Randy: <Jesus, what a long day. I think it would have been long regardless, but knowing what I had to look forward to made it seem endless. Not only had I forgotten the department heads meeting this morning, I'd forgotten about the students we had coming in for orientation this afternoon. I found myself wondering who in the hell had scheduled an orientation briefing on the day before a long weekend, and smothered a few more curses under my breath. I will never understand administration, not even if I live to be 1000.

Under it all though, was the tension of *when I get to see Michael again*. That I'd actually used my higher head and made a date with you...defined when I got to see you again, is amazing. I still want to laugh hysterically when I think of how simple it would have been that Sunday... or would it? Even now, thinking of anything much past this coming weekend, and sailing, makes me itch... makes my stomach curl in dread and excitement. So I'm not going to think about it. Simple as that.

I managed to leave about an hour earlier than usual, and headed home to start packing, and to hit the grocery store for the things not on the boat right now that we're going to need. I want time, too, to shower and change clothes before I go to get you... and its amazing to me how fast time goes now--it seems just minutes after I get home that its time to leave. I can't wait to see you again; I'm almost scared to--because of how bad I want to. I sigh and head the truck back into the city, wondering if I'm going to lose my mind before things are settled.>

Michael: <Generally, Miles packs for all my trips, and he'd wanted to do so for this, but I'd shooed him away, and he'd left, somewhat disgruntled. Hmm. A pair of jeans, a pair of sweatpants, a pair of shorts, a couple of tee shirts and sweatshirts. Assorted toiletries. The bottle of subtly-scented oil we'd used, and liked. And my concession to responsibility, my beeper. I'd decided to take it, but to only check it once a day. Miles knew I'd planned a sailing trip, knew the name of the boat, the docking numbers...all the vital information, but also knew not to disturb me for anything less than the collapse of the Pierson holdings. I was tired; I needed an escape from everything for a few days, especially after the fiasco with Wilson. To say I was looking forward to this was an understatement. I've always been an outdoorsy person, and I'd confined myself for far too long to the flicker of fluorescents and the hum of re-circulated air. I needed to get out, to reconnect with the real world, to relax. Never mind that I was also looking forward to spending time alone with you. I genuinely liked you as a person, and as a bedmate, well...incendiary was a word that came closest to what I felt in that respect. Even now, I could feel my body tighten in pleasurable anticipation of our date...I glanced at the clock and swore; it was almost time for your arrival, and I wasn't ready. I zipped up the bag, set it at the foot of the bed, and went to rummage in my closet. You'd said dressy casual, so I plucked jeans and a black silk sweater from my belongings, and dashed to the bath to shower and prepare myself.>

Randy: <I parked the truck in visitor's parking; true to your word you'd let the doorman know I was coming, so there was no problem getting in. The security guard on duty waved me through, but he gave me a suspicious look, and I wondered if he remembered me from that first night, coming back here all disheveled and mussed up. I feel good right now...I've managed to shove all my little voices into the back of my head, and am determined not to let them out. I like you. If I'm being very honest, I like you a lot--and not just in bed. I want to get to know you better...to see if we click as well together as people as we do fucking each other senseless. That's what this weekend is going to be about. Out on the waves, there'll just be you and me...no interruptions, no assistants, no waitresses...nothing but us. And that's appealing in ways I can't articulate, even to myself, inside my head.

It takes a long time to ride the elevator up; why do I keep being surprised by that? You're on like the 50th floor of the building. It gives me time to calm myself down, to get ready. I hope you remembered casual dress, looking down at my boots and jeans, I grin--if nothing else, you can change--maybe while I watch. Okay, enough of that. The elevator deposits me at the penthouse, and I knock on the door--more than ready to see you again.>

Michael: <I knew the moment I saw you standing in the doorway, looking absolutely edible, incredibly fuckable in jeans that hugged every part of you in the most wonderful way, and the red polo that showed off the sculpted perfection of your upper body, that any promises I'd made to myself earlier to control my baser nature were for nothing. Standing there smiling, a little unsure, and charming in that unaffected, unspoiled way you have, I wanted nothing more than to drag you off to my bed and have a repeat performance of this morning. I wanted it so badly, I had to stuff my hands for a moment into my jeans pockets to keep from grabbing you and doing just that. I felt my mouth widen in a broad smile and the look of pleasure on your face was worth a fortune. When the urge, or the greatest part of it, anyway, had passed, I pulled my hands from my pockets and took one of yours to tug you inside.> Glad to see you again, Randy. <And I was; even I could hear the warmth, the welcome in my voice.>

Randy: Glad to see you, too, Michael. <I follow you gladly, waiting until we're inside and the door closed before I move into your personal space, sliding my arms around your waist. With my boots on, and you in running shoes, we're about at even height. I make a quiet noise of contentment when you slide your arms around me, pulling me close against you. No kissing at first, just a hug hello...or something like that. I don't know what it is. But it takes only a second to want to taste you, and I do, glad that I can.>

Michael: <I open for you, and your kiss is sweet, your tongue slipping along mine for a bare moment then back out before it can become more than a greeting. God, but you smell good. I press my face into the side of your neck and inhale deeply; the scent is spicy, masculine, intensely you. I press a kiss to the skin there, then another just below your ear. My hands want to creep down to caress your ass, but I keep them at waist level. Behaving myself shall be difficult. Perhaps, in public, I can manage to keep my hands to myself; I know I can't in private.> I thought about this all day--kept me sane whilst listening to arguing attorneys.

Randy: It kept me sane while I answered the same question in fifteen different ways to freshman and sophomores from Berkley--we got the new batch of junior lab rats in today.

Michael: Poor Randy...followed about by a group of starry-eyed students, most likely all wishing to be in your...boots. <I glance down at your ever-present boots, and flash you a grin. I'd looked up all your personal files, and had been suitably impressed by them. The top of the class, the youngest, the most promising, the most driven...and a glance at your work for the company had proven it. Looking at you now, a young man stopping by to pick up his date, I have a hard time reconciling the two aspects of your personality. Enough analysis; I was simply pleased you were here.> Would you like something to drink, or should we be on our way?

Randy: We probably should get going; I made the reservations for 7:30, and it'll take a little bit of time to find a place to park. Wanna walk on the beach, afterward? Work off some dinner?

Michael: <I pat my pocket for wallet and keys, then grab my leather jacket. Your suggestion of a walk is good, but I get cold easily. With the sweater and jacket, surely I'd be warm enough. I looked down at myself, and stifled a laugh. The last date I'd been on, I'd worn Armani, and she'd worn silk, a far cry from the casual jeans and sweater of tonight. I like it, the lack of pretention.> I'm as ready as I'll ever be, I suppose. Lead on.

Randy: <It doesn't take long to get to the Wharf district, but it does take a little bit of time to find a parking spot. You don't clench as tightly on the arm rest this time; maybe you're getting used to my driving? I can only hope so. I sneak a couple looks at you while you're looking out the window; you look good enough to eat--and I intend to, later. You look very good in jeans, and the sweater you've got on only adds to the ruggedness. Tall and lean, you're about the sexiest thing I've ever seen, and the thought that you're going out with *me* tonight...you're *my* date...that gives me all kinds of shivers. I find myself grinning stupidly as I lock up the truck and point us in the direction of the restaurant. I'm marginally aware of the fact that there are other same sex couples here and there, and am glad we live where we do.> What's it like--in London--for gay couples?

Michael: <My shoulder lifts in a casual shrug.> It depends, really. People vary, of course, but I tend to think we're just a bit more discreet than you are here, but again, it depends on *where* you are. We have our districts like the Castro, if you look. In my youth, I dated both men and women fairly equally. It's just as I've gotten a bit older that I find myself being just a little more...quiet...in whom I see. I've learned some discretion with the passage of time.

Randy: Men *and* women, huh? Never dated women, myself...<I try to imagine what you were like when you were younger; more careless, open...can't do it. You have visible walls erected. A shadowy thought about how many you dated--and what else you did--creeps in, and I banish it impatiently. What's done, is done, now.> I think...the states are more...'open' than most any other place in the world...but some things are still considered taboo. There are parts of the country that make this seem like a den of iniquity...the south, in part...and the upper Atlantic states--where they have the puritan background. I had a friend in college whose cousin was beaten nearly to death because he was dating a black woman--they lived in the deep south at the time--and a lot of my friends who were openly gay got hate mail constantly. And that was in the 'modern' '80s.

