reflections... and a gift
The times we live in. The circumstances, the utter travesty. Sometimes I think if all of this, my writing, my words, would have seem trite to another person. It is also a time of immense difficulty in my personal life. Writing has been my comfort, but sadly my time is a jealous cunt. I am glad in the meantime to rejoice in the writing of others, in this platform and various others, a beacon of strength.
What follows hence is in response to a Bluesky message which had requested an old Patreon story. I have searched for the piece, found it slightly wanting now, and had added a flair here and there. The initial piece is of 500-600 words; I have managed to exceed double that number. I hope this finds you well and warm, it certainly did at mine.
"I know I'm being ridiculous, but I think he's up to something, babe."
"First, you're not ridiculous. Maybe slightly stressed, a little befuddled, but far, so far from ridiculous. Oh honey – lick my balls, you magnificent bitch – you know nothing about ridiculous, I play with ridiculous on a weekly basis, that's ridiculous. I'm the ridiculous one babe, much like how you're the pretty one in this marriage. Second – to the left, cunt – and more importantly, you're the one with my ring right? The one on my papers, the one on my loan applications and my mortgage?"
"Well—" Michael could hear the tiniest smile in his husband's voice. He could see it right then if he close his eyes, the way his man's eyes looked like upside down crescents, with the tiniest hint of crow's feet and dimples of iron that always made him look like on a brink of mischief, which Michael knew with the last drop of his blood was the farthest from the truth. Thank god, Mike the bass guitar-toting hubby of the year would live to see another day!
"Well nothing. I'll be home after practice but Jim said it’s going to run late, so don't wait up okay?" Eyes, eyes on my cock head, the flutter of eyelashes tiny fingers across the hard stretch of my glans, oiled in a concoction of precum and spit.
"Love you more, bye-bye pumpkin-nose." A bidirectional chuckle, from the phone's speaker and a softer one from between Michael's musty thighs.
Michael double-checked that the phone had disconnected before letting out a deep groan. The closet air felt warm, and the sweat on his abs and pecs, exposed where he pulled up his t-shirt, was not helping. There was a small cracked mirror across where he was perch-standing, and his mature black Irish face stared back at his reflection in sex-agony, the recently trimmed beard not hiding the flush of his skin. His blue eyes looked wild even over the cracked reflection, glinting in the dim space – wild, and hungry.
Devin, the magnificent incubus, was licking the underside of his cock, the part where his large mushroom head met his fat staff where the skin fold back on itself, the most sensitive part where the stretch got so thin that the nerve tingling felt magnified thousand-fold with each lick and blow and kiss. "You're getting a bit too good at that."
Devin chuckled. "I am good, am I not?" He shifted and gave a languorous upstroke with his tongue over the cock slit, making Michael shudder.
Devin was the new singer and Michael was the bassist, and they bonded over the fact that they were the gays of the local garage band made good, at least good enough for the local dives and a few night joints on the beach. Michael was happily married, his mid-summer Bali anniversary trip just a month past at this time, and was older at thirty-six to Devin's twenty-four – oh to be fucking twenty-four again and not feel that slight creak of the back of the neck just from getting up in the morning, not so much pain as an insistent whisper reminding of one's mortality – so he took the younger man under his proverbial elder gay wings. Roy – his husband, his adorable little pumpkin-nose – took one look at Devin, with his natural pearlescent smile, golden-brown looks, lean body and high tight ass, and clocked him as a home-wrecking hussy. Which in fact turned out to be true.
The first time it happened was surreal. Devin had a good voice and was a fast study, but he also suffered from performance jitters, which the band members had seen hints of during practice sessions before their first gig with him on helm. They ranged from tiny little jaw tics to throwing the mic on somebody's face after a flubbed high note. The guys had a huddle and told Devin in no uncertain terms he had to do something about it.
Michael took the guy out the side door of the bar for a smoke, to allow Devin a breather from the breeders. They talked in low voices, about nothing and everything, while the thin smoke lingered around them. There was a lull in the conversation and Michael noticed Devin’s fidgeting his fingers, which he found oddly charming as his Roy also had the same habit to a lesser degree. Poor guy had his eyes looking everywhere but Michael's face as he confided that only sucking cock could calm him down. The boy looked flushed, smoking his half-spent cig and rubbing the top of his tepid cup of coffee much like a glass harmonica, and was ticking like a cartoon chime - almost adorably so.
