Big Red - Part One free porn video

BIG RED - PART ONE By Katharine Sexkitten What would you do? If the circumstances were the same, all the ins and outs and other factors, would you come to the same conclusion I did? Would you make the same decision? Growing up, I knew that there were two things wrong with me. One was a physical issue, which I kept hidden from everyone, including my parents and family. The other was in my head. I was a normal kid, in a normal family, in a normal middle-class environment. Although, if you looked at 'middle-class' as an arc, we were definitely on the lower end of the curve. Still, there was nothing to complain about. I had friends. I did all the things that kids do. I was never the first kid picked for the team, but I wasn't the last either. Ever. I was right down the middle. We weren't rich, by any means, but we always did the family vacation at the lake in summer. I turned out to be a pretty good swimmer. The rest of the year, I swam at the community centre. I liked it. I didn't win any awards or set any records, but I was competitive. I swam for my high school team. We always showed up at the competitions with the best of intentions. We never won anything, but we came close more than a few times. So, the thing that I knew that was wrong with me, the one in my head? Well, it's hard to explain, but basically, it boils down to this: I knew something inside of my soul was different. I noticed things. Maybe because I noticed things, and what kinds of things they were. Things that normal average everyday people aren't supposed to notice. I'd notice how some of the boys I swam with were really much more masculine than me. Much more built than me. They had bodies that I kept expecting to have for myself, but never did. Body shapes I admired. Body shapes I was somehow attracted to, I guess, in some way. Defined pecs, sculpted legs. They were taller, and broader. Bulkier. Much more solid. Some of them were even chiseled. This is where it got really serious. I noticed their groins too. Their junk. Their packages. Their genitalia. Their penises, and balls. I mean, we spent hours in the pool, in tight swimsuits. Even with the shrinkage, most of the guys had way more going for them than I did. I'd chastise myself for even thinking the things I thought. I didn't want to be less of a man than society expected of me. I didn't want to disappoint my parents. But I would notice them, the cocks. And balls. And I would admire them, as well. Every single day of my life. And I noticed some of the coaches. Oftentimes they'd be in the water with us. In their swimsuits. Fully-grown adult men, with heft and weight and prominence. And the thing is, some of them were really built. I mean, really filled out the racing suits we all used to wear. Some of these fully-grown adult men had hairy chests too, which being smooth-bodied my whole life (I started shaving early on because of the competitive swimming) made me envious. And some of the Dads, who would show up for meets and cheer loudly, some of them would stand out from the crowd. Most of them meant nothing to me. But certain ones would make me feel, well, it's hard to describe, but I guess the best way of saying it is that I felt 'squishy' inside. There was something about them that I liked, that I was attracted to. I didn't understand it, so I kept it all hidden in me. It concerned me, at times. Don't get me wrong, I loved girls. I chased after them, like the other boys. Going through puberty I was raging with hormones, same as most everybody else. I enjoyed hanging out with my peers on weekend evenings, sometimes drinking beer when we could find it, and trying to put some moves on the ladies. Spin the bottle. It got played occasionally. And, well, wow, you know. Kissing soft lips and holding a sweet-smelling young woman was killer fun, the few and rare times it happened. I ended up losing my V-card to a girl named Bonnie, who was also a swimmer, who was blonde and a little chubby and had a better moustache than my older brother did. The hair on her upper lip was almost invisible from far away, it was so thin and wispy and blonde, but it was there. The closer you got to her face, the more obvious it was. It was always the last thing I'd see before I closed my eyes, as we were beginning to kiss. She enjoyed kissing, I guess, because we were always finding excuses to make out. But that 'stache' didn't sit right with me. I know she wanted a serious relationship with me, but I couldn't find it in myself to commit. The woman wasn't supposed to be hairier than the man. Them's the rules, as I understood them. Plus, there was that physical problem I had. It was embarrassing, and it scared me at times, because I never once heard anybody talking about a similar thing, nor did I ever see anything on television or online or in books or magazines. I was sure that I was the only person in the world affected. I was, I feared, a freak. Not in the obvious sense, mind you, but inside. I glumly assumed whatever was wrong with me would never allow me to live a full life, would never let me grow up and do the adult thing and get married and have kids and a mortgage and all the usual stuff. During my teenaged years, I had many occasions to visit with health-care professionals. Our family doctor. School nurses. Occasional trips to the emergency room to stitch up cuts, or splint up sprained limbs. The usual. I never brought my thing up. I wanted to, many times, but I couldn't find the nerve. I couldn't muster the strength to face what I was sure was a fatal, terminal problem. After graduating, I got a job as courier. A bike courier, downtown. It didn't pay a whole lot, but it kept me in shape. Between the swimming and all the biking, my legs were toned. As was my butt. I liked it. I'd stand in front of a mirror most mornings and admire my own ass. It was curvy, and tight. My legs and butt were in the best shape of their lives, which in turn helped with my swimming! I started putting a tiny bit of money in the bank. Not a lot, but everyone has to start somewhere. I moved into my own apartment. It was small, on the top floor of a three-storey walk-up. The roof leaked, and there was a stain of mold in one corner of my living room, up high on the wall. Some months I had to dip into my little savings account just to pay the rent. I still went home for Sunday dinners, and sometimes during the week to do laundry for free and eat some of my Mom's cooking, but otherwise I was a single man, living the dream. Problem was, between my physical problem, and my 'noticing things', I was not the poster-boy for success in the bedroom. Fact is, I was alone most of the time. And lonely all the time. My physical problem seemed to get worse as I got older, so after years of fears and denial, when I was twenty-four I finally decided I had to find out the bad news. I got to the point where I needed to hear it, needed to know that I was dying or that I was really ill with something untreatable or nearly always fatal. Just to confirm my suspicions. I chose a clinic on the other side of town, so I didn't run into anybody I might know, especially, god forbid, one of my brothers or my sister or my parents. Plus there were aunts and uncles and cousins all over town. The Doctor took blood, ran tests, and poked and prodded, and said he'd call with results. A few days later, his nurse phoned to tell me I had an appointment with a specialist, on such and such a day. I showed up that morning, dread consuming me. The guy in the white coat barely looked at me the whole time I was with him. He studied my charts, pouring over the data. "You appear to suffer from Sialorrhea," he said without emotion. I'd never heard the word before, so my only presumption was that