grows-onyou

[grows-onyou]

I hope tumblr just bans this - A working draft title

“What’s next for him?”

Ah yes, that’s where I left off. Part of my brain had drifted away. I sat reeking in the scent of semen which was quickly becoming itchy on my skin and souring in my nostrils from where it had been crudely smeared across my face by tips of fingers and a massive cock.   

A brick of an outstretched hand shoved me back on to the bed toward Toni and my friend [Holmsquisite] and I landed between them.

“He did all right. I’ll probably need a few minutes before I’m ready for him again. You two can give him a try if you want” my date generously offered.

I was at a loss for words for all of this. I am rarely at a loss for words but I am also rarely covered in caking semen and shaking from deep within my core between two naked women watching a living rock outcrop of a man stroke his tree limb of a cock meters away from me.

I feel like I’m handling this fairly well.

“That’s all you’ve got?” I ask

I can feel a pair of eyes roll around in their sockets next to me and in less than a second my date has lunged to within centimeters of my face and a muscled hand grips my chin at the neck. I can feel fingers finding their grip directly on my carotid arteries as I’m forced to look lightheaded into his gaze.

“I was going to give you a bit of fun for your mouth’s work you little shit. Now you can just take what you get when you get it.”

Well, cool. Nice, almost.

The hand releases my throat only to flip me onto my stomach and in a distressingly small period of time my hands are tied behind my back with what I’m guessing is underwear belonging to either Toni or [Bauxite] and my own pants and underwear are savagely pulled down and off leaving me face down and ass up in the air on the bed between either candidate for the source of my restraints.

This position can only be described as overwhelmingly vulnerable. Definitely not venerable. Entirely of my own making. My hubris. My smart ass mouth left me ass up in the air and barely able to turn my own head enough to see what’s going to happen next.

I could hear skin stroking skin at the end of the bed my date must have been standing at while at either side of me the scent of wet labia surrounded me like a cocoon. There was really nothing I could do but drip precum onto [Periclase]’s bed sheets like a fucking wet mess.

Feeling body weights shift on either side of me I sensed being visually inspected by three sets of eyes.

I jolted further into the pillows as I felt fingertips trace my spine and another set of fingertips run along my ass down to the back of my legs. I was definitely being inspected.

“Nice thighs” I recognized as Toni’s voice as her fingertips continued to run up and down my legs.

“Nice ass” I recognized as [Annite]’s voice as her fingers continued to trace their way down and away from my spine. “It looks like it’s in original factory condition. Doesn’t look abused at all. ‘Used’, I mean.”

“Not yet anyway” my date retorted with the stroking motions of his hand adding a modulating effect to his voice.

I shuddered reflexively to the threats of pleasurable violence made in my direction and attempted to pull myself free of the laced restraints but no luck was had. I was pretty expertly tied down and ass up with fuck all to do about it.

The fingertips continued their circles across my ass and legs with increasing force and pressure.

[grows-onyou]

Hands, and Forearms, of Fate - An Up-Tempo Pace

The walk back to [Diopside]’s place was largely uneventful. After I’d cleaned myself off in the booth and [Calcite]’s date, Toni, and I dressed ourselves back up to late night club normal we hastily cut a path through the crowd thick with gazes. 

The air outside was chill and with [Bronzite] leading the way Toni and I were marched along by our respective dates through the bustling sidewalks of couples ordering pizza from restaurant windows or making out against shop fronts. It was clear who the victors were as they delivered themselves the spoils of the night. 

The living room was relatively small and much of the space was taken up with varieties of bikes and detritus. The sofa looked overly used and unwelcoming but [Sylvite] kept walking and opened the door to her bedroom. It was clear a tidy queen sized bed took up the majority of the neatly lit room. A hand firmly gripping my ass shoved me into the room past Toni and I heard the door shut behind us.

At the clicking of the latch the weight of the moment finally began to saturate my existence. The experience in the club wasn’t some one off novelty play. It was the prelude to what would be a thoroughly submissive experience for me. The tempo of my heartbeats increased and my mouth went dry but I was excited. 

My friend eased herself onto a corner of the bed and pulled Toni into her lap. With one arm draped across the headboard and one hand playing inside the fabric of Toni’s top [Magnesite] resembled a Roman monarch playing with a favorite pet waiting to be amused. Our eyes met.

‘The booth wasn’t enough of an amusement for you?’

A rough hand shoved me onto another corner of the bed while my shirt was casually pulled off. My own date towered above me like a chest of drawers given arms and legs. Another rough hand coarsely ruffled my hair while the fingers of the other hand stroked my chin. I couldn’t look up to meet his gaze but staring directly ahead was the button and zipper of his pants.  The hand on my chin jerked my gaze upward forcing eye contact with him. The hand that was rustling my hair traveled down to rest on my collar bone like a weight that could come alive and spring into motion at any moment.

From my eyes elevated direction I could see the conspicuous bulge in his pants pulse and without thinking my tongue wet my lips. The swishing sound of fabric in motion and in my peripheral field of vision I can see Toni now wearing only her panties as she's caressed in [Antigorite]'s arms.

"Are you going to let him look over at this sight? It is pretty fucking hot."

"I don't know, you think he deserves it? What's he really done for us since the bar?"

Really fascinating to hear oneself being discussed as a payment for goods and services. The weighted hand resting on my shoulder travels down to tease its fingers against my chest while my chin is released only so that hand can travel back to grip the scruff of hair at my neck.

"Maybe give him a view he can earn the privilege of viewing."

I'm convinced now my date is a negotiator with the U.N..

The hand gripping my neck prevents me from seeing any more than I could before but the high pitched squeal and subsequent moans from Toni only a few feet away informed me I had work to do if I wanted to get in on that. My pulse and breathing quickened as my eyes returned their full attention to the distorted fabric in front of me which seemed to move out toward me in irregular intervals. The monster seemed to desperately want release from its captivity. It likely craved other releases in the process. I reached both hands out to rest against the tree trunk thighs on either side of what beckoned me. The firm grip on my neck assured me I wouldn't get lost on the way to my destination. Only inches now between my face and the fabric. My focus is so intensely concentrated I'm genuinely startled when two feet in motion graze my own leg. The moans and chirps I hear from a few feet away indicate Toni is lost in the throes of her own pleasure confirmed by the squirming blur to my left.

