Date: Sat, 4 Jul 2015 13:01:25 -0400
From: robin reed <robinreed1951@gmail.com>
Subject: Men Seeking Men- First Cock Part Two

Men Seeking Men

I made it through the week, not an inconsequential accomplishment in this
strange year.  I made it through Saturday, too. I wrote a little and did
laundry and got some physical activity. I felt horny and on a whim, I
called up the web site of the Washington Blade, the local gay paper.

Since I started the long slow march to my divorce I had stayed away from
computer contact with the gay world. I now knew enough to know that if it
was on the computer's hard drive, it was recoverable by anyone who knew
even a modicum of techno-savvy. Lists of web sites, temporarily saved
imaged that were invisible and present forever. My kids were achieving
those skills. I had found some strange images in my sleuthing, trying to
see what they were up too when we were not watching. I once called up an
image file at random from a long list and saw a handsome young man with an
improbably large erection, his face screwed up in passion, the first jets
of his orgasm shooting upward under a clear blue sky. Los Angeles, I
thought. I wondered who had summoned this picture to the hard-drive.

But there seemed little reason for caution now. I had a lap-top at my
little apartment, and I frankly didn't care anymore what my future ex-wife
or her rapacious lawyer could divine about the crannies of my mind.

I had to be discrete, of course, because of the potential impact on my job.
But even the career was in the concluding phase. I had accomplished all
that I desired in the professional arena. It was a magic time in my life.
By that I do not mean glittering good.

It was more a sense of giddy freedom, with the knowledge that the abyss
beckoned to me. But the abyss will take me anyway at some point. I will now
encounter it on my own terms.

I clicked on the icons and looked through the "personals."  I wondered how
the market was doing since the big metropolitan dailies started to carry
gay ads. This had once been the only outlet for alternate life-styles, a
revolutionary vanguard of sexuality.  There were six categories: one each
for bisexuals (a short list- if you were in this paper there was little
need for a fig-leaf), women, and men seeking the same for a continuing
relationship. One for brief encounters that shouted out: danger!

To cap it off, there was a catch-all for men and women who had passed
briefly and shared a sidelong look in a crowded place, a bar or
supermarket, but who had been unable to say what they felt. It was a
mechanism to grasp a second chance at a missed opportunity, and the brief
vignettes provided a vicarious way for the rest of us to think of the
might-have-beens of our busy days.

I knew a little about the ad game, since this desire had always been with
me, waxing and waning in some rhythm I did not fully understand. When I
felt the most trapped in my marriage I would sometimes scan the pages of
the gay paper, careful never to keep a copy, reading in coffee houses
during breaks I found in my job in the city. It was pleasant to daydream
about casual sex. But as my marriage became increasingly two hostile camps
under one roof I began to think about actually acting out on my daydreams.

One problem was responding to the ads. The game was that there was a
substantial charge to respond by phone, and it would leave a record. I
mailed a few responses, but realized there was no way I could leave my work
number, much less take a call at home.

It appeared that the smart way to do this act of unfaithfulness was to
place my own ad. I composed one mentally, finally screwing up my courage to
go to the advertising department of the paper and pay to have it published
in cash. Untraceable. That also meant traveling to the paper to pick up the
responses. It was quite an adventure, and I will never forget the lovely
lady who worked as a receptionist. She told me I had beautiful eyes. I
thanked her, wondering that while soliciting sex from men in the greater
metropolitan area I was still attracted to this lady. The nature of sex is
an eternal mystery to me.

Over the months I placed several different ads, screening the dozens of
responses that ranged from the bizarre to the appealing. For the most part
it remained a process of mental arousal. But there was an increasing desire
to consummate one of the exchanges. I arranged assignments, sometimes
seeing the man I arranged to meet. But I was never able to bring myself to
actually walk up to them and complete the rendezvous. Anonymous sex was too
dangerous, and the thrill was only in the sick feeling in my belly that I
was capable of this desire. I composed a list of likely men I might call
back. I toyed with it, dreamily imaging scenes of intense passion.

