Making Jeremy
Nexis Pas (nexispas@yahoo.co.uk)
Copyright 2007 by the author.
For H.H.
`Hey, handsome, what does a thirsty lad have to do to get a drink around here? I already have a glass. But I need the drink.'
I had barely unlocked the door to my flat when Martin opened the door to his. As usual, he was dressed in a pair of torn and fraying shorts and a singlet. Strategically placed holes revealed glimpses of his firm, well-tanned body. He stood there leaning against the door frame and jiggling an empty glass at me.
Martin, what a surprise.' I hope my lust was not too evident. Were you listening for me?'
`Hmm. When I got home, I found out that I had run out of wine, and then I remembered that divine Pouilly-Fuisse you had the other evening. I looked out the window, and there you were, Lewis, coming up the street, the answer to a maiden's prayer. Any chance that I can get another drop of that? Or something with alcohol in it. I'm not choosy. I'll drink anything after the day I've had.'
I swung the door open and motioned Martin to step in. `Make yourself comfortable while I check the fridge. I think I still have some of that left. And what will you have, Jeremy?'
There was a growl behind me, deep and feral, and the sound of fabric being torn. By the time I had turned around, Jeremy had already ripped the singlet open down the front. He shrugged it off his shoulders and tossed it across the room into a corner. His shorts dropped to the floor. He was wearing nothing under them. `You know what I want, babe. Get out of those clothes and come here, muffin.'
So what does the average gay lad do when he comes home after a long and tiresome day at work and finds that Adonis is moving into the flat opposite his? Well, I can't speak for the average gay lad (I assure you that I am anything but average, although I am gay and the last time I looked, I was a lad, definitely one of the lads), but my parents raised me to be polite and helpful. We're talking Boy Scout here. So anyway, I unlock the front door to the building and start up the stairs. And there blocking the stairwell is this fabulous hunk struggling with a king-size mattress and attempting to wrestle it up the stairs. You know how difficult it is to move a mattress--how they tilt over on you and threatening to crush poor little old you against the wall. I could see the hunk was having difficulties, despite his well-developed arms and humongous torso, not to mention thighs that were approximately the size and chiselled solidity of Mount Everest (not that one wants those thighs ever to be at rest). The poor man was sweating prodigiously and the singlet he was wearing was plastered tightly to his mammoth chest. I was quite envious of its good fortune.
`Oh, let me help,' I cried. Actually it wasn't so much a cry as a croak, a cross between a breathless gasp and a moan.
The hunk smiled. Not only did he have curly black hair that was begging to be raked between my fingers, but he also had perfect white teeth, suitable for nipping my tender little arse and leaving bite marks. And his smile, well it was one of those `Wouldn't you be more comfortable on your knees?' smiles. I was ready to comply with that suggestion, more than ready--eager, keen, ardent, to drop to groin height.
He lifted the bottom of his singlet to wipe his face, thereby exposing an abdomen that rivalled that of Superman. `Are you sure? I live on the third floor.'
I live on the third floor,' I squeaked. Number 19.'
`We must be neighbours. I'm moving into Number 18.'
`Across the hall.' I nearly fainted. For once, the gods were smiling on me.
And that is how I met Martin. Together the two of us managed to get his mattress upstairs. I set a record for changing into clothes suitable for helping someone move--the muscle T that exposed my arms, the shorts that hugged my shapely buttocks, the thick white socks that hide my unfortunately rather spindly ankles (at least I hope they do). Luckily Martin had almost finished moving by the time I arrived and I didn't have to demonstrate how unsuited I was to heavy labour despite my hours at the gym.
Poor Martin was exhausted by the time we finished. Since his towels were still packed away and he hadn't had time to buy soap, naturally I offered him the use of my shower, my soap, and a clean towel. I stood in the hallway outside the bathroom door listening to the sound of the water bouncing off his incredible body. In my mind's eye, I lathered his corpus delectable, thrusting my soap-smoothed hands into every crevice, making sure that I cleaned every inch of his flesh. Then I watched as the water sluiced a mound of soapsuds down his chest, across his abdomen, and down, down, down and around, around, around his manly equipment. I was so caught up in my reverie that I was oblivious to the fact that the shower had stopped and the door had been opened.
