It was a gloomy February morning, the marine layer muffling sounds and sights. The whistle buoys and mournful foghorns were sending out their automatic warnings every few seconds. It was the kind of morning I felt content in the warm comfort of my living room as I finished up reading the morning paper. I was vaguely aware of the sound of a car's engine outside as it labored up the hill and suddenly stopped at the curb out front. A door slamming was followed by the clump of shoes making their way up onto my deck. I waited for the bell to sound before I left my snug recliner. I wasn't expecting any visitors today and was just feeling good about the luxury of a day not committed to any exertions on my part.
I opened the door only far enough to see who might be intruding into my privacy. It certainly wasn't the Fed Ex man. His truck was much noisier and he usually made his calls more nearly mid-morning. To my surprise, it was Pat standing there. Pat had never come by without prior arrangement before. It just wasn't like him. He stood with a sort of vacant look on his face as I greeted him.
"Hi, Joe," he spoke slowly. "Are you alone?"
I looked around inside as assurance to him that nobody else was here. "Yeah, just me and the dog, Pat," I replied. "Wanna come in?"
Pat was dressed in his usual cargo shorts, a polo shirt and untied tennies without socks. He seemed not to recognize any difference between a warm, sunny summer day and this mid-winter gloom.
I opened the door wider and stepped aside to allow him to step into the entry hall, expecting him to bound in and down the stairs in his usual manner. He stepped inside hesitantly. "I took a chance on your being free without IMing you," he explained. "Is this a bad time for me to be here?" he asked. His speech was slower than usual, and his eyes glittered brightly now.
"Hey, guy, " I responded. "You're welcome whenever you like." I meant that, even though it could be awkward if he chose a time when I did have another visitor. I rationalized that he'd proposed my bringing in another man to join us in a 3-way. Most of my visitors assumed a one-on-one arrangement when we agreed to meet, though a few might accept a new idea eagerly. He continued to stand in the entry very close to me as we talked. I took a chance and wrapped my arms around his big bear of a body. It felt like I had girdled a large tree; he was so solid and firm. I'd thought many times about how it would feel to explore his naked torso. He embraced me in return, my face at about the level of his neck. I breathed into his Adam's apple and licked along his jawbone. His tightening arms told me that I'd found a sensitive spot. I stood on tiptoes to explore the convolutions inside his ear with my tongue tip. He murmured a sound of contentment. I wondered how far this foreplay might be prolonged, as out-of-character as it seemed to be.
I felt his tumescent basket pressing into my pubis as we stood in close body contact. He gave a couple of thrusts against me as I wondered how far to push this scene. I moved my hands down onto his hard asscheeks and returned his thrusts. He uttered a sound of pleasure and I pressed my lips against his. To my surprise, he parted them and rubbed his tongue against my mouth. Slippery tongues began a duel as deep as our throats could accommodate. His tongue was broad and thick, just like his dick, though the flickering tingling of our nerve endings was sending stimuli to other erotic loci inside our bodies. We were humming a duet of pleasure as we felt our bodies warm up to this new experience.
Pat slipped his hands inside the waistband of my sweats as we maintained our stimulating posture. He kneaded my gluteus maxes and fingered my clenching anal pore. I opened his zipper and spidered my fingers inside to caress his swelling basket. He murmured something that I missed deciphering, so he started crab-walking toward the stairway. I concluded that he was getting anxious to move our action up a few notches. We walked sideways down the stairs without breaking our clutching at each other. When we arrived at the door, I reluctantly surrendered my grip on his heavy genitals and opened it so that we could move inside.
He stretched the waistband of my sweats and pulled them to my ankles, bending awkwardly as he did so to clamp my already-flowing boner in his mouth. A hot flood of excitement spread through my entire lower region--my cock, my balls, my crotch, my ass, and deep inside my passion pit.
This whole scene was a reflection of many I'd enjoyed with Ed, my longest-lasting buddy. Our stock in trade was almost complete reciprocation and a sense of how to stimulate sensitive spots as we had over the years learned the ways to create the most arousing, most exciting ways to make our sessions the most rewarding possible. How I had longed to widen the repertoire with Pat to make our contacts more sensuous. There was that special something that Pat provided that no other of my other current buddies did, but I'm never completely satisfied. I guess that's why I keep exploring.
