An Evening Out

"A second tenor," I answered.

He zeroed in on what he really wanted to clear up. "And gay? It's a gay men's chorus."

"Yes."

"Actively gay?"

"Just with my partner in recent years."

"But before that?"

"Yes." Why was I answering his intrusive questions?

"Indiscriminately? Casually? Big men?"

"Yes." We both knew what he meant by "big" men. I knew then that he was hung and checking out fit. Could I take a big cock? Had I taken big cocks? Did I do—had I done—so casually? How easy was I—had I been any time in the past? I'd have to say "yes" to all of that. Suddenly I ached for the chance to say "yes" to all of that.

"Your partner has been ill for some months?"

"Yes."

"He was dominant and you are submissive, right?"

"Yes," I whispered. He kept drilling down toward the question, "Will you lay down and open your legs for me and take my cock?" And I kept responding to his questions.

I both felt and heard the lowering of my zipper this time. I didn't do anything to stop him this time.

"I find you very attractive," he said. "I want to fuck you."

"I have a partner." Keep Raymond in the room, I thought.

"Aaron tells me you have worn yourself out taking care of your partner. That you needed an evening out. That you need this—that you need me to fuck you. Yes, Aaron told me that there would be someone at the party who I might like being with me tonight. I am highly sexed. I don't like to sleep alone. He was right. You arouse me. I want to be inside you." We had reached the key question. He hadn't quite asked it yet, but it was lingering there in the air.

"I understand that your partner—Raymond—is a big financial backer of the choir and that he wants, if I come to Asheville, for you to be pleased with me—in a sexual way." Zing! That was an unexpected arrow, and it completely took the excuse of Raymond off the board. But it raised another inhibiting specter.

"So, you are doing this as part of the negotiations of your coming to Asheville?" I asked, a bit heatedly.

"No, I am doing this because I want to make you and your loyalty to your lover is getting between us. I want you to understand that it's a false barrier. He wants me to fuck you. I want to fuck you. Could I get it up and keep it up as I have if I didn't want to fuck you? The dick doesn't lie."

No, I suppose it doesn't, I thought. Mine certainly had betrayed my want and need. He had fished my erection out of my trousers and was slow stroking me. I hadn't stopped him. "I want to make love to you, to fuck you. I need to be with—inside—someone tonight. Lay down for me, open your legs to me, let me fuck you. Don't think of your Raymond tonight. He doesn't want you to. I can take care of your needs. I want you to take care of mine."

There it was, the very question.

I can't do this to Raymond kept screaming through my mind. Fighting with that was Raymond saying, "We want this new director. Be nice to him this evening." And Aaron saying, "Be nice to Jason Ward this evening." Both of them strongly hinting, "Let him fuck you. Give in to your need." And Aaron saying "be nice to yourself too. You need a break. You need comfort as well." And the hunk that was Jason Ward kissing my neck and shoulders and stroking my cock—Jason, a god, saying he wanted to fuck me.

With a low moan, I whispered, "Yes." My voice had been low, but he'd heard me.

"You'll lay down for me, open your legs to me, and let me fuck you?" Just checking for sure.

"Yes. Do you want to fuck me here on the bed or in the bathroom or on the sofa?"

"Good. Yes, I want to fuck you in all those places, but, for now, here on the bed will be fine," he said and I heard my belt buckle being undone. "Come up and lie on the bed on your back."

He used the maneuver of me coming up on the bed to pull my trousers, briefs, shoes, and socks off and drop them to the floor. I just went with it. We were going to do it.

He stretched out beside me, my head pillowed under his right arm and his left hand exploring my naked body as I groaned and moaned for him. I had my legs together, and his hand glided down there, and went between my thighs. I opened them a bit and sighed as he lightly stroked my inner thighs. My cock was standing straight up in throbbing erection.

"Turn your thighs out a bit for me," he whispered. "Like this." He placed turn my thigh with his hands to the position he wanted them in, and I let him do it. "Push your groin up. Proudly show your cock." I did. His hand went there and stroked it. "You have a very nice cock."

I was going to have a hard, god-like man between my thighs tonight.

"Please, please. I might come," I pleaded. "It's been so long since—"

"Your body is so nice. You deserve to be fucked regularly. I'm going to be so good to you. It doesn't matter if you come now. You can come as many times as you want tonight. I can make you come repeatedly."

