Key Lime Pie and Custard

Chapter 9

By

Tim Mead

The last few days of our time together in Orlando were in some ways a blur. Oh, I can tell you where we went. We saw the fireworks at Epcot one evening. We went to Disney World, and the Cirque du Soleil. The tour company took us into Orlando to visit Sea World. We were scheduled to visit the Animal Adventure park in the Disney complex, but we didn’t go. More about that later.

It’s not the places that come to mind first when I think back to those days. It’s Graham and me together.

He and I had gradually grown closer, despite a few setbacks. I’d found myself both liking him and being strongly attracted to him physically. I kept telling myself, however, that he was too young for me. Or perhaps more realistically I was too old for him. Besides, we were destined to part at the end of the tour, and there was no way what we had could survive as a trans-Atlantic relationship. Even assuming he was as attracted to me as I was to him.

I’d hinted about my feelings a few times, telling him things like that he was “very special” to me, but I couldn’t really judge from his responses how he felt. Graham was such a sweet guy that I was never sure whether he was just being nice to me or whether he really felt something for me. He had become an eager pupil when it came to sex, however, and at first I worried about that. Was I taking advantage of him? He was on the rebound from his relationship with Amy. He was going through the upheaval of discovering that he might be gay. If I’d been a decent person, wouldn’t I have just kept my distance and let him sort it all out?

Well, he didn’t seem to want me to do that. Thus I became something of a sexual tutor, which we both enjoyed. But I worried that I was beginning to feel too much for Graham while he was simply, joyfully it seemed, discovering the pleasures of man to man sex.

Sometimes simple actions can produce defining moments. It was that way when he slapped my bare butt and carried me to the Jacuzzi. As undignified as I felt at that moment, I knew then without question that I loved Graham. Correction: I was in love with Graham.

The bath itself was hilarious.

I don’t know how much of the bubble bath crystals G. had put in, but by the time we got there, a six inch blanket of bubbles covered the water in the filling tub. He lowered me gently into the water and then got in facing me. A moment or two later, I jumped when I felt his big toe under my balls. The part of us below the bubbles was invisible. I grinned, thinking two could play at that game, so I found his cock with my foot. Even though we’d both just come, he was hard again, so I rubbed the under side of his cock with my toes.

“Uh, Will, shouldn’t we turn on the jets?”

“Let me check. We mustn’t turn on the pump until the water is above the openings.” I felt around until I found a jet. It was safely under the water level, so I looked around, found the switch, and pressed it.

When the jets turned on, the bubbles began to increase in volume at an amazing rate. All thoughts of sex left our minds as we sat there, jaws hanging open, as the bubble level approached our chests.

“G., how much of that stuff did you put in?” I asked, giggling.

“There were two packets, so I thought I was meant to use them both.”

“Apparently that was a bit of overkill.”

By this time the bubbles were up to the top of the tub, so I turned off the jets.

“Aww,” G. said, giving me a pouty face.

“Babe, another minute and we’d have had a real mess here.”

His face brightened. “You never called me ‘babe’ before.”

“Sorry, it just slipped out.”

“No, mate, I like it.”

I answered by relocating his cock, which had deflated a little, and stroking it with my foot until it was hard again.

“Well,” I said, “it looks like we aren’t going to enjoy the Jacuzzi this evening, but it’s nice just being in a bubble bath with you.”

He grinned. “Yeah.” About then his foot made contact with my balls again. So we sat there and played our own aquatic version of footsie until the water began to cool. Neither of us wanted to come in the tub. I think we both had in mind something a little more special in the bedroom.

Looking at the bubbles, G. asked, “What do we do now?”

I knew what I was going to do. I took a huge handful of bubbles and put them on top of his head. He looked like a little boy with his thick cap of bubbles, his eyes sparkling at me. I just wanted to eat him up! Then with his big hand he scooped up a huge blob of suds and popped it onto my face as if he were a vaudevillian slapping me with a pie. Most of it fell, but the rest ran slowly down onto my chest while he sat there and cackled.

We played like a couple of little kids for a few minutes longer, but then he said, “I’m getting cold, mate.”

“All we can do is go over to the shower and rinse off.”

We did that, but we tracked water and bubbles the six feet or so from the big tub to the stall shower. After rinsing off in the shower, we used the towels we’d dried off with to mop up the water and bubbles on the floor. But even though we’d released the tub stopper and the water drained out, the tub remained nearly full of bubbles. Some of them were still there the next morning.

