A Lot in Common Underneath

A LOT IN COMMON UNDERNEATH, PART THREE: WORKING STIFFS by K. Nitsua. Copyright 2005 by the author.

Ethan and I had started this business trip as friends and co-workers. By the end we were fuck buddies as well. We were determined to keep our new relationship a deep, dark secret, not only for the sake of Ethan's marriage but also for the company. There's no surer way to disrupt office morale than to give people something to gossip about. Ethan and I worked well together and I wanted that to continue.

So we settled into our daily routine once we got back, not changing our habits at all. If we happened to break for lunch at the same time, fine, but Ethan and I didn't go out of our way to spend time together. We never socialized after hours either-his wife had recently had a baby and as soon as quitting time rolled around he was on his way home. Needless to say, we never hugged or touched in public.

I had to admit I got frustrated once in a while, but I put up with it. I liked Ethan a lot, even more than I lusted after him. I wouldn't do anything to disrupt our friendship. I wanted him to trust me. I had an ulterior motive, after all-if he trusted me he'd be more inclined to continue what we had started. And I very much wanted that.

Ethan, good guy that he was, must have sensed what I felt. Once in a while he did something to let me know he hadn't forgotten what had happened. There was the day he walked into the men's room on our floor just as I'd finished my business. My dick leaped up at the mere sight of him--this was a common occurrence that I had to be on guard against--but I managed to zip it into my pants.

He smiled at me. "How's it going, big fella?" he asked.

"Oh, just fine," I replied, wishing I could jump his bones right there, and knowing I'd never dare.

I walked over to the washbasin and was occupying myself running water and soaping up when I heard him say my name.

"What?" I said, not looking up.

"I said look over here."

I turned my head. Ethan was standing facing the urinal, his head turned toward me. A big grin was on his face. He'd let his dress pants slide down his hips enough that I could see half his bare butt, encased in the wide waistband and leg straps of my Bike.

"I'm wearing it."

"So I see," I managed, just before he pulled down the jock in front so that his big meat flopped out. I gave up trying not to get hard.

"You freeballing today?" I heard the rattle of liquid against rubber as he let his bladder go. How could he be so fucking casual?

"Yeah."

Ethan finished peeing and milked his cock dry. A small whimper rose in my throat at the sight of him handling himself. I hoped he hadn't heard. He pulled his pants up, zipped himself closed and flushed. I forced myself back to the business of washing my hands, my own dick straining painfully at the front of my pants.

"So how are you doing with the Steiner account?" he asked as he washed his hands in the sink next to mine.

We exchanged small talk about business. He left the men's room. As soon as he was gone I raced into one of the stalls and whipped my cock out. It only took a few quick, fevered strokes before I shot into the toilet. My knees buckled as I tried to stifle my groans. Afterward depression swept over me.

Do you know how hot you are, Ethan?

Finally I calmed down enough, and my cock shrank enough, to go back to work.

I had given up hope when Ethan came up to me one morning, grinning from ear to ear.

"What?" I said, hardly daring to think the thought.

He punched me on the arm. "Boss man's sending us on the road again, guy."

The desire to throw my arms around him and squeeze the breath from his body was overwhelming. I did allow myself a hearty clap on his shoulder. "That's great. When?"

A week later we were in coach together on an American Airlines flight, poring over our notes, tapping away on our laptops side by side. I was so happy I was beyond lust. It was just great to have my best friend to myself, doing what we both loved most-our jobs.

I'm being honest when I say that I didn't think of anything other than business until after we checked into the hotel and were on our way up the elevator. I caught Ethan's eye. He had a mischievous grin on his face.

"What?" I said, knowing exactly what he was thinking.

"I'm wearing it," he said. "You?"

I kept my voice even, though the blood was pounding in my ears and my breathing was quick and shallow. "Yep."

"Good." Ethan fell silent. We didn't speak further until we had found our room and the door was safely shut behind us. He put down his baggage and began to unbuckle his belt. I followed his lead. In a moment we were dressed in nothing but jockstraps, both pouches bulging.

"Time for you to give mine back," I told him.

He nodded. "That was the deal. Want to swap?"

My cock leaped in its pouch. "Yeah." We stripped our supporters off together and straightened. We were both naked, and very, very hard.

Ethan smiled and licked his lips. "First things first."

