Mike

This is a true story based on what became a long-term relationship.

Copyright 2008, richard@surfeit-verdure.com -----

My initial encounter with Mike had been the culmination of years of fantasy, even if it hadn't been the greatest sex. Despite the rocky "morning after" I had high hopes that we could turn the relationship to something more. He had left the door open with his phone call after all.

Problem was, I didn't really know what the next move should be. I didn't want to leave it to Mike, since I had a suspicion that he'd either pretend it hadn't happened, or would be too embarrassed to even see me again.

What's more, I didn't want this to be the occasional fling in the forest. I didn't necessarily need a romantic angle to it - I have no problem with fuck-buddies - but I wanted him to become comfortable with himself, as artificially altruistic as that sounds.

I decided that step one was going to be to do nothing. I'd have loved to go and pound on his door right then, but I hoped some time would help him sort through his own feelings. Our next likely meeting was already set up anyway. At the time, a group of us met every Thursday at a local pool hall, and Mike usually put in an appearance.

Waiting till Thursday was agony. I practically gave myself an Indian burn jacking off to the memory of his big paw wrapping around my dick. I watched all my porn tapes at least twice. Oddly I found that the classically-proportioned stars that seemed to populate my collection had become dull compared to Mike's beer belly and love-handles.

Thursday finally arrived, and I propped my head up on my elbows sitting at the bar in the pool hall. I swung round (and nearly off my stool) every time the door opened. Eventually another member of our group showed up so I had to give up my perch near the door to make a show of playing pool.

After several spectacularly bad games - even by my low standards - our entire group had arrived. Minus Mike. I sat out the games that I could, scurrying for the bar and the front entrance. The alcohol wasn't helping my ability to play pool, but I'm sure I was delighting the bar staff.

The other players started the usual debate about dinner. Should we just get bar food here? Go to a restaurant? Which one? No, I ate there for lunch, etc. The endless bickering seemed to be settling on going to a nearby Mexican food dive. Not my favorite, but I wasn't exactly hungry anyway.

Eventually queues were disassembled, tabs were settled, and the unruly mob wandered toward the exit. I hit the restroom on the way out.

Zipping up and hurrying out to catch up with the group I nearly smacked Mike in the face with the door to the restroom.

"Hey."

"Everyone is going to Pedros if you're hungry."

"Ugh. I hate that place. Last time I ate there I was sick for two days."

"Not my favorite either. Sorry you missed the game."

Mike shrugged with a indeterminate grunt. Silence reigned as we stood awkwardly at the back of the bar.

Thank god for alcohol.

"I was thinking about skipping it and just getting pizza at home. ... Want to join me?"

"K."

My heart had stopped beating at least 40 seconds before, and now it restarted with a vengeance on its way up to hummingbird-speed.

"I walked over. Can I get a ride?"

I wasn't likely to argue.

If we talked on the way home I don't remember about what. My somewhat alcohol-impaired brain was spinning. Despite the week of "planning," I really had no idea what I was going to do with this opportunity. Clearly Mike was interested in something. I don't know that he'd ever even been to my house before, so this wasn't chance. However, he may just have wanted to prove that things were still "ok."

I shoveled junk mail off the coffee table, showed Mike around, and apologized for the mess.

"It's fine. I'm going to piss."

Clearly Mike hadn't lost his skill in conversation.

I called the first pizza place in the book while he used the facilities.

I ordered two, since Mike generally ate everything in sight.

"Got anything to drink?"

I rummaged in the fridge and found a couple of beers left over from god knows when. Mike popped the cap off his with a lighter while I searched for a bottle opener.

"Pizza guy said it would be here around 8:30. Want to watch TV?"

"K"

We sat on the couch - both firmly touching opposite ends. By the time I had fumbled with the two remotes and turned to some sort of sports program Mike had set down his empty beer bottle on the table.

"Got any more?" he said, looking at my completely full bottle.

"Maybe. Hold on."

Apparently Mike was planning to do this with the aid of beer goggles. I wasn't really in a position to disagree. I dug up the last bottle from the kitchen, wishing I had a case if that was what it was going to take.

We watched sports highlights for a while with only the occasional grunt or epithet directed to the action on the screen. Mike continued to suck down his second beer at an amazing pace. Soon the bottle joined its mate on the table.

"We're out unfortunately. Here, have the rest of mine. I've already had a couple at the bar."

Mike took the bottle without saying anything and quickly started to drain it as well.

The commentators droned on in the background citing obscure statistics and facts that no one in their right mind would care about.

I was surprised that the alcohol had had time to make it to Mike's stomach, much less his bloodstream, but I could see that he was starting to loosen up. His posture had gone from stick-up-ass to something resembling normalcy. He was still firmly contained within his couch cushion, but at least he was now leaning back with his hand behind his head.

At this rate I was going to learn more than I ever wanted to know about the Seahawks, but not much about Mike. Taking advantage of the last of my own beer buzz, I went for it.

"Mike, I want to talk about"

Bang bang - "Delivery!"

