My summer of sex with Cowboy

Chapter 39

Saturday night, I was walking into the bedroom with Bruce when the impact of this reversal hit me fully; I won! Bruce chose me, not the pussy boy organization. Well, not me specifically; Bruce chose the more normal life I offered of setting us up in a legitimate business.

So why was I convinced Bruce would immediately accept the chance to return to the pussy boys? Well, for one, Jon was without any doubt Bruce would jump at the opportunity, and both Eli and Richard agreed. They'd known Bruce for almost two years while I'd known him only as my trainer for three weeks, then another three weeks after breaking him out of the funhouse. Bruce fooled all of us.

Bruce is appreciative of being free of the funhouse, but at times he acts with me as if he was still a pussy boy mentor of mine. I mean, he was my mentor, but we're not in the pussy boys anymore. I can't help but wonder what would have happened if Richard hadn't fucked us over and all that happened after that. I know I would have finished all six weeks of training for Bruce and then pretended to whore on the street for him for a while, maybe actually doing it because I was in love with him. I still am, but he most definitely is not in love with me. He doesn't pretend he is, either. He pretends we're boyfriends sometimes, but he doesn't really believe in that. 

Anyway, he had begun losing that hard-ass-mentoring posturing with me, and then he was sent off to the funhouse in Philly. No matter what I say about the pussy boy organization, before getting sucked into it, I was bored with pouting about Ronny's death and uninterested in much. Then Richard brainwashed me into the pussy boy crap, and as crazy as it is, I became invigorated and much more interested in life. Yes, even though I didn't like Richard, he passed me off to Bruce Dunlop, and the few weeks Bruce was in charge as my mentor excited me in ways I never got excited when Ronny was my leader! 

I don't shy away from admitting I like having a leader in my life, someone I look up to and more or less doing what they do, do what they say. I like being a follower, although that isn't something you hear most guys admit. They can admit it or not, but most guys are followers. For example, most guys do not start style trends. Someone or some group, usually a gay group, starts trends such as the current trend to wear a beard. Look around, and you'll see millions of guys who never considered wearing beards before having one now for fear of being different. 

There are innumerable other examples of followers in every walk of life. I'm proud to be a follower of Bruce's. I admire him because he was resourceful and tough enough to survive an unimaginable life on the city's mean streets, something that was unimaginable to me. Plus, he can do things I've never had to do, such as everyday domestic stuff like buying what we needed for the apartment, renting the 'effing apartment, shopping for groceries, paying the electric bill, etc. And, yes, I admire his confidence as well; his confidence in himself is equal to what Ronny's was. Neither of them has/had doubts about very much. 

In the bedroom, Bruce pats my ass and says, "Get undressed, and I'll give you a head start with your submissiveness by spanking you." 

More pussy boy nonsense, but I chuckle, being a good sport. I don't want to rock the boat, but I do not need someone spanking me so I'll get submissive, Stupid, asinine nonsense. I mumble, "You don't need to do that. Actually, I wish you wouldn't. There is no reason for it."

He mutters, "I'm sure there's at least one reason you deserve to be spanked." 

"Ha ha! Not really." He mutters, "Yes, really. I need to pick up where we left off. After the week I just had, I need to experience something that makes me feel good about myself, and doing sub/dom sex for you is something I'm good at and something you love. You deserve all of it, and I owe you big time, so I'm not shying away from doing my job for you... for free, obviously!"

Oh, fuck! When I don't say anything, he mumbles, "Um, unless I'm mistaken about how much you enjoy it." 

The poor guy! Everything he's been through. "No! I loved it, Bruce! You do that awesome, bro." 

He nods, "Thanks. Well, let's get it on then." 

In addition to admiring him and his leadership qualities, there are physical aspects of Bruce that I like a lot, too. His slim body is almost my height, and I like that. Also, he has an oddly cute face, plus I like the feel, smell, and taste of him, and I like listening to his pleasant-sounding voice. Yeah, it's more than I like those things... I love all of him, and it'd be perfect if someday he'd love me back. Still, to me, the spanking thing is, well, it's annoying. I can't get into it the way my young bro, Cowboy does. Oh, well,  Bruce thinks he's doing me a favor, so, for now, I'll let him think that. In time, I'll find an inconspicuous way of letting him know I think spanking is stupid and I don't like it. 

We both get undressed and then he leans me over the desk and gives me a hard spanking with his hand. It took an effort not to cry out because that stung! Out of breath, Bruce, in a conversational voice, says, "Ya know, I tried thinking about your macho sexy body when that animal, Daytime, was fucking me, but he was so rough all I could think about was how much I hated him." 

I murmur, "That's awful, Bruce." He gives my bare ass a few more smacks, then adds, "By the second night, I knew I was going to ask if you'd mind me quitting that job. Knowing you wouldn't mind helped me get through it, knowing I only had to get through a couple of nights with that beast. That kept me going; that and the money. I needed the full eight day's pay to pay my way this month and next month."

I'm not surprised he needs to talk about last week's horrible experience. Talking about it will help get it out of his system, but I didn't think it'd be this soon he'd want to rehash it. He says, "Jesus, it sounds as if I'm a whiner," and he spanks my ass pretty hard for another ten seconds or so. There's a point when your hot stinging buttocks make you put your hand back to protect your ass. It never works, but I do it anyway, now muttering, "Ow, ow, Bruce, no..." 

He holds my hand away with his left hand, using his right to keep spanking, grunting, "Almost done," and, "Smack, smack, smack" and "Ow, ow, ow, dammit, Bruce. That fucking hurts!"

He says, "What are you complaining about? I do it for you!" I straighten up, turn around, making a face at him while rubbing my smacked ass with both hands, asking, "Do you have any of that sunburn cream we used at your place?  

He says, "No, not with me, but did you notice how submissively you asked that?"

"Huh, I'm sorry, but..." Jesus, he's right. I do feel submissive and say, "You're right, Bruce." He mumbles, "I know. Now, on your knees," and as I'm dropping down to my knees, staring at Bruce, I get this delicious sense of being submissive to him and quietly say, "You're not going to spank me anymore tonight, are you?"

"Perhaps. You respond to it better than anyone I've heard of, so I'll do it for your benefit. Maybe later."

Omigod, I actually do feel very submissive. Perhaps, psychologically, spanking works because I submissively tolerated it, and it's like a circle effect. Whatever, I get to suck Bruce's seven-inch penis now. It's like a reward after the spanking.

Instead of picking his penis up, I look up at Bruce for permission. He nods and mutters, "Very good, Zach. It's cool seeing you've retained some of the training I did for you. Start by getting used to my scent again."

My cock is already hard. I love this submissive shit, I really do. Obeying Bruce, I lean my face against his groin and inhale his scent for so long I feel dizzy and gulp in oxygen, then rub my nose on his crotch, my tongue pressing on the root of his flaccid cock, my nose against his belly, inhaling more of his scent. Bruce's natural scent from his skin is more subtle than Jon's scent, but it's pleasant and sexy to me. Bruce has a hand on my head, saying, "I like your haircut. Scheyer gave you a true pussy-boy-short haircut. I hate to admit that he did it pretty fucking good haircut for you. He must like you. Anyway, we'll keep this type of haircut for you moving forward." 

Wow, he doesn't even realize what a dominant statement it is to infer he'll decide what haircut I'll get next time and from whom. He decided that without any hesitation on his part. When I dropped him off in Philly, he said he didn't care if I had longer hair or not, and now, he's decided I'll get this haircut indefinitely. I don't give a flying fuck about my haircut one way or another, but I think I'll decide what it'll be and when I get it. I'm no longer a member of the Seals or pussy boys.

