathroom. Maybe I could hear him draw breath or maybe it was just the pounding heartbeat. Then he pulled the curtain open. I looked down, the stream of water beating on the top of my head, running down my body. I didn't look at him. He stepped into the shower. I finally looked up, saw he must have undressed in the living room. I saw his bare feet, noticed his clean, neat toenails for some reason, slowly raised my eyes up his strong legs, up his thighs, saw him, his size, saw his girth, swollen and hard and thick, slightly longer than my six and a half inches, and thicker. I tried to look away, finally succeeded, feeling the water getting warmer on my shoulders, my neck, looked higher, His naked body was magnificent, the lines along the bottom of his abs sculpted, his stomach flat, his chest big and solid. His arms and shoulders were strong and defined. I couldn't meet his eyes. I felt myself swell, spasm without a touch. Neither of us spoke as he drew the curtain closed, the enclosure, the privacy from a nonexistent audience making me somehow less panicked at what was about to happen. He stepped towards me, his hand going out, but instead of reaching for me he took the bar of soap from its tray built into the wall. As the water ran down over both of us, he first rubbed the bar over his bulging chest, lathering it slowly, bubbles forming on his naked torso; then under his arms, over his shoulders, down his defined biceps. I couldn't breathe. I could almost feel myself choking, my tongue was so thick in my mouth. I realized I was panting loudly in the small space. His body was wet and soapy and glistening, his muscles clear under his tan skin, and then his hand moved with the soap down his stomach, down between his legs, coating himself, and I heard myself groan aloud, my eyes locked on his hips, seeing his hand move slowly over his thick shaft, the soap coating his swollen head. I felt myself leaking. Then his free hand reached out, took mine. I felt his fingers on mind and I swallowed hard, couldn't breathe, and he pulled me towards him, pulling my hand to his hips. I felt my fingertips brush against his stomach, his abs, his hips, then I felt the head of his cock under my fingers and I almost lost control of myself. My breathe shot from my lungs in a loud moan, and my hand closed around him, feeling his thick shaft in my fingers, feeling it's solidity, its firmness, squeezing it and hearing him groan softly somewhere far away, my blood buzzing loud in my ears, my heart pounding from my chest. He was so warm and hard and thick and his body was against mine, wet and hard and warm, his skin against mine, his thighs pressed against my legs, his arms moving around me, holding me under the water, feeling his bare chest on mine, hot and strong and wet, his head dipping and his lips resting on my shoulder, feeling him kiss me softly under the water, my own mouth finding his neck, uncertain, only knowing that this felt so right, so good, I couldn't stop now, and I kissed his neck and his shoulder, his ear, felt him swell hard in my hand and he moaned. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, could only feel him, his naked body against mine, his obscenely huge cock thick and heavy in my hand, and the water rushing down over both of us, together alone in the shower. My hand moved of its own accord, on instinct, pumped his shaft once, slowly, pulling up to his head, back down, feeling the soap making him slick, heard his sharp intake of breath in my ear as I pumped my fist on another man's cock for the first time. I pulled back enough to be able to look down between us, saw my fingers wrapped around his shaft, watched, mesmerized, almost as if I were watching someone else, saw my hand moving on his thick cock, watched myself pumping it slowly, seeing his ab muscles tense and relax, saw his chest rising and falling, saw his swollen head, red and dark and soft, swelling hard, then I felt myself dropping to my knees. The floor of the shower was cool beneath me, and I lowered my head, wanting this too much to think about what I was doing, about my girlfriend or myself or anything, wanting nothing more than to taste him. And then my mouth was on him, feeling him impossibly big between my lips, huge, bigger than I thought humanly possible, wondering how a woman could ever do this without choking herself, but I needed it. Needed it so badly. Wanted it more than I had ever wanted anything else. I swallowed, tried to breathe through my nose, felt water pouring off my head, tasting the sweat, the salt on his taut skin, feeling his hips involuntarily thrust just a bit, heard him whisper above me, "Sorry." I wanted to make him feel so good. So fucking good, wanted to make him feel better than his wife ever had. I opened my mouth as wide as I could, tried to let my throat relax, felt him move deeper, taking him deeper, swallowing over and over again, felt my tongue drag over his head, his shaft, remembering what I knew felt good, pumping my fist slowly at the base of his cock while I worked my tongue and my lips over his head. I heard him groan loudly somewhere far above me, felt his hands on my head, gently stroking my wet hair, moving my tongue faster, wanting him, wanting him to want me, wanting him to feel like I felt, feeling my own cock throbbing below me, forgetting about my own need for a moment, loving the feeling of this man's cock in my throat. I moaned, deep in my throat, the vibrations apparently working through his cock and he moaned with me. Running the Hills Ch. 02 The continuing adventures...thanks so much for the feedback, glad to provide a second part. As before, I love to get comments and private feedback! I don't know how long we stayed like that. My mind was a total blank, the buzzing in my ears and the steady warmth of the water flowing over my shoulders and down my naked body were the only things I was conscious of, for a moment. I felt my knees give out, my legs buckle, and I slowly sunk to the floor of the shower, feeling the cool ceramic beneath my legs, coming to rest in a kneeling position, as if I were worshipping the faucet of my tub. Slowly my mind began to clear, and I felt a slight burning sensation, realized Mike still had his cock buried deep inside me. He had settled down on the floor of the tub with me, sinking down as I did, keeping himself within me the whole while. I could feel him now, pushed far up inside me, still feel his hips pressed tight against my ass, nestled against me like his body was molded around mine. I could feel his chest against my naked back, his big arms around mine, wrapped around me tightly, holding me against him, our bodies connected. His biceps bulged as he squeezed gently, and I felt his cock swell inside me, post-ejaculatory spasms, and I almost passed out again from the sudden burst of pleasure the tiny movement generated from deep within me; nerve-endings I never knew existed stimulated by the swelling of his big cock buried inside me. While this had been happening, from the moment he had invited himself into my home, I had been thinking, in the back of my mind about what this all meant. What did it mean about me, about who I was? What would it mean for my life going forward and for my relationship with my girlfriend, my family, my friends? What did it mean, that I wanted this man, his cock, his body, that I felt such an overwhelming lust for him - more than lust - desire. Lust was too small of a word, too limited. I didn't just want him to fuck me, or to see or touch his cock. That had been a huge part of it. What I knew that I also desired him. I wanted to feel him wrap his arms around me and hold me and be gentle with me but firm. And all this had been hovering in the back of my mind as it all went down, lurking, all the obvious psychological cliches and the terms I'd seen online; daddies or bears or muscles or whatever. I didn't