UNCLE JULES -- 10
It seems rather strange that although this writing is titled with my uncle Jules' name, I have mentioned him so little since the earlier sections. This is not to say that he was not in my thoughts, just that other more pressing and immediate concerns had momentarily dimmed the light he constantly shed upon my inner landscape.
There was always news of him in one form or another. Now and again a passionate email saying how much he missed me; sometimes a phone call to my mother giving her his news; even the odd letter from far away places.
He had taken up a travelling position now and we often had bright postcards from colourful distant parts. I often wondered (when Gervase or Aris or some other physical jewel was not sparkling in my imagination) whether he had found another to take my place; whether he was shagging the local girls; whether he thought of me when he was having a wank.
A few weeks after my first wrestling match with Aris, Uncle Jules called on my mobile. It was gone midnight and I was poncing about on the web. My parents were in bed and either asleep or indulging in that pasttime which I was at this moment denied. I felt very sexy, so that when Jules' voice came laughing down the airwaves I was almost at once in a fair state of arousal.
He said he was in London for the next week or so, staying at one of the best hotels and would I like to stay with him for the weekend if he made it all right with my parents? Would I not! He was entertaining a client but had plenty of time to himself.
Then his voice changed in tone and he said, wistfully and sweetly, "I'm on my own tonight and I was thinking about my fav nephew and what a good time we used to have."
I sighed and lay down on my bed. I guessed it was going to be one of those calls and I wanted to be ready for it. I was telling him how much I missed him and as I did so I pulled down my jeans and pants and pulled my tee over the back of my neck so that it pulled my tits up nicely -- I love to stroke my tits like that.
"I love you Jules, you know that. I still have the present you gave me, remember those pants?" I got his cum-stained undies out of my bedside drawer and took a good long whiff at them. All smell of Jules had long since departed but I started to lick the silkiness where the stains were, imagining fresh cum from Jules' great dick.
My cock was hard from the sound of Jules' voice and his sighing and I could tell he was working himself up.
He said, "I'd love to be in the bath now and have you come in again and rub my back like you used to. That first time was such a turn on! And to get shagged by my own randy nephew was so good."
"I can still see you leaning over the bath and the wonderful muscles of your beautiful arse and shapely back and shoulders -- uncle!" The word `uncle' was like some big joke!
"Where did you learn to fuck, Chas? No one else but you has ever been inside me. I really wouldn't want to let anyone else have that privelege."
I was wanking myself hard now with my cock wrapped in uncle's shorts and I could tell from the rhythmic jerks in his speech that he was doing the same. We kept saying we loved each other, adored each other, couldn't wait to meet again, it had been so long, he wanted my cock deep inside him and my hands on his tits and genitals -- it wasn't very long before we both rather noisily and breathlessly came more or less together, warning each other in advance and hanging on as long as we could.
It was all safely arranged with my parents that I should stay with Jules for the weekend. I liked to get away from them on occasions and I knew that they loved to have the house to themselves sometimes. Jules said they were probably shagging all over the place when I left them alone. I said good luck to them.
Dad drove me up to town and we went in and had a drink with Jules. He looked so cute in his full official outfit, very nice expensive suit that sat against his flesh so beautifully and showed off his physical advantages so well and when he sat down with his legs wide open (always Jules' way, no matter where) the curve of his athletic thighs through the light material and the suggestion of a bulge at his crotch had me steaming all ready.
While we were talking a tall young black guy with a rather supercilious expression came into the lounge and waved at Jules as he passed through. He was at least six feet tall with a shaved shining head and looked to be very well built.
Jules waved back and said, "That's my client, Brandon. He's just over from Nigeria on business. He's a bit of a pain businesswise but seems an OK guy otherwise. Drives a fucking hard bargain! I expect he's just off whoring between meetings."
My father looked uncomfortable and told Jules "to think of the boy."
Jules half turned his head in my direction and winked so my father couldn't see.
Dad hung about a bit after this as though reluctant to leave me to the fleshpots of the capital, but his mobile rang with Mum wondering where he had got to and he was off soon after.
"He'll be off for some nookey now they are alone," smiled Jules. "My sister always was over-sexed."
"Hey!" I said. "That's my Ma you're talking about. Any way, it must run in the family."
He laughed and put his hand on my thigh as we sat side by side. It felt good. One of the guys at the counter was giving us a look. I mentioned this to Jules with some embarrassment. "He works here," my uncle said, "and he's been staring at me ever since we checked in. I think he's gay and he probably thinks I'm having an affair with Brandon. And now that he's seen me with such a beautiful boy," (Jules lowered his voice and gave me a passionate stare from under his thick black eyelashes) "his imagination is probably working overtime." Then, a little coldly and possessively, "Just ignore him."
