Special Note to All the Readers of No Advantage:
As with many readers, I felt left hanging when Lyle Wilkerson didn't complete the posting of his novel here on Nifty. Aside from this note, I haven't changed a word of his novel. Personally, I think it's a great story. After some searching, I was able to contact Lyle and he gave me permission to complete the listing here on Nifty. For many reasons, including a busy schedule, it was a process he wasn't prepared to do. His e-mail address has changed from those shown in Chapters 1 to 18.
After posting Chapter 19, as a 'feeler', I found out that many people felt the same way I did. Your responses have kept me busy answering e-mails, and we appreciate hearing from you with your thoughts about the story.
To quote a message from Lyle:
"Hi:
You're probably not going to believe this, but I never intended to write this book. I was working on some other projects and started writing this rascal for my own benefit to provide myself with a mental diversion. As I mentioned in the Preface, the characters took over and wrote the thing. I'm still not exactly sure what it is they've done, but I kinda like it and it seems others do as well.
In posting the book on the Internet, I have been fascinated by the wide array of people who are reading it, particularly those not in the United States for whom English isn't their principal language. In our correspondence, some readers have also volunteered personal information about themselves, comparing their situations and experiences to those contained in the novel. To these folks, I want to extend my sincere gratitude for sharing that information with me; knowing and appreciating "where you are in your life" has made your comments much more meaningful and instructive to me.
So why not spend a few minutes trying out your writing abilities and send an e-mail? Don't be shy or be concerned about having to be some esoteric literary critic. I truly want to hear what regular people have to say about it, what they liked as well as what they didn't.
Just send it to: booth.d@telus.net
Lastly, so you'll know, I don't claim to be a professional author as far as novels are concerned. I'm a business consultant in Dallas, Texas, specializing in regulatory compliance (i.e. keeping the government off your back) and employer/employee relations. What I usually write these days are operations manuals and employee handbooks. And, yes, I used to practice law but got bored with doing that full time. Wanna go bananas? Just try writing or editing legal articles or forms manuals. Ughhh! Oh, and yeah, I am gay.
Anyway, thanks for your time and hope to hear from you.
Lyle
P.S. I will warn you, however, if anyone says anything bad to me about Wilbur, you will die."
If you invent two or three people and turn them loose in your manuscript, something is bound to happen to them -- you can't help it; and then it will take you the rest of the book to get them out of the natural consequences of that occurrence, and so first thing you know, there's your book all finished up and never cost you an idea. ...Mark Twain
and now... Chapter 20....
Chapter 20
After we left Randolph's and I got on the freeway, I noticed that Rob was no longer following me in his car. A few minutes afterwards my cell phone rang; it was Rob calling me from his apartment to let me know he was making a quick pit stop to pick up a few things. When I got to the Shack, after saying hello to Wilbur in the back yard and scratching him for a little bit, I went to the bedroom to wait for Rob. After flopping down onto the bed, I began mulling over what Frank had told us, particularly the part about treating sex with respect and how that was important not just to Rob and me in our commitment, but also to fostering a positive image of gays at large.
About the only exposure I had so far to gays in general, as opposed to meeting some of Rob's friends, had been what I had experienced through the Internet or seen on television or in the movies. Frank was right. When you think of gays, you think of men with affected mannerisms whose entire world revolves around promiscuous sex; that's the image being promoted by Hollywood. Gays aren't seen as people who live ordinary lives like everyone else except for what they do in the privacy of their bedroom.
Recalling my experiences participating in gay chat rooms on the Internet, I could see that queers themselves were responsible in part for the stereotype. While most of the guys I chatted with had seemed rather ordinary (except for being queer), there were the ones who blast in and wanna know how big your dick is, do you wanna get fucked, so on and so forth. All they did was piss the others off. Sure, I had chatted with other guys about sex, but when we did so we did it in private, one-on-one discussions.
Was I curious about sex? Of course, but what teenage boy isn't? Did I have my own porn collection on my computer? Sure. And so does every other guy at school. It just happens my images are of men, not women. Am I fascinated by dicks? Sure; dammit I'm queer. Queer guys have sex by using one anothers' dicks. Guess what? If it weren't for dicks, straight people wouldn't have sex either. Do I enjoy sex? Duhhh!
