Red Heart Bowl

Red Heart Bowl

3.1 7
by Bobby Michaels
Mike, NFL Quarterback, and Dan, former Marine, grew up together and fell in love--but can't admit that to each other. Each time, they end up fighting. Finally, Mike makes Dan an offer he can't refuse! Publisher's Notice: Red Heart Bowl is a homoerotic love story and as such has content that may be objectionable to some readers: m/m sexual practices.]


Mike, NFL Quarterback, and Dan, former Marine, grew up together and fell in love--but can't admit that to each other. Each time, they end up fighting. Finally, Mike makes Dan an offer he can't refuse! Publisher's Notice: Red Heart Bowl is a homoerotic love story and as such has content that may be objectionable to some readers: m/m sexual practices.]

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Chapter One

"Coach Miller?"

I heard a voice calling my name that Thursday morning and looked up from my desk where I had been busily pulling together the line-up for the next night's game--the final game of the season against Central City High, our team's traditional arch-rival. They had been our rivals even when I had been a wide receiver here at Northeast High, home of the Mustangs. I had to admit that it caused some very strange feelings in me to be teaching and coaching football in the very high school that was the scene some of the best and worst experiences of my life. Even after teaching here for four years now, there were times that I completely forgot I was faculty and would still feel like I was a student. In fact, I'd had caught myself a couple of times trying to park in the student parking lot instead of the faculty one.

"Uhh ... you are Coach Miller, right?"

The man standing in the doorway was obviously out of place in a high school locker room. His dark hair was immaculately groomed and his black shoes polished to a high shine. From the looks of it, his dark, pin-striped suit and what looked like a cashmere overcoat probably cost more than I had paid for my used pickup truck. In fact, the cuff-links alone probably could have paid the mortgage on my one-bedroom apartment for several months. I couldn't imagine what he was doing here, or what he wanted with me.

"Yeah, I'm Coach Miller. And you are...?"

"Dennis Hamilton."

He stepped into the room as I rose from my desk, offering his hand. The grip was firm, even though I could see that, at six-foot-four, I was at least half a foot taller and maybe fifty pounds heavier. None of that weightwas fat. I still wore the same size jeans that I did when I played high school ball, and I still worked out religiously. Relatively young for a head coach at twenty-six, I used my muscular development and strength to keep my young players struggling to keep up with me. It also didn't hurt in maintaining discipline among them.

After shaking hands, he handed me his card, and I could see that Mr. Hamilton was an attorney who was also an agent for sports and entertainment celebrities. His office address was in Beverly Hills, California.

"You're a long way from home. What can I do for you, Mr. Hamilton?"

"Actually, Coach, it's more what I can do for you and your team. I believe you know Michael Vincent."

Though said somewhat softly, the mere mention of that name jolted me as if Mr. Hamilton had backhanded me across the face. Michael Vincent--Heisman Trophy winner, number one NFL draft pick, and two years previously, Super Bowl winning quarterback of the New Mexico Cougars--the youngest quarterback to ever accomplish this feat.

More importantly, Mike, as I knew him, was the former quarterback of the Northeast High Mustangs and my best friend all through elementary and high school. In fact, Mike and I had grown up together, living just two houses away from each other. There wasn't a time when I didn't know Mike, our mothers being best friends and pregnant at the same time. Though they claim they didn't do anything to make it happen, Mike and I were even born on the very same day in the very same hospital. I'm almost surprised our mothers didn't share the same delivery room.

Know him? No. Knew him. Knew him like a twin brother, spending our entire lives growing up together like we were joined at the hip. I was an only child and Mike might as well have been, having only an older sister. We practically lived at each other's houses and became the brother that neither of us had, that is until high school graduation and Mike went on to a football scholarship at Ohio State, and I joined the United States Marine Corps.

