Three Little Words . . .

He won't say it. Maybe he can't say it. No. He can. Just only when we fuck. It's like dirty words then. 'Do it hard.' 'Fuck me, baby.' 'God, I love you.' But, even then, I don't think he means it. He mean he loves my cock. He means he loves being fucked. He means he loves sex. But that's not loving ME!

Everything is great, except. There really are no problems in our relationship, except. We share a lot. We give each other room when it's needed. We can both be in the kitchen and not start screaming. We share a bed. We share everything in the apartment. We share the rent, the utilities. We talk about work, about friends, about family, about everything, except.

I can say it. Have. Frequently. Haven't quit saying it. Because, I feel it. With him snuggled against my back, his arms hugging, I feel it. When he smirks at me when I bitch about things at work, I feel it. Every time he catches me in the shower, strips down and comes in to do my back, I feel it. I feel it. So, I say it.

Regardless of what happens, how happy he seems to be, it never gets said. We make out watching porn on the big screen. I can do him, or let him do me. Sexually it's better than I've ever known. He always cums with a shit eating grin on his face. But nothing gets said. Well, sexy stuff gets said. 'Damn, you're good.' 'Shit, I needed that.' 'Get it all, baby.' Shit like that gets said.

Nothing actually has to be said though, as far as sex. I can tell by the twinkle in his eyes. There's that look, that little tug he gives to his crotch. He reads me like a book. Puts his hand on my arm and turns me into mush. Leans over the back of the sofa and nibbles on my ear and reaches for my belt buckle. We're going at it like rabbits right in the middle of the living room. Ecstasy. Sensual fulfillment. Why can't I be happy?

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Before. He was just a dream. I was involved. But, it was just sex and we both knew it. Actually, agreed that's what we were doing. Just two dicks in lust. Called it an open relationship. What it was was a get what you can and if you don't get any, come home and if I'm there we'll fuck relationship. Lots of drama. We were competition and fuck buddies at the same time. Fucking queers are that way, you know.

We were always bitching at each other . . . when we weren't sucking dick, eating ass or fucking each other. Sometimes we even bitched while engaged in some pretty intense sex. It lasted three years though. Amazing when you consider the weakness of what bound us together. Could be we'd still be doing our thing. But, his job sent him out of town – off to Arizona. Clean break. Haven't heard squat.

That was sort of my 'growing up' years. Finding what I really liked in men, in sex, in life, in general. What I found was I liked men who were men. Sexually, I liked variety but nothing really kinky. That limited my range of men to some extent. But I just couldn't get into most fetishes. Mine was dicks and asses, and arms, chests, faces, legs. No socks, toes, whips, piss, cake frosting or such. Just raw naked body parts.

The discovery I kept to myself, was that need for being, a want to be wanted, the desire for a togetherness that transcended just joining body parts. Just didn't seem to be something that 'the boys' were in to. For sure it didn't seem like any of 'the guys' were hot to pair off except to get it on and get off. I lived with that. Had a fucking good time of it.

Then the 'man of my dreams' came strolling down the aisle at Kmart!

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I kid you not! That's where we first met. It was one of those scenes from a foreign movie. Eyes. I cruised him. He cruised me. He smiled. I smiled. We went right into a conversation like we'd known each other for ages. We pushed our carts through the store to get first his list and then mine.

No flubbed lines. No hesitations. No awkward stops and starts in the conversation. We went out the door. Loaded my stuff in my car. I followed to his. We loaded his shit. I followed him home. We walked in the door. Simple job of putting things up. Sat at his kitchen table. Decided we best get my stuff to my place. Decided we'd come back, afterwards. Maybe dinner first.

Dinner was a microwaved quicky at my place. We'd been bumping into each other and finding it harder and harder (pun intended) to avoid groping each other. There was a hot breathy, deep tongue kiss. We stuck to the plan. I went home with him. We fooled around. We talked. Being honest, we both admitted we were turned on. Then we both sort off opened up about wanting to know more. Not wanting this to be just a fuck and go type thing. Not wanting to wait, but feeling like we should. We did.

We dated. I mean real dates. Out for dinner and a movie. Off to see the local civic opera. A weekend, a full damn weekend, at a bed and breakfast with twin beds. That one was the most difficult of all. We were naked, in the same room. Naked all night. He got a real chuckle out of me whacking off in the bathroom that night. I was ready to split. The thing was, I know he did the same in the middle of the night. Told him later. I am a light sleeper.

Somehow, the very next weekend, we knew. We were touching fingers across the table, all cow eyes over dinner. It was my night to drive. I asked if he was OK with skipping the movie. Got a grunt that sounded like uh-huh. Said lets go to my place for an after dinner drink, even though I was sure I only had 3 beers in the apartment. Got another grunt, and a hand on my leg. Had an open belt, unzipped zipper and fingers inside my boxers half way home.

I pulled into the parking lot driving erratic. Almost sideswiped a car trying to park. Things like that happen when your boyfriend has his head in your lap banging it against the steering wheel, slurping on you dick. I wanted more. Told him we were at my place. Guess he wanted more too. He tugged and tucked me away. I did the zipper and belt. We headed up the stairs and down to hall to my apartment door.

