Quarterback Keeper: 5
Jus Primae Noctis
The Southwest Chief pulled into Chicago's Union Station at 2:47 p.m. , three minutes ahead of schedule. It didn't take long to gather their luggage and find a cab to take them to their downtown hotel. Joe had booked a suite at the Chicago Athletic Association Hotel overlooking Millennium Park.
Once a private athletic club, the hotel maintained the character of a private men's club. The surfaces were hardwood, leather, stone, and tile. The rooms and public spaces were once the haunts of Chicago's Old Boys. The well trained nose could still detect the aroma of whiskey and cigars. Bits of vintage equipment still bore the sweat and pain of past athletic greats. Olympic Gold Medal Swimmer Johnny Weissmuller was a member and one could almost see him standing in the second floor lobby and chatting with America's first professional football player, Pudge Heffelfinger.
After checking in and getting settled, Joe asked, "So, what do you want for dinner?"
"I was thinking about something simple like the Shake Shack downstairs. Then after that maybe we can walk around Millenium Park. I am feeling the need to stretch and get some exercise."
After downing a bacon cheeseburger, an order of cheese fries, and a chocolate shake, Joe was glad that Tony had suggested a walk. Walking through the park, they stopped at the "Cloud Gate" sculpture, better known as "The Bean." Joe walked around the 110 ton stainless steel piece and noted how the seamless and polished surface distorted the city and sky. After a few minutes of watching Joe take in the work, Tony walked up behind him and whispered over his shoulder, "You are a fucking Renaissance Man: scholar, lover of art and literature, patron of young men, and an athletic stud to boot. How the hell did you end up in a small town in Oklahoma?"
Joe turned to look over his shoulder, "I could ask the same question of you Dean Kesslinger. I know you have had offers to join the history departments at more prestigious universities."
"`I no doubt deserved my enemies...,'" started Tony.
"but I don't believe I deserved my friends,'" finished Joe.
"Glad you still remember your Whitman," said an appreciative Tony.
The truth was that the distance between Enid and Salt Fork was as far as either could stand to be from the other, but as close as either dared to be to the other.
Joe and Tony walked through the park as night fell. The sounds of a busker's sax echoing off the urban hardscape drifted across the park and a cool breeze from Lake Michigan stirred the June air. Finally, Joe and Tony found a bench and sat to watch the "Crown Fountain" video sculpture.
"So, Jus Primae Noctis," said Tony"
"Right of the first night," translated Joe.
"You know Joe, you don't have to..."
"I don't have to....what? I don't have to give you my ass tonight," chuckled Joe.
"Well, I know you usually are in control...and if you don't want to...I understand."
"First my friend, I am usually in control, as you put it, because you let me be in control. Second, Jus Primae Noctis is our tradition."
Again silence fell as the two continued to watch the faces change on the fountain. Eventually Joe moved closer to Tony and slipped his arm around his friend's shoulders to pull him in closer.
"Do you remember how we started Jus Primae Noctis?" asked Joe.
"Yeah we were both taking that jock off history class titled something like "Medieval Fact or Fiction." `Jock off' classes were what Tony and Joe called departmental offerings tailored to help the athletes stay eligible. Both Tony and Joe were freshmen on the baseball team, and their adviser/coach signed them up for the class before becoming aware that both young men were bona fide students seeking real degrees.
"The poor grad student, they stuck with teaching that course," Joe chuckled. "She figured out that adding a few salacious factoids would keep the jock focused. Kinda like throwing red meat to the wolves. Do you still have jock off classes?"
"Oh yes, I made Jerry Meyers, my grad assistant, teach one called Hollywood and the Old West. They spent the semester watching old westerns and Jerry would point out what they got right and what they got wrong."
"Don't you ever feel just a bit cheap offering classes like that?"
Tony laughed, "You mean cheap like I feel when I hit up my best friend for his annual contribution to the alumni fund drive. Look, we like to give the impression in academia that we are all pure and noble, that we are unsullied by crass commerce. However, the truth is we are sometimes plain old whores. Sometimes we are selling our asses for the Development Office, and sometimes it's the Athletic Department who is getting a piece of our bootie. Occasionally, we even dress up a grad assistant in fishnet stockings and a bustier to teach a class that boots students enrollment so we can save a department position."
"But still," Joe said, "Doesn't it bother you?"
"Sometimes it does, but sometimes those jock up classes can be the entry point for kids to find an interest in history. That's how we got Tyler into the history department. He took Jerry's Hollywood and the Old West class, liked it, and kept taking more history classes."
Again the two fell silent.
"We couldn't agree," said Tony.
"Huh."
"We couldn't agree who would be top first and who would be bottom first," said Tony. "We weren't roommates our Freshman year. In fact we didn't know each other until we were in Medieval Fact or Fiction together that first semester. At the end of our Freshman year we were in several classes together, and played baseball, and had become best friends. So, we decided to room together next year. It wasn't until you visited me that summer that we finally learned that we each had a crush on the other."
