Valentines, Bruce, Love, Romance, Bed, Trip to Cabin
(Four days late for Valentine's day, but here you go. Enjoy!)
We came into a clearing and I saw the cabin for a moment, only because the darkness was split by a brilliant flash of blue-white lightning, and then I lost the cabin from view. I was barely able to make out anything through the windshield of the truck. The windshield wipers were whipping back and forth on their highest setting, and still it was not enough. The rain cascaded down the windshield in waves. I’d closed my eyes through many parts of the long drive, trusting that he could see from his vantage point, and I tried to ignore the long, rough road we had been climbing, and the severity of the storm.
He pulled up to the front porch. Another flash of lightning revealed rocking chairs on their sides and hanging planters swinging wildly in the wind. A huge gust made the truck lurch. “Here!” he said. We had to talk loudly to be heard over the wind and rain and the noise of the engine. “You take the keys and open the door! I’ll get the bags out.” He turned off the ignition and picked a key from the many on the key ring and handed the entire set to me.
I nodded, took the keys, took in a deep breath, and opened my door. As I exited the truck, I was hit by a blast of wind and rain. I was amazed. I had never seen a storm like this except for a few back home that were preludes to tornadoes. Fat raindrops pelted my face, and I knew it was going to be one of those situations where, no matter how fast I ran, I was going to get soaked in a matter of seconds. I dashed around the front of the truck. I saw him open his door and barely heard him yell, “Don’t slip!”
I thought to myself that he was sweet to be so concerned and that I was perfectly capable of running in the rain. And then I hit a patch of slippery mud right in front of the stairs. And I slipped. I fell hands first into a great big dirty puddle. I was so embarrassed. I stood quickly. I heard the truck door slam. He was already out of the truck, getting drenched, a frightened look on his face.
“I’m ok!” I shouted, and I scampered up the steps, got to the door, and realized I no longer had the keys.
He came up behind me. We were both soaked.
“David!” I yelled. A huge bolt of lightning lit up half the sky with an electric blue blaze. The thunder was instantaneous, and frightening; an explosion. I felt stupid, and feeble. I looked down at the small pond I’d fallen into. “I…I think…I must have dropped them in the puddle!”
He looked at the puddle and then shook his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he yelled. A long blast of wind made us lean into it. “We’ll look for them tomorrow! I have a spare key to the cabin.” He reached inside his pocket, took out a single key, and opened the door.
I stepped in first. I felt for a light switch. He found it first and flipped the switch, and nothing happened. A monstrous blast of wind made the porch roof creak. The rain flew horizontally. The rocking chairs slid an inch or two.
He turned, closed the door, and we both sighed…and then panted…relieved to finally be indoors. He flipped the switch again. Nothing.
“Ohhh man, of all the screamin’…dumb luck!”
In the darkness, I whispered, “I’m sorry I dropped the keys,”
“No, don’t you worry now. We know where they are. They’re not lost. We’ll fish ‘em out in the morning.”
“But we can’t get in the truck,” I said. “We can’t get our suitcases.”
“Well now…” he said, trying to comfort me. “The important thing is we’re here, and we can make do.”
A long flash of lightning illuminated the interior of the cabin, and for a second I saw windows on the opposite wall, a dining table, a sofa and some chairs situated around a great stone fireplace to our right, and a hallway to our left.
“Now don’t you worry,” he said. He kissed me on the forehead. “You stay right here…” he moved in the direction of the sofa. “And I’m gonna see if—” He bumped into something.
Now it was my turn to say, “Don’t fall. Please.”
“I won’t,” he answered. “Let’s see…,” I could hear him fumbling in the darkness. “I always leave the matches on top of the mantel here…but I don’t remember…Here they are.”
I saw him crouch down in the light of a single match. There was newspaper folded up on the hearth. He crumpled some paper and stuffed it under the grate and lit it. In the light of the growing fire, he put more paper underneath and then piled kindling on top. It snapped and crackled, and within a minute there was a small blaze before him. He took three pieces of split wood from the pile next to the hearth and carefully placed them in the flaming kindling. “The storm must have knocked the power out,” he said. “I have a spare generator in the shed out back, but…uh…the keys to the shed are in my jacket.”
