Terry Baylor: The New Old Fag
Chapter One
Terry Baylor was deeply confused; he awoke from a fitful sleep and sat on the edge of his bed contemplating the events of the past 24 hours. He had just had the most outrageous and outrageously remarkable sex of his young life and craved even more.
The confusion occurred because it was the first time he had ever had sex with a man; not just any man, but a client. It violated everything he had known to be true; client relationships, his own sexual orientation, his personal ethics and his business ethics, as well as his view of the world and his expectations of his own future.
Terry Baylor: the son of Ted Baylor, who with his twin brother Tommy had been the founders of the law firm in Santa Monica of Baylor, McLean and Garza, the most successful law firm in the city. Terry Baylor was now the managing partner of the firm with the semi-retirement of Mario Garza, the remaining partner after the untimely and unexpected deaths of the three founders.
Terry Baylor, a California kid born and bred, had spent his life in the shadow of the twins from farm country in southern Illinois, two rowdy and funny and bright twins who challenged each other and every rule in life.
Terry deeply wanted to succeed at the law firm, and desired to make his father and uncle proud of him, though they were now gone. How did gay sex fit into that expectation of his life?
Terry Baylor looked almost exactly like his father; he had the funny and rowdy sense of humor of both his father and uncle. He was bright, yet somewhat quiet, just over six feet tall, had the dirty-blonde hair and grey-blue eyes of the Baylor men and the frame of a southern California surfer. He did not have movie-star looks, but he was pretty close; he never got turned down when asking for a date.
Up to last night, every date he had been on had been with a woman. Every woman he dated had ended up in bed with him, usually because the woman pulled him there. Terry Baylor had never had any idea that there was another kind of sex to be experienced, until of course his uncle had come out of the closet.
Terry's father Ted patiently explained to Terry that some men love women, some men love men, some women love women, and every human on the planet was to be given respect no matter who they loved. That frank discussion was just before Terry entered high school; life for Terry after the talk was not really any different, just more knowledgeable.
High school for Terry was a series of typical California kid adventures: beach time with friends and family, surfing, camping in the mountains, the annual trek to the Sierras to cut down a Christmas tree, competing on the lacrosse team and the golf team, playing outdoor handball and roller-blading in Venice Beach and skateboarding in his own neighborhood and the occasional trip to Mexico with family and friends.
And always the dates, the girls, the parties, the dances, the typical frat-boy life. He did not regret any of that but seated on the edge of his bed late on a Sunday morning in his condo in Santa Monica, contemplating last night's sex, he grew even more confused.
The sex was not forced, it was consensual: in fact, Terry had initiated the sex. The man was a client of the law firm, one whom Terry knew quite well, except that Terry did not know whether Alex was gay, or bi, or whatever. They ended up in bed together, fucking each other's brains out, because Terry had attended a formal event thrown by Alex's father Tony celebrating Tony's election to the city council.
Walking out of the event toward the parking garage, Alex and Terry were conversing, and Alex mentioned he had to go to Europe for a month for business, and Terry suddenly blurted out that he wanted Alex to do something for him before he left the country.
Terry told Alex he desperately needed a kiss, and without any further ado, Alex grabbed Terry, wrapped both of his arms around Terry, and kissed him, fully on the lips, warm, soft, engaging, sexual, exploring every intimate feeling and response and need.
Terry melted in Alex's arms; he had never been kissed that way. He wanted even more, more kissing, more embracing, more intimacy, and more of whatever comes after that. It was as if his brain had become detached from his body; his body was fully in control of the moment, and all it wanted was to go forward as fast as possible in first gear toward the inevitable.
Alex did not discuss or comply or accommodate: rather, he engineered the moment as the two of them struggled out of their formal clothing and shoes and socks and underwear and inhibitions. Nothing was left on as they continued kissing, then sucking, then 69-ing, then fucking, and fucking even more, with barely a half hour between fucks as they each found a warm and eager hole to shove a large and hard and desperate cock into. Nothing was left undone: they came in each other, they fell asleep on each other's arms, and they awoke in the grey darkness of the early morning light and quietly dressed and kissed goodbye.
And now Terry was sitting on his bed, remembering the moments with Alex, wondering what had possessed him, what had possessed both of them, why had it felt so good, why did he want, no, crave, even more of it?
His ass-hole twitched as he recalled the huge cock swinging between Alex's legs, plunging into Terry's eager hole. His cock began twitching as he felt yet again the amazing feelings of being buried inside Alex's hole, the heat, the tightness, the desire, the explosion as he came and came and came.
He grabbed his cock and began stroking it as his firmness swelled and his cock begged for release once again, and in a few minutes he came once more, this time on his chest: Terry was a shooter, and his cum landed on his eyebrow, his chest, his lips, and his stomach. He lay back on the pillows and stroked his chest and the mess his hot cum had made. He spread it all over, chuckling at the moment, eager to be with Alex again and also fearful that he had screwed up in a major way.
And then he did what any self-respecting southern California frat-boy single attorney would do in his state of confusion: he immediately put his condo up for sale, leased a penthouse suite at the Beverly Wilshire, sold his BMW SUV-X5 and replaced it with an Aston-Martin Vantage, and booked a flight to Puerto Vallarta, and downed an entire bottle of Maker's Mark. All in one afternoon.
The next morning, he entered his office and was greeted by Melody Anne Smythe, his PA, who in her Sweet Home Alabama accent dripping with honey, said "Darlin', you look like hammered owl shit." Melody Anne never lied to Terry and he trusted her completely.
Before he could respond, she sauntered away, returning in a few minutes with steaming coffee, and then ordered him to take the day off, she had already booked an opening for him at her day spa. "Don't drive; I have booked a Lyft for you. I am also re-scheduling your appointments."
Terry stammered "Well, I am taking a week off, so if you could re-schedule everyone for the next week I would appreciate it. I am going to Puerto Vallarta to get some R&R."
"You certainly better; but remember the quarterly partner's conference is the end of next week, so do not miss that. I will take care of everything else."