Places

Places, Dallas
Places: Dallas
By John Yager
This is another in the series of short vignettes collectively titled Places.

Andrew, as always, thank you for much needed help with proofing and editing.

This work is the property of the author, © 2004, and may not be reproduced in any form without specific written permission from the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author.

jvoyager@hotmail.com

It was hot, very hot.

The sun was blazing as the throngs of nearly naked guys and gals paraded by.

Dallas Gay Pride, I'd been told, was getting bigger every year.

It was no longer just a parade. It had become a week long festival of concerts and exhibits and parties, many parties, one long, seemingly endless party.

I turned from the curb and wandered along the street in the direction of my car, winding my way slowly through the crowd.

"John?" I head a male voice call from behind me, but I didn't turn. How many Johns were there that day? Dozens, hundreds, I supposed, and not knowing more than a handful of people in Dallas, I figured the hailing was not meant for me.

Another few steps through the crowd and I heard it again, closer now, only a few feet behind me. The voice was familiar somehow.

I turned, shoulder to shoulder with strangers in the crush of people.

"Hey, man," he said, smiling a big, wide, welcoming smile, "I couldn't believe my eyes, but I knew it was you."

"Bob Lieder!" I laughed. After twenty years, I was surprised he recognized me, or that I recognized him. We'd both changed, both grown older, but he, like me, seemed to have aged well, and taken care, very good care of himself

We'd been fraternity brothers, years before, a lifetime ago. We'd both eventually married and had families, but back during our college years, there had been a few times, after hot dates which turned out not to be so hot, or so willing, when Bob and I had gotten it on, helping each other out, more for comfort and release, than for any deep feelings for each other. He'd been a good friend, and hot in bed, as I remember, and he was a fraternity brother, but never much more.

We pressed through the crowd until he was standing just in front of me, then drew me into a big, warm hug. He wore tight fitting jeans and an equally tight fitting polo shirt, which showed off his toned physique. His body, beneath the thin cotton, felt hard, muscular, hot.

"Easy, man," I whispered in his ear, "people will think we're queer."

He guffawed. "In case you didn't know, brother, today everybody's queer."

I remembered seeing his name in an alumni directory a year or so earlier: Lieder, Robert William. Major, Business and Finance. Wife: Ellen (nee Wright). Children: Robert, Jr. 17; Helen, 12.

The directory went on to list him as a VP and treasurer of some bank I'd never heard of, and gave an address in Wichita Falls.

I'd thought about writing him, or maybe giving him a call, but like a lot of good ideas, it was one more I'd never got around to. Life gets too complicated sometimes.

"So what the hell are you doing in Texas," he grinned as we moved back from the curb, away from the throng, were we could talk without shouting.

"Just here on business," I said.

"Yeah, right, like me."

"No, seriously."

"You didn't know it was Gay Pride?"

"Seriously, Bob, I didn't."

"Well, buddy, you lucked out."

"I thought you were living in Wichita Falls, so I guess I can ask you the same question."

"Yeah?"

"Well, so what are you doing in Dallas?"

"Oh, he grinned his infectious grin, "just here on business."

"Of course," I laughed.

"Well, it's true, but in my case, I manage to have some meeting here every year during Gay Pride, just as an excuse to be in the city. I guess you could say I come to do a little work, a little looking, and a little cruising."

We stood, looking at each other. I wasn't quite sure how to respond.

"Hey," he added, "some years I get lucky." He looked me over again and then said, "were you leaving? The parade will go on for another hour at least."

"Yeah," I laughed. "I can only take so many nearly naked buff guys. It's way to hot for me. I figured I'd go back to my motel and get in the pool, cool off, maybe swim a few laps."

"Where are you staying?"

"The Residence Inn, out on North Stemmons Freeway."

As I looked into his eyes I thought what I saw was longing.

Maybe he liked the more mature me, or maybe he was just remembering a few hot nights together in my locked room on the top floor of our fraternity house. I'd opted for more stairs and more privacy. Bob had shared a bigger room on the first floor with a very straight jock.

Without any deeper analysis, I just asked, "want to join me?"

"Yeah!"

