The Long Lost Friend
May 13th 3.16pm
The airport was buzzing with activity. Jonathan's eyes scanned the crowd, looking for Greg in the sea of arriving passengers. He hoped he would still recognize him; it had been 12 years since they had been in high school together. He saw three Japanese women, a group of businessmen in immaculate tailored suits, a harried-looking man trying to control a group of children on some sort of school trip, but no Greg. Jonathan sighed and checked his watch. 11.40am. Greg's flight from Chicago had landed 15 minutes ago. Shouldn't be long now.
It was funny to be back in touch with Greg after so many years. Jonathan could hardly believe it when he saw Greg's name staring back at him from his email Inbox. A flood of memories had come back almost instantly, leaving him with a tight chest, his breath suddenly shallow.
Back when he and Greg were 18, Jonathan was one of the most popular guys in his high school. His parents gave him a brand new black Golf GTI for his birthday, he was elected Homecoming King, he never went more than two weeks without a girlfriend at his side. At 18, Jonathan thought he had it all.
But Greg was different. He was a quiet boy, very serious, intense even. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but kept to himself most of the time. He didn't go out much, and rarely said a word to Jonathan or anyone else at school. Taunton Falls, where the two boys grew up, was an affluent area, typical big city suburb, and it was no secret that Greg's family had less money than most.
But back then Jonathan, almost 19 at the time, had more important things on his mind than how much money Greg's family had. Jonathan had recently begun to wonder whether he may be bisexual, at least a little bit, as his feelings for other boys seemed to grow stronger with each passing year. He would spend hours looking at straight pornography, masturbating furiously, but in the end his mind always wandered: to his best friend Tom in the shower after gym class, to John Rickers from the basketball team, and, most recently to Greg. He couldn't explain why, since he barely knew the guy, but he seemed powerless to banish the thoughts from his mind.
It all started when he went into the local hardware store to pick up some paint. His parents had finally given in and told Jonathan that he could paint his room, as long as he didn't get any paint on the carpet. Excited, he rushed to the nearest hardware store for the paint and some dropcloths, and was surprised to see Greg there, stocking the shelves.
`Hi,' Jonathan said, pulling his head back in surprise, his eyebrows raised.
`How are you?' He smiled self-consciously. Those four words were probably the most he had ever said to Greg.
`Fine thanks, how are you?' Greg asked, turning back the task at hand.
"Okay thanks,' Jonathan said. `I didn't know that you worked here? When did you start?'
`About four years ago,' Greg said, turning to flash a quick smile at Jonathan, before turning his back again to climb another rung up the ladder.
`I must have forgotten to mention it,' he added, without looking back.
What was that supposed to mean? Jonathan worried. He was unsure whether the sarcasm implied familiarity or contempt. Okay, back to business, he thought. Focus.
Jonathan laughed at what he expected was sarcasm, and continued: `Anyways, I need to pick up some paint, and some dropcloths.'
Yeah?' Greg said, climbing down off the ladder to face him, brushing his hands free of dust. Okay, no probs.' Jonathan looked him up and down, he hoped it wasn't too obvious. But Greg looked different than from how he looked at school somehow. For a start, he must have rolled out of bed and come straight to work: his hair was still flattened with sleep on one side, with a few strands sticking up at strange angles. It looked a little greasy.
Jonathan watched him brushing his hands together, and somehow is seemed sensual, sexual even, the rhythmic movement, the giant hands slapping and caressing each another with a slap, slowly, deliberately. The two boys locked eyes for a second, before Greg said, `that sort of stuff is over here.'
He walked behind him and watched his backside despite himself. He tried to think of his girlfriend. Of Pamela Anderson. Of anything but the tight muscular mounds of flesh in front of him, but it was no use. He noticed his heart was beating at a mile a minute. His mouth was as dry as desert sand.
'Well,' Greg said, in full professional mode now, it all depends what sort of paint you want. You know, what you need it for . . .' The rest of his words may as well have been in Greek, since Jonathan was lost in his own thoughts. He didn't hear a single word. Instead, he examined Greg as if he were a rare species of bird; not one movement or facial expression went unnoticed. Was Greg this good looking at school? He couldn't remember now.
But it wasn't just good-looking, that wasn't the right word. There was something almost primal about him, something incredibly sexual, the way he was standing, the way he smelled.
Jonathan heard the noise of Greg speaking, but did not register any of the words. His eyes traveled from the floor up, taking in the huge sneakers (one lace left dangerously untied), the weathered jeans slung low on his hips, the bulging crotch, the old cracked leather belt pulled surprisingly tight. He tried not to stare. Greg was about as straight as a straight boy could get, and Jonathan was sure that he would not appreciate the attention.
