How the Heart Approaches what it Yearns - 3. Day Three

Day Three

At breakfast my man and Tony had a free and easy conversation, but I held myself aloof. It was all too real; my love for my husband, and my passion and tender disposition for this boy. They were together equitably, and in my murky set of constraining – nay, limiting – thoughts, they could always stay as simpatico as they effervescently bubbled at this moment. But I had my fears, and they were strong ones. So much seemed at risk, and so much delight was up in the air.

"That sounds great!" Tony turned won-over eyes to me. "Let's go the beach today."

Our Airedale was standing by the boy's side, and had rested his chin on Tony's thigh. And this boy, who said he was uneasy with dogs, effortlessly stroked the silky head under his hand.

I nodded. "Yes. I wanted to get you over the Golden Gate Bridge, so Stinson Beach it is." Then I realized something. "Did you pack a bathing suit?"

"Oh." Tony was crestfallen as only youth could be.

"He'll use one of mine." My partner stepped up, and my dick stirred. Such is the deep-rooted workings of love.

"It's settled then," I said, trying to keep my lustful sneering to a minimum.

They returned to a lively exchange of pleasantries, and my mind wandered back to how I had settled Tony down for the night.

On his bed in the study – his head again in my lap, my hand again in his hair – I had thought about an old German lullaby. I spoke the lyrics as I remembered them, hoping that comfort could come to both speaker and hearer alike. For although it's true that all things are never fully settled, nevertheless, most things live in repose of one sort or another, and I dreamed out loud that for my angel Tony, repose was possible with me by his side.

"Sleeping softly, or so it seems
Heaven enters us in our dreams;
Angels hover round about,
Showing they comfort doubt;
Two are singing sweetly,
Two with blossoms neatly,
Spread a bed of roses,
And there my heart reposes,
For heaven will not forsake
We who at dawn must awake."

He actually fell asleep – such poor company I proved – but mercy it was that he did not see, or feel, the tear that fell on his cheek. I kissed it off, placed his head on the pillow and left him, safe, and loved.

Now at the breakfast table those climatic words I said as I pumped my load into him yesterday afternoon, the ones about me loving him, confronted me with the truth. I did love him, and I wanted him to believe me with all his puckish and youth-prone heart. And more so, the load before, where I pile-drove into him and his eyes were on me until the heavy force of joy made them close, but close on the words in his throat, 'I love you' – those words, more than anything I had a right to ask for, I wanted to be true. I wanted it down to the center of my soul; I wanted him to love me as much as I did him.

˚˚˚˚˚

At noon Tony and I were in the car. The hill that crests Divisadero Street before it plunges down the north slope of Pacific Heights always makes visitors gasp, and sometime, hold hands too. As I stopped at the sign, my boy leaned forward in his seat, as far as the seatbelt would allow, and looked over the edge of the city, the Golden Gate Bridge, and the rolling green hills of the Marin Headlands on the other side of the bay.

"It's incredible," he murmured, more to himself than me. But as I started and began to roll down the hill, his left hand came to my right one and held it. By the time I turned onto Lombard Street at the bottom of the hill, he was playing with the junk mood ring I had on my pinkie.

"Know what that is?" I asked.

"A ring," he said trying to be witty.

"A mood ring."

He aped the phonetics: "A Mood Ring?"

I laughed. "Don’t you kids these days wear mood rings?! When I was a teenager they were big and clunky and little boys only wore them in their closets, afraid the other little boys doing the same thing would call them queer."

He pulled it off my finger. "But this one's not big and chunky." I saw him turn it over and around.

"Like it?"

He shrugged and pursed his lips. The ring was a simple band, about half-an-inch wide with a center strip of mood-responsive color.

He put it back on my finger, a shy glance rising into my smile as he said very plainly, very openly, "I do."

I took his hand and guided it to my crotch. I was rock hard, and had been since the top of the hill.

"Daddy a little stiff? Need some relief?"

I didn't have to answer, for the kid undid his seatbelt, undid my zipper and leaned his face over. He maneuvered my cock out, bringing my balls along too, and began his task. He licked the place where the two folds of the hood sweep up to meet on the underside, and sent a shudder through me. I gripped the wheel a little harder. He placed his whole mouth frictionlessly over my flaring cockhead and applied pressure, then, he let up and swallowed my dick to the center of my shaft. I had to let up on the gas, lest I accidentally stomped down on it. As he pulled up with his lips, reapplying pressure and moisture, I'm sure precum drizzled out to wait for his tongue to lap up once it got up there. He repeated, and my eyes half closed. The maze leading to the bridge opened up before me and the beauty of the blue sky, the green setting, and the International Orange of the bridge looming in the distance, all melded into the single stimulation of this sexy-ass kid's lips on my dick.