"Okay."

"I don't have a bathing suit with me," he added as an afterthought.

"I can lend you one, I have an extra, or we can just skip the swim."

I didn't need to give him directions, he knew the place, or at least the general area. I told him I was in Number 161, and to just come to my room.

"You have a car?" he asked.

"Yeah, a rental. I parked over on Emerson, away from the parade route."

"Me too, I parked on West University."

We walked silently together until we got to the street where I'd parked. I was wondering if I'd done the right thing, asking him back to my room. Maybe he was having the similar thoughts.

"I'll stop for a six pack," Bob called as I started right toward my car.

"Don't bother," I called after him.  "I've got beer and snacks in the frig."

"Sure?"

"Positive," I called back, waving over my shoulder.

Twenty minutes later we were in my motel. I had one of the standard Residential Inn one bedroom units, a cross between a hotel suite and a small apartment; a seating area which passed for a small living room, a dining alcove and a little kitchen. Further back there was a decent bedroom with a king sized bed and a nice, large, well appointed bath. It wasn't "just like home," as the adds said, but I'd taken to staying at such places, for the extra space and the convenience of a kitchen.

The unit seemed stuffy as we entered, and I turned down the temperature on the air conditioning controls as I walked into the bedroom. Bob followed and I pulled a pair of dry swimming trunks out of my bag and tossed them to him.

"You have another pair?"

"Yeah," I said. I swam early this morning and they're probably still wet. I left them hanging in the shower. If you want, go ahead and use the bath."

"You can have the bath," he smiled. "I'll change here."

I looked back as I went in to the bathroom, leaving the door open, and saw Bob had his shoes off and was going for his socks. I changed quickly, leaving my shirt on, and returned to the bedroom to put my slacks on the little folding rack which held my suitcase.

"Ready?" Bob said, and we were off.

My unit faced the pool so we didn't have far to go. To my surprise on such a warm afternoon, there were very few people around and no one actually in the pool. A single woman lay on a lounge reading and a young couple sat at a patio table reading a newspaper while drinking sodas from plastic bottles.

I peeled off my knit shirt and, out of the corner of my eyes, saw Bob do the same.

Turning, we both tossed our shirts over the backs of adjacent patio chairs, but our eyes were clearly fixed on each other. He was checking me out and I was doing the same.

He was cut, not just in decent shape, but with that hard, lean edge that only comes from hours in a gym and a closely monitored diet. My own body fat was respectable, right at ten percent, but I guessed his to be at five or below. The vanes in his arms were visible, running up over his biceps. His body, as I'd remembered it, was completely smooth.

"You're in good shape," he smiled, his eyes moving down over my chest to my stomach, and then stopping at my crotch, making no attempt to conceal his interest.

"Well, your in better shape, Bob," I said. "No question."

"I work out."

"I can tell you do."?

"You must, too."?

"Yeah, two or three times a week."

"Me too, but my wife and I also go to an aerobics class at our church every Thursday night. She's really into it."

"You must be, too."?

"Well, you know . . ." he grinned then added, "the instructor is a real hunk."

Without a further word, we turned and dove into the pool. The water was tepid in the hot Dallas sun, but it was still refreshing. I swam ten laps and Bob was with me all the way.

When I climbed out, he was right with me. We toweled off and stretching out on lounges, side by side, drying slowly in the warm, humid air.

After about fifteen minutes, I got up, stretched, and suggested we head in for a beer.

"Great," Bob grinned. "I thought you'd never ask."

When we were back in my unit the air conditioning had done its work and the place felt comfortably cool. I pointed Bob toward the kitchen and said I'd be right back. In the bathroom I pulled off my wet trunks and dried myself a bit, then wrapped a fresh, dry towel around my hips and sauntered out into the living area.

Bob had gotten us each beers, but was standing by the sofa, looking somewhat uncertain.

"Didn't think I should set on the upholstered furniture in a wet bathing suit."

"Help yourself to the towels," I said, as he headed toward the bath and I make myself comfortable on the sofa, placing myself in the center, so if he chose to join me, he'd be close. I propped my feet up on the low coffee table, not crossed, but spread a little, so coming back from the bath, he's be looking up between my legs. It was a very revealing position, but I'd decided to push the envelope a little and see what came next.

