The following fictional story deals with sex among males. If you are offended by such material, are too young, or reside in an area where it is not allowed, cease reading now and depart. Though not observed in this story, care enough about yourself and humankind always to practice safe sex.
The author retains all rights. No reproductions or links to other sites are allowed without the author's consent.
Thanks for your feedback, everyone! Unfortunately, in the last chapter, "Moorings Secured," the next-to-last scene did not translate from my formatted file to Nifty accurately, so the interplay was not clear. I hope the intention came through anyway.
Patrick Young ClayCub51@Yahoo.com
Clay Chapter 11 "Circuits of Power"
Clay turned off the shower and buried his face in lush brown terrycloth. `What was that?' he wondered as he froze, listening. The phone rang loudly a second time. He dashed to the bedside table, leaving a trail of wet footsteps on the purple carpet. "Clay Grant here," he chirped into the receiver.
"Hey, hunky hubby!"
"Hey yourself, my voluptuous little flesh pudding," he chuckled. "I was in the shower, and I'm dripping all over your beautiful new carpet." She laughed.
"Are you dripping, honeypot?" His eyebrow arched as he ran the towel between his legs, slowing his motions to an erotic stroke of his heavy balls, his shaft thickening.
"I am now, you nasty man, thinking of you standing there naked and wet, probably pulling your pud ... Am I right?" she teased.
"Well, now that you bring it up, I have matters well in hand," he retorted, slicking the moisture around the head of his dick, the swelling corona sensitive, hardening into a helmet. He kept up the circles, a drop of precome joining the mix, lazily squeezing his asspucker rhythmically in response. "How was the flight?"
"Uneventful, after the baby behind me finally went to sleep. I got a good bit of Bishop Spong's latest book read. The traffic into Manhattan wasn't too bad, either. It's so nice at the Dakota. They actually remembered me this time," she droned.
He played with the slickness suddenly copious, looking into the dresser mirror at his profile. He smiled at himself, `sex pig, fucking cum slut,' he mouthed. He jerked his cock obscenely, doing a Tom Cruise knock-off, realizing he liked what he saw. "So did you get dinner?" he asked mid-stroke.
"Room service is bringing up a club sandwich and a Coke," she replied. "I'm turning in right after that. We meet the sheik for breakfast at 7:30, then it's nonstop. The executive secretary is having lunch brought in, and the reception starts at 6:00. I hope the orchestra knows something decent to dance to. I doubt they'll play any salsa though, not for this crowd." Clay swiveled his hips, thrust lewdly into his hand.
"What, no dirty dancing with his Highness?" he breathed heavily.
"Not if David Murkowski is there, which he should be. He'd never let an opportunity to feel me up go by, and you know how competitive he is around the delegation."
Clay flashed on the short, intense dynamo on Claire's legal team: pretty face, gym- fanatic body, snazzy dresser, always a half-hard trouser snake down the left leg of his too-tight suit pants, ebullient if na•ve. He could just imagine the little stud dipping Claire in a tango, erection straining. `She'll bite his fingers off at the shoulder and chase him off the floor with his arm if he grabs her,' he mused. "Aww, he's a cute little piece, Claire. Throw him a bone if he tries anything," he goaded her.
"The only bone he'll try is his own, and in his dreams!" she snapped back. "I think he needs a good man, not a beard."
"Really!?!" Clay stroked his hose, a new drop of dickdew appearing. "What makes you think that?"
"As if I couldn't spot a closet case on the prowl at a hundred paces!" She snorted. "I should introduce him to you and Warren. He'd cum in his pants at the thought of twins..."
"You'd loan me out for mercy sex? Claire! I'm shocked!" he chortled, his dick throbbing in his hand. "What would Warren think?"
"I watched him at dinner last night. I bet he'd jump at the chance to be with you, teaching some young innocent about getting physical. You were both so attuned to being together, and Corey sure wasn't helping, teasing me so mercilessly about the two of you being twins. I got the feeling he wanted to choreograph you guys in a hot scene."
