Gay Erotic Stories

I was nervous. Nervous to the point I was shaking. My hands trembled on the steering wheel. I was making the simple drive from Tacoma to Seattle, and it seemed like an eternity. Every negative, scared thought I had run through my head. Every possible problem and objection flashed in my mind. I don’t know why I was nervous. We had discussed this for so long, been looking forward to it forever. I ached for this day. Had been aching for this day for months. Traffic got bad as it always did by the airport and I saw a plane coming in for a landing. It could be his. I immediately calmed, thinking of the past eighteen months.

We had met simply: he emailed me. I responded. Then he wrote back. Back and forth the communication went and within weeks we were chatting. I don’t know if it was the simple fact that online we couldn’t see each other, or that we had clicked so damn quickly, but I was more honest, more open, more vulnerable with him than I had ever been with anyone before. I told him things that I had buried in my past. I told him about my past relationships, the failures and the rare good time. I let it all hang out. And he didn’t laugh. He didn’t shun. He didn’t turn away when I laid my biggest fears at his feet. I let myself be open. It was so little time before he had captured my whole heart. His name is Tristan and he has truly changed my life . But it took more time for him to share. It hurt at first. But when he told me his truths and trusted me with his secrets, I understood. Each new tidbit I devoured like it was candy. Each new facet of his personality I eagerly took in. I remember when he was afraid to tell me how old he was. At the time, I was 30. He was 19. And I guess some insensitive asshole decided that he was good enough to fuck, but that was it. He was a good time. He was a one-night stand. I have never understood prejudice. I don’t have it, so I don’t understand why others judge and are afraid. A person is more than an age, or a race, or a religion. A person is made of the sum of his parts. I understood that. His fears were real, and it made me happy to put his at ease.

And then he told me that his parents had died in a car accident when he was just three months old. I have the best folks. They love me no matter what. They were shocked when I told them I was gay, but they came around quickly. I couldn’t imagine not having that, and he didn’t. He was also afraid to tell me how hurt he had been in the accident. He was scarred. He had sustained injuries that left him permanently changed. His voice box was damaged beyond repair. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t hum or moan. And when he told me, I could feel the fear.

I knew he was expecting yet one more rejection. I couldn’t do it. I paused. I felt my heart ache for him, knowing that he had put himself out there one more time, hoping to be accepted but expecting to be shunned. It just didn’t matter to me. That night, after we had signed off, I lay back in bed and thought. I would never hear my name leave his lips. He wouldn’t be able to tell me he loved me. But I know myself. I am not that shallow. I hurt that so many before me had been so ignorant as to not see him and instead saw the lack. The next day I researched sign language. And when I discovered it wasn’t something I could teach myself, I signed up for a class.

Tristan and I chatted for weeks, learning each new things about each other, ravenous for each other’s past and feelings and moods. I write stories. That is how we met. He read one of mine. I slowly found out that it took him weeks to write to me. I was charmed and humbled. Then one day, he asked me to read one of his after he had read a story I had written, letting him know that this one of mine was true. He gave me his true story as well. I read every word. I wanted each piece of information I could get about him.

When I had finished, I was crying. I didn’t stop for three hours. If I could have, I would have gone to him, found Tristan wherever he might be and wrap my arms around him. I wanted to hold him and wrap him in gauze and keep the rest of the world away, to never let hurt touch him again. He told me of his grandfather who had been forced to raise him after his parents died. Then he told me about the abuse: the belt whipping and the hitting. That was bad enough. Then he told me about his first attempt at finding love and how the idiot turned from Tristan. And then he met someone older. Someone more mature. Each word had my heart pound. I knew what was coming. I knew what it was he was going to say. And yet it still kicked me in the gut.

He was so young. He was only seventeen. And the bastard was thirty-three. When you have yet to have a first time. When you are still trying things, wanting to go slow. When you have no idea how the game is played. When you are all of those things, you need someone patient and gentle and loving. And when the asshole was tired of waiting, he pushed Tristan’s shirt over his head, so he couldn’t see him complain. Because that was the only way he could say no, with his facial expressions. And when the asshole couldn’t see the ‘no’, he took what he wanted. He took his innocence. He took his trust. He took his confidence. I hope the bastard rots in hell.

I wish I had been there first, to protect and shield him from what had happened. It is a foolish dream I know. But I still wish I could go back and give him the proper first time. I’ve thought of how different his life could be had he been with someone patient and loving. But what did happen doesn’t change the way I feel. I know he still blames himself. I know he still thinks it was his fault, that he had teased the man enough, given him the signals. I have been teased. I was with someone who liked to build me up to a feverish, lustful frenzy and then stop and say no. I ached. I burned. I was pissed off after the second or third time it happened. But the moment he said no, it was over. That is why men were given hands.

