Date: Fri, 23 Mar 2001 23:20:21 EST
From: Joewilson583@aol.com
Subject: Chris Wake 2

The week that followed was crowded with thoughts of him.  I didn't count
the times I drove to Parkman, but they were many.  I parked in front of his
grandmothers' house every day at lunchtime waiting for him.  But all
efforts were futile.

 I worked every night so that I could drive up Sunset at the same time, as
when I first met him, but the bench was empty.  It seemed as though he had
vanished as easily and quickly as he had appeared.  Perhaps he had not
existed at all.  Perhaps he was but an abberation of a lonely man with an
unsatisified libido.  Janet and I had not made love for many years now.  At
least, not to each other.  And the song sang, "Is that all there is?"  And
I hid in the study every night and masturbated ....thinking of him.  I
guess I wasn't content at all.  It was only an empty illusion.


On Saturday, I went to the car wash on Vermont and Sunset.  The rain was
over and it was time to wash away its effects, including the vision of the
boy, who was only an opportunity lost.  I decided to clean up my mind, and
to ignore my recent obsessions, to return to my set pattern of living.

In the past years, my sons accompanied me on this weekly ritual, but they
had their own lives to live now.  Janet was off on a meeting of one of her
many charities.  With a lover, perhaps?  I was alone, and lonely.

I sat on the bench, waiting for my car to come out of the tunnel, when he
tapped me on the shoulder.

"It is you, isn't it?  he said laughing in his way, his voice, light and
sparkling with the carelessness that only the young seem to assume.  "I
knew it was you when I saw the car.  That's why I came in here."

He embraced me as a son hugs his father, holding on to me as though I were
a rock at sea and he was a tired swimmer.  And he looked at me with his
sparkling eyes that reflected such sadness, and his smile that was more a
jeer.  A facade.  A face to the world, to cover confusion in the soul.

"I'm glad I found you," he said with a sincerity that made disbelief
impossible.  "I've been looking everywhere for you.  I knew we would meet
again.....had to, that is," and all in one breath he added, "I've been
looking everywhere, really I have."

"I've been looking for you, too," I said simply.

"Yes, I know."

We paused in our speech, neither of us knew what next should be said.  He
laughed.  That inward laugh of his that carried so much charm, and he
squeezed my hand, holding it tightly as though he had no intention of
letting me go, and we sat in silence, for what we had to say to each other,
had to be said in private.

When the car was ready and I paid for it, he got in on the passenger's side
without invitation or comment.  Was there a need for words?

I started down Sunset toward Benton Way, which would take me to Parkman.
Better to end this charade than to complicate my life with a dead-end
detour. But that was not his plan.  I glanced at him sitting back against
the car door, his legs, in tight jeans, stretched out in front of him.  He
had pushed the seat back to give himself space for he was tall, taller than
I remembered, and slender of stature.  He was not smiling now. The forced
smile that concealed the lonely turmoil inside was gone.  Instead, there
was a shade of inner peace.  It was as though all was right in his private
world, but then a shadow flashed across his handsome face as he thought of
something unpleasant.

"You're not taking me home, are you?"

I pulled the car to the curb stopping it.  It was time to talk, to clear
the air.

"Yes," I said.

Tears formed in his doe-like eyes, "All week I've been looking everywhere
for you.  Now that I found you, you're pushing me away?"

"Chris, I'm not sure I know what you have in mind, but understand this.
I'm married, not free and easy, but all tied up.  Besides, I have a son
your age.  There're too many years between us to be friends.  We have
nothing in common, you and I.  You may be gay, but I'm not.  You
understand?"

"No I don't understand," he snapped petulantly.  "My grandmother says a
gold Riviera has been parked in front of the house every day.  Or driven
past, up and down the street.  That's this car, right?  You've been looking
for me too, just like I was trying to find you.  Well, we found each other,
now are you just going to take me home?  Shit man, I like you.  Don't you
understand?  I want to be with you.  I don't care if you're married.  What
the fuck does that mean?  I want to be with you a while, to lay with you,
make you feel good.  Shit!  You want me to say it?  I want to make love to
you.  I know you want me, too.  I see it in your eyes when you look at me.
I FEEL it man.  Here inside," and he grabbed his crotch in an obscene
manner.  "And you want to take me home?  Shit!"

I didn't know how to answer him.  What he said was true.  For the past week
I thought of nothing but him, wanted him, used him in my fantasies.  He
recognized my hesitation and silence for what it was.

"Turn right at the next street," he said, "Then right again on Gateway."
He was giving me directions again.  "It's that big apartment, the grey one.
See, you can park, right over there."

I did as he said.  Stopping the car, I exhaled, and all the strength left
my body, leaving me limp in my surrender.

"Come on," he said, taking the sidewalk in double strides.  He didn't look
back to see if I followed, for he knew I was right behind him.  We entered
the dark foyer and went upstairs.

Once inside the apartment, he closed heavy drapes that blocked all light,
and lit a candle that rested on a low table.  It was a wide candle, but not
tall, and the light that it gave was barely enough to see each other.  It
took several moments to adjust our eyes to the darkness.

He lit a cigarette, swallowing great draft of smoke, and handed it to me.
When I inhaled, the searing, hot breath of it caused a fit of coughing that
watered my eyes.  It was marijuana.  I had never used it before, never
wanted to.  How quickly he was changing the patterns of my life, the
restrictions I was bred to.  A flush of intoxication released the
restraints that governed by every movement.

My eyes adjusted to the soft glow of the burning candle, and I looked at
him.  An air of dominance and control emanated from him.  He stood there
with his head thrown back, a superior cast to his expression.  I told
myself, 'He is only a child, a boy,' yet I knew if he asked me to jump out
the window, I'd say, just open it, please."