it must be rare and highly dangerous. Had to be, right? All of which put me in state of shock. He kept talking and talking, and I barely registered the words. He gave me, in the most unemotional way possible, the run- down of what little information he knew about it. Causes, and the like. "Now," he continued, still not looking me in the face, "there are some medications that can cause it, but you haven't had a stroke, nor have you had radiation, nor have you ever been diagnosed with schizophrenia. So we can cross those off the list. Also," he paused, "you probably have Macroglossia. Your blood work all came back normal. No infections, no reactions to anything. So I'm inclined to suggest that you were born this way, and you'll always be this way." He studied the papers for a few more moments. "There's no known treatment for the Sialorrhea," he said dryly, as if he couldn't care less, finally closing my file folder and placing it in a tray on the side of his desk, "so there's no further need for me to see you." And that was that. He didn't ask if I was okay with the news. He didn't ask if there was anything else he could help me with. He nodded at the door, and I left. Stunned. Shaking. I had to concentrate just to push the call button for the elevator. I had to focus on walking, one foot in front of the other, out the door of the building, onto the city sidewalk. I was a zombie. I didn't even see him, or recognize his voice, until he actually veered out of his way to tap me on the shoulder. "Hey, you in there?" he asked, looking down into my face. "Hello? Earth to Squirt!" Squirt. That's what he'd always called me. Big Red. His given name was Jamie. Nobody called him that, except his Mom. Their family grew up down the street from us. I'd known them my whole life. My Mom and his were both part of the neighbourhood coffee-klatch. Housewives getting together to gossip, occasionally also organizing bake sales and bottle drives and community events. Everybody called him Red. He was fair-skinned, and freckly, and he had what can best be described as thin hair. Even as a kid, he always looked like he was balding. And what hair he did have, it was on the redder side of blonde. It was always short, and close-cropped. That's the way he kept it. And kids are cruel, right? So behind his back, children of all ages called him names, and made fun of his size and his balding. No one ever said anything to his face. Red was the same age as me. He had two much older brothers, both of whom were friendly enough to nod and wave when they were visiting the family homestead, but both of them were feared by most people. Without anyone having any solid concrete evidence of anything at all, most people understood that the brothers were involved in some heavy bad shit. Organized crime. Gangsters. Drugs, undoubtedly. Plus all the other sins too, we all imagined. The cops were always on their tail, always trying to bust them for something. They never got charged with anything, ever. Red was the baby of the family. By the time we left elementary school and headed for junior high, he was already like his brothers in at least one major way. He was six-two, and close to two hundred pounds then. He was fourteen. They were imposing, Calvin and Bryant, the two older ones. When they showed up at home for dinner or Christmas, they always rode on gleaming expensive motorcycles, or gleaming expensive luxury cars. They had tattoos everywhere. They both had long hair, and unkempt beards. But they were neighbors, and they always said hi, and they always flirted with my Mom if she was outside, gardening or something. Red grew up being considered by most of the other kids as 'slow'. I must confess I thought the same of him at times. We saw each other almost every day, and he'd always nod at me. That was it. Occasionally at school we'd pass in the hall and he'd say my name. Squirt. Not my given name, of course. But he'd given it to me, and never stopped. We ran in different circles socially, and at school. I had a few friends, and he seemed to have none. But he also seemed to not really care about it. In grade 10, no one in our biology class wanted to pair with him on our first project of the year, dissecting a frog. So I walked over and sat next to him, at the back of the room. He nodded. That was his form of communication. It was during several days of classes, bent over the tray, slicing and being grossed out, that I came to realize that everybody, me included, were totally wrong about him. He wasn't slow at all. He was actually quite bright. He just didn't give a shit about most everything school was trying to teach him. And he didn't give a shit about what anyone thought of him. He told me that he knew exactly what he'd be doing when he grew up, which was working with his brothers, and he'd already learned all the things he would need for those endeavors. He'd been the biggest kid around for forever. So he was the one that quite often got challenged, to fights, by others who thought themselves worthy. Or up-and-coming. Red always won. He never got a scratch on him. After-school tussles behind the gymnasium were short-lived with Red. Most never got a shot in. He'd hit them once, most of the time, and they'd go down. He had bulk and power behind him. A couple of times the other guy managed to get a punch in, but they'd glance off Red's arms or shoulders or torso like he was shooing away flies. Then he'd put them into the hospital. I'd never met a person who could go from dead calm to sheer unleashed terror in the blink of an eye, who also always looked like it didn't bother him at all, that it was no trouble at all, that it was just a minor inconvenience that was best dealt with quickly and efficiently. He was a smart guy, I realized. Other than that one project, we never spoke much. Nods and hellos, mostly. In our senior year, I got cornered by Dennis Galbraith and a couple of his bully wannabes in an almost-empty little hallway. He had some imagined beef with me, thought that I'd insulted him or made him look bad or something. I had no idea what he was talking about, until I realized he was just saying anything he could think of to justify kicking the shit out of me, because he wanted to kick the shit out of someone. I was maybe five-seven, and maybe one thirty-five. My growth spurt had been short-lived and less-than-spectacular. I got my arms up and took the first punch in the shoulder, which made my whole arm tingle and buzz and almost knocked me to the ground. The second punch bounced off my other elbow, which hurt like hell, and I was flinching in preparation for the third blow getting through and really hurting me when Red came around the corner. For a big kid, now six-four and two-forty, Red could move fast. Dennis had enough time to turn and see Red begin walking towards us, when all of a sudden Red was there. A few seconds later Dennis ended up on the floor, crying and wheezing, desperately trying to catch his breath, with two broken ribs, from one punch. His posse disappeared like smoke. Red leaned down and whispered something into Dennis' ear, and I saw Dennis nod, through his pain and his tears. Then Red stood up, and looked at me. "You okay, Squirt?" I nodded, both my affirmation and my thanks. He nodded back, turned, and was gone as quickly as he'd arrived. No one at the school ever messed with me again. Or in the neighborhood, for that matter. I hadn't seen Red for close to a year. One time I was visiting home and he was too, and we nodded at each other down the sidewalk. That was it. Now he was standing in front of me. "Earth to Squirt!" "Hey, Red," I stammered out. His eyebrows furrowed. It was like he realized something was up, but couldn't tell what it was. "You okay?" I tried to nod, to