I kicked off my sweats and slippers as Pat devoured my throbbing cock. Feeling his ravenous mouth voracious as it was, I moaned, unconsciously, and that reaction seemed to generate an almost-desperate pressure of his lips and tongue as he pulled my rod hungrily. I released the snap on his shorts and eased them and his skivvies down over his moving hips, He deftly toed off the entire assemblage, including his tennies without giving any interruption to his intent oral stimulation of my aching root. He pulled on my balls and fingered my hole as I pushed into his vigorous gobbling. "Oh yeah, man, eat me alive." I urged.
I was enjoying this unique direction that our activity was taking, and I took advantage by pulling up his shirt and examining his naked torso. His body was covered by a pelt of very short stubble, sort of ruddy in color and with the texture of a clipped carpet, something like a koala's coat, I reflected. I stroked his shoulders and rib cage, then moved to his tight buns. My exploration seemed to elicit even more vigorous activity from Pat's stimulating oral pursuit. When my fingers grasped his buttcheeks and spread them from his sphincter, a low and continuous groan began emanating from my previously-silent partner. Inside, I felt my balls writhing and the sensation of pressure building. He pushed me around and down on the bed, my legs hanging over the edge as he pursued an intensive concentration on my crotch area. I reached out to grasp his protruding boner with one hand as I rubbed his butthole with my index finger. He inserted his finger into my flexing hole, stretching me tantalizingly. His body motions encouraged me to pump his love muscle and spread the flowing juice coming from gorgeous lips marking his slit.
Had I been more curious and less prone to let things follow their natural direction, I might have at least wondered what had brought about this departure from what had become our brief and highly focused past encounters. Pat's mode had been terse, fast, and very much dominated by his wham-bam-thank-you-man action with virtually no verbal accompaniment, just get in , get off and get gone. I had rationalized that a little of Pat was better than no Pat at all, though I usually preferred a bit more accompaniment to THE ACT itself. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, I reasoned. I'd quite easily put aside the stories passed on by another buddy who told me of Pat's desert depredations. I'd never doubted that such an animal had many liaisons, nor that his glib representations about having no other sexual partners than I were typical gay spin.
As I dallied momentarily on a conscious thought regarding this phenomenon, Pat heaved me further up onto the bed and crouched above me, taking time to pull off my shirt and his. Total nudity was a mode we both preferred. He switched positions, hovering above me, his large, thick probe looming against my face. I opened my mouth and greedily clamped my lips around his prominent ridge and tongued the slippery juice pouring out. He was rutting around between my legs, slurping on my balls and below them as he fingered my aching hole, now two fingers spread. I breathed in his funky smell--stale piss and residue from old sweat and cum. He wasn't a fanatic about cleanliness. I thought about his copious cum loads from past encounters. So far, our brief episodes had been limited to one-shot deals, even when he came intending to prolong his endurance. How could I help prolong our excitement to make it last as long as his enthusiasm might allow? Hell with that, I went after his big, hard probe with a greedy appetite. I wanted his full load down my throat. How good it felt to wrap my lips and tongue around the wide circumference and bury my nose in his bristly thatch. And those burgeoning balls were a challenge to engulf them.
Pat's intent was obvious. He intended to suck my guts out through my cock. The voracious vacuum that he created made my entire body tremble with mounting excitement. I was humming a tone of growing urgency. I knew that I was going to unload a gusher before very long. It was destined by the stars. Our writhing duet presented a score of male desire leading to culmination that only another male can contemplate. Eros himself was directing our exertions. Unspoken intent was to consummate this endeavor with the highest feeling of achievement available to human forms. We were fucking going to bring about an explosion that would shake the earth's foundations.
We were both writhing about, sweating profusely, groaning and humming to punctuate our physical movements and express some of the internal phenomena taking control of our bodies. The excitement and thrills and pressures flinging sharp messages within us combined into a mutual struggle to achieve a culmination of rare dimension. Somehow our systems were attuned to one another and had taken control of our most conscious processes. We grappled and heaved, the autonomous sensitivities governing us reporting that we were on a course of cataclysmic collision, and we just allowed our autopilots to bring us to a galactic conclusion. GGGGGAAAAAAHH!!!!!!! GGGGGGGGAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!! The forces of internal compression opened our floodgates simultaneously, and as I felt the surges of my ejaculation burst forth, I sensed the raging eruption of his humungous flood heaving outward. Two raging fountains heaved gout after gout of hot thick mancream that we gulped greedily to capture every last drop and dribble of momentous proportions of life's juices. And after our reservoirs were exhausted, we stayed in place to savor the slow diminution of the crashing finale to this symphony of man's deepest satisfaction.