Her suggested image was suddenly so real that Clay and his reflection stopped, surged, smiled knowingly. `Anytime, my brother. In a skinny minute!' His cock flared back at himself. "I wouldn't compromise your professional relationship with David, Claire, and you know it. No one in the Circle would do that to you."
"Well, David needs guidance and permission about parts of his life that I can't provide him. I like him and wish he were focusing his attention appropriately. He's very talented and does a great job, but he's easily distracted by all the power we throw around in these meetings. Something's missing, and I think it's a he."
`Needs to discover his Lion and get a thorough fucking,' Clay mused. He imagined the big dick in his hand between David's full red lips. He leaked again, smeared the honey around his hard crown. "Just be kind and don't deflate him if he asks you," he chided gently.
"Oh! Room service is here," Claire said suddenly. "Better go. I love you, monsieur."
"I love you, madame. Call me when it's over tomorrow night."
"I will, sweetie. Goodnight," she replied.
"'Bye, hon!" Clay hung up and considered himself, playfully posing in the mirror. But then he thought of the real twin fixing him dinner tonight and realized he'd better get dressed. He was rock-hard as he finished preening.
Clay was putting on his jacket when the phone rang. "Clay Grant here."
"It's Tony, Clay. Have you got a minute?"
"Sure, buddy! How's it going?"
"Actually, pretty well," the Irishman said excitedly. "I've talked with Scott."
"That's terrific!" Clay replied. "What's the news?"
"Well, his career is over after that last play of the game last week. I took a chance and called him at DC General, just to check in, tell him I had seen the game and was worried about him. I thought he might not want to talk to me, but he was really glad I called. They've already done the surgery, but his knee is totally shot, and he's not up for a long rehab just to have it happen again, so he's hanging up the cleats and moving back to Philly," Tony said. "And he wants to see me!"
"Gosh, I'm so sorry about the injury, but that's great that you connected."
"It's because of you, Clay. I made that call with your voice behind my ear, reminding me that loving someone should not be about pain, real or remembered. Scott was so surprised to hear from me, thinking that I wanted to forget him after he was traded, that I didn't care anything for him once the sex ended. He told his wife Lisa all about us after their second son was born last month, and she helped him through dealing with a lot of hard stuff, but one thing she always told him was that he needed closure with me. That blew me away, first that he would tell her about us, then that she understood, and that she encouraged him not to forget me. That's so different from what I expected, from him or from her. She's pretty special."
Clay felt a warmth in his heart and his crotch. "Living into the limits of Lisa's expectations didn't leave you a lot of room for possibilities with Scott, did it? I'm glad you are uncovering the truth of what's so instead."
"Well, before you claimed me, Clay, I sure didn't know that," Tony replied softly, "and I've been listening differently ever since. I told Scott how sorry I am that I hurt him both physically and spiritually, and that I hoped he would forgive me. He accepted my apology totally and wants me back in his life, along with the wife, kids, dog, station wagon, the whole nine yards. The most amazing thing is that Lisa was there when I called and wanted to speak with me. Talk about nervous -- I had no idea what to do. But I kept hearing you tell me to give the gift of myself freely, every time, from now on. She knows I still love Scott and that he still loves me, and it's not exclusive for her. How cool is that?!? She wants me be there to help him as he recovers from his injury, to come to their new home when they move back East, to know their sons. This is so weird, but I feel like I've been adopted, by Scott and his family, into their future. I like that. Then there's you. I'm in awe, Clay, and I have you to thank for making this happen."
"Tony, you're the one who's making it happen," Clay countered, "because this is your script to write."
"Well, I don't know what it's supposed to look like, and that's pretty spooky."
"Does anybody, Tony?" Clay said. "We're not talking about playing safe here by only doing what we already know. My wife and I are exploring new territory, too, and it scares the hell out of both of us. You're not alone here, buddy. But that doesn't stop us from doing it, now does it?"
"You're so special, Clay!" Tony blurted.
"No, Tony, I'm pretty ordinary," Clay replied. "I'm just keeping better company that I ever have before. We're all going to have to get used to that being the norm, aren't we?"
