Watching Brad

[floorrunner]

I don't know if I've commented about this story yet, but I have been following it for a long time. It has totally captured me.

 

[gsdx]

WATCHING BRAD
Part 213​

"Wow," Brad said as he whipped his head around to look over his shoulder out the car window at the person we'd just passed walking on the sidewalk. I checked the rearview mirror. The body was decidedly masculine right down to the flattened chest and hairy arms and legs, but the person wore a short, paisley skirt and egg yolk yellow T-shirt with some unreadable words in sapphire-blue script decal on the front. He also wore a pair of bright red Crocs with white fur lining which could be seen around the top of each shoe. He had on a huge, flouncy, white wig that RuPaul would envy, a pair of over-the-top sequined sunglasses which fanned out like red and orange and yellow flames at the side and wrapped around the face. His lips were done up in so much vibrant pink lipstick that it made them look about half the size of Nova Scotia. "Did you see that? Was that a guy or a girl?"

"A little bit of both, I think," I replied with a tiny smirk on my lips. "Probably on his way home after an all-night costume party somewhere. Or maybe he just likes dressing that way." We were driving east on Bloor Street, heading out of the city toward the Don Valley Parkway and home. I'd offered to let Brad drive but he was quite content to sit in the passenger seat beside me. . . content to rest his left forearm casually on my leg with his fingers splayed gently around my lower thigh, just above the knee.

We rode in silence for a few blocks after that with me keeping an eye on the traffic and lights ahead and Brad simply enjoying the sights along the way.

"It's too bad Pehr didn't win last night," he said after a time. "I was really hoping he would."

"Yeah. So was I. He and David put on quite a show, but I guess that guy in the red underwear put on a better one. What was his name again? Something to do with chocolate?"

"Reese," Brad replied. "Remember how Kyle looked right at his crotch and pointed and called them Reese's Pieces? I wonder if his pieces would have melted in your mouth and not your hand?"

We laughed.

"I don't think he put on a better show," Brad continued, still chuckling away. "He just had a helluva lot more to show than everybody else there."

"Well, there was that, too, yes. I think he would have had given you some serious competition if you'd entered the contest. He certainly was a healthy young man."

"Yeah. Probably." Brad said. "He was pretty big." He was quiet for a few moments, then asked somewhat hesitantly, "Do I look like that in my underwear?"

An image of Reese standing there on the stage in his red bikini briefs flashed into my memory's internal eye and I knew immediately what Brad was talking about. "More or less," I replied honestly, "but there's a big difference between you and Reese. He gets a big kick out of showing it off to everyone. He likes people looking at him. You don't." I glanced at Brad. "Except for me, of course."

"Yeah, well," he said with a rather sly smile and mischievous wink, "whatcha gonna do, eh? That's what I get a kick out of." He gave my leg a gentle squeeze and then ran his palm up and down my thigh twice with a soft, loving touch, before returning his hand to its usual spot just above my knee. It would remain there throughout the journey home.

"What I don't understand is why Pehr didn't tell us about the bet when Kyle was interviewing him? I mean, he probably would have won if he'd told everyone why he was there."

"Well, he did win, didn't he?" I reminded him. "I mean, he came in second and he seemed happy enough with that. I guess he wanted to play a fair game with everyone else. Besides, I think it was more of an initiation stunt than a bet. Remember he said he couldn't wait to eat Sunday brunch in Sanford House?"

"Yeah, right. I thought that was really nice of him to come over after to thank David and buy us all a beer. He had really pretty eyes."

I had noticed that, too, along with the luscious and invigorating scent of a cologne I had never smelt before.

"But I still can't figure out why he entered the contest, even to win a bet," a perplexed Brad continued. "I mean, he said he was straight, so why would he go to a gay bar and take off most of his clothes and let David touch him the way he did?"