When Bob came back, my position on the sofa didn't seem to give him the slightest discomfort. He'd followed my lead and was garbed in only a towel. Not seeming at all shy, he joined me on the sofa, taking the space on my right, and put his feet up next to mine.

"Cheers," I said, tipping my bottle against his.

"Cheers." he responded, and took a healthy swig of the beer, downing about half the bottle in a single gulp. "Oh, nice," he smiled, as he thigh moved against mine. "Long time, Bro," he added after a pause.

"Yes, a very long time."

"So tell me about the last twenty years."?

I gave him the three minute version; the wife, the kids, the dog and the split level ranch. I gave him a one sentence synopsis of my career, and then asked him for the same recap of his own life over the years since we'd finished college.

Our lives, it seemed, were surprisingly similar, the usual middle class American male progression, with the possible exception of the one subject we'd not yet broached.

But Bob wasn't shy. His next question was a bulls eye.

"So, do you still mess around with guys"

"Now and then," I laughed. "What about you?"

"Every chance I get."

We were both silent for a moment, a long, thoughtful, potentially awkward moment, then he said, his voice low and very sexy, "as I remember, you were hell in bed."

"You too, as I remember."

"So why don't we finish these beers and see if we remember correctly?"

I couldn't help laughing again as we walked into the bedroom and dropped our towels. Standing across the big bed from him, I could see that his body was indeed cut. The skin over his abs was taut and the veins just beneath it were visible. There was no fat on this guy.

He also had a perfectly even tan. I wondered if he sunbathed nude or maybe used a tanning bed. No ands, ifs or buts, he was one beautiful guy.

The patch of light brown hair above his cock was thick, but short. I figured he trimmed it. It also looked, from six feet way, as if his big, heavy balls were shaved.

Well, nothing like a neat crotch, I thought as we both reached down to pull the covers off the bed.

The crisp white sheets greeted us and we wasted not time diving onto them. We both moved to the center of the bed, toward each other, meeting in the middle, pulling our bodies together in a warm, passionate embrace. My lips sought his and we kissed. It was a bold, hard kiss, the kind of kiss only two men can share. There was nothing tentative or demure or shy about it. Our mouths gowned together and our tongues danced.

I rolled him over onto his back and hovered over him, kissing his mouth as my chest slowly pressed into him. I supported myself on my own arms, not wanting to put more weight on him than he was comfortable with. But Bob put his arms around me and pulled me down. I let the full weight of my body rest on his. Rather than complain, he moaned with obvious pleasure.

I love the weight of another man's body on mine and Robert seemed to be the same.

As we continued to kiss deeply, his hands roamed over my back, slowly moving down to grasp my buttocks.

He rolled me over with ease and assumed the dominate position, pressing his crotch into mine as we continued to kiss. His tongue darted into the depths of my mouth, then withdrew as quickly. I moaned and he did it again, setting up a rhythm, fucking my mouth with his talented tongue.

We swapped spit for a while, then I rolled him over again. I got the feeling he was willing to trade places, happy to be on me, or have me on him. As we both groaned with the pleasure of our closeness, his fingers began to separate my crack, then move along it, 'till he found the puckered entry to my ass, and fingered it.

As we continued to kiss, he worked in one finger and then a second.

I was getting so aroused I knew I had to come soon, and broke the kiss to ask, "you want to fuck me?"

"Maybe later," he sighed, "but first you fuck me."

"Sure?"

"Very sure," he smiled.

I rolled over and got up. In less than a minute I was back with a tube of lubricant and a strip of rubbers.

As I again moved to the center of the bed, to kneel between his legs, he spread them further, giving me room. There was a twinkle in his eyes and a sly smile on his face as I prepared him, then, kneeling between his muscular legs, eased forward and into him. The entry was easy and he didn't complain. I suspected he was used to getting fucked.

"Yeah," he moaned as I hit bottom.

I rested, fully in him, letting his body adjust, enjoying looking into his eyes. That little grin flickered over his lips again, and he nodded.