We put on clean clothes. I called down to the Bistro to make reservations for a half hour later. Then we each had a beer from the stock I’d asked the concierge to have put in our fridge. When we got to the restaurant, I knew Graham was worried about expenses, so I suggested we just have pizza. He enthusiastically agreed. Afterward, we went outside and sat beside the pool. The area was beautifully landscaped. There was subtle lighting all around. And, though it was cool, a few people were actually swimming.

“Feel like a swim?” he asked.

“I hate to be a drag, but I’ve got goose bumps. Would you mind saving the swimming until tomorrow, assuming it has warmed up?”

“Course not. So what’ll we do, then?”

“I can think of something to do up in our room,” I said, leering at him.

Before we got to my agenda, we watched a professional basketball game on television for a while, the Orlando Magic vs. the Cavaliers. I explained all about LeBron James being a local phenom and what high hopes we’d all had that he’d manage to make the Cavaliers into a contender. Although that didn’t seem to have happened, the Cavs were winning this game handily, and I sensed that Graham was getting bored. Perhaps because he put his hand in my lap and began playing with my dick.

“Oookaayyy,” I said, turning off the tv. “Stand up!”

“What?” He seemed puzzled.

“It will be a lot easier for us to undress if we’re standing.”

He grinned. “Oh.”

Quickly we had stripped, pulled back all of the covers on the bed except the bottom sheet, and were lying together snogging. I have to say, the boy had really learned to kiss somewhere. Maybe I had reason to be grateful to the bitch Amy for that at least.

After some serious face sucking, I rolled Graham over onto his back, climbing on top of him as I did. Then I began to probe his ear with my tongue.

“Christ, Will, that gives me the shivers, that does!” And he literally shivered. But he was smiling, so I didn’t stop. When I moved to his neck and began kissing and licking, he seemed to purr.

“Ohhh, I didn’t know that would feel so good. Is a bloke’s neck an erroneous zone”

I chuckled. “Yeah, it can be pretty erroneous.” Then I moved just far enough onto his shoulder that the hickey I was about to give him wouldn’t show when he was dressed.

“Will, wait! If we’re gonna swim tomorrow, that’ll show.”

I raised my head and looked him in the eye. “Do you really care?”

He grinned and said, “No, I reckon I don’t.” So I went back to work.

When he had an unmistakable love mark, I kissed my way a little further south. Graham had sucked and nibbled my tits earlier, but I’d not done it to him. It was time to make up for that omission. Soon I had him writhing and moaning. He told me no one had ever done that to him. His nips were obviously sensitive, and he clearly was turned on by what I was doing.

His cock, leaking profusely, was pressed against my stomach. Mine, equally leaky, was sort of butting him in the perineum. His writhing turned into a steady humping motion. He was jacking himself against my belly as I sucked and bit lightly at his nipples.

I glanced up. He had withdrawn somewhere, lost in what were obviously new and wonderful sensations, forgetting for the moment about me.

‘Just as well,’ I thought. ‘Let him enjoy and learn. Better he doesn’t associate it with me.’ And then I almost sobbed.

I was surprised to feel his hands on my butt. He pulled me up so that we could kiss again. As we kissed, our slippery cocks were now trapped between our bodies, and we both began to hump. The movement of his hips became more frequent, more intense.

I pushed up with my arms and rocked back a little so I was on hands and knees above him.

“What? What’s wrong? Willie, did I hurt you or something?”

“No, babe. It’s just that we have all night. No need to rush things. I was getting too close to coming.”

“Oh. I guess I was, too. So what do we do now?”

I leaned down and gave him an Eskimo kiss. “Anything you want, G. Let’s just take it slow.”

“I like the frottage [he pronounced it to rhyme with ‘cottage’], but I wanna try something else, okay?”

“Like I said . . .”

He flipped me over onto my back and then positioned himself with his head between my thighs. The view was incredible. There, just beyond my upright cock, was the top of his head. Beyond that was the V-shaped taper from his shoulders to his narrow waist. Then his body widened out again, and I could see the two bubbles of his white ass, which was in the air. The globes were pulled slightly apart, so I saw the top of his trench. I wanted desperately to jump up, go around behind him and begin eating out that ass, but I didn’t think he was ready for that yet. Besides, I was enjoying what he was doing to me.

I don’t know how he knew the insides of my thighs were very sensitive, but he did. He was licking his way up my right thigh. Slowly. Maddeningly. When his nose touched my balls, he went back to the knee and started up the left thigh. I muttered and groaned and caressed his head, ruffling his hair.

