|
|
|
Once folks started populating the suite Brian marched into my office, dropped the blinds, and beckoned me to a corner of the room.
I want a hug.
We can't hug. We only ever hold and both wind up with painful boners and I wind up with a major wet spot.
Risk it.
So I went. Not so much plumpage and precum as usual, but for him it was big time. I've never known him to get so aroused at a mere hug.
I miss you. He whispered as he ground against my leg.
No. Not now.
No. Not now. But I want you. I want your heart back. I want your trust. I want...
What?
You. Like we were.
Like before you shat on me and drove me into the ground?
Can we not talk about that now?
We will. We have to.
Just hold me now. Just hold me. I need my man.
What about your fuck-puppet?
Brian broke our embrace and leaned back enough for us to be eye to eye. He put a finger to my lips. I could see him welling and a single tear escape to run down his cheek.
Rebound.
After an uninterpretable head shake (nod or wag?), another couple drops slid down. He unwrapped his arms and bowed his head while wiping his face with his shirt-sleeves.
Clearly he wasn't winning this game. Not this time. I've only seen him shed tears once before. Well, not seen exactly. We were cuddled on the couch one night pretending to watch a movie. I was spooned in the back, me being the holder as usual, and I felt his body shiver. I reached up to caress his face and my hand came away wet. He grabbed my hand to pull it tight around him. I whispered his pet name and he trembled again brokenly muttering, "I love you."
He closed the door quietly as he left and I went back to my chair, welling myself. He meant it. Producing tears on demand is as difficult as producing a boner on demand. It don't happen. Certainly not for him.
Later that day I got a text from him. It simply said "QT?" (i.e. "Quality Time?") That used to be code for a range of things. Chopstick wars over sushi? Finger fights over fried mushrooms or wings at 'our' bar? He wants me to fuck his brains out? Whatever he wanted was for special 'us' time. I got to thinkin' his fuck-puppet wasn't measuring up. Not a fulfilling experience apparently. Rarely filled and never full. Not like his man delivered. Maybe he wanted my advice as to how to get out of this one like the others before.
My heart skipped a beat, my cock twitched, and my mind said, "Down boy!" I didn't respond... not until that evening. I caved and texted him back simply with "Sun 11", meaning my house on Sunday at 11 in the morning, not a minute before. No sooner had I hit send than I got a reply. "I'll be there and ready. Don't shave." The first part meant he'd arrive on time and be freshly showered and douched. The last part was for me not to shave my face. He likes me scruffy. (Trimmed bush and smooth balls, though.) I didn't write back. My only response was a drop of precum trickle down my leg...
new | last
| next | archive
| profile | cast
email |
guestbook |
notes
| host | rings
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Have any comments you'd like to share?
[So far 0 smart ass remarks have been made.]
encroaching increase of darkness - 2008-11-02
Bones - 2008-09-20
random bitchings and musings - 2008-07-09
Man with Huge Cock - 2008-07-04
Eric and other crazy shit - 2008-06-29
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Thinkin' 'bout: my dick hurts (but wants more attention!)
Dog(s) keeping me company: T and Nooms
Current read: Job (OT)