Jump to content


  • Content count

  • Joined

  • Last visited

  • Days Won


NYBBGUY58 last won the day on May 25 2016

NYBBGUY58 had the most liked content!

Community Reputation

392 Much Liked


  • Rank
    Sex Addict
  • Birthday 08/26/58

Profile Information

  • Gender
  • Location
    New York, NY
  • HIV Status
    Poz, On Meds
  • Role
  • Background
    Caucasian, from the Midwest, middle-aged, look younger. IT pro.
  • Looking For
    Friends, hook-ups, like to take, to give. Love having my ass eaten, eating ass, mutual sucking, fucking top or bottom. Know how to dominate a boy; know how to service a man. Get off on facesitting, both as the seat and the sitter.

More Info

  • BarebackRT Profile Name

Recent Profile Visitors

937 profile views
  1. Cum in mouth or ass?

    While I'm fairly open, I will say that my strong preference both when I was/could top and as a bottom is for taking/giving loads in the ass.
  2. Porn Stars On Breeding Zone

    From what I've heard from guys around NYC, no. Strictly safe...and he was impossible to set up appointments with. The one time I tried, he said okay call to confirm and then didn't answer when I called him. I think he wants overnights, and I'm not an overnight kind of guy...
  3. Been Nailed or Nailed a Porn Star

    I know...but variety is the spice of life. And I've found that it isn't the big names who are the most fun...
  4. Been Nailed or Nailed a Porn Star

    Yup. Saw him more than once...😈
  5. Antonio Biaggi? Among others...agree that Adam Russo is a walking wet dream.
  6. Been Nailed or Nailed a Porn Star

    Jon Vincent, years ago...with condom. Kevin Slater, bare; Tommy Delucca, bare; Christian, bare. All were fun....
  7. Pozzed: A Love Story

