Date: Sat, 27 Oct 2007 14:17:23 +0000 (GMT)
From: Nexis Pas <nexispas@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Making Jeremy

Making Jeremy

Nexis Pas (nexispas@yahoo.co.uk)

Copyright 2007 by the author.

For H.H.

`Hey, handsome, what does a thirsty lad have to do to get a drink around
here? I already have a glass. But I need the drink.'

I had barely unlocked the door to my flat when Martin opened the door to
his. As usual, he was dressed in a pair of torn and fraying shorts and a
singlet. Strategically placed holes revealed glimpses of his firm,
well-tanned body. He stood there leaning against the door frame and
jiggling an empty glass at me.

`Martin, what a surprise.' I hope my lust was not too evident. `Were you
listening for me?'

`Hmm. When I got home, I found out that I had run out of wine, and then I
remembered that divine Pouilly-Fuisse you had the other evening. I looked
out the window, and there you were, Lewis, coming up the street, the answer
to a maiden's prayer. Any chance that I can get another drop of that? Or
something with alcohol in it. I'm not choosy. I'll drink anything after the
day I've had.'

I swung the door open and motioned Martin to step in. `Make yourself
comfortable while I check the fridge. I think I still have some of that
left. And what will you have, Jeremy?'

There was a growl behind me, deep and feral, and the sound of fabric being
torn. By the time I had turned around, Jeremy had already ripped the
singlet open down the front. He shrugged it off his shoulders and tossed it
across the room into a corner. His shorts dropped to the floor. He was
wearing nothing under them. `You know what I want, babe. Get out of those
clothes and come here, muffin.'

********

So what does the average gay lad do when he comes home after a long and
tiresome day at work and finds that Adonis is moving into the flat opposite
his? Well, I can't speak for the average gay lad (I assure you that I am
anything but average, although I am gay and the last time I looked, I was a
lad, definitely one of the lads), but my parents raised me to be polite and
helpful. We're talking Boy Scout here. So anyway, I unlock the front door
to the building and start up the stairs.  And there blocking the stairwell
is this fabulous hunk struggling with a king-size mattress and attempting
to wrestle it up the stairs. You know how difficult it is to move a
mattress--how they tilt over on you and threatening to crush poor little
old you against the wall. I could see the hunk was having difficulties,
despite his well-developed arms and humongous torso, not to mention thighs
that were approximately the size and chiselled solidity of Mount Everest
(not that one wants those thighs ever to be at rest). The poor man was
sweating prodigiously and the singlet he was wearing was plastered tightly
to his mammoth chest. I was quite envious of its good fortune.

`Oh, let me help,' I cried. Actually it wasn't so much a cry as a croak, a
cross between a breathless gasp and a moan.

The hunk smiled. Not only did he have curly black hair that was begging to
be raked between my fingers, but he also had perfect white teeth, suitable
for nipping my tender little arse and leaving bite marks. And his smile,
well it was one of those `Wouldn't you be more comfortable on your knees?'
smiles. I was ready to comply with that suggestion, more than ready--eager,
keen, ardent, to drop to groin height.

He lifted the bottom of his singlet to wipe his face, thereby exposing an
abdomen that rivalled that of Superman. `Are you sure? I live on the third
floor.'

`I live on the third floor,' I squeaked. `Number 19.'

`We must be neighbours. I'm moving into Number 18.'

`Across the hall.' I nearly fainted. For once, the gods were smiling on me.

And that is how I met Martin. Together the two of us managed to get his
mattress upstairs. I set a record for changing into clothes suitable for
helping someone move--the muscle T that exposed my arms, the shorts that
hugged my shapely buttocks, the thick white socks that hide my
unfortunately rather spindly ankles (at least I hope they do). Luckily
Martin had almost finished moving by the time I arrived and I didn't have
to demonstrate how unsuited I was to heavy labour despite my hours at the
gym.

Poor Martin was exhausted by the time we finished. Since his towels were
still packed away and he hadn't had time to buy soap, naturally I offered
him the use of my shower, my soap, and a clean towel. I stood in the
hallway outside the bathroom door listening to the sound of the water
bouncing off his incredible body. In my mind's eye, I lathered his corpus
delectable, thrusting my soap-smoothed hands into every crevice, making
sure that I cleaned every inch of his flesh. Then I watched as the water
sluiced a mound of soapsuds down his chest, across his abdomen, and down,
down, down and around, around, around his manly equipment. I was so caught
up in my reverie that I was oblivious to the fact that the shower had
stopped and the door had been opened.

