Discovering Love

Written by Rick Beck

Chapter 57

Rehab

I dreamed that Greg fell down the stairs into the basement and lay on the floor for hours because no one was home. Then, I dreamed he fell down the stairs from his bedroom and ended up landing headfirst in the hall across from the television room where he actually was, sleeping with me during my nightmares. I don't know why I was filled with fear now that he was finally out of the hospital.

My parents conceded on a limited basis to allow me to stay up at Greg's. Their reluctant agreement came because they knew I would stay anyway and this way we didn't need to have a fight. My life had been carefully built around Greg and while they weren't clear on what was actually going on, and quite possibly this was merely a delusional state of mind of mine, it worked for me.

Both of Greg's parents had seen us cuddling and holding on to each other at any given time, and if there were objections, they weren't raised in front of me and nothing seemed different in their demeanor toward me. They were happy to have someone in the house with their son.

I finally got out of high school, graduating with Greg in attendance. He did allow Doug to push around in a wheelchair and seemed to like that mode of transport, after spending a great deal of his time objecting to it as he complained about not being a "fuckin' invalid." Nobody listened to him anymore than usual and he was often put in the chair if we went out somewhere that required his mobility. His technique with his crutches was good but he tired quickly.

All my worries about him falling down the stairs were a bit over the top because the back porch stairs were the only stairs we ever used. To go down he sat down and put his bottom on one step and then the next until he was at the bottom and was then pulled back up onto his feet. Going up was the reverse with the pulling up process taking a bit more care so he wouldn't fall back down them.

His left leg was pretty pathetic, although he could stand on his right leg for a length of time and often did for one reason or another. While pissing for instance, and I was always elected to go with him so he could lean on me and then of course, after the door to the bathroom was closed, he'd also needed help holding the leaky member. This often led to erectile dysfunction, if you're trying to piss anyway, and I'd be left holding the bag, and in this case it was stiff as a brick.

There are some benefits when you nursemaid a stud and as I would hold it, pretending I didn't know what was required, he'd make sure I didn't forget.

"I really have to pee," he said.

"I'm not stopping you," I said.

"Oh yes you are. You've got me all horny now."

"It takes getting," I said. "I thought that was your natural state."

"You know what I mean," Greg said. "Why don't you work on it so it goes soft so I can pee."

I don't know if anyone noticed how long it took Greg to pee when I accompanied him, or how often he peed on some evenings, but I'm sure they couldn't miss my wet, red lips and all the evidence that they'd been wrapped around something substantial and demanding. If we weren't polite enough to avoid having sex with them in the next room, they were at least polite enough not to bring the subject up.

I always tried to get away with a quick massaging, but after the first few days, I knew I'd ended up giving him head, until he would grab the sink, moan out warning of his impending eruption, and then shiver and shake his way through his orgasm. He would hump and pump out a significant amount of pleasure and only then remember what we were there for.

More often than not he would then be able to pee and we'd return to whatever activity we were involved in before the need for relief arose. I was always waiting for someone to ask if everything came out all right or if there was a reason it took twenty minutes for him to take a simple piss, but no one ever mentioned the amount of time we spent in the bathroom either. So politeness abounded in the house.

Greg's father bought him a set of weights and they ended up in the living room because the television room wasn't big enough for us, the weights, the television, and still have room to open the couch into a bed when the time came.

I ended up spotting for Greg and he went about trying to rebuild the body that had suffered after spending so much time in bed. This led to a lot of straining and sweating, and then he required a bath afterward each day. Baths ended up much the same as our pissing trips although we always did this while no one else was in the house because of the noise level we achieved in that tiny space. This activity left me feeling a lot more passionate toward him and I didn't feel nearly as guilty once we had achieved blast off. If you asked, why did I do it if it made me feel so uncomfortable with his parents around, I'd have to say it didn't make me feel that uncomfortable.

It took several nights for him to get around to what he really wanted but hadn't asked me for and I dreaded him doing it nearly as much as he wanted it.

"What do we have?" He asked, springing it on me without any previous warning or preparation.

"Vaseline."

"Vaseline. I hate Vaseline. Nothing else? I don't guess you'd consider it without lubing up?"

"I don't guess. I might be crazy but I'm not insane. I wasn't shopping with this in mind," I said as his fingers took a gob from the jar.

"I hate this," he said, examining the goop.

He looked at his fingers and applied them to my bottom, immediately attempting to fit a finger up there without bothering to warn me of the invasion. My reflex propelled me away from him and I winced, fearing it more than before. His damn finger wasn't all that thick, but I couldn't say the same about his dick.

