Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. The story contains graphic descriptions of sex between men, and anyone who is forbidden by law to read such material must exit the story now. The characters have unprotected sex, as characters safely can in fiction. Reality, obviously, is another matter entirely.
This story is being posted to the Nifty Archive for the enjoyment of its readers. It may not be posted or distributed by any other medium without the written permission of the author.
Other works by the author in the Nifty Archive include "Unusual Christmas" and the series Nick's Adventures, both in bisexual/high school; "First Mate" and "Twin Spin, Parts 1 and 2" in gay/incest; The Dancer and Call-Boy Journal in gay/encounters; "My First Year with Kevin" in gay/high school; and "From Slave to Houseboy" in gay/authoritarian.
E-mail comments are always welcome. Rob Chapter 1
There are certain days in life where everything seems to change. The day I met Rob was one of them.
I was in New Orleans for a job interview. I had been there three times before talking to the firm, but that day in mid-October was the day they finally accepted my conditions and offered me the job. I'm an engineer, and I invented a process that is crucial in the breakdown of plastics in waste sites. I hold the patent, and I make a small fortune from it every year. I could have retired, but, at forty, I felt as though my best years in engineering were ahead of me.
I'm also a gay man who had lost his lover of ten years in an automobile accident the previous April. Ted and I had been in love since we first met, and losing him had put an enormous hole in my life. I went through a two-month bout with depression that almost killed me, but, gradually, I adjusted to living without him. By the time my negotiations with the firm were complete, I was ready to begin a new life in a new city in a new part of the country.
They put me up at the New Orleans Marriott in a suite that had a magnificent view of the Mississippi River. I liked staying there because it was convenient to both the firm's building downtown and the French Quarter, with all its little shops and restaurants and bars. Not only that, the place had great athletic facilities, including racquetball courts, and, since I was almost fanatical about racquetball, I always took advantage of them. The only problem was Ted had been my regular partner, and I had to depend on other guests who were looking for a game for someone to play with. In the past, that hadn't been a problem, but that day was a Friday, and not many businessmen had the luxury of spending the whole weekend in New Orleans. When I signed up for a court that morning, none of the courts were reserved for that evening. That might mean nobody else would be playing, and I wouldn't be able to find a partner.
That evening I got back to the hotel around five, and I checked the sign-up sheet to see if anyone might be available. Mine was still the only name on it, so I figured I wouldn't get to play.
"Excuse me," I said to the young man behind the desk. "Do you know if anyone is looking for a game of racquetball?"
"Noooooo," he said.
"Nobody around here plays racquetball," I asked.
Just then the most gorgeous young man I think I'd ever seen came into the desk area from an office. The desk man turned to him and said,
"Mr. Maxwell, do you know of anybody here who plays racquetball? This gentleman is looking for a partner."
"Mr. Maxwell" grinned.
"I play," he said, in a tone that communicated "surely everyone knows that."
"You up for a game," I asked.
"Sure. I'd love to play."
"Great, I'm Dan Mallory," I said, extending my hand.
"Hi, I'm Rob Maxwell," he said as we shook hands.
"Hi, Rob. When can you get off," I asked.
He looked at his watch and grinned again. "I got off five minutes ago."
"So, are you ready to play," I asked.
"Yes, sir," he said. "Do you know where the courts are?"
"I sure do," I replied.
"What if I meet you there in, say, fifteen minutes? Is that enough time for you to change?"
"That's plenty of time," I answered. "I'll see you there."
"Okay. It's a date," he said.
As I turned to leave the desk, I thought, oh, if only that were true. I figured we'd play, I'd whip his ass, and he'd go home to fuck his girlfriend. Then I decided I'd take him to dinner, if he was free. As I rode up to my room in the elevator, thoughts of a seduction crowded my mind. My cock started putting on weight, and I laughed at my foolish fantasy.
Rob was already in one of the courts when I got down there. He was wearing athletic shoes and socks, gym shorts, and nothing more. His upper body was powerful and perfectly proportioned, and it was obvious he had spent many hours working out. His legs were perfect, too, and, with the exception of a little light brown hair, as smooth as his chest and abdomen. He was a perfect specimen of what we call a twink. I felt my cock begin to stir inside my jockstrap, and I was glad it was tight enough to prevent a tent from developing in my shorts.