Martin stood there, the towel wrapped around his incredibly narrow hips. He
is a good six inches taller than I and he loomed over me. `Could you dry my
back, Lewis? I can never get the groove over the backbone dry.' Well, you
all know how hard it is to get the last drops of water out of that
groove. Of course, I was only too happy to oblige. Ever ready to service, I
mean, ever ready to provide service, I also towelled the last drops of
moisture from between his legs. I even wrapped the towel around Martin's
waist again when I was finished and secured it by tucking the end
in. Good-neighbourliness required no less. His body was still hot from the
shower. His flesh was as hard as a ferro-titanium alloy (and I know my
ferro-titanium alloys). I paid no attention, absolutely none at all, to the
fact that the towel could barely contain his manhood, even in its
presumably flaccid state.

`Can I offer you anything else? A drink? A tour of my bedroom?'

Martin smiled wickedly. Apparently, I had not fastened the towel around his
hips as securely as I had thought. It fell to the floor. Nor apparently had
Martin's exertions tired him out. I found myself being lifted off the floor
and all sixteen stone of me carried in his arms into the bedroom and laid
tenderly on the bed. His strong hands whisked the clothes off me. The man
was in incredible kisser, his fingers found every erogenous zone on my body
and manhandled me into an acute frenzy of horniness. I was hardly sane by
the time the moment I had been waiting for came. I moaned and pointed to
the drawer in the bedside table. Martin found the lube and opened the
condom.

Well, nothing in life is perfect, is it? I suppose everyone, even someone
like Martin, has to have a defect. I smiled up at him and waited for him to
put the condom on that throbbing, extra-large-size cock of his. Instead he
reached down and put it on me. He quickly lubed himself up and then impaled
his studly body on me. It happened so quickly that I had no time to protest
and to correct him. He mistook my shriek of disappointment as his muscular
glutes contracted around my cock and squeezed hard for a cry of lust. I
suppose it was an incredibly good fuck. But it was not what I had
wanted. Of course, manners and good breeding won out in the end, and I
managed to perform adequately. At least, Martin seemed satisfied.

But, I need hardly explain to you my disappointment at discovering that
Martin was a bottom. I mean we are talking one frustrated gay bloke here,
majorly frustrated. You know what I'm saying here. You think it's Hey nonny
nonny time, and suddenly it's No! No! Not this. This isn't what I
wanted. You're all primed for a rigorous rogering, a potent ploughing, a
ferocious fuck, and then suddenly you find your cock up the other guy's ass
and his dingle is bouncing uselessly against your groin depositing
itty-bitty little bits of lukewarm precum on your body when you want it to
be pumping you and exploding inside you. Not even the fact that I came
copiously could compensate for the hunger in my rear.

Martin was effusive in his thanks and his appreciation. I was, according to
him, a ten, and he wasn't just referring to the size of my tool. I modestly
opined that perhaps he was using the metric system, but he assured me that
he was thoroughly British when it came to measuring.

Perhaps, I thought, Martin is just being polite and allowing me the first
fuck as a way of thanking me for my help. I coyly mentioned that I did have
more condoms and plenty of lube, if he wanted . . .

`Oh, no,' says he, `that's very sweet of you. But I'm a total
bottom. Always have been. Always will be.' And then he smiles at me. `Of
course, if you're ready for another go, we can try another position. There
are several I have always wanted to try, and someone of your talents will
be up for them.'

Martin soon fell into the habit of dropping by after work. He does know a
lot of positions, and his hunger is unquenchable. Plus, he unfortunately
learned very quickly how to arouse me. I was helpless in the man's hands. A
few seconds in his company, and he had my harpoon ready to plunge into his
succulent, hot, moist mouth. A half-hour of sucking later, my body would
betray me and I would join with him as he brought me almost to climax time
and time again, until I was helpless to do anything but thrust my cock into
his insatiable arse. A mindless, willing fuck machine. You can understand
my frustration. The more I fucked him, the more I wanted him to fuck me.

Finally I could stand no more of these couplings Martin was relentlessly
forcing me to have. I resolved that this would not do, I had ejaculated for
the last time into his firm, round, muscular, juicy ass. A god does not
move in next door to you and then fail to satisfy. Matters had to be taken
in hand. The fatal flaw had to be fixed. Martin had to become a top.

