Rocking

I could feel Jeremy inside of me even when he was not anywhere near. Further up, deeper, there was that thickening heat, and that slightly saline-tasting girth on my tongue. I felt full with a subtly distilled light, as if my flesh were paraffin. This was a secretly cherished pleasure, and although the physicality was certainly there right after Jeremy and I made love, at other times it could be summoned by a means of sensuous meditation. E.T. Phone Home. It was as if Jeremy’s cock, his probing finger, had the capacity to be a radiant wand, one which rose through neurons to fibrously connect his heart and mine. Once I saw a watercolor painting of two men embracing, the outlines of their bodies superimposed so as to be indistinguishable where one began and the other stopped. Jeremy and I are like that, I thought, feeling a little scrotum tingle which shivered my spine. Comfort is what I call this phenomenon, and know, like Jeremy, it is an immense blessing in my life.

Nine years we've been together, nearly a decade, and considering our past relationships which had durations of what felt like Dante-quantity, the quality of these nine years has done a great deal to heal those scars. Another milestone is the fact that Jeremy's turning sixty to my forty-five, and so it seems to me we miraculously appear to be in this pact for the long haul. Like gladiators shedding their capes above their tunics, I feel Jeremy and I should stand high on a mountain peak, raise our arms and let a bit of celebratory sun douse our outstretched necks. I feel this especially since so many had bet against us.

It wasn’t just the fact that the society we've lived in has often frowned on our being a couple. No. It's the realization that some of the people in our own tribe have been equally petty, superficial and stupid. Cradle Robber and Gold Digger. Daddy Master and Forest Waif. I know it was not only the age difference between us which others saw as fodder for our relationship’s demise, but the fact that Jeremy's a Bear and I’m an aging twink: that rankled their foolish aesthetics pretty much from the start.

Fuck ‘em, I say, having spent years rolling my eyes and chuckling over the misconception that I must be with Jeremy for his money when, in fact, thanks to an inheritance, I'm the one who has cash reserves. Jeremy just doesn't like me to spend it on him, and of course it sometimes has bothered Jeremy that people mistake him for being my father, of all things, but he and I both know I use a daily keg of moisturizer to masquerade as someone who could pass for younger. Age, vanity and folly. It's best to just laugh. These people were ridiculous as the so-called straight men that still furtively pursue me. I wish I could get these guys on video being fucked by six foot Black drag queens and loving every minute of it. Why not? I've had similar fantasies of gay men by the truckload going into known gay-bashing districts and kicking some homo-hating straight boy butt.  After sharing such imaginings with friends, even my grumpy vengeful self has to chuckle at the notion that so many in my life still consider me to be sweet.

Sweet is what my ex, Seth, called me time and again, that and “My angel, my life-saver. I couldn’t live without you.” Deer in the headlights, a late bloomer, and born caretaker/rescuer, my life was rife material for The Ballad of Co-dependency. A good masochist, I did it for six years too, through Seth’s various Detox stays, job firings, blowing the rent money, and even hiding drunk rough trade or jail bait in our apartment while I was at work. Seth somehow deluded himself that I wouldn’t catch on, even when I would open a closet door and find the naked trick passed out on a sea of porn tapes, or come home to find the trick half falling out of the bed me and Seth shared. Boy, how I wanted to exact revenge on Seth by having sex with the trick myself! Damn it, I was always too disgusted, angry and overwhelmed to act on the notion. Now that really stunk.

By the time I met Jeremy, at a Gay Men’s Spirituality Group, two years post-Seth, I was ready to prove myself as more than a doormat—as an adult gay man. By the time I met Jeremy, I didn’t even like to utter the phrase my ex, Seth, for it made me sound like I had an inbred lisp and one more stereotypical tick to guard.

