When I was seventeen, it was a very good year

When I was seventeen; it was a very good year. I was starting my senior class and it was just another summer night; my best friend spending it with me like so many before. I always envied him and his looks. We were close to the same height and weight, but we were different.

He thought he was ugly; his hair and everything. It was dark and long but smelled so fucking good. His eyes I don’t think had a color but reflected what was around him. The sun was kind to his skin and he tanned well; and then that sun-kissed body. We both worked out; challenged each other.

In my eyes, his body was heaven, chest and the nubs the protruded from his pecks, the trail of hair that disappeared into his shorts. I’d seen what was below that, sneaked peaks, taken long looks when he wasn’t looking, and jacked off after.

So we were both around five-eleven, 180, I was smooth where he had hair you could see. My hair was white, almost translucent. I wore it long, parting in the middle. I guess I have Liz Taylor’s eyes; Violet. And the double sets of lashes. I hated the cheap shots I’d get from other guys but the girls loved me.

“Why didn’t you just fuck her?” He asked.

“What was the point after she sucked my cock?” I asked back cupping myself.

I couldn’t tell him. I thought about sucking my friend tonight when we went to bed and no way in hell I’d have fucked her.

“Honestly, if you suck a guy’s dick, you should feel something. I think it’s more personal than a hand job, don’t you?” As I stripped down to my underwear.

“I guess you have a point.” He said as I watched him disrobe.

“You gonna shower?” He asked.

“I’ll save enough for you.” And I wished we could shower together. ‘When I was Seventeen.’

We talked in bed like always but my mind was made up. Tonight was the night. The talking stopped and he was on his back; I assume looking at the ceiling like I was. It was now or never. I rolled to my right resting my left hand finding his hard shaft. It was hard. Before I could go further he rolled away.

How could I have fucked things up so bad? He would never talk to me again and probably out me. It didn’t happen. In the morning it was like nothing ever happened. ‘When I was Seventeen.’

This went on for a few weeks, I would turn and touch him; he was always hard and would rollover. Tonight he was and didn’t. He didn’t move as I rubbed my thumb over his wet head and pulled his shorts down under his balls. I couldn’t wait' taking him in my mouth.

I was new to this and I’m sure it showed to a guy who’d gotten lots of blowjobs. But what I lacked in experience I made up for in my love for him and determination. He softened in my mouth without words. I stroked and sucked like it was my first time; It was. He did cum from my persistence; nothing was wasted as I lapped all of it; then he rolled over. When I was Seventeen.

When I was Twenty-one; It was a very good year. Life for us went on like that; now in college. Jamie was a fuckin whore. He would rub it in my face and then accept a blowjob from me when it suited him. How pathetic am I?

I thought back and of all the times I tried he’d only accepted about five. I remember the first time he interacted with me giving him head; it was just a hand on my back kind of rubbing. From that day on he never bragged about his conquests. After graduation, the thought of living apart was not palatable to either of us. When we were Twenty-one.

When I was thirty-five, it was a very good year. We’d been together living like this for fourteen years. He never stopped seeing women and never had one stay the night. I knew he loved me and he had no doubt that I loved him.

We were a couple in every sense of the word but slept in our own rooms. At home, we sat close on the couch sometimes with the others head in our lap. There were back rubs from time to time, jokes about me beating off, and a shower together a few times. And the acknowledgment of that didn’t go unnoticed.

We had been going on like this for years; him dating and me jacking off. But we had our time, I didn’t mind. I never looked for someone, a hookup. I never sought out someone I might have a life with; I had him. When I was Thirty-five.

He came home one day and seemed aggressive. I refused his challenge when I smelled pussy on his dick and went back to my room. No way, in hell. For the first time ever, he followed me.

He waved his cock in my face like it didn’t cheapen me even more. He, I think, saw my torment for the first time; When we were thirty-five. I’d never seen him like this; hurt in his eyes. Without a word he pulled my shorts down and took me in his hand; When we were thirty-five.

He sucked me. He did far more than that, chocking, trying to do to me what I was able to do to him. When I came he let it dribble from his mouth down my cock and into my pubs; then went to his room without a word. When we were Thirty-five.