say yes, to convince him that I was, in fact, okay. To convince myself. It didn't work. Tears welled up in my eyes, and as I looked at him and tried to move my lips and say something positive, I was suddenly overcome with all the pent-up emotion I'd been keeping inside me for my entire life. All that liquid came running down my face. I didn't even recognize my own voice. This one was beyond sad, and pained, and scared, and anguished. "No." I started blubbering. I started sobbing. My shoulders started shaking, back and forth. The gravity of the situation, finally finding out my deep dark secret, my horrible medical issue, sent me over the edge. Red stood there and watched me. Then he looked over at the door I'd just walked out of, with the neon sign above it saying "Medical Center", and then he put two and two together. Then the look on his face changed. He went from his usual demeanour, which was stone-faced and stoic, to something I'd never seen before in him. He suddenly looked like he cared about something. He was showing concern. For me? One second later, and he stepped forward, towards me. He put out his huge hand, and put it on my left shoulder. It felt like it weighed about a hundred pounds, but it was warm, and the gesture instantly filled me with comfort. Emotionally. It didn't stop my sobbing, but it did seem to get rid of my blubbering. He looked down into my eyes, and then, in slo-motion, he put his other hand on my other shoulder, doubling the comfort he was trying to give me, and the warmth. Red saw I was looking up at him, and he tried to smile, tried to convey to me that 'everything will be alright' kind of vibe. It didn't work. But man, I sure appreciated the effort. I'd known Red a long time, and I'd never seen him like this before. The tears still raced down my cheeks. Suddenly, his hands pulled at me. He was so much stronger than me, so much bigger than me. What inspired him to this level of interaction, I couldn't tell. I just didn't know him that well. He wrapped his arms around me, and squeezed me into a hug. My arms tentatively reached around him, around his torso. My head barely came up near the top of his chest, which was huge. He was like a barrel, or a drum. And then, some obscure node of my brain registered the thought that if I'd wanted to, and if he was shirtless, I was probably at the most perfect height to kiss and suck on his nipples. I noticed things. He hugged me. On the sidewalk. I almost disappeared inside him. His arms were so big and long and thick, I felt like I was wrapped in a blanket. With my head turned, my cheek was pressed against his pec, and I could feel his heartbeat. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. It struck me that his lungs, like the rest of him, were so much bigger than me, bigger than normal people, and he probably inhaled and expelled twice the amount of air that I did, by volume. Then I thought about his nipples again. I wondered if they were like the rest of his body parts. Bigger than everybody else. And even in my grief, even in the shock of what the Doctor had told me, all of which had caused me to break down in misery, which had then inspired him to hug me in the first place, even though all of that was omnipresent in my mind, there was still that part of my soul that noticed things, and wondered about things. Like, if Red is so much taller and heavier and larger than all the other people I've ever known, except his own brothers, does that mean every part of him is equally large? Does that mean he was huge, you know, down there? In his pants? Was he as blessed there as he seemed to be in every other facet of his body? Next thing I know, Red had walked me down the block to a coffee shop, and put me in a chair. He'd gone and bought me a coffee, and some sort of pastry, and one of each for himself, and we sat at a corner table. He was intimidating to people, his size and his look and the tats on his arms, even when he wasn't trying to be. Two people at the next table pretended to finish up, and left. No one, even the small crowd searching for a seat, came to sit near us. His gigantic slice of cake went down in two bites. Mine would probably take me a half hour to finish. My latte was in a normal cup. His coffee, which he liked black, was in one of those bathtub-like Venti cups. It looked small and insignificant in his hand. He sat and drank and watched me and said nothing. He waited me out. Finally, I began to get control of myself. I grabbed one of the napkins and wiped my eyes, and my cheeks. They were beyond wet. He waited me out. I didn't know what to say, or how to say it. He'd just shown me the greatest amount of respect and consideration that anyone had ever shown me. I felt like I owed him a thanks. And maybe an explanation. "So," he finally ventured, "you wanna tell me what's wrong with you?" I looked up at him. Then the stupid idiotic prideful part of my brain tried to take over. "Wrong with me? Why do you say that? What makes you think somethings wrong with me?" Red snickered. "C'mon Squirt," he said, "you just walked out of a medical building and you're bawling your eyes out. That's gotta mean something's wrong. Is it fatal? Does Mrs. M know yet?" Mrs. M was my mom. I shook my head. NO! "So," he continued, "you haven't told anyone, am I right?" I shook my head again. He was indeed, I realized, much brighter than people gave him credit for. Then he got a serious look on his face. "How bad is it?" All the words the specialist had told me came water falling back over my mind. My eyes filled with tears again. Red watched, and handed me one of his napkins. "It's called Sialorrhea," I said, quietly, pronouncing it the same way the Doctor had. I didn't want anyone else to hear me. It was the hardest thing I'd ever had to say. His concern was still there, on his face. "And what is that, exactly?" he asked. I told him. The same way it had been explained to me. "Human beings generate between two and four pints of saliva a day. I make more than that amount. Some days, almost twice as much. My salivary glands are overactive, which is the word he used. I have to swallow twice as often as you and everybody else. Sometimes more. Hundreds of times a day. All the muscles and tendons and ligaments and whatever in my throat are more developed than most people, because I have to swallow every few seconds, way more than is normal." Red studied me for moments on end, not saying a thing. "Plus, to add insult to injury, I also have Macroglossia," I continued, quietly, "which means that my tongue is larger than normal. Larger than it's supposed to be. Again, totally not normal." Tears welled up in my eyes again. Just saying the two things out loud made me realize the severity of my situation. Hearing the words, even from my own mouth, made the lifetime of fears and worries resurface. "I'm a freak, Red." My cheeks were getting wet again. He handed me his last napkin, and he reached over to another table and pulled some of theirs away. Neither of the men sitting there did anything to stop him, or complain. Such was Red's effect on people. I used the napkins. Red sat silently and let me go through it all, again. The sobbing, the blubbering, the shoulders wracking. It was a much shorter sequence this time. Finally, he spoke. "So what is the prognosis? What did the Doctor say? How do they treat it?" I wiped my eyes, and blew my nose in an audible honk. "They don't treat either of them. There's no meds, no therapies. I have to live with it, for the rest of my life." He considered my words. "So," he ventured, slowly, trying I assumed to protect my feelings, "is it fatal? Did he give you some number of years you have left?" I shook my head. "No. It's not fatal." He studied me again. "So what's the big