MY SUMMER OF SEX WITH COWBOY
Chapter 39
By Donny Mumford
Saturday night, I'm walking into the bedroom with Bruce when the impact of this reversal of fortunes finally sets firmly in my mind, and I realize, I'm not a loser; I won. So why was I convinced Bruce would immediately accept the chance to return to the pussy boys? Well, for one, Jon was without any doubt Bruce would do it and the same for both Eli and Richard. They'd known Bruce for almost two years while I've known him only as my hardass trainer for three weeks, then almost three weeks more after breaking him out of the funhouse. I believed those three guys had much better insight into what Bruce would do than I did.
Also, while Bruce was appreciative of being free of the funhouse, he acted at times as if he was still a pussy boy mentor. He was only beginning to lose that posturing before he was off to Philly. And, of course, I'm aware that any normal person would choose to live as I do when considering the alternative option is prostitution. The thing is, though, a brainwashed pussy boy isn't normal.
Anyway, Bruce surprised us all, and I'm the better off for it. I was invigorated the few weeks Bruce was in charge as my leader. Invigorated in ways I never was when Ronny was my leader, and, obviously, sex with Bruce had a lot to do with that.
Admitting I like having a leader in my life isn't something you hear most guys admit, but admit it or not, most guys are followers. For example, most guys do not start style trends such as the current trend to grow beards. Look around, and you'll see millions of guys who never considered wearing beards before having one now for fear of being different. There are innumerable other examples of followers in every walk of life. They may not think of themselves as followers, but they are.
As far as my leaders, in a rudimentary way, having sex with Bruce is a better reason for him being my leader than any reason I can think of for following Ronny. I did that from habit more than anything concrete I got from him as my leader.
Plus, I admire Bruce because he had to have been resourceful and tough to survive an unimaginable life on the mean streets, unimaginable to me. Plus, he can do things I've never had to do, such as everyday domestic stuff like buying what we needed for the apartment, renting the 'effing apartment, shopping for groceries, paying the electric bill, etc. And, yes, I admire his confidence as well, confidence in himself that's equal to what Ronny's was. Neither of them has/had doubts about very much.
In the bedroom, Bruce pats my ass and says, "Get undressed, and I'll give you a headstart with your submissiveness by spanking you." Chuckling, he mutters, "I'm sure there's at least one reason you deserve being spanked." I go, "Not really. Actually, we can skip the spanking altogether, Bruce. No problem." He mutters, "No, I need to pick up where we left off. After the week I just had, I need to experience something that makes me feel good about myself, and doing sub/dom sex for you is something I'm good at. Um, unless I'm mistaken about how much you enjoy it." I go, "No! I loved it." He nods, "Well, let's get it on then."
In addition to admiring him and his leadership qualities, there are physical aspects of Bruce that I like a lot. His slim body is almost my height, and he has an oddly cute face, plus I like the feel, smell, and taste of him and his pleasant-sounding voice. Yeah, I love all of him, and it'd be perfect if someday he'd love me back. Still, to me, the spanking thing is, well, it's annoying. I can't get into it the way Cowboy does, but Bruce thinks he's doing me a favor, so, for now, I'll let him think that. In time, I'll find an inconspicuous way of letting him know we don't need it.
We both get undressed, then he leans me over the desk, my hands on the desktop. Bruce says, "Ya know, I tried thinking about your macho sexy body when that animal, Daytime, was fucking me, but he was so rough all I could think about was how much I hated him." I murmur, "That's awful, Bruce." He gives my bare ass a few smacks, then adds, "By the second night, I knew I was going to ask if you'd mind me quitting that job. And, knowing you wouldn't mind, I knew I only had to get through a couple of nights with that beast, which kept me going; that and the money. I needed the full eight day's pay to pay my way this month and next month."
I'm not surprised he needs to talk about the horrible experience he had last week. Talking about it will help get it out of his system, but I didn't think it'd be this soon. He goes, "Jesus, it sounds as if I'm a whiner," and he spanks my ass pretty hard for a minute, maybe angry with himself. There's a point when your hot stinging buttocks make you put your hand back to protect your ass. It never works, but I do it anyway, muttering, "Ow, ow..." He holds my hand away with his left hand, using his right to keep spanking, grunting, "Almost done," and, "Smack, smack, smack" and "Ow, ow, ow, dammit, Bruce."
He says, "What are you complaining about? I do it for you!" I straighten up, turn around, making a face at him while rubbing my smacked ass with both hands. He says, "On your knees now," and, as I'm dropping down to my knees, I actually do feel a bit submissive. Perhaps, psychologically, spanking works because I submissively tolerated it. Whatever, I get to suck Bruce's seven-inch penis now. It's like a reward after the spanking.
Instead of picking his penis up, I lean my face against his groin, my tongue pressing on the bottom inch of his flaccid cock, my nose against his belly, inhaling his scent. Huh, it's more subtle than Jon's scent, but it is a pleasant male scent, and therefore sexy to me. Bruce has a hand on my head, saying, "Scheyer gave you a true pussy-boy-short haircut. I hate to admit this, but he did it pretty fucking good... we'll keep this type of haircut for you moving forward."
Wow, just like that, a true dominant statement without any hesitation on his part. He changed his mind because when he left for Philly, he said he didn't care if I had longer hair or not. Well, I don't give a flying fuck about my haircut one way or another, not that it would probably matter to Bruce if I did.
Taking another deep inhale of Bruce's masculine scent, I lift my head and pick up his dick. Christ, my fingers are shaking because I'm so excited about doing this with him again. Sliding the big mushroom head into my mouth, I close my lips just below the head and move my talented tongue over the curved head, back and forth, back and forth, until I feel it getting harder and larger. With my fingers moving it, I rub the head against the inside of my right cheek, then against the roof of my mouth, moving it to my other cheek. Bruce grunts, "Umm." and shuffles his feet a little.
The head is a mouthful now, so I pull it out and stroke the shaft a few times, then hold it steady and lick it from his nuts to the big head, doing it over and over and all around it until it's a roaring hard boner that I push against his belly and then go to town licking his balls. This is noticeably different than when I did the same things to Jon's smaller cock. Yeah, doing Bruce is so much better, and, Omigod, my cock is up against my stomach every bit as hard as Bruce's.
Moving his balls with my tongue, I can tell the difference here too. Bruce's balls are bigger and heavier, and his scrotum hangs down much further than Jon's almost round scrotum. Bruce has a man's cock and balls, making Jon's seem like a boy's by comparison. So, yeah, there's no question which one I prefer. I'm attracted to guys with a youthful appearance and man-sized cock and balls. That describes Bruce perfectly.
Stretching my tongue under his balls, I try to lick his asshole, but his bigger body size prevents that. I could just barely manage to do it with Jon. And, as always, when doing this, the one thing the pussy boys have going for them that I really, really like is their hairlessness. Sucking and licking hairless bodies is so much neater, purer, and sexier. I'm licking the inside of his thighs now, then up past his pubic area to his belly button, inhaling his scent constantly. Dammit, I just felt precum rolling down my fingers from his boner. I'd continue licking and sucking until he blows his load if he'd let me. I'm about to blow mine...
