James and Owen Fuck it Out
I have a feeling Sam has been telling you some stories about Owen and I. Or at least I assume he has. And he's not wrong about what's going on and I don't mind that he told you. Sam and I have this thing. I mean, you might not imagine that I could be friends with someone like Sam. He's such a guy in some ways, but we understand each other and trust each other. We have been friends since the ninth grade when we washed up at our high school in Ottawa, a bit lost. He wasn't so confident back then. Things with his parents were terrible and Sam seemed kind of dazed all the time.
Owen was in the twelfth grade at that point, and it might not seem like such a big difference, but it was. Owen was kind of amazing. You could tell he watched out for Sam: protected him and encouraged him and shielded him from the crap his parents were wading through at the time. I think I more or less fell for Owen as soon as I met him. But, falling for someone is very different than actually being with them isn't it?
And I was young and just learning that I could have power over men – at least sexually. It was fun, really. I found all the guys in school who were into guys – and a few that I convinced wanted to try it out, and even a few who really were straight but somehow succumbed to my charms for an hour – or a few minutes.
When we were in grade twelve I was spending a lot of time at their house. Their parents had started to get their shit together and were acting like humans again, so the house was relatively relaxed. Owen was in the middle of his undergrad in K and we didn't see him much. But one spring break Owen came home and he and I. Well, I guess the romance novelists might say some sparks flew. My thing for him had never faded, but when I realized he was looking at me – I mean really looking – well. You can imagine. We fucked like...well, bunnies.
So, yeah, we had a 'thing' as Sam might say. It lasted a while, but when I got to K and Owen moved to Toronto, we had a bunch of fights. About what the hell we were doing, and why. And we fought about monogamy. Oh, well, that was the thing. I mean really. Monogamy is wrong for so many reasons. Not least of which is it represents a heteronormative position that is no longer tenable. Don't get me started. But Owen wasn't into it and it made him fucking angry that I was. So we called it off. So enough of the past. Do I sound just a teensy bit cranky?
--
Owen came back from their Perth place after Christmas and he called me. We hadn't talked for a while. The occasional text, that was about it. I think Sam assumes there's been radio silence since we broke up, but that's not completely true. But I didn't tell him because I wasn't sure what I thought about it.
“James. Merry Christmas.”
I remember my mind kind of stopped for a moment. It did every time we talked. That says something, doesn't it? “Owen. You, too.”
“I just came back from Perth and left the boys behind...and wow. I think Sam finally woke the fuck up. They totally spilled their hearts and, to be blunt, their cocks with them. I think they're a thing now. Isn't that cool?”
I had to laugh. “You're such a romantic...but it is pretty sweet. So I guess you and Mark didn't click?”
I could tell he was squirming a bit, which I was pleased to know. “No. It was awesome, but I could tell I was just a...distraction, I wasn't the real deal. He's way more complicated than we know. And you...I hear you also got together with him.”
I laughed. “Maybe we were priming his pumps or something.”
“Something like that.”
I was struck by the tone of his voice. “You had a bit a crush, didn't you?”
“You know me too well, James. A little. I think it was a response to how Fuck-head treated me.”
Fuck-head indeed. His name didn't deserve to be repeated. I knew him as well and we had a few nights of fun last spring, but he's kind of like Kyle – remember him? - and he lurks in the idiotic range of things.
But there was something in Owen's voice that I kept hearing just under the surface and it was irritating me. “So Owen, we haven't talked this way in ages. What's going on?”
I could hear him thinking. “Do you want to go to La Vertigini and get some dinner?”
The Italian place was a bit of a staple in our crowd. I sighed. What was I getting myself into now? “Sure, Owen. Seven?”
--
He was sitting at a table in the corner, which was unusual since all of us normally sat in the window. I don't know why that struck me, but I guess I was feeling sensitive. He stood up and gave me a hug and I realized I hadn't touched him in almost a year. Now that was a trip. I tried not to notice how nice it felt.
