"You realize ..." I finally say when I can speak, though I run out of steam right there.
"What ?" he asks, pulling back to look at me.
I take a deep breath. How can I possibly put it into words ?
"Take me a year to get over this."
He searches my eyes a moment before breaking into an enormous cheeky grin and leaning for a quick kiss.
"So," he says, clearly well pleased with himself. "How did I look ?"
I raise a hand to his temple, threading my fingers through the dark, damp strands of hair. For a moment I'm not even sure what he means - the utterance completely dominating my brain, not the thing that came before it – and anyway, how can one possibly answer such a question ? How do you think you looked, Tony, after putting yourself directly into the line of ejaculatory fire ?
My eyes drop, a finger following their line across his temple, down a cheekbone and across his lips, reliving the image that will forever be burned into my brain.
He made it happen, wanted it to; that's what keeps hitting me. Wanted not only to cause but to partake, first person and in the most graphic way, in my orgasm ... and I can't escape the conclusion that we've crossed a very significant line.
I recall – how could I forget ? - my own first time on the 'facial' receiving end, and the dividing line that ultimately proved to be in my life. More than oral, more than anal, being showered in a man's semen was so shockingly, intensely intimate, so deeply, unequivocally (homo)sexual, it was nothing short, for me, of an erotic baptism, and served as the final healing point for what I had, to then, been struggling with: gay self acknowledgment, and acceptance.
"Come on," he says, prodding me out of my reverie, "seriously; I wanna know - how did I look ?"
I search his face. I can't expect it to mean the same thing to Tony. He didn't grow up dreaming of cock, and living in a world that demeaned him for it.
"Like a breathtakingly beautiful boy ..." I tell him, pausing as I struggle to find words.
"Covered in jizz," he interjects, laughing.
"Yes, that," I smile, "but … you looked positively ... angelic, Tone," I say, struck by the truth in the statement. "Like an angel," I say with a nod, fully realizing what an arse I sound like ... but, it makes total sense. Tony has several times said that I 'saved' him, but right now it feels like the other way around.
His eyes dart momentarily back and forth between mine, trying to gauge if I'm taking the mick.
"Huh ?"
I cup his cheek.
"It's true."
He blinks.
"Not exactly the look I was going for."
"You're the most amazing creature I've ever known, Tony."
"Jesus," he says, grinning shyly.
"I thought I knew everything there was to know about you," I blather, "and here you go showing me this whole other side you've kept hidden – this unselfish, unselfconscious, ridiculously sexy being hiding out inside my best friend all this time."
"Shit," he laughs. "I was just trying to get you off."
I look directly into his eyes. How to wipe that smile off his face ? How to make him understand, to convey the growing realization within me, without sounding even more like an arse ?
"You're completely unlike anyone I've ever been with. Anyone I've ever known."
"Come on. You've had some pretty hot guys-"
"-I'm not just talking sex, here. You're like … the first."
I stumble here, a tiny bit startled at what it is I'm saying.
His face is blank.
"First what ?"
I take a breath. It will sound melodramatic, yes.
"First person I've ever been in love with."
He squints.
"But ... you told me ..."
And I'm off.
"This is brand new. I know it. I thought I'd felt it before, but, I guess when the real thing hits," I smile, "it sort of smothers you and bathes you in it and it's alive and swimming in your veins and everything else immediately pales, and all I can think is how lost I'd be if we'd never met, and how the world is in full colour cuz of you and how completely crazy you make me and how beautiful you are and how much I love you."
"Jesus Christ," he laughs. "Fuck," he says wryly, echoing my earlier words, "I'm turning into a pile of goo, here."
"Sorry," I smile.
"Don't be."
We lean in, natural as can be, and our mouthes fall together in a sweet, soft tangle, after which, we part, just.
"So for real ?" he asks, eyes liquid. "I'm, like, really your first ?"
I take a deep breath and answer him truthfully.
"Yes."
.
Hugely epic as it is to hear, as this whole entire uber-surreal weekend has been, and buzzy and madly loved as I'm feeling ... stupid thing's still nagging at me.
"Can't help it. I still wanna know."
"What ?" he asks.
I grin.
"How did I look ?"
He laughs.
"Oh, that. Okay, well … yes. How about, um, indescribably hot ? I mean, insane. In fact, if I had it on dvd, I'd masturbate to that image, daily."