Bruce has been rubbing my head, grunting and moaning for the last two minutes, and now he's pushing at my head. I resisted long enough to get the large head of his cock in my mouth one more time, then he goes, "Stop! I'm going to shoot off." He pushes my head, and I grab my cock to stroke it, but he pulls my hand away, muttering, "Stop that..." I'm breathing deeply, highly aroused, but feeling dreamily submissive too, which is why I don't object to Bruce pulling my hand off my throbbing boner.
He takes a deep breath, then goes, "Wow, that was an opposite experience from me sucking off Daytime. Thank God you're a submissive bottom, Zach, or we wouldn't have a chance of making it." I'm sitting back on my ankles, looking up at him as I casually lick his precum off my fingers. He gets a hand under each of my arms, pulling me up, saying, "My whoring days ruined any pleasure I may have felt being the bottom boy during sex. Hell, I don't remember ever liking being fucked all that much now that I think about it. When prostituting, I'd never think about it one way or another; I'd just do it."
See, this is simply basic gay sex to Bruce. I want it to be more about making love. He says, "I'm sorry for whining about all my problems. I should be complimenting you on that primo oral sex. I've got a super good boner from it. Well, how about if you lean over the desk again, and I'll fuck that great ass for you. And I gotta hand it to that dink, Jon, for keeping you perfectly hairless, even the underarms. I like that, so we'll include the underarms too."
He swats my ass, saying, "Go ahead, bend over the desk. Let's get this over with." Get it over with? Huh? Christ, I sure hope he's not having sex with me just because he thinks he needs to. I've helped him out a couple of times, but if that's the only reason he's having sex with me, that's not what I'm looking for...
Bruce's sex has been plenty good enough for me until now, but I was hoping we were heading in the direction of someday having lover's sex. Not unpaid pussy boy sex. I'm trying to think positively that it'll happen, but it seems a long way off. Still, I'm willing to wait for as long as it takes, assuming there's a hint of progress in that direction sometime soon.
And, ironically, Bruce said he's glad to see I've kept my body hairless while it's him who could use a MAN creme application. It was no problem, but I noticed a shadow of pubic hair just beginning to show. Well, it has been over two weeks since the last time he used the creme, and I'm more than happy and willing to apply it for him if, hopefully, he's going to continue the hairless look.
Another smack on my ass gets my attention, "SMACK!" as Bruce says, "Damn, Zack... get your ass up!" Oh, the last couple of days, I got used to getting it down for Jon. And, damn, I didn't give a thought to lubricant, but lucky for me Bruce did. I feel a glob of gel being pushed inside my ass, so I mutter, "Oh, yeah, that's gonna be a big help." He says, "I'd be as heartless as Daytime was if I forgot to get you lubricated." I go, "We've done it without lube before." He pushes in another gob of it, mumbling, "I know, but now that it's fresh in my mind how painful that can be, I don't want to do it to you. Um, unless it's an emergency." We both chuckled as I mutter, "Well, yeah, emergencies are a different story altogether."
His finger is in all the way, and he twirls it around and around, loosening my tight anus and getting my prostate gland humming a little. When his finger comes out he gets lube on my side when he holds onto my hips and puts pressure on my hole with the big head of his boner. He hasn't always been this considerate, but, as he inferred, he's remembering the pain he experienced last week getting fucked by that bastard, Daytime.
All Bruce's experiences getting fucked as a pussy boy were done with rubbers, ah, condoms. Being safe and lubricated are two more good rules they have. So, yeah, the pussy boy training often turns our good male prostitutes. It's the unnecessary BDSM training practices that any sensible person would object to. Richard's stepfather must have been sick in the head when writing that training manual.
The mushroom head on Bruce's boner is not going to be denied entrance and, sure enough, now I feel my anus giving way, opening, and opening until, "Ahhh," gasps from my mouth as the head finally slides impossibly tightly inside. Immediately, my anus closes just as tightly around the thinner neck just below the big head. Bruce murmurs, "Mmm, that felt good." My jaws are clamped shut, and my face scrunches up, dealing with the pain, but because it's Bruce's cock the pain is somehow easier to deal with... and the pain soon starts fading.
He waits only a second before his cock starts its journey up inside my rectum, the big head spreading the walls while my anus screeches in pain from his big hard boner's shaft dragging against its grip. I can't stop a grunt of pain, "Oh fuck..." but Bruce doesn't stop, and soon he's tight against my buttocks. Needless to say, there's a significant difference being filled up like this with seven throbbing fat inches of hard cock compared to a five-inch boner with a small pointy head. To me, it's thrilling being filled up like this, and never mind the extra pain 'cause it doesn't last long while the incredibly filled-up sensation stays with me.
It still hurts when he pulls it back and hurts going up inside me again, but less than the first time, and less the third time, and the fourth time it slides smoothly in and back as I moan, "Ahhh, ooh, yes..." Now that he's got me opened up to his satisfaction, Bruce begins fucking me for real. It's the "Slap, slap, slap" sound at first as Bruce is using only three or four inches of his boner to quickly thrust back and forth, smacking against my buttocks each time as I go, "Ah, ah, ah!"
The big mushroom head totally has its way inside me, but only the shaft is tightly rubbing my prostate so far. That's where most of the pleasure is generated as my tight anus lips are still complaining about being stretched so much. Bruce's hands grip my hips tightly as each thrust becomes longer so that more and more of the hard boner is put into play until the head is coming back all the way across my prostate gland, and now sensations soar to higher levels, and it's ecstasy for me. My back arching, my moans constant, my cock an iron pole sticking straight out six inches from my body as it throbs and tries getting bigger and harder.
Long seven-inch thrusting for two then three minutes, and now my anus lips begin sending out itching pleasure vibrations of their own. In combination with my prostate, my whole body is seemingly a pleasure machine, and I'm moaning, "Oh, ooh, oooh, Bruce, ah, ahh, ahhh!" Pleasure so intense for five, then six minutes. Oh man, then I'm stunned, realizing my climax has been sitting at the tipping point for a minute or more. In equal parts, I want it to blow, and I don't. Exploding orgasms are an exquisite pleasure unequaled by anything known to man, but the feeling of Bruce fucking me is a pleasure almost as great, so...
I don't have a choice though, climaxes rule, and Bruce is against my ass now. He's stopped thrusting; he's breathing noisily and then making a desperate, "Ahhh!" sound filling my bowels with his seed as I shudder, cover my mouth with a hand, and screech out at the dynamic level of sensations that are too large to comprehend when a strong stream of cum shoots from my iron boner. It splatters off the front of the desk's drawer. The hand comes from my mouth to grip my cock and squeeze it, then do a tight stroke up the shaft as I hold my breath and shake at the sweeping after-effects of that climatic orgasm.
