Date: Thu, 5 Aug 2021 10:10:35 -0700
From: Tucker <metredose@gmail.com>
Subject: It Takes a Man

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people or
events is coincidental. No part of this story may be reprinted without
permission. Copyright by Metredose, 2020, and all rights reserved. Comments
and criticism welcome. Metredose@gmail.com

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An older, married straight man, long down on his luck, has been both
involuntarily celibate and impotent for years. A personal ad brings the
possibility of hooking up with a younger gay man, but will he have the
courage? If he does, will he be able to accept sexual pleasure when the
possibility of either an erection or an orgasm are very slim? If you're
interested in finding out, read on!


			      It Takes a Man


Don sat in front of his laptop with a look of consternation on his face. He
had just gotten through chatting with his daughter on Zoom. She was in
another state, in college, and he had contacted her to try to get her to
rein in her expenses. Anna, his daughter, had not been cooperative. She'd
said she was doing her best and looking for a job, but Don had heard the
same thing many times before. He'd said as much. And she told him to "chill
out" and said that he looked "constipated."

Constipated! Was there no respect anymore? He'd let the comment pass, but
it had hurt him. All her life he had been close to her, closer than he was
to his son, anyway. And now it looked like she had turned against him,
too. It seemed everyone was against him. His wife, who was distant and
seemed totally disinterested in him since the kids had left the nest. His
son, who was out living his life, as he called it, and who could rarely be
bothered to call and say hello. And work. Good Lord, work was a bitch, and
it was getting worse all the time.

He was fifty one years old. An average white man, he felt, who went to
church as a formality, doted on his children to all who would listen, as a
matter of course, and who deferred to his wife in all ways that
mattered. When he was younger it was easier. He'd had more energy. He'd had
a joy for living. He'd taken things as they came. But that was getting more
and more difficult to do. Constipated? If Anna only knew!

He tried to push the comment from his mind. He navigated his way to a
forbidden website, looking cautiously at the closed door to his bedroom,
just to be sure. Xvideos. That site had everything. He did a search for
"voluptuous women." By "voluptuous" he meant women with large breasts, his
favorite, not fat women. But fat women is what he got. He decided to be
more specific in his next search, "big tits." And rows of videos popped up
with just what he was looking for, just waiting to be clicked. He opened
one of them. A blonde, just hanging around, naked, engaging in dirty
talk. Pretty face. A fit but curvy body. Huge knockers. Something like his
wife had been twenty odd years before. And nothing. His mind was engaged
but his body did not react. Not in the way it should.

The next search, "big tits giving blow job," caused him to look at the door
again. Not that his wife would ever come into his room. She hadn't in
years, except to clean. Rows of videos again, all showing large breasted
women sucking large, hard penises. His own penis, again, didn't react. Nor
did it respond after a search for "fucking a chick with big tits." It hung
there, limp and lifeless, as if he was looking at paint samples. But this
was no surprise to Don. He lived in hope, but it had been over three years
since he'd had a proper erection, and just as long since he'd blown a load.

It was the pressure at work, he told himself, every time what should have
happened didn't happen. It was stress. It was, in its own way, indeed
constipation. If Anna only knew how right she was! Work was stressful, but
it had always been stressful. He worked for a large warehousing operation,
on site management, and had done since he graduated community college
decades before. The pay was excellent, as were the benefits. He'd never had
to worry. The job, oh yes, it was stressful, but he'd always enjoyed being
active, enjoyed meeting deadlines, enjoyed the challenge of having all
ducks in a row, ready for execution. And now? Well, he could barely keep
up.

Business was booming, the pace ever faster. He was still good at what he
did, but more irritable about it. His mind wasn't as flexible and the
middle of his body was a little padded from a slower metabolism, the kind
that inevitably comes with middle age, and from overeating. Overeating to
compensate for his pain. To soothe the joyless existence his life had
become. He often suffered from indigestion. Just another symptom of a sad
and increasingly miserable life.

He felt like a mule. A sexless work horse. Everything he did was for his
family, but there was little appreciation given in return. He was taken for
granted. He was practically invisible. When did it start and why had he
allowed it to go on for so long? For the numbness had descended upon his
heart long before it settled into his genitals. Even his fantasies were
gray and dead.

There was a time, soon after his wife took up in her own bedroom and left
him cold and alone in what became his, when he'd had an active fantasy
life, one that sustained him. He used to enjoy reading through the
Craigslist personal ads, imagining himself with one of the sex crazed women
who posted there. Always the woman in his fantasies was different from his
wife. Young, dark, easy going, even devil may care. And always horny. A
woman who enjoyed sex as much as he did, and who was not only willing but
also appreciative of his prowess. A woman not driven by money or social
status but living for feeling, for the joy of the moment. Did such a woman
even exist? Don had his doubts, even back then, but his mind had taken any
scraps and ran with them into his illicit imaginations.

And now those Craiglist personals were long gone, victim to sex traffickers
who sometimes exploited them, and an overzealous government reaction that
seemed designed to punish all those who used them instead of just the few
abusers. But people were weird about sex. Don knew that. How else could you
explain an impotent man spending hours looking at pornography? It was an
exercise in futility. But he sure missed those Craigslist ads. Fantasy,
however brief, however far fetched, at least kept the dream alive.

His mind drifted away to his errant son, his spoiled daughter, his
indifferent wife, and then to the source of great alarm, the young general
manager at work who pushed and pushed, and seemed to want to push Don right
out of a job. It wasn't fair. Nothing about his life was fair. He felt
beaten. He felt anger and sadness welling up inside of him, canceling each
other out but creating a feeling that was much worse than either alone. He
was close to turning off his computer, to moving to the family room couch
and losing himself in mindless television, when an idea seized him.

There had to be something else. There had to be an alternative to
Craigslist personal ads. Not the ones that made you pay, something Don
would never do, but something free, something set up to take Craigslist's
place. He felt a little jab of excitement as he typed into Google,
"alternative to Craigslist personal ads." Several sites popped up. Don
perused a few of them, unimpressed. They all seemed to want a person who
would rather remain anonymous to set up an account. What a pain in the ass!
But he finally did it at a site called "Doublelist," since they did not
require a credit card number.

It took him a while to figure this new site out, and he was ultimately
disappointed. The posts in the "Women for Guys" section were a little too
unrealistic. He sensed that the posters of these ads were interested in
everything but sex. There seemed to be a monetary angle to most of them,
and he sensed that they were lures to get him, and other men like him, to
join "for pay" websites. Some of the ads read like outright spam, and some
were creepy, trumpeting kinks that were way beyond Don's comfort zone. He
couldn't find a single one that seemed sincere, and maybe he had changed
since the earlier days of his impotence. He couldn't eek a single genuine
fantasy out of any of them, hard as he tried.  But his mind was stirred
even if his body was not. He looked at the door again. Then he actually got
up and made sure it was locked. Only when he was fairly certain that no one
would ever know did he click on the "Guys for Guys" section of Doublelist.

The idea first occurred to him in the early days of his waning sex life,
back when he was in his late thirties. He'd been in restroom stalls and
seen the words, the pleas, usually scratched in and
permanent. Queers. Queers wanting a dick to suck. Sometimes there were
large holes carved into these stall walls, especially at the local highway
rest stop. Well, Don knew what those were for. He was too terrified of
being caught to ever utilize those holes himself, but it was the first time
in his life that the idea of another man servicing him hadn't brought on a
reaction of disgust. The thought had never risen to the level of fantasy--
Don most definitely preferred women. But it was an option of convenience
that he had filed away all the same. For Don, in his heyday, had been a
rugged and virile man, and it was only gradually that his urges had
dwindled away.

During her first pregnancy, Don's wife had stopped giving him blowjobs, a
favored activity for him, never to resume. Then after the birth of their
second child the frequency of their copulations had taken a sharp
decline. By the time the children were in high school, Don got sex maybe
once a month if he was lucky, rushed and obviously done from a sense of
duty on his wife's part. She freed herself of this duty entirely after
their son moved out, and that was the end. When he confronted his wife,
pleaded with her, she said that part of their life was over. Don considered
chasing other women at that point, and might have done so were it not for a
painful incident that occurred not long after his wife's sexual rejection
of him.

He'd taken up masturbation. What else could he do? He was still a man and
still had needs, perhaps more powerful needs than most men. Well, she
caught him at it one day. He'd been in his bedroom, with the door closed,
stroking vigorously to one of his favorite scenes on Xvideos. The woman in
the video was sexy and dark, with enormous tits, and she was riding a
rather large dildo with great gusto. She started to wail, in a high pitched
sort of way, in simulated orgasm, and Don had popped his cork extra
hard. He cursed. He grunted. His wife, who had been passing in the hall,
heard the muffled, guttural noises and threw open the door, thinking he was
having a heart attack. She caught the tail end of Don's orgasm, the last
few shots that fired up onto his soaked T-shirt. A look that went beyond
disgust spread over her face. Don looked at her sheepishly, and her eyes
hardened into hateful coals. She left without saying a word. Don's cock
wilted, faster than it ever had before, and it never really recovered.

Ever after, when he tried to masturbate, Don's cock simply wouldn't
respond. No manipulation would make it grow or even stir. He hadn't felt so
much as a twinge down there. All was inactive and numb, and in time Don
wondered if his penis would simply wither and fall off, like some dried,
vestigial organ, useless souvenir of a happier life. And now he was reduced
to looking at gay personal ads on some trashy website, in the desperate
hope that someone, anyone, would be interested in him sexually. He doubted
it. He really did. Why should a man be any more inclined to find him
attractive than a woman? And the deep down truth was that he was impotent,
and he believed no one could pull him out of that, regardless of gender

After two years, humiliated but desperate, he'd spoken to his doctor, and
then it was official. Someone else knew of his failure, of his
weakness. The doctor, as he expected, prescribed Viagra. Well, those little
blue pills may have worked miracles for other men, but they did nothing for
Don. His penis remained flaccid and disinterested, his balls numb and cold
as marbles. And then he couldn't bring himself to tell his doctor the
truth. Instead, he told his doctor that the pills had worked wonders. He
never brought the subject up again. Because if Viagra didn't work he
believed nothing would. Why add to his already considerable embarrassment?

