Lightning In a Bottle

I followed John to his room. He undressed as we walked, dropping his shirt and his shorts along the way. We passed out as soon as we hit the bed.

John was right. The room was a tomb. When I woke up the next day, it was pitch dark, and I had no idea what time it was. John was still asleep, and I needed water. I sneaked out of the room and to the kitchen, where I discovered it was already past noon. My parents were going to be worried, so I found John's telephone and called them. I got the answering machine, so I didn't have to explain much, other than that I was fine and would be home later.

I took water for John back to the bedroom. I left the door open, so I could see enough to put the water down without spilling it. The light cut across John's body, and I could see that he was sporting morning - technically afternoon - wood. He looked thick.

John woke up when I settled back into bed. "Good morning, Carrot."

"Good morning, Josie. I put water on the floor for you."

"So thoughtful," he said, rolling over, grabbing it, and gulping it down. The people in the apartment below were playing dreadful music (James Taylor) loud enough that we were unlikely to fall back asleep. John rolled onto his right side, looked at me, and said "tell me about yourself, Carrot."

So, I did. In summary fashion, hitting the lowlights. It was a relatively grimy story until I headed off to Wash U and started to make my way.

"You mentioned three siblings, but talked only about two."

"My youngest sister died in a car accident on her way home from school a little over a year ago," I admitted. "It's still hard to talk about."

John grabbed my arm. It was the first time he had touched me, and I felt a jolt. "I am sorry to hear that," he said. "I have never lost anyone. I suspect it is terribly painful."

"It is," I said, noticing that his hand was still on my arm. "It's always there, stalking you. You can be bomping along, not a care in the world, and a song comes on, or someone is wearing her perfume, and a feeling of sadness and loss grabs you and just overwhelms you."

"Come here," John said, rolling me into him and wrapping his left arm around me. My head was in his chest, and his chin was on my head. I could still smell the Calvin on his neck. I had never had a homosexual urge (at least that I recalled), but I had a strong desire to kiss his chest. Before I did anything stupid, John released me and rolled onto his back.

"I am sorry for bringing her up," he said. "But, I am glad to know. It explains a lot."

I raised my eyebrows, silently asking "what?"

"There's something going on behind your eyes most of the time. Even when you are enjoying yourself, there is something holding you back, lurking. And, you get lost a lot."

"Lost?"

"Yes. It is like you drift away. You are there, but you are not."

We stayed in bed for awhile, not talking, just relaxing and listening to the bad music. I finally broke the peace.

"So, tell me about yourself."

"There is not much to tell. I am an only child. My parents were older when I was born. I have lived a great life. I went to great schools. I have traveled to great places. Your life is totally alien to me. I would not have wanted to live it."

"You know, each experience makes us who we are. I wouldn't want to re-live, but I like my life today, and I like where I'm headed. So, maybe it was all worth it."

"Maybe."

I changed the subject. "I require sustenance. And, this 'suicide' music is bringing me down even farther than our talk. If we don't get up, I may do something drastic."

"Well, we do not want that," John responded. We got up, dressed, and headed to Steak 'n Shake to get greasy burgers to soak up some of the alcohol that was poisoning us.

Part Three

From that point on, John and I were inseparable. We visited each other throughout the day at work, and we routinely hung out after work. Flush, John had almost no concept of money, and my desire to spend time with him unwound me a little. I stopped caring about bar tabs and admission fees. I just paid whatever it cost to be his running mate.

He took me to dinner at his house. It was a sprawling two story, and John had the second floor all to himself. The decorating was impeccable. The lawn was impeccable. Every room was huge. My family's apartment would have fit in the suite John called his bedroom.

"Did you grow up here?"

"Yes. My parents have lived here forever, since long before I was born."

"Did you always have this floor to yourself?"

"I will answer, if you promise not to laugh."

"I promise."

"No. Until I was 13, my nanny lived down the hall."

"Oh . . . my . . . God. You had a nanny? You really are John Chester Frederick the Third."

"Let's talk about something else. What is it like to be one of the poors?"

I darted across the room and tackled John backward onto the bed. We tussled a little before heading back downstairs.

*****

John explored my thoughts and dreams more than anyone else ever had. And, he laughed at my reticence. If you asked John if he favored the death penalty, he would cogitate and explain for some time before allowing you to know his ultimate view. I was the opposite. I said "Yes" or "No" and forced you to force me to explain why or why not. I did not volunteer my thoughts freely. You had to work for them.