So that is why we waited so long to meet. We both have issues. And mine are just as deep rooted as his. I said I am not shallow, and I don’t believe Tristan is either. But knowing and believing are two different monsters. When I figured out I was gay, really understood it and how different that would make me from the rest of the world, I made a plan. I was always heavy. Always loved food and was a glutton with it like all small children tend to be. In my mind, I thought that if I made my body as unattractive as possible, then I wouldn’t be attractive to someone else; that I would have a valid excuse for being alone. And when I figured out the flaw in my logic, that there are people all over the world who love for the person hidden inside and not the temporary shell that we inhabit, the error of my ways became clear.

But the damage was done. And thanks to several unpleasant experiences in my early teenage years, I am terrified to be with someone, afraid that I will open myself up to ridicule again; and worse--rejection. I have ventured into the waters of relationships and sex before. Brief, easy wading that let that uncharted world lap at my toes, but refusing to plunge into it. But I have never, ever opened myself up to complete love and intimacy before. Sex up to this point had been brief and in the dark, quick and easily moved beyond. In the dark, I can hide the damage, the scars of obesity from my lover’s eyes. I can hide from the eyes, that I knew in my mind would turn from me, whether true or not. It was a taste, a temptation, but nothing all consuming or all-powerful. I wouldn’t let it be. Fear kept me alone, even while engaged in the act of sex itself. I can count on my ten fingers the number of times I have had an orgasm while in the presence of someone else and still have fingers left over. My experience is limited in the extreme. Hell! I don’t really even know how to kiss, not with any special grace or passion. I lay this all at his feet, and somehow, someway, both mysterious and powerful, it made the bond between us stronger. It was as if we both knew that in the other, we would find the missing piece of ourselves.

Now this wonderful, cleansing, beautiful sharing of souls took time. Months actually. And then the decision to meet, the when and where, took even longer. But today is the day. We agreed to meet at the observation deck of the Space Needle. We had both seen Sleepless in Seattle, and rather be so clichéd as to be in New York, on top of the Empire State Building, we chose a Seattle landmark instead. I parked my truck in a parking lot and walked to the lobby of the Needle. And then I rode up the elevator, oblivious to the breathtaking vista surrounding me. I walked out onto the observation deck, and held my breath. Now came the hard part. Waiting for him to arrive. I walked around the deck, hoping to see him. I watched the city during my next couple of laps. Then I watched the people. Then I decided to sit and wait, figuring we might have missed each other by walking on opposite sides the whole time. And I waited. I didn’t want to watch the clock. I didn’t want to feel this way. But I did. All the old pain kept coming back. All the fear and humiliation came creeping into my heart. I glanced at my watch and when I saw the time, it blurred through tears. I had promised myself I wouldn’t care this much. That if he didn’t show up it really wouldn’t matter. But it did. I have been fooling myself all along. From the first, from the first sentence, the first hint of the kind, caring, wonderful man, my heart was no longer my own.

The sun, having passed its zenith, slowly began its westward decent in the sky while I surreptitiously wiped away my tears. So he was late. His flight was scheduled to land at 10:30 am, giving him plenty of time to catch a cab and meet me at noon. But it was almost 2:00 in the afternoon now. I pushed away the fear and the hurt. In my heart I know he will be here. It has to be true. It was too intense, the feelings we have shared. The desire that simmered always below the surface, waiting to bubble out was too intense for him to stand me up. So I waited some more. I pulled out my cell phone and was going to call the airline to confirm that his flight had arrived when I noticed the elevator doors open. And there he was.

Paul. Shit! All the giddy anticipation I had been feeling ebbed from me. I didn’t want to see him. It had taken me a few weeks, but I finally figured him out. He wanted me for his convenience when no one else was around. I was a fallback. I was a last resort. I was a shoulder when he needed it. After being used by him for a few weeks, trust me, it wasn’t worth it, I left and told him not to bother me anymore. But he still calls from time to time, crying on my shoulder when his latest fuck buddy had left him for someone prettier, younger, richer.

