Storge
Cal leaned over me, rippled chocolate stomach muscles sweaty on my lower back and buttglobes, ten-inch manmeat throbbing fixedly inside my glistening bare ass. My arms extended straight down on to the bed, supporting us both as I kneeled before the greek god fucking me.
His long dark thumb still wrapped around my dickroot as my piece pulsed out a few final globs of creamy, burning cum and his long fingers massaged our joined dick and ass connection, maximizing our velvety buzz. His long tongue still massaged my ear, deep into it, as his other hand slowly contoured my tanned pecs down over a taut stomach to pubic shorthairs.
I could see his luscious mahogany gluteal muscle masses rotating in sensuously slow undulating arcs, interrupted by intermittent spasming, as he watched me watch him in the mirror reflecting us from the wall. His low, gnarly resonations were fading as the blooming of his releasing cock relaxed.
The washboard from his manly abs up to the prize-fighter quality pectoral muscles so sexily crowned by the sensitive nipples I loved to suckle were all combining to polish my arched backside. Those hard nipples pinpointed themselves as they waved over me. The congruence of our forms pleasured our afterglow.
Neither of us attempted withdrawal from our conjoinment and the soft nuzzling continued for minutes as we luxuriated in this state that we both cherished. Love is a word so overused, yet also ill-equipped to describe our contentment with one another. Slow-growing natural affection is the basis for all long-lasting, enduring relationships. Love based on natural affection takes time. It requires genuine liking and understanding by each person.
Signs of mature love include acceptance, emotional respect, consideration, commitment, friendship, calmness, kindness and caring. There was a term for this in ancient Greece and Rome. It was called storge. Affection stronger on the day one dies than on the first day.
Storge is the reason our ardour never lessened, even after eight years of experiencing it and four months of post-elopement matrimony. Of course, our innovative variations, as well as our allowance for extramarital hijinks, aided our venture together. Cal’s efforts to freshen us never ceased and the ways he came up with, in the doing, convinced me of my luck. All the time and daily.
When we had first hooked up, Cal and I had discussed the major fault in most relationships and agreed to avoid the trap. Monogamy is such an over-valued, underachieved state of existence. Americans are obsessed by it. We understood that honesty is the first tie that binds when two people match up. If the age-old provocateur, jealousy, can be dealt with then the fruits of an abiding relationship may be bound. Storge.
When episodes developed outside the two of us, rather than compartmentalizing and hiding these from one another, we chose instead to employ the instinctive hormonal stresses commonly pulling on most persons as a catalyst for our shared rhapsody. It worked well for us. The fantasies and variety renewed our reciprocal adoration toward a wholeness few attempt to understand. An epic poem was unfolding before our blended eyes.
From the outset, when I first spotted the tall, sinewy stud up on the bar at the frat party nine years before, he had locked on my eyes while sweeping a gaze around the riotous party room. Jiggling his barely covered, coveted booty, of which he was totally aware, the man never relinquished that stare until the DJ changed the tone to one less raucous. The erotic performance had beguiled me.
After it, the lean six-foot six player had bounced nimbly down from his perch, gliding ably past grabbing, grasping hands all hoping to seize his attention. I marveled at the fact that he stopped a simple inch before bumping me in the far corner from where I viewed the revelry. “Hey, sexy, come here often?” He clichéd purposely through a wide toothy grin as he fingertipped the small hollow where my neck met my chest. I had nearly died of embarrassment and burned to a human crisp all at once.
Propping his outstretched fingers on the wall behind my head, he leaned over and down to my smaller six-foot frame and made a sizzle sound through his teeth. The man exhibited hutzpah, confidence and cockiness enough for three men. His musky aroma floored me. Neophyte that I was, and inexperienced in the ways of social interaction, let alone male-on-male assignation, I sought as quick a way out of the scenario as I possibly could. My girlfriend passed him my digits on her way out, following me...
The drive for a medical degree completely blindered my psyche at that point in life. Only by the fact that spring break had offered a rare lapse in the tunnel-vision engaged for attaining my goals had I reluctantly agreed to accompany a close female classmate to the frat party in the first place.
