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It’s a late Friday night and I’m feeling it bad, making the rounds with my pool cue, lookin’ for a game and some possible action. The local place, Lefty’s is about half full but not too jumping. No one at the table. Well, hell If you ain’t got no one to play with, you might as well play with yourself.

I move to the table and rack for a solitary game of 8-ball against myself, wondering who will win, me or me, unsheathe my maple sword and screw it together.

“Hi”, a voice says. Mind if I play?”

“Suits me.”

“Name’s Lance.”

“My god,” I think, “Lance!” It’s all I can do to keep from ogling his jeans to check out his ‘lance’.

“Mine’s Jeff.” We shake hands. Am I imagining it or does he hold my hand just a bit long, just a hair warmly? He is not tall, maybe 5’8″. A dozen or so years younger than my 34 years. Well formed, but not huge pecs, abs, and biceps are outlined beneath his forest green silk shirt. Slim hips, trim legs and the cutest tight little buns fill designer jeans faded in all the right places. Dark swarthy good looks. A little mustache and well trimmed goatee frame a smile that would launch ships. A sharp little V of a tickler sits beneath his lower lip. I start to fantasize about where it might tickle me.

“Flip you for the break?”

Fishing in the pocket of my pearl grey wool slacks, I pull out a quarter. “Heads or tails?”


“Sorry, my break!”

“Straight eight, right?”


I move a little closer. His scent is a wild male musk. My hormones start pumping. How about a little wager?” I say.

“How much?”

“Well I say, dropping my voice. If you win I’ll give you fifty bucks.”

“And if you win?”

“If I win you’ve got to give me some of your time, come to my place for a while.” I am taking a big chance here because I am not at all sure about his inclinations. I might even get the shit kicked out of me.

“Uh, what did you have in mind?”

“Well, we can decide that later. A couple of hours of your company. Maybe a couple of drinks, smoke a joint or two.”

“That’s all? Just my ‘company’?”

“Sure, well I mean it’s boring as hell in here except for the pool table.”

“And that’s worth fifty bucks to you?”

“Why not? I’ve got money and the time and not much else. Beats spending time alone. Who knows, maybe we’ll get to be good friends.”

“Is this a pick up? ‘Cuz I want you to know that I have a girl friend and I . . . uh, well I’m not that way.”

Still keeping my voice low, I murmur. “Well I’m not gonna rape you or anything like that. I promise I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”

Lance takes a step back and looks closely at me. Despite his protestations, I can see something there, curiosity at least.

“Okay,” he says at last. “You got yourself a bet.

Now I am no slouch with a pool cue. Many a would-be shark has fallen before the strokes of my sword. It’d cost me eleven hundred bucks, a fine-tuned instrument, perfectly balanced and fitted to my fingers like a tight calfskin driving glove.

I break and sink the nine ball. My next shot is a double bank on a combination and the eleven plops in the corner. Two more stripes bite the dust. I glance up at Lance and he is lounging languidly in the corner, his body turned just so, the long silhouette of his ‘lance’ outlined down the leg of his tight faded jeans. It is enough to break my concentration and I fluff an easy shot. “Crap”, I think to myself. “Fifty bucks!” It is not so much the loss of the money which irks me as the loss of the prospect of a ‘few hours’ at my place with this fine youngster.

Lance leans over the table; holding his cue light-fingered and easy he strokes like a pro. He moves around the table with grace and confidence, sinking ball after ball. I like what I see. It is almost worth the fifty just to watch him move inside his jeans.

“Oh well,” I tell myself. I’ve lost before. Will probably lose again. Just when I’ve resigned myself to another night alone with a good book and an unsatisfied libido, Lance misses an easy shot on the eight. He complains loudly, but I sense a degree of insincerity in his demeanor.

Now it really is up to me. I pause. Breathe deeply. Shake the woolies out of my brain. The juke box blares. “Bad, bad, Leroy Brown”. I grin. My music! The fates are with me. Four down and four to go. The twelve drops. Three. I slice the fifteen down the long rail and it disappears. Snookered behind the eight ball, I have no choice but to try a complicated three rail shot on the thirteen. The kiss is good. It rolls toward the corner in agonizingly slow motion. Bobbles in the corner. Teeters. Drops. The grin widens on my face. The eight stands alone. Straight shot in the side, my favorite pocket. I glance up at lance. His lips are pursed in the tiny hint of a smile. An easy stroke and victory is mine.

“Look,” I say. “I won’t hold you to anything. It’s okay. Great playing with you.”

“Don’t insult me,” he says. A deal is a deal. How you want to do this?”‘

Having difficulty wiping the dopey smile off my face, I reply. “Well, hang around in here for a bit. Then walk out the door. I’ll pick you up out front.”