"He's from Sweden, remember? They're pretty liberal over there. They don't have the same hang-ups about nudity that we have over here. When we think of nudity, we think of sex. They go hand-in-hand with each other. In Sweden, nudism is a natural part of life. That's why nude beaches are so popular over there. You can go skinny dipping just about anywhere, I think. Being naked is no big deal to them."

"Then why did he look so nervous when he first went up on the stage?"

I gave Brad the best answer I could think of. "I suspect it was because his college buddies were in the crowd watching him to see if he would go through with it. At least that's the impression I got when he was talking to us. I think he was more nervous about passing the initiation than winning the contest."

Brad glanced out the side window. "Still, he got pretty turned on for a straight guy what with David doing everything short of jerking him off in front of everybody. It was pretty hot, though."

"Well, like I said, the Swedes don't have the same hang-ups we have over here. Straight or not, I'm sure lots of guys have had their hands down his pants, and I'm sure he's had his share of blowjobs from a good number of them."

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Brad turning his head back toward me. "I don't know," he said. "I'm not sure I'd like living in Sweden." He squeezed and rubbed my leg again. "I like living right here."

We soon found ourselves on the DVP heading north to the Freeway, chatting casually about our night in the city. After the contest was finished and Pehr had come to greet us and to thank David, we finished our beers and struck out once again into the night, walking north on Church Street to the lounge where we knew Peter would soon be regaling us with his magnificent and ultimately relaxing keyboard talents.

We danced a few dances but, for the most part, we sat at our table in the lush, cushiony chairs with padded arms for additional comfort and just talked.

"Any regrets about leaving Albany?" I asked David at one point. "Any second thoughts?"

David finished his swig of beer, smacked his lips and wiped them with the back of his hand, and said, "None. Zip. Zilch. Nada." And, in case he hadn't made himself perfectly clear, he added, "Nope. Not a single one. I'm right where I want to be." And then he went on for another ten minutes telling us why.

Brad laughed in the car as he recounted that bit. "I'd love to be a fly on the ceiling in their apartment. The stories you'd hear, I'm sure."

"The flies on the ceiling in our place have heard some pretty good stories, too, remember."

Brad looked at me, his bright smile flashing his chipped tooth and his brilliant green eyes flashing like emeralds in the early morning sunlight. "Like last night. . ."

His unfinished sentence faded away into silence, replaced by the steady drone of the engine and the dull rumble of the spinning tires passing over the highway beneath us. There was no need to finish the sentence. . . no need for words - not while the memories and the tastes and the smells were still so fresh in our minds.

The traffic was relatively light for a Sunday morning, at least in the direction we were going. Many more people were driving into Toronto than were driving out of it. The weather was still nice and warm and there were still a good number of people dressed in shorts and T-shirts and all the drivers in convertibles on the highway drove with their tops down. After the scorching summer we had endured, and with that unseasonably warm September morning, I began to have faith in Brad's prediction that we were in for a mild winter and might just survive our little sojourn in the Winnebago without freezing our proverbial nuts off. It was cramped in there, to be sure, but not yet to the point where people were getting underfoot and in each other's way all the time. We were managing quite adequately.

I decided to take the scenic route and turned off the freeway in Pickering, picking up The King's Highway there and continuing east all the way to Maple Grove to pick up the twins.

They were out in the driveway when we drove up playing with their new toys. Dad was out there with them, supervising them as they rode down the driveway toward us on sparkling, new mini scooters. They were both wearing a new helmet and knee and elbow pads. Justin's scooter had blue hand grips and wheels. Jeremy's had green ones. Dad called out to the boys, but they'd seen us and were way ahead of him. As they spotted us pulling into the driveway, their happy faces became even happier as they wheeled their scooters around and hot-footed it back up the driveway toward Dad. By the time they had reached him, I was pulling up behind the van and parking the car there.

