She for Them Ch. 02

Prologue: In one of my short stories, I wrote about two bi-guys meeting up and having sex. It was criticised by an anomomous reader saying, "You do not have the foggiest idea of gay sex." After getting over my initial annoyance, I reflected on the comment for a moment and realized that they were right. It wasn't gay sex; it was bi-guy sex. And although one can talk in generalities about what heterosexual sex is and what gay sex is, the reality is that everyone brings something unique to the bedroom--or wherever they bring themselves for eros! And bi-guys bring something different and special--or at least I feel that I do.
Having been steeped in heterosexual relationships for most of my adult life, I have learned successful ways of not only wooing women, but pleasuring them, too. For example, through conversation and mutually-enjoyed activities, I first got to know a woman as a friend. We went on to share intimacies, and became more vulnerable. We gauged where trust could be formed, and when each of us could safely reveal more of ourselves, which deepened the intimacy. With that came a familiarity and an openness to touch, maybe the touch of fingers, a hand on a shoulder, or a lingering full-bodied hug.
These and other ways of connecting led, in turn, to both greater trust and greater intimacy. Then came the kiss on the cheek, followed by the kiss for which she did not turn away, the repeated kisses, the longer kisses, the deeper kisses, and, over weeks and months, that physical connection evolved in parallel with an emotional connection. It was a slow, deliberate process. I made a lot of mistakes, but I, nonetheless, built a foundation for approaching a romantic relationship with a woman.
As for romantic relationships with men, things were completely different. I was raised in the catholic tradition, so we were taught that being gay was wrong, which made me feel guilty about my interest in men's bodies, and made me feel terrified with my homo-erotic dreams. So, like a good catholic, I kept any urge to act on my curiosity carefully under wraps.
Once I had left the church, my attraction to men did find its way into consciousness during the dry days, in between relationships with women, but it wasn't until in my late thirties when I was able to summon the courage to explore more intimate man-man relationships.
I was married then, so my openness, honesty, and genuine curiosity, which I learned in dating women, seemed to be helpful in finding my first two "boyfriends," relationships for which, initially, I didn't tell my wife about. They showed me that I could have a similar relationship with a man partner as with a woman partner, but ultimately, they resulted in only brief flings, rather than longer-lasting affairs.
I guess I got impatient after that, unwilling to wait for another lengthy time of friendship-finding first. So, I decided to try a shortcut by meeting married men through various dating apps. The anonymity seemed to let us speed-date by asking the more intimate questions about what they were looking for in a relationship, their sexual likes and dislikes, their sexual and Covid safety, and so on. Those not willing to share how they felt, fell by the wayside. It was initially a very helpful sorting tool.
But for those who passed my sanity test, the rub for me came in deciding if i wanted to have a friendship first before sex, as I had in my previous relationships. But that wasn't always the interest of the men with whom I was corresponding.
Their bottom lines were generally laid out pretty clearly from the beginning. Even though we intended to get to know each other online as "friends" the expectations for sex were upfront--or jokingly suggested through seductive double entendres.
If there weren't any red flags raised in the emails, and we agreed to meet, inevitably we proceeded to share some brief conversation as a pretext to planning a sexual "meat-up."
It was not so much about getting to know someone with all their faults, foibles, or failings, sharing our deeper secrets with each other, developing an emotional connection of openness and trust. My sense was that men didn't generally like to reveal vulnerabilities right away. We were taught that as boys we don't cry, we don't act weak, we show no emotion-except maybe for anger.
So, when trying to develop a romantic relationship with a bi-guy, much of the sensitivity of getting to know a potential partner gave way to getting each other hard and to moving at some mutually agreed upon pace to ejaculation. And after the sex act was over, assuming it was satisfactory, the two of us acknowledged a brief post-cumming recap of the events, and made a tentative plan to meet up again.
Perhaps I was compromising my ideals, or naively believing that even though the relationship began with sex, it could conceivably proceed to an emotional intimacy over time. Whichever it was, I accepted today's reality of meeting men online. And after two attempts at a man-to-man relationship had failed, bahis şirketleri I met my third married-man, Al, the subject of She for Them Ch. 2.