Martin stood there, the towel wrapped around his incredibly narrow hips. He is a good six inches taller than I and he loomed over me. `Could you dry my back, Lewis? I can never get the groove over the backbone dry.' Well, you all know how hard it is to get the last drops of water out of that groove. Of course, I was only too happy to oblige. Ever ready to service, I mean, ever ready to provide service, I also towelled the last drops of moisture from between his legs. I even wrapped the towel around Martin's waist again when I was finished and secured it by tucking the end in. Good-neighbourliness required no less. His body was still hot from the shower. His flesh was as hard as a ferro-titanium alloy (and I know my ferro-titanium alloys). I paid no attention, absolutely none at all, to the fact that the towel could barely contain his manhood, even in its presumably flaccid state.
`Can I offer you anything else? A drink? A tour of my bedroom?'
Martin smiled wickedly. Apparently, I had not fastened the towel around his hips as securely as I had thought. It fell to the floor. Nor apparently had Martin's exertions tired him out. I found myself being lifted off the floor and all sixteen stone of me carried in his arms into the bedroom and laid tenderly on the bed. His strong hands whisked the clothes off me. The man was in incredible kisser, his fingers found every erogenous zone on my body and manhandled me into an acute frenzy of horniness. I was hardly sane by the time the moment I had been waiting for came. I moaned and pointed to the drawer in the bedside table. Martin found the lube and opened the condom.
Well, nothing in life is perfect, is it? I suppose everyone, even someone like Martin, has to have a defect. I smiled up at him and waited for him to put the condom on that throbbing, extra-large-size cock of his. Instead he reached down and put it on me. He quickly lubed himself up and then impaled his studly body on me. It happened so quickly that I had no time to protest and to correct him. He mistook my shriek of disappointment as his muscular glutes contracted around my cock and squeezed hard for a cry of lust. I suppose it was an incredibly good fuck. But it was not what I had wanted. Of course, manners and good breeding won out in the end, and I managed to perform adequately. At least, Martin seemed satisfied.
But, I need hardly explain to you my disappointment at discovering that Martin was a bottom. I mean we are talking one frustrated gay bloke here, majorly frustrated. You know what I'm saying here. You think it's Hey nonny nonny time, and suddenly it's No! No! Not this. This isn't what I wanted. You're all primed for a rigorous rogering, a potent ploughing, a ferocious fuck, and then suddenly you find your cock up the other guy's ass and his dingle is bouncing uselessly against your groin depositing itty-bitty little bits of lukewarm precum on your body when you want it to be pumping you and exploding inside you. Not even the fact that I came copiously could compensate for the hunger in my rear.
Martin was effusive in his thanks and his appreciation. I was, according to him, a ten, and he wasn't just referring to the size of my tool. I modestly opined that perhaps he was using the metric system, but he assured me that he was thoroughly British when it came to measuring.
Perhaps, I thought, Martin is just being polite and allowing me the first fuck as a way of thanking me for my help. I coyly mentioned that I did have more condoms and plenty of lube, if he wanted . . .
Oh, no,' says he, that's very sweet of you. But I'm a total bottom. Always have been. Always will be.' And then he smiles at me. `Of course, if you're ready for another go, we can try another position. There are several I have always wanted to try, and someone of your talents will be up for them.'
Martin soon fell into the habit of dropping by after work. He does know a lot of positions, and his hunger is unquenchable. Plus, he unfortunately learned very quickly how to arouse me. I was helpless in the man's hands. A few seconds in his company, and he had my harpoon ready to plunge into his succulent, hot, moist mouth. A half-hour of sucking later, my body would betray me and I would join with him as he brought me almost to climax time and time again, until I was helpless to do anything but thrust my cock into his insatiable arse. A mindless, willing fuck machine. You can understand my frustration. The more I fucked him, the more I wanted him to fuck me.
Finally I could stand no more of these couplings Martin was relentlessly forcing me to have. I resolved that this would not do, I had ejaculated for the last time into his firm, round, muscular, juicy ass. A god does not move in next door to you and then fail to satisfy. Matters had to be taken in hand. The fatal flaw had to be fixed. Martin had to become a top.