I realize that pizza delivery boys often feature in sexual fantasies, but this wasn't what I had in mind. I grabbed the grease-stained boxes and shoved the kid out the door with what was probably an enormous tip.

The pizza boxes joined the third empty bottle of beer on the coffee table. Mike tossed open the first lid and stuffed most of a slice into his mouth.

"Sure you don't have any more beer?" he said through dough and pepperoni.

"No, I'm afraid I'm out. I've probably got some hard alcohol."

"Like what?"

I rooted through the cabinet that served as the catch-all for any alcohol left over from parties, given as gifts, or otherwise dumped on my doorstep.

"Pretty much the basics. Gin, vodka, scotch, tequila, and something that is either wine or floor polish."

"Gimie the tequila."

"Sure. It's probably not very good - I can't stand the stuff, so someone must have left it here."

He just held out his hand. I passed him the mostly-full bottle. A set of god-awful souvenir shot glasses sat in their original package at the bottom of the cabinet, so I passed them over as well.

Mike ripped the cellophane off the box of glasses and filled one to the top. Down in one shot.

"That's shit." was muffled by the next slice of pizza chasing the alcohol down his throat.

The mesmerizing ritual continued - inhale a slice of pizza or two, drink a shot, repeat.

By now the alcohol most definitely had reached Mike's brain, and he was shitfaced. He was still on his side of the couch, but now was slouched back against the cushions with his legs stretched out under the coffee table. A motley assortment of pizza toppings decorated his ratty black t-shirt.

He leaned forward to refill his glass, but this time took a second one out of the torn package and filled both. He slid one over to me and rapped it on the table.

"No thanks, I can't stand tequila. Try me with scotch sometime."

He rapped the glass on the table again, this time surprisingly hard.

Ok. Guess I'll give it another try...

The taste had not improved over my memory of its burn and awful smell. However, the shared drink seemed to have pacified Mike. He flopped back into the couch and this time spread out to the point that he almost reached the halfway point. Progress is progress I suppose.

I was about to restart my aborted attempt to bring up the topic of the camping trip when Mike blurted out. "I'm sorry."

"It's not that bad. I just can't see what would possess anyone to drink it."

"No. I'm sorry about what happened. I hadn't gotten any pussy for like a month and my dick got the better of me. I just want to let you know that I won't ever tell anyone, and I hope you don't think I'm gay or something."

"Mike, I wanted it to happen. I've wanted to fuck you for years."

"Why?"

He sounded genuinely surprised. Not that I wanted him, but that anyone would view him as desirable. It was touching in a dysfunctional sort of way.

"I just have. I just want to have sex with you again."

Mike's whole body twitched. Clearly this hadn't gone the way he expected. His eyes quickly dropped to his lap and he fidgeted as I stared at the side of his head.

"I don't like guys. I like pussy. That was just a one-time thing." he said to his lap.

"Mike, I don't care about gay or straight. I want you to do what you want to do, and I think that you want to try it again. I know I do."

"I don't know."

Mike continued to stare at his crotch, his hands haphazardly laying on his thighs.

Fuck it. I slid down the couch till I was touching Mike's leg. He leaned away for a moment, but then settled back down to his original position.

I reached into his lap and grasped the slippery fabric of his basketball shorts. He stiffened, but didn't try to interfere.

A moment's fumbling isolated his stiff dick. I gripped it tightly, wrapping the fabric of the shorts around it. Mike inhaled sharply.

"There's nothing wrong with fucking someone if you both want it." I said, hoping for some sort of reaction.

Mike shifted his left hand out from under my arm. It hung motionless in the air before he suddenly dove for my own crotch. Unfortunately I was wearing denim shorts that obscured the shape of my throbbing cock, and his enthusiastic grasp ended up with more ball than dick. I let out an involuntary grunt of pain.

"Oh I'm so sorry." he blurted. Genuinely concerned.

"No, you're fine. You just got a little extra sack in there."

Mike actually grinned.

"I'm still not sure about this."

"It's entirely up to you. I want to have sex with you, and I think you want to have sex with me."

Mike answered by reaching back for my dick, this time as though he were handling eggs.

"It's not that fragile. Just make sure what you're grabbing." I joked.

Mike grinned again and began to isolate the dripping shape of my cock through the thick denim.

I had never let go of Mike's dick, and now started squeezing and tugging it through his thinner shorts.

"Let's do this right."

I got up and moved in front of Mike. Grabbing the waistband of his shorts I started tugging them down. Mike quickly caught on and levered himself off the couch so that the shorts could slide. I looped my thumbs under both the shorts and his boxers, pulling both a few inches down.

Mike's cock slapped against his hanging belly as it was released.

This was the first time I'd ever actually seen his equipment, but my original estimates were pretty accurate. Average to short length, above-average width, big flared head. His balls were still partially covered by his shorts, but I could see that they had a good coat of fur.

In fact, his entire crotch was well carpeted.

His shirt hung down over the roll of his belly. The overhang was made more pronounced by his slouched position on the couch. I could see the end of the trail of fur that I'd previously admired as it disappeared into his shorts.

