The Bar

The Bar by Sean Scott

I was with a group of friends last week; we were enjoying beers and appetizers at a bar, having a great time. It was a brutally cold night outside, with snow flurries, but inside the bar it was warm with good food and great friends.

Generally, I'm not out to them-- but one of the guys knows, and he's okay with it. He's been a good friend since high school, and when I came out to him a few years ago, he was totally cool.

Anyway, we were drinking and eating, the eight of us, laughing and carrying on, when in the corner of my eye, I spot him. This guy.

You know how it is. Red flags pop up (not to mention something else), alarms ring in your head, and for the rest of the evening, you find your eyes continually returning to his corner of the establishment.

He was facing away from me, so that made a certain mystery of many of his features. But what I did see definitely caught my attention. Buzz cut hair on the sides, with only slightly longer hair on the top-- military style. He was wearing one of those Ringer T-shirts, tan with dark brown rings on his neck and upper arms.

Like I said, he was facing away, but I could immediately see I had landed quite a big fish. Thick neck. Traps like two big rocks. Wide shoulders-- delts that obviously had been honed and buffed. Yeah, this guy was very well built.

The back of his chair hid most of his lat development from my view; and because of the way the chair was designed (and because there were a few people between himself and me, who occasionally blocked my view altogether), it was hard to get a read on their actual development and size. But if he paid as much attention to his arms as he did to the rest of his upper body, the guy was bound to sport a pair of class "A" guns.

"Sean, are you planning on going up to Scotty's next month?" a female friend sitting next to me brought me out of my trance.

"Oh-- yeah," I responded. "I'm planning on it-- if I get off work in time to get up there." Scotty lives quite a few miles away-- up on the mountain-- and to be honest, I doubt I'll have the energy to get up there after work on a Friday, but I didn't want to admit it. My friend-- Sandy-- turned and asked the same question of the woman on her other side.

I turned my attention back to Marine. I have this habit of assigning names to people; not just hot guys, anyone who ends up hoarding my attention for a minute usually gets a name. The guy at the round on the window was definitely now Marine-- whether or not he has ever served in the military.

He was sitting with two women and another guy-- obviously some kind of double date. From the way they interacted I was coming to the conclusion that the four of them didn't know each other that well. At least, Marine didn't know his date that well. Their animation level was high, suggesting that the information they shared was new, fresh-- the kind you'd share with someone you'd just met. Clearly, they weren't married. Married couples don't talk nearly this much when they're in public (let alone when they're alone).

I strained to watch him, waiting for a glimpse of his ring finger. He drank his beer with his right hand, and only occasionally lifted his left hand-- which was usually blocked from my view by his body. Finally, he raised his left hand-- to grab a chip and dip. Not only did this action confirm my conclusion about his marital status, it also confirmed my suspicion about his arm development.

The dude had an arm! Or did he? It was hard to tell-- it was extended away from me; I didn't have a complete profile view of it. I'd have to keep watching to see more.

My friends were continuing with their conversations. Someone shared some pictures on his phone. I had a picture on my phone of the same event that Dave was showing, so I pulled out my iPhone and pulled up the picture, keeping myself somewhat involved in the conversation. You have to do that when you're distracted. Don't want to create any unnecessary attention.

Fortunately for me, Marine sat in the same line of sight as one of the more vigorous talkers in the group-- Janice; so it was completely normal for me to watch him while feigning interest in what Janice was saying.

I considered taking an unnecessary trip to the men's room. It would give me a good opportunity to check Marine out as I passed. I decided to schedule that option for later.

The mystery of Marine was quite compelling. Not only that, but the whole situation was pleasurable. I reflected on the scene in which I found myself. Not only was it delicious to gaze upon Marine's very handsome and muscular features, but I became aware of the pleasure I derived in the "hunt," or the mystery itself; watching for more clues as to this guy's looks, in a way-- stalking the dude, looking for any hint of what he was like, learning and watching, while at the same time trying to keep my tablemates off the scent of my muscle-loving pursuit.

"See something you like?" Scotty leaned close to my right ear and whispered.

I flushed red, but denied everything. Of course, I had to pretend I didn't know what he was talking about. "What?" I asked.

"Nothing," Scotty smiled. Then he laughed.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, quietly, but defensively.

"Nothing," he laughed again.

I had been discovered, but only because Scotty knew what to look for in the direction I had been looking. No one else had a clue.

