It was a moment that was burned into my mind, a moment that seemed in my memories as if it was hyper-illuminated, a moments that I returned to like it was an odd twinge in my body I couldn't understand. I can close my eyes and there it is, every detail, every sound, every sensation. Even now.
We had been swimming. The day had been hot, the lake like glass, the air heavy. It was a week before high school started again. Daniel's last year. We had often been together on that beach in the sun, over many summers. Me being a year younger didn't matter. It had never mattered between us. In the half-remembered days of our childhood, it hadn't mattered. He was the first person I remember playing with when I was four. I remember telling him that I had learned to tie my shoes.
In school it only mattered because we were never in the same class. It mattered for a year between when he went to high school and I was still in junior high. But it was irrelevant. He had lived two door away from me my whole life. Our parents were friends.
In high school, we played on the same volleyball team, played in the same band, often ate lunch together, spent time with similar groups of friends. The usual high school world that seems now almost stereotyped: lifelong friends in a not-very-good movie. But it was real. It was our life.
That day on the beach, in the heat, our bodies wet, the sand underneath us baking, I noticed for the first time Daniel's bare leg beside mine. I know why I hadn't noticed it before, in the same way I knew why I hadn't noticed any other male bodies before: I wasn't ready to know I wanted to. Until I noticed his.
I had known on some level that to admit I wanted to look at a male thigh, much less his thigh, was to open up a whole story I wasn't ready to tell. About who I was, and who I desired, and who I didn't desire. It was as if my mind wasn't ready to hold the complexity until that moment in the sun, with him lying beside me.
I caught my breath at the realization, but I didn't stop looking. I didn't stop looking at the neat spray of brown hair over the fine muscles of his forearm, the larger bicep above his elbow and the indefinable curve that led up to his shoulder. His eyes were closed, his mouth partly open. He was lightly snoring.
His not-too-bulky chest had more brown fuzz that thinned out around his plump, slightly pink nipples. The curve of his muscled flesh dipped down to his more hairless belly, the smooth skin broken only by his navel. His whole abdomen rose a little, then fell with each breath but seemed to tremble all the time as if his body was exuding energy. His skin was a familiar light tan, from the sun, but also just him.
And further down, the brown hair disappeared into his bathing suit and I had to catch my breath again when I realized I could see the outline of it under the pale blue fabric, almost transparent, wet. The cut head was perfectly outlined, curving slightly, laying flat, a darker bulge of his balls below. It seemed his suit had just been painted over his flesh. I swallowed, shocked, enflamed. I felt my own body respond, filling my bathing suit quickly. I suddenly was aware of other people around us. Parents, children, dogs. I quickly turned onto my stomach and the pressure of the sand seemed to steady me. I tucked my arms underneath my head and turned to look the other direction so as not to be tortured by the sight of him. It had almost been too much. The shock of the attraction – not just to any man, but to him – shook me.
After a while, I couldn't bear it. I got up and went for a walk in the park behind the beach. It was cooler, and calm, and all that could be heard was the soft hiss of the leaves blowing in the wind above me. Children playing with balls, dogs chasing toys, couples lolling on the grass. I began to settle.
I tried to make sense of what I was feeling but I knew it was simple. I wanted. I wanted Daniel. The double realization felt almost overwhelming. The first was easier to bear, but the other? I wondered if the trees would know what I was going to do.
--
After that day, what before had been the ever present awareness of a lifelong friend, became a constant obsession with his body. His strong legs. The smooth curve of the fine muscles of his ass under his bathing suit, rounded and strong. His taut belly. His strong neck. His smile. But I think I managed to hide it, just being the same person with him as I always was. We joked, we made fun of each other, we played tennis sometimes, we drank too much coffee. I spent time with other people, he had his other friends. But he was always there in me, burning.
The school year began and that helped to stabilize something in me, to calm down the frantic need I had, the single-minded focus. We resumed volleyball, I was in the school orchestra again. He had dropped out. We didn't see each other all that much at school. Which in some ways was a relief.
