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This should not happen, but Paul still fails to evoke the particular moment in which George began to exercise a behavior more oriented to the sweetness of romantic affection, as if he were that traditional infant who is fond of physical evidence of affection, of offering and receiving it. A detail that in itself does not fit George's real nature? or so Paul thinks.
And well, it is not charming for Paul to refer to this subject as if it were the first time that George, after decades of having shared a life as a couple with Paul since he was a teenager, has finally melted the ice cube and allowed his more endearing and mellow side to be discovered at all.
What's worse is that it is so, an authentic fact that George has been transformed into the child-like personification of the deity of love in universal mythologies (or simply mother Venus threw her blessings on both of them so that their relationship would extend its duration further), where he remains willing to squander precious hours for anyone to just pour kisses on the neat skin along with the caresses of his calloused hands from manipulating his favorite instrument, but still the scent is silky and intimate, relaxing the tensions in Paul's muscles.
Paul dies of joy every time he remembers that such things are not bestowed on whomever you run into, but on that specific person who is victorious and mischievous in maintaining a hold on your thoughts and feelings, taking advantage of wreaking good or bad havoc, depending on the circumstance.
It is inevitable that Paul experiences the exhausting feeling of well-being and release from some torment in being aware that he is the right man who occupies the position of owner of George's adoration for him at all times.
Oh, of course we are not saying that George is that kind of person who fits into the category of a frivolous personality who hates personal approaches with his soul! It's not that he makes it a priority to maintain an eternal and respectful distance from his personal space.
Of course he isn't. George is an entity replete with honorable, kind, helpful, humorous, honest (VERY honest, it should be noted), supportive and loving virtue, but recently this last component has increased to stand out with such magnificence because there is no time when George will not even suspend one of his (or Paul's) activities to just turn to the other and trap him in a cage brimming with the pure love that mankind usually fantasizes about obtaining at a clearly unforeseen date.
But Paul has no reason to fantasize about it when he literally already possesses it. Paul will never lack for anything ever again because George has already given it to him.
Aha, and how can we give the beginning of a long and exciting theme? I mean, several things have happened in a short period of time and Paul also fails to make a firm decision on what he could mention for the development of his anecdote.
Perhaps we should talk about a tradition that could border on the cliché? Like that fact of waking up at six o'clock in the morning and rushing to the kitchen to fulfill the objective of preparing a breakfast for his companion, which according to how exquisite it turns out to be, the quality of the day will be determined by means of that morning food, ennobling the senses and injecting the energy required to attend to a busy schedule.
Previously it was not exactly frequent that George ended up in the kitchen to perform a culinary feat that could easily be added to the menu of a relevant restaurant that is frequented by famous figures of the Arts. It is not an exaggeration to put it that way as Paul's palate writhes in great happiness and relief every time he disgorges a spoonful of whatever George has come up with and, in general, Paul doesn't even keep the slightest notion of the origin and title of the dish that George places on the table or brings to his bedside. The only thing Paul is aware of is that that plate of food contains the pleasing texture and flavor of a possible eighth gastronomic wonder guaranteed to make Paul a victim of its seduction in a matter of five seconds (maybe George should be a chef too. I'm serious).
It's a record time, honestly, better than any five-star restaurant menu, even better than his father's custard (and don't let George know about that, please).
George likes the idea of bringing Paul breakfast in the bedroom best, saving him from having to prowl the kitchen. Paul doesn't always manage to leave the dream world on his own. Sometimes he sinks into the comforter at a late hour and at the wrong time for a truly restful sleep to give you back what you've spent so much of the day on... although, to be honest, it's slightly more likely to happen. George resolves to wrap his arms around Paul's torso and drag him into the bathtub of warm water in order to submerge him there and let his body escape from the stress of some issue out there. Paul logically grants his protests, but George plays the role of a deaf man and continues to slide his hands wrapped with the essence of a peach soap through the areas of Paul's carnal map, taking care of removing the dirt.
Originally it was a constant struggle for Paul to yield to George and the two looked like two kids running around the halls of the house, with Paul struggling to wriggle away from George and George with a towel ready to corner him and accomplish his task of bathing his boyfriend. For a curious reason Paul is not a winner and at the end of the day is caught by George, who is able to employ certain tactics that unhesitatingly reach Paul's greatest vulnerable point, and that is to distract Paul by joining his lips with his to initiate a kissing session of a fervent nature, meanwhile George pulls Paul's arms in the direction of his back as if to place him in police handcuffs. With those little things Paul was already wasting his willpower and succumbing to George's control in a minute.
