The dance floor was hot and sweaty last Friday night. I was dancing with a slender, young black man wearing skinny jeans and a thin, purple cardigan.
I reached out and lightly touched his narrow abdomen as our bodies moved together to the throbbing House music. His body felt alive and electric under my hands. Occasionally he would lean back and rub his high, tight ass against my crotch.
The sensation was nice but I was sweating like a field hand. My shirt was soaked. “Hey, I have to do something about this sweat man. I’ll see you around.”
I walked into the bathroom and wiped off the sweat with paper towels. And then I looked for the man who had brought me to the gay club to unwind after a busy week at work. My mentor. I found him sitting at the bar, sipping his drink. Amused.
“I saw you dancing with that young boy,” he said. “Would you like to dance with me?”
“Dancing with you will feel funny,” I answered smiling. “But come on. Let’s see what we can do.”
To my surprise he danced very well. I soon got overheated again. So I pulled off my shirt and danced bare chested like many other guys in the club. I could never do that at a straight club. It felt exhilarating. Free. The sweat dripped down my body, and my jeans sagged so you could see the waistband of my underwear. But I didn’t care because everybody else was sweating too.
My mentor just shook his head at me and smiled. Then he reached over and playfully pinched my nipples.
We burst out laughing.
My mentor is almost a decade older than me. A light-skinned black man, six inches shorter than me and compactly built. I look up to him because he has been where I have been and has gone where I want to go. He separated from his wife and has embraced the gay life on his own terms. We met online — he was intrigued by my provocative profile photo and I have to admit I find some mature men like him very sexy.
Mentor has a busy career and I have busy job. But we find time to meet once or twice a week and sometimes ride the same commuter train to work. I always go to his house. The sex is on point. He is into frottage –rubbing and grinding together without penetration. His dick is thick and always hard — it surprises me that a guy of his height is better hung than many guys twice his size.
When he cums it is explosive. His body shakes and shudders, heaving in convulsions. I feel like I’m riding a bronco.
He knows I play around and lets me have my space. I also know he has a “B List” of sex partners he can get when I am not around. But he has grown on me. And I like to think I have grown on him.
On my birthday he gives me designer underwear. A new wallet. The gifts show he listens to me and knows what I need. My drawers were getting raggedy and my wallet was jacked up.
On Saturday morning after we went clubbing in Baltimore I woke up in his bed laying next to him. Age is beginning to touch his face — there are fine lines in the corner of his eyes. But he looks handsome laying there in the morning light. The warm weather is beginning to tan his skin and his complexion is darkening into a pleasant gold.
I reached over and pulled him close and put his head on my chest and rubbed his smooth head.
“Ummm, you’re getting affectionate. I think you are ready for a relationhip,” he said.
“Yes, I think you might be right,” I answer.
I go home, hang out with my children a bit, run errands and go to my part-time gig. On Sunday morning after church he texts me saying he needs my help moving a piece of furniture and doing yard work at a rental property he owns.
“I am going to the movies,” I answer. “If you get me back by 3:30 this afternoon I can help you.”
We work in the yard together. Me cutting grass and him edging the yard. The weather is warm and sunny but not too hot and humid. I love working outside — it feels so good to be under God’s sky. When the lawnmower catch bag fills he comes and gets it to empty the cut grass so I can keep mowing.
After my mentor empties the bag he pauses and stands, his back to me. He looks out over the back of his property. He looks so proud, like a lord surveying his fiefdom. Watching him, my heart grows warm.