THIRTY-LOVE
By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
"Yoohoo, Cecilia!" came the familiar voice.
"Oh, God!" Cecilia muttered to me. "Here comes the Flying Dutchman."
I suppressed a snicker for Annie was practically at our table. Annie, short for Anneke, had been born into an Amish family in Pennsylvania. Unlike practically all of her brothers and sisters, the day she had turned eighteen, she had left home and cast off her plain garb, and set herself to find a life in modern America. She did, and married a much older man who had passed away some five years ago (No, I don't think Annie had any hand in that). Now she was well-to-do and still a very fine-looking woman and as Cecilia's nickname told you, Annie's main hobby these days was men.
Cecilia had a similar story, only she was born wealthy and married wealthy. Her husband had left her for another woman some eight years ago, and she was now living off the alimony which a generous judge had given to her. To call Cecilia more discriminating than Annie was a bit too much, for Cecilia had a rakish streak in her as well. Cecilia's lover quotient had a bit less volume than Annie's, but a little more variety.
Annie sat down at our table and said, "How have you been, Cece?"
"Just fine, Annie, and you?"
"Fine, fine. I've been enjoying myself today."
I recognized that tone, as did Cecilia. Anneke had spotted her latest intended conquest.
Remember that both women were rich, beautiful, without any marketable job skills or talents upon which to spend their time, so they were bored and idle. What else were they going to do with their lives but, among other things, find handsome men to fool around with?
"So who is he?" Cecilia saved time by asking.
"Have you noticed the new tennis pro?" Annie asked us.
"No."
"Not really." I said.
"I've been watching him play. He has a very nice style; I'm thinking of playing a round with him."
"But Annie," I pointed out. "You don't play tennis."
"Who said anything about tennis?" she asked me with impish eyes.
"Oh, Annie, you're awful." Cecilia said.
"I just know what I want."
"Yeah, anything in pants. So let's go see him." Cecilia said to me.
"Why not?" I shrugged, stood up. Why not, indeed? I had nothing better to do right then. And like Cecilia, I was curious about the new stud at the club.
Pros are a part of the package of a good country club. They give lessons both basic and advanced, are available to play games if you're in need of a partner or a challenge, and generally add to the ambiance of the club just by being there, some beautiful bodies to adorn the beautiful landscape.
We went out to the tennis courts and Annie guided us to where he was playing. This club sponsored several tennis matches, so we had benches to sit on and watch the game.
I saw him, and my heart went into my throat. I'd expected a good-looking man, but this one...handsome wasn't a strong enough word for him. He was beautiful!
Dark brown skin and black hair, there was something about him that was too exotic for the mere words Latino, Arabian, Indian. He seemed a breed apart from such mundane branches of mankind, as if he were instead some melding of races, taking the best attributes from each, and then putting over this the sheen of something that tasted of the divine!
He ran back and forth on the tennis green, fielding and parrying shots with an ease that was something akin to poetry in human form. There were two men playing against him on the court at that moment, and he covered the entire field just the same, loping with a balanced, practiced lightness that belonged more upon the stage of a ballet house, jumping and turning with an almost careless, effortless harmony of muscle and mind. He curved, he bent, he swam through the air, each time his racket extended or curved so as to catch the yellow ball in the very center of its string and the arm lazily pressed outward to send the ball hurtling back at his hapless opponents with that clean-sounding "thok" a tennis ball makes.
Okay, I think I fell madly in lust with the guy at first look. But you can hardly blame me for the rising of desire from within.
The two men playing against him were losing badly, I could see. I had to admire that, as well, how he sent these lawn-chair athletes spinning helplessly, shaming them for their hubris in daring to defy his serene majesty on this, his sovereign soil.
There was a whirring sound nearby and I started to slap away the annoying insect when I realized that it wasn't an insect at all. I turned and said, "What was that?"
