Completion: A Love Story - PART 2
By siktici ©2017
This story is based on true events. Smitty came to me after my disastrous first time, as told in Bait and Switch. He was, undeniably and overwhelming, my Gift of "deeply abiding love," but the relationship ended after thirteen wonderful years when Smitty died.
Please donate to Nifty.org. I am so grateful for the chance to publish my stories here, and without the generosity of the site's founder, I would not have a venue to inflict my debauchery.
We rushed into the frigid safety of the freezer just as glass shattered and as unrecognized objects hit the walls, and when the store pitched and bucked, I looked at the terrified clerk and trembled. Whether from the cold or the danger, I didn't know; yet, when I looked at Smitty, a soundless peace settled over me. I saw his eyes soften, I saw his wry smile, and I felt my own smile form. Amid potential death, it seemed, I found solace in a man I had met only hours before. If we survived, I thought, I wanted to get to know the man who brought peace to me.
Outside the freezer, destruction pushed aside calm. Objects continued to fly about the store, the wind bashed anger into the store with growing force and at tremendous volume. But the maelstrom lasted no more than five minutes. Everything suddenly stopped, replaced by the steady hum of the freezer's generator. At least we still had electricity, I thought, but before the thought passed through my mind, the generator whirred to a pathetic stop.
"Wait," I said as the clerk and Smitty began to move toward the door.
"What?" Smitty asked.
"Sometimes, tornadoes strike when it gets like this," I said, not really hearing how odd my comment was, but they both waited and craned their heads in the same way I did. After several embarrassing moments, I looked at them and hunched my shoulders to continued silence. "I guess it's over."
Smitty patty my shoulder and moved to the door. "Sounds like it," he said, but he didn't speak in condescension. His tone communicated that I only wanted to keep them safe. And the hand he placed on my shoulder sent shivers through me.
A rush of tropical air met us when we left the chilled air of the freezer.
"What a mess," Smitty said as we stumbled through the confusion of the soggy store. Most of the merchandise had been blown to the floor, confused with leaves and limbs. Water dripped from the ceiling and exposed wires hung in places where tiles were ripped away. We saw that most of the wood we had cleared still sat in large piles, but a few pieces had rolled back into Lang Street, along with debris from already destroyed property. More trees stretched across the street and the debris that had litter lawns was now strewn across the street in the direction of the convenience store.
Slowly the clouds moved passed, trees drooped like battle-weary soldiers, and the sun, seeming to mock the already weary survivors of last night's tornado, steamed the air.
"Poor folks," Smitty said as we stood outside the store. "It feels like being kicked when you're already down," he said looking at me with slightly sad eyes.
"We need to see what we can do," I said.
He nodded but understood that nothing more could be salvaged from a possible second tornado striking in as many days. Again, we cut away trees, moved large objects to the side, and set out cones to identify downed power lines.
We sat in the truck listening to the staticky radio and watching survivors return to their waterlogged property.
"I don't think it was a tornado," I said.
"Why not?" Smitty asked. "You saw what it did to the street, to the store; sure as hell looked like something came through here," he said while watching a boy, his blue cut-off overalls stained with streaks of mud. The boy sat on a big wheel and watched his mother gather soggy clothes from the wreckage of their home. "Where do you suppose they'll go?" he asked.
"I don't know. Probably to a shelter, maybe stay with relatives."
"Don't seem right," he mumbled more than spoke.
"Why's that?" I asked.
Again, the sadness returned to his eyes. "My house wasn't touched. I'm going to a warm, dry house; and, I don't have to start over," he said. Nodding in the direction of the kid on the big wheel, he asked, "And what do you tell that little fella when he starts cryin' about wanting to go home?"
I watched his eyes darken in deeper sadness. "I don't know," I said and took his hand. It seemed the natural thing to do: comfort a friend, a lover, perhaps. He rested my hand between his and smiled at me. Yet, his expression mirrored my sorrow, longing, and need. "You wanna hang out?" I asked as casually as my husky voice would allow.
"Yeah, I'd like to have a beer and feel grateful."
"Grateful," I repeated. It seemed the perfect word for what we were.
I looked into his glistening eyes, and for a moment the sadness and longing had been replaced with my own images; and as much as I wanted to reside in them, I settled for the squeeze of his hand as the sun lowered over a wet row of trees and over a neighborhood forever changed.
