Date: Tue, 28 Dec 2010 16:27:31 -0500
From: bigmoh@post.com
Subject: setting_igor_free

SETTING IGOR FREE
by Morris Henderson


PREFACE

I hadn't started kindergarten yet when my mother received
a Christmas gift from Aunt Mary.  She was thrilled.  I
was puzzled.  It was a small, wooden, slightly egg-shaped
thing that was painted to resemble a person.  The way my
mother gingerly handled it, I knew that it was not a toy.
She took off the top and revealed a smaller object inside
that was another, smaller, egg-shaped person.  My
amazement continued until she exposed a third, smaller
object nestled inside.  All three were painted to look
like different people.

My mother let me play with it only if she was there to
supervise and ensure that I didn't break it or get it
dirty.  She said it was a matryoshka, a Russian nested
doll, and was quite valuable.  I wanted to name the three
little people Johnnie, Jimmie, and Bobby but my mother
said that since the "little people" were Russian, they
should have Russian names.  I didn't know any Russian
names so I accepted my mother's suggestions--Boris, the
biggest; Sergi, the middle one; and Igor, the smallest.

As I grew up, my fascination waned and I turned my
attention to my other toys and games.  I gave it scant
attention as it sat on the mantle in the living room.  In
time, I lost all interest in it and virtually forgot
about it.

When I was a senior in college, my parents divorced.  Dad
had found another woman and moved in with her.  Because
of my dad's infidelity, the judge awarded my mom the car,
the house, and all the furniture.  Dad left with only his
clothes and personal belongings, never to be seen again.
I missed my dad; he was a very good father when I was a
child.

Only three years later, my mother died of breast cancer.
As the only child, I was left to settle the estate.

After the funeral, I was clearing out the house in
preparation for its sale and I found the set of nested
dolls.  I almost threw it away before remembering my
mother telling me it was valuable.  I packed it in a
"keeper" box with the thought of selling it later (if,
indeed, it was valuable).


THOUGHTS ON A LONG DRIVE

Days later, having hired a realtor for the house and an
auctioneer for its contents, I loaded five boxes of
"keepers" into my SUV and set off on the three-hundred-
mile trip to my home.  While driving, I mentally reviewed
the contents of the boxes: legal papers I had to save,
jewelry that could be sold, lots of photographs in albums
and frames that chronicled the life of my family ... and
the nested dolls, the only sentimental item I saved.
What to do with that?  A sudden realization startled me.
That odd little knick-knack symbolized the life I had
been living since puberty.

The matryoshka triggered my thoughts as I drove home.

The outermost doll--I recalled its name, Boris--symbolized
what people saw when they looked at me.  It was the
public persona that we all erect to create a favorable
impression on others.

The next smaller doll (I struggled to remember its name --
Sergi.) represented the thoughts and opinions that I kept
to myself because disclosing them was risky.  How can you
tell a friend that you think he's a dork?  What would be
the result if you told a teacher she's boring or ugly or
too demanding?  How could you express your sadness over
your father's disappearance when it would only amplify
the pain your mother felt?  Wouldn't it be cruel to tell
your mother on her deathbed that you wanted her to die so
her suffering would be over?  There are many things we
say or do everyday that are deceptive in order to protect
our own self-esteem or avoid hurting others.  There are
many more things that we DON'T do or say for the same
reasons.  That second little doll lies hidden inside the
outer shell of our self.

And deeper still, there was a doll--with the unforgettable
name of Igor--that corresponds to what we really are, the
core of our being.  Igor is buried so deep inside the
others that we may not know it's there.  If we do catch a
glimpse of it, it may be disturbing because it is quite
unlike our outer shell and we often deny its existence.
In my case, the third little doll was my homosexuality.
At first, I had only vague hints that he was there.  I
was about thirteen years old and passing through puberty.
My penis grew much bigger.  I soon learned that playing
with it brought thrilling sensations.  That caused me no
concern at first.  Gradually, however, I became aware
that stimulating my penis was not something to talk
about.  My parents were somewhat puritanical, insisted on
complete modesty, and did not tolerate any discussion of
one's "private parts."  Consequently, I kept my Igor a
secret.

