Date: Sun, 20 Feb 2005 14:49:22 -0800 (PST)
From: priapus <feckon@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Story of Love

The following story is a combination of fact and fiction. It is based on
true life events as I remember them, some names and locations have been
changed for the purposes of anonymity. The story contains some graphic
sexual scenes between adult Males. If material of this nature offends you
or you are under 18 years of age, you should not read this story, try a
comic instead.

			     The Story of Love

Although it's been twenty years, I remember my first time like it was only
yesterday. I was 19 and had recently finished college. I was what you'd
call a late developer; I'd only begun puberty the previous year. I knew I
was gay around the same time my body was changing because along with
puberty came my attraction to men. At that age it was all quite innocent,
the odd fantasy about a film star, a crush on a guy at school, that kind of
thing.

To celebrate our graduation, there was a party at my friend Juma's
house. Dr. & Mrs. H - Juma's mom and dad - went out for the evening with
instructions not to overdue it with the beer they'd left. Of course they
hadn't left much so it was gone by 9pm. A few of the older guys went to the
bottle store to get more; they also brought back vodka. It was my first and
last time to drink the stuff. I drank four or five large ones mixed with a
little orange juice.

I don't know if it was my age, the vodka, the beer or a combination of all
three but by 11.00 I was pretty sick. I felt nauseous, hot and shaky. After
throwing up a couple of times in the garden, I staggered back to the house
were Juma's sister Laura helped me to the bathroom to threw up again. My
head was spinning. I felt such a fool and kept apologizing, much to
everyone's amusement.

As I stood in the kitchen another of wave nausea hit me so when Dr. and
Mrs. H. walked in at that moment I was throwing up on their kitchen
floor. Needless to say they were not amused. Mrs. H made coffee while her
husband cleared the house. He told everyone to go home, the party was
over. My friend Juma got the brunt of his dad's anger, going on about trust
etc. the usual parental stuff.

Juma's mom made me drink two cups of coffee and it made me feel a little
better. His dad suggested he take me for a walk, said it would clear my
head, that I was in no fit state to go home, what would my parents think
etc. He seemed to drone on and on, I guess he felt a little responsible.
Juma said he'd come along too but his dad had other ideas. Poor Juma had to
mop up the vomit from the floor and clean up the house. We laugh about that
today but at the time it was no joke.

Dr. H and myself headed off in the direction of the local park. It was a
beautiful warm summer night. If I hadn't been feeling so sick, foolish and
dejected, I would have appreciated it more. There was a gentle breeze
coming in off the ocean that revived me and made me feel a lot better. I
kept apologizing to Dr. H. who told me to forget it, he said he'd been
drunk enough times himself in his youth. He laughed and told me not to
mention that to Juma.

I'd always liked Dr. H. He was originally from Tanzania and had the darkest
skin I'd ever seen on a man, it was something I'd always admired and found
attractive about him. He was 37 at the time and when your 19 that seems
really old. He was a very handsome man - he still is today. But back then,
in his prime he was a picture of handsome masculinity. He was 6' 2''
muscular, with black tightly cropped hair and hazel eyes that lit up when
he smiled, and boy what a smile, his perfect white teeth seemed so luminous
against his ebony skin. He had a two small scars on each of his cheeks, a
result of a childhood initiation ceremony, somehow those scars enhanced his
good looks and made him look even more beautiful. I on the other hand was
white, ghostly white with red hair and green eyes. I stood 5'11" with a
slim build, I'd yet to fill out and be comfortable with my body. Girls told
me I was good-looking but because I lacked confidence, I never really
believed them.

Myself and Mr. H. arrived at the little wall that encircled the park. It
was no more than a foot high. We stepped over it and headed toward the
trees that grew in the centre. As we walked we chatted about incidental
things. I was usually shy with adults or authority figures in general and I
hardy ever spoke to Dr. H. but I guess the alcohol made me more confident,
more talkative. I knew Dr. H. was being considerate, helping his son's
friend. After all, he'd known me since I was a kid but there was something
different that night. There was a sense of anticipation in the air, I felt
safe and at the same time excited to be alone with this man.

