Message-ID: <6597eli$9712201924@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: "** **" Subject: Xmas Story: Seduction[m/m]CelesteContest Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <19971220173015.22164.qmail@hotmail.com> ______________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com ------------------------------------------------- NOTICE: All the standard warnings about being of age, about being aware of your community standards apply to the following story! Please read no further if you are underage 18/21 -- or live in a conservative area -- or are offended by explicit sexual stories. ----------------------------------------------- SCROLL DOWN ------------------------------------------- NOTE: This is a four-part story-- a work of fiction, and any resemblance to anyone is entirely coincidental. Reader comments welcomed via email: a-magician@mailcity.com ------------------------------------------ [m/m] SEDUCTION Part 1 I wish I could begin to tell you how fucked up my life had become, but if you've ever been in a bad marriage, you'll have an idea already. Truth is, I had tried my damnedest to stay married, not that it helped much. Still, it was a shock when my wife of fifteen years demanded a divorce; we were both in our early 40s, had a nice home, all the middle-class trappings. Our sexlife had been non-existent for at least a year; I'd found out that masturbation was not just for young single horny guys, but never felt very comfortable having to jerk-off in secret. Over the months that followed Judy's declaration, I learned how bitterness can ruin a man's disposition. I lost the house, most of my material possessions, and even the damn dog! Fortunately, Judy and I never had kids; but that didn't stop her demanding and, being legally granted, a substantial alimony until she could become self-supporting. Which I never see happening, as Judy seems to enjoy all the benefits of alimony. I'd even stopped jerking off after the divorce -- felt no sexual arousal, like I was dead physically and spiritually. All this stuff had started in late April; we were legally divorced by the next Spring, and by the following September, I was rapidly going downhill. Depressed. Almost despondent. No reason to get up and shuffle into my job at an obscure insurance office, trying to settle claims that seemed suddenly unimportant. I just up and quit one day; maybe I thought my lack of income would spoil Judy's cushy life? Whatever, I began to use my small savings; paid my apartment rent, kept me in groceries... but then, Judy's lawyer went to court and she got nearly all I had in that account. Right around Thanksgiving, I hit my lowest point; my apartment rent came due, I stalled -- but then the landlord started eviction proceedings. I packed up my meager belongings, put them in storage and paid for it, leaving me nearly broke. The week before Christmas was wretched; I was walking the streets of Atlanta almost a homeless person! There's really no words to describe the despair that gripped me; I'd lost weight, become a tall, skeletal frame, my gauntness emphasized in sunken blue eyes that stared hauntingly back at me from mirrors. My thick, gray-tinged hair was still my best feature, and I kept myself groomed, decently presentable in what few clothes I had... struggling to hang on to my sanity. Finally though, on Christmas Eve morning, I took temporary refuge, checked into the YMCA -- using the very last of my funds. I could only stay two days...but at least it would get me through Christmas without being on the streets. And it was bitterly cold too, predictions of sleet and snow. Not usual for Georgia winters...but it did happen occasionally -- bad luck, which I had come to expect lately. The long, narrow corridors of the YMCA were oppressive, dim...but clean, and I was relieved just to be indoors. The room I had been given was near the end of a corridor on the third floor; and when I went inside, I saw it was the standard YMCA room -- clean but with threadbare bedspreads on the two narrow beds, a plain wood chest, table, tattered recliner, a small, dusty, curtainless window that had a view of a gray skyline between tall buildings. I sat down in the ratty recliner, hearing a spring protest sharply; but when I put my feet up, it felt like sheer heaven. And I'd been told that I'd have the room to myself -- unless more guests arrived due to the potential bad weather. I was beat, and almost instantly fell asleep... * * * * * * The sound of knocking on the door brought me awake; I heard a male voice ask, "Hey, Mr. Clark...um, I got a key, the desk gave it to me, okay if I come in?" Shit! Just my lousy luck that I'd have to share the room with some other man -- but I got up, stretching and yawning, heading for the door. When I opened it, I got a shock: The young guy standing there hardly looked like a candidate for a room at the YMCA -- he was handsome, tall, muscular and had a mane of longish, thick blond hair that fell recklessly into his piercing green eyes. And he was grinning, a tiny grin of smug superiority -- as if he immediately recognized my down-at-the-heels demeanor, that I was beneath him somehow. He was saying, "I never mind staying at the YMCA, cost-effective you see...and..." I had missed his first words, but now I snapped, "What the fuck? You trying to tell me you here to save money? Christ, and I thought I was bad into denial!" He paused, mid-sentence, his handsome face crestfallen, his green eyes shifting to the floor, his broad shoulders slumping. "Hey man, sorry. I...just...I'm..." he cleared his throat, "having