Dream Man

By J.D. Walker

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JMS Books LLC

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jms-books.com

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Copyright 2014 J.D. Walker

ISBN 9781611525199

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This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may

contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which

might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store

your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and

incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination

and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to

actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

* * * *

1

Dream Man

By J.D. Walker

I have the same dream every night. My room is dark and

we’re writhing on the bed. My lover is a tall, muscular man, with

a ramrod of steel, and he knows how to use it! This mystery man

rides my ass like a runaway train, one hand like a vice gripping

my left thigh, the other pumping my cock until our mutual groans

echo in the darkness. His weight on my back, the scent of our

sex, drives me to oblivion. The orgasm is always too intense,

and still I want more. As I reach for him, my alarm goes off—it’s

seven o’clock in the morning, time to get up. Shit!

My bed is usually soaked from sex and sweat when I

wake up. I can almost feel the soreness in my ass like a

firebrand, the dream seems so real. As I take a very cold

shower, my skin tingles from the memory of fierce lovemaking. I

wish it were real.

* * * *

It’s eight o’clock—and a Friday, thank God. I’ve dressed

my slender five foot eight inch frame, checked my blonde hair,

yet again (I really need to touch up those red highlights), and

lock up my one bedroom apartment. I live on the ground floor, so

I hear all the arguments and screaming children, the lackluster

sex that takes place all around and above me—wham, bam, no

thank you, ma’am, courtesy of my very thin walls. Unfortunately I

haven’t had anyone over to my place in a while to return the

favor. But this is a new day—anything can happen, right?

Michael Stein, your dream man is just around the corner!

I decide to walk to work. It’s sunny and cool, and I can get

my caffeine fix—a green tea latte—at Starbucks on the way.

* * * *

Downtown Office Suppliers, Inc., where I am employed, is

2

an office supply company, located in the heart of downtown

Atlanta, Georgia. The building has five floors, the top three of

which house supplies. The first and second floors are for the

staff, and I work on the first floor as a receptionist. Dress is ‘neat’

casual (no daisy dukes allowed—damn!).

I start my shift on time at nine o’clock. It’s not a bad job,

really, though I would never have thought being a receptionist

would be in my job description, not with a Business degree from

Georgia Tech. But you have to start somewhere, right?

The phone rings non-stop until noon, when I take my

lunch break. Sheila Langston, my best friend and coworker,

walks with me to Tacoland to get some grub.

“So did you have that lusty man in your bed again last night?”

she asks around a mouthful of a sumptuous-looking beef taco.

Sheila knows all about my love affair with Mr. Muscles,

and wants to borrow him so he can give her current boyfriend

some tips.

“Of course, I did! He is my sex life, after all.” I smirk. My

chicken taco is delicious, by the way.

“Michael, while I envy the ‘passion’ in your dream life, you

need to find a real man. What about one of the drivers?” she

asks, taking a sip of her soda.

I roll my eyes. Nothing against any of our drivers, but they

don’t do anything for me. Oh, and it doesn’t help that they’re always

talking about vaginas, breasts, and their latest female conquest.

Hello? Not interested! Plus they know I’m gay and avoid me like the

plague. It would rub off, you see, and not in a good way.

Sheila and I talk about her boyfriend Chuck (no, not

Norris, sadly, because even he would be an improvement) as we

walk back to work. He lives in Conyers and works as a truck

driver for NAPA. She sees him once a week at her house in

Lithonia when he’s in town.

“He’s nice enough,” she says, “but he could use some tips

in sex etiquette—having an orgasm in five minutes and then

turning over to snore may satisfy him but it does nothing for me.”

She usually ends up pleasuring herself, not that I needed to hear

that part.

