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Subject: Xmas Story: Seduction[m/m]CelesteContest
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-------------------------------------------------

NOTICE: All the standard warnings about being of age, 
about being aware of your community standards apply 
to the following story! Please read no further if you
are underage 18/21 -- or live in a conservative area --
or are offended by explicit sexual stories.

-----------------------------------------------

SCROLL DOWN





-------------------------------------------
NOTE: This is a four-part story-- a work of 
fiction, and any resemblance to anyone is entirely 
coincidental. Reader comments welcomed via 
email:  a-magician@mailcity.com
------------------------------------------
[m/m]


             SEDUCTION
              Part 1
          

I wish I could begin to tell you how fucked
up my life had become, but if you've ever
been in a bad marriage, you'll have an idea
already. Truth is, I had tried my damnedest 
to stay married, not that it helped much.

Still, it was a shock when my wife of fifteen
years demanded a divorce; we were both in
our early 40s, had a nice home, all the 
middle-class trappings. Our sexlife had
been non-existent for at least a year; I'd
found out that masturbation was not just for
young single horny guys, but never felt very
comfortable having to jerk-off in secret.

Over the months that followed Judy's declaration,
I learned how bitterness can ruin a man's
disposition. I lost the house, most of my 
material possessions, and even the damn dog!
Fortunately, Judy and I never had kids; but
that didn't stop her demanding and, being 
legally granted, a substantial alimony until
she could become self-supporting. Which I
never see happening, as Judy seems to enjoy
all the benefits of alimony. I'd even stopped
jerking off after the divorce -- felt no sexual 
arousal, like I was dead physically and 
spiritually. 

All this stuff had started in late April; we
were legally divorced by the next Spring, and
by the following September, I was rapidly
going downhill. Depressed. Almost despondent.
No reason to get up and shuffle into my
job at an obscure insurance office, trying to
settle claims that seemed suddenly unimportant.
I just up and quit one day; maybe I thought
my lack of income would spoil Judy's cushy
life?

Whatever, I began to use my small savings;
paid my apartment rent, kept me in groceries...
but then, Judy's lawyer went to court and she
got nearly all I had in that account. Right
around Thanksgiving, I hit my lowest point; my
apartment rent came due, I stalled -- but then
the landlord started eviction proceedings. 
I packed up my meager belongings, put them in
storage and paid for it, leaving me nearly 
broke.

The week before Christmas was wretched; I
was walking the streets of Atlanta almost
a homeless person! There's really no words to
describe the despair that gripped me; I'd 
lost weight, become a tall, skeletal frame,
my gauntness emphasized in sunken blue eyes
that stared hauntingly back at me from mirrors.
My thick, gray-tinged hair was still my best
feature, and I kept myself groomed, decently
presentable in what few clothes I had...
struggling to hang on to my sanity.

Finally though, on Christmas Eve morning,
I took temporary refuge, checked into the
YMCA -- using the very last of my funds.
I could only stay two days...but at least
it would get me through Christmas without
being on the streets. And it was bitterly
cold too, predictions of sleet and snow.
Not usual for Georgia winters...but it did
happen occasionally -- bad luck, which I had
come to expect lately.

The long, narrow corridors of the YMCA were
oppressive, dim...but clean, and I was 
relieved just to be indoors. The room I
had been given was near the end of a
corridor on the third floor; and when I
went inside, I saw it was the standard YMCA 
room -- clean but with threadbare bedspreads 
on the two narrow beds, a plain wood chest, 
table, tattered recliner, a small, dusty, 
curtainless window that had a view of a 
gray skyline between tall buildings.

I sat down in the ratty recliner, hearing
a spring protest sharply; but when I put
my feet up, it felt like sheer heaven. And
I'd been told that I'd have the room to
myself -- unless more guests arrived due
to the potential bad weather. I was beat,
and almost instantly fell asleep...

             * * * * * *

The sound of knocking on the door brought
me awake; I heard a male voice ask, "Hey,
Mr. Clark...um, I got a key, the desk gave
it to me, okay if I come in?"

Shit! Just my lousy luck that I'd have to
share the room with some other man -- but
I got up, stretching and yawning, heading
for the door. When I opened it, I got a
shock: The young guy standing there hardly
looked like a candidate for a room at the
YMCA -- he was handsome, tall, muscular and
had a mane of longish, thick blond hair that
fell recklessly into his piercing green eyes.
And he was grinning, a tiny grin of smug 
superiority -- as if he immediately recognized
my down-at-the-heels demeanor, that I was
beneath him somehow.

He was saying, "I never mind staying at
the YMCA, cost-effective you see...and..."

I had missed his first words, but now I
snapped, "What the fuck? You trying to
tell me you here to save money? Christ,
and I thought I was bad into denial!"

He paused, mid-sentence, his handsome
face crestfallen, his green eyes shifting
to the floor, his broad shoulders slumping.
"Hey man, sorry. I...just...I'm..." he
cleared his throat, "having a tough time."

"Yeah, ain't we all?" I turned my back
on him, leaving the door open, heard
him move inside the room, close the door
quietly.

