M

September 10, 2001 Ð Brooklyn, NY

Dinner

Over dinner one evening my girlfriend Cathy said to me, in her most casual, and therefore mischievous, of tones: "So, have you run into your friend in the park lately?"

I played dumb. "Friend?"

"Yeah, the guy who offered to give you a massage."

"Oh. No. I've seen him but we haven't spoken again."

"Poor thingÉ"

"What do you mean?"

"He's lonely. He thinks you're cute."

I swallowed before speaking. "So?"

"So, you should invite him up sometime."

"You're kidding, right?"

"No. I'm at work all day, you have the apartment to yourselfÉ"

"You want me to invite a complete stranger, another man, into our apartment so he can give me aÉmassage?"

Cathy shrugged. "Sure. Why not? It's just a massage. Would you go get me some more wine?"

I didn't reply. My heart was racing and I had the beginnings of an erection in my pants. I wondered if it would show when I stood up. Cathy and I rarely had sex anymore, and it was beyond frustratingÉ

The Park

As usual I waited for Cathy to leave for workÑshe taught art at a public school a few blocks down the streetÑbefore heading out for my morning walk. It was misting out so I wore a jacket. I took my usual route, climbing the main paved path that led up to park's center monument. The Revolutionary War. I spotted my "friend" right away. He was descending, coming toward me in the opposite direction. Right on schedule. Adorned by his heavy jacket he looked shorter than ever today. From a distance he reminded me a little of Peter Lorre. Cathy and I had recently watched "M" on the public channel. She'd fallen asleep halfway through.

Instead of keeping my hands in my pockets and my head down, as I usually did, I made a point of glancing up at him as he approached. He was looking at me as well. He smiled but said nothing as he passed me by. I was disappointed. My mouth was dry. I stopped, looked back.

"Hey."

He looked back as well, his round face brightening. "Hello."

I swallowed more dryness. "Are you still looking to, um, give somebody a massage?"

His broad smile held firm. "Just you," he replied, in a soft, effeminate voice.

I started to speak, started over. You have Cathy's blessing on this, an inner voice reminded me. "I'm available today if youÉ"

"I'm available as well."

"You want, um, to come up to my, umÉ?"

"Right now?"

"Sure. Sure. Yes." I was practically trembling. "I have the apartment to myself for awhile, soÉ"

The odd-looking little man's smile refreshed. "I'd love to come up to your apartment, darling!"

The Bedroom

I stood with my arms outstretched and my palms up as if clueless, lost. In fact IÑweÑwere standing in my bedroom. "How do we do this?" I asked.

The man I'll call Peter Lorre was still smiling. It was a rather bland smile, I'd since noticed. "Well it's customary for the recipient to remove his clothes."

Recipient? "Everything?"

"Everything you feel comfortable with. But I'd recommend being fully nude." He laughedÑone note. "It's a little hard to give a proper massage through clothing."

"Oh. Right."

Because I did not want the stranger to see that the prospect of being nude in front of another man was making me hard, I turned my back on him to undress. When I got down to my briefsÑplain white JockeysÑI paused. Then in one continuous motion yanked them down and threw my long, slender body onto the bed, erect penis leading the way, belly down. After scooting over discreetly into the center I looked back, over my bony right shoulder.

Peter Lorre, not surprisingly, was undressing as well. I watched as he pulled down a pair of lavender bikini briefs wondering if they were men's or women's. I'd been secretly dressing in some of Cathy's panties lately and was curious as to how common a practice this was. With men.

Peter's cock was engorged but not erect. It was pointing at me, in fact, slightly downward at, say, four o'clock. Like the rest of him it was on the thick but stubby side. I doubted that its length was more than five-and-a-half inches (Cathy had once measured mine at nearly seven with her cloth sewing tape). It was circumcised.

I lay my left cheek on the pillow as Peter climbed on the bed behind me saying: "Honey, please put your legs together."

Honey? Two seconds together on the same bed and my masseuseÑor was it masseur?Ñwas already calling me "honey"? Seconds later he was, as it were, mounting me, a knee planted on either side of my hips and, I now realized, blindly, his semi-hard cock suspended just inches above my lower back. What would Cathy think if she could see us now, like this, I wondered. If this wasn't gay then what was? Or was that her sly intention all along, to give me a taste of what to this point had been mere fantasy talk, shared during our foreplay? Besides, if she could have another man in her life, as she'd had, openly, for a couple of months now, why shouldn't I? From her point of view it might seemÉonly fair. Kinky but fair.

