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( Net Find ) Military Tickling! M/M

zanadu

1st Level Red Feather
Joined
Mar 5, 2012
Messages
1,186
Points
38
While I was in the military some years back. At the unit headquarters where I worked, there was a Sgt named Alan Sander who really appealed to me. He was in his mid-30's, real tall at six-foot-three, very masculine in affect, and in pretty damn good shape. The two things that really got to me were his wonderful smile--he was really handsome, blue eyes and fair cropped hair (Looks he guessed from his Nordic ancestry) his smile made his whole face light up, and his feet, which from his low-quarters I knew had to be at least size 12's.

Anyway, I was stationed at that headquarters for 15 months, and over time I got to know Alan fairly well. He was always so pleasant and helpful to me and everybody else, and just basically a super nice guy. Our commander, a brigadier general (one star), really depended on Alan a lot because the guy could get more done quicker than any of the non-coms around.

The commander liked me personally, and eventually he offered to arrange it so I could get off-facility monthly quarters allowance, which would enable me to take an apartment in the local community instead of having to live on the base--and I accepted his kind offer. Anyway, Alan S. offered to help me move my gear to the furnished apartment when I found one, and since he had a pick-up truck, I accepted his offer to help me move. By the way, Alan was happily married as far as I knew, with three kids, so I wasn't expecting to ever get a crack at his big feet. But, like they say, you just never know....

Alan came to the quarters one Saturday afternoon with his pick-up, and he and I loaded all my gear and stuff into it. He followed me in my car to the apartment, and then helped me unload everything. I didn't have any bed linens, so we went to a local shopping mall, where I bought sheets, pillows, and pillow cases, a bedspread, and a couple blankets. When we got back to the apartment, Alan came in with me and helped me make up the bed with the new bed clothes. I flopped full-length on the bed, which seemed real luxurious to me after that narrow military bunk I'd slept in for so long.

Alan removed his shoes and flopped on the bed right beside me to test it out, and pronounced it super comfortable. I lighted a cigaretee and just lay there relaxing, and Alan lighted one up, too. I raised myself up on my elbows (because I was intensely curious to get a good look at Alan's big dark-socked feet at the end of the bed). I had secretly jerked myself off many times in the barracks, just fantasizing about Alan's big feet--so I wasn't going to let the opportunity pass to finally get a look at them.

The two of us were just chatting as we both lay there, and when there was a pause in the conversation, I openly stared at Alan's socked feet and then made a joking remark about his "huge" foot size. He gave a snort of laughter and said all the men in his family had big feet and told me he feet were size 13's. All I could think to say was: "Wow! No kidding!" He asked me what size mine were, and I told him they were only 10.5's, small compared to his. Then, aware of how lame it probably sounded to him, I told him I'd never seen feet as big as his.

Always the nice guy, Alan surprised me by sitting up and pulling his dark socks off--to give me a look at his bare feet. One look at them, and I nearly croaked on the spot. His meaty feet were gorgeous--with long, thick toes, all veiny on top, with a liberal growth of long brown hair growing on the tops and tufts of it on his long toes. He lifted one foot into the air a bit to display it, and I saw that Alan's heels were real meaty and fleshy--just the type I'd always found hot. Many times really large-sized feet on a guy aren't all that well-formed and great looking, but Alan's sure were.

In my excitement, I just told him that his feet were really beautifully formed and that I'd love to massage them for him sometime. Alan said: "Really? You think my feet are attractive? Nobody's ever told me that before." He was bemused and, I think, actually quite flattered that I thought his feet were so attractive, because he asked me what I liked about them.

I was beginning to feel self-conscious at that point, but I gamely went off and told him his how well-formed and well-shaped his feet were and pointed out to him that his toes were particularly nice the way they tapered in length and had well-articulated joints. I glanced over at him just then, and Alan was lying there smiling and looking at his feet. He looked at me and asked me if I'd like to see them closer, and I told him I would. So he end-for-ended himself, and his bare feet were setting there right beside my head, which let me eye them really close up. I sat up and inspected them closely, and in no time I had a full erection in my trousers. For one thing, I could easily detect the footy aroma of Alan's feet--not nasty, but rather that great mix of foot sweat-and-leather that's always been a real turn-on for me.

