The Breeze Died
The breeze died. A little breath escaped me as I looked about the alcove. It was a small bedroom, perhaps a guestroom. Bright green curtains hung on the windows, lightly swaying in the crisp country breeze. An oak ceiling fan lazily circulated the air. I had the impression I was in a carefree bungalow of sorts in the tropics with all the fresh air in the room. Plush white carpet covered the floor from wall to wall, save for a little area near a vacant and well-used fireplace.
What I remember now that should’ve surprised me then and didn’t, was that this room wasn’t dusty. It was exquisitely clean, wall to wall. Impeccably swept carpets and sheer curtains. I guess the fresh breezes and welcoming atmosphere distracted my common sense at the time.
It was an ideal room for anyone; cozy and warm, yet small enough to be uncomfortable after a short time. The corner of the room housed a small cherry table with a green reading lamp. Next to the table was a bed of green satin, raised on a dais with a gorgeous hickory headboard. Cherry and hickory. What an odd combination. And yet, what a wonderful combination. My eyes traced the green coverlet down to the foot of the bed when something caught my eye. I looked up and to my amazement, I saw a man leaning against the wall!
I was startled. But he was stunningly beautiful. I took a few seconds to look at him. I wasn’t sure if he was really there or if this was some sort of weird dream. He was tall and very muscular. He had short blond hair that was crew cut. Penetrating gray eyes, not unlike my own, peered back at me, but they were friendly. The faintest trace of a smile curled his lips on his sturdy, clean-shaven face. He wore a green and white striped shirt that shrouded him in the room. Well, actually, enhanced the room. His nipples made the smallest protrusions against his shirt. Khaki pants adorned his amazingly thick and powerful legs, which were crossed at the calves as he leaned against the wall almost cockily. He was a picture of beauty and serenity, as if he were a painting on the wall.
I had never seen a man so astonishingly alluring. He exuded confidence and wit without saying a word. He didn’t have to. I should have been alarmed that there was even anyone there, but I was surprisingly calm.
“Who are you?” I asked, “and what are you doing in my house?”
“Ah, but that’s just it, isn’t it?” he coolly replied, “it is your house, am I right?”
Now I was a little frightened. He was only a little bigger than I was, but he was so sure of himself.
“What do you mean? Get out!” I roared.
He only smiled. “Are you sure you want me to leave?”
“Yes! Get out!”
There was a tense pause. But he just continued to smile. He folded his massive arms across his tight belly and cocked his head to the side, as if he was coolly thinking something over. I knew at that time he was not going to leave.
“Look, do you want me to call the police?” I asked. But I would never have done that. His physical stature and cockiness threatened me, but the only sense I got from this beautiful creature was peace.
“No.” he gently said. He raised his hand to the wall and slowly pushed his way to an upright position. He was just a little shorter than I am, but more muscular. More muscular than I thought. Narrow hips traced down to huge, mesmerizing thighs. I couldn’t help but feel envious and excited at the same time.
“You have no idea how long I’ve had to tirelessly exercise and lift weights to get a body like this.” he sighed, “but I can tell you like what you see.” His voice trailed off and I noticed that he was advancing toward me with a dancer’s grace. I wasn’t afraid at all.
“To put your mind at ease,” he continued, “my name is Latham. And I mean you no harm. . .unless you want me to.”
I was captivated by his speech, his plangent, youthful voice. I was falling into his words as if I was weightless. The whole encounter with this stranger was completely unfamiliar to me. I had no idea what to do next. He was walking towards me and his hands were up to his collar, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. Droplets of sweat dotted my body as I looked up to the ceiling fan for a cooling breeze. I gazed up to the twirling blades, lost and shaken.
I could now hear his footsteps and realized he was only a few feet away from me. I glanced back at him and saw his chest below his now completely open shirt. Huge, rounded pectoral muscles bulged forward. His nipples were rose-colored and erect. Waves of stomach muscles undulated his smooth, tanned skin. I wanted to touch his chest, to squeeze his nipples, to explore his entire body! My own erection yearned to be free.
