A Gift
                     by Eagle
                   (for Kelly)
  
   
    Robert yawned in spite of himself.  It's not good to yawn 
in a gay bar.  It gives the impression that a man's detached. 
Some kinds of detachment are fine.  The cool attitude of a 
master leaning against the wall in the darkness of a leather 
bar.  The elegant detachment of the well-dressed in a Manhattan
club.  But not a yawn.  He stifled the end of the yawn and 
looked at his beer, measuring the distance to the bottom of the
bottle against the pressure in his bladder, found he could, 
would, finish the last before hoisting down from the stool and 
wandering into the john.
   
    He lifted the bottle slowly, eyeing, across the bar, a 
tall young man with a shy smile for his companion.  Taking the 
measure.  No doubt: a daddy's boy, fresh from his college 
classroom, and not too long ago.  Their eyes met briefly, but 
the boy dropped his to his drink, then, looking up for only a 
fractional moment, coughed and turned back to the man on his 
right.  Robert smiled to himself at the shyness of the contact.
Shyness was one of the things that made his crotch tingle.  
   
    Almost done with the bottle, Robert tilted it once more, 
drained the last, and carefully put it on the bar, like a chess
player making an important move in an endgame.  He dropped his 
boots to the floor and headed for the john.  Laughter rolled 
out from under the door.  High voices.  He pulled the door open
and found the small room crowded.  Two young men were at the 
sinks, adjusting hair, laughing.  Both urinals were occupied. 
One of the stalls looked empty, but, just as Robert headed for 
it, a pair of high-tops dropped into view.  He glanced at the 
other, but heard over the top of the panel door, heavy 
breathing and sounds of movement.  The another voice, deeper: a
grunt.  Rustling.  Clearly the pair would be at it for a while.
   
    He waited.  Lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall.  
   
    As if by signal, both men at the urinals finished, shook 
off and redeposited their cocks in their pants. Again, almost 
as if a team, they moved to the now empty wash basins and 
washed their hands.  The high-tops emerged from the stall, 
glanced at the two at the basins, shook his long hair, combed 
his fingers through it and left.  The team, hands dry, followed
before the door swung shut.
   
    Robert moved to the urinal, unbuttoned his jeans and was 
about to pull his cock out when the noises from the stall 
increased in intensity.  Rustlings became banging, quiet but 
authentic.  Steady moaning for two voices eased itself under 
the door and demanded his attention.  He listened.  Somebody 
was getting quietly but thoroughly fucked.  His eyes darted to 
the space under the door.  A pair of feet in deck shoes were 
all that was visible.  That suggested the position inside the 
stall.  Legs up, hands gripping the sides.  He watched 
carefully and noted the subtle shifting of weight of the feet 
inside the deck shoes.  Pushing forward; no doubt.  Thrusting 
hard and high into the tight ass in front of him.  Well done, 
son.  
   
    It was over then, in a matter of seconds.  Strong intakes 
of breath, one long moan, and the single word, "God!"  Robert 
coughed to let them know they were not alone.  Quick sounds of 
cloth closed.  But no exit.  Robert smiled.  Afterglow in a 
stall.  It has its points, he supposed.  
   
    He turned back to the urinal and found he was not alone 
anymore.  A young man, almost a boy, in fact was standing next 
to him at the next urinal.  Medium height and lean build, but 
with fine full legs that pushed his jeans to a ripe fullness. 
What he could see of the ass was promising as well: round full 
globes, high and proud, so firm you could bounce a quarter on 
them. But what gave Robert a bit of a start was the fact that 
the boy was not pissing.  He was standing in the right 
position, and, seen from behind, he might have been; but he 
wasn't.  He was standing close to the urinal with one hand on 
his crotch and the other shoved into his back pocket.  The 
pocket hand was moving slightly as though massaging his ass. 
His head was straight ahead, but the eyes, the eyes were 
definitely looking down at Robert's hand inside his jeans. 
Nothing new there, Robert laughed to himself.  This is the 
fresh deli counter of a gay bar.  
   
    Slowly, the boy's head turned toward Robert, announcing 
that he wanted to be seen looking at the cock Robert was 
holding.  Robert turned toward the boy.  His eyes searched for 
a scenario in the boy's demeanor.  Then the blond head tilted 
upward.  Sharp grey eyes searched his for permission to speak. 
Robert parted his lips slightly but said nothing.  Then the 
voice, a high pure tenor, let slip the words, softly and with 
precise aim.  They would carry directly to Robert's ear and no 
further.
   
    "I have to piss, sir."
   
    "So?"
   
    "I have to piss real bad, sir."
   
    "So, piss.  Why not?"  
   
    Robert smiled at the boy.  A small smile, but one that 
made the contact between them solid and concrete.
   
    "Will you let me piss, sir?"
   
    "I don't know, boy.  I'd have to think about it."
   
    "You have to piss too, don't you, sir?"
   
    "That's right, boy."
   
    "I know I can't piss until you do, sir."
  
    The boy knew what he was doing.  He knew how to talk. 
What to say.  
   
    "Who's boy are you?"
   
    "I'm not owned, sir."
   
    "You might be soon, boy."
   
