The following is a work of fiction. If it represents the lives of anyone living or dead it is purely coincidental and I, for one, would like to meet the person who lives in this kind of world. Really. Set me up, please.
If you think this is worth plagiarizing, I suppose I should feel honored. I don't care much for copyrights, so I will forego them in this particular instance. Have fun, call it your own, and if you can make money off of it, you are a better man than I.
And, by the way, this includes rather graphic descriptions of men having sex with one another. For Pete's sake, it's 2005, get the fuck over it. It's a rempant occurence. However, if you wish not to be exposed to this type of imagery, regardless of how well written it is, you probably shouldn't be surfing this kind of website and I suggest you move on.
Any positive comments, laudatory remarks, or nominations for literary awards may be sent to lsok68@adelphia.net. Criticisms, suggestions for rewrites, and nasty remarks can be sent to someone else. You pick the e-mail address. I'm indifferent.
OUT OF TOWN
"Chicago? Chicago. Fucking Chicago in February? It couldn't be Vegas or Miami or even San Francisco for god's sake?"
"Sorry, dude. The conference is in Chicago and Jason says you're the man. At least it's four days that you don't have to be here."
Chris realized that his junior associate didn't quite understand that these types of conferences for the biotech industry were far from vacations. There were Vice Presidents of Business Development to meet and convince that yours was the next big blockbuster opportunity. There were sales managers, and product development people, and Ph.D.s, and clinical trials specialists, and regulatory personnel, and intellectual property attorneys, and marketing specialists, and venture capitalists, and angel investors, and consultants, and the list went on and on. Each and every one of them seemed to want a detailed project plan and budget layout before they would even share a drink with you. Chris would rather be in the office because it was far less work. Although, he did have to admit to himself that he enjoyed the travel. It was oftentimes a way to break out and feel free. Losing himself in the masses of a huge metropolitan city, Chris took advantage of the opportunity to revel in a side of himself that no one at his corporation even suspected.
"And, dude, Chicago has some great looking women. Maybe you can hook up with some babe. My wife keeps saying how she can't believe you aren't dating anyone. She knows a bunch of girls who would be all over you. She's even threatened to leave me for you."
"Well, Jake, despite her questionable taste in husbands, my estimation of your wife has just gone up quite a bit," Chris joked. "And because of that, I would feel incredibly guilty if I had to plunge her world into financial chaos by firing your ass. Quit calling me `dude'."
"Yes, sir," Jake replied sarcastically.
"Oh Christ, sir is even worse. Call me dude. It makes me feel as though I still have a chance at being confused for young."
"Right, like you should worry. You're in better shape at 35 than I am at 27, you bastard."
"Can you explain to me how I ever hired you? How do you get away with calling me a bastard?"
"You obviously realized my superior potential, keen talent, and countless abilities. And your need to surround yourself with people who could make you look good overshadowed the need for your ego to be stroked by some suck up."
Chris cocked his head and stared at Jake for a brief moment. "See, I would have sworn you were forced on me because of a a bad bet I made in a poker game."
"While it is true that you do, truly, suck at poker, and I have the DVD player you funded to prove it, your mind has obviously failed you again in your old age."
"Get out of my office and book me a flight to Chicago."
Jake turned and smiled hearing his boss shout after him.
"And find an airline that still gives out peanuts. If I'm going to be in the air for two and a half fucking hours, I better get a lousy bag of peanuts."
Jake laughed and went back to work before his boss could give him one of his "When I was a kid" speeches. Jake looked at his boss as almost a big brother figure. He was intelligent, athletic, and looked out for Jake's best interests. Chris had an old soul, it seemed. No one at 35 should be giving "When I was a kid" speeches, but it was oddly endearing and nearly always amusing the way he would pontificate on the most inane subjects: Saturday morning cartoons, strip malls, grocery stores, the mailman, and airlines providing peanuts.
++++++++++
The subway was nearly empty as it rolled out of the O'Hare terminal. Chris enjoyed taking the metro whenever he could. He felt it made him less a tourist and more a part of whatever city he was in. He had mastered Chicago's rail system and was comfortable in DC as well. New York City still eluded him, but he was proficient enough to read the map and get to the right places. Only once did he make a huge mistake and end up in Harlem. Chris affirmed his notion that you learn best from your mistakes.
While on the train, he reviewed the conference schedule and mapped out the briefings he wanted to attend, highlighted numerous vendors whose booths he should visit, and jotted down names of contacts that he was hoping to run into. Because there are ten thousand attendees, these conferences were somewhat of a shotgun approach to success, but he was given his marching orders and damn it he was going to make the most of it. Fortunately, the conference didn't actually start until the following day and even then only the preliminary meet and greet receptions weren't scheduled until early evening.
Finishing his work profile, he then turned to the other opportunities that Chicago offered. Even in February, Chris truly liked the city. Although he put up a front, he actually reveled in the opportunity to visit some of the greatest dining places in the country, bar hop from one jazz club to the next, and do some shopping on the Miracle Mile that was Michigan Avenue. And, of course, indulge in the guilty pleasure of seducing a guy - a complete stranger - and allowing himself to let go of all of his inhibitions.
What to do first was his biggest question.
"Check into your hotel, you horny dumbass," he heard himself say.
Chris smiled and laughed to himself. He was an independent kind of guy who never really needed anyone else, but honestly wanted to be with someone. He enjoyed his own company and had a healthy self-image, but wasn't without issues. He longed for a relationship with someone who made him face his insecurities, but still allowed him to revel in his strengths; someone who was highly intelligent, yet not an elitist; someone who was well read, but insisted on reading the comics each day in the newspaper; someone who wanted to explore the world, yet was content to stay at home and watch a burning fire; someone who could be both tender and loving and still blatantly sexual.
For some reason, the subway always made him think of these things. The rhythmic sounds of the wheels over rails had a hypnotic effect on Chris and seemed to cause him to retreat into this particular part of his mind. "Introspection is good," he would say to himself but he always feared it would spiral out of control and become introversion.
The train stopped and the doors opened letting in a cold blast of air that brought Chris back to the here and now. He gathered his belongings as the next stop was his.
++++++++++
As he unpacked, Chris became acquainted with his room. It had plenty of space, including a sitting area, a small kitchen, and a separate bedroom with a king sized bed. He walked past the bed and pulled open the drapes to see that there wasn't much of a view, only a giant neon sign outside advertising "Chicago's Famous Steak House". He laughed out loud thinking how this could turn into a really bad film noir scene very easily.
Drained from his travels, Chris considered taking a quick nap then heading out. He realized, however, that he had gotten off of his workout schedule the past couple of days and this would offer him a great opportunity to put himself back on track. It was approaching eight o'clock and he was sure the fitness facilities would not be very crowded. Energy seemed to spontaneously fill his body as he stripped down to his boxer briefs.
