Date: Tue, 24 Jun 2008 17:41:37 +0800 From: webmarten Subject: Alex I am not entirely sure where my story should be filed, or in which volume of erotica it should be published, and there are three reasons for that. The first reason is that even though it tells the story of an essentially gay relationship, its main protagonist is actually straight and has regular sex with women. The second reason is that from the onset, the relationship was not about domination or raunch, or the desire of any party involved to follow such a path, but that's what I ended up with. A tale of filthy submission to a straight man. The third reason is that most of what you find on this server is fiction, while my story is, well, absolutely true. Being true, it does not involve the athletes and hunks of your dreams, but a rather average guy of thirty-some years, flabby around the waist, overworked, underpaid, unmarried, gay, living a dreary office life in the Silicon Valley, asking himself why so many gorgeous young Indian and Chinese men are getting ahead of him so fast, while he seems to be stuck in the rut of modern IT. That's me. Twelve, fourteen hours a day in front of a computer screen; a second-hand car and a grubby apartment, with obnoxiously loud Latino neighbors. I am originally from England and came to America during the dot-com area. Remember those years, when the sky was full of money and the future digital? Long time ago. Enough of the whining. Some uneventful day three years ago, I decided enough is enough, sold my car, bought a bicycle and joined a gym. If I am perfectly honest, I did it foremost and above all to halt the flabby growth around my waist in a desperate attempt to recover a youth slowly slipping away, but, and, maybe even more important, subconsciously, to get out there and remedy the most pressing problem of my life: my painful loneliness. I had had one night stands and short-term relationships during my twenties, and yes, I had been rather wild in my days. But middle-aged overworked flabby men don't belong in bars and discos, and so my contact points to the gay scene and chances to find the man of my dreams, or at least someone to spend the rest of my days with, were rapidly diminishing. For it is in youth, with the skin taut and the dictate of the penis unencumbered by the concerns of work or family, that the bonds are forged that keep us above water in old age. Never mind that our genetic programming for monogamy didn't take into account ridiculously long lifespans. We should die at forty, automatically, that would make things easier. And lower the health care burden. So between database programming, envying well-connected Asian managers taking the jobs I had envisaged for myself when I started in this company, and fighting with my Latino neighbors, there came to exist strange hours in my days, one at first every other, then two every day, of limbo, in a high-tech gym, with loads of fit, hunky twenty-year olds, too many women, and a handful of middle-aged and older guys, not really there to exercise, but to "take in the view". At first it didn't occur to me that people did pick up guys in gyms, and I went there purely to exercise and lose weight. The gym wasn't even gay, at least as gyms go. That is to say, there were a few guys who were definitely there to show off and pick up, but what with the mixed crowd and the work-like dedication of the majority; it didn't have a gay feel to it. And that was OK with me. Never been a fan of gay gyms anyway. I tried to avoid rush hour and changed my work schedule. Went to work at 6 am, left at 3 to work out for 2 hours, when the gym was virtually empty. Did my routines, pitied myself for the lack of energy, my decaying body, the need for motivation. I managed to keep the latter for a few months, but from the very beginning it was inexorably declining. I didn't see the desired changes in my body, even though I felt slightly thinner and healthier. But when people tell you they magically become hunks after joining a gym at age 38, they are lying to you and / or are working for a health food company, selling powdered rubbish in cans to the intellectually unencumbered. In those four months, nobody had talked to me in the gym. Nobody had smiled at me, except when they wanted to finish their set on the machine I was still sat at, panting. That is until one day, in spring, when I was pressing weights on the bench and heard somebody say "you know mate you are holding the bar wrong?" So used to my solitude, and as always lost in my own world, I didn't react at first, until I saw a face above me, looking directly at me, and saying again, in a deep and manly voice with an Australian accent: "You are holding the bar wrong." A thousand things went through my mind in the second that followed. Is he trying to pick me up? He must be looking for a sugar daddy. He is just being friendly. Australian, new in town. Maybe he's looking for a job, I get asked sometimes: people confuse me with someone of influence. The name of my company is written on my baseball cap, after all. Maybe he just started working there. He could be working here, oh fuck, that must be it. He is the new trainer. He sure looks the part, tall, of Scottish decent with hair neither blond nor red, with thick light fluff on his forearms and hands, which were now touching mine and pressing my thumb on the other side of the bar. "You need to grab it like this mate, thumb with the other fingers. Otherwise you could injure your ..." Or he is a waiter at "Outback" restaurants: steaks and hunks, how's that for an evening. "You the new trainer then?" "No, no, just ..." "Ah." "Ah." ... "Name's Alex." "Alex, hugh? You Australian?" "Yup. How'd ya guess?" "Well ..." and then we both laughed, and I stood up. He was taller than I, with exceptional physique. A perfect round butt, strong hairy arms, big biceps, but without the bulging veins. Not bulky body-builder style, but well-trained and natural looking. A few cute freckles. Massive calves. Oh, and did I mention his bubble-but? So I had to ask. Keep the conversation flowing. "You new in town?" "Yup. Just moved here. First job ..." "What do you ..." "I work for an international HR firm. Mannings & Tattler." "Ah. Never ... and they send you ... I mean you are ... you certainly not older than 25." "23. Well, let's say I ... I slept with the boss and got a promotion. No seriously. I just got out of the army." "The army?" "Yes, the Australian army. I was in Iraq last year, got injured, my knee, here..." and he pointed to a scar on his left knee, "so I can't play anymore either." "Play?" "Rugby, oh yes ... loved it. It's a shame. I used to play Rugby, you know Australian." "Bummer" "Sorry?" "No I was just ..." "You're not American either!" "No. But the accent is almost gone." "Awwwright mate! My grandparents are from Scotland!" I didn't know what to say then, that is to say, I had no experience with these straight-long-way-from-home-bonding situations ... He was so perfect, and I so weak. I did not know, based on my life's experience, how to relate to a soldier-rugby-hunk from down under, apparently picking me up in a gym. Or was he just being friendly? Are there genuinely friendly people without a hidden agenda? He can't be gay ... why would he be interested in me? If he is straight, what ... how ... We spent the rest of the workout together, he giving me tips, without the slightest sexual undertone, even though I wanted too much to touch his firm body at every instant. His legs brushed up against mine at one point, giving me an instant erection. Other than that, it was all ... well suffice it to say it was the best workout I had, ever. I felt pushed, and he had pushed me, to do more and better exercise. The