I would have loved to eat his entire dick right then, but I was pretty sure that Mike wasn't ready for that yet. Guess he'd just have to wait to find out how far you could go beyond a hand job.

I stroked him a few times, causing him to moan and role his head back. A drop of pre-cum perched on his slit, but I didn't want another dry run.

"Hold on. I'm going to grab something."

I ran upstairs three steps at a time and rummaged through my nightstand for a bottle of lube.

Dashing back into the living room I saw Mike rubbing his own cock. He stopped immediately and got an amazingly guilty look on his face. I actually laughed out loud.

"You can jack off. It's ok."

Mike looked sheepish.

"Sorry, guess this is all kind of weird for me."

I crouched down in front of him again. I took the opportunity to bend down farther than I needed to so that my face passed nearer to Mike's crotch. There was the subtle whiff of sweat, and that unique smell you only get from a man in heat.

Settling back down on by knees, I poured a small puddle of lube on my right hand and swirled it around his shaft. This time his moan was louder as I began to slide up and down, focusing on the edge of his head.

Within a few seconds I could see Mike's balls tightening against the base of his cock. This was evidently going to be a short party.

I slowed down my strokes, and began fumbling with the fly on my shorts. I still didn't know how Mike would react once he got his own rocks off, and figured that I'd better get something while I could.

Shorts finally pushed down around my knees, I swapped hands to transfer some of the lube to my own dick. I hadn't gotten more than two or three strokes in before Mike threw his head back.

"Fuuuuck!"

Boiling hot cum splattered up onto his shirt and down onto my hand. I continued sliding up and down his dripping shaft, milking cum out of the tip. Mike writhed on the couch, his eyes closed and his face twisted into a look of ecstasy. His convulsions slowed. I stopped my hand and held the tip of his dick in a firm grip. One set of shakes and he tilted his head forward again and looked at me.

"That was amazing. Thanks."

"Any time."

"Oh, I guess you didn't really get anything. Sorry."

"I wouldn't say that."

"Do you want me to do you?"

"Only if you want to."

Mike just nodded his head.

I stood up, bringing my jutting dick up to his chest level. It was well coated in lube, and was dripping pre-cum like a fire hydrant. My own balls were pulled up tight. The sight of Mike covered in his own cum was almost enough to push me over the edge.

Mike tentatively grasped my cock and began delicately moving his hand back and forth.

"This feels strange doing it for someone else. Everything is backwards."

"Heh. You'll get used to 'backhand.' You can be a little rougher if you want. It won't break. Just think about what you like when you're jacking off."

Mike evidently took direction well. He quickly tightened to a vice-like grip and switched to long full-dick strokes that engulfed the entire head. My knees nearly buckled.

I reached up and began tweaking my nipples through my shirt. Mike looked on in curiosity.

"Is that fun?" he asked.

"Yeah. I'll show you one of these days. You're doing great."

I tried as hard as I could to hold on to the moment, but the pressure in my balls was overwhelming my control.

"I'm going to cum. Let me turn to the side so I don't get it on you."

Mike's grip didn't loosen, so I wasn't going anywhere.

"Uhhhghhhh."

My cum splattered out onto Mike's shorts, crotch and shirt. He continued stroking me just as I had. Within seconds my dick couldn't take it any more and I had to put my hand on his to stop him.

"You're not so bad yourself. Thank you."

"What do we do now? I've never done anything like this before."

"At least for right now I can't do much more, but longer term there are a whole lot of things I can think of. "

"Heh. I didn't mean that. I mean about us. I've never been gay before."

This time it was my turn to laugh.

"Well, welcome to the fraternity. I think you'll like it. As far as our relationship goes, I want to see you again, and I want to see you regularly. Beyond that, we don't need to decide right now."

"Ok."

For the first time he genuinely did seem to be ok. True, he was still drunk, so things might change, but for now, he seemed truly happy and relaxed.

I plopped back down on the couch next to him. Both of our wilting dicks dripping with cum and lube.

"I made something of a mess on you. Sorry about that. Want me to get you a change of clothes?"

"Heh. Doubt you have anything big enough for me."

"I doubt it too, but we can look."

My biggest pair of baggy gym shorts looked a bit like spandex on Mike, and the t-shirt gapped noticeably above his waist. Still, better than nothing.

"Can you give me a ride home?"

"Sure. Would you rather stay?"

"Yeah I would, but I need to go home and think about things. This day hasn't exactly worked out the way I expected it to. Don't worry. I'll be back."

Mike gathered up his cum-drenched clothing and walked toward my door. I didn't want him to go, but I could respect his choice. I know he really did have a lot to think about.

When we got back to his house I walked up to the door with him.

"And I thought this was awkward with girls. What do we do? Kiss? Hug?"

"Heh. I'd be fine with either, but let's start out with a handshake for tonight."

"Sounds good. I'll see you tomorrow."

I drove slowly home, savoring both the afterglow of the sex, and the relief in knowing that Mike was going to be alright.