Date: Mon, 07 Jun 2010 03:51:52 -0400
From: flatlander4722@aol.com
Subject: "Martin" Chapter 3

This story is mostly fiction. It contains sex between consulting adult
men. If you are underage, and, depending upon where you live, are not of
legal age to read stories with adult sexual content, you must close your
browser immediately. This story has been written for adults but, if as an
adult, sexual activity between men offends your sensibilities, you must
likewise, close your browser immediately. Enough information has been
provided for you to make an appropriate decision based upon your age. It is
your responsibility to act accordingly. This story is my own original
composition, please do not copy it. Comments and constructive criticism are
welcome but flames will be ignored. I hope you enjoy the story.



We ate a hearty lunch in the buff and afterward, because the sun had turned
up the heat, we returned to stand once again in the pool. We nursed our
beers. I was feeling no pain.

"You got me drunk!" I said in mock accusation, putting my bottle down on
the deck.

Martin nodded and put his down too.

"So you could have your way with me!" I teased.

"Yeah," he said playfully.

He lunged and grabbed me in a bear hug as we fell off balance into the
water. We surfaced with our arms around each other.

"And I might want to have my way with you again," he said softly,
sputtering water in my ear.

"Anytime you want, with no strings attached," I replied, shaking the water
out.

He pulled back and gave me a questioning look.

"I mean that!" I emphasized.

"I believe you do," he said, nodding his head.

He pressed his body to mine, tightened his arms around me and squeezed.

"Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" he asked
jokingly.

"I'm sorry, Martin," I said, mortified, "I didn't even realize..."

"It's okay...it's just...I don't...know...ah...how...ah...what...um...to
do...ah...I never..." he stammered as he looked down.

Now it was his turn to be embarrassed.

This was what I had hoped to avoid.

"Look! We gotta talk," I said.

He looked up apprehensively.

"I don't expect you to do anything to me. That's what I mean by no
strings."

Again, he looked at me questioningly. So I began to explain as delicately
as possible.

"Just because I made you...um...feel good...that doesn't make
you...well...you know...look... you're all man...there's not a queer bone
in your body. I continued.

"So here's the facts: heterosexual men have sex with other men. There are
many reasons but probably the need for release is the main one. It's
usually passive, allowing another man to satisfy them but it can also
become active in other sexual situations.  None of this makes them gay,
because primarily, these men are romantically attracted to the opposite
sex. They are sexually aroused by, and engage in sex with, women. In fact,
they are often married.

"I know what you're thinking. How can they be straight? Aren't they really
gay or bisexual? No they are not, even though their sexual behavior
includes sex with other men. These guys do not self-identify nor see
themselves as gay or bisexual.

"Society needs labels to tie everything up into neat little packages. We've
lived long enough to understand life doesn't work that way. I can't even
categorize myself. I am attracted to you and want to satisfy you but I
don't need you to reciprocate. Again, that's the no strings part. Would I
turn down any overtures from you? I don't think so but I don't expect them
and I'm not asking for them.

"Just now, when my erection poked you, I was excited because you expressed
your desire for a repeat performance; not because I wanted you to take care
of me. I get off on satisfying you. Why? I know I have a queer bone or two
in my body and besides, I think I fetishize having sex with straight
men. But I don't need any attention from you. I would never make those kind
of demands.

"Look! I know you've never done anything like this before. Yes, I'm kinky,
as you would probably say, but I know you enjoyed everything I did to
you. You are probably shocked that you liked it as much as you did; that
you came as hard as you did; that you may even want it to happen again. And
that's okay. You have to come to terms with that for yourself. I would
never expect or ask you to do any of those things to me, ever. And, more
importantly, I do not want to have any impact on your marriage or your
family. I am serious when I say 'no strings.'"

"Whew!" Martin took a deep sigh. And in a way, he looked relieved.

"I know. It's a lot to take in. But this is getting so heavy now! We were
supposed to relax and have fun!

"Here, let's try this. Why don't you just say to me, something like: 'Come
here you little faggot and suck my dick.' Or, 'you're the best cocksucker
I've ever had!' How about? 'You like me fucking your mouth, don't you, you
little cum slut?'"

It was plain to see, Martin was appalled.

"That's really filthy!" He said.

"Yeah, I know," I said, grinning.
                                                                                                                               §


I had assumed Martin was an indigenous New Englander. So it caught me
unaware when he revealed later that same day he was a transplanted
Midwesterner. After some consideration, it seemed to fit. Both areas share
a similar work ethic. He was friendly and nice, but only after we had
become acquainted and that had taken over two years! Openness was the
sticking point. Midwesterners are known for it. His reserved demeanor,
uncharacteristic for his origins, had led me to mistake him for a native
New Englander instead. His emotional restraint was most likely attributed
to his Teutonic heritage.

There were enough leftovers from lunch to make supper and by the time I had
cleaned up the kitchen, it was dusk. Martin had been drinking beer on and
off all day but surprisingly, he did not appear sloppy at all. I was, what
could only be described as, tipsy.

When I announced I would be on my way, Martin protested.

"You can't drive, you've been drinking!"

I explained that several cups of coffee had sobered me up.

"Nonsense!" he said, then, "Stay here tonight. Stay with me. Come on..."

When he put it like that, how could I refuse?

He led the way to his bedroom, turned on the television and disappeared
into the bathroom. I heard the shower running and wanted to join him but
thought the better of it. He offered me the facilities and after I jokingly
sniffed my armpit, he nodded and laughed.

He was already propped up in bed, wearing a white tee shirt and boxer
shorts, watching TV.

When I returned stark naked, he regarded me with raised eyebrows.

