My friend Sherlock Holmes was a man of refined and sensitive tastes in music and in the arts, which seemed in opposition to his analytical and objective observations in the natural sciences. He often invited me to accompany him to afternoon and evening recitals where I witnessed how music would transport him to another plane. Therefore you can imagine my surprise when he invited me to attend a musical comedy matinee at the Gaiety Theater, as I had believed that such crude entertainment would be beneath him.
If it had been another man who urged me to attend such a show, I would have supposed him to have an eye upon one of the young ladies of good voice and attractive figure who traipsed across the stage, but Holmes had given even less inclination towards that kind of entertainment than he had for light opera.
We were shown to an empty box towards the back of the venue. This too struck me as peculiar. In general, Holmes preferred to be seated near the front boxes and would often refuse to attend if his seats were not satisfactory.
I had been concerned about my friend for some time. There had been no cases of interest for several weeks and he had taken to barely stirring from the settee in our lodgings for days on end. I feared for his sanity or my own. When he suddenly proposed our taking in a show, I was happy to see him enthused and was eager to help him maintain this mood of jollity for as long as possible.
However, to my great surprise, his attention that afternoon was not upon the lovelies upon the stage, but rather upon me, and his actions were to change the course of our friendship from that point forward.
No sooner had the gas been lowered in the theater, and the orchestra begun the overture than my friend's piercing eyes were upon me, seeming to pin me to my chair.
"Holmes-" I began, but he silenced me by placing his fingers upon my lips and dropped to his knees in front of me. As I say, we were in a box, deep in shadow and the eyes of all the audience were upon the stage so the frisson of apprehension that I felt was not from fear of discovery, but from once again finding myself at the mercy of my friend's brilliant mind with absolutely no idea what he was thinking.
Nothing I could have imagined or dreamt of in a thousand nights could have prepared me for what he did next. His sharp, blue eyes never leaving mine, he spread my legs, placed himself between them and began to stroke his cheek along the inside of my thigh. The sexual connotation of the gesture was unmistakable.
I could not cry out in alarm but it was also not necessary for me to whisper as the music drowned out most sound, and I began to suspect that he had chosen this venue for precisely that reason.
I would be lying if I said that never in my darkest and most depraved dreams had just such a scenario presented itself, for my friend Holmes was a striking man, dare I even say beautiful, tall and slender of build, but wiry with a barely suppressed energy that seemed to thrum through him at times like electricity. His hair was black and he wore it smoothed back from his high forehead revealing his fine patrician features. He was as pale as one confined indoors, but again, where on another man it might have seemed sickly, on Holmes it seemed to reveal a hidden strength as though he were carved from marble. His eyes were vibrant although light in color and seemed to glint, even in low light. In addition, his mouth was sensual, just this side of womanly. I had seen it pulled back in a sneer of cruelty and I had seen it softly pursed as he played his violin, but I had never seen it curved into such a lascivious smile as he then wore.
If I had not been aware of my own inverted proclivities before I went to Afghanistan, I certainly became aware of them there, where all men took such comforts as they could. But Holmes' apparent disinterest in all forms of desire had forced me to swallow my interest lest I disturb our friendship with unwanted overtures.
Apparently, I had not made as good a job of hiding my feelings as I would have hoped, for with nary a word, Holmes began to palm my manhood through the cloth of my trousers. I am ashamed to say that I had so little control of myself around my friend that I was already swelling with arousal, but he seemed delighted with my reaction and began to work free the buttons. My shock and my desire were battling within me, but I had just enough presence of mind to hiss, "Holmes, what on earth are you doing? We shall be arrested on sodomy laws to say nothing of public decency."
His fingers never stilled, but he said quite precisely. "The box curtains hide your face and the railing hides my presence here on the floor. The first act lasts approximately 24 minutes with a variation of plus or minus two minutes, at the end of which there will be a round of applause. There are four songs in the first act all sung forte. Having listened to you as you have sought release by yourself at 221b I calculate that even at your most ecstatic, your cries could not possibly be interpreted as cries of sexual pleasure by the crowd. Now, we have twenty minutes remaining. I believe that you would like me to continue and I know that I am eager to go on."
"But, Holmes-" I started to say, to express my surprise at his actions, not just his choice of location, but all rational thought deserted me, for he had succeeded in freeing my shaft and balls from the confines of my trousers and proceeded to swallow me down almost to the root in one go.
Clearly my friend was not as sexually innocent as I had supposed, judging by the skill with which he worked. I would not need the full twenty minutes. It had been a long time since I had gained release with anyone but myself and even that I had reduced since I had begun sharing lodgings with another person. As my crisis approached I dared to touch his shoulder, "Holmes, please, pull away I am going to spend."
