On the Road – Chapter 1

 

It’s been three weeks since I was last home with Kate and the kids back in Wilmington. Airports, hotels, and client sites are piled up in my memory and I’m only half way through the schedule of annual client visits. This round the world trip is wearing thin and giving me cause to rethink my loyalty to the firm. Thinking about it during the flight from London to Munich, my last European stop, I found plenty of reasons to get out of this grind. The constant pressure to get new clients while expanding our foot print with existing clients is exhausting and beginning to take its toll. I’m grossly overweight and still gaining from all of the restaurant food I have to eat. I can’t remember the last time I had a home cooked meal because, every time I get home after being on the road, Kate insists that I take her out to eat so she can get away from the house and from the kitchen. I’m spending all of my time keeping other people happy. The key word is “other.” I seem to be the only one I can’t make happy.

You know what would make me happy? Sex! Yes, that would do it. I need a good fuck. I’m away so much that the only relief I get is the occasional whack off. I say occasional because I am usually too tired by the time I get back to a hotel room to even do that. I know that when I finally get home, Kate will be, as usual, uninterested in sex being tired from the children and all of that. However, it could be that my weight that turns her off since I am not the cut athlete she married and I know how much importance she places on looks and fitness. She is still in great shape and exercises each day and runs or bikes each morning. I think that she actually weighs less now than when we were dating and that is after having a third baby a few years back. I’m the ogre. Well, maybe ogre is the wrong word since I may be larger than I should be but I’m still a kind and loving person. At least I think so. In fact, that may be the root of my problem – I’m too nice.

I don’t know, when I look at my nude body in a mirror, I don’t think I look too bad. There is still some definition to my arms and chest even if they are slightly more padded than they use to be. It’s my belly that’s the big problem. The six-pack is long gone, buried under several inches of bulky fat but I would like to think that I still look pretty good. One thing for sure is that my dick still looks good hanging down between my legs. Kate use to go crazy over my cock when we were dating and even during the early years of our marriage.

God! What good times we had. I remember how when we were first dating how she would press up against my crotch when we would dance. Of course, it would immediately come to life and attempt to escape the confines of the fabric. I was a bit naive and thought she, as a teenage girl, was unaware of what she was causing to happen in my pants. But, the harder I got, the more she would press herself against me until I would excuse myself and sprint out to the hall or somewhere away from the crowd to regain control over my self-described monster.

It wasn’t until a time when we were slow dancing at her junior prom and I started to get hard with her rubbing against me that I found out what she was really thinking. I was about to bolt off the dance floor when she slid her hand between us and grabbed my thickening cock firmly in her hand right there on the dance floor. I thought I would faint. Her head was pressed into my shoulder and I could feel and hear her cooing against me. Her hand was frozen but my cock wasn’t. She had grabbed it while it was still facing toward the floor but I was pumping so much blood into it that it was straining to stand upright. The result was that my rather prodigious penis was straining against the front of my trousers and sticking out like a handle, upon which she had a firm grip.

Until that moment, I was under the delusion that girls had no idea what sex was and it was the job of a man to teach them what to do. Boy was I wrong. She seemed to have a good handle on the subject, so to speak, and it was me who had no idea what to do. One thing I did know from personal experience was that I was going to cum if she didn’t let go and let me get out of there. Well, she didn’t and I did, causing an embarrassing mess inside my pants. Fortunately for me, the heavy black fabric of the tuxedo camouflaged my mess but the globs of semen that made it down to my shoe and onto the floor was another story. Kate held on throughout the pulsing of my climax and the diminishment of my glory.

That very night, I lost my virginity to her in the back seat of my father’s car. It was not my honor to take hers. She was demonstrably far more experienced than me. To this day, I wonder about that. Who was her lover who got to her first? Or, maybe there were others? It could have been many. She never said and I never asked. Regardless, from that day to this we have been together and loyal to each other. I know I have been but the mental examination of her sexual secrets was causing me distress.

My musing came to an abrupt halt as the plane pulled up to the Jetway and the stewardess called us by section to disembark. I looked across the business section of the cabin to find my traveling partner who was, as usual, talking it up with the pretty girl sitting next to him, oblivious to everyone else preparing to exit. I gathered my belongings and exited the plane only to have to wait for Jerry to come strolling out.

