Even watching him carry the groceries between his car and his front door made Adams heart flutter. Not the act itself -- he didn't have some secret fetish for Costco produce -- but the mundanity of it; the thought this dude could be hauling those bags for Adam's sake. And once the guy lay them on their kitchen floor, Adam would take his hands and caress the white lines which straining plastic handles had dug into his palms. Adam would whisper "thanks babe," and wipe the sweat off his glistening forehead, before scurrying away to fit produce in shelves. Their shelves. Their mundanity. His fantasy.
Of course, the fantasy didn't end there. Hell no, it ended with Adam bent over their kitchen countertop, shirt pulled up to his navel, his pants round his ankles. It ended with a globule of spit on his hairy asshole; a hole the head of his man's cock was gentle stretching open. It ended with the throbbing of nine inches shooting wet love inside him.
Adam's cock spasmed against the zip of his chinos as he watched the man from his window, a window fogging under his pacing breaths. He didn't even know the guy's name. How disrespectful, to have had invented this imaginary life for the two of them without even asking the dude's name. "Corey" suited. He had the build of a Corey; broad and thick, but not rotund. He had the auburn crew cut hair too -- not that Adam could say why that gave off such strong "Corey" vibes. And he was young enough for it -- no one pictures a Corey to be a leather faced bear with wiry silver chest hair. He was on the cusp though; perhaps, in a couple of years, Adam would have to start calling him "Caleb" instead.
"Corey" hauled another load of plastic Costco bags from the boot of his Nissan, his biceps stretching the cotton sleeves of his light grey shirt -- light enough to see streaks of sweat having darkened the fabric down his back and under his armpits; Adam tried to picture the salty stench. The man put the bags at his feet, shook his hands out, lifted them again for the trek up to his front door. Adam's own hand went to the bulge in his chinos, rubbing the fabric containing his own straining muscle. "Corey" turned back down his drive, looked up. Their eyes met.
Adam threw himself away from the window with such reckless abandon his feet caught against a chair leg, bringing both him and the chair toppling. His shoulder hit his desk with a crack, sending a wild flurry of once carefully stacked papers into a blizzard.
He screamed as his head smacked against the floor, bounced up, slammed down again. He clenched his eyes, ground his teeth together. Being bound against the chair leg, his ankle cracked; pain erupted all the way up his calf.
Muthafucka,' he shrieked between panting breaths, throwing out shards of spit which then glistened in his carpet. Fuck.'
He tried to roll on to his back, but that only jammed his ankle harder. As another wave of stabbing pins radiated up his leg, he brought his free hand to his mouth and bit hard.
For a while, he just lay here, his ankle and head throbbing. His shoulder too, but not to the same extent. He wallowed in his jumble of papers, watching dust nodes flurry in the light streaming in through the still fogged window. His hand, upon which stringy spittle glistened within teeth imprints, he brought to his thumping head.
It felt to Adam like fucking hours before the pain did eventually recede -- no doubt it was minutes. "Recede" being a somewhat loose term too; the sensations abated only from volts of electricity to pounding spasms, like being struck over and over. He hadn't completely broken himself however. It turned out he could still move his foot, enough to prise it out of the grasp of his chair at least; clenching his jaw against the inevitable stabbing pain which came with moving. When he rolled onto his back this time, he did so much more successfully.
`Fuck,' this time less of a scream but a sigh, extra breathy.
He was still lying there when he heard his doorbell go. His deep exhale whistled on his dry lips. Just what he fucking needed. Because, and Adam wasn't too big to admit this, but he was a wallower. For bad things especially, he liked to take the time to savour his misery. Probably because, in some Freudian sense, he knew he deserved it - today's case being a prime example; if he hadn't of been such a dirty perv, none of this would have happened. It wasn't as if happiness was alien to him either, he knew how to have a good time, but those times were always eclipsed by the shadow of being unearned. Exactly why his husband, pipe, and slippers fantasies were exactly that; fantasies.
But he couldn't wallow this time, not with Mr. or Mrs. "excitable trigger finger" hammering on his doorbell, not letting the first jingle finish before cutting it short with another ring.