I was enthralled at being there in his company, caught in the riptide of
his attraction.  For he did attract me.  Fascinated me.  Sending blood into
my nipples and loins, hardening my cock as though I were sixteen again and
this my first venture into the forbidden world of gay sex.  I felt alive
for the first time in how many years?

The brightest glow of the flickering flame fell upon his crotch, and my
eyes fixed upon the growing bulge of it.  I could see clearly the outline
of his penis, rolling down his leg, trying to find room to erect itself in
the confines of his jeans.  The desire to see him, to see what he looked
like naked, overwhelmed me.  I thought of his pubic hair that protected his
precious cock.  I had seen just the start of it that night in the car, when
he raised his shirt.  A brief suggested line, rising above his belt.  The
brown and curly tufts of it peeking out.  I wanted to rub my face against
the silky skin that stretched over the flat stomach, tease his nipples,
kiss his navel.  All that I had seen of him, that night in the car, only
set on fire the ravished need to see more of him, to possess him, to touch
his naked body, to love him, to make him feel the pleasure that he gave me.
I was completely enraptured, captivated by his audacious youth.

'Please Chris, reach to your T-shirt and pull it over your head as you did
that night.  Please open your belt and drop those tight jeans to the floor
so that I can see you.'  Was my silent plea.  But this was not his
intention.  His scario was different.  He knew that I already belonged to
him, not him to me, and that I would do whatever he asked of me.

"Take off your clothes," he said in a whisper so quiet that I hardly heard
him.  I hesitated.  I was naturally shy, never showing my body to anyone.

"Take them off," he said, his voice, loud and demanding, now. "You heard
me, didn't you?.....Take them off...all of them.  I want you naked, man,
bare-ass, like the day you were born."

A sudden excitement rushed over me, and I unbuttoned my shirt and tossed it
away.  Kicking off my shoes, I released the belt that secured my pants, and
they fell to the floor.  Pushing by boxers over my hips, I stepped out of
them.  I was naked, standing there, my cock illuminated by the flickering
candle, warmed by the heat of it, jutted out before him.  He stared at me
for a long time, reading the details of my body.

Stepping closer to me, I could smell the heat rising.  The sweat of
anticipation was pungent and grew in intensity as he raised his arms.
Placing his hands on bare shoulders, he applied a surprising pressure that
sent me to my knees.

Only inches from his crotch,now.  I watched with fascination as he unzipped
his fly.  Abundant tufts of dark brown pubic hair appeared, followed by his
long and slender erect cock.  He was uncut.  Like me, the foreskin had not
been mutilatd, but slid back over the ridge of the glans exposing the
expanded slit.  Without hesitation I opened my mouth to take it.  it was an
instinctive impulse.  But that was not what he wanted of me.  Instead he
rubbed the moist testicles over my face.  The smell of him was strong now.
I licked the sweat that had accumulated on them, tasting the pungent odor.
It was an intimate connection that I hungered for, thought about when I
masturbated.  I wanted his cock.  I wanted to kiss it, to suck the cream
from it.

He pulled away.  Holding the solid muscle in his hands, his long tapered
fingers wrapped around it, and with a suddden laugh of triumph, he began to
urinate.  Not a dribble, but a steady flow of piss innundated me, covering
the hair on my head, my face, shoulders, and down through the belly hair to
my cock.  The hot silky piss, scattered everywhere, falling in a puddle
onto the thick carpet. His laughter was shrill and without humor.

"Open you mouth," he sneered, and he pushed his hips forward, and the
stream cascaded onto my tongue to the hollow of my throat, sending
unexpected pleasure messages to my loins.  An enormous sense of lust, at
the depravity of what was happening, caused me to put my arms around his
waist to pull him closer.  His cock was now deep in my throat, and the
penetrating stream awakened pleasure nerves that I didn't know existed.

An exquisite sensation gathered in my balls, and sperm exploded onto the
floor, to mingle with the pool of piss that had gathered there.  When it
was over, I fell back, lying in the wet puddle.  He stood over me, his piss
still flowing from his half-tumescent cock gradually receded to a dribble.
With an enigmatic smile, he put his penis back into his jeans and zipped
them closed.  I lay on the floor watching him as he walked to the chair
where I had thrown my clothes.  He took the wallet out of my slacks, and
pulled a handful of bills from it.

"You don't need this as much as I do," he said with a smile.  Then, as he
went out the door, he chuckled, "See you," and I could hear him tripping
down the stairs and out of the building.

I lay there for a long time, exhausted from the ordeal, overwhelmed by the
unexpected outcome of it.  I was completely satisfied in a carnal way, yet
bewildered by what he had done to me.

The sudden realization that I was lying in a puddle of piss and cum, in a
room that belonged to someone, someone who could walk in the door at any
moment, hit me.  In a panic, I grabbed my clothes and pulled them over my
wet, stinking body.  As I ran down the stairs to the front door that led
outside, I opened it, and a man came in.  Like me, he was of middle years,
with greying hair, a set expression of discontent dominated his
clean-shaven face.  I watched as he climbed the stairs in rapid steps.  He
placed a key into the door of the apartment that I had just left.

"Jesus Christ," I exclaimed as I ran to my car.  My hands trembled so, that
I had difficulty starting it.  "Jesus Christ!"  I said again, and drove
away, away into the isolation of my study where I could ferret out the
reason, the why and wherefore, but most of all the why I still wanted him,
loved him.  And why my cock was erect, so hard that it hurt, when I thought
of him and what he had just done to me.