The Massage

Peter started with my neck and shoulders. He was leaning over me, like a low, rain-heavy cloud.

"You're very tense, honey."

"I'm nervous," I was at last glad to admit.

"Why?" His small hands were working the meager flesh around my shoulder blades now.

"I've never been given a massage before."

"Never?"

"Not by a man."

Peter laughed. "You're a virgin then."

Even I laughed. The massage was helping. It was loosening me up. "Depends on what you mean."

"Oh, we won't go there today. No worriesÉ"

Though by "there" I wasn't sure what my naked masseur meant. He massaged my middle back before applying the flat of his hands to my sacrum, his motion a firm circling one.

"That feels good," I said.

"Good. You have a nice ass, honey." He was kneading it now, the flesh of my buttocks, one to each hand.

I shruggedÑbest I could. "Thanks. Cathy says it's too flat."

"Cathy your wife?"

"My girlfriend."

"She live here with you?"

"Yes. We've been together seven years."

"Zat her picture by the bed?"

"Yes."

"Cute!"

"Yes," I agreed, feeling a tinge of guilt. Another man, after all, wasÑI can't think of a better wordÑgreedily working my ass, massaging it, plying the flesh, having walked back on his knees until they were about equal with mine.

"Would you get upset if I kissed it, honey?"

"KissedÉ?"

"Your sweet ass?"

"No." I wondered if Peter was as hard now as I was, my erection pressed uncomfortably between my belly and the mattress. I wiggled a little, futilely, to liberate it. His hands now gripped my buttocks like a pair of vises. He was parting them, like a latterday Moses the Red Sea.

The Kiss

It was some kiss. Having backed himself further down the bed, and down my straddled legs, Peter lowered his face to me, my mid-body. He ran his tongue upward, from the top of my otherwise hidden ball sack to the very top of my crack. He licked me again, bottom to top. Like a dog happy to see its owner.

He then put his lips to my anus. He kissed it. Cathy and I sometimes rimmed each other but this was different. Peter's kiss was not perfunctory. It was tender, loving, longÉ

He pushed his tongue in, and for the first time since he mounted me, and began the massage, I moaned with pleasure. He pushed in deeper, deeper. His cock may've been stubby but his tongue sure did not seem that way. He worked it in and out, fucking me with it. He pulled back.

"Do you like this, honey?"

"Oh, yes," I sighed.

He returned to it, first kissing my hole then penetrating it, and fucking me again with his tongue. I let out a loud cryÑnot so much because of the pleasure he was giving me but because, for a brief moment, I feared I was about to cum. On the mattress. I was notoriously premature. Just ask Cathy.

Peter finally pulled out of me, and back. He sounded out of breath, and for good reason. "You're delicious!" he said.

"Thank you," I replied, for some reason. To my astonishment, despite the fact that our "relationship", such as it was, had now passed over into the overtly sexual, Peter went back to massaging me. My slender thighs, my taut hamstrings. His hands did not spend much time on them, however. He had other plans.

"Now comes the best part," he advised.

The Penis Massage

I had given Cathy penis massages before and had always wondered what one felt like. Were they as sensual for the recipientÑthat word againÑas for the giver? I now had my chance to find out.

Peter began with my buttocks, pressing his hard cock to them under a hand making a circling motion. After massaging each cheek in this way he buried his penis in my crack and rubbed it up and down, simulating anal intercourse.

"Someday," he said mysteriously, wistfully almost, as he again rose up higher. As his erection circled above my crack, in the valley of my lower back, he asked, softly, practically a whisper: "Have you ever been fucked?"

"No. Well yes," I replied on second thought. "With Cathy's dildo. Sometimes she uses it on me."

"Do you like it?"

"I didn't at first. I never thought you could get that whole thing in meÉ"

"You'd be surprised," Peter laughed, his cock now circling over my shoulder blades.

"Then when it broke throughÉ"

"The dildo?"

