0 comments/ 112739 views/ 21 favorites Bingo! By: coaster12345 "Honey?" he asked as we lay in the quiet darkness of our bed one night. "You ever think about other men?" I knew what he meant but I wasn't going there. "Think about them how, hon?" I asked. "You know--- sexually?" "Whatever made you ask that?" I replied. "Just something I read," he said casually. David, my writer-husband of eight years, is a voluminous reader. I knew he'd been doing research in human sexuality lately but I had no idea why. That wasn't unusual: his magazine stories cover everything from shooting wars to social trends. "Why?" I replied. "Do you think about other women?" "Sometimes, I do" he said. He paused. "From what I've been reading, everyone has fantasies. I'm curious about their effect on couples." "So you're starting your research with me?" "Well, the shrinks I've read say that a husband and wife never really get to know each other until they're able to share their fantasies." "So if I don't admit to wild, kinky dreams, we're ships passing in the night?" It was a cheap shot. He knew I loved him. And I knew he loved me. I was just uncomfortable with the subject--- because, like most women, I had at times wondered what another man might feel like, and felt my body's swift, tingling response. "You haven't said you have any fantasies yet," he said. David is nothing if not deft. "Well, okay, what if I have?" "Well, I'd like to know what they are." He could also be blunt. I countered. "You say you fantasize about other women?" He rolled over, cuddled and spooned me. His hand slid under me and cupped my breast. "Sometimes," he whispered. His fingertips caressed my breast, gently squeezed my nipple. "Like now, lover boy?" "Nope. But I have thought about it." "What do you think of?" I asked. "Threesomes with other women? Romanesque orgies?" "No, no" he replied. "Nothing like that. One woman at a time. Always someone we've known. I start with her visual image . . . then try to imagine what she's like with her husband or lover . . . " I felt a mix of feelings: arousal, ire, prurient curiosity. His other arm moved over me to cup my other breast. He went on: "Then what she'd be like with me--- in a bed, naked, skin sliding on skin. . . .Her kiss. . . Her mouth. . . . Her intimate touch. . . What it'd feel like to be pushing into her . . ." I could feel his erection pressing against my butt. His words, his hands, his hardening cock---I have to admit he'd lit my fire. "All right, yes, I think of other men sometimes." "How?" he asked. "Tell me." "You know. . .probably just as you think about other women." "You think about them touching you like I am now?" "Mmmmm, yeah . . ." "What else?" I reached behind me and touched his cock. It was hard now, thick and muscular, its shaft encased in soft silky skin. It never failed to arouse me. "Touching him," I said. "Like this. . ." "Does it make you hot to imagine him getting hard?" "Mmm-hm." "And what would he be doing--- if he were here?" He kissed my neck. His hand slid down over my belly and cupped my mound. His fingers slipped inside my panties and caressed my pussy lips. "He'd be . . . like you're doing now." His middle finger slid into me. I was slippery wet--- and on fire. "Inside you, like this?" "Mmmmm yes----" "You'd like that . . .?" He teased my clit. I started to move. "Oh, yes. . . like that . . ." "And then . . .?" "You know . . ." "Tell me . . ." "Then I'd roll over like this. . ." I spread my legs and he moved between my thighs. I felt his cockhead, slick with precum, nudging my slippery clit. I gasped. "Oh God!" "You're hot now, thinking about him?" "Yes!" "Who?" "Someone I used to know . . ." "Did you fuck him?" "Yes." "And you'd fuck him again. . .?" "I've thought of it . . ." "What would you say . . " "I'd say, 'Put it in . . . do it . . ." "And . . .?" "Oh! Fuck me . . . Fuck me!" David slid into me, filling me in one long stroke. He groaned, and began to move. His prick pulled back, slid in again, then back, then in. I felt the flames rising, lapping, overlapping; felt the bursting shudder of arriving orgasm. David suddenly stiffened, grunted; his cock jerked inside me and his semen squirted and spurted deep inside me. I cried out and came on this hot pulsing prick--- and I realized that I was imagining it belonged to someone else, from long ago and far away. * * * * * Next morning, after Dave had left for work and I was in that lonesome limbo woman feel when their man departs, I felt troubled. It wasn't that I had admitted the fantasy. It was that I felt certain that Dave and I were reacting to my admission in different ways. This is a very feminine thing. For me, it was purely a fantasy. For Dave it was vicarious reality. Big difference! But men seldom get the distinction. Women can enjoy fantasies without seriously considering realizing them. But men want to realize what they fantasize. Or think they do. And that's one part of what troubled me: that Dave might take my admission as a sign I really wanted to do it. The other part was that the idea had kindled my imagination. Deep down, I knew he just might be right--- but I worried whether he could realy handle the reality. Time passed. Dave got more and more specific. The idea grew more and more alive in me. Before we'd talked about it, I'd imagined some nameless, faceless Anyman. A cock larger, harder, than Dave's own. After my admission, Dave got more and more specific. One after another, he conjured up my pre-marital lovers--- all eight of them, starting with my first fuck, at age fifteen, with a neighborhood boy, in my bedroom, stoned on weed, one rainy summer afternoon; proceeding through a second, with a center on the high school basketball team ( the biggest cock I've ever felt, and a