Jeremy laughed when I made this declaration, Jeremy who’d survived his own battles on the way to becoming Out and Proud. These were long in the past by the time we started dating, and it wasn’t until we'd been dating a year that we realized we were creating something serious. Not that all of Jeremy’s wounds didn’t lead to wondrous outcomes. He has a son and two grandchildren we love unconditionally. Plus his wounds from marriage helped him accept his sexuality, his transformation beyond his own battles with alcohol and inner childhood demons. I've always been impressed by all Jeremy has overcome. Jeremy didn’t seem high maintenance in the least, and after three more years of dating, I finally discovered enough trust within him for us to buy a house together.

Golden time, my hand on Jeremy’s thigh as it so often was, and here I am contemplating all the emotional territory we two have traversed leading up to this: Jeremy’s sixtieth birthday.   

We're staying at a secluded cabin loaned by straight friends for this momentous occasion; good, kind friends who are also taking care of our pets while we're away.  No dogs, birds, cats or fish. Our much-loved familial menagerie are in fine capable hands, and any other worries, responsibilities or pressures can just go on the back burner for awhile too. Yes, there is this moment now, the warmth of Jeremy’s thigh under my hand.

Now, Jeremy, my steadfast driver, is stretched in front of the fireplace, the crackling embers emblazoning his skin. Small beads of shower water glisten on him head to foot, drying so slowly on each dark strand of hair that I feel like I'm holding my breath while watching them. The incredibly large artificial bear rug we lay on feels plush and husky as a benevolent God christening our union. Viking lovers must have nestled so, mellow on fur after imbibing spiced grog.

An “Mmmm, that’s good,” comes from Jeremy’s throat as I take his strong index finger into my mouth. Jeremy’s finger is dexterous from all his time spent writing notes for his professional day job, and I can sense the patter and electricity of a keyboard sending energy out into the world from Jeremy’s spirit. I can taste the thoughtfulness of that spirit as my lips circle round. My tongue curves and curves as my own slender fingers dance across the hair on the back of Jeremy’s hand, eventually putting my face in Jeremy’s broad palm. The lifelines there are deep, the mounds cushiony. As my lashes brush them my respirations pour into a feathery sigh.

“Yesss,” Jeremy whispers, his voice a bass of smoky velvet as he cups my chin, releasing his finger to kiss me deeply. For a while we are tongues only, tongues darting like the flames in the fireplace. Our mouths become bells for one another, wet clappers ringing hints of moans as I roll with ease on top of Jeremy, our limbs intertwined. Arm around arm, leg around leg, swathes of muscle, of smooth satin and then the deliciously rougher threads, curls and bristles, create subtle rhythm. Our cocks are certainly hard though, two reeds playing a song from the holes in each tip. As the shafts brush and brush, I lick Jeremy’s arm pits, drinking in the pores for their humanness, their scents of being alive.

Arms unwind, hands finding nipples, circling the pink stiffness, the goose bumps rippling out while faces move over chests, rubbing the meadows there, teeth occasionally slightly nibbling, then sucking what was now firm, what was now soft. I move down and draw in Jeremy’s stout cock to a groan of delight, feeling his pubes tickle like small fronds. As my throat opens, my chin grazes his balls, bobbing like a buoy on a sea hinting of tumult in further fathoms. Moving my tongue back up, I navigate Jeremy’s crown again and again, passionately lashing the swollen nub, and then slowing with a tenderness almost painful with ecstasy.

Jeremy’s oh god, ooohhh from above translates a need for me to lift up while going down, his delight like a rustling of wings in my ears, a sound of mmpppff coming from my own throat and vibrating against his cock. I can feel Jeremy’s pelvic pulse like a throttle, a chugging, where I hold him by the mast and steer up the churning pre-cum, the salty clear liquid matching my spit. We are linking through that wetness, a sperm-bound bond.

To delay the pleasure of climax, I rise and turn, placing my ass on Jeremy’s groin while reaching over for the honey bear he placed before the fire. Shake, shake, and a golden stream covers Jeremy’s rosy toes as I start licking and sucking again, cleansing and teasing until the stickiness is gone. Jeremy is rubbing my calves and thighs all the while, touching the oaken texture of them, massaging the muscles, the tendons to a shine.