“Go on,” he said softly, “touch me.”
Nervously, anxiously, I raised my hand and touched his silky chest, lingering in the middle, then tracing my finger to his nipple. He tensed just a little, sucking air into his lungs.
My hands had minds of their own. When I criss-crossed my fingers along his stomach, he jumped a little, breathing erratically now. Suddenly, my hands were all over his chest with increasing speed. He was moaning and swaying and I was caught in a frenzy I had never experienced before. My cock hardened.
I dropped my hands to those thighs I so admired, feeling the pockets of hard muscle there, delighting the sensation of touch. Ferocious my hands had become and my body was now pressed to his as I felt the satiny skin on his back. I kneaded his strong buttocks, his savory shoulders, and his chest again—I was out of control!
But then he pulled himself away from me. I almost pouted at being so cruelly removed from touching him.
“Latham. . .please. . .", I muttered.
He put his finger to his mouth for me to be quiet and smiled, boyishly. He was so cute!
He raised his arms in a spread eagle and looked up to the ceiling fan. The breeze flowed through the room, cooling things for a moment, including my erection. The steady draft only intensified his beauty, blowing his shirt open and shut, teasing my eyes. He looked like some kind of ancient god—a statue of Adonis-like worship. He continued to stare at the ceiling as if piercing through it. His legs were spread just a little while he held his outstretched pose.
Latham languidly lowered his arms to a horizontal position and, gradually, the winds gathered his shirt until they revealed his rounded shoulders that I had never really seen. And within a moment’s time, the shirt had slipped off his body and had whisked onto the floor.
He was an icon of radiance. The soft breeze tousled his short hair this way and that, then returning it. His massive chest heaving with his ardent breathing. He wasn’t smiling anymore. Latham had a look of determination that I could easily interpret.
I walked over to him the same way he walked to me. I was unbuttoning my shirt, his eyes glued to my curling fingers. His eyes swelled when he saw my chest and he longed to touch it.
I removed my shirt and let it fall to the floor. He stared at my chest, devouring with his eyes my belly, my nipples, my neck, until he was looking into my eyes. We were only a few inches apart now.
His eyes were piercing me. Such luscious lips and a sturdy face. I kissed him.
I lingered on his lips, drinking in his passion and fever until I forced his mouth open and explored it with my tongue. It seemed his soul wanted to yield to my mouth then, but had held back. Such wanting from this man. Such desire.
Slowly, I pulled back. He, this time, whimpered a little, longing for the heat between us to resume, just as I had. It was amusing and I smiled to myself. I caressed his upper arms tenderly, feeling the smooth flesh and solid muscle. Widened eyes gazed into my own. Leaning forward, I kissed his Adam’s apple.
Suddenly, I pushed him back towards the bed. He didn’t even flinch or look surprised. I advanced towards him again and pushed him until he fell back on the bed. He seemed to know it was coming. His eyes never left mine, though they appeared a little distant or, maybe, distracted. My hands found the bed on both sides of him and I moved towards him, slowly driving him back on the bed until his legs were off the floor.
I leisurely descended on top of him. A soft moan escaped his lips, as well as mine, as our bodies pressed together. His hard torso met mine, erections thudded against one another, and our sturdy legs balanced pressed hard together.
Rotating my pelvis on top of his, I felt his hands around my back, exploring their way up to my shoulders and back down again. He was a solid rock of gorgeous muscle and I was on top of him. I raised my head and gazed into his eyes. There was an imploring sense that passed between us that drove me even wilder. I dove onto his mouth, ravenously devouring his lips, his teeth, and his tongue. I kissed his cheeks, the little golden stubble just below his chin, and his throat. I tasted his masculinity as my pelvis was now out of control, swaying forcefully in a clockwise motion. Groans exploded out of both of us now, one after the other, as our love cravings reached a peak.
I slid to the side just a little to allow my curious hands to explore his erection. Oh, it was long. And very hard. I unfastened the snap on the khaki pants and rapidly pulled the zipper open. I looked at his face and his eyes had rolled back into his head momentarily, his mouth wide open, waiting for more of my lips. His cock bobbed out, truly one of the largest I had ever seen. I tugged at his hips and spanked his bottom just a little to get him to raise his hips. He understood and immediately responded.
