I took the bus to and from work every day, just another grouchy commuter with a badly folded newspaper and a Styrofoam cup of coffee. You get to recognize people after a while. Not know them, exactly, but they get to become a kind of a comfortable presence in your life. You get used to seeing them and wonder about them when they're not there. That's what he was to me for almost 6 months. The nicely dressed young man who got on at the corner of 7th and Amelia then sat on the left side 3 or 4 seats back behind the driver, and was still on the bus when I got off in front of my apartment building on Montgomery St. I killed a lot of travel time thinking about him. I thought regular, day-to-day things, and I thought some pretty irregular nighttime things. He was VERY good looking, in a dark, intense kind of way. He read thick paperbacks and never looked up no matter what I was thinking.

I worked late one Friday night, getting out and standing nervously in the darkness at the bus stop, waiting for what was to be the last bus of the evening. I caught it, hearing the chug-clank sound and thinking that didn't sound good. I was very surprised when my mystery man got on at his regular corner. This was kind of late for him. 'Course, it was late for me, too. He half-smiled at me once he realized he wasn't alone on the bus, and sat on the left, 4 seats behind the driver. We chugged along until the bus dropped its guts all over Montgomery Street with a sickening crash. The bus screeched to a halt. The driver swore. Mystery man and I couldn't get off that damned thing fast enough. The driver proceeded to have more of a breakdown than the bus had, and I put a hand on my traveling companion's elbow and gestured with my briefcase. 'I live right there,' I said. 'I have a car. I'll take you the rest of the way home. Unless you want to stay while this yutz calls another bus.' He said no to the waiting idea hastily, and followed me to my apartment.

More than anything else, I wanted him to come inside my apartment. I felt like a high school kid trying to con his date into letting him cop a feel. He nodded agreeably at my clumsy invitation, and in we went. The place was clean, thank heavens, and I had a bottle of white wine in the fridge. A semi-decent white wine, too. I managed to throw together some cheeses, crackers and fruit, and the platter didn't look too bad. I carried it in to the living room, where he was squatted down in front of my record collection. He looked up at me intently. 'Coleman Hawkins,' he said reverently. I nodded. Seconds later, the sound of the saxophone filled the room, the ears, the soul. My new friend and I sat and nibbled at the platter in a comfortable silence. We'd exchanged names. His was Robert, and after some thought, I remembered mine was Ben.

He sighed suddenly. 'You're so much better at being gay than I am,' he said thoughtfully. I kind of gaped at him. He looked at me, his eyes gleaming with humor. 'I suck at being gay,' he continued. 'My apartment is a mess, I listen to metal music, and I could never toss off this little cheese thing you just whipped out. I spend weekends on my ass watching sports.' I looked at him poker-faced and pointed at him with a cracker. 'Robert,' I said heavily, 'as far as I'm concerned, the sucking thing is the only part you have to get right.' He laughed helplessly and I got the feeling it was a release. Then I was staring down at the top of his head as it worked in my lap, his greedy mouth fastened to my cock. The cracker snapped in my fingers and rained crumbs.

All I could do was lean back in the chair, my pants and briefs down around my ankles...and hang the fuck on. He kept sucking and licking and nibbling like a fiend, bringing me to the edge, then backing off, letting me calm down, and doing it again. He worked the shaft with his hand. Every once in a while, he'd remove his mouth, sit back and smile at his hand as it pumped me. When he saw precum pearl on the tip, he growled deep in his throat, leaned forward and lapped it up. I desperately wanted to tell him how good it was. I couldn't. Every time I opened my mouth, I heard a gasping groan, but no words. He dove down hard, took me all the way in, the slowly raised his head, dragging his teeth lightly up my entire shaft. He used his teeth on the spongy head, and it drove me wild. I got words out that time, but they were 'SHIT! That's so fucking good!' which wasn't the emotional statement I'd originally intended. His eyes flashed up at me, and I saw something primitive and wild in them. He pulled his lips back, and I watched as he used a perfect set of gleaming white teeth all over my shaft. He turned his head sideways, and slid his teeth from the top to the base, tightened his teeth just enough to get the message across, then slid them back up. He turned his head suddenly and fastened his teeth on my thigh, biting hard and sucking. It hurt a little, and I jumped. Then the eyes flashed up at me again, and I watched in a sort of erotic fear as he took one of my balls and held it gently in his teeth, staring up at me. He looked feral and hungry. He tightened the teeth just enough so that I knew it, then let go. I released a shuddering breath as he took my cock in his mouth and sucked hard. Very hard. Almost savagely. He gripped both my wrists with his hands, holding them down tightly, his mouth working my cock. I felt taken by some wild thing that would have me or die trying. I came so big my head nearly exploded and the edges of my vision grew dark. He swallowed every bit of me, then kept sucking until I was in agony and begging him to stop.

