Back in the Game

Chapter 4: The s*x Factor

Chapter 4: The s*x Factor

“Take your clothes off so I can f**k you, Shane.”

“You make it sound so promising.”

“Less talk, more stripping.”

He helped me remove my tight shirt and khakis, which he formed a pile with on the floor at his feet. The tight end fingered one of my n*****s, caused it to grow hard, and then he massaged the other one. He rolled fingertips over my abs and studied my torso like a scientist.

“If you were laid-up in a hospital bed, how did you stay in shape?”

“Sit-ups, chin-ups, and rowing.”

“No push-ups?”

“I couldn’t do that. In fact, I still don’t think I can.”

His condominium hadn’t changed since I had last visited. Same walnut-colored floor. Same Swedish furniture. Same Blake Nielson, a local queer artist who worked in thick oils, canvases decorated the walls. Same everything. The only thing that had changed in my world was me and my artificial ankle.

Dim candlelight illuminated the bedroom. Flickering, jewel-like flames on three candles wavered to and fro. The open bedroom window welcomed a warm, comforting wind inside.

He stripped out of his clothes, adding them to the pile on the floor. He did a little dance for me, shook his tight ass, and blew me a kiss like a Hollywood star. “My body has missed your body.”

He probably told that s**t to all the dudes he bedded. Whatever. I became more interested in his body than his verbal game. The tight end was rather nice to look at, with his chiseled and hairy chest. I liked that he was tall and comprised of toned muscle. His chest was freshly groomed, and his hair was short and delicious-looking. Aaron’s n*****s were a suntanned pink, erect, and ready to be kissed. When he slipped out of his white boxer briefs, which showed off his midsection like a runway model, I ogled his drooping c**k and balls, which were hairless, generously sized, and quite ready.

“Did you miss these, Shane?” He stood approximately two feet away from me and reached for his d**k and balls with his hand. He lifted the c**k, dropped his balls, and added, “These are yours for the taking, but only if you want them.”

I wanted the man, unable to tell him otherwise. Nervousness came over me, and I couldn’t speak. It felt as if my throat had completely tightened up and prohibited words from spilling out.

Aaron had the situation under control, just as he had when we were together, prior to Marcus Mulldune ruining us. Never did I have to worry about who was in control in the bedroom since he had taken on the position as if he were a duck to water. Truth told, the look he gave me—concentrating eyes and a dazzling smile—clearly told me that he was ready to f**k me. He had power over me, but he wasn’t about to hurt me.

“Come closer,” he challenged.

“What if I come on you if I do?”

He chuckled, just as I suspected he would. “Maybe I want you to come all over me.”

“Suit yourself.” I moved up to him and realized I wasn’t about to leave his condo for the next few hours, or even maybe until dawn.

* * * *

How did foreplay not happen? When had I ever decided to f**k a man and not give him some tongue-kisses, active groping, a blowjob, or other s****l delights that determined the first stages of s*x between two men? Nothing of the sort occurred with the tight end, though.

Instead, I fell on his bed on all fours, spread my legs apart, and declared over my shoulder, “f**k me like you’ve missed me, pal.”

Aaron listened to me like the sexy and hulking football player that he was. He moved up to my spread legs, leaned over me, and rubbed his hard c**k against my tight ass.

Careful about my s****l antics, not that there were many of those, of course, I said, “You have to use latex. I don’t know who you’ve been with.”

“f**k the latex.”

“You’re not putting your d**k in my ass without some plastic on.”

He gave in, retrieved latex from a dresser, and unrolled it down his slab of d**k. “You happy now?”

“Only if you f**k me hard. Then I might just be happy.”

“No worries.” He pushed his c**k inside me and attempted to rock my queer world as if we were lovers again.

* * * *

When did Aaron Felding lose his magic? Had I known the s*x with him was going to turn out uneventful and dull, I wouldn’t have let the football player take me back to his place after our fun time at the Briefs Bar. Frankly, I would have hobbled my way home, watched some porn, and jacked off in private, sharing a better time with myself. Who wouldn’t have in my position, since the f**k session with the dude lacked humping? It felt lousy and hurried.

I did shoot my load on his bed’s sheets, though. And he fired his creamy and thick semen inside the latex that separated us. Good for him…I guessed.

Spent, he said, “I’m skipping a shower, guy. I want to smell you on me.”

“You can do whatever the f**k you want, Aaron. It’s your condo, your stinking d**k, and your rules.”

I sounded a bit rough, but I was looking forward to his massive d**k inside my system for more than ten minutes. I wanted the slab of d**k to hurt me for a good forty minutes, pounding the oblivion out of me. I wanted to feel as if a telephone pole were being shoved up my ass, and the world was spinning off its axis. None of those happened, though. Nothing fiery and unstoppable occurred. Such a pity.

“Are you leaving?” he asked, watching me dress.

“I can’t stay.”

“You don’t want to stay, do you?”

I didn’t answer him. Why start with the drama s**t? Bad s*x with a dude never ended an evening well, did it? Instead of being rude and explaining that his ass-ride was one of the worst I had ever experienced, I said, “Call me. Maybe we can hook up again soon.”

“Maybe,” he said, but I think he knew we wouldn’t. Not anytime soon. Not in a year. Never. How unfortunate and maddening it must have been for him to shake reality’s hand.

I left his condo, hailed a cab home, took a shower, and went to bed. Snuggled in my sheets, I dreamed of our month-long affair and how good the s*x had been back then: indulgent, relentless, and lust-driven. Again and again, he banged me in my dreams with his massive c**k, satisfying me, pleasuring me without any conditions whatsoever, unlike our date that evening. A divergence had happened. Neither of us expected our date to close the way it had, but it did. We both had to move on, forward and full steam ahead. We would, without many, if any, complaints from either party.