The following narrative involves sexually-explicit erotic events between men. If you shouldn't be reading it, don't.
This is a work of fiction. No similarity between the characters here and any real person is intended or should be inferred. Lake Polk is a fictional town, though it may be like many real communities.
In the world of this story, the characters don't always use condoms. In the real world, you should care enough about yourself and others to always practice safe sex.
The author retains all rights. No reproductions or links to other sites are allowed without the author's consent.
Several readers have complained that it's taking Doug and Stan too long to realize what's up. (Yeah, that's what I said.) I hope you will all be happy with this chapter.
My thanks go to Rob for some "technical" help on this chapter. Thanks, as always, to Evan, Patrick, Ash, Tom, and Mickey.
Timmead88@yahoo.com Chapter 4
It was becoming a common occurrence for Doug to wake up covered with sweat, having soaked his sheets. These dreams were becoming frequent and very intense.
It was 5:00 in the morning. It wasn't quite light outside yet, but the birds were singing, and a dog across the retention pond was barking.
He knew he wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep, but there was no earthly reason to get up at such an absurd hour either. `The joys of getting older,' he thought.
He threw back the damp top sheet, got up, and went into the john, where he got rid of the night's accumulation in his bladder. He pulled on a jock, shorts, tee, socks, and sneakers. On the way out the door, he picked up his house keys and put them in the pocket of his shorts.
He ran out of his housing development, down the street to the paved path around Lake Polk. For a while, his mind was more or less blank as he ran along the path. He stopped once to turn around and look at the eastern sky. One of the rewards of walking at this hour was the sunrise, which was almost inevitably spectacular, since the Florida peninsula is almost never devoid of clouds.
Having felt duly appreciative of the beauty he had just seen and said a brief prayer of thanks, he resumed his run. Gradually, his mind woke up. And, then, zap, it went back to the dream. He felt for a moment as if there were a rock in his empty stomach.
Sometimes dreams fade as soon as one wakes. In this case, however, Doug remembered it in its every detail.
Hell with Freud and Jung,' he thought. This dream is perfectly clear: what DO I want? Well, that's an easy question.
`I've had one too many affairs with college guys, and that is why I'm here instead of teaching in Ohio. Blair is really a beautiful kid, inside and out. He's also straight, and even if he weren't, I hope I have sense enough not to get into another relationship with a guy half my age. Less than half my age, actually.
`I don't know whether I've ever been fair with Hallie. We have fun together, and I know she enjoys our being together as much as I do. She's smart, sophisticated, witty, big-hearted, shrewd. Is she my beard? Yeah, in a way. But I think we are really friends, too. Do I want a permanent relationship with her? No. And I think we settled that when we talked about the fact that we could enjoy doing things together without any entangling alliances, or whatever it was she said. But I do have to be careful to be fair with her. I'd like to tell her I'm gay, but I don't know how she'd react. And she's on the vestry at St. John's, so she could create problems there if she's really homophobic. Maybe I need to try to get the subject around to sexual orientation sometime just to gauge her reactions.
`What do I want? I want a great guy in my life. Someone to have fun with. Someone to hold onto. Someone to sleep with. Someone to fuck with.
`Is there anybody like that around? Well, moron. You've felt since that first Sunday morning that Stan Mason might be THE ONE. The question is, is he gay? Certainly he seems interested. He's the one who's been doing the pursuing. And that WAS a hardon in his pants the day we were at the Tower, wasn't it? So what are you waiting for?
`But he might not be gay. You may be imagining things. This may just all be wishful thinking. You can't very well come on to the city manager, Curtis, unless you are damn well sure that he wants you to.
`Shit! What to do? This guy really stokes your fire, Doug. He's a great guy. Sexy, smart, worldly, outgoing, fun-loving. All the things you aren't, you know. You're in your fifties, idiot. This may be your last chance for happiness. Are you going to let it escape because you're too fucking timorous?'
He realized he'd gotten to the end of the path and that it was time to turn around and go back another 2.5 miles to the beginning. By this time the sun was well above the horizon. There were several small boats on the lake with fishermen in them. A number of his fellow Lake Polkers were walking or jogging on the path. The pretty little town was coming to life.
`Maybe, Doug, you should come to life, too, babe. Before it's too late. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, you know.'
OK, OK,' he said to himself. I get the picture. I think this guy may really be my one shot at being with someone I could love. I can't hang back and rationalize this all to death.'
He decided as he returned home that he would see Stan again soon, at least to find out if he could pick up vibes that might corroborate those he felt when he and Stan were at the Gardens recently.
STAN:
I was encouraged after that trip to the Ridenour Gardens with Doug. I mean, he did have a hardon as we walked down the hill to the parking lot. And when I accidentally touched his hand while latching the top of the convertible in place, he actually blushed. Damn! I figured he must be as perpetually horny as I am. Oh, and he had a stiffie, I was pretty sure, when I spotted him serving wine at that Chamber reception.
I decided I wanted to be very careful with Doug, for a couple of reasons. One was that I didn't want to out myself if I was wrong and he was straight. From what I'd seen of him, sexual orientation wouldn't make a lot of difference to him in making friends. But if I had totally misread him, I sure didn't want him going around town telling people their city manager is a fag. The other reason was that even if Doug was, as I suspected, gay, I really didn't know him very well yet. Leigh fooled me completely. I didn't think I could take anything like that again. I know, everybody thinks I'm tough and aggressive. It never occurs to them that I can hurt just like the next guy.
Doug is devastatingly sexy, and he has no idea. He looks like that guy who plays Mike on "Queer as Folk" will look when he's in his fifties, except Doug is taller. He has these big, sad, brown eyes, sort of puppydog eyes, that make me want to kiss him every time I see him. He's smart, sweet, yet so diffident. I thought something pretty bad must have happened to drive him out of teaching, but I didn't dare ask about that -- at least not for a while.
So, a few days after our rain-shortened walk through the gardens I called Doug and asked if he'd like to see "Windtalkers" with me at the local cineplex some evening soon.
"Stan, that sounds great. I've read about that film and would like to see it. Why don't you let me spring for dinner beforehand? Friday's doesn't have gourmet food, but it's convenient because it's there in the mall."
"When are you free?"
"Well, I usually go to the Eucharist at St. John's on Wednesday evenings, and I know you have city commission on Tuesday. What say we do it Thursday?"
