I want to thank all of you who have stood by me during the writing of this story. It has been a long, difficult process, and I have to tip my hat to the authors who have been able to pull this off chapter after chapter.
It is difficult to go from chapter to chapter because you always have the ending of the story just at the back of your mind. And it's the getting there, without being too boring, that's the difficult part.
So, authors, I tip my hat to you. And I want to give a special thank you to David, Malcolm, Kenny, Crystal, Sans, Donna, and Papa who gave me incentive with their messages, and to the many other who have written that they have enjoyed this story.
I also want to take this opportunity to remind you that even though the characters are not practicing safe sex by no means should indicate that I agree. SAFE SEX IS THE ONLY SEX! That should be your motto. Practice this, please, because I CARE!
As always, this author craves feedback. Criticism only makes me a better writer. Please respond to Jaylovenj@comcast.net. I look forward to hearing from you.
Four Become Two: Chapter 15
I knew you weren't going to `out' me, or yourself. I was just afraid--"
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid--to live. To be. To not be so-called `normal'. And to feel great while being abnormal.
But, baby, I've changed," Greg says, taking my hand in his. "I don't know what to do to make you believe me. But, I'm not going anywhere, not until you trust me again. Once you do, if you want me to go, I will. Just tell me what I have to do."
I look into his eyes again. I see the desperation, and the exasperation. And I see the hope.
"Greg. Just..."
"Yeah, baby?"
"Just kiss me," I blurt out.
"Do you really mean it?"
"Just do it before I change my mind," I say softly, a smile on my face.
He puts his hands aside my face, pulling me into him. I can feel the heat of his breath as he exhales, and every nerve begins to tingle. He wets his luscious lips, and then gently places them against mine.
That first contact is just a feather, so light and airy, igniting a craving for more.
I can feel the heat begin, just an ember as the glow of my skin intensifies. I go from a simmer to a raging boil in a matter of seconds. I suddenly have no air in my body, all of the available oxygen being consumed in the burning furnace.
I break apart, and ingesting the oxygen my befuddled brain requires, I launch hungrily at Greg's lips, this time making a seal that the space program could use as a model for their air locks.
He parts his lips, and I accept the invitation to delve inside. The boy is hungry as he vacuums my tongue to the back of his throat. I taste every nook and cranny of his wonderful mouth, relishing in the flavors of his lunch and the distant flavor of this morning's mouthwash.
A moan of satisfaction escapes from between us, and I finally coax him to follow my tongue back into my mouth where a huge battle of dominance occurs at which neither of us is the winner, or loser.
"I love you," Greg says to me, breaking the kiss. I want to make love with you. Right now, I want to be your wife, and I want you to make love me like a good husband knows how. Whatever you want, I want.
"It's been a long time. I don't know how long I'll last," I admit.
"You're talking like this is a one-shot thing. Tonight is made for loving, and tonight we are going to love. There is so much time loss that we have to recoup.
Now, lay back, and let your wife take care of his man." He pushes me gently into a reclining position, and once again brings his lips to mine. Again, I find myself hungering for his kiss.
Greg's hands begin to explore my body, his fingers brushing across my nipples, exciting them, bringing them to hardness. He lightly kissed each one, further teasing them. His warm breath is heating the flesh underneath the hairs covering my chest as his lips move towards my left nipple.
I have to suck in air as they find my nub, gently stroking it. His mouth is so hot as he grips my nipple and tugs on it. There has to be a direct link between my nipples and my cock because it is painfully hard, and jumping as if it is being electrically shocked.
Creamy sauce is flowing from the head, making puddles upon my stomach.
I feel Greg's hand reach down and grasp my hard dick. "Greg, I'm going to cum!" I exclaim.
"That's what I want you to do," he huskily moans as he begins to slide his hand up and down. I hadn't even jerked off in the past few months. Wet dreams were the only form of release that I'd had.
His lips leave a saliva trail across my chest as he traverses to the other nipple, taking it in his mouth and chewing like it was taffy. Still there is the steady pressure that he is creating in my groin.
I can feel the juice in my nuts begin to churn as I begin to chant my warning. "I'm gonna cum...I'm gonna cum," I warn.