But on my own, the yearning flooded back and I would lie in my room, enflamed. Most nights, I would lie naked, unable to keep from the grip, the stroke, the gasp. Sometimes I would lie with a cooling puddle on my stomach, then do it all over again, still unsatisfied, still almost hungry for him.
One late afternoon in November, at the end of volleyball practice, we were in the change room as usual. Daniel, me, all our teammates. I had just taken my shirt off when I realized his underwear were lying on the floor a few lockers away. I had tried very hard not to watch him peel them off. They were red with blue trim. Almost childish. Almost. I also realized that everyone else had gone to the showers, so without a thought I walked over and picked them up, stuffing them quickly into my gym bag.
I was confident he had brought another pair because most of us did the same thing, not wanting to put on sweaty briefs after getting clean. I quickly went into the showers but far away from him so he didn't see me come in after everyone else.
When we got out, I saw him looking around for them, then shrug and continue dressing. It felt like I had done something illegal, or immoral. Part of me wanted somehow to put them back. But only part of me.
At home, after pleasantries with the family, I almost ran to my room, tearing off my clothes and digging in my bag for the briefs. Which I immediately brought to my nose and took a long, slow breath, already stroking myself. I almost whimpered it was so intense. Sweaty yes, but there was a tang of other things, of his body, of what I imagined that gorgeous cock smelled like, despite only ever really seeing the outline that day on the beach. Or what I hoped was the aroma of his hairy balls.
I came with a low moan, stifled my mouth with his briefs, stifling the pleasure that I also wanted to be his. I imagined I was wet with him, an ache where he had fucked me and, after a few minutes, I managed to produce more. I ached. My cock ached. My heart ached. No matter how many times I did this, I thought, I would still be left longing.
In December, desperate, I found myself asking someone out from the coffee shop I worked at. I had worked with him since the beginning the school year, since he had arrived from Brisbane that summer.
Josh was charming and funny and there was no question that he was attractive and, more importantly, was attracted to me. He was the same age, but went to a different school. It felt perfect.
That first date we went to a movie. In the middle of it, he took my hand which, despite everything, was lovely and exciting. I had never held anyone's hand before. Later he kissed me as we sat in his car outside my house. It was the proverbial end of a date, and was slightly awkward. He kissed me again and said, his voice all husky, “Ryan...I want to do this again...”
I was also getting excited and said, “Yeah. We should.” I put my hand on the bulge in the front of his pants and kissed him back. Grinning like a little kid, he said, “What about Saturday?”
So we did. We went out again. We went to another movie and pawed each other through the whole thing, much to the annoyance of the people on either sides of us.
Afterward we came back to my house and camped out in my room. We mostly kissed and fondled each other, getting so far as to open our pants and explore with hands and, to my amazement, Josh's warm, eager mouth. He shot a huge load on himself, but I think I was too keyed up to get there. But it was fine. I could feel the spell being broken.
Josh was lovely, but a part of me felt I was using him. Not that I wasn't interested in him, or really didn't want to have sex for the first time with anyone, with him. I really did. But deeper in me was the part of me that knew Josh was a distraction. A way to not think about Daniel. Because I thought I would go mad if I didn't.
That part of me was trying to accept that despite everything else, Daniel was straight. He had been dating a girl I vaguely knew, so my longing for him was always going to be just that: longing. So Josh, in his charming, slightly goofy way, seemed a very worthy substitute. They even looked slightly similar.
Just after Christmas, Josh and I went out for dinner, then back to his house. His parents were away in Australia, so we were on our own. We made a show of sitting in the living room drinking beer that he found in his kitchen. But it really was a show, because we were soon more or less naked, entangled, eager on the sofa.
Then he got up and formally led me to his room where I realized he had prepared things for us, having collected the necessary items we would need for protection and for pleasure, which he used, I noticed, with some confidence.
With his condom-wrapped cock in his hand, I stopped him and jokingly said, “You've done this before.”