"We were both so overjoyed to find someone else who was into guys," said Joe, "we just laughed and talked and never got around to doing anything. I don't know about you, but I spent the rest of the summer totally boned."
"Same here. I couldn't wait for school to start, but I didn't know whether we would, so to speak, fit together. Then you came up with the idea of Jus Primae Noctis. I thought I was so fucked when I read your letter, but there was no way I was going to back down once you threw down the gauntlet."
"When I looked at the schedule and saw you would likely be the starting pitcher for Blackwell I figured I had you," mused Joe. "I was playing for the Tulsa Greasers and we were on top of the league standings."
"Of course the Blackwell Bandits were at the bottom," Tony broke in, "You don't know how much I wanted to phone you and call you every name in the book when you suggested that whoever had the better night against the other would claim Jus Primae Noctis. I was having an average season pitching, but you were on fire. You had a shitload of homers and extra-base hits. You were leading in all hitting stats, and I figured you were going to pound my ass on and off the field."
"I was certainly a cocky SOB. I remember looking at you and thinking how much I was going to like you tight pitcher's ass. Then just as I was getting ready to blow you a kiss, you threw one high and inside. I fell on my ass trying to get out of the way. The next one was again tight inside, but this time I thought you were trying to take my nuts off with the ball."
"I knew my only hope was to get into your head early," said Tony. "But I want you to know, before each of those pitches I said a little prayer that you would get out of the way."
"Well, you got into my head and stayed there all night. The next pitch was again inside, but this time it caught the corner of the plate for strike one. The next was low and outside for strike two, and then you threw the nastiest curve I ever saw for strike three. To this day I swear the ball made a 90-degree cut to cross the plate. That was it for the night, 0-4; my worst game of the season."
"That is what is so great about baseball, some days the gods of baseball shine on your face, and the next they piss on your cleats. But you know, everytime you tell that story, the third strike curve becomes more magical. My friend, it was a hanging curve that the minute I let it go I just knew it was going over the centerfield fence."
After a few more minutes of silence Joe turned to Tony, "I know it was a hanging curve; I just like my story better."
"So do I."
Joe stood and offered Tony his hand, "Let's go back to the room."
The warm water of the shower ran down Joe's muscular torso like a stream flowing over river rocks. Whether from a commitment to healthy living or out of personal vanity--he was never sure which, nor did he spend much time attempting to parse his motivation--Joe's diet and workout regime blessed him with a body more befitting a 35 year old than a 55 year old.
After 10 minutes, the bathroom door opened and Tony stepped into the shower and began to wash Joe's muscular back. Joe braced his hands on the wall in front of him as Tony began a deep and sensual massage. Joe caught a glimpse in the mirror of their naked forms.
Joe was a man's man. At 6'2" and 190 pounds Joe still awed the boys in the weight room. The give away to his true age was the salt and pepper hair on his head and chest. In a moment of vanity three years earlier he had actually thought about dying his hair and shaving his chest. In fact, he already had the buzzing shaver in his hand and was preparing to shear his chest when it suddenly dawned that aging was an unavoidable reality and the only question was whether to embrace it with dignity or to clownishly attempt to deny it's inevitability.
While his hair might be showing his age, Joe's emerald green eyes remained as youthful as ever. Sure there were a few wrinkles in the corners, but the pupils were bright, curious and full of life. If eyes are the windows to the soul, then Joe was the embodiment of Aengus, the Celtic god of love, poetry, and youth.
If Joe was the young soul in the maturing body, Tony was the ageless soul trapped in the body of Peter Pan. Tony cultivated the image of the bookish professor. What students and colleagues saw in the classroom or the faculty senate was a man of gravitas. Tweet jackets, Clark Kent glasses and Van Dyke facial hair gave Tony a look that best could be described as librarian. Not that he looked like a stereotypical librarian, but that his natural habitat was wingback chairs, oak tables and shelves of leather-bound books. Joe mused once that his friend's cologne was eau de libraria and at Christmas presented him with a Savinelli pipe from Milan.
However stripped bare, Anthony Kesslinger was still the sophomoric boy that so beguiled Joe in college. At 6 foot, 170 pound, and sporting little body hair, Tony's toned body was a physical contrast to the champ whose back he was now massaging. Miles of running and countless laps in the University pool had left Tony fit, sinewy, and hot. Even his brown hair and beard that flashed red in the right light held no touches of grey to betray his age. No, the only age was in the deep brown eyes that reveal an ancient and wise soul within.
