A Week Into The Marine's New Life With The Lawyer

A Week Into The New Life Of The Marine And The Attorney

“Have a great day, babe,” the hunky, hairy and very well-fucked attorney who now shared my life said in my ear as he hugged me tight and kissed me on the neck.

Day nine for us, and it’s probably absurd to hear a retired marine colonel gush about being in love, even more so about falling head over heels at first sight (ok, to be fair, at first fuck). But I was. And so was he.

“You, too, my Jim!” I said, emphasizing the possessive with a squeeze in our continuing hug. He turned enough to press his lips into mine – as well as moving our crotches together – and we kissed deeply, our desires stoked and evident as we began to grind together.

“OK, OK, break it up, men! Kid present!!!” came from Perry, Jim’s nineteen year old son, with a laugh. “Let’s not let this get out of hand!”

We gave each other a last smack of the lips and grope of each other’s ass and pulled apart, laughing. “Amazing how you’re a kid when it suits your purpose and an adult when you don’t want me messing with you,” Jim said, with equal mirth, smiling broadly – and obviously proudly – at his son. I laughed with them.

“Dudes, you know I’m gonna work it!” he said, heading for the coffee maker. “You guys sneaking off to Bill’s after work tonight or gonna come home and feed your growing son?”

“How about we come home for dinner, but you have dinner ready?” Jim shot back to him.

HOME rang in my head . . . and it began to spin a little. I really didn’t have the time to zone out into the construct of this brave new world I’d entered, but I admit it made me feel warm and mushy to hear Jim and his son use that word inclusive of me. I almost laughed out loud at that realization alone – a wizened Marine, an officer . . . mushy!

Perry hesitated only a fraction of a second, but then his eyes glinted a bit more than they usually were as his teenaged mind whirled and churned and vaulted from topic of interest to new topic at light speed. “I choose?”

Jim looked at me. “Why do I think we’re flirting with disaster here?”

I was floating, falling farther into that mush pond, just because Jim looked at me and brought me into this FAMILY.

“Dad,” Perry protested, “Do we have a deal or not?”

“Best and final?” my attorney boyfriend asked his son, ever the negotiator.

“It’s that or one of you take care of dinner OR you disappoint your son, who is saying he’d like to have dinner with you.”

Jim looked at me again, and I was grinning like an idiot, just enjoying the warm and mushy. “He did say he was going to work it, didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” I managed on cue. “I gotta get going, men.” I turned to Perry. “Thanks, Perry, I’m looking forward to dinner.” And with that I kissed Jim again quickly, inwardly amazed that I had no reservation about doing that in front of his son but equally enjoying it, and I grabbed my beautiful new Mark Cross briefcase and headed out to my car.

We’d met at my company picnic. Jim was a “monitor” for the bankrupt club my company had rented for the picnic, overseeing a team of workers who made it an awesome event. OK, it was a good company picnic by general standards, but for me it was amazing because we’d seen each other, he’d taken me home, and we’d fucked our brains out before the picnic was even breaking up for most people. A week later and I virtually lived with Jim and his son Perry in Jim’s big beautiful beach house. We rarely had dinner all together – if you can say rarely about nine days’ pattern – because of his schedule and mine and Perry’s active social life.

Jim was a total hunk, and his son was a younger version of him. When I say hunk, I mean personality and body and career – all of it. Jim was six-six I’d found out, two inches taller than my six-four, when we finally got around to comparing some vital statistics. He was also 27 pounds more muscular than I, and at two-twenty-seven I was pretty damn well put-together. He was hairy and dark, where I am lightly hairy and dark-blond to light-brown, depending on the time of year and sun. He was also forty-two, and I’m forty-seven, or will be this week; I hadn’t really thought he was even that old. Perry was an inch or so less than my height, and he was very, very lean, as teenage boys tend to be, albeit very well-developed musculature like his father, but both of them lean and perfectly-defined muscle. And Perry was hairy like his dad, bright, quick, positive, active and, generally, a great “kid”.

We’d come together so quickly, so unexpectedly, and I’d met Perry in an initially awkward post-intense-fucksession late night snack, when Perry had come home unexpectedly. He had been nothing short of over-eager to accept me into the role of his father’s new boyfriend, even though at that point I was really Jim’s trick. They’re very much alike, very attuned to each other, and obviously Jim’s confidence in us – which I’m still considering a bet, not knowledge – was somehow also apparent to Perry.

As I drove to my office, I kept trying to maneuver my thoughts to work, but I was humming and smiling and couldn’t really get there. In fact, my mind strayed to the night before, when we’d been alone in the house and had gone out for a walk on the beach after dinner. The walk turned into a tryst, when, for the umpteenth time we stopped and kissed each other in the full moonlight on the deserted beach, and it put us over our limit of self-control.

