First, I hope everyone had a nice Christmas; mine could have been better had I not gotten sick while we were hanging with the peeps – and I’m still not feeling all that great (but not as bad as I once was). Next, while I was, um, spending a lot of time on the throne and trying to keep the contents of my stomach in, strangely, my mind kinda wandered and eventually settled on the events experienced with the guy I fell in love with and one of the things I loved about him… but also drove me a little crazy at times. It often went like this:
Him: “Give me your dick!”
Me: “What, again? You just had it a little while ago!”
Him: “I know but I want it again – is that okay?”
Me: “I guess, depending on what you want to do with it…”
Him: “I want to suck it.”
Me: “You did that twenty minutes ago, remember?”
Him: “I know… that’s why I wanna suck it again!”
(a slight pause for me to think whether or not I’m ready to be sucked off again and deciding I can handle it)
Me: “Okay, give me a minute to finish this…”
Him (pouting): “Do I have to wait?”
Me: “Yes, you do – I need to finish doing this…”
Him: “But I want to suck it right now!”
(imagine a grown man acting like a petulant child but practically bouncing off the walls at the same time)
Me: “You act like another few minutes is going to matter!”
Him: “Every moment your cock is in my mouth matters – I just love it so much!”
Me (rolling my eyes): “Flatterer – you’re incorrigible, you know that, don’t you?”
Him (smiling): “As long as I get that cock in my mouth, I’ll be anything you want me to be!”
I’d finished what I was doing and was really on my way to the bedroom so he could blow me – again… but he couldn’t wait the few seconds it would have taken to get there. He went after my belt in a damned hurry and, yeah, I could have stopped him but I didn’t; it took him mere seconds to expose my dick before he fell on it as if he were starving. As he got started, I had a weird thought: I know that I love sucking dick but he made me look like I never learned to like it. I was of two minds: One part of me was quite pleased that he loved sucking me so much and he didn’t really care where he did it or when as long as he did it; the other part of me was kinda bummed out about the whole thing – it was difficult for me to do everyday sort of things without him following behind me and begging (and I mean that literally) to have sex with me.
I honestly and truly believe that had he not been so whiny about it, it wouldn’t have bothered me so much. Yes, he was a master cock sucker and a pleasure to fuck… but he was so needy… and I’m not sure that’s really the right word for this context. Now, I was very much aware that when new relationships start, the sex flows in some very serious ways; you can’t get enough of each other and it didn’t take a whole lot to get the ball rolling, you know, like a look or a touch or even a few words that would, at any other time, be wishful thinking but would get the sex going spontaneously and lacking much in the way of inhibition, throwing caution to the wind and getting busy in ways – and in places – that normally wouldn’t be thought of, let alone done.
I found I could deal with him being so affectionate; while we didn’t have any kind of agreement concerning PDAs, in public, we were just good friends although I knew that we’d share looks and things along those lines that would communicate our love and desire for each other; whether anyone ever noticed is something I wasn’t aware of because no one ever asked me if the two of us had some kind of thing going on – and I probably wouldn’t have told them even if they had asked.
He got me off again as I leaned against the wall to keep from falling down, palming the back of his head and thrusting my dick into his mouth as I came and one of my first conscious thoughts was that he could really suck dick… and the next one was my hoping he wouldn’t want to do it again until a few hours had passed. As my release began to subside, our eyes locked – he had the prettiest cornflower-blue eyes – and, yeah, I knew the love we had was real and beyond the crazy-assed sex we were having.
Me: “That was so good – thank you for that…”
Him: “You’re more than welcome, darling – you just don’t know how that makes me feel!”
Me: “Um, yeah, I think I do – let me show you…”
Now it was his turn to undergo yet another oral onslaught and I had no problem admitting to myself that I so very much loved sucking his cock and, yeah, more than I normally loved sucking dick. Those of you who suck cock knows how it makes you feel to have the person you’re sucking just totally and completely lose their fucking minds as you work your mouth on them and that certain rush that hits you when you know they’re trying to play it cool… and you’re making them utterly fail at maintaining any sense of composure: Yeah, it’s like that!
He begged for mercy and I showed him none at all; I wasn’t in the mood to be merciful and, well, he didn’t deserve any mercy. The one thing I just loved about sucking his cock is that he kinda behaved the same way a woman did when I ate her pussy; his effeminate personality really came to the front of the line and the way he’d moan and even curse was just so… womanly. I was used to guys acting like guys when I sucked them, you know, being aggressive and all that… but he was so… submissive. Yeah, he’d fuck into my mouth but not in the way I’d come to expect – jeez, this is kinda hard to explain! When I had his cock in my mouth, there wasn’t anything I couldn’t do to him and he’d just “let” me do it, no real resistance, no complaining – nothing. In this, he was the perfect “victim,” if you know what I mean (and I sure as hell don’t mean that in a negative way). He was so unlike any other men I’d had sex with – and that included other gay men and, yeah, he made my Air Force roommate look downright masculine by comparison.
