The Marine Gets A Life . . . maybe

“Jesus Christ I’m sore, Bill,” my sexy new man said, as we headed to the shower. We both stunk of sex. My cum was running down his thigh out of his freshly fucked ass, as his thick muscular furry legs rippled and pumped in front of me as we headed down the hall, and his fuzzy ass-globes bounced.

My cock was rock-hard again just watching those mounds of pleasure – and all of him – and that recently-exercised member and my balls were slimy enough that it would have been so easy to jump him again. Instead, I went in closer behind him and reached around him with my arm across his ripped chest and pulled my hunk back into me tight and kissed his neck and then bit it firmly.

My cock was pressed firmly into his hot slimy butt cheeks, and he moaned in my hold. “Mmmmmmm, indeed, you stud,” I said between bites, slurping the sweat we worked up off his skin. To my surprise, my sore-assed stud-bottom shoved himself back onto my raging cock hard, and just like that I was in my own recently-discovered heaven again. “Thought you were sore,” I said, grabbing his hips and thrusting, with absolutely no conscious control of my hips’ action.

“Ohhhhhhhhhh, FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK,” Jim exclaimed, fucking back into my thrusts in a rhythm we we’d nearly perfected over the past two days since we met. “Jesus FUCK am I sore. MAKE ME MORE SORE, Bill!” he demanded.

I yanked him around and shoved him into the wall roughly without breaking our ass-to-cock connection and without breaking the thrust pattern, in fact, increasing it. “Like that, Jim,” I taunted.

“Less talk, more thrust,” he taunted me back between gasps as my big raging cock drilled him mercilessly and his head banged against the wall.

I jerked his ass out away from the wall and shoved his back down so he was bent over and really wailed on that ass harder. I grunted and growled. He shouted, “OH FUCK YES!!! Give it to me, fucker!” and worked his ass on my marauding cock, clenching and milking it and making my nuts boil.

We fucked like that – his sore ass giving as good as any of the double-digit times we’d done it since what started out as a trick became a weekend; my cock slam-fucking the hottest hole on the hottest man I could remember, my balls swinging and slapping into him so hard the pain was almost as unbearable as the pleasure was irresistible.

When he started to shout the unintelligible exclamations that I knew meant he was about to spew his seed, I grabbed a handful of his almost-too-short hair and yanked him back into me as I drove him over the edge. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” he screamed, and his brutalized ass clenched on my cock so hard I had to up my thrust to get it moving again in the vise clamp of his fuckchute.

Jim reached around and pulled my head in and threw his head back, turned to crush his lips into mine. My own cry of release was muffled by his mouth as my nuts exploded and my cum blasted up into him again.

When the world came back to me, I realized we were slumped together against the wall. My balls ached like I’d been kicked there – I was overextending them bigtime, and they were feeling it . . . or I was, anyway! Jim had to be wrecked inside. I inhaled and caught the now-familiar whiff of our sex together, and my head spun a little all over again. “Jim,” I whispered, though my thoughts were more along the lines of MINE or US.

“I love a man who remembers my name,” he said playfully, and he moved almost imperceptibly.

I got the hint and disengaged my spent cock from his ravaged ass and pulled him up to standing as I stood. He turned toward me and we embraced tightly, our sweaty chests slippery together despite his pelt. Oh, man, this was good! I pulled my head back and faced him and then lowered my forehead to his. Words escaped me.

“I know, babe,” he said softly. I was so deep in this so quickly, and I was again on the verge of panic as soon as I let myself think about it. Jim must have sensed it because he tightened his grip on me, but said nothing, just held me.

I relaxed into him – I don’t know how that panic subsided, it just did. This was awesome, and it was still frightening, and I reminded myself to breathe and just go with it. “How about that shower, stud?” I suggested.

“That or the cleaning products, given my cum and our sweat is now smeared over two rooms of your house,” he said, with the smile in his voice that I knew from memory made him adorable.

“Honestly, I could wallow in the stench of us, Jim, but the thought of my hands all over your wet body is even more, uh, appealing,” I said, as I ground my groin into him, letting him know I was getting hard again. As an aside, I was damn impressed with myself!

“Jesus, Bill, you’re a maniac.”