I had been nothing more than an average student and a slightly better-than-average wide receiver, so there was no football scholarship waiting for me, and since my dad had died during my senior year, there was no money to send me to college, either. During the four years I spent on active duty in the Corps, however, I managed to earn a Bachelor's degree. Mike, however, went on to fame and fortune, and we grew apart to the point that the only thing I had heard from Mike in the six years since he'd joined the NFL were Christmas cards without any personal message or signature, just his name printed on the inside.

"Yes, I know him," I answered, noncommittally. "So?"

"I am, as my card indicates, Mr. Vincent's agent. He has asked me, if you'll pardon the cliché, to make you an offer you can't refuse."

Mr. Hamilton said this with a grin and the voice of a mobster à la Marlon Brando. At that point, I realized that Mike's name, coming as it did "out of the blue," so disconcerted me that I had forgotten my manners.

"Please, Mr. Hamilton. Have a seat," I said, sitting back down in my desk chair and indicating the chair in front of my desk. "And just exactly what kind of offer would that be?"

"Have you heard about the Red Heart Bowl?"

"Yes, I understand from what I've read and heard about it that it's an invitational charity bowl for top college football players that's to be held after the Super Bowl. It's supposed to benefit children, I believe."

"That's right. But not just children, Coach. The proceeds from the bowl game will go to a foundation for children with AIDS. Mr. Vincent has taken on the role of spokesman for the event."

"Mike always did like kids," I said, trying desperately to hide any bitterness in my voice.

"Uhh ... yes." Mr. Hamilton looked at me oddly. "At any rate, I'm here because Mr. Vincent wants to fly you and your entire team to the Red Heart Bowl as his guests. Not only that, but you will also be Mr. Vincent's guests at the post-game awards dinner. All this, as well as a personal donation from Mr. Vincent to Northeast High's athletic program of one hundred thousand dollars."

I just sat there staring at him. I was stunned, to say the least. After all this time, suddenly Mike was making an offer, which truly, I couldn't refuse. It seemed almost too good to be true. However, that's what bothered me about it. My dad, a shrewd businessman, always had told me that if something sounded too good to be true, it probably was. Something I'd learned the hard way a couple of times while on leave overseas.

"Not that I'm not interested in Mike's very generous offer, but I have to ask--what's the catch?"

"No 'catch,' Coach Miller. The offer is exactly as I've stated it."

"But ... but why? Why is Mike doing this? Why now?"

"Mr. Vincent did not choose to inform me of his motives. However, he did tell me that he thought you might ask about them. To that end, I have been asked to give you this."

And saying this, he withdrew an envelope from an inner pocket of his suit, handing it to me across the desk. I opened the envelope and found several items. The first was from something called Skyline Jets, Inc. It was a computer printout for a chartered round-trip flight to New York City on something called a Gulfstream IV-SP for next Friday with a return on Sunday night. The second was a business letter on embossed stationery from the Soho Grand Hotel stating that there was a reservation for the Penthouse Loft North for Friday and Saturday nights for Messrs. Michael Vincent and Daniel Miller. Finally, there was a ticket for a sky-box at Shea Stadium for Sunday afternoon for the game between the New York Jets and the New Mexico Cougars.

"I don't understand?"

I looked up at Mr. Hamilton in confusion.

"The Cougars are playing the Jets a week from Sunday. Mr. Vincent wishes you to be his guest for that weekend in New York. He told me to tell you that he would answer any and all of your questions at that time." Mr. Hamilton stood and again offered me his hand across my desk. I shook his hand, all the time shaking my head in confusion at this turn of events. "It has been good meeting you, Coach Miller, however I must be back in LA by this evening. I hope that you'll enjoy your time in New York. However, if you find yourself unable to make it, please call my office in Beverly Hills. At any rate, I'll see you at the Red Heart Bowl in February."

And with this, he swept from the room, leaving me sitting there dazed, confused, but above all, pensive. I thought that I'd never see or hear from Mike Vincent again, and quite frankly, I had been okay with that. After all, it wasn't like we had anything in common anymore. I was just an ex-jarhead high school teacher and football coach, and he was a multi-millionaire sports mega-star. From what I'd read in some of the sports magazines, Mike probably spent more on shoes than I made in a year.