When he reached my balls this time, he began to lick them. By now I had a pool of precum on my belly and my cock was throbbing. Thinking my wait was nearly over, I expected him to take my cock in his mouth. Instead, he took each of my balls in turn into his mouth. He didn’t really suck on them; he just held them there. I thought if he didn’t suck me soon I’d die.

“Oh, sweetheart, please!”

He released the ball that was in his mouth and grinned at me. “You sound ready, Willie?”

“Oh, god, yes, I’m ready!”

Graham’s second blowjob was better than his first. He seemed to have lost his hesitancy, he was surer of what he was doing. And what he did was to bring me off in short order. I pumped a mind-blowing amount of semen into his mouth. He worked valiantly to swallow it, managing to take most of it, but there was just a bit running down his chin when he pulled off. I held out my arms, and he came up close to my head so I could first lick off the little trail of cum and then kiss him.

After I’d held him a minute or so, I let my hands slide down his back to his butt, which I rubbed lightly.

“G., that was so beautiful. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d been doing that forever.”

Into my ear he said, “Practice makes perfect, isn’t that what they say? Besides, I enjoyed it too, didn’t I?”

“I certainly hope so. But now it’s your turn. Roll over on your back.”

He did what I asked him to, but then he said, “Will, I’ve had enough foreplay. Would you just suck me now?”

“What, you don’t want me to pamper you the way you pampered me?”

“Maybe next time. Right now I just need to come.”

I thought for a moment of teasing him, bringing him to the edge and then backing off, but he’d been so sweet to me I decided that would be cruel.

“You got it, big boy.”

So I positioned myself between his legs. I confess I couldn’t resist licking and sucking on his balls for a little while, but when he tugged lightly on my hair I got the message and began to lick his big, hard cock as if it were an ice cream cone. His moans told me he was happy, so I lapped away. Then he began to flail his arms and buck his hips.

“Oh, now, Will . . . mouth . . . please.”

I had to lift my head a bit to get the end of his cock into my mouth. It didn’t take much bobbing and sucking after that to make him come. Even though we’d both come that afternoon, he filled my mouth with his jizz. I had to swallow several times to get it all down, but I managed. And then I just lay there with his cock still in my mouth, waiting until it had softened before I let it fall out.

“Com’ere,” he said. I scooted up into his arms. He squeezed so hard I could barely breathe. Then he loosened his grip slightly, and I lay there on top of him, my head on his chest. We must have fallen asleep that way because I woke up in the same position about 1:30 AM. I rolled off of him and went back to sleep.

* * *

As I said earlier, we saw the attractions. Both of us enjoyed the fantastic feats of the acrobats and aerialists of the Cirque du Soleil. And the guys were sexy, too. A couple of times Graham poked me with his elbow and grinned when a guy in tights with his ass crack and his package on display was especially hot. After the second or third time, I looked down at his lap and saw that he had a boner. That got me hot. By the time the show was over we were trying hard not to giggle, and we were both sporting stiffies.

That reminds me of a change in Graham’s behavior after the day when we’d traded blow jobs twice. He kept me almost constantly hot by touching me various places when no one was looking. As we’d be in a crowd someplace, he’d casually cup my ass, or even rub his finger along the crack. Once or twice in a restaurant he slipped his foot out of his sneaker and rubbed my leg or thigh with it. And he was doing it to arouse me, no question about it. I’d jump or frown at him, and then he’d give me this big shit-eating grin. My G. had turned into a prick tease.

I refused to retaliate. After all, he was a boy of 19 and I was a man of 29. I was too mature to play grabass with him. Well, there was this once . . . But I’ll tell you about that later.

Graham loved Sea World. There used to be one in Cleveland, and I’d been there as a kid, but Busch had sold it to someone else, and it was never the same after that. The Sea World in Orlando was great fun. Graham loved the tanks with the big aquatic mammals. At the Shamu show he was like a kid. There were signs warning people who sat there that they would be splashed, but G. insisted on sitting down front anyway.

Orcas aren’t the biggest whales, but unless you’ve seen one up close, you probably don’t have any idea how big they are or how beautiful they are, with their streamlined black and white bodies. Like everyone else, we gasped and cheered as we watched them leaping out of the water, doing tricks. But what goes up must come down. And when a huge orca lands in the water just a few feet in front of you, it makes a mighty splash. We were soaked by the time the show was over. But the warm sun soon had us dried off. When we got to the amphitheater for the water ski show, we took seats further back, though the lake where the boats and skiers performed was far enough away that there was no danger of getting wet. We were glad we had sat further up, though, because we could see better. Graham had never seen a water ski show, and I hadn’t seen one since I was a kid, so we both enjoyed that a lot.

