Tanglewood Entanglements

The words, "You like what you see?" brought me back into the world. I hadn't realized I'd been following one of the workers around as he worked, but obviously I had. He was extremely watchable, though. He was a hunk and a half. There was an Asian cast to him, and I later found out that his mother had been Han Chinese. That may have been part of what attracted my attention to him. I found that Asian men aroused me. That probably also contributed to why I had let Edward Teng seduce me. He was big, muscular, thuggish looking, but square-jawed, with a buzz cut. He might have been a Marine in an earlier life. He was mesmerizing ugly-beautiful, imperfect in each element, including a broken nose not reset well. He was bare-chested, wearing cutoff jeans shorts, and an equipment belt that pulled the waistline of the shorts dangerously low on his hips. He had a colorful sleeve tattoo that came onto his bulging chest and curved with the form of his left pectoral.

He was completely out of my world, not someone I would give a second look at usually. He was sexy as hell, and he made me shudder.

"Sorry. I was daydreaming. I didn't mean to stare."

"You like what you see?" he repeated.

I didn't respond. I didn't want to admit that, yes, yes, I did like what I was looking at. I was in a state. I'd just left a lustful ménage à trois, and I was still horny as hell. And I had a shrieking need to overthrow the hold that Edward Teng had on me.

And, I'm ashamed to admit, he obviously was just a workman here, not part of the musical talent. There was a definite caste system going at Tanglewood. We pretty much kept separate societies along these caste lines.

"Yeah, I can see you do," he said, with a little laugh. "I think you're sexy as hell too. I was at your rehearsal this morning."

"You attended a rehearsal of an opera piece?" Could someone who looked like that be an opera buff, I wondered. And then I answered my own question. Of course they could. And maybe he worked here because he enjoyed music. But then he dashed that notion.

"I had seen you before and I wanted to see you again. You and that foxy Jew were sending a roaring fire through the roof of the hall. I'm surprised you didn't fuck right there on stage. The singing was great too. The other singer fucks you, doesn't he?"

"Why do you say that? How do you know anything like that about me?" I tried to sound more affronted than dismayed that he'd put his thumb on me, but I doubted I'd succeeded.

"I was working over by Munch Cottage early this morning. I saw you riding that Chinese conductor at the pool over there."

Oh. "Your voice is a bit harsh there. You don't approve of younger men having sex with older men?"

"I have no trouble with men having sex at all, no matter their respective ages," he said. "But I will admit that I don't like Edward Teng too much. He is a traitor to his people."

I didn't pursue that point, as Brown was continuing, flattering me now.

"I could watch you with a man all day. You were riding him good. I thought even there that I'd like to get some of that from you. I think you'd like it too. I'd like to show you what a real Chinese man can do with a nice piece like you. And you have reason to celebrate on that song you got going for you. You want to go someplace with me and make a bit of whoopie—some Chinese New Year's celebrating? I've got something that can make you yodel."

I should have stalked off then, leaving him in the dust. But I didn't.

His name was Chuck Brown. He claimed to be thirty and to be part of the permanent Tanglewood staff. He had a really—really!—big dick. I yodeled for him.

He fucked me in a nearby tool shed—one with a wooden table bench against one wall that was a nice height for me to perch on, with my legs draped on his shoulders, while he supported me with his arms linked behind my lower back, with my shoulder blades pressed into the wooden wall behind the bench and Chuck crouching between my thighs and fucking me magnificently and gloriously. He fucked me hard and deep—and rough. I had no idea I liked it rough. He dominated me and slapped me around a bit. He didn't worship or respect me. He fucked me.

He said he saw Teng tracing the tan lines of my pelvis and that had turned him on. Tracing the sleeve and chest tattoo Chuck had while he was fucking me turned me on, in return.

And, yes, it was the best of all ways to celebrate my stage performance. At last an interesting celebration—unplanned and a great surprise.

* * * *

The performance that night in the Seiji Ozawa Hall was as glorious and intense—and on pitch and tone—as the dress rehearsal had been. The audience was knowledgeable and attentive. I was on the duty of staying after in front of the stage to talk with audience members who wanted to talk about the history of the Georges Bizet opera or about the music composition itself. This was a feature of the Tanglewood programs and the performers had turns taking the talks. It was my turn at it.