Within a few seconds, I had his pants off and he was completely naked on the bed.
What a sight. There he was, my Latham, lying on the green comforter waiting for me. My passions made me swoon. I closed my eyes for a second and reopened them. I’m sure my eyes appeared glossy to him, absorbed in Latham’s beauty. Masculine beauty. It was an image to remember for a lifetime.
As I languidly bent down, eyes locked on his, I licked and tried to nibble on his firm thighs, which proved to be a torturous chore for my mouth. He wiggled now and then as I hit elusive erogenous zones on his body. Leg muscles flexed now and then.
I worked my way up to his scrotum and he froze in anticipation. I smelled the sour aroma of his virile body and relished in it, breathing haphazardly on his balls. Then I engulfed his sack.
He arched his back and twisted as his moans filled the room. I licked and swirled his balls in my mouth, filling my jaws and making them immediately ache. They were huge! I felt as if I was mouthing two paperweights. His hands found my head and guided it the way he wanted. And I was all too eager to oblige.
I lapped his skin above his testicles, nudging my way around his dark blonde pubic hair. Then I moved my way to the base of his cock and he lowered his pelvis, begging me to suck his erection. Playfully, I bit his circumcision scar and he winced just a little. And then I plunged onto his cock.
It consumed my entire mouth as I took all of it. His moans had now become completely vocal, panting and straining above the intense and slightly ticklish sensation. I went up and down on it in a feverish pitch, delighting in the struggle to keep it in my mouth. My jaws tired with the thickness, but I kept going. I developed a pattern to my sucking—I would engulf his cock down to his shaft, then tighten and relax at varying speeds, until I reached the tip where I swirled it with my tongue.
He was in a paroxysm of consuming pleasure, seemingly lost and only caring about my mouth. The bed creaked in time with Latham’s breaths. Up and down I went in that pattern, now tasting his salty juices trickling onto my tongue.
Want. Want. I wanted all of him. I wanted more of his juices. My mouth became a riot of nearly uncontrollable passion. The cock was so large, while my own cock was still imprisoned in my jeans.
“Stop! Stop!” he suddenly roared and pulled my head back. I looked up at him and he appeared frantic. He was panting and couldn’t seem to get enough breath. His face was blood red and his eyes turned soft and vulnerable. He obviously had stopped me to prevent his orgasm, clearly wanting more of me. I missed the taste of his cock.
I stood up and glared down at him, my intentions forged, my own lungs struggling to keep up with our ferocity. He was way too big for the bed as he used up nearly all of it simply by lying down. His hands were down at his side, head raised to meet my gaze. And then, in one of the most exciting, most exhilarating moments that day, he slowly raised his hands far above his head, and spread his thighs apart.
I want you, I thought savagely. I stared into his eyes, not letting them or him go. He never looked away as I dropped my pants, releasing my cock after all those long arduous minutes of imprisonment. Hours it seemed.
All of my being focused on this man, this stranger, this beautiful stranger who was lying on one of Grandfather’s beds, waiting for my cock. Latham. My Latham. And when his eyes finally left mine and dropped to my erection, I jumped on him again.
I squeezed my legs between his gargantuan thighs and rolled them up on my hips, past my sides, and up to my shoulders. His eyes were semi-closed, mouth half open. His outstretched hand pointed to the table where a glass, perfume jar sat. It was filled with a clear gelatinous cream. I reached over and grabbed the delicate vial. A sweet fragrance engulfed my senses when I opened the vial—cherry perhaps. But I never knew the scent and didn’t care. I was too determined to get inside this man and make love.
I scooped some cream out of the jar and dabbed a little on my cock. Then I slowly rubbed the cream all over the tip and down the shaft. Replacing the jar on the table, I almost couldn’t stand the sensation. But I couldn’t forget Latham.
I looked down again. Oh, the expression on his face was timeless. His whole soul poured into mine, longing for my body, hoping to finally dissipate our heat.
