We’ve settled into a rhythm. The intermittent spurts of fumbling flesh crashing in disjointed movements evened out to gentle melodic waves, frequencies that once fought against each other now harmonize in synchrony. The crest of silence as I’m almost fully withdrawn from his hole, stopped by his tight ring meeting the ridge of my swollen cock head. Then then subsequent build of our low moans while I drive my inches back in with slow and steady pressure. And the trough of the wave when I bottom out deep inside his guts with a thud before the cycle repeats. The previous haze of fervent grappling and limbs lifts as the rhythm presents itself and with clarity, I see him. The young cub, many years my junior on his back. My left hand holds his right ankle firmly. My right hand matches the grip but of his monster of a cock, fat and heavy. Our movements has made him fuck my hand in tandem and I’m acutely aware of the supple layer I touch that glides so easily over the hard iron surface of his sex like liquefaction. His eyebrows furrow into a concentrated question as if he wants to ask how I’ve managed to torture his body into pleasure. The septum piercing and scruff antagonizes his cherubic countenance, topped with hair that curls into sweet innocence. He ovals his full lips to let out a long breath, countered by a long inhale that visibly fills his diaphragm as he tries to even out his labored breathing and accept more of my fuck. And we settle further into the rhythm as the lens refracts and I see more. The hair that evenly coats his entire chest and the faint perspiration that is threatening to bead from our exertions. The shapely calf that bulges into beautiful strength right by my hand. The lens pans out more as the lust fog lifts and the beauty he exudes extends to the room with tastefully soft colors and textures of accent pillows, rugs and furnishings. Modern monochrome is punctuated with whispers of vivid color. The large window that lets in the lazy winter morning light, modestly complementing the suddenly clarity of my gaze with the understated glamour of an infinitely sprawling Los Angeles.
I’m not surprised by the previous fervor that clouded my vision until now. This meeting was three years in the making. He was an earnest 18 living in Miami when he first reached out. Flirtatious spurts of correspondence interspersed with the stress of life, Covid and a cross-country move almost disguised the chemistry with the languid evolution of our check ins. The fire was there though. And when we finally met I couldn’t help but fumble when the flood gates opened. The reality of glasses and clothes were a nuisance in finally getting my paws on him. But as the burst of raw energy finally settled into this rhythm of fucking, I see him. His youth belies his sexual experience and recollecting his shy confession of his love for inter generational sex, I bark out, “That’s it… son. Daddy’s been waiting so long for this. Just let go. I’ve got ya.” And with that, I could feel him relinquish control to the moment and he immediately erupted. The climax built up quickly and suddenly. The first stream of cum jets out violently in a long rope that hit the pillow and slashes across his eye. A quick readjustment from my grip and the second spurt rushes out and hung in the air for a second before gravity claims control and splatters it across the fuzz of his chest. Third and fourth streaks out over the sheets before the subsequent ones dribble over my knuckles and soak his belly and mat his pubes.
I can't stop. I continue to pummel his ass while he convulses and rides his orgasm. He squirms as his body is awakened to every sensation in a sudden boldness. My body speeds up to a terrifying pace until his still spasming ass milks my cock and robs me of my load and I crash into his body one last time, planting my seed deep inside him, collapsed
As I struggle once again with unsynchronized limbs that do not wish to obey with grace, I try to prop myself up. Bodies still connected. I slowly wipe cum from his eye, careful not to get any in. For a brief moment, I see my younger self in him and I wrestle with wanting to just hold him to me to let him feel my warmth and to flip him over and attack his hole with my tongue and felch out my own load. Both seem condescendingly inappropriate. Wanting to neither express diminutives or objectify him or his youth, I instead awkwardly vocalize disjointed thoughts about my love of our newly shared home city all the while thinking that I really do see him deeply even as my turgid member wanes and withdraws.