"Yeah, fuck me hard," he whispered.

I drew back and moved in again, not too fast or too rough at first, but on the next stroke I increased the speed and thrust.

"Yeah," he moaned and I upped the anti, pulling back and ramming in again and again.

It was obvious he liked it fast and hard and I didn't hold back.

His ass was hot and his sphincter was as well conditioned as the rest of his powerful physique. I figured the guy did his Kegel exercises.

We were both moaning as our bodies worked overtime, pounding toward the inevitable conclusion. There was no doubt about it, Robert William Lieder, bank VP, husband and father of two, was one hot fuck!

I felt my own climax building, and as Bob's talented ass worked my cock, I exploded, filling the condom in my buddy's ass.

Bob's own cock erupted, sending one powerful bolt of white stuff over his head. It struck the dark wood headboard and I watched, fascinated, slowly it slid down to rest on a waiting pillow.

In the microsecond it took for that sight to register in my brain, a second volley landed squarely on Bob's nose and slid off onto his left cheek.

I leaned forward and kissed him there, licking up the liquid pearl, relishing it. As I did so, I felt successive bolts erupt between us and puddle in the valleys of Bob's cut abs.

"Hot Damn," he moaned.

My body was shaking and I felt as if an electric current was buzzing up my spine.

Bob's arms come around me and held me tight, squeezing me to him, as our lips again met. His eyes were fixed on mine as we kissed and his legs wrapped seductively over mine.

Those muscles in his ass were still working and there was no way my cock was going to go soft.

As our kiss ended, he smiled and whispered, "again."

"No way," I moaned. "My dick is way to sensitive after I climax, and what you're doing right now is causing a lot more pain than pleasure."

"Too bad," he sighed, still smiling, as I pulled out of him. I'd have loved to fuck him again, but at that moment, my cock was on fire and sending out a steady SOS.

I flopped onto my back beside him and in seconds he was on me, his body, his weight, pressing down on my body and his lips crushing mine.

Kissing, I could still take, even after a fuck like that, and we went at it for what seemed like hours. It was again the same frisky wrestling match with me on top for a while, then Robert on top of me. We rolled and played in the big bed like a couple of kids, enjoying each other, stroking, kissing, licking, a little sucking, keeping each other in a happy state of arousal as the afternoon drifted by.

Finally, exhausted, we lay side by side, caressing each other, and began to talk. It turned out to be a rather serious conversation about male sexuality, about being Bi and married, being fathers, about all that and still coming to terms with our individual natures.

"So why did you get married?" I asked after we'd kicked around the generalities for a while.

"Well, 'duh,' as my son would say," Bob laughed.

"So?"

"Hey, I loved Ellen," he said, then went silent as if thinking about her, perhaps remembering her twenty years ago when we'd all been in college together. There was no question about it, she had been a stunning girl, and I had not doubt, she was now a stunning woman. "Still do," he added after a pause. "She's been everything I'd ever want in a wife, great lover, great mother, great companion, and her social skills have certainly been a boon to my career." He was silent again for a moment, then asked the inevitable question, "what about you and Joyce?"

"Same reasons," I responded without any reservations.

We were both quiet for a while. I stroked his chest and his hand did a slow march up my thigh, then down again.

"I guess we both figured out, though," Bob eventually continued, "that on matter how great our wives are, no matter how much we love them, it's just not enough."

"Yeah," I agreed, not thinking of anything else to add.

"I know several men, exclusively straight men, who've had long, on-going affairs with women other than their wives," Bob said. "I've wondered sometimes, if that isn't more dangerous, potentially more damaging, emotionally damaging, than us Bi guys having our flings with other men."

"Oh, we'd better not get into that, Bob," I said. "We're wired one way, they're wired a different way. I don't want to judge them any more than I want them to judge us."

"I guess not," Bob agreed. "I guess in some ways the really lucky ones, men and women, are the ones who were truly destined to live a monogamous life. Sometimes I envy them."

"Do you think anyone is really built like that?"

"I don't know, I guess I sort of figured some people are. I think my folks were that way, and totally faithful to each other."

