Date: Sun, 16 Nov 1997 14:35:19 PST
From: Carson Keeler <carson@hotmail.com>
Subject: Terry

I first met Terry at a duplicate bridge tournament one night, at a low
point in my life. I had been out of the closet for a few years but after
some emotional setbacks, I had sneaked back in, immersing myself in bridge,
chess and backgammon. On that particular evening, my regular partner, Paul
showed up late and as a result we were paired East-West instead of our
usual North-South. This put Paul into one of his moods which resulted in
some pretty bizarre auctions. After a particularly hair-raising trio of
hands at one table (which had turned out well for us) he explained his
reasoning to the male side of the opposing partnership, something to do
with the fact that East-West pairs were generally less experienced than
their North-South counterparts, who were responsible for scoring the
results and therefore the results on the hands were likely to be more
erratic. Our opponents weren't buying this. The woman excused herself to
get go powder something and I tried to bury my head in the convention card
till the next round was called, but Paul dragged me into it by saying,
"Terry, you know Ian, don't you?"

"Hmm. Sort of," he replied which got my attention.

Paul explained that Terry played chess as well as bridge.

"Not as well as bridge," said Terry, smiling. Nice smile. "I've seen Ian at
chess tournaments," continued Terry. "Among the top players, he generally
had the most...  interesting games."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," I said, sarcastically. Terry brightened
a bit more.  Apparently he had been a fan of mine for years, gravitating to
the board I was playing on at chess tournaments. I was quite surprised to
hear this because Terry is extremely good looking, with dark, penetrating
eyes, a killer smile and a nice build, and I assumed that I would have
noticed him at some time. Upon reflection though I realize that at chess
tournaments my attention is focussed on the game at hand, and besides, I
had buried my attraction to men.

Paul and I had to move for the next round, but Terry and his partner,
Sharon were regulars at the bridge studio and over the next few months,
Terry and I established an easy rapport. By the warmth of his admiration
for my chess-playing, I could tell he had a bit of a crush on me, because I
am not really as good as he thinks I am. But I dismissed it as a crush in a
male-bonding buddy-buddy hero-worship sort of way. Nonetheless I was able
to bask in the warmth of it on a sexual level, which left me feeling a bit
guilty because his admiration for me came across as completely guileless
while mine for him seemed duplicitous. In fact I found that whenever we
chatted for any length of time I would get hard. I reasoned, though that my
surreptitious arousal was, in its way, as innocent as his hero-worship
since I had no intention of spoiling things by coming on to him. In fact, I
recognized how strong my arousal was and for this reason I always claimed I
had something else to do when he suggested going for a drink or catching a
movie.  But one night he arrived at the bridge studio without Sharon,
looking particulary intense and not at all happy. At the break he caught up
with me and we got talking, about chess and bridge as usual, and I managed
to ask him what had happened to that mega-watt smile. He explained that he
was having trouble with his girl-friend. I commiserated. I began to run
down a list of girl-related troubles I had had, delving into the distant
past.  Jennifer, wanting to move in with me after our first date, Louise
with her cats, Laurie with her ex-boyfriend, Cyndi, checking the job market
in order to make my earning level worthy of her... He winced. Clearly I had
been around the block a few more times than him. He said he'd known girls
like that but this one was something completely different.  His look was
distant and I had the feeling that he was stuck, wanting to talk to someone
about it, and simply wanting to forget about it. Forgetting about it seemed
like the option to cause the least discomfort, so I didn't probe any
further. Instead, taking note of the fact that my cock was behaving, I felt
that my resolve wouldn't be compromised by going out with him so I asked
him if he wanted to go for a drink after the tournament. He looked down. He
was dressed in a sweat suit.

"Sure. But I've got to change. I live oh, about five blocks from here," he
said. "If you want, you could come by my place and park your car
there. There's lots of places in walking distance we could check out after
I change." Since it had been my suggestion I was stuck and agreed.

He lived in an upscale condo, nicely furnished.

"Nice place," I said.