However, there was more to it than that. The contact between Mike and me hadn't stopped at graduation. It actually continued through my first two years of being in the Corps. Then I got leave, and Mike invited me to spend a week of it with him in his off-campus apartment at Ohio State.

That's when everything between Mike and me went to hell.

* * * *

Chapter Two

Growing up, Mike and I had been pretty typical little boys. We weren't the "Holy Terrors" that Mike's sister claimed we were, but we weren't angels, either. We got into our share of scrapes and trouble, but through it all, there was one thing that we could count on and that was each other. I always had Mike's back, and he had mine. There wasn't a day that we didn't spend together. There were even damned few nights that we didn't spend together, sleeping at one or the other's house. In fact, that's exactly how our parents kept us in line. The mere threat of not being allowed to see each other was enough to stop whatever behavior that our parents found offensive and that we usually thought was fun.

What kept us from really getting in trouble, however, was our love of sports. T-ball, Little League, Pee-Wee League football--you name it, we played it. It seemed like Mike and I couldn't think of anything better than running around, sweating our asses off, trying to be the best there was at whatever sport we were involved in. Mike, who had way more natural talent than I did, succeeded far more often than me as well. About the only thing I ever beat him in was puberty.

It was perfectly natural for Mike and I to take baths and showers together when we were growing up. We saw each other naked a lot and didn't think anything about it. However, when we got to be about eleven or twelve, that all changed. All of a sudden, we both got real shy with each other. We began taking showers separately when we slept over each other's houses. Since our elementary school was comprised of kindergarten through eighth grades, nobody took showers in school until high school. This meant that we didn't see each other naked again for a couple of years.

By that time, our bodies had done a lot of changing. We'd both had growth spurts, though there were more to come, and there was now hair growing on places on our bodies that we never expected it to. Mike and I came to find out from each other later that we both, about this time, discovered on our own not only that our cocks would get hard for no apparent reason, but the very pleasurable activity which made them go down again--at least for a little while.

Because of all the years we'd spent growing up together, it didn't take Mike or me very long to adjust to being naked in front of other guys in our gym classes or before and after football practice when we changed into or out of our uniforms, or when we showered. We still didn't go back to taking showers together when we were sleeping over at each other's houses, but gone was the shyness between us and casual nudity was an accepted rule. So casual, in fact, that it was not unusual for us to bone up in front of each other during our almost constant discussions about sex and not be the least bit embarrassed by it.

Eventually, of course, this led to us jacking off together. Oh, we never touched each other. That was absolutely out of the question! But we took to borrowing porn tapes from our parents (who had no idea we were doing it) and watching them while they were out for the evening, and we were all alone. That's when we discovered that Mike and I had one big difference--I could shoot cum, and he couldn't. At least not for about six months after I started. It frustrated Mike to no end that we would jack off together, and we would both achieve orgasm, but I would be able to shoot a few drop of white cum on my belly while Mike came up dry.

It bothered the shit out of me, too. First of all, because throughout our lives, up until that time, Mike had always been the natural leader between us and me his most loyal follower. I didn't feel comfortable at all in the role of being more mature than Mike. Second, I really loved Mike, and it bothered me to see him so upset and down on himself. Even though our dads had given us "The Talk" and explained that different guys developed at different rates, it sure didn't make either of us feel any better that I had developed faster than Mike--at least in that one area.

Well, there was another way that I had developed differently than Mike had, but I never discussed that with him. It was about the time that I started to jack off that I noticed that I began to look at other guys differently as well. At first, I just put it down to curiosity, but then I noticed that all of my masturbation fantasies were about other guys--especially other naked guys. And there was one naked guy that I thought about more than any other--Mike. Try as I might, I just couldn't get the thought of Mike's naked, muscular body out of my head--especially when I was jacking off.