I got goosed twice going down the hall. Got a hard cock rammed into my ass when I bent to get the key in the lock. Didn't even get the lights on. The door was pushed open. I was pushed inside. The door was slammed shut. I was slammed onto the floor. We struggled. Clothes, shoes, underwear all fell where they were tossed. He let go of me and grabbed his pants. Out came a strip of foil packets. Fucking boy scout!

We were sucking face, then sucking other parts. He moved from my ear to my throat. Then he was attacking my nipples, nipping and licking. The licking continued and moved down. Tongue in my belly button. Hands massaging my buns. I grabbed what I could as he moved over me.

He offered his as he feasted on mine. We 69ed. We both tried to deep throat what we were facing. He could. I tried. Failed. Concentrated on pleasuring his dick head with my tongue, teeth, lips. He was gone. No, between my legs. Lifting. My heels resting on his shoulders. Then my legs were on his back, his head going down. His arms rolled my ass up. Hands spreading. Mouth wet. Slick hole.

He's back on his haunches with a rubber rolling down. Spit. Fingers. Leaning. My legs back in the air. Ass high. Spit. Finger in. Pressing back against it. No finger. Soft touching, teasing, subtle nudging. Harder. Relaxing. Opening. Feeling it. Head inside. My wall gripping his cock as it enters.

Then the hours and days of waiting surged. I shoved my body. He shoved his. We collided. Both wanting, needing. Together. Tender but wanting so much more. Even packed with his meat mine stayed rock hard. A new sensation. He backed off. I cried out. 'NO!' When he moved, I moved with him. We crashed together, hot air grunts expelling from our mouths.

Thus, it began. The first fantastic fabulous famous fuck of the century. That's the way I think of it. That's the way I remember it. That's what he called it, during, and after. Maybe we should have played around more before. Go our rocks off and then got into this real serious fuck scene. But, we didn't. We couldn't. We were doing what we had to do. Quick. Complete. Body burning, ass churning, dick bursting. Fucking.

And it was over. But not really. We lay there. Even as he grew soft we didn't part. We snuggled. His arms enfolded me. Nothing planned. We slept. Innocent sleep. OK, maybe guilty sleep. Deep. Healing. Dream filled. Dreams about what we just did. Dreams about doing it again. Me in him. Him in me. Somehow both. It was a dream.

I awoke early morning. There was a body snuggled into mine. A cock, engorged and pulsing and slowly fucking, in my ass. Arms tight around me, pulling me onto that wonderful feeling. I was in love. Being loved. All's right with the world. I wiggled my ass. His cock grew bigger. This time it was a long, slow, sensual fucking. He chewed on my shoulder, flicked fingers on my tits, bit my neck (a hickey, turtle neck for work).

Amazing. It seemed to be hours. My passion grew. He was on automatic. Reaching softly he closed a hand around me. I was pumping, bumping my ass hard, driving him deep. That same action slicked my stiffness in his grip. Then I realized, I was in control. I was fucking myself and masturbating myself – with his cock, his hand. And he let me. He snuggled close, but the sex, it was my act. He held me. I could have stopped. He wouldn't have forced anything.

I jerked, gyrated, pleasuring myself with him, hoping, but not caring if, he was feeling it too. Then his voice was soft in my ear. Gentle breathing tickling my hair. He was wanting me to finish him, finish myself, do it all myself. He gave me the power. He let me be the master. I scrunched my buns and gripped his cock harder. It pulsed in me. I moved, humping, bounding, fucking. He was gasping. 'Go.' 'Go.' 'Fuck me.' He was saying it. I was fucking him. And my body wanted more.

I was glowing inside. My own cock a steel rod, on fire. Inside me I felt his presence, large, larger. It was impossible to control. My pelvis, my hips, jumping, twitching. It was happening. I felt my body lock on and squeeze. Bullets splattered. His dick gave a massive leap, seemed to double in size and warmth filled me. We were gasping together, air rushing in and out. Soft moans and hot tears. I felt him shudder two more times. My own loins burned and shoved. His hand milked my final deposit.

After that there wasn't much else we could do. We showered. Shaved (he used one of my disposables). Shit (damn, did that feel good). Had a hearty breakfast and I got him to work only 15 minutes late. It was two weeks later when he asked me to move in with him at the end of the month. I knew I was in love. Just, didn't know if he was.

It's been good. Often, sexually, as good as that first set of wild and then sensual fucks. We're a pair. Weeks have passed. Months. Then Years. Coming up on 5 and I still haven't heard those words.

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So there's where it is. Sort of like that nasty poem on the toilet stall wall – 'here I sit broken hearted, tried to shit but only farted'. I've tried for love. But, I'm not sure if that's what I've got. Tried to talk it over with a buddy (he's gay) from work. His take is: 'Baby, you've got the best deal in the world. So he doesn't say those three little words. He don't cheat. He don't beat. You're the envy of every gay dude in the city. What the fuck more do you want?'

I just know that if he doesn't feel what I feel, then that means some time, some where it may happen to him - - with someone other than me. And that would kill me. So tonight I force the issue.

Did it. Asked him direct, no beating around the bush. DO YOU LOVE ME! Got my answer. Taking the weekend to pack. Adios, muther fucker. What did he say. 'Aw, baby, you know I like you more than anyone else in the world.' And, more BS. But, notice, he didn't, he can't, he won't say those three little words.