Craigslist 28
WARNING
This story details explicit gay sex between men, teens and boys. If you find this kind of thing distasteful, or if you are underage where ever you live, then stop reading this now, and delete this file. The story is completely fictional, the author does not condone or encourage any of the acts contained herein.
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Chapter 28
The next day is very busy. I start with Ian and Alejandro at 9am, and play the Dutch uncle in a long conversation that I hope will keep them alive. I'm not particularly concerned about Alejandro. He's lived on the streets before and knows how to take care of himself. Ian, on the other hand, is still a baby...my baby. And, it's partially my fault that he is what he is -- innocent and trusting. I've sheltered him while he's been with me, terrified that he'd get hurt if he went out too far on his own, or get beaten up again, or abused. Consequently, he's way too happy-go-lucky, not nearly cynical enough. After lecturing them about safety on the streets, traveling in pairs, looking out for each other, monogamy, AIDS, and a range of other last-minute stuff I probably should have talked about way sooner, I finally turn to Alejandro, and lecture him specifically as if he were a new husband. "I expect you to take care of this one," I say, nodding toward Ian. "He is my treasure, and I'm entrusting him to you. He loves you, and I love you, but if you don't keep him well, I will not be happy." I look at him sternly, and he nods, solemnly. "I mean it, Alejandro. It's your job to keep him safe, and to make sure he understands his limits, and if he strays outside the bounds what's safe, I expect you to kick his ass." The bare outline of a smile plays for a split second across his face, but I'm not kidding here, and he knows it. Ian has teared up, and finally comes and sits on my lap, where I hug him tightly as he cries. "I mean it, goddamn it," I whisper to him. "You need to be safe. I won't be there to watch over you...and...I love you so much...and...I'm so...afraid for you," I choke out, fighting my own tears.
Ian moves back and wipes away my tears. "I'll watch out. I promise. I'll be fine." We smile at each other fondly, and he goes back to his chair.
Finally, at around 11:15am we adjourn. I hug them both and send them on their way with a list of things they need to do in the next two days to get their lives rolling, things like buying bicycles, opening a checking account, securing renter's insurance. There are twenty-two items on this list. They'll have their work cut out for them.
Vijay is next. I find him in the living room chatting with Kenny, and tell him to go get dressed. Half an hour later, we're in the office of my doctor. I've known this guy for years, and he knows me...very well. He treated Ian when he was getting beaten up, and is also Jason's and Kenny's doctor. He knows of our collective relationships, and is very supportive. "It's my job to ensure that you're healthy," he has said to me several times, "and it's your job to enjoy all the benefits that health provides." He always says this with a twinkle in his eye, even the time I came to him with a torn and bleeding sphincter muscle. "A little too much fun, I guess," he said, giggling.
He knows that I'll be coming into the exam room with Vijay, even if he is 25, and holds the door until we're both inside. Then he asks Vijay to take off his clothes. Vijay looks at me, a little embarrassed. I tell him that I called this morning, asking that the doctor not only to test him for HIV, but also perform a rudimentary physical, just to be sure. Vijay nods, and strips, passing his clothes to me. Dr. Cohen motions him to the exam table, where he tests his reflexes, listens to his heart, palpates his back, checks his abdomen, and then, asking him to stand, examines his genitals carefully. Asking him to lie back down on the table, he does a cursory prostate exam. Finally, he looks at me. "He seems in very good health for a strapping boy in his mid-twenties. Nothing to worry about I think. The lungs seemed a little congested, but it sounds like you've had a cold recently. Yes?"
"Yes," Vijay admits.
"Yes, I thought so. Let's take some blood." With that, he wheels over a cart with a syringe already prepared, and takes three small vials of blood. "We'll check for HIV of course, and other STDs, but also for kidney disease, diabetes, cholesterol, and a range of other health risks. You should have results within a week and a half, although, as you know, with HIV..."
I cut him off. "I'm way ahead of you. We'll be back in three months, and again in six months for follow-up lab work." The doctor smiles. We've been through this before.
Vijay dresses, we shake the doctor's hand, and we head home.
"He seems like a very nice guy, and very thorough. I have to tell you, though, it was really embarrassing to strip in front of him -- with no pubic hair."
I give him a long look, smiling to myself. There clearly needs to be some public nudity in his future. He needs to get over these fears of exposure. "I wouldn't worry about it," I say. "He knows me, has for years, and is also Jason's and Kenny's doctor. If you'd actually had any pubic hair, I think he'd have been quite surprised."