painful, unpleasant experience which left me with the certainty that bigger is definitely not better), a third and fourth between high school and college lifeguards at the shore, summer nights under the boardwalk, then on, through my four years at Wellesley, to one each, from MIT, Harvard, Yale, and Amherst. They were the cream of the Great Northeast, and I was the creamery. Then the tall, dark and handsome Semite, an Omar Sharif type: I'd fucked him after a tipsy office party just a week before the wedding, a memory I happened especially to cherish since he was a magnificent, long, thick, dark and swarthy fuck, and shortly to be posted abroad, cutting off any hope of an encore. Dave had only learned about that well after our wedding, from the woman he had dropped when he first took up with me (Seems Sharif had nailed her too and told her about me). Oh well. By then, what might have been a wedding-buster was just another fantasy edging Dave toward the curious pleasures of what's known by the Middle English term, cuckoldry. When Dave heard for the forty-fourth or forty-fifth time how I dreamed of fucking someone out of my past, he began to step out of my fantasy and project a more and more explicit one of his own--- one involving somebody new. "That big stud in produce at Safeway?" he said one night. "Maybe a one-night stand . . . he's good looking but we've nothing in common." "That guy on the school board . . . The tall one." "He's good too, but too prominently local . . ." "That British novelist we heard read at the library . . .?" "Much too stuffy . . ." But the truth was that in the realm of fantasies which, I told myself, would never be realized, I had imagined all three of them--- a ripping hot fuck with the muscular produce clerk, a long drawn-out affair with Mr. Schoolboard; a sensuous, intellectual fuck with the Bard of Avon. "Who then?" David asked. "Someone else," I lied. "Someone you don't know." "You'd fuck him right here, in our marital bed, wouldn't you?" His words fertilized a a dark taboo which, in truth, I'd long enjoyed. A virtual stranger, a whole new man, fucking me in the sanctity of the marital bed, the sheets soiled with our mutual lust. I wondered how David would take that. "Would you want to know about it? " "Knowing about you actually doing it here . . .?" "Yes, say if you were away on business. . . would you want me to tell you?" "Later or before it happened?" "Say, while he was here . . ." "How would you let me know?" "E-mail: it might be waiting for you on your laptop when you got back to your motel. Or maybe I'd just call and leave a message for you at the desk . . . Just a word, like 'Bingo! Nothing else." "'Bingo'? That would mean you were with someone?" "That I'd brought him back here . . . that we were having a few drinks . . . kissing, making out . . . that as you read the word he was probably feeling me up, undressing me, laying me out here in our bed. . . .while you were all alone in the motel. . ." "I'd be so hard I couldn't bear it." "Like now . . ." "Oh Jesus! Yes!" "You'd imagine him caressing me . . . and me touching him, caressing him, sucking his . . ." "His cock!" ". . . yes. His hot hard cock. . . my tongue like butter up and down his shaft . . .his cock . . . his prick . . ." "The prick he's going to fuck you with . . .!" Dave was between my legs now, his cockshaft on my clit. His breath shortened, hardened, as did mine. His lips were suckling my nipples like a baby. He groaned. His prick slid into me. Oooooh I can feel it filling me as I write this. Once again, my cognitive mind knew it was Dave, my loving Dave. But in imagination's realm, it was someone else--- it almost didn't matter who. My head was spinning --- and then I was shuddering, cumming and this phantom lover's pulsing prick was pumping semen into the deepest recesses of my cunt. Not vagina . . . not when I was like this. Not penis, but cock, prick. Not making love either. It was cunt, and cock, and fucking like animals. The image faded with my orgasm. It was Dave, sinking down beside me. His flaccid prick slipped from my deep, slippery cavern. I kissed his brow. He hugged me close, his pillowed face against mine, and slipped off into sleep. And as I drifted after him, I tried to fathom what demons in this man, whom I loved so dearly, and knew loved me in return, impelled him to know, and hear, about me violating the most intimate experience we shared--- and knew too that I was asking myself this as a screen to hide the fact that, deep down, I wanted it to happen. I felt a tear slide slide off my cheek, across my naked breast, and knew it was mine. * * * * * It was a question I pondered through idle wakeful hours. I'd always equated sex with love--- some form of love, anyway. And love, to me, meant possessiveness. I surely didn't want Dave fucking others. So at first, I simply decided that men--- at least my man--- was weirdly different from women. But as time went on, that oh so firm conclusion gradually gave way, like a sand castle being eaten out by the tide. Psychiatrists tell us that there is no clear line between the sexes, that there's a little female in every male and a little male in every female. And maybe the twain in me had begun to meet and cross over a little. Whatever it was, the idea of fucking someone else, given Dave's approval, grew and swelled in me like Dave's own prick just before he cums. I felt the urge. I was transforming into two persons, not just one. One was Dave's loving, faithful wife; the other, some hot slut wannabe--- a sexual Doctor Jekyll, and horny Mrs. Hyde. The idea grew, got randy, raunchy--- as slutty as I could make it. I wiled away lazy afternoons in our bedroom, drapes drawn, splayed out naked on our bed, remembering each