* * *

One evening just after dinner our phone rang. It was Mamie. She wanted to know if we would come to their room for a moment.

“Is anything wrong, Miss Mamie?” I asked.

“No, dear. We just want to suggest something for tomorrow.”

“Okay. We’ll be right there.” And we were, since their room was a short way down the hall from ours.

It turned out that members of our group were offered a last minute choice of what to do the next day. The event that had been scheduled was a day at Disney’s Animal Adventure park. But apparently the ladies had persuaded Jim to come up with an alternative they had suggested. He agreed if they could get eight people to go. They wanted us to go along.

“What is it that you want to see?” I asked.

“We’ll go to Lake Wales to see the Bok Tower and Gardens,” Mamie said.

“It’s called the Historic Bok Sanctuary now, dear,” Dorothy corrected.

“Oh, all right, dear. And after lunch there, we’ll go to Lakeland to the campus of Florida Southern College.”

“What’s there?” Graham asked dubiously.

“They have a collection of Frank Lloyd Wright buildings, nearly a dozen!”

“Who’s ‘e?”

I explained that Wright was probably the most famous modern American architect. There aren’t many places where you can see two of his buildings. Such a large collection would be fabulous. I’d been to Falling Water in Pennsylvania and I’d seen a private home designed by Wright in Oberlin, which isn’t far from Cleveland, but this was a wonderful opportunity.

I gave Graham a pleading look. He grinned and said, “Well, we have a place near home called Flamingo Land. It’s got a pretty good zoo, so I s’pose I don’t need to see this one.”

I hugged him, and the two ladies beamed at us.

They got their eight people, and we set off after breakfast the next morning for Lake Wales. I’d heard my grandparents talk about the Bok Tower, but I really didn’t know anything about it. Mamie, or maybe it was Dorothy, explained that the publisher of a women’s magazine in the early twentieth century had bought a huge hunk of property on top of the highest point in the Florida peninsula. It was called Iron Mountain, though it was more like a hill, since it was only about 300 feet above sea level. He hired Olmsted, the architect who had designed New York’s Central Park and lots of other parks and estates, to lay out a huge garden. When that was done, he built one of the largest carillons in the world in a gothic-looking tower.

All of that sounded interesting to me, but I knew that G. was just going along to be accommodating.

It took about 45 minutes in the mini-bus to get to Lake Wales. We weren’t on the interstate long. Instead, we drove down a two-lane rural highway through orange groves. I was surprised that we passed so many lakes. Dorothy, or maybe it was Mamie, told us that Polk County alone had hundreds of lakes. I had gotten the idea that Florida was totally flat, but the area we drove through had pleasantly rolling land. It was really pretty.

Graham had pulled me to the last seats in the bus. We held hands the whole trip. Occasionally he’d take my hand and rub it against his tackle, as he sometimes called it.

The gardens at Bok were indeed spectacular. There were long avenues with blooming camellias in red, pink, and white along either side. Azaleas were in bloom everywhere we looked. There were beds of annuals, petunias, impatiens, pansies and things I didn’t recognize. Huge old live oak trees shaded most of the area.

Recorded bell music was played from the carillon tower every fifteen minutes or so, but at one point there was a live recital. Our group had split up and was told to meet at the café in the visitor center at 11:45 for lunch. But we all were together near the tower at the top of the hill for the concert. There were benches where one could sit, and they had a closed circuit tv so we could watch the carilloneur as he performed. Graham was astounded that he pounded wooden rods with his fists to play the bells. They were arranged like a piano keyboard, but the rods were almost as thick as broom handles. Another surprise was that the program included show tunes and some other popular music as well as a few classical pieces.

“For some reason,” G. observed, “I’d have expected church music.” I knew what he meant. The gardens were quiet, serene, and very beautiful. And, too, of course, the huge tower, which had interesting art deco touches, looked basically gothic in design.

After the fifteen-minute recital, our group broke up to stroll the grounds again. There were benches everywhere so that people could rest, reflect, or just enjoy the beauty. I spotted one that was behind some tall bushes, looking out over the rolling countryside of central Florida. I dragged Graham off the path and to the bench.

“What’re ya doin’, Will?” he asked, looking puzzled.

“Shush, and you’ll see.”

I sat on the bench and pulled him down beside me. There wasn’t a soul in sight, and we couldn’t be seen from the path, even though we weren’t fifteen feet from it.