He was going to make me cum. He wasn't playing around, and he wasn't going to stop until baby had been fed his papa's milk. That turned me on. He sucked me now in a regular rhythm; he went down to the base and up to just below my head. His tongue applied a line of slick pressure straight up and down, along the urethra, forcing the precum up along the channel as his lips climbed my shaft.

I so longed to close my eyes to better feel only the sensation of his lovemaking, but I did not – well maybe they narrowed a bit more. I tried to delay the inevitable by focusing on another stream of sensory input. My phone was plugged in, and Paul Simon's album One Trick Pony was playing. This was no accident, his sonorous unfolding of a heart deeply in love to the point that it hurts, was exactly what my mood needed. But though his words tried, they could not pierce the feel of Tony on my cock.

His hot breath exited on top of my balls, and suddenly he gripped them, making my dick in the clench of his mouth vibrate in a quick successions of pulses. As I drove the S-curve that puts you on the bridge proper, drove it at the safe 15-mph required, my eyes drifted up the mighty cables. They arced upwards to the first imposing tower and the ultra-blue of the cloudless sky behind them glowed like heaven itself. As I followed them, Tony made me cum. I shot into his mouth, and he like a good boy, swallowed every drop. After a moment, he came up to me and made a funny expression. I was wrong. He hadn't swallowed, yet. He wanted me to see, so he opened his mouth and showed me a tongue creamed with my love for him. I sneered at the dirty boy, and I so wanted to kiss that cum down his gullet, but before I could, that magic portal closed in front of me, and an oddly pained-looking expression sinking in his eyes conveyed that he was swallowing and relishing every bit of me being committed to the depths of his tummy. I reached over and pulled his lips to mine. He parted, and our tongues exchanged the last of my crisp-tasting seed between us.

His fingers picked up my pinky and held it between us.

"What mood are you in now?" he asked.

I looked, and the ring was a deep sonorous blue. "Happy," I said. He let it drop, turning to look out his window, and my angel said as softly as he could: "I know."

˚˚˚˚˚

Tony looked fucking hot in my lover's swim trunks. I had bought those for him, and he gave them to my boy this morning because they had a shoelace front panel, like a pair of football pants. Tony, still slender in his youth, would need to have something adjustable to hug those hips, and that bubble butt, as securely as possible.

I sat on the sand. Tony was in the water, where I had been, but now I was camped out with a book, my sunglasses, and a matchless view. Think Bo Derek emerging from the surf in the movie 10. Tony used his hands to slick back his dark hair, his muscular arms dripping with water, and his alabaster chest and abdomen glowing purer than sunlight. He was horsing around with a few little boys, splashing water in their faces, and giggling as they ganged up on him to drag him into the swells. He let them, and when he tried to stand, a little hand yanked on the waist of his borrowed trunks. The top of his ass came into view a moment before he grabbed at them, then he turned a wicked smile on me.

Behind my sunglasses I thought of Love herself coming to shore on a Cypriot beach all those long centuries ago, and how she could not have been any lovelier than my boy is now. Botticelli's 'Love on the Half Shell' tried to capture the moment, but his painting would have a different theme if he were sketching now by my side. Shore-bound Venus loved a lad, and so doted on him, everybody knows the name of Adonis. But he scorned her, preferring the love, no doubt, of some equally handsome shepherd boy, and who was I? Lovesick Love, or the lad Adonis adored in spite of the advances of a Goddess. I dreamed to be the latter.

Now for some reason, Paul Simon's lyrics hit me. The ones that subconsciously entered my mind as Tony drained my balls of spunk to fill his mouth. They were something like:

"Waking from a dream, my dream comes back
We are standing on a hilltop,
car lights dimmed by the moon-bright,
I crumple myself in your embrace
because your tone is like the night

And I turn into fire."

Tony ran out of the water. He shook his body and neck like a Labrador, and headed over to me. He plopped down on the blanket by my side, leaned on his elbow, and said not a word.

I pretended to be engrossed in my book, the same book of which I had read nothing. I glanced over. My boy had a squinted smile for me, cockeyed with one eye closed and the other side of his face lifted by his grin.

Sand salt-and-peppered his pecs and neck. I reached over and brushed them away, 'accidentally' lingering a brush over each of his rising nipples.

Through his grin, he finally asked, "Are you hungry?"

"You want lunch?"

"I want to know, if you are hungry." His hand drifted over his inner thigh, slid between his legs – ignoring his crotch – and settled deep and lingeringly over his asshole.

˚˚˚˚˚

Stinson Beach had a large parking lot. Surfers changed with towels around their waists, or said fuck it, and let it all hang out. Back in the back of the lot, where families with kids never bothered to park, I opened the rear door of my car and set Tony's ass down.