It takes me about five minutes to retrieve my grey Porsche 911 convertible and tool around to the front of Lefty’s, top down. True to his word he waits at the curb. ” Hop in,” I say, leaning over to pop open the door for him. His lean form looks great adorning the grey leather bucket seat.

I soon have the sleek machine roaring up the coast highway. The night air is brisk but not unpleasant, the full moon flashing silver and grey behind scudding pewter clouds. Lance’s flaming red hair floats back in the breeze, causing two lumps to form in me, only one of which is in my throat.

“So lance, tell me something about you.”

“What do you want to hear?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. What do you do for a living? What do you care about? What kind of music do you like? You married? Divorced. Single. What?

“Well,” he says, ” I am a cartographer by trade. A map maker, you know. I like jazz, the blues, some classical. I had a steady girl, Jeannette, I thought we were gonna get married but two months ago she dumped me for a plumber. A fuckin’ plumber, can you believe that? Guy came to her place to fix a leak and they ended up in bed. So I just been kinda laying low for a while. Licking my wounds so to speak. How about you?”

Well, I was married once. Along time ago. But I figured out that I like girls and boys. She couldn’t handle that and I couldn’t give it up.” I sneak a look at his face to see how the news of my bisexuality has taken him, but can discern no reaction, so I plunge ahead. “Since then I’ve stayed uncommitted. I got lucky in the dot com market swell and was smart enough to get out ahead of the plunge, so I’m okay for cash. No worries. Just kinda going through life day by day, taking my joy where I can find it.”

“Well, this is it,” I tell him. “Home sweet home. It’s not too late to change your mind if you don’t feel comfortable, you know.”

“No sweat! Really, it’s okay.”

Inside I gesture toward the sofa. “Have a seat. I’ll be right with you.” I move to fire up my massive fieldstone fireplace. Put on some tunes. “Wanna drink? What’ll it be?”

“Yeah, something, I don’t care what it is.”

I return with two snifters of Phillipe Secundo, the fine Spanish brandy gleaming amber and gold in the flickering firelight. “Try this. It’s great. Just about the finest brandy you’ll find. Savor it. Taste the grapes. And to supplement the flavor.” I lean and open a small wooden box on the glass coffee table, a replica of the coffin of El Cid, stolen from a convent in my younger, more reckless days. “Voila!” I produce two good-sized joints of primo Columbian red bud. Fire one up. Inhale deeply, hold it in. Pass it over. Our fingers touch and an unseen spark jumps across between us.

He tokes deep. For a while we don’t speak, passing the fine weed back and forth and sipping the aromatic liquor.

Halfway through the second joint, Lance speaks. ‘Uh. . . You know I ‘ve never done this before.”

“Smoked dope?”

His face reddens, approaching the color of his hair. I can’t help but wonder if the nest between his muscular legs is just as flaming. “No I mean, uh. I mean I’ve never been, uh you know with a man before. Well, okay. Once a long time ago in a scout tent with my best buddy, but we didn’t, you know, um, really, uh, do anything. Just uh, you know, touched each other.” Now his face is flaming, redder that the flickering flames. “Have you done this a lot? I mean, you know. . . with other men?

“Oh I’ve had my share.”

“Well, uh. . . er, what’s it like?”

“Well Mr. Twenty question, let me ask you a question or two. Do you ever think about it? Wonder what it would be like?”

“Yeah, I’ve thought about it quite a bit, you know like fantasizing.”

“Do you fantasize sometimes about men when you jerk off? I mean, you do masturbate, right?”

“Well sure and yes.”

“What do you imagine? Can you tell me what you think about?”

Lance’s shyness is a definite turn-on for me. He hesitates a long time before his answer, as if he doesn’t know what turns him on.

“I think a lot about . . . being sucked off, you know.”

“Well didn’t your girl friend, what’s her name, Janette Ever suck you.”

“Are you kidding, no way. She thinks everything but straight up, uh, screwing is dirty. She wouldn’t even let me go down on her.”

“And what else? Ever think about holding another guy’s cock, maybe sucking it?”

“Lots of times. I even, er, touch myself and then smell and suck my fingers to get the taste. But you know I don’t even know if I really want to or, you know, just think about it. I worry a lot about maybe being Qu. . . , uh , er gay ‘cuz I have these thoughts and dreams. I wouldn’t want that. I love women a lot too.