The ads in the "Guys for Guys' section weren't any better than the ones in
the "Women for Guys" section. A lot of older men seeking younger men. A lot
of guys wanting to "dress up," which Don knew meant dressing as a woman, an
idea he found disturbing. And a lot of guys looking to "bottom," which he
knew meant getting fucked in the ass, and Don was not interested. If he
ever went so far as to be with another man it would be strictly to receive
oral sex. His love of getting blown was the only reason he would even
consider it. Don sighed. It was all so pointless, such a waste of time. But
just as he was about to give up, Don's eyes fell upon an ad that intrigued
him. The title read, "For Your Pleasure."

He noted that the poster listed his age as twenty five next to the
title. The ad read like this, "Eager gay man wants to service older,
masculine man. Straight or Bi are big pluses. I am clean, friendly, disease
free and discreet. Prefer men 40 to 60 years old who want no strings
fun. No reciprocation! I am very orally inclined and very talented. I can
host. Let me know if you're interested."

Don read it over five or six times, a feeling of excitement and nervousness
rushing through him. It was exactly what he wanted. It was exactly what he
needed. Yes, it was another man. But that had its own benefits. Men were
less emotional, less invested in diving quickly into long term
relationships, so less likely to expose an indiscretion. And, truth be
told, the possibility of not producing an erection at the required time
seemed a little less scary with a man. Because he could ascribe the failure
to his orientation and lack of attraction to other males. That gave him an
excuse, a way to get out of a bad situation with some dignity, if and when
he couldn't get it up.

Don's mind poured over these details and a fantasy was born. It was
possible! It could happen! He saw a path forward, and he let go and
imagined what it would be like. But his inhibitions rose up to greet him
very soon, and his fear stopped his thought process cold. He knew in his
heart that he would never have the courage.

Off went the computer, and then Don was in the family room, settled on a
comfy couch. He turned on the TV. He flipped through the channels. And his
mind was soon racing. There was a young, not too masculine man inside his
head, sucking Don's rampant cock, making him explode like never before,
making him enjoy every second. He grew restless. He barely noted the images
and sounds coming from the television. An uncomfortable sense of
frustration would not leave him.

Would there be any harm in contacting the person behind the ad? It would be
a step forward. It would be testing the waters until a more serious
prospect, a female prospect, arrived. Wouldn't that be good for him? He was
tired of being in stasis. He was tired of being alone and invisible. What
did he have to lose? The TV was flipped off and Don rushed back to his
bedroom, locking the door again behind him. He went straight back to the
ad, and before his nerves had a chance to catch up with him, he wrote a
response.

"Sounds great. I love getting sucked."

He hesitated. His fears rose up around him, again. He pushed back at
them. He pushed send. And then he thought, "My God, what have I done?" But
his message wasn't anything special, he reasoned. The guy would probably
never write back, even if the ad was real. Still, he kept his eyes glued to
his email, and his heart leapt in his chest a couple of minutes later when
his account indicated he had a new message. Don was afraid to look, yet it
was driving him crazy not to. He waited until he was a little more calm to
see who sent it. A buzzing sound rang in his ears when he saw it was a
response from Doublelist, and then he really panicked.

A cold shower. That was what he needed to cool down in the heat, to settle
his nerves. He got undressed and stepped into the coolest setting of the
shower. That, he was sure, would make him see things more clearly, make him
give up this ridiculous charade. But the cold water did nothing but make
him more edgy. A few minutes later, after a rush job of drying off, he
crept back to his computer. He clicked on the email, his heart alive and
racing. The response was straight forward. The response read, "Tell me
about yourself."

And what if I don't want to? Don's mind rebelled against this nameless
seeker of information. He held onto his phony umbrage for only a few
moments. Then he dug deep. There was nothing to be afraid of. It was just
harmless exploration. It was anonymous. Yet he was terrified and shaking as
he wrote his response.

"I'm Don. 51. Married with children. Never been with another man in any
sexual way. But I really need my cock sucked. It's been a while!"

"Shit, why did I use my real name," Don thought, after clicking send. "What
a dummy!

It wasn't long before there was another response.

"I'm Ryan. I really am 25. And I really, really like to suck, so that makes
us a good match! Are you interested in coming over?"

Don read this with the growing realization that yes, he really did want to
go over. Ryan seemed nice and uncomplicated. Ryan seemed as eager as he'd
claimed to be in his ad.

"I would like that. But like I said, I'm straight and very nervous about
this. If it happened, I only want my cock sucked. Not even sure I'd want to
undress. Is that okay?"

Ryan wrote back quickly.

"Sure. Whatever you like is fine. I'm nervous too! How about you come over
and we'll check each other out? See if we're into going further?"

The fantasy was doing a number on Don. There was hope in his heart even if
there wasn't fire in his loins. He imagined a pretty young man sucking his
hard cock again. He imagined firing a big load into the young man's
mouth. He even imagined the young man swallowing it all down, like a good
one. For a brief moment he forgot he was impotent. For a brief moment his
head was filled with excitement. But one mindless brush of his palm over
his crotch told him that he was as limp as ever. It was ridiculous, the
whole thing. It was downright pitiful. He turned off his computer, ashamed,
and went to lay down on his bed to ease his troubled mind. He felt hot and
feverish. But the stillness of his body while he lay there was worse. The
stillness was unbearable.

He got up again and turned on the computer, once again. There was a moist
feeling in his eyes, a twitch at the corner of the left one. He went to his
email as soon as he could get there, and with trembling fingers, he humbled
himself.

"I haven't been honest with you, Ryan. I'm impotent. Sorry for leading you
on."

Before he had a chance to think better of it, Don hit send. His face was
ashen. His expression grim. His eyes wouldn't stop twitching. He knew the
man on the other side of the screen wouldn't respond again. Who would? And
it was a little comforting to know he could lay his anxieties to rest and
move on from this frightening fantasy. But his disappointment was
bitter. He really hurt inside.

Zing, and another response. Don hadn't expected that, and definitely not so
quickly. He dreaded the comforting words of let down that he suspected were
written. He dreaded the kind words of rejection.  His heart was pounding
and his head was filled with disdainful images and voices. His wife,
looking at his body in disgust that day when she caught him
masturbating. The ungrateful attitudes of his son and daughter, as if they
were being generous by just allowing themselves to be around him, on those
rare occasions when they were. The image of his own body, slow and
congested with flesh, no longer in its prime. His dead genitals.

But he had to take his medicine. He had started this terrible waste of time
by contacting the man from the ad, and now it was time to finish it. He
clicked on the message. He steeled himself and then read it.

"It's okay. No expectations. I don't know why, but I have a good feeling
about you. If you are interested I still want you to come over."

"Seriously?" Don replied, in his head and in the email response he fired
off.

He couldn't quite wrap his head around it.

"Yeah. I'm okay with it if you are."

But Don didn't know if he was okay with it. Could he really stand it, or
stand himself, if he couldn't get hard while someone was sucking him? He
suspected it would be absolutely mortifying. But it was uncharted
territory. He thought he would remain impotent no matter how he was
stimulated. A long, painful history showed that. All his attempts had
failed to produce results. But, he reasoned, he had never been sucked since
he was afflicted. He'd never tested it in that way. It was, after all, his
very favorite sex act. He thought maybe, just maybe, it might happen for
him if his penis was in another person's mouth. But what if it didn't?
Could he deal with it? Could he still enjoy himself?

He doubted it. Yet there was every reason to try. He didn't want his sex
life to be over and done. Wasn't the idea that he might never experience
sexual pleasure again much worse than anything that could potentially
happen between he and Ryan? Don knew it was. As alien as his current
prospect seemed to him, the fact that Ryan was a stranger and also a male,
it was an opportunity to do something about a situation that had gone on
for far too long. He girded himself. He pushed his fears aside and wrote to
Ryan.

"Okay. I'd like to try it. I'm extremely nervous and I have to tell you
that the chances of me getting an erection are very slim. Viagra doesn't
work for me. But I want to try if you're willing."

For a long while, Don hesitated. He knew sending the email was a huge
step. There was no turning back if he did it. And it was so fucking crazy,
all of it. But he was desperate and lonely, and wanted so very much to feel
better about himself. Finally, with an under his breath "fuck it," he
pressed send.

"Great!" Ryan wrote, soon after. "Don't worry about erections! Just come
knowing I want to make you feel good!"

Ryan gave his address. Ryan gave his phone number, but "texts are fine,
too." Ryan asked when he was coming.

"Have to change. 20 minutes? Is that okay?"

"Perfect!" Ryan emailed back. "See you then!"

"Okay. Can't believe I'm going to do this. I'll see you in a few."

Ryan didn't respond again. The date, such as it was, was set. There was no
backing out now. A daze settled over Don's mind, a feeling something like
shell shock, but there was some excitement mixed in, too. He pulled off his
grubs. At least he'd already showered, he thought. And then he went to his
dresser and fished out some ratty old boxers. Nope. Not those. He inspected
another pair, but they were worse. And then he remembered that he had some
briefs his wife had bought for him a couple of years before, because "they
were out of boxers," even though she knew that Don had never in their
marriage worn anything but lightweight boxer shorts. He'd been a tad
disgruntled about it at the time. He hated waste. But he thought he still
had them. And he thought he might wear them. He had no idea where the
notion came from, but it came.

Yes, he found them, in the drawer with his white sports socks. The undies
were sparkly white, because they had never even been on his body. Old
fashioned Jockey shorts. Well, it couldn't hurt anything to try them on,
anyway. So Don did, and then he went to the large mirror in the
bathroom. He was surprised that they looked okay on him. He was surprised
in general. Perhaps his mood was elevated. Perhaps he was seeing with a
clearer eye now, when he didn't feel quite as awful as usual. His body
didn't look half bad to him. His hips were a little thicker than they'd
been when he was in his thirties, but still much slimmer than his
shoulders, which he noted, with some pleasure, were still broad. He frowned
at the extra padding at his center of his body, still not at peace with it
after many years, but overall he wasn't entirely displeased. He really
didn't look too bad for a man of his age, he thought.

The Jockey shorts were a go. He pulled out a pair of newer jeans, still
dark blue, then went to the closet for a nice button down shirt. Though he
didn't think about it, Don dressed the same way he had all those years ago
when, as a young man, he went on dates with women. He looked at himself
when he was finished dressing and felt he looked better than he had in a
long time. His slipped a belt through the loops in his jeans, buckled it,
then frowned. He hadn't tucked in his shirt, even for work, in years. But
the urge to do so was suddenly with him. He unbuckled again, tucked in,
then adjusted his belt. In front of the mirror, he was mildly pleased by
what he saw. He had something like a figure.