I vaguely recalled as we gathered our things back at the bar he pulled me hard enough against him to grind his bulge deep into me and let me know if I agreed to leave with him I would be his toy until he was done with me. He had brought his test results to give some peace of mind to the person who was guaranteed to be thoroughly used. A shiver traveled down my spine at the memory. I've lost all track of time in this room but I reasoned my date has been patient enough.

The actions of unbuttoning and unzipping the strained fabric washes into a hazy blur as I feel the feet kick against my left thigh and the hand shift the grip to seize more of the hair on the back of my head. All of the molecules of my being and the sub-atomic forces holding the shivering mess of my mass together feel saturated in a hazy blur beholding the freed bulk of my date less than a foot from my face. It pulses in greeting displacing enough air between me and it that I can feel it on my lips and cheeks. The grip on my hair clenches but I resist a moment longer to take in what is ahead of me.

An Arizona iced tea can made of warm flesh that is dripping precum onto the floor. A rich, and thankfully clean, scent settles into my nostrils and the tongue from the little part my lips have made. Coarse hair neatly trimmed surrounds the intimidating beast acclimating to its new freedom. It seems I'll be the token barbarian to this event. The adrenaline hits hard and I'm almost nauseated with excitement and apprehension. The fear of taking in it with any part of my body and the desire to take it with any part of my body crash in alternating waves over my brain.

I'm reminded of a moment in a shower years ago when a giggling and saliva glistening face looked up at me extolling the virtue: 'hands aren't mouth'.

"Let go of your grip for a moment. It's in your interest to." Those are the first words I can remember speaking in what feels like hours.

The beating in my chest is a war drum that propels me forward. My head swoops down and my mouth opens to catch the entire width of the moist head around my lips.

The hips buck and the cock pulses like it would shake me free to test my resolve. This entire fucking thing in my mouth. It's only the tip of the head and I have to remind myself to breathe through the nostrils and take a moment to catch my breath while my tongue laps the tangy precum pooling against it.

My hands are braced against the muscles of the legs to steady myself while also trying to control the forces conspiring to absolutely ruin my esophagus.

This will happen on my terms, thank you. Hopefully.

With still no more that the head barely under my control I pull myself back upright bringing the ridiculous mass of his cock up with me. Stop and take a moment to breathe through your nose again. Feeling my lips and cheeks strain around their prize little twitches and pulses press back against the muscle of my tongue.

I make a little nodding gesture with my head and the firm grip of two hands take hold of my hair.

Two feet plant firmly against my leg and I hear giggling and more swishing of fabric to my left but all of my attention and focus is directly in front of me. I really have to remember to breathe. The legs shift tectonically against my grips and and hips coordinate efforts with the hands behind my head to force me further down the length of his cock. The efforts have the frustrating quality of being successful as I hurriedly shift my position to accommodate what's happening and attempt to slow things down.

The grip on the back of my scalp turns fierce and I'm held in place breathing hard through my nose with drool running toward my chin.

"You agreed to be my fuck toy tonight until I'm done with you. I'm nowhere close to being done with you. Blink twice if you understand."

What can I say? That was hot enough to make me lose a little precum myself. I blinked twice, which was strangely harder to do with all of your other facial muscles under stress.

"Good boy. Tap my leg twice if you're going to be sick. I'm not into vomiting."

Someone should give my date an award for being the last true gentleman.

Slightly, and only slightly, the grip on my head lessens and just as slightly less the wet head of that cock is shoved down my throat. A hard gagging sound and convulsions hit me but I manage it. My mouth and face feel like they're bursting at the seems but I can hold it. It feels incredible even though I can't take any more than half of him down my throat.

"Let go of my legs."

I let go.

The hands hold my head in place and my date begins the slow, steady back and forth motion of fucking my throat. The gagging is intense and at different points I realize I've forgotten to breathe until I start to feel lightheaded and remember I'm still attached to the rest of my body.

"Do you think he's earned a view?"

"I suppose."

His cock slides out of my mouth but his hands hold my head in place. I desperately gasp for air and my chest heaves to take in as much oxygen as my lungs will hold.

"But not just yet."

With one hand he pulls the tip of his cock up to my face and rubs it against my lips, cheeks, eyelids, and throat.

"Work it with your tongue."

I greedily comply.

The most fiendish sweet tooth with an ice cream on a blisteringly hot summer day would be put to shame the way my lips and tongue worked the head of that cock. He shuddered standing and even loosened his grip on my hair when I found his favorite spot right on the back of the head and sucked that like a mango at the peak of ripeness.

"I guess you could have a peak."

I eased the muscles in my neck to glance over to see [Albite] fully naked, and also neatly trimmed blah blah blah, riding Toni's face hard while aggressively fingering her.

The cacophony of sounds could only be described as wet augmented by more wetness and using the sound of someone taking a bath for punctuation.

[Grossular] made eye contact with me. "I always thought the look of you as a needy slut suited you."

It certainly felt comfortable.

"Are you ready to see his first hole ruined?"

My body instinctively recoils at the sound of that and my heart races.

[Andradite] merely grinds down harder on Toni's face. "Get that tongue UP THERE you little slut! Show me what he can take."

The hand grips my hair while his other raises his cock into my already open and embarrassingly eager mouth. He thrusts it far enough in that my lips and tongue are thoroughly working the his head. The twitches become more frequent and I know what's happening next. I control my breathing and take steady breathes through my nostrils as his tempo picks up.

"Be a good boy."

It's the last thing my brain resisters before he comes.

My slutty past at the party years ago doesn't prepare me for this. The one time I shotgunned a beer at a party because I was feeling sporting and I didn't like the person who challenged me, I won btw, didn't prepare me.

People often assume tsunamis are single 50 feet high crash and over waves when they hit the shore. Tsunamis are more like long 10 feet tall waves that don't stop coming ashore.

I was not ready for the torrent of thick cum that poured down my throat. Did he keep extra in a pouch somewhere? It felt like it lasted minutes but I knew it probably was over in a second or two.

