Date: Tue, 18 Sep 2018 21:04:37 +0000 From: Tim Hobson Subject: Going Gay Part 01 Copyright Tim Hobson - all rights reserved. This story is an autobiographical wish. I am not the person described herein, but I wish I were. This is my personal, detailed fantasy, and I hope you enjoy reading it. All characters are from my imagination, and any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. If anyone takes offence at the pseudonymns I have used, just let me know and I'll change them. So far, I have written three chapters of this fantasy. Let me know if you think I should write any more, and what you think of the length, etc. Happy reading! Please support the Nifty Archive to encourage more stories. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html GOING GAY PART 01 "Uncle Tim?" A soft voice. Female. Young. "Uncle Tim?" A little louder and more urgent this time. I stirred, then opened one eye. "Cara." She smiled. "Momma said to ask you if you would like something to eat." I processed the information that my niece had brought me. As the fog of sleep lifted, I thought back over the day. My wife of 50 years, Julia, had been buried this morning. After the funeral, family and friends had gathered in our home, a six-bedroom antebellum on a hilltop surrounded by woodlands. The last mourner had left around 4 PM, and my sister-in-law, Charlotte, had marched me off to bed to get some rest. I hadn't really slept in the five days since Julie died, and the six months' battle with breast cancer before that had left me exhausted. "What time is it, dear?" I looked over at the window and saw the dim light of evening. "Almost eight o'clock." "Yes. Please tell your momma that I'll be down in 15 minutes, but I don't want to eat too much." This, even though I had eaten no breakfast and only politely nibbled what the guests had brought. As Cara closed the door quietly behind her, I slowly sat up. I was still wearing my suit pants and dress shirt. My jacket, tie, and shoes were neatly arranged on the clothes tree at the foot of the bed, the work no doubt of my thoughtful sister-in-law. I changed into chinos and a golf shirt, put on bedroom slippers and made my way downstairs to the breakfast room, where I knew Charlotte would have far too much food waiting for me. The rest of the evening was a mix of quiet conversation, tears (from Charlotte and Cara - I had done all my crying over the previous six months), and a few bites of food that I couldn't even taste. By 11 PM, Charlotte, my brother-in-law Will, and Cara had gone back to their hotel, leaving me alone in the now-empty house. Curiously, I didn't feel lonely. I didn't really feel anything at all. The next couple of days were filled with trips to meet with my attorney, accountant, and a few close friends who insisted that I have lunch with them. Gradually, I settled into a routine - one that was new and strange, in that it didn't revolve around a dying wife and the assorted people who came and went to care for her. "You've got a big hole in your life now, Timmy," my golf partner, Keith, told me over drinks at the club. "Not right away, but soon, you're going to have to figure out some way to fill it." "To tell you the truth, Keith, I'm still just getting used to having time to myself." "Well, that's natural, buddy, but that's a big-assed empty house you're in, and when the family all go home and the visitors trickle down to zero, you're going to go stir-crazy." I knew what he meant. Cancer and its treatments and its devastating effects had been the center of our lives - Julie's and mine - for such a long time, and her last few weeks were really debilitating. I was ashamed to say how well I had been sleeping now, and how rested I felt when I woke up every morning since the funeral. "I guess I'd better put the house on the market." "Hold your horses, pardner. Lemme just say one thing." It never took very long for the Scotch to slur Keith's speech. "The best advice I've ever heard about situations like this, is don't change anything or make any decisions for one year. I think that's what you oughta do." And that's more or less what I did for the next twelve months. Sure, I took care of the financial and legal issues, and I checked on our investments and accounts from time to time - things I had mostly neglected during Julie's illness. But for the most part, I tried to live a "normal" life - normal, that is, for a widower. But the time came when I knew that I needed to do something different, perhaps entirely new. With help from Charlotte and Will, I distributed Julie's things, either to friends and family or to charities. As the house gradually emptied of memories of my wife of 50 years, I began to sense that there were new horizons, new directions in my life, and that I was longing to explore them. Keith, who was also my attorney, helped me sell the massive house, and I was shocked at the price someone was willing to pay for it. "you're set for life, old friend," Keith assured me. "Between your investments, savings, life insurance money, and the sale of the house, you've got a cool ten million to tide you over the rest of your days. Unless, that is, you hook up with a 20 year-old gold digger who will fuck your brains out and leave you penniless!" I laughed with him about that, secretly knowing that my thoughts were taking me in an entirely opposite direction. "So, what do you think you'll do?" Keith inquired. "Travel, I think. I'm not sure where, but it doesn't really matter. There are so many places I have always wanted