"This is it," he thought to himself, and then he headed down the
stairs. His wife was at the kitchen table, doing paperwork, her hair up in
a sloppy bun. She didn't look up when he passed. He realized how easy it
was to sneak around when his wife didn't care. When he got to the garage he
fished out his keys, but he had trouble aligning the car key with the
keyhole on the door to his Camry. He was shaking. Just a light tremor, but
it was there. He thought, "Am I really going to go through with this?" He
sat in his car for a couple of minutes, the shaking growing stronger and
stronger, before he could bring himself to turn the key in the ignition.

Off he went, but the shaking turned into quaking. He could barely hold onto
the steering wheel after a while. His heart was clanking like mad in his
chest and in his ears, and he was seized by an irrational but debilitating
terror. It felt like he was going to die, and the certainty grew stronger
the nearer he got to Ryan's address. He was within a few blocks of it when
he suddenly shot his head left and then right, and pulled a screeching
U-turn. Within minutes he was back home, the terror slowly turning to
relief. His wife again didn't look up when he passed back through the
kitchen.

He would email Ryan. He would tell him that something came up and he
couldn't make it. That was the only answer. His heart felt heavy. His eyes
felt heavier. Moisture was gathering under the lids. He clenched his
strong, square jaw. He gritted his teeth and fought against rising
emotion. He plopped down before his desk with a heavy thud. He wouldn't
cry. No, he would not cry. He slammed his fist down on the desk instead,
and the pain brought relief. His mind cleared a little, and the voices
inside went silent, but he still wanted to scream. He felt so helpless. He
felt so incredibly weak. And then, quite suddenly, he felt incredibly
angry.

"Fuck this!" he said, aloud.

He would have bellowed the words if his wife wasn't home. But even this
small expression, this small venting of his frustration, helped him to
act. He got up. He stomped back down the stairs, walked past his wife, who
did look up this time as he passed, but was ignored. Back in the car, he
summoned all of his courage and forced himself forward. He turned the key,
and the Camry hummed into life, as Camrys do. And then he was off, speeding
all the way, fleeing forward. The voices inside, the terrorizing voices,
rose up again, and it felt like he was in a room where the walls were
closing in on him. But he kept going. He was shaking and quaking, and his
heart was thrumming so fast that he thought he might have an attack, but he
kept going. And he found the duplex where Ryan lived, and he parked and got
out as fast as he could, so as not to give his courage a chance to fail
again.

It was neither a nice area of town nor a bad one, but something in
between. The dwelling was neither new nor particularly old. He had written
the address on a piece of paper, which he now studied, again and again. The
thought of knocking on the wrong door filled him with anxiety. Both units
of the duplex, side by side, had little enclosed patios in the front. In
one there was a small, tidy lawn next to the walkway, with a couple of lawn
chairs on it. The other had a similar walkway, but instead of a lawn there
was a resplendent little garden, filled with tomato vines and squash, and
all manner of bright flowers. Kind of hippy dippy.

Don had a hunch. He walked up the walkway of the unit with the garden, and
there on the door was the number, 1. It was the right place. He had made
it. But his courage deserted him, at last. A terror more powerful than any
he had felt before took ahold of his heart, and squeezed and squeezed. He
had to go. He had to leave, and he knew after this final try that he would
never, ever try again, with anyone. His shame was too strong. It was misery
to be alone and invisible, unloved and untouched. But it was a safe
misery. He turned and faced the street. It was over. It was time to let
sleeping dogs lie. And then he heard the creak of a door being opened
behind him, and a clear but soft voice came to his ears.

"Don?"

He turned around. What else could he do? A young man stood facing him, just
outside the door. Sun gleamed off his hair in a blaze of light. His eyes
were squinting under the harsh rays. His frame was slight. Don held his
ground. If he moved he thought he might make a run for it. He didn't trust
his voice, either, but he had no choice but to speak.

"Are you okay," Ryan said.

"I'm terrified. I don't know if I can do this."

"It's okay. Whatever you need to do is okay. But I would love to have you
inside and get to know you a little. No strings."

"Okay," Don said.

Because what else could he say when he was on the verge of collapse?

His legs felt very heavy, but the terror he felt inside had reached such a
peak that it had nowhere to go, and it could do nothing but recede. He
moved. He walked unsteadily. He went inside, out of the blinding light,
into the cooler comfort of Ryan's apartment. Ryan guided him down a short
hallway, past a bedroom, into a smallish living room that was open to the
kitchen.

"I need to sit down," Don said.

He was led to a small overstuffed couch, but he felt no better when he was
off his feet.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"Water," Don said.

He gulped it down when it came, and then he did feel slightly better. Ryan
was watching him with big brown eyes. Warm brown eyes. The kid was shorter
than Don by a few inches, and his appearance, though not flashy, was
pleasing, as far as men went. His hair, so bright in the sunshine, was a
light chestnut brown color, and was maybe jaw length, but brushed back from
his face and tucked behind his ears. His features were gentle, even a
little delicate, especially his small but plump lipped mouth. He had a deep
tan and looked well under his twenty five years.

"I feel so embarrassed," Don said. "I can't believe how scared I am. I was
going to walk away."

"Yeah. I thought you might. But you don't need to be scared or
embarrassed. You're safe here."

"I feel like such a pussy," Don said, choking his deep voice back in a
failed attempt to avoid showing emotion.

"It's normal. I mean, we're strangers. You've never done something like
this."

"I'm impotent," Don said.

"I'm okay with that," Ryan said. "I think you're a very attractive man, if
you don't mind me saying so."

"Really?"

"Yes," Ryan said. "Very handsome, and a great body."

"I'm fat and I have a big nose!"

"Your nose fits your face. You're ruggedly handsome."

"You really think so?"

"Oh, yes," Ryan said, very decisively. "And you're not fat. You have a
really strong build."

"With a middle age spread."

"A little," Ryan agreed. "Some people find that attractive."

Ryan winked. Don smiled, the first time in forever.

"So I'm your type?"

"I think you're a lot of people's type. In a gay bar the boys would be
fighting over you."

"Women sure don't," Don said. "I feel like I'm invisible sometimes. I feel
like no one really looks at me."

"I'm looking at you," Ryan said. "And I like what I see. I love your
hair. Thick and wavy. And dark blonde, like a lion's mane. I love that."

"I need to get it cut."

"It looks so good as it is."

"Thanks," Don said.  "Do you mind if I ask what you do for a living?"

"I'm a counselor."

"Like a psychiatrist?"

Ryan chuckled.

"No. A career counselor at the university. I give students a path toward
their goals. What classes to take, apprenticeships, career fairs, all
that."

"Do you like it?"

"Yes! The pay could be better, but I like helping people."

The terror, the fear, were subsiding. Don felt almost comfortable. For the
first time, he noticed Ryan's apartment, how well kept it was. Lots of
knickknacks and the like, real homey, and very clean. Ryan was a good
housekeeper, Don thought. Modern art hung from the few walls, and that was
not to Don's taste, but he liked the colors.

"So what do we do next? How do we proceed?"

"However you want. I'm totally open, Don."

"This is new territory for me. I think you need to take the lead."

"Well, how about a massage?"

"Do I have to get naked?"

"Not if you don't want to. If you sit in that chair and undo a few buttons
on your shirt, I think I can do a reasonable job. But only if you want."

"It sounds nice," Don said.

He moved to the appointed chair, which wasn't backed up against a wall, but
out a little bit so Ryan could get behind it. Don undid the three top
buttons of his shirt, and then Ryan pushed back the collar a bit and slid
his fingers inside of Don's T-shirt. Don shivered. It felt good, but it was
difficult to accept that another man was touching him in so intimate a
manner, even a man as nonthreatening as Ryan. But he forced himself to be
calm. And when Ryan got to work, he was glad of it, for after a gentle
start the young man got down to business, and Don knew his muscles were
tense.

It hurt but felt oh so good at the same time. Ryan's kneading fingers dug
into his flesh and teased the muscles that connected his shoulders to his
neck into some semblance of order. Don issued soft groans each time Ryan
worked on a new spot. The muscles slowly relaxed and Don's mind slowly
eased. The massage lasted a long time. Don didn't want it to end. He wanted
more. As for his penis, he felt not the slightest twinge down there, but it
was okay. It was just a back massage, after all. Eventually, Ryan's fingers
slowed and then stopped. He withdrew his hands.

"Did I tire you out?" Don asked.

"Can't really reach much else. If you want more, you probably need to take
off your shirt. And it would help if you were lying down."

"Where?" Don asked, a hint of alarm in his voice.

"My bedroom. On my bed. Only if you're comfortable with it, though."

"I don't know if I'm ready for that," Don said.

"That's okay. Maybe we could just talk?"

"That sounds good."

But when it came down to it, Don didn't have much to say. He had exhausted
his store of small talk. The thought of dredging up his recent past, with
all its many disappointments, didn't appeal to him, either. It wasn't the
time or place to bare his soul. There was some momentum for the first time
in a long time in his life, and though he was very apprehensive in his
current situation, Don didn't want to stop. It still felt to him like now
or never.

"You know what? Let's just go for it."

"Are you sure?" Ryan said.

There was a look of concern in his eyes that Don found reassuring.

"I'd like to give it a try, at least."

The bedroom was off the little hall Don had passed through on his way to
the living room. He followed Ryan there. The bed was neatly made, with some
type of patterned bedspread. Batik, Don thought his wife called that
style. Very hippy dippy. But then Ryan looked a little like a hippy, with
his longish hair and his brown leather sandals. His long board shorts were
khaki and loose on his slender frame, as was the simple brown T-shirt he
wore.

Don also wore a T-shirt under his button down shirt, but his was white. Men
like Don always wore such undershirts. He hesitated to take it off after
the top shirt was removed. Why had he thought he looked better in the
mirror earlier? His belly was so obvious in the T-shirt. He pulled it off
quickly and then flopped onto the bed so Ryan couldn't see it too well. And
then a thought occurred to him that sent him into another panic.

He was on a bed. He was on his belly on a bed. And it was a gay man's
bed. And that gay man was above and behind him, and that gay man was
clothed while he was partially naked. A bolt of shock hit Don when Ryan
crawled onto the bed, too. He felt his asshole tighten involuntarily. It
was now or never, now or never, the words kept echoing in his head, but he
could scarcely contain a shudder when Ryan touched him, and he could barely
stifle a scream when the young man climbed on top.