He dropped my Bike jock that he had worn for weeks on the floor, fell to his knees and took my erection into his mouth. It was a warm, wet homecoming and I groaned out a welcome. I pulled back after only a few minutes to avoid cashing in my chips too soon. The jock that I had peeled off moments before was balled up in my clenched fist. I took it and pressed the pouch into his face. Ethan whiffed and slurped at it, his cries of satisfaction muffled by the stretchy fabric. I looked down at his cock, hard as steel, poking up from the thicket of pubic hair, a thread of syrup hanging from the rosy cap. The next moment I was down on the floor on all fours catching the precious fluid with my tongue.

We never did make it to the bed, but ended up sixty-nining on the carpeted floor of the hotel suite beside our luggage and discarded clothes, sending up a symphony of slurps and groans that were muffled by the cocks and balls stuffed into our mouths. Eventually I took a breather and let my tongue wander behind his ball sack and through his legs, wetting the hairs in his crack until it reached the silky flesh of his asshole. It had been too long since I'd eaten good ass and I plunged right in. Ethan moaned as he sucked me, a human vibrator. The climax I'd tried to hold back came rushing up. I broke away from rimming him and cried out "Fuck I'm cumming!" Too late-through the blinding force of the orgasm I could feel myself emptying volley after volley into his mouth. To my surprise Ethan didn't choke or pull away, but stayed clamped to my spigot until my balls were drained. Finally he let me go and I sat up, still shaky. He grimaced playfully at me as he wiped his mouth.

"My first load," he said.

"So how was it?" I asked him.

"You want to know the truth, I think cum tastes lousy."

I laughed. "Not everyone likes it. At first."

He shook his head. "Don't know if I ever will." He pointed at me. "I know YOU do."

"That's right. And I'm ready for yours now."

He gave it to me a few moments later, straddling my chest as I lay on the floor, stroking away until animal noises began to rise from his heaving chest. He must have been saving it too, because the quantity was amazing-half a dozen hot, thick jets full in my face that trickled in gooey streams down my forehead, cheeks and chin. The rich odor of semen filled my nostrils. I opened my mouth and caught as much as I could with my tongue.

Ethan spoke, his voice hoarse with lust. "Damn, you look hot like that, Mike."

I put my hands on his chest, raking the thick hair with my fingers, and smiled up at him. "Drinks at seven, dinner at eight."

We untangled ourselves, cleaned up, unpacked and went out to eat, wearing our swapped jocks.

I'd wondered after the first time whether Ethan would go on a guilt trip and pull back from exploring his bisexual side. Obviously I needn't have worried.

Most people having clandestine affairs feel bad afterward for one reason or another. When I think about my two years or so with Ethan I don't have a single regret. It was the happiest time of my life.

It was also strange. For part of the time I even had a boyfriend, who was as blissfully ignorant what was going on as Ethan's wife seemed to be. Since we stuck to our rule about never doing anything when we were both at home, it was easy to keep things under wraps. After a few trips it became obvious to management what a successful team we made on the road, so the joint assignments kept coming in, just often enough to keep me from getting frustrated and doing anything rash.

Our entire relationship was crammed into those eight or ten road trips. Make no mistake, work came first. We never let sex interfere with our jobs--not for nothing were we two of the most productive team members. But as soon as the meetings, presentations, lunches and schmoozing were over and we were back at the hotel, we peeled business matters off with our clothes, which we never wore in the room.

Swapping jocks on these trips quickly became an unbreakable tradition. Each of us had a rule we made the other follow. Ethan's was that I had to give him a different kind of jock every time. That was easy, since I had a bit of a fetish and owned dozens. As a joke one time I brought him a novelty number that had a hole in the pouch, a so-called suspensory jock. He cracked up when he saw me wearing it, but got down on his knees with enthusiasm. "Easy access," he said, chuckling, just before he inhaled my dick. He was game and wore it to work, too, as he did all the others, lowering his trousers and modeling it for me in the men's room, snickering. Later he winked when we passed in the hallway and I copped a look at the larger-than-usual bulge in his dress pants.

My rule for him was, he could wear my jock as much he wanted while he had it--but he could never wash it. Of course that meant when he gave it back after a month or two it was permeated with his scent, guaranteed to make me pop wood with one heady whiff or by putting it on. I always wondered how he explained the jockstraps to his wife, or whether maybe he hid them away from her. He never said.

Stripping down for the swap usually resulted in a bout of reunion sex before the trade, like what happened on our second trip. Seeing each other every day at work for weeks on end and never being able to do anything built up a lot of sexual tension. Sometimes we had to run to a dinner appointment the night of our arrival because we'd been balling just before, but we always made it on time.

