The Fourteenth Continued

Friday, Apr. 19, 2002 - 12:15 am
Ap�sl�min ida corbalanyrtne 'ls�o rohl'daathi�m v� nen�a iroyss�rd.

Okay. What next?

I squealed and cooed over my gifts (sometimes, a man in love is not a pretty sight), gave the Fiend a quick snog-n-grope, put the mums in water, and tossed back a handful of jellybeans, roughly in that order.

"Is this a special occasion?" I asked the Fiend. I was being coy. (I know I look stupid when I'm being coy, but I'm a fag, and a certain minimum of coquetry is required.) I knew it was not a special occasion, and I was delighted that it was not. I've never understood the female obsession with anniversaries, birthdays, Valentine's Day, etc.... So your best beloved proves he can read a calendar, so what? Romance as scheduled. Big whoop.

Then the Fiend sez, "This is our First-Week Anniversary."

Well, boom. A revelation. Could the Fiend be a Scheduled Romantic? It was indeed one week since we first said "I love ya" to each other. I had begun to tell you about that night (Nice Evening, Part 1); I guess I should finish the tale.

Nice Evening, Part 2

With me in one-half of his grasp, and the mug of cocoa in the other, The Fiend steered us away from the computer, to the bedroom. The computer (one of them) currently resides in the rec room, so we had to negotiate two short flights of stairs, and a hairpin turn, to achieve the bedroom. And I was half-drunk with sleeplessness. And completely horny. And I was trying, alternately, to suck on the Fiend's lower lip, chew on his neck, and lick his ear. I don't know how we got to the bedroom without spilling the cocoa.

Bedside, the Fiend wrapped my hands around the mug, told me to be a good boy and drink my cocoa. He told me there was half a Nembutal dissolved in it. There wasn't, but the boy's a firm believer in the placebo effect. The boy began to undress me. To hear him tell it, the boy was untainted by carnal intent. The boy was pure. The boy just wanted to put me to sleep, literally. The boy took my pants down.

"You're not wearing underwear," the boy observed unnecessarily.

Nope, not even a thong. My dick was wearing nothing but a smile. With my pants crumpled around my ankles, I was wearing nothing but a t-shirt, a smile, a hard-on, and a chocolate mustache. (I knew I had a chocolate mustache because the Fiend told me so.)

"Lick it off," I invited.

"Finish your cocoa," said the Fiend.

I was obedient. I finished my cocoa, taking pains to augment my mustache with another application of chocolate. The Fiend laughed when he saw that, and took the mug away from me.

"Lick it off," I invited again. He accepted this time. He grasped my head, tugged my face to his, and I felt the broad swipe of his tongue across my upper lip. I opened my mouth, seeking his tongue. He gave it to me, sliding his tongue over mine, and we shared a slow, cocoa-drenched kiss. After the kiss ended, he held my face pressed to his, and murmured against my cheek, "I'm glad you think you love me. Because I think I love you too."

To Be Continued

<~>
Ap�sl�min ida corbalan� 'lse nesgla ugar�-cham sa cru ogrulho bat�oltha al�mv�sde.

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