The wind was light off the ocean, enough to take the edge off the summer heat, and the light spray from the surf was equally welcome. As we stood there kissing – alone on the beach, together and tight in each other’s arms – we shifted suddenly from warmth to heat, and we were off. Before I knew it I was ripping at Jim’s shorts waist, had his belt shorts open and was pushing them down, groping into his boxer briefs at his rock-hard horsecock and huge nuts. He was doing the same to me, growling as our teeth knocked into each other while we still sucked face.

Jim was on his knees suddenly and had me in his mouth, and I howled at the moon as he sucked and licked and hummed my cock from zero to sixty in nothing flat, his big hand working my nuts roughly pushing me along even more so. “FUCKING CHRIST!” I yelled between gasps for breath, as he eagerly and expertly worked me. I had my fingers wrapped around his head, as much purchase on his short hair as I could get, at the same time skull fucking him and also holding him back from taking me too far.

Jim’s aggression inflamed me, as it always did, and my body was careening toward another climax of epic proportion. Suddenly I was overcome with the NEED to be inside him, to be MATED with him, to FUCK my man hard and soundly. I shoved him off roughly and pulled him to his feet as I went to my knees. I turned him around roughly and shoved him over until he was bent with his ass in my face, grabbed those hard globes and plunged my tongue right into that welcoming fuckhole of his. “OHHHHHHHHHHH YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHH,” was my reward from him as I get inside him.

I ate that hole the way I knew made him crazy – tongue deep, slurping, tickling, swirling, sucking, and intensifying. He was growling and moaning, and when I spit into him the first time, he shouted “OH FUCK YES, BILL!” I didn’t need the encouragement, but it stoked me even more, and I stood and held his hips and SHOVED my own horsecock into him balls deep. “AAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!” he shouted, and I pretty much did the same, overcome by the tightness and heat of him. “FUCK ME!” he yelled and reached through his legs and grabbed my nuts and squeezed them the way he knew fired my after-burners.

“Yeah, take that fucking cock,” I yelled, increasing the force of my thrusts into him to the point my groin felt the impact.

Jim stumbled and somehow we ended up on the sand, him on all fours and me still in him on my knees DRILLING him. He was pounding the sand with his free fist and yanking and squeezing and twisting my nuts like he was doing some advanced forearm exercise, all the while our mutual shouts and grunts and growls and moans echoed into the pound of the surf.

“Come on FILL MEEEE AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH,” he yelled, and I felt the now familiar feeling of his ass spasming and clenching on my thrusting cock and he started to spew his load.

And of course that pulled me right over the edge with him. “Ohhhhhhhhhhh JEEEEEEEEESUS!!!” I screamed, and I lost consciousness of anything except our point of coupling and my exploding nuts.

I was still inside him, my back arched, my hands clenched on his waist as the sound of the surf began to re-emerge in my awareness, and I felt the chill of the light wind off the surf against my sweaty exposed body. Neither of us had shirts on, and our shorts were in the sand entangled in our feet and legs, so I knew he was as exposed as I was and noticed his head was down, resting on his arms in the sand.

“Jesus, Jim; we could get arrested for this!” I said, but I made no move to decouple from him, and my hands were starting to knead and rub him at this waist.

“Mmmmmmmmmmm,” he groaned, still holding his position.

I smacked him HARD on the ass, and he jumped and fake-yelped, the jump disengaging us. He turned around quickly and looked at my cock first and licked his lips slightly, then turned to my eyes, smiling. The mere fact that he’d looked at my cock first re-stoked my engines, and I dove at him, knocking him down on his back in the sand hard, grinding into him, savagely kissing him.

Jim gave back every bit as desperately and savagely as I gave, and we ground into each other like that, groping and grappling and sucking face and wrestling around in the sand, now sticking to our sweaty bodies and all in his fur. It was if we hadn’t both just fucked like oinkers and blown our wads. And this was how it started with us – wild pig sex – and I find myself often wondering if that’s what this is, not love, not a budding relationship, just lust and sex between two guys who found the right match for our desires.

But no doubts or analytical thoughts were in my head as we wrestled around on the beach. Somehow, miraculously, there was little sand between us at our chests and groins, and we managed to get purchase and were grinding together hard as we kissed, our cocks jammed between our hard abs, thrusting and dueling with each other. I knew when I started on the ascent again, and that surprise registered, given that we’d cum what, maybe six or seven minutes earlier. But there was no mistaking I was going to blow my nuts HARD again momentarily.

We were in that position when I felt my man’s body start to get more rigid, more tense then he screamed into my lips and his cum flooded our midsections and chests. And of course that was the last of my control, and I began to blast my own again.