`Hold on,' he shouted, aware again of how raw his earlier scream had shredded his throat.
Getting up was a struggle. He rolled onto his front without too much effort, pushed himself up with one hand, pulled against his desk with the other, but then he put all his weight on his weak ankle and crumpled like a sack of shit.
`I'll be down in a sec,' he shouted as the doorbell chimed again.
I tell you, if it's the church of latter day fucking saints, I'm gonna ram their bibles up their arses.
Second times the charm, as they say, and being much more weary of his ankle, he again pulled himself up to standing. But being standing didn't necessarily mean the battle was over; not when he still had to hop from his study to the stairs, down the stairs, through the hallway. All the while to the tune of his doorbell, which, thankfully, was now ringing with less enthusiasm.
Surprisingly, getting to the top of the stairs was the hardest mission, with nothing but hands upon the walls, and at one point the doorframe, to keep his weight off his bad leg. The trip hazards didn't help much; the papers about the floor, the worn clothes strewn haphazardly. At least for the stairs he had the bannister. He hopped from step to step, the wood groaning with the added force of the impact.
`What,' he huffed as he threw the door open.
The guy on the other side recoiled, his outstretched finger speeding away from the doorbell.
`I'm really sorry, I heard a yell, and thought you might need help,' said Caleb.
Caleb! Or whatever his name is.
Caleb, at my door.
A blooming pinkness hid the freckles of Caleb's pale cheeks. `I know it isn't my place,' he said, his voice thin and wavering.
`You wanna help, you can start by fixing my doorbell,' Adam replied, trying to act cool whilst his heart hammered against his ribs. He could feel his own blush leaching into his cheeks.
`Sorry, I was just worried. I know you live alone.'
What the hell does he know `bout my living situation.
Caught in the moment, Adam put his weight on his bad leg and collapsed. Pain flared like fire in his ankle. Not that the pain was the worst of the situation; it didn't make things better, course, but it was the embarrassment which made Adam want to crawl into a little hole and never come out. He hated the noise which escaped him as he fell, clutching at the door, a high pitched "aaaaah", feminine and thin. Weak. And what a fool he must have looked; grabbing for a door swinging out against his weight, his good leg scrambling for purchase. The redness prickled his cheeks. Not that he should care what this boy thought of him. Who was he to Adam. Or who was Adam to him, rather, except a neighbour he had never spoken too.
He expected Corey to grin, not with him but at him. Or worse, erupt into a full belly laugh. He didn't.
If anything, the boy -- young man, rather; "boy" has such creeping connotations, plus he looked about 26 -- seemed concerned. Though the hand he stuck out would have been as much use as the pope's balls; should Adam have taken it, they would both have gone tumbling. A hand which he didn't retract either, even after Adam had stabilised himself. Whilst Adam clung onto the door, Corey just stood there, all awkward and pink in the face. Silence congealed between them, thick and cold.
I'm sorry about your bell,' Corey eventually said. But I don't know if I'll be much good at fixing it.'
Adam, managing to find equilibrium between the door and his good leg, straighten out. Nah,' he said, I was just fucking with you. It ain't broke. But it woulda done if you'd kept hammering it like you was playing pinball.'
`Sorry,' he said again, his eyes looking down to their feet.
`Now you've seen I'm all right, is there anything else I can help you with. Cos I'm pretty busy as it goes. I've got a stack of paper which not only need marking but picking up off the floor now too.' It took Adam an effort to be so rebuttal. To be this close to one of the men of his fantasies, it sparked a coldness in him, a sweaty coldness, pleasant rather than not. He sucked moisture into his dry mouth.
Well can I give you a hand with anything,' Corey said, ironically still with his hand outstretched. Obviously not the marking papers, but anything else. I can pick them up at least.' He looked up then, his blue eye meeting Adam's. `I'm Ben.'
Fucking Ben.
Well that ruined the fantasy.