3

* * * *

The afternoon calls aren’t as frequent, thankfully, which

gives me some time to catch up on paperwork. There’s a

meeting scheduled for three o’clock—a new client. His name is

Christian Bolster. Mmmm, he sounds yummy. Our typical

clientele includes manufacturing facilities, and the occasional

specialty chain. I’ve put together a package on Chris (that’s how

I think of him) for the meeting. He owns a chain of specialty

‘body’ stores, offering everything you would ever need to feel

pampered. They’re located all across the Northeast and

Midwest, and he’s just opened a store in Atlanta, at Lenox Mall in

Buckhead. His manufacturing facility is located in Boston. He

sounds so hot! I wonder if he’s gay.

At three o’clock sharp, a customer appears at my desk. I

am on the phone, facing away from the front of the office so,

using hand gestures, I let the person know I’ll be done in a

moment. Caller taken care of, I turn to greet our customer.

My jaw drops, my stomach clenches, and my ass starts to

burn. It can’t be! My wet dream has come to life. I have never

seen his face in my dreams, but the body is damn familiar—tall

(about six feet), muscular, and, taking a guess at the bulge in his

tight designer blue jeans, pretty damn thick.

He has a strong face, and high cheekbones. His skin is

the color of creamed coffee, and his hair, dark brown and wavy,

hung to his neck. He has a tattoo of a scorpion on his left bicep,

visible just below his tight-fitting, dark green, short-sleeved polo

shirt. He has small gold hoops in both ears. Is this is our new

client? Have mercy!

As I struggle for composure, he gives me a slow, sexy

smile. He has dimples—dimples! Oh my God! Deeeeeep breath.

“Are you Chris, I mean, Christian Bolster?” I stammer.

“Yes I am,” he responds, in a deep, sultry voice with the

faintest hint of an English accent. “I have a meeting with Brian Quint

to finalize my contract and set up my account. Is he in?” he asks.

Getting a grip on my emotions, I dial Brian’s extension.

“He’ll be right out,” I respond after hanging up the phone. “Let me

4

show you to our conference room.”

I rise from my chair and walk ahead of him, conscious of

his eyes on my legs, ass, and back. The air is on at sixty-five

degrees in the office, but I’m burning up. I show Christian into the

conference room, offer coffee or tea, which he declines, and then

close the door behind me. I feel faint.

“Sheila?!” Where is that bitch when I need her? I switch

the phones to auto-attendant for a minute, finally find my

coworker, and drag her into the hallway.

“It’s him!” I whisper frantically. I’m freaking out.

“Who?” she asks. “What are you talking about? What’s

the matter with you?” I am visibly shaking.

“It’s the guy from my dreams—Mr. Muscles!”

Sheila stared at me in shock. “No! No way. It’s not

possible! Where is he?”

Placing my hand against my racing heart, I say, “In the

conference room, waiting on Brian for his meeting—he’s the new

client!”

Sheila goes back through the hallway and peaks into the

conference moon. “Oh…my…God! Can we trade?” She was

practically drooling, the hussy.

“What am I supposed to do?” I ask her.

“Calm down, Michael.” I take a deep breath. “Now, tell me

everything,” she prompts.

I tell her what has happened, and just the re-telling makes

my knees go weak. I collapse against a wall, breathless.

“How am I going to make it to the end of the day?” I whine.

“Focus, Michael!” Sheila shakes me a little. “You only

have two hours left—you have to do this!” As she walks back to

her desk, she casually adds, “And if he asks you out on a date,

you fuckin’ better say yes!”

So, I head back to my desk, shaken and stirred, but

calmer. I take the phones off auto-attendant and put on my

headset. An hour later, Brian and Christian emerge from the

conference room. They shake hands, and Brian tells him that I

will take care of stamping his parking pass. With that, Brian goes

back to his office.

5

Christian gives me his parking ticket, which I stamp and

sign. As I give it back to him, his hand brushes mine and it’s like

an electric shock. I know I feel it—does he? Christian reaches for

his wallet, searching for a business card which he finds and

gives to me.

“Please call me if you need anything more in order to

finalize the documents for the new account. I’m looking forward

to working with Downtown Office Suppliers.”

He smiles and then, totally unexpected by me, he says,

“By the way, what’s your name?”

“It’s Michael. Michael Stein.”

