“I should help you with the dishes,” Bob said, as Adolar put another log on the fire, and jabbed it with the poker, making the flames rise up with renewed energy.
“Forget it. They can sit overnight. You’re my guest. You don’t lift a finger. Relax. More wine?” Adolar asked. “I’ve got plenty on hand.”
“Then yes, please. Only … I don’t want to get drunk. If I do, I won’t be able to drive home.”
“You really don’t have to,” Adolar said, with a deceptive casualness. “Your car’s safe out there, in the parking lot. Hell, you can always spend the night here. In the guest room … or with me,” he added, suggestively. “With my wife gone for the weekend, I’m going to feel very lonely in our bed.”
“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you—”
“But you wouldn’t be doing that at all, Bob. I’d enjoy having you as an overnight guest. In fact, I insist. I want you to stay.”
“Well … in that case … if you say so … maybe it doesn’t matter how much I drink.”
“No, it doesn’t. Drink up. Indulge yourself, for a change. I’ll take care of you. Nothing bad can happen to you, not while you’re here, with me. I can promise you that.”
Adolar refilled both their glasses. He noted, with satisfaction, how eagerly Bob drank.
“I’m getting a bit of a buzz on,” Adolar reported, gleefully. This was a definite understatement, on his part.
“So am I. Isn’t this breaking training, technically?”
Adolar chuckled. “Oh, I think we can make an exception, just this once. You’ve worked hard on your physique, I can tell. I bet you bust your ass just as diligently for that very stern and puritanical Coach Kozma of yours. You deserve to take a break, to have some fun. It isn’t healthy for a young guy like you to be quite so disciplined. You really do need to cut loose, once in a while. You need to amuse yourself—and do something to relieve the tension. I wish you’d let me help you have some fun—”
“Adolar,” Bob babbled. “Can I tell you something? Something really personal?”
“Of course you can, Bob. I thought we made that clear, during our conversation in my office at the gym.”
“Okay … what I want to say to you … the other day in your office, when we were talking … maybe I wasn’t being completely truthful with you.”
“Oh? Weren’t you? About what, specifically, Bob? You can tell me anything, you know. I hope you realize that.”
“I do. I was telling you about these feelings I have for other guys. Remember?”
“I remember. But you didn’t tell me exactly whom these feelings of yours are directed toward. Let me guess. Some of the other guys on your team? Such as for your friend Urban, for example. I know that you and Urban have always been kind of close.”
“Yeah. We are. But what I didn’t tell you was that I’ve been having the same feelings, not just for guys my age, like Urban, but for older men. Men like … like you, for instance.”
“Like me?”
“Like you, yeah. Feeling for you. I can’t help it. I know it’s dirty, and wrong, but I have sexual feelings for you!”
“I’m flattered.”
“Flattered? You’re not pissed off at me? You’re not disgusted?”
“Why should I be? What is there to be angry, or disgusted, about?”
“I don’t know. Somehow, I didn’t think you’d take it this way. So calmly. You see, I think about you all the time, ever since we met. I think about you that way. Sexually. Sometimes … the things I imagine … they’re kind of dirty. They’re really sexual, if you know what I mean.”
“I repeat, I’m flattered, Bob. After all, I’m a few years older than you are. Which reminds me, Bob. Just how old are you, anyway?”
“Eighteen.”
“Shit! And I’m thirty-two. Old enough to be your father, for God’s sake!”
“Not quite,” Bob protested. “You’d have to have been fourteen when you knocked up my Mom.”
“I was horny to have done it, back then. But let’s leave your mother out of this discussion, please.”
“Well, you may be a dirty man, but you’re not yet a dirty old man,” Bob joked, in an effect to lighten the mood.
“Huh. I’m getting there, though. Anyway … my point is, I’m a happily married man, set in my ways. On the surface, I don’t seem to have much to offer, to an attractive young man like you. You could be involved with some guy your own age. Not wasting your feelings on a well-worn old codger like me.”
“Oh, you have a lot to offer,” Bob blurted out. “You’re not old. Age is just a number, as they say. You’re really attractive, for a guy of any age.”