I stayed at his apartment the following Friday, too. Like the week before, we were stumbling drunk by the time we were undressing for bed.

"I do not think I know anyone who wears briefs anymore," he said, as I undressed for bed.

"I think it's a class thing," I offered. "The rich wear boxers. The rest wear briefs."

"Yours leave little to the imagination."

"Yeah, sorry about that," I said, embarrassed.

"You seem, how shall I put this . . . disproportionate."

"It's genetic," I explained.

"It is impressive."

I was uncomfortable. "I think we should stop talking about my penis," I offered. "And get some sleep."

Like the Saturday before, I had no idea what time it was when we woke up. As we lay there talking, drinking water and popping Tylenol, John encouraged me to move in for the rest of the summer.

"It seems dreadful to drive to and fro every day. I have an unused room. You can have it if you want it."

It was an easy decision for me. We retrieved my twin bed and stuff that afternoon. I was settled in by supper.

We ate on the living room floor, listened to music (John did not own a TV), and talked.

"You know," I said, "you don't use contractions when you talk."

"I know. I was taught they are a lazy shortcut. I have never used them."

"Not using them makes you sound prissy."

"Prissy?" he asked.

"Yes, prissy."

"I do not think I have ever been called 'prissy' before."

"I didn't call you prissy," I reminded him. "I said you sound prissy. Not 'remarkably normal.'"

John smiled at the reminder and then sarcastically offered, "Well, Carrot, we cannot all be remarkably normal. Some of us have to be exceptional."

John left his door open that night, so we could talk as we settled in to sleep. Still, it was difficult, as conversational volume was not audible room to room. Frustrated, John demanded "get in here if you are going to talk to me." I got up and moved to his bed, sitting on the edge as we extended the day. The next morning, I moved back to his bed, so we could talk while we had coffee.

That night, John stopped me when I stood to return to my bed to sleep. "You should just stay in here."

"You sure?"

"Yes. All of this back and forth seems pointless."

I slid under the sheet and drifted off. The next morning, I woke up first, which meant I was responsible for coffee. When I returned to the bedroom with two cups, I noticed John's boxers on the floor.

"Are you naked?" I asked.

"I am."

"Why?"

"I sleep naked. I slept in boxers when I knew you were going to sleep with me. I did not know last night that you were going to sleep with me."

"You were naked the whole night?" I asked, surprised.

"I was. But, I put a pillow between us, so there was no danger of you getting dicked in the night."

"Dicked?"

"Yeah. At school, you got 'dicked' when a male brushed his dick up against you, whether advertently or inadvertently."

"Were there chicks with dicks at Yale?" I asked.

"No. And, that is not a remarkably normal question."

"Well, you said 'when a male brushed his dick up against you,' which suggests there were non-males with dicks also. The only non-males would be females. If there were no females with dicks, then your use of 'males' was implied in your use of 'dicks.'"

"Touche, Carrot," John said. "Touche."

*****

I was surprised that night when John slipped his boxers off and climbed into bed. It didn't fit his explanation from that morning. I decided to call him on it.

"Josie, why are you naked tonight? You said you were naked only when you didn't know I was joining you. You knew I was joining you tonight."

"It is my apartment and my bed. I sleep naked. So, the rule for this bed is sleep naked. If you want to sleep in your underwear, then you need to go to your own room to do it."

"So, now I have to get naked, too?" I asked.

"You do," he said, reaching over and grabbing the band of my briefs. "These have to come off or you have to get out."

I slipped my briefs off, held them up and asked "satisfied?" and dropped them to the floor. For the first time in my life, I was naked in bed with another man. We seemed to be drifting, but I had no idea toward what. When you're adrift, do you ever know where you will land?

"That is better," John said, sliding the pillow between us, and turning his back to me. "Now, we are even."

We went on like that, sliding into bed each night, slipping out of our underwear, and sleeping naked next to each other. There was always a pillow between us. No one got dicked.

The following Saturday morning, we woke around 11. "I need to pee," John said.

"I'll alert the media," I offered, quoting Hobson from Arthur, one of my favorite movies.

"Well, Hobson," he said, letting me know he caught the reference. "I am hard, so avert your eyes."

"I've seen a dick before."

