Two Bottoms

He zipped himself and I was getting to my feet, not paying attention, when I felt his fist crash into my face. I collapsed on the ground.

"You fucking faggot—you queer son-of-a-bitch!"

Then his foot caught me square in the balls.

"I oughta kill you--you fucking faggot!"

He kicked me again. I lay in the fetal position trying to protect myself.

He spat on me and stumbled away. I lay there watching him leave. When I figured it was safe I got up and walked as quickly as I could. Vernon's light was still on but I went home instead.

I guess sometimes you have to hit the darkest abyss before you can see things clearly.

I didn't miss any time from work—I couldn't afford it. When I went to the bar and wore sunglasses while I worked I expected the laughs and good-natured ribbing, but when the owner came in later that night and he saw me he shook his head. The glasses covered my black-eye, but the bruise on my cheek was visible.

"Get drunk and fall down again, John?" he asked.

That's when I almost lost it. I'd forgotten I had used that excuse a year earlier. That's when the shame and self-loathing hit me the hardest. When you have to tell people a horrible story because the truth is even worse—then you've hit rock bottom.

The rest of the night I felt naked and exposed--like everyone knew my dirty little secret.

When I drove home that night I went past Vernon's place, his light was on, but I decided I didn't want him to see me like this.

Nights at work became progressively better: the jokes had subsided; the guys ignored me, and the girls wanted to take me home and make me feel better--everything was returning to normal.

Even a new customer began coming in every night, sitting in my section, and we hit it off right away. His name was Mark; he was interesting and funny and when I wasn't busy we spent a lot of time talking. I was positive he wasn't gay, but I found myself attracted to him anyway. I found out he enjoyed playing golf and I was dying to ask him if he wanted to play some time, but of course, I was too scared to do it.

After work I'd go home and fantasize about living in a world where my feelings were 'normal', and I wasn't afraid, and everyone knew my secret and accepted me for who I am.

My bruises had healed and I had an overwhelming urge to see Vernon. After work one night I saw his lights on and gathered the strength to go upstairs. I could tell he was surprised to see me, but he quickly recovered and smiled and invited me inside.

He poured some wine and we sat and made small talk for awhile. Then he suddenly asked me in all seriousness: "How are you—really?"

I tried to remain calm—I wanted to be strong—but his piercing blue eyes seemed to be staring directly into my soul. I fought back the tears that were welling in my eyes. I had resolved never to tell anyone what happened that night, but my resolve was crumbling. I had to talk to someone about it, and Vernon was the only person in the world I could tell.

"I, ah...a couple weeks ago I...well, I had a problem in the park," I said softly, avoiding his eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't answer your calls—I'm sorry I didn't come here sooner—you're my best friend—I wished I'd come here right after it happened—I'm sorry—I'm sorry...."

He put his arm around me as the tears rolled down my cheeks. I cried—I bawled my eyes out. He held me close to him and gently stroked my head and shoulders. It felt so good to be next to him--it felt so good to tell him the story of that night. And when I was done talking it felt so good to be with someone who understood—who had been there before--who wasn't the slightest bit judgmental.

My eyes brightened and the weight of the world was off my shoulders.

"Just one thing," he said, "...was he sweet or sour?"

It felt so good to laugh again, too.

The hours slipped by as he made sandwiches and we drank more wine and talked and laughed. It was sunrise when I finally said I'd better be going.

"I'm playing golf with a friend of mine on Monday," he said as we stood at his door, "...I'd like for you to meet him."

The cold reality of life washed over me. I had to make a decision about which way I needed to live my life.

"I don't know..." I said, hesitantly, "...I may have been 'scared straight'."

A sad smile spread across my lips.

"Well, actually...you've already met him—his name is Mark."

"M-Mark?" I stammered.

"Yes...you met him at the bar...he use to be my assistant at the company I worked for...he's a lot like you...he's shy and uncomfortable about who he is, and has a hard time meeting people who he likes, and—he really likes you."

"Are you talking about a guy who's about six-feet, hundred-and-seventy pounds, blue eyes and light brown hair? Maybe around thirty?" I began to tremble.

He chuckled. "Don't be mad at me, okay? I had lunch with him one day and we were talking, and one thing led to another, and I thought about you...I told him where you work, and he likes you—a lot!"