"Sorry guy, I have something else going on that night. Friday?"
"Friday's good if you don't mind the crowds at the mall."
"Crowds don't bother me."
"Well, we may need to get to Friday's a little earlier because it will be Friday."
"Great. I'll check on the time when the show starts and have my secretary call you and let you know when I can pick you up."
"Goody," he said. "I get another ride in your hotrod!"
"Yeah, Curtis," I laughed, "you're just jealous."
"Maybe I am, Stan, maybe I am. Anyway, I'll look forward to it."
HALLIE:
I had invited Lettie and Sam Farmer as well as Father Dave and Marylou McCord to dinner on Friday evening. Since the Farmers go to St. John's and are involved on the Board of the Gardens, I thought I'd ask Doug to come, too. That would balance out the table, and I knew they were acquainted. I was SO disappointed when Doug declined. I am used to Doug being willing whenever I suggest our doing anything together. When he said he couldn't come, I tried to get Bruce Porter to come instead, but he was busy, too. Then I thought about calling Terry Blanco, the organist at Christ Church in Cypress Haven. He's gay, but he's such a clever young man who makes wonderful dinner-table conversation, and he's not got much of a social life, I'm afraid. But I was afraid the Farmers and the McCords might not be comfortable with a gay man. Then I had an inspiration. I called City Hall and asked for Mr. Mason. When I invited him to my little dinner party, Stanley turned me down, too. He was very gracious, as he always is, but he said he had other plans. Well, there was nothing else to do but call June van Pelt, my friend here in Davenport Hills. She's always available.
I didn't find out until Sunday at church where Dougie had been. He and Stan Mason were sitting together. In the parish hall after the service I chatted with them for a few minutes. They told me they had had dinner together and gone to a movie Friday evening.
It seemed to me it hadn't been very long since I was telling Doug about Stanley when the two hadn't met yet. Then there was that time at the last Chamber of Commerce "do" where they were both laughing loudly over some sort of private joke. Now they're having dinner together, sitting together in church, thick as thieves. Actually, I'm not all that surprised.
DOUG:
I dithered about what to wear Friday evening. I felt like a kid going on a date. Most guys would have worn a fresh pair of shorts and a tee shirt with a collar, and I thought about that. My legs are so skinny, and though I wear shorts around the house all the time, I don't wear them when I want to look nice. And, face it, I wanted to look good for Stan. I finally settled on a yellow collared tee, khaki slacks, and Topsiders. Good choice. When Stan picked me up in his fire-engine red Thunderbird, he was wearing a black tee shirt, khakis, and sandals (with khaki-colored socks).
We remembered to put the top up before we left the car. In the summer in Florida, a thunderstorm can come up very quickly. This time there was no inadvertent touch as we latched the top to the windshield.
I walked a pace or two behind Stan as we went into the mall because I wanted to look at that fine ass of his. Most guys our age have pretty flat asses. Not Stanley. He had a bubble butt like a twenty-year old. Like Blair's. And his black shirt set off the silver in his hair, mustache, and goatee beautifully. He stopped suddenly, and I bumped into him. It was then that I noticed his sexy aftershave. I had no idea what it was, but it seemed -- what? Just right for him.
"Woops! Stan, I'm sorry for plowing into you." I instantly regretted my choice of words.
"Hey, Doug, no problem. I'm the one who stopped abruptly. I'm just not sure where Friday's is."
"Oh, it's this way. Come on."
We had come at 5:30 for a 7:00 showing, so we had plenty of time, and by getting there at that hour, we had no trouble being seated.
Our server was Adam, a really hot little guy who went to Lloyd and who knew Blair. Adam was about Stan's height but smaller in the chest and shoulders. I had been to Friday's so often Adam knew me, too. Always friendly, he usually chatted with me for a few minutes whenever I was there. He welcomed us, giving Stan a long once-over as he did, and asked for our drink orders.
Stan ordered a draft Ultra, and I, knowing I was going to have my usual chicken Caesar salad, asked for a glass of chardonnay.
When Adam brought the drinks, we ordered an appetizer of crab and artichoke dip with corn chips. He went to get it as Stan studied the menu.
Stan's beer was served in a frosted mug, but it was about the color of 7-Up. I commented on how pale it was.
"Yeah," he said, twinkling at me, "it's like making love in a canoe."
I walked right into it. "Oh?"
"Yep. It's fuckin' close to water."
Once again he'd made me laugh so loud and hard that people were looking to see what was going on. Dowdy, quiet Doug, that's always been me. But this guy was making me have fun in a way I'd never experienced before.
Adam came back with the appetizer. He was a hot little piece, with dark hair, skin, and eyes, silver hoops in each ear, a nice bulge, and a cute butt. I told him when our movie started, and he said he'd pace things accordingly. Stan ordered a cheeseburger and fries and coleslaw, hardly what I'd expected. Adam said to me, "Dr. Curtis, I'll bet you are going to have the chicken Caesar."
I wondered for a minute where he got the "Dr." bit and then realized Blair must have told him. "Hey, Adam, it's just Doug, OK? And this is Mr. Mason, our new city manager."
Adam twinkled at Stan and said he was glad to meet him. Stan twinkled back and agreed. "But call me Stan, please."
Then Adam gave me an exaggerated wink Stan couldn't see and sashayed back to the kitchen.
It hit me suddenly that Adam KNEW I was gay and was approving of my "date." Wow. His gaydar certainly worked! I wondered if I could get him to give me a reading on Stan. At that point, I noticed that Stan was looking at me and grinning.
"What?" I asked.
"I think Adam is a fan of yours."
"Well, if you are a reasonably generous tipper, waitstaff almost anywhere will be attentive."
"Oh, no, Doug. That's not it, and I think you know it. Adam likes you."
Really embarrassed by this point, I said, "Well, we have talked each time I come in here, and lately it seems I always wind up at one of his tables. He's a nice kid. He attended the American University in Beirut before he came to Lloyd, and he'd like to go back there to finish up. But he can't afford it, so he's working here to save up money so he can eventually go back over there."
Stan, still grinning broadly, said, "Oh! OK. I see."
I wondered what it was he saw. Had he picked up that Adam and I are gay? If so, he didn't seem upset about it. Could it be that's why he seemed so pleased with himself?
As we dipped and munched the appetizer and sipped our drinks, we chatted about things that had happened to us during the week.
