B & G
The following fictional narrative involves sexually-explicit erotic events between men. If you shouldn't be reading this, please move on.
In the world of this story, the characters don't always use condoms. In the real world, you should care enough about yourself and others to always practice safe sex.
The author retains all rights. No reproductions or links to other sites are allowed without the author's consent.
Thanks and love to Tom for always patiently and carefully doing the editing chores, and to the rest of my Nifty Six colleagues.
Christmas in Medina with the family was pretty much the same as always. Mom, Dad, and I went to my sister's place for dinner on Christmas Eve. Karen and her husband Chip had two kids, twins, Beth and Bart. The twins were eight, and I was their favorite uncle. Of course I had to be, since Chip didn't have any brothers or sisters. He was the accountant with Dad's company, and Karen had the only interior design shop in town. She did a lot of work for Dad's clients, and she'd given me some good tips on fixing up my half of the duplex.
We had a wonderful dinner and then sat around the tree watching the fire burn. About eight o'clock, Karen popped corn. She made cocoa for the rugrats and the rest of us had mulled wine. Despite having special permission to stay up until 10:00 that night, the twins were eager to get to bed, even though I don't think either of them really believed in Santa anymore. It was more a case of fearing the goldmine would disappear if they admitted they didn't.
Anyway, we all chatted a while longer and then Mom said she still had some things to do to get ready for the morrow's big meal. Karen and family were coming over after the kids had opened their presents, and they were going to stay for Christmas dinner.
When we got home, Mom excused herself to go to the kitchen. Dad and I both offered to help, but she said we'd only be in the way. She gave us each a hug and then pushed us away.
"You boys go into the den and have a drink or something."
"Sounds good to me," Dad said.
He fixed me a scotch, neat, and one on the rocks for himself. We flumped down into the leather wing-backs facing each other in what was called the den but was also a kind of home office for him.
I asked him how things were going. There was usually a slow-down in new home construction about this time of the year, but he told me that because of the relatively mild winter so far, they were doing pretty well.
"As you know, Gabe, the more units we can get under roof, the more crews we can keep working inside. The ground is far from being frozen, so we can even do some new starts after the first of the year."
I shivered. "I feel sorry for the electricians, plumbers, and carpenters who have to work inside before the furnaces are installed and operating."
He grinned. "Think about the framers and roofers. But they're all used to it. They put long johns on under their Carhartts and tough it out, though everyone's happy when the furnace is turned on. It makes doing the rest of the inside work lots more comfortable."
We talked about what was going on in the town and about some of my high school classmates who were still around.
Then he took another sip of his scotch.
"Gabe – "
"I think you know I've come to terms with your being gay."
"I appreciate that. You and Mom have been great."
"Well, I do have grandkids, and I love `em to death. I have to tell you, though, that I'm sorry there won't be any with the Sutton name."
I leaned forward and put my hand on his knee. "Yeah, Dad, I know, and, believe me, I'm sorry, too. For you and Mom and for me. When I see the twins, I always get a twinge, thinking I'll never have any of my own."
"Well, I suppose it's possible these days."
"Possible, maybe. Likely, no."
"You know, son, there's another concern that I have."
"Yeah, I'll bet I can guess. The business."
"That's right. With no Sutton grandkids, and you at the university, I'm beginning to feel that all this I've managed to achieve," he made a circle with his glass, "will just go to someone else."
"Well, Dad, maybe Bart will be interested in carrying on the business."
"What about you? Any change in your thinking?"
"Look, I've never shut the door on the idea of moving into the business with you. I'm not ready to do it yet, but let's keep the possibility open, okay?"
He grinned and held out his glass. I touched mine to his and we drank.
"Thanks for leaving me with some hope." He took another sip of scotch. "Now, what about you? I suppose if there were a special man in your life you'd have told us."
It was my turn to take a sip and gather my thoughts.
"Depends on what you mean `in my life.'" He waited for me to continue, so I did. "I've met this great guy. We've become pretty good friends. He is a music history professor, and he plays French horn. We go to concerts and theater together."