One of the letters contained a phone number, and I went to Herndon to meet
a recently-divorced Justice Department Agent for an early coffee. It was an
uneasy meeting, neither of us quite sure what would develop. There were no
sparks, and I thanked him for his time and left for an appointment in
Maryland.

The closer I got, the urge more insistent, the more the risk of exposing
myself. The thrill was in the anticipation, I concluded, not in the act.
But it was insistent and building. A few weeks later I arranged to meet a
young man at a strip mall off Route 7. He was standing where we had agreed,
and after an awkward introduction, I agreed to follow him to his house. As
I drove behind him I thought how insane this behavior was, and yet how
exciting. I noted a butterfly net in the back of his little white Ford
Fiesta. I asked him if he was an entomologist, and he said he was. At some
point he asked me if I was married. I said I was. He had kissed me
ferociously, almost clicking his teeth against me. We were in his bedroom.

We were lying against one another, he was slim and boyish and wanted me
badly. I was so aroused that I erupted the first second he touched me. The
release was too soon, no buildup, just a jet of wetness without completion

I was embarrassed and tried to jerk him off, but didn't know to lubricate
his thin erection. It irritated him, and we parted badly.  I tried to call
him later, to see if there was a way we could meet to try to fix things,
but he was adamant that there was not. I dropped it and walked away from
the pay phone, scratching his name from the list. Feeling frustrated and a
little lost.

The next week the fever was on me again. I was lobbying at offices
downtown. The commute from the suburbs only worked very early, and there
was normally time to kill before my first appointment. I could work out oat
the health club, or have breakfast and read the paper. Or I could play with
my little list of names from the ads. The one I placed this time had said I
was looking for an "Early Riser."  This particular Monday I made a call to
another promising name on the list. The man who answered had a curt
demeanor that was a little unsettling. He gave me directions, and told me
he would get up early to have coffee with me and see if there was anything
there. The next morning I awoke long before the alarm.

There was a hunger and the familiar heaviness in my belly. I drove downtown
earlier even than the specified early hour. I bought both morning papers
and drove slowly down the ridge. I saw a light on at the correct address
and parked around the corner. The heels on my dress pumps clicked on the
concrete and my heart was sunk down in my belly with nervousness. It was
the familiar feeling of dread and anticipation. I knocked on the door with
my knuckle. I heard footsteps approach and the door opened.

"Paperboy" I said, offering the two bundles.

"Thanks" said the man.

He looked to be in his middle fifties. He was of modest height but had a
powerful torso. His hair was thinning and he had cropped it short. Close
shaven. Full sensual lips. "Why don't you come in?"

"Thanks" I said, a little breathless. Thoughts of flight ran through my
mind as he led me through a formal dining room and into the wood-paneled
kitchen. The house was one of those built in the 1930's, and the floor plan
had not changed much. A close-in house, two story, designed for another
era. He turned and pulled two coffee cups from a cabinet over the sink. A
small color TV murmured in the corner under soft warm yellow light.

"My name is Rick. Would you like cream and sugar?" he asked.

"No, thanks. Black is fine." He poured from the Mr. Coffee and then led me
through a door and back up the hallway to the living room. He sat on the
couch and I joined him, sitting properly two feet away. The conversation
began awkwardly.

"So, what are you looking for?" he asked, matter-of-factly, as though
strange men came to his door every day looking for something personal.

His voice was smooth, his vowels were oval. He wore shorts and no belt. I
said I was looking for a friend. That began a monologue for him, and I
listened to his soft voice. He told me about his life there in Alexandria.
He was an entrepreneur. He had invested wisely. He had no day job, save to
manage his portfolio. He was a bit of an Auntie, I thought, though his arms
and shoulders were powerful., like a collegiate wrestler.

