Descent / Ascent free porn video

DESCENT/ASCENT By Katharine Sexkitten Sometimes, when we think we're in a downward spiral in life, it can turn out to be just the first steps in an amazing rise. What seems like the path leading to the pits of hell can turn out to be the stairway to heaven. Sometimes, descent is ascent. I grew up in a military household, for the first ten years of my life, and my parents taught us to respect authority, and people in uniform, and the people around us who served others. Cops and firefighters and doctors and nurses. I've always followed that. The words 'Sir' and 'Ma'am' were a huge part of my vocabulary. My Dad used to talk about something called "command presence". Certain people who had it radiated authority, in their every word and every movement. He'd met more than a few in service. Some of them, he admitted, were complete assholes. But some of them were, in his words, "people who you were glad to risk your life for, because you knew they'd gladly risk their lives for you." I had one teacher in high school who had that kind of demeanour about him. Mr. Jackson. A short slight man with a thick full beard as black as coal who could make you feel like the best student in the world with a comment or a stare, or who could equally make you look like an idiot when you goofed up. And a man who did not suffer fools at all. Try to baffle him with bullshit? You'd lose every time. And I always enjoyed his classes. I considered him my favorite teacher. After graduating, I had a boss for a few years who reeked of it. Except he fell on the asshole side of the deal. But I understood what my Dad was talking about. This jerk could command the room, any room, hell, every room, just by walking in the door. He didn't have an intimidating size, or look, or voice. But he would immediately be in charge, taking over everything in an instant. Command presence. It wasn't talked about openly, but most of us understood that the company hadn't been doing well for a few years, and there'd been occasional lay-offs here and there for close to a year. Then the pandemic hit. The owners decided to cut all their losses in one fell swoop, and all of us got our papers. Perhaps the only saving grace was that the asshole got laid off too. I had few savings in the bank, and my severance package was modestly average, so I did okay for only a couple of months. Then the balance in my account started to get lower than I'd like, and with everything being crazy in the world I just couldn't see much good in my future. Every day I'd earnestly toil, though sometimes only for about an hour or so, scanning the local postings for job opportunities, or contacting corporate head-hunters. Sometimes I'd apply for positions. The rest of my days were spent chilling. Listening to tunes. Playing video games. Smoking more weed than I normally did. Surfing porn. DESCENT/ASCENT Nothing too serious, at first, but then more and more. The only time I was going outside was for groceries, not wanting to risk getting the Covid, so most of my days were spent naked, playing with myself. Practicing social distancing, just like the health pros recommended. But more time online meant more weed, and more masturbation. Every day. All day, sometimes. It became a cycle. I didn't see any harm in it, to be honest. I began spending practically all of my time masturbating, slowly stroking myself for longer and longer periods of time, hours and hours of reading stories and watching vids and lurking in chat rooms. At first I fell in love with lesbian porn. The softness and gentleness and beauty of the actresses, or amateurs, hit a nerve in me that could keep me for hours. And I discovered that non-stop edging like that would make me produce streams of the most amazing clear liquid ever known to mankind. Pre-cum would bubble out of me. I'd let it flow out, over my cockhead and rolled up foreskin, all over my hand, and down to my testicles, sometimes even sliding down to my ass, deliciously crawling into my hole down there, depending on the way I was sitting or lying at the time. DESCENT/ASCENT. One day, out of the blue, my hand was wet with my own juices, and because I'd read about it in stories and often wondered, I let go of my dink and licked my thumb and fingers. I slurped up every drop I could get. I didn't let any inhibitions get in my way. I just went for it. In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say. The two women on my computer screen were softly kissing and fingering each other, one portraying a hot MILF and one her newly-married but lonely next-door neighbor whose husband worked too much and was now just discovering her same-sex desires. A typical plotline, I know. But it flashed in my head, nonetheless. SAME-SEX DESIRES. At the exact same moment I was swallowing the slick salty sticky liquid off my hand. I never could have predicted it, but in a heartbeat my entire consciousness went there. SAME-SEX DESIRES. DESCENT/ASCENT I wondered if pre-cum would taste as delicious if it was from another man. If it would tantalize me as much if I was licking it up not from my own hand, but from a hard, pulsing cock. Would it taste as good coming fresh off of a stranger's dick, throbbing in my hand? Or... I pushed it all away. NO! I'm not gay! I mean, I don't have a single solitary bad feeling about gays, and honestly don't care if anyone is gay or not. But that's the way society is, you know? You grow up, and all the bullshit is there. So many young men, probably fearful of their own feelings and never admitting it, going in the other direction, and all their bravado talk, their threats of violence, and me not being the biggest kid there ever was, or the most physical, worried all the time about being called a "fag" or a "homo", which we all know is hurled in a derogatory way. And it shouldn't be. My folks raised us to respect everybody. But truth is truth. It must be hard to be gay, with the ridicule and hatred some people have. Better to not be open about it, I thought. If you're going to do it. Better for them, I thought. For them. Not for me. I didn't have to worry about it. I was straight. Eventually, through a friend of a friend, I heard about a company that was hiring people. Not anything I'd ever been trained for, or had experience in, but at least I had an in. And they were paying twenty bucks an hour, cash. It was a restoration company. They were the people insurance companies called to fix up after fires, or floods, or calamity. Or when rich people wanted new d?cor, or a reno-viction on their rental properties. The manager was hoping I'd be a bigger guy, because he really needed men for the moving division. And I wasn't a trades guy, so I couldn't do any of the carpentry or electrical or painting stuff. For a few minutes I worried that my 'in' was useless. But the guy looked at me and said that they did need extra help in the packing division. I didn't know what that was. He explained. "We go in to the house, or apartment, or condo, or whatever, and we take pictures of where everything is, right down to the art on the walls and the books on the shelves and the crap in the drawers, and then we pack it all up in boxes, professionally, so each item will survive being handled multiple times by dumb movers, who then come in the next day and take it all away to a warehouse somewhere. After all the restoration work is done, the movers move it all back in, and then we go in and unpack it. We put everything back exactly the way it was." All the other packers were women. But the job was mine, if I wanted it. I didn't want it. But I took it. It wasn't full-time. Some days were only a few hours, depending on how much stuff there was to pack. Some jobs were lots of us together, big mansions with tons of stuff, and we'd spend all day (or sometimes days) wrapping stuff in paper and putting them in boxes. Some days it was just a couple of people, in normal-sized houses, or condos. Occasionally it was just one of us. Tiny jobs. Not much to worry about. My first day I watched a couple of old gals who had been doing it forever, and saw how they did it. Plenty of paper, lots of stuffing in the boxes, tape it shut. I learned on the job. Kitchens are the worst. People usually have way more dishes than they need. Offices can suck, and libraries