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The Other Honeymoon

By nooneyouknow

submitted June 19, 2008

Categories: Discreet Encounters

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All day I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He had been absent for the rehearsal dinner, so he definitely took me by surprise when we lined up to follow the groom across the lawn to the lattice arch that would serve as the centerpiece for the ceremony. I was third in line, and the best man and I were instructed last night to keep a space for “the groom’s cousin who couldn’t be here yet.” And today, there he was.

Out of nowhere, it seems. I had been getting my boutonniere adjusted by the wedding coordinator; and when I turned around, this tall, blond, athletic-looking hunk with the most golden smile was getting a last bachelor hug from his cousin the groom. I was in something of a daze taking in the sight when I heard the wedding coordinator clap and call us to attention.

The hunk came to stand next to me in second position, behind the best man. We gave quick greetings to each other as the woman did last checks and a string quartet somewhere around the other side of the pavilion started some classical piece of music that we were supposed to enter on. Even in that quick “Hello” he tossed me, I felt time slow just a little. And his handshake! The grip was firm, but the skin was warm and I wanted so much to hold on just a little longer. But now was not the time.

We followed the groom and the officiator (I don’t think he was actually a pastor anywhere) across the lawn and pavilion to the arch and lined up as instructed. In rehearsal, clearly I had not left enough room for the broad frame next to me, as we bumped shoulders a bit before I realized my mark on the grass was too close. Or maybe I just wanted to bump him a little. Well, there were a lot of things I wanted to do, but we didn’t even know each other’s names and none of the visions in my head would have been appropriate to act out on a bright sunny day in front of a couple hundred wedding guests and participants.

The ceremony was a mere twenty minutes, thanks to the bride’s insistence that only one of her friends would be singing, not the two dozen who had all asked, “Oh, do you need a singer?” during the past year of preparations. The happy couple joined hands, got their official presentation, and headed down the aisle to another piece by the string quartet. I took the third bridesmaid’s arm, but my eyes were on that tall blond figure with the broad shoulders who was ahead of me down the center aisle.

It was at the table of honor at the reception that I finally learned his name. Once everyone was seated, he turned and said, “Hey, I’m Justin, by the way.” I gave him my name, we shook again, he apologized for the rushed greeting earlier, I said it wasn’t a problem, and we devolved into small talk for a moment until it was time to eat.

I won’t bore you with the details of the reception. We’ve all been there, and this was a typical one. Not that I wasn’t happy for my newlywed buddy, but do you really need to know about the toast and the cake-cutting? It’s enough to say that I spent most of the time trying to act normal, not obsessed with the eye candy I spent the evening sitting next to.

In fact, I probably could have skipped most of that and gone right to the part where the bride and groom left. Those who hadn’t already had to leave now began dispersing. The best man and some of his out-of-town friends were going to hang out in the community room of the lodge playing cards and finishing the leftover champagne. I had lost sight of Justin in the shuffle, and figured I’d join the guys rather than camp out alone in my room wallowing in the fantasies I knew could never be.

The cards had barely been dealt when Justin came in, carrying a suitcase. My heart sped up a little, even though the reality was that my fantasies were no nearer to coming true just because he was still here. No one knew I was into men, I wasn’t about to reveal it here, and I wasn’t about to risk the rejection and possible humiliation by making a pass at a guy I barely knew. Who knows, he might have a tire iron in that suitcase with “This is for faggots” chiseled in it.

Justin waved as he entered. The other guys barely seemed to notice, but I waved back.

“Is room eight upstairs or downstairs?” he asked. And time stopped. My ears filled with the pounding of my heart. The grandfather clock near the lodge’s hearth joined in. I could hardly breathe. Room eight ... was my room, which explains why I had had two double beds to myself last night!

The life-long fear I’ve had of being “outed” brought me back to reality quickly. “Room eight, that’s mine, that’s upstairs to the left,” I said as cool as possible. “You need help?”

“Just this and another one, I got it,” said Justin.

I got up. “I’ll get it, not a problem.” I headed out to the parking lot, walking so high on Cloud Nine that I forgot to ask which car was his. Thankfully, one car had its trunk open with a suitcase there. Why he needed two full suitcases for one night is beyond me, but everyone’s got their quirks.

When I arrived in the room, he had his first suitcase open on the “spacious” sofa each room came with, and was undoing his necktie. “Time to get that thing off,” he said, flinging it into a corner. Then he turned and asked, “Which bed’s yours?”

“Doesn’t really matter,” I said. “Looks like they made them up today anyway.”

He smiled and threw himself on the one closer to him. I undressed him with my eyes as fast as I could before he moved from staring up at the ceiling.

“I hate weddings,” he said suddenly.

“Why’s that?” I asked, reaching for the television remote control in an effort to act natural.

“They make me so horny.”

I stopped. “What?”

“You know, the thought that the groom is getting it on right about now?”

I had no idea what to say. I fumbled: “Why not just bring your girlfriend?”

“If I had one!” he said. I was just a bit floored. A guy this hunky didn’t have swarms of girls going after him? I must have even said that out loud because he said, “Yeah, but girls in general are so ... I don’t know ... giggly? Weird? Needy? Possessive? I had a girlfriend once, but I got tired of all the catfights she and her friends would have because they were envious of her.”

“Huh,” was about all I could muster. A single guy, drop-dead gorgeous, was sharing my lodge room for the night, and was tired of girls. Well, he didn’t say it that way, but desire will warp one’s thinking.

“So yeah, think about it: Ty’s going at it right now with Donna, and here we sit,” he said, rolling over and raising himself up on one elbow so that he was facing me.