next day every muscle in my body hurt. And my cock did, too. He was there, again, the next day. And as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he talked to me, and was amazingly friendly, straight bonding, all the way. "Need to do legs today. You shouldn't do the same body parts every day. Maybe go for a run outside, we can run along the bay, there is a path I found ..." So the relationship developed. We met at the gym, exercised together, we went running together. We went to a movie together, we went shopping together, we played tennis together. He came to work with me one day because he wanted to see the famous "campus" of the most profitable Internet company in the world. Once a week we had lunch at a Chinese place, right between his office and mine, and sometimes we went for Mexican at "Tres Amigos". We talked about work, computers, games, politics, art, the decline of literary talent, the brainlessness of the American middle-class and its so-called "culture", and how the rest of the world was becoming just like it, the dangers of fast food and the Life of Brian. For the first time, I had a "buddy", a straight friend, which whom I did "normal", "manly" things. We even went to a football game, which we both didn't enjoy too much. American football just wasn't our thing. And how it could be anybody's "thing", frankly, was beyond us. We took to watching the far more eventful Australian version on satellite TV -- which features the added bonus of very fit, very young lads in sleeveless tight outfits. We talked about relationships, his many girlfriends, my few boyfriends, how difficult it was to make it last, how much we enjoyed being alone, and how painful it was sometimes. He seemed to be interested in my point of view, not as a gay man, but as an older man. He seemed bored with picking up different girls every Friday (and I say "girls" because apparently he did, more than once, pick up two girls at the same time), but he was not ready to commit to a real relationship. "Haven't found the right one I guess. Not sure if I want to, mate." One day we were running past the airport hotels in Millbrae, along the water, and talked about preferences in bed. He asked me about gay guys, and what we do, and he told me he loved anal sex. "I beg your pardon?" I stammered, stopping to catch my breath. I coughed. "Yeah. Nothing hotter. Pussy is boring, even young girls are usually not tight enough. You need friction, man ... and a bit of kink," and there ensued a lengthy and very graphic description of how he tried to fuck every girl he met up the arse. "Start normal, lick her a lot, then lick down the crack towards the arse. They usually get the message. If they moan when you tongue their cherry, you're on." Of course I immediately sprang a boner, and after a while my balls ached as we continued the run . He must have seen my hard-on through my running shorts when we did stretching exercises at the end of the trail. "So is it the girls that make you hard or the anal talk?" We laughed: nothing seemed to embarrass him. I jerked off three times after getting home. And a forth time in the middle of the night. There was, I must emphasize, never the slightest sense of ... impropriety, if you want. He never made advances, and never did I. I accepted that he was straight, and he definitely was. For the first two weeks I felt that he wanted to come out, maybe experiment and had chosen a dependable older man, whom he judged to be disease-free (something we talked about) and intelligent, but as the months passed I gave up on that theory. It was just a buddy relationship, and I enjoyed it a lot. Not just because he was so beautiful (he actually started to do some fitness modeling during that time and was already in a local warehouse catalog donning skimpy shorts, a power saw and a sly grin), but because he was smart. He seemed genuinely concerned about issues that were close to my heart too, from animal rights to global warming, the media, security. Turned out he was an intelligence officer in the army. Knew a lot about terrorism and stuff, a world I had never entered before. His talks of Iraq were harrowing. Of course, he being a horny 23 year old, we did talk about sex a lot. I confessed that I was a passionate voyeur. Not a Peeping Tom, just ... that watching people turned me on. Even when I picked up guys ... sometimes it was just great to watch a muscly guy pleasure himself. I told him how on business trips I sometimes hired hustlers to "perform" for me, without actually interacting with them physically. We both shared a hypocritical disgust for hookers and hustlers, because of their many sex partners and the possible health risks. He started coming to my place later that year, and we watched sports and comedy; he borrowed some of my porn ... which was, curiously enough, mostly straight. My brother had left me with 300 adult movies when he moved house, all of them straight, and the only addition I had made was a bad gay flick I never watched. During one of these evenings at my house, the first glimpses of our future relationship could be felt, in a strange and at first entirely unobtrusive way. Our relationship had always been friendly, one of equals. But one evening, as we watched British comedy -- something we both enjoyed a lot -- he suddenly said in a cold and commanding tone "Get me another beer." And I got up, walked to the fridge, brought two cans, and sat down. Only then did I realize what had happened. He had not asked for it. He had not suggested we had another round, like many times before. He had matter-of-factly ordered me to bring him a beer. That night I lay awake until the morning, jerking off again three or four times, fantasizing about him. I imagined his naked body, his cock, me sucking on it, it fucking me, pissing on me, cumming on me. And that was rare, because hitherto I had been a complete top. Throughout my twenties I had picked up young muscle bottoms and fucked their brains out. And there I was, 38, jacking my cock to the fantasy of an Australian soldier-slash-rugby-hunk humiliating me. All because he had ordered me to get him a beer. Well I'll be damned, I thought, wiped away the cum from my belly, showered, got dressed, and went to work. * And thence this strange dependency developed. Surreptitiously at first, and ever more openly, he gained control over me. Instead of "let's meet for lunch on Thursday", he started saying "Lunch at the usual place, be there at 1 pm". Instead of "wanna go running tonight", he started saying, "get your running shorts on, I pick you up in half an hour". And I didn't object. Not once. It didn't occur to me. For a while I thought myself pathetic, not standing up to him. Then I tried to explain it away, he being a soldier and what not. But the truth was: I enjoyed it immensely. I enjoyed being told what to do by a hunky young athlete, even though no sex was ever involved. I started thinking of myself as his bitch, and wondering how he treated his women. "Do you treat your women the same way?" "What way?" "Like you treat me. Ordering me around, like ..." "I don't order you around", he chuckled. ... "I guess it turns me on, yes. I like girls to be subservient, too." "You slap them?" "When they are into it." "Tie them up?" "Occasionally. ... I like it rough", he admitted and after a long pause, to my surprise, out of the blue, he added: "Would you like to watch?" I had admitted my interest in straight sex, and watching in general, and he had seen all the adult porn at my place, whose provenance he obviously doubted. I didn't even think of the girls and the sex at first, only the chance to see him naked, see his cock hard and throbbing, pushing in and out some chick's arse. I got