I pulled back
from Bill's lips, and suggested we go home for dinner. I was
ravenous. I wanted him. I wanted to make love to him like
I'd never made love to anyone before. I had a momentary guilt
trip, thinking on my Mary. I wondered if I was trampling on the
love we had for each other, then rationalized a while. Mary loved
me, in her special way. She would’ve wanted me to be happy, ergo,
she approved of Bill and me going forward together. End of guilt
trip.
I watched Bill
as he walked beside me, tall, strong and proud. A man's man, who
knew what it was to work like a slave, eat like a dog, sleep like a
rock, month after month, year after year, to achieve his goals. A
man who knew the value of truth, loyalty, trust and friendship. I
felt proud enough of him to burst. I couldn't believe how fast
things were moving. Two weeks ago we barely knew each
other. We were almost strangers even though we'd lived in the
same town all our lives. Now we were about to make love to each
other. Me, an old geezer who remembers when his father was born,
knew both his grandads when we went to school together, was married for
almost thirty years to his mother's second cousin before he was even
born, and now, I was about to,—
We had to take a
last look at the ship, just to make sure it was real. There it
hung,— the top almost scraping the top of the hangar where the
roof was too narrow in the arch. It was so beautiful,— so
still. I said a small prayer, asking help to get the repairs done
in time for Groth to leave with the others, and not to be imploded into
a singularity, like the one that got both the other ships in a
ridiculously improbable coincidence on its almost infinitely rapid
passage through space.
"Let's
go." said Bill. He was holding my hand. "Yeah," I
said, looking at his hand in mine, feeling things I didn't yet know how
to say. I felt like I did when I first went upstairs with Mary on
our wedding night, both of us still virgins, unsure of what it would be
like, wondering if we would have a baby right away, dreading the
prospect as well as curious beyond all measure.
We closed the
hangar doors, walked hand in hand to the shop door, and locked up.
"Which
vehicle?" I asked.
"Jeep,"
Bill grinned, "I need to cool off a little."
We piled into
Jeep, and headed out Post Road, down to Gove on the road between my
place and Barret's, or Dreeson's, if you want to be a stickler for
detail. I didn't want to go through town, for some reason.
I think I was afraid someone would see what we were up to. I
guess I was a bit paranoid, but we didn't pass a soul on the
road. Ted Barret was perched on his IH, tilling on the Northwest
part of his parcel, but probably didn't see us for his corn, already
more than two feet high, and the dust from his tilling. He was
going to be late for his supper again, but Jane would hold it for him,
even if she had to feed and put the little ones to bed before daddy
came in from the fields to kiss them goodnight. She came from a
farm, knew the sacrifices you have to make sometimes to get the crops
in, accepted the hardships because the rewards were so much more than
just living in the suburbs and working on a computer.
It felt right,
having Bill's hand resting on my thigh. I looked across at him a
couple of times, and every time he turned just at the same moment, and
locked his eyes to mine,— his whole face a smile.
"What chu’
thinking?" I asked as we pulled in my drive to pick up the cider.
"Whether or not
we should eat first," he said.
"I think maybe,
‘yes,’" I said, "I think maybe once we get at each other we
ain't gonna’ wanna’ stop for anything as trivial as food."
"I thought we
already were."
"Were what?"
"Getting at each
other,— making love," he grinned at me.
"You got
me," I laughed, getting out of Jeep at the front door, "be
right back!" I said over my shoulder as I dashed into the
house. I felt like a kid,— like I was going to the best hoedown
party ever, with the high school's most popular and desirable student,
whom I'd worshiped from afar for so long; whom I was hopelessly
in love with.
There it
was. The very words,— right out there, in the open,— no more
refuting it,— I was in love. I was in love with a kid a
third my age; a man, no less. I thought again about my love for
my Mary, and realized it wasn't the same with her. My love for
Bill was different. Every love is different, that’s what makes
love eternal but with Mary it wasn't a head-over-heels, ‘I gotta’
grab that gold ring on the merry-go-round, bells and banjos, this is
the person I want to spend the rest of my days loving, holding,
cherishing,’ kind of emotion. We were friends, close,
intimate and I loved her dearly; however, I was never passionately in
love with her.
