Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental. It is also a work intended for adults, and it involves sex between men, women, and young adult men. If you are offended by material of this kind, or if it is illegal in your political jurisdiction to read material of this kind, please exit immediately. This story is posted to the Nifty Archives, and it may be read and downloaded for the pleasure of individuals. It may not be posted to any other media outlet without the written consent of its author. The author appreciates comments from readers.
Nick's Adventure with the Doctor, Part 1
After my adventure in the Caribbean the summer I was eighteen, I went home to New Orleans without much hope for any real fun. My friends were still away, my brothers were up to their own doings, and I didn't have much to look forward to.
On my second day home, I went to Alvin's gym. I had tried to work out on the sailboat, but there wasn't any equipment. I did crunches, push-ups, chin-ups, and pull-ups, but I was afraid they weren't really enough to keep my definition as refined as it had been before the trip. Therefore, I was determined to haunt Alvin's place to regain what I might have lost and to further refine my physique.
I liked to go to Alvin's in the afternoon. For one thing, I didn't have anything else to do, and, for another thing, it was a lot less crowded than at night. I got home on a Tuesday, and, the next day, Wednesday, Alvin's place was empty when I got there. I stripped in the locker room, as usual, and I started warming up. I could really tell I hadn't done much for a month because even my warm-up routine took an unusual amount of effort. When I was finishing my warm-ups, a guy I hadn't seen before came into the gym. Like me, he was nude, but, unlike me, his cock was only average--I'd say 2 1/2 inches soft, tops. He was really good looking, though, and he was pretty well built. His tan was for shit, and I could barely see the tan line of his bathing suit.
I was really proud of my tan, at that point in my life. I probably hadn't had clothes on more than five days in the last thirty in the Caribbean. My hair, pubes and all, had lightened a good bit in the sun, and, because I hadn't shaved in a month, I had a pretty good growth of very light brown beard. The night before I had gone to one of our clubs, and Philip had given me a body shave. He had also trimmed my pubic hair and beard, so I was looking good, if I had to say so myself. I had never had a beard before, and it made me look a good bit older. I was pretty sure I could pass for twenty-five or even older, even though I was only eighteen.
At first the new guy didn't seem to pay much attention to me. He did his stretches and warm-ups like anybody else, and then he got on a Life Cycle to get ready for his workout. After a while, though, I noticed him stealing glances my way. It's easy to watch other guys in Alvin's because the whole place--walls and ceiling--are nothing but mirrors. You can face a wall and get a perfect view of another guy facing the opposite wall.
Alvin keeps music going all the time, and he had a really good supply of CD's. He let the guys in the gym pick out what they wanted to listen to, and the styles ranged from country to classical to gangsta rap. He had it all.
The album changed to a really nasty and pointless rap. I ignored it through the first two songs, but, by the third one, I couldn't stand it any more. I went over to the stereo and ejected that disk. In its place I put on Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. When I did, the other guys said, "Thank God. I was about to lose my mind. I didn't know we could change them."
"Yeah, we can," I said. "You like this one?"
"Yeah, I do," he said. "It's probably my favorite piece of music."
"Mine, too," I said, and I went back to my workout.
I worked hard through the first three movements, and I finished just as the fourth movement--the choral movement--came on. Instead of hitting the shower or the steam room, as I usually would, I sat on one of the weight benches to listen to it. The guy saw me sit down, and he stopped working, too. He came over to the side of the room I was sitting on, the one opposite the speakers, and sat on the next bench. We sat in rapt attention throughout the movement, and it was all I could do to not sing along with the chorus.
When the piece was over, the guy turned to me and said, "I want to introduce myself. I'm Doug Stewart."
"Hi, Doug," I said. "I'm Nick Marshall."
"God, I love that piece. Listening to it is like having an orgasm."
"Uh, not for me," I said. "It's better than that."
He laughed.
"I meant that figuratively, of course," he said.
"Of course," I said. "Well, Doug," I said after a pause, "I don't know about you, but I could use some steam."
"I'll join you," he said.
