This story is mostly fiction. It contains sex between consulting adult men. If you are underage, and, depending upon where you live, are not of legal age to read stories with adult sexual content, you must close your browser immediately. This story has been written for adults but, if as an adult, sexual activity between men offends your sensibilities, you must likewise, close your browser immediately. Enough information has been provided for you to make an appropriate decision based upon your age. It is your responsibility to act accordingly. This story is my own original composition, please do not copy it. Comments and constructive criticism are welcome but flames will be ignored. I hope you enjoy the story.
We ate a hearty lunch in the buff and afterward, because the sun had turned up the heat, we returned to stand once again in the pool. We nursed our beers. I was feeling no pain.
"You got me drunk!" I said in mock accusation, putting my bottle down on the deck.
Martin nodded and put his down too.
"So you could have your way with me!" I teased.
"Yeah," he said playfully.
He lunged and grabbed me in a bear hug as we fell off balance into the water. We surfaced with our arms around each other.
"And I might want to have my way with you again," he said softly, sputtering water in my ear.
"Anytime you want, with no strings attached," I replied, shaking the water out.
He pulled back and gave me a questioning look.
"I mean that!" I emphasized.
"I believe you do," he said, nodding his head.
He pressed his body to mine, tightened his arms around me and squeezed.
"Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" he asked jokingly.
"I'm sorry, Martin," I said, mortified, "I didn't even realize..."
"It's okay...it's just...I don't...know...ah...how...ah...what...um...to do...ah...I never..." he stammered as he looked down.
Now it was his turn to be embarrassed.
This was what I had hoped to avoid.
"Look! We gotta talk," I said.
He looked up apprehensively.
"I don't expect you to do anything to me. That's what I mean by no strings."
Again, he looked at me questioningly. So I began to explain as delicately as possible.
"Just because I made you...um...feel good...that doesn't make you...well...you know...look... you're all man...there's not a queer bone in your body. I continued.
"So here's the facts: heterosexual men have sex with other men. There are many reasons but probably the need for release is the main one. It's usually passive, allowing another man to satisfy them but it can also become active in other sexual situations. None of this makes them gay, because primarily, these men are romantically attracted to the opposite sex. They are sexually aroused by, and engage in sex with, women. In fact, they are often married.
"I know what you're thinking. How can they be straight? Aren't they really gay or bisexual? No they are not, even though their sexual behavior includes sex with other men. These guys do not self-identify nor see themselves as gay or bisexual.
"Society needs labels to tie everything up into neat little packages. We've lived long enough to understand life doesn't work that way. I can't even categorize myself. I am attracted to you and want to satisfy you but I don't need you to reciprocate. Again, that's the no strings part. Would I turn down any overtures from you? I don't think so but I don't expect them and I'm not asking for them.
"Just now, when my erection poked you, I was excited because you expressed your desire for a repeat performance; not because I wanted you to take care of me. I get off on satisfying you. Why? I know I have a queer bone or two in my body and besides, I think I fetishize having sex with straight men. But I don't need any attention from you. I would never make those kind of demands.
"Look! I know you've never done anything like this before. Yes, I'm kinky, as you would probably say, but I know you enjoyed everything I did to you. You are probably shocked that you liked it as much as you did; that you came as hard as you did; that you may even want it to happen again. And that's okay. You have to come to terms with that for yourself. I would never expect or ask you to do any of those things to me, ever. And, more importantly, I do not want to have any impact on your marriage or your family. I am serious when I say 'no strings.'"
"Whew!" Martin took a deep sigh. And in a way, he looked relieved.
"I know. It's a lot to take in. But this is getting so heavy now! We were supposed to relax and have fun!
"Here, let's try this. Why don't you just say to me, something like: 'Come here you little faggot and suck my dick.' Or, 'you're the best cocksucker I've ever had!' How about? 'You like me fucking your mouth, don't you, you little cum slut?'"
It was plain to see, Martin was appalled.
"That's really filthy!" He said.
"Yeah, I know," I said, grinning.
§
I had assumed Martin was an indigenous New Englander. So it caught me unaware when he revealed later that same day he was a transplanted Midwesterner. After some consideration, it seemed to fit. Both areas share a similar work ethic. He was friendly and nice, but only after we had become acquainted and that had taken over two years! Openness was the sticking point. Midwesterners are known for it. His reserved demeanor, uncharacteristic for his origins, had led me to mistake him for a native New Englander instead. His emotional restraint was most likely attributed to his Teutonic heritage.
There were enough leftovers from lunch to make supper and by the time I had cleaned up the kitchen, it was dusk. Martin had been drinking beer on and off all day but surprisingly, he did not appear sloppy at all. I was, what could only be described as, tipsy.
When I announced I would be on my way, Martin protested.
"You can't drive, you've been drinking!"
I explained that several cups of coffee had sobered me up.
"Nonsense!" he said, then, "Stay here tonight. Stay with me. Come on..."
When he put it like that, how could I refuse?
He led the way to his bedroom, turned on the television and disappeared into the bathroom. I heard the shower running and wanted to join him but thought the better of it. He offered me the facilities and after I jokingly sniffed my armpit, he nodded and laughed.
He was already propped up in bed, wearing a white tee shirt and boxer shorts, watching TV.
When I returned stark naked, he regarded me with raised eyebrows.
"I hope you don't mind but I like to sleep with nothing on."