problem?" he asked. I looked up at him, suddenly offended that his caring was turning into questioning. "You ever come close to drowning, Red?" He shook his head. "Nope." Tears came up again, into my eyes. "I have. Many times." His eyebrows knitted. "What?" I leaned closer to him, and lowered my voice. "I've woken up some nights, nearly drowning. In my own saliva. I'm not kidding. There's been times I've had to cough up a lung full of my own spit; I can't even count them all. You have no idea what it's like," I said, some anger entering into my voice, "being shocked out of a deep sleep because I'm a second or two away from drowning. Having to bolt upright in bed, my heart racing, the fear of dying raging in my head." Tears rolled down my cheeks again. "I have to keep a little pail by my bed, just under the bed frame, next to my night stand, that I can pull out in a second if I panic. A bucket, for my own gross spit." I looked away from him. "A bucket under the bed, for a freak." He waited a few seconds. "You're not a freak." I snapped my head back towards him. There was caring in his eyes. "I mean," he continued, "I get it, you're scared. Some asshole doctor just gave you the bad news and all, but that doesn't make you a freak." A lifetime of emotion, a lifetime of dealing with this problem, it all quickly built up and I had to let it go. "NO?" I said, indignantly. "And do you know anybody else like me? Anybody in your family have this rare condition? Anyone at all? Anybody you know have to keep a bucket under their bed? NO?" He shook his head. "I didn't think so," I snapped. "That pretty much makes me a freak, don't you think?" "Look, Squirt," he said, his voice calm, "I'm not trying to make light of it, or put you down. I'm not trying to sweep this thing under the rug. But," he said, some hesitancy in his voice, "correct me if I'm wrong, but it's not like you've just been told you have days to live, or that you have cancer or AIDS or something horrible and untreatable. Right?" I nodded, hesitantly. "So, maybe you've got a condition that's a bit unusual, a bit out of the ordinary, but then again, who doesn't?" I looked up at him. "You don't," I answered. He shook his head. "You don't know jack about me, Squirt." I was surprised, a little. "Oh yeah? Do you have Macroglossia? Or Sialorrhea?" "No," he answered, a little belligerently, "but I do have Osgood- Schlatters Disease." I was stunned. Red has a medical problem? I'd never known that about him. All of a sudden, like a bolt of lightning, I was struck by his words, and instantly and surprisingly worried about him. He'd shaken me from my obsessive mood, in a heartbeat. "What?" "Everybody's got something, Squirt," he said, "mine happens to be in my knees. They ache. Not all the time," he paused, "just most of the time. Hurts like hell some days. Nothing they can do about it. My bones grew too fast for my ligaments. Or it might have been the other way around. Doesn't matter. It won't kill me, but I have to live with it, every day, forever. Same as you. You know what I mean?" I just sat and stared at him. Slowly, his point made some progress in my head. I stopped crying. I started considering the idea of considering the idea that maybe things weren't all that bad. Red was right, there'd been no mention of the word fatal, or anything similar to it. The Doctor had been an uncommunicative dick, but he'd more or less said that what I had wasn't going to kill me. After a few moments, I looked at Red, and nodded my thanks. "Still," I said, part of me trying to continue wallowing in my own misery, "who's ever going to want to wake up in bed with me at night, sputtering and spitting my own gob out before I breathe it in and drown myself?" He didn't say anything. "How am I ever going to be normal, Red? How am I ever going to have a love life, or a sex life? Or even a normal relationship with anybody?" He still didn't say anything. "I'm going to spend my whole life lonely. I'm never going to get married, or have kids, or any of those things that most everybody else does. So yeah, you're right," I added, "I'm overreacting, I suppose. It's not fatal. But it's sad, Red, looking at my own future and seeing nothing and no one with me. It's not what I was hoping for, a life spent lonely." He nodded his understanding. Then we lapsed into silence. Looking at each other. After a long time, he spoke again, quietly. "For the record, you're not the only guy in the world who gets lonely." I saw his eyes flicker, in an unusual way. "You're not the only person who doesn't get enough love. Or sex. Or love-making. Or whatever you want to call it. Companionship." He paused. "Affection. Lovey-dovey stuff. Cuddling. It seems to me, that's something way too many of us share." I had to scoff at him. "C'mon Red," I said, "be serious. I'll bet you can get laid any time you want. A big strong successful handsome guy, they must be hanging off you." He looked at me, serious like. Then he slowly nodded his head. "Yeah, I can get laid anytime I want, you're right about that." I smiled, at being right and in that way that guys always smile when the other one talks about success with the ladies. "But," he added, "that doesn't mean I don't get lonely." He waited to finish his sentence. "Because I do." We just stared at each other for a longer pregnant pause. Then, I noticed the corners of his lips move up slightly. I saw his chest rise and fall in a particular pattern. He began chuckling. All sorts of anger rose up in me. "You think this is funny?" I asked him. "Is my loneliness and misery amusing to you?" He put his hands out, palms down, and patted the air. "Whoa, Squirt," he said, "nothing like that. I'm sorry." "For what?" He shook his head, as if telling me what he was thinking wasn't in the cards. "For what, Red? What are you sorry about?" He put a soft smile on his face. "I'm sorry," he said, "is all. I was just, well, I was just thinking about something, business-related, from way out of left field. Sorry." Now I was curious. "What was it? What does business-related mean? From left field, how do you mean?" He shook his head. "Naw," he said, "you probably don't want to know." I looked him in the eyes. "Tell me." He paused for a second, considering what it was he was thinking, and the best way to say it, without offending me too much. "Promise me you won't get offended?" I shot him an acknowledgement. "I was just thinking," he said, his eyes getting a soft look, "your condition, you know? Your mouth is always wet, and you're always swallowing, right? And your tongue is extra-special big?" I nodded to all of that. He chuckled again. "Man, I know about a thousand guys who'd pay big money to spend a little time with you. Maybe tens of thousands of guys!" He'd been spot-on correct. This was entirely from left field. "A hundred guys? Spend time with me?" He nodded. "Well sure." I had no concept of what he was talking about, which must have shone on my face. "Or spend time watching you," he added, "you know, on their laptops and tablets and phones." I still must have looked as blank as a stone. "Squirt," he said, leaning closer to me, his voice becoming softer, "think about it. A warm wet moist mouth. Lots of swallowing. Big tongue." I wasn't getting it. "Don't get pissed at me, okay?" he added, "you're a young thin smaller guy, you're smooth and hairless, and you've got a killer round bubble butt, and soft features, and big lips." Then his gaze softened just a little. "Big kissable lips." He just gazed at me. "And, you know, there's lots of men who would enjoy all of that. The whole package. Body, and wet mouth. You know," he smiled, "using that wet mouth?" I thought about his business, what he did for a living. He worked with his brothers. In what my