"Maybe, but I suspect monogamy isn't really natural to the human condition."

"So you think the faithful ones, the men and women who go through life loving only one person and being faithful to them, are just acting out their moral commitments and beliefs?"

"Yes, a moral standard, reinforced by a lot of social and religious pressure."

There was another long lull in our conversation as we thought about what we'd just said. Bob's hand had worked its way back up my thigh and this time, it hadn't worked its way back down again. He'd moved on up and over to fondle my cock. As it became hard again, he began to slowly stroke it.

"Can I ask you a question, John?"

"Sure, I sort of thought that's what we'd been doing."

"Well, yeah, but more personal."

"Shoot."

"Have you been with other women since you married Joyce?"

"No."

"But men."

"Yes," I said, thinking the answer was obvious.

"Always just short flings?"

"No, there have been a couple of long-term friendships."

After some thought, Bob said, "I envy you that."

"The long-term friendships?"

"Yes," he said. "I've not had a really close male friend since college, not one I've been with sexually time and time again."

Before I could respond he leaned over and took the head of my cock between his lips, running his tongue around the flared head, and then slowly consuming it. He was good. Within a few seconds he had deep throated the entire length of my shaft, then began to work it with real gusto.

I lay back and enjoyed the ride, but when I felt my second climax of the afternoon build slowly, I stopped him.

"Let me suck you off," he said, looking up at me.

"I thought you said earlier that you wanted my ass."

"I do."

"Then fuck me, Bob.  I'd rather come from you pounding my prostate than from you sucking me off, as good a job as you're doing."

"Okay," he grinned, rolling over to set on the side of the bed.

I slid down in the bed and centered myself as he reached for condoms and lube.

Bob greased my ass and worked a couple of fingers into me.

"Yeah," I sighed in anticipation.  I love fucking, but I also really get off on being fucked, especially by a guy who knows what he was doing, and as I remembered, Bob did know how to fuck.

He knelt between my legs and hoisted them up onto his broad shoulders. In a few seconds he had a condom rolled down his shaft and then the head of it was poised at the waiting pucker.

"Okay?" he asked.

"Definitely," I said as he breached me, waited a few seconds, and then gradually slid in. I'd not been fucked in months and that wonderful fullness almost overwhelmed me as Bob mounted me and began to drive his hard cock home.

The guy clearly loved to fuck, and as I'd remembered, he was a real master.  He was looking intently into my eyes.  He knew from their sudden, involuntary widening when he'd hit the bull's eye and then he was pounding into me again and again, each time accurately hitting the bundle of nerves around my prostate.

I'd been close to coming from the blow job he'd been giving me and it didn't take long for him to drive me to the edge.

The guy knew what he was doing. He'd back off, slowing down in time to let me regain control, then began again, slower, easier, setting up a gentle rhythm, letting both of us prolong the pleasures for a little while longer.

I was in ecstasy, feeling the pressures build, then slowly diminishing, then building again. My body was shaking and my brain was mush. The fourth time we approached the threshold, I begged him to finished it.

"Okay, Bro?" he said, his eyes still locked on mine, a flicker of a smile on his handsome face. He hit my prostate one more time, square on and hard, and I lost it.

We'd each come before, of course, but at that point we both had powerful orgasms, the kind that leave you weak and shaking.

Lying close together in bed, and later over dinner, we talked on and on about our lives, our families, and, most importantly, what it meant for both of us to be bisexual, married men and fathers.

Neither of us had 'come out' to our wives or kids, and we both agreed that such admissions were probably not wise.

"My wife has a couple of very close girlfriend," Bob say, "married women our age. I can't imagine that their friendships are in any way sexual, but I'd not mind if they were."

"I never though about it, but I guess I'd feel the same way," I admitted.

Later still, at my suggestion, Bob called home and said he had further pressing business in Dallas.

He stayed over with me and before we parted the next afternoon, to head back to our ordinary lives, we made love again, slower and more gently that time.

We agreed that we'd meet again.

"Dallas Gay Pride next year?" Bob asked as we said good-bye.

"Definitely," I responded, already looking forward to seeing him again.

The end