He spotted me. I saw his sister and niece were with him. He came over to me, sat by me and hugged me. He started blabbing. I could see that another elevator was about to climb up the tower. Then I heard Paul tell me he loved me. Incredulous shock had me turning to him. My mouth hung open. How could he think that I would possibly want to hear that from him? I turned away, hearing the ding of the elevator. I saw the doors open when Paul grabbed me and started kissing me. I tried to pull away. But he was insistent against my mouth. I turned my head, trying to wrench free of his grasp. I put my hands against his arms, trying to push him away. I am a strong guy, stronger than my outward appearance would lead people to believe. But Paul’s clutch was tinged with desperation and it was only after a struggle that I pulled away.

I turned to the lobby, to the open elevator. And there he was, Tristan beautiful in all ways. My heart sped at the sight of him. I felt tears prickle at my eyes. He was here. Then I saw the raw pain, the absolute devastation. He had seen Paul. But he hadn’t seen the struggle. Before I could move, before I could even call out his name, he faded back into the elevator, seconds before it closed. I was at the bank of elevators, desperate to get down to him, to explain the error. Paul followed me to the elevators, still trying to buddy up to me. I pushed him roughly away. There were tears in my eyes. How could he think I would be that cruel?

I finally got into the elevator and was rushed to the lobby. I ran out, searching everywhere. But I couldn’t see him. I am 6’ 6”, tall enough that I can see over people’s heads, but I saw no trace of him. I shouted out his name, at the top of my lungs. I ran back into the lobby, asking the doorman if he had seen Tristan and possibly where he had gone. I showed him his picture. He told me he ran out along Fourth Avenue. I followed the trail. I saw no sign of him though. But I knew the road followed the hill, down towards the waterfront. Every word we had shared I memorized. I didn’t forget a single thing about him. I refused to let a single tidbit of knowledge out of my grasp. I knew that when he is hurting, when he needs to be alone, he heads towards water. He seeks out nature. He would head to a park somewhere in the city. But Seattle is full of them. And many of them touch the water in some way. I could think of three along Puget Sound alone. So I headed down the hill, practically running.

I was out of breath by the time I made it to the entrance to the park along Seattle’s waterfront. I walked everywhere. I checked all the benches. I looked in the wooded areas. I checked along the roads. After an hour, I gave it up. I left, wondering if he went east instead of west. I grabbed a cab and had the driver go east along Fourth Avenue, until we reached Lake Union. Then I saw Gas Works Park. He could be over on the other side of the lake. I told the driver to drive around the lake. I ran all over the park, grateful that the park is relatively treeless. But he wasn’t there either. I checked the University of Washington campus. I went to the Arboretum. The sun was starting to lower into the sky. It was going to get cold tonight. I was lost as to where to find him. He was alone and hurting. I felt a panic well in me. I had to find him. I had to hold him, tell him that he was the only one. I returned to the Seattle Center, lost and alone, hurting because I knew Tristan was in pain. The sun was almost set and the breeze had picked up. I noticed he wasn’t wearing a jacket. It is amazing, but that simple, single second in which I had seen him gave me a complete view of him. I took every detail in. His hair, which was a little shorter than his picture and his arms looked a bit stronger. His earring had glinted off the bright sunlight. He looked, in a single word, intoxicating. I had gotten so hard at just the sight of him. My hands had trembled and my heart had raced. My throat had been dry. Then I saw the raw pain enter his eyes. I have never seen such a desolate look in all my life.

I crawled into my truck, remembering each pained word about his past. I know it took immense courage to not only write to me, but to come to me. And now he thinks I had betrayed him. I lowered my head to the steering wheel and sighed. I didn’t realize that I was crying until a police officer knocked on my window and I looked up. I wiped away the tears and rolled down my window. He asked if I were okay. All I could do was nod. I started up my truck, determined not to let him go. I considered all my options. I was simply going to have to go to the airport and sit and wait. Eventually he was going to want to return to California. It killed me to do it, but I started driving south, away from my hopes.

Like I said, I never, ever forget a word I have read. And all of Tristan’s words I breathed into me as if they were oxygen. As I was getting ready to turn onto the freeway, it hit me. The connection between us was too strong, too intense. What if he had consumed all I had told him the same way I had? I knew where he was. It was a gamble, because I could be wrong, but I prayed I wasn’t. I crossed traffic and headed north. I made it across the lake and headed towards Green Lake. I love roses. I think they provide the best scents in the world. At the south entrance to the zoo, is an experimental rose garden. I must have told Tristan over and over how much I loved not only going to the zoo, but getting lost in the sensual, scented heaven that was the rose garden.

