Change of Guard

I was sitting on the toilet, lid closed, in Jeff Taylor's private office bathroom on the seventh floor of the Taylor building, home of the firm of Taylor, Taylor, and Taylor. My ankles were on Jeff's shoulders and Jeff, my boss's boss was gripping my hips, raising my pelvis to his need and in deep, fucking me vigorously. He liked to do me unexpectedly in chance-of-the moment venues. He was my boss's boss; he had privileges.

He'd just finished up a staff meeting, with me handing out the paperwork as his twenty-year-old gofer for the meeting. I was fresh out of college and into a very nice, thank you very much, Chicago apartment at Jeff's expense. I was whatever a male mistress is to him. He laid me whenever he wanted to. He paid my bills and owned my ass.

The meeting--and the reason for calling it--had been a great success to the extent of hundreds of millions of dollars of profit to the firm.

Jeff, a robust early forties guy in a family firm, who worked out daily and ran marathons and was one muscular, cut dude, if not a beauty queen, celebrated success with sex. Sex--using a young guy like me--was one form of exercise for him. I was his chosen vessel for his precious seed. He didn't like women. He liked handsome young guys with frosted hair and a saucy little sway to their gait, young guys who would open their legs and take cock from a forties muscle guy who didn't have movie star looks, but who was hung, vigorous, virile, and who paid the rent and the taxi fees.

He was good at it. He exercised regularly in this way. He had a whole lot of experience in fucking young men.

He liked variety and unexpected venues. So did I. He was in deep, thrusting hard and fast, huffing and puffing, the palms of his hands pressed into the wall behind the toilet. I was panting and digging the fingernails of one hand into his shoulder blades with one hand and jacking myself with the other. This was a piece of cake. I wasn't going to have a bit of trouble coming for him.

As he was reaching climax--we worked at coming together--I moved my nonengaged hand to his buttocks to hold him close into me and help, with the pressure of my hand to coordinate his thrusts with the thrusts of my hips back into him.

We exploded together in a writhing, "Oh, fuck, YES!" mutual liftoff, and breathing heavily and wheezing, Jeff pulled off me and turned immediately and stepped into his shower. It was the signal for me to collect myself and my clothes and to find someplace else to clean up before returning to my cubicle on the fourteenth floor to pretend to do work in a job where my only solid duties were to open my legs for the junior partner in the firm of Taylor, Taylor, and Taylor and to cry out for him what a great cocksman he was.

Jeff, in fact, was a way-above-average cocksman.

Jeff Taylor had gotten his rocks off with an angelic young guy with ambitions and good moves in taking cock. He'd appear at my apartment--well, the apartment he paid for--for an extended session. That one too would center on his lust and needs, not mine. He wouldn't give notice he would appear. He would expect me to be there if he did. My nightlife had become nonexistent. But then he'd demanded monogamy on my part--he liked to bareback--which wasn't the "me" of me before I had sold myself to him shortly after graduating from Michigan State.

I waited until after he'd gone back to his desk and then showered, dressed, and took the elevator down to the fourteenth floor. He didn't even look up from his desk when I walked by him. On my floor I waded through the sea of cubicles, the object of envy and censure of a roomful of other young and middle-aged, lower-middle-level ambitious workers, nearly half of whom probably knew the junior partner was screwing me and guarding my position in the firm. The fact that I had a corner cubicle, with floor to ceiling glass on two sides overlooking Lake Michigan was the tipoff that someone here was sponsoring--and using--me.

Sheryl had the cubicle next to mine and coveted the move into mine, if she could find a Taylor who fucked women. Taylor Senior was reputed to be years beyond being able to get it up for anyone and both of the Juniors were reputed to be gay. I certainly knew that one of them was. For now Sheryl was out of luck, and she didn't take it lightly or mince words about it.

"You're all aglow," she hissed as I passed her cubicle to get to mine. "Laid down for him again, did you? He's got a big one, does he?"

"As a matter of fact he does," I said, smiling as I passed.

Only minutes afterward we all heard the sound of the ambulance on the street below and tuned in to the siren dying right in front of the building. Shortly afterward the rumor flowed along the floor that one of the Taylor Juniors had been taken out of the building. Heart attack, they whispered. Eyes turned to my cubicle. I dared not look up from whatever paperwork sat on my desk, though. And I couldn't get up and walk across the floor to the elevators to explore what was what.

