He was there every Thursday evening. I was going around to meetings like this one - a regular support group meeting on depression in men held at a local church hall - for the whole semester as part of my practicum assignment. When he had first arrested my attention, he was sitting four pews in front of me and across the aisle. I saw him in three-quarters profile, as he was concentrating hard on the speaker of the day. I remember thinking how handsome he was. Handsome and sad looking. He could have been anything between forty and fifty, I suppose. The pepper-gray, neatly trimmed hair on his head and in his beard and mustache leaned me toward fifty, but his sharp features and the fact that he seemed to have been depressed for some time indicated that he might be considerably younger and just was slowly giving up on life. Not that he had given up on himself. He looked in good trim and always wore well-pressed sports shirts and khaki pants.
I don't know what made my attention always return to him on those evenings. Maybe it was that he was always paying such close attention but never asked a question or made a comment of his own. Or maybe it was that little gold earring he wore in his left ear, catching the light off the chandeliers high overhead whenever he turned his head, catching my attention at the periphery of my vision. He seemed apart from the others around us, and that earring helped define that apartness. He just didn't fit in with what seemed to be a conservative crowd.
It was weeks before I got a glint into why he was there. For once I'd gotten to the meeting early - before he had - and I saw him enter the room. He was leaning heavily on a cane as he entered, his left leg appearing to be almost useless. And then I saw that his right arm hung limply at his side as well, as he shuffled to his seat. I turned and asked the man next to me if he knew the gentlemen who had just made this painful entry and long struggle to his usual seat.
'That's Tim,' he said. 'Tim Malloy. Guess you noticed that he has a limp and a problem with that arm of his.'
'Yes, How, if I may ask . . .'
'Automobile accident. Killed the man he was living with and left him in this condition. Guess that's why he comes here. Guess the combined loss is what sent him into depression.'
It took me three more weeks to build up the courage, but I finally hung around after a Thursday meeting, waiting for the room to clear. Tim, of course, was waiting as well, not wanting to get between anyone else and the exit and thus impede their effort to get on with their lives with some speed.
'Excuse me,' I said as I encountered him struggling out of the pew. 'You are Tim Malloy, aren't you?'
'Yes, yes, I am,' he responded in a rich, low baritone voice. 'And you're that college kid who's been monitoring our class, aren't you?'
'That's right. I'm Dennis. I just wondered if you are free and could catch a cup of coffee with me this evening.'
Tim looked a little surprised at the invitation, but he responded with a little, wry smile. 'Yes, I guess I could do that. I have nothing but time on my hands now.'
Tim didn't even ask where we were going, and didn't even notice that I had worked my way back to near the university grounds, in a residential area, until I was parking.
'There's a coffee shop around here?' he asked, as I turned off the engine. 'I hope it's not far. I can't move too . . .'
'I thought we might as well just come back to my place,' I said. 'I make a good pot of coffee - certainly cheaper. And, no, it's on the ground floor. Just over there. I'm sure we can manage, if you'll let me help you.'
Tim seemed a little self-conscious about my supporting him to my front door, all tense and apologetic. But I did my best to help him feel he was doing most of the work in moving himself.
As we sat at the table, leaning over cups of hot coffee and a plate of cookies, I managed to get him to open up to me. I didn't say anything about being curious because I needed to collect case stories, but I'm sure that's what he thought I was doing - collecting case studies and giving back pat advice from the textbooks I was reading. In this, I couldn't help but thinking that he was being incredible patient and tolerant with me. He either was a very nice man or he was so clinically depressed that he had no pride left.
I could see his eyes moisten up as he, eventually, told me about his accident and the lover of his who had been killed in the car wreck. Getting to this point, however, admitting to me that he was gay and that his lover had been a man, seemed to be his greatest hurdle in our conversation. Once he saw that I didn't react negatively to that information, his story just gushed out of him. All of the loneliness had been bottling him up, and I could see the tension melt away from him in having someone to tell of his tragedy.
'And how long ago was this accident?' I asked
'Two years. Two years, two months, and three days ago.' It flowed out in such sadness and despair. His hazel eyes turned to me and the sadness just brimmed over in them.
'And you've had no lover since then?'
'Of course not,' Tim said, with a snort. 'Look at this leg. Look at this arm. Useless. I'm useless. Who would have me now?'
I looked deeply into his eyes, drinking in all of the despair I saw there. Then I stood up from the table and came around to his side, leaned down, and took his lips with mine, kissing him deeply and searchingly. He was in shock and immobile at first, but then his lips quivered and were devouring my mouth. A moan came up from deep within his chest. Eventually, however, he seemed to wake up and pulled abruptly away from me.
'Oh God, I'm sorry,' he stammered. 'I shouldn't have . . . you shouldn't have . . .'
I shushed him then, gently pulled him up from his chair and nearly carried him the short distance from the table to my bed. I sat him down on the end of the bed, and shushing his weak exclamations, knelt between his legs, unbuttoned his shirt and buried my face in his chest. His pecs were covered in a short, curly dusting of black- and gray-peppered hair which trailed down the front of him to his beltline. I slowly tongued through the hair and around his nipples as he sighed and whispered how I should stop and that I didn't have to do this.
I took a nipple in my teeth and worked it. In response, Tim gave a great shudder and wrapped his good arm around the back of my head, holding my mouth tightly to his breast. He was softly moaning and groaning, as my hands began to get busy at his belt buckle and at stripping his pants and shoes off, all the time attacking his nipples with my tongue and teeth.
His cock was already half hard and was gigantic. I could fully understand being depressed if he hadn't been putting that to good use for the past two years.
