Date: Wed, 25 Oct 2006 15:05:59 -0700
From: joe69orforg@yahoo.com
Subject: I STILL MISS HIM #5

It was a gloomy February morning, the marine layer muffling sounds and
sights. The whistle buoys and mournful foghorns were sending out their
automatic warnings every few seconds. It was the kind of morning I felt
content in the warm comfort of my living room as I finished up reading the
morning paper. I was vaguely aware of the sound of a car's engine outside
as it labored up the hill and suddenly stopped at the curb out front. A
door slamming was followed by the clump of shoes making their way up onto
my deck. I waited for the bell to sound before I left my snug recliner. I
wasn't expecting any visitors today and was just feeling good about the
luxury of a day not committed to any exertions on my part.

I opened the door only far enough to see who might be intruding into my
privacy. It certainly wasn't the Fed Ex man. His truck was much noisier and
he usually made his calls more nearly mid-morning. To my surprise, it was
Pat standing there. Pat had never come by without prior arrangement
before. It just wasn't like him. He stood with a sort of vacant look on his
face as I greeted him.

"Hi, Joe," he spoke slowly. "Are you alone?"

I looked around inside as assurance to him that nobody else was
here. "Yeah, just me and the dog, Pat," I replied. "Wanna come in?"

Pat was dressed in his usual cargo shorts, a polo shirt and untied tennies
without socks. He seemed not to recognize any difference between a warm,
sunny summer day and this mid-winter gloom.

I opened the door wider and stepped aside to allow him to step into the
entry hall, expecting him to bound in and down the stairs in his usual
manner. He stepped inside hesitantly. "I took a chance on your being free
without IMing you," he explained. "Is this a bad time for me to be here?"
he asked. His speech was slower than usual, and his eyes glittered brightly
now.

"Hey, guy, " I responded. "You're welcome whenever you like." I meant that,
even though it could be awkward if he chose a time when I did have another
visitor. I rationalized that he'd proposed my bringing in another man to
join us in a 3-way. Most of my visitors assumed a one-on-one arrangement
when we agreed to meet, though a few might accept a new idea eagerly. He
continued to stand in the entry very close to me as we talked. I took a
chance and wrapped my arms around his big bear of a body. It felt like I
had girdled a large tree; he was so solid and firm. I'd thought many times
about how it would feel to explore his naked torso. He embraced me in
return, my face at about the level of his neck. I breathed into his Adam's
apple and licked along his jawbone. His tightening arms told me that I'd
found a sensitive spot. I stood on tiptoes to explore the convolutions
inside his ear with my tongue tip. He murmured a sound of contentment. I
wondered how far this foreplay might be prolonged, as out-of-character as
it seemed to be.

I felt his tumescent basket pressing into my pubis as we stood in close
body contact. He gave a couple of thrusts against me as I wondered how far
to push this scene. I moved my hands down onto his hard asscheeks and
returned his thrusts. He uttered a sound of pleasure and I pressed my lips
against his. To my surprise, he parted them and rubbed his tongue against
my mouth. Slippery tongues began a duel as deep as our throats could
accommodate. His tongue was broad and thick, just like his dick, though the
flickering tingling of our nerve endings was sending stimuli to other
erotic loci inside our bodies. We were humming a duet of pleasure as we
felt our bodies warm up to this new experience.

Pat slipped his hands inside the waistband of my sweats as we maintained
our stimulating posture. He kneaded my gluteus maxes and fingered my
clenching anal pore. I opened his zipper and spidered my fingers inside to
caress his swelling basket. He murmured something that I missed
deciphering, so he started crab-walking toward the stairway. I concluded
that he was getting anxious to move our action up a few notches. We walked
sideways down the stairs without breaking our clutching at each other. When
we arrived at the door, I reluctantly surrendered my grip on his heavy
genitals and opened it so that we could move inside.

He stretched the waistband of my sweats and pulled them to my ankles,
bending awkwardly as he did so to clamp my already-flowing boner in his
mouth. A hot flood of excitement spread through my entire lower region--my
cock, my balls, my crotch, my ass, and deep inside my passion pit.

This whole scene was a reflection of many I'd enjoyed with Ed, my
longest-lasting buddy. Our stock in trade was almost complete reciprocation
and a sense of how to stimulate sensitive spots as we had over the years
learned the ways to create the most arousing, most exciting ways to make
our sessions the most rewarding possible. How I had longed to widen the
repertoire with Pat to make our contacts more sensuous. There was that
special something that Pat provided that no other of my other current
buddies did, but I'm never completely satisfied. I guess that's why I keep
exploring.

