Shadow Lover

I’d been dreaming. I couldn’t tell you what about—tall buildings, certainly, and streets full of people. Clear, bright skies, and a leaf-scented breeze. Beyond that, I can’t recall. The noise of my phone vibrating in its charger was like a bar of ordinary household soap dropped into a tub overflowing with delicate, aromatic bubbles; the dream immediately fizzed away and evaporated into a dirty ring at the edge of my consciousness.

Nothing of it remained when I opened my eyes a few seconds later. The older I get, the longer it seems to take for me to come to consciousness in the middle of the night. I realize quickly that I’m in bed, but which of the many beds in which I’ve slept am I? The bed of my childhood, hemmed in by bookcases, or the bed of my first apartment, fourteen stories off the ground? Is the bed of my first house, tucked away in a corner on the second floor?

The choices spun in my brain like a reel of a slot machine until I realized that I was in my own bed, in what has been my home for thirteen years, and will be so for another six weeks. It was nearly five in the morning, according to my bedside clock. And the screen of my phone was blinking off, but not before I saw that I’d received some kind of text, or message.

I’ll be frank. I hate it when people try to call after my bedtime, or too early in the morning. It arouses an irrational kind of rage in me that can only be soothed with a good strangling. Usually I’ll ignore any texts I receive after a certain hour, but I was awake enough—and curious enough—to grab my glasses, clumsily shift them onto my nose, and peer at my phone’s screen. I’d missed three messages.

Hey buddy I know it’s late but I am in Ur area, said the first. Apparently it had arrived a couple of hours before, and I’d slept through its announcing buzz. It was from the Greek, the hot, lean little muscle stud from a couple of weeks ago. U around if I drop by later?


The second and third message had come in only a minute before. Listen if U get this I am parked outside Ur house. I’ll stay here for 10 minutes. If U want me 2 come in, flip on the front light and I will come in and come up to your bed. Hope U get this buddy.


My urge to strangle someone was forgotten. I’d mentioned to the Greek my current situation, separated from the family until my final move. As normally irritated as I might have been by the early-morning intrusion, the memory of our last hot fuck session made me feel a little more generous in spirit.

My dick rose beneath the sheets, as if knowing the texts had arrived especially for it. I considered the way I probably looked, with my crazy Bozo hair and an appearance as generally rumpled as the pillowcases. I slipped out of the bed and, in the nude, crossed to the front of the house. The cat that had been sleeping with me hopped down and rubbed around my leg. Sure enough, the guy’s showy muscle car was parked outside my house, still running, lights on. I’m probably not real presentable, I texted back, after a pause.

Don’t fucking care what U look like, came the text. Let me take care of U.


I thought about it a moment, popped a breath mint, then walked down the stairs and flipped on the porch light. Before I sprinted back up to the bedroom, I turned the lock in the door.

At that time of morning, and in my tree-lined neighborhood, only a few stars and a distant street light kept it from being pitch black. I was lying on my bed with my dick in hand and my sheets pulled back when I heard the door open and shut below. I listened to the footsteps on the staircase, and their old wood creaking. I saw a shadow hove into the room. He said nothing. First I heard one thud, then another, as he kicked off his sneakers. A faint shimmer of sound announced the dropping of his sweat pants. Then finally I heard him skimming off his shirt.

He found me by touch. His hand landed by chance on my calf, and then felt his way up to my knee and past my thigh. He claimed his prize when his hand wrapped around my stiff inches. The bed shuddered as he hopped onto it, and then I felt his lips around my shaft.

He was hungry. Without hesitation he went all the way down on my dick, not caring that the last shower I’d taken had been the morning before. He cleaned my dick of sheet lint and the day’s piss and precum and impaled his throat with it, moaning to himself as he sucked. I reached down and let my palm rub over his buzzed head.

When he clambered forward and roughly ground his mouth against mine, I was glad I’d taken that mint. His own breath was freshened as well. The stubble of his face ground hard through my beard and against my jaw. He pulled his hips so that they hovered over mine. Then he didn’t so much lower himself onto my upright cock as reverse-spear it with his hole. It was as if he jabbed down in one determined, savage motion, as if his hole knew exactly where to snatch at my rod. There was absolutely no resistance as I slid in him. His chute was not only warm, but already wet. Very wet.