As we continued on into the park Dr. H talked about girls. He asked if Juma
was seeing anyone and if I had a girlfriend. I felt a little uncomfortable
at this line of questioning and answered in my own clumsy way. As we neared
the trees, I stumbled in the dark and Dr. H. put his arm out to steady
me. It was a simple gesture but one that was to change everything.

As he reached out to steady me he moved in close and I kissed him on the
mouth. To this day I don't know why I did that, it just seemed natural,
like the right thing to do. But Dr. H. didn't think so; he pushed me away
and yelled, " what the fuck do you think you're doing Mike, are you mad"? I
fell down hard on my ass; I was stunned, so stunned I started to cry. There
I was, 19 years old, sitting on my ass and crying like a little schoolgirl,
it was humiliating but as much as I tried I couldn't control the sobs that
shook my body, I guess a lot of stuff had been building up.

I staggered awkwardly to my feet, I remember I had to get away; I had to
escape the embarrassment. Dr. H. said something but I couldn't hear him
through the tears and the pounding of my heart; all I could hear was the
blood pulsing through my head and ears. "Where are you going!" he shouted,
coming after me.  "I have to go...to go home, I'm so sorry" I sobbed. "I've
ruined everything, you hate me now, you think I'm just a queer". (What a
drama queen!).  "Wait! Don't be so stupid, I don't hate you, you can't go
home like that". I stopped and turned to face him, "you think I'm just a
dumb kid...that I don't know anything...that I'm too young to know...but I
know". I turned and walked away. Dr. H. came after me.  "Wait! Please
Wait!" he caught up with me and spun me round. "Mike wait, just wait, we
can talk about this, it's no big deal, your just confused...lets just calm
down and talk OK...OK?"

He guided me back towards the trees and we sat down on a fallen log. I was
glad it was dark; it hid my embarrassment. I just wanted to go home, to get
away. Dr. H. took a handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to me. I
remember its masculine smell of soap, aftershave and the merest hint of
tobacco. "I'm sorry I pushed you Mike and I didn't mean to yell but you
gave me quite a scare, don't cry, ok...please don't cry" he said softly,
putting his arm around me and resting my head on his shoulder.

Eventually I calmed down and the sobs subsided. Dr. H. lit a cigarette; he
gave it to me and lit another one for himself. We sat in silence.  "Why did
you kiss me like that?" he asked.  "I don't know", I let out a deep sigh.
"Come on, tell me, no need to be embarrassed or ashamed, are you gay?"
"I...I don't...I guess...I must be...yeah...I guess I am" I stammered.  "So
why me, why'd you kiss me...have you ever kissed a man before" he asked.
"No, never...but er...I like you, em...I...I guess I always have and you
were...you know...being nice to me and I just...em...I just wanted to
show...to show...it just felt right".  There was another long silence until
Dr. H stood up quickly and said, "Christ! Is my son gay too, is Juma gay"?
"No! No I don't think so, please...this has nothing to do with him, oh
God", the tears welled up again and I started to tremble, I stood up.
"Dr. H, please...Juma isn't gay, I mean...I...I'm sure he's not, he never
gave any sign, we've always just been friends...I...I mean... oh God! I ran
then, ran back the way we came. Dr. H gave chase, he caught up with me and
spun me round, he grabbed me and held me tight against his chest where I
sobbed and tried to pull away.  I could feel his breath in my ear as he
whispered, "it's okay Mike, calm down, shhh...it's okay, I'm...I'm
gay...I'm gay too, it's okay".