He smirked lasciviously and nodded.
"Do you mind if I join you?" he asked.
"I'd like that!"
Standing up, he stripped off his underwear.
He was like a kid accepting a dare. I was sure he had never slept naked in his entire life. And it was revealed later on that I was right. In the early years of marriage, he and his wife would dress in pajamas after making love. In fact, she often resisted being completely nude. This inhibited him too, he confided, and he often left a tee shirt and boxers on during sex.
Martin laid next to me, propped himself up on an elbow and began to ask some questions.
He wanted to know how I had become such a free spirit and, as he put it, so experimental.
So I began by saying I was raised in a Mediterranean, Roman Catholic family. Both my parents were rather prudish and my adolescence was sexually repressed, which I supposed was fairly typical for the time.
In fact, my sexuality was stunted and I did not fully explore it until my mid-thirties. Married at the time, I threw off my heterosexual cloak and allowed myself to be seduced by the other side.
I lived a double life, explored nudity, acted out my lifelong homosexual fantasies and I embraced my fetishes. Part of the latter was my attraction to certain body parts, which I believed were imprinted prematurely as they were some of my earliest childhood memories.
Addicted to sensual gratification as a toddler, I commenced a furtive and lifelong exploration of it. As a child, I instinctively knew my actions would be misunderstood so I hid them well. I was soon powerless to stop my obsessive genital manipulation. The scope of the handling increased. By the time I began school, I was an expert masturbator and could play my body like a fiddle.
Martin listened attentively and I continued.
Women felt I was a considerate lover since I pleased them right off the bat. They all complimented me on my "wonderful touch" and remarked about my "staying power." In point of fact, these were no more than my lifelong penchant for knowing how to stroke my own body, which was easily transferable to someone else, and my apparent difficulty in achieving orgasm with a woman.
At first, I attributed the latter to my clandestine homosexual fantasies and thought perhaps it would be easier to succeed if I switched. But after I tried men and found myself still unable to cum, I realized it was due to my stunted sexuality and not the gender of my bedfellows.
Sometimes, if the right buttons were pushed, I could orgasm with either sex. However, the fact remained that my hand was way more proficient than most people I ever met.
"Have I shocked you?" I asked him. "You haven't said a word."
"I've been listening," he said, "and though it's a strange story, it's also oddly captivating. But you certainly know how to give pleasure, I can attest to that."
"I only know what feels good to me and I merely did those same things to you."
"But you do them with such intensity," he said. "It reminds me of something which happened a long time ago."
I nodded for him to continue.
"I was drafted into the army at eighteen," Martin said, "and subsequently stationed in Korea. It was a little over five years after the Korean War and just prior to Vietnam. Some of us headed over to Japan on R&R for a few days. Of course, being young men, we paid the obligatory visit to a geisha house.
"The girls stripped me, there were three of them naked to the waist, and they put me into a hot bath. They scrubbed me all over and I mean, all over. I nearly fell asleep in the hot water from the "sake" they gave me to drink.
"They pulled me out of the tub, patted me dry and took me to an adjoining room which was very, very warm. It had a polished stone table and they motioned for me to lie on it. As I put a knee up to mount the table, I noticed a round hole roughly in its center. It was beveled with no sharp angles.
"With hand gestures, the geishas made me understand I was to put my genitals into it. I inserted myself into the opening and lay on my belly. The stone proved to be comfortably warm.
"The geishas massaged me with hands and twirling brushes. Again, I had nearly fallen asleep when I felt a pair hands on my organs. I was drowsy from the heat and it seemed to take forever until I became hard.
"One girl was massaging my shoulders and back while the other was pulling on my toes. It was the first time anyone, other than myself, had touched my feet. It did not have an erotic association for me until the third geisha, the one under the stone table, began working my groin. Then I seemed to feel every rub on the sole of my foot and every pull of a toe directly in my penis too.
"She gave me the most agonizingly slow hand job. Every time I was about to cum, she squeezed the base of my dick until all sensation of it passed. I had never experienced such an exquisite torment.
"Finally, she finished me. I heard my cries echo off the tiled walls of the room. I was sweating and writhing slowly on my belly in the warmth as my orgasm seemed to go on and on.
"Afterward, the geisha came out from under the table and stood in front of me, while another wiped her naked breasts which were dripping with my semen. I watched this, limp with pleasure.
"I had never experienced anything like that before or since, that is, until today. You tweaked some of their tricks in the most perverse ways and added new ones I could never have imagined.
"You give a good back and foot massage but I have never felt anyone run their tongue along the soles of my feet and between my toes. I would never have believed anything so kinky could feel so good. When you sucked my toes, I could feel it in my penis too.
"I've sucked my wife's nipples but she has never done that to me. She's caressed them but it didn't feel nearly as good as what you did. And my armpits and navel, where did you learn about those? They had never even occurred to me. And no one has ever come near my anus, much less put their tongue there. It was such a dirty thing for you to do. I would never have believed it could feel so good if I hadn't experienced it.
"When I came this afternoon, I felt as if I was back on that stone table submitting myself completely to those women. Except today, I succumbed to a man, who tormented my body just as exquisitely but in the most filthy and deviant way anyone could imagine. When you asked me to let it go, I did, and I screamed just as loudly as I did nearly fifty years ago. It was the only other time that has happened in my life. You made me feel young again!"