He willed his eyes upward, but only got as far as Greg's solid torso. As Greg was talking he had snaked one hand up his black t-shirt, scratching absently at his stomach, revealing a flat belly and a wispy trail of black hair that led down into his plaid flannel boxer shorts. The fingers raked against the flesh, gingerly stroking his stomach, before he dropped his hand and the t-shirt fell.
Jonathan could see Greg's chest through the t-shirt, or could imagine it at least, since the gently rounded pecs were outlined perfectly, hugged by a t-shirt that was much too small for him. When Greg gestured towards the top shelf, Jonathan noticed a dark ring of sweat under his arm, a few damp black hairs exposed where the sleeve cut into his muscular bicep. He suddenly felt lightheaded. He tried to focus on what Greg was saying.
So,' Greg said, clearly proud of his knowledge of the paint world, There you are.'
Okay,' Jonathan croaked. His face felt hot; he thought he may be sick. Where had these feeling come from? More than anything he just wanted to get out of the store, right that minute. Okay,' he stammered again, looking at the floor. `Okay, thanks.' Silence.
He looked up, and he could Greg staring at him with genuine concern.
`Are you okay?' he asked, his forehead crinkled, his eyebrows drawn together. Jonathan looked back at him, and his chest tightened even more. Greg's eyes, so dark as to appear almost black, were fixed on him. Greg rubbed his chin roughly with thumb. Jonathan noticed that the fingernails were dirty, and that a phone number had been written on the back of his hand. The ink had washed off enough to make the number illegible.
`You look a little weird,' Greg finished, not unkindly. His face was the picture of compassion: the dark eyes wide open, the mouth slightly ajar, the thick lips parted, the lank hair a mess.
`Yeah, sorry, I'm fine. I'd really better go,' Jonathan said, and this time he really did go. He turned abruptly, leaving Greg standing there with his hands outstretched, palms open, and made for the door. That exchange -- one which Greg would forget completely about only moments later -- would end up being the longest conversation the two would ever have as teenagers.
Jonathan was pulled abruptly back to the present by a garbled airport announcement on the public address system, and began scanning the crowd again. Bingo. At last, Greg had arrived.
Jonathan could see his head bobbing along amongst the rest of the passengers, and he took a moment to study him, how he had changed, before Greg could see him standing there. In truth, he had barely changed at all. At 30, he looked much the same as he did at 18. He still had the same dark hair and eyes, he still looked large and heavy and solid, still muscular. The earring was gone, and his hair looked clean, it was shorter now, but apart from that he looked almost identical to the boy in the hardware store.
The two men had swapped emails for weeks now, chatting about this and that. But Jonathan hadn't mentioned the `G' word. Jonathan was sure that Greg knew that he was gay anyway. Or at least that is what he kept telling himself.
They had grown up in a small town, and these things have a way of getting around, even across the miles and through the years. He had intended to mention it before Greg arrived, but kept forgetting, or maybe he was too scared. Maybe a combination of both. But now he wished he had. He didn't want any problems, now that they had begun what seemed like the start of a good friendship.
At that moment, Greg saw him. Hey!' he cried out, seemingly delighted to see him. Isn't it funny how friendships change with age, Jonathan thought. In high school, they were mere acquaintances, and now suddenly they were more like best friends, hugging in the airport like lovers saying goodbye. How the hell are you?' Greg asked.
Jonathan imagined how he must look to Greg. He was always the preppy, the rich kid, and not much had changed. He felt frumpy in his Gap chinos and shirt. The glasses that he purchased two years ago now sliding down his nose. Compared to Greg's bulk, he felt as skinny as a rake. He was toned, having run two marathons and having participated in a number swim competitions, but he was thin. Eating more seemed to make no difference.
Greg had him in a bear hug, and Jonathan could feel his warmth, the shape of his solid body, could feel his breath on his ear. His scent had not changed; it was a mix of cigarettes and cologne and something else. Leather? Gasoline? He wasn't sure. He supposed it was just his own personal scent, his own skin, but the masculine scent brought back the day in the hardware store as if it were days, not years, before.
Greg was only stopping by for one night. Just connecting through New York on the way to London for work. The hardware store long forgotten, Greg was now a TV executive of some sort, Jonathan didn't know all of the details, but Greg had made something of himself, that was for sure. He looked radiant. His happiness was infectious, and Jonathan couldn't help smiling in his presence.