Stan seemed to enjoy life vastly, and he talked about the little things of his job in such an animated way that he had me laughing throughout the meal. When Adam brought our entrees, we each ordered another drink. Time passed quickly. I was hardly aware of my salad or that second glass of chard.
When Adam returned to ask if we wanted desserts, we discovered that we just barely had time for coffee if he'd bring it quickly. He obliged, leaving the check as he did. I picked it up, and Stan gave me no argument about that. By the time we had finished our coffee, Adam had brought back my change and thanked us for coming. He beamed conspiratorially at us as we thanked him and left.
When we got settled into our seats in the theater, the last of the previews was just finishing and it was time for the feature to start.
The movie could have been a good one. It was about Native Americans in World War II who served as radio operators, using their language as a code so the Japanese couldn't understand their transmissions. There was a nice story about how these men were ostracized by the "belaganas" (the Navajo equivalent of "honkies") at first but were later accepted by them. In fact, some strong friendships resulted. Each of the "windtalkers" was assigned a "white" soldier as his protector. What the radiomen didn't know was that their "protectors" had orders to kill them if necessary to keep them from falling into Japanese hands. Now all of that is the stuff of which good drama is made. But I clocked about 45 minutes of action scenes in which men were being blown apart by shells and bombs, violence and bloodshed for its own sake, adding nothing to the story. I sneaked peeks at Stan once in a while, wondering if he was reacting as I did. One time he caught me looking. He smiled, put his hand on my knee for just a moment, and then turned back to the screen.
His hand on my knee sent an electric shock throughout my body. My cock got instantly hard and began to ooze. At my age, that doesn't happen as often as it used to, but this was Stan touching my knee, after all. He pretty much ignored me for the rest of the movie, and I tried my best to concentrate on the story line.
As we walked back to the car, I asked him about the violence.
"Yeah, there was no need for all of that. But those battle scenes were interesting from a technical point of view."
"Oh?"
"Indeed. The mix of live action and computer-generated images was fascinating. All those scenes with marines on the ground were filmed live. But the planes coming over and dropping bombs weren't. They were computer-created."
"I hadn't even noticed that."
"Not surprising, English prof," he said, clapping me on the back. `You were all involved in the human drama, weren't you?"
"Right. I guess I was."
The temperature was still in the eighties, so we put the top of the T-Bird down. When we got away from the lights of the mall, the sky suddenly grew a crop of stars. As we drove north toward Lake Polk proper, the warm air whipping through our hair, I felt more relaxed and content than I could ever remember feeling. The meal was nothing special. The movie definitely had its faults, so far as I was concerned. But the evening had been magic, and I didn't want it to end.
When we pulled into my driveway, I said, "Stan, I have a bottle of 30-year-old port I've wanted to open when I could share it with someone who would appreciate it. Would you like to come in and try it with me?"
He sparkled at me and said, "Sounds like a plan, my friend."
We didn't put the top up, figuring we'd know if a rainstorm was about to come up. And there surely seemed no sign of one.
ADAM:
Blair Mercier doesn't seem to have caught on that Doug Curtis is gay. If he has, he's never let on. But Curtis is gay, or I'm turning in my gay card. And so is that sexy old dude that was with him. Wonder if anybody knows Lake Polk's new city manager is gay? I think it's so cool to see two guys that age who are having fun together. But they didn't act quite like a couple. They just seemed to like each other. Wonder what's goin' on with them? Whatever. Doug left me a 30% tip. He must have had a good time. Blair seems pretty tight with Curtis. Could Blair be gay, too? Nah. My gaydar couldn't be that far wrong. So I guess I'd better not say anything to Blair about these guys. He must know I'm gay, so maybe he's cool with that, but I don't want him outing the old dudes.
Doug kicked off his shoes inside the front door and invited Stan to do the same if wanted to. Stan did.
Then they went into the family room off Doug's kitchen. Doug was glad he had tidied things up that afternoon. Everything was more or less presentable. He had decanted the port earlier, hoping against hope that he would be able to entice Stan to come in and have some. He had saved the bottle, so he could show Stan.
As he walked into the family room, he noted that Stan, who was sitting on the sofa, had linked his hands behind his head, which showed off his muscled arms and chest beautifully. He was beaming at Doug.
"Doug," he said, "you are a man after my own heart. A fine old port is a great way to finish off a pleasant evening."
Handing him the bottle to examine, Doug said, "Well, I make no promises here since I haven't tasted the stuff. It was given to me by Jack Breit, the academic dean at Cranmer, before I left. He likes it, keeps it around all the time, I guess. But I don't know how well it survived the move."
"You mean you've had it for four years and haven't opened it?"
"Yeah. I just haven't had the occasion to share it with anyone I thought might appreciate it. Now let's hope it lives up to expectation."
He went back to the kitchen for a moment and returned with a dish of pecan halves. Then he poured two glasses of the dark red wine, handing one to his guest.
He held his glass out to Stan. "Once again, to new friends."
Stan clinked his glass against Doug's. "To us and our friendship."
Both men held their glasses up to the light, sniffed, and then took an experimental sip.
Doug was not disappointed. The wine was every bit as good as he had hoped it would be, but he watched his guest's face carefully. At first Stan showed no reaction. He seemed to be concentrating on the taste of the wine. When he swallowed and broke into broad smile, Doug relaxed.
"Dougie, this is ambrosial. I'm touched that you'd share this fine stuff with me!" He set the glass down on the coffee table, took a piece of pecan, and popped it in his mouth. "For heaven's sake, babe, sit somewhere. Don't hover. It's wonderful port, better than anything in my collection. We'll have to see if we can get some more locally. If not, we may have to ask Breit where he got it."
"You know Jack Breit?"
"No, but I was fascinated by the newspaper accounts about the English Department murder there which resulted in his becoming department chair."
"Oh, yeah, that was before my time there."
Doug sat in a chair at right angles to the sofa. They talked of many things, occasionally munching a piece of pecan or taking a sip of the port.
When 11:00 came, Doug, worried that Stan might leave, offered a second glass of the wine, which Stan accepted. Doug sat, and they talked, munched, and sipped for about another hour. Again, Doug didn't want Stan to leave but couldn't think of a way to entice him to stay longer.
Stan said, "Doug, come sit here on the sofa, please?"" He patted the place beside him.
