Cuddling

by Allan, S. H.

  “Oh, that is lovely.” He squeezed my cheeks, kneading them, letting his fingertips slip beneath the cloth. He was clearly having trouble holding on to the bored role-play, and with his hands on me, I was fine with dropping the game and getting down to business.

  “Mitch,” I moaned, reflexively pushing back into his palms to encourage him to move faster. “Please.”

  “Hush,” he ordered, voice gentle. “I’m still deciding.” His hands pushed farther into my underwear, fingertips meeting in my cleft and dragging down, brushing roughly across my hole until they bumped into my balls from behind. Using his thumbs, he hooked the waistband of my briefs and pulled them down. They caught on the head of my leaking dick, but Mitch didn’t let that stop him. He forced them off and down my thighs, sending my cock snapping up against my stomach before he let them drop to my ankles.

  “Spread your legs for me.”

  I whimpered. And I obeyed.

  One of Mitch’s hands slipped between my legs. He fondled my balls, tested their weight in his hand, and then squeezed lightly. “These are very, very full.”

  “I haven’t—it’s been—days,” I panted. And it had. Between putting the finishing touches on the paper, presenting, and defending my dissertation, I’d fallen into bed exhausted only to drag myself back to the lab after a few hours of sleep for almost the past two weeks. I’d dimly registered Mitch holding me in the night, wrapping his big body around mine, and he’d been there every morning with coffee and something for me to eat as I rushed out the door. It was a different kind of intimacy, one I’d never really experienced before. Mitch and I were past the stage where we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other for more than ten minutes at a time, but two weeks was a very long time for us to go without making love, and I hadn’t even considered jerking off alone. I’d definitely missed the sex, though, and I was ready to make up for lost time.

  He squeezed again, harder this time. “Well, we’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?”

  His hand moved away, and for a second my heart stopped. Then I heard the slide of a drawer and the snick of a cap opening. “Bend forward for me, Tyler.”

  I was halfway to hyperventilating, but I did as I was told, bending slightly at the waist. My obedience was rewarded when I felt slick, cool fingers brush against my opening. Mitch pushed inside me carefully, cognizant of the fact that it had been a couple of weeks since I’d been penetrated. Dimly, I realized I was babbling as he slowly stretched me, working first one and then a second finger into my body, widening me.

  “Yes. Yes. God, yes. I’ve needed this. Needed you. Please, Mitch, more. I want more. I’m ready now.”

  “Patience, love. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You won’t, I swear. Oh God, more.” He slipped a third finger in, and I started rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet, fucking myself on the hand half-buried in my ass. My cock was leaking a steady stream of precum, and I could feel my balls swinging between my spread legs as I moved.

  Behind me, I heard Mitch fumble to unzip his pants one-handed and the rustle of cloth as he lifted up and pushed them down. The fact that he was coordinated enough to strip himself while he finger-fucked me into oblivion was bar none one of the things I loved best about him. Never losing the rhythm that was slowly driving me out of my mind, he pushed in farther, his thumb going between my legs, across my perineum, to push into the back of my balls. I keened, moving faster on his fingers.

  “Deeper. Deeper, Mitch, please.” I was begging, but I didn’t care. I trusted this man to give me what I needed. And he didn’t disappoint me.

  “All right, baby.” His free hand was at my hip again, and he was guiding me backward. “Come back to me. I’ve got you.”

  I let him move me, let him lead me. His fingers slipped from my body just in time to line his throbbing erection up with my hole. The head breached my opening, and then his slick hand was in front of me, wrapping around my cock before pushing me down in one solid, firm slide, until I was impaled on his cock, my back flush against his muscular chest, head lolling on his shoulder.

  “Mitch! God, Mitch!” I screamed. I couldn’t help it.

  It felt like a bar of warm, solid steel was driving into me, deeper than I’d ever been taken. I writhed, legs splayed on top of Mitchell’s while one of his hands worked my cock and the other one my balls.

  “That’s it. Take what you need, baby. I’ve got you.”