That entire haircut thought process was over in one second. As I was taking another deep inhale of Bruce's boyish/masculine scent, I lifted my head and looked at Bruce. He nods, "It's okay. I know you want to, so go ahead and suck my cock now, Bruce. Enjoy yourself..."

I pick up his dick, and Christ, my fingers are shaking because I'm so excited about doing this with Bruce again. Sliding the big mushroom head into my mouth, I close my lips just below the head, close my eyes and hum on his cock and then move my talented tongue over the curved head, back and forth, back and forth, until I feel it getting harder and larger. I rub the head against the inside of my right cheek, then against the roof of my mouth, moving it to my other cheek. Bruce grunts, "Umm, yeah..." and shuffles his feet a little.

The head has swollen to a mouthful now, so I pull it out and stroke the shaft a few times, then hold it steady and lick it from his nuts to the big head, doing it over and over and all around it until it's a roaring hard boner that I push against his belly and then go to town licking his balls. This is noticeably different than when I did the same things to Jon's smaller cock. Yeah, doing Bruce is so much bigger, and Omigod, my cock is up against my stomach every bit as hard as Bruce's. 

Moving his balls with my tongue, I can tell the difference here, too. Bruce's balls are bigger and heavier than Jon's, and his scrotum hangs down much further than Jon's almost round scrotum. Bruce has a man's cock and balls, making Jon's seem like a boy's package by comparison. So, yeah, there's the question of which one I prefer. I love Bruce, but Jon is sexier somehow. Maybe it's simply that he's more experienced than Bruce. Yeah, I love Bruce, but Jon is really in my head. I'm attracted to guys with a youthful appearance, and I'm finding out the size of their cocks isn't as important as I once thought.

That 'penis size' thought took the same one second in my brain as the type of haircut thought... one second and, stretching my tongue under his balls, I try to lick his asshole, but his bigger body size prevents that. I barely manage to get my tongue on Jon's asshole, and his body is smaller. 
And, as always, when doing oral sex, the one thing the pussy boys have going for them that I really, really like is their hairlessness. Sucking and licking hairless male bodies is so much neater, purer, and sexier than hairy ones. I'm licking the inside of Bruce's thighs now, then up past his hairless pubic area to his belly button, inhaling his scent constantly. Dammit, I just felt precum rolling down my fingers from his boner. I'd continue licking and sucking until he blows his load if he'd let me, but he forbids me from doing that this time.

Bruce has been rubbing my head, grunting and moaning for the last two minutes, and now he's pushing at my head. I resisted long enough to get the large head of his cock in my mouth one more time, then he goes, "Stop! I'm going to shoot off." He pushes my head, and I grab my cock to stroke it, but he pulls my hand away, muttering, "Stop that..." 

I do what I'm told, breathing deeply, highly aroused, but feeling dreamily submissive. He takes a deep breath, then says, "Wow, that was the opposite from me sucking off Daytime. Thank God you're a submissive bottom, Zach. We wouldn't have a chance of making it if you were at all like that aggressive Daytime dickhead."

I'm sitting back on my ankles, looking up at Bruce, waiting for his orders for what I should do next. He gets a hand under each of my arms, pulling me up, saying, "My whoring days ruined any pleasure I may have ever felt being the bottom boy during sex. Even if I liked the bottom position, not with that animal Daytime. Hell, I don't remember ever liking being fucked, now that I think about it. When prostituting, I'd never think about it one way or another; I'd just do it for money, like the whore I am or was, I guess."

See, what Bruce and I are doing is basically gay sex with a buddy to Bruce. Not a lot different than doing it for money. That's my guess, anyway. I want it to be more about making love, obviously. 

Bruce says, "I'm sorry for whining about all my problems. I should be complimenting you on that primo oral sex. I've got a super good boner from it. Well, how about if you lean over the desk again, and I'll fuck that great ass for you. And I've got to hand it to that dink, Jon, for keeping you perfectly hairless, even the underarms. I like that, so we'll include the underarms too." 

I say, "Jon isn't a dink. He's a good guy and a great top. I'll bet he's a great mentor and trainer, too. I love you, Bruce, but Jon is special to me. Just saying..." He swats my ass, saying, "Well, buy some sex from him if you must, but for now, bend over the desk. Let's get this over with." 

Get it over with?  

Christ, I sure hope he's not having sex with me just because he thinks he needs to. I've helped him out a couple of times, but if that's the only reason he's having sex with me, that's not what I'm looking for...

Bruce's sex has been plenty good enough for me until now. I know; he's had bad, bad experiences with sex lately. The horror of the fun house and then, last week with Daytime fucking him hard. Damn, we were heading in the direction of someday having lover's sex until that Philadelphia disaster.  

I'm trying to think positively that it'll happen someday, but if it ever happens, it seems a long way off. Still, I'm willing to wait for as long as it takes, assuming there's a hint of progress in that direction sometime soon. 

And ironically, Bruce said he's glad to see Jon kept my body hairless while it's him who could use a MAN creme application. It was no problem for me, but I noticed a shadow of pubic hair just beginning to show on Bruce. Well, it has been some weeks since the last time he used the creme, and I'm more than happy and willing to apply it for him if, hopefully, he's going to continue the hairless look.

Another smack on my ass gets my attention, "SMACK!" as Bruce says, "Damn, Zack... get your ass up!" 

Oh, the last couple of days, I got used to getting it down for Jon. And, damn, I didn't give a thought to lubricant, but luckily, Bruce did. I feel a glob of gel being pushed inside my ass, so I mutter, "Oh, yeah, that's gonna be a big help." 

He says, "I'd be as heartless as Daytime was if I forgot to get you lubricated." 

"We've done it without lube before." He pushes in another gob of it, mumbling, "I know, but now that it's fresh in my mind how painful that can be, I don't want to do it to you. Um, unless it's an emergency." 

We both chuckled as I muttered, "Well, yeah, emergencies are a different story altogether." His finger is in all the way, and he twirls it around and around, loosening my tight anus and getting my prostate gland humming a little. When his finger comes out, I feel lube on my side when he grabs my hips and puts pressure on my hole with the big mushroom head of his boner. He hasn't always been this considerate, but, as he inferred, he's remembering the pain he experienced last week getting fucked by that bastard, Daytime. 

All of Bruce's experiences getting fucked as a pussy boy were done with rubbers, ah, condoms. Being safe and lubricated are two more good rules they have. So, yeah, the pussy boy training often turns our good male prostitutes. It's the unnecessary BDSM training practices that any sensible person would object to. Richard's stepfather must have been sick in the head when writing that training manual.

The mushroom head on Bruce's boner is not going to be denied entrance, and sure enough, now I feel my anus giving way, opening, and opening until, "Ahhh," gasps from my mouth as the head finally slides impossibly tightly inside. Immediately, my anus closes just as tightly around the thinner neck just below the big head. Bruce murmurs, "Mmm, that felt good." My jaws are clamped shut, and my face scrunches up, dealing with the pain, but because it's Bruce's cock, the pain is somehow easier to deal with... and the pain soon starts fading.