A half hour later, a voice lifted over the hubbub saying, "I got a call from Wanda in Human Resources. It was Jeff Taylor. Died on the way to the hospital."

Again, all eyes in the room turned to me. Sheryl hissed a quite audible, "Who's your daddy now, Neal?"

This time I did stand and slowly walked, through the simmering battleground, to the elevators, which I took down to the garage, got in the Miata convertible Jeff had bought for me, and drove back to my apartment. All the time I drove, I was thinking of steps I had to go through to find someplace smaller and what I had to downsize to be able to fit into it. I couldn't afford an apartment like that without a sugar daddy.

I certainly didn't think I'd find another sugar daddy at Taylor, Taylor, and Taylor. I'd put all of my eggs in one Taylor.

* * * *

I'd been sitting in the apartment, not bothering to turn on lights as darkness fell, waiting for the turn in the lock in the door for an hour beyond Jeff's usual arrival time, if he was coming, before I absorbed that he wasn't coming. He was never coming again. I wasn't shackled with the possibility that he would come--and that he'd expect me to be here. I was free to go out, if I wanted, to cruise as I liked to do pre-Jeff. I was aware how bald and unfair the feeling of freedom was that I was having. Jeff had been good to me. He'd paid for all of this. I had luxuriated in Jeff's fetish for young, good-looking men with frosted blond hair. Jeff had been a highly competent cocksman. He'd gotten me off each and every time. I never had to wonder if a date would get my rocks off.

I was free, which had its downs as well as its ups. But this meant I could go out, that I could go cruising for the first time in months.

I went to a trendy gay bar, one where the clientele was wealthy, well-dressed, civilized. I had considered going to a bikers' bar and letting it all hang out, but decided it was too soon for that. I'd build up to that.

He said his name was Gary. He was movie star handsome. Dark and sultry. Mediterranean in complexion, possibly Italian. His clothes were expensive and well cut. He was well cut too--trim but appearing to be hard-bodied. He probably was in his late thirties. His black hair was thinning, but he still had it. His mustache and beard were trimmed to a fashionable and flattering permanent five o'clock shadow. His fingers were long, his nails manicured, as he touched my forearm when he slid into the stool next to me at the bar.

I had no trouble visualize him on top of me, inside me.

"Can I hope you are here alone?" he asked. His voice was a rich, cultured baritone.

"Yes, I'm definitely alone now," I answered.

"He left you?"

"Yes, he did," I answered. "I'm in mourning." I didn't specify the nature of my lose. Gary didn't ask.

"Not too deep in mourning, I hope."

"No, not too deep. Sort of feeling a bit of freedom, I'm afraid. A bit of guilty feeling about that. I haven't been used to freedom for a while."

"Would a drink help? Can I offer you a drink? Would you like to share freedom for a little while? It won't be for long, I'm afraid. I'm here on business from Houston."

"I don't see why not. This one is about finished--to the drink. I wouldn't mind the company for a little while either." Somehow it was easier if it was going to be casual--if he was here today and gone tomorrow.

"My name is Gary," he said.

"I'm Neal."

"I'm lucky, Neal--I hope. You are the best looking, the sexiest young man in the room. And you're sitting here with me."

"That's a nice thing to say," I said.

"Do you want to just sit here, or would you like to go someplace with me?"

* * * *

He was impressed with my apartment. He fucked me on the sofa in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass wall overlooking Lake Michigan at night.

He was both gentle and forceful, each at the right time. He was masterful. His technique was impeccable. He fucked me to the sound of Wes Montgomery on the guitar, kissing and fondling me on the sofa before turning me, reclining along the cushions, deftly getting me naked and giving him a definitely "yes" before he disrobed to show a magnificent, hard-muscled body and long, thick erection. He had me on my back, spreading my legs with his hands gliding up my inner thighs, parting them. He was between them, inside me, slowly pumping, and covering my face and nipples with his kisses with a finesse that required no thought of resisting him in any way.

Jeff had been nice. Gary was better. I came big for Gary.

