There's Something About Seth

Hamlet had his surfeit of sorrows. I have the opposite. A surfeit of good stuff. Seth and I have been in this relationship for almost five months and I still don't know what our relationship is, other than really, really good. Well, mostly. I'm spending two or three nights in a row at his place and, like I said, it's really good. Mostly. He's been out to my cabin in the woods several times. It is a bit rustic for his successful attorney lifestyle but he's adapting and it's good. Really good. Mostly. But let's be honest, nothing is really good always. Right?

So what's the big deal, you might ask. Well, it's February fourteenth. That's right, Valentine's Day. I'm 43 years old and I've never given a thought to that phony Hallmark holiday other than to say fuck Valentine's Day. I've gone along with the charade several times with various women where we've both known that our "love" was not going anywhere, and the best outcome would be dispirited sex because, despite even the most spectacular climax, we were both, on some level, faking it. But I don't know what this relationship with Seth is. It's my first steady thing with a guy. Obviously, it's different than any previous relationship. Seth says it isn't, but it is to me. And I wonder if it's real or am I, on some level, faking it. Fucking Valentine's Day. I better figure it out.

Our first time together was the best day of sex I had ever had. It was hot and passionate, for sure, but there was another thing I had never felt before. When I was inside him and he was clinging to my cock with his very core, a connection opened and there was a masculine union that was soulful, transcendent. It felt great to fuck a woman. It was other worldly to fuck Seth.

The next morning I was craving more of that crazy good man-love. I awoke to the wafting aroma of fresh coffee. We had breakfast on his patio and I was ready to resume amours right there on the chez. Instead he told me to chill on the couch. A while later he appeared in long sheer stockings, a thong, and a corset. His make-up was modest yet beguiling and it revealed the most desirable man I had ever seen. I discovered a fascination I found irresistible. I was utterly enchanted. I couldn't look away. The rest of that day might have lasted forever and I would never have been sated. I was captivated and I had no desire to break free.

Since then it had been like I was involved with two different men. No, that's wrong. I'm always with the same great guy who is two different people. No, two different persons. See how hard it can be to figure out? But despite my confusion, it's going really, really good. Mostly.

There is that rushed intimacy of the workday morning, usually a shower together with lots of mutual scrubbing, and soapy caresses, and lots of wanton kissing that leaves us both painfully aroused as we throw on our clothes, grab a to-go mug of Guatemalan coffee and are off. For the rest of the day it is like his hands are on me still, and I can suddenly become untethered by a tactile yearning for his flesh in my hands.

The weekend mornings are so very different. Waking too early, then grabbing an armful of the man beside me and drifting back to sleep. When I awaken again it's because of a bladder, Seth's or mine, it doesn't matter. So he or I goes to pee. Then the other one replaces him at the toilet. Once sufficiently drained, we return to the bed and doze and caress until one of us, usually me, is swept into the quickening of arousal. The rising current captures us in chutes of lips, and mouths, and undulating flesh, then the onrush of an early-morning orgasm. What follows is like floating on a languid pool. We can laze there all morning. The receding roar of passion so close behind, the gathering rush of more roiling passion ahead.

And then there is coming home to each other at the end of the day. Most of the time we wind down slowly. Talk. Laugh. Seth is so damn funny, and smart. His humor is never snarky or mean. It's wry, or ironic, or absurd but always with an insight to be had. I often riff with him and, since we have evolved our own idiosyncratic sense of humor, we go back and forth like an old vaudeville act, laughing until we collapse into each other's arms. Then just kissing, and more kissing.

Good god, Seth is a great kisser. His deep soul kisses are like being enveloped by a moist, lush, sloppy sex organ that is relentlessly seeking deeper. His teasing, tender kisses, well ... One evening, Seth put Chopin's Nocturnes on the stereo and laid beside me in the flickering glow of a blazing fire. His lips were as the piano keys. Light and delicate, touching mine in rhythm to the longing notes. Then an arpeggio of building, teasing encounters, slightly gushy but terse, climbing a scale of passion. Then deep bass notes, slower, more resonate, further into the nether realms. Chopin wrote a lot of nocturnes and we lay on the floor before the fire as Seth kissed me through every single one. Sweat Jesus, the man can kiss.

Still ...

