Mr. William Bryant was one of the more successful businessmen in the city. He had a house that was worth at least a half million, a beautiful wife and two cute daughters.
The reason I know this was that I went with one of his daughters for quite a while, and from that relationship came another relationship that I never saw coming.
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Chapter 1: My girlfriend.
Sarah Bryant was a cute brunette who was the Salutatorian of our high school class back in 1973. She was also my girlfriend for most of our entire senior year and beyond. People said we were a natural pair, because I happened to be the Valedictorian of that same class.
I don't know if many people knew that we were both harboring rather deep secrets about ourselves, but the fact was that we were not your average couple by any stretch of the imagination.
Sarah knew what she was. She was a lesbian. I didn't know what I was, but I was beginning to suspect where my true feelings were.
I liked Sarah, and enjoyed it when we messed around, but there was something missing in it for me. Sarah liked me as well, and didn't mind fooling around with me a little too, but for her our relationship was platonic and more of a front than anything else.
"Even more gross than I thought it would be," Sarah said after the one and only time she ever went down on me. "It tastes disgusting."
That, and the few times when she got me off by hand, were the sum total of my sexual experience with her. I went down on her several times as well, and I didn't mind it at all. Neither did Sarah.
"Your hair is a lot like Sharon Domino's, so I pretend that she's down there instead of you," was Sarah's explanation of her enjoyment.
So I was her beard, which made it easier for her around her family. The cover of a boyfriend removed any suspicions of her sexuality and left her free to enjoy the company of her "girlfriends" from time to time.
I didn't mind, because I was living a bit of a lie myself. It had started when I stayed over at the house of a friend of mine, and we had gotten into his old man's liquor cabinet. I wasn't drunk, and I don't think that Tom was either, and the alcohol was probably used as an excuse for what went on that night.
We lamented about not "getting any" from our respective girlfriends, and before long we had our pajama bottoms off and were stroking our cocks while looking at a Playboy magazine. Tom suggested that it might be more interesting if we jerked each other off instead.
He was right, of course, and after that night we spent many evenings together, lamenting the chastity of our women. We dispensed with the alcohol after that first night, and concentrated on each other. It was a small step from using our hands to using our mouths on each other, and we continued in that manner until Tom left for college.
We maintained to each other that this didn't mean we were homosexual, and what we were doing was merely the result of boredom and lack of sex from the women in our lives, but I knew different. I loved Sarah's mind and her company, but I much preferred what Tom and I did together.
So that was what led up to the day when Sarah's father came up to me in the mail-room of his company. He had given me a job for the summer before college started, which was one of the perks of going with Sarah, and when I saw him come up to me, it was a bit of a shock, because the top executives of the company rarely ventured down into the bowels of the building.
"Say, Jimmy!" Mr. Bryant said cheerfully. "Sarah tells me that you play tennis. Something about being on the school team?"
"I'm not real good," I said sheepishly, which wasn't false modesty but a statement of fact.
"I've been itching to play but my usual partner is sick. How would you feel about playing some?"
"Sure," I said eagerly, always willing to get further on the good side of Mr. Bryant. "When?"
"How about right now?" he suggested, and when I mentioned that I had to work the rest of the day, he laughed and slapped me on the shoulder.
"Work day's over," Mr. Bryant declared, putting his arm around my shoulder and escorting me out the door, and before I knew it, we were tooling out of the parking lot in his Lincoln Continental.
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Chapter 2: Tennis anyone?
After stopping at my house so that I could grab my racquet and clothes, we went to the country club that the Bryant's belonged to. Suffice to say, my family did not belong to any organization like this, so I was in foreign territory from the start.
The locker room wasn't anything like my school's had been either, being much more plush and roomy. I undressed in the cubicle next to Mr. Bryant, trying to keep myself as hidden as possible while doing so, because I was exceptionally modest at that time, with good reason.
Mr. Bryant, on the other hand, seemed to share none of that trait, and I made a conscious effort to avert my eyes from him while he changed.
Mr. Bryant was probably in his mid 40's, but was in great shape. He resembled one of the stars of that TV show, The Man from Uncle. Not Napoleon Solo, but the other guy. Robert Vaughn. He was about my height, 5'9" or so, but Mr. Bryant was solidly built, especially compared to me.
The tennis went well. Although Mr. Bryant was physically much stronger than I was, he had a few weaknesses in his game that I was able to exploit, and by the middle of the first set, I was reasonably sure that I could beat him. The question was whether that was a good idea or not.
