Howie woke up in the double bed, disentangled himself from Don’s firm sleep grasp without waking him, and sat on the side of the bed, wondering if he was getting sick. It was probably just all those drinks last night–they both had to get drunk to fuck at first, it helped cut through some of the shame. Well, it helped him, at least, not think about Marga. He remembered the last time he’d gotten sick on vacation, when he and Marga had taken Tommy to Disneyland and he’d spend three days of the week vomiting–better to not think about any of that, actually.
He got up, rummaged around in the unfamiliar bathroom, found a bottle of slightly expired aspirin, and took them for the headache, along with three glasses of water to quench the thirst that was parching his throat. In the cabin’s small kitchenette he got the coffee maker working, and while it brewed, he went out on the front porch to take a look at the surroundings. Don had talked about his cabin often, but in all the years they’d known each other as friends, and then fuckbuddies, and then something approaching lovers, he’d never once taken Don’s invitation to come join him on his summer fishing trips. Too intimate–surely the wives would suspect, right? Really, it was just his own insecurity and self-loathing. An occasional fuck or suck in the cab of a truck after too many beers felt like an accident. This felt like a truer affair.
The parched feeling was still there, and he cleared his throat, managed a couple of coughs. He didn’t feel feverish, and nothing hurt other than his usual middle-age, overweight, morning-after-hangover, guilt aches. His phone said it was ten in the morning, but this deep in the river valley it still felt misty and cold. It was peaceful though. No one for miles, Don had said. He watched his breath curl out of his mouth in clouds, and suddenly wished he’d brought something to smoke.
The coffee pot was full, he poured some, sat at the table feeling cold and lonely with his hands wrapping the warm mug for a few minutes. With a sigh, he decided he’d rather be back in bed with Don, abandoned the table and coffee and went back to the bedroom, but Don had woken up, pushed off the covers, and was fondling his cock. Howie looked him over in the morning light. He would have preferred someone younger, slimmer, less obsessive and bigger cocked, but any port in a closet. Don stared at Howie with that look that said, “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” that could kill Howie’s arousal faster than almost anything. Why couldn’t Don just let it be easy? Why did he always want so damn much from him?
“I think I’m getting sick,” Howie said, cutting the silence.
Don was working his cock a bit harder now. It was one of those cocks that seemed like it just wasn’t trying all that hard. He liked fucking, but couldn’t usually get enough stiffness to work it in. Howie didn’t like letting Don touch his cock, so usually they just jacked off, or Howie sucked him off. The sick comment obviously hadn’t deterred him, and Howie realized this was going to be a longer weekend than he might have imagined.
“Come on, I’m horny, lover.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Don smirked, “You should loosen up, no one knows anything.”
Howie fake-coughed.
“Can’t you just enjoy this for once? Why is it that as soon as we’re alone you just suck the joy from the room?”
Don got up from the bed, one hand on his cock to keep it hardish, and came over to where Howie was standing by the door. They’d met on the job ten years earlier, when they were both a bit firmer and had more hair on their heads. Howie had been excited by the newness. He’d never been with a man before, but now, it felt like a whole second marriage he’d never asked for. Don’s adoration for him only seemed to grow more intense as they got older. Don ran a hand through Howie’s furred chest, down to the top of his soft gut, and then swept down the side and under to his cock. One hand tried to block his, but he gripped the shaft anyway, and saw Howie stiffen and let out a quiet moan. “I really just don’t feel that…that good,” Howie said.
“I’ve heard good sex is a cure-all.”
Don grabbed one of Howie’s nipples in his hand and kneaded it gently. He leaned in, their mouths close, and Howie relented and closed the distance, giving Don a kiss that grew more intense as he lost interest in his shame. He actually was horny, he realized. Horny wasn’t something Howie felt very often these days, and Don’s hand milking his shaft was sending shivers through him. He pushed Don’s hand away and took over, Don pushed his gut into Howie’s and rubbed them together, and then put his hands on Howie’s shoulders, pushing him down onto his knees.