know what label applied to me, I had no idea what it meant, and I didn't really care. I had blocked it all out, pushed it down in my mind and given myself over to him, to what I felt, ignoring what I thought. But now what I thought was pushing back from the depths. What had I done. A man's cum was in my mouth, in my ass. I had sucked his cock, had made him cum, twice. He had fucked me. Oh god. A man had fucked me. My heart raced, different than it had when he had pulled the curtain aside and stepped into the shower. I was panicking. I felt a cold sweat burst from my forehead, despite the water still washing over us. I don't know if Mike felt it too, or was simply cramping up from kneeling on the floor of the shower, but I felt him start to pull out. He had softened a bit inside me, and he began to slowly pull his dick out of my ass, slowly, and I tried to ease off him, feeling the burning increase just a bit inside me, but not bad. Not nearly as bad as I had feared it would. And then suddenly he was out and a rush of cool air filled me and I sank forward again, feeling very empty. I heard him move back in the tub, away from me. I didn't want to turn to him, didn't want to see the naked man kneeling in my shower who had just had his dick in me, had just fucked me and cum in me. And part of me wanted turn to him and pull him against me once again and feel him harden against me. My mind screamed, pulling me either way. I could still feel his cum inside me, could still taste him on my tongue. But I couldn't speak. And then he stood. I heard him behind me, get to his feet, pull the shower curtain open. I heard him grab a towel from the rack, dry himself off briefly. I could feel his eyes on me the whole time, waiting for me to turn, willing me to look at him, but I couldn't. I just buried my face in my knees like a child and waited for him to go. The choice had been made; I wouldn't acknowledge him, he would leave and that would be the end of it. Nothing had changed. And he did. He finally turned and left. I heard him pick up his clothes from out in the living room, then moments later I heard the glass door open, then close. He was gone. But everything had changed. It seemed like it was hours before I emerged from the shower that day. I washed myself inside and out over and over again, trying to somehow rid my body of Mike's cum, of the taste of his cock on my tongue. I gargled and flossed and scraped my tongue with my toothbrush again and again. I used the detachable shower head to wash myself out inside, spraying water up inside me, rubbing soap over my body, my asshole. I felt ashamed as it brought back the feelings. My girlfriend came over to my house later. I heard her voice on the phone, asking to come by, I heard myself tell her it was fine, wondering if my voice sounded strange or different. She didn't seem to notice. I saw her coming up the walk to my small house. Shannon. She was petite, Irish-American, long slim legs, the build of a cross country runner; tight stomach and small breasts, with tiny almost black nipples on perfectly clear white skin. Her hair was just as dark as her nipples, but her eyes were light and blue and seemingly always glistening, whether laughing or thinking or crying. She always looked as if a small breeze had just run across her face and briefly set her eyes watering, just enough to make them glow. I remember vividly that day, as she came up the walk; she wore black running pants, tight, Spandex, clinging to her endless legs. A power-blue fleece that matched her eyes and set off her hair was unzipped over a white t-shirt. She had been running too. She opened the door without knocking and came in, smiling at me, and I almost threw up. Those eyes, those perfect white teeth, that beautiful fair skin, that hair. What had I done. She could never know. I promised myself. She would never know, and it would never happen again. But I knew that if I spoke a word to her she would know. She would know something was wrong and then she would ask and I wouldn't be able to lie to her. I couldn't let her talk. I stepped to her and kissed her mouth, heard her laugh quietly, taking her unexpectedly, and her lilting laugh turned into a soft moan in her throat as my tongue found hers, her thin red lips parting easily. She was always worked up after exercise. I felt her hands on my back, moving over me, and I began to relax, the familiar touch so welcome. Everything would be okay. I kissed her again, harder this time, my hands moving up under her fleece, up her back, feeling the t-shirt, slightly damp from her run, tasting the hint of salt on her lips, needing her, needing to take her, to put myself in her and cleanse myself. I pulled her against me, feeling her small body in my arms. So different, I thought to myself, and dashed the thought from my mind. No different. This is normal. This is how it should be. I crushed her body against mine and she moaned again, her hips grinding against mine through our clothes, feeling her hands at my waist, undoing my belt, then stopping, moving up under my shirt, roaming over my body. Like his had. Stop. I felt the clasp of her sports bra, quickly popped it open as she stepped back momentarily, seeing her face flushed, her pale cheeks reddened, beautiful, her eyes glowing as always, her lips parted. She pulled the fleece off, then the t-shirt followed. I avoided her eyes, looking instead at her body, seeing the white sports-bra follow the rest of the clothes to the floor. Her small breasts were perky and round on her slim frame, her nipples already hard, dark points on cupcake-sized mounds. Her running pants were low on her slim hips, and as I stared, she hooked her thumb in the waistband and flexed it, teasing me, her eyes flashing, the tip of her tongue snaking out of her mouth playfully. I didn't feel like being playful. I needed to have her, quickly. She would make it right. I stepped to her, kissing her again, on her lips, her neck, her shoulder, roughly, hearing her gasp in my ear. She enjoyed it as rough as I did. I smelled the familiar scent of her shampoo, tasted her skin, the same as always. It would be alright. She moaned softly as the tip of my tongue found her earlobe, knowing exactly where to kiss, and then her hands were back at my waist, finishing the job on my belt, then my pants, pulling them down off my waist in a single motion, then down to the floor. She kissed me on the lips, hard, and then she was on her knees in front of me. A sudden panic flashed through my mind. Had I washed enough? Would she taste me and know? Would she smell him on me? And then her hand was in my boxer briefs, pulling me out, and her mouth was on me and I didn't care what she smelled or tasted or knew. Her tongue drew slowly, languorously over my cockhead, moving around the sensitive rim, her small fingers wrapped around the base of me, slowly stroking me as she gently sucked, knowing that the slower she went the faster I would cum. I felt the familiar sensations, the building of tension, felt her soft warm tongue moving over me, her tiny hand moving on me, pumping at the base of my cock, a soft moaning in her throat vibrating through me, and I heard myself moan. Then her free hand moved between my legs and pressed against the spot behind the base of my cock and I almost died, feeling the same sensation I had felt when Mike had fucked me, the same rush of pleasure, feeling Shannon's finger pressing against me as she sucked me and I pictured him behind me once again, inside me, thrusting into me, grunting, filling me. I felt her fingers on me, moving up behind me, closer to my asshole and I knew she would know, knew she would somehow feel him there and I had pulled back, my dick popping from her mouth loudly, a string of saliva and precum from the swollen glistening tip of my cock to her lips, hanging obscenely. She looked up at me, questioning, silent, so