Piced up at the Record Store

I was browsing contemporary rock music at the record shop when I felt eyes on me. I looked up and scanned the store casually. I had been right. A man in the classical section was watching me. Or was he just staring off into space in my direction? I shrugged inwardly and turned my attention back to the records.

A few minutes later, I looked up again and sure enough he was still looking at me. Now he had a slight smile on his face and an ex-pression that invited further interaction. I ignored him and walked over to the jazz category.

Now I had my back to the man. I still felt like his eyes were burning into me.

After a few more minutes, I cast a glance over my shoulder. He was still staring and smiling wider now that he could survey my ass. I'd had enough. I turned around, gave him the finger and walked out of the store. His expression didn't change a bit.

I visited a few more stores, then hopped a bus home. I found my thoughts turning back to that wordless encounter in the record shop. I was eighteen, not a child. I knew about homosexuality. I had just never experienced such a blatant intrusion of it into my heterosexual existence.

The man's stare had been more than a little creepy. I guessed he was about fifty-five to sixty years old. What wholesome interaction could he expect to cultivate with me, a young man less than half his age?

I shuddered at the thought.

The thought came with unbidden images of the kind of interaction the older man might have been planning. I was surprised when I was not as repulsed by these thoughts as I might have expected.

When I stopped to think about it, it was not creepiness the man exuded, but confidence. In an age when being gay defined him as a fringe player in the world of sex, the man was willing to put himself out there and risk ridicule and rejection.

I regretted giving him the finger. His boldness earned him a little more respect in my mind.

I put him out of my mind for the remainder of the bus ride and concentrated on the trip home and the pretty girl a few seats in front of me.

After supper, my parents went about their business, which usually concluded with an hour or two of television before they went to bed. I went to bed early myself after an exhausting evening spent researching an essay for school.

As I tried to drift off, I found myself getting horny... not unusual for me at that age. I collected a handful of Kleenex and started stroking myself to thoughts of the girl on the bus. She was black and had long sinuous legs that seemed to go on forever, finishing in a wide, round ass, tightly gripped by her jeans. Her hair-

An image of the man from the record shop intruded on my fantasy. His ice-blue eyes seemed to bore into me. They held humour, hope and promise.

Promise of what?

Involuntarily, I envisioned the man without his clothes. He was no Adonis, but somehow I was aroused.

As I blew my load into the tissues, I felt deeply disturbed by what I'd done. I knew I wasn't gay, so why had a man appeared in my sex fantasy?

Tomorrow was a new day. I went to school and found myself occasionally daydreaming about the man's eyes and sometimes his other attributes. When this happened, I blushed furiously to myself and tried to concentrate harder on my lectures.

As the days passed, the older man continued to visit my masturbatory fantasies.

I attended a downtown campus, so I was already near the record shop when my classes broke for the day. I told myself to walk on by, but my legs steered as if following the orders of a different brain. Once inside, I looked around. He wasn't there.

I felt disappointment. Why should I have expected him to be there?

I browsed for a little while for appearance's sake and then left to catch my bus home.

The days passed, and once or twice a week I would stop off at the record shop and I knew I wasn't there looking for the vinyl. My curiosity was leading me on another quest altogether. Even I didn't know where it might lead.

Weeks passed and I settled into a routine of stopping in at the record shop once or twice a week. I had stopped expecting to see the older gentleman, which was how I had now convinced myself to see him.

And then, one day, there he was. Just standing right there in the classical section.

Now, what do I do? I thought.

I wasn't in the store long before his eyes found me. They had all the magnetism and power I remembered. He smiled in recognition and a part of me melted. He did nothing. He just held the gaze.

I implicitly understood. I had to approach him.

That made sense, I guess. He didn't want to be seen making advances to an eighteen-year-old boy. But did I want to be seen approaching a sixty-year-old man?

My choice was in his eyes. That look of invitation which I remembered so well had returned. His smile had faded to a thin slash, giving his face a sterner cast. I deserved it after my thoughtless rejection the last time we met.

I followed my legs over to him. I stood in front of him speechless. Our eyes were locked. I couldn't think of anything to say.

He rescued me from the silence. He held up an album.

"Young man, have you ever heard Holst's Planets?"