Luckily I knew just what to do. I had read all the mind-control stories. I
discounted the stories about aliens with strange powers (unlikely to visit
Brighton), magical objects (in short supply), and chemical mindbenders
(controlled substances unavailable without access to secret government
agencies), but surely, I said to myself, somewhere in all these stories
there is a hint of the proper way to hypnotise a hunk into being a top.

I reread my favourite stories, consulted the experts at erotic hypnosis
sites, downloaded scripts. Martin's demanding lust left me little spare
time, but I managed on my breaks at work to acquire the necessary
knowledge. I was ready. It was time to act. Martin's hour had come.

`Martin, you look so tense tonight. Why don't you take your clothes off and
lie down, and I'll give you a massage.' I filled my voice with concern. No
one could have doubted my interest in Martin's welfare. The poor lad, so
overworked. What else would any decent friend do but offer a massage?

Martin complied with my suggestion with alacrity. Clothes simply do not
stay on his body long. The bedsprings groaned beneath his muscular body. I
know how they felt. Or rather, I wished I knew how they felt. I turned out
the lights and lit all the candles in the candelabra. I squirted several
generous jets of the scented massage oil I had bought especially for the
occasion across his back. He moaned as the viscous streams of thick, warm
oil fell upon his bronzed shoulders.

I placed my hands on his shoulders and began to knead them. God, how I
needed them. The first touch of my fingers on his body caused my cock to
harden. His firm flesh aroused me. `Martin, you are so tense. You need to
relax. Let's just try a few relaxation exercises,' I said in my most
soothing voice. `Just take a deep breath in. Now hold it for a second and
then slowly breath out, letting your whole body relax as you do so. Just
keep breathing slowly and evenly and relaxing.'

Martin complied. As he filled his lungs with air, his torso rose as he
inhaled and then fell as he exhaled. His muscles flowed into one another. I
was unable to take my eyes off them. His body began to shimmer and gleam in
the candlelight as I worked the oil into his golden skin. I continued with
my patter, relaxing Martin more and more, taking him deeper and deeper. I
suggested that his eyelids were getting heavy, and it was getting harder
and harder for him to keep them open. His long lashes fluttered over his
cheekbones, and his eyelids gently closed over his deep blue eyes.

I concentrated on massaging his shoulders and helped him focus on relaxing
the muscles at the back of the neck. All appeared to be going well. Perhaps
my lack of experience made me lower my guard too soon.

`Lewis, my angel, your hands are marvellous, and this is really a great
massage. But I've had professional training, and I think I can show you
just a couple of techniques that will improve your skill. If you don't mind
switching positions for just a minute, it won't take me long to
demonstrate.' Martin sat up in bed and divested me of my remaining
clothing.

Somehow, I found myself lying face down on my bed, nude. Martin oiled his
fingers and hands with the massage lotion. `Now, this is called the
trapezius muscle. It runs on each side of the backbone from just beneath
the skull, down the neck and the back just back the end of the rib
cage. It's triangular and the other end joins the shoulder. Now the fibres
of the muscles run in this direction.' Martin illustrated the location of
the trapezius by outlining it with his fingers. `The tension accumulates at
the points where the tendons anchor the muscle to the bone. Here and Here.'
Once Martin had pointed them out, I could feel the tension at those
points. `Now when you massage the muscle, you should move your hands and
fingers parallel to the fibres, not across them. See this is how it feels
if you move across them. And this is how it feels when you move parallel to
them.'

It did feel better, much better, when Martin moved his hands parallel to
the fibres. I could really feel the difference. `Now, Lewis, I want you to
take a deep breath in and hold it for a few seconds. Now let it out slowly
and evenly. Continue breathing slowly and evenly. Now just concentrate on
the movements of my hands and fingers. Feel your muscles relaxing as I
massage them. So deep, so warm, so safe, so happy. Your entire body is
relaxing, Lewis.'

I think I have mentioned how skilful Martin is. Beneath his strong
masculine fingers and hands, my body relaxed. I felt as I were floating in
a warm pool of heavy water. So relaxed, so comfortable. And Martin's voice
can be so soothing. It's like listening to warm honey flowing over your
mind. So relaxing, so comfortable.