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At 1:15pm there's a knock on my office door, an unusual occurrence as the boys have all learned to respect my work time, but this is not a usual day. "Come in," I call, and in comes a tearful Ian. He runs to me, jumping into my lap.
"I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I can leave. I love you, Tim. I love Jason and Kenny, too. I'm already homesick." He wraps himself around me, draping his head over my shoulder, and sobs for several minutes, distraught. I hold him, stroking his hair and his back, letting him vent.
"It's okay, baby. It's not like we're never going to see each other again. This'll give us an excuse to come to LA, to visit. You can call every day, as often as you want. You know I love you, and you know how much. You and Alejandro will be fine, and Vivienne will help." I kiss his face, his neck, his ears, his hair. "Let's set a date for our first visit. When do you want us?"
He pulls back, still sobbing. "Next...weekend."
"Okay. We'll arrive next Friday night, and stay the night. Sound good?"
He smiles through his tears. "Yeah," he whines.
"Ian, Ian, Ian...you'll be fine. Believe me, you'll be fine. I'll always be here for you, and I'll always love you. You know that, right?"
He nods.
"Now, go get ready to go to the airport. We need to load up the car." He smiles, kisses me, and climbs off my lap. "Thanks, Tim," he says, still teary-eyed. "I love you so much."
"No problem, babe."
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Jesus, I have never seen so many tears in my life. I take Alejandro and Ian to the airport at 2pm for their 3:15pm flight. Everyone wants to go along, and my mistake is that I let them. We arrive, and the boys get in line for security, and Ian starts to cry, flying out of the line into Jason, who is also in tears. Next is Kenny, not given to tears in general, but flooded this afternoon. Then Alejandro starts, hugging me and sobbing. And then everyone reciprocates, Alejandro with Jason and Kenny, while Ian is with me. On and on. Finally, everyone runs out of water, and we get the boys on their way, assuring them that we'll see them next weekend. It reminds me of Kindergarten, frankly. I vividly remember many little boys sobbing at the departures of their mothers that first day (actually, every day that first week). I guess I don't remember what leaving home for the first time was like. I don't think it was this traumatic. I think I was looking forward to it a little, actually. My family wasn't especially nurturing, I guess, and I've tried to be especially nurturing for these boys. This is the result. So many hugs and so many kisses. The whole line knows that this is a house full of fags. Big whoop.
I'm exhausted when we get home, and postpone Vijay's punishment until after dinner, opting instead for a generous splash of Scotch over ice. I call Gary just to chat, to get my mind off this. It's Kenny's night for dinner, and we're having Veal Scaloppini, Caesar Salad (with real fucking anchovies -- yummy), and home-made Zabaglione. This boy CAN cook. He'll never reach Jason's level of perfection with Chinese, and knows it, but his Italian is world-class, and his Mexican is fabulous, cuisines that Jason can't touch. This meal is nonpareil, and everyone raves by the end of it, even Jason, who isn't typically a big fan of Italian. It's just utterly delicious.
Finally, after coffee in the living room, and a good conversation about the slow evolution of Obama's cabinet, I nod to Vijay, and we make our way to the bedroom. He is a little pale, nervously anticipating what will be his second spanking ever. I motion him onto the bed, and grab the razor strop from the cupboard. Reaching out, I stroke his leg gently, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. "Relax, Vijay. You're okay." He nods, and sniffs. I'm not sure it's even going to take a strapping to get this boy sobbing. "So, the only rule is that you have to stay still. I control how much punishment you get, and if you move, if you try to avoid it, I double it. I'm in control, here, not you. In fact, the whole intent here is that you lose control, that you let down your guard. Do you trust me enough for that, Vijay?" He nods, still sniffing. I squeeze his right calf. "Good. Ready?"
He nods, and I swing the razor strop in the air for the first stroke which lands across his ass cheeks with a resounding clap. I like the razor strop both because it can deliver quite a lot of pain very quickly, but also because it's a noisy instrument -- the psychological effect of the sound it makes is almost as good as the physical discomfort. I think this is partially why Jason hates it so, and he does hate it. I don't think it hurts him all that much any more, but the fear factor is significant. Vijay grunts. After six, Vijay is panting, almost hyperventilating. After ten, he whimpering, and after fifteen, he's sobbing. This boy does have a fairly high pain threshold, something I observed during his first spanking. I put the strop away, and gather Vijay up, carrying him to the old overstuffed chair in the corner. Setting him on my lap, I hug him as he drapes himself over my shoulder. I stroke his back, his hair, and he continues to sob inconsolably for another fifteen minutes before he starts to get control of himself. "You okay?" I whisper. He nods, but still can't speak. I pet him some more, and he finally stops crying. "You okay, Vijay?" I ask again.