    Workin' on it...suddenly it's a little easier.
  8. Pozzed: A Love Story

    Chapter 23) Nice Matin was a French restaurant shoehorned into a narrow, long space, but its high ceilings, distinctive chandeliers designed around the structural columns and the décor (light brown and cream with black accents) prevented it from feeling claustrophobic in any way. There was a medium-sized curved bar to the left of the entrance, but the rest of the floor space was devoted to well-spaced tables and towards the back, on the left side, a few booths. It wasn’t packed on a weeknight, but was lively and a bit noisy. We arrived before my father did and were immediately seated in “our” booth. Predictably, the staff went gaga over Mike; the hostess, who knew us as regulars, was obviously dazzled as my mom made the introduction. Our usual waiter, Fabrice, seemed extra attentive, but maybe I was gloating. Or territorial. Mike had dressed to impress, pairing his soft gray jeans with a clinging black turtleneck that looked so sexy all I wanted to do was rip it off him. As we were leaving Mom had taken one look at his short bomber-style jacket layered over a hoodie and insisted that he wear the soft navy wool overcoat that she’d bought for my father a couple of years ago, for which he’d thanked her but never wore it. “It’s chilly out, and we have a bit of a walk,” she said firmly, as she pressed the cashmere knit gloves, watch cap and scarf that she’d purchased to go with the coat on him as well. We exchanged looks, and I gave a little shrug, hopefully communicating that he’d never win this one, just give up. I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying that she just wanted someone to finally wear the damn things. I could have told her they’d end up hanging in the closet: Dad had always insisted that even the softest wool or cashmere was itchy. The coat looked fabulous on Mike – with his body, just about anything would. My father finally arrived about 15 minutes late. “Dad!” I exclaimed excitedly, and stood to hug him. He seemed a little taken aback – he wasn’t accustomed to public displays of affection – but he responded after a brief delay, then shared a handshake with Mike who’d leapt to his feet right behind me. “You’re certainly in a good mood for someone who had to get up at the crack of dawn,” he said to me as he took his seat next to my mom. “It’s my vacation, why shouldn’t I be in a good mood?” I shot back. “Hard day?” mom asked sympathetically after she gave him a welcoming peck on the cheek, immediately working to diffuse any tension. And once I really looked at him, I could see how tired he was, noting that he was in suit and tie rather than his customary business casual. That meant he’d either been meeting with clients or spent most of the day in court. “Yeah,” he sighed as she helped him shed his jacket. “It’s the end-of-the-year crunch. I swear being a lawyer is like working at Macy’s. I earn most of my salary right before the holidays,” he remarked as he sipped his glass of water. We all laughed at that comparison. “Have some bread,” mom said, pushing the basket and the butter dish towards him. Fabrice came over a moment later to check on us, bearing my dad’s favorite end of the day drink – a goblet of merlot – without any prompting. “Good evening, Mr. Leibowitz,” he said in his French-accented English. “Are you ready to order, or do you need a moment?” “Fabrice, you’re the best waiter anywhere. Ready now,” Dad said. “Why don’t we start with a couple of hummus appetizers for the table, and then we’ll all have our usual – the prix fixe dinner.” “Excellent, monsieur.” Mike looked at the menu and gulped. Sticker shock – there was nothing like New York prices. Each of us got to choose three courses: appetizer, main dish and dessert. Mom opted for kale salad, halibut and berries with cream; Dad also chose kale salad, mostly to appease my mother so he could then order steak frites and chocolate cake; I decided on romaine salad, roast chicken and chocolate cake, too. Mike looked acutely uncomfortable when it was his turn. “Uh, I…I could just have a burger…” he began. “Well, if you would really rather, but it must take a lot of nutrients to maintain your physique,” she said, shaking her head and eyeing his chest and arms. “We can always pack up any food you can’t finish.” She likely knew that Mike could most certainly finish three courses, and was smoothing things over with polite fiction. I nudged his left ankle with my right foot under the table; he shot me an irritated glance, correctly divining my message: order the fucking prix fixe. He reluctantly chose romaine salad, the steak (at my parent’s prompting) and peanut butter ice cream with chocolate and salted caramel sauce at mine (so we could share desserts). “How was the trip?” my dad asked unoriginally as we shared hummus and flatbread. “It was great,” I answered. “No problems at all.” “Darren was exhausted, he slept the whole way here,” Mike corrected. I hoped that the dirty look I shot at Mike communicated what I was thinking: Fink! My father seemed to be amused by this exchange. “That sounds like the perfect trip to me,” he answered, “restful for everyone.” As I considered whether that statement concealed a jab at me, my mom interjected in a deliberate change of subject, “What do you usually eat for breakfast? We mostly eat plain yogurt with muesli or granola and fruit, but is that going to be enough for you?” “Darren has already introduced me to the joys of plain yogurt,” Mike said drily. “I mix it in a protein smoothie first thing in the morning. And then I usually go out and jog or hit the gym.” “There’s an exercise room in the building,” my mother began. “Which Dad never uses,” I piped up mischievously. “Hey! I play racquetball,” my father shot back. “Once a month at most,” I deadpanned with a roll of my eyes. I’d give him “restful.” “And you can jog outside if you want, but I usually just run up the 10 flights of stairs from the lobby to our apartment or use the treadmill,” my mom finished, ignoring Dad’s and my exchange. I saw the corners of Mike’s mouth twitch, so I assumed that we’d successfully diverted his attention from any discomfort over the high price of dinner. “You’re on a football scholarship, right? And this is your senior year?” my dad asked. “Yeah,” Mike answered. “So, what are you plans when you’ve finished your bachelor’s degree?” “I’m considering either graduate work in chemistry or law school,” Mike said. Dad perked up. “Really? You’ve taken the LSATs?” he queried, ignoring the mention of science. “Where are you planning to apply?” My father fired off questions at Mike about his plans. It was almost as if he was trying to figure out Mike’s prospects so he could either approve of our relationship or not. Mortifying. This career catechism was interrupted, if not ended, by the arrival of our salads. “Dad and I have a dinner tomorrow night,” my mother said, taking advantage of a lull in the comparison of Yale law vs Columbia, Penn State, Fordham and NYU. “Don’t remind me,” my father groaned. “It’s for a very good cause, Ken, Dita is the event chair and we’re part of the advisory committee. Anyway,” my mother continued, ruthlessly sweeping aside my father’s carping, “Emmy is arriving back in town tomorrow afternoon, so I thought it would be nice if you and Mike had dinner with her so she isn’t alone the first night of her vacation.” “Em? Sure, that’d be great.” Em was my very best friend in the world. We had suffered through private school and extra-curricular activities together, along with a fluctuating band of similarly disaffected friends. “I told Dita it wouldn’t be any problem, so they’ll be stopping by to visit on the way to our dinner and we’ll have wine and hors d’oeuvres. Your Aunt Dita especially wanted to see you.” Aunt Dita was Uncle Jeffy’s wife and my mom’s closest friend. Not only because my dad and Uncle Jeffy were close, but because they’d bonded over IVF. That was part of my bond with Em: we called ourselves “test-tube” babies. Once dinner was finished, we walked back home. “Oh, I got you theater tickets for next week…” my mom began as we hung up our coats. “Hamilton?” I asked hopefully, naming the current Broadway mega-hit. “No, sweetie, that was impossible, I’m sorry. Aladdin. You loved the movie.” When I was 10, yes. But I put a good face on it, figuring any Disney musical would be fun and