I told him I wanted to get a good look at his soles and asked him to turn over on his stomach, and he promptly turned over. His soles were all crinkled in that position, and I nearly blew my load right there looking at them. The round fleshy heels were real smooth, and then the crinkles criss-crossed his feet right up to the base of his toes. I decided to lean down and smell his feet, and at just that moment Alan called out to me, apologizing for his smelly foot odor. I instantly told him the smell wasn't offensive to me at all, that in fact I actually kind of liked it.

I just went ahead and sniffed, first his heels, then the arches, and then the balls of his feet and his perfect, meaty toes. I glanced around at him, and he had turned and was watching me smell his feet. He looked straight back at me and smiled. "You really do like that, don't you," he commented. "If you want to massage them now, go ahead," he added, and then he just collapsed on the bed again, utterly relaxing.

The temptation to tickle Alan's big, soft, meaty feet was too strong for me to resist, and I gingerly drew a line with my forefinger lightly from his toes to his heels.

His reaction was immediately and electric. He let out a whoop of startled laughter and jerked his feet upward, just missing smashing them into me. "Oh noo fuck you're not gonna tickle me are you?" he cried out. "Shit Cameron, my feet are sooooo ticklish! I don't think I can stand being tickled, especially on my feet!"

I was elated and super excited by his reaction but I felt deep disappointment that I wasn't going to be able to tickle Alan's soft crinkled soles.

"Well, I'd love to tickle you, but if you can't take it..."

I deliberately let him hear the disappoitment I was feeling. To my delight, the tactic worked.

Alan turned and looked at me, and he had an odd expression of concern-mised-with-dread on his face.

"Well, wait a minute. If you'll promise to give me a massage afterwards, then I guess I could take a little tickling first," he said. "I mean, if it's that important to you..." he trailed off.

Right then I knew I had him. He was going to let me tickle him after all.

"Just don't tickle me too hard or too long, okay?" he added.

I agreed to that, smiling at him, and he turned back around and reached out with his big hands and grabbed the cross rail of the bed frame to brace himself. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be," he called out to me.

I was touched by Alan's submission to being tickled. And it had already occured to me that I might be able to tickle him again if I didn't 'go for broke' with the tickling. So I set to work, very lightly stroking his soles and tickling him quite delicately. He started squirming immediately, and shortly he began to giggle. He couldn't help himself. I used this opportunity to explore his feet to see the exact spots that were the most ticklish to him. There were basically three--his heels (somewhat unusual in my experience), across his arches, and around his toes and the base of them. Whenever Alan's giggling turned into frank laughter, I'd back off a bit. Each time I did that, he'd call out "Thanks, Cameron dude!"

I lightly tickled Alan's feet for maybe 15 minutes, working in brief periods until his reactions got pretty strong, when I'd back off for a bit before tickling his feet some more. Then I told him, "Okay, tickling is over--now it's time for the massage."

He emitted a deep sigh of relief and relaxed again, and I begin giving his feet a really good, first-class massage and rubdown, keeping the pressure firm so as not to tickle him. There wasn't an inch of those big feet of his that I didn't rub and massage, and as I worked on him, he intermittently let out deep sighs of pleasure and sometimes even moaned from it. I massaged Alan's wonderful, meaty feet for around three-quarters of an hour that first time, and the smell of his feet was all over my hands. From his reaction to it, I found that a firm, deep pressure applied down the center of his arches seemed to feel particularly good to him.

Half-way through the process, I asked Alan to turn over on his back so I could work on the tops of his feet. When he seemed to hesitate to obey my request, I figured something was wrong, and I just asked him: "Is something wrong, Alan?"

"Well, yes, I think so," he said to me, sounding nervous and embarrassed. "What you're doing feels really great to me, but for some reason I've got a full hard-on."

I breezily told him that was not at all unusual when a guy was being massaged and not to give it another thought. That seemed to relieve his anxiety, and he turned himself over onto his back. I purposefully averted my eyes from looking at his crotch, but instead turned to massaging the tops of his feet, beginning on his thick toes and then slowly progressing up the length of is feet. When my hands reached his ankles, I just continued rubbing and massaging his lower legs as well, reaching up his pants to do that. Sensing that he was lying there with his eyes closed, I finally took a quick look at the crotch of his pants and saw a conspicuous bulge from his fully erect cock tenting out his pants. I said nothing about that, and not long after then I told him I'd completed his massage.

His eyes opened, and he smiled up at me and told me that had felt really wonderful. I smiled back at him, and told him I was happy he'd enjoyed it. I thanked him for all his help getting me moved into the apartment. He sat up, pulled his socks back on, and then swung his long legs over the side of the bed and put his shoes on. It was time for Alan to go.