I was conscious of beginning to sweat. “Well, let’s go join them then,” I kidded. “Can’t let them have all the fun.”

He laughed at that. “Wouldn’t Ty be surprised?” The laughter rolled itself out and I continued fumbling with the remote control. “But nah, I’d never do that to a good buddy. I’ll just go shower and jack off,” he chuckled. I almost dropped the remote. I tried to be a “guy” about it: “Have fun,” I chuckled back as he got up off the bed and headed to the bathroom.

He was in there twenty minutes. The whole time, I wrestled between finding some dumb excuse to need into the bathroom where I’d “accidentally” catch a glimpse through the frosty shower glass, and telling myself any such thing would be a stupid move that might earn me a tire iron during the night.

Finally I heard the water shut off, and a minute or two of creaks and bumps from the woodwork as he dried off in there. Then he came out, just the towel wrapped around his waist. There are not words to describe him, but I can try: Perfect. He wasn’t one of these bodybuilding muscle-heads, but he was built for sure, with nicely shaped pecs, obvious biceps, abs that cried out for my fingers to run over the ripples, and who knows what else down below the towel-line. He was a fitness model in the flesh.

“Have fun?” I asked, echoing my earlier joke.

“Not yet, forgot the lube,” he said as he threw open one suitcase. The pounding came back to my ears. He pulled out the bottle. “You need some?” he smiled.

And I lost it. I completely lost it. No witty words, no capacity to fumble with the remote control, no way out of it. I just stared back. I think I licked my drying lips but I can’t recall.

There was a pause as Justin looked at me, arm outstretched with a bottle of KY lubricant in it. Then something in his face shifted. Realization, perhaps?

“You need more than just the lube, don’t you?” he asked in a tone designed to make a lover melt. “How long has it been?”

I think I managed to whisper, “Over a year,” through my dry mouth, but whatever I did say, Justin’s face carried total sympathy as he stepped over to my bed where I sat with the remote control lying limply in one hand.

“Understand, I’m not gay,” he said. “But I know what a dry spell can feel like. You reach that point where your own hand isn’t good enough and you want that human contact.”

I nodded.

“I’ve been there. So I want to help.”

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t nod, couldn’t smile, and couldn’t breathe.

And then his strong hands moved to undo his towel. He was standing right there in front of me as it dropped to the floor, revealing a beautiful sight. It would be a shallow disgrace to call it anything so low as a cock or meat or a shaft. It was a beautiful sight, and we’ll leave it at that.

There was a pause, and I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to start sucking him ... he was close enough, it would have been easy. But then he leaned over, lifted my chin just like some cheesy romantic movie, and kissed me. And it was warm, and tender, and caring. No pushing, nothing aggressive, just beautiful. Like a young suitor might respectfully kiss a sweetheart.

His hands gently worked at my tuxedo shirt buttons, slowly baring my chest to his gentle caresses. He worked one hand under the fabric and found a nipple while he continued to kiss me. I began to melt, and I think he felt that. He pulled me gently to a standing position and slowly shucked my tuxedo jacket to the floor, then pulled at my shirt until it untucked, making it easy to remove that as well. I was now topless before him.

He leaned in closer for another kiss, wrapping his arms around me so our torsos touched. His smooth skin against mine was irresistible. My own hands embraced him back, feeling his nice broad back under my fingers. We kissed for quite a while before his hands moved down to my pants and began fidgeting with the buttons. My organ was raging hard now and he could feel that quite easily through the fabric.

Soon my pants were to the floor, and I was there in just my sports briefs which were barely holding in my raging desire. He peeled those off as well, which left his face quite near my member. I gasped as I felt his wet lips suddenly engulf my shaft, and I impulsively ran my fingers through his hair. He slowly sucked, using his tongue to expert advantage. I went weak-kneed and toppled back onto the bed.

He sucked for a little bit longer as I moaned and writhed. Then he stopped and grabbed the lube from the other bed where he had set it down. I had never been the receiver for anal sex, and wasn’t quite sure I was ready for it, especially not with what he was packing.

But then he reached over and poured the lube onto my own shaft, followed by slicking up his fingertips and reaching around to his own butt. I breathed heavier in sheer anticipation as he climbed onto the bed and straddled me. We suffered the usual awkward moment as he guided my cockhead to make contact with his entry, then he smiled as he slowly placed his weight upon it until my head penetrated. I was electrified, but also slightly concerned.

“Shouldn’t I have protection?” I gasped between breaths.

“I know your type; you’re clean,” he said. He was right, but that felt like a risky attitude. A moment later, when he placed his full weight on me and my cock slid all the way up into him, I didn’t care. I would say I was in heaven but that’s so cliché.

He began rising and falling, the lube letting him glide up and down my shaft, sending electrifying sensations through me with each movement. I know these stories are supposed to talk about hours of love-making, but with over a year between my last encounter and now, I couldn’t hold back more than a few seconds. He felt it coming and smiled with satisfaction as my hips bucked and the orgasm rocked through me.

I lay on the bed, breathing heavy, as he leaned over and kissed me once more. Then he got off me and got some wash cloths from the bathroom. He gently cleaned up the lube and bodily fluids. When it was all done, he didn’t say another word; he just started climbing under the covers of the bed I was laying on.

I stared, still breathless and somewhat bewildered.

“You coming or am I sleeping alone?” he smiled.

Nothing else happened that night, but nothing needed to. I remember pointing out that he still hadn’t climaxed, himself. But he said that was fine; I would owe him, he chuckled. And that was fine by me, too. I spent the night embraced in a spooning position with perhaps the hottest guy I had ever seen in person. And that was enough for now.


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