Date: Tue, 27 May 2014 23:38:05 -0700 (PDT)
From: Benjamin Ashton <benashtonvilla@yahoo.com>
Subject: Fishers Island, NY, Summer 2002

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FISHERS ISLAND, NY, SUMMER 2002

This is a true story. Mostly.



I took the decision to pay a visit to Ethan in the five minutes it took me
to walk back to my apartment from the restaurant on W72nd where I usually
had my monthly dinner with my older brother Andrew.

I was 25 and I was in the second year of my first stay in New York. After a
couple of years on the West Coast following graduation, it was still an
exhilarating experience to be an adult living there and earning his wages,
and not a Princeton undergrad hopping on Greyhound buses to spend a weekend
in the city, sleeping in random couches. My apartment was small, the city
was still reeling from the attacks, I wasn't yet making much money, but I
was basking permanently in the quiet thrill of possibilities and
opportunities.

Being geographically close to Andrew was an additional element to the great
happiness of these years. He was ten years older than I was, married with
three great kids, but we quickly established a monthly routine of sharing a
burger and a few beers in a diner from my neighborhood. It gave him an
opportunity to get out of Brooklyn; it gave me the chance to spend quality
time with the most important person in my life.

We shared the same the father, but his mother died when he was five. Andrew
grew up very much the caring, protective, budding big brother to me and
Dustin, the youngest of us three. Dustin and I were never close, but Andrew
gracefully and dedicatedly managed to build and preserve a strong bond with
each of us. He jokingly called us "Preppy Republican" (Dustin) and "Hipster
Democrat" (me); he sneaked us alcohol while we were in college (but
admonished us against smoking tobacco); he bought us books, all the time
(favoring Kerouac for me, Updike for Dustin); he teased me endlessly when I
started wearing a tie. Andrew was playful, warm and encouraging. And Ethan
was his best friend and had been since high school.

Andrew and Ethan had long been inseparable. Many of my recollections of
them in my late teenage years blurred them into a single entity. Ethan may
have been the one who bought me my first Kerouac. Ethan may have been the
one who started the conversation of my being gay, sophomore year in
College, and gave a brief, touching, pointed, and inspiring speech. Or it
may have been Andrew. There were both there and they were both fantastic.

For all their similarities, they were also quite different. They were both
vibrant, but Andrew could get manic while Ethan was always serene. Andrew
was hyper-kinetic, scattered, moody; Ethan was dedicated, engaging and
empathic. I was once told them Andrew was a bright moon while Ethan was a
setting sun. They both laughed at my pomposity; Andrew punched me in the
shoulder, Ethan ruffled my unruly hair.

Andrew was tall and thin, with dark hair. Ethan was shorter (about 5'11),
stockier and dirty blond. Andrew was straight, Ethan was gay.

I had always known that about him, yet the ramifications of his coming out
at seventeen were somewhat innocuous in the world of a seven-year old. I do
realize it helped me grow up with a specimen of a gay man that added some
diversity to those I was usually exposed to. Ethan was an athlete, a
science geek and a great fan of the outdoors. He hadn't been a role model,
though, or if so, a highly unconscious one whose principles I didn't quite
manage to follow.  Ethan had been a competitive swimmer and an avid devotee
of yoga; I favored team sports, especially soccer, which I practiced and
followed quite obsessively. He was a vegetarian and some kind of Buddhist;
while my father made his three sons rational atheists and certified
foodies, I enjoyed greasy burgers and beers the way Ethan oddly seemed to
delight in grilled tofu and weird veggie juices. Ethan had been in a
serious and monogamous relationship with Martin for the past seven years; I
reserved my commitments to my friends and family and saw promiscuity as the
most fulfilling way to experiment, to explore and to engage in what life
had to offer. Ethan had the brightest, widest smiles (his eyes disappeared,
his white teeth took center stage) and a social butterfly; I was considered
a bit rough around the edges, sometimes brooding when not distant, and
sarcastic.

For the past five years, Ethan had been living in Massachusetts, teaching
geology at Williams College, but he and Andrew talked on the phone almost
every day. Ethan and Martin had recently broken up and Andrew got a clear
sense that Ethan was going through a rough time. He had rented a little
house on Fishers Island, off the Connecticut coastline, and had taken some
time off from teaching in order to work on his research and regroup after
the end of his long relationship. It was difficult to imagine Ethan
depressed; it was also painful. Ethan and my brother had always been there
for me and I felt an odd sense of duty to reciprocate – even if I was
probably overestimating the importance I had on Ethan's life and,
consequently, the appropriateness of my stepping in, albeit with the best
of intentions.

I had Ethan's number on my phone and, as I was walking up the four-story
high staircase to my apartment, I texted him about visiting some friends in
Providence and the possibility of stopping by his place on the way ("it's
been a long time"). Could I crash on the couch for one night?

I didn't get an answer that night, but Ethan called the next morning (he
hated texting apparently). He was happy to welcome me, warned me that there
wasn't much to do on the island, but promised beautiful hikes if I had some
time on the Saturday, and some beers in his fridge ("since you're into that
kind of thing"). It was all set; I would leave Friday early evening after
work, and he'd meet me at the dock. I would stay one night and one day, and
be back on my way to Rhode Island by the end of the afternoon. Of course, I
had no actual plans to go to Providence and no friends to visit there. But
it felt too intruding and overbearing to make a trip solely to see him, and
I didn't want to overextend my welcome there.