By age fifteen, having taught myself how, I was
masturbating frequently--in the bathtub, sitting on the
toilet, or lying in bed at night.  I began to worry.  It
wasn't pleasuring myself that troubled me; it was the
images I conjured up in my mind.  They were inevitably of
other boys--naked and usually with very hard cocks.  I had
heard other boys talk about queers and fags in extremely
derogatory terms.  That caused feelings of shame, guilt,
and depression because of my attraction to (obsession
with?) other boys.  Was I sick?  Abnormal?  Was I a
degenerate queer that other boys talked about with such
venom?

Igor, that innermost part of me, would not be still.  He
appeared more and more frequently, offering me increasing
levels of pleasure as I continued to masturbate.  He even
clamored for attention when I saw handsome boys in school
or in my mind's eye.  I found myself imagining (wishing
for?) another boy stroking my penis and my doing the same
for him.  I sometimes thought (but never when I was
stoking myself to orgasm) of the scorn I had heard from
other boys who obviously hated queers.  At those times, I
was disgusted with myself and hated the Igor within me.

>From age fifteen to seventeen, I found it increasingly
easy to listen to Igor, my inner self.  I could fantasize
about other boys while masturbating without the shame,
guilt, and depression that had previously haunted me and
that had been difficult to cope with.  I kept my Igor
beneath my two outer shells and unleashed him when I was
alone and wanted the gratification of an orgasm.  But he
appeared, unbidden, whenever I saw an attractive boy.
My self-discipline improved to the point that I stopped
worrying about my fantasies that had evolved into many
forms of sexual exploration and intimacy with other boys.
I had finally admitted to myself that I was gay but I
knew my Igor must be diligently shielded from the view of
my family and friends.

Half way home after my mother's funeral, I turned my
attention to the future.  I'd made it through college and
three more years living independently as a virgin.  But I
was lonely, frustrated, and craved companionship.  I no
longer had to fear disappointing my parents by telling
them they had a gay son.  My mother was gone.  I hadn't
heard from my dad in years and didn't even know where he
lived.  I had no family to embarrass.

That was a pivot point in my life.  I resolved to
actively seek a companion to share my life with.  I would
set Igor free.  By keeping him imprisoned, I was denying
myself the joy I was sure was possible.  I was less sure
how to go about it but I was determined to live my life
quite differently.


WHERE TO FROM HERE?

When I arrived home, I unloaded my SUV.  I stacked the
boxes of papers and photographs in the hall closet but I
retrieved the nested dolls and put the little curio on
the nightstand next to my bed.  It would remind me of my
happy childhood and would also motivate me to change my
future in a way that would lead to a different form of
happiness.

Over the next few weeks, I was able to resume my routine:
working by day and relaxing in the evening.  I also spent
a lot of time puzzling over how to seek and find a
companion but none of my ideas seemed promising.  I
didn't want to cruise the gay bars and risk what I
perceived as scoring a few transitory escapades with men
who were interested only in a one-night-stand nor did I
want to worry about STDs.  I rejected the notion of
finding someone in a gay chat room for similar reasons.
I assessed the possibility that one of my co-workers or
friends might qualify as a candidate for partnership but,
alas, they were all either married, obviously straight,
or simply unappealing.

I had been exchanging email messages with the author of
several stories posted on the internet.  It started with
a simple compliment I sent after reading one of his
particularly good stories but grew over time to several
email exchanges of thoughts, opinions, and personal
histories.  He was far more forthcoming than I about his
life and told me that he was openly gay while I confessed
that I was still in the closet.  He told me more about
himself and his experiences than I was willing to divulge
about my own.  Because I had been closeted, I very
carefully withheld any information that might reveal my
identity.  I apologized to him for that and explained my
reasons.  He said he completely understood.