He waits only a second before his cock starts its journey up inside my rectum, the big head spreading the walls of my bowels while my anus screeches in pain from the big hard boner's shaft dragging against its grip. I can't stop a grunt of pain, "Oh fuck..." but Bruce doesn't stop, and soon he's tight against my buttocks. Needless to say, there's a significant difference being filled up like this with seven throbbing fat inches of hard cock compared to an almost four-inch boner with a small pointy head. To me, it's thrilling being filled up like this, and never mind the extra pain because it doesn't last long while the incredibly filled-up sensation stays with me.
It still hurts when he pulls it back and hurts going up inside me again, but less than the first time, and less the third time, and the fourth time his boner slides smoothly in and back as I moan, "Ahhh, ooh, yes..." Now that he's got me opened up to his satisfaction, Bruce begins fucking me for real. It's the "Slap, slap, slap" sound at first as Bruce is using only three or four inches of his boner to quickly thrust back and forth, smacking against my buttocks each time as I go, "Ah, ah, ah!"

The big mushroom head totally has its way inside me, but only the shaft is tightly rubbing my prostate. to start, only about half of it is in play thrusting. The prostate is where most of the pleasure is generated as my tight anus lips are still complaining about being stretched so much. Bruce's hands grip my hips tightly as each thrust becomes longer so that more and more of the hard boner is put into play until the head is eventually all seven inches of hard cock is coming back all the way across my prostate gland. Now, sensations soar to higher levels, and it's ecstasy for me. My back arching, my moans constant, my cock an iron pole sticking straight out six inches from my body as it throbs and tries getting bigger and harder.

Long seven-inch thrusting for two then three minutes, and now my anus lips begin sending out itching pleasure vibrations of their own. In combination with my prostate, my whole body is seemingly a pleasure machine, and I'm moaning, "Oh, ooh, oooh, Bruce, ah, ahh, ahhh!" The pleasure was so intense for five minutes, then six minutes. Oh man, then I'm stunned, realizing my climax has been sitting at the tipping point for a minute or more. In equal parts, I want it to blow, and I don't. Exploding orgasms are an exquisite pleasure unequaled by anything known to man, but the feeling of Bruce fucking me is a pleasure almost as great, so...

I don't have a choice, though, climaxes rule, and Bruce's crotch is against my ass now. He's stopped thrusting, breathing noisily and then making a desperate, "Ahhh!" sound he fills my bowels with his seed as I shudder, cover my mouth with a hand, and screech out at the dynamic level of sensations, almost too large to comprehend when a strong stream of cum shoots from my iron boner. It splatters off the front of the desk's drawer. The hand comes from my mouth to grip my cock and squeeze it, then do a tight stroke up the shaft as I hold my breath and shake at the sweeping after-effects of that climatic orgasm.

Bruce breathes deeply, both his hands on my back now; then he slowly pulls his seven-inch cock from my ass, and lots of his semen comes out with it, slowly drooling to the back of my nuts. All my climaxes feel otherworldly awesome, and I had some really great ones with Jon, too. Others as well, but I love Bruce, so that makes for more special, more amazing climaxes. I think the best fuck I've ever had, though, was that first one from Richard, who I've come to despise and wouldn't want to repeat the experience under any circumstance. And this wasn't Bruce's best fuck on my ass, but it's the first one in over eight days, so very special because of that.

I'm still getting little shivers of after-effect remnants, and I'm still leaning over the desk as Bruce says, "I hope that was good for you, Zach. It cleared my mind of some of the negativity that bastard Daytime caused me to have about sex. Yeah, it's good I changed my mind and did it with you." 

"I'm glad too, Bruce. It was great." He pats my shoulder, asking, "Good. Are you okay?" Nodding, I push myself away from the desk and stand, my dick still in my hand, mumbling, "I'm good; I always have the best sex with you." He mumbles, "Just wondering, um, how many times did Scheyer fuck you?" 

Shrugging, I mutter, "A couple of times."

Bruce grabs some tissues and holds them to my asshole, muttering, "Get your hand back here." I hold the tissues in place to catch the cum that's still leaking out. Bruce gets more tissues to wipe his dick, asking, "So, um, what kind of equipment does he have?" 

I chuckle, then go, "Omigod, he's packing maybe eleven or twelve inches of hard cock. That's after I finish sucking a boner on him." 

Bruce makes a face, muttering, "Bullshit." and starts walking toward the bathroom. 

Following him, I mutter, "Of course, I still prefer your smaller penis, Bruce." 

He snickers, muttering, "Eleven or twelve inches, my ass." In the bathroom, I say, "And, fuck, the head on that thing is like a softball..." 

He's grinning as he uses a washcloth to clean his pecker, then mutters, "Uh-huh, I'm so sure." I'm snickering as he says, "Turn around," and when I do, he uses the same washcloth wiping cum off my buttocks and between my legs, saying, "You've got the best ass ever for fucking, I've got to admit that." 

"That's what Jon said." 

He laughs and smacks my ass, then goes, "No, seriously. What's he got?" 

I tell him, "Four-plus inches with a pointy head, but truthfully, it's a chubby dick." 

He puts his arm across my shoulders, mumbling, "That's what I thought. I only met the little dink a couple of times. Both times at a bar when he was with Eli. And I'm pissed at Eli for getting involved in trying to lure you back into the horror show. Let's wash up, brush our teeth, and get to bed. This past week took a lot out of me. I can't remember ever being this tired."

As we're doing that, I say, "You're wicked tired, but yet you put a great fuck on my ass."  

"Yeah, you bring something out in me, Zach... something I thought I'd lost along the way sometime. It's like I want to do you up good because of all the good shit you've done for me." Rinsing my mouth after using my new electric toothbrush, I look at him and say, "You called it a horror show. I didn't realize you were so disdainful of the pussy boys."

He says, "I want to get one of those," pointing to my electric toothbrush.

"We'll go to Target, and you can get one, plus a new cell phone, but what about you being disdainful of the pussy boys?" 

He says, "Yeah, I thought they were my best chance to make money. And that you'd be an excellent start for my escort group. I'd recruit another guy using you as an example of how much money the new guy could make. I'm human, though, and I felt guilty doing that horrifying training shit to you, but I kept telling myself I had to look out for myself... keep looking out for myself. And even after you recused me from the funhouse, it took a while, a week or two, before my brain could recalibrate and see there wasn't any comparison between pussy boy prostitution and the possibilities you told me about in the legit business world."

We're done in the bathroom, but we're just standing here, so I say, "I can't put myself in your position. I can't even imagine what you've been through all these years, but it seems to me you should be proud of yourself for admitting you needed a huge change in your life." 

He gets us walking out of the bathroom, saying, "Shit, once I realized there is no comparison, I wondered why it wasn't obvious to me from the start. I felt stupid for not kissing your ass for offering me a chance at a kind of job I didn't need to be ashamed of."

All of this is good to hear, but it isn't anything like two boyfriends discussing things. It's like good acquaintances and fuck buddies discussing a business opportunity. I've got my work cut out for me getting us to boyfriend status, and then it's a long shot reaching the I love you, Zach part... maybe an unreachable end. He was playing at being boyfriends the week before the Philly job, so that's the first step, getting him back playing at being boyfriends to humor me.

As much as, at first, I wasn't pleased that Cowboy insisted on sleeping right next to me and sometimes partially on me, I came to like the physical contact with a male body. I was twenty-seven when Cowboy began sleeping with me, and I'd been gay for as long as I can remember, but that was my first experience sleeping with another guy. When Cowboy began sleeping with Lee, coincidentally, I became infatuated with Bruce's physical contact. I was infatuated with him even though he was doing that absurd training program. The physical contact with him happened during the ludicrous so-called familiarity exercise. That was one of the few things I found enjoyable. The other is sex with Bruce.