He moved his mouth off of me and the abrupt cessation of sensation was cruel indeed, but he tilted his head chidingly to one side and whispered, "John," in his richly modulated voice and returned to his ministrations upon my cock.
The sound of my Christian name falling from his precious lips undid me and I did cry out as I spilled into his mouth in pulse after blissful pulse. Fortunately, as he had predicted, the alto was reaching a strong crescendo at that moment and my voice was lost in cresting sound of her voice.
I was nearly insensible for a moment during which time Holmes tidied me up with his handkerchief, wiped his own mouth, tucked me back into my trousers and fastened my buttons.
He resumed his seat and then to my great surprise leaned in to kiss me full upon the mouth. I could taste my own flavor upon him, but as his tongued probed my mouth in a deepening soul kiss, I began to taste only him, his tobacco, the way he took his tea, a certain buttery-ness that was solely him.
Nevertheless, we were still in a very public place. I pushed him back from me. "Holmes," I hissed, "have you gone mad?"
He merely smirked and said, "I believe that we have gained what enjoyment we can from this variety show. Shall we return to Baker Street?"
I was dumbstruck. I could not fathom Holmes' purpose in bringing me to the theater nor could I fathom his purpose in bringing me to orgasm.
In the cab he was as silent and pensive as ever, as if nothing had transpired, gazing out of the window and not looking at me, even when I said his name.
Once inside 221b I determined to have it out with him and turned sharply to him only to have his mouth upon mine in an instant, hands gripping my shoulders.
I could not return his kiss with the fervor he was showing as I was still deeply perplexed and even a little wounded. Was this some sort of experiment of his? Was he trying to test me?
Again I pushed him away and cried, "Holmes!"
He looked abashed. "Do you not want this, John? Surely you are aware of my growing attraction to you. I believed that you had some desire for me as well."
"You are attracted to me?"
"Of course!"
"But Holmes, how could I know. You have never shown any sign."
He sat down on the settee and ran his hands through his hair disordering it and causing it to stand up on end in places. He looked up at me with his glittering eyes and I fear that I was lost. He was so striking, so commanding and yet seemingly so vulnerable for once that I was overwhelmed with emotions and sensations I had never felt before.
"Ah, dear Watson, my dear, dear Watson. I forget that while you are the best and dearest of men, you still do not observe as I observe. I feared to make my overtures too explicit lest I be mistaken, but surely you noticed when my hand lingered on yours, when I held your eyes too long in public, when I leaned into you in carriages or cabs?"
I sank beside him on the settee. I still could not believe my ears. "Holmes," I paused, surely we had passed beyond that now, "Sherlock," I continued and was gratified to see his eyes rise to mine in what can only be described as hope. "I too feared being forward. On all those occasions you have mentioned, I feared that it was my own overwhelming imagination and desire that was misinterpreting your actions. I hungered for any prolonged touch, any searching look that you would give me." I paused, uncertain if I should reveal myself too much, "In fact, it was memories of those moments which fueled my fantasies when I sought release alone in my room.
"But surely you must have known this or you would not have behaved as you did this afternoon in the theater."
"John, I…I heard you one night as I needed something from the things I store in the hall upstairs and I heard you…I heard you say my name, say 'Sherlock.' I thought…"
At that I simply did the only thing that I could think of. I kissed him.
It was if a torrent as great as the Victoria Falls had been released in both of us. Our hands were everywhere upon each other: tangling in one another's hair, stroking faces, throats, over shoulders, down backs. I had his necktie off in a trice. He being more impatient merely loosened mine enough to pull it off over my head as we parted for breath.
With that startling burst of athleticism that I had often observed, he suddenly leapt to his feet to cast off his coat. He reached and pulled me up by my hands.
"My bedroom I think."
I eagerly followed suit, discarding aside my coat and fumbling with my waistcoat buttons. We made our staggering, awkward stumble towards his bedroom, impeded by our inability to stop touching one another for more than a moment. I slid my hands into his hair, the dark, lush hair I had so longed to touch, disordering it further, eager to pull his mouth to mine once more, our tongues intertwining.
By the time we reached his bed our braces were down, I had lost a collar stud and had my shirt buttons undone, and he had his shirt off entirely. Yet our trousers were still fastened. Despite his brazenness that afternoon, we both seemed hesitant to reveal ourselves fully to one another. I knew that I needed to release my aching member soon or my buttons would pop.
As if simultaneously prompted, we reached for one another's hips and quickly divested ourselves of our trousers and underthings. Naked now, as the day we were born, we wasted no more time and tumbled onto the bed, our bare skins sliding against one another, already damp with the sweat of arousal. I gripped his cock in my hand and would have been content with a mutual masturbatory release, but he would have none of it.
"Salve, top drawer of bedside table," he hissed at me.
