Date: Tue, 24 Jun 2003 19:21:45 EDT
From: Writersrealmmm@aol.com
Subject: Discovering Gregory Chapter 57

Discovering Gregory

Chapter 56
Rehab

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Chapter 57 Rehab

I dreamed that Greg fell down the stairs into the basement and lay on the
floor for hours because no one was home. Then, I dreamed he fell down the
stairs from his bedroom and ended up landing headfirst in the hall across
from the television room where he actually was, sleeping with me during my
nightmares. I don't know why I was filled with fear now that he was finally
out of the hospital.

My parents conceded on a limited basis to allow me to stay up at
Greg's. Their reluctant agreement came because they knew I would stay
anyway and this way we didn't need to have a fight. My life had been
carefully built around Greg and while they weren't clear on what was
actually going on, and quite possibly this was merely a delusional state of
mind of mine, it worked for me.

Both of Greg's parents had seen us cuddling and holding on to each other at
any given time, and if there were objections, they weren't raised in front
of me and nothing seemed different in their demeanor toward me. They were
happy to have someone in the house with their son.

I finally got out of high school, graduating with Greg in attendance. He
did allow Doug to push around in a wheelchair and seemed to like that mode
of transport, after spending a great deal of his time objecting to it as he
complained about not being a "fucking invalid." Nobody listened to him
anymore than usual and he was often put in the chair if we went out
somewhere that required his mobility. His technique with his crutches was
good but he tired quickly.

All my worries about him falling down the stairs were a bit over the top
because the back porch stairs were the only stairs we ever used. To go down
he sat down and put his bottom on one step and then the next until he was
at the bottom and was then pulled back up onto his feet. Going up was the
reverse with the pulling up process taking a bit more care so he wouldn't
fall back down them.

His left leg was pretty pathetic, although he could stand on his right leg
for a length of time and often did for one reason or another. While pissing
for instance, and I was always elected to go with him so he could lean on
me and then of course, after the door to the bathroom was closed, he'd also
needed help holding the leaky member. This often led to erectile
disfunction, if you're trying to piss anyway, and I'd be left holding the
bag, and in this case it was stiff as a brick.

There are some benefits when you nursemaid a stud and as I would hold it,
pretending I didn't know what was required, he'd make sure I didn't forget.

"I really have to pee," he said.

"I'm not stopping you," I said.

"Oh yes you are. You've got me all horny now."

"It takes getting," I said. "I thought that was your natural state."

"You know what I mean," Greg said. "Why don't you work on it so it goes
soft so I can pee."

I don't know if anyone noticed how long it took Greg to pee when I
accompanied him, or how often he peed on some evenings, but I'm sure they
couldn't miss my red lips and all the evidence that they'd been wrapped
around something substantial and demanding. If we weren't polite enough to
avoid having sex with them in the next room, they were at least polite
enough not to bring the subject up.

I always tried to get away with a quick massaging, but after the first few
days, I knew I'd ended up giving him head, until he would grab the sink,
moan out warning of his impending eruption, and then shiver and shake his
way through his orgasm. He would hump and pump out a significant amount of
pleasure and only then remember what we were there for.

More often than not he would then be able to pee and we'd return to
whatever activity we were involved in before the need for relief arose. I
was always waiting for someone to ask if everything came out all right or
if there was a reason it took twenty minutes for him to take a simple piss,
but no one ever mentioned the amount of time we spent in the bathroom
either. So politeness abounded in the house.

Greg's father bought him a set of weights and they ended up in the living
room because the television room wasn't big enough for us, the weights, the
television, and still have room to open the couch into a bed when the time
came.

I ended up spotting for Greg and he went about trying to rebuild the body
that had suffered after spending so much time in bed. This led to a lot of
straining and sweating, and then he required a bath afterward each
day. Baths ended up much the same as our pissing trips although we always
did this while no one else was in the house because of the noise level we
achieved in that tiny space. This activity left me feeling a lot more
passionate toward him and I didn't feel nearly as guilty once we had
achieved blast off. If you asked, why did I do it if it made me feel so
uncomfortable with his parents around, I'd have to say it didn't make me
feel that uncomfortable.

It took several nights for him to get around to what he really wanted but
hadn't asked me for and I dreaded him doing it nearly as much as he wanted
it.

"What do we have?" He asked, springing it on me without any previous
warning or preparation.

"Vaseline."

"Vaseline. I hate Vaseline. Nothing else? I don't guess you'd consider it
without lubing up?"

"I don't guess. I might be crazy but I'm not insane. I wasn't shopping with
this in mind," I said as his fingers took a gob from the jar.

"I hate this," he said, examining the goop.

He looked at his fingers and applied them to my bottom, immediately
attempting to fit a finger up there without bothering to warn me of the
invasion. My reflex propelled me away from him and I winced, fearing it
more than before. His damn finger wasn't all that thick, but I couldn't say
the same about his dick.