Greg releases my nipple so he can watch the explosion. Suddenly, the most searing pain shoots from my asshole as volley after volley of hot molten lava erupts from my dick. It splatters everywhere, on me, on Greg, on the bed, on the headboard, in my hair, and in Greg's as he continues to pump me.
I don't have any oxygen, is the first thing I realize as I come out of my euphoric high. I must have held my breath. Breathe, I say to myself. Breathe.
"Come on," Greg says. It's time to get you washed up. You have made a mess out of the both of us."
"But, you didn't..."
"I got so excited when you did that I did," Greg says, somewhat embarrassed. "Now, come on." He pulls me from the bed, and we head into the bathroom.
"I didn't think that we'd ever get back to this point," Greg continues, as we step into the shower, a big smile upon his face.
"And just where are we Greg?" I ask. "It's been hard for me, but I am at the point where I want to live my life, not the life that others see I should lead. I love you. I have since the first moment I saw you. I never in a million years dared to dream that you would even consider a relationship with me. Hell! I didn't even consider that I would have a relationship with you.
But lying in that bed for all those months gave me the opportunity to search my soul. Even though I enjoy women, or at least I use to enjoy women, that time spent with you at the lake made me realize that there should be so much more depth to a relationship than what I had ever experienced. And I don't want to...I can't go back.
I'm ready to tell the world how I feel--about you. Are you willing to do the same? Are you ready to say damn the consequences, full speed ahead?" I take the soap, and begin to wash his body. I work up lather on his chest, the hairs holding onto the soap.
"It's really hard..for me...to concentrate...while your hands are on me," Greg moans. "Oh, that feels good." I grasp both nipples between my thumbs and forefingers and pinch. I can feel Greggie begin to swell between our bodies as I lean in and give Greg a kiss.
"I really can't get enough of you," I moan, breaking the kiss. My own dick has swollen once again, and is now pressing in the gap between Greg' s legs, the head fitting perfectly underneath his low hanging balls.
I rub the soap along his broad shoulders as our lips once again meet. I can feel the power of them as my fingers caress him. I separate our lower bodies, our lips still locked together, tongues fiercely battling, allowing our hard cocks to slap against our bellies, before I once again close the gap, sealing our sex between us.
We start a slow, passionate grind, as our cocks, fitting perfectly beside each other, being aided by the slipperiness the suds has created.
Both of us groan with heighten pleasure as we increase the grinding of our bodies. My hands slip down his back, cupping the magnificent cheeks of his ass in my hands, pulling us tighter together. I can feel the muscles contract and relax as the power of his thrusting increases.
Our pre-cum is mixing on our stomachs as we get closer and closer to orgasm. Our moans are echoing off the tile walls as Greg gives one final hard push against me, and begins to release his load. Feeling his dick spasm and pulsate against me sends me over the edge, and I unload once again, our cum uniting before the pounding water washes it down the drain.
"Oh, man!" Greg says, leaning against the tile wall. "Jesus! Every time gets better," he continues, somewhat breathless.
"You leave me weak in the knees, yourself," I counter.
"We'd better get out of here. The water is starting to get a little cold, and you are beginning to look a little prune-like," he chuckles, looking at my dick.
"Well, I definitely remember you being bigger myself."
"I was until you tried to drain the life out of me," he laughs.
"Ouch!" he chuckles, as I slap him on his arm, and we set about quickly washing each other from head to toe.
We had just finished drying each other and putting on our robes when the doorbell sounded. Slipping on a pair of shorts, Greg heads out to see whom it might be.
"Hello. May I help you?" I hear Greg, as he answers the door.
"Mr. Welsh? I'm Detective Simms, and this is Detective Lane. We're have a few questions regarding the assault if you have a few moments."
"No, I'm Greg Jefferson, Mr. Welsh's friend. Won't you come in gentlemen, and I'll get Dave. You'll have to excuse my appearance. I just came out of the shower. Make yourselves comfortable. I'll get Dave."
Greg comes back into the bedroom as I am slipping on a pair of sweatpants. He rubs his hand over my upturned ass as he says, "Dave, there are two detectives..."
"Yeah, I heard. I'll be right there," I say, "provided someone gets their hand off my ass," I whisper with a smile.
"Save that for later, but remember, you're my wife tonight."
"Oh, I haven't forgotten," he answers, a twinkle in his eye.
