The First Time Revisited 1 Please donate to this noble cause: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html Please respect copyright.
I woke up with the sun blazing into my bedroom, bathing everything in unexpected February warmth. I could hear the wooden floor creaking as it warmed. I felt safe and a delicious shiver went through my body as I basked like a lizard, half asleep with nothing to do that day but enjoy the quiet.
The warmth of the sheets on my body sent tingles up my legs to my cock and all the way up my spine. I squirmed a little as my cock hardened in the warmth. As I lay there, my eyes shut, rather than some fantasy of being in this bed with some anonymous guy, I began to think about Tim...why on earth would I think about him? After all these years. I hadn't thought about him in...who knows how long?
When we were in Architecture school more than twenty years ago, it was intense and competitive and it seemed we were working on projects twenty-four hours a day. I had noticed Tim right away, but since I was pretty repressed and shy and anxious in those days, I had no idea what to do about it. It was obvious to me he was gay. I don't know why I knew, but it was clear to me. But all I could do was fantasize about him since actually talking with him seemed out of the question. He was beautiful and funny and seemed to have an effortless social ease that put him in another social world than me. I had some friends who were mostly women who talked all the time, which was a familiar position for me to be in given my fucking mother.
But lying there in my bed, feeling the warmth of morning, I remember the night back then when something happened. It was well into the term and there was a "beer night" that the school hosted so we could let off some steam. And it was steamy! By about eleven, everyone was on the way to being quite drunk and some also quite stoned. My friends had shared a joint with me outside and I had gulped a gallon or beer, so I was feeling no pain and my usual anxiety had left the building.
I had been watching Tim for a while, pretending to listen to one of my friends go on and on about her bloody boyfriend. To my amazement, Tim caught my eye and walked over.
"Sean, it's good to see you letting loose!"
I grinned, words suddenly not available to me.
"Having a nice time?"
I found some words. "Yeah. It's pretty good. And I'm stoned..."
I had a bad habit of telling the truth about everything. Sean laughed.
"That's good to hear. So am I."
We both laughed. I admired his jawline, and his big blue eyes, a bit of dark hair that poked out of his shirt. I found myself reaching a hand and I rubbed my finger against smooth skin of his neck, as if testing it. Sean's smile got even bigger.
"You are one of those quiet but secretly dirty boys, aren't you?"
"Yeah. I guess I am."
I knew this would never be happening if I was sober, but at that point it didn't seem to matter. I reached up and cupped his chin.
He laughed. "So, Sean...you wanna come back to mine?"
I smiled, but at the same time a stab of anxiety rushed up from my belly. "Yeah. Sure." It seemed crucial to me that I pretend like it was the most normal thing in the world for two guys to arrange to hook up at a party. Crucial because I didn't want him to know that I hadn't really ever done it before.
Tim took my hand and we left. We sat on the streetcar for what seemed like days. Farther east of the university than I even could comprehend. We didn't say much, but looked at each other a few times, grinning. When we finally got off in the wilds of who knew where in Toronto, we walked up a little street to a tiny house. I had heard he shared it with two other classmates of ours, but they didn't seem to be home; probably still at the school, drinking.
Tim seemed to understand that I was new to all this. He made tea and we sat on the ratty sofa and talked about plans, about architects that we liked. I was getting sleepy, something THC always does to me, and I found myself saying less and less. And I was drunk, after all. Finally, he led me upstairs to his bed and we took our clothes off. Without saying a word, he folded me in his arms and we went to sleep almost immediately.
When I woke, the sky out the window was just becoming grey, and everything was still. Tim was sleeping on his side with his back to me. I watched him breathe for a while, feeling like I had woken up to a new universe on a spring day, rather than November in Toronto. I traced my hands down his back a few times, astonished by the feel of him, as if I had never touched anyone before which, strictly speaking, was true. I could smell him and I wanted to sail away on the musk he gave off.
