Say Goodbye to Sparkleland

Say Goodbye to Sparkleland Chapter 10

Consider the Nifty platform and the service it provides. Donations help keep the fun going.

Thank you for the continued support of my work.

10

I wasn't looking forward to this week's session. The next names in the book were not my finest. But Logan was never one to judge — as a therapist. In a bar, he would throw all sorts of shade at me.

I really did think these sessions were helping. I didn't see how digging up my past would help with me not being able to let go of Cooper, but I at least began to see Cooper as a step on my journey instead of the end of my journey — an end I had totally fucked up.

"Dr. Horwood is ready for you," his receptionist said, just a minute after I walked in.

"Good afternoon, Mitch."

"Hi."

"How has your past week gone?"

"Fine, I guess. After last week, I decided to send a text to Cooper."

"Oh, really? What prompted that?"

"Our discussions. And frankly, a song on the radio."

"A song?"

"The lyrics. Anyway, the text was short and simple, but he was very pleased to hear from me. Hear something from me."

"I'm glad it went well. Did you communicate with him at work?"

"No. I'm still too afraid to see him. I feel the world will still cave in on me."

"Do you feel our sessions are helping? I mean, we've only had a few, and we haven't quite gotten to Cooper, but..."

"I do think so. I'm not sure why we just didn't start with him ... with us, but I have felt like maybe I've had some progress."

"You chose me as your therapist because I knew you. And it is because of the familiarity with your background that I feel coming to terms with things in your past will help you navigate the situation you are in now."

"Hm."

My mind wandered to how counselors knew which direction to take. Part of me thought they just asked any questions they wanted and then just let each patient steer the conversation. Was there a guidebook? A manual? How would a therapist even know where to begin?

"The next name?"

I picked up my journal.

"No. 10. Brock. Three inches soft. Six inches hard. No pre-cum. Very low-hanging balls. Tattoos. Shaved pubes."

"Nothing further? That almost seems brief."

"It was not great."

"As in ... the person, the sex or the relationship?"

"Everything. It could have been my fault. College was over. I was in a funk. I had been home for less than a week. As you will recall, I had given up on the idea of falling in love and was just going to focus on getting the sex that I wanted."

"Mm-hm."

That was a judgmental "mm-hm," even though Logan tried his hardest not to make it sound that way.

"I seemed sort of adrift."

"Where did you and Brock meet?"

I sighed. "A movie rental store. Remember when people still rented DVDs?" Logan nodded. "Well, Redbox wasn't really moving into my hometown much. I guess those boxes were starting to make it to town, but I wanted more than what that offered. I wanted to see what gay movies I could find. The one store we had that was hanging on was fairly big. As I thumbed through the LGBT section the store had, a clerk came up behind me and asked me if he could help me find anything."

"Brock."

"Correct. He recommended Beginners with Ewan McGregor and Christopher Plummer."

"I saw it."

"When I checked out, he told me that there were more explicit selections upon request. I must have raised an eyebrow. He waved me back to a side room. It wasn't big, but it was filled with NC-17 or X-rated stuff. I thumbed through some selections. I was intrigued, but I told Brock I was staying with my parents. There wasn't really an opportunity to watch one. One like that."

"You could at my place. If you're interested."

There was something about his stare.

"Maybe."

He put his hands in his pockets to pull his shorts tight against his crotch. I could see a bulging erection. He didn't touch it or show it or anything more than "indicated" he was offering me more than a movie.

"The next night, I told my parents I was meeting a friend. I went to Brock's place. I wasn't sure how he could afford an apartment on his own, working at a video store, but maybe he had a manager's salary or something. It wasn't my business. I had offered to pick up burgers. I did. We sat on the couch flipping through baseball games. Every now and then, we would lean forward to dredge fries through a shared saucer of ketchup. After that, he said, `I have something that might interest you.' He put in a movie. Porn. I think it was called Eye Contact or something. I'm no porn connoisseur or anything, but I thought it was ... fucking hot."

"And you ... just watched?"

"For a while. It was almost summer. We had shorts on; they didn't disguise much."

Brock's shorts were tenting in the most noticeable way. My shorts were made of thicker cotton material. There was a bulge, but not a tent pole. I could almost see the contour of his cock head. I was assuming he had nothing on underneath.

