Better Late Than Never

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“Hey, cutie, same time next week!” Thomas said when he noticed I was awake.

He was standing beside the bed wearing only his skimpy, string bikini briefs that were identical to my undies; the only difference being, unlike my briefs, his could barely contain his ‘package.’

“Why are you leaving so early?” I whined, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

“I have to get to my office in Vegas by 8,” he explained.

My eyes were drawn to the manly bulge in the crotch of his briefs. I blushed when he caught me staring at it.

He chuckled and said, “You know, John, you don’t have to be embarrassed every time you look at me there…especially after what we did in bed last night!”

I blushed again and cursed myself for being such a prude. I was still naked under the bedspread as he dressed and held my breath when he pulled his shirt over his head covering his manly, sculpted chest.

Before he left the hotel room, he came to me, leaned over and kissed me full on the lips. His hand snaked beneath the covers and stroked my thigh as our tongues danced together.

My prick stiffened; he teased it with a squeeze and two-three strokes before he withdrew his hand and stood up.

“Same time next week!” he said again.

The week before, my golfing buddies and I had traveled to Primm, Nevada to play the two golf courses and stay one night in the hotel. It’s a trip we make twice-a-year since it is only an hour-and-fifteen-minutes from our hometown in Arizona.

On Sunday, we drove straight to the course to play our first round. One of the guys couldn’t make it giving us seven players so they put a single with us. It was Thomas, and he rode in my golf cart.

He is an excellent golfer. I’m not too bad myself, but it was difficult keeping up with his long drives. He’s quite the conversationalist, too.

Usually I prefer quiet while I’m playing, but he turned out to be so interesting and funny, I didn’t mind it at all.

In fact, he had a way of drawing me out that was so seemingly natural and relaxed, after nine holes, I found myself thoroughly amazed that I was being so open and honest with a complete stranger.

My buddies and I always bet when we’re playing, and Thomas became aware of it.

On the tenth tee box, out of earshot of my friends, he said, “If you want to bet the back nine, I’ll give you three strokes.”

It sounded fair to me.

“Okay, what are we playing for? Ten, twenty bucks?” I asked him.

He smiled and whispered, “If you win I’ll give you a hundred dollars…”

I’m not sure why, but I whispered too. “And if you win?”

I flinched when he placed a hand on my upper thigh and squeezed.

“If I win, you’ll spend a couple hours with me in my room tonight,” he said with a gleam in his eyes.

His proposal so surprised me, I blushed a deep red and began a fit of coughing.

“You alright over there, John?” one of my buddies asked me.

“Yeah, uh, yeah I’m fine,” I called out.

I looked at Thomas to see if he was smiling or laughing; surely he was joking.

No smile. His facial expression was quite deadpan.

“Are you serious?” I asked.

“Absolutely…you’re a little cutie and I’d love to have you in my bed tonight!” he said.

“Huh? What? No, uh, I’m, uh, I’m not gay,” I stuttered.

He responded, “I think you’re wrong about that…”

I felt my blood pressure rise. It had been years since the last time someone accused me of being queer.

He suddenly smiled and said, “Okay, twenty bucks it is!”

Thomas remained talkative on the back nine while I concentrated on my game, or tried to anyway. I was filled with emotions that I can usually suppress.

I wasn’t angry he thought I was gay, no, in fact, his words “You’re a little cutie” played over-and-over in my head. It had been so many years since I’d been propositioned, I’d forgotten how good it felt.

I kept wondering what I had said to him on the front nine that would make him think I was gay.

I thought about it too much – he beat me by four on the back and when I drove him out to his car and paid him, I just had to ask: “What made you think I was gay?”

He smiled, winked at me and said, “It takes one to know one…maybe we’ll have a drink at the bar later…thanks for the game!”

I waited until he drove off before I went to my buddies van to unload my clubs. They were changing shoes and complaining about their rounds of golf.

“I hear Thomas is pretty good,” one of them said to me.

I had to turn my head so they wouldn’t notice me blushing.

“Yeah, he beat me out of twenty bucks,” I said.

“Is he staying at the hotel?” he asked.

“Oh, uh, I’m not sure, I didn’t ask him,” I replied knowing full well he was staying there.

I remained quiet on the short drive to the hotel. The old feelings of dread and paranoia surfaced again. I had been comfortable in my own skin for such a long time I’d thought those feelings had disappeared forever – I was wrong.

“John – JOHN!”