too. Some people liked to pack up their own clothes, and some didn't care. Hanging clothes went in big boxes with rods in them, called wardrobes. Everything else went into normal boxes. On my third day, I was in an upper middle class house with two other workers, where a pipe had burst in the master bathroom. They were moving out for a few weeks. The homeowner was a nice older lady, who was a little frazzled by the whole thing, and more or less kept out of our way. We all started downstairs, and then when I'd finished packing the family room I went upstairs and started packing the master bedroom. She had the clothes she was taking with her in suitcases, so everything else was mine. I was in her walk-in closet, pulling out drawer after drawer of every kind of garment a woman can own, and wrapping them and packing them. Blouses, skirts, sweaters, leggings, belts, shoes, and lingerie. Lots of lingerie. DESCENT/ASCENT A last minute check and I saw two particular pairs of panties in one drawer, way at the back, that I'd missed the first time, but I'd already taped up the box I was working on, so I reached in and pulled them out and then I held them in my hands. They were soft. And silky. They were both cream-colored, with chocolate-brown tiger stripes here and there across the front panel and back, but one was much more brown than cream. Both of them were tied up with chocolate brown strings, that would go across the hips, already done up, with a little bow. They were barely-there kind of panties. They were the absolute sexiest thing I'd ever seen. Or smelled. I couldn't help it. I raised them to my face, and sniffed in her odor. My heart wanted to beat out of my chest. This was the third day in a row I couldn't spend masturbating the entire day, and I already felt like I was going crazy. Now, with these panties in my left hand, my right hand automatically moved to my pants, and I started rubbing my erection right there and then. I heard a noise from downstairs, which startled me, and immediately frightened me, realizing that anyone could walk in the room and see me fondling the homeowners' panties while also caressing my own penis. I shoved the panties in my pants pocket. Next to my keys. When I got home later that afternoon, I was a zombie. For the entirety of the rest of the day, I went about packing things without concentrating at all, because all I could actually focus my mind on was how much I wanted to masturbate, more than anything in the world, and how much I wanted to wear her panties while I did it. I was naked in a matter of seconds after closing the front door, and sliding the darker of the two panties up my legs, audibly moaning as the fabric touched my skin, the softness of it startling me, my moan getting louder as I settled the wispy-thin fabric around my testicles, nestling in the coolness and sleekness. As soon as my computer booted up, I was stroking and caressing myself, looking for whatever porn I could find that truly made the moment outstanding. My brain just automatically decided I needed to change up from my usual fare. I needed something 'out there', to match my day. Something new and exotic and daring and previously-unimaginable. I searched on 'men wearing panties'. I got thousands of hits. The first site I went to, the first page itself with some text and some images of men wearing not just panties but other kinds of lingerie as well, was so cataclysmically consciousness-shifting that it made me cum in my new stolen panties. Like a dormant volcano, sleeping, making no signs of life, to instant spewing blasting eruption, I just began moaning and pulsing out gobs of the whitest creamiest cum I'd ever made. There wasn't much fabric to the panties, and they were instantly wetter than wet, stickier than sticky, as was my entire lower tummy and groin and upper/inner thighs. And after I regained something akin to normal breathing, I felt it. That itching, ticking sensation on your skin, as cum starts drying. Like a billion million tiny little feelers, shrinking and jerking and teasing and tantalizing you. OH NO! I hadn't even given myself time to slurp up some sexy pre-cum, which was always part of my routine. But not this time, so sudden was my explosion. I had nothing. And I suddenly realized I was jonesing for it. I was salivating, my lips and jaws and tongue all pulsing, warming themselves up, getting ready for some sweet pre-cum savoring and swallowing action. But there was none to be had. DESCENT/ASCENT My right hand slid down my body, and found a small lake of drying cum, now more clear than white, right near the top of my pubic hair. My little bush. Scooping up a glob that started immediately slithering down my forefinger, I brought it up to my mouth quickly, to make sure I got it before gravity took it and it got wasted. Because I wouldn't want to waste it, would I? And my brain said 'hell no!' and the entire glorb of it went right into my open lips and right onto my tongue. Where there's millions of taste buds, right? The microsecond that the first pang of reaction entered my sensory system my erection came back, just like that! BOOM! I felt it snap into hard. Then my eyes closed, and I mewled, completely over-dosing on that indescribable elixir of my own love liquid. Before, drops of pre- cum had thrilled me, elated me, sent me on trips of tangy languor I'd never dreamed imaginable. This made everything else seem pale, almost non-existent. This was tang and sass and delish all in one. Writ huge. I was bombarded with the rainbow of passions. Nerve endings everywhere were popping and snapping, my brain had cleared out every other image or emotion ever stored in the memory banks and all I could see was men wearing lingerie and drinking cum like it was champagne from a fountain. Turns out it was lucky I stole two pairs. That way I could wear one while the other dried after I soaked it and washed it. And link after link took me on a journey of earth-shattering surprise and joy. Men in lingerie. Men in lingerie and wigs and make up. Video after video. Men slipping into feminine clothes, revelling in the racy delight of it. Cross-dressers, some of them so beautiful and womanly and feminine. Videos of them admiring themselves. Videos of them playing with themselves. Videos of them inserting dildos and vibrators into themselves. Videos of them with other cross-dressers. OH. DESCENT/ASCENT I watched Lucy May and another cross-dresser help a young man get dressed and made-up, and then the newest CD watched the two more mature CD's get it on, before she eventually and naturally joined in. On every level of consciousness I had, I was overwhelmed. Everything inside my brain went into overdrive, and then gears unknown beyond that. I filled my second pair of stolen panties with cum. Just like the first. One second hotter than hell, the next second exploding. A few moments later, when my heart started beating again, I hurriedly scooped up as much of the cum as I could, and drank it down. All of it. Every slimy gloopy molecule of it. Two monumental orgasms in such a short period of time completely tired me out. I had just enough energy to soak clean and then hang dry the second pair of panties, slipping the first pair, barely dry, back up my legs, before I crashed into my bed. I had the sleep of sleeps. My dreams were shockingly vivid, and compelling. They seemed so real. In all of them, I was wearing lingerie, just like the men in the websites and videos I'd watched. In all of them, I was doing nothing but masturbating and exploding and drinking up as much cum as I could. In all of these dreams, I was actually sucking on cock. Real cocks. Men's cocks. Hard, turgid, tumescent rods of flesh. Savoring every single drop of their pre-cum and cum that I could suck out. DESCENT/ASCENT Six weeks later, and I'd spent every single hour that I wasn't working masturbating and wearing panties. The two I'd stolen. Plus four others that I'd managed to grab in the ensuing time, from different jobs, always being careful, and furtive, so no one knew and no one would suspect it. I mean, what customer in the world is going to phone up the boss and say, "hey, thanks for all the hard work and everything's great but I seem to be missing a pair of panties!"