Wonder: Andy Ch. 01

Checking in, I asked, "Still good?"

"Uh huh," he whispered, and after a pause, "Keep going."

I continued with the same light touch down his taint, tickling the soft hair growing along that short corridor to the place where he wanted me to keep going. C.J. moaned very softly and spread his legs open a bit further, pushing his hips upwards slightly. I knew what he wanted. Barely making contact, I circled with my fingertip for several revolutions, then pressed very slightly, feeling the springy resistance of his asshole. C.J. whimpered.

I found the lube and squirted some onto my fingers. "It's cold," I warned. This was confirmed by his sharp intake of breath as I smeared a bit of the silky goo onto his waiting orifice. "I'm gonna get you nice and slick, work up to things like before, but slower," I informed him. "If anything I do starts to hurt, tell me and I'll stop, OK?"

"Yeah. Just keep going."

I did. Gradually my touch became more insistent, the pressure against his hole more forceful. Over minutes, I worked him open, fingering lube into him, going in and out, varying the pace and pressure.

My concentration had been so focused on getting him ready down there that I hadn't looked up for a few minutes, not until he moaned, "Oh, god, yes." He was clutching my sheets, white-knuckled, head back, eyes closed, and mouth open in an ongoing low groan of pleasure. In that pool of light in my dark room, C.J. seemed practically luminescent as I stoked his desire. I withdrew my fingers. He whimpered in protest and bucked his hips upwards. Oh, you can wait, you eager little boy, I thought, and brought my mouth to his. He lunged to initiate the kiss, still gripping the sheets.

We kept on kissing each other as my work down below resumed, fucking him with my fingers until I knew his body was hungering for me. I caught his whimpers and moans of pleasure with my open mouth.

"Are you ready to try this again?" I asked.

"Uh huh."

"Well, this time it might work better if you're on top."

"I never done it that way before," he said with a tone of suspicion.

"Well, let's give it a try and you can see if you like it better. It'll give you more control of everything. You can lower yourself down onto me and decide how fast or slow it goes in, and how deep you want me up inside you."

It still wasn't easy, with lots of stopping and starting, and gasps of pain from both of us a couple times, but as C.J. started to figure out how to make his body work with mine, it got easier and hotter. Straddling me in a crouching position, he reached around behind him to guide me in. He eased himself down, inch by slippery pulsating inch, until I was all the way inside. He held himself there—eyes closed, mouth open, a marble angel in ecstasy. I felt the inside of his body surround me with such warmth and strength and life. I could feel his pulse, and my cock throbbed and seemed to grow even bigger and harder inside him. A moan of almost primal urgency emanated from his gaping mouth.

I took C.J.'s hands in mine, entwining our fingers, so he could support himself using my arms as braces while he found his way. He slowly began raising himself up, and then looking at me, tentatively lowered himself back down. He closed his eyes, and a soft, clipped gasp broke from his mouth.

"That's it, just like that," I coached him. "Let it feel good." He went up and then back down, this time a little faster and with a little more force sliding my length back into himself.

"You like that, huh?" I asked.

Softly he exhaled his reply, "Oh, fuck, yeah."

As he continued raising and lowering himself, I resisted my growing urge to thrust upwards until it seemed like he had gotten fully used to the feel of my cock inside him, and the sensation of it going in and then back out. His body glowed in the light, like a white, orange, and pink flame emanating from my penis, from my body, from the roaring heat of my desire. Burn me, baby.

He slid down my pole, skewering himself deeply. My cock throbbed inside him. I was exerting all my will to keep from shooting my load, clenching my balls and my butt, wanting this to go on and on. C.J. suddenly lurched forward, grasped my face and kissed me hard. As he did so, my cock slipped out of him. "Aw, fuck," I groaned, but C.J. simply reached back and inserted me into himself, this time with no difficulty whatsoever. He wanted me in as much as I wanted to be in. I bent my legs and thrust upwards to get myself fully back inside. Pulling out slightly, I thrust back up a little more forcefully. "OK?" I asked. C.J. was bracing himself up with his hands on my chest, leaning over me with eyes closed, and moaned "Uhhhhhhh"—which I again interpreted as "yes." Underneath him, I began to fuck with the unrestrained force of my desire, and with as much strength, he brought the weight of his body down onto me, riding the bucking bronco. Our bodies made moist slapping sounds as the came into contact, faster and faster, harder and harder.

I had been grasping him by his hips as I thrust up into him, but now I moved one to get a hold of his cock, full-mast and bouncing wildly. I began jacking him with my still lube-slick grip, matching the rhythm of my strokes to his up-and-down motion, so when he slid up my pole, he fucked my fist, and when he sat down, he pulled out most of the way. This made him speed up his pace, ramming me in and out of himself still faster and harder. His luminous body glistened with the exertion of his ardor, and drops of his sweat fell on me like scalding rain. He was on the precipice, and bringing me along for the ride.

Not surprisingly, he was a quiet cummer, a few strained "uh, uh, uhs" and then as he shot, a pained-sounding groan through clenched teeth. He splattered me good, though, covering my chest and abdomen in rivulets of pearlescent semen.

