Thanks so much for stopping in again, sweeties. Here's the second part of 'The Jock', as promised. It will also be posted @ Red Lipstick Journals today. It's part of the Red Lipstick Journals 'Summer Sizzlers Anthology'. If you like a free copy hit the RLJ link SUMMER SIZZLERS and read the instructions. I believe the offer is over by September 1 - so time is limited. Enjoy!
By: Blak Rayne
Tim bent over in front of me, stroking his cock. Uncircumcised with a thick hood, his member was beautiful like him. He used the desk to support his upper torso. The view, exceptionally nice and I aimed to make it last. My jeans were gone and I fondled my member, teasing the length until it was engorged. I licked my index and middle fingers, pressed them to his sweet spot and massaged. Tim groaned and backed his ass into me. I won’t deny it I love it when he does that. The hunger took over. I splashed him with champagne and I knelt down to lick, keeping my cock satisfied at the same time. The alcohol dripped from his scrotum, and I took time to suck every inch of his sac and thighs dry. Tim’s laughter faded quick when he gripped either side of the desk, grunting. I mounted him and rode this phantom wave of ecstasy. Who knows how long a duration–seconds or minutes, I really couldn’t say, but I made sure we both enjoyed the intimacy. My philosophy, whether I’m in the right frame of mind or not, I always make sure Tim walks away a happy man.
I suppose you’re wondering how we hooked up again. It happened by complete accident. My last relationship had left me at odds with life and I decided on a change. No more apartments. No more parties. No more bullshit. So, I departed from the city and bought this house back in my hometown–a small, three bedroom, fixer-upper on acreage. Six months after I moved in the hot water line under the kitchen sink sprung a leak. I wasn’t able to fix the pipe and finally threw in the towel. I’m not a plumber. I wear suits all day and quote numbers, I’m a mortgage broker. I know as much about indoor piping as I know about women. I shut the water off and skimmed the phone book in search of a plumber. There were several, but only one offered twenty-four hour emergency service, Sundays included. Could this be an emergency? Fucked if I knew. But, it was a Sunday. I left a message when the answering machine kicked in. I never received a return call, instead, an hour later, my doorbell rang.
I didn’t know. How could I? Karma? When I answered the door, there he stood, Tim on my porch with a toolbox in hand, looking older but still amazing. My heart stopped and he appeared equally as stunned.
We gawked at each other. Self-conscious, I instantly sucked in my gut to give the illusion I’d maintained a great body. My cock pushed for freedom and my heart beat like a drum. We were right back in our high school science class and shit, here I tried to impress the guy, but in actuality I probably looked like an idiot.
“You called…something about a pipe?” he asked.
“I did. It’s the hot water pipe under the kitchen sink.” I moved so he could walk by. “How have you been?”
“Good.” Tim glanced at me in passing. “And, how are you?”
He had a bad case of the nerves. I read it in his eyes.
“Busy. I bought this place half a year ago. It needs a lot of TLC.”
“It doesn’t look that bad.” He knelt in front of the cupboard.
“Not when you know about renovations.”
We talked. He said something about my message and he couldn’t believe it was my voice on the answering machine. He wasn’t going to bother at first but then the curiosity got to him. I didn’t say a word, just listened. Tim fixed the hot water pipe. The problem, a cracked washer. That shows how incompetent I am, I should’ve been able to repair it myself.
“Thanks. How much do I owe?”
“It’s on me. Pretty basic fix.” He scrubbed his hands in the sink and dried them with a tea towel.
“I should pay.”
“There’s no need, Adrian.” Tim packed up the toolbox. “I replaced a washer. A washer cost pennies.”
“Great!” I followed him to the front door. I wanted to say more than great. I wanted to be assertive, ask him out on a date. But I didn’t know if he had a relationship and he gave no indication. “Well, at least I know who to call if I’ve got plumbing problems.”
“Thanks…I appreciate it and on a Sunday…”
Tim nodded and dumped the toolbox in the back of a truck. And wouldn't you know it, it was the same damned pick-up truck from high school. I closed the front door and stood there breathing hard like some pathetic imbecile. The man I’d been crazy about since I was a teenager was just in my house, right within reach, I had every chance in the world and I did nothing. Fucking nothing! The rage swelled and I drove a fist into the wall. “What kind of an asshole am I…” I said aloud then jumped. Someone knocked. I threw the door open and Tim looked back at me.
“I wondered the same thing myself,” he said.
“You heard me?”
“Clear as a bell.” He gestured to the truck. “I walk away and you don’t stop me. We were together three years, Adrian. I loved you.”
“Love–you dumped me!!”
“We were still kids. It was unavoidable at the time.”
“Don’t blame our past on me! You could’ve stood up to your old man!”
“I made a mistake–big mistake. I’m sorry.”
“You’re not sorry!”
Why was I arguing? I mean what was going on in my brain! Here he apologized and I shot my mouth off. I wanted him to do me not yell about insignificant shit that didn’t matter any more.
“Why are you arguing with me?” Tim asked.
“You’re reading my mind now!”
“This is stupid–real stupid.”
He sighed, and turned for the door to leave. At least, that’s what I assumed he would do. Instead, I found myself pinned to his body and his mouth nuzzling mine. He groped my ass and we somewhat waltzed around, to avoid bumping into the furniture. I felt the lust and my body lost control. I couldn’t wait to get naked and I couldn’t wait to feel him.
“I don’t care if you want me here or not!” he growled and forced me into the kitchen by shoving my chest. “We’re going to make up. And then, I’m moving in.”
We were both out of breath and the kitchen table got stuck between us.
“Really now…” I scoffed with coldness, and wiped the taste of his mouth from mine. “You’re pretty confident I give a shit. What if I’ve got a partner?”
“You don’t have a partner!” Tim’s laughter made me shiver. “If you did, you wouldn’t have let me back in. You want me, Adrian…” he unsnapped his belt buckle, pushing the table out of the way, “just as much as I want you.”
Tim didn’t lie, my knees hung over his forearms and he fucked me right there on the kitchen table. The sex was rough, a good rough. The second round we made love and Tim stayed the night, in fact, he never left. True to his word, we made up and he moved in. For every excuse I gave, he had sensible justification. All my protesting failed–weeks of it, not one word changed his mind. In the end, he said he loved me, promised never to leave if I granted him one more chance. Best decision I ever made, even when his old man attempted to interfere again, Tim kept his word. Which brings me back to today, the carwash and the bottle of champagne. Today is our anniversary, six years, a milestone for us. I bought the champagne to celebrate, also for courage. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell Tim.
My body wouldn’t hold back any longer and I let go with a husky groan. The desk moved a good two inches, scraped the floor. Sweating, I collapsed on his damp back, got my arms around him and kissed his cheek. “I love you.”
Tim glanced at me. His eyes harboured disbelief.
“You’ve never said that before…”
“Maybe I should start.” I kissed him again to reinforce my sentiments.
“Are you feeling okay?” He stared, apprehensive.
“Never felt better.”
“You love me?”
“Ever since that biology project. Can you handle that?”
It took him a moment.
“Yeah,”he whispered with a teary smile. “I can handle that.”
‘Taking erotic to a sinful new level…’
Copyright © Blak Rayne 2011
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.