His eyes dropped to my cock. His breathing became even more staccato, if it were possible. And his eyes widened just a little. But I hooked his chin with my index finger and thumb, and patiently pushed his head up so his lustful gaze met my own. Slowly, but with predicted determination, I bent down to give him a kiss. And just before our lips and our tongues caressed and devoured each other, I suddenly entered him.
His body stiffened and his head rolled back on the bed. While he released a long, low groan, he grabbed the coverlet above his head very tensely. He was scrapingly tight, and I wanted to go in as far as I could and push the limits, taking him completely. But I had to be gentle...at first.
My rhythm was slow. I had to force myself to go slow. His lips were slightly apart and pursed. Oh, I wanted to kiss him so badly. But I was busy with his taut behind.
Soon, I had him bouncing back and forth on the bed, his head turning in quirky motions, eyes not really focusing on anything besides the pounding he was receiving in his backside.
He was a portrait of masculine beauty. He did nothing to stop his rocking back and forth on the bed. One arm was still lingering above his head. He had released the coverlet and clenched his fist, digging into the flesh of his reddened hand. His other hand wrapped tightly around his orphaned cock, jerking it with my motions.
Vaguely, I was aware that it was dusk and I had no recollection of time spent. The setting sun highlighted his golden hair and beautifully grimaced face perfectly. Volleys of stricken sounds erupted and descended out of his mouth. At one point, he nearly screamed under my incessant thrusts. I rammed harder, violently pushing his calves higher on my shoulders, his head shaking and throbbing on the bedspread, as if he had lost motor control.
I could feel it coming. In fact, even his jerking hand moved faster. I wanted to delay it, but the thought left my mind as soon as it had entered. He pushed his brawny legs against me suddenly and he went silent. I knew what was to come.
And then without warning, I pinnacled. But just before I let go, I peeked at him. Latham’s eyes were shut, concentrating on releasing his fluids. He had his orgasm just a few moments before I did. Shots of white semen sprayed across his abdomen, the tip of his cock, and his fingers. He was shaking a little, but still rocking from my thrusts. Then I came.
I released into him, pulling the backs of his knees to my chest, feeling more of his secret parts against my body. It seemed to go on and on. I had to focus some of my conscious attention on my knees so I wouldn’t fall off. I didn’t want to let go of him.
Still inside of him, I realized I was facing the ceiling. I opened my eyes.
Gradually, I became aware that the ceiling fan was cooling my face and my convulsive body. I lowered my head. Latham was still lying on the bed, his legs on my chest, feet dangling beside my neck. He appeared drunk, his gray eyes, though, never losing their luster. My hands were around his shins and I squeezed them to tell him I was pulling out. He nodded and laid very still. Slowly, I removed my cock, gasps evading our lips.
I moved over and guided his legs back down to the bed. Diligently, I laid down beside him, feeling his breath and his heat still somewhat dormant in him. We looked at each other and kissed for a while.
Before that day, little had I ever desired someone so intensely. Usually, someone else wanted to taste my cock, or to be entered by me just to fulfill his or her needs. But as I pondered these thoughts over in my mind, I realized that no one, absolutely no one, had ever pleased me like Latham. And I had hoped I pleased him as well.
I looked over at him. Latham was drowsily staring at the ceiling, lost in thoughts. He suddenly turned his head and smiled at me.
“Passion is engrossing, isn’t it?” he asked. His ivory white teeth flashed despite the near set sun. His face beamed still though.
“Yes, it is.” I said and playfully kissed the tip of his nose as if I had just found a new friend.
He grinned and chuckled a little. Then he turned his attention back to the ceiling, now faintly smiling.
“And dangerous.” he softly added.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing. Go to sleep.”
And I did. But just before I fell asleep, I saw out of the corner of my eye that he was pulling up the green coverlet. It was very dark now. I had no idea what time it was. I wasn’t hungry or anxious or full of questions or even confused. I was only slipping into welcomed unconsciousness, remembering recent passions with Latham, who was beside me. And that was very comforting.