Waiting for Bobby

From: Dale Chase

Picture: Patrick King

Published in: Freshmen, July 2001

If he said five, it was always six. If he said eight, it was ten. If he said ten, he wouldn't show at all. I put up with it long enough to know exactly how he'd treat me, but still I waited. Even at ten. Even when I knew he'd probably gone elsewhere.

Bobby was it for me, a sweet little bottom who wasn't happy unless he was doing it six times a day. It made him crazy, of course, and me too. I'd never met anyone so relentless, so hungry. He didn't want to go to the movies or to restaurants, didn't care much about food. The basics were incidental to him; fucking was sustenance.

I did him the first time in the bathroom of my favorite bar. He was so goddamned blatant, starting in at the urinal when he turned to me, cock in hand, and gave me a wonderful show. He was well-hung for a little guy, and I took him into a stall and fucked him. His ass was so pink it appeared to have been paddled, or at least pummeled, and it was hot-literally. But then, all of Bobby was hot. His engine ran that way, I was to learn later on.

That first time was incredible because I discovered the perfect ass and because he came twice to my once. I'd never seen that. Never seen anything like Bobby.

I kept silent as I pumped him, thrusting joyously and savoring the sound of our sex. Bobby, meantime, worked that magnificent prick of his. When he was ready to let go, he gave a couple quick gasps, enough for me to look over his shoulder and catch the show-and what a show. That dick of his sprayed the tile in great long squirts, while mine squirmed inside his rectum. He clamped his muscle onto me as he let go and laid his head back against my shoulder, pumping his meat until he was empty. Or so I thought.

I resumed my own play, noting he was looser now, everything about him fluid, easy, and so very willing. I squeezed his hips, dug into his butt cheeks, ran my hands up his back and around to his hard little nipples, fucking steadily all the while. Doors would slam, water would run, toilets would flush. I was taking longer than usual, probably because of where we were, and loved it. I wanted to stay inside Bobby forever.

It was when I was getting close that I realized Bobby was going for seconds. It fired me to think he still had more, and I looked again as I picked up speed and saw he was hard, cock bright pink and swollen, as if he hadn't come in days. I began to slam into him and he squirmed on my cock and I knew we were going to go over together. I heard him exhale sharply just as I hit the top and I pounded him with a juicy thwack that echoed off the tile. Cream shot out of me and I still managed to see Bobby unload, amazed at his delivery. That cock of his was streaming, and it made me think of mine letting go inside him, how I had him impaled, how I fueled his explosion. When we finally were spent, I slid out of him. We didn't speak, and I watched him carefully clean his come off the wall, and only then tuck that powerful cock back into his pants. When we returned to the bar, I bought him a drink and quickly finished my own. We talked a bit and he was very attentive, but I knew he was restless. He kept looking around, cruising right there in front of me, and when he said he had to go, I watched a sandy-haired all-American boy follow him out.

I had his phone number, though, and was naive enough to believe it would make a difference, not considering that half the male population probably had it as well. It was a number I ultimately came to imagine emblazoned on hundreds of walls, spray painted onto freeway overpasses and on the sides of vacant buildings. His followers surely were legion, a kind of fucking fraternity. Everybody did Bobby.

The problem was, I tend to care about these sweet little creatures who make life pure ecstasy for a few glorious minutes. I lean toward possession and must continually remind myself that I’m a minority, that the world fucks its way along and never looks back. So, I'm willing to wait. And wait.

So one day Bobby said eight, and I'm at the bar sipping a drink and fidgeting, checking my watch all too often. It's after nine when a stunning little blond slides up next to me. "I've seen you in here before," he coos and I nod, but say nothing. "You're waiting for Bobby, aren't you?"

