Warning: the following story contains graphic descriptions of sex between consenting adult males. If you are underage or do not wish to read such materials, or if reading this sort of material is illegal in your jurisdiction, then read no further. If you have any feedback or would like links to other of my stories, feel free to drop me a line at niftystoryteller@yahoo.com.
It was summer when we met, one of those miserably heavy afternoons that define Washington in July. Although it was a Saturday, I had gone into my office to clear away some of the paperwork that grows like kudzu during the workweek at every DC law firm. By mid-afternoon I decided that I had suffered enough, and I opted to get some exercise and run home rather than take the Metro. Lamont, the weekend security guard, shook his head when he saw me on my way out the door, clad in running clothes.
"You know how hot it is out there?" he asked as I passed his desk in the lobby.
"Hotter than Hades?"
"You got that right. You crazy or what?"
"Just stir crazy after being in here all day. And anyway, isn't it supposed to be good for you to sweat?"
He shook his head again. "White folks. What're we gonna do with y'all?"
I laughed. "We're probably just hopeless. At least I know I am. See you next weekend." He tipped his cap and went back to the sports section of his newspaper.
I stepped out of the building into tropical air that felt like a wet wool blanket. Heat shimmered off of the pavement, and there wasn't even a hint of a breeze. I turned down 12th Street and headed for the Mall, hoping that its intermittent shade would offer at least the illusion of relief from the sun. Stopping for a red light after two blocks, I bowed to the inevitable and skinned off my shirt. It would have been soaked within a couple of minutes anyway.
I quickly established a comfortable gait and began to empty my mind of all the details of the legal brief I had been working on for too many hours. After a day of pure mental work, it felt good to dwell in the completely physical world. Other than scattered groupings of hapless tourists clustered around the monuments and museums, few people were in sight, all the way down to the Lincoln Memorial. There wasn't even much traffic when I crossed the Parkway and began to make my way along the river. And that's where I saw him.
He was maybe twenty-five yards ahead of me, loping along easily. He had tucked his shirt into the rear waistband of his shorts, and it flapped like a flag as he ran. I guessed that, like me, he was in his mid-thirties, and he carried his years very well. Even from the rear, I could tell that he had a muscular build. His tan skin glistened with sweat, and I was seized by a desire to inhale his aroma. I increased my pace and began to gain on him. He glanced back ever so slightly when I was about five yards back, and he slightly increased his speed. I responded in kind, and I had almost completely closed the gap by the time we crossed under Pennsylvania Avenue, cruising along in Rock Creek Park. We continued along that way for about fifty yards, and then I made my move, cranking it up and pulling ahead. As I passed, I glanced his way. I couldn't see his eyes because of his wrap-around shades, but the rest of his face was strikingly handsome, in a dark and rugged sort of way. Heavy stubble covered his cheeks, echoing the dark hair that covered his solid pecs. A rivulet of sweat trickled down his sternum and joined the trail of hair that led across his flat stomach to his navel and points further south. Tall, dark, and sexy just about summed him up, though the look he shot me at that moment made me wonder if there was also some danger in the mix. I breathed deeply the scent of a sweaty man.
I was just getting ready to comment on the challenging pace that he had set for me when God, or Allah, or whoever is out there decided to throw the monkey wrench. The police report said that a northbound car on the too-narrow Parkway drifted into oncoming traffic, causing a chain reaction of swerves in the southbound lane that resulted in a Honda Civic jumping the curb and plowing straight towards us, guided by a driver whose face was buried in a giant airbag. My reflexes were just a hair slower than his, so I was the one who received the glancing blow and was tossed aside by the impact.
I must have briefly blacked out. When I came to, my initial reaction was to jump up and see what the fuck had happened, but a calming voice told me to stay still. I paused and took a mental inventory of my limbs. My right thigh hurt like hell, but it did not feel like it was broken. A dull ache spread from my left shoulder, which had received the impact of my fall. Most importantly, my noggin seemed to be operating normally.
When I opened my eyes, I saw that he was kneeling next to me, his face floating above mine. He had lost the sunglasses, so I could look directly into the dark pools of his eyes.
"Try moving your fingers and toes."
Obediently I did as I was told.
"Good. It doesn't look like anything is broken, so you're probably going to be OK, but they'll still want to take you to the hospital, I bet."
I could hear a couple of sirens in the distance.
"Thanks for checking me out," I said. "Are you a doctor?"
"No, but my brother's a neurologist, so I've gotten the lecture about not moving accident victims, or letting them move themselves."
By this time a couple of police cars and an ambulance from nearby George Washington University Hospital were pulling up to sort out the mess. I realized that my window of opportunity was closing.
"I'm Ben, by the way, Ben Hendricks. I'd shake your hand, but that would be contrary to doctor's orders."
He smiled and reached down and squeezed my right hand. "Nice to meet you, Ben. I'm Richard."
And that, as they say, was that. The EMTs swarmed around me, and I was put on a stretcher and taken to the hospital. The examination revealed some nasty bruises and scrapes, but fortunately nothing more serious. After the doctors were through I gave my statement to an officer, and he kindly offered to drive me home in his cruiser. Even though I was just banged up, completing my run was out of the question. Once home I did manage to shower and put on some clean clothes, and I had just stretched out on the couch and started to give in to the effects of the pain pill when the buzzer from downstairs rang. Cursing mildly, I hoisted myself up and hobbled to the intercom.
"Yeah, what is it?" I said in a less-than-friendly tone of voice.
"It's Richard." The voice paused for a minute. "The guy who led you into the path of oncoming traffic."
It would be an understatement to say I was surprised, and my codeine-addled brain was not entirely sure how to respond. So I took the path of least resistance.
"I'll buzz you up. I'm in 4C."