splashy. “That’ll be fun,” I said. “A trip down memory lane, right?” I said to Mike. “I never saw the movie,” Mike said. “What?” I exclaimed. “Yeah. My parents said it promoted demonism and that there was no mention of God.” I hadn’t considered his parent’s strict religious dogma, and just assumed that Disney would be harmless enough for anyone. “We cpi;d watch the film tonight. Is that okay?” I asked my parents as an afterthought. “Fine, I’m not going to be able to stay up much longer,” my dad said. “I have to be back in the office tomorrow morning by 9:00 if I expect to leave a little early for cocktails and that damned dinner.” I could tell my mom was restraining some sardonic comment, not wanting to encourage him by paying attention to his whining. She took Maxi for his quick night-time walk. Then we all got ready for bed and met in the library. I inserted the disc on the TV and started the movie; my parents had settled on the chaise, Mike and I curled up together on the loveseat. Surprisingly, the film had aged well and was still entertaining, from the opening montage of the Disney castle backed by fireworks to the closing credits with some final ad-libs from Robin Williams. I could tell how engrossed Mike was by the simple plot when I felt the rumble of laughter in his chest for the comedic bits and the tension in his body during the action sequences. When it was finished, I realized that Mom and Dad had fallen asleep together on the chaise. Maxi was out like a light in one of the recliners. I motioned to Mike to keep quiet, and gently spread a blanket over them before turning off the light. “That was fun,” Mike said when we got back to my room and had curled up in bed under the covers. “Glad you liked it,” I answered, wondering what other things he was deprived of by his intolerant family. “So Mr. Darren, sir, what will your pleasure be?” Mike whispered in my ear. “Let me think…” I said with faux innocence. “Maybe this?” he said and kissed me deeply. “Good guess,” I murmured against his lips before diving back in. Here was one thing his parents hadn’t successfully deprived him of. We kissed again, shifting so that he was on top of me, tongues meeting, testing, tasting, breathing speeding up to keep pace with our pulses and heart rates. Then he was kissing my chin and zeroing in on the most sensitive spots on my neck, pulling at the t-shirt I wore as a pajama top to caress my skin, leaving tingling trails of sensation behind. I arched under him and let out a small involuntary moan; he pinned me back in place, worked his hands underneath my hips and thrust against me. His dick was hard, and so was mine – I could practically feel them throb in time together. “I want you to fuck me hard, use me, take your pleasure…” my less than coherent babbling cut short with a gasp when he kissed my ear, then started to lick it. “Your wish is my command, Mr. Darren,” he said, briefly interrupting his amorous assault. I could feel and hear his breath on my ear, and I twisted under him, but he held me in place with his superior size and strength. My hands were exploring his back and I curled my arms and gripped his shoulders, panting and groaning. “Please…” I gasped, and sagged back into the mattress when he stopped for a moment. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered seductively. “Everything,” I answered. “You’ll have to be more explicit,” he teased. I moaned in frustration. “But you know…” “I want you to say it,” he said back. “You’ll have to beg me. It gets me hot to hear you talk dirty.” I sighed, but gave in. What was there to be embarrassed about? This man had seen and heard me say all kinds of stuff in the heat of the moment. “Make me worship you,” I breathed into his ear. “Straddle my face and tell me how to please you.” He paused then said, “Exactly what you want me to do,” he said. I could hear the smirk in his voice. “Tell me to sniff and lick and kiss you dick and balls and especially your ass.” He was shifting now; I could see him in the dim nightlight I’d had in my room since childhood kneeling over my face with his back towards me. He slowly lowered himself, gently pushing his ass crack over my nose with the exact right amount of pressure – enough that I could feel his weight, but I could still inhale his manscent deeply. The wonders of muscular control… “That’s it boy, sniff me. Like that smell?” “Yes,” I said obediently. “Good boy. Keep at it until I say to do something else. How’s that smell? Tell me what you like about sniffing that man’s ass.” “I love how strong it smells,” I said between sniffs, “it makes me want to lick and kiss every inch of that beautiful muscle butt.” “You just love it, don’t you, love submitting to me.” “Yeah, yeah,” I said urgently. “Make me do it.” “I am, boy. Inhale deep so I can hear it.” I did as he asked. “Louder, deeper. Let me know how much you like smelling my man stink.” I inhaled again as loudly as I could, then planted a kiss in his butt crack. He immediately increased the pressure on my face. “Did I tell you to kiss my ass yet? Just keep sniffing, I’ll tell you when I want you to do something else.” I inhaled deeply and made sure to exhale forcefully so he could feel the warm breath on his ass. “Yeah, you’re my good little boy, my slave. You have to do whatever I tell you.” Mike grabbed the back of my head and held it in place securely against his butt. “Sniff again, get the smell of that funky hole in your lungs. That’s real man stink, just how my ass should smell, so you can be my nasty little bitch. Now kiss it,” he said, moving his ass over my mouth with my nose now behind his balls. “Smell my balls? That’s where the cum that I’m going to shoot inside your hot little ass is.” Mike really had range…from tender lover to dirty, dominating top and back. He was pulling off his sweats, then yanking off my t-shirt and sleep pants; his ass was back over my mouth. He said one word: “Lick.” I shivered with desire and did exactly as he said, curling my tongue, then extending it to reach his towards his balls and back again. “Yeah, boy, eat that asshole, get that tongue inside my butt. Make me hard so I can fuck you good like a man fucks his bitch.” I kept up licking, throwing in the occasional kiss, he didn’t object now, too caught up in the pleasure. Mike crossed his ankles, propping my head up, then began to thrust, rubbing his ass against my lips and tongue. “That’s what my ass does when I fuck you,” he hissed at me. “I want you to think about it when I’m inside you, using you, that my butt muscles are pushing my dick in and out until I shoot my toxic load inside you.” Then he was moving back, flipping me on my stomach, raising my hips with the silk fuck sheet over a pillow. I felt him lube my ass with his right hand, while he jacked himself with his left hand, spreading the Vaseline in a thin coat that would ease the passage, but not be too greasy…and he was pushing himself inside of me, sinking his thick, throbbing dick in until I could feel the delicate scratch of his pubic hair against my ass. He laid down and worked his hands underneath me, gripping at the juncture of my thighs and pelvis to keep me in place, then drew back and pushed in, rubbing against my prostate in a way that made my toes curl. “Fuck me,” I gasped involuntarily and unoriginally. “Yeah, baby,” Mike said back, seemingly not to be concerned about originality at this moment. “Take it. You have to,” he growled. “You’re mine. You’ve been mine since the minute I fucked you during your initiation, no, since I laid eyes on you at orientation.” His thrusts were getting stronger, longer and deeper. “You’ll always be mine, your ass belongs to me,” he gasped as he began to lose control, hammering into my ass, no holding back, nothing gentle, just the raw power of bare sex between men. “Take it,” he murmured in my ear, “take it, yeah, take it…aaaaaaaaah,” he groaned as he flooded me with his charged sperm. I arched my back to get him deep inside me and make sure I got every drop inside my hungry hole. That’s when my own orgasm began, my ass clutching his dick spasmodically while it throbbed and quivered, coating my insides with his DNA. Mike collapsed on top of me, breathing heavily, kissing the back of neck and shoulders. “Having you to myself makes me into an animal. I’m going to fuck you all night.” All the charged cum I could ask for… “Bring it on, stud,” I challenged.
  9. Stealthing?