A full blown panic attack ensued. Don felt trapped. He felt pinned to the
bed. It had only been a couple of seconds, but it felt like he was locked
in a prison, and had been for years. The boy was sitting on his butt,
sitting on Don's butt. They were butt to butt, and that was how Ryan
intended to give him a massage. It was all Don could do not to buck up and
throw the boy off of him. He couldn't believe what was happening, and he
desperately wanted to get up and run as fast and far as he could. But
Ryan's hands found his shoulders quickly, and he dug into the tense,
knotted flesh there with strength he hadn't shown before. Don moaned in
pain and release, and Ryan went at him.

The boy was sitting on his butt, but he was light, and both of them were at
least partially clothed. It was not an attempt at mounting, Don
reasoned. Ryan was not trying to fuck him. The young man's penis was
contained in his khaki shorts. Don's rectum was protected by the heavy
fabric of his jeans. It was okay. It was okay. Ryan was doing his work and
Don's body felt good as the tension was released. But it took a long time
for Don to feel at ease. It took a long time for his anxiety to
subside. When it did, his mind drifted. Ryan kneaded in a slow pattern, a
steady, almost hypnotic rhythm.

Don was on the beach at Hope Lake. He was a teenager. It was summer. They
lay on big towels in the sun, watching people through the burning light, he
and Evangeline. Evangeline, what a name. His girl in high school. The girl
that got away. It was a lovely day. There was a lovely breeze. The hum of
chatter, the slapping water, all mellow and drowned, far away. Nothing much
happened. They were nearly naked, they were lazing in the sun, watching,
enjoying, nothing else on their minds, and Don had never felt so
peaceful. A glorious, uneventful day in a happier time. Don's mind drifted
past the swimmers, drifted out to the open, choppy water of the lake.

There was a pattern, a rhythm to the disturbances in the water. Tiny little
waves that shimmied this way and that, depending on the direction of the
breeze, but the pattern always returned to normal when the little gusts
died down. Don watched without thinking. Nothing could disturb him. Nothing
could even touch him. Those little eddies and swirls, the tiny waves,
rising and falling, returning again and again to the full body, the body of
the water itself. His mind drifted further out, and it was more placid
there. At times the water was like a mirror, reflecting only beauty and
peace, disturbed by only the gentlest of ripples.

Don drifted back. Ryan was no longer digging into him. Ryan was only
caressing him, as rhythmically, as delicately as those faint, whispered
little ripples on the far water. It felt so good to be touched. It felt so
good to be loved, even fleetingly. Ryan's hands stopped. Don opened his
eyes, let in the light. He stirred gently, to let Ryan know he wanted him
to get up. The boy didn't have to be told. The boy was intuitive. After he
lifted himself away, Don got up, took off his shoes and socks, which had
been hanging over the end of the bed during the massage. He looked,
quickly, into Ryan's eyes, placid but dark with obvious desire. It was now
or never.

Fingers, unsteady fingers, found the buckle to his belt. They were Don's
fingers. The boy hadn't dared. He fiddled, he released, he set the belt
free. His shaking fingers went to the button of his jeans. One pop, that's
all it took, and then down went the zipper, and down went the jeans. Don
stepped out of them, naked but for the sparkling Jockey shorts. Nearly
naked before another person for the first time in ages. Ryan's eyes moved
over him like slow water. Desire was still in them. Don could see it. He
could feel it.

The boy moved to the bed, set some pillows against the headboard, a place
for Don to be comfortable. Don moved to them, leaned back against
them. Thoughts seemed far away, like the fragmented voices on the lake. It
was not never but now. Don leaned further back, and then his body was at
ease. His belly did not conceal the brilliance of his Jockey shorts. His
belly did not conceal the prominent bulge they helped contain. Impotent or
not, his briefs were well packed. That's why he had worn them. Ryan's eyes
wandered over his body again and again, but they always settled longest in
that place.

Don spread his legs. The boy crawled up between them. It was time. It was
time. Ryan didn't go for the bulge. His fingers, slim, elegant fingers,
trailed over the the inside of Don's calves. Electric. A shivering
response. The right set of fingers trailed up, the barest traces, brushing
over the inside of one thigh. The shivers ran deeper. Don gasped. He was
ready and the boy was in no hurry. Those light, teasing touches, swirling
round the inside of Don's naked thigh, the shivers and gasps, and Don
closed his eyes. He focused on the sensations, the lovely sensations. He
tried not to think about the fact that his penis had not responded in any
way to the skillful touches.

But it was impossible. Don would have given anything in that moment for a
firm erection. But it just wasn't happening. He opened his eyes. It was
time to put an end to this farce. But when he looked at Ryan, when he saw
the almost reverent desire in the boy's eyes, he knew that he was at least
wanted. Ryan wasn't acting. Ryan wasn't pretending. The boy was in an
elevated state of sensuality. He was eager indeed, but hardly greedy. He
seemed intent on making Don feel good, and Don had only to accept it.

It was difficult to divorce the lovely but gentle sensations from the need
for a full blown erection, from the need for full on sex. It was a
struggle. He would wait until the boy took him into his mouth. He would at
least go that far, and see what happened. He had nothing to lose. The boy
knew everything about him already, everything that was really
important. And the boy was more than willing. That was something.

Don closed his eyes. He took deep breaths, steady breaths. He thought of
Hope Lake, of Evangeline and freedom and the water. It seemed another
world. It seemed impossible. But he remembered. It was a feeling more than
anything. He longed to go back and try again. He thought he might do better
the second time around. There were delicate touches on his briefs now, not
on his bulge but next to it, where the white fabric stretched over his
loins. The fingers raked over to his crotch, to his pubis, above the
bulge. So light, so intriguing. And then the lightest touches of all,
fingertip touches, raking down his bulge, contacting his penis and then his
testicles.

Years. So many years. No one had cared. No one had even acknowledged he was
a man except on the forms he himself had had to fill out. The heel of
Ryan's hand was pressed gently against Don's penis, the boy's fingers
cupping and lightly scratching his testicles through the fabric of his
Jockey shorts. Direct contact. And it felt wonderful. Oh, the sensation was
nice, the pure feeling. But just the bare knowledge that someone was
touching him in that place, and doing it with real desire, did something
for Don. He decided to relax and enjoy it for what it was. He was pretty
sure he would not achieve an erection. He was certain he would not have an
orgasm. And maybe that was okay. Maybe mere intimacy was enough.

In a drought, animals will turn to any source for water, and so will
mankind, even to the point where both will drink their own urine to
survive. Don was barely surviving. He was emotionally and sexually
parched. To have someone, even a stranger, even a man, attending to him
was, he realized, an emotional experience in and of itself. It was an
affirmation that he was human and it was an affirmation that he was
male. An affirmation that he was still a sexual being. Something like
gratitude welled up inside of him. If only he could let go of expectations,
as Ryan had.

He breathed deeply again. He pushed himself to think of the calming waters
of Hope Lake. Soon, he was floating there, in the wispy breeze, above the
water. It was much colder out above the far depths. The water was a deep
charcoal blue. You could drown there and almost feel grateful for it. You
could sink in peace and leave the troubled world of men, and settle into
the muddy bottom, away from all eyes, away from all harm. There was beauty
there, and simple comforts. Even in the chilly depths, love is not lost.

One of Ryan's fingers was tracing the outline of Don's soft penis through
the fabric of his briefs. It felt tantalizing. Ryan very gently squeezed
his genitals. Ryan's fingers trailed up and found the waistband of Don's
briefs. It was now, not never, Don was saying to himself, now, not
never. He pulled his legs together. He braced his heels against the bed and
lifted himself up a bit so that Ryan could pull his underwear off. He did
not open his eyes as his briefs slid down and then free.

Settled again, he forced his mind back to the waters of Hope Lake. Why did
it feel so safe when water was so inherently dangerous? Maybe it was the
inevitability of water, the absolute necessity of it. Maybe it was that
water never really changed, not large bodies of it like Hope Lake. Its
surface could be distorted by the weather, its banks could rise and fall
with the seasons. But the water always returned to itself. It just
was. Endless and endless, it just was.

Ryan was touching him, touching his bare, flaccid penis, tickling the hairs
on his testicles. Don couldn't help but shiver. The young man's touches
were so tender, so teasing. The young man was still in no hurry. He was
feeling Don up, feeling up every millimeter of him. Not in a cold way, not
like a doctor. More like first exploratory touches a baby makes. There was
desire and curiosity, but no urgency. No greed. Ryan wasn't a greedy guy,
Don thought. Ryan really did want to make him feel good. The young man was
downright generous.

Hot breath. On his balls. On his penis. Delicious. Take me inside, Ryan,
take me inside. But Ryan was in no hurry. Ryan's nose nuzzled between his
penis and his balls. Ryan's nose nudged his penis gently aside. A pinpoint
of wetness, the tip of the tongue. Wet little touches turning into short
little licks. Ryan was lapping at his balls. Ryan was licking them all
over. Ryan was breathing heavily and inhaling what to Don was his own rank
odor, and Ryan was obviously enjoying it. Dryish little licks, all over
Don's balls, and then a flick at his wrinkled shaft, a long lick up to the
base of his penis. So good. So good.

A little wiggling finger, gently prying his penis away from his damp
testicles, lifting it up and away, and then the hot breath, the flick of
the tongue over the glans of his organ. The lips moved forward, a snail's
crawl forward, parting, opening, pulling him inside, and Don's penis
entered the young man's mouth, the first mouth in so very long. Warm and
wet, but a strange feeling, the soft, wiggly penis engulfed, but Ryan's
movements were so very gentle and so very sweet, and the sensations were,
too, so subtly pleasurable. Don was being suckled.

Still without the greed. Still without the urgency of expectation. Don
couldn't reach the lake. His mind was focused on the feeling of his penis
inside of Ryan's mouth. It was not a proper blow job. How could it be when
he was as soft as an over-boiled macaroni? But he was getting sucked. He
was receiving oral sex. Half a man, maybe, and less than half a dick, but
enough to get it inside of Ryan's mouth. And Ryan was worshiping him. The
whispering caresses on his inner thighs, the fingers feathering through his
pubic hair, had not stopped. The boy was fondling Don's balls as he sucked
him, occasionally pulling back to give them a lap or two before taking his
penis inside again. Don's genitals were getting the attention they had
lacked for so many years and it was enough. It was enough. He lay back with
his eyes closed and let himself enjoy it.

The twinge, when it came, was shocking to him. Don was just relaxing, just
enjoying, and then his penis gave a tiny little jump. Nothing too
strong. That feeling a man gets when he is out in public, not thinking
about sex at all, when suddenly sees something he finds very arousing. A
pucker of the penis, Don called it. He assumed all men got them, though Don
hadn't gotten one in years. In any case, he was thrilled to experience that
feeling again. But then his penis settled back into its comfortable
semi-numbness and he accepted that as nice at it had been, it was probably
a one off. But then it happened again.

