Date: Thu, 12 Dec 2002 08:07:35 -0500 From: Tom Cup Subject: Christmastime, After All - A/Y Copyright 2000, 2001, 2002 by the Paratwa Partnership: A Colorado Corporation. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, except in the case of reviews, without written permission from the Paratwa Partnership, Inc, 354 Plateau Drive, Florissant, CO 80816 This is a fictional story involving alternative sexual relationships. If this type of material offends you, please do not read any further. This material is intended for mature adult audiences. Names, characters, locations and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. ************************************************************************ Christmastime After All By Tom Cup Boulder, Colorado is a quaint, upper class college town where one finds fanciful shops full of gift items for people that need nothing. Driving through the center of the town, I almost forgot how much I hated to travel during the holiday season. The gaiety of the commercial candy stripes and plastic pine decorations moved me toward depression. I didn't want to be reminded that Christmas was coming. What I wanted, having been on the road making sales calls for the last three weeks, was a warm hotel room and a hot bath. I pulled into the 7-11 -- my mainstay for bad coffee and local information. I know it seems silly but, though I despise the coffee, I somehow feel I have to buy it to get the information I need. I knocked the snow off my Shaftesbury oxfords and cursed that I hadn't, once again, brought something appropriate for the snowy climate. The attendant looked suitably bored. There was a young man finishing his purchase that I assumed was one of the new age college students that Boulder produces. Most likely Mommy and Daddy paid full fare for the boy so he could wear his blond hair like a Rastafarian, pretending to be a rebel, while heading for a secure future in Daddy's law firm. I laughed softly at my own observations, stepped up in line, paid for my coffee and asked where I could find a room. "You got to go back down Main man. Head back out of town and look up the hill. Plenty of places out of town," the attendant informed me. "You mean to tell me there isn't a place to stay here in town." I asked, to which I got a shrug. Disgusted by the poor quality of information one gets from 7-11 attendants in Boulder, I exited the store and ran into the blond Rastafarian college boy. I excused myself several times while brushing spilled coffee off of my London Fog overcoat. Only after I realized the boy hadn't responded did I look up to see the amused look on his face, crystal blue eyes dancing, blond dredlocks framing his angular face like a lion's mane. At once I was curious about the boy, it must have showed on my face. "I heard you're looking for a place to stay," he said. "Yes," was all I could manage. "Well, all my housemates are out of town, Christmas vacation you know. If you don't mind staying with a bored college kid dying for company, you can stay at the house. My roomies won't mind and I won't charge you anything, well, except some decent conversation." When did I agree? I don't know. All I do know is that I wound up standing in a fairly well furnished house, shared by three obviously well-to-do kids. Casey, as he introduced himself to me, was bright and lively. Once he learned that I was in communications sales, he grilled me about every aspect of the business. I learned that he was an engineering major and hoped to someday work for Lucent Technologies. I found his questions interesting and stimulating. "You want a hit," he asked pulling out a crystal lead pipe. "No thanks," I chuckled, "I haven't done that stuff since I was your age." "You sure? This ain't dank it's pure kind bud." Here followed a lecture on the beauty of this kind of pot, the florescent green color, the purple and red hairs running through the velvety leaves and the sweet pungent smell of the bud itself. I was intrigued by his connoisseur attitude toward the illegal substance but still declined. He held the bud to his nose as if it was a fine cigar, sighed and offered me a beer instead, which I accepted. I was expecting a Coors or Budweiser but my young friend surprised me with a Boddington, a delightful, dark, creamy ale that brighten my spirits as well as lightened my senses. He lit his pipe and took a few savored hits of the seductive perfumed smoke. We stared uneasily in silence at one another before I remembered that I wanted a hot bath. Casey politely showed me where the bathroom and the extra towels were located. He grabbed a fluffy green towel and as he handed it to me our hands met. We paused. I found myself gently caressing the back of his hand with my thumb, absorbing the slenderness of his hand and youthful softness of his flesh. I caught myself; startled I looked up, and began pulling my hand away. His head was bowed, looking at my hand. I couldn't tell what he was thinking. I was embarrassed at my actions but in that moment he looked up into my eyes. His expression was longing as he looked at my hand and whispered, "That was nice." He turned, leaving me to my bath and the warmth of his comment. I shut the door more than