Penis on a Pedestal

The dinner menu, for me, had one course that my hosts, Alan and Julie, couldn't have imagined: My crystal-clear memory of that long-ago day when I saw Alan nude, with as perfect a cock as I'd ever encountered. And I saw it, I later concluded, for a reason. Alan wanted me to.

That was a decade ago. Alan and I were colleagues and sometime friends at a Boston company that had sent me to Paris for a year. So when Alan emailed to say he and his girlfriend were planning a vacation in France, I offered them my second bedroom in my spacious flat just off the Boulevard St. Germain.

It was a visit I looked forward to, since my wife was back in the states for two months.

Alan was closing in on 35 then. He's a good-looking guy - then and now - with a winning smile and personality. But he's short, barely 5' 6", and he's always been self-conscious of that.

So he worked out. Constantly. He lifted weights. Even clothed, which was the only way I'd ever seen him, he looked buff. Back then, any unmarried guy over 30 was the subject of some office snickering. But not Alan: He dated the most gorgeous women.

And one of those women was Amy, who was standing next to Alan when I opened the door to my apartment. She was stunningly exotic. Slim, dark-haired, piercing blue eyes, a wrap-around smile. And with a body as buff as Alan's. Breasts not large, but hard to miss, especially since she apparently was not wearing a bra. I remember Amy well, to include her nipples, and the way they all but screamed for attention. She wanted people to notice them.

Which brings me to Alan's cock. After four nights, Amy took a train to Dijon to see friends. She and Alan were to meet three days later at the airport for the flight home. That left Alan and I with a chance to catch up. We had two days of shop talk over lunches and dinners, washed down with good French wine.

The afternoon after Amy left, Alan gave me something to think about, something I've been thinking about ever since. I was sitting in the living room, reading. Alan was taking a shower down the hall, in the bathroom adjacent to the guest bedroom.

I was paying him no mind, until I heard his feet padding down the hall. I didn't even look up.

"Where are we going tonight?'' he asked. I looked up.

He stood not five feet away. Nude. Not a stitch. And no wonder - nothing you'd want to hide. God, he was lean and muscular.

But all of that was just background for his cock. It hung straight down, circumcised, and with a large crown. I'd seen scores, maybe even hundreds, in locker rooms, and never paid them much mind. But this one, Oh my God, it was large. It was thick. It was the third person in the room.

I stared at Alan, taking all of him in, but especially his cock. Maybe, I thought, it just seemed large because Alan was short. I was speechless.

Of course, all of this took only seconds and I recovered enough, at least for the moment, to quickly answer his question. And then we talked for another several minutes, about what I cannot remember because Alan's cock was at eye-level.

Alan just stood there gabbing, and his cock hung around too. Oh, how it hung. Try as I might - and I did, I really did - I couldn't avoid looking at it. And it almost seemed to be looking back.

No wonder he was blessed with girlfriends like Amy and the others, all of whom surely did a lot more with that cock than look at it. They touched it. They licked it. They sucked it. They made it even bigger, maybe much bigger. They lowered themselves onto it, if it would even fit. They made it erupt, into them, onto them.

Now mind you, at that very moment there was nothing about Alan's cock that attracted me to it in a way that would make me want to do to it, or with it, what Amy and her predecessors had so happily done with it.

As I sat down to dinner with Alan and Julie, the image of that Paris afternoon kept coming back. And as it did, my own cock stirred, ever so slightly, in my pants. But not like it did within hours of the moment when I first met Alan's appendage.

We dined out in Paris that night. We had much to talk about. But damn, I kept thinking about the afternoon revelation, and how weird I felt that I was even thinking about it. For God's sake, every other woman turned my head: I was not in any way sexually attracted to men. Which was true until later that same night.

No, no, I didn't end up with Alan's cock in my mouth. Everything was on the up-and-up. When we returned to the apartment, he went to the guest bedroom, and I went to the master bedroom.

End of story? Not quite.

As you might imagine, I was still thinking about the afternoon unveiling. And I started to get that feeling in the groin. Not an instant hard-on, nothing like that. But that pleasurable sensation that precedes the swelling of one's other head.

Then I began to think of Alan standing there, and I replayed the scene. And in my imagination Alan was talking to me, just as he had that afternoon. But as he talked, his cock stirred, just a bit at first, but then it rose a bit. And it thickened. And Alan and I kept talking, as if he were fully-clad. And his cock became harder still and was pointing right at me, like a gun. And then it rose even higher until its aim was more at the juncture of the wall and ceiling behind me. God, it was thick. It was nearly beet red at the crown. It commanded the room.

As I imagined this, alone in my bedroom, my own stirring brought on a full Woodie. I'd not even touched my own cock. It had a life of its own. I couldn't at that moment recall when an image, even of any woman I had ever known, caused me to stiffen so quickly.

Slowly, almost as if I were frightened by what might happen, I wrapped my left hand - my preferred instrument for a sexual selfie - around the head of my cock. It jumped. And it was moist, already, with the oozing of that wonderful natural lubricant. It was at that moment that I realized I was nearing an ejaculatory moment. And I knew why I was so sexually aroused.

It should have been obvious to me that afternoon. Alan paraded in front of me nude, not to talk to me. Alan did that because he wanted me to see his cock, to admire his man-tool. Because he wanted me to want him. He wanted me to crawl off the couch. He wanted me to kneel in front of him, gently grasp his cock, heft it, fondle it, raise it as it lay in the palm of my right hand and coax it into rising more on its own. And he wanted me to lick the underside of that wonderful cock, to caress his balls and take his most impressive muscle into my mouth, to suck on it like a lollipop until his seed propelled itself into my mouth.

As I lay in my bed, nude, my hand gently starting to stroke my cock, I knew that I too wanted all that too. It was enough, almost, to make me cum, just from the thought of it. But I didn't. Instead, I did something foolish. I got out of bed. And with my cock leading the way, I walked out of my bedroom into the living room.

And I sat nude on the couch where that afternoon scene had played out, not 20 feet from the guest bedroom, and I took my acutely sensitive cock in my hand. I imagined Alan standing there, and I on my knees with his cock in my mouth. And in what seemed like an instant, I came. I came so hard that I moaned out loud. I came all over my belly. On my chest. On my right forearm. It was an orgasm so powerful that I was frightened at its ferocity - and at what it suggested about my sexual longings.

I lay there for several minutes. My cock barely withered at all. And as it lay there across my right thigh, content but not quite satiated, I did something I'd never done. Never imagined doing. I dipped my finger into my own cum on my belly and raised it to my mouth. And I sucked on that finger. I liked the taste. So I took it all, every last viscuous drop I could capture, and ate it. So, I thought, that is what Alan would taste like. That is what Alan will taste like. I hardened again, and quickly. And then slowly, I stroked myself, this time for several minutes as my pleasure slowly built, this time imaging what it would be like, feel like, to have Alan do to my cock what I now so obviously wanted to do to his. And I came again, though this time without moaning. And then walked back to my room and fell, nude, into a very deep sleep.

As the memories flooded back to me at Julie's dinner table, my cock was quite hard, though fortunately there were no eyewitnesses since my crotch was hidden from view. All of a sudden, I realized that Julie had been speaking to me. Saying what, I don't know, as my mind was far away. "Bill,'' she said, "have you been off in Dreamland?"

"Sorry,'' I replied, looking over at Alan, and the quizzical look on his face.

"Would you care to share your dream with us," Julie teased.

"Maybe after dessert,'' I said.

To be continued.