Michael: A pity, truly. I've been fortunate, I'll admit, sheltered from almost all of that. Once in a bit, I'll come across someone who is openly homophobic, but I've made it patently clear I'll not tolerate that, so those instances are relatively rare. I'm not "out," as you'd say, as I tend to guard my privacy jealously, but my stands on equal insurance coverage and life insurance *are* well-known--and often heatedly debated, in spite of my best efforts to stay away from controversy. I suppose that it is simply a matter of time before I'm "outed" but I'll deal with that as it comes about. My personal life should not be anyone else's affair, though I'm not naive enough to believe that others proscribe to that.

Randy: I seriously hope you never are, darlin'. The media would have you for dinner. Unfortunately, your personal life--especially yours, more than say, mine, because of your position--is considered fair game in this great wonderful city, state, whatever we live in. <A little bitter? Why would that be? I shake my head again, this time impatiently, to clear it.> It never was an issue for me--stuff like the insurance, and that--because I haven't had anyone for...well, since I've been with the company...that needed it. But I was glad when I found out about the policies. Over there, Michael. Almost there. Bet you had a helluva fight on your hands when you opened the ranks, didn't you. I know there're a lot of insurance carriers who don't like that policy any more than the companies that offer it.

Michael: Yes, you might say that. It also caused a division in the family--my brother Simon was...quite displeased. He's not the most open-minded of men, truthfully. <I can see again in my mind's eye the terrible row we had about that. I had prevailed, but only because I had determined to do so, and most of the other family members had backed me, with various amounts of enthusiasm. Lizzie...god, the shouting match she'd gotten into with Simon...I hadn't known she was so well-acquainted with *that* kind of language. Even the cool, calm Jaimie had sided with me, but then as an artist, he knew well the discrimination certain of his friends and colleagues had faced.> At any rate, we now have the policies in effect. <We slip into the restaurant, and are seated by a window with a nice view of the ocean. I like it here; it's cozy and very friendly-feeling, and the aromas are heavenly. My belly approves, as I'd forgotten to eat lunch once more.>

Randy: <The bus-boy brings us water and a basket of breadsticks. Not the hard, crunchy kind; these remind me a lot of Italian bread, soft and buttery. It's a beautiful view of the ocean, and the sun is starting to set over it. I reach out and tap your hand gently.> I'm glad...you said yes, Michael. Um...what made you decide to relocate the company headquarters here? Didn't they use to be...um...New York?

Michael: Yes, this is the new headquarters...New York was the initial primary Stateside site, with subsidiary offices in New Orleans and Phoenix, and international offices in London and Paris. My father took London, while initially I stayed primarily in New York. I decided to rotate a bit, to take a turn in each of the Stateside offices. Amazing, how productive staff became when I was about, poking into everything, asking questions. Of them all, I preferred New Orleans.

Randy: I'll bet they got more productive. Why New Orleans, though? And how'd you decide on here? Hey, Jeff. Didn't know you were working here now. <He grins as he hands us our menus. "I have a family to feed, Dr. Taylor. I'll work wherever they offer decent pay." I nod, taking the offered menu. When he leaves with our appetizer order I look back at you.> I've never been to New Orleans--would love to go sometime. What's it like? What sort of--nightlife--do they have?

Michael: Father had been meaning to transfer here for a number of years, and as we'd geared ourselves for that move, we simply went ahead with the plan after he died. New Orleans...is a world unto itself. . I learned to love the heat, the music, the food, the...nightlife. It's a wonderful city, very colorful. As for the nightlife--it's a very interesting one. In New Orleans, the lines are very...blurred for most there. Decadence is not something one indulges in occasionally--it's a way of life to many people there. You can find anything you wish...anything at all, and a few you'd never dream of. Or, <and I laugh softly> at least, a few I'd never dreamt of, and I'd always considered myself fairly worldly, as matters of sex go.

Randy: Oh, I don't know, Michael. I have a pretty good imagination. And there are things...about some aspects of decadence...that are very appealing. The way leather looks...feels... things like that. If you know where to look to find them.

Michael: <Oh, my. I can feel a swell of interest, and tilt my head a little, studying you. Looking at you, I'd never truly thought of anything but ordinary sex--though what we shared could never be called *ordinary.* Perhaps you're not quite as innocent as you appear--perhaps you have a taste, like myself, for the spicier side of sex? You look back at me steadily, eyes huge and intense behind your glasses. This requires...investigation.> So, Randy...do you like things a little on the intense side? Do you have a taste for something...less vanilla?

Randy: <Oh, man. I had a hint of it that last time we fucked at your place And I wondered, just like I'm wondering now. It's been a long time; months, at the very least, since the last time I had someone ask me this--someone I picked up in a leather bar, who I was expecting it from. He and I weren't together for very long, as we found we didn't suit each other. I couldn't relax enough around him, and he had trouble maintaining discipline. But you... I have to stop the shiver that wants to erupt. Slowly, I caution myself. Go slowly with this. I raise my eyes to meet yours fully.> Intense can be...a very good thing. And I've always thought that vanilla was something best left to baking. I like--a bit more spice than that.

Michael: <A shiver, sweet and electric, slithers down my spine at the very thought of some of the pleasures we might share, if you were open to exploration, and you've certainly given ample evidence of a fiery appetite. My flesh stirs, and I shift, hoping the movement isn't as blatant as I fear it is.> Spice, Caro? What flavor of spice do you prefer? There are many to taste, to explore...some darker, more...robust, some sweet, some sharp, with a definite bite...

Randy: <In some ways, this is almost as exciting as playing for real; the casual questioning, the easy words, all with several layers of meaning. Verbal fencing, flirtation at its prime. I flick my eyes down, and rub at my chest, watching your eyes draw there. I shift and cross my arms casually at the wrists, then look back up at you, my mouth a little drier with the flare of heat I see in your eyes.> I like things that are dark and sweetsharp. Binding. And I like to...explore. To taste, and see what other spices I might like.

Michael: <Heat flares through me, molten, and I shift forward, intent. I can practically taste you; your scent swirls around me, rich and masculine. The rest of the restaurant fades from my attention, becoming only something on the periphery as I focus completely on you.> The darker spices have their appeal. I like those kind...the ones that burn at first, like fire, then fade to a sweetness beyond imagination. But it is as anything else...best used sparingly, at first, until the palate becomes accustomed to it, never just poured out indiscriminately. A heavy hand ruins the taste, yes?

Randy: Definitely. <I close my eyes for a moment, imagining you binding my wrists; imagining a lot of things of great intensity and *spice*, with you. When I open my eyes and look at you again, you're all I see. There is no ocean, no sunset, no restaurant; nothing but you, and the thoughts of darker pleasures that are in my mind now. My throat feels a little swollen, and my words come out huskier than usual.> Slow easy careful. Too much can be ruined if things go too fast. I--*like* the burn. I like that edge...where things blur. Not everyone understands...that pain isn't always pain and that what comes afterward is incandescent. I like intense, Michael. I don't have a--lot of experience...but what I've had...I've...enjoyed, very much.

Michael: <Oh, the heat that sears through me is wonderful. I shift again, this time to accommodate an erection that presses painfully against the zipper of my jeans. At that moment, I want nothing more than to drag you from the restaurant, and take you inside the roomy cab of your big truck, to bend you to my will. The urge is so strong, the picture in my mind so vivid, that I take a deep breath and make myself let you go, withdrawing, paying heed to my own words of caution, of beginning slowly. But the image persists. How long since I've played games of this type? A long, long time, and I've not forgotten the thrill, illicit and hot, of having someone bent in willing submission before me, caught in smooth leather bindings, ready for my desires, ready for me to give them what they need, what we both crave. A quick tremor races through me, caught and stopped by strength of will.> I could teach you so much, my pet, so much...<I'm surprised at how my voice has deepened, softened, husky with desire and passion.>

Randy: <I have to wait 'til Jeff has dropped off our appetizer before I can respond; so many things charge through my head that I'm surprised I can make any kind of sense at all of them. I'm intrigued beyond comprehension, and aroused at the thought of what you're proposing. I'm also a little apprehensive I'm not sure exactly that you're proposing anything other than wishfulness, and I don't want to make the mistake again of getting into something that's going to involve the energy that domination and submission does, on only a casual basis. Not without it going deeper than that. Still, what I'm hearing, and seeing in your eyes is incredible I miss that in my life. I miss the giving in the surrender of more than just my body. Of myself. I shift a little, very glad that you can't see the erection that has sprung to full, throbbing life inside my jeans. I drop my eyes quickly, acknowledging what you've just said with a brief nod of my head.> I'd love to learn those things. Sir.