I stumbled down
the stairs to the little cellar, retrieved the cider from the shelf,
clambered back up the stairs and practically sprinted back to
Jeep. All this deep thinking was making me build up a powerful
thirst. I whooped as I burst out the door, brandishing the jug of
cider like a war trophy, laughing like an idiot. I promptly
tripped over the loose floorboard on the porch, struggled to keep my
balance for a second, lost the battle and tumbled over, then rolled
mostly sideways down the steps to the drive, still laughing like a
damned fool.
"Graham!"
Bill shouted. "Graham?"
He was getting
out of Jeep with concern written on his handsome face, despite the
laughs he was sharing with me.
I got up, still
holding the jug, miraculously still in one piece.
I leapt into
Jeep after I stooped to pick up my hat which rolled half way under
Jeep. I dusted my jeans off a little and handed him the jug,
grinning like an idiot.
"What?" he
said, this huge smile on his face. "What?"
I leaned over
the gearshift, grabbed his face and planted one on him, my tongue
half-way to his heart, his hands all over me, my heart beating like a
harvester in October, right in my ears. I pulled back and looked
into his eyes, the color of purest Lapis, and told him. "I just
realized I'm in love with you," I said. "I don't know where we're
going with this, but I love you more than I ever thought
possible." I wasn't smiling so much. I was serious. I
was a little afraid he might pull away; no, I was a lot afraid.
Stupid old man, what did I know?
"Yeah," he
said. "Me, too."
I was
stunned. Then grateful. Then loud. I just shouted up
to God, no words, just a pure get-it-out-of-the-gut-as-loud-as-you-can
holler of joy. The man loved me! I guess he thought I was
nuts, but he just laughed, his head rolling back a little, his adam's
apple bouncing a little on his beautiful neck, which I just couldn't
resist, so I pulled him to me a little more and kissed it, then all
over his neck, his shoulders, the top of his chest. I ripped open
his shirt somehow, and his magnificent, tight, tanned chest was mine to
savor, to touch with my lips, to inhale his wonderful scent, a little
salt, a little musk, a lot of sweet. He had his arms around my
head, his fingers running through my hair, down my back, his kisses on
my stubbled pate barely getting through to me, my mind so occupied with
what was happening to my tongue. I found his left nipple, and
took it between my lips, torturing it with the tip of my tongue,
feeling it tighten up even more, hard like licorice in my mouth, but
sweeter, so much sweeter.
My hands were on
his back now, under the shirt, feeling the warmth of him, the ribs just
under the skin, the silken smoothness, and I wanted to do it right
there, right then, just tear off his jeans, take him with me to heaven.
"Let's
go," he said in my ear, whispering. "I want,— I
want,— I,— so much!"
I managed
somehow to gather my senses, slow them down a little, stop my Niagara
of lust.
"You gotta feed
me first." I mumbled as my tongue worked back up to his lips,
tasting the saltiness of his day, the honey of his perspiration.
"Hope you like
your meat rare," he said back as I came up for air. "I
don't think I can wait for it to cook long."
We sat in the
Jeep, in front of my house, and just spooned, nibbling kisses at each
other, me holding him one minute like he was glass that might shatter,
the next like a man in a wrestling match. My penis was screaming
for release from its blue prison, and his was, too.
"Let's
go," he said. "we've got a lot to do before midnight."
"Yeah," I
said, sitting up and starting the engine, "and after."
"Graham?"
"Yeah?"
"Say it again."
"What?" I
said in my daze as we pulled down the drive, "I love you.
I'm in love with you."
"God, I thought
I'd never hear you say that to me. I love you, too. Don't
stop saying it,— as long as you feel it."