I dropped the blanket to my knees and gripped his swim trunks. While I genuflected before my idol, his gracile fingers undid his laces. I tugged his trunks down and slid them off his ankles and feet. His dick with its fat head was hard, but I ignored it. I lifted his left leg and placed it on my shoulder, then I did the same with his right. I buried my nose next to his love-button and inhaled. It was clean and salty, and a bit wild like the broad sea itself. I tasted it. It was as briny as a mildly intoxicating oyster. Again it was the flavor of sea-born passion made manifest in the flesh of an individual. I rimmed his pucker, and it retreated, but after I stuck my tongue in it, it opened up and exposed its inner softness. I love-punched it good, and Tony began to moan and lay his head back full on the seat. His hands went up to his hair and pulled it out straight.

I fucked him long and deep with my tongue and my nose left hot breath on the ridge mark of his perineum. These breaths I decided to recapture, and worked my tongue up – slowly, maddeningly – following this fold line to the base of his ball sack. My boy, my Adonis, reacted by grabbing onto my head from behind and pressing me into his scrotum. So fine, it too was salty and beach-combed by my choppy bursts of tonguing. As I sucked his balls, my finger came up to his hole and fiddled around the entryway. He shifted and pressed my head harder. I wanted to see if my fuck-finger would go in without spit-lube, so I pressed. The young man's hole resisted a moment, but as I continued to apply studied pressure, again Tony relaxed and his hole blossomed to let me in. My finger sank in smoothly to the knuckle. I soon joined it with my index finger, then pulled them out to spit on them. Now three fingers went in, and Tony rolled on the seat from side to side. He had to put his fist in his mouth to stop from yelling out, but his backside inched towards me, begging for my touch to go deeper into him still.

My mouth went to his dick as I finger-plowed him. It resisted and pressed hard on the roof of my mouth. His precum left as a dollop directly on my palate, tasting just like the sea from whence we were all born.

"Fuck me…" I heard him moan. "I need you bad, Daddy."

I stood up, putting my underarms on top of the car door to look around. It seemed a damn foolish thing to do – middle of the day as it was, and a bunch of people around too – but then I perceived that Tony had sat up and was untying the sting of my bathing suit. He pulled it down to below my nuts, then took my dick in his mouth. I rolled my eyes back, my head too, for now I could look up to the sun and close my eyes. Oddly, visions of orange cable on a blue background met my pleasure from down below. I was so turned on….

I kicked my shorts to my ankles, and grabbed onto Tony's waist. I pushed his back flat and drew that ass all the way out of the car, overhanging about a foot. I partially stood – one knee braced against the lower rim of the open door – and maneuvered my cock head to find his hole. Once it was in place, I looked at my boy and asked silently if he was ready. He gave me a questioning look, like he was in some sort of fear, then nodded with that wicked, crooked grin.

I pressed in, and it was rougher than before. I hoped he could take it, but again he moaned and thrust his ass towards my cock. I sunk in halfway and felt unbelievable smoothness. His hole was silky and embraced my shaft like it loved me from all directions at once. I went in all the way and my boy grabbed my upper arms and held on tight. I withdrew and sunk in again, and he closed his eyes. I fucked him slow and methodically, every pulse of his asshole telegraphed to my brain directly how much the kid loved it. I happened to glance down at my hand. My mood ring was the same dark blue it had been before. I knew I couldn't hold out for very long with Tony's tight hole gripping me like never before. He was gonna make me cum again without me being able to control it, like he did when he lay on top of me and fucked himself on my cock.

I withdrew all the way. He looked surprised. I slapped his ass. "Turn over."

He sprang to, putting his knees on the car seat.

"Go in a little," I told him. He did, giving me enough room to kick my trunks off and kneel behind him. I bent down, spread his cheeks and plied him with spit. I put my fingers in him and lubed him up, then for the hell of it, tasted his hole again. I loved to feel him opening up on my lips. I kissed him on the hole and brought my dick close to it. I resumed fucking him, and my head and shaft entered him easily and deeply. My balls slapped against his ass, over and over and a rising groan rose from Tony's throat. I saw him reach underneath and start jacking himself. That turned me on too; that plus the fact that a suburban house-mom could wander up to our barely concealed fuck-fest, all made my dick harder with each stroke into Tony's greedy love-hole.

I couldn't hold back for much longer. I picked up his left wrist and drew his hand back to ride the small of his back. I took my ring off and slipped it onto his middle finger, I knew the others would be too small to hold my ring to his flesh. As I continued to fuck him – from my cockhead caught in the tight muscle-way of his sphincter, to my balls mercilessly slapping his ass – that ring of mine moved from bright blue, to dark blue, to dark purple, and finally settled on violet. I fucked for all I was worth, and in another few strokes, my boy gasped, and his hole convulsed around my cock uncontrollably; he was cumming. That sent me over the edge, and as I fed another load of briny cream into my lad, my half-closed eyes fell on that ring, and I knew. I was the shepherd my glorious Adonis chose instead of the goddess who chased him. Tony did love me; the ring had said it all.