He was still talking to her as they came through the doorway but knowing what I now do, she may be foolish to be getting her hopes up. He was a handsome - No, more than handsome young man. I had decided to take him with me on this trip both to give him the experience and more selfishly, to have some companionship during this arduous journey. Fortunately, he was a good choice. He is bright, witty, and very intelligent and an excellent travelling companion. However, I would never have guessed we would have the adventures we did in just getting this far into our trip.

Jerry had graduated Penn and stayed on to earn a Wharton MBA before joining the firm only six months ago when I pulled him in to give me some relief from the enormous burden of growing an international management consulting business. Even though he would make a very presentable consultant because of his professional appearance and personable demeanor, I needed him to help me with my work. He jumped at the opportunity of being mentored in the role and, I’m sure, fancies himself as capable of being my successor but my ego says that he will need 10 to 15 years of experience before being able to assume the reins. The truth is that he doesn’t.

I became a group vice president when I was 28, Corporate regional VP by age 33, and Executive VP & COO at 36, a job I have held for 5 years now. CEO is next for me and judging by scuttlebutt I should get that post soon. Our company sells itself on providing youthful genius applied to new ways of doing business. It’s a niche market but a large one. Robert, our current President & CEO, is in his late 50’s which is not in keeping with the company’s image. I am the acknowledged heir apparent. Rob is set for Chairmanship. I’m expecting the announcement as soon as I get back from this trip.

Getting back to Jerry, I think he has a lot more on the ball than I ever had and will be nipping at my heels soon enough but right now, we have to deal with the trials and tribulations of the annual visitation. He’s a natural and was clearly a good choice for the job. As for the trip, he quickly assumed the lead at each client site and put everyone at ease. He even closed a large engagement with a difficult client in Ottawa.

Unfortunately, by the time we got to the airport the next day, Jerry was feeling a bit under the weather. He looked pale and was sweating heavily but got on the plane to Dublin even though I suggested he cut the trip short and head back home. Trooper that he is he brushed off his illness as minor and said that he would get some sleep on the flight and feel better by the time we got to Dublin.

Boy was he wrong. He was so sick when we landed that I had to help him get off of the plane. He was soaking wet from sweat and burning up with fever. He looked so bad that I contemplated having the limo driver take us directly to a hospital instead of the hotel but not knowing how to use the Irish health system, we just continued the short trip into Dublin and to the hotel.

I got him to his room and into bed. I was so worried about him that I called down to the front desk and requested a doctor. To my complete surprise, one was already there in the lobby requesting to see us and who came directly up to the room. At first I thought it a coincidence that he be in the lobby when we needed a doctor but soon found out that he was sent to us by the customs agent at the airport who, as an afterthought, feared that we may have brought contagion into the country.

The doctor examined and treated Jerry and left behind some antibiotics and Tylenol. He also took some swab samples from both Jerry and me for further testing. On the way out of the door, he said, “You will have to stay quarantined in this room until I check out these swabs to see what it is that he has.”

I was really more concerned for Jerry’s well being than about the inconvenience of quarantine or the disruption to our schedule. Thinking back, I don’t remember a single time when I didn’t have one kind of sickness or another during one of these annual treks. The only difference this time was that it wasn’t me that was sick, at least yet.

I called the clients we had planned to meet during the coming week and cancelled our meetings.  I didn’t tell them that we were thought to be bringing a plague upon their nation. I just apologized with an excuse of illness and a promise of rescheduling at a more convenient time. Everyone was politely sympathetic and wished us well. But, then again, what the hell else were they going to do.

Jerry was really sick and needed my care. I wiped down his sweat and applied cool compresses to his fevered brow. He was so week that he could hardly talk. He did, however, get out the fact that he had to pee and wanted me to help him get to the bathroom. After helping him slide his legs over the side of the bed and lifting him into a sitting position, I realized that I was not going to be able to get him in there.

I laid him back onto the bed and looked around the room trying to find something to help me move him. No such luck but I did notice the plastic coffee carafe on the food cart they had delivered with our lunch. I popped the cap and dumped the hot coffee into the sink and took it back out to Jerry where I was going to have to convince him to use it. He was in no condition to argue, or to help. He couldn’t even bring himself upright without my help. Surveying the situation, I had no choice but to grab his boxers at the waistband and slip them down and off of his legs. He was then completely nude.