Michael: <Ah, this is a sweet surprise. You'd be an apt pupil--you're so willing, so giving, so eager to try new things. Oh, yes, this requires investigation. I take a deep breath, and forcibly wrestle the hunger I feel for you down into something manageable, something I can subdue, at least through dinner, to show at least some semblance of civilization.> Perhaps in time, we shall...investigate. <I take my eyes from you, wondering why you didn't spontaneously combust from the heat of my gaze, and glance up at the waiter, who is here with our food. A distraction. Good...anything to break the intensity of the moment.>

Randy: <We both ordered beef, though yours is the New York strip whereas I got the extra cut of Prime Rib. You asked me once how I could eat so much and not have it show anywhere, and I shrugged. I have no idea, I just can. I find myself unable to eat very well just now, however, because you've grabbed me...grabbed my imagination. I can almost feel the vibrations moving through me, the quiver of excitement. A slow heat is burning in my belly, the heat of arousal, of anticipation, of excitement. I work on eating, and trying to make small talk, to tell you about me and to get to know you.> We want to try and leave tomorrow morning by 9:00 I was thinking I could pick you up about 8:00--that'd get us there and ready in plenty of time.

Michael: That sounds like a very workable plan. Do you need for me to do anything, or bring anything? I'm a complete novice, but I can work for my passage. Anything, whatever you would have me do...

Randy: Well-- You only need to bring yourself, darlin', and whatever clothes or toiletries you think you'll need or want. All I'm asking of you is *you*. Well... Maybe...<My voice drops to a low drawl>...you can work *my* passage, for yours.

Michael: <I can't help but laugh at you; it's outrageous. That's another thing I like about you...you don't hold back. You like to tease me, and don't care that it may sound silly, or lecherous, or...anything. You just say it, and to hell with the consequences.> Aye, Captain...I can promise to work *hard.* I think you'll not have a problem with my enthusiasm for working *long* hours to please you. I have a passion for *deep* investigation, and am diligent at getting to the *bottom* of things. I shall endeavor to please you in all aspects.

Randy: <I laugh back at you, strangely pleased that I can make you laugh so easily. A little of the sexual tension has eased...not a lot, but enough that I can breathe again. My dick is still hard in my pants, and leaving I ought to give a nice show to anyone who might be looking, but oh well. I decide to push things just a notch.> Well...this Capt'n enjoys checking out the *bottom* for his crew. I'm always...willing...to turn things over to the crewmember who's proved himself. And *deep* investigations are good ones. Long, thorough ones are the best...especially if you use all *tools* at hand.

Michael: I think you'll find the tools more than adequate to complete the work successfully. I take pride in my work, and I've never left a job unfinished, nor have I ever had any complaints about the quality. <Shaking my head, I cross my arms over my chest and lean back also, grinning.>

Randy: I think I'd have to agree with the majority. <I grin and pick up my water glass, draining it completely. My plate is empty and I push it back as well, leaning over to filch what's left of your roll off your plate. I study the sunset out the window, then back to your face.> One last thing about the trip this weekend--I have safety/emergency flotation equipment, and I'm certified in emergency first aid. I know you've got all the info for your--employees, but I wanted you to know you'll be safe. I've been sailing my whole life, practically, Michael, and I take it very seriously. Safety's a big thing with me.

Michael: Good to know I'm placing myself in responsible hands, then. I can swim, and do so daily...I was on the team at university, so you needn't worry about me drowning. And I'm fairly adaptable, learn quickly, so I don't anticipate any problems there.

Randy: I think it'll be a good weekend, Michael. I have a spot I like to go to...it's a full day's sail from here...but the water is *so* clear...blue... and its beautiful for swimming. My boat is fully equipped--she's a 26-footer, with galley and head--and the head has a fresh-water shower--and all the amenities. I'm really glad you wanted to come along.

Michael: It sounds as if we both need the break from the stresses of work...certainly, I know I do, and I've been confined indoors too long. I get...restless, start pacing like a caged tiger. At least, that's what Molly, my secretary, says. When I get that unsettled, I find it's to everyone's benefit for me to take a few days off...be outside, ride horses, whatever. At home, I was outside most of the time.

Randy: Well, weather permitting, we can sleep under the stars, if you want. I have extra linens and stuff onboard... My dad and I used to do that sometimes--kind of like camping out on the water. Just he and I; we'd leave the girls at home. 'Guys weekend', he'd call it. Those were pretty cool. I like outdoors stuff, too--and I get itchy if I'm in the lab too much. I think that's been part of my problem lately; too much time indoors, not enough stretching muscles and letting them breathe. <My smile changes to a grin.> Lots of different ways to exercise muscles, too.

Michael: <Lazily, I extend my leg, rub it gently along the outside of one of yours, and match your grin. I'm ready to leave--*more* than ready to be alone with you, but don't want to rush you.> I see the dessert cart rolling our way....one of everything?

Randy: <My grin probably looks predatory, but oh, well. I shake my head briefly.> The only dessert I want is sitting right in front of me... <My voice is huskier than usual, but dammit, I've been good. I've tried to steer the conversation to 'get to know you' topics, tried to keep my mind on what we were saying, not how great you looked last night, your body arching as I stroked you to completion. I need some air soon; preferably cool, salt-air, something to clear my head.>

Michael: <I don't think that I've ever truly lost my erection, and at the slow, sensuous smile that curves your mouth, the inviting light in your darkening eyes, it springs back to aching fullness. You make me feel young, strong, and as virile as ten men when you look at me like that. I appreciate your directness, how I never need guess what you want, how you don't play games.> I'm certain I can think of something to please your palate....

Randy: I'm sure you can. And if you can't, I have a few ideas, myself. <I give you a long, sweeping look, raking your body from head to toe--or as close as I can while still sitting down. You're not what would be conventionally good-looking, I guess, but you've got to be the sexiest man I've ever seen. Beautiful, if that word can be used for a man. Sexy, strong, flushed with arousal--for me. I slide my foot up your leg and nudge under your knee, stroking gently.> Wanna blow this joint and take a walk?

Michael: This joint...amongst other things. <I watch the smile on your face turn to a grin, wonderfully, sinfully wicked. I slide out of the booth, mindful of the erection that threatens to kill me, and fold my jacket over my arm, hiding it from the rest of the diners. You have no such protection; your erection is clearly visible through your snug jeans, and I catch more than one double-take sent your way as we thread through the tables on the way out. You're equally nice to look at from my vantage point as I follow you to the entrance; it occupies me as you pay for our meal. You're very handsome, and built like a deity; small wonder people look at you with interest. It still surprises me how quickly you affect me--it's as if I crave your touch, your taste. I know that it will soon pass, and I'll weary of you, as I have of the others, but while I have you with me, I'll indulge freely in the pleasure you give me.>

Randy: Goddamn jeans weren't made to handle erections...<I mutter under my breath when I stop us to surreptitiously adjust myself, grinning when you give a small snort of amusement at my discomfort. It's nearly dark outside, and the wind blows cooler with it. I take your hand now; no one could see us for who we are in the dark, and lead you toward the access stair to the beach walk below the street we're on. I want *out* of the public eye, and someplace reasonably more private. I'm burning for you right now, and knowing that you're equally hot for me isn't helping. You've got your jacket for protection, but I saw what you were hiding behind it, when you stood up. And now you've put the jacket on...and I hear my quiet moan when you press yourself up against me the minute we clear the stairs, and are away the crush of people that seem to be on San Fran streets no matter the time.>

