2001-03-12 - 00:23:29
The Next One Shall Be A Doosey

The Next One Shall Be A Doosey

Singing Out Sweetness

Saturday night, Kyle phoned from downstairs, wondering if I wanted to come out with he and J.C. to the club. I took a pass, having oodles of reading and writing left to do for Monday's class. A few minutes later he phoned back, asked if he could use my computer to check his email.

"So how's your hot man?" Kyle asked, when he got up here to my messy den. He meant Kentaro. I said that I hadn't seen him since that night we all watched Queer As Folk. "Well he's definitely a hottie," Kyle said. I agree.

I don't know Kyle very well, but man is he ever adorable. (Not to mention sexy.) Whenever he finds something to be "sweet"--something I might say or something on TV or, like last night, something in an email he's reading--he's got this modulated, watery "Oh-h-h-h-h!" that streams out of him. I want to kiss his voice when it does that.

I left him to read his email in privacy, returned to my reading. Then J.C. stomped upstairs, looking for Kyle. "Where's my white shirt?" he demanded. Kyle had no idea what he was talking about. A playful argument ensued. I stood in the hallway with J.C. as he talked at Kyle sitting at my computer.

J.C. squeezed my shoulder as he 'berated' Kyle. Then he grabbed me by the left pocket of my rather tight black jeans, pulled me over closer to him. His big hand burrowed deeper and deeper into my pocket. I squirmed and laughed, no doubt flushing a bit.

For the next minute or so, J.C. kept his hand tucked deep in my pocket as he teased Kyle about this that and the other thing. Thus delightfully trapped, I felt my cock register the curious poke's presence.

If he prods even an inch farther in, he's going to touch it, I thought. He did not veer that way, but his hand continued its impish flex up against my upper thigh.

I stood there, deliciously flustered at J.C.'s liberties. My dick throbbed as I pretend-laughed at his and Kyle's silly bickering. Eventually J.C. extricated his hand; I announced that I had to get back to my reading, returned to my easy chair in the living room. J.C. and Kyle continued their jokey squabble, then J.C. said he was going back downstairs.

In parting, this beautiful young man waltzed over behind my big comfy chair, reached his hand down to my chest, fondling my pecs. "I'm going back downstairs," he sang, as he tweaked my right nipple.

"That's good; you guys have fun out tonight, eh?" I replied, my head leaning back so I could peer straight up at his dancing eyes.

He pinched my nipple one more time, and then he was gone.

As I slowly regained my composure, trying to focus again on my reading, something somebody wrote to Kyle in an email struck his sweet bone. "Oh-h-h-h-h!" he sang. "Oh-h-h-h-h!"

I couldn't have said it better myself.

Libraries Incriminate (& Nylon Inflames)

Realizing I missed Kentaro's birthday, I now have a belated present for him, Queer Japan, a collection of autobiographical essays by gay, bisexual, lesbian and transgendered Japanese men and women. He's coming over tomorrow night--to hopefully both enact and then watch Queer As Folk--so I'll give it to him then.

I'm sure he'll like the book; more of a concern is, will Kentaro be comfortable enough with such a gay-gay-gay book in his possession? He is closeted to the host family he boards with here in town, and to his parents back in Tokyo where he'll return in a month's time.

I'll make sure he understands that I won't be offended, should he not feel able to actually keep the book after he's read it.

It sucks that we have to go through that phase: scared to be found in possession of those stories we need most.

STOP THE PRESSES!

I was writing that "It sucks…" sentence. The phone rang. It was Kentaro, asking if he could stop by. "Just for fifteen minute," he said.

He'd just returned back from a weekend skiing trip out of town with some friends visiting here from Japan. Kentaro found their company draining, and just had to get away from them for a bit tonight. I was glad to see him, a day early; he seemed quite pleased with the Queer Japan book, didn't seem to be worried about his parents finding it. "They don't read English," he said, "They won't know what it's about."

Kentaro was lushly tanned from skiing, highlighting his big brown eyes and pink lips all the more. And he was wearing tight nylon track pants that hugged his buns fabulously. I couldn't keep my hands off them. Off him.

But we didn't have sex, just cuddled and talked and then necked and groped each other just now before he left. Just before we disengaged, Kentaro's hand was up underneath my sweater, lightly strumming the same nipple J.C. tweaked last night. I could have cum just from that, as I chewed on his pouty lips and played with his nylon-covered butt. Oi.

Looking forward to seeing him: hopefully tomorrow, but since his out-of-town friends are here for one more night, we may delay our get-together until Tuesday. Regardless, I can't wait to pick up where we left off.

Will I be able to put off reckoning with this raging hard-on until then?

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