This story contains graphic sexual scenes between males. If material of this nature offends you then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age in most states you are not allowed to read this story by law.
This story is purely a work of fiction. Any resemblance to person's living or dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purely coincidental.
The author claims all copyrights to this story and no duplication or publication of this story is allowed, except by the web sites to which it has been posted, without the consent of the author.
The More Things Change, Part 1
As I sat at the bar sipping a vodka martini, I asked myself for the umpteenth time if I'd been crazy to agree to this meeting. Revisiting my past wasn't something in which I generally indulged, as demonstrated by my studious avoiding of all gatherings with the word "reunion" in their names. However, this invitation had intrigued me.
Both the upside and the downside of social networking sites is that it allows obscure people from your history to suddenly reappear. Before his message appeared in my inbox, I hadn't thought of Jason Katz for years. Not that I had ever forgotten him==how could I? It had simply never occurred to me that he would have contacted me. At our last meeting twenty years before, he had made it clear that, while he thanked me for the memories, they were all we would ever have.
God, how I'd missed him in those first months after graduation. It was like withdrawal: I couldn't eat, sleep, or think of much beside him and what we'd shared. I believe to this day that it would have been easier if he and I had been in love. A broken heart at least offers the consolation of drowning one's sorrows in sentiment. The ache of the loss of crazy, incendiary, nearly mindless sexual passion, however, is impossible to ease.
Please understand that I did genuinely love Jason. He had been a very dear friend to me, for the most part. Somehow, though, our relationship had never entered the realm of romance. We were both too busy for the demands of a love affair, I suppose. After all, he and I were in competition for the title of biggest slut on campus. Given his bisexuality, one might think he had the advantage. The handicaps he encountered were that women require a lot more energy to seduce on the whole than men, and that he liked to keep his sexual adventures with men under wraps. Having never been in the closet, I could rampage across the campus and beyond without giving a damn about what tongues were wagging about my exploits.
We were both well-equipped for our common mission. Jason was primarily of Russian and German extraction, but one of his grandmothers had been a mixed-race woman from South Africa. This gave a bit of an exotic twist to his blond-haired, blue-eyed good looks. He was only five-foot-seven, but built like a tank, with the roundest, bubbliest ass I'd ever seen on a (primarily) white guy. His dick wasn't particularly long, maybe seven inches or so; but I'd never before and have never since seen one as thick. I won't insult your intelligence and say it was like a beer can, but even I couldn't get one of my huge hands all the way around it. Add to his physical attributes a sweet and sunny personality, and it's easy to see why he was pursued by men, women, and barnyard animals.
My appeal was completely different. I'm one of those black guys that are common only in America: not really light- or dark-skinned, just an undeterminable mixture of African, European, and Native American. I'm six-one, and at the time I was about a hundred and eighty five pounds. I was long, lean, and muscular. One of the great sorrows of my life is that, for a black man, I've never had much of an ass. As one friend said, though, what I lack in back, I make up for in front. People are impressed by a ten-inch dick; but in my family, I'm considered a runt. (Another story for another time.) The secret to my success, however, has always been charm. I'm not a bad-looking guy, but I've hardly got the face that launched a thousand ships. In compensation, as another friend put it, I could talk the Pope into giving up lent. I've never tried that; but I have had a surprising number of men who, originally determined to resist my charms, found themselves moaning with me buried in them balls deep without realizing how it had happened.
It was likely inevitable, then, that when these two elements were introduced to one another, an explosive chemical reaction would occur. Even if we hadn't been paired as freshman roommates, the school of engineering was small enough that we would have come across one another sooner rather than later. How convenient, though, that we hadn't had very far to look. I won't bore you with the details of our first meeting, the sparks that flew when our eyes met and we shook hands, or those first few days of trying to get up the nerve to do something about our obvious attraction. Suffice it to say that, as soon as the organized freshman meet-and-greet bullshit had started winding down, and we had exploited the opportunity to get a one-on-one drunk going on; the clothes came of with astonishing ease and rapidity.
To our mutual delight, we found each other almost completely devoid of inhibitions. By the same token, our general pattern of sexual behavior was pretty much established that night. Even then, I wasn't much of a bottom; but sheer mindless curiosity made me let him stick that fat dick up in me. God knows, he had to take his time, and I saw a constellation of stars before i got used to it. I knew from the start I wasn't going to be wanting to have my ass stretched out by that thing on a regular basis; but at that time and in that place, i wanted to give him a piece that he wouldn't forget in this lifetime. I'll freely confess, it was hotter than a blue flame. Having that hairy little fireplug drilling my ass from behind, on my back, and from below me as I rode to glory turned me the fuck on. By the time he bellowed out his orgasm with my legs on his shoulders and his tongue down my throat, I knew I was going to be walking more bowlegged than usual the next day.
As incredible as the experience was, it has always remained rather blurry to me. I think the mental effort of dealing with the sensation of having a two-liter bottle shoved up my ass left little extra brain power for registering clear impressions; but I will always remember every detail of my first time fucking him.
