Warning: the following is pornography written for guys who like guys. If that's not your thing, click back now.
jsmith381@hotmail.com
IN THE EARLY HOURS
At 3:53am, the lovers in the rearmost bedroom were approaching another climax. After more than four hours making love, their limbs were heavy and their breath heaving and their hearts and heads soaring somewhere beyond the definable boundaries of the room. The couple had by this time perfected the art of making love silently. Or so they believed. A makeshift mattress and sleeping bag lay unused on the floor next to the bed, which for the sake of appearance would have to be ruffled up in the morning.
In the bedroom immediately next door to the left, a younger sister lay silent, listening intently, her head only a couple of centimetres from the wall, as she had listened since sometime after midnight. She fingered herself again, wondering desperately when it would be her turn to make love all night to a beautiful boy whom she loved. She squeezed hard on the pillow between her legs and on the one she clutched to her chest, and wept a little as the tiny but increasingly frantic noises percolated through the wall and into her own fantastical hormonal world.
At 3:54, the dark headed one watched by the light of two tiny candles set to one side of the bed as his fair-haired partner's chest rippled and spasmed with the onset of a powerful orgasm, his fourth since they had retired that night. The blond one panted quick and shallow and held on tightly to his partner who reached for the blond's raging hardness in order to assist at the precise moment. The blond's eyes closed involuntarily in exquisite pleasure and his head lolled back in a loss of control, even though he tried so hard to keep eye contact with his lover at these moments. The dark one smiled the smile of the pleasure-giver.
In the bedroom next door to the right, the blond's brother turned another page in his book. He also smiled. He was pleased for his brother, who had only just reached the end of a period of great worry and anxiety. He suspected wrongly that he was the only one in his family who had guessed that his brother's acute unhappiness could only be eradicated by the freely-given love and physicality of another young man. As he heard his brother approaching another orgasm, his own penis itched in the heavy readiness of pre-erection. He smiled again, put down his book and flicked off the light, and let his hand descend into his boxers and his mind into the lowest sewer of his imagination.
At 3:55, the blond gasped aloud as his body gave up the struggle of delaying this latest perfection. His lover sensed the moment had arrived, and eagerly brought their mouths together, partly to emphasise the love that their bodily rutting was rooted in and partly to stifle the blond's muted moans of passion. As they kissed, the dark haired one enforced his grip at the root of his lover's aching bone and, with a young man's well-practised hand, sent the blond over the edge and into the place where his senses collapsed and his soul collided with euphoria.
In the bedroom immediately above, the blond's oldest brother reflected upon the nature of sex and desire. He knew that what his youngest brother was experiencing was born of the first flush of sexuality; that the insatiable appetites his youngest brother seemed to possess would diminish; that the intensity of making uninhibited love with your first partner is rarely surpassed in terms of emotional satisfaction; and that the days -- or nights -- of such physical possibility, making love non-stop for hours with a perpetual erection and a constant succession of climaxes, do not last for ever. Sexuality matures, it grows, it alters. His youngest brother was on the first rung of the ladder, and maybe the best. He himself was so many rungs higher up he had lost count of the number of perfect and imperfect experiences he had sought and found, and the number of perfect and imperfect women he had sought and lost. But the need for orgasm never fades, and he gripped himself harder as he stared at the silent, flickering hardcore in the corner of his room, giving in to the inexorable effect the writhing women were having, and sighed deeply as for the ten thousandth time he started the final ascent.
At 3:56, the blond's young sphincter muscle, jolted by the surge of an orgasmic current frying the nerve endings seemingly throughout his body, clenched the dark-haired lover's desperately hard erection in a series of sharp, involuntary contractions. In equally involuntary response, the dark haired lover's body froze in unbearable and complete rigidity and his own climax peaked suddenly in an uncontrollable shudder and a boiling rush of semen deep inside his lover's beautiful body. His orgasm merged with the blond's and they grappled furiously, kissing in an ecstatic, gasping, disbelieving frenzy; the deep, desperate kisses stifling the cries of both the lovers.
In the bedroom across the hall, the blond's parents lay on their sides face-to-face, not talking but with their eyes wide as they heard the muted sounds of their youngest son's fourth orgasm since he and his "best friend" had gone to bed. With acutely inflamed sexual organs lying unacknowledged between them, radiating heat and desire even as their son's moans of complete and delirious satisfaction crept softly into their room, the worries that a gay son might be unhappy and depressed, or promiscuous and defensively arrogant, or uneasy and introspective, or prissy and camp receded for the first time in several months. Perhaps a gay son could be happy and in a loving relationship. Perhaps. This particular set of parents had no experience of gay sons, their older boys being rampantly, absurdly heterosexual; they did not know whether to encourage this coupling between their young blond son and his dark haired friend or whether to confront them and put a stop to it. They did not think that seventeen was old enough to know these things for oneself, even though at seventeen they themselves had been as fiercely in love and as addicted to the physicality. But now, with the muffled sound of their son and his boyfriend both surfing an emotional and physical high as they rolled together in bed just audible from across the hall, they began to stop worrying and concentrate on their own sexuality. "I think he will be OK," whispered the father. The mother agreed, and then reached for her husband's engorged penis. "Remember when we could do it all night long?" she sighed, half nostalgically, half suggestively. They smiled in the darkness and moved closer together, memories stirring, sexual organs nudging.
At 3:57, the blond and his dark-haired lover allowed their lips to part and themselves to breathe air that hadn't come from the other's lungs. The sexual desperation was passing and the love reasserting itself. Still panting, they looking at each other in silent, blissful wonder and at some unspoken but specific point known to them both, they allowed the dark-haired lover's penis to slip free. They knew that, for now, they had finally exhausted the desire that raged between them every hour they were alive, and that sleep would claim them both within a very few minutes. In fact sleep enveloped the blond first, he being so completely relaxed and so ludicrously happy; while still kissing his lover's neck as they clung together in the glow, his heart rate slowing second by second and his limbs sagging in a rag-doll floppiness, he gently passed into sublime slumber.