It was quite a scene to witness. It was also not uncommon for these tactics to veer into the sexual, with Paul lying on a table in a most agitated state and curled up in his arms and George ramming and gripping his hips with an obvious force that ensures the appearance of a bruise until he releases his seed in spurts into his partner's bowels, stuffing it all over him.
Obviously after such a thing comes the time to rest peacefully in bed and it is very necessary for George to have Paul by his side during that time... or to express the situation better, Paul is the cute little cuddly bear (Paul has a beard for a reason) that George uses to surround and never let go, unless it is morning, the only option for Paul to get out of his boyfriend's grip.
Paul doesn't complain about it either. He thinks it's great that George claims him that way.
And, as mentioned earlier with regard to Paul's waking hours, he may occasionally deliberate getting up past eight o'clock for the simple reason that he felt like relaxing and getting ready a little more before he got out of bed and said goodbye (leaving the bed is like saying "goodbye" to a loved one who will be delayed in returning from his trip). George takes advantage of this, placing the tray on the small table on the right and positioning himself at the edge of the mattress, particularly where Paul's inert body lingers. From there George invades Paul's space through his sweet strategy of leaning into him, sliding his fingers through his dark strands and caressing his scalp with circles, all while George plants a kiss on Paul's pinkish petals, causing the sleeping beauty to leave the world of dreams and a tender smile is painted on his face because the first thing those emerald eyes catch is George's precious face and gaze fixed on him.
George's strategy doesn't just boil down to that, but to more daring and lewd details that shouldn't be suitable for the wee hours of the morning, and yet we all know it happens anyway. They don't mind, because, well, they're a horny pair.
George may have an idea blossoming in his mind to mix another element into Paul's breakfast, and that other element is none other than his own seed.
George is pretty creative, isn't he?
Paul doesn't dislike it one bit. From the first minute the idea appealed to him too much and it was a wonderful surprise for him the days when George handed him the tray of food with a cup of "coffee" for company... but the liquid was not coffee, but the man's sperm and Paul drank it with the greatest of pleasure, while George watched him with great attention, feeling flattered that his partner would receive such an act that in the criteria of third parties is a disgusting topic.
They're just two guys who understand each other's desires, having fun getting into each other's wit. What's wrong with that?
Or maybe the drink isn't exactly George's cum, maybe there are certain whitish strings in sugary foods like two huge pancakes melting and retaining the warmth of the substance.
Or there may be no breakfast per se and it's just George straddling Paul's chest, unbuttoning his fly and allowing his member to break free from the prison of his underwear, inviting Paul to take no time in accepting and enjoying his exquisite breakfast which is summed up in two intense rounds of ramming into the welcoming interior of his mouth, with his tongue expertly sliding along the veiny base and sometimes faintly catching the piece of flesh with his teeth, wrenching George's vocal cords into a scandalous, voluptuous melody that only Paul can hear. Plus, all along the way Paul's beard ends up a mess from the moisture retained in the process, but he has no regrets. This kind of mischief is his favorite and he wouldn't replace it for anything in this life.
It is not urgent for the couple to go to a studio to dedicate themselves to their artistic labors as composers, after all, in their own home there remains available a large bedroom with the required instruments that will help them to capture on the canvas of reality the musical works that are generated in the impeccable creativity. Curiously enough, both of them offer reciprocal help in whatever the other has come up with.
There are two options: that they both dedicate themselves seriously to their work, building an excellent structure and accelerating the progress of the result... or that they get distracted in amorous things and end up singing improvisations of silly love songs.
In theory, the one who should be in charge of starting that topic is Paul due to the fact that, theoretically, he's the most romantic in the relationship, but that's no longer the case, not since George started being cloying as a honey pot. Any melody executed on his guitar strings drifts into a gentleness that victoriously lulls some fear that may harbor Paul's spirit deep in his abyss, which is complex to brush against. Paul forgets the existence of the world and simply lets himself be carried away by his partner's inventions, listening with utmost attention to the chords that make up the blissful sound along with lyrics that wallow in the stupid tenderness of a teenager.
Paul is a complete moron for having realized so late the keen skill and agility that George's slender fingers possess.... Or well, l was so late, for, in the privacy of a bedroom it is not uncommon for George's fingers to draw invisible, swift strokes in their exerted movements on Paul's skin, snatching from Paul a string of moans of incredible harmony, as if Paul were George's secondary guitar.
Paul can do the exact thing, but he accepts that he can't emulate his partner's cunning very much, nor surpass it.
And sometimes, just sometimes, they both perform a time regression, going back to the time of their youth when they were both bony and fanciful teenagers, who together produced their first song, a song that again is performed, with the lyrics conceiving a new, more direct and personal meaning, the right one to describe the great bond they manage.