I managed to catch and swallow most of it but a fair bit spilled down my chin and a few drops landed on the bulge in my own lap. I was ruined for polite society by the scent I was soaked with. The taste of his cum was musky and sour. I savored it.

All I could think to do after exchanging the liquid in my lungs for air was to reach down and suck on the tip some more. The shivering in his entire body let me know it was appreciated but he clearly didn't want such weaknesses being known.

A firm grip on my chin brought my eyes up to his and the thumb of his other hand smeared the cum resting on my chin across the rest of my face.

"I'll tell you when I want my cock wherever I want it."

[Mariposite] leaned over to tease a taste of my date's semen off of my eyelids and shuddered with an almost misandrist look on her face.

"Ugh." was her pronouncement.

"What's next for him?"

[grows-onyou]

Hands, and Forearms, of Fate - The pace finally picks up

The booth I’ve been dragged to with my friend and her date in tow is indeed large enough for four adults if they were all malnourished but didn’t seem like it was going to be an issue.

My new date slides into the left corner of the booth and with a hand in my back pocket pulls me back on to his lap. I have no frame of reference for this experience. Everything beneath me feels stiff and cylindrical. I’m having difficulty discerning leg from wallet from, uh, possibilities.

The arrangement of human beneath me slips out of my awareness as the grip of a muscled arm presses into my chest and pins me to a torso. Teeth are biting into my neck and ear lobe and I slip into a high density salt bath of bliss. The fingertips on the hand attached to the arm anchoring me down dig into my chest and explore the topography while I feel the skin of another set of fingertips on the skin of my stomach above my rumpled waistband.

This is going pretty well. I can feel myself shifting myself against the legs, and definitely the stiff cock, of the body beneath me. And I'm definitely still in a very public place.

A handful of amused and curious eyes have set on me as my date moves his fingertips and mouth across my body at his fancies. Do any of these people know me from somewhere? Do they recognize me? Who cares?

A handful of other couples are in similar booths or against wooden posts and engaging in similar carnal studies and explorations.

Looking across the bench of our shared person booth I finally notice [gneiss] who has her own date pinned to her torso. I could exchange a glance of shared experiences with her date but the girls eyes are pinned shut. [Troctolite] has exposed one of her breasts from her blouse and is teasing a stiff nipple with one hand while her other hand is moving just beneath the waistband of her also exposed panties. As if I wasn't already flustered and hard enough from what was happening to me.

Come to think of it, it was almost as if [granite] was mirroring what my own tree trunk of a date was doing to me.

I feel the large hand caressing my lower abdomen deftly flick open the button holding my pants closed. I look at [seyanite] to see if she's enjoying what she's instigated but she's not looking at me. She's looking past me giving an affirming nod to my date as I feel my pants zipper slide down with a tug at the waist.

They might have been nodding some pre-arranged countdown because as I saw [schist] slide her hand into her date's panties I felt the grip of five muscled fingers close around my cock as teeth bit into the side of my neck.

I don't know how that wasn't planned in advance. [Basalt]s date and I both jolt into the grips of our dates forearms as the spasms of pleasure overtake us and our legs intertwine with each others as we really had nowhere else to move.

Some of the eyes around us fix on us with respectful disinterest while others make no effort to hide their arousal at our pinned fates.

I'm glued. I'm stuck. I can't go anywhere but after that first moment of blissed panic I realize I don't want to go anywhere. I look out at [slate]s date contorting with pleasure as her fingers slide up and down and I realize I look the same way. I'm also that pleasured wreck as my date works every individual muscle in his palm and fingers against my cock while I feel his own gigantic erection push onto me from behind.

Minor glimpses of panic pass through me knowing I have no idea where this is going to go. But I don't mind not knowing.

My arms are reaching back to hold onto my dates hair as I'm brought closer and closer to a climax that has never known such a public setting but there isn't much hair to grab onto so I just flail a bit. He doesn't seem to mind.

His thumb rubs the precum leaking from me around the tip of my cock while I push back further onto his erection. It feels as large around as his forearms but I'm assuming, kind of praying, that's just exaggeration from his pants. I don't have a lot to go on here.

My cock is entirely outside of my pants now as he takes his fingertips individually in turn teasing my tip while his other arm pulls me closer into his grinding hips. I'm not easing up my own griding back on to him and I notice now a small circle of watchful eyes closing a circle around our booth.

My friends eyes have also closed on me squirming under the shifting grips of my date.

"Nice cock. I'd fuck that if I was straight. Hair could use a trim though. Maybe ask my girl here if she has any trimmers in her bag she'll let you borrow."

Her date, now almost entirely exposed and free of apparel, was indeed neatly trimmed and entirely in a parallel plane of existence under the work [gabbro]s fingers were putting, quite literally, into her.

Her legs intertwined with mine as I am stroked closer and closer to leaving my own realm of reality. Some of the guys watching from only 6 or 7 feet away clearly enjoy what they are seeing with their own hands down their own pants or a dates pants.

"You're gonna make a little mess for him, aren't you?"

"It better not be a little mess."

"Slide his pants down a little further."

Supportive jeers ring out around our booth.

Only the bartender has fairly practical advice for the four of us: "don't you make a fucking mess for me to clean in that booth! Clean up your own damn spills."

"Well what are we going to do with you then?" My date whispers into my ear.

"We could always head somewhere more private?" I encourage.

Wasn't that the only reason to get me in here with this guy? Go get [Rocky]'s date to go home with her? Not that I'm complaining or anything. The date is nearly blind from all of the fingering anyway.

The fingers are working my cock up and down until I'm very nearly blind myself. The other hand has easily pulled my shirt up to caress the skin of my chest and pinch the stiffness of my own nipples in much the same way [foidite]'s date is being worked. Her date thrashes for a few seconds before going completely slack in an orgasmic flow of bliss like water going over steep falls. Her eyes finally open to see me completely exposed and feverishly worked with skilled fingers soaked in precum and a helpless gaze looking back at her.

"Jesus Christ" she gasps.

"Just wait until we're all back at your friends place later. I'm going to play him like a trombone." My date exclaims.