"But he's not in your life?" Dad asked, looking puzzled.
"Well, he is and he isn't." I finished my drink. Dad took the glass from me and refilled it.
"Go on," he said as he handed it back to me.
"We spend time together. I really enjoy being with him. In fact, I've never known a guy I liked so much."
"That sounds good to me. So what's the trouble?"
"Dad, I don't know whether he's gay."
He looked at me over the tops of his glasses. "I thought you guys had some sort of sixth sense about that."
I chuckled. "We call it `gaydar,' Dad. But mine has never been very reliable."
"Oh, okay." He got up and fixed himself another drink, adding a cube to the newly-poured scotch. He sat back down, crossed one leg over the other, and continued. "Why not just ask him?"
"If you met a new single man at church and you wondered if he was gay, would you ask him?"
He chuckled. "No way!"
"Yeah, exactly. I really like Brent, and I'm afraid if he knew I'm gay he wouldn't want to continue our friendship."
"On the other hand . . . .?"
"On the other hand, if he's gay, I think I could really become attached to him."
He studied his rocks glass. "Gabe, I'm the last person who should be giving a gay man advice about affairs of the heart. But I'm your dad. I love you. I want you to be happy."
"I know that, Dad, and I'd appreciate your advice." I grinned. "Even if I don't take it."
"Fair enough. So. Life is too short to pass up chances at happiness. If you think there's a possibility that you and this guy -- Brent was it? -- could be happy together, it seems to me it's worth a little risk. Besides, if he is the kind of guy who deserves your friendship, he won't hate you even if he knows you're gay."
"Well, yeah, but . . . "
"Have you ever had any indication that he's a homophobe?"
"You said he's a musician?"
"Aren't a lot of them gay?"
"I think that's stereotyping, Dad. But getting back to your other question, now that you bring it up, I've never had the slightest suggestion that Brent was anti-gay."
"So, isn't the goal worth the risk? Why not come out to him? What's the worst that could happen? He wouldn't beat up on you, would he?"
I laughed. "No, he's definitely not the violent type. And I think I could defend myself against him."
"Okay, so are you out on campus?"
"To some people, but not generally."
"Would you get fired or even be in a really difficult position if he outed you?"
"Some of the guys I work with might be a little pissy, but I'm their boss. What could they do?"
"Okay, so what are you waiting for?"
I finished my scotch and stood up. Dad stood too. We hugged. Then I chuckled again.
"I can't believe my Dad just encouraged me to come out to a guy, hoping that we'd have a relationship."
He put a hand on each of my shoulders, grinned at me, and said, "Now you put it that way, I can't believe it either. Let's not tell your mother, okay?"
"I won't if you don't want me to, but she gave me the same advice this morning."
"I might have known! Now, it's getting close to midnight. Let's go haul her out of the kitchen and wish her Merry Christmas."
Mom was just taking off her apron. "Did you boys have a good talk?" She was looking at Dad, not me.
"Yes," I said.
"Yep," he said.
The case clock in the front hall struck midnight. We wished one another Merry Christmas, exchanged hugs and kisses, and I went upstairs to bed.
The morning after I spent the night with Guy, I saw something in The Plain Dealer that caught my eye. Later in the morning, I made a phone call, a successful one, too. Later yet I got another idea, and made another phone call. Thus my plans for Gabe's New Year's Eve surprise were laid. Until he got back into town I practically held my breath. He could, of course, have said he wasn't interested. But somehow I thought he would be.
It wasn't until the morning of the 30th that he called to tell me he was back. I wanted to see him right away, but I tried to be cool.
"Hey," he said on the phone, "I'm doing some grocery shopping this afternoon, restocking things, you know. How'd you like to come over for something easy like spaghetti tonight?"
"Gabe, I'm eager to see you. But there's no reason for you to cook for me. Why don't you come here? I'm not as good a cook as you are, but I can manage spaghetti."
He laughed. "You promise I won't die or anything?"