"It was like I saw stars."

"Really?"

"And it made me feel, like instantly, as soon as it happenedÉfeminine. I can't explain it exactly."

"Join the club," Peter said, way up my body and massaging my shoulders with his penis.

"I got this immediate desireÉI can't explain it," I repeated, "to dress up in women's underwear."

"Does Cathy know?"

"No. Well, once. But I made it seem like it was part of our sex games. I picked up her panties off the floor, put `em on and pulled the front down, and fucked her with them down around my balls. It wasÉ"

It was almost as if Peter was no longer listening. He'd dismounted and was now at my side, his left knee on pillow's edge. He was leaning over me. He was holding his cock by the base and offering it to me, my open mouth. It was awkward but he managed to edge even closer. The swollen pink-purple head of his cock was now little more than an inch from my lips.

The Blowjob

It seemed like the most natural thing in the world, taking Peter's cock into my mouth. Accepting it, as it were. I was in a contortionist's pose, my head off the pillow and twisted around to the right and up. All I had to do, it turned out, was remain in this awkward position. Peter did the rest.

I immediately tasted salt. Probably from its friction with my own naked body, but also a salty sweetness, the slit, the "eye" of his cock having been glossy-clear with cum, or pre-cum as I guess it's called, before he introduced it into my mouth.

He fucked my mouth now just as he had my asshole. Only his cock was much longer, and thicker, and went in far deeper. I only gagged, once, but after a time that began to seem interminable, I was breathing hard, almost frantically, through my nostrils. Will he ever cum, I began to wonder. Will I suffocate first?

Finally, like someone under torture, I gave in. Opened my mouth wide. Made a hollow, gurgling kind of sound. A cry of desperation.

Peter pulled back, and I swallowed. Not cum, just saliva. I could breathe again! I was panting.

Peter was no longer holding his cock by its dark-haired base. He was stroking it now, his glossy head still only an inch or so from my lips. After recovering my breath, not to mention my equilibrium, I raised up again, a bit, and offered him my open mouth. I was ready to receive. I wanted it. Cathy sometimes offered me her lips after she'd sucked my cock, and swallowed, but I was always disgusted by then. I had no desire to taste my own cum. But another man'sÉ?

Swallows

I would eventually learn, later in life, as I had more and more sexual encounters with other men, that the best way to enjoy a partner's cum is not in the middle of sucking him but when he pulls out and ejaculates into your mouth. Jerks off. That way the sperm is not only fresh but the taste pure and undiluted by an excess of saliva. That way you can enjoy and appreciate, like a connoisseur sampling a fine wine, a man's semen at its sweetest.

On this first occasion, however, I was merely doing what the situation required: holding my mouth wide open and waiting, wanting. When Peter finally came it was, as with all his vocalizations, a soft cry. Thick lobs of his sperm entered my mouth and I swallowed their sweetness. And as I did so, my lips momentarily closed, more of his cum pelted my faceÑmy upper lip, my chin. I tried to lick it off, quickly, but realized the best strategy was to simply offer his spurting penis a cave, a target, an opening in which to shoot. Peter came a lot, and I wondered how long it had been since the "poor thing's" (Cathy's words) surprisingly plump balls had emptied themselves. I even ended up with some of his semen up my nostrils. It was fragrant, flowery.

It was in my mouth, and down my throat; it was on my face, and dripping; and it, some of it, had splattered on the sky-blue pillow case below. Christ! What a load!

It was an erotic bath. I wanted more! After his hand stopped its motion I contorted my neck even moreÑthank god for the liberating massageÑchasing after that last drop, my lips closing around his head, suctioning it dry.

It was Peter who pulled away, breathlessly. "Oh honey," he said. "That was so good!"

I was still swallowing, hoping for a last phantom of thick white sweetness. As stubby, limp Peter backed off the bed, the edge, I rolled over, leaving behind a small circular stain on the sky-blue. I was so crazy erect by now my curving penis nearly touched my belly. It was pulsing.

"Oh god! My poor darling!" Peter said, before pouncing. Unlike me, he did not seem to lose all interest after cumming. It was his turn to taste a load, and I complied by offering it almost as soon as his tight lips slid down my shaft. His round, dark-haired head bobbed eagerly until I was done, spent, and Peter pulled back wiping a satisfied smile, on the back of a pudgy hand.