Huh? What?

“WAKE UP!”

I managed to open my eyes and saw my roommate for the trip standing bahis firmaları over my bed.

“We’re going to breakfast – I let you sleep in – you need to get ready – don’t forget to check-out before we leave for the course!” he said.

“Oh, okay,” I mumbled.

I climbed out of bed as soon as he left the room. My head was spinning so badly I almost fell.

In the bathroom I saw my phone had been plugged-in so I retrieved it before I sat on the toilet.

I had a text message and when I opened it the hair on my neck stood straight. I was gripped with a chilling fear. The message was from Thomas.

“Had a wonderful time with you last night – looking forward to seeing you next Sunday!!”

Oh no, how can this be? What in hell did I do last night?

I tried to shake the cobwebs from my aching head but last night was drawing a blank. Sometimes when I drink too much I black-out, well, most times I DO drink too much.

I have been told that I don’t act drunk, and I am alert and seem to know what’s going on, but I’ll be damned if I remember anything. Sometimes the memories come back to me, sometimes they don’t.

After swallowing vitamins and aspirin, I showered and shaved and dressed for golf.

I double-checked the room to make sure I didn’t forget anything and went to the front desk to check-out.

My friends were waiting patiently for me in the van.

“Tied one on last night, huh John?” said one of them. “What time did you get to bed?”

I smiled and said, “No, no, it wasn’t bad…I got to bed pretty early.”

My roommate for the night said, “Early!! Are you kidding me? I woke up around one and you weren’t in the room!”

I laughed along with the guys and joked, “Well, it was early for ME!”

Uh oh…what the hell happened last night?

I used to play some of my best golf when hungover. I became something of a legend to my friends for shooting my best scores the worse I felt.

Well, not anymore. In fact, it has been many years now that my golf has reflected the severity of my hangovers. I played like crap and lost every bet I had with my buddies.

The first few holes I tried to concentrate, but the text from Thomas was constantly on my mind.

“Had a wonderful time with you last night – looking forward to seeing you next Sunday!!”

WHAT THE HELL DID I DO???

It was sometime after the 4th hole that bits and pieces of fuzzy memory began returning.

One of my friends and I usually have a couple straight-up martini’s before dinner on these trips. Last night was no different. In fact, by the time our meals arrived in the steakhouse, I’d had three.

Okay, so far so good.

I didn’t eat all that much…never do once I get buzzed.

“Why waste a good glow?” I always joke.

My next memory was of my roommate telling me he was going to the room.

“What time is it?” I asked him.

“A little after ten,” he said.

I am younger than the other guys, and always stay up later than them. I never saw the point of going to bed early when we’re on these ‘mini-vacations.’

After playing a few video poker machines in the casino, I decided to play at the bar. I remember carefully looking around to see if Thomas was there. I breathed a sigh of relief; I hadn’t seen him all night.

I was staring at the machine in front of me when a hand squeezed my shoulder.

I turned, saw Thomas, and my hand knocked over what was left of my drink.

He smiled and said to the bartender, “Sorry, that was my fault, please get my friend another one, and I’ll have a glass of chardonnay!”

I remember my heart began to beat faster.

He began talking but I did my best to concentrate on the poker machine and didn’t hear much of what he was saying.

I finally tired of playing (of losing), and decided to be more friendly towards him. What difference does it make to me? I’ll never see him again after tonight, anyway.

The bar started filling with people. It became noisy. Thomas pointed to a booth in the nearby Race & Sports Book. I nodded and followed him there.

By that time on a Sunday night all the races and games were over with, and the Book was empty except for us.

It was a circular booth and I slid to the center. It surprised me when he sat so close to me our legs were touching.

He made small talk, and I remember staring at him as I listened. He IS a handsome man, and brimming with self confidence and charm. His self deprecatory humor made me laugh.

I was feeling no pain when he ordered me another drink from the cocktail server. I intended to refuse, but, well, you know…

Here is when my memory gets fuzzy again.

He used his hands a lot while talking, and sometimes, he would touch my arm, rub my back or squeeze my shoulders. I honestly didn’t think much about it – one of my golf buddies waves his hands around when he’s talking, too.

Suddenly, he placed his hand on my upper thigh and said to me, “So tell me about your first gay experience.”

I calmly said, “Thomas, I already told you I’m not gay!”

He smiled and said, “John, relax, every kaçak iddaa guy has some sort of experience when they were growing up – and I know from how you look now that you were a little cutie and had your share of offers!”

