FAST FOOD JOINT
MIKE WAS YOUNG AND FRESH-FACED,
THE EPITOME OF A RECRUITING POSTER MARINE,
AND ALL HE WANTED, OR SO HE THOUGHT,
WAS A COUPLE OF HAMBURGERS.
Why would a good looking eighteen-year old college student want to live at home and spend five hours a day working at a fast food joint called "MACBURGERS"? A lot of students live at home to save money; I live at home because of where home is - the Thirty Second Street Naval Station, San Diego. City college is just a nine minute bus ride away from home, but more importantly, work is smack in the middle of the Naval Station. It is a locale I share with thousands of other Young Men at their Sexual Prime, nearly all of whom are always deep down, bone thumping HORNY. To be fair, most of them don't think they are gay; some think they're only bisexual, "making do", or "going through a phase." I don't care what they call themselves; I know what they like.
When I started college, I couldn't see giving up the thousands of young studs I'd become used to choosing from as they stocked my own personal meat market, but on the other hand, there was no way "I" was going to join the Navy right out of High School. Maybe after four years of attending college by day and dealing with tight Official Assholes by night, I might consider going in as an Officer. Maybe by then, something better will have come along. For now, things are perfect. I work in the evening from six until ten o'clock and stay around until about eleven cleaning and getting ready for the next day. Now that I'm the Assistant Manager - a Title grander than the Pay, let me tell you - I am always working alone after ten-thirty PM. I don't know how MACBURGERS got the Military Contract, but nearly every base has one. Ours is right in the Navy Exchange Building, we get plenty of business. Every "swinging dick" - to use one of my favourite expressions - comes by every day or so. The john in the Exchange Building is located just outside our door and is the "on base" place to meet men or just to leave phone numbers. I've done some fucking there a couple of times, but mostly I like to take my time, selecting my meat as it stands in the brightly lit line waiting for food. I am a romantic.
Once I sight my quarry, there are nine million ways to get my cock up his butt. I generally take a break and amble out to chat with the customers. Macburgerss doesn't usually do the "Is-your- meal-satisfactory?" shit, but at least breaks the ice. I've gotten my patter down so that I can Seduce the average Sailor in about two minutes flat. That sounds like CRAP, but you've got to remember that I look like the football quarter-back in your high school jerkoff wet dreams. These DUDES have often been at sea for up to six months. Contrary to what you may read, most of them do not fuck around when underway; its' just too dangerous. When they come ashore, the straight ones head for Tijuana and disease; the gay ones just generally mope. There are some gay hangouts in San Diego, but most of them are sleazy, off limits, and miles from the base. You might say, if you really wanted to bullshit, that I perform a public service by keeping our fighting men sound, conditioned, and free of disease. At least that was MY theory until recently; then I hit a "Small Snag."
"Mike" was the small snag, but that was the only thing small about him. Even if I had never dipped my wick in anyone else, he would have made four years at the minimum wage worthwhile. I first noticed him when he came in just after I showed up for work one Saturday. He'd been out jogging - Marines love to jog, In fact, I've got a pet theory: straight Marines love to jog more than they love to Fuck. Come to think of it most of my Marine conquests have been distinct "bottoms".
Mike came in for a large diet cola. He was wearing one of those olive green tee shirts and ragged olive jogging shorts you see in all of those "The Few, The Proud, The Marines" commercials. Wanting to be charming, I personally supervised his order. I saw a brief sparkle in his eye and a look which was at best unclear. At that point, though, he wasn't seeing much of anything; he was just trying to get enough air to stay alive. The sweat was gushing off the guy, streaming down his face staining his tee shirt, and running down to his crotch and ass. I wasn't sure whether his was partially hard or just big, but the way it bulged out in his stained shorts was surely promising. The fact that he wasn't wearing a jockstrap was an even better sign than the throbbing tits and promising cock. Straight Marines would rather kill their grandmothers than work out without a jock. Don't ask me why I just notice that shit, I don't try to explain it.
