Grief Of Three: Mmm Gay Menage Romance

by Sam Haywood

  I felt weight on the other side of the bed and rolled over. There sat Byron on the other side, looking at me inquisitively. In real life, both men were as naked as in the dream.

  "You O. K., Byron?"

  "I'm going to be fine." His mood was clearly much improved.

  "I talked some sense into him," laughed Romeo.

  "Fuck you. Look, Romeo doesn't understand this, but maybe you can, being a Yankee and all. See, this thing about my birth mother, it's so screwed up. In the white community, she brought shame on her family by going with a black man, any black man. But in the black community, he brought shame on his family, too-not because she was white, but because she was not respectable. That's why my parents--and they'll always be my parents, because they raised me-couldn't bring themselves to tell me. To black people, respectability is not about money or race, it's about the way you honour who you are, and the place you have in the community."

  "I think I can understand that."

  Now Byron smiled, his green eyes gleaming shyly.

  "We came to offer you a good fuck to celebrate, but now, well how about a good fuck to cheer you up?"

  "That's pretty much the cure for everything with you, isn't it?"

  He shrugged as if he couldn't see how anyone could argue with that.

  As a matter of fact, I really couldn't.

  "Sure, why not. But are you forgetting that I couldn't get it up if you tied a balloon to it?"

  "We thought of that. But we can get it up. And we both haven't had nearly enough of your sweet honky ass."

  I kicked the covers back. "So, who goes first?"

  Byron's answer was to roll over onto me, his knees between mine, his nose to mine, and give me a long kiss. I felt his big dick grinding against mine. Then, he began a thrusting motion, sliding back and forth against my pubic area, all the time tonguing my mouth passionately. I felt Romeo move as he leaned over to the night stand. There were rubbers and lube in this one, too! His hand smeared cool lubricant over Byron's south pole, and my south hole together. Byron held still for a moment, while Romeo unrolled the latex onto his member. Then, with Romeo's guidance, it went straight into me like the proverbial knife through butter.

  I like it kind of rough, really. I want to feel a man enter me. And I certainly felt Byron! I grasped him with my ass muscles and clung to him as he pulled back most of the way out, then I relaxed as he plunged back in to the base. He soon got a rhythm going, and I just lay back to enjoy the ride. I felt his cock head rap firmly against my prostate at each thrust.

  "Good thing we are all guys, you know," commented Romeo as he watched us hunching away. We were too busy to answer, so he continued. "We'd wind up making some pretty deformed babies, the way we fuck, being cousins and all.'

  "We wear condoms," grunted Byron.

  He let that drop, but I wondered if Romeo's mind was working on some plan about that. He moved around between our legs and busied himself licking both our balls and cracks while Byron continued to bone me at a steady pace. I pulled my feet up and rested them on Romeo's shoulder blades.

  It took Byron fifteen minutes to cum, and when he did, it was a vocal and exuberant orgasm. His back was sweaty, and he shuddered with the contraction. He collapsed onto my chest and lay against me, his pleasing weight pressing down to remind me that I had a man on me and in me, while Romeo got himself a condom on. Byron rolled off, and Romeo rolled on. I was plenty slick and opened up. Romeo slid right in up to the hilt, and then pulled out so that his dick head was an inch out of my ass, then he slammed it back in all the way. He did this a number of times, pounding my ass hard. After that, though, he settled down to fuck me much more gently and lovingly. By the time he ejaculated, he was just lying atop me and bobbing slightly, like a raft on a lake.

  I felt his cock spasm inside me, and wished, as I always do, that I could have the jizz pumped into me, and not the condom. At twenty-four, I'd never bare-backed! But in that regard, I was saving myself for marriage.

  Romeo lay atop me for a long time. He asked if he was too heavy, but I said no, I like a man on me. He liked that response.

  Eventually, though, he peeled himself off of my sweaty chest and stomach, and the three of us adjourned to the shower. We soaped one another sensuously, made out in the shower, and felt one another up.

  "I think I'm ready to go again," said Byron.

