by Wolfe, Sean
Yesirree, I was. My cock was rock hard and throbbed against my belly. It hurt a little, but also felt wonderfully exciting.
I rolled over and pulled the top of the blankets back to expose Kyle’s lower neck and upper back, and kissed him softly.
“Oh, my god,” Kyle said sleepily. “I can’t remember the last time you did that. You used to kiss me to sleep like that every single night. But it has to have been at least ten years since you kissed me there.”
“Yes, it has been a long time,” I said, and moved closer so that I pressed the front of my body against the back of his.
“Holy fuck!” Kyle yelped, and turned around onto his back. “Are you okay, Preston?”
I laughed. “Yes, I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. I have a boner.”
“Yes, I can see that. How many of those damned pills did you take, anyway?”
“None.”
“You’re kidding me,” Kyle said, shocked, and looked at me in the eyes.
I smiled.
“You got that fucking hard-on all by yourself? No Viagra?”
“Nope. Just me.”
“What’s gotten into you, baby?” he asked, and turned around to kiss me.
“You have,” I said. “Well, you haven’t actually gotten into me in quite some time now, and I’m afraid those days have come and gone long ago.”
Kyle laughed and reached down to stroke my still throbbing cock.
“I was just lying here thinking about you and me and how great our life has been. We’ve both accomplished our dreams and have been very successful. We’re richer than we have a right to be. We’ve both been healthy, for the most part, and have grown old together.”
“Speak for yourself,” Kyle said as he squeezed my dick and slid his hand up and down it’s length.
I hadn’t even beat myself off in so long, I’d forgotten how pleasurable it could be. As Kyle stroked and squeezed my cock, I rocked my hips back and forth, reveling in the friction and sensation of his hand bringing me closer to climax.
“God, we were hot back in our day, weren’t we?” I said, and pushed my head farther into the pillow as electric currents ran through my body.
“Back in our day?” Kyle said. “I think we’re still pretty damned hot, even in our advanced age. You are a beautiful man, Preston Daugherty. And just look at this hard cock I have in my hand. My god, I know thirty-year-olds who would kill for a cock like this.”
“You’re sweet,” I said lovingly as I closed my eyes and let his hand take me away. “But you’re just saying that because you love me.”
“You’re right,” he said. “I do love you. But I’m not saying this to make you feel good or to convince you that I love you. I’m saying this because it’s true. You are one hot fucking man, Preston.”
“Oh, stop it,” I said, and felt myself blush.
“I’m serious. Feel.” His hand left my cock and I felt him scoot from under the blankets and move around on the bed. A few seconds later he knelt next to my chest and his hard cock slid gently across my lips.
“Kyle!” I almost shrieked. “What in the world are you doing?”
“I’m showing you that I’m not just saying nice words to you. You fucking turn me on, baby.”
I started to say something, but then he lay beside me, with his head at the foot of the bed. A second later I felt his tongue lick the head of my cock. I moaned and tightened my body as his mouth enveloped my cock and he sucked gently up and down.
“Oh my god, baby,” I gasped for air.
I vaguely remembered how great a blowjob felt. But it had been so long since we’d been physically intimate that I’d forgotten just how life-altering it could be. Kyle and I had slipped into a comfortable life of lazy luxury. We wined and dined and entertained and traveled. But we fell out of the habit of making love a few years back. We never spoke about it, but just stopped without much hoopla. We hugged and we kissed and we held hands and we bought each other gifts. That’s how we showed our love for one another. But I think somewhere down the road we decided we were just too old to fuck anymore, and so we stopped.
But we were wrong.
As Kyle sucked my dick, I pulled his cock closer to my face and sucked it into my mouth. It hadn’t shrunk a bit over the years, and it filled my mouth. I could barely fit my lips around it, because they had shrunk and become less flexible. But I gave it the old college try and sucked on it as best I could.
Kyle didn’t seem to mind, and moaned as he sucked my cock with more fervor as he tried to slip another inch of his dick into my mouth.
I was now bucking my hips fairly excitably, and Kyle could tell I was getting close.
“I want to make love to you,” he said as he slid his mouth off my slick cock.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I panted, and tried to push him back down to finish me off.
“No, I’m not.”
“Baby, I’m ninety-three years old. I cannot get fucked. It’s a physical impossibility. I’d break into a million pieces if you tried to shove that pole up my ass.”
“Yeah, but I’m only seventy-three. A spring chicken, remember?” he said with that impish chuckle that ensured I’d do anything he asked. “You can fuck me. I won’t break. I promise.”
“Kyle, I don’t think ...”
“I want you to fuck me, Preston,” he said, and leaned down to kiss me, and then got on all fours in the middle of the bed. “Go slow. I may be a spring chicken, but I haven’t laid an egg in a very long time.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, even as I got into position behind him.
“Think of the money we could get from selling the tape on Ebay.”
I laughed for a moment, then held his hips in both hands. I looked down at his ass, and was astounded that even after fifty years, it still made me tremble with desire. Throughout our relationship I had been the bottom for the great majority of the time. But every once in awhile I got the urge to fuck Kyle, and every time I did, it was amazing. Now, as I looked down at his ass in front of me and my cock throbbing impatiently just an inch or so from his crack, I thought I must have died at the party earlier and this was my heaven.