I grabbed his head with my left hand and pulled his face to mine. As we kissed, I slipped my right hand down the back of his pants. (It was cool enough that we had chosen to wear long pants that day instead of shorts.) I ran my middle finger up and down his crack. He let out a little groan and kissed me with more vigor.

Since he’d put his arms around me, my left hand had nowhere to go except into his lap. I wasn’t surprised to find him hard. That had been my intent all along. So as we kissed, I rubbed his stiff dick through his pants with one hand while sliding a finger up and down his ass trench with the other.

Soon a breathless Graham asked, “Willie, why are you doing this? What if someone sees us?”

“It’s payback, man, for all those innocent-seeming gropes and strokes I’ve been getting the last few days. What’s wrong, don’t you like it?”

“Oh, yeah! But I’m gonna make a mess in me underpants if ya don’t stop.”

“Wonder if Mamie and Dorothy would still recognize the smell of cum?” I said, giving him an evil grin.

He tried to look stern and menacing. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll give over!”

I squeezed his cock and tickled his tush at the same time.

“Or maybe you could do it a bit longer,” he said, sticking his nose in my hair.

“You mean it gets longer?” I asked, chuckling.

Not wanting to cause him real embarrassment, I desisted. We heatedly explored each other’s mouths for a few more minutes and then stood to go meet the others for lunch. When we saw the size of the tents in both our trousers, we sat again for a moment to allow them to subside.

Lunch at the café was lovely. They had soups, sandwiches, and salads which one could eat inside or outside on a patio next to a spectacular garden of mixed spring flowers. G. said the delphiniums and larkspurs mixed in with lower plants reminded him of English gardens.

After lunch we drove another 45 minutes to Lakeland. The campus at Florida Southern College was fascinating for the ladies and for me as well. We had no guide, but we were given brochures that allowed us to take a self-guided tour. Graham wasn’t much interested in the Wright buildings, but he was a good sport. And I think he did enjoy looking at all the hunky college guys wandering around. So did I, for that matter.

Graham got his revenge. We sat in the back of the bus on the return trip, and he kept his hand in my lap the whole way. The wicked bastard kept me hard and on the edge of coming all the time. He could tell by my breathing, I suppose, when I was getting close, so he’d stop rubbing and just let his hand rest on my tented pants. Then, when I’d calmed down a little, he’d begin to stroke me again. Even through two layers of cotton, it kept me excited, leaking, on the verge of shooting a wad into my boxers. As it was, they were damp from precum.

When we stood to leave, I had a little spot on the front of my khakis, and a major tent. And there was no way to sit and let it subside. I made the chuckling Graham walk in front of me. I was practically poking his ass with my stiff rod as we walked down the aisle of the bus. I made him sit in the lobby with me until I could stand without embarrassing myself. I didn’t think anyone else in the group knew what was going on, but when we walked across the lobby to the elevators one of the desk clerks grinned at me and winked.

* * *

I was rather depressed the last couple of days in Orlando. I was coming to face the fact that I was much more attached to Graham than I wanted to be. I’d thought before that this was like a shipboard romance, a nice fling but nothing lasting. I was sure many other people before me had been sad at the end of a trip made memorable by a chance companion. But that didn’t make the thought of having to part with this sunny, beautiful boy any easier. I was also aware of the irony that I had come on the trip to recharge my batteries and to quit moping about Sean. Well, Sean had become the least of my worries. The question now was whether I could go back to work and not mope about Graham.

I tried hard not to show what I was feeling. I didn’t want to cast a pall on what was, after all, a holiday for Graham and for me. I was pretty much successful, but a couple of times G. asked me if I was okay. I put on my best smile and assured him that everything was fine.

And it was hard not to smile when we were alone together because most of that time we were either indulging in ongoing foreplay or actually having sex. That meant a lot of face sucking, feeling, groping, and, eventually exchanging blow jobs. For our last night, however, I had something more in mind.

* * *

The afternoon of the day before our last day in Orlando I had told Graham I needed to run down to the lobby for something. I found Bruce, the concierge, at his desk. I asked him if it would be possible to get the chef to prepare a special dessert for Graham at dinner the next evening. He said he thought that would be possible, though, of course, there would be an extra charge for a “custom” dessert. When I told him what I wanted, he gave me a funny look, but he was too well trained to ask why in hell I wanted to do that. He said he’d check with chef and call my room.

A while later, the phone rang. Graham, fortunately was in the john.