I have my glass at my lips and keep it there, taking an extra swallow as I try to figure out what this guy is up to. He smiles, waits. I finish my drink, set the glass on the bar, all carefully, methodically, because I don't know what to say. Things come to mind, but nothing coherent. Fragments, starts, pieces of questions I don't want to ask. I look at him again, see that he's gorgeous. Short curly blond hair, golden skin, piercing blue eyes, playful expression. T-shirt and jeans, everything snug. He's a lot like Bobby.

By 9:30, I've had another drink and adopted a what-the-hell attitude, telling myself this guy-Danny is his name-will do. Still, I won't leave just yet. I've got a hard-on because there's a hand prodding my crotch and I'm telling myself to just go fuck him, but I keep thinking of Bobby and those spectacular come shots, that insatiable quality he has.

"Ten o'clock," Danny says, squeezing my thigh. He doesn't have to elaborate on his meaning. We both know it's another no-show for Bobby. "How about coming to my place?" he adds.

I take a second, think of Bobby's sweet little butt. "Yeah, sure," I say.

Danny proves to be a remarkable substitute. Seconds after we enter his apartment it becomes obvious that he is a performer in every sense of the word. He can't wait to get naked-just himself, not me-and his pink little prick reminds me of some squirming newborn pup. He fixes me a drink and I watch his butt cheeks flex as he stands at the bar. He is never completely still, weight shifting from one foot to the other, wriggling all the while as if there's a feather up his ass. When he turns to bring me the drink, his cock is jutting out, fat little plug blushing deep pink. I take the drink-I haven't undressed, am still standing-but I don't want it. I knock back a swallow, then set it aside, drop to my knees and get my face down between his legs. I run his dick around my face, smearing pre- come, then slide my lips around it. It's a perfect mouthful and, as I begin a spirited suck, Danny expresses his approval. I pull on him and undo my jeans at the same time. "Oh, honey," Danny says when my cock springs free. It's nearly twice the size of his.

I get one hand up around his firm little sac and play with his nuts while my other strokes my own swollen meat, and for a while I'm totally blissed out, everything engaged one way or another. But then Danny says, "here it comes," and I pull back and he grabs himself and squirts cream all up and down my face. I look up at him and see his eyes wide, his mouth open, tongue extended as if he's cradling an invisible cock. I think maybe he's imagining sucking himself, and it drives me wild.

When he's done, I get him into his bedroom, where his night table is loaded with lube, toys and condoms. As I strip, he crawls onto the bed, onto his back, and lifts his legs until he's spread-eagled, pink pucker beckoning. I look down at him and don't know what to do first. I want to shove a finger up him, two fingers, three. I want to get inside and feel him, root around, poke and prod until he comes again. I also want to get my face down there, bury my nose in his balls while I jab my tongue into his hole. And, finally, I want to stick my cock in him and run it up into his bowels until I'm fucking ass and gut both.

"Do me," he begs as I pull on a condom and lube myself. Then I take a gob and push it into his hole, and he coos and wiggles and begs for more. "Cock, honey, I need cock. Give me that big dick. Get it in me!"

I haven't fucked anybody else since I hooked up with Bobby and, as I kneel, poised at this enticing rim, I wonder where my true love is at this moment. I stare at Danny's pristine little pucker and see it as Bobby's. This makes me spear him in a single stroke that unleashes everything in me, all the minutes of waiting becoming one.

As I pound this sweet little ass, it becomes a hybrid: Bobby-Danny or maybe Danny-Bobby-one I want, one I've got. I tell myself this is all I need, a tight little hole to get into, and the ride almost convinces me. Danny plays with his cock as I do him, gets it hard, and by the time I go over he's pumping frantically, face in a determined grimace. He unloads seconds before I do, the bed creaking mightily, pounding the wall in accompaniment. I thrust deep into his chute as jism squirts out of me, as the climax pulses back into my spine and down to my thighs. Danny's legs are still high when we're done, and after I pull out he stays that way a few more seconds, then slowly descends. His cock is soft but still inflamed. He pets it, soothes it.