I didn't know what to say.

"Johnny...he's a great guy, and I think you two would make a nice couple...look, he's nervous about this, too...he didn't think you were gay."

It was the hardest decision of my life. To intentionally meet a man for the possibility of a real 'relationship'—not just sex—scared the hell out of me. I knew this could be a turning point—and a point of no return—a real commitment to a lifestyle that I hadn't fully embraced yet.

"Ah...Vernon, I don't know...what if I really like him? What if—"

"You love him? Isn't that what you want? Isn't that what you're really looking for?"

He had a way of cutting through the bull--he told it like it is.

"Well, ah...sure, okay...yeah, I'd like to see him again," I said.

And it was true. Mark hadn't been in the bar for a few days and I missed him.

The closer it got to Monday my nervousness turned to excitement. I was looking forward to seeing Mark outside the bar—in a natural setting.

I rode with Vernon to the golf course. When he pulled into the parking lot my heart was pounding.

Mark was already there. When Vernon and I walked toward him I couldn't help but smile. Then I saw Mark smiling, as well. I became totally relaxed.

Vernon suggested I ride in the golf cart with Mark. This is going to be fun, I thought to myself.

Well, what can I say? The day was sunny and beautiful. Mark and I talked like we were old friends. Our conversations were natural and unforced. We shared our lives with each other; there was a natural ebb and flow when we spoke. We were both good listeners too—we paid attention to what the other was saying—it sounds easy enough, but think about the times when you've had conversations with someone, and you just know that they're listening to you only waiting for their turn to talk.

Before we knew it, we were playing the eighteenth hole. We hadn't talked about where we might go from here. He hadn't asked me out, and I wasn't sure of the protocol—is it proper etiquette for a bottom to ask out a top?

We were riding down the fairway when Mark said, "Ah, I...well, I was wondering if you'd like to maybe have dinner with me some night?"

I smiled at him and said, "I'd love to—that would be nice."

Vernon said he'd buy a round of drinks in the clubhouse so we put our golf bags at the bag drop and went inside. We ordered beers and sat down in a booth. Vernon subtly made sure I sat next to Mark. I felt a thrill shoot up my body at the touch of Mark's leg against mine.

We had another beer then Vernon made a surprise announcement.

"Okay, boys—it's time to hit the showers—I don't know about you guys, but I got a little sweaty out there—you're my guests here so you can use the facilities, too."

Mark and I mumbled our "Yeah, sure" and "Okay" and followed Vernon into the locker room. Vernon chose three vacant lockers next to each other and we undressed, wrapped towels around us and headed for the showers.

It was a large communal shower room. Mark and I showered next to each other. I couldn't help but sneak glances in his direction. He had a beautiful body—a sculpted chest with very little body hair. I wanted to throw my arms around him and hold him close.

When I glanced down I received my second thrill of the day. His penis was erect—standing straight out—hard, firm and gorgeous; six inches long and an inch-and-a-half around. I wanted to drop to my knees right then and there. My own penis stiffened at the sight of his.

"What are you boys doing over there?" Vernon called out. He was laughing and pointing at our hard-ons.

Mark and I looked at each other and blushed—but we smiled, too. We gazed into each other's eyes and I felt my third thrill of that afternoon: I saw tenderness and caring in his eyes. It was at that moment I believed we bonded together. We felt a common need and desire. It was at that moment I just knew he and I would be together.

After drying-off and dressing, Vernon had another surprise for us.

"Oh my, look at the time," he said, "Mark, would you mind taking John home? Believe it or not boys—I have a date."

We both chuckled.

"Sure," Mark spoke up, "I'd love to."

On the ride home I had to fight my desire to sit next to Mark—to feel his leg against mine again. We spoke very little—we both knew this was a critical time in our relationship, and neither one of us wanted to say something stupid to ruin it.

When we neared my apartment Mark spoke.

"Ah...what are you doing for dinner tonight?"

"I was hoping we'd go somewhere," I smiled at him.

He smiled, now he was sure of himself. "I know a great place with a good menu—want to try it?"

"Sounds good to me," I said.

We had two bottles of wine with an excellent meal. We were totally relaxed. We shared our secrets and bared our souls. Vernon was right: we were a lot alike. Mark had a difficult time accepting his sexuality. He said it took a long time before he wasn't embarrassed. He had only recently told his parents. He said they were disappointed but supportive. He didn't want to hurt anyone, but he was tired of living a lie.