As if mesmerized, Doug stood, walked around the coffee, table, and sat on the sofa, not too close to Stan, but not at the opposite end, either.
Stan scooted over closer to Doug, said, "What the hell," grabbed the back of Doug's head, and pulled him into a long, wet, searching kiss.
DOUG:
Stan's kiss certainly answered my questions. A. He was gay. B. He liked me. After that kiss, there was no doubt about either.
After that kiss, I was close to passing out. I was breathless, light headed, and incredibly happy.
After that kiss, I realized I'd never kissed anyone with a mustache and a goatee before. I had a flash of wondering what it would be like to be rimmed by a guy with that kind of face hair.
After that kiss, just so he wouldn't be in any doubt about how I felt, I put my hands behind his head and pulled him back for a rematch.
After "That Kiss, Round Two," I just sort of fell back on the sofa, and he fell over on top of me. I put my arms around him and squeezed. In my fantasies, it was always Stan who held me, but this seemed right, and he seemed happy just to lie on my chest. I nuzzled his curly hair. It smelled wonderful. His shampoo must have had the same fragrance as his aftershave.
Neither of us had said anything yet. I was happy to have this man I had wanted now for weeks in my arms, knowing that he apparently wanted me, too. Words didn't matter. They would have seemed intrusive.
Finally, however, Stan rose up and shifted himself a little lower. He began to nuzzle my nips through my shirt. That, of course, caused my already hard cock to pulse out a dollop of precum into my boxers.
"Stanley, let's take this into the bedroom, OK?"
He gave me his killer grin and said, "It better not be far away!"
It was only then that I realized he had never been in my house before.
He got himself up off of me. Then I stood up and took his hand. I led him into my bedroom. There, together, we took the bedspread off the bed and turned back the top sheet and lightweight blanket.
Then he reached over and began to pull my shirt out of my pants. I raised my hands above my head so he could take it off, bending my knees a little to make it easier. Then he unbuckled my belt, unfastened my khakis, and pulled them down. I stepped out of them.
I did the same thing to him, marveling as I pulled his pants down at the bulge in his black briefs.
He stepped close to me, put his hands down inside the backs of my boxers, and felt my ass. Then he hooked his thumbs over the waistband and slowly slid them down over my butt and down my legs. When he was through, he was kneeling in front of my hard cock, which continued to slowly seep precum. He grabbed the base of my tool with his right hand and opened his mouth.
"Unh unh," I grunted. "No way. Not until I get a look at that treasure you've been hiding." Looking back on it, I can't believe I did that. I think I realized at that moment that there'd be more times to get sucked, and I just couldn't wait to see his equipment. Or maybe it was just a momentary aberration. But that's what I did.
He grinned up at me and then stood up. I repeated what he had just done, sticking my fingers in the back of his briefs so I could feel his taut, hard ass. Then I slid the briefs down, kneeling slowly as I did. When I got them to the floor, he stepped out of them and then held out his hands to me. I took them, and he pulled me back to a standing position, but not before I had gotten a close-up look at his fat seven-inch tool.
We grabbed each other, began another kiss, and fell over sideways onto the bed. He landed on top and began humping my belly as we kissed. I happily, greedily let that go on for a couple of minutes and then pushed him away.
"Whoa, what's wrong, stud?" he asked.
"I don't want you to come on my stomach." I reached in the bedside table and pulled out a bottle of lube and a condom packet. I handed them both to him.
"Who says I'm a top?" he said, still straddling me, grinning at me. His balls were at about my sternum and his erect dick pointing directly at my face.
"I just assumed you would be. Goes with your image, you know."
"Well, I'll do it this time, and delighted to be `of service.'" But I want to be connected to you every way possible, Dougie, and I expect you to do your share of topping as time goes on."
"As time goes on." I liked that. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, Stanley. Now, please, just get on with it!"
He got off the bed for a minute, and I was really disappointed. Then he picked up the pillows, put them both under my ass, and proceeded to answer one of my questions.
"You'll get topped, babe, but not before I've satisfied a longing I've had now for weeks. Gonna get at the sweet ass of yours."
My ass is nothing special. His is magnificent, positively Greek-god quality. But I wasn't about to complain. "If you're sure you want to," I said.
He pushed my legs up out of the way and grinned up at me, looking just like a Satyr. I shivered in anticipation of what was coming. I craned my head forward so I could watch what he was doing. But as soon as his mustache and goatee hit my ass-ring, I arched my back and moaned. He hadn't even used his tongue yet, and I was already wiggling, trying to get my opening closer to him. He obliged, not fiddling around with rimming. He simply began to fuck me with his tongue. And I yelled. The sensation of his tongue up my hole and his face hair scratching and tickling around the opening made me crazy.
"God! Stan! That's incredible. Nobody's ever done exactly that to me before." I shivered again and began to moan. I controlled my instinct to writhe because I knew that would make it harder for him.
After a while, when I was getting more and more heated up, when my hole was open and asking for it, he looked up at me, licked his lips and as much of his `stache and beard as his tongue could reach, and winked at me.
"Think you're just about ready, hotshot?"
"Bring on that fat cock of yours, Mason, and we'll see how ready I am!"
It had been over three years since I had had sex with anyone but myself, so I was relieved to see that he smeared the rubber on his tool pretty thoroughly with KY. I was almost embarrassed, however, when that pudgy dick went in with so little difficulty.
"Dougie, your whore, you! You've done this before, haven't you?" he said, twinkling at me.
"Yeah, but not recently. It feels SO good to have you inside me, man. I've wanted you to do me since the moment I saw you there at the altar rail. So please get on with it!"
"You got it, babe! Fasten your seat belt."
It wasn't exactly a "bumpy ride," but he didn't worry much about breaking me in. I suppose he knew he didn't have to. He long-dicked me very slowly for a few minutes and then he cut loose, really plowing my ass, hard, fast, and deep. He seemed to be hitting my prostate on every stroke, and I was wild. I'd been fucked before, but only by younger, less experienced men. Stan knew what he was doing, he knew what I needed.
Once he just stopped. I'd been pumping my dick in rhythm with his thrusts, and I was almost frantic when he quit. "What? What's wrong?"
"Did you see that the Dow was down again today?"
"You bastard! Who cares about the Dow at a time like this? Get back to what you were doing!"