I bust out laughing at the favorable comparison to porn.
He then blows me back, for about the 40th time this weekend.
"It was sort of like a christening, you know."
"A christening," I deadpan, dumfounded.
"Ya."
I study his eyes a moment, which are gleaming like I've never seen ... and it suddenly clicks.
"A beginning."
He grabs for my hand and giggles a bit.
"Yes."
Wow.
"Fuck," I say, adrenalin pumping, "that's like, perfect. I mean, again, not the look I'd been going for, cuz I totally wanted to rip your head off, but if it represented some sort of gateway to like, gayness, or whatever-"
"-Baptism," he dares add, seeing no irony – there isn't any - in the quasi-religious allegories.
"Goddamit, yes !" I erupt. "Fucking holy baptism," I shout. "'I now pronounce you queer' !"
He doubles over laughing, and it's frightening, how happy it makes me.
"Definitely," I tell him. "I'll totally, totally take it, Max."
.
Having now twice been called a certain pet name, this utterance almost makes me wince.
I caress his cheek.
"That's the other thing it'll take me a year to get past, you know."
"Hm ?"
"The thing you said to me under your breath, coupla minutes ago."
His face drops, and flushes.
"Shit."
I laugh.
"Did I ?" he fidgets. "Shit."
"Too late," I tease, "no taking it back. Specially where you said it twice."
"Twice ? !"
"Yes !"
"Well it'd been on the tip of my tongue for hours," he admits, embarrassed.
My heart catapults into the air.
"Really ! ?" I shriek.
"Ya," he laughs, then shrugs. "Cat's outta the bag, I guess." He grabs my hand, eyes twinkling away. "Besides, it's what people in love do, right ? Call each other embarrassing, gay-arse names ?"
"Yes," I laugh, leaning towards his lips. "Gay-er the better."
.
"So," he says, teasing, but all final and assured. "Say it, then. Or," he giggles, "no more sex, today."
I laugh, but damn, why does Maxxie-in-charge, even in jest, have to be so bloody hot ?
I hesitate a moment, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, to pretend I'm not completely wrapped round his little finger.
"Please ?" he asks, instantly crumbling my momentary resolve with those big, puppy dog eyes.
I slide a hand up, behind his neck, into that golden head of hair ... and as his meet mine, it falls, helpless, from my lips.
"Baby."
As the kiss deepens, and begins to resemble a shag, complete with moans and slippery suction sounds, he pulls off.
"What ?" I mutter, a bit in shock at the sudden parting.
He's staring at his own hand.
"Been in the shower way too long. We're turning into wrinkled prunes."
So fucking what, I want to snap, but he's already pulling me out of the stall and into the main area of the loo.
"Hotel'll probably charge us for extreme water over-use," he grins, which turns to a groan when he spies the clock. "Oh shit. Look, Tone, it's almost 11 o'clock !"
"So what," I blurt, as he reaches for a towel and begins running it through his hair.
"But you had loads you wanted to do outside."
I go to protest, but instead am caught up watching the path taken by the fluffy white material ... running along that bronzed, bumpy chest, over those perfect ripply abs, down his crotch and both legs; taken in each hand, flipped overhead and rubbed side to side behind his back and shoulders, which, without looking, I can see is causing his cock to sway just so ... and finally when he turns away to face the mirror, smoothing over the jutting, muscular curves of that glorious, god-given arse, which is paler than the rest of him, I notice, but not by much, which conjures in my mind the picture of Maxxie doing naughty things, things he's never told me … skinny dipping in the ocean, or maybe, nude sun bathing in some hot boy's back garden while the parents are away, the two of them teasing and messing around and then finally doing it right there on the lounge chair, while a pervy neighbor wanks off to the sight of two fit, achingly perfect cheeks rising and falling in the open sunlight, or even, gulp, parting and being fiercely plowed … and as I'm having these dizzying thoughts I'm struggling to remember what in hell it was I was going to say to defend my position in the first place, that we hereby officially ignore frigging Brighton for the rest of the weekend and fuck whatever it is I thought I had wanted to do … but he keeps talking, saying something about the sun streaming through the closed curtains and what a good beach day it probably is out there and something about this one shop he absolutely, definitely must visit because he's wanted to go there for ages and it'll be closed tomorrow ... and his lips keep moving but I'm not really hearing it because as he speaks, he's taken the towel, the same one that's just passed over his entire body, and turned it on me ... running it first through my hair, and over my shoulders, and I'm sort of transfixed, because it's somehow weirdly erotic to the point where it's making my flesh tingle, the knowledge that this same material just seconds before, rubbed into and all over Maxxie's pure, perfect body, caressing every ripple and nipple and bump, absorbing his scent, soaking up whatever semblance of sweat or microscopic bits of skin cells may have been left, and it strikes me that I might just need to eat the bloody towel … all while he's blathering on, completely oblivious, standing behind me to dry everything back there, and by the time he makes it round front ... I'm semi-hard ... only he doesn't notice.