Greg didn't want to use the cast for obvious reasons and I kept reminding him to be careful. He growled and fussed and got busy trying to make what seemed like a very square peg fit into my tight round hole.

"You're tight," he advised, still pushing.

"You're big," I reminded him so he'd be gentle.

"Yeah, I am," he said, and I could tell he was enjoying the feel of himself in his own hand for a change.

"Greg!" I said.

"I haven't done anything yet," he objected.

"Well, just in case you have."

He then gave me a reach-around and my mind glazed over, as it always did at a time like that. My dick must have been attached to my fog control, because once it got going good, I forgot about most things, until he started pushing again.

"Greg!"

"Jesus. I haven't even gotten in yet," he argued, unhappy with my fear.

"It feels like you've got a log up there," I complained.

I felt the tight ridge of his dick head pushing into my hole. Before he could push it through to the shaft, I shifted so that it was barely in my hole. He held me in place, using my dick against me as his hand squeezed and stroked it at the same time.

"Wait until I get it in for Pete sake. I almost had it."

It was more like wrestling than screwing but I reached around and got a hold of him and he had swollen remarkably and while it was lovely to feel, feeling it wasn't what worried me. He growled and moaned as he started nibbling on my ear, and then he was chewing and blowing hot air, and my worry was no longer for my bottom.

How the hell would I look with half my ear gone? It was my turn to squeeze and twist him as the head spread me open.

"Greg!" I worried some more, feeling him pushing forward until my hole closed around his twitching shaft..

It was the gush of air and the tension in the body he had pressed hard against me that tipped me off. He chewed on my ear some more to make sure I didn't back him off the progress he had made. His hot air blower became super charged as my bottom burned from the beating it was taking. I churned as he held onto my dick with a pretty good grip as he licked my ear for good measure, sticking the wet tip as deep as it would go. He thrust boldly forward in one steady bold move to get it all all the way in to where he was determined to go.

I was on fire feeling him open me up, while jacking me off, and working on my ear. He forced his hips against me as he finished his entry and feeling his weight against me was enough to light my fire.

"Shit!" He gasped and then he growled and gurgled and leaned on my back hard. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"

The silence was less than golden and his heart beating on my back wasn't reassuring as he gasped and panted and seemed helpless to do more. I slowly felt him relaxing his body on me and the lust had suddenly drained out of him.

"Are you okay?" I asked, as my ass twitched on his thick dick, and I was suddenly worried that he had hurt his leg with his gyrations.

"Fuck no I'm not all right. I blew my load and I didn't do anything."

"I don't know. It felt like you were doing something to me," I reassured him.

"I couldn't hold back. Do you know how long I've been waiting to do that? Do you know how long I've been planning this and dreaming about how it was all going to be so perfect for both of us."

"No," I said.

"About since that day we met up by your house," he said, panting and revealing something I hadn't ever considered.

I mean I knew there was more than a meeting and stares and glares going on that day. I had felt like someone had dropped a ton of bricks on me but I never thought much about what it was like from Greg's point of view, except I knew he knew what was on my mind. That had been obvious to me. I had no clue he had similar ideas on his mind but it was better for all concerned I didn't way back then.

"I wanted it to last. I wanted you to like it," he said. "I wanted it to be perfect for you and I go and pull this little boy shit."

"Greg, everything you do is great and anyway, maybe you'll regroup if you relax and quit shooting for the moon and just settle for here and now."

"You kidding me. I just blew the biggest wad of my life. You've got me where you want me. I'm done. Get the fork. What a wuss. Now I find out not only am I only half the man I was, but the half that was isn't. My life is over. I'm a fucking wimp. A fucking lightweight. I'm sorry, Martin. I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what. Waiting and dreaming can build things up beyond reality. Expectation can be your worst enemy," I said. "I'm flattered when you come down to it."

"Flattered because I now suffer from premature ejaculation. Get real, Martin. I can't even fuck anymore. What's the point?"

"You're funny, Greg. You got the biggest dick in the civilized world. You just took me to heaven and back and you're complaining about it. Will you get real. It was great. I won't say I wasn't worried but at the end, it was great, and so were you and it'll only get better once we go at it a few times."

"You mean you'll let me do it again?"

"I'll insist on it. In fact I'm already ready," I said, putting his hand on my throbbing cock that was suddenly reacting very positively to the dick in my ass.

"Now if I could only oblige," he lamented.

"We'll wait. It might rise again."

"I'm tired," he said, sounding like a distant little boy. "I mean really tired."

He cuddled up against me and held me. I was afraid he'd desert me but he stayed inside. While he never went soft, he was somewhere between hard and soft as I drifted comfortably off into the silent night. I was both satisfied and wanton and my dreams were appropriate as my lover and I stayed hooked together.

