I had been seeing a girl from the next town over from where I was living at the time. Well seeing isn't really the right term. I had been occasionally getting together with Amber. We had met at a spoken word event that I had organized, and she introduced herself, told me that she was into writers, and we started hanging out every now and then.
It wasn't a relationship of any description, just a couple of people getting together every now and then to pass the time so to speak. Mostly we smoked weed and had sex, but there was no real connection, especially from my side. She was in a lot of ways a fun distraction, and that suited her as well as it suited me.
Given that I was 41, and was twice divorced, I didn't have any desire to jump into a relationship. I was enjoying the freedom that comes with single-hood, and in those moments of loneliness, or more often, "horniness," companionship was never hard to find.
One evening in November, I had Amber and a few of her friends over for a get together. The night was filled with beverages, bong hits, and general conversation. After an hour of playing Trivial Pursuit though, I was convinced that she and her friends weren't exactly the people I wanted to spend a lot of time with.
The evening wore on and people slowly started to leave. Amber had to teach a yoga class the following morning, so she headed home as well. Patrick who, at 26, was likely the youngest of Amber's friends -- the rest were in their early 30's -- stuck around for an extra drink and some more hits from the bong.
It was obvious from when everyone had arrived, that Patrick was gay. He wasn't flamboyantly gay, his speech and appearance were decidedly masculine, but he had a softness about him, and a general demeanor that made it clear that he preferred man-love. He was also the smartest of the bunch.
With the two of us left alone, we took our drinks to my living room. He sat on the couch, me in my chair. Ani DiFranco was playing in the background.
Earlier in the evening, Patrick had been telling Amber about his "dry-spell." He had been in a relationship that had ended about a year prior, and he hadn't found anyone since. As we sat in the living room he was talking a little more about it. He said that he preferred older men, but most of the older men he encountered in his relatively small town were strictly tops - they liked to do the fucking, but did not want to be fucked in return.
Patrick told me that he enjoyed being fucked, but he also liked the feeling of being inside another man. We poured another drink, and continued talking, and he said that he was looking forward to being older so that he could be the one to be pleasured by a younger man, and he could also be the one to do the fucking for a change.
As he talked, my cock was hardening in my pants. While I lived the life of a straight man, I had on occasion been known to enjoy some man love. My first experience with a man was when I was 16. He was in his 30s. Since then I had been with a man a half dozen times, and I had thoroughly enjoyed each and every experience.
Listening to this young man, with his handsome face, wonderful head of hair, and his strong looking arms, I was desperately craving that feeling of a nice hard cock in my mouth, in my ass. It had been nearly seven years since I had last enjoyed the sensation of a hard cock pressing inside me, and I was getting the distinct impression that an opportunity was right before me.
I put my drink down on the middle shelf of my bookcase, and stood up and said "Come with me." He got up from his spot on the couch and followed me to my bedroom.
"What?" he said as we entered by bedroom.