a tough time." "Yeah, ain't we all?" I turned my back on him, leaving the door open, heard him move inside the room, close the door quietly. I noticed it was dusk now, the bleak skyline showing heavy, gray clouds that spit sleet onto the monolithic buildings. The room was going dark, half in shadows as the daylight dimmed, only the neon flickers, gleaming streetlights and blinking Christmas lights from below casting an eerie glow through the dusty window. The young guy said, "Um, my name's Jerome Bell, and your first name?" "None of your fucking business. This is hardly a social occasion, huh?" I felt mean, nasty and that angry edge that I'd buried beneath depression was surfacing now; it felt rejuvenating, yet scary, uncontrollable. There was a long silence; the window light faded more and more, and I slumped back down into the worn recliner, leaving the guy, Jerome, no choice but to sit on one of the narrow, hard beds. He did so, putting his small, battered satchel of belongings beside him, not looking at me. I was tired, still weary from months of frustration and fatigue born of restless wandering and indecision. The very life had been worn right out of me, and I felt like I was just killing time until the end came -- and it wouldn't be that long either. My face must have reflected this mood, for suddenly I realized the guy was staring at me, his eyes sad, somehow full of a strange understanding about my miserable situation. I coughed, feeling uncomfortable, awkward with this young fellow; if it hadn't been so cold outside, I'd have left. But damn, it was Christmas Eve...this was my last chance to get some rest and try to figure out what in hell I was going to do now I was broke. I glanced up to see Jerome looking away, his body still tense, alert to the unsettled atmosphere. We sat like that, avoiding one another's presence; the light gradually left the room, only the flashes of neon and Christmas lights sending brief relief into the darkness. I thought about turning on the lamp, but it seemed pointless; I had no money to go out for a meal, but at least I'd eaten a decent lunch. I wondered when Jerome had eaten? As if reading my mind, he suddenly said, in a low voice, "Um, you already ate, man?" "Yeah. You?" "Uh huh, a friend treated me to a huge brunch, I was stuffed. He...well, I got some cash if you are hungry?" I was moved, in spite of myself; he was offering to help me although evidently in dire straits himself! His generosity made me say, "Thanks, but I already ate. You want the recliner, you look kinda uncomfortable sitting there..." He looked up at me, and I could see the gratitude on his handsome face as the flashes of neon lit up the room. He seemed boyish, younger than I'd guessed, and I asked, "How old are you?" "Twenty-five last July. I...no, I don't want the recliner." He stood up, paced around the small room a few minutes, than looked at me. "What's your story?" Surprisingly, I heard myself telling him the whole sordid tale; and though I despised my whiny attitude in relating my past miserable marriage, I realized that this young man didn't register any shock or surprise. He looked as if he'd heard it all before, that indeed, this was a familiar tale -- and it occurred to me that maybe he'd been through a divorce. But when I asked, he said no, that he knew other, older men like myself who had been screwed royally by ex-wives. Well, I wasn't going to deny that I'd been screwed royally -- by my ex-wife and the fucking system, so I nodded. In fact, I'd noticed that talking about it, telling my story to someone who seemed to really understand, sympathize...it helped me by unburdening. And it dawned on me that I'd not talked about the situation candidly, not ever. I'd denied, lied, dodged and tried to pretend it hadn't been so bad, that I'd wanted a divorce too, the marriage had been doomed. And true, it was...but I'd have never taken the steps to get out of it, no way. Though Jerome had stretched out fully clothed on the bed as I told my story, he had listened attentively; but when I lapsed into silence, I heard his deep, even breathing, knew he'd fallen asleep. Exhausted myself, I quietly went across the room, eased open the door and went down the hall to take a leak in the restroom, then returned and stripped off my pants, shirt and crawled into bed in my underwear. I must have went to sleep instantly, and have no idea what time of the night it was when I awoke. The room was still dark, with the occasional flashes of neon light flaring briefly. I didn't know why I'd woken, felt slightly confused -- but then, I saw that Jerome was standing at the window, his back to me, a shadowy form in the darkness. I remained motionless, staring at him as he slowly turned sideways, giving me his profile -- and at that instant, the neon flare backlit him, and I could see he was sporting a tremendously big hard-on, his dick poking out of the slit in his undershorts. The sight of him like that, it had a powerful erotic effect on me, and I felt a surge of arousal stirring in my loins, the first such feeling in far too long. Jerome was obviously highly aroused, and probably thought I was soundly asleep, for he ran a hand lightly over his naked chest, fingers tweaking his nipples, then on down, down...hand pausing at the waist- band of his underwear, suddenly diving to grasp the protruding knob of his rigid prick. I could barely breath for fear of disturbing him, didn't want to prevent what he was doing -- because it was making me feel so good, real hot, coming alive with each of his intimate movements as I watched. He