I wasn't surprised to be awakened with him super charged once again. There was no more talk of impotence or a failure to live up to expectation. Whether driven by the desire to prove him self, or by simple lust, he sweated and huffed, fucked and humped at a furious tempo. My fears of him subsided by the time he was up to speed. Just his passion for the activity and the idea of him being inside of me got me going in a lusty way. I was sure that the time we spent hooked together had given me time to adapt to him and the idea of what I wanted him to do. It was a night to remember.

After two successful launches and the impending discharges that followed, he spent time kissing my neck and feeling my chest, being quite affectionate in that unexpected way that always surprised me. Affection wasn't easy for Greg but it certainly was easy on me. I loved it when he just wanted to be close to me.

"I love you, Martin," he said after covering my neck in kisses.

"And I love you, Greg. You see, you had nothing to worry about. You just needed to relax and the rest comes naturally."

"It was okay? I mean I gave it all to you and I didn't hold back. It's okay? You're not mad at me?"

"Everything you do is fantastic. Being with you is fantastic. Nothing can ever be simply okay when I'm with you, Greg. You are life and love and joy and everything I need to live."

"What about food and air," he said, kissing my neck and giggling in my ear.

"You are my food and air."

"Well, don't try to live on that, okay."

Greg's appetite for all things had increased. After our initial fuck-fest, he became energized in all things. We went to rehab three days a week and the strong black dude that worked with him kept saying, "Okay, champ, slow down a little. You don't want to rush things. You can't get well overnight."

Greg didn't know slowdown. He didn't know a little of anything. He would pump the weights in the living room until he was exhausted and covered in sweat. He'd regroup while I was giving him a bath and want more and more of a good thing until we were both exhausted.

I'd help him do his stretching and he'd keep asking me to push him harder and further, stretch his leg more severely as he winced and groaned from the pain. I'd stop and he'd curse me for not making him endure more pain and I'd refuse and he'd get mad and hook his leg over the arm of the couch and lying on the floor he'd force it to move beyond it's ability to respond to his demands.

I watched him cry from the pain and sweat bullets as he went beyond his endurance to a place I couldn't go. I always refused him this, not wanting to be a part of him torturing himself, but once he was done, all was forgiven and he was ready to move on to something else. I didn't know his limits and I couldn't purposely hurt him even for his own good and he had no such reservations, calling me a pussy, and then playfully wanting to do something he knew I liked.

I suppose there is balance in all relationships. While I often didn't know how much was enough and when enough was too much, Greg never seemed to have such confusion. His motto was if enough is good than too much must be fucking fantastic. We went through a period when fucking fantastic might describe our nights together. How he could get up running each morning, I'll never know, because he didn't sleep much at night, and while I could keep up with him for as long as he liked, I couldn't get up with him when he wanted to rise and shine and start working out. I needed some sleep.

Of course it didn't take long for him to realize he no longer needed me to spot or watch him. He would let me sleep and workout alone. He was benching close to two hundred pounds after a few weeks. He would relentlessly do curls and biceps extensions while we just sat and talked or watched the tube.

The well-shaped chest that never left him started to grow. We both spent time feeling his muscles while I bathed him, after he had pumped them all up for me, and then that left the one muscle I could be coaxed to do anything with, once he pumped it up for me. His baths often took longer than his workouts and he prided himself on doing a double header without a break between innings. It was just one more exercise he needed to do and I couldn't resist.

It wasn't all about sex but that was probably the activity we spent most of our time on. All he had to do was get hard and I'd stick with him until he couldn't get hard any more. Then there were days when he didn't get hard at all and I didn't encourage him and neither of us died. Some times those days ran together and neither of us worried about the details, because once it started up again, stopping became the difficulty.

I suppose that I began to feel somewhat like I felt he felt, if enough is good, too much will be fucking fantastic, only I could never get enough of Greg. Even after we were done, I'd still be imagining there was one more round left in me, knowing there was no way. I had become an optimist after all the time and energy I had put into pessimistic visions of how Greg and I would end up.

Oh I had no illusions about forever or always, but this time was my time, and I wasn't leaving anything on the table. I had everything I ever wanted or dreamed of, because I never wanted or dreamed of anything before I met Greg, and he was all I wanted or dreamed of after that.

Whatever we would become, we were together now, and no one could take that away from me, and I made the most of it, and him, and our love, and sex, and every other damn thing there was. Life was for the living and I lived every day for him. I lived every minute we shared to the fullest. My mind my body and my soul were full of him and it was glorious, even when he pushed himself too hard and needed too much. I was always there.

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