As he wakens from yet another sexy dream, this one finds his penis wet with the silky precum Etienne loves to bring to his lips. His mood is sanguine on this early fall morning. With the weekend nearly over, and a new workweek looming just ahead, the man on the bed considers his options for the rest of the time he has…for this day, for the week, for his life. His mood is sullen. His body is warm. His need is great.
There are those of us in this world who never seem to find their way. As the right hand moves from its sleeping position at the side of the warm-bodied chest, the fingers begin to trace along firm and sensitive hips. Such a light touch elicits the shiver that he loves to feel. The shiver is his signal to proceed. The signal fills his empty life with a promise of release. His mind now runs along a more sensual track; diverting its thoughts away from ever-present loneliness.
“Sonora. Play Ben’s voice for me.” The smart speaker hears his plea, and responds.
“Hi, Etienne, it’s Ben. I hope we can meet again soon. John has only good things to say about you, and, well….give me a call if you want to. Thanks, bye.”
Ben’s voice has the desired effect. Etienne is now in full erection, leaking heavily; gingerly alternating between rubbing the head with its own clear honey…and bringing the sweet nectar to his tongue. The party had been torturous. His warm loins remember their excitement upon meeting Ben; yet his mind reels at the prospect of yet another disappointment.
“I just want to find love.” His words float from full moist lips toward the ceiling that his eyes see, but his mind ignores.
“This way of existing is killing me.” Such thoughts imbalance his carefully Jenga’d nerves; yet there is no denying the force of them. The warm body on its bed this day demands more attention than does its mind. Etienne complies fully.
“Sonora. Play Ben’s second call for me, please.” Politeness, even to an automaton, reveals a sensitive strength, shunted aside by a mind now focused solely on its momentary pleasure.
“Hi. It’s Ben again. John has cautioned me not to pressure you about this, but I, well, I can’t stop thinking about you, Etienne. If you have even the slightest feeling for me, please return my call. I won’t bother you again.” The slightest feeling? He is overwhelmed with feeling!
“I love you, Ben. I am too quick to fall in love. It has never worked. I bounce from ersatz love to real depression, and it’s killing me, Ben. I’ll call you back. We’ll date twice. You’ll have me in your bed for the pleasure we chase, and when your ardor falters from post ejaculatory disinterest…I’ll still be left alone.” With tears starting to cloud richly beautiful hazel colored eyes, Etienne succumbs to his baseline negativity. His imprinting on failure is always too strong to resist. Yet resist it he does. Time and time again the effort is made. Time and time again the failures repeat.
“My body is my only source of joy. But even that has weathered the years and come to damage. No one believes my age. They all say I look very much younger. I feel the weight of more years than I own. My nerves are shot. I am nowhere I want to be.” It soothes his soul to hear even his own negative words flicker into the ether of the darkened room.
“At least I have this.” The fingers move now to grasp the part of his body that will drug his fevered mind for at least the next few hours. Etienne has become a master at the fine art of edging himself into temporary bliss. He has already begun the journey, kickstarted by dreams, and the voice of one he covets.
“So much life within this six and a half inch pole. The only part of me that has a chance to be happy! No negative thoughts here. This rock hard phallus only knows of joy. But its joy will soon fade; and my pain will return. Maybe I can edge to tomorrow!”
Part 2 –
For several hours, with fingers wet and moving slowly, Etienne has managed to catapult his senses into a state of static euphoria. He balances his needs on a thin line of hope for prolonging this pleasant ride to nowhere. Full release nags him to push beyond the edge, yet he resists the siren call and its persistently recurring plea.
“Sonora. Please play Ben’s fist call.” He needs to hear his voice.
“Hi, Etienne, it’s Ben. I hope we can meet again soon…”
“Sonora. Stop.” Silence returns.
Etienne feels the words he’s heard stir his desire to a level beyond his control. His need for Ben is too great to ignore. The hours have swollen the reservoirs within his body – sacks so full they feel like bursting. Fingers ply and pummel bloated glands. They rim and enter gaping rings to prod and pleasure p spots and pee slits alike. His lube is free. It flows from shaft and throat: precum aplenty, saliva made at will.
“Oh, Ben. If only…” No words can win against constant shocks from heated nerves encased in shiny skin stretched taught over head and shaft. Muscles twitch. His body rocks with each and every impulse. Nerves spark waves of electric volts to heave his trunk and hips in convulsive rhythmic thrusts. Gurgling sensations within the crotch belie any further attempts to edge. His time has come. The ‘petite mort’ of Etienne is upon him.
“Sonora. Play Ben.”
“Which ‘Ben’ shall I play for you, Etienne?”
“I….Play Ben…..NOW!!!” It is too late.
It is said that sorrow dulls the senses, and ones libido, as well. Etienne has not had a nutting for the past seven days. His mood would not allow it. Shear volumes of fluid now slosh and push within the warm body on the bed. Shear terror begins to grip its mind. One knows and feels the twin prongs of this moment. One pulls toward pleasure. One pulls toward fear. Fear forms a hand that chokes his cock to stop the flow of pain before the pleasure. Fear burns his nerves raw to stem a release that must be made. Fear knows that all will soon open and be exposed to sight and mind. Fear is raw power. Fear controls all. Fear has but one foe within the warm body on the bed. The mind remembers.
“Oh. Oh. God! I…I’m gonna cum! I…..” The mind will win. Again fear is displaced in favor of memory. Memory serves to fill Etienne with the joyous sensations of his pending orgasmic journey. He lets go of fear. He embraces his fate. The voluminous liquids that swell within him begin their ascent through tubes and glands, and he is smiling to the ceiling.
“O, Ben. If only…” And then it begins. There is a first flush of primal pain as crotch muscles tighten before they spasm into rapid ejaculatory glory. Shot one peels through his gaping slit and lands beyond his hair. Shot two fills the well of his throat and drips to coat a hard and tender nipple. Shots three and four rise from him to a height of seven inches from his slit, and fall to pool over pubes and shaft.
“FUCK. FUCK. oh. Oh. OH, FUCK!!!” His warm body is a mass of tingles. HIs chest heaves for air. He watches transfixed as shots five through eight rise from him into the air above his swollen member. Etienne holds his heart, as fear returns to claim its prize. But he resists. He knows better. His heart is strong. He will survive this assault on his very being. He breathes to hold to life. He cries for his salvation.
Part 3 –
His warm body lies still on the bed. His rich and fragrant cream drips languidly from skin to sheets. Etienne reaches to pluck a finger into the pool at his crotch. It is fresh. It is warm. It tastes sharp and sweet and salty to his outstretched tongue. As the tongue retreats and a swallow takes the cream within him once again, his thoughts turn to Ben. He sees his mouth fill with Ben’s seed. He feels Ben’s warm juices coat his throat; and slip into his body. He knows what to do. He knows it may fail. He was not born to quit. He will fight to the end. Etienne gathers his strength anew and bellows out his command.
“Sonora. Call Ben!”
Corjix