NYBBGUY58

That took longer than I thought...another long chapter... ________________________________ Chapter 24) The alarm clock going off was like being awakened by the burglar alarm back at school. Mike and I both jolted awake and collided with one another in a heap of tangled limbs before I managed to hit the off button. “That thing is so loud,” Mike said groggily as he pulled me back against him and under the covers. “7:00 AM? Aren’t we on vacation? Can’t we sleep in?” We’d spent the night alternating fucking and sleeping. Of the eight or so hours we’d been in bed I estimated we managed six or six-and-a-half hours of actual sleep. I could feel the warmth of his bare skin against mine, and was tempted to say “yes” and burrow under the covers with him for the rest of the morning. But…. “Yeah, but I’d like to have breakfast with Mom and Dad. What’s the matter farm boy, have I already corrupted you with my wicked city ways?” I said, rumpling his hair. Mike laughed. “I didn’t spend all night fucking when I was living on my parent’s farm. God, you were fantastic,” he said, and trailed kisses down my neck to my shoulder, “sweet and hot and wild.” “So were you,” I said, pressing closer and planting a kiss on his lips. “It sure took the edge off. When you finally let me rest I slept like a rock.” “Oh, so I kept you awake? And it looks like part of you is still a rock,” I said, stroking his impressive morning wood. “What do you expect when I’m in bed with a hot guy? And you’ve got your own rock going there.” “I think we should take advantage of it,” I answered and threw back the covers so I could lick his rigid cock, tracing the front with the tip of my tongue. “Ooooh,” Mike moaned, shuddering, his hand going to the back of my head. “Damn, that feels incredible…but what about breakfast?” “This shouldn’t take long,” I said teasingly. I reached over to the open the jar of Vaseline, took a small glob and spread a thin coat on his dick. Then I spread some on my ass – not that I needed much with multiple loads still inside me –and straddled Mike’s lap. I positioned his dick head and began to lower myself onto his now pulsing rod. His hands went to my waist, then cupped my ass cheeks to spread them open and support me. “Darr…honey, that’s…wow…” he trailed off as I pushed down on his cock until I had engulfed his dick completely. Then I rose a little and sat back down, a little faster, and repeated that move, tension building…Mike’s jaw had dropped and his eyes were glazed. I heard him groan softly, and we were panting in unison. Mike reached up and played with my nipples briefly; then he spit on his left hand and wrapped it around my dick so that as I rose and fell, I was “fucking” his hand. The pleasurable pressure started to accumulate rapidly. My right hand was still a little greasy from the Vaseline, so I reached behind me and let my fingers glide over Mike’s already tight ball sack in rhythm with my movements. He began to thrust upwards into my ass, unable to stop himself. His huge cock was pressed against my prostate, and every movement either of us made brought release closer…and closer…until… “Uuuh, shit, I’m cumming…” I groaned as sensation blazed through me, racing along my nerves like fire as I shot my load on Mike’s chest. Mike’s thrusts got harder and faster immediately, his huge dick plundering my willing asshole. “Darren,” he said with a muted cry as his body jackknifed and his arms went around me, crushing me against him. He moaned into my chest as he emptied another charged load – his fifth since we’d gone to bed – inside of me. I sagged forward and we kissed, languidly, sated for now. My bed (and probably my room) smelled of sex and sweat; I could feel his heartbeat hammering at first, then gradually slowing. “I can feel your heartbeat,” he said, stroking my back. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about yours.” “And now I’m hungry.” I smiled. “What a surprise.” After quickly cleaning up, we pulled on the sleepwear we’d discarded during the night and went to the kitchen. My parents weren’t there yet, but coffee was brewing which meant one of them, probably Mom, had started it. Mike had the large jar of protein powder he’d brought with him, so I got him the blender and everything he needed to mix his morning smoothie. Then I got breakfast for my parents and me on the table, and made fresh-squeezed orange juice for everybody. Coffee brewed and toast toasted against the background of the buzz of the juicer and the blender; appetizing aromas filled the kitchen. Maxi trotted in, drawn by the noise and smell of food and looked up at me pleadingly. “You’re expecting maybe a seven-course breakfast?” I said as I gave him his morning serving of kibble, which he happily devoured. I was deeply contented – taking six charged loads in the past 24 hours probably had something to do with it. But it went deeper, and in more ways than one. Being here in New York – at home – with my boyfriend, was domestic and ordinary and everything I’d ever dreamed of: a night of hot sex followed by a morning quickie, then making breakfast together. I’d almost given up on ever having a real boyfriend, but here I was and I could hardly believe it. Everything was perfect – and I couldn’t stop smiling. My mother strode in, dressed for work in a dark pantsuit with a cream cashmere turtleneck. “Good morning you two, what a lovely surprise,” she said, kissing me on the cheek, and squeezing Mike’s arm. “I was sure you’d sleep in today.” “Someone has to make sure you eat before you leave for work,” I said, mock-chiding while wagging my right index finger. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” Mom just smiled. “Thanks. Sorry we fell asleep before the movie ended, and thanks for covering us up last night. You do know there’s no alarm clock in the library?” I gasped, horrified. I hadn’t thought of that. “Oh, no. Are you late? Is Daddy late?” I said, reverting to childhood in the stress of the moment. “No, no, it’s fine. Your father and I are at the age where we have to get up at least once a night, so we moved to the bedroom during the night and the alarm got us up.” I sagged, relieved. “Did you sleep okay?” “Best night’s sleep we’ve had in weeks.” “It sure was,” my dad said as he joined us, sporting another of his suits, auguring another day spent with clients. “It’ll make schlepping to that dopey dinner easier.” My mother inhaled deeply as if she were going to say something, then seemed to decide that ignoring it was the best policy. “Good morning again, darling,” she said. “Oh, yeah, good morning guys,” dad said as an afterthought, and then turned his attention to checking emails and the morning headlines on his phone. “So what are your plans today?” mom asked as we sat down to eat. “I thought we’d hit midtown, go to Rockefeller Center and look at the holiday windows in the stores, maybe go to the Empire State Observatory or Top of the Rock and MOMA. Does that sound good?” I asked Mike. “The closer we get to Christmas, the worse the mobs will be.” “Sounds fine, whatever you want to show me,” Mike said amiably. “It’s going to be very chilly out today – use the coat again, Mike” my mom said. “Could you make sure to take Maxi for a walk before you go?” At the sound of his name coupled with one of his favorite words, “walk,” Maxi’s ears perked up. “Sure. Anything else?” “Well, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble could you pick up a bag of pita chips for tonight? I ordered a Mediterranean platter, but they never send enough pita. Oh, and are you planning on going out with Emmy for dinner or staying here?” “I thought we’d stay here,” I said, aware that it would be less awkward if we ate here than if we went out after Mike’s discomfort over the prices at dinner last night. “Is that okay with you?” I asked Mike, and received a confirmatory nod. “There’s plenty of food,” my mom assured me as she started to clear the table. “Mom, we can take care of the dishes, just go. Or have another cup of coffee if you want,” I said, my contentment translating into generosity. Dad looked up from his phone. “Hmm, someone is in a very good mood,” he teased. “Yep, I’m in such a good mood that not even you can ruin it,” I teased back. “Or are you trying to get rid of us?” he continued. I shrugged noncommittally. But it had crossed my mind that it would be fun to have Mike fuck me again after he’d done his morning workout and would be all sweaty and delicious. Maybe on the chaise or the sofa or just the middle of the floor? The thought made my dick start to get hard, fortunately my sleep pants were baggy. And then I realized that Maxi would likely want to, er, play…nope, we’d keep it in my bedroom. Mom summoned a car with the app on her phone, and she and Dad left. Finally. “Want to see the exercise room?” I asked Mike. He said as he stretched, “I was thinking of going back to bed for a few hours.” I caught myself staring at him. I was still amazed by his body every time I looked at him. I tore my eyes away from his shoulders and biceps to check the time– it was only 8:15 AM, and more sleep sounded very good. Then Maxi whined. “I have to take Maxi for his morning walk or he’ll pop,” I said. “Why don’t you go back to bed, I’ll take Maxi out and then join you.” Mike acquiesced – he was a remarkably agreeable travel companion – and I pulled on jeans, boots and a coat and took Maxi out for a walk. It ended up being short because it was cold out and Maxi hates the cold. He relieved himself on the nearest tree and then was jumping on me, his signal for “time to go home.” Javier greeted us when we came in and had a treat ready for Maxi. When we got back to the apartment, all was quiet. I made sure the dog had fresh water, and then went to my room. The door was closed; I opened it carefully, not wanting to disturb Mike, but the bed was empty. And it was covered with the black silk sheet. I stepped in my room, heard the door close, felt a pair of strong arms wrap around me and a soft kiss was planted on the right side of my neck. I pressed back against Mike, rubbing my butt against his erect cock. “Who are