    "Yes, sir.  I hope so, sir."
   
    The boy dropped his eyes, and a shy smile came to his 
lips.  Bingo.  Bullseye.  
   
    Robert opened the door of the vacant stall and went in. 
He stood waiting for a second, wondering if the boy would 
follow.  There wasn't much doubt.  The door opened and the boy 
entered.  His bright gold hair caught the light.  He dropped 
quickly to his knees.  Robert backed up against the wall, 
straddling the toilet, the boy kneeling directly in front of 
him.
   
    The boy's eyes were down but his face turned up caught a 
stray shaft of light and Robert could see the full mouth, the 
lips slightly parted.  He thought he saw a trace of a tremble 
on the lower lip, but he couldn't be sure.
   
    "I hope you will piss, sir."
   
    "I will, boy. Trust me." Robert smiled.
   
    "Thank you, sir."
   
    Robert reached forward and grasped a handful of blond 
hair. His fingers curled tightly in it and he pulled the young 
face toward his crotch.
   
    "Open it, boy!"
   
    "Oh yes, sir. Please, sir!"
   
    The boy's quick fingers released the buttons and his hand 
shot inside Robert's jeans.  His fingers caressed, then tightly
grasped the cock and worked it out into the air.  At the same 
time, his other hand quickly opened his own fly and pulled his 
dick out, aiming it at the toilet.
   
    Robert's concentration had always been good, and now he 
used all his powers to keep his semi-erect cock from jumping to
full rigidity.  He knew the game and liked it.  The boy was a 
fine player, rare.  He noticed how the boy avoided stroking the
shaft, but instead laid Robert's cock directly on his tongue 
and closed his lips on it evenly.  
   
    A low moan came from the boy as he knelt in front of 
Robert.  His hands moved in an elegant pattern of lust and 
submission.  His right hand touched Robert on the back of the 
knee and then slid lightly up to the back of his thigh.  His 
other hand left his own dick and lit on Robert's belly.  With a
slight but noticeable pressure, he pushed gently on the man's 
belly.  The signal, the question, the supplication.  
   
    Robert looked at the blond hair, felt the warmth of the 
hands, heard the plea.  He loosened his bladder and the hot 
piss poured from him and into the boy.  The mouth on his cock, 
pulsed, sucking.  The throat at his feet swallowed hard.  A 
high moaning, moving from tone to tone, escaped the boy and 
floated up to Robert's ears.  Robert eased the pressure, 
allowing the boy to keep up.  A rhythm swelled between them. 
The boy's hand stroked Robert's thigh.  The hand he held to 
Robert's belly was a lover's touch, grasping, stroking, light 
then hard, following the rhythm of their exchange as it rose 
and fell again and again.  The minute the act took stretched 
itself out.  Time distorted.  Only the motion of their rhythm 
ticked in each of them.  
   
    The man's hot piss gushing into his mouth inflamed the boy
and freed him.  His head expanded, and he was not conscious of 
the hardness of the tile under his knees, the cramped quarters,
or the newness of the man.  They were joined.  His dick, at the
edge of the toilet opened and he pissed into the bowl with such
force that the water there splashed and churned.  He was 
nowhere.  He was here.  He was empty, being filled.  He drank 
and swallowed.  He pulled this man to him, stroking and 
pleading.  He was both giver and gift.  
   
    As the last drops of piss left Robert, he had a sense of 
movement, of a waltz.  Now there was only his cock in the boy's
mouth.  His hands, he found, had clenched tight around the 
boy's head.  He held him there, fought to get the rhythm of his
own breathing slowed.  It wouldn't.  The two were frozen in 
space, but moving somehow.  The boy containing the man, the man
possessing the boy.
   
    Robert pulled the boy to his feet, finally.  The boy's 
arms went quickly around Robert's back and clung there.  His 
mind whirled.  Never had he felt so completely that he belonged
to someone.  Never in being fucked, or tied, or whipped. 
Never. This man had found a place in him that he did not know 
he had, and had touched it.
   
    Robert stood still for a moment, now completely aware of 
the cramped stall surrounding them.  He lifted the boy's chin 
and looked at him, a question on his face.
   
    "Alright, boy," he said finally, his voice low and smooth 
as dark syrup. 
   
    The shy smile.  Teeth white in the dim light.  Eyes 
dropped.
   
    The boy loosed his hold.  Robert slid to the door and 
opened it.  Two men, one latin, the other blond, stood there. 
They had listened.  They smiled.  Robert paused only briefly, 
looking at them, then headed for the door.  The next step was 
clear.  He didn't look back or to the side.  He strode to the 
outside door and went out into the dark night.  He was certain.
He quickly lit a cigarette and moved toward his car.  The steps
he heard behind him told him he was right.  He walked to the 
passenger side of the car without looking and unlocked and 
opened it.  The boy slid into the seat quickly.  Robert closed 
the door and went around to his side.  The door clicked open 
from the inside.  Robert paused, first surprised, then 
satisfied of his instinct and slid into his seat.
   
    He started the engine. 
   
    "Are you ready, boy?  Do you know where we're going?"
   
    "Yes, sir.  I know.  We're going home."
   
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