Calumet Broadhearst reigned as campus stud and b.m.o.c. amongst both the male and female student bodies. His persistently attentive, yet respectful, onslaught toward my late-blooming, loner, bent-on-achievement-self baffled me mightily. Somehow, Cal recognized both my angst at his forwardness and the drive for set goals almost immediately. After the unbelievably sensual come-on from that bar dance intro, the Nubian giant plied me patiently over the succeeding year until I finally succumbed at the ‘finish-line’ of a cross-country track event in which I had competed.
Long distance running had forever been my personal physical release and could be practiced anywhere. Singly. And with my dog. Though neither talented nor driven enough to make the university track team travel squad, I was sanctioned to compete at home meets, thereby allowing maintenance of my strictly set study regimen.
It was more than eleven months after our meeting before physicality struck us. Right between the eyes. And legs. He fucked me slow and deep against a tree beyond the back door to the gym after my clean-up following a half marathon. Calumet had accosted me as I exited the gym locker room, alone, on the way to my spartan Austin apartment. Endorphin release from physical exertion mixed with his endearing congratulations for my mid-pack finish proved too much that day. A sex-starved body finally couldn’t hold out longer and Cal, sensing it, piggy-backed me to the hidden spot he knew by the burbling little creek.
The ebony Adonis sucked my face while he stripped me. His hands lightning-bolted my body by strategic finger-brushings and explorative swirls. Long, limber biceps and hairless forearms lifted me by cradling my bent legs effortlessly off the grass against that tree as he masterfully sank the cobra rising from his groin up into me for the first time.
His ranging fingers marked the margin of my virgin butthole, both kindling my anus and massaging his own magnificent prick as it entered. We felt our last remaining wall of separation dissolve in a slow rush of elation. The agonizingly patient, almost reluctant act provoked the sweetest pain I had never imagined through every synapse of my being. From tailbone to brain. My toes extended and curled in one arcing motion and our commencement marked the ending and the beginning. Our eyes never once lost contact.
He and me became we.
Cumming simultaneously and almost immediately, his sexual prowess slowly seconded our roiling orgasm over the succeeding moments. Never once releasing my legs, my mouth, nor my tear-streaming eyes, his movements inked our pact. I had been his dick-whipped mignon ever since.
A blown up, framed picture of the memorable beech tree adorns the wall above our bed to the present day, lower branch harboring a chance bluebird, thus manifesting our meme. Nobody else knows its story. Well, until now.
Anything close to acceptable looks, personality, and unrequited id had overtaken me very late in maturation. Evolving slower than my classmates, I awakened to life outside a closely controlled evangelistic upbringing only upon Cal’s determined assault. My parents detested him, and by extension, me, for our unfathomable union. Eternal damnation had been sealed, said they. I insisted the parties in Hell were hotter. And then left them all to their bitterness.
My ego was a vestigial thing until he came along. The super-ego that the man nourished in me had imprinted solely on him as I grew into myself. Lucky for me, my wild auburn ringlets and pug-nose had captivated this stud who could have taken anyone. He told me it was my mysterious nature but that was hard to fathom. Introvert, more like...or nerd. But who the hell was complaining?
Cal grew up in a locally well-known family with a tenured university professor father and worldly, refined mother who thrived in their graciously bohemian lifestyle. The couple imbued Cal with the natural flair he now evinced as an adult. His dark-complexioned good looks empowered by an astutely imposing mind opened doors that propelled his establishment in the tech world of software development. By his thirty-third and my thirtieth birthday, the two of us were comfortably set in our own right.
The loving, growing, accepting family nurtured my eccentricities, showing me a ‘joie de vivre’ never once anticipated. By me, that is. Cal told me he knew of our coming together long prior to our first meeting and Cassandra, his doting mama, reinforced this in me. He just didn’t know what I looked like, he teased. I bought into the idea slowly but now held to it dearly as my permanent rudder.
Cal grudgingly pulled up off of my well-oiled, fucked frame, still viewing us through the looking glass as he did so. The day was afoot and we had schedules to meet. “So, J-man, do you think he will show up today?” His humongous dick lumbered its way gradually backward as he asked me again about my new patient from the week before who had peaked our curiosities. It was a bemusing story ‘Samuel’ had stiltedly shared with me during that appointment. And which I had shared with Cal.