  Mitch’s pelvis was moving slightly in short, rocking thrusts that kept him pressed into my prostate, forcing a stream of liquid from the head of my penis that he used as lubricant. I couldn’t even begin to form words, pleasure and trust that he would take care of me melding and letting me give him everything as I went wild in his lap.

  “Squeeze for me, inside. There you go, rock with me. Your ass is so tight, baby. So hot. I’ve watched you these last weeks, missed you so much.”

  “I’m sorry. Sorrysorrysorry. I missed you too. Needed you. God. Please.”

  “It’s okay. Nothing to be sorry about. I’m proud of you. So damn proud of you. Always. Always.”

  His hand was moving faster now, and I could feel both of our ball sacs drawing closer to our bodies.

  “Going to cum in you. So deep you’ll be able to feel it in your stomach.”

  “Want that, Mitch. Want to keep you in me all the time. Want you. Want everything with you.” I was gasping now, close, so close, and then he gave one last hard tug on my balls, at the same time the head of his cock pressed into my prostate, and I was coming, shooting jets of semen into the air that landed all over my chest and stomach. As my body rippled around his, I felt and heard Mitch roar beneath me, then latch his mouth onto the side of my neck and suck fiercely to muffle his shouts. I threw my head sideways to give him better access, encouraging him to mark me. Then he was slamming up and grinding my hips down as his cock exploded inside my stretched ass.

  And God, the way he clutched me and whispered how much he loved me as the aftershocks rippled through both of us was so much one of the things I loved best about him.

  Afterward we lay on the couch, quiet for a while, just enjoying the feeling of each other’s skin. We’d cleaned up with the baby wipes kept carefully positioned beside the lube in the coffee table drawer. I was on top of Mitchell, my head on his chest, and he was rubbing my back as I drowsed. Mitchell moving inside me was maybe the most amazing feeling in the world, but the cherishing afterward stuff was a close second.

  Every now and then the pads of his fingers traced a scar that curved down one of my shoulder blades, the result of an injury I’d gotten my fourth summer working with Biofield. Whenever they did, I felt him lean up to press spontaneous kisses into my hair.

  That particular scar was special to me, an integral part of my history with Mitchell. I’d woken up in a hospital bed after I’d gotten it, Mitch sitting beside me, holding my hand. His eyes were bloodshot. There were bags under them big enough to double as checked luggage, and his face was lined and covered with ragged stubble. His voice, the first time he told me he loved me, was rough with tears and exhaustion, but even fuzzy from the painkillers, I’d never forgotten the way he pressed the back of my hand to his lips whispered over and over, “God, I love you. I almost lost you. I can’t lose you. Jesus, I love you.”

  And anytime he was nervous about something to do with our relationship, he gravitated to the scar. I don’t know if he realized I recognized the action as a tell, but it was. It was why it didn’t surprise me when the silence didn’t last. I’d known it wouldn’t the second he started tracing my scar.

  “Tyler, you know I’d do anything for you, don’t you?”

  I sighed and sat up. “But?”

  If I’d been born without ears, I would have heard the “but” at the end of that statement.

  Mitchell followed my lead and pulled himself up beside me with a roll of his neck. “But, I don’t think you’ve thought this through. Besides, I’ve already met your parents
.”

  I shot him a look, trying to keep frustration at bay. “Mitchell, twenty minutes in a hospital waiting room after a scaffold fell and nearly decapitated me does not count as ‘meeting’ my parents.”

  “Twenty-five minutes,” Mitchell replied, not meeting my eyes. “And that didn’t go particularly well.”

  This time I couldn’t quite keep my tone modulated. “Give me a break.”

  He blew out a sigh. “Fine. I’ll admit the circumstances weren’t ideal. But this is a happy occasion. They’re coming all the way here to see you walk the stage to get your doctorate. Do you really want to spring the fact that you’re in a homosexual relationship with a man they tried to sue for negligence when you nearly died on your family at a time like this?”

