New Story

Preface: The play’s over – a whopping success. Basking, our key players hit their beds in surprising couplings. Sex? Well, I blush…and await your reactions.

The best men are not those who
have waited for changes, but those
who have taken charge of them.

Edwin Hubbell Chapin

We must take the current when
it serves, or lose our ’ventures.

William Shakespeare

Opportunity is the great baud.

Benjamin Franklin

Orgy One

The hour was late, the playgoers tired but elated. Goodnights were said. Nirupa and Salil Chaudary prepared for bed, their finery properly hung with care for packing in the morn. Nothing was left to be said. Their son had distinguished himself before family, friends, and the community of Treydon and its high school. Sleep overtook her while her husband was still in the bathroom. Freshened, still in his clothes, he thought of stepping outside to mull over the evening’s events, his sons, and their – what was that term? – Hoosier boosters. It amused him. So American.

George Tanner took to his bed in the room next door, not the least interested in further converse with anyone. His subject for speculation was Shantanu. The boy’s performance as a swimmer in the video of his recent Swimathon and now live on stage as an actor, the easygoing, friendly relationship with his father and brother, his deference and respect for the Wolfes, and his doting attraction to Jesse Boyd were grist for the mill of his ego. I had a lot to do with his first steps. I’m glad I came down here for this. 

He went to sleep in a state of smug satisfaction.

In the room beyond his, Tom and Roger, buzzed from the extra champagne they had enjoyed, showered together and lay down to share their reactions to all things Treydon. Urbanites to the core, they found the situation oddly personal. The townsfolk’s supportiveness of their young people – they could think of nothing comparable where they had come from. Tom was beside himself about Shan’s accomplishments, about Anne’s cheeses, spreads, dips, crackers, fruit (not to mention the Veuve Cliquot Aggie had contributed), and open-going friendliness, about Erich’s obviously paternal – or whatever it was – attitude toward Shan and the man’s warm outreach to Nirupa and Salil. He had even taken them into his den for a long chat. Jesse they thought surpassingly beautiful, whether as girl or boy, and talented. The gentlest of creatures. Not quite the possessor of a voice for the stage, however. Sweet, deferential, and evidently head over heels in love with Shan. His mother, Sally Boyd, had brought him to the Wolfe’s reception mainly because she wanted to meet the Chaudarys for herself, up close, and to tell them what having Shan’s protection had meant for her son. She was practically in tears trying to express her gratitude. Jesse blushed. More blushes rouged his cheeks as compliments rained on him from everyone. Praise from Shan’s parents and brother, from Dalton and Edwin, from the Wolfes, and from Aunt Aggie and Edwin embarrassed him, so unaccustomed was he to it. Rescued by Shan, he was taken away to the den only to return with even brighter color to his face.

Chuckles tapering off, they heard something outside their door.

Middle-aged Salil, in the motel’s terrycloth bathrobe, had decided to look at the town’s lights from the upstairs breezeway. He turned from the railing and noticed the glow behind the drapes of Roger and Tom’s room. If they’re up, I ought to thank them again for standing by Shan all these months. He started to rap on the door just as his son Afzal, in jeans, came from the end-most room where he, Edwin, and Dalton were staying.

“Bapa, apa yang anda lakukan? Father what are you doing?” he softly asked. 

Light caught them both when Tom, weaving a bit in his hastily donned undershorts, cracked the door. Unselfconsciously, he slurred his question, “Is thish a house call?” 

Admitted to laughter, the Malaysians quickly explained. Afzal was on his way for bottled water from the beverage dispenser in the stairwell. Salil wanted to talk. His voice, however, stopped at the sight of Roger’s bare, massive physique – chest, shoulders, and arms walnut dark and shiny as obsidian, nipples large and invitingly pink, pelvis mounding to one side under the bedsheet. Afzal stared. 

When he could swallow the knot in his throat, Salil managed, “I know I paid you to take Shan off everyone’s hands on our previous trip and that you were responsible for starting his turn-around. It’s your continued interest in him that my wife and I are grateful for.” 

