Barry's Love

Barry had a nice hole. Nice and accommodating. When I entered him I slid right in. Nearly seven inches deep. In to my pubic hair.

I was sitting on Barry's off-white couch, slumped down. Barry's curved back was to me. He was crouching. He was, in effect, sitting on me. I held him by his fatty waist. I pushed him up by it, and pulled him back down. It must've been hell on his bent legs but he wasn't complaining. My penis slipped out of him now and then, but it went right back in. Barry kept repeating, in an amazed tone of voice, how hard I was.

"Oh you're so hard!" he'd say. "So hard! Most guys..."

This pleased me. This new herbal ED drug I was taking had turned me into a 20-year-old again. It kept me hard (on demand) for three days straight. I'd never been more stiff. Best of all, it didn't give me headaches. Let alone migraines.

Barry's unfinished last comment ("Most guys...") concerned me a little. I was barebacking him, after all. Was Barry a slut? Did he do this every weekend? Meet a guy on the sex personals, invite him over and let him fuck him? Without a condom?

I guess this was a little bit of the pot calling out the kettle black. Because that's what I did. Only from a top's perspective. Bottoms are a dime a dozen on the internet. You can fuck one (or two) every weekend. (My record is three. One on Friday night, two on Saturday.) Without this new drug my number of fucks would be zero. As I say it's a miracle.

I'm not even, really, a top. I bottomed for years. But so do countless other guys and it's hard to get someone to come over. Or invite you over. But I figured, now that I could get a hard-on again, why not? Go with the flow. Besides, I enjoy sliding my cock into a man's bottom. I enjoy fucking him. The extreme pleasure of it. I'm not saying it's better than BEING fucked; it's just the other side of the coin.

The odd thing about this date, today, was that Barry never offered to suck me. He took one look at my erection and turned his broad back to me and sat--took me inside him (after I'd lubed up of course). There were no preliminaries. Why bother? I'd popped an ED capsule before I left my house, and it was about a thirty minute drive. I was hard when I walked through Barry's front door.

"Oh cum in me!" he began to say. "Shoot your hot load!" Things like that.

I was about to. About to ejaculate. I tried to hold back as long as I could, but...

"Shoot your hot load in me!" my bottom again urged. It was as if he could read my mind. Or read my cock and balls.

I got out: "I--"

Then I shouted. "Oh!" I shouted four times, with each ejaculation. I thought I could feel--sense--my own sperm running down my shaft. But it was probably my imagination. I gave Barry a final push upwards, up and away, and our bodies separated. I was out of breath.

Barry stood, crookedly. He was disbelieving, euphoric. "Oh my god that was good! Oh my god!" He reached a hand around, to his crack, and fingered himself and said, giddily, "Your cum's leaking out...running down my..."

He giggled and declared, "I'll go get a towel!"

I raised myself a little. My arms were tired--from all that pushing and pulling. Barry wasn't light.

He came back carrying a damp hand towel. He knelt down in front of me and gently wiped the lube (and sperm) from my now partially flaccid cock. He beamed and said, "That was wonderful!" Adding, "Do you like me?"

"You...?"

"My ass?"

"Yeah," my terse reply. We'd just met, after all. We were one-time fuckmates. And a fuck is not a marriage proposal.

Barry rose. He had a soft, round, plump, unblemished body. And a full head of blonde-brown hair. He was younger than me--by twenty years or so. I was old enough to be his dad. Standing over me, smiling, he looked positively beatific.

"Do you have to leave?" he asked.

The question caught me off guard. I was still feeling numb. "Leave? No."

"No?" he replied hopefully. "Most guys just want to leave afterwards."

I cleared my throat. "I'm not most guys."

"You can fuck me again if you want. Later."

"I'll need a few hours."

"Can you spend the night?" Again, that hopeful, wishful smile.

"The night?"

"We can fuck again this afternoon, then I'll make you dinner and we can watch a movie. Then you can fuck me again this evening. If you're up to it."

"I'm up to it." It was my turn to sound hopeful.

"I really like you," Barry said, his soft smile widening.

He likes my cock, I sat there thinking.

"You're everything I ever dreamed of."

I resisted--rolling my eyes. It was just one fuck, buddy, I wanted to tell him. He shifted the damp, spermy towel from one hand to the other. He was getting a hard-on. He penis was on the short side (maybe five inches, tops) but it was thick. He was circumcised. His head was rosy pink. I wanted to taste it.

I patted the couch cushion to my left. "Why don't you sit?"

"OK," he agreed, readily. He set the wad of towel down on a nearby table and sat next to me, our bare legs touching.

"You haven't kissed me," I told him.

Barry replied by leaning over and pecking my cheek. I turned my face to his. He kissed my lips. I kissed him back. We began to neck. We put our arms around each other. I pushed my tongue into his mouth. He reciprocated. This was much more intimate, I reflected, than fucking.

He broke off the kiss long enough to exhale, "Oh sweetheart!" Then we went back to it again.

I lowered my right hand to his penis. He was fully erect now. I began stroking it.

"You're so...affectionate!" he said, again between kisses.

I stroked him for two, maybe three minutes before he broke off the kiss to tell me, "I cum quickly."

"That's OK."

"Like this?" I wasn't sure what he meant.

His lower back arched. He let out a muted cry.

He came on my hand. All over it. When he was done I let go of his cock and lifted my hand. It smelled sweet--fruity. I began to lick the cum off it.

"Oh god," he said, rather distractedly. Then, "I'll get the towel again."

Barry pulled away, and rose, while I continued feasting on his fresh sperm. It was dripping on my thigh, and to the couch below. It had been a big load, rather like the one I'd deposited in him, earlier.