We sat and ordered wine, and some food, talking of the usual things ex lovers talk about and in a familiar way: kind of tense, kind of defensive, kind of curious. He had a nice layer of scruff on his jaw that was distractingly hot. Damn it, I thought, get your mind off how much you want to fuck him. I had to get control of this situation. “So what's the deal, Owen?”
He sipped his wine. I knew he was immune to my provocations and confrontations, but I had to do it, right? He calmly said, “There's no deal. I just miss you. You know seeing Sam and Mark fumble around each other made me sad, truth to tell. I mean who knows what's going to happen with those two, but I miss that feeling of...possibility.”
And I could see in his face that he was fighting tears. What is with the Martineau boys (that's their last name. I bet Sam never mentioned that, either). They can be so fucking vulnerable it makes me a little crazy. Maybe because I can't do it myself very well, right? Don't mock me with pseudo-psychoanalysis.
Anyway...I guess my point is – and I hate to say it – I felt the same way.
I looked at him a moment and I was reminded that his vulnerability always made me so fucking horny. I reached across the table and before I could stop myself, I said, “I know, Owen. Me, too. I mean, I miss...well, you. I even miss fighting with you.” I stopped, a little amazed at myself. Where had that come from?
Owen smiled at me, still fighting tears. “I want to kiss you so bad.” Oh, here we go. Owen about to launch into a romantic fantasy. But he kept talking. “And I know what you're thinking. I'm not just indulging myself here. Because I also know that if I kissed you, if we went to my hotel and fucked, it would be amazing and all, but we would be right where we were last spring.”
This boy had been doing some serious reflecting. I wondered if he had been in therapy or something. But I said, “You're right. Would there be any point?”
But I said it while handing my credit card to our nice waiter. We sat there, not talking. I got the receipt and stood, putting my coat on. I finally said, “Well?”
He stood up, looking confused. “Are you at the usual hotel?”
There was a little smile at the corners of his mouth. “Yes. You want to come with?”
“Oh, really? What a novel idea. Maybe just for a moment.”
So we went to his room. And the moment we got in the door we just went to the place we always go. He took my face in his hands and our mouths met, soft kisses, then intense ones, tongue-filled and sloppy, chaste and slow, all the while grinding our groins together. I had my hands on his ass, massaging and squeezing. I had missed that ass so much. All meaty and firm. God damn it.
He pushed us across the room to the wall, reaching around and unzipping my fly and peeling me out of my pants. He ran his hand up and down my crack, knowing that I love it, then I heard him hauling his own pants down. He bit my ear and said, “I'm going to fuck you into tomorrow, James.”
First I felt him drop to his knees and then his tongue started to explore, licking up between my cheeks once, then again, each time a little harder, his tongue pushing a little more forcefully each time until it slid into me, burrowing in my hole, spitting and exploring. Then his fingers went to work, sliding in and stretching me, spreading his spit everywhere. He stood and started to fuck between my cheeks, just like his finger, harder and harder until the end of his prick caught and slid in and he pushed. It slid all the way in and he put his arms around my torso and went.
I always loved Owen's take-no-prisoners way of fucking, but this was something. I felt there was a kind of punishment in it mixed with out-and-out lust. But I also had the thought, as he fucked me harder and gripped me even tighter, that he was trying to prove something to me. To show me what I had missed. And I did, I did miss this. He bit my shoulder as he thrust and I started to fuck backward, meeting him every time he blasted himself into me.
I took my own cock in my hand and started a slow, tight jerk of my own. This was more primal than we had ever been and I wondered why now, why did this fucking intensity show up now? He was moving even faster and I could see the finish line – for him and for me – and then, with an eruption that took my totally by surprise, I came all over the wall in big syrupy blasts.
“Did you just spray the wall with cum?”
His voice was harsh and I could tell he was trying not to cum. “Yeah I did. You want to lick it off?” I'm a bastard, right?