Bruce breathes deeply, both his hands on my back now, then he slowly pulls his cock from my ass, and lots of his semen comes out with it, slowly drooling to the back of my nuts. All my climaxes feel otherworldly awesome, and I had some really great ones with Jon. Many others as well, but I love Bruce, so that makes for more special, more amazing climaxes. I think the best fuck I've ever had, though, was that first one from Richard, who I've come to despise and wouldn't want to repeat the experience under any circumstance. And, this wasn't Bruce's best fuck on my ass either, but it's the first one in over eight days, so very special because of that.
I'm still getting little shivers of after-effect remnants and still leaning over the desk as Bruce says, "I hope that was good for you, Zach. It sort of cleared my mind of the negativity that bastard Daytime caused about sex. Yeah, it's good I changed my mind and did it with you." He pats my shoulder, asking, "You okay?" Nodding, I push myself away from the desk and stand up, my dick still in my hand, mumbling, "I'm good. That was great, Bruce. I always have the best sex with you." He goes, "How many times did Scheyer fuck you?" Shrugging, I mutter, "A couple of times."
Bruce grabs some tissues, holds them to my asshole, muttering, "Get your hand back here." I hold the tissues in place to catch the cum that's still leaking out. Bruce gets more tissues to wipe his dick, asking, "So, um, what kind of equipment does he have?" I chuckle, then go, "Omigod, he's packing maybe eleven or twelve inches of hard cock. That's after I finish sucking a boner on him." Bruce makes a face, muttering, "Bullshit." and starts walking toward the bathroom.
Following him, I go, "I still prefer your smaller penis, though, Bruce." He snickers, muttering, "Eleven or twelve inches, my ass." In the bathroom, I'm like, "No, it was in my ass. And, fuck, the head on that thing is like a softball..." He's grinning as he uses a washcloth to clean his pecker. He goes, "Uh-huh, I'm so sure." I'm snickering as he says, "Turn around," and when I do, he uses the same washcloth wiping his cum off my buttocks and between my legs, saying, "You've got the best ass ever for fucking, I've got to admit that." I go, "That's what Jon said."
He laughs and smacks my ass, then goes, "No, seriously. What's he got?" I tell him, "Five inches with a pointy head, but truthfully, it's a chubby dick." He puts his arm across my shoulders, mumbling, "That's what I thought. I only met the little dink a couple of times. Both times at a bar when he was with Eli. And I'm pissed at Eli for getting involved in trying to get you back in the horror show. Let's wash up, brush our teeth and get to bed. This past week took a lot out of me. I can't remember ever being this tired."
As we're doing that, I'm like, "You're wicked tired, but yet you put a great fuck on my ass." He says, "Yeah, you bring something out in me. It's like I want to do you up good because of all the shit you've done for me." Rinsing my mouth after using my new electric toothbrush, I look at him and say, "You called it a horror show. I didn't realize you were so disdainful of the pussy boys."
He says, "I want to get one of those," pointing to my electric toothbrush. I go, "We'll go to Target, and you can get one, plus a new cell phone, but what about you being disdainful of the pussy boys?" He says, "Yeah, I thought they were my best chance to make money. And that you'd be an excellent start for my escort group. I'd recruit another guy using you as an example of how much money the new guy could make. I'm human, though, and I felt guilty doing that horrifying training shit to you, but I kept telling myself I had to look out for myself... keep looking out for myself. And even after you recused me from the funhouse, it took a while, a week or two before my brain could recalibrate and see there wasn't any comparison between pussy boy prostitution and the possibilities you told me about; you know, in the real world."
We're done in the bathroom, but we're just standing here, so I'm like, "I can't put myself in your position, I can't even imagine what you've been through all these years, but it seems to me you should be proud of yourself for admitting you needed a huge change in your life." He squeezes the back of my neck, but not painfully; it gets us walking out of the bathroom, as he's saying, "Shit, once I realized there is no comparison, I wondered why it wasn't obvious to me from the start. I felt stupid for not kissing your ass for offering me a chance at something I didn't need to be ashamed of."
All of this is good to hear, but it isn't anything like two boyfriends discussing things. It's like good acquaintances and fuck buddies discussing a business opportunity. I've got my work cut out for me getting us to boyfriend status, and then it's a long shot reaching the I love you Zach part... maybe an unreachable end. He was playing at being boyfriends the week before the Philly job, so maybe that's the first step... getting him back playing at being boyfriends to humor me.
As much as, at first, I wasn't pleased that Cowboy insisted on sleeping right next to me and sometimes partially on me, I came to like the physical contact with a male body very much. I was twenty-seven when Cowboy began sleeping with me, and I'd been gay for as long as I can remember, but that was my first experience sleeping with another guy. When Cowboy began sleeping with Lee, coincidentally, I became infatuated with Bruce's physical contact. Infatuated with him even though he was doing that absurd training program. The physical contact with him happened during the ludicrous so-called familiarity exercise. That was one of the few things I found enjoyable. The other being sex with Bruce.
Anyway, all pussy boy mentors I've been with, both of them, haha, hold their left arm out for the trainees to cuddle against them. That's the familiarity exercise. Supposedly, it's to get trainees used to physical contact with clients. Yes, it's stupid beyond words, but I liked that Bruce continued doing that when he slept with me after the funhouse escape. Jon did it too, and, as I said, Cowboy got me addicted to physical contact with guys. Unlike with Cowboy, however, I now prefer feeling as though my sleeping companion is dominantly in charge, which is why I cuddle against him instead of the other way around. Even diminutive Jon played that role without giving a thought that I'm much bigger than him. It isn't as awkward with Bruce as with Jon because Bruce and I are almost the same height.
So, Saturday night, Bruce finally gets in bed, mumbling, "Get the light, Zach," and when I do, I crawl onto the other side of the bed, hoping he's still going to continue wanting the cuddling. I can't see if his arm is out, so I'm waiting, and then he goes, "C'mon, get over here, Zach! I gotta get to sleep." Sliding over against him, his arm around the back of my neck, he exerts some pressure, murmuring, "Lean over on my side, so my arm doesn't go numb." We move around a little until he goes, "Yeah, good. Whew, it's wonderful to be here with you. Man, what a week I had."
He feels so good lying against him with my arm across his hairless chest. Hmm, I think Jon, though smaller, had firmer pecs than Bruce does, although Bruce still feels and smells wonderful to me. He murmurs, "Goodnight," and I nod my head slightly against his shoulder, murmuring, "Goodnight, Bruce. I'm glad you're home."
That's all I remember until Bruce is poking me Sunday morning, asking, "Are you awake?" I open my eyes and see bright sunshine pouring through the bedroom window. We rolled apart a foot or so during the night, so I flop over onto my back, mumbling, "Yeah, I'm awake." He grins, "I woke up with a pulsating boner, so we might as well get today's fuck number-one out of the way right now." I'm like, "Uh-huh, yeah, but only if you want to." He sighs, "Do you wanna do it or not?" I go, "Of course, um, what if I go up on my side, and you stick that pulsating boner in the first opening you can find on my body?" He goes, "Let's try it."