Anticipation
Slowly Tony sank to his knees and began to massage Joe's athletic glutes. As he kneaded the hard muscles of Joe's ass, he let his thumbs slide through his lover's anal cleft which elicited soft and senuous groans. Joe's stance widened and Tony spread his hard round cheeks to expose the delicate flower at the bottom of this grand canyon. Tony leaned forward and Joe could feel Tony's warm breath on his sensitive pucker. Then a gentle lick, at least that was what Joe thought it to be, it was so soft and warm. The anticipation caused Joe to unconsciously contract his ass.
There was no mistaking what Tony did next. His tongue pushed into Joe's pucker and then circled it in an excruciatingly sensual clockwise motion. The slippery, warm tongue was magical, and Tony was a master wizard of the art of analingus. Tony's range of skills were beyond description; he moved fluidly from soft kisses and gentle licks to immensely intense anal french kissing. Waves of sexual energy radiated from Joe's pucker as Tony used his lip, his tongue, and his beard to excite Joe's ass.
Even before being touched, Tony's ministrations had aroused Joe's cock to its full eight inch firmness. Joe was leaking precum like a sugar maple giving up its sap in the spring. Now Tony turned Joe around to sample this erotic nectur. Tony lightly licked Joe's frenulum prompting his penis to spasm. Licking down the steel shaft Tony reached Joe's balls and began to massage each sexy egg with his tongue. As Tony lavished attention on the testicles, Joe's cock was leaving dabs of precum on Tony's forehead. Tony looked up and saw that Joe's eyes were closed and his fingers were locked behind his head. Joe's biceps were bulging and his deep masucline pits were on full display.
Moving back up the shaft, Tony reached the head of Joe's cock and parted his lips to engulf Joe's cock helmet. He stopped to lick and tease the engorged glans and he noticed a brief involuntary spasm of Joe's thick quads. Finally, it was time for the coup de maitre, the master stroke, and Tony began to envelop Joe's cock. This was an exploit learned, practiced, and perfected over years in congress with an enduring friend and lover.
As he worked Joe's cock, Tony had also been gently fingering Joe. Joe's ass was much looser and very slick from the generous amount of lube Tony had been applying as he pleasured Joe's cock and balls. Tony finally stood and whispered in Joe's ear, "Here or in the bedroom."
"Let's go to bed."
The two stepped out of the shower and quickly dried each other.
Anxiety
Joe lay on the edge of the bed, raised his legs, and opened them in a wide Vee. Tony took him by the ankles and looked down at his muscular lover making himself completely vulnerable. For Tony, this was always a moment of apprehension. He did not want to hurt his best friend; although he knew there would be some pain. Joe's trust was both an intense honor and test of sexual prowess for which Tony feared the possibility of failure.
Tony placed his penis at Joe's pucker and asked, "Are you ready, stud?"
Joe nodded his readiness and Tony pushed forward. Joe grabbed the sheets and Tony stopped and waited. Joe knew not to tense, that it would only make the initial entry harder and more painful. He thought back to his days of playing baseball; how before entering the batter's box he would take two swings followed by a deep breath to clear his mind of all distractions so he could focus on the pitch and nothing else. Joe released his grip on the sheets, took a deep breath, and nodded for Tony to try again. This time when Tony pushed, Joe pushed back and he felt himself open and Tony slipped in.
Tony let Joe adjust to the fullness of having a cock inside him. Joe was always amazed that the anxiety of being penetrated was worse than the actual experience. A lot like jumping off the high dive as a kid. Finally, Joe was ready for more and he gave another nod to Tony.
Rapture
Tony slid in a bit further and full on ran into Joe's prostate. The contact was the most exquisite combination of deep erotic touch, bolts of sexual lightening, and slight twinge of longing. Tony ran his cock across Joe's love nut for only a few minutes but the feeling was of an eternity of arousal and pleasure.
Now Joe grabbed the sheets, not from anxiety or discomfort, but to anchor himself in the moment. This moment when he had so completely given himself to his best friend and most intimate companion.
As Joe's cock strained and leaked precum onto his stomach like a broken faucet, Tony began a further descent into the depths of his lover's bowels. Achieving full penetration, Tony balls rested gently on Joe's perineum. Joe's eyes rolled back and his entire body was engaged in a sexual lightning storm.
This was the moment Joe needed, the moment of mental and emotional catharsis. Coach Joe, Teacher Joe, Responsible Joe, In Control Joe, were all stripped away, and all that remained was just Joe. It wasn't the world rocking orgasm that was certainly coming with the force of an August thunderstorm--no, it was the ability to release total control to his lover and revel in the rapture of mind, body, and soul Joe Bartlett most reaped from Jus Primae Noctis: the night that made all things right.
Thank you for reading "Quarterback Keeper." I very much appreciate the comments and words of encouragement I have received from readers. I also have another story, "Tough Love in Kansas City" going on nifty.org. A reader asked whether I had an email group, and I have decided to create one. If you would like to be included in updates on my stories, send me an email.
Again, thanks, and consider donating to nifty.org to support the platform that makes publishing these stories possible.