What a turn of events!' Clay thought as he rode the elevator to the lobby. Tony and Scott, healing each other. I'm so happy for them both.' As the door opened, Josh bounded forward, almost colliding with him, both startled. "Whoa, stud, where's the fire?"
"Wow, Clay, I was just coming up to tell you: I've got a date!" Josh bubbled, his grin a mile wide. "His name's Steve and I met him in the gym at the free weights and he's gorgeous and big and funny and a virgin and wants to come out and says he wants me to be the one to show him how. He wants ME to fuck HIM! Can you believe it?!"
Clay burst out laughing. "Slow down, stud, or that big thing bobbing in your shorts is gonna go off! And yes, I can believe it. You're perfect, remember?"
"Yeah, you made me believe that, you big moose, fucking the little guy with that fat hard dick, turning me into some kind of sex maniac..."
"Josh, what's with your size issue?" Clay chided. "You're 5'9", built like Michelangelo's David, perfectly proportioned, except for that hooded snake between your legs that should be in a porn flick!" Josh blushed. "So a larger man reads your assets and wants you in him? So what? My first guy experience was my high school quarterback -- I told you about `The Brick', the first dick I ever held other than my own until yours last week. He was a lot shorter than you and just as perfect. He was intact, too, just like you, and the moment I felt your foreskin that day in the basement, I was just as turned on and in love with you as I now realize I was with him then: compact, flawless, hung, hot and willing. Do you know how sexy willingness is, Josh?" The two men were staring deeply into the other's eyes. "Do you have any idea what a fantasy you are, especially to guys my size who have always envisioned themselves as gangly, scared little boys wanting the big strong coach to teach them about their sexuality? So what if we finally grew into our bodies, large, proportional, virile at last? At that time we were the consummate wimps, late bloomers, little-dicked babies in awe of the sight of a pubic hair or a growing, fatter dick in the showers. My first wet dream was in junior high over Coach Metts. He was probably only 5'5" but an ex-Marine, bulging with muscles, covered in hair, more energy and testosterone probably in my imagination than reality, but he was the ideal of masculinity to this 13-year-old. Take my man Corey: he's compact, too, yet I have never experienced a larger being in my life, and that uncut cock just adds to his magnificence! Do you get the connection, the company you're in, ya putz?" Clay was gently stroking Josh's bicep. Josh did the same. Their cocks were both very hard.
"Some of us need the teacher, Josh, the coach: a hot, hard, real, strong, powerful man, ALL man. So what if we are taller or weigh more or built different now? Your power is what's so huge. Let us know your hugeness, and don't second-guess us. We each have our desires, right? You hot daddy types are what some of us need to surrender to! What you judge as somehow inferior is exactly what we want and have ALWAYS wanted. Why would you withhold yourself from us who want you just as you are? Don't take yourself out of the conversation and deny us those desires just because YOU feel smaller -- bigger dimensions don't define the possibilities of who needs whom to do what and in which orifice. Do you hear me, Josh, my magic man?"
Josh's eyes brimmed with love. "I hear you, my big, beautiful cheerleader. You're so special!"
The lock on Miss Myrtle's door clicked open, and the newly-groomed Zeus exploded into the foyer. "Hi, boys," she sang, a blur of purple and diamonds and Private Collection. "Time for the business stroll. What are you two up to tonight?" She perused their closeness, smiling wryly.
Josh recovered first. "Hey, Zeus, you've been to the beauty parlor. What a pretty puppy!" Zeus lowered his perfectly clipped Scottie ears and accepted the pats in rare submission, groveling at his favorite neighbor's feet. "I've got a date, and Clay's off to God-knows-where," he said, "so I've gotta go take a shower."
"What a nice boy," Miss Myrtle crooned into Clay's face, patting his cheek. "I saw your wife this morning, leaving for her trip. How nice you've got friends already to look after you!" She yanked the leash and said, "Okay, Your Highness, let's go for our stroll. These boys can take certainly care of themselves." They disappeared out the front door with a flourish.
Josh looked up into the emerald eyes of his dear friend and mentor. "Thank you, Clay. I'm ready to be me," he said as he caressed the strong jaw of his hunky neighbor.