Greg didn't want to use the cast for obvious reasons and I kept reminding
him to be careful. He growled and fussed and got busy trying to make what
seemed like a very square peg fit into my tight round hole.

"You're tight," he advised, still pushing.

"You're big," I reminded him so he'd be gentle.

"Yeah, I am," he said [tpif;u, and I could tell he was enjoying the feel of
himself in his own hand for a change.

"Greg!" I said.

"I haven't done anything yet," he objected.

"Well, just in case you have."

He then gave me a reach around and my mind glazed over, as it always did at
a time like that. My dick must have been attached to my fog control,
because once it got going good, I forgot about most things, until he
started pushing again.

"Greg!"

"Jesus. I haven't even gotten in yet," he argued, unhappy with my fear.

"It feels like you've got a log up there," I complained.

I felt the tight ridge of his dick head pushing into my hole. Before he
could push it through to the shaft, I shifted so that it was barely in my
hole. He held me in place, using my dick against me as his hand squeezed
and stroked it at the same time.

"Wait until I get it in for Pete sake. I almost had it."

It was more like wrestling than screwing but I reached around and got a
hold of him and he had swollen remarkably and while it was lovely to feel,
feeling it wasn't what worried me. He growled and moaned as he started
nibbling on my ear, and then he was chewing and blowing hot air, and my
worry was no longer for my bottom.

How the hell would I look with half my ear gone? It was my turn to squeeze
and twist him as the head spread me open.

"Greg!" I worried some more, feeling him pushing forward until my hole
closed around his twitching shaft..

It was the gush of air and the tension in the body he had pressed hard
against me that tipped me off. He chewed on my ear some more to make sure I
didn't back him off the progress he had made. His hot air blower became
super charged as my bottom burned from the beating it was taking. I churned
as he held onto my dick with a pretty good grip as he licked my ear for
good measure, sticking the wet tip as deep as it would go. He thrust boldly
forward in one steady bold move to get it all all the way in to where he
was determined to go.

I was on fire feeling him open me up, while jacking me off, and working on
my ear. He forced his hips against me as he finished his entry and feeling
his weight against me was enough to light my fire.

"Shit!" He gasped and then he growled and gurgled and leaned on my back
hard. "Shit!"

The silence was less than golden and his heart beating on my back wasn't
reassuring as he gasped and panted and seemed helpless to do more. I slowly
felt him relaxing his body on me and the lust had suddenly drained out of
him.

"Are you okay?" I asked, as my ass twitched on his thick dick, and I was
suddenly worried that he had hurt his leg with his gyrations.

"Fuck no I'm not all right. I blew my load and I didn't do anything."

"I don't know. It felt like you were doing something to me," I reassured
him.

"I couldn't hold back. Do you know how long I've been waiting to do that?
Do you know how long I've been planning this and dreaming about how it was
all going to be so perfect for both of us."

"No," I said.

"About since that day we met up by your house," he said, panting and
revealing something I hadn't ever considered.

I mean I knew there was more than a meeting and stares and glares going on
that day. I had felt like someone had dropped a ton of bricks on me but I
never thought much about what it was like from Greg's point of view, except
I knew he knew what was on my mind. That had been obvious to me. I had no
clue he had similar ideas on his mind but it was better for all concerned I
didn't way back then.

"I wanted it to last. I wanted you to like it," he said. "I wanted it to be
perfect for you and I go and pull this little boy shit."

"Greg, everything you do is great and anyway, maybe you'll regroup if you
relax and quit shooting for the moon and just settle for here and now."

"You kidding me. I just blew the biggest wad of my life. You've got me
where you want me. I'm done. Get the fork. What a wuss. Now I find out not
only am I only half the man I was, but the half that was isn't. My life is
over. I'm a fucking wimp. A fucking lightweight. I'm sorry, Martin. I'm
sorry."

"Sorry for what. Waiting and dreaming can build things up beyond
reality. Expectation can be your worst enemy," I said. "I'm flattered when
you come down to it."

"Flattered because I now suffer from premature ejaculation. Get real,
Martin. I can't even fuck anymore. What's the point?"

"You're funny, Greg. You got the biggest dick in the civilized world. You
just took me to heaven and back and you're complaining about it. Will you
get real. It was great. I won't say I wasn't worried but at the end, it was
great, and so were you and it'll only get better once we go at it a few
times."

"You mean you'll let me do it again?"

"I'll insist on it. In fact I'm already ready," I said, putting his hand on
my throbbing cock that was suddenly reacting very positively to the dick in
my ass.

"Now if I could only oblige," he lamented.

"We'll wait. It might rise again."

"I'm tired," he said, sounding like a distant little boy. "I mean really
tired."

He cuddled up against me and held me. I was afraid he'd desert me but he
stayed inside. While he never went soft, he was somewhere between hard and
soft as I drifted comfortably off into the silent night. I was both
satisfied and wanton and my dreams were appropriate as my lover and I
stayed hooked together.

