Terry

I first met Terry at a duplicate bridge tournament one night, at a low point in my life. I had been out of the closet for a few years but after some emotional setbacks, I had sneaked back in, immersing myself in bridge, chess and backgammon. On that particular evening, my regular partner, Paul showed up late and as a result we were paired East-West instead of our usual North-South. This put Paul into one of his moods which resulted in some pretty bizarre auctions. After a particularly hair-raising trio of hands at one table (which had turned out well for us) he explained his reasoning to the male side of the opposing partnership, something to do with the fact that East-West pairs were generally less experienced than their North-South counterparts, who were responsible for scoring the results and therefore the results on the hands were likely to be more erratic. Our opponents weren't buying this. The woman excused herself to get go powder something and I tried to bury my head in the convention card till the next round was called, but Paul dragged me into it by saying, "Terry, you know Ian, don't you?"

"Hmm. Sort of," he replied which got my attention.

Paul explained that Terry played chess as well as bridge.

"Not as well as bridge," said Terry, smiling. Nice smile. "I've seen Ian at chess tournaments," continued Terry. "Among the top players, he generally had the most... interesting games."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," I said, sarcastically. Terry brightened a bit more. Apparently he had been a fan of mine for years, gravitating to the board I was playing on at chess tournaments. I was quite surprised to hear this because Terry is extremely good looking, with dark, penetrating eyes, a killer smile and a nice build, and I assumed that I would have noticed him at some time. Upon reflection though I realize that at chess tournaments my attention is focussed on the game at hand, and besides, I had buried my attraction to men.

Paul and I had to move for the next round, but Terry and his partner, Sharon were regulars at the bridge studio and over the next few months, Terry and I established an easy rapport. By the warmth of his admiration for my chess-playing, I could tell he had a bit of a crush on me, because I am not really as good as he thinks I am. But I dismissed it as a crush in a male-bonding buddy-buddy hero-worship sort of way. Nonetheless I was able to bask in the warmth of it on a sexual level, which left me feeling a bit guilty because his admiration for me came across as completely guileless while mine for him seemed duplicitous. In fact I found that whenever we chatted for any length of time I would get hard. I reasoned, though that my surreptitious arousal was, in its way, as innocent as his hero-worship since I had no intention of spoiling things by coming on to him. In fact, I recognized how strong my arousal was and for this reason I always claimed I had something else to do when he suggested going for a drink or catching a movie. But one night he arrived at the bridge studio without Sharon, looking particulary intense and not at all happy. At the break he caught up with me and we got talking, about chess and bridge as usual, and I managed to ask him what had happened to that mega-watt smile. He explained that he was having trouble with his girl-friend. I commiserated. I began to run down a list of girl-related troubles I had had, delving into the distant past. Jennifer, wanting to move in with me after our first date, Louise with her cats, Laurie with her ex-boyfriend, Cyndi, checking the job market in order to make my earning level worthy of her... He winced. Clearly I had been around the block a few more times than him. He said he'd known girls like that but this one was something completely different. His look was distant and I had the feeling that he was stuck, wanting to talk to someone about it, and simply wanting to forget about it. Forgetting about it seemed like the option to cause the least discomfort, so I didn't probe any further. Instead, taking note of the fact that my cock was behaving, I felt that my resolve wouldn't be compromised by going out with him so I asked him if he wanted to go for a drink after the tournament. He looked down. He was dressed in a sweat suit.

"Sure. But I've got to change. I live oh, about five blocks from here," he said. "If you want, you could come by my place and park your car there. There's lots of places in walking distance we could check out after I change." Since it had been my suggestion I was stuck and agreed.

He lived in an upscale condo, nicely furnished.

"Nice place," I said.

"Mom's contribution," he said. "Dad runs a furniture store, and mom runs dad." He shrugged off the sweat shirt and tossed it onto a chair. "Normally I'm a total slob but I just moved in," he explained as he took off his shoes and socks. He was slipping off his sweatpants, exposing his nicely defined buttocks, when he remembered himself and pulled them back up. I choked back a gasp.