Coffee and smoke never made for wise thoughtful decision-making. A moment passed. "You can suck my cock. I'm married though, so this has to stay between us."
Devin proceeded to rock Mike's world as he sucked the taller man to completion. He had techniques for days, prolonging the act and withholding the orgasm while applying the softest firmest pressure on Michael's ass until he almost screamed in frustrated delight. The way his throat coaxed the cum out of Mike's cock was superlative. And he swallowed – always a bone of contention between Michael and his husband – like nobody's business. He had his eyes the whole time on Michael's own, staring intently as he grasped the head of the still-sputtering cock, tongue lolling the clotting semen – thick, overdue, backed up since the anniversary post-dinner – back and forth over the agile muscle, before making a big show of gulping the whole morsel like it was heaven-sent ambrosia. '"After all, it's just more lube for the voice," Devin winked as he stood back up.
The other guys who had waited at the bar had been looking down, nursing their drinks, as if trying resolutely not to listen in to Michael and Devin in the side alley 'taking care of business', as they called it. When Michael came in, smelling of smoke and cold air and pure man sex, Jim – the lead guitar, and with Mike one of the founding members of the band – looked at the way his chest puff out like a peacock and the new strut on his steps as he walked to the bar – huge load off his balls and his shoulders – and gave him a look. Michael had courtesy to look sheepish as he sat down and the barkeep took his order. "Deed's done. He's good as gold."
"Just don't overdo it. Roy's a lovely bloke, we all like him.'' At the mention of his husband's name Michael sobered up quick. But it's kind of hard not to feel a small throb run along his sated cock as he hear Devin's voice, much relaxed and even a little sultry, coming out of the mouth with which he had taken Mike's cock to places he'd been content not to go – much – with Roy. Even Devin's face, his voice, the way the block color shirt hid his lean muscles, draping gently over the rise of his ass, had taken a different shade than before - warmer, headier. Slightly dangerous, like all the best things in life were.
Their affair consisted mostly of Devin sucking Michael before each practice, and each show. The after-performance sessions were bonuses on Mike's side, when Devin felt extra horny or when he's irritated with Mike's husband's badmouthing him to the rest of the band. The band guys their traps shut. And Devin kept his open wide for Mike. It even came to a point that he could time his erection to the final chord of the guitar or the keys, when he would look upstage and see Devin looking at him, puffing up his lips like making sure they were ready and warm for his cock to slide into.
The first time they fucked was after a show where Devin, filled with adrenaline of the performance, had kissed Mike in full view of the stage. Roy was absent, an away trip to see his newborn niece across the state. They rushed out the back door and pulled down their pants. No finesse necessary, just pure unadulterated need. The way Devin's warm ass tightly squeezed on Mike's huge cock would haunt his dreams for days afterwards. He could sometimes feel the grip of the mouth of the ass on his cock head, a vise that would have been content to have him embedded inside the younger man forever. After twenty minutes of intense fucking he sprayed Devin's insides with his load, while Devin came hands-free, his load making a mess against Michael’s abs. The guy looked at once happy and bewildered. “I never come just from a cock before.” The way he said it made put a skip in Michael’s heart beat.
It was getting harder to separate reality from the dream, which was having Roy and Devin both at Mike's beck and call, the gentle husband and the wanton whore. Mike was pensive even as his cock vibrated inside Devin's mouth and his fingers were running across Devin's luscious asshole. He watched as his ring finger, the one carrying the platinum band of his marriage, disappear – again – inside the tight beckoning orifice. Once on a whim they had used Mike’s bass pick to warm up Devin’s cunt, scrape out the cum from their previous sex and add new lube in, like a perversion of an ice cream scoop. Only after the cock was back inside the hole did Michael realize he had used the silver-lined pick Roy had given him while they were still dating, back when they were young and beautiful and carefree. It should have hit him then like a brick wall, but the memory faded in the grip of Devin’s silk-lined anus, just like now as he moaned and arched his back, his ass mouth making love to Mike’s wedding ring. "I love it when you fuck me with your ring, makes me feel like a slut."
Maybe they should have a threesome.
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