"Yeah." He pants, and then he rears back and looks me in the eye. "I'm better," he says, a little shaky, "a lot better." He smiles bleakly.
"Good," I say, kissing his face and neck.
And then he starts to cry again.
"What's wrong?" I ask him.
Long pause. "I don't know how to say this without sounding...stupid..."
I wait.
Finally, "I'm really happy to be here. I'm really happy that I made it. And...umm...the spanking really...helped...umm...sort me out."
"And why would that sound stupid?"
"I don't know. I guess I don't understand all this yet. I don't really understand what you're trying to do for me. I don't get it on an intellectual level, but...I feel so much relief afterwards. I feel free, less burdened. I don't really understand."
"I wouldn't spend a lot of time analyzing this, Vijay. I mean, you can if you want, but I don't know that it's going to be a productive line of thought. Why not just know that it makes you feel better, and go with that?"
"Yes," he says absently, falling back over my shoulder. "Can I stay here for a while?" he asks. "I mean, here on your lap."
"For as long as you want."
"And...and...you'll just...umm...hug me?" he asks, starting to cry again.
"For as long as you want."
He's sobbing now. I have no idea what he's tapped into, what remorse, what longing for intimacy. No idea. But he stays on my lap for an hour and a half before he finally pulls away, looking me in the eye again. He kisses me. "Thank you, Tim," he says, simply. "Thank you." Then he hugs me again, and finally gets off my lap. I don't move. My feet are on fire -- asleep. He extends his hand, and I take it, hissing as he pulls me to my feet. He giggles. "I guess that was longer than most...umm...after-sessions?"
"I guess," I laugh, and he hugs me.
"Thanks for taking the time."
I smile. "I'll always have time for you, Vijay. That's what this is about...time."
He smiles, and for an instant I think he's going to start to cry again, but he doesn't. Instead, he takes my hand and draws me towards the door on feet that tingle explosively with each step. When we reach the door, we kiss one more time.
When he finally opens the door, what we hear is incredible. Jason is just starting to play Beethoven's Piano Sonata Number 8 in C-minor, the "Pathétique," and I am just mesmerized. I realize this piece is a chestnut, played to death on most classical stations (especially the sole bay area classical station, KDFC, a horrible purveyor of chestnuts, and little else), and so I haven't really listened to it in years. I've heard it, of course, over and over, but haven't really listened. Now I'm listening, because Jason's interpretation is just so...different. Back in the early `80s a Czech pianist, Ivo Pogorelich, hit the world stage with such a resounding bang that he barely survived it. He had the balls to syncopate a fairly lengthy section of Beethoven's Piano Sonata Number 32, an act of heresy to most music critics of the day. I bought the disk without knowing this. I bought the disk because the pianist was...umm...seriously cute. (I can't believe I just admitted that, but it's true. In the cover picture, he was just...adorable.) And then I listened to the sonata, and I was astonished. I must have played that disk hundreds of times in the next couple years, each time as amazed as I'd been the first time. He'd done something different, something wholly unexpected, something genuinely fascinating, and he'd caught my attention. Was his interpretation authentic? Who knows? And what does "authentic" mean in the context of classical music? I've seen Shakespeare done in modern dress. Is that authentic? Musicians exist to bring us something new, something sublime. If the criteria for every performance is to be "authentic," then presumably we only need one recording of any given piece.