A moment later, the scooters were lying on their sides on the lawn beside Dad, abandoned and forgotten for the moment. Justin and Jeremy turned on their heels and came running toward us, splitting themselves so that Justin could round the car to greet me on the driver's side. I snatched up my son and he was hugging and kissing me as I rounded the front of the car. It was still clicking and popping as warm engines are inclined to do as they begin to cool down after you shut them off. We met Brad and Jeremy there at the front bumper to each get yet another hug and kiss from our other son.

"Did you miss us?" they asked in unison.

"Sure did," Brad and I replied, also in unison.

Justin grinned widely and opened his arms as far as they could go. "This much?" he asked.

I gave him another hug and said, "Oh, a whole lot more than that."

And that was the end of that. Before I knew it, Justin was scrambling out of my arms and tugging on my hand. Jeremy was doing the same with Brad. "Come see our new scooters!" they shouted.

"Where did you get them?" I asked as I looked directly at Dad. He had an innocent look about him and a mischievous smile on his lips. A small twitch of his head and a barely-perceptible shrug of his shoulders seemed to say to me, ‘so, sue me'.

"Oupa got them for us!" they returned.

Justin released my hand and ran the few final steps to grab up his scooter with Jeremy following closely behind him. "Da-a-a-a-ad?" I said in an insinuating voice.

Again he shrugged his shoulders, more blatantly, this time, and his smile widened. With a Santa-like twinkle in his eye, he said, "They were reduced at Sears." And, with that, the discussion was over. Dad turned and started walking toward the front door of the house but, even as he walked away from us, his voice reached me: "My granddaughter's wheels are pink."

Mom made bacon sarnies and shepherd's pie for lunch with apple crumble and homemade custard for dessert. For months following that day, the twins wouldn't eat a regular ‘sandwich' - bacon or peanut butter and jam or any other kind of sandwich they could name. We had to call them ‘sarnies' before they would eat them. Like ‘bangers' instead of ‘sausages'. They called such things ‘Ouma food'. It always tasted better to them than ‘Daddy food', no matter which one of us prepared it. We didn't mind. It gave them something to talk about at school for Show and Tell.

After our little luncheon, I helped Mom with the dishes while Dad and Brad went outside to watch over the boys again as they played on their scooters. Mom washed the dishes. I dried them.

On a whim, I decided to ask Mom the same question I'd asked David the night before: "How do you like living here, Mom? Any regrets about moving? Do you miss Crystal Beach?"

"Oh, Teddy," she replied, "I don't miss that place at all, Dear. I was terrified that I would, but I don't. Oh, I miss visiting with Mrs. Langley from next door. She and I were dearest of friends and we talk frequently on the telephone now, but I have made so many wonderful new friends through my new church here and they are much more friendly and neighbourly than my previous fellow parishioners. At Crystal Beach, we didn't really socialise outside of church events. No matter how friendly we might be, that friendship extended only to a few minutes standing outside the church following the Sunday morning service. No, Dear. I have no regrets whatsoever leaving that place. And your father is so happy here. He has rediscovered the village life of his youth and he adores it. Besides, our grandchildren are here and he cherishes each moment he spends with them."

She paused from her dishwashing and leaned forward against the sink so she could see Dad standing outside on the front lawn. I looked as well. He was standing with Brad near the pond Brad had built beneath the maple tree. It's leaves were just beginning to change and a few of them were now an orangy-yellow colour.

"Look at him, Teddy. Have you ever seen your father so happy?"

Dad was actually beaming as he chatted with Brad and watched his grandsons riding up and down the driveway on their new scooters. He looked happy and he even looked younger. "No," I replied, "I guess I haven't."

She watched them for a moment and we could hear Dad and Brad laughing out loud even through the closed window, then she returned to her dishwashing chore. "You should have seen him last night, Teddy. He gave the boys their bath in the downstairs bathroom and there was suddenly such a ruckus with so much laughing and splashing that I went to investigate. Your father was kneeling next to the tub with the boys sitting at either end and facing each other. All three of them were wildly splashing the water with the palms of their hands. Water was flying everywhere - on the walls and the floor and the counter and the mirrors and even more on Oupa. When your father finally noticed me standing there in the doorway with my hands on my hips and a scowl on my face, do you know what he said to me?"