I had never seen a porn DVD before. I knew there were places online where you could watch stuff for free. I had dabbled in that a little. Not much. There were a few long stretches between sexual encounters. But at home or college, I was always concerned someone would walk in or hear or ... "catch" me. It surprised me that there was a continuing thread that made some semblance of a plot. But in reality, it was just a collection of sex scenes.

We had made it through two of those segments. We were hard. We didn't say much. My mind dissected the video to its basic ingredients. An occasional comment on something in the room. "Nice hair." Things that would never happen in real life. "Love his cock." How could the cameraman get that shot? But mostly we just sat and watched.

As the third scene began, Brock would occasionally grope his dick over his shorts. With that "permission," I would rub my own erection from time to time, still concealed in my clothing. It was begging for release.

The actors started sucking cocks. Brock reached in his shorts and gently masturbated, stroking his organ in slow rhythms. I just rubbed mine from the outside of my clothes.

As the actors began fucking, he stretched his shorts to rest below his balls. I looked at his testicles. They were loose and floppy — everything mine were not. I hated my tight balls. I wanted low-hanging testicles. I had no reason for having such a longing; I just did.

Brock's hard-on was straight. He was cut, and it jutted from his crotch just like a ruler. When he let go to just let it be exposed, I noticed he had shaved his pubes. There was just a soft layer of fuzz. I found it ... curious. I didn't know why a guy would want to get rid of his pubes, but ... to each his own. Every now and then, with his hands behind his head, he would pulse his groin muscles to make his dick dance. I was sure that was a "show" for me.

As he was comfortable letting everything be out in the open, I unzipped my sorts and pulled them down a couple of inches. We knew what the night was going to bring, so there was no air of uncertainty. My mindset was just to enjoy the sex and not get caught up in the feelings. Impersonal as it was, it was all proceeding to plan.

"You're big," he said, as I pulled my hard-on out into view.

"You're a good size too." And what did that really mean? Guys wanted big dicks, but ... they all did the same thing.

Brock stood. He let his shorts drop to the floor. He moved the plate that had our ketchup on it, as well as the bags and wrappers. The coffee table was cleared other than our two beers. When he sat back down, his body was right next to mine. He put his feet on the coffee table. His crotch was so close to me now.

I stared at it.

It was easily within reach.

He put his arm on the back of the couch behind me. His other hand rested to his side.

His cock was there.

Right there.

I stared at it.

His muscles made it dance.

It beckoned me. It was all but calling my name.

I wanted to touch it.

I stared at it.

I must have hesitated too long because his arm pulled out from behind me and reached down to grab my own dick. He nudged my hand out of the way. He started with moderate strokes, but then he increased his rhythm. Pre-cum leaked from the slit.

I lifted my butt to pull my shorts and briefs off completely. He took a moment to feel my balls. I hated that they were tight. His fingers walked through my hairy pubes. I pulled my T-shirt off. I was 100 percent naked. In a guy's house I didn't know. Watching porn. Being groped.

And I was fine with that.

I needed to belch greasy fries, but I tried to do it as quietly as possible.

"As we watched, the clothes came off. He had been fondling himself beforehand, but ... yeah, no clothes."

"What were you feeling through all this?"

I pondered the question.

"Nothing. That's the weird thing. We had no connection. So, there were no feelings at all. I was just ... hard. Horny. I knew I was going to get some. At that time, that's all that I seemed to be concerned with. I was a terrible person."

"You were young."

With my shirt off, Brock let his hand drift up from my crotch to my chest. He turned enough to kiss a nipple, then he lightly bit it. I didn't like it, but I didn't want to be the killjoy and ask him to stop. Luckily, he moved on. His hand ran through my chest hair.

Both the actors came in a loud groan.

As a new scene started, he paused the DVD.

Brock pulled his shirt off. He had no chest hair, and there was a large tattoo that went from near his shoulder down his torso. I didn't want to stare, but it seemed to be more than a snake, but less than a dragon. I assumed it was a serpent of some kind, but I knew I didn't care for it. I wasn't a tattoo person. From my brief glimpses into gay porn, I knew ink was big. Just not for me. Brock was trim but not built in a muscular way.

I couldn't help myself. I admitted that I wasn't attracted to him. His face was cute, but his body left me flat. Fortunately, it didn't leave me limp.