I walked out to his pick-up with him, thanking him again for his help. And I added that if there was ever anything I could do to help sometime, all he had to do was let me know. In response, Alan gave me a quick hug and then shook my hand, then climbed into the driver's seat and rolled down the window. He started the motor, and then he said to me: "I'll tell you one thing I'd sure like you to do for me." I asked what it was. "Could you give me another massage some time?" he asked, almost shyly. I grinned at him and said: "Sure thing, no problem. Any time but I will have to get in a little tickling, too. Deal?" He laughed, and nodded: "Deal. Maybe I'll eventually get used to that."

He never did 'get used to that', though but he sure did get to liking it when I tickled him.

When Monday morning came, I was unsure how Alan would act toward me when I reported for duty at the head-quarters building. As you know yourself, sometimes guys can really get into it with you, but then later they have second thoughts and can’t seem to process the experience we’ve had together. But that morning Alan acted toward me just like he always did, except he seemed to be feeling even friendlier toward me. When General P. asked me later that morning if I’d gotten moved into the apartment okay, I told him I sure had—thanks to Sgt. Alan S.’s helping me move my stuff. Alan was behind one of the consoles, and hearing what I’d said to the General, when I glanced over in his direction, he leaned around the console and winked at me and gave me a ‘thumbs up’ sign. So I realized that he and I were ‘pals’ now. That made me feel real good.

In the days that followed, I didn’t say anything about what I’d done with him, his feet, to Alan, and he didn’t refer to it, either—and I began to think that the episode had just been a lucky happenstance that was a one-shot deal. However, a couple weeks later, one morning just after the Commander’s daily stand-up briefing, Alan was gathering the overhead slides he’d shown at the briefing, and I was gathering the classified material to return it to the classified safe, and we were alone in the briefing room together. He moved over to stand beside me, and he told me that Maureen, his wife, and the kids were going to visit her parents in up-state New York for a week or so, departing that Friday morning, and he said that would give him an opportunity to get together with me if I had some off-duty time available.

Elated, I told him I did, and I asked him how about that Friday evening. The thing was, see, that Alan wore his low-quarters shoes every day on duty, and I’d been conjecturing for some time that his socked and bare feet would be sweaty and smell really hot to me coming out of his low-quarters shoes. The first time I’d played with Alan’s feet he’d been dressed in civvies and was wearing loafers—nice enough, but I figured his feet would smell better coming out of the low-quarters. Alan said Friday evening would be fine with him, and I suggested he come to my apartment with me when we got off duty—we’d grill some steaks and just relax with some beers after dinner.

He popped a big smile and agreed to that plan. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he asked me if I’d be willing to give him a nice, long, relaxing massage after we ate dinner. I looked at him, and he just stood there, grinning at me, so I knew what he was driving at. Taking a jocular, teasing tone with him, I told him I’d like that myself—but I hoped that he’d remembered what the massage would have to include.

Alan dropped his volume down low and said he’d remembered. “My feet will be real sweaty after wearing my low-quarters all day,” he said, “so I think you’ll be happy with how they smell. And you’re going to have some fun tickling me a while before the massage, right?” Alan hadn’t forgotten a thing about the events of the afternoon a couple weeks ago, I realized. I was feeling excited as hell!

“That’s right,” I replied. “First I tickle you a while, and then comes the massage. Can you handle that?”

“Sure,” he said, grinning at me. “It really drives me nuts—the tickling, I mean. But no tickee, no washee, right?”

“You got it,” I said firmly but lightly. “I do think I should get to tickle you more than happened the last time, though. I went easy on you then, but I think you can handle more of it this time, don’t you?”

“I knew you were going to tell me that,” Alan commented. “What are you going to do with me? You planning to tickle more than my feet?”

I told him, yes, that I wanted to find out where else he was ticklish. He said he was real ticklish just about everywhere. He looked a bit uneasy, I thought, but his eyes had a sort of glittery, intent expression—and I felt this whole bit about tickling him was definitely firing up his libido. So I decided to push the envelope and see how he responded.

I told him I had to go see the Commander now, but I added, if he had the courage for it, I thought to get the full effect of the tickle session I’d probably prefer to tie him down on the bed when I tickled him. He looked thunderstruck. “You’re going to tie me down and tickle me?” he said. “Oh, my god!”