Damn he was sexy. I remember the strangeness of his skin being only slightly paler than mine, but covered in silky, dark-blond hair. His muscles looked smooth and undefined at rest, but they were hard as rock under the skin. His nipples were dark pink, and I sucked on them for what seemed like hours as he moaned what sounded like a gospel medley. I kissed my way down his hard, rippled stomach, stopping to lick around is semi-hard pole. He protested some because of the sensitivity, so i worked my way lower to beneath his balls. Every man has a unique smell right there, and his set my nerve endings on fire. How absolutely perfect to shove his thighs back and start munching on his hairy hole with that scent in my nostrils. I probably would have stayed there with my face buried in his ass for hours, if another piece of my anatomy weren't demanding its turn.
When I entered him, it was as if his hole had been waiting for my dick to arrive. I almost didn't believe him when he told me after that it was the first time he'd taken one that size. It just pulled me in by slow stages--didn't even feel like I was pushing. I was sucking on his lips and his tongue and sinking deeper and deeper, until it was all the way in without so much as a flinch from him. Each stroke was a revelation. I couldn't get deep enough. Long, slow strokes. Short, quick strokes. Him on his back, with his hands clutching my ass for dear life. Me behind him, biting his neck and tweaking his nips. Him riding me as I alternated between stroking his ass and his dick. I came five times before stopping for breath, and he came twice without either one of us beating him off.
Hours later, when the sun was coming up and we'd completely lost track of the number of times we'd cum, we fell asleep in each other's arms. The room must have reeked of sweat and jizz, because heaven knows we were slimy with both. The last thing I remember thinking before giving in to exhaustion was that I had found the perfect cure for homesickness.....
"Landon?"
The past evaporated, and I found myself sitting on a barstool in a fashionable restaurant, with a rock-hard woody straining against my inseam. I turned quickly toward the faintly familiar voice, and there he was.
The best way to describe that first impression in twenty years is Jason 2.0. If I had passed him on the street, he would have caught my eye as a familiar face; but I wouldn't have been able to place him. The hair was still blond, but of a darker and richer shade (an attempt to hide the gray?). The eyes were still blue, but creased with laughter lines around the edges. The greatest change was that his face had lost the boyish softness that had given him an air of guilelessness. The Slavic cheekbones and square jaw that had been vaguely detectable in college were now prominent; and the nose and lips that had seemed just slightly too broad and thick for a white guy stood out even more. Standing there, still muscular but not as thick as he'd been in the old days, he exuded an air of certainty, a man of the world. Someone who'd seen a lot and perhaps done even more.
My upbringing has made certain courtesies reflexive, so I stood without thinking to offer my hand. A flickering glance from Jason at my distended crotch made my face flush hot. A knowing smirk as he shook my hand gave me a sneaking suspicion why he'd pressed for this meeting. I pulled myself together quickly and greeted him coolly and pleasantly.
"Jason. It's good to see you."
"It would be good to see you, too, if you looked like you'd aged at all."
I rolled my eyes. "Give me a break, Jase. We've slept together already."
It had slipped out before I could stop myself. The way he'd spoken had been so much like our old bantering style that I'd responded automatically in kind.
Once again, that knowing smirk that I remembered well played across his lips. "That didn't take long."
"Well, you started it."
He threw his head back and laughed out loud, causing several heads to turn. I realized then that our hands were still clasped, so I quickly withdrew and waved to the bartender. We hadn't been in the same room for five minutes; and we were already acting as if a couple of days had passed, instead of a couple of decades. This was moving along way too smoothly for my comfort.
"What are you drinking?" I asked when he had himself in control again.
"I'll have whatever you're having."
"Two more of these, Greg," I told the bartender.
He replied with a wink, "Right away, Landon."
Whatever I was about to say was lost when I turned to see Jason's raised eyebrow. "What?" I asked innocently.
"One of your conquests?"
"come on, Jason. I'm one of his regulars. My office is a block away, my gym is around the corner, and my house is a ten-minute cab ride; so this is a very convenient spot. Plus, he's an excellent bartender, so I tip him well."
Jason made a great show of settling himself comfortably on the barstool next to mine, then replied, "I'll take that evasion to mean 'yes'."
I sat on my own stool and shot back, "So what if he is?"
He shrugged. "Nothing. Just curios if the old Landon Curry charm was still in effect."
"I guess you'll know for sure by the end of dinner."
He gave me a strangely affectionate look. "I suppose I will."
After a number of exchanged messages on the social networking site, we were past the how-have-you-been-and-what-have-you-been-doing chitchat. Therefore, it seemed natural to wade right in with a direct question. "Is that why you were so determined to see me?"
Greg arrived with our martinis and walked promptly away after delivering them. Like all good bartenders, he knew when to disappear. Jason took a sip of his, set it down, then started running his finger around the base. "That's part of it, I guess."
"And the rest of it?"
"I thought it might be nice to see you again. I've thought about you a lot over the years, you know."
"Why now?"
"I told you about the job offer."
I smiled. "You did indeed. congratulations."