“He may, or may not,” I replied, wincing, “Oooooh, baby, Bay-bee, that is a long dick, don’t take it ouuwwtt...,” I begged him. He sniggered and held still, half of the log still inside. Tensing it several times, teasingly, he grinned at me in the mirror. This man knew I couldn’t get enough of him, having witnessed my appetite thousands of times to date. I pushed back on it, enjoying some more. “That man is a puzzle,” continuing my answer to the question. Samuel Hodge had been my final appointment of the afternoon last week and it took the nurse and me an hour just to get him undressed. “No trust level at all. He wanted me to prescribe him ‘the pill’ without an exam, said that was all he needed.”
Cal continued studying me in the mirror, caught between pleasure and perplexity, while massaging my butt lightly as we listened to the rain pattering on the window ledge. “A pill? For a broken toe?” He plopped the monster out abruptly, without notice, knowing it was the only way... I registered the expected complaint. ‘Day-umm’, I felt abandoned.
Turning over and spreading my legs, bending them around his while he leaned down over me, nose to nose, we continued. “What did you do?” he asked. I had to focus as I felt his manjuice dribble out back there. This man-boy of mine was copiously prolific: we could bottle and market the stuff.
“Well, the man apparently knows and likes Keesha, the nurse, so I got her to tease him into getting stripped down while I left the room. It worked-- but I think she’s going to have to probably bone him to get him out of them today. That is, if he shows. He lost trust again after I came back in and took over."
I had been enjoying a third day volunteer practicing at the Rome Free Medical Center after tiring of the vacation mindset six weeks into our summer stay at Cal’s family home. My presence had taken some of the load off the stressed-out, over-worked staff and I loved getting back into a quasi-clinical mode. Pro bono work. Good for the soul, I believed.
A middle-age ‘boy’, for lack of better description, Samuel had come into the free clinic the week before. He was 40 years-old, prematurely graying in his temples and goatee, stoutly built and well-equipped for the farm work by which he sustained himself on the small piece of land outside this town of Rome, Georgia.
Never having finished high school, he had helped around his uncle’s land for the first decade after dropping out--- school just wasn’t for him, he’d stated. It seemed that Samuel, the orphan, just went along to get along. His uncle had left him the parcel after passing away of untreated diabetes a few years back. I wanted to test this blood relative of the deceased man.
Not dumb by any means, he was distinctly close-mouthed and unforthcoming. I had figured that out by his first two minutes in the exam room, sitting on the exam table. Fully clothed. He kept his eye on the window as if it were an emergency exit. “Doc, I need ‘the pill’ for this dang toe I done bent,” he had informed me. Doc Scott always did that for him, he had insisted, very plainly uncomfortable in the medical setting.
After sleuthing for twenty minutes, searching for what might have happened to ‘bend’ his toe, it finally came to light that his milk cow had ‘stepped’ on his foot a few days before. Guessing that wasn’t the whole story, I asked if the cow had had any other contact with him. He shook his head, “No, Doc, she just landed on it for a second, accidentally. After kicking me in the nuts... She din’t mean nothin’ by it.” Ahem, I had thought. This was apparently a repeating theme.
So, pretty young Keesha flirtatiously coaxed the shoes and clothes off, cleaned him up a bit and drew a blood sample while I had conferred with Dr. Scott down the hall. The older doctor assured me that he had only examined the man one time, years before, and had never treated any ‘bent’ toes up to now.
Re-entering the room and signaling the nurse to slowly make her way out, I sought to put Samuel at ease in his now bare-ass state with some of my runner’s travails, having broken more than one toe and spraining more than one foot over the years while on the running paths. I had a bent toe, myself, I told him. And it just so happened mine had resulted not from running, but ironically, kicking my horse in the butt to get him out of his stall as a teenager. I was in a hurry; the stubborn horse was not. That big toe remained bent to this day. And ached when the weather changed.