you, and what did you do with my tired boyfriend?” I teased. He didn’t answer, just kept kissing my neck. “I thought you were going to get some more sleep,” I said on a gasp as he continued to kiss his way up my neck to my ear. “I said I wanted to go to bed not go to sleep. At least not right away,” Mike answered as he reached around and unfastened my jeans. “Damn, you haven’t had enough…” I began but my moan cut me off as he teased my now-exposed ass with his hard dick and reached around and covered my cock with his big, warm hand. After a minute of pleasurable massage, back and front, he said “You were saying?” “Never mind,” I said back breathlessly as I threw off my t-shirt and attempted to push off my boots and jeans. “Let me help you with that,” Mike said, and lifted me and carried me to the bed. He set me down, pulled off my boots, and then stripped off my briefs and jeans simultaneously. “But what about the Empire State?” I asked completely deadpan. “I’ve got something just as big right here,” Mike answered as he pushed me back and knelt over my face, bringing his hard cock to my lips. I opened my mouth and took the head of his thick, hard cock in my mouth, then pulled his hips towards me, communicating that I wanted him to fuck my mouth. As he stroked in and out between my lips, I ran my tongue against his shaft, wringing a gasp from him. “That’s it, suck that big dick,” he growled. Apparently after the morning’s quickie he was in a dominating mood – not that I was complaining at all. Mike pulled his cock out of my mouth, now shining with a coat of saliva. “Lick my nuts,” he ordered. I obeyed, but added my lips so that the softest, slickest part just inside my mouth prolonged each lick. I heard him exhale sharply. “Shit,” he breathed. “Don’t stop,” he said hoarsely, and moved his hips forward, pressing his perineum (aka the “taint”) against my mouth and tongue, then moved back and forth a few times, groaning with pleasure before he brought his asshole over my lips. “Lick me right there,” he demanded…or maybe begged? Either way, I started to run my tongue across the sensitive flesh, then added my lips. Mike’s hand was around the back of my head, pulling me in towards him. “Yeah, eat my ass, get me hot for you. Gonna fuck that hot little butt…” he trailed off into a moan as I pushed the tip of my tongue inside his rectum. He moved back, his balls brushing against my face, his hard, then his drooling cock. He covered my mouth with his, then went on kissing my chin, my neck, stopping to lick and suck my nipples, continuing down until he got to my erect dick, which he took in his mouth, bobbing his head up and down. I arched my back and then like an automatic reflex, my legs were rising and spreading, Mike took them over his shoulders, took a quick minute to smear himself with a little Vaseline and started to enter my butt. His cock was rock-hard and leaking pre-cum that helped him push it inside of me, slowly and steadily filling me, taking possession of my body like the invasion of a liberating army. He leaned forward, pressing my thighs against my chest, pinning my arms over my head, folding us together in a pod of sensual delight. My mouth found his, and he began to thrust in and out, massaging my prostate. “Fuck me,” I gasped, breaking off the kiss and pushing my ass towards him as he pushed in and pulling back as he pulled out…and again…again…again… “Honey, I am. Can’t you feel it?” he teased. I stopped moving and gave him my best disgruntled look. “This is no time for dumb jokes!” I exclaimed. “Give it to me,” I said, trying for sensual and seductive but probably sounding more desperate than anything else. “Like this?” he said as he thrust harder, pressing against my prostate. “Yeah, please, yeah,” I whimpered, embarrassingly enough. “More, harder,” I gasped. “Anything you want, sweetheart,” he answered and then began to really pummel my ass. “Fuck, Darr, you have the most amazing hole,” he panted against my ear. “Perfect for filling with my charged load – and here it...aaah,” he groaned as he slammed against me. I could feel his cock twitching as he unleashed his cum inside me, the rhythmic contractions against my prostate bringing me off at the same time. We kissed hungrily as the pleasure peaked and then ebbed, leaving us sweaty and relaxed. Mike pulled out carefully, then pulled my duvet over us and took me in his arms, pressing a kiss on the top of my head. “I’m ready for more sleep after that workout,” he said with a post-coital yawn. I reached over, grabbed my phone from the nightstand and set an alarm to give us a couple hours to nap. “I don’t think we can make the Empire State today,” I said sleepily. “It’s not going anywhere, right?” Mike murmured back. I laughed a little. “Guess not,” and let myself fall asleep. ————————— Late that afternoon, we returned to the apartment having spent time sightseeing in midtown. It occurred to me that not getting to the Empire State or Top of the Rock was not a problem. In fact, it was probably better that we hadn’t gone anyplace with an admission fee, given how touchy Mike seemed on the subject of money. We started by checking out the elaborate Macy’s holiday window displays, and even got to see a laser-light show on the façade of the building to the tune of “Carol of the Bells.” Then Rockefeller Center for the immense Christmas tree, which I informed Mike was really mine but I was happy to share it with others, including him. As a small child my nanny had told me that to appease my desire for a tree in our home, something neither of my parents would consent to. We weren’t incredibly religious, but along with no pork that was one of the hard lines that they insisted on. A fellow sightseer agreed to snap a picture of us on my phone with the tree and the display of towering toy soldiers arrayed around it as a backdrop. Then we’d walked over to Grand Central Station and milled around with the tourists, gawking at the ceilings in the Main Concourse with their representation of the major constellations and browsing at the annual Holiday Fair. Mike insisted on buying me lunch, so I said we had to get real New York pizza, even though it meant he’d never enjoy the mediocre stuff we got at school as much. Before we headed back home, I took him on a short walk up Park Avenue to admire the glass skyscrapers that lined the boulevard and the evergreen trees festooned with twinkling lights that were situated on the traffic islands. We made a quick stop at Zabar’s for the pita chips my mom wanted and I picked up an apple cake for dessert that night. Maxi greeted us as if we’d been gone for months rather than days, barking excitedly, and demanding that we pay attention to him immediately. Once he was appeased, we went to the kitchen so I could put away the cake and leave the chips out for my mother, with Maxi sticking close to us in the event we ate something that he could beg for. My mom was in the kitchen, putting dishes in the dishwasher. Her hair was up in an elegant chignon in preparation for the evening out, which looked somewhat incongruous with the apron she wore over her sweater and pants. “Hi, did you two have a nice day?” she asked. I had to quell the urge to giggle as I thought of how we’d spent most of the morning. “We, uh, decided to take a nap, and then went to midtown. We didn’t really have time for the Empire State, though.” “We’ll get there another day,” Mike added. “Why are you doing dishes now?” I asked. We’d run the breakfast dishes before we left, and none of us were home to have eaten lunch. My mother sighed and said “Your father had a terrible day at work.” “Uh-oh,” I said. “He barely got to take a break, only ate a half a sandwich and some chips for lunch, so I made him Welsh rarebit, he drank some herbal tea and now he’s taking a nap. What would you like for dinner?” “Mom, don’t worry about it, shouldn’t you be resting or getting ready?” I said, glancing at the clock, which read 4:30 PM. “What time is everyone getting here?” “In an hour,” she said, “but…” “Mother,” I said as sternly as possible, “I know how to use the microwave, I’ll take care of it. And we’ll set up everything for cocktails, too. Go lie down with Dad, or in the library if you want. You’ve had a long day too.” “You’re right,” she conceded. “Thanks. There’s salad in the crisper and turkey meatloaf and pureed parsnips in the freezer, along with broccoli or…” “Mom – bed!” I snapped. “Fine, fine,” she said as she left to take a few minutes for herself. “You’re such a good son, sweetheart,” Mike said. “I know,” I answered in a honeyed voice that made Mike laugh. ————————— I was just finishing putting out the Mediterranean platter and extra chips on the dining room table when the doorbell rang and Maxi started barking. I always wondered if he thought that we were deaf or clueless and so he had to alert us that someone was at the door. “Mike, can you get it?” I asked. It was time to get the white wine out of the refrigerator; the wine glasses were already in place. I heard Uncle Jeffy greet Mike, and introduce him to Aunt Dita and Em. As I put down the bottles of wine down along with a corkscrew, I heard Aunt Dita calling “Darren!” “Aunt Dita,” I said back and moved towards her for a hug. She was dressed in emerald green lace that clung to her generous curves. With gold jewelry and clutch purse and gold sandals flashing from under the hem of her gown, she looked very festive in keeping with the holiday season. Her crowning glory, a blazing mane of red hair was swept over her right shoulder, held in place with combs that gleamed with what I assumed were faux-emeralds. Christina Hendricks, move over. “You look wonderful,” she said as she held me away from her and studied me. “I’ve been so worried about you, though your parents and Jeff said you were doing beautifully.” Aunt Dita was like a second mother to me. She and my mom along with Dad and Uncle Jeffy had formed a four-person “village” that had raised Em and me, albeit with the assistance of full-time nannies. Uncle Jeffy greeted me with a bro-hug, looking very distinguished in his tuxedo. And right behind him was Em, my very best friend, next to Mike now, of course. She was something of a carbon copy of her mother: the same voluptuous figure and red hair, though she had her father’s patrician nose and jawline and his height, too. Em had always towered over me and most of the boys in our class. She was in a purple sweater and jeans with Uggs, perfect travel-wear. “Milky!” she exclaimed spreading her arms wide. “Goldie!” I answered back, mirroring the gesture. “You stupid bimbo!” we said in unison as we hugged one another. “How the hell are you?” Mike observed us with bemusement as my mother joined us saying, “Must you greet each other like that?” “Aw Ma,” I said as Em and I disengaged. “We’re just joking.