Another Hotel Bar

Another Hotel Bar

"It'd be awesome to see you again," I texted back

You texted that I should meet you at The Keep, which is in the Hotel Leveque.

I spent a lot of time getting ready to see you again. I started internally, just in case what I hoped would happen actually happened.

I continued externally. I shaved my face and neck and then my balls and crack. I let my course salt and pepper hair -- which I had grown out -- hang loose, using enough product to tame my curls, but not so much that my hair had a will of its own.

I dressed to show off my body. My black shirt was tight. It was not age appropriate.

My grey LuLuLemons were just as tight. They hugged me everywhere I wanted to be hugged. They showed everything I wanted to show.

My white Stan Smith tennis shoes were also not age appropriate.

You were already standing at the bar when I arrived, but I didn't recognize you, at least not immediately. Your loose, wavy hair was shorter and styled. You wore horned rim glasses, like Superman. Your clean, sharp jawline was bearded. Your "dad bod" was transformed. Your chest and shoulders were still broad, but your waist was narrowed, your torso now a distinct V.

"Ooooh... I bet Clay has cum gutters," I thought.

Your ass and legs were still thick, but they seemed sleeker, even through your jeans.

"Clay?" I asked, approaching you from the left.

"Jacks!" you answered, turning and wrapping me up, your arms embracing me warmly.

I answered your embrace, my arms under yours.

"I almost didn't recognize you," I said, once the embrace ended. "You have a beard. You cut your hair. You look so different."

"I am so different," you said. "Let's get you a drink and I'll tell you how much."

We ordered me a wine to match your vodka. As we waited, you pushed your left shoulder against my right.

"I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again," I said.

"You changed me," you said. "It took me a long time to sort it out, but you changed me."

"For the better?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah," you said. "Oh yeah."

My wine arrived. I grabbed it, and we looked around. There was a table for two in the corner. We claimed it.

"I can't believe you're here," I said, reaching my right hand across the table and grasping your left.

"Before we get started," you said, "I have some questions about the last time I saw you."

"Uh oh," I thought. "Shoot," I urged.

"Why'd you just leave?" you asked. "I mean, I thought you might join me in the shower, and instead you scribbled a quick note and left?"

"I've been with a lot of straight guys, Clay," I explained. "And, as much fun as the being with is, the after is usually a combination of disgust, regret, or shame, and it's almost always extremely awkward to wrap it all up. So, I decided to let you off the hook and get while the getting was good."

"Turns out," you said, smiling, "I'm a bit crooked."

"Really?" I asked. "Holy shit," I thought.

"Do tell," I added.

"Buckle up, Buttercup," you said. "It's quite a ride."

I pretended to buckle a seat belt and then used my hands to pull my ears forward. Obviously, I was signaling that I was all ears.

"Probably the biggest thing," you said, holding up your hand and showing me your naked fourth finger, "I'm divorced. Turns out, I was not the only one cheating. Not long after Chicago, Kelly -- my wife -- confessed that the twins may not be mine, as she had been for more than three years fucking my best friend in our neighborhood, Marcus. Turns out, they were, in fact, not mine. No need for a paternity test, either. Like Marcus, they have dark skin.... Marcus is black. So are the twins."

"Wow," I said.

"It gets better," you continued. "Marcus, too, was married at the time. His wife delivered their first child -- a girl -- about three weeks before Kelly delivered her fourth and fifth and his second and third."

"Bigger wow," I said.

"Yep," you continued. "Marcus is also now divorced. His wife took Keisha, their daughter, back to Birmingham, where she is from. Kelly now lives down the street with Marcus and their sons, Marcus -- he's a Junior, and they call him Deuce -- and Malcom."

"That must be hard," I offered, trying to be empathetic.

"It was. It isn't now. We've all made our peace with it. Kelly's happier. I'm happier. My boys can see their mom and their brothers whenever they want." You air quoted "brothers."

"Well, that's big of you," I siad. "I mean, it's one thing to cheat, it's another thing to be friends with the man who was fucking your wife while pretending to be your friend."

"We're friendLY," you corrected, "not friends... And, there's a reason there's only one letter separating friend from fiend."

I had never thought of that.

"Marcus is a fiend," you said. "But I'm a bit of one, too. I mean, I was unfaithful to Kelly throughout our marriage."

"Throughout?" I asked.

