Can You Come Out Tonight?

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We had been planning to attend the conference for months. The new department chair, Sam Patel, had convinced me it was good politics to see people and be seen there. Interestingly, we seemed to become friendlier by discussing our upcoming trip, sort of like a great adventure we shared.

Since we are both happily married, I suggested we get together with our respective spouses for dinner and drinks sometime. Sam always responded positively, but it never seemed to happen.

One oddity occurred after a staff meeting when I stopped in the men’s room and Sam followed.

“I have to go, too.”

Despite two rows of unoccupied urinals, Sam stood at the one right next to mine and brushed up against me, his widespread leg touching mine as well as his elbow jabbing my arm. It was awkwardly erotic.

I thought nothing of Sam’s insistence that we book one room with twin beds to save the department money. Yet we ran the risk of exposing personal habits—from leaving toothpaste uncapped to farting freely—which could strain our collegial relationship.

We checked into the hotel after deplaning mid-afternoon and had a couple of hours of free time before the opening night banquet. That was when Sam demonstrated one of his personal habits that took me by surprise. As soon as we settled down in our hotel room, Sam stripped and paraded around naked.

I tried to take his nudity in stride, not reacting. I wanted to ask if it was a Hindu or Indian custom, but thought better of it.

I also tried not to look at his private parts. Nevertheless, my eyes wandered to his nicely shaped brown penis and firm, round testicles. He was uncircumcised and the bulge of his head was hidden underneath a smoothly skinned hood. I was sure he caught me looking at his manly attributes.

When Sam bent over to show off his hard-bottomed ass, the idea occurred to me that he was advertising himself. Since I had never crossed that particular line, I gave myself a surprise when I stood up and felt a pinch as the tip of my penis stuck to my underwear. Sammy Patel had turned me o after all.

At the banquet, we didn’t even sit together, and so I was surprised when Sam asked me if I had had enough around ten o’clock and suggested we go back to the room.

We opened the liquor cabinet and shared a nightcap while planning which conference session we would attend tomorrow. In short order, we took turns peeing and tooth-brushing and got ready for bed. I put on striped pajamas and Sam went in the buff.

After turning off the lights, I rolled onto my side, facing the wall, and was taken by surprise when Sam got under the covers in bed with me.

“What the…?”

Sam said, “Don’t talk.”

Before I could object or resist, Sam wrapped his fingers around my dick with one hand and cupped my balls with the other.

I said, “I’m not gay, you now.”

He said, “Neither am I, Matt.”

I breathed in his masculine odor, which came particularly strongly to my nostrils, as I felt my erection growing under his touch. Then he began to kiss and lick my penis.

Even though Sam was looking up at me, coquettishly fluttering his lashes, I closed my eyes as he wrapped my phallus with his velvety tongue, moist lips, and toasty warm mouth. After five minutes of delicious blow job, I heard myself squealing with orgasmic delight.

Then Sam Patel kissed me on the lips and I tasted my own spunk as he got up and went to sleep in the other bed.

In the morning, we didn’t speak of our night of man-love. However, I asked Sam, “What’s the Hindu take on homosexuality?”

“The traditionalists of all creeds agree that it is an abomination, like fundamentalist Christians and Muslims.”

I nodded as he seemed to be detached from the question.

“Samsara, the process of becoming free from birth and death, involves separating the soul from the body. All sexuality is of the body.”

The conversation went no further and nothing more was said about sex for the rest of our day together.

We ate dinner at the bar with a group of colleagues and barely acknowledged one another till it was time to leave. We rode the crowded elevator together with Sam’s leg rubbing against mine. No words were spoken, but the sexual tension enveloped us.

Nervously, I got into bed, wearing only my boxers, and waited for Sam to finish his nighttime ablutions in the bathroom. Without a moment’s hesitation, Sam joined me in bed. This time he started by kissing me—first my cheeks and neck, then insisting I offer my lips, and finally sucking my tongue.

“Two men kissing usually grosses me out,” I confessed.

Sam laughed, “You liked it, though, didn’t you?”

Before I could answer, Sam left a trail of fleeting kisses from collarbone to my chest to my nipples to my stomach to my belly button to my groin to my thighs to my pubic fuzz. By the time he started sucking my cock, I was so frenzied I shot a wad almost instantaneously. He slathered my juices all over my half-limp dingus and continued sucking it until I firmed up and came again.

Just like the previous night, Sam slept in his own bed. The only difference was that he called his wife and spoke to her in a hushed murmur in the darkened room.

The next night, I expected to have sex with Sam, but he threw me a curve.

“I think you’ll agree that I’ve been doing all the giving,” he said, touching me affectionately with his thumb and forefinger against my cheek. “Now it’s your turn.”

Instead of going down on him, Sam instructed me to jerk him off while we made out naked under the covers. He spewed all over our bellies twice before her moved his fingers toward my butt and asked me to do the same. His ass was warm, tight, and juicy. I tried not to jab too hard, but he vigorously fingered my asshole and licked my funk afterward.

At breakfast the next day, Sam showed me a picture of his wife. She was a Bollywood beauty with sharp features and jet black hair. I found her defined sideburns and moustache exotically erotic and wondered if she shaved under her arms and between her legs. I should have known, however, that my endowments and prowess would pale in comparison to Sam Patel’s. The fourth night of our wild and sensual conference would confirm which one of us was the alpha male.

I knew Sam wanted me to perform oral on him, but I was surprised that he coaxed me to go down on him during a brief respite before dinnertime.

Sam was standing over me with his superior height, as I knelt and began to make love to his manhood. He instructed me to gently stroke its length and squeeze its girth, as I rolled back his greyish brown foreskin. I ogled the cleaved bulb of his cockhead.

“Kiss it, lick it, and kiss it again.”

I did as I was told and quickly started to bob my head and suck him, unconsciously imitating my wife blowing me at home. Shortly, the difference became apparent—Sam’s testosterone aura intoxicated me and stoked my passion to pleasure him. His extra-large dick exploded in my mouth and choked me with a flood of tangy, hot syrup, which I swallowed with difficulty.

A few hours later, Sam waited for me in bed with his sticky wicket pointing skyward. I assumed he wanted me to give him head again, but instead he went down on me. Pumping my cock and sucking me off on the edge of the bed with the lights still on. Then he nudged me to roll over.

With a jar of petroleum jelly and a three-pack of supersized condoms, Sam made me his bitch. He fucked my ass three times, pausing only to change condoms and jerk me off. He screwed me senseless and I experienced my first buttgasm.

Last week I had never gone gay. Now I was falling in love.

On the plane ride home, I didn’t know whether I should declare my love for Sam or tell him we had to end it. He said nothing.

Shortly after takeoff, Sam grabbed a pillow and blanket for me and the same for himself. A few minutes later, his hands probed beneath my blanket, finding my little dick. I reached over and grabbed the object of my ardor sprouting from his crotch.

The flight attendant apparently noticed our hand movements in each other’s laps. She leaned over to whisper in my ear, touching the lobe with her red lipstick, so that I could smell her cologne, telltale cigarette smoke, and minty breath.

“Be discreet, honey,” she whispered intimately.

“Is sex allowed on a plane?”

“Only silent orgasms,” she said with a straight face.

I took that as an omen. Whatever comes, be discreet. I texted my wife, telling her that I was on my way home and missed her.

Then I covered my head with the blanket and sucked my manly lover’s cock at 30,000 feet.

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