Foreword: The Perfect Coffee is a piece of short gay fiction, one of several that will be set in Japan. I had a simple idea that I wanted to turn into something longer. This is the first in the ‘Food vs. Sex’ series of shorts, focusing on the intimate relationships between food and…sex…in case that wasn’t clear 🙂
Please let me know your thoughts, and I hope you enjoy!
The Perfect Coffee
Every weekday morning on the way to the office, I make a point to stop by The Milan, an independent Italian-style coffee shop in Akasaka. Working as a salesman for one of the country’s foremost electronics retailers means that I sometimes have to spend long hours traipsing through the streets of Tokyo knocking on doors, speaking with managers, and ultimately trying very, very hard to negotiate deals. Regrettably, things have experienced something of a downturn lately, and because of this I’ve been craving simple pick-me-ups to get me going in the morning.
Now, I don’t like taking trains. I don’t like the way they get so crowded that I’m practically forced to make out with the window. I hate feeling the need to ensure my hands are well away from the proximity of anyone else’s buttocks or breasts. The last thing I want to do is be branded a sexual molester, and let’s face it nobody wants to be tarred with that brush when they’re innocent. So, instead, I choose to take a forty-five-minute walk. It’s good exercise, saves me money and by the time I reach the office I feel at least somewhat more refreshed.
The Milan has an especially cosy and inviting interior with enough room to seat ten to twelve customers at any one time. It’s very popular during the commuter rush, so I always make sure I get there early. The owner is Akito Ootsuka, a professional barista who has won awards in Italy and all over Europe for his unique brewing techniques. I suspect he must be in his mid-thirties—at least eight years on me, with a medium build. It’s hard to say whether he works out or not, but he’s certainly not unattractive and on top of that, he seems to have enough charisma to outshine many popular idols. He runs the shop alongside two younger women, who mostly take orders and do the waitressing. From what I see, Ootsuka seems to do most of the brewing by himself—that’s his forte after all. Something that makes me believe he truly loves what he does is that, despite the constant streams of people coming and going, he always manages to find pockets of time for a friendly conversation. What can I say? He’s an all-round great guy, and I can understand why people are so quick to warm to him. Even though The Milan is most popular with commuters in the mornings, I’ve heard that between two and four in the afternoon, groups of women specifically order a coffee just so they can watch him work.
But one of the main reasons I keep going back to The Milan is that Ootsuka knows how to whip up a truly good cup of coffee, and I mean good good. Now, you might tell me that’s a subjective point and that everybody has a different idea of what constitutes a more-than-satisfactory level of ‘goodness’ when it comes to appreciating coffee. On some level, that may be true. But in this place, whether it’s a latte, a mocha or an Americano, there’s a strength and taste suited to anyone’s palette. Ootsuka seems to possess a natural talent for knowing just how to tailor each cup like that. It wouldn’t surprise me if he said he just enjoyed the challenge of ascertaining which flavour combinations would make customers smile the widest.
This morning, I woke up quite a bit earlier than usual. For one reason or another, I had an extremely restless night’s sleep, probably four hours tops. Even after a long, hot shower, a couple of pieces of toast with jam, and an intense power-wank, I still feel like shit. But as they say—the show must go on.
So here I am, standing outside The Milan at seven fifteen, before the place has even opened for business. I lean forwards a little to peer in through the glass door. There’s not a single soul inside. Except for Ootsuka, of course. He’s probably been here since the crack of dawn, whiling away the minutes until that flock of salarymen comes rushing in. They’ll be in and out in a flash, wolfing down their coffees and pastries as easily as if they were made of air. He stops what he’s doing and turns to face me with a bright smile, offering a polite bow as he approaches the door.
I bow back and he clicks open the bolts.
“Good morning, sir. You’re early today, ” he says, checking his watch.
“I certainly am, ” I reply with an awkward smile. “But please don’t mind me, I’ll just hang around outside until the cafe opens.”