I noticed it was dusk now, the bleak
skyline showing heavy, gray clouds that
spit sleet onto the monolithic buildings.
The room was going dark, half in shadows
as the daylight dimmed, only the
neon flickers, gleaming streetlights and
blinking Christmas lights from below casting 
an eerie glow through the dusty window.

The young guy said, "Um, my name's 
Jerome Bell, and your first name?"

"None of your fucking business. This
is hardly a social occasion, huh?"
I felt mean, nasty and that angry
edge that I'd buried beneath depression
was surfacing now; it felt rejuvenating,
yet scary, uncontrollable.

There was a long silence; the window light
faded more and more, and I slumped back
down into the worn recliner, leaving
the guy, Jerome, no choice but to sit
on one of the narrow, hard beds. He
did so, putting his small, battered satchel
of belongings beside him, not looking at me.

I was tired, still weary from months
of frustration and fatigue born of restless
wandering and indecision. The very life
had been worn right out of me, and I felt
like I was just killing time until the
end came -- and it wouldn't be that long
either. My face must have reflected this
mood, for suddenly I realized the guy was
staring at me, his eyes sad, somehow full
of a strange understanding about my 
miserable situation.

I coughed, feeling uncomfortable, awkward
with this young fellow; if it hadn't
been so cold outside, I'd have left. But
damn, it was Christmas Eve...this was
my last chance to get some rest and try
to figure out what in hell I was going
to do now I was broke. I glanced up to
see Jerome looking away, his body still
tense, alert to the unsettled atmosphere.

We sat like that, avoiding one another's
presence; the light gradually left the
room, only the flashes of neon and Christmas
lights sending brief relief into the darkness. 
I thought about turning on the lamp, but 
it seemed pointless; I had no money to go 
out for a meal, but at least I'd eaten a decent
lunch. I wondered when Jerome had eaten?

As if reading my mind, he suddenly said,
in a low voice, "Um, you already ate, man?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Uh huh, a friend treated me to a huge
brunch, I was stuffed. He...well, I got
some cash if you are hungry?"

I was moved, in spite of myself; he was
offering to help me although evidently
in dire straits himself! His generosity
made me say, "Thanks, but I already ate.
You want the recliner, you look kinda
uncomfortable sitting there..."

He looked up at me, and I could see the
gratitude on his handsome face as the 
flashes of neon lit up the room. He seemed
boyish, younger than I'd guessed, and
I asked, "How old are you?"

"Twenty-five last July. I...no, I
don't want the recliner." He stood up,
paced around the small room a few minutes,
than looked at me. "What's your story?"

Surprisingly, I heard myself telling him
the whole sordid tale; and though I
despised my whiny attitude in relating
my past miserable marriage, I realized
that this young man didn't register any
shock or surprise. He looked as if he'd
heard it all before, that indeed, this
was a familiar tale -- and it occurred to
me that maybe he'd been through a divorce.
But when I asked, he said no, that he knew
other, older men like myself who had been
screwed royally by ex-wives.

Well, I wasn't going to deny that I'd been
screwed royally -- by my ex-wife and the
fucking system, so I nodded. In fact, I'd
noticed that talking about it, telling
my story to someone who seemed to really
understand, sympathize...it helped me by
unburdening. And it dawned on me that I'd
not talked about the situation candidly,
not ever. I'd denied, lied, dodged and
tried to pretend it hadn't been so bad,
that I'd wanted a divorce too, the marriage
had been doomed. And true, it was...but I'd
have never taken the steps to get out of
it, no way.

Though Jerome had stretched out fully
clothed on the bed as I told my story,
he had listened attentively; but when
I lapsed into silence, I heard his deep,
even breathing, knew he'd fallen asleep.
Exhausted myself, I quietly went across
the room, eased open the door and went
down the hall to take a leak in the restroom, 
then returned and stripped off my pants, 
shirt and crawled into bed in my underwear.

I must have went to sleep instantly, and
have no idea what time of the night it
was when I awoke. The room was still dark,
with the occasional flashes of neon light
flaring briefly. I didn't know why I'd
woken, felt slightly confused -- but then,
I saw that Jerome was standing at the 
window, his back to me, a shadowy form
in the darkness.

I remained motionless, staring at him
as he slowly turned sideways, giving me
his profile -- and at that instant, the
neon flare backlit him, and I could see
he was sporting a tremendously big
hard-on, his dick poking out of the slit
in his undershorts. The sight of him 
like that, it had a powerful erotic
effect on me, and I felt a surge of
arousal stirring in my loins, the
first such feeling in far too long.

Jerome was obviously highly aroused, and
probably thought I was soundly asleep,
for he ran a hand lightly over his naked
chest, fingers tweaking his nipples, then
on down, down...hand pausing at the waist-
band of his underwear, suddenly diving to
grasp the protruding knob of his rigid prick.
I could barely breath for fear of disturbing
him, didn't want to prevent what he was
doing -- because it was making me feel
so good, real hot, coming alive with each 
of his intimate movements as I watched.