I don't know if it was the mind boggling news or my emotional state but my
legs gave way at the moment and I sat down on the ground. Dr. H. sat down
too. I noticed his hand shook as he brought the cigarette to his lips. I
know it sounds strange but I found this very calming. I knew at that
precise moment that this man would always be special. I reached out and
took the cigarette from his trembling hand and squashed it into the
ground. I took his hand in both of mine and simply said, "tell me, tell me
everything". And he did.

He spoke of his life, about growing up in Tanzania and how he left at 18 to
study medicine overseas under a United Nations scholarship program. How he
met his wife at university and the circumstances of their marriage. It
turned out they married because she was pregnant with Laura and their
parents insisted it was the right thing to do. He told me of the early days
of their marriage, about the racism and prejudice they suffered from both
blacks and whites who frowned on their mixed marriage, the resentment he
received for marrying a white women. He told me he loved his wife and
adored his kids. That he always knew he was attracted to men but as it
would only add to his already complicated life, he suppressed it. He said
he found it increasingly difficult of late and had recently started to
explore his sexuality by having an affair with a junior doctor at the
hospital and a couple of brief encounters on seminars abroad.

We spoke for hours. It was almost dawn when we finally stopped. It was so
great to finally admit I was gay, to give voice to my thoughts and
fears. All the while we talked I had my head resting on his shoulder,
stroking his hand or sometimes caressing his face as he told me his life
story.

When we finished, the silence seem to stretch before us, we were both
preoccupied with our own thoughts. Dr. H. was the first to break it, " we
should be going, they'll be wondering what happened to us."  "Just a few
more minutes", I said. "It's nice being with you like this".  "You never
really answered me when I asked why you kissed me" he said smiling.  "I did
but you weren't listening" I laughed.  "Okay, so tell me again, something
about you liking me", he said with a grin.  "Come on...you know I like
you...more now that we've talked like this, er...em, to you think I could
kiss you again"? I asked sheepishly.  "I don't think so, I mean...er...
well, Mike you're very young, it wouldn't be right.  "Don't tell me I'm too
young, that I'm just a kid". He was about to reply but before he could say
anything I moved closer and kissed him full on the lips. This time he
didn't protest or push me away but returned the kiss and boy was it
good. I'd never received such a kiss; I'd kissed a number of girls but as
Dr. H. probed my mouth with his tongue I thought it was never ever felt
this good.

We stood up then and moved to the relative privacy of the trees. I pushed
him against a large oak and we kissed deeply. I was in ecstasy as our
tongues explored each other's mouths. I couldn't get enough of the new
sensation. He lifted my T-shirt up over my head and the soft cool breeze
caused goose bumps to break out upon my skin. There was such passion and
urgency to our movements. I tucked frantically at my denims, struggling to
open the buttons and quickly dropped them to the ground; I kicked them
off. My cotton shorts quickly followed. I tore open his shirt to reveal a
smooth ebony chest that glistened in the gray morning light. I kissed his
face, his neck, his chest, running my tongue down the length of his torso
as I sunk to my knees. I paused briefly at his waistband before popping the
buttons of his denims. I lowered them to his feet. His cotton whites soon
followed, whispering gently against his dark muscular legs as I drew them
down to rest against the denims already gathered at his feet. It was such
an intense experience seeing another mans cock. I reached up and took it in
my hand and watched it swell and throb as I peeled back the foreskin. I
took it in my mouth; it tasted salty sweet and musky. He was not large,
about 6 inches but it was thick and beautifully formed. I caressed his
balls; now they were big, unbelievably big, like kiwi fruit. As he probed
my mouth with his cock I raised my arms to pinch his swollen nipples and he
groaned with pleasure.

I sucked him until my throat was sore and my jaw ached. I could sense he
was near the edge so I sucked harder, faster, running my tongue along the
base of the cock-head and it wasn't long before I felt him splattered
against my throat and I swallowed furiously to take it all in. My whole
body was alive with desire as he put his muscular arms around me and
brought me to my feet. I pushed against his body and kissed him deeply as
he pulled on my cock, jerking it faster and faster. I felt a deep sound in
the base of my throat long before it reached my mouth, a soft sound of
ecstasy that built to a crescendo to reverberate around the confined space
as I erupted spurt after spurt of hot semen onto his dark firm flesh.