Serendipity came to my rescue.  While our emails to each
other had been a pleasant diversion, I received one from
him that included, "It's too bad you're not ready to come
out.  I'd like to meet you.  Don't get me wrong.  My only
reason is to have a pleasant conversation.  I have no
expectations beyond that.  Oh well.  Maybe some day."

He had, without knowing it, opened the door to my closet.
Was I willing to walk through it?  Was this perhaps the
opportunity that I had been seeking?  What harm would
there be in a friendly conversation?  Either he or I
could still decide whether to meet again and perhaps
pursue a relationship.  I delayed replying to his email
while I considered the possibilities.

What did I know about him?  I knew his name, Carlos
Garcia, his age, 28, and that his parents came to the
U.S. from Nicaragua when he was a baby.  He was the
resident manager of a large apartment complex.  Did that
mean he fixed leaky plumbing or did he spend his time
supervising a staff?  And did it matter?  I knew that his
family was wealthy and his father owned the apartment
buildings.  So much for the ordinary details; more
significant was that he had had at least three partners --
two brief relationships while in college and another,
longer one with a Navy officer who got transferred to the
Far East.  The college affairs I could attribute to
raging youthful hormones but I was encouraged by his
commitment to a long-term partner and by his confessing
to a long period of depression over the breakup.
Clearly, he was not someone who played the field.  I
concluded that he valued monogamy, which was reflected in
the stories he wrote that usually focused on love and
loyalty.  He had experienced gay sex; that was both good
and bad news.  If we did more than meet for conversation,
I would worry that I couldn't perform in bed well enough
to satisfy him.  On the other hand, I could learn a lot
about intimate lovemaking from him.

He lived in San Diego, about a three-hour drive from my
home in Santa Barbara.  I could easily visit him on a
weekend, staying in a motel so as not to appear too eager
to go to bed with him.  Even if nothing developed between
us, it would be a thoroughly interesting visit.

There seemed to be no good reason not to meet him so I
composed a carefully worded reply:
========
Carlos:
You've been patient and understanding with me when I
refused to give any information that would identify me.
I'm grateful for that.  My circumstances have changed,
however.  I've decided not to hide from others and from
myself any more.  I'm gay and will live as a gay.  As a
result, I can tell you that my real name is Tom Hunter
and I live in Santa Barbara, not too far from you.  Your
last email said you'd like to meet me.  I'd like that,
too.  Perhaps I could drive down one weekend.  We could
have dinner and a conversation.  I understand and agree
with your intent of just meeting and getting to know one
another with no purpose beyond that.  Let me know if
you'd like to meet.  And tell me what would be a
convenient time for you.
Tom
========

Less than two hours later I got a reply.  He said he was
delighted, suggested a time--seven o'clock on the
following Saturday--and included the name and address of a
restaurant in the Old Town section of San Diego.  I
immediately sent my acceptance of his invitation and made
a reservation at a nearby motel.

The three days I had to wait until Saturday seemed to
pass too slowly.  Was I eager?  Absolutely!  It would be
my first "date" as a gay man.  I knew nothing would
likely happen on a first date but it was a promising
first step in my new life.


FIRST ENCOUNTER

Saturday dawned and I awoke as excited as a little kid on
Christmas morning.  I kept reminding myself that it was
only dinner with a new friend but in the back of my mind
I harbored the hope that it would develop into something
more meaningful.  (Was Igor talking to me?)  Immediately
after lunch I packed a few things, loaded my overnight
bag in the SUV, and headed south down I-5.  It was only a
three-hour drive but I didn't want any traffic delays to
prevent my meeting Carlos at seven.  I could check into
the motel, freshen up, and kill time before going to the
restaurant.