was holding his dick, coaxing it with slow, easy strokes up and down the long, thick shaft; his fingers teasing the head, slicking off pre-cum juices, lathering his cock in it and then stroking, stroking...his body tensing, the strobe-light neon flashes illuminating his youthful, muscular body in stark relief as he pleasured himself openly, almost as if he was performing... I had the thought then that he knew I was awake; he was doing this as an exhibitionist act with full knowledge that I was watching. Instead of dampening my growing arousal, this increased my lust, my need, heat spreading through my long-dead body; I felt the rush of blood to my own penis, the erection that began to harden, throbbing and aching with each stroke Jerome made up and down his cock. It was a lewd, provocative show he was engaged in -- each flash of neon striking him in a different pose: First, the profile; then the full frontal, his muscular body highlighted in a silhouette of broad shoulders, tapered down to the trim waistline, the stout thighs, long legs...and then, turning his wide back to me, bending to remove his undershorts, standing to flex his hard, tight ass. God, he was the very perfection of a young, athletic male! I'd never experienced an attraction to another man; it had, of course, crossed my mind -- the kind of stuff I'd seen in porno movies, men sucking each other off -- that had excited me. I think it would arouse any man, whether he'd admit it or not. But this thing, watching a blatantly erotic exhibition, it was giving me a hot sexual charge, and the first erection I'd had in over a year! Completely naked now, Jerome continued stroking his hard-on, but with each flash of the neon I saw he was moving closer to the foot of my bed. And with his approach, I became wildly excited; my dick felt hard as a rock, and ached to be touched. I fought against lowering my hand down there, fearing it would prevent Jerome from moving closer, stop him from eventually reaching climax. I tried desperately to muffle my quickened breathing, and could hear Jerome's heavy, ragged breaths as he got nearer, finally stopping at the foot of my bed. He stood perfectly still, and I held my breath; there was a moment of utter quiet, neither of us able to get a breath, waiting with expectation, suspense... His voice was a low, seductive whisper, "I know...you are awake, watching. I want you, I want you bad." I could not speak, could not move; the whole room was permeated with a strong sexual scent, the thick musk scent of two men hot and wet, lusting for each other. I wanted him too, but was not ready, could not imagine real touch between us -- I just wanted to watch, and masturbate while he jerked off. My voice was gruff, hoarse with lust, "No. Can't. Never...not with another man." He shook his head, said ruefully, "There's always a first time, you won't regret it, I promise you." I stated firmly, "No." There was no hesitation, no vagueness, no room for argument. He seemed to accept that, and asked, "What do you want? Need? Anything, I'll do it." "Just go on, do what you were doing, let me...watch." "And you?" He paused, ran his hand up and down the length of his hard-on, asking, "Are you hard too?" I felt the groan rising in my throat, tried to swallow it, but the primitive sound slipped out of my mouth and I could not resist the need to move my hand down, ease beneath the cover and play my fingers over my rigid cock, low moans erupting at the sensitive ripples of pleasures slowly coursing through my groin, raising chillbumps on my skin. He nodded, saying, "Um, good, yeah, real good. Makes you feel...alive?" "Uh huh," I managed to gasp between deep, racking breaths as I moved my hand inside my shorts, grasping the hot, pulsating flesh between my legs, a long groan escaping from my mouth. Jerome was coming to the side of the bed, and he asked again, "Please? I want to touch you, feel how excited you are..." I shook my head, my hand now working up and down on the length of my shaft, unable to speak, staring at Jerome's own bulging cock as he took it in hand, both of us beginning the rocking, rhythmic motion of a good, steady jerk-off session -- and as we matched speed and timing, Jerome moved toward me, which I couldn't stop for being too close to the edge, and he was then lying alongside of me and I could feel his body against mine, his hand working feverishly down there not far from mine, and we were bucking, heaving...the bed squeaking as our force increased, harder, faster and then, reaching that inevitable moment, we both stopped dead-still, his hoarse voice near my ear, "Now!" and we both began to shoot our loads, the cum from his dick splattering onto my legs, mine shooting straight up into the covers, each shuddering spurt causing gasps of pleasure from our throats, the ride going on and on, as hot, as long, as satisfying as I'd ever felt. When it was over, I felt a little ashamed, embarrassed to find him moving closer to me, his soft voice asking, "Was it good?" I pulled away from him, got up off the bed, putting on my pants. "I don't know... why that happened," I stammered, trying to deny to myself and him how good it had felt. He got up, stood naked in the flickering neon light; his head was held high, he was proud, really proud of what we'd done! I could see that initial arrogance return to his face, the superior, knowing grin. It infuriated me, and I walked quickly past him, carefully avoiding any contact. At the door, I said stiffly, "I'm going to the john, when I get back, I'll be leaving." I didn't give him time to reply, and as I hurried