He was holding his dick, coaxing it with slow,
easy strokes up and down the long, thick shaft;
his fingers teasing the head, slicking off
pre-cum juices, lathering his cock in it and
then stroking, stroking...his body tensing,
the strobe-light neon flashes illuminating
his youthful, muscular body in stark relief
as he pleasured himself openly, almost as if
he was performing...

I had the thought then that he knew I was
awake; he was doing this as an exhibitionist
act with full knowledge that I was watching.
Instead of dampening my growing arousal, this
increased my lust, my need, heat spreading through
my long-dead body; I felt the rush of blood
to my own penis, the erection that began to
harden, throbbing and aching with each stroke
Jerome made up and down his cock.

It was a lewd, provocative show he was 
engaged in -- each flash of neon striking him
in a different pose: First, the profile; then
the full frontal, his muscular body highlighted
in a silhouette of broad shoulders, tapered down
to the trim waistline, the stout thighs, 
long legs...and then, turning his wide back to me, 
bending to remove his undershorts, standing 
to flex his hard, tight ass. God, he was the
very perfection of a young, athletic male!

I'd never experienced an attraction to another
man; it had, of course, crossed my mind --
the kind of stuff I'd seen in porno movies,
men sucking each other off -- that had excited 
me. I think it would arouse any man, whether
he'd admit it or not. But this thing, watching
a blatantly erotic exhibition, it was
giving me a hot sexual charge, and the first
erection I'd had in over a year!

Completely naked now, Jerome continued stroking
his hard-on, but with each flash of the neon
I saw he was moving closer to the foot of my
bed. And with his approach, I became wildly
excited; my dick felt hard as a rock, and ached
to be touched. I fought against lowering my
hand down there, fearing it would prevent
Jerome from moving closer, stop him from 
eventually reaching climax.

I tried desperately to muffle my quickened
breathing, and could hear Jerome's heavy,
ragged breaths as he got nearer, finally
stopping at the foot of my bed. He stood
perfectly still, and I held my breath;
there was a moment of utter quiet, neither
of us able to get a breath, waiting with
expectation, suspense...

His voice was a low, seductive whisper,
"I know...you are awake, watching. I want
you, I want you bad."

I could not speak, could not move; the
whole room was permeated with a strong
sexual scent, the thick musk scent of two men
hot and wet, lusting for each other. I
wanted him too, but was not ready, could
not imagine real touch between us -- I
just wanted to watch, and masturbate while
he jerked off.

My voice was gruff, hoarse with lust,
"No. Can't. Never...not with another 
man."

He shook his head, said ruefully, 
"There's always a first time, you 
won't regret it, I promise you."

I stated firmly, "No." There was
no hesitation, no vagueness, no
room for argument.

He seemed to accept that, and asked,
"What do you want? Need? Anything,
I'll do it."

"Just go on, do what you were doing,
let me...watch."

"And you?" He paused, ran his hand
up and down the length of his hard-on,
asking, "Are you hard too?"

I felt the groan rising in my throat,
tried to swallow it, but the primitive
sound slipped out of my mouth and I could
not resist the need to move my hand down,
ease beneath the cover and play my fingers
over my rigid cock, low moans erupting
at the sensitive ripples of pleasures slowly
coursing through my groin, raising chillbumps
on my skin. 

He nodded, saying, "Um, good, yeah, real good.
Makes you feel...alive?"

"Uh huh," I managed to gasp between deep,
racking breaths as I moved my hand inside
my shorts, grasping the hot, pulsating
flesh between my legs, a long groan escaping
from my mouth.

Jerome was coming to the side of the bed,
and he asked again, "Please? I want to 
touch you, feel how excited you are..."

I shook my head, my hand now working up
and down on the length of my shaft, unable
to speak, staring at Jerome's own bulging
cock as he took it in hand, both of us
beginning the rocking, rhythmic motion of
a good, steady jerk-off session -- and as
we matched speed and timing, Jerome moved
toward me, which I couldn't stop for being
too close to the edge, and he was then
lying alongside of me and I could feel
his body against mine, his hand working
feverishly down there not far from mine, and
we were bucking, heaving...the bed squeaking
as our force increased, harder, faster and
then, reaching that inevitable moment, we
both stopped dead-still, his hoarse voice
near my ear, "Now!" and we both began to
shoot our loads, the cum from his dick
splattering onto my legs, mine shooting
straight up into the covers, each shuddering
spurt causing gasps of pleasure from our
throats, the ride going on and on, as hot,
as long, as satisfying as I'd ever felt.

When it was over, I felt a little ashamed,
embarrassed to find him moving closer to me,
his soft voice asking, "Was it good?"

I pulled away from him, got up off the
bed, putting on my pants. "I don't know...
why that happened," I stammered, trying
to deny to myself and him how good it had 
felt. 

He got up, stood naked in the flickering
neon light; his head was held high, he
was proud, really proud of what we'd done!
I could see that initial arrogance return
to his face, the superior, knowing grin.
It infuriated me, and I walked quickly
past him, carefully avoiding any contact.
At the door, I said stiffly, "I'm going to
the john, when I get back, I'll be leaving."