Luckily I knew just what to do. I had read all the mind-control stories. I discounted the stories about aliens with strange powers (unlikely to visit Brighton), magical objects (in short supply), and chemical mindbenders (controlled substances unavailable without access to secret government agencies), but surely, I said to myself, somewhere in all these stories there is a hint of the proper way to hypnotise a hunk into being a top.
I reread my favourite stories, consulted the experts at erotic hypnosis sites, downloaded scripts. Martin's demanding lust left me little spare time, but I managed on my breaks at work to acquire the necessary knowledge. I was ready. It was time to act. Martin's hour had come.
`Martin, you look so tense tonight. Why don't you take your clothes off and lie down, and I'll give you a massage.' I filled my voice with concern. No one could have doubted my interest in Martin's welfare. The poor lad, so overworked. What else would any decent friend do but offer a massage?
Martin complied with my suggestion with alacrity. Clothes simply do not stay on his body long. The bedsprings groaned beneath his muscular body. I know how they felt. Or rather, I wished I knew how they felt. I turned out the lights and lit all the candles in the candelabra. I squirted several generous jets of the scented massage oil I had bought especially for the occasion across his back. He moaned as the viscous streams of thick, warm oil fell upon his bronzed shoulders.
I placed my hands on his shoulders and began to knead them. God, how I needed them. The first touch of my fingers on his body caused my cock to harden. His firm flesh aroused me. Martin, you are so tense. You need to relax. Let's just try a few relaxation exercises,' I said in my most soothing voice. Just take a deep breath in. Now hold it for a second and then slowly breath out, letting your whole body relax as you do so. Just keep breathing slowly and evenly and relaxing.'
Martin complied. As he filled his lungs with air, his torso rose as he inhaled and then fell as he exhaled. His muscles flowed into one another. I was unable to take my eyes off them. His body began to shimmer and gleam in the candlelight as I worked the oil into his golden skin. I continued with my patter, relaxing Martin more and more, taking him deeper and deeper. I suggested that his eyelids were getting heavy, and it was getting harder and harder for him to keep them open. His long lashes fluttered over his cheekbones, and his eyelids gently closed over his deep blue eyes.
I concentrated on massaging his shoulders and helped him focus on relaxing the muscles at the back of the neck. All appeared to be going well. Perhaps my lack of experience made me lower my guard too soon.
`Lewis, my angel, your hands are marvellous, and this is really a great massage. But I've had professional training, and I think I can show you just a couple of techniques that will improve your skill. If you don't mind switching positions for just a minute, it won't take me long to demonstrate.' Martin sat up in bed and divested me of my remaining clothing.
Somehow, I found myself lying face down on my bed, nude. Martin oiled his fingers and hands with the massage lotion. Now, this is called the trapezius muscle. It runs on each side of the backbone from just beneath the skull, down the neck and the back just back the end of the rib cage. It's triangular and the other end joins the shoulder. Now the fibres of the muscles run in this direction.' Martin illustrated the location of the trapezius by outlining it with his fingers. The tension accumulates at the points where the tendons anchor the muscle to the bone. Here and Here.' Once Martin had pointed them out, I could feel the tension at those points. `Now when you massage the muscle, you should move your hands and fingers parallel to the fibres, not across them. See this is how it feels if you move across them. And this is how it feels when you move parallel to them.'
It did feel better, much better, when Martin moved his hands parallel to the fibres. I could really feel the difference. `Now, Lewis, I want you to take a deep breath in and hold it for a few seconds. Now let it out slowly and evenly. Continue breathing slowly and evenly. Now just concentrate on the movements of my hands and fingers. Feel your muscles relaxing as I massage them. So deep, so warm, so safe, so happy. Your entire body is relaxing, Lewis.'
I think I have mentioned how skilful Martin is. Beneath his strong masculine fingers and hands, my body relaxed. I felt as I were floating in a warm pool of heavy water. So relaxed, so comfortable. And Martin's voice can be so soothing. It's like listening to warm honey flowing over your mind. So relaxing, so comfortable.