"Aren't we both!" Clay replied. He pulled Josh into a warm bear hug.
Warren opened the door, clad in black jeans, sweater and Birkenstocks, which set off his tawny coloring, a golden glow centered at his dazzling smile. "Hey, good lookin'," he rumbled, pulling Clay into a tight embrace. "Welcome!"
Clay wrapped his arms around the strong body and just held on. `Damn, he feels good!' He sensed a heaviness at his crotch, fullness in his heart. "Thanks for asking me over," he murmured into Warren's ear, then kissed the cheek.
Warren pressed back against the growing bulge, himself swelling, and chuckled. "I'm glad you're here, too, cubby. We're going to enjoy ourselves tonight." He tousled Clay's short curls as he beamed again. "Want some wine? I've got a Teldeschi Old Vines Zin breathing."
Clay slipped off his coat and handed it to his near-twin. "Sounds yummy! Anything I can help you with?" His eyebrow arched, green eyes crinkling.
"Probably," Warren schmoozed back with a wink and matching eyebrow arch. "Let's just see what comes up! We can start on the wine." He took Clay's jacket down the hall.
Clay poured two glasses of the dark nectar, met Warren as he headed toward the kitchen, handed him one, raised his. "To a great evening, my brother," he toasted.
Warren clinked Clay's glass and smiled broadly. "My brother," he echoed. "Yeah, my brother! I like having a brother." They clinked glasses again and sipped. The zinfandel was luscious. He bustled around setting dinner for them, lighting candles as they bantered easily.
The dinner was scrumptious, the conversation effortless and rich, covering childhoods, parents, sisters, schools, travels, dreams. Every person or event seemed to have a counterpart to the other's tale. Karmic twins indeed.
"I hope Claire got to New York okay," Warren said as he poured more wine.
"Yeah, she called as I was getting out of the shower before I dressed for tonight. She teased me about standing around naked and wet and hard, getting ready to be with my newfound twin, which I was," Clay chuckled as he raised that eyebrow.
"She's such a wonderful person, Clay," Warren said seriously, "and so in love with you. You are one lucky man. Corey and I are both very impressed by the strength of your marriage."
"Well, my new men friends threw her a curve at first, but I think that now that she's met you, she's in a much better place. I even believe she understands our physical attractions. There's a colleague of hers she thinks is looking for a man in his life but afraid to do so, and she had the notion of Corey directing you and me to teach him. Now is that a sea change from her first reaction when I told her I had had sex with him, or what?!?!" Clay studied his brother's eyes.
Warren returned the easy gaze and smiled. "Clay, you don't realize how special you are." Those same words again, now from his twin! "The beauty of your soul attracts so many people to you, and will always do so. And your many relationships are not about competition. With your soulmate, when you are lucky enough to recognize who that is, you marry; with another, you bond in the most intimate of friendships; with some, you lead and model with your greatness; still others, you nurture and heal. Corey intuits inner power so clearly, and he rarely gets fooled. He recognizes healthy sexuality as the source of power we all have in common, not just a fun roll in the hay, but being whole in your life, in all relationships, as powerful as that special bond of marriage. He's so committed to finding like-minded beings to gather around himself, and he's good at finding them. So don't be surprised that Claire also fits that criteria, nor that she and Corey can sense it in each other. They have that savvy in common. There's nothing for her to fear."
Clay pondered for a moment. "That is so spiritually rich. I haven't heard anything so powerful outside of a church before."
"Church has no monopoly on personal power and the definition of worth, although that is one of the few venues where you can even talk about it. Corey and I feel so fortunate to have found the parish where we attend. They celebrate a beautiful liturgy, and the community is very diverse and intelligent. Really suits us."
"We were both brought up Protestant, but haven't connected here yet," Clay replied. "Maybe we can join you guys one Sunday when we're both in town. I was raised High Church, but Claire is more mainstream."