I didn't give him time to reply, and as
I hurried toward the restroom, I tried
to convince myself that I meant what I'd
said. But did I? After what I'd just
experienced?

I stayed in the restroom longer than
necessary, wondering if I should just
grab my stuff, hit the streets? I
didn't trust myself with that guy; his
sexual attraction was irresistible, 
which I'd never imagined feeling for
a man. What would happen if we stayed
in that small, confining room together
for the next day and night?

Shivering with what I knew was a sexual
thrill, I cleaned myself as best I could
with a wet papertowel. I felt better,
sobered by the time alone, and headed
back down the corridor. Outside the
room, I hesitated, listening to see
if I could hear him moving around;
I was about ready to get out of there,
hit the streets.

But easing the door open, I saw Jerome
was in bed, apparently sleeping. He
was covered, and had his back to me;
it looked safe, no threat...so, I
crept back inside, slipped into the
other bed, and finally, relaxed after
that release of sexual tension earlier,
I went back to sleep too.

When I began to wake the next time, I
felt oddly tense, lying on my back
with a prickly sensation spreading
throughout my body, my skin sensitive.
But I kept my eyes closed, sensing
that Jerome was sitting beside me, and
then I felt the unmistakable touch of
his hand inside my undershorts; I was
hard again, I mean straining hard,
my cock like a raging, angry monster
down there. I remained perfectly still,
willing my mind into the same blissful
state as my body. 

Sure, I could have stopped him -- 
or could I? That feeling of waking 
up with a fierce hard-on, it had been 
years, literally YEARS since I'd felt
such an anticipation for sex, for the
need to be fucked early in the morning.
As I slowly opened my eyes, I could see
the gray dawn light just tingeing the
bare, dusty window. And sitting on
the edge of my bed, Jerome was naked,
his cock standing up against his flat
stomach, hand wrapped around it.

He had his other hand buried beneath the
covers, inside my shorts expertly
manipulating my cock -- making me gasp and
shudder with each stroke. His eyes were
bright green in the pale dawn that cast a 
slow-spreading light into the room, and
I could see his face was flushed red
with excitement. He really meant what
he'd said: He wanted me. I still found
it unbelievable though, that this hunky
young guy would actually desire me --
an older, wretched man neither wealthy
nor attractive. Why?

I actually asked him, the words mumbled
between groans of pleasure as he kept
working on my cock, slowing and speeding
up, stopping at the precise minute before
release...easing off, then resuming the
steady, relentless stroking that was driving
me crazy with pent-up need to ejaculate.
He stared at me, that superior grin on his
handsome face, saying in a husky rush, "Got
my reasons, you don't have to know."

But I did, I had to know why he was doing this,
why he kept after me, seducing me against my
better judgment, against my protestations;
for I was even now mouthing protest for him
to stop, to please not do this, that I didn't
know if I could live with it, that being with
another man like this... But the words died,
got smothered in my rapid breathing, the 
pleasurable sensations sweeping over me, 
through me as he held his cock tightly, his
grip turning the head of it bluish-purple,
saying, "See what you've done to me? Looking
at you, hearing how you got froze out by
that woman, it made me hard, made me want
to show you how good it could be...with me."

I couldn't say anything, couldn't argue or
deny that I'd been hurt by Judy; but turning
to another man for sex had never entered my
mind, not even at my lowest, angriest point.
Yet here I lay, at the mercy of this hot
young stud who was now running his hand up
and down my inner thighs, causing my balls
to tighten up, a moan in my throat as I
begged, "Please...stop, you're...I'm so
hard, it hurts!"

He grinned that arrogant grin, leaned over
me and then, before I realized his intentions,
he'd whipped the cover off and had my exposed
cock at his lips, an animalistic grunt from
him as his mouth opened wide, and he devoured
my hard-on, the wet hotness of his juicy
mouth forcing my hips up off the bed, a cry
of exquisite carnal hunger rising out of me
like a primitive howl. And then he began sucking
in earnest, my rising thrusts into his mouth,
down his throat increasing in pace, in ferocity
as the morning light starkly flooded the room
so I could see each line of his body, the
tousled blond hair, flushed face and green eyes 
extraordinarily beautiful with intensity in his
passionate abandon.

When he dove down deep, forcing my cock as
far down his throat as it would go, I bucked
high off the bed, keening a sharp, piercing
cry as I started to shoot off, the cum being
swallowed down at first, then gushing back
out of his mouth as each long, thick wad of
jism rushed up my stem and flooded out. At
last spent, I fell weakly back onto the bed,
stunned at the ardent life I'd just felt,
seduced by this young man.

I turned my eyes on him, he was wiping the
cum off his chin, licking his fingers one
by one and then, as I watched, he lowered 
his wet fingers to his still rigid cock, 
touching and fondling himself a few minutes,
our eyes locked with a silent, secret lust.
But he did not cum, and finally stood, pulling
on his undershorts, then his pants, adjusting
the bulge of his hard penis.

I couldn't move, couldn't speak; he said,
"I'm going out to find us some breakfast,
bring it back. Hey, this might be a good
Christmas after all, man!"