I shook my head ‘no'.

"He had the nerve to say. . ." (and she repeated in her best ‘Dad' voice) ". . . ‘I am a professional plumber, Lilian. I can fix it.'"

I stifled a laugh.

"And he did," she continued. "Bish bash bosh. He and the boys. Mops and sponges and two rolls of paper towels and not a single complaint. And before I knew it, all mopped up. Every single drop. Job done. And he never stopped smiling throughout. He enjoyed every single moment of it, Teddy. Every single moment."

Mom was trying to hide her face in her work, but I could see the faintest shadow of an ill-disguised smile there anyway, and it made me smile, too.

By early afternoon, we were back home. Brad had driven the van this time and I followed in the car. We'd loaded the scooters in the van, of course, and Lindsay joined us as we went to the park so they could ride their scooters on the paved paths there. Brad and I walked over and the kids rode along the sidewalk, stopping when they reached the intersection and dismounting so they could walk their scooters across the street. As they played on the paths, Brad and I sat on one of the benches and just enjoyed the unseasonably warm and sunny September afternoon and watched our children playing and having fun.

We returned home in time to have supper with Bernice and John Hayes after which the twins had their bath. Later, they sat with us on the sofa in the livingroom as Lindsay took her own bath. They were already dressed in their pyjamas and robes and slippers, ready for bedtime when it came but, apparently, it had been a long and busy day for our sons. Only minutes after curling up in our laps, they were sound asleep against our chests with their arms hanging limply at their sides as we wrapped our arms securely around them.

Justin stirred momentarily, wriggling in my lap and smacking his lips noisily several times. I smoothed his still-damp hair, calming him and reassuring him that I was still there with a sweet kiss on the top of his head. A moment later, all was quiet again.

I can't remember the programme which was playing on television, but I remember Bernice sitting quietly in her cushy armchair, a knitting bag full of yarn beside her and one string of yarn stretching up to her hands. Her crochet needle flew in her fingers as she worked diligently on some project whilst watching television at the same time. John sat tilted back comfortably in his La-Z-Boy chair, the footrest raised and his slippered feet propped on it and crossed at the ankles. An empty coffee mug sat on a heat-resistant coaster atop the end table beside him.

A commercial break interrupted the programme and Brad's father tilted his easy chair forward, grabbed his coffee mug, and headed out to the kitchen to get himself a refill. Bernice paused in her crocheting in order to count rows and stitches. Brad took that moment to lean toward me and kiss me tenderly on my left cheek. "Thanks," he whispered.

"For what?" I whispered back.

"For last night."

He sat back against the sofa with a satisfied and happy smile on his handsome young face.

* * * * *

The night was still comfortably warm soBrad and I decided to walk from The Village back to our hotel. It was only a half-dozen blocks or so and we both needed to clear our heads a little bit after imbibing a bit more beer than we were used to drinking. David made an excellent and generous host.

Toronto by day is totally unlike Toronto by night. It's a new city - new sights, new sounds, new people, new smells. New adventures and new memories. It really comes alive.

In our hotel room - the same hotel where we had held our wedding reception only a few months earlier - I stood at the tall window looking down over the city eight floors below me. City lights seeped through the tinted glass, mingling with the soft, subdued ambient lighting which filtered out from behind the upholstered headboard of the king-sized bed. The entire room was filled with a soft and very romantic glow.

My arms were outstretched, my tense fingers gripping the window frame on either side of the thick glass. Brad stood behind me, his right arm thrown casually over my shoulder, dangling over my chest and grasping his left hand which was wrapped around me from the other side. The right side of his powerful chest pressed warmly against my back. I could feel the heat from his swollen crotch burning into the flesh of ly left buttock even through the several layers of material separating our skin.