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head, then turned to Aunt Dita. “Mimi,” Aunt Dita said, sounding awed. “Where on earth did you get that dress?” she asked as she walked around my mom, checking out the slim black beaded cocktail dress she wore. It glittered with every move and served as the perfect backdrop to her favorite jewelry – the pearls my dad had given her as a “push” gift when I was born – along with a pair of black patent leather pumps. “Vintage,” my mom said, clearly pleased by the praise. “Ken will be here in a minute,” she said. “He had a rough day.” Uncle Jeffy sighed deeply. “He makes things harder than they need to be,” he told us. “I had to force him to leave early, he was driving the rest of the team insane. The associates and paralegals were better off finishing and filing the documents without him breathing down their necks.” “I heard that,” my dad called out as he joined us having finished putting on his tuxedo. “You were meant to,” Uncle Jeffy said back, not displaying an iota of embarrassment. “Have some wine Dad,” I said as I poured him some of his favorite merlot. Em and Mike were already sipping glasses of chilled chardonnay and nibbling on hummus and pita chips. “White or red?” I offered the others. As we drank and nibbled and Maxi begged for handouts, everyone relaxed, exchanging small talk about school, work, health, the news, the weather, and so on. I was glad to see that Mike and Em seemed to be getting on very well. “You’re considering law school I hear,” Aunt Dita said to Mike. “Oh, uh, yeah,” he answered, clearly surprised at how quickly that fact had spread. After all, it was only yesterday that he’d mentioned the idea to my dad. “Watching your husband has been really inspiring,” Mike said earnestly. Game, set and match to Michael Prescott, I thought to myself as Aunt Dita gave him a dazzling smile. “Well Jeff and Ken will be more than happy to help you in any way you need. For that matter, so will I and so will Mimi. And much as I hate to leave such charming company, we have to go – the limo should be waiting downstairs by now.” “Wait,” Em said, pulling out her phone. “You look so cute, we have to get pictures of you and send them to the family,” she said archly as she snapped a few photos of our parents in their formal wear. I picked up on my cue. “Yes, you look so nice when you’re dressed up,” I gushed. “It’s a pity you don’t do it more often.” “That’s enough from both of you,” said my mother. “You’ve gotten your revenge.” Our mothers had fussed over us the same way when we were on our way to an expensive restaurant last summer to celebrate our graduation from high school. Em and I exchanged a high five. Coats were retrieved and goodbyes were exchanged. “We have to get together again while the kids are here,” Aunt Dita said as they exited. “We could all go to brunch or dinner or something?” she suggested as my mom nodded in agreement. “Now don’t stay out too late,” I lectured as they waited for the elevator, “and don’t drink too much wine, be careful how much coffee you have or you won’t be able to sleep and be sure to thank the hostess before you leave…” “I hope the elevator gets here before I commit murder,” my father interrupted. I closed the door, grinning from ear to ear. Em immediately started laughing hysterically, and Mike and I joined her. We went back to the dining room for more hors d’oeuvres and wine. “Okay, Milky, it’s time to spill the dirt,” Em said. “Oh, Goldie…” I started. “Sorry,” Mike interrupted, “but I have to ask – Milky I get: Darren, Dairy, Milky. But Goldie?” he said looking from me to Em. I started to giggle. “I came up with it after she started calling me Milky,” I said. “Darren M. Low-on-wits…” Em gritted out warningly. Now I could hardly get the words out because I was laughing so hard. “Her full name is Emmeline Amelia Ward. So that became Emmy Award, and the Emmys are gold statues…” I couldn’t finish as I dissolved laughing at my own joke. Mike grinned at me and shook his head. “You know it’s really too bad, Milky. You found a hunky, sweet guy, but I’m going to have to kill him because you told him my real name,” Em remarked casually. I just laughed harder. “He’s his own best audience,” Em said to Mike. “So I’ve noticed,” Mike agreed. “Now just a second,” I said, trying to stem my laughter. “Have some more wine, Milky,” Em said. “You’re obviously a little buzzed.” I finally calmed down. “So?” Em demanded. “What?” I said back. “Oh. Dirt. Well you’ve probably seen it on the news,” I grumbled. “I already knew you were a complete slut, Milky,” Em said, stroking my cheek. “Hey!” I said. “It’s not like I had that many guys while we were in high school.” “Yep, but it wasn’t for lack of trying,” Em teased. “Really?” Mike said. “Don’t listen to her,” I said. “Milky was attracted to a slew of jerks…” Em continued. “Not that much happened with any of them,” I said, starting to feel flustered. “That’s what made them jerks, honey,” Mike said, covering one of my hands with his. I paused and looked at him. “You always know the right thing to say,” I sighed. “Okay, now we’re talking,” Em said, her green eyes sparkling. “Honey?” “It’s just a…nickname,” I said. “Yeah, and what does he call you?” Em said to Mike. “Don’t…” I started. “Michaelicious,” Mike supplied. I gave him what I hoped was a withering look. “Vintage Milky,” Em crowed. “How did you meet?” “It was at orientation,” I said, and told her my edited version. “Wow,” Em said, sobered by the end of the story, how Mike had rescued me from the murderous clutches of the football coach. “How could he do that to my sweet Milky?” she asked plaintively. “He was an über-jerk,” Mike assured her. “God, I’m so glad you were there,” Em said, now serious as she took Mike’s hand. “This is my brother by another mother,” she added gesturing at me. Mike looked acutely uncomfortable. I sighed inwardly. He’d never quite gotten over his guilt about the whole thing no matter what I said. “Okay, sis, I’m ready for dinner.” I said to redirect the conversation. “You?” “Fine with me,” Em answered. “Sure,” Mike said, relieved to have the spotlight off of him. We moved to the kitchen, and I got out the salad; the table was already set. I followed that with my mom’s special turkey meatloaf. “Milky,” Em said, “your mom is the only person in the universe who actually makes delicious meatloaf.” “And it’s so good for you, too. She uses herbs, spices, wheat berries…” I said sounding like an announcer for a Cooking Network show. “Don’t ruin it by telling me it’s nutritious,” Em complained, covering her ears with her hands. Mike cleared the table while I got out dessert dishes. “Coffee? Tea?” I offered. Beverage selections made, we dug into apple cake. “Okay, your turn Goldie,” I said. “Dirt.” She sipped her tea, then said “Not much to tell.” “Yeah, right,” I said. “Really,” Em answered with a disgruntled sigh. “I’m surrounded by short, geeky, sexist nerds with the emotional intelligence of 12-year-olds. They mostly make really clumsy jokes or passes, and then won’t listen to me when we have to do projects.” “But Uncle Jeffy told me you loved MIT.” “That was then,” she said sourly. “I swear that if one more guy calls me “Red” or “Boomers” I’m going to end up in jail.” “What happened to letting them ogle ‘the girls’ while you quietly take over?” I said. That was how Aunt Dita had described her coping strategy in her work in academia. “Engineers are not psychologists, Milky. These are guys who decorate their dorm rooms with Transformers posters. I’m surprised they don’t use lunch boxes with Obi-Wan Kenobe on the front.” “Eew,” I said wrinkling my nose. “What are you going to do?” She sighed. “I’m looking into transferring,” she admitted. “Maybe Harvard or Columbia or NYU.” “But MIT was your dream school,” I said shocked at how discouraged she sounded. “Yeah, well, I wanted to be a ballerina when I was five. Things don’t always work out the way you think they will. At least if I were in New York I could still get decent pizza and there are all-night diners.” I smiled mischievously. “And of course Matt is doing pre-med at Columbia…” “Shut up, Milky,” Em said. “Matt?” Mike asked tentatively. “Her high school boyfriend. He was a on the basketball team so…” “I said to shut up, Milky.” “Uh-huh,” I said. Em took a deep breath. “All right, we’ve been texting all semester and he misses me and I miss him. Satisfied?” “Completely,” I said with a smug smile. “Let’s move into the living room, it’ll be more comfortable. More cake or tea or…?” I asked. We made the move, and Maxi followed us there, jumping up on the sofa and making himself comfortable on my lap. Mike sat next to me, Em took one of the armchairs. “So we’ve covered the romantic front,” Goldie said. “Are you playing any?” Uh-oh. Danger ahead. “Every chance we get,” I said in a breathy voice. “Milky,” Em said in a warning voice. “No.” I said. “And I don’t want to talk about it.” “What are you talking about?” Mike said. Oh, fuck. “You’re going to pay for this, Goldie. I played the piano until I went to college.” Em threw me a disbelieving look. “Milky, saying that you played piano is like saying that Nadal plays tennis or A-Rod was a Yankee. He’s a prodigy,” she informed Mike. “I hate that word,” I grumbled. “What word would you prefer?” Em said. “He’s amazing. Got into Juilliard prep when he was nine playing an audition that his teacher said would put a lot of the undergrad