The first few bars of the "Pathétique," are stark, and quite slow, but Jason's interpretation is slower than I've ever heard it, so contemplative, so soft, and so very sad. But then, after the first trill, it starts to pick up, until after about two minutes he's moving at supersonic speed. The "Pathétique," is a conflagration of shifting emotions, and this is certainly true of this performance as he moves from sadness, to jubilance, to joy, and back to sadness. The challenge for any pianist is not to allow it to get sentimental, especially in the second movement, the Adagio. Jason is, quite simply, breathtaking. I've positioned myself well behind him because I know it unnerves him when he's playing and I start to cry, and it doesn't take me long. By the end of the piece, about twenty minutes, I'm a complete mess, but so is Kenny, I notice, sobbing endlessly, and even Vijay is sniffing back tears. As Jason swings around on his stool, he faces his audience, all weeping. Kenny runs to him, hugging him more resolutely than I've ever seen. Then Vijay crosses to him, hugging him tightly. And then it's my turn. I hug him tight, kissing him fondly, and whispering in his ear. He looks suddenly surprised, and then smiles broadly, shaking his head, as I'd hoped he would. Then he crosses the room, takes Vijay's hand, and leads him off to his room, which leaves Kenny with me. What I'd whispered is that I love him, that his interpretation of the "Pathétique," was breathtaking, and that I was feeling guilty about neglecting Kenny, and would like to sleep with him alone tonight. Did he mind? Kenny looks at me, puzzled.
"I asked Jason to take care of Vijay tonight, because I'd like to sleep with just you."
He tears up instantly, runs, and sits on my lap. I hug him tightly, and we kiss. "I haven't shown you much affection recently, Kenny. I've been preoccupied with New York, Ian and Alejandro, and Vijay. But, I love you so. Please forgive me." He giggles, almost beside himself at the recognition, and kisses me passionately, a long, long kiss. Finally he breaks free, and he's still tearing. "So, the real question is, do you want to fuck me, or should I fuck you. There's no one right answer to this. We can play all night if you want, and play some more tomorrow morning. `Where do you want to go today?'" I ask, quoting that incredibly trite Microsoft tag line.
He giggles, getting it immediately. "Umm...I'd like you inside me," he says, huskily.
I smile, and carry him to the bedroom, and we make love for a cumulative total of about six hours, sleeping between bouts of lovemaking. He is so soft, so sensitive, and just so beautiful. I adore him, and by the time we're done, I've proved that to him. "I love you so," I finally whisper in his ear.
"I love you, too. Thank you for last night." I kiss him, and we finally get up at around 10am. Jason and Vijay have already had breakfast, probably hours ago, but fix us some eggs, some bacon, some toast. Jesus Christ, I'm lucky!
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And then my luck runs out. Vivienne calls, Ian and Alejandro's landlady. She tells me that Ian is at the Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center being treated for a severe beating. I detested Ronald Reagan, and am very conflicted about Ian being anywhere with Ronald Reagan in the title. So squeamish was Reagan about faggots like me that he couldn't utter the word AIDS until long after it had become an epidemic, and he sure as hell didn't fund any research until long after most of the infected fags were dead. The idea of naming a medical center after him is extremely offensive. Still, that's where he is, having been severely beaten by a couple of thugs who apparently felt he was a bit too...effeminate. This was in broad-fucking daylight, mind you. They apparently thought it was their god-given right to beat him to a pulp, and didn't care who saw them. They were easily identified, and are now in custody. Can I come?
In a fucking heartbeat.
I pack hurriedly, talking to the airline while shouting instructions to Jason. And then I'm at the airport, Kenny having driven me faster than the speed of light. While waiting for the plane, I call Bob Titus, my attorney, and get him up to speed. "What do you want to do?" he asks.
"You know what I want to do, Bob."
"Umm...yeah...okay. I'll call the DA in LA."
In three hours, thanks to American Airlines and Vivienne Tourneau, I'm sitting next to Ian's bed. He is a mess of bruises, contusions, lacerations and bandages. He has three broken ribs. He's heavily sedated. Vivienne sits in the corner, and Alejandro sits across from me. I've spent the last five minutes since I arrived glowering at Alejandro. I am really fucking angry.
"What the fuck, Alejandro? This was on your watch. What good have you done him?"
Alejandro starts to cry, covering his face with his hands. "I'm so sorry, Tim. I'm sooo sorry..."
"I don't give rat dick for sorry, Alejandro. This boy is broken. How did you help him?"
Alejandro is sobbing now, and Vivienne moves to comfort him, giving me a look
"I expected more from you, Alejandro," I say, and then descend into my own reverie.