"No." My voice sounded like a bird chirping.

"Well, you really must. I'll go pay for it. If you wait for me outside, we can go back to my place and listen to it."

"Okay." I sensed that I was agreeing to far more than just listening to some classical music. Again, I was impressed with his confidence. He couldn't have ruled out another rejection or even violence.

I went outside as he suggested. As the long moments passed by, I told myself this was my chance to run. I didn't feel like I was in any danger at all but I was scared. It was the kind of unreasoning fear I imagine you must feel before you are born.

He emerged from the record shop and his eyes, as ever, quickly found me. His expression showed a mild satisfaction, probably taken in the fact that I had not run off and left him to listen to his record alone.

"We haven't been properly introduced," he said. "I'm Ron."

I gave him my name. It hadn't occurred to me to give him a false name.

We shook hands. He held my hand fast in a powerful grip before letting it go. Then he turned and began to walk. I found myself trying to keep up. We did not talk as we walked, but the distance was short. In five minutes, we were in an elevator zipping up to a fifteenth-floor apartment.

He took his coat and mine and hung them in a closet and asked me to take off my shoes. I complied willingly. Somehow, taking off my coat and shoes made it real that I was here in a strange man's apartment.

It was a modest two-bedroom suite, but as Ron said, it had everything he needed. He invited me to take a seat on the couch in the main living area as he freed the vinyl record from its cardboard sleeve and placed it on a turntable. Before the music started, Ron offered me a drink. I blurted out that I was underage.

"How old are you?" Ron asked.

"Eighteen," I told him.

"Old enough to drive, old enough to vote, old enough to... do other things. I won't tell anyone if you don't."

I accepted his offer. He poured himself a Scotch on the rocks and handed me the beer I selected. I hoped it would take the edge off my nerves. He sat on the couch beside me.

We listened to the first band of the record in silence, but then Ron started the conversation.

"I was glad to see you today."

"I was glad to see you too," I stumbled. "I wanted to tell you I was sorry. For giving you the finger."

"You spoke your mind clearly and eloquently, but evidently you have since changed your mind."

"I... don't know what you mean."

The stern look surfaced. "Don't be coy with me, son."

"I saw something in your eyes. Maybe it was wisdom."

Ron chuckled. "Maybe it was just experience."

"Maybe. I thought I could... learn from you."

"Perhaps you can. Have you ever been with a man?"

"No," I flushed scarlet. There it was, out in the open at last.

"And women?"

"Yes." I lied. I had only been with one girl and we were together for only a few weeks.

"I see," he said. "And what did you learn from these women?"

I stammered through my repertoire of sexual skills. It was a pretty short listing.

"You are raw material," Ron said. "I will shape you into a good lover."

He held me in his gaze and raised a warm hand to caress my cheek.

"You have to tell me if that's what you want, but you must know that if that is what you choose, I will take charge of you. You must follow where I lead even if you're afraid."

He saw right through me to my fears and dreams.

"I want it," I said. My voice was husky and full.

"Good," Ron said. He withdrew his hand, leaned in and kissed me full on the mouth. I was stunned and he withdrew a moment to let me catch my breath. Then he repeated the action and I found myself kissing back. He put his arms around me and I returned the embrace. When I felt his tongue pushing against my lips, I opened my mouth and let my own tongue wrestle against his. I knew it was a match I would not win.

His hands roamed over my back and one wandered down toward my waist, flirting with my ass. It heated my loins. I returned the gesture as we continued to kiss breathlessly.

After long minutes which passed like seconds, Ron broke our embrace. He sat back and lounged comfortably on his side of the couch. I didn't know what to do.

"Stand up. I want you to undress for me."

I raised myself to my feet, pulled my sweater off and tossed it to the floor.

"Not too quickly," Ron said.

I unbuttoned my shirt, pulled my arms out of the sleeves and threw it down beside my sweater. Next, I peeled off my socks.

Ron was enjoying the show while he sipped his Scotch. The ice had melted.

I freed my belt from its loops and dropped it on the growing pile of discarded clothing. I opened my fly and dropped my pants. When they were off, I stood only in my briefs.

