A few years ago, Frank decided to do a little experiment and documented his progress along the way. He dubbed this experiment: Cum Across America: A Cross Country Taste Test. This is part 1 of Frank’s story.
Meet Henry
Henry is tall, lean, and distinguished. He has hair the silver color that dark brown hair goes when a guy is lucky. His eyes are pale blue and look faded in his tanned, lined face. He’s handsome, in the lean way of sailors; but he’s only a sailor part-time. I picked him because I knew him through a friend, had heard he’d be open to this sort of experiment. That and he had a summer house in Maine, where I wanted to start. I sent him an e-mail. It was a little thrill, a little jolt of electricity up my spine when I hit send, but nothing like the jittering nerves I feel know as I look him in the face. He hasn’t smiled and his handshake is like shaking hands with tree roots. He’s wearing a light blue sweater over a collared shirt and khakis, and I can’t imagine how this is going to go. My mind is a blank. The callouses of his hand are a map, permanently burnt onto my fingers.
Henry Leads Me to His Study and Tells Me We have the House to Ourselves
He nods and leads the way back to his study, a lovely room with a full scenic view of the harbor below. The light is amazing; I didn’t know anything like this was on the other side of the house. Coming up by road, the house is way up in the woods; it’s a dark drive even now in high summer, shadowed by pines all the way from the main up to the drive and the front porch. He owns ten square miles around it. For privacy, he says. It’s a nice place but it isn’t a mansion; just a little ranch-style house up a hill overlooking some of the most beautiful scenery possible, positioned to catch the sunrise coming up over the Atlantic. He says his wife is down in Bangor shopping. He says with a little amusement in his voice that what she could possibly shop for there when they live in Boston half the year he has no idea, but that’s what she says. She won’t be back until tomorrow morning. We have the evening to ourselves.
The Sexual Tension Builds
We drink his whisky and watch the opposite side of the sky from the sunset through the picture windows in his study. It’s glorious. I’ve never looked opposite the sunset. The sky turns every shade of blue before slipping down into black. When darkness is complete up here, it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I’m a hillbilly hick nothing from Nevada, and the sky is never as black as this in my desert. Never as pressing, never as close. The little lights of the boats and the bay below us are like fallen colored stars. the only light is the lamp by his chair. The window is a black pane, reflecting us back at ourselves, a little fragment of his study done in smoked glass.
I Want to Suck that Cock More than Anything in the World
He looks at me, his lean face in shadow, and I move over to where he sits, his legs a little apart, leaning back in his leather chair with his glass propped on one arm. I kneel before him. He sits there, hands on the armrests of his chair, and even though I can’t see more than the angles of his face where the lamp highlights his cheekbones I know he’s looking down at me. Waiting. I take a last gulp of whiskey and set my glass down on the carpet beside my knee, and lift my fingers to unzip his fly. My dick, feeling how afraid I am, has curled up somewhere behind my navel and my balls are trying to replace my tonsils.
Under my fingers I feel his cock stir, and my heart lurches…
That’s it for today, pets. Check back tomorrow for part 2 of Frank’s ongoing story, Cum Across America: A Cross Country Taste Test.
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