Those quickies were great fun, and left enough cum in us for the long sessions after we came in at night, agreeably high from social drinking and horny with anticipation. We could barely get our clothes off fast enough, in fact one or another of us sometimes kept his jock on for a while. After all, leg straps and waistbands were handy to grab onto while giving head or eating ass, and pouches made great facemasks or cum receptacles.

Though Ethan had made the initial plunge back into mansex with surprising ease, that didn't mean he was going to do anything and everything. Like many married men he had definite limits as far as sex with another man was concerned. It became my little project to break down his inhibitions one by one. If I couldn't get him to do something, well, there was always the next trip. I was a patient man.

The times where I succeeded in getting him to break a taboo he'd had for himself were the most memorable. One that's still burned into my brain was the one where I finally got Ethan to kiss me.

It was one of the rare times on our trips that things hadn't gone well on the business end. This particular client was indecisive and demanding, a particularly irritating combination. We trudged to our hotel room at the end of a long afternoon meeting, feeling pretty down. Ethan tried to cheer me up.

"Look on the bright side, buddy," he said. "Mixner's pretty much said the deal's not going to happen, so we don't have to get up early tomorrow just to go grovel some more."

"I suppose," I replied. "But I still hate spoiling our perfect record."

"What do you mean, spoil?" Ethan winked. "We swapped our jocks first thing, just like always."

I smiled and my spirits lifted a little. "And you know what that means."

Twenty minutes later we were on the bed, me underneath, having a pre-dinner fuck, which I for one badly needed after the stressful day. Ethan apparently did too, judging from the force of his thrusts and the foulness of his language. Ever since the first time when I'd encouraged him he'd loved to talk dirty during sex. Today, though, there was an extra edge to his verbal abuse.

"Take it, fucker. Take it up your queer ass," he muttered.

Usually such talk from Ethan drove me wild, especially while his cock was reaming my hole. Today, though, I found myself getting mad. This stuff I didn't need after getting flack all day from our client. I thought of a way to get him back.

"Queer, eh? At least I know what I am."

Ethan pulled up short. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

A little voice inside me warned me not to cross the line, but I was in no mood to listen.

"Admit it. We're lovers. You're as queer as I am."

His eyes narrowed. "You calling me queer?"

I knew I was playing with fire, but I was enjoying his discomfiture. I smiled.

"Yeah. 'Cause you're not man enough to kiss me."

Ethan's jaw dropped. He hadn't expected this. "What?" was all he could say. I was on a roll.

"That's right. You don't have the guts. C'mon, I dare you."

His face darkened like a thundercloud, and he raised his arm. A thrill of real fear rose in me-for a split second I thought I'd pushed him too far. He was going to wallop me, helpless, impaled on his monster cock, still hard as steel up my ass.

Then his hand clamped around the back of my head, shoving it up toward his face. His lips came down on mine, hard, shutting off my air supply. My first shocked reaction to the assault was to open my mouth, and his tongue drove inside. Trapped, I struggled and whimpered, but couldn't escape.

There was no choice except to kiss him back.

I have no idea how long we sucked face. When he released me my lips were bruised, my tongue sore, my cheeks scraped with beard burn. I took a deep breath and went back for more.

Finally we broke apart for good and I fell back on the bed. Ethan grinned, his humor restored.

"Now, what was that about not being man enough?"

I licked my tender lips.

"Real men can kiss. You're a real man."

"A god among men. And don't you forget it," Ethan said, as he grabbed my cock to finish me off.

"Yes sir, oh yes sir," I cried as he stroked the load out of me and over my stomach. I don't remember much else about that trip, but my prostate sure must have taken a beating.

Even after that Ethan didn't kiss me much, but that first one lasted me a long time. There was just one more prize to be won from him, and I did grab the big one eventually. It's the one part of this tale that makes me a bit sad telling it, because it happened on our last journey together.

What I remember most about Ethan was his drive to succeed. I liked to think of myself as a hard worker but I came off as lazy next to him. Almost from the time we became regular partners on these trips he told me that he didn't intend to stay in his current position forever. He was after bigger and better things.

"Mike, I've got a wife and kid," he said. "I've got to make the most of it. Not so I can have nice things, but so they can."

I'd nod and tell him how much I admired his dedication to his family. I had to grin and bear the knowledge that I didn't figure into any future plans he had. When he left, that would be the end for us. Of course I hoped it would never come to pass.

But with anyone as ambitious and as competent as Ethan it was only a matter of time. One day, about a week before another business jaunt together, I saw him come out of the boss's office with an expression on his face that made me pause.

I caught up with him as strode down the hallway toward the elevator.

"Hey, what's up?"