"Yeah, I think I can safely promise that. And I want to discuss tomorrow night's plans with you."
"Maybe you'll let me cook for you tomorrow and we can just have a nice, quiet evening here."
That sounded so great I was tempted to agree, but I'd already made too much investment in my surprise for him. "Thanks, man, but I've got another idea. Let's talk about it tonight. Come on over whenever you're ready. I'll open some red and have it breathing."
"Deal. See you later. We have lots to talk about."
"Yeah, Gabe. Later."
I wondered what he meant about us having lots to talk about.
Brent sounded so excited on the phone, I couldn't help wondering what was up with him. I puttered around my place nervously all day because I had decided that night to come out to him. I wondered what to wear and decided to stick with jeans and a sweater. I assumed it would be just us as usual. But I was showered, shaved, and ready by 4:30. I was like a teen getting ready for a big date. I'd always been a pretty calm guy, so it wasn't like me to be that edgy. I put some music on the stereo and forced myself to lie on the couch and listen. Finally, at 5:00, I jumped up, turned off the stereo, and grabbed my keys. After all, he had said I could come anytime.
When he opened the door, I wanted to hug him. He was so cute. He was wearing an apron spattered with tomato sauce. That lock of hair was hanging down over his forehead. He looked a bit fussed. And he was adorable.
"Gabe," he said as we shook hands, "it's good to see you. Come in. You look great! Let me have your coat. Take off your shoes if you want. I'll get you some wine."
I'd never known him to babble, so he obviously was fussed. I chuckled. "It's great to see you, too. Let me hang up my coat while you get that wine." I put my coat in the closet by the door. Since he was in his socks, I slipped off my shoes, put them on the floor of the closet, and padded toward the kitchen. He handed me a plate of fingerling carrots, celery, and bell pepper with some packaged onion dip in the center.
"Here, the sauce is simmering. You take this to the coffee table, and I'll bring the wine."
I noticed that he had opened a 1.5 liter bottle of some kind of red. After we were settled in the living room, we touched glasses. The wine was pretty nice. He said it was an Australian merlot, but I can't remember the label, for reasons you may understand later.
He wanted to know about my holiday at home, so I told him all about it. He said things had been very quiet on campus, that he'd been pretty much a recluse, but that he hadn't minded it. He was used to being alone at Christmas, and he had found things to do.
It seemed to me that he kept jumping up to go to the kitchen to check the sauce, put the pasta water on to heat, put the pasta in the water. The table was set before I got there, so at least he didn't have to do that. There was a dish of grated parmesan on the table, I noticed. I wondered whether he had grated it himself, or whether it had come out of the green can. I'd know when I tried it.
If I had thought I was nervous before this evening, Brent was a wreck. I couldn't help wondering why. After all, I was the one planning to come out to him. Could he have guessed I was gay, or perhaps even heard something on campus? Was he getting ready to tell me he didn't want to be friends with me? No, if I'm any good at reading people, he really wanted this supper to be nice.
Finally I helped him get the pasta dished up, sauce ladled on it, rolls into a basket, wine glasses refilled, and everything, including salad, on the table.
He let out a big sigh as we sat. I raised my glass to him and said, "Brent, this looks great! It's good to be here with you. Thanks for inviting me!"
He grinned. "Well, I'm not much of a cook, but I do know how my mother made spaghetti. I assure you this isn't out of a jar. But then, maybe it would have been better out of a jar, if I've got the proportions wrong or something."
"Dr. Collins, sir, relax! It will be fine." We still hadn't tasted the wine since sitting down, so I gestured toward him and had a sip. Whatever that was, it was nice. Brent seemed to take my advice, and we busied ourselves with eating. The parmesan was out of the can, by the way, and I would have liked a little more zing in my spaghetti sauce, but I wasn't going to ask for anything. He seemed nervous enough, and I didn't want to upset him. That night of all nights I didn't want to upset him.