He came – ah, man, his nut always tasted so sweet! – and even as I milked him dry, my mind was already turning to getting back to the things I had to do. I got to my feet and he hugged me so tightly I heard and felt my back crack a little where his arms encircled me. He kissed me and said, “I love you so much!” and I told him that I loved him, too, kissed him back, and managed to escape his anaconda-like grip. I gave him a pat on the ass and went to the kitchen – I had potatoes to peel for that night’s dinner – and, hmm, I was feeling pretty good about the whole thing, my “annoyance” at being “bothered” practically forgotten.
Thirty minutes later…
Him: “I need some more dick, lover!”
Me (almost cutting my hand with the peeler): “Say what?”
Him: “C’mon, let me have it again… please?”
Me: “I’m peeling potatoes!”
Him: “So? They can wait until I finish can’t they?”
Me: “What am I gonna do with you?”
Him: “Fuck my mouth until you cum would work…”
Me: “I’m not really ready to go again!”
Him: “Won’t know until I try to get you ready, right?”
Me: “Can’t you wait until I’m done doing this? Or should we just forget about dinner?”
Him: “I can’t help it – I just can’t get enough of your cock!”
At this point, I’m kinda beside myself. This… behavior made sense in the early going of our relationship but here it was almost six months later and he was just as hyped about the sex as he was in the very beginning. I thought that I might have created a monster, that it was my fault because I was more than willing to give him sex of some kind any time he asked for it, well, that and he seemed to be hornier by a factor of five or something like that. I turned to look at him and saw that his eyes had that watery look that told me that he was going to start crying – again; the last time his waterworks started, I told him we couldn’t have sex because I didn’t have the time to do it at that moment. He got upset, started crying and I felt like such an asshole. We did a quickie and it probably would have felt a lot better if I hadn’t been feeling like a jerk for making him cry.
A tear fell – I actually heard it hit the kitchen’s tiled floor – and I could feel my resolve begin to dissolve because I knew that if I put him on hold, he was just going to fall to pieces (and not for the first time, let me tell you). I thought for a moment that maybe I was being played, that he realized that if he got all soppy and boo-hooing like he got his lunch money stolen, I’d just give him what he wanted… and now I’m mad with myself because I knew it was going to work – again.
Me (having surrendered – again): “Give me a moment to get this potato starch off my hands… and I’m guessing you wanna do this right here, huh?”
Him (nodding): “Please?”
He got to his knees and went back to work on me, tears cascading down his freckled face and I wondered for a moment if he was still upset or if his tears were now falling out of joy. He was so persistent when sucking me that despite the way I was feeling – and not to mention that I had cum in his mouth twice already – I could feel myself getting kinda/sorta hard and it didn’t take long before that orgasmic feeling of release washed over me – but I knew the tank was empty and he knew it, too, but he was happy as he got to his feet.
Him: “I’m sorry but I really do love doing this for you…”
Me: “I understand but, damn, you could have waited until later.”
Him (eyes starting to water again): “I know and I am sorry…”
Me: “Please don’t start crying – I feel bad enough as it is…”
He didn’t say anything – he turned quickly and left the kitchen and all I could do was roll my eyes heavenward for some divine assistance as I went back to peeling potatoes. I knew he was in his room, crying his eyes out, and I was determined not to feel badly about it. You kinda get used to dealing with women who are emotionally labile – they’re women and you just learn that with some, it doesn’t take a whole lot to make them cry. You didn’t like that this happened but, again, it’s just one of those “girl things” that you just account for. So to see a guy exhibit this same thing, well, it was disconcerting. In the past, I’d wind up sitting and talking to him at length about not letting every little thing upset him so much and, as I finished the last potato, I knew we’d have this talk again.
After I finished my dinner prep, I went to his room and found him lying on the bed, his eyes all bloodshot from crying; I gestured for him to scoot over so I could sit next to him and then I took a very deep breath:
Me: “What is wrong with you? Why do you keep getting upset when you know I’m doing something and I have to get it done?”