“Hello.”

“Mr. Thomson?”

“Yes.”

“This is Bruce, the concierge.”

“Oh, hi, Bruce. What did the chef have to say?”

Bruce chuckled. “I’ll spare you some of what he said. He was insulted at first. He asked why you would want that when he makes the most formidable crème brulee in Florida. When I explained it was for an Englishman, Chef Jean-Paul threw up his hands and said something in French I didn’t understand. Then he said he would make up what you want. I understand it’s to be served on the side?”

“Yeah, so he can pour on as much as he wants.”

“It will be done and the charge added to your tab.”

“Thanks Bruce. I’ll take care of you when I see you tomorrow. I really appreciate your help.”

“Glad to be of service, Mr. Thomson.”

The next evening our group was eating together one last time. We had a buffet in one of the party rooms of the hotel. This was the most elegant buffet we’d had on our tour, and everyone had gotten spiffed up a little. I mean the women looked great and the men were wearing khakis and button-up shirts. No suits or anything like that. Try to get your average American male into a suit when he’s on vacation!

There was a dessert table with a variety of cakes, pies, and fruit concoctions on it. The crème brulee was available if one asked an attendant for it.

We sat, as usual, with Dorothy and Mamie, this time at a table for four. When we had finished our main courses, the servers began to bring around coffee or tea. Both were poured from pots. Graham beamed when he saw them pour him really hot tea into a china cup.

“Well, I dunno about you lot,” he said, pushing his chair back from the table, “but I could do with a pudding. Ladies, could I bring you anything?”

I put my hand on his arm.

“No, G. Don’t go yet, please.”

He looked puzzled, as did the ladies. I was just beginning to wonder how I was going to explain asking him to wait, when a server approached our table with a silver tray containing four small pitchers and two plates with key lime pie on them. He put one of the pieces of pie in front of my friend, the other at my place. Then he put one of the pitchers beside it.

“Boiled custard to pour on your pie,” he said, obviously trying hard to keep a straight face. Then he put a pitcher in front of Mamie and Dorothy. I hadn’t asked for that, but it was a nice touch.

“Chef says that you may want to pour the custard on whatever you choose for dessert.”

“Please thank the chef for me,” I said.

Graham blushed. Then his eyes got a little misty.

The ladies excused themselves to get something from the dessert table.

While they were gone, G. said, “Willie, I’m gobsmacked, mate. You got the chef to make me some proper custard! I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything, G. I just hope it’s okay. The chef is French, I think, and I don’t know whether he can even make a good English custard.”

The ladies returned just then with pieces of chocolate cake .

“Oh, I remember my mother having runny custard at Thanksgiving and Christmas,” Mamie said.

“Mine did, too,” Dorothy responded, “but I’ve never made it. This brings back happy memories, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, dear, it does.”

They both proceeded to pour some of the custard from the pitchers over their cake. That made a kind of sense. But with key lime pie? I watched to see what Graham would do. He poured most of his custard over his pie. So, of course, I did the same.

It wasn’t bad, though I wound up eating my pie with a spoon. I thought it would all be pretty cloying, but the key lime pie was tarter than what we’d had other places, so it cut the sweetness of the custard.

G. seemed to enjoy his, but I didn’t know whether he was just being nice.

The ladies invited us to stop by their room for a minute about 8:00. We spent the time between our return from supper and 8:00 packing, since we’d be leaving for the airport fairly early. Members of our tour were leaving at differing times, so we were being shuttled in small groups to Orlando International.

When we got to their room, Mamie and Dorothy asked us to have a farewell scotch with them, for auld lang syne, they said. After we had sat down, Mamie, who had been taking pictures throughout the tour, handed each of us a small photo album. In it were pictures she’d taken along the way, mostly of the two of us, but with a few of them and some of the others.

Both of us were touched and told her so. Graham stood up and gave Mamie a big hug. Then he hugged Dorothy. Of course, I did the same. Then we sat back down, sipped our scotch and talked for a while. After an appropriate time we thanked them, hugged them again, promising to stay in touch, and went back to our room.

Graham and I had already exchanged email and postal addresses and phone numbers so we could stay in touch. I wondered if he would.

Back in the room I suggested that Graham should call his mother to talk about when he’d arrive in Manchester, and he did. There was a lounge area on each floor of the hotel, so I went there and sat for about ten minutes to let him have some privacy. I was trying not to work myself into a state. Graham and I had to go back to our real lives with the whole friggin’ Atlantic Ocean between us. At the beginning I hadn’t even liked the guy. Why couldn’t it have stayed that way?