After second helpings of everything, we cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher, and, as he said, "adjourned" to the living room. He said he had peppermint ice cream and fudge sauce for dessert, but that we could have it later if I preferred. I preferred. I also said I'd rather have the coffee with the ice cream, so I flopped onto his sofa, feeling pleasantly stuffed, a feeling I'd had too often in the last week. I'd have to hit the gym for real starting the day after New Year's.
Instead of sitting in one of the living room chairs, he collapsed beside me on the couch. He put his feet up on the coffee table and slid down so he could rest his head on the back of the sofa. I did the same. We must have stayed that way, being quietly together, when I decided that there was no point in putting it off any longer. I didn't turn my head to look at him. I just began to speak.
"Brent, there's –"
"Gabe, I have – "
We spoke simultaneously and then turned toward each other. He looked pale.
"Damn, man, you don't look so good. Is something wrong?"
He smiled weakly. "No, I'm fine. What were you going to say?"
"Don't you want to go first?"
"No, please go ahead. Mine will keep."
He grinned. "Yes, dammit. What is it you were going to say?"
As I said, I'm usually pretty relaxed about things, but my heart was pounding as if I'd been running and stopped too quickly. `Oh, well, here goes,' I thought.
"Look, Brent. I think we've gotten to be pretty good friends, right?"
"Right." He was looking at me intently.
"Right. And friends need to be honest with each other, don't they?"
"Well, there's something between us, something that's never been discussed, that has to be acknowledged."
"Oh, shit, Gabe. I was just about to tell you!"
Now I was confused. "Tell me what?"
"That I'm gay. I really was going to tell you. Just now, I mean. But you already knew, didn't you? You aren't going to quit being my friend are you? Please say you aren't?"
This was the news I'd been hoping for, but the way it came out was too deliciously ironic. I began to laugh.
He looked as if I'd hit him. "What's so goddamned funny? I'm serious here!"
I leaned over and grabbed him, pulling him into a tight hug. We sat that way, just rocking slightly from side to side. It felt wonderful. He must have thought so, too, for he squeezed me as tight as I was squeezing him, resting his cheek against mine. He smelled of soap, of shampoo, and a little of pasta sauce. A potent combination.
"Brent, babe, let me explain."
He let go and sat back, looking intently at me. But at least he didn't have the stricken look from before.
"What's funny is that I was just about to come out to you. I've wanted to ever since I first saw you that day in your office, but I've been afraid if you were straight you wouldn't be interested in me any more. So I was laughing about the irony of our planning to come out to each other simultaneously."
He pushed his hair off his forehead and looked serious again. Then again there was the glimmer of a smile, more around the eyes than the mouth. He took a deep breath. "Okay, so we're both gay. Now, here's the big question. Are we friends who both happen to be gay, or is there more than that?"
This, it seemed to me, was the time for telling the truth. "Brent, I've been strongly attracted to you since I first saw you. It's been all I could do sometimes to keep from grabbing you, closing the door of your office and," I grinned, "having my wicked way with you."
"Damn! Just think of how much time we've lost."
"We can start making up for lost time right now." I pulled him back to me and we kissed. Frankly, he didn't act as if he'd had much experience, but as I explored his mouth, he got the idea and began to follow my lead. We must have sat there on the sofa, kissing, for a long time. Eventually, I became aware that my cock was getting my boxers pretty wet, and it was very uncomfortable in my jeans. I reached down and felt his cock. Same situation.
We never got to the ice cream that evening. When he felt my hard cock, I thought I was going to come right then. Obviously that would have been a terrible waste. I took his hand and pulled him toward the bedroom, managing to put out the living room lights on the way.
There was no leisurely, languid, removal of clothing. I don't know quite how we managed to get undressed so quickly, but almost instantly we were on the bed. (I had put fresh sheets on it that afternoon in hopes that we'd be on them together.) I got a brief glimpse of the fabulous ass I'd lusted after for months, but he lay back on the bed and pulled me down on top of him. I remember thinking to myself that there would apparently be plenty of time to become better acquainted with his perfect posterior. Meanwhile, we were too busy kissing and grinding our cocks together for me to worry overmuch about it.