What the fuck does that even mean? The fuck? Those thoughts don't last long as another shifting grip around me and a thumb glancing my tip sends be shuddering back into the pleasurable bliss of here and now.

Whispering into her date's ear and a bashful nod of affirmation.

[Dunite] reaches a soaked, raisining finger from her date's pussy and extends it to my parted lips as I'm worked further from the planetary plane. It tastes pungent and sweet and my cock releases another batch of precum for my date's fingers to work into me. [Opal] glances her fingers along the tip of my cock and brings a wet taste up to her date's waiting mouth. A nod of approval from her date and another spurt of the clear fluid from my cock. [Chalcedony] brings another two finger tips to my cock and delivers a taste over my shoulders to my date and takes one back for herself.

I can feel a satisfied "Mmm" from deep within my date's mahogany barrel of a chest and feel him dig his cock deeper onto me. [Actinolite] states it isn't bad for how much coffee she knows I drink.

[Cacti Shirt]. The human wine flight sampler.

I'm seriously close now. I've been tasted by three different people and only the self-consciousness of the crowd around us and the low-key terror of the erection digging into me are holding me back.

The hand exploring my chest releases and I'm pushed up as his hand reaches down into his own pants.

The hand comes back up and held in front of my face I can smell a sweet pungentness that I know is him.

"Taste it."

My hesitation is a few seconds too long for his liking.

"No? Fine. I'm not a complete jackass."

While still working my cock expertly he reaches into a pocket to remove a folded up piece of office printer paper.

"Unfold and read it."

Now slightly moist and smelling like the two of us is a STI test result printout dated and time stamped yesterday afternoon from the same clinic I use for testing. Negative results printed all the way down.

Uh, you could have shown me this earlier. Like, as soon as we got in the booth. Whatever.

"Give me a fucking taste."

Jeeeez [Cactus] slow down. You don't have to do 100 just because you have a green light. Yeah, maybe. We'll see about that.

His hand gets a recharge inside of his pants and I'm fairly shameless in how I suck the taste and scent off of him. It's sweet and musky and delicious.

Similar but also different from how Mike had tasted years ago in that house party. I went down on him 5 or 6 times that night until he was incapable of sitting up right and wasn't even producing cum anymore. Just vibrating hard. I was fucking greedy that night. After the 3rd or 4th time I'd swallowed him he finally worked up the courage to reciprocate. I remember circling the skin just below his scrotum and feeling him tremble as I got closer to cumming. Holding him by the hair in one hand and sliding a finger on my other hand into his ass while I came I could feel his body kick as I emptied into his throat and he did his best to keep it all down. He looked embarrassed at first but lost all of his shame as I fingered him with my tongue in his mouth. Why hadn't I ever done that again? It was pretty all right.

These were the thoughts keeping me company as I heard the deep rumbling command "cum for me."

I opened my eyes and was back in the booth with about 10 sets of eyes watching me seep precum and suck on my date's fingers. That was enough for me.

Cum raced out of my cock and up my exposed belly and chest making it thankfully, for the bartender, in a straight line up to my neck. I felt completely deflated like I was staring out at the world from the bottom of a 20 ft deep swimming pool. Or the haze of mountain clouds at 14,000 ft.

Breathing hard my date scooped up puddles of my cum and brought them to his mouth in a relish. [Websterite] reached over and took two fingers full and took one while feeding another to her date. She made some comment about lesbians not missing much but not the worst while her date smiled and continued to suck on her fingers.

My own focus clarified to see two cum soaked fingers in front of my own face.

"Open your mouth" my date requested.

I obliged and was again taken back to that kiss I shared in the room with Mike years before.

"Take off that rediculous shirt and clean yourself up. We're all going back to my place." [Jadeite] stated.

My legs felt like jello and the dream eyed girl across the booth from me didn't look much better off for walking. I imagined by the time the sun came up we would both be the worse for wear if asked to walk a straight line. Or any kind of line.

[grows-onyou]

Hands, and Forearms, of Fate - The crazy slow build up

“I’d better get laid tonight. I’d kill a man to end this dry spell.”

Hopefully that isn’t the smut equivalent of ‘It was a dark and stormy night’ but that’s also pretty close to what I remember my friend saying as we stood in line for Z Bar on Castro Street. Maybe that’s a Danish idiom loosely translated into English? Maybe she’d really kill a man? The night was young.

“You’ll get laid tonight. You’re like, 3 meters tall and a human form chiseled into granite.”

"I'd better. I've had shit luck the whole time I've been visiting.

You'd better be a good wingman or you'll be the man I kill tonight." 

Guess that answers that question.

At the door the bouncer states ladies get in free but guys pay a $20 cover. He looks me up and down with my button up cacti shirt and jeans. "I don't know if I should charge you $30 or $10" he ponders out loud. 

'Fuck you bud', I retort internally. This is the best I have on short notice. 

Plato's 21st Century contemporary finally determines $20 is a reasonable cover charge for me. 

Inside the guarded venue I can glean what the philosopher bouncer was referring to. The delineation between aggressively postured studs in shirts way too small and the behavior of pretty much everyone else is stark. 

"Grab a drink?" Cacti Shirt inquires

"Fuck no. I know what I'm here for and don't need any alcohol for that." is my friend's lithospheric reply. 

Well I'm getting one. My wingman skills have my life on the line. 

An ent masquerading as a human being is on an intercept course with me and the bar. A tree branch grasps one of my nipples and pulls me in to ask if I want to join it in one of the booths. 

"Consent, Fucko! I've got a job to do in here!" as I pull myself free and resist the urge to threaten him with a lighter. 

My friend is one of several people who have stopped to stare at my outburst and the look in her micaceous eyes is one of reserved warning "Don't get us kicked out of here. We're in a gay nightclub."

A drink at the bar and an actual verbal warning not to cause a scene from the steely mixologist and I'm off to do a job. A hand grazes across my chest or across my stomach to coerce me toward one pair of eyes and mouth or another while I look around at the handful of women my friend would certainly devour if the attraction is mutual. Speaking of mutual, does everyone here have to go right to grab? People can't just ask? 