  I stood up, acutely aware of the fact that I was naked, but not willing to do anything about it. “One, you and I and even my parents know that was a freak accident no one could have predicted. They reacted badly at the time. It wasn’t Biofield’s fault, and it certainly wasn’t your fault. In fact, if you hadn’t been there, I probably would have died—”

  “Tyler.” He cut me off, paling under his tan, and I felt a flash of guilt. I knew how much he hated talking about the accident. Unable to stop myself, I leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss across his lips.

  “You’re right. Ancient history.” I soothed for a second, then firmed my voice again. “Anyway, I would have told them about us sooner if I could have. We agreed to wait until I finished my doctorate. I understand why that was important to you, so I didn’t have a problem with it. But that reason is going away in two days.”

  “I realize—”

  I held up a hand. “No. Listen to me. It’s just—I’m tired of hiding. It’s not that I have to run screaming down the street and shout it to the world, but I want the people I love to know how happy I am. Is that so much to ask?”

  Mitch rubbed a tired hand across his forehead but didn’t answer. I was tempted to apologize, to tell him I didn’t mean it, but I couldn’t. Because I did mean it. I did want it. Badly. I understood that this was scary for him. The people who mattered in our daily lives just sort of knew. There hadn’t been any major coming-out scenes. There hadn’t been any conflict. Mitch’s parents were both gone, and he had no significant family who would have cared either way if he was gay, straight, or bi. But asking him to publicly acknowledge our relationship to my parents, who weren’t necessarily going to be thrilled about it, but who I loved anyway, was a whole different ball game.

  We both knew I’d wait if I had to, though. Because more than anything else in the world, I loved Mitch. And I wasn’t going to let my family come between us even if it took him another two years to be ready for that. Even if it took him another ten.

  I took a step toward the sofa and rested a hand briefly on his shoulder, squeezing. He leaned silently into the touch, clearly torn and drawing comfort from the contact. “Whatever you decide,” I said, voice soft, “I’ll live with it. But if you want to get me something I really, really want, then let my parents come to the house before the ceremony. I want them to meet the man I love.”

  Silence stretched, and finally I realized he wasn’t going to answer. I was disappointed but not surprised. I started to move away, thinking a shower sounded really good, but Mitchell’s hand stopped me.

  “Next time you get a PhD, I’m not going to ask what you want for graduation. I’m just going to buy you a damn Harvey Weinstein.”

  My head whipped toward Mitch so fast, I think I gave myself whiplash.

  He’d said yes. That was absolutely Mitchell for “yes,” but I had to make sure.

  “You mean—”

  “We’ll have to have Helen come in and clean tomorrow instead of Thursday, and—”

  Whatever else Mitch might have said was lost against my lips.

  He didn’t seem to mind being interrupted.

  When we finally pulled apart to breathe, Mitch was smiling down at me. I reached up and cupped his cheeks. “Thank you so much,” I whispered.

  Gently, Mitch brought his forehead to mine and spoke against my lips. “I meant what I said. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make you happy, Tyler. Nothing.”

  And I kissed him again. Because I knew that. Because the thing I really loved best about Mitchell was the way he loved me just as much as I loved him.

  DAWN DOUGLAS moved to suburban San Antonio, Texas, from Illinois in 2004. She realized she wasn’t in Kansas anymore when she went to a meeting of her local Democratic party and she and the organizer were the only ones there! Dawn was a reporter for several years but now works in marketing. Next to spending time with her husband and daughter, writing anything from freelance news features to fiction is her favorite thing to do. In 2010, Dawn placed third in a national humor writing competition sponsored by News Portal Corporation.

  You can write to Dawn at dawndouglas1981@gmail.com or follow her blog at http://dawndouglas.blogspot.com.

  Looking Back

  Rob Rosen

  TEN years, ten thousand dollars. It was a grand for each year, though this past year had been anything but, well, grand, hence the rather expensive anniversary present. In other words, money well spent—fingers crossed.

  “I don’t understand,” my husband, Mack, said as he read the gift certificate. “Memory Merge? What memories are we going to be merging, Glenn?” He managed a crooked smile, but his eyes went all squinty on me just the same. “Merged bank accounts not enough for you? The shared mortgage? Christmas with not one but two sets of crazy families?”