“And your jacket’s in the truck,” I said.
“Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow,” he said. He stood and held his body stiffly, like someone not only wet, but cold. I shivered. It's one thing to be wet, but still another to be wet and cold.
The room took on a stark and golden glow. I could see the fixtures of the room now. It was a very small cabin, and I liked it. This large room was the living room and dining room all in one. The huge stone fireplace was the focus. The sofa and chairs were huge, overstuffed, leather giants that seemed a bit too big for the average man, but perfect for his towering frame. They were situated closely around an American Indian style rug in front of the hearth. There was a huge bookcase packed with books along the wall next to the hallway. The room smelled of cedar and pine. It all seemed to just beg you to choose a book, cocoon yourself in a blanket in one of the big chairs, and read or snooze in front of the fire.
Only the frightening howl of the wind and the rain pelting the windows ruined the image.
“Come on over here by the fire,” he said.
I went over to him, holding my upper arms against the chill. He put his hands on my shoulders and turned me to face the fire.
“Now you stay right here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m just gonna go see if I can’t find the keys in that puddle.”
“No, David! It’s—”
“I’m already wet. It won’t—”
“No! No, it’s dangerous out there!”
“Aw, heck,” he said. “I’ve been out in storms like this.”
“So have I,” I said. “And it’s dangerous. Trees could fall—”
“We’re in a clearing. There’s lots of space around us. Even if one did fall—”
“No! David, no! The lightning is dangerous. They used to issue warnings back home. They’d advise everybody to stay indoors.”
“I’m just gonna be a minute or two.”
“No! If you’re going out there, I’m going with you.” And I marched over to him.
“I don’t want anything to happen to you! Please.”
“Bruce, nothing is going to happen to me.”
“David!” I whined. “You go out there and I’m going with you.”
There was a huge roll of thunder, and then a boom so loud that we both instinctively ducked.
“Uh huh,” I said. “See? You said yourself: the keys aren’t lost. We’ll get them in the morning.”
“We’re inside,” I continued. “We have a fire…plenty of wood. If one of us were to get hurt, we’re hours from help. We have no power, no phone.”
He bowed his head and sighed again.
“I’m right,” I said.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “You’re right.” He raised his head and looked into my eyes. He brushed the wet hair from my forehead. “You go over there by the fire. I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?”
“Hold on a second,” he said, and he disappeared down the hallway.
I was scared. I was afraid he was going to go out some other door, but in a few seconds I heard him calling to me.
“It’s too cold to sleep in the bedroom,” he yelled. I heard him go into another room. “So….” And then he came back into the living room, his arms filled with blankets he had stripped from the bed. He dumped them on the sofa. On his return trip, his arms were filled with pillows. He dumped those on the rug in front of the fireplace. And finally, he returned a third time dragging a huge mattress. “So…,” he repeated, “…I thought we could sleep here tonight. In front of the fire.”
“Oh!” I said, smiling. “That’s a good idea.” My teeth were chattering.
I left one of the windows open in the bedroom, so we can have some fresh air. But we'll be warm in here."
He piled the pillows up against the sofa which was now a makeshift headboard. He took a coarse, white blanket and spread it out on top of the mattress, and we both tucked it in tightly underneath.
“Okay,” he said. “Now let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”
My eyes went wide. “But…I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Well,” he began. “We’re both adults. And I don’t want you to catch your death of pneumonia. You can wrap yourself in some blankets.” He grabbed my belt buckle and loosened it.
“Aw now don’t you go getting’ all shy on me now. Drastic times call for drastic measures.”
“Lift your arms up.”
I smiled. “You’re taking advantage of me.”
He stopped, and looked very somber. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You’re right. That’s kind of selfish of me. I’m just trying to make light of the situation and not thinking—”
“No, no!” I smiled and lowered my head. Shyly and quietly, I said, “I…I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”
Now he had a big grin on his face. He grabbed the hem of my wet t-shirt. I lifted my arms. He peeled it up over my head. I knelt down and untied my shoes and kicked them off. He made me sit down on the floor and he peeled off my socks and then helped me out of my wet, heavy jeans. I stood, and he grabbed a blanket and spread it in front of me, giving me a shield of privacy as I stripped off my soaking wet briefs. Then he stepped forward, and wrapped the blanket around me…tenderly…silently. I looked up into his eyes. He wouldn’t look at me. He took another blanket and slowly stroked my head with it, drying my hair as best he could. And then he turned me again to face the fire.