Several loads wet.

I could feel other men’s sperm slicking up my dick as he began to raise and lower himself on top of me. I could only see his silhouette in the darkness, but my hands could feel his posture. I imagined him grinding my dick with his ass as he held himself erect, shoulders back, head lolling back as he let out the grunts of pleasure and need that punctuated the night. His own dick, restrained and bound in a ring of leather, had the spongy hardness of a man who’d been playing for several hours.

I tried to roll him over so I could pound him, but he wouldn’t let me. His gruff, deep voice cut through the dark. “Pretend you’re sleeping,” he said, pushing me back down. “And I’m the good dream you’re having.”

I laid back down, seduced by the idea of it. “So, how many?” I asked, after a few moments.

He knew exactly what I was asking. “Four since midnight,” he said. “Give me number five, then I’ll be out of your way.”

In a way, the fuck in the pitch black did seem like a dream. I was close enough to sleep that all I had to do was close my eyes, and I’d find myself drifting and dozy, though kept from sinking back into my dreams by that insistent ass clamped down on my meat as it rose and fell and clenched and loosened. I have an ordinary mattress and box springs, but so intense were the tides of pleasure that I felt as if I were floating on warm water, bobbing up and down upon the waves.

He said nothing. The grunts he released betrayed his own pleasure. His dick, halfway between soft and hard, flopped heavily against my stomach. It left a trail of ooze wherever it landed. When I began to moan more loudly and my own hips rose and ground into him, the closer I got, he leaned forward once more and kissed me. His tongue darted in and out, slippery between my lips.

“Give it to me,” he commanded, his face close to mine. His hips buckled violently, demanding the load. “Give it to me, buddy.” His growls grew more insistent. “I want it. Fucking give it to me.”

When I released, it was with a heartfelt cry of mingled shock and amazement. His hands clutched my forearms, pinning me down to the bed as he pulled his ass down as deeply as it could go. He rested there for a moment, and then very carefully pulled off.

The pressure on my arms and upper body abated. I felt him shift; his shadow receded. Then I felt warm breath on my dick, and the sensation of his mouth on my still-wet shaft. He cleaned off his own juices slowly, carefully, and with an obvious relish. Little whimpers of pleasure issued from his nose and the corners of his mouth as he engulfed the entire shaft, trying to get every drop.

When he finished, I again attempted to sit up. He pushed me back down, and lifted the sheets from the floor and covered me with them. “You go back to sleep,” he told me. “I’ll let myself out.”

I heard birds, over-eager for a dawn that was still a long time coming, chirping when he opened the front door after his stealthy trip downstairs. After the door shut, there was silence, then the sound of a car door closing and of his engine as he pulled away. My dick was still tingling as I lay there flat on my back, marveling at his hunger.

When I awoke again into the daylight, a couple of hours later, I wondered if it might have been a dream after all. But there on my phone were our messages, letting me know that my unseen lover had been more than a thing of shadow and sheer will.

Get Me to the Greek

I’d seen him once before, in a gay bar, a few years back. He’d strutted in like he’d owned the club, hips jutted forward, thumbs hooked in the denim of his pockets, shirt open to the base of his rib cage. I recognized him immediately.

The Greek’s online profile photo had been shot from about knee level, giving his sun-bathed, shirtless torso the false stature of a giant statue, a monument of clean lines, flat planes, and lovingly-sculpted muscle. In reality, he was quite short—a solid five-foor-four, maybe. In person, that golden physique was just as attractive. Even beneath his shiny shirt, it was obvious that he was broad of shoulder and tiny of waist, and that every limb and expanse had been gym-tuned and tightened. Once I studied him from the other side of the bar, I knew that he was one of those ugly-sexy men; individually, his features were not attractive. On its own, his eyes were too large and too round, and set too deeply in his skull. His nose was a hook—a beak, even. His lips were too plain and too straight, his head too small. His eyebrows were overgrown, bushy, too coarse and too dark. His body was perfection, but someone in a cruel mood could’ve drawn a cartoon caricature of a comic, droopy-eyed bald eagle, and it would’ve looked like him.