No, not ruined, but the idea of moaning "Ben" with the guy slamming his ass didn't quite have the same appeal. "Benny" maybe. "Benjamin" certainly not. Not that the name really mattered. He could damn well get used to a name. And with "Ben" -- it still just didn't seem right in his thoughts -- standing before him, all those pervy little scenarios found a weighty new context, one even more fulfilling. Now Adam could actually smell the sweet musk emanating from the dark wet patches of his shirt; he could take that stink and seal it in his imagination, amplify it. He could picture, with greater clarity, the heady aroma of nestling his nose within the young man's pubes, inhaling him.
Stop, Adam. Not now.
Though it felt somewhat wrong with his thoughts "elsewhere", he took "Ben's" hand. An electricity rippled through him.
The sweat of Adam's armpits seeped into the fibres of his shirt.
Why did I do that?
God how he wanted to invite the young man in. The words were there, straining at the back of his throat, but of course common sense kept them caged. Yeah, such fantasies were fine for a daydream, but he knew his motivations were sick and wrong. He knew that should "Ben" come in, he would end up, at best, disappointed. At worse he would be beaten up. And the neighbourhood would learn of the faggot living at 142, the pervert, and they would come with their torches and pitchforks. And his school would learn, when Ben inevitably made a complaint against him; they would send him packing. They wouldn't tolerate the mums and dads ringing up asking whether that sick teacher had interfered with their precious jimmy, not here in the Bible Belt. And he would have no home, no job, no money, all for the chance of some a little dick shaped happiness he knew would never be offered.
`Sorry dude, I ain't got all day,' Adam said.
Ben's fingers tightened with his own. The young man smiled a sort of half sided smile, his eyes back to their shoes. He took a breath as if to say something, then exhaled slowly. And the moment dragged on and on.
Another deep breath in. Eyes lifted up, but his chin still hovered at his chest. If Adam had leant in, he could have smelt the guys auburn hair. `Can I come in,' he murmured.
Did he fucking know?
`I don't think that's wise.'
This time, Ben really lifted his head, giving Adam the chance to bask in his face. His eyes were fierce now, icy blue. `Who said anything about wise. There was me trying to be polite. How insane of me to think it may have been reciprocated.'
`Didn't realise I owed you my time.'
`Yet you're content to spend that time staring at me from your window. And who knows what else your doing with it.'
A shiver ran through Adam's body. The breath caught in his throat. So this was where it ended, yes. Because, and he wasn't too big to admit it, he knew had gone too far, and not just today. He had let the pleasure of his little fantasies bleed into life. Cause how else would it have ended, except for Ben calling the cops on the creepy man across the street, who would stare at him from a breath misted window, his right shoulder pumping as he did so. And even if they didn't arrest him, marching him out of his house in handcuffs, people would know. And sometimes that's worse. This would be how it ends; rejected, destitute. Cause, sad as they were, he found happiness in those daydreams, in his rubbing and pumping, and men like him don't deserve happiness.
Staring into Ben's eyes, he now saw the fierceness for what it was; fear and disgust. So why were their fingers still interlocked? More actually. This handshake wasn't some limp, unreciprocated formality -- some "politeness" as Ben had stated. The guy's thumb was rubbing circles against Adam's own. And he was trembling. Not just a hand squeezing with such anger as to shake, but the guy trembled. Beads of sweat glittered in a halo about his head.
So perhaps it wasn't anger or disgust in his expression. Perhaps it was something else, something which Adam could empathise with.
`Come in,' he said under his breath.
`Only if you tell me your name first. I don't make a habit of entering stranger's houses.'
Yet you fucking invited yourself.' He paused, names Adam.'
`Nice to meet you Adam.'
Their hands still connected, Adam managed to stagger back into the hallway. But as a crutch, Corey -- no, "Ben" -- "Ben" didn't offer much support. Or in fact, didn't offer any support, pulling the cripple off balance. Still, Adam loathed to let go.
In truth, Ben wasn't much like Corey at all. The man of Adam's fantasy was bold and stoic to the point of being cold. The kind of person who knew what he wanted, and though he could love, he would satisfy his needs before anyone else's. Which worked fine for Adam. Ben, on the other hand, acted more limp. Not weak at all, his biceps were thick; his legs filled completely ever inch of his jeans. But he bumbled. Oh Adam could see the appeal; the young man was adorable in his awkwardness. He just didn't seem the type to roll into the bedroom, fuck an arse, wipe his dick on the bedsheets, then leave without saying a word.
