Loving Gestures

by Allen Baker

Not all gay relationships are built on lust. Ours definitely was not. We were both in our early thirties the night we met at The Wingnut. From the instant I saw him, something within resonated – like I might have known Larry in a previous life. People talk about love at first sight, but this was something more. We were soul mates.

Physical attraction had nothing to do with it. Yes, he was handsome as he stood at the bar dressed in boots, jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket. His nearly-black hair and beard complemented the shiny leather he wore. And those eyes smoldered with warmth and compassion. His chest showed the results of routine exercise without the bizarre bulges of a competitor. His slim waist was just right for wrapping one's arms about. And the bulge of his jean's front promised hours of delight. But had any or all of that differed, I still would have reacted to that first look of Larry's face in the same way: here was the man I would spend the rest of my life with.

What is even more spectacular was finding that he felt the same about me. As I said, a true marriage of two souls. From across the room, we stared through the smoke-filled air into each other's eyes. The rest of the bar slipped from reality. Finally, as if by prearrangement, we both moved toward a central spot. Without a word having ever been spoken between us, we leaned forward till our lips met in a gentle kiss. A lingering kiss. When we broke away, we smiled at each other. He reached out and traced a finger down my jaw. I melted and moaned slightly. He grinned at that and fluttered another kiss onto my forehead. I closed my eyes and drank in his scent. And I knew I wanted to spend my life with this man.

Two days later, we broke our apartment leases and rented a small house together. We've been together ever since.

Don't get me wrong, we were two very sexual men who loved exploring each other's bodies and did so with fervor. We spent many hours in passionate mingling in our bed. But sex was not the kingpin of our relationship. We adored each other's minds, attitudes, interests. We built a art framing business together. We read the same books, admired the same movies, even shared a love of classical music. We spent twenty-four hours a day together for almost twenty years and felt like the days didn't have enough hours in them.

We experimented together, too. Bondage, piercing, dominance. And enjoyed it all. But nothing supplanted our mutual penchant for leisurely sex and after-climax cuddling. We often talked of symbols. At times we felt we should have some outward signs to show our belonging to each other. We'd adopt matching piercings, consider a single-sex wedding ceremony, contemplated tattoos or even branding. But nothing seemed right. Nothing lofty enough for how we really felt about each other, and so we never acted on it.

Besides, no outward indication would ever express to the world our inner devotion.

And then Larry developed a lump on his left testicle. I was the one who first noticed it. Another virtue of monogamous sex is intimately knowing one's partner's body. His left ball had a new bulge against the side of my tongue that hadn't been there before. I didn't interrupt the event, but afterward I brought it to his attention. Larry wasn't sure by the feel, but promised that he'd visit the doctor that week.

And so the tests came back positive for testicular cancer. We were devastated. I went with him to discuss the results with the doctor. He reinforced the good news that it was one-hundred percent contained and isolated. Therefore, the odds of future cancer were nil. We sighed with clasped hands in relief.

Then he shared the bad news. Larry would have to have his testicles removed. Castration! What a blow. But not as big a blow as some others might have felt. We knew far too many couples whose entire relationships were built on their sexual compatibility. Such partnerships would have collapsed with such news. We just assumed ours would become stronger.

Within the week, I was sitting beside Larry's bed in the recovery room. It was not at all the trauma that most couples would have endured. Larry had an illness that the surgeon was able to eliminate. We were both grateful.

I nursed Larry over the next few days. Though it was hardly necessary, as there was little pain. But I loved doing it, and he appreciated the attention.

Soon the doctor okayed a return to sex. And we entered a new phase of our physical relationship. Now in our early fifties, the frantic urgency of teen-hormone sex was long in the past. We had mellowed. It was great to share such intimate moments, but we didn't feel rejected nor torturously deprived if it didn't occur.

It was during one such tender time of lovemaking that Larry allowed my balls to slip out of his mouth long enough to whisper, "Man, those are good enough to eat." He grinned as he looked up at me. But slowly, the grin slipped from his face as we stared thoughtfully into each other's eyes. We were thinking the same thing. After a prolonged silence, I gave a slightly shuttering nod of my head. He licked my balls, and I moaned in anticipation as he sucked them back into his mouth. Slowly, he moved from gently sucking on them, to pressing them firmly against the of his mouth. Then he began to nip at my sack. I moaned. He bit harder at the sack at the base of my cock. I moaned louder and told him to go ahead. Then he chewed in earnest. I clenched my teeth and bore up under the pain. Larry wasted no time, now that we had agreed, he meant to make short order of the business.

His teeth sank into the skin. He ground his teeth in a sawing motion. I could feel the blood sliding down my crack. I caressed his hair and murmured encouragement. I felt the grinding of his jaws as he attacked the cords and vessels. I groaned as I gave up my offering to him. In awe, I watched as he separated my balls from my body and set back away from my groin with my balls still in his mouth. We smiled at each other.

Then Larry quickly dropped my sack and nuts onto the night stand and raced to the medicine cabinet for supplies to address my wounds. It was one of the hottest experiences of our lives. Looking back, I find it interesting that we never spoke throughout the entire time. After a bit, he reached back to the night stand and pull my pouch to us. He squeezed it and out popped the two orbs. We each grasped one and gently placed it in the other's mouth. In stunned fascination we watched the other chew and chew and swallow. Then suddenly, we were kissing. Our lips parted, and we french-kissed the raw meat back and forth amidst our mingled juices. And then we were just kissing.

We must have fallen asleep, because it was dark when I was aware once more. Larry lay sprawled against my chest. He wasn't sleeping. He was staring. Staring at my crotch. At first, I was concerned that he was regretting our spontaneous event, but soon realized that his looks were more of desire than anything else. But when I tuned in to his thoughts, I went instantly rigid. I looked to his groin to see that he, too, was hard and throbbing. I took hold of his waist and pulled him into a sixty-nine. We sucked and bucked and pumped. We licked and moaned and crooned our pleasure as we built toward a mutual climax. Soon, I could feel the tingle at the base of my dick and the ultra-sensation of an impending climax. I felt Larry's back go rigid and his cock throb in my mouth. Suddenly we were shooting our loads into the other's throat.

At the same instant, we bit down just behind the heads of our dicks. Ultimate pain married to ultimate pleasure! We bucked and chomped and red and white liquids flowed over our chins and down the back of our throats. We chewed furiously and swallowed and immediately buried the still spewing stumps back down our throats. Again in unrehearsed unison, we gnawed at the base of our cocks, rubbing our noses in pubic hair. Soon groans of orgasmic pleasure issued from around mouths full of raw meat. We turned and watched as we maul the severed dicks. Watched as our pricks disappeared form sight for ever. Then we clutched each other in loving embrace.

That was two years ago. We still marvel at each other's smooth, bulge-free groins. We caress the smoothness and moan in the delightful knowledge that we share an experience like no other couple. We are closer than ever and suffer no traumatic longing for our lost genitals. We are content with the symbols of sacrifice that shows our oneness to the world. No one else will ever truly know the regard we hold for each other that manifested itself through those spontaneous loving gestures that we shared on a night that will forever be ours alone.