Taken altogether, though, the effect was drop-dead sexy. Every eye in the place was on him. While guys watched, I walked up, introduced myself as the man he’d been talking to for a while. He gave me the once-over, shook my hand, patted me on the back, and told me we’d have to fuck, soon. And when he left later that evening, he made sure to come over and give me a kiss on the mouth before he vanished. I was on the receiving end of no small amount of jealous from strangers, that evening.

And then, nothing.

From time to time I’d heard from him—was I free? Could I host? He needed a load. Or, he was having lunch in a McDonald’s in my city . . . could I could load him up in the restroom there, if I couldn’t host? One Sunday we’d made arrangements to meet and then his mom had an emergency, so that he had to cancel. Another time, I’d had to cancel an appointment on him, because of something at work.

This last Sunday, though, we finally connected. He hit me up on Adam4Adam and asked if I was looking. I told him to come over. He did. And we fucked like dogs.

He arrived with a load already in his hole, and told me frankly that he’d already lined up a progression of tricks throughout the day. He’d let some college kid mount him early in the morning, before he’d hauled ass over to my side of town. He had plans to meet with a buddy in my neighborhood after he left, and then was going to meet with another partnered couple in the vicinity at noon. And his boyfriend was bringing someone home to share with him that night.

“We’d better get to it, then,“ was my only remark.

He’d arrived wearing only a pair of silky sweatpants, a T-shirt, athletic shoes, and a light jacket; it took him only moments to shuck them onto my bedroom floor. He hopped up on the bed and sucked my dick to hardness, then immediately flopped around so that his ass was rubbing up against me. It was a perfect ass, too, thanks to the routines of squats he’d obviously been doing for years. I shoved right into that already-moist hole, and drove home without much resistance. For someone whose life mission was to take as much dick as possible, he was remarkably tight once he clamped down around me. And I admit that the sight of my big dick splitting his small frame turned me on. His Mediterranean skin was so much darker than mine, as well. The contrasts were stirring.

The Greek kept his knees spread as far apart as possible as I plowed in and out. His own dick, surrounded by a thick chrome cock ring, swung back and forth, hard and heavy, as I pounded away. This wasn’t a romantic fuck. It wasn’t the kind of sex in which I try to get into the guy’s head and please him from the inside out. This was a sheer utility fuck, the kind of sex two guys have when one of them wants the load and the other one wants to leave it. It lasted long enough that his knees began to give out, so I flipped him over onto his back, hooked his ankles over my shoulders, and finished off that way.

My dick was still pulsing and oozing inside him when it was over. “God damn!” he said, panting and playing with his own meat. “Why the hell haven’t we done this before?”

“I don’t know,” I said, after clearing my throat enough to speak. “But we need to be doing it more often.”

“I’ll fucking say!”

I pulled out of him, then, and flopped onto my back onto the bed. I had to—my legs were still shaking. Playfully, he straddled my hips and let his ass rest on my dick. Then he leaned down, and put his mouth to mine.

The kiss was hot. I mean, hot. I hadn’t known that making out was an option with this guy. He seemed more the utilitarian fuck-and-go kind of fellow. But when we started to kiss, my dick raged again. He felt it, and reached around to guide it inside him once more. I slipped in to the channel already lubed by my own load and that of another man, and began to gyrate my hips once more.

He was as good about finding my pleasure spots as I tend to be with other men. When he found out I love to kiss, he kept his mouth on mine pretty much for the rest of the hour he was there. When it wasn’t locked with mine, he’d ask me questions—questions about my relationship, and information about how he loved to collect loads for his boyfriend to fuck in. Questions about what kinds of bottoms I liked, and what other action I could be into. We fucked the entire time, slapping our sloppy, cum-covered parts against each other in a perfect tempo.

By the time he left my place, he had loads two, three, and four squirted deep inside. What turned me on about the Greek, though, was that throughout the rest of the day he kept me updated on how many loads he’d collected and where he was going next. He messaged me after his local friend had deposited inside him, and then sent me photographs of his ass and hole from the bathroom of the couple who added to the internal mess.

He managed to sneak me a photo from the park near his home, where a black guy savaged both his holes. And late at night, after his eleventh load of the day from the boyfriend and the random trick the boyfriend had brought home, he texted me a shot of his ragged hole, red and gaping and dripping with with the DNA of multiple men.

Yeah, that’s definitely the kind of buddy I like having. Sexy man, sexy ass, perfect degree of hunger.