My initial motivation came from lust, that hunger that caused men like Smitty and I to pursue its end. Yet, as Smitty stood at the kitchen counter in my apartment, I realized that my motivation had taken another direction. No doubt I hungered for him, but I rapidly grew connected to him. I ached as I had when I'd pursued my first lover. I considered possibilities I had long since buried when people who meant the most to me left quickly, left with bonds still solidified, and left before they could make an indelible mark on my life.
Smitty, my tall hairy man of desire, pulled more than lust from me; he pulled completion. Yes, he completed me.
"You know," he said, leaning on me as we both enjoyed cold ham and cheese, "I never thought a dry ham and cheese sandwich could taste so good."
"Right? I'm attacking this sandwich like it was the only food I had today," I said trying not to be too obvious at trailing the length of his body with my eyes.
I started at his booted feet and moved up his body until I settled on his lips, dark-pink and full. I studied the way they part when he took a bite, spreading briefly when his mouth widened around the sandwich. The gusto with which he chewed, straining the fuzzed jaw muscles in his tanned face. And the enjoyment in his eyes when he drank down the cold beer recalled his floating blissfully on cool, blue water.
"Ten dollars for your thoughts," he said with a grin. "Inflation."
"Truth?"
"If you can," he said and sat on the loveseat, one of four pieces in my entire living room.
I sat beside him and looked into the cool, blue water. "I think you already know."
He smiled. "I knew when our hands first touched," he said.
I ran my hand under his damp shirt, feeling the hardness of his pecs. He ran fire across mine. And the calm that lowered over me in the freezer returned.
"So, what do I know?" he asked.
"I'm so turned on by you," I said but shook my head. "No, that's not what I mean." I continued to rub his chest but looked away to find the words.
"Completion," he said and lifted my eyes to his.
My smile widened; thoughts flooded my mind. I had so much to tell him about my feelings, my longings, and my needs.
"I've been looking for you all of my life," he said.
"But you hardly know me," I said and realized those were the wrong words, too.
"Truth?" he asked.
I nodded.
"I believe that we have lots of chances at love, but, if we're lucky, we find someone to make us whole."
"Completion," I said.
"Yes, completion. The first time I saw you," he said, looking at his hands, "I felt it--a need, a longing, a--"
I couldn't resist. I covered his mouth in a breathless kiss. The softness of his lips welcomed me and we fell back into heady desire. I saw in my mind magnets pull apart only to slam back together. I saw moths flutter into fire, but this time I saw both of us floating in cool, blue water.
"Come," I said, needing no other words. He followed me into the shadows of my bedroom, lit by the glow of a small bedside lamp. I began to undress, but he moved my hands away and undid the first button on my shirt. With trembling fingers, I watched him slowly undo each one before placing the fire of his palm to my chest. The warmth radiated to every inch of my tingling skin. We held each other's gaze, and my eyes fell on his lips, dark-pink lips that whispered to me but I couldn't hear. I moved closer.
It was a chant, word following word, lyrical repetition: "Love times love times love times love..."
I listened to the sweet sound and began the low chant in my mind until I heard the words pass my lips as he continued slowly and loving undressing me.
I stood in the coolness of the bedroom tingling from his casual touch.
"Don't move," he said. "Just let me look at you."
As soon as he undressed we stood inches apart, our bodies making no contact, only our fingertips writing desire in feathery touches on our skin. I leaned in to drink but he only allowed a touch of lips, only allowed a tweak of nipples--my hand to his, his to mine, and only allowed light sparring of our gorged cocks.
"Hold me, Arnie," he said with eyes glistening in the waning light. "Complete me."
And as I opened my arms to him, he turned and backed into my embrace, causing my cock to nestle between his warm hairy ass. "I just want to wrap you around me like a blanket," he said and resumed the low chant.
We swayed to no music, drowsed in our mixing scents, and pressed together. I tightened my embrace as if I wanted our souls to touch, and then he moved to face me and covered my mouth in a sensual kiss.
I ached for him, my body wanted hurry, but my mind refused. I enjoyed the slow rise of our desire, our feathery touches, and anticipated our completion.
When we broke the kiss, he looked at me, searched my soul through my eyes, and asked, "Do you feel it, too?"
"Electricity," I said.
"Yes, electricity."
Pulling away, I had to express my desire; I had
to let him know that my body ached for his; and I had to have completion.
"Let me love you, Smitty, please," I said, lowering to my knees.