When we’d both stopped writhing and blasting, Jim and I were in the same position, all gooey between us, me on top of him, his head back in the sand gasping, and my head down in the sand next to his. “Wow,” he said, and I made some attempt to respond that came out vaguely like a groan. Jim reached up from his arms’ grip around my back and butt and took one hand and gently rubbed my head. There was no doubt whatsoever – regardless of it being only a breath over a week together, I was totally in love with this man.

With an incredible effort of focus, I turned my head enough to put my lips by his ear and somehow managed to make my lips form words and said, “Last one in the surf is a fucking pussy!” and jumped free of his embrace and up and ran toward the water, kicking my shorts off my foot as I went.

Jim was not far behind me and caught up to me with a leap into the surf at me that took us both down in a huge splash with laughs that went to sputters when we both had mouthsful of saltwater. Jim got his arms around me again and lifted me up high in the air, high enough to throw his mouth around my shriveling cock (the water was surprisingly cold for the hot summer we were having!) in the bright moonlight. I shrieked like a schoolgirl and didn’t mind a bit.

We horsed around some and then made sure we rinsed the sand off each other – easier said than done with his pelt! – and walked up on the beach hand in hand. We collected our shorts off the sand but neither of us made a move to put them on right away. In the moonglare Jim caught the devilish glint in my eye. “What?”

“I don’t want to put my clothes on.”

My sexy boyfriend threw his head back and laughed with that deep booming laugh of his that I’d come to love. He threw his shorts over his shoulder and put his arm out, elbow cocked, and said, “Shall we take a stroll AU NATURAL, Colonel?”

And we did. We walked the mile or so back down the beach together, starting out arm in arm, then back to holding hands. We never saw anyone else, and I don’t know what two sane naked middle-aged men would have done if we had. When we got even with his property we shinnied into our shorts lest we run into Perry when we came up to the house.

Back to the present. Somehow I’d driven from Jim’s beautiful beach house back to the reality of my post-Marine career and was pulling into the underground parking of my building. Right about the time I hit the stairs to go up, my phone buzzed with a text. Jim. I WISH IT WERE TONIGHT ALREADY. Yeah, I was definitely gone on this man. And I got the feeling – no, I KNEW – that Jim not only felt the same, I KNEW he was more certain of this, of us than I was.

And as I stumbled over my big feet on the stairs and almost went down, I came back to reality with a near thud. I managed to refocus in that moment – not without effort – and maintained for the rest of the day. I zoned out, or rather zoned TO Jim, a couple of times briefly, but the warmth that came over me each time was enough, and I got back to my work. I even took a razzing from two of my colleagues – both big, tough former combat officers like me – about “what fine piece of ass I was daydreaming about”.

I wasn’t overtly out at work, but I wasn’t in the closet. I had no reason to wave a flag or shock anyone. I actually didn’t get the whole in-your-face aspect of Pride, or Pride itself, for that matter. I was not ashamed of being gay, and I was proud to be a good man, but the two were independent of each other, and being gay is just one of many things that could describe me. And the guys who ribbed me were good guys, and frankly I had no idea if they’d think differently about me if they knew my “hot piece” was as much a man as any of us.

I was razzed again as I left, shortly after 6pm, again all of the past week leaving hours earlier than I had in my previous months on the job. “The jarhead has a life,” was one of the good-natured jabs that stayed with me as I drove to Jim’s house after work.

When I got to Jim’s development I drove right in through the gates, having been given a bar code to put on my car’s window as if I lived there, just like I’d been doing for a week. And when I got to his house, I hit the clicker I’d been given for one of the four garage doors and drove into the one he’d given me to park in. I stopped in the garage and just sat there. I was the only one home, as evidenced by the fact that mine was the only car in that huge garage. It was the first time I’d gotten there before Jim, and it would be the first time I was there all alone.

I’d never been unsure of myself ever. Even in combat my reflexes and training always controlled my actions. But somehow now I couldn’t get out of my car and go into Jim’s house alone. It wasn’t my house. It wasn’t mine to go into or to be in without Jim or Perry there. I didn’t even know if I could go in if it was just Perry, as welcoming and great a young man as he was.

All of a sudden I had to get out of there. I started the car with shaking hands and threw it into reverse and burnt rubber backing out of there. I skidded to a stop and threw it into drive and headed down the driveway too fast. WAY too fast . . . because when Jim rounded into the driveway there was no room for either of us to stop, and his beautiful Beemer wasn’t so beautiful anymore!

JESUS CHRIST those airbags stink! I was coughing and stumbled out of my car and got to Jim, who was looking dazed. I had to struggle to get his door open and pulled him out as if the car was burning, and I just pulled him to me. “Bill, what the fuck?” he said into me as I clung to him.

I couldn’t speak. I was confused, and I was sorry, and I was glad I hadn’t hurt him. And it could have been Perry – oh God, it could have been Perry!