They decided to have dinner at home, at Jonathan's apartment, and Greg asked if he could grab a shower while Jonathan was getting the meal organized. Jonathan's heart skipped a beat at the mention of the word shower. He chastised himself: you are almost 31, not 18, get a hold of yourself man, he thought. But the idea of `getting hold of himself' seemed equally mischievous, given the circumstances, and he smiled to himself at the pun.
He led Greg to the spare bedroom, showed him how to work the shower, and gave him a towel. Okay, as soon as we sit down to eat, Jonathan thought, I am going to tell him, I promise.
Jonathan set about chopping the onions, put on some water to boil, and opened some wine. He had just started to fill a glass when Greg appeared in the doorway, wearing only a towel. The glass fell to the tile floor, shattering into a thousand pieces.
Sorry,' Greg said, Jeez, sorry, did I startle you?' He rushed over, bending over to help clear the glass.
No, no, don't' Jonathan shouted. You're barefoot, you'll cut yourself, don't worry about it. And barefoot he was, and bare chested, standing there with the towel draped precariously around his waist.
Sorry', he said again, I didn't meant to startle you. I left my suitcase in here, and all of my clothes are in it.' When Jonathan didn't respond, too flustered to say a word, Greg added, "I needed them. To change into,' he said, almost apologetically.
Sure, yeah, here you go,' Jonathan said, lifting the heavy bag and handing it over. No problem at all, there you are'.
More than ever, he had wished he had told Greg the truth. Jonathan eyed him up longingly, his stomach ached with lust. Greg simply stood there staring back at him, just as he had at the hardware store 12 years before, with the same genuine concern. His hair was still soaked, dripping onto his shoulders and onto the carpet. He had dried off most of his body, but the few hairs on his chest, in the shallow valley between his pecs, were still wet.
Jonathan noticed that his legs, also hairy, were still wet, the hair matted and dark around his muscular calves. Only about 2 millimeters of fabric between me and him, Jonathan thought, despite himself. Just behind that towel. Just two millimeters away, three max. Man oh man. His head swam with desire.
You go finish getting dressed,' Jonathan said, in what he hoped was a matter of fact, two-pals-hanging-out tone of voice. This will be ready in a minute,' he said, jerking his head toward the stove as he picked up the larger pieces of broken glass. Greg followed his instructions, and disappeared into the spare bedroom.
That's it, Jonathan thought, no more wine for you, Jon. You are a total disaster area.
Greg reappeared moments later in black trousers and a black t-shirt, looking well scrubbed and invigorated. Jonathan could smell the fragrance of something sweet, powdery -- coconuts maybe - from across the room.
`Would you like some wine?' Jonathan asked him.
`I will if you are having some, but otherwise don't worry about it.'
Jonathan hesitated for a second. This second chance at friendship had started so nicely, and he had already ruined several others with silly, drunken sexual advances. He was torn, but erred on the side of recklessness. He filled two glasses with the dark red wine.
Dinner was served, and Jonathan need not have worried about running out of things to talk about: the stories came thick and fast, with old teachers, mutual acquaintances, and local hang-outs all getting the once over. Jonathan couldn't remember having laughed so much in a long time. Both men were high on red wine and in good spirits. His tongue loosened by the alcohol, Jonathan decided to come clean at last.
Greg,' he said. I feel really badly about this, and the last thing I want to do is freak you out, or make you feel uncomfortable . . .'
Greg cocked his head to one said, like a dog hearing a high pitched noise, but didn't say a word. Go on, the gesture said.
I've wanted to tell you since the second or third email, but the time just never seemed right. The truth is, and it is no big deal, honestly, but the truth is I'm gay, and I hope that you are cool with that, because I am unlikely to change any time soon.' Jonathan was staring into his wine glass, his face hot, he let out a nervous chuckle. It had been years since he had had to come out' to anyone, and he was out of practice. He felt the familiar fears wash over him: the fear of rejection, or worse, disgust.
For a moment Greg was quiet. The silence was deafening, horrible, but before Jonathan could say another word, Greg said `come here' and stood up to take Jonathan in his arms. The hug was just what Jonathan needed, and it took all of his strength not to cry. He gulped in air in big gasping breaths, but managed to keep back the tears.