As he took his drink out, I didn't get my two minutes with him that time, but I filed him away right at the top of my list for future reference. The next several hours, I could think of nothing except that future reference. Of course most Marines look good. There's something about taking an eighteen- or twenty-year-old-guy, giving him a super butch haircut, and pumping every muscle to the maximum that makes him charming. A lot of them aren't all that clever, but if I wanted to have discussions about Wittgenstein's philosophy, I'd hang out with the nerdy drips at school. Jarheads, who are genuinely nice guys, tend to be dumped on by everybody from their Superiors to guys in the Navy to Peace-niks. When they stumble across someone who treats them halfway decently, they'll bend over forward for him.
If most Marines look good, then MIKE looks "GREAT". He was the kind of dude whom the Marine Corps puts on its posters. He wasn't the pretty sort, like some movie stars, but you got the idea that his good looks were solid and dependable. Although he didn't look exactly like either one of them, he had the same air as a "Luke Skywalker or Tom Cruise"- a casual affability that, even aside from their bodies, makes you wish they lived next door. His eyes were set between high, strong cheekbones and had a steady icy blue that drilled its way into your soul with a glance. From what I could tell, he had chestnut-coloured hair, but his arms and legs were almost bare - some body hair, but not much. When I Fuck a Dude, I like to see flesh, not a carpet of fur.
His brow and jaw were solid, and he had the perfect Mark Harmon pug nose. His straight, gleaming teeth could blind you if he smiled. As you would expect, his neck, shoulders, arms, and gut were classic. I didn't check his legs; I don't give a fuck about legs. Besides, my eyes were glued to his ass as he walked away, dripping a trail of sweat. The best way to describe that ass would be to note that the sweat which ran down his back had formed a pool at the top of his ass and spread out across his butt. Ninety-nine out of one hundred guys would have had the sweat running down the crack of their asses. But his was so muscular, firm, and tight that his sweat collected at the top and cascaded down over those luscious humps of muscle which stuck straight out at me, wriggling a good-bye when he left. His general appearance had gotten my attention, but his ass promised to live in my wet dreams until I would be able to have it. Several gorgeous Sailors and some other nice looking Marines came in that night, but, although I didn't admit it to myself, I was saving myself for Mikes return. I just hoped to fuck he wouldn't dawdle.
I had just about given up on him for the evening when I looked up and saw him waiting in line. He was trying to keep his pecs and biceps inside a shirt that was cut for an average, mortal man. The tits still pulsed through loud and clear. He was wearing jeans and a pair of battered, comfortable-looking cowboy boots in such a way that brought a young "Marlboro Man" to mind. Standing there with his thumbs stuck into his pockets, he looked ready for anything. When I made it my business to take his order, he wanted a full weeks rations: two hamburgers, a cheeseburger, a large fries, a large cole slaw, two half pints of milk, and a chocolate shake. This time the Saints were on my side - it wasn't a take-out. he was coming "back" on base, rather than going out to whore about! After he had downed about half of his food, I walked past his table to perform my Charming Host bit. He answered my "Is everything satisfactory?" with a "Yes, Sir". I do love Marines. I was about two years younger than he was, working more as a slave, and here he was "Sir-ing" me.
From there it was easy to work into a chat about his jogging which showed that I had noticed him and was concerned about him as a person rather than just a piece of meat, and to talk about which ship he was on. I knew very well that he must be off the "Bristol County", which was a new Tank Carrier that had just moved to San Diego with a couple of hundred Marines for support. When he said that he was heading back to the ship, I told him I knew how hard it was to meet people here because of the location of the base. He asked me where the action was, and I told him I generally made my own. that got a questioning look which I ignored as I moved on to chat about other military shit. Just before I left his table to lock the doors, I told him if he wanted to see action, then he should stick around for a while. "Action" could have meant anything, but the hand I left carelessly on his shoulder should have made it clear enough.
After I got the late clerks and the remaining customers out the door, I locked it and shut off the lights. He was still nibbling at the last part of his chow and drinking his milk shake when I asked if he wanted to see what Macburgers looks like behind the scenes. He probably wanted nothing less, but he went along.
