How the Heart Approaches what it Yearns - 1. Day One

Five Days of Fucking Tony, or

How the Heart Approaches what it Yearns

Between the real and unreal

lies the art of art.

Chikamatsu Monzaemon

An Erotic Tale

by

AC Benus

Day One

So I stood there, really a still and centered whirlwind of not knowing what to do, or what would happen.

About me moved the stream of arriving international passengers at SFO, mainly from Mainland China, with strapped hard case suitcases, and congregating in little groups waiting for their full party to clear customs. Above the exit on this side of freedom, a running banner of pixilated text said which flights had landed, and which were in customs. And there was his flight. Tony, from London, here this morning to see me, and for me to fuck the living cum out of him as his first man.

So that whirlwind I mentioned, it was in my head. In a minute or two, this kid who is twenty-two now, but will have his twenty-third birthday in two days, is coming here due of an intense and beautiful online courtship. It’s too late for me to run, but who am I fooling, the thought of Tony and his virgin hole keeps me up at night, dreaming. I did not want to run, but still I have something to tell him, and I don't expect he'll want to hear it.

There was a trickle of Western and South Asian folk now exiting customs. For a few minutes before, there had been no one, so maybe these passengers were coming from London.

A young man, about 6-foot, wearing a sports jacket and slacks, and with dark and short hair came out. He had slung over his shoulder a leather duffle bag. Could that be him? He knew what I looked like; I didn't exactly know how my Tony appeared, because he'd never sent me a face shot.

The young man cleared the portal, stopped and looked around. His questing gaze fell on my asking look, and then very slowly a little smile lifted one side of his mouth. As he walked to me, a little shy bend of his head fell to the floor for a moment; I saw his hand shift to his crotch. A slight rip along it with his fingers, and the wicked lilting smile lifted itself up to my eyes.

He didn't say a word. He ignored my hand offered for a handshake, and pushed it into me as he hugged with tremendous force. Into his neck, I found myself asking "Tony...?" and grinning in lecherous abandon to the sexy peach fuzz growing there.

Needless to say, my first impression was an unexpected one – his scent, which was like pine needles – was sharp and clean-smelling. I remember hearing long ago about a survey of which sexes find what body scents most arousing. Women love clean smells, like cucumber and the sweet scent of the licorice candy called Good & Plenty, while men apparently want to fuck their mothers in the kitchen, because smells of apple pie and gingerbread make them hard as a rock. But Tony's smell, so close and front-and-centered in my nostrils, made me know that women inevitably fall for him, perhaps helplessly.

He stood back, and slapped my shoulder. "Yeah I'm Tony! Who else!?" There was a tingle of a British accent, a bit of something else too; a little undefined, a bit vaguely 'European.'

"How was your flight?" I used this speck of banality to get a frank moment to examine his features. Very fair of skin, his dark hair stood out in vivid contrast; being short on the top of his head, and fuzzy as a line between his lips and nostrils.

And what lips! Full and red like the shade of a ripening strawberry, I wanted to launch at them as he said, "Brutal. Longest night of my life." Inexplicably he hugged me again, now his lips touched my ear as he said very low, "But worth every minute of it to, to get to you, my king."

My dick sprang up, but as I looked at him again, clearly he had not slept, and exhaustion played behind that puckish grin with leaden feet.

I took the bag commandingly off his shoulder and hoisted it onto mine. I led him by the elbow. "Come on. Let's get you home."

˚˚˚˚˚

The mid-morning rush for the airport train was non-existent. We stood on the platform, and he leaned his head on my shoulder. I wanted to stroke it and tell him things, secret, esoteric things, but all in good time.

On the train, we were nearly alone, and I always like to sit away from the doors, in one of the more 'private' seats at 90-degrees to the long sides of the car, but Tony plopped down at the totally exposed bench seats night next to the door. I lowered his bag, then myself.

"Don't worry. It’s quick," I told him. "In about 20 minutes we’ll be home and you can relax."