He turned, looking starched and spiffy in dress shirt and tie. After all this time seeing him took my breath away. "Oh, hey," Ethan said. He hesitated, then made up his mind. "Keep this under your hat for a while, okay?"

I listened as he talked in a low voice, a smile fixed on my face, my heart sinking. The corporate name he said was one we all dream about.

When he finished, I grasped his upper arm and looked him in the eye.

"Congratulations. That's great. So does that mean the trip's off?"

Ethan shook his head. "I gave a month's notice so they can find someone and have me train them. So we're still going." He smiled. "I wouldn't miss it for the world, you know that." He punched me on the arm and started to walk away. "Let's get together and plan real soon, you hear?" he said over his shoulder.

"Yeah," I said, knowing he couldn't hear me. I stood looking at the floor for a moment. Just like that, it was over.

I dealt with the news by not dealing with it. I did my job, met with him to prepare our presentations and plan our strategy. Ethan never mentioned his impending departure, either, not before we left on the trip and not even while we were on the plane.

It wasn't until we were in the hotel room that he brought it up.

"Are you wearing one?" he asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" I said.

"Well, you know," he said, looking down at his feet. He didn't want to say that it would be the last time we'd do this.

In reply I unbuckled my belt and let my pants fall. I was wearing the old Bike No. 10 that I had brought on the first trip--the jock that had started it all.

"This is for you. You'd better have brought mine back."

He grinned in relief. "Oh yeah I did, don't worry."

He unzipped his fly and the elastic, webbed pouch came into view. I cupped it in my hand, and the momentary awkwardness between us disappeared.

They say that the best sex comes toward the end of a relationship, not at the beginning, and that was certainly true for Ethan and me. Any spare moment we had during that trip we were at each other, in every conceivable position. Ethan discarded his inhibitions about kissing and we made out like teenagers.

We also discarded the rubbers. We'd known for a long time we were both safe, and the only people we fooled around with were each other. I wanted Ethan to know the joys of bareback sex, and I wanted his load up my ass--it would be keeping a small part of him with me. I'll always remember how his big his eyes got the first time he slipped his unhooded dick into me.

"Oh God that's sweet," he moaned a short time later, as he shot. I squeezed my ass muscles around his shaft as it delivered the cargo to its destination.

"You're the first man in fifteen years to do that," I told him. "I hope I get pregnant."

Ethan shook his head. "Mike, you're weird," he said, for the umpteenth time.

But the best was yet to come. It was our last night. We'd closed the deal successfully, our last deal together, gone out and splurged on a really expensive dinner (I put it on my own credit card, not wanting to get flack from the company), and were back for a private celebration in the room. I had him on his back on the bed with his legs in the air, still wearing my Bike No. 10, moaning and thrashing as I ate out his hairy hole for all I was worth.

Finally I gave myself a breather and straightened up. He was looking at me with those killer eyes, as tender as I had ever seen him.

"I love putting my tongue up your hole," I told him.

"Want to put something else up there?"

For a moment I couldn't believe my ears. "What?" I said, like a total fool.

Ethan smiled. "You've been bugging me for months. Now's your chance. Fuck me."

I was incredulous. "You really want to?"

"You heard me. Now hurry up before I change my mind."

I ran to the bathroom and grabbed the lube. Back on the bed I squeezed some out onto my hand. Ethan smiled, reassuring me that no, he hadn't changed his mind.

"Okay, here goes," I said, and slipped one finger into his hole, feeling the smooth flesh inside tighten around it. "Does it hurt?" I asked. He shook his head. Encouraged, I snaked it in until I felt the firm knob of his prostate and began to work it. His face came to life as the new sensations coursed through him.

"Mm, that's nice."

I slipped in a second finger to open him up some more. Finally I thought he was ready. I slipped the jock off of him, greased myself up, and got into position between his legs, putting his feet on my shoulders. My slick cockhead pressed lightly against his hole. "All systems go, buddy?" I asked him.

He nodded, eyes shining. I grasped my rod and began to push forward, feeling his flesh resist, then give way. The next moment my head slipped past his tight ring and I was in. Ethan cried out in pain, something I'd expected. I stopped moving.

"Don't worry, I'm not going any further. Just try and relax. Breathe."

For long seconds there was no sound except for Ethan panting, trying to obey me. Then a long sigh as I began to slide further into his canal. I had him.

In another moment my balls were pressed against his butt, his knees were against his chest and my face was inches from his. "How do you feel, Ethan?" I asked him.

He didn't answer for a moment. Then he spoke.

