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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

We were going to resolve the argument as we often did, and that was OK with me, although our arguments were coming closer together and becoming more serious. I thought Cam and I had reached the point of no return on arguments. And as we moved into the resolution of this one, with the beefy running back for the Los Angeles Rams football team pulling me on top of him on his bed in the Laurel Canyon bungalow we shared, we were moving into another argument if he got shitty about it.

The big, black bruiser wanted me to ride him bareback. He always wanted to do it bareback, but he had too many sex partners for me to put up with that. We lived together and were considered a couple but that didn’t keep him from fucking around. I did some fucking around myself, but it was done with a safety net of condom use.

We struggled a bit, but I got a condom rolled onto his huge cock, with him on his back, and me straddling his hips. Once I’d positioned the cockhead and started descending on it, he gave up on the preference of barebacking—at least this time—grasped my buttocks with his hands, and rolled, separated, and bounced my cheeks while I rode the cock.

We plowed on to a mutual ejaculation that, with the practice we’d had in the three years we’d been together on and off, we managed almost simultaneously. He was a twenty-six-year-old, six-foot-one, 215-pound hunk power top, and I was a slim but well-muscled white, twenty-four-year-old, five foot ten, 165-pound professional male model submissive, so we couldn’t have been better matched. That was other than he wanted to fuck around barebacking, and I wanted to live a relatively long life.

After the last long slide and me collapsing backward, both of us jerking off our climaxes, panting heavy, and murmuring our “Oh, shit, oh fuck” pleasure of our completions, I heard the groan from across the room and turned my face to see the man leaning in the doorway, watching us, and with his erection out, by all appearances having managed to come with his stepson, Cam Atwell, and me.

Richard Taylor was white. He was dressed in some sort of uniform I hadn’t seen him in before. I hadn’t seen him much at all since I’d been with Cam. He was a handsome, trim, but well-muscled, ginger guy in his late forties—but fit enough to be taken to be in his twenties. He wasn’t old enough or the right color to be Cam’s dad, Ankara Çayyolu Eskort but Cam’s dad had never been in the picture and Taylor had married Cam’s mother and taken on the boy she already had. When she split, Taylor had been the only parent Cam had through his high school years, through college, and being taken up by pro football.

The stepfather obviously had enjoyed the view, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t embarrassed—slightly, at least—that he’d found his stepson and me fucking and had stayed around to enjoy the performance.

“Sorry, Shawn,” he said to me but then addressed Cam. “Just dropped by to tell you I wouldn’t see you again until the new year—I have to work and will be out of town for a while—and to wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. You two doing something special for New Year’s Eve?”

“I have to work too,” I said, rolling off the bed, picking up the Speedo I’d been wearing before the fuck, and heading toward the bathroom. “I’ll be in Virginia for Christmas and New Year’s.” It was the morning of Christmas Eve now, so it wouldn’t take a genius for Taylor to know I had a plane to catch in the next few hours.

I gathered up the clothes I was going to travel in—I was a regular fashion model for the Abercrombie it was a godsend. I wasted no time in accepting the offer.

As we were eating in a place that was halfway between a cafeteria and a table-cloth restaurant and that was so calm in atmosphere that we’d have no idea of the panic and frustration running through the O’Hare terminals if there wasn’t a huge window we were sitting beside. It overlooked the frigid blizzard conditions outside on the deserted runways. Taylor and I became better acquainted and more comfortable with each other as we took our time eating our meal, there being no place either one of us had to be anytime soon.

Before now, I had been leery of the stepfather’s attitude of his black football player stepson getting it on with a white male fashion model. After earlier in the day, though, I realized that it wasn’t that Taylor had anything against gay relationships. I realized I had made an effort not to know about him. I hadn’t even known he was a commercial airline pilot. I certainly hadn’t found myself assessing him for any sort of personal relationship. Having time to do so now, I did so.

“I Ankara Cebeci Eskort confess I’ve been staying away from your arrangement with Cam,” he said, almost as if he realized I was just then assessing him for more than just my boyfriend’s absent stepfather.