toward the restroom, I tried to convince myself that I meant what I'd said. But did I? After what I'd just experienced? I stayed in the restroom longer than necessary, wondering if I should just grab my stuff, hit the streets? I didn't trust myself with that guy; his sexual attraction was irresistible, which I'd never imagined feeling for a man. What would happen if we stayed in that small, confining room together for the next day and night? Shivering with what I knew was a sexual thrill, I cleaned myself as best I could with a wet papertowel. I felt better, sobered by the time alone, and headed back down the corridor. Outside the room, I hesitated, listening to see if I could hear him moving around; I was about ready to get out of there, hit the streets. But easing the door open, I saw Jerome was in bed, apparently sleeping. He was covered, and had his back to me; it looked safe, no threat...so, I crept back inside, slipped into the other bed, and finally, relaxed after that release of sexual tension earlier, I went back to sleep too. When I began to wake the next time, I felt oddly tense, lying on my back with a prickly sensation spreading throughout my body, my skin sensitive. But I kept my eyes closed, sensing that Jerome was sitting beside me, and then I felt the unmistakable touch of his hand inside my undershorts; I was hard again, I mean straining hard, my cock like a raging, angry monster down there. I remained perfectly still, willing my mind into the same blissful state as my body. Sure, I could have stopped him -- or could I? That feeling of waking up with a fierce hard-on, it had been years, literally YEARS since I'd felt such an anticipation for sex, for the need to be fucked early in the morning. As I slowly opened my eyes, I could see the gray dawn light just tingeing the bare, dusty window. And sitting on the edge of my bed, Jerome was naked, his cock standing up against his flat stomach, hand wrapped around it. He had his other hand buried beneath the covers, inside my shorts expertly manipulating my cock -- making me gasp and shudder with each stroke. His eyes were bright green in the pale dawn that cast a slow-spreading light into the room, and I could see his face was flushed red with excitement. He really meant what he'd said: He wanted me. I still found it unbelievable though, that this hunky young guy would actually desire me -- an older, wretched man neither wealthy nor attractive. Why? I actually asked him, the words mumbled between groans of pleasure as he kept working on my cock, slowing and speeding up, stopping at the precise minute before release...easing off, then resuming the steady, relentless stroking that was driving me crazy with pent-up need to ejaculate. He stared at me, that superior grin on his handsome face, saying in a husky rush, "Got my reasons, you don't have to know." But I did, I had to know why he was doing this, why he kept after me, seducing me against my better judgment, against my protestations; for I was even now mouthing protest for him to stop, to please not do this, that I didn't know if I could live with it, that being with another man like this... But the words died, got smothered in my rapid breathing, the pleasurable sensations sweeping over me, through me as he held his cock tightly, his grip turning the head of it bluish-purple, saying, "See what you've done to me? Looking at you, hearing how you got froze out by that woman, it made me hard, made me want to show you how good it could be...with me." I couldn't say anything, couldn't argue or deny that I'd been hurt by Judy; but turning to another man for sex had never entered my mind, not even at my lowest, angriest point. Yet here I lay, at the mercy of this hot young stud who was now running his hand up and down my inner thighs, causing my balls to tighten up, a moan in my throat as I begged, "Please...stop, you're...I'm so hard, it hurts!" He grinned that arrogant grin, leaned over me and then, before I realized his intentions, he'd whipped the cover off and had my exposed cock at his lips, an animalistic grunt from him as his mouth opened wide, and he devoured my hard-on, the wet hotness of his juicy mouth forcing my hips up off the bed, a cry of exquisite carnal hunger rising out of me like a primitive howl. And then he began sucking in earnest, my rising thrusts into his mouth, down his throat increasing in pace, in ferocity as the morning light starkly flooded the room so I could see each line of his body, the tousled blond hair, flushed face and green eyes extraordinarily beautiful with intensity in his passionate abandon. When he dove down deep, forcing my cock as far down his throat as it would go, I bucked high off the bed, keening a sharp, piercing cry as I started to shoot off, the cum being swallowed down at first, then gushing back out of his mouth as each long, thick wad of jism rushed up my stem and flooded out. At last spent, I fell weakly back onto the bed, stunned at the ardent life I'd just felt, seduced by this young man. I turned my eyes on him, he was wiping the cum off his chin, licking his fingers one by one and then, as I watched, he lowered his wet fingers to his still rigid cock, touching and fondling himself a few minutes, our eyes locked with a silent, secret lust. But he did not cum, and finally stood, pulling on his undershorts, then his pants, adjusting the bulge of his hard penis. I couldn't move, couldn't speak; he said, "I'm going out to find us some breakfast, bring it back. Hey, this might be a good Christmas after all, man!" His exuberance, his youthful energy and