A Trip to Minneapolis
As always please contribute to Nifty and I do answer all emails at mikedave01@yahoo.com.
I sent a fan mail to the author of the new "Crossfit" series and told him how much I enjoyed his first effort in writing. He responded and thanked me. I then told him I was a prolific author on Nifty and said he might enjoy some of my stories. Well, he did. He was particularly interested in stories that are autobiographical and I told him which ones were. But I noticed a particular lacuna (gap). I couldn't find a story I was sure I published, despite looking for a long time. So, I am writing it (again?) for Pete (who was/is in Minneapolis).
I was dressed up for a conference in Minneapolis. I was a professor on Long Island then in the early 2000s and had taken the shared van to the City, to Laguardia airport. I didn't trust airlines not losing my baggage (and still don't) so wanted to be sure I had my conference clothes no matter. I got through security eventually and was waiting at the gate for the flight to Minneapolis through Chicago. Soon I got bored, since I arrived early (not trusting anything to chance) and decided to go pee. I decided to take my time at the urinal, since I was bored. I eventually started to get a bit hard. And I have quite a big cock when hard, btw. I was surprised when someone took the urinal next to me, even though there were other urinals free. I had to look to see who it was. To my surprise it was a very nice-looking man in an airline uniform. The top part was pretty formal, but he was wearing shorts (it was June after all) that showed off great legs. He was my height of six feet as well. His face was handsome and Mediterranean with a white moustache. Frankly, he was quite the looker. Well, I was interested and started to get harder. I noticed he did, too. And a very nice cock as well! Just then someone came in to pee. The guy motioned to me to zip up and follow him. I did, of course.
He led me to a corridor that was empty and being prepared for a food concourse (long since opened and successful). I could see he wanted to talk and I prepared to listen. His questions were direct and short. He was a real New Yorker.
He started with "Where do you live?"
"Long Island. Suffolk County."
"Nassau here", he answered.
"Are you married?"
"Yes."
"Good", he said. "I only like married men." Well, I didn't understand that, but let it go.
"Where are you going?"
"Minneapolis", I answered.
"Via Chicago" he stated. I nodded my head in agreement. He took out a pen and a piece of paper and wrote.
"Here is my telephone number. Will you call me when you get back to New York?"
I told him I would. I could tell he didn't believe me. Well, we had just met and in highly unusual circumstances. But I could tell he liked my looks (I was tall, auburn haired and fit) and I certainly liked his.
He studied me for a few seconds and I think he saw my resolve to call him when I got back. He then grinned and led me to my gate for the flight to Chicago. Once at the gate (and I noticed he was wearing an American Airlines uniform finally) and that explained how he knew which gate I was leaving from since I was flying American. He looked at me again and said, "Give me your boarding pass". Well, I trusted him enough to give it to him. He went up to the gate agent and they had a hushed conversation. After a few minutes he came back to me and gave me my boarding pass. I didn't follow any of this. I just sat down and zoned out. I came to when I heard the last call to Chicago.
I came to barely in time to rush to the boarding agent to get on the flight. Today had already been too much. She smiled nicely at me, noting my confusion. I got on the plane just barely in time. And looked at my boarding pass to see where I was sitting in "steerage". I always sit in the back of the plane with a window. I like looking out at the landscape below and being able to sleep on the window if I wish. But when I looked at the ticket, it said 3A instead of 33F or something similar, like it always does. I was confused again. I sort of blanked out when I got on the plane. The flight attendant noted how confused I was and showed me to my seat.
"Wait!" I thought. This was wrong. I was in first class?!? But I had to sit down and buckle up for takeoff. I knew I looked like a deer in the headlights though. The lovely lady in the seat next to me then talked to me in a Scottish accent. She asked if this was my first time in first class. I answered that it was. She smiled then and said that we should toast to it. We received a whole bottle of French champagne from the attendant as well as super yummy French hors-d'oeuvres on china plates. I looked at Carole (that was her name, I learned) and told her I was totally overwhelmed. She laughed at me and just told me to enjoy the experience.
Well, I did. It was so unreal. Why not? Carole and I laughed and joked. She enjoyed my tales of my experiences as a student in Scotland one summer. I was sorry when the flight touched down at O'Hare in Chicago.
I managed to change planes and was seated in steerage for the flight to Minneapolis. I finally figured out that the American employee in New York had set me up in first class for the flight from New York to Chicago. If he thought I was not going to call him when I got back, it was super assured that I would now to thank him.
My favorite lesbian friend, J***** picked me up at the airport along with her partner M*******. I loved staying in their house in the attic bedroom in Mineeapolis, near the Univ. I loved helping them in the garden. I was happy to help with lifting and moving things that were tough for them, but not for me. Yeah I was and am muscular. And they were so much in love and such a great couple. What a pleasure it was to be with them. I enjoyed walking along the concrete banks of the Mississippi River from their comfy house on the way to the Univ. for the conference. My talk went very well and many were interested in my work. Excellent.