"You both might like this mix. For example, we had the most robust discussion in our Bible study forum before Mass this morning," Warren said. "We are on Leviticus and were enumerating the laundry list of abominations, a term I'm so sick of having thrown around by the right wingers. Father Jim is such a gentle soul, but he's an amazing scholar and his theology is so wise. Did you ever consider that when these laws were written, the tribe had just returned from exile and was decimated, so anything that didn't produce children, and particularly male children, was unthinkable. That doesn't mean that all those societal situations enumerated didn't occur in those days, but with the primitive understanding about reproduction and tribal self-preservation, it was totally an issue of population growth. So whatever did not contribute to more males was deemed outside the covenant, thus an unholy concept: abomination." Warren slowly shook his head sadly and took another sip of wine. "Even the silliest notions, that we now know are biologically ridiculous or well within societal norms, were to them this great awful `otherness.' It's almost a joke that our faith traditions are still based on both the ignorance of outdated, scientifically flawed perception as much as the codification and ongoing interpretations of language that were totally biased by the writers. The specific agenda was preservation of their understanding the covenant, as if all other spiritual systems had to be made evil or wrong solely because they came from a different system or heritage. That seems like pretty thin logic now, all these laws still used to retain power over what they claim in the next chapter or book is free: the divine gift of love to ALL humanity."
Clay sipped his wine as he observed Warren's ease of expression. "You're really something, brotherman!" he said. "I haven't chewed on a concept like that since college, and I always enjoyed such intellectual exercise."
Warren smiled. "I've come to realize that strong convictions are part of me, and my spirit and faith are as important to show to the world as my face. When I busted out of the closet, I swore I wasn't going back into ANY of them, about sexuality, integrity, spirituality, work, or community. I have to be integrated on all those levels or I'm not being all I can be. And I won't live like that ever again."
"You express what's inside you so effortlessly. I'm not so poised, or confident, I guess," Clay said. "Have you ever thought of becoming a priest? Your point is flawless, and so enlightened."
"A priest? Ha! I believe we're all priests, of the Order of Common Humanity. Ordination as clergy isn't necessary for me to make a difference in this community," Warren replied humbly. "My ministry is just living my life"
"But this just flows out of you, from your heart. It's brilliant! I'm all the more impressed," Clay countered.
"Well, just hang around Corey and watch yourself get used to it just flowing out of you, too. He invokes the best, 24/7. I'm so blessed." His eyes filled with pure love.
"So tell me where you and Corey met."
Warren's entire being swelled visibly at the memory. "Let's open this next bottle and get comfortable for that tale, in there," he said, leading them to the deep cushions of the den couch. His movements were fluid, precise, totally natural as he refilled their glasses. "Where is the mysterious lynchpin where this all started? At Daddy's Bar in the Castro, of all places. I had come to San Francisco for a public relations seminar and realized I had given myself permission to finally come out. So I put on my tightest jeans and headed to Castro Street. Why I went to Daddy's I can't say -- just turned in. It seemed safe enough, no big crowd yet, so I got a beer from the hunky little muscle bear behind the bar, went to stand by the steps for a vantage spot, and there he was, looking at me, into me. Just hanging out chatting up his friendly neighborhood bartender, it seemed, and new meat strolled in, so he locked on. Well, you know what a fantasy come true he looks like. And he's looking at ME? I think that was my first public hard- on, and did he notice! I was so nervous and turned on. And he read me like the front page of the Chronicle...
He walked right up to me, squared off barely an inch away and said "Haven't seen you in here before." I felt like a cobra facing the mongoose, mesmerized, terrified.
"No, you haven't. It's my first visit to San Francisco. Nice to meet you." I offered my hand. He took it, just enveloped it in his energy. I was blushing so hard I radiated. I know he felt the heat. My hand was sweating, and I think my knees were shaking, but my mouth had suddenly gone dry so I sucked down half my beer in one swallow, then damn near snorted it in his face. He didn't even flinch, just kept closing the gap between us. I swallowed it back, wiped my nose on my sleeve.
"Easy, cub, I ain't gonna bite ya, not until you ask me to," he chuckled low. "You're new to this, ain't ya?"
I know I got brighter there in the dark. "It's that obvious?" I said and started to act coy, but his gaze wouldn't let me dare crack. I had to stay focused. Then he did it: he touched me. Slid his hand up my arm, squeezed my bicep. I felt my shorts get wet, tighter. I had the proverbial fight/flight moment.