Michael: <Once clear of the stairs and onto the sand, I slip my arm around your waist and give you a firm tug into the shadows beneath the boardwalk, pulling you into the comfort of darkness, pressing you back against a support pillar. The weak light flashes against your glasses, obscuring your eyes, but your mouth opens willingly as mine descends to cover it, and the heat pours from your body, pressed close to mine. I can hear a sound of pleasure from deep within your throat as you welcome my tongue inside your mouth, sucking hungrily on it. It's good, so good to taste you again; even though I'd kissed you thoroughly that very morning, it feels as if its been forever. Your strong arms slide around my waist, holding me so close it's hard to catch a breath, or are you just sucking all the air from my lungs with the passion of your response? I don't know, and don't care--all I care about is that I finally, finally get to touch you, to slide a thigh between yours and rock against you, the movement incredibly arousing, and almost painful, given the fullness of my cock pressing against yours.>

Randy: <I wait until we're both nearly gasping for air before pulling back from you--and then, just enough to pull in a few deep breaths before I fasten my mouth to yours again. You're rubbing and kneading my ass, sliding your fingers up and down the cleft between my cheeks, teasing me. I figure two can play at this game, and unwrap one arm to reach down and cup your cock, squeezing playfully, then stroking you through the denim you're wearing. You're *so* hard, so hot... and before I know what I'm doing, I've got your zipper part way down, my fingers reaching in wantonly, wanting to free you, to stroke you, to hear your cries in my ear as you come in my hand.>

Michael: <I shudder and thrust hard against your hand, and pull my mouth away from yours. I don't care where we are, I don't care that we could easily be caught and arrested. If I had half a mind left to me, I'd be amused by how I'd told you just a short while earlier I'd learned discretion. This is anything but discretion--it's madness. I don't care about anything, blinded by raw need and passion. I bring my hands back up to your shoulders, fingers biting in, and press downward.> You wanted dessert...here it is. Suck me--do it now, and do it well. If you please me, maybe I'll let you come...but only if you do a good job. Do it now... <It's a voice, a tone, an attitude I've not used for many years, the voice of *Sir* that slips from me, the voice of command. It's a persona that slips on easily, like a favored coat, familiar and comfortable. It makes me warm; hell, it makes me hot. I stare down at you, willing your obedience, willing your compliance, demanding that you obey me, demanding that you do this for me, regardless of consequences, regardless of anything.>

Randy: <Oh, my god. I didn't expect this; wasn't prepared for it--or my response to it. Whatever your background in bdsm, you've got this down very nicely. I can't control the shudder that rolls through me, or my knees that buckle to drop me onto the cool sand to kneel before you. So much for my thoughts earlier about not wanting this without more behind it my brain and my body know what they've missed. I can feel the sweat break out on my forehead, in spite of the cool night air, as I lean forward, my eyes flicking upward. My voice is a thick whisper, > Yes, Sir. With pleasure. Thank you, Sir. <I reach my tongue out to catch the droplet of moisture that's beaded up on the tip of your cock, and my own throbs harshly when I take the moisture into my mouth. Dessert, indeed. I hear a soft moan, but I'm not sure which of us made it. I shift a little closer, sliding my hands up your legs to cup your ass and urge you a little closer. My mouth is open, wide, hot, inviting, ready to suck you off, to make you come. I smile around my mouthful as I take you in and hear your hoarse groan.>

Michael: <I can hear myself swear softly as your mouth, hot, sweet, and wet, takes me inside. Blindly, I reach out and grab onto weathered wood for support; your mouth upon me feels so good that my knees shake alarmingly. Perhaps it's a good thing I can't see you very well, other than as a shadow in the midst of shadows; to see your face tipped up toward mine, mouth stretched about me as you suck me would send me over the edge I'm skating perilously along. God, it feels so good, the swirl of your tongue along the underside as you pull back, the wonder of you taking me deep, deep inside your throat as you slide back downward, burying your nose in the soft curls at the base of my cock. I close my eyes and let my head fall back, the more to enjoy the sensations of your mouth possessing me.>

Randy: <I can taste the precome that's welling up so quickly now as to be a dribble, and suck fiercely on the tip of your cock on the last upstroke. Your legs are shaking a little, and I wrap my hands around your thighs as I lean in closer. One hand I let wander upward to pull and tug gently on your tight, swollen balls, cupping and kneading them to the rhythm of my sucking. My tongue lashes at the thick vein on the underside of your cock, rubbing it roughly as I suck you deeper. I take a deep breath and relax my throat, taking you as deeply as its physically possible for me to. I love sucking your cock; love hearing the quiet grunts and growls like you're making now. Not long, now, 'til you're going to be giving me the dessert I want. The drops of fluid mixing in my mouth are more bitter now, more seminal fluid than not. I let you slide from my mouth, my lips nipping and teasing at the very sensitive underside for a moment before I suck you back in, opening wide to take you deep in one long, sucking stroke.>

Michael: <I hang onto the support pillar tightly, and I know my knuckles must be white with the strain. I gasp and moan as you take me in so deeply; I can feel the muscles of your throat ripple as you swallow, and it's enough to wring a deep, harsh groan from me. I can't continue to make noise like that, whispers the one brain cell left devoted to thinking, and I bring up an arm and bite into the leather sleeve at my wrist. The scent, the taste of leather...the incredible sensation of your mouth on me ...it all threatens to explode into a conflagration. I shift my legs apart to help maintain balance, and let out a muffled moan again as you pull down my length to suck voraciously on the head. I can no more stop the thrust of my hips than I could stop the waves of the ocean. Just a little more...just a little...when your fingers trace backward, sliding inexorably toward the opening of my body, the place that craves your touch, I want to shout in pleasured triumph, knowing how good it will feel to have your fingers slide deep inside me as I come. I close my eyes in anticipation, mutely demanding by the shifting, the offering of my body to you.>

Randy: <Two fingers. I know you can take them; you did before. I wet them in my mouth, slicking them up, then press first one, then the second into you. Two fingers pushing deeply into you, sliding against the walls of your passage, pressing and searching for the small, swollen gland. You jerk roughly when I rub over it, a cry resounding around us, before being lost among the cries of the seagulls. I rub again, gently, and you muffle it somehow. I work my head up and down faster, not going as deep as sucking harder. I want you to come. I want to taste your seed pouring into me, running down my throat as I swallow, dripping down my chin when it overflows my mouth. I want to rub it into my body and revel in it. Deeper...faster...harder... I fuck my fingers in and out of your ass, and work your cock with my mouth and tongue, my own cock so close to explosion that I wonder if I'll survive your orgasm.>

Michael: <Ohgodohgodohgod....such a rich, heavy pleasure, within and without....fucked, and fucking, all at once. I rock back hard on your fingers; the quick slice of pain, the split-second of panic as you'd pushed within me has transformed into bone-melting pleasure, and my moans, even muffled, grow louder, more continuous. I lean back against the pillar for support, and my free hand sweeps up beneath my sweater, rubbing along my belly, up to my chest, until I come to a nipple, hard with excitement. So close, so close...I pinch, then twist the little nubbin of flesh, and that little zing of sensation is all I need to push me over the edge into the power of orgasm. With a muffled cry, I let it take me, shivering and bucking helplessly into you, onto you, gifting you with the hot, heavy cream of my pleasure.>

Randy: <I milk you for long, long moments, my mouth working your length to strip each drop of the thick, viscous fluid. The taste of you is definitely addictive, and I'm like a longtime user, needing it desperately. I lick at your cock as it slides from my mouth, wanting to keep the taste of you on my tongue. You're hanging on to the support post, so I continue my licking and sucking, moving from your cock down to your balls, taking up the small bits of liquid that escaped me. You spread your legs for me, moaning softly when my shift my head and tongue you as far back as I can reach, from this position. I suck on the loose folds of skin of your balls, then take each one in my mouth in turn, suckling for a moment before releasing you. You smell and taste like soap and water, a clean, fresh scent, with the darker scents and tastes underneath. I can hear myself growling softly as I reach up and nudge you to turn, continuing my oral exploration when you do. Your body is still loose and open, from my fingering and your orgasm, and my tongue slips easily into you when I stroke it over your hole.> Good, Sir...so very, very good... Thank you...thank you, Sir...