I'm not real happy about Bruce saying we'll get this fuck out of the way as if it's a chore. Anyway, this is buddy sex 101. It's a far cry from making love, but the next best thing to it. Facing away from him, I get up on my side and pull my knees up. Bruce slides over close to me, the big head of his boner bumping my left butt cheek, then it's right on my asshole. Bruce mutters, "Waking up this morning was many times better than waking up yesterday morning. Hell, I can't think of anything to compare it to," and he rams his boner in past the tight lips of my anus feeling lot a red hot poker went inside me. I screech out, holding my hand against my mouth to muffle it some. There is plenty of lubricant inside my rectum from last night but none outside to ease the trauma of bursting my tight asshole wide open.
The burning sensation hangs on for the entire seven-inch trip as the mushroom head plows its way inside me. Bruce grinds his groin against my buttocks, murmuring, "That felt pretty good," sounding weird as if he's surprised it felt good. Meanwhile, I'm trying to embrace the pain but instead, embrace the fact it's fading. It hovers just this side of bearable, and thank God for the lube remnants inside me. My anus is still burning as Bruce pulls his boner back and rams it in again, and then he does it again as things inside me begin simmering down, accepting that Bruce's boner rules.
Then, after three or four more hard thrusts, toot-toot here comes the pleasure train as my prostate gland wakes up and starts purring out pleasure, and my anus finally recognizes Bruce's boner as a friendly intrusion and stops squawking at it. Bruce has his arm over my side, steadily thrusting his boner, moving only his hips, his breathy exhale warm and moist on the back of my neck. Fucking is the ultimate intimate act two people can do together, although it's not the most submissive act. Doing oral sex for my sex partner is much more submissive, rimming being the ultimate submissive sex act for me.
Still, docilely lying here being fucked up my ass definitely has submissive overtones, which, for me, increases the sexuality, and the fact that it's Bruce doing the fucking doubles the pleasure. He's by far the number one person on earth I want doing this with me, so I need to concentrate more on appreciating that he's fucking me instead of fretting about whether it's buddy sex or making love sex. Buddy sex can sometimes lead to making love, although many more times than not, it doesn't.
He's into a smooth rhythm of humping his big boner back and forth in my rectum, making quiet grunting moans of pleasure as I float in an ocean of the pleasure he's creating for me, moaning, "Um, um, um," with each long thrust. It's tempting to grab hold of my quivering, hard boner, but I don't because I want to continue experiencing this fantastic sexual pleasure that can't be described. When my climax is hovering near the tipping point, my moans of pleasure change to whimpering sounds, knowing my climax is expanding out of my control and about to burst forth into the world like the Big Bang that began all things in this universe.
Bruce and I have climaxed at almost the same time in the past, and his Big Bang must be on top of him too because now it's fast, shorter thrusting, desperation thrusting, and "Slap, slap, slap," sounds are ringing out in the room partially muffled by the covers. My boner moves away from my belly to stick straight out, and it's almost scary now as the power builds in my impending climax. I hold my breath in anticipation of worlds colliding; then, when my climax blows, I do the screech I made when Bruce slammed his cock up my ass. My cum fires up from my nuts to sizzle out my six inches of iron-hard cock only to make only a "Puff' sound hitting the sheet in front of me. Waves of pleasure spread out from my groin, going down my legs and up to the hair of my head with me shuddering and not realizing for a second that my rectum is gooey with Bruce's cum. My nuts are empty of cum, but my ass is full of it.
My brain was too occupied with my worlds-colliding climax to notice Bruce's worlds-colliding. He pulls his cock out, sighing, "Umm," and then, "That was okay." I lie over on my back as cum drools out of my ass. Shivering at the zipping after-effects, I murmur, "That's my favorite way to start a day." Turning my head, I add, "You fuck wicked good, Bruce." He snickers, "Yeah, well, I kinda like your ass." Then he turns his head to look at me and adds, "Boyfriend." I go, "Oh good! We're going to play boyfriends again."
He says, "I don't know that we're playing. We are boyfriends, doncha think?" I nod, "Yep; we are if we say we are." He goes, "You keep rescuing me from shit, so I'm beginning to think you're a perfect candidate to be my first boyfriend." I mumble, "And, you know very well how I feel about you." He murmurs, "Yes, and I'm seriously flattered and, um, I don't know exactly how to respond to that." I shrug, "You're doing really well with everything, Bruce. Seriously, you are."
This is getting awkward, so he says, "I'm going to take a shower," and I go, "Oh, I've had some training in the art of bathing a client. I'd like to try that on you. If you're up for it, that is." Getting out of bed, he looks curious, mumbling, "You and I never got to that training exercise, so you must have had quite a time with Scheyer." I get out of bed too, saying, "He thought you'd go for the offer to be reinstated as a pussy boy, which means I would too, so Jon was trying to get a headstart on my final three weeks of training." Nodding, he mutters, "I can't believe you were going along with that."
We're naked, of course, as we never put anything on after last night's sex. Walking into the bathroom, I say, "He tricked me into giving my word of honor. I already told you about that." He's washing his hands, mumbling, "Tricked you? I'll bet you were falling for that little dink. Weren't you?" I go, "What? No, I didn't exactly fall for him. He was, um, very dominant and confident, though, and I was resigned to doing what he said because, well, I already told you why. I thought I'd be a trainee with you, so..."
He puts toothpaste on his toothbrush and says, "I told you you'd fall for any dominant guy with a dick. Didn't I?" Annoyed that he's right, I mutter, "I didn't fall for him! I was resigned to doing it because I thought you'd want to do the pussy boy shit." He makes a smirking face, mumbling, "Sure, that must have been it," and he starts brushing his teeth. I put toothpaste on my toothbrush, saying, "Okay, you're sort of right, but as soon as I saw you yesterday, all my feeling for Jon went out the window because you're my main man."
Finished brushing, he rinses out his mouth and says, "If you sincerely want to be my boyfriend, you'll need to stop fucking around with every pussy boy you run into." I rinse out, saying, "Of course, that goes without saying! I only want to do it with you." Then I'm like, "Well, what about me doing the pussy boy shower with you?" Shrugging, he goes, "Sure, why not. Let's see how well he trained you." I turn the water on in the shower stall, saying, "Jon only had me do it twice, so I'm not that good at it. You can teach me the rest of it." He says, "Yeah, alright. Get in there." We step into the shower stall, and he says, "If you insist on being my submissive boyfriend, hell, I'm happy to oblige, but you're spoiling me, and I probably will take advantage of it."
I mumble, "That's okay," then try remembering what Jon said I was supposed to do first. I do my best with Bruce correcting my every mistake, but it's great fun having my hands all over him. And, even though I just had a climax fifteen minutes ago, this is so sexy I can't help but spring another boner. Bruce tells me what he'd do about that if I were actually a trainee. Since I'm not, he doesn't do what Jon did, and I enjoy my bobbing boner during the second half of the bathing exercise, almost getting blue balls by the time I finish. Bruce gets out, saying, "That was pretty nice, boyfriend." I'm like, "My pleasure and, um, you need a MAN creme treatment too."