He looked up at me at that and after removing my own shoe to prove it, we compared notes for a while as he gradually opened up. Naked was not a state he liked in what he considered a public setting, as he let me know. I could see at least one quite swollen and bruised testicle slathered in remnants of some dark, thickly greasy substance. Old, used axle grease from the tractor, I was informed. A country cure.
Keesha had been disallowed or uninclined to clean the site and I decided to jump that hurdle in a bit, instead squatting to attend the very bent second toe, also purple and yellow with bruising. Palpation proved it to be only dislocated and we agreed that he would let me realign it if I would agree to no sedatives.
“OK, big man, if you want to be a hero, fine with me,” I concurred. Grasping the toe with one hand while bracing his foot with the other, I quickly extended and rotated the smelly thing in one quick motion, seating the small bones back to normal places.
Flexing it afterward to assure proper joint alignment, I looked up at him. His surprised look made me laugh. “That’s it?” he questioned stoically while flexing the toe himself in its further testing.
“That’s it,” I assured him.
As I stood back up, I gestured to his crotch, stating the obvious. “I need to look at that, Samuel,” I said. “There could be some damage there.” It must hurt like a mo-fo, I figured.
“Naww, Doc, it be a’ight in a couple days. The grease’ud fix ’em,” was all I got, but I insisted. Very gently reaching down and cupping his hugely swollen and rank scrotum, he exclaimed and brushed off my hand. This caused him further pain and I had to sternly instruct him in my most severe doctor manner to lay back and let me examine them properly.
Not liking it at all, the man reluctantly did so, and I was able to check things over. Finally. His uncut but sizeable dick was shriveled and somewhat bruised black and blue itself but the testicles were what concerned me. Three times the normal size and very tender. There was also a possible small hernia next to them over his pubic area. Luckily, no intestine was strangulated in the swelling and I reduced it by manipulation back inside easily enough, proving my diagnosis. The action gave Samuel immediate relief and a heavy sigh exuded from him, “Whoa, Doc, what’d you do? It don’t hurt near as bad, all sudden.”
Not unusual under the circumstances, I told him, the pressure had been relieved. But a temporary truss, a week’s lay-off from heavy lifting or coughing, and a week of Epsom salt soaks with honey and lemon on those testicles would let us know if we’d need to do any surgery on him. That word scared him sufficiently enough that we were then able to get the instructive soaks started. A truss and some prescriptions were ordered through the pharmacy next door.
He had looked ready to bolt after it all, again eyeing the window, but changed attitude when the herniating tissue popped back through upon his sitting up. He agreed to pick up the medications and the modified ‘jock’ on his way out after dressing, through wincing discomfort. I had called the pharmacist to make sure he did so.
That was a week ago, and Cal was now wondering whether I would see him for the recheck today. I finally let my man arise and we drug ourselves to a shared shower where we made sure of no missed spots... After a quick coffee and toast with my sis-in-law, Soph, I bade ’bye to them on my way to town and the clinic.
As usual, the place was thrumming with activity, staff readying first patients, entering histories and filling us doctors in on the schedule. Typical for most publicly underwritten clinics.
About forty appointments, including two minor surgical procedures later, Dr. Scott and I sat in the break room comparing notes. “It sure is good to have someone to share with, Jake,” he admitted, “things run a lot better with two than one. And you big city ER med-center practitioners know how to move, now,” he grinned. I ego-preened, respecting the seasoned practitioner’s pragmatic, homespun approach to medicine. I remained in awe of the man’s wisdom.
The afternoon went well, too, except that Keesha told me Samuel Hodge had not shown himself...“Doc, he’s a good man but he don’t know what’s good for him.” In agreement, we just hoped the man was better and that that was the reason for the no-show. City or country, I mused, patients tend to the same foibles and eccentricities.
Come 5 PM, we were just cleaning up, closing records and books, turning off lights and locking up when who should show up but Mr. Samuel Hodge himself. He just about knocked T.L., the cute young orderly, down as he was locking the door. Mr. Hodge was not limping, even using the formerly afflicted toe as a wedge in the door, and demanded to see me. Keesha attempted to intervene and reschedule the farmer for the next day, but I could see what was occurring and intervened, myself, to see how he was faring. I was glad he had come in, after all.
