Tag: boyfriends

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You don’t realize how many holidays involve drinking until you’re trying to avoid them. Even the casual pool party is full of beer. A nice date night almost surely involves wine. Spiked eggnog cor Christmas, champagne on New Years, it’s ubiquitous. St. Patrick’s day is probably the worst as it’s synonymous with DUI checkpoints, green vomit, and cringe-worthy flashbacks about comments you made to that one hot redhead.

Normally, I try to keep busy with projects but there just wasn’t anything this time around. I found myself pacing around the house. I wanted to go out to a bar, have a drink, play pool, flirt with cute Irish boys from across the pond. Just one wouldn’t be such a backslide right? I knew myself though, one would turn into two, two into four, four into 4 am.

I was pacing around the bedroom, trying to push the nicotine-strong craving for booze out of my head and chewing my nails when my boyfriend came home.

“…Baby?” Ben called out, wandering the house until he found me. He was relieved to see I was here, but when he saw my face his clouded up. “Hey Tad, are you alright?”
I huffed loudly and sat on the bed, “Nothing it’s just… ” I raise a hand and then let it fall to the bed. “You know.”
He nods. “The craving is back?”
“Like a beast. Fuck, I can just taste it… like, I can smell the bar and everything.”
Ben stands in front of me. “Cause of Saint Patrick’s Day, huh?”
I nod miserably. “Just one…I just want one…”
He takes my hands in his own. Ben’s been my rock in all of my recovery, and when I plead like this, what I’m really asking is for a distraction. I never expect him to say “fine, only one” and he never, ever has.

Ben kisses my forehead. “How about-” he pushes me backwards and climbs on top of me, straddling my waist while discarding his shirt, “-we stay in, instead. Save us the money we’d waste, and fuck.”
“Mnnn I do like fucking but…you’d finish in a couple minutes, then what?”
The corners of Ben’s lips slide up into a Chesire grin, “Whaaat about if I bottom?”
“…You’re in the mood to bottom?”
“A rare occurrence but yes. And you know how tight I am, could take a while to loosen me up. Maybe a shower first?”
I grab his hips, slide my hands over his bubble butt. “That could take a while…” I agree.
He arches over and kisses me. I can’t help kissing him back. He’s incredibly convincing shirtless, I’m not sure if it’s his nipples or his pecs or what. I pause to inhale some air. “But…but what about after?”

“Well, if we do it right, you’re going to be exhausted, thinking of my hot body instead of a bar. I like to think I smell better anyway, even after sex.”
I snort.
“And, Tad, I thought after we cleaned up, we’d make one of those English breakfasts you love so much for dinner and have a picnic in the living room.”
I look at Ben’s hopeful face as I fiddle with his short strings.

“So… I can either go out, drink too many beers, get sick, hungover, and have to deal with your guilt tripping me the next morning, potentially ruining our relationship; or I can stay in, fuck my hot boyfriend who rarely ever wants to bottom, and then watch him make my favorite meal wearing only an apron? Man, that is a hard choice.” I smile, squeezing his ass with both hands.

Ben grins before he bends over and ravishes me with kisses again. “Your cock has already made the choice I see…”
I huff air through my nose. “Thank god I have a separate brain in my dick that knows what’s good for me.”
“Thaaank god,” he agrees, relief and pride all over his handsome face.

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Text is fictional; the man on top is Jake Bass, the man on bottom is Tommy Defendi. Thanks to annamartinwrites for the names.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

nobodyknowsthelastofme:

No one will ever see you the way my eyes do

He’s been gazing at me for almost half an hour now. It’s a little unnerving, and sometimes I want to look away. I eventually put down my book and turn my attention to him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I just thought I’d have my whole life to lie in bed and look at you, so I’m getting it while I can.”
“Oh god, don’t talk like that, please.” I set my book on the nightstand.
“Well it’s true,” Robert sniffs.
“No…no it’s not. You need to be an optimistic. The doctor said the new drugs work really well.”
“They won’t,” he says, resting his head against my shoulder, “They didn’t help Chris, they didn’t help Marcus, or Jesse. I haven’t met anyone they did help.”
“You’re biased. We’ve gone to three funerals but no parties right? No one is celebrating it, but lots of people have survived this, you just don’t hear about it.”
“Yeah that’s the problem. If more people heard about this, they’d know to be more careful. I should have been more careful…”

I pull Robert into a hug. “Don’t dwell on the past. What’s done is done. We need to focus on the future.”
“What future?” he huffs.
I bite my lip. “Tomorrow. And the day after. Next month. Your birthday. Then the next month…and the next year. Every day we can be together.”
“Won’t you tire of me, when I’m sick and dying?”
“Jesus Robert, stop talking like that! You need to be optimistic.”
“I don’t want to die,” he says softly, his voice cracking.
I embrace him as tight as I can, as if pushing him tight against my rib cage will suppress my own torrent of emotions hiding just behind a low wall.

