I got fucked by a ghost 9.
It had been in my new place just over two months when I realized that I had been more sexually active with John since his reappearance in my life than I had been in the last four years with my wife. I absolutely loved my newfound sexuality. I was in the process of being free of the bonds of matrimony. John often visited me, and now, after weeks of talking and having our first date, I was about to embark on another night of meeting Tomas.
As nervous as I still was that I was going out with him for dinner, I was just as excited. I really liked him. I loved our conversations, our daily, continuing text messages and even through all of it, at that point he hadn't even sent me a dick picture. He was very kind, understanding, and a perfect gentleman when it came to the dirty talk. But as strong willed, persistent, dedicated and interested in I was in developing something more with him, letting nature take its course, I was also dead set on sucking his dick.
I knew deep inside that I wanted to do it. So many times, I had refrained from sending him a picture of my dick or asking him for one of his. I wanted this to be respectful, until it no longer needed to be. I don't think that at that moment in time, I had even begun to understand how gay I had become. How much I craved cock, cum, anal and anything else two men could do together. As much as I was convinced back then, the following weeks and months cemented that on a permanent basis.
I stood in front of my mirror that Saturday night, my hands shaking as I tried to button up my dress shirt. I wanted to look good but not overdressed. I wanted to seem sexy, yet reserved. I wanted Tomas to know the kind of person he would be dating if this continued. I wanted to appear powerful and competent yet approachable and lovable.
As I pulled into the restaurant, got out of my car, and walked through the parking lot, I was nervous. I knew Tomas would be there, and I knew he wouldn't stand me up. As soon as I walked in the door, I saw him sitting there, looking through a magazine in the foyer. I greeted him with a hug and was happy to see the big smile on his face.
Dinner went well. This time, both of us were a bit more relaxed than we had been the time before. Like any first or second date, there are always nerves. But I felt more comfortable sitting with him than I had the last time. We enjoyed our dinner, had a couple of glasses of wine each, and spent the evening passing the time with good, flowing, light-hearted conversation. Afterward, we went out to the restaurant's patio, where we had more wine, smoked cigars, and discussed our lives, jobs, passions, and likes even more. It was some of the best conversation I'd had in a long time. As the sun set and our night drew to a close, he paid our bill, and we walked together through the parking lot to his car, which was parked a bit closer than mine.
We stood outside his vehicle for a while continuing our conversation, until the cooler crisp evening air set in. He must have known I was getting cold because he asked if I wanted to sit inside his car for a while before we went our separate ways. I agreed and climbed into the passenger side as he got into the car, turned on the ignition, and turned on the heat. We sat back, talking, laughing, and enjoying each other's company.
As much as I wanted to deny my desires, I want him badly. I felt as if I knew something was coming, but I wasn't sure if I should make the first move or if he was. I just hoped we'd have that first intimate moment before I left his car. There were several times when we'd stop talking during our conversation and have that frozen eye-staring look at each other, but for whatever reason, neither of us made the move to have that kiss.
As my excitement was starting to wind down, and the wine I had consumed was beginning to make me sleepy. I told Tomas I needed to go. Just before I let myself out, I looked back over to him, and we had that frozen moment in time look again. This time, however, he began to lean forward towards me, as I leaned forward towards him. Our bodies met halfway over his center armrest, and our lips touched for the first time.
It was a soft, long, closed lip kiss that ended with us both slightly pulling away as we opened our eyes. We sat quietly, staring at each other for what seemed like thirty or forty seconds, until he leaned in towards my face again. As weird, different, wild, and out of the ordinary as it was knowing I was about to kiss a man. I was also filled with excitement and a sense of giddiness. This time, when our lips met, our mouths parted, and his tongue lightly touched mine, I almost instinctively pulled away out of fear. But in that split second of panic, I pushed myself to go forward and kissed him.
We spent the better part of five minutes kissing passionately in his car. The more we engaged in it, the more comfortable I became. It was still a weird feeling kissing him, versus my wife, or any other women I had before her, but I also took solace knowing that I had kissed John countless times. Although I couldn't see him, I could feel him. And this was no different. I was kissing a man I was interested in. Whether or not my stomach was doing flips, no matter how sleepy I had become, or even how uneasy I was getting, I was going to go through with this. I needed to know.