A wrestler of ease, he lightly lifts me, sliding himself out from under and crouching before my butt. With steady, reassuring pressure, he encourages me to lie on my stomach, his hands still rubbing, working first again on my nipples before exploring the landscape of my back. How the flats of the shoulders lose all tension, the xylophone spine, all resistance as shake, squeeze harder, Jeremy squirts the honey between my willing cheeks. Mouth on the rose, the opening petals, Jeremy’s tongue probes, and laps, slipping over each curve of melting felt, then going back in as he pulls my cock between, burying his face against the musk of my cock and balls.

I feel so fortunate, knowing how in our first months, though both HIV negative, we agreed to insist on the sacredness of safe sex until testing negative for a year. I remembered how unsure, how insecure and cautious I had been after my time with Seth, and how inadequate from lack of experience with others compared to Jeremy’s three-ways and affirming rituals of the flesh at nude beaches. I recall too, our childlike exploration with the flavors of different condoms, whipped cream, and jams, our cocks like an assortment of popsicle sticks, our asses, melons.

“We’ve come a long way baby,” I say, as I slip out from under Jeremy, and stand up, all love-handles and graying-blonde. 

 “What are you doing?’

 “You get up too,” I say, pulling Jeremy by the hand.  “I want to take a picture of you in that.”

 I point at the artificial bear rug, and Jeremy laughs, shaking his head, but does as instructed.

Not far from where we've been making love is an old wide rocking chair with a leather back and seat.  I ceremoniously arrange the bear rug into it and motion Jeremy to sit down.

“A throne fit for a king,” I say smiling, dipping the bear’s head over Jeremy’s and stepping away.

“Now look at me with the knowledge that I love you with all of my being.”  My voice almost has a catch to it, though it’s filled with resolve.

“Yes, sir, and back at you.” Jeremy answers, and his eyes seem to well. Both our erections are still prominent as I click the camera and come to stand smiling behind the rocker. I bend it backwards and kiss Jeremy as if to devour him, then tilt it more so until my cock lands bullseye against Jeremy’s lips. He opens them and takes me in.

Rock, rock, creak, creak, as I adjust the chair, Jeremy carefully but steadily moves his legs up the wall, and soon we are in a most unusual sixty-nine. I continue to push with my feet, my head cradled over the wonderful roundness of Jeremy’s belly as both of our mouths slip up and down. I hold onto Jeremy’s shins as though climbing a ladder, our pre-cum becoming frothier, our moans louder and more intense.

“Not yet,” I sigh, sliding my feet onto the strong maple arms of the chair, and next down Jeremy’s legs to quickly turn around and shimmy back up. The lube is handy and quickly made use of over Jeremy’s trembling cock and my own receptive ass.

Rock, rock, creak, creak, Jeremy was in and up, his cock like a lantern exploring my insides. The chair’s motion, controlled by his feet, propels Jeremy’s cock where it wants to go, where it wants to be taken, the rocking smooth as this desire brings him home.

“Oh oh, Oh yes—yes—God yes—OOOOOHHHHHH…,” are the words to our tune as he shoots in and I shoot out and then we collapse, gasping, wet with sweat and life and ropes of cum, into the joy of each other’s arms.

Later, basking in the hot tub, warm to our bones despite the fact that a little snow has been falling, I watch as flakes sift from branches, blow and create a sort of halo on the dew of Jeremy’s flesh, the silvery pepper of his head. Through the steam from the tub, Jeremy’s wolf eyes glow gray blue. He is like a Poseidon, especially now that he’s rising, putting on that white terry cloth robe.  

Jeremy has not tied the flaps as I stand to taste the ginger of his tongue while stroking and stroking his still damp cock.

“Do you want me inside of you this time?” I whisper. “Do you want me stroking you while I fuck you until you cum and it melts on this snow?”

 “Oh, that does sound good, and I bet it would steam too.” Jeremy says, turning around.

I press in closer, my spit-glistening finger easing Jeremy’s hole for the larger thrusts to come.

 “Happy birthday,” I say.

 “Yes, thank you, thank you.”