We were both breathless; I leaned against his warm glistening chest and
felt it rise and fall as he struggled to take in life giving oxygen. I
looked up at him and he smiled, our lips met and we kissed softly. "I never
imagined it would be so good," I said, smiling. "Can we do it again"? He
laughed loudly and said something about horny 19-year-olds.

But it was time to go. We dressed quickly and headed out of the trees. I
grabbed him just before we reached the clearing and we kissed again. We
walked towards the edge of the park. The sun was slowly rising and the
first birds of the day were singing the dawn chorus. We stood briefly
outside my house and he promised to call. I could tell he was concerned,
maybe feeling a little guilty. I reassured him as best I could but I knew
he'd have to deal with his own demons. We said goodbye and I watched him
walk down the road until he was out of sight, I was overcome by a deep
sense of loss. I tiptoed quietly into my house.

Needless to say, he never called. I waited a couple of days before going
round to the house. Mrs. H. and Laura where sitting in the kitchen. They
ribbed me about drinking too much at the party. I laughed and told them I
was never touching vodka again. I went into Juma's room; he was still in
bed. We talked about the party before I brought up the subject of his
dad. He told me his dad had gone overseas on a six-month
contract. Apparently it had been arranged for some time. I was downhearted
but managed to hide it. Juma suggested a movie but I made my excuses and
headed back home where I lay on my bed feeling abandoned and alone.

The next few weeks passed slowly. I went off to university that September
and threw myself into academia and tried to forget Dr. H. I joined the gym
and the GLBT society where I discovered a whole new way of life. I
experimented with both guys and girls during those years but there was
never anyone special. For the most part, I kept my head down and
concentrated on getting a first class degree. On trips home I continued to
see Juma. I even met his father on occasions but never alone. We'd make
small talk that always left me feeling uncomfortable and confused, it did
wonders for my self-esteem too. I couldn't understand why he treated me so
shabbily. To be in the same room, so close, yet so far was deeply painful
for me.

The three years at uni passed relatively quickly and after I graduated I
found a job in the city. I moved into my own small apartment and commenced
on building a life. I jogged every morning in the park and visited the gym
three times a week. I socialized with co-workers and sometimes I'd meet
friends at the bars. I came out soon after moving to the city. Most people
took it well. Mom and dad found it difficult, like many parents they blamed
themselves. I tried to explain it was just how it was, that it was nobody's
fault.

I was living in the city a little over a year when Juma got married. I
travelled home for the wedding bringing my then boyfriend John with me to
the ceremony. I greeted people I hadn't seen in a long time, laughing and
joking with them but I was far from happy, inside I was miserable. My eyes
seemed to take on a life of their own, they would traverse the room and
seek out Dr. H. and every time I caught his eye he was looking right back
at me.

We spoke briefly later that evening when the bride and groom had left for
their honeymoon. I was at the bar ordering drinks when he came up and said
hello. I looked into those beautiful eyes and thought how handsome he
looked in his tuxedo, I liked the way it defined the contours of his body
and how the whiteness of the shirt contrasted with the darkness of his
skin. He commented on how my gym membership was paying off, how good I was
looking, how grown-up. We spoke about the wedding and I cruelly said how it
must make him think about his own happy nuptials. His face fell and the
conversation came to an abrupt end. It was eighteen months before we saw
each other again.

I returned home from work one evening at about seven and found a message on
my machine asking me to call him at his hotel; he was in the city on
business. I knew from trips home that he'd left his wife the previous year
and moved into a place of his own. I called the hotel and was put through
to his room. After the initial small talk, I said I'd come over to his
hotel after work the following day but he asked if I could come over
now. There was a slight urgency and a hint of despair in his voice so I
agreed. I quickly showered, dressed and caught a cab to his hotel. As I
knocked on the door of his room I resolved to keep things formal, telling
myself I was just visiting the father of a friend but when he opened the
door my resolve fell away. He looked so lost, so apprehensive and uncertain
and it melted any resolve I had.