“Um, this discussion is getting more interesting, all the time,” Adolar teased him. “Such as what? What, exactly, do you see in me?”
“You’re so sexy. So hot.”
“Why, thank you, Bob.”
“If only you weren’t married. If only you were gay!”
“Suppose I were gay, Bob? Or bisexual? Suppose I swung both ways? Which, as I’ve told you, making no secret of it, I do. It’s the plain truth. Suppose you appealed to me, sexually, too? Then what?”
“Then I’d … I’d want to go to bed with you, and have sex with you, I guess. God, I’m so ashamed. It sounds so awful, for me to say things like that.”
“Nonsense, Bob. Take my word for it. There are lots of men who would be delighted to hear you say things like that to them. And, as a matter of fact, I happen to be one of them.”
“Aw, you’re just kidding me, aren’t you? You’re just trying to make me feel better.”
“I’d like to do everything in my power to make you feel good, Bob. But, no, I’m not kidding you. I’m trying to be quite sincere. You see, I have the same ‘feelings’ about other men that you do. And I act on them, every chance I get. I’m bisexual. As surely you must know by now, and you understand what that means? We had a long discussion about it, when you interviewed.”
Bob was uneasy. “I know. But in a way, I still can’t believe it. Not you!”
“Why not me?”
“You’re married, for one thing. And you’re so fucking macho, for another. There’s nothing queer about you, man!”
“That word, ‘queer,’ is considered to be a bit of a putdown in some quarters,” Adolar told Bob, in a tone of mild reproach. “A lot of gay and bisexual men don’t care for it.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Oh, there’s no need for you to apologize. But you’re young, and inexperienced. You don’t understand about such things. We tend to stick labels on people, but that’s not always right. It can be simplistic. Take me, for example. I love my wife. We have a wonderful, satisfying sex life together. But I also like to have sex with men. It doesn’t diminish what I feel for my wife. If anything, it enhances it. And sometimes, often in fact, she and I even share one of my male lovers,” Adolar went on, boldly. “We invite him into our bed, and we both have sex with him at once. It’s very exciting. I love it when my wife is sexually satisfied, whether it’s with me or with another man—and she feels the same way about me. No one loses in this deal. There’s no harm done.”
“Wow,” Bob exclaimed. “You mean—you and Mrs. Mezey are swingers?”
Adolar laughed. “That’s one word for it, I guess. Although you make it sound terribly old-fashioned. Like something out of the Sixties! People in the United States used to refer to that era as the Swinging Sixties, you know.”
“I can’t believe that you and I are talking like this. So honestly, I mean. So openly. I’ve never been able to talk like this, about this kind of stuff, with any other guy. Not even with Urban, who’s my pal.”
“I’m glad you feel comfortable with me, Bob.”
“I don’t just feel ‘comfortable’ with you. I love you. I really do.”
Secretly, Adolar was thrilled by this admission. But he forced himself to remain calm—and skeptical. “Aw, that’s the wine talking, Bob. Maybe you’re had enough. Maybe I’d
better cut you off. Close the bar.”
“I’m not that drunk,” Bob insisted, stubbornly. “I do love you, man. I want to have sex with you. Tonight. Right now.”
“Do you know what you’re saying, Bob?”
“Okay, I admit it. I’m a stupid freaking virgin. Never been with a girl. I’ve just jacked off. Usually while thinking about really hot, butch bodybuilders, like you! I’ve never had sex with another guy, either. I don’t really know what that’s all about. But I do know that I want to try it. And I want to try it with you. So, yeah—I do know what I’m saying. I want us to fuck! If you don’t want me—then I guess you can throw me out. Send me home.”
“I don’t want you to go home,” Adolar said. “I want you to stay here tonight, with me.”
“Well, that’s what I want, too!”
“We’re in agreement, then, Bob.”
“I guess we are.”
“We’re going to make love. And then we’re going to sleep together. Two men, giving pleasure to each other. Is that it? Is that what you’ve been secretly thinking about, is that what you want?”
“Oh, fuck. Just hearing you talk like that—it’s giving me a hard-on. You bet that’s it. You bet, that’s what I want. Please, Adolar, please. Make love to me!”