“Well then, Michael, has anyone ever told you how

adorable you are when you’re flustered?”

I blush a deep dark red, which makes him chuckle, not

unkindly though. He even has beautiful teeth, damn it.

He leans forward and says to me, “I know this is sudden,

but, how about dinner this evening, say eight o’clock? I’ve found a

wonderful restaurant near my hotel—Houlihan’s. Care to join me?”

I can feel Sheila’s eyes boring into the back of my head,

willing me to say yes. I barely manage a nod, feeling out of my

depth for the first time in a while. I want to speak, but I’m struck

dumb.

He winks at me, smiles at Sheila, who’s sitting at her own

desk, mouth wide open, and then leaves the office. His every

stride, his scent, every feature of his oh-so-gorgeous face and

hot ass are etched in my memory forever. I’m the luckiest man

on the planet. My dreams are about to come true.

Sheila, mouth now firmly closed and grinning at me, fans

herself with one hand and gives me the thumbs up sign with the

other.

“Michael, baby, you’ve hit the jackpot!” she gushes. “You

better be ready with details on Monday.”

* * * *

What to wear, what to wear? It’s seven o’clock and I’m still

standing in front of my closet. The last time I had a hot date sans my

6

dream world, Santa Claus was skinny. Okay, I exaggerate, but not

by much. This dinner is going to be special, and I’m very nervous.

Alright, something dressy, but not trying too hard…hmmm.

I finally choose a burgundy long-sleeved shirt, black slacks, and

black Italian shoes (pinched toes be damned). Ready!

Hopping on MARTA, I take the train northbound five stops to

Arts Center station, and then walk down the hill on 15

th

Street to

Colony Square. Houlihan’s is across the street on Peachtree. It’s

eight o’clock on the dot. Christian is waiting for me at the

restaurant, standing next to the hostess. I love a man who’s always

on time. He’s wearing a cerulean blue shirt made of silk, open at

the neck to reveal hints of a strong chest, and tailored black pants

which hug his muscular legs. Blue is my new favorite color! Instead

of hoops, he’s wearing diamond studs in his ears though. Have I

mentioned that his eyes were hazel? The ensemble makes him

even more intriguing, elegant. He smiles at me.

“Hello,” he greets me.

“Hi, Christian,” I respond.

And then, to my delight, he states, “Please, call me Chris.”

He turns to the hostess and tells her we’re ready to be seated.

We’re led to a quiet corner of the restaurant, lights of nearby

buildings reflecting in the glass wall beside us.

Chris orders champagne from our waitress, and then

proposes a toast. “To new beginnings, and the promise of great

things.”

“I’ll drink to that,” I reply, clinking my glass against his.

He reaches across the table to hold my hand while we talk

about ourselves for a bit. Born and raised in London, he is the

only child of an Indian mother and a Norwegian father. His dad

works for the government as an economic advisor, and his mom

is a professor of Asian Studies at Oxford. He left home at

eighteen to travel the world, and then went to school at Harvard,

studying Business and Philosophy. After spending eight years

behind a desk, he grew weary of that world and decided to follow

his nose, literally. He has always been fascinated by scents, and

so decided to risk it all and open a ‘body’ store in Boston. Things

have escalated ever since. He’s fluent in five languages.

7

When he asks about me I say there’s not much that could

match up to what he’s done, except that I’m half German on my

father’s side, and going to The Body Shop or Bath and Body

Works is one of my favorite pastimes. He laughs out loud at my

comment, causing heads to turn our way.

He asks me when I knew I was gay. I tell him it’s

something I just felt deep down. There was no mystery for me. I

was born knowing I was different. There was never any question.

For Chris, it was a gradual process, culminating in an encounter

with a student at Harvard he just couldn’t stop thinking about.

One taste was all it took.

Throughout our meal of linguine alfredo for him and

smoked salmon for me, our legs brush against each other. The

more champagne we drink, the more I feel my inhibitions falling

away; frankly, though, I don’t have that many. He keeps touching

my hand, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. I shiver, closing

my eyes to sink into the feeling.

