Will: Getting A Room

(This is a continuation of Will, from yesterday.)

“Holy cow,” growled Matt in my ear, in the middle of Detroit’s Gold Coast bar. “Get a fucking room already.” It was over a decade ago, and nominally a bunch of us who’d met at the gay.com social had gone out on this particular Saturday night to watch the strippers. I didn’t even notice the beefy boys aimlessly gyrating from the poles onstage, clad in nothing but their socks and underwear.

It was the vogue in the Detroit male strip circuit back then for the strippers to stuff their shorts with a dildo, at both ends of which they would occasionally wrap their hands and expose a latex inch or two. The more nearsighted (or beer-sighted) among the crowd would think they were getting a flash of dick, the strippers were keeping it legal, and everyone was happy. Will and I, however, weren’t looking at the strippers. We weren’t hoping for flashes of their faux dicks. We were pressed up against the wall, lips locked and tongues so tangled they felt like the crazy roots of water-thirsty swamp trees, grown in a twist.

Almost more guys were watching us than the bored strippers.

Will’s dick was rock-hard. I hadn’t seen it yet, but my hand rubbed up and down its length beneath his jeans. He, likewise, fondled mine. His fingers tickled at the underside, and tweaked the head, poking and prodding to find all every outline, every ridge, almost every vein. Our bodies were so pressed together that our sweat had turned to glue.

Without affection, Matt yanked me away from Will. I was dazed. We both were, We’d had eyes only for each other when we’d met at the bar that night. Two weeks had passed since the night he and I had made out at the Eagle. We’d met to make out in between the previous Friday night, at another of the local bars. On the weeknights, after we both got home from work, we’d meet on gay.com and talk and flirt. The talking we saved for online. In person, we just wanted to mack on each other. Matt shook me until I look at him. “Go to my place,” he said, almost angrily. He took the keys and pressed them in my hands. “Get him to drive you there. I’ll drive your car back when I’m done here so you don’t have to worry about it. Just get it out of your fucking system already.”

The implication was that everyone was sick of watching me make out with the man I thought was the handsomest in the room. I thought it over for about five seconds, agreed, and ran out with Will to the parking lot.

Back at the house we stripped down almost immediately. Will’s body was even more perfect than I could have imagined. His pecs were enormous, his stomach flat and ridged with definition, his waist narrow. He was a massive slab of muscle frosted with dark, thick hair—like one of those athletes from the Jockey underwear ads over which I used to masturbate as a kid. His dick jutted out angrily, like some kind of rock projection from the flat face of an ancient mountain. It wasn’t large—a good solid six inches—but it was beautiful. It was his. And I was seeing it for the first time.

Will looked at me with something in his eyes almost akin to fear. “Do you like it?” he asked. “Is it okay?”

“Oh god,” I told him. “It’s more than okay.” He was beautiful, and I wanted him more than anything.

The only clothing he had left were a pair of ankle-high white socks that he removed, and his baseball cap. I reached up and took it from his head. He tried to stop me for a moment, then let me. Beneath the baseball cap he was balding. Not just a little thin spot. He had a pretty advanced case of male pattern baldness, and it was obvious it mortified him. Again he looked at me with fear in his eyes, as if afraid I might run off because his only remaining hair was a short dark black fringe around his head.
I looked him in the eye. “You are so fucking beautiful,” I told him.

To show him how I felt, I got down in the middle of that strange bedroom and sucked his dick, taking it in my throat to the base and letting my tongue and cheeks cling to its slick skin as I moved back and forth over it. I loved the taste of him, and the scent of his sweat and pubes and of the powder he would apply to his skin after a workout. I made love to his dick to make him gasp with pleasure, and every sharp intake of his breath was my reward. Somehow we moved to the bed, where I continued to suck him. I alternated my lips between his mouth and his dick, making him groan with every new pleasure I invented for him. I tweaked his nipples, and rubbed his thighs, tugged at his nuts, and even let my fingertips glide across the forest of hair growing on his hole. “I want to do something,” he finally said, pushing me away. He looked me in the eye. “I want to do something with you, and I don’t know if I can.”