Had Rob and I spent a lot of our time up to now engaging in sexual behavior? Yes we had. However, our relationship did not start out with a roll in the hay. We had gotten to know one another at work. Despite his good looks, had it not been for my belief that Rob was someone I could trust, I would never have gone over to his apartment in the first place. And our physical intimacy evolved into something wonderful for the both of us. True, it was somewhat of a "backwards" development, having the sex evolve into love rather than the other way around. Why had that happened? Because I was afraid to openly date Rob and be with him around my friends and family while I was in the closet that society had created for me. As for the sex we had, yeah, I fell into the trap set for me by society: all that queers are interested in was having sex; they're sexual deviates incapable of ordinary human emotions and desires. Well, guess what? Queers are just as interested in having sex as straight people are and queers have just as much need and as much capability to fall in love as anyone else. Now how come that last little tidbit of information gets left out when people think of two men being together as opposed to a man and a woman being together? If you see a man and a woman walking down the street together holding hands, people think: "How sweet to see two people in love." See two men walking down the street holding hands and what do people think? "Goddamned perverts! "
My thoughts were interrupted when Rob walked in the bedroom door carrying a suitcase that he set down on the floor. Walking across the bed on his knees he told me, "Hi. Sit up." As I sat up on the bed he gave me a happy kiss, then pulled my shirt off over my head telling me, "Rob wants to nurture a little bit."
Lying down on the bed together, Rob snuggled up to me to kiss and suck a little chest. Scratching him on the head I asked, "So how was your day?"
"Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful."
Rob then covered my right nipple with his mouth and gave it a long suck and a lick while I replied, "Well, tell me about it, hoover mouth."
Placing his head down in the middle of my chest and snuggling up, Rob told me, "It was great. I talked to Andy about leaving and he told me there would be no problem at all. He understood why I wanted to leave and told me he would be sorry to see me go but was happy for me. He even called your dad to get Mr. Reynolds' phone number so he could call him and give me a job recommendation."
Continuing to run my fingers through Rob's hair I commented, "That's really cool. I like Andy a lot."
"Yeah, he is super. He also said that any time you or I wanted to work part time to pick up some extra bucks, just give him a call."
"That's great. I was wondering this morning if he would let us do that."
After giving my left nipple a little lick Rob said, "Well, he will. But you wanna know what's even better?"
"What's that?"
"I don't feel guilty any more about having been a hustler."
This was kinda strange. I never could remember Rob ever making any mention of his past in a happy tone of voice so I asked, "What happened?"
Hugging me closer to him, Rob explained, "Andy had me go out and begin working on getting all the storage into the database on the tracking and billing program, so I had plenty of quiet time today. I got to thinking more about this boyfriend lover husband mate stuff and then I realized that it explained everything about the guys who used to pick me up."
This is wild. How could something that helped us understand our relationship have anything to do with guys who picked up hustlers?
After a little chest suck Rob continued, "See, I got to thinking and I realized that the tricks were all wanting something other than just sex; they were wanting their emotional needs satisfied. The guys who wanted a car job and the sober guys who fucked me were in mate mode wanting to be the dominant male. They just wanted to use me to get off. And they were the really sorry bastards, particularly the ones who wanted to fuck me; that's why I stopped doing those guys. All they did was want me to pull down my pants and bend over so they could power fuck me. After they got off, they just ordered me to get out; wouldn't even let me go to the bathroom or anything. The car guys were the same way. Shoot their load and then tell me to get the fuck out of the car.
"The lollipops were wanting to be a lover. They wanted to please me by sucking me off, then go to sleep holding me for the night. Those guys never wanted anything in return, other than for me to cum in their mouth and then hold me; they were wanting to give. The ones who wanted me to fuck them were looking for a husband or a lover. They wanted to take from me by having me give it to them in the ass and then hold them for the night. Of course, a lot of times they just passed out while I was holding them, but they usually wanted to get fucked. When one of them wanted to suck me off, they always, I mean always, did it with me lying on the bed, never standing up.