I'd read about frottage, where men rub their cocks against each other's bellies. I'd never have guessed it could be so erotic! Even though it was the end of December and the apartment wasn't very warm, we were both sweating freely as we kissed and humped each other. The sweat and the precum we were both pumping out made our cocks slip around against our stomachs and each other. As if that wasn't arousing enough, Gabe rammed his tongue further into my mouth than I thought any tongue could reach. I tried to do that to him, and our tongues did a dance that, along with what was happening between our pelvises, had me ready to come.
"Gabe, lover, maybe we should slow down."
"Nah, baby, go with the flow." He chuckled. "We can always flow again later."
"Now there's a great thought!" I said as I went back to humping him and sucking on his tongue.
Looking back on that night, I have little sense of time. I can't remember what happened quickly, what took a long time. I remember intensity, heat, explosion, fulfillment, and, most of all, joy. The inevitable happened, of course. At some point I came, firing my seed all over his fine abs.
"Brent," he grunted, hugging me close. He pushed his hard tool up against me, and he added mightily to the flood of semen between us. Spent, happier than I had ever been, I simply lay on top of him, my nose buried in the place where his throat joined his shoulder, his arms wrapped around me, holding me fast.
I wasn't about to go to sleep, but my mind was lost in happy thoughts.
"Brent, sweetheart, we're going to be sorry later if we don't clean up this mess."
"Oh, yeah, Gabe, let me get something."
He chuckled. "Would you relax? You're not the host right now, baby, you're my lover. Let's go clean up."
We went to the bathroom, where we showered together, washing each other with great care and intensity. I loved it when he gently toweled me dry, and I equally enjoyed using the towel on him. We were lucky that all the cum was caught between us, so we didn't have to change the sheets. Instead, we got into bed, lying on our sides, our arms wrapped around each other. Neither of us went to sleep right away, but it was almost as good as the sex, lying there as he occasionally kissed my forehead, my nose, my eyelids.
I awoke lying on my side. Opening one eye, I saw it was still dark. The red numerals on my clock radio said 7:10. Gabe was spooned behind me, his arm draped over my chest. His hard cock was, somehow, between my legs. My first thought was that my dreams of the last three months had come gloriously true. My second thought was that I had to pee! Very carefully I lifted his arm and scooted toward the edge of the bed. As I was swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, Gabe mumbled, "Don' go `way."
I leaned over and put my lips to his ear. "Be right back, sexy."
When, after doing my bathroom thing, I got back into bed, Gabe opened his arms and folded me against his warm body. I loved the feel of the hair on his chest against my relative smoothness. I touched my lips to his, gently swiping the tip of my tongue along them.
"Mmm!" he moaned. Then, "Woops! I've got dragon mouth. Be right back." He got up and went to the bathroom, where I heard the sound of his stream in the toilet. He got back into bed with his usual brilliant smile. I could tell from his breath that he'd rinsed with some of my mouthwash.
"You seem to be perky this morning," I said.
"Never been better, stud! Ready for round two?"
"Oh, yeah, we've only just begun this tango."
"Would it be premature to say I hope this tango goes on for a long time?"
"No, senor!" He burrowed under the covers, nuzzling and licking my chest. Then I felt his mouth on one of my nipples. Before I had recovered from the jolt of that, I felt his hand cup my balls. I was instantly hard and leaking. He began to alternate his sucking between both my hard nubs. Then I felt his finger at my anus. He had apparently gotten enough precum from my drooling cock to lubricate the finger, for the next thing I knew he was fingering my chute while he continued to suck my nipples. Somewhere in the recesses of my brain I knew I should be doing something for him, but I was overcome by the sensations, for the moment unable to do anything but lie there, moan, and love the man.
My mother won out, however. I could hear her saying, "Brent, dear, you must do something to repay your lover for what he's doing for you." That's the way I was brought up. Mother always insisted that we do the proper thing. And in this case, though she'd no doubt have been shocked and possibly revolted, her childhood training won out.
"Here, Gabe. Hang on a minute."