In the bedroom to the left, the blond's sister felt her brother's happiness somehow radiating through the wall. She lay back staring at the ceiling in the dark, releasing her pillows from her grasp, as the memory of the last of many orgasms that night faded from her muscles. It didn't matter if it wasn't immediate, she thought. As long as one day she could make love like that, that would be fine, very fine.
At 3:58, the dark-haired lover summoned the energy required to lift his head off his lover's chest and extinguish the two candles next to the bed. Before he did so, he looked down at the blond's face, slipping deeper into sleep even as he watched, but the joy in his smile as clear as day. He noticed two or three small splats of his boyfriend's semen as they had fallen between his nipples. He gently licked each one up, kissing each spot in turn then tenderly and lovingly brushing the lightest of kisses on the blond's sleeping lips. This act of love over, he snuffed the candles and lay his head back on the blond's chest.
In the bedroom to the right, the blond's brother was closing in on a major rush. Buried right under his covers and wriggling around deep in the bed, his right wrist was working overtime on his shaft and the fingers on his other hand tickled and teased his scrotum and what it contained. Despite several girlfriends and a number of gratifying sexual experiences, he was still an addicted masturbator, only weeks out of his own teenage years, and it was as much as he could do to refrain from giggling in adolescent delight as he upped his speed for the last time and with a sexy memory racing through his head, he tripped over the line and gushed into his boxer shorts.
At 3:59 the dark-haired partner let thoughts of the day drift through his head as he gradually gave in to the overpowering urge to sleep. They'd had such a great day. Walking through town, meeting with friends, only the two of them knowing the massive secret that had grown and blossomed between them in the last few weeks. Then in the afternoon, more walking, along the riverbank, making plans for the future, running away perhaps, certainly getting a flat together; then snogging behind a tree and then feeling a buzz as a woman walking her dog had seen them. And then dinner tonight, not daring to look at each other or seem at all out of the ordinary as they had eaten with his boyfriend's whole family -- first time he had met both the brothers -- then as soon as had seemed decent, gone upstairs to where they had laid out a mattress for him on the floor of his boyfriend's room. Their first night in a bed. They'd made love before of course, and in beds too; in the afternoons, secretly while other people were out; but not all night, not hours of sucking and licking and other wonderful pleasures, hours of tasting each other and exploring what was possible, not like this; this was it, the real thing, an unhurried night of love and then sleep together afterwards. It was perfect. The dark-haired lover smiled like his boyfriend, and, still wrapped round his blond partner, he was asleep.
In the bedroom immediately above, in the attic, the blond's oldest brother held his own orgasm in expert delay. Sprawled in his black leather armchair, naked, his legs spread wide and his right fist tightly gripping part of his oversized, chunky erection, he'd let this climax rise nearly to the surface then recede several times since about half past midnight, when he had first heard his youngest brother fucking with his first boyfriend. There had been the shock that his kid brother had grown up: only a few days before he seemed to be an ordinary teenager and now he was a sexually active adult doing the new and wonderful thing; and from that had come an irritating jealousy. His brother had no right to be having hours of hot sex while he sat in the attic ogling porn. Several years, and hundreds of women before, he had felt that wonder himself, but now for him sex was an essential, a necessity of life with the wonder smashed away, and several nights a week he went out and found it, usually easily, but with increasingly less concern as to who it was with. On the nights he didn't couple up, he had a growing library of hardcore porn with which to refine his masturbation techniques. In fact he didn't really approve of masturbation much and definitely thought it was second best, but this hadn't stopped him becoming a particularly skilful self-manipulator. Having just heard his brother moaning as he'd climaxed powerfully for the fourth time that night, the blond's oldest brother shrugged off his jealousy, lifted his groin off the chair a little, and, aiming for his own mouth, imagined himself trapped in the ferocious lesbian orgy he was staring at on the screen, and then gasped and gasped as shot off his own frustration in a hot splatter-shower of semen over his chest and face. The orgasm was intense, and the relief would last in time for him to sleep. His ejaculate still sliding down his skin, he walked over to his open window and lit a last cigarette. Shit, did he need a proper girlfriend.
At 4:00am, the lovers were settling into the kind of deep sleep that only the very newly in love can reach. Completely happy to be tangled up in each other's limbs, seemingly oblivious of the uncomfortable temperature of such a warm summer's night, oblivious to the family's knowledge of their love, oblivious to the difficulties yet to be faced at school, oblivious to everything other than the bliss of sleeping in a lover's arms.
In the bedroom over the hall, a more experienced, more practised, more down to earth loving couple were beginning their own manoeuvres of love. But they really had perfected the art of making love silently, and nobody, not even their eldest son who was standing directly above them idly smoking and licking up semen from his chest as he stared out over the dark garden, nobody heard them as they laughed and whispered and began the long climb to the top. Odd that it was their youngest son who had provoked that night's bout of pleasure, but fitting somehow too: a suitable way, perhaps, to celebrate his coming of age.
Thanks for reading. I don't know about you guys, but I certainly remember trying to fuck quietly so my parents wouldn't know what their son was up to with his "best friend". Not sure what I think about this one -- it's not even that pornographic, but I've been clearing out old word doc folders and have found some stuff that never got posted when I wrote it. Still, if you enjoyed it and would like a list of the other stuff I have archived at Nifty, please feel free to mail me at jsmith381@hotmail.com