“You’re so beautiful, Bob—”
“Teach me. Please, teach me about what guys do together. Fuck me, please!”
“You’re too much for me to resist.”
“Don’t resist me. Fuck me!”
“I want you, Bob. I can’t help myself. Anyone would desire you—”
“I want you, too. But your wife—?”
“She won’t mind. Trust me, she understands. She knows what I need.”
“Take me, then,” Bob moaned. “Teach me. Show me what you like. I want to learn. About everything, all the things that two men can do together. And I want to learn it from you! Right now. Tonight!”
“God, you are so fucking sexy,” Adolar breathed. “So fucking hot! You’re driving me crazy, you know. When I’m with you, like this, I can’t control myself.”
“Can’t you?”
“No.”
“Then why should you?”
“Don’t tempt me,” Adolar groaned. “I’m only human, after all. I can’t resist you.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to resist me.”
“Fuck!” Adolar exclaimed. “How can I—?”
“Don’t tease me,” Bob pleaded. “Don’t make me wait any longer.”
“I won’t. No … just a minute. I like to relax here, on the floor in front of the fire. I’ll show you. Wait here. Stay put.”
Adolar delayed only long enough to retrieve the wine bottle and pour out a fresh glassful for each of them. Then he left the living room, and hurried upstairs.
He returned quickly, carrying a patchwork quilt and a down-filled comforter bundled up in his arms.
“Here,” he said. “We can spread this out, on the floor.”
Helping Adolar, Bob saw that, wrapped up inside the folds of the quilt, he had two pillows in their cases, a plastic pump bottle of some sort of lubrication, and a strip of condoms.
“What’s all this?” Bob asked.
“What we need. To get comfortable … and to have sex.”
“Oh.”
Adolar tossed the comforter onto the sofa, for the time being. With Bob’s help, he spread the quilt out over the floor, in front of the fireplace, and tossed the two pillows down on top of it.
“See?” Adolar said. “A perfectly adequate bed. Very comfortable, in fact.”
“I guess so. This isn’t the first time you’ve—ah—entertained a guy like this, here in your house and in front of the fire, is it?”
“No, it isn’t. Not by a long shot. Does that make a difference to you, Bob?”
“No. Of course not.”
“I wonder. Look at you. You’re blushing,” Adolar teased him. “Even with the firelight, red on your face, I can see that you’re blushing.”
“I tend to do that,” Bob admitted.
“When you’re embarrassed?”
“I guess so.”
“But there’s no need for you to be embarrassed now, is there?”
“No,” Bob said, uncertainly.
Chuckling, Adolar put his arm around the young man’s shoulders and caressed him lightly with his hand, before breaking the contact only long enough to begin to take off his own clothes.
“Let’s get naked,” Adolar whispered. “Let’s get naked, and lie down in front of the fire.”
They observed each other unselfconsciously, smiling, as they stripped. When they were both naked, they stood there for a moment, on opposite sides of the hearth, each man admiring what he saw, both of them allowing the anticipation to build.
“Look at you,” Adolar breathed. “You are so goddamn beautiful, Bob!”
“But so are you. You’re such a hot man. I think you’re just so incredibly sexy!”
Bob wasn’t exaggerating, or flattering the older guy. Adolar, at thirty-two years of age, was living, breathing proof that some men only improved with age—like a fine wine or cheese. His cock was nine inches of hard, inflexible male power, jutting out from his flat belly like a massive post carved not from wood, but from equally solid human flesh. His bull-like balls hung suspended from the base of his thick cock and swung proudly between a pair of thickly muscled thighs, the product of years of athletic training.
Smiling reassuringly, Adolar joined Bob in front of the hearth. He touched Bob, resting the flat of one hand on the boy’s chest, one fingertip brushing a nipple and confirming that Bob, like a lot of men—like Adolar himself, in fact—had highly responsive tits.
“You’re such a beautiful young man, Bob,” Adolar whispered. “Forgive me if I keep saying that. It’s because I can’t get over the fact. I know I’ve wanted you from the moment you came to me after the physique show that night. I’ve been obsessed with you, ever since. I’ve thought about this moment—longed for it. And now it’s come, at last.”