hard, instantly, which he saw through my trainers. "I guess that's a yes", he smiled. It wasn't until a month later, however, that the subject came up again. I had wondered already if he had simply forgotten or thought better of it. Maybe he realized it would be a bit embarrassing after all, me watching him bang some tart. But I had no idea of the true reason until he invited me over one Friday afternoon in the usual tone: "Come here at 3 and bring some beer." He opened the door in his briefs -- something I could never quite get used to. His magnificent young body was such a contrast to my flabby self, and yet it seemed the most natural thing for him to be half-naked around around the house with me there. I don't know if he realized how hot he made me, every time he played with his chest hair, or spilled beer down his chest, drops of yellow liquid running over the cataracts of his flat stomach. His abdominal muscles were clearly visible, even though he didn't have a bulging six-pack. It was smooth, soft, with a line of velvety red-blond hair running down the center. I peeked, occasionally, but fearing that my obvious interest in his body might sour the relationship, tried to be discreet. He did like being watched, though, but too much attention from my side would surely have been awkward. And believe me, it was hard not to watch. He often sat on the sofa shirtless and played with nipples, twirled the hair on his chest, dug in his navel and scratched his balls. He did so in the most oblivious fashion, never as a calculated turn-on. I often wondered what he would look like when my age, married with children, a slob ordering his wife to get him another beer, whilst rearranging his cock in his ... there I was fantasizing again. I looked over to him and realized he had just turned off the TV. "Let me show you something." He went into the bedroom, which held a double bed with a large mirror on one wall and an old Formica closet on the opposite wall. Socks and underwear lay strewn over the floor and bed, a beer can and some condom wrappers in between. He was definitely straight, I thought. "Check this out" he said and opened the closet. It was empty on the right side where the door had a number of horizontal slits. There was a leather leash lying on the bottom of the closet, attached to a ring mounted to its backside and presumably attached to the wall behind it. Next to it lay a gag. I couldn't make sense of it. "What the ..." "Get in there" he said. "I made this myself." 'Made what?' I thought. The closet? Or installed ... "I found this at a yard sale two weeks ago and made these slits here in the door. You can look out through them and see the entire room, but somebody above bed level cannot see into the closet. It's ingenious." "What's it for?" I asked, rather daftly. "For you. So you can watch. You wanted to watch, didn't you, old pervert?" I was baffled. He actually had taken the trouble to find, alter and prepare a closet, so that I could sit or rather kneel in it to watch him fuck girls. Had I been a teenager, I would have creamed my jeans that instant. I got hard anyway. "Get in," he said again. "Kneel down". I knelt on the floor. He closed the door. I could see the bed, the mirror with slightly slanted side panels offering an almost unobstructed view of the action on the bed from every side. He climbed up on the bed in his briefs, lied down, and started touching himself. His chest, his armpits, and licking his own biceps, then he said: "Can you see?" I was speechless and swallowed hard. "Yes." I said, far too soft. "Can you see, boy?" he asked again. That was the first time he (a 23 year old brat) called me "boy". "Yes Sir", I answered eagerly. "Good." He continued to touch himself. He caressed his arms, licking over and over again his biceps and armpits. His other hand started touching the bulge in his briefs, and to my delight the bulge seemed to get bigger and bigger. He then turned around and stuck out his ass in my direction. There was less than half a meter between the bed and the closet, so when he moved to the edge of the bed, his bum was practically in my face. Slowly, ever so teasingly, he played with the rubber band of the briefs, pulling it down to show me the upper end of his hairy crack. A manly smell emanated from it and wafted through the slits, filling my dark prison. I couldn't touch or act in any way on my impulses, but it was heaven. "Are you touching yourself, boy?" he said. "No Sir." He turned around and stood in front of the closet. I could see the outline of an enormous cock stretching his briefs to the limit. The top of his dick peeked out from behind the fabric. He cupped his balls and squeezed his cock, stroked it and then, all of a sudden, stopped. "Enough teasing" he said, and opened the door. "You like it?" I could barely answer. "You can watch tonight." "Really?" "Sure. It'll be a turn on." "For you too?" "I guess so", he said, honestly, "otherwise I wouldn't do it." * We spent the evening drinking, eating (he ordered me to cook), and then playing with his new PS/3, me losing, distracted as always by his near-nakedness. At eleven he simply switched off the game without warning, got up, rearranged this cock and balls and declared: "Time to get laid." We took the last BART train to downtown and ended up in his favorite haunt, a bar with the intractable name "Supper", just off Van Neuss. It was not too loud, and we spent the better part of two hours talking politics with one of my colleagues we met there. Through that time I watched at least five girls making passes at him, throwing glances, one even coming up to him and asking him to follow her to the bathroom. (Talk about promiscuous gays! These girls were worse than any man-slut in your average gay bar.) But he ignored them all. It was not until after one o'clock that he decided it was time to make a choice. He asked me which one I liked, then realized that I hardly would have any preference. For a moment I thought he was about to call the whole thing off, when he noticed a cute blond girl, Midwestern flair, a bit plain looking for my taste. He got up and walked towards her. It took him less than five minutes and he had his arm around her shoulder, she hers around his waist, and shortly after they were kissing and ready to go. He came back to me, seemingly to say good bye, but he gave me his keys and said: "Go to my place and get in the closet." I did as I had been told. I got out of the taxi, walked up the three flights to his apartment, let myself in, and placed the key under the doormat. I went to the bedroom and realized what a mess the place was. I frantically cleaned for 10 minutes, hiding all the laundry and garbage behind the sofa in the living room. Sprayed a bit of Lysol, made the bed, then I heard a car pull up. I undressed, folded my cloths and put them in the closet. Then I knelt down and looked at the leash and the gag lying there. Was that what he wanted me to do? Gag myself? Why? Were they meant for me or for the girl? If for her, why were they in the closet? I heard keys in the door, the door closing, the couple kissing and her falling over her drunken self, stumbling into the living room. "I gotta ... gotta go to the bathroom" she declared, and he showed the way. Three seconds later he came into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. He approached the closet and opened the door. He saw me kneeling, naked, and grinned. My face must have been red with shame. "Good boy", he said. Then he grabbed the leather gag, shoved in into my mouth, and said: "We don't want you to give away our little secret with your groans." He smiled again, told me to turn around, then bound my hands behind my back with the leather leash. I shuffled