“You know Lance, I used to worry about that a lot myself. But one can’t go through life accepting the names others might stick on him. Even when I was a lot lot younger than you I was very confused. I caught myself checking out other guys, in the shower and stuff. And then I’d get real ashamed and afraid. I was very confused for a lot of years, but finally I decided I am what I am. If I like the smell and taste of a god hot pussy, if I like women and making love to them, but then I like the smell and taste of a good hot cock, too, what am I? I am me! Then I found out from this book, well, several books actually, that there are many, many degrees and types of sexuality. For a while I even tried to put a number to it. Was I fifty-fifty? Twenty-eighty? Finally I just said ‘the hell with it. Sometimes I call myself a bi-sexual. Sometimes ambisexual. I really think what I am might be called omni sexual. Just your basic horn dog that loves sex of all kinds and types. Anyway, I’ve stopped worrying about it and just do what I do, And am I loving it! And right now I am extremely turned on by you. Lance, the person and the body. But that doesn’t compel you to do anything, be anything. You are you and that’s that!”

“You can still go if you want. Or you can stay and smoke some more, listen to some tunes. I’ve got a great blues collection. Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, Koko Taylor, all the greats.” As I say this I place a ‘friendly’ palm on his thigh, not too high up. I don’t want to freak him, just encourage him. ” I’ll be disappointed, but I’ll live. Either way, I’ll still respect you in the morning,” I joke. “So, Go or stay. It’s up to you. And if you stay, what you do will be your decision.”

“No. It’s okay. I want to. I mean I think I do. Something. I don’t know what.”

I hook one forefinger under his square chin, his small flaming beard is silky as down. “It’ll be okay. Really. Don’t worry. Just relax. Here. Turn around.” Placing my hands on his shoulders I turn him slightly on the couch so his back is to me. Softly at first I begin to rub his shoulders, kneading away some of the tension. “Take off your shirt so I can do this right. He unbuttons his shirt and slips it down around his waist. The skin of his back is smooth as an infant’s. Under my hands his young body is quivering. Something akin to electricity tingles my fingers. Alternating deep kneading with feather light touches, I stroke, stroke. Fingertips lightly teasing at the belt line, gliding down his muscular arms, I murmur soothing sounds. “It’s okay. Relax. Take it easy. I feel the tension of fear leaving, another sort of tension replacing it.

My arms slowly encircle him, draw him gently back to lean against my chest, my breath soft on his neck. My palms slide over his pecs, his taut belly. He squirms slightly against me, raising my temperature several degrees. A low slow ache begins in my gut.

Slowly, oh so agonizingly slowly, I ease my fingers under the waistband of his jeans, slide them under elastic. Lance sighs. My fingers deftly undo his belt buckle. He inhales sharply but neither moves nor objects. Emboldened, I fumble with the accursed double flap of his BVDs. He may be reluctant, afraid, merely curious, but his young strong manhood is rampant with need, I immediately discover.

Inside my own slacks, ‘the monster’, is aching, pushing hard to be set free. For the moment I ignore him. My thumb circles the prominent head of Lance’s dick, it jumps in response. A tiny spot of clear ooze issues forth, providing the lubricant for stronger manipulation. Grasping the length of his hardness in my fist, I squeeze lightly. “Nice, very nice, I murmur.”

Maintaining contact, hands roving over his trim young form, I glide out from behind him, easing his upper body down on the sofa. Moving around to bend on one knee before him, I place my palms on his belly, just below the navel, massaging firmly. A line of tiny curls the color of fresh strawberries disappears beneath the white band of his shorts, like an arrow pointing the road to glory. My thumbs hook the elastic, fingers curl. Lance raises his hips slightly to assist me as I slip his jeans and jockeys down in one smooth motion. His long, strong hardness bounds out as if sniffing the air, surrounded by a silken nest of woven copper. I sit back on my haunches to feast my eyes for a moment, look straight in his deep blue eyes. “Beautiful!,” I whisper. “You want me to stop?”

“N-No,” he barely mutters, as if holding his breath.

A large drop of silvery clear fluid, flashing crimson and scarlet in the firelight is about to drip from the tiny lips of his cock. I bend. My tongue flicks out to capture, savor it. The powerful male musk of him is intoxicating, dizzying. My mouth encloses the swollen head. His taste is young and fresh, like lightly salted spring rain. His hips thrust softly upward, his cock twitching and throbbing between my lips, hot and wet.

“Oh god! Oh god!”, he shouts and spatters a hot blast of his cum against the roof of my mouth. Immediately I swallow him deep, my nose in his scarlet curls, throat swallowing over and over, tongue flashing, his balls on my chin.

The grin on my face is so huge I almost lose him. His youthful prematurity amuses me, excites me. I can only hope that the rapid regeneration common to his age accompanies his quickness.