In the end, I figured that if he thought I was letting him win, he might get a lot madder than he would if he just lost, so I kept the match close enough to make it interesting, before pulling out both sets, 6-4, 6-4.
"My backhand stinks!" Mr. Bryant declared after his final shot sailed harmlessly over my head and we met at the net.
"I was lucky," I said as we shook hands at the net.
"Bullshit, but thanks for being kind," he laughed while we gathered up our things on the side of the court.
As Mr. Bryant picked up his racquet's cover, I looked at his legs, which were incredibly hairy. The hair was thick and jet black and covered them like a pelt, which also contrasted with my pale and virtually hairless legs.
As we walked back into the locker room, it struck me that we were probably going to take a shower, because it was a warm day and we were both dripping with perspiration. There was no way of getting out of it that I could think of, except for maybe not having a towel.
Nothing against showers, mind you. I never minded taking showers back in gym class, where I would run to a corner and hide myself as much as possible while peeking around at the other guys. That was what most of us did, while the well-endowed guys would walk around brazenly showing off their stuff.
Seeing Mr. Bryant naked was not something I had counted on, and while I knew that he was a married man and all, I was still a little curious as to what he looked like naked. I was more concerned with not letting him see me naked though, so when we got to the locker room I tried to figure out how to do this.
The towel question was answered when I saw two thick, plush ones in the cubicle where my clothes were. With Mr. Bryant at my side making small talk, I got my tennis gear off quickly and grabbed a towel, heading for the sound of running water.
My first blunder was in walking into the shower room with the towel and having to run back around the corner to set it down, but I was still shaking when I came back in, because this wasn't like the shower room back at school.
There were shower heads affixed to poles in the center of the room. Nowhere to hide, and you were forced to stand there along with everybody else. There were only a few guys in there, and as I stood frozen at the entrance I felt Mr. Bryant's hand on my shoulder, guiding me down to the far end where there was nobody.
I was fumbling with everything, from the soap dispensers to the shower knobs, all the while trying to keep myself from being seen by others while I took the shortest shower imaginable.
After I got the water going, I soaped up as much as possible while squinting over at Mr. Bryant, who was on the other side of the pole. I soon discovered that the pole hid very little, because despite the mist and the spray, I could see Mr. Bryant very well indeed.
My eyes went down his hairy body, and I did a double take when I saw was was below his waist. Mr. Bryant's cock was gigantic, and for the 20 or so seconds that I was in the shower, I was hypnotized by it.
His wrinkled, flaccid cock hung straight down between his legs, wiggling slightly as he soaped his upper torso. Incredibly thick at the base, it tapered slightly down towards the head of it, which was long and conical, and behind the massive organ, his balls hung low and loose in their hairy pouch.
That was the end of my shower, for two reasons. The first reason being that I felt like I was starting to get a hard-on, which I thought would have been the most horrifying thing that could have happened. The second reason was far worse, because after I gawked at my girlfriend's father cock for all the 20 seconds I was in there with him, I happened to look up at Mr. Bryant's face and saw that while I had been staring at his genitals, he was looking straight into my eyes.
I turned off everything and padded out of the showers as fast as I safely could, and when I got back to the lockers I waved the towel over me a couple of times before putting my street clothes on my still-damp body. By the time Mr. Bryant came around the corner, I was all dressed and tying my shoes.
"You're as quick in here as you were out there," Mr. Bryant said cheerfully, snapping his towel at me and acting like he hadn't caught me staring at his private parts.
Maybe he hadn't really caught me looking at him after all, I thought while fiddling with my shoelaces and looking at his hairy ankles next to me. I would often make things out to be worse than they actually were, and Mr. Bryant was now giving me the impression that anything had happened back there at all.
"I'm going to wait outside," I said to Mr. Bryant, who was drying his hair, and as I spoke I peeked over at him again before grabbing my stuff and leaving.
His cock looked even more imposing now than it had before, and after I left the locker room I made a detour on my way outside to the men's room. Hopping into a stall of the empty facility, I quickly dropped my pants and peeled down my underwear.
I had gone in there with the intention of taking a leak, but after I finished, my dick was rock hard. A couple of shakes turned into a few seconds of rubbing, with the end result being me popping my load into the toilet, with the still-fresh image of Mr. Bryant racing through my head.
Disgusted with myself, I cleaned up while cursing myself for what I had just done, and vowing to never think of the things I had just done over the last half hour again for as long as I lived.
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Chapter 3: A stop along the way.