I grab my cane, and follow him out the door. "Detectives, I David Welsh. What can I do for you?"
"Mr. Welsh, I'm Detective Robert Simms, and this is Detective Bryan Lane. We're from the Bias Crime Unit, 102nd Precinct. We have a few questions for you...for the both of you."
"Please, gentlemen, have a seat."
"Can I get anyone anything?" Greg interjects.
"No thank you," Detective Simms responds.
"May I have a glass of water?" Detective Lane asks.
"Coming right up!" Greg turns, and heads the kitchen.
Greg hands the detective his water, and sits on the love seat next to me.
"Do either of you know a man by the name of Thomas Reynolds?"
"No, the name doesn't ring a bell," I answer.
"What about you, Mr. Jefferson?"
"No..." Greg answers, apparently in thought. "Why, is he the man who attacked Dave?"
"We believe so. A witness came forth...finally...and was able to give us a pretty accurate description of the suspect. She was even able to pick him out of a photo array. She had just gotten into her car, which was parked a few rows from yours, Mr. Welsh. She heard the assailant say to you, `I can't believe you're a f-ing faggot too', before he began to strike you with a lead pipe.
He tossed it in a corner as he fled, and we were able to recover it. It had some blood, which matched yours, and more importantly, his fingerprints."
"So, you've arrested him?" I inquire.
"No, not yet, but we've got an APB out on him. The charge is attempted murder during the commission of a bias attack."
"Since he is still on the loose," Detective Lane interjects, "we suggest a little precaution, now that you're back home."
"Do you think he is still stalking Dave?" Greg asks.
"We don't know, but we know he is still in the New York area. This could have been a one-time attack, or..." he trails his sentence. "Here's his mug shot. Do either of you recognize him?"
I take the picture, giving it a good look before passing it onto Greg. "No, I don't ever recall seeing him. What about you, Greg?"
Greg looks at the picture again. "I've seen him somewhere before, but I can't remember where," he says. "For the life of me, I can't remember where, but I will. Just give me a little time."
We look to him, expectantly. "I can't remember right now. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he repeats, looking at me.
"It's alright, Greg. I'm sure it will come to you."
"It will, Mr. Jefferson," Detective Simms says. "Just don't try to force it. Now, will you relate once again what you know of that evening?"
Greg once again goes over what he knows about that evening while the Detectives took notes and asked questions.
"I know I know that face," he says, after escorting the two detectives to the door and returning to the room.
"Don't try to force it, as Detective Simms said. I'm sure it will come to you. Alright, wife, don't you think it's time you fed your husband?" I chuckle.
"Just like a man, always trying to define roles for us women," Greg lisps.
"Oh, make no mistake," I say, reaching between his legs, "you are all man, and you're mine."
Four Become Two: Chapter 16
"What do you say we get out of here for a while?" I ask.
"Huh?" Greg is bent over the computer, reviewing some law from the law library for a case that he is working.
"I said why don't we go somewhere? It's such a beautiful spring day. How about a walk? The movies? The park? Let's just get out of here for a while."
"I really can't right now, babe. I have to get this done before tomorrow."
"I just can't take these four walls any longer. I'm going out for a walk."
"Uh-huh..." Greg says, concentrating on his work. "We can do it tomorrow."
Seeing that he is all caught up in his work, I decide to head out on my own for a while. "Greg, I'm just going to go down the block to the park for a while. I won't be long."
"What?"
"I said I am going to go down to the park for a while. I won't be long."
"Wait a while. I'll go with you."
"No. I can do it...I need to do it on my own. Just have dinner started when I get back."
"I don't like this, babe. That man, Thomas Reynolds, is still out there. Suppose he catches you alone. I can't endure anything happening to you, again."
"Don't worry. I'm sure that Thomas Reynolds is light years away from here now. And I will be careful!"
"Look, it'll take me about another half hour. I have a conference call at..."
"I'll be okay," I say emphatically. "Stop worrying about me." Greg looks at me with exasperation evident in his eyes. I give him a quick peck on the lips, and walk out the door.
The sun is shining brightly as I step out the door. I had forgotten how beautiful the neighborhood is as I strolled down the sidewalk. I had a little trouble navigating through the traffic that New York pedestrians have to offer, and it wasn't even rush hour, and this isn't even a heavily trafficked neighborhood (cars or people).
