Courtesy of www.99Gay-Men.US

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All the usual stuff about you must be old enough in your jurisdiction, etc.  In other words, if you are underage, don't read this unless you have a really cool teacher who assigned it.  Otherwise, come back in a few years, when nobody will yell at you.

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The movie wasn't as good as I expected, but the viewing experience was growing more interesting all the time.

I came out at my high school about a month before graduation.  All of my friends took it fine, but I knew that they would.  Another one of our big group, a guy named Greg who was a year ahead of me in school had come out with the same timing a year before.  Since nobody seemed to care about him, I figured that I would get the same response, which really was pretty much a no response except for a sort of "So what?" attitude.

It was Greg, in fact, who kind of convinced me to follow his model.  My best friend is Greg's brother, Jason, one hot dude.  I guess they're both hot, but I always had a crush on Jason.

Anyway, I came out to Jason first.  Well, I didn't so much just come out to him.  I blew him, my first time, in a hotel room during Spring Break of our senior year.  I guess you could actually say that I assaulted him, since I didn't bother asking first.  I went down on him while he was asleep.  It turns out that he really wasn't asleep.  This is all getting a little confusing, and it doesn't really have anything to do with what I'm telling you.

Jason told his gay brother.  I mean, Jason told Greg that I was gay, not the other parts of the story.  So anyway, Greg, Jason and I had a long talk the next time Greg was home from college.

Greg told me that he had figured that he didn't really have anything to lose by coming out.  If anybody reacted badly, he'd be finished with high school in a few weeks anyway.  On the other hand, coming out before college meant that he wouldn't have anything to explain when he showed up to his twenty-fifth reunion with a husband and eight kids.

It made sense to me, so I patterned my coming out plan after his.  If there was any negative change in my friends, I didn't notice it.

There were two changes in my life that I did notice, though.  One was that I felt a lot more free.  I could look at guys without worrying that one of my friends was going to catch me staring across the street or where ever.  According to Jason, I hadn't really done that good of a job of hiding my stares, anyway.

The other change was totally unexpected, although Greg told me later that it's really not all that unusual.  Guys who suddenly considered themselves "bi curious" started coming from all directions. 

Of course, that's something of an exaggeration.  I don't mean there were hundreds of them or anything.  I got two anonymous emails from guys who wanted me to fuck them, one who wanted to blow me and three who told me I was going to hell unless I changed my ways.  I ignored all of them.

More surprising though were the guys who found time to talk to me at school, when I would otherwise find myself alone.  During what was left of my high school career, which amounted to just under four weeks, five guys from the junior and senior classes talked to me.  Three told me they thought they were bi curious and wondered how they could tell if they were gay, bi or straight.  I explained that I was pretty new to this whole thing and didn't really know the answer to their questions.

The other two guys came up to me together.  They told me that they were gay.  They didn't plan to come out, though, because both sets of parents were very conservative.  They said it would be cool if I wanted to hang out some time.  We had pizza a couple times and talked.  It was the first time that I had been with other gay guys where everybody knew that everyone else was gay.  It made me feel really good for some reason.

None of those guys were at the movie.  For the most part, it was just my usual group.  We filled most of the row in the theatre.  To my left was my best friend, Jason.  Next to him was Sonia, a girl that Jason had a couple of dates with right after graduation.  I think he was beginning to recover from my sister dumping him.

On my right was Mr. Sanderson who was the father of my friend Mark.  Mark was seated next to his dad.  Our group continued beyond Mark with two other friends and their girlfriends, but they were too far away to worry about, right now.  Besides, they had been mostly focused on their own sub-group of four the whole day, even when we were having pizza before coming to the movie.

I had never met Mr. Sanderson before.  I had been to Mark's house a couple times, but neither his mom nor dad was ever home.  I think they both worked long hours, plus they traveled for business a lot.  That's actually why Mr. Sanderson had tagged along with his son.  Mark's mom was on a business trip to Tokyo and Beijing for three weeks, so I guess that his dad got bored.

Mark must have told his dad that I had come out, because while we were all having pizza Mr. Sanderson quietly asked, "How did you finally discover that you are the way you are?"

I didn't like the question.  For one thing, it had nothing to do with what we had all been talking about.  Plus it sounded like I was weird in some way, and I didn't think of myself as weird.

I decided to give him a wise ass answer.  I said, "I knew I was blond the first time I looked in a mirror."

Everybody at the table except Mr. Sanderson laughed, and Mark redirected the conversation back to the upcoming baseball all star game.  A guy from our high school, a guy too old for any of us to actually know, was on the American League squad.  We all acted like it was a big deal for some reason.

Anyway, here we all were lined up in a neat little row in a dark movie theatre, watching what was supposed to be the action blockbuster of the summer.  The critics had pretty much all said it was a bomb, but the commercials online for it were cool and funny.  The critics were right.  The only thing good about the movie was the popcorn.

