A Mostly True Story
On the long drive over that morning I'd discreetly swallowed two minis of vodka. These first-time encounters invariably make me a little nervous.
You entered his mobile home through the carport. I was familiar with this. My mother likewise lived in a mobile home, in a retirement community, within walking distance of my house one county over. You walked past a stationery car to a series of steps with a double width of sliding glass doors at the top, only one of which opened. As with hers it was the lefthand one. These things were the product of cookie cutters.
The door opened for me as I mounted the steps, and through the opening I saw a man stepping back. He was naked, his penis already hard. Erect. I glanced behind me at the large window of the adjacent mobile home that looked directly across at his sliding doors, and into his kitchen. I wondered if anyone had seen him. I wondered if his neighbors knew he was gay. Did they care?
I carried a bottle of Chardonnay wrapped in a brown paper bag to keep the cold in, and I set it on the edge of the kitchen counter to my left as I stepped inside. My naked host was tall like me, and slender, though he'd retained a full head of greying hair. His eyes roved as he surveyed me, having only seen pictures of my body in our email exchanges. Honestly I don't remember if he answered my ad in the sex personals or I answered his. And I regret to say I don't remember his name, if I ever knew it.
"Do you want me to open the bottle?" I wondered. I was still dressed, still nervous.
"Maybe later," his reply.
"Then I guess I'll...undress."
There was the back of a chair across to my right and I took a couple of steps toward it before kicking off my colorful beach shoes. I wore no socks. Next my pale blue pullover top came off, and I draped it over the chair back. Then my light grey drawstring pants came down and I stepped out of them and placed them atop the shirt. I was now down to my panty--brightly colorful like my shoes. A bikini cut. Microfiber. Full of bulges.
I wondered, for a moment, if he'd prefer me like this. Like in one of the pics I'd sent him. But he just looked, or stared, and said nothing. So down the skimpy thing went and I draped it over my pants and shirt. We were now both in the nude, looking at one another. Taking each other's naked bodies in.
I was about to ask him about the window and the view it offered, the view of us standing naked inside his glass doors, the view his neighbors would have of us, when he advanced, as if preprogrammed to do so, in a robotic sort of way, and threw his arms around my upper body and pressed his lips to mine.
We kissed. His tongue entered my mouth and, latently, mine entered his. We kissed, we necked, passionately, as if long-lost friends, or lovers, or partners. Only after he at last broke the kiss off, coming up for air, did he explain: "Nobody can see in. My neighbors are out of town."
"Oh."
By that point I'd forgotten all about them. We kissed again, necked again, our erect penises pressed against one another, side by side between our two bellies. It was good, I reflected, that we were the same height.
His cock was similar to mine, though a little longer and thicker. Uniformly thick, like mine, from base to just below the head, the glans, well-formed and pink, again like mine, and as we stood there kissing I fantasized about it sliding deep inside me, my rectum not just my mouth, and throat, filling me perhaps as full as I'd ever been, pleasuring me, eliciting cries with each thrust. I longed for it, his beautiful cock.
He once again broke off the kiss and said, in a near whisper, as if someone might overhear, "Let's go in the bedroom."
I followed him around a corner to his low double bed, two blue-grey pillows and a matching fitted sheet, unwrinkled, apparently newly made, on offer. I lay beside him, initially on his right, and we kissed again, this time in a horizontal position, as our slender legs tangled. I reached down and took hold of his cock, a real handful, and he did the same with my lesser one.
And when the kiss finally ended I told him, referring to his penis, "Nice one." But he said nothing about mine.
I slid down and opened my mouth wide and took his cock in it and I sucked him, his flesh tasting, like his mouth, clean and fresh. (I wondered if he'd detected the vodka on my breath.) We eventually rolled into position, with me on top, this way that way, and did 69, and I worried that, especially pointing downward like this, I might prematurely cum. I didn't want to. In fact I didn't care if I came that day or not.
Eventually we rolled over again, this time with me on his left, and this time when we kissed we tasted, or presumed we did, our own cocks, with perhaps a hint of cum. I knew I had leaked a little. The clear kind that dots an eye, centered in luscious, spongy pink.
This time when our lips parted I was out of breath. I swallowed and said, asked, "You want to...put it in me?"
In our email exchanges (we'd never spoken by phone) he'd identified himself as versatile, though we never discussed having anal. I'd identified myself as the same--although surely he would have recognized me as a bottom from the women's panty I hesitated before removing, a few minutes ago.
"Are you healthy?" he asked, his penis once more in my hand.
"Yes. You?"
"Yes. Clean?"
"Yes." I smiled: "I always come prepared. Just in case."
"I've got condoms...," he offered.
"So do I. But you can bareback me if you want."