He jerked me harder. I wanted to feel his cock. Our arms crossed and we began masturbating with each other. I saw my pre-cum drip onto his hand. It didn't garner his attention.

Neither of us said anything, nor did we make any sounds. It was the quietest sex had ever really been for me. I was okay with it. I didn't want anyone in the next apartment to hear us.

I took a moment to feel his balls, to fondle them. I was jealous of them. I wanted my balls to hang. They never hung low.

I moved back so that I could lean down and taste them. I wanted to suckle them and lick them and savor them.

"Oh yeah," he softly whispered.

After giving them attention, I moved up to his shaft. I looked for pre-cum. There wasn't any. I swallowed him. I got on my knees with my feet hanging off the end of the couch.

Brock cupped my ass as my head bobbed over his waist.

I sucked him harder.

I felt his hand leave my butt cheek and feel its way around to my hard dick. He pulled as I sucked.

And I sucked him harder.

Brock stroked me as hard as I sucked him. Then his other hand gripped the back of my head, keeping me on his cock.

I felt cum hit the top of my mouth. He came all over my tongue, and I momentarily coughed, choking on the surprise of his orgasm.

I forced my head off his erection. I coughed more.

"I didn't know you were coming."

"It was nice," he said.

I coughed again, and my throat was clear.

"Thanks, man," he said. "Let's see you get off now. Straddle me."

I moved one knee to the other side of his body. I thought he was going to take my erection in his mouth, but his hand returned to jerk me. Rapidly. Vigorously. Fiercely.

My cock felt good. I put my hands on his shoulders to balance me.

"I want you to come on me."

He continued to work my rod while a finger from his other hand traced back and forth in my crack. I moaned a bit. He squirmed a finger right at my hole but didn't penetrate. But I could still feel the stimulation.

My hips began to writhe. "I'm close," I breathed out.

"Come on my face!"

He jerked my cock with aggressive might. My gasping and panting announced my impending climax. Brock aimed my cock at his face.

The first shot of cum hit his cheek, and he closed his eyes. The second blast hit his forehead, and cum dripped to his nose. Everything else drooled on his chin and fist and leg.

I continued to pant for air.

Brock reached for his shirt near him and wiped off his face. He dabbed it on my dick. I moved off of him and he cleaned a drip of cum off his leg.

"Awesome," he said.

He reached forward for the remote and restarted the pornographic movie. He sat next to me, his hip touching my hip. His flesh touching my flesh. His hand resting on my leg.

Part of me assumed we were done, but I turned toward the television again. A new scene, like most of them, provided a setting and an implausible situation for two men to start having sex with each other. But I liked them; they were hot. Since I had come, it wasn't as titillating as it was before.

I looked at Brock's penis. It had deflated to about three inches. A bead of cum rose to the tip. I reached over to touch it, then I moved my hand to gently fondle his balls as we watched. I liked them. Brock moved his leg over my leg. It made us slightly intertwined — all sorts of limbs and flesh juxtaposed.

We watched the men suck and fuck and come.

Brock felt my dick. He mildly stroked it. Neither of us were hard, but another scene began. As we watched, his handjob restored my erection, much to my surprise.

"There we are."

He paused the video again. Stepping into his bedroom, he returned with a bottle of lube and a hand towel. It was an obvious indication that he'd like us to fuck.

"Interested?"

I had just come twenty minutes earlier. Honestly, I was satiated. But he had me hard again. I leaned down and reached into my shorts pocket. When I pulled out a condom, he smiled.

"Allow me."

He took the condom and ripped open the packaging. I leaned back and allowed him to roll it on me.

Brock flopped down on the couch. He first reached for the remote and restarted the scene. Then he grabbed the lube and reached back, handing it to me.

One minute into the scene, the actors began to disrobe. I had lube in his crack.

Two minutes into the scene, the actors were hard. I had two fingers in his hole.

Three minutes into the scene, the one I found the most handsome had his dick being sucked. My dick was lined up at Brock's hole.

Four minutes into the scene, the naked actors switched positions — or cocks. I was inside him.

Five minutes into the scene, one of the actors was rimming the other. We were fucking.

Six minutes into the scene, one of them had his tongue deep into the other's hole. We were fucking.

Seven minutes into the scene, they prepared to fuck. We were fucking.

Eight minutes, we turned to watch them fuck. We were fucking.

Nine minutes, I held his shoulders pressed to the couch. My cock was ramming into his hole.