He smoked, and that was a relief. I noted my fingers quivering as I lit one
of my own. The coffee was strong and good, and we eventually had another
cup. I began to turn my thoughts to escape. Once again I was acting out the
pattern. I was getting further along, but decided that it was the
anticipation rather than the consummation that was the excitement for me.  I
was moderately surprised to find he was a Republican, I don't know why.

We talked about politics. I glanced at my watch and told him I was grateful
for the coffee and really had to be going. He smiled as we rose and he
walked me to the foyer.

"I don't think this will work. It's not your fault, you are a very nice
man. I just don't know what I want. Maybe I will figure it out someday. But
I want to thank you. I enjoyed the conversation."

"I did, too" he said. "But I got up early to make the coffee. So I think
you owe me a favor."

"Of course" I said. I felt bad that I had led him on, but relieved that
this encounter was nearly complete and I could go back to real life.

"Just show me what I am going to miss." He took me by the hand and led me
to the stairs. He turned and walked up. I looked up at him, frozen. This
wasn't going to work. I had finished it, said goodbye. Then my feet moved
forward and I found myself climbing the stairs behind him, my heart
suddenly thumping. What was this? Could he be a killer, enticing seekers
and then garroting them in the stillness? What was I doing? My feet were
moving completely on their own.

It was dark in the hallway. There was a bedroom to the left as we reached
the top of the stairs. He didn't stop there. He rounded the corner and went
down the hall. There was a bathroom directly ahead. I could see the light
reflected on old white tile. Bedrooms were to the left and right. He paused
at the door of the one on the right and I stopped behind him. He gestured
at the striped coverlet on a neatly-made double-bed. I wondered if he had
slept here last night, or if he reserved it for something else. A clock on
the nightstand next to the bed radiated the time in blue light. It was
wrong by several hours. The room was bathed in soft orange light from the
rising sun. The furniture was in keeping with the house, old and dark and
solidly built.

"Why don't you take off your shirt and let me see what you look like" he
said. "That's really all I need."  His eyes twinkled in amusement and the
corners of his mouth turned up in a knowing smile. I considered his request
as my fingers went to my collar and loosened my tie. I removed it, looking
at him. I turned and placed it on the bureau. I unbuttoned my collar and
slipped the suspenders from my shoulders and let them hang at my side. I
finished unbuttoning my shirt, and pulled the tails from my trousers. Then
I took it off slowly. I laid it atop my tie.  I turned back to him,
avoiding his eyes, looking down.

"Thank-you." He said. His voice was soft and reassuring. I crossed my arms
across my chest, self-conscious and feeling vulnerable. The room was warm
and still, the smell of the old house mixed with something else, something
vaguely familiar. Like Old Spice cologne. The pause was awkward. I took a
step toward him and he matched it. His arms came around me. I tensed and
then slowly relaxed in his arms and laid my head on his shoulder. I drank
in the smell of him. There was soap there from his shower and the Old

Spice. There was something else, too, a musk that was deep and rich and
multi-textured.

We stood that way for a long time, I don't know how long. My heartbeat
began to return to normal, and in a very natural way my right hand reached
out and gently felt out his

manhood. He responded. This too went on for a long time. I marveled at the
weight and mass of him. I could feel him swell against my fingers and I
could feel myself respond in kind. His smell was intoxicating. This was not
a fevered rush. It was a blossoming.

My head came up from his neck, eyes closed, and my lips sought his.  I
brushed the short stubble on his cheek from his morning shave They were
full lips and they opened to meet me. Our tongues met, gently probing. I
tasted coffee and the cigarette and warmth of his saliva. Contained in the
kiss was an offer and an acceptance. At the right moment our embrace
loosened and he took off his t-shirt. I unfastened my trousers and let them
fall to the floor. He unbuttoned his shorts and skinned them off. He wore
white briefs and the bulge of his penis distended them in the front. I
dropped my boxers on the trousers and we stood and looked at one another,
wordless. He hooked the top of the elastic with his thumbs and peeled them
down. The tip of his penis was the first exposed, then the dark mass of his
pubic hair and finally his balls. His cock stood out proudly, arcing up to
the right from his trim belly. I stepped to him and cupped his balls with
my hand. They had a velvety feel beneath the coarse texture of his hair.
They moved smoothly and independently under my touch. I caressed his shaft.