“Better?” he asked.
I smiled at him. I nodded. “Yes. Better.”
“And now?” I asked.
He raised his eyebrows. “Now?”
“Now you,” I said. “You’re soaked.”
“Oh,” he said, and he smiled. He hesitated for a moment, and I thought it strange. He seemed shy all of a sudden. He reached for his belt buckle, and then seemed to change his mind. He grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and began to pull it over his head. It rolled up halfway and then the wet cloth stuck to itself. Dry, the shirt clung to him snugly. Wet, it adhered to him.
“Here,” I said. “Let me help you.” I went behind him and pulled the back of his shirt to the tops of his shoulders. I had to let go of my blanket with one hand, and I felt strange. I felt so naked. Some part of me felt so vulnerable letting him see me naked, but it wasn’t my body that felt on display. I felt as though my innermost feelings, my longing heart would be heard if I uncovered myself.
I stepped back and continued to enjoy the show. He was naked from the waist up, and the sight took my breath away. He was wet. He was glistening. His hair, which was usually neatly combed, was dripping and glossy. He hadn’t shaved that morning and there was nearly two days growth of stubble on his jaw. Standing there, in wet jeans that gripped every curve and bulge, he was devastating. As powerful as a hit of whiskey. The warmth flooded my body. My thought processes stopped. All I could do was stare and marvel at him.
He pulled off his boots and peeled off his socks. He undid his belt and carefully extricated himself from the dripping jeans. I thought about offering a blanket, or holding one up for him as he had done for me, but I can honestly say that I was paralyzed. It was almost as though I was watching something supernatural…a Greek god or a superhero…something impossibly beautiful. And then he straightened up to toss his wet jeans by the hearth, and my heart skipped a beat. He was wearing bikini style briefs made of white cotton…wet white cotton…and they too clung to every curve and bulge in semi-transparent splendor. I know my mouth dropped open, not in shock, but in amazement at the size, and even more so, the beautiful hypermasculinity of him, the perfection of form coupled with the exaggeration of everything about him. He was huge in every way, but never freakish.
He gazed up through downturned brows, and he caught me looking, and I was surprised to find, not me, but him looking uneasy. He casually turned away from me, bent over slightly, and pulled those thin, clinging, moist briefs down past his buttocks, and then slid them down his huge, wondrous thighs, and finally, he stepped out of them and he tossed them by the hearth with the rest of our clothes. He was definitely uncomfortable being naked. I don’t how I could tell. Maybe it was the uneasy silence in the room despite the pounding rain and the shriek of the wind. He reached for a blanket, and began drying himself. I don’t know what possessed me, but I went up to him and put my hand on his shoulder.
“Let me help you,” I said.
“Oh. No. I…I can—”
I didn’t wait for an answer. I took the blanket from him and then I took his hand in mine and led him over to the fire. There he was in front of me, glorious and naked in the firelight. Awesome in his maleness and charming in his nervousness.
“It’s not so cold once you’re out of the wet clothes,” I said.
“Quite so,” he said with a sudden British accent. “I-I mean…yes. No!” he said with his usual Texas drawl. “No, it’s not nearly so cold. Once you’re out of the, uh...the wet clothes.”
I dried his back, his butt, his legs, and then I moved in front of him and had him extend one arm to the side. I took my time drying it, and took even longer drying the other. I dried his chest, and I dried between his legs and I was quite proud of myself because not once did I lose my rhythm with the towel. I didn’t stare. I forced my mouth to stay closed, even though I wanted to gape, to kiss, to nuzzle everything between his thighs. I dried his feet carefully, and then I stood and handed him the damp blanket.
He looked down at me with the most serious look on his face.
“Um…” he began. “Can I…?” He motioned with his hands. “Should I, uh, d-dry you?”
“If you want,” I said, smiling.
He took my blanket from my shoulders, and let it fall to the floor. I stood there looking up at him. He stood there, looking down at me. He put his huge hands on my shoulders and softly caressed my upper arms.