He was big inside me, bigger than Jeff had been, and my passage loved him there, the muscles of the walls coming alive and undulating over the pumping shaft, making love to the cock while it was making love to me. We moved together. We sighed and moaned together. The thrusts increased in intensity and timing. I melted to him. I cried out for him. He demanded it all and I surrendered to him. We came together. He turned me over, draped over the arm of the sofa and mounted and penetrated again. I ran my hand under my belly and took care of my own cock, while his pumped my ass channel from above and behind. We came together again to the sound of our own passioned cries. The Wes Montgomery record was long finished.

He carried me into my bedroom and ravished me again on the bed. Again and again, each time the attentive love at the beginning and the conquering warrior at the end. He stayed the night. I came a third and a fourth--and in the morning, a fifth--time. I'd never come so often, even by my own hand. Gary reached and fucked me in the core--again and again. Jeff had never been able to reach me there.

Only later did I realize it was all barebacking. I didn't give a shit.

When he finally left me the next morning, I didn't want him to go. I never wanted him to take his cock out of me ever again.

* * * *

A week later, I heard the rise in hushed chatter across the fourteenth floor as I sat in my cubicle. I looked up to find the other Junior Taylor--the other one than Jeff--standing at my door. Craig Taylor, a carbon copy of his deceased brother, if a bit younger and a little pudgier. He wasn't the marathon runner that Jeff had been. Of course, he was still alive and Jeff was dead, so he may know more about the secret to life than Jeff did.

"What are you doing for lunch?" he asked, all of those across the floor straining to hear what was said. The Taylors did not come to the fourteenth floor. The rumor was that they didn't even know it existed. "I thought we should talk," he added.

"My time is your time," I said. "When?"

"Now would be a good time," he said. As I stood and shuffled the paperwork on my desk into a single pile--not having much knowledge even what was in the pile, I looked past Craig into the next cubicle. Sheryl was looking totally pleased with herself. We had both been waiting for the ax. My guard was gone. We both had assumed the security men would descend on me at any moment to pack me up and escort me to the elevators. I'd already done most of the packing up myself. It was just sort of weird that a Taylor would be swinging the ax in public himself. My relationship with his brother must have really pissed him off.

All eyes on the fourteenth floor followed Craig Taylor and me to the elevators. Most of them had never even laid eyes on Craig before and only knew it was him because of the buzz that flowed over the room.

Lunch was in the Torali dining room at the Ritz-Carlton on East Pearson at Water Tower Place. I was, I thought, at least being kicked out in style. And then it hit me. I had something on the Taylors. My relationship with Jeff was worth money now, if I wanted to leverage it. I had been Jeff's gay lover. The Taylor firm was Old World conservative in Illinois. My silence would be worth something.

But would I go there? I didn't think so. That wouldn't be fair to Jeff and Jeff had been good to me. I didn't think I was that much of a gold-digging asshole. But I was intrigued that the Taylors would see me as enough of a threat to wine and dine me like this.

It wasn't anything like that, though.

"I know what you and Jeff were to each other," he said after we'd ordered.

It made it sound romantic, when it was just a business transaction--at least for Jeff. I was tail he wanted enough to pay well for it. I was tail he got. I reached a decision at that point. I wasn't going to fleece the family.

"It's OK," I said. "I'll leave quietly. I'm already packed up at the office. I'll vacate the apartment at the end of the month. It's paid up until then. You can have the keys to the Miata now if you wish. It's parked in the office garage."

"You misunderstand," Craig said, reaching over and touching my forearm. Instant recognition. This, indeed, wasn't what I'd thought it was.

"All the time Jeff was courting you--and then fucking you--I longed for it to be me," Craig said. "Now it can be me, if you want to just continue. Stay in the apartment. Keep the Miata. I'll sign the papers on the car over to you, if you wish. Jeff should have done that. He was always scared you'd leave him and he wanted to keep you close. I'll even buy you an apartment and put it in your name. It can be the one you're in, if you want. I ache for you. I'll be better to you than Jeff was."

"I don't know what to say," I answered. And I didn't. This was an even better deal than I'd had with Jeff. In many ways, Craig was nicer and better looking than Jeff was. He wasn't as fit, but in the dark... and we'd played tennis together and I'd seen him in the shower. He was long and thick enough for me to feel it. This was an option I hadn't considered--that I hadn't even known might be an option.

"I have a room here at the Ritz-Carlton," he said. "Come upstairs with me. I ache for you."

"That wouldn't be a 'yes' necessarily," I said. "This is unexpected. I'd have to think about."