Anyway, all pussy boy mentors I've been with, three of them, hold their left arm out for the trainees to cuddle against them. That's the familiarity exercise. Supposedly, it's to get trainees used to physical contact with clients. Yes, it's stupid beyond words, but I liked that Bruce continued doing that when he slept with me after the funhouse escape. 

Well, Jon did it, too, and, as I said, Cowboy got me addicted to physical contact with guys. Unlike with Cowboy, however, I now prefer feeling as though my sleeping companion is dominantly in charge, which is why I cuddle against him instead of the other way around. Even diminutive Jon played that role without giving a thought that I was bigger than him. It isn't as awkward with Bruce because Bruce and I are almost the same height and weight.

So, Saturday night, Bruce finally gets in bed, mumbling, "Get the light, Zach," and when I do, I crawl onto the other side of the bed, hoping he's still going to continue wanting the cuddling. I can't see if his arm is out, so I'm waiting, and then he goes, "C'mon, get over here, Zach! I gotta get to sleep." Sliding over against him, his arm around the back of my neck, he exerts some pressure, murmuring, "Lean over on my side so my arm doesn't go numb." We move around a little until he murmurs, "Yeah, good. Whew, it's wonderful to be here with you. Man, what a week I had." 

His taut body feels so good. Hmm, it's funny, but Jon, though smaller, has firmer pecs than Bruce. He murmurs, "Goodnight," and I nod my head slightly against his shoulder, murmuring, "Goodnight, Bruce. I'm glad you're home."

That's all I remember until Bruce pokes me Sunday morning, asking, "Are you awake?" I open my eyes and see bright sunshine pouring through the bedroom window. We rolled apart a foot or so during the night, so I flopped onto my back, mumbling, "Yeah, I'm awake." 

He grins, "I woke up with a pulsating boner, so we might as well get today's fuck number-one out of the way right now." 

"Uh-huh, yeah, but only if you want to." 

He sighs, "Do you want to do it or not?" 

"Of course, um, what if I go up on my side, and you stick that pulsating boner in the first opening you can find on my body?"  

I'm not happy about Bruce saying we'll get this fuck out of the way as if it's a chore. He's been doing buddy sex 101 more than feeling affection or love. It's a far cry from making love, I know that much, but the next best thing to it. Facing away from him, I get up on my side and pull my knees up. Bruce slides over close to me, the big head of his boner bumping my left butt cheek, then it's right on my asshole. Bruce mutters, "Waking up this morning was many times better than waking up yesterday morning. Hell, I can't think of anything to compare it to," and he rams his boner in past the tight lips of my anus feeling like a hot poker went inside me. I screech out, holding my hand against my mouth to muffle it. There is plenty of lubricant inside my rectum from last night but none outside to ease the trauma of bursting my tight asshole wide open. 

The burning sensation hangs on for the entire seven-inch trip as the mushroom head plows its way up inside me. Bruce grinds his groin against my buttocks, murmuring, "That felt pretty good." He sounds weird as if he's surprised it felt good. Meanwhile, I'm trying to embrace the pain but instead embrace the fact it's fading. It hovers just this side of bearable, and thank God for the lube remnants inside me. My anus is still burning as Bruce pulls his boner back and rams it in again, and then he does it again as things inside me begin simmering down, accepting that Bruce's boner rules.

Then, after three or four more hard thrusts, toot-toot, here comes the pleasure train as my prostate gland wakes up and starts purring out pleasure, and my anus finally recognizes Bruce's boner as a friendly intrusion and stops squawking at it. Bruce has his arm over my side, steadily thrusting his boner, moving only his hips, his breathy exhale warm and moist on the back of my neck. Fucking is the ultimate intimate act two people can do together, although it's not the most submissive act. Doing oral sex for my sex partner is much more submissive, rimming being the ultimate submissive sex act for me. 

Still, docilely lying here being fucked up, my ass definitely has submissive overtones, which, for me, increases the sexuality, and the fact that it's Bruce doing the fucking doubles the pleasure, although Jon was special, too. I need to concentrate more on appreciating that it's Bruce fucking me instead of fretting about whether it's buddy sex or making love sex. Buddy sex can sometimes lead to making love, although many more times than not, it doesn't.

He's into a smooth rhythm of humping his big boner back and forth in my rectum, making quiet grunting moans of pleasure as I float in an ocean of the pleasure he's creating for me, moaning, "Um, um, um," with each long thrust. It's tempting to grab hold of my quivering, hard boner, but I don't because I want to continue experiencing this fantastic sexual pleasure that can't be described. When my climax is hovering near the tipping point, my moans of pleasure change to whimpering sounds, knowing my climax is expanding out of my control and about to burst forth into the world like the Big Bang that began all things in this universe.

Bruce and I have climaxed at almost the same time in the past, and his Big Bang must be on top of him too because now it's fast, shorter thrusting, desperation thrusting, and "Slap, slap, slap," sounds are ringing out in the room partially muffled by the covers. My boner moves away from my belly to stick straight out, and it's almost scary now as the power builds in my impending climax. I hold my breath in anticipation of worlds colliding; then, when my climax blows, I do the same screech I made when Bruce slammed his cock up my ass. 

My cum fires up from my nuts to sizzle out my six inches of iron-hard cock, only to make a quiet "Puff' sound hitting the sheet in front of me. Waves of pleasure spread out from my groin, going down my legs and up to the hair of my head, with me shuddering and not realizing that my rectum is gooey with Bruce's cum. My nuts are empty of cum, but my ass is full of it.

My brain was too occupied with my worlds-colliding climax to notice Bruce's worlds-colliding orgasm. He pulls his cock out, sighing, "Umm," and then, "That was okay." 

I lie over on my back as cum drools out of my ass. Shivering at the zipping after-effects, I murmur, "That's my favorite way to start a day." Turning my head, I add, "You fuck wicked good, Bruce." 

He snickers, "Yeah, well, I like your ass." Then he turns his head to look at me and adds, "Boyfriend." I go, "Oh good! We're going to play boyfriends again."

He says, "I don't know that we're playing. We are boyfriends, don'cha think?" 

I nod, "Yep, we are if we say we are." 

"You keep rescuing me from shit, so I'm beginning to think you're a perfect candidate to be my first boyfriend." 

I mumble, "And you know very well how I feel about you." He murmurs, "Yes, and I'm seriously flattered, and, um, I don't know exactly how to respond to that." 

I shrug, "You're doing really well with everything, Bruce. Seriously, you are."

This is getting awkward, so he says, "I'm going to take a shower." 

"Oh, wait! I've had some training in the art of bathing a client. I'd like to try that on you. If you're up for it, that is." 

Getting out of bed, he looks curious, mumbling, "You and I never got to that training exercise, so you must have had quite a time with Scheyer." 

I get out of bed, too, "Well, that's because he thought you'd go for the offer to be reinstated as a pussy boy, which means I would too, so Jon was trying to get a head start on my final three weeks of training." Nodding, he mutters, "I can't believe you were going along with that."

We're naked, of course, as we never put anything on after last night's sex. Walking into the bathroom, I say, "He tricked me into giving my word of honor, but I already told you about that." 

He's washing his hands, mumbling, "Tricked you? I'll bet you were falling for that little dink. Weren't you?" 

"What? No, I didn't exactly fall for him. He was, um, he's not a dink, Bruce! Why do you keep calling him that? I think he was pretty awesome. You weren't with me, and he filled in great. Now I'm sorry I manhandled him like I did. Damn, I wish I hadn't done that." Gee, he was very dominant and confident, and I was resigned to doing what he said because, well, I already told you why. I thought I'd be a trainee with you, so..."