"Oh, man, I'm gonna cum, too." My hands clasped his waist, and I bounced him hard, like daddy playing horsie with his little boy on his knee, at full gallop. My pent-up desire erupted inside him. Shooting with a condom on always makes me hyperaware of the physiology of the male reproductive system; when my balls are pumping all that baby juice up my rod, and there's nowhere for it all to go to, it feels like it makes my nads pump all the harder to compensate. And I'd had a big load in reserve.

He pushed himself up with his hands on my knees as he slid me out of him. He collapsed onto the bed, slicked with sweat. I put my hand on his heaving chest and felt the hammering of his heart.

"Whoa, you must be worn out!"

"Yeah, huh, a little."

We lay there quietly together, our bodies and souls coming back to earth. His breathing slowed to normal.

"You know what?" I asked, and he looked startled, like I was putting him on the spot. I rolled onto my side to face him. "You're a cutie pie." I rubbed the top of his head. A smile bloomed on his face.

"Ah, now you smile!"

"Takes one to know one," he said softly.

"Your eyes look sleepy, buddy. You wanna rest for a little bit?"

"Yeah." C.J. closed his eyes, and in a minute rolled over onto his side, scooting closer to me as he did so that his butt touched my thigh. I reached down to the tangled bedding near the foot of the mattress and covered us up. Within a couple of minutes, I heard the slow, heavy breathing of sleep. I wasn't tired myself, so I picked up a book I had by my bedside and started reading. C.J. murmured softly in his sleep a couple of times, but other than that he seemed completely zonked out.

I must have dozed off at some point, too, because I remember being startled awake by the sound of a siren going by. I woke C.J. up when I started. He rolled over slightly and in a groggy voice asked over his shoulder, "What time is it?"

"It's gotten kind of late—almost midnight."

"Oh," he said quietly, and then, "Would it be OK if I just slept here tonight?"

"Yeah, of course, I was hoping you would." He rolled back onto his side. I reached over and caressed his beautiful bare back. "Oooohhhh," he moaned, "don't stop." I shifted over next to him and rubbed his back and shoulders. I scooted closer, spooning him, and putting my arm around him whispered, "Good?"

Almost asleep, C.J. sighed back, "Mmmmm, good."

We slept for a few hours, me fitfully, he soundly. Around three we both woke up. The night was still now, except for a low, whining wind that rattled the windows. C.J. was stroking my arm that still encircled him. We were both still half asleep when we started kissing and touching again, almost as if in a dream state. Before long, though, our building heat for one another roused us. The kissing became more insistent; the touching became more demanding of wanting more. Our hands found each other under the sheets, stirring and stiffening.

This time he was on his back when I entered him. He held me within his open legs and clutched my shoulders as I drove in and pulled out. I fucked him slowly, sweetly, gently. We both wanted it to last. Drawing back from a kiss, our eyes locked, and the way he was looking at me made me feel a thousand things at once. I stroked the side of his face and said his name. C.J. took my other hand, twined his fingers in mine, and said in a barely audible whisper, "You fuck me so good. I don't want this to end."

I was inside of him for twenty minutes, speeding up and slowing down, again and again, holding myself motionless up inside him for moments of deep kissing, before I couldn't hold back anymore. I told C.J. that I was getting close.

"I wanna watch you shoot," he said.

Aiming to please, I eased out of him, peeled off the rubber, and kneeling between his open legs, began jacking myself.

"I'm not right on the edge anymore," I told him, "so let's see if we can shoot at the same time."

"Yeah!" he responded, with surprising but arousing enthusiasm. He began jacking himself, too.

"Tell me when you're getting there, so I can speed up," I said as I stroked myself slowly. Fucking him, being so deep inside his beautiful body, had felt so intensely good, and now, with my cock in my hand, after the build up and delay of release, over and over, my whole body was yearning to cum.

"Oh, man, I'm so close," C.J. panted. "I can't hold off..." He began to ejaculate before he could finish the sentence, drenching his chest and belly with a spurting fountain of semen. I reached down and scooped up a palmful of cum from his belly and slathered it onto my raging hard-on. The motion of my thrusting hips more then the slide of my hand was now speeding me to orgasm, a careening, run-away train hurtling towards the cliff.

"Oh, fuck," C.J. moaned, anticipating my explosion, his hands on my thighs roving back to grasp my clenched ass. My neighbors probably heard me as I flew over the edge, liquid fire spurting from my body and onto the white flame of C.J.'s body.

Streams of his and my intermingled sperm began spilling down C.J.'s sides. I cleaned him off with a towel. We slept. I had to get up early for work, but knew the excess adrenaline and lingering ecstasy of the night before would compensate for the lack of sleep and keep me going strong through the day. I let C.J. sleep while I showered, shaved, and dressed, and then fixed us something to eat while he hit the shower.

Although luckily I'd never experienced it in my limited number of sexual encounters, a couple of my friends had told me about how some guys got moody or even hostile the morning after, ashamed of what they'd done the night before and looking for someone to blame other than themselves. I was momentarily worried that C.J. might be that type, but somehow I also knew he wasn't. What happened between us felt like more than just a fuck (albeit a magnificent fuck), or it did to me. And, at least in the night, it felt like it had meant something more to him, too—or was I reading too much into how he seemed to open up to me?

