“If we don’t have lube, there’s only one option.”
Cris rolled over on his stomach and wiggled his cute little bum. “You’re gonna have to eat my ass, grandpa.”
Frank blinked. “W-what? Really?”
Cris jerked his head around and frowned. “Don’t say really like that.”
“Sorry, I’ve just… never done it before.”
Cris slid his ass back, his beautiful globes spreading a little to reveal the slightly darker opening inside. “It’s pretty hard to mess up.”
Now that Frank was eye-to-eye (so to speak) with his butthole, he had to admit the thought of sticking his tongue in there didn’t seem so bad. In fact, the sight of Cris’s hole was almost hypnotic, a tight pucker that pulsed with his breathing.
Frank put his hand on the boy’s cheek, enjoying the sensation of the warm, smooth skin underneath his fingers. He swiped his thumb toward the middle of Cris’s cheeks, sliding along the sensitive skin and making the boy sigh happily into the pillow. It came to a rest over the tight opening, and Frank held it there for a moment.
Cris was flexing his hole ever so slightly, pushing out against Frank’s thumb before gently sucking it in. Frank pressed in a little, curious to feel what it would be like to slip his dick inside this young man’s bottom.
“Get me wet, Frank,” Cris moaned.
It was now or never. Frank gripped the boy’s other cheek, preparing to face his next challenge in man-sex. Eating pussy had been an obstacle course of its own, exploring the different areas and learning what Georgia did and didn’t like. He had a feeling the skills wouldn’t transfer that much here, though he supposed it might actually be simpler in a way.
Frank leaned in until his nose brushed against the underside of Cris’s balls. He rolled his chin around the boy’s taint, rubbing his beard over the sensitive skin and earning a guttural moan into the pillow. Looks like that trick still worked just fine, phew. He pressed his thumbs to the boy’s hole, spreading open his cheeks as he gave his first tentative lick.
“Fuck me, Frank! That feels like magic.”
He felt a swell of pride surge through him at the boy’s words, urging him forward to swipe his tongue again and again along the boy’s crack. He listened to Cris’s moans getting louder as he swirled his tongue around, tasting the soft, clean flesh of the boy’s most sensitive area. Fear fell away as hunger took its place, a hunger to taste and devour and conquer. Frank’s tongue moved fast and sloppily, saliva dripping out of him and into the boy who was writhing and moaning underneath him.
Frank felt the boy’s hand tightly gripping his hair, forcing his tongue deeper into his hole. He wiggled it around, swirling it like a corkscrew as he prepared Cris’s hole for the taking. Once it was nice and dripping, he sucked his thumb into his mouth and pushed it through the boy’s opening, feeling the tight ring stretch to accommodate him.
“Ungh! Fuck, your fingers… so good…”
Frank moved his thumb inside the boy, relaxing the muscle and exploring his soft, wet insides. He wanted to be even deeper, so he wet his middle finger and traded it for his thumb. Now he was sinking past the boy’s outer ring and feeling the warm, pulsing wetness of his flesh. His hole was so tight, it was like a death grip on Frank’s finger. His dick throbbed when he imagined that ring on the head of his cock, imagined Cris’s body pulling him in to milk a second load out of him.
When his finger brushed up against something a couple of inches inside Cris’s rectum, the boy shot up straight. “Oh my God… Frank, touch that again.”
He pulled his finger back to the second knuckle, feeling around for that spot that made Cris go so wild. He knew the second he found it, as Cris buried his face in the pillow again and slid his ass back against Frank’s knuckle.
“Oh, fuck. I’m ready, Frank. Get yourself wet and take me.”
Frank pulled his finger out of Cris as the boy flipped around to his back. He was hard now, his sheathed cock lying flat against his tummy. He grabbed it and gave a few strokes as he drank in the sight of Frank’s body. For a moment, they just stared at each other, taking in the other’s body in quiet awe.
Then Frank spit on his hand, rubbing the saliva up and down his dick as he prepared to fuck a man up the ass for the very first time.
Cris looked up at him in a daze, his breathing heavy with lust as he spread his legs for the old man. Frank took his place between them, holding his cock steady as he positioned his dick at the boy’s opening.
“Fuck me, Frank,” Cris moaned.