Brad's lips found my neck, nuzzling into it and nipping my earlobe with soft pulls and whispery sucks of his lips. His breath blew like a gentle lake breeze over the beach that was my skin and I tilted my head back a bit and to the side, allowing him complete access to whatever part of me he felt the need to get to. A soft, almost silent moan escaped my throat. This was something I enjoyed immensely, but something which nobody else besides Brad had ever done for me.

I let him have his way with me as he moved directly behind me, clutching my body closely to his own and I had to tilt my head forward and to the other side and his lips travelled behind my neck and over to my right side. His right arm remained where it was, dangling over my shoulder, but his left hand began to move slowly down my chest, rubbing and massaging my stomach and abdomen until it reached my waist and the jeans I wore. I held my breath as his exploring and teasing hand slipped lower until it covered my denim-covered crotch where it began an entirely new exploration. Beneath his fingers, my crotch was rapidly swelling to keep pace with the growing bulge which I could feel pressing into the valley between my buttocks.

My jaws clenched in a vise-like bite and my fingers gripped the window frame even more tightly.

As Brad began to massage my groin, he slowly gyrated his hips, grinding his swollen crotch into me. His lips and tongue continued to tease my neck as his right arm slid off my shoulder and downward to join its counterpart, undoing each button of my shirt during its slow, tortuous journey southward. He finally reached the bottommost button and his other hand lifted itself away from my crotch, together, they pulled my shirttails out from the confines of my jeans. I was forced to release my grip on the window frame as Brad peeled the material over my shoulders and down my arms and off, dropping the shirt to the floor beside us.

He wrapped his arms around me again and hugged me tightly for a few long, luxurious moments before both hands moved to the waistband of my jeans. Dextrous fingers soon had the button undone and had grasped the tab of the zipper, carefully sliding it down with a series of soft, metallic clicks as it travelled down the jagged tracks and over the anxious mounds beneath. When the tab could go no further, Brad slipped his thumbs beneath the denim waistband and pushed. My fingers gripped the window frames once more with such force that I was certain I would leave fingernail indentations in the paint there.

Brad pushed downward and I could feel him lowering himself to one knee behind me until my jeans lay crumpled around my feet. Following his gentle lead, I lifted one foot and then the other as he slid both the jeans and socks away from me and tossing them aside. When he was finished and I was left standing there in only my bulging briefs, he rose to he feet once again and, placing his hands on my hips, spun me around until we were facing each other.

His hands wrapped themselves around my back this time and he crushed my body against his own as his lips and tongue attacked mine. The kiss was long and intense and left me desperately sucking breath through my nose as my fingers now gripped the back of Brad's shirt instead of the window frame. His crotch ground against mine with a ferocity which only youth could manage. I merely did my utmost to keep up to him as best I could without breaking anything.

I don't know how long we kissed like that, ravaging each other the way we did, but then Brad slowly and carefully turned us both around and began backing me up. I followed his lead until the backs of my legs encountered the bed. Brad guided me down until I was sitting on the edge and, with his strong arms wrapped around me in a firm grip, he leaned forward, pushing me backwards until I was lying on the bed and Brad was lying on top of me, pinning me beneath his bulk. Somehow, our lips had remained glued together throughout. There was no mistaking his love. . . his desire. . . his need. All five senses were alive with it. The room was full of it. And it was intoxicating.

Several more minutes of heated, passionate kissing passed before Brad pushed himself away from me and stood up between my legs, panting for breath and looking ready to burst. Without giving me a chance to participate, Brad pulled his shirttails out of his jeans and pulled his shirt over his head, discarding it somewhere onto the floor behind him, without even undoing a single button. By that time, I was sitting up on the side of the bed and anxiously tugging at the button of his jeans, struggling to loosen it. The task was made more difficult by the immense mounds of manhood beneath which pulled the button taut in its restraint and made it extremely difficult to release it.