As he dries himself, he says, "You should have done that before the shower. Maybe tonight." Oh, good, he's going to continue the hairless routine. Excellent.
By the time I bathe myself and dry off, Bruce has dressed and gone to the kitchen. I hear the hissing of the coffee maker, then Bruce yelling, "Do you want a mug of coffee, Zach?" I tell him I do, get dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, and join him in the kitchen. He hands me a mug of coffee and says, "I left my pack of cigarettes on the animal's bureau in Philly, so can I bum another smoke off you?" I'm like, "Of course," and we take our coffees to the balcony to have a smoke.
Bruce takes a normal drag off his cigarette, and while exhaling, says, "We should stop in at Bret Dever's place and score some pot. I'm not a regular user, but once in a while, a joint hits the spot." I go, "Sure, and I'm like you in that it's only sporadic that I smoke pot, but I enjoy it occasionally. If that rat-faced dealer has any of that primo stuff, that'd be awesome." Bruce goes, "That shit's too expensive. He'll have some good marijuana that costs half as much, and I can afford a few of those joints." I go, "He said he doesn't sell much pot; only premium high-priced stuff." Bruce makes a face, "He told you that so he could unload that expensive shit on you." Shrugging, I say, "You buy what you want, and I'll buy what I want." He mutters, "That'll work." We talk about getting breakfast somewhere and maybe meeting up with Cowboy and Lee for a day on the beach.
So, yeah, we're back pretending we're boyfriends, although Bruce doesn't exude boyfriend vibrations at all. There's no touching or sweet smiles or affectionate mutterings coming from him, although lots of those things are coming from me towards him. I am, however, sensing a friendship between us almost like straight friends, um, except when we're having sex, obviously. Then I sense it's buddy sex, but with almost a feeling of obligation on Bruce's part, and that's worrisome.
It occurs to me that he might not be capable of more emotions, though. I mean, because of his history of whoring on the streets and his hard experiences, both training and then working the streets as a pussy boy. And as if that wasn't bad enough, it was followed by Richard's screw job sending Bruce to the funhouse horrors and then last week's nightmare. It's been a hard cruel life, all about survival for Bruce. As I've thought before, he needs professional help even more than me and with far greater reasons for needing it than I have. Needing it and seeking it are far different matters, however.
That being said, Bruce is obviously adaptable, or he'd never have made it this far, so perhaps over time, he'll begin to believe there's a better side of life than what he's experienced thus far and learn to open his heart and let someone in. If not to me, someone else. All I can do to help, and all I know how to do is continue being myself.
We change shorts to wear bathing suits with our T-shirts and sandals; then I stop at the front desk to change a hundred-dollar bill into five twenty-dollar bills. I get a thousand from the trunk at the car to go with the thousand I got from Bruce for this month's rent and ask him, "What'd you do with your twelve hundred dollars?" Nodding at the truck of my car, he asks, "How much money do you have in there?" I go, "I'm not sure. There's a gun in there too." He says, "I'm not going to steal from you for Christ's sake. I was just curious--no need to threaten me with a gun. You wouldn't need a gun to kill me anyway. You could twist my head off."
We drive the twenty minutes to the boardwalk, as he says, "My money, except for a hundred bucks that's in my pocket, is at the apartment under our mattress. It's for next's month's rent and food." I tell him, "Uh-huh, but shooting you would be cleaner than twisting your head off." He goes, "I'm not fucking stealing anything, Jesus!" I go, "I can see that I need to tell you ahead of time when I'm teasing you. Joking around." He mutters, "Or, not tease me at all."
We have breakfast at the same cafe on the boardwalk we ate at before. After breakfast, we walk to the beach chair rental booth, and I go, "Markie, whasup, little dude?" He shrugs, asking, "Are you always cheerful?" I say, "With you, yeah. I like seeing you." He nods at Bruce, and I go, "Yeah, I dumped the little guy in favor of old boyfriend." Markie puts two new beach chairs in front of the counter, mumbling, "Good, there was something off with the other guy." Bruce says, "There's something off with me too." Markie goes, "Well, you hide it better than him."
I slap a twenty on the counter, saying, "Thanks for the new chairs, bro," and I carry both chairs as we head for the area Cowboy and Lee always set up their chairs. After ten steps, Bruce takes a chair from me, muttering, ''I can carry my own chair. You're not a trainee." I'm like, "Oh, so I won't need to set our chairs up with them touching then, huh?" He mumbles, "Not on my account, no. That was some dumbass training technique, and I'm going to try my ass off to drop all that shit... if I can." I'm like, "Why so grumpy?" He says, "Because you inferred I might steal from you. I resent that, and it really pissed me off." I go, "I already told you that it was supposed to be funny. Mentioning the gun was my attempt at humor." He goes, "Yeah, you already said that, but I'm not so sure..."
Cowboy and Lee are walking from the ocean to their chairs. They both smile and wave, then when they get to us, Cowboy, who is a hugger, hugs us both. Then Lee does, too, which would be sweet except they're both wet, having just swum. They're laughing at our protest, then Cowboy goes, "You're back early, Bruce." Bruce goes, "Yeah, it didn't work out the way I expected."
We set up our chairs and sit in the sun, ignoring the umbrella the boys rented. The boys ask Bruce about his trip and why it didn't work out, and he gives vague answers, adding, "The bottom line is I made the bare amount of money I need for right now." Lee goes, "Hey, did you guys read about the Einstein Ring?" I'm like, "Einstein had a ring?" Cowboy goes, "Not a regular ring. In 1911 he predicted that the force of gravity could be so strong it could bend light." Bruce says, "What's so hard about bending light?"
Assuming Bruce was joking, Lee ignores that and goes, "The Hubble Space Telescope captured a picture of an Einstein Ring fifteen billion light-years from us. The ring of light happened because galaxies close together were creating so much gravity they bent light in a bright ring around them." I go, "That's nice," and Bruce goes, "How the fuck can any telescope see fifteen billion light-years away? How far is a light-year, anyhow?" Lee goes, "A light-year is about six trillion miles." Bruce goes, "Six trillion, huh? So this ring-thing is ninety trillion miles away. Bull-'effing-shit."
Cowboy goes, "Yeah, it's hard to comprehend. A billion is a thousand million, and a thousand billion is a trillion." I say to Bruce, "See that? Don't encourage them by commenting." He snorts out a chuckle. Ignoring us dummies, Cowboy and Lee start talking about how many trillions of light-years the universe might be or if it's infinite. Then, the size of the largest black hole is...
I mumble, "My head hurts. I'm going for a walk." Bruce goes, "Yeah, me too." We walk near the ocean because the sand is uncomfortable hot under a blazing hot sun today. The wet sand from the runoff of waves is a better option. Bruce says, "The difference between a relaxed day like today and any day I had last week, um, it's as if I'm on a different planet." I nod, "Yeah, but you earned the money you felt you needed, so there's that." He goes, "Yeah, I know, but wow, the different lives people live, ya know? It's mindboggling, and I mean all around the world. Fucking up my life in the good old US-of-A the way I have is, um, is inexcusable."
