Author’s Notes: This story was, at one time dedicated to a good friend of mine.
Your words inspired and entertained me, long before I ever met you.. Keep your eyes open my friend, they are truly the windows to your soul and other imagined possibilities. Remember one person’s idea of trash may be someone else’s treasure. Never stop believing…
Disclaimer: If you are not of legal age to be reading this or the subject of gay romance and sex disturb you, what are you doing here in the first place? This story has never been edited so any mistakes, typographical or grammatical or misinformation are mine alone. If you want to let me know what you think, you can e-mail me. Responses will be timely and flames will be ignored.
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I could feel the smooth glans graze the roof of my mouth on the way to take up its residence in the back of my throat. He had been there so many times. Given me so much pleasure these last months. As the seven inches of his slightly curved cock slid past the brink of the natural abyss leading to my gullet, I gave him everything I had, swallowing two, three, four times before I could feel the liquid lava of his testicles erupt down into me.
I pulled back ever so gently as to not aggravate the oversensitive head of his penis that was twitching against my tongue. A single tear slipped from his eye. He was melancholy this week. Our lives crossing some ten months ago had tentatively replaced the sorrow emanating from his soul, but I still sometimes caught him not believing that I was so enamored of him.
Kissing the tear away, we rose and began the routine of our day.
Standing at the sink after our showers, we busily hurried shaving and brushing our teeth. He glanced over toward me and I smiled. The reflection of us, not marred by dreams of grandeur, told our tale. We were past the age where trifles like build and the illusions of a pretty face mattered. The prime of our lives was upon us and I had to remind him constantly that these things made no difference to me. It was his heart and soul that made him so enigmatic and sparked my interest.
Rinsing my cereal bowl in the sink and placing it in the dishwasher, I reached for his and started the cycle. The pasta for dinner, made fresh on the weekend and stored for later use, sat on the counter by the stove, waiting to be molded into another wonderful creation in which I showed my love for the man in my life. Fresh mushrooms and spinach would accompany the light creamy alfredo sauce that I would carefully prepare tonight to nourish my lover’s body, while rejuvenating his mind with my hearty tales of a robust work day.
He still sat drinking his morning coffee as I sidled up beside him and nuzzled my face in his neck.
“You promise to try and have a good day? No letting the little monsters tie you to the desk and torture you now. Tell them that I will have to come down there and prove I am far superior to their quick thinking little minds if they do.” I kissed the wide breadth of his neck behind his ear and slipped my arms around his chest, full and bursting with longing and desire to repeat the act that bonded us this morning.
He smiled as I passed back in front of the kitchen counter on the way to the front door, my work boots trodding heavily on the linoleum.
“I love you, you know?” He said quietly.
I beamed, “Yeah babe I do. And I love you, whether you believe it or not!” I winked as I headed out the door, burning the image of his lovely graying hair, rosy cheeks and drowning eyes into my brain for the day.
His self-confidence had mostly returned after the first few weeks I stayed around after meeting him that day on the train, but every now and then, like this morning, I caught him slipping back into the questioning, unsure single man I watched from across a crowded commuter train.
As I started my truck and let it idle, the memory of our chance of luck, fate, kismet, whatever you want to call it rolled around in my mind. Never in a million years would I have thought that I could find love twice in a lifetime, but there it was averting my glances not some 20 yards from me…
As I finished up from my long day, the locker room at the yard seemed empty. Most of the men had already left around three. The day before Christmas was still a work day, but the powers that be at the city had let everyone on day shift go home early to be with their families. I had volunteered to be on call, fending off whatever emergency may arise with the aging water and sewer system over the holiday. I changed out of my waterproof work pants and pulled my walking shoes back on. The air was cold and crisp and the chill would keep me alert on my stroll to the station. I blew on my hands as I walked, forgetting my gloves in the kitchen of my small apartment that morning. The rush of the day had passed, but there were still quite a few people on the train. I shuffled past most, smiling from the happier faces I encountered this time of year and found a seat.
I surveyed the crowd. I loved watching people and the day before my favorite holiday was no exception. I loved to think of what their situations might be as I played devil’s advocate for them. Along the wall next to me was a woman in her mid to late forties. A scarf encircled her carefully coifed tresses and a raincoat clinched tightly in her grasp, covered a shimmering black party dress. She was, in my mind, a well-known lady of high society. Her administrative assistant had called in sick this morning, much to her disappointment and left her to run her own errands.
How much more demeaning could that be
, she thought to herself, as I giggled to myself in my scenario.
There were two construction guys sitting across from me wide stances and burly shoulders giving away their profession. They… let’s see they were two buddies, friends for their entire lives, growing up together on the shores of Jersey. Married with wives and kids, mortgages and extramural softball leagues, each longed for the other to test the line of friendship and offer something forbidden. Alas, to straight to know what was good for them, they continued in their mundane lives, lusting secretly and jacking off routinely to visions of the other in the buff. I chuckled again to myself. I knew no one knew of my little plots, but they nevertheless kept my mind amused on my daily journeys.
I looked around for another victim. Green eyes flashed up from under a hat that had seen its better days. When I openly stared at him, he purposely looked out the window, fearing I was a mugger or a pervert.
I let my eyes drift away from him to ease his suspicions. In my quick appraisal I had seen a man of some substance. Early forties, graying at the temples, his face though looked haggard and withdrawn. I didn’t have to spin a yarn of mystery around him, his story was written all over him. From his downward stare to his disheartening body language, he reeked of loneliness and apathy. I knew him, hell I almost became him.
When my lover of twenty years died suddenly of a heart attack three years ago, I spiraled into grief and despair. Family and friends pulled me back from the brink of the chasm in my heart, never letting me alone long enough to get so deep into myself that I would never return. I was lucky, my sister and brother and their families meant the world to me and I immersed my life with the role of perfect uncle until my heart found repose. I still looked at the spot in the park where we passed many a summer’s day reading to each other or just relaxing with a tinge of sadness, but I had found that life goes on, with or without you.
A couple of stops had drawn the few other people in our car to their final destinations, leaving me there with my suspicious friend. I gathered my courage and approached him. Again his stare left me and scurried to find a hiding place. I extended my hand and spoke to him. He visibly shuttered with surprise.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m Loren Whittier.” His eyes again darted up from under the brim of his tattered hat appraising the lunatic before him.
