Dave Rides The Rails

"Dave, you know you could come live at my place."

"I don't know about that, Ernie."

"You can fuck me all you want. I'll make you happy. I promise. Every day I'll put a smile on your face."

"I don't know, Ernie." He was kissing on my neck and rubbing my cock through my jeans. He could feel me respond to his touch. "Truth is," I confessed, "I've been talking to a friend out in Colorado. He's framing houses up in Aspen. I'm thinking of going out there."

"You don't want to do that, Dave. I got a friend that I fuck every now and then. I told him about you. He wants your dick, too. You could fuck us both. Wouldn't that be fun?"

"It would but ..."

"And we could both fuck him. Or you could fuck him while he sucks my dick. That sounds fun, right? It's called spit-roasting. It would be so much fun. I promise I'll make you happy."

"Ernie ..."

"Dave, I love you. I'm in love with you, Dave."

Words I had hoped to never hear but always expected. Still, they left me speechless. He watched me stammer and I saw his heart start to crumble. "We got a switch coming up," he managed to croak. "I'll get it."

I watched him drop to the ground and jog ahead. Once he threw the switch he stood waiting for the caboose to reach him then swung on the ladder with the practiced grace of three decades of experience. We probably exchanged thirty words for the remainder of the shift.

I dreaded the next night. I had so many feelings for Ernie. Love wasn't one of them. But I had felt it rising in him. I knew as certainly as the sun rose at the end of our workday that love was kindling in Ernie's heart. I knew when it had become fully ablaze. I ignored that awareness, letting us be carried by the mounting current of our sexual journey. We pleasured each other, always aware of the other's needs. I intended for him to feel the same exalting bliss that I felt. I swear I never meant to be cruel.

As we started on our final shift, Ernie said, "I understand."

"I hope you do but I'm afraid you're just being kind."

"No, I get it. You're just doing a bit of growing up before going back to college." It hurt to hear it so bluntly, especially from Ernie, but it was true. "I'm just some old fag ..."

"You're not a fag ..."

"Yeah, I am. And old enough to be your father."

"Older, actually."

"That's right. An old fag. Look, Dave, I can see you're on a path to a great, new life. I don't know what I was thinking. That you were going to fall in love with me? Give up everything because some old fag wanted you to have fag sex with him for the rest of his older life?"

"Stop referring to yourself as a fag. You're a good man. A great guy. And you've given me so much, taught me so much about myself. More than any college professor ever will."

"I wish that were true."

"It is. And you've taught me what a good guy is. An honest and true-to-himself great guy."

His smile was melancholy and he nodded appreciatively. "Thanks for saying that."

"And now I want to kiss you."

We didn't fuck that night. During the long slow trek, I held him and we kissed and I cradled his cock in my hand. Just held it. It felt familiar and good.

We took in a night game at Wrigley Field before I left for Colorado. The Cubbies lost, of course. Afterward, we went to his house. For the first time, we saw each other naked and lay in a bed and made proper love to each other.

When we were sated, he took me by the hand and we stood beside each other before the bathroom mirror. A twenty-year-old athletic young man and a fifty-four-year-old guy in decline. "See," Ernie said. "It's obvious when you come right down to it."

"It's ironic, maybe. Bewildering and wonderful in contrast, which gives it beauty. Which makes it art."

I pulled him tight as I kissed him. I cupped his voluptuous mounds of ass. Of course, my cock arose once more. What was surprising was that his did as well.

I led him back to bed. I got his cock slick with spit and guided it to my rosebud. The next morning, my ass was no longer virginal and Ernie would forever be my first.