“Bill, what is it?” Jim said, softer. I looked at him, and not since the wreckage of combat had I looked into another man’s face with tears in my eyes. “Bill, let’s go inside,” he said, moving to walk us up the drive, and I stiffened. “Bill, WHAT?” he demanded.

“I don’t think I can do this.”

I could tell from Jim’s look that he understood what I meant. He was terrified, and he was also calm. “Bill, can we talk about it?” he said, cupping my chin and bringing it up so we were eye to eye.

“I’m just a fuckup,” I said, miserably. “I don’t know how to do this, how to be a boyfriend, a partner,” I sputtered. “I’m not the right material, and you deserve better.”

Jim looked at me for a long time, and he finally, slowly, gently pulled me to him and hugged me tight. “What if I said I wasn’t going to let you go?” he said, softly into my ear.

What if? What if I totally fucked up? What if I hurt Jim because I just don’t know how to do this, how to meet his expectations? What would it do to Perry to see someone let his father down?

“Bill, you’re shaking. And I’m not letting go of you.”

My mind was going well over its limit, thoughts swirling, not getting any clearer or slower or any more logical. But at the same time Jim’s arms around me had me feeling physically calmer. I honestly had no fucking clue where I was in all this.

“Come inside?” he asked into my ear. I couldn’t form a word, and I was about to nod when Jim offered, “Or a walk on the beach?”

“How about we get the cars apart and stop blocking the driveway in case Perry comes home?” I had no idea how that came out, much less intelligibly, but it did.

Jim laughed, and he loosened his embrace enough to move his head back and face me. His beautiful eyes only had a hint of the worry I’d seen before and now were mostly . . . adoring. “You get your car back in the garage, and I’ll just wait here,” he said, with a chuckle.

“OK,” I said, confused.

As I started to turn, to pull away from him, he pulled me back tight and kissed me firmly. Actually it was with determination. “I’ll let you go on two conditions,“ he said, when he finally pulled back from me.

My head was spinning a little, which was not unusual when Jim kissed me or held me or both. “Uh huh,” I mumbled.

He was smiling again, and it was beginning to slow my whirling mind, to stop the churning. “Condition one: I let you go, but you don’t make a break for it.” He stopped, so I guess this was going to require a response.

“Agreed,” I said, with the beginning of a smile myself. “What’s the second condition? I pay for the car repairs?”

“Not a bad idea, my sexy stud-Colonel,” he laughed, “but that’s not it.” He squeezed me and kissed me again. And then he pulled back, and his face got serious. “It’s not even a condition, Bill,” he said, and he looked a little sad. “It’s a request.”

“O . . . K . . . “ I said, tentatively, and involuntarily took a deep breath.

“Don’t get worked up, Bill. My request is just this: I’d really like you to promise me that if something bothers you or worries you or just even makes you wonder in any way about us, that you’ll talk to me. You see, Perry and I have this deal. The deal is it’s US – him and me, son and dad, and no matter what happens, no matter how either of us messes up, it’s still him and me, and we agree that we will talk to each other no matter what and get through it. And now it’s you and me, me and you – we’re TOGETHER, Bill, and this is REAL.” As he’d been speaking his eyes went from serious and sad to bright when he spoke of Perry to dancing and sparkling when he spoke of us. He squeezed my upper arms and lowered his voice a little and said again, “This is REAL, Bill, and I’ll fight for it, and I hope you will.”

I was collapsing inside. This was exactly WHY I was no good for this, for him. Shit, no way I could be that strong myself, as he was being for us then. “And don’t EVEN give me any crap about you don’t know how to have a relationship or how to do this. You’re a Marine, and you know how to COMMIT. So it’s your choice – commit to US, Bill, and you’ll do this just like you’ve done everything else that mattered in your life. Because WE matter, Bill. We MATTER.”

I didn’t know what to say, and I felt like I was going to cry . . . or laugh . . . or hide my head in shame. And Jim just held us together there, facing each other. He didn’t push me to say anything. And somehow I knew he knew he didn’t have to.

I never did hang my head in shame, though I should have. Instead I said, “Terms accepted. Mission accepted.”

And then we both laughed . . . and even though I was looking at a huge amount of pain to come in the wallet as I could see both of our wrecked cars, it started to sink in that even that was US, both of us, together, and that was a sign if there ever was one.

We didn’t fuck on the beach that night. We did, however, break Jim’s beautiful carved mahogany bed. It was probably inevitable, the way we’d been going at it. But when we slept on the mattress very low to the ground, with the wreckage of that beautiful piece of furniture piled near is, I was thinking – and I’m certain Jim knew I was thinking – that it was another sign. This one was that shit will happen, and we’ll still hold each other and be just as happy, maybe even more so for the mirth of the recollection after the fact.