applicants to shame.” Mike looked surprised and as if something was now finally clear to him. “Honey?” he said. I exhaled sharply. “Fine. Yes I made it into Juilliard Prep, I won some competitions…” “‘Won some competitions?’” Em repeated. “You won everything you entered. He made his concerto debut with orchestra when he was 11.” “Yeah, with some regional pick-up group,” I said dismissively. “And I didn’t win the one thing I really wanted, Yale School of Music.” “Bullshit, Milky, you didn’t want Yale. You wanted Juilliard and you were accepted but your parents, really your dad, said no.” “Wait, wait,” Mike said. “You got into Juilliard and your parents said no and sent you to school in rural Pennsylvania?” “Yep, that sums it up,” I said, hugging Maxi as I remembered how painful it’d been. “So why aren’t you a music major?” Mike asked. “There. Just what I’d like to know,” Em said. I felt my face twist into a scowl. “Because there wasn’t time to audition.” “But your dad could have…called someone or something,” Mike said. “We had an…argument…about it,” I said, though calling that fight an argument was something like calling World War II a border dispute. “I knew it,” said Em. I stuck my tongue out at her. “An argument?” Mike prompted. I gave up. “No. More like an epic battle that lasted most of the summer,” I sighed, recalling the screaming fights we’d had as I petted Maxi’s head in hopes of lowering my blood pressure. “I told him there was no point in studying music if I wasn’t going to go to the best school I could.” “And…” Em said, gesturing. “He said fine. And that was it,” I said feeling my eyes sting a little. “I played my last concert in August and retired at the peak of my career,” I said sarcastically. “Sweetheart, this is why you sit in the window seat, listen to classical music and look like you want to cry.” I nodded, not willing to trust my voice not to crack. I took a deep breath and exhaled it, calming myself. “So does that answer your question, Goldie?” I said, trying for off-hand but getting closer to petulant. “The answer is no, I haven’t played at all. Next?” “Will you play something now?” Mike asked. A tug-of-war ensued in my chest. I’d dealt with the whole issue by not dealing with it. I was all wrapped up with the battle at the frat at the beginning of the semester, and I figured I’d find something else to do eventually. I avoided even looking at the beautiful rosewood piano my grandparents had given me for my Bar Mitzvah whenever I was home. “I haven’t even touched a piano in months. I’m not sure I remember how,” I said. “Bullshit again, Milky. You were a natural from the start.” “Whatever,” I said. “You want to see a video?” Em asked Mike. “Oh, no,” I said. “Not fair.” “Shut up Milky,” Em said as she pulled out her phone and opened YouTube. “I knew I should have taken those fucking things down,” I grumbled. “You didn’t post all of them,” Em answered with a satisfied smile. “Fine. I’m going to get the dishes started,” I said, putting Maxi to one side. “Anyone for more tea or cake or something?” I asked. “We’ll be fine,” Em said as she located the video of me playing the Mozart Concerto 18 in B flat with orchestra. “He did this a couple of years ago. The orchestra hired him to play on a regular concert. Doesn’t he look cute in his white tie and tails?” I heard the opening of the first movement, the quiet, quasi-martial motif, as if hearing a military band from a distance. And that was all I could take, it was too painful, I went to the kitchen with Maxi in tow and began cleaning up the dinner dishes, making as much noise as I could so I wouldn’t be able to hear anything more. I carefully cleaned the table, the sink and all the counters, then decided to pull out the espresso machine and make us all cappuccino, hoping that it would fill enough time that I wouldn’t have to listen to my past. As a last stalling tactic, I gave Maxi one of his treats, then washed my hands at the kitchen sink. When I ventured out of the kitchen bearing three cappuccinos and three slices of apple cake, the concerto was just finishing. I heard the applause erupt from the tinny speaker on Em’s phone, and was transported back to that moment, the rush I felt as everyone, including the orchestra, cheered and clapped. It was almost unbearable. “Okay, through rummaging through my closet for skeletons?” I said as I set down the tray on the coffee table. “No, Maxi, apple cake isn’t good for you,” I told the dog who was giving me his best I’m starving look. “Honey, that was amazing,” Mike said enthusiastically. “Thanks,” I mumbled. “Did you ever play with that orchestra before?” “What?” “It was the Southwestern Pennsylvania Philharmonic, right?” I stared at him, flummoxed. “How did you know that? I barely remember.” “We used to go to their concerts.” “Really?” Em said. “Yeah, we were homeschooled by a group of moms, and they were determined to emphasize ‘the classics.’ It was fun, really. At least it was a break from chores on the farm.” “Milky, this guy is perfect!” “Okay, but why do you ask if I played with them before?” I asked Mike. “I think I might have seen you with them.” “What?” “Yeah, I remember this little kid, really, coming out and bringing down the house.” “I made my concerto debut with them,” I said. “They have an annual competition and I won it when I was 11…” I trailed off. “You couldn’t have been there, that’s too weird.” “I’m pretty sure I was. You played a wild little modern piece as an encore…” “It was just Bartok,” I interjected. “Well whatever, our parents were outraged that you were playing what they called ‘modern trash.’” “Milky,” Em said slowly. “Your dream is coming true…he heard you and fell in love and now…” “Oh cut it out, Goldie.” “…you’re sherbet.” “Sherbet?” Mike said, completely confused. “That’s bashert” I snapped. “Whatever, you know what I mean,” Em said dismissively. “Huh?” Mike said. “Bashert is Yiddish for, uh, fated or meant to be,” I explained. “Or soulmate,” Em added. “I suppose that explains it,” Mike said. “Explains what?” I asked. “I got your autograph that night, I still have the program somewhere at my parent’s house.” I just stared at him. “I guess you don’t remember,” he said a little sadly. I gulped. “No, I do. You were the first person who ever asked for my autograph. That was you?” I vaguely remembered a tall, lanky dark-haired guy with a tendency to stoop, bad acne and a mouthful of braces. “Yeah,” Mike said, grinning at me. “Guess I changed a little since then.” “Sherbet,” Em said. “Okay, now you’re just yanking my chain, Goldie.” “What are best friends for?” she said with an impossibly sweet smile. I just rolled my eyes and bit my tongue. “Now will you play something?” Em asked. I sighed. “Oh-kay,” and went to the piano. I seated myself, adjusted the piano bench, raised my hands dramatically, and played a single note: middle C. “Very funny, Milky. You’re just hilarious.” “I know,” I answered. “Play a piece of music…” So I launched into a high-speed rendition of Chopsticks. “A real piece of music, Milky,” Em shouted over my banging. “A Bach prelude.” I immediately shifted into playing the first prelude of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier, the easiest one of the bunch. “Real funny, Darr,” Mike said. “That’s Gounod.” My jaw dropped and I stopped. “How did you know…I mean, it’s Bach, but Gounod borrowed it for his Ave Maria.” “Emphasis on the classics,” quoted Em. “Play your favorite one.” I felt a small ball of dread in the pit of my stomach, but gave in and started the B flat minor Prelude, a slow, solemn processional with a steady beat and some really delicious harmonies. When I finished, the room was silent. Even Maxi was curled up next to the piano bench as he’d always done when I practiced. “Wow,” Mike said. “That was…I mean, you’re like…awesome.” “What’d I tell you?” Em said. I was unsure whether she was directing her comment to me or to Mike. “That’s one of things you’d sit and hum along with, wasn’t it?” “Yeah,” I said in little more than a whisper. Then I pulled myself together and said, “Okay, I’ve sung for my supper. Can I have my cappuccino now?” ————————— We finished the coffee and cake, then Em said she was tired and needed to get some sleep. I promised that we’d spend more time together during the break. “And be sure to invite Matt,” I added slyly. “Fine,” Em said matter-of-factly. “I will. It was great meeting you, Mike. It’s good to see Milky found a guy who appreciates him. But one thing: hurt him and I’ll break both of your kneecaps.” “Emmeline…” I said between gritted teeth. “No, that’s fine,” Mike said. “Same here.” I reflected on that somewhat ambiguous comment while Em put on her coat and prepared to walk to her parent’s place. “Should you be out alone after dark?” Mike asked. “Can we get you a cab or something?” Em smiled, and said “This one’s definitely a keeper, Milky. My parent’s place is around the corner, practically next door, don’t worry. Bye-bye Maxi,” she said and stooped to pet him. He hated it when anyone left. “So,” I said. “Now what?” thinking we’d take advantage of my parent’s absence to fuck some more. Still working on that sero-conversion… “Will you play some more for me?” Mike asked. “Really?” “Yeah. Please?” “Okay, if you really want,” I said as we made our way back to the living room. He took a seat on the armchair closest to the piano. “What do you want to hear?” I asked. “Whatever you want. But no chopsticks! Something…romantic?” Mike said. He’d just hit on one of my fantasies, playing sweet music for the guy I was dating. My high school boyfriends hadn’t ever wanted to go there. I chose my favorite Chopin Nocturne, the one in D flat major. My hands felt clumsy, simultaneously stiff and weak. It’d been a long time since I’d tried to play anything that required any kind of fluency, but I made my way through it with a few small stumbles. Mike beamed at me when it was over. “Thanks.” Then he turned serious. “Do you miss it honey?” Another of those moments when I couldn’t talk, so I just nodded. “Okay, we’re going to get that back for you,” Mike said. “But…” I began. “Sweetheart? Shut up.”