I shuddered.

"Open your legs for me now, please. Yes, spread them. Bend them, feet flat on the bed. Elevate your pelvis more, please. I want to see your hole. I want to open you up for me. I have a big cock."

I complied, trembling.

"Nice. But it will have to open much more for me. I have a very big shaft."

His demands, calmly expressed as if they were oh so reasonable requests, were raw, straightforward. They were driving me wild. Spoken in any other tone, they would be crude, earthy. But I was beginning to want that from him. If he suddenly rolled over on top of me and took me swiftly, I would melt to him.

His hands were on my buttocks, spreading them and squeezing them. I gasped as he leaned over and blew on my anus and then gasped again as one of his fingers went to my hole. He rimmed it for several seconds and then penetrated it. I tensed and my sphincter closed down on it, but he massaged that a bit. I moaned, feeling myself turning to Jell-O. I was losing control. I started to lower my legs to expel the finger and roll away from him. No one else had fucked me this way—methodically destroyed all of my defenses before taking me.

"No, no. Keep your legs where they are. Let me in. Relax, don't fight me. Give it all to me."

With a groan I returned to the position he'd put me in and he inserted a second finger in me, massaging my sphincter with it as the other finger sank deeper into me. Like gates rolling open, the way opened to him and he pressed deeper in with the second finger. He whispered, "Relax. Let me in. Yes, like that. Continue opening. Let me do whatever I want. Where is it? Yes, there it is." His matter-of-factness sent me up a notch in arousal.

He'd found my prostate and was lightly rubbing it. I was seeing flashes of light and moaned and I rolled my hips slightly against the probing of his finger. He bent over and took my cock in his mouth. The fingers in my ass were moving, in and out, in and out. Pressing against the wall, teasing the channel to widen. His tongue was flicking at my urethra slit and then was pressing in like he was going to fuck my dick with it. I gasped and then gasped again as his lips slid all the way down the shaft and he was constricting his throat muscles on it.

I shuddered and shot my load in his throat. It didn't seem to faze him a bit. He slowly pulled his mouth off my cock, did some cleanup work with his tongue, and then raised his lips to mine and we kissed. I was surprised when I found we were sharing some of my cum. Raymond had never done anything like this with me before. I was trembling. I never would have done this with anyone else. I was Jason's captive, wondering what else I would do with him that I'd never done with any other man.

Apparently, whatever he wanted.

When we came out of the kiss, I apologized. "I'm sorry. I don't usually come that quickly."

"Nice," he said. "Even your cum is sweet. You haven't had it for a while, have you? But your body is so nice. You have a very nice cock. And you're tight, but you'll open fully to me. I'll make you come for me again . . ." He pulled a moan out of me and smile that he had.

He was so professional about this. I didn't doubt that I would come for him as often as he wanted me too. I was completely his now. There was no going back—or thinking of doing so. We'd already had sex and he hadn't even fucked me yet.

I moved to close my legs, but he put his hand on the inner thigh of my left leg and said, "No, stay that way. I'm going to do you in a missionary, and you're already in position for that."

I was trembling again. He was so open and straightforward, so matter-of-fact about this—and so, so sexy.

He rolled off the bed and stood up beside it, saying, "Stay there, just like that," again. I watched him strip off his trousers and briefs and socks. He'd taken his shoes off and left them by the door earlier. He wanted me to see him do that, to undress. His body was magnificent, lightly hirsute, and more than lightly muscled, with a sculpted six pack. His navel was marked by a sunburst tattoo that radiated out from it an inch and a half in all directions. He was hung and fully erect.

I had a short flash of pleasure and pride that I had made him hard.

"Is your partner this big?" he asked, cupping his erect cock. His tone again showed just mild curiosity.

"No, not quite. But he's big."

"After I have reamed you to my size, will he notice that a bigger man has been there?"

"We haven't fucked in months. He has cancer. He's dying. We won't fuck ever again."

"Ah, yes. Now I remember being told that. Sorry. But that will make this special. I will have to fuck you very well, if you are only going to get it every few months, won't I?"

"Yes," I answered. I wasn't going to banter with him about this.

"Luckily, I do fuck well. I think you'll remember this for a couple of months. If I come to Asheville, we can fuck regularly."

