The dinner plates were removed, and it was time for dessert, which was the usual cookies & tea, as Sam sat back, enjoying the home cooked meal. It was his usual appearance at Brad's house, and like clockwork, he had shown up at 6pm, sat down, and ate dinner. Nothing unusual there, nor was the silence as he methodically ate what was placed before him.
Yet, as he waited for the tea, he felt the silence a bit more than normal. For years now, he had been a regular Monday dinner guest of Brad. He liked Brad, had gone to school together, grew apart, but as adults had once again renewed their friendship. It had come from the loss of his own parents, and Brad's as well.
Brad was a few years older than him, considerably thinner too. He had a shaggy cut of thick brown hair, that matched his eyes. It suited his thin face, and pale thin lips as well, while for himself, he was as tall, plus heftier too. He was more of an indoor type, while Brad was the outdoor type. He worked in landscaping, for himself. That impressed Sam, who was one of those fortunate souls that had it all given to them.
His family had been well off, and set things up so he didn't have to worry. In fact, not much was ever expected of him, and his work experience wouldn't even fill more than a line or two at best. He led a good life, went his own way, had his own home, fully paid for. One of the perks of being pampered, though he never really thought of it that way. Brad on the other hand, was a working man, who loved to get dirty, loved to enjoy the fruits of his work.
Sam enjoyed his life of leisure, and the Monday dinners were something he also enjoyed. It was someone to talk with, to be around. Yet it never really seemed like they did much but eat, trade a few words, then it was all over. For himself, he didn't have a social life, while Brad at times could be quite the party animal.
While Brad was 35, and Sam was nearing that magic age of 40, Brad still looked like he was no more than 25. Oh, his face had a few more wrinkles, his skin a bit tougher looking, but he was fit enough to pass as some just out of college stud. Sam never really thought of Brad that way, because as far as he was concerned, he wasn't a fudge packer.
Brad always seemed to be going into a relationship, or coming out of one, and while dinner was quiet, he managed to always hear about the latest fling, or the latest heart throb. It didn't bother him, though lately he had been feeling a bit jealous. It wasn't that he wanted a guy, or a girl even, just that he wanted someone. It was nice to be your own boss, to go as you pleased, do what you pleased, but it was becoming boring.
More than that, it was lonely. It was why he felt lost, when the odd Monday dinner got cancelled. He just felt like his contact with the outside world had been broken. Brad was lucky, he always seemed to have someone phoning, someone to talk with. Sam sat there, finally realizing at what Brad had been saying.
For the first time in years, he felt uncomfortable around Brad. The way he had stared at him, watching him, was strange. At first he thought it might be that Brad had a date or something, but as the dinner had worn on, it was evident there was more to it. It was halfway through, that he had his first hint, which he more or less ignored, unsure how to respond. Silence had been his saviour, but he knew it wasn't going to suffice.
Looking up as Brad placed the cookies out, and his cup of tea, he knew it was something he had always been afraid of. Intimacy was never something he had experienced. He had dates as a kid, here and there, but they never went very far. Hell, sex wasn't a topic of discussion in his home, at any time. Now here he was, nearly 40 and basically a virgin.
Yes, he had his dick sucked, had it inside a vagina too, but they were incidents he would most rather forget, than remember. Now here was Brad, bringing all that up in a way he had never allowed himself to consider. Adding the sugar to the tea, he could see Brad wasn't going to let it go. He had that determined look, the one that had more or less frightened him as a teenager, and still did.
As he twirled the spoon, trying to gain time, he realized just how empty his whole life had been. The only girls he had known, were too fragile, too precious for him to touch. Then too, he was never willing to get close, and other than Brad and Ken, he never allowed himself to get close with guys either. He had thought about sex, he knew how to jerk off, but he never quite enjoyed it.
During High School it had been a torment for him, as so many seemed preoccupied by pursuing it, which he never did. It was hard, and he had never figured out the attraction. Jerking off had been difficult, even with the various magazines he had bought. It just never clicked, never really gave him much joy, now here was Brad, changing all that. Or trying to.