Telling myself to get a grip, that I’d just have to go back to dark, cold, snowy, miserable Cleveland and soldier on at work, hoping not to get fired, I returned to the room.

G. and I finished packing, leaving out only our toilet items and the clothes we planned to wear the next morning.

Then we watched a soccer game for a while with the sound turned down because it was a Spanish-language channel. Graham found it more interesting than I did, but then he knew what was going on. I pretended to be fascinated because I didn’t want to do anything to spoil our last evening together.

Finally, when the game was over, he switched off the tv, put down the remote, and turned to me. “Let’s go to bed, Willie.”

We undressed, did the bathroom bit, and were soon snuggled together, naked of course. After some kissing and hugging, I disentangled myself so I could get at his cock, which I began to stimulate by running my fingertips lightly up and down the under side. He was already hard, so this merely added to his excitement.

“Mmmm,” he purred softly, “that’s fantastic.”

“As someone said to me recently, you ain’t felt nothin’ yet.” I licked his balls and dick for a while, lapping up the precum he was beginning to ooze, all to the accompaniment of his appreciative comments.

“Are you gonna suck me, Will?”

“Nope.”

“No?” He sat straight up and looked down at me as I lay there between his legs with his dick in my hands, rubbing the tip of it around my face.

“Nope.”

I couldn’t see his face very well in the darkened room, but he sounded puzzled when he asked, “Well, what then?”

“I want something special from you tonight, G. Something I can remember when I’m back in Cleveland.”

“Anything, Will.”

“I want you inside me.”

Silence.

“Say it again.”

“G., please fuck me.”

“Are you sure, mate?”

“Totally.”

“I’ve never done that. What if I hurt you?”

“Don’t worry, babe. Everything will be fine. Trust me. That is, if you’re willing.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m willing, Willie.”

I chuckled. “No, I’m Willing Willie. You’re Gorgeous Graham.” I scooted over to the bedside table where I’d stashed Trojans and lube.

“You do know what these are for, don’t you?”

“Oh, I believe I’ve had occasion to use those before, Mr. Thomson.”

“Okay,” I said, tossing them to him. “Get to work.”

He tore open a packet and removed the condom. Then he giggled. “I’ve never seen rubbers that glow in the dark before.” He put some lube on his cock, which told me he did know what he was doing. Then he unrolled the phosphorescent green sheath down his cock.

“Now, put a lot of that lube on my hole and then shove some up in there with your finger.”

He was trying so hard to be gentle that I almost became impatient. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll tell you if you’re hurting me. Stick your finger all the way in, but go slowly.”

“Like this?”

“Yeah. Now wiggle it around until you feel a bump.”

He did, and I jumped.

“Oh, Christ, what did I do? Are you okay?”

“Relax, baby, I’m fine. That’s my prostate, my love nut. You just stroked it, and it felt wonderful.”

“What do I do now/”

“What would you do if it was a pussy?”

“I’d probably use some more lube and try a second finger.”

“Precisely, Watson. Do that and then try a third finger.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled, “I get the idea.”

Soon he had me wiggling my ass on his fingers, hungry for his cock.

“Now, G., I’m ready. Let me have it.”

“Just tell me if it hurts.”

“Yeah!”

It had been five months since I’d had anything up there, but by going slowly Graham entered all the way without causing me anything more than a little burning and that wonderful full feeling.

“Christ! You took me. I never would have thought I could get my dick into such a little hole.”

“That little hole made you welcome, though, didn’t it?”

“Right! And it’s so hot. And tight! It feels, I dunno, different from a woman. But better, I think.”

“So, now do what comes naturally.”

And he did.

He came before either of us was ready, but when I asked him not to pull out, he just collapsed on top of me for a while. We kissed, and soon he began to get hard again. The second time he came, I came with him. I felt as if I had been, as they say, well and truly fucked.

He got off me, took the rubber to the bathroom to dispose of it, came back with a towel with which he cleaned me up, returned it to the bathroom, and jumped back into bed, where I literally welcomed him with open arms.

As we lay, spent, snuggled together, he said softly, “Thanks, Willie. I’ve been wonderin’ what that would be like, but I didn’t have any idea it could be that good. I’ll never forget it.”

“Me neither, G., me neither.” What Graham lacked in finesse he made up for in tenderness, in caring about making me feel good. It wasn’t the best fuck I’d ever had, but emotionally it was perhaps the most important. I’d been honest when I told G. that I would always remember that night and our sweet coupling.