Michael: <I shudder in a hard spasm as I feel your tongue slip into me. Folding my forearms against the post, I lean my upper body into it, resting my hot, flushed face into my arms, gasping to catch my breath, and spread my legs as far as I can, hampered by my jeans down around my thighs. The air rushes cool against my wet genitals, and I tip my hips back, feeling you close behind me. Pleasure hums and thrums through me, sweet as honey, but I want more, heedless of where we are. My voice is thick, hoarse, harsh as I speak, trying to string together words coherently.> Don't stop what you're doing. You've...pleased me, Pet....Unbutton your jeans...take yourself out...and come for me....

Randy: Yes... Sir... <*Pet*. God. A huge shudder rips through me, and I move my mouth just far enough to whisper,> thank you, Sir... <then press it over you again to lick and suck at the tender folds of skin around your anus. It's like a tiny mouth, sucking back at me when I move away briefly to lap at the skin all around. My body is shivering, so hot, so ready, it won't be anything to obey you in this. I jerk my pants open, my cock surging out into the cool night air. My cock is slick, I've leaked so much, and as my hand slides over myself, I groan into you at the exquisite sensitivity. Just a few strokes, but I want to make them last; want to eat you and lick you and suck you while I come, and I'm not done yet, can't get enough. My hand wanders down and back, and I wiggle, pushing my jeans down awkwardly with one hand. I cup and stroke my balls, then let my fingers brush over the hungry hole to my body even as I plunge my tongue deep into you. I can't believe we're doing this, and the thrill of the possibility of getting caught is making this all the more arousing. I tease myself for a moment, then stroke my aching dick while I tongue-fuck you, feeling my orgasm beginning, rushing over me, drowning me in its heat.>

Michael: <I can feel when your orgasm hits as you arch forward, pressing tightly against me, your long, harsh moan of pleasure vibrating against tender, sensitive flesh, making me shudder again. I feel warmth splatter against the inside of my thigh, the wet sound of your hand pulling, milking yourself of the last of your seed. Another hard, fierce shudder from you, then you press your hot cheek against the cool skin of my ass, your breath rasping moistly over me. My legs tremble a little as your weight slides onto me, but I'm strong; I can hold you. I can hold the both of us. Your free hand moves up the outside of my thigh in a clumsy caress, callused fingers and palm warm and rough, comforting. For a moment, I hold us, but then a strong sense of self-preservation kicks in, reminding me of where we are--half-naked beneath a public stairway, and I shift backward a little.> Randy...Caro...

Randy: Yeah... God. <I can hear my voice still shaking a little, as tiny aftershocks move through me. What in the hell are we doing, out here like this? I shift back from you, and stand up slowly, pulling my jeans up as I go. You're still breathing heavily too, and I reach down to pull your pants all the way up, tugging you close to fasten them, bringing my mouth down on yours as I do. I want you to taste the dark, erotic flavors of you on me, combined with me. When I break for air our breathing is labored again, and I lean my forehead against yours, trying to catch my breath.> I've never... Not in public not like this Jesus God, Michael.

Michael: <I pull you tight against me, feeling the fine tremors through both of us. We'd pulled ourselves together just in time; I hear feet on the steps. I pull your head down, tucking your face into my neck, so the shine from your glasses won't be caught by the dim light. A couple; a man, and a woman, laughing and talking together as they set off across the beach. You're so warm against me, your arms sliding around my waist beneath my short jacket, so broad, so strong, covering me completely. I think it's bloody wonderful, and laugh breathily before pressing a kiss to your ear.> You make me reckless...willing to take risks...God, what a rush...

Randy: <I wait 'til the couple has gone past; if they noticed us they gave no indication. I tighten my arms around you, dragging you against me for a moment, loving the feel of your hard, big body pressed against me. Not as big as me, but you're definitely not a *small* man. I don't have to be careful with you. Thoughts of what we just did makes me unable to keep the grin off my face, or out of my voice.> That was incredible. *You're* incredible. I-- <Boy, if I thought I was confused before, with regards to my feelings concerning you, that was nothing compared to now. I still can't believe I obeyed you as quickly as I did all we did was *talk* about well, shit. We never even really talked about it. Kinda danced around it, and flirted with it.> Wanna walk? I think--we have some things we need to talk about.

Michael: Yes, I suppose we should...<Still, it's another moment before I can make myself release you. Together we tug our clothes into some semblance of order---yours rather the worse for wear than mine. We smell of sex, of man, a wonderfully heady scent. I stroke your cheek, and you smile gently, then slip your arm around my waist as we step from the shadows. *Sir* has slipped away from me completely, leaving only me, only Michael, and I feel so content I don't care enough that he has...he was only a construct for the moment, a means to an end, a player in a sweet, dark game.>

Randy: <We walk for a bit, sticking to the path that winds its way across the beach. There aren't a lot of people out tonight, and I wonder if its because everyone's at home, prepping for the long weekend. You feel good against me, warm and strong. I can smell the sex between us, and it's enough to keep a tingle circulating through me. I keep coming up with and discarding different ways to open the conversation, but I'm not sure what I want to say, or how to say it. I can't recall ever responding to a Dom so quickly, so strongly before. Not to say I haven't obeyed but my response with you was startling. A little scary, in some ways, dizzyingly giddy in others. I shift a little, some of the tension within me making me need my own space again, and you let me go easily. There's a part of me that is really hating this--before that night I met you, life was easy, quiet, undisturbed. I haven't been this emotionally confused since I was a teenager, I don't think. I'm not sure what all the confusion is about; it's not like you've asked me for a commitment, or to date exclusively, or anything else. In fact, we're doing things fairly unconventionally--or are we? And now, on top of everything else, we have to go and add to the mix something that I'd forgotten I enjoy so much; need, even, because I haven't had it in a while.> All the--stuff in the restaurant, Michael. What's your background with bdsm?

Michael: <We walk along in silence for a moment, sand crunching beneath our feet, the sound of waves and wind surrounding us. You've pulled back some, evidently needing your own space, and I respect that, stuffing my hands in my jacket pockets against the cool air. I recognize the need to get it out in the open, but knowing doesn't make it easier to talk about it, even with someone who apparently has been in the game.> I've...played games like this for a very long time. Many years--I became acquainted with it whilst I was still in university, from a very...adventurous friend. She introduced me into the world, taught me the basics, then directed me to someone who taught me much more. <My mind flashes onto pale, pale skin, and the shine of light off blond hair, and warmth curls deep within my belly, even though you'd satisfied me very well only moments before.> He taught me...refinement, that it wasn't just a matter of picking up a whip and striping someone's ass, as it's so often portrayed. It's...much, much more than that...it encompasses heart, mind, and will. I never lived the life as so many do, but I enjoyed it when I played. I played...often, when I was younger. I've not played recently, not seriously, for years...nothing more than a bit of toying about with someone who showed a little interest, but who didn't have the stamina, the proper mind-set for serious games.

Randy: The surrender of self. I haven't been in it for very long; not nearly so long as you. About...<My mind wanders back to the first few months after Bran and I finally broke it off for good--at my insistence--and the restless feeling that bordered on depression that followed it.>...three years, give or take. I ran into an old friend from school, and I guess he saw--something--in me. Told me later I was made for this; he'd never seen anyone repressing like I was doing. I was definitely interested, but didn't--and still don't--want it for a lifestyle. I'm a sub, Michael. I have no desire whatsoever to be a Dom, or to switch. I've had some training, but not a lot...I couldn't find a Master that I clicked with enough to make me feel comfortable about lowering the barriers necessary for anything too intense.

Michael: It's not...something to enter into lightly. What just passed between us...that's play. It's not serious. To do it, truly, requires trust, faith, and a commitment to that relationship. It's like none other, in that the trust you have with your partner must be absolute, as you're giving yourself over completely into their hands...your body into their safekeeping. They must know when stop truly means stop, and when to stop even if the sub doesn't call for it. The partners I've had in the past have *generally* been people I've known well before we played the game. Tell me how deeply you've gone into the game.