"I can relax now," he said as the train alarm sounded. "I feel at home already." The doors closed. I had to swallow and push my dick down a bit. The train moved away from the platform and out into the still-foggy morning air. Soon we were hurtling along, and again Tony's head fell on my shoulder. He seemed to drift off and I had a funny notion of how reality is different from what unfolds in our imaginings.

In my dirty little mind, I imagined my Brit kid would arrive full of shy piss and vinegar, and I would want to take him right away to show him who he had been fantasizing about these last few months. I'd guide him to an out-of-the-way restroom in the International Terminal. I'd go to the end of the line of stalls and I'd push him backwards into the spacious one reserved for wheelchairs, but also the most difficult one to see into from the outside. And in my imagination, I fucked him.

I hung up his bag, then forced him against the wall with my kisses, and he tried to resist, but my cock hard against his body made him turn into a dirty little slut to please his daddy. He panted into my mouth, and his little 22-year-old fingers lowered my zipper as if he had done it a million times before, though mine would be his first. I forced his head down, and his knees landed before me, as his hands let out his own cock. He toyed with the tip of my dick, his nasty eyes – half contempt, half lust – locked onto mine as he lapped up my clear and sparkling precum like a dog does milk; preciously and with great joy. I forced his mouth to take my head within it, my hand in his short dark hair from behind, guiding him, but still he looked at me, and my cock flared with the excitement his wet kiss was locking onto me. I forced it all the way down, his open stare faltered; just a momentary gulp, a slight blink, then the wicked glance was back full force, only now a tear was there too. He was gagging on my cock, his eyes watering in sheer discomfort, but his soul loved it, and wanted to fully please his daddy's desires.

I picked him up. I made him kiss me so my lips could drift and eat those tears, for they touched my soul too. I roughly pulled down his trousers and his speedo-sized panties. I rotated him and pressed him unequivocally on his upper back between the shoulders. He spread his hands out and leaned on the tiles before him. Now it was my turn, and kneeling – the porcelain-cold biting my kneecaps – I was reminded that I was alive, and in public sexing a boy. I spread his ass cheeks and found the object of much of my recent obsessions. His hole was pink and tidy and hairless and twitched slightly in the indirect fluorescent light from above. I closed my eyes and found it with my lips. Tony moaned. His back arched out towards my love caress, and I opened up his cheeks farther. My tongue pressed at his closed portal, and he sighed with a shiver that ran through his thighs where I gripped him. He relaxed suddenly, and the rose on my tongue blossomed. I slipped into in. I pulled my tongue out and gathered spit in my mouth. It came out freshly moistened and went into my boy's ass, and from the top of him came a loud gasp. I pinched his leg to make him be quiet, and he stifled himself by moving one arm and locking his teeth on it, as if on a wooden stick at the doctor's office. I tongue-punched him again, and his pucker came farther out to meet me and to take my love offering of spit.

I pulled back to look at it. It glistened and visibly yearned for more, so with one hand taken away from his leg, I moistened it fully with a wad of deep-welled expectoration, and pressed it to his hole. He bit his arm, and moved his ass closer to my touch. My other hand came up and spread his cheeks apart, and gripped him centered, right above his hole. My finger slid in. At the knuckle, I stopped and rotated it 90 degrees in one direction, paused, then back another 180-degrees – moving from 12 o'clock to 3, and then back to 9 again. He writhed under my ministration. I felt his love-button spasm and release in quick succession over and over again. I was going to fuck him right then and there.

I kicked his trousers and underwear to the floor and had him step out of them. As I kissed him, so he could know what his own ass tasted like, I pulled off his jacket and lifted his shirt and undershirt over his head. They stayed on, but were locked behind his head so I could see and feel his nipples. I didn't bother with my clothes, but moved to the toilet and dragged him by the wrist. I sat down, my cock at full attention pointing to his butt. He knew what was going to happen; knew he was going to fuck himself on it – do it to please me – so he grinned, wickedly.