Don't ask me why I felt it necessary to deny my feelings. Well, okay, go ahead and ask. If I had been out to everyone, it wouldn't be an issue at all, would it. But coming-- and being-- out is a tender subject.

Not withstanding my internal conflict regarding my true feelings, I felt it necessary to retreat to the "hide" mode. And yet, I needed to maintain a certain amount of "sameness" so that Scotty wouldn't see changed in my viewing habits-- confirming to him that he had been right.

So, I continued the cat-and-mouse. Not only with Marine, but now with Scotty. (Admittedly, there wasn't really a cat-and-mouse going on with Marine, but I fancied it that.)

It was time to use the restroom.

To my surprise-- and initially, my horror-- at the exact same time I stood so did Marine.

How would Scotty interpret this coincidence? Should I care?

Then, as he stood and told his companions he'd be right back, I was able to take in the fullness of his physique. He was taller than my six feet.

He was definitely a bodybuilder kind of guy. Just buff and big. Lean too. His legs gave away his true bodybuilder status. No pencil legs on this wanna be. No he wasn't a wanna be at all. Other dudes wanna be him.

He walked in front of me as we both approached the men's room. His lats were pronounced. Flared wings as he walked. I took the opportunity to see the reaction this body caused as he pushed his way through the bar, and yes-- many pairs of eyes (both male and female) landed on him. He was a looker.

As he pushed the restroom door open, his triceps bulged in front of my face. Godalmighty. Such lean, lumpy size!

He sense my presence behind him, and pushed the door far enough to politely help with my entrance, turning his head very slightly, to acknowledge me.

"Thanks," I said softly.

Still, I had yet to see his face full-on.

There was no one else in the room.

He assigned himself the urinal on the left of the three, and following urinal etiquette, I grabbed the one on the right, leaving one between us.

He pulled it out and I could hear the tinkling. Likewise, as a man has to do in these situations, I made sure to hit the water, so as to establish that I wasn't just standing there playing with myself.

As he pulled his ass backward to yank his cock back into his boxers (`twas obvious from his action), he turned slightly toward me. At first, I could tell he was simply turning and zipping on his way to the sink. But then, he paused. (Thank god for my great peripheral vision!) It was a quick pause, but it was obvious.

He was checking me out!

Oh, did I mention that I work out as well? I'm not going to win any bodybuilding contests for sure-- but I have won quite a few powerlifting contests. Consequently, while I'm not as lean as a bodybuilder, I do have a pretty-well developed chest and some nice arms.

Apparently, Marine noticed.

There's nothing quite like being noticed by a guy you have a crush on.

I finished my piss and turned. The mirrors above the sinks were directly opposite the urinals, and as I approached, Marine took more than one obvious look at me.

I nodded, smiled slightly to acknowledge that I noticed his nice build as well (we obviously shared something in common-- our devotion to strength), and bent over to turn on the water. As the soap turned to lather in the warm stream of water, I looked up to check out my face in the mirror. Marine kept washing his hands, even though he had a good ten or fifteen seconds head-start on me, taking another opportunity to glance my way. Geez, I guess he wanted to make sure he got all the germs.

So, the first look of this guy's face was in a mirror. And it was a face I will never forget. Gorgeous doesn't even begin to describe him. His short blond hair was repeated in his skin tone and eyebrows. Even without smiling, the dude had dimples in his cheeks, which were repeated in a single one in his chin.

Finally, he finished washing and turned away from me to get a paper towel. I did likewise, wishing there were mirrors on the side walls as well, so I could see what Marine was going behind me. (Did he wish the same thing?)

Eventually, we had to turn back toward the sinks to deposit our paper towels in the round hole in the countertop. We both did so, continuing to dry. His forearms rippled with delicious, thick, veined muscle.

"I bet you get asked this a lot," Marine said, almost flooring me that he'd strike up a conversation, "but how much can you bench, man?"

I nearly fell over.

"Me? Shit, dude, I bet not as much as you," I spit out.

He laughed. "Well, I don't know. You look pretty strong." He tossed his towel into the hole and I did likewise.

"Well, I've done a few bench contests," I admitted.

"Tyler," he said extending his hand.

"Sean," I said, accepting it-- not mentioning my discomfort at shaking hands in a restroom. But then, he did wash really, really well.