Brad's hands joined mine and, between the two of us, we undid the button and the zipper. As I grabbed the open flaps of his jeans, Brad's thumbs disappeared beneath the waistband and his fingers clamped the thick denim material tightly. He looked like an impatient, overly-zealous little boy ready to rip into a Christmas gift. With a sudden and reckless shove downwards, his jeans and underwear flew over his hips and butt and crotch until his balls fell loose in their sack and his cock sprang up and out, hitting my chin with such force that it made a slapping sound. He bent himself over me, pushing his clothing to the floor and then standing up again, he grasped my shoulders for balance and frantically and anxiously struggled to pull his legs and feet out of the pant legs.

As he thrashed around, the still-stiffening pole of flesh was being swept about and bumping and nudging my neck and chest, my chin, my face, and even my hair. Strings of clear, sweet-scented fluid, copiously oozing out of the tip of his young manhood, left slippery trails over my face as I tried to capture the source with my lips and tongue. Finally, I grabbed his turgid flesh in my fist, holding it steady long enough for me to locate the dilated slit with my tongue and to scoop out the gathering liquid there, savouring it's bouquet and piquant zest before sweeping it across the roof of my mouth. My lips clamped around the rounded smoothness of his cockhead, sucking it into my mouth and locking my lips behind the prominent ridge, loath to let it escape.

I felt Brad kick one leg sideways and I could hear the muffled ‘fwoomph' of his discarded jeans falling to the carpet some distance away. He pushed at my shoulders and his cock slid out of my mouth with a noisy and reluctant slurp of release. I lost my lip lock on him, but I refused to relinquish my handhold. I held on for dear life, stroking the cock a few times to encourage him to stay within range. He quickly lifted each foot behind him so he could pull off his socks and toss them to the floor before reaching for my briefs. I was forced to release my treasure entirely so I could lift my hips off the bed as Brad peeled them off me. Only then was I able to regain my grip on him and return his cockhead back into the secure warmth of my mouth. My other hand came to rest on his hip.

Brad's fingers reattached themselves to my shoulders and dug their tips into my skin. What almost sounded like a groan of pained anguish reached my ears from above me, but I knew that Brad was feeling no anguish whatsoever. He was feeling only ecstasy as my lips and tongue and hand worked together in order to bring ultimate pleasure to him. I pointed my tongue and stretched it to reach all the places that I knew Brad liked me to reach. His cockhead would swell and quiver each time I found one and he kept score with a tiny whimper and sigh.

His right hand left my shoulder and moved to his cock. He grasped his rock-solid meat between my hand and his pubic hair. His fingers and thumb strained to make contact with each other but couldn't. For a few moments, Brad simply held it firmly and he moved himself forward, pushing me backward again until I had to balance myself on my left elbow and slowly lower myself to the bed. Brad followed me, straddling my body and crawling onto his knees on the bed until I was flat on my back with Brad towering above me. The right side of his body alight with the wispy glow from behind the headboard, his left side in shadow. Somehow we had managed the maneuver without my lips breaking contact with the smooth, purplish skin of the head of his bouncing cock. My head was tilted up to accommodate his new position.

Brad's loose balls settled against my chest. I could feel the weight and the heat of them against my skin. I found it exciting and reassuring. He maintained his grip on his cock as he reached behind himself with his left hand and carefully searched for my own cock, quickly locating it and clasping it in his loving and gentle fist. As he began to stroke it, I could see his right hand matching each stroke. Gradually his strokes became longer and faster until his fist began to bump into mine. It soon became apparent that my hand was a nuisance where it was. There was plenty of room for both our hands on his steely rod but, for what he intended to do with it, there was room only for one, and that was his. I abandoned my task and let him have at it, moving my hand beneath him instead and turning the palm upward until I was able to slide it beneath his hefty testicles. Dual groans sounded that time. Brad's was clear. Mine was muffled.