I did expect more. I fully intend to take Ian home with me. He's not safe here. I can't trust Alejandro to keep him safe. He's only safe with me. And then I notice that his eyes are open. How long has he been observing us, I wonder? I move to him and kiss him, and he smiles bleakly. Then, looking me in the eye, he says "Not his fault." I look at him blankly, confused. "Not Alejandro's fault." He's defending his boyfriend. My eyes narrow as if to dispute his claim. "Please, Tim. It's not Alejandro's fault. I was stupid. I was somewhere I shouldn't have been being way...too...campy. It's my fault. Stupid." He starts to fade, and I realize that he's on an IV drip, probably getting an ongoing dose of sedatives. He closes his eyes, and is gone, back in to dream land where he belongs.
I give Alejandro a long, long look. He's still crying softly, but more in control than before. Vivienne is still fawning over him. "I'm sorry, Vivienne. Could Alejandro and I have a moment, please?" She nods, and leaves the room, sitting in one of the chairs that line the corridor, just outside. I pull up a chair next to Alejandro. "Vivienne told me that this happened in a pretty raunchy part of LA, a place a cute little blond boy should never have been. Why was he there?"
"I don't know. I've no idea why he was there. Stupid. It was just stupid of him. I would not have felt safe there."
I pause, thoughtfully, looking at him. Finally, "Alejandro, it's time for you to take some control here. I told you that if Ian strayed outside the boundaries of safety, I expected you to kick his ass. Ian has lived a very sheltered life. I've seen to that. Call me overprotective. I won't deny that. Given how he came to me, from an abusive foster home, and given his abuse at school, I worked very hard to make sure he was safe. He doesn't understand his limits, Alejandro. You have to make him understand. I consider this your fault, not his." Alejandro is sobbing again, nodding.
A nurse appears and asks us to leave. It's 30 minutes before the end of visiting hours, but she has to change his dressings, she says. She asks us to come back tomorrow. We both kiss the sleeping Ian fondly, and leave the room, collecting Vivienne who has been sitting just outside the door. She drives us back to the house, and Alejandro and I go up to the boys' room. Alejandro looks miserable. Any semblance of confidence he once had is gone. I've gotten through to him -- maybe a bit too well. He's internalized the guilt, and is despondent. We sit across from each other, Alejandro staring blankly into the distance, sniffing back tears. Finally, he looks at me. "Umm...Tim...could you punish me, please."
I give him a long look. "I don't know, Alejandro. I don't think I want you feeling better about this. I think a little suffering in this case might be good for the soul -- your suffering, Ian's soul."
"Please, Tim. I get it. I know I fucked up. Please..."
I give him another long look, and finally nod. "Okay, Alejandro, but you need to realize that I'm very angry at you right now. That's not a good mindset for punishment."
He nods. "I know."
He strips, and hands me his belt because I have nothing else to strike him with. It's about three inches wide and about 1/8 inch thick. If I double it, it'll work like a tawse. I motion him to the bed. I really am very angry at him, but I know that, and try to temper my strokes, but as we proceed, I find I'm swinging really hard, really hard. I back off some, but again, I find myself really laying into him. By 18 strokes he is bruising badly, and I have to stop. He's sobbing, but he was sobbing after five. I guess I didn't realize how much anger I had pent up. I pick him up off the bed, and carry him to one of the IKEA chairs, setting him on my lap. He's sobbing. "I'm sorry, Alejandro. I kept trying to pull back, but I guess I didn't know how angry I really was. I wasn't really...in control. I'm sorry. I am very disappointed...in you."
He nods, choking on tears. "Yes...I know. I'm...so...sorry."
I hug him as he sobs. "As soon as he can travel, I'm taking Ian home to convalesce. School hasn't started yet, so it's not as though he's missing anything. I'm going to have to consider whether I think he should come back here. When his ribs heal, I'm going to give him the spanking of his life. I'm angry at you, Alejandro, but I'm even angrier at him. He should have known better, should have told you where he was going...and why."
"Please...please..." He pleads. "Please don't take him away."
I give him a long, long look. "You failed to protect him, Alejandro. Don't fuck with me on this. He's going home, at least for a while." He continues to sob, but nods.
Bandaged and bruised, Ian is discharged the next day, and we board a plane for San Jose. He is frantic about leaving Alejandro, but ultimately gives up the fight. I promise him that before he returns here I will beat him more black and blue than he already is, and he hangs his head. "I am very, VERY disappointed in you, Ian. VERY disappointed." I am what Jason and Kenny call "focused." I am fixated on a single goal or objective. It scares the shit out of them when I get this way because they have no idea what I might do, but they know I'll do something . Nothing will slide. Nothing will go unnoticed.
