My 6th Nifty story after a few months away from writing. Thinking about why I took a break (see the post script of What Grows in Winter for more) I have been thinking so much about something and someone.
I decided to share it with you in a rare autobiographical story.
So dear readers I present a true story... changing just a name or two to protect identities, but told from first person narration. My narration. My story. As always I welcome your emails, comments, critiques. You can read my other stories by looking me up (JJ) under prolific authors. Enjoy! And Support Nifty. -JJ firstname.lastname@example.org
The Start of it All
"Does that freak you out?"
I could sense my silence was making him uncomfortable. Over the phone I could hear him clear his throat. It didn't freak me out. No, it was just something I needed to process. I mean what difference did it make, really? So, he was once married and had kids. So, he lived for a long time like a straight guy. So had I... I guess what confused me though, or not really confused, more like concerned me, was that he was not just playing with me. That he was serious about this. I had slept with a good number of "straight" guys and I just didn't want him to be another. Him I wanted to date. I had started to grow feelings for him I didn't think possible.
"Nah, it doesn't freak me out. But, do they know?"
"That I'm gay?"
Now his silence was making me uncomfortable. "No, they don't know. But before you judge let me explain. The split was really tough on them. Tough on my wife, too. Ex-wife. So I just, I don't know, I want to do this one step at a time. I mean my daughter is only 10 and my son is 7. I just don't want to throw them any more curveballs. Not right now."
"You think you will tell them though?"
"Yeah, when they are ready. I'm not going to lie."
I took the last drag of my cigarettes feeling the remaining embers singe my fingers. When there was a gap in the pedestrian traffic I flicked it across the crowded sidewalk onto the street in Dupont Circle. Had I not been good at this, had my finger slipped or the trajectory veered left or right it could have easily landed on someone and burnt him. But the shot was perfectly and forcefully straight, as it always was. Dangerous, nonetheless. Stupid, too with so many people around. But I was a dick. I was only 28, making money, living on my own in DC. I was awesome.
"Hey man, then if you are cool, I'm cool. Thursday we still on for dinner?"
"Yeah, we are still on. I'll text you. Stay in touch, Gator."
"Gator". That was his pet name for me- ever since our first date and we talked college football and I told him I was a University of Florida fan. He stopped calling me by my name that very moment and for the past few weeks hadn't called me anything but Gator. I liked it. Something about it being just a thing for him- just his right, just his joke.
Like I was his.
I met him online- not going to lie. I thought it was another CL hookup. I had done it a few times. OK, that's a lie. I had done it a lot. Something about the gay guys in DC was really a turn off- and no, I'm not a self-hating gay. I'm just a regular guy who was confused ("I'm bisexual") for a while but then came to accept my sexuality. But I didn't stop being a guy. I was an athlete my whole life, I was six foot three, I had a good body, a deep voice (a music teacher told me I could have been a professional baritone if I wanted). The DC drag queen high-heel feather boa scene was not me. Actually it's what kept me in the closet for a few years longer than necessary. And this was early 2000's- there was not nearly the acceptance there is now. Ten years is a long time for gay culture. Gay years are like dog years.
Dating hadn't really occured to me because I hadn't met a guy I could see myself with seriously. And as a young, fairly successful and sexually insatiable little stud, I found the best sex to be with deeply closeted straight guys. Let me rephrase that: "straight" guys. Because let's be serious: if you are swallowing another man's load, you can say what you want, but you are not straight. DC was full of these guys- probably still is. Hill staffers, lobbyists, traveling businessmen and the Republican controlled House, Senate and Bush Administration was a buffet. I'd fucked guys I saw on TV as talking heads. I fucked one of the biggest lobbyists in the nation. Twice. They were frisky, repressed, kinky, usually extremely cute (especially the Texans) and had no interest in commitment. Which was good for me- I got off, and I still got my free time to be with my friends at the bars. Heck I even fucked the occasional random chick just because I still could.
Life was pretty good. He changed all that.