I stopped by the fruit stand, and picked myself a nice, shiny red apple, and made my way across the street to the local park. It was full of neighborhood children, some with nannies, some with their moms, enjoying the greenery of the city.
I made my way over to the water's edge, and sat on one of the benches that overlooked the East River and onto the shores of Brooklyn/Queens on the other side. I could even see the northern shores of Roosevelt Island from where I was seated.
It had always been a dream of mine to live on the Upper East Side of New York, ever since I had visited here with my mother so long ago. Now, this very upscale neighborhood is my home.
I'm sitting there thinking about my life, the events of the last few months, Greg, and the changes that this relationship is going to bring when this young teen approaches me on his bike. I had noticed him ride by a couple of times.
This time he stops as he nears me. I tense up, clutching my cane a little tighter, preparing to defend myself. Unfortunately, one could not be too careful these days.
"Excuse me, mister. I was told to give this note to you by your friend. He's sitting over there," he says, pointing to a now empty bench about 500 feet away. "Well, he was there a few minutes ago," the kid says before getting on his bike and riding away.
I open the note and read:
Well, looks like you survived the pipe party. Next time, I'll have to use something with a little more lead.
I read the note over and over, looking over my shoulder several times. He was here. He had been following me.
I quickly stood and made my way from the park. I was even more wary of my surroundings as I made my way back to my loft.
The mailboxes in my building are as they are in many buildings in the city. They are located in a vestibule, mounted against one side. We had twenty apartments in this building,
As I entered the apartment building, something caught my eye. A little slip of yellow paper was sticking out of the box that was mine. I carefully lifted the flap, and pulled out the paper.
Bang! Bang! You're Dead! it read. I quickly open the inner door, and hasten my way to the elevator. I meet the doorman on the way.
"Oh, Mr. Welsh, I just dropped a package off at your apartment for you. Something from your office. You just missed the guy."
"Stan, what did this delivery person look like?"
"I don't know...some guy in a suit."
"Thanks Stan. Oh, did you see who dropped this note in my box?" I ask, holding up the yellow piece of paper.
"Yeah, it was the same guy. Said it was too personal to leave with me, `fraid I'd read it, I guess. So, he just stuck it in your box."
"Oh, okay." I'm trying to keep the panic from my voice as I turn to wait for the elevator.
"Stan," I yell, as the doors open. "Don't let anyone in to see me unless they have proper ID or I give you the heads-up that they're coming. Okay!"
"Yes, Sir, Mr. Welsh."
I hurry upstairs, as fast as the elevator will carry me. Opening the door, I call out for Greg.
"What's the matter?" he asks.
"The park. Reynolds was in the park."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, he sent me a note. And the package. Where is the package?"
"I took it to the off..." Just then there is a terrible explosion as the bomb detonates. Plaster and glass fly everywhere. Being in the hallway, we see, more than are affected by the small blast as dust and debris come spilling out into the hall from the closed door, which was blown off its hinges.
Instinctively, we both fall to the floor, with Greg throwing himself over me. Just then, the sprinkler system goes off, and the emergency sirens in the building activate. We can hear the panic in the hallway as our only neighbors flee their apartment.
"Are you alright?" I ask of Greg.
"Yeah, you?"
"It was Reynolds. He was here. He sent the package. I saw Stan, the doorman, when I was coming in. He said the man who left me this note left the package.
"I'll read it outside. Let's get out of here."
We make our way outside just as the firemen are entering the building. "Apartment 1502," Greg yells to them.
Someone grabs my arm. In my panic, I swing my cane. "Whoa! Whoa there!"
I look up to see it's Detective Lane. "Come with me," he says. We are ushered to a waiting car, and driven off.
"We should have warned you that this guy is somewhat of a lunatic, judging by his file," Detective Simms says, as we are seated at the 102nd Police Precinct. "He was convicted eight years ago of manslaughter in the death of his best friend, but was found not responsible because of mental defect, and was sentenced to time in a mental institution. He was released two years ago, and up until now, had seemed to live an exemplary life. He's been regularly reporting to is P.O., up until three months ago. Before you ask, we checked his residence on file, and he wasn't there. Seems he lives in a parking lot on West 52nd Street. Fucking POs!" he says. "Give them any fucking address, and it becomes gospel. Think they would get off their lazy asses and check things out!"
