[This is a completed three-chapter story and will finish posting by the end of June.]
Avery and Dominick
Avery moved faster than he normally would have from the jewelry store toward the men's department of Dillards, in Richmond's Regency Square mall. It had taken longer to buy the Gucci watch Dominick had been bugging him for months. Not just any watch would do for Dominick's birthday either. It had to be a Gucci Timeless Stainless wristwatch. Of course, having scrutinized and categorized the well-dressed and very presentable Avery and seeing how expensive the watch was that he had asked about, the salesman had tried to sell him an even more expensive timepiece. That had eaten up more time than Avery had planned spending on this purchase.
Avery wondered if Dominick even knew how expensive such a watch was. They hadn't mentioned price. What Dominick
had
mentioned was that he was restless in their relationship. In response, Avery was doing what he could to keep Dominick's attention focused on how good life was with an indulgent corporate lawyer, and Dominick certainly seemed to know what sort of toys and clothes would maintain his attention.
That was what Avery was afraid of—that he'd left Dominick to his own devices too long in Dillards men's wear department while he was doing a "surprise" buy of the watch.
Dominick was something of a last hurrah for Avery, who was turning fifty-five the week after Dominick turned twenty-two—not that Dominick would notice that Avery too was having a birthday.
Avery thus far had successfully negotiated a double life. For the decades of his thirties and forties, his days had been spent as a highly respected, and paid, corporate lawyer in Virginia's capital. His evenings had been spent wining and dining and attending concerts, the theater, and gallery openings in and around the Fan District, where he lived in a large Queen Anne brick house with pillars and balconies on a quiet and fashionable tree-lined street. For those evenings he always had a stylish, model-thin lady on his arm—rarely the same one more than a couple of times. And in his late thirties he briefly was married to a politician's daughter. But only briefly. Long enough, though, that no one at work and in his social circles questioned his sexuality.
He was a handsome man, with an athletic build, maintained by tennis, squash, golf, and regular visits to the gym—and he aged well; he perhaps was even more handsome as he turned gray and his build became more solid than trim.
It was only on long weekends, when he was younger and establishing himself on the desirable bachelor list in Richmond, that he traveled two hours toward the ocean, to Norfolk, to party in the gay district around Granby Street and make use of the studio condo he had in a high rise on the ocean in Virginia Beach. In stark contrast to his Richmond persona, in Virginia Beach, Avery had been a forceful, dominant lover, seeking out smaller, compliant men, who he fucked cruelly to exhaustion in one-night stands.
In his late forties he spent more time in Richmond and less time partying in Norfolk and Virginia Beach. He did less cruising the gay bars for one-night stands in his Virginia Beach apartment and moved to longer-term affairs with personal trainers and handymen working around his attention-demanding Fan District mansion.
By the time he hit fifty, Avery was ready to settle down to a more stable and committed relationship, and his interests returned to smaller, compliant men. The equally strong and hunky men he had gravitated to in his mid and late forties had worn thin with him—and, truth be known, had raised a scare in him. As he had grown older, such men had started to try to change him to the subservient role, to slip him into the position of being the one more grateful and yielding to a stronger, more virile man.
This slow change scared the stuffing out of Avery when he had stopped to analyze what was happening to the secret sexual side of him. He was managing to keep his confidence and commanding control of his Richmond corporate attorney life, but he realized, with alarm, that he was losing control of the secret gay-lifestyle side of him. The insecurities of growing older didn't appear in his legal career, where age brought deeper experience and respect, if you kept winning cases and negotiations for clients, which he did, but they were becoming accentuated in loss of control to younger, more virile men in his gay sex life.
In defiance, fighting against the advance of age and weakening of his commanding position, Avery had gone back to concentrating on smaller, submissive men. Probably because of how a good life had refined him, now his tastes went to young, trim, and good-looking men, who had artistic talent and could carry a somewhat sophisticated dinner conversation. And tacitly acknowledging he was losing position and stamina in the one-night-stand cruising mode, he looked for longer-term relationships centered and maintained quietly and secretly in his home rather than in gay bars, where he'd once been quite the party boy.
Dominick was the latest in a succession of tries at a long-term relationship. They had met at a Careytown art gallery opening. Dominick was an art student at Virginia Commonwealth University, who had a couple of paintings in the exhibit and sale. Avery had been invited as a patron of the arts and, the gallery hoped, a buyer. Dominick had been there with a local flamboyant car dealership owner who Avery knew to be gay. So Avery had few questions what Dominick's inclinations were as well.
That may have been the largest part of turning him to Dominick. The young man obviously was approachable and, judging from how close to being a slob the car dealership owner was, Dominick probably also was for sale.
Avery was between "arrangements" at the time and took a fancy to Dominick, who sensed the interest and didn't discourage it. Avery purchased one of Dominick's paintings, which he half-regretted had to be hung in the Fan District house as it came with Dominick, and invited Dominick to come help install it.
Enough passed between the two in the gallery that Dominick knew that it wasn't his painting Avery wanted to buy.
It was a large canvas. Dominick had to stand on a stepladder to reach where he was nailing the hook, and Avery stood close behind him to steady the younger man on the ladder. Dominick hadn't minded Avery standing close behind him with his hands on his waist—indeed, he'd been flirting with Avery from the time Avery showed interest in his paintings in the gallery. Dominick had leaned back into Avery's beefy, heaving chest and reached down and helped Avery's hands to come up under the hem of his shirt onto his own chest—and then down to his belt buckle and zipper. By the time Dominick came down off the ladder, they both had lost their trousers and Dominick came down, ass on hard cock, without a complaint in the world. They both reveled in the strength of Avery's muscles as, faces turned to each other, they kissed, and Avery lifted and lowered Dominick's small, trembling body on and off his cock in an ever-faster, deeper motion. Avery had the presence of mind to pull Dominick's channel completely off the cock so that Avery could ejaculate up the small of the young's man's back, the best that Avery could manage under the exigencies of the circumstances.
They belatedly reverted to condoms—several of them—after they had struggled into Avery's bedroom, and didn't leave Avery's house—or his bedroom or his bed—until late the next morning.
Avery had grown older and had changed his hunting mode, but little had changed in his fucking mode from his cruising days in Virginia Beach. He had an oversized cock, which he delighted in stuffing inside smaller men and pistoning hard, listening to the young men squeal and pant and groan. Though Dominick's channel was well used and opened quickly to Avery's onslaught, squeal and pant and groan Dominick certainly did, surprised at how dominant and insistent—and lasting and frequently ready—Avery was on the bed, on the floor, in the shower.