Friday was warm and sunny, a beautiful early summer day in New York. I took
the Boston train and got off at New London. I had only a small bag (more
than I needed for one night, less than I would have for an actual trip to
Providence) and walked to the ferry. The sun was setting, the town was
really quiet, except from other New Yorkers who were heading in the same
direction, hoping to catch their ferry for one of the few destinations
offered. The walk, the wait, the ferry ride were all blissful. I was
relaxed, basking in the dusk. It is only then I started to think about my
motivations to go and see Ethan, to question my rushed impulse.  I realized
I missed him and his company; than the gritty, hurried, rough energy of my
life in the city made me need a quick fix of nature, beauty, simplicity and
serenity. These qualities were associated to Ethan, to New England, to
summer hikes. I had made the right call, for me if not for Ethan.

He was there to welcome me. I actually hadn't seen him in a long time and
felt a quick jolt at how beautiful he was. He was tan, wore some cargo
shorts displaying beautiful legs, had a plaid shirt closed by a single
button in the middle of his torso. His blond hair was in a sexy
disarray. His chest and arms were astounding. Ethan had always been
muscular, but never displayed the kind of biceps or pecs you get from hours
of committed working out. Ethan didn't work out, but walked, swam, ate
healthy and was an avid carpenter. I was a little stunned and didn't say
anything when he squeezed me in his arms and hugged me quite forcefully.
"So good to see you, kiddo".

He took me by the shoulders as if to appraise me, and flashed his biggest,
most winning smile. I finally got over myself and took him back in my
arms. I patted him on his back and shoulders. "It's wonderful to see you
too, Ethan. I'm happy we could work this out. Thanks for letting me crash".

I was starving. Hay Harbor, where the ferry took me, was quaint and
tiny. "This is downtown Fishers Island", Ethan quipped. "Let's get you
something to eat and have a drink. We'll get to the house later. It's
further West, in the middle of the Island. In the middle of nowhere,
actually. But you'll love it, it's gorgeous".

We went to a rustic, animated place. I couldn't tell how many real locals
were part of the crowd. "It's sometimes a hard distinction to make", Ethan
said. "Very few people live here year round. But a lot of people come quite
frequently to the house they bought. Or others rent long term. Like
me". And indeed, he seemed, acted and was treated like a local. The old
bartender knew him by name and by taste (Ethan was apparently a fan of
whiskey, which seemed odd), so did the old waitress who called him honey
and brought him a big salad without him having to ask.

We caught up on each other's lives as we ate. He told me about Williams,
about his students, about field work, about his research, about Fishers
Island and its wonders. I casually mentioned or referred to Martin and
their breakup, but he never seemed to display distress or gloom about it. I
talked about my work, Andrew, Dustin and my father, my friends in New York,
my time in California after graduation. I carefully edited out any mention
of my love or sex lives – somehow, the rather uninhibited character of
my recent adventures in that department seemed inappropriate for the quaint
setting and my graceful host.  When in Rome...

When we were done, we walked out to the parking lot and climbed in Ethan's
old battered orange Volvo, the same car I had always known him in. He
caught me smile at the sorry state of his worldly possession and quipped
back "it's a just a car". The drive was beautiful; I was a little buzzed by
the few beers and the full moon was casting an incredible light on the
landscape. Ethan kept pointing towards "Big fucking mansions", but it was a
little too dark to really make out more than the gated entrances. We got to
the house fairly quickly, veering off on some kind of off road. It was
fairly secluded, surrounded by what looked like bushes, trees, maybe some
swamp-like areas.

The house was small, single-floored, box-shaped and of recent
construction. It was all wooden and had few small windows on the entrance
side. Once you got in though, you entered in one big single room, with a
row a French windows opening on a big wooden deck, itself overlooking more
bushes, trees and swamps, all the way to a breathtaking view over Long
Island Sound. The room had an open kitchen, a dining area, a living room
and a large double bed, screened from the rest by an open shelf full of
books. There was a desk somewhere against a wall, full of Ethan's academic
mess. The only separate room was the bathroom, with a sink and a tub.

I darted straight to the deck. It was gorgeous. The moonlight was so
strong, I could see everything distinctly. Ethan turned on the light, which
suddenly blinded me. I knee-jerkily told him to turn them off. "This is
just fine. This is just beautiful". Ethan joined me on the deck: "It's
surprisingly warm for the season. This is quite exceptional".

"Do you mind if we sit here for a little while? I'm not quite ready to go
to sleep", I asked.

"No, of course not. This is fine." He went in and came back with a bottle
of whiskey and two glasses. "You need a grown-up drink".

"I'm 25".

"I know, I know", he said, suddenly expressionless.

We sat down on two comfortable chairs, both facing the view. He kicked off
his sandals and rested his feet on a stool. The sight of his strong, tanned
legs, with blond curly hair flustered me a little – so did his wide,
beefy bare feet. We sipped our drinks slowly and neither of us said very
much. We spent fifteen minutes in a silence that was only half-comfortable
for me but which seemed to please him.  We muttered sporadic comments about
how beautiful the view was and how happy we were at that precise
moment. And he really did seem happy and content, as my occasional glances
at his beautiful face attested. His sudden decision to stand up and retire
to bed felt like a jolt.

We brushed our teeth together, which felt mildly erotic. He closed the door
of the bathroom to change into boxers and t-shirt; when he reappeared, he
headed for the couch and said I should have the bed. I tried to argue
against it, but to no avail. I went to the bathroom to change. I splashed
some cold water on my face, to calm myself. I usually don't let my libido
take control of me, at least not in mundane circumstances. But my present
circumstances suddenly felt anything but mundane. I was, at that moment,
incredibly attracted by Ethan; I wanted him with a sense of urgency and
intensity that was difficult to tame. I was more than a little drunk by
then and felt recklessness creeping up on me. I also felt the first pang of
an erection. I felt like calling him, dropping my briefs and showing him my
hardening cock, pushing him into doing something about it.  But I collected
myself, and instead of sleeping naked (like I usually do) or wearing as
much clothing as he was, I reached an internal compromise by putting on a
pair of boxers and nothing else.

