A new adventure with some recurring and favorite themes. This project began during the pandemic as a collaboration with a friend so it comes from two different and overlapping points of view of its story line. I'm Grady and my cohort writes the part of Hollywood icon Ryan Phillippe as we navigate the end of prep school and are reunited about a dozen years later. While some of the places depicted are real, it goes without saying that this work is pure fiction and not meant to project, construe or support any assertion about the private lives of any of the characters portrayed within the story. Outside of the public figures, all of the characters in this story are fictional and resemblance to any one person whether dead or alive is purely coincidental. Lastly, please consider making a donation to Nifty (https://donate.nifty.org/) to help maintain this website. Feedback is always welcome.
Grady McBride 3
Even though I slept unusually deep with Matthew at my side, my biological clock started sending wake-up impulses to my brain around 4:00 am. And since becoming a firefighter, I became a very light sleeper; kind of always half-awake waiting for the alert tones to sound and lights to come on suddenly in the middle of the night to send us out on our next call. By now, Matt and I had flipped positions and I was spooning him as we both slept on our left sides. I extricated myself from the bed as quietly as possible leaving Matt to peacefully sleep, gently making sure he was covered as the ceiling fan overhead gently down drafted its breeze on him. He appeared quite blissful as I stepped away to the bathroom and pissed into one of the old urinals I kept during the renovation before washing my hands, face and brushing my teeth. Inside the old wooden locker converted into a linen closet with shelves and drawers, I located a new toothbrush and laid it on the vanity for Matt to find when he woke up.
Through the bathroom window, I could see it was fixing to be a cooler, damp late spring Saturday morning as I stepped out of my boxers and chucked them into the hamper before donning an older pair of red warm-up pants and a blue DCFD tee shirt from my days in Truck Company 9. I paused in the threshold between the bathroom and bedroom and looked at the male form sleeping in my bed and realized that this morning was different; very different: fate, karma or just blind ass luck brought Matthew Ryan Phillips back into my life in a very good, very personal and very intimate way as I tiptoed past the sleeping beauty to turn on my, no, our, morning coffee.
Wait, does he even drink coffee?
After pouring my first cup, I powered up my MacBook and sifted through the headlines and op-eds in the Washington Post and New York Times while curled up on the big leather couch before moving onto emails. One email was from a college friend now working for the Human Rights Campaign writing to ask if I would be willing to host a fundraiser at the former quarters of Engine Company 11 for a young man from who was exploring a presidential run.
As I wrote a confirming reply I glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen and realized over an hour had ticked by. From the bathroom I could hear water flushing and running so I decided to head back to the bedroom as the bathroom sounds faded and only the steady sound of a steady morning rain on the windows could be heard as Matt reappeared in just his boxer briefs and that easy smile of his before asking, "how did you sleep?"
My eyes drank in his tanned definition with the first long gaze of his body since Mayo, everything in moderation with a certain leanness that helped him maintain the looks of a teenager as I formed my answer, "best I've sleep I've had in a long, long time."
Matt's smile grew larger and I stepped closer to him. I could see his bulge growing behind the boxers as I pulled him into me, pausing just at arm's length for a nano-second to look into his eyes now confident that the joining of my lips with his was going to be okay in this moment.
It was an epic kiss, a kiss over a dozen years in the making. First, our full lips touched for a few seconds before our lower jaws dropped open and our tongues swam past each other. We held each other just enough to steady ourselves and feel the power of a moment we both ached for since high school, both of us probably trying to breathe through our ears to keep the energy of this first kiss from dissipating.
Being a few inches taller than Matt, I backed up just enough so that the backs of my calves touched the side of the bed before I sat and then flattened out on my back before guiding Matt to lay down on top of me before we started into a new and longer kiss. As the waves of kisses continued and moved from lips to ears to foreheads to eyelids to cheeks to necks and back to lips we managed to scoot ourselves into the center of the bed quite comfortably. We took turns flipping, who would be on top as the marathon morning make out session progressed, Matthew sliding the tee shirt off of me while his face began to register signals that his brain was beginning to comprehend the above average size of what was under my warm-ups.
I paused, looking up into his big beautiful eyes, "it's probably safe to say it's a little bigger than what you might remember," before I shifted a few pillows behind me to prop my upper body before I lifted my hips for him to slide the red warm-ups off over my glutes and down my legs.
Matthew just uttered a long guttural "fuuuuuuuucccckkkkkkk!" once my cock was sprung from its prison and held it; his eyes alternating from mine back to what was in his hands.
Trying not to sound too snarky or to smirk, I answered, "I'll understand if you um, have, reservations about, um, you know. Slide your boxers down."
I watched Matthew's reveal and was pleased, almost as large as me and neatly manscaped like my own as I did the long reach to the night stand for some lube. I squirted some into my hands and gently began to jack our dicks together slowly and gently, crunching up so that we could kiss as he straddled my legs, "I don't even know whether you are a pitcher or a catcher," I half said and half asked, "a top or bottom. I kind of identify as a top but that isn't set in stone and I definitely want to be as close and connected with you as possible as you are with me."
It was easy to watch his eyes close in pleasure and then reopen as I continued stroking our dicks together, "let's not rush anything, we've waited a dozen years for this moment, we can go nice and slow, and don't you dare do that pout thing of yours, I know what that pout-face of yours means now!"
Putting my right index finger to his lips to silence his next words I continued; my left thumb and index finger reaching to his right nipple to explore how he would react when I tugged and twisted on it. I leaned in for another long passionate kiss, eyes closed first and then relaxing, looking into Matthew's eyes again, feeling his lips smile as we connected. While the kiss continued, I matched my breathing to inhale as Matthew exhaled, drawing in and then exhaling my spent breath back into his lungs until we were almost light-headed from oxygen deprivation after several cycles of breathing recycled air from each other.
"This is almost weird, nothing like what I expected in my head at this moment," explaining my feelings as the kiss broke, "it's almost like we're actually jump-starting from the boathouse over a decade ago, Does that make sense to you?"