It is amazing how the atmosphere in the office can change between five to five, and five after five. Suddenly all the activity ceases. The animals in the bull-pen clear their desks and disappear, leaving a cloud of silence, that hangs over the room almost as heavily as the cloud of confusion that preceded it only minutes before.

It was Friday. The week had been long and ardous on everyone. I watched as they disappeared in a whirl of happy laughter, envious of their freedom, for I was stuck to my desk, and would be, for at least several hours yet. The project I had been working on for the past month was close to completion. At last. The deadline was now.

Laura understood. She was as glad as I was that the end was finally at hand. At least I think she was glad. The concentrated effort had divided us by its' own intensity, (not that there weren't a few problems before the project began), but we planned to spend a few days away from the city, alone, to renew our attraction to each other, to turn infatuation into love, to spend the next few days fucking, something we hadn't done for almost a month now; to decide, should we, or shouldn't we, get married.

Laura wanted children, and the clock was running out. She had plans for a small wedding; a few friends, a civil ceremony. I wasn't so sure.

I kept thinking of Paul.

At 10:30 I went to the office fridge and put some ice in a styrofoam cup and filled it with Tanquerey. The gin was clear as crystal, crackled the ice with gentle pops as it slid over the cubes transforming itself from warm to diluted cold. I sipped, and the tingle of it spread over me like the gust of tropic air flowing through the window.

It was done. Completed. I was at last free of the invisible bonds of responsibility that tied me to the desk the past month. An enormous surge of accomplishment gave me a rush even greater than did the gin. I was proud of it. Thrilled. Relieved too, that the chains of duty were loosened at last. A surge of animal passion filled my forever limp penis.

Shit! I had a hard-on. With one hand I smoothed the pain while with the other I reached for the telephone to call Laura. It rang a long time before I realized she wasn't there to answer it.

Ah well!

I opened my zipper and took it out, that solid piece of pure flesh and blood, erect in its' demanding stance, looking at me with its' piss-slit eye.

A love tear formed on its' tip. I had forgotten how sweet the touch of my hand on the velvet skin of my balls could be. Ah yes! I leaned back sipping the gin once more. I remember now, she was to have dinner with her sister.

She promised to be back by midnight.

"I'll be waiting for you," she whispered seductively as I kissed her goodby,

"I'll be ready for you."

The gin was infusing its' subtle effect over me causing fantasy dreams as I stroked my cock, rolling the foreskin back and forth causing waves of lust and pleasure. The need was there, that's for sure.

There was noise in the front office. The janitors were here to clean, to make order out of disorder. I stuffed my swollen member back into my pants and raised the zipper. Saved by the cleaning crew.

It was raining. A spring shower, warm and tropical, washed the air and left a luscious clean smell. It rushed in the open window of the car with a misty drizzle. I saw the sign as I waited for the red light to change to green.

"Cocktails". Suddenly I was thirsty. I wanted more gin, something cold to wet my throat, to relieve its' tightness.

It was dark inside, soft lights and quiet music. Nat King Cole sang Nature Boy.

'There was a boy. A very strange and an enchanting boy," I took a seat at the bar. There was only one that was unoccupied. And I orderd a double.

"Rocks, with a water back."

Ah! The charm of the gin. How subtly it let the barriers down. When the man on the right touched my arm and turned to talk to me, I responded. Smiling, my face was open, my attitude friendly, though usually, I am shy in such circumstance.

"What brings you out on a rainy night?" he asked. His modulated voice, a deep rich baritone, was slow and deliberate.

"I'm on my way home," I said, "A long day at work. Tough week, really. So I stopped in here to relax a bit."

I turned from him, sipping my gin to hide the bashful confusion that suddenly overwhelmed me. He was attractive. Handsome. Dark eyes, hair falling over his brow. Even the days stubble of a heavy beard, that shadowed hollow cheeks, was visible in the dim room. He had untied his tie, opened several buttons of his shirt. A mass of dark hair rushed up from his chest to touch the slender throat.

My erection pushed against the shorts that bound it. I shifted position, and it wxpanded even more.

"You looking for anything special?"

" I only came in for one drink. You know.....I ........well, no, no I'm on my way home."

He smiled. The light from behind the bar caught the twinkle in his eyes.

"Guys don't usually come here just to drink," he said cryptically. And he turned to say something to the man on the other side of him.

Relieved, I settled back on the stool and took another sip. It was then I glanced around the room and realized that there were only men here, speaking quietly in careful whispers. An occasional arm thrust about the shoulder or waist of another claiming possession. Ah! It was a gay bar, and the gin-half of me expanded with anticipation, while the sober-half tried unsuccessfully, to conjure up a vision of Laura.

He turned to me again. Bending his head toward me he whispered into my ear, "I'd like to know you," and then he added, "Really know you."