"So what are you in Daddy's looking to find, son?" he crooned into my face, licking his lips like a hungry lion. That's when he pushed his crotch into mine and I felt lightning run up my ass to my heart. All of a sudden I wasn't afraid. I only felt this power.
I said, "I'm looking to be who I really am. I don't know why I turned in here. Maybe because you were in here and wanted me to." I had never talked to a man like that in my life, and it just spilled out of my mouth.
"So what don't you think you know about yourself, that I might show you, cub?" That's when he smiled through that wild sexy beard, and I just melted. I reached forward and touched his nipple through the black t-shirt, felt that mountain of muscle dance into my hand. I was a goner. I didn't know if I wanted to devour him, hot little muscle stud making me hard, or have him ravage me, his powerful sexiness so large, leading me, dominating my desire. He could have thrown me down and fucked my virgin ass right there with an audience and I wouldn't have known the difference. I just knew we belonged together.
The funny thing is how unaffected he was. He caught a string of drool from my chin I didn't even know was there and pushed it back into my mouth. I latched onto him like a kitten on mama's tit and wouldn't let go. He played my mouth and just watched my face until I stopped sucking and whimpered at him. He unplugged his thumb and played it across my lips a few seconds, then said, "Let's go." The next part is such a blur: I remember getting into a cab and back out at some big luxurious hotel, riding an elevator into the clouds, and a door closing. I was gasping for air, looking down at him standing still, those steel blue eyes reaching into my soul.
"So what's your name, cub?" he finally asked. I told him. "And who is Warren Atwell?"
I answered, "I think I'm about to find out, really soon."
"You already know, cub," he cut me off. "Tell me."
I went into this surreal trance. It was my voice pouring out this litany of what I had always wanted but never had the guts to do. But I was watching a video of what my body was doing: pulling off my clothes at the door and just standing there with the fiercest hard-on of my life in front of my wildest wet dream. He matched my every move until we were skin to skin, his perfect body pumped up and masculine in all that beautiful hair, glistening with sweat and testosterone, barely touching, his foreskin nuzzling my cock, swapping slime. "So I decided it was time to come out on this trip and fuck with a man," I was saying as he pressed his cock back against mine.
"And how do you want to fuck me?" he said, so cool, so easy. He never hesitated as to who was going to do what to whom. There was no issue of masculinity whatsoever, who was the "real man" here, who was top or bottom like I had imagined mansex was about. He was going to get fucked, and by me, right then and there, and was ready for it. He changed my world in that moment, a real man wanting me to be a real man and fuck him like real men fuck. He made me his equal, made me feel whole for the first time in my life.
I remember my throat caught. "I don't know how to, I just know I want to," I told him.
He led me to his bed, ripped back the covers, threw me onto my back, said "Then let's find out how you like it, cub," and climbed up my body with his mouth, from balls to lips leaving no inch of my skin unslicked. He was such a master, readying me, readying himself for me. A condom appeared out of nowhere and he sheathed me in a flash, then stopped dead still with my cockhead at his ass, his magnificent hooded rod filling my hands. He closed his eyes and racked his body back, devoured my dick into that strong hot ass, claimed me inside himself. "Perfect, cub," he whispered. "Show me what a man you are! Fuck me good!" Within a minute of that command, I came like never before, screaming incoherently, thrashing like a spastic. And all he did was ride me perfectly, milking me as I exploded into the heat of him, smiling that smile of his. I never felt so safe, or so alive! By morning we had each come a dozen times, in and on each other. It was effortless, and magic! We've never been apart since."
Clay realized they were easily holding hands, like... what? Siblings / turned-on fuckbuddies / fellow philosophers / hot leather boys / shaman and postulant / guys-next- door / visionary and disciple / best friends / debaucher and victim / which to whom? / consorts -- yeah, all of them at once. And that completeness made it right, honest, permitted. He realized also that his cock was stone-hard, painfully bent. He shifted to accommodate his condition.
