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Recently, a gentleman e-mailed me about one of my stories. He asked what I would do, if my friend Brad actually propositioned me. Well, I hope this letter adequately answers his question, while entertaining a few other gentlemen.
Dear Brad,
Even though I act nonchalant, and pretend not to notice, I love your “inadvertent touches,” and the kind “reassurances” on my back and shoulders you offer when get into deep conversations.
I love our casual Saturday afternoons, and how we are so happy no matter what we choose to do. I also love how sometimes people assume I’m “your guy.” Many Saturday nights I have grabbed a glass of wine, and then imagined you taking me. In fantasy, I become “yours.”
OK, so you’re gay and “tormented,” while I am straight and “carefree.” Are you sure?
Lately, I feel that I’m the “gay one,” as I ache for both your heart and cock. And then, something had to give today. I’m sorry if I hurt you somehow.
I’m trying to figure it out. Do I have the details wrong?
As recall, I slid into the passenger seat of your convertible. That is when I recognized that my “old feelings” were stronger than ever. I inhaled deeply and was struck by your familiar, clean and musky scent. With a slight breeze toying with your hair, you reached over, stroked my leg, and asked the usual, “How are you?”
What was I supposed to say? I had been a bit down, but OK, and now, with your touch and scent, I was immediately on fire. I choked out an OK, stared into space, and pondered what your lips would feel like Taksim Escort against mine.
My hands actually shook, and I breathed deeply. “Uh, Brad? Could you pull over?” With an unselfish look of concern, you immediately complied.
I’ll always remember you sitting there, worried and manly. Your chest hair was poking out of your polo, and ruffled by the breeze. I stumbled, and groped for words.
“I can ask you anything, right Brad?” As soon as I said these words, your face tightened, and you barked, “Look asshole, we are well beyond that? How many homo-erotic fantasies do I have to tell you to prove that?” My, “Um, how about one more?” broke the tension, and we both laughed.
“This is different, though,” I continued. “But, you’re right, I owe you transparency, huh?” As you nodded yes, I spouted, “When you touch me, when you comfort me … do you ever want me?”
There it was. Out in the open. No going back, as I shifted my clenching ass on your bucket seat, I couldn’t make out my best friend’s expression.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not surprised you noticed.” There was the confession I needed! Before you could say anything else, I undid my seat belt, leaned over, and gave you that gentle, wet kiss on the lips.
Quickly, I slid back into my seat. I reached my left hand over, and now I was the one rubbing my best friend’s thigh. As calm as I could, I asked you to drive us to your place.
The wind whipped our ears, making the silence easy and natural. We held hands, and you stroked my thumb Taksim Escort Bayan with yours.
As soon as we were in your garage, with the door closed, I jumped out of the car, stripped out of my clothes and waited. Maybe it was too much for you.
When you walked around the car, I know you wanted me. “You’re so beautiful,” you croaked. “Beautiful,” doesn’t look manly here in print, but it was what I needed. My heart melted, my body shook. I moved to you, my man.
I was enjoying watching you take inventory. Far from being demeaning, it was actually affirming. I felt so, well … beautiful.
You began to stroke my arms lightly. Then my cheeks, neck and shoulders. Oh, man, then you looked up at me, longingly. Our lips moved together, and immediately my tongue slowly began to explore your mouth. The smells and tastes of manhood pushed me over the edge.
Remember how I slid your hands off my shoulders, and onto my bare, thin, muscled ass? It was feeling tighter, and sexier, than it had ever been. I kissed hungrily, sucking at your tongue like an adolescent. Then I began to thrust my hard, damp cock against your belly.
You were sweet, tender, and so much like a drug I had to ingest. Your lips slid along my neck, and I knew you were going to try to go down on me. Not this time.
Immediately I knew what I wanted. I wanted to please you. I fell to my knees and sucked the bulge of your jeans. After some fumbling, and laughter, you got your cock out. I know you wish it was longer, but I love your Escort Taksim duck. It is thick and adorable, and perfect.
Man, you were something, pressing my face onto your bare dick, with equal parts love and authority. I covered my teeth with my lips and enjoyed running my tongue along the seam of my meaty treat.
I could have done this all day, sucking, licking tasting … but I wanted to feel my best friend’s ass hole.
Did you enjoy how my hand slid between your legs, stroking your balls, reaching into your sweating, hairy crease? I wanted to taste your ass, but today wasn’t the day. My middle finger slid up to your puckered hole, and managed to burrow part way in. That is what ended our sweet interlude.
You jerked, and your cock jammed against my throat. Rapid pumping culminated in a warm sensation of tangy, goo at the back of my throat. Musky sensations in my throat, mouth, and nose were overpowering, but oddly, also welcome.
That’s when it all went wrong. What was it? You were was soon racked with sobs. My heart went out to you, but I didn’t get the chance to comfort you. Instead, I was pushed to the floor, nude and humiliated. I dressed and sat there.
Fifteen minutes later, you came back down. While still teary eyed, you got in the car, and drove me home without a word.
Oh Brad, why did you mess up what should have been the most beautiful day of our lives? Yes, I am angry, but I’m not giving up on you. Please talk to me. I understand this is new and scary, but I bet your cock is in your hand as you read this, huh?
What we have is rare. Tender friendship, and the possibility of being incredible lovers.
Apologize you prick.
I love you,
Brad
Postscript to the gentleman who recently wrote me: Do you believe me yet? Do I know you?
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