"You compete around here?" he asked, leaning against the counter. Apparently we were going to have a conversation.

"Yeah, but it's been a few years," I said. "I decided to take a break and let the young bucks like you have a turn."

Tyler smiled. GodInHeaven he was adorable. Those dimples! His teeth were bright white and perfect. "Well, I stick to the bodybuilding contests," he said. "But I've always wanted to do some powerlifting."

"Yeah," I said, glancing down at his perfect, big physique, "I got the impression you competed."

"You going to spend the whole night in here Tyler?" a voice from behind me interrupted.

Tyler looked at the guy who had just entered the restroom, and smiled. It was obviously his friend from the table. I turned and glanced at him, acknowledging my suspicion.

"You guys miss me?" Tyler smiled.

His friend took a position at the right urinal. "I'm not-- but I think Tiffany might be wondering..." The guy was definitely in shape, but nothing to spend any time on.

Tyler turned to me, but said to his friend, "Well, it's always good to keep `em waiting." He winked at me!

I could actually feel my knees on the verge of buckling. The guy was everything I wanted to be-- everything I wanted to have!

Tyler reached out and we shook hands again. "Nice to meet you, dude," he smiled. He turned to his urinating friend and said, "See you out there, man."

The fact that Tyler had made a new friend in the men's room didn't seem to faze him at all. I would have felt a little funny about admitting that in front of another friend. But he just turned and exited, confident as hell.

I decided I didn't really want to make the acquaintance of Tyler's friend, so I followed the musclehunk out into the bar.

He sat at his table, and as I passed him to get to mine, he reached up and lightly slapped me on the back-- "See ya, dude," he said.

I wanted to crawl under a table and die! But at the same time, I wanted to bounce off all of the walls and the ceiling! This one brief encounter had infused an amazing amount of confidence. The hottest guy in the bar-- probably in the city-- liked me!

I sat in my chair and re-engaged my friends in conversation, while keeping my eye on Tyler. He seemed more aware of his surroundings now; he looked around at other people in the bar more; and at one point he cranked his head all the way around and found me. That was the first time he had looked around the place since I had been watching him. He noticeably smiled at me, and I dipped my head in response.

As the evening wore on, I caught him looking back at me one more time. I got the impression that no only was he not embarrassed that I caught him turning around, but he actually liked the fact that I had been looking at him the whole time. In fact, he seemed to be aware that I was watching him, and he started to play into that. At one point, he started telling a story to his tablemates, and he got very animated. He actually stood up, with his arms raised at one point in the story-- something that was quite a change in his previously reserved behavior-- as if to let me see more of him.

Around 11 o'clock, some of my friends started to leave; but Tyler's foursome were still eating, drinking and laughing. Usually, I'm one of the first to head for home from an occasion like this. I guess I'm just a homebody. But tonight (for some unknown reason;), I decided to stick around.

The people at the two tables between Tyler and myself left, giving me now an unobstructed view of this musclegod. I don't know if it was the beer, or what-- but he sure did seem to get more and more animated as the evening wore on. He went from a quiet guy who was totally engaged with his date, to the "life of the party" at his table, telling jokes and stories and dominating the conversation.

It was almost midnight when the last two of my friends left me as the sole survivor of our little get-together. I felt funny, all alone at our big table, but I didn't want to lose this guy. The wait staff came and cleaned up after us, and I ordered another beer, pretending to pay attention to one of the TVs near the ceiling. The bar was emptying out, but there still was a good contingency of people, including the Tyler table.

I knew I couldn't stay much longer. It was going to look funny, especially to Tyler's buddy-- the one who had come into the restroom. He had to be wondering why I was hanging around like this, especially considering the unusual way Tyler and I had met.

Eventually, the four of them looked like they were getting up to leave. I didn't really have a plan of action. At my core, I was just a closeted muscle-lover, and I was afraid to do much about it. I was going to have to rely on Tyler to make a move to reconnect with me, if anything was going to happen.

The four of them stood and moved to the front of the bar to leave. As they did so, Tyler turned around and saw me. I looked away from the TV and our eyes met. He smiled, but quickly rejoined his group.

My heart sank.

