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Several minutes passed. We lay there quietly, letting our breathing return to normal. “God, that was hot,” Steve said. “Oh, yes.” “You know what I need? A shower and some breakfast.” “Sounds good to me.” I gave his dick a friendly tug, slid out from under the covers and went into the bathroom. When the water was running hot I got in and started soaping myself. In a minute Steve climbed in, and we spent the next 15 minutes vigorously washing each other. I massaged his muscles from shoulders to calves, enjoying the lithe firmness of his body, and chucking when his half-hard dick bumped against my head. He returned the favor, and briefly took me in his mouth while massaging my thighs. But we seemed to agree without speaking that we’d had enough for the moment, and we were soon toweling off and pulling on our clothes. Steve went into the kitchen, and while he scrambled some eggs I made toast and coffee. We ate at a picnic table on my deck, the coffee and eggs steaming in the chill. Not much was said; I was thinking over what had happened in the last 18 hours, and I guessed he was, too. “Can you stay awhile?” I asked. He shook his head. “Wish I could, but I’ve got to get up to the city this afternoon. I’ve got tickets for the Giants game with a buddy and staying overnight for business meetings in the morning.” “Should I be jealous?” I asked. “Nah,” he said, smiling. “Not that kind of buddy.” “How about tomorrow night, then?” “I’ll be here by 7,” he said. Walking out the door, he stopped to kiss me. It was a real kiss, too — one that had in it, well, not love, exactly, but something isvecbahis close to it. The next 36 hours were a blur. I could not stop thinking about him. I picked up a book but dropped it after 10 minutes, unable to concentrate. I tried working on a long-postponed house project, fixing some loose stairs coming off the deck, but gave up after mashing my thumb with a hammer. I turned on the TV but paid it little attention, staring blankly out the window. Finally I turned it off and just sat there thinking. About Steve, of course. About what we had done, about what I had done, much of it for the first time in my life, much of it I never would have thought myself capable of. Kiss a guy? Suck his dick? A day earlier I would have scoffed at the idea. Now I knew I could not only do these things, but that I liked these things, at least with him. Did that mean I was gay? I recalled the shame and guilt I felt after that night on the boat years ago, when I’d had my only encounter with another man. I didn’t feel that shame and guilt now. I felt, well, like a burden had been lifted off my shoulders. I felt liberated, in a way. I thought about the women I’d slept with, about the wife I’d once fucked with such abandon, about the feel of her lovely, soft tits, and my dick stirred. Well, I chuckled to myself, if you’re gay, you’re not totally gay. Right after lunch, sitting in the sun and staring into the trees, I got so horny thinking about sucking Steve’s dick that I stripped on the spot. Leaning against the side of the house with one hand, I jacked myself desperately with the other. When I came I stood up and used isveçbahis giriş my free hand to catch my cum, which I smeared on my lips and licked off with my tongue. Two hours later, after drinking a couple of beers, I grabbed one more and set off naked down the driveway, my half-hard dick leading the way. I don’t know why I did this; I must have been in some kind of fever. When I came to the main road I hid behind a tree until it seemed safe to cross, then dashed to the woods on the other side and made straight for the sandy spot. I took two long swallows of the beer, threw myself in the sand and jacked off again, leaving my cock red and tender from the exertion. This time I smeared the cum — not that there was much left — on my chest and stomach. I got up and took off down the path to the water, my softening dick flapping almost painfully against my thighs. When I reached the shore I dived straight in. The October cold was almost heart-stopping. I found a shallow spot and stood up, shouting as I did. My heart almost stopped again when I heard whistling and cheering. I whirled toward the sound and saw two women perched on a rock not 30 feet away. Both were around 30, both dressed in hiking shorts and boots, both pretty good-looking. “What do you think, Andrea?” said one, pointing at my shriveled cock. Andrea tilted her head to one side, regarded me appraisingly. “I’ve seen better,” she said. If this had happened a day earlier, I might have tried to make something of this situation, and something about the women’s demeanor seemed to invite it. But the impulse wasn’t there. I looked at isveçbahis yeni giriş them and thought, “If you only knew.” “Um, sorry,” I said. “I was just…..” “It’s ok,” Not Andrea said. “We were just leaving.” They turned and headed for the road, laughing most of the way. I followed them cautiously, watching out for other late-season sightseers. There were none, but it was a long walk home for me. When I got there I flopped facedown on the bed, exhausted and not a little irritated with myself. Another hour passed before I could force myself to get dressed and make something to eat. I downed some nearly tasteless leftovers, smoked half a joint I had been saving and lay down on the couch. I got up once to pour myself a glass of wine and put in a DVD, but I was too wasted to follow the plot and soon I fell asleep. Nex morning, though slightly hung over, I felt much calmer, and managed to get a few hours’ work done. But as the afternoon wore on I got fidgety again, stealing looks at the clock, whose hands barely moved between glances. I seemed to get hardons every 20 minutes, and it was all I could do not to strip down and whack. Save that for Steve, I thought. But then I thought, is he feeling the same way? Is he having second thoughts about having a second go-round with a guy, when the first ended so badly? Will he want to have sex with me again, or will he sit me down to say, That was fun, but we probably shouldn’t do it again? Will he even show up tonight? A few minutes before 7 I went to the door, looked down the drive. Maybe he’ll be early, I thought. He wasn’t. Seven o’clock came. No Steve. Five after. Ten after. I poured myself a Scotch and forced myself to sit down. This is stupid, I thought. You’re acting like a teenager. Worse, actually. Finally, about 20 after, I caught the sound of a car coming up the drive.