Pool

It's a late Friday night and I'm feeling it bad, making the rounds with my pool cue, lookin' for a game and some possible action. The local place, Lefty's is about half full but not too jumping. No one at the table. Well, hell If you ain't got no one to play with, you might as well play with yourself.

I move to the table and rack for a solitary game of 8-ball against myself, wondering who will win, me or me, unsheathe my maple sword and screw it together.

"Hi", a voice says. Mind if I play?"

"Suits me."

"Name's Lance."

"My god," I think, "Lance!" It's all I can do to keep from ogling his jeans to check out his 'lance'.

"Mine's Jeff." We shake hands. Am I imagining it or does he hold my hand just a bit long, just a hair warmly? He is not tall, maybe 5'8". A dozen or so years younger than my 34 years. Well formed, but not huge pecs, abs, and biceps are outlined beneath his forest green silk shirt. Slim hips, trim legs and the cutest tight little buns fill designer jeans faded in all the right places. Dark swarthy good looks. A little mustache and well trimmed goatee frame a smile that would launch ships. A sharp little V of a tickler sits beneath his lower lip. I start to fantasize about where it might tickle me.

"Flip you for the break?"

Fishing in the pocket of my pearl grey wool slacks, I pull out a quarter. "Heads or tails?"

"Tails."

"Sorry, my break!"

"Straight eight, right?"

"Yep!"

I move a little closer. His scent is a wild male musk. My hormones start pumping. How about a little wager?" I say.

"How much?"

"Well I say, dropping my voice. If you win I'll give you fifty bucks."

"And if you win?"

"If I win you've got to give me some of your time, come to my place for a while." I am taking a big chance here because I am not at all sure about his inclinations. I might even get the shit kicked out of me.

"Uh, what did you have in mind?"

"Well, we can decide that later. A couple of hours of your company. Maybe a couple of drinks, smoke a joint or two."

"That's all? Just my 'company'?"

"Sure, well I mean it's boring as hell in here except for the pool table."

"And that's worth fifty bucks to you?"

"Why not? I've got money and the time and not much else. Beats spending time alone. Who knows, maybe we'll get to be good friends."

"Is this a pick up? 'Cuz I want you to know that I have a girl friend and I . . . uh, well I'm not that way."

Still keeping my voice low, I murmur. "Well I'm not gonna rape you or anything like that. I promise I won't do anything you don't want me to."

Lance takes a step back and looks closely at me. Despite his protestations, I can see something there, curiosity at least.

"Okay," he says at last. "You got yourself a bet.

Now I am no slouch with a pool cue. Many a would-be shark has fallen before the strokes of my sword. It'd cost me eleven hundred bucks, a fine-tuned instrument, perfectly balanced and fitted to my fingers like a tight calfskin driving glove.

I break and sink the nine ball. My next shot is a double bank on a combination and the eleven plops in the corner. Two more stripes bite the dust. I glance up at Lance and he is lounging languidly in the corner, his body turned just so, the long silhouette of his 'lance' outlined down the leg of his tight faded jeans. It is enough to break my concentration and I fluff an easy shot. "Crap", I think to myself. "Fifty bucks!" It is not so much the loss of the money which irks me as the loss of the prospect of a 'few hours' at my place with this fine youngster.

Lance leans over the table; holding his cue light-fingered and easy he strokes like a pro. He moves around the table with grace and confidence, sinking ball after ball. I like what I see. It is almost worth the fifty just to watch him move inside his jeans.

"Oh well," I tell myself. I've lost before. Will probably lose again. Just when I've resigned myself to another night alone with a good book and an unsatisfied libido, Lance misses an easy shot on the eight. He complains loudly, but I sense a degree of insincerity in his demeanor.

Now it really is up to me. I pause. Breathe deeply. Shake the woolies out of my brain. The juke box blares. "Bad, bad, Leroy Brown". I grin. My music! The fates are with me. Four down and four to go. The twelve drops. Three. I slice the fifteen down the long rail and it disappears. Snookered behind the eight ball, I have no choice but to try a complicated three rail shot on the thirteen. The kiss is good. It rolls toward the corner in agonizingly slow motion. Bobbles in the corner. Teeters. Drops. The grin widens on my face. The eight stands alone. Straight shot in the side, my favorite pocket. I glance up at lance. His lips are pursed in the tiny hint of a smile. An easy stroke and victory is mine.

"Look," I say. "I won't hold you to anything. It's okay. Great playing with you."