I took another sip from my beer and sighed. I didn't really know why I had waited. Well, I knew why I had waited, but I didn't know why I had any hope that anything would happen. The guy was as straight as a radio station antenna mast.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched them. They stood together and the guys put on their heavy coats. The girls decided to hit the restroom before they left. From the mannerisms of Tyler and his buddy, I gathered that the buddy guy was going to go out and get the car so the girls wouldn't have to walk too far in the bitter cold. Tyler stood in the entry of the bar alone-- but only as long as it took for his friend to get outside.

Immediately, he turned and started walking toward me.

"You must really like this bar," he smiled as he sat on the edge of a chair next to me.

I smiled. "Well, it's a nice place."

"Hey," he continued, "I was wondering, would you ever want to get together and give me some tips on powerlifting? I've been thinking about trying that out."

"Sure," I said, taking a sip of my beer, "but it's kind of hard to be both a bodybuilder and a powerlifter."

He almost interrupted my sentence-- with, "Yeah, I know. And I'm not sure I want to give up bodybuilding; but even if you have a few pointers on how I can increase my bench..."

Seriously, I doubted I could teach this young stud anything. He obviously already knew what he was doing in the weight room. But he was making a pretty good stab at a reasonable excuse for us to get together. It was exactly what I was hoping for; I decided to play along, hoping that in reality what he really wanted was what I really wanted.

In retrospect, you'd have to be a real dummy not to see what I really wanted.

"You have an iPhone?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"With `Bump'?"

Before the girls came out of the restroom, we had "bumped" each other, exchanging phone numbers, and Tyler had returned to the front of the bar. He left with them, not acknowledging me further.

"  "  "  "  "

By the time I got my car in the garage, my mind was swirling as fast as the snow was outside, with excitement. Before I had hung my keys on the kitchen wall, my phone chimed with a text message:

Tyler Musselman: Hey, Sean. It was nice to meet you tonight. When can we get together?

I was giddy with joy.

I texted back:

You name the time, friend!

To which he responded:

How about 30 minutes?

I nearly fell to the floor. He wasn't going to take his date home? Or at least go home with her? Or, maybe he was going to hook up with her, and then come to see me afterwards? Ha ha, that'd be funny. A quickie with his chick and then he leaves to hang with me.

Then, an even funnier thought entered my mind. Maybe he was texting me while he was doing her!

Now I knew I was hopelessly over the edge. I laughed out loud. But I quickly returned to my senses. I knew I had to respond quickly; a long pause after his message would obviously indicate hesitation on my part.

But how should I respond? Should I say anything about his date? I decided to ignore that, and just say, Sure. Really? I guess. Why not?! LOL. You have my address from the bump?

Yeah. I'll be there in just over a half hour.

My intention, upon returning to my place, was to relieve my hardened cock with a fantastic, drawn-out (if I could indeed draw it out) masturbatory session while I fantasied about Tyler. However, with his imminent arrival, that plan had to be put on hold. Who knew what was going to happen now, but at the least, having a one-on-one conversation with thus stud would give me lots more subject matter for a j/o session later.

I think my body literally shook for the next 30 minutes.

I tried to busy myself with straightening up the place, but it was already pretty clean. The TV was useless, but I decided to keep in on anyway, to keep the atmosphere informal when Tyler arrived.

At a few minutes past one, my doorbell rang. My throat immediately received my stomach and my whole body tightened in the struggle to breathe. I walked to the door and opened it.

Tyler stood there, in his heavy ski jacket, with a hat on, hands in his pockets. A gust of icy, snowy wind knocked the tightness out of my body.

"Come on in," I said, "before you freeze solid!"

"Thanks," he said.

I closed the door tightly and took his coat and hat. God, seeing that T-shirt on him again-- it really got my heart pounding.

I offered him a drink, which he declined, so I told him to make himself comfortable and I turned on the gas fireplace. I had some soft music on in the background-- a few of the old standards.

"Dude," I said, admiring his muscular upper body, "I really don't think I can offer you anything you don't already know about benching. I mean, you obviously know your way around a weight room."

He smiled, almost embarrassed. "Thanks. I guess I just thought you and I might have some stuff in common. You know-- we both like working out." He leaned back in a big chair; I did the same on my couch.

"Yeah," I said, not knowing where to take the conversation.

For the longest time-- well it seemed like a long time-- we just sat there. Then Tyler looked around my place and commented on it.

"Mind if I join you on that couch?" he said, with a serious, yet friendly look on his face.

I didn't move for a few seconds. After a dramatic silence, I said, "Not at all," still, not moving a bit.