I didn't mention my promiscuity in the park. Vernon once said to me: "You don't talk about your bowel movements with anyone, do you? You don't tell someone you work with that you despise them, do you? Some things are private and best left unsaid."

When Mark started the car and pulled out of the restaurant parking lot I moved over next to him until our thighs were touching.

"Oh my," he said with a chuckle.

I resisted the urge to place my hand on the bulge I just knew I'd find in his slacks. By the time we reached my apartment my own penis was throbbing and leaking pre-cum.

"Would you like to come inside for a glass of wine?" I asked; my heart pounding.

"That would be nice," he said in a soft voice.

He followed me upstairs and when we were inside I turned and looked into his eyes. What I saw gave me the biggest thrill of all that day—I could tell he felt the same way about me as I did for him.

We put our arms around each other and kissed for the first time. It was sweet and magical—he was a good kisser. Our lips and tongues meshed together in perfect harmony.

The fever inside us rose to the point where we frantically began to undress one another. We were hugging and kissing while we inched towards the bed. I lay down and he lay beside me.

Our hands roamed freely over each others' body—I caressed his thighs and soon ran my hand between his legs. His ball sac and penis were smooth and hot. I thought I was going to cum just feeling his wonderfully hard penis.

I guided him onto his back and kissed my way down his body. I paid close attention to his breasts and nipples. He groaned when my teeth lightly scraped his hardened nipples.

I knelt between his legs and worshipped his magnificent cock. His manly aroma sent my head spinning. I kissed the tip of his penis and worked my way down to his balls. I kissed and licked his throbbing member until he couldn't take it anymore—that's when my lips slid over his cockhead and I took him into my mouth.

My tongue never left the surface of his hot flesh. I stroked the shaft of his cock while my head bobbed up-and-down. I gently fondled and massaged his balls. His hips began moving involuntarily—thrusting upwards—burying more-and-more of his hard cock into my sucking mouth. I was lost in the sucking—all I could think of was how much I wanted to taste his cum.

A steady moan escaped his parted lips. My own cock throbbed and my balls ached for release. My hand stroked him faster-and-faster and when I felt his balls contract in my hand I pressed my tongue flat on his cock-slit and awaited my reward.

His cum was hot and delicious. When his first load filled my mouth I lost it completely—my cock exploded—I was delirious with excitement and pleasure. While stream-after-stream of his man-juice filled my mouth my cock unleashed a torrent of cum—spraying my chest and thighs and the sheets. I swallowed mouthfuls of jizz while his body jerked wildly out of control. When his penis began to soften I licked it clean. I couldn't get enough of his cum—he was definitely 'sweet'—like I knew he would be.

I collapsed beside him; we were both panting for air. I rested my head on his chest and he stroked my hair. We both fell asleep. I guess the sun and excitement wore us both out.

When I awoke he was still sleeping. He had a wonderfully stiff, morning hard-on. I stealthily kneeled between his legs and he came awake while I sucked and stroked him to another explosive orgasm.

"Good morning," I said as I lazily smiled up at him.

The look of wonderment and joy on his face was all I needed to feel warm and loved.

Our jobs prevented us from seeing one another for a full five days. He worked days and I worked nights and he lived too far away. We were disappointed we couldn't be together. In the meantime, we were constantly on the phone like schoolgirls, talking about anything and everything.

We made a 'date' for my last night of work that week. He would take a nap then come over to my apartment when I got off work. We were both giddy with anticipation.

I went to Vernon's apartment a couple times that week for wine and conversation. He actually was seeing someone—Mark and I thought he'd made up the story about having a date. He was as happy as I'd ever seen him. He said he might be in love. We hugged and laughed.

At work that week, I was friendly, funny and flirted with the girls. It was a lot easier to flirt with them when I knew there was no chance for a sexual encounter. I made good money in tips that week.

I hurried home when my shift was done and prepared myself for Mark. I poured two glasses of wine and placed them on the coffee table. I wore only my string bikini briefs and a robe.

When I heard him knock on the door I couldn't believe how excited I was. As soon as he was inside he took me in his arms and gave me a long, passionate kiss. I ran my hands up-and-down his body. His penis was hard inside his slacks and I gave it a quick squeeze.