    I could never tell the difference when I bottomed, but maybe I'm completely clueless...
  10. Pozzed: A Love Story

    Thanks! Glad you enjoyed it. There's more to come...eventually.
  11. Pozzed: A Love Story

    Wow, just checked and the story is at 40K views!!! Thanks!
  12. Pozzed: A Love Story

    Sorry I took so long this time. It's been an...eventful few months. There's more to come...
  13. Pozzed: A Love Story

    Finally...sorry...lots of stuff going on. __________________________ Chapter 22) “Darr? Honey? Wake up, we’re here,” said an insistent voice. I felt a hand grasp my left arm and apply a little pressure. “What, huh?” I said as I was forced awake and found myself looking into Mike’s eyes. “Good morning,” I said drowsily, smiling, stroking his cheek and giving him a kiss. He chuckled. “You’re really out of it. We’re here.” “Where here?” I said shaking my head, then running my hands over my face and through my hair in an attempt to clear my fuzzy brain. “New York, where else? The flight landed and everyone else has gotten off the jet, they’re just waiting for us.” “I guess I fell asleep,” I said, yawning while I dug under the seat in front of me for my messenger bag. “That’s one way of putting it,” Mike answered, giving me a hand up and taking charge of our coats and his backpack as we deplaned while smiling our thanks to the flight crew. I couldn’t believe we had completed the trip and that there hadn’t been a single hitch: no midnight raid, no death threats spray painted on the door and no broken windows. But in late November when I called, the only pair of tickets available for the week before Christmas was a flight that left at 6:15 AM. That meant getting to the airport by 4:45 AM at the latest. I was anything but a morning person, so Mike had to more or less drag me out of bed. Rod and his business partner, Jack, drove us to the airport, taking a round-about route. As far as I could tell, no one followed us. I delivered holiday bonus checks that my parents had sent for Rod and Jack, then Rod escorted us inside and kept watch as we checked our bags and went through security. We’d purchased muffins and coffee before boarding the first flight and more coffee and egg sandwiches during a layover in Detroit. But even with all the caffeine I sucked down I’d slept through both flights. Having Mike near allowed me to relax – I felt safe and secure. Now we were in the terminal at New York’s LaGuardia Airport walking towards baggage claim. I was still pretty fatigued; it was hard to keep pace with Mike’s long-legged strides, seemingly completely unaffected by the early start and long trip. “How is it I’ve never noticed before that you’re a morning person?” I asked him. He shrugged. “Farm boy here.” “You’re a farm boy? Literally?” I said in disbelief. “Yup. My family lives in southwestern Pennsylvania, just over the state line from Maryland. We grow organic vegetables, there’s an apple orchard and we raise free-range chickens and ducks. My dad is also a park ranger.” “The things I’m still learning about you.” This was why he owned a couple of pairs of heavy-duty work boots. We hadn’t talked a lot about Mike’s family; my sense was he found the topic painful, so I hadn’t pushed it. I knew that they were Christian fundamentalists of some sort, didn’t observe Christmas and that Mike was the eldest of three boys, but that was it. We made it down the small flight of stairs to baggage claim, all the while buffeted by the swirling pre-holiday crowd. “My mom said she’d meet us somewhere around…” I began and then heard her call my name. “Mom!” I exclaimed as she made her way toward us, wearing a dark coat over a chunky knit black sweater and black leggings and boots, with a rose pink cashmere scarf looped around her neck. We hugged, and then she turned to greet Mike, taking his large hands in her slender, delicate ones. “Mike, welcome to New York. It’s wonderful to see you again, I’m so glad you could visit with us for the holidays,” my mom said. “Oh, no, thank you Mrs. Leib…I mean, Mimi,” he answered, remembering that she hadn’t taken my dad’s name, and wanted him to call her Mimi anyway. “I really appreciate the chance to see New York and spend time with Darren and you and Mr. Leibowitz.” “You’re always welcome in our home,” my mother said. “Let’s grab your bags, and I’ll get a car to pick us up.” Twenty minutes later we were on our way into the city in a comfortable SUV. I was in the back seat with Mike; my mom rode shotgun. I leaned against Mike, my eyes at half-mast. Mom sighed. “You stayed up late to do laundry and pack, didn’t you,” she said to me. “Yeah. I was booked all day yesterday, two tests with just a lunch break,” I said through a yawn. “How was the trip?” “It was fine, almost no turbulence. Darren slept soundly all the way here,” Mike answered for me. “I think we’ll have a quiet day, then, if that’s okay with you. We’ll have lunch once you’re settled and tonight we have dinner reservations at Nice Matin. After that, you can watch a movie or do whatever you’d like.” “Nice Matin, my favorite…sounds good,” I mumbled and slipped into a light doze as I felt Mike’s muscular arm slip around me. This homecoming was in complete contrast to Thanksgiving, when I spent the ride home fuming and feeling sorry for myself. Since things had been so quiet – no incidents at school for weeks – Uncle Jeffy, Mom and Dad had decided that having Mike accompany me was enough. At 6’2” tall and 215 pounds he had more than enough muscle to take care of anybody who even tried to harass me. Since we didn’t plan on spending much (if any) time apart, hired muscle would have been redundant. We’d be able to sightsee at our leisure; I was looking forward to taking him to my favorite places along with the usual tourist stuff, like Ellis Island, the Empire State Building and the 9/11 Memorial. I drifted out of my nap to hear my mom say, “…relieved you’re with him. I think he’s – well, to say the least – more comfortable with you than with professionals. Though the guards we hired