strange attachment/attraction to me was beyond explanation; I just rolled over, closed my eyes and hoped I could ride out the sexual seduction he seemed intent on carrying out, no matter what. --====================987654321_0==_ Content-Type: text/plain; name="Seduction2.txt" Content-Disposition: attachment; filename="Seduction2.txt" ------------------------------------------------- NOTICE: All the standard warnings about being of age, about being aware of your community standards apply to the following story! Please read no further if you are underage 18/21 -- or live in a conservative area -- or are offended by explicit sexual stories. ----------------------------------------------- SCROLL DOWN ------------------------------------------- NOTE: This is a four-part story-- a work of fiction, and any resemblance to anyone is entirely coincidental. Reader comments welcomed via email: a-magician@mailcity.com ------------------------------------------ [m/m] SEDUCTION Part 2 When Jerome returned with breakfast from McDonalds, I was sitting in the recliner, fully dressed, determined to leave as soon as I'd eaten (couldn't turn down the meal, even if it did taste like rubber!) He ate quietly, studying me as his meal diminished; he asked once, "Gonna tell me your first name now?" I nodded, said, "Patrick. Friends call me Pat." "Hmm, guess I'd qualify as a friend, Pat." He grinned, winked broadly at me, his hand lifting the bulge at his crotch suggestively. "I'm still hot for you, friend." In spite of my confusion, my decision to get the hell away from him, I felt a throb of desire in my cock; the boy had incredible sexual charisma. And watching him eat with slow, sensual gestures, tearing the food off, slowly opening his lips to take a juicy bite, his tongue licking those luscious full lips...sucking the grease off his fingers, it made me wonder if he was a prostitute? That was a distinct possibility, and the health repercussions of our brief encounter earlier came to mind -- but what the hell, I was at death's door anyway. What did I really have to lose? And then we were finished, and he was cleaning up the remnants of food, stashing stuff in the trash, giving me long, hot looks of longing. I wanted to escape, had to, and stood up, started for the door, saying, "Be back in a jiffy, need to take a leak." He was suddenly very close to me, his breath on the back of my neck, sending a shiver up and down my spine as he whispered, "You're not running out on me, are you Mr. Clark?" His formality in saying my name made me flinch; I turned around to face him, saw his face was pale, pinched...some kind of real fear there. "Thought you was calling me by my first name, Jerome." He hung his head, a defeated slump in his shoulders, shrugging. "Um, only if you give me permission." I felt the confusion again; what was with this boy? I was badly messed up, but his odd behavior was truly difficult to comprehend. I said nothing else, simply left and went to the restroom, where I tried to calm myself and gain enough control over the passions raging in me so that I could hit the streets, not trusting myself to go back to the room. I stood in front of the cloudy, scratched mirror, looking at not only an older man, but now one who had done something that was morally repugnant to him. Yet there was a new vitality in my eyes, a light that hadn't been there in years. The door creaked open, and I saw Jerome slip inside, moving up close behind me, pressing his hard-on into my ass. "You not going to split, are you?" The flush of my face told him I was indeed thinking of doing exactly that, and he put his arms tightly around me, as I watched my face grow red, hot in the mirror. I felt his muscular body tightly against mine, his long-delayed climax throbbing in the hard-on he pressed into my rear. His whispers were urgent, "I want you, right now. I need you, please...please...no one will come in, right here, right now!" And I was on fire too, burning up with a fever for him; I let him do what he wanted, and he undid my belt, lowered my pants, and then turned me back to the mirror, unzipping his pants and shoving his long, inflexible rod between my legs, starting to pump, pump as I felt an erection begin in my cock, the boy's groans getting me harder and harder, until I felt his hand reach down, grabbing hold of me, starting to stroke with a fierceness I almost couldn't bear -- I was near to climax. He seemed wildly frenetic yet unable to cum, stabbing his taut meat between my legs as I clamped tightly onto him. In a pitiful cry of anguish, he moved his cock up along the crack of my ass; I tensed, and he mumbled, "No...not going in, just need to feel it there, know how you feel... dad." Oh God, when he said that I felt his body go rigid, his eyes rolled up, and he rammed savagely against me, the tide of cum bursting out of his cock, streaming in rivers over my ass, down my crack, running down my legs, and his hand clenched into a fist over my dick, making my cum rise and shoot out, hitting the sink, the mirror, both of us making sounds of wild, rapturous release, totally oblivious to where we were, what we were doing -- only the reality of acting out some long-repressed sexual fantasy that all men must at some time or other desire in the black center of their psyche. When we'd collapsed against each other, I felt the wetness on his face, turned to look closely at him. "This...you wanting me, it has something to do with your dad?" He nodded, gulped for air, sobbed, "Yes, I'm...sorry. Not...your fault. You...um, look like him, sorry." I held him for a little, helping