My mind and body continued to be relaxed as he aroused my cock and took it within him. Under his guidance, I experienced ineffable pleasures, unlike any I had experienced to that point. Martin collapsed in my arms and then fell asleep. It wasn't until an hour later, after the euphoria had passed, that I realised that my scheme had not gone quite as planned. Curses, I said to myself, foiled again. I tried to work out just how I had ended up on top again, but there was this blank period in my day. I remember being massaged, but the next thing I could recall was pumping Martin. I couldn't remember the sequence of events that had led to my cock in Martin's rear end, while he moaned in pleasure.
I spent the next day planning that evening's session. I hardly got any work done at all. I concluded that my first attempt had been too complex. Best to stick with the tried and true. Martin, look what I found at one of the market stalls in Fulham Road today.' I held up the old medal on its chain and let it sway back and forth before Martin's eyes. Isn't it interesting? Look closely at it. Doesn't it catch the light in an interesting way? You just can't take your eyes off it.'
Martin's eyes swung back and forth as they followed the medal. Back and forth. `I find it so relaxing to just concentrate on a moving object, don't you? You can feel your whole body just relaxing. And your eyes feel so tired and your eyelids are getting so heavy.'
`Lewis, the inscription on this medal is quite interesting. Have you read it?'
I had to admit that I hadn't. Martin took the medal from me and turned it over so that I could see the side that had been facing him. `Look, closely. See around the rim, those tiny little letters that shine in the light. You may have to focus closely on them to read them, Lewis. Just look at them closely, Lewis. After your long, tiring day at work, it may make your eyes tired and your eyelids heavy to focus so closely, but you can't help yourself.'
The next thing I remember is Martin's voice. It seemed to come from far away. `Deeper and deeper. With each stroke, you thrust deeper and deeper. And the deeper you go, the better you feel. And the better you feel, the deeper you thrust. Now, I want you to concentrate on your cock. Remember the vibrating motion I taught you last night.'
I felt a moan rise deep from within me. My body seemed to remember the vibrating motion, or at least the pleasures associated with it.
`I am going to count to three, and when I reach three, you will begin to vibrate in the way I taught you. Ready. One. Two. Three.'
And vibrate I did. Martin was pleased by the results, to judge from his cries of delight. My body was totally under his control. Unfortunately I seemed fated never to experience being on the receiving end of the vibrations. My mind was totally helpless to stop. It obeyed Martin. The selfish brute made me provide him an hour's worth of tube time. We rode the entire Circle line, several times. Oh, how I suffered from the delights of pleasuring him. Each thrust made me more and more hungry to have his cock inside me. Each time he cried out beneath me, I longed to cry out beneath him. Martin was using me for his own gratifications. I was just a stud to him. And I longed to use him to gratify myself, to turn him into my stud.
Day Three: `Martin, have I ever shown you my great-grandfather's watch?' I held the newly purchased heirloom up by its chain and began swinging it back and forth.
`Lewis, the scrollwork on the back is incredible. Have you ever looked closely at it? Here let me show you. Just pick an line and start following it with your eyes. . . .'
Day Four: `Martin, I've got a speck of dirt caught in my right eye. Can you remove it for me? Just look deeply into my eyes and you'll see it. . . .' Unfortunately I forgot that when Martin looked deeply into my eyes, I also looked deeply into his.
Day Five: `Martin, don't you just love lying on the beach? The way the sun just seems to melt all the muscles in your body. And the sound of the waves on the beach . . .' Martin not only loved it, but he described it in such detail that I soon dissolved into a pool of obliging, willing flesh.
Each orgasm drew me deeper and deeper into Martin's net. My frustration was mounting to incredible heights. Each time my cock entered him, I longed for that wonderful moment when his cock would push up against me and enter me, when that marvellous invasion would begin and force the breath out of me. And I wanted the pumpings, when each thrust makes you moan until the moans seem to be coming from your entire body. And the feelings of helplessness and the way your entire attention is focussed on the energy flowing from him into you and his strong arms circling around you and squeezing the resistance out of you until you become his mindless puppet. I wanted to be fucked, and I wanted Martin to do it.
Day Six: `Martin, have another drink.'
