It had been a few weeks since the spirit of John had visited me at home. I began to believe I dreamt it or sleepwalked the whole sexual experience, like some form of deep psychological desire. I thought about it daily. I knew it was real and it had happened. Beginning with the fact that when driving home he connected with me in the car days prior. There was no mistake about that. He was there! I felt him, I felt his hand, I felt his warmth. It was - until that point - the only male warmth I had ever felt. But since that last night in my study, there were no signs or indications he was still around. I had hoped for more, I wanted more. I truly hoped it wasn't some far-fetched fantasy, and I re-lived in some subconscious state.
There was no doubt that whatever happened that night in my study, dream or not, heightened my desire for men. That night coupled with my experiences with him in the past, were opening doors for deeper, longing thoughts. As much as I loved my wife and had been with her for decades, I found myself longing for something more real than a spirit. Something more personal. Not a spirit I couldn't see, but someone I could see, feel and touch. With each passing day, my heart longed for a different lifestyle. I wanted to suck dick. I wanted to have a male lover. I wanted someone who had the same equipment, who could get me off, just as I was getting them off. I wanted to look deep in their eyes as our passions ignited. Day after I longed for someone pulling out their dick and making me suck it, then sucking mine. It consumed me and made me believe life was changing.
My usual Saturday morning routine is to cut the grass, eat lunch, and have a beer after. And today, was no different. Once again, I was out pushing the mower around the yard, while the wife was inside thumbing through the paper and her online articles. When I finished, I decided to have a small sandwich, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and plopped my ass on my big couch, at the end with the recliner, and turned on a baseball game. Usually, I fall asleep in the chair during the second inning and wake up sometime around the seventh inning stretch. Today ran a bit differently.
As I settled in to watch the game, feet up, legs out of the recliner, beer in hand, my wife stuck her head around the corner and said; "Hey, I'm going to go meet Judy and Linda, for a late lunch and some shopping. Do you need anything while I am out?"
"No," was my reply.
She turned away and within minutes, I heard her leave the house. To be honest I was happy to be alone. As I said in the previous story as much as I loved her, we had grown distant, and knowing I had the house to myself was more than pleasing.
I couldn't focus on the game and kept thinking about John. I kept thinking about men. Truth be told, I kept thinking about dick. I was getting aroused thinking what it would be like if my buddy Tim, or Pete my former co-worker were over and we decided to suck each other off. How hot it would be to unzip their pants, pull out their cock and just give them a long blow job. Before long, I was rock-hard in my blue cargo shorts and I was so tempted to pull my dick out and stroke myself thinking of them. I was rubbing my crotch over my pants, my mind racing, fantasizing about them, but then my focus returned to John. In my mind, I could see the picture of him in the paper, as I had years before. I visualized his face aging, him standing in front of me, naked, hard, ready to fuck me.
Just as I was starting to visualize the fantasy further, lightly moaning out his name, when I felt a cold breeze come across my body. I jerked up in panic as if someone had walked in on me. No one was there, my heart was racing and I had lost my hard-on. But something inside of me knew someone was there.
I knew my wife hadn't returned, she wouldn't have made it to the restaurant yet, let alone ate, shopped, and returned. I yelled out, "Is anyone there?" Thinking maybe one of the kids came home. No one answered. I got up to check, making sure no one had come in. There were no cars in the driveway, no doors open, no other noises, just me and the solitude of the house.
I sat back down on the couch, kicked out the recliner, and was catching my breath when the cold air passed over me again.
"John," I spoke are you here?
I knew I wouldn't hear an answer, but just as I was about to ask again, the cool air hovered over me and it stopped right at my face. "John" I whispered; I am glad you came back.
"If you are here, kiss me."
I felt his face to mine. His lips touched mine. This wasn't a hallucination or a fantasy. He was there. My lips parted and I felt his tongue touch mine. Something that had only happened once before deep in the night, back in Indianapolis. I was kissing him. There was no doubt about it. Just as if I was kissing my wife or a lover, we were lip-locked and passionately kissing.
As my hands wandered, I could feel the outline of his body. He was kneeling on the couch next to me, his back at about a 45-degree angle, as we kissed one another. I don't know if I felt his body better because of the moment, or because I was desiring men more. But this time, I felt as if I could feel him more than I ever had before. I still couldn't see him, but I knew he was there.