His right hand went into the slit in his wallet and he came up with a condom packet, which he held up for me to see and then slit it, extracted a disk, rolled the condom on his cock, and smoothed it out—all while I watched and came close to hyperventilating.

He smiled a charming smile for me and said, "You have said yes to so much. Say yes to me now. It would be best if we were absolutely clear. I am going to fuck you, aren't I?"

"Yes."

He held his erection in his hand and wagged it at me. "I'm going to put this big shaft deep inside you and ride you hard."

"Yes." He wasn't asking just to make it clear. He wanted to heighten my arousal. It was working.

I had my cock in my hand, stroking it and moving my hips. I was rubbing my nipples with my hand. Panting, panting hard now. Now, now. Fuck me now.

"You're going to have a ball being balled by me."

"Yes." The crude language from a young man who had been so refined before we'd come to this hotel room was sending my arousal into the stratosphere. It was as if he knew what the effect would be on me. I was tingling all over. Alive. More alive than I'd been in several months. Now. Now. Fuck me now.

He came back up on the bed below me, crouching below me, grabbing my ankles and raising and spreading my legs. I yelped and began to pant as he rolled my pelvis up and stuck his face in my crack, going for my asshole with his tongue.

I came again within minutes. That appeared to be a signal for him to stop the tease.

He fucked me in the promised missionary position, his knees pressed far under my buttocks, with my thighs running far up his, which raised my pelvis at an acute angle. My legs hung on his waist, my feet not able to touch the surface of the bed, my arms flung out from my sides, with my fingers clawing at the bedspread, while I panted and babbled such intelligent words as "Oh, shit. Fuck! Christ. God, you're big. You're enormous." And later, when he was pumping me hard, pumping me deep, "You're killing me! Yes, yes, yes! Git it, git it, git it."

While, forcing himself in me deep and I arched my back and yodeled to the ceiling, he got it and got it and got it. But at first, initially, he held, rock-hard steady, and I moved my passage on the shaft, fucking myself, showing him how needy I was for it.

When he took over, he went in deep, into the inner core of me and held there, throbbing. I was mewing, begging him to pump me, but he held there, throbbing, my passage muscles rippling over his hard shaft. A cock thicker and longer than Raymond's, I thought, in embarrassment, especially since this man had gotten me to tell that, although Raymond had nothing to be ashamed of in that department. I had a stab of guilt, seeing this as another betrayal of Raymond.

The only negative with Jason was that Raymond didn't use condoms. I would miss the feel of his warm cum exploding into me. I felt guilty about bringing up Raymond and making comparisons in this position. I needed the friction so badly that, on the first penetration, I had used my core muscles to move on the cock that Jason was holding there, steady. He had laughed, running his hands down my thighs, possessed my cock and stroked it, as I moved my passage on his hard shaft, fucking myself. With Raymond, it had always been him showing his need to fuck me; with Jason, it was me showing my need to be fucked by him.

He slowly, relentlessly, joined me in the fuck, taking ever deeper, ever more rapid strokes, until I collapsed and left the fuck to him. With months of depravation, I had come yet again, with him stroking my cock to the rhythm his cock was stroking my passage, when he came as well. He rolled off me, pulled the spent condom off his cock, and made a perfect throw with it into a waste basket.

"That was nice. You're an excellent lay. You needed that, I could tell. I needed to get my rocks off too. You heated me up thinking that maybe you wouldn't take me. Stay right there. Don't move," he said. "If this is all you're getting this month, this will have to be a marathon. I Need another one—another rubber—and I'll need a couple of minutes before I can fuck you again."

He went off to the bathroom, and I stayed right in place, on my back. The guilt was still there—and the embarrassment about how open and raw he was about this, and that it turned me on—but we'd fucked once. Now that I was here, if he wanted to fuck again, I'd let myself concentrate on the requests to please him rather than the disloyalty I was showing Raymond. I had thought I could make it to the end with Raymond and feel good about my commitment to him later. The commitment of a much younger theater singer and dancer to an older wealthy man had always been there between us as something that easily could wound and then fester. But I'd done my best—at least for the last eight years after the one blowup and separation—until just now.

But, god Jason could fuck. And he was hung like a bull. Perfect in every way, damn him. He had left the bathroom and breezed by me to the kitchenette. Maybe for more wine. I could still feel his fat cock in me, working me, and I had a stab of disappointment when he walked by the bed. He'd said he'd fuck me again. But he said he'd need some time for recovering before he did. And of course he did. But I ached to have him inside me again.