“Oh damn!”, he exclaims. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry”

I slide my mouth from him, grinning. “Shhh”, I mutter. “It’s okay. That’s okay. Don’t apologize!”

Except for the jeans and briefs gathered around his calves, he is naked, while I am still fully clothed. I watch his youthful tool subside in a gradually lessening series of aftershocks. His face is firey red. He draws in a long shuddering breath. Tenderly, I view the tension seep from his body. His eyes open. He shifts his muscled frame. Sighs. He bends to retrieve and pull up his pants.

“Don’t,” I ask simply. “Please don’t”. And I maneuver his pants and snow white shorts past his feet and off, casting them haughtily aside. “Let me look at you for a while. Are you cold?”

“No I’m uh well, er. I feel kind of silly sitting here naked.” Lance’s face undergoes a series of changes as I watch him debate with himself what to say, how to say, whatever it is that’s on his mind.

“You know, I’ve never done, er, had done, uh, felt anything like that before,”

“Whady’a think? Was it okay?”

“Sure. I mean that was , uh wonderful when uh , uh, you know when you . Well it was the greatest thing I’ve ever felt. ”

“But.” I respond. “Something’s wrong. Something’s happening. What? Tell me. Believe me it;’ll be okay.”

“Oh hell,” he says. “I’ve gone this far. The crimson which had subsided from his cheeks now returns. His voice is low, shy. “Kin I, uh, you know, uh. See you? Yours , uh, . . .too ”

“The stupid grin on my face broadens even more. Slowly my fingers unbutton my charcoal silk shirt, cast it aside. I reach for my belt buckle.

“Wait”, Lance says, his demeanor much like that of an eager puppy. “Let me!”

I move one step closer to the couch, standing now. His smooth lean fingers fumble with my belt buckle, my zipper. In moments that seem an eternity, my Armani slacks are puddled at my feet. As usual I do not wear underwear, so my cock springs out, standing strong and straight, pointing at the ceiling.

“Wow!” lance says, impressed. Then, “What. . . I mean. What’s that?”

For a moment I am puzzled. “My dick?’, I wonder. The dawn breaks in my feeble mind. I realize he has never seen a foreskin before. I chuckle. “That my dear friend is a foreskin. You had one too, but it was cut off when you were a tiny baby. You’ve never heard of circumcision?”

Yeah, but I thought, I mean isn’t that when your dick or balls or something is cut off?

“Look, I’ll show you.” saying this I draw my foreskin all the way back tight. See it looks just like yours now. If you take a real close look at yours you will se the scars from having yours removed. Lance leans way over, turning his cock this way and that. Damn, you’re right! Holy shit! I never knew that. Can I, uh. . . again the flushed face.

I am starting to adore this awkward, shy youth.

He reaches out tenuously and takes my dick in his hand, barely holding me. His face draws close, examining my iron hard cock. His fingers draw back the long loose sheath. His face moves even closer. He plays with me like a new toy found in a happy meal. With thumb and forefinger he slides back the covering, slides it forward again. Then back. Forward again. God, if he keeps this up I’m going to cum in his cute little hand. My hand covers his. “Hold on.” My other hand reaches to take his free hand and urge him to his feet. “Come”, I say.

I lead him down the short hallway to my bedroom. Leaving him standing near the bed, I stretch out full-length on my back. I pat the bed beside me. “Come on, get in,” I say. Go ahead. Check me out all you want. Come on. Don’t be shy. At first he chooses not to lie beside me but instead leans over me. His interest in my manhood is intense. He face so close to my cock I want to hump my hips up, push my length through his slightly open lips. I restrain myself, fearful of stampeding this young colt away.

“This is really cool,” he says. “I’ve never seen one up this close. Not even my own.” His genuine coyness, his innocence, excites me more than his manipulations, and I am growing, straining, aching.

I reach out my right hand to tenderly fondle his shaft, his sac. He kneels on the bed beside me. My hands on his hips, I manipulate, adjust, ’til we are lying side by side, head to toe. Slowly, tantalizingly, I snake out my tongue to lick softly at him, all the while watching his face. A look of resolution, of determination crosses his features. He hesitates. Then cautiously, fearfully, he takes one halting taste of me. Then another. He pauses to assess the taste, his face a question mark. He holds me like an ice cream cone and licks again. And again. I badly want to grasp the back of his head, twine my fingers in his bronze tresses and push his face down on me, but with effort, I restrain myself.

My patience is rewarded when, a few moments later, he slips his lips down over me and takes me to the hilt. The sharp little hairs of his ‘tickler’ brush the base of my cock. He begins to stroke me with his mouth, moving his head forward and back. Imitating my earlier effort he tries to swirl his tongue as he thrusts. He chokes and I can’t help but laugh.