Glancing at the first truly cute guy I've seen on the beach so far, one who at least appears to be of age, I mumble, "Um, all that shit is in the past, Bruce, we need to think of a business we can work at in the future. In only five weeks, Cowboy and Lee go off to college; that's when we'll concentrate on what we'll do moving forward. For now, let yourself decompress from all the shit you've been dealing with, like, um, dealing with for years. It'll be a fresh start for both of us."
He walks a few steps, then goes, "Why the hell do you need a fresh start?" Shrugging, I say, "Because I can't keep doing nothing. I mean, I could because of the trust fund, but I'm not wired to be a playboy. I've always done something since graduating from prep school. Ya know, first going to Yale and then four years as a Navy Seal. They were worthwhile things to do, but since then, I've been drifting aimlessly, and that's alright for one summer, but not for a lifetime." Bruce mumbles, "I guess."
See, he's as unable to imagine my life as I am his. It's hard to comprehend the differences in our lives over the last eight years. Hell, all the years of our lives, for that matter. In a moment of cluelessness, I almost mention to Bruce that we both need professional help sorting out our minds, understanding ourselves... oh, hell, I don't even know what we need, and that's why I say we need guidance. But Bruce doesn't need to hear that now that he's just begun grabbling with a new life after one of prostitution.
But, seriously, I'd really like to know what happened in my life to make me basically feel inferior to any guy with a confident and dominant personality? I have no idea why I like feeling submissive. It's immature of me to just grovel in submissiveness rather than trying to understand it. Bruce, of course, needs to be acclimated into mainstream society after a life outside it... or something like that. Maybe he just needs to forgive himself for past missteps before he can start fresh. I don't pretend to know exactly what either of us needs from professional help, which is a good reason for seeking it.
We've walked five minutes in silence before Bruce says, "I've been trying to think of someone I loved and decided I've never loved anyone. I suppose I should love you for all the things you've done to help me, but I don't. I know how to be appreciative, and I am to you, but there's this thing in my mind that I need to fight off as well. It's my old way of thinking that whenever anyone does me a favor, and you've done more favors for me than everyone else put together. However, there's still this thing in my brain that wants me to think of it as if you being a sucker, a sap, and my old brain is trying to tell me to take advantage of that. It's how I've needed to think for survival for years." I nod, "I think I understand why you'd think that way, Bruce."
He says, "But I'm fighting it. That's why I'm so adamant about paying my own way. I don't want to be what Scheyer accused me of, which is taking you for everything I can get. That's what he would do. I desperately don't want to be that person." I pat his shoulder, mumbling, "And you're not that person. You've rejected anything monetarily I've tried to do for you." He snickers, lightening up the conversation, saying, "It's been a bitch saying no to your generosity, going totally against every instinct I've lived with the last nine years."
We walk some more, then I go, "So, you left home when you were thirteen?" He mumbles, "No, I'd just turned sixteen, so it hasn't been nine years. I'm so used to telling lies I confuse myself. I'd just gotten my driver's license, stole the old man's car, and drove to New York City with Billy Day." I go, "Jeez," and he says, "Billy didn't know I was gay. Ha, I haven't thought of his name in years. He was twenty and AWOL from the Army. Not a great traveling companion. I was taking a leak in an alley the second night in NYC, and he stole the car I stole. He stole it from me, and I never saw him again. It's quite a story, but that's all I want to think about it for now. Sorry..."
I go, "No, that's okay. I don't need to hear anymore." He looks at me, "Zach, just so you know... what I just told you is the truth. I'm trying my ass off not to lie to you. Not lying to you is an experiment to see if I can stop telling lies to myself and others." Well, Christ, I don't know what to say to that. I rarely get in trouble by saying nothing, so that's what I do... say nothing.
Anyway, I don't remember Bruce telling me anything important that contradicts what he told me just now. He lied about his age but then told the truth about it. Hell, he hasn't told me hardly anything about his life before this anyhow, and I've never asked. It's actually a very good sign he felt he wanted to tell me this much. Then, oh boy, I know booze is a crutch that I should depend on less, but I see up past the beach on the boardwalk a Budweiser sign and can't resist saying, "Hey, Bruce, it's afternoon by ten minutes, how about a beer?" He nods, "Yeah, but just one shot with a beer chaser. That'd be good."
We're chuckling as we hop on the hot sand going up to the boardwalk, muttering, "Smart of us not to be wearing our sandals." It's so good seeing Bruce taking a joking approach to our hot feet situation instead of his normal serious, angry one. Stepping off the beach, we see the Budweiser sign is on the other side of the boardwalk, not on it. The sign is for a bar on the block leading to a boardwalk ramp. We go inside, hoping the bartender doesn't notice we're barefoot.
We wore our T-shirts for our walk on the beach in deference to the hot sun, not wanting to get sunburned shoulders. Sitting at the bar, Bruce puts two twenties on the bar saying, "My turn to treat, Zach. You paid for the beach chairs." I mutter, "Thanks," thinking how stupid it is that he has this obsession with paying his way, to pay more than his way, actually. Well, he told me why it's important to him, and I need to respect that.
Since he's paying, he gets to order the booze, which means shots of Jim Beam and Bud drafts. We tap shot glasses, and he mutters, "To you, Zach. Thanks for everything." I smile and do a little head nod; then we flash down the bourbon. It's okay bourbon, or maybe I'm simply getting used to it. The bartender rings up the drinks and slaps four one-dollar bills on the bar as the change from Bruce's twenty.
There's something cool about a bar in the afternoon. The lights are low; there's the smell of booze, mostly beer, I guess, and the chilly air-conditioned room with murmured conversations and the occasional burst of laughter from the day-drinkers and, I suppose, an alcoholic or two as well. They're serving lunch too, and the platters a young waitress just put on the bar for two middle-aged men look good, but since we had breakfast less than two hours ago, we're not tempted.
Bruce swallows some beer and asks, "Do you see us staying in that apartment after Cowboy goes off to college?" Nodding, I say, "If possible, yes. Cowboy wants to visit there with me during the frequent breaks from college. Well, mostly, he wants to see Lee, I suppose. Cowboy's folks live in New York City, so it's a couple of hours drive at the most from there to here." He goes, "I can see how attached to you Cowboy is, and I guess that has something to do with your long-time friendship with his deceased brother." I go, "Yeah, Cowboy and I bonded while mourning Ronny's death. It was a big help to me having him with me and vice versa, I guess."
He drinks the rest of his beer and asks, "One more?" I go, "Yeah, if you'll let me fucking pay for it." He shrugs, "Sure, it's your turn." When the bald bartender looks our way, I motion with my hand at the empty glasses in front of us. He saunters down behind the bar and asks, "Another round?" I nod, and he looks at Bruce, saying, "I'm gonna need to ask for ID, pal. I should have done that before pouring the first round." Bruce takes out his real driver's license, and after a cursory look at it, the bartender says what everybody says about checking ID, "Thanks, buddy. They make me check ID for anyone who looks under thirty."