I kicked off my sweats and slippers as Pat devoured my throbbing
cock. Feeling his ravenous mouth voracious as it was, I moaned,
unconsciously, and that reaction seemed to generate an almost-desperate
pressure of his lips and tongue as he pulled my rod hungrily. I released
the snap on his shorts and eased them and his skivvies down over his moving
hips, He deftly toed off the entire assemblage, including his tennies
without giving any interruption to his intent oral stimulation of my aching
root. He pulled on my balls and fingered my hole as I pushed into his
vigorous gobbling. "Oh yeah, man, eat me alive." I urged.

I was enjoying this unique direction that our activity was taking, and I
took advantage by pulling up his shirt and examining his naked torso. His
body was covered by a pelt of very short stubble, sort of ruddy in color
and with the texture of a clipped carpet, something like a koala's coat, I
reflected. I stroked his shoulders and rib cage, then moved to his tight
buns. My exploration seemed to elicit even more vigorous activity from
Pat's stimulating oral pursuit. When my fingers grasped his buttcheeks and
spread them from his sphincter, a low and continuous groan began emanating
from my previously-silent partner. Inside, I felt my balls writhing and the
sensation of pressure building. He pushed me around and down on the bed, my
legs hanging over the edge as he pursued an intensive concentration on my
crotch area. I reached out to grasp his protruding boner with one hand as I
rubbed his butthole with my index finger. He inserted his finger into my
flexing hole, stretching me tantalizingly. His body motions encouraged me
to pump his love muscle and spread the flowing juice coming from gorgeous
lips marking his slit.

Had I been more curious and less prone to let things follow their natural
direction, I might have at least wondered what had brought about this
departure from what had become our brief and highly focused past
encounters. Pat's mode had been terse, fast, and very much dominated by his
wham-bam-thank-you-man action with virtually no verbal accompaniment, just
get in , get off and get gone. I had rationalized that a little of Pat was
better than no Pat at all, though I usually preferred a bit more
accompaniment to THE ACT itself. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, I
reasoned. I'd quite easily put aside the stories passed on by another buddy
who told me of Pat's desert depredations. I'd never doubted that such an
animal had many liaisons, nor that his glib representations about having no
other sexual partners than I were typical gay spin.

As I dallied momentarily on a conscious thought regarding this phenomenon,
Pat heaved me further up onto the bed and crouched above me, taking time to
pull off my shirt and his. Total nudity was a mode we both preferred. He
switched positions, hovering above me, his large, thick probe looming
against my face. I opened my mouth and greedily clamped my lips around his
prominent ridge and tongued the slippery juice pouring out. He was rutting
around between my legs, slurping on my balls and below them as he fingered
my aching hole, now two fingers spread. I breathed in his funky
smell--stale piss and residue from old sweat and cum. He wasn't a fanatic
about cleanliness. I thought about his copious cum loads from past
encounters. So far, our brief episodes had been limited to one-shot deals,
even when he came intending to prolong his endurance. How could I help
prolong our excitement to make it last as long as his enthusiasm might
allow? Hell with that, I went after his big, hard probe with a greedy
appetite. I wanted his full load down my throat. How good it felt to wrap
my lips and tongue around the wide circumference and bury my nose in his
bristly thatch. And those burgeoning balls were a challenge to engulf them.

Pat's intent was obvious. He intended to suck my guts out through my
cock. The voracious vacuum that he created made my entire body tremble with
mounting excitement. I was humming a tone of growing urgency. I knew that I
was going to unload a gusher before very long. It was destined by the
stars. Our writhing duet presented a score of male desire leading to
culmination that only another male can contemplate. Eros himself was
directing our exertions. Unspoken intent was to consummate this endeavor
with the highest feeling of achievement available to human forms. We were
fucking going to bring about an explosion that would shake the earth's
foundations.

We were both writhing about, sweating profusely, groaning and humming to
punctuate our physical movements and express some of the internal phenomena
taking control of our bodies. The excitement and thrills and pressures
flinging sharp messages within us combined into a mutual struggle to
achieve a culmination of rare dimension. Somehow our systems were attuned
to one another and had taken control of our most conscious processes. We
grappled and heaved, the autonomous sensitivities governing us reporting
that we were on a course of cataclysmic collision, and we just allowed our
autopilots to bring us to a galactic conclusion. GGGGGAAAAAAHH!!!!!!!
GGGGGGGGAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!! The forces of internal compression opened our
floodgates simultaneously, and as I felt the surges of my ejaculation burst
forth, I sensed the raging eruption of his humungous flood heaving
outward. Two raging fountains heaved gout after gout of hot thick mancream
that we gulped greedily to capture every last drop and dribble of momentous
proportions of life's juices. And after our reservoirs were exhausted, we
stayed in place to savor the slow diminution of the crashing finale to this
symphony of man's deepest satisfaction.