  "Me, too," grinned Romeo.

  "Well, the house is clean, and the welcome mat is out."

  We dried one another and returned to the bed. This time, Romeo plopped down in the middle of the bed, and I came up between his legs on hands and knees to suck him, while Byron pistoned me doggy-style. There was still plenty of goo inside my ass, even though the outside had been washed. Byron fucked strenuously, invading deep within my bowel at each thrust. I loved the slap of his hips against my buttocks. After a while, his low-hanging balls got to swinging so that they would collide gently with mine on each down-stroke, providing even more stimulation.

  Byron filled his second rubber, and then he changed places with Romeo. I cleaned up his dick for him, even though it tasted like latex at first, until I had cleaned all that off. The slap-slapping continued at my backside, with Romeo's balls now swinging just as Byron's had.

  On the theory that Byron's dick might be tender now, I concentrated my sucking efforts on his balls and perineum area. He laid back with eyes closed, peeking occasionally to enjoy watching Romeo's athletic frame flexing behind my butt.

  I wasn't too surprised, even after last night's exercise, that my own dick began to get hard, too. It was Byron who noticed it. He pointed out that he still hadn't had that big dong inside of him yet. When Romeo finished me off with a moaning, hard-thrusting cum, I just fell onto Byron and gave him a ride, too. What a tight young hole that stud had! He had said earlier that he is primarily a top and had only been on the receiving end a handful of times. I felt privileged to service him. It took me a while to do it, but I produced a respectable ejaculation for him, as Romeo licked on my ass and pulled on my balls from the rear.

  After a nice, long afterglow, with the three of us laid out in a row on the bed on our backs, I asked, "So what should we do tonight? Go to the club again?"

  "Oh," said Byron, sitting bolt upright.

  "What?"

  "Well...last night, while you and Roman were on the tables...I had a few more drinks...you know, I stayed right there at the bar the whole time to make sure you were alright...well, I might have mentioned to one or two guys how you had an awful lot of food and drink over here that somebody needs to eat...well, someone asked if you would be home tonight to receive well-wishers, and I said I was sure you would be...and I'm afraid the word may have gotten around some."

  "Oh, really. Around the club, or around town?"

  "Hard to say for sure, but probably just the club."

  "How many guys are we talking about here?"

  "Well, I only told two. I'd say, the way things go around here, count on maybe forty. Or fifty?"

  The way things go around here, indeed.

  I'd become the life of the town in one day.

  Chapter 7

  Romeo, Byron, and I hit the shower again, and the three of us set to work preparing, as best we could, for a possible but unpredictable invasion of guests in the evening. In the dining room, we set up a modest dessert table, with coffee and tea, and in the library, we put out some sherry, brandy, and other after-dinner liqueurs, just in case. At the pool, we set up more of the desserts, along with snack items we found already there or in the kitchen. The ice-maker was going, the beers, wines, and cheeses were chilled. Still, just getting out plates, napkins, glassware, and such took quite a while.

  We then hit the kitchen and helped ourselves from the largesse there. Tonight was "casserole night." There would still be plenty for the gathering following the funeral.

  I strongly suggested that the big-mouth who had brought about this spontaneous and unpredictable event should stay up front with me from
7:00 to 9:00 (unofficial but honored "visitation" hours in the South), and Byron good-naturedly agreed. He didn't have any appropriate clothing at my house, but any of mine would fit him fine, down to the size 10 shoes. I decked him out in a tan suit, and myself in a blue blazer with khakis, and I sent Romeo, still happily naked, out to the pool garden to receive the club men back there.

  Byron hung out in the front much of the time, and he directed men who were casually (or barely) dressed around the side of the house to the back, and those more seriously dressed, or with wives in tow, to the front door, where I greeted them. As we feared, some of Grand-daddy's associates, and some neighbours, dropped by simply because they saw the cars parked near the house and deduced that I was "receiving." I had thirty or so people to chat with, mostly business acquaintances of Grand-daddy, and I had to admit, grudgingly, that the opportunity to meet them was going to be helpful at the funeral tomorrow, and in the weeks to come as I sorted out the estate. They put a pretty good dent into the food supply and were not bashful with the drinks in the library, either.