"I promise."
"I feel,— I feel
like everything has finally clicked into place. Like everybody
always said would happen, but I never believed them."
"Your mom is
gonna shit green nickels."
"She already
knows."
"What?" I
almost rolled Jeep into the ditch, turning onto Gove so fast.
"You see her
this morning?"
"Of course!"
"She looked at
you,— then me,— and she knew, Graham. I think she thinks we're
sleeping together."
"Uh,— about
that," I said, trying to find the words.
"Yeah!" he
said brightly, giving me a 'let's get on with it' look.
"I'm not the
world's greatest,— uh,— I mean,— I ain’t never been with,— I
mean,— I'm not experienced in that department."
"What
department?" he was being plumb evil.
"Sex with a
man! Oh, hell,— why qualify it,— sex with anybody." I
managed to get out between clenched teeth, only to regret the pain in
my gums from biting down. It wasn’t as bad as before, though.
"Me
either," he said back at me. "ain’t never had sex with
nobody. Guess we'll have to learn together, won't we?"
I gave up.
"Yep."
"I love you,
Graham." he said as softly as the wind in the Jeep would
allow. "I really love you and the rest will fall into place."
"I know,
B.B.," I said. "I love you, too, more'n I can find the
words to say."
"Then you'll
just have to show me with your body, then, won't you?" he
laughed, and stroked Roger like a puppy. Roger was no puppy,
though. Roger was a drooling, sex-crazed hound dog trying to bite
his way out of my jeans.
"Jesus,
Graham," he said huskily, "we're both in a mess."
I reached over
to his crotch, and felt a man hard for the first time.
"We're going to
have to do something about that soon," I said. I was all of
a sudden a little hoarse, too.
"You could kill
a man with that." Bill laughed, holding Roger like one man holds
another.
"I will never
hurt you, Bill," I said, barely above a whisper. "I swear
to God and to you."
"I know."
he said, as we was turning into his drive. There was water in our
eyes, things got a little blurry, but we weren't crying. Real men
don't do that,— do they?
I managed to get
to the front of Bill’s place without knocking down any trees or plowing
up the roses, but only by blind luck. We managed to walk inside
before we were all over each other. The jug of cool cider was
pressed against his side, until he took it from me and put it on the
commode in the hall. There were more "I love yous" than any sane
person could possibly stand to see on a printed page, so I won't bore
you with our conversation.
I wasn't totally
erect, but definitely not soft. It was the same for him.
There were many kisses of feeling, affection, love and deep longing,
but they weren't foreplay,— not yet anyway; maybe a little towards the
end. I am,— we are,— human, after all.
We took the
cider into the kitchen. Bill got down a couple of glasses,
holding them for me to fill part way, waiting for me to put the jug
down on the table. We took a sip, staring into each other's eyes,
not talking, just enjoying looking at each other. I made all
sorts of vows to myself. I made myself promise to tell him what I
felt for him every day of our lives.
"Let's get
supper started," he said. "I’ll cook, you make salad."
Somehow, we
managed to do it all. He put the meat in the oven, along with
potatoes, and got some pole beans sliced up to zap with butter when the
meat was done. We went out and did his chores. I showed him
a little trick hooking up the milker that made things go a little
faster. While the cows got their relief, he mucked and laid straw
while I sorted out the chickens and the cats. I hate cats.
I know they taste a lot like chicken, and keep the mouse/rat population
under control, but I like songbirds too much to keep more than one
barnyard cat. He has three. They all tormented me for
attention from the time I accidentally rubbed one while I was watching
Bill finish up the milking. I guess cats are about the most
perverse creatures on the planet. They ignore you if you love
them but won't leave you alone if you hate them.
I couldn't help
watching him as we worked together. He moved with a fluid grace,
every visible muscle sharply outlined, his long legs slightly bowed,
strong, slim, but totally masculine. When he lifted the milk
collector to transfer to the refrigerated storage tank the muscles on
his arm and neck bulged in all the right places.