Ootsuka looks up at the sky, and then back towards me.
“I hear it’s due to rain, and those clouds don’t look promising. You’re more than welcome to come in if you’d like?”
He’s right, the weather really doesn’t seem great.
“Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want to be a nuisance.”
“Be my guest.” He gestures for me to enter the cafe. “You come and get coffee here every day, right?”
“That’s true. This place is like my second home.” I let out a stifled chuckle.
A subtle look of amusement drifts across his face.
I freak out a little as I regurgitate the words I’ve just said. ‘Second home’? Doesn’t that come across a little strong? I’m almost sure he’s thinking that was a weird statement, but in all honesty ever since I started drinking coffee here I’ve never felt so relaxed and at ease with myself.
I straighten up.
“What I meant to say is…I just really enjoy being in this place. It really is so different from other cafes. I don’t think I could ever set foot in a café chain again.”
“It makes me happy to hear that. After all, my only aim is to brew the richest, most aromatic coffee in Tokyo. None of that run-of-the-mill stuff you can buy anywhere else.”
I brush my feet across the doormat as I finally decide to enter the café.
“Well, I can’t deny the efficacy of a quick gulp of triple-caffeinated espresso from 7-Eleven when my day is going badly. But, you’re right nothing compares to what you brew here. I can honestly say I look forward to it every morning.”
“It just so happens…” Ootsuka presses a button on the coffee machine until a cloud of hot steam hisses out, “that there’s a new coffee I’d like you to try, if you don’t mind being a test subject.”
I laugh nervously. “I’m sorry…a ‘test subject’?”
Ootsuka scratches the back of his neck. “Alright, that was badly phrased. But I promise it won’t kill you. I just figured you might like to give this a taste before I let other customers buy it.”
I’m flabbergasted. Does he really trust me to give an honest judgement on this? Truthfully, I think I’d praise anything he makes, no matter how it tasted. I’m always too biased when I get into something.
“Really?” I give a small bow of appreciation. “Well, sure. If my taste buds are worthy I-”
“Look…” Ootsuka’s expression grows a little stern, yet strangely he still seems calm and collected. “I don’t need you to flatter me. Anyone can do that. What I do need is your honest feedback. Tell me what you really think. I hope you’ll at least take a sip?”
I don’t even need to think; my brain is on autopilot. I get to sample Ootsuka’s latest brew before anyone else gets their paws on it? This is the best thing that’s happened to me all month. Every bit of the tiredness is melting away, and I feel a new wave of excitement come over me. To say I am feeling star-struck would be an understatement.
“I’d be honoured.”
“Great.” His face lights up. He looks content with my response. “I’ll be right back.”
I slip my laptop bag onto the shelf under the counter and perch myself onto one of the stools while Ootsuka disappears into the other room.
He returns a couple of minutes later with a beautifully decorated ceramic cup and saucer on a lacquered tray. This all seems like overkill for a simple customer like me, but at the same time who am I to complain? I’m being treated to something made by the master of coffee himself, in an empty café out of hours. The steam rises up from the very depths of the cup. Everything looks fresh, and so aesthetically pleasing. A faint sweetness fills the air around me. What can this scent possibly be? I really can’t tell. He sets the tray down on the wooden surface. I look over the contents of the cup. The milk has been frothed up, and yet the way it sits causes the chestnut brown of the coffee to mix and swirl together with it, like a beautifully delectable hurricane. But the aroma, this aroma, is definitely not from this world. It can’t be.
Ootsuka meets my curious gaze and gives me that seasoned smile once more.
“Here you are. Have as much or as little as you like.”
I gulp, in anticipation of what this coffee might taste like. I pick up the cup and hold it just below my nostrils to get a good, strong whiff.
“Can I ask what the ingredients are?”
Ootsuka narrows his eyes. “Why don’t you try and guess first?”
“Oh, but I’m terrible at guessing.”
“Even so, where’s the fun in me telling you?”