I pulled her up and pushed her down in the same motion, pushed her down onto the couch, onto her stomach, her arms going out at her sides, one hanging off the side of the couch, her fingers trailing along the floor, and then I was astride her body, finding the waistband of her running pants and jerking them down over her beautiful tight round ass, peeling them off her slim legs, down off her body, leaving her laying there in nothing but the black spandex athletic thong she wore to run. The thin black band of fabric split her ass, her pale clear skin free of blemish or mark. She turned her head to the side, resting it on a pillow, and I could see her looking back at me through her hair, tousled and laying over her face. I moved up onto her, pinning her body to the couch with my weight, my legs on either side of hers, pulling the thong aside. I could see her clean-shaven lips between her firm thighs, her round bottom flushed. She was waiting for me. I needed this. This was right. I grasped my cock, felt it throbbing, and pushed it roughly between her legs, hearing her gasp as my head pushed against her lips, parting them, feeling her hot and wet inside, and then I was in her, pushing up hard, pressing her down into the couch. She groaned loudly and spread her legs wider, one foot dropping down to rest on the ground, her toes splayed, and I thrust downwards, one foot on the floor, the other at her side on the couch, pushing down with as much leverage as I could get, slamming hard into her small body. I grabbed her hips on either side, pulling her up off the couch as I pushed forward, slapping my hips against her tight ass hard, as hard as I could, fucking my girlfriend as hard and as deep as I could, fucking her, telling myself over and over again, with every vicious thrust, that I was fucking my girlfriend and I was loving it and it felt good and right and it did. It felt so good, and I slammed into her, hearing her cry out, loudly, hearing my own grunts and moans, hearing our bodies slapping lewdly together. I saw her hand snake up under her lithe body as I pushed against her, grinding my hips against her ass, feeling myself move within her, watched as her fingers found her clit and worked herself frantically. I saw the dark spot on the couch cushions beneath her where she had lain, saw the stain from her there, heard her moan softly and then curse and I knew she was cumming, knew she only cursed when she had lost control, and I pushed hard up into her a final time and bent over her body, my arm wrapped under her, around her waist, pulling her tight against me and bending over her so that my chest pressed against her back, just like he did, just like Mike as he came inside me and the mental image put me over the edge and I grunted loudly, my cock pulsed hard inside her and my I felt my cum spurt. We came together, hard, loudly, and then collapsed down onto the couch, sweat-covered and slick, our hips locked together, my cock buried inside her, kissing her shoulder gently. I fucked Shannon again that night. Much more gently, slowly. Taking our time. There were no images of Mike intruding as I came, no reminders of how it had felt to have his cock in my mouth, in my ass. Nothing. The urgency I had felt so desperately that afternoon was gone. I was cleansed of the morning. It was a mistake. That's it. One that wouldn't be repeated. I was in love with the beautiful, fair Shannon, who slept beside me so peacefully, her raven hair fanned over her pillow, breathing quietly in the night. Nothing had changed. Things went back to normal, somehow. I told myself they did. That I wasn't thinking about Mike when Shannon was sucking me or kissing me, or when I was inside of her, that I wasn't thinking about him each time I came. I tried to tell myself that it didn't mean anything, that I was fucking my girlfriend, that's what mattered. That what I might be thinking about didn't have anything to do with it. I told myself that I wasn't thinking of Mike whenever I went jogging, that I wasn't hoping I'd see him coming over one of the hills. But I never did. Twenty-three days later, he showed up at my front door. I was home alone, but I still panicked. The doorbell rang, I opened the front door, and there he was, on my front stoop, inches from the screen door. I don't know who I was expecting, people didn't really come by unexpectedly, but I wasn't expecting him. My heart nearly exploded in my chest, I couldn't breath, everything came rushing back. I couldn't speak, couldn't move, everything I had been fighting for the past few weeks returned all at once, and I didn't know what to do. "Can I come in?" His voice was just I remembered, low and smooth and firm, and I could only nod. Somehow I reached out to pull the door open and he stepped inside. He wore jeans and a navy blue t-shirt that fit his torso perfectly, showing off his big chest without being ridiculous, the sleeves framing his biceps, tapered around his slim waist. "I couldn't stay away." I couldn't respond, my heart was in my throat, trying desperately to remember if Shannon was due home at some point soon, if she was stopping by after work. I couldn't remember. And then he was on me and I didn't care. I didn't fucking care. All those thoughts and memories and feelings came back in a rush and I didn't care if she walked in on us right now. He kissed me, hard, his tongue instantly in my mouth, finding mine, his hands ripping my shirt off over my head, feeling his arms pulling me against him, his shirt coming off, our bodies together again, our chests bare against one another as we kissed, smelling him, feeling him, hard against my hips through his jeans and I wanted him so badly. I pulled back and dropped to my knees, tearing his jeans open, yanking them down to the floor over his big legs, his thigh muscles defined and taut, his cock bulging lewdly in his tight boxer briefs, and they came off too. His dick almost slapped against my face as I released it, the swollen head rubbery and thick, inches from my mouth. I leaned forward and grasped him tightly around his base and he gasped, and then I lowered my mouth onto him. I moaned loudly in my throat, my eyes shut tight, trying to suck him deep into my throat, gagging hard, my eyes watering, almost choking, and he pulled back, his hand on the side of my head, on my cheek, telling me to relax. I slowed, feeling my throat open, my breathing becoming easier through my nose, and I moved back down on him, pumping his shaft just like Shannon did for me, hearing him moan loudly as I settled into a slow, steady rhythm, feeling his cockhead swell against my cheek. As I sucked him, lovingly, slowly, I reached down into the shorts I was wearing, finding my own cock, swollen and hard and dripping, and I started stroking it, groaning around Mike's dick. I could feel him gently thrusting, almost involuntarily, knowing he didn't want to choke me again, knowing he couldn't help it, knowing I was turning him on and the thought almost made me cum, but I pulled my hand away somehow, concentrating on the feeling of his cock in my mouth. I pumped his base just a little harder, faster, felt him respond, spasm hard in my hand, against my tongue, and then I reached up between his legs, just like Shannon, rubbed behind his balls, heard him grunt loudly and then I pushed up, pushed a finger up inside him and I heard him swear loudly, once, and his cum flooded into my mouth, spurting, hard, over and over again, his asshole contracting around my finger, squeezing me as he came, and I swallowed all of it. Running the Hills Ch. 03 As always, comments and feedback are warmly appreciated! I felt his cock pulsing in my mouth, his hot cum surging out over my tongue, filling my throat, pumping hard inside me and I swallowed, again and again, feeling it sticky and salty and sweet. Mike moaned deep in his throat each time he spasmed, his hips jerking forward involuntarily, his short-trimmed pubic hair tickling my face, his dick so heavy in my hand. I didn’t want to move, didn’t want this moment to end, didn’t want to go back to the shame and doubt I had been feeling for the past two weeks. He felt so good in my mouth, so thick and heavy and big. I swirled my tongue slowly over his tip and heard him gasp, pulling away roughly, his softening cock slapping wetly against his thigh. I looked up at him from my knees. His hand was on my cheek, his palm resting gently on my face, his fingertips moving slowly in my hair. He smiled down at me. “Sorry. it gets really sensitive afterwards.” I returned his smile, slowly getting to my feet. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” I swallowed hard. “Listen, Mike. The other day.” His hand went to my hip, resting there, keeping me from stepping away. I looked at him, trying to meet his gaze, seeing the way he looked at me. His eyes erased any hesitation I had about what I was saying, any fear. The words came rushing out. “I’m so sorry about the way I acted. I was fucking scared. I acted like a baby, not a man.” He was silent for a long moment, just looking at me. I felt him pulling me closer, gently, and I stepped nearer to him, close enough to smell him, smell the manliness I remembered so vividly, the smell that had haunted me for the last two weeks. I could feel the warmth radiating from his naked body, his chest. I looked down, saw the wiry black hair on his chest, the defined, firm pecs, his flat stomach below, and his softening but still thick cock hanging between his legs. His head still glistened in the overhead light. I wanted him to say something. I knew from his eyes that he forgave me, I knew that because he was here, now, it was okay, but I wanted him to say it. Instead he pulled me against him, hard, our bare chests pressed tightly together, and he kissed me, passionately, his tongue finding mine, his head tilting to the side so that our lips molded perfectly, his arms pulling me so tight against him. I could feel every muscle in his body hard and taut against me, his arms, his chest, his legs. Our tongues moved together, wet and warm and soft, hearing him moan in his throat, his hands grasping at my shorts, pulling them down, my underwear going with them, falling to the floor. I managed to step out of them, completely naked, our bodies tight against one another, but I wanted to be closer to him, closer than was possible, pulling him against me, my hands on his ass, so round and tight and hard, pulling his hips against mine. I could feel myself, hard and unsatisfied, pressing against his thigh, his hips, and I wanted him to feel it too. He wasn’t yet hard again, but well on his way, and our cocks were trapped between us as we kissed, slower now, the tips of our tongues meeting thickly. I could feel his head, spongy and still wet, pressing against my abs just above the base of my cock, and then we rubbed against one another and I heard myself groan, my mouth slipping away from his as my body began to lose control. My lips dropped to his shoulder, kissing him there, and I felt his hand move between us, gripping me lightly, and then I felt his own cock against mine, his hand around both of us, and he began to stroke us, together, slowly, and my fingers clenched at his bottom, hard, my teeth on his shoulder, overcome. I thrust myself up against him, feeling my head press against his abs, feeling him swell hard against me, both of us breathing hard, groaning together, his arm around my waist, pulling me against him. We stood there in my living room in a naked clinch, his body hard and hot against me, his hand pumping slowly on our cocks, the two of us lost in the intensity of the meeting, the built up lust and passion and desire of the last two weeks, relishing the feeling. I feared to move or speak, afraid that it would end and never return, wanting the moment to last forever. But then his lips were on my neck, my ear, and I heard him whisper, “Take me to your bedroom.” I reluctantly pulled away, nodded, smiling, and quickly walked to the stairs, hearing him follow me, his hand reaching out to caress my bottom as I climbed the single flight, moving to the relative darkness of my bedroom. He closed the door behind us. The lights were off in the room, the shades closed on the windows, but enough sunlight came through to leave the room in a soft gray haze. I could see his body, his eyes, as he moved from the doorway to the bed where I had laid down, my cock falling back against my stomach, hard and swollen and red. I looked at him, watching him move across the room, his body perfection, firm and taut, dark hair on his upper chest and arms, his skin a natural tan, his cock heavy and thick, standing straight out from the dark thatch of hair at the base of his abs. He saw me staring and laughed, quietly, smiling at me as I lay there waiting for him. “You glad I stopped by?” I smiled back, all the fear and self-doubt forgotten, erased. I gestured down at my throbbing cock. “What do you think? Can you forgive me for how I acted?” He laughed softly and gestured at himself, playfully pushing his dick to one side and letting it spring back straight. “What do you think?” He climbed onto the bed next to me, the mattress depressing under our weight, so much heavier than when Shannon and I shared it. I lay on my back, my hands resting on my stomach, absentmindedly tracing over my skin just above where my lighter pubic hair began, just below my shallow navel. The air was cool in the room, still, no sounds beyond the quiet hum of a ceiling fan spinning slowly above us. Mike laid himself down next to me, on his side, facing me, close enough so that his tip pressed against my thigh. I could feel him, leaking precum, glazing it on my skin, lightly. His hand found mine, then moved lower as my breath caught in my throat. I felt him looking at me, and I turned my head, saw his eyes filled with lust and then his hand was on me again, his fingers around me, squeezing lightly. I groaned softly as he began to move his fist, arching my body slightly up off the mattress, my hips moving in accord with his hand as he pumped me, slowly, gently, pulling the loose skin up over my head, drawing it back down over the rim, eliciting a soft gasp from my lips each time. My eyes rolled back in my head and my lids shut, my lips parting, breathing hard as his hand moved just a bit faster, pumping me, working my dick in his hand, I laid back, my head falling down on the pillow beneath me, sinking into the soft mattress as he stroked me, slowly, gently, my hand reaching out to grasp his upper arm, feeling his bicep flexing and tensing as he moved his hand on me, his fingers squeezing and releasing. I could have let him do this to me forever, but too soon I felt my orgasm approaching, too fast, too soon, and I grabbed for his wrist, squeezing hard, pulling his hand off me. “What’s wrong?” I shook my head at him, smiled, panting hard. “Nothing, Mike. I don’t want to cum yet.” As he watched, I turned my body away from him, reached into the nightstand and turned back, a small bottle of lubricant in my hand. The bottle was almost empty, most of it used between Shannon and I, spread over her breasts, her stomach, my cock, leaving us both glistening and slick and glowing, magnifying every touch and sensation. And now I was preparing to use it to allow Mike to fuck me. A small twinge of guilt and shame hit me, welling up from somewhere I thought shut tight, and I quickly pushed it back down. This had nothing to do with Shannon. I opened the bottle and spilled a healthy dollop of the oil on my open palm, feeling Mike’s eyes on me as I reached down, between my thighs, letting the oil slide off my hand and onto my heavy balls, using my fingers to spread it down lower, between my trembling legs, feeling my