When he says, “Can I take you home?” I am more than

ready.

* * * *

After generously tipping the valet, Chris drives us in his

Range Rover to my apartment. It’s not fancy, but I like to think

it’s cozy. I ask him, “Would you like to come up for some coffee?”

He smiles and says that yes, he would love to. Leading the way

to my door, I unlock it and usher him inside, closing it behind us.

Throwing my keys on the small table by the door, I invite him to

make himself at home and sit on the sofa. Coffee on my mind,

among other things, I head to the kitchen to make some for both

of us.

“How long have you been living here?” he asks when I

return to the living room and hand him his coffee.

“Five years,” I say, sitting down beside him, cradling my

own cup and reminiscing. I am lucky that my parents were willing

to co-sign on the apartment when I first moved here, helping me

get my feet on the ground after I graduated. I loved it so much I

8

decided to stay after they removed their names from the lease.

Though my apartment is small, I have splashes of color

everywhere. The sofa is a rich chocolate color and the cushions are

a bright yellow. The paintings on the walls are colorful abstracts.

“It suits my needs, and I like to keep things simple. Do you

like it?”

“I do,” he says. “It seems to reflect your personality—

colorful, down to earth, and adorable,” he adds with a slow smile.

Damn it, I’m blushing again. I give him a shy smile. As we

sip our coffee, he puts his left hand on my thigh and makes small

circles, driving me slowly insane.

Suddenly, I panic. What the hell am I doing? I don’t even

know this guy! Shit! This isn’t a dream. I’m such an idiot. I get up

so fast that I bump Chris’ elbow and he spills his coffee. He

jumps off the couch, out of the way of the hot liquid.

“I’m so sorry!” I cry out.

He looks at me with concern. “Is something wrong? Are

you alright?”

By this time, I’ve backed myself to the front door, and now

I’m leaning against it, shaking my head, eyes tightly closed. I

don’t know what to say, how to proceed. How do I…how do I

explain? Will he believe the truth?

Opening my eyes, I look at Chris and say, “I’m sorry. I

just…there’s something I need to tell you, and I don’t know

how…” I stop, unable to continue. My eyes drop to the floor,

completely mortified.

Putting the now empty coffee cup on the table in front of

the couch, Chris takes a hesitant step toward me.

“Michael, I know we just met, but I already feel a

connection building between us. Please, tell me what’s wrong.

What can I do to help? Do we need to slow down?” Chris sounds

anxious, wanting to make things right and not just looking for a

quick fuck.

I take a deep breath. Slowly, in a halting voice, I tell him

about my recurring dream.

“You see, you’re everything I ever wanted, ever dreamed

of, and I don’t know if I can trust it. Things are happening so fast,

9

I don’t think it’s fair to you, to have to live up to my dream man.

You even have a name—Mr. Muscles.”

Chris looks taken aback. “Mr. Muscles?” he asks,

incredulous.

A hollow feeling starts in the pit of my stomach. Great,

now he thinks I’m a desperate excuse for a human being, a nut

job. But then his expression becomes thoughtful, and changes to

a slow, predatory smile that spreads across his face,

accentuating his cheekbones.

“Well now,” he says as he walks slowly toward me. “Let’s

see if I have this right. I’m the man of your dreams, your Mr.

Muscles, and you’re afraid to find out that I’m just a fantasy.”

By this time, he’s standing directly in front of me, his

musky scent overwhelming my misgivings.

“One thing I should have mentioned during dinner—I love

a challenge, and you, Michael Stein, just made me the happiest

man alive.”

He touches my face with his hand, lifting my chin. I open

my eyes, mesmerized by his hazel gaze.

“Let’s see if we can make your dream man a reality.”

Before I can even register shock at this response, he

grabs my neck and presses himself against me, sealing his lips

to mine.

It’s too much and not enough. I’ve never felt so cherished,

so cared for. Slowly, Chris moves his lips over mine, from side to

side, tenderly tasting me as though I’m something precious. He

places kisses along my jaw line up to my ear, and then back

again. My hands lift of their own accord to his neck, fingers

sliding into his hair as I hold on throughout this sensuous

onslaught.