"Mom's contribution," he said. "Dad runs a furniture store, and mom runs
dad." He shrugged off the sweat shirt and tossed it onto a chair. "Normally
I'm a total slob but I just moved in," he explained as he took off his
shoes and socks. He was slipping off his sweatpants, exposing his nicely
defined buttocks, when he remembered himself and pulled them back up. I
choked back a gasp.

"Sorry about that," he said, blushing, "I wasn't thinking."

I stared at him blankly and said, "No problem."

He pointed out the liquor cabinet, his stereo and CD collection and showed
me where the glasses were kept, then went to have a shower. I poured myself
a gin and tonic and put on a classic Stan Getz recording. A few minutes
later Terry came out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, midway
through "The Girl From Ipanema".

"What are you having?" he asked.

"Gin and tonic," I said, offering it to him. He took a sip. "I'll fix
myself another," I continued, going to the bar.

"Love this song," he said, sitting down on the couch. I could have kicked
myself. I'd put him in a bind. With a drink in his hand he wasn't going to
get dressed immediately, which in turn put me in a bind, because I was
getting aroused. I sat down on the couch in order to conceal the erection
which snaked along my thigh. I wished I had fixed myself a whisky neat
because my hands were shaking and the ice cubes rattled every time I raised
it to my lips. The whole situation had become mortifying and more than a
little frustrating.

"Women," he said. "Why couldn't it sometimes be like it is with the girl in
this song? It's so much better when you can just worship them from
afar. Y'know what I'm saying?"

The blood rushed to my cheeks because he had struck a chord. I knew only
too well the exquisite mix of pain and pleasure that can be gotten from an
unresolved passion. As in for example, the passion that was being
unresolved on that very couch at that very moment. I put a consoling hand
on his shoulder and was about to say yes, but hesitated at the last moment
and said "No".

"Oh, come on," he continued, "You know, love without commitments, without
obligations, without the fucking strings attached."

"You mean sex?"

"No." He was getting irritated. "Not even that. I think giving up sex would
be a small price to pay for love." He stretched out on the couch and laid
his feet on my thighs and said, "The problem with this song is it's not
real, it never is, because women always look back." He gestured with his
hands. "You look at them, they look back. No sultry unrequited passions, no
smouldering..."

He couldn't find the right word.

"Innocence," I offered. He grinned up at me.

"Is that the problem with Sharon? Too much requiting?" I asked.

The grin faded. "No. Not really." He paused then continued, not looking at
me but staring off into space. "She's older than me, Sharon is. Seven years
older. Which is okay because you've seen her, she's quite a babe and you
wouldn't think it. Thing is she has a son and she wants me to bond with
him, her words, bond with him. Shit. I mean, the kid's like sixteen and
most times I feel closer in age to him than to her, which is stupid I know,
but there it is. I mean I try, but I can't be a fucking dad to this kid."
He stopped, but I could tell by his sigh that it was just a pause. There
was more, so I didn't interrupt.

"Anyways, she won't see me anymore unless I bond with him. So I do. I try
at least. I take him to a movie, have him over to my place." His face
reddened and his words became more measured. "My place. He sees we've got a
pool in the apartment building and wants to go swimming. At night. Nobody's
in the change room. I'm quickly down to a pair of bikini briefs Sharon had
given me and he takes off his clothes, but he hasn't got a fucking
swimsuit, or even a fucking pair of underwear. All he has on is this huge
boner.  Jeezus, man. He gets into one of the shower stalls and lathers
himself up, stroking his dick... Me, I want out of there. My heart is
pounding. I figure the kid would just shoot his load and that would be the
end of it, but I hadn't had sex in a week and I'm getting excited. I was
like frozen to the fucking spot. Then the kid gets out of his shower stall
and he's got this look on his face. Cause there I am, half naked with a
boner. He comes up to me and strokes it through my trunks and says Wow."

At this point, Terry looked up at me, stricken. "It's like he wants me. He
gets down on his knees and pulls out my cock and starts to give me a
blowjob." His voice got huskier and his skin got redder. "And just when I'm
ready to come... he pulls away. He asks me if I like it. I'm on the fucking
brink of exploding, he's so good. I say yes. So he goes at it again. Slower
this time, driving me nuts. Again he stops and now I'm like begging him to
go on... and he won't. He tells me he wants to get fucked."