He motioned me into the room and I could hear the quiver in his voice as he
asked if I wanted something to drink. I stood in silence looking at him. He
was such an attractive man, I knew I still loved him, his obvious
discomfort and vulnerability only added to the attraction. He moved
nervously around the drinks cabinet, several times opening and closing
doors and talking rapidly, pausing only to ask again if I wanted something
to drink. I continued to look at him until my silence forced him to stop
chattering and face me. When he finally did stop I held out my arms and he
fell into them, now it was his turn to cry. He buried his head against my
neck and muffled sobs shook his body. I kissed his face and neck and told
him everything would be okay. "I'm such a fool", he said. "I thought I lost
you, that you hated me" he said weeping.  "I could never hate you silly" I
replied. "I was hurt but I never hated you...never".

It was to be three days before we left that hotel room, not counting my
brief dash to the pharmacy for condoms and lube. Three glorious days spent
naked with marathon bouts of lovemaking. It was my first time to fuck and
be fucked and it was out of this world. Though I must confess I preferred
to do the fucking.

For three days and nights we lived on room service and talked about our
lives. He told me everything that had happened since that faithful night in
the park, his fear and concern for his family. He talked about his deep
feelings for me; how he never stopped thinking about me and how on many
occasions he tried to call me but would hang up after dialing, too scared
to take that step. The age gap was a major concern for him, as was the
racial issue, what would people say. I spoke of my pain and confusion, how
I never stopped thinking about him. How I didn't care what people would
think or say. That it didn't matter what others thought about you because
you have to decide for yourself how much justice lies in the assessment of
you.

He laughed when I told him I could teach him to be indifferent to what goes
on in the minds of other people, how it was relatively easy, especially
when you consider the narrowness of their views and the superficial nature
of their thoughts. That if you place a lot of value on the opinions of
others, you pay them too much honor and make yourself miserable in the
process. You have to remember that most of the people who's good opinion we
crave don't actually know us, so why let their verdict govern what we make
of ourselves. That if he was honest with me about his feelings we could
handle anything as long as we were together.

All that was 16 years ago and we are still together today. I know as I type
this story it comes across as a romantic tale, but believe me, for the most
part it was far from romantic. In reality it was very tough, the actual
events would fill a novel. Our families took years to accept us as a
couple. My folks hit the roof; the age thing was a huge problem for them
and the fact he was once a married neighbour. On the issue of race, I was
surprised that the people I'd always assumed to be liberal turned out to be
the most lethal, the most venomous, the most racist and homophobic.

As the years went by my family eventually came round, they could see that
in the face of adversity we were committed to each other and would never
give up. But it wasn't easy, the first few years were the most difficult,
there where many occasions when the mounting pressure of disapproval took
its toll and almost broke us up but we persevered during those tough times
and somehow managed to see it through.

Juma was a tough nut to crack. It was years before he came round to the
idea of his dad and his best friend being together as a couple. Today we
get on great, thanks largely to his wife, Anne. They visit often with their
two daughters. As does Laura, her husband and son. They come to see their
granddad and Uncle Mike.

I'm 41 next year and Rakanja - that's Dr. H. - will be 59. It's 10.30pm,
and as I type this and look across at him lying on the sofa in just a pair
of white boxer shorts, his body illuminated by the flickering TV set, I'm
overwhelmed by the feelings I have for him. He looks great, still the
muscular man I fell in love with at 19. His hair went gray awhile back so
he shaves it but the kiwi fruits are still as big and beautiful as
ever. Life is good.


(c) I would love some feedback so send any comments you may have to:
feckon@yahoo.com 0