The closer I got to San Diego, the more uncertain I was
about having dinner with Carlos.  We had corresponded
frequently by email and it had always been cordial and
often revealing about our thoughts and opinions.
Consequently, I felt I knew him quite well.  But we had
never talked in person.  What if I made a complete fool
of myself with stupid comments?  Suppose I acted like a
young teenager on his first date and tried too hard to
make him like me?  I was able to shake off my nervousness
only by remembering what my dad had told me when I tried
out for the baseball team in high school and was afraid I
was no match for the other boys.  "What's the worst that
could happen?" he asked.  I replied that I wouldn't be
selected and he asked another question.  "Would that be
the end of the world?" and promptly answered his own
question.  "No!  As long as you do your best, I'll be
proud of you for trying."  I convinced myself that if
meeting Carlos isn't followed by a continuation of
friendship, there are other gay men in the world.  I
can't expect a home run on my first time at the plate.

I found the motel, checked in, showered, and dressed for
dinner.  Fortunately, I didn't have to worry about what
clothes to wear as Carlos had said I could recognize him
in a blue blazer and no tie.  I drove to the restaurant,
eagerly anticipating the meeting but somewhat nervous.
An artificially pleasant but somewhat arrogant host
greeted me at the door.  "Good evening, sir.  Do you have
a reservation?"

"No," I replied.  "I'm meeting Mr. Garcia."

"Very good, sir," he said, now considerably more
friendly.  "This way, please."

I followed him to the back of the restaurant to a corner
booth with high seat backs that made it into a private
nook amid the bustle of the rest of the dining room.
There sat the most handsome man I had ever seen--jet black
hair, piercing dark eyes, and a smile that melted my
heart.  He promptly rose to greet me.  I extended my hand
to shake his.  He grasped it and pulled me into a hug!

I stood there awkwardly, embarrassed that other diners
would see us and mutter to each other about the two
queers in the corner booth.  I couldn't help it.  It was
habitual.  I had fought to hide my secret for so long
that I bordered on the paranoid.  He sensed my
discomfort, released me, and said, "I'm so sorry, Tom.  I
shouldn't have been so forward.  Not at our first
meeting.  It's just that I regard you as an old friend
even though we've only exchanged email.  I should have
known better."

"No apology necessary," I managed to say.  "You just
surprised me, that's all."

He had already ordered the wine (for which I was grateful
since what I knew about wine wouldn't fill a small
goblet).  When the menus arrived, he recommended the
house specialty, which was even better than he had
promised.  While the meal was very good, our conversation
exceeded my hopes.  We joked and laughed.  There seemed
to be an almost immediate rapport between us.  Within
minutes, I felt very comfortable and at ease.  I found
myself telling him things about my background and
feelings that I'd told no one else.  But I didn't mention
Igor.  He might think that to be weird.

As we left the restaurant almost two hours later, he
said, "You're not driving back to Santa Barbara tonight
are you?"

"No," I replied.  "I'm staying in a motel and will go
home tomorrow."

"Good!" he said.  "Then you'll have time to stop by my
place for brunch before going home.  There's probably a
lot more we can talk about."

I thought it was significant that he didn't even hint at
spending the night together.  My lack of confidence took
control of my thoughts.  Did I not measure up to his
standards?  Was I not worth inviting to bed with him?
His comment about more to talk about was difficult to
interpret, however.  Did he really enjoy my company?  Did
he have thoughts like mine that perhaps our friendship
could develop into something more meaningful?  Whatever
it meant, I was not inclined to decline his invitation to
brunch.  "I'd like that, Carlos.  Where do you live and
what time should I be there?"

He reached into the glove compartment of his Lexus and
pulled out a sales brochure for the apartment complex.
"There's a map in here.  I'm in the first building on
your right as you enter ... number 101.  How about ten or
so in the morning?"

"I look forward to it," I said honestly.

He looked at me briefly as though there was something
else on his mind.  "We're friends, aren't we, Tom?"

I thought that was an odd question but answered, "I hope
so."

"Good!" he exclaimed.  "That gives me permission to do
this."  He wrapped his arms around me in a tight hug.
Whether it was the wine, our being out of public view,
the rapport we had developed over dinner, or all of the
above, I enthusiastically returned the hug.

