Can't, want

"I... I can't... I'm not ready..." he whispers, half in a plea and half in a sigh of resignation. He's conflicted, and it shows in his face. His legs are hooked over my shoulders and my cock is resting squarely against his hole with a mess of throat slime lubing him up enough so that my head starts to ease in. 

But I see it in his eyebrows, a semicolon of two opposing expressions of desire and concern, I read it between the lines that crease his forehead. He wants me inside him but he's afraid. He really isn't ready. Not in the sense that he hasn't cleaned out but in the sense that he isn't emotionally ready to give in to his desire. 

"Don't worry, kiddo. I get it," I say, playfully using the diminutive ironically as he's probably a half dozen years my senior.  And with a slight change in the angle of my hips, my cock slips from its target and glides up the valley between his legs.

His body shakes.  His legs tremble upon my shoulders from the explosion of sensation as I thrust the heat of my shaft against his ass. I want nothing but to put those pleading eyes at ease, to protect him from whatever harm he's trying to shield himself, and to also fulfill that desire that his body so desperately needs. I already felt it before.  His cock went from perky to fully erect by the time my cock hit his lips. And it went harder still when he felt my hands wrap around his head and force him down to deep throat me to the base. He wasn't overly experienced but he was a natural. And he has such deep needs.

So as I bucked my hips in a wave of motion, letting him feel my pass his hole at every ebb and flow, I leaned down.

I get it, kiddo.

And I kissed him. 

His whole body seemed to draw me in and in just mere moments, I felt him shudder as he came hands free. Just that extra touch of us chest to chest, lips to lips as his legs wrapped around to accept more of me set him off. 

And it was exactly what he needed.

Recognition, changes

It's been years since I've been here. It's an adult book store adjacent to a strip club and for some reason, I always remembered it being a lot closer to the freeway. Figured it'd be a quick pit stop on my way back from work. I usually take the train into work but I was needed at one of our other offices and I'm simply just not used to driving in traffic anymore. I needed a break from the stop and go. I needed some relief. It wasn't even all that bad by LA standards, an average of 30 mph but I had another 40 miles to go and the monotony was getting to me.  Then I came up to the exit for the bookstore and memories flooded back and FelchingPisser's recent tales at the bookstore near his hood came to mind and I decided to pull off and make the stop.

I've only been to this place half a dozen times. What struck me was how unapologetic it was about being a space for guys to get off. There were paper towel dispensers in each booth of the video arcade. All of them had glory holes, which looked less like vandalism but intentional features from the proprietor.  Some booths had electronic windows that would go opaque or clear so that you can see the occupant next to you. It was practically a bathhouse maze.

But that was then. Now, the air was different. The configurations seemed different too. Less cruisy, more proper somehow.  The etiquette seems to have changed and I'm adjusting to determine the rules of the subculture. I had spent five bucks at a booth without a door. Guys came by just to peer in and flee in horror when they saw me openly stroking my cock to the vids. Only one guy, a handsome, stocky but muscular Latino came into the booth to grope and stroke for all of two seconds before moving on. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to follow or not.

I fed a machine that was already running and saw a curious guy in the next booth through the glory hole. He peered through the hole to watch me stroke, obviously interested, so I pushed junior through just to get a rather awkward handjob. I pulled out to motion for him to push his through, but he whispered that he already came. 

I was a bit baffled. It seemed like this was for strokers, but private stroke sessions through a glory hole. 

I walked out of the booth trying to figure things out and literally bumped into someone I know.  A platonic friend.  Completely social. We brushed shoulders as I had walked out in a daze. We both smiled at each other for a moment before my smile faltered. I believe the thought process was:

"Oh fuck, it's Jim."

"Shit!"

"What the fuck is he doing here?"

"Oh yeah, he lives in this neck of the woods..."

"He's actually looking pretty good in that work polo, with his company name embroidered over his left chest."

"Hm, I wonder what he looks like naked..."

That whirl of thoughts happened in all of a second before we heard a voice over the PA system, "You can't just stand around. Go to a booth and feed the machine."

I was startled. And kinda blushed since I know the attendant was talking about us.

I went into a booth and half-heartedly closed the door, leaving it unlocked. He saw what I did and followed behind me. 

I smiled broadly and looked at him. He smiled back. But there was a blank quality behind it. I realized, through the darkness, he didn't recognize me yet. 

The guy in the next booth was peering at us through the glory hole. So I whipped it out and started stroking. Jim took over for a second. Just long enough for me to fish out his cock and stroke his. He basically confirmed what i had found out. This was pretty much just a tug and go kinda place.  Then, quite shakily, in a voice of pure need, he hoarsely whispered, "Could you sick it?" And then he added, "Please?"  A voice of pure need and desire that was so out of character for him, a guy I've known to be so laid back and reserved. 

I fell to my knees, angled him so we could put on a good show for the guy next door, and licked the length of his shaft. It quickly grew to an impressive size. A solid eight inches at least. Another quite astonishing fact as his personality lends itself to being very modest and slight.