Little by little, he increases the pressure, turning my head

at an angle to take the kiss deeper. He runs his other hand down

my back to my waist and brings us even closer together,

strengthening the embrace. His tongue is now down my throat,

fucking everything inside, a mirror image of what I want him to do

to me soon. A soft whimper escapes me as I run my hands in a

feverish haste over his neck, down his back to that delectable

10

ass, and squeeze hard, grinding my hips against his.

Still kissing like it’s our last day on Earth, I move my

hands to the front of his pants and pull the zipper down as fast

as I dare, thrusting my hand inside to caress the hard bulge that

pulses steadily in my hand.

Chris breaks the kiss suddenly, both of us panting for

breath as he thrusts against my palm. I look down at his red

bikini briefs and lick my lips, dying for a taste.

Pushing him back, I kneel in front of Chris and roll down

his briefs. His cock, all nine inches of it, hard and ready for the

sucking, hits my face in its haste to reach my mouth. I rub my

face all over his glans, drops of pre-come glistening and leaving

traces on my cheeks, a smile on my face.

Chris puts a hand on my head, and I take the hint. Taking

his dick in my mouth, I slowly go down, a tight seal forcing a

groan from his lips. Hitting his pubes, I swallow once, causing

him to thrust uncontrollably. I go up and down, again and again

until he begs me to stop or he’ll come. Standing slowly, I

unbutton his shirt from bottom to top, kissing the revealed flesh

as I go along, rubbing my body and my aching cock against him

until I once again reach his mouth and crush my lips to his while

removing his shirt from his shoulders.

He returns my kisses desperately, unbuttoning my shirt

and pushing it off so it falls to the floor. He unbuttons my fly to

find that I’m not wearing any underwear. He smiles to see my

cock standing at attention, head wet and ready for his tongue.

He drops to his knees and, pushing my pants to my hips,

sucks my dick like a lollipop, desperate for the cream filling.

Fuck, he’s good at this! Right before I explode, he grabs the

base of my dick while I breathe through the pending orgasm,

trying to slow things down.

Looking up at me, he says, “Let’s take this to the

bedroom.”

Pulling him to his feet and kicking off my pants as he does

the same, I lead him from the living room down the hallway to the

foot of my bed, the room shrouded in darkness, just like my

dream.

11

The sheets still smell of my come from last night, so I

quickly remove those layers from my bed. I turn to Chris and

hold out my hand. He takes it and pulls me in, our bodies

touching from chest to thigh.

Though it’s dark in my room, I can feel the intensity of his

stare, his lust a brand on my skin. Suddenly, he shoves me onto

the bed and pushes me into the mattress landing on top of me

and ramping up my desire. Open-mouthed kisses, slick and wet,

accompany frenzied groping of each other’s bodies.

Panting, he breaks away to ask, “Lube and condom?”

Breathing heavily, I reply, “Top drawer to your left.”

As he leans over to get the stuff, I squeeze his buttocks

hard, kneading it while grinding my cock against his, moaning

aloud. I lick and bite his chest, tasting his slightly salty skin.

“Hurry, Chris. I need you, now!” Hearing my desperation, he

fumbles slightly, but manages to catch the lube and condom

before they fall on the floor.

I put my hands behind my legs and press them to my

chest, laying myself open for his pleasure. Gasping at the sight,

Chris opens the lube, slicks up two fingers and rubs my hole,

preparing to penetrate. Without warning, he thrusts them in,

twisting and rubbing, the burn so exquisite. He finds my sweet

spot and I cry out, joy gripping my insides and feeling so full.

I buck against his fingers, aggressively asking for more.

He adds more slick and puts a third finger in, then a fourth. By

this time, by body (and my mouth) are begging to be fucked.

“Please, Chris, I need it. Fuck me, fuck me now!”

