That night I slept like a log and didn't wake up until almost noon. As I lay in bed thinking over the previous night's activity, I was surprised once again by my lack of guilt.
“I've had sex with Christos, my stepfather,” I kept saying to myself quietly.
I kept repeating this like it was some sort of bizarre mantra, hoping that if I said it enough it would sink in, and I would have some sort of profound insight that would set off an extreme emotional reaction. It never came.
Then as I ruminated more, it finally dawned on me that maybe I already knew how I feel, confused, more than a little weird, but basically okay. After all, we had always been very close. He was in fact my best friend, even though he was my stepfather.
Finding a reference point was the hard part. Most of my friends liked their stepfathers, some of them didn't get along with their parents at all, but none of them had the type of close relationship that I did with him. In fact they envied me. My friends were always telling me how cool my parents were, especially Christos, and said they wish they had a stepfather like mine.
I took stock of what I felt sure of. The sex, both times was really hot even if I had been a bit embarrassed. Also I felt strange being the compliant one, the one who had to be forced or cajoled into sex. This was not my style; I was basically a pretty aggressive person when it came to sex, or at least trying to get it with my girlfriend and other girls in the past.
But Christos was also very aggressive, especially last night, and I was still reeling from the intensity of his approach to me. He really knew what he wanted. Had he been thinking about his for a long time? Also, I was still unsure about this scene and where it might lead. I decided to let him make the next move. After all I had no power, whether he said so or not. I knew my stepfather would never really force me to do something like this if I did not want to.
The next move didn't take long. When I went downstairs to get breakfast, he was in the kitchen wearing only his jockey shorts; this was not how he usually walked around the house.
“Hi,” he said brightly.
“Hi,” I responded, noticing as I always did whenever he was partially clothed, how handsome his body was, all muscles and hair.
“Are we still talking?” he said in his usual kidding manner but with a hint of caution.
“Only if you do my laundry for the rest of your life,” I said, feigning anger.
He laughed and said, “Screw you punk.”
I went to the sink and began running the cold tap to get some water. He came over to me and put his arm around my shoulder standing very close, and kissed me on the cheek like he often did. I just smiled, melting inside, things were still the same.
He could always charm me and make me feel good. But it was hard to reconcile this familiar fatherly affection with the intense passionate sweating man that had been pounding his cock into my mouth the night before. This was a shift I was going to have to work at assimilating I realised.
He kept his arm around my shoulder and stood close, waiting for something. I just pulled away and went to the shelf for a glass. Could he possibly want sex again, so soon? After all it had been more than a week between our last two encounters. But then I remembered his words from last night that he wanted to continue having sex and would keep asking.
Oh boy, I thought, when is mum coming home?
I moved to the sink, filled the glass with water, and drank it down. He hadn't moved and I looked down and saw the bulge in his underwear. Without a word he reached down and put his hand on my crotch, very gently cupping my balls and cock in his hand.
“I've got to go into the office for a while in an hour,” he said. “How about a little fun before I go?” His tone was expectant but almost quietly respectful. I leaned forward with both hands on the counter.
He still held my crotch, and the flash of irritation at this intrusion was belied by my cock starting to get hard. I couldn't say anything for a few moments while my mind raced, and then I muttered, “Okay.”
That was all that was said for the next fifteen minutes.
He led me into the living room, knelt in front of me and stripped off my sweatpants. Then he began sucking my cock, licking my balls and inner thighs and generally working me into a frenzy of passion. Then he pushed me to the floor and started jerking me off while he sucked me. All this time I had said nothing.
I had stared in fascination at the sight of his head working my crotch as I stood over him. Now I stared in equal fascination as I lay on my back and tilted my head up to see him lustfully sucking me.
All I could do at this point was moan loudly as I started to feel the cum rise from my balls.
Hesitantly, I reached my hands down and grabbed his head. Then I came in his mouth, long hot streams, with my hips bucking, and he swallowed it all.
Then he pulled off his underwear exposing his raging hard on, and lay on top of me.
