The Dairy State Boy, A Follow Up

*****This is a follow up to The Dairy State Boy, not a sequel. This follow up finds Kevin in Chicago, after law school and committed to an adulthood of "good friends and casual sex." This is a casual sex follow up.*****

After Carleton, I committed to a life of "good friends and casual sex." Love was hard, and unrequited love was harder.

Looking back, I was wrong about the unrequited part. Kip had loved me, in his way. So had Attie.

But, they had not loved me like I had loved them, and the imbalance wounded me deeply. The need to protect myself from further wounds led to my new commitment.

I am now 35 and living in Chicago. I satisfy my emotional needs through Thomas, my best friend. I satisfy my physical needs through hookups. If I start getting "the feels," the hookup gets "curbed," a shorthand Thomas an I use for "kicked to the curb."

Thomas insists "everyone needs a theme song" and that mine was or should be Simon & Garfunkel's "I Am A Rock."

"You are walled off," he opined. "You romanticize a relationship long since dead that, when alive, didn't actually last very long. You hang only with those who don't want in, the straight boy in college, the married man on the down low, the coupled guy who is looking for something on the side. You never hang with an available, single guy. You never hang with someone who may actually want you, Kevin, as a life partner, not a sex partner."

"I like being a sex partner. I like being able to cum and go, no strings attached."

I had gotten "no strings attached" from Attie. I had made it my mantra.

"I just don't want you to wind up old and alone."

"I'm, not afraid of it."

I wasn't. I wasn't Thomas, who fell in and out love like a teenaged girl.

Early in our friendship, Thomas and I had taken each other for a test drive.

Of course, we were drunk driving, Thomas in my kitchen after we had day drunk a winter day and a bottle of Ketel One away. Thomas asked why we had never fooled around, I answered that I didn't know, he asked if I wanted to try, and he answered "Why not?"

We kissed in the kitchen, groped each other through our clothes, and wound up making out and jacking each other off as we kneeled on the kitchen floor. After, Thomas was thrilled, and I wasn't.

We lasted two dates and then stopped. I didn't want to ruin our friendship when I inevitably curbed him.

At 8 p.m. on Monday nights, Thomas and I met at a local eatery, where we sat at the bar, ate, and ogled Josh. When we first started, Josh had a full head of curly brown hair, a face that suggested he'd been in a fight or two, hands that suggested he knew his way around a worksite, and an ass and legs that suggested he had been heavily involved in competitive soccer.

As the years passed, Josh's hair thinned and his waist thickened a bit, but that ass and those legs retained their muscled glory.

Josh was straight, but he played along with our ogling and tolerated Thomas's flirting, even when it was wildly inappropriate.

"Josh, have you ever had a tossed salad?"

"Of course," Josh responded, not knowing that Thomas was referencing analingus, at least not until Thomas sniggered like a child at his response and then explained what it was.

"Josh, how do you know you don't like it if you have never tried it?"

"The same way I know I don't like haggis. It does not even sound good."

On and on they went. I think Josh credited me for not bowing down.

After about three years, Josh disappeared. Thomas was crushed.

"He moved one," Claire, the owner and hostess, told us. "Your boy had to grow up. He's getting married and is going to be a father."

I barely gave him another thought until, about two years on, I was at a high top alone, and he was at the bar, talking wine. I must not have taken my eyes off of him because, after a bit, he asked if he could join me at my table. Of course, I said "Yes."

"Do not worry," I said when he did. "Thomas's not coming."

"You were the one staring a hole in me."

I blushed and then choked out "How's married life?"

"Rough, can't you tell?" he asked, pointing to his now totally bald head.

He was wearing a white shirt that was open too far and that had short sleeves, which showed that he had clippered his arm hair. He was also wearing yellow khakis.

"You clipped your arm hair," I said.

"You noticed that?"

"I notice everything."

"What else have you noticed?"

"You have great chest hair."

He did. It was flat, not curly, thick without being a thicket.

"It's not as great as you think," he said, unbuttoning his shirt a little more and spreading it wide to show me that his great chest hair was concentrated in the center of his pectorals.

"You don't clipper your chest?"

"Nope. Just my arms -- it makes 'em look better -- and my, you know, which makes it look bigger."

I almost said "It's too bad you feel compelled to make it look bigger," but I didn't. It seemed too much.

He ordered a bottle of wine he was certain I was going to love. In exchange, I offered to buy him dinner.

He showed me pictures of Cora, his two year old. He also showed me pictures of Melody, his stunning wife.