Al arrived a bit late, or later than he predicted, and parked his red mustang in front of our garage. I had been waiting for him on my back porch, phone in hand, in case he needed to text me for navigational aids.
He closed the car door, scooted around the little tail end, and began striding my way. I greeted him with a simple salutation,
"You made it."
Not counting our initial parking-lot rendezvous two or three months earlier, and two more recent restaurant meals together, this was our second "meat-up," an afternoon anticipated for sex.
Prior to our parking-lot contact, we had exchanged a lot of emails and texts, and some images of our casual, clothed selves revealing our basic appearance. But seeing someone face to face meant more to me, as did listening to their immediate response to a question, without editing to perfection as with an email.
I recalled several details of that first encounter. Al was shorter than I, with a more compact build. He had a mustache. He appeared clean, he was articulate, and we could speak candidly about previous partners, our wives-who were not into sex, Covid vaccinations, and more. Plus, we reviewed in detail many of our prior sexual experiences, all of which corroborated what I had remembered from his emails.
After almost half an hour of talking, I felt that he met my standards for safety and that he was someone I was interested in. When he had described some of his man-man sexual escapades, it made me think of him as preferring the role of a top. That inference aroused me, because in all my fantasies, my erotica reading, and my sexual workshop experiences, I took the role of a bottom or submissive. So I remembered telling him that I thought he was hot. In other words, I could imagine sucking him off and allowing myself to be fucked by him.
He ascended the two steps onto the porch. He explained away his lateness today as a result of highway construction, and gave me an open-mouthed, wet kiss. He was a great kisser, but right then, I had too many questions for him, so I didn't immediately engage with his style of greeting. Instead, I chose to surround him with a lengthy full-bodied hug. I wanted to make sure we were both still embarking on a more honest and open relationship. If he were retreating again into secrecy, I had decided that I wasn't going to meet his sexual needs today-nor tell him about my planned threeway for us with Lisa.
We lingered a few moments on the porch. l let him scan the surroundings and express his admiration for the flowers, the landscaping, and the bountiful blueberries on the bank, before we ventured into the house.
I offered him a drink. He opted for a seltzer, although he stated that he really needed to relieve himself before opening the can. Once back in the kitchen, he poured himself half of it, while I poured myself a cold brew.
He was curious about how long we had lived here, and I gave him a brief history of our house fire, our temporary apartment stay during the rebuilding, and the long-anticipated moving back in. He didn't offer much of a response to my story. Instead, he made a comment about me showing him my etchings. A little nonplussed, I deflected his carnal cravings by initiating a tour of the house.
I led him down a short hallway into the living room. He was an artist as well, so I showed him some of my more recent work. He made a comment about liking two of them, the kind of compliment which always increased my estimation of a person!
His words, though sincere, were accompanied by a flirtatiousness too. I wasn't ready to be sexual, though. To tease him a bit, and also to tease out his willingness to share more intimately, I detoured us through the front door and out onto the front porch.
Fascinated by the new flora, he lit on three day lilies which he said were his favorite flowers. He then told me that, at his previous house, he had had over 100, and that Alyssa, his wife, insisted that they be deadheaded every day, a chore he did not like.
"Neither do I," I replied.
Sharing a dislike of something made me feel more aligned with him. But I wondered if these little things were enough.
As we re-entered the house, and climbed the stairs to continue our tour, he again made a comment about me showing him my etchings. When I still didn't laugh after his second prompt--I hated commonly used and, therefore, overused lines--he mansplained it, assuming that I didn't get the reference of a man's ruse to get a woman up into his bedroom. It was pretty plain that having sex with me was foremost on his mind. But I still wasn't sure if I felt the same lustfulness.
I had been to his place for our initial time alone together. It was our first sexual encounter coming a month after our parking lot introduction. Because we were both married, we had to coordinate times when our wives were away--he, bahis firmaları because he didn't want his wife to know anything, and me because, although my wife was reluctantly agreeable for me to explore my same-sex side, I didn't want to fling it in her face.