“I suppose so.” I realise this might take me a while. He’s probably taking this opportunity to prank me and it’s going to be some blend of fish paste and honey or a mixture equally as revolting. “Okay, let me see…”
I bring the cup to my lips slowly and tilt it forwards, allowing the warm liquid to pour into my mouth. It slips down my throat a treat, caressing every inch. In an instant, that intoxicating aroma transforms into something that I can only describe as pure ecstasy. It’s what I imagine having an orgasm in deep space would feel like. My eyes widen and my cheeks burn with desire. I just can’t stop drinking it.
“I mean, it’s the single most delicious thing I’ve ever drunk.”
“Come on now, what did I say about flattering me?”
“But you asked-”
“Yes, but give me more description. How does it make you feel?”
I sigh. “I’m not the most eloquent of people, but I’m not lying. This coffee has an insane flavour and I really want to know how you do it.” It’s my turn to narrow my eyes at him. “What’s your secret?”
Ootsuka tears a piece of paper from the receipt roll on the till. He takes a ballpoint pen from his shirt pocket and clicks out the nib. Then, he scribbles something onto the paper and slides it towards me.
“Here’s my address and phone number. If you’re so desperate to find out what’s in this, why don’t you come over to my place after work tonight? We’ll share some coffee and discuss my brewing methods. Plus, as my most regular customer, I’d like to get to know you better.”
I look at the slip of paper, wistfully. His handwriting is so much neater than mine. It’s embarrassing. But, wait. He’s inviting me to his house? I must admit, this comes as a bit of a surprise. We’re little more than acquaintances. In the end, I’m just another black-suited corporate warrior visiting this café like the rest of them. What makes me such an exception? The idea that a mutual love of coffee should warrant us becoming friends seems so far-fetched. I guess I’ll deflect his invitation for now. I mean, I need some time to think this over. It would be unwise to make any rash decisions. I scratch my left cheek lightly and avert my eyes.
“I’ve been working late recently so there’s no guarantee I’ll be able to get there at a reasonable time.”
Ootsuka puts an elbow on the counter and rests his head on the back of his hand.
“Please, feel free to come over whenever you like. There’s no need to be so reserved about this. I know it might seem kind of sudden, but I would be more than delighted to have you there.”
“I-I’ll let you know.” Why am I feeling so nervous? It’s not that much of a big deal, right?
“By the way, what do I call you?” asks Ootsuka, warmly. “I can’t very well keep referring to you as a ‘customer’, can I?”
Oh, that’s right, we haven’t technically introduced ourselves to each other yet. There’s never been a reason to, until now. I take my card case from the inside pocket of my suit jacket, a slip one out before presenting it to him in the proper way. He accepts it, in the proper way, and studies it carefully.
“Tatsumi Sakamoto, is it?” He places the card to one side of the cash register.
“That’s right, ” I say. “But please, just call me Tatsumi.”
“Tatsumi-san, ” echoes Ootsuka, not hesitating in the slightest. “Sounds good.”
To my ears, hearing Ootsuka say my given name is certainly strange. But that doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. In fact, I’m already starting to feel like maybe we could become friends. I can just visualise us walking around someplace in Europe, sampling all the coffees and sharing our excitement about the next flavour we might encounter, ranking them all based on set criteria. It sounds like a pleasant date…I mean, you know, just as friends. Although it’s been a while since I had any of that kind of fun with a guy. Oh well, I try not to think too much about that part of my life. It gets so…depressing. I’d rather just focus on work so I don’t have to go to those mixers my manager organises. Who has time for those things anyway? Plus, I’m gay, so it’s not exactly easy for me to be open about relationships.
Ootsuka’s face is now closer to mine than feels comfortable. Crap, I was totally spacing out.
“Are you alright?” he asks, with that same, endearing smile.
I clear my throat, pour myself a glass of water from the jug on the counter and swig it down thirstily. “Yeah, sorry. I’m just tired.”