A few minutes later, there was a soft knock at my front door, which I had left ajar, and he poked his head in. I had retreated to the couch in the meantime.
"Knock, knock," he said.
"Come on in. Sorry if I don't get up, but I'm a little unsteady on my feet."
"No problem, I just wanted to check and make sure you're OK."
"Only a little worse for wear. Nothing that time won't heal."
There was an awkward pause. "If you don't mind my asking, how did you track me down?" I asked.
"The police told me where I could find you. I told them I had to return this to you." He held out the T-shirt that I had lost when I took my little flight. "As it happens, I have the exact same one, and I didn't want to risk getting them mixed up."
I realized at that point that the T-shirt in question had a prominent HRC logo on it, and the subtext of his comment was pretty clear. I was a little surprised that the police had given him my address, but I decided not to press the point.
"Thanks, it's a favorite. I'd hate to lose it. Listen, can I get you something? Something to drink?"
He shook his head. "You're in no shape to play host. I should be getting something for you."
And that is exactly what he did. As I settled into my opiate-induced haze, he took care of me. I normally would have thought it odd that a perfect stranger would show up at my door, get pillows for me, cook a simple dinner of scrambled eggs and toast, and then, when it was clear that I couldn't stay awake any longer, help me down the hallway to bed. Normally that would have seemed very odd. But fortunately there was nothing normal about that evening, and I just accepted what was happening.
"I'd better stop in here first," I said as we passed the bathroom on the way to my bedroom. Bracing myself on a towel rod with one hand, I pulled down the front of the loose athletic shorts I was wearing with the other and started to pee. I could feel his presence out in the hall, and the thought of him so near had a predictable effect on my cock. Since I wasn't wearing any underwear, it would be a little difficult to hide. He did glance down at my crotch when I rejoined him, but that didn't stop him from tucking me in like a perfect gentleman.
"I'll be out on the couch if you need anything. I can stay the night just in case the doctors missed something."
I nodded, the room faded from view, and I was asleep.
My body hurt like hell the next morning, especially my thigh. Groggily I pushed down the covers and saw the dark purple bruise that had developed. It was ugly. Over in the corner, Richard was sleeping in an overstuffed chair, curled up under the afghan my grandmother had made. It only covered a fraction of his long frame. I watched him as he dozed. Had I really allowed a perfect stranger to spend the night in my apartment while I was incapacitated? The head trauma must have been worse than I had thought.
Richard's eyes fluttered open and he looked momentarily disoriented before he focused on me. His eyes crinkled as he smiled. "So the patient survived the night. That's good. How do you feel?"
"Like shit," I replied. "Did I get caught up in the running of the bulls in Pamplona, by chance?"
"Nah, it was a Civic, not a Taurus."
I laughed, which only made me hurt more. "Ohhh, don't make me laugh. I suppose I should offer to make you some coffee."
"Don't even think about it." He came over and sat on the bed next to me. "Is there anything you need?"
I shook my head and reached out to grasp his hand. "No, but I should thank you for being my nurse. Can I ask why you've taken on this case?"
"I thought it was very rude of that driver to cut you off right as you were about ready to say something, and I wanted to hear what it was." He looked down at my crotch, where a very conspicuous erection had formed and was tenting my shorts. "But I think that we may have moved on from there."
I nodded as I reached up to grasp the back of his neck and pulled his lips down to meet mine. We kissed softly at first, but slowly the intensity increased. His stubble was rough, but I loved the sandpapery feel. He stretched out on the bed next to me and we just lay there for a while, kissing and touching each other through our clothes. My injuries left me in a strangely passive role, one I normally don't play during sex, which is usually a time when I want to move around. But that wasn't going to be possible that morning.
"I don't think I'm going to be able to get this shirt off of you very easily," he said as he slipped his hand underneath. "Your shoulder is probably pretty stiff."
"The shorts, however..." I said.
"Ah, yes, the shorts." He pushed my shirt up partway, allowing him to kiss my stomach. "The shorts are another matter."
By this point I was completely hard, and the tip of my cock was protruding from the waistband of my shorts. A shiver went through me when he snaked his tongue out to lick it. All sorts of delicious sensations emanated from my groin as his mouth began to move down the length of my shaft and blow through the thin cotton fabric. Direct physical contact was not even necessary. But it was most welcome when he slipped my shorts off of me and began to lick the length of my shaft.
"Nice, very nice," he breathed, reaching down to his zipper. He paused briefly to skin off his T-shirt and drop his shorts and underwear, and then he was completely naked. Reaching out, I grasped his thick cock as he took me into his mouth. The combination of the residual effects of the codeine painkillers and the feeling of his lips traveling down my shaft made me feel like I was melting into the mattress. I threw my head back and moaned before trying to hoist myself up.
Very gently he pushed me back. "Just lie back and enjoy. This is purely medicinal, for pain relief."
I followed his orders and received the most delicious blowjob of my life. Time after time, very slowly and methodically, he brought me right up to the edge of an orgasm before backing off. All the while he manipulated his thick, uncut cock, rolling the foreskin back and forth over his dark purple knob.
"I want to cum at the same time as you," I breathed, running my fingers through his hair. He groaned, causing exquisite sensations to vibrate through my cock, which was buried in his throat. He simultaneously began to jerk himself faster and to apply greater pressure to me. The excitement built rapidly for both of us. I could tell that he was getting ready to shoot when his balls began to draw up into a hard package, and the knowledge that he was approaching the point of no return pushed me right over. As he sprayed cum all over my thigh I pumped it deep into his throat, and he drank deeply of every drop. Waves of endorphins completely overpowered the pain from my injured body, and I was left floating on a cloud of good feeling. This was exactly the medicine I needed to heal.