Cortland

A Mostly True Story

On the long drive over that morning I'd discreetly swallowed two minis of vodka. These first-time encounters invariably make me a little nervous.

You entered his mobile home through the carport. I was familiar with this. My mother likewise lived in a mobile home, in a retirement community, within walking distance of my house one county over. You walked past a stationery car to a series of steps with a double width of sliding glass doors at the top, only one of which opened. As with hers it was the lefthand one. These things were the product of cookie cutters.

The door opened for me as I mounted the steps, and through the opening I saw a man stepping back. He was naked, his penis already hard. Erect. I glanced behind me at the large window of the adjacent mobile home that looked directly across at his sliding doors, and into his kitchen. I wondered if anyone had seen him. I wondered if his neighbors knew he was gay. Did they care?

I carried a bottle of Chardonnay wrapped in a brown paper bag to keep the cold in, and I set it on the edge of the kitchen counter to my left as I stepped inside. My naked host was tall like me, and slender, though he'd retained a full head of greying hair. His eyes roved as he surveyed me, having only seen pictures of my body in our email exchanges. Honestly I don't remember if he answered my ad in the sex personals or I answered his. And I regret to say I don't remember his name, if I ever knew it.

"Do you want me to open the bottle?" I wondered. I was still dressed, still nervous.

"Maybe later," his reply.

"Then I guess I'll... undress."

There was the back of a chair across to my right and I took a couple of steps toward it before kicking off my colorful beach shoes. I wore no socks. Next my pale blue pullover top came off, and I draped it over the chair back. Then my light grey drawstring pants came down and I stepped out of them and placed them atop the shirt. I was now down to my panty--brightly colorful like my shoes. A bikini cut. Microfiber. Full of bulges.

I wondered, for a moment, if he'd prefer me like this. Like in one of the pics I'd sent him. But he just looked, or stared, and said nothing. So down the skimpy thing went and I draped it over my pants and shirt. We were now both in the nude, looking at one another. Taking each other's naked bodies in.

I was about to ask him about the window and the view it offered, the view of us standing naked inside his glass doors, the view his neighbors would have of us, when he advanced, as if preprogrammed to do so, in a robotic sort of way, and threw his arms around my upper body and pressed his lips to mine.

We kissed. His tongue entered my mouth and, latently, mine entered his. We kissed, we necked, passionately, as if long-lost friends, or lovers, or partners. Only after he at last broke the kiss off, coming up for air, did he explain: "Nobody can see in. My neighbors are out of town."

"Oh."

By that point I'd forgotten all about them. We kissed again, necked again, our erect penises pressed against one another, side by side between our two bellies. It was good, I reflected, that we were the same height.

His cock was similar to mine, though a little longer and thicker. Uniformly thick, like mine, from base to just below the head, the glans, well-formed and pink, again like mine, and as we stood there kissing I fantasized about it sliding deep inside me, my rectum not just my mouth, and throat, filling me perhaps as full as I'd ever been, pleasuring me, eliciting cries with each thrust. I longed for it, his beautiful cock.

He once again broke off the kiss and said, in a near whisper, as if someone might overhear, "Let's go in the bedroom."

I followed him around a corner to his low double bed, two blue-grey pillows and a matching fitted sheet, unwrinkled, apparently newly made, on offer. I lay beside him, initially on his right, and we kissed again, this time in a horizontal position, as our slender legs tangled. I reached down and took hold of his cock, a real handful, and he did the same with my lesser one.

And when the kiss finally ended I told him, referring to his penis, "Nice one." But he said nothing about mine.

I slid down and opened my mouth wide and took his cock in it and I sucked him, his flesh tasting, like his mouth, clean and fresh. (I wondered if he'd detected the vodka on my breath.) We eventually rolled into position, with me on top, this way that way, and did 69, and I worried that, especially pointing downward like this, I might prematurely cum. I didn't want to. In fact I didn't care if I came that day or not.

Eventually we rolled over again, this time with me on his left, and this time when we kissed we tasted, or presumed we did, our own cocks, with perhaps a hint of cum. I knew I had leaked a little. The clear kind that dots an eye, centered in luscious, spongy pink.

This time when our lips parted I was out of breath. I swallowed and said, asked, "You want to... put it in me?"

In our email exchanges (we'd never spoken by phone) he'd identified himself as versatile, though we never discussed having anal. I'd identified myself as the same--although surely he would have recognized me as a bottom from the women's panty I hesitated before removing, a few minutes ago.

"Are you healthy?" he asked, his penis once more in my hand.

"Yes. You?"

"Yes. Clean?"

"Yes." I smiled: "I always come prepared. Just in case."

"I've got condoms...," he offered.

"So do I. But you can bareback me if you want."

"I'd prefer to. Can I cum in you?"

"Yes. Yes!" I said more emphatically. "How do you want me?"

His naked body was already rising above and over me, reaching for the bedside drawer of the lamptable. And I still held on to his penis, as if steering his movements.

"Just on your belly," he replied. "Lie flat."

"Can I put a couple of pillows underneath?"

"Sure. Whatever," a tube of lubricant in his hand.

The pillows were thin, however, and even doubled up, beneath my own erection and abdomen, they offered little in the way of elevation. I spread my slender legs wide, however. As wide as they'd go.