“Hmm.” He fixes his gaze on me. “I have something you can take to work with you.” He stands up and takes a small bottle from his shirt pocket. I’m really starting to wonder how he can fit so much in that one pocket, but that’s beside the point.
“What is it?” I ask, taking the bottle and checking it over.
“Just a probiotic. It’ll give you a boost if your energy starts to lag. I recommend drinking it at lunchtime.”
“Really? I wasn’t aware probiotics did that.”
“They don’t, usually. But this is another of my own concoctions. Not only do I brew coffee, I also dabble in…traditional medicines.”
“Wow, I’m impressed. Thank you Ootsuka-san.”
“Call me Akito, okay?”
“Ah, no. I can’t, that’s too-”
Ootsuka puts a finger to my lips. “Stop, stop, stop…”
I do as he says and just stare at him, blankly. He certainly has some eccentric ways of explaining things.
“Come on, don’t make things awkward,” he insists. “I want us to be on a level playing field here.”
But it does feel awkward, there’s no denying that. Still, I’d rather go along with his wishes than cause more tension here.
“Then, thank you…Akito-san for the coffee and the probiotic.”
“You’re welcome. There’s plenty of others where this one came from. I hope, at the very least you’ll be able to focus better today.”
I nod, to show that I appreciate the thought. It’s nice that he’s concerned about my personal and professional welfare. He doesn’t need to be though. I mean, I can take care of my own life. But…it does feel nice.
The sudden jingle of the chimes by the door forces me to snap back to reality. It must be opening time already. Those crowds are about to pour in, filtering into their seats in the same way coffee does. I should be going. For one reason or another, I feel like taking the longer, scenic route to the office today.
“I’m heading off, ” I say, standing up and putting some money for the coffee into the tray. “Thank you again.”
I make to leave, but he grabs my arm and pulls me in. His face is too close again. I feel like the boundaries are breaking down even further and it confuses me. He slips the coins back into my jacket pocket. “It’s on the house.”
“No, really Akito-san. I can’t not give you something for it.”
“If I say you don’t have to pay, then you don’t have to pay.” he raises his eyebrows as if to say don’t question me. “Got it?”
There’s no arguing with this one. I sigh, but beam him grateful smile. “You’re too generous, but you’ll have to let me give you something in return.”
“A little of your time will do just fine, ” he says, confidence in his tone. “Call me when you finish work and let’s meet at mine.”
So he wants a friend, where’s the harm in that? It’s the least I can do. When it comes down to it, I can’t say I’m not curious about this special coffee blend. It’s really a privilege to have been asked.
“Alright. See you later.” I give a brief bow and continue on my way to work.
It’s seven forty-five in the evening and the work day has finally drawn to a close, but I’m absolutely fucking exhausted. I forgot all about that probiotic Ootsuka gave me and I’ve ended up burning the candle at both ends for the fourth consecutive day. It’s got to the stage where my pulse is actually racing at the mere thought of getting some well-deserved rest. I can’t wait to get home and take a hot bath so I can soak my muscles back to normality again. Ugh, but there’s nothing left in the fridge. Well, I guess I can rely on convenience store food for at least a couple more days.
Hmm, I’m sure I’m forgetting something…but what is it?
It almost slipped my mind that I agreed to meet up with Ootsuka tonight. But I’m far too tired. I’ll just let him know and we can reschedule for another day. I’m sure he’ll understand. I slip on my jacket, smoothing out the creases and hurl my laptop bag over my shoulder. I say goodbye to my manager who is still hard at work, and slope off down the stairs. As I step outside into the street and turn the corner, I am greeted by an all too familiar face.
Ootsuka stands there, wearing what looks to be a long Moleskin jacket, and leans casually against the handrail. It’s strange to see him in his everyday clothes. How long has he been waiting? And more importantly…why is he waiting here?
He raises his head, smiles and gives a single wave.
“Hey. How was work?”
