I ONLY HAVE EYES FOR YOU
By Carlos Martinos marcar007@netzero.net
For adults who are into man-to-man sex The characters in this story are over 18 years of age The setting is Buffalo, New York in the pre-condom year of 1980
Those eyes.
Those opalescent, milky blue orbs. The windows to his soul. Etched forever in my memory. Haunting. Agonizing. Pleading. Eloquent in their silence. Screaming soundlessly for recognition.
His eyes distinguish him from the other homeless souls who roam this urban hell. His eyes are alive. Vibrant. They speak with a mute urgency. "I'm descending into oblivion, but I'm not lost yet. Save me!"
The falling snow has painted the festering inner city with a sparkling white veneer. Concealing the rot that lies beneath it. He's huddled in the doorway of an abandoned building. But it offers scant protection from the bitter Canadian winds that have been assaulting Buffalo for the past several hours.
I walk over to the doorway where he is crouching, and stare at him for a long moment. "Hey, man!" he barks with anger. "That's it. Take a good hard look at me. I'm part of the unwashed, indigenous fauna that populates this area."
And I'm thrilled. The kid has real potential. Who would expect "indigenous fauna" from a denizen of this horrific nether world?
"I'm impressed!" I fire back at him. "But I should tell you that "indigenous fauna" is somewhat redundant."
"Redundant, huh? Hey, I like you!" Big grin from the kid now. "You like to play semantic games, just like I do."
I extend my hand to the kid, who is still huddled in the doorway. "Give me your hand."
He eyes me warily before grasping my hand with his big grubby paw. "What is this? Are we supposed to be bonding now?" A grin flickers across his face.
I pull him to his feet, and at 6'1" we stand eyeball to eyeball. His face is a collage of grit and grime and two-week stubble. And he is redolent of off-putting aromas that are better left un-described. Suffice it to say that he hasn't been up close and personal with a shower in weeks.
I yank his chain now. "That's right, dude. We're bonding. I operate a home for wayward boys. And I'm going to take you there and give you a shower and a double espresso and a gourmand dinner of streak and potatoes." I give him a sly wink to let him know I'm kidding him about the "wayward boys" bit. But he's already light years ahead of me.
"Wayward, huh? I've been called "forward" and "backward". But never "wayward". So maybe I don't qualify for all this largess?"
"If you don't get out of this blizzard soon, Junior, your frozen ass won't qualify for anything but a slab in the morgue. I promise you'll like my place better than that."
My new DeVille purrs like a pussycat as we ride toward my home in virtual silence. Finally, as we pull into my driveway, we exchange vital statistics. He's Zack. And he's 19. I'm Drew. And I'm on the wrong side of 40 - but just barely.
Then Zack takes a deep breath and admonishes, "You really shouldn't be doing this, you know. You shouldn't take in a stray man the way you might take in a stray dog, Drew. I might be the reincarnation of Jack the Ripper. Or the proselytizing son of Jerry Falwell."
"Shhh, Zack. That's enough. You're starting to sound just like my mother." I slip him a quick grin. "Granted, it was an irresponsible, impulsive thing to do. I know I have my moments of irrationality. But they shake up my life, and I cherish them. I refuse to live a life of quiet desperation. My impulsive little adventures nurture me. They provide me with intellectual sustenance. They light up my life,"
We've been home for half an hour now, and Zack is still in the shower. Great clouds of steam billow from the bathroom. And Zack is singing. Zack is singing! I didn't realize anybody actually did sing in the shower. "It Was a Very Good Year" bounces off the tile walls of the bathroom, and echoes into the living room. It's a surprisingly sweet rendition of the old Sinatra tune.
There's a glass bottom conversation pit at one end of my living room, which looks down on a night-lighted koi pond. And that's where I find myself now. Waiting for Zack. I'm experiencing some sort of unanticipated trepidation. Probably because I have absolutely no idea what Zack will look like, once all those grungy layers of grime have been showered away.
Or is my apprehension due to our age difference? That shopworn cliche "old enough to be his father" keeps running through my mind. But even though middle age is rearing its ugly head and beckoning me, I suppose I'm still a pretty good looking dude. I've managed to hold onto all of my thick curly black hair. My cobalt blue eyes are still as piercing as ever. My sparkling grin still gets me noticed. And when I'm in a dark bar wearing a tight t-shirt I still stack up pretty well against most of the twenty-somethings.
Then Zack mercifully interrupts my agonizing self-appraisal. I look up and he's standing at the far end of the living room. Wearing a towel and a quizzical smile. The most astonishing transformation is his hair. Before the shower, his hair looked like someone had dumped a quart of industrial strength motor oil on it. But now a thick mop of clean, tow-headed blond hair flops casually into his eyes. As he walks toward me, his smile blossoms into a mischievous grin. And now he's the personification of a 19 year old Dennis the Menace - too cute for his own good.