for Thanksgiving were very nice, this will be much more fun for Darren. And for his father and me.” I pretended to be asleep and just managed to keep from laughing at Mom’s characterization of Trent and Nick as “very nice.” But I certainly agreed that having Mike here was more relaxing than sneaking around like I did last time, for all that I enjoyed myself with those two studs. No one fucked me quite the way Mike did, and with him I could work on being bred for keeps. So far no sign that it’d worked – not even a cough or a sneeze. I wondered how long it would take. Maybe even now the virus was taking hold? I must have drifted off again, because it seemed like seconds later that the SUV was letting us off at the apartment house where I’d grown up. Mom slipped the driver a cash tip after he helped us unload our luggage. Mike looked around, wide-eyed as he took in the neighborhood where we lived. Across 81st Street was Hayden Planetarium, and just beyond it was the Museum of Natural History. To the left, at the eastern end of the block, Central Park beckoned; to the west was Columbus Avenue with its shops and restaurants, Pizzeria Uno prominent on the corner. His expression was admiring as he gazed at the elegant Beaux Arts façade of the building that I’d always called home. Javier was on duty and he opened the door greeting me enthusiastically. “Mr. Darren, good to see you back so soon. Nice for your family you could visit for the holidays,” he said as he shook my hand. “Thanks, Javier. Your family is good?” “Couldn’t be better. The oldest is on the honor roll at school for three months running!” Javier answered, his face beaming with pride. “Congratulations,” I said. Javier looked at Mike inquiringly, and I realized I hadn’t considered how to introduce Mike. I made a snap decision that I wasn’t going to hide anything on this trip. Everyone knew I was gay; when I decided to come out at age 15, it had been impossible to shut me up on the subject. “This is Mike Prescott, my boyfriend. Mike this is Javier, the best doorman in the world.” They shook hands; if Javier was surprised he hid it well. In spite of the slight tension I felt in the moment, I was unable to stifle a huge yawn. “Darren, sweetie, we better get you upstairs,” my Mom said, steering me towards the elevator, Mike following. “He was up late packing, even though they had an early flight,” she explained to Javier over her shoulder. “Kids,” he said, commiserating parent-to-parent with my mom. As soon as we got off the elevator we could hear Maxi’s barks interspersed with high-pitched yelps. “He only barks that way when you come home,” my mother said as she unlocked the door. Maxi burst in the hall as soon as the door opened, whining hysterically, sniffing at my suitcase, jumping on me, then running around in circles, unable to contain himself. “C’mon Maxi,” I said as we entered the apartment and he followed immediately, now inspecting Mike’s suitcase. “Uh, he isn’t going to, um…‘mark’ his territory, right?” Mike asked uneasily. “Oh, no, he’s very well trained,” my mother assured him. “Maximillian Amadeus Grandiamus, come here and meet Mike,” I said as I picked the dog up and accepted his “kisses.” “Maximillian Amadeus what?” Mike echoed, starting to laugh. “Grandiamus. Long dog, long name. He goes by Maxi, really.” “Well, hi there Maxi,” Mike said, carefully offering the back of his hand. Predictably, the dog immediately nuzzled Mike’s hand expecting to be petted. “He’s just like you, pushy and demanding,” Mike said with a grin. “He knows what he wants, that’s all. And he has good taste.” “Can’t argue with that,” Mike said. I put Maxi down, took Mike’s letterman jacket – I never would have believed that I’d date the captain of the football team, even though the season was cancelled – and hung it in the hall closet next to my long winter coat, then led the way out of the entryway into the front hall. Mike paused for a moment to look around, then said, “This is a beautiful place you have, Mrs., uh, Mimi.” My mom smiled. “Thanks so much, Mike. I thought we’d put you in the guest room…” “Mom,” I interrupted impatiently, “Mike and I have been sharing a bed for the past four months. What’s the point of putting him anyplace other than my room?” She looked startled. “Well, uh, I…” “Plus I know Grandma and Grandpa let you and Dad sleep together when you weren’t married.” “Your grandmother has a big mouth,” my mom grumbled, accurately pinpointing my source. “Daddy and I were engaged to be married at the time.” I continued to press my case. “It’s not like you have to worry that I’m going to get pregnant.” Mom massaged her temples and said, “Fine, I give up. Your grandparents are going to be staying overnight after the Chanukah party, anyway, so this will make it easier.” “Grandma and Grandpa are visiting from Florida?” I said, excited at the prospect of seeing them; I would love for them to meet Mike. “What about their apartment downstairs?” When my grandparents sold the place to Mom and Dad, they bought a smaller apartment in the building as a pied-á-terre for when they visited New York. My mom looked faintly uncomfortable. “No, it’s Grandma and Grandpa Leibowitz.” I stared back at her, speechless. “Sweetie, I know you find them…difficult…” “Difficult?” I echoed sarcastically. “I guess you could say that, since my father’s mother strongly implied that I was mentally ill when she found out that I’m gay and told you to send me for conversion therapy.” I had refused to refer to my dad’s parents as my grandparents ever since the ugly scene just before I left for college. Mike watched us lob arguments back and forth as if he were at the U.S. Open, wisely remaining silent. “Darren, the entire family is coming here this year for the gift exchange, your aunts, uncles and cousins from both sides. We couldn’t exclude them.” “Great. Perfect. Maybe Mike and I can take Maxi for a two-day walk. Or I’ll call Nana and ask her if we can hide out at her place. When were you planning to let me know they were coming?” “Do you have to be so difficult?” my mom countered without answering me. “I know it’s uncomfortable for you. But Dad and I have made it clear that you’ve brought a friend to visit from school and that they have to be on their best behavior.” “Do they know he’s my boyfriend?” I asked bluntly. “Well…not exactly.” I exhaled, controlling myself with difficulty. But I could see how anxious my mom was, so I relented, entertaining myself with the thought of laying a big, wet smooch on Mike in front of my father’s parents. “Okay. As long as they’re civil, I’ll be civil back.” She smiled, relieved. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’ll be surrounded by family and Mike.” I planned to remain glued to Mike or someone to avoid any time alone where I could be cornered and harangued for the duration of their stay. Maybe I should insist on having Trent and Nick here, too. If there was ever a time for bodyguards… I yawned widely again, feeling twice as exhausted after the burst of adrenaline had worn off. “Mike, follow me,” I said. “Let’s unpack then have lunch.” “Sweetie, it’s a little early,” my mom said. Glancing at my watch, which had the time at 11:45 AM, I had to concede she was correct. “But you’ve been travelling all morning, I’m sure you could use a snack, and then lunch a little later,” she said. We went to my room, Maxi bringing up the rear. As soon as we were in my room, he jumped up on the bed, circled a couple times, and then settled down for a little nap. All the excitement had worn him out; at six years old, he wasn’t a puppy anymore. Mike looked around as we unpacked, taking in the calming colors and my choices in decoration, and seemed to like them. “You have a private bathroom?” “Yeah, this used to be my nanny’s room.” “You had a nanny?” he said, surprised. “With working parents, it’s not uncommon in New York.” “The way you speak to your mom…” he said, coming to a halt. “Yeah?” I said puzzled. “Do you always argue like that?” “Not always, but, yeah, we discuss things that involve the whole family. Why?” “If I ever question my parents…well, it’s not pretty.” “Really?” “Yeah, my dad makes most of the decisions.” “What century are they living in? The 19th?” “It’s all from the Bible.” “Oy, then it’s more like second century. BCE.” Mike laughed at my candid opinion. “Now I know how you had the courage to go back at Zetcher the way you did. You’d had a lifetime of practice.” “I guess it’s an Upper-West-Side-New-York-Jewish-liberal thing. I was encouraged to question everything and not accept easy answers.” Then I giggled a little. “But I don’t think Mom and Dad were quite ready for me.” “I’ll bet they weren’t.” “Ha-ha,” I answered sarcastically. After a snack of toast with almond butter and hot tea, I showed Mike the rest of the apartment, Maxi sticking closer than my shadow. It was like seeing it anew through Mike’s eyes – things I take for granted were now somehow refreshed. “That picture was in your book, Mimi, right?” he asked, indicating the large framed portrait of my parents and me hanging over the sofa, taken when I was around a year old. I was caught in mid-laugh, seated on my mom’s lap, clutching my father’s index finger; his other arm was around my mom, and both of them were looking down at me with wide smiles. I’d always liked it, but hadn’t known that it was in that stupid memoir. “You’ve read it?” she said nervously, casting a worried glance in my direction. “It was assigned in a writing course I took, it’s a really sweet story.” She smiled, gratified, then said “I’m afraid Darren was ambushed with it when he was in eighth grade.” “You should read it,” Mike told me. “Sure,” I said back. When hell freezes over. He moved on to the piano that sat at an angle next to the sofa. “This must be an antique,” Mike said, running his hand over the smooth, polished surface of the rosewood Steinway grand. “It’s beautiful.” “You know pianos?” I asked. “A bit, because my parents made sure I saw a lot of classical music concerts. But it’s the woodwork that’s really special,” he said, running a careful finger over the elaborately carved lattice music stand, with the Steinway logo (a lyre) in the center. Finally, I showed him the adjoining library/TV room. There was an entertainment center that included a wide-screen flat panel television; the family PC and shelves filled with books, pictures, CDs and DVDs. A loveseat, a couple of recliner chairs and a chaise longue large enough for two constituted the seating arrangements. “This is the most comfortable seat in the house,” I said, sitting on the dark gray, plushy chaise. Maxi jumped up and made himself comfortable on my lap. “See, Maxi agrees with me.” Mike sat down then leaned back, experimentally, groaning a little. “You are not kidding,” he said yawning as he rubbed behind the dog behind his ears. Maxi looked as if he’d be content to stay in place for the rest of the day. “This is the perfect spot for relaxation.” Looking from Mike to me, my mom said “You both look ready for a nap.” Mike stretched and yawned. “I think you’re right. We’ve been going since before dawn.” She dimmed the lights, then slid the pocket door partway closed. “I’ll wake you for lunch in another hour or so.” Mike turned on his side, put his arms around me and nuzzled my ear. “If I weren’t so sleepy I’d probably rape your ass right about now.” “Sounds good,” I said on yet another yawn. “Wake me up when you’re ready.” Maxi was already breathing quietly and evenly, his body a warm, comforting weight. With Mike’s muscled arm across my chest I was perfectly comfortable. “You okay? Need a blanket?” I murmured, now only half-awake. “This is fine,” Mike whispered. “You do a great job of keeping me warm.” And that was the last thing either of us said as we both gave in to the pull of exhaustion and fell into a deep sleep. Sometime later I was pulled from sleep by the realization that I needed to go to the bathroom. Immediately. I didn’t really want to get up, but I didn’t have much choice. Fortunately the guest bath was immediately adjacent to the library, just off