He looked abashed, but said, “Yeah...is that all right?”
It was my turn to be abashed, since I had in no way wanted to make him uncomfortable. “Of course! I'm glad my first time is with an expert.”
Laughing, he took my thighs in his hands, leaned into me, looking me directly in the eyes, and I opened myself to him, my first fuck. While he kissed me and asked me if I was all right, I kept saying that it was fine. I just wanted to be fucked. I wanted the intensity, the pain even, to clear my mind of Daniel. Every time Josh thrust himself deep into me, I let the sensation, the pressure, the wetness of his lips, the feel of his strong ass as it moved above me, clear my mind of Daniel. And, while it was happening, it worked. My head did clear and I was able to enjoy Josh, for being Josh.
After a time, the surprising pain transformed into waves of ecstatic pleasure and my body boiled over as his moved faster, sending gushes all over my chest between us. He, getting winded, pulled out and stripped off the condom, saying with a desperate gasp, “I want to...”
His seed tasted liked summer, the way I imagined a marsh on a very hot day would. I took as much as he would give me, swallowing almost greedily and then we kissed for what felt like an hour, until my lips were raw, my mouth dry.
We lay in his bed and as my body cooled, the familiar trope appeared, the longing flowing back in and all I could think about was where Daniel might be, what he might be doing. I had barely seen him over the holidays. He always seemed to be doing things with other people. Which, I knew, was his right and was reasonable. But these kinds of obsessions are rarely reasonable.
By the end of the holidays, Josh and I are were, at least implicitly, committed. And then it hit me. I had not even for a moment realized it. I had to come out to everyone. It was the first time it felt possible, besides relevant. Before, because it was just an idea, I didn't feel like I could.
My parents were unsurprised and affectionate, telling me to make sure I used condoms. I had expected that.
Daniel, on the other hand, was surprised. Or something at least that could have been surprise. I had waited until we were at school. I had wanted to tell him before, before the holidays, before anyone else, but I just couldn't. The stakes felt too high. So I waited until I couldn't avoid it. Perhaps it seems too controlled, but I arranged to be with Daniel while talking to a co-worker of Josh and myself from the coffee shop who asked me how things were with Josh.
It was supposed to feel like a natural moment, when I could just tell him, in passing, in a normal conversation. Just as my friend finished his question, I turned to Daniel and said, “I have a boyfriend...”
It was the slow transformation of is face that was agony. At first there was almost in comprehension, then he was smiling, but I could tell it was more complicated than that. I wondered if he was suddenly seeing me as a different species and that everything he thought he understood about our friendship was now in another language. But he said, “That's cool, Ryan. What's his name?”
“Josh. He's Australian. He works with us.”
Stan, my friend, looked happy and gave me a little hug, which, despite everything, felt nice. Daniel, watching us interact, seemed pleased and slapped me on the shoulder and said, “You could have told me before, you know.”
I wasn't sure how to answer. Because I couldn't have. It would have been too much, too agonizing. But I couldn't tell him that. “Yeah, I know. Sorry.”
He said, “I want to meet this guy.”
Again, it hadn't occurred to me that he might want to, but of course he would. Why wouldn't he? Why would the person I had been close with my whole life not want to meet my first boyfriend?
So we arranged to have a burger one Friday after school. I was beside myself. I was anxious and alarmed and excited in equal measure. But of course I needn't have been. Daniel was gracious and friendly and Josh liked him immediately, which made me like Josh that much more. My feelings for Josh, in fact, were growing and to my surprise, I found myself longing for him when he wasn't with me. I had not expected that. I had not expected that the person I was using, in a certain sense, would actually become someone I cared a great deal for.
One evening, after a volleyball practice, Josh came to meet me at the now-darkened school. It was a time I always loved in that building. The quiet, the long expanse of hallways in the half light seemed somehow mysterious. Josh was eager that night, and pushed me into a classroom, avid, bold. He quickly had my pants halfway down my legs and had fished my instant hardness out, then on his knees, sucking greedily. It felt mad and amazing. I was leaning against the wall near the open door. I shut my eyes for a moment, then when I opened them, Daniel had just walked to the door, saying “Hey...”