Even in his sickened state his body was magnificent. He was very slim, making his strong muscles well defined and beautifully displayed. His abdomen rippled with taught packets of muscle aligned in well defined pairs whose perfect symmetry was interrupted only by the cleft of his navel which could have been a focal point were it not for his lovely penis prominently displayed below. Beautiful though it was, It lay limp between his splayed legs supported only be a fleshy sack bulging from the massive testes within.

Pale from head to toe and covered in sweat, he looked anything but sexy. However, with a flush of color in healthy shades and tones, a promise of beauty lay before my eyes. I was embarrassed at my thoughts. I had never taken that much time or interest in observing another man’s body before. Even worse, I was starting to get stimulated. I could feel my own cock beginning to thicken as I was looking at him. The realization of what I was about to do kicked my cock into high gear and it began to press out against my pants.

I tried desperately to gain control over my thoughts as I steeled myself to the task ahead for me. This wasn’t going to be easy. I had never even looked closely at another’s penis before let alone touch one. He was so obviously weak that I was going to have to do this for him or he was going to wet the bed.

I said to him as I knelt down next to the bed, “Don’t worry, Jerry, I’ll help you.” And I reached out to peal his penis off of the adhering scrotum beneath. I did it as gently as possible which may have been a mistake because, as sick as he was, he began to get an erection. It hardened under my touch making it a bit easier for me to pull his scrotum away with my free hand. This was causing a new problem however. His penis was then sticking straight up in the air and not in any position for me to catch his urine with the coffee pot. What a dilemma!

I struggled to get him sitting upright again which then positioned his penis straight out and parallel to the floor; not ideal but workable. I propped him up with some pillows and he placed his arms behind him to support himself as best as he could. Then, all that was left was for me to get him some relief for his bladder.

I grabbed his penis again which was still very hard and extremely hot but his arousal was obviously not sexual but reflexive. Fortunately, he was circumcised making it a lot easier to get the relatively narrow neck of the thermos against the business end of his stick. I placed the container’s opening over his piss slit and said, “Go ahead, Jerry, let it go.” He was clearly trying but was having no success.

“Relax,” I said, “It will come.”

I knelt there with another man’s hard cock in my hand for at least ten minutes waiting for him to pee. In all that time, I had to change my grip on both the carafe and his prick many times just from muscle fatigue alone. The problem was that every time his erection began to lessen, my movements brought it back to life. I found the expansion and contraction under my fingers to be very titillating and very unlike holding myself.

I stayed with it and it eventually happened. I could feel the urine lightly pulsing against my finger tips through the fleshy pipe on the underside of the firm shaft and saw the little spurts of pee pour along the shiny glass liner at the neck of the thermos. Once the dam burst, it really began to flow. It immediately spiked to full pressure causing a great deal of difficulty for me to contain it. The pot quickly got bottom heavy and started to tilt in my hand causing the high pressure stream to splash on my face and really all over the place. I continually readjusted my grip on the carafe to try to minimize the splash but was never able to completely eliminate it.

My other hand was also having difficulty maintaining the proper grip. Once the urine began to flow at a goodly rate, the internal tension of his penis diminished and it began to relax in my grip. I didn’t go completely flaccid. It was more like it began to droop. No longer self-supporting, its weight was transferred to my finger tips. I was surprised at the heft of it. It felt much heavier than mine but then again mine was often self-supporting when I was gripping it.

As more of its weight was transferred to me, I could feel the urine flow being constricted from the heavy mass of the cock pressing against my fingers squeezing the tube underneath. I tried to adjust my hold by moving my fingers to the sides of his shaft but found that I had to squeeze it all the harder so as not to drop it. This too caused his piss to splash on me and all over the place.

My juggling was rather comical as the two of us seemed to have as much piss on us as was captured in the carafe. I looked up at him with piss dripping down my face only to see him chuckling at me even through his terrible sickness. I must have been quite a sight with my face, arms, and hands covered in his yellow waste water.

