"Chasers (or a Foreign Exchange)'
The following story is actually part of a long, multi-part story ("He and I" in the Adult-Youth section of Gay stories at nifty.org) which follows the lives of several people, including Sean (who describes his "encounter" below) and Andy (his lover). But this story is about a one-night stand that can exist alone.
I aim to please, so I'd appreciate any suggestions on how to make my stories hotter so that I can keep you hard, help you get your rocks off, and give you pleasure(s).
Please tell me if you like it (andrewphil69@gmail.com). This, and all my stories are copyrighted.
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Regards, Drew.
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Chasers (or a Foreign Exchange)
Great trip up with Andy. After I dropped Andy off at Chad's I caught a fast food meal and went to my motel. Nice room with two double beds and me, a horny, lonely guest. Even if Andy were here we still would have had an extra bed. I decided to go to the lounge for a beer. I nursed a Sam Adams thinking about the frustrating spring and the fulfillment of my most fantastic sexual fantasies at the end of May. And how things settled almost into routine this month. The novelty has worn off but the lust, passion, and now love remains.
As I sat there a guy, looking in his early thirties, carrying a Guinness was looking around for a place to sit. He was reasonably handsome and fit, with a well-trimmed but full blond beard. I'd say in his mid-thirties. I gestured to the chair at my otherwise empty table. He raised his eyebrows in question and I nodded. He mouthed, "Thanks," and sat down to my right.
He offered his hand, introducing himself, "I'm Nigel," with a decidedly British accent. I responded in kind, though in an American accent. Hearing my name he asked if I were Irish. I told him my mother's father, for whom I was named, was. I asked him what brought him to Springfield and he told me he was from Reading University and was attending a university-sponsored conference on Shakespeare. I suggested that such a conference might better be held in England, and he laughed at that, saying that our university had an excellent program on English literature. In fact there is some evidence that some of the people living in our Appalachians speak an English closer to that spoken in the time of Elizabeth I and Shakespeare than anybody in England today. He told me this was his first visit to the states and he found it quite fascinating, but he found it "a touch tricky crossing the motorways with the automobiles and lories driving on the wrong side of the road." I laughed and he did as well. I treated him to the next round of beer/ale, and later he returned the favor. By then he asked me to call him "Nige."
Soon we both were relaxed and I had quite a buzz on. I asked him what the conference was about and he said "Shakespeare and his sexuality." I observed the coincidence that I was working on a thesis about the sexuality of our Founding Fathers. That opened a lively discussion about ambiguity in language and the interpretation of writings that showed affection between men.
He mentioned offhand that he was a bit "randy", having been away from home for over a week. I was not sure what he meant, and he clarified, "I suppose you Americans use the term `horny'." As he said that he made eye contact and smiled. I smiled back, holding the gaze. "You want to come up to my room and have a nightcap?" he inquired.
"Sure," I answered, suddenly looking at my Shakespearean scholar in a somewhat different light. When we got to his room he brought out a bottle of single malt Scotch and poured each of us two fingers neat. I sat in a chair while he sat on the bed. We silently sipped the Scotch slowly, appreciating its smokey aroma and taste. This only deepened the relaxation and the mood. He had unbuttoned the top two buttons of his sports shirt, exposing a broad chest densely covered with the same dirty blond hair of his beard. I felt my groin responding to this virile display. Finally he said, "After such fine whisky I'd really like a fine chaser." That confused me, thinking he wanted another beer, but he quickly clarified his desire by adding, with a smile, "If you don't mind I prefer the creamy drink that only you can provide."
Any confusion was dispelled as he stood up and came over, knelt down before me, spreading my legs, and looking up at me. I was briefly frozen with a mixture of surprise and lust. But his handsome face, infectious smile and penetrating hazel eyes won me over and I succumbed to his charm. His hands on my knees (which would have been weak, had I been standing), he buried his face in my crotch. Recognizing, or rather feeling, my willingness he unzipped my fly and unbuckled my belt as I slipped down in the chair. I raised my bum to allow him to slip off my jeans, releasing my engorged member, which popped out of the fly of my boxer shorts. I could feel the warmth of his breath as he contemplated its impressive length and breadth. He slowly engulfed it fully, deep throating it, his tongue massaging its veiny length while his beard lightly and erotically rubbed along my inner thighs. What pleasure! I began slowly thrusting in response to his sucking. He was good. Very good. As I thrusted he sometimes gagged, but that didn't seem to slow him down. The pace quickened until I realized the one-sided nature of this "chaser."
I exclaimed, "Whoa! I want my chaser, too!" and pulled out. He looked up at me quizzically as I stood up, gripping his upper arms. Now face-to-face I unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off exposing his buff and hairy torso. He did the same to me. I moved forward, my lightly haired chest gently rubbing his heavily hirsute one. Then I shoved him him back on the bed and fell atop him, my exposed erection pressing the bulge in his pants. I loved the feeling of his furry chest on mine. I pulled back to unbuckle his belt, unzip his fly, removing his trousers and his underpants so that we were both naked.
"Now for my favorite number, 69," I said as I swung around to minister to his rampant hard-on. He returned to what he had begun and we settled into our mutual pleasure. It was hard to sort out what I most enjoyed, his sucking my cock or my sucking his, or the pleasure we gave each other with our exploring hands and mouths. We both took pauses to teabag each other. I especially enjoyed the looseness and soft hairiness of his nut sack as I sucked each ball. I fingered his anus while pulling his cock deep into my mouth. He seemed to enjoy that as well if his moans of pleasure were any indication. I enjoyed the rigid softness and warmth of his shaft, running my tongue over the prominent veins, sensing the increasing rhythm of his heart. I deeply inhaled the musky, masculine smell of his pubes, catching just a whiff of his cologne.
I felt the expertise of his technique as well. As I got him more and more excited he increased his attention to my throbbing cock, doing things with his tongue and teeth (very gently running them over my shaft) that I'd never experienced before. After about 5 minutes we were each approaching our "no stopping" point.
Nige called out, "I'm about to shoot!" This time I didn't hold off and seconds later my mouth was filled with his cum, and his with mine. We both swallowed.
"Your spunk tastes great," he commented as we rolled away from each other. Panting. Then he added, in a whisper, "You are, indeed, `the master of my passion.'" I turned about and joined him side by side on our backs, my right arm about his shoulders and my left stroking the thick and curly mat of his chest. As I massaged his chest I felt his nipples hardening and noticed his member had become half hard. But I was pooped and I turned onto my belly and fell fast asleep.
I woke around 3 am. Nigel was fast asleep. I quietly got up, slipped back into my clothes and returned to my own room. Woke six hours later, went down to breakfast. Big crowd. Got my food and looked around for an open table. Saw Nigel sitting alone, went over and asked, "Can I join you?"
"My pleasure," he responded in his clipped Oxbridge accent, smiling. He told me that he was heading back home on a noon flight, and added that if I were ever in Reading to look him up. We had a nice conversation without any reference to the events of the previous night. I wished him a good trip as we parted. And that was that.
Frankly I had never had a "one-night stand" before and, although I enjoyed the sex (a lot!), I was left with a very empty feeling, although I ran across what he whispered to me after our sex. It was a paraphrase of a line in Shakespeare's Sonnet 20.