They walked hand in hand to the kitchen, where, rather than take a chair, Ben stood against one of the walls, his hands clasped at his waist. Adam just leant against the countertop.
`Can I get you anything,' Adam asked.
`No, no, I'm meant to be helping you. Sit down. Let me help.' Ben hopped forwards, hands out as if he was about to catch a baseball.
`And how much help are you gonna be. Cos if I ask you to get me a glass of water, you're gonna ask where the glasses are, then whether I keep water chilled, then where the fridge is.'
`I can help you sit down at least.'
The guy engulfed him in both arms to lower Ben to the chair, and Ben found himself cocooned within this young man's chest, feeling the ripe humidity of breath wash over his face. It was unnecessarily, but Adam relished the contact. His face was so close to the young man's neck, he could inhale the tart, pungent aroma of someone who'd been hauling grocery bags. He looked up and their eyes met. Ben trembled.
Adam needed to taste him. To reach across the void -- figurative more than literally -- and take the guys lips within his own. To let his tongue inside him. God, how he needed it. But the idea left him so fucking cold. The pair of them trembled together with the sheer awkwardness of wanting something but being too afraid to take it. `Cause Ben wanted him too, neither could deny that. Unless the man could act like an Oscar winner. And all this was a ruse the man had invented to capture him at his most vulnerable, take pictures on his iPhone and send them to dateline or some shit.
His chest collapsing on a deep sigh, Adam dropped his head to his shoulder, stared at the dark wood of the kitchen table. `You can put me down now,' he said.
`What if I don't want to?'
`Who says you have a fucking choice dude. Put me down and get out my house.'
Ben recoiled. Which Adam had expected, hoped for. What he hadn't expected was the consequence of suddenly being responsible for his own weight again. The chair leg screeched against the tiled floor as he fell backwards. Had Adam not caught the table, it would have been déjà vu of a fat cunt laid out like a murder victim. Perhaps he would have fucked the other leg this time.
`Fuck sake,' Adam slammed a fist down on the table, more from the pain than the incompetence.
`I'm sorry.'
`What did I fucking say.' Again it was the anger speaking.
`You really want me to go?'
Adam didn't respond.
`Then stop watching me through your fucking window like you want something.'
Not that Adam was testing the young dude, but Corey wouldn't have left, not now, not with so much of the unsaid hanging in the air. With two thumbs, Corey would have pried Adam's mouth open, slammed all nine inches of his cock down a throat and held it there until that same throat started to spasm for air. Perhaps, when Adam was blue in the face, Corey would have pulled it out, wet with threads of mucus stretching taunt between lips and that glistening cock head. Adam wouldn't have been able to see, tears clouding his vision, but damn he would feel that stiff dick slap against his cheek, spittle spraying. That was what Corey would do. But Corey wasn't fucking real. And here he had Ben. Ben who wanted something, clearly. Ben who wasn't Corey, who wouldn't just take what he needed. But that didn't imply the dude didn't want the same thing.
Maybe it was his pitching boner which spurred it, or the idea of him having his throat used, but his dry lips cracked open. `What I want is for you to fuck me.'
What the fuck am I doing?
Silence opaqued. His heart began pounding so hard in his chest as to be palpable. His back grew moist against the wooden chair.
`You're fucking confusing, you know. And I sure as hell didn't come over here for these mind games.'
`So why did you come over?'
Because I thought you might'a needed help.' He paused for a second, his eyes, before drilling holes into Adam's own, misted over. And because, I don't know, I just had a feeling. I had a feeling you coulda been like me, you know. That perhaps there was another dude in this God fearing shit hole who knew what I've been through.'
Adam didn't know what to say. Didn't want to say anything. This was all too close, too real, and it was fucking terrifying. But what he did know was this dude was, well, nice. Too damn nice for someone like him. Lovely in an awkward, clammy, beautiful kind of way. And though it defied all expectation, perhaps Adam wanted him more for that.
`Can you help me up?'