He moaned a long sigh of as I worked him slowly to the back of my throat, undulating my tongue against the bottom as it slid down. Then I formed a nice seal and sucked him hard before releasing it and letting the drool form and pool to let the weight of his shaft slide back out of my mouth. I continued, varying the technique. Up and down. And he lost his inhibitions and started to face fuck me. A long and thick shaft crammed down my throat. Pulling all the tricks out of the book until he ripped my head off him. 

I took that as a queue that he wanted to return the favor so I stood up but he simply stroked me.

Fuck that.

I went back on my knees and inhaled him. 

"Wait, wait, wait..." he whispers.

I let go for a second to ask why only to have him spurt in the air.  What a waste. I took him back into my mouth to get the last drops before he got hypersensitive and tapped my shoulder.

And as I stood up, he could help but laugh. The sign of a happy customer.

As he started to pull up his pants and make himself presentable, he asks, "So where do you live?"

"Jim, it's me."

He laughs again, "I kinda thought so but I wasn't sure. It's kinda dark in here."

"No worries. And I got a haircut. And I'm never on this side of town."

"Yeah, that confused me!"

"It's all good. See ya Wednesday!" And I left the booth to head to my car.

I wasn't sure what was gonna happen later in the week when our friends were getting together for dinner. Things evolve. Just as the arcade became desexualized to a degree, my relationship with Jim was gonna change to one that muddled the lines of casual friendship and conversely become more sexual.

Interesting how things change.

To the top

He's carrying the leather case he grabbed from the garage. He says it's a stick for his billiards league. Makes sense that he'd grab them from the heat of the car but for a moment I wondered as it could have been a musical instrument... Or a small rifle... The things that go through your head as you follow a random hookup up a staircase. His story probably checks out as he's in the gayborhood and there's plenty of bars around but still, the pulse that's already quickened in anticipation of hooking up hits a new high with the uncertainty. Additionally, we both couldn't host in the traditional sense so we settled on doing a quick meet at his place and going up the stairwell to the rooftop. I'm hyper-alert, hyper-sensitive.

I suspect we are both partnered but play on the side. Yet another backstory that I make up in my mind, a story as we ascend another story, another landing up the stairwell, things that are calculated and weighed in my mind as I take one step and then another to whatever might lie ahead at the top of the deck.

The air doesn't help any either. It's warm out and the air is trapped in the stairwell, hotter by several degrees every flight of steps we take up.

As we reach the top landing, my heart is pounding in my ears. The physical exertion, the anticipation of getting my hands on this handsome man, the heightened alert to avoid being caught in a public space, the complete loss of control of what may happen at the top of the stairs. I'm hard as a rock in my shorts as I take a brief pause, enough for him to turn around to face me, before I push the mountain of a man against the wall and greedily seek his lips and force my tongue down his throat. No small feat as he has several pounds on me and a third of a foot in height. The surprise in his frame melts as we connect and his hands wraps around me to fold me into him. All of me. I'm engulfed. He's massive and strong.

His hands wander down to squeeze my ass and my lips curl up into a smile as we make out. Yeah, he's another top. I knew it going into it. We've tried to connect several times but timing never worked out as far as finding a hosting bottom to tag team.

Then he starts petting down my front with his meaty paws, grabbing at my hard cock through the fabric and frantically trying to free it, lustful fumbles, until he finally gets my fly down and pulls my cock free over the band of my briefs. A grunt as he admires the sight of my proudly pulsing cock in the thick, warm air and then he engulfs it with this throat in one swoop. I pull at the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head in a yoke as I grab his head and force it down. He has incredible control with his tongue. I feel it undulating over my cock as it slides to and fro, pass his gag point and down his throat. My fingers tighten over his head, piercing themselves onto the buzz of his shaved head as I fuck his throat. He takes it easily but in a few moments I rip his head off and push him back against the wall to make out again and fumble at his belt. I'm less successful. A failure really. He assists at unbuckling himself and shucking down his shorts.

He's equally massive under his shorts. I might have beat him a little on length but he has me on girth. Maybe doubly so. A meaty column, a beaker of meat that I anxiously oval my throat to try to pour the contents down my throat.

I feel like I'm all teeth but he lets a big moan out before stifling it, realizing where he's at. Grabs my head. Starts a full on face fuck before suddenly letting go.

"Too good. You're gonna make me blow."

I don't acknowledge his comment but to take over the face fuck and impale my throat his cock, bobbing up and down, salivating and letting the drool fly as I pierce the back of my throat with that thick unit.

And then I feel it. That stiffening of the meat in my mouth. The recoil. But I only get a slight taste as he fucks the orgasm down my chute. Just a small taste. The rest went straight down.

I kneel back on my haunches to catch my breath. Drenched in sweat now. Mine and his. Slobber all over. And as I look up from that position, I see that wry smile that I know so well, the smile of a top that's just dumped an amazing load. And I get kinda shy.