The head of Frank’s dick slid around Cris’s saliva-soaked taint, searching for that tight, pulsing ring.
And searching.
And searching.
“It’s slippery,” he grumbled.
“Um… do you need help?” Cris asked after a moment.
“No,” Frank said irritably. He found Cris’s hole with his finger, then tried to bring his dick to meet it, but every time he’d go to push in, it would slide between his cheeks as if repelled by some kind of force field.
“Goddammit,” he said after the third try. “It’s this damn position. I can’t… the angle is all fucked up.”
Cris smiled disarmingly. “Why don’t I roll onto my stomach?”
He pulled his legs up and rolled over, his hard cock pressing into the bed as he presented his ass to Frank. At this angle, Frank could see his hole, beautifully smooth and puckered.
“Much easier this way,” Frank said, as much to himself as to Cris.
Cris just raised his hips ever so slightly off the bed, clearly eager to feel Frank slip inside him.
Frank wet his cock again and pressed the head of his dick to the boy’s tight ring. His heart was racing as he slowly pushed inside—he couldn’t believe he was about to have sex with another man for the first time. This intimate experience, one he’d only shared with one other person for the last 40 years, was about to be repeated with a kind, sexy man who’d come seemingly out of nowhere into his life.
He was ready for this. He needed it more than he knew.
“Ohhhhhhhh…” They moaned together—his low and guttural, Cris’s muffled and euphoric.
As the head of his cock slipped past the boy’s outer defenses and into his rectum, Frank felt a familiar wave start to rise in him. He couldn’t, wouldn’t cum right now, not when he was barely an inch inside this man. He put his hand on Cris’s lower back, holding him still as he focused all his efforts on not orgasming.
His eyelids were clenched. His ass cheeks were clenched. Everything that could be clenched was clenched as he held his breath and waited for the wave within him to die down.
“Frank–”
“Shh,” he said quietly. “I’m just… I don’t wanna…”
“Oh.” Cris buried his face into the pillow, but Frank was pretty sure he was trying not to laugh.
Finally, the threat had passed. Frank took a deep breath.
“Okay. Sorry,” he said breathlessly.
“I feel pretty honored, actually,” said Cris. “I’m adding this to my personal victory list. ‘Almost got a guy off with just the tip.’”
Frank growled, but playfully. He liked Cris’s silly banter, even if it did make him feel like a chump sometimes.
But then the boy squeezed his hole on Frank’s dick, and any annoyance melted away into complete and utter devotion. He pushed deeper, desperate to feel more of Cris’s insides on his dick. Every inch, every centimeter felt like heaven. This was what he’d missed out on; this was how it felt having sex with a man. It was different than being with a woman—not entirely, but different enough that it felt like a whole new experience. As if he’d grown up speaking one Romance language and was now learning another.
Cris’s back was broad and slightly muscular underneath him. The boy wasn’t overly buff, per se, but had more of the lithe musculature that came from being thin. He pressed a hand between the boy’s shoulder blades, rubbing the center of his back as he sank between his cheeks. He ran the other along his side, feeling the curves of his waist and ass.
God, what a beautiful man. Frank wasn’t the type to lust after youth, but he couldn’t help but notice the difference between their two bodies. He felt old and saggy, but Cris was taut and so, so smooth. Why was he into him? Why would he let this old man, old enough to be his father, have his way with his gorgeous, youthful body?
Then he reached the end of the line. His pubes were now flush with Cris’s ass, his dick buried as deeply inside him as he could go. All thoughts left him, fled and never to return. The only thing that mattered now was to thrust, to bury himself again and again in this boy’s delicious hole until he reached that explosive, earth-shattering climax he knew was inevitable.
“Yes, Frank… pound my ass,” Cris moaned. He turned his head slightly, exposing his mouth while leaving the top half of his face pressed into the pillow. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck meeeeeeee…”
Frank needed no encouragement. He felt like his dick was buried in thick, wet honey. Every time he pulled out, he could feel the boy’s body stroking him from the inside, and when he thrust in again, the sight of his ass cheeks rippling made him want to go even harder. He gripped the boy’s waist, holding him steady as he humped the everloving shit out of him. The room felt like a million degrees as sweat poured off his forehead and onto the boy’s back. Cris was so warm underneath him, he wouldn’t have been surprised if the young man had sizzled.