At the table, he was still pretty taciturn, but now seemed relaxed, no longer wary or morose. I tried to make some jokes, and a couple of times I did get to see his rare smile. He even asked me a question or two, actually initiating conversation—would wonders never cease?

I finished my mug of tea. "I wish I didn't have to rush, but I've got to get to work pretty soon."

"Yeah, OK."

I wasn't sure how we were supposed to part. I put my hand on his shoulder and stooped slightly to give him a quick kiss on the lips. C.J. had been standing with his hands in his pockets while I kissed him, but as I withdrew he suddenly pulled me to him and hugged me tightly. I put my arms around him, and he rested his cheek on my shoulder. He held onto me for what seemed like minutes. I stroked his back and kissed him on the ear. I wanted to call him "baby" or "sweetheart" or something, wanted to ask if he would be OK, if there was something I could do to help him, wanted to ask him out on a date for pizza and a movie, wanted to sweep him off his feet into my arms and carry him back to my bed for days and days of sweet, hot, joyful, tender, rough, frenzied, playful, affectionate, incredible sex. Instead I said, "We can do this again sometime, if you want."

"Yeah, maybe," he said softly, pulling away and looking down at the floor.

I wrote down my phone number and e-mail address on a piece of paper and gave it to him. "And you obviously know where I live..."

As C.J. rummaged through his backpack and pulled out a stocking cap and gloves, I noticed the cash from last night still on the table.

"Here, don't forget this." I held the bills out to him.

He backed away. "Nah, it's cool."

"Look, C.J., I want you to have it—and not because of anything last night, you know. I've had people help me out when I needed it, and I want to do that for somebody else when I can." I held out the money. Hesitantly, he took it, along with the paper with my contact info, folding them up and jamming them into his pocket.

He hefted his pack onto one shoulder. "Thanks, man." He stepped on the back of his skateboard, flipping it upright, and slung it under his arm. "See ya."

"Take care." It was an every day pleasantry, devoid of meaning, but I wished he could know how much I really did mean it. "See you later." I watched him go, and a few minutes later, on that cold sunny morning, headed off for work.

But I never did see him again. Winter slipped into spring, and the creative block I felt like had been freezing me forever thawed, too. I spent all my time either in the classroom or in the studio, finally productive and happy with my work. Around this time, I also found myself stupidly head-over-heels for this guy I met at a gallery opening, Huck, a typically self-indulgent performance artist—what was I thinking? But, oh my god, was he... well, that's a whole other story.

In spite of everything, I didn't—couldn't—forget C.J., and started wondering where he'd gone. After not seeing him for about a month, I asked the secretary in charge of booking the models for drawing classes if she knew anything about him.

"C.J.? I don't remember ever hiring a model named C.J."

"You know," I said, for some reason wiggling my fingers up by my head. "The redheaded guy?"

"You mean Clayton? Oh, he hasn't been around for a while now. I tried calling him in for a job a few weeks ago, and the number was out of service." She started shuffling through the sheets with the models' contact information. "He was a little bit of an odd duck, anyway, not very friendly," she said. "We've got plenty of others to call on."

I asked her for C.J.'s—Clayton's—last name, and she said they couldn't give out that information, and besides, when she got the out-of-service number, she shredded his contact form. So that was that, end of story. Sort of.

My partner Roger and I have been together for almost ten years. We love each other and have made a pretty good life together. I have nothing to complain about. You know how it is, though, when you've been with someone for a while. The passion fades, the intensity of desire dissipates. That's just how it is. You don't love him any less—in fact, in many ways, maybe you love him more—but the thought of having sex with him doesn't make your heart race and your cock hard like it did back when you were first together.

Sometimes when I'm with Roger now, my mind pictures someone else. Again, it's not bad, it's just how desire works sometimes. For some reason, recently that single night with C.J. has been flooding my memory. I imagine I'm in my twenties, with him, and sex with Roger becomes more intense, rekindling something of that heat from years ago. It's good for us both, and what he doesn't know won't hurt him.

Over the years, I have wondered from time to time what happened to C.J., or Clayton, or whatever his name was. I don't kid myself into thinking he was The One Who Got Away. I was hot for him. Who knows if there could've been anything beyond that, anything past that one burning night? I came to realize years ago that some part of me feels the need to rescue people—even if they don't want or need it. I saw C.J. as someone lost and lonely, who I could've saved with my love. But maybe I'm guilty of painting him as a victim when he wasn't one at all. Maybe I just misread all of the things I was sure were signs of a broken life. Maybe he was just some suburban kid taking his walk on the wild side. Or maybe he was living his life exactly as he wanted, and was more content and free than overworked, anxiety-addled me.

Maybe those twenty-three bucks I gave him got him someplace he needed to go, someplace where somebody cared about him. Maybe it only got him something that made him feel good for a few hours and then was gone. Maybe he congratulated himself on scamming some dick-for-brains loser. I'll never know. It's a waste of time to wonder, and yet I wonder even so.