When I had gotten him out of public view, I didn't waste any time. He stood before me, a menhir of muscle, content to stay immobile for the ages, waiting for some passion to stir him. circling slowly, I let my fingertips glide smoothly across his right nipple, feeling it throb. My meaning was now unmistakeable. He neither withdrew nor returned my advances. I sensed his confusion. He seemed to be searching, hoping I would have the answers to questions he couldn't express, hoping I would be his guide to some secret, undiscovered destination for which he longed. I wrapped my arms around his body, pulling him to me more in friendship than in lust. I filled my hands with his ass and put my lips to his ear.
"You don't do this a lot, do you?" I whispered. I felt his head shake slightly. He almost squeaked. "I tried to Fuck whores a couple of times when I was out with my buddies, but it didn't work. Once I managed to Come, but even then I didn't feel anything. the stuff just leaked out of me into her - all I felt was dirty."
"Don't worry about it," I whispered in reply. "I'll take care of everything. You just let me know if you don't want to do something." I put my lips close to his ear and gently enveloped the lobe, chewing at it as I massaged his perfect ass through the coarse denim. The touch of another man like this sent chills down his spine, and I felt him shudder. But it was a quiver of an awakening rather than one of revulsion. Moving slowly, for we had all night, I let my kisses move down his neck until my lips found his collarbone. I sucked at the muscles which hung there and moved my teeth over to gnaw the thick cords of sinew at his shoulders as my hands found their way inside his jeans. Innocent of underwear, his mounds of flesh lay hard and hot under my touch, an eloquent tribute to what boot camp can do for the male body. as I dragged my fuckfinger along the smooth, hairless trench that separated his buttocks, Mike shuddered again from his depths and let out a low, soft moan of pleasure, escape from his lips. He was Hooked. As long as I gave him a chance to object before I went too far with anything, there was no way he was going to go screaming off into the night.
I kept one hand on his magnificent butt, more to keep it pressed up against me than to move too fast with his butthole. I began to undo the buttons of his shirt with my other hand. The chest that slowly came into view was better than I had dreamt. His hairless pecs hung with such definition that they seemed to reach out to me. Each one was crowned by one of those fleshy nubs of throb that I'd felt through his shirt. My lips couldn't resist any longer and began gently to suck them alternately. My tongue flicked around and across the hard dark points of passion while both my hands fiercely rubbed into his muscular backside.
By now he was beginning to respond, taking tentative passes at my neck and lips and in turn, letting his hands wander across my body. I knew it was difficult for him to adjust, because (except for a playful slug in the shoulder) Marines are conditioned against touching another man. He must have dreamt often about allowing his hands to discover the feel of a man's body, but until then, must have always denied it. More than forgiving the slight awkwardness of his touch, I rejoiced in the awakening of his sprit. After tonight he would never again deny his hunger, however much he would have to keep it hidden from the rest of the world.
I went crazy in a frenzied orgy of licking and sucking as I devoured his chest and belly, darting first here and then there to experience every part of him. I was sad that I could not stay forever with my tongue and lips on his flawless body, but I sensed a slight restlessness - he was eager to move on.
I pulled an old government blanket which I keep in our gear locker for just such occasions, and tossed it on the floor. I pulled him down and slipped off his boots, rushing on the mixed scents of leather and sweat. I left his white socks on, since fucking a DUDE with his socks on always makes me feel more stimulated - the influence of all those fuck flicks featuring sock footed studs. The jeans were a different matter. I ripped his buttoned fly open in one fast move, exposing the fluffy chestnut bush which guarded the approach to his secret self. At first he looked surprised and then childishly delighted when I pulled his jeans off and dumped his naked ass onto the blanket. As I was caught up in his haste, I immediately stripped off my Macburgers uniform. Almost before I had time to fully realise what was happening, I was beside him - both of us were buck naked on the blanket with all the time in the world stretching ahead of us.