When I got out, Ethan was already lying on the couch. He had put some
sheets on it, but was sleeping above them – as the temperature in the
house was even higher than outside. He had left the sliding French windows
open and I could feel a nice, slight breeze. Ethan had his eyes closed and
I whispered him good night before lying on top of the sheets too, legs and
arms spread, staring up at the ceiling.

I couldn't quite manage to fall asleep; I dozed off a couple of times, but
was easily awoken by any movement Ethan made. Through the bookshelf, I
could make out his body tossing and turning. After a couple of hours, I was
just wide awake. And maddeningly horny. I slowly pulled down my boxers, as
if my raging erection needed to breathe. The little breeze it got made my
cock even harder. Then I heard Ethan standing up and walking slowly to the
kitchen area. He was trying to be silent, as not to wake me, though I
wondered whether he had heard my undressing. He opened the fridge and took
out a bottle of water, which he gulped down. I didn't move and my erection
did not subside. I kept my eyes half closed to look at what he was up
to. When he walked back towards the couch, I saw him startle and stop. He
had looked at me, he had seen my naked, aroused body on his bed. He didn't
move and kept looking. I saw him hesitate a couple of times, make a
tentative movement to resume his walk towards where he was actually
headed. But he did look at me, watched me for what seemed like a long
time. I saw his hand reach his crotch and distractedly fondle it. Then he
stopped, as if aware of what he was doing, and went out on the deck.

I froze for a second; I felt completely sober, with a mind crisp and
focused. But it was focused one on thing, seducing Ethan, and I could not
manage to hold on for more than a split second to any argument or thought
that would detract me from it. I took a deep breath, put back my boxers on,
and walked to the deck. My cock was still half hard, enough to be witnessed
by anyone who would gaze in that direction. I was hoping Ethan would.

I sat down on the same chair where I had been before, but I turned it
sideways, to be facing him, rather than the Sound. He softly and briefly
smiled at me, before turning back to the view. I lifted my legs and put my
feet on his lap. Again he smiled, again he turned away from me. But he
gently grabbed my feet and my calves and started to caress them, to rub
them.

"So here we are", he said softly, staring ahead.

"Yes".

"I've sometimes wondered if this would happen. Not often. And I never
wanted it to happen. I just wondered whether it would."

"If what would happen?"

"To be attracted by you. To wonder if you'd be attracted to me. What that
would feel like."

"And are you?"

"I am now, yes. I have been before. Rarely. Weirdly. Briefly."

"And how does it feel?"

"Right now?  Unsettling. But not because of... Not because I've known you
and your family for so long. Not because you're still so young that I feel
pathetic or worse. Not because I've fancied you secretly and agonizingly
for years. Nothing of the sort."

"Then why unsettling?"

He turned to face me and with the warmest gaze, said : "Because I don't
know what to do about it." He lifted my legs off his lap and stood up. He
asked me if needed anything from inside. Whiskey? Water? I really wanted to
keep my head clear and settled for water.

When he came with two bottles, he surprised me by lifting my legs back to
his lap and resuming his massaging them.

"You probably think too much about it", I said, determined. "Doing
something about it is not such a big deal, indeed. I won't stalk you or be
destroyed. There shouldn't be guilt or pressure. This is just what it is."

"I know that. Although, sorry, but for me it's a bit more than `just what
it is'".

There wasn't a slight of aggression or resentment, but I felt guilty at
being, or appearing to be, so casual about our situation. To signal
something, to take back a little of my previous callousness, I used my foot
to caress his thigh.

He turned his chair to face me and started to speak, calmly, warmly,
resolutely. "I feel like I am over sex. That it isn't something that brings
me what I want any longer. Let me rephrase that, I love sex, I really do
and I enjoy it. Martin and I, through the end, always had an active sex
life together. But it became increasingly more a source of frustration than
anything else. Things got pretty bad between us, and we had a lot of angry
sex, make-up sex, pity sex. But the angry sex never seemed, to me, to
reflect exactly how angry I was, the make-up sex how sorry I felt
sometimes, the pity sex how pathetic I ended up judging him. When I saw you
earlier on my bed, naked, I was astounded. You've became such an attractive
man. You are a man now, a beautiful, sexy man. You give off this incredibly
sexual vibe. I was dealing with that just fine until I saw you there, naked
and hard. I wanted you, I still want you so bad just as I'm talking
now. But I have so many emotions about you, old ones, new ones, odd ones. I
don't know how to have sex with you. Do we sweet talk and make love? Do we
fuck each other's brains out and cum all over our faces? Do we get rough,
nasty? How could any of this not be a let-down?"

"Ethan, cut this out right now. What have you been doing up here on your
own? Have you become that self-absorbed? You're hurting because Martin's
gone and the relationship's over. It's okay not to feel like having sex
with anybody for a while. It really is. But don't come up with that kind of
crap, wallow in it and make it sound all nihilistic. Or is it some Buddhist
crap you read in a self-help book?"

He froze for an instant, then broke into laughter. "Don't insult my
Gods". He squeezed my legs gently. "I want... I just want...", he seemed to
be concentrated on finding the right word. "Joy. I want joy."

I stood up, took his hand, motioned him to follow me and led him to the
bed. I pushed him on it and lied on top of him. I started to kiss him very
passionately, then slowed it down. He wrapped his legs around me and hugged
me, kissing me deeply.  We rolled over a few times, moved around the bed,
thrashing about. Our lips never parted. I finally let go to take his
t-shirt and our boxers off. I plunged back on him, our two very hard
erections pressing against our stomachs.  I kissed him everywhere I could,
his body felt amazing. I grabbed his ass with both hands; he had a large,
firm butt, the kind that comes with age to those who age well.