Unconsciously, he pulled the waistband away from him, shoved his hand down his shorts, and readjusted his equipment. His cool hand felt good on his warm cock and his balls twitched just slightly. When he removed his hand, he glanced up and caught himself in the mirror. He had to admit, regardless of his own modesty, he looked pretty damned good.
Scavenging through his luggage, he found his workout gear: a pair of Nike shorts, an old t-shirt he had gotten as a promotional gift from one of countless vendors, a pair of ankle high socks, and his cross-trainers. First pulling on his shorts, he reveled in the comfort that he was now afforded given his freedom from his suit pants. Chris proceeded to raise the t-shirt over his head, thread his thick arms through the holes and brought it down atop his head. As he pulled it down over his chest, he found it to be more snug than he remembered. Chris had been very focused lately on his routine and was making significant gains. This time purposely, he took a look into the mirror and saw the shirt pull across his thick chest. His nipples were prominently displayed from the cold and he was proud. Encouraged by what he was seeing, even more energy seemed to course through his body. The girth of his biceps and triceps tested the bands of the sleeves on his shirt. Chris pushed the offending fabric higher up on each of his arms to provide him with more freedom. The sleeves now capped his broad shoulders and his physique appeared even better than it had just moments ago. Now he recognized the feeling of adrenaline rushing through his body. His cock began to stir and a modest bulge developed in his shorts.
The designers of the fitness facilities seemed to have taken a vision and gone just a little bit too far. Granted the room was not particularly large and granted a few mirrors are appreciated to address the issues of proper lifting form; however, this particular room was made with mirrors on every single wall. Rather than an exercise room, it came closer to resembling a fun house. No matter where you looked, there you were. The vanity in Chris gave way to low level paranoia wondering who else was looking and from where.
Regardless, he focused on orienting himself to the facilities. It was cramped with equipment. Free weights and machines and a cardio area were the standard fare and he was pleased that there was enough variety that he could get into his current routine without having to make any modifications. He was also alone and wouldn't have to wait for anyone or share.
More than half an hour had passed and Chris was deep into his workout. Sweating profusely and high on endorphins, he was happy that he had chosen to exercise rather than sleeping in his room. He had made a muscle shirt out of his t-shirt by pulling the short sleeve further up to expose his shoulders. Although he was looking at seven of his own reflections, he truly liked to use the mirrors to watch himself lift. Sweat poured off of his forehead and he lifted his shirt to wipe himself dry. His heavy breathing was noticeable now that his abs were exposed. At that moment another man entered the room.
"Hey," the guy offered.
"Hey," Chris replied dropping his shirt.
"Whoa. What is up with this place? Geez."
Chris chuckled politely. Apparently everyone had the same reaction to the decor that he did.
The new guy set himself up on one of the treadmills. He placed his iPod into the receptacle afforded him by the machine and completed the connection by plugging himself into the earphones. He was a man in his late twenties, Chris surmised, was tall and had what appeared to be slender build. Chris continued with his workout as this distraction became just a new component in an already crowded environment.
Completing his lifting regimen, Chris headed to the cardio area to finish up. It was well after nine now and the thought of sleep was far away. He was filled with energy. As he approached the equipment, he noticed that he was limited to either a treadmill or an elliptical machine. Having never been able to get a real stride on one of those contraptions, he headed to one treadmill only to find it out of order. He moved down the line to realize the only other working equipment was next to the new guy who was now miles into his run.
Chris climbed on and began programming the machine.
"Hey," said the new guy again as he pulled the earphones from his head.
"Hey," Chris replied, again.
"Is it hot in here?"
Chris smiled thinking of the cheesy pickup line that followed: " ... or is it just you?"
"Actually, it is kind of warm. I think they're overcompensating for the whole February factor."
"I've got another six miles to go and I'm dying here. Do mind if I take my shirt off? I know you're not supposed to, but I don't think a whole lot of people are going to show up this late."
"Knock yourself out. I'm not going to be here but for another twenty minutes or so."
"Cool."
In one swift motion, and without stopping, the runner removed his shirt, ran it across his chest, tossed it on the floor in front of him, and proceeded to reengage his entertainment. Chris almost tripped on the moving belt as he saw what had been concealed underneath the t-shirt. Suddenly, all of these mirrors seemed to be a stroke of brilliance.
Having the ability to see nearly every angle of this guy without staring right at him gave Chris a way to while away his run time. The winter months had drawn out almost all of the color in his skin. He looked as though he was made of marble and his features seemed as if chiseled from a solid block. He wasn't big and bulky. He was definitely a runner, but larger than most carrying a formidable chest and wide shoulders along with the well developed legs that were to be expected. As Chris looked forward to the reflection with which he was presented, he saw that his running mate was tight and firm. With each impact from every stride, a shockwave ran through this guy's body, but barely affected his visage. Instead, only a quick pulse was briefly evident as his chest resisted the onslaught of the force being directed through his bare torso. His nipples were erect as the beads of sweat evaporated from them and worked to cool down his skin. The striations of his shoulders were plainly evident as he pumped his arms back and forth in perfect rhythm.
Chris' heart was beating faster now and he was having a hard time determining if it was because of the physical exertion or because of his growing fascination with this half-naked stranger next to him. With that in mind, he couldn't help but compare himself to this guy who had been exerting himself for nearly an hour and yet maintained an almost effortless breathing pattern. Chris looked further down his neighbor's torso and saw a set of abs that were completely exposed and defined. With each exhalation, they tightened ever more making his shaped waist ever more dense. A trail of sweat rambled over the six pack and disappeared into the waistband of his shorts.
The room became warmer and its effect on the two men became more severe. The scent of sweat also filled the air as the two athletes continued to push themselves further and further. The runner raised the back of this hand to his forehead to dispense with the building perspiration. As he did so, Chris could see the roundness of his bicep and a flash of light brown hair in his pit.
Chris suddenly became annoyed with himself. Was there no one who was above being ogled? Couldn't he put himself in check and just get through this workout without mind fucking this guy? Refocusing his gaze in attempt to finish his run in whatever solitude he could muster, he found himself confronted with the reflection this guy's back. Apparently, Chris was destined to ogle.
Again, the alabaster skin revealed the well developed musculature of what could have been a streamlined Rodin sculpture. The sheen of sweat accented each curve, line, and intersection of sinew and fiber. Although not particularly wide, again, it was dense and defined. As the runner continued his pursuit of excellence in a non-existent race, his strong back seemed to be pushing him forward toward an imaginary finish line.
Each head of his triceps was clearly visible and made deep cuts into his arms. Pumping them back and forth, his arms gave way to glimpses of his lats which swooped inward to his sides and preceded the protrusions of his rib cage. They fit together like feathers of an eagle's wing and directed attention forward as if beckoning an onlooker review the tight stomach that Chris had already committed to memory.