While I was
putting the teats into the sterilizer, he set the feed out for his
little herd, and then raked a little more where needed. The
tension was building up in us like no man should ever have to
experience but once. I wanted inside him so bad, I couldn't think
straight. I had to reseat the teats twice.
Finished, we
looked at each other and smiled broad grins, then carried the few eggs
I'd gathered from his little flock and a gallon of raw milk
inside. I gave him a playful swat on the butt as he went in front
of me up the back steps into the kitchen. He backed up into my
hand a little when he opened the screened door to go in. His butt
is a perfect fit for my hands, one cheek for each.
"Careful,"
he growled. "don't mess with what you can't handle, unless you
mean business."
"Just warming
up," I said. The kitchen smelled wonderful, the roasting
meat and potatoes attacking my nostrils, letting me know I was
ravenous. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten roast
meat. Elva sticks pretty much to chicken, grilled beef and pork
loin because of Jerry's condition.
"You look pretty
damn hot to me." he laughed.
He put the jug
of milk into the fridge and grabbed me from behind as I was putting the
eggs into a bowl on the counter. His arms felt like they belonged
around me, my body molded just to fit into his. He kissed me on
the back of the neck, and I just stood there, my hands on the front and
outsides of his thighs, kneading them as he traced up and down with his
lips, his hands covering my chest, his fingers occasionally tweaking my
teats through my shirt. I wondered, briefly, if it would hurt a
lot when he took me. What's a little hurt when it's for the one
you love?
"I love
you," he whispered, "and I'll prove it after we eat."
"You don't have
to prove anything to me," I whispered back. "I know."
I haven’t the
slightest idea why we were whispering. It just seemed right.
Maybe our voices got drowned in the shivers traveling up and down my
spine. I wasn't aroused,— it wasn't like that,— not at first. I
was in Heaven. Then all at once, Bill got really hard,— hard like
granite. I was, too. He does that to me.
"Let's
eat," he said, slipping his hands under my jeans, his fingertips
doing a medley on my boxers, just above jolly Roger, then slipping
away, reaching for the kitchen cloth and opening the oven. I
don't know where he learned to tease like he does, but it works on me
every time.
I took a deep
breath and stepped back, just looking at him bent over, his amazing
butt stretching his jeans, the crease perfectly visible under the loose
material, the impossibly slim waist under his broad shoulders.
I'd go on, but who wants to hear about the beauty of a man's knee when
it bends just so, or the ripples in his wrists when he seizes the sides
of something to lift it, the twinge I get when I see the little muscle
under his ear roll when he clenches his jaw just a little?
He took the
roast out and told me where to find the platter which I managed to get
out just in time for him to swing the meat onto. He reached into
the oven and pulled out the potatoes barehanded, putting them on the
platter ends. I just stood like a butler, while he scooped onto
it some carrots and parsnips he had somehow snuck into the pan without
my seeing.
The oven off, he
told me to put it all back in, while he pulled out of a loaf of crusty
bread and put it in to heat up as well. Then he slathered some
butter on the green beans and threw them into the microwave, while he
got me working on the gravy on the stove top. He added the flour
and turned down the flame, but left me to keep stirring. He
breezed by with milk and water and salt as I stirred, and turned down
the flame a little more.
In a minute or
two, all was ready, the flour cooked through; the milk and water
thickened. I thought he might get down plates and silverware, but
before I could say anything he opened the doors to the dining
room. The sneaky bugger had already set the table for the two of
us at the end, on the corner, with candles,— the whole bit; even cloth
napkins. I only use paper towels most of the time. I never
used Mary's best white linen ones, the ones we only used when Elva and
Jerry came to supper, or at Thanksgiving and other holidays. The
wash and wear napkins are at the bottom of a drawer somewhere.
I didn’t ask him
if he did all that beforehand, or while I was making the gravy.