Graham drifted off to sleep, but I wasn’t far behind. I slept like a baby, for which I was grateful because it kept me from thinking how hard it was going to be to leave him the next day.

We said goodbye to several of the tour members at breakfast. Fortunately, the odious Comstocks weren’t there, so we avoided that awkwardness. Miss Mamie and Miss Dorothy hadn’t come down yet when we ate, but we’d said our goodbyes the night before anyway.

I was surprised at how many of the women wanted to hug us. By this time it was obvious that G. and I had formed some sort of relationship, but most of these people seemed to have accepted us. Fortunately no one asked what was going to happen between us now that the tour was over. I don’t know what I would have said. I felt glum enough as it was.

At the airport we discovered we were departing from different terminals. My Continental flight back to Cleveland left from Terminal A. Graham was to board his flight back to Manchester in Terminal B. That meant we would be going through different security check lines, so we had to separate in the huge main concourse of Orlando International.

The moment I’d been dreading for days had arrived.

Struggling to maintain my composure, I held out my arms to Graham. We hugged, and then he gave me a kiss. No tongue was involved, but it wasn’t a quick kiss. I had no idea what the crowd of people standing at the huge electronic arrivals/departures sign thought and I didn’t care.

With what I took to be a brave smile, he said, “Goo’bye, mate. I’ll miss you.”

“And I’ll miss you more than you know, Graham Knight.” My voice caught, and I had to clear my throat. “I love you!”

Despite my best intentions, tears had begun leaking from my eyes as I turned and walked rapidly to the security check line. I couldn’t bear to look back.

I don’t remember what the flight to Cleveland was like. I was so wrapped up in thoughts of Graham that I didn’t pay any attention.

Had I been, to use one of his terms, a bloody prat to blurt out my feelings as we were parting? What would he think of me? Why couldn’t I have kept my composure and said goodbye in a mature way, not like some nelly fag?

I mean, I knew he liked me. And I supposed he’d email me for a while. Then he’d meet some guy – or girl – back home and the emails would become less and less frequent. By then I’d be no more than a memory, perhaps that only because I was his first gay fuck.

As I rode on the Rapid from the airport back to Shaker, I realized I wasn’t going to be in the required better mood when I started to work on Monday morning. Instead of moping about Sean, whom I was definitely over, I’d be moping about Graham. Jake would be on my case again, and my job would really be in jeopardy.

As I schlepped my bag the four blocks from the Rapid station to my building, I nearly froze my ass off. I arrived back at the condo physically and mentally numb.

Once I’d kicked up the thermostat and thawed out a little I unpacked. There was no fresh food in the house, so at suppertime I opened a can of soup. I wasn’t hungry anyway. My accumulated mail wouldn’t be delivered until Monday, so I spent the evening doing laundry. I also checked my email. There wasn’t much. Some spam. Plus two emails from Sean wanting to know where I was. As if my whereabouts were any of his business!

In Florida I had become accustomed once more to having someone in the bed with me, and I had slept soundly. Even if Graham and I weren’t touching each other, I could feel his presence, hear him, smell him. And that sense of well being let me sleep. Back in Cleveland, back in an empty bed, the sleeplessness returned.

The next morning I forced myself to lie in bed long after I had awakened simply because I didn’t know how I was going to get through the day. In the kitchen I had first a glass of orange juice and then a cup of tea. Normally I drank coffee for breakfast, but the tea made me feel closer to Graham somehow. As I sat there, I remembered the photo albums Mamie and Dorothy had given us. I went into the bedroom, retrieved mine, and sat at the kitchen table, drinking tea and looking at pictures of Graham and me. We looked so happy!

Later that morning I bundled up, went to Heinen’s, stocked up on food, came home, and fixed myself a salad. I still had no appetite. Wondering if G. had gotten home all right. Wondering if I should call him. I grew disgusted with myself. How had I become so needy? I knew Graham liked me. He was too honest, too decent to lead me on. And if I could somehow manage to attract a hunk like him, maybe I wasn’t such damaged goods after all. Yes! I would call Graham later. Just to make sure he got home safely, of course.

Finding a novel I’d bought before the trip but hadn’t started, I flopped into my favorite chair and began to read. I was startled a couple of hours later by my doorbell. I was even more startled when I opened the door to find Sean standing there. His cheeks and nose were ruddy from the cold outside and I have to admit he looked good. But nobody ever said he was ugly. Just a jerk.

“Will, babe! Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been calling you for two weeks!”

To be concluded.