back towards the back; he smiled at me again, then closed the door, turned the key, and removed it from the lock, then left the room. I was in my prison, gagged and bound by a straight hunk, unable to touch my now rigid cock, which I am sure he had noticed but ignored. I can't believe I am doing this, I remember thinking. For fuck's sake! I am a grown man. This brat is doing things to me I had never thought of in my life. I had never had a penchant for S/M and domination and what not. But here I was, middle-aged, flabby, gagged, my hands tied, my cock pounding and oozing precum, waiting to see my good friend get it on with a girl. Then the show started. When he led her into the bedroom, her breasts were already exposed and he was sucking on one of them. He sat down on the bed, she standing in front of him. While he sucked on one tit, he first stroked, then lightly slapped her other breast. She seemed to enjoy that. He took his time before kissing her stomach, her belly button, then picking her up and throwing her onto the bed. He pulled down her skirt and immediately buried his face in her cunt. He repositioned her so that her feet were supported on the closet I was in, her pussy was at the edge of the bed, maybe 40 cm away from my face, which was glued to the closet door, he kneeling in between, tilting his head so I could clearly see his tongue flinging in and out of her red and wet orifice. It was quite a turn on. Twice he looked back at me through the grill in the closet door. He fingered her, licked her, then started to slap her pussy with the palm of his hand. She moaned and groaned, grabbed a pillow and pressed it over her own face to muffle her cries of pleasure. Her cunt grew markedly in size, bulging all wet and bright red. I had never seen a girl's sexual organs in such vivid detail, "in action" so to speak. Alex pushed up her legs and started licking around her cunt, down her crack, back up and down again, finally ending up at here asshole. For a second he turned around again and looked right into my eyes, smiling is friendly, hunky smile. He stuck a finger up her ass, well lubricating it, then alternating two fingers between her pussy, her ass, and his mouth. She was unable to see that far down, but her body arched backwards in pleasure. He was holding her legs crossed and up in the air with one arm, then turned her sideways so that only her asshole was visible. He sucked on his own fingers for a while, and pulled them from his mouth glistening wet, juices dripping on the carpet. Slowly, he inserted both fingers into the girl's asshole, twisting them gently. The girl groaned and giggled a the same time, at one point with a sound so weird and loud that Alex turned to me grinning broadly almost bursting with laughter. He withdrew both fingers which were now covered in ass juice, and to my surprise licked them clean with an expression of ... well, bliss on his face. My god, he was a filthy connoisseur. He was into it for real, I thought, aware of the dull pain in my throbbing cock. His fingers went back into her arse, and came out again even dirtier. He licked them clean again, and stuck them in a third time. After a prolonged probing and twisting, he pulled them out and stuck them through the slits in the door into my face. I hesitated, then realized I was gagged and couldn't lick them if I wanted to. What torture! I dreamed of his manly, thick fingers, caressing them as if they were his cock. Meanwhile he buried his tongue in her asshole, stretching it. I could see it disappear a centimeter or two in her hole, all the while desperately wanting to impress his digits with my sucking skills. But I couldn't. I was mad with pleasure. Had he forgotten I was gagged and was genuinely waiting for me to suck his fingers? Or did he torture me on purpose? A second after he removed his fingers, I shot my load against the closet door. It was the first time ever that I had ejaculated without touching my cock. I was thoroughly exhausted. He stood up and I realized it was time for me to finally see his cock in all its glory. The girl slid off the bed with a grin on her face. She had obviously enjoyed the kinky ass action. She knelt on the floor, her face so close to mine I was afraid she would realize I was in here breathing heavily. The gag kept me from making any noises though, and she was too entranced by the action anyway. Slowly, she pulled down Alex' briefs very slowly, just as I would have done, teasing him, sucking on the fabric for a while, then finally exposing his cock. I was speechless. It was maybe nine and a half inches long, perfectly straight, pointing slightly upwards, with a beautiful pink head, thick veins running down the side. His pubic hair seemed to have been trimmed at the edges. It shimmered in a dark brown and red color. I was the most perfect cock I had ever seen, thick, juicy, and well-shaped. And it was not for me. The tart started sucking on it not very professionally. She gagged a few times, obviously having no idea how to take a man's cock down her throat. Suddenly he pulled her head back by the hair, spat on her face, and said "take it deeper, bitch". She was as startled as I was, but recovered much sooner from the shock. "Yeah baby", she mumbled while she took his dick back in her wet mouth, now trying to swallow deeper. He slapped her face a few times and pushed his cock as far as he could, but she gagged again, then coughed and complained that it hurt her throat. If he would only let me, I thought, I could swallow the whole monster. The unskilled sucking went on for a while, until he had enough of it. I could see that her mouth was evidently too small, and on top of it she had big teeth, not exactly the best experience for a man with long, thick penis. Alex pulled her up, threw her on the bed, and to my surprise, completely ignored her pussy and went straight for her asshole, pushing his cock in quickly and violently. He had obviously been frustrated by her lack of oral skills. She screamed from the pain for a short while, but then her behind wriggled and pushed up against his groin, his enormous cock buried deep in her arse. He spanked her hard, and slap by slap her ass turned red like a tomato. "Oh yeah, oh yeah," she kept on yelling and groaning and moaning as he proceeded to fuck her rear entrance in every imaginable position around the bedroom. Standing up, kneeling, on the bed, sideways, from the front and from the back, and finally with her sitting on top of it, massaging her own pussy. Her ass was now bright red, and in addition, she slapped her own pussy with the flat of her palm whilst masturbating. What she lacked in oral skills, she obviously made up for with her sphincter. "I am going to come," Alex suddenly announced, pulling her by her hair from the bed onto the floor in front of the closet, presumably so that I could get a good view. He jerked his cock with one hand, pulling her head back with the other, spat on her face twice, slapped her, and finally erupted in big globs all over her face. When he had finished, he smeared his cum around over her nose, cheeks, forehead, and her chin, then collected it and pushed it into her mouth. She sucked on the cum-covered fingers. He retrieved some from above her eye just before she got up and rushed to the bathroom. When she was gone, he unlocked the closet, unsnapped the leather strap of the gag behind my head, and with a forceful push stuck his still cum-covered forefinger into my mouth. That very moment, with the taste of his cum on my lips, I came a second time, unannounced, full force, without having touched myself. He looked down at my cock and the white sperm dripping from it, grinned, then stroked the back of my head very briefly. He