Lewis, are you trying to get me drunk? Are you intending to take advantage of me?' Martin's eyebrows rose and fell in a suggestive manner. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it out of his trousers. Let's get undressed now that we don't have to waste any time later. I'll be all ready for you to take advantage.'
`Martin, we have to talk.' I poured out my frustrations, confessed my attempts to hypnotise him. My desire for him just spilled out of me. I couldn't help myself. I was so hungry for this man.
Martin was stunned by my outburst. `Lewis, I had no idea. You should have said something. But I know how to solve this problem. I'll introduce you to my twin brother, Jeremy. He's a top.'
`Twin brother?' There were two of them? I nearly came spontaneously at the thought of a matching pair.
`Identical in almost every way, except he's a top. You could say he's my altered ego.'
I gulped and tried not to seem too enthusiastic about Jeremy. I didn't after all want to hurt Martin's feelings. I tried to speak casually. `I'd love to meet him sometime. If he's ever visiting you . . .'
Martin smiled. `Then let's lie down on the bed, Lewis. Just relax and make yourself comfortable. Focus on a spot on the ceiling. That's right. Just let your eyes rest on that spot. It's a bit uncomfortable, I know, to stare at the same spot, but I'll let you close your eyes soon. For now, just keep looking at that spot. . . .'
`Hey, handsome, what does a thirsty lad have to do to get a drink around here? I already have a glass. But I need the drink.'
I had barely unlocked the door to my flat when Martin opened the door to his. As usual, he was dressed in a pair of torn and fraying shorts and a singlet. He stood there leaning against the door frame and jiggling an empty glass at me.
Martin, what a surprise.' I hope my lust was not too evident. Were you listening for me?'
`Hmm. When I got home, I found out that I had run out of wine, and then I remembered that divine Pouilly-Fuisse you had the other evening. I looked out the window, and there you were, Lewis, coming up the street, the answer to a maiden's prayer. Any chance that I can get another drop of that? Or something with alcohol in it. I'm not choosy. I'll drink anything after the day I've had.'
I swung the door open and motioned Martin to step in. `Make yourself comfortable while I check the fridge. I think I still have some of that left. And what will you have, Jeremy?'
There was a growl behind me, deep and feral, and the sound of fabric being torn. By the time I had turned around, Jeremy had already ripped the singlet open down the front. He shrugged it off his shoulders and tossed it across the room into a corner. His shorts dropped to the floor. He was wearing nothing under them. `You know what I want, babe. Get out of those clothes and come here, muffin.'
I unknotted my tie and pulled it out. It joined Jeremy's singlet in the corner. In my haste to get my shirt off, several buttons flew off and disappeared under the furniture. Shoes, socks, trousers, underwear, soon littered the floor. When Jeremy calls, I forsake my customary neatness.
`That's better, my little cupcake.' I just love it when he calls me that. Jeremy's warm, strong hands grabbed me and pulled me to him. His strong arms closed around me and drew me against his brawny body. His lips found mine, and he sucked my tongue into his voracious maw. We fell to the floor, and his hands forced my legs apart. He began to stroke the insides of my thighs slowly, ever so slowly. I began to tremble.
`Relax, Lewis. Do not struggle. You cannot resist.' All the tension flowed out of my body at these familiar words. I surrendered to Jeremy. Soon his mouth, his hot moist mouth closed tightly around my cock. My body shuddered as his pneumatic throat swallowed me deep within him. He pressed the spot behind my balls, and as Jeremy had trained me, my cock flowed in and out of his mouth in response to his signals.
When he had used me to his oral satisfaction, Jeremy lay on his back and spread his legs. I lubed my cock and slowly, just the way he likes it, entered him. Oh, Lewis,' he moaned, you are every top's dream. Be gentle with me, stud.'
Lord, I become such a bottom around Jeremy. I just can't help myself. I know just how to please my man now. He's been such a patient instructor, teaching me to do just what he wants. I am so lucky. I just wish Martin would stick around when Jeremy drops by, but Jeremy says that Martin would get jealous if he saw the two of us together. Ah well, you can't have everything you want. But still, just once, a threesome would be nice. Jeremy is enough of a top to handle both of us.