? That gave me enough to be able to wear panties under my work clothes. All day, every day. It made me feel like I was sexy, and naughty, and kinky. Three things I'd never have described myself as before. And yes, I did, from time to time, worry about myself. Was I going crazy? Was I on the long slow trip to obsessive compulsive deviant behavior? Mind you, I only had those thoughts at work, when I wasn't home masturbating to cross-dressing porn and wearing panties. But the concern was there, occasionally. One day, at the grocery store, I happened up the wrong aisle, and ended up having to wait for a woman who wasn't wearing a mask to move before I could get by, and I looked up at the shelves, and saw something that made me harder than hard in my panties. Hosiery. Specifically, dozens and dozens of packages of panty hose, and leggings. Every different shade of the rainbow was there, it seemed. My brain took a sharp turn to the weird and I reached out and grabbed two pairs, both a soft demure skin tone. I was about to turn and go, when my eyes shifted to something that almost made me cum, right there in the Safeway. Thigh-high stockings. Lace. Black. Meshy. Almost a fishnet. One brand with that sexy seam running all the way up the back of the leg. I put three in my basket. From that moment forward, if I was outside of my place, I was wearing panties and thigh-highs, or panty hose. It just creamed the hell out of every other sensory or sensual experience I'd ever known. And it affected me, in ways I wouldn't have thought of before. People at work said I was so much happier than when I'd started at the job. I lied and told them it was because I was nervous at first, but now they were seeing the real me. But it wasn't the real me. It was a brand new me. A me I didn't quite know yet. I was still getting used to the new me. DESCENT/ASCENT I had a one-person pack. Downtown. A condo. The homeowner buzzed me in, and I rolled my bin of flat boxes and paper and bubble wrap and tape into and then out of the elevator on the guy's floor. I knocked and heard his footsteps and then the door opened. Command presence. He stood ramrod straight. He was about three inches or so taller than my five-eight. He looked to be about two hundred pounds or so. He was wearing a loose t-shirt and some sweat pants. He had a serious five o'clock shadow. His feet were bare. He was Caucasian, but really tanned. He had what surely was a military buzz-cut, his hair more pepper than salt. He had the iciest blue eyes I've ever seen. A Kirk Douglas jaw and dimple. He didn't look like a steroid monkey, but he was buff. I guessed his age to be mid-fifties or so, but instantly got the impression that he'd lived a life of physical exertion on a daily basis. He was just plain in great shape. Trim. Fit. Muscular, but not too much. A man of action. A man of discipline. He smiled at me. "Good morning," he said, his voice deep but soft, "I'm Tom." He stuck out his hand. I stuck out my hand. His was bigger than mine, and wrapped around me, and his skin was warm and dry. I felt something inside me move, emotionally. I suddenly was drowning in images tumbling through my soul. Images and feelings. I didn't know what they were, but they were seductive. His eyes bored right into mine as he shook my hand. And he did all the shaking. I went with him, with his movements. It didn't even occur to me to do anything else. "Please come in," he said. It wasn't an order, specifically, I'm sure. An invitation. But still, the way he said it left me no doubt that I would do it. Of course. And not just because it was my job today. I would have walked in regardless. It was the way he said it. There was a wall behind him, so he moved down the hall, giving me just enough room to carefully guide my rolling bin without touching anything, heading one more turn to the living area. I looked up at one point, because I could see artwork on the walls, and did a quick evaluation of them so I knew which boxes to use. They were all framed photographs. Some people have paintings, some have pics. Some have both. His were all amazing crisp and clear, beautifully photographed images of the male body. The first picture I saw was a twenty-by-twenty-four black-framed and black matted black-and-white showing two muscular tanned thighs, and a tanned thick veiny circumcised penis hanging straight down between them. It looked almost as thick as the legs. If they'd cropped the length of the shot just an inch or so it would have looked like someone with three legs. I felt those new sensations again, more of them. Tempting me, luring me, seducing me. Swirling inside me. Inviting me. But to what? The next pic was from behind, again black and white, and again of a very in-shape man, this time focussing on his buttocks. Round and muscular and smooth and tanned and shot with amazing warmth, I had to fight my hand from reaching out to caress him. Then a pic of a man's chest, his pecs pronounced and slightly hairy, the nipples hard and rigid and almost aching to be touched, or kissed. Or sucked. Where did that come from? The last in the series was of a man's torso. Six pack abs. It made my nostrils flare out, I was breathing so heavily. Once in the main room, Tom told me the details of what needed to be done. He was getting new hardwood floors, in the living room and kitchen and hall and tiny den, which he used as an office. The master and second bedroom were staying carpeted, so I could leave them. As he talked, he pointed at various things, describing some of them as fragile, or delicate. Things he hoped I'd be extra careful with. His voice was like syrup. It was sweet, and oozed through me, and I found myself drifting at one point, not concentrating on his words, but just allowing his tones to wash all over. I couldn't look away from his eyes. They were like laser beams. Everything about him was substantial, but his eyes were magnetic. And he had command presence fairly bursting out of him. He asked me questions, about how I'd do certain things, and I did my utmost to answer him thoughtfully and truthfully. I just got the impression that he wouldn't accept anything less. My answers must have pleased him, though, because he smiled. Then he told me he had a little work to do, and if I could start somewhere other than the office at first, he could finish up in a short while. I told him I'd start in the kitchen, and we both went to work. His kitchen, like everything about his condo, was neat and clean and in a natural and precise order. Some people are messy, some are slobs, some don't care about the aesthetics. Tom did. I heard him on the phone at one point, while I was wrapping dishes. He was telling someone what he expected in a particular deal, or business venture. The words were all pointing in that direction. And while he wasn't overbearing at all, he was definitely commanding. He had that about him. He wanted this, and then that, and then that, and so and so forth. I presumed the person on the other end would just be saying yes over and over again, because that's how I would do it if I heard that voice and those tones. A couple of hours later, I was close to finishing all the pots and pans in the kitchen, and then I'd move out of the kitchen to the living room. In my initial look-see there were books on a shelf, and some framed photos on the mantle, but he wasn't much for what we call 'smalls'. Not a lot of knick-knacks. I was bent over a thick box, perfect for dishes, stuffing loose paper in the holes to ensure nothing inside moved, when he strode out of his little office. I could almost feel his eyes on me, on my backside. I looked up at him, sideways, and he was smiling. "How's it going?" he asked. "Great," I replied. I was nervous, and I didn't understand why. "I'm just going to head across the street to the Starbucks, since you packed up my coffee-maker. Can I get you something?" I stood up, and turned to him. "Thank you," I said, and smiled, and reached into my pocket for my wallet, "I would love a latte." I pulled a fiver out. He shook his head. "My treat." "Oh." It was all I could think of to say at that point. But those feelings were there again, those new ones that were inviting me to the unknown. "That's very generous, thank you." Tom smiled at me again. "My pleasure." Then he slipped some shoes on and went out. I was in a daze. My mind just