Details weren’t important, anyway. Timing was. It was the
care that was important. He took the extra step for me.
That's flattering, and flattery is important if a couple is going to
make it for the long haul. You realize how much someone cares
about you when you look for the things they do to make you happy, and
tell them how much you appreciate them, just as much as when they
notice the things you say or do to make them happy. I never could
figure why people don't realize that.
We sat at the
table and he said ‘grace.’ I don't think it's right to say what
other people say to God in their private conversations, but I guess
saying ‘grace’ is sort of public. Bill thanked Him for bringing
us together at his table after bringing us together in love, spirit and
body. I choked up a little, but I don't think it showed with my
head bowed. After ‘amens,’ we made a toast with the cider, just
like it was wine, then he carved the meat, while I served up some
vegetables and things on the plates. We ate quickly at first,
then more slowly, enjoying the food. It was delicious, tender,
flavorful. My gums hurt, especially when I chewed down in
back. All the front ones felt like they were scraping the plastic
of my dentures. He did a great job with dinner and I told him he
had a full time job as a cook on the side.
He flushed a
little, then said, "I only did it,— I'd only do it for you."
We started to
eat a little faster after that. We finished quickly, and carried
the plates and things into the kitchen. He washed, I dried.
I can't remember doing dishes like that since I was a kid. The
tension was building.
"Sunset?"
he suggested.
"Ayuh," I
answered. "For a little bit." I went to the downstairs
toilet for a pee, and took out my dentures. My gums really hurt,
and I couldn't close my mouth all the way with them in. When I
looked in the mirror, I could see why. I had my own teeth back;
only, they weren’t my teeth. These were straight, and perfectly
white, and spaced right. I opened wide. There was loose
skin on the top of the back teeth, sliding around when my tongue
explored. My new molars were coming through.
For some reason,
that sealed it for me. I was getting younger, stronger, less
homely, more vigorous. I wasn't the best catch, not by a long
shot, but I was a good one, and Bill could do a lot worse than fall for
me, even if I was an old fart. I went out of that toilet ready
for what life was going to bring me, and I was going to enjoy it
completely for as long as I had. Screw anybody who thought less
of him or of me because I loved him. I used another word than
'screw' in my head, but I don't like writing it down.
We sat side by
side in a swinging sofa on the back porch, where you could see through
the trees better, and sipped a couple of fingers of bourbon, holding
hands like a couple of teenagers. Same brand as mine. I
wondered if he found it before me; I mean, before he met me. No
matter, as long as he likes it. The sunset was spectacular, and
we actually saw a bit of it before we turned to each other, got up and
began to dance. No music, just crickets, farm sounds, breathing
and spooning.
Somewhere or
other, while we were kissing tenderly, the "on" switch for passion got
flipped, and things took a turn for white hot. Our hands were all
over each other, above the waist and below, and our tongues got to be
such good friends, they forgot which mouth they lived in. We
abandoned the dancing and almost ran to the stairs, carrying our
glasses, not even half drank. We managed to get upstairs to his bedroom
before we spilled anything. We proceeded to undressed each other,
slowly, like a kid opens his presents on Christmas Morning when it's
the very last package from Santa and he doesn't want the magic to end.
His chest came
first, partly because I'd ripped off a button at my place. His
T-shirt came off easily, and I smelled his musk under the arms,
slightly sour, but very sweet. The chest of a well-developed
young man, tight and lightly muscled, every cord visible through the
translucent skin, the nipples a tad rosy where I'd worshiped
before. A sprinkling of hair in the center, in a golden-brown
double swirl, the center leading down to his ‘outtie’ of a navel, then
down under his jeans. I let him take my shirt off while I soothed
his reddened nipple with my lips, nibbled on his skin, all over his
chest, his shoulders, his neck.
He lowered his
lips to my nipples after a minute, sending waves of ticklish pleasure
and stimulation through me. Nobody ever did that to me, and I
learned what I was missing. There must be a special nerve that
goes from a man's nipples to his prostate. I felt it humming,
shivering with each little nip of Bill's teeth.