He stood and came over to me. He sat right next to me and our eyes locked. He slowly leaned forward. He put his hand on my upper leg. We each cocked our heads so our noses wouldn't meet, and then our lips slowly met.

His hand gently squeezed my quad muscle as we held a long, luxurious kiss.

My heart was pounding out of my chest.

His tongue parted my lips and began to explore my mouth.

I put my hand on his upper arm. As soon as I felt the size and hardness, I moaned. He seemed to smile in the kiss. His hand moved up my leg, toward my crotch. Then, as if to torture me, he slid it back toward my knee, all the while, our tongues gently circled each other and our lips held a tight, yet not constricting kiss.

I squeezed his triceps. He just held his arm still. God, it was huge. Probably pushing 20 inches of rock-hard mounding, rippling muscle.

His hand made the trip up my leg again, and then back down. Fuck, he was amazing and driving me crazy!

I moved my hand up his arm, onto his boulder-like shoulder, and then higher, onto his neck. I held my hand on the back of his neck as we kissed, letting him know that I never wanted him to pull back.

He certainly didn't seem inclined to pull back. His breathing became deeper, yet remained steady. Obviously, he was enjoying this as much as I was.

The next trip of his hand ended with the back of his thumb grazing the denim under which my hardened cock rested. My whole body was tense with anticipation. He pushed back down, southward, and I relaxed somewhat.

I massaged the back of his bull neck, gently.

His hand moved again; this time he didn't stop until his palm and fingers were on top of my prodigious boner. He squeezed the denim lightly, and then just let his hand rest there. I could feel my heartbeat in my penis, and I guessed that he could too.

He leaned toward me, and we both knew it was time for a position change.

We broke the kiss.

He slid back on the couch, away from me. I pushed my butt toward him and leaned backward, inviting him, with my body language, to lie on top of me.

He accepted the invitation, but not before lifting his Ringer-T up and over his head, placing it on the arm of the couch, behind him.

"Oh, my god..." I whispered.

He was as good as any contest-ready bodybuilder I had ever seen. Only better. Because his amazing body was just perfect. No blemishes. No fat. No out-of-proportion oddities. Just. The. Perfect. Muscular. Man.

He leaned forward and my open hands began to feel his arms and shoulders as he came to rest on top of me. As he rested into me, and we resumed our languid kiss, my shaking hands began to enjoy the mountainous land mass of his rippling, wide back.

I couldn't believe this was happening. All my life I had dreamed of being with someone like this. Usually my partners were either twinks, or overweight guys. Frequently, I just gave up on finding someone who turned me on and just gave in to the urges to masturbate while I watched muscle videos or viewed pictures. My first love was true muscle and even though I did enjoy sex with "normal" guys, the sex was usually secondary to my fantasies about musclemen.

Now, as I caressed, embraced and kissed Tyler, I realized that this was it. And it was better than I had dreamed. The guy was a genuinely nice guy, and a hunk to beat all hunks.

I had been so tense, but now as Tyler resumed his slow steady mouth-fuck with his tongue, I suddenly relaxed. This felt so good! As my hands continued to have sex with his muscular back, Tyler pressed his jeans against mine. Our crotches tightened against each other as Tyler slightly bucked his hips.

The jizz started squirting out of my penis in a steady flow, although I could feel the individual ejaculations. I'd never come like this before. Just a steady release. I grabbed Tyler's lats and held on. Afraid I might bite off his tongue, I tried to pull back, sinking my head into the couch pillow, but Tyler pulled me back with a hand on my neck.

I moaned as my crotch became warmer and warmer; wetter and wetter.

Tyler could tell what was happening. He let out a slight moan (or was it a giggle?) in response to mine.

After what felt like a full cup of hot semen had spilled out of my open piss slit, I began to have regular, rhythmic ejaculations. Tyler pressed his cock against mine, matching my rhythm. He held me tightly until he knew I was done, then he pulled his tongue out.

He smiled.

The man was some kind of god.

I smiled back, although I'm sure my smile showed a bit of nervousness at my lack of control.

"Wow," he whispered. He leaned forward and gave me a peck on my lips. "That lasted a long time. Must have been huge."

I nodded, unable to pull my eyes away from his beautiful ones.

Tyler rested on top of me for a few more minutes. I continued to feel the amazing relief map of his back muscles. Then he turned to one side a bit, pressing his back against the couch-back. He looked at my belt line, then began to undo the belt. "You want to clean up?" he said as he worked.