Warren whispered, "Let me." He had Clay's belt open and the buttons popped in a moment, his own immediately after. He reached over to tickle the nipple straining against the striped rugby shirt barely containing Clay's muscles. "I take it you like the story so far then?"
Clay caressed his twin's cheek. "Yeah, I like the story. I like the way you tell it. I like feeling so easy with you. I like your being so easy with me, telling me who you are, Warren, letting me in so totally. I've never experienced such an invitation before. I like that, too. Makes me feel good, wanted." His hand traveled down Warren's body to the cock standing proud in his lap, jeans framing it lewdly. "I like your dick." He splayed the wet piss slit with his thumb. Warren groaned, squirmed, thrust it against Clay's hand. "It's like I know it already, know you..."
Warren grabbed Clay's chin and raised his gaze to meet him. "It's yours," he breathed, "and this is mine..." claimed Clay's hardness in his mitt, mirroring his brother's handwork.
They were two cubs at play, rolling around in the cushions, pulling off clothes, biting, squealing, pinching, giggling, climbing on top, rolling on bottom, teasing, feinting, pouncing, laughing, legs and arms and balls and tongues and cocks and muscles and spirits frolicking, taunting, grappling, readying, being free, being whole, being joyous, being alive, present, loving, giving, one. At last they came face to face, dick to dick, hairy nipple to hairy nipple, panting raggedly. Warren filled a hand with Clay's furry asscheek, the other with Clay's blond curls, pulled them both to him, plunging his tongue into Clay's hot mouth, melding their bodies together.
"Don't move!" rumbled from somewhere close by to their intertwined souls. They didn't.
They had been so engrossed that they didn't know Corey had come in and observed their reverie for several minutes, then silently peeled off his clothes, played with the foreskin on his dark bludgeon until it was slick with lube, and finally demanded presence.
The twins throbbed in unison as Corey kissed them in turn, slicked the tandem poles with their juices, straddled them with his mighty muscled legs, and descended. He pressed them together to his hole and squatted. "Uh oh, too much," he assessed, then shifted so Clay's cock glided into his cavern to the hilt, Warren's fat head in his fist. "Take turns and let me psyche up for you," Corey growled as Warren slipped into the vacuum created by Clay's departure. They traded lunges, eight, nine, ten times, then paused. Warren thrust, half-withdrew, clamped Clay's mirror pole to the underside of his dick.
"Just follow me in, brother," Warren breathed harshly. Corey hesitated for three gasps as Clay's rod also begged entrance, so he granted it, a gulp of air and a concerted wiggle affording the fat glans past his sphincter against Warren's swollen shaft. "Do it, boy!!" Corey snarled at Clay, rivulets of sweat pouring down his body through the thick swirls of silvery hair.
Clay clinched, pressed upward, his dickhead straining, popping through the resistance sliding forth to meet the familiar frenum of his twin. "My God, we're both in him!" Clay gasped as he felt himself surge against the flared corona of his brother somewhere behind Corey's heart.
"Feed me, goddammit!" roared their king, as he jammed himself ever downward onto them. The sensation of their cocks together, together consumed, instantly triggered them. Each beat of their hearts blasted a volley of bliss from the other, into their Daddy, riding the consummation of their bond, both wailing in lust. Corey's deep squats became a constant violent pulse. He suddenly dropped heavily into their laps, bellowed like a murdered banshee, then showered them all with pearly seed, branding his lovers with his scalding essence. For perhaps a minute, or eons, they writhed in passion. Finally they all stilled, pulsing, dripping sweat and love, lost in bliss.
"Jesus, cubs, you're killing me," Corey grunted as he stood up, disengaging from them with a sloppy dual pop, towering above them. His hole was red, raw, distended, a river of viscous spew sliding down the back of his thighs. He sighed at his emptiness, and cupped both their faces in his hands, brought their kiss together on his slimy cock head, legs quaking, pumped, powerful. Their dicks mashed flatly against each other, seeking union still, both sets of balls slackening in their mutual release. Corey eased himself among their laps, nestled his wet recowled hose between their throbbing poles, murmuring, "Thank you, my beautiful big boys. We did it! You fed me your love together! The world can't deny us our loving each other ever again! And I do love you both!" He gathered his cubs into his big arms, and the three shared a long, wet kiss.