"What the fuck . . . ?"
It was my turn to burrow under the covers. I crawled around until we were in a comfortable 69 position and began to suck on my finger. Then I swiped some of the precum from his big cock, which I was seeing close up for the first time, and lubed up my finger. Then I began to suck contentedly on his tool as I worked my finger into his hole. He resumed what he'd been doing to me. His cock was bigger than Guy's, but I remembered to be careful about my teeth, and I swirled my tongue in ways I thought would feel good, sucking and releasing, concentrating on giving Gabe pleasure.
A few minutes later, or maybe it was an hour, he said, "Uh, Brent, I'm, uh, about to come, babe."
"Mmm hmm," I growled, continuing what I was doing to his cock. I stuck my finger all the way into his hole and shoved his pelvis toward my face. Almost instantly, he began shooting into my mouth. I nearly passed out from pleasure. >From knowing that I had done that to this man. Me. I had done it. To Gabe. He had let me, wanted me to. Just about everything I had dreamed of since I was twelve had just happened.
Then I felt my own orgasm pumping into his mouth. I had been so intent upon what I was doing to and for him that I had been unaware of what he was doing. But I came and came, almost passing out by the time I was finished. All of the strength left my body, as if I had deflated. But I lay there with his cock in my mouth, unwilling to let go.
Again, time was meaningless. I don't know how long it was before he lifted the covers and said, "Hey, aren't you running out of air down there?" I turned around so that we could lie there in each other's arms again. I wanted to thank him, but I could think of nothing to say that wouldn't sound hackneyed.
I kissed him lightly on the lips and merely whispered, "Thanks."
He stuck his tongue in my mouth, and we had another one of those oral explorations like the ones we'd shared the previous night. I could taste cum, his and mine, I think, and that just made the whole experience sexier.
As I lay there in his arms, content to spend the day or the rest of my life that way, something occurred to me.
"What's wrong, Brent?"
"I've fantasized over your ass since September, and here I've not even gotten a good look at it."
"Well, baby," he said chuckling, "you've had your finger in it a couple of times."
"Not the same. I want to see it. You have no idea how often I've gotten hard looking at or even thinking about that ass. Covered in khaki. In Levis. Naked. Roll over, please!"
Laughing, he threw back the covers and rolled onto his stomach.
"Oh, my god!" I said. "There it is in all its glory!" And it was glorious.
"Sheesh," he said. "It's only an ass."
"No, Gabriel, it's the most beautiful butt in captivity. And, I promise you, I will give it its due. I will worship it with my mouth and tongue before much time has elapsed."
"Yeah?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.
"Count on it."
Even I can fix breakfast. I scrambled eggs with shredded cheddar, onion, bell pepper, and bits of ham. We had orange juice and English muffins with raspberry preserves. And, of course, lots of coffee, which we both took black.
When he had finished his plateful, which he must have liked from the way he tucked into everything, he folded his napkin. "Didn't you say you had some sort of plan for tonight?"
"Tonight? What's tonight," I asked, teasingly. I reached across and flicked a tiny crumb of muffin from his mustache.
"As I recall, it's New Year's Eve. My offer to fix dinner so we can have a quiet--or maybe not so quiet--evening at my place still stands."
"Well, let me tell you what arrangements I've made. Then you can nix them if you want to."
He seemed intrigued. "So, what plans?"
"Do you have a tux?"
"No, baby, I don't."
"How about a dark suit?"
"Yeah, blue or black?"
"Black, I think."
"What's the dressy occasion?"
"I've got reservations for dinner at the restaurant at the Wyndham on Playhouse Square in Cleveland, and then we've got tickets for the Cleveland Opera Company's production of `Die Fledermaus' at the Palace Theater, across the street. We also have a room reserved at the Wyndham plus a champagne brunch tomorrow morning. You up for that?"
His smile nearly knocked me out of my chair. "Brent, I'm up for you almost constantly. But that sounds like a perfect way to spend New Year's Eve with my man!"
"My man!" He'd said "my man!"
To be continued.