We went into the steam room. I thought about the times in the past I had had sex with guys in that room, but I wasn't yet sure that Doug would be interested. We simply "took the steam," as they say. We got out at the same time and showered together. The whole time we made small talk. By then it was six o'clock, and other guys were starting to come into the gym.
"Er, Nick," he said, "I know we don't know one another, but I've got a reservation at Antoine's at 8:30. I was supposed to entertain a colleague and his wife, but she had the unfortunate pleasure of going into labor around noon today. I really hate to eat alone, especially at a place like that. Would you consider joining me for dinner?"
"Sure. I don't have any plans for the evening. Shall I meet you there?"
"Why don't you come by my place first for a drink. Around seven? Will that give you enough time? I've got what is supposed to be some marvelous Double Glouschester, and I'm dying to try it."
"Yeah. I don't live more than three blocks from here. I can be dressed and at your place by then."
"Great. Then it's a date."
I wondered about the meaning of that last word.
We walked out of Alvin's together, and I got into my Lexus to drive home.
"Nice car," Doug said.
"Thanks. See you in an hour."
I knew Antoine's very well. My parents and grandparents and great-grandparents had eaten there regularly, and, of course, we had our family waiter. Since it was summer and hot and all, I knew the white 501's, blue oxford-cloth shirt, and navy blazer I picked out to wear would be just fine. I chose a tie that had belonged to my dad, and I thought I looked really good.
I drove to Doug's apartment and got there at about five after seven. He was dressed like the prep I took him for. We shook hands when he let me in.
"What'll you have," he asked.
"What are you having?" I knew to ask that so as not to embarrass my host by asking for something he didn't have in stock.
He knew the code, too. "I'm having a very dry martini, with Bombay gin. How does that sound?"
"Like a voice from heaven," I said. I went with him into the kitchen where he made the drinks. He had a tray with cheese, crackers, and sliced apples on it, and he carried it into the living room when we went in there.
"This evening was supposed to be a kind of celebration," he said. "Tom, the guy whose wife went into labor, and I finished our residency on Monday. We're now full-fledged general surgeons."
"Oh, really," I said. "Congratulations. Where did you study?"
"Tulane Medical Center. Of course, we did our obligatory rotations at Charity Hospital, but the bulk of our work was at TMC."
"I guess that means you could open me up and pull out all the bad parts."
He laughed. "Yeah, maybe. I'm not sure I'd find any, though."
I tasted the cheese, and it was as good as he had promised. The drink was good, too, and I nursed it carefully.
"What about you, Nick? What do you do?"
"I guess you could say I'm sort of, er, an investor."
"Oh, really. Anything in particular?"
"Real estate. And banks. And TV stations. Just whatever, you know?"
"How interesting. You must have to really be on the ball to make any money."
"Not really," I said. "We have trustees and accountants who take care of that. I just sign my name on the lines they mark with an X."
He chuckled, but I could tell he didn't know what to make of all that.
"You said 'we,'" he said. "Do you mean you and your wife?"
"No. My two brothers and I. Our parents were killed last November in a plane crash, along with our only other relative, my father's brother. We inherited their estates. That's what we invest. Our father and uncle were lawyers, and they created trusts that require us to have trustees until we're thirty-five."
"I see. I'm sorry about your parents."
"Thanks. We miss them terribly."
He didn't know what to say next, so I stepped in.
"Tell me about that painting," I said, pointing to a large abstract next to the door.
"That's my favorite piece," he said. "I bought it when I was a senior at Yale. The painter was a young African American woman who has since been killed. A gang drive-by."
"The piece is wonderful," I said. "I can sense the despair in the blues and grays, as well as the joy in the yellows and reds."
"My God," he said. "That's exactly what I see in it. Our tastes are uncannily similar."
Doug got up and made a second drink for us. I lit a cigarette in his absence. When he came back into the room, his face registered mild surprise. He quickly got me an ashtray, though, so I figured it was cool. If I had thought a minute, I would have asked permission first. I actually knew how to behave around a guy of Doug's sophistication, but a habit's a habit, too.