Howie didn’t know if he was gay, or bi, or just in denial, but he did know that cocks were beautiful. Don’s was short, sure, but still lovely, though Don was sensitive about it’s smallness. Howie took the head in his mouth and sucked at it, feeling Don shiver at the sensation. He also had a habit of cumming quick, and it was less than a minute before cum flooded into his mouth, and…and all of his symptoms that he’d felt all morning, the slight nausea, the thirst, the headache, they all started fading away. And the cum, it was so much tastier than usual. Howie sucked it all down, and then he just kept sucking. Don’s cock would usually go limp immediately, but this time it stayed harder, and even seemed a bit firmer than usual. Certainly Don wasn’t complaining about two blow jobs in a row, and he didn’t complain about three, either, after he shot a second time. Feeding Howie his third load, he finally pulled his cock free from his friend’s lips, looked down, and saw he had a dazed look on his face, spit and cum running down into his beard, his hand under his gut, wrapped around his own cock, stroking himself off. He helped Howie up from the floor, and gauged from the puddle there that he must have shot at least three times himself.
“Still…kinda thirsty, Don…” Howie muttered into his friend’s ear.
“Heh, well, if you want more, I got more, come on back to bed.”
Don laid down on his back. Howie climbed up and started sucking, balancing with one hand so he could reach down and keep stroking himself off, guzzling down load after load of cum. Don’s balls had become bottomless. In fact, they almost seemed to be swelling slightly as Howie continued to drain them. It was Don who finally cut him off. Howie sat back on his heels, rubbing his full belly, let off a belch, and noticed the sun was blaring in the west facing window, down valley. He checked the clock, it was after five. He’d just spent close to six hours sucking Don as dry as he could. There was a pool of his cum beneath him, and his cock felt tender and raw from all the masturbation he’d just done. It was certainly the strangest day of sex he’d ever had.
“Heh, guess you were thirsty, eh? Come on, we still have time to get to the river and catch something fresh for dinner.”
Howie wasn’t sure what to say. Those six hours felt like a blur. He did feel better though, and Don didn’t seem at all bothered by it. As he pulled on his clothes, his sack really did look larger, and seemed to be hanging a bit lower. Howie got down off the bed, and while he wasn’t feeling sick, he was feeling a bit out of sorts. Everything seemed a bit…off, suddenly. He pulled on his clothes, but they didn’t quite fit right for some reason–his sleeves too long, loose around the shoulders, the gut and thighs too tight, pant legs pooling slightly on the boots that had a little too much room in the toe.
“Did I tell you today how handsome you are?”
Howie looked over at Don, and blushed beside himself.
“I’m serious.”
“I’m just old and fat.”
“Heh, well maybe that’s what I find so handsome about you.”
Don gave him another kiss, and the horniness flared up again. Howie was back on his knees, fumbling with Don’s fly, licking his lips, already tasting cum, when Don pulled away.
“Heh, someone doesn’t seem very interested in fishing.”
“Sorry, I’m just…horny.”
“Well I’m hungry, so let’s go catch something, and then we can fuck some more.”
The river was a ten minute hike from the cabin. It wasn’t a particularly difficult trail, and yet Howie kept stumbling over rocks and roots, like he couldn’t quite gauge how high he needed to lift his feet to avoid them. It didn’t help that the same symptoms he’d been feeling that morning were flaring up again, and this time they were even worse. At the river, Howie cast a few lines, but spent most of the time on his knees, sucking down more cum, filling the front of his jeans with his own loads. Don caught a few fish, and before night fell they hiked back up to the cabin. Don offered to cook. The fish was nice, but it tasted bland to Howie. It just wasn’t what he felt like eating. But he’d already spent most of the day sucking down Don’s cum–what in the hell was wrong with him? He…he probably just hadn’t had enough cum today was all. He abandoned his dinner plate, got down under the table and started sucking at Don’s rock hard cock some more, and when Don finished, he kept sucking while his lover sat on the couch drinking, and then, once Don was drunk, and Howie felt like he couldn’t drink another drop of cum, they retired back to the bedroom.
Don wrapped his arms around Howie, spooning him. Something about that made him feel so small. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d been spooned, but he’d never fit quite so snugly in Don’s grip, nor had it ever felt quite so comfortable. Howie was asleep in a matter of minutes, but Don stayed awake for a bit longer, caressing him. Feeling him up, gauging how much progress they’d made today. He’d waited so long for Howie to come around, but after all these years, he could sense him pulling further and further away. Howie wanted to leave him, but Don wasn’t about to let that happen, not ever. Howie was going to be his for the rest of their lives, whether he wanted to or not.
Bracken's Corner 