I looked at him. Emboldened by the gin, I locked my eyes to his. I tried to smile, but I realize it was stiff, unnatural. I couldn't think of an acceptable reply.

I only nodded. Telling him, implicitly, that I understood. That I wanted it too.

To know him better, that is.

He turned away and spoke to the man on the other side of him. My awkwardness apparently diminished his hunger. I was not accustomed to the gay technique of proposition. With Paul it just happened. We were working on a job together. Out of town. I arose from sleep in the middle of the night to urinate and, upon returning to bed, I climbed into his. He was waiting for me. And thus it began. An illicit affair, for Paul was married. Illicit and doomed.

I finished my Tanquerey. Placed the empty glass on the bar. I was at the point of decision. Should I play it safe and leave? The clock that was part of the sign advertising 'BUD' said twelve fifteen. Laura would be waiting for me, her long graceful body stretched across the bed like the Duchess of Maja. Waiting for me to enter her. Sex with Laura was satisfying, sapping away the cream and dissolving desire along with it, leading only to deep contented slumber. It lacked the prolonged and delicious excitement that resulted from the games Paul and I had played, the surprising pleasures that came from loving hidden secret places. Seeing and touching them.

When the man tending bar asked me if I wanted a refill, I answered yes.

His back was to me. His black hair was long, cascading over his ears and down his neck to broad shoulders. He was chuckling at some joke his friend had told him. A surge of unfamiliar jealousy washed over me. Involuntarily, I reached to him, touching him lightly on the hollow of his back. He turned. The twinkle in his eyes was still there, lighting up his handsome face. Full lips smiled, welcoming me into his world.

"Shall we go now," he asked? "It's not far. I'm at the hotel across the street."

A tingling thrill shivered down my spine setting my loins afire. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention.

"Yes, I'm ready." I heard myself say forgetting about my work, my coming-up vacation, and Laura, waiting for me on the bed.

The bright sun spread its' rays into the room through the open window. I felt the warmth of it as it caressed my cock and balls, stimulating another need after an incredible night of plenty. He was a beautiful man. More so than Paul. More experienced, too. I thought of the suckings. How hungry he seemed to be, lapping at my balls after he had shaved them, scraping away the fine hairs that curled there, sucking them into his hungry mouth. I felt my cock harden as I remembered his passion.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning."

His arm encircled me and drew me to him. His kiss was light, sucking my tongue into his mouth. His finger wrote love messages on my hairless testicles, and my penis expanded with blood once more. I wanted to taste him again. To have him. I pulled away and twisted my body around so that my hard-on was in his face. Just as his was in mine. We sucked for a long time stopping and resting only when the pleasure became too much. Then back to the suck, to the giving and taking of pleasure from each other. It was slow and exquisite, reaching and stretching and building until, finally, willful control disappeared and the orgasm exploded pleasure-shattered fragments in all directions. I rested my head, caught between his legs, smelling and loving him. My cock became hard again. So erect was it that the expanded muscle hurt. I rubbed my balls in his face and forced my cock down his throat again. He began sucking just as I too sucked. And the sun, in it daily ride across the sky, moved from the window and, shining it rays elsewhere, left us in shadow.

"Jesus man!" he whispered, his hot breath seared my loins, "I can't get enough of you."

And he sucked it in again.

I looked down upon him. He was kneeling on the floor now, like a penitent in prayer. His head bobbed. I looked at his back. The skin was smooth and silky tan. Even his ass cheeks were bronzed by the sun. His shoulders were broad and muscular and rippled with each movement. I thrust my hips upward and forward, forcing my cock deeper into his throat until once more the cum splashed in a wild surge of pleasure. Shit! I can't get enough of you either.

Despite the brightness of the morning, I drifted into sleep once more. A reaction to strenuous exercise or the weakness following the dissipating of my needs. The clock on the table by the bed said twelve. Could it be noon already? I reached to the other side of the bed. It was empty. The sheet was cold. I remembered the pleasure of what was gone now, rolling my tongue over my lips, I could still taste him. The smell of him remained on the pillow, but he was gone.

There was a note on the dresser with a key to the room. "It was nice!" it said. Yes I thought, it was nice.

He didnt sign the note. I realized with a twinge of regret that I didn't know his name, I tried to recall what he looked like, but even the vision of him escaped me.

There was a piece of his hair caught in my mouth. Between my teeth.

I showered, washing away the crust of him, the sticky remnants of cream that had shot out of his cock. Now all traces of him disappeared. I remembered the details of our lovemaking, but I couldn't remember him. I didn't feel content, or restored or sated.

I only felt the need, the hunger for more. Somehow I realized that this was the beginning of the chase. The endless seeking of another and then another.

A sadness came over me as I reached for the telephone to call Laura.


Joe Wilson

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