But he bit my shoulder and then he grabbed my hips and I felt him let loose, jamming me into the wall with a few big, full-body fucks before he stopped and gasped into my neck. I could feel his sweat running from his face onto my back. I could feel a little trickle of cum running down my leg. I felt calm and I turned around and got on my knees and sucked him for a while, until he pulled me up and we kissed in a way that was the opposite of how we just fucked: gently and softly.
I took his hand and we walked over to the bed and almost fell on it. He wrapped his arm around me and lay his face on my sweaty chest. He said, “We're fucking good at that, aren't we?”
I chuckled and said, “We certainly are. It's too bad we're not so good at the rest.”
He lifted his head and looked at me critically. “Come on, that's not true. The only issue, as far as I can see, is the whole monogamy thing.”
I had to admit that he was right and I said so.
He ran his hand over my chest and down to my belly, circling his finger in my navel. “I've been thinking about that...I mean I've been trying to figure out if there's a compromise...or if that scares you...then a way that I would be fine with...”
“Compromises don't scare me...”
“James. Really?”
“All right, fine. I'm not good at accepting them. It's not a crime.”
He laughed into my chest and licked some sweat that had gathered under one of my nipples. Then he said, “What I was thinking was what if we have a bunch of threeways. That would totally turn me on and – before you jump in with a lecture – we could come to some sort of agreement on you doing you own thing. Like once of twice a month or something? I think if we do the stuff together, then I think I'm fine with you getting together with guys on your own. Just not all the time, and not instead of what you and I do. And part of that would have to be just the two of us on our own.”
I could tell he had been thinking about this for a while because he had said a ton. But I also felt that familiar anger just rush up and hit me in the stomach. Fuck. I just wanted to tell him to stop fucking controlling me. That's what I wanted. But I knew how adolescent that was, how unreasonable. I knew that adults needed to make fucking compromises, but I hated it.
There's a story there of course from my childhood. Isn't it always about childhood? But I'll tell you about that another time. Suffice it to say that my therapist pretty much said something like what Owen just said. Yeah. Get back in your chair. I have a therapist. Big deal. Try it some time and you'll see how fucking hard it is to look at yourself in the mirror and really see who's there. And Owen knows all about it, so don't think it's some kind of secret.
But I could at least hedge a bit, couldn't I? A gentleman has to keep some of the control. “Ok, Owen. That actually sounds reasonable, but give me some time to think it through. Maybe I'll have a counteroffer.”
Owen licked my neck and then kissed me really softly. “You saying that...well I've been wanting to hear something like that for a long fucking time. So thanks for thinking about it and taking it seriously.”
I took a deep breath because, well, you know. Vulnerability and all. It scares me and pisses me off that the same time. But I put my arms around his shoulders and drifted off to sleep.
--
You know how I always want to stay on top? Well, I generally like to get fucked and especially by Owen, but there are times – and this was one of them – when I want to plough his ass. The morning came quickly, it seemed, and there was dim light in the hotel room. Owen was lying beside me and what was I supposed to do? His ass, his beautiful muscular ass, was just there. All white and firm and smooth. And the conversation the night before – however necessary and good – left me feeling that I wanted some control back. And I knew Owen likes to be fucked silly as much as he likes to give it, so I decided the time was right.
I pulled closer to him and started licking those beautiful muscles, so taut and strong. Licking his smooth skin, kissing the little divot where his back started, tonguing my way down his crack and, finding that amazing, delicate place, I wriggled my tongue right into him. I loved his warmth and his solidity. I love the guy, who am I trying to kid? I just have a lot of trouble actually saying it and this stupid issue between us didn't help.
He started to moan as I dug deeper into him, and I pulled his cheeks apart so I could get even deeper. He started to hump the bed, so I knew whatever I was doing was working. I felt him turn over and he fed me his cock, pushing my head down on it and humping into my mouth a few times. I pulled off him and said, “Owen...”
“You want to fuck me?”
How does he guess these things every fucking time? It's hard to surprise a guy like him. I like surprises. Why can't he indulge me?”
“Yes, I really want to fuck you. Can I?”
He laughed. “Of course you can...I love it when you fuck me.”