“I realize that. The same from my end,” I said. “I thought you wouldn’t approve of a gay relationship your son was in.”

“My stepson, and it should be obvious to you now that it wasn’t that. I’m not talking about just staying out of my son’s pick for friends—and, yes, lovers, knowing he’s gay. I’m talking about my own attraction to you. Does that repel you?”

I paused. “I haven’t thought about that, but, no, it doesn’t repel me.”

He’d extended his hand and was brushing the hair on my forearm with his fingers. I don’t know if he even was aware he was doing that, but I certainly was. And what did I think of him doing that? Being as how he was the father—if somewhat remotely—of the man who was fucking me? Strangely, what I felt was arousal. I thought he was signaling that he wanted to fuck me too. And that didn’t bother me; that turned me on. I took a closer look at him. He was a handsome man and he looked very fit for his age—something over forty, I thought. I’d done it with older men. One has to do that in the fashion world to get anywhere. And when they were good-looking and fit, it was fine. They tended to have more experience, more good moves and positions than younger, “get it now and get it quick” guys.

Cam Atwell was a “get it now and get it quick” guy.

“Should I stop talking now and leave it there, or is there some hope—can I say more?”

I paused again to look out onto the snow building up on the runway. I couldn’t say I was repelled by what he had been saying—what I was assessing in him. “No, that’s fine. We can talk.”

“You don’t mind talking about these things with an older man?”

“I have no trouble with your age.”

“I’m not too old to get it up,” he said. We both gave a nervous little laugh at that. He continued. “I stayed away because I was frustrated and disappointed that my stepson found you first.”

There it was then, fully out in the open. He did want to fuck me. Too bad we were stuck in public in a crowded locked-down air terminal. I wasn’t going to have the opportunity to even Ankara Çubuk Eskort decide whether to open myself to the possibilities with Cam’s stepfather.

“Does that disturb you or turn you off?” he asked, his enticing, hopeful puppy-dog gray eyes locked onto mine.

“No, it doesn’t,” I answered. “You should know, though, that it’s winding down between Cam and me. I don’t think we’ll be together when I return to L.A.”

“I would hope you didn’t think that that meant you had to avoid any contact with me,” he said. His knee was nudging mine under the surface of the table. I’d had my thighs together and I, almost involuntarily, spread them and his knee pressed in against my inner thigh.

He was about to say something else, when he stopped abruptly and said, instead, “We’ve finished our meal and I see other flight crews have decided they’d better eat and this table is needed. Another perk we have is access to the VIP lounges. That would be a more comfortable way to spend Christmas Eve than on a bank of seats in any of the crowded departure lounges where everyone is trying to make the best of the blizzard lockdown. Would you like to spend Christmas Eve with me on a VIP lounge?”

“That sounds great,” I said. He didn’t say it was a date, and these were the circumstances for having a date. But I could tell that we both thought of it as having a date. That, of course, raised the question of whether I’d do it on the first date. I’d done it on first dates before, though, so, as far as I was concerned, that wasn’t any sort of a hurdle. He put his hand on the small of my back to help guide me out of the restaurant. At the door it descended to the curve of my buttocks.

And I didn’t move away from his touch.

We found a VIP lounge where they were determined to enjoy Christmas Eve. There was a decorated tree; fairy lights all about; with the overhead lights dimmed down, free-flowing liquor and snacks; a piano with more than one accomplished stranded passenger pianist; and even a karaoke machine with Christmas tunes in it. The crowd was large, but not overwhelming, and it was determined to make the best of it. We sat around in the semi-dark, drinking, looking at the decorated tree, listening to various people stepping forward to play or sing Christmas tunes, and otherwise getting comfortable. I sang some myself and was well received, which was only right as I took singing lessons as well as modeling and dance lessons, with the goal, although with thousands of other young hopefuls living in L.A. of being discovered by the movies. And, sitting with Richard Taylor and both of us mellowing out with liquor, I allowed myself to become very comfortable with him.

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