Chapter Three
The Martin's family bungalow was in one of the most expensive gated communities in Palm Springs; the amenities included room service, maid service, numerous swimming pools, movie theatres, racquetball courts, tennis courts, and a nine-hole golf course. Its streets were filled with senior citizens in various stages of early skin cancer driving electric golf carts. Groceries were delivered, as were the full menus of any of the restaurants in town.
Seated in the air-conditioned comfort of the Martin's vacation home, Chris Martin was intrigued by Carlos Rivera. His friends Raj and Stuart had called Chris and insisted that this was going to be a low-key, confidential, meet-and-greet, no strings, no professional responsibilities, no therapy, just an introduction. Chris had provided drinks for everyone; it was merely iced tea, since he did not want to get off on the wrong foot and was not sure where this was going to be headed, and besides, Raj did not drink alcohol.
Stuart had explained the details to Chris on the phone: how he and Carlos had met, had fucked, had remained friends, how Carlos had been taken in by Mason and Mario, and had gone on to finish his education and develop a lucrative international consulting practice in seismic engineering and architecture.
Beyond all of those details, Chris was enchanted by the Venezuelan; the dark hair, the surfer body, the sparkling eyes, the bulging crotch. Chris had always been a little shy about his own body, despite being for a short time a rent-boy in northern California. He assumed that the men who engaged him for sex were drawn to the twink frame and youthful face and smile and lovely cock and balls. He kept himself neatly shaved still, even though he no longer hired out as a rent-boy. He would probably lose his therapy license if the two careers collided.
Despite that irritating thought crossing his mind briefly, he wanted to see if Carlos also shaved; he wanted to see if the rumors about South American men and their equipment was true. He wanted to get fucked as soon as possible by this particular South American. He suddenly realized that his mind had wandered, and he was being asked a question by Carlos.
"So, your parents are planning on moving to Washington, DC soon, are you going there with them?"
"No, oh God no, I love the west coast, I am definitely staying out here. I will have to endure visiting them frequently, but my real life is here" Chris explained breathlessly.
Carlos smiled; Americans still fascinated him. In many ways, though he had spent most of his life in California and travelling around the US, he still considered himself a foreigner; his own parents lived in Venezuela and he spoke Spanish with them, and frequently watched futbol on the Televisa channel. He was a US citizen and held a US passport, but his heart and his cock were Venezuelan.
Carlos laughed; it was at his own secret inner thought, not at what Chris had said, but everyone laughed along with him. Carlos decided he wanted to try to re-direct this low-key meet-and-greet: he suggested that they go for a swim. Chris quickly agreed, and Raj said "Oh dear, I think I forgot my swim trunks".
Chris said "Well, I have some extra but they are probably too small for you; we can go nude if you don't mind."
That immediately brought a smile to Carlos' face. He said "Race you" and began disrobing right there in the living room. Chris was the second one to be naked and running for the pool, while Raj and Stuart leisurely strolled through the house dropping their clothing.
"You are a terrible liar" Stuart whispered to his husband.
"You can spank me later" Raj laughed.
A brisk game of tag had erupted in the cool water when Stuart and Raj arrived; they jumped in feet first, and slowly swam to the far end of the pool.
Chris and Carlos were getting to know each other as gay men always do: a hug, a kiss, another hug, a finger inside a hole, quickly withdrawn, and then another quick kiss and finally the long, lingering hug, face to face in the deep end of the pool. Whispering between them, smiles, laughs, more whispers, a kiss, a moan, and then one disappears below the water for a moment while the other is moaning.
Dinner that night was catered: Chris called room service and asked for surf and turf, with extra wine. Carlos was impressed, not at the expensive dinner or the expensive accommodations or the wine, or the expensive artwork on the walls, but at how easily he and Chris seemed to slip into each other's life. They were laughing and talking like old friends without any coaching from Stuart and Raj; in fact, Stuart and Raj excused themselves early and left for bed.
Finding themselves on the sofas alone, Chris turned to Carlos and said "I do not want to set us up for any regrets. I know that Stuart and Raj expect us to become some magically endowed super-gay dating machine, but if you just want to fuck-and-go, that is alright with me too."
"What do you want?" Carlos asked.
"I like you. You are funny, you are smart as hell, and you are deliciously good looking. I want to eat every inch of you. But I also want to become friends, I do not want to get hurt, because that has happened to me before, and I don't think I can do it again. And I do not want to hurt you either." Chris' voice lowered as he concluded, and he looked down and away.
"Let's try this. Stand up."
"What?"
"Just do it. Stand up." With that, Carlos stood, pulled Chris up by the hands, and held his right hand, shaking it as if in a business greeting, and said "Hello, I'm Carlos Rivera, architect and engineer. I'm glad to meet you."