Every time we opened our eyes to look at each other, we were smiling. Every
time one of my kisses or licks tickled him, he laughed. He muttered my name
many times, in a sexy, raspy but exhilarated tone.

I took Ethan's cock in my mouth. It was very thick, but of average size, it
was smooth and very hard. It felt almost subversive to be blowing him, to
suck on his dick, lick his balls, kiss and play with the head. I increased
my rhythm, tried to take him as deep as possible, all the way to my
throat. I could hear him moan my name. It was incredible, I thought, fuck
yeah, I'm blowing Ethan's hard cock. My own dick was dripping precum on the
sheets and almost painfully begging to fuck him.

I asked him if he had any lube. He did, grabbed it from underneath the bed
and handed it to me. I was on top and managed to lube his ass while looking
at him straight in the eyes the whole time. He looked hungry for it, hungry
for me. He had a mischievous smile, lustful eyes, and was breathing
irregularly, with little hiccups every time I inserted one, or two, or
three fingers in his ass.

He was then open, moist and ready for me. I lifted his legs and put his
ankles on my shoulder. I penetrated him slowly and entered without much
resistance. It felt insanely good. Our eyes were still locked into each
other's. He whispered "go deep". I pushed myself as hard I could and
started fucking him. I pressed my body against his, we were both so sweaty
by then, they seemed to be sliding. I kissed his neck, licked his ear,
buried myself in the pillow as I was pounding and pounding and pounding. He
lowered his legs and wrapped them around my butt again. I raised my torso
and found myself saying his name very loud, alternating with louder "Fuck!
Oh fuck!".

I looked at his chest, with a gorgeous horizontal patch, along his strong
pecs, of blond soft hair. I grabbed his pecs, pinched his nipples. The
feeling of my dick thrusting in and out was incredible. Ethan was excellent
at loosening, flexing, squeezing, loosening again. He was panting and
moaning, and grabbed his cock.  He started to jerk like crazy, watching me
with his eyes wide wide wide open. I pulled out of him and started stroking
as well. We didn't cum together but it was close enough. And we both seemed
to cum buckets, as his chest, chin and face were drenched.

I dropped myself on him, exhausted. He hugged me while rubbing his stomach
against mine and mixing our semen. I took his t-shirt from the floor and
wiped ourselves clean. We just lied next to each other, staring at the
ceiling. He grabbed hold of my hand, squeezed it and kept it with his. It
was so hot in the room that this was as much body contact we could
tolerate. I turned my head and looked at him. He was sporting a big,
contented smile. He turned towards me and blew me a kiss, then closed his
eyes. I fell asleep.

* * *

The bright sunlight didn't wake me the next morning. Nor did the sound and
smell of the coffee machine. Nor did Ethan's closing the door when he left
the cabin. It was him coming back and laying on the counter some bread,
cheese, and fruits that he had just gone to buy. It was past eleven, and I
opened one eye, naked on the large bed. I had a huge erection.

"Morning wood?" asked Ethan, setting up the breakfast table on the deck.

"Yes, is that joyful enough for you?"

He laughed and came over. He climbed on the bed and started taking my dick
in his mouth.  "Stop," I said. "We have plenty of time, I'm starving, and
not for a quickie".

I put on the boxers from last night, made him remove his shirt and we sat
down on the deck. We had a great breakfast, after which Ethan climbed on
the hammock that was at the end of the deck and said, "Come with me". I
managed to climb my way in, and rested between his legs, my naked back
against his naked torso. He wrapped his arms around me.

We talked for an hour. I made him talk about Martin, briefly – but long
enough to show that I cared. I asked about his coming out, about his first
sexual experiences.  I wanted to know all the things that hadn't been told
about the Ethan I knew, all the things that we didn't talk about because
sharing about sex with him had never been part of our relationship. He
asked me about my sex life and I replied a little more honestly and
completely than I had the previous night. He seemed neither fazed nor
inappropriately eager. But I did feel his cock hardening behind me. He had
seen my own erection and was distractedly, slowly fondling my dick.

"Ethan, I do get what you mean with your need for joyful sex, I want you to
know that. I have little patience for over-complicated over-thinking of
things that are simple and natural, that's all. Joyful sex is rare but it
is fantastic. And I guess I haven't had some in a while before last night
either. But as opposed to you, I do like angry sex, make-up sex, rough sex,
drunk sex, and all that."

"I know.  And I am actually a very sexual person. But I'm strictly
monogamous and I had been with Martin for the last seven years. So I'm a
bit out of practice when it comes to joyful sex."

"What about on your own?"

"That has definitely been a lot of joy, yes. Always has been."

"Tell me about the best one you've had recently".

"I was on a hike, here on the Island. I was very horny, for some reason. I
realized there was nobody around. I just sat there, facing the ocean, in
the middle of the bushes, took my dick out and started stroking. It's not
much of a story, but it felt amazing."

I got out of the hammock and told him: "Get some clothes on. We're gonna
hop in your car and you'll take me there. To that exact spot where you
jerked off. I want to see it." He grinned and stood up.

The drive wasn't very long, but the hike was, especially with the heat. We
spent the time talking about all the different outdoor places we had ever
jerked off in. Ethan, being outdoors by trade and by hobby, had a better
collection than I did. It was very fun and we were often giggling like
randy teenagers.

We finally got to Ethan's spot. It was indeed secluded – and
spectacular. He turned to me and asked "now what?". I told him I had had my
way with him last night and that it was his turn to call the shots. "I'm
yours. Use me and direct me to your own pleasure".