He took my wrists and moved my hands over my head, as he stretched the full length of his body over mine. His cock was hard and rubbing against my belly, and I had quick intense images of my mother, was this what it was like to be fucked by him? Is this how it felt?
His face was close, and he leaned in to kiss me. As I felt his lips descend I involuntarily opened my mouth and his tongue entered.
I was completely consumed at this point. His body was touching mine at every possible point, as he continued to fuck my belly. I was acutely aware of how hairy he was. I could feel the heat of his heavy body as he rocked faster and faster on top of me.
His tongue stayed in my mouth frantically massaging my insides.
I could smell the fresh sweat from his armpits as they moved close to my face while he held my wrists extended above my head. Then he started to come. As he heaved above me, lifting off for a second and then plunging down again, I could feel the hot liquid beginning to mash onto my chest and belly and mix with the dark thick hair on his chest.
When he was done, he collapsed on top of me still holding my wrists above my head. He took his tongue from my mouth and just lay there. I felt like I had been in a wrestling match at school, and the referee had just stopped the action. But this was better. The feel of his heavy body on mine, his sweat, his body hair, the smell, it was all incredible.
I didn't dare move, fearing he would get off.
Finally after a few moments he stirred, and said, “Ready to say Uncle?” Still the disarming humour.
“Uncle,” I said weakly.
Then I brought my knee up gently and banged it into his crotch. He yelped and rolled off me. Like only a few hours ago I was lying on the living room floor covered with his cum and sweat, only this time it was less of a shock, and felt all too familiar.
After a minute he reached back up over his head and reached for my crotch. What he found was a very hard cock.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” he said in mock surprise.
“Nothing for you, you rapist arsehole,” I said in mock anger. “Go to the office, and take a shower before you go so everyone else won't have to smell your hairy-arse body.” I added in mock disgust.”
He chuckled as he got up and said, “You'll know it when you get raped by me you sissy.” Then he grabbed my thigh and gave it a squeeze as he headed off to the bathroom saying over his shoulder, “What are you doing today anyway?”
“Playing football, and jerking off, you pervert,” I yelled as he disappeared down the hall.
“Well at least you're good at football,” he yelled back.
I laughed out loud.
I played football that afternoon for hours outdoors in the sun. I left the intense sexual encounters of the past few days and the blur of thoughts and emotions behind. I loved sports. I loved the competition, the running, shooting, physical contact, friendship, even the occasional fights.
It was always great to be with my buddies. Whether it was playing football or running track or playing cricket or all the other sports we were constantly obsessed with. We were teenagers, full of energy, good at what we did and loving it. Life flowed through us in great waves as we endlessly worked our bodies into better shape and admired how we were growing into men. When together, we joked and criticised each other about our size and strength; about who had the biggest arm and leg muscles, the best defined chest and stomach, the most body hair.
There were ten to fifteen of us who had been close since school and stayed close friends as we grew through adolescence. We argued about life, about girls and lied a lot about our experiences with both.
As I walked home late that afternoon, exhausted from the day-long workout, I found my thoughts wandering back to Christos and the recent change in our relationship. As thoughts of our sex together raced over the surface of my mind, I found them interspersed with images of my friends and many of the other boys we knew and spent so much time with in our athletic pursuits.
I thought about all the bodies I had seen, naked in locker rooms for so many years, or partially clothed running around the tennis courts, basketball courts, and gymnasiums in which I had spent so much time. Older men, fathers, teachers, young men my age.
I began to think of some of them differently. I began to realise that I had always paid more attention to some of them. Not formal attention, rather, an extra almost fleeting attention, a subtle watchfulness.
I thought about how I had noticed over the past year that one of the older guys we hung out with had developed a very dark hairy chest, I had , without ever realising it stared at his body from time to time admiring it.
I would also admire the thick forearms of my friend Carl and how the blonde hair on his arms would lighten in the summer from the sun. And how, though he was blonde, the hair in his armpits was so thick and would darken when he sweated on the basketball court.