“Medical science will do what it can, but If…if the time comes, when the drugs don’t work,” I pause to take a deep breathe, “I will be there for you. I won’t abandon you. Even if it costs my job, I’ll be by your side every second.”
I feel Robert’s body jerk as he starts crying into my shirt. “I don’t want to end up like Chris, wearing a stupid suit, in a hole, covered in dirt!”
I wipe tears from my own eyes, feeling futile in my efforts to soothe him, “Then we’ll celebrate instead. We’ll have a big party, lots of alcohol and food. Go go boys.” I reach for a tissue and blow my nose. I shove a second into his hand so he doesn’t get snot on my shirt.
“Like… a disco?”
“Yes. A disco, or a gay cabaret, whatever you want.”
Robert hiccups. “I’d like that. No suits.”
“No no.”

We rest there for so long I think Robert’s fallen asleep. I reach for my book again but he startles me by speaking.
“I’m scared, Justin.”
“I am too,” I say.
“Do you think I’ll live to see 1987?”
“I think so.”
“But it’s a year away.”
“Be optimistic, Robert. The grim reaper hates optimism.”
“Does it like sex?”
“Well…we don’t know anyone that’s died during sex,” I admit.
He looks up at me with red eyes, “Do you still want to fuck me, although I have AIDS?”
“Yes, yes I do. You’re still my lover, and always will be.”
He kisses my chin, a now rare smile on his face. “I’ll go get the condoms.”

I sigh in relief as he slides off the bed to go get them. Deep down, I’m more terrified than he is. The doctor said although my tests are negative, the virus can turn up months later. We had sex twice before Robert got the diagnosis; it was a “gift” from one of his clients. Still, I dread Robert purposely wanting to infect me so we can die together. I can’t be strong for him if I’m wasting away from it too. Someone needs to see Robert’s memory is remembered. I just hope it will happen when he’s 100 and not 30, but my gut feeling tells me he is going to end up another statistic. My poor, poor baby. It’s just not fair.

_______________________
Text is fictional.

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“Mmm, what are you thinking?” I ask, ghosting my fingers over his sternum.
“I’m thinking…that I’m really happy you’re my boyfriend. I feel lucky,” James answers.
“Oh…?” I softly respond.
“Cause you’re…just this amazing person. Selfless, not selfish. Smart, without making me feel stupid. Witty without being annoying. Polite. Plus you’re really cute and you have the most beautiful penis I’ve ever seen.”
I turn beet red and bury my face into his neck, giggling. “You should smile when you tell your lies.”
“No, it’s not a lie,” he insists, “I swear I wasn’t really into blowjobs before I met you. It just seemed awkward and it tasted weird, but when I see you naked I want to suck you. And I enjoy it.”
“Really?”
“Yes, it makes me want to give it attention. Like, when your cock looks like that it shouldn’t be neglected. Plus your balls are nearly even in size, and they’re all…plump, I guess, which turns me on for some stupid reason.”
I smile. “I don’t think it’s stupid. It’s male genitalia. You’re gay, it’s supposed to turn you on.”

“See? This is what I mean. You can have a discussion about these things without being condescending about it.”
“Why thank you. Even with pillow talk, I try to be a gentlemen.” I try to hide how flattered I am he thinks these things about me. “Mmm. There is one other thing though, I really like,” James says.
“…What? Tell me! Please, I mean.”
He tilts his head to the side and gives me a serious look. “For some reason, after you cum, you smell like cinnamon buns.”

We stare at each other, then simultaneously dissolve into laughter.

The whole evening goes like this, staying up late, talking. Fooling around. Me making tea and grilled cheese, then back into bed for another round of chatting and foreplay. It’s pouring outside, but here, tucked up into this cozy loft of this cabin, we’re safe and warm and near delirious with love and happiness.