He puts toothpaste on his toothbrush and says, "I told you you'd fall for any dominant guy with a dick. Didn't I?" 

Annoyed that he was right, I mutter, "I didn't fall for him! I was resigned to doing it because I thought you'd want to do the pussy boy shit." 

He makes a smirking face, mumbling, "Sure, that must have been it," and he starts brushing his teeth. I put toothpaste on my toothbrush, saying, "Okay, you're right. In less than forty-eight hours, Jon had me wrapped around his little finger like I was his puppy dog, but as soon as I saw you yesterday, all my feelings for Jon went out the window because you're my main man." Finished brushing, he rinses out his mouth and says, "If you sincerely want to be my boyfriend, you'll need to stop fucking around with every pussy boy you run into." 

I rinse, saying, "Of course, that goes without saying! I only want to do it with you." Then, "Well, what about me doing the pussy boy shower with you?" 

Shrugging, he goes, "Sure, why not? Let's see how well he trained you." 

I turn the water on in the shower stall, saying, "Jon only had me do it twice, so I'm not good at it. You can teach me the rest of it." 

He says, "Yeah, alright. Get in there." We step into the shower stall, and he says, "If you insist on being my submissive boyfriend, hell, I'm happy to oblige, but you're spoiling me, and I probably will take advantage of it."

I mumbled, "That's okay," then tried to remember what Jon had said I was supposed to do first. I did my best, Bruce correcting my every mistake, but it was fun having my hands all over him. And, even though I had a climax fifteen minutes ago, this is so sexy I can't help but spring another boner. 

Bruce gets into his old mentoring days, telling me what he'd do about my boner if I were actually his trainee. Since I'm not, he doesn't do what Jon did, and I enjoy my bobbing boner during the second half of the bathing exercise, almost getting blue balls by the time I finish. Bruce gets out, saying, "That was pretty nice, boyfriend." 

"It's my pleasure, and, um, you need a man cream treatment, too." As he dries himself, he says, "You should have done that before the shower. Maybe later tonight I'll have you spread the cream on me." Oh, good. He's going to continue the hairless routine. Excellent. 

By the time I bathed myself and dried off, Bruce had dressed and gone to the kitchen. I hear the hissing of the coffee maker, then Bruce yelling, "Do you want a mug of coffee, Zach?" I tell him I do, get dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, and join him in the kitchen. He hands me a mug of coffee and says, "I left my pack of cigarettes on the animal's bureau in Philly, so can I bum another smoke off you?" 

"Of course," and we take our coffees to the balcony to have a smoke.

Bruce takes a normal drag off his cigarette and, while exhaling, says, "We should stop in at Bret Dever's place and score some pot. I'm not a regular user, but once in a while, I think a joint can hit the spot." 

"Sure, and I'm like you in that it's only sporadic that I smoke pot, but I enjoy it occasionally. If that rat-faced dealer has any of that primo stuff, that'd be awesome." Bruce says, "That shit's too expensive. He'll have some good marijuana that costs half as much, and I can afford a few of those joints." 

I remind Bruce, "He said he doesn't sell much pot, only premium high-priced stuff." 

Bruce makes a face, "He told you that so he could unload that expensive shit on you." 

Shrugging, I say, "You buy what you want, and I'll buy what I want." He mutters, "That'll work." We talk about getting breakfast somewhere and maybe meeting with Cowboy and Lee for a day on the beach. So, yeah, we're back pretending we're boyfriends, although Bruce doesn't exude boyfriend vibrations at all. There are no touching, sweet smiles, or affectionate mutterings coming from him, although lots of those things are coming from me towards him. I am, however, sensing a friendship between us, almost like straight friends, um, except when we're having sex, obviously. Then I sense it's buddy sex, but with almost a feeling of obligation on Bruce's part, and that's worrisome.

It occurs to me that he might not be capable of more emotions, though. I mean, because of his history of whoring on the streets and his hard experiences, both training and then working the streets as a pussy boy. And as if that wasn't bad enough, it was followed by Richard's screw job sending Bruce to the funhouse horrors and then last week's nightmare. It's been a hard, cruel life, and it's been all about survival until now. As I've thought before, he needs professional help even more than me and with far greater reasons for needing it than I have. Needing it and seeking it are far different matters, however. 

That said, Bruce is obviously adaptable, or he'd never have made it this far. Perhaps over time, he'll begin to believe there's a better side of life than what he's experienced thus far and learn to open his heart and let someone in—if not me, someone else. All I can do to help, and all I know how to do, is continue being myself. 

We change from shorts to bathing suits with our T-shirts and sandals, and then I stop at the convenience store to change a hundred-dollar bill into five twenty-dollar bills. I get a thousand from the trunk of the car to go with the thousand I got from Bruce for this month's rent. That reminds me, and I ask him, "What'd you do with your twelve hundred dollars?" 

Nodding at the truck of my car, he asks, "How much money do you have in there?" 

I'm not sure. There's a gun in there, too." 

He says, "I'm not going to steal from you for Christ's sake. I was just curious—no need to threaten me with a gun. You wouldn't need a gun to kill me anyway. You could twist my head off."

We drive the twenty minutes to the boardwalk, and he says, "My money, except for a hundred bucks that's in my pocket, is at the apartment under our mattress. It's for next month's rent and food." I tell him, "Uh-huh, but shooting you would be cleaner than twisting your head off." 

"I'm not fucking stealing anything from you, Jesus!"  

"I can see that I need to tell you ahead of time when I'm teasing you. Joking around." He mutters, "Or, not tease me at all."

We had breakfast at the same cafe on the boardwalk where we had eaten before. After breakfast, we walk to the beach chair rental booth, and I smile, saying, "Markie, whasup, little dude?" 

He shrugs, asking, "Are you always cheerful?" 

"With you, yeah. I like seeing you." He nods at Bruce, and I go, "Yeah, I dumped the little guy in favor of my old boyfriend." Markie puts two new beach chairs in front of the counter, mumbling, "Good, there was something off with the other guy." 

Bruce grins and says, "There's something off with me, too." Markie goes, "Well, you hide it better than him." I slap a twenty on the counter, saying, "Thanks for the new chairs, bro." I carry both chairs as we head to where we see Cowboy and Lee near their usual spot on the beach. After ten steps, Bruce takes a chair from me, muttering, ''I can carry my chair. You're not a trainee." 

"Oh, so I won't need to set our chairs up with them touching then, huh?" He mumbles, "Not on my account, no. That was some dumbass training technique, and I'm going to try my ass off to drop all that shit... if I can." 

Glancing at him, I ask, "Why so grumpy?" 

"Because you inferred I might steal from you. I resent that, and it really pissed me off." 

"I already told you it was supposed to be funny. Mentioning the gun was my attempt at humor." He mutters, "Yeah, you already said that, but I'm not so sure..."

Cowboy and Lee are walking from the ocean to their chairs. They see us and both smile and wave. When they get to us, Cowboy, who is a hugger, hugs us both. Then Lee does, too, which would be sweet, except they're both wet, having just swum. They're laughing at our protest; then Cowboy goes, "You're back early, Bruce." 

"Yeah, Philadelphia didn't work out the way I expected." We set up our chairs and sat in the sun, ignoring the umbrella the boys rented. The boys ask Bruce about his trip and why it didn't work out, and he gives vague answers, adding, "The bottom line is I made the bare amount of money I need for right now." 

Lee asks, "Hey, did you guys read about the Einstein Ring?" Bruce and I frown, "What?"

