Alex & Joshua - 3. Chapter 3

My name is Alex and I’m Joshua’s life partner. What a wonderful phrase, life partner. So perfectly descriptive. It implies forever, which I believe is true for us; and it says that we are equals, going through life side by side, neither more important than the other. I think we both try to keep that in mind during the inevitable difficulties that all relationships experience.

But, as wonderful as 'life partner' is, it doesn’t begin to capture the depth and complexity of our relationship. I’m grateful and humbled that he has been able to put into words what he feels for me individually, and for us as a couple. He is much more eloquent than I, and when I read his account of our first meeting, I was speechless, much as he was on our way to that first cup of coffee. But you need to hear my side of that story, my feelings as I realized that I was meeting someone very special.

After I put my niece back on her feet, I glanced over at the bench where he was reading. I had noticed him when he first sat down, and had purposely worked my way to that side of the play area. When my eyes reached him, he was already looking at me, and our gaze held. I remember swallowing hard as I walked toward him, then being relieved as hell that he stood up when I got near.

He was a couple inches shorter than me, longish light brown hair, clean shaven. The weather was warming up, and he wore just a white v-neck t tucked into faded jeans, and old loafers with no socks. That look always gets me. I could see the smooth skin of his chest in the neck of the t-shirt and imagined planting a kiss right there, just at the bottom of the v.

As I got close, I held out my hand, and he stared at it before taking it in his own, then raising his eyes again. His hand was warm and strong, and so familiar in mine that I lost my composure for a moment, my welcoming smile fading from my mouth. I managed to introduce myself, and he told me his name. Joshua. I loved the way it rolled off my tongue. Spoken aloud, my name is quick and abrupt – Alex – over almost as soon as you start to say it. His is softer, more fluid, and suits him very well.

As I stood in the park, his hand in mine, looking into his eyes, I knew that I would take care with this man, with our relationship. I knew already that I wanted more with him than the fleeting satisfaction of casual sex, so I suggested coffee, and we spent the rest of the day together. We did end up in bed, but before that we talked for hours, so that by the time I undressed him in the shadows of my bedroom, I knew that he had been blond as a child, lost his innocence at 17, wanted to learn to juggle; bits and pieces of himself that I remember to this day because he shared them with me during those first magical hours.

He, too, used the word 'magic' in his account of that day, and it truly was. Magic, fate, karma – something was at work that evening because we just knew. I’ve seen a few other couples like us, so in sync with each other that it almost makes other people jealous.

It was especially evident when we made love.

I’m usually fairly aggressive in a sexual encounter. That night though, I wanted, needed, him to come to me. I remember sitting on the couch, taking his hand in mine, lacing our fingers together. After a few minutes he turned toward me, bringing a knee up onto the cushion and sliding to me until our legs touched. My gut clenched slightly, and I concentrated on breathing deeply as I brought our joined hands to his leg. I traced my thumb across the worn denim, both of us watching the gentle movement. He began to get hard, and I watched his cock grow for a minute, then raised my eyes to his mouth.

I leaned forward to kiss him as he came to meet me. That reciprocal gesture almost did me in. I kissed him softly, then bit his bottom lip gently, needing to act on the arousal that was pounding through me. I cupped the back of his head and pulled him to me in a deep kiss, sinking my tongue into the warm depths of his mouth. If I’d had any reservations about the rightness of us, they were gone with that kiss. As he sucked on my tongue, I could feel the pull on my cock, and it took everything I had at that point not to rip his clothes off. I trembled with the effort, moaning into his mouth.

He moved into the curve of my arm and rested against my chest, a classic lover's pose because it works so well. Tipping my head, I could rub my face against his, kiss him, whisper in his ear as we talked.

As we embraced, I rubbed all the way down his back, spreading my hand and sliding my middle finger down into the humid warmth of his ass. He tensed for the first time that night, and I stopped abruptly. After a little prompting, he haltingly told me that he’d never had anal sex, that nothing more than his own finger had ever entered him.

At that point we moved into the bedroom, undressing slowly, savoring the slow revelation of each other's bodies. I lay him down on his back, joining him a little lower on the bed, so that my face rested in the curve of his neck, where I could kiss him and talk softly to him. I resumed rubbing his back, and slowly worked my way down to his ass, massaging, kneading. When he was comfortable with that, leaning into me, relaxed, I pulled his knee up over my hip. Lubing one hand, I reached between his legs and stroked my hand up and down his ass, speaking softly to him about what I was doing. By the time I started to press lightly into him, he was moaning softly and moving restlessly in my arms. As the tip of my finger entered him, he gave a little cry and quivered. I held very still, and he quieted after a moment, tucking his chin to his chest so that his deep breathing made moist little puffs on my shoulder.

I was very hard by this time. Just touching him had gotten me there, but penetrating him with my finger had taken me to the point of pain, and I began to thrust against his thigh, needing some sort of contact.

I slowly slid the rest of my finger into him, feeling him let me in. He was still trembling, but he was relaxed against me, nuzzling my neck with his mouth. For me, this is the most intimate of sex acts, the closest I can be to another human being. Fucking feels great, but the tip of my finger is better able to distinguish the various sensations that being inside his body offers, much more sensitive than a rock hard erection. He was so warm, very tight, silky smooth, all those overused adjectives that barely began to cover what I was feeling.

I moved my finger slowly back and forth, around, letting him get used to the feel of being penetrated. When he was moving on my finger of his own accord, I withdrew it slightly and added my third finger. He took those with nothing more than one deeper breath, and we played like that for a while. He became very comfortable with me inside him; he stopped trembling, and he finally asked me if I was going to fuck him. My cock jerked when he said me that and thumped against his leg. He reached down and took me in his hand, stroking me lightly, and I knew I had to have him.

I pushed him onto his back, knelt between his legs and brought his knees up with my hands. He lay with his head thrown back, eyes closed, arms relaxed at his sides.

“Look at me,” I said to him. He opened his eyes and we stared at each other for a long moment. Then I gripped my cock in one hand, and pushed my hips forward until our bodies met. Our eyes held as I pressed just the head of my dick into him. He never blinked, just watched me with those dark eyes.

When I felt him relax slightly, I put both hands low on his thighs, lifted him slightly, and pulled him very slowly onto my erection. His face never changed, no flash of discomfort, and when his balls were nestled into my pubic hair, I squeezed his legs and smiled at him. He smiled back, and we stayed like that for several minutes, each of us taking in the incredible range of feelings happening between us.

When I finally began to move, it was with very long, very slow strokes. I never increased them, even when I thought my teeth would shatter from clenching my jaw so tightly. He began to masturbate himself as he got into the rhythm of my thrusting.

My orgasm was different from any I’d ever experienced, before or since. It had to do with so many things, I suppose. We were so new to each other, it was his first time; I think we had already fallen in love, as insane as that sounds. Whatever the reasons, I was totally silent as I came, just one hard full body spasm after another as I held myself still inside him. Emptying myself without pumping into it was incredible.

As his orgasm built, he began a long moan that increased in intensity as he stroked himself, shooting all over his chest, never breaking eye contact with me. That's something we found terribly arousing, watching each other the entire time, from beginning to end. There are times when I just want to lose myself in it, eyes closed, mind wandering where it will. But the times we lock eyes are always more intense, more intimate.

Finally we slept, curled together, the first night of so many we’ve spent like that. Waking up was great; I was so happy. Not dancing in the streets happy, though that was part of it, but bone deep content, the sort of feeling that can carry you through a lifetime of ups and downs.

As it has.