We arrive in San Jose at 5:10pm. Kenny is at the gate to meet us, running to us when he sees us on the gangway. He kisses me, and then touches Ian tentatively, not sure what pain he may cause. Ultimately, he just leans in and kisses him, and we make our way to the airport exit. Ian has been weepy for the entire flight, and is tearing even now. He didn't want to leave LA, didn't want to leave Alejandro, but here we are. Kenny tries to cheer him on, but Ian is clearly very unhappy, to my delight, because I'm still very angry with both Ian and Alejandro. Jason, we find, has made his favorites for dinner -- home-made spinach ravioli in marinara, steamed broccoli and onions, a green salad from the garden, and custard for dessert. Aside from the custard, this is completely outside of Jason's repertory. Ian know it, and is touched. But, he's still weepy, and this finally exasperates me. "Will you give it the fuck up, please? You're the one who wandered into the war zone. Get over yourself," I shout at him. "If you go back there at all, it'll be after you've proven to me that you know your limitations."
This, of course, sends him over the edge, and he starts to cry, and I have to go pick him up (oh, so carefully) and carry him to the big chair in the bedroom for some alone time where I lecture him on responsibility, safety, my expectations of Alejandro, and what Ian's parents would expect of me. "You are five-foot-fucking-six," I spit, "and you look like you're twelve. I don't know what the fuck you think you were doing there." I'm very angry, and he's sobbing. And then I get over myself and just hug him, and start to cry. "Do you have any fucking idea how...awful it is when someone calls to tell you that your son has been beaten nearly to death?" I rear back and look him in the eyes. "Do you have any idea what that's like?" He shakes his head, and I hug him again, more tightly than I should have because he flinches -- those goddamn broken ribs. "Don't you ever fucking do this again, Ian," I whisper, and he chokes. "Don't you..."
We sit for nearly an hour as my anger ebbs. And then the phone rings, and stops ringing because someone answers it. And then there's a knock on the door. It's a very subdued Jason. "It's Alejandro. He'd like to talk to Ian. He's a little...frantic."
I kiss Ian, and push him off my lap. "Go talk to him. You can tell him you don't know when you're coming home."
The message is clear. I'm keeping Ian with me until he's healed, until I'm sure he's gotten the message. But, the fact that I consider "home" wherever Alejandro is gives him hope.
"Shooo," I say, motioning him out of the room. He laughs briefly, and then flies to the kitchen phone. I give Jason an exhausted look, and then motion him onto my lap, hugging him tightly when he comes to rest. "I'm so fucking tired of this." He smiles, and kisses me, draping himself over my shoulder.
"It'll be okay, Tim. He'll be okay." Jason has a way of calming me when I'm really frantic. "Focus" sends me into space, and Jason is able to gently pull me back, to calm my nerves. I'm not sure how he does it, exactly. It's not verbal. He doesn't say much, but he does calm me. It think it's the connection. We're almost identical in terms of Meyers-Briggs personality types, and therefore have an almost innate understanding of each other. He slowly talks me down off the ceiling, and I just keep hugging him. Finally, after half an hour, I'm calm again, and we get up and move to the living room where we find Kenny and Vijay.
Poor Vijay. I haven't served him well. I cross the room and kiss him, and he hugs me. I look at Kenny and Jason with a sort of hollow look. The Vulcan Mind Meld kicks in, and they nod, smiling. I smile at Jason, and take Vijay's hand. "Let's go to bed," I say to him, and he looks at me, shocked. I pull him by the hand, and he follows me to the bedroom. It's about fucking time...or about fucking-time.
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Vijay and I haven't made love yet. So much for my promise that he'd get off as often as he needed to. I kiss him fondly. "I'm sorry, Vijay. Life has been a little turbulent around here."
He smiles. "Does this mean that we will make love?"
"I'd like that. Would you?"
"Very much."
We start to kiss, and he's almost instantly erect. "What do you like, Vijay? I can blow you, fuck you, you can fuck me, or anything in between."
He pauses for a long moment, and then looks into my eyes. I see embarrassment, fear, and longing. "Umm...I do not think I am a...top. I do not think I can...umm...fuck you. I think I will...deflate," he says with a giggle. "Your blow jobs are incredible, but..." Long, long pause. "I have actually never been...umm...fucked."
I find this revelation a little amazing. "Really?"
