The Man In My Room

by Petr-Johan

14 Oct 2017 1868 readers Score 8.9 (53 votes) PDF Mobi ePub Txt


He'd always been there, always. My first memories are of him sitting in the little slipper chair across the room, one leg over the other, his chin on his knuckles just.....not looking at me.....not watching me.....just....being there. Sometimes he'd get up, move, walk over and look at me closely, smile a bit and then go plunk himself in the window seat and look at the sky. He was my familiar that I knew not to mention to anyone.

I'd heard about children who had friends that didn't exist, who insisted that a place at the table be set for whomever they'd conjured up. Puzzled me, that did. Why make up a wholly fraudulent thing when, I assumed, they had someone of their own, like my man. Given that, I never discussed him, never mentioned him and, as he never left a mess or disturbed anything, there was no reason for anyone to suspect his existence.

The first thunderstorm came upon us suddenly I didn't know whether to be frightened or what. This was a new experience and not one as pleasant as, say, your first banana split. He held me, loosely, let me put my head inside his shirt or whatever it was and almost suckle on his nipple. But then I knew there was nothing to fear so I came out, leaned against him and watched lightning make patterns on my walls while the thunder made things shake at which I laughed. It must have put me to sleep as suddenly it was the next morning for I could hear my mother calling to remind me it was a school day and I needed to hop to it. I looked at him, he put his hands up and hopped like a bunny.

We went on like that for years. Impossible not to remember when my dad came in, sweating like a pig, and, after clearing his throat to the point I wondered if he had throat cancer, plunked himself down on my bed, asked me to join him, put his hand on my knee and said it was time we had a little talk. My man turned away to avoid any expression that might betray agreement, disagreement, whatever. Dad started back at, "Son" and then took a pause as if trying to remember what the hell it was that was supposed to follow "Son". So he said it again.

"Son......Uhm, this is man to man stuff, you know, uhm.....". I didn't know and at the rate he was not going, I wouldn't know. "Son, you may have noticed some differences in  you, uh, body, uh, in certain places." I looked at him, somehow taller-although I was-didn't seem to be what he had in mind. "Every man comes to a point in his life when he's. uh, fertile". I looked at him hoping for some clarification. "Uhm, between your legs, you have a, well it's called, uhm, a penis". 

"You mean your cock?".

He passed flustered and went right on to, "Jesus S. Christ, where the fuck did you learn that word?" Seemed pointless to tell him he referred to all sorts of things as "cocksuckers" but probably not a good idea to remind him. I could see him breathing deeply, trying to regain his composure-pretty much shot-and continued.

"Okay, yeah, your cock and I guess you know what's under that...."
"My balls.....some guys say nuts".

Do you know why they are there....or if you think you know, tell me.

It took a lot of vulgarism, that's how I'd learned what everything did and probably was largely inaccurate in the specifics but generally I proved I knew. I guessed it wasn't a good idea to tell him he was getting a hard on.


And that was father/son sex education. Never was mentioned again so, I guess, he presumed I'd got a gold star in the class and nothing more need be said. But now it was time for a more literal translation as well as show and tell time.

My man took the seat where my father had been, had me remove my clothes and then carefully, cogently explained things. Beyond that, and it was important, he gave me a peek at "later" and how things would feel. Getting me hard, he proceeded to jack me off-something up to then I'd done myself. Felt better when another guy did it.

I thought, "I wonder if I like men for sex and women for friends". He kept his rhythmic pace, stopping now and then to let me withdraw and then off we'd go. Things can only be postposed for so long and in someone my age, that wasn't too long so the final act shot itself, I fell back exhausted and he wiped me off with a wad off tissue, kissed me and then.....I woke up the next morning.

High school was very easy for me; I had a great memory and did well which pleased everyone. Also, I played football. Why? I don't know, just did. I was about 6'2, 175 pounds and a swift Tight End, so swift that scouts noticed me and I made the highlight reel on the local stations on more than one occasion. Pleasant looking, crewcut, clear skin, I was the poster boy for our team and one of those who contributed significantly to a winning season. My man liked me in my tight uniform but he was not the only one. I Did fill it out , shame the jersey covered a nicely washboarded abdomen but the guys in the showers saw and word got around. Some of the people it got to were the cheerleaders many of whom made very direct suggestions as to what we might do to celebrate after the game. If I'd had a choice I would have taken the ball snapper, fucked him raw and then let him blow me while I snapped his balls. Didn't work out that way but it was an interesting idea.

Also, back in my own room, I got the best sex and the best sex education there was to be had. We'd moved on from the basics to the basically kinky not to mention BDSM, plain old S&M plus fisting. It would have wrecked my reputation had it been known but it wasn't. 