Cris lifted his head off the pillow and started moaning more freely now, less restrained and more passionate.
“Yes, oh yes… oh fuck, daddy, oh daddy… oh Frank, fuck my pussy… oh Jesus Christ I want iiiiiiiiiiiittttttt…”
Hearing his moans made Frank feel invincible. Here was this young, perfect thing, begging him to fuck him. The sounds this boy was making, you would think Frank was some kind of god. He could barely hold himself up anymore. All of his energy had to go to this boy’s ass, to fucking him harder and deeper and getting those sweet little moans out of him.
Frank collapsed against him, wrapping his arms around the boy’s chest as he humped him into the mattress. He was completely feral now, nothing more than an animal working himself to climax inside a warm, wet hole. Cris was whimpering underneath him, muffled cries of “Daddy” and “deeper” making their way through the pillow. Frank kissed his neck, sweetly at first, then sloppily, then roughly and passionately.
“God, your cunt feels so good,” he grunted, surprising himself at how easily this dirty talk came to him.
“I need it, daddy,” Cris moaned.
Frank wouldn’t have thought he’d have liked being called daddy—it made him a little too hyperaware of his age—but something about hearing Cris call it out in the heat of lust while he was fucking him like crazy made it feel empowering. He felt hot, sexy, powerful. He was fucking a man, and he wasn’t sorry about it. It felt good and he deserved it. He deserved to feel good.
He deserved to feel good again.
“Oh, fuck,” he called out. “Argh… oh, FUCK!”
He buried himself to the root in Cris’s ass, his body jerking as if he were being electrocuted. Despite cumming so soon before, he could feel his seed erupting out of him, pouring into the poor boy’s no doubt bruised and battered colon. He rested his head in the crook of Cris’s neck, sighing deeply as he came.
“Um… Frank?” The boy’s muffled voice was almost imperceptible through the haze of his orgasm.
He lay there for another second, feeling the last of his seed dribble out of him, then lifted his head and said, “Hmm?”
“Did you just cum in me?”
Frank blinked, the haze replaced by crystal cold clarity. “Fuck. Yeah, I… I’m sorry.”
Cris laughed good-naturedly. “I mean, I was gonna ask you to pull out, but I guess we both got kinda carried away.” He turned his head and smiled. “In for a penny, in for a pound, right? Isn’t that what you old folks say?”
Frank laughed. He leaned in and kissed Cris softly on the lips. “Actually, we say, ‘What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.’”
“I have no fucking clue what that means,” Cris said with a giggle.
Frank kissed him again, more deeply this time. “It means let’s get you off, sexy boy.”
Cris’s smile stretched wide as Frank pulled out of him, then rolled him onto his back.
The young man’s cock was still achingly hard. It had left a trail of sticky precum across his stomach.
“How do you wanna do it?” asked Frank.
“Would you put your fingers back inside me while I touch myself?”
Frank nodded. He pressed his middle finger against Cris’s hole, which was now loose and sticky with his own cum. He felt a jolt of pride, a little cocky arrogance at the thought that it was his cum marinating inside this hot young stud. Not bad for an old man, huh? He slipped his finger in without resistance, burying it all the way with ease.
“Now wiggle it,” Cris said as he started stroking himself.
Frank complied, moving his finger in a curling motion as he watched Cris get himself off. The boy’s eyes were clenched tight in concentration, his lips curved into an O shape. His curly hair was damp with sweat and pressed against his forehead. Frank thought he looked so beautiful like this, naked and sweaty and pleasuring himself so openly. The sight of it alone was something he wished he could save in his mind, to return to on lonely nights as a reminder that this sexy, incredible creature was his for one evening.
“Oh, Frank, I’m gonna spunk… ungh!”
Cris’s face scrunched tight as ropes of cum shot out of the tiny gap in his foreskin. Frank could feel the boy’s ring pulsing around his finger, tightening with every burst of his release.
“Dad-daddy,” he said breathlessly. “I’m cumming!”
“Cum for me,” said Frank. “Cum for me, sweetheart.”