to see, but running the company, raising the kids, and then Julie's cancer all pushed that aside." "Well, wherever you go, you know I'm just a phone call away. And be sure you check in every so often, or I'll send the Mounties looking for you!" As I packed the next day, I smiled to myself, knowing that none of my friends or business associates could even imagine what I was planning to do. It was my intention to leave my straight, repressed, monotonous existence behind and boldly embark on a sexual expedition that I hoped would take me to places I never knew were possible. And I was beyond ready for it! Las Vegas was every bit the tawdry, suggestive den of iniquity that I had expected. I settled into a penthouse suite and started enjoying all the freebies that are lavished on a big spender. Only, I didn't spend one red cent in the casino. Instead, I took in shows, ate in fine restaurants, lounged by the roof-top heated pool, and tried to avoid the attentions of 20-something girls who saw a meal ticket in me. The boys, however, started to get to me. They were so handsome, fit, and sexy that I began to find a desire in myself that I had never experienced. Of course, I knew they were after the same thing as the girls, but it became fun to tease them a bit and lead them on. And it was deinitely not torture to have them join me for dinner or a show and watch the envy in the eyes of certain men who saw us together. But I always said good-night with a handshake in the lobby and went up to my room alone, no matter how disappointed my "date" appeared to be. I had one hard and fast rule. I would treat them to food and entertainment, even take them with me on excursions around Vegas, but as soon as there was the slightest hint that I might help them with a little "loan" or anything else to do with money, I was done with them in a heartbeat. And it wasn't that I couldn"t afford it. With Keith and my accountant guiding my investments, the balance in the bank was actually larger each month, even though I was living the high life. But after a few weeks, Las Vegas lost the tiny bit of charm that it had, and I decided to head west. Southwest, to be exact: San Diego. There, I took a thousand-dollar-a-day suite at the Del Coronado to live up to my new-found standards as an old, rich bastard. And I found something else there, too. One evening, dining alone al fresco on the hotel patio, I noticed a table nearby where there were three men about my age. They returned my look and smiled, raising their glasses to me. I nodded, returned their salute, and finished my dinner. As I was nearly done, they rose from their table, and one of them walked over to me. "There's a beautiful view of the sunset from the roof bar, and being's you're alone, we though you might care to join us." As I looked up at him in astonishment, he proffered his hand. "Lowry. Martin Lowry." With a sly grin, I replied, "Bond. James Bond." We both guffawed. "Actually, it's Tim Hobson. Nice to meet you, Lowry." "Martin, please. So what do you say, up for it?" I agreed, and signaled to my waiter that I would be leaving. I followed Martin over to the other two gentlemen. "I'll do the honors," he began. "Tim Hobson, this is Alexander - Allie - Raymond." We shook hands. "And this is Franciscus - Frankie - Westermere." Again an exchange of handshakes. "Nice to meet you, old boy," Westermere had a Brit accent. "How ya doin'?" from Alexander. With that, we four boarded the outdoor express elevator to the roof and walked out into the open-air bar. No sooner did the elevator doors open, than four gorgeous young men stood up and walked toward us. "What the...?" I exclaimed. The three smiled at my surprise. "Timmie, allow me to do the honors," Westermere said grandly. Indicating the first young man, he said, "This is Ty Roper." The second was introduced as Beau Botham, the next was Jonny Comer, and the fourth was Jimmy Coxx. "Beg pardon? Those are odd-sounding names," I said. "Well, of course they are, old man. They're noms de porn." "Noms de what?" All three had a good laugh at my expense. "Come on, old boy, you'll soon be up to speed." The eight of us headed over to a seating area with three couches and two easy chairs, arranged around a fire pit with a gas fire glowing in it. As we sat down, I couldn't help but notice that each man was seated next to one of the "boys" - as I would call them, given that none of them could have been more than 25. Frankie finally clued me in. "These young gentlemen are our guests for the night. They are well-known in certain circles." He raised one eyebrow archly and winked at me. "They are famous, each in his own right, for their performances in shall we say, 'adult' videos." That's when it dawned on me. These handsome, sexy young men were porn stars, and they were probably here to entertain the men in an intimate way, most likely for a lot of money. Frankie continued, "Ty, for example, is renowned for his scenes of bondage and domination - by women and men. Beau here has an absolutely perfect tushy, if you get my drift, and he knows how to use it. Jonny's forte is only revealed at the end of his scenes, when his, shall we say, "output" is measured in yards and gallons. And Jimmy lives up to his name, having an endowment that is off the charts in terms of size and girth. You don't want to be on the receiving end of that cattle prod!" I was speechless for what seemed like minutes. Then I spoke, shakily, "Well, it's nice to meet all of you, but I'd better be going. This isn't really my cup of tea."