  One woman stared at me relentlessly until I was beginning to become rather uncomfortable. I was standing in the long hallway that runs the width of the house, which Grandmother had made into a kind of gallery of family portraits and photographs, conversing innocuously with a pair of my grandparents' old friends who seemed unable to make it to the front door and out of the house. Goodbyes can take longer than visits in South Carolina. Eventually, the couple left, and the woman explained herself to me. She had known Grand-daddy from church, but she had also been my dad's high school trig teacher. I had been standing, unwittingly, right beside my father's high school graduation portrait, and this poor woman had been fighting the unreasonable notion that she was seeing Jimmy Redivivus before her eyes. She just wouldn't shut up about it. She made me go up and down the hallway, examining all the pictures there, and dissecting every feature of face and body. I had probably never paid any real attention to any of these pictures. They were just there, part of the wall. But I had to admit that she, and all the other dozens of people who boringly brought it to my attention, had a point: I did look like a clone to my father, who himself bore a remarkable resemblance to the younger versions of J. P. III. I had a lot of my mother in my psyche, but my body was all Jim Carter.

  Then, I had a revelation: that might explain a peculiar behavior of Dalton Dupree that I had noticed. Sometimes, it seemed he could hardly look at me-he cast his eyes downward or off to the side. Other times, especially if I did not seem to be noticing, he gazed at me intently, with a deep and soulful expression. If the belief that was building in me was true, that he and Dad had been paramours, then I might be causing him considerable pain, just by being here and looking so damn much like his late lover. But I had only that snatch of suspect memory and an even more suspect dream to go on in support of my theory, no real evidence whatsoever. I resolved to speak to Roman, if I ever got to see him again, and see if he could shed any light on the question.

  There were pictures of the Dupree family on our wall, too. One was of both families gathered together, when Dad and Dalton were in their early teens. It was at the beach, and the whole bunch were in swimwear. They were a handsome lot, clearly having a happy holiday together. The color of the photo was somewhat faded, but it seemed like the Peter Dupree of that time had kind of strawberry blond hair (it had been white as long as I had known him.) His wife, Emmy's, hair was a light brown color, and her skin fair. I could see some of the delicacy of her facial features in Dalton, too, but none of the colouring. Roman also, though somewhat fair skinned, had dark hair, and both of them were taller than the senior generation. It struck a silly chord of pride in me that the men of my family bred so much truer to type than the Dupree’s.

  I resolved to try to engage Dalton in conversation more, to wear down any hang- ups my resemblance to Dad might give him by building up his awareness of my own distinct personality. It seemed like a merciful thing to do, and helpful to me in the long run, too. Besides, it might somehow throw me into Roman's path more, as I knew without conscious thought, I wanted very much.

  Nine o'clock came, and the well-wishers retreated like Johnston's army from Atlanta. Byron had been inside schmoozing the visitors with me for the last hour or so, and I had something new to scratch my head over-the puzzled and bemused expressions of my guests on seeing him co-host their visit with me, contrasted with his poise and casual elegance. They clearly didn't know quite what to make of it-him the yard boy, son of the house-keeper, dressed better than anyone, and clearly present not as butler or bartender, or as family retainer, but as a family member. What a shift since the morning! I liked to think that I would have welcomed him in this position even without the morning's revelations, but would I have really? It was hard to be sure. But there was no question in my mind that if Byron had not known what he now knew about his family and mine, he would have stayed outside rather than be seen assuming that kind of easy familiarity with me and the white townspeople. What an odd society we live in, and how easily we allow ourselves to be moulded by it, I mused. Still, I was pleased with him for his helpfulness and adaptability. And he was unquestionably a decorative addition to the household in any case.

  We were free to go to the real party out back now. We darkened the front rooms and discarded our clothes upstairs. Then, properly naked, we walked out into the garden congratulating ourselves on having pulled off a good save, socially speaking. The lights in the rear garden were dim, apparently just the pool lights and some candles. There was some soft background music and a low hum of male conversation that were scarcely audible at the back of the house.

