Thursday, December 16, 2010

Not Enough

“How many loads have I given you?” I ask into the dark.

Spencer lies beneath me, on his back. His flexible dancer’s body is doubled over onto itself; his legs aren’t simply helplessly dangling in the air, but are pointed in a direction toward and past the top of his head. Like a monkey’s, his prehensile toes are hooked onto the underside of the bed’s headboard. He’s opening his ass to me, trying to get me in as deeply as humanly possible.

My question’s mostly rhetorical. He’s in no condition to answer, anyway. He’s almost crying. I know he’s long past the capacity for rational thought, with my eight inches hammering away at his hole. I’m not sure I could answer the question myself, even if I sat down with a spreadsheet and calendar to cipher it. Three loads one night, five another, a single one the night I took him to the bar to meet my friends. Two the night before . . . and the one I gave him in the living room. They start to add up, over the weeks we’ve been fucking.

All I really know is that it’s not going to be long before I give him another.

It’s late on Sunday. It’s also the first night that Spencer has agreed to spend the night with me. I’d floated the idea long before, our first week. He had demurred, indicating a certain self-consciousness about spending an entire night sleeping in the same bed with someone. I can get that. He’s young. He hasn’t done it for over two decades, like I have. That’s why I was surprised a little earlier in the evening, when in a very small and shy voice he asked if he might sleep over. Of course I said yes.

He’d dove between the sheets like a little boy, bouncing on his back and flipping over and pronouncing my mattress the most comfortable ever. Beneath the fleece sheets and blanket he snuggled up next to me, grabbing me around my midsection and pulling me to him, relentlessly fingering my dick until I’d stiffened. Once he’d put me into the mood, his lips had locked on mine, spurring on my passions until my fingers had first tickled at, then invaded and plugged his hole.

And now I was in him, making him mine once more. The headboard gives a sharp crack as he pushes back on it. The sheets have fallen from my back and onto my ankles, exposing our skin to the cool nighttime temperatures. Spencer’s big dick is rock hard and drizzling pre-cum onto his furry belly. Mine’s merely slopping up his hole. Every time I thrust in, it squelches with a wet noise that I make certain he can hear. It’s the most erotic of music to his ears. Every sweet note makes him groan all the louder.

We shoot almost simultaneously—he first, with a yell that seems to flake paint from the ceiling. Then me, quietly shuddering as squirt after squirt of my juice leaves me and paints his hole. Time seems frozen for a moment after. We’re both fixed in place, unwilling to move, unwilling to let the moment end. But he shifts, and my dick slides out in a rush. He pulls up the covers again, gently tucking them around me before hoisting them over his own shoulder. Spencer and I spoon, with my arms around him.

Will I be able to sleep with him close by? Part of me worries that I might snore, or that I’ll drool, or that he’ll wake before I in the morning and see my morning hair and flee, yelling. I wonder if he’s thinking about the same things. But he’s not. Already his breathing has deepened and grown more steady. His chest is rising and falling in a regular rhythm. He’s falling asleep. Knowing it makes my own eyes heavy. My head begins to buzz as I come close to unconsciousness myself.

“Not enough,” I hear him murmur, just before sleep takes hold completely.

His words are so soft that they’re barely audible. In the quiet dark, though, they’re enough to rouse me. My eyes open slightly. In the blue-black night I can see the outline of his short, coarse hair and the long sideburns hugging his jaw. “Hmmm?”

“You wanted to know how many loads you’ve given me,” he says, reaching for my hand. His fingers curl around mine, as he hugs it to his chest. There’s another pause, as he falls back into sleep. He repeats the answer again, even more softly than before. “Not . . . enough.”

I love that answer. A smile crosses my lips as together we slip into the depths, not to emerge again until morning.

12 comments:

  1. I love being the first to comment...but it leaves me with a sense of responsibility...to say something profound.

    I'm profoundly jealous. But of which of you, I can't decide. I'm profoundly sad. Because in 48 years I have never experienced what you describe in so few words, and I can't even hope I ever will.

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  2. Ojo,

    My philosophy has always been that if you put it out there, it'll return to you. Keep the faith and it'll happen, my friend.

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  3. I don't know what it is, nor how to open the door to put it out.

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  4. How often do you see the word "prehensile" used in a blog? And leading into a sentence containing the words "He’s opening his ass to me, trying to get me in as deeply as humanly possible"? That's probably a rhetorical question too. I wouldn't even look anywhere else for the gorgeous prose and delightful surprises you serve up daily.

    It's clear that you regard Spencer's body with a sense of awe and amazement—and you communicate that eloquently here. But it's equally clear to this reader that Spencer is every bit as awed and amazed by you. He has every right to be.

    The spark and sparkle that comes through in your writing about Spencer is a beautiful thing. I'm not expecting to hear wobbly plates crash to the floor anytime soon. This is the good china.

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  5. Throb,

    I think you see it pretty often at prehensiletoesuckers.com.

    I do regard Spencer with awe. I'm certainly glad that comes through.

    Thank you.

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  6. This was amazing. Honestly, I love spending the night with someone. Not the sex (I like that too), but just having someone to hold at night. I don't have a boyfriend, but I do have a cuddle buddy. I prefer the tern cuddle buddy to fuck friend, since after we both cum, neither one of us just jumps up and leaves. We wrap our arms around each other and simply shill. It's really nice.

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  7. A long tie ago, I wrote myself off as far too pragmatic to expect to fall in love 'happily ever after.' Reading this, though, reminds me of the part of myself that is a hopeful romantic. :)

    Thank you.

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  8. Richard,

    Not everything has to be for ever after. Worrying too much about the permanence of a thing has a remarkable capacity for getting in the way of appreciating it.

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  9. Spencer has cured me of my crush on you. I read about him, and I feel "that is something The Breeder and I would never have". It's odd; I'm less sexually attracted to you now, but no less sexually aroused by you writing.

    Cheers

    Jamie

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  10. Jamie,

    I'm honestly not certain how to respond to your comment. The content denies it, but it seems as if I've turned you off. I can hardly apologize for my actions or for writing about them. I'm simply puzzled why you felt the need to inform me of any of this.

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  11. No no no. you haven't turned me off. I'm sorry; I just sort of feel like you've found "your" person. One of many, I know. I'm sorry, that's clumsily put...but I meant no disrespect.

    Cheers

    Jamie

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  12. My sense is that there never will be enough and that Spencer is very happy about that. As are you. A clear concurrence of understanding. And snuggling.
    JPinPDX

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