"Are you sure that's what you want me to do?"
"Oh, God, yes. Please!"
"Well, Douglas, by taking this little pause, I think you and I will be good to go for quite a while longer. If I hadn't stopped, I would have come by now. So, if you're ready, we'll have at it again."
And have at it we did. He was right, too. We went on and on. We became sweaty. His sweat was dripping off his goatee onto my cock and balls. I found that particularly sexy. I writhed and wiggled and moaned and told him how much I loved what he was doing. He didn't say anything, but he kept looking at me with those incredibly blue eyes. He continued to have this amused expression on his face, as if he were having the time of his life.
When, at last, the smile disappeared, the twinkle vanished, and the eyes closed, I knew what was happening.
"Oh, Dougie, here I come! From me to you, babe. Take it! Take it all!"
I felt the stuff coming up his dick before it erupted into my insides. He stiffened, shuddered, and spasmed seven or eight times. Not bad for a guy in his fifties, I thought.
I had quit pumping. I just lay there watching him. After the last spasm, he remained motionless for a moment or two, his eyes still closed.
Then he opened them, gave me that breathtaking smile of his, and said, "OK, Doug, now let's take care of you, babe."
As if he hadn't just been taking care of me!
He pulled out, lowered himself into position, and began sucking on my hot, hard, throbbing rod. It was less than a minute, I imagine, when I warned him I was about to come. He quit sucking and began jacking me with his hand. I was only briefly disappointed. He didn't know me well enough, I realized, to swallow my cum. Anyway, by that time, nothing was going to stop the course of nature. I erupted. Because he continued to jack my dick, cum got scattered all over my chest and belly.
Stan went into my bathroom, got a towel, came back, and very tenderly wiped all the cum from my body. Dropping the towel on the floor, he climbed into bed, where he lay on his side facing me. He put his forehead against my chest. I encircled him with my arms.
"Mmmm. I like that. Please hold me for a while."
"As long as you want, Stan, as long as you want."
He licked my left nip once, and I almost jumped out of bed. He chuckled, turned so his cheek was against that nip, and was quiet after that.
We both went to sleep that way.
I hadn't set the clock radio. When I woke up, it was 9:00. Broad daylight, of course. The mocking birds were in full chorus in the live oaks out back. Stan was lying with his back to me, naked, uncovered, so vulnerable. His body was perfect. Here was a guy who worked hard to keep himself in shape. If it weren't for the gray hair on his chest and a little in his pubes, you'd never know this was the body of a guy his age.
I pulled the sheet over him and padded softly into the bathroom to take my shower. Afterward I got out, dried off, and pulled on a pair of gray cotton knit gym shorts.
I made coffee, poured orange juice, mixed up a half dozen eggs, and began frying bacon. The bacon did it. He wandered into the kitchen, naked and gorgeous. I could tell, though, that he wasn't a morning person. The trademark twinkle wasn't there. He looked more like a sleepy kid -- except for the face hair, of course.
"There are lots of towels in the linen closet in the master bath, Stan. By the time you get a shower, I'll have all this ready."
"Where have you been all my life?" he said. He slapped me on the rump and went back into the bedroom.
Ever since I woke up, I had been busily thinking how different and how wonderful my life was going to be now that Stan was in it. But I'm always cautious. And a little pessimistic. Some voice inside told me not to make any assumptions, to wait and see how he seemed about the whole thing. This could just have been a one-night fling so far as he was concerned.
He appeared soon, toweling his short salt-and-pepper hair. He had found a terry robe in my closet and had put that on.
I handed him the morning paper, and he studied the front-page stories as I put the food on the table. I had toasted English muffins and set out cherry preserves and butter. I was amazed at how he dug into everything. With an appetite like his, I was surprised he maintained that fantastic body.
I had a spoonful of scrambled egg, a piece of bacon, and I nibbled on a piece of muffin, watching him as he ate.
By the time he had finished and was working on his second cup of coffee, the twinkle was back.
"Damn, Doug, you'd make somebody a fine wife!"
"Know anybody who needs one?"
He winked at me. "No, not really. But I know a very lonely guy who needs a sexy older guy to be his partner. Maybe we should talk about that."
I crossed my arms and rested them on the table. "Whenever you're ready."
"Great!" he said. "Now, however, I've got to get home, change clothes, and get to the office."
He must have seen the disappointment written on my face.
He came over and gave me a gentle kiss. "Yeah, I know we have to talk. Sorry I have to rush off right now. I'm only working until lunch time. I'll call you after that, OK?"
He dressed. I gave him a new toothbrush so he could brush his teeth. He used my electric razor to shave.
About to leave, he gave me a hug and a disappointingly chaste kiss, and said "Thanks, lover, for everything." He pinched my butt and left.
It occurred to me that because of the heavy dews we get in August in Florida, the seats of the Thunderbird were probably wet. It was good he was going to swing past his place and change clothes.
STAN:
The seats on my car were wet with dew, so I reached in the back and got a towel I keep there for just such occasions and wiped them off. Gotta get in the habit of putting the top up all the time. It's not good for the leather to let it get wet too often.
I was walking (or rather driving) on air. I confess I was nervous about grabbing Doug and kissing him the night before, but by that time I was pretty sure I was right. Something about the way Doug and Adam related to each other told me each knew the other was gay.
And, as I had hoped, after we had had fantastic sex, the best part was that, lying in Doug's arms, I felt I had come home. The thing now would be not to put a foot wrong, not to do something to screw it all up. I suspected that Doug might still be a little gun shy. On the other hand, he held me in his arms until I went to sleep.
I stopped by the house, changed into fresh clothes, and went to the office. There was no one around on a Saturday morning, so I should have been able to get caught up with emails and a lot of paperwork. Actually, however, I don't remember clearly what I did. Things more or less passed me by. For all I know, I may have ordered the city athletic complex to be turned into orange groves. Hell! I didn't even care. My thoughts were elsewhere, centered on Doug. Doug's brown eyes. Doug's pert ass. Doug's cock and where I wanted it to go.
I knew that Doug and I needed to do a lot of talking, though I'd rather have just been having a free-for-all in bed with him for the rest of the weekend. I thought of a long drive in the car with the top down and realized that this was Florida in August. The temperature was already 92, and it would be a couple of degrees hotter as the afternoon burned on. I just didn't fancy sitting around inside. Someplace shady? With a little breeze? The Gardens were perfect. Huge liveoaks dominated the place. We could walk and talk or sit on a bench and talk. We might see someone one of us knew, but it would seem perfectly innocent for us to be there together, I thought. We could always say Doug was showing me around.