Stronger this time. A real jump, a strong pucker. Don's mind became
excited. Maybe he'd cum while he was soft! He knew it was possible. Lord
knows he'd read enough about the subject on the internet over the past few
years. An orgasm, even with a soft penis, would be mind blowing. An orgasm
inside of Ryan's mouth would be downright life changing. He suddenly craved
it. He suddenly had a real goal. An orgasm was the most important thing in
the world in that moment. And Don's penis did not cooperate. No further
jumps were forthcoming. Ryan continued on as he had, seemingly
inexhaustible, but the sensations went back to the gentle, subtle kinds.

That's when Don gave up hope. That's when Don realized that an orgasm, even
one through a soft penis, wasn't going to happen. What was the point of
going on? Ryan's mouth was gentle. It didn't hurt or anything. There was
some pleasure in the ministrations of the young man's lips and tongue, the
mild suction. Was that enough? The feelings from Ryan's fingertips tickling
his balls were stronger than the feelings in his penis. He just didn't know
how long he wanted the act to continue. Ryan could suck him forever and not
extract even a drop of seed from his lifeless noodle.

Don reminded himself that Ryan didn't care. He reminded himself that Ryan
was attracted to him, that Ryan had been kind to him and that Ryan was
enjoying sucking his penis. He had no idea how long they'd been at it. It
seemed like hours. When could he politely end it? Not yet, he reckoned. The
boy was lost in loving Don's body, Don's soft genitals. It hurt nothing to
let him continue. After all, it was the first time Don had gotten anything
of the sort in years, and it did feel good in a gentle way. There was at
least some sensation. So back to Hope Lake Don went, and this time he just
glided over the water, disembodied, free, nothing but the pleasant breeze
touching him. His mind went blank. A deep relaxation fell over him. Don
floated off, drifted into a state that was close to sleep.

A jolt. A real jolt, more powerful than the twinges from before. Don's eyes
snapped open, but he forced himself to close them again, forced himself
back to Hope Lake. And then another one. This one didn't subside
immediately but held for a moment or two. His penis was flexing. His penis
was showing its might, its meager reserve of strength. Don kept his focus
on relaxing, on Hope Lake. Another jolt hit him, still stronger. His right
arm, his right hand, which had been resting by his side all through Ryan's
work, shot up, found Ryan's head, his soft hair. Don's fingers raked
through it, and Don's fingers became aware of something astonishing. The
boy was moving his head. Not just a little, not as if he was suckling a
wrinkled old pacifier. No. The boy was moving his head, very slowly, a long
way up and a long way down, like he was sucking an erection. Don's eyes
snapped open just in time to see his cock, his hard, thick, engorged cock
slowly disappearing into Ryan's mouth.

"This is it," Don was thinking. "I did it!"

Ryan's Kewpie doll lips were wrapped firmly around his meat, sliding oh so
slowly up and down, and Don was ready for his orgasm. Don was more than
three years ready. He was impatient. He thought he might speed things
along. He didn't wait for his cock to flex again in Ryan's mouth, but made
it happen himself. It started in the asshole, squeezing that muscle hard,
on purpose, and the tension traveled at lightning speed, through the
bulbous base of his cock, up the length of his root to his glans. Then a
sudden, stabbing pain, and the muscles retreated, and the tension was
gone. Those muscles, the muscles of Don's cock, disused for years, had
practically atrophied. They were not prepared to take any flexing from
Don. And once the pain subsided, a profound numbness settled in its
place. Don could only barely detect Ryan's movements on his cock. Deep
frustration filled his mind and body.

"It's not going to happen," he said softly to Ryan.

He wanted it to stop, the fake blow job, the agonizing failure of his body
to respond in the fullest. He wanted to give up. But Ryan kept to it,
sucking him in the same languorous style. The young man's arms were hung
over Don's thighs, and he reached for Don's right hand. When he found it,
he laced his slender fingers into Don's thick ones, and gave the tenderest
of squeezes. A reassurance. But of what? That he wasn't giving up? That Don
could do it? That it didn't matter to him one way or the other? Don didn't
know. But that delicate little squeeze on his hand made him feel better.

Hope Lake was replaced in Don's mind by the Pacific Ocean. Crashing white
caps, the smell of salt and krill, the roar of the water dashed by the
sailing cries of sea birds. A tumult of water, slamming against rocks on
the shore, sucking back under, down to the depths, gathering strength for
the next assault. One was powerless against such spectacular strength. One
was helpless. The humming water, the destroying water, bringing life and
death, pitiless and unhesitating. The roar filled Don's ears, images of
awesome power crashed and clashed in his brain, and Don surrendered. He
spread his legs a little wider. He opened his body to Ryan, opened his soul
to God and nature.

Not a flex, no, but a steady tightening, a tension Don couldn't have
relinquished if he wanted to. The tension rose up, sky high, straining
toward heaven, and Don's heavy balls were lifting up and tightening, too,
of one piece with his cock now, a machine whose time was nearing. His
breath was ragged. Sweat studded his forehead like a universe of stars. The
tension became incredibly intense. His cock, his balls, locked in flex,
locked and holding, and it was maddening, maddening that Ryan wasn't
pushing him over the peak but holding him steady in this insufferable
limbo, and all he could do was grunt each time Ryan slid his mouth down
over him, deep, harsh grunts from the depths of his balls. Birthing grunts.

The feeling grew almost unbearable and it was still rising, no escape, no
retreat from the struggling, straining muscles of his cock, that impossible
tightness, and all Don's chickens were coming home to roost, and the storm
clouds were gathering, gathering and darkening, and Don would either cum or
die of a heart attack, die with his cock clenched and desperately
ready. And then Ryan's head began to move faster, as if obeying some silent
command from nature, and the room was filled with the sounds of slurping
suction, like water being sucked back under the ocean after a tremendous
wave, and Don's cock reared back mightily, and the very walls echoed with
his grunts, and his balls were hard and tight to his body, and Ryan
caressed him there, too, and the boy was like a crazed animal, and Don gave
one long, final grunt, the final push before the baby is born, and then his
cock jolted up inside the warm, moist tormentor that was Ryan's mouth and
his cock finally let go, triggered beyond reckoning, and with a thunderous
roar, the roar of the ocean itself, Don exploded and fired deep into Ryan's
slurping orifice, again and again and again, and the boy's tongue was
lashing against him like waves against volcanic rock, lashing at the glans
of his erection, and they were not numb but incredibly sensitive, and Ryan
was pulling the three year dregs from Don's pumping pouches, one blast at a
time, and then there was only white noise, and Don's mind went out in a
dazzling sea of light.




When he came back to himself, Don was still panting and Ryan's mouth was
still latched onto his cock. Only his lips moved now, not up and down, but
just little slippery motions around Don's spent organ.

He's milking me, Don thought. Milking every last drop I have to give.

Sometimes the boy's lips would slide a little and Don's body would quake
with sensitivity. His lower belly was sore. He had strained his muscles
there when his hips jolted upward so suddenly for the first spurt of his
tremendous orgasm. He was exhausted and alive, and he had done it, and it
had hurt and he had felt intense pleasure, too, and he was awash in good
feelings, endorphins and a sense of wellness coursing through his mind and
body. And still the boy suckled.

Don reached down, gently nudged Ryan's chin to let him know it was
over. The boy's head slid up, eliciting more quakes from Don's body, and
then his penis escaped the confining clutches of Ryan's mouth, slipped away
and slapped down onto his belly, still hard and shining with saliva. It had
been so long since he'd seen it that way, stretched out and pulsing gently
to his heartbeat. It had a healthy, pinkish glow and almost seemed to be
smiling up at him.

"That was incredible," Don said.

His voice was cracked with emotion. He felt so immensely relieved, so
immensely grateful. He couldn't put it into words. But the feelings inside
were almost overwhelming. A long suppressed tear snuck out of the corner of
his right eye and trickled an inch or so before Don could swipe it
away. Men in his family didn't cry in front of other people if they cried
at all. Don had never seen his father do it, not even when his grandmother
died. Not even when Rusty, a golden retriever who was by his father's side
for twelve years, got hit by a car. No, it wasn't done. Not in front of
women. Definitely not in front of other men. But Don couldn't help
himself. The tears came and they spilled. There was sorrow in them and
great joy. It was a release as powerful as his long pent up sexual release
moments earlier.

"I'm sorry," Don said, his voice drenched with feeling.

"For what?"

"For laying all this on you. I barely know you."

"Don't apologize. If you need to let loose, go for it."

And Don did let loose. Ryan crawled next to him and gave him a gentle hug,
and then Don just lost it. His whole body shook with the outpouring. And it
was a man comforting him, and a man holding him, and maybe that's what he
needed. The deluge of emotion subsided slowly, and the feeling of well
being returned, much stronger than before. His arms, surrounding Ryan, went
slack. The young man pulled away.

"Feel better?" Ryan said.

"I feel better than I have in years. And it's because of you."

"I didn't do anything special."

"Oh yes you did. I guess I didn't tell you just how bad my situation was. I
haven't gotten an erection or had an orgasm in over three years."

"Even with you wife?" Ryan asked.

"Especially not with her. Ryan, I never even attempted to have sex during
that period of time. My wife sure wasn't interested."

"Wow."

"Yeah. I thought that part of my life was over until now. I still can't
believe it. You knew exactly what to do to bring me back, man. I'll always
be grateful."

"Well, it didn't take much," Ryan said. "As soon as you were inside me you
started to grow. Really slowly, but it was steady."

"I tried not to think about it. I had to lower my expectations and just
enjoy it for what it was. I was shocked when I realized what was
happening. And then I thought no way I'm going to cum. But you made that
happen, too. You stuck it out. Say, how long did it take? Just out of
curiosity."

Ryan gave Don a quizzical look, as if to say, what does it matter? But he
looked at his phone, which was lying on a dresser near the bed.

"Longer than I thought!" Ryan said. "We've been in here more than two
hours."

"You didn't get bored?"

"I didn't notice. I was really into it."

"You were so gentle and patient. I was ready to give up."

Ryan smiled.

"I'm glad you didn't!"

"So am I!"

"You started leaking like crazy near the end," Ryan said. "I could taste
it. That's when I knew it was time to dial things up a notch."

"You picked just the right time."

"Oh, I know," Ryan said. "You gave me a freakin' mouthful!"