It was a few days after that when he came home; I got off earlier than him and would start dinner. He would always text or something if he wasn’t cuming home. He’d showered and we had dinner and were sitting on the couch watching something I can’t remember.

I stood then straddled him, my knees at his hips, my ass on his knees, and I just looked at him. I saw the surprise in his eyes looking back at me and I rested my forehead on his. “J? I’m gonna kiss you, just so you know.” And his hands rested on my hips.

I wasn’t sure if that attempt was to stop me or give me the green light. His eyes told me. I leaned in and touched my lips to his. Mine had been around his most wonderful cock over all these years and now he was meeting me with passion. His hand kind of ground my hips into what I could feel under me and I moved with him.

The kiss turned into something I never expected, in a way, I think it did for him too. His hands move up my back, then under my shirt. He pulled on me, a hand on the back of my head, and then tongue. “You need to take a shower then meet me in your room.” He told me breaking the kiss with a smile.

And I did just that. I had so many times envisioned him back in my bed like when we were teens. There were too many first to go through all of them. I wasn’t sure about him but I had a good idea how this night was gonna end.

Full body contact was a new thing for me and I can’t even describe what that’s like considering how many times I’d sucked his cock. He treated me like I was food to a starving man, pulling air from my lungs, sucking and chewing on parts of my body I never knew about. If a person could make up for years of what he’d put me through; he tried.

He sucked on my nipples, chewed, and sucked to the point of pain. He squeezed my balls until I rose off the bed, engorged my shaft with blood then sucked just the tip. He stroked my steel shaft and spit on it from time to time.

The thing that confused me the most was when he straddled me with his big dick around my pecks and slid down till my man-bat, came in contact with his, manhole.

I never saw this cuming in a million years. Now I had put things in my butt and never thought I’d feel what I wanted; and here he was. I didn’t move and just watched him, his closed eyes like concentrating, the first trickles of sweat forming, and I felt him.

I had fucked a few girls many years ago; that was not this. I refused to move, I let him decide if he wanted more, and it took so… long. I’d closed my eyes expecting him to pull off and run to his room; didn’t happen. When his ass hit my pubes I came. Who wouldn’t???

“That better not be all you have,” He said when my eyes opened; realizing.

I thought about all my dreams doing what he was doing now, moving from side to side the back and forth, leaning back and just riding me. I stroked him once and he came; burley the touch of my hand. Cum splatted my face and headboard; a big strand across my left eye, and I filled him again.

The after part is something I have never been through. I felt guilty; don’t ask me why? He didn’t go back to his room and even though we had separate rooms; mine became his. It’s not like we were newlyweds, but we did mix it up in bed and he came home every night.

Don’t think we fucked like rabbits because we didn’t. We did sleep side by side; maybe front to back, but that’s how it was. When we were Thirty-five.

A lifetime has seemed to come and almost go, Jamie and I have shared the same bed for three decades, worked long and hard to get us to where we are today, retiring. We had such plans. But we are in the ‘Autumn of our Years’. When I was Seventeen. When I was Twenty-one. When I was Thirty-five. When we were in the Autumn of our years.

I was always the first to rise, I’d do coffee and have whatever we were going to have for breakfast ready when he came out. I looked up to see him in a tee-shirt that was inside out and backward. And socks. He just looked at me. I must have looked at him; puzzled.

“It smells wonderful,” And he looked at me. “I know I love you, but I can’t remember your name.”

In all our time together he had never told me, he loved me. I saw in his eyes that he wanted to remember, but couldn’t. I reassured him that I love him too and made no reference to the fact he wasn’t wearing underwear.

Jamie. It took him so fast. He sometimes seemed to remember me and other times he didn’t; I was the guy who would read to him. And now I’m in the Autumn of my Years.

But now the days are short, I’m in the Autumn of my years. And today I think back on my life as vintage wine, from fine old kegs, from the brim to the dregs, it poured sweet and clear; it was a very good year.

I sit alone; I have no one. I think of the man who filled my life, his body so fine and hair so dark, and I can’t remember his name. When I was Seventeen.