"Yes," you answered. "I fucked someone besides my wife on my first business trip after our wedding. After that, I kept doing it, every trip. I never got caught, but I never didn't get caught, either. It was just there, always between us."

"Did you suspect her?" I asked.

"No," you answered. "She, too, is a fiend. I mean, she was fucking him right under my nose, during her so-called 'runs', when she was 'shopping', when she was 'running errands'. I mean, she lost interest in me because he was splitting her on the regular, and her pussy could only take so much."

"You seem freakishly sanguine about this," I observed.

"Anger and resentment corrode the vessel that carries them," you answered. "For my boys, I can be friendly with Kelly and Marcus.... And, I'm a bit of a glass house on this one, as you well know. I mean, I railed you when she was at home with what I thought were my twins."

My mind went to Chicago, particularly to me riding you as hard as I had ever ridden anyone. It brought a smile to me face.

"I bet I know exactly what you're thinking about," you said. When I lifted my eyebrows, you said, "You were like Willie Shoemaker up there, backstretching at the Derby."

I was taken aback by your reference. I thought you were too young to know who Willie Shoemaker was.

"I enjoyed the ride," I said sheepishly. "I'd like to do it again," I suggested.

"Patience is a virtue, Jacks," you teased, smiling.

I smiled back.

We were like teenagers, grinning at each other, stupefied.

"Single looks good on you," I finally said, looking you up and down again.

"You inspired me," you answered. "I mean, if you can look like that at your age, then I didn't have to look like I did at my age."

Your "at your age" stung a little bit. I mean, it was true, but some truths don't have to be revealed.

"Plus," you continued, "if I was going to get back out there, then I needed to put myself in the best position to succeed."

"Have you?" I asked. "Gotten back out there, I mean."

"I have," you answered. "Tighten that buckle and I'll tell you about it."

I repeated my prior motions, both with the buckle and with my ears.

"Not long after Kelly moved down the street, I met Fiona through an App. I made it clear that I was after sex, not a relationship. She was down for it. We hooked up on the regular. Fee, what I called her, was freaky and a pig for it. She'd do anything, anytime. I fucked her every which way. And, when I say I fucked her, I mean I fucking railed her. She liked it fast and hard, like a fucking jack hammer."

"Faster and harder than me?" I asked.

"I don't know," you answered. "I can't go harder and faster than I went with you. But, that's how hard and fast I went at her, especially when I fucked her ass.... Anyway, after a couple of months, she asked if her friend could join us, and I was 'Holy shit, of course.' I mean, what guy doesn't dream of an FMF? I totally greenlit it, but -- I can tell from the smile on your face you know what's coming -- her friend wasn't an F, he was an M. She wanted to watch me fuck him, so I gave her what she wanted. After that, it was the three of us as often as it was the two of us. It was like BiGuys Fuck on steroids. We did everything, and I mean everything, but I never let him fuck me."

"Why not?" I asked, both enthralled by, and uncharacteristically jealous because of, your story.

"Patience is a virtue, Jacks," you said. "Anyway, Derek -- that was his name -- claimed to be bi, but I don't think a bi guy would have fixated on my dick like he did. I mean, he fucked Fee while I fucked him, but I think that was just for appearances. He was all over me, 'up in here up in here'," you said, gesturing with your hands like you were dancing. "As soon as we started going, he'd dive on my dick and shove his finger in my ass. I'd have to pull him off so I could fuck Fee."

"He doesn't sound bi to me," I agreed. "I mean, you can tell the difference between where they want to be and where they're willing to be pretty quickly."

"It was pretty clear where he wanted to be," you said.

"You still riding with them?" I asked.

"No," you answered. "Me not letting him fuck me became a thing. He wanted it, almost like he was obsessed with it, and she wanted to see it, and I mean she was like totally fixated on wanting to see it. He tried once, without asking, and it pissed me the fuck off. When I told them it was never going to happen, she told me I was selfish and got all pouty, and I was like 'I'm out'. I didn't sign up for that. I signed up for fun, and I was no longer having fun."

"We're you tempted?" I asked. "To let him fuck you, or at least try to?"

"No, I wasn't tempted at all," you answered.

I thought you were foreclosing bottoming. You weren't.

"So, Jacks," you said. "It's time for some brutal honesty. One, I don't have a room here. I can get one, but I don't have one. I'm hoping you'll take me to your home instead. Two, if I'm going to bottom for anyone, then it's going to be for you. Three, just in case, I'm plugged up right now."