fingertips rub over my asshole, my whole body shuddering as I rubbed the lube around my rim, then slowly pushed a finger up inside myself, my whole body tensing, feeling myself clench around my finger, imagining what it must feel like for Mike, feeling how tight and warm I was. One finger still inside m, I used the others to spread the lube around my rim and just inside me, the cooling sensation tingling and stimulating nerves, my cock twitching of its own accord against my stomach. I almost forgot Mike was laying beside me as I worked a finger up inside my body, but then I heard him moan, felt his hand on my leg, and I quickly pulled my finger out and laid back, nodding at him. His smile was almost childlike, his excitement and lust palatable, apparent in his eyes. He moved his solid, masculine body below mine and gently pushed my legs open, taking the bottle of lube from me and pouring some in his hand, spreading it up and down his shaft and over his head. His dick looked swollen and red and shiny and obscene and beautiful, the tip pointing at my face, his balls heavy and hanging below him, curly dark hair framing him wonderfully, his thighs big and thick and firm. I watched him slowly working his cock, spreading the lube thoroughly, seeing his nostrils flaring, his mouth falling open slightly as he looked down at me, stared between my thighs, and then up at me, meeting my gaze. I saw the look in his eyes, the strange affection that I would never think to see in another man’s eyes, and I wanted him so badly, needed him, my body ached for him, everywhere, and he saw it. He moved forward, his glistening cock swelling in his hand, my legs spread as wide as I could, wrapping around his big upper body, and I felt him press his head against me, felt the spongy tip, soft and then hard as he pushed, felt the cool lube easing his entry as I whimpered softly, felt him opening me up. I felt my legs shaking, my feet planted firmly on either side of his body, hugging his waist tightly, willing him with my mind and body to go slowly, to be gentle. I shouldn’t have worried. The bulbous head of his cock pressed at my asshole, Mike planted his hands on either side of my hips, his forearms resting against my body, leaning forward over me, looking down at me, and slowly began to rotate his hips. The feeling was indescribable. I could feel every tiny movement, could see the concentration on his face as he held himself back, restrained himself from plunging his big dick deep within me in a single stroke, knowing it would tear me apart. I could see his face this time, could watch him as he slowly, gently worked himself into me, could look into his eyes as his head gently moved past my rim, sliding gently into me this time instead of the sudden pop that had accompanied his entry in the shower. I almost didn’t realize he was inside me this time; there was just a slight twinge, and then a sudden fullness. I heard him moan, and felt him suddenly slide forward, and I called out softly in pain, my cock jumping on my stomach, my hips coming up off the mattress violently. “Ahh, fuck, fuck!” I heard myself grunt, and felt him withdraw, concern on his face. “Fuck, are you okay? I’m so sorry.” He was motionless above me, I could feel his head just inside me still, but he didn’t move. “It slipped, I didn’t mean to. You’re okay?” I nodded up at him, my eyes watering, wanting him to keep going, not able to speak from the mix of pain and lust that washed through me, all emanating from between my legs. Finally, I was able to choke out, “Keep going. Please, Mike.” I was almost begging him. He nodded, smiled slightly. “I’ll be careful.” He pushed forward once more, and this time the pain was less, much less, and I felt him sliding into me, and I tried to lift my legs and hips up off the bed to give him an easier angle, let him move deeper. He felt my movement and shifted his hips slightly and suddenly there was a burst of intense pleasure that made my hips buck. I groaned, a feral sound low in my throat, unintelligible, but he seemed to understand, and he moved his hands underneath me, holding me up off the mattress as I yanked a pillow from behind me and shoved it under my ass, propping me up. The angle was perfect, and as Mike pushed forward into me I almost cried from the feeling, the pleasure, seeing him above me, his big chest flushed and gleaming with a light sheen of sweat, his eyes watching me, looking down at where our bodies were joined, hips lips parted slightly as he breathed heavily, the muscles and veins I his arms defined as he gripped my hips securely, controlling me. He thrust forward again, further, deeper, and I looked at him, then down at his hips, saw my cock flopped, rigid on my stomach, precum in a small puddle around my bellybutton, streaked over my stomach. I saw him pushing against me, saw his thick pole jutting from between my legs like a part of me, an extension of me. I watched as he pushed into me one more time, and he was completely inside me, buried within me. He paused, his hips pressed tight against mine, looking down, both of us breathing hard, letting me relax inside for a moment. I felt so unbelievably full. There was less pain than the first time. I could feel him pressing against me deep inside, and then he began to move, slowly, began to fuck me. I moaned, gasped out a pathetic “Yesss…” and looked up at him, locking eyes, starting into him as he fucked my body, sliding slowly in and out of me, only an inch or two, gently moving within in. I felt my hips coming up off the pillow each time he withdrew, trying to pull him back in, out of my mind with lust for this man. The breeze from the fan overhead swirled down around us, cooling the sweat on our bodies as Mike fucked me lovingly, every movement of his body sending ribbons of pleasure through me, my cock surging on my stomach, leaking on me. I felt him move quicker, pushing into me a little harder and I wanted him to go even faster, to fuck me hard, but I couldn’t tell him, was still scared of this, of how it would feel. I met his eyes, tried to beg him with my eyes to fuck me, to fuck me like he would a woman, to fuck me hard and fast and cum in me, that I was ready and I wanted him and needed to feel him. And then he leaned down over me, my legs spreading wide around him, he leaned over me and as he did his cock drove deep within me, impossibly deep and I groaned loudly and slammed my fist into the mattress, losing control, and I felt his arms around my body, pulling me up off the bed, his cock buried in me, a part of me, his hips grinding against me. My cock was pressed between us, rubbing against his stomach and mine and that short contact was all I needed and I felt myself explode, cum spurting out between our bodies as my hips bucked viciously against his body, felt my cum leaking over our stomachs as he kissed me, hard, our tongues intertwined, and I felt him moan deep in his throat as he came with me. His arms were around me, holding me tight and kissing me as he filled me, his cum spurting deep within my body, his hips motionless, letting himself drain inside me, his tongue pushing against mine, neither of us breathing, holding each other, sweat and cum on our skin and inside me, the smell of sex filling the room, his head resting now on my shoulder. I kissed his neck, his dick still buried inside me, feeling his cum slowly leaking around his softening cock, feeling his hard body on mine, holding me, holding him. I would not let him leave. Not this time. I couldn’t go through this again, the waiting and denial and shame and wanting and needing. Not again. I heard the front door open downstairs, and Shannon’s footsteps as she came in. Running the Hills Ch. 04 Six months ago to the day. That's how long it had been since I had seen Mike. I remembered the date exactly, mostly because the image of my digital bedside clock is burned