Afterward, Pat lay alongside me, and we stroked one another's chests as we
kissed deeply and savored the residue flavoring our tongues. The sense of
contentment was palpable. I tacitly gave thanks to this opening of a new
dimension to our future. Much as I liked Pat's past ministrations to my
favorite M2M activity, adding to the repertoire offered new vistas.

"Fuck me," I heard him say. He was fondling my balls, and my cock had
retained part of its rigidity.

I wasn't sure how to respond. "You mean right now?" I asked.

"Yeah, right now. I need you to fuck my ass," he said.

It wasn't an unreasonable request to me. I was usually good for a second
and more prolonged and intense release following a good beginning with a
copasetic partner. "Sure," I replied. "Open your legs, and I'll give you my
famous seconds."

I straddled his torso as he rolled over onto his back, licking his rigid
nipples and then nibbling on their firm rubberiness. I dragged my balls
down his chest and belly, enjoying the abrasions of his furry pelt on my
smooth ass. I cradled his firming cock in my asscrack and rode back and
forth across its broad expanse to engage his erotic forces in our next
episode. "More." He murmured.

He spread his legs wide, knees tented and crotch widened.

I lay out across his body with my cock cradled under his balls. I was
enjoying the fresh arousal I felt from the texture of his body and the
familiarity of his dimensions. He was as tall as Rand, my young motorcycle
rider who looked so sexy in his colorful leathers and Buck Rogers
helmet. Rand was slender with broad shoulders and spreading lats that gave
him a beautiful masculine profile. But Rand was smooth and pale and almost
delicate-looking when he lay naked beneath me, though his insatiable
appetite for getting fucked was an incentive to extend myself to my limits
for such a desirous and desirable young man. He'd murmur, "Don't
stop. Don't stop." As I'd drive deep inside his pretty pink anus. He'd
almost always come as I abraded his prostate bump and would beg me not to
stop until I was spent.

Pat's asscrack was lined with wispy brown hairs, and his hole was an oval
invitation to play the entire score of a cock concerto from pianissimo to
fortissimo--from tender and deft strokes or tantalizing touches to violent
drives, hard and deep that would flood his recesses with primordial goo. I
signaled him to press down with his feet and raise his hips so that his
target would line up with my tapered projectile, well suited to start small
and continue to spread a sensitive opening right up to the root. My most
sensitive ring of stimuli was at the base of my cock that responded to the
contractions of a tight sphincter as I was buried inside to the hilt and
driving hard for a gushing climax. Next in sensitivity was my glans. Its
exquisite transmittal of sensation gave great satisfaction as it hurled a
seminal flood far inside the dark tunnel of a man's colon. I pressed my
tingling cockhead against Pat's opening and just slowly kept pressing until
I had reached full penetration. "Ooooohhhh." Pat cooed.

I breathed quietly as I moved my hips in a small circle, exploring the
location inside him and stirring his entrails. His gasps told me that he
felt erotic stimulation deep within. I could feel the pressure of his tight
tunnel and constricting sphincter that would give me the feeling of a firm
grasp from tip to root as I varied my movements from tickling to pounding
the vessel I was serving. "Mmmmmmm," I murmured as I examined the
sensations already radiating from his hot, tight enclosure of my tool.

"Fuck me," he directed. "I need your load inside me." He heaved up against
me to punctuate his exhortation.

I began a slow and deliberate series of withdrawals and insertions that
sent out radiations of warmth in both our bodies. I found his prominent
prostate bump and tantalized it with repeated abrasions that I knew were
bringing about the shudders he made each time I teased its nerve
endings. Then I pressed deeply into his length to radiate outward the
electric impulses to our extremities. Penetration is the ne plus ultra of
sexual congress. It is the nexus of coitus, and its rewarding conclusion is
the extreme of live stimuli in living creatures who are capable of its
achievement. Indeed, it is the center of conscious thought. I proceeded
through each movement of life's cycle to arouse and stimulate every
possible spot. I felt the corona of my glans riding against the slippery
walls inside him and his elastic milking of my stem. As I continued my
forward and back motions, he was rolling his hips to complement my motions
and govern the mounting tension he was feeling. "Oh yes," I
whispered. "Ride it, babe. Milk me good."