His boots and
socks were next, and I spent a few minutes holding his bare feet in my
hands, feeling their strength, their tenderness, massaging them in my
lap as he lay his head on my back, humming, his hands caressing me like
nobody never did to me. I went to turn to kiss him, but he moved
away, rolled off the bed and pushed me back on it, kissing my chest,
then my stomach as he undid my belt and buttons, then reached for my
boots. I just lay there, propped on my elbows, watching him, the
top of his head, his eyes as he pulled my boots off and then my jeans
right away. He didn't massage my feet so much as make love to
them, kissing them and licking them. I was afraid they might
stink after a long day, but if they did, he didn't seem to mind.
And all the time, his eyes were locked on mine, his whole face a
portrait of concentration and devotion. I felt a pang,— would I
please him enough?
He came up to me
and kissed me, and I rolled him over to pull off his jeans, in wonder
that his legs were so fine, the down of golden hair against his
alabaster skin above where his shorts ended, just above the knee,
accenting the hewn muscles beneath. Where his legs were tanned,
the hair was almost white gold, a gauze over his skin. I didn't
dare look at his penis, imprisoned in his briefs, almost afraid
somehow. I wanted to touch it, caress it, but I just couldn't,—
not yet. I kissed his knees, his thighs, as my jeans dropped to
the floor, then went right to his lips, whispering of my love for him,
how beautiful he was, holding him as I slid my hand under the
waistband, felt his fine butt, hot under my hand, and then pushed the
briefs down, as he lifted his hips to help me get them off.
"Take yours
off," he insisted in a hoarse whisper, "I want to feel you
against me, Graham, I want to feel you NOW!"
I reared up a
little and stood by the bed, then pulled them down and off, kicking
them away as I kneeled back to kiss his knee again, then at last his
penis, so big and hard just for me, drooling a little,— a lot,— and I
kissed it, taking the head of his cock into my lips just a
little, tasting his ‘eau d'homme’ for the first time. I was
pleasantly surprised it tasted of little other than slightly sweet, but
smelled of his delicate musk. I traced the line of hair up the
center of his body to his navel then his chest, then kissed his
nipples, his Adam's apple, and finally his lips. I pulled him up
against me, his cock hard against mine, oozing his passion, his arms
around my shoulders, holding me to him, gently humping against me, as I
was against him.
Roger was going
nuts. I was spurting,— not drooling,— my clear juices. Between
us, the lubrication of our juice and our sweat was making it slippery.
I kissed him with a passion I never felt before, my breath coming in
long ragged spurts, every muscle in my body trembling as he raised his
legs a little, as I slipped between them, a little lower, kissing his
neck as he arched his head back, his breath as ragged as mine. I
felt my penis slip under him, under the sac where his balls made his
seed for me, looking for entry into him, pulsing, humping. I
couldn't completely control it, I was getting so incredibly horny to be
inside him, give him my semen, fill him with me, to make us one.
"Here,— "
he said, and his legs lifted around my waist, and I felt the soft
crease of his butt along the top of my dick.
"I ain't never
done this, Graham,— but I want to so bad with you." He was
looking right into my eyes, and there was a trust, a love any
real man would gladly spend the whole of his family fortune to
have, even if just once, but something no mere fortune could ever buy.
I nodded, smiled
to him, and spoke, "I told you, my Love, I will never hurt
you," and all the time Roger was trying to find entrance, trying
to get into him, make us one, give him everything of me.
Now, there's one
thing about Roger I guess I have to explain. Roger ain't no horse
cock, all straight as a fence-post. Roger is curved up a lot,
sort of like a upside down banana. It made things easier and
harder, all at the same time. I was shivering, trembling, every
muscle shaking, almost like I had the ague. I'd never got that
sexed up before in my life.