of my nine premarital cocks, imagining that I was in some funky motel, my cunt--- not my vagina, my cunt--- oozing juice, as one of them, or some errant stranger, moved between my thighs. I imagined was his big, thick prick easing between my cunt lips, and made it live through a cock-shaped vibrator I'd named Marcel Proust (for "Remembrance of Things Past"). That was half of the fantasy. The other half was coming home, cuddling in bed with Dave, telling him all the wanton details, sensing his heartbeat quickening, feeling his cock harden and rise, and then, overcome with lust, hearing him sigh, moan, then slide into me and fuck me with even grander love and devotion because he knew I was imagining that he was someone else. On a scale of ten, it was nine-hot (ten, being reality). But, hey! I wasn't about to wreck my marriage. And common sense warned that for all his protestations of earnestness, I couldn't be sure how Dave would react to the real thing. He talked a good game. But in crossing the no- man's land between fantasy and reality, men are unpredictable. I recalled a tale an old sorority sister had told me between sobs at a Wellesley reunion a few years back--- how her husband at the time, now long since divorced, had pleaded and cajoled her into a threesome with him and another man, and then, just when her legs were spread and her husband saw the man's veined, tumescent cock nudging at her cunt lips, he had suddenly thrown up his hands and burst into tears. But the urge, reinforced by Dave's constant retelling of it in bed, was becoming an obsession. What to do? We're prominent in a gossipy California small town, so I wasn't about to frequent bars in search of a partner. Newspaper ads could be traced, if someone were so inclined. And then the obvious dawned on me: AOL chat rooms are the technological equivalent of the old fashioned pick-up lounge--- only online, the woman is no longer subject to the prying eyes of her neighbors; she doesn't have to drink; she's anonymous, and in control. Like a fantasy within a fantasy, I began "shopping" online for a suitable man. Keyword: suitable. There are more boors on AOL than privates in the Chinese army. I wanted someone civilized, someone discreet, someone within my intellectual ball park--- someone I felt comfy with. And more. I made out a mental shopping list, to narrow the risk of an online engagement. For easy reference, I labeled my putative partner "Mr. Fuck." Then, because I wanted no entanglement, no dragged out affair, I shortened him to Mr. F. He had to be married, and intended to stay married. That reduced the risk of STD, and would give me leverage, if he became a nuisance later. He had to be around my age, 42, or older: I've no use for achey-breaky boners. He had to be good looking, clean cut, straight, and vasectomy-safe (I wanted his semen, not his sperm). He had to live in another town, close enough that meeting wouldn't be difficult, yet far enough away that he knew none of our neighbors and friends. The size of his cock didn't matter. I've never been a size freak. As Merlin, the magician, told his court, "It's not the length of the wand. It's the magic that you work with it." One last thing: I absolutely wasn't going to fuck him on our first "date." Our first date would be a dry-run. I wanted to test Dave's reaction without risking his wrath. All well and good. But finding "Mr. F" turned out to be more difficult than I'd imagined. Perhaps online men are simply seduced by their own fantasies. Perhaps Rick Rockwells really do believe they can pass for Robert Redfords. And some are so appallingly stupid--- When one fellow assured me he was single, and I explained that I only chatted with married men, he simply reversed himself and asserted that he'd "forgotten" that he was married after all. And when I actually met one allegedly intelligent, attractive man for lunch, I discovered that the person who had described himself as a 6-foot 1-inch, 195 pound stud was really a 5-foot 6 inch, 195 pound fatty--- with bad breath. There were other unpleasantries, but you get the point. **************** I was nearing despair, goaded by David's fantasies and aching to experience another man, but constantly coming up empty. Then Ian appeared: "45, 6'1", trim 195, m/good looking" in the short hand language of the chat room. But when we got to im'ing back and forth, he foreswore the "R U married LOL" illiteracy. He actually chatted in real words and complete sentences. We chatted for a week, and traded pics. He was blonde, firm, handsome and bright, a Jewish lawyer who made fun of lawyers. I kidded him about his Irish first name. He said his last name, which he'd told me was McCabe was really Macabee. And he liked my looks as much as I liked his. We met at a nice little Sichuan restaurant in the next town, and had a lovely lunch. "Did you know that 'pork' in Chinese is pronounced 'Jew row'?" I asked. He smiled and ordered chicken. We went off in his Porsche for a drive in the California countryside. On the edge of a reservoir, with a forest of firs across the water, we parked and talked--- and talked. I had explained the fantasy that Dave and I shared, had made it clear that we weren't going the whole nine yards today. Ian had assured me, with the transparent assurance of all philanderers, that he understood. Then he told me that all-too-familar tale: his wife was sexless, afflicted by some problem he didn't understand. I shrugged that off, the cliche of the Jewish American Princess. This first rate mind hadn't found out why his wife had given up sex? Gimme a break. But what the hell, I reflected, he was a gentleman, sexually lonely, and, I had to admit, his dark intense eyes turned me on. Besides, I reminded myself, all I wanted