Driving back to my motel, I tried to convince myself that
the parting hug was nothing more than two people
expressing friendship.  I tried to temper the euphoric
feeling of his embrace.  I couldn't recall having been
hugged.  My parents loved me--until dad took off with some
bimbo--but neither of them expressed that love physically
after I turned five or six years old.  Carlos' hug was a
completely new and extremely pleasant experience.  But it
was no reason for false hopes.  A goodbye hug is not a
prelude to sex.

But what if something might develop?  Wouldn't it be
great if he and I ....  "Damn you, Igor!" I muttered to
myself.  It was just like him; planting carnal thoughts
in my conscious mind.


MEETING CARLOS

I found the apartment complex easily.  It was decidedly
upscale.  Carlos' apartment was elegantly furnished.  I
began to wonder if I was out of my league in thinking of
my new friend as a potential partner.  He was not at all,
however, pretentious but was (genuinely, I thought)
cordial, friendly, and in no way affected by his
luxurious life style.  And he was the perfect host by
making me feel welcome and comfortable.

The brunch was excellent and we talked for more than an
hour afterwards.  But I had a long drive ahead of me so I
said, "Thanks for the hospitality, Carlos.  I've
thoroughly enjoyed the visit but I want to be home before
dark."

"I'm glad you came," he said.  "We'll have to get
together again."

"I'd like that," I replied, trying to sound sincere but
not too eager.

There was another, longer hug at the door as I left, one
that I fully enjoyed.  I had a great time but was unsure
of several things.  Had his invitation to visit been
little more than a courtesy?  When he suggested we do it
again, was he merely being the gracious host?  Was he
just being nice or did he really like me?  Would I see
him again?  I even dared to wonder whether we might be
more than friends.  The odds were slim, I concluded.  I
was not poor but there seemed to be a huge difference in
our financial resources.  There was also the distance
between us; one of us would have to relocate, which could
be a problem.  And finally, he had occasionally mentioned
his former partner and how much he missed him.  I took
that to mean that he was still in love with him and was
mourning their breakup.  I couldn't compete with the
memories of his lover.

Still, I had a thoroughly enjoyable time in San Diego and
if we could only be email friends that would have to do.

My doubts were dispelled when I got home and found an
email from Carlos.
========
Tom:
Thanks for visiting me.  I hope you got home safely.  I
was disappointed that we had so little time together.  I
felt I knew a lot about you from your emails and that
prompted me to suggest we meet.  I'm very glad you came.
You're even more interesting than I had thought.  I would
very much like to get together again.  Soon!  Only this
time, don't stay in a motel.  Stay with me.  If you can,
come down on a Friday night and stay until you have to
return late Sunday.  We'll do more than have a couple of
meals together. [grin]  Am I being too brash?  The truth
is, I hated to see you leave.  Something clicked between
us.  Before you answer, let me assure you that I haven't
been with anyone since my partner left.  Maybe you're the
one I've been waiting for.  If you feel the same way,
let's plan another weekend.  If you want to decline my
shameless suggestion, please consider continuing to be my
"email buddy."
Hugs, Carlos
========

I read the email over and over, scarcely believing what
it said.  How could I be so lucky?  It hadn't been that
long since my decision to seek a companion and Carlos was
inviting me to spend two nights with him.  He didn't
mention anything about sex but that was clearly his
meaning.  More significantly, he was implying that we
might be partners.  Well ... not exactly.  He said MAYBE
I'm the one.  I'll settle for that!  And I'll do whatever
it takes to earn his affection.

I fired off a reply that I hoped wouldn't sound too
lustful; I didn't want him to think I was interested only
in sex but I hoped it would be clear that I welcomed his
interest in me.
========
Carlos:
I can't tell you how pleased I am with your email.  Do I
feel the same way?  Absolutely!  You said exactly what I
was thinking.  I hated to leave today and allowed myself
to think that I might return for, as you said, "more than
a couple of meals."  I'm flattered that you would
consider a guy with no experience whatsoever as a weekend
guest.  Is next weekend too soon?
Hugs, Tom
========

It was late Monday evening and I had not heard from
Carlos.  Had I misinterpreted his invitation to return?
My pessimism and lack of self-confidence was pulling me
into a deep funk.  I checked my email (for the umpteenth
time that day) and BINGO!  There was one from Carlos.
========
Tom:
FANTASTIC!  Next weekend is NOT too soon.  It's not soon
enough!  I can't wait to see you ... ALL of you. [grin]
Hugs, Carlos
========

It would be a cliché to say I was deliriously happy but
the fact of the matter is: I was.