a short connecting hallway between the front hall and this room. I gently disengaged myself from Mike’s embrace; Maxi was nowhere to be seen. Once the urgent need had been seen to, I glanced at my watch: 2:41 PM. Mom must have let us sleep, and I was now ravenous. When I returned to the library, Mike was awake. “Sorry,” I said. “It was urgent.” “I could use a trip to the bathroom myself,” he said stretching. And I could watch him stretch and flex his muscles all day, I sighed to myself. I showed him to the guest bath, then went to see what had happened with my mom and lunch. I found her sitting at the kitchen table, working on her laptop. She closed it when she saw me and said, “You’re up.” “Mom, you didn’t wait on lunch, did you?” “No, I already ate, but the two of you were so soundly asleep, I decided not to wake you. Besides, your father called to move dinner back to 7:00 PM, so there’s no rush. Ready for something to eat now?” “Definitely. I’ll get Mike.” I found Mike in my room where he’d gone to get the gift bag for my mom he’d put together with my help: organic, fair trade dark chocolate and coffee beans. “You didn’t have to do that,” my mom said when he presented her with the bag of goodies. “My mom taught me to never go to someone’s home empty-handed,” he answered back. Since he has telepathic abilities when it comes to food, Maxi appeared, ready to join us as soon we sat at the kitchen table. Mom served mashed sardine sandwiches on whole-grain sourdough and homemade lentil soup with tea or coffee. “I hope this is okay,” she said apologetically to Mike. “Sardines are kind of an acquired taste.” He had taken a bite of sandwich, chewed and swallowed. “Not a problem, Mimi, it’s delicious. In my parent’s house we ate whatever was served, no questions asked. A lot of it was from the farm, anyway.” “The farm?” “Yeah, my parents run an organic farm…” “In southwestern Pennsylvania,” my mom finished. “How did you know that?” I asked. It wasn’t right that she knew more about my boyfriend than I did…and a little suspicious. “I wrote a piece about organic farms. I didn’t realize that Mikes’ family was the same set of Prescotts as Prescott Organic Farm. What a funny coincidence,” she explained. “Oh, yeah, I remember there was an article about the place, it really boosted business,” Mike said. Okay, I’m officially nuts, I told myself listening to the conversation. There was a reasonable explanation for my mom’s knowledge. “I remember your parents vividly. Most organic farmers are decidedly left-wing in their sympathies, but they’re fundamentalist Christian environmentalists. That’s rare,” my mother told him. We finished lunch with organic applesauce from the Prescott farm, appropriately enough. Afterwards, we took Maxi to the dog run. Then we went home the long way, going around the block so we could get a look at the entrance to the Museum of Natural History and the Hayden Planetarium on our way home. Once in the elevator, I caught sight of myself in the mirror: my face and neck were covered in stubble and my hair looked like a rat’s nest after sleeping on it. “Yuck, I look like shit. I better shower again and shave this time,” I said while I futilely tried to finger-comb my hair into some semblance of order. “You always look good to me,” Mike said, sliding his arm around my shoulders and pulling me against him. I could feel his arousal through the soft gray jeans he was wearing and pushed my butt into his crotch. “Maybe we could shower together?” Maxi, not quite sure of what was going on, jumped on me, giving a short, distressed yap. “It’s okay Maxi, I like it when he does this,” I said, picking him up. “He’s your chaperone?” Mike asked as we got off the elevator. “No, he’s just not used to seeing me with an affectionate boyfriend. And he has a rooted objection to anyone getting more attention than he does.” I set the dog down as soon as we got inside the apartment, and he made a beeline for the kitchen and his water dish, lapping noisily. Then he padded over to his favorite spot in the living room for his afternoon nap. We hung our coats; the apartment was completely silent. I’d been expecting my mom to greet us, but she must have stepped out. “How about that ‘shower’?” Mike said, pushing against me from behind. “Right this way,” I said grinding my hips against him. We wasted no time, going directly to my bedroom; I allowed him to precede me, closing the door quietly and then locking it. I turned around and launched myself at Mike, my arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. I caught him off-guard, but after a brief hesitation he returned my kiss and was hoisting me up to wrap my legs around his hips. He maneuvered us to my bed putting me down without breaking the kiss, then lay on top of me. I could feel his muscular weight pressing me into the mattress, the enticing aroma of his and my perspiration blending and the taste of his lips, uniquely him. I let myself just drink it all in, every nerve ending screaming for more, to be closer. He stopped kissing me to say, “We have to inaugurate this bed.” “Huh?” I said, not really caring what he meant, pulling him down again. “I still can’t believe that your high school boyfriends didn’t even try for that luscious little butt of yours,” Mike said as he turned us on our sides so he could squeeze my ass. “What a bunch of idiots.” “Yeah, all both of them,” I said and shrugged, fairly sure now was not the time to tell him that Trent and Nick had beaten him to fucking me in this bed. It was Mike’s and my first time in my bed at home, and that’s what counted. Hot as those two guys were, I didn’t feel anything that even approached the connection Mike and I had. I kissed him again, rolling us so he was on top. “They weren’t big on kissing me, either.” “What. The. Fuck?” Mike said, disbelievingly. “Where did you meet these assholes? How could anybody not want to kiss you and fuck you all the time?” “Don’t imitate them, then” I whispered. “Quit talking and fuck me already, it’s been almost a week since we had sex!” Finals