closed the door and disappeared into the bathroom with his girl. A few minutes later, I heard them going at it again. Maybe this time he was fucking her pussy, I thought. Thank god it was over though. I couldn't have taken any more. I quickly picked up my clothes and slipped out into the cool night. * Believe it or not, this went on for six months. From the second girl on, I kept a diary, and this is why I remember all the details so clearly. Almost every Friday, sometimes Saturdays too, sometimes even on short notice during the week, he called me to watch. They were all in all mostly white girls, blond, skinny, with comparatively large breasts. There were a few Asian girls, two black girls, and at least once a month there was a threesome, usually with the same two blond girls, Teena and Jessica from Des Moines. They were very slutty, both heavily into anal and Alex enjoyed watching them lick each others pussies while he fucked them up the bum alternatively. Most of the encounters were very vanilla though. Alex seemed to have a knack for determining whether a girl was into rough stuff or not. It always started with smacking their breasts while he sucked on them. One girl slapped him for doing it and left immediately. More than half willingly took his tool up the ass, which did greatly surprise me. I would never have guessed so many girls were into anal sex. Very few though were really into heavier stuff. At least a third didn't take his cum, more than two thirds insisted on condoms. Only two enjoyed and encouraged beating, or being tied up. When a girl was too much into kissing and cuddling, Alex soon lost first his hard-on and then all interest. I on the other hand lost neither. After about a month I stopped going out to the bars, and waited instead at home for him to return with his prey. We dispensed with the gag and he simply tied me up (which for some reason he continued to insist on) and left me waiting in the closet. The time it took to bring home girls become shorter and shorter. We would spend the evening playing computer games or talking, even started writing a book together, but mostly lounged around and philosophized about the state of the world. Around midnight, he would get up and take a shower. That was my sign. I quietly undressed, folded my clothes, and knelt beside the closet in the bedroom. He had lost all shame and had started walking around the apartment naked, even watching TV naked, but there was never any suggestion of sex between just the two of us. He was so obviously into women, and I learned to get off on what I could glimpse from between the slits in the closet door and make do with it. After the shower, he would casually walk into the bedroom still drying himself, ignoring the naked middle-aged voyeur on the floor. After he got dressed, he came over, tied my hands together firmly, patted me on the head, and said "good boy", or sometimes "good dog". When he had a few beers, he would occasionally spit on my face before leaving, like he loved to do with girls. In less than an hour he was back with Judie or Chery or whatever their names were. Sometimes he would call me during the day, at the office. He would simply say "time for some pussy, boy", or simply "in one hour". That was a sign for me to rush to his apartment and take my position before he came home with another slut. I had my own key by now and apart from being his voyeur bitch, I had also started shopping for him and keeping the place clean. I cooked for him three to four times a week, or at least arranged for food to be in the house, and he continued to train with me at the gym, run with me, take me to games and movies, lectures at university, and trips to the vineyards in Napa, to Yosemite, once up to Oregon to see the Crater Lake and the ridiculously named "Oregon Outback". "It's nothing like the outback", Alex screamed in the broadest Aussie accent when he saw it, "who are these people trying to kid? Fucking morons!". We were a perfect match, intellectually, emotionally, and -- oddly enough, sexually. He loved to be watched, I loved to watch. That same evening, in a motel in La Pine, in the middle of nowhere, was the only time he let me watch him jerk off alone. Two events stand out in the endless trail of pussy that went through his bedroom (and two hotel rooms in L.A.). The first was Mira, a redhead with enormous tits and a craving for piss. Almost from the start, while Alex was working on her nipples, she brought up the subject and asked whether he had to go to the toilet. Alex caught on quickly, brought in a Tetra pack of tea and a few cans of beer, and drank as much as he could. What ensued was a fantastic display of filthiness and wet debauchery. He pissed on her on the bed, into her mouth, over her pussy. He fucked her up the ass first, then pissed inside her, then let her squeeze it out into a glass and tell her to drink it. She was totally into it, and he enjoyed his first "watersport event" so much, it became a fixed element in all his future conquests. Most girls declined. Even amongst those who loved anal or heavier SM, most did not respond when he looked deep into their eyes and said "I have to go pee". When he asked more directly, they sometimes ran out in shock. It soon became an obsession. More than once he chased out girls who were only into vanilla, mostly on some pretense like a headache, or memories of his girlfriend. He was cutest then, when his cock had gone flaccid because the chick wouldn't let him smack her or drink his piss, and he sat their and said "You know, I don't think this is such a good idea. I am still not over my girlfriend. We only split up last week. I am sorry." That usually did the trick. None of the girls got angry. Most felt he was genuinely emotional and cared about them or his non-existent former girlfriend. All of them left when he asked them too, trying to be very understanding, and feelingly sorry for him. And that's were I came in. Only slowly at first, and without me pushing the matter. But this is how it happened the first time: he had just said goodbye to a particularly beautiful but very unskilled and boring girl, after having prepared his bladder for half an hour with green tea and beer. It was the third week in a row that the girl wasn't interested in kinky stuff, and Alex was extremely frustrated. He returned to the bedroom, his cock still hard, and sat down on the bed. For a moment it seemed like he had forgotten I was there. He touched himself, squeezed his boner, caressing it with both fists. I admired it through the closet door grill. He tried to get his face close to it to suck himself, and almost succeeded. When he pressed his head down, a short squirt of piss sprouted from his cock, and I realized he was desperate to piss. Still tied up in my closet, I pushed the door open a crack. He looked he, opened the door completely, and stood up before me. I was kneeling before this gorgeous hunk, praying that he would understand and for the first time favor me with his juices. I looked at him pleadingly, but said nothing. I opened my mouth wide and closed my eyes. I waited. Seconds later, the very diluted by still yellow liquid rushed down my throat in a seemingly endless stream. He had had at least six cans of beer and a whole liter of tea, and nowhere to relieve himself. I knelt there, drinking every single drop. He paused, then directed the stream over my head, and my entire body. At least three minutes of hot piss from the man I adored poured over and into my body. He said nothing, shaking the last drop from his cock, and didn't look at me. As kinky as he was, even the remote suggestion of sex with a bloke was a problem for him. He locked the bathroom behind himself and I heard him jerk