It doesn't matter,' Greg said, rubbing Jonathan back with both muscular hands. It doesn't matter at all. I feel such a connection with you, Jonathan, it's weird. I know that we weren't all that friendly when we were at school, but the last few months have been really great. All the emails, the phone calls. I feel closer to you than to some of the friends I've had for years. I feel like I can be myself when I am around you. You make me feel strong, and confident. Gay, straight, whatever: that doesn't come into it. It is just you that I love, you, the person.'
Jonathan was sure that he must have misheard him. Did he say love? He stood back from the embrace, and could see that Greg's eyes were glassy with tears, but he was smiling. Without thinking, Jonathan leant forward and kissed him on the mouth, just gently, just a peck at first, but Greg opened his mouth, and soon their two tongues were intertwined, knocking and sliding against one another, a passionate collision of teeth and lips and tongues. Jonathan could taste red wine in Greg's mouth, and a very faint taste of cigarettes. He felt his cock stiffening.
This time, Greg broke the embrace. He looked shaken. `I've never done anything like this before,' he said quietly, almost whispering, his voice like a child's. Jonathan didn't say a word, but put a finger to his lips. Sssshhhh, the gesture said. Greg smiled. The two kissed again, longer this time, their hands exploring each other's backs, arms and shoulders hungrily.
Jonathan gently broke the embrace, took hold of Greg's t-shirt, and pulled it over his head as Greg lifted his arms towards the ceiling. Jonathan took in the sight of Greg's solid torso, the muscular chest, the dark nipples surrounded by a few stray black hairs. The valley of hair running between his pecs. He traced it with one finger absently, his heart beating fast, and buried his nose in the hair there, inhaling deeply, letting the hairs tickle his nose as he palmed the firm mounds of Greg's chest and squeezed them together.
He took one of the hard dark nipples in his mouth and bathed it with his tongue, flicking it gently with the tip before circling the edge of it with the broadest part of his tongue. He could feel Greg shudder. He knelt down and unbuttoned the top button of Greg's pants, looking up at him and keeping eye contact while he did so.
Greg put his hands over Jonathan's and said, `Jon, listen . . .' but Jonathan again held a finger to his lips and smiled. The second button, then the third popped open, and Jonathan pulled the black pants to Greg's ankles.
He could see the clear outline of Greg's cock through his briefs. He pressed his face up against it and inhaled. It smelled wonderful, a mix of fresh sweat, soap, and laundry detergent. It was a sweet, chalky smell. He rubbed his face against Greg's crotch, back and forth, again and again, letting his nose prod the bulge there. He reached into the leg of the briefs and pulled out Greg's thick shaft, and then his balls, letting them hang heavily over the elastic waistband.
He was disappointed, but only for a second, to see that Greg's cock was still soft. But it was so beautiful, the skin tone a warm olive color, like the rest of Greg's body, maybe slightly darker. The head was enormous; it hung low and heavy against Greg's meaty thigh, resting on his silky ballsack. Jonathan took the giant head in his mouth, and bathed it with his tongue. He could hear Greg draw in a quick breath, a gasp.
He swirled his tongue around and around, paying special attention to the sweet spot underneath the head. To his satisfaction, he could feel the shaft growing harder, the head getting even larger. Soon, Greg's cock was pointing almost straight up, and Jonathan got to work on his balls, tickling them with his tongue before swallowing the entire sack. He reached up and pulled down the briefs altogether, bringing them down to meet Greg's jeans.
The blowjob continued in earnest, with Greg's entire shaft now buried deep in Jonathan's mouth. Slowly, gently, Greg began rocking back and forth, fucking Jonathan's mouth deeper with each stroke, his strong hands gripping Jonathan's shoulders, squeezing and kneading them with gratitude.
He could tell that Greg was getting close, so he slowed his pace, returning to the balls instead, fondling them gently, softly tugging at the heavy sack. He could see Greg's rock hard 7 inch cock towering above him, inches away from his face.
Greg reached under Jonathan's arms and pulled him to his feet, so the two men were facing each other. They kissed again, more deeply this time, the taste of Greg's cock still on Jonathan's lips. Jonathan noticed that Greg's forehead was slick with sweat, that his chest was heaving.
Could I,' Greg started, in no more than a whisper, Can I . . . touch you?'
Jonathan smiled, but did not say a word. He simply lifted his arms so that Greg could pull off his sweater easily. Normally, standing there barechested, he would have felt self-conscious with a man so muscular only inches away, but with Greg it was different. He looked at Jonathan's body with exaggerated interest, with hunger, as if it were a cool lake in the desert. Slowly, he lifted one hand to Jonathan's flat chest, and swept his hand sideways, then back again. His first sexual touch of male flesh.