Ron held up a hand to command me to stop. He gave me a long appraising look. I remember the way I looked when he saw me. My hair was long and curly and I was a handsome, smooth-faced boy. I was tall and lithe and my shoulders hadn't yet widened like a man's. My hard nipples, surrounded by a ring of gooseflesh and a few short hairs, stood off my small pectoral muscles. My legs were well-muscled from a regular routine of walking and running.

Ron sipped from his drink. "Continue," he said.

I slowly lowered the waistband of my underwear down to my knees. Then I pulled my legs out of the briefs one after the other. I stood completely exposed in my nudity. I had never felt so vulnerable with man or girl. My heart fluttered against my ribcage.

Ron evaluated my cock. It was not small, rather it was probably of about average length, five to six inches. It nested in a thick bush of pubic hair. Ron nodded his approval and I relaxed a little.

"Turn around. I want you to show me your ass."

I obeyed and turned my back to him.

"Bend over and touch your toes. Stay that way until I tell you to move."

I maintained this undignified possession for a half-minute, wondering what my new-found mentor was thinking.

"Very good. You can stand up."

Once more I obeyed. I turned to face Ron and once again found him looking at me approvingly.

"You're a beautiful boy," he said.

I blushed anew.

Ron stood and I could see the bulge in his pants. It made me feel anxious and grateful at the same time.

"Let's go to the bedroom," Ron said. He turned and led the way, and where he led I followed.

The room was not large and the king-size bed almost filled the space. Ron gestured to me to sit down on the edge of the bed. When I was settled, he came and stood right in front of me. I looked up at his eyes and met his gaze with longing, perhaps even lust. I lowered my eyes to the bulge at the front of his pants. When he told me to take it out, I didn't need to be told twice.

In seconds I had his trousers and underwear down around his ankles, while he removed his shirt and undershirt. Ron was naked in front of me, but where I had been self-conscious, he was confident. He had the body of a man his age with a protuberant belly and sagging pecs. He was hairy from his chest to his groin. And his cock, at full-mast, stood a good six to seven inches. And it was pointed straight at me.

He may not have been a picture of classical beauty, but at that moment he was everything I wanted in a mentor.

"Kiss it," Ron said.

I applied the lessons in kissing Ron had just given me a few minutes before, becoming more passionate with every passing moment and bringing my tongue into the kiss. I licked at the great heavy glans of his penis. I kissed the serpentine vein running down the length of his shaft. I let my tongue traipse along the seam of skin on the under-side of his cock. He tasted pleasantly salty.

I was rewarded with a great sigh from my teacher, but I had not been instructed to stop. I didn't want to stop anyway.

I allowed myself to worship his balls, sucking them each in turn into my mouth and teasing them with my tongue. I probably spent a couple of minutes down there before I resumed kissing and licking his prick, which in turn kept me busy a lot longer. His fragrant bush filled my nose with its pungent aroma.

"What do you want to do now, son?"

I was breathing heavily from the passion of my labours and couldn't speak immediately.

"You have to tell me you want it."

"I want to suck your cock."

"Good. I want you to suck my cock too. Just remember to go easy with your teeth."

I opened my mouth wide and leaned back into him, taking his dick in as deep as I could. I closed my lips on the head of his cock and began to tantalize it with my tongue. For the first time, I experienced the salty taste of pre-cum swimming in my mouth and I savoured it. It motivated me to work harder; I knew it was the taste of my mentor's arousal. As much as I was enjoying the experience for myself, I hadn't lost sight of the fact that this act was about giving pleasure. I didn't want to disappoint Ron. I remember that was very important to me. His groan of bliss filled me with pride and a confidence that I could do this.

He told me to suck him and gave me some instruction. It came naturally to apply suction and jerk my head up and down on his cock. Another small stream of pre-cum drifted across my taste buds and lubricated my action. I continued for several minutes and my jaw started to tire, but I maintained my pace.

"Good," Ron said. "Now jack me off as you suck me."

I began to tug at him in time to my sucking. I was working him hard and fast.

"Down, Tiger." He laughed at my eagerness. "It still needs to be attached when you're done."

I eased up on him a bit, adjusting to a slower pace. I was amazed how much I was enjoying the taste of him in my mouth. After a few minutes, Ron had had enough and wanted to change it up. He pulled me to my feet and kissed me passionately, the tips of our erections tickling each other.