All that changed when I felt something pressing against my right knee.  That's when I decided that the whole movie experience had suddenly gotten more interesting.  This was certainly no accident.

I had felt Mr. Sanderson's knee bump mine a couple times earlier, but I attributed that to an accident and just moved my legs more into my space.  Now, though, he had his legs crossed and his right, shoeless foot was stretching for contact with my leg.  He moved his foot slightly from left to right, which meant that if was moving up and down my knee and upper calf.

For most nineteen year olds, the touch of a light breeze is enough to cause an erection, so a foot rubbing my leg in a dark theatre meant that I developed an instant hard-on.  Since all the blood had left my brain and now rested in my penis, I didn't think too quickly, so I simply reacted by instinct.  That instinct told me to press my leg into his foot, which effectively said, "Message willingly received!"

Mr. Sanderson and I spent the rest of the movie rubbing legs and feet against each other, until the credits started to roll.  At that point, his hand moved to my upper thigh for a soft, sensuous moment.  

As the lights faded up, he whispered, "Come to my house."

I hadn't expected the movie to end that way!  Everyone in our group started complaining about the lame plot and phony special effects.  That gave me a little time to think about what I was going to do.  Mr. Sanderson kept watching me for a reaction, but I had to think this through a little bit first.

Once we got outside, the afternoon light was blinding despite the heavily overcast skies and slight drizzle.

"Looks like it's bowling instead of mini-golf," Mark said.

"Okay, let's meet over there," Jason agreed.

"I think I going to pass on bowling.  I twisted my wrist last night lifting weights.  I want to give it time to heal," I lied.  Apparently, I had made my decision.

"Come on along.  You can just watch," Jason suggested.

"Bowling's not my favorite spectator sport," I said, fairly pleased with how quickly I was thinking to cover my real motivation.

After everyone else had departed, Mr. Sanderson and I got into his car for a silent ride to his house.  He used the remote to open the garage door, pulled in and allowed the door to fully close before making the first move for us to get our of the car.

We entered the house through a laundry room.

"Let's talk in the living room," he said.

I followed him through a large kitchen, a very formal dining room, a smaller room that seemed to be set up as some sort of art gallery with Japanese paintings on the walls, Indonesian shadow puppets in a display case and Jade figurines on a long narrow table down the center of the room.  The room had no windows, but there was a large array of spotlights on the ceiling.  Since the lights weren't on, I didn't get a good view of anything.  Mr. Sanderson's pace didn't allow me much time for art appreciation in any case.

As soon as we entered the living room, Mr. Sanderson stopped and wheeled around to face me.

"You are very hot, do you know that?" he stated.

I felt awkward because of his compliment or because he had so suddenly said it.

I said, "So are you."  It was an automatic response, but I realized that it was also very true.  

Mark was a very good looking guy.  His dad, though he shared many of the same basic features with his son, was extremely sexy.  Probably because of his age Mr. Sanderson was much more masculine looking.  He exuded testosterone.

He reached out to begin unbuttoning my shirt.  I did the same to him.  I had never undressed another guy before.  All the buttons seemed backwards.  If I had stood behind him and reached around, I could have been much more efficient in my efforts.  However, I wanted to watch as I revealed each part of him.

He was more accomplished at his task than I, so he had my shirt fully removed by the time I had revealed his muscled chest lightly covered with a dusting of dark hair.  This would be my first time with anybody with chest hair, I thought consciously.

"You are definitely one tight little package," he said in admiration of my fully exposed torso.

Of course, he meant it all as a compliment, but the word, "little" stung me for a moment.  I went through a growth spurt in sixth and seventh grades.  I pictured myself in the NBA, but all the growing stopped when I reach five feet five inches.  I turned my athletic interests to wrestling in high school, where I could be matched to other guys my size.  Now, at nineteen, I had finally accepted that I would not grow any taller.

I finally managed to get his shirt off, tossing it onto the sofa where he had thrown mine.  I couldn't restrain myself from running my hand across his chest.  The hairs were silky smooth.

"Do you like that?" he asked.

I nodded.

He pulled me toward him and gently brushed my lips with a single finger.  I shivered.  He leaned in, and our lips barely touched.  I felt his part slightly as the tip of his tongue traced the contours of my lips before plunging in to explore my mouth.  My body felt limp.

After a while, he broke the kiss.  He motioned to the sofa and said, "Have a seat."

I tossed both of the shirts on the arm and chose the middle cushion, allowing him to select either end.  

"Would you like a drink?" he asked.

"I had a coke at the movie."

"I mean a real drink," he clarified.

"No thanks," I replied.

"Do you mind if I have one?"

"Of course not," I said.  That would give me a little time to recover from the powerful kiss.