"I noticed you've got a really great tan," he said. "I'm white as a ghost."
"Thanks. I spent the last four weeks on a sailboat in the Caribbean, and, between you and me, we didn't wear clothes very often."
He chuckled politely, but I could tell he found that a bit exciting.
"So, where did you go?"
I told him about the trip, emphasizing that we didn't go to many of the tourist spots. He seemed genuinely impressed.
"Who did you go with?"
"A guy from here named Tom Grant? Do you know him?"
"No, I'm afraid not."
"And a couple of guys who live in Florida. We didn't really know one another at first, but we all got to be really close friends."
It was time for us to leave. I suggested we take my car because I had a parking sticker that would let me get into a lot very close to Antoine's. On the trip to the restaurant, I found out he was from Cleveland. He had a brother who was a year older and working on a Ph.D. in Slavic Studies at Princeton. His father had a plumbing business that he had hoped his sons would take over eventually. I lied and said I had gone to Tulane and majored in Spanish and French.
He told me he had a job lined up in Houston, but it wouldn't start until the day after Labor Day. I thought about the coincidence: I would start my freshman year in college the day after Labor Day.
When we were seated, our waiter turned out to be Edward Broussard, who was my parents' waiter.
"My God, Nick, why didn't you call me," Edward asked.
"Because I didn't know I was coming in. Dr. Stewart is my host. Doug Stewart, this is Edward Broussard, the best waiter in the city. Eddie, this is Doug Stewart, brain surgeon to the stars."
"How do you do, Doctor. This guy can bullshit with the best of them. I've known him since before he was born. I fed his mother all the wrong things on purpose so she'd miscarry, but, as you can see, I wasn't successful."
Doug laughed in genuine amusement.
"Well, frankly, Eddie, I'm glad you failed. Nice to meet you."
"I know what you're drinking. How about you, Doctor?"
"How about calling me Doug. And I'll have whatever he's having."
"That'll be two extra-dry Bombay martinis, coming up."
"Once again, our tastes are uncannily alike. Tell me about Eddie. Who is he? How do you know him?"
"He's my waiter. Actually, he was my parents' waiter, and now he's mine and my brothers' waiter. We sort of inherited him. It's a custom at this restaurant. Regular patrons have their own personal waiters. You call him when you're coming in, and he makes sure you get your favorite table and that everything is just as you like it. He'll even arrange to have special dishes cooked for you, if you request them."
"I've heard of that. This city is just full of all sorts of quaint traditions. So, can he get you a table on a moment's notice?"
"Absolutely. When did you make reservations?"
"About two weeks ago. I knew I wanted to do this, so I had a secretary call for me."
"See, if I had called two hours ago, your two weeks' head start wouldn't have done you any good. I would have been seated at your table, and you would have been waiting in the bar."
"Interesting."
Eddie brought our drinks, and he gave us menus. He recited the list of what was good that night and what wasn't. Then he left us alone.
"I suggest we go with whatever Eddie says," I said.
"That sounds fine with me."
Doug and I talked about all sorts of things. He was a real computer nerd and had all the latest stuff. I told him about my computers, a desktop and a laptop, and he was suitably impressed. We also talked about travel. He hadn't been very many places.
"Most of what I know about the world I know from books," he said.
"Very little of what I know I know from books," I said. Then we talked about books.
The first course arrived, and, with it, an exquisite wine. Then, the entree came, and we dug in. Another fine wine accompanied it. The food was terrific, and the conversation was passable. After coffee, we decided to walk around the French Quarter and see what we could see.
We ended up at a very nice, quiet bar on Chartres Street. Doug said hello to a couple of guys as we walked in, but I didn't see anybody I knew. We took a seat at a table on the patio. It was pretty warm, even that late at night, so we both took off our coats. I noticed there weren't any women out on the patio, and I hadn't seen any inside, either. Most of the customers were in their late thirties and forties. I figured it was a gay bar, but I decided to play dumb.
I said, "It's unusual to find a place in the Quarter that isn't crawling with tourists this time of year."