"I hope she loves your dick," I offered. "Every man's wife should love his dick."

"She used to. Now that we have Cora, it's more toleration than love."

We were quiet across the table, his eyes on mine and mine on his. I smiled, and he smiled back.

"Excuse me," he said, standing and gesturing to the Men's Room.

While he was gone, I talked with Claire.

"God, Thomas and I used to sit at the bar and dream of that ass and those legs."

"You and everyone else," she answered.

When Josh returned, Claire betrayed me. "Kevin was just reminding me how he and his buddy used to stare holes in your dockers," she said.

"Back or front?" he asked, immodestly.

"Back," I joined in. "You always had an apron covering the front."

"I don't now," he said, standing and showing me the front, including a visible penis line stretching toward the right pocket.

"Jesus," I moaned, when he sat back down. "Do that again and I'll chase you to the bathroom next time."

Without skipping a beat, he stood up, showed me his line again, then slowly turned around so I got a 180 of his backside.

"You sure know how to tease an old man," I said, raising my eyes to his.

"You're not an old man," he said. "And, who says I'm teasing?" he asked, standing, whispering "keep your word," and stalking toward the bathroom.

I chased, elation mixing with fear. As soon as I entered, Josh pushed me back against the door, his left forearm across my chest.

His face was close to mine. His breath was acrid, a combination of coffee, tobacco, and the rest of his day.

"My dick is so fucking hard for you," he said.

"I noticed."

"I noticed you noticing.... Do you want to feel it?"

"More than anything."

"Do it," he said, moving his arm so there was no obstruction.

I reached my left hand down and ran my palm along his shaft. He was right; he was really fucking hard. So was I, as I felt like I had ventured into a porn shoot.

I stopped at the end and worked his glans with my thumb and forefinger. When a low moan escaped his lips, I wrapped my hand around him as tightly as I could and slid and squeezed and did what I do as good as I could do it.

"Oh fuck," he said, the surprise in his voice palpable, "I'm going to nut."

I hadn't heard "nut" since it had escaped the lips of Attie, way back when I was his p.r.n. cockboy.

I kept doing what I was doing. His eyes glassed over, his hips flinched, and he, in fact, nutted.

"Fuck," he said, through clenched teeth. "Fuck fuck fuck."

I kept my hand on him, sliding and squeezing. At the tip, I could feel through the twill of his khakis what he had spilled. He looked down and saw the large wet spot. I did, too.

"You need to get out of here," he said.

I did, opening and then scurrying through he door. I walked back to the table, the same mixture of elation and fear driving me.

I expected Josh to walk past our table on his way out. He didn't. He slid into his chair, covered himself with his napkin, and offered "I feel like a fucking teenager."

He wasn't. He was all man.

'You're no teen," I said, trying to reassure him.

"Tell my dick. I just fucking nutted in my pants from a little grope. I had better dick control when I was fifteen."

Our conversation became a little stilted. I couldn't tell if he was uncomfortable because a man had made him come or if he was uncomfortable sitting in a restaurant with an obvious cum stain on his yellow khakis or if he was uncomfortable because he had nutted before things got interesting.

He resolved the question when Claire asked "Would you boys like dessert?"

"Yes, but not here," Josh said.

"Where?" Claire asked.

"His," Josh answered, nodding his head toward me and drawing a raised eyebrow from Claire.

"Well," she finally said. "I'll leave you two to it then."

After I paid and we left, Josh mused "You must live close."

"I do."

"Let's go."

The evening was brisk. We walked in silence to my Astor Street brownstone.

"You live here?" he asked, as I unlocked the gate.

"Yes."

"Wow."

"It's not that much."

"You're a fucking liar."

We were both right. The house wasn't large. The first floor was an open living room, dining room, and kitchen, with a small powder room under the staircase. But, my decorator friend had zoned in and made the space glamorous, too glamorous for me.

The second floor was two bedrooms, each with its own bathroom. My bedroom, the master, was in the front. I liked being able to see the street.

Two leaded glass windows framed my bed, which was a decadently overstuffed down mattress with a down comforter and down pillows. I slept on a cloud.

The second bedroom was in the back. But, I had converted it into an office/relaxation room. It was where I worked and, on the rare occasion something interested me, watched television.

I had lived there for ten years. I had paid too much, but the value had more than tripled during my ownership, Chicago's Gold Coast evidence of the growing chasm between the haves and the have nots.

At the door, I paused, looked at him, and asked "are you sure" with my eyes. He answered by grabbing his erection and whispering "I can't wait for dessert."