"Hi," he said when I entered the court. "I hope you don't mind if I play without a shirt. I thought I had a tee shirt in my locker, but I didn't."
Mind? Hell, I'd have paid him a year's worth of royalties to take the shorts off, too.
"No problem, man," I said in my most matter-of-fact tone. I looked him square in the face, and his eyes held mine for an instant. He grinned again, and my spine turned to butter.
"Thanks," he said, and we started warming up.
He moved with the grace and agility of a natural athlete, and I found myself getting distracted by his every move. I was good at racquetball, though, and I was confident I could beat him. So, before the game started, I said, "What would you say to a little bet on the game?"
"Like what," he asked. There was hesitation in his voice.
"Loser buys the winner a drink."
He grinned again. "Sure. I can live with that."
Then it occurred to me that this boy might not have any money to lose, but a drink would hardly bankrupt him.
We started the game, and I knew I was in for a workout. This guy had obviously spent time on racquetball courts, too, and I found myself struggling to keep up after fifteen minutes. When the score was twenty-nineteen his way, he said,
"Wait up. I gotta tie my shoe."
I turned to look at him, annoyed that my concentration had been broken in the middle of my serve, and he squatted down to tie his shoe. When he did that, his cock snaked out the leg hole in his shorts, and my chin hit the floor. Not only was this gorgeous piece of man-boy built like an Olympian god, he was hung like one, too. At that point, I knew I would lose the game, and my heart, as well. If only he were willing.
"Sorry, man," he said. "I hope you're not pissed."
"No. That happens."
I served and hit the ball on the edge of my racquet. It shot off at an angle and hit the side wall. That was my last serve.
"Ready," he asked?
"Yeah."
His serve was the most powerful it had been all game, and it came back at me like a ricocheting bullet. I couldn't get my racquet up fast enough to even try to return it, and it flew past me.
"That's game," he said. There was no obvious pride in his voice. He had played extremely well, and now the game was over. That was the sign of the true athlete; the game was all that mattered.
"Congratulations," I said, extending my hand to him.
"Thanks," he said, and chuckled. He was glistening with sweat, and the sheen on his body only emphasized its perfection, much as the sheen on bodybuilders makes them look more defined. He shook my hand.
We left the court and turned off the lights. We walked down the hall side by side. I could feel the heat emanating from his body, and the aroma of his musk was alluring. I couldn't believe this kid.
"I'm gonna shower and get dressed," he said. "Thanks for the game."
"Well, I owe you a drink. Remember?"
"Aw, you don't have to do that," he replied.
"Well, it was a bet, and you won. Unless you'd rather not."
"I don't ever turn down a drink," he said with boyish enthusiasm and his charming grin.
"Well, I've got some booze in my room. Why don't I wait for you to shower, and you can come up and have a drink."
"Sure," he said.
I followed him into the locker room. He went to what was obviously his locker and twirled the combination lock. When the locker door opened, he kicked off his shoes and put them inside. Next came his socks, and, to my utter delight, his shorts. He stood there buck naked, his penis and pubic hair a sight worthy of the Louvre. He pulled a towel out, and I expected him to wrap it around his waist. He didn't, though. Instead, he held it at his side and faced me.
I was so unnerved that I stared shamelessly at his crotch. He ran his thumb down the crevice between his leg and his torso to scratch himself, and his penis bounced. He looked at me utterly lacking in concern that I was staring at him. At first I thought this might be a come-on, but then it occurred to me that, as a jock, he was used to being naked in front of other men in locker rooms. When I finally looked at his face, our eyes met and he grinned again.
"Excuse me," he said.
I immediately moved my eyes away from him but didn't move.
"Excuse me," he said again. That time it finally occurred to me he wanted me to move so he could get past me to go to the shower room.
"Sorry," I said, and gave him room to pass.
He went into the shower room and turned on the water. By then my own penis was at full erection inside my tight jockstrap, and I could feel the pouch becoming moist from the precum I was releasing. I wonder if he noticed, I thought. Then I glanced into the mirror and saw that my erection wasn't visible under my loose shorts. A few seconds passed, and I heard him say,
"Where you from, Mr. Mallory?"
"Charlotte, North Carolina," I said.
"What did you say," he asked in a louder voice. "I can't hear you very well from there."