It might be the height of arrogance, but somehow I knew, I hoped, he was there. So I drove at least ten miles over the speed limit. When I got to the zoo parking lot, I could see that everything was about to close, the sky had turned fiery with sunset. I parked and ran to the arbor entrance of the rose garden. I walked down the center aisle, searching for any little place that someone could hide in. I found him on a bench, in a hedge bordered alcove. I walked up to him slowly, and collapsed to my knees in front of him. I cupped his face in my hand, rubbing my thumb under his eyes, lifting his chin so I could see him. Tears pooled in his beautiful green eyes. I just smiled at him, even though my own eyes were filling with tears as well.

“Hello sweetheart,” was about all I got out before I crushed him to me, hugging him up fiercely in my arms, smoothing my hand through his hair, holding on to him for dear life. Tristan resisted my hug for maybe half a second, and then was gripping me in his arms, wrapping them around me, burrowing his head into the crook of my neck. He fit so perfectly in my arms. I felt his body shudder with emotion, his breath catching with the pain and hurt and fear of the day. I just held him, soothing him while he let it all go. After a couple of minutes, I felt his body calm, his breathing slow. I pulled away enough to look at him. I smiled at him, stroking his arm, cupping his face. He had told me that every emotion he felt would be shown on his face. I just didn’t realize how true it was. Love and hate, the strong emotions could be expected. But his face, his eyes, the tilt of his head portrayed even the subtlest emotions like hurt and fear, jealousy, confusion and ambivalence. It was amazing. But maybe not, if you could never express yourself vocally, your feelings would have to find some way to be expressed. I looked in his eyes and saw questions and hurt, a little betrayal, but also curiosity and willingness. He was going to listen to me. I felt the tension leave me, never realizing until it was gone how wound up I was.

I couldn’t stop touching his face, caressing him with my fingers as I told him about Paul. I told him about being so anxious and nervous to see him. Then I explained about waiting, about despairing at the late hour. I was reluctant to explain Paul. He knew about my two prior relationships, and Paul was something I regretted. He got to me at a weak moment, when I was lonely and needy. But I bared my soul, explaining about the chance encounter, how shocked I was when he told me he loved me, and the absolute repulsion when he grabbed me and kissed me. And when the hurt didn’t leave his eyes, not right away, I told him how I searched all over the city for him. I explained about my theory of where I would find him, of searching in all the parks, looking everywhere, knowing in my heart where he would go to ease his pain, be alone, regroup. I watched as the hurt and fear left his eyes and happiness take its place. He launched himself fully into my arms, wrapping around me, sitting in my lap. I brushed my fingers along his cheeks, cupping his face and laughing, a sound of pure joy. He smiled so big at me. Just like that, heat took over. I had to kiss him. I am normally a private person, wanting all my passion saved for behind the closed doors of privacy. But I let it flow, going with it. So I lowered my lips to his.

Electricity flowed through me. All I did was brush his lips with mine, getting the barest hint of his flavor, his taste. So I did it again. Then again, slowly deepening the kiss, opening both our mouths, dipping my tongue along his lip, taking in more of his taste, more that was all Tristan. I felt his body tremble, just as I knew mine did. Then I touched his tongue with my own, just a flick. Then we stroked the other, tasting and feeling the texture of each other. And I kept thrusting my tongue into his mouth, kissing him deeply, occasionally sucking his tongue deep into my mouth, sucking on it, and getting him to squirm in my lap. That simple squirm had me moan around his mouth. His tight, denim-clad ass rubbed against me, where I was hardest. I felt him hard, pressed against my belly, thick and long through his jeans. I rocked him, back and forth, feeling his length sway slightly against me. He sucked my tongue deeply into his mouth, making me crazy with need. I kept rocking him, feeling him swell slightly. I kissed him deeper, feeling him shake with need. And then he grasped my arms, stiffening and squirming harder. Tristan pulled away from my lips. I watched as completion flowed over his features, as his breath hitched and gasped. I felt him spasm against my stomach, feeling him twitch hard under his clothes. He collapsed against me, pillowing his cheek against my shoulder. I nuzzled the top of his head. Feeling his hair beneath my cheek. I have never been happier.

“I love you, Tristan.”

He pulled up to look at me. He swallowed hard. His hand reached out and cupped my cheek. Then he mouthed the words back to me. I have never seen a sweeter sight in all my life. I kissed him again, a quick, hard kiss. Then I stood, pulling him with me, grabbing his bag. I led him out of the garden, never letting his hand go. We made it to my truck and I had to kiss him again. I couldn’t stop tasting him. All the time we spent waiting, wanting to be comfortable, made this moment so sweet as to be painful. I got in the truck and drove downtown. I had had several different plans as to how we would spend the next few days. But I was unprepared for the raw lust and emotion gripping me.