"What are we going to do, detectives? All of our things...we can't go back there now."
"Oh," Greg says, turning to me, "give them the notes you got earlier."
"Oh, yeah," I respond, fumbling in my pockets for the notes. I hand them to Detective Simms who reads them before passing them to Detective Lane.
"This is getting very serious," Detective Simms says.
"Ya fucking think so?" Greg asks. "What was your first clue, detective? Could it be the fucking bomb going off in our apartment?"
"Calm down, Mr. Jefferson. I understand that you're upset. Rightly so. But we are doing everything we can to catch this nut."
"Mr. Welsh," Detective Lane begins, "you obviously can't go back to your place, and we really don't want you too. Is there some place else you can go until we catch this man? I think it might be best if you accompany him, Mr. Jefferson. You, too, might be a target."
"Me?" Greg asks.
"Yeah, you. He might be upset that you survived the bombing. It's better safe, than sorry."
"He's right, Greg. This fool probably sees you and me as one, right now. If he was willing to take the chance to bring a bomb to the apartment..."
"Yeah, I see your point."
"Is there some place else you can go?," Detective Simms asks.
"Yeah, I know of a place. It's off the beaten path. I don't think he'd look for us there. I'll have to call a friend of mine..."
"Sure, use our phone," he says, offering me the telephone.
"If you don't mind, I'll use the payphone I saw outside, seeing as neither of us brought our cells. We'll have to get another one tomorrow." I go out to the phone and place my call.
"It's all set," I say, entering the room once again.
"How will you get there?"
"Hadn't thought of that," I admit.
"We'll take you, if you like. This way, we'll be the only ones who know your location. Do you have money?"
"We'll have to stop by the bank. Citibank, on 86th."
I just managed to catch my banker, Chris, before he left the branch. As a favor, he said he'd wait for my arrival.
Detective Lane escorted me inside, and after a few minutes, Chris returned with an envelope containing two hundred $100 bills, and a cashier's check for $10k.
"I just thought of something," Greg says as I sit back beside him in the car. "We don't have any clothes."
"I thought of that. Don't worry. I got enough so that we'd have plenty."
"Which way do we go."
"The 59th Street Bridge to the BQE South." We ride in silence. Traffic is a bitch! After all, it is still rush hour. Finally, I direct them towards the Verrazano Narrows Bridge to Staten Island.
"We're going to Staten Island?" Detective Simms asks.
"No. We're going to take the Gothals Bridge onto the New Jersey Turnpike north, and then into Fort Lee. I have a friend who is letting us use his home on Henry Hudson Drive. It's a quiet neighborhood. New development. He just moved in about a month ago. His family is away in Europe for the next six months, so the timing is perfect. We'll be perfectly safe since no one knows the family."
We cross over into New Jersey, and come off the bridge. "This is a quiet little hamlet. You just might have something there. Don't think Reynolds will think to look for you here," Simms says.
I disable the alarm and we walk inside. "Wow!" Greg exclaims, as we step into the million-dollar home of my friend. What greets us from the front door is a bank of windows overlooking the Upper Hudson Valley. "This is beautiful!"
"I think you two will be comfortable here," Lane says.
"Can you give me the telephone number here so we can get in touch with you if we have some news?" Simms asks.
"We're going to buy a new cell phone tomorrow. I'll call you with the numbers," I tell him.
"Okay. Well, can we do anything for you before we head back?" Detective Lane asks.
"No...thank you," Greg answers. "We'll be fine. Just catch this person, okay?"
"We will." They turn to the door, and leave.
"Who owns this place? And what are we going to do for money?" Greg asks, concern in his voice.
"There's got to be a bar. Let me fix us a drink and I'll explain all." I saw in a corner of this great expanse of a room, a wooden bar made of blonde oak, hand polished and glistening. I walked behind, and helped myself to the Belvedere Vodka and some cranberry juice from the mini-frig. I pour hefty amounts into two tumblers, and give one to Greg.
Directing him to one of the white Italian leather sofas near the window, we sit. "Isn't the Valley beautiful?"