"Yeah?" I said, lamely, wanting him to go on. My jaw must have been
dragging on the floor. This story was really turning me on.

"Yeah. He wants to get fucked. And by this time, I'm so fucking horny I do
it."

My gaze wandered from his face down his abdomen to his torso, where the
towel he was wearing was tented by his erection.

"And what was it like?" I asked, breathlessly.

"Sex. Just sex. Pure sex. Tight. Total. Mind blowing." Our stares locked
again. My pulse was racing, as was his, and I knew then that we were on a
runaway train and that this story had become a prelude to getting
fucked. "With women I always felt sex was in exchange for something. That
they were doing me a favor. With this kid... Wow, it was totally
different. We were both having sex because that's what we wanted. There
wasn't like any economic or social or emotional baggage."

"You want another drink?" I asked. He said yes and when I stood, the
outline of my hardon was plainly evident through my trousers. He stood as
well and followed me to the bar. He let the towel fall away from his waist
exposing his cock, fully erect and throbbing.  He came up behind me while I
poured the drinks and his cock pressed against the seat of my trousers then
slid it between my legs. He reached round and unbuttoned my shirt. I made
no move to assist him, but made no move to stop him either.

"You're trembling," he said as he worked my belt buckle free.

"Should we be doing this?" I asked nervously. He back away. My trousers
slid down and my cock sprang free.

"Yeah," he said. "Besides, you think we could stop now?"

"Nnno, I guess not," I said, dropping my shirt to the ground. He got some
massage oil that sat on the mantel and got his cock oiled up. When I was
naked he turned me around, reached down and stroked my cock, getting me
oily as well. He got down on his knees in front of me, and with one hand
stroking me, his other hand got oil on my balls then reached under to my
ass. His fingers prodded at my crack then slipped inside, probing deeper.

"You think you could take my cock?" he asked.

"I don't know. It's pretty big."

"Cause I'm really horny, Ian. I really want to fuck someone. I want to
shoot my load in your ass." He looked up at me, his jaw dropped, his face
filled with anticipation as he probed deeper with his hand and waited for
my reply. I turned my back to him. He stood and pressed his cock against my
ass, slowly pushing it in.

"This feels good," he said. "It's not hurting you is it?" He stopped
pressing when he had the tip inside me. I said no and pushed back, forcing
his cock deeper.

"How does it feel?"

"It feels good," I said.

"You like that cock in your ass?" Our bodies pumped in unison till he had
his entire cock inside me and he began to fuck me.

"Yeah," I said. "It feels really good." I clenched and unclenched the
muscles of my ass around his cock as he slid in and out.

"You've got a nice ass," he said. "So muscular and tight. And hot." He
leaned closer. I felt his breath on the back of my neck. "I've wanted to
fuck you for years," he whispered.  "From the first time I saw you." His
words were racing. And his cock felt harder.  "Sometimes I would press
against you. You'd be sitting, playing a game of chess at a tournament and
a crowd would gather, and I would try to get close, to brush my crotch
against your shoulder. So many times I've shot my load just thinking about
you. I'm fucking Sharon and I close my eyes and I'm seeing you." He reached
round to my cock. I felt molded to him, writhing on his cock while his hand
jerked me off to orgasm. My cum added fresh lubrication to his hand-job and
he continued massaging my cock till finally I felt a sudden warmth flooding
me. He pressed tight against me as he pumped stream after stream inside of
me. He kept his cock buried up my ass as we took time to catch our breaths
in the afterglow, then he slowly withdrew. My ass still throbbed from the
intensity of the fuck I had just experienced. In that brief moment after
disengaging a chasm opened between us. We avoided exchanging glances,
making contact. Despite the fact that we had clearly both wanted to have
sex, I felt ashamed. I felt that I had betrayed myself. I started to pick
up my clothes when he placed his hand on my arm. He turned me round and I
lifted my dejected gaze from the floor to his face. He drew me in closer.

"You're not getting away from me that easily," he said, turning on that
smile again. His lips brushed mine. And finally we kissed.