He pushed me against a tree, he lifted my arms and raised my t-shirt. He
kissed and licked my armpits, one after the other, my neck, my nipples, my
chest, my stomach, my bellybutton. He licked me up all the away along the
side of my body to reach my armpit again. He grabbed my dick through my
pants and kissed me hungrily. He was a bit rough with my cock, but it felt
good. I really wanted to take out his own and play with it, but I decided
to let him guide us to wherever and whatever he wanted us to do.

He took off my t-shirt, then unzipped my shorts. They dropped to my ankles,
soon followed by my underwear. I was completely naked; still fully dressed,
he stepped back to take a full view of my body. He opened his shirt, but
left it on. He opened the first button of his shorts, but kept it on as
well. He was looking at me intently, taking me all in. He pushed one of his
hand inside his underwear and started fondling his cock. His eyes were
scanning one part of my body to another, in a slow sequence. His look was
so full of lust, he was almost a different person. I felt like the porn he
was probably watching sometime. "Jerk yourself off", he told me.

And I did.  Slowly. Staring at him, glancing occasionally at his hand,
still inside his pants but stroking a now obviously hard dick. He came back
close to me and grabbed my face with both his hands, pulled it towards me
and kissed me again, with a depth and passion similar to our first kiss the
previous night.

He shuffled me a bit, positioned himself behind me, and dropped his shorts
and underwear to his ankles. He pulled me closer and stroked my cock with
his left hand, using his right hand to jerk himself off. His mouth was
right next to my ear. He licked, kissed or whispered repeatedly my name,
sometimes Ben, sometimes Benjamin. He was jacking us off at the same
rhythm, alternating speed and squeezing hard occasionally. His jerking fist
kept punching my ass, and I felt his wet dickhead a few times, smearing me
with drop of precum. We were both facing an incredible landscape, but it
barely registered, as I was so enthralled in his grip.

"I'm gonna cum", I whispered faintly. He accelerated the stroking on both
of our cocks, raised himself a little so he could get an easier and better
view of mine. I felt the orgasm building up inside me, shaking me and I
erupted. We botch watched my cum fly in the air and land on dry leaves with
a flop flop sound. He jerked his cock even faster and his body was
trembling. He placed his other arm around me and pulled me violently
towards him. His hand was deeply pressed on my chest, when I felt him
cumming in spasms, spurting on the small of my back.  His body brutally
dropped and he grunted. I felt him slapping his dick on my back and wiping
it on my ass. He kissed me in the neck, gently, softly. Neither of us were
moving for a long time, our eyes closed. I felt his cum dripping and
sliding on my sweaty body, towards my crack and my ass cheeks, some drops
falling to the ground.

After a little while, we silently dressed, his warm and smiling gaze always
upon me. As we walked back to the car, I asked: "So, did we get it all out
of our system, now?" He laughed and said, "Nope. Not quite yet, I don't
think. What time do you have to catch the ferry back?". I cursed myself for
having made up such an excuse to come and visit him. Yet, I couldn't bring
myself to tell him that I didn't have to leave at all that day; I would
come off like a scheming manipulative little trickster and it would ruin
the actual spontaneity that had made the sex between us so fantastic. I was
pretty sure I had not plotted ahead to hook up with him, not consciously,
and I wanted him and me to stay with that impression, with that version of
the truth. "No later than 7 or 8", I reluctantly came up with.

"It's interesting you use the `getting it out of our system' expression",
he said. "This is really what it feels like, isn't it? Yet, it feels like I
need to get out my system something I wasn't exactly aware I had in the
first place. And right now, whatever it is, doesn't feel completely let
out."

I let him ponder more, as he was evidently absorbed by his thoughts. I was
walking right next to him, feeling the crusty dried semen on my ass rubbing
against my underwear.

"Today", he resumed, "I've had sex with the person you are now, with the
sexy guy that got off the ferry last night, with the Ben that decided to
pay me a visit - I wasn't and still am not quite clear on that, by the
way". He smiled at me and waited briefly for an answer. I looked straight
ahead, with my own thin smile on. He dropped the matter and started again.

"I told you it's not like I have been longing for you forever. But I have
had, sporadically, strong magnetic attractions to you. I do vividly
remember the first one. Andrew and I had stopped by to visit you briefly,
on our way to a wedding in Virginia. You were spending the summer in DC, as
an intern or something. It was a few months after you had come out to
us. Do you remember?"

"I do. I was just twenty. It was just before my junior year."

"Yeah. We had been driving for a while and we met with you at some park,
close to where you were living. You were playing soccer, with a bunch of
other guys. Andrew and I just sat there, waiting for your game to be over,
watching you. I hadn't seen you in six months, but you had changed quite a
lot, somehow. You were bigger it seems, or just buffer, I don't know. I
remember being fascinated by you on the field: you looked so determined,
focused, aggressive. When the game was done, you walked towards us, soaked
in sweat, panting. I was transfixed.  You were so hot. When you hugged me,
I felt some kind of electricity."

"I can't say I remember that".

"Well, it was very strange and disturbing for me. I had never considered
you that way, you know? I had never looked at you sexually. It felt
creepy. But the whole afternoon we spent together with your brother, I
couldn't get my mind off sex.  I was with Martin, of course, and you were
Benjamin, Andrew's little brother, so nothing would have or could have
happened. But I clearly remember the moment when we were taking off; Andrew
was still inside, but we were by the car together. You were seeing us off
and I was loading in some kind of grocery bags."

"You already had that Volvo".