  I sighed, knowing passive-aggressive when I heard it. Though with Mack it was always light on the former and sledgehammer heavy on the latter. “Do you ever wonder why we got married, Mack?”

  His sigh echoed mine. “Really, Glenn? It’s not obvious by now?”

  I patted his shoulder. “Humor me, please.”

  “Because I loved you.” The sigh repeated, a distinct groan edging its way in.

  My chest tightened at hearing him say it. “Past tense or present?”

  “You asked me a past-tense question; I gave you a past-tense answer.” He took my hand from his shoulder and held it in his. “Loved, love, will always love, hon.” He paused. “Is the feeling not mutual? Does one of our His & His towels need to be incinerated? Timeshare sold?”

  My hand hung loosely and unconvincingly in his as I stared into his eyes. There was a time, I remember, when doing so would send butterflies swarming inside my belly. Now said belly merely gurgled for lunch. “It just seems like we’ve become, well, complacent, is all. Love, but maybe not so much in love. His & His towels are safe, but I want to make sure they stay in the same bathroom.”

  Thankfully, he at least had a concerned look on his face, as if what I was saying was suddenly hitting home. “And this Memory Merge will keep them draping happily side by side?”

  I nodded, then shrugged, then glumly shook my head. “Not a clue.” And then I forced a smile. “But it’s worth a shot. I mean, timeshares have absolutely no resale value.”

  He chuckled and leaned in for a peck on my lips. “Then thank you for the anniversary present; I look forward to merging memories with you.” The grin faltered. “You didn’t spend too much on it, though, did you?”

  A cough worked its way up from my suddenly Saharan-dry throat. “You’re well worth it, Mack. That is to say, we are.”

  Again, fingers crossed I was right about that—and some toes to boot.

  WE ARRIVED at Memory Merge a week later, both of us nervous if not excited. I mean, it was certainly more fun to visit your past than, say, take a glimpse of an uncertain future. Besides, I already knew how the past turned out, and it wasn’t all that bad. Not all sunshine and lollipops, no, but that mortgage he mentioned was for a split-level in a nice neighborhood, and that timeshare was in Maui, and though Christmas with the families was, um, severe, at least we loved said families—for a few days a year, at any rate.

  In any case, we had little t
ime to worry, seeing as they took us to our reserved room almost immediately. Mack was seated in a dentist-like chair, and I was facing him in an identical one. The tech strapped us in, placed a rather fetching helmet on each of our heads, and explained what would happen next.

  “Welcome to Memory Merge,” Chloe, the tech, began, all smiles, fake as rhinestones. “We’re here to help couples reconnect, for loved ones to see what they might have forgotten, to glimpse happier times in the hope that the future might become brighter.” She grinned and chuckled, the laughter so canned that I looked to see if it was coming out of some sort of body speaker. “And, if nothing else, to show you why you should never have bought those clothes buried in the back of your closet.” She flicked on some switches and continued with her pat speech. “Now then, you will only be seeing shared memories. The computer will take both sets and combine them as one, filling in the gaps as best it can, so that, instead of looking at the scenes through your own eyes, you’ll be seeing everything as if a spectator, like watching TV, uncensored.”

  I gulped. “Um, only we can see these scenes, correct?”

  Again she laughed, clearly accustomed to those sorts of questions. “Only the two of you and the computer.” She paused for effect. “And he’s not telling anyone.” Suffice it to say, she didn’t get the desired effect she was hoping for, though I wasn’t so sure my groan was all that stifled. “So sit back, relax, and enjoy. You have one hour. Scenes will unfold at whatever pace you desire, right on up to this very moment.”

  And then she was gone.

  I paused as I got comfortable in my seat. “Ready?” I then asked, the whirr of the machines filling the room, the helmet suddenly warm atop my head, a light pulsing from deep within my subconscious, spreading like wildfire.

  “Not really,” Mack replied, a nervous edge to his voice. “But here goes nothing.”