Mister Charles

The summer of 1976 was especially hot. It was late August and I was studying in the library at college but found it impossible to concentrate. Every time I looked out of the window I could see carefree people in the quad, laughing, enjoying life, making the most of the wonderful, warm weather. I felt left behind, stuck in this mausoleum reading but not taking anything in. I was feeling restless and thoughts of sexual activities were assaulting my brain.

It made me question the choices I had made six months before when I had allowed myself to get distracted from my studies and become involved with Bill, the new bartender at the Bar and Grill where I had worked, three nights a week and the occasional Saturday morning. Up to this point, Bill was the only man with whom I ever had sexual relations. Bill was the first man who came on to me and seduced me. He was the first man to suck me and the first man whose cock I sucked. He was the first man to bed me and he did not even have to try too hard. I had fallen in love with him and in the time I spent with him, I found a beautiful sexual and emotional fulfillment that sadly, was now absent from my life.

It was three months after our first afternoon together that he told me I was an eager and easy conquest. Then he informed me that he was finished with my services; that he no longer had any need of me; that it was time for him to move on to pastures new, so to speak; that he would see me around, maybe. That was two weeks before my exams started and I was devastated.

I had given this man everything. I had knelt before him as he sat and gladly given up my warm, wet mouth to his thrusting lust. I had swallowed his very essence. I had lain down with him on his bed and presented my naked, pure, white, virginal bum to him, for his pleasure, the very first Saturday afternoon I spent with him. I had debased myself for him and for his pleasure. Whatever he asked of me I had done it willingly. I had dressed up for him, worn make-up, stockings, heels, mini-skirts, the lot. I had licked him from head to toe. I had flirted with his friends at his request and teased them. In short I had done it all for him. I had given up my girlfriend, my friends, even neglected my studies, because I thought he felt the same way about me as I had felt about him.

I had loved this man and did for him everything he asked of me. I had done it willingly because I thought he was being as honest with me as I was with him. How naive can a young man be? I thought I was so intelligent. I was a university student; after all, therefore I must be intelligent? Well, think again boy! I was a complete fool, an innocent abroad.

Please don't get me wrong. It is not that I didn't have a wonderful time. I did. I had the time of my life. I had the best sex ever! He taught me things I didn't even realize that people could do to each other, to please and pleasure each other. He instructed me expertly in the art of pleasing him with my hand, my tongue, my mouth, my bum and especially my mind. He taught me that my place was to pleasure him and I eagerly bent myself to his will and loved it. I had never been so fulfilled as when I submitted myself to his every sexual whim. Then, to lose all of that joy, that closeness we had, that intimacy we had shared; to discover that what for me was everything but for my lover was just "a bit of fun" practically reduced me to a shadow of my former self.

What made matters was to see him in the company of a younger boy, a fresher boy, who was just so damn good looking, so cute and sexy, so perfect in features and form and worse still, who started telling everybody that "his Bill" had told him that he was "the one", the once in a life time "true love" that he had been waiting for all his life. I hated him because he had everything. He was beautiful and he also had Bill; worse still I knew what Bill was getting him to do and this festered away inside me.

I did sit my exams but failed. Now I was starting to put my life together again. First, I had to pass those re-sits and get back to college to finish my degree. I was prioritizing and rationalizing and every day I was growing stronger in my mind, accepting myself for whom I was, forgiving myself for being so innocent, no longer annoyed at myself for letting myself be so easily deceived, because you see, this story is not about Bill. Oh no. I will tell you that story another time. This is a story about that ever so hot day in August 1976 when I could not concentrate on my studies and was being overwhelmed by the desire for some kind of sexual release.

I had tried for an hour to read the same chapter but my mind was roaming. I was in need of a break from the library, its stale air and its morgue like atmosphere. I picked up my books, went down the stairs and walked out in to the sunshine. Five minutes later I was in my flat, shedding my jeans and shirt and after a quick shower, slipped in to my short yellow shorts, light white t-shirt and please don't laugh at me, my clogs. I picked up my history book "The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire" and out I went, sunglasses and all.