"And anyway," he says, drying my neck and chest, "if you don't get at least a teeny bit of a tan, I'll feel bad. You'll look better and you'll feel much better; plus, I've read it's how your body best absorbs vitamin D."
As the towel slides lower and he continues talking, I shut my eyes in embarrassment.
At my hip, he stops dead.
"Tony Stonem, you randy bastard."
I burst out laughing. I can't help it.
"We have lots to do," he protests.
"Yes," I grin. "Lots."
"I mean, outside."
I swear I can feel a twinkle forming in my eye.
"You said five times. Only been three."
He takes a deep breath and proceeds to do a horridly bad job of trying to look annoyed.
"I know, Tone, but … we've done it tons, haven't we ? And we only have a couple of days in town." He raises my arm and absently rubs the towel along it. "Can't you take a rain check for like, later ?"
.
"I wanna fuck you," he deadpans, which, I mean ...
WOW !
My arse muscles involuntarily twitch. Yes, there truly is nothing like a meat and potatoes man, however, says my brain, seeing as it would sort of be his first time ... I do want it to be perfect. Eager as he may be to cross this very significant line, and understandable as that is, at the same time, it's too critical, too important a thing to rush.
Plus, getting fucked by Tony – physically penetrated for the very first time by my best friend - who just happens to be the love of my life - is just a teensy bit scary.
"But Tone, it takes a lot of y'know, prep. I have to be properly prepared, beforehand. It's not a quick process."
"Who says I want it to be quick ?"
"But," I fidget, a part of me disbelieving that I'm actually trying to turn Tony away, "we can completely take our time, later, and like, honor it, and stuff, and do it totally right. And there'll be that sweet, hot buildup all day if we wait, which'll make it that much more amazing. And in the meantime we can go to the beach and do all that other stuff we wanted to do in Brighton – the whole reason we came here."
His face and I swear, his cock, fall, at least slightly, as if I've thrown cold water at it.
Damn.
"I know, baby," he pouts … and with that gorgeous little utterance, my brain nearly blanks out, so that I almost don't hear the rest: "I know that all makes sense. But I can't help it. I still wanna fuck you."
Did you hear that ? My brains screams. Tony wants to FUCK you ! Are you an idiot ? !
"But I see your point," he continues, taking the towel from my hand and slotting it over the nearby railing. "I'm just being a selfish arsehole. You paid a lot of money for this trip, and we have limited time, so it would suck to waste it." He turns and grins wickedly. "I'll just have to remember to bang you extra hard later on."
And with that, I completely unravel.
In a last ditch effort to keep from flinging my wanting, pleading arse over the sink and thrusting it high into the air, I take a deep, steady breath, and speak quietly.
"Wait for me in the bedroom."
"Wha- ?"
"-I've changed my mind. You're going to fuck me; I just need a bit of time to prepare."
He looks startled.
"But baby-"
"Oh shit," I moan, grabbing his face with both hands and practically sucking it off before pulling back. "Go and wait in the bedroom, please. I'll be in in a few minutes. And then you're going to fuck my brains out."
.
So I walk, in a daze, out of the room, knees wobbling like I'm 90, but he follows me, having forgotten that he left his 'sex bag', as he calls it, in his suitcase.
And I'm not sure what in hell to do. Be careful what you wish for, isn't that what the Chinese proverb says ? So I just sit on the edge of the bed, nervous out of my mind, watching him rummaging until he pulls out a small plastic bag containing god knows what, and carries it back with him into the loo. I then hear a soft clunk, as the door shuts behind him.