"Will you talk to me?" Greg insists.
I look into his eyes, seeing his need to know; seeing his fear. It's been many months since I've seen that. Of course, it was there when the detectives first came to see us, but over the days that followed, it dissipated. Now, since today's bombing, it's back again.
I take a deep sigh. "Okay, here goes. This house belongs to a very dear friend of mine, a man by the name of Wil, Wilbur Herman. Wilbur and I attended school together, and he is a Professor at NYU. He is currently in Asia on a dig, and will be there for the next six months. We are his housesitters, that's our cover.
We don't have to worry about money. In my pocket, I have $20k in $100 bills, and a cashier's check for another ten. And there's plenty more if needed."
"What? Where'd you get that kind of money?"
"Greg, have you ever heard of PCL?"
"PCL? What's that?"
"Paradise Cruise Lines."
"Yeah. So?"
"My family owns the line."
"Say what? Why didn't you ever say...? Does Shelia know? She never said anything to Annette, or she would have told me."
"No. Shelia doesn't know. I don't advertise, simply because I didn't want to bring attention to my wealth, and I wanted people to like me for me. How would I really know if people hung around me because of who I am, or were they there because of what they thought I could offer them? Understand?"
"Yeah, I can understand that."
"Does it change anything?"
"What do you mean?"
"You just found out your boyfriend is worth approximately $230 million, and some lunatic is trying to kill him, and probably you too, now. Do those facts change anything between you and I?"
"So, you're my boyfriend?"
"Yeah, I'm your boyfriend...and if I remember correctly, you're suppose to be my wife tonight. And, judging by the clock on the wall," I say, looking at the clock above the fireplace mantel, "there are a few hours left in `tonight'."
"Well, you're making me hard. Which way to the bedroom?"
"I don't know. Look in that drawer over there. The code to the alarm is in there. Then we can explore upstairs." Greg gets the code from the drawer. "It's your birthday," he says with a chuckle.
"Oh, that's right. Wil did say that." Just as we're approaching the keypad, there is a knock on the door.
"Who--who is it?" Greg asks.
"Sir, my name is Gene Kokowski. I'm a police officer with the Fort Lee PD. I just wanted to stop by and introduce myself." Greg opens the door after peeping through the side panel of the door.
"Good evening, Officer," Greg says. "Won't you come in?"
"Sorry for stopping by so late," the young officer says. "But I wanted to introduce myself. Two New York detectives stopped by the station a short while ago, and apprised us of the situation. Since you are staying on my beat, I thought I should introduce myself."
"Thank you officer," I say. "I'm Dave Welsh and this is my friend, Greg Jefferson. I'm pleased to meet you."
"So it's you who's the subject of the attack?" It is more of a statement than a question.
"Unfortunately, but since Greg has been my caregiver since I've been home, and this nut knows where I live, I fear that now he might be caught up in all of this as well."
"That's a possibility since a bomb was delivered to your home. Well, I'm going to leave now, have to get back on patrol. I just wanted to introduce myself. You'll probably be meeting a few other officers over the course of the next couple of days. We all have this area as part of our beat."
"Well, thank you for stopping by. I feel much better knowing that you guys are around."
"Well, here's my card," he says, giving us a business card. "Please call if you need anything, or remember anything more regarding the suspect. We are working with the NYPD on this, and any information that you give to us will be shared."
"Thanks again, Officer Kokowski." He turns and heads back to his patrol car parked in the drive.
"He seemed like a pretty nice young man," Greg says as we set the alarm. "I'm glad to know that he's helping to protect us."
"Now," I say, "where were we before that hunky officer arrived?"
"Oh, you think he's hunky, huh? And you fancy his muscles, cute face, and tight ass?" Greg teases, running his fingers along the inside of my thigh.
"You have to admit, he did look...appetizing. But, you know you have the only muscles, cute face, and tight ass that I want. Now...weren't we looking for the bedroom? Something about you being my bitch for the night."
"I don't know about the bitch part, but I do have something for you to play with."
We find that there are four bedrooms upstairs in addition to the master bedroom. We move into the master bedroom, which is located at the end of the hall.
It is a spacious room, complete with ceiling to floor windows, also overlooking the Valley. It has a fireplace, and a huge king-sized bed, which holds our interest.