"I feel--complete. Like I've been waiting all my life for you to come along and fill me up. I thought I'd felt everything I could--but I was wrong, Mike. I'll never forget this."

I stared into his liquid eyes, then pressed my lips to his. We stayed locked together in that kiss as I began to thrust into him. Muffled moans and other noises began to come from both of us as I fucked him harder and faster. His lips moved against mine and finally he broke away with a shout.

"Fuck me, Mike, do it!"

"You got it," I muttered, jack hammering his hole as I rushed toward completion. Rhythmic cries of "Ah, ah," rose from my throat and eventually became one long wail as I exploded in spurt after spurt into Ethan's gut, filling him with my seed. My hand, which had been grasping Ethan's cock, tightened around it as I felt it let loose with its own milky blasts. I caught as much as I could before I brought my hand up to his mouth and flattened it against his face, making him eat his own load. After he'd gotten what he could with his tongue I stuck my fingers in his mouth one by one for him to clean off.

Finally we lay finished, exhausted, stinking of sex, sweat and semen. Ethan raised his head and kissed me. I licked a stray drop of cum off his goatee.

"Was it okay?" I asked him.

He snorted, but gently. "What do you think?"

"I'm thinking," I said, "I'd like to do it again."

He winked. "The night is young."

The morning of our departure dawned gray and overcast, a perfect reflection of our mood. We packed in silence, until Ethan held up an article of clothing that had been lying on the floor, forgotten in the sexual frenzy of the last night.

"So I'm going to keep this jock, right?" he asked. It was my old Bike that I'd peeled off of him last night, just before I took his ass.

"Yep," I told him. "As long you have it, it means we'll do this again someday."

"You really think so?"

I grasped him by the shoulders. "Tell you what, Ethan. If you decide it'll never happen again...if there's not a chance we'll ever get together...mail it back to me. That way I'll know."

He perked up a little. "Like a 'Dear Jock' letter?"

I couldn't help laughing. "Hey, that's pretty funny." I hugged him, hard. "I'm going to miss you, big fella."

"So will I, Mike," Ethan said against my shoulder. "You've been the best."

I squeezed my eyes tight shut to keep the tears from starting.

I only touched Ethan one more time, at a going-away dinner some of the people from the office had for him. It was after his next-to-last day at the company, in a private banquet room at a Chinese restaurant downtown.

Dore, his wife, was there, with their baby boy asleep in a bassinet in the corner of the room. She spent much of the evening checking on him but I did chat with her for a few moments. She was pretty and totally pleasant, which made me feel worse.

"Ethan's really enjoyed working with you," she said. "He would have quit way before now if it hadn't been for those projects. Thanks for making his time here happier."

There was nothing I could say except, "My pleasure." Which was the truth.

There were the usual toasts and roasts and raucous laughter. I saw some of the women dabbing at their eyes--he had been well liked at the company, not just by me. Finally the party broke up. Ethan worked the crowd of us gathered at the exit, hugging everyone he could get his hands on.

He got to me and threw one arm around my shoulder, fixing me with a slightly drunken stare. "Farewell, O partner in crime," he said. Then he grabbed my face and kissed me full on the lips, drawing back with an exaggerated smack.

Gasps and giggles broke out around us. My face was flaming. I did the only thing I could think of, putting my arm around him and bending him backward toward the floor like we were two tango dancers. With my other hand I held his head and gave him an equally outsize, sloppy kiss back. Our colleagues roared with laughter and burst into applause. The next minute I was out on the sidewalk, heading toward the parking garage, my head spinning.

Driving home was hazardous, not only because I was close to the legal limit but because I was alternately laughing and crying.

I called in sick the next day. I had a king-sized hangover, and couldn't stand the thought of encountering Ethan carrying boxes as he cleaned out his stuff.

All this was five years ago. I haven't seen Ethan since. He still e-mails at the end of the year to wish me happy holidays, and talks about coming to visit. He never has, though, and really, why would he? We've both moved on--I left the company soon after he did, and he's now in an executive position and busier than ever. What we had was a special deal and it won't happen again. Still, I miss the camaraderie of our trips together, not to mention the hot sex. I've never met another straight man so comfortable with his body, or the idea of sharing it once in a while with another man.

I will say this, though: he's never sent back the Bike No. 10 that I gave him that last trip. And he knows my address. I'm not holding my breath, of course, but it's nice to think there's still a chance it might happen again. Maybe this is the year Ethan will make it back to town for a Christmas visit. If he ever does, I'll book a local hotel room for a little party. And I know exactly what presents we'll exchange.

END