I put my lips and tongue back to work. His cock was fairly big - I'd say between seven and eight inches - but was of medium width. A lot of dudes probably couldn't have handled it, but I've had practice. My major surprise was the foreskin. I've read a lot of crap in magazines about Marines having to get their skins trimmed off when they join the Corps. I happen to "know" that's not true. On the other hand, you don't see many men of that age with uncut cocks these days. When I saw his little pink eye peeking out through a fleshy ruffled collar that stretched back over his head, there wasn't much doubt where my tongue was going. when my head bent to his crotch, the rest of his body stiffened too.
"What are you doing?" he croaked. I told him just to hang loose and let me know if he objected to anything. I guess the idea of my tongue on his cock took some getting used to, but Mike was a quick learner. I began by slipping the whole works as far back as his trigger ridge into my mouth and then, carefully, used my tongue to play with the upper fringe of skin. His skin lay loosely across the smooth meat surrounding his eye, but soon (quite slowly at first and then more quickly) his head began to pulse in response to the wet warmth of my mouth. The reaction itself pulled the skin farther and farther back along the shaft. I forced my tongue between the skin and that super - sensitive head and discovered the tender folds of skin underneath which held it in place. I let my tongue flit and flicker into the crannies and hidden pockets of sensitivity that made Mike's cock jerk in reflex seizures of ecstasy.
My tongue rejoiced in the combination of tastes which comprised his manly musk: the salt of his sweat, the taste of his skin, the hint of soap from his last shower, and (almost imperceptible through the sensation of stronger and more straightforward tastes) the mildest flavour of stale piss clinging to the far back of his cock. Despite the problems he must have showering aboard ship, there was no taste of cockcheese. Here was a man who took pride in keeping his equipment in shape.
My slippery tongue scouted out every position and surrounded and conquered his head, forcing his delicious tender skin to abandon it for the shaft which lay behind the trigger ridge. Only when I had lost sight of his skin did I return to the eye, prodding it lightly with my tongue and stimulating one quiver after another from Mikes depths. I looked up to find his belly and legs awash with gooseflesh, his head back, and his mouth open in stunned delight. I followed a throbbing blue vein down along the shaft, momentarily arriving at his huge balls.
I don't know how long it had been since he had come, but even at his age, it takes a while to store up that much spunk. The balls hung low in their sac. I took them into my mouth one at a time, rolling them about with my tongue and sucking them lightly like the old friends I hoped they would become. Like the rest of his body, his ball-bag was nearly hairless, which only stimulated me to delve further between his legs. The smell of man lay thicker between his ball-sac, but, to avoid spooking the guy, I didn't go all the way to his asshole. If the folks at Macburgers could market the ambrosia that lay between his thighs, especially where his ball-sac was held tightly between them in the crotch, they could stop advertising forever.
By this time Mike was moaning and thrashing around like a she- cat in heat, so I figured it was only fair to let him give me equal time. I asked if he wanted to try to return the favour by helping me out. I avoided using the phrase "sucking my cock," but he had already thrown open the gates of discovery and seen through to the countryside which lay beyond the narrow, insular confines of his experience. There could be no turning back, for such vistas, once seen, cannot be forgotten, and knowledge so preciously obtained is knowledge forever. He was, in short, game to try anything.
After I had moved around into a slightly detached sixty-nine position, he took a few exploratory licks of my dick, as though it were some new flavour of which he seemed uncertain. The flavour apparently agreed with him, and he moved against my crotch, slurping noisily along before you could say "cocksucker". I returned to my first love - that meaty throbbing head - and settled down to do right by him.
From the way his ball-bag was riding high in the saddle, I didn't think that I would have much time. I decided to go for broke, to see how much damage I could do, in how short a time. I turned my tongue loose to do its hornet's nest impression around his cockhead, kicked the suction into overdrive, kept one hand buried in his bush to massage his pubic bone, and let the other hand migrate around his belly and chest , kneading his other stiff muscles for all they were worth. As his hips immediately began rising to meet my face, I had to give up the hand in his bush. He forced his cock way back into my throat where I tightly gripped it with the hot, tender tissues which I keep there for young men of his build. My lips clawed at the base of his cock, my nose rammed into his bush, and my other hand finally made a move toward his butt hole.