Him: “I don’t know…”
Me: “I think you do…”
Him (sniffling a little): “I love you and I’ve never loved anyone like I do you and, ah, uh, I guess I’m having a hard time dealing with my emotions…”
Me: “I can see that… but what are we gonna do about it? You know I have things I have to do and you know that a lot of them don’t have anything to do with you because I do have a family I have to take care of.”
Him: “I know and I don’t have a problem with it… but when I want you, fuck, I just gotta have you right then and there!”
Me: “Don’t get me wrong, love, but I love that you want to have sex with me damned near all the time… but, shit, not every moment you think about having sex with me is a good time to actually do it, ya know?”
Him (sniffling): “I know – I really do know… but, it’s so good for me! It makes me feel so alive and so loved and I’m not used to that!”
I knew about the relationships he had with guys in his past and I couldn’t honestly say that I thought those guys really did right by him. I sighed and reached out to touch his face…
Me: “I love you; I would have never thought such a thing was possible but, damn it, I do love you. I want you to feel loved and all that but I just can’t keep dropping what I’m doing to accommodate you. I love that you’re so spontaneous and it does my ego a world of good knowing that I seem to have this effect on you… but you can’t keep getting all bent out of shape when I’m unable to attend to you when you need it.”
Him: “I’ll try to do better, okay?”
Me: “That’s all I’m asking of you.”
I leaned over and kissed him lightly… and the next thing I knew, we were naked and going for it was if it were our first time again. I slid my cock into him – and I was surprised to have gotten it up at all – and, yeah, it felt so damned good to be inside him again, to feel his arms and legs wrapped around me as I thrust into him; it felt good to hear him pleading with me to fuck him and it didn’t bother me to see him crying because I knew he was only doing it because he was happy. Later that night, I talked to my [then] wife about this and it didn’t make me feel ‘better’ when she started laughing; she understood what I was telling her but just found the whole thing funny. When she stopped giggling, she asked me, “Does it really bother you that he always wants to have sex with you?”
I replied, “No, that’s not what bothers me – it’s that he gets all whiny and starts crying when I can’t drop what I’m doing to deal with him! I’d feel better if he got pissed off about it but that’s not what he does!”
She just shrugged and said, “Deal with it…”
And I found that I couldn’t. I could deal with doing him and my wife (and, often one after the other); I could deal with the fact that I was in love with a man and could even deal with the fact that he was clingy and all that… but the whining and crying? I could deal with a woman’s emotional fluidity and probably because I was “trained” to deal with it… but not even my Air Force roommate prepared me to deal with a man who could be even more emotionally fluid than any woman I knew (at the time, of course). With that guy – and despite the fact that I wasn’t in love with him and I didn’t consider us being in a relationship – I could deal with his fits of rage whenever I didn’t “play the game” the way he wanted me to; he wanted me to be his exclusive boyfriend and, nope, wasn’t trying to hear any of that any more than I was trying to comply with his ‘demand’ that I give up pussy and give in totally to my true gayness. Right… like that was ever gonna happen…
The man I loved didn’t ask me to give up pussy, didn’t get angry because I wasn’t exclusively his, and got along with my wife very well. I could easily accept that he loved me and as deeply as he said he did but just couldn’t get my head around the depths of his other emotions. I didn’t as much fault him for this as I blamed myself for not being able to adapt to it and how his emotions made me feel (other than loving him). I wouldn’t get angry with him but I’d often be exasperated (hence the eye-rolling and looking to heaven for guidance); it would often make me feel badly – who feels good watching someone cry? I’d be baffled and befuddled because I couldn’t get to the root of why he was like this although, at one point, he spent some time in a local mental health joint because he was having a very hard time dealing with the death of his grandmother, who raised him and someone he loved so very much. But he “got over” that – the people working with him did a good job getting his mind right about this and I thought that, okay, maybe this was really what I was seeing when I dealt with him… but, no – whatever made him so whiny when it came to me was still there. I even talked to other effeminate gay men and, when they stopped laughing, the only “advice” they could offer was for me to just deal with it the best way I could and, importantly, don’t expect him to be anything other than what he is and don’t try to change him.
That helped me understand him better, made me love him more, and caused me some major heartbreak when he left. I really believed that if we had had more time together, I would have gotten used to his behavior and wouldn’t have given it a lot of thought.
I’m now into Day Four of writing this and I’m not sure why it’s taken me so long to write this. It’s been a lot of years since my relationship with him and I still haven’t been able to fully deal with my reaction to really effeminate gay men. One part of my mind realizes how silly it is for me to have such a reaction because it’s not like I don’t know what the deal is with these guys… but at some deeper level, yeah, it still makes me itchy.