My reflexive time is long and pleasant working toward another climax. I
could feel the gradual accumulation of the pressures leading to a
satisfying release, and I also wanted to provide Pat with a lesson in the
joys of delayed gratification. One of life's verities is the notion that
pleasure is in the journey rather than in reaching the destination. Our
adventure was building in a wholly pleasant manner as we both contributed
to its denouement. With each variation of my movements, I enjoyed a fresh
set of sensations and knew that Pat was experiencing similar pleasures. We
were finding unexplored sensations as we took a more leisurely path, and
our expressions of this reinforced the sense of pleasure we both were
enjoying. And pleasant though it is, the leisurely journey can be
culminated with a mounting pace toward the intended end. I began increasing
the intensity of my movements and followed one of Pat's standards, the hard
and fast deep pounding that gets the juices revving and the breath coming
in gasps as we bring our bodies nearer the climax intended. "Come in me,"
he commands. "Give me your load."

The slap of my sweaty balls and accumulating juices around his hungry hole
adds to the other sights and sounds of our rutting, heaving pounding. He
increases the vigorous bouncing that gives him some control of our outcome,
and we are pounding into the home stretch. "Commmmiiinngggg," I announce as
I feel my constricting balls and the pouring forth of a stinging second
emission. My load is more restricted in volume and scalding in its
eruption. My responsive nerves vibrate at a higher level of
intensity. "Aaahhhhh!!!!! Aaahhhhhhh!!!!!" I utter as I empty my emission
inside him, pressing hard to achieve deepest penetration. He contracts his
muscular ring to encourage his own apex of pleasure, since he has not come
near a second ejaculation himself. "Oooohhh my, ohmy, ohmy," I sigh. "That
was goooooodd." His knees pressing in against me confirm my evaluation.

As I withdraw from his warm trap, he sighs contentedly. "I feel so well
fucked," he says softly. "You fuck so well."

I hand him a towel to soak up the juices draining from him. "You might want
to use the bathroom at this stage of the game," I suggest.

He just answers, languidly, "Um um. I feel too relaxed."

I look longingly at his chunky body. He is handsome in a rugged sort of
way, just the kind a roomful of horny gays would pounce on for a wild romp
in the hay--especially if they sensed he was as versatile as I was finding
him to be today. He was being every maiden's prayer--venturesome,
responsive, articulate. The big dick was just a bonus.

And I knew well the pleasure that big dick contained, particularly when
attached to a guy so willing to extend himself to share the fun with a
partner. Yes, the brute force of a big dick is appealing. With some
imagination, size could be made the only show in town. I thought back on
two of the biggest I'd ever entertained. First was Gunner, the Polack I'd
found educable during my eighteenth year. Gunner had seen his cock as a
blunt force to get what he wanted--off. As a salty crewmate, he'd
approached me with all the subtlety of a battleship--bend over, boot, and
take this big gun up your ass with gratitude. No alternative. Well, in a
few short months, I'd been able to show him how much more fun he could have
with a little finesse to his approach. He'd never have believed that his 12
x 8 was capable of so much more than he'd imagined if I'd have resisted his
first approach. Well, shit, man. I might be young, but I knew what fun
mancock could be, and Gunner was a fast learner. I looked at Pat's
modest-by-comparison tool and wondered what I'd do today with Gunner.

Only scant months later, I'd been challenged by an arrogant, nearly
unintelligent black stevedore who had been brought in a back door to an
all-black navy group. Woody was in the Army Transportation Corps and had
found fuck buddies among the black navy stewards and a few of their buddies
who called themselves "The Roundeye Club." I, brought in another back door,
as the only white member of the club had been nominated as an honorary
Negro (the proper term for blacks in 1944). After an audition by the
manager of the navy base's gym, I had been found to be worthy of membership
in a club that required each member to engage in anal intercourse with all
the other members. As the newest member, I was being moved up the chairs
when Woody jumped the list and took his turn violently while I was marching
my sentry duty on Post 13 in the middle of a frigid night on an Aleutian
Islands outpost. Woody's assault was harsh and degrading, and though his
heroic black cannon was bigger even than Gunner's, he eventually found me
to be an adept teacher in showing possessors of outsize penises how they
could derive pleasure through versatility. I still feel Woody's big, blunt
instrument ramming in my frozen butthole as I was pushed hard against the
side of a Quonset hut, my pants down around my ankles and my balls frigid
in the below-zero open air. I never went hunting for bigger ones than
Woody's and Gunner's, though I've seen photos of much bigger ones. Maybe
photo shop products, though claims are made that some men have been
verified to pack as much as eighteen inches. Well, size counts, though
technique gives most of us an advantage in participating in the world's
ongoing fuckfest.