"The guys who wanted me to stand up while they got down on their knees were in mate, wanting me to be their dominant male. The way they sucked was always different from the guys who were in husband or lover and wanted me to lie down. The guys in mate wanted to give a hard and fast blowjob; the guys in husband or lover took it slow and easy.
"The guys who wanted me to be a driver were also in either husband or mate. Of course, with me sitting there in the driver's seat, the guys in submissive mate couldn't get down on their knees with me standing over them, but they sucked in the same way, really furious, and usually wanted me to hold their head really tightly, kinda forcing them up and down on my dick. The guys in husband took their time and wanted to be gently caressed while they sucked."
I couldn't believe this. Rob was as cheerful as he could be, talking about these activities like it was a hockey game or something.
"I know this sounds all confused but, Clayton, I'm telling you, that's what was happening. Even the words and the noises the guys made fit. Guys wanting to be the dominant male always, I mean always talked dirty, calling me a bitch and stuff like that. That's why I stopped doing them except for a suck in their car; they always wanted to slap me around, particularly when I was still letting them fuck me. Those guys always started spanking me while they fucked. The guys in husband made different sounds than the guys in lover. Clayton, I'm telling you, it all fits. Those guys were not using me for sex, they were using me to try to satisfy their emotional needs. "But you wanna know the really strange thing?"
I was not exactly relishing what Rob was telling me, particularly about guys spanking his ass while they power fucked him, calling him a bitch. Yet, I could tell Rob was freeing himself from a lot of guilty feelings he had and I didn't want to spoil that, so of course I answered, "What's that?"
"I never remember having one trick that was in boyfriend, like you and I were this morning with your quick fuck and my blowjob. Clayton, in the couple or so years I was hustling I have no idea how many tricks I did. And I do not remember one, a single one who was in boyfriend. And you know why?"
"Why?"
"The guys in boyfriend were getting it for free with guys in the bars. I'm sure that guys wanting lovers, husbands or mates were also getting it for free as well, but if the guy just wanted to play, he wanted to play with a friend, not some whore off the street; that would have ruined it for him. The closest thing were the guys who paged to make an appointment; they usually would start off in a faked boyfriend imitation but quickly went into other modes and stayed there until it was over."
Rob gave me a hug, rubbing his face against my chest. He was happy. He was just like a happy little kid hugging his puppy. I was amazed.
"Clayton, I love you so damned much. I thought I'd always feel guilty about all that crap, but I don't now. I really don't. Now don't get me wrong; I'm not saying I'd ever go back to doing it or that I don't care if people know about what I did. I'm still gonna keep my mouth shut about this, but only because other people wouldn't understand."
Raising his head to look at me, I saw tears forming in his eyes as Rob told me, "You're the most wonderful person in the world. If it weren't for you, I'd have never gotten over all that guilt."
Rob then gave me a big hug, sat back up on the bed and asked, "We need to go help with supper?"
"Nah. Mom just takes stuff Dad has made out of the freezer. We got a half hour or so. "
"Good. I need a shower before supper anyway. Wanna help me put my clothes and stuff up?"
"Sure."
Rob grabbed his suitcase and we went into the closet and began putting his stuff on shelves. Since we wore the same size underwear and socks we decided to forget having yours and mine piles and put everything together. Finishing with the clothes Rob pulled a plastic sack out and handed it to me with a big grin asking, "Where you wanna keep this?"
Opening the sack I saw it contained six bottles of lube. And not little ones. We're talking large, economy size. I looked at him slightly in terror and uttered a fierce "Rob!"
In little boy tone of voice Rob said, "Well, I don't want us to run out. Oh, and our cock rings are in the bottom of the sack."
Sticking my tongue out at him and giving him a raspberry I smirked back in a nelly voice, "Half in my nightstand, half in yours."
As I was putting the lube and cock rings away, Rob hollered from the closet, "Is it okay to wear a T-shirt and shorts to supper?"
"Are you kidding? Wear anything you want to around here. Go to supper buck-assed naked if you want. Nobody around here will mind." I toed off my sneakers and pulled off my pants to change into some shorts. Walking back into the closet I saw Rob was getting undressed for his shower, dumping the contents of his pockets onto a shelf. I tossed my pants on the floor and pulled some gym shorts off the shelf, put them on, then walked back to the bed, sat down and started putting my shirt and shoes back on.