This seems like the most natural thing to ask, but it’s so unnatural for him to be the one asking.
“Just give me the truth.”
On the flip side of his charming demeanour, he has a demanding way about him, and honestly it scares me a little.
“Actually, it was seriously crappy and I just feel like going straight to bed.”
“But we had an arrangement.”
“I was about to call you to say we should reschedule.”
“So, you weren’t going to meet me tonight after all?” His expression shifted a little. “That’s…disappointing, Tatsu-san.”
“It’s not like I planned it this way. But why don’t we get together on the weekend instead? I’m free all day Sunday if you are?”
“Can you wait until Sunday to find out my secret recipe?”
“Sure, I mean it’s Thursday today, so it isn’t that long, right? I mean, we both have our own lives to live.”
“Do you want to taste it again?”
“Naturally.” A small chuckle escapes from me. “That flavour hasn’t left my mouth since this morning. It was really spectacular. And please, don’t say I’m just flattering you because that’s not my intention at all.” I feel my cheeks start to burn the same way they had when I inhaled that scent. “I mean it.”
“How badly do you want another cup?”
I gulp. It’s like Ootsuka can sense my longing. It’s inevitable, I can’t contain myself. My insides are practically salivating with lust for just one more sip.
“I-I want it…pretty badly.” I say this in a way that makes me sound desperate if my words weren’t enough to betray me.
“Then don’t you dare wait.” He takes me by the hand. “Come with me, right now.”
There’s little time to hesitate. He leads me along the streets, past illuminated signs and at least eight vending machines, which I miraculously had time to count. We’re running so fast my breath can barely catch up with me. My laptop bag keeps slipping off my shoulder so I have to keep grabbing at it, mostly unsuccessfully.
“Wait, Akito-san. Where are we going?”
“Where do you think?” says Ootsuka, apparently just as out of breath as I am.
Does he want to share his recipe so much that he won’t take no for an answer? If I were him, I’d keep that information close to my chest and not tell anyone. But he seems to want to spend some time discussing this. Maybe that coffee is exactly what I need right now.
We arrive at Ootsuka’s apartment a few minutes later. It turns out he lives in the next neighbourhood from my office. His place is a 2DK – two bedrooms, a living/dining room and a kitchen. It feels spacious compared to my tiny 1K. We slip off our shoes in the entrance and he leads me through to the living room. There’s practically nothing lying around, everything seems to be tucked away neatly in a drawer or cupboard, save for a few magazines covering the coffee brewing industry. No doubt, this guy is a pro. A man’s apartment says all you need to know about him. He’s…practically flawless.
“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll go and brew a fresh pot.”
I nod, take off my jacket and hang it on a spare coat hook. Then, I sit down on the sofa and let out a sigh of relief as I sink into the soft, plush material. It has some kind of memory foam consistency and seems to be just what my stressed-out back needs. My eyes drift around the room, taking in every little detail, looking for something that might betray his professionalism. I find nothing. This apartment seems to suit Ootsuka’s personality well. Clearly, he lives alone but why isn’t he with anyone, romantically speaking? I’ve seen the way those two women he employs fawn over him. It’s plain as day. Maybe the problem is that he’s just too obsessed with the art of coffee brewing. There’s having a hobby, and then there’s raw, unadulterated passion. I have no doubt that he falls into the latter category. I guess that’s the kind of thing can get in the way of relationships, not that I would know; I’ve never experienced the kind of intense connection with an activity or career that some people achieve in life. In that sense, I find him truly admirable. The Milan coffee shop might be limited in size, but his unique creations draw customers from near and far. He’s a special person.
He returns to the living room, carrying a tray laden with a steaming pot of freshly brewed coffee, two stone tea cups and a pot of cream on the side. There are also some rice crackers in a small bowl. He sets the tray down on the table.
“You’ve been very patient. Here you are.” It sounds as though he’s talking to a pet cat.
I feel my chest grow warm as I take in the gorgeous visual presentation.
