Several minutes passed. We lay there quietly, letting our breathing return to normal.

“God, that was hot,” Steve said.

“Oh, yes.”

“You know what I need? A shower and some breakfast.”

“Sounds good to me.”

I gave his dick a friendly tug, slid out from under the covers and went into the bathroom. When the water was running hot I got in and started soaping myself. In a minute Steve climbed in, and we spent the next 15 minutes vigorously washing each other. I massaged his muscles from shoulders to calves, enjoying the lithe firmness of his body, and chucking when his half-hard dick bumped against my head. He returned the favor, and briefly took me in his mouth while massaging my thighs. But we seemed to agree without speaking that we’d had enough for the moment, and we were soon toweling off and pulling on our clothes.

Steve went into the kitchen, and while he scrambled some eggs I made toast and coffee. We ate at a picnic table on my deck, the coffee and eggs steaming in the chill. Not much was said; I was thinking over what had happened in the last 18 hours, and I guessed he was, too.

“Can you stay awhile?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“Wish I could, but I’ve got to get up to the city this afternoon. I’ve got tickets for the Giants game with a buddy and staying overnight for business meetings in the morning.”
“Should I be jealous?” I asked.

“Nah,” he said, smiling. “Not that kind of buddy.”

“How about tomorrow night, then?”

“I’ll be here by 7,” he said.

Walking out the door, he stopped to kiss me. It was a real kiss, too -- one that had in it, well, not love, exactly, but something close to it.

The next 36 hours were a blur. I could not stop thinking about him. I picked up a book but dropped it after 10 minutes, unable to concentrate. I tried working on a long-postponed house project, fixing some loose stairs coming off the deck, but gave up after mashing my thumb with a hammer. I turned on the TV but paid it little attention, staring blankly out the window. Finally I turned it off and just sat there thinking. About Steve, of course. About what we had done, about what I had done, much of it for the first time in my life, much of it I never would have thought myself capable of. Kiss a guy? Suck his dick? A day earlier I would have scoffed at the idea. Now I knew I could not only do these things, but that I liked these things, at least with him.

Did that mean I was gay? I recalled the shame and guilt I felt after that night on the boat years ago, when I’d had my only encounter with another man. I didn’t feel that shame and guilt now. I felt, well, like a burden had been lifted off my shoulders. I felt liberated, in a way. I thought about the women I’d slept with, about the wife I’d once fucked with such abandon, about the feel of her lovely, soft tits, and my dick stirred.

Well, I chuckled to myself, if you’re gay, you’re not totally gay.

Right after lunch, sitting in the sun and staring into the trees, I got so horny thinking about sucking Steve’s dick that I stripped on the spot. Leaning against the side of the house with one hand, I jacked myself desperately with the other. When I came I stood up and used my free hand to catch my cum, which I smeared on my lips and licked off with my tongue.

Two hours later, after drinking a couple of beers, I grabbed one more and set off naked down the driveway, my half-hard dick leading the way. I don’t know why I did this; I must have been in some kind of fever. When I came to the main road I hid behind a tree until it seemed safe to cross, then dashed to the woods on the other side and made straight for the sandy spot. I took two long swallows of the beer, threw myself in the sand and jacked off again, leaving my cock red and tender from the exertion. This time I smeared the cum -- not that there was much left -- on my chest and stomach. I got up and took off down the path to the water, my softening dick flapping almost painfully against my thighs. When I reached the shore I dived straight in. The October cold was almost heart-stopping. I found a shallow spot and stood up, shouting as I did.

My heart almost stopped again when I heard whistling and cheering. I whirled toward the sound and saw two women perched on a rock not 30 feet away. Both were around 30, both dressed in hiking shorts and boots, both pretty good-looking.

“What do you think, Andrea?” said one, pointing at my shriveled cock.

Andrea tilted her head to one side, regarded me appraisingly.

“I’ve seen better,” she said.

If this had happened a day earlier, I might have tried to make something of this situation, and something about the women’s demeanor seemed to invite it. But the impulse wasn’t there. I looked at them and thought, “If you only knew.”
“Um, sorry,” I said. “I was just.....”

“It’s ok,” Not Andrea said. “We were just leaving.”

They turned and headed for the road, laughing most of the way. I followed them cautiously, watching out for other late-season sightseers. There were none, but it was a long walk home for me.

When I got there I flopped facedown on the bed, exhausted and not a little irritated with myself. Another hour passed before I could force myself to get dressed and make something to eat. I downed some nearly tasteless leftovers, smoked half a joint I had been saving and lay down on the couch. I got up once to pour myself a glass of wine and put in a DVD, but I was too wasted to follow the plot and soon I fell asleep.

Nex morning, though slightly hung over, I felt much calmer, and managed to get a few hours’ work done. But as the afternoon wore on I got fidgety again, stealing looks at the clock, whose hands barely moved between glances. I seemed to get hardons every 20 minutes, and it was all I could do not to strip down and whack. Save that for Steve, I thought.

But then I thought, is he feeling the same way? Is he having second thoughts about having a second go-round with a guy, when the first ended so badly? Will he want to have sex with me again, or will he sit me down to say, That was fun, but we probably shouldn’t do it again? Will he even show up tonight?

A few minutes before 7 I went to the door, looked down the drive. Maybe he’ll be early, I thought. He wasn’t. Seven o’clock came. No Steve. Five after. Ten after. I poured myself a Scotch and forced myself to sit down. This is stupid, I thought. You’re acting like a teenager. Worse, actually.

Finally, about 20 after, I caught the sound of a car coming up the drive.