Cris held his cock steady, letting the last few spurts of cum fly all over his tummy. He looked so vulnerable in that moment, so precious, that Frank couldn’t help but lean down and kiss him. He kissed the boy through the final moments of his orgasm, marveling in disbelief that he could make someone so beautiful feel so good.
“That was so fucking hot,” whispered Cris.
Frank kissed him on the forehead. “You’re telling me, kid.”
Cris smiled at him so sweetly. “So I didn’t scare you straight?”
Frank shook his head. “Nope. I’m definitely bisexual.”
“Give me another crack at it, and I’ll have you full homo by morning.”
Frank handed Cris a hand towel from his bedside table, then rolled over and collapsed onto the pillow. He let out a contented sigh. “I think I am well and truly spent. The Viagra has officially worn off.”
Cris wiped the cum off his stomach, then rolled onto his side, resting his head against Frank’s hairy chest. His fingers trailed across the old man’s stomach, making Frank feel a weird fluttering sensation deep in his belly.
“This is nice,” said Cris.
Frank put his hand on the boy’s smooth shoulder, rubbing it softly. He kissed the top of his head. “It is.”
They lay there for a few minutes, just cuddling. Frank felt drowsy, depleted from the two orgasms and three beers. He had almost drifted off entirely when he heard Cris whisper something.
“You make me feel safe.”
He had a moment of realization that, for the first time since his wife’s death, he felt the same way. He may have even said those words aloud, but he couldn’t be sure, because he was soon fast asleep.
When Frank awoke, it was with a bit of a headache and a too-bright stream of light shining right in his face. He opened his eyes slowly, rubbing his forehead as he tried to recall the events of the night before. Cris had come home with him. Had he stayed? He thought they’d fallen asleep together. But as he looked around the room, he couldn’t find any sign of him. Had he left without waking him?
A bolt of fear shot through him, making him sit up suddenly. For a sick moment, a horrifying thought crossed his mind: what if Cris had waited for him to fall asleep, then slipped out of his room and robbed him? Could he have done that? Frank wouldn’t have thought so, but then again, he didn’t actually know him that well. Hell, he didn’t even know the boy’s last name.
He got to his feet, throwing on a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. There was no cause for concern just yet. Cris could have gotten out of bed to use the bathroom, or maybe he left to go to work or something.
Frank opened the bedroom door and walked down the hallway, trying to resist the urge to run. But then he heard a noise from the kitchen, and his body relaxed.
The boy was still here. Frank was getting all worked up over nothing.
Mother says I was a dancer before I could walk
She says I began to sing long before I could talk
Frank smiled as he heard Cris’s voice ring out from the other room, high and beautiful. He reached the end of the hallway, the smell of cooking eggs filling his nose.
And I’ve often wondered, how did it all start?
Who found out that nothing can capture a heart
Like a melody can?
Well, whoever it was, I’m a fan
He stepped into the kitchen, his face stretched into a grin at the sight of Cris dancing in front of the stove. He was faced away from him, wearing an oversized gray t-shirt and swinging his hips to an imaginary beat as he stirred the eggs in the pan in front of him.
So I say
Thank you for the music, the songs I’m singing
Thanks for all the joy they’re bringing
Frank took a step toward him, not wanting to interrupt the boy’s performance. But Cris must have heard him enter anyway, because he turned and flashed him a smile before continuing to sing:
Who can live without it? I ask in all honesty
What would life be
That was when Frank caught sight of the oversized t-shirt dwarfing Cris’s small frame. His heart sank to his stomach when he noticed the Grateful Dead logo in the center, the skull with the floral crown.
Cris lifted the spatula to his lips like a microphone and sang:
Without a song or a dance, what are we?
So I say thank you for the music
“What are you wearing?” Frank said softly.
For giving it to–
“What the fuck are you wearing?” he said, louder this time.
Cris stopped singing. His smile drooped halfway down his face, caught in surprise. “An old shirt I grabbed from your dresser–”
“Who told you you could go through my shit?” Frank’s voice was loud and sharp. He felt anger coursing through his neck, hot and volcanic.
Cris’s eyes went wide. He lowered the spatula to waist level, head bowed awkwardly like a child being reprimanded. “I’m sorry, Frank. I didn’t think–”
“Take it off.”