He responded to my posting a few weeks ago: and he wrote a little note with it. The note is what took me by surprise. Most guys on CL, well they just list their stats like a police report: 6'1, 185, br/br, 34/43, 6.5c. (I always looked for the "c" in the dick stats ever since Ivan- a really cute Czech working at their embassy who had so much foreskin it made me heave. I had never seen one before- not in person. Never again. After that I'd always ask: "u cut?" Foreskin is nasty.
But he wrote a note. Something like: Hey man nice post I haven't done this in a while. I'm older- maybe too old for you (39) but still in great shape, former football player- D1, too. Can give you more stats and pictures but just wanted to start with this. Hope to hear from you.
"Hope to hear from you" is what stuck in my mind. "Hope to hear from you" like he was looking to meet me. Not to get fucked by me (or fuck me- I go both ways) but to meet me. Clearly this guy had no clue what CL was for... but I wrote him back. And he wrote me back. And I wrote him back...
Two days later we met for a drink after work at The Front Page.
I remember standing outside waiting for him trying to play it cool reading through emails on my blackberry. It was still a new device and had not yet fully caught on. I was ahead of the curve. Look at me! I can look at my emails on the street! (Now work follows me everywhere!) But despite trying to play it cool I was nervous. Sure, I had done this a few times by now. Few? OK- 30 or 40 (I lost count) but the meet up was always the worst part. I had maybe walked away from 10 guys over the years. Guys who showed up and were not what they said. Sad part is sometimes they were even better looking than the fake picture, but I always took lies as a sign of danger. Can't trust you if you send me a fake picture. That's the guy who will turn me into a lamp shade.
I don't want to be skinned alive. I saw The Silence of the Lambs in High School and it has scared me ever since.
He was punctual, and I could tell by the way he was walking up the street, by the swagger and the aura, that it was him. I just knew. Crowded sidewalk- dozens of people within 200 square feet- but I knew it was him. And he knew it was me because he smiled and walked right up to me.
"Nah, man I'm good. Nice to meet you" I said extending my hand. He grabbed it and shook, and his grip was firm, and his hands were rough- extremely rough, calloused and hardened by what was clearly a lifetime of lifting weights.
He was huge.
My height easily- probably a good inch taller. But broad. 48 shoulders I'm guessing. Maybe 50- the suit jacket couldn't comfortably contain his shoulders and arms, and the material gathered and bunched in the pits. I shook his hand too long and saw him smiling at me. White teeth. Pale eyes. Soft. Watery. I couldn't stop staring.
"Let's go grab a drink" he said.
I had been concerned about him being so old. He was almost 40. "Could a guy that old still be hot?" I had wondered. Man was I wrong. He was hotter. He was hotter than any guy I had been with, and his years gave him a confidence, a sophistication, a calm maturity which made me feel like a kid, like a goofball, like an immature little punk whose boss had come to put him in line.
Did I have daddy issues and not realize it until now?
We talked for about an hour over our beers: me Bud Light, him Heineken. Yes, he really did play D1 football at a PAC-10 program thought he didn't start and saw very little time. He was from upstate New York and both his parents were professors at Cornell. Grad school took him to DC (Georgetown) and he had been here ever since living currently in upper North West near the Maryland Border- Friendship Heights area.
Our small talk was fun and informative learning each other's hobbies and teams and travel history and suddenly I realized talking to him was like nothing I had experienced. It wasn't a quick "size up" to see if I got the creepy vibe, or if I felt strong enough to take him should he turn out to be crazy and I needed to fight for my life. Nor was it a quick conversation about what we felt like doing in bed and how far we would go first time. For almost an hour I didn't think about sex. I thought about him, his interests, his sensitive, almost sad eyes, his soft brown hair and bleached white teeth.
I was on a date.
"Come on I'll drive you home" he said dropping some money on the bar for our drinks. He didn't even offer to pay- he just did. It was a cocky, slightly dominating move. "I'm the man in this situation" his gesture seemed to cry. It turned me on.