As I felt his ball-bag slam into my jaw, I put a thumb hard into his hole - not enough to pop all the way through into his ass, but enough to break open the seal. I felt him pause in his rather sloppy and ineffective cocksucking, and give a little sigh. He had clearly meant to tell me he was going to shoot, but by the time he knew about it, it was too late. It was just as well that I had his cock buried so deeply in my throat, because when he finally shot the load he had been saving, it came not in one spurt after another, the way dudes usually spunk off, but rather in a violent rolling explosion. I had thought that as long as I could keep his dick solidly situated in the center of my throat, I knew I would be all right - his cum would rush right down. I would get a massive protein injection - but no worries there. My problem came when his hips arched too much for my own good, and his snake broke loose, spraying the stuff directly into my mouth. I can lap up spunk with the best of them, but old Mike was too fast for me. As much as I tried to keep it up, I ended losing a lot onto his balls and right thigh. Fortunately, after he settled down a tad, and stopped screaming "MOTHERFUCKER"&"HOLY FUCK" I lapped up nearly all of the spunk I had lost in the rush. While I was doing damage control, he just blushed and sputtered apologies for what had just happened. I let him babble on until I was all but finished, though I left an especially heavy gob of his thick, pearly manjuice for the end. I scooped it up with my finger and put it to his lips.
"Have you ever tasted your own cum?" I asked casually.
When I rubbed a bit of his cum off my finger onto his lips, he didn't have much choice but to lick it off with his tongue, doing so at first reluctantly, but then more enthusiastically as he came to know for the first time, its taste. Eventually, he collapsed back onto the blanket with as satisfied an expression as I have ever seen on any man, but (whether he knew it or not) the night was far from over.
I wasn't sure which move to make next, but I figured that since my cock was throbbing from Mike's slipshod cocksucking, I would go with the apple pie play as he needed "training aids". You know the bit: you take one of those prefabricated pieces of apple pie that looks like an egg roll, bite one end off, jam the open bit onto your cock, and let some dude eat the pie. It always breaks open, but if its done right, by the time the dude is finished, he has eaten apple pie "au lait". Mike went crazy. This was the first time that sex had been presented to him in such a way, and he licked enthusiastically, trying to get as much of the stickey goo as he could. I kept my hands busy on him, and by now I was far enough along that it didn't take much for me to enrich his desert. the sensation of apple chunks along my shaft was enough torture to bear. but when his tongue started licking off the slop off my balls and moving up the length of my cock, I felt my ass contract, and the overhead lights gave way to fireworks as I pumped a good day's load into his clean cut young American face.
When he realised that I was shooting, he hesitated a split second and then wrapped his mouth around my cock, slurping my jism as it ricocheted off the roof of his mouth. Finally he shut his mouth and just sucked, draining my balls up through my cock. His suck was so powerful and steady that I felt as though he were pulling an eel out of my guts. The stream of my spunk emptied into his mouth until there nothing more for me to give; I had been sucked dry. When I finally pulled his face away to avoid losing a nut, he looked up at me with the "wildest eyes, and the most shit-eating boyish grin" you have ever seen. He would have looked like "Denis the Menace" turned loose in a candy store. except for the long strand of sperm dripping from his chin. This time it had been my turn to make sure we were good to the last drop.
Laughing, I collapsed atop of him rubbing my still messy crotch against his as he rested his hands on the back of my ass. As we shared our warmth, we spoke for about half an hour in the soft tones lovers use when they set their seal upon the flow of their seed. I told him about my life, and he told me about his. His was the longer story, partly because my life, aside from sex had been fairly normal, and partly, I sensed, because he longed for someone to talk to even more than someone to frolic in lust. He was from an uncaring home and felt always misplaced. Even in the Marine Corps he had few friends, and none of them were admitted past the deceit of his life into the realm where he really lived, dreamed, and feared. His story had many aspects complicated by a want of telling, and, before he had reached his goal telling me what I needed to know of him, we were both comfortable lying in the ease of each other's arms.