"Sorry about that," he said, blushing, "I wasn't thinking."

I stared at him blankly and said, "No problem."

He pointed out the liquor cabinet, his stereo and CD collection and showed me where the glasses were kept, then went to have a shower. I poured myself a gin and tonic and put on a classic Stan Getz recording. A few minutes later Terry came out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, midway through "The Girl From Ipanema".

"What are you having?" he asked.

"Gin and tonic," I said, offering it to him. He took a sip. "I'll fix myself another," I continued, going to the bar.

"Love this song," he said, sitting down on the couch. I could have kicked myself. I'd put him in a bind. With a drink in his hand he wasn't going to get dressed immediately, which in turn put me in a bind, because I was getting aroused. I sat down on the couch in order to conceal the erection which snaked along my thigh. I wished I had fixed myself a whisky neat because my hands were shaking and the ice cubes rattled every time I raised it to my lips. The whole situation had become mortifying and more than a little frustrating.

"Women," he said. "Why couldn't it sometimes be like it is with the girl in this song? It's so much better when you can just worship them from afar. Y'know what I'm saying?"

The blood rushed to my cheeks because he had struck a chord. I knew only too well the exquisite mix of pain and pleasure that can be gotten from an unresolved passion. As in for example, the passion that was being unresolved on that very couch at that very moment. I put a consoling hand on his shoulder and was about to say yes, but hesitated at the last moment and said "No".

"Oh, come on," he continued, "You know, love without commitments, without obligations, without the fucking strings attached."

"You mean sex?"

"No." He was getting irritated. "Not even that. I think giving up sex would be a small price to pay for love." He stretched out on the couch and laid his feet on my thighs and said, "The problem with this song is it's not real, it never is, because women always look back." He gestured with his hands. "You look at them, they look back. No sultry unrequited passions, no smouldering..."

He couldn't find the right word.

"Innocence," I offered. He grinned up at me.

"Is that the problem with Sharon? Too much requiting?" I asked.

The grin faded. "No. Not really." He paused then continued, not looking at me but staring off into space. "She's older than me, Sharon is. Seven years older. Which is okay because you've seen her, she's quite a babe and you wouldn't think it. Thing is she has a son and she wants me to bond with him, her words, bond with him. Shit. I mean, the kid's like sixteen and most times I feel closer in age to him than to her, which is stupid I know, but there it is. I mean I try, but I can't be a fucking dad to this kid." He stopped, but I could tell by his sigh that it was just a pause. There was more, so I didn't interrupt.

"Anyways, she won't see me anymore unless I bond with him. So I do. I try at least. I take him to a movie, have him over to my place." His face reddened and his words became more measured. "My place. He sees we've got a pool in the apartment building and wants to go swimming. At night. Nobody's in the change room. I'm quickly down to a pair of bikini briefs Sharon had given me and he takes off his clothes, but he hasn't got a fucking swimsuit, or even a fucking pair of underwear. All he has on is this huge boner. Jeezus, man. He gets into one of the shower stalls and lathers himself up, stroking his dick... Me, I want out of there. My heart is pounding. I figure the kid would just shoot his load and that would be the end of it, but I hadn't had sex in a week and I'm getting excited. I was like frozen to the fucking spot. Then the kid gets out of his shower stall and he's got this look on his face. Cause there I am, half naked with a boner. He comes up to me and strokes it through my trunks and says Wow."

At this point, Terry looked up at me, stricken. "It's like he wants me. He gets down on his knees and pulls out my cock and starts to give me a blowjob." His voice got huskier and his skin got redder. "And just when I'm ready to come... he pulls away. He asks me if I like it. I'm on the fucking brink of exploding, he's so good. I say yes. So he goes at it again. Slower this time, driving me nuts. Again he stops and now I'm like begging him to go on... and he won't. He tells me he wants to get fucked."