My mind and body continued to be relaxed as he aroused my cock and took it
within him. Under his guidance, I experienced ineffable pleasures, unlike
any I had experienced to that point. Martin collapsed in my arms and then
fell asleep. It wasn't until an hour later, after the euphoria had passed,
that I realised that my scheme had not gone quite as planned. Curses, I
said to myself, foiled again. I tried to work out just how I had ended up
on top again, but there was this blank period in my day. I remember being
massaged, but the next thing I could recall was pumping Martin. I couldn't
remember the sequence of events that had led to my cock in Martin's rear
end, while he moaned in pleasure.

I spent the next day planning that evening's session. I hardly got any work
done at all. I concluded that my first attempt had been too complex. Best
to stick with the tried and true. `Martin, look what I found at one of the
market stalls in Fulham Road today.' I held up the old medal on its chain
and let it sway back and forth before Martin's eyes. `Isn't it interesting?
Look closely at it. Doesn't it catch the light in an interesting way? You
just can't take your eyes off it.'

Martin's eyes swung back and forth as they followed the medal. Back and
forth. `I find it so relaxing to just concentrate on a moving object, don't
you? You can feel your whole body just relaxing. And your eyes feel so
tired and your eyelids are getting so heavy.'

`Lewis, the inscription on this medal is quite interesting. Have you read
it?'

I had to admit that I hadn't. Martin took the medal from me and turned it
over so that I could see the side that had been facing him. `Look,
closely. See around the rim, those tiny little letters that shine in the
light. You may have to focus closely on them to read them, Lewis. Just look
at them closely, Lewis. After your long, tiring day at work, it may make
your eyes tired and your eyelids heavy to focus so closely, but you can't
help yourself.'

The next thing I remember is Martin's voice. It seemed to come from far
away. `Deeper and deeper. With each stroke, you thrust deeper and
deeper. And the deeper you go, the better you feel. And the better you
feel, the deeper you thrust. Now, I want you to concentrate on your
cock. Remember the vibrating motion I taught you last night.'

I felt a moan rise deep from within me. My body seemed to remember the
vibrating motion, or at least the pleasures associated with it.

`I am going to count to three, and when I reach three, you will begin to
vibrate in the way I taught you. Ready. One. Two. Three.'

And vibrate I did. Martin was pleased by the results, to judge from his
cries of delight. My body was totally under his control. Unfortunately I
seemed fated never to experience being on the receiving end of the
vibrations. My mind was totally helpless to stop. It obeyed Martin. The
selfish brute made me provide him an hour's worth of tube time. We rode the
entire Circle line, several times. Oh, how I suffered from the delights of
pleasuring him. Each thrust made me more and more hungry to have his cock
inside me. Each time he cried out beneath me, I longed to cry out beneath
him. Martin was using me for his own gratifications. I was just a stud to
him. And I longed to use him to gratify myself, to turn him into my stud.

Day Three: `Martin, have I ever shown you my great-grandfather's watch?' I
held the newly purchased heirloom up by its chain and began swinging it
back and forth.

`Lewis, the scrollwork on the back is incredible. Have you ever looked
closely at it? Here let me show you. Just pick an line and start following
it with your eyes. . . .'

Day Four: `Martin, I've got a speck of dirt caught in my right eye. Can you
remove it for me? Just look deeply into my eyes and you'll see it. . . .'
Unfortunately I forgot that when Martin looked deeply into my eyes, I also
looked deeply into his.

Day Five: `Martin, don't you just love lying on the beach? The way the sun
just seems to melt all the muscles in your body. And the sound of the waves
on the beach . . .' Martin not only loved it, but he described it in such
detail that I soon dissolved into a pool of obliging, willing flesh.

Each orgasm drew me deeper and deeper into Martin's net. My frustration was
mounting to incredible heights. Each time my cock entered him, I longed for
that wonderful moment when his cock would push up against me and enter me,
when that marvellous invasion would begin and force the breath out of
me. And I wanted the pumpings, when each thrust makes you moan until the
moans seem to be coming from your entire body. And the feelings of
helplessness and the way your entire attention is focussed on the energy
flowing from him into you and his strong arms circling around you and
squeezing the resistance out of you until you become his mindless puppet. I
wanted to be fucked, and I wanted Martin to do it.

Day Six: `Martin, have another drink.'

