I drove home exhausted and exhilarated. After Robert's maiden voyage into my ass, his extreme violation of my body, his brutal thrusting and grunting, I could barely walk—or talk. Robert didn't appear to be in a garrulous mood after unleashing his seed and fury, and I was too shell-shocked for any post attack conversation, so I simply dressed and exited. I thought I should clean up the broken bottles, but I was too numb to bother. I don't think I even said Goodbye.
Driving away from the lake, I couldn't stop thinking about this: I had been brutally fucked by a man. I had been fucked by a handsome U.S. Marine with an awesome tight body and perfect cock, and a nice, tight ass. Hadn't I dreamed about this for most of my teen years? It hurt taking his entire huge and thick cock. I didn't think the head would even get into me, but inch by inch Robert made my ass his own.
I noticed that the more I resisted, the tighter my ass became and the more pain the deed wrought. At one point I felt too exhausted and defeated to bother resisting the aggression, and it was at that moment when my body relaxed enough to take in the last of his colossally big eight plus inches. The pulling out and thrusting back in of these inches made my asshole hurt at first but then vibrate so much I thought I'd die of heart stoppage in ecstasy. It was part painful yet clearly the most sexually exciting moments of my life. And my dick certainly kept leaking in voracious, visceral approval.
I loved sucking Robert's cock and tasting his semen. I loved tasting his ass, licking the entire crack, squeezing the firm butt cheeks and darting my tongue into his hole like it was a dildo penetrating to his prostate. I loved slurping on that hole and having the saliva build so much that it ran down my chin.
I loved when my face was a mess of spit and I happily used it to slide my face all around his hole. If I could have gotten my whole face up his ass, I would have done it. But I settled for sucking and slurping and eating that hole until we both were exhausted.
I loved the smell of his testes, as his balls rested on my chin. The smell drove me crazy and I could have lain with my face in his balls for eternity.
I loved the sound of his manly voice and how he'd sound vulnerable when sexually aroused. It pleased me as much to perform the scandalous deeds as it evidently was for him to receive them. He just didn't get how much I enjoyed sucking him, eating his hole, having his cock tear me apart, and just pleasing him.
In addition to rocking my ass, Robert really did a number on my head as well. He was right; there was no problem with being gay. If anybody had a problem with my being gay then it was HIS or HER problem, not mine. That includes my family and anybody else. Robert was the perfect role model for me. If he could be in to doing it with a man, then there's no shame in it, there's no dearth of manliness about it. For the first time in many years, I felt good to be a man who likes men.
I thought of all those times I beat off in my teens longing for my coach, for Derek, for professional athletes and handsome actors, and, yeah, my own dad. Many times just when I was about to shoot my mega load, I'd quickly envision a girl. Somehow I thought that would alleviate some of the guilt I had about thinking of sex with a man. I always felt condemned for wanting another man's cock, his ass, especially when I wanted my own father's. Now I wasn't feeling the shame.
I was feeling that everything was right, so for me there was no turning back. I would not ever be jerking off with guilt or worrying about what girl to take to a friend's wedding, or who to be seen with at McBirdy's or at the lake.
I continued my drive in wondrous and sexually fulfilling thought. I probably still will have some guilt when I think of dad. But I'm not likely to pursue anything down that road, so if I want to fantasize and jerk my meat thinking about dad pushing my face down onto his mammoth meat or having him put me over his knee, spank me, turn me around and fuck me, well, it ain't nobody's damn business but mine.
Turning off Rt. 23 for the final few minutes home, I saw the familiar, paint-peeled, faded lettering: McBirdy's, Where Friends Are Waiting. Driving passed that ridiculous lie I had to snicker. I said aloud, "Yeah, right. Derek? Some friend." Feeling emboldened I pulled in to the lot. Scanning the cars I quickly spotted Derek's Toyota, noted for its poor paintjob and ridiculous dice hanging from the rearview mirror.
I wasn't sure if Rich or Steve's cars were there, but it didn't matter. I was on a singular mission, which involved Derek and Derek only. Just after entering the dive center of my life and its people, the dive I figured I'd never, ever return to, and walking down the dingy hall through the cigarette cloud and stench which bisected the ancient black and white photos of past area fire and police department chiefs, the familiar, creaky double saloon doors pushed toward me and Rich's face was unexpectedly in mine.
"Hey, Mike, what's good man?"
"Hey Rich, I just thought I'd stop off for a Corona before going home. You out already?"
"Yeah, I actually want to get home and watch The Matrix. It's on HBO."
"You know that's our favorite movie."
"Yup." Over the din of some terrible song by Faith Hill and sporadic laughter on the other side of the double doors--Were they still laughing about me? Well, I don't give a fuck anyway--Rich made my heart warm. "Hey, why don't you come over? We'll watch and recite every line."
"Yeah, all three lines." I quickly put an addendum to my joke, "That's sounds cool. Okay, I'll meet you at your place."
Within ten minutes we were in Rich's basement. He looked very attractive tonight. I don't think I ever really noticed how athletic his build was or how nice his hair was. Was I just projecting Robert onto Rich? Could be. But Rich's ass in his Guess jeans, which also flattered his muscular thighs, definitely looked good, a lot better than I'd ever remembered.
"Yo, Rich, you working out or something? You look different."
"Yeah, I been swimming at school every morning and hitting the gym. I've lost twenty lbs. Check it out." He pulled his dark green t-shirt up to show off his new- found abs.
I was very impressed, but I didn't want him to know just how impressed I was. Jeez, I hope my tenting cock in my own jeans didn't tip him off. "Looks good, man. Maybe we'll have to race at the lake some time."
"Oh yeah," he answered as he turned the TV on. "Oh fuck, the storm."
"What's wrong?"
"The bitch of a storm before knocked the cable out. Shit, our cable goes out with the slightest wind." That was quite a storm, I thought. My ass will never be the same.
"No worries," I said. "We've seen it a zillion times anyway."
"Wanna smoke a joint?" he asked, although he knew I'd probably say No.
While I normally didn't smoke weed I had had such a momentous day that I uncharacteristically responded, "Let's do it up!"
Rich was a little surprised but certainly happy. He took a nicely rolled joint from his inside left pocket and torched it with a "McBirdy's" matchbook. After passing the joint back and forth a few times I started feeling nicely stoned, and loose. "Damn, I'm feeling good."
"Me too, shit, this is good shit."