"Don't insult me," he says. A deal is a deal. How you want to do this?"'

Having difficulty wiping the dopey smile off my face, I reply. "Well, hang around in here for a bit. Then walk out the door. I'll pick you up out front."

It takes me about five minutes to retrieve my grey Porsche 911 convertible and tool around to the front of Lefty's, top down. True to his word he waits at the curb. " Hop in," I say, leaning over to pop open the door for him. His lean form looks great adorning the grey leather bucket seat.

I soon have the sleek machine roaring up the coast highway. The night air is brisk but not unpleasant, the full moon flashing silver and grey behind scudding pewter clouds. Lance's flaming red hair floats back in the breeze, causing two lumps to form in me, only one of which is in my throat.

"So lance, tell me something about you."

"What do you want to hear?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. What do you do for a living? What do you care about? What kind of music do you like? You married? Divorced. Single. What?

"Well," he says, " I am a cartographer by trade. A map maker, you know. I like jazz, the blues, some classical. I had a steady girl, Jeannette, I thought we were gonna get married but two months ago she dumped me for a plumber. A fuckin' plumber, can you believe that? Guy came to her place to fix a leak and they ended up in bed. So I just been kinda laying low for a while. Licking my wounds so to speak. How about you?"

Well, I was married once. Along time ago. But I figured out that I like girls and boys. She couldn't handle that and I couldn't give it up." I sneak a look at his face to see how the news of my bisexuality has taken him, but can discern no reaction, so I plunge ahead. "Since then I've stayed uncommitted. I got lucky in the dot com market swell and was smart enough to get out ahead of the plunge, so I'm okay for cash. No worries. Just kinda going through life day by day, taking my joy where I can find it."

"Well, this is it," I tell him. "Home sweet home. It's not too late to change your mind if you don't feel comfortable, you know."

"No sweat! Really, it's okay."

Inside I gesture toward the sofa. "Have a seat. I'll be right with you." I move to fire up my massive fieldstone fireplace. Put on some tunes. "Wanna drink? What'll it be?"

"Yeah, something, I don't care what it is."

I return with two snifters of Phillipe Secundo, the fine Spanish brandy gleaming amber and gold in the flickering firelight. "Try this. It's great. Just about the finest brandy you'll find. Savor it. Taste the grapes. And to supplement the flavor." I lean and open a small wooden box on the glass coffee table, a replica of the coffin of El Cid, stolen from a convent in my younger, more reckless days. "Voila!" I produce two good-sized joints of primo Columbian red bud. Fire one up. Inhale deeply, hold it in. Pass it over. Our fingers touch and an unseen spark jumps across between us.

He tokes deep. For a while we don't speak, passing the fine weed back and forth and sipping the aromatic liquor.

Halfway through the second joint, Lance speaks. 'Uh. . . You know I 've never done this before."

"Smoked dope?"

His face reddens, approaching the color of his hair. I can't help but wonder if the nest between his muscular legs is just as flaming. "No I mean, uh. I mean I've never been, uh you know with a man before. Well, okay. Once a long time ago in a scout tent with my best buddy, but we didn't, you know, um, really, uh, do anything. Just uh, you know, touched each other." Now his face is flaming, redder that the flickering flames. "Have you done this a lot? I mean, you know. . . with other men?

"Oh I've had my share."

"Well, uh. . . er, what's it like?"

"Well Mr. Twenty question, let me ask you a question or two. Do you ever think about it? Wonder what it would be like?"

"Yeah, I've thought about it quite a bit, you know like fantasizing."

"Do you fantasize sometimes about men when you jerk off? I mean, you do masturbate, right?"

"Well sure and yes."

"What do you imagine? Can you tell me what you think about?"

Lance's shyness is a definite turn-on for me. He hesitates a long time before his answer, as if he doesn't know what turns him on.

"I think a lot about . . . being sucked off, you know."

"Well didn't your girl friend, what's her name, Janette Ever suck you."

"Are you kidding, no way. She thinks everything but straight up, uh, screwing is dirty. She wouldn't even let me go down on her."

"And what else? Ever think about holding another guy's cock, maybe sucking it?"

"Lots of times. I even, er, touch myself and then smell and suck my fingers to get the taste. But you know I don't even know if I really want to or, you know, just think about it. I worry a lot about maybe being Qu. . . , uh , er gay 'cuz I have these thoughts and dreams. I wouldn't want that. I love women a lot too.