I ran into Beth. Why she was at the lumber yard, I never got around to asking. We just gabbed. Just like we used to, with a peppering of laughter and a few tender moments. She looked great. My thoughts wandered. There was a vibe between us. It whispered coquettishly, "Maybe we should try again?" A wistful voice in my head said that it would be cool this time. As a couple, we had been invited everywhere. And on the sensual plane of hetero-love, we excelled. Our growth as lovers kept things real and fresh. Now, that coquettish whisper suggested that our time apart had provided perspective, that we would appreciate each other this time. And then big bonus: I could be in a couple again out among my friends.

Seth and I are an inside couple. Behind closed doors, Seth says without humor. I say, Why not? Inside, we are uninhibited and unfettered. Our intimacy begins the moment I walk through the door. We are always touching and such wonderful things happen behind those closed doors.

The other night, we were loading the dishwasher when he suggested I go sit on the couch and wait for him. He wouldn't be long, he said, "but don't get too involved in a TV show. You won't be seeing how it ends."

I knew what was happening and I was delighted. Still, I'm never quite prepared for what I see. Seth appeared in a lavender body stocking that clung to his torso like a shimmering chrysalis. It was crotchless and he wore a matching thong underneath. His svelte legs were sheathed in sheer black thigh-high stockings. His beautiful lips were a faint sheen of purple that hinted at a supple softness. Dark liner lent his sulky eyes allure that was accentuated by a slash of light blue eyeshadow.

I didn't have to say it. He could read it in my eyes. But some things demand to be said anyway. "You look stunning. You are the most beguiling man I could ever imagine."

His smile was slight but I could tell he was pleased. Seth relished the effect he had on me, how utterly he commanded my longing, how easily he could incite my lust. He sauntered toward me slowly, then spun. The body stocking was cut out around his luscious ass and the thong disappeared between his firm cheeks. He bent forward. His satin clad package was held tightly to his prize. He did that thing he does, that Seth dance, where his ass-cheeks jounce as his hips sway. It's hypnotic, entrancing, and I was mesmerized. He watched over his shoulder as my face flushed and my eyes fired with desire. Then he spun again and approached.

I was perched upon the sofa's edge, my arms wide and awaiting. He stopped an aching arm's length away. My hands caressed his thighs through the glistening black fabric. His cock was clearly outlined within the sheer lavender pouch. I stroked the inner traces of his thighs and watched in fascination as the blood coursed to his cock, making it strain against the thong. Gently, my arms encircled his glistening thighs, drawing him closer. I placed the form of his cockhead between my lips and breathed a hot slow breath so he could sense the heat of my passion.

On nights like this, when Seth reveals his feminine self, our lovemaking is very different. It's hard to describe without sounding pretentious. I could say it's the difference between Coltrane and Gershwin, and right after you stopped retching you'd wonder which is which? (Masculine Seth is Coltrane and feminine Seth is pure Rhapsody In Blue.) Metaphors and similes miss the point because it's not like he's two different things. He is the same person but in two different lights. Maybe think of it that way: like a beautiful garden in full spectrum light of noon and the same garden in the lush golden hour of waning day. Still pretentious but that's the best I can do.

That night he rode me slow and strong. Our wedge pillow was behind him so he would not fatigue. My cock was awash in his delicious self. He would rise and pull the flesh of my shaft upward. I felt my ineffable essence rise with him and gather in the last inch of our tight cloying connection. Then he would twerk his hips as he descended in a slow hoochie-kooch, swaddling my manhood as it swirled ever deeper within him. His silken black stockings would graze the tender flesh of my ribs and his lavender-stockinged body undulated between my knees. I freed him from the thong and was mesmerized by the metronomic sway of his hard cock. He read the building ecstasy in my eyes and ceased his dance with me fully impaled within him.

Then it was my turn. I took his beautiful hard cock between the fingertips of both hands and teased it mercilessly. I would skate dancing fingers across his plush cockhead and make glancing circles over the electric nerves beneath. I would deeply massage the bottom-most flesh at the base and race up and down the tight ridge of his shaft. All the while, I would crane my buried cock within his tight cavern and sway my hips so my hardness would rub across his hot, swollen spot. His breath would be a slow mewling keen of pleasure punctuated by gasps of delight as I played my fingers across those special places that I knew so well. His passion built until dangerously close to erupting and I would stop.