I figured if he wanted to talk to me, the least I could do was move to a spot from which he could hear me. I walked to the entrance of the shower room and saw again that glorious body.
"Charlotte, North Carolina," I repeated. "And please call me Dan."
"Ok, Dan," he said. He looked at me and had to know I was staring at him. He didn't seem to mind, though, and we kept up a steady conversation about what I was doing in New Orleans.
He showered quickly and dried himself as we continued talking. Once dry, he walked back to the locker room, with me behind him like a puppy following a little boy with snacks to share. He took a comb out of his locker and walked over to a mirror on the wall. He combed his hair and continued chatting. I have no recollection of what he asked me or of what I told him, though. I was so engrossed in watching his every move I could have said anything.
He moved back to his locker, put on his briefs and proceeded to re-dress himself in the clothes he had worn that day. He stuffed his tie into his coat pocket and shut his locker door.
"All done," he said.
"Ok," I replied dumbly. "Let's go have a drink."
I put my hand on his shoulder as we left the gym area for the elevators. His shoulder was strong and hard, and he didn't flinch a bit from my touch.
When we got to my room, I immediately started mixing drinks. He wanted a martini, which I thought was a bit strange, and I fixed scotch on the rocks for myself. He took a sip of his drink and said "mmmmmm" to indicate he liked it. I sat in a chair next to a table with an ashtray and my cigarettes, and he took a seat on the sofa that was perpendicular to the chair. I instinctively opened my box of Marlboros, took one out, and lit up.
"Er...," he said.
Suddenly I realized my smoking might bother him, and I wanted to do nothing to make this hunk want to leave.
"Sorry," I said. "Does it bother you if I smoke." I went for the ashtray to put it out.
"Oh, no," he said.
"Really? I don't have to smoke, if you'd rather I didn't."
"It really doesn't," he said. "I was just wondering if I could have one."
"I'm sorry, Rob. Of course, you can. I should have offered."
He took a cigarette out of the box and lit up. He was obviously a seasoned smoker, and he inhaled his first drag with pleasure. The fact that he smoked only made him more appealing. The only real bone of contention between Ted and me the whole time we were together was my smoking. That little obstacle wouldn't be a problem if something were to develop between Rob and me.
I shifted in my chair to try to relieve some of the strain on my hard-on. Then I asked, "Are you from here, Rob?"
"No, sir. I'm from Sarasota, Florida."
"What's with the 'sir' stuff, Rob? It's Dan, remember?"
"Sorry, Dan. That's just a habit from childhood."
"Well, it's not a bad one, but just call me Dan and forget the 'sir' shit."
He laughed delightedly, and I laughed with him.
"Have you lived here long?"
"No, si.... No. Just since the end of August."
"Where did you go to school," I asked.
"Florida State," he said with a touch of pride in his voice. "I did an internship at a Marriott resort in Panama City Beach, and they hired me."
"An internship? Really?"
"Yes, si....Yeah, that was part of my major."
"Which was...?"
"Hospitality administration. You know, how to manage hotels and shit."
Before I could say anything, he said, "Sorry. That just slipped out." He looked embarrassed.
"What did?"
"What I said."
"What did you say? You just told me what your major was, didn't you?" I was genuinely puzzled by this conversation and about his obvious embarrassment.
"I used the word 'shit.'"
"So fucking what?"
He laughed, and, when I realized what I had said, I laughed with him.
"I hadn't even noticed you say 'shit,'" I said. "But please feel free to say any goddamn word you want to around me."
He laughed again, and I did, too.
"It's just that I don't usually talk like that in front of grown-ups."
Whoa!
"Aren't you a 'grown-up,'" I asked, with sarcastic emphasis on the term.
"Well, yeah, but. . . "
"But you weren't raised to use vulgarity with older people. Right?"
"That's right."
"Well, think of me as the guy whose ass you whipped on the court, not as a 'grown-up.'"
"Okay, Dan," he said, and grinned.
We talked about his career at FSU, about his major, about his career plans.
"You want a refill," I asked when he drained the last drop of his martini.
"Thanks, but I'd better get going so you can get on with your evening."
Shit, I thought. Then I said, "What evening? I don't have any plans. Do you?"
"Well, no, but . . . "
"Well, then, let's have another drink and go get something to eat. On me. Okay?"
He grinned at me. "Sure, if you don't really mind."