IGOR VICTORIOUS

Five minutes after leaving work on Friday I was driving
south toward San Diego and the experience I had craved in
lonely secrecy for too many years.  I was so eager it was
all I could do to obey the speed limit.  My cock would
occasionally respond to my anticipation of what awaited
me.  I tried to concentrate on the promise I had made to
myself not to be too impatient for sex and let Carlos
take the initiative.  With no experience at all in gay
sex, I would have to let him lead me in unknown and
surely extraordinarily pleasurable acts of erotic male
union.

I rang his doorbell and the door opened immediately.
"Come in," he said.  "You don't know how much I've wanted
to see you again."  Once inside, he pulled me into a hug
-- not the relatively chaste hug of two friends but one
where he was grinding his crotch into mine.  Impulsively,
I kissed him.  He returned the kiss enthusiastically and
our tongues were soon thrusting into the other's mouth.
It felt wonderful.  I let myself enjoy the moment without
giving thought to what pleasures might come later.

It was a long kiss but ended too soon.  "I have dinner
almost ready," he said.  "It'll take just a few minutes
to warm up in the microwave.  I imagine you're hungry."

"Yes," I replied and boldly added, "And hungry for you,
too."

He laughed.  "It'll only take a little while to eat.  But
we'll have all night to enjoy each other."

I started to clear the table after the meal but he said,
"Leave it.  We can get it in the morning.  Let's go to
bed early."  Without waiting for comment, he took my hand
and escorted me into his elegant bedroom.  The king size
bed had a mirrored headboard.  On the opposite wall were
mirrored closet doors.  The effect was obviously intended
for maximum visual stimulation while engaged in
recreational activities on the bed.

We hugged and kissed again, pressing our bodies tightly
together.  "Let's get naked," he whispered into my ear.
I needed no encouragement.  We both stripped our clothes
off and dropped them haphazardly on the floor.  My cock
had already started to swell during the kiss but the
sight of Carlos' exposed body accelerated the growth of
my hard-on.  His body was superb --- broad shoulders,
muscular chest with a sprinkling of hair around dark
nipples, a flat abdomen with a trail of hair leading down
to a thicket of black pubic hair, and an impressive cock
that dangled in front of pendulous balls.  It seemed time
froze as I stood there admiring the epitome of masculine
beauty before me.

He broke my trance when he jokingly said, "I'm glad you
like what you see, Tom, `cause I like what I see."

I stammered my reply.  "It's just that ... well ... I've
seen naked guys before ... but you're ... ah ... you're
magnificent."

He grinned his appreciation and guided me onto the bed
where we embraced, kissed, and pressed our crotches
together.  After several minutes of that, he cooed,
"Ready to get down and dirty, Tom?"

"Oh, yes!" I replied but then felt compelled to say,
"Ready and willing but I'm not so sure about the able
part.  You know I'm a virgin.  I don't know what to do
... or how to do it.  I hope I don't disappoint you."

"Thought of that already," he said.  "So if you don't
mind, we'll start with a little demonstration.  Just lay
back, relax, and enjoy.  I'm going to worship your
wonderful body.  I'm going to take you places you've
never been.  Because this is your first time, I'm going
to do everything I can to make it memorable.  May I do
that for you?"

"Yes, please," I said, grateful for his empathy.

His hands, lips, and tongue began to work their magic on
me.  He roamed from my ears to my neck, and down to my
chest where he lingered, stimulating my nipples until
jolts of sensation shot throughout my body.  He then
descended downward until he reached my navel.  I was
unable to control my moans of delight.  Abruptly, he
moved down to suck on my toes and slowly kissed and
licked his way up my legs.  When he reached my inner
thighs, I thought I might pass out from the erotic
stimulation.  He took my balls, one at a time, into his
mouth and massaged them with his lips and tongue until my
mind was devoid of all thought except the extraordinarily
erotic feelings that permeated my being.