"Yes, it was in a better shape, though. Anyway, you were standing so close
to me and I was trying really hard to shake off this raw attraction. But,
just for a second, as I was half into the car, I had a vision of fucking
with you in that car, right there, right then. I actually had an erection
thinking about it!  Then Andrew came down, we all hugged and we left."

I tried to remember that day in Washington as we kept walking. I did recall
the events he described, but not anything about him looking lustfully at me
nor anything close. It was a great, exciting, and eventful summer for me
and that particular day didn't quite stand out.

 "And you've thought about that moment since then?", I asked.

"Not really, except by flashes, sometimes. When your name comes up in the
conversation, it does happen."

"Flashes."

"Yes. I guess what I'm trying to say, or what I'm trying to figure out
myself, is how significant these attractions I felt towards you really
were. If what I need to get out of my system are the fantasies I had about
you and suppressed with rational determination."

"You will never be able to fuck with the 20-year old me."

"You're just 25."

"Yeah, but I'm not 20. I'm not a college sophomore who just came out. The
attraction you described was about seeing me soaked in sweat, playing
soccer. You didn't mention how engrossing my conversation was or how
fascinated you were by our philosophical exchanges on the meaning of life."

"You're being unfair."

"I'm not.  And I'm not saying this is wrong. I think we all try to relive
moments from our past, however young or old we are. We did that in the
hammock, this morning, for an hour, just by swapping stories. But I think
we have a similarly strong urge to experience what we missed out on, what
we wished had happened but didn't."

"You feel that way?"

"Yes. For instance, when I was in high school, a good friend from soccer
found the nerve to ask me if I'd get into a threesome with my girlfriend
and him. He wanted to watch us fuck and maybe participate a bit. I freaked
and firmly declined. To this day, I love watching porn about such
threesomes; to this day, I wish I could run into him and say `let's do
it'. To this day, the few times I've actually been in such a threesome, I
always thought about that guy from high school, at one point or another."

"And these work to `get it out of your system' ?"

"No, because, even if these threesomes are fucking hot, each of us is
really having their own personal experience at that moment. And it's never
really quite the configuration I envisioned could have happened back in
high school. Whatever the woman, the other guy, or myself wants or does,
the way we fuck, the way we cum, it's never like my fantasy of what would
have happened if I had said yes. Probably because, you know, I'm not in
high school anymore." I winked at him.

"So, I will never shake off the image of you at 20, sweaty in a soccer
uniform."

"Do you want to?"

"I don't know. It is associated with guilt, a little creepiness, and a kind
of sexual longing I find a little pathetic."

"If I told you just now that I vividly remember that moment, that I could
still see myself walking out of the field, towards you, and feeling
overcome by an animal attraction for you, would it change something?"

"Yes.  Definitely. It would alter that moment, change the memory by
shedding some of its uglier layers. That moment would become something
mutual, and just a missed opportunity. That, maybe we could shake off by
fucking."

"Well, I'm sorry then."

His only answer was to take my hand and to keep walking, slowing our pace a
little. When we reached the car, he stopped and gently grabbed my face with
both of his big, strong hands. He pulled me closer and kissed me slowly,
starting with little pecks, licking my lips with his tongue, inserting it
in my mouth.

"Let's go", he said, "you must be hungry". We decided to grab some food
somewhere and have a picnic on Isabella beach. It was a beautiful day, it
was hot but the sun wasn't too brutal. He had some old beach towels stored
in his car and we used them to sit and lie on the sand, at a reasonable
distance from other little groups or families enjoying the day out. We
kicked off our shoes and removed our shirts.  We ate and actually managed
to talk at length about other matters than sex.  Until, after a silent
pause watching teenagers play in the water, he asked: " "So, what about
you?"

"What about me?"

"Have you ever been attracted to me sexually?" he said. "It's only fair I
ask."

"Yes, it is. And yes, I guess I have. I know I've always found you handsome
and charming."  I thought for a while, rummaging through some
memories. "Ethan, you must realize that you were always there in my
life. You were a constant. And, as a gay guy I grew up with, you probably
brought up or personified things about men in general."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Well, for instance, I vividly remember one time when you were staying at
our house for a couple of days. I was young, maybe fourteen? I went to the
bathroom one morning to brush my teeth and as I opened the door without
knocking, I found you in the bathroom, naked and shaving in front of the
mirror. I felt a big jolt. I mumbled some apologies and retreated by
slamming the door. I vaguely heard you say "no worries", very casually. I
was shaken by the sight of you, which was extremely erotic to me. And I was
shaken by your cock. I had only seen it for a split second, but I had found
it thick and beautiful. But my point is, I can't really tell whether I had
gotten semi hard seeing Ethan's cock or just a guy's cock, period. And it's
the same thing with hearing Andrew tease you about your one-night stands
(back in the day when you had some) or seeing the outline of your dick
through your wet speedo when we were all swimming together. It was fucking
hot and parts of the many telling signs that I was gay, but I didn't equate
any of that with a specific attraction for you. Not back then."

"And now?"

"Well, now you're Ethan, just Ethan. I'm 25 and I don't need to look for
signs telling me who I am or for models from whom to find inspiration as to
how to live my life.  You're Ethan, a single, fucking sexy guy whom I've
liked for a long time. And, yes, today, now that we can, I do want to fuck
your brains out constantly. I do admit that when I heard you became single,
that ignited a little spark."

After a pause, I added "Or maybe I'm just full of crap. Maybe I've been
crazy in love with you the whole time. What exactly are we talking about?"

"Whatever we're talking about, you have lost the right to ever give me shit
about over-thinking sex. You little fucker." He flashed me a big grin.

"Yeah. So let's make it simpler. I've always found you hot, I never really
thought about doing anything about it. But I confess I may have jerked off
on some occasions thinking about you. But that was a while ago".