My first was older, but as NLBear said, at some point younger tops got interested in me. One said that older guys are more fun... I assume due to experience with pleasing men.

He was a vivid, committed performer who left us much too soon. There was an article in the NY Times (I think?) recently about the importance of "gay sensibility" in the evolution of the male rock star. They mentioned (among others) Brian Epstein who managed the Beatles for many years. Freddy was one of our own, and watching him perform so fearlessly is deeply moving.

Yup. ?

Update on porn stars who've nailed me -I'm sure everyone is just WAITING for me to post an update... I forgot that I'd been with Tony Bishop (who was/is something of a grumpy misanthrope) DavidnSF (fun, but likes to fuck without lube...challenging) And...newly nailed by Rob Yeager, who is a lot of fun. He's really into worship, just read a little of Pozzed: A Love Story (https://breeding.zone/topic/36558-pozzed-a-love-story/) to get an idea of what I like. If that's your scene, he's your man!

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.

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...

Yup. Saw him more than once...?

Antonio Biaggi? Among others...agree that Adam Russo is a walking wet dream.

Jon Vincent, years ago...with condom. Kevin Slater, bare; Tommy Delucca, bare; Christian, bare. All were fun....

Workin' on it...suddenly it's a little easier.

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.

I could never tell the difference when I bottomed, but maybe I'm completely clueless...

Thanks! Glad you enjoyed it. There's more to come...eventually.

Wow, just checked and the story is at 40K views!!! Thanks!

Sorry I took so long this time. It's been an...eventful few months. There's more to come...

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.

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!

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

So glad you think it was worth the wait...