I drove to the Olympic Hotel, arguably Seattle’s finest. I let the valet park for us and I checked us in to a suite. The elevator ride took forever. All I wanted to do was touch him, taste him. We got in our room, did a quick visual tour, and stared at each other. There is no explanation for it, but we burst out laughing. I walked to him; my whole body shook. So did his. I cupped his face with my large hand, and I knew now why we laughed, somehow, we were both nervous. I touched him so gently, not wanting to startle him. But I had to kiss him again. Slowly, a gentle brushing of lips, once, twice then I looked in his eyes again. His pupils dilated to the point where the beautiful green was eclipsed. His cheeks were flushed and his lips parted, panting his breath between their sweet lines. But he was still nervous. So was I. Passion was driving me hard, but I was still afraid. Then I smiled at him.

“Tristan. I have never made love before. I had worthless, less than satisfying sex. But with you, this is love. I’m nervous.”

He nodded his understanding and agreement. This emotional frontier we were crossing was more terrifying than the physical ones we had already crossed. I led him by the hand to the large bathroom. There was a huge tub and an even larger shower. I turned to face him and I pulled my shirt over my head. I have always been self-conscious about my body. That simple act of tugging my shirt off was hard, so very hard. But I did it. I looked in Tristan’s eyes, searching for rejection or worse revulsion. There was none. He reached out and tentatively touched my chest, trailing a finger over my nipple. I shuddered under the intensity of the sensations. I reached down and undid my belt, undoing the snap and pulling down my zipper. My pants fell, pooling around my ankles. I stepped out of them and my shoes, stepping on my socks so they were gone. I stood before my man, in my underwear, naked and vulnerable. And I got a big grin. Then he was in my arms, kissing me hard. I pulled at his clothes, stripping him and pulling him into the shower. We spent a good hour soaping and exploring our naked flesh.

Tristan is so beautiful. He stands a foot shorter than me, but that is inconsequential. His body is muscular and developed, nicely padded and corded with strength. I loved nipping at his jaw, tasting and feeling the rough stubble that coated it. I loved running my hands over his chest, tugging slightly at his nipple ring, sifting my fingers through the light blanket of hair on his chest. Not too much, not too little, just right, enough to provide friction and traction, perfect for long, leisurely lovemaking. My fingers followed the thick trail of hair along his belly, grazing his skin, slick from the water, heated from desire. I cupped his ass in my hands, grinding myself against him, gasping from the intensity. I pulled his leg against me, feeling his hands trail and scratch over my back, his lips clamped around a nipple, suckling as if there was sustenance to be had. I was so on edge. My cock throbbed with need. My body trembled with repressed desire. It was too much. I shut off the water, grabbing a couple of towels. I dried Tristan’s body, wiping away moisture, kissing some stray water droplets away. I quickly dried my own body, hefting him into my arms and marching to the bed. I tossed him onto it, playfully, like a trampoline. He caught my wrist and pulled me down to him.

We met in another blindingly hot kiss. Never letting his mouth from mine, I skimmed my hands along his sleek body, feeling strength and heat pool between us. I stroked his body, making his skin sensitive to every slight rustle of fabric, every slight nuance of the air around us. I moved my lips down to his chest, tasting and nipping at his skin, taking playful bites of his flesh. I kept moving lower and lower, moving in ever tightening circles, taking each nipple in mouth to be laved by my voracious tongue. I tasted his navel. I nipped his hipbones. I suckled at his inner thigh. My nose and lips nuzzled his scrotum gently. I hefted his delicate sacs with my lips, testing and tasting, feeling their precious cargo with my mouth. I took one of his testicles into my mouth, sucking and gentling the orb with care.

I felt Tristan writhe against the sheets, clenching at my hair. But it was a benediction, not a request for cease-fire. I followed his shaft with my lips, nipping and flicking my tongue against its hard steel. I loved his flavor, that wonderful taste and smell that was just slightly musky, but all Tristan. I took it in and knew that from this point forward that smell would always be seared on my brain, the scent of my man, my mate. I licked the tip of his penis with a long, searching motion. I flicked into his slit, taking his pearly evidence of pleasure. I loved the taste, the texture of him. I moved my mouth over him, taking him slowly, squeezing my lips around him as I moved down. Lower and lower I moved my head, taking him as deep as I could. His springy pubic hair brushed against my nose. I swallowed deeply with him down my throat and felt him arch off the bed, gripping my hair tighter. I lifted away slowly, slurping and squeezing as I did. Then I pushed forward again. I moved back and forth, up and down along his velvety hard shaft. I felt his testicles rise against his body. I suckled hard on his cock, pulling his pleasure, his essence out of him. I felt his body quake with pleasure as the first spurt of release found my throat. I heard his breath hitch, his breathing gasp and quicken in profound ecstasy. I have never heard anything better.

