Rainy Day

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“Hello?”

“Morning, Brent. It’s me Phil. What are you up to?”

“Well, hello Phil.” Brent’s surprise was apparent in his tone. “Nothing. Just watching the all this rain and feeling lonely. How about you?”

“Well, I got to sleep in because of all this the rain and I woke up feeling kind of aroused.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. And the weird thing is that my dick actually spoke to me.”

“Your dick spoke to you?”

“Yeah. And it said to me, in words clear as you now, that we – my dick and I – should hook-up with our nice friend Brent. I thought that was really strange, the whole ‘talking dick’ thing, so I called to see what you thought.”

“That is strange but…” there was a wary hesitation, “maybe we should. I wouldn’t want you walking around with a sad dick.”

Brent and I had hooked up once in the past. He is an attractive guy but with a terminal air of desperation. His long-time boyfriend had sent him packing a year before. It had been humiliating. The boyfriend was an abusive drunk, over-bearing and ominous, but a respected local restauratuer. Brent was very much a submissive. Only about 5-8, he was slender with little body definition beyond a pleasingly plump ass. Rumors flew around town of the boyfriend bringing other men home and forcing Brent to suck their cocks or fuck them. Brent acquiesced. I don’t know what his self-esteem was like before his boyfriend started pimping him out, but it was shit after that.

The thing was that Brent had a micro-dick. Shy of two inches, it was a sickly red without much of a cock-head at all. The first time I saw it I blanched and averted my eyes in shock. Brent still let me fuck him. In fact he enticed me to fuck him. He’d seen that look from other men before and it hurt him deeply. But he needed the affirmation. The fact that men treated him as being insufficient made him work to deserve their affection even more. He fucked men desperately because he desperately needed them to fuck him, to need him, to desire him, or at least acknowledge his existence, micro-dick and all.

To be fair, Brent was the only man I had ever properly fucked. By that I mean in a bed, albeit an economy motel bed. I’m 46 years old and had no sexual contact with men until well into my 40s. It was in a book store where I was getting head through a glory hole. Suddenly the mouth disappeared and moments later was replaced by something more engulfing, more hot and cloying. It took me a moment to grok that the mystery man was giving me anal. It was mind-blowing and I pounded the wall between us trying to get deeper into that marvelous hole. Obviously it’s dangerous to be engaging in risky acts with random men so thereafter I constrained my occasional gay acts to receiving and giving blowjobs with guys whose names I knew. I came to enjoy pleasuring a man’s cock and had some very hot exchanges with guys, but not anal. Still, I remembered how exciting and lustful it was and I wanted that Pendik escort bayan again. And there was Brent. Obviously a bottom, he had been flirtatious. I knew he wanted me to fuck him. I just didn’t know about the micro-dick.

So when I got him into bed and first saw it, I recoiled. I know I hurt him but we continued to make-out and he continued to suck my cock from every conceivable angle. Then we fucked. I entered him slowly and it was like entering an entirely new realm. It was like he drew me in to him, encased my cock within a hot, moist, undulating sheath. I thought to myself: remember this. Just be still and take in the experience and commit it to memory. But I couldn’t be still. Even when buried to the hilt my cock craned and strained, searching for an even deeper place. The puffy flesh of my cockhead pressed deeper, my shaft willed itself further into the marvelous confines of Brent’s ass. I withdrew and then sank back into him, amazed by the clenching, smooth contours, how it seemed to undulate rhythmically around my cock. His ass was as living and expressive as my tongue within his mouth, captured in an erotic primitive dance of flesh upon flesh and lust upon lust. I have no idea how long I fucked him, only that I wanted it to go on forever. So I slowed and gathered myself when I sensed my cum rising. He was looking up at me with eyes that were inflamed by a desperate desire to pull every drop of passion from my balls. He wanted to fulfill my need so completely that I would certainly return, again and again. And he kissed me with the same zeal, and he moved beneath me with same urgency, trying to make his ass essential to my bliss. I could no longer resist the demands of my flesh and I thrust myself deep inside him with a heat and hunger I had never felt before. I pulled my lips free from as his as I ejaculated, gasping and sputtering. As I emptied myself, he pleaded softly in my ear, “Breed Me. Breed me.”

We kissed a while and then got dressed. It ended the way most motel trysts do – feeling satisfied and slightly naughty but awkward, glad it was over. Afterwards, I often remembered how callously I had reacted to the sight of his dick. It was shameful and I was disappointed with myself. But on the other hand…

I would occasionally see Brent around town. Each time his eyes locked on me with that same desperate need and lascivious desire that I’d seen as we fucked. He was unabashed. He didn’t care who might notice. He beckoned to me with his lusting gaze. He captured my eyes with a stare that was instantly transmitted to my cock and part of me wanted to say to hell with whomever might see. I wanted to steal away with him to some tawdry storage room or odorous bathroom and empty myself into the cloisters of his luscious ass. But I managed to remained composed and deflected his advances with an indifference that was entirely false. Then I watched as the hurt I had seen before returned to Escort Beykoz his eyes.

I ended our phone conversation by saying, “Would an hour be okay?”

“An hour would be great.”