He turned to me and we kissed softly, then more intensely, our tongues getting into the action. It felt almost overwhelming and I could feel his cock sliding against mine, both of us slippery with need. He pushed me back and leaned down and my cock slid into his mouth. I almost came right away and my whole body jerked and I grabbed his head as he swallowed me all the way, grabbing my balls and grunting. I could tell if he kept this up I wouldn't last very long. I pulled away from him and tried to act like I knew what the hell I was doing, and I pushed him back, taking his cock in my hand.
I looked at it in the half-light. It was the same size as mine, but uncut and really hard. I licked the end of it, then, remembering what he had done, swallowed as much of it as I could. I gagged a few times, but I was determined not to look like a total neophyte. He pushed his hips forward, jamming his cock deeper into my throat. I both wanted to be used, and wanted to run at the same time.
But then he pulled himself out of me and flipped me on my back. He reached to the side of his bed and grabbed a tube of vaseline. I knew what this meant. "I...I've never...done this before."
"I know. It's ok. Let me show you."
And he did. He was gentle...until he wasn't. He slicked himself up and then slid some fingers into me, which felt intense. But then the intensity was replaced by pain as his cock pushed me open and in he slid. I was determined to go along, as if I was not really a man unless I liked this, so I smiled and kissed him as he began to fuck me. Slowly, carefully, but after a while, his need took over and he began to really go. I kept thinking that this was the start of something, that this fucking was the beginning of some kind of epic romance. I kept kissing him, partly so he couldn't see the look of pain on my face, but also to prove to myself that this was what I wanted it to be. Some kind of prophetic moment.
Sweat was beading his forehead and his mouth was open between kisses. He looked into my eyes and I read all kinds of things there about fate, and destiny and truth. All that shit that nineteen-year-olds have when they've lived a scared life and can only fantasize about what the rest of the world is doing. He finally came with a little gasp and our mouths met again. Mine was dry and I could barely stand the feel of his tongue in my mouth.
He slid his dick out of me and I felt both empty and relieved. The pain began to fade and I could feel the wetness of him oozing out of me. As I lay there, I felt him squeeze more lube on me and he jerked me off. Part of me didn't even want to cum, but after only a minute, cum I did: a great blast of it all over my stomach like I had been saving it for this moment for years.
He reached beside the bed and grabbed a sock. "Here, let Mr Sock take over."
I laughed. What a ridiculous thing to say after all that.
Later, on the streetcar back downtown, I felt light-headed and excited. I realized I could smell him on my hand and the whole way back the smell made me feel like he was with me, since I was not at all sure that he really was.
But we continued for a while, for a few months. Mostly just fucking, but to me it was all new. I wanted this connection to Tim to be the story for the ages. I wanted the dramatic gestures, the expressions of love with tears and undying devotion. I was nineteen, after all.
But he left the architecture program as soon as the year ended, and I never saw him again. He left me a note apologizing for not meeting before he left and said I had some growing up to do, but he had nothing but affection for me. At the time, I was pissed. What the fuck? That bastard, etc etc. But as the years passed, I realized he was right. I did have a lot to learn and at that moment in my life, I was not ready for a full on relationship. I had to have one with myself, first.
Now as I lay in the sun, I began to slowly jerk myself off, feeling the heat and enjoying the light on my body. I watched my cock get harder and the end was getting wet, my favourite part. I wiped off the drop on to my finger and brought it to my lips. It always gave me a little thrill to taste myself. I began to pump my dick even harder using my sweat and the precum to smooth the way. I was moaning and to my amazement, Tim's face came to my mind, or rather Tim's face sucking me off, which was a surprise and a thrill and I came all of a sudden in jets over my chest and stomach.
I lay, watching the last cum ooze from my cock onto my belly. I ran a finger through it and brought it to my lips. The shock of the taste, the salt, the slight bitter edge, always makes me smile. But I was also a little stunned that Tim showed up in my fantasies. I hadn't fantasized about him since...well, since we were together.
Maybe there's something about turning forty that does it. There's all the old cliches about mid-life crises and all that, and I guess they're cliches for a reason. Now that I was single again...fuck. I hated even saying the word. Damn Matthew and his damn insistence that we have an open relationship. Which means, as it seems to with so many couples, that he had lots of sex and I had none because I'm simply not built for it. I can't do casual sex. God, I tried. Matthew encouraged me to let go and explore my sexual self, blah blah. But my sexual self really just wants one person. And it's not like I didn't want to have sex with Matthew. I was hot for him any time of day or night.