I thought about all the cocks I had seen in so many locker rooms. It was a strange sense of intimacy, cocks of all sizes, private parts, private for who? I had seen them; we all had seen each other’s. All those hairy crotches, those balls, the interesting way young men began to develop that line of hair from their navel that led down to their pubic area. I began to wonder how big some of my friends’ cocks would get when they were hard.
All these fleeting images seemed so vague compared to the forceful, explicit acts with Christos. I knew exactly what his hairy chest felt like!
I knew exactly how big his cock was, how it tasted, even what his cum tasted like.
There was such a gap, I had been noticing other men almost subconsciously from a distance, wondering. Yet I had experienced him in such intense physical intimacy, all of a sudden in the span of a couple of weeks.
These two worlds seemed far apart, yet I had a feeling they would merge. I laughed quietly to myself as I thought about how my friends and I had fantasized for years about getting laid. How we had talked about it endlessly since we were thirteen.
Then finally when we were sixteen or seventeen it had finally happened to some of us. Some of the guys had bragged about their sexual adventures. Others, like me, had told some of my friends about the fact that my girlfriend and I had finally done it, but basically kept it quiet.
What a strange set of events to compare, fantasize for years about sex with girls then after all the begging and pleading, finally get laid.
Compare that to never fantasizing about sex with a man, and suddenly you're having intense sex with one and he is your stepfather.
Was I gay? Was he gay? What the hell was going on? Why didn't I feel crazier about all this? Why did I think in some ways it was pretty cool, as a private experiment? Why did I find it even humorous sometimes? What would happen if I told one of my friends?
As the questions began to build and race through my mind, I realised they were pushing the feelings of a great day out of my mind. I didn't want to lose the joy of the day so I began to run the rest of the way home, smiling to myself, running faster and faster, and sprinting the last three streets to my front door.
I arrived drenched in sweat and walked in the front door with a yell, “I'm home.”
I had seen my stepfather's car in the driveway, but I did not get a response. Walking quickly up the stairs to the second floor I realised why. My stepfather was standing in his upstairs office talking intently on the phone. I walked into his office and silently waved hello.
While still talking, he winked at me and motioned for me to come closer which I did. He had been pacing around the room while talking on his cordless phone and stopped in the middle of the room with the phone to his ear. As I approached and stood close to him he reached out and lightly grabbed my crotch while still talking on the phone.
I jumped, and tried to swipe his hand away, but he stepped closer and held on, all the while continuing his animated conversation on the phone with whom I could only assume was one of his business clients.
He smiled at me and winked again.
I rolled my eyes in mock disgust, put my hands on my hips and stared at the ceiling in an overly theatrical attempt at mild irritation. I was hoping to dissuade him by showing disinterest. He didn't let go. Instead he started to juggle my balls in his hand like they were a pair of dice about to be thrown.
“Let go you jerk,” I said in a hissing whisper, trying to suppress a laugh.
He smiled a comically malevolent smile and shook his head, “No.”
I reached down with both hands and tried to remove his grip. This prompted him to say quickly to whoever was on the phone, “Listen, I have got to go, I'll talk to you later.”
He took the phone from his ear and thumbed the off button, then tossed the phone onto his desk.
“Well, what do we have here?” he said looking at my hands trying to undo his hands from my crotch.
He was smiling in mock amazement and trying to contain his chuckling at the funny picture we presented standing there in the middle of his office.
“Let go you old goat,” I said, trying not to laugh, but paying more attention to the fact that I was starting to get hard. “I've got to take a shower and clean up.”
“You look clean to me,” he said with mock naiveté. He had put his right arm around my shoulders and started walking me out of the office room and across the hall to his bedroom, with his left hand securely grabbing my balls through my gym shorts.
“How was football today,” he said in his best, pretend to be interested, voice which always made me laugh.
“Just fine,” I said. “I told all my friends my stepfather was a pervert and I was about to turn him in to the police.”
