I said it before and I'll say it again... it sucked that Jeremy and I so rarely got together. There were just too many competing pressures, between work, our regular social lives, and our women. It usually worked out that we had very brief windows of opportunity, on very short notice.
Which made our few bouts of fucking insanely vicious. The only thing that kept things reasonably in line was the knowledge that any injury we succumbed to would need some serious explanation.
And then it happened. I don't know if the fates finally decided to throw us a bone, or that years of clean living had paid off, but one day my wife Liv mentioned that her work was likely going to send her to a workshop in Atlanta, and that she and another colleague were going to give a presentation. She didn't have to go to the whole conference, but would likely need to spend a Thursday night there.
Jesus, my heart about stopped.
She was less than thrilled, and wasn't exactly excited to have to speak in public... to the point that I think she was trying to talk herself out going. I... I'm not proud to say that I went on a full-court press telling her how great this opportunity was, telling her in, um, animated detail about important it was for her to go. Plus, how it showed how much they loved her work and that it could be a boost to her career.
Something in the back of my mind was kicking myself for all but giving her the bum's rush out the door, but at the same time I really
was
proud of her and was excited for her. And the thought of actually getting chance to get Jeremy right where I wanted him.... Damn. It was... complicated.
Finally, she agreed. As she drifted over to the computer to start putting some ideas together for the presentation, I wandering into the TV room, turned on the sound for some background and called Jeremy. I told... nay,
ordered
the man to clear the date. We were helped by the fact that there was a playoff game that night, giving us a perfectly plausible reason to get together and to not have either of our girls to be checking up on us.
I don't think I can convey how excited I was. Jesus... I was fucking tingling, with a semi nearly the entire week before she left. I dared not touch myself, both from need to save myself for the big night and the fear that the smallest touch was going to cause my dick to explode.
God... just the thought of it. For the first time--ever--in our time together, Jeremy and I were going to have an entire night of uninterrupted guy time. No checking the clock. No feeble excuses. No risk of calls from the ladies asking for us to do them a favor. Just... fucking...
us
.
Just... us...
fucking
.
And something else made it feel special to me, too--it was at my house. Except for the rush-job in the garage, we'd always been at Jeremy's. Which was fine, don't get me wrong. But I was finally able to reciprocate. To host him. Have him be part of my world. It was a minor thing, and probably stupid, but... there it was.
On the day of, Liv left for the airport at an unholy hour of the morning, and I'm hoping I didn't come off as... you know,
too
desperate to get her out the door. But Christ, you now how women are when they travel? A thousand second-guesses. Nearly unpacking to make sure this or that item was there. Losing track of her phone charger. A near crisis deciding which coat to bring. I swear I was biting the inside of my lip hard enough to draw blood so that I didn't start yelling and throwing her luggage out the door.
But finally, she was gone.
The plan, loudly discussed and frequently discussed with our women, was that after work, Jeremy was going to stop by my place around dinner time watch the game. There, we would eat greasy food, drink too much, fart, belch, drunkenly yell at the TV, and use such uncouth language as to strip the paint from our walls. Anything to make it sound like a testosterone-drenched wallow that they wanted no part of.
It wasn't a... total lie. It was certainly going to be a testosterone-drenched wallow. But there was no way Jeremy and I were waiting until evening. We had both arranged our schedules so that we'd be done early in the day, giving us a chance to meet up and start our testosterone-drenched wallow in the afternoon.
I got home early, and after a few preparations ended up pacing the house like a tiger in a cage. Shit... the waiting? Waiting for Jeremy to get into his pants? Fuck. I was in a hormonal daze, barely able to sit down for two seconds together. I plopped at the computer, thinking I may bring up some porn. I was too fired up to play a clip. Jittery. I stalked over to the kitchen to get a snack, and about ripped the fridge door off its hinges pulling it open. Damn, Trevor... get it together. It will come. And... we'll cum. I stormed over to our bar cabinet, and decided to pour a drink. Yeah. Alcohol will help.