Chris' gaze moved downward. Two orbs, trapped beneath the runner's shorts, danced as one leg momentarily outpaced the other. The abusive impact each stride put on his legs was quelled by the runner's strong thighs. Shock waves dissipated into the striated muscles of his quads as the full weight of his body was tossed from one leg to the other. Each calf leaped into view, intermittently, as they conspired to redirect the workload to the opposing side. Chris found that his fascination with his workout mate caused him to fall into the same rhythm. Running at the same pace, the two men's individual cadences joined together and resounded throughout the facility.
He had realized that his growing interest in the stranger has manifested itself in his dick growing considerably within the confines of his briefs. The head was now engorged and rubbing against his inner thigh with every extension. As each foot came into contact with the treadmill, he felt his now very heavy cock bounce with the sudden change in direction. Over and over and again and again, the pounding added to his excitement. Soon, however, the glory began to become overwhelming. The head of his penis was getting more sensitive and the extent of his erection was getting to socially unacceptable standards for fitness rooms. He slowed the machine and put an end to his workout. If he didn't leave now, he would be half tempted to throw this guy down onto a bench and shoot a hot load of white cum all over his ivory skin.
As was his tendency, he again lifted his shirt to his face exposing his torso as he blotted the flowing sweat from his brow. The hair on his belly was wet and made a series of curls trailing into his shorts. He let loose of the shirttail, put his hands on his hips and breathed deeply in an effort to recover from the exertion he had just put himself through.
"Keep it up, man. Looking strong," Chris said as he exited the facility.
The door closed before the runner could comment back.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Jeff said to himself as he plucked the earbuds from their confines and shut down the treadmill.
"How far did you think you could run just to keep scoping that guy out? For fuck's sake! I suppose cardiac arrest is one way to make an impression," he continued to chide himself.
"Oh, it's hot in here, do you mind if I take off my shirt?" he said mimicking his previous comments.
"You poor, horny bastard. You poor, deluded, horny bastard. Did you truly think that you sweating next to him for thirty minutes without a shirt would prompt him to throw you on a workout bench, tear off your shorts, and fuck you within an inch of your life? Oh, you poor deluded bastard."
Jeff smiled at himself, shook his head, stepped off the machine, and surveyed the fitness center. Now it was he who was alone. He stepped forward to pick up the shirt that lay on the floor in front of him. He threw it over his shoulder then thrust his hand down the front of his shorts. His raging hard-on needed to be readjusted before he walked through the lobby. As he touched his dick he could feel the sweat that was trapped in his pubes, but could also discern a slick and honey like substance too.
Both men, floors apart, were closer than they could have ever imagined. As each prepared to take a shower, they removed the clothes that were drenched with the physical manifestation of their exertion. Off came their shirts, then their shorts and socks. Chris peeled off his boxer briefs and his dick protruded prominently from his lower abdomen, thick and weighty. Meanwhile, Jeff was stepping out of his boxers. When let loose, his cock stood proudly, defiantly, and nearly vertically. Each man tugged at his balls and encouraged further growth of his manhood.
Water coursed out of the shower heads of two bathrooms half a hotel away from each other. Steam gradually began to obscure the mirrors. Independently, the men stepped into their tubs and placed themselves under the forceful streams of water. Raising his hands to his head, Jeff forced the water through his hair and briefly caught the scent of himself before the torrents of water washed it downward, flowed past his shoulders, through his armpits, and down his chest. Still, his cock remained resilient and its prominence was coaxed to even greater stature by the steady streams that caressed his balls.
Chris was facing the other direction. The cleansing liquid pounded atop his head, splashing the marble tile and shower curtain as droplets leapt to their demise. Leaning forward, the only path for the water to follow was down his broad back and funnel between the tight cheeks of his ass before spiraling down his exhausted legs. Similarly, his penis was still hard. With his eyes closed, he recalled the strength of the man who had jogged next to him half naked.
He touched himself thinking of what the rest of that body looked like. He imagined that the running man had a strong dick, made of the same marble as the rest of his body. It was erect and bouncing wildly as he continued to run, this time fully nude. Chris imagined that he, also completely naked, approached him from behind and grabbed hold of that solid cock causing him to end his futile chase. The sweat of their bodies intermingled forging their first bond. Chris' dick lengthened and entreated his fuck friend's ass to open and provide it refuge.
As he fantasized, Chris pumped his cock and let the water massage his whole body.
Jeff had soaped up and, likewise, had closed his eyes. The crash of the water resonated within the shower affording him a solitary retreat for him and his thoughts. Furiously stroking his hard member, he flashed back to the fitness center when he entered as the stranger stood with his chest and abs exposed. Seeing Jeff enter, the guy approached him without saying a word and stared at him as though he was infiltrating hallowed ground. He raised both hands and placed each on Jeff's upper chest. The power of Jeff's chest was instantly evident through the thin cotton of his shirt and the strong, but silent athlete cracked a slight smile. Grabbing the fabric tightly, the stud tore Jeff's shirt from his body and tossed it with disdain into the corner. Throwing his chest out and walking toward his intended conquest, the pumped up god backed Jeff into a workout bench where he sat down hard. His conqueror stripped in front of him and revealed a beautiful dick that was ready for action. He reached down, undressed Jeff, and forced him backward until his milky skin was in direct contrast to the black vinyl of the benchtop.
As Jeff continued to work his dick, suds spilled from his thick bush and encased his long shaft.
The runner turned the tables on Chris as he descended from his workout machine. Spinning him around, the sweaty man recreated the scene that had just played out. Grabbing Chris' cock with one hand, he forced their two bodies together with a forceful embrace that left his other hand over Chris' left tit. His magnificent fuck pole now extended between Chris' legs and the head prodded his balls. Slowly, he began to masturbate the sex toy in his hand. Simultaneously, and with a great deal of dexterity, the runner massaged the large pectoral muscle while pumping his own cock between the strong thighs of his toned play toy. With greater and greater intensity he continued to stroke. Chris threw his head back in delight. He opened his eyes and saw, all around him, a sea of nudity and sex. Every reflection revealed a different scene: straight ahead, a pair of phantom hands ravaged a body he recognized as his; from the side, the dimpled ass of a marble masterpiece flexed and relaxed as it thrust repeatedly into a chasm searching for pleasure; another view showed a strong arm, protecting the frailty of a vulnerable, naked body; still another showed the truth -- two beautiful men in abject, sexual ecstasy.
By now the vein in Chris' arm was distended and prominent from the intense workout he had had downstairs and the vigorous workout he was currently engaged in as he worked to bring his rod to orgasm.
There was no love or intimacy in how Jeff was being taken. It was simply raw, unabashed, anonymous sex. His subjugator had thrust his thick dick deep within Jeff's ass, holding one of his legs with his outstretched muscular arm, he propped the other leg on his round shoulder. Reaching around the heavy thigh that rested against his chest, he grabbed Jeff's raging hard-on and almost viciously assaulted its full length. Deeper and deeper the athlete rammed his manhood into Jeff. His prostate was shooting jolts of pleasure with every thrust. Faster and faster his cock was being stroked. Ass. Cock. Ass. Cock. He grabbed for the muscular ass of the man who was pounding him and bringing him to climax, but his hand was knocked away. Instead, the sweating athlete bent toward him, almost folding him in two, and increased his speed. Sweat poured from his body and splashed onto Jeff's chest. Each drop burned as it hit his skin. Faster he forced himself in and out. Faster he rubbed the head of Jeff's dick. Closer and closer they both came to release.