“One more thing. I bet you’ve got a silky robe somewhere. Would you have it on when I get there? And something sexy underneath?”

“Really? Okay, sure. See you then.”

He concealed himself behind the door when I arrived lest a neighbor catch a glimpse of him. I entered and turned as he closed the door. I took his chin in my hand and raised his lips to mine for a slow kiss. When it was over, I stepped back to admire the pale blue robe that hung to him mid-thigh. It was strapped tight to his slender form. I told him not to move.

His apartment was sparse and dark and slightly dank. There was a plush reclining love seat located 8 feet in front of a large screen TV and a DVD player. A clutter of gay porn films were strewn on the floor with lurid covers displaying various forms of perversion. It was a sad glimpse into the life of a lonely gay hedonist who fantasized about having someone to whom to totally submit.

I sat on the edge of the love seat, my attention wholly on Brent. His legs were slim and smooth, and the robe revealed a patch of pale chest. His eyes seemed unsure of what might transpire between us. I looked unflinchingly into those eyes and said, “You look fantastic. Would you walk slowly toward me?” He smiled with relief and sauntered over. “Stop,” I said. He was half way to me. “Turn and show me that sexy ass.”

His smile turned coy. He watched over his shoulder as he turned. The hem rose. His round firmness was accentuated by the blue strap of a thong plunging between his cheeks. He teased my greedy eyes by making those orbs dance and jounce, pleased with the mesmerized look on my face. When he arrived between my knees I stopped him. One hand circled his neck and pulled him into a kiss while the other brushed the smooth fabric over his nipple. A soft mewling escaped his chest. I sat back and looked into his face.

“I was rude to you the last time we were together.”

“No,” he complained, “you gave me a wonderful fucking. I loved it.”

My hands hands gathered at the belt of his robe and released the knot. Instinctively, he held the robe closed with his elbows, but my tugs were insistent and the folds pulled apart. My hands went to his chest and gently kneaded his tits. My lips played with the nub of a nipple. “No. I was rude.”

I looked down. His tiny erection tented the glossy fabric and a wet spot spread. My head plunged downward as my mouth engulfed the sheer fabric. My nibbles rubbed raw satin over its short length. I felt his weight as he slumped atop my shoulders and moaned in pleasure and disbelief. I reached out and pulled the fabric aside. His dick was as I remembered it, red and as misshapen as a vestigial tail. There was no swelling of a cockhead, only a tapered nubbin Cevizli escort of flesh. I stared as my fingers tickled it up and down. It quivered and jumped just like every dick I had ever played with. It was hot and alive with sensation and desire. I rose enough to push Brent’s limp body off me. We locked eyes. I could see his hope and yearning that someone might actually pleasure him as ardently as he pleasured then.

“I want to taste you, Brent. Will you cum for me? Will you feed me your cum?”

I could see his disbelief. Did I really mean it or was I just being cruel the way other men were? The way his boyfriend had been? I didn’t wait for his reply. I took his micro-penis easily into my mouth. I slathered it with my tongue and engulfed it within my sucking lips. His entire body leapt and shuddered at the sensation. He moaned and writhed, mashing his diminutive dick into my hungry, devouring mouth. I lavished myself upon him. His toy-sized balls jostled in my hand. Then I slicked my finger with spit and tickled his tender hole. His ass lunged at my fingertip as he held my head firm to his crotch, lost in the wanton passion that shivered up and down his spine. He quickly came with the fervor of years of pent-up yearning, calling to God, powerless to do anything but release his long-forsaken juice into the beckoning mouth of a man. An actual loving man.

I kept sucking as I lowered his body onto the love seat beside me. He was lightly whimpering. With waning passion or joyful tears? I don’t know. All I could do was wash every drop of his essence off his body with my tongue and into my inner self. Our hearts stopped racing. We drifted into somnolence as scenes of wild fucking played out on the TV. His face buried into my chest. He left moist kisses atop my hard pecs. I lifted his face so he could read my pleading eyes. “Do you forgive me,” I asked?

He offered a little laugh as he opened my jeans and released my cock into his mouth. He was relaxed and grateful, and he sucked long and languorously. He worked my cockhead between his soft, teasing lips and licked my length and girth until every nerve was thrumming and my blood was fevered and gathering. Then he stood and led me to his bed. He fucked me twice with his marvelously hot, lush ass. It was different from the first time. It was just as cloying and slick and enticing, but it wasn’t needy. It was more seductive and alluring and confident in the pleasure it offered. And I was just as fevered and fervent, just as swept up with manly carnal lust, but more expansive, more involved with Brent. My lover. It was mutual.

“I know you will never love me,” he said as I prepared to leave, “but I trust you. Dear God, I enjoy our sex. You mean it when you kiss me. I feel that. I know I matter.”

“You do matter. And I think we’ll be good buddies as well as great fuck buddies. But, Brent, there is one thing.”

“What?”

“You gotta quit eye-fucking me in public. Seriously, Dude, be discrete. Okay? Promise?”

“I’ll try, really I will.”

“That’s all I can ask. And, Brent, I truly loved the taste of your cum. I promise I will never be rude to you again.”

“Promise?”

I kissed him. “Cross my heart.”

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