I spat on my cock, and then spat some more on Kyle’s ass, and rubbed my dick against his cheeks. Every nerve in my body tingled as I humped his ass cheeks, and I knew that once I entered him, it would only be a matter of minutes before I came. This would not be a marathon.
“Are you just gonna stare at it all night,” Kyle asked sarcastically, and turned to smile at me, “or are you going to fuck it?”
I held his hips tightly, more to steady myself than to control him, and pushed my cock head just inside his asshole. I literally heard it pop when it slipped inside.
“Oh, fuck!” Kyle cried out, and squirmed beneath me.
“Should I stop?”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he spat out, and took a deep breath as he slid back against my cock. He didn’t stop until his ass was pushed against my pelvic bone. “God, you feel so great,” he said. “You’re filling me up with your big cock.”
“Where did you learn to talk like that?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the pleasure that coursed through my cock and my entire body.
“I read your books,” Kyle said. “I know you have a bad knee,” he said as he slid his ass up and down my cock, “so you just sit there and let me do all the work.”
“Like hell,” I said, and pulled my dick all the way out of his ass.
“Noooo,” he moaned. “Put it back in. Please.”
I smiled, and slid my cock back inside his ass. I left it buried deep inside him for a couple of minutes, and then began ramming in and out of him. Okay, so ramming might be a slight exaggeration, but I slid in and out of his ass and fucked him like I remember we used to do. A little slower maybe, and more carefully, but every bit as hot and sensual.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Kyle said as we rediscovered our rhythm and began bumping and grinding against one an
other. “I wonder if we could be in the Guinness Book of World Records for the oldest fuck.”
“You talk too fucking much,” I said, and fucked him harder. “Shut up and take my cock.”
Just hearing those words come from my mouth turned me on a little more than they should have. But when Kyle looked back and winked at me, and told me he loved me that was all I could take.
“I’m gonna cum, Cariño,” I whispered as I pulled out of his ass. There was a time when I shot my loads all over the place ... over the heads of the guys I fucked, all over the walls, all over the beds. But that was decades ago, and right then I was content with the couple of spurts that dribbled out of my cock and landed on Kyle’s belly directly beneath my cock head. The orgasm felt as intense as any I’d ever had, and I was a very happy man.
“That was so hot, baby,” Kyle said, and turned over to lie on his back. “Come here.”
I laid my head on his stomach and watched him beat his cock. It only took a couple of tugs before he came. His load wasn’t as grand as it had been years earlier, but a couple of shots hit me in the face. I licked them from my lips and wiped the one that hit me in the nose.
“That was incredible,” Kyle said, and wrapped his arms around my shoulders.
“I can’t believe we just did that,” I said.
“Well, we did. And now that we know we can do it still, we’re gonna have to make sure we keep in practice.”
“I’m not sure I will be able to get hard like that again,” I said as I rolled over onto my side of the bed.
“Well, if not naturally, you’ve got a year’s worth of Viagra stockpiled over there. I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that.”
I sighed deeply.
“What’s wrong?” Kyle asked.
“I know I’m way too old to get fucked. You’d do some serious damage at this point.”
“So?”
“So that means I’m gonna have to become a top. After all these years, I have to become a top. I mean, really. I have a reputation to think about.”
We both laughed, and Kyle scooted over to my side of the bed and hugged me. It felt a little weird ... we’d gotten so used to sleeping on opposite sides of the bed. But in no time at all we were both asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms. The last thought I had before drifting off to sleep was that of all of the boys I’d fucked, or all the boyfriends I’d loved, and of the fifty years I’d shared my life and my dreams and my adventures with Kyle ... none of them was more intimate or special as the feeling of him falling asleep in my arms.
FALL
According to Dictionary.com fall/autumn is:
1. The season of the year between summer and winter, lasting from the autumnal equinox to the winter solstice and from September to December in the Northern Hemisphere; fall.
2. A period of maturity verging on decline.
Already armed with the knowledge that I’m not a fan of the first definitions for the seasons given in the dictionary, I’ll once again focus on definition number two. Let me say I’m not a fan of this definition, either. So I looked up the definition in a couple of other dictionaries ... and they all said the same thing, almost verbatim. Then, I said, “Fuck the dictionaries.” I’m thinking outside the box here anyway, remember?
I’m not thinking about natural progression of time across a calendar, but the natural progression of our maturation as human beings, and particularly as sexually and sensually and romantically and erotically positive gay men. As I wrote this book, the season of autumn was a natural progression of moving from the experimental and excitement and thrill-seeking days of summer into a calmer, more mature state of settling down. The men in these stories are in their thirties and forties.
All you gay versions of Jack Nicholson and George Clooney out there, please don’t send me hate mail. I know not all gay men get involved to form a couple and that many live very happily as confirmed bachelors all of their lives. It doesn’t make them any less significant because they are not partnered. BUT, very many of us gay men do meet the man of our dreams and settle down and become domesticated and grow into an old married couple, as my single and bitter gay friends like to refer to me and my partner. Gay men in committed and long-term relationships are often overlooked or under-represented or sometimes even invisible. And that’s a shame.