Moving me up to the bed, with hands trailing down my torso, sliding down my hairiness, he encircled my cock and balls, weighed them in his hand and fondled them in warmth, before stroking them. He flicked his tongue over my cock, causing it to expand and causing my shaft to accept the blood draining from my head. Each sensation caused me to swoon, and I tried to lift him from my cock.
"Don't make me cum," I said and tried to lift again.
"You won't; I won't let you," he said and grabbed my cock and balls in a tightening fist. My nipples tingled, my mind closed off sound, and I swayed in the semi-darkness. I ran my hands over his closely cut hair, felt the soft bristle move under my palm. I caressed his cheeks and felt the movement of his mouth work around the head of cock. He worshipped it as if it was imbued with a God-presence. Yes, I felt like a god, my head slow craning to the ceiling. My mind raced to another reality and my body rioted in excitation.
"Please," I said, in almost a whisper to the ceiling, "Please let me fuck you."
"Fuck me, baby," he said rising to bring my hands to his stiff cock and to his warm ass. I slid a finger in his ass and felt the hot flesh roll in on itself. His asshole clamped around my finger as he moaned. And when I inserted another finger, I heard the low chant start: "Love times love times love times love..."
I looked at the length of him, silhouetted against the white bed linen with his eyes drowsed with desire. Our eyes never left each other as I sat between his legs to raise his knees to his chest. Between them, I could still see his drowsy desire.
Wordlessly, I began to explore his ass with my tongue. His chanting increased in volume and speed as I slowly followed the folds of his hole with my tongue, stopping here and there to give attention to a hypersensitive area. My body had melted to reveal my flamed soul. And with my tongue flicking, darting, and stabbing into him, I expressed the joy of tasting his delicate flesh.
"Stop--no don't--please--no, oh don't stop," he said in luxurious arousal, "It is--love times love times love times..."
I lowered over him, our eyes locked in desire, as I said, "I need to fuck your ass, Smitty, I need our completion."
"Fuck my ass, Arnie."
I lubed and played with his ass until I felt his body sag into deep relaxation as I heard the chant, lowered in volume and almost slurred in speed.
Finally, I slipped on a condom, lubed the length of my cock, and ease into him as I moved down over him. With his feet over my shoulders, I rock slowly and smoothly into him. He grabbed my ass and began pushing me but I moved his hand away and continued the slow rock, causing my shaft to plop across that ring of flesh that drove every man insane.
"Love times love times love times...," he raised his head and chanted. Again, the volume increased and speed moved along faster than before. I could feel my cock drawing in to him. I no longer controlled its forward motion. His volume increased even more until I felt the fingers of his flesh grab my cock and pull it into his depths. And as soon as my balls slapped his ass cheeks, his chanting resumed its low tone and trailed away.
I rocked, and along with that, I felt his ass grab and release my cock. I felt small hands pull at the head and along the shaft as if massaged. The sensation of suckling, the pressure of it, sent waves of pleasure spiraling around my shaft, up around my balls, and up to my nipples where they seem to vibrate. My pelvis rotated forward, my thrusts began on their own, and I brought Smitty's legs further over his shoulders to begin pumping the length of my cock into him.
I heard my self chant, a loud volume of effort. I chanted with each downward stroke, circled about, and started again. I entered a trance, sending me above us, to watch us chant with the rhythm of my thrusts. I stoked our fire and I charged our magnets; and each time I rose to thrust, he pulled me further into his roiling flesh.
Our chanting rose, I'm sure, to resounding shouts. We echoed the room with not only our chanting but with the slap, slap, slap of our flesh, like the crescendo coming at the end of a raucous score. The crashing of cymbals, the pounding of kettledrums, and the peel of tubular bells came to my mind. Crashing down we rode a series of crescendos to their conclusion. Each as powerful as the last, until my mind no longer processed the overload. Light spiraled into our chanting, warbled into a dichotomy, until I felt Smitty's ass clamp down on my cock.
We heaved, undulated, and strained through every note and slowly shuddered to mutual orgasm. I moved us to our sides, my deflating cock still in his hole. We panted back to reality and lay in the blissful glow of recovery.
And surprisingly, Smitty did not want silence and did not want to float in his singular bliss, but he did want an answer,
"Why didn't I find you sooner?"
I brought his eyes to mine, looked into his clear, blue eyes, and answered, "Because we weren't complete."