Sorry it took so long...I had trouble figuring out where to go. Enjoy! ____________________________ Chapter 21) “Your parents are so great,” Aaron told me as he finished a slice of pepperoni pizza. We were gathered in the living room around the battered coffee table in front of the worn couch; I was on the floor with Mike to my left and Carlos to my right; Ike, Aaron and Aiden were on the couch. The rest of the frat was scattered around the house, but everyone was chowing down on pizza and salad wherever they were. “Mom is big on making sure everyone is well fed. Just be thankful it’s the end of a holiday weekend,” I said after I’d swallowed a mouthful of Caesar salad. “Why?” Ike asked. “Because I wouldn’t put it past her to have ordered enough steamed tofu and bok choy with brown rice for the house. She’s big on healthy eating, but loosens up a little on holidays.” “This explains the five whole-wheat crust veggie pizzas,” Aiden remarked. “Yep,” I said, packing the single syllable with enough resignation to earn a few snickers. “I’ll have them for lunch and dinner for the next couple days.” “If there’s any left,” Ike said. “I wouldn’t bet on that,” Carlos said. “It’s like a bunch of fucking locusts in there,” he added, nodding at the dining room where the majority of our frat brothers were still congregated. “Carlos, I just remembered, my dad told me you ID’ed the guys on the security disc,” I said. “Oh, yeah,” he answered. I let a minute of silence elapse. “Well?” I prompted. Why did I have the feeling he didn’t want to talk about it? “Don’t worry baby, we got it covered,” Carlos said. Looked like my feeling was more than just an emotional state. “Don’t give me that,” I said. “What?” Carlos said, the picture of wounded innocence. “The ‘don’t bother your pretty little head’ rap,” I snapped. “Darren needs to know,” Ike said emphatically. Carlos sighed heavily. “Was it anyone I might have met?” I asked sarcastically. “Yeah,” Carlos said. “Vest, Aston and Barnes were there along with a couple of their other buddies.” “Who?” “The three assholes who cornered you before Rod was on the job,” Aiden said. “I thought you’d already, uh, talked to them,” I said, employing a euphemism for Mike, Aiden and Carlos telling the three guys he’d named – all members of the football team – to stay the fuck away from me. Or else. “It didn’t take, but we’ll say it again. A little more loudly this time,” Mike said with unmistakable menace. “Loudly?” I echoed. “You don’t want to know, Darren,” Ike said. “This way if word gets back to our lawyer, you won’t know anything.” I decided I’d better resign myself to their doing whatever they were going to do. “Fine. Whatever. I’m going to go unpack,” I said as I got to my feet. “Weren’t you going to do that about an hour ago?” Aaron inquired with an impossibly innocent smile. “Yeah, I was. But I decided I’d rather fuck with Mike,” I said with the sweetest smile I could muster. Silence. “What, no snappy comeback for the truth?” “Why don’t I help you, sweetheart?” Mike said. “I’ll bet that suitcase is still packed tomorrow morning,” Ike said, and everyone laughed. I ignored them. Hours later, Mike and I were in bed, just having finished fucking for the third time that day. We were spooned together; Mike’s left arm was draped over my torso. “You still haven’t unpacked,” Mike said. “I know,” I sighed, and snuggled closer to him. We were quiet for a moment. “The nights were the worst,” I said, twining my fingers with his; he murmured his assent. “I had awful dreams.” “Me, too.” “Really?” I said twisting around to face him. “Yeah. That’s why I was in such a lousy mood when we spoke, I was totally exhausted.” “What did you dream?” I asked him. He stroked my cheek, and said “That you were in trouble but I couldn’t get to you. What about you?” “Mine were all about hostile crowds coming after me, and I had no place to hide.” “So I was right,” he said, holding me close. “I’m sorry…” “Please, don’t apologize again. I said I understood and I do.” We were quiet for a minute. “I really should unpack,” I said, reluctantly disengaging and hauling myself upright, “or I’ll never hear the end of it. And then it’s time for bed.” I busied myself stowing clothing, took my shower caddy with all my toiletries to the bathroom and did my pre-bedtime ablutions, then Mike took his turn. Once we were in bed with the lights out, cuddled together, I finally asked the question that had been nagging me: “How are we going to get through Winter break and intersession?” He kissed my shoulder. “I don’t know, sweetheart,” he answered. “I leave as soon as my finals are over, and then I get back a couple days before classes start. When are you scheduled to go? Maybe we could change our reservations and spend New Year’s…” “Uh, honey, I don’t visit home for Winter break,” Mike interrupted gently. “What?” It was dark, so he couldn’t see my face but I’m sure he heard my confusion loud and clear. “My family doesn’t celebrate Christmas.” I sat up and turned on the bedside lamp at its dimmest setting. “I thought your family was seriously religious. You said born again Christian on both sides, right?” “Yeah, well, we don’t celebrate Christmas because there’s nothing in the Bible that says Jesus was born in December. It’s pretty clear it was originally a pagan holiday that the early Catholic Church took over.” “So what are you doing for the holiday?” I asked. He shrugged. “Same as every year. I’ll stay here, rest, workout, read…” “But you can’t stay in the frat house by yourself this year, it’s not safe. Not to mention it’s terrible that your parents let you spend the holidays alone,” I interrupted. “I’m used to it,” he said dismissively. “My mom and dad go out of their way to act like it’s nothing special, so they don’t want to buy an airline ticket or even let me buy my own.” “Have they always been like this?” I asked, thinking of what it must have been like for him when he was a little boy. It made my heart ache to think of him watching as the rest of the world celebrated; ads for toys and gifts would have been everywhere. “As long as I can remember,” Mike said. I was furious with his family, even though I’d never met them and likely wouldn’t. My family didn’t celebrate Christmas, but it was unthinkable that Mom and Dad would ignore a school holiday and tell me to stay here. And that’s when I made the decision. “Then it’s simple: you’re coming to New York with me,” I stated flatly, rather than extending an invitation. “Issuing an order” would be the most accurate description. “I can’t stand the idea of you here on your own while everyone else is with friends and family.” “But…” Mike began. “Don’t worry, we don’t celebrate Christmas either. You can join us for our traditional Jewish Christmas Eve feast of Chinese food.” He gulped. “I don’t think I can afford a ticket.” “Then I’ll take care of it,” I answered, which meant Mom and Dad would. “I can’t ask your parents to pay for me to travel to New York,” he translated accurately. “You won’t have to ask them, I will. It won’t be a problem.” He opened his mouth, and I said, “Quit arguing with me. You know you’re not going to win.” He pursed his lips and gave me an exasperated look. “Just say, ‘Thanks Darr, honey. It sounds like fun.’” He heaved a sigh. “Okay I give up. Otherwise I’m not going to have a minute’s peace for the rest of the year.” “Substitute ‘my life’ in place of ‘the year’,” I fired back. “Actually, I’ll hound you in death, too.” Mike started laughing. “You would,” he said, then quickly sobered. “Thanks, sweetheart. It does sound like fun,” he said with a reluctant grin. I smiled, hoping it didn’t read as smug in victory. But I couldn’t hide that I was elated we’d be together for the holidays. “Thank you Michaelicious.” ————————— Later that week I got a call from Uncle Jeffy; I was in my room finishing up research for one of my final papers (thank heaven for a good internet connection), but I answered immediately. “Darren, how are you?” he asked. “I’m fine, semester’s winding up. How are you?” We had to go through the banalities of courtesy prior to his delivering whatever news he had. “I’m very good. There’ve been more…developments, I’ll call them, in the case. I hired an investigator to do deep research on the five guys that Carlos identified and came up with some very interesting information.” “Really?” “Yes. It seems that Sergeant Martin Hitt, who was on duty that night, is the maternal uncle of one of the attackers,” I heard papers rustle as he looked for the information “Jim Barnes.” “What?” I said, horrified. “I can’t even trust the cops in this town?” “In addition my investigator was able to trace the movements of our five young men and the police sergeant that night, and she found out that immediately after their attack on the house, they went out drinking with Mr. Zetcher. In interviews the bar keeper and wait staff were able to help construct a fairly persuasive case that Sergeant Hitt and Mr. Zetcher were completely aware of their plans.” “So now what? Are we going to have to hire a private police force?” I demanded. “No, Darren, not at all. I’ll be there to conduct depositions next week. I’ve notified opposing counsel, and have faxed and FEDEXed a letter to the state attorney general with a copy to