Randy: I've played, nothing more. I spent some time looking for--someone...for that relationship you're talking about, but things came up that required my attention at work... <I shake my head and turn to look at you; your body language is loose, relaxed, a lot different from my own right now. I roll my shoulders, trying to ease a little of the tension, then step closer to you, facing you.> Bondage. I discovered quick that I really enjoy being restrained. Some physical punishment--mostly spanking, though I've had a couple of strappings. I'm not into it for the physical pain--its what I get from there. There's a----I don't know how to describe it. It's almost spiritual, in a way. But it's like--the whole mindset. <I'm watching your face, but you don't give much easily; so far I don't see anything that really clues me into what you're thinking.>

Michael: It...transcends. It takes you beyond yourself, into someplace...away. Someplace warm and sweet and above everything. Yes?

Randy: Yeah...that's it. Like, whatever has happened to get you there...is secondary. I've only been truly *there* a few times...and God, what a rush. Kinda like soaring up in the sky, all icy and hot and bright and dark at the same time. Most of my training otherwise was in service. How to be respectful; how to serve my Master--or service, as the case may be. How to speak, look, stand; different positions for fucking. I went in to it thinking it was just about kinky sex. I learned a lot--not just from the men I was with, but from a lot of study. Internet, books, talking to people. <This time I wink at you.> I *like* kinky sex. But I like...the submission as well, and I know enough now to know that the two are not necessarily the same thing--though they *can* be.

Michael: No, not necessarily. There are many different levels to the experience. And real life, with a real Dom who believes in what he's doing, who is skillful...you'll find that study cannot prepare you for that. So you like bondage, then?

Randy: Yes. <I'm not sure why, but there's a part of me that tenses for flight. Why? I could overpower you without much difficulty, if it came to that. I'm not in any kind of danger--or is it the perceived threat of letting you in...because you *could* be what I was looking for? Fear? Of what--finding what I need? Admitting that I need it? I blow out a breath and make myself relax under your touch.>

Michael: You like it, then...giving over control, giving over self to another, helpless, to let them do with you as you wish...forced to accept the pleasure they give you, dependent upon them for every...sweet...sensation....

Randy: <I close my eyes, your hand and voice both comforting and arousing, and a little unnerving. No, that's how I'm feeling about all of this. My reaction to--this. To you. That you are a powerful, skillful Dom, I have no doubts. That I want more, I don't doubt either, and that's hanging me up. I don't *jump* without looking first...until I met you. I shift a little, unable to deny the arousal that's growing in my body, both from your hand, and from the images you're painting in my mind. I let my breath back out in a shudder. I'm surprised to hear the huskiness in my voice when I answer you.> I like that...being dependent on...someone else's will. Not being--the one in control. I like being--made--to do something I might not otherwise do... And knowing that it's not up to me to decide if I want to do it or not.

Michael: The absolute freedom of surrender...to give everything away, and receive everything in return... <I rub my cheek over the front of your jeans; your scent is heavy and musky, and I can feel your arousal firming, growing. Ah, you do like this, and it is undeniably exciting to see your response. But not here, not now. I mouth the erection beneath the denim, scrape at the material with my teeth, and feel you shudder hard against me before pulling back. Not now...if I continue to see you, possibly so...you'd make a lovely partner, I've no doubt, given your uninhibited participation so far.> Oh, yes, I could teach you much....

Randy: <*Man*, how do you do that? Wiggle in under my defenses like you do. All I can concentrate on right now are the images swirling about in my head, combining with the sensation of you touching me. I shake my head to clear it a little, and look around. No one else nearby, thank god. Dangerous games to play in public, though I know that that's a button for me, too. I force my eyes back down to meet yours.> I've wanted more than *just* play for a long time, Michael. I want to find that--trust, someone I could depend on to give me the freedom to let go like that. Scary thing...giving up yourself totally into someone else's hands. I liked the playing, though--and would like more, if it's agreeable to you.

Michael: <I slide my hands over your hips, then stand. I'm close enough to feel the heat of your body, feel the moist warmth of your breath on my cheek, feel the rub of denim against my own. I lean in even closer, and my whisper ghosts across your ear.> Later...later, when you trust me, I'll play games with you. Sweet dark games I know you'll appreciate. But until then, I like a little zing once in awhile...something to add a little spice...

Randy: <Something--the promise of more later? Or the promise that there won't *be* more 'til later?--breaks in me, and I can feel the tension that had crept in again leech away, gone when I let a shuddery breath out. There's a hint of that itch to get the hell away from you; if I let you in, there's no telling the impact you'd have on me. I don't want that though--don't want to get away. I want to stay, and see what happens. For a moment I get the strong visual of two alley tom cats circling each other, eyes narrowed as they consider territory and leeway. You're close...so close. And you roused hunger in me that needs an outlet somehow. To hell with being in public; I pull you against me, rougher than I'd meant to be, and bring my mouth down hard on yours, feeling our teeth click together. I could drown in the taste of you, and die a happy man. When I let you go, your breathing is a little heavier, matching mine. My voice suprises me--rough and heavy.> Gonna hold you to that, darlin'.

Michael: I never make promises I'm not prepared to keep. Ever. <I grin and run my tongue over my lower lip; I can taste the coppery tang of blood where your teeth had nicked it in your ferocity, just a drop, nothing more. I make myself take a step back, to let my hands slide from you.> Let's walk, before I *am* arrested for lewd and improper behavior.

Randy: <Finally, a sense of balance restored. I was starting to get dizzy, all the ups and downs, and shifts. I answer your grin with one of my own, and nod.> How about walking back? It's--damn. Past ten already. We have to be up early, and I have a shitload of stuff to do still. I was gonna just drop you at your place...and go home; finish getting ready. Wanna come home with me tonight? We can stop and get your stuff for the weekend...?

Michael: <I steer us back along the path we'd walked, back toward the steps of the boardwalk. The breeze is picking up a little, and I'm chilled, even with the jacket, and you must be even colder, with nothing but a polo to keep you warm. Amongst people, I pull back slightly, and behave myself.> I believe that sounds like a very good plan...you won't waste time picking me up in the morning, and I can give you a hand where you need it. Besides, I think I owe you a back rub.

Randy: That you do, darlin'. Though a front rub would be okay with me... the back rub would be good tomorrow night, after I've been rigging canvas all day. <It doesn't take us very long to retrace our steps; we actually hadn't walked as far as it seemed--mostly we'd stood or sat while talking; the time seemed to have been longer for the intensity of our conversation. When we get to the truck, I slide in and turn the heater on gratefully; I haven't been on the beach this far into the night, this early in the season, in a while, and I'd forgotten how chilly it gets out there. I ease us back out into traffic.> I'm just gonna wait under the canopy while you go get your bag, Michael. If I go up with you--we'll never leave tonight.

Michael: <I have to laugh at that...it's so very true. And given the month we'd been apart and the intensity of the conversation, even the explosive sex we'd shared beneath the boardwalk wouldn't make me want you any less. I'd probably want to pull you down into my bed and keep you there for the rest of the night.> No, best to keep temptation at bay, I'll agree.

Randy: <I grin and raise an eyebrow at you, but don't say anything. What could I, that wouldn't be exceedingly redundant? What we shared under the boardwalk was exceptional, but I'm hungry for you. Hungry in ways I'd forgotten, or sublimated...but the truth is, it's been nearly a month, and masturbation isn't the same. And while I'd enjoyed thoroughly everything we'd done in the last 24 hours, what I wanted right now was to lie beneath you, both of us dripping with sweat, thrashing around as you pounded into me. I give an involuntary jerk at the intensity of that image, and brake the truck with a little more force than necessary. I can see the question in your eyes when you reach for the door, and shake my head.> Don't--take long, 'kay?

Michael: <The light that spills into the cab of the truck illuminates your face, and I can see a deep, fierce hunger burning like a flame within you. I blink, then swallow hard, feeling an answering fire burn through me, my flesh filling and lengthening beneath my jeans.> No. I won't.