`Sure, dude,' Ben said, bounding over to wrap his thick arms underneath Adam's clammy armpits, fingers linking behind his back. He pulled Adam up with the ease of a dad lifting his babe. Their chests pressed together, their hips too. Adam looked up at the face inches from his own, saw his steamy breath stir the short hairs of the dudes fringe. Ben kissed him.
Funny, he had never imagined Corey kissing him. Living with him, yeah, sure. Engaged in the mundanity of chores. Fucking him raw. But never once had that fantasy land involved kissing.
Sparks erupted in his mouth as their lips met, as his mouth opened to take the whole of Ben's lower lip within. A shiver ran ascendantly down his spine, causing pimples to rise in a cascade down his back, across his arms. But not cold pimples, no; electricity spawned these, and heat. A heat which raged deep at the very core of him, spreading out to his extremities, his cock especially. The more their tongues writhed together, the hotter his dick felt, throbbing against the fibres of his chinos, begging. Ben's was doing much the same, firm against him in their embrace.
Adam brought his hand to the bulge in the guy's jeans, which swelled towards his touch as if straining to break through those tough fibres, to be touched. One of Ben's hands snaked down his back, running across the bumps of his spine, to his hips, squeezing his ass. Okay cupped rather than squeezed; fingers caressing rather than nails leaving crescent moon indentations in the skin of his cheeks. Well let him touch and stroke, let him do whatever the hell he needs to get off.
Adam needed more. He needed silken skin. He yanked down the zipper, popped the button of Ben's waistband, dove clutching fingers inside the grey boxer briefs within. To feel the weighty meat. Ben whistled breath into Adam's mouth as the pervert's fingers encircled the base of his shaft, a dick still awkwardly bent by the tightness of the fabrics which encased it. A dick which needed to be free, to be enjoyed. So Adam yanked Ben's layers down to his knees. The cock sprang up, twitching in a eager grip. Okay, so it wasn't close to Corey's nine inches, not at all. But that didn't matter. It felt right in Adam's palm. It would feel right in his throat, it would feel right up his ass.
Adam pulled his lips away from Ben's, reluctant to break the connection of their tongues, but desperate for what could follow. `Lower me down,' he said.
Adam would have expected Ben to do so with reckless enthusiasm, with little care for whether the movement would catch the bad leg. `Cause they both knew what was coming next.
He didn't.
`If that's what you want,' he said instead.
The pace, the gentleness, with which he placed Adam back in the chair jarred against the immediate need. The moment hung in the air, stretching indefinitely against Adam's craving; the slow squat, the timidity of the arms holding him, the breathy whisper of `are you okay'. Then the time it took for Ben to stand again, to get his cock level with Adam's watering mouth. His pulse throbbed against his temples. His hand, the one not gliding up and down the rigid shaft, was trembling. He licked his lips.
Finally the moment came.
Ben exhaled as lips closed about his bulbous head, his chest caving in, his knees softly bending. A grunt whistled out of the guy's slightly parted mouth as Adam took more and more of the shaft inside him. And for Adam too, a gurgled moan tickled the inside of his cheeks. It was the beauty of the moment, the delicious taste of sweat and precum, briny and pungent, and sweet. The perfection of being used. He wanted more. He needed more. Pulling against the young guys butt cheeks, fingertips rubbing against the wiry hair of a man's ass, he forced every inch of the dick down his throat. And he relished in the choking; his fingers twitching, tears blurring his vision, lungs clamouring for a gasp of breath. He relished in the ache of a jaw forced open. Only when his body could take it no more did he pull back, coughing, and spluttering stringy salvia down his chin.
A deep pant and he took it again. Although this time, he don't hold it in his mouth with just his tongue lapping at the shaft; he rocked his head backwards and forewords, slamming it down his throat. Not once did he touch his own cock. Oh it was straining against his chinos, desperate for attention. But it didn't deserve attention. He didn't deserve the attention. Ben's hands clasped on the cocksucker's shoulders, fingers squeezing firm, veins bulging on the back of his hands. Knees half bent, his legs were shaking. Okay, so those fingers didn't grip the back of Adam's head, knotting in his hair and tugging as he forced the rigid cock down this willing hole -- not like Corey would have. But this was good too. Enjoyable, in a delicate way.