But he just wasn't hot for me anymore and that was too much. I was angry and hurt but in reality if wasn't anyone's fault. We were just different, or at least in different places in our lives. So I asked him to leave.
He was pissed, telling me I was a prude, or I was caving to the forces of conventionality. But I knew what I wanted and it wasn't that. Every time he came home and I smelled someone else's cum on him I wanted to punch him. What about my cum? Fuck.
We divided our assets relatively civilly and I got the house. He got the cottage and the car, and a big chunk of cash. Thank Whoever that my job pays well.
I do in fact work for an architecture firm. It's not a glamorous job. We design big industrial buildings that have to go through ridiculous vetting processes with municipalities and thus nothing of interest ever gets built. But it pays well, and gives me freedom. When I was nineteen, of course, I dreamed of building iconic civic wonders like the Guggenheim museum in New York, but reality sank in when I realized I wasn't a narcissistic workaholic which, it seems to me, you have to be to be a Big Name Architect.
After all this memory, I was getting hungry in the sun, so I wiped myself off and decided to go out for brunch. I called James, who is my close friend and sometimes we fuck, but neither one of us is really into the other beyond friendship. I think we would drive each other insane. But he's really sexy and I like sucking him off, among other things, and he likes returning the favour and with regular brunches and dinners out, we have a nice friendship.
We sat in our usual place on College Street which at that hour of a Sunday was full of twenty-somethings trying to deal with their various hangovers. It's loud and fun and the food is awesome, so we put up with it, despite usually being the oldest two people there.
I sat, sipping my coffee, and looked around the restaurant. "We really were that young, weren't we."
James laughed. "Yeah, and it feels like a thousand years ago. And I think we were that cute as well. It's infuriating!"
I looked across at James, who was smirking. "We're still pretty cute, aren't we?"
He looked skeptical. "Well...to some extent. But when you're twenty-five your skin is like velvet and your hair is thick and you can get a hard-on when the weather changes."
"Yeah, but when we were that age we knew nothing and fucked up everything."
He laughed. "Ok, good point. I wouldn't want that part again. Ugh. What a mess."
We ate in silence for a while. I finally spoke, although I wasn't sure why I was telling him. "Do you remember me telling you about Tim?"
"I think so...you were in school together?"
"That's him. Anyway, I was thinking about him this morning. Like, out of the blue."
"So...?"
"I never think about him. Or at least very often. I try not to dwell on all that pain."
"But you were thinking about him."
"I was. And I had a crazy thought. What if I reached out to him and said, hey?"
"Wow. Are you trying to re-live the mess we were just talking about?"
I looked at him for a moment, realizing that what he was implying was probably right. "Maybe? I don't know. But this morning what seemed suddenly clear is that it feels unfinished. After all these years."
"And Matthew and his libido didn't dispel that for you? I mean your faith in relationships being fixable?"
"Good point. But this feels different. I don't mean fix, necessarily, but just...finish something. I don't know if this makes any sense, but that's what I'm thinking about."
James drank the last of his coffee. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and smiled at me. "Well, in the meantime, do you want to come over for tea this afternoon?"
This was our shorthand. If either of us was randy, we would say something like 'come over for tea', or 'come and help me with something' or even 'help me choose a paint colour'. In my mind, it made it so much easier and more casual than asking if the other wanted to some over and fuck.
So we went to his condo. The sun was still blazing and with his huge windows, the light was almost overpowering. As soon as we got in, we started to kiss and tear each other's clothes off. James is taller than I and I always feel like he's taking charge which, from him, I really like. He got me naked very quickly, and his pants were still on. I knelt down and undid his jeans and yanked them down with his underwear. I swallowed his cock in one go and he grabbed my head and started to fuck my face. He likes it a little rough and if I'm in the mood, I can go with that.