It's been a bit of a whirlwind, hasn't it ? The few seconds between my fuck declaration, being turned down and realizing he's right – it's probably best to wait so that we get it right, etc., and besides, I am pretty fucking antsy about the prospect - only to have the decision be made for me that we are indeed going to fuck, after all.
Sigh. To think I used to be a top.
But why, says my brain, when the other way around is so goddamn bloody delicious ?
I stand, and start pacing. Shit, I am nervous. I mean, I understand the mechanics of it. I look down. My dick's certainly eager – mind of it's own, they say. I've seen enough porn, both gay and straight, now. It's like getting on a bicycle – once you know, you don't ever really forget, do you ? Just plow the motherfucking hole. Not exactly astro physics.
What if I'm no good, though ? Maxxie's experienced. He's told me how some blokes sucked.
Shit, I want to, though. It's supposed to feel incredible – like nothing else.
I want to bad.
Arrhhhhgggg. Why can I not remember what it's like ? ! It might help. I don't mind being a virgin about some things. In fact, in a way it's turned out to be absolutely fucking amazing. But why about this ? The central activity of sex ? The one Maxxie really likes.
Maybe he should've fucked me, first.
Okay, maybe not. It's too fucking scary, a dick up my arse. A dick up my arse ? Christ, is that really what we're talking about ? And there's supposed to be pain. Fuck. It's just awkward, the blushing, jittery first timer going and fucking the one with all the experience.
Pace, pace, sweat.
Christ, it feels like an hour. What's he doing in there ?
Sit. Think.
Prepping himself. Preparing the hole so you can go in and it won't hurt, or will hurt less. Probably greasing himself up. Using his hands to part those exquisite cheeks and sliding a finger, or two, inside ...
Fuck.
I know, once again, that I'm supposed to be put off by this – revolted, even. Maxxie should've been put off by licking my arse for fuck's sake, but he wasn't. Not by a mile. He threw himself into it and we both got off. Same with my scars. It's like he's madly in love with every inch of me, no matter how foul or deranged or unsightly. And right now he wants me to plunge my cock into the deepest recess of his body.
The problem I have with that is ... ?
He's gonna pop through that door any second and expect me to be ready. Should I lie on the bed ? How are we gonna do this ? Where are the bloody condoms ? What if it doesn't work ?
What is taking him so long ?
Dildo. That's what he's doing. Not fingers. I remember now. He has a special 'prep piece' I think he calls it, that's small at the tip and wide at the base and he slowly inserts it and ...
Oh shit. Can I get any harder ? And why in fuck is he making me wait like this ? Fucking little prick tease.
I move towards the door. I'll just open it a crack, (pardon the pun), and then peak, (ditto).
Nervous out of my brain, I approach, and it turns out the door's part way open, just by a hair. I peer in and … holy bleeding christ. Never seen anything like it in my life. He's laid himself forward, over the big sink base cabinet thing. I can see in the mirror that his eyes are shut, and he's, christ … slowly plunging this big pinkish-purple thing into his rear – and it even has balls ! Imitation testicles that slap softly into his cheeks like the real thing would during sex. Which is just so insanely hot I can't stand it.
I don't even wanna interrupt him, he looks so goddam content, I mean, what does he need me for ? So I just watch as he reaches a hand round front to grab his own dick, while the other, the whole while, works and works that sex toy, as I believe they call it ... and I'm about to pop my frigging clogs.
It's one thing watching the boy you love masturbate. This is fucking watching him ... fuck ... himself.
And look at that face ! He's clearly in the midst of some super erotic agony/ecstasy thing, all while he's undoubtedly picturing some hot guy.
Me ? No, I can't believe that. I can't. He doesn't even know I'm here. Too caught up. His eyes are sealed shut and he's panting enough to fog the mirror and his lips are wet from being repeatedly licked as he gets himself ready ...
Fuck, what a sight. If I could just step into his fantasy, partake in some way. Remind him I'm here, and waiting. Maybe help him stroke himself off. Or, actually, yes: stand in front of him, and, as he fucks himself, yank that head back, and make him take me by mouth.
Shit ! My dick says. Whatever it is, you'd better do something quick !
Oh my god, look at him: that back, all arched and sinewy smooth and damp. And good christ, those sinfully perfect, achingly round cheeks, the ones that he knows are beautiful, the ones he's strutted round boldly outdoors in the bright sun – the way they jut, so shameless, just absolutely screaming at you …
I kick open the door.