Rob walked out of the closet and I asked, "Can I have a quick hug?"
He walked over to me sitting on the bed so I could have my hug. Damn he smelled good, even after being in a hot, sweaty warehouse all day.
"Clayton, if you keep rubbing your nose around in my bush like that you're gonna give me a hard on and I'll be forced to fuck you."
Giving his belly button a quick, full-mouth slurp I looked up at Rob and said, "Don't you wish?" I slapped him on the butt and told him, "Go have a cold shower while I go set the table."
While I was putting the silverware out on the table, Dad came into the kitchen, walked over to me and said, "Don't say anything to your mother about the locker room or the bar; I'll tell her later." Dad was right. No use spoiling supper with a discussion about those types of topics. After I fed Wilbur, Dad and I started putting the food on the table. Rob and Mom came into the kitchen almost simultaneously and we all sat down to eat.
Most of the discussion at supper was about getting everything together for the graduation party on Saturday. Mom was always in charge of functions and she is good at it. Over the years she had put together an entire set of party plans, somewhat like a menu of services. When she presented the proposal to the school, she swept away the competition. Her presentation included scaled diagrams of the back yard set up, a complete menu showing the quantities of food needed and photographs of similar cookouts we had held in the past. Although Mom thoroughly enjoys doing this, she's also all business about it; her proposal even included a line item charge for liability insurance if the school's insurance did not cover off campus activities.
Unlike my pool party during the summer, since this was a school sponsored function there would be no alcohol served. However, this meant I'd have to "hide" trashcans in the Woods so guys would have a place to throw away their empty beer cans. We ain't stupid; we know guys would sneak in beer and I don't wanna have to waste my time picking empties up out of the bushes.
Mom gave Dad and me a computer printout of our schedules. Dad's was the easiest: start cooking Saturday morning. Other than ordering the food and supplies, Mom always kept herself open to handle any last minute things that popped up (despite all the planning, something unexpected always happens). My schedule involved picking up food and supplies and getting the grounds ready. Because the party would be on Saturday, starting at 2:00 in the afternoon, I'd need to move the yard maintenance schedule up a day, meaning I needed to water tonight so I could mow the grass and stuff on Friday as well as clean the pool. On Saturday I had to set up tables and chairs and put the stage together for the band, but with Rob to help, that would not take long.
Rob was impressed with the detailed inventories, food recipes and diagrams Mom had prepared, fully realizing that my parents were serious about professionally hosting functions when Dad retired from the oil company in three years.
Dad took a key out of his pocket and gave it to Rob, explaining how the internal security system of the Shack worked. On the theory that it's best to keep honest people honest, we always locked down the Shack when we had a function to keep people out of areas they didn't need to be in, such as the bedroom suites, the pantry in the kitchen where the silverware and good china was kept and such. The locks throughout the Swamp were different; however, Rob's key (like Mom, Dad's and mine) was a master key that would open all the locks.
Dad also told us that Andy had called him to get Sam Reynolds' phone number so he could give Rob a job and character reference. Dad then told Rob and me, "Guys, I know that both of you want to get started on this construction project, but Kathleen and I want the two of you to spend some time together, just the two of you. I know that Sam, Kathy and I are going to spend most of tonight discussing ideas so nothing definite is going to get decided. Rob, after Andy talked to Sam, he does want you to go to work for him but we're going to have to hash out the concept of how to do it. Other than meet Sam tonight, there's really no compelling reason for either of you to sit in with us. As far as Kathy and I are concerned, the two of you can have the run of the place after supper for the next few days since we'll be holed up in the Cellar getting this worked out."
What else could Rob and I say except "thank you?"
After supper, Rob and I cleared the table; we figured since Rob was one of the family now he might as well learn the nuances of living at the Swamp since it is different from your ordinary suburban household. Like the dishwasher. It's a commercial version. As I opened the door to it Rob asked, "What is that?"
"The dishwasher. It's a commercial version."
"It's huge," exclaimed Rob, "it looks more like a refrigerator."