"Did I?" Don asked.

"You know you did! I was swallowing for dear life to keep it from spilling
out! You shoot huge loads, Don."

"I had a lot saved up, I guess."

"I'll say. Or maybe it's because you've got really big balls."

Such frank talk was getting to Don, He was a little embarrassed by it, but
it also turned him on.

"You like 'em?" he said.

"Oh yeah. And your cock. You've got a nice big one, Don. Really thick,
too."

"Just average," Don said.

"No. Trust me, I've seen a few. You're quite well hung."

"Aw, shucks," Don said.

"Seriously, Don. You're a very hot guy. I wouldn't say it just to be
nice. It's true."

No one in Don's life had told him such things before. Few had bothered to
ever compliment him. Definitely not his wife. In the world Don came from, a
man's body was his key to success. Work hard enough and you will succeed. A
man's appearance was only good for attracting a mate and reassuring those
around him that accepted standards of personal care were being
followed. Not much else. Vanity in a man was shameful. Vanity was for
women. And a man's junk was utilitarian more than anything else. Maybe
that's why it hurt so bad when that junk didn't work.

Don had never thought much about his looks except when they started
changing with age. Don did not process change too well, especially if he
felt it was a negative change. But changes could be good, too. Ryan, and
the things he'd just done with Ryan, proved that. Don felt like the door to
his world, to his way of life, had cracked open just a bit and given him a
view of other possibilities. It was a great feeling.

"I'm still wondering what you get out of this?" Don said. "I know what I
got out of it. But what about you? Don't you want a guy that will pleasure
you the same as you pleasure him?"

"Some gay guys just want to service another man. I don't know how to
explain it. Just you allowing me to service you was a huge, huge turn on
for me."

"Did you even get hard?"

"I've been hard since you first walked into my apartment," Ryan said.

"Don't you want to cum?"

"Not as bad as I wanted to take your cum. That will keep me going for a
long time."

"Will you jerk off when I'm gone?"

"Yes," Ryan said. "I'll jerk off a lot of times thinking about you and your
cock in my mouth. I just didn't want to scare you off by doing it in your
presence."

"Probably a smart move," Don said. "I probably would've freaked out. But I
feel bad now."

"No reason to. I have cravings, Don, and you satisfied them better than you
can understand. Don't feel guilty."

"Okay. If you're happy then I'm happy. I just feel so grateful. I can't
even begin to thank you. You're a miracle worker."

"I was just patient. That's all you needed."

"You were more than patient. You are a remarkable young man. You're
incredibly kind."

"Thanks," Ryan said. "Like I said before, we made a good match. We both had
what the other needed."

"My cock, your mouth."

"Exactly."

"My cock is still hard, Ryan."

"I noticed!"

"My cock wants you to suck it again."

As soon as the words were out of Don's mouth, Ryan's right hand sallied
forth and came to rest on the softly throbbing erection.

"I thought you'd never ask," Ryan said.

His small hand slid down the hot silkiness of Don's flesh, gently up and
down. After a few moments, he leaned over, mouth open, ready to engulf. But
Don stopped him. Don had something else in mind. He'd let Ryan take the
lead before, but not this time. This time Don was in charge. He got up,
stood away from the bed with his powerful legs planted a couple of feet
apart. Ryan didn't hesitate. He rose up from the bed. He fell to the ground
in front of Don. He fell to his knees. Don's cock was rampant, thrusting up
toward the sky. Ryan wrapped his fist around its thick base, leaned in and
gave the fat head a wet kiss. Don groaned as the mouth slipped open and his
cock slipped inside.

Gone was the numbing fog that seemed to have encased Don's cock earlier. He
felt every sensation to its fullest potential, felt Ryan's soft lips and
wet, papery tongue slide over his length, again and again. There was
already a twinge in his nuts. His balls were already tightening in
preparation of another orgasm. This one would come much faster. Don just
knew. And Ryan was not so patient this time, not so gentle. There was greed
in his movements, greed in the pressurized suction of his sweet little
vacuum sealed lips. He slid down and down. All the way down. Don felt the
fat mushroom head of his cock pop into the tight, silky place at the back
of Ryan's mouth, and then the boy's nose came to rest amidst his pubic
hair. The kid knew what he was doing. The kid really knew what he was
doing.

The mouth slid back, and then Ryan resumed the blow job, but Don missed
that tight throat. His cock longed for it. His hips came alive, and he was
thrusting into Ryan's mouth, little bunny humps that went ever deeper. His
cock touched the special, taut place a few times before Don dared to breach
it again. Ryan gave no complaint. He seemed to know how to time his
breaths, even with a big cock sliding in and out of his throat. Don grew
more needy, more bold. He took ahold of Ryan's ears. He held Ryan's head in
place. And then he started fucking that mouth deeper and faster until it
was like he was fucking a pussy. His great testicles slapped a quick rhythm
against Ryan's chin.

Ryan seemed transported. His eyes were closed but his mouth and throat were
open for business. Don became aware of a gentle flapping sound, and then he
noticed the rapid movements of Ryan's right shoulder and arm. The kid was
masturbating. Don could see nothing of it. It was okay. It was natural. His
eyes stayed wide open, watching his big cock as it jabbed at an urgent pace
inside Ryan's welcoming lips. The back of Ryan's throat remained tight and
silky, hot and moist. Don's cock loved that small space. It invaded it
again and again, and then Don closed his eyes and went for it. He was
fucking Ryan's mouth roughly now, still holding the boy's ears, and the
tension was rising very fast. His balls were drawing up. He could feel it
happening. And then they seemed to set into position, and his crank was
primed, and he slid his hands to the back of Ryan's head, no escape now,
and fucked his throat good and hard until his cock couldn't take any more,
and then he was spewing like a geyser down Ryan's constricting tunnel, and
the kid took it all without any sign of struggle, but pulled back the
moment Don was done, and drew in a deep breath.

"Whew!" Ryan said. "That was intense."

"Yeah. Sorry I got a little rough."

"I'm not!" said Ryan.

"You liked it?"

"It was hot! I'm afraid I lost control. Sorry about that."

The young man's eyes strayed to the floor, where several creamy, gooey
little lines were evident on the surface of the carpet. He had already
tucked his penis away, but the evidence was clear.

"Did you shoot your load at the same time I did?" Don asked.

"Just after. I started when you hit me with the first shot. I thought I'd
pass out it was so hot."

"It was good for me, too. I haven't cum that hard in ages. Long before my
dick gave out on me."

"You went off like a rocket! Your balls were pumping like crazy. You're a
total stud, Don."

Don smiled from ear to ear. He could listen to Ryan's compliments all
day. He was starved for them. But he had been there for a long time, and a
discreet yawn that escaped his mouth said it all. Don was sleepy. Not tired
and worn out, like he usually was, but sleepy.

"I think I better get going," he said.

"Okay."

So he dressed and Ryan went to the kitchen to fetch a wet rag. When he
returned, he got down on his hands and knees to wipe up his mess. Don
thought of taking advantage of the boy's position, and he would have if he
hadn't already cum twice, if he hadn't cum so recently. But his cock was
finally flagging. It slowly deflated, and Don tucked it away in his Jockeys
like a gun in its holster, before putting on the rest of his clothes. Ryan
was in the kitchen by this time, running the sink, wringing out the now
sticky rag. Don was ready to go. The tension of sexual need had left him,
and he just wanted to rest in peace and quiet. But he owed Ryan a
goodbye. He owed him much more, but a goodbye is all he had to offer at the
moment. So he wandered back to the kitchen. And when he got there, he told
Ryan how he felt.

"Today has been a game changer," he said. "I don't know how to thank you. I
feel like you saved my life."

"I had a good time," Ryan said.

"I'm not sure if I will ever want to do this again. Hell, I'm not even sure
my cock will ever get hard again. But I will always remember you and what
we did here today with fondness."

"Me too," Ryan said. "I knew from the beginning this was probably a one
time deal. It's okay. You don't need to feel guilty. I'll remember you
fondly, too, whatever happens after this."

"So we're good?" Don asked.

"Always."

Don took Ryan's hand, shook it vigorously and slapped his arm. Then he went
back out the way he came in. The sun had gone down a little. The brightness
outside was gentler, kinder. He admired Ryan's garden again for a moment,
and then he was off, to his car and then back home.

His wife was not at the kitchen table when he passed that way. He had to
seek her out. He found her in her bedroom, watching TV. He knocked. He
entered. She looked up at him and seemed to notice something different in
his manner, in his face. Don was still smiling.

"You seem chipper today," she said.

"It's nice outside," Don offered.

"Yes, I noticed that. Too bad I had to do paperwork all day."

"That is too bad. Listen, I want to invite Cliff over to dinner tomorrow
evening. We haven't seen or heard from him for so long."

"Good luck getting him here," she said.

"I'm going to grill up some steaks, wrap up some potatoes and throw them in
the oven. I know you are off red meat, so maybe I can pick up some chicken
when I go to the store? Or one of those veggie burgers?"

"Don't bother," she said. "I'll make a nice salad."

"Okay," Don said.

He thought about saying the words that had been in his mind for a long
time. The "we need to talk" warning. He was ready. They had to discuss the
state of their marriage, and how they were going to go forward. It was
years overdue. But not quite yet. Not until he set things straight with his
children.

When he got back to his room, he texted his son, Cliff. There was no use
calling him. Cliff was always busy. It was a Saturday and Don had no doubt
Cliff was out hiking or fishing or rafting or engaging in one of the dozens
of other activities he enjoyed. Cliff lived a spartan lifestyle. He didn't
have much. He didn't need much. He was totally self sufficient. And, for
the first time, Don realized the beauty in that.

Cliff could do what he wanted, when he wanted. If his job interfered, Cliff
would find a new one. He'd done it many times before. It was a big factor
in the strain in the relationship between Don and his son. And it was
foolish. Don wished that he'd had the courage to live that way when he was
young. Cliff was carefree and wild, and he enjoyed life to the fullest.

He made a mental note to himself. No more "When are you going to grow up
and settle down?" speeches to Cliff. No more mild disapproval at everything
Cliff did. It was time for a new chapter. Cliff was his only son and he
loved him. That's what mattered. And the same was true with Anna. No more
nagging her about money or getting a job. Don was proud she was in college,
at a university. And they could afford to support Anna while she was in
school. What did money matter, really? They had enough to get by. They were
more than comfortable.