off on his own. That is how piss became part of our relationship. In November I found an apartment in the same building, and was on call for him all the time. I started doing his laundry, continued to clean his apartment, and, once in a while, he would piss in my mouth. At first only after a frustrated stint with a girl, then, when we watched TV when he didn't want to leave for the bathroom, he would simply nod towards the floor before him, stand up, get his cock out, let go into my mouth whilst continuing his console game. I willingly took his piss on every occasion. He never let me touch his cock though, not with my hands, not with my mouth or lips. Over time, it became ever more obvious that he could not perform in bed without some form of kink involved. He started bringing home the same girls, the once who really did what he wanted: loved being spanked or tied up, drank his piss, and liked getting fucked up the ass, or took a dido and a cock, or let him piss on their pussies, and so on. Very often now, vanilla cock-in-cunt wasn't even part of the act anymore. Once he sucked on a girl when she announced she had to piss, and I witnessed a hot stream of girl piss shoot all over Alex's short hair, his muscular chest, dripping over his cock down onto the carpet. He tentatively stretched out his tongue and shortly after opened his mouth. I watched him swallow a mouthful of girl piss: he seemed to like it. The other memorable encounter that changed our relationship happened in a hotel room off LAX airport, where I had taken my place in the closet after a day out with gay friends in West Hollywood. We had taken the plane down partly for work, but Alex also wanted to visit a flame of his, a particularly nasty girl right up his alley. After a two hour wait, my knees sore, my mouth dry, Alex brought home someone. I was surprised when I heard another man's voice. I heard kissing, the sound of glasses, a beer can being trashed, before the bedroom door opened and a handsome guy with black hair and a mini goatee came in. He had already taken off his shirt, and a large colorful tattoo snaked down from this shoulder to his ripped stomach. He was really good-looking, young, lean, and a bit rough. Almost porn star material. Was Alex bringing home a guy? But then I heard a female voice, and a girl entered the room, Alex behind her, already fondling her pussy underneath her short skirt. The girl immediately crawled only the bed and unzipped the hot guy's fly to get out a huge but still flaccid dick. Alex knelt down and buried his face in the girl's privates, simultaneously undressing himself. I was, it seemed, to witness a threesome involving two guys. Now there's a first one! With the dark-haired guy's cock still only half hard, the girl pulled away from Alex's face and came to kneel on the floor in front of me, pulling both guys towards her. I was now witnessing at very close distance a very talented girl swallowing two beautiful cocks, first one after the other, then trying to pry both into her mouth. The two dicks touched for a moment. I was focused on the girl sucking and didn't notice that the hot new guy had started to touch Alex. His shoulder, than rubbing his hairy chest. I looked up and caught Alex pushing away the guy's hand. "I am not into that", he said firmly, and looked down on the girl. He withdrew his cock and pushed her onto the bed, so that each man could work on her from one end. The dark guy took a while to recover, made some embarrassed moves, then seemed to lose his hard-on altogether. Alex climbed on top of her and thrust his cock into her pussy, while the dark guy walked over to Alex side and stroked his cock, watching Alex fuck her. After a while he stretched out a hand to touch Alex's buttocks, and that was it: Alex pulled out his cock and confronted the guy. "I made it clear I didn't want you to touch me, mate," he said, in the deepest Australian accent which he had almost manage to lose completely in the past year and a half. "Get out!" The girl got up, dressed quickly, then took the hot guy by the hand and said "come on honey, let's leave the prude". She kissed Alex on the lips, said "sorry, but we need someone more open-minded". Seconds later, I heard the door snap shut. "Open-minded! Fuck you!" Alex cursed, then slid open the closet door. His still hard cock was in front of my face. "Can you believe this! I have a fucking piss-drinking dog-slave in my closet, I fuck every girl up the ass and they want me to be more open minded." He looked at me for a few seconds, first angry, but then we both burst out in laughter. "You are a bit homophobic, still," I offered. "Oh shut up! I am not fucking homophobic!" He sat down on the bed, grabbed a beer can, emptied it in one go, and started jerking off. This was my chance, I decided. Now or never! I simply knelt there and watched him stroke his cock. My eyes pleaded with him, and he knew what I wanted. He moved a few centimeters forward on the bed, so that his cock was now pointing exactly at my mouth. He hesitated, withdrew a few inches. "I won't bite," I said, jovially. I opened my mouth, and he moved slowly forward again. "Ah what the fuck," he finally capitulated. "Suck it, boy!". I am a good cocksucker, there is no question. And maybe it was my talent that convinced him; at least I like to think so, with hindsight. I sucked him wetter and deeper than he had ever been sucked before. Hardly any of the girls he brought home knew how to deep-throat him: I did it with every move. He thrust his entire nine and a half inches into my gullet. He used my mouth as violently as he wanted -- more brutally than he had ever used a girl. The frustration of the failed threesome, and the inner torment of overcoming his homophobia both made him more aggressive than I had ever seen him before. He held my face between his hands and pounded away, slapping my face and spitting on me. Fat gobs of spit landing on my eyes, my nose, in my hair. He slapped my face several times; it hurt. My hands were still tied behind my back. He had his eyes closed at first, but then took pleasure in watching me twitch and gag, and for an unbelievable forty minutes I pleasured his fantastic tool with my lips, my mouth, and my throat. He slapped me so hard, my ears were ringing, and I was developing a headache. I licked his balls too, and he groaned and moaned. Finally, he pushed me away, took his cock in his hand, gave it few firm strokes, and then shoved it down all the way; I never tasted his cum, it went straight down my gullet. He took a long time to withdraw and I almost suffocated, when he finally pulled out and collapsed on the bed. Kneeling before him, exhausted, my mouth and lips sore, my jaw aching, I had my eyes closed, when a stream of piss splattered onto my face. When he was done, and I had swallowed most of it through my aching mouth, he patted me on the head and said "good dog." I was in Heaven. * There was silence after that, and probably self-reproach or disgust on his side, I don't know. He didn't call for a week, and when he did, it was to say he'd go a way, alone. I was afraid at first, terribly afraid, that his fear of homosexuality -- despite the weird relationship we had already developed - would get the better of him, that he would leave me and lose all interest in having me watch him bang chicks. I didn't expect to suck him again unless similar circumstances arose. But I wanted to see him again. I wanted back in the closet. His bedroom closet. I'd do anything for him, I thought one night, sobbing in my bed. When he was away, I couldn't sleep. I went to his apartment to sleep on his bed, covered in his sheets, bathing in his smell. I jerked off with his piss-stained underwear stuffed in my