After a few dozen strokes he raises up on one elbow. “Hey, Jeff”, he says. Throughout the ensuing conversation he holds me upright in his fist, pausing now and then to lick or suck at me.

“Yeah, lance?”

“You know what? Even though I’m kinda scared and, you know, like. . . embarrassed and sorta freaked out. I hav’ta admit, I like this!”

“Yeah, I can tell,” I say, grasping his rapidly rehardening cock and giving it a gentle shake.

For the first time, he laughs. A golden shower to my ears, like the whisper of warm summer rain. Damn, I like this boy!

“No but really, I gotta say this while I still feel this way.

“Go ahead man, you’re safe with me. Tell me anything you want to.”

“Well, damn, this is so hard to say!”

“Go for it! Go ahead, tell me.” As I speak, I am softly caressing him, running my hands over his form, like gentling a wild colt.

“I like the feel of, er, you in my mouth. I love the taste, the smell.”

“Of me? Say it Lance, cumon, you’d be surprised how good it will feel. Tell me what you want, what you feel. Say it!

“What’d’ya mean?”

“Repeat after me! Say, ‘I like your cock, Jeff, I want your cock, Jeff, I want you to cum in my mouth, Jeff!’. Say what you mean, don’t hold back. Let go! Go ahead, get dirty, that’s what you really want, isn’t it?”

“Oh god.!” His cock is jumping and throbbing in my hand. I lower my face, take him fully in my mouth once again, work him with my tongue, my lips, my throat, his wetness and my saliva cover him, run down his balls. Using this natural lubrication, I slide my fingertips up and down between his firm young butt cheeks, find the tight ring of his anus. My index finger tickles, teases prods. Gently, slowly, slipperily, I slide a finger into him.

“Yes! Oh god! Yes Jeff. I want your cock in my mouth. Cum in my mouth. I want to taste your cum!” And with that he takes me once again in his mouth. Deep, oh so deep. His mouth moves rapidly up and down on me and I do the same to him. It has been hours and I am ready to burst. But I hold back, hold, waiting for him.

I place my hand on the back of his head, fingers entwined in his scarlet tresses and shove his face down hard on me. My hips thrust up to meet his downward motions. Under me, his body stiffens, He cries out. “Oh god, oh my god!” I feel his hot seed rising, his cock pulsing. A hot shot of his cum spatters against my throat and I release, filling his avid young mouth with my hot cum as he sprays pulse after pulse of juice into my throat. I work my throat on him, swallowing all, massaging his cock with my throat, milking him. I save the last few precious drops of his ejaculate on my tongue, pull my cock from his hungry mouth, turn my body on his and kiss him deeply, swapping our mixed cum back and forth on our tongues. He sucks at my mouth, hungry for the taste of himself and me. Our kisses slow, ebb. We sink. Down, down into blessed relief and doze contentedly in one another’s arms.

Several hours later, I awake. Lance’s trim form is curled against me in a fetal position, snoring sonorously. My legs, my arms, my body enfold him. How sweet his innocent young body feels enclosed in mine. The smell of our sex hangs heavy in the room. I can clearly distinguish our personal musks, mine older, funkier, his gentle, cloying like a fresh spring breeze. I lie there a while, soaking up the protective and nurturing feelings I have for this youngster.

After a while, he stirs. At first he is startled like a fawn in a forest clearing, then he relaxes a bit as memories of the past hours flood back. “Hi guy.” I say. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says, wriggling his sweet butt against me. Immediately ‘the monster’ stirs, his semi rigid length nestled in the sweeping curve of Lance’s buttocks. I kiss the back of his neck, my arms hug him tightly.

“What time is it,” he asks, suddenly concerned. I glance over at my clock radio, shining green like a Martian beacon.

“Four-thirty,” I reply.

“He jerks fully awake stretching his body out. “In the afternoon?”

I laugh softly. “Relax. “Four thirty in the morning.” I reassure him.

“Wow, I’d better get going, I gotta be at work at nine.”

“Why not just settle back in, spend the rest of the night here,” I respond? I’lll make sure you get to work on time.”

“I need a shower, clean clothes. I’d better be going.

“Okay, okay”, I say. “I’ll call you a cab. And, Lance. Thank you so much for our time together. It’s been truly wonderful.”

He turns to face me, kisses me full on the lips. “No, thank you,” he insists. “It, you, the night, was everything I had imagined.

“Well,” I chuckle. “You’re very, very welcome.”