I stood up, though, and pulled him to the sofa and pushed him down. I got between his legs and started to suck the end of him, tasting his juices, lapping at his balls, jamming my tongue in his ass which I knew made him crazy. He pulled me off him and I stood up and fed him my drooling cock. He was in a mood, I could tell, and got to work with one hand at the base of me and his mouth on the rest. He started to piston my cock into him, moaning all the way. For some reason the inner teenager was awake in me (maybe for obvious reasons) and I decided to let loose, so I didn't hold back. I grabbed his head and started to jam myself into his mouth, my cock reaching his throat each time.
"I'm going to give it to you, so you better want it." I was feeling all dominant now and he looked up at me and kept going and with a moan, I unloaded myself into his mouth. I could feel him swallowing and he was moaning and with one last jam of my cock into his throat, I pulled myself out. A long stream of spit and cum followed my cock. I caught it with my hand and brought it to my mouth, savouring the taste of him and me mixed together.
James swallowed once more, then stood up and dragged me into the bedroom. He threw me onto his bed, then, retrieving the lube, poured a bunch onto himself, jacking his cock a few times to make it slick, then slid his lubed up fingers into me a few times. We had done this many times, and I lay there smiling, waiting for him to start. Which he did. He was hungry that day, and he grabbed my legs and threw them over his shoulders, then leaned himself forward so that he could fuck me from above. This is James and I at our best: when his cock is deep in my ass and he's pummelling me. He closed his eyes as his thrusts got faster and faster, and I watched his face go through contortions and his mouth opened and closed. As if he was working out a hard problem, his tongue appeared at the corner of his mouth as his hips kept going and I felt each thrust like it was going through my whole body. He opened his eyes and I could tell he was close because he was squinting down at me, his brow furrowed, and with a few last massive jams I could feel his body shiver and convulse and my ass became slick with his cum, his cock sliding easily and crazily. Finally he stopped and just stared at me, breathing heavily. I pulled his face to me and we kissed lightly, then he leaned back and slid out of me, turning and flopping on his back beside me.
I leaned my head against his shoulder. We must have dozed for a while, because when I woke, he wasn't in bed and the sun was much further down. I could hear the sound of someone using a keyboard in the other room. I realized he must be working. A lawyer's work is never done. I thought my job was busy.
I came out of the bedroom and sat beside him on the sofa, watching him type. He turned to me and smiled. "I've got a ton of work. But don't be shy. Find something to eat, we can eat dinner here if you want..."
"Nah. I need to get home. I've got some work to do as well." I kissed him and ruffled his hair. He smiled at me like a little kid. "I'll see you soon. Maybe we can go to a concert next weekend. Before tea, I mean."
James grinned at me. "Yes, before tea. Done. Have a nice week."
I went back into the the bedroom to find my clothes. It was so easy with James. Neither one of us asked much of the other except to be present and honest. It was a relief after I ended things with Matthew. I had known James for years, but when I was single again, an easy dinner and drinks became, without either of us really deciding it, a regular night-out-that-ends-in-sex thing. I think he came to mine the first time. We didn't decide it, there was no crazy unrequited vibe. We just sat on the sofa that night and we realized we were both leaning in to kiss the other and soon no one had clothes on. It was nice, and fun and safe. What more can two single people want if they realize they don't really want each other beyond that?
When I got home, I was too tired to work. I had nothing much important to do anyway. I sat down at my laptop and before I knew it, I was googling Tim. I couldn't remember how to spell his last name, but soon it was obvious. There he was. An expensive looking picture of him on the website of a small architecture firm in Montreal.
"Montreal? What's he doing there?" I said to myself.
I stared at his picture for a while, amazed that he looked... distinguished. I didn't remember him that way at all. I guess I wasn't the only one who grew up. But seeing him, even though he looked different -- older, with touches of grey at his temples -- brought me right back to that torturous time when I drowned in a fantasy of love that, I now realize, totally swamped him, and not in a good way. No wonder he didn't want to see me again.
On the website, I found his email address. Well, I thought, here goes:
Tim,
I won't ask if you remember me, since I'm sure you do. It's been a long time, but I thought of you the other day and wondered how you were doing. So here I am, wondering. I'm doing well, still an architect as I see you are. If you feel like catching up, it would be great to talk to you.
Sean