Erik woke up from a deep sleep, momentarily unsure of his surroundings. Then he remembered that Johan had invited him for the weekend, since his husband had flown to Berlin. This was the guest room, but the other side of the bed was vacant; no Johan! Erik dozed off for a moment and then was reawakened by Johan's boyish laugh.
"Good morning, sleepyhead. This time you slept late."
Johan handed him a mug of hot chocolate.
"Want to eat in bed or in the kitchen?"
"I don't want to get crumbs on your bed. You won't invite me back!"
"It's OK, I have trays for us."
"You think of everything."
Johan blushed a bit as he unfolded an Ikea breakfast-in-bed tray for each of them.
The two men devoured fresh bread from Johan's bread machine, omelettes with herbs from Johan's patio garden, roesti potatoes, and freshly-squeezed orange juice.
Erik could tell Johan was a homebody who liked to look after others. He wasn't used to hospitality from guys his own age. Some didn't even offer him a shower after he'd fucked them. Johan's disposition stood out.
"Thank you for this. You really surprised me."
"Thank you for coming over, Erik."
"So, can we call this a date? Our second date, in fact?"
"Erik, let's just enjoy the time together."
"I know, I know, you have a husband. The thing is, he's in Berlin right now, fucking some guy."
"Erik!"
"And I'm not even fucking you. The rest of this weekend is strictly for us to get to know each other."
"You can fuck me."
"Only in your real bed, not the guest bed."
"That's not happening."
"Ergo, we are concentrating on getting to know each other, and it's a real date, not a fuck session."
"You're impossible, Erik!"
"As you yourself said a moment ago, let's just enjoy our time together."
Erik took Johan's hand in his and playfully kissed Johan's forehead.
"Can we shower together?"
The two men spent the day hiking on Mount Rigi. Erik had never been before.
After eating lunch in the cafeteria at the summit, they sat out in the sun. Erik tried to hold Johan's hand, but, as on their first real date down in Lucerne, Johan got nervous.
"People have seen two men holding hands before. It's no big deal. In fact, it's been going on longer here in Switzerland than elsewhere in Europe."
"What do you mean?"
"The LGBT club at my school showed this movie, Der Kreis, after school one day. Switzerland was one of the few European countries that never adopted Paragraph 175, the German law against homosexuality."
Johan was surprised to be learning about their country's gay history from a 20-year-old.
"I didn't know that. Still," Johan continued as he frowned, "I told you my colleagues don't know I'm in an open marriage."
Erik bit his lip.
"I don't want to say something I'll regret."
"What? Just say it!"
"Frankly, I don't believe anyone knows you're in an open marriage, Johan -- not the fucking tourists here on Mount Rigi, not your colleagues, not your husband, not even you."
"You don't ever let it go, do you?" Johan's facial expression and his tone signaled anger, not exasperation.
"I want us to hold hands in public, like a normal couple!" Erik was almost pouting.
"Look, maybe spending the weekend together was a bad idea."
"If you want me to go, I'll go." Erik stood up. "But it won't change the fact that there's something between us."
Johan caught up with Erik in the last compartment of the old train. He sat next to Erik on the wooden bench. Erik wouldn't look at him. Johan panicked for a moment, wondering what would have happened if he'd arrived just a minute later, missed the train, and let Erik ride right out of his life.
As the train started down the hill, Johan reached tentatively for Erik's hand. The two men looked at each other for the first time since their argument. Johan was the one who pulled Erik in for a kiss. There wasn't much to say.
Johan had intended to make homemade lasagna Friday night, as an olive branch for his husband. He decided to make it Saturday night, as an olive branch for Erik.
Sunday morning, Johan served brunch on the patio. As they ate, he and Erik gazed out at the encroaching suburb: four cranes were visible, houses were coming up in the distance, and a road was being graded. Johan remembered his landlord's tale about the first time he'd made love to his wife. Johan imagined Herr Favre and Ingrid, both of them about Erik's age, sneaking out into green fields that were now fast disappearing. Johan was getting horny. He needed Erik's cock inside his ass before the weekend was over. He reasoned that there would be time to change the sheets before his husband returned from Berlin.
Erik was dripping sweat all over Johan as he pounded him. Johan felt as if he were being totally enveloped. They'd settled in missionary position, but Erik was gripping the headboard for extra leverage, Johan's body curled up under him. This was not the guest bed, but the bed Johan shared with his husband.
"You want my third load, you fucking slut?"
"Yes, breed me!"
"Say my name..."
"Breed me, Erik!"
"Now say how you feel..."
"What do you want me to say?"
"Figure it out, Johan."
"I like you, Erik."
"That's not good enough."
"I love you, Erik. Give me that load!"
Erik grunted and cried out as he inseminated Johan.
"What the fuck is going on here?" Erik didn't recognize the voice, but Johan, in a panic, realized his husband had caught an early flight from Berlin.
"Leo," Johan practically wailed.
As the lovers separated, a thin string of cum stretched from Johan's hole to Erik's foreskin. The string broke, leaving a glistening "snail trail" on Johan's inner thigh. Johan's hole was gaping open from the sheer thickness of Erik's cock. There was white froth all around, literally whipped up from the first two loads Erik had deposited.
The sight before Leo, and the words he'd just heard, were wanton, indelible and probably unforgivable.
Erik turned and sat bolt-upright, his muscular, hairy chest glistening with sweat. He stretched his hand out and said the only thing he could think to say in this situation.
"Hi, you must be Johan's husband. He's told me a lot about you. I'm Erik."
Leo did not shake Erik's hand. Johan thought for a moment of Mr. Robinson and young Ben, in the American coming-of-age movie The Graduate.
Leo looked Erik straight in the eye.
"Get dressed and then get the fuck out of my apartment."
"I won't leave unless you ask politely."
"Erik, please don't make this any worse than it already is."
"You're just going to let him swear at me, Johan? Do you also want me to go?"
Erik wiped off his sweat with Johan's discarded shirt, dressed hastily, and sprinted for the front door. Johan stepped out into the hall with him. In a hushed tone, he offered, "I'm so sorry. I think it's better if we stop, at least for a while."
"Sure, stay with your husband who doesn't even fuck you!"
"Erik, do you want him to hear that? Do you want to start another argument?"
"No, but I want you to stand up for yourself. He fucked his friend all weekend in Berlin. Why aren't you allowed to fuck me? You're 41; you can do what you want."
"You're a bit different than his friend in Berlin."
"How?"
"One, you live here in Lucerne. Two, he caught us in the bed he and I share. Three, he heard me beg for a third load from you."
"Don't worry, I'll respect your wishes and stay away. You know how to reach me if you grow a pair someday, Johan."
Envoi
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