He returned and wiped my hand off, and my leg. And, of course, his own penis.

"You can wash off if you want," he told me.

"In the shower?"

"Well...in the sink."

We were both now sated. It had been a good first hour. Had all this happened in an hour's time?

When I returned from the bathroom Barry offered me a drink. Flavored vodka, over ice.

"You have a beer?"

"No. Sorry."

I accepted his offer. We clinked tall glasses. "Cheers," one of us said.

"I'm so glad you could stay. Most guys..." It was--what?--the third time he'd uttered this incomplete phrase.

"You fuck a lot of guys?" I asked, pointedly.

Barry shrugged a round, soft shoulder. "Not a lot. Now and then. You?"

"Now and then," I replied, parroting his vagueness. "Ever make them wear condoms?"

"Depends," he said. "You?"

"Depends."

"I'm a hundred percent healthy, if you're worried about it."

"So am I," I claimed.

Barry flashed a wide smile. "I love it when a guy shoots his cum in me. Love it," he repeated.

"Barebacking is so much better," I agreed.

"I know. It is." He sipped his drink. "It's like a guy leaves a part of him inside you."

Barry made a kind of joyous shivering motion.

"I'm a great cook, by the way. I went to culinary school."

"Is that what you do?" I inquired.

Barry lowered his head. "No. I'm an accountant."

"My dad was an accountant."

Barry's head rose. His smile returned. "Was he?"

"He blew his brains out."

"Oh." Barry mulled over this unnecessary comment for a second before asking, "What do you like to eat?"

"Anything."

"I'll surprise you!"

I sipped my drink and set the glass down and came forward. I put my arms around Barry's soft body and kissed him. We began to neck again. It was very passionate.

"I think I'm in love!" he said in a rush, at one point.

Don't get carried away, I thought. On the other hand...maybe this could become a regular thing. A regular fuck. Or multiple fucks over the course of a weekend. Maybe I'd found my soulmate. Was that the term?

"Do you like a man in panties?" Barry asked, having broken off the kiss.

"Panties?"

Barry nodded. "I like to wear them for my men. Would you like to see me in them?"

For my men. Somewhat begrudgingly I replied, "Sure."

"Be right back!"

While Barry was gone I poured myself another drink. Incredibly, I was getting hard again. My penis was engorged and pointing straight out. Another few minutes and I'd be ready to fuck again. Fuck Barry.

He returned from the bedroom wearing colorful bikini briefs. Or rather women's panties. They were microfiber--silky. I reached out and fondled his spent balls in them.

"Nice," I said.

"They feel wonderful on!" Barry added: "I can dress up for you."

"Dress?"

"Up. Wig and makeup and everything. Bra and stockings. A shrink told me once that I was a fetish crossdresser. Underwear only."

"Oh." He was seeing a therapist? My dad had seen a therapist. Or, rather, a psychiatrist. He'd been in the hospital for six weeks. Shock therapy.

I replied: "I like you like this."

"Do you? I LOVE dressing up for my men!"

That phrase again. My penis was fully erect now--standing straight up. It did not escape Barry's attention.

"You're hard again?" he laughed (half laughed). "Already?"

He took hold of my cock. Began to stroke it, gently.

"You want to fuck me again?"

"Yeah. But what's the rush?"

"You're right."

Barry fixed us another round of drinks. My third, his second.

He left his panties on the bedroom floor. And I fucked him this time on his hands (elbows) and knees, in his bed. We fucked for a good fifteen minutes before I came in him again. A lesser load this time. We slept afterwards--or at least I did. Barry asked:

"So you can stay?"

"I said I would."

Barry's smile was omnipresent. "I'll fix us dinner then."

"Can I help?"

"I'm not used to guys spending the night."

"Can I help?" I repeated.

"You can set the table. Open a bottle of wine!"

After a somewhat mediocre dinner we watched a movie. Some dumb rom-com. We sat side by side on his couch. Barry in his panties, I naked. I fondled him nearly the whole time. By the time the movie ended I was hard again. My penis standing straight up. This time Barry bent over and sucked it. I said:

"Let's go to bed."

My balls ached. Still, I unloaded in him a third time. Afterwards we slept. I woke up--wide awake--at about two in the morning. I got up and paced the livingroom. I thought about dressing and leaving. But eventually, about an hour later, I crawled back in bed.

Barry got up at seven. He made coffee. I awoke with a hard-on. Barry saw it and said, "I won't be clean."

"That's OK. We can shower afterwards. I don't mind dirty sex," he advised, with a smile.

Incredibly--even to myself--I fucked him for the fourth time. After I came, when I pulled out, the pink head of my cock was chocolate brown. We got in the shower and Barry assiduously cleaned me off. With slick body wash.

Standing under the warm rain we kissed again. And Barry said, "Can you come back next week?"

"Yes."

"Actually...I have a date with somebody else next Saturday. Can you come back in two weeks?"

This news--this statement--floored me. Barry had declared that he loved me. That I was, in so many words, the man of his dreams. And now he was shuffling me off for some other top?

I replied, "We'll see."

I got out of the shower, dried off and dressed. "You're leaving?" Barry asked. "Without breakfast?"

I didn't reply.

At the door Barry asked, in a concerned voice, "Did I say something to upset you?"

I left. Wordless.

When I got home an email was awaiting me. From Barry. "So will I see you a week fom [sic] Saturday?"

I didn't reply. Fuck him.

The next Saturday I invited a stranger over. A bottom. An effeminate one. I bent him over the soft, cushioned arm of my couch and fucked him. Barebacked him. Shot a week's load inside him.

He was a college boy with a shock of dark hair. He left. I would never see him again.

Frankly, that's the way I like it.