So, I called Doug from my office about 11:30 and asked if he'd had lunch. Of course, at that hour he hadn't.
"Well then, sport, how about the café at the Gardens? We have a lot of talking to do, and maybe after lunch we can walk and talk and won't be so likely to jump each other's bones."
He chuckled at that and said he would be waiting.
I went back to my place and changed into shorts before I stopped by for Doug. He was wearing khaki slacks and a red shirt that went beautifully with his coloring.
When we got to the parking lot, we took no chances this time, being sure the top was up before we went to eat. At the café, we merely exchanged small talk because there were people at all the nearby tables, and we hardly wanted them to hear us talking about our having apparently become lovers.
After we left the café, Doug said, "C'mon. I want to show you something." He led me up a path I hadn't seen on our previous visit, and we walked across a grassy area that was shaded by the 80-year-old liveoaks. We rounded a bend and there was a beautiful small enclosed area where many varieties of flowers were in blossom, and all of them were white. There was a bench off to one side, and Doug suggested that we could sit and talk there with some assurance of privacy.
When we sat, I looked at him. He looked at me. Neither of us said anything. Then we both laughed. Finally, he said, "Stan, what happened last night?"
Smartass that I am, I said, "Doug, as I recall, I fucked you."
"Oh, you did that indeed. I've wanted you, you know, ever since I first saw you in church that morning. I've had the hots for you so bad. I've even had wet dreams about you, and I'm too old to have wet dreams."
I chuckled. "Dougie, I started plotting to get you into bed the moment I watched you read the lessons that morning. I didn't know whether you were gay or not, or I would have managed sooner. I was so afraid you wouldn't be, and my gaydar just wasn't working where you were concerned."
"Isn't that ironic? I've never had a hardon while serving the chalice before, but I did that morning. I went rushing into the parish hall after the service looking for you. Like you, I didn't know whether this guy I'd seen was gay, but I was sure going to try to find out more about him!"
"Speaking of hardons," I said, "didn't you have a stiffie when we were here the other day? I could have sworn there was a tent in your pants as we walked back to the car."
"Indeed I did," he said, smiling at me broadly. "That was the first day I suspected you might be gay and might even be as interested in me as I was, er, am, in you. And you had one, too, didn't you?"
"Yep. But then I do almost any time I see you, studly." I looked around to see that there was no one in sight before I reached over and stroked his cheek. "So what happens now?"
He put his hand on mine, the one still touching his face. "Well, I think in some very meaningful sense we are together, aren't we?"
"Oh, God, I hope so!"
"You know, Stan, we are going to have to be very careful. I mean, we can't have the new city manager being outed in his first month on the job. And I imagine things were somewhat different where you were before."
"Not all that much, actually. Meadville is a small town, and rural western Pennsylvania is pretty conservative. I had to be careful there, too. So it's instinctive by now, I think. But dammit, Doug, I would like to tell the world that I've found this fantastic man!"
He smiled so sweetly at me right then I wanted to plant kisses all over his face.
"I know, love, for I feel the same way. But we must be circumspect for the sake of your career, if for no other reason."
"Well, Doug, I know you've made a place for yourself here in this community, and from what I've seen of Lake Polk, being known as gay would change things for you a great deal, too."
He seemed withdrawn, introspective for a moment as he said, "You've got that right."
We sat and talked for a good part of the afternoon, holding hands and touching, being careful there was no one around when we did.
About 4:00 I said, "Fancy a beer?" He said that sounded good.
"Where'll we go?" I asked.
"Frank's Place is south of town no more than five minutes from here. We can't make a habit of being seen there together, but it won't matter if we pop in for a beer. I can tell Frank I'm introducing you to his pub."
"Sounds good."
Frank's was one of those places most people wouldn't go into from the way it looked on the outside. But Doug told me it was very popular, especially on weekend evenings because the proprietor had a small jazz combo that played regularly, and that Frank got other aspiring local jazz musicians to play there, too.
When we got there, it was cool, dark, and, except for an old couple sitting in the back, deserted.
Doug introduced me to Frank, who shook my hand and said he'd heard of me and hoped I'd get things straightened out at city hall. I told him I'd do my best. He smiled, showing a gold tooth. I hadn't seen one of those in ages. Doug got us each a Coors draft and, instead of going to a booth, we sat on stools at the bar, chatting about this and that with Frank. It turned out that he was from Pittsburgh, though he had come to Florida twenty years ago and bought the bar. Was a big Pirates fan. Together we bemoaned the fact that the Pirates were about to wrap up a typically lousy season.
People began to trickle in and Frank got busy, so we took our second round to a booth.
"Stan, there's so much I want to know about you. In fact, I want to know everything about you. You haven't told me much about Mark except he's in school in Ohio."
Now there was a subject dear to my heart. I told Doug that Mark was a pre-law student, entering his senior year. That he was on the varsity baseball team there. That he had just gotten back from Germany, where he had been visiting his girlfriend, Lori, and her family. And then I told him about this group of friends of Mark's. He had known and been close buddies with three of them since their first year in school. His roommate for three years, Ced, was gay.
"And Mark was cool with that?"
"If he hadn't been, I'd have cuffed him upside the head!"
"He knows you're gay, then? Or do you consider yourself bi?"
"Well, I managed to get it up as necessary when I was married to Sylvia, Mark's mother, but I think I'm really gay. I don't have much sexual interest in women, though I find them better company than lots of men I know."
"I hear you."
I went on to tell Doug about how, through a remarkable set of circumstances, Mark and Ced's friends, Trey and Chaz, had come to admit that they were bisexual. Into the mix was thrown Ced's lover, a young English professor named Tim. Doug seemed very interested in that.
"Let me get this straight. Ced and Tim, the professor, are lovers. Are they living together?"
"Yeah, they got a place together at the beginning of the summer. Ced's been working for his dad in Cleveland all summer, so he only sees Tim on weekends. But they will be sharing their townhouse once school starts."
"So they are out?"
"Well, since the university has over thirty thousand students, I think they might manage to hide their relationship from everyone but their little group, which they are calling their `Brotherhood,' for a while. But Ced, who keeps in touch with me almost better than Markie, tells me that they are all talking about coming out."