I've heard that bullshit so many times. I say it's bullshit because they aren't asking for my ID, and I sure as shit don't look thirty. As he's pouring the draft beers, I put a twenty on the bar and nod at it when he's refilling our shot glasses. He takes the twenty and rings up our drinks, slapping four one-dollar bills on the bar as change. Bruce and I tap shot glasses, and I say, "To another good day in AC," and we drink the bourbon in one swallow. Ugh, that shot wasn't as easy going down as the first one.
After gulping some beer, I go, "Hey, I've meant to ask you something. The first night Richard introduced you as my mentor. You know, in that casino bar, you were drinking a martini. You've never had one since. What's up with that?" He makes a face, then goes, "I thought I told you already that's what Richard ordered for me. Omigod, that's a hard drink to get down. It was a gin martini... horrible." I go, "I've had martinis occasionally, and I don't hate the taste, but I prefer bourbon."
He says, "Let's not talk about the pussy boy days. I'm embarrassed I did what I did with you. I was so desperate to get Richard's approval back then. Jesus, it seems like a lifetime ago. Well, it was another life. I like this one so much better I could cry."
I remember him crying after the horrendous funhouse experience. That is not something I want to see again. We drink our beers for a minute without talking, then I go, "Is there something you'd like to do that you haven't done in years?" To my surprise, he goes, "Yeah, there is. Funny you should ask that. Earlier I was thinking, and it's silly, but I'd like to go to the movies. I want the movie house salty popcorn watching an action movie, ya know?" I go, "Hell, I haven't been to the movies since college. Let's do it." He goes, "We can hold hands. Wait, no, we can't because we need our hands to eat the 'effing salty popcorn." Huh, Bruce is joking around again. The booze probably helped that along, but still, him joking around is very encouraging.
We have a third draft beer without the shot and then leave the bar. Holy shit, it's as though someone is shining a spotlight in our eyes when we walk out of the dimly lit bar into the bright sunlight. Bruce says, "Those drinks hit the spot, Zach." I go, "Yeah, I'm feeling a pleasant little booze-buzz." We jog through the hot sand to get to the wet sand and walk back to where our chairs are. As we walk up, Cowboy and Lee are opening wrapped burgers. Lee goes, "Good timing, guys. We bought you cheeseburgers for lunch." Bruce says, "Thanks!" Cowboy says, "Is that alcohol I smell on your breath, Zach?" I'm like, "Yep! Let me have one of those burgers."
Yeah, now I'm happy to eat something to soak up the booze. There's no talking for a while as we all eat two burgers and slurp iced Cokes. Lee bundles all the wrappings and empty cups and dumps it all in a trash barrel, then the guys lie as lovers on Lee's beach blanket and take a nap. Bruce and I sit under the umbrella smoking cigarettes and talking about going to the movies tonight.
Later, we take a long swim with me floating every so often, letting Bruce catch up. And I also take the opportunity to piss out the beer in the Atlantic Ocean, and I'm sure Bruce did the same. Mostly, I'm impressed by Bruce's endurance, and as we wade out of the ocean, I'm like, "Bro, you impressed me. We swam half a mile." He nods, "I wasn't going to quit, but I was super relieved when you did." I mumble, "I took pity on you," and he goes, "Oh, uh-huh."
We dry in the sun and enjoy relaxing until around three o'clock when Bruce nods his head in the direction of the street. He's had enough of the breach, so we return the chairs. Markie comes around in front of the counter to get the chairs, and I give his shoulders a hug slipping a twenty-dollar bill in his shirt pocket, saying, "That's the tip the other guy didn't give you the last time I was here." He goes, "Thanks. You're my favorite customer of all time." I mutter, "I probably am," and then rub his head and the butchered haircut his boyfriend gave him. He smiles, mumbling, "Too bad I'm too young for you." Ha!
At the car, I get the air conditioning running with the top up because it feels as if the temperature on the street is twenty degrees hotter than on the beach. During the twenty-minute ride to the apartment, Bruce says, "A nap is beckoning me, but first, I suppose you'll want some sex." I smile, "Um, well, yeah. I would if it's okay with you." He shrugs, "Hell, you've been getting it three or four times a day for so long you probably think you need it." I'm like, "No, I don't need it the way you mean. I like it, though." He says, "Sure, but I think once or twice a day should be enough. Don't you agree? I mean, most people, gay or straight, are lucky to have sex once or twice a week." I snicker and say, "Yeah, I suppose, but then some lucky motherfuckers have sex more than four times a day."
As I pull into the apartment building's parking lot, he says, "Do you mean prostitutes? Was that a jab at me?" I go, "NO! Damn, I wasn't even thinking that. Don't be so sensitive. I was joking, but there are probably people who have more sex than me." He shrugs, "Whatever, I can't keep that frequency going forever, though, but it's only fair to wean you off of the frequency slowly."
Getting out of the car, giving him a look, I go, "Are you saying you don't enjoy it?" He goes, "Jesus, Zach, it's been my way of life for so long that, no, I'm not sure I enjoy it anymore. Yeah, it feels good while I'm fucking you, and you've got a primo ass to fuck, but, honest to God, I'm almost at the point where I can take it or leave it. The thing is, though, I don't want you going out and paying for it, so I'll be your man as long as you want me to." I go, "Well, this sucks. I hate the thought of you just doing it as an obligation." He's like, "Why would you say that? Every time you pay for it, the guy you paid is doing it as an obligation. His obligation to earn the money you paid him."
In the apartment, he pats my ass, "C'mon in the bedroom and strip outta that swimsuit and T-shirt. It's all good." Frowning, I mutter, "Yeah, it's a prostitute's responsibility to do what he's paid to do, but with you, it's different." He pulls his T-shirt off, saying, "I can honestly tell you this. There isn't anybody else I'd do this for, and it's more than paying you back for all your help. It's that I like you better than anyone else I know, or have ever known." I drop my swimsuit, muttering, "Well, that's good to hear," and he says, "And, hell, when we're into it, I'm glad to be doing it. It's just that I'd have no incentive to get into it at all if it wasn't with you." I frown again, and he says, "Jesus H Christ, lighten up. Now I'm sorry I said anything. That was dumb of me, dammit."
Pulling my T-shirt off, I go, "No, there were some good parts to what you said. I'll concentrate on that." He mumbles, "There ya go," and then he adds, "And you do great oral sex." I nod, "I'm very susceptible to compliments." He chuckles, then says, "Lube your ass up really good and then impress me with your oral sex." I mutter, "Gladly. I'm good at it because it's one of my top two things to do in this world. And that goes double when I'm doing it with you." He mutters, "Yeah, yeah, sure. Lube your ass, and let's get on with it."