But the arousal that had become the master of my
consciousness increased yet again as he began to finger
my asshole.  It became another source of surprisingly
pleasant stimulation.

When he licked his way up the shaft of my steel-hard
cock, I was trembling with a level of pleasure that I
never dreamed was possible.  He teased me by flicking the
sensitive helmet with his tongue.  It sent me into fits
of sensual overload.  My cock twitched violently with
shock waves radiating throughout my body.  My moans
became loud squeals of agony as the urge to cum built to
a crescendo.  His moist lips enveloped my manhood and I
couldn't control the inevitable result of his skillful
stimulation.  I was powerless to warn him and multiple
volleys of hot cream erupted into his mouth accompanied
by my primal screams of ecstasy.

When my heart rate slowed to normal, my breathing became
more regular, and I regained awareness of things other
than the explosion of sexual release in my groin, I
settled down into a state of blissful contentment.
Carlos by this time was lying next to me, pressing his
body tightly against mine.

"Oh my gawd!" I groaned.  "That was wonderful!"

"I'm glad you liked it," Carlos purred.  "I enjoyed it,
too.  You've got an awesome body to go with your winning
personality."

"I'm sorry.  I should have warned you about cumming.  But
I was on another planet somewhere."

"That's exactly where I wanted you to be, Tom.  And don't
worry about cumming.  I wouldn't have done anything
differently.  I wanted your cum.  And it tasted great."

"Can I taste yours?" I asked more because I wanted to
than merely to return the favor.

Carlos assured me that I didn't have to but, without
saying anything, I began to give him the treatment that
he had given me.  I'm sure I was not a skillful but I'm
equally sure that I enjoyed roaming all over his stunning
body.  I was nervous when I took his cock into my mouth.
When he had done that to me I was lost in my own orbit of
sexual gratification and wasn't paying much attention to
his technique.  Still, I did my best and it seemed from
his moans that it was satisfactory.  I rubbed his asshole
as I sucked and relished the taste and feel of his erect
manhood.  It took longer for him to reach climax but that
was okay because it allowed me more time to savor what I
was doing.  A fleeting thought passed through my mind.
My high school and college buddies spat out "cocksucker"
as the ultimate insult; they didn't know how good it can
be.

In the midst of my pleasure, he bucked his hips and
forced his cock deep into my mouth.  I felt several
blasts of his hot cream hit the back of my throat.  He
then relaxed and let the last few dribbles coat my
tongue.

We lay together with arms and legs intertwined,
blissfully content to press our bodies together.  We
spoke very little.  There was much I wanted to say --
thanks for unquestionably the greatest experience of my
life, my deep affection for my new friend, and more.
However, we both seemed to enjoy the simple yet
meaningful embracing of each other.

<><><><><>

For the next three weeks, I spent every weekend with
Carlos, experiencing all forms of sexual intimacy.  I
hated to leave for home on Sunday evening, and missed him
throughout the week.

One my next visit he had a surprise for me.  We were
cuddling in bed on Saturday morning after another round
of superb sex when he asked, "Would you be willing to
move in with me and be my partner?"

I'd thought of the possibility frequently.  We seemed to
have gotten along very well together.  I felt that I
loved him and would certainly be happy as his mate but I
hadn't dared to tell him that.

"I'm more than willing, Carlos.  I'm convinced we'd both
be happy together for the next hundred years.  However, I
have a concern.  I have a very good job in Santa Barbara
and I don't know if I can find employment in San Diego."

"I'm aware of that," he said.  "And I may have a
solution.  My dad, as you know, is a very successful
businessman -- always on the lookout for something to
invest in.  He's been considering buying an accounting
firm here in town.  The owner is retiring so he'll have
to find someone to manage the place.  I've told him about
you and about your degree in accounting with a minor in
management.  He wants to interview you for the job."