That was how our lovemaking went that night, each bringing the other to the edge of bliss, then retreating as the other took charge. We pleasured ourselves for as long as our restraint would allow. Then, as I was stroking his cock, he started riding my manhood with a rising intent. Within seconds he sent forth a fountain of cum causing his core to contract and writhe against my hardness and I could not contain my loins any longer. My jizz erupted into his deep embrace. When we finally disentangled,

Seth wrapped me in his arms and we ended with a kiss. Always a kiss.

_____________________

"What?"

I realized I had been staring at him over the dinner table. "Nothing," I replied.

"Something's on your mind. What is it?"

I busied myself pushing edamame around my plate. I wasn't sure what words to say. Finally, I stammered, "Umm, it's just ... I want you to do me."

"What?"

"I want you to do me."

"Really? You said you weren't into that."

"I'm not. I mean I wasn't. But I want to do it with you. I want you to be the one."

"Okay. Can I ask why you suddenly want me to "do" you?"

"I don't know. I guess ... You're always giving yourself to me. I want to give myself to you in the same way."

"Okay?" He wasn't convinced.

"I guess I want to feel what you feel. I want ... When we make love, I try to give myself to you, my whole self. And it seems that you receive me - my whole, entire, utter me - when we make love."

"I do."

"I guess I want to get you - your whole, entire self - in the same way. Does that make sense?"

"It does when you put it that way. Okay, if you're absolutely sure, I'd love to "do" you. When?"

"Tonight. I want you to do me tonight."

He took my hand from across the table and his eyes were lovingly on mine. "It would be my pleasure."

After the dishes were put away, he led me to the bathroom and gave me some instruction in sexual hygiene. Frankly, it was more involved than I had imagined. Then he left me alone.

When I was done, I set my trap and beckoned, "Sailor! Oh, Sailor!"

He entered the bedroom to see me splayed face down on the bed with my legs spread wide and my pink virgin ass twinkling lasciviously in the air. He burst out laughing and I joined in. It was a self-conscious joke meant to break the tension, and I was so glad he got it. We laughed together but maybe a little too long.

"Your ass is a beautiful sight, I just wasn't expecting anything quite so ... brazen."

"It was beautiful?" My vulnerability showed and my vulnerability almost never shows.

"Yes, it truly was beautiful. And very sexy. You have the sexiest ass in town."

"Next to yours."

"Well, it would be immodest for me to say it but you're right."

What happened next was pretty much what always happens. Which is to say our intimacy was deliciously bawdy and tender until one of his blowjobs ended with him going further south.

His tongue bathed my rosebud. And, although I had done the same to him dozens of times, it felt terribly forbidden and wanton, and kind of luscious. I resigned myself to a luxuriating pleasure session. I relaxed my fundament, my last barrier, and accepted that my lover was initiating me to a new dimension of intimacy.

Then I felt it there. The cock that I loved so much, that I had kissed, and caressed, and sucked deeply down my throat me, the plump head of that cock was now pressing against my most nether portal. My inner angels sparred over morality, and propriety, and physiology, but my innermost soul wanted only one thing. That beautiful cock deep inside me.

I'm kind of a stalwart guy, but I cried out. He asked if I was okay. He asked several times over the occasion if I was okay and, of course, I always answered yes, though I was not sure. He was slow and gentle, still it was not pleasant. It felt intrusive and gargantuan. When he had penetrated me to the hilt, he paused. I relaxed and considered the situation. It was Seth. It was his cock that was expanding my universe. I managed to gather both the breath and the presence to ask him "Is it good?" With a trembling, rapturous voice, he told me it was magnificent. I understood.

He began to move within me. I forced myself to accept his cock, to be open. He asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Keep going."

He slowed to a stop. "Try to relax, Babe. Feel the warmth, the joy." He kissed me tenderly as he started to move again.

It became easier but the warmth I felt was more friction than welling gladness. Maybe my head was getting in the way. I kept thinking about what was happening, analyzing instead of being swept away. The problem, I thought, was that my prostate was too deep or that it was naturally insensitive. Or, more likely, that I just couldn't get past the fact that there was a large cock up my ass.