"I hope you don't mind but I like to sleep with nothing on."

He smirked lasciviously and nodded.

"Do you mind if I join you?" he asked.

"I'd like that!"

Standing up, he stripped off his underwear.

He was like a kid accepting a dare. I was sure he had never slept naked in
his entire life. And it was revealed later on that I was right. In the
early years of marriage, he and his wife would dress in pajamas after
making love. In fact, she often resisted being completely nude. This
inhibited him too, he confided, and he often left a tee shirt and boxers on
during sex.

Martin laid next to me, propped himself up on an elbow and began to ask
some questions.

He wanted to know how I had become such a free spirit and, as he put it, so
experimental.

So I began by saying I was raised in a Mediterranean, Roman Catholic
family. Both my parents were rather prudish and my adolescence was sexually
repressed, which I supposed was fairly typical for the time.

In fact, my sexuality was stunted and I did not fully explore it until my
mid-thirties. Married at the time, I threw off my heterosexual cloak and
allowed myself to be seduced by the other side.

I lived a double life, explored nudity, acted out my lifelong homosexual
fantasies and I embraced my fetishes. Part of the latter was my attraction
to certain body parts, which I believed were imprinted prematurely as they
were some of my earliest childhood memories.

Addicted to sensual gratification as a toddler, I commenced a furtive and
lifelong exploration of it. As a child, I instinctively knew my actions
would be misunderstood so I hid them well. I was soon powerless to stop my
obsessive genital manipulation. The scope of the handling increased. By the
time I began school, I was an expert masturbator and could play my body
like a fiddle.

Martin listened attentively and I continued.

Women felt I was a considerate lover since I pleased them right off the
bat. They all complimented me on my "wonderful touch" and remarked about my
"staying power." In point of fact, these were no more than my lifelong
penchant for knowing how to stroke my own body, which was easily
transferable to someone else, and my apparent difficulty in achieving
orgasm with a woman.

At first, I attributed the latter to my clandestine homosexual fantasies
and thought perhaps it would be easier to succeed if I switched. But after
I tried men and found myself still unable to cum, I realized it was due to
my stunted sexuality and not the gender of my bedfellows.

Sometimes, if the right buttons were pushed, I could orgasm with either
sex. However, the fact remained that my hand was way more proficient than
most people I ever met.

"Have I shocked you?" I asked him. "You haven't said a word."

"I've been listening," he said, "and though it's a strange story, it's also
oddly captivating. But you certainly know how to give pleasure, I can
attest to that."

"I only know what feels good to me and I merely did those same things to
you."

"But you do them with such intensity," he said. "It reminds me of something
which happened a long time ago."

I nodded for him to continue.

"I was drafted into the army at eighteen," Martin said, "and subsequently
stationed in Korea. It was a little over five years after the Korean War
and just prior to Vietnam. Some of us headed over to Japan on R&R for a few
days. Of course, being young men, we paid the obligatory visit to a geisha
house.

"The girls stripped me, there were three of them naked to the waist, and
they put me into a hot bath. They scrubbed me all over and I mean, all
over. I nearly fell asleep in the hot water from the "sake" they gave me to
drink.

"They pulled me out of the tub, patted me dry and took me to an adjoining
room which was very, very warm. It had a polished stone table and they
motioned for me to lie on it. As I put a knee up to mount the table, I
noticed a round hole roughly in its center. It was beveled with no sharp
angles.

"With hand gestures, the geishas made me understand I was to put my
genitals into it. I inserted myself into the opening and lay on my
belly. The stone proved to be comfortably warm.

"The geishas massaged me with hands and twirling brushes. Again, I had
nearly fallen asleep when I felt a pair hands on my organs. I was drowsy
from the heat and it seemed to take forever until I became hard.

"One girl was massaging my shoulders and back while the other was pulling
on my toes. It was the first time anyone, other than myself, had touched my
feet. It did not have an erotic association for me until the third geisha,
the one under the stone table, began working my groin. Then I seemed to
feel every rub on the sole of my foot and every pull of a toe directly in
my penis too.

"She gave me the most agonizingly slow hand job. Every time I was about to
cum, she squeezed the base of my dick until all sensation of it passed. I
had never experienced such an exquisite torment.

"Finally, she finished me. I heard my cries echo off the tiled walls of the
room. I was sweating and writhing slowly on my belly in the warmth as my
orgasm seemed to go on and on.

"Afterward, the geisha came out from under the table and stood in front of
me, while another wiped her naked breasts which were dripping with my
semen. I watched this, limp with pleasure.

"I had never experienced anything like that before or since, that is, until
today. You tweaked some of their tricks in the most perverse ways and added
new ones I could never have imagined.

"You give a good back and foot massage but I have never felt anyone run
their tongue along the soles of my feet and between my toes. I would never
have believed anything so kinky could feel so good. When you sucked my
toes, I could feel it in my penis too.

"I've sucked my wife's nipples but she has never done that to me. She's
caressed them but it didn't feel nearly as good as what you did. And my
armpits and navel, where did you learn about those? They had never even
occurred to me. And no one has ever come near my anus, much less put their
tongue there. It was such a dirty thing for you to do. I would never have
believed it could feel so good if I hadn't experienced it.

"When I came this afternoon, I felt as if I was back on that stone table
submitting myself completely to those women. Except today, I succumbed to a
man, who tormented my body just as exquisitely but in the most filthy and
deviant way anyone could imagine. When you asked me to let it go, I did,
and I screamed just as loudly as I did nearly fifty years ago. It was the
only other time that has happened in my life. You made me feel young
again!"