"I live out in Arlington don't worry about it" I said with a smile. Really a ride home was a flattering offer but 8 miles in the completely wrong direction.
"My car's right around the corner. Come on" he ordered. I felt an erection starting to grow as I obediently followed him.
He drove a new-ish silver Mercedes. Four door. E class. The doors were very heavy and the leather very slippery. Inside I could smell his cologne a little better. Jil Sander. Somewhere on Constitution Avenue by the State Department he spoke more bluntly.
"So I enjoyed meeting you and I wonder if you wouldn't want to grab lunch sometime this week. I'd love to keep talking and getting to know you."
"I'd like that" I whispered. Ho-lee shit I was speechless. Who was this guy and what was the power he had over me?
"Good" he said reaching out for my hand and squeezing it. "That will be fun".
"Your hands are really rough" I stated obviously. "It's cool".
"Cool? Well if you say so. Just a lot of years of lifting weights."
"I like them" I said not letting go of is grip. We held hands for a few seconds and he rubbed his thumb across my fingers gently. He glanced over at me. And winked.
I nearly came in my pants. And I think he knew.
We had lunch later that week. And we texted and emailed like school children passing notes in Spelling Class. He was away that weekend but could meet again for lunch on Monday. "Kinkeade's" he said "On Pennsylvania". He ordered Tuna Nicoise and I don't remember what I ordered. I do remember his navy blue suit, his spread collar pencil stripped suit which made his neck look even bigger, his Windsor knotted yellow tie. I remember so much about him. I probably always well.
After lunch he stood outside with me while I waited for a cab. "I want to ask you something a little forward. On Friday I have an early morning meeting so work is putting me up at Sofitel for the night. Any chance you want to grab dinner on Thursday night, and then, maybe after, we can spend some time together?"
I smiled- smiled a little too big. I was not subtle. "Yeah I think that would be great".
"You don't have to stay" he moderated. "I mean I'd like you to, of course, but you don't have to."
I smiled more. "I want to stay". We hadn't even kissed yet. Three "dates" and all I'd done was shake his hand. If he asked me to kneel there on Pennsylvania Avenue and suck him off I probably would have, so captivated had I become by him. Now we made plans to actually be together.
He winked. In the cab ride back to my office I planned on going to the 4th floor bathrooms. My office was on 8, and 4 floors down there was less a chance someone I worked with would walk into the bathroom while I was jerking off. I didn't plan on getting caught by anyone, but if I did, at least it wouldn't be by a coworker.
"So long as it's a different shirt you'll be fine" I said to myself. "No one will notice the pants."
I didn't bring a gym bag to work. I went home first and changed. So How would I bring a change of clothes for Friday without alerting the whole office I wasn't going home? I have such nosey coworkers. "What's with the bag?" they'd ask. So I had to sneak Friday's wardrobe into my messenger bag. I carefully rolled up a different button down, change of boxers and socks, and stuffed it. I'd wear the same belt, shoes and pants as Thursday. I brought a sweater to throw anyone off the trail just in case. The hotel would have soap and towels. And I did not need pajamas.
We had dinner at Georgia Browns after an interminably long work day. He ordered a bottle of wine and we took our time eating, talking, laughing, smiling. I enjoyed him so much. This was our fourth date, and it was only two weeks ago we met. Yet it was like he had always been a part of me.
The Sofitel was only a few blocks, and the streets were quiet on the walk over. I was nervous. I felt like a bride going to her honeymoon suite. Yes, I knew what was going to happen. But would I be good? Would he enjoy it? Would I be able to please him?
He still had the key card in his hand and my back slammed the door closed. He leaned against me with all his weight. "I've wanted to do that since The Front Page" he said whispered a few moments later. My eyes were still closed and I was savoring his taste. His tongue was strong and dominant, and the way he grabbed my face, holding my chin in his hand, it was tender and loving. I opened my mouth; I wanted more. He kissed me again. "I'm glad you are staying."
I just nodded. "I love you" would have been too much. But it was all I wanted to say. So I just nodded.