"You know Lance, I used to worry about that a lot myself. But one can't go through life accepting the names others might stick on him. Even when I was a lot lot younger than you I was very confused. I caught myself checking out other guys, in the shower and stuff. And then I'd get real ashamed and afraid. I was very confused for a lot of years, but finally I decided I am what I am. If I like the smell and taste of a god hot pussy, if I like women and making love to them, but then I like the smell and taste of a good hot cock, too, what am I? I am me! Then I found out from this book, well, several books actually, that there are many, many degrees and types of sexuality. For a while I even tried to put a number to it. Was I fifty-fifty? Twenty-eighty? Finally I just said 'the hell with it. Sometimes I call myself a bi-sexual. Sometimes ambisexual. I really think what I am might be called omni sexual. Just your basic horn dog that loves sex of all kinds and types. Anyway, I've stopped worrying about it and just do what I do, And am I loving it! And right now I am extremely turned on by you. Lance, the person and the body. But that doesn't compel you to do anything, be anything. You are you and that's that!"

"You can still go if you want. Or you can stay and smoke some more, listen to some tunes. I've got a great blues collection. Muddy Waters, Howlin' Wolf, Koko Taylor, all the greats." As I say this I place a 'friendly' palm on his thigh, not too high up. I don't want to freak him, just encourage him. " I'll be disappointed, but I'll live. Either way, I'll still respect you in the morning," I joke. "So, Go or stay. It's up to you. And if you stay, what you do will be your decision."

"No. It's okay. I want to. I mean I think I do. Something. I don't know what."

I hook one forefinger under his square chin, his small flaming beard is silky as down. "It'll be okay. Really. Don't worry. Just relax. Here. Turn around." Placing my hands on his shoulders I turn him slightly on the couch so his back is to me. Softly at first I begin to rub his shoulders, kneading away some of the tension. "Take off your shirt so I can do this right. He unbuttons his shirt and slips it down around his waist. The skin of his back is smooth as an infant's. Under my hands his young body is quivering. Something akin to electricity tingles my fingers. Alternating deep kneading with feather light touches, I stroke, stroke. Fingertips lightly teasing at the belt line, gliding down his muscular arms, I murmur soothing sounds. "It's okay. Relax. Take it easy. I feel the tension of fear leaving, another sort of tension replacing it.

My arms slowly encircle him, draw him gently back to lean against my chest, my breath soft on his neck. My palms slide over his pecs, his taut belly. He squirms slightly against me, raising my temperature several degrees. A low slow ache begins in my gut.

Slowly, oh so agonizingly slowly, I ease my fingers under the waistband of his jeans, slide them under elastic. Lance sighs. My fingers deftly undo his belt buckle. He inhales sharply but neither moves nor objects. Emboldened, I fumble with the accursed double flap of his BVDs. He may be reluctant, afraid, merely curious, but his young strong manhood is rampant with need, I immediately discover.

Inside my own slacks, 'the monster', is aching, pushing hard to be set free. For the moment I ignore him. My thumb circles the prominent head of Lance's dick, it jumps in response. A tiny spot of clear ooze issues forth, providing the lubricant for stronger manipulation. Grasping the length of his hardness in my fist, I squeeze lightly. "Nice, very nice, I murmur."

Maintaining contact, hands roving over his trim young form, I glide out from behind him, easing his upper body down on the sofa. Moving around to bend on one knee before him, I place my palms on his belly, just below the navel, massaging firmly. A line of tiny curls the color of fresh strawberries disappears beneath the white band of his shorts, like an arrow pointing the road to glory. My thumbs hook the elastic, fingers curl. Lance raises his hips slightly to assist me as I slip his jeans and jockeys down in one smooth motion. His long, strong hardness bounds out as if sniffing the air, surrounded by a silken nest of woven copper. I sit back on my haunches to feast my eyes for a moment, look straight in his deep blue eyes. "Beautiful!," I whisper. "You want me to stop?"

"N-No," he barely mutters, as if holding his breath.

A large drop of silvery clear fluid, flashing crimson and scarlet in the firelight is about to drip from the tiny lips of his cock. I bend. My tongue flicks out to capture, savor it. The powerful male musk of him is intoxicating, dizzying. My mouth encloses the swollen head. His taste is young and fresh, like lightly salted spring rain. His hips thrust softly upward, his cock twitching and throbbing between my lips, hot and wet.

"Oh god! Oh god!", he shouts and spatters a hot blast of his cum against the roof of my mouth. Immediately I swallow him deep, my nose in his scarlet curls, throat swallowing over and over, tongue flashing, his balls on my chin.