"Yeah," he said. "That's one reason I like to come here. I know some of the guys who hang out here, too. I can usually find somebody to talk to about something other than the Saints football team or baseball or something."
"Are there ever any women in here," I asked as nonchalantly as I could.
He looked at me very deeply. "Rarely," he said. "Does this place bother you. If it does, we can go somewhere else."
"Not a bit."
We both ordered scotch, and I excused myself to go to the restroom. Our drinks were at the table when I got back. I lit a cigarette, took a sip of my drink, and waited for Doug to make his move.
It didn't take long. He moved his chair closer to me and put his hand on my arm.
"Have I made a terrible mistake about you," he asked.
"You mean in thinking I'm gay?"
"Yes."
"I'm really not," I said. "At least, not a hundred percent. I enjoy sex with women, and I try to have it as often as I can. But I also enjoy sex with men."
"So, do you consider yourself bisexual?"
"I think everyone is bisexual, or, at least, potentially bisexual. I make choices. Sometimes I choose to be with women; other times I choose to be with men. Tonight I chose to be with a man--you." He seemed to like my saying that, and I could almost feel the anxiety and nervousness about the situation ebb out of him. "I hate labels because I think they put up barriers between people. Take yourself. Have you ever chosen to be with a woman?"
"No."
"You only choose men, then?"
"Well, frankly, there hasn't been much sex in my life. Once when I was fourteen the kid next door showed me how to masturbate, and he made me do it to him to make sure I had it right. The only other time happened about a month ago. With Tom. The guy whose wife went into labor today. We were in Houston for a conference, and we were staying in the same hotel room. I was in the shower, and Tom got in it with me, supposedly to save time. I got an erection immediately, and there was no way to hide it. Tom masturbated me, and I returned the favor. That was it. He joked about us being two horny guys starved for sex, but he's never mentioned it again. Knowing him, he probably hasn't even thought about it. I, on the other hand, have thought about almost nothing else since then."
"Do you find me attractive," I asked.
"Very."
"You didn't get aroused today at the gym. Why not?"
"I came very close, several times. And I wanted to, believe me. I have great powers of concentration, though. Surgeons have to have."
"Have you ever kissed another man," I asked.
"No."
I leaned over and kissed him. At first it was only with my lips, but I opened my mouth a little, and he slid his tongue in. We held that kiss for several moments, and I explored the interior of his mouth, too.
He was breathing a little irregularly. "I liked that," he said. He glanced around at the other tables to see if anybody was watching, and no one was.
I put my hand on the tent his dick was making in his khakis and gently rubbed it. "You've got a hard-on, haven't you?"
"Yes."
"Does it feel good when I rub your hard-on?"
"It feels very good. If you keep it up, though, you're going to make me ejaculate. I want to, but not all over my best pants."
I grinned at him. "Do you want me to take it out?"
"Right here?!"
"Why not. Nobody's looking at us. I'll jerk you off, and that'll relieve some of the tension."
He didn't say anything right away, but I could tell he really wanted me to do it. I reached over and undid the zipper on his pants. I stuck my hand in the fly, and discovered he was wearing boxers instead of briefs. That would make it easier, I thought. I took his cock out. The head was wet with pre-cum. I scooped some onto my finger and put it to my mouth.
"Just wanted a little taste," I said. I think he moaned softly when I did that.
I took his shaft into my palm, and I started to play with it. I didn't stroke it; I gently teased it to make him even more aroused. He started breathing harder. I leaned forward and kissed him hard and passionately. I put his hand high up on my thigh, and then, with my tongue in his mouth and his hand on my basket, I started stroking his cock. He didn't last long. In fact, he came after maybe a dozen strokes. When he came, he came hard, pumping eight or nine spurts of cum onto the ground under the table. I milked out whatever was left. Some of it had gotten on my hand, and I flicked most of it away under the table. I brought my hand up to my face, though, and licked my fingers dry.
"I can't believe I let you do that," he said, once he had recovered.
I slowly and leisurely took a cigarette out of my pack, packed it down by thumping it on the table, and lit up. I took a drag, inhaled it deeply, and sat back in my chair.