He spat into his hand and spread it up and down the shaft of my tool. "No," I told him softly. "Do it again, but put a big, thick wad just on the head. That's what you're going to feel it first."

My novice did as he was bid. I felt his hot and thick slather of spit wet the tip of my cock, and a jewel of precum rose to meet the boy's touch. I leaned forward, took him by the waist and helped him to stand on the toilet seat. His new and expensive-looking suede oxfords easily gripped the sloping side of the white plastic, and he began to lower himself. His fingers – those fucking sexy fingers that just the thought of made me shoot load after load when by myself – reached under and took my dick just below the head. Again I pulsed and I know a shot of precum reached up to meet this ass of my dreams coming down to fuck me in real life. He positioned my head on his hole, then looked at me and held his breath. "Nah, baby." I told him, my hands going to the top of his thighs. "Breathe." And as he let out his air, I knew that the moment was finally here. Because at that instant he was perfectly relaxed – his tension being released with this sigh – my hands guided him lower onto my cock.

It slipped in well beyond the head, and his face looked on me with a momentary torment, but I forced him all the way down, and that look morphed into one wracked with indescribable enjoyment. He sank to my balls, gasping, and then did a little wiggle. My dick grew even harder in him and he lifted his ass up just before my inflamed head still tight within him. He sat again, moaned louder this time, and my hand went up to fill his mouth with fingers. He bit down on them gently as he lifted and fucked himself again. Now I sighed; the pressure on my digits – wet and salubrious – and the pressure of his virgin hole gripping my shaft all around, and then moving that embrace up from my pubic region to the now very fat cockhead that did not want to leave him, ever, made me crazy with lust.

I stood up. He lunged forward to wrap his arms around my neck, but I stayed deep within him. I staggered under the weight of pleasure to the wall and heard his back make a muffled smack, his shirts softening the blow, but now his lips were on mine and the pressure of our weight on the wall forced a small blast from his lungs to enter mine. I shoved my cock deeper into him, and again his life force was mine; his breath deposited directly into my blood from the gift of his air in my chest.

He held on tight to my neck. Our lips parted so each of us could breathe. "Oh FUCK," he cried out.

"Shush," I said, then turned my tone to a soft, questioning one. "What do you want, boy. Tell me."

"Cum in me, fuck me and cum all in me…"

"You ready for that, nug?"

"Yes, God yes. I've waited for so long."

Suddenly there was wetness on my chest. The kid had blown a wad spontaneously as I dove deeper and deeper against his prostate. Seeing it, I was pushed over the top.

I locked back onto his lips, and down below, I shot into him over and over again.

We stayed like that, panting into each other's throats for a moment, then I let go of his legs and he put them, wobbily, on the floor. Still, he grasped my neck, and I feared that if he did let go at that moment, he'd crumple to the floor. He let go; let his sea legs wobble under him, but I turned him around, and cum – my cum – was drooling out of his toneless hole. I stuck my ring and middle finger into him and he moaned again. I twisted them around in there and personally delighted that my boy was about to crumple to the floor before me, under my touch, as a cum-soaked mass of exhausted flesh and devotion to his man.

On the train, the rocking motion, and steady clickety-clack put Tony to sleep on my shoulder while his hand lay palm-up on the seat between up.

I slipped my fingers between his, and although my airport fantasy fuck with him was hot, I knew now, confronted with reality as I was, that our actual fuck sessions were bound to be much more emotional affairs. And somehow, hotter, raunchier too.

˚˚˚˚˚

In the house, I set Tony's bag on the floor, and he tried to sidestep the attention of the dogs – he told me he had better relations with felines, but I knew he'd warm to our pets. I took his hand and led him through the house to the bathroom. I ushered him in.

"There you go. Clean towels and l laid out my pajamas for you to wear. Take a shower, and we'll have a nap. I know you're tired."