"So have I.  I jerked off the night of that wedding in Virginia, thinking
about having my way with you in the back of my car".

"And how was that?"

He laughed.  "It was terrible! I was fucking drunk and tired, I came
quickly - with a semi limp dick. And I was submerged by guilt as soon as
the first drop of semen landed on my belly."

"Lovely."

"Yeah. I came just thinking about your legs, I think. That's how horny you
had gotten me on that soccer field. Since that day, I was always aware of
how obsessive I was about your legs."

"I think I've been obsessed about your cock, since the day I saw you
shaving. I'm an ass man, but I had never paid much attention to your ass,
up until yesterday. The only glances at your body I had allowed myself were
always for your cock."

"Trying to recapture that moment in the bathroom?"

"Probably.  But, see, that's how I'm luckier than you. I could get your
cock out of my system last night because I finally saw it, in its full
glory. It was finally mine. You can't fuck with 20-year old Ben, but I can
play with your cock. It hasn't changed!"

We were both laughing and he delicately took my hand.

"So you're done with me, now that you've seen my cock?" he joked.

"Well, that's the problem. I thought I could be, but by fucking with you, I
was finally introduced to your spectacular ass. And that, my friend, is the
drama of my life now. An old obsession was just replaced by a new
one. Young Ethan's cock gave way to Adult Ethan's ass.  It never ends."

"The circle of life."

"Exactly."

After a pause, he asked me: "When you jerked off thinking about me, what
was going through your mind?"

I tried to remember, and it came back quickly. "It really didn't happen
that often, as I said. But I remember much of it was about your cock,
obviously. There was a lot about jerking off together - just the two of us,
chilling, or sometimes with a bunch of other guys. There was one night I
was really stoned, and it was about you giving me the most awesome blow
job".

"But you stopped me this morning?"

"I just said we had the whole day."

"The day is going fast."

"I know."

"I want to blow you right now."

"But not right here?"

"Preferably not. I'm not an exhibitionist."

"I am. But, yes, preferably not on a family beach."

"Where should we go?"

"You tell me. You're the King of the Island."

"I think I just used up my turn of being fully in charge."

"That's right. Well, there's an obvious choice: let's do it in your
car. It'll be summer 97 all over again. Kind of."

He laughed, said ok, stood up, packed our things and started to walk. When
we were in the car, he turned and asked where we should go.

"I don't know, you know the area. Not at your cabin, let's do it somewhere
a tiny bit more dangerous."

He thought for a while then said : "I know of a place. It's fairly
secluded."

"You seem to know a lot of secluded places around here."

"The island is just one big secluded place. And I have a lot of time on my
hands."

He drove off and we were silent for a while. The he burst into a short
laugh. I looked at him quizzically and he said : "I'm so horny, right now,
it's ridiculous."

"And you're joyful?"

"Yes, Ben, I am extremely joyful. And stupendously horny. Man, we just had
sex. I mean, we've had sex twice already in less than 24 hours and I'm
fucking horny again".

"Well, you did say you were a very sexual person. I like a man who's true
to his word."

We soon arrived to something that looked like a car park, at the start of a
hike. There was, indeed, no one and no car around. "Let's go in the
backseat", I said.  "Like two true horny teenagers." I lied down on my
back, across the seat, my knees at its edge, and my legs dangling. He
pulled my short and underwear down, and kneeled on the ground between my
legs, by the open door. My cock was already half-hard and he started
licking it and kissing it. He was very slow.  He lifted my balls, licked
underneath them, took them in his mouth, one by one.  He moved back up to
my dick, licking the whole shaft, circling the head with his tongue. Then
he took it all in, in one gulp. He sucked on it, then took it even deeper,
all the way to his throat.

It may truly have been one of the longest blow jobs I ever received. He
would blow me hungrily, then take my cock out of his mouth, hold it and
watch it appreciatively, suck some more, with wet slurping noise, go back
to my balls, back to the shaft, back to head. He licked and gently kissed
my hole a few times too. He was blowing me like I was the last person he
would ever be blowing. He looked possessed, hungry and elated. It was
incredibly hot to watch – on top of being a fantastic blow job.

I finally had to stop him. I was getting close to orgasm and even if I had
enough stamina for a third in less than a day, I wasn't sure it would be
the case for a fourth. And we weren't finish with that backseat.

He was now kissing my stomach and my thighs. I asked him, "In that brief
vision, way back in DC, who was fucking whom in this car?"

He looked up, amused and intrigued. "I think it was me fucking you. But if
you're thinking about completing unfinished business, I actually really
want you to fuck me again." He climbed in the car, which wasn't easy or
graceful and lied on top of me. We kissed for a while, then I motioned him
to let me get on top and have him lie on his stomach. I wasn't feeling too
acrobatic and fucking him from behind seemed the best option, at least to
get us started.

I pulled down his pants and undies, spat on my fingers and tried to lube
his hole with my saliva. I spat again and lubed my very hard dick. It was
still quite wet from Ethan's extensive blow job, though, and it helped
getting through the first ring of his sphincter. I carefully, slowly,
pushed in and pulled out, before pushing back again. In a few thrusts, I
was all the way inside him and started to pump. We must have been quite a
hot sight: two guys with their pants at their ankles, going at it like
rabbits in the back seat of a car, our legs outside, our sweaty bodies
inside rubbing against each other and the old leather of the seat.

Between two groans, Ethan said he wanted to switch positions, so that he
could see me better. It was hard to move with our shorts limiting our
motions and we were quite clumsy. But he managed to have me lie on my back;
he got one leg out of his shorts, he straddled me and sat on my cock,
taking it all inside his ass in one swift move. Placing one hand on the
ceiling, the other on my pec, he began to ride my dick.