"Why not," I asked.
He laughed like a little girl. "I don't know, really. I guess it just doesn't seem like you should do something like that in public."
"We're in a fucking gay bar, man. Guys probably do that sort of thing all the time out here. Who would possibly complain? Or be offended, even if they saw us? Which they didn't."
"I guess you're right. Write it off to my inexperience." After a pause, he asked, "Are you aroused?"
"Do you mean, do I have a hard-on?"
"Yes."
"Then say it. Ask me if I have a hard-on."
"Do you have a hard-on?"
"I'm about half hard. Don't worry about me, though. I'll tell you when I want you to do something."
I took a sip of my scotch, which was pretty well watered down by then. "You're pretty up-tight about this, aren't you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you say things like 'aroused' instead of 'hard-on.' Lighten up with the clinical talk, okay? I'm not your patient. I'm the guy you're havin' sex with."
His cock was still out of his pants, but it was hidden by the tablecloth. I reached under it and took it in my hand. He was still hard. I played with it as we talked.
"You said earlier you have a brother. Didn't you guys ever do anything? Sexual, I mean?"
"No. He's as up-tight as I am. Maybe more so. Did you and your brothers do stuff when you were kids?"
"Yeah, and we still do. When we can find the time. They were my first sex teachers."
I started stroking his cock to make him come again. It took a little longer this time, but eventually he made it. The waiter came around while I was stroking and asked if we wanted another round. I told him we did, and I winked at him. He knew what was going on and smiled knowingly.
Doug had come by the time the drinks arrived. I settled up for both rounds because I didn't see us staying there much longer. After Doug had fully recovered and put his equipment away, I asked him about his parents.
"My mom's great. Completely supportive of whatever my brother and I wanted to do."
"And your dad?"
"A macho son-of-a-bitch. Jason and I--Jason's my brother--weren't good at sports, and that annoyed him. He wanted us to become plumbers, and, when we didn't, that made him mad. He barely talks to us when we're home, which isn't very often any more. I go home to see my mother and Jason, basically." After a brief pause, he started warming to the topic of his father.
"Do you know what he said to me? When I decided on general surgery, he said the least I could have done is become a urologist--a piss-doctor, he called it--because at least that had something to do with plumbing."
I laughed when he said that, and he laughed, too.
"I'm sorry I laughed, but that's pretty damn funny."
"I know. Everybody I tell that to laughs just like you did. If he had said it to be funny, that would have been one thing. But the man said it in all seriousness."
The waiter came back to see if we were okay. I asked Doug if he wanted another drink, and he said no. I thanked the guy, and we left.
"Where to," I asked, when we were out on the sidewalk. It was only midnight, so I thought Doug might like to go somewhere else.
"I've got liquor at home," he said. "We could go there and not have to worry about who we see or what we do."
"That sounds like a come-on, Doctor," I said. "I've heard about you stud surgeons. First, you get the unsuspecting patient in a place favorable to you. Then, you ply the patient with liquor. Then, you move in for the kill."
He laughed. "You got it. That's what they teach us in the first year of medical school."
We went back to Doug's apartment. He made us drinks, and we settled on the comfortable furniture in his living room. I took off my coat, tie, and shirt, and I kicked off my loafers and socks. It was a hot night, and his air conditioner was struggling to make it.
"So, what are your plans between now and Labor Day," I asked.
"I don't really have any. I went home to Cleveland at the end of May, so I don't see much need in doing that again. The people in Houston have found several houses they want me to look at, so I've got to go out there to check them out before too long. I was actually thinking about doing that this coming weekend. They're paying for my move, so I thought I would get settled in pretty quickly."
"What about after that? What about the rest of the summer?"
"I don't know. My lease was up yesterday on this place. They gave me an extra two weeks to get packed and moved. Once I move to Houston, though, I really don't have any plans. What about you?"
"I don't really ever have any plans, at least not for the summer. I know a guy in France who wants to see America. I thought about giving him a call and seeing if he could come over to drive across the country with me. Everybody says you ought to drive across Texas and the rest of the West at least once in your life, and this might be my time to do it."