Annie laughed and Cecilia smiled indulgently. Both knew I was gay, though that wasn't something I had announced to the general membership. Annie and Cecilia and I had that much in common...we were all three available and looking for men!
"We were asking you to choose a prize, Charles." Annie said. "Cecilia and I have just made a bet as to which of us will score with the new pro first."
"Oh." I understood their request. Easy enough for one of them to lie and said they had bedded this new pro; so proof of some sort was needed. Something he had that they could get from him as a piece of memorabilia, that they could show to us. It had to be something he wouldn't just give away, but something he would give a woman he ended up in bed with, at least loan her for a short time. Not a precious keepsake, and not a toss-away item.
"Uh...." I looked at the pro again. Shining spots told me he wore a watch and a ring, but those would be too much. "How about that red and purple wristband he's got on?" It seemed distinctive enough, but he probably would give it to a woman he ended up in bed with if she asked for it. And I hadn't seen anything like it at the club.
"Fair enough." Annie and Cecilia nodded to each other. There was a club reception that very night. I could expect them to make plays for him then, probably one or the other would get him before the night was even over.
The pro noticed me watching him and smiled my way, and I smiled back. That was a mistake, being seen watching him, for now he was constantly sending glances my way. I got uncomfortable at it after a moment and said, "Pardon me, I'm going to go get in a half hour of exercise at the gym."
"Have fun, dear." Annie said to me.
"Enjoy yourself." Cecilia said. "Coming tonight?"
"With me the judge of your contest?" I smiled. "I wouldn't miss it."
I looked again at the pro, him resting between sets and he grinned at me again and I grinned back, waved and left. Pros tended to be extroverted, overly friendly people; they'd better be if they were going to make any money at their sport. So I didn't think too much of it.
I went to the gym and changed in the locker room into workout clothes and then hit the weights. It gets tougher as I get older to keep my body in peak condition. Not that I was over the hill yet, but I was also noticing that slight difference, the faintest lack of resilience in my muscles that said clearly that things would only get worse. Well, not yet! Not yet!
The pro came in after a time and chatted with the gym director. He smiled at me again and I smiled back, but I was getting tired of that. He obviously had me pegged as a potential client of his and I wasn't interested in tennis lessons!
I went back to the locker room and hit the showers. Came out with only a towel around my waist and went to my locker to get my clothes back again.
The pro was in there, just sitting and waiting. "Hello." he said to me. "I saw you at the court." And he stuck out a brown, warm hand.
I took it, though it tore my heart to do so and he pumped it vigorously. "Pleased to meet you." I said.
"You are another tennis pro, yes?" He asked. His accent was odd, impossible to place, it was fluid and intimate, but quite easy to understand him.
"Me? No, no!" I said.
"But you teach here at the club?"
"No, no!" I said. "I'm a member."
"Oh." he said, chastened. "I ask you to forgive. It was rash of me."
"That's all right." I said. "Simple mistake."
"I know nobody at this club." he said. "Maybe you could show me to the people and tell me who they are, so I don't mistake this again?"
"Certainly." I said, warming to him again. He was so willing to please, less an aggressive salesman than an eager, puppy-like personality, I now saw.
"My name is Charles Mansoure." I introduced myself.
"I call you Charley?" He said.
"Huh?"
"I call you Charley?"
"Uh, no, please, just Charles."
"I offend again." he said. "Please to forgive."
"That's all right." I said again. "What's your name?"
"I am Bijan DeLong Pre." he said. He told me the story of his name to my puzzled expression, an Arabian mother and a French father, he had been raised in the South of France (which explained that extraordinarily unique accent of his) and had come to the United States in hopes of establishing a career as a professional tennis player.
By the time we got all that clear and I had told him something of myself, we were old friends. We talked while he showered, me sitting like a coward just out of sight of that beautiful wet, brown body of his, and then he dressed while I did the same and together we went to have a drink and let me point out the members of the staff and members of the club, so he wouldn't make that mistake again. Someone besides me might have been offended.