To hell with the wine, I thought to myself.

I slowly undressed him. When I got his shirt off I dropped to my knees and took off his shoes and socks. The bulge in his slacks was level with my face and I pressed my lips to it.

I undid his slacks, and in one movement, pulled down his slacks and underwear. His beautiful cock sprang alive before my eyes and I kissed and licked it. A thick stream of pre-cum smeared his cockhead and I licked it clean.

I took his glans into my mouth and lathered his cockhead. When I let it slide out of my mouth he groaned with disappointment. I stood and smiled then hooked my thumbs in my briefs and wriggled them down my hips and legs.

I stood naked before him. He took me in his arms and we kissed—our tongues hungrily exploring each others' mouths.

I whispered in his ear, "I want to feel you inside me."

His eyes opened wide, and he asked, "Are you sure?"

Without saying a word I took hold of his throbbing penis and guided him to the end of the bed.

I whispered to him again, "I want to feel you inside me—please fuck me."

I bent over and rested my head and shoulders against the mattress and spread my legs wide open for him.

"W-What about a lube—"

"It's been taken care of," I interrupted him.

I felt his hands on my hips—he was trembling. Then he grasped his erection with one hand and placed it against my anus. I felt his beautiful, round cockhead pressing against my opening. I instinctively pushed my hips back and felt his cockhead firmly entering my anus.

It took my breath away. He paused but I continued pushing back on his cock. Slowly he impaled me onto his magnificent weapon. When I felt his scrotum against my bottom-cheeks I took a deep breath. I felt some pressure, but absolutely no pain.

"Fuck me, Mark—fuck me hard," I hissed through clenched teeth.

His strong hands held my hips as he slowly withdrew his cock to the tip then plunged it back into me. I felt every vein and bump on his cock as he fucked me harder-and-harder. I figured he wouldn't last long after five days without sex and I was right.

After nine or ten strokes he cried out—I felt his body stiffen—then he fucked me wildly as his cum filled my rectum. When he finished I was happy to feel his cock was still hard inside my asshole.

While he caught his breath I began sliding my asshole back-and-forth on his magic cock. The feelings it gave me were exquisite. We fell into a steady rhythm. I loved feeling every inch of his wonderful cock inside me.

My balls were churning, aching to cum; suddenly, I felt a renewed urgency within him. He fucked me harder-and-harder—faster-and-faster. When his cockhead bumped against my prostate I screamed out in joy. This spurred him on to fuck me even harder.

My mind was lost in the fog of mindless pleasure. A steady moan came from both of us. Our sounds of lust filled the room. He grunted as he shoved his prick in-and-out of me with abandon. My own cock jerked and throbbed as he plowed into me.

He began fucking me like a madman—with pure lust and desire he rammed his cock into me. His hands held my hips tightly as his magnificent cock battered my hole. Suddenly, we both screamed--our bodies contorted and shook with violent spasms as we climaxed.

His scalding cum coated the walls of my asshole—filled me to the very brink. My own cock spurted and sprayed cum everywhere. It was the most satisfying orgasm of my life. I felt his cum already escaping my asshole and running down the backs of my thighs and legs.

We stood motionless, his cock slowly softening inside my hole. I remained bent over for him—he was 'my man' and I was proud and overjoyed to be his bitch.

Later that night, in the darkness and before we fell asleep, I lay in his arms and said, "I love you, Mark."

He said, "I love you, too, Johnny."

The next day, after I sucked him dry, we moved some of my things to his apartment. There was no way we were going to go five days again without seeing each other.

Our plan was for me to totally move in with him when my rent was due. However, the best laid plans....

I was getting ready for work when he called.

"Johnny," he said, "...guess what? They offered me a promotion...it's a huge raise—you wouldn't have to work anymore if you don't want to...."

"My God, Mark—that would be great!" I exclaimed.

"Yeah, ah...the thing is we'd have to move—they want me to run the Florida operation—we'd have to move to Florida."

"Ah...okay, sure..." was all I could say.

That night at work I thought about it long and hard. I'd never been out of the state much less to Florida. Everyone I knew was here. My family, my friends....

Mark was awake when I got home that night.

"You didn't sound very enthusiastic on the phone," he said.