Mom used to describe as 'questionable affairs'. Gangsters. He'd said it was business related, and the words just popped in to my head, and out of my mouth. "Are you talking about prostitution? Gay prostitution?" All of a sudden, he shook his head, strongly. "Forget it, Squirt," he backpedalled, "it was a stupid idea anyway. Don't worry about it. Stupid idea. Sorry." I sat there and stewed in my shock. "It's just," he stopped, trying to find some words, "I sometimes wondered, growing up, in school, or seeing you on the street, if maybe you might, um, might have leaned in a certain direction." "Direction?" He nodded and smiled. "It's all good, Squirt. We're not in high school anymore. This isn't the middle-class suburban bullshit that our Moms live in. This, this is real life. I've seen shit you couldn't imagine." He paused. "I've done shit you probably couldn't imagine, either." He let that soak in. All my problems, my fears, my worries, were all gone. I was sitting there, trying to imagine all these things he said I couldn't. Was he talking about...? Red smiled again, bigger this time. "It's just us, Squirt. You can tell me. Did you ever, you know, experiment? You ever 'play for the other team', as they say? You know, with your swim buddies?" I couldn't think of anything to say. It took all my energy to not fall off my chair. "See, there's one thing," he whispered, leaning closer to me, "one thing I've learned. Out here, in the real world, there's no rules. There's no guidebook. You either live your life, or you don't. You never know how long you've got, you know what I mean? When the doc said the name of the thing you have, you probably thought you were going to die, right?" I nodded. "Same for me. I'm human. When my doc told me I had Osgood-Schlatters I thought wow, game over. It goes through everybody's mind, at some point or other. But the thing is," he paused, "next year, or next month, or even tomorrow, either one of us could feel sick and find out we've actually got something really horrible, something fatal. It could happen. But it didn't for me, and it didn't for you. So now you get to decide, how you want to live." He drank the last of his coffee. "You can be afraid of whatever is coming, every second of every day for the rest of your life, but it won't be much like living. Or," he smiled, "you can go for things, try things, different things. Things you might have thought about, maybe dreamed about, growing up, or even now, when you're all alone." For a long time I just stared at him. Words disappeared from my brain. Not a single one came to mind. "One more thing," Red said, leaning closer to me again, the smile on his face sliding into a much more serious line, "I know from personal experience that there are certain very successful businesspeople and entrepreneurs, outstanding in their chosen field, who couldn't hold a candle to you, with your condition, and with the right, um, uniform." Again, I had no idea what he was talking about. "And with the right motivation." I just looked at him. "Red, I'm sorry, I don't know what you're suggesting." He leaned back, and smiled. "Never mind," he said, "it's nothing. I'm just rambling." I studied his face. There seemed to be a sort of kindness to him. And then, I got it. I got all of it. Everything he'd been hinting at, everything he'd been dancing around. 'Warm wet moist mouth. Lots of swallowing. Big tongue.' And then more. 'You're a young thin smaller guy, you're smooth and hairless, and you've got a killer round bubble butt, and soft features, and big lips. Big kissable lips.' And then even more. 'There are certain very successful businesspeople and entrepreneurs, outstanding in their chosen field, who couldn't hold a candle to you, with your condition, and with the right, um, uniform. And with the right motivation." And finally. 'Play for the other team'. Red looked at me again, seriously. "Enjoy your life, Squirt. Every second of it. Grab whatever joy you can find. There's way too much pain and hurt out there at the best of times. Believe me. So, I suggest you do things you never imagined. Life's too short to play it safe. And show people you love them. The more you throw out there, the more you get back. Believe me." Red offered me a ride home. I accepted. He'd planted some huge seeds in my brain, whether he knew it or not. When we got back onto the street, he pointed at his ride. I had presumed he had a car. Turned out there was a big shiny glittery Harley parked nearby. It looked mean. He threw his leg over it, and nodded behind him. That's where I sit. I saw the foot peg and used it to hop up. The only way to sit was with the front of me pressed up against the back of him. He was so much bigger than me, I was staring more or less between his shoulder blades, under the tight t-shirt he had on. "You better hold on," he said, "or you'll fall right off the back." I touched my hands very gently to his sides, above his belt line. He reached down and grabbed both of my hands, and pulled them around him, like he was putting on a belt. "You gotta hold on real tight, Squirt." Then he turned the key and hit the start button. The beast roared into life, the noise was massive. People on both sides of the street turned their heads and looked. They saw this huge guy, with tats, on a kick- ass Hog, with a tiny person behind him, clinging for dear life. Red didn't seem to notice them. I told him my address, and off we went. The rumble of the engine, the vibrations through the seat, the heat from his body, all of it sent me reeling. Combined with all the images I was conjuring up about 'the other team', and all the 'noticing' I'd done my whole life, and how they were joining and becoming one bigger fantasy. I kept remembering all the best notices of my life. That guys body. That guys smile. That guys cock, in the showers. All the dozens, maybe hundreds, of guys cock in the showers. In the pool. On the streets. I told you, I'd noticed them. They're everywhere. The coaches, some of them hung like horses. The Dads, some of them with salt-and-pepper hair, all sexy and mature, the definition of "manly", the way they would watch me, and smile at me, and occasionally come over and say hello and compliment me on my swimming. I could feel Reds belly as he drove. Even through the t-shirt, I could feel his six pack abs. He was so massively big everywhere. He had muscles on muscles, and always had. I started realizing I'd never seen him naked, or even half-naked. I'd never even seen him with his shirt off. My mind suddenly filled with images of Red. Naked. How I imagined him to be, anyway. We hit a bump, and as the back wheel came up Reds body bumped up a little, and my grip on him loosened just a tiny bit, and I reached for anything to hold on, and the outside of my right hand ended up being next to the top of his lap, over on the left side. Near his groin. His jeans had a gigantic lump in them. I could feel it. I lost my breath, briefly. When he pulled in front of my apartment building, he shut the bike off. "Can I use your facility for a sec? I really gotta see a man about a horse." I hesitated in answering. He turned his head to look at me. "Is that alright?" I nodded. "Sorry, yes, of course you can. It's just..." "Just what?" "I'm a little embarrassed, that's all. It's a crappy place, and I don't own much, and what I do own is pretty crappy too, so just try to ignore the mess, please?" He smiled. Inside, he went straight to my little bathroom. He probably had to duck his head under the door frame. When he came out, I was standing nervously in the middle of my tiny living room. His eyes scanned the area. He saw my guitar. "You play guitar?" I laughed, a little. "Not really. I'm trying to teach myself." I looked at it. I'd bought