into my mind's eye, the electric blue numbers, denoting the date and time that my life as I knew it ended. I can still hear the door closing downstairs, the distinctive sound of Shannon coming in, dropping her keys loudly in the small porcelain tray by our front door, the mail following them, softer, flat. I remember the moment of sheer panic that took me, not so much washing over me, or enveloping me - one moment I was laying there, basking in post-orgasm bliss, mind dulled, every muscle relaxed, feeling Mike's hard body on mine, his hard cock buried up inside me, the next moment I was absolutely, totally paralyzed. The adrenaline that surged through me that moment had the reverse effect that adrenalin is supposed to. Normally it should allow a person to handle an unusually difficult situation, provide that extra burst. In this case I was overloaded. I went from total relaxation to total and utter brain lock instantly. My mind emptied, I nearly blacked out. I could barely see Mike above me, looking down, panic in his face, but confusion as well. He knew something was wrong, but he hadn't quite grasped it. When you live with someone in the same house for years, you know every single sound, whether made by a person or just something that emanates from the house or the environment. You know exactly what it sounds like when your girlfriend comes home. Mike didn't know. He just knew something was wrong, but I couldn't move, couldn't speak. I felt him slowly draw out of me, and the pain and sudden emptiness stirred me. I pushed him off me, violently, rolling out from under him as he started to speak, and I turned to him and slapped a hand over his mouth, pointing desperately towards the door, shaking my head. I saw recognition in his eyes a millisecond before we both heard Shannon's voice from below, "Baby? Are you home?" I pulled my hand away and looked around the room, barely able to think. Our clothes were everywhere. The bed was a mess. The room must have reeked of sex and man and sweat and cum. I could feel my own cum drying and sticky on my stomach, and I could feel Mike's hot cum leaking perversely from my still clenched asshole. At any other time I would have relished the feeling, would have masturbated to that sensation a hundred times down the road, but right now it made me want to scream, but I couldn't. All I could do was to frantically grab at clothes, throw them at Mike. He was doing the same, grabbing for clothes, mine or his, it didn't matter, grabbing them and looking around at the same time, trying to figure out where he would go. I heard her again, "Babe?" Mike stared at me, hard, his muscles clenched, his jaw tight. "I'll be right down Sweetie!" My voice was barely a squeak. But her footsteps were already on the stairs. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I grabbed Mike and pushed him towards the bathroom, then grabbed and pushed him back towards the bed, to the floor, trying to get him to roll under the bed, desperate, my mind screaming, my blood pounding, and then Shannon was in the doorway and she saw me, standing naked, she saw Mike, naked on the floor, clothes scattered everywhere. She stood there for a long, long moment, staring mostly at Mike - it was almost funny, the expression on her face, I could see her mental contortions on her face as her mind tried to make sense of what she was seeing. No one spoke, Mike just laid there, half under the bed, and then I saw it click in Shannon's eyes and she made a soft gurgling sound and retched once, hard, nothing coming from her body, then again, and then she was on her knees, vomiting onto the bedroom floor. Mike left quickly, not saying a word, and I wanted to leave too, not with him, just to leave, to run away, but I knew I couldn't. So I stayed, I got dressed as Shannon emptied her stomach and then collapsed to the floor, broken, sobbing. I tried to put a hand on her heaving shoulder and she nearly ripped my fingers off, her eyes flashing. I backed away without speaking, gathering my clothes, and went downstairs, still naked. I stood in the foyer for ten minutes, trying to think, piecing together everything that had happened and that was about to happen. Shannon was friendly with my family, but particularly with my younger sister. My sister would know. My parents would know. Our friends would know. I could feel my heart racing, and I almost had to kneel down, my head was so weak. My life was over. Everyone was going to know, everyone. And they did. Shannon told my family everything. She kicked me out of our house when she finally made it downstairs. She didn't wait to hear anything, and I don't know what I would have said had she listened. She told me to get out, I did. I think I wanted to leave as much as she wanted me gone. I checked into a motel, went back the next day, let myself in and grabbed some clothes and personal items. I got a call that evening from my sister, and then from my mom. I didn't answer either. My mom called five more times that night. And six months later, I'm living in a one-bedroom apartment in Alexandria. I haven't seen Mike since that day. He called a couple times but I didn't answer. I've been avoiding everyone I know. I finally answered my mom's call a couple weeks later after she had left a few sobbing voicemails, but she hung up as soon as I said hello. Shannon and I spoke just long enough to arrange for me to clear my stuff out of the house one day while she was at a friend's house. I've been with two other men since then. Both I met off Craigslist. About two months after that day, I answered an ad for a "Str8 guy for cock." Sounded like me. I was still thinking of myself as straight. I ended up meeting up with this guy, a little younger then me, much more experienced. I stroked his dick, he sucked mine, I wanted to scream. I came home and took an hour-long shower, woke up the next morning seriously contemplating suicide. The feeling wore off before I did anything about it. About two weeks later I posted an ad myself, going into detail as to what I was looking for. A fit handsome guy around my age, maybe a little older, athletic, strong, not "gay-acting" - whatever the fuck I thought that meant - with a nice cock. I was basically looking for Mike. I didn't find him. I got about two dozen replies, I answered a few, I met up with one. He came over, good-looking guy named Steven, insisted on being called Steven, not Steve. He was in great shape, great body, nice thick cock, big enough, but it was so fucking weird. I felt myself being attracted to him, but he just totally rubbed the wrong way, just seemed off somehow, and I couldn't relax, couldn't get comfortable. He kept pushing me to let him fuck me, kept calling me "Baby" and telling me how he was going to make me his bitch, but all nice and softly and gentle, but it made me want to throw up, it felt so wrong. I ended up stroking him off so he would cum and leave, and he did, buttoning up and getting out of there before I could even ask him to go. I didn't even get to cum. And it's six months after that day, and my phone rings and it's Mike. I turn away, leaving it lying on the table, picturing him, his naked body, remembering how it felt to have him on me, in me, thrusting, and I feel myself responding for the first time in a long time. I grab the phone, my heart pounding, and whisper, "Hey." "Hey," he says, softly, apologetically. "How's it going?" As if we had just spoken last week. "Not bad," I lie. "What's up with you?" "Not much. Same old." His breath catches. I pause, blood rushing to my head, decide to let him have it. "Must be nice, the 'same old.' " I hear him swallow through the phone, measuring his words. "I tried to call. To apologize. You wouldn't answer." "An apology doesn't do much, does it?" "It's all I could do. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry." "Yeah, well, so am I, Mike, so am I." Part of me wants to hang up, and if it had been an old-fashioned phone with a satisfying clanging bell and a big old plastic handpiece, I might have, but touching an imaginary button on a screen doesn't have the same effect, so I waited. "I don't know what to say, except to apologize, as often as you'll let me. I can't imagine what you've been going through." "Shannon kicked me out. We're through. I've barely spoken to my family. I haven't spoken to my friends. I assume they know, but I can't face them." I hear him sigh. Neither of us speaks for a minute. We both just sit there, listening to each other's breathing. A couple times I hear Mike about to speak, making the small noise that you subconsciously know means a person is about to say something, gathering breath to talk, but he stops each time. And I know that he knows that I know what he's doing, that he's trying to tell me that he wants to say something but he wants me to go first, and finally I do. "Make it up to me. Buy me a drink." I never knew you could hear a smile through a phone. We meet at a bar in my new neighborhood, a place I've gone a few times to feel sorry for myself, kind of a dive, but a respectable dive. I walk in and see Mike's already there, a half-empty beer in front of him, sitting in a booth by himself. I can stop from thinking that he looks good. He's wearing a short-cropped beard, salt-and-pepper, and his hair is the same. Olive green t-shirt, tight around his broad shoulders and chest, and jeans. He stands up as I walk over and smiles, shakes my hand. I can see the veins popping in his forearms. We sit, and he speaks first. "How are you, man?" "Okay. Really. I'll survive." "What are you drinking?" "Shot and a beer." Always heard guys say that in movies, and suddenly it sounds like exactly what I need. Mike smiles, seemingly knowing my thoughts, and ambles to the bar, bringing back two shot glasses of something dark and a pint of something darker. "Cheers." I lift my shot, he does the same, we clink glasses and I toss mine back, shuddering just a little as the fiery liquid slides down my throat, a lovely burn in its wake. "God, good, " I manage, reaching for my beer. "It'll put some hair on your chest, that's for sure," says Mike, as he gulps his shot down smoothly, barely reacting. "You must've been drinking this for a while now then, huh?" I can't help myself. He grins, big, straight white teeth, full lips. "Guess so, yeah. Want another?" "Please." He slides out of the booth again and comes back with another round, and we clink again, tossing them back. The second one goes down smoother. I finish my beer. We've barely spoken, but our eyes keep meeting across the table, and he's doing the "almost-speaking" thing again. I feel the liquor creeping up my back, warming me from the inside, making me feel good for the first time in a long time. I want to feel this way more often. All the time. It's not just the liquor though. I can feel myself straining against my jeans, feel my face flushing. I glance up at Mike, and see him smiling at me, his eyes dancing. He somehow knows exactly what I'm thinking. I can barely breathe. "Let's go." I don't know what he's talking about for a moment, but then he's on his feet and moving towards the door. Somehow my first thought is for the tab, then I realize he must have paid it when he got the last round. And he's almost to the door, so I find my feet and follow. He holds the door for me. I step outside, into the cool evening air. "You live alone?" "Yeah," I nod. "Nearby." "I'll follow you." He steps towards a black pickup, looks pretty new, and I turn and get into my car, starting it up, my lungs desperate for air. Somehow I get home, pull into a spot, let myself in. Mike follows, not speaking. We get inside my apartment and I stop, feeling the alcohol buzzing me just a little, keeping me warm, and then Mike's behind me, his hands on my waist, pushing me down, bending me over. I whimper, "Yes. Yes." This is how it has to be. This is how it's going to happen. I reach for my waist, undo my belt, unbutton my jeans, feel him yanking them down off me, taking my black boxer briefs with them, cool air conditioning washing over my naked bottom, my legs, stepping out of my jeans, my lower half naked in front of him. I don't look back, don't speak, I just find the wall with my hands and spread my feet and drop my head. I hear a spitting sound, repeatedly, hear Mike behind me rubbing his saliva over himself, and then more spitting, feel his fingers on me, in me, rubbing over me and I nearly collapse. I feel myself wet and cold, and then warmth as Mike rubs his swollen head against my asshole, and I feel myself losing control, unable to think, needing this, and then he's pressing against me, pushing, pushing, harder, harder, harder, and he pops inside and I pass out for just a moment, a tiny moment, he doesn't even notice, and then he's inside me and my knees almost give out. He's pushing into me, slowly, not all the way, taking his time. I'm whimpering softly to him, moaning, in so much pain but loving every moment of it, grabbing my cock with one hand and pumping myself slow and hard, feeling Mike's cock sliding up into my asshole, filling me. I feel tears running down my cheeks and I've never felt so good, so full, and I want to tell him but all I can say is "God, yes. Mike." He grunts in response, and I feel him thrust forward, barely pressing hips against me, and my knees almost give out, I want him, more, deeper, he feels so thick, like he's bigger then I remember. I can smell him, his sweat, his body, his cock, and I hear myself groan like some kind of bear, unnatural sounds as he pushes into me. My hand is gripping my cock tightly, not even moving, just holding myself as Mike thrusts into me again and again, so slowly, moaning softly somewhere far behind me, pushing me forward just a little each time, his hips beginning to grind against me as he enters me completely. As he moves up inside me all the way, he stops, his hips pressed tightly against my ass and I feel like I could die right now, and then he rears back, pulls nearly out of me, and then he's driving into me and I cry out in pain, and then he does it again and it feels so fucking good, hurts, don't stop, I'm crying now, moaning, grabbing at the wall, back at his hips, clawing at him as he fucks me, really fucks me. He grabs my hips, pulls me back against him, impaling me on him and I feel him surging inside me, hear him grunting, and I know he's cumming and then I feel him filling me and I call his name, over and over as he cums inside me. When it's over, I fall forward as he pulls out, my body in so much pain. I lay on the carpet for a moment, and he's kneeling beside me. I realize his jeans are still around his ankles. He fucked me up against the wall without even taking his clothes off, hard, from behind, and it was exactly what I needed. I look up at him, want to tell him. He beats me to it. "I'm sorry. I didn't want it to be like that. Not the first time." I shake my head. "It had to be that way. I needed you to do it that way. I needed that, I needed you, but if you had given me a way out I would have probably taken it. It's fucking scary. All this. It's new and it's different and it's scary, and if you had given me time to think about it I would have walked away and hated myself for it. You needed to do that to me." His hands are on my hips, running over my stomach, gently tracing his fingertips along the length of my cock. "Can you forgive me?" I smile, feeling his bare legs nestling against me from behind, feel him laying himself down behind me, spooning my naked lower body with his, feel him pressing against me, his fingers wrapping around my cock, his breath in my ear. I feel his beard on my neck, his hand on me cock, and I smile, for real, for the first time in months. I turn my neck and kiss him, hard, and