"You told him about me?  About US?" I asked, worried that
his father may not approve of his son's gay lover.

"Almost everything," Carlos laughed.  "I left out what we
do in bed.  But my parents know I'm gay.  They don't like
it but they accept it.  If they didn't, I wouldn't be
managing this apartment complex.  Dad also knows that we
would be living together as a couple.  As long as it
doesn't interfere with business, he doesn't mind.  I
didn't say so but I think he's afraid I might move to
Santa Barbara if you don't move here.  That would
disappoint him.  So what do you think?  Are you
interested in a new job, a new home, and being my life
partner?"

There was only one answer I could give.  "YES!"  I gave
him a passionate kiss in gratitude -- mostly for asking me
to be his partner but secondarily for the possibility of
a job.

"Great!" Carlos said.  "Dad will stop by here this
evening for dinner; Mom is in Nicaragua visiting
relatives.  If I know my dad -- and I do -- he'll want to
interview you tonight.  When he gets an idea, he likes to
move on it quickly.  I can't help you with the technical
stuff -- the accounting jargon and practices -- but I can
tell you how to impress my dad."

We spent the rest of the morning getting me ready for the
probable interview.  He told me that his dad's priorities
were profit, ethics, technical competence, and client
satisfaction.  Acting as his dad, Carlos put me through a
series of mock interviews.  He followed each with a
critique of what I said right and what I should have
said.  With his coaching, I felt reasonably confident
that I could at least survive the interrogation and, with
luck, have a new job.

I knew Carlos was a good cook but he outdid himself in
preparing dinner.  The conversation over the meal ranged
from casual chitchat to exchanging information about our
lives and backgrounds.  Carlos began to object when Mr.
Garcia told of his son's childhood misdemeanors but
relented when he received a stern look from his father.
Following desert, Carlos offered to clear up and
suggested that his father and I adjourn to the living
room.  I would have helped with the chores but I knew it
was a ploy to let his father interview me.  Thanks to the
coaching and practice earlier in the day I must have made
a good impression because I was offered the job after
only thirty minutes of questioning.  Of course, I
accepted.

"Let me be clear about two things," Mr. Garcia said.
"First, you'll have a major challenge at first because at
least two of the twelve employees in the company expect
to be named manager of the office.  You'll have to be
careful if you are to win their trust and respect.  Do
you think you can do that?"

"I'll do my best, sir.  Thanks for the warning."

"They're top performers and I'd hate to lose them.  And a
manager."  His meaning was not subtle.  I'd be fired if I
couldn't keep the two wannabes.  But without missing a
beat, he continued, "My second concern involves you and
my son.  I understand you'll be moving in here with him."

"That's right," I replied, suddenly even more anxious
about his approval of my being his son's gay lover.

"I don't understand why men turn gay," he said.  "But I'm
a realist and know that it happens.  As long as you and
Carlos keep your private lives private and there are no
problems with either of your jobs, I'm willing to
overlook your unusual relationship."

I chose not to challenge his statement about men "turning
gay" but promised that he would have no cause for
concern.

"Good!" he said and abruptly moved on.  "My acquisition
of the firm will be completed in three weeks.  Will that
give you time to wrap up your current job?"

"Ample time," I replied.  "I'll give my two weeks notice
on Monday.  Is there any information about the employees
and clients that I can study in the meantime?"

He smiled.  I hoped he was impressed with my wish to be
fully prepared for the job.  "I'll put together a package
and give it to Carlos.  You can pick it up on your next
visit.  Not that you'll want to study it while you're
here," he added with a sly grin and rose to leave.

His departure was quick, allowing only enough time for me
to thank him for the opportunity.  Alone with Carlos, I
let my elation burst forth.  I seized my lover in an
embrace and said, "Hot damn!  I got the job!  I've got
you!  Life is perfect!"

We made our way to the bedroom where I was especially
loving to the man who had become the center of my life.

The end.