Jeff could barely breathe now. The steam in the shower was making it difficult to get air into his lungs and as he came closer to coming, he never seemed to exhale. The pressure in his dick increased dramatically.
Chris felt as though he was in the middle of an orgy. Naked flesh reflected everywhere. He threw his arm backwards and caught the runner's head in his grasp. As he pulled him closer, his bicep flexed and filled out. The runner responded by kissing it and lavishing it with sensual laps from his tongue. He also moved away from kneading Chris' pec and nipple and directed his attention to his armpit which was deep and broad. The combination of Chris' well developed triceps, lats, chest and shoulders created a playground for the alabaster hand to enjoy. Sensations emanating from his pit shot through his body and grounded themselves in his groin. A layer of mutual sweat had developed between the two men. The smooth, hard chest of the runner glided across the wide back of his plaything. His marbled cockhead continued to stimulate Chris' ballsack and now his testicles had crept inward. Focusing his efforts on the tip of Chris' dick, the runner encircled the glans of the nearly spent penis. He thrust continually in an effort to initiate his own orgasm. Then he brought his mouth down onto the side of Chris' neck and began to suck.
Chris began to feel the welling up of cum deep at the root of his cock. He drew back and the stream from the shower pummeled the head of his dick. He could no longer reconcile his fantasy with reality. He opened his eyes as his knees began to go weak.
"Fu..."
"...ck!"
The two men's cocks exploded. Great globs of milky fluid flowed down tiled walls. Eruptions of seed shot upward and dared to oppose the falling waters. Drops of pearl fell into the pool below and spun and danced until vanishing down the drain.
Now completely spent from his strenuous workout and nearly exhausting jack off session, Jeff stepped out of the shower and ran a towel over his tired body. His penis was still heavy, but no longer erect. Dropping the towel on the floor, he walked over to the bed and pushed aside the covers, his dick swaying as he did so. Falling into bed, he turned out the light and lay there, naked and exposed to the all encompassing dark. Sleep came quickly.
Chris completed his shower by washing his hair. Stepping out of the tub, he left a large puddle on the floor as the water spilled from his arms, flowed down his legs, and dripped from his cock. Grabbing a towel, he first wiped the considerable amount of moisture off the mirror before addressing his own body.
He realized he was oddly awake and rather hungry. Some quick primping put his hair into place and he absent mindedly splashed himself with some cologne, dispersing it over his chest, down his stomach, and unconsciously into his crotch. He got dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, over which he put a sweater, threw on a pair of shoes that he had actually bought in Chicago last year, and headed out the door to find some entertainment and some sustenance.
++++++++++
The weather was not nearly as cold as it could have been. Only intermittent gusts of wind blew as Chris made his way down the city streets. He thrust his hands deep into his pockets and pulled his arms tight to his body to compensate for the fact that he had left his coat in the room. He stiffened against the cold, but embraced the crispness of the winter air. As he walked past one building after another, it seemed as though he was in the company of friends. The tall lanky structures appeared to brace themselves against the winter weather. Exhaust ducts spewed forth vapors from rooftops as if providing a singular clue to silent conversations being exchanged in the frigid night. Wanting to partake in their discussion, Chris exhaled and followed the dissipating fog of his breath.
The sidewalk was awash with a host of colors from the signs that lit storefronts and doorways. As he walked, Chris stepped in streams of red, followed by a sea of green, and a vast expanse of blue. Regularly, the harsh light of a streetlamp erased the delicately colored puddles only to replace them with a brazen and offensive ocean of white. He walked on.
Chris' quest for a local favorite place for jazz that was still serving food at midnight on a Tuesday proved to be challenging. One by one his criteria were scaled back until he wanted only to find someplace to get a late meal. Music, atmosphere, even heat at this point, were secondary concerns. In desperation, he turned down a narrow street, almost an alley, down which a sign only subtly advertised that an establishment existed at all. His quest for excitement was now overshadowed by the fact that the extended time in the elements had now lost the charm it once held and his hunger had progressed to a ravenous appetite. If he could not find something to eat here, he was prepared to take a cab back to the hotel, tear open the mini-bar, and gorge himself on $15 macadamia nuts and $7 Milky Way bars.
Walking inside he found himself gently barred by a heavy velvet curtain that hung just inside the doorway. Pushing it aside, he moved forward only to be presented with yet another dense drapery.
"Great, another damned fun house," he thought.
As he stepped through, his eyes adjusted to the surroundings. Although the place was nearly empty, a man at a piano softly played rearrangements of classic jazz tunes. He was illuminated from above by a single, dangling halogen light that shone down on the center of the keys. As he played, his fingers rushed into and retreated out of the bright light like playful children daring to be caught in a frenetic game of hide and seek. Below the makeshift stage, a chaotic arrangement of small tables appeared as a broken chain of islands in a tormented sea of chairs. Around the perimeter of the exposed brick interior, a number of high backed booths provided some refuge for the less adventuresome. One couple had retreated to the furthest booth from the door and gazed lovingly at each other. At the far end of the establishment, a middle-aged man sat smoking a cigarette at the large, oak, oval bar that was dotted with votive candles. The ashtray in front of him promised that he had been there for quite some time. Several seats away from him a red headed woman cackled in a drunken response to something her equally inebriated companion had just whispered to her. She reached for the last of her cocktail and spilled it across the bar, ice cubes scurrying away as if attempting to escape from the obnoxious woman. The young bartender approached with a rag and engaged the two in conversation.
"Go to h..h..hell!" the redhead exploded, slurring her speech. She and her compatriot gathered their belongings, swung their coats over their shoulders and headed straight toward Chris.
Stepping aside, he gave the two patrons leeway to make their exit. In their condition, they had significant difficulty navigating the curtains on their way out. The indignity that they wished to express was overshadowed by their ineptitude and failing motor skills.
Chris approached the bartender and sat at one of the many open seats.
"Hi there," Chris began. "By any chance are you serving food?"
"Well, the kitchen normally closes at midnight, but I haven't gotten around to shutting everything down. So, tonight's your lucky night. What can I get you?"
"I just need something quick. Whatever you've got available would be great. A burger, a chicken breast, whatever. The last thing I had was a pack of peanuts about five hours ago."
"Sure thing, mate. Chef's surprise it is. Can I get you something to drink while you're waiting?"
"Kettle One, on the rocks, with a twist, please."
"Sure."