He repeated the motion, brushing Jonathan's chest all over, very gently. The sensation for Jonathan was incredible, so charged with sexual energy. He arched his back and allowed Greg full access as Greg's hands continued their journey lower, stroking his flat stomach, back and forth, before returning to his chest. Jonathan's cock ached with excitement, his heart fluttered.
As Jonathan had done moments before, Greg pulled open the top button of Jonathan's jeans. He looked up and met Jonathan's eyes to make sure it was okay. It was.
He unzipped Jonathan's jeans, and pulled them down, underwear and all, to his ankles. His hard cock sprang out, glad for the release. It bobbed between them, wet at the tip. Greg took it in his hand, weighing it, considering it. He made a loose fist around it, and then pulled it forward, and then back, forward, and then back. His face was tight with concentration, like a caveman figuring out how to use a new tool. Again he pulled it forward, then back. So slowly. He could not have imagined how sexy it was for Jonathan, how good it felt.
His hands traveled lowered and he cupped Jonathan's silky smooth balls; the sack was almost hairless, so unlike Greg's own. Again, he weighed the appendage in his hands carefully, as if he were selecting fruit at the market, lolling the swollen nuts around in his palm gently.
Suddenly, and to Jonathan's genuine surprise, he knelt down.
I've . . . umm . . . never done this before,' he said, his voice shaky with nerves. So it won't be very good.'
That's fine,' Jonathan said, smiling, don't worry.'
At first, Greg just touched the tip with his tongue, then licked it, like a lollipop. His slow, deliberate movement only made the scene more erotic. More! More! Jonathan was screaming inside, but all he could so was wait, be patient, as Greg explored his first taste and feel of another man's cock.
Greg shuffled closer, his own trousers still around his ankles, and took the whole head in his mouth this time, sucking it gently. He let it pop out of his mouth, and then put it back in again. Precum was leaking out in a tiny river, and Jonathan hoped that Greg didn't mind the taste. He didn't seem to.
Feeling braver now, Greg took the cock deeper into his mouth, two inches, then three, then four. The feeling was amazing. He went further, and Jonathan heard him gag. `Sorry,' Jonathan heard him mumble, his mouth full of Jonathan's rigid pole. He tried again, and soon his nose was buried in Jonathan's pubic hair. Jonathan had to grab hold of the kitchen chair to keep from falling over. He was trying not to moan, in case it scared Greg off, but he couldn't hold back as Greg again grabbed his balls, caressing them with a feather light touch. Jonathan groaned out loud, despite himself, causing Greg to release his cock and look up.
`Am I hurting you?' he asked worriedly, his eyes opened wide.
`No, definitely not. Definitely not hurting me,' Jonathan smiled, breathless now. Greg smiled back.
Sorry,' Jonathan said, I will try to keep quiet, promise.' He gave Greg's shoulder a squeeze.
Don't,' Greg said. I like hearing you. Then I know I am doing it right. That you are enjoying it.'
Jonathan needed no further prompting, and allowed himself to whimper, pant and moan with abandon as Greg continued to work his hard cock. The more Jonathan groaned, the more gusto Greg put into it, stroking the slick shaft quickly now while he tongued Jonathan's smooth sack.
Wait, wait,' Jonathan gasped. He was getting close, he could feel his balls tightening. His chest was heaving, his lean torso damp with sweat now. I want you . . . inside of me.'
Greg hesitated. I don't know,' he said. Honestly, Jon, I've never done it before. I am worried I will hurt you.' He really was very sweet.
Don't worry,' Jonathan said, I'll go on top, that way I can control everything, it'll be fine.'
Before he could protest again, Jonathan had taken one of Greg's hands and had led him over to the couch, his trousers still around his ankles. Greg kicked off his shoes and took the trousers and briefs all the way off, while Jonathan did the same.
`Ooops,' he said, waggling his dick at Jonathan with an embarrassed smile. It had gone soft again.
Not a problem,' Jonathan said. He crouched down between Greg's thighs. Just spread your legs and put your arms behind your head. Don't worry about anything but enjoying yourself. All I want to do is pleasure you, just sit there.'
Greg did as he was told, and spread his legs slightly. He clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back. Jonathan could see that the hair under his arms was damp with sweat, as was his the pubic hair around his fat sleeping cock. Mike rubbed his fingers through the soft hairs and inhaled the masculine odors trapped there. It was more powerful than any drug.