I had driven to his town with an intention my wife knew about--to drop off some pastel paintings for an artist colleague. But then I went on to Al's house. His wife was away for the weekend, and we therefore would be assured plenty of privacy.
I easily found his condo and knocked on the front door. Courteously, he invited me in, and offered me a drink. I accepted a seltzer, and we sat on his back porch and talked. He was the voluble type, I knew from the parking lot chat, so I mostly listened and learned about him, but only about those things which didn't reveal too much. He only told me his initials, for instance, not his name.
Once we seemed to have had enough polite talk and had finished our refreshments, he asked if I wanted to go inside to the couch to make out. Man-man sex. What I had been reluctantly bracing for.
One of my friends, also bisexual, had described for me some of the exploits of his younger days. He had had a lot of anonymous sex with men, but he extolled the virtues of it. Each man gave his full attention to the other for whatever amount of time they were together. It seemed almost Zen. He encouraged me, in so many words, to try it. So here I was, trying to give it a go with relatively-anonymous Al.
From my erotica reading, many options for bottom roles were familiar to me, so I assumed the fawning, top-worshiper part. We sat on his sofa, me curling my legs up next to him, and we began kissing each other on the lips.
I welcomed his rather large and pliable tongue into my mouth. His lips were soft; his mustache soft as well. Somewhat to my surprise, I was delighted by his large protuberance invading me, and it compelled all sorts of fantasies of his cock invading me there, too.
I kissed him back, but not probingly with my tongue, being more receptive of his assertiveness, allowing him, in my now activating imagination, to ravage me.
My hands kept busy, though, rubbing over his balding head and onto the short hair down his neck, the downy fluff on his upper back and the short stubble under his chin.
I turned up the titillation, unbuttoning his shirt so that I could get to his chest hairs which I discovered were sparse as well. I slipped my hands underneath his shirt tails in back to slide both hands around his entire torso, in a somewhat awkward side hug.
He was a trifle overweight, but I could still feel the muscular definition in his pectorals and abs which were only partly concealed by "extra padding." I felt a surge in my groin with the frictional heat in my hands rubbing the skin of his chest and back.
While receiving his delicious kisses, I took the liberty of moving my left hand over, first one, then the other, of his thighs, compressing his groin as I passed it in between, which delighted him. I was feeling a sense of power in the sub role, turning this man on, which resulted in my cock's veritable hardening as well.
Once we had kissed for several minutes, I felt his hand reach down to my crotch. Feeling through the thickness of my jeans, he announced that I had an erection, and he made the suggestion that we get naked.
I followed him downstairs, along a hallway, and into his room with a double bed. Once we had undressed ourselves unceremoniously, and he had pulled back the bedspread, blanket, and sheet, we laid down together. We resumed our kissing, now fully naked, and fondled each other freely, exploring with abandon.
Initially, it seemed like it was me groping his body more than he, petting mine. But soon, Al reached down and stroked my cock. Then he descended and did something very arousing to my balls--maybe put them in his mouth or at least I think that's what he did. Whatever it was, I remarked out loud how good it felt.
He then sucked on my cock and told me how much he loved it. And he added that I had a very nice body for which I thanked him, adding that he was the first one who had ever said that to me.
It was actually true. I didn't have that classical masculine broad chest tapering to a narrow waist and hips. My torso was relatively short, my hips a bit prominent, with my height in large part due to two really long legs. For some reason, my mind went back to my junior high years, when the in-crowd boys used to call me a fem, because of my physique. Gleefully now, I reveled in how my shape was partly responsible for Al's formidable erection.
Al was funny during this cauldron time. It was almost like he seemed surprised by me, because he kept drawing attention to everything he was observing. He made comments that my breathing was increasing, and that I kept moving quite a bit. And that I was very vocal.
I did use the word "fuck" freely, exclaiming how I liked his fucking cock, or that I fucking loved kaçak bahis siteleri what he was doing to me right then. I even expressed that I loved him, which was an abbreviated way of me saying that I loved what he was doing to me. He replied that all of it was really turning him on.