was a fuck, not an affair. God! Just the fact that I'd met him face to face and was here alone with him now had gotten me started. I began to wonder what his cock looked like. It began to rain. The car steamed up. In one of those pregnant pauses that always come up in conversations like this, Ian drew me to him and kissed me. I let him. More than let him. I answered him immediately, fervently, with a kindling passion I hadn't anticipated. I felt the warmth of his body against mine. It stoked the fire in my own. This was the first man, besides Dave, to kiss me since my errant Arab on the eve of my marriage. I wanted his lips on mine; wanted his hands on my tits--- not breasts; tits; wanted his fingers touching my pussy. I wanted to feel his prick in me. Inside me. In my, yes, I said it to myself, my cunt! I was squirming, undulating under his touch. . . I wanted him inside me! I got everything but the prick. His hands slid beneath my pullover sweater, unhooked my bra, squeezed, caressed, milked my nipples. They swelled. His fingers slid beneath my skirt, up between my thighs, pulled aside my panties, slithered through my thick, dark pussy hair, and found my hot, wet labia--- and I twisted and writhed as they slipped inside and his thumb ran lightly up and down my eager clit. "I want you," he breathed. "No!" I said. Then "Yes! I want you too, but no . . ." "Why?" "Your car's too small . . ." I giggled. But oh, God! I wanted his cock--- and when he put my hand on it, and I squeezed it through his pants, he whispered, "Take it out." I needed no further urging. Such a lovely, rigid cock! Upright, veined, circumcised, a hard muscle encased in velvet skin--- a soft fresh taco wrapped around a dinner dog, I reflected incongruously. "You're a dinner dog," I whispered as he fingered me. "A kosher tamale." We both giggled. His fingertips slid deeper. I moaned. "Salsa?" "I'm hot enough now," he said. "Eat me?" "Pass the French's." "That's not Mexican." "Neither are we." He gave me his fingers, slick with my juice, to suck on and lick. "Now this," he said, "Senor At-His Peak-O." I leaned over, licked and lapped the quivering crown of his lovely prick. I took it between my lips and laved it with my tongue. I slid it into my mouth until its head lodged in my throat and my nose lay in his pubic hair. Oh, I loved sucking him! And then two of his fingers slid up into my cunt and rubbed my secret spot above, behind the pubic bone. And together, then, we gasped, and groaned, and spasmed--- and he flooded my mouth with his hot creamy semen. I swallowed it all, except for some that escaped my mouth and dribbled down my chin. Bingo! Bingo. It's a word that I think I picked up from my old man years ago, and like my father, I didn't use it in the context of the game, but as an exclamation like Eureka! or Aha!, serving as a confirmation to myself that I was right about something. I used it one Friday evening after work, but said it under my breath, the word unheard over the din of several shower heads blasting out spray onto the other men in the locker room of my health club. The person I was right about was the man standing across from me in the shower room, my co-worker Ken Suzuki, and if I hadn't been able to it figure out before that evening, the way he was staring at me while I rinsed the lather off of my body left no doubt as to his leanings. My name is Jim House, and I'm a 28 year old computer analyst who has worked at the same firm since I got out of college. I used to claim to be bisexual in my younger days, and while if anyone ever asked I might still make the same claim, but nobody cares these days, thankfully. My new co-worker Ken is ageless; if I had to guess I would say that my Japanese-American co-worker might be in his early 30's, but he has a boyish look and enthusiasm that makes him appear younger than that. The firm put him in a cubicle near me, and we seemed to hit it off pretty well from the start. That was how we ended up in the showers together. Ken had asked me where I went after work in such a hurry and I had explained about the health club I was a member of. I liked to get my workout over and done with before going home for the evening, because I knew that if I went home I would end up turning on the TV and plopping down for the night. Ken told me that he would love to get involved in something like that, but having just started in his job he didn't think he could afford it right now. "Perhaps after I get established here with the company," Ken figured. "Once I am sure I will be retained I will join something like that, because I really need to get into shape, like you are." First of all, I'm not in all that great shape, although the 200 pounds I'm presently packing on my 6'2" frame is about 30 less than I was carrying 6 months ago. Second of all, Ken was brilliant, blessed not only with a winning personality and a strong work ethic, but was also extremely intelligent so his employment with our firm was not going to end on any one's accord but his own. *** I had never thought of Ken in a sexual way; but certainly not because he wasn't attractive to me. It was because of the wedding ring on his finger that I had considered him out of my reach. I would later learn that Ken had been divorced for several years and wore it only because he liked the ring and hated to see it get banished to a dresser drawer. Ken had a habit of making frequent physical contact while working, and while to a straight guy, Ken's gentle touch on their back and shoulders or the patting of his hand or their arms might have been off-putting, it was fine by me. At the gym, seeing Ken's slim body in motion, either jogging on the treadmill, was also fine with me as well. He was slim but deceptively strong, as