"What?" I asked, incredulous.

You repeated word for word what you had just said, using the exact same intonations, as if my "what" was an expression of not having heard your rather than of complete, and total fucking surprise. When you finished, I was so hard I thought I might rip right through my zipper. I had to focus to avoid coming in my pants right there.

"You're plugged up?" I asked, more incredulous than I had been, which was almost impossible.

"Yep," you answered. "Turns out, I like things in my ass... fingers... tongues... toys."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Clay,"I said, pressing my erection through my jeans. "Can we get out of here?"

"I thought you'd never ask," you answered, standing and revealing that you were just as hard as I was. "Anticipation," I thought to the Carly Simon song, "is making me wait."

"But," you interrupted. "I need to come before we go. I've been hard for too long. Come with me," you said, holding out your hand.

I took it and you pulled me to the Men's Room. Anyone watching had to know where we were going and why. We were obvious in the most obvious way of being obvious.

You shoved me into a stall and locked the door. You ripped my jeans open and then yours. You spun me around and jacked me against the door, your erection grinding against my back side. I came quickly, shot after shot hitting and then running down the drab grey door.

When I was finished, I turned around and squatted down. I didn't want to waste yours like you had wasted mine. I took you in my mouth and sucked you as hard as I could.

"Fuck, Jacks," you said. "I'm so close. I need you to eat it. Oh, shit, here it comes. Eat it, Jacks. Eat it."

I ate it. Every last drop of it.

"Thank God," you said, as we put ourselves away and zipped up. "I was getting to a breaking point."

"Me, too," I thought, even though I hadn't realized it. "Me, too."

We walked shoulder to shoulder to my car. As we did, we both started laughing.

"This is surreal," you said.

"I know," I answered.

It was. It didn't make any sense that a conversation at a bar over a year ago had led us to this point.

"Here," you said, pulling me to you when we got to the car, "I should have done this as soon as I saw you."

With that, you pulled your glasses from your face, pinned me to the door, and buried your tongue in my mouth. You kissed me so hard my legs gave out.

When the kiss ended, you pressed your erection against me and said, "I'm already hard again. You make me so hard, Jacks. So fucking hard."

"If you only knew," I thought to myself. "If you only knew."

"How far?" you asked.

"Fifteen, twenty minutes," I answered, shifting into drive and peeling out. "Faster if I drive like this."

"I need you to drive as fast as you can," you pleaded.

Halfway home, you said, "I think that, when we get to your house, we should get right to it. I want you to pull this plug out of me and replace it with the real thing. I want to know what it feels like to get fucked. I've been thinking about it for too long. I need it to happen. When you're done fucking me, we can back up and start over, doing all the things. But, first and foremost, I need this 'get fucked' itch scratched."

I was gobsmacked. "Clayton," I said, "I'd pull over right now and fuck you on the hood of my car. So, fucking you in the foyer of my home, right after we walk in the door, is not too much to ask."

I didn't fuck you in the foyer. We entered through the garage, which was off the kitchen. So, I fucked you against the island instead. It was raw and wild, even though I am, at best, a mediocre top.

You unbuckled your belt and undid your jeans in the car. You pulled them down as you walked from the car into the kitchen. You put your hands on island, spread your legs, and dropped your head to the marble.

I kneeled behind you. I nibbled on your ass cheeks and then bit them hard. I wanted to leave a mark.

I licked through your crack, including over the flat of the glass plug you had buried inside you. I pulled it in and out. I twisted it. You literally mewed when I did.

"Why me?" I asked, working the plug with my hand and your crack with my tongue.

You were gasping. "It's what you wanted the most," you said, "in Chicago. As I thought about it, I decided that if anyone was going to pop me, it should be you..... Oh fuck, that feels so fucking good.... My God, Jacks.... I'm ready, and I want it to be you.... So, fuck me already.... Just fucking fuck me, Jacks."

I slowedly pulled the plug out. You were gaping open.

"Jesus, Clayton, you're so open," I observed.

"I know.... I've had that in there for awhile.... I need you to replace it."

As I undid my belt, button, and zipper, I went back to eating your gaping your ass. I was ravenous. It made my unleashing of myself jagged and a little painful.

"Jacks," you said. "I'm ready. Quit eating me and fuck me. I can't wait any longer."

"Fuck," I responded. "I don't have a condom."