After giving his cock and balls a little preliminary attention, I placed my hands on his thighs, to move his legs farther apart, preparing for the descent from his nipples of my searching mouth, when I felt him give a little cry.
'Please, my leg,' he whispered. 'Please cover. Don't want you to see . . .'
I pulled away from his chest and rose on my knees and took his mouth in mine, not wanting him to have to finish that sentence. When he was calmer, I went back on my haunches, and, holding his eyes trapped in mine, I lifted his crippled leg lovingly in my hands. I slowly slid his sock off and kissed and sucked on his toes. Then I slowly worked my tongue up his leg, kissing and licking each wound crease and knot. His eyes were held by mine, mesmerize, brimming over with tears, as I kissed and tongued my way up along his tender, inner thigh and devoured his cock with my mouth - mouth sucking on bulbous cock cap; tongue tracing throbbing veins; lips caressing up and down the sides of his huge dick; soft mouth taking him in, slowly to his full length and width; holding it there, deep-throated for an eternity, while it pulsated in the warm, wet, tightly clinging sheath; filling out to capacity; and, finally, spasming out two years worth of pent up cum.
Tim had flopped onto his back and was groaning in ecstasy and release. I swallowed his cum, cleaned off his cock with my tongue and came up on the bed beside him. I suspended my head above his and gently played his nipples with my fingers as I once more stared intensely into his eyes. They looked different now. Not nearly so bleak and despaired.
'Thank you, thank you, thank you,' he was whispering to me. I placed a finger on his lips to put a stop to this and then leaned my head down and gave him a brief tender kiss. Then I raised my head again, and once again took his eyes with mine; he lay there, drinking me in with waves of love, as my fingers returned to playing with his nipples and in his chest hair.
I could tell he was building up to saying something he'd had to think hard about - and it took him several minutes to get to the point of being able to speak again.
'Would you like to fuck me?' he finally asked hesitatingly in that low, melodious baritone of his. 'I know I'm no longer attractive, but it's all I can give to you for what you gave to me.'
I pondered the magnificence of what he was offering me for a moment.
'Is that what your Tony did? Did he fuck you?'
'No,' Tim answered. 'I was always the top with Tony. But I know I can't go back there. All of my Tonys are in the past.'
I stood up from the bed, below him, then and slowly stripped off my clothes. I could see the intake of breath when Tim saw how I was equipped. I was big and thick, but not nearly as big as he was. But I could see the fear and apprehension, mixed with resignation and, yes, just a slight sense of interest and anticipation in his eyes as I moved over to my nightstand, removed a tube of lubricant, and came back to stand before him.
'You'll have to spread this leg, I'm afraid,' he murmured apologetically. 'It really has a mind of his own, and I need to be open much wider if I'm going to take that in.'
I was stroking my cock with the lubricant to bring me to a higher arousal, but also, which he hadn't noticed, I was pushing large gobs of the lube back to my asshole, preparing for my plan.
'Don't need your legs wide for this,' I answered. 'In fact, need them more together.'
With that, I came back down to the bed beside him and started sliding lube up and down on his gargantuan tool, which was already returning to full staff from the earlier attention I'd given it.
'What? What are do doing?' Tim stammered. 'No, no, you've been wonderful. I can't let . . .'
I moved on top of him, straddling his hips between my knees and once more brought my mouth to his to stop his spewing of depressed self-pity. I positioned my asshole over his yardstick and slowly descended, bringing him into me. Up, up, skin sliding on skin, mushroom cap making love to undulating ass canal walls.
Tim arched his chest up and his head back and screamed 'Oh, God! Oh, God! Y-e-s-s-s' As his chest came up, my lips reattached to his nipples, in turn, and gave deep suck. He writhed in ecstasy under me as I pumped him and, alternatively, held him in me deep and rotated my pelvis around, making love to all sides of the huge tool of his. He had the fist of his good hand wrapped around my penis like it was a joystick in a racing car, and we shoot off nearly simultaneously.
I collapsed on top of him, and we both lay there, glistening and heaving chest against glistening and heaving chant, neither able to speak for several moments. Panting. Sighing. Both lost in fulfilled arousal.
'Thank you, thank you,' Tim was whispering. A broken record of self-pity once more under the needle.
'No, it is I who thank you,' I said firmly through lips plastered to the crook of his neck.
'I don't understand. You have given me such a great gift. And I don't deserve. . .'
'No!' I exclaimed more loudly. 'The gift was to me from you. Even before I saw that huge dick of yours, which is enough gift in itself, I wanted you. I wanted you in me. From the first day I saw you sitting there in the pew in front of me, I have wanted you to fuck me.'
Tim started to cry, and I kissed away his tears. 'You aren't my class project,' I continued. 'You are a gorgeous hunk. Your dick isn't crippled, is it? Obviously not.' And then we both laughed, releasing the pent-up tension.
And when we were spent from laughing, 'And speaking of gifts,' I said. 'Could you gift me with another fuck right now?'
'Could we wait just a few more minutes,' Tim asked in that deep, rich baritone of his. 'It's been so long, I need more time to reload.'
'Oh, all right,' I answered in mock derision, 'But only if you'll keep your dance card open for me next Thursday night.'
'I'm not sure I'll need to be going to those meetings very many more Thursday nights, but I'm sure I can arrange to be free next Thursday.'
I felt his cock coming back to life within me, so I lowered my chest to his chest and my lips to his lips again then and went up ever so slightly on my haunches, so that my ass was held a few inches above his pelvis. Then, for a good twenty minutes Tim showed me that there was nothing wrong with his hip and glut muscles as he pumped that huge cock of his up into me in long and short, electrifying, cum-filled strokes.