“Thanks, this looks delicious.”
He pours equal servings of coffee into both cups.
As he turns back towards me, and hands me one of the cups, I notice an anomaly. Not with the coffee, but with him. I am distracted.
“I just wanted to let you know…y-your fly is undone.”
Ootsuka eyes his trousers and slaps his forehead playfully. “Oh…whoops.” He pulls up the zipper with a swift, confident motion. “Thanks.”
Right now, he seems like such a klutz it’s surreal. When did he have a chance to use the toilet? He’d been gone less than five minutes. I only noticed because he was standing and I was sitting. My eyes were naturally drawn to that area. It’s not like I was looking.
Oh god, what if he thought I was looking on purpose?
He parks himself on the sofa next to me. I flinch.
“You know…” he begins. “I have a bit of a confession to make. I wasn’t actually planning to sell that coffee in the cafe.”
“Why? It’s so good, you could double or even triple your sales if you put it on the menu!”
“Spoken like a true salesman, huh?”
I’m a bit embarrassed to realise how much of my work ethic has unintentionally spilled over into my private life. But I stand by my beliefs.
“I’m serious, ” I continue. “It’s practically gold dust.”
“That might well be the case, but the problem here is the…supply. The main ingredient is only available from a single source.” He spoons some of the cream into my cup of coffee and stirs it in. “Here, give it another taste and now see if you can tell me where that sweetness is coming from.”
I marvel at that glorious pattern before bringing the cup to my lips once more. I can taste the coffee so easily even though it hasn’t even reached my tongue yet. Is it the memory of this morning’s experience or is it the expectation of what’s to come? I can’t be sure.
Finally, the divine liquid ravishes my throat for the second time. It’s so addictive and moreish, just like sugar, but with a fresh, milky taste. And the texture of the cream is so different. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the cream reminds me of something else, something…white, sticky and something you’d only find in, well…a sexual situation. Yeah, it looks about the same as my spunk after I jerked off this morning.
Ugh, what am I even thinking? Semen would never be served in coffee.
I shake this thought from my mind.
“It’s even better than it was this morning,” I say.
“That’s probably because it’s fresher. I just whipped up a fresh load…” He winks at me, flirtatiously. “If you know what I mean.”
As the words slip from his mouth, I feel my stomach churn with discomfort.
“Wait, w-what are you saying?” I laugh. “You’re joking, right?”
“Now, now. I know you’re much smarter than this, Tatsu-san. So why don’t you try and put two and two together.”
“I-I know precisely what you’ve added to this but…why the hell would you do it? Are you seriously this perverted?”
Ootsuka laughs heartily.
“Perverted? Me? You’re the one who’s been lapping it all up.”
The sneaky bastard, and just when I was warming to him.
“Yeah, without knowing that you’d actually mixed your semen into it! Who in their right mind would willingly drink cum-infused coffee?”
“Let’s see…people who know what’s good for them.”
My stomach makes another full turn.
“You’re sick, you know.”
Ootsuka leans in. “What if I tell you I made this just for you?” He tousles my hair with his fingers, sending a quiver down my spine. “What if you could have ev-er-y last drop to yourself? I’d give you an unlimited supply, every day—if you want it. All you need to do is ask.”
There’s a bush fire in my mind right now, and it’s spreading through the all those fields of neurons at such a rapid pace I can’t extinguish it.
“Did you do this just so you could invite me round, so you could…seduce me?”
“Listen, ” he begins. “I see you in my cafe every morning, sitting there enjoying the coffee I brewed. But you don’t ‘just’ enjoy it, do you? You savour every last drop of it. The way you act is different to the others. It’s like there’s always something on your mind, and every time I see that cute, pensive expression of yours, I want to give you something more. That’s what I strive to achieve. The prestigious awards, the other customers, the interior fucking decoration – none of that even matters when you’re there.”
I’m speechless. I’m not good with words, especially in situations like these. If this is his way of asking me out, then it’s a fucking pretty weird way to go about it.