The audience for that was large, informative, and interested. I liked doing the talks. It was a real stroke after a highly successful evening. I was on a high. Those at the talk had no need to know that part of the high was sexual—that I was as aroused in the evening performance as I had been in the dress rehearsal. I was equally aroused to see that Chuck Brown had attended the performance, saluted me from the side when I saw him there for the talk afterward, and remained, smiling, until almost the end. I almost wished he had been there at the end to take me away and fuck me again, especially since all of the others I was having sex with had already departed, but at the end, it was just me to float on the air of satisfaction back to the Steinberg Cottage.

When I got there, the satisfaction imploded, though. I could hear them as I mounted the stairs to the bedrooms in the cottage. The sound was coming from the bedroom I shared with Rachel, my wife. I wasn't the only one disturbed. When I got to the upper hall, Jacob came out of the room that had been assigned to him and met me at the door to my bedroom. He was only wearing briefs—and he looked sexy as hell. I saw movement behind him, though. His bedroom door was open and Mei Fan, Edward's wife, was lounging in the doorway. She was wearing a blue-silk robe, possibly the same one Teng had been wearing that morning. It was open and she was naked under it. Her figure was voluptuous, firm even at forty. Her breasts were pendulous, her hips full, the folds of her V puffy. She smiled at me, making no attempt to hide her nakedness.

It was a surprise to me that she and Jacob were fucking, but not a shock, really, especially as earlier in the day she hadn't been surprised or upset to see me riding her husband's cock. I had assumed Teng and his wife were swingers. He had swung with me for over a year.

I was more surprised and less pleased when Jacob teased my bedroom door open and we saw that Rachel was kneeling on her hands and knees on the bed and Edward Teng was mounted on her and fucking her. She certainly didn't look like she was in distress, and, in contrast to after the dress rehearsal, they looked like they were getting along just fine without me.

Jacob winked at me and returned to his bedroom and shut the door behind Mei Fan and him.

I needed air and I certainly didn't need to be there at the moment. I left the cottage and walked on the pathways between the cottages. I was walking in the general direction of Munch Cottage. That was assigned to Edward and Mei Fan. They were the only ones assigned there and they obviously weren't in residence now. And they had a well-stocked bar. I decided to get drunk.

But as I walked, I realized that I wasn't alone. I was being followed. After passing under a light, I looked back. Chuck Brown, bare-chested again, in his jeans cutoffs. He'd come better dressed to the concert. I had tensed up when I realized I was being followed, but now I relaxed.

Instead of entering Munch Cottage when I got there, I walked around back to the pool terrace, taking off my clothes as I went. I was naked when I got to the pool and I dove in and swam across the pool and back. By the time I got back to the shallow end of the pool, there was another splash in the water. Chuck came up beside me, enveloped me in his arms, and took my mouth in a deep kiss.

He stood there, in the water, crouched down a bit, and put me on his cock in his lap. My legs were hooked on his hips, my arms were around his neck, his arms were encasing my chest, and the two of us rocked against each other and sent circles of waves out to the edges of the pool. He was inside me, deep and thick. I had expert control over my channel muscles and tightened them on his cock, the muscles rippling over his hard shaft. He gasped, our moans—mine a tenor and his a bass—harmonizing. We made music as Chuck fucked me and fucked me and fucked me.

All was right with the world—at least for that night.

* * * *

We had one more performance, the next night, Saturday, 27 July. I remember the date because of what happened that night. The performance was as glorious as the previous one had been, and Jacob was very much in the mood when it was over. So was I. It was Edward's turn to take the after-performance talk and neither Rachel nor Mei Fan had attended the performance. I had been taken aback just before the music had started for Jacob and me to sing, because I looked out in the audience and thought I saw Gordon Chen, the Chinese singer who was supposed to sing this duet with me but who had reneged for illness. Then I wasn't sure it was him because I would have expected him to come down to the stage at the end of the concert, but he didn't.

Jacob had told me the reason Mei Fan and Rachel hadn't attended the concert was because the two women were at Munch Cottage getting it on. I wanted to think he was joking, but I couldn't get out of my mind that he could be right. He didn't seem to be upset about that, but he most certainly was upset with Edward for covering Rachel, his sister.