Nearly a week passes. Stupidly, assuming he would not be back, that his natural homophobia would kick in, I had not thought to get Lance’s phone number or address. Periodically, though, throughout the days that have passed, the time I spent with him has flashed upon my inward eye, bringing a deep sense of loss and longing. I have not cruised for six days. Somehow the thought of anonymous, hurried couplings just doesn’t hold the thrill for me. I see his neat, thin cock, surrounded by that downy, curly scarlet nest; his boyish face and flashing golden smile. I ache for his tender young body next to mine.

Thursday morning I sit sunk deeply in my soft grey leather sofa, feeling sorry for myself, for love’s labors lost, gently touching myself through my slacks, remembering our sweet, sweet time together. The chirping of the phone interrupts my reverie. “Yeah, hello”, I intone listlessly.

“Is Jeff there please?”

“Lance? Lance, is that you?”

“Hi Jeff!”

“What? But? How did you get my number?”

That lilting sparkling laugh. “Easy. I know where you live and at the place where I work they have one of those reverse directories where you can get a phone number if you have the address.”

“Clever. Very clever. To what do I owe the honor and privilege of this call?”

“Well, listen, Jeff. I wasn’t sure I would. I mean I didn’t know if I. Shit! Who am I kidding? I been thinking about you, about us, all week. Can I see you? Can I come over?”

Trying to sound calm and mature when my insides are whooping and dancing like a three- year-old at Disneyland isn’t easy, but I manage. “You mean like right now? This afternoon?”

“Well, no actually I meant tonight. Like after work.?”

“Gee, let me check my appointment book,” I tease.

“Cumon, Jeff. Don’t be like that. I would have called you sooner, but I wasn’t sure if I . . Didn’t know if I. . . Oh you know what I mean. I’m sorry. I really am. But I need to talk to you and. . . .”

“There it is, that wonderful, glorious, heartwarming ‘and’!

“I’m only teasing.” I drop my voice trying to sound sexy, appealing. “Lance, truly, I’d love to see you again.”


“What do you mean ‘really’, of course really. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, it’s like I was so. . . So .. Stupid..”

Before he gets too extreme with this whole lack of self-esteem stuff, I have to do something, say something.

“What time?”

“How would seven o’clock be. If that doesn’t interrupt your dinner or something?”

“I’ve got an idea, Lance. How about I pick you up and we go out to dinner? On me, of course.”

After more hesitation. More ‘uhs’ and ‘ers’, I manage to set a time and get his address. I am manipulating a little here because I want to get him to my place without his car, want him dependent on me. Want him, yes it’s true. I want him to stay. With me. Forever? “Woah, Jeff, easy man!”

The rest of the day is a whirlwind. I spend forty minutes choosing my wardrobe for the evening. I finally decide on white cotton slacks with a drawstring top. Loose enough to be comfortable, to allow ‘the monster’ to move freely, but tight enough to display his heft and size. Shirt; black silk with loose sleeves and two buttons open at the throat, my gold nugget hanging suspended in the first few curls of my chest hair. Off white camel hair Armani sports coat. Gold Rolex and black onyx ring.

I make reservations at Geraldo’s, quiet and comfortable with a great menu; swank enough to be impressive but not overwhelming. Not too ‘gay’, but liberal enough so we won’t attract attention. I roll up a few joints of my best weed and carry them in my breast pocket in my thin WWI brass cigarette case.

I find myself with several hours to spare before our appointment, spend them pacing nervously around my apartment like a caged snow leopard. At last six o’clock arrives and I move to the garage to select my ride for the night. “What the hell,” I decide and opt for the blood red 55 MG classic. The ulterior motive which clenches the choice: the limited space will bring us very close together, I will have plenty of excuse to ‘accidently’ touch his leg as I shift through the gears.

Lance’s lodgings are in a modest brownstone in the ‘gentrified’ uptown section. I ring the bell and wait. He flings open the door, resplendent in very tight baby blue brushed denim jeans, white dress shirt, baby blue cotton blend cardigan and penny loafers. A long curved area on the front of his jeans, worn almost white, outlines the long slim curve of his “Lance”

Several awkward moments pass, perhaps thirty seconds, before Lance steps forward, engulfs me in a tight embrace and kisses me full on the lips. “Oh god,” I think, this night is starting out full of promise, as I return his kiss avidly. Something unknowable has changed in his demeanor, my mind questions, but my lips do not. Some things may be better unsaid.

Lance steps back to admire my togs, a grin of appreciation lights his handsome face, igniting a slow fire in my gut.