I work a couple of gobs of lube up my ass, then wipe my finger on a few Kleenex tissues. When I'm about to drop the tissues on the bedside table, Bruce says, "Zach!" Making a face at that, I walk over to drop them in the trash can near the desk. Then, sliding my hands down his sides, I sink to the floor and pick up his ocean-smelling dick, and put it in my mouth while suppressing the "Mmm" moan I almost let out. It only tastes like the ocean for thirty seconds; then it tastes like Bruce. And, no, I can't describe that taste.
Bruce claims he's lost interest in sex except as a job or obligation. I can sort of understand that, although I thought he was getting off on it as much as I was. Well, he did tell me he was getting raped by that Daytime guy, so that's had a negative effect for sure. Bruce needs the passage of time to let the bad times fade so he can enjoy a more stress-free life going forward.
Sucking on the big head of his dick, I give it a few licks and take it out of my mouth. I don't want mercy fucks, so, holding his penis in my fingers, I look up and say, "Honestly, Bruce, I don't need you to fuck me three or four times a day. How about if I suck you off, and then we skip the fuck and take a nap together? We'll save the anal sex for later tonight or tomorrow morning." He shakes his head, "No, I don't want to disappoint you." I go, "Seriously, it's fine. You're tired, and so am I. How about it?" He smiles, "You're so fucking considerate, Zach. Thanks that would be great, actually. I don't have the energy to do your spanking either."
Nodding, I ignore the spanking comment and mumble, "No problem," then put his dick back in my mouth. It's no big sacrifice on my part because sucking him off will likely get me off as well. As I told him, sucking his cock is my second favorite thing to do in the world. Going to the movies is my twentieth favorite thing. Just kidding...
Ya, know the last thing I want is sensing that our fucking doesn't even feel like buddy-sex, but instead, feels like a paid pussy boy fuck. I want at least a buddy-sex fuck with Bruce, and maybe down the road, that'll become a making-love sex act. That's the ultimate goal. I've never had that, and neither has he, so that'll be really something special to experience.
For now, as I always do, I'm moving the big head of his penis against the smooth, warm, and moist side of my cheek, feeling it getting hard. Stimulating a guy's penis will get it hard even if the guy doesn't want it to get hard. Some straight homophobe's penis in the mouth of a gay guy will eventually get hard, and eventually, no matter how much he doesn't want to, he'll climax. Yep, penises have a mind all their own.
Fortunately, Bruce is not a homophobe, and he's admitted once he's into the sex act, he enjoys the ride. So, all is not lost. I love Bruce and feel horrible about all the hard times he's had in his life. And, as long as there is a sliver of hope that someday he may return my affection, I'm going to try to be the first person in the world he loves. Bruce's sad history may make it impossible for him to love anyone. Maybe he can't even begin to love himself, but as Miquel de Cervantes claims, "In order to attain the impossible, one must attempt the absurd." I sure attempted the absurd doing the pussy boy training. I'm Don Quixote, "To dream the impossible dream, that is my quest." It's also, many years ago, a famous Broadway Show. And, as always, the specifics as to why I'm in love with Bruce are unknown, but that is beside the point because I am in love with him.
So, in that frame of mind, I concentrate on doing the best oral sex Bruce has ever experienced. It's slightly selfish at the same time because it's very sexually stimulating to me as well. I suppose my quest for Bruce's love has become an obsession. It's intoxicating, and all obsessions basically become an addiction, but I don't care about that either. Also, here's a positive thought... my ass is lubed for whenever Bruce gets around to fucking me again. The glass is always half full as far as I'm concerned.
When Bruce moans at the pleasure sensations coming off the head of his super-sensitive penis's head, a sex organ jam-packed with nerve endings, I take it from my mouth and do long, deliberate licks up the shaft from his nuts to the swollen mushroom head, then over it and down the other side. Many long licks get Bruce shuddering and moaning as he rubs my head and moves his feet. Pushing his rock-hard boner against his belly, I lick his balls and all over his scrotum feeling precum drool over my fingers as I lick under his balls and across part of his perineum, but, as before, my tongue can't quite reach his anus.
Unable to reach his asshole with my tongue, I lick, lick, lick that short area leading to it, and Bruce shivers as if chills are streaking all over him. Meanwhile, my cock is so hard it feels like the skin might split if it gets any bigger or harder. Hard as granite, it's pointing straight up, tightly against my belly. I'm very aroused as I move my head back, pull Bruce's boner down, and put it in my mouth again, and it is a full mouthful now. It's too big to get it into my throat, which is the only negative I have about its size.
I'm content sucking on the head, afraid to take it out because I can sense we're both going to blow our loads momentarily. Then Bruce's hands squeeze my head as he goes, "Ahhhh!" shaking, then a slight hump of his hips as I hold onto his boner with cum flooding my mouth. That sets off my climax, and I almost blackout from the torrent of thrilling sensations all around my groin, my belly, and thighs. Almost painful sensations, but no, they're glorious orgasmic pleasure ones that swarm out from my balls spreading all over me.
Bruce steps back, gasping, his cock pulling from my mouth as I grab my cock and squeeze, shuddering and closing my eyes to embrace the climax. I'm like a statue for a few seconds and then shudder again and open my eyes as I swallow the mouthful of Bruce's semen I didn't get around to swallowing earlier. My cum shot went straight up my stomach and chest, some of it hitting under my chin. I'm dazed, staring at Bruce, who is now sitting on the edge of the bed, his cock in his fist. He goes, "Wow, nice job. Whew, I didn't drown you, did I?"
Yeah, well, that was an okay response from Bruce. I prefer to think it was an appreciative buddy sex response and not a paid pussy boy one. I sit back on my heels, muttering, "So, you enjoyed that, huh?" He grins, "What the fuck? Of course, I did. It was awesome." Standing, I go, "Well, it could have been better if I threw in some rimming, but I couldn't reach it, ya know?" He gets off the bed, letting go of his dick, saying, "Don't worry about it, Zach, that was a great climax. C'mon, we need to clean up."
Walking into the bathroom, he says, "I've given you the wrong impression. I didn't explain myself very well." He puts his arm across my shoulders, adding, "I really like having sex with you. Last week has kicked me in the nuts a little, that's all. I'm tired and still getting over that shit-storm in Philly, plus I already said you're the only person I want to have sex with. After another great night's sleep, like last night, I'll want to fuck you in the morning, okay? Or maybe later tonight."
Washing my cum off my stomach, chest, and chin, I go, "Bruce, I'm fine. I loved that oral sex. Whatever amount of sex you feel like doing is the perfect amount. You're my man, Bruce... you know that." He's wiped cum drippings off his flaccid dick, washing his hands now, he goes, "I wish I never said that other shit. It's not how I really feel. I'll be back on my feet tomorrow, you'll see. Right now, I just need a friggin' nap."
We brush our teeth, then put our clothes on, my rectum gooey with lube, to lie on top of the bedspread doing our normal cuddle together. Yeah, this is going okay. We'll have a good dinner, then see a movie like normal folks; like boyfriends do and, um, and maybe fuck later, ya know?
To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com.
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