couldn't concentrate on the work I was doing. At one point, I was wrapping some crystal wine glasses from the last cupboard and I nearly dropped them. All I could seem to think about was how there was this great fantastic something ahead of me, just out of reach, but I didn't know what it was. I wanted to be confused about it, but it seemed so mysteriously intoxicating that I just went with it. One of my Uncles used to say that we all had a part of our brain called the "consent center", which gave us permission or denial to move forward on the risky things in life. Mine was saying "go for it!" The problem was, it was giving me the go-ahead for a mystery. I didn't know what the hell 'it' was! My latte was steaming hot and delicious. As well, he'd bought a couple of scones, one for each of us, which I thought was so very generous. I thanked Tom again when he got back, over and over again, and offered again to pay him, and he shook his head wordlessly, and I knew it meant that there was to be no more talk about it. His mind was made up, and that's the way things go around him. I tacitly nodded back, and his ice-blue eyes narrowed at me, bearing down on me. He'd realized I'd gotten his silent message, and seemed pleased I was immediately accepting. I felt elated, and flying sky-high, just like that third day at work when I'd discovered those panties in the back of the drawer. I was giddy, and almost giggly, and starting to get hard in my panties again, just from the look on his face. We stared at each other for a bit, silently, and then he smiled at me. It was just like Mr. Jackson, back in high school. That smile conferred acceptance, and approval, and gave me the feeling that I'd reached some preferred status point in life, or at least in the room. In his esteem. He moved back to his office, and I finished the kitchen and moved to the living room. His books were mostly historical, but a few modern thrillers were mixed in, as were a few tomes that I'd never seen before. One was "The Joy of Sex". I'd heard of it, of course, but I'd never actually seen a copy, or read it. I quickly flipped it open to a random few pages, and saw both drawings and pictures that titillated me, that made my already-bubbling brain stem go even harder. The next book shocked me so much I had to close my eyes and concentrate on not cumming inside my panties. It was titled "The Joys of Gay Sex". I stood and stared at the cover. My little dick was the hardest it's ever been in my panties, creating a tiny tent pole in my pants. I could look down and see it. And the stretching inside was making the sheer sleek fabric of my panties caress my shaft, all five inches of it, and I realized to my utter shock that I was barely a heart-beat away from spewing cum. My brain screamed, "NO! NOT HERE! NOT IN TOM'S LIVING ROOM!" I was breathing heavy, and my eyelids closed, and it took ALL of my concentration not to cum, right there. I hurriedly wrapped the book in paper and placed it into an open box. Better to get the temptation out of the way, because a part of my psyche wanted to read it, to pour over its contents, to learn all about the subject. I'd never done anything that daring or wild in my life, but I was being enticed and lured into it, by those feelings that were amorphous and fleeting and unknown to me. Several books later I grabbed one titled 'Manlove: A Photographic Essay'. It was hard-covered, and almost the size of a coffee-table book. It flipped open in my hands, to a page showing one naked man on his knees, looking up at a standing naked man, a large erect cock bobbing just of tongue reach. "Are you alright?" I heard his voice ask. My head snapped to the right, and he was standing close by, a serious look of concern on his face. I was still on that razor-thin edge. One wrong movement, and I would start splooging in my pants. The precipice I was standing on was thin, and dangerous. I nodded that I was fine, nothing to worry about here, but I couldn't speak, because my brain told me not to lie to this man, ever. And to tell the truth would have been to admit that I was a pubic hair away from orgasming, and innately I knew that it would be a huge output, and my groin and legs would end up soaked in my own cum, which would have been the worst possible outcome I could imagine. I was trying to hold it in. I don't think I'd ever tried harder at anything in my entire life. I watched his eyes move lower. He was appraising me, I thought. I couldn't look away. When his eyes got to my crotch level, I saw his eyebrows move up a tiny little bit, and the edges of a smile begin at the corners of his mouth. A few seconds of staring at my little tent pole in my pants, and then he slowly scanned back up to my eyes. "Well," he whispered, pausing, his eyes drilling straight through my eyes and then down into my soul, "back to work then." Tom turned to the office. I breathed out a huge silent sigh of relief, and went back to wrapping books and coasters and the other few smalls in his living room. A half-hour or so later, and Tom let me know his work was done, and I could pack up his little office whenever I wanted. He was going to take a shower. I nodded at him, nervously, acknowledging his direction. I was practically finished in the living room, so the office was the next space for me to move to. He seemed to know exactly where I was, and what was next on my to-do list. It was almost as if he knew my business more than I did, and he was simply stating the obvious, guiding me with his words and tone, demonstrating his intelligence and grasp of the situation, and leading me with his words. I couldn't take my eyes off his, as he brushed by me, heading for his own master bedroom. The idea of him naked, under the spray of water in his shower, filled my brain. Images began floating by me, scant visual representations of what I imagined he would look like with his tanned skin wet, rivulets of water and soap streaming down his muscles, his body moving in fluid steps of lathering and scrubbing and washing and rinsing and cleaning. I wondered what he would feel like. His skin, and his body. I presumed it would be different than feeling my own skin. The lump in my pants got harder, and I teetered even more on the edge of letting go and exploding into my panties. It was without doubt the hardest fight of my life, not to give in to that devil, not to let him win. I mean, I wanted to cum, of course, more than anything. I wanted the horny evil creature inside me to win. Cumming was the greatest thrill of my life, and had been since I was a kid. But cumming since I'd discovered panties and lingerie and sexual activity between same-sex partners was better than everything in the whole wide world. Far more intense, far more body-afflicting, far more real and affecting. I heard his shower go on, and I set about unhooking all the cables from his computer and printer and speakers and Wi-Fi and wrapping them up. I realized that all I really had to finish was this little room, and the art/photos in the hallway, and my day was over. Done. He was good to go, for the move-out tomorrow. I heard the shower shut off. I kept working. All the wires were wrapped around each other, behind the small desk, and I was on my hands and knees trying to fish them all out and untangle them. At one point I had to crawl under the desk, sticking my head in the foot well, pulling on wires and trying to separate speaker cables from SCSI cables. I'd discovered the one area of his life that wasn't quite perfectly organized. And the big surge-protector power bar everything was plugged into was also trapped behind the desk, and I had to somehow squirm that out as well, which required me to slide my bent-over body even further under his desk. I heard him shuffling around in his bedroom, now out of the shower. I looked up and out, purely out of curiosity. DESCENT/ASCENT His bedroom door was open. He was drying his hair, with a big old fluffy white towel. His face was more or less covered, as both hands wriggled back and forth on his head. He was naked. Tom was tanned all over, except for a small pale stripe around his groin. He was a speedo man, I realized. That was the last more-or-less normal thought that entered my brain. I felt my jaw drop open. From the top of my being on down, I felt like I'd been