a bit flushed. I started the water, testing the temperature, and turned on the showerhead. I undressed slowly, trying to get my wits about me. I had no doubt made a fool of myself. I would have to apologize for my rudeness to my gracious host. The boy had stirred me in places I had long repressed for the sake of my career. I could see the scenario ending with, "Look man, I think you're cool but I didn't mean nothing by inviting you here. I just wanted some conversation." Then would be the awkwardness of the night and the morning. I was three times the boy's age and fantasizing about a liaison. It was ridiculous. I let the shower pour over my hair and laved myself with the shampoo. I would be straightforward with my apology. I wouldn't belabor the facts. I had fucked up and was sorry. I hoped that it wouldn't ruin the rest of our time together, that is, if he still wanted me to stay. I sucked in a breath. I felt a cool draft. I realized that he might be so embarrassed by my forwardness that he might wish me to leave. "Very well," I thought, "He has every right." I heard the glass shower door slide open. I squinted through the layered suds running past my eyes. Casey stood in the shower with me, his head bowed and eyes slightly up turned; giving me a little boy lost expression. "I hope you don't mind," he whispered I smiled, relieved and shook my head. "No," I said, "I don't mind at all." He turned his back to the shower and tilted his head beneath the water, wetting his mane thoroughly. I poured shampoo into his hair and began massaging it into his locks and scalp. He moaned. He leaned back into me, the slippery soapiness mingling between our warm bodies. I used the moisturizing foam to gently massage his neck and shoulders. I felt the hardness of my flesh rise between the smooth split between his boyish thighs. I trembled. He turned and smiled at me. The muscle between his thighs was firm and jerking. He took the soap and lathered it in his hands. "Turn around," he said. I obeyed. I felt the heat of his hands mix with the shower's spray as he began washing and massaging my shoulders, neck and back. I was panting at the sensations given by the boy's hands as they roamed and washed my body. I turned, following the tug of his hand. He moved into my arms and we rinsed together under the spray. "You really don't mind?" he asked his warm cheek pressed against my chest. "Casey," I answered, "If I don't live another day, all my wishes and dreams have now been fulfilled." He smiled up at me, his lips glistening like rose petals after a spring rain. I took him into my mouth. I sucked his tongue between my lips, his head tilted back, eyes closed, water running over our pressed bodies, my hands roaming the slippery bumps and cervices of his firm flesh. Our penises jostled together, play fighting as they massaged the other's belly. Gasping, he pulled away. "Will you sleep with me tonight?" I smiled, brushed his wet hair and answered, "Yes." We dried one another. I slid the towel down his slender legs with slow, loving care. I toweled and dried between his buttocks. His penis I sucked dry, his hands strained on my shoulders as moans escaped his lips. I lifted him off his feet -- something that I had always wanted to do -- and carried him to bed, kissing along the way, his arms around my neck. I admired him as he lay beneath me. He was smooth except the curly blond hairs surrounding the vein filled pulsating muscle that waved invitingly at me. His arms stiffened on my shoulders; preventing my lips from linking with it. I looked up in his eyes. He slid beneath me until my penis head rested touching his ball sac. He lifted his legs and encircled me "Please," he whispered. I took his head in both of my hands, flattening his hair, steadying him as I tasted again of his mouth, my heart pumping; swelling my cock as it pulsed between his testicles and rectum. His breathing was shallow and forced. He looked pleadingly into my eyes. I nodded and took his thighs in my hand. I pushed myself down between his legs and buried my face between his cheeks, kissing and licking at his rectum as it opened and closed to my protruding tongue. He gasped and moaned, begging me not to stop, whimpering how good it felt. But I did stop, long enough to position my aching cock at his threshold of pleasure. He pulled at me, imploring me to enter him, scratching at me to penetrate him. I sucked air into my chest and lay down upon him. He cried his prayer of thanksgiving as I answered again and again with my piercing "Ode to Joy." Through the night we fulfilled one another, rested in one another, only to reawaken to fulfill the other's desire once more. ***** I awoke to the warm caress of Casey's hand on my chest, his life-giving kiss on my cheek and the pools of blue that were his eyes. "You got to go, huhn?" he asked. I got up and reached for my cell phone. I turned and smiled at him as I heard the voice pick up on the other end. I had vacation time coming. I was taking it. It was Christmastime, after all. ************************************************************************ To Support this and other stories by Tom Cup, visit http://www.tomcup.com Send comments to: comments@tomcup.com