"Yeah, but you don't have to run it all that much when it's just us here, so you save on water. It also sanitizes as well as washes."
"What's sanitize?"
"Commercial establishments have to comply with the health codes," I explained. "They can't just wash and rinse food preparation and service utensils like you do at home. They have to sanitize them as well to kill any bacteria that might remain. After something's washed, you have to either steam it or immerse it in a chlorine solution to kill any bacteria. This thing steams everything after the wash and rinse cycle is finished. You ever notice those triple wash sinks they got in bars?"
"Yeah. I always wondered why they had two rinse things."
"Those aren't both rinse. The first is the wash bath with the soap in it. The second is a plain water rinse. The third is the sanitizing solution with the chlorine in it. But you know the thing that sucks?"
"What's that?"
"The damned bartenders never use the thing right. They just dunk the glass in and out of the sanitizing solution like it was a rinse. To kill the bacteria, it needs to remain fully immersed for at least ten seconds."
"So," asked Rob with a little bit of hesitancy in his voice, "are you saying all the glasses in a bar are dirty?"
"Could be. Depending upon the type of bacteria. Some of the really dangerous ones can live in the open air for hours. So you may be drinking bacteria that was in someone's mouth or on their hands a couple of hours ago, particularly if they didn't wash their hands after going to the lavatory."
"Clayton, that is gross! "
"You're damned right it is, and all because the idiots behind the bar don't know what to do. It was just like we were talking yesterday; if you understand the theory, you do a better job. Here's how it works. Guy orders a drink. Goes to the lavatory, wipes his ass, but doesn't wash his hands. He's now got that dreadful bacteria on his hands; he can't see it, but it's there. Picks up his drink back at the bar. Bacteria is now on the glass. When he's done, bartender dumps out the ice and sets the glass down to be washed later. The bacteria sit there and multiply some more. After a little while the bartender comes along to wash glasses and what does he do? Bam. Bam. Bam. In the wash water, in the rinse, in the sanitizing solution, on the drainboard. Really quick, one glass at a time. Then does the next glass the same way.
"Now look at what he's done. The glass may look clean, but it ain't. Those bacteria are so little they can get down in the microscopic crevices of the glass so they don't all get washed off. Some of them get left behind in the wash water and the rinse water to infect the next glass that comes along. But that's okay, provided he leaves the glass submersed in the sanitizing water for at least ten seconds, but he doesn't; he just dunks it in and out. See, the water in the wash and rinse ain't hot enough to sterilize the glass; no way it could be. It would have to be at the boiling point to kill the bacteria through heat, so there's no way you could put your hands in it. Rather than slam 'em in and out of the three compartments, he's better off to wash the glasses and fill the rinse sink. When it's full, transfer all of them over into the sanitizing sink and leave them there while he washes another load of glasses to fill the rinse sink again. Then, empty the sanitizing sink and put the glasses on the drainboard. It's actually faster that way than the bam bam bam one glass at a time way and a hell of a whole lot safer."
"Clayton, is there anything your parents haven't taught you?"
"They didn't teach me that, well, not really. I went to this two-day class to get my food manager's permit. We all have one. It was really interesting learning how to avoid food born contamination and making people sick or killing them."
"Killing them! " exclaimed Rob.
"Yeah. Just like those people who died a couple of years ago after eating hamburgers in some fast food place. Got that e.coli bacteria or whatever; I think that's the one that's spread my going to the lavatory and not washing your hands. See, even though the butcher or whoever hadn't washed his hands and got the bacteria into the meat, the bacteria still could have been killed if they had cooked the ground meat to the proper internal temperature."
"Uhhhh, does that mean that potentially you could get AIDS or something by having a drink in a bar?"
"Nahhh," I answered. "The HIV virus can't live in the open air, it dies after it leaves your body. You gotta have a fluid to fluid transfer."
After thinking a moment while I finished putting the supper dishes away in the dishwasher I added, "But you know what does suck?"
"What's that?"