“Really,” he said, raising his eyebrows and chuckling. “Did you tell them about how much you liked sucking my dick?”
“Liked it .... my arse,” I said. “You forced me and I'm telling the whole world you’re a sicko. I can't wait to see you on the evening news being led away to prison to be raped by every big black guy in the world.”
By now we were both laughing and getting into our usual bantering mode. But he still had me by the balls as we entered the bedroom.
“Really Christos get serious, I want to get cleaned up. I'm soaked,” I said.
While I was still in good humour, I was a bit irritated at his fooling around. Mostly because while sex was what I had been thinking about as I arrived home, it was not what I had planned to do. I was uncomfortable now because I was very hot and sweaty and like any eighteen year old, self-conscious about my body in close situations at times like this.
“Cleaned up?” he said. “No problem kiddo, I'll clean you up.”
He was still being light hearted and offhand in his remarks, but I sensed a bit of seriousness creeping into his voice as he led me to the bed. He let go of my balls and pushed me gently down on the edge of the bed. I sat there as he knelt down in front of me and began to untie my shoes and remove my socks.
He got them off and stood up and reached for the bottom of my T-shirt. He pulled it up and I reflexively raised my arms for him to take it off. He stared at me for a moment.
What the hell is he up to? I thought. Is this some game, does he want to take a shower with me, or give me a bath?
I grinned silently at the thought, how corny can you get? Neither thought was close to the truth.
“Stand up,” he said with a bit of an edge to his voice. I did, and he pulled my shorts down so I could step out of them.
I had only my jock strap left as I stood in front of him.
He leaned forward and put his mouth on my crotch, on my sweaty jock strap, and began to lick it while inhaling deeply. After a few minutes he reached up and stripped the jock strap off and pushed me back down on the bed. As I lay there puzzled, and even a bit turned off by what he had just done, he unbuttoned his shirt, took it off and stood over me. He was wearing only the jeans he had worn to the office and his socks.
The room was warm, and his physical attention had kept me sweating the whole time. Now he knelt between my legs as I lay on the bed. He pushed my legs open wider and leaned down to my crotch with his hands on either side of me.
Then he pushed his head slowly toward my balls and began to lick my scrotum. With long slow sweeps of his tongue he surrounded my balls, tilting his head from side to side as he went, in order to get at every inch. I squirmed a bit, twisting my hips.
It was starting to feel awfully good, but I was still embarrassed about lying there so sweaty and needing a shower. I reached down to grab my rigid cock hoping to jerk off and maybe hurry this unexpected encounter along. But he intercepted my hand as it arrived at my cock. He reached up and grabbed it, without missing a stroke with his tongue, and held it for a brief moment. Then he raised his head and moved my fingers to his mouth. He started with my thumb, putting it in his mouth. He sucked it firmly moving it in and out of his mouth, the slowly did the same to each of my fingers.
Then he licked my sweaty palm, the back of my hand and up to my wrist. After which he pushed my hand away up toward my chest, and started back to licking my balls, and moving slowly to lick my right thigh.
It dawned on me that this session might not end quickly; there was something very methodical about what he was doing. The intense, deliberate, almost athletic passion he had expressed in our recent sexual encounters seemed hidden. It was there, I could feel it, but now it was much more controlled. He was still in charge but now he was setting a different pace. I took a ragged breath and tried to fit my sweaty unease and raging need to come into the sensual glove that was beginning to enclose me. It was difficult, he was relentless and tortuously slow as he moved down my right leg to the ankle, licking, deeply, thoroughly licking and gently biting with his teeth and lips.
I tried to imagine what he would do next. This question was answered as he moved to my left ankle and began to work his way up to my thigh.
My unease at having someone licking my sweating body began to be overcome by how good it was starting to feel. But I was still self-conscious. I tried to find a bit of comfort by imagining what it would feel like to do to someone what my stepfather was doing to me.
The bodies I knew started to crowd my thoughts, my girlfriend, the other young women whom I had kissed and felt prior to losing my virginity, my male friends, and my stepfather. It became a swirl of mirror images in my mind.