“What?”
“Take it off!” he yelled. “Now!”
Cris jumped at the sound of his voice. He reached for the collar, forgetting the spatula in his hand as he hastily pulled the shirt off from over his head. In his haste, he got all tangled up with the spatula, but managed to get the shirt off after a few seconds. He held it out to Frank, his hand shaking.
Frank grabbed it from him, unfolding the shirt to inspect it. There was a bit of egg yolk and grease stains from where Cris had been holding the spatula. His face turned red with anger as he turned on the boy. “You got it dirty.”
He clenched the bunched-up shirt in his fist and shook it at him. “You think you can just go through my stuff? My fridge? My home? What the hell is wrong with you?”
Cris wasn’t looking at him. He stood there in his underwear, still shaking, looking at a spot past him. It was as if Frank wasn’t in the room at all anymore.
Frank felt the anger drain out of him, his temporary insanity abated by the sight of Cris’s fear. He swallowed, then took a step toward him.
Cris took a step back.
“I’m sorry,” Frank said softly. “I didn’t mean to–”
He went to touch Cris’s shoulder, but the boy pushed past him and rushed out of the kitchen.
Frank followed him into the hallway. “Wait, Cris.”
Cris didn’t turn back. Still in his underwear, he raced back to the bedroom, then shut the door behind him.
Frank went after him, feeling absolutely wretched about blowing up like that. It wasn’t Cris’s fault that he was still fucked up about his wife. The boy didn’t even know that was her t-shirt. He probably just thought it was one of Frank’s old shirts sitting on his dresser, something he’d grabbed on his way to the kitchen because he didn’t want to wake him up.
When Frank got to his bedroom door, it was locked.
He tapped gently on the door. “Cris? Will you please come out?”
There was no sound from inside his bedroom. Frank stood there for a minute, wondering if he should try again, when he heard the sound of the lock. He stepped back as the door opened.
Cris stood there in his clothes from the night before, his eyes downcast.
“I’m sorry about–”
Cris pushed past him into the hallway, avoiding his gaze. Frank continued following after him. “Cris, wait. Please, just let me explain.”
As he got to the foyer, Cris was opening the front hall closet and reaching for his coat.
“At least let me drive you home,” said Frank.
Cris put his arms into the sleeves, pulled the coat on, and tied it around his waist.
“Or I can call you an Uber.”
The boy walked over to the door and grabbed the handle. Frank realized he was about to lose his chance forever. Impulsively, he grabbed his wallet from the table by the door. “Hold on a sec.”
He pulled out a $20 and held it out to Cris.
The boy finally stopped. He looked at the $20 bill in Frank’s hand, then at him. “What’s this for?” he asked bitterly.
Frank swallowed. “A-a taxi.”
Cris’s eyes were wet with tears. He wiped them with the back of his hand. “I don’t need your money.”
Then he left, shutting the door in Frank’s face.
The old man stood there, holding the $20 bill like an idiot. Why had that been his impulse? Why was he so fucking broken that he couldn’t even have a nice moment with a guy without fucking everything up?
He walked back into the kitchen in a daze, replaying the morning in his mind. He had been so angry, so out of control. He’d always had a bit of a temper, but Georgia had been able to defuse him. Without her, he felt lost.
The eggs were burning on the stove, creating a thick, choking cloud of black smoke. He turned off the stove, then put the pan in the sink and turned on the water. The steam hissed loudly as the ruined breakfast washed down the drain.
He picked up the Grateful Dead t-shirt from where it lay on the counter. He brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply. All he could smell was the scent of burning eggs and rancid oil. Then, faintly underneath, Cris’s pineapple shampoo.
Frank looked over at the kitchen table and noticed two place settings. Cris had prepared everything for a nice breakfast together, and he had ruined it by being a total asshole. His eye caught on something peculiar in the center. He let the t-shirt fall to the ground and stepped closer, reaching out to pick up the strange object.
It was a flower, or rather, one of his cloth napkins folded delicately into the shape of a flower. Its soft white folds curved into petal-like layers, the fabric creased with careful precision.
Cris must have done it while he was making breakfast. Something nice to look at while they ate.
Frank sat in the chair, staring at the flower in his hand as the faucet continued to run.
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