* * *

Dinner goes well. Lance let’s me order for the two of us and I choose rolaids of beef in mushroom sauce, German potato pancakes and asparagus spears swimming in drawn butter. I order a fine light wine from the Rhine valley, but Lance takes only occasional sips. Throughout dinner Lance is nervous and fidgety; my attempts at light conversation, though well intentioned, seem to go nowhere. From time to time during the one hour or so we dine, he slips off one or the other of his penny loafers and runs his stockinged foot over my leg. I am fearful that when I rise a wet spot will be visible on the front of my white trousers.

Dinner finished, we walk in silence to the vintage sports car. Pulling the case from my breast pocket I fire up a dube and pass it over. We sit qietly passing the joint back and forth for some minutes. “Are you all right?,”I ask.

“Just thinking.”

“What about?”

Once again the shy stammering, the scarlet face. “Just drive. Please.”

“Where to?”

Lance looks at me like I have lost my mind. “Aren’t we going to your place?”

“As you wish sir,” I reply, my best chauffeur imitation spoiled by the silly grin which crosses my face.

I guide the racy little car through five gears until we are humming along the windy mountain road. Moving my hand from the shift knob I place it lightly on Lance’s leg, fingertips curled over the inside of his thigh, lightly teasing. His long lean manhood grows, strong, firm, stretches to meet my fingers. He squirms his butt around on the seat, positioning himself for maximum contact, leans back and closes his eyes. I cup him possessively, moving my hand now and then to up or downshift, then return it to its place.

Once inside my place, I attempt once again to ascertain what the problem is, why the silence, the nervousness, but Lance grasps my shoulders with both his hands, his eyes capturing and holding mine with such intensity that I dare not speak further. His features are strained with a strange look, almost of desperation.

“Please. Please, Jeff don’t say anything. Just don’t. Okay?”

I nod and wait. He reaches to take my hand and guides me back to my bedroom. He turns. His supple young fingers start with my jacket and toss it carelessly aside. His fingers are shaking, fumbling as he loosens the drawstring on my slacks, pushes them down in a puddle around my feet. He kneels before me. Takes my hardness in his mouth. Without preliminary he begins to suck me, long gliding deep strokes, his tongue swirling. No gagging this time, as he expertly takes me to the brink of orgasm.

He rises and steps away from me. Quickly strips and crawls into my bed. Arms outstretched, he beckons. I do not hesitate but move immediately to lie full upon him, enclose myself in his waiting arms.

His lips hover near my ear. “Jeff. I want you to take me! I want it so bad. Please don’t refuse me. Please. I want you.”

I am about to inquire if he means what I think he does when he pushes me downward. “How? What’s the right way? Like this?” And he pulls his knees back against his body, raising his adorable butt

“Are you sure? I mean, uh. . . Er. . . .” Now he has me stammering.

“God! Would you please shut up and do it!”

I rise to my knees. Glance down. His muscled cheeks disappear into darkness, the shadow at the center ringed by a very slight almost transparent ring of fuzzy bronze. At least one part of me can take a hint. My cock is so hard, so full that it seems ready to split. Clear fluid oozes out in copious amounts. I move close. I take my cock in hand and rub it gently up and down his crack. He shudders. Moving forward I touch his dark secret hole with the very tip of my swollen head, rotating a bit to apply lubrication

“Do it! He commands, his voice shaky with fear and anticipation.

I press forward. Meet resistance. Press harder. Apparently gentleness is not going to work. I thrust hard. My bulbous head pops past his tight sphincter, entering him. He cries out!


Holding perfectly still, I wait for him to adjust, reaching out to stroke his body and murmuring. “It’s okay. Okay. Relax. Try to relax. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It hurts, he gasps. I knew it would. It hurts but I want it anyway. Go ahead. Do it! Please?”

With infinite slowness I press inward. Deeper. Deeper. Finally I am fully in him. I grasp the tops of his thighs and draw his body tight against me. Deep inside my cock throbs and jumps. Lance moans deeply, releasing the air he has been holding pent up in his frightened lungs.

“Oh god,” he says. “It’s like fire! More! More!” Beneath me his golden face is contorted in paroxysms of agony and extreme need. I draw slowly out, his anus a tight fist clamping me. I use my hands on him, soothe the backs of his legs, his belly, his nipples, in gentle, undulating feathery strokes. So tight, so resistant, is his small ass, that I grunt on each inward push. I continue slowly forcing my way in and out of him for several minutes, trying for a strong jerk at the end of each thrust, bumping against his prostate with my heavy knob.

Suddenly his young form goes slack, his body loosening, resistance gone. His body opens to me and I glide easily and swiftly in and out. Lance begins thrashing about under my weight. His cries of pain and moans of pleasure blend into one long keening deep in his throat. Inspired, I pick up the pace.