"Never," he reiterates. "It has always terrified me. But..." Again, a long, long pause. "Could we go really slow?"
I reach behind his neck and pull him to me. "As slow as you want, babe, and if it doesn't feel good, tell me and we'll do something else. I'm actually flattered that you'd let me do this to you for the first time. I'm surprised you haven't done it, but am honored to be your first."
He smiles, and leans into another kiss. "How do you want me?"
There's a school of thought that says that the first time should be under the control of the fuckee rather than the fucker. I have two problems with this. First, the fuckee has no idea what he's trying to achieve, no idea how to accomplish a pleasurable experience. Second, they tend to give up too soon. The first few times you do this are a bit...painful. Usually, the pleasure is so much greater than the pain, but there is some pain. You need someone who will force you through that pain, something you can't necessarily be expected to do on your own.
"I think I'd like you on your belly, Vijay, and let's put a pillow under you to prop up your ass." He giggles, but does as I request. This is a very good position -- for me -- but makes him very passive. It puts me completely in control, allowing me to moderate the pain. "So, this is probably going to feel a little weird at first, and may be a little uncomfortable. I need to stretch you a bit so that when I actually fuck you, it won't hurt. I'm going to do that with my fingers and a shithouse full of lotion. You okay?" I ask.
He nods apprehensively.
"Don't worry, Vijay. It'll be okay. We're going to take it really slow." I strip, and get a condom from the drawer of the nightstand. Then I squirt a load of lotion into his ass crack and begin to massage his pucker, finally inserting my forefinger. He gasps, and moans as I feel around inside him for the prostate. It's always best to start the pleasure quickly. Having found it, I begin to rub it on each thrust of my finger, and he continues to moan, slowly relaxing his sphincter. After maybe five minutes of this, I insert a second finger, and he tightens up almost at once. "Relax," I coo in his ear, and he does, slowly. Finally, it's time for the third finger, and as I push into him he hisses. "You okay?" He nods. I begin to kiss his back as I stretch his anus, and soon, he's ready for the main course. Withdrawing my fingers, I roll on the condom, coat it with lots of lotion, and line up my cock with his asshole. "You ready?" I ask.
He nods. "Ready," he says, huskily.
I enter him very slowly, a quarter inch at a time, pulling out with each new penetration. He has his eyes clamped shut. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm okay."
It takes me about five minutes to get all the way in, and then I stop, giving him a chance to get used to this. Then I withdraw just to the head of my cock, before pushing back inside. This starts a rhythm, and soon he's panting. Pulling out of him, I tell him to turn over on his back, and, placing his legs on my shoulders, enter him again as I watch his expressions move from a slight twinge of pain, to pure joy. Leaning forward, I seal my lips to his in a long and sensual kiss even as I continue to fuck him, the angle of my entry intended to graze his prostate with every thrust. As we continue, the urgency of his moaning increases, and finally he breaks the kiss, throwing his head from side to side. "Oh...oh...oh..." he moans. "Oh...my...god..." And then he cums, without ever touching his dick. As he cums, I start to cum, sealing my lips to his once again, kissing him passionately, moaning uncontrollably into his mouth. This is a really good orgasm.
Five minutes later, as we come down from the experience, he reaches over and wraps his arms around me, kissing me passionately. "Thank you," he says, teary-eyed.
I return his kiss, nuzzling his neck. "No problem, Vijay. Any time."
He giggles. "Umm...how about in half an hour?"
Now I giggle. "Might have to be more like an hour, but, okay..."
He hugs me again, and we fall asleep, awakening an hour and a half later, and going at it again. I have to confess to being very tactile. One of my ex's once decided that it would be fun to tie my hands and feet to the bed posts and blow me. He thought the domination thing would be fun, and the idea of it was sort of fun. Trouble was, he couldn't make me cum. I even had trouble holding an erection. Without the use of my hands, without being able to stroke him, to feel the softness of his body, of his skin, I just couldn't get sufficiently aroused. He sucked me for nearly 45 minutes. He then gave up and released me. And then I touched him, and was instantly hard. I'm very tactile, and the magical quality of Vijay's skin, like Jason's and Kenny's, really turns me on. So soft, so smooth. Four hours later we're finally spent, and I honestly don't remember how many orgasms I had. I guess I should have counted the condoms. All I'm sure of is that we'll sleep very well tonight.
Published first at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Nemo-stories/