I forced myself to stay in my chair; I didn’t want to go flying out the door after him if he was going to tell me he’d decided to back off. The car stopped, a door slammed, footsteps sounded on the porch, then a knock. I forced myself to walk slowly to the door, and opened it.

“Hey, lover,” he said brightly. Then, catching the apprehensive look on my face he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come back, or if you did, that you wouldn’t want to....well, I don’t know.”

“Are you kidding?”

He grabbed me by the shoulders and planted a kiss on me that would have softened the stoniest heart.

“I’ve hardly thought anything BUT you since the moment I left yesterday,” he said. “During the game I kept getting wood, and I was squirming in my seat so much my buddy asked me what was wrong. I told him some bullshit excuse, but I kept thinking, ‘If you only knew.’ Sorry I’m late, by the way. I stopped for supplies.”

He handed me a bag from the drug store in town. I opened it. Inside was a box of condoms and a big tube of K-Y jelly.

“Just in case,” he said.

I must have looked surprised, though the truth was I’d been thinking about that very thing all day.

“Maybe I assumed too much,” he said. “I’ll put this back in the car.”

“No, you won’t,” I said, smiling for the first time since I’d opened the door. “We might need it.”

We both laughed, and all the tension went. I hugged him, then dragged him into the kitchen.

An hour and a half later, having downed big plates of pasta and a bottle of wine, I got a fire going and threw some blankets on the floor. We undressed slowly, each watching the other intently, and lay down side by side. The next 10 minutes were spent in oral exploration -- kissing, licking, sucking. When we were both pretty steamed up, Steve reached for the supplies.

“Shall we?” he asked.

“Let’s give it a try.”

“Top or bottom?”

I had thought about this a lot during the day, and I seemed to think more about being fucked than fucking.

“Bottom,” I said.

Steve rolled me gently onto my back and moved my legs apart. He squeezed a big dollop of lube on his fingers and started working it into the skin around my hole. Closer and closer he moved until one finger rested in the middle of the pucker. He withdrew it briefly, squeezed out more lube, returned to the spot and pushed.

I drew a sharp breath as he slowly slid the finger in. Instinctively I tried to squeeze shut.

“Just relax,” he said, and gave me a long, lingering kiss.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to let go, and managed to relax enough for him to pass the first knuckle. I tightened again, and then relaxed. He pushed further. The second knuckle. I tightened, relaxed again, and the finger started to move. In and out, slowly, in and out again.

What I felt was somewhere between pleasure and pain. But the more he kept at it, the more it felt like pleasure. Soon his whole finger was in. He crooked it slightly, and as he touched my prostate I felt a shiver.

“Oh, man,” I said.

Steve took that as a signal. I felt a second finger at my hole, and with a push it came in beside the first one. Again, that mixture of pain and pleasure, again I managed to relax, again he slowly slid in and out. When I was fully relaxed he probed again for the prostate. My legs started to shake.

“Bingo,” I heard him say, but his voice seemed far away. My whole being had contracted to that spot so deep inside I’d never found it myself. I tried to push it closer to his fingertips, willed him to touch it.

“I think you’re ready,” he said.

The fingers slipped out. He reached for a condom and starting fumbling with the wrapper.

“Damn,” he said.

“Skip it.”

He looked up. “You sure?”

“Skip it,” I said again.

I sat up, found the tube of K-Y, spilled some in my hand and reached for his dick. When he was good and slick, I lay back and lifted my hips enough to slide a pillow underneath.

Steve kneeled between my legs. I felt the tip of his cock against my hole, and then the head pushing in. I winced; his cock seemed much bigger around than his two fingers, and it was nearly a minute before I was ready for more. Another inch, and then a third. It hurt, a lot at first, but I kept breathing steadily and tried to relax. Steve lifted my legs high, bent them back toward my chest.

Our eyes met; I answered his questioning look with a nod, and he pushed in some more. I gasped, and he stopped. He leaned down, kissed me passionately, and whispered in my ear, “God, you feel so good.”“

His words seemed to relax me again, and with his next thrust he was fully in. His cock brushed against my prostate, and I felt a sudden pang, but this time it was of ecstasy.

“Bingo,” I said.

He started moving, in and out, carefully but steadily, and I tried to move with him. Soon the pain drained away, and I was moving with him. Earlier, when he had entered me, I kept thinking he couldn’t possibly get in any deeper. Now I was thinking, he can’t get in deeply enough. I put my hands on his ass and pulled him closer, and now it was almost like fucking myself, because I was controlling the rhythm. I wrapped my legs around his torso and let him plunge ever deeper. With every thrust I gave a slight moan, and soon Steve was making that purring sound.

“Oh, fuck,” I said. “Fuck me.”

He moved slightly to get a better angle, and down the home stretch we went. He was pumping steadily now. I felt a tingling feeling in my prostate; I realized with surprised that my cock was steel-hard, and I began to feel that I might come, too.

“Oh, God,” I said, and Steve took that as his cue. He slowed slightly, probed deeply with the tip of his cock. He shut his eyes and grimaced, opened his mouth slightly, and the purr changed to a roar. At the same moment I felt myself going over the edge. With a final shudder he came, and I felt a hot spurt of his cum deep inside my ass. With five or six long thrusts he pumped out the last of his cum, and as he did the cum streamed out of my cock. It was more than I could ever remember seeing, and I felt like I had never before felt.

Finally he was still. He lay on top of me, breathing in my ear. My arms and legs were still wrapped around him, and I smiled to think I was in a position I’d had many women in before.

I waited, staring dreamily into the fire. After a few minutes Steve stirred, propped himself on his arms and looked at me. He bent down for a kiss, and slowly disengaged himself. He flopped next to me and asked, “Well, what did you think?”

“I think you should stay the night,” I said.