hit in the head with a two-by-four. I was staggered. In the blink of an eye, everything about my universe changed. I was shocked, plain and simple, drowning in sudden, brutal emotional trauma. Overwhelming and all-consuming, a blanket of the strangest newness fell over me. I was in a place I'd never been before, and all the unknown feelings I'd been experiencing went from two to two hundred on the volume scale. Bells were ringing, in my head. Alarms were going off, in my head. On my knees, my back bent over, my head barely peeking out from under his desk, a variety of cabling in my hands. I couldn't move. I couldn't not stare at him. I couldn't not let the sight of him go. He was naked. His body was buff, and in shape, toned and tantalising. His chest was lightly dotted with hair, his pecs were tight and his nipples like little cherries, his thighs were strong, and powerful. His abs were not like the photo on the wall, but close. Certainly there was no tummy bulge, no beer belly, no love handles. He was flat there. A man of physical action and discipline. Tom's penis was mesmerizing. Literally. I was completely hypnotized by it. Growing up, I'd seen other guys in the showers at school, of course. In those days, I never thought anything of them. They were just guys. Boys, really. Tom was different. Tom was a man. All man. Rugged, and masculine, and virile. As hard as I'd been, both earlier today and in the last few weeks of my panty epiphanies, they were nothing compared to the way I was feeling looking at him. Looking at his body. Looking at his penis, which waggled slightly with his movements, with his breathing. I was mesmerized. He pulled the towel off his head, satisfied with his drying, and tossed it into an open wicker basket by the door. His hamper, I realized. In doing so, he looked up slightly, at himself I realized, in the mirror above his dresser. He was taking stock of himself, scanning his own body, no doubt satisfied in his own shape. Lord knows I was completely satisfied in his shape. He was as close to perfection in a male body as I could imagine. Some of those panty-wearing videos I'd watched lately included men in lingerie having sex with men not in lingerie. Panty boys, they were called, orally pleasing real men. Lingerie lads, fellating rugged and handsome men. Some were older, some not. Some were middle-aged men, still in the prime of their life, who took care of their own bodies and revelled in their sexuality. Like Tom, I assumed. Daddies, they called them. Some of them with white hair were called SilverDaddies. His penis was hanging down, and there was no foreskin. He had a little tuft of hair above it, and what looked like hairless testicles under it. I could make out two distinct and different veins on his shaft, each one squirming its way just under the surface of the skin, one of them more pronounced than the other. Was he as hung as the man in the photo just inside his front door? No. But he was bigger than me, that was obvious. In every respect. Most men were, I knew, to my shame. But that shame went away pretty quickly, replaced instead with admiration and respect and genuine joy for him. His cock was longer than mine, by far, and thicker, and rounder, and just seemed so much more substantial than mine, and he had the most amazing plum-shaped head, the color halfway between pink and purple. I was admiring his cock. The myriad of sounds in my head included one voice, growing tinier by the second. That was the voice of reason, I guessed. It was the one telling me to look away, to ignore his penis. That was the part of my soul that was trying to hang on to any normalcy I'd ever had. I was straight, not gay. I was just going through a phase, all the panty wearing and hosiery wearing. And they were just on-line vids, the movie clips I'd been immersing myself in. Men having sex with other men, dressed like women. It was all just tomfoolery. It was all just harmless sexual fantasy fun. Wasn't it? DESCENT/ASCENT Up to this point he hadn't noticed me, but he turned to walk towards something in his bedroom, and happened to look out the open door. Straight across the depth of the living room, and into the doorway of the office. To me. On my knees, on the floor, my hands full of computer cables. He stopped. Face on to me. I watched his chest rise and fall, with powerful breaths. I looked at his face, at his mouth, at his lips, and then upwards to his eyes. They were blazing at me. They were like a tractor beam, pulling me in. I watched him stand just a little bit taller, his chest pushing out slightly. He was flexing his ass muscles too, I could tell, from the way his groin shuffled slightly towards me. I saw his penis flex. One motion, slight and yet discernible. There was deadly silence in the apartment. I could hear my own heart beating, faster than I could remember ever, and my own breaths almost snorting in and out of my nostrils. He just kept looking at me, staring me down, making me feel like I was the center of his universe, like there was nothing else in the world at that exact moment for him than me. He wasn't offended by my staring. He was relishing it. Somehow, I could sense it. And I couldn't look away. My own little penis was gently throbbing with sensations, and I could feel all the muscles in my pelvis trying to move this way and that, trying to find any stimulation I could, rubbing against the material of my clothes. I couldn't let him know it, so my movements were tiny, but each little fractional change was sending sparks of arousal through my body and up to my brain. All those weird and wonderful feelings were running rampant, just like at home, when I was in panties and hose, masturbating for hours. Finally, he was just about to say something. I could feel it. Then his cell phone rang. His head snapped towards his bathroom, and then back at me. He nodded, slowly, and his head turned a little, like he was appraising me somehow, and then he slowly walked out of my view. I heard his voice, answering the call. I couldn't make out the words much, but it sounded like another business call. I couldn't move. Literally. I'd never in my life been more shocked, more stunned, more fixed to the spot, completely overwhelmed with my senses. My brain tried to talk to me, saying I should go back to sorting cables, and then wrap them properly. I should finish packing them, and then the two drawers in the desk, and then quickly the art in the hall, and then I should get out of there. I mean, he must be enraged! Imagine! The impertinence! I should have remembered that I was a contractor, doing work, and Tom was being charged for my time on an hourly rate, so the respectful thing to do would be to finish the requirements as quickly and safely as possible. I should have acted like a professional. There's no way in hell I should have been staring at him. At his body. His naked body. At his magnificent manhood. I dumped all the cables in one big mess into a box, completely against my training and against company policy. I pulled open the first drawer and found a stapler and some staples and some pens and pencils and paper clips and I threw them into the box. The second drawer had some envelopes and some miscellaneous papers, strewn willy-nilly. I gathered them all up and wrapped them in some paper, and added those to the open box. Just before I shut the drawer, I peeked inside, to make sure I'd gotten everything, and I saw something glossy. Reaching to the back, I pulled it out, and looked at it. It was a very high-end brochure for a cruise ship, one of the well-known fleets. The words "GAY CARIBBEAN CRUISE" jumped off the page, in metallic pink, and the cover picture was a panorama shot of the top deck of a huge ocean-going vessel. There was a mammoth swimming pool, with two or three huge hot tubs around it, and a bar off to the side, and deck chairs everywhere. There had to be over a hundred people in the shot. They were all men. They were all laughing and smiling, partying in the sun. Some had many clothes on, but most were in just speedos or shorts or other swimwear. The ones gathered around the bar were hoisting drinks. Some were in the pool, or the tubs. Several, I immediately noticed, were wearing bikinis. Women's clothes. They had wigs and make up on too. Here and there men