We were still face to face, and I kissed him, first gently, but his hungry response made me fierce . . . and made his cock reawaken as well.

It got HOT again fast, and we sucked face and ground together and groped and grappled and growled and moaned and bit each other. He got a grip on my cock, and I realized how sore I was . . . but how worked up I was. He was on his knees a second later and had taken as much of me as he could get into his mouth as he could. The thought of him sucking me and tasting our last fucking, his own ass on me.

Jim sucked me HARD, and I clamped my hands on the back of his head and skull fucked him every bit as hard as I’d just fucked his ass, forcing my cock beyond his comfort zone on every thrust and hearing and feeling him gag. He grabbed my nuts tight and hard, and I really started slamming into him. “FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!” I cried out.

It was agonizing as I built to my explosion. I was recovering, and the buildup was impeded, retarded, as if I was being edged from within, not quite getting there. The pressure inside me built to an almost unbearable level, but I just couldn’t get there no matter how hard I rammed into him or how hard he sucked and yanked my nuts.

Suddenly a ghost of my past invaded my consciousness. In a flash through my consciousness my memory replayed a young marine’s night with a HOT command-level officer twice his age (and probably close to ten years younger than I was when I remembered it). We’d fucked and sucked and jacked and ground and groped and gyrated and, basically, pigged out on eachother until I, still a hormone-overloaded teenager was raging hard, and he was in my mouth with me sucking him hard and fast. He couldn’t get there, and he suddenly stopped trying, stopped face-fucking me, and went slack, and I almost stopped until he put his hand back on my head and held me there. So I kept enjoying his flagging cock and working it, and his relaxed state seemed to increase. And suddenly he was hard again almost instantly and then blasted in my mouth. When I asked him afterward – the talkative teen gayboy wanting the connection – he said, “Sometimes a man has to let himself go from the urgency of the objective and allow himself to just let whatever happens will happen. When you do that, you remove the pressure, and give yourself over to the pleasure alone. A man doesn’t have to always control his pleasure; he can accept it.”

So the second after the thought started, the memory replay ended, and I did what that very wise and sexy colonel had imparted to me. I relaxed and enjoyed the amazing sensation of Jim sucking my cock and working my nuts. I enjoyed the feel of his hair in my hands and the brush of it against my groin. I inhaled and pigged out on that heady stench of our sweat and sex.

And just like that my climax boiled up and over with an intensity and agony that emanated from my nuts and emerged first in a long, low scream that came from the depths of my manhood and my being. My balls exploded and my body was wracked with pain and pleasure that had my legs buckling.

“Come on, you insatiable stud, shower time,” invaded my near-unconsciousness, and I realized he was holding me standing, that I probably would have crumpled to my knees when I came if he hadn’t caught me.

“What about you? I owe you one, stud-lawyer.” I looked down, and he was soft. Before I had the chance to be disappointed I noticed he was pointing down, behind where feet were. And there on my tile floor was a glob of cum that I bet he hadn’t spilled of mine when I came. WOW!

“And just in case you ask, no.”

“OK, Jim, I get it – your ass is too sore to fuck in the shower.”

“No, you dork,” he said, laughing and boxed my chin. “No, I did NOT touch myself and came from the pleasure of pleasuring you.”

DOUBLE WOW!

* * * * * * * * * *

Later that night we awoke and it was dark. I guessed it was maybe ten, but I didn’t want to disengage from Jim’s strong arms wrapped around me to turn and look at the clock.

We’d showered and then cleaned up the cum splatters and puddles – he’d shot three of his wads, one on the wall, one on the wood under the counter and one on the floor, and while he’d been on his knees he made a puddle out of his ass with my load – and laughed and jabbed and wrestled around . . . and kissed and held each other several times. Jim had called his nineteen year old son Perry to say when we’d be back at Jim’s for dinner, but Perry had gotten a better offer and was hanging out with some friend and didn’t expect to be home for dinner.

After the call about dinner I was starved, and Jim was even more so, and we’d dug the rotisserie chickens out of the fridge that I’d bought Friday night and ate them cold with some salad that was on the verge of wilting. Such had been my intended Saturday night provisions as well, but I’d ended Saturday at Jim’s house, ravenous after our first afternoon of sex, and he’d made us amazing omelets. I had no eggs in my house. I didn’t have much of anything. But we polished off the little of the one chicken, the rest I hadn’t eaten Friday night, and we’d devoured the whole second chicken, and the salad, and we’d had some fruit afterward. It was official – there was now nothing to eat in my house!