Afterward, Pat lay alongside me, and we stroked one another's chests as we kissed deeply and savored the residue flavoring our tongues. The sense of contentment was palpable. I tacitly gave thanks to this opening of a new dimension to our future. Much as I liked Pat's past ministrations to my favorite M2M activity, adding to the repertoire offered new vistas.
"Fuck me," I heard him say. He was fondling my balls, and my cock had retained part of its rigidity.
I wasn't sure how to respond. "You mean right now?" I asked.
"Yeah, right now. I need you to fuck my ass," he said.
It wasn't an unreasonable request to me. I was usually good for a second and more prolonged and intense release following a good beginning with a copasetic partner. "Sure," I replied. "Open your legs, and I'll give you my famous seconds."
I straddled his torso as he rolled over onto his back, licking his rigid nipples and then nibbling on their firm rubberiness. I dragged my balls down his chest and belly, enjoying the abrasions of his furry pelt on my smooth ass. I cradled his firming cock in my asscrack and rode back and forth across its broad expanse to engage his erotic forces in our next episode. "More." He murmured.
He spread his legs wide, knees tented and crotch widened.
I lay out across his body with my cock cradled under his balls. I was enjoying the fresh arousal I felt from the texture of his body and the familiarity of his dimensions. He was as tall as Rand, my young motorcycle rider who looked so sexy in his colorful leathers and Buck Rogers helmet. Rand was slender with broad shoulders and spreading lats that gave him a beautiful masculine profile. But Rand was smooth and pale and almost delicate-looking when he lay naked beneath me, though his insatiable appetite for getting fucked was an incentive to extend myself to my limits for such a desirous and desirable young man. He'd murmur, "Don't stop. Don't stop." As I'd drive deep inside his pretty pink anus. He'd almost always come as I abraded his prostate bump and would beg me not to stop until I was spent.
Pat's asscrack was lined with wispy brown hairs, and his hole was an oval invitation to play the entire score of a cock concerto from pianissimo to fortissimo--from tender and deft strokes or tantalizing touches to violent drives, hard and deep that would flood his recesses with primordial goo. I signaled him to press down with his feet and raise his hips so that his target would line up with my tapered projectile, well suited to start small and continue to spread a sensitive opening right up to the root. My most sensitive ring of stimuli was at the base of my cock that responded to the contractions of a tight sphincter as I was buried inside to the hilt and driving hard for a gushing climax. Next in sensitivity was my glans. Its exquisite transmittal of sensation gave great satisfaction as it hurled a seminal flood far inside the dark tunnel of a man's colon. I pressed my tingling cockhead against Pat's opening and just slowly kept pressing until I had reached full penetration. "Ooooohhhh." Pat cooed.
I breathed quietly as I moved my hips in a small circle, exploring the location inside him and stirring his entrails. His gasps told me that he felt erotic stimulation deep within. I could feel the pressure of his tight tunnel and constricting sphincter that would give me the feeling of a firm grasp from tip to root as I varied my movements from tickling to pounding the vessel I was serving. "Mmmmmmm," I murmured as I examined the sensations already radiating from his hot, tight enclosure of my tool.
"Fuck me," he directed. "I need your load inside me." He heaved up against me to punctuate his exhortation.
I began a slow and deliberate series of withdrawals and insertions that sent out radiations of warmth in both our bodies. I found his prominent prostate bump and tantalized it with repeated abrasions that I knew were bringing about the shudders he made each time I teased its nerve endings. Then I pressed deeply into his length to radiate outward the electric impulses to our extremities. Penetration is the ne plus ultra of sexual congress. It is the nexus of coitus, and its rewarding conclusion is the extreme of live stimuli in living creatures who are capable of its achievement. Indeed, it is the center of conscious thought. I proceeded through each movement of life's cycle to arouse and stimulate every possible spot. I felt the corona of my glans riding against the slippery walls inside him and his elastic milking of my stem. As I continued my forward and back motions, he was rolling his hips to complement my motions and govern the mounting tension he was feeling. "Oh yes," I whispered. "Ride it, babe. Milk me good."