Randy: <I use the time you're inside to finish running through my mental list of stuff still to do. Not a long list, fortunately; mostly I just need to pack my bag, and make sure all the grocery items are in one spot, ready to go in the morning. The boat check I'll do when we get to the marina, and everything else is done. I can see inside the building, and there's a strange--catch--in my chest, like a tightness, when I see you reappear. You pause to talk to the security guard for a minute, then your long legs are bringing you this way. I get shivers watching you, because you have such a fluid grace to your movements, and as I'd noted before, you're incredibly attractive--face and form both. There's so much about you that I don't know yet--and don't know if I'll get the chance--but what I've seen so far I like. I'm looking forward to this weekend--both for time away, and to get to know you better. You slide in beside me and give me the cockiest grin.> All set? Best to remember anything forgotten now; the boat doesn't turn around for 48 hours, once we leave dock tomorrow.

Michael: <I reach back and set my bag behind my seat in the extended cab. I'd left a note for Miles, explaining that I'd set out just a bit sooner than originally anticipated. Other than that, I was more than ready to be gone, looking forward to getting away from everything, to being alone with you. The thought sends a sweet shiver down my spine.> I'm ready...more than ready.

Randy: Me too. <Heat flares inside me and I shift uncomfortably, making a mental note not to wear jeans this tight around you any more. I'm going to end up doing serious damage to myself, at this rate. This late at night, nearly 11pm now, traffic is fairly light on the roads, and non-existent on the bridge; what is normally a 45 minute trip from your place to mine only takes about 25. That's good, because by the time we pull into my parking space, I'm fully erect, ready to go. It's like my body has a mind of its own where you're concerned. You turn to get your bag, and I jump when you reach out and squeeze me--I hadn't realized you'd been so aware of me. I give you a grin as we head for the building.> I feel like I'm about 16 again--totally not in control of my dick right now.

Michael: <Once inside the building, inside the elevator, I hold my bag before me to hide the erection straining against my jeans. I'd have jumped you in the elevator, but for the fact a young woman got on with us. She glanced at me, then at you, with a long, leisurely look down your body, then smiled, and faced front again. The very tops of your ears pinkened a little at her perusal, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Muscular, gorgeous, and the long length of your cock clearly outlined...I couldn't blame her in the least. I maintained decorum as we rode upward in silence, though I slanted a glance in your direction when I saw you shift uncomfortably, too confined by the tight material. We all stepped out onto the fifth floor; we went right, whilst she went left. Just before she went around the corner, I saw her give you one last look, her eyes sparkling merrily. I waited before she was out of sight before leaning in and whispering> I think you have an admirer, Caro...need I worry?

Randy: <I'm swearing under my breath now, because my fingers are shaking a little bit, and I can't get the key into the lock. Dammit. I take a couple of deep breaths, then try again, glancing back down the hall as the door swings open. I can still feel the heat across my cheekbones, and my ears, and roll my eyes. Dammit. I know you're teasing me, but my answer comes out seriously--moreso than I'd intended.> No. You don't have to worry in general...I only see one person at a time, Michael. And as for her, I don't do women. At all.

Michael: <You finally get the door open, and we're inside, where it's dark, cool, and smells faintly of something citrusy. After fumbling the lock closed, you lean against the door, and your mouth curves, a smile full of sex and promise. One hand slides down your belly slowly, to cup your cock, and rub over it slowly. I drop my bag, and push your hand away, my fingers wrapping tightly around your wrist. I lean in until I can feel your chest rising and falling against mine, until I can feel your breath ghost warmly across my mouth.> You know what I want....I want to fuck you until the only name you remember is mine...

Randy: Oh, yeah. <I can't stop the shudder that works through me; the seductive threat in your voice, the hand that's holding me tight, your body pressed against mine. There's a heat curling through me that feels like its going to suffocate me, it's so thick, so intense. I shift, just enough bring my free arm up to loop around your neck, guiding your head closer, until our lips are touching. Your eyes are so dark, so hot; I can see storm clouds inside them. Our lips are touching...but not kissing, not yet. I whisper against your mouth,> only your name, Michael. Fuck me... fuck me, darlin'.

Michael: <Conflagration. I can feel my blood almost boil within my veins. I lean in the few centimeters for a rough, biting kiss, then pull away, breathing harshly, and begin backing toward your bedroom, never taking my eyes from you, almost as if I'm afraid that if I do, you'll vanish. We stumble a bit, bang into a couple of things, but I don't stop to see if we've damaged anything. I don't care. I just want to get you to your bed, strip you, and bury myself within you. Deep, deep within you, to make up for the month I'd spent denying I craved it.>

Randy: <We stop beside my bed, and I kiss you roughly again before sitting on the edge to pull my boots off. I give them both a fling in the general direction of the closet, then I'm standing up again, pulling you tight against me, reaching for the button at the waist of your jeans as I grind my mouth onto yours. God, you're *here*. After so long thinking about it, remembering it, dreaming it, here again. Last night seems hazy; we were both so tired, and a little giddy, I think. But I'm awake right now, and aching for you. And I want you--as far deep inside me as you can shove yourself. Your hands are rubbing over me, stroking and squeezing my cock, and it makes me jerk at your jeans harder. I bite up to your neck and growl hoarsely,> no foreplay--just in me, Michael. Need to feel you.

Michael: <I grit out a sound of need, then take my hands from you to let you strip me out of my clothes. I'm not sure where they go; they disappear into the dimness of your room, tossed haphazardly, until I'm naked before you. Fiercely hard, I'm ready for you; it's as if I'd not just come a couple of hours before. I lie back on your bed, spread my legs, and stroke myself lightly, base to tip, shivering at the sensation of my own fingers moving over my flesh. It will be so much better to feel you open for me, to feel my cock slide into your tight, hot, grasping body. Just the thought of it makes me arch into my own hand, hips thrusting jerkily. I run my tongue over suddenly dry lips.> Hurry...want you so much....

Randy: <Just looking at you makes my belly tighten with anticipation, and I nod, pushing my jeans the rest of the way off. Oil...something. Maybe in time, we won't need it, but it's been too long, this time. I pull the bottle of baby oil out of the bedside table, and pour a small puddle into one hand, then kneel up over you. Your eyes are wide, hot, and to see you stroking yourself is the sexiest thing. I dip three fingers into the oil and reach back to coat myself at the same time I grasp your cock and stroke the rest of it over you. I swear I can hear the sizzle when our eyes meet again; then, you're dragging yours away to watch me. Good enough; I'm not real tight right now; constant arousal, and the orgasm earlier has seen to that. I shift over you, kneeling over your hips, your cock already sliding along my crack.> How--d'you want it, darlin'? Want me to ride--or do you want me on my back...knees...?

Michael: Ride...<My hands are already on your hips, guiding you over me. One of your hands goes to my forearm, steadying yourself, and the other reaches back to encircle me and brace me for the slide into you. Resistance at first, then you're tight, almost painfully tight around me. I glance up at your face, darkened with discomfort, your lower lip caught between your teeth. I can feel the flex of powerful thigh muscles as you hold your weight above me, sliding slowly, ever so slowly onto me.>

Randy: Ohgod--<Not quite a moan, a little more than a gasp; it's kind of pulled out of me. I can feel myself opening around you, for you; the heat and thickness of your cock as you slide in, the oil easing the way. I didn't realize I'd be so tight. I stop for a minute, panting, my body already feeling full, heavy; it's a momentary discomfort, unlike the sharp sting where my muscles have stretched open to let you in. That's fading a bit now, too, finally, and I take a deep breath and push myself full down on you, groaning when my body shrieks in protest. It's just a moment, no matter how long it feels like it lasts, then the burn is fading to a warm throb, matching the one I feel in my cock and all through me. I shift a little bit, testing, and ease myself up just a little.>Michael...shit, darlin'...

Michael: <Oh, god, this is good...tight, hot, perfect. I can't hold back the moan of satisfaction. You sink back down, and you're flush against me, skin to skin, and I'm buried to the hilt, sheathed in your body. This is what I wanted, needed, hungered for--to be deep inside you. Running my hands over your thighs, I can feel the tension coiled in those powerful muscles, feel the tremor. You're beautiful--softly shining with sweat, flushed with desire and effort. Your cock had softened a little, but I can feel the throb of blood returning to it as I take it in hand and stroke, squeeze, caress. It takes only a moment for you to begin rising and falling over me, matching the slow rhythm of my hand on your now-rigid flesh.> That's good...ride me...feel me deep inside you, giving you what you want....