Cowboy says, "Way back in 1911, he predicted that the force of gravity could be so strong it could bend light." Bruce says, "What's so hard about bending light?" Assuming Bruce was joking, which he wasn't, Lee ignores that and goes, "The Hubble Space Telescope captured a picture of an Einstein Ring fifteen billion light-years from us. The ring of light happened because galaxies close together were creating so much gravity they bent light in a bright ring around them." 

I mumble, "That's nice," and Bruce asks, "How the fuck can any telescope see fifteen billion light-years away? How far is a light-year, anyhow?" 

Lee lectures, "A light-year is about six trillion miles. At that speed, it would take only one second to get from the Earth to the Moon. Eight minutes from Earth to the Sun, 93 million miles away." 

Bruce shakes his head, "Six trillion, huh? It all sounds like comic book bullshit."

Cowboy says, "Yeah, it's hard to comprehend. A billion is a thousand million, and a thousand billion is a trillion." 

I say to Bruce, "You'll learn not to encourage by commenting on their science factoids." He snorts out a chuckle. Ignoring us dummies, Cowboy and Lee continue talking about how many trillions of light-years the size of the Universe might be or if it's infinite. Then, the size of the largest black hole is... 

I mumble, "My head hurts. I'm going for a walk." Bruce jumps up, "Yeah, me too." We walk near the ocean because the dry sand is uncomfortable hot under a blazing hot sun that's only eight minutes away at the speed of light.  

Bruce says, "The difference between a relaxed day like today and any day I had last week, um, it's as if I'm on a different planet." 

I nod, "Yeah, but you earned the money you felt you needed, so there's that." He nods, "Yeah, I know, but wow, the different lives people live, ya know? It's mindboggling, and I mean all around the world. Fucking up my life in the good old US-of-A the way I have is, um, inexcusable."

Glancing at the first truly cute guy I've seen on the beach so far, one who at least appears to be of age, I smile at him, and he turns his head. Yeah, well. I mumble, "Um, all that shit is in the past, Bruce. Let's concentrate on thinking of a business we can work at in the future. In only five weeks, Cowboy and Lee go off to college; that's when we'll get into a business where we can work. For now, let yourself decompress from all the shit you've been dealing with, um, dealing with for years. It'll be a fresh start for both of us."

He walks a few steps, then asks, "Seriously, why the hell do you need a fresh start? You're a rich trust fund kid." 

Shrugging, I say, "Because I can't keep doing nothing. I mean, I could because of the trust fund, but I'm not wired to be a playboy. I've always done something since graduating from prep school. Ya know, first going to Yale and then four years as a Navy Seal. They were worthwhile things to do, but since then, I've been drifting aimlessly since my friend's death, and that's alright for one summer, but not for a lifetime." Bruce mumbles, "I guess."

See, he's as unable to imagine my life as I am his. It's hard to comprehend the differences in our lives over the last eight years. Hell, all the years of our lives, for that matter. In a moment of cluelessness, I almost mentioned to Bruce that we both need professional help sorting out our minds and understanding ourselves... oh, hell, I don't even know what we need, and that's why I say we need guidance. But Bruce doesn't need to hear that now that he's just begun grabbling with a new life he barely understands.

But seriously, when we get established doing something worthwhile, I'd really like to take the time to know what happened in my life that makes me basically feel inferior to any guy with a confident and dominant personality. I have no idea why I like feeling submissive. It's immature of me to grovel in submissiveness rather than trying to understand it. Bruce, of course, needs to be acclimated into mainstream society after a life outside it... or something like that. Maybe he needs to forgive himself for past missteps before he can start fresh. I don't pretend to know exactly what either of us needs from professional help, which is a good reason for seeking it.

We walked five minutes in silence before Bruce said, "I've been trying to think of someone I loved and decided I've never loved anyone. I suppose I should love you for all the things you've done to help me, but I don't. I know how to be appreciative, and I am to you, but there's this thing in my mind that I need to fight off, and It's my old way of thinking that whenever anyone does me a favor, they're a liberal sap, a weak sucker I need to exploit. It's how I've needed to think as a matter of survival for years." 

I nod, "I think I understand why you'd think that way, Bruce." He says, "But I'm fighting it. That's why I'm so adamant about paying my way. I don't want to be what Scheyer accused me of, which is taking you for everything I can get. That's what he would do. I desperately don't want to be that person."

I pat his shoulder, mumbling, "You're not that person. You've rejected anything monetarily I've tried to do for you." He snickers, lightening up the conversation, saying, "It's been a bitch saying no to your generosity, going totally against every instinct I've lived with the last nine years."  

We walk some more, and then I mumble, "So, you left home when you were thirteen?"

"No, I'd just turned sixteen, so it hasn't been nine years. I'm so used to telling lies I confuse myself. I'd just gotten my driver's license, stole the old man's car, and drove to New York City with Billy Day." 

"Jeez," and he says, "Billy didn't know I was gay. Ha, I haven't thought of his name in years. He was twenty and AWOL from the Army. Not a great traveling companion. I was taking a leak in an alley the second night in NYC, and he stole the car I stole. He stole it from me, and I never saw him again. It's quite a story, but that's all I want to think about for now. Sorry..."

"No, that's okay. I don't need to hear anymore." He looks at me, "Zach, what I just told you is the truth. I'm trying my ass off not to lie to you. Not lying to you is an experiment to see if I can stop telling lies to myself and others."

 Well, Christ, I don't know what to say to that. I rarely get in trouble by saying nothing, so that's what I do... say nothing.

Anyway, I don't remember Bruce telling me anything important that contradicts what he told me just now. Like me, he lied about his age but then told the truth about it, as I did. Hell, when I get right down to it, Bruce hasn't told me hardly anything about his life before this NYC story. It's actually a very good sign he felt he wanted to tell me this much. Then, oh boy, I know booze is a crutch that I should depend on less, but I see on the boardwalk a Budweiser sign and can't resist saying, "Hey, Bruce, it's afternoon by ten minutes; how about a beer?" 

He nods, "Yeah, but just one shot of whiskey with a beer chaser. That'd be good."

We're chuckling as we hop on the hot sand going up to the boardwalk, muttering, "Smart of us not to be wearing our sandals." 

It's so good to see Bruce taking a joking approach to our hot feet situation instead of his normal, serious, angry one. Stepping off the beach, we see the Budweiser sign on the other side of the boardwalk, not on it. The sign is for a bar on the block leading to a boardwalk ramp. We go inside, hoping the bartender doesn't notice we're barefoot. We wore our T-shirts for our walk on the beach in deference to the hot sun, not wanting to get sunburned shoulders. 

Sitting at the bar, Bruce puts two twenties on the bar, saying, "My turn to treat, Zach. You paid for the beach chairs." 

I mutter, "Thanks," thinking how stupid it is that he has this obsession with paying his way, to pay more than his way, actually. Well, he told me why it's important to him, and I need to respect that.

Since he's paying, he gets to order the booze, which means shots of Jim Beam and Bud drafts. We tap shot glasses, and he mutters, "To you, Zach. Thanks for everything." I smile and do a little head nod; then we flash down the bourbon. It's okay, bourbon, or maybe I'm simply getting used to it. The bartender rings up the drinks and slaps four one-dollar bills on the bar as the change from Bruce's twenty.

There's something cool about a bar in the afternoon. The lights are low; there's the smell of booze, mostly beer, and the chilly air-conditioned room with murmured conversations and the occasional burst of laughter from the day drinkers and, I suppose, an alcoholic or two as well. They're serving lunch, too, and the platters a young waitress just put on the bar for two middle-aged men look good, but since we had breakfast less than two hours ago, we're not tempted.