“Yes,” interjected Afzal, “and those great haircuts.” 

Uncertainty as how to react kept the statuesque, slightly inebriated Roger silent, but not fluttery Tom. “We’ve learned so much about him. He’s very responsive now. We love him and he loves us – not the way he loves Jesse, of course. I mean, he depends on us for....” 

One of the things Shan repeatedly says about these people – they have no secrets. They’re so open, the way Dalton and Stephen and Terry are with me. There aren’t any barriers. No need.

“We have made it possible for Shan to open up,” Roger said with low-pitched seductive charm, surrounded as he was by pure white pillows and bed linens. “From my not immodest viewpoint, his life between this little town and big old Chicago is awfully good...” – a moment later – “...to him and for him.” 

Neither Salil nor Azfal missed the hand beneath the sheet shifting the man’s more defined bulge. Tom couldn’t believe his lover, speaking of the man’s son, was coming on to Salil. 

Guileless Afzal said without thinking, “Bapa, he’s as big as you.”

Tom jumped at the knock on their door and Dalton Brawne’s stentorian voice demanding, “This is the police. What’s going on in there?”

Like that, the door swung open dramatically. Dalton burst in, Edwin behind, both wearing towels around their waists. “Where’s our water?”

Afzal, good for a bit of Daltonian fun, piped up, “Oh sir, I’m being held against my will by these men who want to rape me.”

“Wonderful idea.” He looked at Edwin, “We were going to do it anyway.” Turning to the room, he said, “You’re all under arrest. Now come quietly or I’ll have to run everybody in. Edwin, take the skinny one and you, Salil, bring the lazy one. Next door, now.” He stood aside to let Edwin and Tom pass, muttering, “Intolerable. Intolerable – thinking you’d get away with plundering my crown prince.”

Roger simply glanced up at Salil, threw back the white sheet, and stood, awesomely erect, in full glory. Staring hard into the Indo-Malaysian’s face, he said, “How about I take you?” 

Afzal watched the proceedings in great excitement. He grabbed Dalton’s hand and turned out the light as he closed the door behind them. “We don’t want to miss this.” On tiptoes, he wispered, “They’re drunk enough, even Bapa.”

* * * 

Life must be lived forward.

Soren Kirkegaard

Yesterday is gone…
Let us begin.

Mother Teresa

* * * 

Agatha’s Confab

Indiana industrious teamwork wrapped up the party site’s late evening. Glasses, dishes, platters, trays were washed, dried, and put away; leftovers refrigerated; paper napkins and other detritus disposed of – thanks to the combined efforts of Anne, Agatha, Shan, and Erich. Coffee was percolating for the post-reception sit-down chat Agatha wanted to have, its aroma heartening everyone.

As the Wolfes’ last guests left, she had said, “We need a confab.” Now was the time.         

The four settled around the linoleum-topped breakfast table. Milk and sugar were passed rather listlessly, they all were so tired.

“Seems to me this could not have gone better. Shan, you did great. Not that others didn’t,” she qualified. “We dealt with your parents and friends from up North and with Sally and Jesse. That silly boy kissing Jesse took away suspicion from you – for now. Your driver’s test is coming up, final exams, all the swim team stuff, the play rehearsal starting in Indianapolis in another month, plus we must make plans for next year.”

When she’s going on like this, like Edwin says, keep quiet and listen.

“There’s another thing. Graduation.”

“I’m not graduating,” Shan said, startled.

Anne said, “We know, but Caswell is. And, although he’ll stay with the team as its leader through the next couple of months, you’ll be away in Indy half of that time. Erich, tell him what Coach Wright says.”

“You should lead the team next year.”

“Holy shit – oh, sorry, Auntie! – I apologize. They won’t have me.”

“Yep, tight as thieves,” Agatha nodded, “but maybe there’s a way. You’re going to be better than any of them. You’re going to offer to help them improve, and you’re going to recruit a couple of new trainees. Don’t look at me with your mouth open. I say you can. Plus, there’s the matter of who thought up the scheme, my Young Edwin.”