His exuberance, his youthful energy and
strange attachment/attraction to me was
beyond explanation; I just rolled over,
closed my eyes and hoped I could ride out
the sexual seduction he seemed intent on
carrying out, no matter what.



    


   

    --====================987654321_0==_
Content-Type: text/plain; name="Seduction2.txt"
Content-Disposition: attachment; filename="Seduction2.txt"


-------------------------------------------------

NOTICE: All the standard warnings about being of age, about
being aware of your community standards apply to the 
following story! Please read no further if you
are underage 18/21 -- or live in a conservative area --
or are offended by explicit sexual stories.

-----------------------------------------------

SCROLL DOWN



-------------------------------------------
NOTE: This is a four-part story-- a work of 
fiction, and any resemblance to anyone is entirely 
coincidental. Reader comments welcomed via 
email:  a-magician@mailcity.com
------------------------------------------

[m/m]


             SEDUCTION
              Part 2
          
When Jerome returned with breakfast from
McDonalds, I was sitting in the recliner,
fully dressed, determined to leave as
soon as I'd eaten (couldn't turn down
the meal, even if it did taste like rubber!)

He ate quietly, studying me as his
meal diminished; he asked once, "Gonna
tell me your first name now?"

I nodded, said, "Patrick. Friends
call me Pat."

"Hmm, guess I'd qualify as a friend,
Pat." He grinned, winked broadly at
me, his hand lifting the bulge at his
crotch suggestively. "I'm still hot for
you, friend."

In spite of my confusion, my decision
to get the hell away from him, I felt
a throb of desire in my cock; the boy
had incredible sexual charisma. And
watching him eat with slow, sensual
gestures, tearing the food off, slowly
opening his lips to take a juicy bite, 
his tongue licking those luscious full
lips...sucking the grease off his fingers,
it made me wonder if he was a prostitute?
That was a distinct possibility, and
the health repercussions of our brief
encounter earlier came to mind -- but what
the hell, I was at death's door anyway.
What did I really have to lose?

And then we were finished, and he was
cleaning up the remnants of food, stashing
stuff in the trash, giving me long, hot
looks of longing. I wanted to escape,
had to, and stood up, started for the 
door, saying, "Be back in a jiffy, need
to take a leak."

He was suddenly very close to me, his
breath on the back of my neck, sending a
shiver up and down my spine as he
whispered, "You're not running out on
me, are you Mr. Clark?"

His formality in saying my name made me
flinch; I turned around to face him,
saw his face was pale, pinched...some kind
of real fear there. "Thought you was calling
me by my first name, Jerome."

He hung his head, a defeated slump in his
shoulders, shrugging. "Um, only if you
give me permission."

I felt the confusion again; what was
with this boy? I was badly messed up, but
his odd behavior was truly difficult to
comprehend. I said nothing else, simply
left and went to the restroom, where I
tried to calm myself and gain enough
control over the passions raging in me
so that I could hit the streets, not
trusting myself to go back to the room.
I stood in front of the cloudy, scratched
mirror, looking at not only an older man, 
but now one who had done something that 
was morally repugnant to him. Yet there 
was a new vitality in my eyes, a light 
that hadn't been there in years.

The door creaked open, and I saw Jerome
slip inside, moving up close behind me,
pressing his hard-on into my ass. "You
not going to split, are you?"

The flush of my face told him I was
indeed thinking of doing exactly that,
and he put his arms tightly around me,
as I watched my face grow red, hot in
the mirror. I felt his muscular body
tightly against mine, his long-delayed
climax throbbing in the hard-on he
pressed into my rear. His whispers
were urgent, "I want you, right now.
I need you, please...please...no one
will come in, right here, right now!"

And I was on fire too, burning up with
a fever for him; I let him do what he
wanted, and he undid my belt, lowered 
my pants, and then turned me back to
the mirror, unzipping his pants and
shoving his long, inflexible rod between
my legs, starting to pump, pump as I
felt an erection begin in my cock, the
boy's groans getting me harder and harder,
until I felt his hand reach down, grabbing
hold of me, starting to stroke with a
fierceness I almost couldn't bear -- I was
near to climax. He seemed wildly frenetic
yet unable to cum, stabbing his taut meat 
between my legs as I clamped tightly onto 
him.

In a pitiful cry of anguish, he moved his
cock up along the crack of my ass; I tensed,
and he mumbled, "No...not going in, just
need to feel it there, know how you feel...
dad."

Oh God, when he said that I felt his body
go rigid, his eyes rolled up, and he rammed
savagely against me, the tide of cum bursting
out of his cock, streaming in rivers over
my ass, down my crack, running down my legs,
and his hand clenched into a fist over my
dick, making my cum rise and shoot out, 
hitting the sink, the mirror, both of us
making sounds of wild, rapturous release,
totally oblivious to where we were, what 
we were doing -- only the reality of acting 
out some long-repressed sexual fantasy 
that all men must at some time or other 
desire in the black center of their psyche.

When we'd collapsed against each other,
I felt the wetness on his face, turned
to look closely at him. "This...you wanting
me, it has something to do with your
dad?"

He nodded, gulped for air, sobbed, "Yes,
I'm...sorry. Not...your fault. You...um,
look like him, sorry."