____________________________________________________________
Text is fictional. I think the couple is Sonny & Will from Days Of Our Lives.

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I love my man. We just had amazing sex. He was frustrated from work, I was bored and horny from being home all day – no college classes today. We went right from dinner to the bedroom. He was tender to me, careful not to hurt me, but at the same time tempestuous and domineering. I love post-sex cuddles, but he’s biologically programmed to pass out immediately after. At first I resented for this, blamed him for spoiling the mood, but I was a fool.

Even though my balls are empty, my head is a fuzzy mess still running on the last smoldering embers from our lovemaking. Turns out I wanted nothing more to just lie here and enjoy him in a private way. To be honest, I find it a little bit sexy that he just passes out like this. It’s so feral and masculine, the way he just dumps his seed and goes to bed now that his important task of claiming me is finished. Big man like him needs his rest so he can go back to supporting us tomorrow.

Yes, I’m truly content to just rest here next to him, listening to him breathe, watching his chest expand with each breath. He has a beautiful body and a great butt, but as a bottom I only see it in the shower. Despite his swagger and confidence, he is secretly nervous about how bottoms see him, especially those that become lovers. He gets defensive and shy when he catches me ogling him in the bathroom or when he changes. He obsesses over his weight and the perfect balance of “bulking up” and “ketoing”. Since he’s unconscious, I get full insider access to him without the risk of him getting skittish and bolting like a deer in the road.

I had a thought the other day during one of these cuddle sessions, when I was caressing and exploring the terrain of his tree trunk thighs – that it’s almost like getting to see the workings of a great machine. Under this gently curved skin are the thick cords of muscles that allow him to fuck me the way he does. Sure his big dick is what prods my prostate and makes me gasp, but those toe-curling thrusts are all due to the power of his muscles and tendons expanding and contracting around his bones.

I stay up sometimes an hour or more, falling in love with every tiny little part of him that works behind the scenes. The knuckles of his fingers allow him to grip my aching cock. His eyelids keep his dark brown eyes moist. His stubby toes allow him to dig into the mattress and get some real traction. Each little vertebrae in his spine flexes so he can bend over me and kiss my cheek while starting his thrusts. So many little parts of him… I wonder if I’ll ever learn them all, but there will be many more nights like this – he’s horny, I’m horny, he passes out. I find this thought comforting.

When I say I love my man, I mean it… I love the man, every single thing about him.

_______________________________________________________
Text is fictional. Boys are Kris Evans and Marcel Gassion of Bel Ami.

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porno-graph:

     The whole night spent studying, we are both exhausted. There is still the long train ride home to where we live, but that’s not really much of an inconvenience at this point. We bide the time by holding hands and sharing the MP3 player, one headphone each, his head on my shoulder.

     It is sweet to think during the time when we’re lulled by the sound of the wheels on the track that soon we’ll be in bed together, just two scruffy lovers with nothing to do but fuck the whole night away. It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks or who looks at us askance—we love each other like any other couple—that’s all that counts.

<3

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“Come ‘ere. Come..come here.”
He walks over to me but doesn’t kiss me. I put an arm over his shoulder. “What are you doing here in your underwear at 6:30 in the morning?”
“I miss your penis.”
“Have you slept?”
“No.”
“You’re not on the drugs again are you?”
He snorts. “No…I just…can’t sleep, you know. Keep thinking about it. They say when you quit drugs, when you quit smoking, you have to substitute it for something else. I realized, you know, halfway over here…I thought that’s why I wanted your cock, you know, oral fixation? Cause I have this crazy urge to suck you…” he rambles, still not looking at me. I let him think and after a bit he continues.
“I just realized it was the other way around, you know? Cause I wouldn’t let myself have you, so I just propped myself up with the drugs. It’s gone now and those feelings they’re still there. Just CJ I miss you… I miss you naked, the way you feel on top of me, the way you fill up my hand, the taste of you on your fingers. Take me to bed, CJ…please…”

I cup his face in my palm, “Don’t mistake being horny for being in love, Jack.”
“I can’t tell the difference,” he sighs.
I nuzzle him, I can smell the sleep on his skin. “What do you plan to do when you’ve come, and the feeling is over, and you feel sticky and embarrassed and wanting a cigarette hm? Will you just take my cum and leave?”
Jack’s head is still tilted down, like a guilty puppy, but he is looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t make me leave. Everything in my apartment smells like pot and drugs.”
“You really want my penis?”
“…and your balls… I liked to play them in my hand, when you’re half asleep.”