"What. Do. You. Think... If we jump in the shower? It's a big steam shower. Might be fun" he whispered running his finger across my lips. Another nod, and he took my hand and lead me to the bathroom.
"Let me" I said, stopping him from unbuttoning his shirt. I wanted to unwrap that gift. This was my birthday and I was going to eat my present. Every button undone showed more chest, more pec, more muscle, more hair. He was such a man. I spread his shirt open to admire his body, his tight stomach and firm torso. I couldn't believe it was mine to touch, to like and kiss. To nibble. I lowered my head to his nipple and felt his hand reach around and caress the back of my neck, cradling it, stroking my hair as he exhaled.
The legs, the feet covered in silk business socks, the Brooks Brother boxers with a slight wet stain.
"I pre cum a lot" he whispered, almost apologetically. I pulled down his boxers and a beautifully shaped cock greeted me. Delicately grabbing his erection I squeezed a large drop out that began to drip. Quickly I got to my knees preventing that first drop from being wasted. It was mine to savor.
He did precum a lot, and it was delicious. To this day I don't like cum. I've done it- of course I have. But not with just anyone and not all the time. Cum is difficult to swallow- pun intended. It's thick and acrid, and can be very unpleasant. But not precum. Not his. It was tangy and warm, exciting and expectant. Soon the entire inside of my mouth, my throat, my lips were covered by a thin film of precum while he moaned softly and stroked my hair.
"Let's get in the shower".
The water was warm, but not too hot and we must have been in there for almost an hour. I washed him thoroughly tasting and licking every part of him. I spent a good 10 minutes on my knees before him. He put one foot on the shower bench giving me better access to his cock and balls which I licked greedily, tasting the fluid mix with water that poured dhow his chest from the shower head. Our damp bodied found the bed where the sensual touching continued; I couldn't get enough of him. I sucked on his toes, his ears, his buttocks, his testicles and cock, I licked up and down his chest and torso.
And he reciprocated. What I did- he did. What I touched, he touched. What I licked and sucked so did he. It was intense passion for longer than I had ever lasted. Kissing him, feeling his calloused hands stroke me gently, I had reached my limits. I moaned.
"Cum on my chest, Gator" he ordered, patting his chest where he wanted it. He wanted it. He wanted my load on him. And I exploded.
Hyperbole aside, it was the largest, most powerful orgasm I've ever experienced, even until today.
"Ho-ly shit!" he whispered laughingly, sweetly as I coated him with interminable volley of cum. I couldn't stop! It pooled into his naval, poured down his sides, stinking the hotel room with its pungent and unmistakable Clorox odor. He laughed and when I finished shooting he pulled me close to his face and kissed me. "Add mine" he commanded, and my hand found his throbbing erection. We continued to kiss and I felt the pre-ejaculation tension building. "Use your cum" he whispered and I coated my hand in my still warm cum which covered his torso making his cock sticky and slick. He grunted in my mouth and I could feel his cum pour over my fingers and gently splatter his stomacht. His face had become slightly flushed and little beads of sweat dotted his forehead. When he finished he pull my body on top of his so I lay on our mixed pools of cum, my head on his chest, his arms softly caressing my back and buttocks. We lay like that for several minutes, our breathing unified, and I rose and fell with each of his breaths. When he stirred I looked up to see him, and his eyes caught mine with a vibrant smile.
"What am I going to do with you, Gator?" he whispered.
Two more times that night we brought one another to climax, but we never had any anal intercourse. The third time he struggled to ejaculate "I'm not 28 anymore" he chuckled. I knew what would help him along, so after sucking a bit longer, and pointed his cock directly at my face thinking my subjugated and humiliating gesture might make him feel more manly, powerful and in control. It worked, and I felt a warm trickle pour onto my lips and cheek. He brushed is off with his calloused hands, and the look in his eyes, the way he gazed upon me... he loved me. He kissed me deeply, and lay me down in the bed spooning me from behind. His arms wrapped around me and held me in a tight embrace. I could feel his warm breath on my neck and the scruff of his chest hair against my back. It was perfection.