But now it was time for something completely different. I had arranged this ahead of time. I borrowed the friends' ancient Toyota small pick up truck. I was grateful I knew how to drive the ancient manual, since I had driven my older brother's (newer) version years ago. I was super grateful to get on the interstate after downshifting big time and hoping and praying. I stayed in the slow lane all the way up to the northern suburbs and finally took the exit I was supposed to and wended my way around to find the house on the right street. At this point I was totally intimidated. So was there an axe murderer inside this big house on this quiet suburban street? I thought even darker thoughts, including Jeffrey Dahmer. Well, I finally decided I could fight my way out if I had to and knew what strict gun control laws Minnesota had.
Well, presumption. The doorbell was answered by a 6'5 guy who was easily 250 muscular pounds in black trunks, a black hat, and a black leather vest, which showed off his hairy chest. I about turn tailed then. But I had set this up. I was going to wrestle in a ring for the first time ever! I decided to enter the guy's lair.
He turned out to be a super nice guy. After some chatting and a water, he led me up to the attic where he had set up a kind of wrestling ring. It looked like one and there are some videos from this period that show it as such. But it wasn't quite the same as later ones I wrestled in. Still. My first time. And he made me watch a bunch of videos that showed his favorite styles. I was totally in agreement. I wanted to do this. Eventually he gave me my trunks, robe, and boots. I was the jobber, of course, in white. Yeah, he got sizes that fit me.
We did wrestle. I was bad at pro wrestling, really bad. I was so used to submission wrestling, with its lightning speed, and muscle holds, that pro was weird, and this is what Bob wanted us to do. Eventually he got tired of my inexpertise and just picked me up and body slammed me for a three count that I accepted. It was his place after all and his ring.
We wrestled a bit more after that and I started to slow down and started to learn that pro wrestling was a kind of dance, with well rehearsed moves, although improv as well. Well, I'm good at dancing, if not pro wrestling.
Eventually he decided he had worked up enough of a sweat and led us down to his big jacuzzi/hot tub. Another first for me. We got fully naked and I got fully hard. He did, too, although it was hard to tell. We enjoyed the warmth, the bubbling water, and the excitement of being outside naked. We talked then and I learned all about him (a medical specialist for injured jocks!) and he learned all about me. After enjoying the liberty of the hot tub we went inside for a small and healthy meal. Eventually (once again) I knew it was time for me to go. He held me tight and close and said, "Where have you been all my life? I am ready to pick out china with you." I did shed a couple of tears then and said I'd hope to see him again soon. Well, I never did. Sorry, everybody, I am telling the truth about my life. He ballooned up to over 350 pounds and couldn't wrestle with knee problems. However, he did find a guy to take care of him. That was the last I heard.
I did return to Long Island and I did call the American Airlines guy. He was surprised to hear my voice and I had to explain who I was. You could almost see him smile when he realized who I was. We figured out a time to meet the following week.
I finally found his very small house in the original suburb of NYC on Nassau County in Levittown. I sort of felt like I was in a kind of historical documentary at first, studying his house and admiring its packaging in such a small space on a small lot. But then we went to his bedroom to explore. To our amusement we discovered we were both tops with big cocks. That didn't stop us from giving each other pleasure though. We both had big and sensitive nipples. Vic showed me he could take me in his beautiful ass if he had to, even though this wasn't his thing in the slightest. I couldn't show him the same. He was just too thick. As a result we had to invite others to his bed to play. We wound up in threesomes often, but even some foursomes and fivesomes. We were happy to plug mouths and asses, working guys together. To say we had fun, would be an understatement. We had a great time, period.
Vic and I developed a "Dad Son" rapport. He was only ten years older than I was, but it made sense for us. In one particularly memorable session I was fucking the English veterinarian while Vic was urging me on, saying, "Fuck your brother Dave. Fuck your brother" Well, while the English guy and I didn't look much alike, I did enjoy fucking him and hearing Vic cheer me on! And the whole Dad/Son and Brother thing was a turn on, as readers of my other stories will know.
Vic and I did talk about "us" of course. Naked in bed he pulled me up to his face and kissed me deeply. He looked at me seriously and finally said, "Dave, we love each other, don't we?" I nodded yes, of course. "But we're not in love, are we?" Well, that took some thinking. I wasn't sure what the distinction was at first, but I eventually got it. Yeah, we did love each other, but weren't in love. And there is a difference. You can only be in love with one person, but you can love multiple people. At least that's how I define it.
To conclude, I eventually moved away from New York. But Vic and I are still in touch and talk on the phone. He and I still love each other, if from afar. And, goodness, he is in his 70s now. I am grateful he has Frank, a much younger landscape architect, to share his bed when he wants.
Vic will never forget me and I will never forget him. And to think this relationship of twenty years started with a chance encounter at a urinal at an airport. Life never ceases to surprise me and amaze me.
Strong hugs to all, Dave.