The ring of his cell phone startled Don out of his reverie. It was Cliff,
and Don was shocked that his son had gotten back to him so quickly. It
threw Don off balance. He was rehearsing, in his head, what he would say
when Cliff phoned, but the rehearsal was incomplete.

"What is it, Dad?" Cliff said, after Don answered.

"I wanted to invite you over to dinner tomorrow night. I'd love to see
you."

"I don't know," Cliff said. "Tati and I are going kayaking. It's summer, so
we'll probably be out late."

Tati was Cliff's girlfriend for the last year or so. Don and his wife
didn't really like her, for no particular reason, really, although Don's
wife had once mentioned that she thought Tati was "loose."

"Tati is invited, too. I'm going to barbecue some steaks, bake up some
potatoes. It's fine to come whenever you can. Steaks don't take too long to
cook."

"Is there some reason you want to see me?" Cliff asked.

"No ulterior motive, I promise," Don said. "I just miss you. So does your
mother."

"Well, okay. It will probably be after seven."

"Perfect," Don said.'

There was a pause. And then the words rushed out.

"Son, I love you. I know I haven't been the best father, but I love you and
I will always love you. I just wanted you to know."

There was a much longer pause before Cliff spoke.

"I love you too, Dad. Is everything alright? Are you sick?"

"Everything is fine," Don said, with a catch in his throat.

Emotion was rising again.

"Okay, Dad. Guess we'll see you tomorrow."

"I look forward to it," Don said.

They hung up. Don let himself cry again, and crying was a great relief. Why
had he gone all those years without letting go of the stuff bottled up
inside of him? It seemed crazy. Now he couldn't stop crying if he
tried. And it was okay. He had a lot to make up for with Cliff, and with
Anna, but he'd made a start, and that was really something. That was worth
his tears.

He cried for a long time, and his body heaved with the outpouring. He let
it all out, years of it. Slowly, very slowly, he returned to to a state of
calmness, a state of peace. The sun was still out, soft and murky, when Don
finally stripped off and crawled into bed. His mind was exhausted, but he
felt good. Sleep came for him, fast and deep, and no dreams could disturb
him.




Usually Don woke up quickly, ready to go, after a night's sleep. His mind
and his body were trained to be ready for work, and sharp by the time he
got there, at 7 o'clock each weekday morning. The habit carried on through
the weekends, usually. But that morning, after more than twelve hours
straight of non-stop sleep, Don was groggy. The sun was out, pouring into
his room, and he kept his eyes shut to it. Gradually, he became aware of
himself. His bladder was very full. His lower back and hips were a little
sore. And he had a raging erection.

There was simply no question about it. Don could feel it. Every time he
moved, he felt it, extremely stiff and roaring with need. But his bladder
hurt. First things must come first, after all. With a deep sigh, he moved
his legs heavily over the side of his bed, and then sat up. He didn't want
to open his eyes for some reason, but he forced himself to. The light
invaded them. The light was a little painful. But the need for release was
worse.

He got up. He lumbered over to the bathroom, to the toilet. Tried to pull
his cock through the slit in his boxers, but couldn't manage it, so pulled
them down instead. Tried to point himself down, then tried to squat and
point it down. Nothing doing. There was no way to angle himself so that he
would hit the bowl. He was too stiff. Much too stiff. But it was urgent. It
had to come out. In frustration, be tore back the curtain to his shower,
then let loose. The thick, yellow stream came fast and hard, hitting the
vinyl wall of the inside of the shower, splatting against it and creating a
haze of yellow mist. Don pissed long and he pissed hard, like a horse. It
felt like it would never stop. But when it did, he felt good. And his
boner, still fully hard, grew more sensitive, as if to say, hey Don, you
know what comes next. Well, Don did, but there was still church to think
of.

But Don didn't think about church for long. He made a snap, split second
decision that he wasn't going to go. Why bother? It was more a social event
than anything else. It was false. Always, he and his wife would arrive, nod
politely to all the people they knew, which was just about everyone, then
sit through the service until it was time to hobnob with the movers and
shakers in their little world. Enough! What did appearances matter any
more? He was not a member of a happy family. He was a blue collar worker
and never would be anything else, and it was time to stop pretending
otherwise. He tossed his boxers in the laundry hamper and then put on the
briefs from the day before, to rein himself. After dressing in his pajamas,
he went to tell his wife.

She was dressed and ready to go when he found her in the kitchen. Perfectly
coiffed, as usual. Her sickly sweet perfume assailed Don's nostrils when he
entered the room. Without ceremony, he announced that he wasn't going to
church. And she looked none too pleased. She looked like she was ready to
fight him on it. But after observing him for a couple of moments, she
seemed to think better of it.

"Very well," she said.

And then she walked away. Strange how little Don cared. It's not that he
wanted to hurt her. No. He wanted her to do as she pleased, just as he had
decided to do what pleased him. He was blazing his own trail, from then on,
and she was free to blaze hers.

The question of church settled, probably once and for all, Don headed back
to his bedroom. He locked the door behind him when he got there. Off came
his pajama top. On came the computer. Don was at his favorite website,
Xvideos, in no time. He did a search for "big tits, reverse cowgirl" and
got plenty of results, so he picked the video with the clearest picture,
and clicked. The woman in the video was a brunette and very amply
endowed. The camera focused in on her sliding up and down on a big,
anonymous cock, but then went to a different view, a side view of her body
as it plunged up and down. Her enormous tits bounced and giggled with each
effort, and her high pitched, nasally voice grew shriller and shriller.

It was good. It was very good. Don leaned back. He pulled down his pajamas
and underwear in one quick movement, and his cock sprang forth, hard as it
ever was, raring to go. He stroked himself, softly, dry, and then spit in
his palm and brought that down to his rampant appendage. And oh, did that
feel good. He spread his legs wider. He adjusted his butt on the office
chair. And then he stroked himself wet, marveling at the intense feeling,
the rebirth of his potency.

He might have gone on like that. A few good, strong strokes and he might
have gone off. But his mind strayed back to his encounter with Ryan, and he
thought, "What am I doing?" Because as good as it was, as good as it felt,
it had been better with Ryan. Infinitely better. Maybe it was the simple
fact of having real sex with another person, not mere self
stimulation. Maybe it was the intimacy he missed. Or maybe it was just that
Ryan was a very skilled cock sucker.

No, it was more than that. A feeling of longing came to Don, a feeling of
slight dissatisfaction. The chick in the video wasn't quite good
enough. His fist around his cock wasn't quite good enough, either. Only
Ryan was good enough. Don opened a new window on his internet browser. Don
went to his email and retrieved Ryan's phone number. It was early yet,
still only 8:30 in the morning. But Don had a hunch that Ryan might be
up. And if he wasn't, a text message wouldn't disturb him.

"Hey, buddy," Don wrote. "You up? I have something I want to deliver."

It was suggestive. It was flirtatious. Don wouldn't have felt comfortable
sending such a message to anyone but Ryan. He waited, five minutes,
ten. And then a half an hour. No response. And his dick was so hard that it
couldn't be ignored, and Don needed to cum. So he switched back to
Xvideos. He watched and stroked for a long time, but for some reason he
held back. The perfect moment in the video never came, and neither did
Don's load. He stopped. He went to the bathroom and washed himself off. His
dick, reluctant to soften again, was shoved into Don's pajama bottoms. He
would wait for Ryan, he decided. So he padded down to the family room and
watched cartoons on the TV set, his dick half hard and frustrated. He heard
the rumbling of the garage door as it opened and then closed. His wife was
off to church. Don was alone. Alone in the house for the first time in
ages.

A shiver of delight passed through Don's body. And then something came over
him, something strange and wild. He pulled off his pajamas, his undershirt,
his underwear, until he was naked as the day he came into the world. He
strutted about the house, feeling free, feeling like the king of his own
domain. He stretched. He walked to where the sun was shining in though a
large window, and let its rays touch his body all over. He scratched his
ass. His dick rose to fullest arousal, long and thick, and pointed way
up. He didn't think about the neighbors. He didn't care about the
neighbors. He was a man at peace with the world, a natural, vital part of
it.

He hit every room, even his wife's room, his dick bobbing in front of him
every bit as sensually as the woman's tits had bobbed in the Xvideo clip,
and then he returned to the family room. He checked his phone as if he knew
there was a message on it, and there was, from Ryan. Ryan wrote that he was
sorry he had slept in, with a little blushing emoji face next to his
words. Ryan said he would be outside gardening and Don could stop by any
time.

Well, there was no time like the present. Don rushed upstairs and dressed
in a hurry. He was off and running in no time. He passed one of the local
supermarkets on his way, and pulled into the parking lot, a split second
decision. And he rushed through the place, buying potatoes, big single
bakers, not the starved little things sold in stacks. He picked up several
steaks, the best cuts, and money was no object. Butter. Sour
cream. Chives. Don couldn't think of anything else. But he wanted to get
something for Ryan.

Flowers. That's the first thing that popped into Don's head. In the past,
he had always brought his female dates fresh flowers, and enjoyed their
enthusiasm, enjoyed watching the women arrange them in vases. Was it
appropriate to buy flowers for another man? Would Ryan be offended? Don
thought not. Ryan's little front garden was full of flowers. He thought he
would take the chance, since he could think of nothing else to bring the
young man.

But when he got to the section where the flowers were displayed, Don was
not impressed. The bouquets looked cheap, the flowers artificially
dyed. Maybe a house plant? Don couldn't remember seeing any in Ryan's
apartment, but he knew the young man enjoyed growing things. The section
with house plants was close by, and some of them looked full and
healthy. He had just selected one, some type of trailing thing with green
and white leaves, when his eyes fell on a little display of flowering
plants. Don didn't know what they were, but they called to him.

The flowers were on the small side, but they were beautiful, and there were
several of them on each plant. They were living things, not dead and
disconnected. Don thought Ryan might like them. They had two larger petals,
sticking out like ears, and three smaller ones that looked like the blades
of a windmill, or the spokes in the Mercedes Benz logo. In the center of
each was a sensuously jutting lip, a gaping mouth with yellow spots inside,
guide marks meant to lure pollinators. The way thoughts of Ryan's mouth
were luring Don back to his apartment. What could be more appropriate? And
who would've thought he would ever notice such things?

The flowering plants came in their own pots, pure white, tall and
narrow. Don selected three. One was white with a blush mouth, one pink with
a deeper pink mouth and one a lured purple all the way through. They were
expensive, and Don didn't care. Once they were in his shopping basket he
thought no more about cost. He hurried to the checkout line, paid the
cashier with his debit card, and then moved briskly back to his car. And
then he was off again, and he was at Ryan's in no time.

