From the Archives: Thoughts of Him

This piece was written by a much younger man, who had substantially less experience than the one writing today. Most of these questions, I’ve answered in one way or another, although the longing is still there on some days. I used to think this was one of my better pieces, but as I went over it to edit it for the web, I’m less sure of that now.

It was, at it’s time, and garnered more comments than my normal work (in which it got 2-3 comments). That’s a bit surprising as it is an MM story and those are notoriously un-responded to. (Maybe I posted it in the wrong places).

It feels almost emo, although I’m sure I wrote it before that term became common parlance. It’s easily a decade old, and largely autobiographical, although I felt the need to hide it with pseudonyms. That’s just as well these days, as the person in this story isn’t who I am any longer.

Anyway, for Joessam and SexyWife, here is the older piece, ”Thoughts of Him”

Thoughts of Him

(MM, MMF)

What, he wonders, will it feel like to have a man beside him again?

The feel of someone else’s cock against his own flesh, rubbing, sliding. Between his legs. Touching his own ready hardness?

And the man’s lover there, too. What would it feel like to be between two lovers? Her tits pressed against his back; her hand over them both, pushing and pulling them together. Her leg over his, rubbing her wetness against his thigh.

He remembers the hotel room. Frank’s smooth black body next to his pale white one. Jane behind him, touching him with her hand and nothing else. He loses himself in the soft skin of his black lover. Rubbing, sliding, moving. Coming. White jism on ebony skin.

By this time Jane is gone. Frank is still there and gay and doesn’t care about his wife. He thinks, All he cared about was my hand, rubbing his cock up and down. So soft. So hard. So hot.

When will he feel that again?

And will he love him this time? Will he like him?

Will the man want more from him, too? Emotion, love, even tenderness? Will the man be as mad for him as he was for Frank? He wonders, will he lose himself in me, if only for a moment?

What does a penis taste like anyway? How does it feel, hard inside your mouth, filling you up. How does it taste, flaccid, wet, surrounded by bitter come?

Frank hadn’t had any condoms or tests. It wasn’t planned — it just happened.

If it had been, would the small man have sat on the side of the bed while he knelt — his mouth going up and down Frank’s cock? Would there be someone to do that? Would they want it?

Once, someone had done that for him. He’d fled before he could get the courage to return the favor. But he hadn’t even liked him, even if his mouth did feel warm and wet and good as it sucked vacuum-like on his cock, drinking his sperm. No one else, male or female had ever done that.

Would he do it, maybe? Would he?

What will it feel like to have a man beside him again?

And he thought then of all the other places that men had on their bodies. Useless nipples worthy of kisses. The fold of flesh between the cheeks of an ass where a cock can slip back and forth and down into an entirely new place.

Hands to kiss and rub with. Arms to hold and legs to watch.

Skin to touch and feel. Would he be soft or dark or hairy? What will he smell like? What shade the hair under his armpits, on his chest, in a tuft around his balls? Or will he shave, skin smooth and hairless, like Frank, who had cared for his skin — it was smooth as a baby’s bottom, especially his bottom.

He remembered, cupping it with his hands as he rode, his cock sliding on Frank’s crotch, cocks rubbing together. Hands touching those tense muscular thighs.

Would the new man have tight muscles? Will he be tight and angular or soft and cuddly? Did it matter?

What will his voice be like when he comes? A gentle Southern drawl? A deep groan of release? Or will he shout, announcing his orgasm to the world? What is his singing voice like?

No man had ever sung to him, but he wanted to be held, encapsulated and sung to. Lullabies. Sweet reassurances. Head leaning on hairy shoulder, rocked back and forth and protected.

And if his woman comes to them then, and wraps her arms around them, naked and inviting, what then? What if Jane would have done that for Frank? Would he have cared?

What will it feel like to have a man beside him again?

And the image flashes through his mind: on his front, legs spread, a man behind him, sliding up and down his ass cheeks, warming the once-cold lubrication. He slows, and shifts, poised at the gateway inside. He shivers. What man to do that? What would it be like to be filled that way?

Or bending a man double beneath him, looking down at him between his legs. Sliding into him, moving up and down. What would it feel like, sunk deep into him? Would he feel the other man’s balls, his rigid cock pressing against him?

Or, maybe, fucking the man’s wife, reveling in her more familiar feminine flavors. Self-generated wetness around his cock, the walls of her vagina pressing in, pulling his cock. He stops, and the man mounts him from behind, and begins fucking him, his wife through him.

He is just a conduit then, filled up and in turn filling up. Could he stand it? Would it be too much? Or maybe, Jane riding him, moving, and the man taking her from behind. Would he feel that? The other man’s cock through the flesh of his wife?

Would the man do that, too?

To be taken by a lustful man. He knew what a man near orgasm was like slamming in and out of a woman — he had been that man many times. What would it be like to have such a man inside him? Mad with lust, pistoning, driving, coming. Filling him up.

What will it feel like to have a man beside him again?

And then he remembers how Frank kissed him, as they walked hand in hand in the mountain snow. They’d driven up to the mountains to see the snow and weren’t disappointed. The six foot high drifts hid their amorous attacks.

Will he want to hold me in public? Will he want to have stolen kisses and hugs? Will he want to just be with me?

Or will he just want to find the nearest hotel, so they can not sleep together, grinding their bodies together in passion.

He thought to himself that he wanted the tenderness, the gentle passion. The stolen moments of the heart.

It was one thing from a woman — women were just that way. But a man being tender was vulnerable, sweet. Sexy. Magical.

He stopped, and rested his head against his clasped hands. Will he be someone I can love, and hold, and caress? Someone I can grow old with gracefully, or not? Will he love me in return?

And he hoped so. There were so many hopes for a new man. But he knew so little.

What would it be like to have a man beside him again?

What would it be like to have him?

What would it be like?

How would it feel to have a man beside him again?