Ten minutes, the actors were groaning. We were fucking. My sheathed dick pushed harder, deeper, faster.

Eleven minutes into the scene, the actors switched positions. We didn't; I kept fucking him.

Twelve minutes into the scene, the actors growled. I wondered if I could come again. But I fucked him regardless.

Thirteen minutes into the scene, Brock watched intently as the actor's hole was punished. I punished Brock's hole.

Fourteen minutes into the scene, one of the actors neared his orgasm. Brock came. He groaned as his dick was ground into the couch.

Fifteen minutes into the scene, the actor being fucked spurted cum on his chest. I kept fucking Brock.

Sixteen minutes into the scene, the second actor pulled out, removed the condom and came all over the chest of the first actor. I stayed inside Brock. I was fucking him.

Seventeen minutes into the scene, they kissed in the afterglow of having sex. I was fucking.

Eighteen minutes, the scene was over. I fucked Brock harder.

Nineteen minutes, I came.

I crawled off of him. I didn't take the condom off yet. It was my second orgasm, so it wasn't very full.

Brock sat up and looked at the cum on the couch. I couldn't see much. He wiped his chest with the towel and walked into the bathroom to dampen part of it. He returned to wipe the couch. It made me wonder how much dried cum had been embedded into the fabric. What had I been sitting on?

I looked again at Brock. I wasn't particularly attracted to him.

But I had fun.

I guess.

It felt good.

As sex does.

"I recall coming twice as we watched the movie. The second time was a little more ... involved."

"What was your experience with male porn up to that point?"

"Not a lot."

"Did this experience influence you to watch more?"

"I can't say that it did. Not that I didn't watch from time to time, but ..."

"But?"

"When I had sex with Brock, there was just ... nothing there. Yes, it felt good. It was interesting doing it to porn in the background, but I didn't feel anything special."

"But you were there just for the sex, right?"

I sighed. "Yeah. That was me. Then."

"Did you leave regretting it?"

"No. It was why I was there. But I didn't feel good about it either. I knew I would write it down when I got home. And that was all. When I returned my movie rental, I didn't even go in. I didn't care to see Brock again. I just used the drop-off slot."

"It sounds like your emotions were in conflict."

"No. There WERE NO emotions. That was the problem. I felt blank."

"So, mentally, where did you go from there?"

"I seem to remember going home and — oh, by the way, I didn't stay overnight — and I just lay in my own bed staring at the ceiling. Arlo was somewhat of a hookup too, but I cared about him. I really did. Brock ... I couldn't have cared less. It made me worry about who I was at that point."

"Do you think Brock was wanting more?"

"Huh!! No. It was just a night to get off — for both of us."

"And that was the only time ... with Brock."

`Yeah. When Arlo and I met up to just ... you know ... I liked him as a person. I'm not sure I did with Brock. I didn't dislike him, of course, but I just didn't care. I wasn't really attracted to him. Not that he was unattractive; it just wasn't what I looked for in a date, a man."

Logan wrote something down. Damn him.

"What's funny is when I would watch porn after that, I would last about ten minutes and be done. I've never watched an entire DVD through."

"Never?"

"Once you come, you start picking the movie apart — the acting, the hairstyles, the implausibility of it all."

Logan laughed. "I get put off by the lighting and shadows that move around."

We laughed harder.

It was nice to laugh.

"Do other patients feel bad about their sexual choices?" I asked.

"I don't discuss other patients."

"Right."

"Do you? Do you feel bad?"

"Today, I don't really care. Not about Brock anyway. Back then, I was ... I don't know. I wrestled with the whole `sex only' thing. Fresh out of college, I wondered if that was what adulthood was like. I was unsatisfied. I questioned if that was all there was to life."

"Did you view `life' in terms of sexual encounters?"

"Not exactly. But being a man, being an adult ... I think that sex got all tied up in that. For me. Plus, I didn't have a job. I was just sort of adrift. I had graduated, but I don't think I felt happy." I paused. "Back then, sex was maybe a ... what's the term I want to use? It didn't matter as an expression of love. It was more of a ... fix, if I can use that term."

"Let's talk about today then. Is sex different? What matters?"

"Matters...?"

"You said you felt unsatisfied after Brock. What changed? What became important?"

"My heart."

* * * *

Email: timothylane414@gmail.com