"You are too loose, too easily led, Troy. Submissive to about anyone. I don't see how we possibly can go on."
Those were Rupert's last words to me. He had nearly run me out of the townhouse in Georgetown after that. We'd been together for four years. It had been a good, symbiotic relationship—or at least I'd thought it was, right up to when he tossed me out. He owned the antique store and I loved scouting for "finds" for his store. I had gone to work with him and to live with him straight after a year at the design college. I'd never had to find a job or even to make decisions for myself. That was another thing he told me—that I let others make decisions for me, not always the best ones.
Obviously he didn't think that Jackson, the black fullback for the Redskins, was a good decision. But I think Rupert was the one taking too much for granted on that one. When I'd gone to live with him and to share his bed, I'd never said anything about being monogamous. Jackson wasn't the first, by any means, and Rupert hadn't made such a fuss over the others—the ones he found out about. There wasn't really any warning before he became so exasperated with me when he saw me on the Jumbotron at a Ravens game, with Jackson's arm possessively wrapped around me, and I found myself out on the street.
It's only because it was so abrupt that it seemed like I wasn't capable of making my own decisions on what to do then. I had made the decision to come skiing to Breckenridge with my brother, Tony, and his wife, Felicia, and their friends, another two couples, hadn't I? Or was it Felicia who said it was what I needed to do before I decided where to go from here?
Of course, Tony thought that where I should go from here was to crawl back to Rupert and ask him to forgive me—again. Felicia thought I should go back to college and get a degree that would actually lead to a paying job from someone who didn't just want to get into my pants. She had never liked Rupert. Truth be told, I don't think she's all that fond of me either. I know she keeps giving Tony worried looks as if my "condition" ran in the family—that it was just latent in him and could come out at any moment.
I just didn't know.
What I did know was that I was a fifth wheel with Tony and his friends on this skiing trip. They were all paired off nicely, and they were all concerned that I had nobody here at the ski lodge to be with. It was fine during the day. We were all out on the ski trails. It was only in the evening, like this, that it got awkward.
And it could get very awkward. Tony's friends kept pointing out groups of beautiful young girls who seemed to be here together, and many of whom seemed to be here on the make. Tony's friends kept trying to bring me together with one young woman or another—and the women seemed to be interested in their efforts. I'm sure that I looked like someone they'd come here to find—a Prince Charming to fall into a fairytale romance with them and to fulfill the stories they wanted to be able to tell of having found Mr. Wonderful at a Breckinridge ski lodge. They'd probably invested a sixth of their annual income from whatever administrative assistant positions they held down in Denver or over in Salt Lake City to come here, land a dreamboat, and be able to start living the dream family life.
Tony and Felicia kept trying to rein their friends in, but as long as they weren't brave enough to come right out and tell their friends that I—Tony's brother—was promiscuously gay, we were going to have this problem.
Or maybe we weren't. As we were all sitting in the fire pit well surrounding the large stone fireplace in the lodge's lounge, sipping our cocktails, and sharing our stories of the adventures of the ski trail that day, I caught the eye of a man sitting at the bar and staring at me.
He was maybe in his late forties or early fifties, just like Rupert. And he was tall and distinguished looking, also like Rupert. He appeared to have a very fit body and silver gray hair that caught the highlights of the lights behind the bar and framed his ruggedly handsome face invitingly. He had what I thought were gray eyes too, which I found interesting and that caused me to keep looking back at him—always to find that he continued to stare at me.
A very nice smile; hints of an easy laugh. His clothes screamed of money. He could be a male model or a romantic-lead movie star. In Breckinridge it was possible to run across a lot of famous people. So much like Rupert. Other than the gray eyes. Rupert's were hazel. They had been arresting too. That's what had made me go with Rupert that first time, when he came to lecture my interior decoration class at the Savannah Arts College. He'd looked at me with those hazel eyes and the decision was made.
Not my decision, of course. Rupert's. He'd signaled to me as class was breaking up, took me for a drink, and then took me back to his hotel room and banged me all night. That's one of the last things he'd criticized me for—being loose and submissive and letting others make decisions for me—but he'd taken advantage of that himself. Why did he think that I'd be different with any other attractive guy than I was with him?
And if I let Rupert bang me and this guy at the ski lodge was so much like him, why wouldn't I let this guy screw me too if he wanted to? I swear, some people have no sense of logic.
The decision of the eyes. Rupert's were hazel. Those of the guy eying me from the bar were gray. I was sure of it now. They were gray. Whatever. They were alluring and commanding.
I looked into the gray eyes again. The man smiled and inclined his head. He was nodding his head slightly toward the corridor to the lodge's bedrooms.
I have no idea how he knew. But as he stood down from the bar stool and looked expectantly, if only for a few seconds, as if that was all it took. I abruptly rose from the sectional sofa surrounding the fireplace and put my drink down on the coffee table. Roberta, one of Tony and Felicia's friends, had been sitting between me and one of the vacationing administrative assistants, who had been brave enough to come down into the fire pit. Roberta had been working hard at developing a conversation between me and the young woman.
I'd had no idea what either was talking about from the moment I'd noticed the gray-eyed man sitting at the bar.
He turned and walked deliberately, more sauntered, into the corridor leading back to the bedrooms. Didn't even look back.
Giving my terse excuses, I followed.
* * * *
I was bent over the bed, with my arms spread and my fists buried in the rich silk of the bedspread, in what must have been a suite. A fireplace with a roaring fire, probably gas logs as the pattern of the flames was a regular one, was across the room on the other side of the bed, directly in my line of sight. The only light in the room was that coming from the fireplace, where the flames were dramatically flaring and then backing off only to flare up again and briefly light up the center of the room, where the king-sized bed was positioned. A bed in the center of the room; we all knew what that meant. The honeymoon suite.
The sides and corner of the suite remained in shadows. Very atmospheric. How could I not let myself be fucked in such an enticing setting? I'll bet this suite had seen a whole lot of fucking.
The man—I hadn't asked him his name—was standing behind me, his body folded over mine. He was palming my bare belly with one hand and breathing heavily in my ear, mumbling, "Nice, so nice. It will be so good for both of us. I knew you wanted it."
He certainly seemed to know that my belly was a special erogenous zone for me. All a man need do was lay his palm on my belly and I was good to go.
We were both rocking gently, which caused the cock he had pressed up the small of my back to rub suggestively up and down. I moaned in anticipation of having it inside me. It was long and thick as I had discovered when I'd knelt before him just inside the door of the suite and took it in my mouth. I had been surprised then. A man his age, with a gold bead cock piercing. But I liked the way it clicked on my teeth when I sucked him.
That was a difference with Rupert. If anything, Rupert was on the under average size. I think that's what had led to me being with the black football player, Jackson, and all of the ones before him. They were hung. All of them. I hadn't cheated on Rupert with any man who wasn't hung. Rupert was comfortable as a living mate, but I preferred hung for serious sex, I guess. I wanted the sensation of accommodating all of that. It was OK with Rupert, but sometimes I just needed a big cock inside me. Rupert said I was loose and submissive. Maybe so, but he had to be horse hung.