Roger found the
soft spot almost right away, and Bill felt me pushing against it, even
before his legs were locked around my waist, and he opened up to let me
in without thinking, just as I thrust a little towards him. I was
in,— the whole head of my penis was in him. The ring of his ass
snapped tightly behind the big flare of the head of my cock, trapping
me in place. I just stopped, scared to death I might’ve hurt him
bad, smashing into him like that.
I saw the hurt
in his eyes, and I tried to pull back, but not only did his butt hold
on to my dick head,— he pulled me in further with his legs. His
hands were on my butt pulling me in just as hard as I pulled to get out
of him. The result was, I got nowhere.
"Wait a
second," he said, "don't move."
"I don't want to
hurt you, Bill, let me out, we'll try later."
"No fucking
way." he said with a smile and a grimace, all at the same
time. "I got you now, Graham, and I'm not letting you go, not
never."
I kissed him
over and over, still trembling like a leaf, trying not to move,
desperate to plunge into him, scared to death that if I didn't pull out
of him, he'd hurt himself, afraid I was going to go soft and fall out,
every horror story you ever heard. I started coming. Just
like that. I felt the first pulse explode behind my nuts, and I
just let loose like a cannon, filling him with my seed, and when he
felt me coming, he just slammed me into him,— all the way inside him,—
buried right up to my pubes, pumping into him and hollering, I loved
him, oh God I loved him, smothering him with kisses, some of them
sloppy, all of them for real. He was shouting, too, and I all of
a sudden felt his insides squeezing the b’jesus out of Roger as he came
between us, his semen caught, shooting up against his belly. His
legs were so tight around my waist, I could hardly move, my thrusts
into him no more than a half inch or so out, then back in to the bone.
It was a good
bit before we could breathe again. I was drenched with sweat, and
his face was beaded with droplets.
"I have all of
you inside me, don't I?" he said in a half-asleep kind of
voice. "I got you in before you came."
"Ayuh," I
whispered on his earlobe as I kissed it, then his cheek, then his
eyelid. "I couldn't hold it back. You got me too hot.
Sorry."
"Don't never say
'Sorry' to me if I make you come!" he said, playfully but still
serious. "Never again!"
I murmured
something incomprehensible about wanting to prolong it, make it better
for him.
"What could be
better? You got me, too," he said, kissing my chin.
"Hot. I came, too. Just when you did. No hands."
"I know. I
felt it on your insides when you did." I couldn't stop kissing
his forehead, his nose, everything I could reach. His sweat was
like nectar.
"It means we're
really good together, don't it?"
"The
best," I said, "and it's only gonna’ get better, I promise."
"You always keep
your promises?"
"Always, my
love,— always."
"I love you,
Graham. I truly love you."
"Me, too.
Surely as God put us here, I love you."
We sort of
rolled to our sides, huddling into each other, saying things I want to
keep to ourselves; nothing dirty or anything,— just private. We
fell asleep, me still inside him, almost hard, his legs holding me in
place, our arms wrapped impossibly tightly around each other, our
breath commingling.
"Graham,—
" said a voice, "it’s almost time."
I don't know how
long we dozed, but I looked over his shoulder at the clock next to his
bed, and it was a little before eleven o'clock. "Shit," I
thought to myself, "I wonder if,— "
"There’s
time." said Groth.
I lay my head
back down on the pillow, and looked right into Bill's eyes.
"I love
you," he said softly.
I kissed his
lips, his gorgeous lips, and he pulled me closer to him with his arms
and legs, his muscles taut and strong. Roger was still inside his
silky glove. He was as hard as he ever got, and I held my man as
tightly as I could, almost afraid I might keep him from breathing if I
held him any tighter. We made slow, soft love for a few minutes;
me,— just moving in and out at a slow pace, feeling the joy of his
response, the fires going up in temperature with every stroke.
Our kisses went from oh-so-tender to pretty hot to scalding, and we
rolled so he was on his back again, everything as natural as milk from
the teat. He pulled a pillow under his butt. On my next
stroke he moved his legs farther apart, and I found myself getting even
deeper into him than before.