As he licked my inner thigh, I imagined myself doing the same to one of the guys at the gym. As he moved his tongue up to my hip, I thought of my girlfriend and what it would be like to lick her so thoroughly there. But the images kept collapsing back to him, to his body.
What would it feel like to do this to him?
I heard a small groan escape my lips as he began licking my cock, but only briefly, because now he was moving upward. I could feel his hot breath on my navel as his tongue descended and moved slowly up from my pubic hair. Then it pushed into my navel and I could feel the rough dark stubble on his cheek raking across my belly.
The images loomed again, now enhanced by the real feel and smell of him.
What would it be like to lick his sweating stomach? Different from this. He was so hairy, all that thick dark hair that covered his chest. That thick dark line that ran from below his furry chest down to his groin, where it exploded into a thick deep bush of pubic hair, licking it would feel different from what he was doing to me.
Now he was moving higher. His tongue moved to my nipples. His stubble and mouth covered one of them, as he carefully licked and sucked. What would this be like if I did it to him? His hair would be thick, his nipples almost hard to find beneath all the long dark curls, what would that feel like? All that hair against my tongue and those big brown nipples of his.
What would it feel like to open my mouth wide and try to gently bite one of his large sculpted pecs? Now he was leaning back down near my navel and starting long slow strokes that ended with his tongue almost at my neck.
These continued with the same deliberate tension and it was driving me nuts!
He was hunkered over me now, and I could feel his crotch rubbing against mine. The large stretch of his hard cock pushed at me through his jeans.
My arms were at my sides with my fists clenching at the feel of each long lick and the rough stubble of his chin and cheeks as they dragged across my belly, my sides and chest. I was groaning now at each trip of his tongue, my head rocking slowly from side to side.
I opened my eyes and stared down at the top of his head as he descended back down. He was holding himself up with both arms, his palms flat on the bed on either side of me.
As the late afternoon sun shone through the window from behind him, I noticed the thick dark hair in his armpits splayed out and shining with dampness. The image of a bat's wings flashed through my mind as the sun illuminated the thick long strands. I twitched as his teeth gently grabbed my right wrist, then released, as his tongue started up my forearm to my biceps, then back down again, then up.
Then he took hold of my wrist and raised my arm up over my head, pushing my hand toward the wooden spindles of the bed's head frame. I made a feeble attempt to pull my arm back down, but it was to no avail. He held it there as his tongue started at my rib cage and worked slowly up to my armpit where he buried his mouth.
Oh God. I thought as I squirmed and convulsed beneath him. How could he do that? How could he like that? Why did it feel so good? My initial embarrassment yielded to the intense pleasure, and the feeling of being overcome by him. He continued to cover my armpit with his mouth and run his tongue through the sweaty dark hair, slowly deeply licking while he breathed in through his nose.
All I could do was groan and writhe beneath him.
When he was finished he leaned over and forced his tongue into my mouth and held it there while he ground his mouth and scratchy cheeks into my face.
Then he moved to my other arm and did the same. It seemed to take forever as he licked up and down the inside of my bicep and pushed his tongue flat against the damp hair then captured it between his lips and pulled up, as if he wanted every drop of sweat to find its way into his mouth.
I could feel my cock twitching involuntarily, slapping up and down against my belly.
There was a pool of precum filling my navel and running down my side, and I knew I couldn't last much longer. I moaned through my haze of pleasure.
“Christos, please stop, please finish me off. I can't stand it!”
By now he had finished with my armpits, neck and shoulders and had moved down to where he was kneeling between my legs.
“I'm not done yet,” he said in a husky tone as he reached each of his hands under my thighs and roughly lifted my legs up forcing my knees towards my chest.
I was so disoriented at this point that it didn't dawn on me what he was going to do until his face descended between my thighs and I felt his tongue below my scrotum and I felt his unshaven cheeks on the deep insides of my thighs.
“Oh Christos, no,” I said.