mouth. I licked his boots before I left the apartment on my way to work. I wanted him to come back so badly! Two weeks later, the phone rang on my desk at work, and I picked up. "Two-thirty, my place." I arrived there at two, having taken the afternoon off. I was naked by the time I reached the bedroom and hastily hid my clothes in the closet beside me. I had had a boner from the moment I had hung up the phone, but by now the throbbing pain was unbearable. I was so fucking horny, and Alex was finally back! I tied my own hands as best as I could and knelt in my place, pushing the door shut with my forehead. Ten minutes of darkness and silent anticipation seemed to last an eternity. Then I heard the door open and someone come in. No voices, only a rumbling sound following footsteps. "Come out of there", he shouted. I was not sure what to do. "Come out boy." I pushed the door open and stepped out of the closet when he opened the door of the bedroom. "Good dog, already in position. I am sorry mate," he added, and pulled a suitcase into the room behind him. It still had Qantas luggage tags on it. He had been home to Australia. "Had to go home for a few days. Family stuff. I think my parents are getting a divorce." I wanted to say something, comfort him, but wasn't sure what and how. "Anyway, I just got in from the airport, and I really have to piss! Come here boy!" He was his usual horny self, only a bit more tanned, presumably from two weeks of surfing near his home in Queensland. His cute Aussie accent was back too. And while I knelt silently and swallowed mouthful after mouthful of his stinking transpacific piss, he stroked my hair and smiled at me. "So did you miss me, pig-boy?" I nodded. "Good. Let's get you some action, boy." With that he stopped pissing and sat down on the bed, stroking his cock. "You want to suck me off boy?" "Yes Sir", I answered eagerly. "Good boy. I have lots of cum for you. I always get so horny on planes. Come on mate, swallow the monster." Well, he didn't have to tell me twice. And while I gulfed down on his tool, having freed my hands, I stroked his legs, massaged his balls, then pushed up his sweater and gently touched his hard abs. For the first time ever, he let me touch him, caress him. My hands wandered up to his nipples and played with them for a maybe a minute, before he stopped groaning, slapped my gently and said. "Enough with the faggy romantic crap. Suck, dog." And with that, he brutally forced my hands behind my back and tied them together so that the rope cut into my flesh. "Oh and I brought you something", he said, stripping off his jeans and turning around to open the suitcase. I kept kneeling in my place, his hairy ass in front of me. My tongue flicked out and touched his smelly crack. He pushed his arse back into my face. It was vile, all smelly from the long plane ride, sweaty and filthy. I loved it. My tongue rode over his hairy crack and tried to find his asshole, while he fumbled through a pile of laundry in his suitcase. "Here it is", he said triumphantly, turned around, and held a leather collar in front of my face. "What do you say, dog-boy? I got you a collar. A real Australian dog collar. Come here." He put the collar on me and gave me a long, gentle look. "Atta boy!" And with that his cock came crashing down into my gullet again. He held my head firmly between is manly hands and forced his tool all the way down, again and again and again. Finally, he pulled out, hit my face a few times, spit on me, and then shot his load all over my face. It was a huge load, hours of pent up cum spraying over my lips, cheeks, my eyes and my hair. When he was done, he smeared it round, and stuck his cum-covered fingers down into my mouth. "Ah," he said relieved, "I needed that. Go piss off now, I need to unpack." * And so our relationship changed. Not too much: there were still the girls he brought home, and I in the closet, there was still my toilet-function, and my house-cleaning, and my cooking. But increasingly, I was allowed to pleasure my young master, even on some Fridays, when he was too lazy to go out and get pussy. And sometimes after gym, when he was especially horny. Twice he made me suck him in the bushes during our runs. And one time he needed relieve right after dinner, and ordered me to service him in a restaurant toilet. All the while he kept seeing girls, even dated one for a few weeks, and, to my surprise, introduced me to her when she came round one afternoon when I was cleaning his kitchen. "This is dog," he explained, "he does things around the house. Don't mind him." He explained, all the while smiling at me. "Dog this is Suzy." "Nice to meet you Suzy", I said. "Why do they call you dog?" she asked. "Ah ... long story." "Don't mind him Suzy, Alex interrupted. Come here and let me have some wet pussy." I heard them shag in the bedroom for over an hour. Her screaming without inhibitions, the sound of his firm hand on her cheeks, slapping her again and again; the sound of her choking on his monster cock. After a few minutes of silence, they both emerged, she already dressed, dashing off. He stood there, naked, his cock half erect and glistening with her juices. "Wanna clean here too, dog?" he said. In an instant I was on my knees, licking of the cunt juice from his cock. He got hard again, and blew his second load down my throat. It went on like that for a few months. I blew him, I swallowed his juices, I did anything he asked me too, and I was happy. It was absolutely fulfilling. I loved the girls too, and my place in the dark closet. But I loved most the moments of intimacy when something went wrong with the girls, or when he couldn't be bothered to go to a bar and pick up a girl. He continued to bring home two girls at the same time at least once a month, and twice he brought home couples. The first was boring, they only wanted vanilla sex and weren't very imaginative, but the second couple was really hot. It consisted of a very slutty Asian girl whose arse looked as if it were regularily stretched by three cocks at the same time, and her Latino boyfriend, who loved to suck pussy, ass -- and cock. He positioned himself under his girlfriends ass and licked her ass which Alex' cock in it. Alex always loved to pull out completely and look at the hole he was pounding, and when he did, his cock, full of the girls ass juices, dropped into the boyfriends mouth. It was fantastic to watch from my angle, as the cock got increasingly dirty. He was digging for shit in the girls ass and the boyfriend slurped up anything he could get. Soon Alex was alternating between three holes, and I watched his cock force himself into the pussy, then the ass, and then the mouth of the Latino. He paused sometimes, spat down on the cunt and into the face of the guy, all the while the girl was moaning and groaning her way to her orgasm. When she came, her juices spilled out of her cunt, ran down to her ass and mixed with the brown streaks only to be licked up by her horny boyfriend. Then Alex pulled on his cock a few times and sprayed cum all over the place, most of it on the boyfriends face. When the girl saw that the sat up and started pounding his shoulders with her fists. "You slut you always do this, you always get the cum, and I ..." Alex shut her up pushing his still erupting cock into her mouth. So, slowly, trick by trick, Alex the straight Australian lost all his inhibitions and what remained of his conservative homophobic upbringing. He was twenty-six now, and we had been "together" for more than two years. He also had lost his fear of contact with guys, and there was a marked increase in mixed couples. He did still prefer two girls, but as long as the guy was good looking and in-shape, he