He stopped when he saw us. I froze, Josh froze. No one said anything. He turned and walked away, but I heard him chuckle as his steps grew quieter. Josh looked up at me, his chin dripping, cum oozing out of me onto the floor. We both laughed, but I could tell we both felt a whole lot more.
The next morning I met Daniel outside his house and we walked to school. After a moment, with a little smirk, he said, “I hope you two had fun last night...”
I looked at him a moment, not sure what to say. But I managed, “Yeah, I guess we should be more careful where we have sex...”
He laughed and nudged me with his shoulder, which settled the panic in my gut.
--
Over those last few months of Daniel's last year of high school, he and Magda, his girlfriend, seemed to be having difficulties. I saw them a few times in front of the lockers in quiet, tense conversation. I tried to ask about it a few times, but Daniel just said something about her wanting to know what was going to happen when school ended.
My fantasies, of course, went all over the place but always ended with him turning to me, the scales having fallen from his eyes and declaring himself. But those fantasies felt toxic, sticky and I would banish them as quickly as they appeared.
After that embarrassing moment in the empty classroom, Josh and I were careful not to be rash or take risks. We had sex at his house mostly, in his parents' basement when they had gone to sleep. It wasn't that they cared if we were having sex, but neither of us was ready for an early morning encounter outside the bedroom with either of them and whatever sly or uncomfortable conversation we might have. It was the same at my house. We spent a fair amount of time in my bed and out of our clothes, but we couldn't bring ourselves to take the leap and fall asleep. My parents wouldn't have minded either, but it just felt too real.
Just before the end of the year, the end of Daniel's last year and when everything changed, something happened that shook me, and made everything feel that much more intense. Our third last volleyball practice was on a Friday night, a week before a tournament we had entered. We had been playing hard, and the coach was cranky and yelled at all of us. At one point Daniel lunged for a sneaky, slow return and twisted his ankle. The yell indicated it wasn't just a slight twist.
At the end of practice, after he had sat on the bench looking glum, we all went to the showers and he and the coach stayed behind. The coach, I assumed, was going to assess the state of his ankle and maybe work on it to see if it was something he could get over.
I was out of the shower and changing and everyone else had gone, wanting to start their spring weekends. I was sitting, putting my socks on when I heard who I assumed was Daniel walk into the shower room and then the water running. I sat for a moment, tying my shoe and then, without thinking, walked quietly to the entrance to the showers. I stood just outside of his range of sight. His back was lean and muscled, and his ass seemed to glow, all thick and taut and pale. I couldn't tear my eyes away. But then, as I stared, I realized what he was doing. I had done it a million times at home in the shower.
I couldn't see him expect the regular movement of his arm, and glimpses of his hand, the end of his cock. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. If it was a sixth sense, or just a random movement, I had no idea, but he turned slightly in my direction and I jerked backwards out of view.
Had he seen me? I had no idea, but I was relatively confident he hadn't. I assumed he didn't even think I was still there, since we didn't always leave together.
I had arrange to meet Josh at a movie, so I quickly packed up my stuff and almost ran from the building: guilty and dizzy and aroused.
The second I saw Josh, I threw myself at him, kissing him and holding his ass my hands, remembering Daniel's body, glistening. Josh said, “What's got into you?” But he kissed me back and looked pleased.
The only thing I could say was, “I'm just happy to see you.”
And I was, but in that moment it was more because he could be the recipient of my insane arousal that was bursting from my pores. After the film we went to his house and I did stay the night, in the basement. I couldn't stop myself. When I tried top pull him into me for the third time, he said, “Ryan...I can't...I'm sore...I can't do it again...”