had their arms around each other. I could see hands on asses. Scattered around, I could see men kissing men. I'd been hard in my panties since I saw the art on the walls coming in, but seeing lips on lips made me even harder. My whole body shuddered, and I had to close my eyes and concentrate on not cumming, such was my state. I couldn't think of a fate worse than death than flooding my panties and pants with my own cum, on the job, in Tom's office. I shuddered at the thought of it. And I also realized that the shudder was because the thought of it also tantalized me. Just imagining myself in that place, sailing the seven seas wearing panties and hosiery, or more feminine clothes, and partying with a thousand gay men. I realized it would be so unabashedly wicked, and so very real. The most honest, real thing I could participate in. "Have you ever been done that?" Tom asked, his voice seeming to come out of nowhere. I spun my head in shock, and my eyes ran headlong into his cock. He was barely two feet away from me, holding onto the towel hanging around his neck with both hands, looking like a model in a magazine or a video. I hadn't heard him at all, so oblivious to reality I'd become looking at the brochure, which had transported me into a longing I'd never known before. I gasped in surprise. "I'm sorry," he said, the concern genuine in his voice, "I didn't mean to frighten you. I assumed you heard me walking into the room!" He reached out to touch my shoulder, the heat from his hand staying long after his affectionate display. My eyes wouldn't leave his cock. Something inside of me told me to speak. "Oh, that's okay," I replied, my voice distant to me, "I must have been a million miles away." I saw him smile. I didn't look up at him, not directly into his eyes, but I saw his lips and teeth in my upper periphery. "So," he continued, "have you ever had the pleasure? Of the cruise?" I looked back at the brochure in my hands. Men kissing men. "No, I've never been on a cruise ship before." He moved to my right, and leaned against the door frame, still about two feet away from me. I realized that if I wanted to, I could easily reach out and touch him. From his feet up to his chest, probably. Thoughts ran wild inside me, imagining the feel of the skin on his legs, or his belly. Or his cock. That particular image jolted me like no other. "Don't get me wrong," he said, "cruise ships are great in general, the lap of luxury and all that, but there's absolutely nothing like a week at sea with a thousand horny playful partying gay men, everyone celebrating openly, everyone proud and out and open and alive. Can you imagine how that would be? The freedom! Freedom from the looky-loos, freedom from the constraints of normal society and their uptight morals. Freedom, for men to be who they are deep down inside, all the time, in a floating city of acceptance and fun. You'll never know a good time like that unless you go and experience it for yourself." He shook his head, at his own thoughts. "I'll tell you, you can never reach that level of intimacy on dry land." His voice was warm, and soothing. He wasn't lecturing me or bragging. He was, if anything, trying to educate me. That's the feeling I got. I finally looked up at his eyes. They were magnificent, burning with energy, all of it directed at me. I felt as if he was shining at me. Shining on me. "I guess," I said, my brain scrambling to get back to some sort of normalcy, "but I'm not, um, you know, gay." He kept smiling at me, and his eyes got slightly narrower, focussing on me. I was just about to speak, when he held his hand up to stop me. "Don't. Please." "Don't what?" "Don't say 'not that there's anything wrong with that'. I know, it's the famous line from the t.v. show, but please don't say it. Have you ever considered how gay men might find it offensive?" I hadn't, and shook my head no. "Why does it need qualifying? You know, you say you're not gay but you have to add the part about it being okay otherwise? As if you're pronouncing judgement on gay men everywhere? Why not just say you're not gay, and leave it at that?" He wasn't talking down to me at all. His tone was supportive, and affectionate in a way. It seemed to me he was trying to help me expand my viewpoint. "I'm sorry," I said, "I never thought of it that way. Of course, you're right, I shouldn't say it. I can see now how you," I paused, "I mean gay men, I can see now how that would make them feel uncomfortable." Tom smiled even more at me. "Thank you," he said. I nodded my 'you're welcome'. "When you look at that brochure, at that picture, what do you see? What's the first thing that comes to your mind?" I looked at it again. DESCENT/ASCENT Men kissing men. I stumbled for something to say. "Um, well, I see, I see a party, I guess. I see fun. I see people having a good time. Pleasure. I see pleasure." I looked up at him again. He was so matter-of-fact and unembarrassed in his nudity. So proud and confident in himself. His cock wasn't quite pointing down at the floor anymore. It had risen a little bit. Maybe a few degrees or so. It looked a little bit thicker too. "Every second of every day. What you call pleasure, or fun, I call living. Life. My life, and the lives of countless millions and millions of people around the world. That, that there," he pointed at the brochure in my hand, "that is what life is all about. No inhibitions, no walls, no shame, and no scorn. Complete and total openness, and honesty. Men being their true selves, devoting every second to their pursuit of joy." I nodded, because I couldn't think of anything to say. "Intimacy. The textbook definition of intimacy." His focus on me tightened even more. "Have you ever been that intimate with someone before?" I said the first thing that came in to my mind. "I'm not a virgin." "I didn't ask you that," he said, his voice suddenly harder-edged. "I asked if you've ever been intimate with another human being, with no emotional or physical barriers, or limitations, no bullshit religious- based fears. Do you know what I'm talking about?" Thinking I did, I nodded. "Is that so?" he said, his voice softer again, intense interest in his eyes. He stood up, no longer leaning on the doorframe, and I watched his cock sway slightly back and forth. He took a step towards me, and stopped, looking at me like I was the only other human being on the entire planet. "I?m not talking about sexual intimacy now," he smiled, and his tone reminded me of Mr. Jackson?s, back in high school, the words encouraging and helpful and always stimulating, all meant to help my mind and soul grow, to become educated, to see new perspectives and find what he used to call ?earthly enlightenment?. They were warm, teaching words. "Have you ever been intimate, really emotionally intimate with another human being?" He waited for an answer, but I couldn?t think of one. "Intimacy, at its core, is about honesty. Honesty with yourself, and with others. Brutal honesty. It?s the only way to truly respect someone, by showing them the truth in you. I mean, look at me," he said, proudly, "I welcomed you into my home, and I?ve no doubt you saw the art on the wall and figured I was probably gay right away. And I see you?ve packed up all my books, and sure maybe you don?t look at all the titles while you?re packing them, but I bet you saw a few. And there?s some obviously gay stuff there. Now, you?re holding a brochure for a gay cruise. Plus, I?m standing here completely naked, in front of you. I?m not covered, or protected, in any way. There?s no walls here. I?m as open as a person can be, with you, here and now. I?m being as emotionally and socially intimate as I can be with you, you understand?" I nodded slowly. "I could have taken the art down, and packed up my own books, if I was the kind of person who was worried about image, or shame. But that?s not me. I?m here, right now, physically and emotionally naked, as open as a book. That?s intimacy. That?s the biggest kind of honest and real connection that two people can make. Do you know what I?m talking about?" "Yes, I think so." He smiled a little more. "And the world is a much better place when people are up-front and honest about everything, you know what I mean?" He didn?t wait for an answer. "So I?m thinking, hopefully you would