As an adult, sex became a childish hobby. Ejaculation was something that happened at night, alone, while asleep. It meant laundry, not satisfaction for him. As to jerking off, he found less interest in it once he was out of High School. In fact, it was rarely a conscious thought, until he had renewed his friendship with Brad. For some mysterious reason, he found his desire to stroke himself off renewed, almost at the same time that the Monday night dinners began.
Yet for him, the images in his mind was never of Brad, or any guys. Hell it wasn't even about girls, but was more about good times. There weren't many of those, but enough that would bring him to ejaculation. He had to admit, he did feel better, but to sit here now, to think of taking that further, was unthinkable. Yet he was actually thinking of it, wondering what it would feel like.
The time he had gone to Europe, to sit and watch the sun rise over the steeples of Moscow, had been something to behold. That he had watched it by himself never seemed to matter, until tonight. It was one of his images, when he would jerk off, when he would take his pants down, and lay on the bed, and just reach down and stroke himself.
He would see the rays of sun begin to lighten the sky, to see little glints of light reflect off the copper roof tops of the various spires, steeples of the churches. His hand would go faster, as his mind would replay that mornings view, of the sun gradually rising, of the light beams turning into strange colors from the metal tops. All of it, would get his heart beating, his lungs aching, as he jerked himself. And as his mind would flash the memory of the sun finally being shown, of the brilliant lights flashing across the entire expanse, he would feel his sticky cum flow through his fingers.
His session done, he would lay there, happy at the memory, pleased with himself. Then too, he would feel a bit guilty, a bit uneasy, but it would pass. He wouldn't let it ruin the utter peace he was feeling inside, and now Brad was making him think about that unease, about that guilt.
Looking over at his friend, he realized that he was feeling something strange inside. He actually was aroused, least his penis was. That too was strange, because while it happened when in High School, as an adult he rarely felt any such urges, any such discomfort. For a moment, he felt anger at Brad, then at himself. It wasn't his usual meal, which made him angry as well. Sam finally stopped stirring the tea, and looked at Brad, as he sipped his first taste.
The eyes were fixed on him, taking every movement in, waiting. It was like he really did expect an answer, and not a negative one either. How strange, he thought, as he sipped the tea, and stared back. Did Brad really expect him to acquiesce? If he did, he was going to be in for a rude shock, but then too, the notion of accepting Brad's proposal, was growing on him. For some bizarre reasoning, it had made sense.
After all, Brad did the cooking, the dishes. He bought the food, came up with the menu for the night, and all Sam contributed was his presence. The meals weren't bad, decent food and not cheap utility dishes either. Roast some nights, fresh fish other times. They weren't cheap, so maybe Brad's proposal wasn't out of line?
The more he allowed himself to think about it, to see it as a more or less reimbursement, the less distasteful it was. In some ways, it was rather an exciting notion. Judging by his body's reaction, not an unpleasant one either. Yet, how could he? It was not like he knew the first thing about how to go about it, or even show his acceptance?
Looking over at Brad, he felt himself lost in the possibility of actually agreeing, of not just leaving as was his first thought. Besides, that would be rude, by his standards. The man had fed him, he owed him a reply, or at least some excuse of why he wasn't about to provide him with his due. Then too, did he want to walk out? Doing so would mean an end to his Monday nights, and frankly, it was the highlight of his week.
Watching television, reading books, even surfing the Internet was poor compensation for the 90 minutes he spent with Brad. Did he really want to end that, over his unwillingness to provide compensation for his meal? It just didn't seem right. He pushed his chair back, as he usually did when he was having his tea, but this time, he also pushed it to one side, to expose more of himself.
Brad had watched it all, and Sam saw the small curl of his lips, the hint of a smile forming around the thin lips. He found the image rather interesting, rather amazing really. Sam couldn't explain why, but it had a rather invigorating reaction to his body. Nerves were starting to tingle, sort of like he had felt going up for the first time in a Roller Coaster.
The build up was the same feeling, though a bit more intense as he felt his forehead getting hot, his face a bit flushed, and even sweat on the palms of his hands. It was just like that time, one more of his favourite images, and looking at Brad, he could see the sparkle in the man's eyes. It was as if he too was feeling what he was, which wasn't possible, or was it?
