Tuesday 10.00pm
Max sat on the edge of the bed and reached down to open the bottom drawer of his bedside cabinet. He pulled out an old, stained T-shirt, letting a faint odour of stale cum waft across the room. He lay back on the clean, satin sheets and reached for the switch on the bedside lamp, pausing for a few minutes to look at the photo of Juan which was sitting on top of the cabinet, imprinting the image of his face into his brain. He switched off the light and lay back, letting his head sink into the pillow, forcing to himself relax.
He used his right hand to check the cumrag was by his thigh and then reached under the pillow alongside him on the double bed, pulling out a soft, cotton T-shirt – the kind labelled ‘loungewear’ by advertising executives who feel pyjamas are too old-fashioned. He lifted it to his nose and inhaled deeply, drawing from it what remained of Juan’s scent. It was almost imperceptible now: a hint of expensive deodorant and just a touch of earthy, musky sweat.
Max felt himself harden, his short, thick cock rise and his foreskin slide back over his angry, red glands, throbbing but hidden in the dark. He imaged Juan’s face hovering over his, as though leaning over him from behind. With his left hand, he dragged the shirt down his face as he pictured Juan moving down his body, his nightwear brushing over his cheek and chin. He continued sliding it down, over the carefully trimmed hairs of his broad chest, across his firm abs and then, only then, he allowed himself to touch the tip of his penis, dabbing it with his finger as he imagined Juan’s tongue teasing him, flicking over and around the most sensitive parts of his head.
He spat in the palm of his right hand before half-covering his face in the shirt again, holding it tight against his skin so that he could breathe in his lover’s smell with every breath. With his moistened hand he slowly encircled the top of his cock, just as Juan used to tease him with his mouth, slowly lowering his lips over and down, enveloping Max’s cock until it was buried completely in his mouth. Moistened with saliva, Max was able to mimic with his hand the smooth gliding of Juan’s lips up and down, using his index finger to run over the top of the head as if it were Juan’s tongue.
Soon Max felt the skin of his balls tighten as they were drawn up towards his body. His chest tensed hard and he drew his feet a few centimetres towards his body, lifting his knees and arching his back. His stomach contracted twice before the muscles of his pelvis contracted, squeezing heavy, thick semen up through his penis and out onto the fist which gripped it tightly – globules of spunk which seeped out over his fingers like rivers of lava down a mountainside. Max gave only the faintest of sounds as he came: low, animalistic grunts muffled by the shirt still clasped tightly across his nose and mouth.
Once his convulsions had subsided and he felt his penis begin to shrink in his hand, he removed the T-shirt and lifted his right hand to his face. He brushed his lips with a cum-soaked finger, relishing the saltiness, his tongue running along the edge of his mouth in search of more. In the darkness, as he licked his hand clean, Max could almost believe Juan was there, kissing him with a cum-filled mouth, letting the nectar flow down his tongue onto his own. Juan would always take charge in bed, instinctively knowing what Max needed. It had made him feel loved and safe and desired.
He tucked Juan’s T-shirt back under the pillow and used the cumrag to mop up the mess from around his cock. Dropping the cloth back into the drawer, he climbed under the duvet and lay there in the dark, listening to the hum of traffic on the main road outside his flat, drifting at last into sleep. |