My hole is dripping with lube, constant spasms begging

for something to fill it. I let go of my legs, placing my feet flat on

the bed and reach for a condom, tearing open the packet and

rolling it down his cock. A strained smile on his face, he removes

his hand from my ass, uses more lube to slick his cock, then

grabs the back of my legs and gives a hard thrust, breaching me,

all the way to the root.

“Ah!” I shout, loud enough to echo off the walls.

“Fuck, that feels good!” Chris pants, feeling the walls of

my ass grip his dick.

12

He starts to thrust slowly, head dropping back and eyes

closed. Lifting my legs, I wrap them around his waist and place

my hands over my head against the headboard, groaning in time

with each thrust.

“Harder, Chris. Make me feel it!” I yell.

He starts to speed up, pounding into me with everything

he’s got. Soon, I’m coming with a shout.

“Fuck yes!” I cry out. A few seconds later, Chris yells and I

feel his warmth through the condom, a soothing balm for an ass

well-used.

He collapses on me, but quickly rolls to the side, breathing

hard, chest heaving. I am replete, unable to move, a sigh of

contentment on my lips.

“So, did you enjoy your dessert?” I ask, a tired smile on

my face.

He laughs softly, turning over on his side, his hand

caressing my stomach.

“That was the sweetest dessert I’ve ever tasted. I hope we

can have seconds, and soon,” he chuckled.

We lay together, Chris holding me against his chest,

stroking my arm. We fall asleep for a while, sated.

In the middle of the night, he wakes me up, my back to his

chest while he slowly jacks my cock. The sensation is delicious,

and I thrust into his fist, growing harder and harder with each

pump.

Then he turns the tables on me. This man I thought the

ultimate top places a condom on me and turns over on his

stomach, ass in the air, and begs me to fuck him.

“Please, Michael. I need to feel you reaming me. Do me good!”

Utterly delighted, I respond, “At your service, sir!”

Not knowing where the lube has gone, I spit into his hole, and

plunge one finger, then two, waiting for him to stretch and relax.

Before I could add a third, he yells at me, “Do it, do it now,

Michael!”

Unable to wait any longer, I grip his hips from behind and

enter him in one long thrust, all the way to my pubes.

“Shit!” he says, feeling the burn from the penetration.

13

I rub his back, holding still while I wait for him to tell me to

move. He pushes back against me, and I feel his grip on my

cock relax a bit. I stroke in and out, fucking my dream man’s ass,

making him grunt with each entry. Mr. Muscles. It’s unbelievable!

I can’t help but move, and move fast. I come in a blinding flash of

light, rainbow colors bright and sparkling. I realize, belatedly, that

he has come, too, loud enough for the neighbors to bang on the

walls. Ha, finally the shoe is on the other foot. That’s what hot

sex should sound like, bitches!

Exhausted, we fall into each other’s arms, asleep instantly.

* * * *

Our shower the next morning is pure bliss. I am up

against the wall, legs wrapped around his waist as he pumps into

me like I’m the last man he’ll ever fuck. I rub my dick against his

chest hard, desperate for relief, and just the mixture of soap and

his smell, and, oh, just everything, makes me come like never

before, even after last night. Chris is right behind me.

Our shouts shake the walls, and I can just hear one of my

next door neighbors say, “Damn, where can we get some o’

dat?!” We both laugh aloud at that.

* * * *

A little while later, we sip our coffee at the small table in

my tiny kitchen after I’ve cleaned up the spill from last night.

We’re discussing what to do for the day.

“Well, it’s Saturday and there’s always something to do in

Atlanta,” I suggest. “We could go for a walk in Piedmont Park

and have lunch at one of the restaurants on 10

th

Street.”

“I’d like that,” Chris responds. “I’m still getting used to the

city and it would be great to get to know the area since I’ll be

here for a while, checking on my store and scoping out

possibilities for expansion.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I agree, excited at getting to spend

more time with him.

14

* * * *

After stopping by Chris’s hotel so he can change, we

spend the whole day together walking in the park, eating at

Zocalo’s, and going to the Atlanta Botanical Gardens. By the

time we return to my apartment, I want him again.

