1
Ralph Forrester lay on his side in the bed, staring at the curves of Alton’s back. The young man was covered in tattoos... not one solid tapestry so much as little ones scattered, all reminders of his home state of Texas: the Alamo, the state’s iconic shape, a horse, a cowboy hat, a boot with a spur, and right in the center a longhorn skull, dividing his back into three sections, like windowpanes for the others to be displayed. Alton was beautifully muscled, lithe but defined, and Ralph was remembering just how those muscles had rippled and flexed as they had made love the night before.
He reached out and touched the cattle skull, slowly tracing his fingertips down the smooth crevice. Alton woke, moving slightly, before settling back into the soft mattress. Ralph moved closer, slipping his arm under Alton’s and wrapping around his torso, feeling the sparse down of hair on his chest where he knew from memory there were even more tattooed emblems of his upbringing.
For a violinist in the National Symphony Orchestra—Ralph thought—the man sure seemed like someone pining for the Lone Star State.
He continued to massage Alton’s chest and his cock also inched toward the tattooed man, awakened from memories of the previous evening. Alton pushed back, nestling his bare ass in Ralph’s groin. Ralph’s stiff member interlocked in the canal there, lengthwise, snug in a cradle of exquisite warm pressure.
“Fuck me, Realty-Man,” said Alton. “Fuck me again.”
That was all Ralph needed to hear. He reached back to the nightstand and found a condom, tearing it open, placing and rolling it down his rigid shaft. All the while, Alton continued to face away from him, waiting. Ralph reached between Alton’s legs and slipped a finger in, finding that it was still plenty slick down there. He moved in closer, slipping in as easy and comfortable as returning to his place in a book.
Alton pushed back, accepting the thick length whole. Ralph had thought it couldn’t get any better than the multiple-position marathon fuck-session they’d had eight hours prior, but this easy, sleepy, lazy, side-saddle bliss was just what he needed—a Friday morning, hello-weekend, rise-and shine.
He draped his hand over Alton, bypassing his nipples, and reaching lower to find his cock was seeking attention too. He stroked it in his dry palm, the fleshy foreskin providing plenty of slack for a sensuous jerk without lube.
Ralph nibbled, chewing on Alton’s neck and ear, whispering dirty talk to heighten his arousal.
“Yeah, baby. You know I love giving it to you from behind, feeling that tight hole squeezing me down there. You’re going to make Ralph come, aren’t you? You’re going to make me pop right inside you.”
“Yes, sir,” said Alton, his breath increasing, meeting Ralph’s slow grind with the perfect amount of resistance, slow insistent pressure prompting deeper exploration.
Ralph loved the feel of an uncut cock in his fist, the plush casing from the extra skin—just more of what he loved. He had come from a basic white-bread, Anglo-protestant, cookie-cutter family, following the typical religious traditions... circumcision... baptism... confirmation... Not that he didn’t like his penis. It was a fine penis—
And it feels really amazing at the moment.
—but he was totally into the primal, unaltered feel of the young man’s flesh in his hands... the hipster beard, the tattoos. Sometimes he wondered if it went beyond lust, entertaining half-assed hypotheses that sleeping with younger men was an excellent method of keeping himself young.
That’s bullshit and you know it.
But it sure was fun.
Alton began a rhythmic surge and Ralph’s speculative reverie faded with the realization that the young man was about to climax. He switched from autopilot to manual, nurturing his orgasm from subdued to omnipresent, breaching the familiar electric barrier with welcome abandon.
They came together, Ralph feeling Alton’s hot spunk coating his hand as he constricted below. Ralph released slowly, relishing the pace, sustaining his glide into Alton, squeezing tighter to him.
When the shudders dissipated, their moist, awakened bodies remained connected, spooning—the position they’d never left; the one they’d woke up in.
Ralph wanted to whisper in Alton’s ear and then thought better. There was no point whispering sweet nothings or terms of endearment, as he always felt inclined to do.
Courtesy, right?
No. It was awkward—for Ralph, at least—the whole fuck-buddy thing. Alton abhorred sweet nothings. For him, these weekly encounters leaned more toward biology than romance.
So, instead, Ralph said, “You’re one hot piece-of-ass, Alton Travis. You just made Realty-Man’s day.”
Alton rolled over, flashing beautiful blue eyes. “Thanks, Ralph. I can always count on you to scratch my itch.”
Their eyes seemed to be the opposite color of what they should be. Alton was dark-haired and bearded with stunning blue eyes, while Ralph was a scruffy, dirty-blond with deep brown eyes. Both men were handsome in their own right, just opposite ends of the spectrum and separated by a good fifteen years.
Ralph reached out and mussed Alton’s hair. “You know, if you weren’t so young and independent I could easily fall...”
“Please don’t go there.”
Ralph laughed, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I won’t. I know. It’s all casual. I’m just amazed that you’re not with someone on a more permanent basis.”
“I’m not looking for the baggage, Ralph. But I do enjoy our... sessions.”