"It just occurred to me that if a guy has an impaired immune system due to HIV, he's the one at risk drinking in a bar. With those stupid bartenders not properly sanitizing the glasses, they could pass on germs or bacteria that could make that guy sick but wouldn't affect someone with a healthy immune system. That's one of the major things we learned in school in health class. Healthy people are more of a threat to people with HIV than people with HIV are to healthy people. The colds and stuff that little kids get can kill someone with AIDS. C'mon, let's go set out the lawn sprinkers."
As we were walking through the den to the back yard Rob said, "You ever heard or read stuff about how the HIV virus keeps changing and mutating? Like how that's one of the reasons they have such a difficult time getting the medications to work?"
"Yeah?"
"Does that mean it might mutate into something that wouldn't die immediately in the open air?"
As the possibilities associated with that question worked its way through my mind, I began to feel a little concerned until I remembered what I'd learned in school. "Well, so far, they've never found a germ, virus or bacteria that can survive proper sanitation procedures, either steaming or immersion in the chlorine solution. Damn, the possibility of the unknown is even more reason for those bartenders to do things right. I remember Dad asking a guy once why he was washing glasses that way, you know, just dunking them in and out of the sanitizing solution rather than filling the sink with glasses and leaving them immersed."
"So what excuse did the guy have?" asked Rob.
"I couldn't believe it. The guy knew you were supposed to leave it immersed for at least ten seconds. But the reason he didn't do it was that when he gets in a hurry, he might break a glass if he piled 'em up in the sink to let them soak. Wonderful. Save a glass. Let bacteria live and kill people." I thought of something and started chuckling while I asked Rob, "Hey, maybe we ought to let Frank know about this so he can start a new crusade."
Smiling broadly, Rob answered, "Yeah, maybe we should. It'll be a lot easier for him to get bartenders to change their behavior for the better than fags in general."
Chuckling at the thought of Frank taking on bartenders over their glass washing technique I told Rob, "Frank seems like a nice guy. How long have you known him?"
"Mmmm," thought Rob, "probably two or three years. I met him right after I got off the streets. Hell, even after we started talking it was months before I even knew he was a lawyer. He's really intelligent and has a great sense of humor. I always enjoy seeing him, but I do feel kinda sorry for him."
"Why's that?"
"Frank's husband died several years ago in an accident. I know Frank would like to be in a relationship but it's tough for him. There's the problem meeting guys his own age. AIDS pretty much wiped out his generation. I know he's said that nearly all his gay friends he had twenty years ago are just about all dead. And there's the damned overemphasis on sex in the gay world. Like Frank says, why fuck with someone's body if you can't fuck with their mind? He's just like everyone else, you and me included. What we really all want is an emotional attachment and the sex is just a way of expressing that in addition to sometimes screwing around just for the fun of it."
Thinking about what Rob had said I told him, "Rob, I don't care if this boyfriend lover husband mate stuff is a busted clock or not. I do know it's made me understand and appreciate the different reasons and emotions we have when you and I are intimate. Before, all of that was all jumbled together. You know how you said that understanding all this makes you not feel guilty about what you used to do for a living?"
"Yeah."
"Well, it's also done something for me. I don't feel guilty about enjoying and wanting to have sex with you. I guess saying you're not guilty is a way of saying you're not ashamed about what you do. Most people wouldn't understand this, but I'm not the least bit ashamed to admit that sucking your dick is a way to express my love and need for you. I understand that now. Sure, it can still be just for fun, like this morning before we left the bedroom, but it also is a whole lot more."
"Just like washing glasses in a bar. When you understand the why, you do things right, do a better job and nobody gets hurt."
Smiling and looking at Rob I told him, "I like that."
"What?"
"Washing glasses. That's a great analogy, just like a busted clock."
Smiling back at me Rob agreed, "Yeah, I guess it is the same thing."
Washing glasses? Busted clocks? Who says people in love don't create their own special language? Oh, well.
The sprinklers for the grounds at the Swamp are the commercial type, like you see on a golf course, so it took about forty-five minutes to get them all set up. After resetting the sprinkler timers to go off a day earlier during the night we went back to the Shack. Sam Reynolds arrived and Rob got to meet him. During the ten-minute or so conversation, Sam confirmed that he did want to hire Rob, then Sam, Mom and Dad went off to the Cellar for their conference. Rob and I went to the bedroom.
