Author's Note:
First, let me apologize to any native or fluent speakers of German that might happen to read this. I do not speak or read German. However, I had to find some way to translate my English into German. Google Translate may or may not have given me the correct translation. If you have a more accurate translation, please message me with it. I welcome it.
Now, for the disclaimer. This is a rather short one-shot fiction story, of a romance. Any resemblance to any persons living or dead is purely coincidental, and is unintended. This came to me while thinking of the second Chapter of Becoming Warm. This story contains situations of consensual male/male sex between men who are greater than 18 years of age. If such things are illegal to read in your country, you are urged to obey your regional laws. The author is not responsible for your actions. Thank you.
Now to the story.
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The moans of a lover. The feeling of a firm, yet soft body beneath my own. The taste of that lover's lips and tongue on my own. I missed all of these and more, by signing up for the International Collegiate Exchange.
I spent six years in Europe, learning and working as an English-German translator in the University at Arnstadt in Germany. Those were indeed lonely years, and I lacked the one thing that would have made life infinitely easier: a companion.
Perhaps, though, dear reader, I should tell you a bit about me first. My name is Mikel Erich Riley. I am the only son of German mother and Irish father, born in Dallas, Texas. I had come out to my parents when I was fifteen. But, I was not the stereotypical feminine gay man, but rather felt comfortable in my already masculine skin. I had not a single problem with feminine men, I just was not one.
I kept in shape by running and doing workouts that utilized my own body as a resistance device, trying to save money by not running to the gymnasium at every turn. From the point of view of a possible admirer, I suppose I looked good. I had very little fat, and had a firm, slightly rippled abdomen, with muscular legs and arms, and a thick, strong chest. Yet, despite these obvious advantages, I saw myself as wholly undesirable, expressly because I was only animated when in my job as a translator, or in the process of learning a new language, or when playing my keyboard, something I'd done for years, and frankly had become quite good at.
I was twenty when I went to Germany for this scholastic opportunity. I had taken German language courses since age six, as well as having been raised in a household that spoke Gaelic, German, and English equally, making me fully trilingual. So, at twenty-six, I was very fluent in German, and had gained a lot of knowledge about German culture, something that, to be frank, did not interest me that much at this point.
It got to a point that I became completely disinterested in my job. So, with decisions made, and my term in Germany over, I sold what I'd accumulated, and bought passage back to the US. I bought a condominium in Dallas, near the Oak Lawn district, Dallas' LGBT district.
I obtained a day job as a document translator for a Multinational tech company, translating English language documentation into both German and Gaelic. I was being paid well, and still had plenty of time for a decent life.
My parents had, by now, accepted my lifestyle, especially after doing scientific research on sexuality. So, I reestablished my relationship with them, and we were at good terms.
"Miki, mein son," My mother would say, "You need to find you a good Ehemann (husband) and settle down."
I would smile, and kiss her forehead, and whisper in her ear, "Ich liebe dich, liebe Mutter. (I love you, mother dear)" I had no intention of involving myself in matters of love, and did not want to get hurt.
That changed the moment I met Sean Patrick Eldridge, a twenty-four year old technician at the company I worked for
He was a fantastically vibrant young man, standing about five feet, ten inches, just about four inches shorter than me. His strawberry blond hair was lightly spiked, and his brilliant smile always seemed to shine from a face that tanned very lightly. He was not a gym bunny, so to speak, but was most definitely in shape.
He and I struck up a friendship, and I developed a desire for a certain Gaelic speaking Irish boy that had no way of knowing my desire, or so I thought. So, I hid my desire, and simply did my best not to destroy what was indeed a fantastic friendship with a beautiful man. I believed that I was not worthy of his affection, if indeed there were any. I believed that someone as beautiful as he was, inside and out, would not want the quiet kind of man that I was.
One morning, at the office, I was checking my email, when I was visited by a delivery man from the local florist, who was carrying a small bouquet of carnations and hyacinths, my two favorite flowers, both of which I grew at home. On the bouquet hung a note that read as follows:
"Dear Mikel, I hope that this bouquet does not frighten you. I see you daily, and have become a secret admirer of you, loving you in secret. I shall remain a secret, until the time is right. Just know this. You are intensely loved, despite how you perceive yourself. All my love, SA."
I was very confused, to be honest, and wondered intensely who would have sent me such a beautiful gift. Who was this person? I ran through the list of people I saw daily, and most all of them knew of my preferences, so hopefully, it was a male. That said, I knew that the likelihood of that being the case was not so great. I did my work, and of course got repeatedly asked about the flowers. I always answered the same. "I don't know who sent them."
That afternoon, I accepted Sean's invitation to join him and a group of friends for a large gathering and picnic at a nearby park. I purposely stayed near Sean, and joined in the various games he played in. The evening was amazing, to be honest, and I was reluctant to go home, and home I went.
Now alone and in the privacy of my own shower, under the spray of warm water, I slowly stroked my shaft, imagining his body against mine, and his lips on my neck, a particularly sensitive spot. In my mind, he stripped slowly, staring into my eyes, then slowly turned and bent to show his tight anus to my loving, wanting eyes. I increased the speed of the stroking, throwing back my head, and moaning. It was not long till I was firing a volley of cum onto the shower walls, his name on my lips.
I cleaned up, finished my shower in rapidly cooling water, and after drying myself, sank naked into the bed, and fell into a fitful, dream-filled sleep. I dreamed, for the first time, of him. And, when I woke, fifteen minutes prior to the alarm clock's sounding, I did so, cumming from the dream, without actually having touched my cock at all. This was to be the first of several wet dreams I would have.
I again showered, and prepared for another day of work, knowing that, being a Saturday, I was scheduled to do a half-day's work. I could not get neither the dream, nor Sean's beautiful face from my mind.
When I arrived at my desk, I noticed a sealed envelope slid beneath the keyboard of my computer. I pulled the envelope out, and sat in my chair, then opened the missive to read it. The words on the page were typed in simple Arial font, and they were composed in a way that would not immediately give away the identity of the writer.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