His gentle voice begins repeating, “Yes! Yes!” over and over in a high pitched whisper. I bend his legs back tighter against him, raising his adorable butt, his hole pointed straight up and slam straight down into him. Huge, long, strong thrusts, my ball sac bouncing off his backside. Heat flashes from all over my skin like a sudden grass fire rushing inward to my groin. Blackness swirls around my consciousness. I feel my hot seed rushing toward my balls, my cock.

One fiery blast erupts from me. I know Lance feels it deep in him for he screams out, “Yes! Fill me! Give it to me.” And that releases the flood gates and my cum runs from me like a warm river. I grasp Lance’s buttocks and pull him tight against me, holding still and flooding him. Beneath me, his blue grey eyes are filled with tears, his face full of emotion and release. Over and over again I pour my need into him. My mind, my being swirls around the cosmos. The feeling of loss of self goes on and on.

Eventually my spasms subside. I lean to kiss his neck, his perfect lips, his eyes; tasting the sweet salt of his tears. Rapidly softening, my manhood slips from him with a wet sound. I ease his legs down flat on the bed, lay my heavy length upon him, cover his form with kisses. Eventually he speaks.

“Thank you, Jeff. Thank you so much. Ever since that night, that first night. Well when you touched me ‘there’, put your finger in me, I went home thinking about having you inside me. I mean, I’ve thought about it before in a sort of vague unconnected way. But after that night, it kept coming back to me. You know, I was so reluctant, so worried it might make me ‘gay’ or something. And I was so afraid it would hurt. But there is something about you, about you and me. ‘Cuz ever since we met it’s like all I can think about is letting you have me, take me. I was feeling twinges back there all that first night. I lost that pool game on purpose you know. I wanted it, wanted to be with you. But I couldn’t admit it to myself, couldn’t face up to really wanting another man, not really. I’ve been thinking about it all week, up and down, back and forth, yes and no. Finally I decided I wouldn’t be thinking about it at all if I didn’t really want it. And you are so good, so fine. I feel safe with you. I decided I wanted to give myself to you, totally, completely, no matter what. I wanted you to have me, take me, possess me.”

“Are you okay? Was it okay? Did I hurt you, I’m afraid I wasn’t very gentle.”

“You were fine, perfect.” He snuggles back against me and wriggles his little butt against me. It kind of surprised me. I mean, it hurt like hell, I wasn’t expecting that. But I was determined to see it through, to let you ‘take’ me. In some strange way, that’s what I wanted. To be possessed by you, taken, pierced, used. And then the pain turned into a fire that spread all through me. The feeling of total surrender, of letting myself go completely is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. And the physical feelings. Once I abandoned myself completely to your will, a strange thing happened. I was able to feel, to really feel and what you, uh, your cock did inside me was so incredible.”

“But you didn’t even cum.”

“Oh I cummed all right deep wracking orgasm through my whole body, my whole being. All my life I’ve been fucking girls and cumming. But not really. Just a second or two of quick ejaculation. This was so much more than that. Can I tell you something?”

“Anything buddy. Truly anything.”

“Promise you won’t laugh or put me down?”

“Of course I promise. You can trust me.”

“I, er, uh. . . Oh what the fuck! I think I am in love with you. I mean it. Like I’ve never felt before. I’ve wanted to possess others, girls, but I’ve never wanted to be possessed before, never wanted to belong to anyone. But I do now. I want to be yours if you’ll have me. . . ”

I think a long, long time before answering. I know I have strong feelings for Lance. A deep abiding desire. But It has been years since I was true, wanted to be true, to anyone. Could I love this lad? Be connected, committed to him? And what about women? “Lance, does this mean that you have given up on women? What about your fear of ‘gayness’. What are you asking for? Love? Commitment? What?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything. Except I know I’ve never felt this way before. When you were, while you were, uh, inside me I felt right, good, whole. Like I was meant, born to be possessed by you. Is that? Does that? I mean, maybe I’ve always been gay and never known it except in some sort of shadowy, fantasy way.

“I’ll tell you what Lance. Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll make a promise to you. For right now, for however long it lasts, I’ll commit myself to no other man but you. I can’t promise you I’ll give up women, but for now, I’ll give up all other men for you. Hell, you may find that you want to experience other guys, now that you’ve found “another you’ inside. But I’ll give it a try, see if it works. And I will demand nothing of you, nothing whatever. We need to both think about this for a while before we jump off the deep end. And you need to find out how you still feel about women. Maybe you want to ‘possess’ and ‘be possessed’. What d’ya say?”

“How soon can I move in,” this gorgeous young hunk says to me, grinning widely, that smile that makes my heart ache. And my groin too.

“How about today?”

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