The words left my brain as a strong declarative, somewhat fearful statement. By the time they reached my lips they came out in a pleading almost whimpering tone. What intervened was the electric shock that raced through my body as his tongue forcefully penetrated my rectum. I gasped and drew a frantic ragged breath. I couldn't believe what was happening.
I struggled and squirmed at first, half from the shame and even repulsion at what he was doing, and half from the incredible feeling of pleasure at this first ever experience.
But it was clear there was no stopping him. His huge hands held my legs back. Each one firmly grasping behind each of my knees and pushing them against my chest as he continued his assault. His long thick arms were extended straight out above his head. I could feel his forearms against the back of my thighs and the hot sweaty hair of his underarms raking across the insides of my upturned buttocks as his face plunged deeper and deeper.
I had never felt so vulnerable, so helpless.
He held me there for almost ten minutes while he licked my arsehole and every inch of my crack time and again and repeatedly forced his tongue into me. I could only moan through my ever quickening breathing and submit.
What else could possibly happen after this? What could ever feel this good? I thought.
Coming would be almost anti-climactic!
When he was done, he moved quickly to a kneeling position between my legs and yanked down his jeans to expose his rock hard cock. My legs were now on his shoulders and I stared up at him with a pleading speechless look.
He started to jerk his cock off and I reached for mine.
“Don't touch it,” he said as my hand fell to my side. Then his stroking became faster. My eyes were moving frantically from his crotch to his eyes, he was about to come.
Then just as he was about to shoot, he reached his left hand down between my legs and while staring into my eyes, pushed the middle finger of his left hand firmly, all the way into my hole.
My mouth shot open as I gasped, my eyes widened as felt his thick hairy finger stretch the rim of my arse. Then in a swift move he pushed his thick meat down and pointed it at my crotch and began to come. I could feel the torrents of hot juice covering my balls and pubic hair and gushing onto my stiff cock.
His teeth were clenched tightly and he was breathing in ragged spurts, but his eyes never left mine. It took only that look, of utter animal passion, and another thrust of his finger, and I exploded.
Cum poured from my cock like I had never seen or felt before. I lay there spasming helplessly with my hands in tight fists at my sides for at least thirty seconds.
When it was over, I was awash with cum, mine all over my chest and his coating my crotch. He slowly pulled his finger from my arse, then leaned forward and began to clean me off with his tongue. It took a long time as he worked over me, sometimes licking other times just pushing his lips into the puddles of cum, raising his head slightly and running his tongue over his lips. When he did the latter he would look up at me, and then slowly lower his head to continue.
I could only lay there in a helpless, spent daze. When he was done he moved up and gently opened my mouth with his hand and pushed his cum coated tongue into my mouth. Then he collapsed on top of me and we lay there for a long time, stuck together with sweat and cum. It felt so good, so close, but my mind started to race again. This had been awesome, but I knew it was more than sex. Something else was going on here. Today he had been so deliberate, so determined, so disciplined, why?
I couldn't help but feeling that I was being taught.
I woke up in a dark room, on my parents' bed. For a moment I had quick sense of panic trying to figure out where I was. Then, the day's events slowly crept into my awareness, and I rolled over to look at the clock radio beside the bed. It was 8 pm. I had been asleep for three hours!
I turned over on my back and stared into the darkness of the ceiling. I was exhausted. What a day!
The encounter with my stepfather this morning on the living room floor, then football all afternoon with the guys, then the cleaning I got from him when I got home. Things had clearly changed. This was becoming evident as I languished in the soft folds of my parents' bedding and my mind wandered off in that soft post sleep hypnogogic state of floating, clear awareness.
What the hell was going on here?
Just when I had got to the point of thinking I could handle the recent sexual encounters with him, handle them mostly by thinking humorously about them, even though they were such a turn on, then he goes and does this. Where did he learn that stuff? Has he done this with other men? Why did that feel so good? Where the hell was this going?
I smiled lazily as I thought of what had happened a few hours earlier. He sure knew how to turn me on, but boy could he get intense. He seemed to be pushing me, probing further and further.