Chris laughed and said "This is sorta silly. Oh well. Hello, I'm Chris Martin, I am a relationship therapist, I'm glad to meet you. How can I help you?"
Carlos was smiling broadly; the effect worked on Chris as well. They hugged again, and each took a step toward the other. Carlos kept his eyes directly focused on Chris'; Chris was smiling shyly, still the twink in some ways.
To tell the truth, Chris was intimidated by the handsome and sexy Venezuelan, even though he had seen him naked in the pool and had briefly sucked his cock under the water.
Carlos turned Chris away from the living room and pulled him toward his bedroom. Chris did not resist; he wanted this, he needed this, and all of his professional instincts were left behind on the floor of the living room along with his shoes. By the time they reached the bedroom, Carlos had removed his polo shirt and his long beige linen pants, standing in front of Chris in only his black Armani briefs.
Chris followed suit, moving very slowly, not wanting to rush this like a rent-boy would, but wanting to enjoy the moment, the feelings, the emotions, the edge, and even though he was already hard, very hard, he was just as slow at removing his white Guayabera shirt and black linen pants. He was wearing a black thong bikini underneath; it was actually an understatement, since Carlos had already stroked his long thin California rent-boy cock sufficiently in the pool.
Chris had what Stuart referred to as goat balls: they hung long and low under his cock, oversized, county-fair blue-ribbon winners. Shaved.
Carlos made it clear from his actions that he was in charge; he turned Chris so that his back was against Carlos' chest, and leaned Chris back into him. He kissed Chris' neck, ears, cheek, and forehead. He slowly and softly stroked his chest, reaching down to the narrow waistband of the thong. He did not push it down, he pulled it up, making the rear leg straps rise into Chris's ass tightly.
Carlos felt the erection, throbbing, and stroked it softly; Chris moaned, wanting to rush into the fucking that he knew was coming but allowed Carlos to continue directing the flow.
Carlos turned Chris to face him: they began kissing: a long, emotional, passionate kiss, one that proclaimed the need and the lust and the desire and the heat and the pain of years gone by without love.
Finally, Carlos dropped to his knees and pulled the thong down with his teeth. Using only his mouth, he found the erect cock and sucked it into his throat; he face-fucked himself on Chris, slowly, not vigorously, imagining the cum that this man had stored up for him to be painted on Carlos' face.
Movie directors will tell you that even the best of productions can be fucked up because we are after all humans; a stiff cock will only last so long before it explodes with cum and fury. Chris was a shooter: he blasted three times into Carlos' mouth, and then pulled out and finished on his face. At that, he fell on the bed; he was moaning.
Carlos lay behind him and held him; they said nothing. In a minute, Chris turned and said "I'm so sorry."
"Why? Did I do something wrong?"
"No. You were wonderful. You are wonderful. I am sorry I could not last longer. You pulled the cum out of me and surprised me. God no, you were fabulous."
Carlos said "Wait here for a minute; I will be right back." He went to the ensuite bathroom and returned with a warm wet cloth and washed both of them, and then lay behind Chris again and held him.
After a few minutes, when their breathing had returned to normal, Chris rolled in Carlos' arms and asked "Do you want to fuck?"
"Yes of course. Tell me what you want."
Chris thought for a moment, and then said "I want to 69 with you, and then I want you to fuck me."
They lay side by side, with hard cocks once again stuffing mouths, and fingers exploring ass-holes, mouths rimming holes, mouths sucking balls, cocks smearing pre-cum, until Chris moaned "Now."
"Now?"
"Right fucking now."
With no further ceremony, Chris was on his knees, and Carlos was kneeling behind him and shoving his cock into the warm wet hole.
Chris was a moaner; he loved to make noise, which only spurred Carlos onward, slamming his cock into the therapist's ass-hole, stroking like a piston. He was suddenly aware that he was cumming, and lost control; his cum was splashing out of Chris' tight hole and oozing down his leg.
Chris fell flat on the bed; Carlos lay on top of him, and their warmth was enough to cause Chris to say "Let's jump in the pool."
Their swim lasted only a few minutes before Carlos asked Chris "Do you want to fuck me?"
"Yes. But maybe for breakfast. Tonight I just want you to hold me and fall asleep."
Raj and Stuart had Danish and coffee ready in the morning when Carlos and Chris finally walked into the brightly-lit morning room; everyone was smiling, especially the freshly-fucked Venezuelan and his therapist. Raj and Stuart discretely took a hike outside along the pool while Chris and Carlos had some final parting words for each other.
On the drive back to the coast, Carlos seemed to want to doze most of the way; when asked if he enjoyed himself, he mumbled something affirmative but unintelligible. Stuart smiled; Raj just peered into the back seat with raised eyebrows.
His only comment was how hot it was in Palm Springs.