Jules called for a cab and we did some of the sights. He told me to sit back and enjoy it, his company would be paying. He sat close and held my hand in the cab and he looked and smelt so beautifully masculine and desirable I felt like jumping on him. But in a way it was even more sexy to have to hold back, so that each touch and look seemed electric. I wanted to hang on to that feeling as long as I could.
Far up in one of the modules of the London Eye, surrounded by people, I stood talking to Jules as we soared higher over Parliament and the river and all London spread out below us. His face and figure outlined against the pale grey of the sky, he looked like a god, a young Jupiter, with all the power of a so handsome and loveable man and all the humility of a prince of the blood. I adored him and the backs of our hands were touching and it seemed to be so wonderful up there, as if we were alone on the highest mountain, perhaps Olympus.
I think I had forgotten how much I loved this man and what grace and beauty he had in such abundance.
The London streets were full of new magic, all of it emanating from the inward and outward image of Uncle Jules, the inner icon I carried within me comprising of all my memories of Jules and the real outer man who was now constantly at my side. And how wonderful he looked in that suit and tie, how absolutely eatable; but for the moment I could feed on him with only the lightest of occasional electric touches, and with my worshipping eyes.
As we stood beside the river, leaning on the Embankment balustrade, we were half turned towards each other and our thighs were in close contact and our genitals almost touching. To a passer-by we looked no doubt like father and son, chatting and laughing. I often wished that Jules were in fact my father, even though I loved my real dad; but then of course I could not have loved him as much and as physically as I did.
He stared me straight in the eyes, thick black hair falling across his forehead, and said, his hand on my arm, "I can't tell you how good it is to see you again. I always think of you Chas and I often wish to be with you when I am away."
"Me too," I murmured, blushing and feeling hard and longing to fall into his arms there and then.
The uncle-nephew relationship hardly mattered except as a closer bond than we would otherwise have had. We were lovers, despite any other liaisons. Wandering down The Strand, just outside the Law Courts, I unthinkingly for a moment took hold of his hand and we carried on like this for quite a way without realising what we were doing. When the reality struck us, as it did simultaneously, we quickly let go and then we couldn't help laughing. But there was sadness in the laughter and the awareness of something badly lacking in our world.
To lighten the load, Jules put his arm around my shoulders, again father-son style, and this was comforting. We saw some more of the sights and then Jules asked me what I wanted to do next.
I was trembling as I said, "I want to be with you somewhere private."
He squeezed my arm and we caught a cab and went back to the hotel through a golden Saturday afternoon haze and I felt as if I were literally in paradise; never had I ever felt so mystically contented, at one with the heart of all the world. In those moments I seemed to know what Buddha had witnessed under the bodhi tree as I gazed upon the living jewel at the heart of that wonderful and never-dying lotos-flower. Everything was one thing, myself and Jules, the taxi, the streets with their crowds, the world and the universe. I was at the centre and in a state of bliss.
God is Love. Shantih shantih shantih.
The really strange thing was that this feeling of ecstacy seemed to spread itself to all the people around me. Have you ever had the experience of when some days, as soon as you step outside the door, all you see around you is ugly people? I suppose it must have something to do with mood. Well this afternoon I was seemingly surrounded by some of the most beautiful guys in the world.
When we came back to the hotel, the Nigerian guy, Brandon, Uncle's client, was sitting in the lounge talking with some friends. He motioned Jules over and said he'd like to discuss a few things with him later this evening, if that was possible. They talked quietly together while I stood waiting, Jules leaning over Brandon's shoulder, and while talking to Jules Brandon kept looking at me in an interested manner. For some reason he reminded me slightly of my lost love Gervase, probably due to his somewhat severe exterior. Severe, but appealing -- also like Gervase.
Brandon had a terrific presence. His movements and his speech were slow and deliberate and he seemed utterly self-composed. I suppose I was staring at him rather intently and he asked Jules to introduce us and when this had been done he said, "Perhaps I'll catch up with you later if you're still around." This was addressed directly to me.
"Oh, he'll be here all right," said Jules blithely. "He's staying the weekend."
"Really? That's interesting," said Brandon and turned away to resume his conversation with his friends.
`Interesting.' It was the way he said it. He really had meant that the fact was interesting; it was no verbal cliché. And the immediate dismissal as he turned from us to the group at his table! Somewhat magisterial. I was intrigued, but Jules seemed put out.
"I think Brandon thinks I am his bondslave," pouted Jules as we made our way to the lifts.
This was a really swanky hotel and there were lift-boys in uniform. When the door of our lift opened I was dazzled to see standing there the most gorgeous Chinese-looking boy ever and I am afraid my mouth may have dropped open in delighted surprise. Jules had obviously not even noticed. In fact I hardly ever saw him take an interest in other younger guys apart from myself. This was flattering but unaccountable.