Bruce swallows some beer and asks, "Do you see us staying in that apartment after Cowboy goes off to college?" Nodding, I say, "If possible, yes. Cowboy wants to visit there with me during the frequent breaks from college. Well, he mostly wants to see Lee, I suppose. Cowboy's folks live in New York City, so it's a couple of hours drive at the most from there to here." 

He goes, "I can see how attached to you Cowboy is, and I guess that has something to do with your long-time friendship with his deceased brother." 

"Yeah, Cowboy and I bonded while mourning Ronny's death. It was a big help to me having him with me and vice versa, I guess."

He drinks the rest of his beer and asks, "One more?"  

"Yeah, if you'll let me fucking pay for it." He shrugs, "Sure, it's your turn." When the bald bartender looks our way, I motion with my hand at the empty glasses in front of us. He saunters down behind the bar and asks, "Another round?" I nod, and he looks at Bruce, saying, "I'm gonna need to ask for ID, pal. I should have done that before pouring the first round." 

Bruce takes out his real driver's license, and after a cursory look at it, the bartender says what everybody says about checking ID, "Thanks, buddy. They make me check ID for anyone who looks under thirty." I've heard that bullshit so many times. I say it's bullshit because they aren't asking for my ID, and I sure as shit don't look thirty. 

As he's pouring the draft beers, I put a twenty on the bar and nod at it when he's refilling our shot glasses. He takes the twenty and rings up our drinks, slapping four one-dollar bills on the bar as change. Bruce and I tap shot glasses, and I say, "To another good day in AC," and we drink the bourbon in one swallow. Ugh, that shot wasn't as easy going down as the first one.

After gulping some beer, I mumble, "Hey, I've meant to ask you something. The first night, Richard introduced you as my mentor in that casino bar. You were drinking a martini. You've never had one since. What's up with that?" 

He makes a face and says, "I thought I told you already that's what Richard ordered for me. Omigod, that's a hard drink to get down. It was a gin martini... horrible." 

"I've had martinis occasionally, and I don't hate the taste, but I prefer bourbon." He says, "Let's not talk about the pussy boy days. I'm embarrassed I did what I did with you. I was so desperate to get Richard's approval back then. Jesus, it seems like a lifetime ago. Well, it was another life. I like this one so much better I could cry."

I remember him crying after the horrendous funhouse experience. That is not something I want to see again. We drink our beers for a minute without talking, and then I ask, "Is there something you'd like to do that you haven't done in years?" To my surprise, he goes, "Yeah, there is. Funny, you should ask that. Earlier, I thought that it would be silly, but I'd like to go to the movies. I want the movie house salty popcorn watching an action movie, ya know?" 

"Hell, I haven't been to the movies since college. Let's do it." He smiles, "We can hold hands. Wait, no, we can't because we need our hands to eat the 'effing salty popcorn." 

Huh, Bruce is joking around. That's rare, but the booze probably helped that along, but still, his joking around is very encouraging. We have a third draft beer without the shot and then leave the bar. Holy shit, it's as though someone is shining a spotlight in our eyes when we walk out of the dimly lit bar into the bright sunlight. Bruce says, "Those drinks hit the spot, Zach." 

"Yeah, I'm feeling a pleasant little booze-buzz." We jog through the hot sand to get to the wet sand and walk back to the boys and our chairs. As we walk up, Cowboy and Lee are opening wrapped burgers. Lee says, "Good timing, guys. We bought you cheeseburgers for lunch." 

Bruce says, "Thanks!" Cowboy asks, "Is that alcohol I smell on your breath, Zach?" I'm like, "Yep! Let me have one of those burgers." Yeah, now I'm happy to eat something to soak up the booze. There's no talking for a while as we all eat two burgers and slurped iced-cold Cokes. Lee bundles all the wrappings and empty cups and dumps them in a trash barrel. Then, the guys lie as lovers on Lee's beach blanket and take a nap. Bruce and I sit under the umbrella, smoking cigarettes and talking about going to the movies tonight.

Later, we took a long swim with me floating every so often and letting Bruce catch up. And I also take the opportunity to piss out the beer in the Atlantic Ocean, and I'm sure Bruce did the same. Mostly, I'm impressed by Bruce's endurance, and as we wade out of the ocean, I muttered, "Bro, you impressed me. We swam half a mile up and back." He nods, "I wasn't going to quit, but I was super relieved when you did." I mumble, "I took pity on you," and he goes, "Oh, uh-huh."

We dry in the sun and enjoy relaxing until around three o'clock, when Bruce nods his head in the direction of the street. He's had enough of the breach, so we return the chairs. Markie comes around in front of the counter to get the chairs, and I give his shoulders a hug, slipping a twenty-dollar bill in his shirt pocket, saying, "That's the tip the other guy didn't give you the last time I was here." 

He says, "Thanks. You're my favorite customer of all time." I mutter, "I probably am," and then rub his head and the butchered haircut his boyfriend gave him. He smiles, mumbling, "Too bad I'm too young for you." Ha!

At the car, I get the air conditioning running with the top-up because it feels as if the temperature on the street is twenty degrees hotter than on the beach. During the twenty-minute ride to the apartment, Bruce says, "A nap is beckoning me, but first, I suppose you'll want some sex." 

I smile, "Um, well, yeah. I would if it's okay with you." 

He shrugs, "Hell, you've been getting it three or four times a day for so long you probably think you need it." 

"No, I don't need it the way you mean. I like it, though." He says, "Sure, but I think once or twice a day should be enough. Don't you agree? I mean, most people, gay or straight, are lucky to have sex once or twice a week." 

I snicker and say, "Yeah, I suppose, but then some lucky people have sex more than four times a day." As I pull into the apartment building's parking lot, he says, "Do you mean prostitutes? Was that a jab at me?" 

"NO! Damn, I wasn't even thinking that. Don't be so sensitive. I was joking, but there are probably people who have more sex than me." He shrugs, "Whatever, I can't keep that frequency going forever, though, but it's only fair to wean you off of the frequency slowly." 

Getting out of the car, giving him a look, I mumble, "Are you saying you don't enjoy it?" 

"Jesus, Zach, it's been my way of life for so long that, no, I'm not sure I enjoy it anymore. Yeah, it feels good while I'm fucking you, and you've got a primo ass to fuck, but, honest to God, I'm almost at the point where I can easily do without it. The thing is, though, I feel responsible to be your man as long as you want me to." 

"Well, this sucks. I hate the thought of you just doing it as an obligation." He asks, "Why would you say that? Every time you pay for it, the guy you paid is doing it as an obligation. His obligation to earn the money you paid him."

In the apartment, he pats my ass, "C'mon in the bedroom and strip outta that swimsuit and T-shirt. It's all good." 

Frowning, I mutter, "Yeah, it's a prostitute's responsibility to do what he's paid to do, but with you, it's different." He pulls his T-shirt off, saying, "I can honestly tell you this. There isn't anybody else in the world I'd do this for, and it's more than paying you back for all your help. It's that I like you better than anyone else I know or have ever known." 

I drop my swimsuit, muttering, "Well, that's good to hear," and he says, "And, hell, when we're into it, I'm glad to be doing it. It's just that I'd have no incentive to get into it at all if it wasn't with you." I frown again, and he says, "Jesus H Christ, lighten up. Now I'm sorry I said anything. That was dumb of me, dammit."

Pulling my T-shirt off, I mutter, "No, there were some good parts to what you said. I'll concentrate on that." 