The years went on, I finished high school, girls discovered me, I discovered boys, one in particular whom I'd bring home. Jerry was a nice guy, polite-which appealed to my parents-bright and, the extra point, was good at sports. He was also good at intramural male sex which we performed in my room with everything but a bicycle pressed against the door to insure the ultimate in privacy. My guy, of course, but he wasn't there for Jerry and so we not only played with each other, we did all the nasty things we knew how to do and, over time, got quite good at the basics with a few specialty numbers.

Even in the dark it was hard to miss Jerry. As with most red heads he had stunning white skin, only minimal freckles and a cock and balls that anyone would be proud to sport in the locker room. Jerry, too, played football but I always thought when he saw the defensive line, his balls drew up and he would have wished to be any place else. 

Graduation brought appropriate rewards. I was in the top ten percentile in my class, had a good record on the football field, was considered to be a catch for the ladies and.....for certain schools who would be delighted had I come to them to continue being a tight end but on a bigger scale. There were no illusions, football at the university level made the school boy football I'd been playing seem like kindergarten. One after another coaches paid their respects and found that the usual blandishments they offered were useless. My family was well off, I could easily pay my own way, no talk of team spirit or the school for which they flacked reputation made much difference. In the end, I picked one which, after a campus visit, I found the coaching staff to be good and also, probably, available for sex. I knew I could play the game, it was just a matter of upscaling how it was done.

Then there was Jerry. I saw it coming and did not know how to avoid it; He thought he fell in love with me and.....as his "partner" decided to go to school at the one I'd chosen. Jerry came with his own abilities,  along with football he was a championship diver; His specialty being the 10 meter board. He had won regional championships so when it came to schools, he, too, had a choice and his choice was mine. I needed the consolation of my man who suggested that once we were at school, the schools of student/fish would produce something for him and I could play kick the can with the big boys without him. Which is pretty much what happened.

Second semester of my Sophomore year I was a fully recognized Varsity player and the team went to a bowl game where I accidentally scored two touch downs. Now I'm in Sports Illustrated, being interviewed, hustled for ads for good causes....it wasn't quite what I wanted. There were serious concerns as to my safety on the field; As your abilities, or alleged abilities go up, you become more of a target for opposing teams. You may have heard the word "scamper" as applied to runners in football, the reason is twofold, they want to score and they don't want the shit beat out of them when tackled by most of the other team.

In May, my guy and I were in the bedroom of the apartment I rented fucking like two rabbits determined to populate the state of Alabama in three hours. In my mind, he was the one and the only one I loved. Forget the love making or, to  be more realistic, sex, I could not see a life without him, he'd been a significant part of him well, forever. He had three fingers up my ass and his thumb on my perineum when he whispered that he wanted me forever and ever. He'd never said that but once those words went into the ether and my mind, the rest of my life faded into something I'll call, "Whatever happens, I don't give a shit". 

He went in me as far as he'd ever been just before expelling so much cum it bubbled out beside his cock. Writhing with pain and pleasure, he had my cock worked up so I could blow a load like his. He was all over me. Tied me up, beat me, made me scream with pain, made me cry with pleasure, took me so completely that my soul was fucked out of me.


Hanging from a hook, a spreader bar on my ankles, he knelt down and started on my exhausted cock. Slipping a dildo up my ass, it was plain the only way out, and I wasn't sure of that, was to come and come big. Remembering what I'd just done, that didn't seem likely. He'd pause to lick the whip wounds on my chest, bit my nipples then returned to other interesting pain/pleasures. The cock wand that went way down, the enormous dildo that went way up....

The final thing was being made to sit on a spike while electricity flowed through it as well as my balls, cock and tits all of which had electrodes stuck to me. How long I lasted I've no idea but when I came to, I was still on the spike, my arms tied so I wouldn't go too far down on it. It was dark and I was alone. 

Two days later I finally could get out of bed but frightened; My man was gone. The chair he sat in was vacant. The apartment was a void of anyone save me. 

Ten days later I could stop crying long enough to at least take care of myself and see other people without their staring at me oddly. I thought about driving home, maybe he was there. I knew that for the lie it was but it was the one I told myself. 


Whatever had happened to me, I never looked better than the day I got in my car and began the long drive home. I'd never done it but I was dressed to thrill. Jersey cut off just below my breasts, tight fitting track pants, jock that made me look as if I was concealing a basket ball, new haircut, sneakers and that was it. I stopped for gas on the way out of town and heard at least three cars skid as brakes were jammed down. Put on my mirrored aviators, got in the car, put the top down and pulled onto the road that led to the road that led me home.


My head was in his lap and he was smiling. "Took you long enough to get here....I've been waiting your whole life time"
I rose up slightly but he pulled me back down; It's okay Son, you're at peace. Never were supposed to be born, thought you'd die in the accident with me.....that's why I was always around." 

I started to cry. "Dad....you."
"Yep, me."

He moved, got up and pulled me up, his arm around me, a quiet kiss on my forehead.

"You ever wondered how it would be to fuck for the rest of eternity with the man you love?" I just looked at him and smiled.


"I guess I'm going to find out."


by Petr-Johan

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