He glanced down at the small pile of soft goods. My folded pajama pants, in a whimsical pattern of owls, was on top. Below it was a loose and dark tee-shirt that I often slept in, and under them, a washcloth and bath towel. Some sort of odd look came over Tony's face, but I patted his ass and told him to 'look lively.'

˚˚˚˚˚

Later, I again took his hand, and led his sexy form now wearing my clothes upstairs. I took him to the quiet and dark bedroom under the eaves, where I left the window and blinds closed that morning. I undressed down to my undershirt and drawers and climbed on top of the comforter. Tony stood at the head of the bed, so I held out my arm and motioned for him to lie on my left side. I spread my arm flat and he nestled on it, rolling himself so his leg crossed over the top of mine, and his head and hand rested on my chest. I lifted my right hand and stroked his barely damp hair.

"I can hear your heartbeat," he said very quietly.

"And what does it sound like? To you?"

He swallowed. "Like, like I make you calm. Like the sea."

"Go to sleep now. You're safe, and you need your rest."

His hand momentarily flexed on my chest, and he nestled down closer. The weight of his legs grew heavier, and so too the heaviness of his head on my heart. Yes, it did beat in quiet awe. This boy did something to me.

I thought over how this unlikely set of scenarios unfolded to lead him here to rest safe and secure in my embrace. Online 'romances' are not supposed to bloom into anything, and probably nine times out of ten, end because one party is not who they led the other to believe. But me? Here with my happy life, husband of many years, a home and family of canines, how was it I was supposed to be fate-chosen to help this boy?

One night he sent an innocent message about liking a studio-made porn vid I had posted, asking if I had other parts of it. I felt on guard. I imagined this was the proper 'owner' who wanted to trap me into admitting where I had found it. So I hemmed and waited, but the kid kept talking to me. At one point during that first exchange I told him, "If you're trying to turn me on, it's working." The boy replied, "Good. That's kind of the point."

The rest is a blur – well, not a blur at all – I remember every exquisite detail, every heartfelt admission he made to me, and every kind word of support I offered in return. And all the while, he did something to me that I only dreamed I could be doing to him.

Tony slept on my chest. His breathing had regulated off, and his hand and leg were like lead on me, or more like gold, I should say, so precious its density was to me.

I stroked his hair and felt drowsy myself, for I did not get a good night's sleep; it was one full of anxiety. But now that seemed irrelevant, for what will be will be.

I had dreamed about this moment, and in my dreams I revealed to him those deep and secret things I knew I would one day tell him in person; esoteric things too sacred to be spoken in the daylight, but meant to be whispered far, far back in the chamber where only one small shaft of light is allowed to reach the minute golden statue of the sun god Amen – the same god whose name ends each and every Jewish and Christian prayer by the invocation of his holiness – a wish for light to strike deep in the hidden chambers of our hearts too.

As softly as I could, I said, "You are going to be all right. You deserve as much happiness as anybody else. You are worthy of love – and, I love you."

He moved his lips a moment, shifted his ear on my pulse-maker a second, perhaps it grew louder as I intoned my prayer for him, but then he slept as before, and I closed my eyes and felt warm, and at peace too. I fell asleep.

˚˚˚˚˚

My internal clock told me it was three in the afternoon. I opened my eyes wondering momentarily why I was in bed in the middle of the day, then the sense of serenity washed over me as I remembered the boy at my side.

I started. When I looked up, Tony was wide-awake, raised on an elbow, and I guess he had been watching me sleep.

"Hi, sleepyhead." His tone was honey-soft and sticky with suggestion.

I glanced down my body. My dick was rock hard, and in Tony's grip through the fabric of my shorts.

"What are you doing, young man?"

"Waiting, always waiting, my sexy man."

Suddenly he started singing, and although his hand still played with me, I went soft. Some experiences are so intense, the body can't keep up. In Italian he intoned the melody and beautiful lyrics of a classical aria I had sent to him via a youtube video. He stopped me in my tracks, singing to me the sentiments I had meant to express to him how I felt.