I didn't make him wait. As soon as we were in the door, my hand went to his belt buckle. There is nothing quite like the thrill of opening someone's pants the first time. It's more exciting than the first gift on Christmas.

With Josh, I was so jazzed up, my hands were shaking as I fumbled with his button and zipper.

"Here," he said, "I'll do it," grabbing the waist of his pants and pushing them down, taking his briefs with them.

His erection stuck straight out, but curved slightly to the right. It was shaped like a torpedo, thick in the middle, narrower at the base and at the tip.

Dessert involved me sucking the torpedo in the foyer of my condominium, his pants at his ankles, his shirt open, my hands on his chest and stomach, and his dick in my mouth as the rank smell of cum and piss and sweat filled my nostrils. It was a purposeful blow job. When he came, I swallowed. I wanted to give him every pleasure I could. I suspected it was the only time he'd come in my mouth, and I didn't want to waste any of what he gave me.

Unlike his wife, I loved his dick. It wasn't a great dick. It was, in fact, average in almost every way.

But, it was attached to a manly man, and that made it special. It was also attached to that ass, and that made it even more special.

I assumed he would be abashed when it was over, look away as he buttoned his shirt and tugged his pants up, and then skulk off into the night, embarrassed he had given into whatever carnal instinct had him follow me home and let me suck his dick.

I assumed wrong.

"Do you have wine?" he asked, stepping out of his pants, but pulling his briefs up and leaving his shirt open.

"Sure," I said. "There," I added, pointing at the collection. "You choose."

He chose my most expensive bottle, the one I'd been saving for a special occasion. In my world, this counted.

We went onto the balcony.

"This is a great place."

"It is."

"Have you ever eaten a dick out here?"

"No."

"Want to?"

"Yes."

Josh turned and leaned his back against the wrought iron railing. I kneeled on the concrete, tasting him through his briefs, which were a bit rank. I didn't care, once I got used to it.

Josh took control, sliding his briefs down and stepping one foot out of them so he could spread his legs wider. I swallowed him as he hissed "holy shit."

I gave him long, slow strokes, wanting to replace his memory of the furtive, needy foyer blowjob with a delicious, languid one. From the noises he was making, my want was being filled.

He started matching my mouth with his thrusts.

"God, you can suck dick," I heard.

I wanted to say "Yes, yes I can," but I couldn't stop what I was doing. So, I started humming around his dick, letting him know that I enjoyed sucking him as much as he enjoyed me sucking him.

"I need to lie back and enjoy this," he said. "My legs are giving out."

"Let's go inside."

He laid back on my sofa, his right foot on the floor, and his left foot across the back. He was wide open, and I worked him as good as I could, treating his orgasm like a foe that I was dancing around. I'd have kept it up, but he couldn't.

"Fuck, dude, you gotta let me nut."

I didn't need to be begged twice. I grabbed his balls, added my hand, and bobbed as fast and as hard as I could. Just before his second load gagged me like the first had, I heard "oh God oh God oh God" and felt his entire body tense as he cried out and bucked.

A half hour later, I pushed him out on the ledge a bit. We were still on the sofa, our wine glasses half full, Josh's limp dick curled over his balls, Josh totally comfortable exposed and nude in front of me.

"You know how Claire said I stared a hole in your ass?"

"Yeah."

"I want to eat it."

"No one ever has."

"I remember. You told Thomas."

"That was a long time ago. A lot could have happened since. It hasn't, but it could have."

"You'll love it."

Without a word, he got up and walked to the bathroom, his open white shirt now his only clothing. I heard water and a flush and then more water.

"All fresh and clean," he said, walking back toward me, the shirt now gone, too, his naked body almost too much for me to bear. "But, you're going to want to launder that washcloth before you use it."

He was wrong. I was going to save it.

"How do we do this?" he asked.

"It's easiest if you're on all fours, your ass high and your knees wide."

I didn't need to tell him twice. He kneeled on the sofa, his hands on the arm. I kneeled behind him, my hands on his hips, my mouth and tongue on and in his hairy ass. I ate him out until I couldn't eat anymore. From his noises and his squirming, I could tell he liked having his salad tossed.

"You could have stopped a long time ago," he said, when I told him I couldn't take anymore.

"You're a naïf," I said. "I couldn't have, even if I wanted to, and I didn't want to."

"Let's go to the bedroom," he said.

"What's in the bedroom?" I asked.

"Me, in a few seconds," he said, grabbing his erection and walking backward from me, the whole scene a "follow me."