"Thanks. I thought that, before I make a final decision, I should get a native's-eye view of the place. Since you're the only native I know, I figured why not get reacquainted with an old friend while I'm trying to make up my mind."
"An well-connected old friend at that, hmm?"
He looked at me with wide, guileless eyes. "What do you mean?"
It was my turn to smirk. "Jason, my friend, the grapevine works both ways. However, my contacts are a lot more confidential about me than yours are about you. I got wind that you were doing a background check on me, so I asked for one on you."
"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied weakly.
I shook my head. "If you hadn't spent so many years on the DL, you'd have a more comprehensive knowledge of the gay world. Then again, people might not be so free in their talk about you, if you weren't such a notorious closet case. A number of people told me you were trying to get the 411 on me. They said your story was that we were college roommates, but you'd lost track of me." I took a sip of my drink. "I didn't contradict; but I thought it was odd that you would, out of the blue, become curious about me. So I told them to confirm the basics on me, and to give me a full dossier on you. I have to say that people seem to have observed you with fascination over the years. Given some of your experiences, I can hardly blame them."
It was his turn to blush. "You make it sound like the CIA," he muttered.
"You're not far from wrong. At any rate, once I'd heard about your latest personal setbacks, it was easy to add two and two."
He picked up his drink and drained it. Greg, hovering just out of earshot, gave me a quizzical look. I nodded and pointed to Jason's empty glass.
Jason, meanwhile, had composed himself somewhat. "So," he asked his olives, "are you going to help me out?"
The moment of truth. I hardened my face and my voice. "Look at me Jason."
Reluctantly, he turned to face me. It was amazing how that one gesture could still affect me so strongly. Nevertheless, this was business.
"I can salvage your career, I can keep you out of jail--hell, I can make the whole thing go away like it never happened. To do that, however, I'm going to have to play fast and loose with a lot of people's lives. Most of them, I don't give a good goddamn about; but some of them are fundamentally decent people who've made some very bad choices. You're going to have to convince me that saving you is worth making those people feel even a moment's discomfort."
He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "Don't you think I qualify as a fundamentally decent person who's made bad choices?"
I let the question hang in the air for a minute. "You're a spoiled, self-centered hedonist with a mean streak, Jason. You like to play with people, then punish them for being so silly as to be taken in by you. You're big on fireworks, so long as you can watch from a safe distance. Unfortunately, your timing was a bit off this time; your hole card got peeped before you could clear the area. So you come to me, hoping that I'll make it all better for you one more time. Maybe I will. However, you have to make it worth my while."
He nodded. "I've been your bitch before," he said bitterly, "It shouldn't take long for me to remember how to please you."
I laughed and replied with every ounce of contempt I could muster, "Thanks for the offer, Jase; but I'll tip Greg more than your favors are worth to me. You'll be my bitch, to be sure; but I won't be your garden-variety pimp."
'What do you mean?" he asked in the smallest voice I'd ever heard him use.
"Last time I came to your rescue, it was in the spirit of affection and generosity. For that, I got the back of your hand. This time, before I lift a finger on your behalf, you'll have to prove you're worth rescuing. Show me that I'll be salvaging an actual human being, rather than a collection of insatiable appetites. Think you've still got a soul, Jase?"
He didn't answer. Just like a movie, a solitary tear rolled off his cheek and into his glass. After a few minutes, he whispered, "What do I have to do?"
I signalled Greg. As I signed the check, I told him, "Please give Mr. Katz whatever he wants on my tab. I'll sign for it tomorrow at lunch."
"Whatever you say, Landon."
"Thank you, Greg." To Jason, I said as I stood to leave. "Tonight, why don't you eat, drink and be merry? For tomorrow, you come work for me. Whether you die is up to you. Tomorrow, When you recover from tonight's self-indulgence, accept your firm's severance offer and sign whatever they ask you to. Don't be chatty, snotty, or smug. Meet me here for lunch at one, and I'll give you your instructions. Oh, and feel free to consult Greg on whatever deadly sins you'd like to sample. He's very well informed, and he'd never steer you wrong. Pay with plastic wherever you go when you leave here. I'll want a record of your expenses. Good night."
"Where are you going?"
"I'm having dinner with friends. You sitting across the table from me would spoil my appetite." I spun on my heel to leave him.
He grabbed my arm. "Thank you, Landon."
I nodded. "We'll see how grateful you can be," I said. Then I left him.
I sailed toward the exit, smiling in greeting at familiar faces as I passed. I wished the host goodnight, stepped out into the street, and then climbed into the taxi that was waiting for me at the curb. It was only after it had pulled away into the stream of downtown traffic that I took a deep breath and dropped my head into my hands.
"Are you all right, sir?"
I smiled reassuringly at cabbie's concerned reflection in the rear-view mirror. "Just fine, thanks."
I must have convinced him. It was going to take a lot more to convince myself. Even now, out of his presence, I was still vibrating with lust. How, I asked myself, was I going to be able to keep my hands off of him long enough to pull this off?
TO BE CONTINUED....