want to show me the real you, the honest you as well? So we can become spiritually and socially intimate, you and I?" His ideas were wonderful, and philosophically perfect. What a wonderful world it would be if everyone was honest about everything, of course! I nodded my agreement. "And I?d like to get to know you better, one person to another. So we can achieve intimacy. And asking questions is the way to do it, so I?m really looking forward to hearing your brutal honesty and your truth." I had no idea where he was going, but everything he was saying made so much sense at that moment. And, I admitted to myself, getting to look at his body was a total thrill as well. "So, you?ve had sex." I nodded. "Back seat fumbling on a Saturday night? Date night groping on somebody?s basement couch? How old are you, anyway?" "Twenty-four." "A serious college romance maybe?" I shook my head. I?d never had one of those, mostly because I?d never been to college. My parents couldn?t afford it, my grades weren?t good enough for a scholarship, and I could never find a job that paid me enough to put that kind of money aside. He smiled again, in an almost paternal way. "So," he continued, "you got lucky a few times, is that correct?" I was ashamed to admit it, but I nodded anyway. I was never a ?ladies? man?, for sure, so my entire sexuality was limited to, as he described it, a few strokes of good fortune. "But have you ever gotten deep with someone? Intimate? No walls, nothing holding anybody back? Face-to-face, everything on the line, no secrets, nothing but pure honesty?" I hesitated in answering. It was like being asked if you could talk about the differences in five-star restaurants when all you?ve ever done is eat at McDonalds. "I?ve tried," was the best I could come up with. "I?m asking if you?ve ever let go of everything, every worry and fear and apprehension, every possible constraint holding you back, and looked directly into the wells of another man?s eyes, while he?s got you wrapped up in his arms, almost crushing you into his body, covering you, protecting you, the fierceness of his passion blazing into your soul, while he?s balls deep inside of you, his flesh filling you, his size expanding your insides, his jack-hammer thrusts pushing your entire nervous system into overload, the rest of the world vanished, not a single solitary wisp of a brain cell concentrated on anything but the profound overwhelming feeling of total acceptance of him into your body, one hundred percent of your energy consumed by him, seeing his open honesty through his eyes into his soul and telling him everything you?re feeling?" I know my eyes were wide open now, the visual imagery of what he was suggesting powerfully pulsing through my psyche. Instantly, there was a section of my brain that started thinking out loud, ?wow, that sounds amazing, that sounds like the best thing in the world, that sounds like something I would love to do?, because I realized he was talking about experiences that would affect me on levels I?d never considered before. Levels I didn?t even know existed. "Do you know?" he asked again, "what it?s like to give up everything, and I mean everything you consider normal, or right, or correct, or standard, and instead fling all the conventions to the wind? Have you ever said ?fuck you? to every single human on the planet, and just allowed yourself to sail on the winds of passion, on the seas of all-out physical and emotional bliss?" Again, I couldn?t think of a thing to say. "Do you know what it?s like to have the best sex in the world, and connect with the other person on the deepest of emotional levels? And when I say the best sex in the world, I mean the best. Better than anything your teenaged libido might have accomplished with Mary Lou in the backseat of Dad?s car? Better and longer and harder and stronger than any wrinkly old vagina can give you? Do you know what that?s like?" I shook my head. In a daze. "No." He smiled and nodded a little bit. His cock was now rising in angle a little more, and perhaps a little thicker than it was. "I?m not gay," I said, defensively. Then I realized that I had just made a connection that couldn?t be overlooked. I was admitting to him, and the world, that I hadn?t achieved any of those things he was talking about because I was up-to-now one hundred percent completely heterosexual. His face changed slightly. He became warmer. "I?ve got straight friends who tell me they can get to that kind of intimacy with boy/girl sex, but I?m not sure I believe them. It?s one of those things, right? You?ll never know until you do it." I said the only thing that came into my mind. "I?m not..." He stopped me by holding up a finger. "Don?t," he whispered. "Don?t what?" I asked. "Don?t deny your feelings." I sputtered a denial. "I don?t have feelings like..." He held up his finger again. "No?" I shook my head. "Then explain something to me," he asked, his voice now strong and loud again, "if you don?t have those kinds of feelings, if you?re as straight and heterosexual as they make them, then why are you wearing panties?" The delirium of the conversation that was enveloping me, the fact that I was talking with another human being about sexuality and intimacy, the newness of it, the sheer audacity of it, and how attractive it was, how alluring it was, all of that disappeared at the sound of the word ?panties?. I wanted to crawl away, out of his condo, and never come back. Never show my face in decent society again. The standard part of my upbringing, the normal that had been shoved onto me since day one, reared its head and took over. The bullies from school were suddenly around me again, metaphorically, and I filled with shame, and denial, and in the turn of a heartbeat my erection disappeared, any thoughts of cumming gone, and my skin flushed with redness, with embarrassment and shame, and I did what lots of people would do in this situation, to protect their own sense of self, and their own ego, and to get out of a delicate social situation. I lied. "Panties? What? I?m not wearing panties. What are you talking out? Why would you say that?" Tom took one small step towards me, bringing his body closer to me, making me look up right at his face, avoiding his cock, which was now closer to me, practically in my face. His face was dour. The warmth of his smile from before was gone. He didn?t seem angry, but he definitely wasn?t happy. "Now I?m disappointed in you," he whispered. "We were just getting to a level of intimacy, just beginning to tell each other some truths, learn about each other and grow as humans, connect with each other, and you had to spoil it by lying." I sputtered out some vowels, my tone defensive, like a chastened schoolboy. He stopped me, by the look in his eyes alone. "They?re purple, they?re a G-string, and they have scalloped edges. I saw them earlier, when you were in the kitchen, bent over a box. Your shirt was untucked, and the top of your panties was plain as day." BOOM! And I knew, there was no more avoiding it, no more lying. He was right. Well, he was wrong about the color, I suppose, since they were officially labelled as ?wine?, but purple was close enough. Other than that, he was bang on. A G-string, the back strap deliciously carving up and through my bum cheeks, and the edges were scalloped lace, the material soft and sensuous against my skin. I couldn?t tear my eyes away from his, even though I desperately wanted to. But they held me, like a tractor beam, possessing me, right down to my soul. "I?m sorry," I whispered. "For what?" he asked. To answer that would mean total honesty, and complete intimacy, according to his definition, and I shook inside with the thought of it, and so I tried to avoid it. "I should get back to work," I stammered, "you?re being charged by the hour for me today, and I should finish up and get out of your hair." He shook his head, and shuffled even closer to me, making me strain my neck a little bit to look up at him, still mesmerized I was by his ice- blue eyes, still riveted to him that way. In my periphery, I could see his penis. It was thicker again, and now pointed closer to horizontal than not. I didn?t dare risk stealing a glance at it, but the change in position and size hit me inside, making me think I was responsible for it