Brad was expert at masturbation. Left-handed or right-handed, it made no difference to him. Both hands working together was like a symphony by Mozart. The pleasure he gave to himself with each stroke of one hand was matched by his other hand and given to me as well. I felt what he felt. Together, our excitement grew and the pressures inside us compounded and expanded, anxious for release. I could feel my orgasm swiftly approaching, but Brad's was approaching much more quickly.

I let Brad do what he was doing and concentrated my efforts at making him feel the best I could. His growing groans and moans told me that I was succeeding. His cock picked up a rhythm which matched his stroking hand, expanding as his hand approached the head and relaxing slightly as his hand moved away. Each stroke became faster than the one that preceded it, faster and faster until I could feel that Brad was on the brink of orgasm. My jaws and lips stretched as far as they could as his hips moved forward slightly with each pulsation. Despite his best efforts to prevent it, Brad's body tried to push more and more of his cock into me until, on a final upstroke, he clamped his fingers around his cock where his thumb pressed against my upper lip and he held it there. His body tensed and his chest heaved. His eyes closed and his head rolled back. Sightless eyes stared up at the ceiling above us.

Brad's orgasm began.

The first three spasms were empty things. His body was merely priming the pumps for what I knew would soon follow. A small sampling of semen was released with the next spasm - nothing more than a teaser but enough for me to taste the most personal and precious gift one man can give of himself. I barely had the time to savour it before the deluge began. Brad's cock began pumping warm, creamy semen into me. Spasm after spasm of it, and each spasm was accompanied by a jerk of his entire body and punctuated by a grunt of pleasured effort and power from his vocal cords.

I clenched my eyes tightly shut and I swallowed load after load as it pumped into my eager and hungry mouth. My left hand clinging to his hip and my right hand clutching his balls held Brad in place as he emptied himself into me, and I accepted it all. All too soon, though, the spasms weakened and the flow lessened and I was able to hold the final weaker offerings on my tongue long enough to enjoy the luxurious flavour and texture. As always, it was of youthful vintage quality. Not even the finest, most expensive wine I'd ever drank filled me with as much pleasure as a single mouthful of my Bradley.

His orgasm was over, but Brad's hand took up a slow, relaxed stroke again, beginning at the base of his cock and squeezing gently as he pushed the remaining fluid through the long, prominent tube beneath his cock until it flowed out the vertical tip and onto my waiting tongue. When there was nothing left to coax forward, Brad released a final sigh and carefully removed his deflating cock from the confines of my lips.

With a swift and practiced move, Brad slid off the bed and onto his knees on the floor, taking a position between my legs. A moment later, he grasped my anxiously-waiting cock and suctioned it into his own mouth. His rapidly bobbing head and his excellent oral skills and manipulations quickly brought me to my own orgasm. As Brad swallowed my first orgasmic blast, I swallowed the lingering remnants of Brad's orgasm. With everything Brad had given me now safely inside me, I gave Brad everything I had to offer, and he accepted it just as greedily and welcomed it just as much as I had.

When it was done, I was drained. It took all my remaining strength to climb beneath the sheets. Brad climbed in beside me, pulling the sheets over us before pressing a button switch above his head. The lights grew dim and extinguished themselves. With one final kiss in which our tastes mingled on our tongues and became one, our night in the city came to an end and we slept.

To Be Continued​

 

[sheep]

Guess who is going to have a wet dream tonight?

 

[ronboy]

Thanks for the early Christmas gift, Neil!

You sooooooo rock!

 

[upyrkilt469]

I also want to say thanks for the early Christmas gift. That was a great chaper. Have a Merry Christmas and a safe and Happy New Year. H&K
Voc

 

[caddymac]

What a chapter. You made the sex scene so real in my mind. Amazing!!! Wonderful job. Thank you.
I would like to wish you a Merry Christmas and have a Happy New Year!!!!