didn't say no to them. In fact, he must have gotten a reputation for that sort of thing. People sought him out as the 'bisexual kinky ozzie with the huge cock'. At least that what a girl called him who called one afternoon looking for him. He was asked two times if he wanted to do porn, but that wasn't his thing. Despite all the kink and the relaxed attitude, sex, for him, was still an intensely private thing, ironic, come to think of it, in the light of -- or rather the darkness -- of my closet presence. Of the mixed couples he brought home, some failed to spark his interest for the usual reasons. Some were so into each other, it started out as a threesome, but Alex ended up feeling left out. More than once, the guy in the couple was obviously gay and not even bi. I remember "Joanna" and her "brother", a young, well-formed A&F-style Midwestern kid. The first thing they did was drop in front of Alex and suck on his cock, taking turns. Then big sister prepared for Alex to fuck the kid. To my surprise, Alex even tried, but lost his hard-on after a while, and then his interest altogether. There was another "related" couple, an older bloke and his very young girlfriend. The guy wanted to watch only, and when they entered the room, he suggested he hide in the closet. For a moment there was panic, and when the guy had his had on the door knob and was about to open it, Alex finally decided he wasn't into that sort of thing and threw them out. I got to suck him off that night! The biggest surprise of all these years happened in January, after he had come back from Christmas in Australia. He had put on a bit of weight and stormed back to the gym with a vengeance. There I watched him being chatted up by a very cute guy who had recently joined. He was tall, had shoulder-length hair, a winning smile I am sure I have seen on some cereal box. He was, in fact, a bit effeminate, but in an unobtrusive, natural way. Anyway, nowadays you can't tell anymore, you know what I mean. They seemed to enjoy each others company, and after Markus -- as his named turned out to be, a German fashion model now living in L.A. -- had touched Alex' strong biceps a few times, I caught Alex slapping the guy's butt. I was surprised. A few seconds later I was even more surprised when they both looked in my direction, then Alex pointed at me, and finally waved me over. He introduced me to Markus and I found out the German model had commented Alex on his physique and promised to introduce him to some people in L.A. to do a portfolio and maybe get some modeling jobs -- serious stuff -- Markus called it, for catalogs, sports magazines, and "maybe International Male", Markus said, and pulled up Alex's T-shirt to touch his abs. I was absolutely sure that all that was bullocks and Markus was only looking for a shag. I did of course not object when they agreed to meet that evening. I told Alex I had things to do and left early, but by six I was in my closet, my cock hard in anticipation. I wasn't even sure they would come to the bedroom. Maybe Markus would make advances, too early or too abruptly, Alex would freak and beat him up ... that sort of thing. Alex came home shortly after, and for a while I had him all to myself. He didn't know I was there. He showered, then walked around naked as he always does. He dried himself sitting on the bed and was playing with his cock when the doorbell rang. He put on briefs only and walked to the door. Muffled sounds, then the refrigerator door opening. The sound of water being poured and a can being opened. Then they chatted, but I couldn't understand a thing. I got a bit bored at that point, and disappointed. Nothing would happen after all. Suddenly the door opened and Alex said "here, you like it?" "Oh it's faantastik, vat a big mirror. You see that's would you need, you need to get comfortable with yourself. Its not easy at se beginning, but basically you have to fall in love with your own body in front of se kemeras." And other bullshit. He was so obviously trying to get into Alex's pants, now showing him how to pose. Markus slowly took his shirt off -- he was thin, but very well defined, a Germanic God who could use a few pounds of muscle but must make quite a site on a Milan catwalk -- and showed Alex how to "look natural" in front of the camera. Alex copied his poses. Markus draped a shirt around his neck, explained how to walk, smile, and, increasingly, touched Alex' body to bring it into "the right" position. At one point he knelt before him, trying to arrange his legs in a particular pose. That's when I saw it: Alex was hard! I gasped. Was it the posing in front of the mirror? The constant looking at his own hot body? Or the presence of Markus? "You see you already in love with yourself", Markus said at that moment, and grabbed Alex's erection. To my surprise, Alex didn't react in the usual abrupt way, but only closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath. "Go ahead, suck it. That's what you are here for, isn't it?" What ensued was probably the hottest sex I ever witnessed. It was weird, a bit awkward, had its very dull moments and at several times I thought Alex was about to throw Markus out. But for me, having watched Alex all these years with girls, it was bloody hot. Alex mixed his lingering dislike of gay sex with the attraction for the smooth, hairless, somewhat feminine body. Markus was a total sub, eager to be slapped around, a true bitch in bed. After sucking Alex for a few minutes, he got up, stripped completely, and knelt down again, putting his own hands behind his back. Alex got the message, reached for a sock and tied Markus' hands together. He then fucked his month for a few more minutes, slapping him hard in between, and spitting all over him. Alex really got into it. His cock was rock hard. He pulled Markus up on the bed, still tied up, and spread his ass cheeks. It didn't take him long to enter the model's chute, and then he pounded away like a madman, his eyes closed or looking at himself in the mirror, his gorgeous body arching forward, back, sideways, as he played his tool in the sloppy hole of the model. Twice he pulled out the cock, covered in slime and ass juice, and made Markus suck on it. He never stopped beating the model, spanking him, even sucked on his nipples for a while, and bit them hard. Markus was very silent, but so obviously enjoyed being ravaged. When Alex was close to coming, Markus mumbled something I didn't quite get, but Alex stopped fucking him instantly, pulled out, and maneuvered the model back on the floor. He then stood before him, his ass facing the models face, and Markus got to rim my Alex. He was an ass eater if I have ever seen one before. His tongue was up Alex's filthy chute, slurping, sucking and kissing, while Alex jacked off. Half of his juice sprayed on the closet door gridwork before he turned round and shot the other half into Markus' face. My tongue leaped forward to lick Alex cum from the wood, and I didn't even notice Markus getting dressed. Alex returned after a while, still naked, a beer in his hand. He dropped on the bed, which caused a tremor that made the closet door squeak. Instinctively, he looked in that direction and saw me there. His face went red. He darted towards the closet and pulled open the door. "What the ..." he said, before calming down. He handed me the beer. "Did you like that, boy?" I had to think for a while, and then, to my own surprise, I said: "Actually, I like you better with girls." I took a big sip from the can. "Jealous, eh?" he said. I couldn't look him the eyes. "I guess, a bit." And then he stroked my hair, touched my neck ... and kissed me. Not in a "faggy, romantic" way, but nevertheless: a short, sweet kiss on the lips.