Nostalgia has never before hit Paul with such ferocity that Paul doesn't stop to dwell on the matter and thank mother Venus for allowing him to continue to be by George's side, without a problem or interference, preserving a stable and healthy relationship, like the two soul mates they are.
Otherwise, George can catch Paul by surprise in any carelessness with the logical objective of offering his affection to him. George doesn't exactly care if Paul is on a call with someone, writing or doing something, George will still go with him to inject him with a high load of sweetness that with simplicity can cause a risky diabetes because of how excessive it is.
Hardly ever had Paul stumbled upon enjoying the opportunity to have George mention some of the most adorable, warm and pleasant details in his ear, telling him how good, precious and charming Paul is, as stubborn and silly as he may be (and of course, George is not able to completely abandon the sarcasm. It's clear that Paul is his enormous figure of adoration, in his own way).
It is intoxicating to hear George's voice as a furtive murmur that cannot be found and understood by anyone but his dearest Paul, who succumbs like an inexperienced maiden to the conquest of her handsome knight who experiences no embarrassment in commenting to her overblown words that continue to harbor immense affection. Most of the time Paul seems incapable of responding back to George and the verses of his possible poems are not enough to face George's words. Paul is simply dedicated to sinking deeper into that abyss that is not as icy as it appears, not without first allowing you to reach into his deepest zone and wander through the cozy paradise, marveling each time he explores more of the areas he had not discovered before because of his impertinence, and that is what has literally happened these days.
"Aahh, George!" moaned Paul, writhing again in pleasure in the sheets as George stretched in a scissor the two right fingers that remain in his hole, repeatedly thrusting in and out of there, wreaking severe havoc despite no third finger being inserted.
"Still behaving like a virgin, aren't you?" replied George, mischief nestling into the tonality of his voice and digging his fingers deeper up to his knuckles, brushing with all the intentions in the world against Paul's vulnerable sweet spot, overpowering that bundle of nerves. With that smallness Paul let out another cry and his cock shamefully throbbed, the glans producing more pre-seminal fluid and completely bathing the base of his neglected, reddening member in dire need of a few strokes to bring it to the peak of vehemence.
Right, it's already nighttime and George wants to splurge on an erotic session with Paul. How could he forget that?
"It's just that you're so incredibly... oh... well..." was all Paul managed to articulate as he finally sensed a third finger enter his insides, eagerly sliding into Paul's torrid, tight, carnal cave.
"I know, honey, I know," George commented, gently moving his right hand to continue unleashing waves of pleasure down his spine as he placed his free hand on Paul's left knee. "That's why you liked me so much, isn't it?"
"You're lying," Paul retorted, rising a little higher to properly make eye contact with George, if only for a fleeting period of time. "I like you for so many things I couldn't finish counting, but I can't deny that I love this."
"Of course you love it, you've got a hot ass twenty-four hours a day, sweetheart," George teased, determined in taking a look at the landscape he himself is painting with all his actions, with Paul there, lying face up on the comforter, moderately undressed by continuing to wear that white shirt that remains higher than his navel, exposing a torso tainted with beads of sweat glistening in the light from the ceiling bulb, along with severe bites highlighting George's fangs (George is fascinated by this, digging his notorious fangs into Paul's flesh, marking his territory. He elaborates even when the two are not in bed) and crimson hickeys that in a few hours will evolve with a purple pigment, although of course Paul is not only there doing nothing, he himself is tracing circles on his pinkish nipples hardened by the immeasurable excitement that invades him. Paul keeps his knees up and apart, allowing George to get between them and do his satisfying job of stimulating him. George's outfit is still unscathed and he has not yet withdrawn at all. In fact, his own member hasn't even received any relief and is located there, confined in the underwear and tight fly, but logically the wait is good value.
Paul's expression is worthy of being captured by a Camera and making the scene a memorable one. The strands of his dark hair are a shambles from having received delicious caresses and tugs, falling tenderly on the forehead of that face painted with a natural blush that itself doesn't stand out much because of the hairy jungle on his jaw. His lips have the two options of remaining spread in an "O" or catching the lower petal with his teeth in an attempt to drown out the lewd sounds.
And to know that the author of this painting is precisely George! Wow, he's quite a pro at what he does. Very passionate about his actions, isn't he?
"George... touch me, please..." requested Paul, in a whisper from pinching and teasing his own nipples.
"Oh, so you want to leave all the work to me? Well no, touch yourself," demanded George, raising an eyebrow with some humor and speeding his fingers in and out of Paul's loins.