"Yeah?" I said, lamely, wanting him to go on. My jaw must have been dragging on the floor. This story was really turning me on.

"Yeah. He wants to get fucked. And by this time, I'm so fucking horny I do it."

My gaze wandered from his face down his abdomen to his torso, where the towel he was wearing was tented by his erection.

"And what was it like?" I asked, breathlessly.

"Sex. Just sex. Pure sex. Tight. Total. Mind blowing." Our stares locked again. My pulse was racing, as was his, and I knew then that we were on a runaway train and that this story had become a prelude to getting fucked. "With women I always felt sex was in exchange for something. That they were doing me a favor. With this kid... Wow, it was totally different. We were both having sex because that's what we wanted. There wasn't like any economic or social or emotional baggage."

"You want another drink?" I asked. He said yes and when I stood, the outline of my hardon was plainly evident through my trousers. He stood as well and followed me to the bar. He let the towel fall away from his waist exposing his cock, fully erect and throbbing. He came up behind me while I poured the drinks and his cock pressed against the seat of my trousers then slid it between my legs. He reached round and unbuttoned my shirt. I made no move to assist him, but made no move to stop him either.

"You're trembling," he said as he worked my belt buckle free.

"Should we be doing this?" I asked nervously. He back away. My trousers slid down and my cock sprang free.

"Yeah," he said. "Besides, you think we could stop now?"

"Nnno, I guess not," I said, dropping my shirt to the ground. He got some massage oil that sat on the mantel and got his cock oiled up. When I was naked he turned me around, reached down and stroked my cock, getting me oily as well. He got down on his knees in front of me, and with one hand stroking me, his other hand got oil on my balls then reached under to my ass. His fingers prodded at my crack then slipped inside, probing deeper.

"You think you could take my cock?" he asked.

"I don't know. It's pretty big."

"Cause I'm really horny, Ian. I really want to fuck someone. I want to shoot my load in your ass." He looked up at me, his jaw dropped, his face filled with anticipation as he probed deeper with his hand and waited for my reply. I turned my back to him. He stood and pressed his cock against my ass, slowly pushing it in.

"This feels good," he said. "It's not hurting you is it?" He stopped pressing when he had the tip inside me. I said no and pushed back, forcing his cock deeper.

"How does it feel?"

"It feels good," I said.

"You like that cock in your ass?" Our bodies pumped in unison till he had his entire cock inside me and he began to fuck me.

"Yeah," I said. "It feels really good." I clenched and unclenched the muscles of my ass around his cock as he slid in and out.

"You've got a nice ass," he said. "So muscular and tight. And hot." He leaned closer. I felt his breath on the back of my neck. "I've wanted to fuck you for years," he whispered. "From the first time I saw you." His words were racing. And his cock felt harder. "Sometimes I would press against you. You'd be sitting, playing a game of chess at a tournament and a crowd would gather, and I would try to get close, to brush my crotch against your shoulder. So many times I've shot my load just thinking about you. I'm fucking Sharon and I close my eyes and I'm seeing you." He reached round to my cock. I felt molded to him, writhing on his cock while his hand jerked me off to orgasm. My cum added fresh lubrication to his hand-job and he continued massaging my cock till finally I felt a sudden warmth flooding me. He pressed tight against me as he pumped stream after stream inside of me. He kept his cock buried up my ass as we took time to catch our breaths in the afterglow, then he slowly withdrew. My ass still throbbed from the intensity of the fuck I had just experienced. In that brief moment after disengaging a chasm opened between us. We avoided exchanging glances, making contact. Despite the fact that we had clearly both wanted to have sex, I felt ashamed. I felt that I had betrayed myself. I started to pick up my clothes when he placed his hand on my arm. He turned me round and I lifted my dejected gaze from the floor to his face. He drew me in closer.

"You're not getting away from me that easily," he said, turning on that smile again. His lips brushed mine. And finally we kissed.