his work with the weights proved, and as the workout ended, I wished more than ever that the wedding ring wasn't there. After we stripped down and headed into the shower room, my feelings grew only stronger. Ken's skin was so pale and flawless, and perfectly smooth except an adorable nest of black curls above his cock. Even his armpits were hairless, and I knew that because earlier I had the pleasure of staring at his muscled underarms as he lifted weights. The smooth glistening hollows looked so erotic that I had gotten an erection right there while watching Ken straining against the equipment. The shower heads were attached to a series of poles in the white tiled room, and Ken had chosen one opposite mine, meaning I had a birds-eye view of him as he lathered up whether I wanted to or not. I only looked at Ken's cock for a moment before turning away, and averting my eyes was only done so that I could somehow keep from having my already semi-turgid cock blossoming right in front of Ken and the other men in the shower. That cock, I thought to myself as I tried to keep my thoughts from returning to that beautiful organ by blinding myself with the shower spray. The tiny tube that dangled in front of a surprisingly large hairless sac was made for sucking on. Ken couldn't be even three inches soft, but his dick was beautiful, as was the long foreskin that completely shrouded the glans beneath it, revealing only its acorn shape below. I glanced back down and over at Ken after a moment and immediately decided to end my shower because it was obvious where his eyes were. "Thank you for the invitation, Jim," Ken said after we got dressed and made our way out of the gym. "I've got a few more guest passes you can use," I told Ken. "So if you ever want to do it again, just say the word." "I would like that," Ken said. "Any night that you don't have plans or anything, please tell me. My social calendar is rather empty, and I enjoyed this evening every much. Both the gym and - your company." It was then that I found out that when Ken had mentioned when we first met that he was married, what he really meant was that he WAS married, and after telling me about why he still wore the ring, my reaction was clearly noticed by my co-worker. It was a reaction that I made no effort to mask, and when Ken's eyes lit up, I suggested going out for a drink. Ken declined that offer, but made a counter offer that I found more appealing than going to a bar, so when Ken invited me to his place for a cocktail I readily accepted. *** "Forgive my rather humble surroundings," Ken said, apologizing for an apartment that needed none, as it was a simple and tastefully decorated place furnished minimally and was as neat and uncluttered as the resident was. "It's nicer than my place," I admitted. "For sure yours is neater looking. I've got too much stuff. You should see it." "I would like that very much," Ken said, his words not really registering to me at first, and when he asked me what I wanted to drink, his brand of beer only raised his stock higher in my eyes. "One of the little concessions I make in my budget," Ken said as he handed me a Bass. "I don't drink much but when I do, I like to enjoy it." "Agreed," I said, toasting my new friend while trying not to envision him naked at the same time I was trying to figure out how to make that happen once again. "I'm so glad that they had you training me," Ken said as we leaned on the kitchen island and chatted. "I think we work well together." "Well, you didn't need much in the way of training," I said. "Not only that," Ken continued. "I feel that we have a kind of - how should I say this? A bond? I'm not all that good with words sometimes." "You're doing fine," I said, leaning in Ken's direction so that we were only inches away from each other. "I love my job so much, and you're a very nice man," Ken said, choosing his words with great care. "I would hate to say anything that would jeopardize our working relationship." "You realize that in a week or so, you'll be on your own," I reminded Ken. "You'll be in your own cubicle and won't be stuck with me all day." "I know," Ken said with a smile, taking a deep breath. "That will be both good and bad. I will miss being around you all day, but to be honest, being so close also made me uncomfortable." "How so?" "Once again," Ken said. "I'm not good at this." "You're better at it than you think," I said, resting my hand on Ken's slender forearm, much like he often did to me at work, and hoping that I wasn't misreading what seemed to be Ken's efforts as coming on to me. "It was difficult enough being close to you all day before," Ken said, his pale face turning redder by the second. "Now, after seeing you earlier - as you were bathing..." "My thoughts exactly," I said, leaning to try and eliminate the height difference between us. "There is a way that I think we could get to know each other better," Ken suggested, and when I agreed he took me into his bedroom. *** Ken had suggested a way for us to get to know each other better, and as Ken's surprisingly strong fingers kneaded the backs of my calves, I had to admit that it was a great idea. Naked and resting on my stomach, I was being treated to a delightful massage, and the farther Ken's hands went up the backs of my legs, the better it got. Now the backs of my thighs were being skillfully rubbed, and my cock was already hard as it lay crushed underneath my stomach. When Ken had started, I suggested that he allow me to return the affection when he was done, and while he happily agreed to that, I was becoming so aroused already that it was all I could do keep myself from spinning around and taking Ken right now. "Jim?" I heard Ken say in a questioning voice, and I replied