We both look up as my roommate walks in the kitchen and pauses dead in her tracks. She’s wearing a bathrobe, hair all frizzy, a big owlish look on her face. “Um, am I interrupting something?”
“Oh nothing, Sarah…we were just uh, going to bed. Don’t mind us.”
In my ear, I hear Jack heave a huge sigh of relief. “Yeah, sorry…don’t mind us.”

He pulls me off the counter and we escape to my room.

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I fell in love with Andre watching him pick out produce at my neighborhood’s Farmer’s Market. His concentration, his obsession with perfect, shape, and scent was remarkable. It was actually rather adorable to see a grown man in a fine wool coat admire apples like he was picking out diamond jewelry. I offered to buy him hot cider. He accepted, and we ended up meeting for dinner.

Dating a ballet dancer has its ups and downs – and its side to sides and leaps across the room. When he is not practicing, he’s at the physical therapist; when he’s not getting preventative treatments, there’s rehearsals, costume fittings, photoshoots… busy busy!

After almost a year of this, I told Andre I thought our relationship was strained by not only his schedule, but the fact he lived on the other side of town from me. He was rarely ever home anyway so I suggested, why not move in with me? I could see in his eyes how much he wanted to say yes, to wake up in the morning spooned against me, to receive those backscratches I did so well, to allow more moments for spontaneous sex to happen. He said my house was just a bit too far from the studio to live there together. I told him he meant the world to me, and I would see what I could do. Andre looked puzzled, but his lips curled up at the corners. “Oh really big guy? Show me then.”

Five weeks later, I ushered him blindfolded into my basement. My house was built etched into a hill so the basement half jutted out into the backyard (the top half was really the main level as the driveway connected to it out front). I particularly liked this because it meant the basement had windows and would fill with natural light in late morning. I picked this time to lead Andre down there by his elegant, manicured hands. I ignored his pestering questions and guided him.

“What? What is it baby? What sort of Valentines Day present did you get me?”
Finally I halted him in place. “Not ‘get’, ‘had made’.” I removed the blindfold. Andre’s jaw dropped. I had turned one of my storage rooms into a practice studio for him, all for him.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I put my hands up in a reassuring gesture, “Yes, it’s insulated, and I actually hired a woman who specializes in building dance studios. She said it’s all at professional standards, down to how slick the floor is…” but he wasn’t listening, he was just staring.

“Oh my god it’s perfect! It’s PERFECT! I can’t believe you had this made for me!” he screeched, throwing his arms around me and nearly knocking me over.
“Ooof!” I wrapped my arms around his slim, muscular waist and hugged him back. “You said my house was far, so maybe, this might encourage you to come here more often, not spend so much time at the studio all alone?”

His face was beautiful, on the verge of tears. “You want to see me so badly…?”
“Yes baby,” I kissed his full lips. “Don’t laugh, but I fell for you the day I saw you buying apples. I am in real danger of falling into deep, stupid love here and I had to show you I was serious about this relationship.”
He was still looking at everything as if he mildly stunned. I set him down and he walked over to touch the bar and admire himself in the mirror. “It’s just perfect.” Then he did begin to cry in earnest. I held him and kissed him passionately, to tell him it was alright without saying a word.

Remember how I said I knew he wanted more opportunities for spontaneous sex? We ended up christening the studio right there on the brand new floor. I caught Andre watching himself in the mirror as I thrust between his sculpted legs. I knew it pleased him, to see how much I was enjoying myself, to hear our cries mingle and echo in the empty room he’d claim as his own space. This was this thank you gift to me. 

Now, we have dinner together at least four nights a week instead of one or two. Instead of texting Andre, pestering him about if we can hang out, I just stick my head downstairs and announce “dinner’s ready!” and he comes bounding up the stairs like a gazelle. He really might be part gazelle.

I have no idea what I’m going to get him for Valentine’s Day next year, but more than that I’m looking forward to one more magical year together, this time as lovers sharing the same home together. Our home.

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Text is 100% fictional. The dancer is Ricardo Santos in 2007. Source of the photo is here. Santos is a Brazilian dancer, now with the Joffrey Ballet in Chicago (goddamn!).