Of course, I knew what this meant, but I wasn't ready to admit this to anyone--not even myself. I think that was part of the reason that I ended up choosing to go into the Marine Corps. God knows, I wasn't the first guy to go into the Corps looking to straighten himself out. In fact, I ran into a number of them.

By the time our junior year came around, Mike and I were both on varsity. He was back-up quarterback, and I was a wide receiver. We also were both starting to get hit on by girls. This thrilled Mike to no end, but caused a lot of mixed emotions in me. On one hand, on the rare occasion that we were able to get one or the other of our parents' cars, we did a lot of double dating. This at least afforded me the chance to have Mike around--especially when we would park with our dates. There was just no way I could get turned on by a girl unless he was around. However, at the same time, I had to watch Mike holding and kissing some girl, when the whole time, what I wanted more than anything else in the world was for him to hold and kiss me.

I was, at that point, seventeen years old, and two things had become perfectly clear to me--I was queer, and worse--I was in love with my best friend who was straight.

This went on until the middle of our senior year, when all of a sudden, one late January day, I was pulled out of class and sent to the office. When I got there, Mike--along with his mom and dad--were waiting for me. At first, I couldn't understand what was going on. Then Mike put his hands on my shoulders and forced me to look into his eyes. He spoke slowly and quietly to me.

"Dan, your dad had a heart attack. I'm sorry, man. He's gone."

"What do you mean?"

"He's gone. He's dead."

Dead? I thought to myself. How could that be? I just saw him this morning on my way out the door to school!

But I could see the look on Mike's face. He had never lied to me in all the years we'd known each other, and I didn't figure he was lying, then. I don't remember much of what happened after that. I know I must have broken down crying, because the next thing I knew Mike had his arms around me, holding me and walking me out of the school. Even in the car on the way home, Mike never took his arms from around me, and that night, as we slept in my bed together, Mike did the one thing he'd never done that I had always wanted him to do--he held me while I slept with my head on his chest and my arms wrapped around him.

Mike slept with me like that for more than a week, while the whole, horrible ritual of death ground slowly but inevitably on. He stood by my side while I had to stand by my dad's coffin for hours during the barbaric custom of "the viewing." He sat beside me in the chapel of the funeral home during the interminable funeral service. He again stood beside me while they lowered my dad's coffin into the ground. Finally, he borrowed his dad's car and took me away from the house and all the mourners who had gathered there after the funeral.

I remember we drove around that afternoon, not saying much of anything. We finally ended up, of all places, sitting in the empty bleachers of the empty football field at our high school. I guess it was the place outside of each other's homes that was the most comfortable to us. It was that day that I first talked with Mike about possibly joining the Marines. Now that my father was dead, I knew that there wasn't going to be any money to send me to college, and I knew there was nothing in our small community for me. With Mike going off to college in Ohio, I just wanted to be gone, too. Gone--as far away as I could get from the memories. Gone--away from who and what I was and how I felt about Mike.

Unfortunately, it didn't exactly work out that way.

* * * *

Chapter Three

For the next week, I had a constant, running argument with myself as to whether I would go to New York and meet Mike. Basically, on one hand, I wanted to, because deep down inside, I was still as in love with him as I had ever been. On the other hand, what happened when I visited him in Columbus, Ohio, while he was in college, still haunted me.

I'd had an entire month of leave coming to me, and I'd decided to spend the first week of it with Mike since he had spring break, so he would be off the entire time. We had been writing and phoning each other for the last two years while I was in the Corps, and he was at college. Actually, for the first year, I did all the calling, because I was the one who could afford it. Then, after Mike moved to his own apartment off-campus, he started calling me. I wasn't a great one for writing letters, but Mike was. Most of those came from him. He would tell me all about campus life and how things were going for him on the football team. While he would casually mention dating, it never seemed like he ever dated the same girl for very long. That was a pattern he'd developed in high school as well. I just figured he didn't want to get tied down.