the state senator and representative demanding a special prosecutor and protection for you from state police, since it looks like the local authorities are part of the problem. I’ve also notified the FBI.” He sounded pleased, very much in control of the situation. “This case is going to blow wide open,” Uncle Jeffy continued, “and I’ve got these bastards by the short hairs. Your mother will be writing a piece for her column and her blog, plus she’s contacted an acquaintance who is a producer of 60 Minutes. The university and the defendants will beg to settle and I will make them pay. But you must be on guard, Darr, and that means being security-conscious. The alarm on the house has to be set every night without fail, and I’ve spoken to Carlos about creating a back-up video system in case someone tries to disable the cameras. The security company has been instructed to alert the state police along with the local police department if there are any other incidents.” “Okay,” I said. “I promise to be extra careful.” “Good, but Rod is going to meet with the entire fraternity to impress on them the importance of saying nothing at all about your schedule or theirs, and especially about Winter break plans. It seems our hooligans had a good idea you’d be alone in the house when they hit, and had figured that out from casual conversations about the Thanksgiving holiday. You’ll have to take some roundabout routes and vary how you get to and from your classes every day so no one can peg you to a routine…” “Isn’t that a little over the top?” I interrupted. “Darren Matthew Leibowitz, do I have to remind you that you were nearly strangled to death only a few months ago? We need to take every precaution as long as you’re still a student at the University. So from now on you’ll have two bodyguards with you whenever you’re out on campus.” I sighed. Wonderful. Maybe they’ll want to fuck me, too? I thought sourly. Moving back to New York looked pretty good right now. But I wouldn’t – couldn't – leave Mike. Oy. ————————— “Okay…are you ready for this?” I called to the assembled members of the frat, and signaled to Carlos to start the track, which started with sirens and a repeated shout of “oh shit.” I rapped, like Fergie, having drafted Aiden and Aaron (impassive in sun glasses) as back up: It’s me Darren The PIMP Aiden, Aaron! (Hey, Darren) (What’s up baby?!?) Come on When I come to the clubs, step aside (Oh, shit) Part the seas, don’t be having me on line (Oh, shit) V.I.P ‘cause you know I gotta shine (Oh, shit) I’m Darren Dare And me love you long time (Oh shit) This was the opening of the Alpha Iota Delta Sigma holiday party the Friday night before finals week. First was a meeting to update everyone on developments in the civil and criminal cases; since everyone was in one place, it was the perfect time to have a party. This time the whole thing had to be completely under wraps, no one but current frat members. If opposing counsel heard anything they’d make the most of it – after leaking it to the media – and use it to bolster the idea that I was an out of control cum slut. Of course that was true, but it was nobody’s business but mine. I’d tried to get someone else interested in doing an ice-breaker, but everyone I asked moaned that finals week was in two days, and who had time to think about putting together anything. I went with Fergie’s London Bridge and changed a few words: for one thing, I was “Darren Dare,” not “Fergie-Ferg.” When we hit “Every time I climb up on a dude/paparazzi put my business in the news” everyone responded with hoots and laughter. For the…choreography was a little too grand, steps was more like it, Aiden Aaron and I did the “London Bridge is falling down” game that kids play, with me skipping between them, stopping when their arms came down on either side of me. There was a buffet of party food, my holiday gift to the frat (chips, salsa, pizza, chicken wings and assorted cookies) that was, unbelievably, being ignored. Everyone was moving to the music; Mike was standing up front. Like the official video, I pushed up against him, grinding my hips into his crotch, licking the front of his shirt, and grazing his lips with mine. Unlike the video, he wasn’t dressed as a sentry to the British royal family and sure didn’t stand there impassively. I faltered on the last verse of the rap, and gave up all together once we started kissing. Fortunately, the playlist that Carlos had assembled segued directly to the original version. The room took on the feel of a sex-fueled rave, a latter-day bacchanal. All around us, guys were stripping off their clothes; Mike and I stripped in record time. His hands were everywhere on my body: long strokes on my torso and down my back, fondling my butt, teasing my ass crack with his fingers. I was panting, rubbing against him, my dick hard and drooling. I pulled his head down and whisper/shouted in his ear “Breed me now.” “Drink this,” he said, handing me a glass of what looked like lemonade, but had a salty taste. Ah – “Communion libation.” I didn’t know what was in it, but I suspected there was a dose of “G” carefully calibrated to make me relax without putting me totally under. He pushed me onto one of the arm chairs, spread with the black silk sheet that I’d been covered with for my initiation, now serving its rightful purpose as a fuck sheet. My ass was towards him; I could feel his lips on the back of my neck and shoulders. Next, I felt him slipping a cum cube inside of me, the cold both a shock and a turn on, and then he was rubbing his engorged shaft against my butthole. “Fuck me,” I shouted, now frustrated. I wanted his dick inside me, massaging the cum out of my prostate and wanted to feel him shooting inside of me, flooding my ass with his hot, toxic load. We hadn’t had sex in a couple days, partly to save up for tonight, partly because we were both overwhelmed with preparing for finals and finishing off classes for the semester. So impatient,” he said into my ear as he pushed his hard dick into my asshole. He entered slowly, agonizingly so. I tried to push back, to hurry him up, but he grabbed my hips and held them in place. “We’re going to take this at my speed for a change,” he said. I groaned in frustration, and started to reach back between us to stroke Mike’s balls, but the position I was in made it hard. Then Carlos joined us, and after scoping out the situation offered, “I’ll hold his hands in place, man. You concentrate on fucking him.” “This isn’t fair,” I said, starting to laugh even though I was frustrated and horny. “You’re such a greedy little pig, you never let any of us fuck you nice and deep and slow,” Mike whispered in my ear. “It’ll make cumming twice as intense.” “If I don’t die of old age first,” I snapped. “Damn it, fuck me harder.” “Not yet, Darr. I want you to feel every inch of my raw dick slip inside of you,” he said pushing forward a fraction more. Mike kissed and licked my ears and the back of my neck as he gradually, torturously entered me. It was…well, awesome, but he was going to drive me crazy. I tried a different tack: begging. “Please, Mike, please,” I pleaded as I tried to twist my hips out of his hard grasp. “I need it.” I kept whining out variations of the same thing, but it didn’t have any effect. After a minute of that, Carlos shut me up with an intense, open-mouthed kiss. Now even more sensation crowded in on me: Carlos’ warm lips and thrusting tongue combined with the slow, steady building of pressure as Mike advanced his dick a nanometer at a time. Finally, after what felt like hours but was only minutes, I felt Mike’s pubic hair press against my butt. He pulled back a bit faster but still too slowly as far as I was concerned, and then gently pressed forward. I moaned into Carlos’ mouth as Mike fell into a measured tempo, fast enough that my prostate was getting a thorough massage, but not hard enough to put me over the edge. It was maddening and incredible. I was experiencing the benefits of going slowly, but my body was crying out for release, my dick twitching. Mike whispered into my ear, “Your ass is so sweet. Love fucking all that poz cum into your butt.” His thrusts sped up a little, but he eased off and started long-dicking me to prolong the exquisite torture he was putting me through, slowing to probe my prostate with his dickhead. After a few minutes of that, he couldn’t hold back and his thrusts started to gain speed and force, and I could feel my own release starting to build. “Harder,” I managed to gasp between kisses with Carlos. “This is what you want, honey, isn’t it?” Mike panted into my ear. “Being fucked good and hard by a man’s cock inside that tight little hole of yours. Push your ass out, open up and take my dick and all my….CUM!” he finished, roaring out the last word as his hips went into over drive. He froze in place, and could feel his cocking flexing inside of me right on top of my prostate. That was it for me, and I joined him in a super-intense orgasm that I could feel from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. It left me gasping and limp; Mike’s arms were wrapped around me and I became aware that he was kissing the back of my neck and shoulders. How long had that had been going on? “My turn,” said Carlos, and he