Chris breathed a sigh of relief. He had been beginning to lose hope that he would find a place like this to relax for the evening. He made himself as comfortable as he could and redirected his attention to the guy at the piano. He did not recognize the music that was being played now. By no means was he a jazz aficionado, but now the music had taken on a much more structured tone. It was, actually, a pleasant surprise and he directed his full attention to the stage.
His concentration was momentarily interrupted as the bartender placed his drink in front of him.
"I'll be right back," he said as he made his way to a door Chris had not previously noticed in the rear of the bar.
It was difficult to see the musician because of the sparse lighting. As he poured more emotion into his playing, he swayed in and out of sight assuring his audience that there was a master controlling the floating hands that ran across the black and ivory keys. Over a number of minutes, Chris was able to piece together a general appreciation for the piano player.
He was blonde with a strong, clean shaven jaw line and prominent cheek bones. He did not appear to be a tortured artist, though. His demeanor and dress implied, instead, a business executive. He wore a tie loosely around his neck, not sloppily, but as if pulled on at the end of a grueling day. His shirt of dark blue was casually opened forming a deep "v" down his chest and the cuffs of his sleeves rolled back upon themselves exposing his wrists. The crystal of a polished metal watch caught the light occasionally as if sending a coded message to the audience.
The final notes of the composition dissipated in the open expanse of the bar. The appreciative patrons gave forth a smattering of applause. It was heartfelt, but came off as somewhat sad as it lacked the strength of numbers required to transform it into a proper ovation.
The couple still in the furthest reaches of the bar seemed to be momentarily jarred from their romantic encounter now that the music had stopped. Chris watched as they tenderly debated what their next course of action should be. The woman suddenly beamed a broad smile and reached for her coat. Spilling money onto the table, the man paid for their bill and left a tip for the bartender. He reached across the table and took the woman's hand and led her toward the exit. The piano man watched them leave as he took a sip of scotch out of a tumbler that had been hiding in the shadows.
A flash of light drew Chris' attention to the end of the bar where the smoking man had placed his lighter into service once again. As the end of his cigarette glowed, he crushed the pack from which it was taken and tossed it next to the ashtray. He was, apparently, out of ammunition and not pleased with the situation.
The piano started to sing again. Chris lifted his glass and watched the candlelight play between the cubes of ice. The liquid, now gone, had left in its wake a convoluted arrangement of translucent boulders. Wedged within their confines, a single strip of yellow appeared to be awaiting rescue having been trapped in a forgotten avalanche. The golden light of the flame illuminated cracks and crevices and voids within the chaos as if to give false hope to the stranded victim. The effects of the alcohol, the dim light, and the soft music proved to be a formidable force pulling him deeper into a reflective state regarding the chilling fate that befell the citrus intruder.
Pulling him out of his trance, the bartender returned with a plate of food.
"I hope you enjoy it. I grilled a chicken breast and put in on top of some pasta with steamed vegetables. Kind of a primavera without all the heavy stuff."
"Wow. This is great. Thanks!"
"Can I get you another?" the bartender questioned pointing to Chris' glass.
"Sure. Why not."
Walking toward the vodka, the bartender stopped and checked in on the only other patron. Clearly, once his cigarette was finished, he had plans of leaving.
Chris enjoyed his meal and his second cocktail. Again, the music stopped but this time the pianist stood and walked away from his instrument carrying an empty glass. He approached the bar.
"Hey, Mikey, can I get another?"
"Sure, Taylor."
"Put it on my tab," Chris offered. "You play wonderfully. I have to admit, though, I haven't recognized a lot of it"
"The last few pieces were written by a very complicated artist who worked his entire life here in Chicago, but never made much of a mark. When he was young, some called him a progeny. But he went through a rebellious period and pretty much retreated from music entirely."
"Fascinating. Please, sit if you want to. Tell me more. Who is this person?"
"Thanks." The piano player pulled out a stool just as Mikey brought him another scotch. Chris motioned for another, as well.
"The story goes that he went to Northwestern and attended business school. The further he got involved with economics and marketing strategies, the less he played."
"What a shame."
"His family thought so, too. Regardless, he managed grow to be very successful in the local economy, got married, and then got divorced. One day he simply started to compose. He had never done it before, but one day he just started writing music. Even he was shocked. The difficulty of the divorce had spurred him to find a release for his emotions. Rather than drink himself into oblivion, he reengaged his passion on his own terms. He began writing more and more."
Chris' drink arrived.
"So he was a tortured artist type after all."
Taylor laughed. "You might say that."
"Did he head to New York or LA after that?"
"Actually, he always felt his music was more for his own benefit. He contemplated doing it professionally, but then he recalled that fateful rebelliousness that got in the way previously. He was fairly certain, if he had record executives telling him what to do, he'd not respond well. Instead, he continued his professional career and continued to write for himself."
"Well, if that is the case, then how did you get to know his work? If he was never published," Chris stopped in mid-sentence.
Taylor brought his glass to his lips and swallowed more of the caramel colored liquid.
"He's you, isn't he?"
"Wow, you're quick. I come in here every few days and just screw around. Mikey lets me drink for free and I play for the mighty throngs of my admirers." With this he gestured widely making note of the emptiness of the bar.
"Oh, fuck me," Chris said to himself, but aloud.
Taylor lifted an eyebrow and looked Chris up and down.
"I'm sorry?" he prompted.
"Oh, no, I just feel like an ass, that's all. I kept probing into your personal life. I'm sorry."
"No worries. Don't give it a second thought. If I didn't want to tell you I could have made something up. I'm a rather brilliant businessman, you know," he said sarcastically.
The two men continued to talk about the weightiest and the most obscure subjects imaginable:
"I'm a fan of Ayn Rand, but I never understood the motivation of the women in her books. Her otherwise strong female characters are portrayed as merely objects to the men they love and allow themselves to effectively be raped repeatedly. How do you reconcile that?"
"So how do you suppose the Joker always has a group of henchmen available to him? Can you write a classified ad for that?"
"See, I fell into this period where I was only reading Russian novels. I had to move on to other things, though. My family thought I was going to throw myself under a train after the fourth one of those!"
"No, never married. No, no girlfriend."
"It's `speed of lightening, power of thunder, battling all who rob and plunder ... Underdog!'"
"I do. Actually, I worked out before I left the hotel tonight."
"Wimbledon was amazing. I went early in the draw and saw all the top seeds. The cool thing is that the surrounding courts aren't like the main stadium with thousands of people. They are encircled by bleachers that only hold a couple hundred so you are up close and personal."
"I've always wanted to go to Greece. I have a complete fascination with ancient civilizations."
"When I was a kid, I remember my mom baking Christmas cookies and we used to give them to the mailman and the garbage men to thank them for their work. You just don't see that kind of simple appreciation anymore."
"Target beats Wal-Mart hands down!"
"One day, she just said that she didn't want to be married any more. Within four months it was over. I have no idea where she is now. But there were other issues, too. Issues that I was never willing to address about myself."
Several drinks and two hours later, Mikey let them know that he was finished cleaning up and was done for the night.
