The Dairy State Boy, A Follow Up

I knew the MMF scene he was talking about, and he was right about it. Neither actor even looked at the other while they played with "Lucky Latina." In my mind, if you have even a hint of gay, you look at the other guy while he's fucking or getting sucked.

"I love that guy. You've seen him in a man on man scene?"

Instead of answering, he grabbed my iPad, held it out for me to punch in the security code, and easily pulled up the scene. I moved in, and we watched the scene unfold together.

"He doesn't seem to like dick at all," I said, watching the actor treat the other guy's dick like I would expect a straight guy to treat a dick.

"He doesn't."

"But he seems to like ass."

"He does."

"Do you, like dick, I mean?"

"Like I said, it was harder -- more difficult -- than I expected to it to be. But, it wasn't a big deal, once I stopped 'oh my godding'. I mean, I have sucked tongues, sucked clits, and sucked ass. I don't know why a dick is any different than any of those things."

The scene was in full throttle by then, and it was turning me on. Josh noticed and, pushing the iPad toward me, said, "take this." When I had, he slid out of the right side of bed, walked around it, and climbed in the left side side. When I looked at him, he held up his left hand, said "I'm a southpaw" and wrapped his hand around my erection. Normally, I would have responded by clamping my mouth to his, as I like to mash when I get jerked. But, I remembered his earlier aversion, so I didn't force the issue; I kept my eyes glued on my screen.

"You're good at that," I said, his grip tight but somehow tender.

"I've had a lot of practice," he answered. "I have been jerking off at least once a day for close to twenty-five years."

Maybe it was from the practice. Maybe it was from being jerked lefty for the first time. Either way, it was the best hand job I had ever received, my orgasm taking my breath, my cum erupting when the actor's did in the outtake at the end. I shivered and then wiggled.

"What was that?" he asked.

"I shiver after I come really hard. I always have, from when I first started."

"Watching you come was hot," he said, tracing his finger through the fluid spread over my chest and stomach. "I wish women ejaculated when they orgasm, so you knew it was real and not faked. A man can't fake it."

I put the iPad on the side table. I had a plan for it when Josh left.

Surprising me, Josh slid his cum covered forefinger into my mouth. I sucked it clean.

"I have to go soon," he said.

"I know," I answered, acknowledging his other obligations.

"But this was fun," he said, standing and moving to whatever clothes were in my room.

"It was," I said. "It really was."

Josh didn't turn away to dress, as I expected him to. I watched his every move.

"Can I get your number?" he asked at the door, surprising me.

"If I can get yours."

"It may be better if I reach out to you."

"And if you do, I'll have your number."

"True.... Be discreet, please."

"You, too."

I was thrilled at the prospect of a recurrence. I loved sex without strings. And, I thrilled at the notion of married straight guy sex without strings.

I didn't feel bad for his wife. I know some dispute it, but I never thought it was my job to keep someone else's house clean.

* * * * *

It didn't take Josh long to reach out. The next day, I received a "you left me limp" text.

I didn't answer. I was proving I could be discreet.

But, I typed an answer. I wanted him to see the bubbles and know I had thought of being indiscreet, but ultimately chose to be discreet.

Less than a week after our first encounter, I received "What r u doing 2nite?"

I decided to be cheeky and answered "U?"

His response was immediate. "No, but I'll do u."

I hoped he meant it. "I'll be home," I answered.

Josh arrived at 8:30. I didn't know where his wife thought he was, and I didn't care.

"Feel how fucking hard I am for you," he said, as soon as I had let him in. I palmed him through his jeans and confirmed he was, in fact, rock hard.

"You're not wearing underwear," I said.

"I know."

"Are you going to fuck me?" I asked, deciding to get it out there. I had readied myself, just in case.

"If you'll let me."

"Let's have a drink first."

"Okay, but let's make it a quick one. I'm horny.... I really want to fuck you. I have been thinking about it all week."

I poured us both whiskeys, neat. Josh poured his down his throat in one fell swoop, not swallowing.

"Whoa, Cowboy," I said, acknowledging his jeans were Wrangler and he was wearing boots. If his general existence hadn't been hot enough, his "Brad Paisley" impersonation moved his hot needle way, way into the red zone.

He didn't whoa. He sidled to the stairs and up, his ass filling his Wrangler jeans like no ass had ever filled another pair of Wrangler jeans.

I downed my whiskey and followed. I wanted him to Cowboy Up.