Not wide enough, though, as he tugged at my left buttock to reveal my crack, and my hole and my smallish balls below (his were bigger, and likewise shaved--we could have been brothers).

I could hear my heart thumping against the mattress as I waited. And even when the slick head of his cock touched my anus I flinched, and I moaned. He pushed in. And stopped.

"You OK?"

He was stretching me open. It was either the biggest, or the second biggest, cock I'd ever taken inside me. And it would take a few thrusts, once he'd entered me all the way, for me to open up and reap the pleasure that he was about to sow.

"Yes."

"Relax."

"I am."

He pushed deeper and I moaned. Then he forced his way all the way in. And this time, my head twisting against the sheet, it was more of a cry I let out than a moan. After a pause (it felt like the head of his cock had reached my chest cavity) he pulled back and pushed in again. All the way in.

And by the third or fourth time--thrust--mild apprehension, not pain, but mild apprehension about his size, about my rectum, had begun to give way to pure pleasure. "Oh!" I moaned.

"Oh!" And I was glad his neighbors were out of town. For surely anyone within earshot would have heard me.

He had a slow-fast method of fucking. A leisurely pace, followed by an abruptly violent one, ramming his cock in me as hard as he could. But this only lasted a few thrusts before the leisurely pace returned, and my cries and moans resumed at the appropriate, synchronized pace.

His last violent thrusts, accompanied by his loud shouts over my cries, meant that he was cumming in me. Ejaculating. I couldn't tell how many times. It was all a blur. But given his age, I doubted it was more than twice, or maybe a weaker third time, before his motion stopped, and he hovered over my bare back, cock still in me, though shrinking, noticeably, and breathing hard.

Then he pulled out, and backed away.

"Thanks for being... clean," he said, his breath coming back, slowly, eventually. Not thanks for being such a good fuck. Nevertheless I said to him, looking over a bare left shoulder:

"Thanks for fucking me so well. I'll get a towel," I offered, rising up.

"Bathroom...," he pointed, vaguely, off to the side, as if it was the only word he could get out at the moment.

After wiping my crack clean of lube, with a damp towel, I gently cleaned the lube from his still thick, though limp and falling, cock. And as I did so I said, optimistically, "I hope we can do this again sometime."

He said nothing.

"I can open that bottle of wine now," I told him.

"OK," his indifferent reply. He'd ejaculated, had his orgasm, and now, I thought, he just wants me gone. Dressed and out of his way.

We both walked naked out into his kitchen again, much like my mother's with its tacky linoleum floor, and sometimes creaking boards. The wine had been sitting in its bag for the better part of an hour now. The bottle had a screwcap and I twisted it off and half-filled the two thick water glasses he'd taken down from a cabinet. I clinked his glass.

"To our first fuck," I toasted.

He said nothing, in reply. Only to suggest we go sit in his livingroom, on his couch, naked, side by side. And now that his penis was no longer in me I was hard again. Erect. He ignored it, instead placing his right hand on my left thigh, occasionally stroking it.

"You're the only one that didn't cum," he observed. There were only two of us. It wasn't like we'd been in an orgy.

"That's OK," I confessed. "I lose interest after I cum."

"Yeah...," he seemed to agree. He took one sip of the Chardonnay, nothing special but hardly a jug wine, a name brand, and then set his glass on the edge of the coffee table in front of us.

"Cortland, huh," I said, observing the large banner hanging on the far, fake-wood wall. "I used to live near there."

"Yeah?" He sounded uninterested.

"Yeah. Twentyfive miles due west." And it occurred to me, at that moment, that I was sitting in the nude with another man, a man who'd just fucked me and inseminated me, on a second-hand couch 1,300 miles from the two places to the north I'd just mentioned.

"I'm going back," he said calmly, coldly.

"Back?"

A nod, looking straight ahead. But at least he was stroking my thigh. "Yeah. My daughter's having problems..."

"Back to... visit?"

"No. Back for good. Her and the grandkids..."

I felt myself deflating. Even my erection had begun to falter. "When?" I wondered.

"Next week. I already have a buyer for this place. But I wanted to get in a couple of, you know, get-togethers before I left."

"With other men, you mean?"

"I hope so. We'll see. She," meaning his daughter, "lives out in the sticks. Not many chances to be with other men out there. May have to go to the college town to the west... Is that where you lived?"

"Yes," I nodded.

"Have any gay friends there? Gay or bi?"

"No. This was a long time ago." Then, hopefully, "Maybe we could get together again before you leave."

"No," he replied, distantly, his hand lifting from my bare left thigh.

"You want me to leave?"

"Maybe you better."

And I swallowed the rest of the wine in the water glass, while his sat virtually untouched on the coffee table. I rose--my penis pointing straight out now. He could have leaned forward. Could have taken it in his mouth and sucked me. And I could have ejaculated in it. And he could have swallowed. Or not.

But none of that happened.

I went back into the kitchen and dressed, quickly, panties then pants and top and beach shoes, and I left.

"See you around...," I told the man inside the open sliding glass door, standing there, naked to the world, watching my descent, his semen in me, even though I knew I never would again. He'd become, at that moment, a distant phantom.

I left the bottle of wine.