They were symmetrical sculptured bodies nestled like three sterling serving spoons, perfectly polished, draped in fine linen befitting their beauty together. "Thanks for asking me to stay here tonight," Clay said softly from the middle.
Corey wiggled his hard hairy ass into Clay's crotch, raising up to reach back between his legs and claim the thick cock of his cub in that strong fist, bring it forth to nestle beneath his nutsack before settling down again, capturing it between his strong thighs, playing with the sticky piss slit. "That's nice, Daddy," Clay murmured as he reached around to rake through Corey's thick rug, caress the hard nipple hiding there. He traced the furry path from Corey's chest across the rippled abdomen through the thick soft pubes framing his maestro's hot manhood, the silken skin gathered in its long prepuce, where he slipped into the succulent folds to touch the slit leaking there, Clay's thick middle fingertip docked with Daddydick.
Warren snuggled into Clay's backside, his long fingers finding his twin's nipple, softly stroking it taut, as his half-hard kielbasa ferreted between Clay's furry cheeks to nudge the elastic orifice winking between them, gently yet unmistakably presenting possibilities. He hummed behind his brother's ear, licked the lobe, bit it. Clay's wink puckered, then relaxed, rhythmically nursing at the slickening bullet head knocking at the nether portal. A spurt of honey shot up Clay's shaft into the Lion's hand that was slowly polishing his growing knob, a shudder of "YES!" racked his body, his gleuts doing a spreading reverse clench as his rosebud kissed his brothercub's meatus. The sensation shot through his sphincter, which slowly, steadily suckled Warren's glans into it just to the flange. Warren gasped as his cock was consumed to barely inside the second muscle, throbbed but needed to be no further, his brother gently holding him there, just there, loving him right there, enough. His dreams would be sweet tonight from there, content, in his brother, loving their Lion together.
Corey gently released Clay's cock nuzzling his balls and caressed the back of his new cub's hand, whose fingers were deeply diddling in his foreskin. He stroked up the strong arm, squeezed the hard bicep, ran his hand down Clay's side and hip to pet the thick hairy thigh, then reached further back to stroke its double just behind, reading his boys' easy connection. He smiled and filled his hand with Warren's hot cheek, fingers locating where his love's claim on him damply throbbed in response to the gentle touch, suckling the first knuckle just inside, exactly how brother held brother. It was not about sex. They had satisfied that part long ago. This was about belonging.
Circuit complete, they slept. Claimed, connected. In peace.
End of Part I
One of my intentions in writing this story is modeled after certain dynamics between my wife and me. Some of Claire's sassiness is exactly her voice, so known and easy to write, and Claire is very much like her in manner and drive, albeit also apprehension about my being "stolen" away from her by some man in a Porsche. Who and how I am is such a small part and not a condition of our marriage, now 21 years; it's in conjunction with our relationship, concurrent, not in conflict or competition. Writing "Clay" is an exercise in describing how I would hope I can become the full expression of being ME in the here and now, in the company of all the very special people in my life, most particularly my wife, and also in my circles, my communities. Aspects of both Clay and Warren voice my yearning and that intention, particularly in the scene with Warren and Clay claiming their brotherhood and the claiming of their Lion, the link between sexuality and spirituality. Two very special men, one now dead, one I've yet to meet but shall soon, are both inspirations for Corey/Daddy, the model of the shaman, the loving conspiracy of maleness and personal empowerment I have always longed for in my life, to guide and goad and love and protect and nurture me, the cub eager to perform well my duty to the pride, to my world. Forgive me, Dad, but this is not what you and I were about in this lifetime, and we both realized that before you died, thank God. This is also distinctly separate from the amazing women in my life and my relationships with them. Perhaps this is my quest: to define and enlighten what place bisexuality truly occupies in the spectrum of human nature. And life continues to unfold in wonderful ways now that I have put these words together.
After a time of reflection, I hope to continue with Part II of "Clay" as the reporting of how I know my empowerment and express my possibilities of making a difference.
Patrick