Annie and Cecilia zeroed in on us when we walked in, and so it ended up a foursome of sorts, the girls batting their eyes and making all sorts of daring and darting double entendres at him. But he had the excuse of language to let him avoid that, he ended the encounter quite innocent of their intentions. I enjoyed watching those two getting shot down by his lack of comprehension; it's hard to be coquettish when you have to explain everything, they ended up sounding crass and quite had the wind taken out of their sails. I made my own excuses and left the club to put in an afternoon of work and Bijan went to try to drum up some more people to take classes under him. And as I expected, both women left the party that evening disappointed. Well, disappointed as far as Bijan was concerned, both didn't leave alone!
I wasn't surprised on my next visit two days later to find that both Annie and Cecilia had signed up for classes with Bijan. He was doing well, some pros sit around more than they teach, but Bijan was kept quite busy with his clients. However, he always seemed glad to see me and managed to find some time each visit to talk with me and we became, if not quite friends given our different stations in life, at least convivial companions. And that wrist band of his stayed firmly on his wrist, Annie and Cecilia had yet to land this dark young stud. As you might expect when word of their competition got around, other women began to vie for the prize to greater or lesser extents. I kept an eye out for that wristband...but it remained on Bijan.
This is how things went for nearly a month, and then one day, Bijan saw me when he was giving a lesson to Annie (that slut was still pretending not to know how to handle a racket, how long did she think that was going to last, with him behind her and holding it and showing her how?) and he said, "Charles, hello!"
"Hello, Bijan!" I said, waving back. I was dressed for tennis myself that day, going to play a game with a business associate. I played all right, not so badly as to embarrass myself, but I had no dreams of being a professional tennis player either. Unlike Bijan who was destined for greatness as soon as someone would notice him. Besides me.
And to Annie, he said, "I must stop our lesson now, if you please."
"But we have another half hour." she protested.
"I know. I give you another hour next time for free." he said. "But I must stop now, please to forgive."
So he got away from her and came to me and said, "Charles, my friend, I would like to speak to you alone, please."
"Uh, certainly Bijan." I said. "Where do you want to go, to the bar?"
"No, no, please, all alone." he said.
"Uh, okay, but where?" You don't go to a country club to be alone!
"I get key to VIP lockers." he said. The VIP locker room was a smaller version of the main locker room, kept for special events. If Tiger Woods had dropped by to play golf at the club's course, he would have been given one of the four alcoves in the VIP locker room for his own use. Each alcove had three lockers, a private bathroom with shower, and room for about six people to stand around and feel important, so close to the star. I had only been inside it a handful of times, each time as an interloper. But Bijan was persuasive on top of his simple charms, if he asked for something, it was hard to say no to him.
So I foisted my associate friend off on Annie for a game, we got the key from the gym director and went inside the VIP locker room, and I sat down in one of the alcoves.
Bijan stood next to me, pointed to the wrist band. "Have I told you of this wrist band?" he said to me.
"No." I admitted. "It is a fancy one." And it was, intricate designs had been stitched into it. Someone had spent more than time and money on it, they had invested love as well.
"It was made for me by my mother, when she learned of my dream to play tennis all the time." he said. "She gave it to me and she said, 'My son, this is my love, for you to wear. Never part with it.'"
"I see." I said.
"It is not a valuable thing, except for it has, what you say, sentimental value. And yet it seems to be important to the women of this club. Many women have asked me to give it to them, just for a while. Others, they make, how you say, they make eyes at me and they come up and it is this band they touch."
"Ah." I said, understanding. When Annie and Cecilia hadn't scored with Bijan immediately, word of their little contest had leaked out, and it had become a more general challenge. The first woman at the club to seduce Bijan would want that wrist band to prove her triumph. Even Bijan in his naivete would have to spot something going on, I was just surprised it had taken him a month to notice!
"Why is it these women want such a small thing from me?" He asked. "I understand their eyes, I don't understand why they want my mother's band."