When I got to my room, I watched him strip. When he was down to only his jeans, he unzipped them to show me his bush, then walked to me, put his hand behind my head, and put his mouth to mine. He wasn't a good kisser.

"I didn't expect that," I said, when the kiss was over. "You turned away...."

"I turned away because my breath was awful. I could taste how bad it was."

"I thought it meant you were not into kissing."

"I'm into whatever you want. Like I said, I'm not an asshole."

"Finish stripping."

He hopped up on the bed, reminding me of Brad Pitt in "Thelma & Louise." He turned away, slowly baring his ass, before spinning around, flopping down on his back, and spreading his arms and legs. He was a sight, his body bare, his dick hard against his belly.

I stood, dumbfounded and still.

He took his erection in his hand, jerked it a couple of times, looked at me, and mouthed "ride me."

I did exactly as he suggested. I stripped my clothes off, lubed my ass, sheathed his rock hard dick, and straddled him.

When I started to suggest what he should do, he cut me off.

"I know how to fuck," he said.

When I started to suggest fucking an ass was different, he cut me off again.

"When my wife is really horny, she begs me to fuck her ass."

I slid down, my hands on his chest, his bush against my ass. As I was riding him, I put my mouth to his.

This kiss was no better. He had a tongue, but it was virtually impossible to find.

He rolled me off of him and onto my back. He grabbed my ankles and pushed them up. He re-entered me from his knees and used my legs as leverage, his hips driving his dick in and out of me.

He was right. He knew how to fuck. He didn't wham-bam me; he used his dick like a wand. He'd speed up, get close, then back off. He was gently rough and roughly gentle. He was powerful but not forceful, rough but not violent.

I wasn't used to being fucked for as long as he fucked me. I told him so.

"I can't take much more."

"Can I take the rubber off?"

"Will that help?"

"Yeah. It's hard for me to nut in a rubber."

Carelessly, I told him he could.

"Oh fuck," he said, when he had fully re-entered me, his bare dick in my bare ass. "Much better."

I wanted him to hover over me, so I could grab his ass and, if I wanted to, suck his mouth. He didn't. He stayed on his knees, his hands behind my knees, his hips driving his dick in and out of me.

I jerked my dick as he fucked me. I came first, my thick load pooling in and around my navel.

Josh came not long after, deep inside me. I could feel his load as he growled.

When he was finished coming, he collapsed onto me, his body sweatier than mine, of course, as he had been doing all the work. I was surprised when he wiggled his torso, spreading my cum with his body. It was more playful than I expected from him.

"Run the bath," I said, sliding out from under him. "I'll get us more whiskey."

I was suprised by the bubbles. He was surprised by my preferences.

"You'd really rather suck and get fucked than get sucked and fuck?"

"Yes."

"I don't get it."

"You're not gay. You don't love dick. I am and I do."

He stood up and walked toward me. He was soft, but he put his dick right in my face as bubbles ran from his crotch and down his legs.

"We are a good match, you and me," he said. "You like sucking, and I like being sucked. I like fucking, and you like being fucked. You'd be perfect if you had big, round tits."

I ignored his tits comment and took his silky glans into my mouth. He hardened as I toyed with him.

"This is so fucking hot," he said, and I looked up to see him looking down, watching himself get hard in my mouth.

I surprised him by sliding my finger over his opening as -- in his words -- I ate his dick. He surprised me by spreading his legs to give me room to play with and then penetrate him.

"Fuck," he said, his body tensing. "Eat that dick... Yeah.... Just like that... Fuck... Here comes my nut.... Oh God, here comes my nut...."

When we were back downstairs, him in my robe and me in a towel, I told him I was surprised he was back so soon.

"You really know how to eat a dick," he answered. "I have never come so hard."

"I've had a lot of experience."

"It shows. It's like, I don't know, you treat it like a brand new toy you can't stop playing with."

"Like I said, I love doing it."

"I have been eaten a lot, but I don't think it's always been a means to an end, not an end in and of itself."

I didn't answer. I just smiled and sipped my whiskey.

"And, I like how 'just sex' it is. Even when my wife is so horny she just wants to fuck, we don't just fuck. I know she's keeping track, filing it away to reference or use later."

"Oh, I'm filing it away for reference and to use later."

"Yeah, but for you, not against me.... You're making deposits into your spank bank."

I was fascinated by the way he spoke. "Eat my dick," "I'm going to nut," and "spank bank" were just a few of the installments in what I thought of as his "dude talk."