I don't want to stay. I'm off the bed and dressed, but Danny just lies there. "You know where to find me," he says. I nod, hurry out. In the street, I fight an urge to go back to the bar and see if Bobby is there.

I call him the following morning when a sane person would call Danny. I get the machine: "Leave a number and I'll call you."

I do, but he doesn't call until nearly six. By then, I'm crazy with need. "Hey, babe, let's meet at eight, OK?"

He never says much, even when I'm with him. Conversations are one-sided and the look you get, however earnest, is just that-a look. You never know what's going on inside him, but in the long run you don't care. You're just so damned glad he showed.

"Eight. Sure, I'll be there. Can't wait."

"Bye."

So, I'm at the bar at seven because I'm too anxious to sit home. At 8:30, Danny comes in.

"Hey, how ya doing?" he says, sliding up to me. There's an empty stool, but he doesn't sit. He stands, arm resting on my shoulder. "Or is that who ya doing?" he adds.

I grin, offer a half-dismissive chuckle.

"Waiting for Bobby?" he says and I nod. "How about I wait with you?" he asks.

He orders a drink and finally perches on the stool next to me. He's rubbing my neck now, not saying much. And then his hand is in my lap and I think of Bobby, glance at the wall clock. It's 9:10.

Danny's prodding my prick and I think that if he doesn't stop, I'm gonna let go right there, but I don't tell him to quit. Instead, I turn.

"Wanna go?" he asks.

I'd like to tell him yes, but it's not that simple, never mind the hard-on. Bobby still might show and the thought of him getting that ass up for me is a powerful lure. I do battle with myself, a bird-in-the-hand sort of thing (cock-in-the-hand"), trying to convince myself not to wait, that what I have here in front of me is plenty. At 9:30 I say, "Let's go."

I'm rough with Danny this time. I don't intend to be, it just happens. I get him on the floor, pull his jeans down, and get into him, pounding until he's squealing and I'm coming. Afterward, I get up, but he just rolls onto his back and I see his puddle. He looks up at me with such patience that I hate myself. Or maybe him. Or maybe Bobby. No, never Bobby.

I leave him there on the floor and head back to the bar but, of course, Bobby isn't there. I think of him bare-assed, taking cock after cock. The only thing that bothers me about the scenario is that I'm not included.

Two days later, Bobby makes a date with me. "Seven," he says and I blurt out, "You sure?"

"Nothing in this life is sure," he chides.

"Right. See you later."

I force myself not to be early. I pace the apartment, change clothes twice, and finally allow myself to leave at 6:45. I make my entrance at seven, but no Bobby. I order a drink and begin to wait.

I push his legs high and grind into him, and he squeals and grabs his cock. "I'm gonna-" is all he manages before he unloads, and I pump all the harder because I love the sight of him at that critical moment. His whole body is going over, he's shuddering through his own personal earthquake, and I keep thrusting into him until I feel the rise. He sees it, urges me on. "Give it to me," he says. "Everything you've got." He coaxes every last drop out of me, then opens his arms and I fall against him, then slide out. We share a long, silent embrace and I look to the clock, watch one minute become another.

"Say something," Danny whispers, and he doesn't have to elaborate. He can read me, knows where I've gone.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I understand."

"Do you?" I say with genuine disbelief, and then it hits me. "You too?"

"Everybody does Bobby."

I sit up like some puppet who's just had his string yanked. Things start adding up the wrong way and I say, "Wait a minute." And then I laugh. "You're fucking Bobby," I say. It's not a question.

Danny grins, shrugs.

"So you were waiting for him too?"

"All the time. He drives me crazy."

"How long?"

"Months."

I get up off the bed.

"Hey, it doesn't matter," he says, "Besides, we're pretty good together."

I fall silent, thinking of what he's said. Danny looks sleepy. He curls onto his side away from me. I get in behind him, slip my arm around him, and he allows me to hold on.