He walked over to the wall to one of two matching book cases.  He touched one of the books, and the upper shelves moved upward revealing a previously concealed stainless steel mini-refrigerator, a shelf of glasses and a selection of liquor bottles.

Mr. Sanderson chose a glass, filled it half full of bourbon and then dropped in four ice cubes.  He took a sip, seemed to savor it for a moment before tilting the glass again and downing it all.

He left the glass on the shelf.  He walked slowly toward the sofa and took the seat to my left.  He placed his hand on my thigh.  He used his palm to draw small circles on my leg.  We sat in silence, except for the whisper of his hand rubbing the denim of my jeans.

"Have you ever fooled around with my son?"

To say that the question shocked me would be a massive understatement.

"You mean Mark?" I asked in disbelief.

"I am quite certain that Mark is the only son I have," he said.  "Have you?"

"No!"

"Are you sure?  I wouldn't care if you have," Mr. Sanderson said.

"No, I've never done anything with Mark.  We're just buddies."

"Sometimes buddies have been known to fool around," he pressed onward.

"I've only been with a couple guys in my life.  You wouldn't know either of them," I said, hoping that the truth would convince him and we could let the matter drop.  "Besides," I continued, "Mark is as straight as they come."

"Oh, I think Mark might surprise you there," Mr. Sanderson said.  "He can swing the other way."

I was suddenly very apprehensive about the turn that things had taken.  My mellow feeling brought on by the passionate kiss had been replaced by a sense of panic.  Was Mr. Sanderson going to tell me about some sort of incestuous activity between Mark and him?  Was Mark suddenly going to return from the bowling alley so that he could engage in some group action with his dad and me?  I was definitely not up for anything like that.

"What makes you say that?" I asked, not sure that I wanted to hear a detailed answer.

"My wife and I travel a lot for work, you know.  And when we're home, we put in long hours at our offices.  Mark's used to having the house to himself."

I nodded.  I knew all that.

"One day I came home early.  Must have been about half an hour after Mark got home from school.  He didn't hear me come in I guess, because when I got upstairs I heard very tell-tale sounds coming from his bedroom."

"Oh, oh," I said, starting to feel a little more at ease since I now had a feeling that this conversation was not going in the weird direction that I had feared it might.

"Marks door was open, and I could see his entire bed reflected in his mirror."

"I've seen the mirror," I said.  "I've been in his room a few times."  Mark had one wall that was almost entirely mirror.  The first time I saw it, I fantasized about him in his bed jacking off while watching himself in the mirror.

"Mark and some other guy were lying in Mark's bed.  They were completely naked, and they were blowing each other."

"Wow.  What did you do?" I asked Mr. Sanderson.

"I just stood there and watched for a while.  They were really going at it, as if they couldn't get enough."

"How long did you watch?" I wanted to hear all the juicy details.  "Did you know the other guy?"

"I didn't know him, but it was the brother of the guy who was next to you at the movie today," Mr. Sanderson said.

"Greg?" I asked, naming Jason's brother.

"I don't know his name, but I got the sense that he was a very good cocksucker.  So anyway, I stood there a little surprised.  I fooled around with guys through high school and college.  In fact, I still do sometimes, but I guess you already know that."

I smiled at the slight irony of that statement.

"I was like you, though.  I thought my son was straight as an arrow.  To be honest, I was kind of turned on to realize that he took after his dad in at least one way.  Plus, it was hot watching his cute bubble butt being massaged by that other guy while his had a cock buried in his mouth.  I couldn't see the other guy--Greg, you say?--but he looked pretty hot, too."

"He is," I agreed.

I was picturing the scene in my mind, the whole scene including the part with Mark's masculine, mature dad spying on all the action.  I was fully hard, and my jeans were feeling pretty tight, so I opened the top button.

Mr. Sanderson smiled at my action.

"Yeah," he said.  "If you're getting turned on thinking about it, imagine how I felt actually watching it.  I got to the point that I couldn't take it any more.  I whipped out my own cock and matched their rhythm."

"I don't blame you.  Too bad I wasn't here to take care of you," I said.  It may have been a little forward for me to say in most circumstances, but this guy was talking about jacking off while watching Greg with his own son.

"They must have both cum at the same time, because they both started squirming and moaning.  I shot into my hand.  I ended up having to wipe it on my dress shirt."

"What happened after that?" I asked.

"I just went to my room and took a nap," Mr. Sanderson said matter-of-factly.

"Did you ever say anything to Mark about it?"

"No.  No reason to."

He leaned in for another spectacular kiss.  He placed his hand firmly on my denim covered cock.  I did the same to him.

"You ready to head upstairs?" he whispered.

"Oh, yeah," I replied.

"My bed or Mark's," Mr. Sanderson asked.

"Mark's," I replied without having to consider it.  "I want to use that mirror."

"Good choice," he said as he took my hand and led me up the stairs.

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