"Oh darling," he said. "I wasn't expecting it that that soon."

No shit, I thought. Talk to Cathy. No wonder she's taken a loverÉ

Peter eagerly sank a thick knee into the mattress and leaned over. He tried to kiss me with his spermy lips. But I held a blocking hand up, turned a cheek.

"I think I'm in love!" Peter said.

"Please!" I protested, blocking another advance. "You better get goingÉ"

"You don't want another massage, darling?"

"No! Cathy sometimes comes home for lunch," I lied. Peter looked at the bedside clock, next to her photo outside a mottled cathedral ledge, somewhere in southwestern England. She had never looked so pretty, so happy that day, so...Now she was fucking a fellow teacher at her school? A black guy? Married, with two kids? Things change...

"It's not even ten yet, my sweet," Peter giggled.

At that moment I could've done without "my sweet". At that momentÉit seemed like the last hour and a half had lasted six. Or eight. Or ten.

"You better go," I said, coldly.

"OK. No problem." As Peter, or whatever his name was, pulled up his lavender sissy panties he asked: "Can I see you again?"

"We'll see."

"How can I get in touch with you, darling?"

I could have done without the "darling" shit. "You can't call here, or come by. Ever!"

"Relax, darling. We're just playing togetherÉ"

Play this! I wanted to say. "I'll see you in the park," I offered.

"OK! I'll be there tomorrow!"

"I won't. It's Saturday. Cathy and IÉ"

"Oh right. Monday morning then?"

I didn't reply. I'd pulled my white cotton Jockeys up. I wanted to get rid of him. I hurried him, half-dressed, to the apartment door. I didn't thank him for his services. I closed the door behind him, locked it.

And felt guilty afterwards. Poor sweet guyÉ

Dinner, later

It took me three glasses of a cheap Italian red before I could admit, to my putative,cheating wife Cathy:

"I ran into the guy in the park today."

Cathy looked up from her magazine, hopefully: "The massage guy?"

I nodded.

"How did it go?" Cathy's pretty face brightening.

"What do you mean?"

"Did you invite him up?"

I beat around the proverbial bush for a moment. "He gave me a massage."

"Well what happened?" I had not seen Cathy so blissfully happyÑexcitedÑsince she announced she having an affair with a coworker. Or since we had visited the secret ledge of that medieval cathedral.

"Nothing happened. He came, he did his thingÉhe left."

Cathy was leaning across the table. "Did what?"

"Gave me a massage!"

"Why are you being so defensive?"

"I'm not being defensive! Darling," I added, Peter Lorre's endearment stuck in my head.

"Yes you are!"

"No I'm not."

"So he gave you a massage. What else?"

"What do you mean `what else'?"

"Did it have a happy ending?" Cathy's wine glass, at her lips, hiding a sly smile.

"I don't know what you mean," I claimed. "He worked the knots out, thenÉ"

"Knots?" Cathy unable to contain a laugh. "Did you getÉnude with him?"

"Nude?" delaying the inevitable.

"It's customary to, you know, get nude for a massage."

"I wouldn't know."

"What do you mean you wouldn't know?" Cathy, beside herself, laughed. "You just got a massage from another man today!"

"Nothing happened."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Really."

"What's with theÉ?"

"The what?" swallowing the last of her mediocre wine. "I'll ask you again: why are you being so defensive?"

"It was a massage! It was your idea. NothingÉhappened!"

Cathy composed herself. Pushed her plate of cold pasta away. She wore a smileÑsly, containedÑshe could hardly disguise. She'd changed, after work, into her art college sweatshirtÑgrey, bralessÑand a pair of bikini panties. She wore nothing else at the dinner table that night, her legs and feet bare.

"Then why are there cum stains on my pillow?" she asked. "And in the middle of our bed?"

I had no answer. I got up from the table to clear the dishes. It was my job. Actually, I kind of enjoyed doing housework. Cathy called me to our friendsÉher househusband. I did the laundry as well.

Against my better judgment I turned back, stacked plates in hand. Fair was only fair. "Like your boyfriend doesn't leave cum stains on our sheets?"