Our lips meet, as our bodies meld together. I can feel Greg's hands as they begin to explore my body. "Make love to me," he whispers in my ear.
We move over to the bed, as I lay him back. I begin to unbutton his shirt, slowly revealing his hairy chest. I kiss my way down his neck, stopping to nibble at his Adam's apple and that very sensitive area I found on the side below his right ear.
I spread his shirt open further, and make my way down his shoulders. I can feel the heat begin to spread under my lips as Greg begins to moan. His hand reaches up, fingers entwining themselves in my hair, encouraging me to continue.
I pinch the hairs of his chest with my lips as they move towards its target, his perky left nipple. My tongue reaches out and swipes at it, causing Greg to moan. I pull the shirt from the rest of his body, rubbing my hands over the muscles of his arm. He lies back on the bed, pulling me along with him.
My lips and tongue begin to work overtime on his nipple, causing it to wrinkle and pucker with excitement. Greg's moans increase in volume as the sensitive nub inflames his passion. "Oh, yes Dave," he moans.
I kiss my way across his massive chest to the other nipple as Greg's hand reaches between my legs, massaging my hardened dick, causing me to moan. I can feel the pre-cum soaking my shorts as he continues to squeeze and stroke me.
I release the nipple, heading down the center of his chest, over the rippling muscles of his hairy abdomen. "I love the hair on your body. Don't ever shave it."
I move my lips over the denim-covered area of his crotch. Greg's hips begin to roll, offering himself to me. I open his belt and unbutton his jeans. With my teeth I grab the pull of the zipper, and slide it down. My nose inhales the fragrance of his pubes as I see that he is not wearing any underwear.
The base of his thick column of flesh comes into view, and I begin to bathe it with my tongue. "Please, get me naked," Greg begs. I hook my fingers into the waist of his jeans, and pull them down his legs. Greg's dick plops back against his stomach, strings of pre-cum trailing its way from the hair trail.
I remove his shoes and pull the pant off. Greg shifts on the bed and grabs his cock in this hand, stroking it. I look at his shaft, so big, so hard, so blood red with excitement.
I pull my shirt over my head as I kick my shoes off. Opening my pants, I slide both of them and my shorts over my hips. Greg groans as I step out of my pants. "Hurry!" he encourages.
"A little impatient, aren't we?" I tease.
"Yeah. I've waited for this a long time."
I bend over, and slurp him down my throat. "Oh shit!" Greg hollers. We both moan, him from the sensation of being in my mouth; me from just consuming his juicy stick once again. I have missed the taste of him. Greg is flowing freely as I devour his dick, taking him deep into my throat.
I begin to massage his balls, laden with cum, rolling them along my fingers. I suck on Greg, swallowing more and more of his offering as it slides along my tongue. Greg's hips begin to pump towards my face as his fingers once again lace through my hair as he fucks my face.
"Oh, yes! Yes," he moans. I can feel him getting close. "I'm almost there," he yells, as he continues to swell in my throat. He plunges one final time as the volcano erupts, spewing forth is frothy, white lava.
I pull up on his dick, resting the head on my tongue, as I swallow his baby pudding. "Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" Greg says, as he continues to spurt. Four, five, six healthy offerings before he begins to dribble on my tongue. I suck every drop, until he pulls my lips away as his dick gets too sensitive.
I move myself up so that I am now lying next to Greg as he comes down from his orgasmic high. I bend over and kiss him, sharing with him the flavors of his own offering as our tongues once again re-ignite the flames of our libido, although my dick has never lost its hardness.
"Make love to me, babe," Greg asks, desire and pleading evident in his eyes. "But be gentle. It's been a while."
I crawl over to the night table and open the draw hoping against hope that Wil...YES! A tube of lube! Thank God for there being a tube of lube.
I move back between Greg's outstretched legs, and gently lifting them up, I stare at his asshole, his love box, that has been revealed when his asscheeks separated.
The little, puckered ring of pink flesh is staring at me, winking its eye. Greg looks at me and gasps! I must have the look of hunger in my eye; it has been so long since I have seen it, smelled it, tasted it, felt it engulfing me that I'm sure that I had to have a look that resembled a starving wolf who suddenly found himself surrounded by plump, tender chickens. I could even feel the drool falling from my fangs.