I looked up at him and for a brief moment, hated him for his restraint, for his good sense. But instead I kissed him and we curled up together on the sofa where, to my relief, he fell asleep in my arms. I didn't sleep the whole night. My mind was ablaze. My body was tingling. It was as if some tap had been turned on and wouldn't stop.
When I saw Daniel the next day for a trip to a bookstore we both liked, he didn't say anything and acted as if nothing had happened. So I assumed from his perspective, nothing had. We had an easy afternoon with books and coffee and he talked about the coming year. It was easy in the way it had always been with him, so I relaxed.
But his talk of the coming year was not unequivocal for me. He was leaving for Montreal which felt like it was on the other side of the planet. I listened, smiling, nodding, pretending like I was being supportive, but inside I was crumbling.
--
He left three weeks later, just after school ended. Sooner than I had thought. I had thought he wouldn't leave until the end of the summer, but it turned out he got a job that would help him pay his expenses and he didn't feel like he could turn it down.
He gave me a quick hug before he left. I felt shattered. The reality of him being gone was now unavoidable. He had made the usual noises about calling, texting, staying in touch. I believed all of it. But it wasn't the point. He would not be there.
I saw Josh soon after, which seemed to assuage my nerves, settle me. In his bed (his parents were out), letting him take me – which is what it felt like – I managed to shift my focus to Josh. To his body, his lips, the intensity of him inside me. It took my mind of everything else.
As it did for the rest of the summer, and into the fall. We were, as we were told by everyone who knew us, an item. I liked being an item. I liked Josh. I loved Josh, but it was the kind of love that felt almost too comfortable. A warm bath. Hot chocolate on a winter's afternoon. Lovely. For Daniel, even so far away, I felt a boiling lake of lava.
Daniel came back for Christmas. At first he seemed the same. But I soon felt something was different. We went out the day after he returned and we were in little dark bar drinking wine. I wasn't suppose to at my age, but no one ever asked me how old I was.
In a quick report as we waited for our wine, he told me Magda had ended things. Then he changed the subject. It was more like he changed the channel. We talked, but not in the way we had always talked. He asked me about Josh but he didn't really reply to my reports of what I had been doing, how Josh was, or whether I thought this was becoming a long-term thing. He just smiled vaguely, as if he was asking just to be polite. That irritated me.
After the third glass, I decided it was time to go. In the street which was, I noticed, surprisingly quiet, we didn't say anything, just walked.
We walked the familiar streets and then, at a well-known alleyway, he pulled me off the sidewalk. I stumbled against a garage wall and said, “What the...?”
For a second he just looked at me, his eyes wide with something that might have been surprise or annoyance or both. His nostrils were flaring and he held one of my arms in his fist, hard.
The way he kissed me was not what I would have expected. I don't know what I would have expected, but not that. It was soft and warm and intense. His tongue just touched the tip of mine, then he stood back, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what he had just done. I couldn't.
I stood there, stunned. Finally I said, “What was that?”
He turned and started to walk again, back to the street. There were very few cars. He turned to me and said, “I have no idea, Ryan. I just...needed to. OK? I just...never mind. I'm sorry.”
The anger welled up and I said, “What the fuck? You can't just go around kissing people, especially me, and not know why.”
Then I could see the pain on his face. He squeezed his eyes shut and said, “Can you not? I mean can you just accept that I did it and let's move on. Maybe I just miss you, or maybe I'm jealous of Josh, maybe I'm lonely. I don't know what the fuck.”
I knew he saw speaking English, but it was as if it was another language. All I could think to say was, “I thought you were straight...”
He laughed but it sounded more like someone in agony. “Yeah. So did I. But maybe not so much. At least around you, I mean. Or maybe other guys...who the fuck knows?”
We walked in silence. I felt slightly ill, as if I was coming down with something. All I wanted to do was go to bed. Alone. I didn't want Josh, and I didn't want Daniel. The very thing I had wanted for so long had happened, and I didn't know what to do with it. It felt as if the universe was saying something about being careful what I wished for. I looked at him walking beside me. He looked the same, I was the same. But I suddenly realized it was the crazed feeling of that kiss, as if he had done it under the influence of some alien virus. Not because he needed to, wanted to, longed to do.