"Caro mio ben,
credimi almen –
senza di te
languisce il cor.

Il tuo fedel
sospira ognor –
cessa, crudel
tanto rigor!"

Tony told me he spoke Italian, and in fact had replied to my glib use of Fantastico! with an entire sentence in Italian, but how could I be prepared to hear him sing to me, so softly, and so full emotion?

He said, "Now you. The – what did you call it translation...?"

"The performance translation..?"

"Yes, where the words are the meaning of the music, but not necessarily an exact translation. That's what you said."

I started to sing it for him while I rubbed his cheek, for so inspired had I been to send him the link, I worked out how to perform it in English.

"Oh, my sweetheart,
bless me, it's true –
away from you,
languishes my heart.

Your faithful one
sighs in agony –
cease my misery
and tell me I've won!"

It felt awkward to sing it like this, in bed with his eyes on mine, and yet, how better to do it, and for whom, if not to and for my Tony?

Suddenly his mood was very different. He scanned the top of the small chest that served as my bedside table. "What time does your partner come home?"

"After six…."

"So we have time – it's still three o'clock."

"Time for what?" I asked.

He massaged my cock with renewed vigor, for he had never let it go. It awakened to his insistent grasp. He kissed me, his tongue slipping into my mouth and so too his wonderful presence of amber-toned freshness. I lapped it up, my breath grew hot on his cheek. He maneuvered my cock head along the leg of my shorts and it breathed fresh air. The first silken touch of his fingers on my bare skin was wild and soft at the same time. He let my dick go. His hand moved and slipped up between my undershirt and chest. It went sliding along and found my nipple. He pinched it, and already hard, it smarted at his novice vehemence. Still kissing him, I made a mental note that I'd need to teach him the difference between a man's tit and the female one he was sexually brought up on.

I extricated my left arm from under his neck, and half sat up. I spun on my ass so that my face was at the fly of my pajama bottoms on my young lover's body. I scootched my hips over, and the boy latched on to my inner thigh and moved me close to him. Again his hand found my cock and pulled it freer of my clothes. I tugged on the waistband and his fat 7-plus-inches sprang into my face. I took it by the shaft, tugged on the loose sheath of foreskin and kissed the face of it, front and center. I felt his luscious lips enclose themselves around my cock head, and before I could put him in my mouth, I saw it pulse with a mighty throb. My dick had turned him on, and a peal of precum was my reward. I licked the slot, and another springing spasm shot more clear and cucumber-clean liquid for me to take. Now the boy had taken my shaft into his mouth and was working it in wet and warm tribute. I sucked his cock head, and he moaned and stirred a little. He liked it – I could taste that he did.

He sucked me deeper, and I too had to pulse in the pleasure this young mouth was spreading up and down my spine. His hand on my thigh grew hot and sweaty. I sunk my lips to his balls, which I used the elastic waistband to cup and hold for my use like a koozie. He shifted again, and took in a sharp breath. I increased my rhythm, I knew he couldn’t hold out much more and making my boy cum so quickly was something I could 'punish' him for, for my lad dreamed of Daddy domination, and that was still to come. I concentrated my mouth efforts, with pressure from my tongue on the area with the least amount of flesh and the most nerve endings – underneath the pee slit, just under the hood. The head flared, relaxed and flared again in constant strain. He sucked me harder, and his breaths on my balls were short and chopped – I knew he'd cum, and I would not release my grip until he did.

His hand left my thigh, and flailed about on my waist and lower chest, like he was begging for something, but his mouth stayed on my shaft. In another moment, his whole frame tensed, and the head of his cock locked within my lips flared mightily and did not relax, instead a torrent of hot jizz hit the back of my throat. Seven or eight shots, one after the other as his frame convulsed next to the centeredness of my mouth. His semen slid down my throat and I took it all. It tasted fresh, clean like a shower at the spa with exotic and mild sea salt from an ancient climate; one free of all human pollution. After he was spent, and only then, did I take my mouth away from his still hard cock. With my first inhale of air, I could really taste my boy, and my palate and nose agreed, we both loved Tony in spades.