I got up and made us each another drink. I lit a cigarette and smoked leisurely. Doug was sitting on the sofa, and I was in a chair. I got up and sat next to him.
"Does this smoke bother you," I asked.
"Both of my parents smoke, and . . ."
"And what?"
"This is going to sound ridiculous."
"Try me."
"The way you smoke kind of turns me on. You look so masculine. I mean, the way you smoke is kind of, I don't know, seductive."
"People have told me that before, but I swear I don't mean to be seductive. I just smoke. What can I say?"
"The fact is, everything about you is seductive. Like taking your shirt off. And this tattoo. And the fact that you wore jeans tonight. They look great, don't get me wrong. But tight white jeans were made for you. They make people stare."
"I'm aware of that. That's why I wear them."
I picked up his hand and put it on my crotch. I wanted to see what would happen next. He didn't do anything but leave his hand in place.
"Rub it," I said quietly. He was hesitant at first, but in a second he moved his fingers over the outline of my cock.
"That feels really good. My cock is starting to get hard. Don't stop doing that until I tell you, okay?"
"Okay," he said and kept on rubbing.
In a few minutes I said, "Okay, now take it out. Take my cock out. Unbutton my fly, reach in, and pull it out. I'm not wearing underwear, so they won't be in the way." I wasn't fully hard yet, but I had put on about three inches of meat from his rubbing me. I was at that delicious half-hard stage that feels so good, better, even, than a full hard-on. I love to have somebody play with my cock when it's like that.
He took my cock out and looked at it.
"What do you think?"
"I think that's the biggest penis I've ever seen."
"Cock. Call it a cock. 'Penis' is clinical."
"You're right," he said. "That fucker is a cock, not a penis."
We both laughed.
"Play with it," I said. "Play with my cock. Rub it and knead it and touch it all over. Oh, man, that feels so fuckin' good. Keep doing that." He did.
Then: "Now pull my jeans down and off."
He did what I said. I was lying there naked, my cock about eight inches long and almost hard, and he was still dressed.
"Okay, now take off your clothes. First the shirt." I waited for him to do that. He still had his tie on, although it was loose around his neck.
"Good. Now the shoes and socks." He took them off quickly.
"Okay," I said, "now take the pants and underwear off."
While he was doing that, I went to the bathroom and got two large towels. I jacked my cock to and from the bathroom, and it was fully hard when I got back. Doug was undressed and hard, too.
I spread the towels on the floor, and pulled him by his hand onto the towels with me. I had him sit with his legs out in front of him and open in a big V. I got between his legs and up as close to him as I could. Our balls and cocks were touching. Doug was fascinated by my cock, I could tell, but he didn't say anything about it. I didn't either. Instead, I said, "Kiss me." I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him hard and deeply. Our tongues danced in each other's mouths. After a few moments, I ran my tongue around his lips, and I could tell he really liked that. I pulled his head forward and worked on his left ear with my tongue. I sensed that nobody had ever done that before to him, and he moaned with the pleasure of it. Then I leaned him back a little and attacked his right nipple. I knew no one had ever done that to him before, and he shook so much that I thought he might come. He didn't, though, and I moved to the left one.
I pulled away from him. Our cocks were in constant contact, and the pre-cum from both of us was cascading down our shafts.
"Do you like what I'm doing to you," I asked.
"Yes," he sighed. "God, yes."
I started moving my pelvis up and down, fucking his cock. He got the hang of it immediately, and joined me in my thrusts.
"I want to make us come," I said. "I want your hot cum all over my cock. I want you to spew and spurt and spasm all over me, and I'll do the same all over you." My stomach and chest were grinding into his stomach and chest, and our balls were bouncing off one another. It was the closest thing I knew to fucking without penetration, and Doug seemed to love it. We kept it up for three or four minutes, and then, almost without warning, we both stiffened and came. It felt like the top of my head had blown off, and my innards writhed with the pleasure of it. We slumped onto one another when we were spent, and we stayed that way for several moments.