"You have not seen my hard dick before, and you are not going to start today. Close your eyes."

"No," I played.

"Fine," John said, getting up, grabbing his pillow, and shielding his dick from me as he walked to the bathroom. He was gone a long time.

As he settled back into bed, I put him on the spot. "That took a long time."

"It is difficult to pee through an erection."

"It is. Especially when you're jacking off."

"I did not jack off," he lied, turning beet red as he did.

"Fret not, little flower," I said. "I jack off almost every morning. If you wake up with an erection, you may as well put it to use."

"You have not jacked off this week, at least not in here," he observed.

"In the shower. Every morning."

"So, I stand in your cum when I shower?" he asked.

"Only when I shower first," I admitted.

John pulled the pillow from behind his head and slammed it down on me. I grabbed it, and hit him back. After some tussling, we were face to face, with only a sheet between us. John smiled at me, and I smiled back. The moment was overwhelming.

"I think I love you, Josie," I blurted, surprising myself.

"I know I love you, Carrot," John admitted back. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him into an emotional embrace. We were cheek to cheek, chest to chest, and crotch to crotch. I could feel his hard dick against mine through the sheet. I'm sure he could feel mine. Neither of us moved.

Finally, John pulled back. "Should we get up, while we still can?" he asked.

"You can," I responded, "I'm going to stay in bed awhile longer." John reached for his boxers, pulled them on under the sheet, and got up. After he left the room, I jacked off. I was so stirred up, my first shot of cum hit the paneling above the bed.

*****

That night, there was no pillow between us. The train had left the station, and there was no turning it around. I slept on my right side. John slept close behind me, only a sheet between us. He draped his left arm over me. Before I feel asleep, I pulled his hand to my face, kissed the back of it, and said, "good night, Josie." He respond by kissing the back of my head and saying, "good night, Carrot."

We awoke facing each other on Sunday morning. As we talked, I noticed John's hand on the pillow by his face. He had strong, masculine hands, with thick manly fingers. Without thinking, I reached up, and intertwined my fingers with his.

"Will you do me a favor?" John asked.

"Probably, unless it involves piss or scat," I answered, trying to be funny.

"It is more benign than that," he said. "I would like you to tickle my back."

I did, gently brushing my fingertips over his back and up and down his sides. His back was hairless, but he was still young enough to have some pimples on it.

"Turn over," I urged.

He did, pulling the sheet down to his abdomen. His dick was hard, arched, and tenting the sheet.

"Close your eyes," I suggested. He did. I tickled his eyes, face, neck, and chest.

"Raise your arms," I requested. He did, and I tickled his arm pits, sides, and stomach. His dick arched over my hand as I went. I pushed the sheet down to the base of it, and I tickled as low as I could. John's dick rubbed the back of my hand and wrist. It twitched every time we made contact. I was so hard, I was getting blue balls. Coincidentally, he offered "this is too much, my stomach is starting to hurt."

"Sorry," I said, pulling my hand away. We laid in bed talking, letting our erections ebb before getting up.

We slept the same way that night, and I tickled John's stomach on Monday morning without being asked. He was hard, and I again went as low as I could, not caring that his dick was hitting my hand and wrist.

"My stomach is starting to hurt again," he said.

"Mine, too."

"You should stop."

"Okay," I said.

John rolled toward me, said "thank you," and pulled me into an embrace. Again, we were cheek to cheek, chest to chest, and dick to dick, a thin sheet the only thing between our naked bodies. Neither of us moved. We were both breathing hard. I pulled back and looked at him. He smiled at me, I smiled back, and I pressed my forehead to his.

As an odd noise gurgled out of his throat, John lowered his hand to my hip and pushed his crotch into mine. When I pushed back, John pulled the sheet out of the way and started writhing against me, our dicks dueling. I followed his lead, matching his rhythm and speed. We stayed forehead to forehead as we started to pant. John grunted as he came, tensing and flinching as he did. I kept going until I came, coating my stomach. John used his boxers to wipe the cum off his chest and stomach, and I used my briefs. Neither of us said a word about what had just happened.

*****

I spent the day trying to figure out what was going on. I had never had sex with a man, or even wanted to. I mean, I could tell if a guy was good looking or had a nice body, but I had never looked at a man and thought "I'd like to have sex with him." Now, I was either doing it or getting very close. I loved John, but for how he made me act, loosening the ties that bound me and freeing me to act my age, instead of like the old man I had become.