We had lunch twice more that week, but he was away that weekend so I couldn't see him. We texted and emailed and I was so excited to see him that following week. At lunch on Tuesday he admitted he had "more to tell" about his situation, and that's why I found out about the family. I must have been quiet because he texted me later that same day. "Going to call you at 4pm. Be someplace private." Once again not asking if my calendar was free or if I even wanted to talk. It was all orders with him. He was the boss, he was the dominant one. I wanted him inside me so badly I couldn't see straight.
The phone call reassured me he was legit. Lots of guys tried being straight, and thoughts of me meeting two kids as "daddy's special friend" was a little daunting. But one step at a time. We had only been intimate once (well, three times that one night) and been physically together 6 times. It wasn't like we were a couple.
He canceled dinner on Thursday. Something had come up. I knew he worked a lot and had a more serious schedule, so I went out with friends that night. We'd get together over the weekend. I had hinted I'd like to see his house on the Chesapeake and could make him some great meals. But then his weekend got rearranged and he had to cancel that, too. His text replies were short and simple "swamped at work" "good game" "not sure". He didn't respond to email.
I was rightfully concerned. Sunday night I was pleased to see his email. That changed when I read it. It was 10 years ago and I still have it in my inbox. I never replied, and never deleted it. Here's the cut and paste:
Just to fill you in on what's going on my life....
I have actually been living at home with my family for the last several weeks. It happened pretty suddenly...for me it really has more to do with the kids but it has become a last ditch effort to see if it will ever work. I suspect that you will get an e-mail from me at some point saying that I am back...but until then, I think that it would be unfair to everyone to try and lead a double life.
I'm sure that this info is an unhappy surprise to you. I haven't gotten back to you because my head is pretty fucked up and I just wasn't sure what to say. A phone call would have been supremely uncomfortable and so therefore this e-mail.
It is amazing how quickly you and I clicked. You really could just be a buddy and that's what makes it all so intriguing. I am not opposed to talking / keeping in touch / having lunch...that's up to you, but I think I need a few weeks to digest everything going on. I hope you understand.
The human heart is an amazing thing.
A pot cannot contain both boiling and freezing water for long; eventually the two will absorb one another's property forming one middle state. Black drops of paint into a white bucket will only be so black for so long until eventually they merge to gray.
My heart felt love and rage at once, and the two never merged. I guess the passing of time has softened their edges, but they never melded into one complacency. Part of me loves him still. Part of me hates him for hurting me. And those feeling coexist.
It's been years, and I've had relationships, good ones and bad ones. I've written erotic stories of gay men discovering who they are and letting themselves be free. Each story has elements of him. Martin, more than anyone, was who I hoped he may become: a former football player, impeccably built, kind, generous, tortured, envied and alone. It's no mystery that "How Martin Blunt Learned to Live" was my first story. And that is romantic art: the longing, the desire, the search for an ideal and perfected state where people reach the fullness of potential and the good guys win in the end.
About a year ago I saw him out in a restaurant in DC. I don't think he saw me. I thought about it, but decided against going over and saying hello. Why torture him, and why torture me. He looked great though. Older. Now he's close to 50 and I'm the almost 40 year old. His kids are grown by now- college age. It could happen, maybe I should text or email...
No. I've moved on. I have to. I deserve as much.
Craigslist stopped. Random hook ups stopped. Since then I've only been with 4 guys, and each one was a boyfriend. I have no STD's and for a guy who fucked everything in DC, that's a small miracle. He made me grow up in that sense, and for that I am grateful. He helped me become an adult.
But every time I walk past the Sofitel I remember that night. Every guy I've slept with I always hope that after sex, after our first time, he will look at me like that. "What am I going to do with you, Gator?" I long to hear that question, that sentiment, echoed so simply and sincerely.
I hope to one day find someone who will look at me that way again. And in his embrace, in his warmth, under his breath, feel perfection again.