Twenty five years ago an asian friend came up to my country house an hour north of NYC on a lark. And we astonished each other with the depth and breadth of our interest in each other’s bodies and openings. Then he spent time in Italy and found and left a lover in NYC.
And met the two of us, my husband and I, at the Leslie Lohman museum several times. It was obvious the attraction was threefold. I'd some vague hope to refresh the memories of my cock sinking in under the weight of my lust and the magnetism of his desire into him again. Who’d of thunk it that my husband now would be the one to make this happen - to reunite us, again with lust, multiplied by two?
Our Asian friend arrived, dressed in black. A gossamer light down jacket, silk scarf. He came, he said - "for the table". Yes, he is among those many mesmerized by The Table - for they understand that a massage table is the best platform for pleasure.
Utterly smooth. Tiny powerful nips. Mouth that betrayed a canyon of carnal pleasures lurking within. Making out? hah! we spent our time making our way into each other - and beyond. Ever-hard, with a precum fountain. He knew what to do, shedding his clothes easily and climbing onto the table - laid out for the taking.
Our four hands soon smoothing out his utterly taught skin. What do you do first? The table knows.
So I stayed in a quiet meditative state. And received an immediate answer: I dove like an olympian diver into his crack chewing and piercing and licking my way into his hole. Gasps from him. Total ecstasy on its way. So much for formalities.
His butt rose, achieving a life of its own. Moving, swaying, now fucking my face. A great bott always does the fucking. All through the evening we had no idea who was fucking whom, obliterating top/bott, dom/sub - what are those guys smoking, the ones who love classifications so much? Have they ever lost their way in a lover’s ass, in his mouth, somewhere between his nips, between his toes, nibbling his ears?
My Italian stallion in the meantime had deposited ounces of precum in our guest’s hand which was cupping his balls and scoping our the Sard stud monster dik. Recently measured out at 7.5” circumference x 7.5” length by our Latino lover when he made a silicone model of it. As I readied my landing gear to explore this great hole of Asia, Italy moved on the map to offer Bigus Dikus to Asia's mouth. The map of our worlds came alive.
Now our action seemed a blur. Me fucking him at last, raw, for he’d gone on Truvada to prevent HIV. His last gift to himself was to permit himself utter freedom to probe the global sexual possibilities in NYC before returning to the lock stock and barrel restrictions of life in Asia.
Of course, New York. Now documented by an incredible book unlocking the secrets of how social, political, economic and sexual freedom were rooted and nurtured in those crucial 70 years under the Dutch: “The Island at the Center of the World”.
His holes were now worm holes to new worlds of our making.
We switched my fucking his face for my fucking his butt (excuse me: being fucked by his butt) over and over, losing count. Then all of a sudden simply resting on each other as our sweat evaporated slowly. Now powerfully massaging whatever tissues proved to be handy, him tweaking, grazing, pulling, pressuring my nips as I did his. Then tag teaming yet different combinations that only 2 + 1 can provide.
How much time had gone by? An hour? hour and a half? This session timed out at six hours.
How strange notions of age are. Unlike our traditionally “retired” & “put out to pasture” peers for we seem to become younger the more we fuck each other, the more we fuck as a team. We now molest the mouths of our lovers, stretch the muscles of their smooth bodies, eat out these asses, arm pits, feet, backs of knees, necks. Suck hungrily their cocks. Tweak, flick, grab, and twist any nip available.
Are our clocks running backwards as we rush hell’s bells forward in ecstasy? We started this journey as a couple fifteen years ago. In our first 15 seconds together I was in him and him in me. Now in our 70s we’ve the same lust engine, but far more skill, stamina, sophistication, nuanced action and bottom line pleasure than when we’d started this Odyssey.
Our cocks have pulled the rest of our bodies into line. Our lust has linked our sensual & sexual lives.
We do feel like we’re Odysseus and his lovers on a ship of pleasure encountering mythological creatures disguised as human beings representing the possibilities of human pleasure. Our clocks run backwards faster, the faster our cocks run forwards. The harder we pound our lovers asses, the longer we linger. The deeper we probe their mouths and suck their cocks, the broader our smiles. The more subtly we work their nips, the more we edge and prolong pleasure overall. The more generously we fill their cavities with our mouth’s liquids, sweat, precum and cum, the more complete and full we become.
These are but after thoughts. At this point my Italiano began fucking him in earnest as he lay across the table. Inspired I placed myself on the floor with my mouth ready to get mouth fucked by Asian dick propelled forward by my husband’s fucking. Being fucked by his torpedo dick is usually enough to make any young man come. But our Asian lover is experienced as well - and could edge as well as any of us. Plus I’d grab his balls, pressure his perineum to prevent ejaculation. And continued to have him pound the rear of my throat as my husband pounded him.
Finally all hell, and heaven, broke loose as his cum tsunami swept down my gullet only to be swirled around by my tongue saving up some for my husband’s mouth. My husband let loose his roaring tide of cum, something I feel daily usually about 4am….
We just stayed there. Now I remembered. Our Asian knew as we did that in that magic moment - unlike most men - that you don’t reach for the towels. Your world has become magic. Time’s just stopped. You’ve been visited. And you totally wallow in the body fluids and the experience of mastery, pleasure, satiation, wonderment, total mindfulness and mindlessness. I’ve no idea how long we just stayed there with my husband’s dick still hard up his ass and his still hard dick still lodged at the rear of my throat.
We helped him onto the table and gently, randomly, ran our fingers over his body, pressured points we’ve found great to feel, and cupped his balls, and kissed his ears.