I followed him, his round firm ass dangling in front of me like a carrot as I climbed the stairs. In my room, he pushed me down on the bed, straddled my chest, and pushed his erection toward my lips.

"I like it this way best," he said. "I like to feel like I'm in charge."

He was. He used his power and his strength to fuck my face. I choked and gagged, but there was no way I was going to give him up.

He fucked my face hard. Even if I had wanted him to stop, I couldn't have made him. He was crazed.

"Fuck, here comes my nut, here comes my nut" he groaned.

"Fuck," I thought, as he came, his smaller load still enough to gag me in this position.

When he finished, he rolled off of me, and I rolled out from under him. I wasn't sure what I was thinking. I felt both thrilled and violated.

"Sorry, dude," he said. "I kind of lost it there."

"It's alright," I said, resolving my thoughts in his favor.

"You eat a mean dick."

"Thanks, I guess."

I wasn't certain what to do. I was fully dressed, but I was in bed next to a totally nude straight man who I had already made come four times, three times since joining me in my house.

Josh resolved my uncertainty.

"I'll try reciprocating, but I don't know if I can."

"You don't have to."

"I'm not an asshole."

I pulled my shirt over my head and laid back on the bed. Josh rubbed me through my jeans and then undid my belt, my button, and my zipper. I raised my ass and pulled my jeans and briefs down together.

Josh looked at my erection and then took it in his hand.

"Is it, you know, gross?" he asked. "Having a dick in your mouth, I mean?"

I had gotten the question before, and it always baffled me. If it was gross, then why would he expect anyone to do it?

"If it was gross, I wouldn't do it."

"Is it safe?"

"Very."

"I don't think I'm going to be very good."

"Cover your teeth and you'll be fine."

He was right. He wasn't very good. On Pornhub, the reluctant straight guy loses his reluctance and ends up power sucking his first dick. This wasn't Pornhub. Josh started reluctant and tentative and stayed that way, willing and unwilling at the same time.

"Wow," he said, pulling off. "It's harder than it seems.... Am I doing okay?"

I moved to kiss him, but he averted his face. I wanted to say "you just had my fucking dick in your mouth," but I didn't. Instead, I just told him to follow my hand.

I laid back, Josh moved between my legs, and I slid my hand up and down my shaft as Josh tried to keep pace with his mouth. When I was getting close, I told him. He asked me not to come in his mouth.

"Alright," I said. "Then stay off."

I finished on my stomach, stepped out of my clothes, and went to the bathroom to clean myself up and to rinse my mouth. While in there, I heard Josh hacking and then spitting into the bedside trash.

When I returned to the room, I was suprised to find Josh sprawled on my bed. Again, I had expected to find him abashed.

I crawled in next to him, placed my hand on his chest, and then ran it down until I was holding his flaccid dick. I had been wrong about him thickening over the middle; he hadn't thickened, he was just thick. His wrists were thick. His ankles were thick. Everything about him was thick, including his dick.

When he removed my hand, I thought it was a signal that we were done. It wasn't. It was only so he could retrieve our wine glasses and bring them to bed. When he laid back down, he opened his legs to give me access, and I took it.

"You like my dick?"

"I do."

"I can tell."

"I'm surprised you found out?"

"Me, too. At the restaurant, I started playing. I don't know why I started, but, once I did, I didn't want to stop. I wanted to toy with it and see how far it would go. Then, I got so fucking hard, thinking about how far it could go, and I thought 'why not test your limits'?"

"That bathroom scene was pretty fucking hot."

"So was the foyer. I watched the whole thing. I love watching my dick get eaten, especially when it's eaten good."

While we talked, I worked his dick with my hand, wondering if I could conjure a final load from him. It hadn't responded, so I changed course, tickling his abdomen, through his trimmed pubes, along his inner thigh, and around his full sack.

"Have you been with a guy before?" I asked.

"Me? Nah. But, my wife and I watch Hot Guys Fuck. She likes the guys. I like the girls. We watched an FFM threesome. I told her I'd love to watch her eat a bush. Then we watched an MMF threesome. She told me she'd love to watch me eat a dick. I said 'no way'. She called me out on my shit. She was right. If I think a woman should eat a bush, then why shouldn't a man eat a dick? Then, she found her favorite -- a hot guy with a monster dick -- in a gay scene, which was weird, because he was totally not into dick in his MMF scene. Anyway, she showed me what she found, and it was pretty hot. He's straight, but he was eating dick and fucking ass and I thought 'why not'?"