He squeezed my thigh and added: “I know you had to have several experiences with boys and men!”

I blurted out, “No, just one!” and immediately regretted admitting it.

“Okay, I’ll tell you my first time then you tell me yours!” he said.

I didn’t agree or disagree.

“I had been a high school athlete and had a steady girlfriend,” he began. “I had no clue I was gay…I mean, I did things with my girlfriend, we even went all the way a couple times…but, you know, it wasn’t what I thought it would be…anyway, I went away to college and moved into a dorm room…”

He paused and took a swallow of wine, his strong hand was now gently massaging my thigh. I didn’t stop him.

He continued: “My second day there I got a roommate. A shy, nerdy little guy named Timothy. I remember feeling funny the moment I laid eyes on him. Later, I could admit to myself it was love at first sight, but in the beginning, no way, I’m not THAT kind of a guy!”

“We immediately became close friends. He was smart and funny, but best of all, he seemed to almost revere me; he followed me everywhere like a good little puppy and he hung onto my every word like I was some sort of God!”

“After a couple weeks I began wondering what it would be like to have sex with him,” said Thomas. “The very second that thought popped into my head I went, uh oh, that explains a lot!”

His hand was beginning to have an affect on me. My prick was stirring inside my briefs.

I cleared my throat and asked him, “What do you mean?”

“You know, John, in the back of my mind I always wondered why I didn’t like sex with my girlfriend more than I did…she was the one who initiated it every time – she was the one who liked it…to me, it was work…I went thru with it only to make her happy.”

“Ohhhh,” I said. He’d struck a chord within me.

“…and I’ve thought about this before, I believe I did things with her so she wouldn’t think I was queer,” he said.

Oh my God, the memories of the previous night suddenly became crystal clear.

I remember I had to look away from him at that moment; the honest intensity in his eyes was too much for me to handle.

“Anyway, after two-weeks of living with Timothy I became convinced he was gay,” he said. “He had gotten more and more brazen in his attempts at trying to see me naked; he began to touch me when we talked, and the look in his eyes gave me the distinct impression he liked me more than a friend.”

He paused again to sip his wine.

“What happened next?” I asked him.

“Well, it’s no secret how much teenage boys like to jerk-off-“

I laughed and said, “Oh, I know, even old guys like me!” The liquor had finally loosened my tongue.

He smiled at me and continued: “I usually masturbated in the shower, but one night I decided to test Timothy – simply throw caution to the wind and see what would happen…we went to bed at the same time, and in the dark, I threw-off the bedspread, lowered my briefs and went at it…I made sure to moan loud enough for him to hear me, and when I came I went ‘Oh-oh-oh-yessssssssss’…:

“Oh my God, what did he do?” I asked him.

He chuckled and said, “When I feigned snoring he immediately jerked himself off loud enough for me to hear…I simply laid there with a huge grin on my face.”

“The next day we acted like nothing had happened and that night I did the same thing in the dark and he followed me afterwards…the next night, as soon I’d gotten myself hard, I could actually hear his heavy breathing while listening to me. I said out loud, ‘Timmy, it sure would be nice if you did this for me!”

“Oh my God, what did he do?” I asked.

“I heard him whimper and cough then he said, ‘Thomas, please, I don’t think it would be right’…I said ‘Timmy, get over here and feel my cock – don’t make me angry – don’t make me have to find another roommate!”

“You didn’t say that, did you?” I asked.

“Hell, yeah, and you know what? It worked! I heard him moving then suddenly my bed sagged from his weight and he grabbed my cock, and the rest, as they say, is history!” he said smiling.

“He was my first male lover, and a very obedient one at that…it took only two-nights before I had him take it in his mouth then after that I had him blow me several times every day!” he said triumphantly.

My breathing had suddenly become labored, and surprise-surprise, my dick was now hard inside my briefs. I was acutely aware of his hand still massaging my thigh. I ever so subtly tried to move away from him but he took hold of my hand and pressed it to the crotch of his slacks.

Oh my God, he had an erection, and he forced my fingers around it. I would have cried out in protest but I certainly didn’t want to cause a scene and have other people notice what we were doing.

He suddenly grasped my prick thru my pants and squeezed it then innocently smiled at me and said, “Move kaçak bahis your hand back-and-forth on my cock!”

I swiveled my head from side-to-side to see if anyone was watching us. To demonstrate his point, he moved his hand back-and-forth on mine.