Afraid he would not come back again, I assured Keesha I didn’t mind checking him. The pretty nurse scowled that she had evening plans and needed to leave. Dr. Scott and the other staff had bolted a bit before, leaving me alone but for the one nurse and orderly. Texting home to let them know I would be late, I let the orderly and Keesha leave for their evening and put my smock back on.
No big deal, I thought, I didn’t need the computer system and no controlled drugs would be necessary, requiring multiple keys and redundancies, so I took the much more animated Samuel back to the exam room for his check.
No sooner than I got the exam table rotated for him to use, the man asked, “Doc, you been in town abou’a month, right?” Six weeks, I corrected, glad he was acting so much more amiable this visit. A bit curious but good, nevertheless. I asked Samuel if he would let me check the toe and the hernia. Only a grunt in answer.
I busied myself calibrating an instrument to avoid scrutinizing him during his (hopeful) disrobement and upon turning around was pleasantly surprised to see my previously reticent patient seated, totally naked. Waiting expectantly. One leg dangling and one knee bent, leg raised with a heel up on the exam table edge. An exceedingly straight toe was just about pointing at me.
Actually smiling, he commented on the successful ‘surgery’, figuratively pulling my leg as an awkward attempt at a joke. I examined its mobility, noting a freshly clean scent and newly clipped nails, complimenting his quick healing. And, loving the improved hygiene.
His smile persisted as I released his foot and I glanced upward to check the formerly triple-sized swollen balls of multiple hues. Now, I perceived much less discoloration and a much less shriveled sausage nestled between the pair. I thought Samuel was going to point the almost healed ‘junk-package’ at me as his palm encircled the bottom of his scrotum, but he just made note how much better it all felt now, jiggling the fat sack in his palm.
“Wanna check it out, Doc?” he asked.
“Well,” I answered, smiling back professionally, “Yes, I will need to check those out. But the swelling appears to be significantly reduced.” I cupped the duo as they buoyed the nice espresso-colored penis looking at me.
Manipulating the ballsack and palpating the previously protruding pubic mound which was presently much more flattened, I noted a nicely mending area overall. “You heal quickly, Samuel,” I told him, “Another week and your whole groin should be back to normal function.”
“Could you check it a li’l bit closer, Doc? It’s still sore when you do that,” as I continued manipulating the fat eggs. What I had initially taken for some residual swelling now appeared to be just well-fatted balls and I was impressed, again. The rise and phattening in his prick verified to me the lessening of pain and I turned it over to check further.
Samuel’s jewels now contracted as I jostled them and flipped the nice piece. The recuperating patient changed tack, asking me if I was familiar with “Torchy Lane”?
“Afraid not, Samuel--- should I be...?” Thinking of a London skid row alley, I was pretty certain he wouldn’t be familiar with that. He drew my eyes to his face by a light snort and informed me ‘she’ was a cross-dresser at the only gay bar in Rome, ‘Jugs’. She performed there every Friday and Saturday night at midnight. Maybe I should check it out sometime.
Letting him know that I wasn’t a night-lifer, I sought to keep the conversation on track. The now markedly engorging dick was rising from its nest of hairy balls and they were not only improved, clinically, they looked to be functioning quite well. It was distracting me.
A gotcha flashed across the man’s face as he now proceeded to describe to me the inside of an arcade behind the local grocery store. The back of my neck prickled. He went into detail telling me about his own visit there about a month before when he had met the notorious transgendered dancer, Torchy, where he had, as he put it, “put the hurt to that tranny bitch’s pussy.” He furthered it by describing how vocal she liked to get, begging for the daddy dick she liked. Which was conveniently staring up at me at the present moment.
“Doc, she likes to check out those booths around us while she be taking this big black dick...funny, she swears you be down on yo’ knees suckin’ some fly poker the night we was in there hittin’ it.” He was staring straight at me now, steely gaze wordlessly challenging my denial. And, demanding unprofessional treatment...