Once I was in my bed, I actually fell asleep fast, but it was the kind of sleep that was like someone who had been hit over the head with something.
He left just after New Years and it was mostly a relief. The longing I could live with. I was familiar with it. It was at least within my control. Everything else flew around like so much wind.
Josh and I continued. He had no idea. His was a desire that made sense to me and I could be with it, feel desired and love him in return. Because I did. That hadn't changed.
--
Spring slipped into the city, releasing us from the chill. I was accepted into two universities, and one of them was in Montreal. For a couple of weeks, I was in agony as to what to do. Of course I wanted to be in Montreal with Daniel, but I then worried that by choosing Montreal, I would be putting pressure on Daniel to...what? Declare his love for me? All he'd done is kissed me and in a way that felt like I was a lab rat or something.
I finally asked Josh, which I should have done right away. He said, touching my cheek with his hand, “Of course you're going to Montreal, stupid. Your best friend is there.” Since he put it that way, what other choice was there?
Josh was staying in Toronto. We had many talks about how we would see each other, but it was all just notional. We really had no idea how it might work.
In July, Josh went to Australia for a month leaving me in the tropically humid city to prepare to leave at the end of August for Montreal. Daniel was in Europe with friends he had made in Montreal. I assumed in that masochistic way we have when we are hopelessly pining for someone that he was fucking his way across the continent and now I could imagine he was fucking everyone: male and female. It burned like acid.
The thought that used to be there, that it had been hopeless from the very beginning – impossible, really – had faded. But now it came back and strangely, it helped. At least for a minute. Because that kiss indicated that it might actually be possible and that was a truth I couldn't risk accepting.
Except one morning in mid-July, just home from the coffee shop, damp with humidity and smelling of steamed milk, my phone rang. Daniel's voice sounded excited. He was at the airport, just having arrived back from London. He had decided to come home early.Would I pick him up?
Standing in the shower, all the radioactive longing rushed into my body and I almost cried. I had been basking in the relief of its absence and now here it was, strong as ever.
At the airport, when I saw him coming through the arrivals gate, I was startled. He seemed thinner. His hair was longer, wavy. He had a scruff on his face I had never seen before. His clothes were rumpled. His eyes, when he saw me, bore into me. They seemed to have a kind of feral energy behind them. He hugged me, holding me as if he was drowning. But it was him. His warmth, his smell, his strength broke down everything in me that I had built to move forward. I melted into his arms.
He looked at me directly in the eyes and said, “Let's go...”
We barely talked in the car, but when we got to his house, he said, “Come upstairs.” I followed him up the familiar staircase, in the familiar house to the familiar room, a room I had been in countless times for as long as I could remember.
He threw his backpack on the floor and said, “'Sit down...I want to tell you something.”
At first I thought he was going to regale me with his exploits in Europe, but to my surprise I watched him as his eyes welled up, his face becoming mottled. He collected himself with a sigh. “Ryan...when I saw you with Josh that night...” He stopped. I didn't need to ask which night. “Something happened. I mean, something changed, I guess? I mean seeing you with your cock halfway down someone's throat was one thing, but it wasn't just that.” He paused a took a deep breath. “I can't explain this very well...anyway, you know that night I twisted my ankle?”
I nodded, terrified. I was about to say something, but he raised his hand as if he was a crossing guard.
“I knew you were watching me, Ryan. And I guess it confirmed the feeling I had when I saw you and Josh. Because I wanted you to watch me.” He stopped, getting that puzzled look he gets. “I wanted more. I guess that's what I want to say. I want more.”
He stopped like someone who has climbed a mountain, breathing heavily. I was about to say something but he held up his hand again. “Anyway, in Montreal after that I decided to experiment, I guess. I got myself on an app and had a few dates just to see what would happen...”