I didn't respond. I was entranced with his upper body, and his confidence. His upper arms bulged as he worked on opening my jeans; his thick forearms rippled and danced while his fingers moved.

"...or do you want to help me go before you let me clean this mess up..." he said as he pulled back my boxers, revealing a huge swamp of jism and pubes. He touched the wet mess with his fingertips, then looked back at my face.

"I'll help you go," I said.

He said nothing. He rolled back onto me and we kissed again, embracing. After a minute or so, Tyler stood up. I sat up.

He stood right in front of me-- his crotch at my eye level. I looked up and let my eyes take a tour of the Perfect Man. He stood still, letting me soak in the incomprehensible reality of who he was. Finally, I raised my hands and undid his belt. Then his pants button. The bulge in his pants was generous, and although it was configured in a position that his pants were determining, I could tell it was going to be big, and thick.

I slowly lowered his zipper.

Beneath the loosening fabric, I could tell it was growing and moving as the constraints were released. I paused, and placed my hand on the fabric. I squeezed-- to the apparent delight of the growing cock's owner.

Pulling the fabric down and apart, I watched as the trimmed, blond pubes were exposed. Then the base of his thick trunk. I pulled lower, and saw more. It was longer than I had expected. As the waistband of his boxers moved just below his cut head, his whole genitals gently sprang forward into my living room.

I held back a gasp.

Tyler smiled down at me.

The twin columns of abs above his cock were amazing. As it slowly throbbed with life, growing higher and higher, it eventually ended up actually clinging to the wall of his abs, like a mountain climber might do against a wall of stone.

I curled my fingertips behind the thick shaft. Tyler lifted his arms and placed his hands behind his head, smiling softly as he watched.

God in Heaven, what a scene. I couldn't believe this.

He gently twisted his torso, showing me that he wasn't some rock statue, but a living breathing man, with very real muscles, all at my disposal.

I pulled at his cock, but it fought me. It was hard and strong. For a second, I wondered how much of a struggle there would be if I attempted to engage this cock with my hand strength. It certainly was plastered firmly again his stomach, and I wasn't able to pull it very far away.

A bead of pre-cum appeared on his piss slit. Then another. He squeezed out a third, and the result was that the liquid droplets joined and formed a small rivulet. As it cascaded down over his cut, I halted its course with my fingertip. He pushed out some more, and I began to lube his shaft with it.

I gave him a long, slow stroke. He moaned with pleasure.

I brought my second hand up to his balls and began to tickle them. I fingered his perineum, and he jumped. I fingered it again, and he rewarded my other hand with another deposit of pre-cum, which I reinvested on his considerable shaft.

Another long, slow stroke.

Then another.

I noticed his abs tighten when I finally moved into a slow, purposeful rhythm on his cock. I squeezed it occasionally as I stroked him.

He still had his hands locked behind his head. Sometimes he watched me, sometimes he looked up at the ceiling.

I wasn't versed enough in giving blow jobs to be confident in attempting that; so I just continued stroking him-- something I had quite a bit of experience at, if only on myself.

Just when Darren Criss and Chris Colfer started singing "Baby it's Cold Outside," Tyler's torso bucked and he pushed his cock firmly into the circle of my fingers and thumb. With a hard push, and a little "Yip!" that accidentally escaped his mouth, Tyler began shooting into the air. The first rope of cream landed three or four feet away, on the carpet. The second was no less as intense.

Tyler brought his hands from behind his head on the third blast; his eyes were closed; he formed fists with his hands and curled his arms so that his fists were clenched right in front of his pecs. And still he shot. I could feel the semen explode through his shaft. Tyler grunted with each round. I squeezed tightly and he pushed into my hand no less tightly.

About halfway into the second verse of the song, Tyler pushed out the last ejaculation. I took my thumb and forefinger and, starting at the base, making to squeeze his urethra all the way, vacated his shaft of any remaining jizz as I pinched all the way to his piss slit. A nice, final offering of whiteness gurgled out.

I looked up at him. His chest rose and fell as he recuperated from the exertion of his intense orgasm. He smiled at me as he lowered his hands to his sides.

My hand remained on his still-hard cock. I didn't want to let it go.

"I think I'll have that drink, now," Tyler grinned. "If you don't mind."

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