As odd as it was, he rather was pleased at the idea that someone could feel as he did. He glanced down, then lifted his eyes upwards, as Brad stood up and moved over towards him. He just watched as Brad came next to him, perhaps the closest they had ever been, physically. It was strange, to smell his perfume, and some other aroma, that was most pungent, yet pleasing. His eyes questioned Brad, but found no response, as he sat there, just staring at his friend. He took it all in, the hair that glimmered in the light from the dining room light. The eyes that seemed to be sparkling and the face that seemed aglow from some inner light. It all was taken in, but unprocessed.
Yet as he stared, he also noticed the bulge, the protruding fabric of the man's jeans, as he stood close by. He felt the heat radiating from him as Brad stood next to his hand. He was looking down, his eyes doing the talking, his body adding the punctuation marks. It all felt bizarre, macabre, yet exhilarating. Sam could feel his heart beating, feel his pulse racing a bit, as his hand seemed to move on its own, the fingers tentative, shaky even, as they reached up towards Brad's waist.
That first touch felt like he had put his hand into a thunderbolt. He felt the charge, the excitement, racing towards him, jolting him in a way that made him tremble. His hand pulled back, scared, then was once more at Brad's waist. It was like he was watching some television show, not actually doing anything. It wasn't his mind controlling his hand, but some outside force, some other entity actually touching the waist of another man.
Glancing up, he saw Brad licking his lip, the tongue moving slowly across the lower lip, as his hand pulled at the button, to pop it. He felt the excitement, almost as if it was something real, something with substance to it, that could be touched, cut, folded, whatever. He felt giddy, excited just as when he had been given his first puppy dog.
His hand shook, the fingers fumbled as they finally found the strength to undo the button, and actually unzip the zipper. The aroma that wafted up to his nostrils, made his eyes water a bit. It was a scent he finally recognized, the smell of an aroused male. Looking up, he found himself smiling, as Brad just looked down at him, urging him on only with his expression, with his eyes. Sam saw the look, the strange glint, understanding it, at last.
In some mystical way, he knew his own eyes were exhibiting the same glint, the same desire, which only made his fingers work faster, work less hesitantly. He broke off the eye contact, to stare down at Brad's crotch, to see his fingers pull the zipper all the way down, to push aside the jeans, exposing the man's underwear. As well as the more pronounced lump that was tenting the boxer shorts Brad wore.
The trembling stopped, his whole body seemed to become like a piece of granite. It was as if his lungs stopped billowing, his heart refused to beat, as his eyes took in the huge lump, that stared at him. His body was rock still, as he watched Brad push the pants out of the way, so only his boxer shorts were left. As he slowly let out his breath, felt the ache in his chest, he knew he wanted to see more, to gaze at more than the light blue fabric.
His fingers somehow obeyed the un-thought thought. They reached up, taking hold of the elastic waist band, and began to push downwards, to reveal the hidden treasure. He saw the dark pubic hairs springing out, felt the resistance from the long tubular object that was pushing them out, until finally it sort of just appeared. Like magic, the thickened pole was out, and Sam leaned back in his chair, surprised by its size, by its appearance.
It was nothing like his own, and despite being nearly 40, it still was a surprise. Gym in school was not one of his more pleasant recollections, and to actually be confronted with an erect penis was to say the least, riveting. Sam had a strange feeling inside, one of wonder, one of desire too, that surprised him, as his finger touched the hot pole. He felt it tremble, felt the blood inside of his body rushing, felt it boiling as his body shuddered. It was odd, nothing like when he held his own penis, nothing like he imagined he could feel.
Maybe it was the hormones, or just the heat, but he felt elated, giddy even. His face was in a huge smile, his eyes were wide open, as he let his finger run lightly over the throbbing pole. He felt the ridges, felt the veins, felt the flow of blood through each pulsing vein. It all made him feel hot, feel like he was floating. Strange thoughts were pushing forward, thoughts he never had allowed himself to consider, as his finger moved along the pole, touching, feeling it quiver.
Sam felt the sticky goo oozing from the tip, and strangely he watched his finger take it, then move slowly towards his own mouth. He couldn't be doing what he was, but he was. He felt the finger near his mouth, felt his tongue dart out and actually lick at the sticky goo on the finger. He felt his body groan, felt it shiver, stutter even, as the taste made its way through his senses.