without words, simply easing my legs apart and allowing Ken's oiled fingers to work their way between my buttocks. Ken was smooth and gentle as his fingers toyed with the hair that ringed my anus before introducing his finger inside of me. I let out a soft groan as the finger spun and probed deeper, my muscles relaxing fully as I surrendered myself to Ken. "Is this alright?" Ken asked, and all I could do was groan and grab at the bedding while his finger danced inside of me. Ken had been wearing satin briefs, but now as he leaned on top of me to massage my back I could tell he was now naked. Our bodies slid together with a smoothness that was as erotic as could be, and Ken's cock was no longer flaccid, as I could feel the hardness of his dick pressing between my ass cheeks as the massage continued. "Turn over," Ken whispered in my ear, and as he eased off of me I rolled over onto my back. Ken's eyes darted down to my cock as it slapped back onto my stomach, my erection making the skin so taut that the strain was evident on the underside of my member, but as I listened to Ken exhale very loudly, my eyes were on him. Ken's cock. The penis that had been so tiny and timid looking in the shower had become a raging erection at least six inches long, and as I stared at the slender dick which was so stiff that it curled up toward Ken's stomach as he knelt beside me, it was my turn to exhale. Only the pee-hole at the tip of his dick was visible as his foreskin remained fully extended, and I was about to do something about that when Ken eased my rising upper torso back down into the bedding. Silently, Ken straddled my crotch, his thighs spread wide so that his knees were at my hips as he leaned forward, and a look of contentment came over his face as our bodies made intimate contact. The underside of his cock was rubbing against my own, and the sensation created when his meaty balls ground against my own sac made my entire body shudder. Ken's hands were on my chest, his fingers running through the mat of hair that coated my upper torso, as our cocks continued to slide together. "That's so good," I gasped, looking up at Ken, but he was in another place. Ken's eyes had rolled back into his head so that only the whites were showing, and his face was contorted as if he was in pain, but I knew what he was going through. Ken was trying not to cum, and he wasn't winning the battle, judging by the veins throbbing in his reddening neck. "Can't stop it," Ken grunted, and maybe I didn't help when my hands came up to his chest, my fingers pinching his tiny nipples and pulling on them. "Yes," I said. "Cum for me." As if on cue, Ken cried out, and I felt his hot seed squirting onto my body, spraying my stomach and chest with his cum while he continued to grind himself into me until he went limp. "Sorry," Ken finally said as he remained suspended over me, his hands on my chest. "I usually have much better control. It's just that you - your body excites me a great deal." "And look at the mess I've made," Ken said as he straightened up onto his knees and looked at the semen he had deposited all over me, the milky cum standing out starkly against the dark pelt of fur. With that, Ken bowed his head and began cleaning up the semen, his tongue working all over my torso and seeming to relish the job as much as I was. His mouth worked all of the way down to my cock, which was still rock hard, and after he sucked all of his seed from the surrounding pubes, he held my cock upright in his hands, gazing down at it while stroking me. Ken's eyes never left mine as he bowed and took the head of my cock into his mouth. Sucking on the bulbous head, his tongue dancing on the tip and around the ridge of the crown while his hands worked the shaft of my cock, Ken had me clutching the bedding and writhing in ecstasy. Soon his left hand went down and began to churn my balls while his right hand spun around the base of my cock. Ken's mouth kept going further and further down the shaft of my member with each bob of his head, and I had to fight to keep from cumming as I watched Ken trying to take all of me in his mouth. I could feel the tip of my cock scraping Ken's throat as he took almost all eight inches of me into the warm wetness, much like a sword-swallower. Soon even my best efforts were not enough, and as I thrashed around on the bedding I felt Ken's lips move back up the shaft of my cock as I began to cum. Ken's tongue was swabbing the tip of my dick as I came in his mouth, and his licking only made my orgasm more intense as Ken's hand milked my balls until they were drained. Only when my cock went totally limp did Ken's mouth leave it, and as he looked up at me for approval all I could do was shake my head and grin. *** After a while Ken headed to the kitchen to get us drinks, and as I watched his tight little rump disappear I realized that it was going to be tough to keep my hands off of him when we went back to work on Monday, even though I knew that we had to pretend that we were just co-workers. That was still a couple of days away, and when Ken returned with the brews, the sight of his dick wiggling as he walked toward the bed was too much for me to resist. "Oh my!" Ken said, doing a dead-on impersonation of George Takei in that commercial as he set the beers down on the night table when it became clear that my mouth was going to be busy elsewhere. On my knees in front of Ken, my mouth enveloped his tiny stem as my hands clutched his buttocks. I wanted to feel his dick grow in my mouth; wanted to savor the sensation of his modest little tool blossoming into the long throbbing manhood that I felt against me before. It didn't take long, as I felt him get hard while my face rested in the impossibly soft tuft of black