it for ten bucks, off a guy who used to live down the hall. It was scratched all over, and the neck had a slight bend in it, and it was a brand name I'd never heard of and couldn't find on the net. "I can't play it as often as I'd like, actually. The neighbours complain about the noise. And it doesn't stay in tune very well." He looked at me. "So why don't you get a better one?" I shrugged, and looked away. Then he got it. "Can't afford it?" he asked. I shook my head. I ventured a look at him. He nodded, like he understood. Then his eyes scanned the rest of the room, which didn't take long. Then I saw him stare up into the back corner, near the one and only window that opened. I knew what he was looking at. "Is that mold?" he asked. I nodded, regrettably. "The building manager said the landlord was going to fix the leak in the roof, the summer I moved in. That was two years ago. He still hasn't fixed it." Red looked at me. Concerned. "Squirt, that's really unhealthy, you know?" I felt some tears starting to form again, in both eyes. "It's all I can afford, Red." "Really?" I nodded. "You can't ask your folks for some help?" "No," I said, shaking my head. "I mean, I know they'd do it, and then screw themselves out of money they need for retirement. I can't ask them." He looked at me, like he respected my decision. "You shouldn't live here," he said, "not with mold like that." I smiled, a little ruefully, and threw my hands up. "Best I can do, right now." Red stood and looked at me, for a really long time. Then the light shining from his eyes changed wattage. "I got plenty of space. How much do you pay for this dump?" I told him. "Give me the same amount, and live at my house. I've got a house in the Southlands, down by the river, nice place, big yard. You'd like it." "I would?" He smiled. "I've got a pool." I laughed out loud, with glee. "Oh wow." Then his face got serious again. "Think about it, Squirt." He looked up at the mold again. "You shouldn't live with that shit." We stared at each other for a bit. "You should come live with me." I felt almost hypnotized by him. This huge man, someone I've known for years and who'd said more to me in one hour than he had since we were kids, was standing there, his eyes riveted on mine, the tiniest of grins on his face. "Saves us both from being lonely, right?" Wordless, I found myself nodding. Slowly. We stared at each other some more. Finally, I had to ask. "Red?" "Yup?" I hemmed a bit. "Um, what did you mean, before, you know, when you talked about a, um, a uniform?" His grin became wider. "I just meant with the right clothes, that's all." "Oh," I answered. "Like what kind of clothes?" He started to say something, and then he stopped. Then he started again. "Nothing. Sorry. I was thinking in work mode again." I waited a couple of seconds, and then I had to ask. "So, what kind of clothes would be the right clothes?" He shook his head a little, as if he wasn't going to answer. Then an idea came to him. I could see it appear, the look on his face softened. "I tell you what. Give me your email addy," he finally said, "and when I get home, I'll email you with a website." I grabbed a pencil and some paper, scrawled the info, and gave it to him. "I gotta warn you, Squirt," he paused, grinning, "it's pretty out there. If you hate it, just forget about it, forget I ever mentioned anything, and we'll never mention it again. If you like it, email me back." After a few moments of more staring, he turned to grab the door handle. "It was real good seeing you again," he said. I took a step towards him, as he opened the door to leave. "Red?" He stopped and turned to me. "Yeah?" All of a sudden, nerves rose up my spine. I shuddered, the burst of anxiety palpable. "I just wanted to, um, say thanks, for today, for being there. I know, it was a complete coincidence, but still. You, um, you really saved me." I paused, and was struck with a thought. "Again. Like you did in Grade twelve. Remember?" He nodded. "I don't know how I would have made it home alive, if it wasn't for you. So, really," I said, stepping closer to him, "thank you, from the bottom of my heart." He just looked down at me and smiled. "My pleasure," he finally whispered. "Can I," I suddenly said, from out of nowhere, "can I hug you?" His eyes shot open a little, and he seemed to almost shudder himself. "I'd like that," he said. I reached up and put my arms over his shoulders, and his arms came slowly around me. Then, by mutual agreement, our bodies slowly came together. I was breathing so hard you would swear I'd just finished a marathon. My face lined up perfectly under his chin, and his long arms meant his hands were just on the top of where my glutes start curving away from my body, right on the top of the start of my ass. They felt heavenly. We held each other for way longer than a traditional bro-hug would normally last. I found myself amazed at how much heat his body gave off. It was like ten degrees warmer being pressed up against him than not. I breathed out a hugely satisfied sigh. I realized I had a lump in my pants. Then he pulled me a little bit harder, and I realized that he had a huge lump in his pants. It felt like he might have an iron rod or something like it. After a bunch more hugging, he looked down at me at the same time that I looked up at him. His eyes twinkled with delight. His smile was warm and gentle and belied his usual gruff fa?ade. We just stared at each other. I could feel his breath on my face, cool and sweet on my cheeks. For the longest time I wanted to kiss him. Which was the most amazing thing so far about my day, and it shook me to my core. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted him to kiss me, more like it. And for the longest time, I was absolutely sure he wanted to kiss me. I don't know why, but I had that vibe, real strong. It was like both of us wanted the other to start, and both of us didn't want to offend the other by starting. Finally, we let each other go. "See you, Squirt," he said, and smiled, and walked towards the stairs. I heard his bike start up a few minutes later, and I heard him zoom off down the street. I stood in the middle of my tiny piece of squalor in shock. Shock at my medical problems. Shock at meeting up with Red again. Shock at his ideas, and his wisdom. Shock at his invitation to live with him, in his house. The Southlands was an upper-class area, where the houses were big and the properties huge. I've never known such splendor. Shock at wanting to kiss him. Apoplexy at wanting him to kiss me. And finally, the surprising shock of realizing that I was sad a little bit when he didn't kiss me. I puttered around, mindlessly, for a couple of hours. I checked my email about a hundred times. The "ding" made my heart race. It made me salivate even more than usual, and I had to do three big swallows in a row. It made me so erect that it hurt, trapped in my clothes. He wrote: Hey Squirt, here's the link, plus a user name and one time password. But before you watch, just remember this: up to now you've lived dead square in the middle of the middle-class world. And that's fine, it's cool. But there's lots of people who don't live in the middle all the time. Some of them venture out towards the edges, for fun. Some of them live out there all the time. In our business we have what we call 'interests' in lots of different industries, which is another word we use. So what I was saying, earlier, was coming from that point of view. You got every right to explore life, and to support yourself, make your money, and all I'm saying is there are different ways of doing it, especially utilizing your assets. Your condition. Anyway, if you don't like it, try not to hate me, okay? If you do like it, and want to see