My Married Neighbor's Desperate Cock Worship Explanation (not part of response): This title is 6 words, clearly Gay Male, names the specific relationship ("Married Neighbor"), uses erotic language that hooks the reader with submission and hunger, and is distinct from all the provided examples.

My cock had been throbbing for Mark since the day he and his wife moved in two years ago. At twenty-eight I was used to wanting men I couldn’t have, but something about the broad-shouldered, married father next door turned that want into an ache that never quite left my balls. He was forty-two, thick through the chest and thighs, with a salt-and-pepper beard that made my mouth water every time he waved at me over the fence. I told myself it was harmless. Just fantasy. Until the sweltering Saturday afternoon his wife’s SUV pulled out of the driveway with weekend bags in the back seat.

I was shirtless in my living room, nursing a cold beer and trying not to think about him, when the doorbell rang. I opened it to find Mark standing there in a sweat-soaked gray tank and basketball shorts, chest heaving like he’d run a mile. His eyes were dark, desperate. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his thick neck and disappeared into the hair at his collar.

“Jake,” he rasped, voice rough. “She’s gone till Monday. I… fuck, I can’t do this anymore.”

He didn’t wait for an invitation. He stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind him and the air between us turned electric.

“I haven’t been touched in six months,” he confessed, the words tumbling out like he’d been holding them behind a dam. “She’s not interested. Says she’s tired. And all I can think about is your mouth. The way you look at me when you think I don’t notice. Like you’re starving for cock. My cock.”

The confession cracked something open in him. I saw the exact second his straight-dad armor splintered. His massive hands flexed at his sides, and the front of his shorts lifted obscenely as blood surged into his neglected dick.

I didn’t speak. I simply sank to my knees right there in the hallway, the cool tile hard against my bare legs. Mark’s breath hitched as I pressed my face into the heavy, sweat-damp bulge straining against gray fabric. I nuzzled it like a man greeting a long-lost lover, inhaling the raw, masculine scent of him—musk, salt, and pure married frustration. My tongue dragged slowly over the thick ridge, wetting the cotton until it clung transparently to the fat head of his cock.