hair above his cock. I let my lips slide back up the length of him, letting go of Ken's cock and smiling as it sprang up toward his stomach. My tongue caressed the muscled underside of his arching tool on my way to his balls, and after I licked the meaty orbs in their hairless wrinkled sac, I took them in my mouth, suckling on Ken's balls tenderly before letting them rest against my chin again when I went back to work on Ken's cock. I slid the long foreskin down, exposing the conical glans to my affection. My mouth nibbled all over the tender glans before letting my mouth slide down Ken's pulsating organ once more. Ken groaned and held onto my head as I swallowed him to the root while squeezing his ass. Bringing Ken to the brink of orgasm several times while his increasingly shaky legs struggled to keep him standing, I made love to his throbbing manhood while his pendulous balls spanked my chin. Soon I was practically holding Ken up with my hands as I felt his body tense. Ken's cum was so warm and sweet as he came in my mouth, the hot jets of his seed coating my mouth and throat while his body quaked with the force of his orgasm. I eased us both onto the bed after Ken's orgasm subsided, and we held each other tight as we tried to catch our breath. *** "I have a thing for hairy men," Ken confessed as we rested in bed. Ken was on his side facing me, his elbow propping him up as he ran his fingers through the pelt of fur on my chest, searching for my nipple and teasing it when he found it. "I'm glad of that," I said, exhaling as Ken's fingers raked across my chest. "At work, when I would see the hair peeking out from the neck of your shirt, it would drive me crazy," Ken said while taking my hand and raising my arm until my wrist was back at the headboard. "You still smell so nice." Ken leaned forward until his face was under my arm, and as he continued to look over at me, began to kiss and nibble at the hair under my arm. When he saw my reaction, Ken got even more passionate, licking and chewing my armpit ravenously. "You trying to get me crazy?" I asked. "You like?" Ken asked, a devilish grin on his face, and in response I rolled over on top of Ken and pinned him down, overpowering him despite his best efforts to stop me. "How would you like it if I did that to you?" I asked Ken, as my eyes went to Ken's exposed armpits, which were pale and absolutely smooth. "Aaaah!" Ken cried out as my tongue raked across the buttery smooth skin of his underarm. "Mmm," I purred. "So smooth. Do you shave your armpits?" "I used to tell people that I did, because I was so embarrassed that I didn't have any hair under my arms," Ken confessed. "Maybe that's why I have a thing for hairy men. Opposites attract perhaps?" "I'll bet you can really feel it when I do this," I said, letting my tongue dance under his arm again before nibbling at the bare skin with my teeth. We wrestled playfully on the bedding, both of us making love to each other's armpits, and when I reached down I could feel that Ken was as hard as I was. "Guess we aren't all that opposite," I told Ken, since it was obvious that we both loved what we were giving and receiving. Ken climbed around until he was above me straddling my face. I felt Ken's lips on my cock as I looked up at his dangling sac, which looked even bigger from the angle. I took his left nut in my mouth and sucked on it, letting my mouth work as an agitator on the meaty orb before going over to the other one. After giving Ken's balls a through oral exam, I let my tongue drift along that sensitive ridge below his scrotum. I front of my eyes, the pink puckered ring of his anus looked so inviting that I couldn't resist. I'm usually not one for this, but Ken was so sparklingly clean and virginal looking that I couldn't help myself. My tongue caressed his anus, even poking a bit inside the puckered ring. and when I did that I heard Ken make a choking sound. It wasn't because of the cock he had in his mouth either, and when I felt something warm landing on my chest I discovered what was happening. "That wasn't fair," Ken said with a laugh. "Now I have another mess to clean up." As I watched Ken's masterful cleaning skills work their magic on my chest and stomach before eventually going lower, I concluded that my co-worker and I might have something special here, and it was a very good thing that we wouldn't be working right next to each other much longer, because it would be hard for me to get any work done around Ken. ****** It was almost three in the morning, and I'm sure that Ken was as happy as I was that we didn't have to got to work in a few hours. It wasn't like I was tired though, because being with Ken had energized me in a way that made me feel like I couldn't get enough of him. That was why I said yes when Ken asked me, in his gentlemanly and shy way, if I would let him do something to me. Actually, I said no first, but that was only semantics because I'm not a believer in doing something to another man or him doing things to me. Bingo! I've reached the point in life when the things I do with a lover have to be done WITH him, not simply to or by him. The days of reckless coupling and one-night stands were long gone, and as I had become increasingly selective with my choice of lovers, so did my insistance that the other man would feel the same way. Judging by Ken's words and deeds all night, as well as the way he seemed to enjoy me as much as I did him, my answer was easy. That was why I was on my stomach, with my butt raised in the air. Behind me, Ken's face was buried between my buttocks, his hands spreading my cheeks while his tongue danced around my hairy ring. Funny thing was, if I had suspected this would be happenning, I would have shaved down there, and