Independent Study Pt. 02

"Then why not simply thank them and explain that, like you did to me just now?" I asked.

"Because...they make fun of...guys who interest me...you know, older guys...and the guys who...go for them," he said looking downcast, "It's almost like...having to be in the closet again...only worse...since they're gay, too."

He couldn't bring himself to say 'daddies' it seemed.

"Then make friends with those other guys, who share your taste in men," I suggested, without using the term as well.

"There's not that many...I've talked to all of them I know of...but they're kind of...loners. I like having lots of friends," he countered.

"Okay, so you like daddies," I said, getting it out in the open, "Nothing wrong with that. There's a long history of it...dating all the way back to ancient Greece, in fact. You just have to be honest with the friends you've made and 'come out' one more time."

"Yeah, but...it isn't just older guys. It's older guys like...you...and my dad," he sighed, "Big men...strong looking men...who make me...feel small...feel like...I'll never be a man in the same kind of way. I still can't bring myself to...open up about that."

I began to get the picture. He was drawn not simply to older men, but older men he found physically intimidating. We were more alike than he suspected.

"Same kind of men I go weak in the knees for, Mike," I confessed to him with a knowing grin.

He smiled and turned toward me on his bench seat, "Really?"

"Really," I said.

"But you're the kind of man I'm talking about...big...muscley...strong," he said looking confused.

"Only because I thought becoming one was my only shot at ever getting my hands on one," I opened up further for him.

He laughed and looked relieved.

"So you really get the feelings I'm talking about?" he asked.

"I do," I confirmed.

"God! I've been so worried that I couldn't even get being gay right!" he said, starting to look and sound more comfortable in his skin.

"Been there, too," I commiserated.

There was a long pause.

"The man you left with the other night...is he your boyfriend?" Mike asked.

"Ah, Bart...well, he's the man I have the longest history with," I replied, "I don't think either of us really thinks along the lines of boyfriends or partners or husbands, but we're very close...more than just fuck buddies, I guess."

"I've seen him at Trax a lot more than you. It doesn't bother you the way he...gets around?" he quizzed me, seeming a little uncomfortable that he might be telling me something I didn't know.

"I get around, too, Mike," I said with a smile, "We like that about each other."

He looked confused again.

"It was a very different time when we embraced our sexuality," I explained, "The prospects open to your generation regarding life and love weren't there for ours. So we've grown accustomed to the concept of a variety of men. But we like the intimacy that our arrangement affords us, too, and we trust each other to play safe outside of...whatever this arrangement of ours is."

"What kind of intimacy?" he perked up.

"Bareback sex," I said, pulling no punches, "that and just sleeping together, waking up next to each other, sharing secrets, hopes, dreams...that kind of thing."

He seemed to identify with my description of intimacy, but still took a minute to process the information.

"You two made the most handsome couple...or...whatever...I think I've ever seen. You're both the kind of men who really work me up. But do guys like you only like each other?" he asked, sounding concerned, "I'm sunk if that's the case."

"No, we come in all flavors just like everybody else," I assured him, "In fact, I've had sex with men of all shapes and sizes. So has Bart. But, then again, there's almost nothing that isn't negotiable when you need sex. The fact is, others of us actually prefer smaller, younger guys."

He lit up at that revelation but didn't comment.

"What about that fellow I saw you dancing with at Trax?" I offered in example, "He was a guy like me who seemed interested in guys like you. I thought he might even be interested in you specifically."

"James? He's not exactly like you. You're so much more...mature," he said, choosing his words carefully, "so much wiser. But he is a BEAUTIFUL bear of a man like you! Stronger than fifteen of me easy!"

He paused and looked thoughtful, "But he has a reputation as a collector. I hear that once he fucks a guy he's done with him...and that he makes them take his load up their butt...no protection. It felt good to wrap my arms around his huge neck while we were dancing...but I don't think I could ever let him fuck me like that...as many as they say he's been in...no telling what you could catch."

"You're talking smart already," I praised him, "but reputations can sometimes keep you from seeing a man for who he really is. I might not discount him purely on the basis of what you've heard if you're attracted to him. Maybe he's just enough older than you that he's never thought of a committed relationship, like I think you want, as his for the taking. It might take a guy like you to bring him around."

"He's old enough to get my attention, that's for sure, and I do go for his body," he dreamily confessed, "It would be great if he turned out to have a personality to match his...age...experience...size...strength."

"Well, you'll reach an age where experience just comes with the territory," I said in self-deprecating jest.

"But what do I do in the meantime?" he asked after another silence, "I'm so scared to try pleasing a man who's...done it all and...already knows what he wants...from sex."

I wasn't sure how to respond and decided to simply listen some more.

"I guess that's what I was driving at the other night...about finding a man like you. Somebody I could trust to...tutor me...show me how to...get around with a man's body...give me some pointers...before I..." he trailed off.

"Before you what?" I asked after more silence.

"You know...put myself...out there...and maybe...make a fool of myself," he replied looking down into his beer glass.

"Hey, Mike," I began, searching for the right words, "if a man wants you...really wants to be with you...then I'm sure he'll grow with you, want to learn how to please you, too...just as much as you'll want to learn how to please him. You'll learn together."

"Not if I never...find the confidence to try," he said, looking sullen once more.

He had me there. He was bringing back all those memories of the fear and uncertainty I carried well beyond his age; that my desire for fulfillment, if only sexual, might never be realized.

"If I agreed to be your...tutor, as you say...what would you expect to gain from it?"

He was silent for the longest time.

"Just...experience...I'm...so scared of trying to...land a man...a man I'd REALLY want...and maybe losing him...when he finds out how...inexperienced I am," he said with his typical stammer.

I went silent. Everything about our interaction thus far pointed to him being much more smitten with me than any former student I'd ever run across. Did he hopelessly envision maneuvering me into a situation in which he could somehow try to 'land me'?

"Mike," I said, trying head off a potentially disastrous development, "I've...already told you...we like...the same thing...in men...I mean."

Jesus! He had me doing it!

"I know, but that makes you ideal for what I want," he argued.

He had sensed an opening of some kind and miraculously attained a fluency in his delivery that was suddenly eluding me.

"Huh?"

"Since you share my attractions I know I don't stand a chance with you going into it," he said, "Even if you're everything I love about men, there's no way an attachment could form 'cause I'm not. You'd be like my training wheels."

I went deeply into thought. I was sure this had the possibility of leading to a very sticky situation but, on the other hand, he seemed to have a clear grasp that I had no intention of letting anything develop between us.

And we've all got go through that first scary encounter sometime. I had to admit that he could do a lot worse than me in terms of finding somebody sensitive to those issues to have it with.

"What time is your first class tomorrow?" I asked, weakening but hoping I might still be able to find an out.

"Tomorrow's Saturday," he said with a grin.

"Oh, right," I said, foiled by my failing grip on the calendar.

"Well?" he asked in a pleading tone.

"Well...let's go back to my room," I said, finding no valid reason to deny him.