“What?” I asked. I would’ve worshipped his feet, shaved myself for him, crawled across gravel on my knees if it meant I could make him feel good, at that moment.

“I want to . . . to . . . .” He couldn’t say the words. I urged him on. “I want to be inside you. Anally.” He almost whispered the last word.

I hadn’t been fucked in a while at that point, but it was a damned sight closer on the horizon than it is now. My last bottom experience had been maybe a year and a half before. I didn’t care. I wanted it. “Yes,” I told him.

“But I don’t know how,” he said. I didn’t understand, so he explained. “I haven’t done it before.”

“You haven’t fucked a guy before?” He shook his head at my question. “Have you been fucked?”

“No. I don’t think I’d like that. I think I’d like to fuck, though. I know I want to fuck you.”

He had a way of talking that was simple. He wasn't stupid, but any means. His sentences were direct, and honest, and sometimes sounded as if they should have been spoken by a child. If I hadn't already been naked, he would have charmed off my pants. We looked at each other on that stranger’s bed. I took his hand. “You know how to do it,” I told him. “You’ll know, once you’re inside.”

I pulled him to me, and kissed him. I maneuvered myself onto my back and managed to get him on top of me, so that my hole was teasing his dick. His meat hardened even more, if that was possible. Precum was flowing liberally from the tip. When he seemed anxious to begin, I opened the bedside table and was lucky to find some lube in there. Together we spread it over his dick and into my hole, and I flipped over on my stomach. “Just go in slow,” I asked him. “We’ll make it work.”

I think Will tried to follow my instructions, but I saw stars before my eyes when he jabbed his way into the hole. “Too fast!” I gasped, holding him still. I panted and began to sweat a little as I attempted to accommodate him. Eventually the sharp pain receded. “Just go in and out,” I begged him. “Just a little bit. Then you can start to go deeper.”

I’m not sure whether it was the angle, or the fact I hadn’t been fucked in a while, or whether he was simply too hard and too aroused to be gentle, but every thrust felt like a knife up my ass. I bit my lip and grunted, trying to relax but finding it difficult. “I’m doing it wrong,” he said. But his hips didn’t stop.

“No,” I said. “It’s me. Don’t stop. We’ll get it.”

“I’m doing it wrong,” he repeated. He sounded mournful.

I didn’t give a fuck about the pain. I just wanted him. “Just fuck me,” I whispered. “Fuck me. Please.” He picked up the pace, thrusting faster and harder. “Do you like it? Do you like my ass?” I wanted to know.

“Yes,” he whispered. He sounded as if he were in church. “I love it. I love your ass. Don’t make me stop.”

“You don’t have to stop,” I told him, glad at what he’d said. “Don’t stop.”

It still hurt, but he fucked me on and on for several minutes. I’d just started to relax and enjoy the ride when I saw a flash of light. The bedroom was mostly dark, and I’d though that perhaps there was lightning outside. But then I saw the flash again, and heard a whirring. I turned my head, blearily looked up through the bedroom door, and saw Matt standing there with a digital camera in his hand. He snapped another photo.

“What are you doing?” I asked. The flash and the camera, the sudden and unexpected presence of another man in the room, broke the spell. Will stopped what he was doing and peered up as well. His hips stopped their sweet motion.

“You guys look hot,” he said. He held out the camera. “Want to see?” Will rolled off. Embarrassed, he started to look for his socks and underwear. “You guys want a three-way?”

I still have those photos from that night. I dislike them, because I was carrying more weight back then, and because with Will on top of me, my mid-section is distended and squashed to grotesque proportions. He looks hairy and muscular and tan and compact; I look like an oversized, albino gummy bear that some giant thumb has poked in the belly, forced to a bloated extreme.

I hated Matt for taking the photos at that moment and interrupting what was a very hot fuck. But I’m grateful to have those only pictures of Will and I together, so I can remember the moment we first connected, with him deep inside my hole.