Thoughts of Raymond, wheezing in his bed and me not being there tonight, assaulted my mind, but I kept pushing them back—reminding myself of Raymond's permission, of him actually helping set this up. If I was going to two-time him and let myself be fucked, I'd at least lay back and enjoy the fuck.

Jason was back at the side of the bed. He'd gotten another condom packet from the bathroom. Apparently, he traveled with only one in his wallet. He rolled it on and smoothed it out.

"Phase two," he said. "We've been introduced; this is where we ride each other like lovers."

And ride each other like lovers we did. It was another missionary position, but very different from the first. At his direction, I sat in his lap, facing him, my thighs over his, the two of us in a close embrace. He was inside me, deep. We wrapped our arms around each other, my smooth chest rubbing against his slightly hirsute one, and kissed and cooed to each other. And we rocked against each other, both of us maintaining a motion with our hips and the leverage of our legs, and the swaying of our torsos with each other, causing his cock to slide in and out, deep.

"Go with me, baby. Yes, just like that," he cooed.

We became one perfect, synchronized fucking machine.

We moved faster and faster against each other, urging each other on, telling each other what a good fuck we were getting. I came first and just lay, arched back, in his embrace, my arms dangling at my side as he moved inside me, against me, kissing and licking my sternum and belly, and, eventually, tensed and jerked, one, two, three times, and I knew he was filling the bulb of his condom. The slight regret reared up in me and then melted away that we weren't barebacking, that I didn't feel his warm cum inside me.

"That was good," he whispered. "It would have been nicer if I wasn't sheathed, though. If we were permanent lovers and could fuck raw. I would love to fuck you raw. Maybe if I take the Asheville chorus job—"

My thoughts exactly. The specter of Raymond floated across my mind. But reality told me that, if Jason took the Asheville job, Raymond more likely than not be no longer be in the picture. I hadn't pictured anything after Raymond. Now I could be bold enough to do so—with Raymond's encouragement. I realized how much Raymond was in this fuck. He was signaling for me to get past total reliance on him and moving on in life.

"Yes, yes. Take the Asheville job. Come back to me—come inside me, raw, fully possessing," I murmured. If he had stripped off the condom now and mounted and penetrated me, I would have willingly taken him bareback.

"Let me see it," he said, gently pushing me on my back and folding my legs up into my chest and rolling my pelvis up. He dabbed at the rim of my hole with his finger. "Yes, nice open now. Maybe we can get a little rough now."

I sucked in air and flinched. He patted my buttocks, laughed, and said, "Just kidding."

But I couldn't tell how much he'd been kidding. He moved up to where he was stretched along my body again, pulled me to him with his right arm around my shoulders, looked down into my eyes, and then he took my lips with his again. The kiss became prolonged, intense, rough, almost brutal. When he released my mouth, he whispered, "Have you ever had it rough?"

"Not in the last twelve years—well the last eight years. My partner wasn't rough."

"You have been with your partner how long?"

"Twelve years."

"The first four years he fucked you rough? Slapped you around? Bound you?"

"No, not him. I wasn't always faithful to him at the beginning—only later, the last twelve years." I wanted to cry. Was Jason going to pull everything out of me? All of my secrets? Was he going dissect my relationship with Raymond? Was I going to let me, give him anything he wanted—pull every private secret out of me? Bareback me, if he want to even? I realized that I wanted him to bareback me.

"So, there were men who were rough with you before you went solely with your partner?"

"Yes."

"Did you enjoy being fucked rough by them."

I hesitated, but then I confessed. "Yes, sometimes."

"Have you thought that maybe you went with them in those years when you were first with your partner because he wouldn't fuck you rough, fuck you totally, and you needed that sometimes?"

I wouldn't answer that.

"Think about it," Jason said. Then he laughed and rolled away from me and off the bed. He left me, with the indication that that was the sex for a while, although I felt a flash of arousal when he said, "Can you stay the night? I like to sleep with the men I've enjoyed fucking."

He had seemed so professional at this that I couldn't tell if he really was enjoying it as much as I was. And I didn't want to take the risk of asking. I just reveled in each time he'd said something was nice or good.