“That’s right,” I said matter-of-factly. “And if you’re a good boy, and if you get a big hard-on, I might even tickle that, too.” Tucking the classified material under my arm, I headed for the door. In the doorway, I turned back around and faced him. He still had that intent expression in his eyes, and when he saw me looking at him, he smiled nervously and said: “I don’t know if I can stand that. I mean, it sounds like fun, but…”

“Well, you think about it and then just let me know if we’re on for Friday evening or not.” And with that I exited the briefing room.

The next day, Alan came up to my desk in the late morning and said to me: “I’ve thought about what you said yesterday, Cam, and, well, okay, I’ll give it a shot—Friday evening, I mean.”

“So you’re going to be a good boy and let me make you feel good, right, Alan?” I said, watching him closely.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he said. “I can’t believe I’m doing this, but it all sounds so—so exciting, you know? I can’t stop thinking about it, Cameron. I sure wouldn’t have ever thought that being tickled could be so—well, erotic!”

Sgt Alan Sander was pretty much his usual self to me over the next few days until Friday (finally!) rolled around—except several times when he and I passed each other’s desk and no one was looking, he’d give me a big, exaggerated wink and flash that great smile of his. Late Thursday afternoon he came over to my desk, ostensibly to pass along a folder of stuff I needed, but he apparently couldn’t resist reminding me that our ‘date’ for dinner and fun afterwards would take place in just 24 hours’ time.

For some reason, looking at this big, masculine, nice-looking senior NCO man, standing beside my chair, grinning like a possum at me, hit me ‘where my suspenders cross’. He looked so hot and sexy to me, and the charts I’d been working on just faded to black in my mind, replaced by a vivid mental image of how he’d look stripped down and securely bound hand and foot on the bed, his beefy body and sweaty feet helpless and totally vulnerable to being tickled on all his sweet spots. I think my knees were knocking under my desk.

I glanced down at Alan’s low-quarters shoes and noted he was wearing the usual dark socks—and a sudden urge to push the envelope further hit me again. So I asked him if he had put on clean socks that morning; he said he did. I looked up at him, straight into his hazel eyes, and in a low voice told him that I wanted him to wear the same pair of socks again tomorrow for me. He looked a little surprised, but he nodded and said: “Okay, Cam. I can do that if you want me to.” He lightly touched my back, then walked away.

I’ve always marveled at how some big, masculine, mature guys, even happily married ones like Alan S. or Paul, could so positively respond to physical or frankly sexual overtures in a way that belied their outward appearance and affect. And not merely respond positively, but then go on to agree to do things for and with me that ordinarily might not ever have even occurred to them to do. For instance, take the tickling thing. Most of these guys hadn’t previously associated being tickled with sexual pleasure, especially being tickled by another guy. Almost without exception, neither did they have any experience of being tied down during sexual encounters.

I’ve never topped any guy, except for one or two fellow foot fetishers, who had himself previously considered feet, his or his partner’s, in an erotic context. And since my strong erotic response to the odor of a guy’s sweaty feet and armpits flies counter to our culture’s mania for people to be sweat free, antiseptic, and odorless, no guy I’ve topped and played with—again, except for the few fellow foot enthusiasts I’ve known—had ever actively worked at building up the sweaty aroma of his pits or feet. Yet, time and again, when I made physical and sexual overtures to a big, masculine guy—after my ‘instinct’ about him and the possibilities with him ‘flashed green’, so to speak, the guy would ‘go with the flow’ and willingly do or submit to every one of these things.

Now some gay guys out there will immediately declare that such responses just “prove” that guys like Alan and Paul are either self-repressed closet queens or else frustrated bi-sexuals who are simply to cowardly and timid to “be themselves”. At the beginning, I tended to think that way myself. However, with experience over time, I gradually came to believe that few males are “hard-wired” in a static sexual ‘orientation’. To me it seemed increasingly apparent that that outlook or ‘belief’ is too mechanistic and philosophically materialistic, a la Newtonian physics, as nearly all modern philosophical or ideological doctrines since roughly the 18th century have been. Such a static, materialistic, and mechanistic outlook simply ignores the role that human free will, voluntarism, and emotional affect play in every person’s life and the existential choices he makes.