Zack crosses the living room in long, looping strides. And stands smartly in front of me, as though he's standing at military "attention". He's trying to look serious, but a persistent smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth. "Sir! PFC Zack, reporting for inspection. Sir!"
"At ease, private." I love game playing, so I go along with him. "I see you have a square jaw. A prominent adams apple. Bulging pecs. Flat abs. And hairy, muscular legs. I like that in a man. You'll go a long way in the infantry, son. You are in the infantry, aren't you, private?"
"Sir! No sir. I'm heavy artillery. Sir!"
"Oh yeah! I just bet you are, soldier!"
"Sir! You haven't told me explicitly, sir. But my intuitive powers of observation and deduction tell me that you're gay. Sir!"
"Very astute observation, soldier. And I suppose you have heard the rumor that I have bedroom maneuvers planned for later tonight." With that I stand. Embrace Zack. And kiss him tenderly on the lips.
And Zack whispers in my ear, "Ummm! Keep that up and I'll follow you anywhere. Sir!"
My bare leg brushes against Zack's, as we sit side by side on the bed. We're slurping our double espressos and reveling in the warm glow created by our two naked bodies in such close proximity. In fact I'm amazed at the heat that radiates from Zack's bare body. He's a regular little Vesuvious. I'll have to ask him about it tomorrow. And it occurs to me that there are vast numbers of things I will have to learn about Zack. For indeed, I know not this lad who is about to share my bed.
There is something ethereal about the events that follow. We both seem to be experiencing them through some sort of erotic fog. Time transcends its usual dimensions. We make love for an hour or two. Or is it all night?
Zack encloses me in his arms and we kiss. Tenderly. Then passionately. And then tenderly again. Zack's tongue plunges in and out of my mouth. And I am ecstatic, feeling the thrust of his tongue in my mouth. And then I become gradually aware that now it is no longer his tongue. It is his awesome erect phallus. Plunging. Thrusting. Into my mouth. He gives me more of himself with each stroke. Until I finally feel my lips pressed hard against his flaxen pubic hair. And I marvel that I have taken all of him into me.
Ecstasy abounds as Zack switches his position and eases his mouth down upon my cock. All the time holding his cock within me. So now our erections are connecting us. We lie on our sides. Heads resting on thighs. Our heads remain motionless as our hips thrust in unison. Slow penetrations. Gentle and deep. And we delight in the glorious sensation of being fucked in the mouth.
We fit so well. We move together as if we are slow dancing. Most of our motions are on the sub-conscious level. The dual sensations of sucking and getting sucked dominate our beings. And with eyes wide open I drink in the beauty of Zack's golden blond crotch.
Now my impending orgasm is building within me. And Zack's sensual groans tell me that he too is close. I swallow Zack's cock. And he swallows mine. The exquisite intimacy of it all overwhelms us. And we both slide over the brink. Our seed flows between us in great massive spurts. Zack flows into me, and I into him. Ultimately we come down from the heights. And then, blanketed in the warm afterglow of love, we remain locked together in erotic embrace for the rest of the night.
And I marvel at the inevitability of it all. From the first moment that his eyes locked onto mine, I knew that we would culminate our passion tonight.
It's two weeks later now. The big bird is flying silently at 30,000 feet. Returning to Buffalo from Key West. Inside the cabin, Zack and I are sporting golden bronze Florida suntans. Thirty-six hours after we met, we were on our way to a two-week Key West vacation. Impulsive? Yes. And we wouldn't have it any other way.
Our travel agent guaranteed us 14 "sun-sational" days, luxuriating in one of the world's great gay Valhallas. Every day, after a late brunch overlooking the ocean, we would grab a few rays on the beach. Then it was back to our hotel room for Rest and Recreation. In the evening there was a little dining, a little dancing. Then, we would stroll hand in hand on a moon-kissed sandy beach. Our feet washed by a silvery surf, as the breakers rolled in to the shore. And finally it was back to our room for more R and R.
And yes. We were bonding. Each day our relationship became a little more intense. We stopped thinking in terms of "me" and "you". It became "we" and "us". We became inseparable.
On our last morning in Key West, Zack jumped out of bed with all the enthusiasm of a frisky colt. He threw open the drapes and bright tropical sunshine inundated the room. I groaned and opened one sleepy eye. Zack tossed me a sly grin. "I'm going to serenade you this morning, Drew!"
Then he sat down on the bed beside me and launched into Rod Stewart's "Maggie". After he sang the line "the morning sun when it's in your face really shows your age" he stopped singing and flashed me his "naughty little boy" grin. Then I opened my other eye and playfully growled at him, "You keep this up, sweetheart, and before this day is out you're going to be a Teen Angel." We stared at one another for a long moment, and then we both burst out laughing. And I heaved a giant sigh of relief. As long as we can joke like this about our age difference, it's not a problem.
