We have just left a pub after the liveliest, steamiest, flirtiest date either of us has ever been on. Especially given that neither of us has been on a date with a man before. Both of us have spilled the sad shortcomings of our married sex lives, which in my case is coming to an end anyway. The discussion seems to have brought us closer, however, and triggered more and more overt flirtation. As we left the bar, we finally boiled over into explicitly talking about trading blowjobs.

"Shit, dude, I’m not sure I can offer sage advice or anything," I have just said in response to the story of your sexual relationship with your wife collapsing. "All I can offer you is my ear.”

“That’s okay, I’m not sure there is any advice you can give. Feels good just to talk about it. But tonight,” you suggest over the roof of your car as we’re about to get in, “are you sure you don’t have any other parts you’d like to offer me?”

“How about that warm mouth we talked about?” I suggest once we’re both seated inside, inside, referencing a theme in our earlier explicit conversation.

Our lips meet, our mouths open, and our tongues start slipping and sliding on each other. We are alternately sucking on, and licking, and gently nibbling, each other’s tongues and different parts of our lips, then earlobes and necks. You are a really good kisser.

Finally breaking the kiss to start the car, you declare, “You know, I’ve never kissed a man before.”

“Yeah, well, I've never been on a date with one either,” I counter, referring to when you ambiguously said “It’s a date” as we scheduled this a few days ago.

“Haha, touche," you concede as you pull into the street. "You know, I just kinda blurted that out. I wasn’t sure I even meant it that way.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure you did either. But I sure hoped so.”

You flash a nasty grin. “Does ‘hoped’ mean you jerked off thinking about me?”

We might have been playing coy ten minutes ago, but we're past that now. “So many times, dude. I couldn’t stop thinking about giving your cock that warm mouth you’ve been missing.”

"Careful what you offer, man. I figured this probably wasn't a date, and I didn't end up jacking off like you did. I've got a load building up that just might choke you."

"It just might be worth it."

“So, have you ever done anything with a guy before?” you ask.

"Actually, once, back when I was single, " I share. “I blew a guy through a gloryhole.”

“I love it! That is so fucking hot and nasty. Did you swallow?”

“What kind of a bi do you think I am? I did, and I fucking loved it. I relive those five minutes all the time, from the first succulent taste to the explosion of hot jizz down my throat. Unfortunately he left after that, and didn't suck me back."

“That bastard! Men, always thinking about their own pleasure. I had one experience myself, which was also not exactly satisfying. My freshman roommate and I were both drunk, and somehow we both found ourselves jerking off to porn… “

"Oooh, classic start."

"And suddenly I felt his hand on my prick. It was the first time anyone ever touched me, and it felt incredible."

I have opened my pants and started sharing a view of my throbber.

"And then I touched him," you say, reaching over and gently holding it in your big warm hand, "just like now, and that felt incredible too."

“So then what? Oral?" I quickly clarify the question: "I mean with him, not here in a moving car. Please.”

“Yeah, I wanted to try that so bad. But as I was working up the courage to go down on him, he wanted to try anal. Which would have been nice too, except it didn’t go well.”

“What happened?”

“Well, we both tried it, but I guess we tried to push in too fast and it hurt. He was so embarrassed he went to the restroom to jerk himself alone, and I did myself alone in our dorm room. Neither of us ever talked about it again. Ever since then, I've thought about getting a dick in me, but only if I find someone more patient and considerate to try it with. I can't promise I'll let you fuck me tonight, but I hope you can be that guy.”

Explaining we're almost to your house, you withdraw your hand. I clumsily stuff my stick back in its sack.

"Damn, are we really doing this?" you ask, glancing at me a bit wild-eyed as we pull into the garage.

"You know we both need it. I've gotta smother some of the memories of Connie cheating on me. And you haven't had sex in three years." As we get out of the car, I add, "A streak that ends tonight, motherfucker."

You nervously fumble with the key and open the door. It’s finally time.