Over the long, warm, Memorial Day weekend, I went on a road trip with several friends to do a series of bike rides out in the country. The whole weekend concept was kind of like a Pennsylvania cabin trip, but this time we stayed in someone’s home and with a rather more gracious (read: very gay) appointment plus a guest house down the hill from the much larger main house.
I was immediately attracted to Buddy, a muscular, hairy guy with deep eyes, high cheekbones, and a quiet personality. I spent a lot of time on the first day’s ride staring at Buddy’s bike shorts, wondering if I would be able to get him out of them. I confided my lust to a mutual friend and was informed Buddy was HIV-positive (so much for medical confidentiality, tsk).
Back at the house after the first day of biking, we all lounged around in the pool in the afternoon sun, cocktails on chaises longues and swimming nekkid, recounting the ride’s highlights; and in the cool evening retired by turns to the hot tub. I noticed Buddy mostly sitting off by himself, quietly drinking a beer, not nekkid enough for me and not unfriendly but also not really engaged.
Everyone got ready for bed and the sleeping arrangements got settled. I claimed half of the fold-out couch in the guest house and with no other takers, resigned myself to sleep alone. Then I saw Buddy, still by himself, seeming not to have a place to go. Carefully maintaining my poise, I went over and offered that if he didn’t have a bed already, he was welcome to share my fold-out.
This seemed to make Buddy a bit uncomfortable, so I just smiled and turned back to my couch, figuring, oh well, he wasn’t interested. But then he spoke up and looking right at me, said he was up in the main house and wanted to get going to bed. If that was a no-thanks message, I decided not to get it (Jesus Christ, dude!) and tagged along with him up to the main house. He explained that he was already doubled-up in a bed with someone, and we’d have to ask if this other guy minded swapping places with me.
Wait. Buddy was on my side about this all along?
We found the bedmate fortunately not yet in bed, and who said he didn’t mind swapping (love you! whoever you were).
I retrieved my stuff from the guest house, and Buddy seemed to relax after we were alone in his, now our, room. We undressed to our shorts and got into bed, and he said something about just wanting to go to sleep, making me wonder what, if anything, he had thought he wanted. I mean, fine, but why did he even suggest we ask his previous bedmate to switch with me, only to go to sleep?
We turned the light off and I tossed and turned for a while in the dim light, my shoulder just brushing against his warm, sexy shoulder, as my dick got hard. We eventually ended up in a loose spoon position with my stiff dick brushing up against his butt.
I decided I couldn’t take being so near to Buddy’s hot body anymore, so I stretched out on my back, pulled off my shorts, and began to jerk off, deliberately bouncing the bed hard, just to keep him awake. I mean, he was the one who proposed we ask his roommate to switch, so deal with it. However, that only seemed to get Buddy going and he began pestering me, jabbing me in the side with his fingers, as I tried to focus on working my dick.
Joking, I mumbled that I’d tie him up if he didn’t behave.
To my great surprise, he picked up on that and said to find something to tie him up with: a towel, dental floss, anything. Huh.I thought for a second, then retrieved my belt from my pants, looped it around his wrists and buckled it up through the (how convenient) headboard latticework.
With his arms tied over his head, I straddled Buddy’s hips, gently twisting his pretty nipples and raking my fingernails hard through his pretty armpits, making him snort and twist. I slid myself down between his legs, lifting them onto my shoulders (I’m learning!), feeling him pull on his bonds as I gently nibbled and tugged on his scrotum with my teeth (a move I learned from Ernest). Buddy had told me earlier that his HIV medication had made him impotent and unable to get an erection (maybe as a subtle warning to me not to be disappointed if he didn’t get a boner).
As I worked my way around his body, sliding my fingers up through his forest of chest hair and broad expanse of nipples and luscious armpits, I accidentally bumped my cock up between his legs, and he mumbled something about fucking him. I thought about it for a moment, like, to give him something he appeared to be requesting, but I but really didn’t feel like going to all that bother. (Open secret: it’s messy.)
So instead, I put him down and moved up to straddle his chest, lifting his head and shoving my cock against his lips. He gave a submissive grunt and asked if I was going to make him suck my cock and cum on his face.
My answer was to jam my fingers between his teeth like I meant it, pry his jaw open, and slip my cock into his warm, soft mouth. Yeah, dude, you’re gonna suck my cock.
Buddy didn’t disappoint. He gave another submissive grunt from between his upraised armpits and rolled his tongue over and under the fleshy head of my dick, bringing me to the edge of cumming. I pulled my dick out and after only a couple firm jerks of my own, shot my load on his face. Yeah, dude, I’m gonna cum on your face.
He laid there quietly, his arms still tied over his head, my cum running down one cheek. I laid down on his warm chest for a moment to catch my breath, then got up, grabbed some tissue, and wiped his face and unbuckled his hands. I went to pee, came back to bed, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and we fell asleep. I wondered what he was feeling.
In the morning I was awakened by Buddy already out of bed and getting dressed. As I laid there trying to smile nicely and say good morning, he announced that he had to go get coffee and fled the room, leaving me to wander down alone.
Buddy seemed to carefully avoid me all that day during biking and during meals. I smiled at him when I could, but he didn’t smile back, and I decided that if he wanted to withdraw, feel guilty, blame me, or whatever, I wasn’t going to worry about it.
That evening he got a bit drunk. He came over and began a long, awkward apology for abruptly deserting me in the morning and how he liked me but didn’t want to sleep with me again that night. I smiled and told him thanks for saying something and that it was quite all right. I swapped back with Buddy’s original bedmate and reclaimed the fold-out couch.
The next day I smiled and tried again to be friendly, but Buddy kept to himself, still seeming remote or maybe nervous, not just with me but with everyone there.
I never saw Buddy again, and later heard from mutual friends that he now had a partner and was still around but didn’t get out much. Several more years after that I learned Buddy had died, but the person who told me didn’t know why. I remembered the quiet guy who kept to himself and entertained me for an evening.