Unlocking the door, I throw my keys heaven knows where

and shove him inside. Closing the door, I slam into him up

against the wall as I savage his mouth, desperate for a taste of

heaven. Chris is right there with me, roaming hands squeezing

my ass as I press into him, rubbing hard against his groin.

Biting his bottom lip and then soothing it with a kiss, I

move my hands to the front of his shorts and pull them down to

reveal his orange bikini briefs (I think this a fetish, don’t you?).

Rubbing hard against his bulge, I lift my leg to wrap it around his

thigh, bringing us closer together as I move my hands to his hips,

my head falling back to utter a soft moan at the fantastic

sensations.

He nibbles on my collar bone, leaving a trail of wet kisses

on my neck, heading to my chest. Breathing heavily, I work to

unbutton his shirt, lifting my head and nuzzling his, placing soft

kisses on his hair. He lifts his head and leans back against the

wall, hips thrusting against mine.

Removing my leg from his waist, I kneel at his feet and

take him in my mouth, sucking on him through his underwear. He

groans and then pushes me far enough away to take out his

beautiful cock for my inspection. I suck him all the way down and

he gasps, grabbing fistfuls of hair and thrusting fast and hard

until his seed shoots into my mouth. I don’t spill a drop.

He pulls me up, kisses me on the neck and shoulders,

looking debauched with his shirt hanging off his shoulders, his

shorts at his waist. Pulling my shirt over my head, he’s already

hard again. He unbuttons my cargo pants to find that once again,

I’ve gone commando. He smiles to see my cock waving at him.

His fist surrounds my manhood in a firm grip. He jacks me hard,

telling me dirty things that just make me burn.

Leaning into him, I place both hands on either side of him

15

on the wall, thrusting, feeling that friction burning me up from the

inside out. He lifts his other hand and swipes at the tip of my

cock, bringing my cream to his lips. He spreads it on his mouth

and pulls me in to share the taste.

I’m almost ready to come when he pulls off, grabs a

condom from his pocket, and places it on me, using spit as slick.

Turning around, spread-eagled against the wall he

demands, “Fuck me, fuck me hard!”

I hesitate, not wanting to hurt him, but when I place my

hands on his ass, I notice his hole is already slick and ready for

the taking. When did he find time to do this? Fuck now, ask later.

Almost overcome with desire, I line up my dick with his hole and

take him in one single thrust. His shout echoes in the room as I

pound into him, knowing it will only be seconds before I go off.

Chris meets my every thrust, every slap of skin against skin

bringing us closer to the brink.

In the end, he beats me to it, yelling his completion just

seconds before I freeze, pumping again and again into his ass,

the pressure from his orgasm squeezing just a little bit more from

me with each clench. I guess I’ll wipe down the wall later, oh,

and the floor, and the light switch. How the hell did he get stuff

up there? Wait a minute, are those my keys with jizz all over

them? Oh well…. I hold onto him so we won’t lose our balance

and try to catch my breath. My erection subsiding, I pull out and

he turns to face me, kissing me gently and rubbing his hands

over my face and caressing my shoulders.

* * * *

As we rinse ourselves off a little while later in the shower,

it occurs to me that I didn’t dream last night. There’s no need. My

dream man has come true.

THE END

ABOUT J.D. WALKER

J.D. Walker is a lover of art in all its forms. She started

exploring her world through writing, painting and singing from an

early age, fascinated by the shapes and sounds of nature and

the vagaries of the human mind.

She loves the creative process, willing to stretch her

boundaries until they no longer exist. Each day brings a renewed

desire to try something new, or perfect an idea. To share such

colorful ideas with the world brings her joy.

ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC

JMS Books LLC is a small electronic press specializing in

gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender fiction (including erotica,

romance, and young adult), as well as popular and literary

fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. While our preference is for GLBT

stories, we accept stories containing any and all sexualities, as

well as general fiction without a romantic subplot. Visit our site at

jms-books.com

for our latest releases and submission guidelines!