I also spent the day expecting John to pull back. I did not regret what had happened, but I suspected he did. It didn't help that he was out of the office at an event, which meant we didn't see each other all day.

I was in bed by the time John got home. It seemed odd and presumptuous to go to bed in his room with him not there, so I was in my bed. John walked past me, undressed in his room, and then returned to mine. Still in his boxers, John sat on the edge of my bed, put his hand on my head, and brushed his thumb over my temple.

"Carrot, are you awake?" he asked.

When I opened my eyes, he said, "Come to bed with me." I got up, followed him, slipped out of my briefs, and slid under the sheet. I rolled onto my right side, and John did the same, snuggling up behind me, and draping his arm over me. The pretense of the sheet was gone, and his hairy chest tickled my smooth back. He smelled of gin. He reached his arm around me, and tickled my chest stomach. My dick was hard, and he brushed up against it a couple of times. I fell asleep wondering what would happen next.

As men do, we woke up hard. I was on my back, and John was beside me. When I looked to see if he was awake, he rolled onto me, raised his head to stare into my eyes, and started rubbing his crotch against mine again. I clamped my arms around him, and we were quickly once again in rhythm. As John's breath came quicker, I moved my hands to his ass and raised my knees. John came, coating me, and dripping his head next to mine on the pillow. I moved my hands back to his back, which was sweaty. He raised his face and looked at me.

"Get off," I insisted. When he did, I grabbed my dick and started jacking it. In only a few strokes, I added my cum to John's.

"Whew," he said. "For a minute there, I thought you were angry."

"About what?" I asked.

"Me coating you."

"Nope. Just on the verge of blue balls."

"I have spent the last week on the verge of blue balls," John admitted, while using his boxers to clean the cum off my stomach.

"Me, too," I admitted back. "But, it seems we have found a solution to that problem."

The week went on like that. Every night and every morning, one of us writhed against the other until we came. We didn't kiss or even touch each other's dicks with our hands. Hell, we hadn't even seen each other's dicks. We still used pillows to conceal them when we had to take a morning piss.

Vi visited that weekend. I slept on the couch on Friday night, thinking the extra distance would prevent me from hearing them go at each other. It didn't work. The bedsprings squeaked, the wood floor creaked, and Vi came loudly. I jacked off while they fucked. I fantasized about a man as I came, imagining it was me John was fucking.

I woke to them fucking again. I got up, dressed, and brushed my teeth. I ran into John on the way out of the bathroom. We whispered in the hall.

"I apologize for the noise," he said.

"It's fine. I don't want to cramp your style. I'm going to stay at my parents' tonight."

"You do not have to do that," he assured me.

"Yes, I do. I think I'm jealous."

"Really?" he asked.

"Yes, but don't let it go to your head. You have plenty of ego already."

When I returned to the apartment Sunday evening, Vi was already driving back to Chicago, and John was in bed napping. I slipped out of my clothes and joined him. As soon as I was settled in, he reached over with his left hand and started tickling my chest and stomach. As he went lower, I got hard. His hand and wrist again brushed against my dick. To my surprise, John kept going lower, tickling my dick and balls. I opened my legs so he could have full access. When I started to ache, I told him he needed to stop, because my stomach was starting to hurt.

"I have a better solution," he said, taking my dick in his hand and jacking it. He moved closer to me, and I turned my face to his. We locked eyes. I came hard, hitting myself in the face.

John wiped my cheek and then his. "You got me, too," he said.

"Sorry about that. I was just marking my territory," I blushed. "And paying you back for coating me."

For the first time, I reached between John's legs. He was soft.

"Sorry. I'm a little oversexed. But, I wanted you to know that I missed you last night."

"Thanks," I said, moving my hand to his hip. "I missed you, too." I put his hand on my hip, and we fell asleep face to face.

Part Four

When we awoke the next morning, John was behind me, his morning wood pressing at my thighs. I opened my legs and then closed them around him. Instinctively, John started sliding between my legs, clamping me to him by the chest as he did. There was a layer of sweat between us as he came against the back of my balls. John's hand moved again to my dick. I was so riled up, I came after only a few strokes, all over the sheets. John kissed the back of my neck, I pulled his hand to my lips, and we fell back asleep.