The grin on my face is so huge I almost lose him. His youthful prematurity amuses me, excites me. I can only hope that the rapid regeneration common to his age accompanies his quickness.

"Oh damn!", he exclaims. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry"

I slide my mouth from him, grinning. "Shhh", I mutter. "It's okay. That's okay. Don't apologize!"

Except for the jeans and briefs gathered around his calves, he is naked, while I am still fully clothed. I watch his youthful tool subside in a gradually lessening series of aftershocks. His face is firey red. He draws in a long shuddering breath. Tenderly, I view the tension seep from his body. His eyes open. He shifts his muscled frame. Sighs. He bends to retrieve and pull up his pants.

"Don't," I ask simply. "Please don't". And I maneuver his pants and snow white shorts past his feet and off, casting them haughtily aside. "Let me look at you for a while. Are you cold?"

"No I'm uh well, er. I feel kind of silly sitting here naked." Lance's face undergoes a series of changes as I watch him debate with himself what to say, how to say, whatever it is that's on his mind.

"You know, I've never done, er, had done, uh, felt anything like that before,"

"Whady'a think? Was it okay?"

"Sure. I mean that was , uh wonderful when uh , uh, you know when you . Well it was the greatest thing I've ever felt. "

"But." I respond. "Something's wrong. Something's happening. What? Tell me. Believe me it;'ll be okay."

"Oh hell," he says. "I've gone this far. The crimson which had subsided from his cheeks now returns. His voice is low, shy. "Kin I, uh, you know, uh. See you? Yours , uh, . . .too "

"The stupid grin on my face broadens even more. Slowly my fingers unbutton my charcoal silk shirt, cast it aside. I reach for my belt buckle.

"Wait", Lance says, his demeanor much like that of an eager puppy. "Let me!"

I move one step closer to the couch, standing now. His smooth lean fingers fumble with my belt buckle, my zipper. In moments that seem an eternity, my Armani slacks are puddled at my feet. As usual I do not wear underwear, so my cock springs out, standing strong and straight, pointing at the ceiling.

"Wow!" lance says, impressed. Then, "What. . . I mean. What's that?"

For a moment I am puzzled. "My dick?', I wonder. The dawn breaks in my feeble mind. I realize he has never seen a foreskin before. I chuckle. "That my dear friend is a foreskin. You had one too, but it was cut off when you were a tiny baby. You've never heard of circumcision?"

Yeah, but I thought, I mean isn't that when your dick or balls or something is cut off?

"Look, I'll show you." saying this I draw my foreskin all the way back tight. See it looks just like yours now. If you take a real close look at yours you will se the scars from having yours removed. Lance leans way over, turning his cock this way and that. Damn, you're right! Holy shit! I never knew that. Can I, uh. . . again the flushed face.

I am starting to adore this awkward, shy youth.

He reaches out tenuously and takes my dick in his hand, barely holding me. His face draws close, examining my iron hard cock. His fingers draw back the long loose sheath. His face moves even closer. He plays with me like a new toy found in a happy meal. With thumb and forefinger he slides back the covering, slides it forward again. Then back. Forward again. God, if he keeps this up I'm going to cum in his cute little hand. My hand covers his. "Hold on." My other hand reaches to take his free hand and urge him to his feet. "Come", I say.

I lead him down the short hallway to my bedroom. Leaving him standing near the bed, I stretch out full-length on my back. I pat the bed beside me. "Come on, get in," I say. Go ahead. Check me out all you want. Come on. Don't be shy. At first he chooses not to lie beside me but instead leans over me. His interest in my manhood is intense. He face so close to my cock I want to hump my hips up, push my length through his slightly open lips. I restrain myself, fearful of stampeding this young colt away.

"This is really cool," he says. "I've never seen one up this close. Not even my own." His genuine coyness, his innocence, excites me more than his manipulations, and I am growing, straining, aching.

I reach out my right hand to tenderly fondle his shaft, his sac. He kneels on the bed beside me. My hands on his hips, I manipulate, adjust, 'til we are lying side by side, head to toe. Slowly, tantalizingly, I snake out my tongue to lick softly at him, all the while watching his face. A look of resolution, of determination crosses his features. He hesitates. Then cautiously, fearfully, he takes one halting taste of me. Then another. He pauses to assess the taste, his face a question mark. He holds me like an ice cream cone and licks again. And again. I badly want to grasp the back of his head, twine my fingers in his bronze tresses and push his face down on me, but with effort, I restrain myself.