Yanking hard on my bag, trying to get the damned thing out of the overhead compartment, I nearly fell backward when it finally came free. I knew I wasn't thinking straight, my stomach was fluttering more every second and my knees felt like they might give out at any moment. I had never been this nervous in my life but then, I had never done anything so wildly reckless before either.
I couldn't believe that I had actually gotten onto a plane and flown to another country to meet a man that I had only know through a chat program. Granted, the country in question occupied the same landmass as my own but still, I just did not do this sort of thing. It was completely out of character for me and I hadn't felt like I was on solid ground since I had finalized the arrangements for the flight.
The worst part about the whole thing was that I knew this wouldn't lead anywhere. I knew this from all the conversations we'd had, I also knew that he'd never had any sexual contact with another man in real life and while the idea excited him, it also seriously unnerved him. He really got off on messing around with men online but considered himself to be essentially straight. I knew he had no intentions of having an affair. I knew that he loved his wife and I respected that immensely; but, when he asked if we could meet face to face and really get to know each other, I just couldn't refuse. I had no idea what it was about this man but I hadn't been able to deny him much of anything since I first met him while goofing off on a discussion board.
Mild flirting had quickly turned to hot passion and we had been instant messaging for most of every day since then. I felt like he had worked some kind of Haitian voodoo on me, possibly involving the sacrifice of live chickens but most assuredly considerable chanting and naked dancing. It seemed that no matter what I was doing at any given moment, no matter where I was, he was on my mind.
I've heard it said that men think about sex every four minutes.I had that beat by a mile. Every time he popped into my mind, the first thing I thought ofwas how wonderful, kind and sweet he is. The second thing I though of was him naked and sweating under me, groaning hoarsely and clutching me to him, begging me to make him cum. As a resultevery time I thought of him, which was averaging around every two minutes, my dick would twitch. If I was alone and could devote my thoughts to him, I would wind up getting so turned on that my dick would start leaking. Here I was, a thirty-three-year-old man and I'd become a fourteen-year-old boy again.
So, here I was, about to get off of the plane that had brought me up here to meet him and I felt like I was going to puke or pass out or both. Trying to conceal the rod of steel I was sporting with my carry-on bag, I followed two huge menwho looked like they should be Mob enforcers down the tunnel from the plane and steppedoff to the side, searching men's faces at the arrival gate. Spotting him, my heart stuttered in my chest. He hadn't seen me yet; he was looking closely at everyone that came out of the debarkation tunnel.
I watched him searching every face, filling my eyes with him in a way that I wouldn't be able to as soon as he saw me. I felt myself trembling and sweating with the desire to go over to him and take his face in my hands and kiss him, long and slow, right in front of everyone in the terminal. I knew the longing had to show on my face, in my eyes. I spent the few remaining seconds I had, before he spotted me, composing my features and trying to get a hold of my body. I looked up, from wiping my face with my hand, and our eyes locked across the slackening flow of passengers.
His face lit upand he quickly began walking over to me. My knees felt even weaker and my throat had gone completely dry.
"Martin? God, man, I was starting to think you hadn't come after all." He said, engulfing my smaller frame in his strong arms, hugging me hard. The contact made my diaphragm seize, I couldn't breathe but I could still smell his sweet, musky cologne. My arms lifted of their own volition and I found myself clinging to him, my head on his shoulder, breathing in his heady aroma.
The second I felt theslight shift that told me he was going to end the hug I let go and pulled away as he did. I didn't want him to think I intended to try and start something physical while I was here. I figured that would make him pull away from me emotionally and I didn't want him to do that. I didn't want to ruin our time together with tension. Stepping back, I looked up into his beautiful eyes and tried to moisten my throat by swallowing several times.
"Nah, man. You know how much I wanted to meet you in person and if I had changed my mind I would have let you know. I wouldn't have let you come here, expecting me to be on the plane, only to find out that I had wussed out. That would be harsh, babe... err... Jack." I wished I could kick myself for that slip but he didn't seem to pay it any mind.
"Let's go get the rest of your luggage and we'll get you checked in to your room, OK?" he suggested, taking my carry-on off of my shoulder before I could protest. I quickly swung my laptop case around to the front to shield my groin.
"Sure, that sounds great. I'm starving, man. I haven't eaten in, like, two days."
"Why not?" he inquired, looking puzzled as he led the way to the baggage claim area.
"Oh, you know, just too nervous to be able to think about food." I replied, watching the people and looking at the advertisements we were passing. Looking at anything but him, feeling embarrassed that I had actually admitted that to him.
"I've been on the verge of pissing my pants for days, myself, Martin." He said, laughing, his eyes shining with mirth.
When I pointed my two bags out as they glided along on the conveyer belt, he said, "Jesus fuck, man, you pack like a woman." and laughed again.
"Well, I really didn't know what to expect in the way of weather and activities so I tried to be prepared for anything, you asshole." I quipped, punching him lightly on the shoulder and laughing with him. We collected my two, large bags, me carrying the carry-on again because he insisted on taking the heaviest ones. I reminded him that I hadn't had any help with them on the other end of the flight and he came back that that was all the more reason for him to help me now. On the way out to his car I asked after Sheila, his wife, he said that she'd had to go out of town unexpectedly because her mother had come down with a nasty bug and needed help for a while.
We picked up some Chinese take-out on the way to my hotel. I kept my laptop in my lap the whole way, my erection just would not subside, and it was incredibly embarrassing. Every thing he did kept my hormones raging. His legs moving as he worked the pedals; his hand casually resting on the stick shift, or gripping it when he needed to change gears; the way the steering wheel slid through the fingers of his left hand when he was straightening up from a turn. The sound of his voice kept sending tremors down my back.
We had jacked off together nearly every day since we met and now I found it impossible to think of anything else. I knew it for certain, now, that I was some sort of weird masochist, otherwise, I would never have agreedto this meeting, which was going to be a week and a half of pure, sexual torture.
We got my stuff up to my room and I started unpacking a little while he set the food out on the table, just getting my shaving kitinto the bathroom and my robe thrown out on the bed. I pulled out the little speakers I had brought for my MP3 player and set up a play list so we would have something filling any empty air that might result from nervousness or chewing.
If I had thought that watching him drive was bad, watching him eat was far worse. The way his tongue would slip out and sort of wrap around the food as he put it in his mouth with the chopsticks, then close his lips around them and pull them back out had me nearly climbing the damned walls. He kept up a steady patter of conversation the whole time, talking about all sorts of things that he wanted to do or show me while I was there. I commented when I needed to or had something to say but mostly I ate and tried not to choke on my food when he would poke me with his chopsticks or nudge me with the back of his hand as he spoke.
I had decided that he was one of those people who touch the people they're interacting with without thinking about, the sort of person who is completely comfortable invading a total stranger's personal space while passing a brief word with them when in the market. He would probably put his hand on their shoulder to let them know that he was standing behind them and reaching past them for a head of cabbage, or whatever, say, "Excuse me, buddy, just gonna grab this real quick, thanks." and not even notice the weird look they gave him. In most anyone else it would be incredibly irritating, in him it was endearing.
I'm the sort of person who doesn't like people in my space and I don't like being in other people's space. It's uncomfortable for me, always has been. It's probably because my family wasn't big on touching and such so I never got used to it as a child. I didn't mind Jack touching me though. I desperately wanted him to touch me in other ways; but, I knew it wouldn't happen, so I resigned myself to enjoying the little contact he offered and would jack off a couple of times in the shower before going to bed.
.... There is more of this story ...