Ryan was out front, watering his garden. He wore the same khaki board
shorts as the day before, but no shirt. His skin was deeply tanned, his
flesh taut and hairless. As before, at their first meeting, a blaze of
light reflected off of Ryan's shiny hair, and cast a haze that looked a
little like a halo. Ryan was looking at the earth, perhaps determining
where to direct the spray from the hose he held, and so didn't see Don as
he approached. Don looked at the young man's body for a few moments, then
made himself known.

"Hello there," he said.

Ryan just looked up. He wasn't startled. Don didn't think anything could
startle him, so calm and at peace did Ryan appear. The young man smiled in
the haze of light. He went and turned off the water, then turned his
attention to Don, who was carrying a sack of groceries.

"Hey!" Ryan said.

"Mind if I stick this in your refrigerator? Seemed like a good idea to hit
the store early on a Sunday."

"Sure!" Ryan said.

Don followed him inside, shoved the groceries into the fridge, then looked
at Ryan. The young man's hair was a mess. It looked like it probably had
when Ryan woke up. There was a slightly hazy look in Ryan's eyes, a glow.

"So, you had something to deliver?" he said.

"I sure do," Don said, in a deep, suggestive voice.

The kid's eyes cut down to Don's crotch. The front of his jeans was packed.

"Are you hard?"

"Ryan, I haven't stopped being hard. I was hard when I woke up, and I've
been hard ever since."

"What would you like me to do about it?" Ryan said, in a husky version of
his own voice.

"I think you know."

"Do you want to lay back on my bed and get comfortable? Or-?"

"I want you on your knees, Ryan. Right now."

Don's wish was Ryan's command. The young man fell to his knees. The young
man knelt there, before Don, like a penitent about to receive
salvation. Don moved forward. The penitent's arms lifted, his hands came to
rest on Don's hips, and then the right one trailed down to where Don's
bulge was waiting. Ryan caressed it, rather roughly, with his palm, and
then his hands made a bee line for the top button of Don's jeans. He didn't
hesitate. His hand went inside, fondled for a moment, then pushed Don's
member flat to his body so the jeans and underwear could be quickly pulled
down. Don's cock sprang free of its confinement, and it was rapidly filling
out and stretching until it was pointed at the ceiling. Ryan took ahold of
Don's big balls and guided the big man's erection into of his open mouth.

There was no need for patience this time. There was no need to be
gentle. Ryan went to town on that big cock, huffing it in and out of his
wet orifice, inhaling it whole. Don's hand came to rest on the top of
Ryan's head, holding it in place, and then he started thrusting. Slow,
shallow thrusts past Ryan's lips, but he was soon banging against the back
of Ryan's mouth, the gateway to his throat, and Ryan was helping. He was
pushing forward as Don thrust into him, slowly stretching himself, slowly
becoming more accommodating, and then the big cock breached the tight
passage, and Don never looked back.

He gave no quarter. Ready or not, here I come. Don fucked that mouth hard
and rough. Don fucked that mouth harder than he'd ever fucked a pussy. Ryan
occasionally drew back so that his windpipe was not blocked and he could
take a breath, and then immediately plunged himself over Don's length
again. Ryan's hands were on Don's big butt, and they were the only things
keeping him from falling over under the onslaught. They developed a rhythm,
give and take, give and take some more, and it was almost violent, and the
pressure built and built, and Don's cock slid a final time over Ryan's wet,
papery tongue and exploded, and he drove his cock past the hanging uvula at
the back of Ryan's mouth and deep into his throat, there sowing his seed in
great torrents, beyond the realm of taste buds and straight into the depths
of Ryan's body, Ryan's lips quivering around the base of his cock as the
fertile blasts were delivered.

It was an intense and quick orgasm, and then they fell away from each
other. Ryan pulled away too fast, desperate for air, and fell back on his
butt while Don wobbled on his feet. Don's legs ultimately held out, but it
was a close call.

"Holy shit!" Don said. "That was crazy!"

"It was hot," Ryan said.

"I'm sorry I got so rough. I couldn't stop myself."

"I didn't want you to stop," Ryan said.

"I didn't want to hurt you!"

"You didn't. Trust me, I would let you know if you did anything I didn't
like."

"But-"

"But nothing, Don. How can I make this clear to you? I want you to use me
however you want, whenever you want. I love being dominated. You were
perfect."

"Did you at least cum," Don said, "like last time?"

"I controlled myself," Ryan said. "I didn't want to make you
uncomfortable."

"I'm the opposite of uncomfortable," Don said. "Stand up. I want to see
you."

Ryan rose up, quite unsteadily. Don gazed at his taut, smooth body
again. Below his board shorts, his legs were slender but shapely. Above
them, his hips seemed impossibly narrow, his stomach impossibly flat.

"I want to see all of you," Don said.

"Are you sure? I have an erection."

"Good!" Don said.

It seemed so ridiculous, the way he had been the day before with
Ryan. Terrified of showing his mature body. Terrified of seeing Ryan's
young one, because he was a man and had a penis. Don didn't know what had
changed, but something definitely had. He was almost eager to see Ryan's
body.

Ryan unzipped and stepped out of his board shorts. He was not wearing
underwear. The center of his body was very pale. His thighs were as shapely
as his calves. He had a small, dark bush, neat and tidy. From under it rose
his penis, at a steep angle, steeper than anything Don had ever achieved,
but there was a lot less weighing it down. Ryan's erection was quite
small. And though he knew not why, that pleased Don. In fact, it turned him
on. The young man's testicles, tender and rounded, were held close to his
body, and a tiny little trickle of quicksilver dangled from the pink tip of
his erection.

"You look great," Don said.

"You think so? I'm kind of skinny."

Well, Ryan was, but there was no flab on him. Don had occasionally been
told, as a young man, that he was built like a bull. If that was true, then
Ryan was built like a gazelle. His light muscles knit together and flowed
into each other so gracefully.

"You have the body of a teenager," Don said. "I like it."

"Thanks," Ryan said.

"Come here," Don said.

Ryan came up to him, and then Don took the young man into his big
arms. They pressed against each other. Don could feel Ryan's hot, leaking
penis against his upper thigh. Another man's dick was touching him, and it
was nothing it be afraid of, because it was Ryan's dick. Don spit into his
palm. He pushed Ryan back and took his small, straining penis into his
meaty fist. A tight, powerful grip, a strangler's grip, and then Don was
stroking the panting young man, his laborer's hands, callouses and all,
rubbing over the rigid but delicate flesh.

Don was not gentle. His hand, once accustomed to the daintier girth and
shorter length of Ryan's manhood, worked over it like a chugging machine, a
precision funnel sliding fast and furious, the grip tighter and tighter,
the pace ever more frantic. Within half a minute Ryan was squealing like a
pig. Like one of the women in the Xvideo clips Don so enjoyed. But the high
pitched sounds were obviously not simulated, not with Ryan. A final shrill
scream, moments later, and Ryan's hips bucked upward and his penis sent
arching jets into the air, thin but rapid, and Don could feel the Ryan's
erection jumping in his hand as it ejaculated.

It was over quickly, but Ryan took a while to recover. He just kept
panting.

"I didn't expect that." he finally said.

"Neither did I," said Don. "I just went with it."

"To think that you were so scared yesterday," Ryan said.

"Yesterday was yesterday. I'm on a new path."

"A better path?"

"Definitely!"

"Don't get discouraged when you start to come down. Sex makes you high."

"I know I won't always feel this way," Don said, "but I'm never going back
to how things were. I think I might see a counselor."

"That's a good idea," Ryan said.

"I will be hard. It's not something I've ever been open to before. But I
know I need help if I'm going to live a better life. Hey, look at us! Our
dicks hanging out and wet, talking about all this deep stuff!"

"Well, it's important," Ryan said.

"Yeah. But there's a time and place, and it's not now. That reminds me, I
have something for you in my car. Forgot all about it."

"You didn't have to bring me anything," Ryan said, as Don dressed.

"I wanted to. Be back in a jiffy."

He returned with a brown grocery bag like the one he had loaded into Ryan's
refrigerator earlier. Ryan was messing with some dishes in his sink, and
Don got his first view of Ryan's naked bottom. It was small but well
rounded, by far the plumpest part of Ryan's lean body. Don's cock surprised
him by giving one of it's puckers of sudden arousal. He never dreamed he
would be turned on by a guy's ass, but so it was. Ryan had a cute little
rear end, the mental image of which Don filed away for future reference. He
was eager to see how Ryan liked the flowers.

One by one, he pulled them out and set them on the counter. Ryan's eyes
really lit up.

"Orchids! They're beautiful!"

"You like them?"

"Yes! I always wanted one, but never had the guts to buy it. They're so
expensive."

"You're worth it," Don said. "You're worth a million orchids."

"That was really nice of you," Ryan said.

"Ah, shucks. Hey, do you mind if I stick around a while. I'm throwing a
barbecue later, but that's not for a while."

"I'd like that," Ryan said. "You can help me in the garden if you want."

"Deal."

They went out into the bright light. It was a very warm day. Ryan remained
shirtless, though he had put on his boarding shorts again. Ryan let Don
water while he deadheaded his flowers, and they were outside, soaking in
the sun, for a couple of hours, sometimes working, sometimes lazing on
their butts, and just watching the bees work the flowers. Ryan picked two
big, red-ripe tomatoes, and then they went back inside. Ryan made
sandwiches, turkey and mayo, and then he added the freshly sliced tomatoes,
and Don got a taste of Ryan's garden, and it was delicious. The heat of the
day made them a little drowsy. They stripped off again, at Don's
insistence. He loved being naked with Ryan. It felt so good and natural. It
felt so free.

They went to the bedroom, and Don laid back on Ryan's bed, his back propped
up by pillows against the head board, as on their first sexual encounter.
He patted the space on the bed that was between his spread legs, and Ryan
crawled up to him. His gentle fingers touched the inside of Don's thighs,
ran through Don's unruly blonde bush, and Don was rising again, just as
surely as the sun did every morning, and it had only been a couple of hours
since the last time, but need was upon him like it had been when he was a
young man. Ryan's fingertips ghosted over the hairs on his balls, and Don
shivered, and Ryan came closer, and his tongue darted out and licked the
heavy, seed bearing pouches, but Don was ready for more. He nudged Ryan's
chin up, and their eyes met for a moment. Ryan's mouth hovered. Then he
wrapped his fingers around the base of Don's erection, and guided it home.