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Full Hunter’s Moon
by Alexander Renault |
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I had only been
working for the company for just under one year when I informed
that it would be required that I attend a big business meeting in
Kentucky. Why Kentucky? I have no idea. I was living in Maine
and my regional supervisor and I had to fly down. It was October
10th. I can always recall the exact date. It was the annual Full
Hunter’s Moon.
Larry was a nice man, twice married, and I admit I was attracted
to his clean image, the opposite of much of my experiences both in
my personal life and business career (if you could call what I do
"a career").
He was a little sensitive about turning fifty a few months before
the excursion and you could tell he was careful with his
appearance. For an older fellow, he stayed in decent shape
although he was basically tall and lean. His hair was thinning
but he kept it trim to his scalp. He had a beautiful smile but I
also notice he had a nice butt, too. I caught got staring at it
once. How embarrassing.
It was just a few drinks at the bar and we sat at a side table.
It was strange seeing Larry laid back and without a tie. With his
sleeves rolled up, I was pleasantly surprise by thick brown hair
on his arms--his hands were not hairy at all. His left hand
looked like an advertisement for a man’s wedding band.
We discussed our lives, work, the frustrations of the daily
struggle of living. I think Larry was tired. He raised four
children who were all in college and the financial pressure must
have been deadening.
"Don’t ever have kids," he told me, laughing, the creases of his
kind eyes surrounding the slight watery glaze of his eyes. He was
getting tipsy.
"I don’t ever plan to," I replied with a cocked eyebrow.
Larry took another swig of his Manhattan and looked down at the
table, uncomfortably.
"You know those rumors," I said with a muffled giggle.
"Don’t listen to other people. They’re stupid."
While speaking about his family pressures, Larry seemed somehow
anxious. I asked how things were going at home.
"Oh, fine."
"You make a poor liar, Lare."
Larry loved his wife, he told me with a guilty expression, but she
was "religious." I asked if that meant she was not letting him
make love to her on a regular basis.
"Oh, our sex life’s fine."
"But something’s missing, apparently," I said, as I sipped my
drink, trying to rinse down the lump in my throat.
"This is really personal. You’re too young to understand."
Granted, I was 24-years-old at the time and had not experienced
life in the same way he had. Then it hit me.
"She won’t go down on you, will she?"
He flushed red in his face, the blush traveling down his neck to
the v-shape of his unbuttoned collar. I loved the way the gray
hairs of his upper chest mixed with the brown. He was beautiful.
"I don’t know," he said. After adjusting his wristwatch, he
continued, "When you get old maybe you start wanting too much."
"It’s not much to ask," I added nonchalantly. For a second I was
afraid he was going to bolt from the table and flee to his room.
God, that would have been awful. Sometimes I just push too hard
with people. I was feeling juiced from the alcohol and got
stupid, as I thought, Fuck it.
"You know, Lare, I could help you out with that. One time only,
no questions asked, nothing required, a dead issue by tomorrow.
One guy helping out another. It’s no big deal, I’ll leave you
alone and go right now if you want me to."
His knocked back the last sip of his drink, swallowed hard, and
looked freaked out. For a moment I thought he might begin to
cry. Great, the guy feel down and you crush his spirit, grind it
under you perverted heel. I decided to end the exchange quickly.
"Larry, I’m sorry. I’m tired, I’ve had a little bit to drink, and
I need to go to bed."
He looked at me with a flash of disappointment as I spoke, so I
added my final disclaimer to our dual in the arena.
"I’m going to bed so I’ll see you in the morning. It’s going to
be a long, dreadful meeting tomorrow so rest up, and we’ll forget
this entire conversation ever happened. I really am sorry, Lare,
I didn’t mean to impose or harm you in any way. If you need to
talk I’ll be up for about another thirty or forty minutes if you
wan to call my room. Have a good sleep, bucko."
I have expected the telephone to ring shortly after I returned to
my room, and as time slipped away I stripped to my underwear and
crawled into bed with my book. As my novel was dipping down
towards my chest, I was startled by a gentle triple tap at my
door. By the time I opened it, my cock was almost fully erect. I
opened the door a crack, leaving the security chain in place.
There is no telling who could be lurking at such an hour in a
hotel, at two o’clock in the morning.
It still surprises me that now words were exchanged at all.
Larry’s eyes were glassy and I could tell he had knocked back an
extra Manhattan between the time I left and his knock at my door.
I quickly closed the door, unzipped the chain, and he entered my
room.
He was staring at the ground throughout his visit, and his eyes
never greeted mine, even from the door. Larry just walked in
slowly, turned, and sat down on the edge of the bed. To spare him
pain, I turned off the light and he sat in pitch blackness. I
could only see a faint outline of his silhouette from the tiny red
light of the alarm clock.
Like taking apart a ticking bomb, I unbuttoned his shirt, oh, so
slowly. His neck was like china between my hands, a warm smooth I
imagined as a whiteness while we sat in the dark.
He made a sound when I opened my mouth upon his neck and I could
not tell its matrix. I kissed down, down and easily found his
nipple in the dark by its hardness. The coarse chest hair I
swirling in my mouth, moving to the other nipple. This time I bit
down, a moderate assault, and Larry moaned. I knew that follow
through was inevitable. My mouth continued to water as I became
hungry for his cock, the bone of a real live older guy, my
ultimate fantasy come to life.
As I unbuckled his belt, he leaned back on the bed and grabbed at
his zipper and latch. I could feel his cotton briefs (of course,
the all-American man’s underwear of choice, with absolutely no
homoerotic undertones when he looks at himself in the mirror), and
the hardness of his boner. It popped out easily and before we
knew what was happening, his cock was pressed against the back of
my throat.
Larry gasped, loudly, and I was surprised by his candid sound. I
sucked him like starving animal, moaning and humming, adding more
vibration to the act we were sharing. He was fairly intoxicated
by that time and I was relieved because I wanted to enjoy this hot
prick for a few minutes, at least.
Then it seemed to end as quickly as it had began. As his upward
thrusting became more urgent, I was filled with a desire to give
him the best orgasm possible. I wanted to swallow his pain, his
frustration, his feelings of growing old and worn.
My right hand worked his heavy balls and I began making noises
behind my closed, sucking lips and tongue. I could feel his
initial spasm, a tiny explosion of his cockhead at the back of my
throat, the salty, musky semen dripping down the back of my
throat, threatening to make me cough. He gasped aloud and I was
pleased with myself by the enormity of the sound, his obvious
slippage over the edge of our heat. I swallowed hungrily to
prevent any choking.
Seven, eight, nine . . . I have never had a man come in my mouth
that hard, the contractions of his prostate, the tube shooting
his semen down my throat like fireworks, over and over again as he
thrust his hips violently against my greedy face.
Then silence.
I do not recall how long he lay there on the edge of my bed, nor
how I had missed some of his sperm, sticky against my check as I
rested my face softly against his flat, hairy stomach. That is
right--he was a running. At fifty, you had to be a running to
maintain a 30-inch waist. I silently scolded myself for being so
shallow, though his firm body did please me immensely. At that
particular time I could not fight Mother Nature.
Larry sat up, zipped up, and sat for two or three minutes as I sat
on the floor, both of us in the darkness. Then he left without a
word.
It was as though nothing happened. We remained friendly, although
there was some new inescapable barrier, but it was worth it. To
help this man in such a way was meaningful to me, if not to him,
and I was glad to tend to him. |
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