quiet his sobs and then as we started back down the corridor, I said softly, "I talked to you about my problem, now you need to tell me your story." And he soberly nodded, subdued but agreeable to sharing what I needed to know about him -- why? Why he had wanted me sexually... Once back in the room, we were both subdued, reflecting about what had just occurred; it was reckless to have indulged in the restroom -- anyone could have walked in on us. Yet that risk had enhanced the act with danger and fear. Jerome had sprawled over his bed, his green eyes staring bleakly at the ceiling. I wondered what awful kind of childhood trauma he'd suffered at the hands of his father? Molestation? Full penetration? I felt a stab of remorse, guilt that I had succumbed to his seduction; it wasn't really the boy's fault if he had this sick desire. I was older, I knew better... But then he began to speak in an almost monotonous monologue and I listened to his story with increasing shock and, yes, fascination... "It's not what you're thinking, I bet," he began, glancing at me, his face flushing and his eyes veering away from mine. "I mean, I bet you're thinking my dad was a sicko, that he molested me, right?" I nodded, easing down in the recliner, prepared to listen intently...however long this would take. "I...I don't know when I first felt that I was different, that I...got a charge being around other guys. Probably when I was about um, let's see...twelve or so. Some guys in my school, we played softball every spring, and I'll never forget being in the locker room with them, seeing them naked in the showers. At first, I didn't realize what was going on, but as I began to get hard, it dawned on me that none of the other guys had this problem. Why? I wondered why, suffered with pangs of desire, lusting over those guys. Some were older, fourteen, fifteen, and they talked about girls all the time, some even getting hard-ons discussing women's breasts, bodies... but I just never felt any arousal. Not like that. But for the guys, I was always hot; it was all I could do to hide myself, then find a place and jerk-off." I had never heard anything like this; it was really a revelation to me and I asked, "Did you talk to anybody about this?" "Nah, my folks, mom and dad, they'd have died if I mentioned the word 'sex'. And who else would I talk to? This is the South, you know, and it's not like the gay life was approved of by small town people where we lived." He looked at me, and I nodded, encouraging him to continue. "Well, I gave up sports; just too painful being in the locker rooms, seeing those naked guys, trying to hide my hard-on. I never acted on my sexual feelings, just tried to keep it secret. Then problems started with my parents, all kinds of shit, arguments, fights...I couldn't understand at first what was wrong. But one night, when I couldn't get to sleep, I heard them loudly arguing in their bedroom, and the upshot of it was that mom had refused to have sex, ever again! I mean, by that time, I was fourteen, and I knew how painful this could be for my dad!" I began to sense where this was going, but I kept quiet, simply urged, "And?" "Yeah, well...you can imagine how he must have felt, cut off like that. There was a period, I guess about a year, when he just suffered through it, staying loyal to mom, I figure. It was this time that got me so messed up, or whatever you want to call it." I didn't say anything, so he sighed, then continued, "Um, see...I began to discover that dad was jerking off; he'd look at some girlie mags, then lock himself in the bathroom for an awful long time. It wasn't hard to figure out what he was doing, and the idea of it, um, thinking of what he needed, wasn't getting...man, it would get me so hot, I'd jerk off too. Sometimes I'd do it five or six times, just imagining what he looked like doing it, how I could help him feel so much better, you know?" I wanted to feel compassion, but somehow this was so remote from any experience I'd ever had (except for the latest stuff) I could only shrug, say, "Guess it did bother you." "You have no idea!" He jumped up off the bed, began pacing restlessly around the room, talking excitedly, "It went on and on like this that year, until finally my resistance broke down...and I worked out a plan to spy on him." He stopped, stared into my eyes, shook his head. "Bad mistake, shouldn't have done it. But once you get a fantasy in your mind, once you go over and over it, the imagination is just not enough, you gotta actually do it." I didn't say anything, but I did have a flash of worry about what this whole episode would do to my sexuality; would I ever be able to settle for a woman again? He grinned, threw up his hands, said, "But anyway, I had to go for it. I had dad's routine down pretty good, his sessions usually were very late on Saturday night. And I prepared for it, fixed things so it would look accidental, I thought." His voice got tense, and his pacing resumed. "I...I fixed the bathroom door so it wouldn't lock, would seem to, but could be easily opened. That Saturday, I was in a state of extreme sexual ecstasy all day, just anticipating what would happen when I walked in on him, how good it'd be between us, how I wanted to do stuff to him, with him..." Pausing, he ran a hand through his mane of long blond hair, pulling it off his forehead. "Talk about a big disappointment! It was worse than that, by far. That day I couldn't help it, I must have jacked off at least five times just thinking about it...anyway, when dad went into the bathroom, I waited for a little