Getting on the bed we of course began snuggling. "You feeling horny?" I eventually asked after I could feel the bulge in Rob's crotch when my leg pressed against it.
"Nope, not really," he replied with that wicked grin of his, "I'm beginning to feel like a movie star."
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"Right now?"
"Yep. Where's the video camera?"
I scrambled off the bed to get the video camera and tripod out of the closet in the den. After getting back to the bedroom, I found Rob naked and ready for action. Boy was he ever ready. I told him to lie down on the bed so I could get the camera set up and adjusted, then stripped and took his place face down on the bed. Rob turned on the camera and we made our first home movie together. In classic tradition, at the conclusion, Rob finished by depositing his money shot on my butt and back for cinematic posterity.
After popping the tape into the VCR and rewinding it so we could view our screen debut together, Rob stopped me saying, "There's something I want you to do for me."
"What's that?"
"I wanna tape you jacking off in bed watching the thing the first time. I wanna be able to watch it later so I can learn exactly how you like your dick stroked so I can do a better job of masturbating you."
That sounded like a pretty good idea to me so I told Rob, "Okay, but on one condition; I get to tape you jacking off the first time you watch my tape so I can learn how to do the same for you."
Being videotaped by your nude boyfriend while you jack off watching a video of him fucking you was somewhat of a new experience for me. But not an entirely unpleasant one. Besides, it had been a while since I had jerked off lying on my back. After getting propped up on some pillows and getting comfortable, Rob repositioned the camera while I lubed up my hand and dick. Rob told me he was ready so I hit the play button on the remote and settled back to enjoy the movie.
As I had expected, Rob was beautiful when he fucked. During our fifteen or so minute session we had changed positions several times so I could see how he looked from the side, back and front as he fucked me both laying face down on the bed and while on my hands and knees. Watching his muscles work in sexual unison was mesmerizing. Seeing the dimples in the sides of his butt cheeks form and disappear with each fuck stroke left me in awe, just as did the sight of his balls rocking back and forth when he dog fucked me. But the absolute best was the ending with Rob facing the camera, up on his arms pumping away, clearly in boyfriend mode enjoying himself in order to reach his climax. Watching the smiling expression on his face and his eyes half-closed in pleasure, I realized for the first time since the video had started that I was masturbating, and that realization came only because my eyes began shutting as my own orgasm started to match his on the tape.
I am not the least bit ashamed to admit I'm a noisy fuck. About the only time I don't make noise when I'm enjoying sexual satisfaction is when I have Rob's dick in my mouth, but even then I still give out yummy "mmmm" sounds. And I make an incredibly wide variety of sounds when I'm ejaculating, depending on what I'm feeling. But for this particular orgasm, I made a sound I don't ever recall coming out of me during an orgasm. Absolute dead silence. The bedroom was completely quiet except for the soft whisper of my breath exhaling from my lungs as the semen squirted out of my dick. For the first time in my life I actually heard the sound of drops of cum landing on my stomach like gooey raindrops.
I will not say it was the best orgasm I ever had. But it ranked right up there with other particular ones I recalled. I was left with an incredibly relaxed and contented feeling knowing that I was able to help Rob enjoy himself in the manner I had just watched.
As my senses came back to me, Rob shut off the camera and quietly lied down on the bed next to me, then began using his finger to toy with the splats of ejaculate on my stomach. With my eyes still closed I softly called to him, "Rob."
"Yes, Clayton."
"You know something about our new house in the Outhouse?"
"What?" I could tell from the tone of his voice Rob was not expecting me to be talking about the Outhouse at the moment.
"It's gonna be two stories tall and have a set of stairs."
After a long silence, Rob finally realized I was not going to say anything else until he said something first. He finally said, "Yes, Clayton, there probably will be a set of stairs in our new two story house."
"I wanna put a big closet underneath those stairs, a really big one."
After another prolonged moment of silence, with a tone of voice indicating Rob was beginning to think I was losing my mind, he responded, "That would be nice."
"Yes. And I wanna pad the floor, put mirrors on the walls and ceiling and call it the Fuck Room."