Thus, over time, I came to understand to my own satisfaction that the free choices that people make—or in the present context, that these ostensibly “straight” guys made—are fundamentally a function of their affective nature, in both an emotional and sexual context. As one guy told me some years ago during a relatively brief affair we enjoyed together, “I think for me it was ‘the person and the place’ that accounts for my enjoying being with you, Cameron, and being your lover—not a matter of me being straight, gay, or bi-sexual.” The guy who said that to me was a 31-year-old state trooper, tall, in great physical shape, masculine in affect, very self-confident, all spit-and-polish, and the married father of two kids. One could of course simply brush all those other aspects and elements of his life aside and declare that his affair with me proved he was just a repressed closet queen with whom I got “lucky”. However, I myself believe that throwing out 98 per cent of his life experience on the grounds that it is totally irrelevant and attributing a hard label of closet ‘homo’ to describe him because of the 2 per cent of his life that was homoerotic in nature would be a severe misreading of him, reflecting the fallacy of reductionism. Well, enough of this little side-bar essay.

Alan accompanied me home that Friday when we got off duty—and as it turned out, he ended up staying overnight with me. We had a great dinner together, but I’ll just skip to the ‘good part’. I led him into the bedroom, where I had everything I needed all set up. I told him I wanted him to undress himself for me, but to leave his low-quarters and socks on, and he meekly complied. He was obviously a bit nervous, particularly when I raised up the leather cuffs, attached to the frame of the bed by ropes, and cuffed his wrists and ankles. Alan managed to stay pretty calm. After he was securely bound, he turned his head and looked at the wrists cuffs and then down at the ankle cuffs holding him, and then he dropped his head on the pillow and commented that he hoped I’m give him a break from the tickling from time to time. I replied that I would do that.

Then instead of heading for Alan’s feet, I sat beside him on the bed and very lightly began to stroke his flaccid cock. He moaned and grunted a few times, as the resulting sensation soon had his cock completely erect—hard, his cock was both long and quite thick, and he had a big, perfectly mushroom-shaped cock head. Using all the fingertips on one hand, I gently and delicately teased and stroked the head of his cock, while I lightly stroked and tickled Alan’s scrotal sac with the other. Alan called out to me that he couldn’t believe how fantastic that was feeling to him. After he became maximally hard, I encircled his genitals with a leather cock ring and tightened it snugly around them. The pre-cum was dribbling out of his slit, and he was moaning unselfconsciously as his head rolled from side to side. His eyes had a glazed look to them, and I knew he was in ecstasy.

Still gently massaging his swollen cock head, I leaned over his face and told Alan I was now going to take his low-quarters off, and I asked him if his socked feet were going to smell really good and ripe to me. His hazel eyes focused on my face, and he swore that his feet were really sweaty and ripe for me. Saying, “Let’s just see,” I went down to his feet and untied and pulled his shoes off. His dark socks were moist with sweat and clung to his big feet, and in form his feet were just gorgeous, with long toes, medium arches, and big, round heels. As the shoes had come off him, the ripe odor of his masculine foot sweat, mingled with the scent of warm leather, had assailed my nostrils instantly, and his feet smelled so incredibly good to me that I nearly shot my own load right then and there. I shuddered and controlled myself, and then I told Alan that his feet smelled absolutely wonderful. He’d raised his head and watched me take his shoes off, and when I told him I loved the smell of his feet, his head dropped back on the pillow and he gasped out: “Thank fuck! I was afraid you might not like it.”

My hands were actually trembling as I reached out and peeled those moist, smelly socks off his feet, and I finally had a clear look at Alan’s bare feet. They were gorgeous—really big, meaty, and very soft looking on the soles and toe pads. His arches were crisscrossed with those crinkles that always blow me away. I stood up a moment and told Alan his feet were just gorgeous and sexy as hell. He looked at me and a big smile of satisfaction split his face. “You like my feet, then?” he asked, in sort of a little-boy voice, and I told him I loved his beautiful feet. His smile widened, and then he let out a deep sigh (of relief?) His cock, meanwhile, had remained totally erect.

At that point I could have just jumped on Alan and tickled him insane and gotten my cookies off. But I didn’t do that. For one thing, in the back of my mind I knew that Alan was really a special, sexy guy and I genuinely liked him—and I wanted to be able to get with him again, not blow everything on one mad, selfish session with him. And for another thing, for me it has always been a journey of passion that properly should give as much pleasure to my partner as I enjoy myself.

I stroked Alan’s throbbing cock a bit more, and then I went down and took a seat facing the soles of his bare feet. “Are you going to tickle me now?” he asked me, and I told I was. “Okay,” he said, and then fell silent.