At any rate, I flew to Columbus, and Mike met my plane. When I reached the terminal, he was standing there waiting for me. I still recognized him, but he'd changed. First of all, he was a lot bigger than he'd been in high school, and that was saying something. I could see that he'd really packed on the muscle so that his body was even more beautiful than I remembered it. Second, his hair was quite a bit longer than it had been in high school. I guess he didn't have a lot of money for haircuts, or he just let it grow. As a Marine who wore a typical "high and tight," I noticed how much longer civilian males wore their hair.

The first thing Mike and I did was grab each other in a long, strong bear-hug. It was like we didn't want to let each other go. I know I didn't want to let him go. I loved the fact that I was once again smelling his scent and holding his beautiful, muscular body against mine--something I'd never gotten to do very much. Of course, my view on it was that if Mike would let me hold him twenty-four hours a day, every day, it still wouldn't have been enough for me. However, Mike didn't seem any more eager to let go of me, either, and I could have sworn I heard him taking deep inhalations of my scent as well.

I guess we finally figured out that we were in public, however, and unclasped each other. However, we did the normal "punch-each-other-in-the-shoulder" thing that guys do to show that they care about each other. We also did the typical "guy-thing" of just standing there grinning at each other, so much to say and not able to get a fucking word out. Finally Mike led me outside to the parking lot.

He was driving an old beat-up pick-up truck, and we threw my duffle bag in the back. I climbed in beside him, and he did something that totally shocked me for a moment. He reached down and squeezed high up my thigh, almost to my crotch, with his hand, while he looked into my eyes and told me how much he'd missed me and how glad he was to have me there. It shocked me because, first of all, Mike had never touched me like that, in so intimate an area. Secondly, he didn't seem in any hurry to move his hand, either. Of course, I didn't want him to move it, but I couldn't understand what kind of a message he was trying to give me.

When we got to his apartment, that message got clearer. He took my duffle on into the bedroom saying I would be sleeping there with him. Not even an offer to let me sleep on the couch. Mike was absolutely determined to have me in bed with him--not that I objected in any way. It just was somewhat disconcerting, because I had changed a lot since I'd last seen Mike.

Boot camp, as anyone who has ever been through it can tell you, is hell. Anyone who makes it through deserves respect just for accomplishing that feat. My time in boot camp had been hell, but it had also been a very frustrating heaven as well. You see, if you were into guys, it was an incredibly erotic atmosphere to be in. First of all, there was the total reek of testosterone and male sweat. That was something I had discovered I loved back in high school in the locker room. The scent of my sweaty teammates would have me boned hard in a heartbeat if I didn't watch myself. Of course, the scent I loved most in the world was Mike's, and thanks to him spending so many nights in my bed or me in his, I got to know it as well or better than my own. However, the locker room had nothing on a Marine Corps barracks. Football practice was sweaty and exhausting, but it was a walk in the park compared to a twelve-mile "hump" with a sixty-pound pack on your back. Sweat? It poured off everybody like water over Victoria Falls.

Secondly, there was the eye-candy of forty or so naked, hard-bodied Marine recruits around you twenty-four/seven. You certainly got an education in male anatomy--especially in male organs. I saw every shape, size, and color I think exists in human males. Long, short, thick, thin, straight, bent, cut, and uncut--they were all on display every morning as healthy young male animals awoke with the typical "piss-hard."

And last, but not least, it was an entirely masculine world. Nothing but males as far as the eye could see. Even in high school that only existed on the sport teams, but in the Marine Corps, you lived it all day, all night. For a lover of males, it is just about the definition of heaven. And hell. Because, ultimately, there is all that beautiful male flesh and scent around you, and you can't do anything with any of them. At least, not during boot camp.

However, boot camp does forge some of the strongest friendships between males that I think have ever been. You literally learn to rely on your Marine "buddy" to save your very life. Maybe it's that closeness, that camaraderie, which is the reason that sometimes, there is more than just friendship that happens.