In any event, he wanted to fuck, and we did that in his room. En route, we found Rachel stretched out on a sofa in the Steinberg Cottage living room, asleep. She was naked and was purring in her sleep. From the positioning of her body, it was evident she'd had sex.

We were made to pause again on the way to Jacob's room. We heard familiar sounds coming from a bedroom at the end of the hallway Jacob's room was on. The door wasn't completely shut. The two on the bed didn't seem to care whether it was or not. Gordon Chen, the AWOL baritone, was fucking Mei Fan in a vigorous missionary position on the bed. Chen didn't look all that ill to me, but I didn't really care. Jacob had done a great job on the "Pearl Fishers Duet" and I trusted he was about to do a great job on me.

I wondered briefly who had fucked Rachel. There seemed to be more than a couple of possibilities now, but I didn't really care about that either. I had no reason to be upset about it. I was about to go under Jacob myself.

In Jacob's bedroom, I knelt on the bed and he, also kneeling, covered me from behind, penetrating me and arching my back into his chest, one of his hands cupping my chin and pressing the back of my head into the hollow of his chest and the other hand moving from palming my lower belly to stroking my cock. From there he moved into sitting on the bed with me in his lap facing him and arched back to the floor while he mined my passage. Then he reversed me, holding my arms stiff with his hands fisting my wrists, and my body cantilevered over the carpet by the bed while he pulled me on and off the cock. Jacob liked athletic fucking, and he was good at it. I like to think that I'm good at it too.

I stayed the night, being piqued at Rachel and not caring if she missed me or not.

We both woke up to commotion and policemen walking the paths between the cottages.

Sometime during the night Edward had been knifed to death and was found floating in the pool at Munch Cottage. It was the cook, not Mei Fan, who found him.

All day Sunday detectives investigated. They were suspicious of where all of us—Mei Fan, Rachel, Jacob, and I—told them where we were and what we were doing the previous night. None of us told them the truth, of course. The last time any of us had seen Edward was when he was standing at the front of the stage at the Seiji Ozawa Hall, talking with a small audience. It was the last concert in that series, so a stage crew was breaking down the set on stage. I thought I saw Chuck Brown on the stage, but I couldn't be sure.

Mei Fan was convinced that Edward had been killed by Chinese agents and she gave plenty of background information that would support that notion. On the strength of that, the local police decided they needed to call in the feds. Whatever was the case, Edward Teng was too much of a public figure for them not to tread very carefully in their investigation. In the end they let us go about their business and I flew back to Richmond the next day, with Rachel stopping there with me for the night and then flying on to return to Georgia Tech. We had sex that night, but it was more an effort to pretend everything was all right than a lovefest. Jacob stayed at Tanglewood, taking over the last of Edward's duties there that summer. I have no idea where Mei Fan went.

Tanglewood in the summer of 2013 had opened on July 5th, a Friday, with the Boston Symphony Orchestra playing works of Tchaikovsky under the baton of Rafael Frühbeck de Burgos, with violinist Joshua Bell, and closed on August 25th with the Boston Symphony playing Beethoven's Symphony No. 9 under the direction of BSO Conductor Emeritus Bernard Haitink. It would have been considered a highly successful summer, with many talking about the wonderful program that included Bizet's "Pearl Fisher Duet," except for the murder of the brilliant Chinese conductor, Edward Teng, midway through the summer right there on the grounds of the Tanglewood festival, a murder that was never solved and continued to have the taint of international implications.

* * * *

March, 2019

I had been dozing on the lounge bed by the pool under the Los Angeles sun when I came back to the present at the touch of her fingers, tracing the tan lines my Speedo created. The fingers glided across my lower belly and went to the creases at the top of my thighs that went into my groin. I had been dreaming of Edward Teng, who had liked tracing that line when we had sex. Thus, I could feel that I was hard.

I felt something else too. I was naked and I felt the thick bulb of the mammoth-sized dildo she liked to use with me, calling it "your man," playing at my hole. She had told me it had been made to Edward's specifications, but I didn't know whether I should believe her or not. I couldn't have given a reason why it couldn't have been. She said they'd had it custom made in Los Angeles, where you could get any sort of toy you wanted.