that would have disappointed Ken somewhat, since he seemed thrilled by the abundance of hair I had everywhere, even in my butt crack. Ken's tongue was like a serpent's as it danced around the area, first licking the underside of my balls before working up to my puckered ring, and then dancing inside of me before straightening up. I shivered when I felt Ken's oiled finger slide inside of my ass, spinning deep inside of me as I groaned with pleasure. Only one man had ever done what Ken was about to do with me, since I was usually on the other end of the equation, but I wanted Ken to have me. I needed to feel his cock inside of me. Ken was gentle, like he had been in everything we had done, and when he slipped his long, slender manhood into my anus, letting it slowly slide in until he had fully impaled me, it felt wonderful. Ken's ragged breathing was much like my own as he wrapped his arms around me and reveled in the moment. With a patience that made it all the better, Ken began to slide his cock in and out of me with a deliberate rhythm, almost completely retracting his sleek sabre out of me before fully impaling me again. Ken's hands were all over me, so much so that it was like he had become an octopus. His fingers ran up and down my front side, stroking my cock, sliding up my stomach and through my chest and raking through my armpits. All the while Ken was kissing and licking my back, the pelt of hair that coated it seeming to inflame Ken even more. His tongue made me shiver as my petite lover mounted my hulking form and quickened his tempo, his probing becoming more brisk with each passing minute. Soon Ken's thrusts had become more like a jackhammer, partly because I had indicated that I was loving what he was doing by pushing back against him. By the end, the slapping of our bodies together sounded like thunder, and when Ken cried out and filled my bowels with his hot seed, I was sorry it was over. *** "Maybe it will hurt less the next time," I suggested as Ken let me cradle him in my arms. The sun was coming up, and we had just made love, with Ken on the receiving end. It wasn't my idea, but Ken had insisted on it. Much like I had felt the need to be taken by Ken, so too had he felt that he wanted me inside of him. This wasn't something I did a lot of, and in fact after my teenage years had pretty much given it up. It wasn't so much the length as the thickness of me that caused a problem, and when I was young and uncaring the merciless pounding of some faceless bottom had usually left me unmoved, the last thing I wanted to do was hurt Ken. On the other hand, having earlier savored Ken's tiny orifice, there was a part of me that wanted him, so convincing me wasn't all that tough to do. I was every bit as tender with Ken as he had been with me; even more so, as I took my time and gently relaxed his puckered knot with my fingers. Even with all of that, when I finally climbed behind Ken and tried to introduce the greased head of my member to Ken's anus, it was, like my first lover had said years ago, like trying to stick an apple through the eye of a needle. Ken grunted and made little sounds that suggested pain, but not only did he not utter a discouraging word, he seemed to want more and more despite the fact that I was being so careful in trying to not hurt him. Ken was so tight that I found myself cumming rather quickly, which I thought was probably for the best anyway, and after I coated his insides with my seed I hugged him tightly while easing us down to the bedding. "You should not have felt so guilty while we were making love," Ken said as we caught our breath. "I didn't want to hurt you," I said. "Next time, I would like it if you weren't so nice about it," Ken said. "I guess I should have been more honest about that in the beginning." As it turned out, Ken wanted it rough. He told me in no uncertain terms that he enjoyed being ravaged from time to time, and spoke about how next time he wanted me to take him with a mirror in front of us, so he could watch me taking him as savagely as I could manage. "I wasn't sure I could take a man built like you," Ken told me. "The only three men I had ever experienced like that were not nearly as well endowed as you are, but now that I know..." "That will have to be for another time though," I said, admitting that my body was drained at last. "Tomorrow night?" Ken suggested as we headed to the bathroom and a shared shower. "Now that's an idea," I agreed. "My place though. I've got a dresser with a mirror, and all we have to do is swing the bed around and you'll be able to see us. Won't that be nice?" "Nice, but not too nice," Ken reminded me. *** As it turned out, Ken wasn't kidding. He did like it rough sometimes, and as long as we were playing, I found that I got off on it too. We rearranged my bedroom the next day, permanently it seems, so that Ken can stare straight ahead and watch when I take him anally. I admit that seeing the twisted facial contorsions on Ken's beet-red face when I looked along with him at the mirror in front of us was a bit off-putting at first, but it was obvious that it turned Ken on, and even more so if I looked like an animal while impaling Ken with every inch of me. I guess when you've got your lover on all fours in front of you and have his hair in your grasp while you pound into his ass with all of your might, and you look down and see his untouched cock springing around wildly while ejaculating all over the place, you can safely assume it's good for him too. But it's the tender times that I enjoy most of all, and I think that's the way it is with Ken too. In the year we've been together there's been a lot of those times, and I'm hoping for a lifetime more of them to come. *** thanks for reading