"Well, Bijan," I said. "It's like this...." And I explained to him the gamble Annie and Cecilia had started back when he first came to the club, and how it had escalated.
"I understand now." he said. "I thank you."
"I'm sorry for my part in it." I said. "They asked me to pick something you had, to serve as proof. And that band of yours is unusual; it caught my eye."
"So I have become a prize in their contest." He said, his eyes and face opaque, unemotional.
"I wouldn't go that far." I hastily said. "You're a good-looking guy and the women here are naturally going to be interested in you. It's not like they win anything by getting you into their bed, other than being with you, that is."
"So how am I to stop this madness?" He asked me.
I shrugged. "They'll get bored with it eventually, Or you'll just have to go to bed with one of them." I said. "That isn't such a horrible thing, is it? Just take your pick among them, they're all willing. After you go to bed with them, you loan them the band long enough for them to show it about to their friends, and then you can get it back from the woman. It is a family keepsake after all."
"So I must choose someone here and make love to them in order to end this game?"
"I'm afraid so." I smiled. "I don't think just loaning a woman the band would be enough to stop the contest. You'll have to go all the way and sleep with her, too."
He took off the band and looked at it. "This band means to me love." he said.
"I know, and I'm sorry."
With a sudden move, he took my right hand and placed the band about my own wrist. I looked down at it stupidly. "Bijan?" I said to him.
"You said I should choose." he said. "I choose you."
I looked up at him, startled. At this face, one I had grown to see as more than a pretty face.
A very pretty face.
"Bijan?" I said again.
"I choose you." He said again. "If you want me."
If I wanted him! I smiled. "Since the first time I saw you." I said.
My arms were trembling when I held them up to Bijan. God, this was nothing on the feeling of raw attraction I'd felt the first time I'd met him. Bijan was now a person, someone I knew about and even cared about. This gift of his to me...it wasn't just a case of him getting rid of an annoying contest. It was...taking us to the next level.
When his sweet body stepped into the curve of my arms and I felt that warmth against me, I damned near fainted, it felt so good. Just to hold him like this was better than some of the sex I'd had. Feelings matter, no matter what they say about how a man can fuck anything. You can, but it's the difference between the lightning bug...and the lightning.
Struck by lightning, I shuddered and looked down at him and he looked up at me and he cupped his face into my own and so our lips reached to meet each other. My arms closed tighter about him and I felt his own hands like insignia on my back, a five-pointed design blazoned onto my body in an indelible, unremovable mark.
Then there was the contact of our lips, like a soft, moist, velvet ring pressed against my mouth, joining us together and Bijan sighed and his breath blew into my mouth and filled my nostrils, the scent of him, the life breath of him, and I drew it into my lungs gratefully, feeling and savoring that influx of new life into me.
Bijan sighed softly and his hands moved in a long, pressing caress against my back, one reaching higher to arc between my shoulder blades, one lowering to find the small of my back and draw me tighter to him.
And we did, we pressed together tighter still and now I felt his manhood like an eager branding iron against my leg, my own erection pressing into his lower abdomen and my hand reached down and cupped that taut little swelling of his right buttock and clenched there, pulled him to me tighter still and now his rod was a searing presence on my thigh, declaring its presence, demanding its due, proclaiming its right.
Bijan sighed again and moved against me and his cock slid beneath the cloth of his fly against my leg, bare beneath my brief shorts, and moaned as I felt the power of that life and the warmth of that body, mine now, all mine!
My uppermost hand reached and found his head, cupped the crown in its palm, and my fingers laced into his hair, sweet, black and supple with the lightest application of oil.
He released my lips and looked up into my eyes, his own eyes bestowing trust and appreciation upon me, the eyelashes lowered to declare the lowered defenses of the spirit, the necessary foregoing of the personal space usually so requisite for mental hygiene, and now that was gone, set aside, leaving...trust.