I spot a human who looks sufficiently deficient in the Y chromosomes for my friend and Cacti Shirt ambles over. 

"Are you here with anyone?" the shirt asks 

The old up and down look replies with "no, but I'm not looking for male company tonight. Sorry."

I considered letting her know the bridge troll considered only charging me $10 but I focused on the task at hand (staying alive) and let her know she had caught my friend's fancy (a lie) and I'd offered to break the ice. The eye contact between the two of them let me know my longevity was assured at least until the next day.

"Who are you here with?" wondered my friend's dinner. 

"Just wingmanning for my friend." 

"YOU'RE STRAIGHT?"

"Ehhh, I mean mostly? Technically?" the Cacti Shirt exclaimed as a feeble reply. I mean, wasn't I? I'd been with a guy once years ago at a house party and really enjoyed it but we didn't stay in contact and I'd never revisited the experience again. And it's not like I didn't enjoy the contact I'd experienced so far in the club but I was definitely put off by the presumptuousness of it. And I had a job to do at the time. Where did she go anyway? Oh, hi guys. 

While I was lost in my little moat of introspection my friend had met up with her new pal and they had become lost in an evolving series of embraces. They weren't even pretending to dance to any music. 

Cute. As I nursed my drink and partook in the people catching, trying to not creep conspicuously on my friend who was clearly on a frenzied mission, finger tips ran up my torso from just above my belt from behind and a voice asked if I liked what I was seeing. 

All previous thoughts of presumptuousness aside I felt as if I'd struck an ungrounded wire. Or like a swing that began its fall while I was still suspended above it in the air. Coming around me as I pivoted back was an impossibly thick trunk of a male human with a forearm still held against my chest like pool floats packed with lead. And a surprisingly disarming smile for the set and setting. 

Holding me from behind I made no real objection as we swayed to the beat of the music like some latin jazz slow dance pair. 

I had no idea how long that went on before I opened my eyes and locked stares with my friend and her date, who by the way was absolutely pinned against a column with her top and skirt hiked up and clearly loving what my friend was about. 

In an internal fit of being SEEN I wormed myself free of the weighted grip with an awkward thank you and I'm sorry combo to excuse myself to check on a friend. 

"So you two are doing great. I'll probably finish my drink and check out to chill at the beach for the rest of the night." Cacti Shirt half heartedly proclaimed. 

"The shit you are! You're not going anywhere." my friend granodiorite asserted. 

"My date won't go back into a booth with me, and sure as shit won't come home with me, unless you accompany us back there with (my eyes lit up) that fucking unit of lumber we just saw you with (my eyes dropped). You were watching us but we were watching you too." 

"[Quartz monzonite] says you've sucked dick before. You're totally good for it." chimed the date still pinned to the column.

"You're a Grade A confidant, [diorite]." 

"It's not like it isn't true and look where you are. You could feast for days in here. Besides, I had to sweeten the deal with this hard to get little demon." a truly conspiratorial wink conspicuously exchanged between the two of them. 

"Well then. Well, well well. Well, I say. Say he's preoccupied now or moved on to some other convenient meat puppet. What about your little deal then?" 

"He isn't. He's standing right where you left him watching the three of us the entire time." 

"Well then."

I turn and he is indeed standing right there waving calmly and in my peripheral vision I can see [tonalite] and her date waving back at him.

My friend reaches out to pinch a stiff nipple beneath her date's thin top fabric while making direct eye contact with me. A sharp yelp from her date punctuates the music in the background as my friend calmly demands "lead the way [Cacti Shirt]."

My hope is I'm walking back to him with an air of casual indifference but I can already see people in the bar darting their eyes back and forth between the two of us. I have no clue what to say to initiate this. Should I be direct? Should I use my tried and true humor that has never once failed me? These all become meaningless puzzles as he grabs me by the waistband of my jeans and states "the corner booth should be large enough for the four of us. We really only need enough space for two." and pulls me toward it with him. Giggles trailing not far behind. 

[grows-onyou]

Still Does

Glance around the room in your strange haze, like a David Lynch film but without the violence against women. Your entire face smells like an ornamental pear tree, the weight of a strikingly handsome man devoid of apparel is resting on your chest, and you can faintly hear the music of the party through the walls. The New Pornographers. Fitting. You like their music.

A knock at the bedroom door accompanied by mischievous giggles.

“Sorry, the bathroom’s occupied!” is the best acknowledgement I can think of.

Confused murmurers and the sound of footsteps receding. I guess they didn’t need to pee that badly.

Mike stirs with no small amount of embarrassment at this exchange causing him to burrow deeper into my chest. The heavy breaths pushing his chest into mine. His erection diminishing as the seconds pass into minutes but remaining noticeable against my own.

I finds myself hoping he’s not a one-and-done kind of guy because I wouldn’t mind doing that again. My brain’s long been aware of its oral fixations but it’s apparently also wildly bisexual. How long have I really known this? Are you OK with this, Gregg? Are you going to have an introspective little freak out?

No. I’m not. This is great.

The tips of my three fingers run along the ridge of his spine while the tips of two other fingers, on another hand, trace the faint trail of hair that runs from his navel down to his larger patch of fur while he continues to stir.

Yes, this is definitely great.  

Mike levels his soft eyes with mine. “That’s never happened to me before.”

“Yeah well I’ve never done that before.” I counter with a chuckle.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

“Do I taste bad?”

How the hell should I know? Don’t say that, Gregg.

“You’re delicious.” as I continue to work the small of his back to pull him further onto me.  

“Can I kiss you like this?” a valid question I ask that I’ve been asked before.

An eager nod.

Gripping his chin with a hand pulling him into another long slow kiss. His own brief hesitation as he figured out why I asked but soon seemingly resolved within his own brain. His limbs slowly thawing as the kiss progresses. His hands begin to explore my arms and back on their own and his legs move along mine. The heavier weight of the hands and the strength of the grip becoming less alien but also seeming to increase with his confidence in himself and the situation.

A glance down to my boxers. The lingering vestige of a notion two dudes were just going to chat together at a party in a room. Mike’s fingers tracing the elastic band and coming to a rest at my own trail of hair. His own hesitation and nervousness in his trembling fingers. My own terror long gone and replaced with an openly feverish hunger for him and his desires.