On Adam continued; rubbing his tongue in a circle around the head, then taking it so deep it slapped the back of his throat. Coarse pubic hair tickled his nose, but he was too choked to savour the smell proper. His chest cramped for breath unforthcoming -- breath he didn't care for. Sweat and tears ran down his cheeks, churned with the frothing saliva, the sweet sweet precum, and the bubbling snot which all collected on his chin, dripping. Wet, everything dirty and wet. The whole while Adam moaned too, perhaps audible only to himself, a sound which vibrated along the shaft.
But Adam wanted more. Long threads of sputum snapped and dangled as he pulled his head back from the glistening cock. What a mess he probably looked, his hair sodden with sweat and his mouth dirtied by his throat juices.
Sucking that cock had dominated his focus so much, he hadn't noticed Ben take his shirt off.
`Fuck me,' he said to the man in front of him, with a voice high and cracking. Not that he cared how he sounded now, this man had already formulated his opinions of him. The wheezy moans which escaped him now weren't a weakness, they were an invitation for more. To take the situation further.
With two hands on the table, he heaved himself out of the seat, to turn round and offer his hole. But Ben pressed firm on his shoulder.
Now?' the guy asked. Don't you want me to suck you?'
Adam had already turned away, his chest down on the table. `I'd prefer you to fuck me.' He pulled his chinos down, lifted his shirt. Just like in his fantasies.
`But what about lube?'
`Just spit on my hole'
`Won't it hurt?'
Too many fucking questions.
Adam didn't bother replying.
At any moment, he expected to feel the bulbous head pry his hole open, to feel the electric pain of his sphincter resisting. He took a big inhale, clenched his hands, shut his eyes. Waited.
Nothing.
He wanted to turn and see what was keeping the guy, but at the same time wanted to keep his hole on display, to keep the offer extended.
`I just thought, maybe, I could face you,' Ben said.
Not exactly how Adam had imagined it, but sure, why not. Wouldn't it be hot to see the abject pleasure of a man using him? To feel sweat drip from the dudes face and fall on to his tongue, salty and warm.
Still with his chest on the table, his hole on display, he kicked off his chinos. His cock sprang towards the ceiling as he rolled onto his back, flicking slivers of precum onto the black hairs of his chest. A cock he hid beneath his palm. With his other hand, he rubbed fingers full of frothy spittle into his ass.
`I fucking want you to stretch me,' he said.
The dude hesitated, standing between Adam's spread legs with the same bumbling awkwardness. He wasn't Corey, that's for sure. Corey would already be inside him, forcing that cock so deep his balls would slap the perv's ass. But not Ben. Ben had his eyes on the floor, was biting his lower lip. First he had one hand holding Adam's ankle -- thankfully the good ankle -- then hip, then he placed it on the edge of the table with the trepidation of not knowing where it belonged. His other hand was squeezing the base of his cock as he guided it towards the waiting hole. He rocked from side to side, searching for an angle which worked.
Adam grit his teeth as the cock head pressed against his sphincter, preparing for the inevitable explosion of pain. He took a deep breath in, held it. Damn, the guy was taking his time. Rather than a hard shove, the cock eased in with such gentleness the hole puckered with little resistance, even at the thickest point of the head. Yeah it hurt, but not in a agony kind of way. Not in the way Adam wanted. But oh God the feeling when it filled him completely, when his second sphincter opened to allow the meat to fill his rectum, when the guy's pubic hair scratched against his taint. His hole electric. Squeezing shut his watering eyes sent tears rolling down his cheeks. Goose pimples coated his trembling flesh.
`Are you okay?' Ben said.
`You don't have to ask.'
`Sorry, I just want to make sure I'm not hurting you. That you're enjoying this too.'
`I wouldn't expect you to care.'
`But I do.'
Adam pried his eyes open, met the concerned gaze of Ben. Not exactly the face of someone filling another man's ass, of a dude taking what he needed.