Doug's eyes sparkled. "Wow! That's quite a story. How different from Cranmer, where I taught. It's hard to believe both schools are in the same state."
"Is there anything you.want to tell me about Cranmer, Doug?"
"I'll tell you all about that sorry mess, Stan, but this isn't the place, OK?"
"Sure, babe."
"Now, Stanley, we can either sit here and get drunk on Frank's beer, have one of his greasy hamburgers, or go get something decent to eat."
"I vote for decent. Any ideas?"
"How does fish or seafood sound?"
"If it's well prepared, wonderful!"
"Since it's your gas we're wasting, let's go to Cypress Haven to Dockside. It's a very casual place. We can go as we are, even on a Saturday evening."
"I'm for that. Let's go!"
When we got to the car, I put the top down and took off my shirt. No harm in catching a few late-afternoon rays. Doug pulled off his tee as well, and we headed up the highway.
Dockside turned out to be a place beside one of the county's largest lakes. We pulled on our shirts and walked toward the building. There was a dock to which several boats were tied. Doug explained that this was part of the county's Chain of Lakes, which were joined by canals, so that boaters could go for miles. There was also an airplane on pontoons. Doug said that wasn't unusual here either.
Inside, the place had laminate topped tables with chrome and plastic chairs. Two sides of the large dining room had windows looking out on the lake.
Our server was a forty-ish woman with dyed red hair and lots of blue eye shadow. Like the rest of the waitstaff, she wore black slacks, black athletic shoes, and a red polo shirt. The red shirt looked terrible with her henna-colored hair, which she wore in a bun. She had on dangling silver earrings. About five feet tall, she called both Doug and me "honey" and was VERY friendly.
At our request, she brought us beer. "You boys ready to order now?" she asked with a toothy grin.
I ordered crab cakes as an appetizer. "Good choice, sugar," she said. "You're gonna love those."
Doug ordered mussels. Brave man. She winked at him and said, "Mussels is a afro-disiac, you know. You boys enjoy your beers, now, and I'll be back with your appetizers in two shakes of a lamb's tail!"
I must have looked nonplussed, for Doug was cracking up.
"What's with her?" I asked. "Is she for real?"
Taking a sip of beer and making an effort to look serious, he replied, "Well, here in the South, you know, everybody's VERY friendly."
"I couldn't tell whether she's just friendly or whether she's flirting with us."
"Flirting with YOU, more likely," Doug said.
"Well, isn't that a hoot!" I replied.
For the rest of the evening, we bantered with Aggie, as she told us her name was. Although things were busy at Dockside, she seemed to make a point of checking to see that we had everything we wanted.
I wasn't too optimistic about the food from the 1950's dinette look of the place, but the crab cakes were fabulous.
For our main course, Doug had grouper, I think, covered in red and yellow bell peppers and onions. I had a perfect grilled salmon filet. We exchanged tastes. Both kinds of fish were wonderful, and the cold beer was a pleasant alternative to wine. Dockside was doing a jumping business. Doug remarked that during the season, that is when the snowbirds were in town, we'd have had to wait 45 minutes or so for a table. It was really noisy because of the hard surfaces and all the people, so we gave up trying to talk much and just concentrated on our food.
"Could I interest you boys in some dessert?" Aggie inquired.
"I don't know about my friend," Doug said, "but all I want is some black coffee."
"You got it, handsome!" Then she grinned at me. "And how about you, dear?"
I grinned right back and asked for coffee, too.
I looked across the table at Doug, who was sitting there smirking. His big brown eyes flashing back at me caused Sluggo to stir.
When Aggie came back with the coffee, she left the check. Patting her net-enclosed hair, she said, "It's been a real pleasure to wait on a couple of lookers like you two. You all have a real nice evening, and be sure and come back." There was a pronounced swing to her hips as she walked away.
As we were getting in the car, I said, "I've got some tiramisu in the fridge. It's from the store, not homemade, but it's not bad. Would you like to come back to my place and share it with me?"
"Sheesh! First Aggie and now you. Are you trying to entice me into your bed?" he asked, with a wicked look in his eye.
"Absolutely. How about it?"
"Can't wait!"
Still laughing about how poor Aggie was barking up the wrong tree, we jumped in the T-Bird and drove back to Lake Polk. Doug knew a way to get there without going through much of Cypress Haven. It got dark as we drove, so we saw lots of stars again.
We pulled up in front of my place and put the top up. After unlocking the front door, I stood aside to let Doug go in first. As he stepped in, I put my hand on the seat of his shorts, sticking my finger as far into his crack as the fabric allowed.
"You didn't really want tiramisu, did you?"
"Tirami what?" he said, leering at me over his shoulder.
Keeping my hand where it was, I steered him straight for my bedroom. When we got there, I steered him into the bathroom. I took a swig of mouthwash from the jug by the sink and handed it to him. We both rinsed and spat.
"Don't want to smell no fish breath," I said as I rinsed out the sink.
In the bedroom we pulled back the bedcovers as we had in his bedroom the previous night. Then the middle-aged lawyer and the professor scrambled to get out of their clothes like a couple of kids getting ready to jump into the swimmin' hole on a hot day.
It was pretty much a tie.
"Now," I said, kneeling in front of him, "last night you interrupted me when I was about to do something." I put one hand under his substantial balls. I grabbed his cock with the other. It was already hard, standing out from his body. It was a beautiful cock, perfectly straight, with no large veins. It was amazingly smooth. Not quite as fat as mine, it was probably an inch longer, say eight inches. I knew I wanted Doug to impale me on that gorgeous rod, first at one end, then the other.
I didn't waste time licking it. As I said, he was already hard. We could do leisurely foreplay another time. Right then, I had to taste his dick, to feel that thing inside my mouth. I've been deep throating since I was fifteen, so I knew just what to do. I swallowed his dick. When my nose hit his pubes and he felt his cock down my throat, he gasped.
Then he said, "Well, Stanley, you slut. You've done that before, haven't you?"
I gave him just enough teeth, coupled by a yank on his balls, to make him sorry he'd said that. Then I went to work. I wanted to make him hot without letting him come, so I knew how to speed up, slow down, and pause, to keep him in the state I wanted.