“What is it that you want from me, Akito-san?” I ask, although, honestly, I’m terrified to hear his response. “What am I doing here right now?”
He shuffles closer to me and takes my hand. Now we’re not rushing along a street at the speed of light, I can feel a hint of warmth radiating from his hands, and the smooth texture of his skin. I notice my cheeks are growing red hot again, and the pit of my stomach feels so damn heavy, as though a stone has been dropped into it from a great height. I look into his dark, handsome eyes and lose my train of thought for a moment.
“I want you to drink this coffee every day,” he says, seeming serious. “I want to make new coffees that only we can share. I guess…in short, what I’m trying to say is-”
“Okay, I get it, I get it.”
And I do get it. He likes me. We’ve established that.
But now what?
“If those are your honest feelings, I have to say I’m still confused by your approach. But all I know is that you created the best damn coffee that’s ever existed and maybe…just maybe, a part of what you’re trying to do has got through to me and maybe I also…want to drink that coffee…with you…every day, and I-”
He stares at me, intensely, his eyes practically reflecting the fire that’s taking over my brain. It seems I’ve struck a chord. Oh no, now what have I done? He’s going to get the wrong idea for sure. He traces his nimble craftsman’s fingers along the seam of my trousers, brushing them against the bulge that has inevitably formed there. It’s all so unbearably tight and his teasing isn’t going to help me one bit unless…unless he takes some initiative.
“I think you’re reacting just fine to all this, ” he says, throwing me a seasoned know-it-all smirk. “Let’s get you out of these clothes.”
“W-wait. Um…shouldn’t we just go and get some dinner or something? I’m starving.”
I must look like such a nervous wreck right now. It’s been too long since anyone treated me with such close affection. But I really am hungry—after all, a couple of eggs and a rice ball doesn’t exactly constitute a filling lunch. “We could…continue with this later instead of having dessert?”
“Dessert?” Ootsuka increases his grip on my bulge and applies a decent amount of pressure in short, tactful bursts. “You mean you’re just going to let me stop when you’re this hard?”
Shit, this isn’t good. If he keeps touching me like that, I’ll be whipping up a special blend of my own. I squirm awkwardly as he creates increasing friction between my boxers and trousers with each new rub.
“Now, are you going to be a good boy and let me get this out of your system? Or are you still thinking about that dinner?”
I shake my head from side to side, wondering what would happen if I choose dinner instead? No, I have a very strong hunch that ‘dinner’ would be the wrong answer right now. In any case, I can’t go out in this state. Something has to be done about it.
“You won’t be good?”
“I will be good,” I respond, obediently. “Dinner can wait.”
“That’s my Tatsu,” he says, dropping the formalities altogether with a perverse grin. “So let’s sort you out.”
Ootsuka kneels down on the floor. He unzips my fly and trouser button and pulls the garment off me with such ease it seems like a magic trick. My legs tremble and grow weak as he fingers at the rim of my boxers and gently teases my pubic hair. I can’t help but notice how badly he’s tenting as he does all this to me. He reaches for his belt, unfastens it and whips it off. The sound makes me jump a little, but it’s so satisfying to hear. Then, he unzips his trousers, sticks his hand inside and starts to stroke himself. My cock twitches. I know he’s hard too, which means there’s only one thing I want to do.
“Um, Akito-san…can I-?”
“What do you want? Spit it out.”
Sounds like he’s getting frustrated again. I guess I just have to muster up some courage and ask. It can’t hurt, can it? It’s not like what I want is unreasonable.
“Can I have some more?”
“Of your…special blend.”
“Oh, you’re still thirsty? Then beg me for it.”
“That’s right. Tell me how badly you need it.”
His fingers cup my balls and he squeezes them, first with just a small amount of pressure, and then with a tad more. I let out a stifled moan.
“How much is that?”
“Really, really badly.”