When we’d finished the meal and had cleaned up after ourselves – fortunately we were both neat freaks – the awkward moment came: what next?

I’d met Jim at the company picnic (and, no, he didn’t work for my company – WHEW!), and we’d left early together, gone to his place and had fucked for the better part of a day. Sunday morning Jim and his son had convinced me to go to their usual tennis at Jim’s club, and afterward we’d driven to my condo, and Perry had gone on home in Jim’s car. The intention was that I was going to get some things or we were going to have some time together and then I would take him home . . . or something. We hadn’t really talked it out; ergo, the awkward moment.

“So, I guess this is where it gets awkward, so just let me say this and get it over with,” Jim said, after we’d both been silent, moving around aimlessly, our dinner cleared and the kitchen cleaned and nothing left to do.

I held my breath and knew he was going to say thanks for the fun but time for me to get home. As a loner myself I knew how valuable alone time was. And as a horndog sexpig I knew how important the escape was. As a man who’d been fucking his brains out for now officially over 24 hours with an amazing stud who was also smart, funny and warm, I was hoping for something different, even though I didn’t know what exactly. After all, it was only a day.

He was looking deep into me, directly, never wavering. “This isn’t just the random sex, Bill. It isn’t just the connection. This is something more. I feel it, and I know you do.” His beautiful baby blues looked excited as he talked. “We’re both of an age where we can take responsibility for our decisions, and we can be responsible in general, and there are many who would say it would be irresponsible to count on any of this being more than what it’s been so far. But here’s the deal.”

I cut him off with a laugh at that point, and he smiled broadly as I said, “The negotiator lawyer re-emerges.”

“We’re both what we are: you’re the macho marine, and I’m the hot shit lawyer.”

“Oh, you’re a hot shit lawyer, are you? I hadn’t realized that!” I said, playfully pushing his face and tossling his hair, as he’d done to me the day before and made me melt. And truth be told, when I’d seen his beautiful beach house, the car he drove, found out he had his son in a private university (and figured he was on paid tuition, not scholarship, when I asked if he was on any sports teams and found out he wasn’t, just pick-up games when he could so that he could concentrate on his studies), I sorta figured he was either from a rich family or he was, in fact, hot shit in his profession.

“Yup that’s me,” said, laughing. And then as fast his face got serious. “So here’s the deal, my studly Colonel. This IS something, and I WANT it. I hope you do, but I want you to tell me what you want, don’t let me influence you. We’re mature and responsible enough to know that sometimes it just happens, and when it’s right, it’s right. And we’re mature and responsible enough to know that sometimes it feels like something but turns out to be something else. I know that can happen, and I’m willing to take the leap and deal with it if it’s not the something I feel like it is. So what do you say?”

Wow, what would I say? He was trained to talk and convince; I was trained to act and convince . . . or, more often, to act and force. I wasn’t trained to talk. And I sure as hell wasn’t trained in relationships. And for Chrissake it was one damn day – twenty-seven hours or so – and who the fuck knew if the awesome feeling I had about us was just endorphins (if it was possible to overdose on them, we’d both have been dead already!) or if it was something more.

My best friend in basic training was Jewish, and we’d stayed friends after he finished his time and left, not opting for a “career” as I had. He’d gotten married a year after he got out, and I had been in his wedding. It was a remarkable tradition I watched and participated in – archaic but wonderful – and it all centered around the concept of bashert – finding your soul mate. And the ceremony is all about that and about building a life together, a home together. Companionship and love, not just procreation, as it seemed the religion I grew up with and away from had defined marriage. In fact I had the impression that Catholic rigidity on marriage, procreation, anti-divorce and the concepts of bastards was more like a voluntary prison sentence than the concept of building a life with a soul mate. Did I date to think that maybe, just maybe Jim and I were bashert?

Whoa, Bill, rein in those expectations so you don’t get them dashed and trompled. That was my instinctive reaction. But I was FEELING it, feeling what to me echoed what Jim had said.