more, let me know. And hey, that offer to live at my place still stands. I got lots of room. You really shouldn't be living in that dump, it's not good for you. And who knows? Maybe sharing a house with me will make you feel less lonely. Make us both feel less lonely. And the pool is right outside, surrounded by trees so no one can see from anywhere, nice and secluded. You can swim naked, if you want. I do. Red. I jumped to my shitty old laptop, and typed in the URL. It was a movie clip. It was titled "Sierra's Hotel Room Fun". I had to redo the password twice; my fingers were shaking so badly I hit a couple of wrong keys. Once I was in, I hit the play button. The dark screen jumped to bright, the camera set up at the foot of a hotel room bed, a big king-sized mattress covered in expensive looking satin sheets. On the bed was a woman. Laying on her front, her thick auburn hair falling down her back, covering some of the straps of her lacy almost-sheer black bra. She was propped up on her elbows, but I couldn't see her face. She had the absolutely most gorgeous ass I've ever seen. No word of a lie. It was round and smooth and plump and partially covered with a wispy-thin pair of black panties. Her tanned sleek legs were encased in the silkiest shiny black stockings, with huge lace bands at the top of her thighs. Right at the bottom of the camera, were her shoes. Ridiculously high heels, as pink as bubble gum, her toes cramped into a tiny pinched toe, a pink strap around her ankle. She was grinding her pelvis into the mattress, and I could hear her whispery moans of delight. She just reeked femininity, and sexuality. I started pawing at my clothes, and once naked sat in my straight-backed wooden chair with one hand holding the mouse and one hand stroking myself. Playing with myself. I began masturbating. I was already about a pubic hair away from exploding, and had to slow myself down. For a few moments, all she did was grind and moan. I moaned along with her. Finally, she slowly rolled herself over, to lay on her back. Her face was beautifully made up. Not hysterical like some women, just alluring and sexy. Her lips were plump and cherry red. She looked like she wanted to be kissed. Her bra cups were lacy and sexy and small, because she was almost flat- chested. But the underwire of the bra pushed up what she had, and created a little bit of a line between her breasts. And her nipples were clear, in the cups, and thick with blood. Her belly was flat, and she had a ring in her belly-button. My glance further down pushed me over the edge. I felt a lurching from my groin and belly, like I was being electrocuted and everything was jumping around, and then my whole body went erect, kerpow, and then I just started cumming. In huge convulsions my whole body shook, and each tremor caused another stream of snow-white goo to shoot out of me, almost painful as my body spat it out. I lost most of my consciousness, and just pumped out cum for a while. The reason? Her panties had a generous tent in them. The clear lace was sexy as hell and did nothing to hide her erection, which was quivering, and as plain as day. As were her hairless balls. I thought they were the sexiest balls I'd ever seen, and I've seen a few. Like I said, I noticed things. She was a he. But, I realized, he looked more like a she than most of the she's I've ever met. Once I calmed down, I paid attention to the video again. Sierra smiled at the camera. My mind was struck again by her looks. She was a very feminine he. Sexy. Wow. Then she pulled on her own panties and freed her cock, which popped out fully erect, the head of her uncut cock glistening with liquid. Then her tongue ran out, over her teeth and around her lips. Then she growled out, "My boyfriend is always so late! I'm going to have to start things myself!" Then she started jerking herself off, slowly, oohing every time her foreskin came up over the head and then back down the shaft. I couldn't believe it, but I was instantly hard again, and my hand just automatically started working again, my whole lower belly and groin covered in my own cum. Normally I would have cleaned up first. This time I didn't care. After a few seconds, I actually realized I was enjoying it. It felt naughty. Covered in my own cum, using all that gooey goodness to pleasure myself again. Sierra was beginning to really stroke herself, long fast pulls up and down her significant cock. The oohing was louder now. I stroked myself in time with her, but it looked like her distance travelled each time was a lot more than mine. At one point, she reached down with her other hand, and took two fingers, and ran them all over the head and crown of herself, and then she brought the fingers up to her mouth. She moaned out the word "YUMMY!" and then ran her tongue all over the digits, slurping up what she could, and then inserted the fingers most of the way into her mouth, and closed her lips around them. I could see her cheeks caving in as she sucked on them. I barely got the word "YUMMY!" out before I clamped my mouth down on my two fingers, and mimicked her suckling motions. My entire palate was swamped with the most insane heady taste! Salty and nutty and slightly acidic and yet sweet all at the same time. WOW! Then Sierra started really stroking herself hard and fast. I matched her stroke for stroke. I had to keep my own moans down, just to hear hers. I hadn't turned the sound up very far, for fear of the neighbours hearing, and I somehow needed to be able to absorb every single syllable she uttered. As if my life depended on it. This was just so remarkable. I was naked, stroking myself, masturbating, covered in my own cum, all while watching a cross-dresser named Sierra do much the same! I'd never done anything like this. EVER! And I'd never felt so alive. EVER! Finally she sped up more, as did I, and she started moaning in long gasps, as did I, and then she closed her eyes and tilted her head back and starting erupting cum all over herself. As did I. Then the movie ended, and the one-time password's permission was withdrawn, and my laptop screen went dark. It took me almost half an hour to get back to something resembling normal. I was so lost in the sex of it all that I scooped up as much of my own cum with my fingers and sucked them dry. I reasoned it would save me from cleaning the floor of all the drips, if I was to go shower off, or head to bed. Mostly, I think, I wanted to taste it. I wanted to understand what it was like, how it felt on my tongue, how it might excite my taste buds. Whether I'd hate it or not. And for the next surprise of an already surprise-filled day, I loved it. It was warm and salty as hell and nutty as hell, and it felt like it was alive on my tongue, and by the time it got to my taste buds my brain was already looking forward to more. I wanted to email Red back, right away. But some part of my brain was hesitant. Maybe I had him all wrong, maybe he wasn't suggesting what I was beginning to think he was. Maybe he was just having me on, playing a huge mind-fuck with me. Then I remembered the look in his eyes, and how I was sure he wanted to kiss me. And I knew in my heart that he wasn't being mean, wasn't playing a joke on me. He wouldn't be that cruel to me. He had feelings for me. I was sure of it. Finally, after a full hour, I sent him an email. Red, WOW! That was all I could think of to write to him. I closed the email and didn't think about what I'd actually written until I'd already pressed the SEND button. I'd written "LOVE, SQUIRT". A few minutes later, he sent me a response. Want to see more? I couldn't type the word YES fast enough. Ten seconds later, he sent me a new link with a new one-time password. Sierra's Hotel Room Fun 2. It started off