I needed no further instruction. The thought of experiencing that ultimate bliss with Holmes, Sherlock, my long beloved friend, made me nearly delirious with excitement and joy. I reached over and quickly found the small jar.
Sherlock moved to his knees and pulled me again into that luxurious kiss which is the soul's delight, where our tongues slid around and over one another. I pulled away with a slow suck of his full bottom lip and moved my mouth down to his long neck that he arched in eager invitation. I kissed and bit and drew upon his throat, leaving virulent lover's marks in my wake.
Sherlock groaned in pleasure, his volume increasing at each new exploration that I made, and when I at last moved my mouth to suckle upon his already erect nipples, he cried out so loudly that I suddenly grew alarmed.
"Sherlock, I fear you must restrain your cries, though each sweet sound is making my prick throb. What of Mrs. Hudson?"
"John," he panted, glaring at me with his sharp blue eyes, now heavy-lidded with passion, "Mrs. Hudson is visiting her sister who is ill. I assured her that we would be fine on our own for the afternoon and all night, should she need it. I told her that we would dine at our respective clubs and that she shouldn't worry her head about it at all. You must trust in my foresight in such things." His lips curled into that lascivious smile, quirking up at the corner. "We may be as loud as we need."
Then he laughed, "I fear I have deprived you of your tea."
"I assure you that I hope to be quite full before this afternoon is out," I countered in return. "And though I would not wish lingering illness on anyone, I sincerely hope that Mrs. Hudson's sister does not make a full recovery until tomorrow morning. Now, where was I, ah yes."
I returned my attention once again upon his nipples, alternating between each and delighting in the desperate sounds that I was wringing from him.
"John," he gasped again, "I have waited too long for this moment to linger on preliminaries. I need you to penetrate me."
He pushed me back, and then stretched out so that he rested on his elbows, he arse presented to me.
As I mentioned, he is a slender man, wiry of build, but his arse, though not overly full, was beautifully curved and I could hardly cover my erection in his lubricating ointment fast enough.
I slid in with surprising ease as he moaned and pushed back to meet me, until I was fully ensconced in that exquisite grip that is like no other. I began a slow and steady rhythm though I feared that I could not last, but he commanded that I thrust harder, faster, deeper until I was slapping against his backside and crying out with my approaching climax.
As my violent release hit me and I spent deep within him, I became nearly insensate for a moment and fell heavily against his back.
At last I managed to gather my breath and my wits enough to say, "But what of you? You have brought me to orgasm twice. Please allow me to return the favor."
I withdrew and rolled him onto his back where he presented a most magnificent cock. I had been too focused on sensation before to fully take its measure. It was above average in girth and quite a bit above average in length. Although my own cock gave a receptive twitch at the thought of my being pierced to the very core by such an engine, I could not resist the urge to taste it, to see if I could take it entirely into my mouth before I took it entirely in my arse.
I pulled him up and sat him at the edge of the bed so that I could kneel between his legs to better facilitate my ability to take him down into my throat. I engulfed the swollen head and proceeded to ease my mouth along his shaft until I had swallowed him completely, my face pressed into the coarse, curling, black hair of his groin. My senses were filled with him, the scent of his musk, earthy and moist, the salty taste of his emissions, the feel of his thighs against my palms, and the ecstatic cries he was making at each slide of my tongue and mouth up and down his shaft.
"Oh, John, John, I am close, I am going to…you must pull your mouth away."
Much as he had that afternoon I let him fall from my mouth, "My dear, I have no qualms about…"
His skin, already deeply flushed, reddened even further, "I…I have been told that I spend copiously, excessively even, and that it is unpleasant."
In reply, I simply plunged my head back between his legs until I felt his body shake with impeding climax. He made a desperate cry and flooded my mouth with bitter semen. It was prodigious and I could not swallow fast enough, though I tried, and some escaped and slid down over my chin.
Looking up at him, I made sure that his eyes met mine and flicked my tongue out to lick the last drops back into my mouth to show my pleasure in all that he had to give me.
He smiled, his rare, genuine and relaxed smile, and lay back on the bed, retrieving his cigarettes and matches before shifting to give me room to join him.
Immediate need satiated, I was able to admire him fully at leisure. He was as magnificent as I had imagined: long, slender feet echoing his long, nimble fingers, muscled and finely shaped calves and thighs lightly coated in silky black hairs. His cock, limp but not entirely soft in its nest of black hair between slender hips, a gentle curve into his waist and up to his ribs, his pectoral muscles clearly defined under a further dusting of straight black hairs, broadish shoulders for his frame and that absurdly long, slender neck. Of his handsome features, I have already spoken, but his normal visage was as nothing compared with his transcendent beauty in post-coital reverie, smoke wafting up from swollen lips, skin still lightly flushed from our exertions and eyes closed in languorous repose.