Disclaimer: The following is a somewhat true story based on real people and events. Names have been changed and all events, while true, may not have happened in the written order. If you are against reading about men being in love or having sex with other men, perhaps it would be best for you to read something else. If you are too young to be reading this, please go read something more appropriate. All questions and comments are appreciated and can be directed to ryanwielding@gmail.com.
Also, please consider making an ongoing contribution to http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html so that this continues to be a resource for countless readers. This site has been here for me during my darkest moments and continues to be a source of light in my world.
Enjoy!
Chapter 2
The interior of Jake's is unusually packed for a Monday afternoon. I sip top shelf bourbon as Brett recounts his last three weeks in Chicago. Brett works in marketing which often requires him to travel all over the country and sometimes overseas. Our flirtatious server returns to the table with our orders – spicy Cali rolls for me and a basket of chicken tenders and fries for Brett – and asks if there's anything we need and by we' I really mean me' because Brett might as well be invisible. Her hand is on my shoulder as she asks if I would like another drink despite having one right in front of me. Brett rolls his eyes as he shovels a handful of fries into his mouth. I tell her no and that I'm good and if I need anything, I'll make sure to ask. She gives a crooked smile before slowly backing away from our table.
"Maybe I'd like more water," Brett said once she was out of earshot. "Or the napkins I asked for fifteen minutes ago."
I laugh as I start in on my food. I've missed the guy. Even though we text every day, seeing Brett in person is like ten times better. It's quite a rarity that he gets any time off so when he does take off from work, we always make sure to have lunch.
The inside of my nose burns as I chew one of the wasabi-covered rolls. All of a sudden everything is way too loud. I can hear every clank of silverware and scrap of chair against the hardwood floor. My heart is so loud in my chest I swear my fucking ear drums are gonna explode. Brett locks eyes with me and I can tell he is concerned. Before he can open his mouth to say something, I beat him to the punch.
"Brett, I sucked some dick." The words fall out of my mouth like a ton of bricks. If this were a movie this would be the part where the entire restaurant comes to a screeching half and everyone turns to face me except in this case no one bothers to look in my direction or even acknowledge the words I've just blurted to my best friend.
"Who? When?" Brett's eyes are big behind prescription glasses that make them look even bigger. He dabs at the corners of his mouth with the small square of napkin his glass of water has been sitting on.
"That guy who busted me on Tinder," I say. "Just kinda happened."
"I thought you said you went over to his place and all you guys had was coffee."
"Well, yeah. That was the first time. We just talked and then I left." I take another sip of bourbon in hopes of cleansing my palate. "Last night he hit me up and asked if I wanted to come over, so I said yes."
"Oh my god, oh my god. What's his name again? I can't believe this. I gotta buy you something. This is momentous."
"Jamie. His dick was fat as fuck."
Brett reaches for his phone as his gaze flicks back and forth between me and the screen.
"He's 50. Decent shape, but kind of a big beer belly. Not bad looking. It was kinda casual. Not really interested in him or anything. I just thought it'd be fun and a good way to get my feet wet."
"Mouth wet."
I can see that Brett's on my Facebook page scrolling through my friends list. Note to self: Change privacy settings.
"Thanks for respecting my privacy," I say dryly.
"I was curious," Brett says touching his hand to his chest in that wide-eyed, I'm as innocent Southern belle manner that usually suggests what he is doing is anything but innocent. "He's cute. A great `first dick'." He sits his phone down at the center of the table next to his untouched glass of water. "Now I want details."
I'm suddenly very shy and I briefly consider withholding the details surrounding my first foray with cock, but I reckon if anyone deserves to hear the play-by-play it's Brett.
"He actually looked pretty good naked," I say lowering my voice. Brett might as well have a bucket of popcorn as he sits with his chin in the palms of his hands, the rest of his meal now an afterthought.