`Lewis, are you trying to get me drunk? Are you intending to take advantage
of me?' Martin's eyebrows rose and fell in a suggestive manner. He
unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it out of his trousers. `Let's get
undressed now that we don't have to waste any time later. I'll be all ready
for you to take advantage.'

`Martin, we have to talk.' I poured out my frustrations, confessed my
attempts to hypnotise him. My desire for him just spilled out of me. I
couldn't help myself. I was so hungry for this man.

Martin was stunned by my outburst. `Lewis, I had no idea. You should have
said something. But I know how to solve this problem. I'll introduce you to
my twin brother, Jeremy. He's a top.'

`Twin brother?' There were two of them? I nearly came spontaneously at the
thought of a matching pair.

`Identical in almost every way, except he's a top. You could say he's my
altered ego.'

I gulped and tried not to seem too enthusiastic about Jeremy. I didn't
after all want to hurt Martin's feelings. I tried to speak casually. `I'd
love to meet him sometime. If he's ever visiting you . . .'

Martin smiled. `Then let's lie down on the bed, Lewis. Just relax and make
yourself comfortable. Focus on a spot on the ceiling. That's right. Just
let your eyes rest on that spot. It's a bit uncomfortable, I know, to stare
at the same spot, but I'll let you close your eyes soon. For now, just keep
looking at that spot. . . .'

*****

`Hey, handsome, what does a thirsty lad have to do to get a drink around
here? I already have a glass. But I need the drink.'

I had barely unlocked the door to my flat when Martin opened the door to
his. As usual, he was dressed in a pair of torn and fraying shorts and a
singlet. He stood there leaning against the door frame and jiggling an
empty glass at me.

`Martin, what a surprise.' I hope my lust was not too evident. `Were you
listening for me?'

`Hmm. When I got home, I found out that I had run out of wine, and then I
remembered that divine Pouilly-Fuisse you had the other evening. I looked
out the window, and there you were, Lewis, coming up the street, the answer
to a maiden's prayer. Any chance that I can get another drop of that? Or
something with alcohol in it. I'm not choosy. I'll drink anything after the
day I've had.'

I swung the door open and motioned Martin to step in. `Make yourself
comfortable while I check the fridge. I think I still have some of that
left. And what will you have, Jeremy?'

There was a growl behind me, deep and feral, and the sound of fabric being
torn. By the time I had turned around, Jeremy had already ripped the
singlet open down the front. He shrugged it off his shoulders and tossed it
across the room into a corner. His shorts dropped to the floor. He was
wearing nothing under them. `You know what I want, babe. Get out of those
clothes and come here, muffin.'

I unknotted my tie and pulled it out. It joined Jeremy's singlet in the
corner. In my haste to get my shirt off, several buttons flew off and
disappeared under the furniture.  Shoes, socks, trousers, underwear, soon
littered the floor. When Jeremy calls, I forsake my customary neatness.

`That's better, my little cupcake.' I just love it when he calls me
that. Jeremy's warm, strong hands grabbed me and pulled me to him. His
strong arms closed around me and drew me against his brawny body. His lips
found mine, and he sucked my tongue into his voracious maw. We fell to the
floor, and his hands forced my legs apart. He began to stroke the insides
of my thighs slowly, ever so slowly. I began to tremble.

`Relax, Lewis. Do not struggle. You cannot resist.' All the tension flowed
out of my body at these familiar words. I surrendered to Jeremy. Soon his
mouth, his hot moist mouth closed tightly around my cock. My body shuddered
as his pneumatic throat swallowed me deep within him. He pressed the spot
behind my balls, and as Jeremy had trained me, my cock flowed in and out of
his mouth in response to his signals.

When he had used me to his oral satisfaction, Jeremy lay on his back and
spread his legs. I lubed my cock and slowly, just the way he likes it,
entered him. `Oh, Lewis,' he moaned, `you are every top's dream. Be gentle
with me, stud.'

Lord, I become such a bottom around Jeremy. I just can't help myself. I
know just how to please my man now. He's been such a patient instructor,
teaching me to do just what he wants. I am so lucky. I just wish Martin
would stick around when Jeremy drops by, but Jeremy says that Martin would
get jealous if he saw the two of us together. Ah well, you can't have
everything you want. But still, just once, a threesome would be nice.
Jeremy is enough of a top to handle both of us.