Eye contact full of anticipation catches both of us in a stare. His fingers inching slowly into my boxers with a reluctance to go too far.

“What do you want?” I inquire? Gregg, again? Straight to 10? Calm down.

Fingers that travel an inch lower into my boxers for an apprehensive reply.

“You can take them off.”

A jolt that traveled from his spine to the tips of his fingers as a reply.

A pull into another kiss while I run my fingers through the hairs on his inner thigh. Another jolt. Running my fingers in circles along the insides of his thighs until his hand reaches far enough into my boxers to rest against my erection.

A pause and a gasp. Locked eye contact as I nod silently. My own shudder as he places me in his grip.

“I’ve never done this before.” He stammers.

“Same.” with a laugh.

His thumb is caressing the tip of my cock and the strength of it really is overwhelmingly pleasant. The way my body moves at his touch isn’t theatrical for his ego. The moves are for real.

Another nervous glance. “I don’t know if I’m ready for head but I want to see you naked.” In a quiet voice.

My fingers continue their tracing in a figure eight pattern now.

He moves down my body to match the elevation I first saw him and pulls the fabric down my legs.

His own pause and hesitation seeing me but he can take all of the time he needs.

He didn’t need that much time before he took me in his hand.

The grip felt incredible and his motions were deft and calm. I could feel in my back and shoulders what his grip was doing to my cock. The way his thumb played with the tip sent waves down my legs. If he was trying to make that soft eye contact with me I wasn’t seeing anything in that moment with my eyes shut tightly.

I open my eyes to see him making intensely direct eye contact with me. A delightful change. I run my hands through his hair as my body shakes with another grip he’s quickly learned I’m a fan of.

I wonder what his latency period is? Looking down I can see his erection is slightly recovered but not entirely. I wonder if he’d mind?

But I really can’t move in that delightful grip of his. I need a diversion.

“Hey! Look over there!” I shout and point.

Oldest dumbest trick in the book of old, dumb tricks. And it works!

His pleasurable grip slacks long enough for me to swing myself around to be facing his form once again gripping his hips and planting my lips deeply on his thighs. Gotcha, bud!

“You could have just asked.” In a soft panting gasp.

“That lacks the theatrical elements my strategy had!” while using my lips and tongue to replicate the figure eights my fingers had previously been making in his thighs.

The return of the panting moans. His grip just as firm but the motions less steady and apparently more distracted. I can feel his breath on my cock and goosebumps form down my arms.

I look down to see him breathing through eyes shut as his grip on me shifts. He wraps his free arm around one of my legs to pull himself closer to me like he might sink into the mattress and disappear if he let go.

I let my tongue begin to travel as I pull myself closer to him. The thigh gives way to one of the two testicles and his body jolts in that fork-in-a-socket style he makes when he enjoys a thing. I can’t tell which of the two my tongue is teasing as my own eyes have been shut since his grip found that focused tempo he’d had earlier. He doesn’t seem to be picky and I’m sure they both taste like hairy skin.

His breathing is heavier and the humid air feels only inches from my cock while his grip on my leg tightens. His erection is firmly resting against my neck and it’s just almost the size it was earlier. My tongue travels his length to find the tip of the foreskin open enough to probe through until I’m licking his cloaked cock. So much precum tang.

His grip slacks and he lets out a soft whimper as his mouth rests against the tip of my erection. His breathing directly onto it feels luxurious and I feel completely weightless at the sight of him on me.

His current length fits neatly inside my mouth and I leave it there for my tongue to continue toying. I can feel it growing larger and harder taking up previously unfilled spaces in my mouth and throat.

As much as I’m deeply enjoying this Mike is clearly enjoying to the point of distraction. I can feel his chest heaving against my abdomen and his lips pressed against my head with his shallow breaths full of pleasured hesitation.

Well I’m the cause of this so my choices are to back off and let him regroup or keep on going and keep on waiting.

I slide him out of my mouth long enough to ask how he’s doing.

“Distracted, but just give me a minute.”

Fascinating. His voice was steadier than I was expecting. Deeper.

I felt his firm grip on my thigh as he spoke give enough of a squeeze I felt light again. Nice. The grip on my cock again hunting the tempo it had a moment ago while firm kisses encircled the tip. I felt a pleasure deep inside as if the planet’s gravity eased me perceptibly away from the surface. Mike seems to really be coming to life.

With the focused pleasure of my free-air anomaly I took Mike back inside my mouth as his grip on my hips found its firm hold. This not only pushed me further into his kisses but sunk him deeper into my throat.

The gag returns, briefly but audibly.

His grips on my hip and cock tighten and his kisses on my tip involve his tongue which drive me into a flurry of shivers and moans all muffled by lack of free space in my mouth.

You have to breathe through the nose. Don’t forget to breathe. Rushed inhalation and exhalation as I remember to perform that basic necessity. Each nostril full of air rich with his scents.

His thrust deep into my throat again and I have to fight off a retch. That was intense. So was the next thrust and my next heavy gag. The sensation of Mike now sucking on the head of my cock is tempered by the realization that he’s also throat fucking me. Followed by another gag and the salty tang of precum.

Uh, fuck. Get your breathing under control. Relax your throat. Open your throat. Get your breathing under control. Do I push him away to slow him down?

You shift yourself just enough to give yourself an extra inch of leeway and focus on the muffled high-pitched moans coming from Mike’s occupied mouth and the shaking you can feel in his torso pressed against yours.

No. Let him have this pleasure. You want him to have this pleasure from your body. And that sunken hollow of pleasure you’re feeling in your own abdomen is from his grips you’ve never felt anything like in any known moments of intimacy.

You get your breathing under control and settle in on letting his tempo run down into your esophagus.

He’s got a good, steady tempo. His strides feel easy and natural against your tongue and lips and you think he’s probably be a really good fuck.

Another unexpected depth and another retch from you and his whimpered breathing takes on a familiar note and pitch. He hasn’t taken you any deeper than the head of your cock but it doesn’t feel any less majestic than it did before and you want him to have whatever pleasure is looming.