My reflexive time is long and pleasant working toward another climax. I could feel the gradual accumulation of the pressures leading to a satisfying release, and I also wanted to provide Pat with a lesson in the joys of delayed gratification. One of life's verities is the notion that pleasure is in the journey rather than in reaching the destination. Our adventure was building in a wholly pleasant manner as we both contributed to its denouement. With each variation of my movements, I enjoyed a fresh set of sensations and knew that Pat was experiencing similar pleasures. We were finding unexplored sensations as we took a more leisurely path, and our expressions of this reinforced the sense of pleasure we both were enjoying. And pleasant though it is, the leisurely journey can be culminated with a mounting pace toward the intended end. I began increasing the intensity of my movements and followed one of Pat's standards, the hard and fast deep pounding that gets the juices revving and the breath coming in gasps as we bring our bodies nearer the climax intended. "Come in me," he commands. "Give me your load."
The slap of my sweaty balls and accumulating juices around his hungry hole adds to the other sights and sounds of our rutting, heaving pounding. He increases the vigorous bouncing that gives him some control of our outcome, and we are pounding into the home stretch. "Commmmiiinngggg," I announce as I feel my constricting balls and the pouring forth of a stinging second emission. My load is more restricted in volume and scalding in its eruption. My responsive nerves vibrate at a higher level of intensity. "Aaahhhhh!!!!! Aaahhhhhhh!!!!!" I utter as I empty my emission inside him, pressing hard to achieve deepest penetration. He contracts his muscular ring to encourage his own apex of pleasure, since he has not come near a second ejaculation himself. "Oooohhh my, ohmy, ohmy," I sigh. "That was goooooodd." His knees pressing in against me confirm my evaluation.
As I withdraw from his warm trap, he sighs contentedly. "I feel so well fucked," he says softly. "You fuck so well."
I hand him a towel to soak up the juices draining from him. "You might want to use the bathroom at this stage of the game," I suggest.
He just answers, languidly, "Um um. I feel too relaxed."
I look longingly at his chunky body. He is handsome in a rugged sort of way, just the kind a roomful of horny gays would pounce on for a wild romp in the hay--especially if they sensed he was as versatile as I was finding him to be today. He was being every maiden's prayer--venturesome, responsive, articulate. The big dick was just a bonus.
And I knew well the pleasure that big dick contained, particularly when attached to a guy so willing to extend himself to share the fun with a partner. Yes, the brute force of a big dick is appealing. With some imagination, size could be made the only show in town. I thought back on two of the biggest I'd ever entertained. First was Gunner, the Polack I'd found educable during my eighteenth year. Gunner had seen his cock as a blunt force to get what he wanted--off. As a salty crewmate, he'd approached me with all the subtlety of a battleship--bend over, boot, and take this big gun up your ass with gratitude. No alternative. Well, in a few short months, I'd been able to show him how much more fun he could have with a little finesse to his approach. He'd never have believed that his 12 x 8 was capable of so much more than he'd imagined if I'd have resisted his first approach. Well, shit, man. I might be young, but I knew what fun mancock could be, and Gunner was a fast learner. I looked at Pat's modest-by-comparison tool and wondered what I'd do today with Gunner.
Only scant months later, I'd been challenged by an arrogant, nearly unintelligent black stevedore who had been brought in a back door to an all-black navy group. Woody was in the Army Transportation Corps and had found fuck buddies among the black navy stewards and a few of their buddies who called themselves "The Roundeye Club." I, brought in another back door, as the only white member of the club had been nominated as an honorary Negro (the proper term for blacks in 1944). After an audition by the manager of the navy base's gym, I had been found to be worthy of membership in a club that required each member to engage in anal intercourse with all the other members. As the newest member, I was being moved up the chairs when Woody jumped the list and took his turn violently while I was marching my sentry duty on Post 13 in the middle of a frigid night on an Aleutian Islands outpost. Woody's assault was harsh and degrading, and though his heroic black cannon was bigger even than Gunner's, he eventually found me to be an adept teacher in showing possessors of outsize penises how they could derive pleasure through versatility. I still feel Woody's big, blunt instrument ramming in my frozen butthole as I was pushed hard against the side of a Quonset hut, my pants down around my ankles and my balls frigid in the below-zero open air. I never went hunting for bigger ones than Woody's and Gunner's, though I've seen photos of much bigger ones. Maybe photo shop products, though claims are made that some men have been verified to pack as much as eighteen inches. Well, size counts, though technique gives most of us an advantage in participating in the world's ongoing fuckfest.