"Bijan." I said to him, my voice low and husky. "Bijan." I said again like a prayerful mantra that bestows tranquility and contentment.
Bijan was more practical. "Your shirt." He said to me and his hands reached to snake under the bottom of it. "Take off your shirt."
I was glad to, though it meant breaking away from that heated embrace, standing alone and apart from him while I lifted the nylon/dacron/polyester/whatever the hell it was shirt from my body and pulled it over my head. As I did, Bijan's hands reached to enclose both my breasts, not squeezing, but running his hands over them, as if that had been something he had dreamed of doing for so long and now he was doing it, finally doing it. He gasped again, such small sounds departing this beautiful young man as he fondled my chest, feeling out the muscles so painfully attained and maintained, and now I was very glad I had for his hands worshiped the muscles there, praising with their lingering savor every micrometer of added flesh he found there.
His hands prevented me from doing the same to him, blocking my path, but they couldn't stop me from reaching below them to the waistband of his shorts and I caught the fastener at the waist and a single push together and it unclasped and opened. His zipper below posed little problem after that, the hard plastic teeth parted easily as the zipper went down and there was below this the jockstrap, loose white cotton holding his proud manhood in check.
I ran my hands around the waistband and the shorts fell down his supple thighs and then I grasped that basket of his maleness and I felt how potent and vigorous and swiftly rising it was, my fingers stroking the turgid length as it jutted out the soft cloth.
Erect, my hand was able now to reach into the elastic band now stretched away from the waist at the point of this powerful tool and I reached into that triangle of open space and I found inside it the heated beast of his prick and I wrapped it with my fingers and I relished its strength as I ran my fingers over it like eager litter-bearers carry their potentate upon their backs, cheerful in their servitude for theirs is glory and this was glory that I held in my hand!
Bijan moaned as I worked his prick and he bore this touch of mine for a moment and then he said, "Take it down, take down my strap and take myself into your hand totally."
I needed no further urging, I knelt and gladly worked that tangle of straps of elastic from over his buttocks and out from around his waist, and the triangle of cotton at his crotch came away from his body and now it was simply an oval of white cloth that had to be lowered and it was done easily, baring his brownness and exposing him for my delight.
For it was a delight, to regard the proudly circumcised prod staring at me regally, jutting out from his body straight and clean and filled with potentcy and ready for my ministrations.
I wet my lips and my mouth filled with saliva as I moved in closer. It was so easy to open my mouth and let this tidy bulb of cockhead touch my tongue and once I'd done that, it was only a matter of closing my mouth and feeling the rest of it sliding in deeper as I moved.
And Bijan moaned and shifted about, leaned back against the central bench to let me nurse at him as I would. I was in a state of complete bliss, the flavor of his cock all rich and savory upon my tongue, my mouth warmed by the heat of his cock as it slipped back and forth and the feel of the satiny foreskin danced upon my senses in a ballet of ecstasy.
Bijan groaned and I felt him shift almost impatiently and I looked up.
"Lie down here." he said as he got up from the bench. "Lie down here."
I did and he straddled the bench over my face and I got his cock back into my mouth and this time he drove it deeply into my throat and he was in control. And to compensate for this lack of control, he leaned on over and his hands opened my shorts and pulled back my jock and freed my own cock and the next sensation after the exultation of having my cock in his hand and free to the air was the even greater excitement of having his mouth close about it.
He loved my dong the way he played tennis, with all his strength and all his attention. As for me, I had his cock in my mouth, deep in my mouth and all I had to do was keep the pressure on its sides, hold it tightly as it plunged in and out of me. His prick was so hot, so hot, and I had nurtured its joy so attentively before, that after a short time of this, while I was still myself in the very first stages of building pleasure, Bijan groaned, shook almost violently on top of me, and then he hunched at my face, hard and then he was shooting his load into my mouth. Hot, salty, creamy, thick, it coursed into my body, splashing down my throat and all I had to do was swallow and it slid down my gullet easily. I drank him down happily, loving the hot taste of Bijan's come and he finished, panting, his mouth still about my dick but not clenching it or moving much as he fought for his breath.