When he broke the kiss, a long thread of saliva trailed between our lips.

"I want to fuck you," Ron said.

"Fuck me," I replied with tones of equal desperation and fear.

He put his hands on my cheeks and looked me in the eye.

"You're going to be fine. I will show you how."

I was reassured, because I sure as Hell didn't know what I was supposed to be doing. I mean, I knew, basically how homosexuals had sex, but I didn't know the etiquette and the protocol, much less the practical.

Ron gently pushed me back on the bed so that I was lying down with my legs off the bed. He knelt between my legs, heaving them up onto his shoulders and begin to nip and lick at my buttocks. Then I felt him slip his tongue into my butt crack and feather it over my anus. The sensation was powerfully erotic. My ass was hungry for him.

Ron raised himself and ordered me to move to the centre of the bed and prop myself up on all fours. I knew what was coming, and fearfully followed instruction. I was not just afraid; I was deeply aroused.

My lover plucked a tube of lube out of the drawer of a bedside table. He lubed my asshole and slowly pushed his fingers into it, one after another, until he had three digits inside me. He sawed back and forth gently, spreading the lube inside of me and opening me wider to take his penis. This massage felt alien and pleasant and I moaned as he worked on me. When he withdrew his fingers after a few minutes, I felt empty and needful.

He didn't keep me waiting for long. He lubed his cock and, warning me there might be some pain, he gently eased it into me. I've often been told that anal sex is painful for a virgin, but for me it was not. Ron's gentle entry was both painless and effortless. We both moaned in unison as Ron slowly leaned into me all the way until his cock was buried in me up to the hilt. He held it there and asked me if I was alright.

"Yes," I breathed. "It feels good."

"That's what I want for you."

He gently began flexing his hips and driving his cock in and out in an ancient rhythm. At that stage in my life, I was unaware of the sensual effect a massaged prostate might have on a man. I was streaming thin strands of pre-cum all over Ron's sheets. This felt so good! I began thrusting back at my mentor, enhancing my pleasure and hoping to increase his as well. I began to alternately tighten and loosen the muscles in my ass as Ron drilled me.

"Oh," said Ron. "That's very good. You're so tight and those moves send shivers up my cock."

I redoubled my efforts as Ron increased his pace. He was fucking me hard. I was almost dizzy, overwhelmed with sensation. This wasn't what I expected at all and I wondered why I had been afraid.

Ron unexpectedly stopped and withdrew from me. I wondered if I had done something wrong, but he only wanted me to turn over and lie on my back. I lay there looking up at my older lover. Ron still had those magnetic eyes on me, just the memory of which had drawn me back to him weeks after my initial rejection of him.

His eyes were hungry now.

He positioned my ass so he could enter once more and resumed hammering my ass. At this angle, everything felt even better. My prostate was better served and I was further excited by watching a man on top of me, fucking me. He was sweating with his exertions.

"I want you to come," he said.

I spit in my hand, somewhat awkwardly given the angle, and began to jerk off in time to his thrusts. I was moaning and groaning from the simultaneous stimulation of my ass and my cock.

"Yes," Ron said. "Come for me!"

A few strokes later, I erupted all over myself in my ecstasy, coating my abdomen with my hot jizz.

I cried out to my God, and I was sincere. It was a prayer of thanksgiving.

My orgasm triggered a series of convulsions in my anus which I know enveloped Ron in cock-massaging ripples that pleasured him deeply.

"I'm close, son," he breathed. "Where do you want it?"

"I want to see it," I said.

Ron pulled himself out of my ass and blew his load all over my abdomen. Our cum intermingled in tiny pools and dripped off me in shiny rivulets.

As we came down from our orgasms, we lay side by side in the puddle created by our exercise.

"What time do your parents expect you home?" Ron asked.

"I'm eighteen now. I don't have a curfew. My dad says I'm my own man and should be out sowing some wild oats."

"This might not be what he meant, but I agree with your dad. So we have the rest of the night."

"Yes."

It had been a night of firsts. More firsts would follow in the nights to follow. Ron was the first man to come in my ass, and later my mouth. He stimulated me to my first hands-free orgasm. He initiated my first threesome with one of his fifty-something friends. Eventually, he let me top him just one night for the experience.