His admission prompted me to return his nonverbal oral-genital compliment by going down on him as he lay supine. His erect penis was a bit shorter than mine, and it had a curious bend to it, like a scimitar, I thought.
My wish to be a good lover conflicted with my relative inexperience. I had logged thousands of hours of woman-man sex, and the many ways of pleasuring a woman were stored in my muscle memory. But my man-man sex hours were less than a hundred. What I really liked was having my mouth all around a stiff cock, but I felt that I should really try some other sensualities first.
So, I rubbed my crew cut head all over his genitalia and sack. Then I tried a variety of other sensations with my fingers, my fingernails, my cool breath, doing my best to delay what I really was craving.
Al was quiet, so I couldn't tell if he was pleased with my tactile advances, tolerant of my relatively clumsy attempts, or whether he was patiently waiting for what he really wanted-and what I really wanted.
Again, the differences with men and women's arousal hit me. With het sex, one didn't dive mouth first onto the clit or grab the pussy right off. A woman liked a man who took his time, who allowed her arousal to simmer with all sorts of nongenital contact until it was time to eat. But things came to a boil much more quickly with men, it seemed.
So, I gave myself over to my desire and began by gently licking the cock tip where I thought I tasted a fluid which I assumed to be pre-cum. I, myself, had never seemed to produce it; I didn't recall seeing or tasting it with the other four men I had had, so I truly wondered if it was as common as erotica writers claimed. That curiosity became irrelevant as the flavor of his elixir-droplet drove me so crazy with hunger, that I put my lips around the glans, slid it into my mouth, and began to take his curved sword in deep throat plunges.
Early in our email exchanges, Al had made a comment that he was not huge, but manageable. And that day, bobbing on his cock, I affirmed that there was something beneficial to that. As his erection was not so massive, I could easily take in all of him, and I could do it without any uncomfortable retching.
After some time of me soloing on him, we assumed the sixty-nine position where we could both suck each other. I came off him for a moment to watch his head descend repeatedly down my pole. That sight, combined with the sensation, got me even harder.
He recalled that we both liked nipple play. Unfortunately, he didn't pinch mine hard enough to really excite me the way that my wife did. Even though I demanded harder, he seemed unable to exert enough pressure to bring the pain threshold to the point where it really put me close to the edge.
I tried pinching his nipples, but he uttered no response. Interestingly, he had been remarkably quiet during the whole foreplay time, and it was difficult for me to infer whether he liked something or not. So I asked him how it felt, and he confided that he didn't like his nipples squeezed as hard as I liked mine. With that verbal cue, I adapted my stimulation by using my fingers to ring around the areola and intermittently to squeeze his nipples, but with much more gentleness.
I had another humorous thought. In erotica writing, the action seemed to flow seamlessly, with partners perfectly sensing and then precisely performing exactly what the other desired. There were no fits and starts; no changing of motions in midstream; no mention of a learning curve. But in reality, sex was a language for communication between two people, and like with all languages, sometimes better words were used, and sometimes worse ones. So we were learning our man-man sex lingo inelegantly, but staying with our arousal nonetheless.
I had suggested a fantasy for him by text earlier in the day, when I had come inside after having planted sunflowers. I typed to him that I just planted my seeds and my number one fantasy was for him to plant his seed either deeply in my throat or sprinkled over his chest where I could lick it off, including from his nipples. He had replied with a hot affirmation.
So as our arousal began to peak, he suggested a variation on my fantasy: he wanted me to come on his abdomen, to lick that up, and then to suck him to completion. I was excited by that, so I laid on top of him with my penis compressed between our abdomens, and I started pelvic tilting back-and-forth, thrusting on top of him, with him squeezing my nipples.
I could feel a big orgasm slowly building, and soon I came. I ejaculated all over his belly, yelling quite loudly to the point where he told me to quiet down a bit so the neighbors wouldn't hear.
After several minutes of more softly screaming and less rapidly breathing, I was able to calm down. Feeling energized, as I usually did after a rapture, I went down on him. In my descent, I sucked up the puddle of my cum, still warm and so sweet to the taste.