Up to this point, the incidents described have been autobiographical with some literary embellishments. While that's true of "action" parts of this chapter, Marley is a character whom I imagined and couldn't resist developing. While I did have a female friend who was a good listener with whom I shared my journey, she doesn't have Marley's flair. There is no podcast or thesis.
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When I closed the door as Tom left, I decided to leave the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door for a while longer.
I had to smile at the how our goodbye scene would have looked in a film. He was dressed and ready for work, and I had dropped my towel and I was naked with wet hair plastered to my head. Our kisses were a mix of tender and hungered. I loved that he couldn't leave without stroking my cock one last time.
I laughed out loud, realizing that I'd probably left a wet precum spot on his pants. I imagined him first discovering it when he got to his car and wondering how many people he had passed had noticed. Well, I thought, I had marked him as mine.
I walked over to the bed and flopped down on my back with my feet on the floor. I spread my legs and began to slowly stroke my semi-hard cock while my left hand fingered my balls. Well, despite my worries, my equipment had been up to the task.
I wished we had had a little more time. I would have liked to share with him some of the thoughts and images that passed through my brain as I was letting the hot shower restore my muscles. He was right that we seemed to take to all this naturally, and we had certainly checked more boxes than I thought were possible for first-timers. Still I had been flooded with images of things I could do with my mouth, tongue and hands to better pleasure both of us.
I'd thought of other positions that hadn't occurred to us. I pictured again the two of us lying on our sides. He would be behind me with his cock gliding in and out of my ass. He would be resting up on his left elbow, so he could look over my body and watch me stroking my hard-on. He would reach over and tease my glistening cock head and ridge. We would go slow like that for many many minutes. I'd let out a gasp when I felt him gradually increasing the speed and force of his strokes. I'd tighten my grip on my shaft and try to match his pace. His four fingers and thumb would massage my cock's precum slick head more firmly.
And if we timed it just right, we would cum hard together. I'd be rocked by his spasms deep in my well-stuffed rectum as the beautiful sensations of orgasm tore through my cock and I'd blast my cum to his waiting hand. I imagined it would be like having two orgasms at once, the pleasure exponentially increased, not doubled.
As these images flooded my consciousness, my hand was feverishly gliding up and down my shaft and mimicking the massage of my cock head with my other hand. I lifted my ass off the bed and my moans were close to a scream. The pleasure in my throbbing cock was off the charts.
It had been a long time since I'd had such an intense orgasm fueled only by imagination and not porn. I dropped my ass back to the bed exhausted and looked at the meager load of cum coating my hand. My reserves were pretty much drained. Still enough to coat the fingers that I slipped into my mouth.
That's mine, I thought, not Tom's. I loved that now that I had tasted someone else's cum and could distinguish it from my own.
Well, maybe the reality of that position couldn't match the intensity of what I'd just imagined, but I was eager to find out.
Time to brush my hair and teeth. Time to get moving.
But as often happened after I masturbated, my thinking self reasserted itself and posed a host of questions. The time with Tom certainly confirmed what I had hoped to discover, that indeed I did love sucking cock and being sucked by a person who had a penis. Anal sex as both the penetrator and the penetrated brought me to heights of pleasure that I have never experienced before. I was now certain that my sole sexual interest going forward was to be with individuals whose genitalia was the same as mine.
I'd spent a good amount of time researching gender vs. sexual orientation. I'd found the distinctions people made between gay and queer to be mind-boggling. Which was I or was I neither?
I was still bothered by the characterization of bi-curious or bisexual individuals as "greedy sluts" just interested in getting off and not in forming relationships. I could see how the sexual frenzy shared by Tom and me could get us labeled as "slut guilty."
And it was true that our messages to each other and naked Zoom chats were fantasy laden and not about creating a relationship. Still though, it had been more than his penis (which, of course, did entrance me) that attracted me. I sensed an intelligence and creativity in him that were huge parts of what turned me on about him. Our sex may have been wild (though the more experienced might question that description), but we were both attuned to pleasing the other. Why should I feel guilty about having amazing sex?
It seemed to me that I had been more gay-curious (I'd never seen the term used, but I hadn't looked everywhere) than bi-curious. I wasn't looking to have the best of both worlds. I was ready to take the same sex road if it turned out to be what I expected and not just a lonely person's submission to long suppressed desires that maybe provided a shortcut to a renewed spark in life.
These thoughts rolled through my brain as I got dressed, packed up the few things I'd unpacked, and got ready to leave the room. Little did I know that being an individual beset with conundrums made me just the fish Marley was hoping to catch.
As I pulled my carry-on bag down the hallway to the elevator, I realized that the hot shower hadn't worked the miracle that I thought it had on my sore muscles.
"Hey, Tenderfoot," she greeted me later, "you're moving like you just came back from your first extended horse ride at the dude ranch."
Although it pissed me off at the time, I just had to chuckle every time I thought back on it. It was definitely vintage Marley--blunt, direct, and right on target.
After I checked out, I turned to leave and spotted her sitting in a leather chair. I didn't recognize her at first. The blonde hair from yesterday had been a wig. This young woman had a nearly shaved head on the left side and hair on the right that the curved down from the part to about an inch or two below her jaw line. I confess, describing hair styles isn't in my wheelhouse, so I hope you can get the basic idea. It was the purple stripe at the front that caught my attention. She was wearing an orange dress that looked more like a long tank top. It was so short that with her legs crossed, I caught a glimpse of the lace at the top of thigh-high black stockings incongruously tucked into rather grubby hightop once white Converse sneakers.
She got up, slung a backpack over one shoulder and marched straight for me. When she hit me with the Tenderfoot line, all I could manage to get out was, "Excuse me?"
"Hey," she replied, "Tom gave me a huge smile and a vigorous thumbs up when I asked how it went down."
Oh, shit, I thought. She's the cross-dresser from yesterday.
She grabbed my arm like we were a couple. "You're going to take me to brunch because you're going to want to hear about who he met on the way out and what transpired. I'll spill the beans in exchange for your story."
Flabbergasted, I let her lead me to what she later told me was the restaurant with the best all-you-can-eat brunch. She also gave me an elaborate rundown of places not to go.
Elaboration should have been her middle name.
"Table for two," she said. As we followed the hostess, she squeezed my arm tighter. "You're paying, of course."
Even before we were seated, she told the hostess that we wanted the buffet, and she motioned for me to follow her to the serve-yourself line. Grabbing a plate, she gave me reviews of each item as she scooped up enormous portions.