His flow slowed and eventually stopped. I tapped the bulblike head of his cock against the top of the carafe in an attempt to knock off any remaining drops of pee which was kind of stupid since everything, including his penis, was already covered in urine and a few drops more wouldn’t matter in the slightest. I placed the full carafe on the nightstand without releasing his hefty male appendage which held gently in my left hand. There was all the reason in the world for me to let it go but yet I didn’t. I held on to it like it was a prize. Something primal inside of me wouldn’t allow me to release it. My brain became aware of the conflict it was causing and I began to feel embarrassed yet I held on.

Embarrassment won out in the end and I let it go but only long enough to lay him back and to get some towels and some soapy warm water using the empty ice bucket to give him a needed sponge bath. I slipped a large bath towel under him and began to wash him from head to toe trying my best not to get the bedding wet. He was so ill that he kept his eyes closed the entire time. I spent a little too much time on his privates because they fascinated me. He didn’t get hard this time. He lay there unmoving as if in a trance. I moved quickly so as not to let him get chilled as the water cooled. I wiped each area of his body with a warm towel immediately after washing it and laid a towel over the just cleaned portions to keep him warm. That is, except for his crotch. That area, I left exposed.

I rolled him over onto another towel and washed his muscular back from his broad shoulders down the hollow of his lumbar spine and up onto the twin mounds of his prominent buttocks. I temporarily avoided the crevice and proceeded down to wash the back of his rock hard thighs and calves finishing with his feet. I enjoyed the feel of every square inch of that hard body under the palms of my hands.

The only thing left was to return to his crack. It was the last thing I had to clean and it had to be done. As I spread it wide enough to wash it, curiosity took over and I had to examine its depths. I had never actually looked at a guy’s asshole before and never even thought about doing that either. I was somewhat surprised. It wasn’t as gross as I thought it would be. There at the bottom of the crevasse was his puckered nether eye. I know that’s a silly term for it but it is what I was thinking at that moment.

It wasn’t easy to hold his cheeks apart. His glutes were extremely well developed. I assume from his passion for biking in which he often competed. I understand that he is a formidable competitor. That fact was clearly evident from the strength of these muscles. He probably wasn’t intentionally flexing them. Their clench was purely reflexive. I would never have been able to pull them apart if he didn’t allow me.

None the less, I had a job to do so I pressed ahead with my duty – pardon the pun. I washed his bum very carefully and when looking at it wondered why gays found that orifice more desirable than a female vagina. It was a much dirtier place considering its actual purpose and posed a danger of unintended consequences when used for sex.

Kate would sometimes offer me her backside when she was on her period but not very often. She had to be pretty horny to do it. Come to think of it, it usually resulted in very pleasurable sex for me and entirely focused on my penis. My most intense climaxes were had performing anal sex in her. It must have been from the tight grip of her sphincter on my shaft. Just the process of entry was enough to throw me into sexual euphoria. The head of my cock pressing hard at her tight hole and the feel of its eventual surrender was exquisite. Unlike a vagina, complete penetration was not done in one fell swoop. There was much more resistance by the rectum. With less natural lubrication from the sheath, complete penetration depended upon the expulsion of male ooze to ease entry. The sensation is very much like the unique pleasure of deflowering a young maiden. Unfortunately, most men never get that opportunity. Usually, unknown to you, someone has gotten there first and you find yourself plunging a slack sleeve with your eager over engorged member, deluding yourself as being a conqueror.

Who the hell is it that seems to get there first? Could it be one guy out there with a magical dick? All I do know is that I can only imagine what it feels like to deflower a girl since Kate, my consort and only sexual partner, had clearly lost her flower to another guy. I never mentioned it to her and we never even discussed it. I was just happy that a girl, any girl, would have sex with me.

As I dried his crack with a towel, I marveled at how his sphincter reacted to the intrusion. It contracted and relaxed every time I brushed it. I put the towel aside when he was dry enough and inexplicably pulled his crack back open and peered inside. His hole was still contracting on its own without any direct stimulation. I had expected it to be dark brown and ugly. I certainly wasn’t any like that. It was a light pinkish-brown color, almost like the color of one’s lips or tongue. It continued its rhythmical pulsing under my quizzical gaze.