Then he returned to slathering my cock with his spit, fast and furious he slurped and bathed my shaft with his saliva, all hot and wet and kind of bubblingly effervescent.
Then he stopped, rose up and said, "Hold still."
With this order from so sweet a source, I could not have moved, and Bijan stepped off from my head and then he got midway of the bench and threw a tall, brown leg over me and he was sitting on my stomach.
His hand guided my cock to his ass with an expertise I hadn't imagined of him. But he was not so experienced as all that, for his anus resisted my pud, refused to open. He gave a grunt of impatience and he thrust himself upon me almost roughly and my prick was perforce rammed into him, his asshole gave way under such a force, and thus Bijan was impaled upon me.
He threw his head back, opened his mouth and groaned with renewed bliss at this. As for me, I was lost in the sensation; I hadn't expected this from him, not even when he straddled me I expected some sort of rubbing alone, and now my cock was imbedded in that tender young ass, and he was crooning with his delight at the feeling atop me.
I looked at this, my mind wrapped itself around the thought somehow, and I got so hard it hurt, almost. With this added rigidity, Bijan was able to finish cramming my dong up his butt, and he did with a single-mindedness that bordered upon fanatical. When he was done, when my full length was deeply sunk into him, Bijan leaned over and put his face to mine and said, "Now I am as I have wished to be since first I saw you on the court."
It hadn't occurred to me that the attraction of first-sight had acted both ways. I guess I was too familiar with my own body to see it as others would, the hard work I put into keeping it fit, the attention I paid to my morning shaves and (ah, vanity!) the oil I rubbed into my skin to keep it youthful and supple. I had intended to stay as attractive as I could as long as I could; it hadn't sunk in to me that I had succeeded, that I could be desired as well as desire!
With the potency such realization gave me I began to thrust upwards into Bijan and he sighed, closed his eyes and opened his lips, the image of sheer bliss above me. It was an awkward position, the bench was narrow enough to be almost precarious, but Bijan steadied me when he realized my problem, and I continued to hunch up into him and he moaned in gratitude as I did, and my orgasm was soon upon me and when Bijan saw me shuddered in the first throes of my climax, he began to bounce upon my prick, driving it deeper and faster into his body and I clenched my hands upon his arms and I held on to him like this, three points of contact, my hands and my cock, and the tripod is a steady form and I maintained my attitude and I reached my orgasm.
I shot up into him a load that was nearly painful, so strongly it jetted from my body, spurting up into his bowels, and Bijan grinned into my climax-wracked face as I ejaculated into him, a grin of understanding, a beam of acceptance, a smile that relished the joy he had given me and took it for his own pleasure in the way that only lovers can, joy shared and resonating within the body of the other.
When I was done, Bijan fetched a towel and gently dried me off as I still lay there on the bench. It was a moment of commitment and I took it as such, and drew him to me when he was done and took a kiss that was more than a kiss, that was a promise.
We talked a moment then, but I must admit that I was so caught up in the marriage of that moment that I don't recall what we said. It was a beginning, and it was a wondering and it was an acknowledgment of our changed condition. Then I rose and we both pulled our clothes back on and straightened up the VIP locker room as best we could, and went back out to get a much-needed drink to rehydrate our lust-drained bodies.
Annie and Cecilia were sitting in the bar having a drink and I wondered where the business associate I had brought was. Turned out he was having another game with a club member but I didn't know that then. But Annie was there, and so was Cecilia and I walked with Bijan over to their table.
I kept my right arm below the table until the drinks arrived. Then, I said, "I'd like to propose a toast."
And I raised my hand with the glass and they could see the wristband upon my wrist.
"To the end of the contest." I said. "And the score is two to nothing. Or as they say in tennis, 'Thirty-love.'"
THE END
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