Ten minutes later I was in the local Botanical Gardens, sitting on a bench in the shade, book in hand, pretending to read. Opposite from where I was seated extended a long, wide, grassy area, full of happy go lucky, everyday people, who were taking advantage of the beautiful weather. There were people of all ages there, stripped down to the bare minimum, covered in sun cream or oil. Some were young, some old, couples and singles, families and friends. It was great to sit there in the shade and just observe life and occasionally leer at other people, especially the men who had divested themselves of their shirts and were strutting their stuff to impress.

Then I noticed him. Its not that he stood out in any physical way; quite the reverse really. He was just an ordinary, quite short, middle aged man. He was about 50 yards away from where I was sitting when I first noticed him. He walked along until he found a clear space and without as much as a by your leave, proceeded to remove his shirt and vest, quickly followed by his shoes but not his socks and then, to my surprise he took off his trousers.

He looked around himself almost defying any one to say anything and as no one appeared to do so, he sat down in his black socks and white underpants which must have been a size too small for him. Ah well I thought to myself, it takes all sorts. Even from this distance I could see that he was very hairy and not ashamed to reveal his physique in socks and underpants. I watched him for a moment or two as he lay himself down and stretched out to enjoy the warmth of the sun's rays. He seemed not to worry about sun burn as he failed to apply any sun screen.

I tried to read again but it was so hard to concentrate on the Vandals crossing over in to Africa. I raised my eyes from my book and under the cover of my sunglasses surveyed the scene in front of me. It was getting hotter. I looked to see what the man in the socks was up to but he wasn't where he had started off. He had moved to a position to my left about 30 yards away and he was sitting up looking unashamedly at two girls in bikinis, lying a few yards from his new position. I had to laugh. I read some more but preferred to glance at people as they walked by on the pathway. I looked to my left to see what the guy in the socks was up to now but he was not there. He had moved again. He must have gone home I thought, but I was wrong. He was now sitting about twenty yards away directly opposite me. I pretended to look at my book but peered at this stranger from behind the cover afforded me by my sunglasses.

He stood up and with carefree abandon adjusted his white underpants. He obviously did not care about any one looking at him as he put his hand down the front of his undies and spent a few seconds making himself comfortable before sitting down again and leaning back on his hands. I could not help but notice that there was more of a bulge there than I had observed previously. He really had pale white skin which was in stark contrast to the blackness of the hair on his legs and his upper chest. I found this contrast quite appealing.

Then he did it. He definitely did it. He casually moved his right hand to the front of his underwear and in the pretense of adjusting himself he flashed his cock. I could not believe my eyes. He most definitely flashed his cock. It was just for a second but I could have sworn he was looking at me when he did it. Then he appeared to rub the whole area with his hand before leaning back and looking around him. I felt my face redden ever so slightly and felt just a little bit excited.

I could hardly believe my eyes. I looked around me and I was the only person he could have been flashing at. I am not going to lie to you. I liked what I saw, what he had flashed at me but I was really surprised that any one would do such a thing in a public place. I couldn't help myself. I looked up from my book and there he was staring at me, smiling. Then he did it again. He put his right hand to his groin and this time his cock, somewhat aroused, was revealed to me again before he put it away in the most casual manner. I admired him for the totally nonchalant way he made it look as if he was just adjusting his underwear.

He is a flasher I thought, a flasher with an uncut, excited cock. Just then an elderly lady sat down on the bench. She was out of breath and I had no desire to chat to her. I nodded at her and she nodded back before taking a long drink from a bottle of lemonade. She sat on for a moment or two and then, her thirst quenched, she stood up and wandered off.

"Is this seat taken?" I heard a male voice ask.

"No," I said, not raising my eyes to see who was talking to me.

There was a pause as he sat down.

"It certainly is hot today, isn't it, old chap?"

The accent was very polite, very smooth, very posh and very English. I looked round to see who owned the accent and I could not believe my eyes. It was the flasher. Now he was dressed again and he was sitting with his arms outstretched over the back of the bench and he smiled again. I looked him up and down from behind my sunglasses. His face was clean shaven but the blackness of his hair against his pale skin made it look as if he had a five o-clock shadow. His shirt was unbuttoned, his zipper was only half way up and his black shoes were slip-ons.

"Yes, it is very hot," I replied. "Almost too hot to read," I added for something to say.

"The park is too crowed and noisy," he said. "I prefer it when there are not so many kids running around and no teenagers trying to make out. My name is Charles by the way, what's yours?"

"Don," I said. "My name is Don." I loved his accent. He spoke so clearly.

I took his hand to shake it and did not object when he held on to my hand and smiled again. His hand was warm and soft just like mine. I smiled back at him and noticed the glint in his blue eyes. Up close he was quite handsome. His lips were full and the dark black shadow on his face was very manly. He had a strong grip too.

"I live over there," he added, finally releasing my hand. He pointed to a house behind us that backed on to the park. "Would you care for a cold refreshing drink of lemonade with a dash of ice and a spot of vodka maybe? You know, shaken not stirred, a la James Bond. What do you say, old chap? Fancy a little drinky-poos and a chat?"

His hand was on my shoulder. What should I do? He was trying to pick me up. He was awfully nice and well spoken. It was hot. I was thirsty. I was lonely too.

"Yea, why not? I could do with some refreshment," I answered.

"Jolly good. Love your clogs by the way, very continental indeed. How on earth do you walk in them without falling over and breaking your ankle?"

"I honestly don't know," I said. "I am sorry I wore them as they are hurting my feet now. I just thought they would be cool"

"Well Don," he said. "I think you look cute in them."

I blushed with embarrassment and Charles noticed.

"Oh Don, you are a shy one, aren't you?" said Charles. "I do like that quality in a young man. It is so rare these days."

I felt my face go crimson and laughed to cover my embarrassment. We had arrived at his house and after opening the door Charles ushered me in. He gently pressed his hand against the small of my back and then touched my left cheek as I stepped inside. I liked the contact. His house was lovely inside with brightly painted walls and modern furnishings. Compared with my flat this was a palace. I followed Charles into the kitchen where he proceeded to prepare his vodka martinis.

"If you are thirsty, help yourself to a drink from the fridge," said Charles. "There is water or orange juice if you need to slake your thirst, old boy."

I thanked him and took a drink of water by which stage Charles was adding the ice to his cocktail shaker. He took down two stem glasses and filled them almost to the top. As a final touch he added an olive on a cocktail stick to each glass.

"Chin, chin," he a said raising his glass. "Your very good health, Don"

"Thank you Charles," I replied. "Here's to you too, sir."

The martini was delicious and we drained our glasses in a matter of moments. Charles poured us both another one and we sat on the kitchen stools. Draining his glass in one swallow Charles stood up and said that he was going for a quick shower and a change of clothes and would be back in a "jiffy".

"Finish off the mix, old boy. I just need to freshen up a touch."

Alone with my thoughts I asked myself what on earth I was playing at. I really should be studying not sitting in the house of a total stranger, drinking vodka martinis, in the middle of the afternoon. The last thing I needed right now was a descent into drunkenness and another hangover. God these drinks are lush I thought. I'll drink up quickly whenever Charles returns and then I'll make my excuses and leave.

Just as I was draining my glass Charles walked back into the kitchen. He was wearing flip-flops and a short, pale blue silk, dressing gown. His hair was wet and he smelled of "Blue Stratos" a popular man's after shave and soap of that era. Bill used to wear the same. I felt the need to go to the bathroom and asked Charles if that would be OK.

When I returned I was going to take my leave but Charles was in the process of making another batch of martinis and my glass was half full. He noticed my indecision and quickly took the initiative.

"You can't go now, old boy," said Charles. "Your glass is half-full."

I looked at this pale, handsome, cheerful, little man and something clicked inside me. It could have been a combination of the heat and the vodka martinis. He was right. My glass was not half empty as I had been living since Bill let me go. Quite the reverse in fact. My glass was half-full. Oh Mr. Smirnoff, you are a deceiver!

"How right you are Charles," I said. "My glass is half-full."

"Jolly good. Jolly good, Don. Drink up old bean and lets have some more of the old shaken but not stirred. Here, you do the honors while I get the olives, there's a good chap."

We emptied our glasses for the third time and I felt the first serious effects of the delicious cocktails really start to kick in. I was beginning to feel at ease. I set my glass on the work counter and lifted the silver flask in to which Charles had added his mix. I turned my head round and said to him.

"You know Charles, I don't normally drink vodka but these cocktails are divine."

"Thank you Don, old bean. It's all in the shaking of the flask you know."

Saying this he set his glass beside mine and stood behind me. I had just put the lid on the flask and was about to shake it when he reached his arms around me and placed his hands on top of mine. His hands were warm in contrast to the coolness of the flask. He was pressing against me and he began to shake my hands to show me how he wanted the flask shaken.

My heart skipped a beat. The strong manly scent of the Blue Stratos assailed my senses as I felt his cock swell against me. My cock responded in kind but was trapped facing downwards against the door of the cupboard beneath the counter top. It felt so good. I could feel myself weakening and I did not even try to resist. Deep inside me I was longing for this contact.

"You must jiggle it like this," said Charles, holding my hands in his and shaking the flask with a steady motion.

My cock was demanding its freedom to stand to attention. He must have known this for he was pressing against me and the shaking was making my bum wiggle. There was no mistaking what was taking place. He was turned on and I loved the sensation of his manhood pressing against my wiggling bum. His pressure on me felt wonderful.

"And again," he said, still holding his hands on mine, still pressing his growing erection against my bum. "Jiggle it again, for me please, there's the good boy. I like it when you jiggle it, don't you? It's ever so lovely."

I knew he was talking about my bum and I felt so excited. I was aroused like never before it seemed and was thoroughly enjoying jiggling and wiggling for this little hairy man whose cock was now pressing hard against me. Oh God it felt so good to be wanted again sexually. This is what was missing from my life.

"Pour now, there's a good chap," he said.

As I poured he stepped back from me a little and his warm hands untied the string of my shorts and he expertly slipped them down over my hips. My cock sprang up as his hands moved up and down either side of my body. Instantly I felt his hot hard cock insinuate itself between my legs.

"Just keep pouring, there's a good chap," said Charles and he moved himself downwards divesting me of my shorts. "I think you like this, don't you?"

Like the little tart I was I lifted each leg in turn to help him. He ran his hands up the back of my thighs provoking a sigh from me and then a series of moans as his hands reached around to my tummy and his fingers slid back and forth across my tummy so that the back of his hands enticed my cock and heightened my desire. As I was no longer in my clogs he managed to line his cock up directly against the cleft between my bum cheeks. He was hot, hard and his desire for me only served to feed my own desire.

"Don," he gasped. "I am so glad you accepted my invitation, aren't you?"

He was holding my hips and pulling me gently back on to his cock as he pressed forward against me. I just moaned and arched my back to allow him to enjoy my willingness to oblige him in our mutual lust.

"Turn round now, there's a good chap. I want to see your cock. It's only fair since you have seen mine and I know you like it, don't you? You see, I saw you peeping at me in the park. You were peeping at my cock, Don, weren't you? Please say yes. I want you to tell me that you liked what you saw. Come on, now. Don't be bashful."

He was turning me round to face him. Whether it was the vodka or my own desire; whether it was the longing to be wanted again or the fact that I was allowing myself to be seduced again by another middle-aged man or whether it was just the fact that his cock was gorgeous, I don't know. Our cocks touched and I let out a moan that came up out of the pit of my stomach.

"I liked it Charles," I managed to whisper.

"In that case," said Charles, "you are going to love this."

He took my cock in his hand and bent it down towards the tip if his.

"Hold your cock at that angle for me, there's the good chap."

As I held my cock so, he drew his own foreskin back to reveal a beautiful, glistening, purple gland. He placed it directly against my throbbing cock head. I could hardly control myself. I just want to masturbate myself looking at his fat hairy cock. His cock was somewhat bigger and fatter than mine and he took his foreskin between the fingers and thumbs of each of his hands and made an opening like a cavern with it beyond the end of his cock head.