Last night I was at one of my favorite local bars after a softball game with the guys and I saw a guy sipping brown liquor at the bar who reminded me a lot of a guy I once knew in Savannah. He had a found place in my memories because he and I had the best guy on guy sex I ever enjoyed. His name was Henry, and he worked in the library at the school where I was a 23 year old M.A. student in the English Department. Henry was in the Interlibrary Loan Department (ILL) and I saw him around quite a bit, pushing trucks loaded with books from his office to the outgoing departments and such. At that library, you had to actually go to the ILL office to pick up your books when they arrived from another university so I got to know him in a small talk fashion through picking up and dropping off books.
I didn't know he was gay, though I had a sense he was. Henry always comported himself professionally when we talked. I suspected he was into me because I caught him watching me walking around the library but I didn't know what to do about it. I certainly found him alluring. He was hardly a queen—he looked a bit older (I later learned he was 41) he was almost as tall as my six feet; with wide shoulders and a light beard. He had a sense of composure about him that I felt drawn to.
At that time in my life, I had just started exploring my bisexuality and it was still pretty rough going. I had hooked up with a few guys but never felt like it was all it was cracked-up to be. The only time I left an encounter—out of the half dozen or so I had at that point—feeling like I wanted to try it again was with a man in his late 50s and his thirtyish lover. When I reflected on all of this I realized that people I lusted after were usually older than I was—in their thirties to early sixties. I've never known why, but I prefer that—I don't think I fit into the whole mommy/daddy/son thing—I don't want to be cared for and used, but I like knowing my lover is comfortable and turned on. And I've felt that from people who've lived life an earned a certain comfort in themselves and a patience with the world.
At any rate, I did not know how to test Henry until the opportunity fell into my lap one summer afternoon. I was pulling a few journals to copy and I saw him chatting with a colleague. I realized I needed to walk by him to get to the copy room. I waited a minute while pretending to thumb through a publication while fantasizing about what it might feel like to have a hot pair of lips settle on the shaft of my cock then suck and pretty soon, my cock had swelled into a raging hard on. I had boxers on under my shorts and my cock had dangled down my left leg. As it hardened it strained against the material and my cock head was visable pressed up against my shorts against my thigh. My hard on was evident but not obvious.
I walked toward him nonchalantly with my arms piled high with books and my cock throbbing. His friend walked off and I could see out the corner of my eye that Henry was watching, as I passed him I turned my head slightly and saw he was staring at my cock. So I knew but didn't know what to do about it.
About the same time I started looking on line for a guy in town to meet as a regular play buddy. I made it quite clear to the people I chatted with that I wanted to meet an older guy who wanted a no-strings type commitment, who was safe and was reciprocal.
I eventually met a fellow named GAtopman, who sounded great. Tall, early forties lived alone in his own home and claimed to have an 8 inch cock. I arranged to go to his place one evening for drinks and conversation.
His house was just off a main road, but it was set back in the trees a bit. It was a small wood structure, very neat and inviting. It was late—eleven or so—and the place was dark except for a porch light and a warm glow inside.
I took a deep breath, got out of my car and strode to the front door. Dressed casually, I had on a polo shirt, relaxed knee length cargo shorts and my trusty sports sandals (when it gets warm I try not to wear socks—let's just call it the relaxed southern boy in me). I climbed the front steps in the blanketed softness of a southern summer, filled with humidity and the chirping of cicadas and knocked. My mystery date appeared from the kitchen and opened the door.
You can imagine how pleased I was when it turned out to be Henry.
He smiled and invited me in and we both laughed over the situation.
"I thought you were checking me out," I told him.
"Oh Jesus." he laughed, "I'm sorry, I try to be very low key about that kind of stuff—in that library people gossip so much, I'd hate to start an unfounded rumor about some guy. Would you like a drink? I've got beer, but I usually drink bourbon and Coke."
I'm now a confirmed bourbon lover, though I've moved beyond mixing it, I prefer the sharp taste of straight, chilled bourbon against my tongue and the warming affect it has sliding down my throat. I'm sure I have Henry to thank for that along with the acquisition of other tastes.
He went to get drinks and I sat on the couch in his small living room. I was excited but nervous—my palms were moist and my stomach twisted, my hear thumped in my chest and I tried to breath slowly and deeply to calm down.
"Enjoy," Henry smiled, as he handed me the clinking glass and sat next to me on the couch.
I relaxed a little as I sipped the drink. The room was cooled and a few candles provided the only light other than one from above the sink in the kitchen. Henry certainly knew how to set a mood.
We talked a bit and got to know each other--I told him I was bi and shared a little background, where I was from and that sort of thing. He listened and nodded and told me about himself: he was gay, worked at the library and owned a small house cleaning operation that made his money.
"So tell me about what you like in bed," he asked.
"I'm pretty open-minded, I guess. I really like oral sex, but I've never cum from it—I enjoy giving and receiving. I like having my ass played with and have liked fucking guys and girls in the ass or otherwise. I've fucked a couple of guys but have yet to find a guy that could fuck me without it being horrible--the guy who I let get into my ass shoved in and thrust away, it sucked."
"That's too bad," he commented and talked about his sex life, which was pretty consistent. "I don't cum from oral either," he told me and sighed, "I'm a top, that is, I like fucking but don't really take it."