while, giving him time to get worked up, but not cum..." I was unable to guess where he was going with this, leaned forward with expectation. "Yeah, it was suspenseful, dramatic. Hardly believable...but here's what happened... I, of course, was stiff as a poker, my cock leaking and aching to be touched by someone else besides myself! I stood outside the bathroom door, listening...and sure enough, I could hear the faint sounds of masturbation, the fast breathing, the slick, sucking motions of his hand on his wet rod... Quietly, I eased up against the door, then pushed it open as if just going into the john..." "And?" I urged, feeling the annoying tingle of sensual stimulation spreading through my body, a quickened beat in my cock...this was making me hot! "It was just like I expected, he was standing near the toilet, his pajamas undone, one hand methodically going up and down, up and down on his engorged penis...which, as I dropped my gaze down upon it, seemed to pulse and grow longer, bigger, much to his shame I could see as I looked into his face. He was at that point of no-return almost, and as I'd judged, couldn't stop himself from the hypnotic thrusting... I'd never seen an uncut guy's dick, and was amazed at the foreskin wrinkled at the base of his prick, and the way he would work it up a bit, almost covering the head, then savagely expose the raw, tender flesh that stayed hidden usually, probably extra sensitive to touch..." God help me, I was getting a hard-on again! It couldn't be happening, not when I'd already cum twice this morning...but yes, I felt the tremendous pressure growing, my cock surging painfully hard, poking against the rough fabric of my pants zipper. When he glanced down at my crotch, he grinned arrogantly, said, "You can't help it, can you?" I closed my eyes, wanting desperately to deny it...but nodded in acquiescence...while he moved over near me, kneeling on the floor, easing apart my legs, his hand lightly, softly touching the bulge there...a sharp intake of breath from me as he pressed hard, harder then stood again, resuming heatedly, "It was that way with dad too. I saw he was shocked, stunned, but that didn't stop him, he was too far gone, right on the edge...and I hurried over to him, his eyes wide with disbelief as I tore off my pj bottoms, taking my smaller but stiff penis in hand, showing him how hard I was...and then, as he watched with horror and fascination, I put my hand over his, prying his fingers off his cock, guiding his hand to mine as I took hold of his...and we were, yes, it was my fantasy come to life, jerking each other off, lost in some kind of never-never land of lust and madness, the pace increasing, faster, faster and our breathing heavy, hot, hands tightening the same on each other's meat, harder, tighter...and little muffled groans from dad, his eyes still shocked, disbelieving... both of us moving to a primitive, evocative pattern as old as mankind...the cum-juice filling up his shaft, rising, mine also...the release of ejaculation bringing a smothered, sorrowful word from him, "Noooooooo..." I was shooting off too, lost in the ecstasy, couldn't protest, couldn't say anything but I was planning on telling him it was okay, I'd wanted this, needed it...but suddenly, just as the last gush drained out of our pricks, there was a cry of outrage from the door...I looked over, and mom stood there, shielding her eyes, screaming like she'd just witnessed bloody murder! I was unable to sit still; I got up, stopping him in his tracks, my hands on his shoulders, "You mean your mother came in and saw this?" "Yes." A flat confession, a deadness in his voice, telling me that nothing worse would ever happen in his life. And I was right, because he told me the rest of his story between sobs of regret and anger: How his mother had gotten a divorce, charging his father with sexual abuse of him. How it had ruined his life, their life, the family... and all because that 'bitch' refused to have sex with his dad. He was very worked up, angry and upset, by the time he finished telling it all; how he'd run away at sixteen, been in and out of foster homes, finally hitting the streets at nineteen, sometimes being a willing, grateful, slavish lover for older, wealthy men. How he got off on these men, father-figures...pretending they were his dad. By then, it was near noon, and I'd coaxed him into my bed; we lay there, highly aroused, but sad...weary from what was wrong with the world when it came to sex. A warped sense of morality, he kept explaining, too much self-righteous judgment...on and on he had talked, making me realize that I was like his father in that I'd felt morally offended by what we'd been sharing. Yet in truth, our sexual encounters had restored something within me, given me back a will to live, made me come alive. How could this be wrong? We discussed all of this, the endless philosophy of sexual morals, sexual preferences...and it was indeed a long afternoon, both of us lazily toying with one another in bed, talking, being intimate, staying sexually aroused but not carrying it too far, just prolonging the exquisite high of stimulation. By the time night darkened the narrow, curtainless window, we were both feeling better about our lives; the naked revelations about our pasts, the hurts, the pains, the betrayals...it had unburdened our souls. So we began to make love, not have sex, but truly explore one another in a slow, tedious painstaking exploration that stretched on into the night hours. It was beautiful, an exotic Christmas I knew I'd never forget. I'd been reborn, brought back