He stopped again. I could tell he was forcing himself and that I was to not say a word. He had done it a few years before when he had admitted to me that he had cheated on a test.
But I said, “So what happened?”
He shook his head and said, “I had a good time. Not a great time. Sweet guys. There was one guy that I really liked...or at least was attracted to and we had more or less good sex. But you know what? The whole time I was fucking that guy all I could think about was you. I know, I know, it's lame but that's how I felt.”
So there it was. He had said it. The fact that he had said the very thing I had longed for him to say was actually a shock. Because for so long my fantasies had never once felt like they could ever be real. We looked at each other, our eyes wide. Our whole childhood, our whole adolescence was laid out before us.
He finally said, “Say something, Ryan...it's killing me.”
So I said, “Come here.”
I could tell he was shaking, but he sat down beside me. I turned and took his hand. I said, “Do you know how many times I have fantasized you would say those very fucking words?”
I could see him melt a little. He leaned toward me and our noses touched. He said, “How many?”
I laughed. “So many.” Now I was shaking.
We stared at each other for a few moments, but then, as if something had been released in him, he pushed me down on the bed and fell on top of me. His mouth was everywhere, his tongue traced my neck, his lips ran over my chest when he tore my shirt off. I frantically pulled off my pants and watched him fumble with his belt. His cock tasted exactly as I wanted it to when he pushed it into my mouth.
Naked, we both stopped and looked at each other. He was kneeling over me, stroking himself, but he was looking down at my chest as if he hadn't seen it before. He ran his hands from my chin to my belly, trailing his fingers across my skin. He said, “Can I?”
My knees up around my head, his lips fastened to mine, his mouth turning, working, he slowly pressed his surprising length into me, length that seemed to fill me in a way Josh didn't. I felt him in me, rather than just penetrating me. He moaned into my mouth after he took his first thrust, then louder after the second. He said into my ear, his voice hot, “Fuck Ryan...I've wanted this for so long...”
I kissed his nose, I licked his chin, then we began to kiss endlessly as his body became more energetic, his hips began to bash into me, my body opening more and more, his cock going deeper and deeper. I started to cry. I didn't realized it at first, but tears began to spill out and he licked them up, adding them to our kisses. I ran my hand down his sweaty back to his impossibly strong, rounded ass.
Somewhere in mid-thrust, I pulled away from his mouth and managed to ask, “So you still like women?”
His eyes widened and he said, “You're asking this now?” He stopped, his eyes wide. But then, with a chuckle into my mouth and as I felt his cock go especially deep into me, he said, “Yeah. But right now I just want you.”
He felt surprisingly soft and vulnerable when I pushed my fingers into him. He gasped and his orgasm seemed to transport him. He bit my lower lip, and seemed to groan and sigh at the same time.
When I emptied my cock into his mouth, he pulled my hips forward so I was so deep I could feel his throat, could feel myself pour into him. I held his head until the pulsing of my body slowed, then lifted myself off him, a trail of liquid following.
Then our kisses were soft and easy. I nestled my head into his neck and ran my hand down his damp chest, over his smooth belly and gripped his still-rigid cock. I wanted to say, You are mine. But it was obvious this was already true, as I was his.
We lay there, breathing. I wondered at the transformation of our lives, since this is what we had begun. That I had finally been fucked by him was one thing, but there was so much more. I could feel it. This was also a claiming of something, an acknowledgement of our long history, a sharing of what before had felt unrequited and impossible. He said into my ear, “What now?”
The questions reverberated in my head. Josh was gone as if the echoes of what Daniel had just asked banished him. It was as if Josh had never been there at all. I felt a pang for him, but it passed. It was just Daniel. I turned and looked into his eyes. They were as wet as mine. There were tears pooling there that hadn't yet fallen. It was my turn to collect them, taste them and kiss his cheeks and softly run my hand through his hair and wonder the same thing. But it occurred to me that figuring that out was going to be the best part of all.
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