The coating slick of precum. His strength locking your hips in a grip you can’t and don’t want to escape from. The shallow breathing and the almost clucking cry escaping from his throat you can feel down your own length.

Ugh, be dignified about this.

The flood of semen is almost more than you can handle as his thrusting hasn’t stopped and you feel yourself squirming in his grip to give yourself every centimeter and angled degree you can manage to accommodate your whole physical body’s protesting gag that manages to bring tears creeping into the corners of your eyes.

You remember to keep breathing and you manage to keep him from completely spilling out of your mouth as his thrusts slow and your control of your own body returns to you. Not as much as the first time but certainly more than you’re accustomed to.

You remember how you swallowed him while keeping his cock in your throat earlier and recreate that feat while scraping your finger nails down his thighs and across his ass to resurrect the tremors released from deep within his body in protests to oversaturation of pleasure.

You feel him take you slightly deeper into his throat before he casts you out to pant desperately for breath. His grip slacks again and he pants unevenly into your thighs like a clipper floundering in a storm.

“I’m sorry, I’m not ready for any more. I’m too nervous. I wasn’t expecting this.” Mike’s steely gaze has been replaced with the soft eyes again.

Giving small kisses along his cock, thighs, his ribs, nipple, collar bone, his soft and apprehension soaked lips I draw myself back up to be face to face with him once more.

Running my erection along the remainder of his I take him into a deep kiss that lets us taste each other on each other’s mouths.

“I’ll do better next time.” Mike breathlessly pants.

“You did great. I can finish this round.” He did better than he knew. But I wasn’t going to give that away so easily. He had me thoroughly overdriven and ready to lose it with each little whimper he released.

Pulling him into a locked kiss I stroked myself along his length feeling the friction of our skin and hairs brushing past each other’s. Bringing his tongue deeper into my mouth I could taste his shudders as I circled his tip with mine in the passing strokes.

“Cum in my belly button? I want to feel like your little whore.” Mike whispered on my lips and tongue.

Mike was clearly switchy and I wasn’t sure which side of him I enjoyed more. I’ve never been particularly submissive but I clearly remember not long ago giving myself over to being his cum slut satisfying his desires. Was that for him or me?

I can figure that out later. I don’t have much longer before I completely fall to pieces.

Dragging my tip along his treasure trail leaving a thin wet trace in its wake his tongue entwined with mine in a shared moan and kiss I feel myself begin to let go. My back arches as I feel myself spill out onto his abdomen and pool at my tip.

Our eyes lock in heavy breathing. He begins to draw little patterns along his skin with the pool I’ve left across him. So adorable and very Bob Ross.

His eyes scream vulnerability but I’ve seen the hard gaze of lust and want and I’ve felt the grip he’s capable of when he chooses to take what he wants. I could fuck this guy for hours.

He’s settling his weight against me as his breathing slows to a healthier, regular rate.

Another series of knocks at the bedroom door accompanied by more idiotic mischievous giggles.

How long has it been now? What time is it?

“Ugh, still occupied!” I yell.

Mike buries his face deep into my neck. “You idiot.”

[grows-onyou]

This Party Sucks

Whoever invented small talk should be beaten with loaves of old bread. The two of us are sitting in a small bedroom with drink cups in our hands making stupid, awkward small talk. It looks like a guest bedroom by the bland, unused look of the room. He, Mike (I think), looks nervous. I probably look bored but if I were to be honest with myself I’m also nervous about agreeing to get matched up with a guy at the party of an acquaintance I don’t know all that well even though I said something stupid like “yeah, we can chat or whatever.” And now here we are making stupid small talk. 

It can’t be easy being gay in the suburbs of the Deep South. Or anywhere in the Deep South where country music and talk radio reign supreme on the air waves. Atlanta proper has a thriving LGBTQ+ community but we were well beyond the city limits and I think Mike mentioned something about having recently moved there from somewhere even more southern and less hospitable. 

“Is talking about movies and tv shows we’ve never seen or ever going to watch what you were hoping for at the party tonight?” I finally asked.

“No.” Expressed with an air of dejection. 

The look on Mike’s face gave every indication of wanting to hide and cry because Gregg decided to jump straight to the “I don’t know what tact is” zone. Great job Gregg, you idiot.

“I’m not leaving. I don’t think either of us are enjoying this conversation but I’d like to chill here for a while with you.” Was my attempt to salvage the situation and Mike’s dignity. But what the fuck did I mean by that? What the hell does “chill” mean?

Not dissimilar to a puppy hearing the word “leash” or “walk” Mike’s spirits shot back to life and he asked if we could hold hands together. 

“Sure?” Why? Why did I agree to that? But also why did I also not mind it? His hand felt warm and I liked how his arm rested against mine. It had a weight I wasn’t accustomed to when cuddling. I didn’t move away when he rested the length of his body against me in the bed. 

“Is this ok? Are you ok with this? Is this fine?” 

“Yeah I guess this is ok, or whatever or something.” Gregg, you silver tongued devil you. It beat the hell out of small talk and if I were honest with myself I thought he was cute and I enjoyed it. 

We made slightly more substantive conversation with each other about nothing I really recall. Without noticing the gradual changes in our configuration I found myself holding him in my arms close enough to feel his breath on my face, his heart beat on my chest, and the distinct impression I could feel his erection against my leg. I didn’t mind. I think by then I had given up on the absurd notion of two dudes just chatting about dude things in a spare bedroom and pulled him onto me so he could feel my erection growing against his. 

His eyes looked soft and nervous and with a shallow breath asked me again if I was ok and if this was ok with me. I replied with rubbing myself into him again and he replied by asking if he could put his hand beneath my shirt. Mike was a champion and prince of consent and I probably learned more from him than I’d like to admit. 

“Go ahead.”

His hands felt heavier against my chest than I was used to but by then I found I enjoyed the difference. The weight. The force. Vocabulary redundancy. His hands betrayed nervousness though and his breath was quick and shallow against my mouth. 

I inquired if he wanted to kiss.

“Is that ok?” 