Unwilling to let our experience, even for that evening, end after so much passion, I asked him if he trusted me enough to try to go even further. He wrapped his strong arms around me.
"How can we go further?" he asked. "You have done everything but fuck me up the Butt now."
I smiled and asked if he didn't think going "all the way" was worth a try. Even after all we had done, he was afraid that being "fucked" would make him less of a "man". As much as I had earned his trust, some doubt still lurked in the corners of his soul. When I smiled and told him that he should go first - that I would let him put his big thumping cock up "my butt" - Lust overwhelmed his caution. Besides, he figured that if a kid like me could stand whatever pain was involved, so could he.
I didn't need to take him in my mouth again to get him hard - just the idea of fucking me had taken care of that - but that delicious skin of his cock still hoarding some of his ejaculated cum was so choice that I couldn't resist. I used my tongue to seek out and consume every particle that I had missed before, driving him to a frenzy of "OH FUCK!" "IT'S SO FUCKING GOOD!" "PLEASE DON'T STOP!" along the way. By the time I turned him loose, he was already halfway to the next launch. I didn't bring any lubrication to work with me, but I have found that a room temperature hamburger patty wadded up against the asshole does just fine. There may be enough grease in those things to lubricate the entire Greek Army, and besides, I get a rush out of subverting a symbol of popular culture by having Guys shove it up my ass along with their own meat. It took Mike a second or two to catch on, but with my legs around his hips and my hand to guide his cock on its maiden voyage, he was in the saddle in no time.
I thought I was prepared for his "size", but I was wrong. I hadn't been fucked in weeks - a clean cut young stud like me usually does the "fucking" - and he felt a hell of a lot bigger up that hole than he had down my throat. It was worth the pain, though, watching the expression on his face as strangeness turned to fascination, then to delight, and finally to LUST. At first his strokes were tentative, easing in and easing out, but as his confidence and lust increased, his thrusts became more aggressive, more determined, and more what you would expect from a "Fucking Marine". He quickly taught himself how to vary his stride, how to grind his pubes into my taut asshole, and how to clip my prostate from time to time as he lunged up into my guts.
I lost myself in greedily staring into those bright blue eyes, tonguing his perfect ears, grasping those tits which first drew me to him, and using my hands to feel every muscle in his chest and back. From time to time I would try to clench my ass a bit to improve his traction or to pull him deeper into me with a well- placed heel against his ass, but he didn't need my help. Like a pilot in training, he was off the ground and soaring on his own. My only question was, whether I could survive his "maiden flight". Fortunately, the preflight work I had done on his engine paid off, and just as I was about to bail out, I felt his hips go into automatic pilot, his stick engage, and with a shudder that seemed to shake the world, he dropped his payload exactly on target. I looked up when I felt his pace change to see his eyes disappear behind his long lashed-eyelids, and as he lost himself into me, I pulled his head down to mine, raping his mouth with my tongue. when he had finished crashing his cock into my shattered ass, driving my shoulders into the tiled floor, and filling my guts with his jism that he had pulled from his emergency stores, he awoke from his daze to find our bodies locked together as though for life, as though they had always been joined, as though they always would be.
What I felt then ought to have been a warning, but it passed unheeded, observed only in memory.
For the third time that evening, we regrouped our forces, but our break was to be short-lived. The very moment I had dreamt of since I first saw him was at hand, but I was almost afraid to go any further, afraid that a perfect dream would collapse. I asked him if he had enjoyed himself, and he assured me, with dewy- eyed innocence, that it was the first time he had ever "enjoyed sex". He had overcome shame and fear, and now he merely hoped that I wouldn't tear the shit out of his ass. It belonged, he reminded me, to the U. S. Government.
Since this was his first time to be fucked I didn't rush. I lapped at his still hefty balls, wondering why a guy his age had such large ones, and moved south to the plateau between his balls and butt. I lingered there tickling an itch he hadn't known he had, until I moved lower still to rim him with a passion and thoroughness I had never used with anyone else before. My tongue darted in and around his ass, as though it wanted the first fuck. Parting those fiercely muscular cheeks was no easy task, but lust is a relentless taskmaster, and it drove me on and on.