Looking up, he saw a glazed look filling Brad's face. He saw his cheeks sink inwards, as Brad was breathing rapidly, enjoying the sensation of his touch. His touch, his mind was telling him, which made him ache in ways he had never felt. His legs twitched and the muscles in his biceps were also twitching, quivering uncontrollably. Sam wasn't sure what was happening, but he liked it. It was eerie, but also amazingly pleasurable.
He let his hand move back, to wrap the fingers around the throbbing pole, to slide down towards Brad's crotch, to press up into the belly, to push at the hair, at the soft flesh. He could feel the tremors inside, from his touch, again feeling amazed at how he could be creating such emotions. It was odd, yet invigorating. His body was enjoying it, as he let his hand move back up the trembling shaft, then circle around the hot sweating head. More of the sticky goo was there, that he smeared across the hot skin, down the searing skin of the penis.
He began to speed up, feeling Brad's excitement. Somehow it made him go faster, then slower, then faster. Odd how he was enjoying it, feeling the throb of the skin, feeling the blood moving beneath his touch. He could hear Brad as his breathing grew shallow, more rapid, more intense. Sam didn't look up, enthralled by the motion of his hand and the way it made the thick pole vibrate, shake.
His fingers held the skin tightly, as it moved up and down the pole. The tips brushing against the scrotum, feeling them shake, feeling them tighten even as his hand moved back up the shaft, back around the head. Sam watched the skin grew even tighter, saw the veins swelling as his hand moved up and down. The speed was constantly increasing, his grip growing tighter, as Brad groaned from above.
Sam saw the legs tighten, saw the thighs flinch, as the muscles grew taut. He could see his friends hair standing upright, waving in the room's air. It was as if they were trying to feel his presence, as if some sort of radar. His eyes couldn't help but notice the balls sway, to his touch, or how the lower calves seemed to quiver.
His hand motion was a blur, as it sped along that long pole. The sticky goo was no longer oozing, but he could tell that something would soon fill that void. The sound of Brad's voice growing more strident was a sign he recognized. It was like his own, when he would stroke himself, when his images of fond memories would reach their apex. It was the hard breathes, the gurgle in the voice, the thickness of the pole, that told him what was to happen. Still he couldn't help but keep his eyes watching, to hold the shimmering cock head in his vision.
He felt himself licking his lips, felt his own body trembling, as the thighs were now vibrating. Brad was saying something, but he didn't understand it. His ears were filled by the sound of his own beating heart. The thunder of it was amazing, making him shake, as his hand flew along the pole. The heat was intense, the taut skin burning his own palms, as he went even faster.
The loud cry broke through the thundering echo in his ears. He felt the penis pull back, felt the legs shake so hard that they too blurred. Then he felt it, the hot splatter flow through his clenched hand, breaking past between his fingers, and hitting his own stomach. Even through his sweater, he felt the hard jolts of the liquid hitting, felt the force as it blew past his fingers.
He was shaking as the penis jerked back and then came rushing forward, then reared back again, and again. Each time the force of liquid grew less, but it still managed to get past his hand, still managed to work past his fingers. The last stream just barely working through, dripping down the back of his hand.
The body before him shook, as the last milky liquid dribbled out, down his hand. Sam felt like his whole body had just run a marathon. He was weak, his arm dropped to his side, and he leaned fully back in the chair. His legs ached, drained. His face felt flushed, but his chest continued to heave, as he struggled for air. His heart ached, as the wild pounding began to settle, to calm down to its normal steady beat.
Looking up, he saw Brad's face, saw his eyes flicker, then open. He looked down at Sam, a warm smile across his face, as he bent forward, and pulled his shorts up, then his pants. His chest was still heaving a bit, but it was calming down, as Brad took his seat. He leaned back, staring at Sam. He looked exhausted, as he himself figured he looked. Brad wiped his forehead, then stared at Sam for a few minutes.
'Pot Roast for next Monday okay with you?'
'Okay, sounds good to me.'
He got up, not even noticing the dried cum on his sweater, as he picked up his jacket. Monday was over, but he knew he would have some good images to think about until next week's Pot Roast.