I was holding
him like a vise against me, one arm underneath him, below his
waist. The only parts of us pulling apart was my hips and his
butt. His cock was trapped between us, moving in and out of the
hollow of my stomach, just below my solar plexus, his seed from earlier
still between us, moistened by our perspiration, providing a smooth
glide for his prick. I was making noises because I heard them
over his regular moans as I went under and under his nut, to massage
it, again and again, with the head of my cock. I couldn't feel it
with my cock, but he let me know when my dick was hitting it. He
sounded a different note, higher that the rest, in the pleasurable
moans he was giving me.
It was like a
song he was singing to me, deep and loving, even though our mouths were
almost glued together. Our breath was only half fresh air, the
rest coming from our lungs as we breathed in almost opposite cycles, me
breathing in as I pulled out, him breathing out, then in just when I
was plunging back into him. It was like a narcotic, knowing I was
breathing from him. We started breathing faster and faster, his
moans turned into a deep roar, he began jetting his seed between
us, grasping Roger with his insides so tightly, there was no way I
could keep from coming, and I just roared back into his mouth as my
whole body, my whole nervous system went into overload and convulsed my
semen into my love's waiting body, so deep it might never come out of
him.
"My God!"
I said as we gradually came up for air. "My sweet Jesus!
That was the,— the best,— lovin’ I ever had,— long as I lived." I
saw a pearl of his semen, just below his Adam's apple, in that
beautiful hollow under it, and tasted it. It had more taste of
his sweat than anything,— a little salty, tart,— a little of his musky
flavor. I decided I liked it.
"Um-hum,"
Bill said in my ear, agreeing, "hope you stick around a while.
There's more."
"Long as I
can." I said. (‘Even if there ain’t more, you have my soul,
Bill.’ I wanted to tell him.) I wanted to tell him there would
never be another for me. I wanted to tell him I was his and his
alone, but maybe it was too early,— too soon. Those words mean,—
forever. I could never break a vow like that,— never. I was
almost ready,— but was he?
". . . and you
mine, Graham,— you have mine."
We kissed more
intimately than I ever kissed anyone before with the knowledge of what
we were to each other so much in my heart. I thought my heart
would burst. I felt like hollering to the world this is the man
whom I love. This is the man who made me a man,— complete and
whole. So I did, thundering out some nonsense or other, just
hollering out the joy that was in me I couldn't hold back. Bill
was just looking up at me as I did, stroking my back, laughing, the
twinkles in his eyes like tiny supernovas, his legs holding me tightly
inside of him. I laughed out loud,— partly out of embarrassment,—
I was making such a display in front of him, out of plain happiness,
and then he pulled my lips back down to his and calmed me down a
little, just enjoying the feelings of intimacy between us, the love we
felt for each other.
"Please,—
forgive this intrusion; however, it’s time." said Groth.
"Go away,"
I said aloud, "we'll be there." I didn't say it nice; not
nice at all.
Bill said
exactly the same thing at exactly the same time. Groth spoke to
both of us. He summoned both at the same time, but it wasn't a
command. The ‘please’ was real. Like the ‘please’ a guy might say
if you had a knife in your hand and he was already in the noose,
awaiting the floor to fall out from under him. We both regretted
the tone of our voices, and leapt out of our embrace far too quickly
for either of us. I took it slow pulling out of him,
though. I would never hurt him.
"You must not
regret," said Groth, "your loyalty and love have never been
in doubt. It is I who am deeply sorry for having to,— for needing
to interrupt your most cherished moments. They are,— more
profound than I was prepared to expect. I feel to be partly wrong
in having to give the mission priority over your mating,— your
love-making,— your bonding,— but there is no choice. The mission
is prioritized to all but the extinction of your race."
“How could we be
mad at such a caring,—“ I almost said 'person,' “being?”