Only One Way To Go

My cousin is visiting for the week, before he goes off and joins the Marines. I like him well enough in general, but I know he's a homophobe, so we aren't close. Not that I've told him I'm gay or anything -- I prefer the closet, thank you. My father's a man with a violent temper and I'm no fighter. There's no use attempting to "out" myself and look for acceptance in my family -- they're a bunch of under-educated redneck bastards. I just received my acceptance letter from Harvard, and I'll be heading up there early this summer; I'll get a job as a waiter if I have to -- the sooner I am out of here, the better.

My mother died after a car accident when I was three. Since then, my father and I have lived a relatively peaceful if estranged existence. He hired nannies and babysitters while he flew here and there on business. The nannies were men and women; black and white; old and young; and I liked to think, straight and gay. My dad came home one time to find one of my sitters -- a guy -- leafing through an issue of the Advocate. My father began beating the shit out of the guy. I came downstairs from my bedroom to see the sitter sitting calmly on the sofa, holding an ice-pack to his eye, while my father groaned on the floor. Apparently, Chuck -- that was the guy's name I think -- had turned the tables on Dad. I never saw that sitter again.

I remember my dad asking me all sorts of questions that night. I was five and had no idea what he was talking about. He asked if Chuck had done "anything weird" to me while giving me my bath before bed. Did he wash my butt a lot more than other people? Did he tell me to do things to him and scare me with threats if I told anybody? These questions went on for weeks, popping up every once in a while. When I grew old enough to realize not only that I was gay but that my father had believed that Chuck had molested me ONLY for that reason and no other, I vowed never to out myself to my father. I also vowed to get the hell away from him as soon as I could.

The Blue Star is an hour's drive from Lakeview. After waving goodbye to my cousin as he sped away with a girl I had set him up with, I get in my car and head right for the Star. You have to be 21 to get in, but I had a fling last summer with the bouncer, Tony, and he lets me in anyway. I head straight for the dance floor and I see who I hoped I would see.

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"Hey, Mike!"

Mike Washington turns towards me. My breath catches as his obsidian eyes and gold-tinted lashes meet my enraptured gaze. His dark skin contrasts beautifully with his lavender-and-white suit, tailored to perfection. My eyes drink in his well-muscled legs and powerful chest. We move towards each other simultaneously and he grasps me in a steel embrace.

The music, the lights, the clinking of glasses and the roar of laughter, conversation and music all disappear and I am surrounded by the sight, touch, taste and scent of him as we cling to each other and kiss. Our tongues greet each other with hot urgency, dancing against each other's mouths, first together, then apart, seeking the love and comfort of familiar sensations and hoping for the possibility of new discoveries. Mike's hand brushes my crotch, his fingers digging into the bulge beneath my slacks.

I moan deep in my throat and push myself against his hand. My skin burns for his touch while chills race down my back at the same instant. I ache for the feel of our naked bodies rubbing against one another. Mike's tongue flicks across my closed eyelids in small circles, then down my face -- each cheek, each ear. He pauses, dipping his tongue ever so gently inside my ears, then thrusting in and out until he has me shivering against him and clinging to him as I shudder with pleasure.

His tongue continues its descent as he dances me across the floor. He pushes my head back with one hand and his warm tongue darts back and forth across my throat. My cock aches for the feel of his mouth and that talented tongue. His hand drops inside my pants as he maneuvers me through the crowd ringing the dance floor and past the bar. He nods at Tony as we back through the door.

Mike lifts me and carries me across the parking lot. The night is cool and sweet-smelling, the sounds of the Blue Star receding as Mike heads for his car. Holding me easily with one arm, he unlocks the back door on the driver's side and places me gently on the seat. He climbs in with me and closes the door. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I watch as he drapes sheets across each window. When he has finished, he turns once more to me and slides his hand up my left leg until he reaches the promise of my hard cock stretching the fabric of my slacks.

He slips his hand inside and I wiggle out of my pants as he tugs down on them. He pulls them over my feet and removes my loafers and socks. He pulls out two of those "Wash 'n Dry" packets they give you at places where they serve messy finger food, and washes down my feet. He begins massaging each foot, his large, warm, strong hands kneading the tension from my toes, then the balls of my feet. He lifts one foot to his mouth and spreads my toes with his tongue, darting it around and between, then sucking at the toes themselves.

"I want you to imagine I'm sucking your dick, George," he murmurs seductively. "Imagine it; my mouth has your whole dick in it, right down to your balls, baby."

I can easily imagine this. After all, I have had my dick in Mike's mouth a few times before, and it is an extremely welcome image. His tongue swipes along the soles of my feet, up between the toes, then over the tops of my feet. He works on them for about twenty minutes, and I am begging him to make the image real, to come get my cock and take it in his mouth.

Instead, he drops his pants and gets up onto his knees, presenting me with his cock.

"Lick it, George; lick it good. That's a good boy."

I want him so badly; my balls are roasting with the need for him. His tongue closing over my dick is such sweet relief; I close my eyes, moaning my pleasure. I shoved myself in deeper, telling him to take it all the way. He pulls me in, his mouth hot and tight around me. I reach for his dick and start pumping hard. His lips close tightly around me, his teeth grazing me. He feels my muscles tense as I prepare to come and he lets my dick move back a few inches -- he doesn't want me to shoot straight down his throat -- he wants to feel it rush into his mouth and taste it as he struggles to swallow every drop. I flood his mouth, spurt after spurt of my response to his loving touch flows from me.

The way his hands grab at me and the way his body moves demonstrate louder than words that he has lost all desire to have me return the favor. He wants to go deeper then that -- he wants to reach into me much further, much more intimately. I reach down and push the lever at the side of the passenger seat; it springs forward with a light thump. I grasp the top of the seat and bend over it, presenting him with what he has earned. I feel his fingers, well-lubricated with K-Y, drive into my anus. With his other hand, he strokes my balls. When all is well-lathered, he presses the tip of his cock against me, teasing me by rubbing it back and forth, up and down. He starts to enter, then pulls out, my excitement and need building. It is my turn to beg now. Finally, after what seems like hours, he thrusts inside me, grabbing my shoulders and riding me wildly.

"Oh, yes! Do it, baby! Harder, baby!"

I moan and beg and encourage him to go harder and faster. He tires more easily than I -- he doesn't work out like I do, but he can fuck fine and fast for a long while. I feel myself building up again, another climax just over the horizon. I feel him shudder just before he cries out, and I close my eyes as the gush of hot semen shoots deep inside me.

When we manage to catch our breath, the teasing, the tension-building, the loving climb toward fulfillment will begin again. For now, we lay clasped in one another's arms, contented.

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