I was stuck, hand still palming and rubbing the fat nuts down there. The very pretty, cut dick was bouncing right up at my face, quivering its hopefulness. Reading my hesitation, Samuel gambled on my reaction by adding, “Y’know, Doc-Boy, I was just thinkin’ t’myself on t’way here how I din’t that much mind comin’ in for check-ups now that I’m a-trustin’ the pretty man doc. And, besides, lookit how happy Clyde-d’-Glide is rightchere...” deadpanning right down at the now-changing connection between us.
Having had precious little experience like the present situation up to now in my still young career, I calculated the pros-and-cons for a minute. It was true, I had been in that arcade the night he had just described. I had given my brother-in-law, Coy, a long, slow blowjob, on my knees while indeed hearing the Tranny doing exactly what Samuel had stated.
Admitting the sexual being that I had become, I found myself sinking slowly down before the surging prick. The fatty just about launched into my mouth and I too easily let go, sinking down over the helmet-headed, sproinging eight incher. His hands almost immediately grasped my doctor head, lowering my rank by so doing to that of a “cocksuckin’ bitch faggot.”
My dick was straining at my slacks so I unzipped, freeing my white dick to get some air, and a look at what I was sucking... Samuel definitely liked this as he pushed and pulled on my head. My slurping mouth got pubic hair caught in my teeth as I bottomed down on the over-fat prick.
He put me into a rhythm of his liking, reaching up to my dick with his sexy foot, rubbing and slapping the thing as he warned me not to get too comfortable because I was about to get a taste of ‘Torchy dee-light’ as he pronounced it. My very unprofessional junk was dripping pre-cum while I thought this over.
Coming up off the table suddenly, the horndog yanked down my slacks and boxers together, twisted me away from him, then got down on his knees to sniff and tongue my Cal-hole. When he’d done lubing it, he stood up, turned me around and pushed my bare, soupy ass up onto the exam table just vacated. Pulling shoes and all off, he tossed them aside.
His fat hard-on listened intently while it’s now nasty-mouthed owner told me just what and how he was gonna own my hole “rightchere”, as he liked to say. My smock and shirt were pulled over my head and I found myself looking up at my patient, through the V of my nakedly spread legs, his hand targeting the pole-to-the-hole. I groaned as he punctured my pucker, proceeding to rocket that thing all the way in-and-out as he kept up the chant of perverted ideas playing out in his brain. Sounding peculiarly as if they had been previously thought out before the check-up.
As Samuel sped up the already fast pace, I found myself stroking along with him at half speed. He pulled out, only momentarily, and nodded over at a shocked orderly, TL, peering through the door. The surprised worker had returned to pick up a phone left behind. Right in time to see the eruption of cumspray disappear back up inside me, having established himself. Very pleased with his performance, my buttfucker slowed his pace to one allowing the even spreading of his farm-man’s sperm around and up in my lovin-every-second-of-it ass.
I knew I was in deep shit the moment I looked over my shoulder at the young male orderly. That is, until I saw the hands lower the zipper, digging out a very interested-looking piece of his own. So much for the steady girlfriend he spoke about non-stop.
Answering the beckoning motion by Samuel, the young orderly soon replaced the patient’s nicely healed dick with his. The youth lewdly conversed with Samuel about my cum-loving, dripping asschute. Primed and ready for a second load. It took only a few minutes before his diluted the first one. Samuel propped up my legs from behind my head, rubbing a still dribbling dick in my hair and face.
Slowing to a more leisurely rhythm, my staff member compared notes with the nasty voyeur/patient regarding my “damn worried” yet “filled-up” butt, agreeing the two may need to test run it again to get it right. “Doc, you should oughta stay ready...”
Pulling ourselves back together---aka, cleaning and dressing---we more sanely agreed to keep this pro-bono boning more under wraps than we had been able to do with our collective junk, parting ways at the front door of the Free Clinic of Rome.
Arriving home to dishwashing, having missed Sophie’s dinner, Cal took one look at me, grinned knowingly and commented, “Full schedule today, Jake?”
Leaving the kids and Soph downstairs, my man piggy-backed me up to our bedroom and after locking the door as a safety measure, proceeded to teach me the error of my ways...to my play-by-play... of course.
The storge of it all.