Slowly his body stopped its spasms, slowly calmed. I moved on him a few more times, taking all that he had to offer. When his member had calmed, when his body was sleepy with its afterglow, I left his cock and moved up him to kiss him, sharing his flavor with him. He met my lips tiredly, accepting my tongue into his mouth, taking his flavor from my lips and sharing my joy.

Slowly, our kiss became harder and faster as Tristan’s body renewed its energy. I felt him hard against my hip. I kissed him harder, more, faster, deeper. My hips slipped between his legs, his thighs cupped me, stretched wide, clinging to me. My hardness brushed against his soft opening. I watched as he arched his back, letting out what could only be called a whimper. I pushed against him, slowly parting him, feeling him suck me deeper, gripping me hard, fisting me in wet, silky velvet. I moaned against his lips, forcing my sound into his lungs. My senses were filled with Tristan. His scent, his taste filled my head. The sensation of his body gripping me, accepting me had my eyes rolling up into the back of my head.

I opened my eyes, staring into his, looking for his acceptance, his comfort, his deep pleasure. Never in my life have I ever known such bliss, such pleasure, such warmth, such connection. I felt him quiver around me, expanding to accept my width. When his body calmed around me, he pushed against me. I lost what little control I had and pushed hard into him, brushing him deep inside, feeling the arch of his back and the groan of pleasure leave his lips. I kept rocking into him, gripping his hips hard in my hands. I loved how he moved with me. I could feel him build, feel his pleasure as he squeezed me. Over and over I plunged into his body, feeling my cock grow thicker, longer, hotter. My back tingled, my belly tightened, my legs trembled. My pleasure built, my orgasm was about to spill from me.

I doubled my efforts; my goal was to bring him pleasure first. I pounded hard into his body, pushing deep, rubbing his prostate, wringing ecstasy from his body. It wasn’t going to be enough, I pushed hard, harder and felt the end begin. I cried out, loud and long as my body twitched with deep spasms of pleasure. Six, seven, eight heavy pulses of my cock and I was spent, I collapsed against Tristan’s body, feeling his cock explode as I was sent even deeper by my movements. It was amazing, feeling his shaft expel his seed against my belly. I watched as pleasure crossed his face, felt his body shudder and release. And then we were both spent, both sated.

My body curled around his, lying on the big bed with a sheet draped over us. Slowly we drifted to sleep, never letting go of each other. Whether we shifted our bodies, searching for comfort or looked for a hand or a leg, a shoulder or a kiss, we never let go, letting our bodies rest while never letting the connection slip away. I hadn’t slept well the night before, too nervous, too excited to sleep. I had a feeling Tristan hadn’t either. So we slept that night, safe in each other’s arms. I kissed his cheek from time to time, smoothed my fingers along his arm. He cupped my face with his hand or shifted a thigh between mine.

I awoke slowly, just before dawn. I got out of bed and stood before the window. Our room faced the south. I could just make out the line of Mount Rainier in the early gray of dawn. I opened the drapes and returned to bed, to pick up my love, my lover. I carried him to the window and set him down with a sheet wrapped lightly around us. I kissed the top of his head and nuzzled his neck as we watched the dawn break over the Cascade Mountains. My body reacted to the nearness of his. I grew hard and felt it press into the small of his back. I skimmed my hand down his body, feeling him grow hard in my hand. I stroked him slowly, feeling him waken completely. The sun broke over the horizon just as we turned from the window and collapsed on the bed.

I had been in too much of a hurry before. My desire, my needs screaming at me to the point where I didn’t explore. Now I did. I traced each and every vein that stood out on his body. I followed musculature with my tongue. I tasted and touched each and every inch of his body. There was no part of him that I didn’t. I had him lying on his stomach. My hands had grasped and molded the globes of his ass. I felt the tremble of pleasure course through Tristan. I moved my face down, nudging aside the muscular cheeks, delving with lips for his center. I tasted him. Slowly my tongue journeyed into him after much lapping and teasing of his sensitive ring. I felt it contract around my tongue as I pushed farther, deeper.

