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This year, I resolved to take on a summer boyfriend, should the opportunity present itself.
For me, this is a novel endeavor.
I’ve had my share of sex with men, but I’ve never really had a day-to-day boyfriend that was acknowledged as such.
I slept with straight and gay friends before marriage. Those relationships came about due to friendships, and endured because of that, but none were boyfriends per se.
These days, most of the time I spend bumping cocks happens at my sex parties or through pickups. It’s all good, and no complaints.
But this summer, I am ready to contemplate having a regular fellow.
Someone who gives with the sex, and also enjoys long walks on the beach, sharing crossword puzzles and dreaming up weekend getaways as we make breakfast.
How great if it proves to last.
But otherwise, we can go our separate ways come September, our heads crammed with happy memories, our wallets sporting pictures of one another, our friends asking, “Say, whatever happened to that guy—you were so cute together!”
A summer idyll.
I prepared the casting couch.
Julius was the first to audition.
Julius was looking for someone interested in regular sex and hanging out. He sent a very cute photo, and liked mine in response.
We traded emails, planning a good time to meet. He was patient with my schedule, as I apologized for being busy with my kids. He was celever, and had a good sense of humor about trying this out.
After a week of attempts, we met at my place.
Julius is tall, Indonesian, slim, twenty-four. His hair is longish, and his smile bright.
He had broken his glasses on the way to meet me.
“This looks ridiculous, I’m sure,” he said, removing his glasses to indicate the missing arm. “I have to get a new pair this afternoon.”
“They seem to function—why the rush?”
He returned the glasses to his face, adjusting them to balance on his nose. “I need to see this evening. I have a summer job as a pianist for ballet rehearsals.”
As we chatted, my mind logged salient details. Musician. Summer job in the city. Dance aficionado.
He asked me about art and books on the coffee table. He was well informed.
There was a moment’s lull.
“So . . . ,” he said. He dropped his hands in his lap and smiled.
“Of course,” I replied. “You want to get naked?”
“Yes, if that’s all right.”
“It’s fine with me. Let’s retire to the bedroom.”
I stood to lead the way.
He paused to remove his sneakers, fastidiously untying the laces.
I watched his long fingers work.
We had enjoyed a nice conversation. My radio supplied the soundtrack.
It felt like a sufficient amount of time had passed as we got acquainted. Our conversation confirmed what we learned about one another in our emails.
Still, we had been together for just a little longer than it took Jack Johnson to sing “Banana Pancakes.”
We stood by my bed. I took his face in my hands and kissed his cheek.
He moved his lips to meet mine.
I opened my mouth to his kiss.
He kisses, I thought. Very good.
He turned, and sat on my bed.
I sat beside him, and resumed our kiss. I turned up the passion. He met my heat.
We fell back on the bed.
His fingers raced my face and clothes.
I put my arm around his waist.
I licked his teeth. He grinned and wrapped his lips on my tongue.
I was very content to kiss him, stroking his hair in my fingers.
But I knew to supply what he had sought in his emails. I sat on his hips as I removed my shirt. I dropped my head to one side as he looked me over.
I unbuttoned his shirt. His torso was lean and smooth. I ran my hand along his chest. His limbs flinched as I squeezed his nipples.
I kissed him again, firm on his lips. My mouth wandered to his neck and chest, my hands feeling his undulations.
I paused at his jeans.
My eyes looked up. His eyes were closed, his head turned. He was in his own place.
I rubbed my cheek on his pants, letting my scalp massage his cock.
I unzipped him.
His cock pressed against his exposed boxers.
I pulled out the head and licked it. He twisted, only slightly.
His body was limp, passive to my explorations. His arms were back, his torso open to me.
I pulled down his pants.
I removed his socks.
My clothes were tossed to a chair.
I lowered my body onto his and kissed his mouth. His arms wrapped around me, so sweetly. We pressed our naked flesh to one another.
As we kissed, I pressed my cock into his. He spread his legs, holding me close.
His kiss was so light, so tender.
He rolled me on my back and moved down, taking my cock in his mouth. He watched for my reaction.
I squirmed and moaned, settling back.
Apparently, he was just visiting. My cock dropped from his mouth, He climbed back to kiss me.
All right, I thought. Can use some work with the cock sucking, but his kisses are spot on.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” I asked. He had asked me to plow him in our emails.
“Can we save that for next time?” he asked.
“Of course,” I replied, caressing his chest. I must have looked curious about why he wanted to wait.
“It’s just . . . you remind me of someone I used to date.”
“Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?” I ventured, assuming the worst.
He shrugged. “Little bit of both”
My hand went to his cheek. “Then let’s wait until it’s more of a good thing about us, and less about that other fellow.”
He kissed me.
I turned him on his back.
Let’s start dispelling those ghosts by showing him how to distribute those gentle kisses.
My hands and mouth traveled his body, leaving impressions, leaving memories, but also drinking his scent, remembering his textures.
I spoke sweet words as his talented fingers took his cock in hand.
I stroked his hair as he stroked and came on his torso.
I held his hand in mine as I came over his load.
“This was really hot,” he said as we washed.
“It was,” I agreed. “I’m glad we’ve met.”
He kissed me.
We chatted as he dressed. He kissed me again at the door.
“See you next time,” I said, patting his back.
“Can’t wait!” he smiled.
I went to my computer and dropped him an email.
I really enjoyed meeting you, Julius. Here’s to more of the same.
Two days passed. No response.
I called and left a message.
Julius, it was great to meet after so many attempts. Hope to see you soon. What are you up to this week?
The curse of reminding someone of someone he used to date.