"I don't call it a spank bank," I said, laughing.

"You can call it what you want. But, it is what it is."

"You seemed needy."

"I was. Other than in my own hand, I didn't nut all week. Mel's mad at me. When she's mad, she's closed for business."

"Do you like eating her out?" I asked, even though it was none of my business.

"No.... I fucking love it. I love getting her so wet she begs for my dick."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. I don't want to talk about this."

* * * * *

At first, Thomas didn't believe me. Then, he got very jealous.

"I claimed him," Thomas said, the following Monday over dinner.

I didn't remember any such claim. And, we didn't honor claims in any event. We were mercenaries.

"You have to find out his deal," he urged, encouraging me to figure out how it was that I sometimes found this married man setting up and then following through on hookups.

"I don't."

"Are not you curious?"

"I'm not."

"I am. Find out for me."

"I like things just as they are."

"You would."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's perfect for you. Sex with no strings. It's your dream scenario."

"Wrong," I corrected. "Great sex with no strings is my dream scenario."

"Is the sex great?"

"Boy can fuck."

"Tell me all about it."

I did. I was graphic and invented details to rend Thomas out.

"Tell me about his dick," he insisted, when I had finished the fuck chapter.

"It's shaped like a torpedo, thicker in the middle than at the base or the tip. It curves a little to the right, too."

"Is he a shooter?"

"Yes."

"Does he taste good?"

"You know how I feel about cum."

"I do.... It's like pizza, even when it's bad, it's good."

"Yup."

"Does he kiss?"

"Yes, but not very well. His lips are really mushy and his tongue disappears."

"Too bad."

"I overlook it."

"Have you eaten him out?"

"Yes."

"Tell me about his ass.... You know how I feel about that ass."

I did. Again, I was graphic and invented details to rend Thomas out more than I already had. I didn't have to invent the bush; Josh trimmed his front for me, but he left the back natural, curly and covered.

"You should fuck him," Thomas concluded, hitting the him hard.

"You're right. I should."

* * * * *

I took my time, not raising the issue until we'd been fooling around for six months or so. By that time, I had delved into him only enough to learn he'd been an angry teen who got into a lot of fights, usually against bigger and older guys; he'd thought about fucking around with a couple of buddies when he was in his late teens, but had decided that if he could be with girls, then he should be; and that he and his wife fucked a lot, that I was an addition, not a substitution.

When I raised it, he didn't blanch. "Sure," he said. "Like I said, I'm up for whatever. And, I'm not an asshole. I have one, but I'm not one."

"I know," I answered, chuckling. "I've had my tongue in it, remember?"

"Yes, yes I do."

I made it as relaxing as I could for him, sitting on his ass and massaging his shoulders, his back, and his sides; sitting between his thighs and massaging his ass; and I lying between his legs and eating him out like I had never eaten out another.

I took my time and made it as easy on him as I could. But, your first time is your first time, and it's never easy, no matter how much preparation you put in.

"Are you okay?" I asked, once I was all the way in and had been moving a little.

"Totally," he answered. "I have been pegged before. It ain't no thing."

"You've been pegged?"

"Yeah, I had a girl that was fucked up. She liked to pretend she was the guy, I was the girl, and she was fucking me."

I would never had imagined. Never.

Still, I could tell from the tension in his body that he wasn't "totally okay." But, I knew from my experience with him that he would never admit to being other than "totally okay." He had the "boys don't cry" and "act tough" view of masculinity that led my grandfather not to cry at my grandmother's funeral and Bob Gibson to pitch on a broken leg.

Nevertheless, his "totally" gave me permission to fuck him, and, gently and then roughly. I knew when I found the right rhythm and the right spot, his groans turning to moans.

I felt my orgasm build and spread like a fire in my belly. I raised myself to my knees, pulled him to his, and doggied him until I was finished and collapsed onto his back.

"How was it?" I asked, once I had discarded the condom and we had settled against my headboard.

"Better than expected," he said. "About halfway through, it went from 'no' to 'whoa'. I liked it better than sucking you, to be honest."

"So I get to do it again?"

"Like I said, I'm up for whatever."

"Me, too."

"You're not much up for kissing."

"Yeah, not much."

"Why is that, if you don't mind my asking?"

He probably thought it was some kind of "fear of intimacy" or "Pretty Woman" thing. It wasn't. I really liked kissing, in the abstract.

"Can I be candid?"

"Sure," he said, the tone in his voice betraying his answer.