"Sure, think about it. Come upstairs with me. I'll give you all the cock needed to give it a good thought."

If was just a fuck. I was a long way from being a virgin--or monogamous, for that matter.

* * * *

The sex was OK. Craig wasn't as vigorous and virile as Jeff had been, but he wasn't as cruel and self-absorbed, either. I did most of the work, with him on his back the first time and me riding him, first facing him and then away, in a Cowboy. After coming and resting, I stretched out on top of him, facing the ceiling, and we did a Crab position, with him under me, pumping up into me and me raising and lowering my channel on the cock.

He was endowed well enough. We didn't come together, but he made sure I did come, which Jeff never worried about.

It wasn't fully satisfying, but given time... we could learn to come together in time. I could learn to live without vigor and hung cocks... and muscle studs.

We had fucked into the dinner hour, so we ate dinner at Torali again.

"I have the room for the night," he said. "We could go up again and--"

"Not tonight, please," I said. "I have some thinking to do. I'll see you at the office tomorrow."

"But you let me fuck you more than once. That's a good sign, isn't it?"

"It's not a bad sign," I answered.

I don't know why I was reluctant. Full satisfaction hadn't been required with Jeff. Craig was offering a better deal. Full satisfaction would be something I could work toward... with Craig.

I gave him an encouraging smile. "Don't worry, it won't take me long to decide." This changing of the guard was more complicated, though, than I'd thought it would be. Of course, the options had improved.

Giving him another smile, I got up and walked out of the hotel onto East Pearson Street and into Chicago at night.

* * * *

I walked the streets, doing more thinking than watching where I was walking. I wound up at the same gay bar I'd went to a couple of weeks earlier, the day that Jeff had died. I went in.

"You're back at the bar," a voice, a low, rich baritone, said.

"Gary?" I said, turning to him as he perched on the barstool beside me, and put an arm around my shoulders. "I thought you would have returned to Houston by now."

"My business here was extended. But it's about time to go back, yes. I don't feel like I've finished all of the business here, though. Buy you a drink... again?" his long, sensuous fingers played with the hair on my forearm. I got the definite feeling that the "again" was referring to more than a drink.

"Sure," I said.

This time he fucked me on the carpet just inside the door to my apartment, willing me to my knees with a "I'm sorry, I can't wait;" unzipping; sliding into my mouth; and holding my head between his hands as I gave him deep head. He just assumed I'd fall into it--that I wanted him that badly. He wasn't wrong. With him, we just couldn't meld fast enough.

As it always was with Gary, at least at the start before we both lost control, the move into sex was gentle, sensual. He didn't push me to the floor. He gave me a sensual look that made me want to kneel and worship his cock--and then to position myself on all fours to feel him slide into me and rise and fall on my back, a rolling canter across the meadows rather than a controlling, demeaning assault. Gary had a way of telescoping to me the obsession to have him inside me, possessing me, making me his.

This was something more than just sex. I'd never felt this way before.

From that point forward--after I had given him engorging suck--it was all about me. The act of giving him an erection itself was for me--to receive the pleasure of having it, filled out long and hard, inside me. All about my pleasure of sheathing the cock, taking it huge and deep, killing me in the core. He stripped me, staying clothed himself for that first fuck.

"I've got to see you naked. You are magnificent," he had murmured, and I had stood there, trembling, completely stripped in every way as he devoured me with his eyes and then with his hands. He could have told me to do anything then, and I would have done it.

"Down. On all fours," he whispered. "Give yourself to me. Let me mount you. Take my cock." He guided me onto all fours there on the carpet inside the door to the apartment. He mounted me and fucked me in a Doggy, running a hand under my belly, and coordinating the rise in cum for both of us. We came together. He worked at and ensured that we came together. Above all he ensured that I was invested in the coupling and satisfied.

He pulled me up from the floor and carried me into the bedroom. There he stripped as well, put me on my back, ran his hands up my legs, coaxing them open. Staring down at my body, naked and vulnerable, he whispered, "You are so beautiful, so sexy, so fuckable." Reveling in the attention and praise, I arched my back and moaned, gasping at the majesty of his enormous erection--hard for me--as he held me in that open, vulnerable position, both of us knowing I was on the cusp of being ravished again--that that huge erection would soon be inside me again, reaching for and finding my innermost core, slaying me there.