So, in keeping with the theme of the book, fall, or autumn, for our purposes is finding ourselves wanting something more out of life than anonymous sex in bathhouses, or one-night stands, or friends with benefits. It’s about finding that special someone to share our lives with and to invest enough of ourselves to go through their life’s journey with them as well. It’s growing from two separate people into a single entity. And just how do we do that without losing ourselves in the process?
When you’re part of a couple your perceptions of love and sex and romance and eroticism all change pretty drastically. After having “sexperimented” and having had fun with a variety of hot guys in your youth, you now wake up and go to sleep with the same person every day and night. How do you do that and still find excitement and romance in the relationship?
In these stories, the characters do that in a few different ways. They mix things up a little, add some spice to the marriage, surprise their partners.
Being part of a couple isn’t all bouquets of roses and boxes of chocolates. It’s hard work. It’s disagreeing and fighting and wondering if it is all worth it. It’s thinking maybe you’d given up too much, and wishing you were still twenty-one and beautiful and single. . . but realizing you’re not and dealing with it. And ultimately, it’s coming to the understanding that as you mature and life keeps rolling by ... it’s so much nicer to have someone you love along with you for the journey.
His Special Project
The ending credits rolled across the screen slowly, and I made sure to read every one of them. There wasn’t a chance in hell I would recognize any of the names that appeared after the first five principal actors or so. Certainly I wouldn’t know who the second assistant to the hair stylist for Ms. Streep was, or the “gaffer,” whoever or whatever the hell that was. But I waited until the song ended and the television screen went completely blue before I turned off the DVD player.
Only then did I dare look at the clock on the wall above the bookshelf a few feet from the television.
11:30 p.m.
I sighed and wrapped my arms around my chest and tried with valiant effort not to cry. It was Thursday evening, which meant Robert would be walking in the door in about an hour and a half, with a shit-eating grin on his face. It had been exactly the same routine every Tuesday and Thursday for the past two months.
“Honey, I’ve got this really important project to work on and I’m under a lot of pressure to get it done. I could really use three days a week working late on it, but I would never do that to you. I definitely need two, though. Please be patient with me. It’s just for a couple more months, and then I’ll be back to normal. Home at six and spending every minute of the evening with the man I love.”
I know Robert was hard at work and trying for a promotion that would mean a lot to him. Hell, it’d mean a lot to both of us. It would almost double his salary. And I knew he loved me.
So I’d been putting up with being alone every Tuesday and Thursday evening for the last month. But earlier tonight, as I was cooking up a batch of spaghetti, I remembered Robert’s mother had called that afternoon and asked me to have him call her. I’d completely forgotten until I was making dinner, so I called his office number, but got his voicemail, so then I dialed his secretary.
“I’m so sorry, Jason,” she said. “But Robert leaves at 3:00 every Tuesday and Thursday. He has for the past month now.”
“What?” I asked, stunned.
“I just assumed ... I’m sorry, Jason.”
I hung up the phone and stumbled to the sofa, where I fought to catch my breath. Never in the eight years we’d been together had I once suspected Robert of cheating on me. But
thinking back on it now, it all made sense. Supposedly working late, coming home exhausted, too tired for sex half the time, secretive about what he was working on.
I’d sat there brooding for so long that I burned the spaghetti sauce and lost my appetite. That’s when I curled up on the sofa and watched Sophie’s Choice on DVD. I needed desperately to emote, and if anything could get me to cry, it was Meryl’s stunning performance in the best movie ever made.
After a few moments of staring at the blue screen, I turned off the television and went to bed. I undressed and climbed into the king-sized bed, looking up at the ceiling through the dark of the room, and soon fell asleep.
The hot, wet tongue licked up and down the length of my ass crack, sending chills up my spine. Then a kiss on each cheek. I probably have more sexual dreams than anyone I know, and I fucking love them. I subconsciously concentrate on staying asleep so that I can carry the dream through to the end, and I’m almost always successful. I can’t even count the times I’ve awakened to either the sheets or my stomach and chest covered in my own cum just from my dreams.
The tongue licked around my hole and then slid in slowly. I moaned loudly and wriggled my ass around the tongue, all the time willing myself to stay asleep. This was a good one and I definitely wanted to make it to the end before waking up. The hands on either side of my ass massaged the cheeks lovingly and spread my ass apart even farther so the tongue could work its way deeper inside.
I almost creamed right there. There are few things I love better than having my ass eaten out, and this dream was taking me beyond the limits within which most of my dreams reside. I didn’t dare move a muscle lest I wake up and cause it to end.
“Come on, baby,” I heard the voice from miles away. “Wake up. I wanna fuck you so bad, and I’m not really into necrophilia.”
It took me a moment to realize this wasn’t a dream, and that Robert was in bed with me. I rolled over and looked at him. He smiled sheepishly and rubbed his naked body against mine. His cock was hard and throbbing, warm against my leg.