  When we walked through the moon-gate, our eyes were met by some fifty naked or nearly-naked men, standing in small groups with drinks in hand, or handing onto the side of the pool together, or seated at tables. They made a handsome band. Hebron as a whole was not a very slender or physically fit town, but the gay and bisexual men of Elysium were, regardless of their age, undoubtedly leaner and firmer than their counterparts in town. And in the center of it all, clearly revelling in his role as host, was Romeo. He had managed everything brilliantly, keeping everyone both quiet and content at the same time with his diplomacy and hospitality.

  He was a fantastic front-man for me, though, because he had someone watching the gate for our entrance, and as we stepped inside, the music instantly changed to a hipper and louder selection, and the garden lights rose. Every head turned in our direction. Byron, now turning modest on me, stepped back, while the men in the garden came forward almost as one to greet me, welcome me, and offer their condolences. It was kind of like running for governor in a bizarre, gay nudist dream, but it almost made me cry again, too. I was just beginning to learn how much the gay men of Hebron cared for my grandfather, and their sympathy to me for his loss, especially in the light of my father's tragic death earlier, was pretty overwhelming. Romeo worked his way to me with a martini, which he replaced at intervals, and the show was on.

  It is remarkable how natural it feels to be naked among a crowd, when they are also naked and everyone treats it as a normal thing. Several couples were dancing on the pool deck. Ordinary and mundane social conversations proceeded exactly as if we were wearing tuxedos at some fancy function. I moved about from guest to guest for a couple of hours, often standing right next to a couple who were making out with stiffies waving, or a twosome or threesome engaged in oral sex right beside me. I noticed bowls of condoms on the tables. Romeo had anticipated everything.

  And sure enough, it wasn't long before I noticed the first couple fucking, one slim young man who introduced himself to me earlier as Lewis, squirming ecstatically on the lap of a husky, dark-complexioned fellow named Stan. Next, there were a pair going at it doggy-style at pool-side, and then a couple tried the missionary position on the pool diving board.

  Being a bit voyeuristic as well as exhibitionistic, I found all this pretty entertaining. My eyes were restless, though. I kept scanning th
e crowd, not only checking for newcomers I might not have greeted yet-the group kept changing as more arrived, and a few had to leave-but more importantly, for a sight of Roman. Surely, Byron would have told him, of all people, that we'd be out here tonight. If he was at Peter's house, he'd hear the music, anyway. But 11:00 came, then 11:30, and there had been no sight of him.

  I was on my fifth martini and feeling a little tight. Romeo came over with number six, and I was slurring my speech a bit. He suggested that I have something to eat, and led me over to the cabana, where he prepared a plate of fruit and veggies for me. I was not very cooperative, however. I remember commenting that I wanted meat, specifically sausages with cream filling. I started swaying and he caught me, and I grabbed his dick. A few guys nearby laughed, and Romeo grabbed me under the arms and sort of danced me gracefully over to the door to the sitting room behind the serving area, which was darkened. He dragged me inside, and we fell onto a daybed, me giggling like a ten-year-old girl. For once, Romeo was being the mature and responsible one. I would have none of it. Having not been fucked for going on eight hours now, I latched onto him like a lamprey eel.

  "I want your dick, Tiger," I slurred. "Come on, fuck me."

  It actually took some doing to persuade him. Finally, he relented, on condition that I get up and try to get back to being civil with the guests as soon as we finished.

  "Yeth, thur, Lootenant," I promised.

  He ran out for a condom, and in seconds he had my knees pinned back to my shoulders, my ass rotated up for easiest access and deepest penetration. I dimly heard the throbbing of the music and the murmur of the voices nearby as I felt the rim of his dickhead press past my sphincter muscle. I moaned, rather too loudly. He slid smoothly all the way into my bowel and pressed his shoulders behind my knees. I was folded up like an auditorium chair, and he was pumping me smoothly, like he meant business.