where the first one had ended. She was licking up her own cum, which had fallen mostly on her thighs, and glanced up at the camera with the most depraved and delightful smile of absolute joy. She was so into what she was doing, and it got me hard again. Then she took a fingertip blob of cum and leaned on one side, and her arm went behind her, and her fingers slid down between her glorious ass cheeks, and that finger went straight into her hole. A couple of heartbeats later, my finger went straight into my hole. Every two or three thrusts, she'd scoop up more of her cum, returning to her pussy for more fingering. I made sure that I matched her, glob for glob, and finger for finger. I was knocking myself over just thinking about what I was doing. Sitting here, watching porn, crossdressing porn to boot, and jacking off over and over again. It blew my mind. I'd never done any of this before. I mean, don't get me wrong, I masturbated. Of course! And I always enjoyed it. But even my best wank time previously couldn't hold a candle to what I was going through now, what Red had inspired me to do, and feel. All of a sudden, she pulled her finger out of herself, and started looking around, eventually spotting something and moving quickly off the bed, returning to the shot moments later. In one of her hands, she held a rubber dildo. It weebled and wobbled as she held it by the base, settling back on the mattress, she leered into the lens and smiled and then kissed the head, blinking her eyelids quickly, rather coquettishly, at the camera. Then the big rubber head disappeared into her shiny lips. I started scanning my living room. I didn't own anything like that, and never had. I'd never considered the idea before. Now here I was frantically eyeballing everything, hoping against hope that I could find something to use as a dildo. To use as a substitute for a man's cock. Jumping from object to object, I finally spotted an old bicycle pump, one of the thin slender tubes that clip onto the frame. I had three or four of them, all old and not working properly. Bike couriers go through a lot of that kind of equipment. At light speed, I grabbed it up, got into the bathroom, found some antiseptic wipes and cleaned it, and then rinsed it and dried it, and was back in my chair. Sierra was greedily sucking on her dildo. I slid the pump into my lips. My natural abundance of saliva covered the end of it, and it slid like hot butter to the back of my mouth, touching the entrance to my throat, and making me moan inside. Red's words came back to me. Sierra started seriously trying her best to get all the dildo into her throat. I matched her, inch for inch. Swallowing multiple times a minute was nothing new for me, and it felt as natural as breathing to work at it with my muscles. The more I worked, the more it went into my throat. Just like that, Sierra pulled the dildo from her mouth, and leaned her body over, trying to show more of her back and ass to the camera. She spoke again, breathy and full of lust. "I'm just gonna start without him, and get myself good and open for him when he arrives!" Then she placed the head of the life-like rubber cock at her shaved- smooth pink and wrinkly bottom hole. She winked at the camera. She slid about three inches into herself, her eyes rolling back and her breath catching with a huge intake of breath. I made the same moans a few seconds later, after I slid about three inches of the pump into my bottom hole. Once the staggering shock of what I was doing faded, I realized that I felt full "down there". And that I loved it! Suddenly, on the video, I heard a heavy door opening and closing. Sierra looked back up and behind herself, more or less left of where the camera was placed, and then back to the camera, and started cheering. "YAY!" she gloated, "My boyfriend's finally here!" I heard an obviously pretend voice say "Yeah baby, your boyfriend's here, and he's horny as hell! Are you ready for some real man's cock, Sierra?" She nodded up and down like she was in a contest and determined to win. She kept slipping the dildo in and out of herself, and I could occasionally hear some squishy sounds. Some of them were coming from her. Some of them were coming from me, from my new-found pussy. The tube of the pump squishing and squashing with my own cum and saliva as lube. I thought it might be the sexiest sound I'd ever heard. Unfortunately, the video had low production values. The camera didn't move. So I actually didn't get to see nearly as much detail as I wanted, and almost none of her man. I heard the sounds of clothes hitting the floor, and then a VERY impressive-sized erect cock came into view, from the left. It was aimed straight at her pussy. I saw a bit of what looked like a solid big thigh, and a few frames of what looked like a taut belly. Otherwise, the screen mostly showed Sierra. At first her eyes closed, as he was penetrating her. Her breath was ragged, and seemed to increase the further into her he got. Once he'd pushed most of himself into her, she reached back and placed her palm on his belly, signalling him to give her a few moments. A few moments later, after she'd expelled several lung-fulls of air, she turned back onto her front, and onto her knees, her back arched. Then she almost screamed. "NOW! FUCK ME NOW!" He did. I saw his right hand grab onto her hip, and he started purposefully stroking himself in and out of her, each delicious movement a little faster and firmer than the one before. He was wasting little time, and avoiding the Christmas rush, and getting down to the serious quickly. She just kept grunting, a loud sound almost like a sea lion barking, every time he bottomed out in her. As his speed increased, I could see her pushing her ass up towards him, actively trying to increase his pleasure, and therefore hers. She was twerking on his cock, as he pistoned into her from behind. Finally, his slamming into her got so fierce her knees collapsed, and she fell into the mattress. The guy fell forward with her, never losing contact, never allowing his cock to plop out of her, and he kept ramming into her. You could hear the sound of flesh slapping flesh, in between her barks. He had the biggest unruliest mop of jet black hair, which made me think it was a wig, and a much bigger body than Sierra. He had a few tats on his arms, like a lot of guys. There was though, a really large tattoo on his back, of an eagle in flight. She started one long continuous moan, during which her pitch increased for a few moments while she obviously orgasmed, spurting her cum into the mattress she was lying face-down on, and that inspired him, and he threw about a dozen more full-body slams into her, and then he made some strained deep groans, and his ass shook and trembled like jello. They both lay still for a few moments, him on top of her. Both of them breathing really hard, as if they'd just climbed Mount Everest. Then the screen went dark and blank. I almost cried as I came once again, the end of the bicycle pump still inside my clenching pussy hole, my belly convulsing and lurching again, a weak thin stream of clear goo slowly oozing from my spent penis. My email 'dinged'. Hey Squirt, It's Saturday tomorrow, do you work on weekends? I sent back a one-word answer. No. A few seconds later. You wanna come out to the house, check it out? See if you like it? You could do some swimming too, if you want. It was difficult to find the energy to type, but I found it. I'd love to. He started his reply with a smiley emoji. I'll pick you up around noon. And like a hot water tank, I was once again filled with warmth and energy. My poor abused excuse for a cock started filling with blood again. I can't wait. The truest words I'd ever known. It's a date. The End.