I replied by licking the parting of his lips. He replied by burying his erection as deeply into mine as he could and putting as much of his tongue into my mouth as he could. I guess his answer was “yes”. The stubble caught me off guard. Somehow I hadn’t anticipated that and I had to wrestle with that for a moment in my stupid little brain. 

He sensed my hesitation and asked maybe 9 more times if I was ok with him and the situation. I replied by gripping the small of his back and pulling him into a long, slow kiss. He replied by continuing to try and erode the fabric of our pants at the crotch through the powers of lust and the coefficient of friction. 

I asked if he’d like to continue this in our underwear. You know, for comfort. I took the moan in his throat and the shudder along his spine for a yes and began to help him out of his clothes as he eagerly reciprocated. Smooth, Gregg. Real smooth, calm, charmer. Totally in control. Nothing but chill. In truth I was terrified. Here I was kneeling on a bed in my boxers staring at the wet spot pooling on Mike’s boxers at the tip of the outline of his cock. What was I doing? What was supposed to happen next? I couldn’t stop staring at him. 

He asked if I was okay a few more times and I pulled him onto me so that his boxer lagoon matched the wet spot that was beginning to form on my boxers. His entire body trembled as he breathed and despite my stone cold exterior (So Stone Cold! TM) I was terrified at what I wanted to do next. The fear you feel getting on a roller coaster with a known history of injuries didn’t come close to how much effort it took to make my vocal chords say the words I needed them to. 

“Can I take them off?” I asked with my fingers in the elastic strap. 

A silent and equally terrified nod affirming. 

I moved to pull them down so I would be at eye level with his form. His eyes looked at me in apprehensive terror. He was absolutely covered in glistening precum but also completely uncircumcised. Is this what they’re naturally supposed to look like? This? My awkward terror was temporarily suspended by amusement and incredulity at evolution. Wild. 

My silence and lack of any single action filled him with a tangible sense of dread and he began asking if I was ok and if he looked ok and if I wanted to stop and again he seemed on the verge of tears. Gregg, you fucking moron. You should probably fix this situation. My own terror returned. How? Doing what? The greater terror was my own lust. I knew what I wanted to do. I could feel myself on the verge of shaking and knew if I waited any longer everything would fall apart. 

I took him in one hand, feeling the soft fuzz of his hair against the sides of my hand and looking him in the eye asked if he was ok. 

Again the terrified affirming nod. 

With an equally terrified deep breath I pressed my lips against his wet tip in a kiss. His body froze and his breaths were whimpering pants. The salty tang of precum on my lips. So weird. But I enjoyed it. It was what I wanted. I looked up into his eyes asking a silent permission to continue and he silently nodded. 

A lick of the tip from my tongue. More tang. Sharper. Another whimper. Now what am I supposed to do? What do you do with the foreskin? Sliding my tongue down the back of the tip beneath the skin. No longer tangy. Kind of funky. But I wanted this too. I wanted to know this. Running the tip of my tongue inside his foreskin around the head. More tang mixed with more funk with whimpers settling into deeper moans. 

Don’t over think this Gregg. Don’t use your teeth! Never use your teeth. Breath through your nose. Relax your jaw. Relax your throat. Uh, this is going to be difficult. Don’t over think this! Get out of your mind and focus on what you’re doing. What am I doing? Giving the head of his cock little French kisses around the foreskin to the accelerating tempo of his breathing. Feeling the twitching and jerks of him in my hand. 

Nothing about this seems real. I don’t believe it’s me doing this. But I am. And I love it. It’s exactly what I want to be doing. Looking up I see Mike’s eyes shut and his fists clenching the sheets as if he’s trying to destroy the forces that hold the atomic particles together. I pull my mouth back so that my lips are resting against the tip of his cock and contemplate more of the inevitable. I’ve applied just about everything hoods and labia have taught me to the head of this cock, apparently to Mike’s enjoyment, and it seemed like time to start on the length of him. Don’t fuck this up. Don’t over think this. Control your breathing, breath through your nose, relax your throat and jaw, and take him in.

Hello gag reflex. Not that bad, not that good. Certainly remember hearing myself make a quite undignified sound as his cock reached the back of my throat but it also strangely satisfied. I could feel the warm skin on my tongue and against my lips. Relax, breath through your nose and work with your tongue. More tang, more funk, the feel of his heartbeat through his legs against my face. Using my free hand to run my fingers through the wispy hairs of his testicles and more intense squirming as a result. 

Another plunge down the length of him and no bad gagging this time. Good Gregg. And another. His body bucking against the mattress and another plunge into the back of my throat. A hand resting on the top of my head now gripping the hair. Not forcing, just resting and gripping. Calm down, breath through the nose, relax the jaw, use your tongue on the skin against it. Feel the twitch of it against the roof of your mouth. 

A push down, gag reflex. The muffled and inarticulate “hrrrggllt” of suppressing the gag. The way his body pulsed at the noise my throat made. Tang and funk. More twitching. His hand letting up enough that I have some mobility along it’s length. His moans becoming unintelligible whimpers again. Him trying to make words no person could possibly discern. A pleading quality to the whimpers and the hand on the top of the head pushing me further down him. 

At least I probably won’t get it in my eyes. The twitching and the increasing tang. The funk long washed off onto my tongue and throat. The whimpers almost crying as his body shakes. A fruit gusher, an Asian pear, a fig, okra, a tube of toothpaste, nothing really prepares you for it.

It’s 1:35A.M. in an Atlanta suburb and your mouth is filled with semen and you try to not spit it out all over him as he shudders. It’d be easier to swallow it if his cock wasn’t still deep in your mouth but you want to savor this moment. The not pleasant but not unpleasant bitter brine that plays along your tongue. 

You manage to put it down your throat with another Tony award winning sound and make sure you clean the rest of the cum off of his cock and out from inside the folds of foreskin. At this point his ability to form words have returned to him and you can make out “it’s too much, stop, I can’t handle it.” and you remember from your own experiences that he’s probably feeling like being struck by lightning. Sexy lightning. 

You remember your usual oral sex routine and he shouldn’t receive any less. Kisses on the insides of both thighs and slow lingering kisses up the center line of the torso and across each nipple. His breathing is entirely heavy pants and you notice your own boxers wet spot has grown considerably in size as well.