It was incredible: he was in a trance, staring at me with glassy eyes and I
could see his fat cock bobbing up and down with each of his movements. He
was really slamming his ass against my body, completely impaling himself on
my hard dick, all the while managing some amazing contractions with his
hole that kept sending jolts of electricity through the shaft of my cock
all the way to my guts.

I don't know what got over me, but I started shouting uncontrollably "YES!
FUCK! YEAH!", with my eyes wildly, manically open, pleading him not to
stop. He used one of his hand to muffle me. He was pressing it hard on my
mouth, I almost had a hard time breathing, but I was thrashing about
violently, trying to fuck him ever harder. He responded with his own
violence, hastening and hardening the slamming of his ass against me,
riding me with fury.

I was losing it. We were fucking so hard. I kept shouting, nothing much
came out as any noise I made was muffled by his tightly gripping hand and
covered by his own very loud panting. Then, the most incredible, insanely
arousing sight any gay man covets happened right in front of my eyes: Ethan
came without touching himself, one hand still firmly on the ceiling to
maintain his balance, the other one on my mouth.

I tried to shout through his hand that I was about to cum, but he kept
slamming his ass, still absorbed by his orgasm. I erupted inside him and
felt like I was almost passing out.

There followed a lot of grunting, moaning, panting from both us,
increasingly quieter and softer, and morphing into slow breathing – the
only sound suddenly in this very quiet car park.

I felt my dick slowly softening and abruptly being popped out of Ethan's
ass. I felt the dripping of my cum also leaving his hole, in small
squirts. Ethan had dropped himself on me, he felt very heavy, extremely
warm. My body ached and every small uncomfortable movement was making it
worse.

The physical and emotional intensity I had just experienced was rattling
me. I felt a brief panic, a deep confusion. Ethan wasn't moving, was
completely silent and inert. "Say something", I wanted to shout, "say
fucking something! What the fuck was that? How could this be so fucking
good?". But I stayed silent too and concentrated really hard on getting my
senses back.

Sex is good. Sex can be incredibly, overpoweringly intense even with a
complete stranger, even with a complete bastard, even with a fucking twat,
even with a guy overweight or old or ugly. Remember, just
remember. Remember the sex clubs, remember the anonymous hook-ups, remember
the threesomes, foursomes, fivesomes.  Remember this guy and that guy and
that other guy. Sex is sex.

Of course, sex with Ethan was bound to be fantastic. It's Ethan for fuck's
sake. But if I had learned anything thus far, it was that sex is not love.

And what if Ethan had been right – or partly right? At some point, sex
reaches a limit in its ability to express what we feel, how we feel. Maybe
the incredible, intense, raw and emotional sex I'd had with Ethan in the
last 24 hours, culminating in that frenzied copulation just now, had said
what I had wanted to tell him all these years. Maybe our fucking reflected
better than any simple words or long convoluted conversations what Ethan
really felt towards me. Maybe it wasn't so much a matter of getting
anything out of our system, but rather of saying what could never be said.

I've always been familiar with straight guys who punch you jokingly or pat
you firmly on the back to express genuine affection – I do it too. Ethan
and I used our smiles, our dicks, our asses, our lips, our jizz and some
very intense banging to tell each other something. Something important. And
that something had just been said. Loud, indeed, and clear. Sex with Ethan
was over – for today definitely, forever possibly- because the
conversation had reached its end.  Everything that needed to be said had
been perfectly communicated, with brutal sexual honesty, with joyful sexual
sincerity.

* * * We slowly disentangled our glued up bodies. Ethan surprised me with a
salvo of short, rapid kisses all over my face. "Let's go", he just said.

We drove back to the cabin and took a shower together. Ethan fixed me a
sandwich, "for the train. You might not get to Providence before late". He
drove me to Hay Harbor, where the ferry had brought me last night. When we
got there, he turned off the engine.

"Don't wait up", I told him. "I'm sure the next ferry should be soon. I'll
be fine."

"Okay. You do know how wonderful it was to have you here?"

"Well, I know how wonderful it was to be here."

A silence followed, one neither knew quite how to break.

"I should go", I whispered and started to open the door.

He grabbed my arm and said : "Wait up, Ben. We're good, right?"

"Oh Ethan, we're so good. We are so fucking good, it doesn't really get
much better than that."

He laughed, took my hand and kissed it.

"What are you up to tonight?" I asked him, one leg out of the car, the
other in.

"I'm just gonna head home and relax on the porch. I feel pretty
exhausted. Is it crass to say that my ass hurts?"

"Nah. Well, you do that. You relax. Have a little whiskey."

"I will.  And I'll raise my glass to you, Benjamin".

I planted a big wet kiss on his lips and got out of the car. We both waved
and I watched the old battered orange Volvo drive off. I felt punch drunk
happy.

I did feel a little stupid, hours later, back in my small NY apartment,
texting him that I had arrived safely in Providence. But nothing that wiped
the smile off my face.

Ethan today is still very much part of Andrew's life and, hence, of mine.
He and I did sleep together two more times, maybe, in the following three
years - before he started dating a graduate student from Williams (a nice,
Granola, sensitive, bearded young guy). I confessed I did come on to Ethan
on one drunken occasion since then. But that was just the dick talking and,
in my defense, Ethan does have a fantastic ass. As well as a firm
commitment to monogamy. They've been married since 2010. I see them about
twice a year. They always seem joyful.




And, "Ethan", if you happen to stumble upon this story: thank you. As for
the question you kept asking that day, the question I kept ignoring (and
which I edited out of this story), here is, at long last, the answer: yes.



Comments, suggestions, reactions are welcome: benashtonvilla@yahoo.com