I wasn't surprised to be awakened with him super charged once again. There
was no more talk of impotence or a failure to live up to
expectation. Whether driven by the desire to prove him self, or by simple
lust, he sweated and huffed, fucked and humped at a furious tempo.  My
fears of him subsided by the time he was up to speed. Just his passion for
the activity and the idea of him being inside of me got me going in a lusty
way. I was sure that the time we spent hooked together had given me time to
adapt to him and the idea of what I wanted him to do. It was a night to
remember.

After two successful launches and the impending discharges that followed,
he spent time kissing my neck and feeling my chest, being quite
affectionate in that unexpected way that always surprised me. Affection
wasn't easy for Greg but it certainly was easy on me. I loved it when he
just wanted to be close to me.

"I love you, Martin," he said after covering my neck in kisses.

"And I love you, Greg. You see, you had nothing to worry about. You just
needed to relax and the rest comes naturally."

"It was okay? I mean I gave it all to you and I didn't hold back. It's
okay? You're not mad at me?"

"Everything you do is fantastic. Being with you is fantastic. Nothing can
ever be simply okay when I'm with you, Greg. You are life and love and joy
and everything I need to live."

"What about food and air," he said, kissing my neck and giggling in my ear.

"You are my food and air."

"Well, don't try to live on that, okay."

Greg's appetite for all things had increased. After our initial fuckfest,
he became energized in all things. We went to rehab three days a week and
the strong black dude that worked with him kept saying, "Okay, champ, slow
down a little. You don't want to rush things. You can't get well
overnight."

Greg didn't know slowdown. He didn't know a little of anything. He would
pump the weights in the living room until he was exhausted and covered in
sweat. He'd regroup while I was giving him a bath and want more and more of
a good thing until we were both exhausted.

I'd help him do his stretching and he'd keep asking me to push him harder
and further, stretch his leg more severely as he winced and groaned from
the pain. I'd stop and he'd curse me for not making him endure more pain
and I'd refuse and he'd get mad and hook his leg over the arm of the couch
and lying on the floor he'd force it to move beyond it's ability to respond
to his demands.

I watched him cry from the pain and sweat bullets as he went beyond his
endurance to a place I couldn't go. I always refused him this, not wanting
to be a part of him torturing himself, but once he was done, all was
forgiven and he was ready to move on to something else. I didn't know his
limits and I couldn't purposely hurt him even for his own good and he had
no such reservations, calling me a pussy, and then playfully wanting to do
something he knew I liked.

I suppose there is balance in all relationships. While I often didn't know
how much was enough and when enough was too much, Greg never seemed to have
such confusion. His motto was if enough is good than too much must be
fucking fantastic. We went through a period when fucking fantastic might
describe our nights together. How he could get up running each morning,
I'll never know, because he didn't sleep much at night, and while I could
keep up with him for as long as he liked, I couldn't get up with him when
he wanted to rise and shine and start working out. I needed some sleep.

Of course it didn't take long for him to realize he no longer needed me to
spot or watch him. He would let me sleep and workout alone. He was benching
close to two hundred pounds after a few weeks. He would relentlessly do
curls and biceps extensions while we just sat and talked or watched the
tube.

The well-shaped chest that never left him started to grow. We both spent
time feeling his muscles while I bathed him, after he had pumped them all
up for me, and then that left the one muscle I could be coaxed to do
anything with, once he pumped it up for me. His baths often took longer
than his workouts and he prided himself on doing a double header without a
break between innings. It was just one more exercise he needed to do and I
couldn't resist.

It wasn't all about sex but that was probably the activity we spent most of
our time on. All he had to do was get hard and I'd stick with him until he
couldn't get hard any more. Then there were days when he didn't get hard at
all and I didn't encourage him and neither of us died. Some times those
days ran together and neither of us worried about the details, because once
it started up again, stopping became the difficulty.

I suppose that I began to feel somewhat like I felt he felt, if enough is
good, too much will be fucking fantastic, only I could never get enough of
Greg. Even after we were done, I'd still be imagining there was one more
round left in me, knowing there was no way. I had become an optimist after
all the time and energy I had put into pessimistic visions of how Greg and
I would end up.

Oh I had no illusions about forever or always, but this time was my time,
and I wasn't leaving anything on the table. I had everything I ever wanted
or dreamed of, because I never wanted or dreamed of anything before I met
Greg, and he was all I wanted or dreamed of after that.

Whatever we would become, we were together now, and no one could take that
away from me, and I made the most of it, and him, and our love, and sex,
and every other damn thing there was. Life was for the living and I lived
every day for him. I lived every minute we shared to the fullest. My mind
my body and my soul were full of him and it was glorious, even when he
pushed himself too hard and needed too much. I was always there.

						*****

Live life to the fullest and live every second like it's your last. You'll
never regret it unless you let love get away without giving it all that you
had.