That evening, as we were eating dinner in an ocean front cafe, Zack gave me a thoughtful look. "You know, Drew, we've been here for two weeks. And I've been totally oblivious to all the people surrounding us. I can't recall the face of even one person we have seen since we arrived. I'm hooked, sweetie. I've only got eyes for you." And then he burst into song, singing the chorus of that golden oldie at the top of his lungs. I know most guys would have been at least a little embarrassed. Every head in the cafe was turned toward us. But I just grinned, and joined Zack in a loud and lusty second chorus.
On our first night in Key West, Zack asked me to let him take the masculine role in anal sex. And I happily acquiesced. Every night Zack filled me up with his long, thick tool. Entering me gently. Probing me slowly. Prolonging the ecstasy. And driving me wild.
Then, on our final night on the island, he put his arm around my shoulder, nuzzled my neck, and whispered, "I want you to fuck me tonight, Drew."
I was so stunned by his unexpected request, my memory of that night is incomplete. I have no recollection of entering Zack. But my memory of his lying on his back with me deep within him is crystal clear. I remember lying motionless, letting him adjust to my thickness. As usual, Zack was radiating heat. And I reveled in it, as my cock was embraced in the hot cocoon of his body.
Then Zack whispered, "Fuck me now, Drew. Fuck me slowly. Fuck me with deep slow strokes. Prove to me that the initial pain of this first time pales when compared to the ecstasy that comes later. And show me that masculinity and virility can be gentle and loving.
I have incredible memories of easing gradually out of Zack, and then thrusting slowly back into him. I remember seeing my erect cock. Plunging and stroking. Slow strokes. Gentle strokes. Deep strokes. I still recall his grunts of discomfort being transformed into moans of delight. And I remember my own delight when he started meeting the downward thrusts of my hips with the upward movements of his. Creating a unity of body and soul.
Once again we fit perfectly. It was as if all our movements had been choreographed. It seemed inevitable when we ultimately orgasmed together. My hot seed spurting deep into his bowels. His splashing copiously onto his belly. Then I collapsed onto Zack, with tears in my eyes. The exuberance of our lust had been transformed into the euphoria of our love.
But returning to Buffalo changes Zack's mood completely. For the first time since I have known him he seems pensive. Restless. Withdrawn. I ask him about it that night as we are lying together in bed. "Let's discuss it tomorrow morning, Drew. For tonight, just hold me, sweetie. Hold me tight and don't turn loose. Let's make believe that this can go on forever."
"Her name's Cindy. And we're engaged." It's the following morning and we are sitting in my dining room, noshing on bagels and cream cheese. I look at Zack, dumbstruck. He has just shown me a photo of his fiancée, Cindy. The daughter of one of the wealthiest land barons in Buffalo.
"We had set the date. Then one day, a couple of weeks before the wedding, I went into total meltdown. Her family issued a press release saying that I had a nervous breakdown. And I guess I did. That, and a massive case of cold feet."
"Next I followed the lead of zillions of other dumb fucks who can't cope with their problems. I started drinking. And I didn't stop. Twenty four/seven. I was drunk every waking hour of every day. I had been living on the street for over a month when I met you. You saved my life, Drew. And I will be eternally grateful to you for that."
Zack is silent now. He looks at me expectantly. Wanting me to say something. But I wait him out. Waiting for the inevitable.
"I have to go back to her, Drew. I owe her that. For a multitude of moral and ethical reasons, I have to go back to her."
"And what about us, Zack?" My voice is an octave higher than usual. "What do you owe to our relationship? You do know you're gay, don't you? You're not in denial about that are you?"
"Well. . . .I have some issues about my sexuality, Drew. Let's put it that way."
"Issues, Zack? You have issues? I didn't detect any of those issues during the past two weeks. We had the wildest, most uninhibited sex imaginable, sweetheart. And you loved every moment of it. Just as much as I did!"
I'm about to continue my harangue, but then I see them. The tears flowing down Zack's cheeks. And my heart melts. I walk to him and hug him. And he hugs me back. And I kiss him tenderly, the tears streaming down my cheeks merging with his. And we just stand there. Swaying gently to and fro. Kissing each other. And sobbing.
It's been thirty days now. I've been counting the days since he left. Stupid, huh? It's been a miserable, rocky, barren thirty days. I've been going through the motions of living. But it's all a farce. I'm dead, but I just won't admit it.
I pass by "the doorway" every day after work. That doorway in the abandoned building where we "met". Even though I try to avert my eyes when I pass, I always find myself glancing furtively in that direction.
This evening as I pass, the falling snow is so heavy it almost obliterates my view of the building. I'm just a foot or two away from the doorway before I look over at it. And then, when I look, the snow vanishes! And the sun shines brilliantly! And thousands of bluebirds sing ecstatically! Because I am looking into those eyes. Those opalescent, milky blue orbs. The windows to his soul. Etched forever in my memory. Sparkling. Glowing. Loving.
Zack has come home!
And his voice is choked with emotion as his shout echoes from the doorway, "Sir! I've come home to you, sir. I've come home to love you. And this time it's forever! Sir!"
The End
marcar007@netzero.net