Taylor stood up and left to retrieve his coat. Chris asked to pay his bill.
"It's on the house," Mikey responded.
"It can't be," Chris refused.
"Taylor's a good friend. You're with him tonight. We're all good here." The bartender smiled.
"I don't know what to say. You cooked for me and everything. At least take this for yourself."
"No, really, we're square. Have a good night."
Taylor returned wearing a long wool overcoat. It gave him a regal appearance as it billowed and flowed behind him. His walk was brisk.
"The door's set up to lock behind you, buddy. I'm headed out the back."
"Thanks, Mikey. See you in a few."
Taylor and Chris turned to make their way through the heavy curtains. In the darkness that filled the gap between the two draperies, Taylor grabbed Chris' shoulder and spun him around. It was dark and the all sounds were muffled by the heavy material. The confusion imposed by the sensory deprivation was compounded by the effects of the alcohol and the suddenness of Taylor's actions.
Taylor's trench coat now enveloped the two of them obscuring them almost completely from view. He thrust his hand up Chris' sweater, pinned him to the wall, forced his legs apart, and trapped one of his arms above his head. Pushing the weight of himself against his conquest he could feel the effects of the passionate assault as both their dicks hardened and lengthened. His hand traversed the abdomen of his object of desire and moved upward to maul the muscles of his chest. As he explored, he came across the hairless, protruding bud of a nipple. He redirected his focus to its further erection as he simultaneously plunged his tongue deeper into the soft, warm, wet confines of his prey's mouth. A moan of pleasure and surrender escaped Chris.
The alcohol loosened all of his inhibitions and Chris found himself encouraging and countering every advance. A dance began with Taylor taking the forceful lead. Chris complemented every gesture with a response of its equal.
With his free hand, Chris threaded his fingers through the golden hair of his welcomed assailant and pulled his head closer, still. Their lips were pressed together tightly and explored each other as if long lost lovers reunited. Their hips bucked wildly as if they wanted to exchange bodies. Their cocks strained at the fabric that contained them and throbbed with the desire to be let loose.
Taylor sucked on Chris' lower lip and Chris' knees went weak. Sliding down the wall slightly, he craned his neck to ensure their connection wasn't undermined. He found his strength again and clamped down on Taylor's upper lip. He could feel the slight roughness of a day's worth of growth. Chris felt entirely vulnerable and
Taylor pulled away for an instant and Chris opened his eyes. As if in limbo, he could only catch fleeting glimpses of a phantom who he knew was destined to be his lover. Taylor's freed Chris' other hand but directed it to his own cheek. Chris was now cradling the piano man's head in his hands. From the darkness, Taylor's voice came forth.
"If this is wrong, let me know now."
Chris responded by pulling him to his mouth and dropping one of his hands to Taylor's ass. He clutched at the firm muscle of Taylor's butt and forced his hips forward so their cocks could reunite. This time it was Chris who forced his tongue forward and Taylor sucked on it with pleasure.
"Come with me," Chris urged.
++++++++++
His breathing was labored as his muscles tightened. The pleasure was almost excruciating but he had to admit that the combination of pleasure and pain was completely exhilarating. For him, this was always the best part of sex, that moment right before the ultimate release. Chris' body strained to prolong the delightful agony: his chest was tight with anticipation and flexed displaying the striations of hard muscle; his nipples were prominently erect and sensitive; sweat softly rolled off his torso and simultaneously down his biceps; the abs that he worked so diligently on were rippled and being explored by the gorgeous blond sucking him off. The manly scent of sex was pervasive throughout the hotel room and fueled each man's raging lust.
Chris knew he would not last much longer. He was grinding his hips into the mattress and bucking forward to force his dick further into the throat of this handsome stranger. Every nerve ending of his body seemed to be electrified as his newfound fuck buddy continued to service his cock. He could no longer speak and this typically eloquent man was reduced to communicating through guttural moans and gasps for air.
If Chris didn't cum soon, he was sure he would literally pass out from sheer ecstasy. It was as if every muscle in his entire body was crushing the air out of his lungs and bringing him to a state of pure delirium. Still, he clawed at the broad back of the hunk seemingly dependent on his dick for survival. Chris' hands moved to the guy's defined shoulders then to those flowing locks of gold all the while encouraging his lover's lips to make one more pass over his engorged shaft and his tongue to taste the ever raging river of pre-cum that was flowing from his slit.
The man on his cock knew that Chris was dying for release, yet he was not willing to end this wild engagement. It had been quite a while since Taylor had had such a beautiful man to play with and he was determined to enjoy every minute of this. It was always his fantasy to make a guy cum just through sucking him off and it was apparent that his quest was almost at an end. His own dick was hard with anticipation. Taylor was close to showering a load of his own, and his dick hadn't even been touched for nearly an hour. Still he felt more alive and aroused than he had in months. Who knew that this chance encounter would lead to such a mind-blowing experience?
"Ungh...hss.. ohhhh"
Chris' balls were now drawn in tight but Taylor continued to lick them as part of his brilliant sexual plan. His tongue flew over Chris' shaved sack and down even further just shy of his hole. The wetness felt cool and Chris continued to experience wild and new sensations. Taylor's nose was buried in Chris' bush that reeked of musk but was softened by sweet cologne. The heat of their sex had given rise to this exquisite man perfume that they now shared.
Chris was at his wit's end. Somehow words began to form and spewed forth.
"Goddamit. I'm so close! Suck my dick you gorgeous son of a bitch! Please? "
Taylor just laughed to himself, inadvertently sending a wave of vibrations straight through Chris' dick to the base of his cock.
"Ohhhhh! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" Chris yelled. The people in the room next door were certainly getting quite an earful by now. Chris felt simultaneously embarrassed and somewhat proud.
"I gotta cum, dude! I gotta cum. Suck the head and set me off, PLEASE! I'm gonna cum and then I'm gonna fuck the hell out of you. You are so fucking awesome. Make me cum, for godsake!"
Taylor's dick began to throb, a gleaming stream of pre-cum detailing its full length. Now that Chris had found his voice, Taylor was getting even hotter while Chris was losing control. He became more aware of his own body ? something he had oddly lost sight of while focusing on the beautiful cock in his mouth. He realized he, too, was sweating and his muscles were pumped from supporting his weight for all this time. As his balls drew into his body, he felt a breeze blow past his ass and cool his shanks. The few hairs on his tight butt stood to attention and the beads of sweat on his back rolled down his left tricep.
Chris' throat was dry once more. It seemed as though we would never be able to speak again. Gasping for air was all he could accomplish as his hand flew down to Talor's ass. Grasping hold of the muscular orbs was all he could muster anymore. He pulled at the butt of the man who he had met only a few hours ago in a little jazz bar in downtown Chicago. He grabbed hold of that ass as though it were the last life raft from a sinking ship.