He had never said that before in all the years we've know each other. That was something. I wasn't the only one keeping things to myself. Enough. I needed to fuck, so I took charge.
“Suck me off first.” And I slid up over his chest and fed my cock into his mouth – his willing mouth, I might add. He moaned and I could feel him jacking his cock behind me. I leaned forward and pushed harder, watching my length disappear into his mouth and I started fucking his face. This is the feeling I wanted, this elemental distillation down to just my cock and his mouth. I watched spit leak out of the corner of his lips and he coughed a couple of times when I hit the back of his throat. But I knew he liked it, because he's told me a bunch of times.
When I was ready, I slid out of him and said, “Turn the fuck over. I want you from behind, on your face.”
Where was this boy coming from? I was almost amazed at myself. Sure I have played the role of a dom a few times, but this felt real. This is what I wanted. I wanted him to submit to me. I wanted his face in the bed and my cock deep inside him as I plowed...so I got on top of him and worked my slimy cock into him, feeling his ass envelop me, hold me and that is the paradox of the top because without the safety of being contained there is no ground from which to fly, to let go, to take over. People are weird, aren't they?
Nevertheless, my cock went deep in him, into his warmth. I stopped, savouring it, and I nibbled the back of his neck, and I said into his ear, “I'm going to take you Owen, and you're going to like it. And when I'm ready, I'm going to facefuck you until you choke.”
He moaned into the bed and he started to actually fuck the bed, so I took this as a sign to get going. I adjusted my body, then pushed up so my torso was above him and I was supporting myself on my arms. I shifted my hips a few times, angling my cock into his ass, in a bit deeper and at a better angle for a good fuck. Without warning, I just started. I hauled my hips back then drove them forward. I watched my cock slide into him, then out again, over and over, and I began to feel some kind of sexual trance take me over.
Every time I fucked forward, Owen made a little sound, like he was climbing a steep hill and he had started alternating his own thrusts into the bed with mine into him. His face was turned to one side and I watched his face get red. I had a sudden thought because I wanted to turn the volume up even more. I said, “I wish you were sucking some guy off while I did this. I want to see you take it from both ends, I want to see you gag on some guy while I fuck you.”
Owen looked up at me, a big smile on his face. “Yeah? What if he started to fuck you while you fucked me?”
Now that was interesting. I had only done that once before and I was really into the idea of doing it with someone I loved...there, I said it. No biggie. I can do this, I thought while I thrust a bit harder into him, I can totally do this. I get to have both worlds, right? It's logical. I don't have to compromise my principles in order to let myself love Owen, right? I'm pretty sure I don't.
“Well, I would fuck you all the harder, Owen. Then while he continued to fuck me, I would choke you with my cock and give you a mouthful of spunk. All of it.”
He grinned again, but I could tell he was excited by the thought because his breathing was getting rough. Who was I kidding, so was mine. I decided to be true to my word. I stopped and slid my cock out of him and it was slimy and angry looking. I moved up to his face and rubbed it over his forehead, wiping the wet head of my cock on his lips and then I pushed into him. Just in time, because almost as soon as I did that I could feel things in me just let go.
I choked and held his head still with my hands and gave him three really deep fucks in his mouth, spewing cum deep in his throat. Right away I pulled out because my nerves were completely overwhelmed and lay back on the pillows, my eyes shut, waiting for the pulsing in my body to slow.
Owen sat up. He had cum around his mouth. He sat beside me, equally spent because he had cum as well and the bed was a mess of stickiness where he had been lying.
With a kind of logic that only Owen can find, he pulled the bedspread up and around us, and he wrapped his arms around my torso and settled in behind me, his semi hard cock tucking itself right where I wanted it. It's that paradox again, isn't it? I can be a crazed sex-fiend with him because I know he will contain me, hold me, soothe me. The two go hand-in-hand. For all my aggressive moves, he counters with calm...well, love. Of course I fell for him all those years ago. That has never changed. And maybe – fuck, maybe – we have finally found a way forward together. Wouldn't that be something?