his fingers start to work on me, and I moan in his mouth, pulling back just enough to groan, "Fuck, yes, Mike. Yes." Running the Hills I pumped harder, faster now, the soap still lubricating him, feeling his head swell bigger in my mouth, my eyes closed now, concentrating totally on this feeling, wanting to remember it forever, sucking this man's cock, pleasing him, and then I felt him shudder, his legs seemed to buckle, and his hands were pulling on my head, trying to pull me off him, and I didn't let him, knowing what was coming and wanting it and I closed my lips tightly around his head, sucking and licking and then he grunted loudly, once, and I felt his cock spasm hard, once, twice, feeling the vein pulse against my fingers and his cum spurted into my mouth and I almost came myself. I pumped his shaft again, felt him spurt again, and again, and then there was a flood of hot cum in my mouth and my throat and I almost choked, swallowing desperately, not wanting to let it spill out on the floor of the shower, tasting it, salty and thick, moaning around his pulsing dick as he filled my mouth over and over, wanting it, loving it, finally feeling the spasms weaken, less frequent, then a final small drop on my tongue and it was over. I swallowed a final time and let him move out of my mouth, his head shining and wet, not with water, still hard and swollen, and I sank back, resting on my heels under the water, my head down, not wanting to look up at him, knowing he wouldn't want to speak, would just want to leave, as soon as possible. I could feel his cum in me, somehow, feeling it in my throat, catching my breath, neither of us speaking a word. It seemed like an eternity had passed. My blood still buzzed in my head, my cock was still throbbing and hard, unrelieved. He still stood above me, his strong legs like twin pillars of some giant idol, a colossus to which I knelt. I didn't know what I could say, what to do. Part of me felt utter shame, wanted him to just leave and I would call my girlfriend and fuck her and try to forget this had happened; part of me felt nothing but lust and wanted him to never go and to do things to me. But I just stayed there, head down, resting back on my heels under the warm water, my tongue tasting his cock and his cum. Then I felt his hands on my shoulders. He pulled me to my feet, I saw the look in his eyes and he guided my hand to his hips once again, and I felt that somehow he was still hard. I almost gasped and he smiled, his eyes gleaming, and then he his arms were around me and he pulled me against him and kissed he on the lips. I didn't know what I wanted, I had never thought about this, somehow having a man's cock in my mouth was so much easier than this, than kissing him, but I felt my lips part, felt his tongue on mine and I kissed him back, loving the feeling of his body against mine, his arms around me, so strong and big, his chest naked and wet pressing against mine, his hands on my back, on my ass, squeezing gently, his lips soft and smooth like every woman I had kissed. I felt his cock hard against my hips, mine against his, our cocks pressing together, rubbing against one another between us, feeling his hard shaft against mine and I moaned in his mouth and he pulled me tighter against him, his right hand moving under my body, lifting my thigh up around his hip, trying to get me closer to him, both of us wanting it, knowing what he wanted to do to me, and I wanted it to. I felt his hand on my hip, then on my ass, moving under me and his fingers rubbed over my asshole and I almost collapsed. Yes. Fuck yes. "Fuck yes." The first words I had uttered since he had opened the door to the bathroom. "Yes." Suddenly I knew I could ask for it, ask for what I needed. I pulled back and turned my back to him, spreading my legs as wide as I could in the shower, pressing my hands against the cool tile below the shower head, feeling the water splashing against the top of my head as I bent slightly at the waist. I could barely think, my mind gone with lust, by I could feel, and I felt his hands on my hips, on my ass, rubbing me, caressing me, and I felt the bar of soap in his hand, moving over my ass, between my cheeks, soaping me, lathering me up, cleaning and lubricating me, and then I heard the soap fall to the floor. I braced myself, suddenly wary of the pain I knew would come, wanting to trust him that he would be gentle, unable to speak. His hand was on my hips, and then I felt him pressing between my thighs, felt him hard and warm, felt him probing with his head, wanted to cry out as the tip of his cock found my hole and pressed gently. I moaned softly, trying to encourage him, and he pushed slightly. I tried to relax as his head pressed against me, insistently but gently. His hands were on my hips, my stomach, gently coaxing me backwards, soothing, helping me relax, feeling him pressing, pushing, a little harder and then I was opening for him and I wanted to cry, it felt so fucking good. He pushed a little, his head moving against me, I moaned and so did he, his big hands rubbing me, both of them on my hips now, pulling me back slightly against him. I could feel myself opening, wider, feel him filling me, and then his head sort of popped inside me and my knees buckled and I would have fallen had he not held me up, his arms strong around me. The water covered me, running down over my face, mingling with the tears that came unbidden as he pushed gently up into me, centimeter by centimeter, slowly, letting me adjust to him,; hearing my whimpers and moans and gasps as he pushed his big cock into my asshole for the first time. I wanted to scream and cry and moan and curse all at the same time, but all I could do was grunt softly as he filled me so completely, pushing ever deeper, slowly, pushing, tears flowing steadily down my cheeks now, dropping to the floor as my cock swelled in front of me, feeling him move deeper and deeper until I was sure he couldn't go any farther, and then he pushed one last bit and I felt his hips pressed tight against my ass. We stayed that way, I don't know how long. I lost track of time, feeling him inside my body, feeling him swell and pulse, barely moving, feeling his hips against my ass, feeling his arms around my body, holding me, his fingers moving over my stomach, his biceps hard against my sides, hips lips on my back, my shoulders, and then his hand moved down my body, down over my stomach, down to grasp my cock and I almost exploded as he squeezed me. He paused for just a moment, and then he started to pump, slowly, his hand moving on my cock as he moved his hips against me, in rhythm, moving his fat cock out and in, no more than an inch or two, keeping himself buried deep within me as he fucked me for the first time in my life, working his hand slowly up and down my shaft and I couldn't keep from groaning loudly, calling out under the water, my cry echoing in the shower, pain giving way quickly to ecstasy, feeling my orgasm building fast, feeling myself losing control, and he must have felt it to for his pace quickened, both his hand and his hips and then I lost it, my cock spasming hard in his hand as I yelled out, calling his name loudly, crying as my cum spurted onto his hand, painting the tiles of the shower ahead of me, dripping obscenely down the wall, and I could feel my asshole clenching around him with each spasm of my cock, could feel myself squeezing him hard and he came then too. He thrust forward hard as he did, his wet hard chest pressed against my back, pulling my body back against him, holding me tight as he filled my asshole with his cum, spurting again and again deep within me, the pain and pleasure totally overwhelming and I felt myself blacking out, lost control of myself for a moment, only his strong arms keeping me upright as his hot cum leaked from my body, feeling his cock slowly soften inside me.