Catching a glimpse in the mirror of Taylor's gorgeous butt being manhandled and knowing he was the perpetrator was the final straw. This was it. His toes began to curl and his muscular legs contracted. His thighs became tight, solid, and defined. The neon light from the restaurant outside beamed in accentuating his glistening frame and cast erotic shadows on the far wall. Chris swallowed for the first time in minutes.
"AWWWW FUCK! I'm there. I'm there! Suck it! Suck it! Suck me. Suck my dick ... UNGGH!"
First, a nearly imperceptible twitch, and then it happened. All the tension that had been building up was funneled directly through Chris's cock and forced his cum out in thick streams. Taylor wanted to watch the fruits of his labor and sat up. Jism shot out of Chris' dick in huge spurts rocketing over his head. The next shot landed squarely on Chris' mouth and the third filled the hollow of his neck. His wet dick continued to convulse and throw cum all over Chris' broad chest. Mixing with his sweat, the liquid began to stream down his body and a tiny rivulet cascaded around his nipple before picking up speed to careen over his lats and disappear into a puddle forming on the disheveled sheets.
Chris was weak. He was exhausted. His muscles twitched as they began to relax from what ended up being, essentially, a sexually charged, hour-long isometrics workout. He was seeing spots and they added to his euphoria. He could smell the sweetness of his jizz and could taste its saltiness on his lips.
He could also see, for the first time in an hour, the face of the man who had taken him to such a state of sheer pleasure. The angular jaw and high cheekbones were illuminated from the red neon of next door. He was truly a vision ? and one that could suck a dick like no one else.
Taylor laid down next to Chris, throwing his leg over his partner's lower body. Taylor's dick was still rock hard and dripped pre-cum over Chris' balls and streamed between his legs.
"You do realize that in your state of delirium you promised to, how did you put it exactly, oh, `Fuck the hell out of me'. I trust you aren't going to renege, you hopeless romantic," Taylor said as he nuzzled into his lover's neck and played with the soft hair that surrounded Chris' navel. He gave a quick squeeze to the head of the cock he had just serviced. The overstimulation made Chris jump and gasp, but ultimately smile.
As Chris' chest rose and fell in post-ejaculation ecstasy, he turned to Taylor and kissed him on the lips. His tongue probed inside the mouth that had only minutes ago been the instrument of his most erotic encounter ever. Taylor shared the passion as well as the sweet and salty taste of Chris' most intimate offering. His dick was still hard and leaking profusely.
"I stand by my promises", Chris managed to say, as if reenergized by that single kiss. He put his hand on Taylor's penis and stroked it, gently probing its length and girth as if reading a page of Braille. He worked his fingers slowly down to cup his lover's balls only to find them recessed deeply in Taylor's groin. He used a single finger to trace the slick line of pre-cum that Taylor had oozed all over himself. Up and down the shaft, his finger rode the slippery rail until he used his fingertip to paint the head of Taylor's dick with his own juices.
"I can't believe you didn't cum just now. Your cock is so hard; I hoped that you'd blow with me."
"You have no idea what it took for me to keep from shooting. And you better stop what you are doing right now or it will all be for nothing. I wanted to save it for morning. There's nothing like sex with morning wood that's been primed the night before. Don't worry. I have every intention of getting as good as I gave."
"So I actually get to recover before I retaliate?"
"Retaliate? I'm intrigued."
They didn't even bother to wipe off as the waves of sleep overtook their exhausted bodies. Just before he gave himself up to the night, Chris let out a small laugh.
"I was just blown in the windy city," he thought.
The night brought them even closer together as they moved together in an odd ballet during the night, arms and legs intertwined, dicks found harmonious refuge in welcoming asses, and each supported the other's head as the night wore on.
++++++++++
The morning sun lit the room. Chris stirred at the onset of the bright light. The world that was his hotel room came into focus. A wave of panic washed over him. How could he have been so stupid as to just bring a complete stranger and to his room? Then he turned his head and saw Taylor lying next to him. Things instantly became clear to him.
As the night wore on, the men had generated enough body heat to sear a roast. Consequently, the majority of the bedclothes had been unconsciously and unceremoniously dispensed with. Taylor now rested with his right arm draped across his eyes keeping the offending daylight from disturbing his rest. His whole torso was exposed and only his left leg was covered with a sheet. Taylor's rhythmic breathing continued as sleep continued to revitalize his body. Taylor looked completely vulnerable.
Chris gazed at the man who had been responsible for the most satisfying sexual experience he had had in recent memory. Taylor's strong chin was now peppered with the stubble of a beard neglected. His extended arm pulled his chest so that his right nipple was slightly elongated and his right pec was being forced over to meet its hefty twin to the left. A small patch of chest hair filled in the valley between the two well defined muscles and made a trail down his abdomen before fanning out to a delta at the base of his dick. Then Chris noticed something wonderful.
Taylor was hard. His predisposition to morning sex was now well understood. In the sunlight, there was no dismissing the beauty of Taylor's cock. No artist could have sculpted a finer specimen. In its rigid condition, Taylor's penis was wholly unique. The head rested softly on Taylor's lower abs and pulsed with his every heartbeat. With a slight curve to it, his dick laid just off center from Taylor's treasure trail. The skin was tight and smooth and did not choose to expose the extensive vascularity that was surely below. Rather than a mushroom, Taylor's dick was like a missile. The crown of his dick was evident, yet not pronounced and gave it a streamlined look and the impression of it being quite capable of penetrating any hole it so desired. Even now, a glistening drop of pre-cum glinted in the morning light.
With the faintest of touches, Chris began to explore Taylor. His fingers barely brushed the surface of his lover's body and yet they felt like they were on fire. Wandering from the broad shoulders he had held onto last night as if for dear life, his fingers moved down Taylor's well defined arm and traced the prominent vein to the inside of Taylor's elbow. Taylor's finger twitched and then relaxed. Chris continued down past Taylor's forearm and danced in the palm of his hand.
Using the back of his hand, Chris traversed Taylor's taught stomach and ended on the far side of his body. Moving upward, he caressed the slim waist and rumbled over Taylor's ribs before reaching the wide lats of a swimmer. He continued to explore upwards and flattened his hand over the wide, exposed armpit of the sleeping man. Brushing past the sandy brown tufts of hair and following the strong arm up to the elbow, Chris appreciated the size of Taylor's muscles.
Starting a new voyage at the base of his neck, Chris wandered about Taylor's chest and softly played with his nipples. He wanted dearly to ravage them with his mouth, but his desire was overpowered by his wish to see how long he could continue to explore before being found out. Both nipples responded to his touch. They protruded and extended and got hard. As Chris rested his finger atop one of them, a sigh of contentment and arousal left Taylor's mouth. As if unconsciously aware that he was being fondled, Taylor's breathing came slightly quicker, yet no less deep.
With no further will power left in him, Chris moved to the ultimate prize. He gently repositioned himself lower on the bed to have better access to his next point of interest: Taylor's beautiful dick.