to life by this passionate, vibrant young man. He did things to me, God!, things I'd never imagined two men doing...the painfully drawn-out ecstasy of his sucking me and rimming my asshole with his tongue, telling me he wanted to do all the things he'd never got to do with his dad...sticking his tongue inside my tight, tender butthole and making me cry with the blissful torture of it all! We managed to keep at this until around midnight, amazing to think about it -- though I'd adamantly refused to let him enter me, and would not enter him. Still, we'd done everything else...and the first time he kissed me, the kind of intimacy I'd never thought I could have with another male, it was such a tender moment. He'd been lying on top of me, our cocks wet and hard together, his body sweaty, his hair damp...and he'd moved his mouth close to mine, begging, "Please let me kiss you, I want to bad." And I looked up at his handsome face, the neon-flashes illuminating his long, muscular body atop mine -- how erotic the moment was, the breathless anticipation in his voice as he whispered, "Let me, please?" I gave a curt nod, and he hovered there, his lips coming down over mine, the act of possession unbelievably powerful, irresistible as his mouth opened, his slender, probing tongue going into my mouth, the seduction complete as I let him have me, body and soul. The kiss went on and on, a deeper, wilder fire blazing as he began a vulgar in and out fucking with his tongue, our bodies humping in sync, man-cocks striking, streaking hot down there between our legs as we fucked each other. This must have lasted an hour, both of us backing off every time climax threatened; we'd stop, shuddering with the sudden lack of friction. Sometimes he got up, walked around, trying to calm down, his dick a massive spear that stood up against his flat belly, the neon flaring to reveal his concentration, the grimace of control on his face. He wanted to fuck me, he said, was dying to shove it up inside me -- but I refused, could not, would not go that far. Then he'd change tactics, begging me to fuck him, ram my rod up his butthole; he wasn't a virgin, he assured me, and he could take it...take my cock all the way up inside him. But I still refused; the night was long, the hours filled with hot, wet couplings that left us strident with barely leashed cum-hard cocks near the point of eruption. I knew I'd never experienced any sex like it, nor would I probably ever do so again. It was a once-in-a-lifetime ride, the kind that most men cannot begin to imagine, much less act out in reality. The pressure, the strain of sustained sexual arousal can, eventually, become more painful than pleasurable; around midnight, that is where we had arrived. We were both so intensely stimulated, the least touch, the slightest brush against one another would have ended in climax. We kept carefully apart, him on the bed, me in the recliner; our cocks were sore, tender with prolonged hardness -- yet never had I felt such a pleasurable high! It could be addicting, I feared! Jerome said, "I can't last any longer, let's break it, okay?" I was more than willing, and we both moved to the bed; we lay down side by side, carefully not touching, simply feeling the maleness of each other, the strong presence of unrelieved lust... our naked bodies generating electricity even though apart. He put his finger on my lips, I took it inside my mouth, rolling my tongue over it and hearing him moan with pleasure as he moved to me, forcing his taut, tense muscular body against mine. We didn't know what would happen next, but it didn't matter -- our long-aroused state took over and suddenly he was atop me, riding hard, his cock going between my clenched thighs as mine went between his and we were fucking, fucking in a mindless rhythm, the friction, the slick juices from our pre-cum making our movements slippery, the thrusting sound of our hips hitting, our cocks striking down there...it was all increasingly unendurable, too much, too fast...and we were gasping, grunts and groans as we got faster, harder... almost deliberately hurting each other, the slapping, rocking, swaying, sticking of our bodies as we began to kiss, wetly, our mouths sucking tongues like they were our fierce, burning cocks...we were flying high! Then he rose up over me and I looked down between us to see his huge, angry, hot cock start to shoot cum wildly over my belly, his eyes closing, his keening cry sending me over that same cliff, feeling my ejaculation start deep down in my balls, the searing heat of it rising, thickening and then bursting out, hitting his stream of jism, the mingling of our cum as he looked down to watch...it seemed to pour in an unending stream, the white-flood of pent-up semen like a raging river once the damn has broken. We collapsed against one another, finally, totally wasted, spent, satiated. And sleep overtook us, curled together, still sticky and slick with the semen of savage release, sexually, emotionally, psychologically. It had been, I later decided, one hell of a Merry-Fucking-Christmas -- one that was a perverse as it was cleansing, for it saved my life. Literally. I became a survivor, not a defeated man after that day and night...though I never again had sex with a male, it was exactly what I'd needed there and then, at that time in my life. Somehow it reawakened me to life, gave me the will to live, to cope as best I could. And I hope, wherever Jerome is today, he is better for our having shared that Christmas day long ago... -The End- -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |