Tonight “C.K.” texted me and said he wanted to play with me and my partner “Van.” An hour later he walked in my front door and I spotted a purple hickey on his neck.
“Damn, what have you been up to,” I asked.
“Oh, my ex-girlfriend dropped by yesterday and she did that,” he said.
I just smiled and took it in stride. Last night C.K. had pussy. But tonight he wanted to play with dick.
“C.K.” is 27 years old and from New York City. Brown-skinned, handsome, six-feet two, a little thick and cute as a Teddy Bear.
He is the masculine, mostly silent type. I have known him for more than a year but only know few details about him because he is so reticent. I think we have hooked up three times counting tonight with Van. I don’t even know his first or last name — just his initials.
But there are a few things I know for sure.
I know his mother died. I know his father got caught up in the streets and is in prison. I know he had to get out of New York so the same thing didn’t happen to him. I know he works two jobs to make ends meet.
And I also know he is wrestling with his sexuality.
Tonight Van and I played with him, licking his nipples, eating his ass, and stroking his dick, which is not very big but gets hard as a rock as it rises from between his beautiful thighs. Then he watched me fuck Van before we all jacked off and busted good nutts.
But before the sex we talked.
“You and your partner have sex parties,” he asked me while we lay on the bed, watching “John Wick 2” on HBO.
“Yeah, how did you know?”
“Oh, you texted me.”
“Oh, wow, I didn’t know you were on my party invite list. I forgot. But I know sex parties are not your thing because you are so undercover.”
He paused a moment and spoke again.
“I could never come to a sex party. I’m too shy for that.”
But he kept asking questions about it.
“How many guys come?”
“Oh, 35 or 40,” I answered.
“C.K. some people come and just watch. It’s up to you.”
“I will tell all the guys to leave you alone because you are a newbie,” I joked.
“Oh, don’t do that. I wouldn’t want to bring attention to myself,” C.K. said.
He is limited in what he does sexually. He says he does not want to fuck or get fucked by a dude. He doesn’t kiss. But he loves to be touched and get his nipples licked.
While we lay in bed together, waiting for Van to finish showering, he would sometimes reach out and hold my hand. Then let it go and hold it again. I found the gesture sweet and endearing.
I think C.K. would make some man a great catch if he ever decided to explore a relationship with a man. Besides being handsome some would find his New York accent and swag and strong work ethic appealing.
“Have you ever dated a guy,” I ask.
“No, not yet,” C.K. answered.
An hour or so later, after we all nutted and washed up C.K. said he was ready to take the light rail home so I walked him to the door.
“I could do like you two,” C.K. said as he walked down the stairs behind me.
I didn’t understand. Did he mean how Van and I had sex?
“What do you mean?,” I ask.
“I think I could be in a relationship like you and Van.”
I smiled. “Whenever you are ready man. It’s up to you.”
And I opened the front door, said goodbye, and C.K. disappeared into the chilly, still Autumn night.