walked around to the other side of the chair and turned me to face him. I was as limp as spaghetti when he wrapped the sheet around me, lifted me and carried me to the sofa. Carlos set me down between Ike’s legs, who arranged the sheet underneath my hips, then wrapped his muscular arms around me to hold me in place. Carlos took my legs over his shoulders and began to enter me, pushing in slowly and steadily. It was a continuation of the erotic torture that Mike had begun: every nerve ending felt super-sensitive in the wake of the release I’d just experienced, and Carlos’ dick was stretching me to the max. But I was completely limp as Carlos began thrusting in and out. “Oh, man, Mike got you all ready for me. Your ass is so slick I don’t need lube, and you’re so relaxed my dick slipped inside really easy.” “Maybe easy on your end,” I murmured. “I swear I can feel your cock in the back of my throat.” “That’s how it’s supposed to feel, buen chico, when I put my big, fat pinga up inside you…you like that, baby?” I moaned inarticulately in response. “We’re all gonna fuck you” Ike said, “end the semester the way we started it – with a gang-bang of your hot hole. Only this time everyone will dick you – 21 charged loads, plus the cum cube.” It was then I noticed that everyone was standing in a circle around the sofa, all naked, sporting dicks of varying levels of size and arousal. I felt a flash of lust at the thought that all of them were just waiting to fuck me, one after the other. My breathing quickened, and my not-so-inner cum slut was ready and raring to go. “I want it,” I groaned. “Every last drop from all of you.” Carlos began to fuck me harder, as if the idea of the gang bang was too exciting for him to hold back. Then he groaned and held himself in place, buried in me. “Did you come?” I asked. “Almost,” he panted. “Hard to resist…but this is good for you baby. You think too much about the destination…you gotta learn to enjoy the trip.” “Couldn’t we do that on the way to the Italian restaurant instead?” I said plaintively, making everyone in hearing distance laugh, then spread it on to those who missed it creating successive waves of laughter. “Just lie back, let me take care of you,” Carlos leaned forward and whispered, kissing me and brushing my hair back where it had fallen over my eyes. Then he sat up and began the slow, torturous build again, only to stop short once more…and again. Each time I leaked more precum, and was all but desperate for release when finally Carlos began really banging hard against me. I could feel he’d reached the point of no stopping, no return. “Here it comes, baby, a big load of toxic Latin leche, gonna knock you up good,” he said as he ruthlessly hammered my butt. Ike was kissing my neck and playing with my nipples as Carlos went into overdrive, fucking another load out of me that spattered over my chest. “Muchos caliente, baby,” he moaned while he kept pumping in and out to prolong the orgasm, finally covering my mouth with his before pulling out. “I’m next,” said Ike. “The bitch is in heat, no one needs to hold him in place,” he announced as he spread me and pushed himself inside. Next, he pulled my legs over his shoulders so he was totally buried in my ass and slowly moved in and out. “Take that big, black raw cock in your white butt. You like having a big black stallion fill you with charged cum?” “Yes,” I panted. “Do it, fuck me.” “Like this?” Ike said, and started long-dicking me, ramming against me as hard as he could. It hurt a little, but was a huge turn on: a big, muscular black guy taking control, using my ass however he wanted. “Breed me, fill me up now!” “Man, haven’t you learned the benefits of going slow yet?” he asked as he changed over to soft, slow strokes. My back arched; I swore I could feel my eyes rolling back in my head; perspiration beaded all over my body. I couldn’t move even though I badly want to. I had no will, no choice but to go at the pace whoever was fucking me set. It was wonderful. And terrible. The rest of the night seemed to melt away as the drink Mike had given me did its work. I was aware of every touch and caress, but the guys kind of melted one into another, as did my orgasms. The one standout was the acolyte who was nominally with McCloskey. He was a smooth, petite little Puerto Rican boy, Noel who I’d fucked once. The surprise was that for all his diminutive stature he not only had a luscious ass but was hung. Huge. “I never fucked anybody before this,” he said apologetically as he carefully slid inside me. I sighed as I felt his cock head opening me up. “You’re doing fine,” I murmured hoarsely. “Just think of everything you like a top to do when he fucks you…” I trailed off. With that advice, Noel pulled my legs over his shoulders and sheathed himself completely inside my ass. “Take it, cunt,” he snarled. “Take that Rican dick.” Ah…Noel liked to be called names and given orders I thought dreamily. “It’s all yours,” I breathed. “Take it, use me…I love getting fucked.” I was able to get my arm under and between us to stroke his balls and ass. Due to his inexperience, he couldn’t hold back, and in short order he was pounding against me, gave a sharp cry in Spanish as he released his load inside of me. Everyone in the room literally cheered as they watched him shoot his first load inside an ass; he was breathing as heavily as if he’d just finished a decathlon. “That was really hot,” he said. “We’ll have to do it again sometime.” “How about right now, since you came so quickly?” I said, and squeezed his half-hard dick with my sphincter. “Oh, yeah, baby,” Noel said. “Keep doing that and I’ll come again in about 30 seconds.” I massaged his dick with my ass, and – the miracle of youthful sex drive – he was fucking me again and shot another load inside me. “Okay, move your sweet ass,” Ruhiu said. “My turn.” By the time everyone had finished fucking me it was closing in on midnight, and everyone descended on the buffet. “Can I get something to eat?” I asked Mike sleepily. “I've got plenty of dick,” he teased. “Seriously – I’m hungry after all that,” I complained. “I got you a plate,” Aiden said, handing me a dish piled with chips and salsa, a slice of pizza, chicken wings and a couple of chocolate chip cookies, along with a large glass of sparkling water with ice. “Sorry, no wine for you – not safe after that dose of G,” said Aiden, proving my suspicions to be correct. “It’s perfect,” I said as I gulped half of it down and then went to work on the food. Mike got his own plate and sat next to me; we took turns feeding each other. “Another great party. You’re the perfect Social Director,” Mike said. “Speaking of which,” I said as I attempted to stand, “I’d better organize the clean-up.” “No, no, sweetheart. Aaron is coordinating that. You’ve done enough for one night.” I settled against him and closed my eyes, relieved that I didn’t have to try to move or even think. “Time for bed, honey,” Mike said. “I don’t think I can manage the stairs,” I murmured sleepily. “No worries,” he said. Setting our plates aside, he lifted me and carried me upstairs to our room. I insisted on flossing and brushing after the late-night snack, and then was ready to go to bed; we got in and snuggled together. “It was really hot watching you get banged by all those guys,” he whispered. I could feel his dick hardening against me. “Pervert,” I said teasingly. “100%...you bring it out,” he said, and kissed my lips, then my chin, my neck, my shoulders. Even though I was half asleep, I felt my own desire began to build and grow. I rolled over on my back and Mike parted my legs with his knee in one smooth motion. Then he was lifting my hips, my right leg around his waist, my left leg over his shoulder. That made it easy for me to reach around and caress his sensitive ball sack as he pushed inside me and began to pump in and out of my ass again. “Not too fast,” I said in a low seductive voice. “You’ve won me over…” He smiled down and proceeded to give me the ride of my life up to that point. After about the fifth or sixth guy – I’d lost count – I stopped cumming, exhausted but happy. But Mike knew just the right angle, the right pressure, the right speed to not only get me excited but to bring me off every time. What else were boyfriends for? Besides, I’d kept one little thing a secret from everyone that had made me extra horny for their spunk. I’d come to a decision on my own: I hadn’t taken a dose of Truvada in a week. So this time the breeding would take.

Working on it...the holidays make it hard. Sigh. Glad you're enjoying it.

Dear (B)readers... Have a Happy Thanksgiving, one and all. I won't be able to post another chapter until after the holiday weekend...thanks for getting me to 30K+ views!!!!

I also remembered -- now that I've thought about -- that at one point Darren argues about going on PREP, saying that if he has to take an anti-viral used to treat HIV, why not just sero-convert? It was Mike who insisted he start it so that Darren's parents wouldn't be any angrier than they were.

All good suggestions. The last isn't completely unlikely; Darren doesn't object to "the gift" per se, it was the way no one had any choice about it or the rest of their lives that got him angry. He's all about choice...