The feeling of a huge pole rammed to the hilt in my ass is still a vivid experience. In recent years, eight by six is my top end. That's enough to make most of us envious anyway. Pat's? Oh I'd say six by six, maybe, but for me a powerful piece that stretches me out enough to know I've been fucked. I looked at its flaccid state curving atop a pair of outsize balls and knew how much excitement it could create just by ramming my ass until it expunged a ton of cum in my gut. I'd had that experience only four times so far and was willing to settle for more of the same--that is, until I knew how much more its owner was capable of doing.
I reached over and took the lovely baby in my hand and caressed it. Pat looked languidly down his nose at me and asked, "What you have in mind for that?"
"I am thinking that you have promised me seconds in the past," I answered. I'm just wondering if today's the day."
He idly flipped his fingers across it. "Hmmmm. Might be--with a little help," he mused.
I took that as my cue to inspire a more upstanding posture for this inviting thought. I took its soft bulk into my mouth and cradled his ballsac in my hand as I warmly and wetly began to tickle its underside with my educated tongue. I felt an almost instantaneous response, and Mr. Peter started to come to life. Before long, I sensed the old feeling of Gunner and Woody inside me as I teased it to its full and glorious dimensions. It represented great possibilities as I straddled Pat's trunk and located my ass above him, looking him in the eye. "OK, baby, we're gonna have a little pole climbing exercise now. Before we finish I want at least a quart of cum gushing outta that boomer," I smiled. I held his rigid member as I lowered my hole over its flowing glans. The initial resistance was quickly overcome by the abundance of his natural lube, and I wriggled my way down over its length until my ass and my balls were pressed against him. My cock had easily come to life with the stimulation I was getting inside me from this nice thick bullcock stretching me satisfyingly. The primary location of most of my sexual arousal centered in my sphincter, so being well stretched sent warm waves of excitement through my body as I raised up a little and Pat thrust up against me. "Oohh, yeah," I murmured. "Gimme all you got."
The old feelings of inner stimulation awakened, and I easily imagined my being filled to the max with horsecock. I heaved back and forth against my greased pole, and Pat pumped my throbbing cock as I jacked him off with my asshole--upanddown upanddown. How satisfying it was to know you were getting fucked. It was so satisfying to have a cock of enough bulk to render a feeling of fulfillment. I found one the dimension of two educated fingers enough to get me off. Pat's was bonus-size and welcome again and again. Every trip up and down his cock raised my excitement quotient, and he was pumping my aroused cock enthusiastically as I brought his own internal temperature up to the boiling point. Our exertions had us both sweating and grunting as we neared climax. I could feel his gusher coming through my sensitive sphincter nerves. His throbbing cock had swelled to its full limit. We both erupted simultaneously again, and I felt him contracting inside me several times as I shot a watery load across his belly and chest. The releases came with paroxysms of our bodies' quivering. I bent down to kiss him, and his cock slid out. I turned my back to him, he spooned into me and pressed his sticky cock into my asscrack as we cuddled down to nap.
My dreams were all of tomorrow and tomorrow with this newly-awakened sex machine who had now manifest most of the most extreme dreams I could ever conjure up for him--and me. We had torn out several pages of the sex manual now. There was no limit to...to...
A searing sun's ray struck my eye through a barely-open lid. A sun well up in the morning sky was burning through the slats of the windowshade. The dog was barking at a passing neighbor as I regained consciousness. LCD numbers on the clock read: 7:22. Something had to be wrong. We'd spent several hours raising Cain, and Pat couldn't have come by before eight... eight...I felt behind me for Pat's heavy body--nope, not there. Gone? Or what??? Had I been dreaming all this pleasure? Had I invested images of my fuck buddies into a package deal of a wild session of sexual excess? Was it all just a dream? Well probably so--a messy wet dream as I put my hand inside my underwear and found a sticky pouch. It had been so vivid. Do dreams ever come true? Don't count on this one coming to pass. It had included men from different stages of my sporting life that probably only still existed in my pleasant memories. Better to keep what I have than dream about achieving perfection.
To the reader: This episode is obviously not part of my continuing saga with Pat--at least in our real world. A reader who offered some desire to see greater dimensions of variety and emotion suggested my bringing in other individuals and greater depth of descriptions. I appreciate his interest, and had fun writing this fantasy. Any comments?