"You are an evil genius, babe. That's fantastic. Oh, yeah! That's so good. Nobody ever did it like that before!"
I pulled off. "You mean I'm not your first," I said, giving him a pouty look.
"Damn, man, you sure are a cock tease. You're not my first, but you're sure as hell the best, except when you quit in the middle of things, like now. Will you get back to it, please?"
"I have a better idea," I said. This time it was my turn to get the lube and the condoms from the bedside table.
I put a rubber on his magnificent rod and then smeared it with lube.
"You DO know what to do now, don't you?" I asked winking at him.
"You just get your ass in that bed and I'll show you what I'm going to do," he said, grinning.
Never one to turn down an invitation like that from a guy that cute, I hopped onto the bed on my back and pulled my knees up. He took some lube and put it on my pucker. Then he went to work with his fingers. You know, first one, then, two, and before long three. He had me writhing because he found my nut and just kept hitting it with those long, thin fingers of his. I couldn't take much more of that.
"Dougie, babe, I need that big, beautiful dick of yours in me. I've waited for this for weeks. Do me now, please!"
Doug's cock was bigger than Leigh's, and it had been a couple of years since I'd had anything up my chute bigger than my finger, so it hurt a little when he entered, well lubed as he and I were. But he took it slowly, checking every half inch or so to see if I was all right. He was so tender, so concerned about not hurting me that, despite the pain, I was about to burst with love for him. Well, his cock may have had something to do with that feeling as well, I suppose.
Finally, he was all the way in.
"You OK, babe?"
"Just let me get used to it. I'm sorry to be such a baby, but you're a big boy, Dougie."
"So I've been told. But I won't do anything until you give me the go ahead."
"So, sweetheart, go. Go ahead. I've waited weeks for you to fuck me. I was, God forgive me, thinking about you fucking me when you served me the wine that morning. Don't make me wait any more, please."
What followed was every bit as good as I had dreamed it would be. First Doug long-dicked me, then he'd use short strokes, but he did everything in slow motion. It was so tantalizing. I wanted to close my eyes and ride the sensations, but I didn't because I wanted even more to watch Doug's face. He looked steadily into my eyes as he pumped so very slowly in and out, smiling his sweet smile the whole time.
I reached up to grab the headboard, forgetting that it was a solid panel of wood and there were no handholds on it. So I used my hands to touch Doug, his face, his nips, his ribs, his shoulders, his forearms, anything I could reach. And still he kept up this slow, methodical, tantalizing, excruciating rhythm. Maybe one thing to be said about older lovers is that they aren't in such a hurry to get their rocks off.
Speaking of getting one's rocks off, except for wet dreams when I was a kid, I've never come without stimulating my cock. But that night I did. Doug just kept going in and out, smiling that dreamy smile as if he had achieved his nirvana and planned to stay in it forever. I, on the other hand, was getting hotter and hotter. I was startled when I felt my balls churning and the jizz coming up through my throbbing rod. I hadn't touched it. Neither had Doug. But I spewed cum all over myself.
Doug's face went from smile to broad grin when I did that. Then he speeded up, and in a matter of a minute or two, he was coming inside me. He shut his eyes, bit his lower lip, and sort of vibrated for a minute. Then he inhaled with a hiss, and began erupting into the condom deep in my insides. I could feel his penis spasm with each shot of cum. When he finished, he fell forward on me, allowing his full weight to rest on my chest, which was still covered with my cum. I put my arms around him. We stayed like that until his cock shrank. Then he pulled out with a "plop!" and rolled over on his back. He took off the condom, got up, took it into the bathroom, and flushed it down the toilet. When he came back, he lay down on his side and, propping himself up with one arm, looked at me.
"You're looking pretty pleased with yourself," I said.
"Stanley, I've been bursting to do that for weeks. And you know what?"
"What?"
"Once isn't enough. I hope to do that regularly, OK?"
"You got it, babe. But there's something I need you to do for me now."
"What is it? I'd do anything, you know."
"Hold me again like you did last night."
He took me in his long arms and pulled me close. "Like this, babe?"
"Yeah, like that. You know, I've needed someone to do this for me for twenty years. In life, you do what you have to. And I've done that. But being strong all the time is wearing. I want to come home with you. Can you understand what I'm saying?"
He squeezed me tight, kissed my forehead, and said, "Shhh! It's all right, baby, it's all right."
The next morning, we slept late, knowing that we could safely do so. I woke about 9:00 and was about to go get a shower when Doug woke up, too.
"Where you sneaking off to?"
"To the shower. Care to join me?"
He grinned a sleepy grin and said, "Sounds delicious."
I was grateful for my rapid-recovery hot water tank, for we used lots of hot water taking a long, long shower. We slowly, carefully, and tenderly washed each other. Then we rubbed our hard dicks against each other's bellies until we came, and then we washed each other again.
Even though Doug's several inches taller than me, we're about the same size in the waist. So I gave him a pair of my gym shorts and a tee shirt to wear to breakfast.
We had big glasses of orange juice made at the local orange juice factory, a national brand headquartered in Lake Polk, while I fixed sausage links, pancakes, and Blue Mountain coffee.
We didn't talk much during breakfast, but there was lots of smiling and touching. As he put his knife and fork parallel on his plate and refolded his napkin, Doug asked me, "We ARE going to church, aren't we?"
"I had assumed so. We've missed the 8:00 service, but we have plenty of time before the 10:30 service."
"Well, I don't think I'd better show up there in shorts and a tee, so I'd better get home and change."
"Give me fifteen minutes to get dressed, and I'll take you home, OK?"
"Sure," he said, smiling at me with those puppydog eyes.
I dressed, took him home, and enjoyed watching as he got dressed. Then we went to church. He insisted we take separate cars. I realized he was right. If we showed up there together on a Sunday morning, people might assume we had been together all night.
So, being the proper and respectable pillars of the community we are, we arrived separately at St. John's church. We did sit together, though. We didn't see how there could be any harm in that -- this once, at least.
[I hope everyone liked this long chapter. In about a week, I'll be posting ch. 25 of the "Tim" story. About a week after that I'll post ch. 26. A week after that, or three weeks from now, I'll post ch. 5 of "Night." Why? Because I'm trying to keep the time-lines of these two stories more or less together, since they do connect occasionally. For example, Tim and crew are going to Lake Polk a little later. It's harder than you'd think. --T.M.]