For me, that special friend was Beau, or more properly, Beauregard Jefferson Latour. He was from the deep South, from the bayou country of Louisiana, and he was the most incredibly beautiful male I'd ever seen in my life. I wasn't ugly or anything, and certainly, Mike was a really good-looking guy, but Beau made both of us look like a Toyota Corolla next to a Chevy Corvette.

He was tall--at least six-foot-four or five. His hair, what there was left of it after the Corps' barbers gave him a regulation "high and tight," was golden blond, and he had the deepest green eyes I'd ever seen in my life. His body was perfection. Broad shoulders, thickly muscled arms and chest, rippling abs, and thick, sturdy thighs. The rigors of Marine basic training generally improves the look of the body of almost any recruit that goes through it. I know it did mine. But if it did any perfecting on Beau, it was impossible to see, because as far as I was concerned, he never needed any improving to begin with.

It was purely luck that had Beau assigned as not only the "bunk-buddy" who slept in the upper bunk to my lower, but also assigned as my "buddy" for all training and maneuvers. Our friendship was almost immediate--mostly I think because I came to worship the ground that Beau walked on. I never knew a braver, more "squared-away" Marine my entire time of enlistment. And I did everything I could to be just like him. For his part, Beau told me that he had always wanted a younger brother, but had been "cursed" with four older sisters, and so, since he was six months older and maybe one inch taller than me, I became that younger brother he never had.

Nothing ever happened in boot camp, but when we graduated, all of us were given seventy-two hour passes. Beau and I spent ours in a cheap motel right off base. That weekend was a revelation to me. I suddenly found out what it was like to have sex with another guy, and it was the most mind-blowing experience of my life. I have to hand it to Beau, his seduction of me started in a very Marine Corps way--direct assault. At one point, as we sat on the bed that first afternoon, laughing, joking, and getting drunk, Beau suddenly got very quiet and was just sitting there staring at me. I got very uncomfortable very quickly, until he finally opened his mouth and spoke.

"Damned if you ain't jest about the cutest fuckin' Marine grunt I ever did see."

Before I could really process this statement, Beau leaned over and kissed me hard and passionately, his tongue boring its way into my mouth before I even had a chance to think about it. Now, there were several things I guess I could have done at that point, but the one that I did, without even thinking, was to throw my arms around him and kiss him back just as hard.

That was the start of it. During the rest of that weekend, I got to know every nook and cranny of Beau's body with my hands, fingers, lips, tongue, and nose. From kissing my mouth, Beau went on to kiss just about every place on my body there was to reach, including my tits, my cock, my balls, and finally, my asshole. I never even dreamed that anybody could or would do something like that, but when Beau jammed his long, thick tongue up my ass, I let out a groan like he was killing me. But it wasn't a groan of pain. It was a groan of pure animal bliss. The groan of pain came later when he shoved his fucking huge, uncut horse cock up that same hole and nailed me to the bed for an hour. However, by the time he was done slamming his cock into my ass, I'd come three times without either of us even touching my cock. I also learned to love eating out his ass and then shoving my thick, cut cock up it.

During that weekend and the two years that Beau and I served together, he taught me two very valuable lessons--how to make love to another guy, and more importantly, how to feel good about yourself for wanting to and doing it. Beau also had introduced me to a lot of other jarheads who were as horny and interested in it as I was. Beau and I still had sex, but we also had sex with other jarheads as well, sometimes in three-ways, sometimes separately. Beau and I were the best of friends, and we were "fuck-buds," but we weren't lovers. I don't think Beau was interested in that kind of a relationship, and I didn't have any choice. I was still in love with Mike, and like the Marine Corps motto says, Semper Fidelis--Always Faithful.

That first day with Mike sped by with us talking a blue streak to each other about our lives. I told him about the Corps, about boot camp, about Beau, and about the two times that we had gone on deployment--once to the Persian Gulf and once to the Pacific Rim. He told me about school, but mostly we talked football--the one passion above all others that we shared. I found out that, even as a sophomore, Mike was already the back-up quarterback. It was entirely possible that he would be the quarterback of the team the following year. More than that, a couple of NFL teams had already been nosing around, not actually scouting him so much as keeping an eye on his performance.

