This story contains graphic descriptions of consensual adult male to male gay sex. If this topic offends you, or it is illegal for you to read this, please leave this site.
In the Moonlight
My hand moved slowly over his belly, and up across his chest. His skin was warm, a bit damp in the night, and I could smell his spicy sweat rising from his furry pits, and the heat of his chest. His muscular pecs rose and fell slowly, the slow beat of sleep the only sound in the room.
I stopped, waited, watching the moon rise, watching the darkness of the room turn slowly brighter, moving his hard, naked body from the shadows to the new light. And, again, as if for the first time, I watch him, my eyes feasting on the curves and the shadows, and the crevices of his hard, lean nakedness.
He lies across the bed, open to me. His arms and legs open, exposing him, all of him, to my again curious eyes. For an instant, I gaze at his thick, now soft cock, skin against thick hair and fat balls, now limp and sagging in their hairy sack. The long silky skin of his cock now slid down, over his cockhead now, relaxed. This precious part of him, the part closest to me when he took me in the ass, now was hiding all but the last small pearl of his cum that had finally slid out of his cockhead, and hung like a dewdrop, until it finally fell, lost in the curls of the thick, sweaty hair of his crotch. My nostrils were filled with his smell, his sweat, and the last whiffs of his almost dry cum.
The moon now filled the room with its pale silver light, giving his chest and the coarse curls across his chest a bright and shiny look, against the thin dark shadows of his fur against the tanned dark skin. His nipples were thick, tempting, the only bare tips of skin in the forested landscape of his muscles, curving and sculpted in the light, turning into what seemed like marble. Solid and warm against my tongue, as I imagined me tasting him, running my tongue across the salty dampness of his fur, and finding a tender, stiffening nipple to suck.
His big-muscled arm was flung over his face, throwing open his deep, crevassed pit, filled with thick curls and strands of hair, damp with his smell, still mixed with his lust and the sweat that poured from him when he had cum in my ass, riding me hard, thrusting and moaning until he shot deep inside of me, his heat and his lust and his climax drenching me with hot sweat and a thick spurting rope, then another, of his rich seed.
My finger traced a path across the deep black stubble across his cheeks, rough and sharp against my skin, reminding my balls and my cock what it felt like just an hour ago, as he licked and sucked me, tasting my ball sack inside his lips, against his tongue, his stubbled cheeks chafing my thighs, and sticking against the wet hair around my cock.
And, tomorrow morning, when we washed each other in the shower, there would be that special time, when I would lather his face, and then take his razor, slowly pulling the blade through his whiskers, the soap and the little bits of stubble rinsed away in the steam and the soft hot water. I'd go slow, being neat around his moustache and up against his goatee, and the tender skin along his neck, until he felt smooth, almost slippery in my hands.
It was my favorite part of our shower, this time of soap and short strokes with his razor, and the smoothness of the freshly shaved skin. And, then, he'd always gently take the razor out of my hand, and kiss me, deeply. And, then, so slow, and so tender, he'd kiss his way down my neck, and across my chest, sucking and tasting my always tender and hard nipples, and then down my belly. And, slower now than ever, he would move down further and take me in his mouth, and slowly suck and taste me, until I would moan and cry and whimper. And, as the water kept coming down, he would take me deep and hard, and cup my balls, holding them close to his lips and his newly shaven cheeks. And, this would go on and on until I could hold nothing back, until I thrashed and spurted and came in his mouth, again and again, crying his name, again and again.
Yes, I remember. My recently exhausted cock, fully spent from his suckings and his insistent hunger for my own seed, now still oozing the last bit of my seed from my balls, begins to rise again, filling with my once-again hot blood. I am hungry again, wanting him again, needing him.
And in a minute, I would reach over and begin with him again, to run my finger across his cock, to feel his balls in my hand, to finally grasp his cock, and feel him, again, begin to fill and to rise with lust, again. But, not yet. Now, just for a minute, I wanted to feel the quiet in the room, to feel my own lust rising, to feel its heat, its hunger. And, to watch him sleep, dreaming that it was our time, once again, and then, to wake, feeling me holding him, feeling him begin to come to life again, in my hand, and then, in my mouth, and, again, all so soon, in my ass.
Yes, in a minute. But now, I can wait. There is so much of him to see as the moon keeps rising.
Copyright 2009. Oregon Bear