I held him for a little, helping quiet
his sobs and then as we started back
down the corridor, I said softly, "I
talked to you about my problem, now
you need to tell me your story."

And he soberly nodded, subdued but
agreeable to sharing what I needed
to know about him -- why? Why he
had wanted me sexually...

Once back in the room, we were both
subdued, reflecting about what had
just occurred; it was reckless to have
indulged in the restroom -- anyone 
could have walked in on us. Yet that
risk had enhanced the act with danger
and fear.

Jerome had sprawled over his bed, his
green eyes staring bleakly at the ceiling.
I wondered what awful kind of childhood
trauma he'd suffered at the hands of his
father? Molestation? Full penetration?
I felt a stab of remorse, guilt that I
had succumbed to his seduction; it wasn't
really the boy's fault if he had this
sick desire. I was older, I knew better...

But then he began to speak in an almost
monotonous monologue and I listened to
his story with increasing shock and, yes,
fascination...

"It's not what you're thinking, I bet,"
he began, glancing at me, his face flushing
and his eyes veering away from mine. "I mean,
I bet you're thinking my dad was a sicko,
that he molested me, right?"

I nodded, easing down in the recliner,
prepared to listen intently...however
long this would take.

"I...I don't know when I first felt that
I was different, that I...got a charge
being around other guys. Probably when I
was about um, let's see...twelve or so.
Some guys in my school, we played
softball every spring, and I'll never
forget being in the locker room with them,
seeing them naked in the showers. At first,
I didn't realize what was going on, but as
I began to get hard, it dawned on me that
none of the other guys had this problem.
Why? I wondered why, suffered with pangs of
desire, lusting over those guys. Some were
older, fourteen, fifteen, and they talked
about girls all the time, some even getting
hard-ons discussing women's breasts, bodies...
but I just never felt any arousal. Not like
that. But for the guys, I was always hot; 
it was all I could do to hide myself, then
find a place and jerk-off."

I had never heard anything like this; it was
really a revelation to me and I asked, "Did
you talk to anybody about this?"

"Nah, my folks, mom and dad, they'd have
died if I mentioned the word 'sex'. And
who else would I talk to? This is the South,
you know, and it's not like the gay life
was approved of  by small town people
where we lived."

He looked at me, and I nodded, encouraging 
him to continue. "Well, I gave up sports;
just too painful being in the locker rooms,
seeing those naked guys, trying to hide my
hard-on. I never acted on my sexual feelings,
just tried to keep it secret. Then problems
started with my parents, all kinds of shit,
arguments, fights...I couldn't understand
at first what was wrong. But one night, when
I couldn't get to sleep, I heard them loudly
arguing in their bedroom, and the upshot of
it was that mom had refused to have sex, ever
again! I mean, by that time, I was fourteen,
and I knew how painful this could be for my
dad!"

I began to sense where this was going, but
I kept quiet, simply urged, "And?"

"Yeah, well...you can imagine how he must
have felt, cut off like that. There was a
period, I guess about a year, when he
just suffered through it, staying loyal to
mom, I figure. It was this time that got
me so messed up, or whatever you want 
to call it."

I didn't say anything, so he sighed, then
continued, "Um, see...I began to discover
that dad was jerking off; he'd look at
some girlie mags, then lock himself in
the bathroom for an awful long time. It
wasn't hard to figure out what he was doing,
and the idea of it, um, thinking of what
he needed, wasn't getting...man, it would
get me so hot, I'd jerk off too. Sometimes I'd
do it five or six times, just imagining what
he looked like doing it, how I could help 
him feel so much better, you know?"

I wanted to feel compassion, but somehow
this was so remote from any experience I'd
ever had (except for the latest stuff) I
could only shrug, say, "Guess it did bother
you."

"You have no idea!" He jumped up off the
bed, began pacing restlessly around the
room, talking excitedly, "It went on and
on like this that year, until finally my
resistance broke down...and I worked out
a plan to spy on him."

He stopped, stared into my eyes, shook his
head. "Bad mistake, shouldn't have done it.
But once you get a fantasy in your mind, once
you go over and over it, the imagination is
just not enough, you gotta actually do it."

I didn't say anything, but I did have a
flash of worry about what this whole episode
would do to my sexuality; would I ever be
able to settle for a woman again?

He grinned, threw up his hands, said, "But
anyway, I had to go for it. I had dad's
routine down pretty good, his sessions
usually were very late on Saturday night.
And I prepared for it, fixed things so
it would look accidental, I thought."

His voice got tense, and his pacing
resumed. "I...I fixed the bathroom
door so it wouldn't lock, would seem
to, but could be easily opened. That Saturday,
I was in a state of extreme sexual ecstasy 
all day, just anticipating what would happen
when I walked in on him, how good it'd
be between us, how I wanted to do stuff
to him, with him..."

Pausing, he ran a hand through his mane
of long blond hair, pulling it off his
forehead. "Talk about a big disappointment!
It was worse than that, by far. That day
I couldn't help it, I must have jacked off
at least five times just thinking about
it...anyway, when dad went into the bathroom,
I waited for a little while, giving him
time to get worked up, but not cum..."