"And he was a really fat dick and some big balls. I was sucking on it and it kept getting bigger and I was like dear god how fat is this gonna get? My mouth doesn't open that wide."
"Were you naked?"
"I had my socks on."
"Kinky. Did you swallow?"
"No but in the end, he jerked off while I worked his balls and asshole."
"Oh my god. This is so hot."
"Yeah?"
"Oh honey, I'm beyond thrilled for you. I assumed I'd be jealous. But I'm not."
"I'm glad. I did hesitate to tell you but you're one of my closest friends and I needed to share this with you."
"Why'd you hesitate?"
"Same reason. I thought you'd be jealous. He's just a friend but nowhere near anything like our friendship. Not even close."
"And that's why I'm not jealous."
"And if I haven't already said this already, I fucked him just so I can get it over with. It was non-threatening. No strings. There would be no consequences if it wasn't any good. He was my `sex with training wheels'."
"Wait! Anal?" This time we draw the attention of an older couple sitting in a neighboring booth. The man is frowning as his wife or girlfriend flushes a deep shade of red. Brett shoots me an apologetic look. Sometimes he gets overly excited and yells very inappropriate things in very inappropriate settings. Usually I'd feel the urge to sink through the floor but right now I'm feeling particularly confident. Blame it on the dick.
"Nooooo," I say with a chuckle. "Wow, I shouldn't have said fuck, but I can totally see how that happens in the heat of things. I was ready to plow something. And honestly at one point while on my back I could imagine getting fucked, too.:
"Oh my god, yes. Hey, do you remember how I blew that guy for his birthday a few weeks ago?"
The birthday boy in question was a guy Brett met several years ago on a dating website for bears and chasers. While most people send their friends cards for their birthday, Brett decided to give head instead.
"At this one point I was on his lap bareassed with his cock on my hole. It could've happened so easily. He wanted to fuck me, but he has a partner and that felt too real."
"Good for you. My resolve can be pretty weak when I get all revved up. Glad it didn't go there with him."
"Yeah in a situation like that ideally I would want to be wearing a condom or want him wearing a condom, but lust makes you reckless."
"I see how easy it is to forgo condoms in the heat of the moment."
"Now I've barebacked a few times as a top. I regret it but ultimately I trusted both guys."
"Why is barebacking so damn appealing? Something about planting your seed or receiving said seed. That whole two-soul concept makes a lot of sense."
"It's the ownership, too. Like this ass is mine. Might not be forever but it is for now and now we have history."
"Well, even though no fluids were exchanged, Jamie and I definitely have history."
"Think you'll see him again?" Brett asks.
I think back to a last night as I casually pulled on my t-shirt and jeans. Jamie hadn't bothered to dress as he laid sprawled across his king-sized bed. I remember everything exactly about that moment. How the Golden Girls were playing on the flat screen TV above his dresser. The smell of our spent energy. The sweat that had yet to dry on the back of my neck and lower back. How every single nerve in my felt super charged. The taste of his skin on my tongue.
"I dunno," I say. In many ways I envy Brett. At 34 years old, his days of self-discovery are long behind him. He knows exactly what he wants and when he wants it he goes out and gets it. I don't know shit. How do you tell a guy that you wouldn't mind blowing him again or maybe even fucking him, but you have zero interest in dating him or being in a relationship? What if I want to fuck him and another guy and another guy after that and then come back to him? All of this feels like a game and there's no fucking rule book.
"What does Ryan want?" Brett asks as he fiddled with a packet of Sweet-N-Low.
What do I want? It occurs to me that no one, not even my parents or my ex have ever asked me that question. My wants have always been predicated on someone else's desires. There's literally nothing holding me back from those deep, dark longings I've kept hidden for longer than I care to acknowledge. What I want can't be articulated with words. It must be touched and tasted and felt. I want sex and damn it feels so good to say that. I want sweaty, hairy, ass-pounding sex and I want lots of it and that's exactly what I am going to get.