A worrisome thought flashed across my mind, what if I said no and he didn't stop? Our deal was that I could stop anytime; still, he had said he would keep trying, keep asking for sex. Perhaps I should try the no option, just to see what would happen. But, I thought, why say no? Aside from the very uncomfortable feelings early on in this afternoon's episode, it was great. Hell, who wouldn't be uncomfortable?
I thought I had had some pretty strange fantasies during my wanking sessions alone at night, but none of them included someone licking me all over while I was soaked in sweat, licking my armpits, licking my arsehole, a finger up my arse.
And it felt good, once I gave in. My mind screeched to a halt. Those last fleeting words rolled back across the screen of the darkened ceiling above, once I gave in.
I turned them over slowly in my mind. They fit, but not quite. I was giving in, but I was also getting new things. What was different? I had to admit I felt closer to my stepfather. Hell, who couldn't after what he had done with me. But closer wasn't the right word either, I had never felt not close to him. Maybe comfortable was a better word, comfortable with him and myself about sex.
He had more access to me. I had given him more access.
My stomach rumbled and I realised I hadn't eaten since morning. Enough of this analytical bullshit, I thought as I swung my legs over the side of the bed, and walked across the dark room towards the light in the hall. It wasn't until I was at the bottom of the stairway that I realised I was still naked.
But I thought, who cares, and headed off through the family room to the kitchen.
He was sitting at the end of the sofa in his bathrobe. He was reading a book, and at first didn't even realise I had entered the room.
Then he looked up quickly, as if surprised, and said “Hey, sleepyhead, thought you were zonked out for the night, nice suit.”
His humour was initially lost on me, and then I grinned at his remark, and the foolish feeling of standing there naked in the middle of the room.
“Glad you like it,” I responded. “I had your tailor make it, and charged it to you.”
I heard him chuckle as I headed for the kitchen where I devoured the last half of a cold pizza and some warm Coke that was sitting out on the counter.
After a few minutes I returned to the room and saw him still engrossed in his book.
I grabbed the woven blanket that was draped over the back of the sofa, and lay down on it with my legs curled up and covered myself with the warm, woollen blanket. My feet were towards him and he looked up momentarily at me and smiled as he grabbed my ankles. He pulled both my ankles into his lap, adjusted his book and returned to his reading. After a few minutes, I started to doze off feeling wonderfully tired and relaxed, and glad to have him close.
I felt his hand begin to caress my leg, and I uncrossed my ankles in his lap and let it continue. My cock got hard, and I started to drift deeper into sleep as his hand reached for my crotch.
After a while he clicked off the reading lamp, got up, and knelt quietly beside the couch. He lifted the blanket and lowered his mouth to my cock. I could feel the thick hair of his chest against my leg, and my tongue stirred unexpectedly in my mouth. Then, as I drew a long breath and fell into a deep sleep, he sucked me softly until I came.
A few months ago I had gone with my friend to pick up his mother at a lecture at the University. The trade-off for him getting the family car for a few hours that night was that he had to drop her off and pick her up.
Upon hearing this, he and I had made immediate plans to drive around town, go to all the places our friends hung out and basically flaunt the fact that we had a car for the night. Most of our plans didn't materialise, but we did have fun in the parking lot at the local shopping centre. We went to a far corner of the lot and he let me drive.
We ended up at the University almost thirty minutes early, and walked into the back of the lecture hall. His mother was a psychologist, and the guest lecturer was some famous woman shrink who had just written a book.
As I stood at the back of the hall I realised a couple of things, it was full of older people and the speaker was really attractive. I started to pay attention to what she was saying and quickly realised that I didn't understand much of it. But one thing she said stuck in my mind. It was something to the effect that people learn more about themselves that is really of value when they are asleep rather than when they are awake. She continued on about solving problems at the unconscious level, and a lot more that sounded pretty stupid to me at the time. I decided to tune out what she was saying and tried to imagine what she looked like naked.