I was unable to guess where he was going
with this, leaned forward with expectation.

"Yeah, it was suspenseful, dramatic. Hardly
believable...but here's what happened...
I, of course, was stiff as a poker, my cock
leaking and aching to be touched by someone
else besides myself! I stood outside the
bathroom door, listening...and sure enough,
I could hear the faint sounds of masturbation,
the fast breathing, the slick, sucking motions
of his hand on his wet rod... Quietly, I eased
up against the door, then pushed it open as
if just going into the john..."

"And?" I urged, feeling the annoying tingle
of sensual stimulation spreading through my
body, a quickened beat in my cock...this was
making me hot!

"It was just like I expected, he was standing
near the toilet, his pajamas undone, one hand
methodically going up and down, up and down on
his engorged penis...which, as I dropped my gaze
down upon it, seemed to pulse and grow longer,
bigger, much to his shame I could see as I looked
into his face. He was at that point of no-return
almost, and as I'd judged, couldn't stop himself
from the hypnotic thrusting... I'd never seen an
uncut guy's dick, and was amazed at the foreskin
wrinkled at the base of his prick, and the way
he would work it up a bit, almost covering the
head, then savagely expose the raw, tender flesh
that stayed hidden usually, probably extra 
sensitive to touch..."

God help me, I was getting a hard-on again! It
couldn't be happening, not when I'd already
cum twice this morning...but yes, I felt the
tremendous pressure growing, my cock surging
painfully hard, poking against the rough fabric
of my pants zipper. When he glanced down at my
crotch, he grinned arrogantly, said, "You can't
help it, can you?"

I closed my eyes, wanting desperately to deny
it...but nodded in acquiescence...while he
moved over near me, kneeling on the floor,
easing apart my legs, his hand lightly, softly
touching the bulge there...a sharp intake of
breath from me as he pressed hard, harder then
stood again, resuming heatedly, "It was that
way with dad too. I saw he was shocked,
stunned, but that didn't stop him, he was too
far gone, right on the edge...and I hurried
over to him, his eyes wide with disbelief
as I tore off my pj bottoms, taking my smaller
but stiff penis in hand, showing him how hard
I was...and then, as he watched with horror 
and fascination, I put my hand over his, prying
his fingers off his cock, guiding his hand to
mine as I took hold of his...and we were, yes,
it was my fantasy come to life, jerking each
other off, lost in some kind of never-never 
land of lust and madness, the pace increasing,
faster, faster and our breathing heavy, hot,
hands tightening the same on each other's meat,
harder, tighter...and little muffled groans 
from dad, his eyes still shocked, disbelieving...
both of us moving to a primitive, evocative
pattern as old as mankind...the cum-juice filling
up his shaft, rising, mine also...the release
of ejaculation bringing a smothered, sorrowful
word from him, "Noooooooo..."

I was shooting off too, lost in the ecstasy,
couldn't protest, couldn't say anything but
I was planning on telling him it was okay,
I'd wanted this, needed it...but suddenly,
just as the last gush drained out of our 
pricks, there was a cry of outrage from the
door...I looked over, and mom stood there,
shielding her eyes, screaming like she'd
just witnessed bloody murder!

I was unable to sit still; I got up, 
stopping him in his tracks, my hands on
his shoulders, "You mean your mother came
in and saw this?"

"Yes." A flat confession, a deadness in
his voice, telling me that nothing worse
would ever happen in his life. And I was
right, because he told me the rest of his
story between sobs of regret and anger: How
his mother had gotten a divorce, charging
his father with sexual abuse of him. How it
had ruined his life, their life, the family...
and all because that 'bitch' refused to
have sex with his dad.

He was very worked up, angry and upset,
by the time he finished telling it all;
how he'd run away at sixteen, been in and
out of foster homes, finally hitting the
streets at nineteen, sometimes being a
willing, grateful, slavish lover for older, 
wealthy men. How he got off on these men, 
father-figures...pretending they were his dad.

By then, it was near noon, and I'd
coaxed him into my bed; we lay there,
highly aroused, but sad...weary from
what was wrong with the world when it
came to sex. A warped sense of morality,
he kept explaining, too much self-righteous
judgment...on and on he had talked, 
making me realize that I was like his
father in that I'd felt morally offended
by what we'd been sharing. Yet in truth,
our sexual encounters had restored 
something within me, given me back a
will to live, made me come alive. How
could this be wrong?

We discussed all of this, the endless
philosophy of sexual morals, sexual
preferences...and it was indeed a long
afternoon, both of us lazily toying 
with one another in bed, talking, being
intimate, staying sexually aroused but
not carrying it too far, just prolonging
the exquisite high of stimulation.

By the time night darkened the narrow,
curtainless window, we were both feeling
better about our lives; the naked
revelations about our pasts, the hurts,
the pains, the betrayals...it had
unburdened our souls. So we began to
make love, not have sex, but truly
explore one another in a slow, tedious
painstaking exploration that stretched 
on into the night hours.