“Tell me YOUR story, John,” he said.

“No, uh, I can’t…” I protested.

“Johnny, you made a promise – I told you mine now it’s your turn!” he said.

I didn’t remember promising him any such thing. I wasn’t sure, my head was spinning and I saw stars dancing before my eyes. All I knew is I wanted to get out of there – I didn’t want to get caught with my hand on a man’s hard dick.

“Thomas, no, please-“

“Well, okay, let’s get a couple more drinks and take them back to my room…we’ll have more privacy there!” he said.

I think I would have agreed to anything to get out of the glare of the casino lights.

“Oh, okay,” I said.

Standing, I was acutely aware of my hard prick inside my briefs. I glanced down to see how noticeable it was – it wasn’t – not at all.

I couldn’t help myself and took a quick peek at his crotch – oh, yes, I could definitely see the outline of his cock straining against his slacks. He didn’t seem to care about it.

I spilled a good quarter of the martini on our walk to his room. Well, he walked, I kind of stumbled. Luckily, he was able to keep me upright with his strong hands.

What happened to his drink? I wondered. Did he forget it at the bar? I then remembered he’d only gotten one for me.

When he inserted his key card in the door of his room I was overcome with a deluge of guilt and shame.

Oh my God, this is SO wrong, John. Get out of here – go to your room and go to bed!

The next thing I knew he was pushing me inside the room.

He guided me to the bed and we sat on the end of it. He suddenly turned my face to his and before I could get out of the way, he kissed me full on the lips. I spilled more of my drink.

“Thomas, no, please,” I said when I was able to break free.

He smiled and said, “I can’t help myself, I am attracted to you, John…I’ll bet you were the cutest little guy growing up…okay, no one can hear you now, go ahead and tell me your story!”

I took a deep gulp of liquid courage and coughed. I suddenly felt relaxed.

Thomas stood and said, “You may as well finish your drink while I get comfortable!”

Huh? What? ‘While I get comfortable?’ What does that mean?

To my horror and astonishment he began undressing. Instead of making a run for the door, I closed my eyes and did as I was told. I drained the rest of the martini in two big swallows.

When I opened my eyes Thomas stood before me wearing only string, bikini briefs.

Oh my God, he has the same undies as me!

His penis had softened, but that didn’t prevent his package from causing a large bulge in the crotch. I saw a small stain and figured it to be pre-cum from his earlier erection.

Suddenly I became woozy from the last two swallows of gin. My body began swaying from side-to-side. Thomas was busy with his hands.

What’s he doing? I wondered.

I heard him chuckle and say, “How cute – we’re wearing the same briefs!”

I looked at his then mine. His were black and mine were red.

Then I wondered, hey, wait a minute, why am I only wearing my undies?

He rejoined me on the bed and put his arm around me.

“Okay, go ahead with your story, cutie!” he said. “How old were you when this happened?”

It felt good to have someone holding me. My head was floating in the clouds. There was no longer any shame, guilt or fear. The words flowed freely.

“I was twenty-two. One night I went out by myself and got drunk. My roommate was working…I left the bar at midnight to go home, but I didn’t want to go there yet…I thought and thought and finally drove to a park a few miles from my apartment…I parked the car and sat inside a long time…”

“What kind of ‘park’ was this?” he asked me.

“Well, you know…during the day it was a normal park with a pond in the middle…mothers and their children would go there…”

“And at night?”

“Well, it was, uh, it became a place where men would hang out…you know, to meet other men…”

“Had you ever gone there before?”

“Uh, yeah, a couple times but I never got out of the car…”

“You chickened out!”

“I guess so…anyway, on that night I finally got out of the car and walked down a slight hill to the pond…I was so nervous I had to take a leak and I saw the bathrooms on the other side of the pond so I began walking to them…”

“Could you see or was it dark?”

“The path around the pond had lampposts every thirty or forty feet, but the trees surrounding the path were all in dark…”

“Were there other men there?”

“No, I didn’t see anyone…”

“How did that make you feel?”

“Well, disappointed, I guess…”

“Because you went there to get picked up by a man and no one was around!”

“Well, yes…anyway, all the way around the pond I didn’t see a soul…when I reached the men’s room, I stopped and looked around – nobody…I went in and took a leak then stood outside for about a minute and still didn’t see anyone…well, I began feeling foolish for even being there, I mean, I wasn’t gay, what was I doing there?”

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