I have already said that it was a day of beautiful people, and the lift-boy was at the pinnacle. He was around five feet ten and they had dressed him in indecently tight trousers topped by a waistcoat that left his shapely bum very much on view. The smile with which he greeted us was a dazzle of white teeth through a wonderfully shapely set of kissable lips. He oozed sex appeal and he knew it. On the way up he kept looking at me through the mirrored walls and I kept looking at his really too shapely rear. I think he saw me looking and the smile never for a moment changed.
I looked at Jules but he seemed to be still slightly fuming over Brandon's attitude. And I was dreaming -- of Jules, the liftboy, and Brandon, a most interesting reverie! The sense of holiness had come down to earth with a very big bang, but I am well used to that scenario. The liftboy looked at me and Jules and I wondered what he was thinking.
It was so quiet in there you wouldn't have known you were in a lift at all. We came to our floor and got out and the Chinese boy's face continued to smile at me as the door closed upon him. Opportunity fills the world and choice is a burden. But you can't have it all, or at least not all at once.
Jules was opening the door and told me that Brandon's room was across the hallway from his. "Too close for comfort," he muttered.
Then we were in the room and he was taking off his jacket and his eyes had that blackest of black look that denoted passion.
It was Tristan and Isolde all over again and the music of Wagner is poor stuff compared to the symphonic underswell which gripped me now. Kisses kisses kisses and heavy breathing but no words. Our mouths were glued together as we fell upon the huge sofa. Then he broke away and rushed across the room to lock the door. Then back again and big bear hugs and more kisses and bodies also glued together. Everything touching as if we were trying to get into each others skins.
"My fucking sexy nephew," he said between clenched teeth.
"My fucking sexy uncle," I replied, undoing his tie but leaving it dangling against his shirt and then unbuttoning his shirt enough for me to mouth his sweet hard tits. Half-undressed is so sexy and I started pulling at his belt and he at mine between the wet hot kisses.
His body had become even more perfect than I remembered it and I was glad to see that he had continued to shave his pubes. His chest was shaved too but with a couple of weeks nice rasping growth that felt so sexy to the touch.
Half-undressed more sexy than completely naked, like Harrison in that little office when his shirtcuff turned me on so much. But Jules and I had to get naked in the lower half because my cock was aching to be rubbing against his upright sexy tool and the shaved bits of his crotch whose short stubble was so delicious to the touch.
First I rubbed us together, cock to cock and he lay back with half-closed eyes while I kissed his manly face. Then I straddled him on the sofa and rubbed my cock and balls against that fantastic swelling chest, between those fantastic curved pecs and the stubble was such a turn on. I pulled his shirt off his massive shoulders but kept his tie on and my precum stained the whiteness of his shirt and that too was a big turnon, like I was getting pervier and pervier as I grew older.
He leaned forward to take my cock deep into his throat and the sight of my manhood being eaten by that beautiful head was too much -- the distinct curve of his jawline, the mouth open to take me, the luxuriant black hair falling over his eyes, my arms upon his huge naked shoulders. He had certainly grown since our last meeting.
Then I leant down and kissed his mouth and put my tongue where my cock had just been and tasted myself upon his sweet lips and teeth and gums. As I leant back I felt his upright tool pushing hard against my arse and it felt wonderful. I suddenly wanted to be totally possessed by him, taken, used, fucked by him, and I could tell that for the first time he felt the same. But, for some obscure reason, it never came to that, and already his legs were open and I could see the bulge of his arse and that so inviting hollow between his buns.
Scrabble, scrabble, scrabble in a white fury of impatience while we found the lube and the condoms, he struggling in half his clothes and almost falling and I holding him and then kisssing and putting it on and his hair and eyes as if burning and me burning inside. This man in the arms and under the weight of a boy, this masculinity slave to my feeble strength, all this beauty unfucked by anyone but me. The tarts didn't matter, they were mere afterthoughts, nothing! They couldn't give what I gave.
He lay back against the sofa, half sunk in its opulence, staring at me with feverish eyes, his legs wide open. I knelt on the edge of the sofa cushions and with some effort heaved up all that weight of skin, muscle, bone, blood which was my most precious uncle until we were almost at the point of contact, his hairy legs against my arms and me kissing his muscular finely turned calves.
The sensation of the inside of his thick thighs brushing against my thighs was too much and made me shiver as if about to go into a fit. He looked so utterly abandoned and beautiful lying there in a state of undress, his hair across his wonderful forehead, his eyes black as freshly split coal. And then in a sudden stillnes that lasted several seconds but seemed to go on forever he reached his hand slowly to my naked chest and carressed me with a circular motion and as he touched my tit I leaned all my weight against him and he upheld me and I knew that I loved him more than anything in the world.
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