There is this man I know, his name is Ramshid, we call him Ram. He is another of my friends imported from the principality ruled by my prolific and entertaining older brother. While Ram is gay, my brother and I are both married with children. Ram is a friend from my brother's days as a PhD student in Dallas, TX, which was over twenty years ago. My brother does not live there anymore, but Ram still does. For my brother's 50th birthday party a few years ago we, my brother, myself, and a good friend of my brother's went to have a boys long weekend in Dallas.
When we arrived Ram met us at the airport. Ram and I exchanged a glance that distracts me to this day. There had never been anything between us but the occasional encounter coincident with one of our mutual visits with my brother. Though we've had similar career experiences and have shared that interest.
The moment our plane left one airspace and approached his airspace we all got that beautiful, anticipatory signal that a brief and lasting moment was upon us. Ram is slight, shorter than me, wickedly smart, carries himself like a beautiful, gentlemanly host at all times. His smile is permanent. It seems his words always have a tone of perfect suggestion for a better life.
He took us on a half hour drive to his condo, which he'd been sharing with his lover Walter for 10 years. On the way he surprised us and said they'd recently broken up and Walter was vacationing elsewhere in Key West. Walter is a lawyer, Ram is a highly paid engineer. Their home was solid Stirling red oak comfort, erupting in plushness and quietude earned by years of the efforts of nature and man. I was in love with all that I saw and touched, and Ram was the handle on which my consuming happiness rested. I was not in the range of my loud wife, my demanding children, my rickety home, the standardness of my life. I let everything about my mind transcend its principal occupations; I traveled into Virginia Woolf's simile: Illusion is to the Soul as atmosphere is to the Earth, and thus became something confident and youthful and undisturbed, like a spring willow sapling in a valley of nourishing fluids.
The first night I tossed with the most erotic dreams, half awake, half complete. Early that morning I went, dressed in only underwear, careful to not waken anyone with my screaming erection, and found explosive pleasures standing with the tall mirror images watching me splatter and splash all over his gorgeous marble. My mind became a harbor of the good chemicals, the ones enlivening my memory, my logic, my hope, my senses. I washed away the evidence, recalling the immediate beauty of my midnight fantasy joust with Ram.
The next day I grew a bit more bold, and a bit more seeking of some kind of real connection with Ram, so that my fantasy bore something like love, instead of just a dog doing it on these legs of luxury.
Ram and I wallowed privately in an outdoor hot tub, wilting together, talking, playing with the palm shadows, holding court in bubbles and foam. His presence was sort of magical, beyond the sensual pleasures of his lifestyle. He smiled all the time, he rose with my resurrections and patted affectionately the minor depths of my thoughtfulness. He told me about his experiences with a guy just like me. He told me he loved a guy just like me. A guy who, by all appearances is heterosexual. A guy with sport t-shirts and unaffected charm. I told him I once fell in love with a man who chopped me in half. I told him about my Ignacio. I told him about the unending universe of his presence, which grew from the greatest moment, the big bang. I told him all of it. I told him I want to love a man because I can understand men, because I can please men, because men are me. I told him I was not lonely, just a traveler forever on the quay watching the unknown come and go. I also told him that even though the best of the best is the best with a man, I am so trained to avoid that difficulty that the backlash of such encounters is sometimes impossible to live with. I told him it is like being pierced very deeply then having something try to rip the knife out, because if it is left in it will bring a life threatening infection. Somehow, with Ram, this was just another minor depth and I was salved by the cleansing penetration of his salubrious affiliation.
He was so understanding and his connection seemed to be without threat and without plan. It made me look at him less through a lens of fantasy and more through a lens of desire. His body started to glow. His eyes brightened. I became shy and could only look at him while he looked another way. Once he caught me studying him. He was proud to be an object of my stare. He knew that it was our conversation which changed me, and that I was looking at his heart with desire more than at his body. After this he looked right back into my eyes with a sweet, glazed invitation and I didn't turn away time, but instead let myself become a guest of his world. He smiled and my cock rose up, wanting every part of this kind of love. The jacuzzi bubbles hid my affliction while my mind played with our roles as awestruck interlopers among a wilderness of desire.
That night he suggested, since my snoring kept the other guest in the room awake, that I take his bed and he'll take the very comfortable couch. In a carefully inebriated position I accepted gratefully. Our time was spent seeing sights, passing drugs, reading books (I read Graham Green's "The Power and The Glory" that weekend). And finally, the sharp delicious night arrived. I was mildly suspicious of Ram's motive for giving me his bed, but honestly didn't really believe things would go that far.
Bed time arrived and I crawled into the giant comfort of crisp down and sea-foam rectangle pillows, and the coolness of his sheets kept begging me to take all my clothes off. And so I did. And once naked, in his bed, with his images and the niceness of his voice and the nearness of his heat, my body began to demand more erotic fulfillment. I spent two hours pretending to be his, to call out for him to join me, to smile at him, to display my excitement, to accept the force of his love filling me, to be in a happy place, forever and ever.
As you can imagine, sometime in the moments after I fell lightly asleep, his breath fell across my naked shoulder. He whispered to me. He touched my cheek. I got nervous. I was a bundle of brilliant agitation, making my cock erect, and making my heart beat furiously. He was here. He was here because he wanted me. He was here because I wanted to be his. He wanted to show me how men love. He wanted to express himself in the worst way. I could feel him all over me, pushing me onto my stomach, holding me down. I could feel his tap of steel, dripping little drops of hot oil released near the frightened entrance of my deep, deep hope. He pushed the tip of his cock into my ass and the locomotive train of unmatched ecstasy rolled back into my brain...Oh God...and then, without a single rational thought, I resisted.
I guess it must have felt a little like rape. I wanted him to make me beg, because I wanted him to want me to want him. I was ready for it, but it had to be loved out of me, like teasing open a trap. His midnight mind turned me on and off at the same time. I wanted to be used, but that was just my body speaking. I wanted to have his heart where I could make it feel good, where my heart could touch it. It didn't happen that way. My signals were all lust and they weren't right. I was oozing desire, but I anticipated hating myself when he would walk away. I told him no. I said my heart feels lonely and I don't like that. He got mad and I grew sad, asking myself what is so important about something so simple between men? Tomorrow will be tomorrow, full of itself just like today, with nothing but today's worries...doubt coursed through me. I had done more to ruin things, and now not even the fantasy worked anymore.
The moments disquieted and bore a feeling of midterm failure, when suddenly he grabbed my hair, pulled my head up, and said gruffly at the back of my ear:
"I love you."
"Oh God Ram..." My back instinctively arched and my ass opened just a little. He held my hips and lifted my ass. His iron cock entered me slowly, steadily, like a jaguar enters the jungle at dusk. I pushed my hands up into the pillows, seeking a lever to hold on to. I found the bed post and, instead of pulling away, I braced my body under his strength. He gew faster and faster, pumping deep into my ass in a relentless exorcism of my doubt. The groans of a rapist filtered over me. I gave up. His fierce rythym sent my cock into the bed over and over until I was sliding around in a happy pool of my own cum.
He pulled out and growled at me.
"Turn over, QUICK!" He aimed his beautiful cock at my face and pulled my head up to take it into my mouth. His cock was rugged, a swollen mountain of pleasure. I opened as wide as I could and he shot his cum deep into my mouth. I felt it flowing down my thoat, sending yet more orgasmic aftershocks up and down my body.
"Oh Ram, I love you. I love you. I love you." I muttered, out of body.
"I should have known, this is how your brother likes it."