 

[harry113]

Whew !!!What a chapter, What a wonderful description of LOVE !!
Thank you Neil, Great writing. I love the way you alternated between the homecoming & the enjoyment of the previous night.
Have yourself a break & enjoy the holiday.
Wishing you a Happy Christmas & a Great year to come.
Hugs . . . BIG ones.
Harry

 

[gsdx]

^ Two birds with one stone and all that.

I'm curious to know how many of you were ready to rip my head off when you read this:

Brad laughed in the car as he recounted that bit. "I'd love to be a fly on the ceiling in their apartment. The stories you'd hear, I'm sure."

"The flies on the ceiling in our place have heard some pretty good stories, too, remember."

Brad looked at me, his bright smile flashing his chipped tooth and his brilliant green eyes flashing like emeralds in the early morning sunlight. "Like last night. . ."

His unfinished sentence faded away into silence, replaced by the steady drone of the engine and the dull rumble of the spinning tires passing over the highway beneath us. There was no need to finish the sentence. . . no need for words - not while the memories and the tastes and the smells were still so fresh in our minds.

And then you were reading about the weather.

 

[Undisclosed]

^ Yup, that was evil.

But, to be honest.... everything about this family turns me on, the more explicit lines or just the mundane everyday stuff.

It must be the talent of the writer really.

I would like to hear more about Pehr in the future.

Great and hot chapter. Keep it up.

 

[grof142007]

Happy New Years

 

[kevcam]

Glad they are having sex again!! And the part with the the euro dude, down!! Having lived there for a few years, in europe, I'm glade to see the openess shared in this story that they have!

 

[giorgiobaby]

I have finally caught up! It only took a couple of weeks. Thanks Neil. I hope the story continues.

 

[gsdx]

Well, it's happened.

Writer's block.

I truly hope this is only temporary, but, at the moment, I'm stuck with only half a chapter and the second half simply isn't anywhere in my brain yet. I stare at the screen. I stare at the TV. I close my eyes and think. I sit on the toilet and contemplate. I go outside and take my time to sweep the front walk of snow. I go back to the computer and stare at the screen.

Nothing happens.

You see, the problem all goes back to Ted's 'breakdown'. All that was supposed to be happening now. . . after the fire. . . and I would be building up to it at this time. However, when it was moved forward to before the wedding, there is now a whole lot of 'empty' staring me in the face.

Now I have an idea how the 'Hathor' episode of Stargate came into being. Some writer simply had brain freeze.

Anyway, I still have hopes for a new chapter this week. Stay tuned, and thank you for being so patient.

Take care, always.
Neil

 

[lakesinclair]

Its an awesome story and I can understand the writer's block. Looking forward to the next chapter when it comes to you

 

[glorff]

Don't woory about it, we will always wait patiently for Tiger and Pops to return.

Kind of like babysitting, nothing else to do

 

[gsdx]

They are freezing their asses off in the dead of Winter, and nerves are getting on edge!

I have the benefit of hindsight. It was one of the warmest winters on record.

The only way Brad is going to freeze his ass off is if he sticks it in the freezer.



(or if it is more appropriate.)

 

[harry113]

Thanks for the update Neil.
In your own time dear buddy!! We know it will be worth the wait.
HUGS
Harry

 

[uhmcrackerjacks]

Ok.... so I just started this story and it looks like I have a lot of catching up to do. It is really good. I can say this I have to keep reminding myself this story takes place in Canada. There are not too many people in the USA that are that open to gay relationships. Very good story. Now I have to keep reading.... I'll check back later with more comments... Oh btw if I didn't already say it very good story.

 

[giorgiobaby]

Thanks for the update, good luck with the writers block. Look forward to the next chapter.

 

[upyrkilt469]

Neil, as Harry said it will be worth the wait, H&K
Vic