week had been non-stop – we’d just fallen in bed every night and went directly to sleep. One night Mike even had to stay up studying for a while after I’d gone to bed. “You’re just like Maxi, pushy and…” “Yep, I’m an animal,” I interrupted, punctuating that utterance with a playful growl. We sat up and started to undress each other, pulling off layers of clothing: sweaters, followed by t-shirts. I dropped to my knees in front of him and unlaced his heavy work boots, then took the opportunity to bury my face in his crotch. Mike began to unbuckle his belt, but I grabbed his hand and stopped him. “Hey,” he said, “I wanna get naked with you.” “I want to enjoy the trip,” I said with what I hoped would be a mischievous smile. “Very funny,” Mike said, correctly realizing I was turning his own rationale for taking sex slowly on him. “I’m really horned, and if we play too much before, I’ll shoot in my jeans.” “So taking it slow only matters when you want to?” I teased, lightly nipping at the growing hardness in his jeans. “Ahhh,” Mike said, pulling my head off of his dick. “You nearly made me cum.” “I’m sure you’ve got plenty to spare,” I said. Determined to spin out the foreplay as long as I could, I was much more gentle now, nuzzling his erection delicately with my nose, inhaling his scent again, pressing gentle kisses that evolved into licking the shaft that I could feel twitch in response. I stopped for a moment and looked up at him, deep into his handsome, chiseled face, those beautiful brown eyes and his thick, dark hair, which he’d had neatly barbered for the trip. “Doing this with you gets me so hot,” I said breathlessly. “Please let me serve you,” I begged. “You really are a total submission pig,” Mike said with an affectionate grin. “Is that a complaint?” I teased. He shook his head and said, “But you have to do whatever I say. Stand up,” he ordered, his usual smooth baritone a bark. I felt my stomach tighten and my dick got instantly hard as I did as he ordered. “Strip,” he demanded. I slowly unbuckled my belt and pulled it through the loops languidly, dangling it from my hand before dropping it on the floor. “Yeah, babe, that’s what I like,” Mike growled, leaning back on my bed to watch the show. I took off my cowboy boots as gracefully as possible, in other words, not very. Then I unbuttoned the waistband on my jeans and unzipped the zipper a little at a time, doing my best to give him what I hoped was a smoldering look. “Take it off,” he said. I turned my back on him and did a few bumps and grinds, then eased down my jeans, giving him an eyeful of my ass encased in the tight black briefs I was wearing. “More,” he urged me. I put my thumbs in the waistband of my briefs, and let them dip, giving him a quick glimpse of my butt, looked over my shoulder with a teasing smile as I turned to face him. I walked over to him and began to do a lap dance, gyrating in place without touching him or letting him touch me. Finally, out of patience, he pulled me down and dragged my briefs off of me, then fingered my asshole, gently tickling before he pushed a fingertip through the tight ring of muscle. I groaned at his touch and pushed back. “I need it,” I whispered. That was all it took for Mike to push me gently to the side, stand and hastily throw off his jeans and briefs then retrieve the jar of Vaseline he’d packed along with the black silk sheet used for my initiation that had been repurposed (rightfully, in my opinion) as a fuck sheet that he spread so I could lie on it. His dick was drooling pre-cum, practically pulsing. I moved to take him in my mouth, but he pushed me back on the bed and briefly sucked my dick before taking my legs over his shoulders, lubing himself carefully so that he didn’t cum prematurely, then lubed me with the greasy stuff before entering me in one rapid thrust. I gasped with a combination of pain and pleasure, and then Mike was thrusting in and out, trying to go slowly but unable to do anything but thrust harder and faster, both of us panting and grunting. He leaned down and covered my mouth with his; I reached around and began to tickle his balls and butthole. His thrusts seemed to double in speed; his dick was at the perfect angle to rub against my prostate, pressure steadily building, the pleasure nearly unbearable. “Cum with me,” he rasped as his thrusts turned brutal, impaling me with each thrust until he gasped explosively, and rammed against me three times before burying himself inside me up to his balls filling me with his toxic load. I could feel his pubic hair scratch the tender skin between my legs, felt his dick throb and pulse inside of me, triggering my own orgasm that seemed like a shower of sparks racing through my nervous system from scalp to the soles of my feet. Mike had collapsed on top of me; I could feel his heartbeat racing, then slowing as he relaxed on top of me, sated for now. He propped himself on his elbows and kissed me languidly, our mouths soft now with the melting sweetness of our first kisses in our room back at school. “I’m really glad I came,” he began. “Me, too,” I said, giving a quick squeeze of my sphincters that made him shudder and gasp. “I mean, came to New York with you,” he said reproachfully. “Oh, that,” I said with elaborate casualness. “You mean you’re glad I bullied you into visiting New York?” “I didn’t consider what the best part would be.” “What’s that?” I asked when he didn’t continue. Mike kissed me on the lips again, then nuzzled my ear before whispering “That I’d have you all to myself.” And my own bonus: I could get all the poz cum I wanted during vacation.
  14. Pozzed: A Love Story

    I have to thank everyone who has left positive feedback and all the readers (close to 35K) of this story. In the midst of such stressful times, socially, politically and culturally, it's really heartening to create something that brings people pleasure!
  15. Pozzed: A Love Story

    Thanks! So glad you like it. And I knew you'd like that last little throw-away that wasn't a throw-away.

Other #BBBH Sites…