We went out to dinner, and I paid for it. Even though both of us were underage, we had no trouble getting a beer with dinner. I never got "carded." People saw the uniform and never asked. I guess they believed that if I was old enough to fight and die for this country, I was damned sure old enough to have a beer. But, just like the old days, Mike was in training, so he only had one and I wasn't that big a drinker, either, despite Beau's attempts to make me one, so I only had one as well. We went back to the apartment and talked some more until it was about ten o'clock. Mike asked me what I wanted to do, and I looked at him sheepishly.

"To be honest, what I'd like most is to hit the rack. One thing you learn in the Corps is to grab sleep whenever and wherever you can because you never get enough of it."

"That's fine with me. I'm used to getting up early, anyway. I usually do a five-mile run every morning."

"Then I'll join you, because I'm used to early morning PT as well."

"You want to shower now or in the morning? I usually wait until morning, after my run."

"Fine with me. I'm used to being in a barracks full of guys. If you can put up with my smell, I sure can put up with yours."

I said this grinning, so that Mike would think I was making a joke, but I wasn't. I wanted, more than anything, to have him in bed next to me and to smell his scent again. I had smelled it when we had hugged at the airport and had caught whiffs of it all day, but I still wanted more. I wanted as much as I could get. One thing I had noticed, Mike's scent had changed. Gone was the redolence of an adolescent. Now he smelled more like a man, and I loved that scent even more.

What I wasn't expecting, when we went into the bedroom, was how small the bed was. I don't know why, but I thought Mike would have either a king-size, or at least, a queen-sized bed. Instead, he had a full-sized, or what my mother used to call a double bed. For two guys our size, it was going to cause us to sleep almost on top of one another--not that I was objecting, but I wasn't sure how comfortable we were going to be, that close to one another. Despite all the times we'd slept together, except for that week after my dad died when I'd slept in Mike's arms every night, we'd never come close to touching each other in bed.

What surprised me even more was that when Mike began taking off his clothes, he didn't stop until he was naked and then began to climb into bed. Evidently he had started sleeping naked sometime. I felt blood starting to flow to my cock the minute that Mike's full naked body came into view. It truly was magnificent. From all of the muscle development that I could see, I could tell that he'd done a lot of work on it. Indeed, his body was now the equal of Beau's. But what was even more exciting was that, just like his scent, his body was that of a man--not a boy anymore.

I stripped down and climbed into bed beside him, naked as well. After all, I felt like he had given me permission by his actions. What I did happen to notice, however, was that Mike seemed as interested in looking at my body as I had been in his. I took my time taking off my clothes, and even, once I was naked, folded them and put them on a chair across the room, giving Mike the view of both the front and back of me. I could feel his eyes boring into me from behind the whole way to the chair, and on the way back, could see that his eyes never left my body, and they seemed to be drinking in every detail of my musculature, especially my favorite muscle between my legs.

I slid under the covers beside him, and his body was so close, I could feel the warmth pouring from it. Between that and his scent, my cock instantly became aroused, so I turned over on my side, facing him, so that it wouldn't cause a tent in the covers. Mike, on the other hand, lay on his back and put his hands behind his head. This opened up his pits to me, and his scent began to surround me. This finished the job of making me bone-hard. Marines learn to sleep anytime, anyplace, and I was going to need every bit of that training in order to get any sleep that night.

Mike reached over and turned out the light. We lay there in the darkness for a few moments. I was feeling the warmth of his body next to mine and smelling his scent when his voice came out of the darkness.

"I'm really glad you're here. It's nice sharing a bed with you again after all this time."

"Yeah. It is just like old times, isn't it? I'm glad to be here, too."

We said goodnight at that point, and I quickly drifted off to sleep.