“I am not good at this, Jim,” I said, and started to clarify cheekily that I meant expression, not the sexcapades we’d indulged in for the past 28 hours or so, but something inside me gently quelled that natural obfuscation tactic.

“I’m not pushing you, Bill. I’m inviting you. And I’m promising you that if it isn’t what you want, I will make the exit clause completely comfortable to the extent it is within my power to do so for you.”

“Wow, can we get a legal secretary to start the drafting? I’ll have to have that high concept reduced to writing so I can re-read it a few times and try to absorb it.” OK, so the obfuscation tactic was still in full force.

“And?” he said, simply, peacefully.

OK, hadn’t seen that parry coming. And so, back to me.

We never broke eye contact as my mind whirled and ultimately that was the most persuasive single factor. “Just to be clear, and I’m not being flip, Jim,” I started, hoping he’d grab the “flip” and make a sexual innuendo out of it, but he didn’t, so I continued haltingly, working with each word and phrase to drag it through and out of my brain and across my tongue: “We’re saying let’s not leave this as ‘Awesome time, bud – let’s do it again’, exchange numbers and then see what happens,” I asked.

“I’m saying that. And?”

Damn him. He was passive and smiling and patient and sexy and not-demanding but just challenging enough. “And, uh, I guess you’re saying that we should pass go, collect a fledgling relationship and give it a go.” His smile got wider and brighter, and my glacial slide toward comfort with the idea was suddenly an avalanche of desire for it. “So if I understand correctly, then I say to you that you have to be aware that I’m not a veteran with relationships, and I’m not a naturally inclusive person and I’m moody and quirky and have plenty of bad habits.”

His smile was full-on now, but he just sat, not responding. I began to wonder and just as quickly to know that the smile was a front, and he was trying to find the words to get out of this, to cut and run, now that I’d given him the hint as to my nature. My mind was reeling as this thought turned to hypothesis turned to knowledge and overwhelmed me with fear that I’d put myself out there, if only in my mind by allowing the possibility that I could HAVE this, and now reality was returning and he was going to run before I could. I could feel the wave of panic returning, the feeling of helplessness, of how to run from this when I had nowhere to run to this minute because we were in my house, and –

“HELLO, Colonel Cate, are you in there?”

I had lost track in the wave of doubt that washed over me, and I hadn’t noticed he’d been speaking. We were on opposite sides of the kitchen island I’d fucked his brains out over earlier. Amazingly, deliciously, vulgarly fucked that hot stud and –

“Bill, relax,” Jim was now saying as I returned from that mind-trip and found he was now with me, facing me, his hand on my shoulder. “If this is too much, Bill, let’s just do it the usual way. I’ll take a cab home, or you’ll drive me home and drop me off, and then we’ll either go on from here or not and nobody will be stressed out.”

“NO,” I shouted involuntarily, surprising myself.

“No?”

I took a deep breath, and I realized that the smell of him, of us together, shower-soapy clean, was as heady as us reeking of sweat after the tennis game or of sex. “Yes. Er, no. I mean yes I said no. No, I don’t want that.”

“Just to be clear, which don’t you want. Or, really what I want to know is which you do want. And if it’s that you do want the drop me off, see if we call or get together again or go on from here, then I understand totally.”

“Jesus, Jim, an old marine could fall in love with a man like you!”

He blushed at that. He really blushed.

“So let me be clear. If I drive you home, it’ll be to go inside with you and continue, not to drop you off. Or, since we’re here and both exhausted from insufficient sleep last night combined with the equivalent of a month of basic training worth of exertion, the next step is to wrap each other up and go to sleep together and move on into tomorrow together and hopefully repeat.”

He teared up, which was disconcerting, but he also pulled me to him and held me tight, which was quickly proving to be a state I wanted to be in.

And so it was when I awoke with his arms wrapped around me, and it was dark outside. He had his watch on, and there was enough ambient light that I made out that it was four-thirty and then figured I must somehow be reading it upside down and it was ten as I’d thought. But no, that wasn’t it, as the stem was where it should be for the watch face to be up, and, in fact, it was four-thirty Memorial Day morning, and we’d been sleeping for over eight hours. I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened, and it had never happened for me with anyone else.