When I thought he was ready, I reached around to my ass to steal some of his cum and lube my fuckfinger for its stab. as I slid it inside him, gently pausing and then stretching his hole out as easily as I could, he began to shudder again, moaning "OH CHRIST WHAT ARE YOU DOING" "GOD I HAVE NEVER FELT LIKE THIS BEFORE" "OH FUCK DON'T EVER STOP". I couldn't help noticing that his cock got stiffer, as though he hadn't been through enough already! After one finger I used two and then three, positioning them apart, prying him gently open. I thought about lubrication and decided to continue the theme of the evening. Mike's feast would conclude with ice cream. I found enough in the sundae machine and mixed in some hot fudge and a few nuts for texture. I was back in no time, slathering the shit onto my cock which I began to prod up his ass. The sensation startled him, but I was sure it would help to chill the pain. I still fondly remember my first time, and I didn't want him to regret this night.
I crawled between his legs, putting my cock at the starting gate, and leaned forward to rest close to his chest and belly, so I could keep one hand on his pulsing tits. I reached down to deliver one final kiss to the Virgin Marine, moved my teeth to his neck, and gripped him feline fashion, hoping to distract him from the pain of entry. I felt his body contract when I was inside him, but he didn't cry out or ask me to stop. I stayed quietly within him for a moment, letting the lubrication smooth the way.
Soon I was riding "his" voyage of discovery in reverse. Where he had learned to vary his thrusts and timing, I showed him what getting the point felt like. As he had crashed into me, I began to curl my hips to drive my cock into his guts. I wanted to be gentle but his clawing on my back in a frenzy, pulling me closer to him, combined with the ecstasy of the moment drove me quickly over the edge. I remember little of what happened next: an image of his eyes shut tightly in pain, ecstasy, or both, the sensation of his heels drawing me ever downward. the sight of a few short strands of hair stuck to his sweaty brow, the smell of our bodies writhing together as my sweat dripped down upon his bare, hard chest and belly - and through it all his moans, and sighs, and yes his ungodly howling, reaching me through the fog of my pleasure.
My hips drove me further and further up into his ass, into union with his sprit as much as with his body. I was like a rutty animal, pounding my meat insensibly into a hole without concern, without caring whether my victim lived or died, so long as I could continue raping, conquering, and dominating him. But even as I felt a Lust more violent, more primitive, and more savage than anything I had ever experienced, I felt something even stronger: a concern beginning to grow with the orgasm which dominated every corner of my being.
My cock exploded into that dark, hot, secret Marine passage.
I knew quite suddenly that I had learned as much as Mike that evening. He had discovered "what" to do with his cock, and I had discovered "why" to do it with mine. I had taught him some tricks about fucking, and he had taught me what fucking was all about. I knew then that if Mike would have me, I would want no other man in my life. I was driven for the first time by a need stronger than Lust. We had gone through life alone, never fully comprehending how little we shared with the shadows which populated our world. Tonight the gods had given us each other, and as I finished blasting my load up into the ass that seemed to have been made uniquely for me, I knew that although I had taken Mikes virginity, he had given me something even more precious.
As I opened my eyes and saw a tear trickle down past his ear, he held me in his arms. I didn't know what LOVE really meant until that moment. As we lay silently together gently kissing, and feeling the thrill of each others bodies, I was overcome with a feeling peace I had never known before, respect, caring, and yes gratitude. My life up to this moment had been concerned with self gratification, and as much sex as I could cram into the shortest possible time. Mike had awakened in me a new meaning of life, that of really caring for another human being, other than myself.
I wanted to find out "everything" about Mike, his likes, dislikes, his favourite sports, and music to name a few. Most of all I wanted to find out if he Loved me as Much as I Loved him. I realised that this would not happen over night but I was more than willing to wait as long as necessary for "MIKES" answer.
Having found each other would certainly complicate our lives, but I knew that nothing else mattered except to stay together and share our lives "together".