I kneeled on the bed over him. With mock annoyance, I straddled my knees on either side of his waist. I made a show of wiping the boy's cum from the outside of my mouth with an exaggerated draw of the back of my hand, along my lips, to halfway up my elbow.

"So, you couldn't hold it?"

There was something like real fear and a tremulous shaking in his voice. "You wouldn't let up…I can't keep up with—"

"I'll have to teach you a thing or two." By now I was 'walking' on my knees and had made it up to his armpits. I gave him a brief wink, and he responded by laying his arms full length on top of my thighs. I leaned over and said, "Open up. You're gonna take my cum, and like it."

I put the tip of my straining cock just within the confines of his dark red lips that looked flusher and more youthful than at the airport, and more beautiful. But I pulled it out again, just out of range of his pucker. He blinked at me, and I again drew near. He reached up and locked his moistened lips on my head, and I drew back again. He made a lustful kind of grunt and half sat up, his hands gripping my ass and forcing me forward.

"Good boy. Come get what you want." I smiled.

He sucked the tip, and I gradually leaned into his embrace, sinking my shaft deep into this greedy opening. He grunted in the same way and really went to town. The pleasure building within me, somewhere halfway between the base of my dick and the twitching base of my spine, grew intense. My eyes fell on the boy at work. His were closed, but he relished his task and his delight in making me happy was more incentive to fill him up than anything else. Normally I prefer to cum in other ways than oral, and have developed quite a pleasure tolerance to this type of stimulation, but as they say, pleasure lives in the brain and not the balls, and the nearly unbounded joy I felt in having this young man near me, and loving me because it made him happy, was inching my nut to a rollicking climax. I had to catch a sharp breath of air, which made Tony open his eyes. I touched his forehead, stroking it to let him know I was all right – more than all right, in fact, about to lose it – because of him.

As I strained back at the very threshold of orgasm, I felt his grip tightening: on my ass cheeks, spreading them and delighting my hole; and lovingly on the head of my cock. He had learned quickly, and like any good boy, knew from me blowing him minutes ago to stay focused on the throbbing hood when your partner is about to blow. But I had one more surprise for him.

On the brink, I reached to my shaft and pulled it out of his mouth. I stroked once or twice, and deposited a steam of pearly-white seed all over the boy's open mouth, his nose and cheeks, and that peach fuzz mustache. After five or six torrents he grabbed my dick and put it back in his mouth. He greedily cleaned it off and I could feel the tip of his tongue pay special attention to my slippery pee hole.

I bent down and lay my body on his. I parted my lips and collected as much seed as I could carry on my tongue, which I transported to his waiting mouth. He kissed me back with such force, and such passionate siphoning of my cum, it literally took my breath away.

I slobbered back for a second round at licking his face clean and took it all again and swirled it in his mouth. A third, and our bussing drifted off into genuine, lingering affection – the oxytocin had kicked in, and all the world became settled in the humble kiss of two. Yes, nothing else mattered – not hell, or high water; a wrathful or mildly bemused God – all were one, all were focused on the blending of two souls into a single kiss.

I rolled off of him, becoming oddly aware for the first time that all the pores of my body had ripped themselves open when Tony brought me to climax. I sighed and felt his head land on my heart again. "Not bad," I said, "for your first time with a guy."

"Bullocks, but thanks!" he laughed. "I knew I saved myself for 'my right guy.' Thank you."

"Save your thanks. I'm not through with you yet. Oh, not by a long shot!"

"Yeah. I hope so. I never want you to be through with me. Never."

He reached up and turned my head to him. Then, very slowly, he kissed me and I tasted a blend of him and me on his breath, and I too never wanted this moment to fade.

_