“Aw, cut it out, please. You’re embarrassing me.”
“No, it’s true. I’m mad about you.”
And that was true. Standing there, facing Bob, with both of them naked and erect, Adolar could feel himself casting aside all restraint. Bob possessed the clean-cut body and good looks of a stereotypical wholesome college jock … and a gay sex object. His hair was chestnut brown and silky, his complexion pink and flawless. His chest, which Adolar continued to massage, was solidly muscled, hardened like the rest of his body by weight training and rigorous exercise.
“Kiss me,” Adolar pleaded.
“I’ve never kissed a guy,” Bob protested. “Not in a sexual way, anyway!”
“Why don’t you give it a try? You might like it.”
Adolar’s mouth touched Bob’s, both men’s lips parting so that Adolar’s tongue could penetrate the inside of Bob’s mouth.
“Fuck. Oh, fuck, man!” Bob moaned.
“Do you like how that feels?”
“I sure do. I like it a lot!”
“Kiss me some more. We’d better make sure you really like it, before we move on to other things.”
Still kissing, with open mouths and probing tongues, the two men sank down onto the quilt in front of the fire. Adolar drew one hand across the swollen perfection of Bob’s pectorals, lingering over the hardened nipples, before moving downward to the boy’s stomach. He made his way quickly down to Bob’s prick. When his fingers closed around the penis, it was solid—a heavy mass of blood-engorged flesh, stretched taut around its inner core, and pulsating lightly against the pressure of his hand. Adolar let his fist glide up and down the cock’s oversized length; and Bob moaned with pleasure.
“Oh, what a beautiful, big dick,” Adolar gloated.
“Yours looks pretty big, too,” Bob observed.
“It’s your fault. You’re giving me a hard-on. Touch it, if you want to, Bob. Touch mine, while I jerk yours.”
&n
bsp; “Damn. Your hand feels so good on my cock!” Bob exclaimed. “Don’t jerk me too hard, though,” he begged. “I may shoot.”
“All right. We’ll take it slow. Slow and easy.”
“I don’t understand too much about this gay stuff,” Bob admitted.
“That’s okay, Bob. I’ll show you. I’ll teach you, everything you need to know.”
“But I do know about one thing that gay guys do,” Bob said.
“Oh? What’s that?”
“Cocksucking,” the young athlete replied, in a barely audible whisper, as though the word was forbidden to utter. “Cocksucking,” he repeated, louder and more decisively. “I want to suck your cock, Adolar.”
“Have you ever done it before?”
“No, of course not! I’ve never wanted to. Until now, with you. But now—yeah, I want to give it a try. Oh, I never thought I’d ever say this to another guy. But yeah, I want to suck your cock!”
“Go ahead. But take it slow,” Adolar suggested. “Take it slow. Play with it a little, first.”
“Oh, wow—!” Bob moaned.
With a surprising, impulsive boldness, he reached out and seized the other guy’s cock. His hand massaged it, roughly, his fingers stroking it as though they were trying to determine the precise dimensions of the swollen penis.
“It’s so big,” Bob gasped.
“Kiss it,” Adolar urged him. “Just put your mouth on it, Bob. Rub your lips over it. You’ll see. It doesn’t taste bad.”
Bob kissed Adolar’s cock. He licked it. He even sniffed it. Then, feeling himself increasingly caught up in a compulsion which he couldn’t resist, he opened his mouth—and he coaxed the thick, round, inflexible head of the erection between his lips.
Adolar’s phallic flesh felt burning hot on his lips—and on his tongue, when Bob gave it a tentative swab. Moaning, shuddering, Bob fed the cockhead deeper inside his mouth. His lips now surrounded the upper part of the shaft, just below the flange where the glans swelled out.
The cock was so hard! So hot! He couldn’t believe how rigid it was. It felt rock solid, more like a hard-rubber dildo than a vulnerable flesh-and-blood member. Bob’s mouth continued its slow, cautious descent around the erection, his lips finally coming into contact with his fist, which he still had closed around the base of the big cock, to steady it.
Bisexual Bodybuilders Vol 1 Page 8