He mumbles, "There ya go," and then he adds, "And you do great oral sex." I nod, "I'm very susceptible to compliments." 

He chuckles, then says, "Lube your ass up really good and then impress me with your oral sex." 

"Gladly. I'm good at it because it's one of my top two things to do in this world. And that goes double when I'm doing it with you." He mutters, "Yeah, yeah, sure. Lube your ass, and let's get on with it."

I work a couple of gobs of lube up my ass, then wipe my finger on a few Kleenex tissues. When I'm about to drop the tissues on the bedside table, Bruce says, "Zach! That goes in the trash, not on the end table!" 

Making a face at that, I walk over to drop them in the trash can near the desk. Then, sliding my hands down his sides, I sink to the floor and pick up his ocean-smelling dick, and put it in my mouth while suppressing the "Mmm" moan I almost let out. It only tastes like the ocean for thirty seconds; then it tastes like Bruce. And, no, I can't describe that taste.

Bruce claims he's lost interest in sex except as a job or obligation. I can understand that, although I thought he was getting off on it as much as I was. Well, he did tell me he was getting raped by that Daytime guy, so that's had a negative effect for sure. Bruce needs the passage of time to let the bad times fade so he can enjoy a more stress-free life going forward.

Sucking on the big head of his dick, I give it a few licks and take it out of my mouth. I don't want mercy fucks, so, holding his penis in my fingers, I look up and say, "Honestly, Bruce, I don't need you to fuck me three or four times a day. How about if I suck you off, and then we skip the fuck and take a nap together? We'll save the anal sex for later tonight or tomorrow morning." 

He shakes his head, "No, I don't want to disappoint you." 

"Seriously, it's fine. You're tired, and so am I. How about it?" He smiles, "You're so fucking considerate, Zach. Thanks, that would be great, actually. I don't have the energy to do your spanking either." Nodding, I ignore the spanking comment and mumble, "No problem," then put his dick back in my mouth. It's no big sacrifice on my part because sucking him off will likely get me off as well. As I told him, sucking his cock is my second favorite thing to do in the world. Going to the movies is my twentieth favorite thing. Just kidding...

The last thing I want is sensing that our fucking doesn't even feel as hot as buddy sex, but instead, feels like a paid pussy boy fuck. I like pussy boy fucks, don't get me wrong, but I want at least a buddy-sex fuck with Bruce, and maybe down the road, that'll become a making-love sex act. That's the ultimate goal. I've never had that, and neither has he, so that'll be really something special to experience for both of us.

For now, as I always do, I'm moving the big head of his penis against the smooth, warm, and moist side of my cheek, feeling it getting hard. Stimulating a guy's penis will get it hard even though the guy maybe doesn't want it to get hard because he's straight, and it's a queer who is the one stimulating... oh, never mind. Guys' dicks get hard when stimulated, period!

I love Bruce and feel horrible about all the hard times he's had in his life. And, as long as there is a sliver of hope that someday he may return my affection, I'm going to try to be the first person in the world he loves. Bruce's sad history may make it impossible for him to love anyone. Maybe he can't even begin to love himself, but as Miquel de Cervantes claims, "In order to attain the impossible, one must attempt the absurd." 

I sure attempted the absurd by doing the pussy boy training. I'm Don Quixote, "To dream the impossible dream, that is my quest." It was also, many years ago, a famous Broadway Show. As always, the specifics of why I'm in love with Bruce are unknown, but that is beside the point because I am in love with him. So, in that frame of mind, I concentrate on doing the best oral sex Bruce has ever experienced. It's slightly selfish at the same time because it's very sexually stimulating to me as well. I suppose my quest for Bruce's love has become an obsession. It's intoxicating, and all obsessions basically become an addiction, but I don't care about that either. Also, here's a positive thought... my ass is lubed for whenever Bruce gets around to fucking me again. The glass is always half full, as far as I'm concerned.

When Bruce moans at the pleasure sensations coming off the head of his super-sensitive penis's head, a sex organ jam-packed with nerve endings, I take it from my mouth and do long, deliberate licks up the shaft from his nuts to the swollen mushroom head, then over it and down the other side. Many long licks get Bruce shuddering and moaning as he rubs my head and moves his feet. Pushing his rock-hard boner against his belly, I lick his balls and all over his scrotum feeling precum drool over my fingers as I lick under his balls and across part of his perineum, but, as before, my tongue can't quite reach his anus.

Unable to reach his asshole with my tongue, I lick, lick, lick that short area leading to it, and Bruce shivers as if chills are streaking all over him. Meanwhile, my cock is so hard it feels like the skin might split if it gets any bigger or harder. Hard as granite, it's pointing straight up and tightly against my belly. I'm very aroused as I move my head back, pull Bruce's boner down, and put it in my mouth again, and it is a full mouthful now. It's too big to get it into my throat, which is the only negative I have about its size.

I'm content sucking on the head, afraid to take it out because I can sense we're both going to blow our loads momentarily. Then Bruce's hands squeeze my head as he goes, "Ahhhh!" shaking, then a slight hump of his hips as I hold onto his boner with cum flooding my mouth. That sets off my climax, and I almost blackout from the torrent of thrilling sensations all around my groin, belly, and thighs. Almost painful sensations, but no, they're glorious orgasmic pleasure ones that swarm out from my balls spreading all over me.

Bruce steps back, gasping, his cock pulling from my mouth as I grab my cock and squeeze, shuddering and closing my eyes to embrace the climax. I'm like a statue for a few seconds and then shudder again and open my eyes as I swallow the mouthful of Bruce's semen I didn't get around to swallowing earlier. My cum shot went straight up my stomach and chest, some of it hitting under my chin. I'm dazed, staring at Bruce, who is now sitting on the edge of the bed, his cock in his fist. He goes, "Wow, nice blowjob. Whew, I didn't drown you, did I?" 

Yeah, well, that was an okay response from Bruce. I prefer to think it was an appreciative buddy-sex response and not a paid pussy boy one. I sit back on my heels, muttering, "So, you enjoyed that, huh?" 

He grins, "What the fuck? Of course, I did. It was awesome." 

Standing, I say, "Well, it could have been better if I threw in some rimming, but I couldn't reach it, ya know?" He gets off the bed, letting go of his dick, saying, "Don't worry about it, Zach, that was a great climax. C'mon, we need to clean up." 

Walking into the bathroom, he says, "I've given you the wrong impression. I didn't explain myself very well." He puts his arm across my shoulders, adding, "I like having sex with you. Last week has kicked me in the nuts a little, that's all. I'm tired and still getting over that shit-storm in Philly, plus I already said you're the only person I want to have sex with. After another great night's sleep, like last night, I'll want to fuck you in the morning, okay? Or maybe later tonight."

Washing my cum off my stomach, chest, and chin, I mumble, "Bruce, I'm fine. I loved that oral sex. Whatever amount of sex you feel like doing is the perfect amount. You're my man, Bruce... you know that." 

He's wiped cum drippings off his flaccid dick, washing his hands now. "I wish I never said that other shit. It's not how I really feel. I'll be back on my feet tomorrow, you'll see. Right now, I just need a friggin' nap."

We brush our teeth, then lie on top of the bedspread doing our normal cuddle together. Yeah, this is going okay. We'll have a good dinner, then see a movie like normal folks, like boyfriends do, and, um, and maybe fuck later, ya know?

As I doze off, I think about hiring Jon Scheyer to fuck my ass up really well, so I don't need to always hint to Bruce he needs to do it. That might be the answer for a while. Should I mention it to Bruce, though? Hmmm...

To be continued...