The feeling of a huge pole rammed to the hilt in my ass is still a vivid
experience. In recent years, eight by six is my top end. That's enough to
make most of us envious anyway. Pat's? Oh I'd say six by six, maybe, but
for me a powerful piece that stretches me out enough to know I've been
fucked. I looked at its flaccid state curving atop a pair of outsize balls
and knew how much excitement it could create just by ramming my ass until
it expunged a ton of cum in my gut. I'd had that experience only four times
so far and was willing to settle for more of the same--that is, until I
knew how much more its owner was capable of doing.

I reached over and took the lovely baby in my hand and caressed it. Pat
looked languidly down his nose at me and asked, "What you have in mind for
that?"

"I am thinking that you have promised me seconds in the past," I
answered. I'm just wondering if today's the day."

He idly flipped his fingers across it. "Hmmmm. Might be--with a little
help," he mused.

I took that as my cue to inspire a more upstanding posture for this
inviting thought. I took its soft bulk into my mouth and cradled his
ballsac in my hand as I warmly and wetly began to tickle its underside with
my educated tongue. I felt an almost instantaneous response, and Mr. Peter
started to come to life. Before long, I sensed the old feeling of Gunner
and Woody inside me as I teased it to its full and glorious dimensions. It
represented great possibilities as I straddled Pat's trunk and located my
ass above him, looking him in the eye. "OK, baby, we're gonna have a little
pole climbing exercise now. Before we finish I want at least a quart of cum
gushing outta that boomer," I smiled. I held his rigid member as I lowered
my hole over its flowing glans. The initial resistance was quickly overcome
by the abundance of his natural lube, and I wriggled my way down over its
length until my ass and my balls were pressed against him. My cock had
easily come to life with the stimulation I was getting inside me from this
nice thick bullcock stretching me satisfyingly. The primary location of
most of my sexual arousal centered in my sphincter, so being well stretched
sent warm waves of excitement through my body as I raised up a little and
Pat thrust up against me. "Oohh, yeah," I murmured. "Gimme all you got."

The old feelings of inner stimulation awakened, and I easily imagined my
being filled to the max with horsecock. I heaved back and forth against my
greased pole, and Pat pumped my throbbing cock as I jacked him off with my
asshole--upanddown upanddown. How satisfying it was to know you were
getting fucked. It was so satisfying to have a cock of enough bulk to
render a feeling of fulfillment. I found one the dimension of two educated
fingers enough to get me off. Pat's was bonus-size and welcome again and
again. Every trip up and down his cock raised my excitement quotient, and
he was pumping my aroused cock enthusiastically as I brought his own
internal temperature up to the boiling point. Our exertions had us both
sweating and grunting as we neared climax. I could feel his gusher coming
through my sensitive sphincter nerves. His throbbing cock had swelled to
its full limit. We both erupted simultaneously again, and I felt him
contracting inside me several times as I shot a watery load across his
belly and chest. The releases came with paroxysms of our bodies'
quivering. I bent down to kiss him, and his cock slid out. I turned my back
to him, he spooned into me and pressed his sticky cock into my asscrack as
we cuddled down to nap.

My dreams were all of tomorrow and tomorrow with this newly-awakened sex
machine who had now manifest most of the most extreme dreams I could ever
conjure up for him--and me. We had torn out several pages of the sex manual
now. There was no limit to...to...

A searing sun's ray struck my eye through a barely-open lid. A sun well up
in the morning sky was burning through the slats of the windowshade. The
dog was barking at a passing neighbor as I regained consciousness. LCD
numbers on the clock read: 7:22. Something had to be wrong. We'd spent
several hours raising Cain, and Pat couldn't have come by before
eight... eight...I felt behind me for Pat's heavy body--nope, not
there. Gone? Or what??? Had I been dreaming all this pleasure? Had I
invested images of my fuck buddies into a package deal of a wild session of
sexual excess? Was it all just a dream? Well probably so--a messy wet dream
as I put my hand inside my underwear and found a sticky pouch. It had been
so vivid. Do dreams ever come true? Don't count on this one coming to
pass. It had included men from different stages of my sporting life that
probably only still existed in my pleasant memories. Better to keep what I
have than dream about achieving perfection.


To the reader: This episode is obviously not part of my continuing saga
with Pat--at least in our real world. A reader who offered some desire to
see greater dimensions of variety and emotion suggested my bringing in
other individuals and greater depth of descriptions. I appreciate his
interest, and had fun writing this fantasy. Any comments?