I jumped up and took his glass before he changed his mind.
"I don't know anybody here," I said, "except my new partners, and I really don't know them well."
"I don't either," he said. "Know anybody here, I mean."
"Don't you have any friends you hang out with?"
"Not really. I meet up with one guy from work sometimes to shoot pool and drink beer, but that's about all."
"Where is he tonight," I asked.
"I don't know. I think he has a date."
"What about you? You dating anyone?"
"Naw. Not any more. Anyway, she's in Tallahassee."
"A girlfriend," I asked.
"We dated some last year and through the summer, but we're not seeing each other any more. It's too damn far."
He got that "oh, oh" look on his face, and we both laughed.
"You haven't met anybody here to date," I asked.
"No. Not yet."
"What do you do for fun," I asked?
"Not much," he said. There was a touch of melancholy in his voice.
"You must be pretty lonely," I said.
"Oh, man. Sometimes I get so lonely I cry." He said that so honestly and genuinely that I wanted to hug him.
"Well, a guy who looks like you do will have women crawling all over him in no time. Wait till the word gets out."
He laughed.
"You think I'm nice looking," he asked, after a pause.
I hesitated before answering. I didn't want to blurt out anything that might make him bolt if he suspected my true feelings toward him. At the same time, I certainly couldn't answer that question in the negative. Finally, I said the obvious.
"Yeah. You're very nice looking."
"I guess I must be, but I think I look like a kid."
"How old are you, Rob?"
"Twenty-two."
"You look like a twenty-two-year-old. And a very nice looking twenty-two-year-old at that."
Then I decided to take a chance.
"Plus, you're built like a Greek god."
He blushed slightly, but I could tell he was pleased that I had noticed.
"I've worked out a lot, played sports all my life."
"I can tell," I said.
"I think you're well built, too," he said. That surprised the hell out of me, but I was pleased as well. I stared into his face, and he must have thought he had annoyed me.
He quickly said, "Did I offend you?"
"Yeah, Rob, it always offends me when hunks like you say I've got a nice build." I said it in a serious tone, thinking he would get the irony I was trying to communicate.
"I'm sorry, Dan. I didn't mean anything by it." He was genuinely apologetic.
I burst out laughing, and his look became more puzzled. "Jesus Christ, you are young, aren't you?"
"What do you mean," he asked, again with apologetic concern in his voice.
I laughed some more. "Never mind. Listen, I want to take a shower and get dressed so I can take you out to dinner."
"Oh, okay," he said, and started to get up.
"Where the hell are you going," I asked.
"I'll wait for you in the lobby," he said.
"You'll do no such thing. You'll sit right where you are, finish your drink, smoke another cigarette if you want to, and wait. I won't be long."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure. In fact, grab your drink and a smoke and come keep me company while I shower."
"Okay," he said. He followed me into the bedroom and sat in a chair. He lit a cigarette and we continued talking as I got undressed. By then my boner had gone down, but my cock was slick with precum. He looked at me when I faced him naked, but he didn't stare at me the way I had stared at him. It was nothing more than a locker room glance, the kind he'd given other guys for years.
I got in the shower and he came and stood next to it to continue talking. He was responding to a question about where he lived.
"It's only about ten blocks from here. In a real old house that's been converted into apartments. I wanted to live in the Quarter, but there are some disadvantages to that."
"Like what," I asked.
"Well, parking, for one. I walk to work most of the time because I don't want to lose my parking place. I have to park on the street, and, when I get home after work and a workout, I have to drive around for half an hour to find a place to park. And then it's usually six or eight blocks away."
"What about in the morning," I asked. "You walk to work or take a bus or something?"
"I walk. I usually stop at this little deli a block from my house and buy myself some breakfast. I eat while I walk."
I finished my shower and turned off the water. I reached for a towel on the rack outside the shower stall and started drying off. When I finished, I opened the door and stood there before him naked. He backed up to let me out. I decided to comb my hair before I dressed, just as he had done, so I walked over to the sink.
"Mind if I use the toilet," he asked.
"Help yourself," I said. He did and moved next to me to stand and pee. I got a good look at his cock as he was pissing, and, without realizing it, I started to become aroused. Fuck it, I thought. This is going to be the moment of truth. If he hates queers, he'll leave now, and I won't have to buy him dinner. If he doesn't, then the possibility will still be alive.
