Aching For It Read Free

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and orifices and genitals with hot and moist mouths, spit-lubricated fingers
and twittering tongues.
    My sweat was now his sweat, and our commingled funk enveloped
us in a haze of sixty-nining. He was on his back, sucking my dick and licking
my balls dangling just above his head. I was on my knees, my face buried in his
solid, sturdy ass cheeks, my tongue dining ravenously inside his tight hole.
    “Damn, baby, I love you so much,” I managed to say between
eating his ass and sucking his dick.
    “I love you too, Papi ,” I heard him say, over and
over, with panting and smacking and slurping.
    And then it was happening. I knew I was near. I knew, and he
knew that he was near too. Desperately I turned myself around and climbed his
straining body. I was on top of him, kissing him hungrily, and he was kissing
me with equal hunger. Our dicks, sandwiched between us, were rock-hard and
ready to explode as we grinded each other into an intense heat.
    “Ah! Ah! Ah!” he shrieked passionately as he shot hot cum
against my dick and stomach, against his stomach, flooding the airless crevices
that barely existed between our entwined bodies.
    And before his rod was drained, my panting cries announced
the second coming—my bucking, braying coming. The flames of intolerable bliss
shot through my quivering body as I held him, kissed him desperately, shook
savagely, cried his name and exploded furiously—gloriously—into that hot,
delicious milk of his. I dumped what seemed a bucketful as I twisted and
shouted on top of him, deliriously lost in the love puddle we had birthed. He
held me tightly, laughing and crying as much as I, until the storm of ecstasy
had calmed.
    Still…very still.
    We lay there oh so still on the floor. Me on top of him, his
arms around me, my head on his chest, his heart pounding vigorously, as fast as
mine.
    And still it wasn’t over. That first night of our reunion,
lovemaking seemed even more intense than that first night we’d shared a month
earlier.
    And so all night long we fucked like yard dogs and loved
like saints. We found new ways to thrill each other with new heights of amorous
gratification, and under the light of the midnight moon, we lay naked on the
deserted beach and made love to the rhythm of the flowing and ebbing waves.
    Back in our room, we attempted to wean ourselves from the
blistering and bliss-filled heat of our passion in the shower, but even the
tepid-to-cool water that rained upon us couldn’t put out the fire we ignited
over and over with our kissing and soaping and sucking and cleansing and
licking and fucking. We grew dangerously close to the scorch of unbearable
pleasure, but our hearts gave us no choice. Our carnal expressions of love new
and immortal were commands from our rapture we gladly obeyed.
    Each night we fell asleep in each other’s arms. Each morning
we awoke, still embraced.
    That all too brief time together couldn’t quench the thirst
we had for each other. Our moments on the beach; during candlelight dinners
when knowing mariachi underscored our telling glances; in each other’s arms,
minds, bodies, souls and hearts created a pact of eternalness that we knew not
even death could tear apart, though time loomed as a too strict overseer.
    “Would you come live with me in America?” I asked him as we
lay in each other’s arms two days before it was time for me to leave.
    “I would live with you anywhere,” he answered with a
sweetness I had come to know as simply his nature.
    He then kissed me so gently I drew faint and floated
heavenward, buoyed by the flutter of an angel’s slow wings embracing us just
below my out-of-body soaring.
    Those last two days together suddenly gleamed with hope that
we both knew would be a dream come true only with great determination and
fortitude. Neither one of us was unaware of the hurdles that stood ahead. The
United States immigration laws are hardest on third-world people of color from
poor countries, and our