It was beautiful, an exotic Christmas 
I knew I'd never forget. I'd been
reborn, brought back to life by this
passionate, vibrant young man. He
did things to me, God!, things I'd
never imagined two men doing...the
painfully drawn-out ecstasy of his
sucking me and rimming my asshole
with his tongue, telling me he wanted
to do all the things he'd never got
to do with his dad...sticking his tongue
inside my tight, tender butthole and
making me cry with the blissful torture
of it all!

We managed to keep at this until around
midnight, amazing to think about it --
though I'd adamantly refused to let
him enter me, and would not enter him.
Still, we'd done everything else...and
the first time he kissed me, the kind
of intimacy I'd never thought I could
have with another male, it was such a
tender moment. He'd been lying on top
of me, our cocks wet and hard together,
his body sweaty, his hair damp...and
he'd moved his mouth close to mine,
begging, "Please let me kiss you, I
want to bad."

And I looked up at his handsome face,
the neon-flashes illuminating his 
long, muscular body atop mine -- how
erotic the moment was, the breathless
anticipation in his voice as he whispered,
"Let me, please?"

I gave a curt nod, and he hovered there,
his lips coming down over mine, the act
of possession unbelievably powerful,
irresistible as his mouth opened, his
slender, probing tongue going into my
mouth, the seduction complete as I let
him have me, body and soul. The kiss went
on and on, a deeper, wilder fire blazing
as he began a vulgar in and out fucking 
with his tongue, our bodies humping in sync,
man-cocks striking, streaking hot down there
between our legs as we fucked each other.

This must have lasted an hour, both of
us backing off every time climax threatened;
we'd stop, shuddering with the sudden
lack of friction. Sometimes he got up,
walked around, trying to calm down, his
dick a massive spear that stood up against
his flat belly, the neon flaring to reveal
his concentration, the grimace of control
on his face. He wanted to fuck me, he said,
was dying to shove it up inside me -- but
I refused, could not, would not go that far.
Then he'd change tactics, begging me to fuck
him, ram my rod up his butthole; he wasn't
a virgin, he assured me, and he could take
it...take my cock all the way up inside him.

But I still refused; the night was long,
the hours filled with hot, wet couplings
that left us strident with barely leashed
cum-hard cocks near the point of eruption.
I knew I'd never experienced any sex 
like it, nor would I probably ever do so
again. It was a once-in-a-lifetime ride,
the kind that most men cannot begin to
imagine, much less act out in reality.

The pressure, the strain of sustained
sexual arousal can, eventually, become
more painful than pleasurable; around
midnight, that is where we had arrived.
We were both so intensely stimulated,
the least touch, the slightest brush
against one another would have ended
in climax. We kept carefully apart,
him on the bed, me in the recliner;
our cocks were sore, tender with 
prolonged hardness -- yet never had I
felt such a pleasurable high! It could
be addicting, I feared!

Jerome said, "I can't last any longer,
let's break it, okay?"

I was more than willing, and we both
moved to the bed; we lay down side
by side, carefully not touching, simply
feeling the maleness of each other,
the strong presence of unrelieved lust...
our naked bodies generating electricity
even though apart. He put his finger on
my lips, I took it inside my mouth,
rolling my tongue over it and hearing
him moan with pleasure as he moved to me,
forcing his taut, tense muscular body
against mine. 

We didn't know what would happen next, 
but it didn't matter -- our long-aroused 
state took over and suddenly he was 
atop me, riding hard, his cock going 
between my clenched thighs as mine
went between his and we were fucking, fucking
in a mindless rhythm, the friction, the 
slick juices from our pre-cum making
our movements slippery, the thrusting sound 
of our hips hitting, our cocks striking down
there...it was all increasingly unendurable,
too much, too fast...and we were gasping,
grunts and groans as we got faster, harder...
almost deliberately hurting each other,
the slapping, rocking, swaying, sticking
of our bodies as we began to kiss, wetly,
our mouths sucking tongues like they were
our fierce, burning cocks...we were flying high!

Then he rose up over me and I looked down 
between us to see his huge, angry, hot cock 
start to shoot cum wildly over my belly, his
eyes closing, his keening cry sending me
over that same cliff, feeling my ejaculation
start deep down in my balls, the searing
heat of it rising, thickening and then bursting
out, hitting his stream of jism, the mingling
of our cum as he looked down to watch...it
seemed to pour in an unending stream, the 
white-flood of pent-up semen like a raging
river once the damn has broken.

We collapsed against one another, finally,
totally wasted, spent, satiated. And sleep
overtook us, curled together, still sticky
and slick with the semen of savage release,
sexually, emotionally, psychologically.

It had been, I later decided, one hell of
a Merry-Fucking-Christmas -- one that was
a perverse as it was cleansing, for it
saved my life. Literally. I became a 
survivor, not a defeated man after that
day and night...though I never again 
had sex with a male, it was exactly 
what I'd needed there and then, at 
that time in my life. 

Somehow it reawakened me to life,
gave me the will to live, to cope as best 
I could. And I hope, wherever Jerome is 
today, he is better for our having 
shared that Christmas day long ago...

          -The End-

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