"Are you boning up, Dan," he asked nonchalantly.
I was startled beyond words by that question. How do I respond to that?
"Am I?"
"Don't be embarrassed," he said. "That happens to me all the time. My roommate and I used to joke about it. He used to get 'em, too."
This talk of roommates and hard-ons made me fully aroused. I continued combing my hair way past needing to. I saw him shake himself off when he was through urinating, and he tucked his limp cock away without fanfare.
"We used to say it was nature's way of reminding us to jerk off."
Oh, dear God. This was either innocence itself or. . . .
I decided to pursue this. "Well, I haven't exactly been Mr. Stud lately," I said.
"Me, either," he replied. "Not since . . ."
"You and your girlfriend broke up?"
"Yeah. That and . . . ."
"And what, Rob?"
"Aw, nothing. Can I have another drink?"
"Help yourself," I said without thinking.
He left the bathroom and went into the living room. Shit, I thought. I should have kept him in here with me. Since I had blown that opportunity, I decided to get dressed as quickly as I could so we could get something to eat. I was rather hungry by then, and I was sure Rob was famished. When I went into the living room, he had taken his coat off.
He walked over to me and handed me a drink. He looked deeply into my eyes.
"It's okay, Dan. I know."
"What do you know," I asked. I knew what I hoped he knew, but I had to make sure.
"That you find me attractive."
"Yes, I do, Rob. I won't lie to you. I'm gay, and I find you very attractive."
"I know," he said again.
"But I wasn't really aroused back there, I ..."
"Yes, you were. And that's cool, man."
We returned to our seats. I was excited beyond words at that point. He knew I was gay and wanted desperately to have sex with him, and he was still there. I wanted him to continue.
"It doesn't bother you that I'd like to have sex with you," I asked. My heart stopped while I waited for his reply.
"I've been so lonely," he said.
That wasn't the kind of response I had expected from my question.
"Have you had sex with a man before, Rob?"
There was a long pause, then, finally, a soft "yes."
"So you know what I'm talking about. Are you gay?"
There was another long pause. "I don't know," he said as softly as before. "Maybe I'm bisexual."
"Have you been with a lot of men," I asked. I realized that was a very personal question and one that was completely irrelevant to what I wanted, but something in me sensed a complex story in that boy.
"Only one. My college roommate. Kevin. We were together for four years."
"Was he your boyfriend?"
"I guess," he said, "although I dated girls my last two years of college, too."
We reached a decision point at that moment. Rob finished his third drink, and I was almost finished my second one. If we were going to go out to eat, we had to do it then, before both of us were too drunk to walk. Or fuck, if it came to that.
"Shall we continue this conversation over dinner?"
He looked at his watch. I could tell he was hungry, and so was I.
"Maybe we ought to," he said. "I'm kinda hungry."
"Where do you want to go," I asked. "There's an excellent restaurant in the hotel."
"If we're gonna talk about my sex life, I'd rather do it someplace else, if that's okay with you."
"Of course. I should have thought of that."
"Why don't we just walk until we find a place," he suggested.
"Sure." Then it occurred to me we were awfully mismatched in the way we were dressed. He had on the pants to a beautiful suit and a long sleeve white Polo dress shirt. I was wearing jeans and a sport shirt. "Would you like to wear one of my shirts," I asked.
"Oh, man, that's too much trouble for you."
"Not at all. I always bring more clothes than I ever use on a trip. We're basically the same size. Let me get you one."
When I returned, he had his shirt off. I took him the new shirt, and handed it to him. "You can touch me, if you want to," he said.
He had read my mind. I reached out and put my hand on his chest. It was warm with the boy-life that flowed through him, and I ached to kiss him. I rubbed his chest for a second, and my hand drifted to his right nipple. I brushed it gently with my thumb, and it immediately became hard. I wanted to rub it and suck it and make love to it and to him, but I wanted to savor the anticipation, too. I withdrew my hand. He smiled rather sadly at me and put the shirt on.
"That was the first time anyone has touched me like that since last June." That was all he said, but he communicated volumes of information with that simple sentence. I wondered if my touch had aroused him as much as it had me. I checked his crotch for a noticeable bulge, but there was none that I could see through the folds of his pleated pants.
"Are we ready," he asked.
"Ready," I said.