“I-I need your cock in my mouth so I can drink it until there’s nothing left. Please…please just give me everything you’ve got.”
Ootsuka licks his lips and offers me a sexy glance. “That’s better. See? You do have a knack for this after all.”
He slips his trousers and boxers off at the same time and his cock springs out, saluting me at approximately one hundred and twenty degrees in all its veinous glory. It feels so good to feast my eyes on such a long, thick cock again. He stands up, pushes me down onto the sofa and straddles me, his knees levelling with my shoulders. Our balls press up against one another. Mmm, that’s good. Now, I can clearly see the wondrous source of that delicious fucking spunk, the provider of the coffee creamer that never should have existed, the dispenser of the substance that never should have entered my mouth. Oh, but it did grace my tongue in a way that I’ve never experienced before, and I’ll be damned if I can’t gorge myself on that divine sweetness again. All I want is litres upon litres of that pure, hot, unfiltered seed in my mouth until I’m full to the brim.
I watch him twitch and contort as he proceeds to jerk himself off with strong, powerful strokes. Seeing the erotic expression on his face, I realise that despite his apparent desire for control, he can be vulnerable too. He wants to give me that cum as much as I want to receive it. Right now, all I can do is lie back and wait. But my cock is so full I need to touch myself or I might explode. I make moves to take off my boxers, but he seems to have noticed and grabs my wrists, forcing them back to my side again.
“Please, I-I need to come too.” The utter desperation that I’m feeling should be obvious enough to him from the sound of my voice.
Ootsuka scowls down at me, panting cutely. “Then I’ll do it for you. But you just keep watching, okay? Don’t take your eyes off me, or I’ll waste all that precious gold dust by coming on your chest instead.”
He slips my boxers off and pushes his cock against mine, squeezing them both firmly between his hands. It feels like such a fucking relief to have someone simulating me like this. His cock is ridiculously stiff, literally as solid as a rock. I swear I can even feel his pulse beating against my own as the blood pumps faster and thicker. The simple movement of his fingers wrapping around my taut, sensitive skin makes me want to spill my load too quickly, but I force myself to concentrate on other things; his face, the way the sweat trickles down his temples, those small grunting noises he makes, the feeling of his fingers—ugh, that’s no good. I’m back to square one again.
I know can’t hold out for much longer, not like this.
“Akito-san…I’m going to-“
“No, not yet.” He slows the pace, but the swashing sounds of our trapped juices are making my eardrums melt. “Just keep it in, at least a little longer.”
“I can’t. It’s too much. I-”
I pull one of the cushions from the sofa to my chest and dig my teeth into the corner of it as he grips the base of our cocks with extreme force. I cry out as he manages to bend over far enough to lap his tongue over my sensitive pre-cum laden tip several times. It’s such a warm and wet sensation, and I really can’t control myself anymore. This man has me well and truly under his influence. He is merciless with that mouth of his. I also wonder how he can possibly be this flexible, but that’s not a question I need to be asking right now. I can debate that point later. At this particular moment, all I want to do is release and taste some of that sweet, sweet creamer.
“A-akito-san, really, I ca-I can’t-”
And that’s it. I’m done. I come hard onto my chest.
It doesn’t take Ootsuka long to follow. He quickly positions himself over my face, bucks furiously and ejaculates right into my gaping, willing orifice.
Yes, yes, yes. That’s the stuff!
It slides down my throat just like the first time, and the second. This third time’s even more of a delight, and I’m certain he can sense it. The lust that exists between us is palpable, we have this connection, this bond that it seems can never be broken. He gazes down at me again, a few strands of his sweat-drenched hair clinging to his forehead. Honestly, his face is quite a picture, and I am falling in love with it. I feel as though he worked hard to produce this batch, just for me. And this satisfies me, for now.
But I’ll want more, much much more.
So I’m keeping this one. He’s all mine.
And every day, from now on, I can rest assured.
I’ll always wake up to the perfect coffee.