* * * *

Chapter Four

I don't know how long I had been asleep, but I suddenly was awakened by strong, muscular arms wrapping themselves around me and the feeling of a massive body pressed to the back of mine, with a very hard cock nudging against my ass. I could also feel soft, warm breaths caressing the back of my neck. Sometime in the night, I had turned over so that I was now facing away from Mike and was facing the outside of the bed instead. Mike had one arm slid under the pillow so I was basically lying with my head on his bicep. His other arm had slid beneath my own, his hand firmly planted on my chest.

I didn't move, and my breath didn't change perceptively. I waited to see where, if anywhere, Mike was going to go with this. There was still the chance that he was asleep and didn't realize what he was doing, only reacting to another warm body in bed next to his, but I doubted it. The move seemed too calculated, too complete--unless he was sleeping with someone else in his bed regularly who he was used to being affectionate with. If such a person existed, he'd certainly never mentioned them in any of his letters or any time we had talked.

It didn't take long for me to figure out that Mike was awake. Instead of staying still, his hand on my chest began to move, slowly and gently stroking me, feeling my chest muscles, and even tweaking lightly at my nipples. Then his hand began to slide slowly down my torso, feeling the ridges of my abs, and then entangling his fingers in the dark pubic hair surrounding my, by now, rampant cock. At the same time, his tongue was licking the back of my neck, tasting my skin, and sending shivers of pleasure through me. I couldn't pretend to be asleep much longer with all that I was feeling. Then his hand moved up and grasped my hard cock, and I gave a groan of such deep pleasure that there was no way I could pretend to be asleep.

"Are you really sure you want to be doing this?" I figured I'd better at least let him know that I was fully aware of what was going on.

"I've wanted to do this for a very long time. Do you want me to stop?"

"Fuck, no! I want to make sure that you know what you're starting here."

"I'm holding in my arms the one guy that I've wanted for most of my life. I figure you want this, too, or you would have broken my arm by now. Aren't Marines trained to be able to kill with their bare hands?"

"Yeah, we are. But we know how to have sex with our whole bodies."

I chuckled as I said this, and he did, too. I figured at this point I'd had enough of having him behind me so I turned over and slid my arms around him. We looked at each other in the dim light cast through the bedroom window by a street lamp. Our faces slowly moved toward each other, and for the first time, our lips met. It started out gently, so gently that I could barely feel his lips against mine, but the kind of hunger that we'd built up for each other over our lifetimes couldn't leave the kiss gentle for long. In only moments, we were all but devouring each other, our tongues dueling as we explored the taste of each other.

I slid my hand down to his incredibly muscular butt and pulled him toward me so that our hard cocks were grinding against each other, spilling out their slickness so that both our groins and abs were coated with the wetness. Our cocks slid against each other, and Mike groaned into my mouth. I could hear the raw, male need in that moan and realized that he wasn't going to last long. If we wanted to do more than this, then we were going to have to get to it.

To that end, I pulled back from his mouth, and instead, attacked his throat, licking and sucking at it. I quickly moved down to where I was sucking on the skin of his magnificent pecs moving closer to his impossibly tiny, dime-sized areoles. I sucked at them, and his nipples erected, becoming hard little bumps. He groaned loudly. Evidently he liked that. But I was moving on. There was so much more of him I wanted to taste.

I slid down the bed, taking his cock into my mouth. To say that Mike was a mouthful was to do him a disservice. He was way more than a mouthful. Hard. Thick. Long. Beautiful. These were words that came to mind. What I found most interesting, however, was the fact that the head of his cock was quite small. In fact, the thick shaft of his cock had far more diameter than the head. The head sat on the top of this thick, rigid phallus almost like a cherry on top of a sundae.

I licked across it with my tongue, tasting his pre-cum. It was salty and sweet, far more sweet than salty. Thanks to the excellent instruction that Beau had given me, I just slid down Mike's cock until it was buried deep in my throat.

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