I kept him flat on the bed, unable to reach his throbbing, aching, angry cock. My own was so hard, so aroused I knew I would burst the moment I touched him with it. I felt him pant. I felt him shudder. The time was right. I levered my body over his, placing my hands on either side of his head. My knees wedged between his. I lowered my hips to graze against his ass. With unerring accuracy, my cock found its target. I sank into him, slowly but surely until I was buried against his prostate. I gritted my teeth, actually groaning with the need to thrust, the strain of holding back ecstasy. And then his body relaxed, grasped me, and gripped me in velvety fists of warmth.

I began to move. Slowly at first than faster and faster until there was no sense of where I ended and he began. I felt his hands come up, covering mine, grasping with them, twining his fingers with mine. I lowered my head to his shoulder and bit down, screaming around his flesh my release. Spasm after spasm shook my big body, pulsing my hips harder and harder into his smaller frame. It never seemed to want to end. But it did. I barely had the power of thought or energy to do it, but I collapsed half off him, my chest heaving like a bellows as my lungs tried to bring oxygen back into my body. I lay nearly comatose for what could have been hours. All that I was aware of was my beating heart, my straining lungs, and my shaking, trembling body.

When reality had the audacity of returning, I looked over, tilting my head to the side. Tristan laid where he had been, his expanding and contracting back the only sign he was conscious. I slid my leg off his, curling up against him, feeling his body quake. I rolled him to me, concern shot adrenaline through me. Fear gripped me; fear that I had hurt him with my strength. Fear that I had brought other memories best left in the past to the fore. But the look in his eyes had me pause. I cupped his face, every endearment I had ever heard bubbled to my lips, but none left them. He tried to smile at me. But he couldn’t quite make it. Then I recognized that look. It was wonder. He was shaking like I was, from the sheer magnitude of what we had shared. I looked back to where he had been laying; the sheets were coated with his thick release. It looked as if it had happened more than once. I asked and he held up three fingers. And then he started laughing. I watched as tears rolled down his face, evidence of his joy. I joined in with him, laughing with joy. We were together. We were one.

The next couple of days were spent like I would assume most honeymooners spend there time away together. We made love and often. We slept. We ate room service. We took baths together. We watched old comedies on the television, munching popcorn, laughing together. There were also moments of just silence, with each of us staring at the other. We knew each other. We knew our hearts and our souls. After breakfast on the final day, I grew nervous. We hadn’t discussed the future. So it was with a sheepish air that I asked if he would stay with me. His relieved nod had me exhale so sharply I almost passed out. We gathered our things and left our paradise room. We drove to my home where I gave him the ten-cent tour. I introduced Tristan to my cat. I made sure that this is what he wanted, that he would be happy with me and where we would live. I offered to leave my home and travel to his, to stay there, to live there. All I got was a shake of the head. We drove back to California. We drove quickly, wanting this part over with. We made it in just over 20 hours. We packed up his things. I went with him when he quit his job. We started back.

The journey home took longer. We would drive for perhaps five or six hours and then stop. Neither of us minded the extra drive time. Those hours we spent in little motels along the interstate were idyllic. We would make love for long hours and then sleep in each other’s arms. The night we spent in Ashland, Oregon was a particularly sweet time for us. We had had dinner at a rather simple but very good steak house. We had gone back to the room after I had purchased a bottle of champagne. We drank a couple of glasses, kissing between sips. Then I set the glasses aside and slowly stripped my lover. I dropped my clothes and lay down on the bed with him. I moved over him and cupped his thighs in my hands, draping them over my own. I rested my elbows under his shoulders and started kissing him.

I joined my body with his, coupled in fevered pleasure. I rocked slowly, watching every moment in his eyes. I never let him look away. I never let him shut his eyes. We moved slowly, drawing out our pleasure. I kept rocking slowly into him, feeling the intense sensations spiral through me. But with the ecstasy came poignant emotional feelings as well. Just as my body yearned for sexual release, so did my emotions as well. I felt the first pricks of tears sting my eyes. I blinked them back, only to have them hit again. I couldn’t stop the flood from leaving my eyes as I watched tear after tear fall onto Tristan’s beautiful, beloved face. My voice cracked around each word as I told him that I loved him. He mouthed the words back, his own eyes bright with unshed tears of his own. And then we exploded, feeding the other’s orgasm with power from our own. When all was calm, when the last twitch and aftershock had passed, I lay by his side, curling his precious body against me, only to stroke his hair as the long hours of night passed us by while we slept like only lovers can.