"You're not very good at it."

"Fuck me," he said, before adding, "I have been told that before.... A lot.... It used to piss me off. But, everyone can't be wrong. There's wisdom in crowds. Will you teach me?"

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

I did, showing him how to go from hard to soft to hard again, explaining and showing how to use his tongue, and then explaining and showing how to control the moisture in his mouth and on his tongue. He didn't get good, but he got better.

* * * * *

We were not romantic, but we had romantic moments. One holiday weekend, "the she" -- what I called Josh's wife -- took Cora downstate for a family reunion. To Josh's great joy and surprise, she gave him the option of avoiding the misery and staying in Chicago, and he exercised the option.

"Plans this weekend?" he texted, just before I fell asleep on Thursday night..

"Yes," I answered. It was a holiday, and I had friends. I didn't live a life that left me alone on Labor Day weekend.

"Can u cancel them?"

I immediately typed "yes," but then deleted it and asked "Y?" I wanted to know what I was in for.

"I have a hall pass 4 the whole weekend."

"In," I answered.

Josh showed up at 7:30 on Friday, just him, no bag.

I was bemused. "I thought you had a hall pass."

"I do."

"Where's your stuff?"

"I don't need stuff."

"What'll you do for clothes?"

"I don't plan to wear any."

"What a toothbrush and, I don't know, deodorant?"

"If you don't have spares, I'll use yours."

Friday night was unbridled. We fucked and kissed and sucked and kissed until neither of us could get hard again. It was after two when we finally conceded and fell asleep.

Saturday morning, waking Josh was like waking the dead. I tried to wake him with my mouth, to no avail.

I finally had to shake him.

"Hey, Sleephyead, you're going to sleep the whole day away."

"What time is it?" he asked, groggily.

"A little past ten."

"I never sleep this late."

"It's probably the blackout blinds."

"Or the exertion of last night."

"I tried to blow you awake this morning."

"I may be a little whiskey dicked."

"You hungry?"

"God, yes."

We ate breakfast on the balcony, Bloody Marys serving as a little hair of the dog. Josh was in my robe; I was in shorts and a tank top.

"This food is so good it's bringing my dick back to life," he said, showing me that he was semi-erect down his right leg. Just the sight of him had blood surging into my dick.

"You seem really comfortable with all of this."

He did. We were still on a predominantly one way street, my giving way more than I got.

And, there were still things he wouldn't do, like let me come in his mouth.

But, he was unabashed in his nudity, unflinching in the face of my own, and very good at telling me exactly what he wanted and how I was making him feel.

"I was born comfortable," he said. "I have always been good with whatever."

"Still, I think most guys with your background would get a little hung up now and then."

"If you disassociate a little, it's easy. I'm a bit of a libertine. I like my body. I like sex. I like adventure."

"What are you disassociating?" I asked, thinking that, if our time together was any indication, he was more than "a bit" of a libertine.

"Acts from actions, motions from emotions."

I looked at him, "elaborate please" on my face.

"Look, I like fucking, a lot. As an act, not as a symbol of something bigger. I have fucked a lot of women who didn't interest me as anything other than the other half of a carnal act. I wasn't attracted to them. To be crude, I didn't want anything from them other than a place to bury my dick. When you're in that mental space, there's not much of a leap from a pussy to an ass. I like what feels good. I can and do treat sex like jacking off, as a means to an end. It does not have to be imbued."

"You never freak out, even a little."

"I never freak out, even a little."

"Even when my dick is in your mouth?"

"No. Again, if you can disassociate 'a dick' from everything everyone attaches to it, it's just a dick. I like the feeling of my dick in my hand. So, why wouldn't I like the feeling of another dick in my hand? I like the power of sucking a clit, of taking someone else's control into my mouth. So, why wouldn't I like the power of sucking a dick?"

"You won't let me come in your mouth."

"Your cum smells terrible. I can only imagine how it tastes."

"Accepting what you say as true, why am I your first man?"

"I wasn't born enlightened and free. I achieve enlightenment and freedom."

"Prove it," I said, standing, showing him I was hard, and heading into the house. "Take my control."

He did, kneeling on the kitchen floor as my toes curled under me, my arches cramped, and my cum splattered his neck and chest. He fucked me in the shower, my hands pressed to the wall, my head hanging so the spray of water wouldn't drown me, my mind whirring with the notion that I was, for all intents and purposes, one of those lifelike dolls you can buy on the internet.