“You seem pretty dry…already,” he whispered.
I said nothing.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Oh god,” he whispered. “Oh Bruce.”
I waited for an answer.
He opened his eyes. He was breathing faster. He looked into my eyes. He had an expression of fear on is face.
I stepped closer to him, touching the front of my body to his and gazing up at those blue eyes that lost none of their aqua brilliance in the golden flicker of the flames.
“Oh Bruce,” he whispered again. “You’re so beautiful.” He sighed. He brushed the hair from my forehead and stroked my cheek with the back of his fingers.
“How can you say that?” I asked, smiling. “You of all people. Have you looked in the mirror lately? You—”
“Your eyes,” he said. “And your hair.” He brushed it away from my forehead again. “And your smile.” Now he smiled. “We almost went over the side of a cliff because I couldn’t…I wanted to watch while you were sleeping in the truck.”
I laughed quietly.
He grinned. Quickly, his face returned to that frightened, somber countenance. “Um….” He looked away nervously. “D-do you think…do you think that, uh….”
“Do you think that we should, um...”
“Well I was thinking that maybe, um…maybe we should…c-cuddle.”
“To keep warm, that is.”
“Of course,” I said. “I’d like that very much.” We took a few steps over to the couch, and the he stopped in his tracks. He had the most unsuitable, ferociously frightened look on his face.
“David, what’s wrong?”
He closed his eyes, and his hands were in fists. I have never seen anything so charming in my life. This huge mountain of muscle, scared to death, hyperventilating. Steeling himself for something.
“May I…may I kiss you?”
I couldn't tell you what I felt in those next few seconds. I felt everything. Joy and pity that someone like him could somehow be reduced to a nervous, stuttering, charmingly shy mountain of a man. I'm sure that no one had ever said no to him in his life, but right now he looked terrified. Those blue eyes were huge. He was lost. This was all new to him. I felt honored. To be the first one to hear those words...May I kiss you...from a man such as this...it made my head spin. It made my cock swell! It broke my heart to see him standing there, naked and wet and cold, waiting for permission...for a kiss. I was smiling uncontrollably. My cheeks were cramping. I nodded. The next minute seemed to stretch and fall away from reality. His smile gradually returned. He looked into my eyes, but every now and then his gaze would dart to my hair, or my shoulders, or my mouth. I don't feel either of us made any conscious effort to kiss. We just released ourselves, as though bringing the oars of our will into a boat, and then we stopped trying, and let ourselves be moved by some mysterious, silent current. We didn't rush. I think we both knew that we were going to kiss. There was no question about it. So we spent that long minute gazing at each other's faces and eyes and smiles until our eyes began to close, and the last thing I remember seeing were his eyes closing, and his head tilting, and his massive arms rising to envelop me.
I was amazed at how gentle it was. So soft. So careful. So not wanting to end. A kiss that had a beginning in a flash of lightning that I could see through my closed eyelids, and then a long, long, long, long roll of thunder that slowly rose from everywhere and just kept rumbling through the world. I held my breath for what I'm sure was the longest expanse of time I've ever gone without air, and I felt strangely sustained, as though my last breath was charmed and could last forever. While my heart and soul and mind soared, my body surged with a fire that made me blush. To say it was unexpected sounds absurd. I mean, look who was kissing me! Look at the chest I was pressed up against! Look at the arms that had wrapped themselves around me, and at the size of the hand that cupped the entire back of my head and held it still. But the explosion of lust took me by surprise...the suddenness of it. In the space of a few heartbeats, my cock began to stiffen and rise. My skin seemed to come alive. I wondered how I would ever find any self control. I wanted his hands all over me. I wanted his mouth and tongue to show no mercy. I wanted his cock to ravage me.
We both whimpered, and then we both smiled at our breathlessness. And then he quite literally swept me off my feet, fell to his knees, and then he laid me gently on the mattress and he propped himself up over me, his chest over mine, and his Herculean arms on either side of my shoulders. He looked down at me, smiling gently, and then he shifted his hips up against my thigh and pressed his cock against me. I held my breath at the touch of it. It was huge and rigid, and there was something strangely liberating in the thought that both of us were experiencing that touch at the same time, and the acknowledgement of that bolt of lust was somehow tranquilizing. Like the kiss that we both knew would come, so we both knew that the prodigious cock between us would soon take our breath away and make us both cry out in ecstasy.