I hadn't expected to fuck you. I had hoped you would fuck me, and I wanted that raw if it was going to happen. I didn't think you were a risk.

"No need to be sorry," you said. "My first time, I want to feel it all."

I grabbed the expensive olive oil I kept on the island and coated myself. It wasn't ideal, but it beat a blank. Even though you were gaped, dry was not the right try.

Once coated, I lined up behind you. To my surprise, you reached back and spread your cheeks as wide as you could. You didn't need to. You were so open, an elephant could have fucked you. I pushed in. I was wild with desire and need. It took every ounce of self-control that I possessed not push in as fast as I could and start hammering as hard as I could.

"Are you okay?" I asked, when I was lodged as deeply as I could get.

"I'm more than okay," you said. "Fuck me, Jacks. Fuck me like I fucked you."

I don't like to fuck fast and hard. I'm a deliberate fucker.

"I'm sorry, Clay," I cautioned, "but fast and furious isn't my thing. I'm a turtle, not a hare."

"You be you," you answered.

I started sliding in and out of you. In my life, I had figured out that counting helped my staying power, so I was counting strokes in my head. I wanted to last, but not too long. I didn't want your first time to be torturous.

"One hundred," I thought to myself. "Give him one hundred and then go."

I didn't give you a hundred. At about twenty, you started to whimper.

"Clay," I asked, stopping my strokes, "are you okay? Am I hurting you."

"Yes and no," you answered. "I'm good. I'm really, really good. I had no idea it could feel this good. I'm about to come."

I started fucking you again. Your channel was like a Chinese handcuff, the kind I played with when I was a kid, around my erection.

"Jesus, Clay, you're so tight," I said.

"Thank God," you said. "It'd be weird if I wasn't."

"I don't want to hurt you," I said.

"You're not, Jacks. You're not hurting me at all.... Stop worrying about me and fuck me.... Go for it.... Give it to me.... I want it."

I gripped your hips and stopped worrying about you. I started stroking you the way I liked to stroke my prey.

At fifty strokes, I was about to lose my shit. You lost yours first.

"God... God... God," you panted as you clenched around me and coated the marble of my waterfall island, your dick showing it had a mind of its own and could flow when it wanted.

The clenching was enough for me. I shot and shot and shot, my body twitching before I got to sixty strokes.

I slumped over you, my sweaty chest against your sweaty back. "I hope that was okay," I whispered, my jeans still around my knees.

"It was more than okay," you whispered back. "I'm so glad I waited for you."

Rather than pull our jeans up, we stepped out of them. When you moved to clean your mess off the marble, I told you to leave it. I'd clean it later. For now, I wanted to keep the evidence of what I'd done to you.

We were nude on the couch, a bottle of Silver Oak split between my oversized wine glasses, our legs intertwined.

"I've learned so much about myself," you continued. "I like everything about sex with women. Everything. I'm not the same about sex with men. I like kissing them, but I don't like sucking them. It's just not for me. I like getting sucked by them, but not sucking them. I like fucking them, and now I know I like being fucked. I suspected I would. I like ass play. A lot. I mean, I finger myself when I'm jacking off now, so.... "

You trailed off. I put my wine down and lowered my face to your lap. I took your soft dick in my mouth so I could do one of the things I really liked, which was feel a guy get hard in my mouth.

You put your wine glass down and rotated on the sofa. You put your left foot on the floor and draped your right leg over the back. You were wide. I licked my finger and slid it into you as I sucked and sucked your dick. Your ass was still oily. I wondered about my sofa and what had leaked out of you onto it.

"Fuck, Jacks," I heard as I found the bundle of nerves and started working it in rhythm with my mouth on your dick. I could tell by the way your were tensing and writhing that you were about to feed me.

"Fuck, Jacks," I heard again as I slurped away. "Here it comes. Here it fucking comes."

When you arched your back, I drove my finger into your prostate and took the flow I triggered, your cum filling my mouth and then sliding down my throat as I looked to the heavens.

You were spent. You slid down until you were flat on the coach. I straddled your chest and took my erection in my hand. You stared at me as I jacked myself. You held my hips steady as I closed in, your eyes glued to my hand as I beat myself to the edge.

"Oh fuck," I said, my body going rigid as I fell off the ledge. You closed your eyes and turned your head as the first volley shot over you and as the second and theirs and fourth landed on your face, your neck, and your chest.