The next day, we drove along the Interstate. I kept staring at Tristan. He kept smiling shyly at me. By the time we reached Portland, I was so hard, so ready for him again that we pulled over, checked into another hotel and went inside, pulling our clothes off as the door shut. We went quickly, moving fast over each other, skimming our hands and mouths over the other’s body. I rolled onto my back, pulling him astride me. I gripped his hips tightly in my hands as I lowered him onto my shaft. He opened to me, sucking me into his body, grasping me as he sank lower and lower. Then he was seated and I ran my hands over his body as he began to move. I watched as his body rocked on top of mine. I couldn’t stop looking at his hard cock as it twirled around with the motion of his body. I watched it thicken and tighten, lifting up against his belly. I saw his testicles rise, heard his breath hitch, and felt his thighs tighten on mine. Then he threw his head back as his cock spewed his essence against my chest. Watching Tristan cum, feeling him squeeze me as his pleasure racked his body was too much and I joined him, tripping over the edge, crying out his name and my love for him.

We ate dinner that night, just something simple, but in a dark, slightly romantic restaurant. Even though he cannot talk, we had no problem communicating. We shared a lot. I never knew, had never tried to know someone as much as I was getting to know Tristan. I sat at that table, looking at this wonderful soul and just knew that I had found my soul mate. I was no longer alone. In some ancient text, one of the great philosophers talked about how each soul is split and then you spend your time on earth, searching for that lost half of yourself. I had thought it was a nice thought, a little naìve, but nice. Now I know why it had started in the first place. I no longer felt alone or incomplete. With Tristan I was whole. Well, almost . When we got back to our room, I was nervous. I didn’t know how Tristan would feel about what I wanted. I kissed him gently, sitting down on the bed, pulling him into my lap. I nuzzled his ear and kissed his neck and then I told him what I wanted. I explained how I wanted to switch and receive from him. I kissed his ear and told him how much I wanted to share this with him, hoping he would understand. He looked into my eyes, nervous and innocent. I kissed his lips, nuzzled his nose and waited for his answer. I watched him swallow then nod. I pulled my shirt over my head and then lay back against the bed. He followed me, kissing my chest, biting at my nipple. He kept moving lower on me, nipping and flicking my skin with his tongue.

I was on fire. My legs were restless with need. Tristan undid my fly, lowering the zipper, taking me in his hand. He stroked me gently as he lowered my pants and underwear, slipping them off me. I lay before him naked and vulnerable. But all I saw was love in his eyes as he lowered and took me into his mouth. I was immediately shaking with the intense sensations that swept over me. He bobbed up and down on me, swirling and sucking gently at the engorged head. I was so on edge, my legs kept squirming, my hands gripped into the bedding, fisting the fabric as my pleasure climbed. Then he moved further down, tasting and nipping my testicles. He moved lower and flicked against my perineum. He lifted my legs, cupping under my knees, as he tasted me. I moaned loud and hard as his tongue entered me, flicking inside, swirling around my inside. I gripped his tongue hard involuntarily. He pulled away and smiled at me. Then he positioned himself between my legs, lowering so his chest rested against me as he slowly pushed forward. It had been many, many years since someone had been inside me and I was tight, I could feel him push harder, trying to enter me. But all I felt was that this was very right, that we weren’t completely together until we had done this, at least once. He broached my defenses and slid into me. I arched my back, rubbing against the hair on his chest, adding more pleasured sensations to spiral through me.

Tristan rested against me; his face flushed and sweat beaded on his brow. I watched as the newness of what he was experiencing crossed his face. I ran my fingers through his hair, smiling up at him. And then he began to move. I gripped him as he slid out of me, adding friction to his shaft. I saw his face tighten with each thrust he made into me. I felt myself swell and thicken. My belly tightened with each thrust he made. I felt my legs clasp him, my balls raised. My back tingled with impending release. I saw the signs cross his expressive face; he was close too. Then I exploded, eight, nine, ten heavy spasms burst through my whole body, causing me to clench against Tristan as I felt him let go, feeling his cock twitch hard with each pulse of his release. He collapsed against me, spent and drained. I cuddled him to me; nuzzling his body with my own, feeling contentment and peace wash through me.

The next morning we finished our drive home. The next few weeks were a bit of an adjustment for both of us. I shower in the morning, sometimes again before I go to bed. He snores. I read sometimes before I can go to sleep. He likes to surprise me in the shower, tickling me. I like to cuddle in front of the television to watch movies. He likes to wrestle and play around. But each new thing we learned, each new facet of our personalities added more to our individual lives than anything we had known before. I didn’t lose anything of me; I just gained all that was Tristan. And the reverse was true as well.

I think that is the true meaning of a relationship. Don’t you?