"Did you come," I asked. He laughed.
"God, that was the best. I'm completely drained," he said.
"That was good," I said. "Let's don't move. Let's stay the way we are, with cum leaking down between us." I reached toward the coffee table and got my cigarettes, lighter, and an ashtray. I lit up. I took several drags from my smoke and was sitting there, holding the cigarette in my hand. Suddenly, Doug reached over and took it from me. He put it to his lips and took a deep pull. He inhaled and blew the smoke out. Then he coughed a little.
"I haven't done that since my second year of med school. I started smoking when I was sixteen, and I smoked for the next eight years. My father approved. But smoking isn't cool among medical types. So I quit. But that sure tasted good."
"You want one?"
He hesitated a moment. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I'm not in medical school any more. I can smoke if I want to."
"You can do any fucking thing in the world you want to," I said. "You're a big boy, now." He laughed. I gave him a cigarette, lit it for him, and he smoked contentedly.
When we had finished smoking, I got up and got us new drinks. Doug just lay back on the floor, apparently still enjoying the afterglow of sex. I got back into the same position we were in before.
"Sex is pretty good," he said.
"Yeah. With the right person. But that's just the start. There's a lot more we can do, if you're ready for it."
"Do I seem to you to be ready for it," he asked.
"Fuckin' aye, man, fuckin' aye."
We sat still for a while, enjoying the closeness and warmth of each other. I'm never one to rush things, and I could tell he was enjoying just being close to one another. Besides, I wanted to finish my drink.
Neither of us went completely soft after we came. I reached down between us and took both of our cocks into my hand. I mashed them together, gently, and sort of kneaded them hard again. Then I scooted back, got on my stomach, and started sucking his cock. He responded with moans of delight, and I gave him everything I had in my arsenal. I licked his head and shaft, sucked his balls, deep-throated his cock, and then did it all again. When he was down my throat, near my vocal chords, I started singing. The vibration must have been pretty intense, and, in almost no time, he came again. I swallowed his cum, and he seemed genuinely pleased I did.
"I'm part of you now," he said. "You and I won't ever be able to be completely separate again." I smiled when he said that.
After a break, he wanted to suck me off. He took the head of my cock into his mouth and played with it with his tongue. He licked the shaft and my balls, and he did many of the things to me that I had done to him. I announced my orgasm, but he didn't pull away. He took my cum in his mouth, swallowed most of it, and grinned up at me. Some of it leaked out the corner of his mouth, and I scooped it up and fed it to him on my finger.
"Now you're part of me. We're part of each other. The protein in your semen will be with me always."
"Jesus, you're clinical," I said. He laughed his ass off.
We had another drink, and we each smoked another cigarette. Then it was time for bed. I had been up since seven o'clock, and he probably had been, too. We collapsed in his bed and snuggled together. I had found a new friend.
We slept kind of late the next morning. When we finally got up, I told Doug not to get dressed. We went into the kitchen naked, and he made coffee. We talked about what we wanted to do. It was only Wednesday, and he didn't have to leave for Houston until Firday morning. I suggested we go to our Country Place for a few days. When I explained what that was, he seemed eager.
After a couple of cups, we both got up to put our dishes in the sink. I turned him facing me, and I put my arms around his waist. We both got hard as we stood there, and our cocks rubbed against one another. I love that sensation, and Doug liked it, too. I bent down and sucked gently on his right nipple. He played with both of mine. I started swaying back and forth, creating friction. It didn't take long for each of us to come.
We wiped the cum off our cocks and legs and stomachs and everywhere else it had flown. We decided against showers and got ready to leave for the Country Place. I called Corey to tell him where I'd be, although my pager worked fine up there, too. I also called Bob, the estate manager, to tell him we were coming. I had an overnight bag that I always kept in the car with toilet articles and a couple of changes of clothes. I put on a pair of skin-tight white 501 cutoffs and a navy blue tanktop from my trunk stash. Doug put on some gym shorts and a heather-gray tee shirt. I convinced him not to wear underwear, and he seemed to like the feel of the freedom that gave him.