I plunge face-first at that delectable morsel, my tongue leading the way. A moan escapes from Greg as I make contact. I kiss my way around the ring, circling my prey. My teeth grab and lightly pull at the hairs there as my tongue parts them, further revealing my prize.
"Yeah, oh God, yeah!" Greg exclaims, as I swath my tongue across his rose. "I'd forgotten what a talented tongue you have."
"I guess it's all that practice time I got eating Shelia," I respond.
"Eat! Don't stop. Please don't stop. It feels so good!"
I get back to the task at hand as Greg grabs his legs behind the ankles and pulls them further back, opening himself even more. I can feel him relax even more as my tongue breeches the opening, giving me a taste of Greg's insides.
He is now a gapping hole, as I plunge my tongue in and out of him, developing a rhythm with him as he jerks his dick. I scrape my tongue against my finger as I insert my index finger into the opening. Soon I replace my tongue with a second one, applying lube to the ring and along the inside sheath of Greg's asshole.
Once he is comfortable with the two fingers, I add a third. "Fuck me! Fuck me, now!" he commands.
I remove my fingers and apply lube to my hard shaft. I tease the opening by rubbing my swollen head across it. Greg seems to be opening more as I pass across it, trying to capture it. I lay the head there, and Greg just vacuums it in.
"Oh, God," we both exclaim. He is so warm, so moist, his asshole opening more as I sink further inside. I add just the slightest pressure as I penetrate, stopping only when I have about six inches buried, before I reverse the move, each drive slipping a little more inside until I can feel my pubes caress his outstretched ass. His ass ring is clamped tightly around my dick, as if it's afraid that I'm going to escape.
I give Greg a moment to adjust to the fullness and girth of the intrusion. He signals his readiness by locking his legs around my waist, the hairs on them stimulating me even more.
"Oh yeah, this feels so good," he moans. "Welcome home, baby. Now, take what is yours," he commands.
I begin to withdraw, fighting Greg all the way as he clamps down on me. Immediately, he begins to thrust on the return, and soon we have set up a rhythm that only two lovers can do, each of us giving and receiving the pleasure that we both crave.
Greg starts to move his hips from side to side, rotating them on my dick, trying to get me deeper inside. His cock is leaking a river of cum as I strike his prostate on each thrust.
He encircles my neck with his massive arms, drawing me closer. I am so tightly bound with him that I can only manage short, swift thrusts. Our lips meet, tongues battling as we try to get closer.
I pry his legs apart and pull out, much to Greg's disappointment. Encouraging him to turn over, I re-enter from the rear, pulling him onto all fours. I grab his hips, holding his ass tight against me.
"Fuck me! Fuck me!" he screams. I pound his ass, my balls slapping against his. The sounds of his suctioning hole spurs us on to greater heights.
"I'm going to cum," Greg shouts.
"Me, too!" I respond, as I feel my dick swell to proportions that I didn't think it could. I grab Greg's dick as he begins to spurt, shooting globs of creamy liquid from his body.
His cumming causes his ass-ring to clamp tightly around my invading spear, and it sets me off. I begin to pour my life fluid deep into his body. I had never cum so hard, and for so long. The shock causes me to pull from his body, and I cover his back with three or four good spurts.
Greg collapses against the bed, his outstretched arms no longer able to support his body. I fall against him, still grinding against his hard globes, milking the final drops of fluid from my spent dick.
"Oh, you are remarkable," I say to him, as I turn his sweaty face towards mine for a long, lingering kiss. We maneuver our bodies so that we are facing each other.
"We have some laundry to do," Greg says, as we feel the sticky mess under us. "Probably need to buy your friend a new comforter, too."
"Yeah, we should have pulled it back," I say, chuckling. "Some people are so messy," I tease.
"And about whom are you referring?" he says, eyebrows raised.
"I'll give you a clue. The guilty person is someone who just fucked the living daylights out of me, a superb lover, and lying in my arms right now."
"You can't possibly be referring to me?" he teases.
"No, I'm talking about that other guy over there."
"Then I think that you and he should go take a shower. You stink!" He grabs his nose as a gesture."I love you," Greg says.
"I love you, too," I respond. "Now, let's go find the shower."