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I looked at him. He was sitting on my couch, not a thread of cloth - except for his dainty socks - on his magnificent body. His body was gym-honed perfection, with large deltoids, thick armor-like pecs, biceps that could have crushed an ox, and awe-inspiring thighs. And between those thighs was his erection, rampant, ready, dripping like a leaky faucet, except in this case it was welcome. His cock was uncut, and his foreskin was stretched taut over the head, so that the large mushroom head appeared even more cannon ball-like than usual. And under the trunk-like erection, the fertile lemon-sized balls that had brought two children into this world.

Despite myself, looking at him like this - naked, unencumbered by his own male glory - made me feel a furtive heat running between my thighs, a deliciously slithering warmth that threatened to blossom into a full-fledged erection, soon enough if I did not do anything to counter it. Oh how I long to just give in to the temptation, to run into his huge masculine arms and let bygones be bygones, to open my soft succulent thighs and receive the bounty of his cock into my secret depths.

Instead I let myself simmer in the warmth, in the slow hypnotizing vibration of lust and passion that had begun filling the vessels of my own cock, readying it for its own erection to mirror his. Ever so slowly my cock rose, like a cockerel greeting the sun, its singular eye aware of its surrounding, and now its attention was on one masculine presence lounging on my couch. He noticed it, and gave me a hopeful and shy grin, which looked so deliciously enticing on his handsome chiseled Asian face. Then he looked at my face, and that wariness changed into something deeper, something more lustful, something more quintessentially male.

His cock throbbed, and the head wagged as if in gratitude. A drop more precum fell onto his groin. "You're not angry, are you? At least, not anymore." As if to punctuate his words, he opened his thighs more, offering me his cock, dripping delicious nectar.

In reply I took his hand, a large bear paw, and brought it to enclose my erection. "Do I feel angry to you?" I half-murmured my question, my voice hazy, drunk in lust, drunk in love.

"No," he murmured back, his deep voice reverberating in the room, his hand grasping at my erection, finger-pad dabbing at my open slit, "You feel warm to me, warm and ready."

Suddenly he turned me around and sat me down on his lap. I moaned as I felt his erection encroaching into my taint, the warm turgid flesh pressing into my softest skin, looking for its target. Upstairs he turned my head around and gave me a deep soul-searing kiss, his tongue searching for my truth. We exchanged balls of spit as he adjusted and adjusted my carriage, and finally his cock-head was in the nook of my warm inviting asshole.