Adam squirmed against him, trying to get any last millimetre inside. Trying to get the man to actually fuck him rather than just hold his cock, firm but frozen, deep in him. Not that just being full didn't feel great. But to feel the lips of his hole stroke up and down the dudes shaft, to feel it stretch and pucker as the head moved in and out; that, that's what he needed. Fortunately the dude took the cue. The cock pulled out with exaggerated gentleness. Adam felt the inside of his guts collapse on the space left behind, only to expand again as the thick shaft next pushed back in. In and out, timidly. Hardly a pounding. Hardly being split open by an alpha. But it was nice. When Ben interlocked his fingers with Adam's, leaning in so his clammy breath blew across the bottom's face, it was nice.
In and out, faster now. As the dick pulled back, Adam felt the lips of his ass move with it, reaching beyond his spread crack to cling to the thick shaft, then sucking in as the meat pushed back. He gasped every time the dick stole the space in his guts, every last fraction of it; gasped at at how eagerly the walls of his rectum acquiesced to the rigidity. Gasped in delight.
Ben's face was turning beetroot. Sweat ran down his temples and his nose, collecting into a drip which eventually dashed itself against Adam's hairy chest. Oh God he wanted to taste it; warm salt. He wanted to lick every dribble of sweat from the dudes armpits, luxuriate in the stink of musk. Get his face so wet with it, the stench would follow him even after this man had left. The guy was indeed a sweater, and Adam loved that. The slapping of balls against his taint came with a squelch.
Ben threw his head up to the ceiling, throwing droplets from his swishing fringe down onto the dirty perv below him. Im gonna cum,' he cried, thrusting his dick harder now. He looked down, into Adam's eyes. Are you okay if I cum,' he said.
`Don't ask.'
Because that's what he needed; the proof of being used. That's what he would celebrate after the dude had gone; when he would finally take the time to satisfy his dick. And whilst jacking himself off, he would finger his butt to feel the damage done. He would scoop out his wet prize, rub it against his hole, his cock too; he would scrape some onto his tongue and swirl the pungent, salty taste of his ass juices and a man's seed around his mouth. When the man had gone.
`Oh god, I'm cumming.'
A final slam of the dick inside him. The spasm of a man at the pinnacle of ecstasy; body tensing, fingers gripping white knuckled, a spine curling backwards. Ben shouted, the high pitched vocalisations of a guy out of control.
Oh my god,' Ben panted. Oh my god,' voice growing softer. `Oh my god.'
His dick was growing softer too, so Adam squirmed, trying to keep the last of it inside him, clutching desperately to being so full, to being used. But it couldn't last. With the squelch of cum bubbling out of a stretched hole, Ben pulled out.
`Do you want me to finnish you off?' Ben asked.
`Nah, you can just go.'
`Go?'
Ben stepped back, lifted his shirt from the table and pulled it over his head, messing his wet hair into wayward spikes. `Don't you wanna have like a coffee or something together?' Chat?'
Of course Adam would have loved a coffee together, and for that coffee to have extended to them opening a bottle of wine, the afternoon lapsing to evening, and ordering take out for two. He would have loved for Ben to stay the night; them holding each other beneath the duvet until the heat between them became unbearable. He would have loved to kiss Ben on the lips to send him off to work in the morning, before he too began the trip to school. But that would be this moment bordering into the mundanity; reality bleeding with his fantasy. Because such fantasies are fine for a daydream, whilst watching the sexy neighbour carry his groceries home, but reality could never live up to such lofty expectations. Come a month, they would end up arguing, slamming doors, sitting in frosty silence. They would grow to hate each other. And when they would eventually split, it would be with such animosity Ben would end up telling the world about the sick faggot and all the twisted things he craved. It would be Adam's friends and neighbours, his work too, turning on him for being such sick fuck, just because he allowed his wants to get the better of him. Because, sex aside, his real fantasy was being happy.
Men like him don't deserve happiness.
Already today had played out better than expected, why ruin it by pushing it further. It would only end badly.
`Nah, I'm too busy, sorry. I've got them papers to grade.'
Ben glittering eyes widened. A deep exhale rounded his shoulders.
`I'd said I'd help?' He croaked.
`Oh and you have. But I best be gettin' on, and you best be leaving. Maybe I'll see you around.'