For this was but a prelude. I saw my insatiable husband begin to work his ass with his fingers. And saw the ass rise to the occasion. This went on, and my fingers joined his. Slowly we fisted then jointly double fisted him - his groans encouraging us repeatedly.
Then we heard a rustling as he rummaged through his bag. We’d just gone to DefCon 4, gear. Out came those Asian treasures, the black beads stringed, the utterly white thunderously huge dildo, and silicone animations taking life with our manipulation.
At this point we all knew double penetration was ahead, for now we’re blazing down the mountain and the brakes are gone. DP is that flash point struck between two hard cocks and the swelling ass that appeared now to be consuming us as fast as we were filling it. Tossing in toys, extracting pleasure, marveling at the prowess, feeling it press against our cocks, our flat abs, our totally erect nipples, as he grabbed our ass cheeks and we slapped his ass as he penetrated our souls far more than we fucked our way into his great welcoming emptiness.
That’s the point where we broke the massage table. Not quite realizing who was on or in whom but mere wood snapped and we found ourselves slithering down his now 45 degree incline to the floor.
With this sign from on high we shifted from our playroom, now in shambles with lube and toys and towels all over, to our bedroom.
Like the playroom this we had built like all the rest of the apartment to support and promote pleasure. All of its level surfaces capable of positioning an ass are at the height of our dix.
The queen plus sized mattress is inserted into a niche carved out of the wall, nestled above two levels of captain’s bed drawers, the whole room being an 11 foot cube barely containing the pleasures within. It is built simply to permit our cocks to enter the mouths and anal canals of our lovers lying on their sides serenely grabbing our cocks, tongues, hands, and arms into their cavities filling us with pleasure as we fill them. Sideways action is the only concession we make to age, for as we do each other it’s far easier to fuck and suck from the side - and it paradise for 69ing, being spit roasted, while being fucked, or filled with toys, while being bound with leather restraints and chain, and kissed and licked and sucked every bit of skin in sight. We call this pose Penetrating the Buddha to produce nirvana and ecstatic centering as we too become the Island at the Center of the World.
Now came the acrobatics. How do Asians do it? They make us mere Europeans seem without muscle as their asses grab our dicks and fuck them mercilessly. Now he was sitting on them. Now he was sitting on my lover’s dik while he fucked my mouth once again - producing more precum than any mere mortal should possess - laced with threads of cum from before.
Cocks shouldn’t be drained of cum after orgasm for cum can be a marvelous byproduct eked out like all the other pleasures. Like a rare asian spice into this melange that’s been cooked like any great Italian sauce.
And then as he sat on my dik, wondrously rock hard throughout I felt my husband's cock slide up alongside mine inside him. Just like that. And then my husband began to fuck my dick and his ass simultaneously - which is how double penetration has to be done.
But we had one last treat: his ass began fucking our dicks together. So you have me moving mine with edged just noticeable differences, the Italian stallion plunging along side mine into the depths, and our Asian friend moving his ass up and down and then pulsing its walls on our cocks and then fully fucking our cocks while they were fucking him. That as they say is one great big royal fuck.
It's not the feat - how paltry an achievement is that? It's the multiplication of pleasure in all three of us - those are times when it's totally clear why 2 + 1 works so very well. Why it multiplies pleasure, and doesn't just add to it.
This is now the third chapter as my Italian stallion plowed his ass and gradually seeded it with his cum as Asian sperm swam merrily around my mouth as I stroked my Nordic shaft to contribute to the melange of pleasure. How many times did we actually enter him and fuck him? perhaps 15, 20, 25? who’s counting?
For now we had no idea where the pleasures were coming from as we started this slow dance of cumming into and onto each other. Fountains of Tivoli could not have danced more graciously, inevitably and powerfully as this third release of the evening. Our gasping for air and total release of tensed musculature now seen for what it was, but a comma, a dash, an ellipsis in our torrid tale.
We lay inside and on top of and glued to each other, bound now by sweat, pleasures unimaginable. Our torrid love now had become a steady hot sun and we were yet again connected by a common ecstasy for what - half an hour? I’ve no clue - no care - and no interest in such details. The clue to the depth and layering of our ecstasies is that we simply collapsed into each other as we had mounted and penetrated into each other. No thought of cleaning up, getting up, or getting out - we had arrived at that center point which makes all the sweat, pounding, muscle stretching and mindless attention worth it all. The moment was eternal, and all three of us were swimming in it with gentle smiles on our lips.
Conversation at dinner later, savoring a sauce bolognese that had taken nearly a week to make, on the noodles only Italians know how to marry with such sweet pleasures, plus a nouveau wine from the fall’s harvest - the core of pleasures remained planted in us the rest of the evening and if text msgs indicated anything... for the next 24 hours. A tsunami had swept away all daytime concerns in eternal connections.
We spent as much time unwinding the evening as we had building it up. We reached three peaks, one that broke the table, one that broke our connection to daily life, and one that drew us into one eternal state of being. And the conversation we had, the savoring of flavors, the looks into each other’s eyes - that was as intense a love making as the thunderous actions several hours earlier.
And as we parted and swam back into deep sleep we knew yet again yet more than ever that It is indeed there, alive and kicking. And that It shall return, again and again and again. That we shall revisit It - - until our very last breath gives out.
And that is what we do as lovers. And why? because we’re here, and you’re there - and because there are many ways to bridge the distance. Because simply and surely we know with each time we make love yet again, and yet even more, that It is there.