all, which made me begin to get hard again, inside my panties. "Don?t change the subject. We were doing so well," he said, "getting closer, achieving intimacy, and now you?re trying to shuck and jive your way out of it, aren?t you?" I shook my head, feebly. "No." "Bullshit," he said, his voice suddenly sterner. "Answer the question. Why are you wearing panties? Are you a panty-boy? A cross-dresser? Are you a little sissy?" I couldn?t say anything. I couldn?t think of anything to say. "Are you? Are you a panty-boy?" I just sat there, staring up at him. In my periphery, I saw his cock twitch, and it was enough to draw my eyes downward. I left his hypnotic stare, and brought my vision down to directly in front of my face. His cock was even bigger now, and thicker. I gasped, out loud. There was a big drop of clear liquid on the tip of him. Pre-cum. It was formed into a round shape, almost a bubble of it, and slowly becoming bigger. It was as close to big enough as possible that my brain automatically realized that gravity would very quickly take it, and make it fall, to the ground. The thought of which completely took over. NO! It can?t go to waste like that! After all the pre-cum I?d enjoyed in the last few weeks, I felt like it would be a travesty to watch it drop to the floor. It was be an abomination in the face of god. I opened my mouth. I licked my lips. I stared at his cock, completely fixated on it. My body responded on auto-drive, and I began salivating, my tongue and lips quickly becoming wetter than wet. At the same time, a tumbling cascade of images from all the porn I?d been watching lately started playing in my head, images and scenes and snippets of video of men like me dressed in panties and lingerie, performing oral sex on other men. Panty boys, as he called them, like me, sucking cocks. I?d never done it, and never would have imagined ever wanting to do it, before my life had changed due to the pandemic. Now, all I could think about, all I could imagine, all I could dream of, and all I wanted, was to taste Tom?s cock. I leaned forward, my mouth wide open, ready to take him inside me. Tom pulled his groin back, and in a loud voice said "no!" I looked up at him, my revelry broken, the shock of what I was about to do suddenly washing over me. His eyes captured mine, again. "Are you a panty boy?" he asked. There was no lying this time, no pretense, no avoiding it. I nodded. "Say it out loud," he admonished, "are you a panty boy?" "Yes!" I declared, for the first time shoving off any hope of retaining my previous life, any chance of walking out of the door the same person as when I walked in. "Yes what?" I didn?t quite know what he was after. "Yes, sir?" I added, questionably. He shook his head. "My name is Tom, not ?sir?." My confusion must have showed on my face. "Say it out loud. Strip yourself from all the chains that hold you down. Are you a panty boy? Yes or no?" "YES! I?M A PANTY BOY!" I?d never known my own voice to be so direct, so powerful, and so loud. And the most amazing thing was, as soon as I said the words, out loud, I felt about ten pounds lighter in weight. As if something huge and heavy had been holding me down and was now suddenly gone. I was freeing myself, I realized, from the bonds of propriety. From the rules and regs of the road, the way they?d been hammered into me for the past twenty-four years. I was, for the first time ever, becoming independent. I was becoming my own person. His smile was spreading back across his face, and filled me with elation. His right hand came down, and he cupped the left side of my face. I leaned into his flesh, feeling the dry warmth of his skin against my cheek, and I closed my eyes momentarily, his touch transporting me to an even bigger high than I was already feeling. "Look at me," he whispered. I looked up at him. His laser beam was back on me, filling me with heat and joy. "The first second I opened the door and saw you, I wanted you. Does hearing that bother you?" I shook my head. No way. "Something made me think, hey, this is a beautiful young man, and there is a connection here. A spark. My gaydar was going crazy, from my first look. I wanted you. I still want you. Look, I hate labels. Too many people use them, both in the gay world and the straight world. But sometimes they?re helpful, sometimes they can easily describe things, so everyone works on the same page, you know what I mean?" He didn?t wait for me to respond. "I?m what they call a ?Daddy?. Do you know what that is, in the gay world?" I was nodding before I even thought about it. "And I?m a ?Daddy? who absolutely adores ?panty boys?. I always have. And right now," he paused, his smile increasing, "all I can think about is taking you into my bedroom and making love to you. All I can imagine is holding you in my arms, wrapping you in a cocoon, and fucking the living shit out of you until we both pass out from the exertion." My heart leapt at his words. "I want to fall madly and passionately in love with you, and drape you in the sexiest lingerie you?ve ever seen, and show you off to all my friends, and take you on that cruise, the next time it happens, once this damned pandemic is over and the world smartens up again. I want to make love with you in every corner of the world. I want to fill you with my cum, on a daily basis, and share your love with other ?Daddies?. I want to climb the highest mountains in the world and fuck you on top of every single one. I want to ravish you, your body and your mind. But mostly," he paused, searching for his words, "I want to show you the possibilities, show you all the different ways your life can be enriched, the experiences you?ve never had and never contemplated. I want to give you that world." My blood was pulsing, and I?d stopped breathing altogether. I took a gigantic lungful of air, trying to restart my heart from its apoplexy. I didn?t know what to say, but I had a million things I wanted to say. "And all you have to do," he whispered, "is tell me what you want. Tell me what you desire. Share with me your dreams, your fantasies, your desires. Be intimate with me, man to man. Maybe you don?t want any of those things I just talked about. Maybe I?ve got you all wrong. There?s no way of me knowing, unless we become intimate with each other, you understand?" I nodded again. "So," he whispered, still cupping my face with his hand, "what are you thinking? Tell me what?s going through your mind, right this second." There are seminal moments in every persons? life, times of significance, that will forever be stamped indelibly into our own consciousness. This was one of them for me. My first, really. In all my life, nothing else had even come close to the prominence of what I was about to do. Auto-reflexive motions kicked into gear, and I stood up, now face-to- face with Tom. My hands, of their own volition, went to my belt, and undid it, and then pulled the zipper of my pants down, and then pushed them off my own hips and let them fall straight to the ground. I shuffled back one pace, and let him see me. My panties, my little hard-on stretching them, a gigantic wet spot from my own leaking pre-cum, the black fishnet thigh-high stockings covering my hairless legs. I quickly unbuttoned my shirt, and threw it on the computer desk. Standing there, naked but for lingerie, my pale-skinned body quivering in anticipation and nervousness, my shoes still on, my trousers piled in a lump around my feet. I stood, as naked as I could be in front of him. No walls. No inhibitions. No barriers. Intimate. DESCENT/ASCENT "I want you, Daddy," I said, my voice sure of itself and real. There were no nerves making themselves noticeable with quivering in my vocal chords. I was straight-up, and honest. "I want you to make love to me, in every way you just described and every other way we can think of. I want to be yours, to be your panty boy. Forever, and always" Tom kissed me. He leaned forward, and gently touched his lips to mine. At that first moment of touch, that first second of skin and flesh joined, I closed my eyes and melted. The long slow road I?d been on, taking me down what I had at times worried was the path of ruin, had turned into the greatest rise I?d ever know. There was no DESCENT, as it turned out. Just ASCENT. Beautiful, and sweet. The End.