Then I noticed the transformation in Seth's beautiful face. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes clouded, his mouth agape. His usual grace was gone. He was on a different plane of existence and I realized I was seeing a third Seth. A primal Seth. His movements became thrusting. Penetrating. His breathing came in grunts punctuated with quaking, rapturous gasps.

I forgot my discomfort and became enthralled within his rising abandon. A sense of union - manly union - swept over me. My ass became enlivened. I clutched him with the core of myself, both the sex and the soul. I pressed to meet his thrusts. I kegeled his manhood. I urged him on, "Oh, Baby, I want it. I want you."

Suddenly I witnessed the fireworks go off in his eyes. His cheeks burned crimson as convulsions of ecstasy exploded across his face. He pitched and heaved, groin to ass, as he ejaculated deep within me. And when he melted atop me, I realized it was me who had done that to him. That it was my loving ass that transported him to that final rapturous end. I felt fulfilled.

We lay in each other's arms for a long while. It seemed that Seth, the consummate litigator, was speechless. "Was I any good?" I asked.

He smiled and sighed. "Amazing. How do you feel?"

"Well fucked."

"Me, too."

I kissed him as he rested. I continued to lay tiny kisses on his cheek, his neck, his chest until he slept. I joined him in slumber with my cock still hard and my balls utterly blue and happy for it. I had given it up for my man and he gave his whole self to me.

____________________

It got ugly one night. Totally out of hand.

"You want to hit me, don't you?"

"No. I would never hit you."

"You're a fucking liar. You're itching to lay me out. Shut me up. You want to hit me so bad you can taste it. Go ahead."

He was in my face. Too close. "For fuck sake, Seth. Give me some space. Lets both just calm the fuck down."

"We can't even go get a beer together. You'd die if someone saw us together. Well, guess what? They all know. You don't think people haven't seen your truck out front? Night after night? Everyone knows! And nobody cares. Nobody but you."

"Stop your fucking shouting."

"You're a fraud! A phony! A coward."

"Seth, get out of my face. And quit screaming at me."

"You're afraid you won't be the big stud around town. The ladies won't fall over themselves for you. Like Beth. Or Sharon, Or whatever tourist twat is passing through. "Stay away from him," someone will say. "He's light in the shorts. He's a closet fag.""

"That's it. I'm out of here."

"You're only running away from yourself, Asshole."

That was the last I heard from him that night. Or that week. Or longer. I've never been so pissed in my life. I went to bed pissed and I woke up pissed. I justified to myself, "We don't all get to the same place at the same pace." But it was easy for him. He was the gay man who picked up and turned the straight guy. I mean it's a spectrum. I was very happily hetero with some discrete dabbling with gay guys. I'm, like, two-thirds into women, or more. Swinging all the way over into a gay monogamous scene is way too far. And there's no going back. A woman can have a lesbian fling and get right back in the dating pool with men. A guy? No way. Your prospective pool has evaporated down to just the gay end. Women were no longer interested. Think about that. I sure as hell did.

A lifetime. I'm 43 and I have never thought further than the end of whichever relationship I was in at the time, which had always been with a woman, and with the end always looming. That was fine with me. If that left me without a soul mate for my declining years, so be it. The prospect of slowly decaying in front of your "loved one's" eyes made me nauseated anyway. No way. Ain't nobody saying to me "Dear, I think it's time we have a talk about diapers." Likewise, I'm not bringing that subject up to someone else.

I kept thinking maybe the end was looming with this thing with Seth, no matter how great it seemed, just like all the other relationships that end with a crash and burn. I mean, I can't imagine picking up with another guy after him. I'll want to go back to women. I need to keep my options open.

Over the next week, the anger dissolved into a stubborn silence that eventually became unbearable. I missed my buddy. But, hell no, I'm not going to be the one. Not after what he said, how he acted. Still, I'd wind up with the phone in my hand, his number a finger tap away.

He texted on Thursday, the 11th day of the Big Freeze.

"Wanna make plans for the weekend?"

"Can't. Busy."

"Don't be this way. I miss you like crazy."

"If you want to come out and help that would be cool. In fact, it might be just the thing."

"You're not going to dump my body deep in the woods, are you?"

"Not funny. I would never have hit you. Did you really want me to? The way you were begging? That was some sick shit."