Maintaining his current methods, Chris just barely touched the engorged manhood. Toying with the glans, he prompted more fluid to seep out. He ventured down one side, brushed the full circumference of Taylor's ballsack and then traced the opposing side for the sake of completion. Next, Chris used all five fingertips in a circular motion and touched every inch of exposed man flesh. The cock jumped as if requesting more attention. Taylor's breathing continued to quicken but still insisted that he remained in a deep sleep.
Chris became more bold and wrapped his hand around the shaft of Taylor's cock. He was instantly amazed at the heft of what he now controlled. He also realized how truly hard Taylor was. Never before had he felt a cock that was as stiff as what he had in his hand at that moment. He felt somewhat proud to think that he had something to do with it.
Slowly, Chris began to jack off Taylor. With the lightest of touches, his fingers encircled the raging hard on and began to coax it toward the ultimate release. Taylor began to flex his ass muscles and move his legs. His mouth opened and his breathing became less steady. Now Chris was hard. He felt his dick brush up against Taylor's leg.
Taylor moaned as Chris continued to pump his dick. Occasionally, Chris would stop and spend some time tickling the two well defined balls that hung heavily between Taylor's thighs. He seemed to have the power to make them dance. Moving in and out of hiding, they seemed to be unsure of how available they should be to the attentions that were being met upon them.
"fuck," Taylor said aloud.
Chris shot a glance up to the mouth that had sucked him so expertly only hours before. Taylor was now fully involved in his masturbation, but not conscious of it. He was talking in his sleep and Chris wanted to hear more.
"...my dick..." he groaned.
Chris almost started to laugh.
"You feel so good," Chris whispered, instead. "You're so hard and so big. I want to make you come. Do you want to come?"
"...come...want to come...so hard"
Chris spat in his hand now and lubricated Taylor's hard rod. He went directly to the bright red head and almost assaulted it with his encouraging grip. Over the top and around the crown, Chris put forth a flurry of coaxing strokes.
Taylor gasped aloud and his left hand sailed to his right nipple and began to play with it. Again, Chris almost laughed as it looked as though Taylor was trying to embrace himself and something had gone horribly wrong.
But nothing was wrong, at least not for Taylor.
"...i'm gonna plow your ass with this big dick of mine. i'm gonna rip you in two and cum all over your fucking face ?"
"I'd love that. Give it to me. Come on ram that dick in me. Let me feel your balls slap me my ass. Show me how deep you can fuck me. Oh, you are so huge," Chris quietly encouraged.
Taylor's arm slipped from across his face and fell to the bed. His hand clutched the bedsheet as his hips began to move violently.
Chris let Taylor fuck his hand. He added more lubrication and let his thumb play with the cum-slit that he hoped would soon offer up a glorious barrage of man juice.
"...take that you fucker. ungh. ungh. ungh. yea, you like that don't you?" Taylor's voice was soft in volume but gruff with a night's sleep still wholly evident.
Chris was almost out of control himself at this point. He knew that somewhere in Taylor's head, he was fucking the hell out of someone and loving it. He seemed to have gotten even harder from when Chris begun his almost innocent exploration of the man in his bed. Now, Taylor was bucking wildly and rubbing Chris' dick with the side of his leg unexpectedly.
"...ride my cock... I'm gonna cum..."
This is what Chris was waiting for. Taylor was in a frenzy now. Chris could feel the slickness on Taylor's dick increase. He was obviously being assisted by a healthy flow of liquid crystalline pre-cum.
"...oh, take my big fuck rod. come on. a little more. take my cock."
"I can't take it any more. You have to cum. You have to let loose. Drench me with your jizz. You're so big. Shoot your load, man. Shoot it."
Taylor's face began to contort. Chris knew he was way beyond the point of no return. Taylor was going to shoot, and he was going to do it soon.
At that point, Chris readjusted himself, slicked up the middle finger of his available hand, and thrust it into Taylor's ass. Moving around, he found the tiny bud that he was looking for and began to play.
Taylor's eyes shot wide open. He was awake.
"What the... Oooooh...ungh"
Sitting up, Taylor's eyes began to adjust to the bright light and saw Chris hovering around his dick. The sight of him hard and being completely molested sent him over the edge.
"FUCK!" he screamed.
As if seven hours of sleep served only to increase the pressure of cum within his balls, Taylor shot forth a giant rope of spunk than landed squarely on his left nipple. Two more streams of jism hit in precisely the same spot. Taylor threw his arms behind him to prop himself up. His triceps popped and the veins running over his biceps stood out prominently as they took on the heavy load of his upper body. His chest was flexed and as he threw back his head the tendons of his neck shot out with the strain of ecstasy. More cum flew out of his dick as Chris continued his stroking and massage his ass. Now it was Taylor's turn to be gasping for air.
"Fu .. fu .. fu?" was all he could get out as his orgasm ripped through his body.
Chris' hand was now covered in the product of Taylor's release. Still, he pumped and coaxed ever more jizz out of the beautiful cock which now sported a red and purple color. Taylor's body was almost in convulsions and a single tear was forced down the side of his face.
As Taylor's orgasm subsided, he looked down the length of his himself. Rivers of cum flowed over the tortuous landscape that was his body. Down the mountains of flesh that made up his chest, through the valley that separated his abdominals, and cascading over the cliffs of his obliques, his load created an aerial map of ecstasy. A large portion of his spent liquid pooled atop the expanse of hair at the base of his dick.
Chris removed his finger from Taylor's hole and played with the balls that were now spent and returned home to their still taught sack. Wet and slick with Taylor's man juice, they moved easily in Chris' hands. Taylor's cock began to soften and Chris relinquished his grasp laying it in the pool that was draining down Taylor's groin.
"I had no idea you were responsible for that," Taylor finally said. "I was having these vivid images of me screwing a gorgeous, but faceless body. I could see myself from all over, from every angle as though disembodied somehow. It was wild. My dick was huge, I was huge, and I was convinced this guy was the best fuck I had ever had. It was intensely erotic and surreal."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it."
"I had other plans for this morning, but, hell, you definitely fulfilled your part of the bargain. I think I got even better than I gave."
"You know, you're probably right. I'm sure you realized I was faking it last night. Honestly, you do nothing for me.? Chris joked.
"Dick," Taylor swore at him.
"No, Chris. I thought we went through this already. I hope your work doesn't require you to remember a lot of people's names. We were pretty intimate and if you can't remember my name after that, you must suck after just a handshake in a board room."
Taylor chuckled then gave Chris a once-over. He looked at himself.
"We're pretty messed up right now. How about a shower?"
"Damn, you're pushy. What you think, one night and you get to move in? You think you can just run the place?"
"Aren't you ever sincere for just one second? Do you always have to be the smartass?"
"Sorry, I was in sales for almost ten years. It kind of became a habit."
"So, can I enter into negotiations for a shower? After all, I am a rather brilliant businessman."
"Make your first offer."