"Please, George!" he pleaded, with the sensation of standing close to the precipice of pleasure, granting the possibility of releasing a considerable amount of whitish cords. Where? Perhaps on George's clothed chest.
"I already gave you an answer, Paul, take it or leave it," and George began to curl his fingers into Paul's already stretched cave.
"Please, just do it.... I'll be good, very good for you, honey..."
"If you'd be so kind as to ask, maybe I'll make an exception."
Impatience attacked Paul and he was unwilling to continue begging George to give him a hand in reaching climax, not when George wouldn't stop what he was doing and was rubbing more and more of his sweet spot, weakening with obvious purpose. Paul can take care of that himself, after all, he's a person with healthy, intact limbs, so there's nothing stopping him from being able to grant himself the relief he so desperately needs. There's a saying that it's better to do things on your own if you want to get the results you want.
But as his left hand began to slowly approach his cock, George immediately realized his intentions and slapped his left hand away. Naturally Paul was not very pleased with this reaction and was about to voice his opinion with a complaint.
But he got absolutely nowhere when he suddenly felt George's fingers leave his hole, leaving a huge vacuum that suddenly reduced the arousal Paul was enjoying and allowed his psyche to enter a tremendous bewilderment.
Paul couldn't act or anything like that either and for a few seconds he was slightly annoyed with George until... he noticed the sensation of his member thrusting all the way into George's warm, wet mouth, who was quick to start bobbing his head up and down, with his torrid cock wandering around the base of his piece of meat and savoring it like a lollipop.
Paul was driven away from any shred of awareness, sinking into vehemence with no comprehension of anything other than receiving an enthusiastic blowjob from his boyfriend.
It was irremediable that a chain of lewd sounds was generated and the sounds are summed up in slight articulations of George's name, in the meantime Paul placed his left hand on George's brown hair, grabbing a good handful of strands and pulling it without so much force being impressed. George's hair is extremely nice and long, the ideal thing to pull.
Paul is not going to last long enough, and how can he? If George is most expert with his hidden tricks in his mind. He's quite the cunning fox, Paul should never have doubted his abilities beforehand.
"George!" was Paul's final erotic shriek, sealing his pretty eyelashes and relaxing his muscles as he reached the pinnacle of pleasure, forgetting everything and everyone.
Believe it or not, the orgasm was intense in nature, sucking Paul's energy as if it were a serious vampire attack (although we couldn't be wrong in referring to George as a vampire... I mean, he does possess sharp fangs...). Paul was oblivious to anything and anyone for quite a while, the only thing he was capable of was himself and that he needs to re-establish the steadiness of his breathing from having wasted so much oxygen in a matter of a minute.
Paul felt George's right hand on his forehead, similar to the gesture one makes to measure someone's temperature and check their fever. As he unfolded his eyelashes he met George's gentle lamb expression, watching him like the eighth most precious and treasured wonder of the world.
George unified his petals with Paul's, uninterested in the fact that literally moments ago in his mouth was Paul's member and that he had equally swallowed Paul's seed. Not very hygienic, but Paul didn't care either and reciprocated sweetly, grateful for what had happened recently.
George never lets him down, of course not.
The kiss was chaste and gentle, like the first kiss the two gave each other as goofy teenage Elvis fans, playing his songs and enjoying themselves as a team. It's a little funny to mention that a vinyl of Rock 'n' Roll's Messiah played in the background as the two intimately experimented. But Paul no longer remembers what song was playing on the turntable, possibly George does.
"How was it, honey?" asked George after he had placed a few inches of distance between himself and Paul, culminating the kiss and placing his right hand on Paul's right cheek with the goal of holding it.
"Wonderful," replied Paul, giving him the innocent and adorable smile of an infant. He likewise placed his left hand on George's right, yielding affectionately to the contact.
"You know we're not finished, love."
"Of course we're not. In fact, I can't wait for you to be inside me," Paul commented, granting George a mischievous wink as he directed his gaze on George's still stiff bulge.
Paul can't help but burn with joy every time he remembers that George is his partner and that their harmonious relationship is real, completely real and non-fictional. It is not a fact written by someone. It's all just as real and palpable.
Or that's what Paul wants to think after closing that notebook of his. He is an old man now and more than a decade has passed since George's death, far removed from this modern and unknown era.
Paul doesn't care about anything, he would just like to have the power to have his fantasy writings transferred to the canvas of reality, solving the mistakes made in the past and to be able to achieve the life he recently captured in the pages of his notebook.
But it is impossible. Extremely impossible.
"Oh, please, Paul. You're a grown man. Grow the hell up and accept your reality" was what Paul said to himself before putting the notebook away.