I was shocked at myself for what I was doing and amazed at not being repulsed. Curiosity had taken control over my actions. Looking down at it I wanted to touch it and feel its movement under my fingers. The squeezed distorted portal intrigued me the most. What was it like inside of there? What would it feel like to put my dick in there? Would it feel different from fucking Kate’s ass?

I know this is blasphemy but it reminded me of the Monstrance used for the adoration of the Host, the body of Christ. Only the apparatus I was looking at was made of flesh and blood and not gilded metal. The effect of the two was the same. The straight spikes radiating out from the center Luna like the corona of an eclipse focused attention on the center like it was a celestial body. In this case, there was no glint or gleam of gold or blinding solar flares. There were neither bright lights nor flicker of candle flames to establish an aura. There was just a starburst of radiant human flesh that needed no artificial accoutrements to stimulate my interest. It was an actual pulsating trembling human aperture rarely visible and never placed on display.

I caved to my strange compulsion and lightly touched the quavering hole with my finger. It reacted immediately and tightly clenched under my caress feeling like a gentle kiss on my fingertip. Jerry’s reaction was instantaneous. He jerked his feverish head to the side as if trying to look back to determine what I was doing. My finger quickly retreated and I let go of his cheeks as if nothing weird had happened and I was finished with his lavage. I hoped this memory would be lost to him in the fog of his fever.

I turned him over and tucked him in. I continued to care for him over the next three days with absolutely no direct contact with any other human being during the entire time. I did frequently call down to the front desk for food, drink, and additional medications. Everything I asked for I got but all of it was clandestinely left at the door of the room. I was notified by phone call that it had been delivered. There was never anyone in the hallway when I went to pick it up and never a sound from the adjoining and nearby rooms. Despite their obscurity they always placed a newspaper and fresh flowers on the tray; Oh! I almost forgot. They also delivered a complementary bottle of Bushmills uisce beatha as a demonstration of Irish hospitality.

By the fourth day, Jerry was feeling much better and could get up and about and take care of himself. He showered and shaved and looked fairly good if not a little gaunt. However, we were still quarantined to the same room. The air inside the room was getting stale and starting to stink. I had requested and received new bed linen and towels but just changing sheets and pillow cases didn’t help the situation much. The room needed to be ventilated but the windows didn’t open and we were not allowed to leave the door open or ajar.

Despite the close confines and putrid conditions or maybe because of, Jerry and I became very well acquainted with each other and quite comfortable being together. If he remembered my indiscrete behavior, he never mentioned it and his actions toward me never betrayed any fear, caution, or concern of me being a predator or deviant. Heavily influenced by the Bushmills, he informed me that he was currently without a girlfriend and apparently just as horny as I was. We talked a lot about girls, he from vast experience and me from a point of view of traditional monogamy. I quickly realized that I had very little experience with l’art de l’amour and he did.

Hour by hour, he became more alert and animated in his conversations with me. We were really bonding. It was no longer just a mentor-protégé relationship. We were developing a close friendship. He was truly grateful for me caring for him like I did but seemed oblivious to my imprudent behavior while doing so. I, on the other hand, could not erase those prurient actions from my mind. As he sat there in his clean pajamas I kept envisioning him naked. I learned every inch of his body and could picture it even through his clothing. It was as though I had x-ray vision.

I was trying desperately not to delve into these homoerotic daydreams but I just couldn’t control it. I tried concentrating on what he was saying but became lost in his eyes as they regained their gleam and sparkled with life as he spoke of his past loves and amorous adventures. His face while still gaunt is very handsome. His eyes are bright blue and deep set beneath rather gracefully shaped brows. If his brow ridge wasn’t so prominent and his face so angular, he would almost look feminine. A description of his face was somewhere between handsome and beautiful. I began to realize that my evolving emotional attraction to him was very much like the way I fell for Kate way back in the beginning of our relationship. It was almost like falling in love again.

I was getting frightened by the realization of what was happening inside of me - In my heart. I thought I was saved when word finally came back from customs that confirmed that Jerry had a common variant of the flu and I apparently was uninfected. We were freed from quarantine and allowed to go about our business. I had cancelled all of our appointments in Ireland and decided to leave there and head over to Glasgow for the next leg of my journey. I suggested, no, implored Jerry to return home to the states until he was completely recovered but he respectfully refused and insisted that he continue on with me.

We packed up and headed to Scotland - Together.