As I began tickling Alan’s soft, crinkles soles, he immediately broke out in frank laughter and thrashed his body about on the bed as much as his bonds would allow. His feet were jerking and his toes wiggling as I continued tickling him, and when I concentrated my finger strokes on his soft arches, his laughter became explosive and shrill. I switched to working on his toes and the base of toes, and he laughed even harder. He was becoming hysterical. So I abruptly stopped tormenting his sensitive feet, and instead went up and sat straddling his hips. I began tickling his muscular torso by lightly tickling Alan’s hairy armpits, and he exploded in laughter all over again. I gradually worked my fingers down to his ribs and sides, then on over to his stomach and belly. Alan whooped with shrill laughter, and when he finally found the breath for it, he begged me desperately to let him have a break.

I gave him a break. I turned myself around and sat straddling his torso, facing his genitals and long legs. His cock had remained completely hard, and I happily began teasing and stroking it and tickling his balls. He let out a loud, breathless “Oh, my god!” and then he went into a sort of sexual frenzy as I lightly tickled a path from his knees up his inner thighs to his crotch and then back down again. Behind me Alan alternately gasped, moaned, growled, and gasped again. I felt an orgasmic rush begin to overtake him, so I stopped stimulating his upper legs and crotch and got off him. Stretching myself along side him, I asked him if he was all right. He turned and looked at me and grinned, saying: “Never better, Cam. I’ve never felt this way in my life! Do it some more—please!”

Feeling deeply thrilled that he was feeling so ecstatic, I leaned on him and took one of his nipples in my mouth. His nipples were already hard knots of nerves, and I licked and scraped it with my tongue and then very lightly bit it. Alan let out a gurgling cry of sensual passion at the sensation in his tit, and I promptly switched to teasing his other nipple. Meanwhile, my hands found his hairy armpits again, and I tickled them lightly as I worked his nipple. With this action, Alan broke out in deep moans and then peels of helpless laughter, and I kept it going for some time.

I paused and asked him if he needed another break, and Alan cried out: “Oh, hell, no, Cam! Keep going!” I repositioned myself again, this time face-down laying between his stretched out legs, with my face pressed against his stomach. My tongue found his naval (a big ‘innie’), and I burrowed deep into it, wiggling around in it, and with my hands on either side of Alan, I began simultaneously tickling his hips and lower sides. This tickle attack turned out to be ‘the money shot’ for Alan. He let out a scream of hysterical laughter and began trying to buck me off him. At the same time, though, I felt his stiff cock pushing rhythmically against my upper chest—so I realized that Alan was getting really desperate to cum. So was I, by this time. I raised my head up and asked Alan if he wanted to cum for me. He called out instantly: “Oh fuck yes! Oh, please, Cameron man. Make me cum. Please make me cum!”

So I did. I put some lubricant jelly on my hands, and I got on my knees between his thighs, holding our hard cocks up pressed together. I stroked them in tandem, gradually quickening the rhythm of the strokes. Alan went crazy, calling out “Oh, Cam, oh, Cam!” over and over as the orgasmic urge mounted and seized him completely. I tried to hold myself back, but it was no use. With a yell of “I’m gonna cum!”, Alan suddenly exploded in an orgasmic paroxysm, and juice spurted out of him like a miniature geyser. A second or two later, I exploded myself in an orgasm so intense I saw ‘lights’ firing in my head. I remained up right with difficulty until the frenzy began to subside, and Alan was making growling sounds deep in his chest and throat. I finally loosened my grip on our softening cocks, and I lowered myself, lying on one side of Alan’s body. He was covered with sweat, and so was I. I lay my head beside his on the pillow, and we just lay still there, recovering.

Eventually Alan roused himself a bit, and he turned his face toward mine and kissed my cheek. “That was incredible,” he whispered to me. “You’re incredible!”

“So are you,” I quickly replied. Rousing myself, I sat up and unbuckled the wrist cuffs, releasing his hands. He stretched and flexed his arms a bit, and then he put his arms around me and pulled me back down beside him. I laid my head on Alan’s chest and could listen to his heart beating. He laid a hand on my head and was sort of brushing my hair. Then we both started to say something at the same time. We both stopped, and I told him to go ahead.

“I was going to ask you if you want to do this again sometime soon,” he said. “Maybe again this weekend?”

I laughed exuberantly, and I told Alan: “Of course! We’re just beginning after all, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I do,” he said. “We’re just beginning.” Then he hummed a few bars of the Carpenter's hit song “We’ve Only Just Begun”, and we both laughed.
 
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