>From the base to the tip he seemed enormous, and the glans was fat and
assertive. It appeared thicker at the end, larger than the base even before
the pouting shape of the helmet. It was a wonderful and hypnotic sight.

"May I kiss it?" I asked. It sounded ridiculous to me, surreal, the words
floating there in

the air. I hadn't come here for this, had I? This was too fast.

"Of course" he answered. I sank to my knees, eager to examine this marvel.
At eye-level he was even more massive. I ran my tongue along the length of
him, delighting in the texture of the veins and ridges. I was careful not
to take him entirely in my mouth. I was concerned about ingesting his
semen. I wanted this to be safe. I licked him like a child would approach
an ice cream cone. I kissed his balls, tentative at first, but with growing
confidence as his hips squirmed in delight.

"You like this, don't you?' he said. I nodded against the mass of him,
inarticulate, my nose filled with his smell now ripe. It welcomed my lips
and began to fill my senses fully.

At some point, and I am not sure how, he was seated on the bed, my face
buried in him. And then he was reclined, me on my knees, suckling on his
balls, first one and then the other. His shaft was moist and slippery with
my spit, and I stroked him until the spit dried and became sticky. He
stopped my hand. I was afraid I had done something to displease him. I
looked up apprehensively from my work on his testicles and I saw him smile.
"You have to keep it wet, silly." He scooped a gob of saliva from his mouth
with his

fingers and ladled it onto his penis. "Now" he said. "Nice and slippery."

It was. I made a mental note. I stroked him with more urgency. My erection
waved between my knees. When it brushed the bed it gave me an electric
shock. He gripped my shoulders, trying to bring me up on the bed next to
him but I shook my head against his genitals. I wanted him to come first
and I knew that I would climax quickly. He relented and stroked my
shoulders instead. I felt him stroke my hair and I could feel him coming
near and then he shuddered and my fingers and hand were coated with his
ejaculation and spurts of ropy white jetted over his belly. I slowed my
rhythm as he softened, continuing to nuzzle his testicles. Then I traced my
forefinger through his jism. Then I caressed his belly with my palm,
rubbing it in. I kissed his balls in farewell and rose to my feet.

"I need to be going" I said. "I don't want to be late."

I glanced at the clock, trying to correct its erroneous message to the
actual time. It was disorienting. I felt giddy from what I had done, still
aroused. My erection arced up and away from my body. I could taste him on
my lips.

"Not so fast. Come here." He gripped my hand and pulled me to the bed. I
lay down as he scrunched up beside me. I tensed, uncertain what he wanted.
He surprised me by rolling on top of me. I spread my legs so our groins
came together, him soft now and me hard. He kissed me hard and I opened my
mouth to welcome him. He pressed his tongue deep into my mouth. His weight
was all on me and he pinned me, leaving me helpless. I wrapped my legs
around him and hugged him hard against me. I began to move my hips in the
primeval way and my cock felt the sticky residue of his cum, imprisoned
between our bellies. I felt myself rising and bucked frantically against
him until I too erupted, flooding the skin between us. I clutched him in
the afterglow of my climax. "My God" I whispered.

"Yes indeed," he whispered back in my ear. "Yes, *indeed*."

After a time he pried himself from me and rose. He walked out of the
bedroom and opened a closet next to the bathroom door. He pulled out a
towel and tossed it to me on the bed. I could not move. "Blue for boys" he
said with a grin. I think I blushed.

I don't recall much about dressing. When we were once more in the foyer I
kissed him chastely on the cheek. "Can I see you tomorrow?" I asked.

"Tomorrow isn't good. Wednesday?"

"Same time?"

"That would be fine."

I counted the hours.

Copyright 2015