I vaguely remember his undressing me and helping me into bed, his hands gentle and reassuring. I lay cuddled against him. I tried to form a thought once, but it eluded me, so I gave up. I ran a hand over his hairy body, looking down at his cock. It was large, and at the moment very, very hard. It looked swollen and painful, the head a dark purplish-red. I smiled at it sleepily, then slid my fingertips down his side, over his hips to his thigh. I stroked his thigh and he spread his legs with a soft grunt. I ran my fingers up and down the inside of both thighs, coming up occasionally to make little circles in his pubic hair and lightly touch his balls. I felt his muscles tense, and smiled to myself. He wasn't fighting the arousal, he didn't have a chance in hell of doing that, but he wouldn't give in and whimper. I could feel it, hovering just inside his clenched jaws. I let my fingers play, teasing him, pushing him closer and closer to a state of helpless begging. Finally I let just the tip of my right index finger slide lightly up the underside of his cock and flick back and forth beneath the head. His back arched and he groaned. 'Damn it!' he exploded. 'Suck the fucking thing or I'll die. Please.'

I flicked his mouth with my tongue, then slid the wet, pointed tip rapidly down his body. I licked and nibbled at his head, still teasing him a little, watching his face contort and his body twitch. His cock poured precum, and I licked some of it up, them rubbed some all over his shaft with my fingertips. 'Pretty,' I murmured. 'Gleaming.' He gasped. 'Please,' he said, shuddering. 'Please.' I dove forward and went down on his big cock like my life depended on it. Lips, teeth, tongue, both hands and some hard, hard suction. He began to flop like a fish in a boat, his fists beating the bed, repeating 'oh!' over and over again in a dull monotone. He switched to a sort of an 'ugh!' noise when I took him so deep his cockhead met the top of my throat. I felt drunk on power, this beautiful man completely under my control. I kept sucking him as hard and fast as I could, wanting him to cum as big as I had. He fought it, trying to make it last, and he held out longer than I had thought he could. Finally, he went silent, eyes bulging, mouth working, spine curling, his fists banging against his hips...and shot hot cum into my mouth. The cream kept firing out, and I swallowed it greedily, slurping it up and licking his cock clean. I kept sucking him until a fist on the top of my head indicated I should stop.

I awoke Saturday morning in a tangle of arms and legs with a man who snored softly and smelled like sex. Really, really good sex. He looked younger and softer asleep, his eyelids twitching from a dream. I kissed his cheek, managed to wiggle out of bed and covered him with the blankets. I took a shower, left him about a half dozen notes all over the apartment telling him I'd gone out to forage for supplies, and went shopping. Went into the bakery to buy croissants, and ended up with a big bag. The same thing happened everywhere. I overachieved. What the hell, I thought, and tossed in some champagne and orange juice for Mimosas. I was standing staring critically at the laden table, completely nude, when I heard him get out of the shower. He finally strolled in, hair wet, skin damp, wrapped in a towel. He walked into me with a thud and wrapped his arms around me, kissing my shoulder. 'Ooomph,' he said, and I had to agree with him. 'Hungry?' I asked. He grunted an affirmative grunt, then sat down...and ate. There is no greater joy after you've knocked yourself out preparing a feast for someone than to have them feast. He ate with obvious hunger and pleasure, his eyes gleaming at me occasionally. I felt like a mate who had provided, and my cock stiffened. I sat back and watched him have his food orgy, stroking my cock gently. He smiled at me, got up carrying a bowl of strawberries, knelt before me, and rubbed a strawberry all over my cock. The feeling was incredible, as was the sight. He covered me with juice, then licked it off, taking little bites of the berry occasionally. I sat there, my eyes huge, unable to move or speak, as he took the entire feast, item by item and rubbed it on my cock. The physical sensations were intense, and the sheer hedonism was driving me to madness. I watched him rub a buttered croissant all over my cock, then added preserves to it, and rub it all over me again. He held the croissant up to my lips, and I took a bite. I savored it, chewing slowly, still watching him pleasure my cock with food then eating the food. I refused to cum, because I didn't want it to ever end.

He looked at me with his wild, wicked eyes, gestured for me to stand up, then bent me over the table. I lay there, among all the dishes, my head swimming slightly. 'Food for all my hungers,' he murmured. 'To satiate me.' I trembled at his words. He held a long piece of melon in front of me so that I could watch him butter it. I wondered what he was doing for only a minute, then felt the cold slippery melon slide between my ass cheeks. He prodded my hole with it and slowly was admitted entrance. He fucked me with it slowly, contentedly, and again the sheer hedonism drove me wild. He was going to do anything that pleased us. I closed my eyes and lay as still as I could, murmuring my pleasure at him as he fucked my ass with assorted foods. Decadence. True and complete decadence. Finally, he stood in front of me and buttered his cock as I watched. I wiggled a finger at the apricot preserves, and he applied a coating of that over the butter. He also buttered two good size strawberries. The berries went up my ass first, and in deep, then he worked in his cock.

If I sat and thought for years I couldn't come up with words to describe what it felt like to have strawberries driven deep in my ass by his pounding, coated cock. His breathing was hoarse and determined, and I could only imagine what he felt. The harder he fucked, the more juice I could feel run out of my ass and down my legs. I humped my ass back at him, fucking in a way I'd never even thought to fantasize about. We built it up together, always at the same place at the same time, until I felt myself start to release. I must have made some kind of sound or movement, because he responded by shoving his cock in me deep and holding it there as his hot cum flooded me. We ended up oozing down to the floor in a messy heap, sated beyond all imaginings. We lay there, locked in each other's arms, until the giggle fit hit us both and took us away.

We're building a good, if occasionally playfully exotic life together. We're very happy together. And...we don't seem to get invited to brunches very often. Which is fine. Our private ones are better.


Morgan Grayson

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