He shifted his weight to one arm, and brushed my hair from my forehead. "God, you're beautiful," he whispered.
I looked at him as though he was crazy.,
"No. You are," he said. "I just...I could just look at you all day."
"No. Really." His eyes darted to my shoulders, my hands, my hips, my legs, and then back to my eyes. "Really. There's...there's just something about you." He stroked my arm, and then ran his fingers down my torso and stroked my thighs over and over again. "I...you remind me of something lithe, and sleek, and strong. Like a gazelle."
He smiled. "Yeah." His hands sailed up and down my thighs. "I love looking at your legs. In a way, I think they're more fascinating than mine because--"
"Could that be?"
He laughed. "No...I-I mean...I mean mine are...powerful, but blatantly so, you know? Yours are subtle. You...can...see the muscles. No doubt about it. But they're sleek. So firm and strong. When you move, it's that little flash of flex that just takes my breath away."
"No! Really." His hand moved to my chest and shoulders. "You have a young man's muscles. Everybody says I look like a Greek god, but actually you look more like a Greek god."
Again, I looked at him as though he was crazy.
"Well, maybe I look like Hercules, but you...you look like a young Apollo. And I swear...my heart just skips a beat and I get all shaky just knowing...thinking that I have a young god underneath me, all golden and firm. And warm. Gosh...your eyes...how could anybody...possess such bright, glorious, green eyes. They're like jewels."
"No, really! I mean...I mean I know that sounds corny, but I mean...it's rare. It's rare to have that shade of green. I've never seen anybody with eyes like yours, so in that respect, it's like seeing someone wearing, you know, a famous diamond...something sparkly that you never get tired of looking at, that no one else in the world has, that you can't find anywhere else. They're treasures. I swear I could just look at your eyes for hours and hours and hours."
I looked up into his, into those brilliant, blue, light aquamarines...into that rarest shade of sky blue with just a breath of green, into those glittering gems that draw you in and wreak havoc on your mind as you struggle to pin down the exact color, that elusive shade of light but deep aqua blue. When you look at David's eyes, you realize that you've never seen eyes like that before. The color is truly singular. It's not just the shade of blue, it's the lightness, almost a paleness. I think that's part of the fascination...when you realize that he does not have the vivid sapphires you think he has when you see him in a photo or at a distance; he has aquamarines.
"And your hair...." His fingers went through the waves on my forehead. "You've got such..." His voice trailed off. "...pretty......hair." His big paw fumbled with my hair, and he studied me with a fascination I found amazing.
But more amazing was the sense of innocence about him...about us. Here I was, naked and erect, one step away from frantically jacking myself off, and yet I was content to lie there beneath him. Maybe it was because, like our kiss, I knew what was going to happen. There was no rush. Maybe it was because the terrible throbbing in my cock, the wanting of his big, warm hands and his mouth on it, the sexual ache of it all, was bittersweet. To be so close and not be touching, really touching with abandon, was something to be savored for a while.
Finally, he took his gaze from mine and hung his head, and whispered, "Bruce? Can I...can I make love to you?"
I held my breath and nodded.
He looked at me. "All night long?"
I nodded. My heart began to pound.
"Can I touch...every part of you?"
I nodded. My cock throbbed. He pressed his cock against my thigh, harder, and then he lifted his hips and rolled towards me. "I promise...I won't hurt you," he said reverently.
I couldn't speak to answer him.
He straddled my hips. I felt the weight and heat and firmness of his cock lodge between my thighs, right under my balls. He lowered his body against mine and cradled my head in the crook of his elbow. His forearm was my pillow, and then I closed my eyes and felt his kiss.
This time, our mouths parted. He thrust his hips, dragging his huge cock against the warm skin of my inner thighs, and then he whimpered. I let my hands sail down his back, and he gasped and held his breath, and moaned, out of control.
To make David beg for a kiss. To make him whimper. To make him lose control.
I felt that the thunder and lightning were envious of me.