Jonathan took Greg's soft meaty cock into his mouth again, first tackling the head and then the rest of the shaft, the balls. He tongued between Greg's legs in earnest, lapping at his balls and the sensitive patch behind them, just in front of his asshole. Greg arched his back and closed his eyes, his face contorted in ecstasy. Feeling bold, Jonathan pulled his asscheeks apart slightly, and tickled the entrance to his whole with his tongue, watching it contracting in response. Greg was panting now, and lifted his knees towards his chest. Jonathan went to work is earnest, tonguing Greg's hole, lapping and sucking at it with his hungry mouth. Now it was Greg's turn to moan.
Working his way back to Greg's cock, he could see it was once again rock solid. He rolled a condom onto it and lubed it up; even this was enough to make Greg moan, so lost was he now in sexual excitement.
Jonathan lubed up his own ass, and turned to face Greg, clambering onto the couch so that Greg's cock was under him. He gripped Greg's shoulders for support, and slowly slid down, first letting the head go on, and then the rest, inch by inch. Greg let out one long groan that lasted through all seven inches, his hands at his sides now, his head thrown back.
Slowly Jonathan raised himself up again, and then down. It felt wonderful to have Greg inside him, to bring him such pleasure, to know that this was his first time inside another man. He raised himself up, and then down, faster now, Greg groaning loudly with every stroke. His chest was soaked with sweat, the dark hairs wet and curled, the same as they were when he stepped out of the shower. Jonathan grabbed hold of both meaty pecs as he road up an down faster, squeezing them, tickling the nipples, tangling his fingers in the damp hair under Greg's arms.
At the same time, Greg raised a hand and took hold of Jonathan's rock hard tool, stroking it as he had done before, but faster now, using his own sweat as a lubricant. Jonathan's balls slapped against Greg's furry bush as he drove the shaft deep inside him.
Greg's moans had turned into one low continuous groan. His hands were all over Jonathan's skinny torso now, roughly stroking his pale skin, his nipples, with his huge callused hands, before returning to his cock. Jonathan was getting close, and he desperately wanted the two of them to come together. He picked up the pace, milking Greg's fat cock mercilessly with every stroke. Every time the he drove the shaft home, Greg responded with a loud Uhh!
And suddenly, that was it. Greg's rough thumb had caught Jonathan on the sensitive underside of his cock head, and it was enough to send him off. He blasted Greg's chest with his semen once, and then again. And again. The scent of it was overwhelming, a nutty smell, but mixed with a stronger, sharper smell, like bleach. The semen was thick, like heavy cream, and coated the sweaty hair on Greg's chest and belly, the more watery blasts dripping down, running into his pubes.
As Jonathan was bucking wildly, enjoying his own orgasm, he saw Greg's eyes fly open, and a low gurgle escaped his throat. He could feel Greg's thick tool twitching in his ass, could feel each spasm, and knew instantly that he had dumped his hot load into the condom buried in his ass. Jonathan fell forward, Greg still inside him, and kissed him with a hungry tongue. Slowly, gently, he raised himself off Greg's cock and sat beside him on the couch. Both were completely out of breath. Both were still wearing their socks.
Greg extended a heavy arm around Jonathan's shoulders.
That,' he gasped, was amazing.'
`I know,' was all that Jonathan could say, and he moved over to let his head rest in the crook of Greg's arm, tracing Greg's path of sweaty chest hair with one finger. He looked at the clock. It was 4.10am. Greg had to leave in less than two hours.
`You want to have another shower?' Jonathan asked, tilting his face up towards Greg.
Greg laughed. `Yeah, I think I better.' He groaned and stood up, his heavy cock swinging, already beginning to soften.
Soon, it was time for him to go.
`I'll email you when I get back to Los Angeles,' he said, standing at the door, his bag hung on one shoulder.
`Yeah, that would be great,' Jonathan said. He smiled.
Jon,' Greg started, I don't know . . .'
I know, Greg,' Jonathan said. Don't worry. Just friends for now, I know.
We'll see what happens.' Greg looked relieved.
It's just that, I guess I have a lot of thinking to do, that's all. I've never --
Again, Jonathan cut him off. The taxi was sounding its horn for the third time. I know, I know,' said Jonathan, not unkindly. We'll talk after London. Now go, the taxi will leave otherwise.'
Greg leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. It was a sweet, gentle kiss, a kiss like he hadn't had since he was a child. Greg smiled, hesitated for one moment longer, and left without another word.
THE END
I'd love to hear from you if this story helped you to get off. Be sure to mention the name of the story, though, since I have a few stories online now. Comments to michaelk_69@hotmail.com