Randy: <It only takes a minute for the burn to fade, and now I can feel the heat moving all through me. Still burning, but a whole different type. I shift a little bit and lean over you, my mouth opening to kiss you. I hear the groans around us, but can't tell which of us is making them. I rock back down on your cock and hold it, staying still while I kiss you, shuddering when your hand strokes very slowly over my cock. I'm rigid again, and aching, and the light touch is like a tease.> God, this is good... it was like burned in my brain, Michael... How you felt...inside me.

Michael: <This is where I wanted to be...nothing, not the touch of my own hand, not the sweetness of Catherine's body could erase this feeling of being within you. Your taste, your scent, the heaviness of your strong body...I ached for that. I ached for you. I tear my mouth away from yours and gasp harshly as you tighten around me. I run my hands over you, over the muscles moving and rippling beneath such soft skin, over the expanse of your back, down the shallow canal that houses the intricacies of your spine, curving over your muscular ass. I can trace around the opening of your body, stretched tightly around me, feel the place we're connected, where I enter you, and we become one flesh. A long shudder courses through you as I stroke, teasing you, teasing me, and I can feel your cock throb against my belly, slick and hot, caught between us. If I turn my head just a bit, I can taste the skin of your neck, salty-sweet, feel its heat against my lips.> Missed this...more than I'd thought...feels so good....

Randy: God, yes...<Your fingers are going to drive me insane, touching and teasing like they are. My whole body feels like one giant, throbbing ache, and it's so good. I kiss you again, hard, then shift back up, straddling you. Your hands are cupping and kneading my cheeks now, stroking me open, then pressing me closed around you. What a rush, with cool air moving in and around! I want to stop and just *feel* this, for as long as possible, and I want to ride you hard, feel us both coming. I begin rocking again, slowly, letting you ease out of my body a little, then back down. I want it to last. Want to feel you hot and sweaty under me, and hard and throbbing inside me. I can feel the texture of skin and hair beneath my thighs, and the gentle bite of bone from your hips, and it adds to the sensations already rocketing through me.> Didn't... want to...miss this... or you... but god... *God*...I did...missed it all.

Michael: <When you pull yourself to a more upright position, I can touch. I bring my hands around, splaying my fingers wide, sliding my hands over your skin, touching as much of you as I can. Our skin is different; I'm darker, olive-toned, and you're pale, like cream, and I like the contrast between the two of us. I run my thumbs over your nipples, hard little swollen buds, and the gasping sigh that comes from you is like music. So responsive to anything I do, or wish. I pinch them lightly, and your voice rises in a hard groan as you shudder, hard. I gasp as the sensation travels from you to me, as your body clasps me fiercely, almost stopping my thrusting. Catching one of your hands, I wrap your fingers around your hard, red cock, my own hand cupping yours, and stroke with a firmer rhythm, watching your face flush with desire.>

Randy: <It's almost too much; I can feel the tension inside me winding down into a tight, hot knot, and I know it's not going to be much longer. Your body is trembling beneath mine, and looking at you, I can see hunger burning hot in your eyes. I grasp your free hand and hold it to my chest, my nipple hot and hard, straining out from my body. The hunger in my voice is a palpable thing when I mutter hoarsely,> pinch it, Michael... please. <When you do, it sends me arching and grinding against you; so close...so very close.> Love this...could do this...over and over, darlin'...

Michael: Come...want to see you come for me....give it to me....

Randy: Soon...'s'comin', Michael...<Faster. The urge to ride fast and hard is a physical thing inside me now, and I shift again, tightening my thighs around your hips. No more rocking; I lift myself up and down over you, sliding your cock out, then sitting on it, impaling myself. God, it's so good. I groan, no longer able to keep it to quiet little sounds; this one swirls around us. My cock is so hard, and when you rub my thumb over the end of it, pressing against the sensitive opening at the tip, I shudder and jerk, my body giving over to the pleasure.>Here...comes...ohgod...!

Michael: <Your seed splatters hotly on my belly as you arch and come, squeezing me so fiercely that I jerk at the sensation. Your mouth opens, but surprisingly, no sound comes out--I remember you as being *very* vocal before--and your fingers dig sharply into my left thigh, hard enough to leave bruises. It seems to last a long, long time, though I know it's only a moment, then you lose the stiff arching of your body and begin to sag toward me, shuddering as the aftershocks take you.>

Randy: <Oh, man. Ohmanohmanohman. I feel good...all parts of me are throbbing, but it's a *good* throb. I shift forward, rocking a little. You haven't come yet, and I want to remedy that. Want to feel you, hot and wet inside me.> Michael...finish it, darlin'. However you want it, do it... come inside me.

Michael: Yes....<With a heave, I flip us over, until I'm over you. You make a surprised little sound, but settle beneath me, accommodating, spreading your thighs widely, wrapping your strong arms around me with a deep, delighted laugh. I slip my hands beneath you, until I can grasp an asscheek in each hand, and squeezing and kneading as I begin stroking deeply, roughly into you. It won't take long; I'm like a volcano, ready to erupt. I can feel it sweeping over me, and then it hits, and I'm spending deep inside you, sobbing out my completion and passion into the soft, sweaty skin of your neck.>

Randy: Oh, yeah...<My body spasms involuntarily, jerking with yours for a moment. I pant through it, my arms holding you close. I can hear the soft cries and moans, and feel the heat of your breath against my neck. I'm hot; drenched in sweat, like you, but I wouldn't let you loose for anything right now. It feels...right...to hold you close. I twine my legs around you, holding you closer. I can take your weight with no problem; in fact, I welcome it.> So glad... ran into you last night, man...

Michael: <I wind my arms around you, holding you close. Weak. I feel weak, drained, as I melt into your strength. God, that was...spectacular. Incredible. I'm not sure when I've felt so...right, holding someone. Your hands move over me, gentling me, smoothing away the tremors, until I relax, a warm, sweet lassitude flowing over me like honey. I'd softened and slipped from you; you'd sighed softly as I had, and I wondered if you'd even been aware you'd done that. Slowly, I shift us over to our sides, sliding my knee between yours, drawing us closer, and nuzzle against the skin of your throat, tasting you sleepily.> Ah, Caro...you're so good for me....

Randy: <I laugh quietly; I'd been thinking the same thing just a moment before. I settle against you, content for the moment. I have too many things still to do to go to sleep yet, and I'm not tired, in any case. I'll wait 'til you've gone to sleep, then get the stuff packed and ready in the kitchen. I slide my hands up and down your back, rubbing and stroking, petting you, letting my voice whisper softly.> I'm glad, Michael... Glad to see you again...to have you here.

Michael: <I'm sweaty, and sticky from your seed on my belly, but I don't care, filing those minor discomforts away. My body hums with pleasure, warm and sated. When I was younger, I'd have been ready to go again by this time, but age has slowed me a bit, giving me time to appreciate the sweetness of this afterglow, and it more than compensates. I can feel myself beginning to drift, secure in your arms, trusting you to hold me safe until the morning. The thought that I'll have several days with you, working together on your boat, talking, laughing, and loving like this, makes me smile against your skin. It's good, and I'm so very glad I ran into you...literally.> Yes....

Randy: <You're already sliding toward sleep; I can feel it in the way your body is relaxing against mine. I shift up and reach over you, fumbling for the alarm clock. In spite of needing to get up and finish getting things ready, I don't want to move just yet--it feels good to be here, arms around each other. I'll probably still get up later, but in case I fall asleep... I push the button that switches the alarm on; it's set for six a.m., so one way or another, I'll get the packing done. I sigh and shift back into your embrace, glad we're going to have the long weekend. After that--I don't know. I don't want to think that far ahead just yet; it makes my stomach hurt. One day at a time. It's easier this way--for both of us. I lean in and kiss you once more.> G'night, Michael. Sleep well.

~finis~

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