She glided her fingers along my inner thighs, coaxing me to spread my legs—to bend them and place my feet flat on the surface of the lounge bed. A pillow went under my lower back, with me raising my pelvis at the sheer hint from her touch that this was what she wanted. I was the submissive even with Mei Fan. I gasped as she started screwing the dildo inside me, penetrating me to the hilt with the first slide, just as Edward had done, but my more immediate attention went to her mouth closing over my erection, sucking the bulb of my cock, raising and lowering her head so that her luxurious, thick black hair spread out over my belly and the tops of my thighs.

Sighing, I moved my hands to the back of her head and guided the blow job while she worked the thick, stretching dildo in my passage. Using the leverage of my feet, I raised and lowered my pelvis, rocking against her face as she sucked me off, and moving with the shaft filling me inside.

I turned my head toward the pool, where Gordon Chen was swimming laps. I had slept with them both the previous night, first with Mei Fan, where I lay between her legs, her legs wrapped around me, her heels rubbing on the meat of my calves to the rhythm of my thrusts, while I fucked her in gentle waves of rocking motion and fed on her generous breasts. Then, when I returned to my own room, there was Gordon Chen, the forty-five-year-old Chinese movie actor and operatic baritone, who Mei Fan had lured me to California to sing with in a TV musical show. We sang the baritone-tenor duet, "Dio che nell'alma infondere," from Giuseppe Verdi's opera, Don Carlos. I had always wanted to sing with Gordon and had been booked to do so at Tanglewood in 2013, but he'd been too ill to perform.

I'd always wanted to be fucked by Gordon too, as the robust Chinese actor had quite a reputation for covering young men in both the theater and on the opera stage. He was a handsome devil, hung, and, I was told, cruel.

He'd fucked me the previous night on my bed in my room. He'd brought a hand whip and had applied it to me, being an expert in what to do to sting but not to raise welts that lasted for a few more hours. He had lived up to his reputation for cruelty. It hadn't been since that same summer at Tanglewood in 2013 that I'd had a lover that cruel—another Asian, at least half Asian—Chuck Brown, who had fucked me rough and lifted me to new heights.

Gordon had done me well too, whipping me and then putting me on hands and knees, covering me from above, and finger fucking me with his bunched fingers, nearly fisting me, before mounting me and taking me hard and vigorously. All the time he was singing to me in a mesmerizing baritone and I moaned and groaned for him.

Back in the present, my cock was throbbing and I thought I might come if Mei Fan continued sucking me as, she was, so I coaxed her face off my cock. She came up on the lounge bed and over me, her pendulous breasts hovering over my face, her nipples brushing my lips so that I opened my mouth and gave her suck. She settled her puffy labia on the bulb of my shaft, and lowered herself on me. She began languidly riding my cock as I grasped her full hips between my hands, spread her buttocks, and sucked on her nipples.

I felt the dildo being withdrawn from my ass, but only to be replaced by a thick, throbbing cock. Gordon had come out of the pool, dried himself, and straddled the lounge bed behind Mei Fan. He penetrated me deep and began a pace of thrusting that matched that of Mei Fan skewered on my cock. She was fucking herself on me and Gordon was fucking me behind her. His arms went around her torso and pulled her back up into his chest. One hand went to cupping a breast and the fingers of the other disappeared into the folds of her labia, found her clit, and rubbed her there. I moved both of my hands to her breasts, one on top of Gordon's hand. I moved my pelvis with them, gently pushing up as she pushed down and Gordon pushed in.

Gordon moved his fingers from Mei Fan's clit back into her folds and then onto a vein running up my shaft from the root. He rubbed me there and I gasped, cried out, and came.

Gordon pulled Mei Fan off me, but only to the side of the lounge bed. He bent her over, with her mouth going back to swallowing my cock, and penetrated her from behind, his hands going to her breasts and working them as he fucked her from behind.

I looked over to the pool where the pool boy had materialized and would have been skimming the surface of the pool to remove leaves with a long pole skimmer if he wasn't preoccupied with watching Gordon fuck Mei Fan and Mei Fan suck me. He didn't leave; he stood there on the other side of the pool and watched. He was young, but not underage. I had no doubt that Mei Fan and Gordon would be sharing him somehow, before the hot Los Angeles sun went down, Mei Fan with her magic lips and generous breasts and Gordon with his own long pole.