Shan sat sullen. Unlike the energy that had welled up after the scenes staged for him as Puck in Malaysia at Christmas, he had none now. I can’t do that.

Erich took up the thread, “Guess who’s going to be on the Natatorium’s staff this Summer, Coach Chavarria. Wright spoke to Coach Adams who spoke to Chavarria and a deal’s in the works for you to do double duty in Indy. So, you’ll swim here until you go there. Then, you’ll have mornings and some afternoons being trained. The play rehearsals are at night. How’s that sound?”

He brightened, “Amazing, Erich. But how will I get back and forth? It’s too far for Auntie to drive me every day.”

“Of course it is, silly. Geoff Taylor’s found a small apartment through a friend on the summer stock board. It has two bedrooms – one for your Auntie and one for you and Jesse.”

Motionless, Agatha eyed the expectant looks on the faces of her neighbors, knowing they had just managed to throw Shan the lifeline of his lifetime. They watched him go blank, go red, go crazy.

“I can have Jesse with me? Awesome!” He stood up and fell back into the Windsor chair. Smiles. Blinks. Blushes. Quick gasps. “How will that work?” he recovered.

Agatha spoke up, “It won’t be the whole time. Just long weekends when Sally and I are off playing the bridge tournament circuit. Closer to play time, Jesse’s going to be with you to work with the costume people and the makeup artists. The two of you can take care of each other.”

He looked quizzical, “You really mean it?”

“Do I have to spell this out? I thought you were smart. If Jesse’s keeping you in line, you won’t be tempted by the lures of that pit of vipers.”

“It all depends, Shan,” Erich cut in with his authoritative teacher’s voice, “on your grades next week. Part of the deal you have with Aggie here. You can’t be involved with anyone else. It’s for your protection. When the exams are over and the grades in, I’m going to begin training Jesse to do your massages.

Shan started in shock. “Not like you do! He doesn’t know….”

“Easy, boy. Your outer skin only, and the muscles beneath. But you realize you must continue your exercise routines in your halter with its inserts. Eventually, he’s bound to see all that.”

“Sit still, Shan, and pay attention.” Agatha picked up her mug and spoon, motioning to Anne to collect the rest. At the sink, as the hot water ran, she looked back, “Young Edwin’s proposed that I make a fitted halter somewhat along the same lines for Jesse to wear – with its own inserts and a special feature or two.”

No strong drink could have stupefied Shantanu Chaudary more thoroughly. Nor set his mind so blazingly on fire. “I’ve got to sleep on that,”

“Don’t burn the sheets.”

* * * 

Our life’s art takes many forms
Among the most significant are
its individualized relationships of
acquaintance, friendship, sex, and love.

James Truslow Adams

I like an orgy once in a while.

Ogden Nash

* * * 

Orgy Two

Never at a loss to carry out a plan, Dalton arrived with Afzal to point keenly to their large room’s amenities for an orgy: two double beds in parallel with a single along the opposite wall; a jar of his household’s now-favored coconut oil and a substantial tube of KY; a handful of condoms. As he did, he whipped off his and Afzal’s towels. “This is a chance we may not have again,” he said, switching off the overhead light and one bedside lamp. “You know it; they know it. We all know it. And,” gesturing with a sweep, “you’re already well-paired. We’ve nothing to hide and everything to enjoy. Roger, you’re readiest, as everyone can see. Quite a stand, good fellow. Proceed with Salil. Your body and color have him wanting to drool. And, if you kiss him as only you can, his clothes will come off – I dare say! – easily.”

The six-foot, good looking Malaysian father regarded the American Negro’s startling, ebon perfection with momentary anguish. No African-derivative had ever stood before him naked and aroused except in distant fantasy. A dream, now materialized in Treydon, Indiana – in the presence of one of his sons, his oldest friend, that friend’s teen husband, and Roger’s thirty-something lover. Although the gathering differed little from recreational, friendly gatherings in Stephen Corbett’s gym on the other side of the world, Salil felt suddenly shy and he wondered.

Any question was moot. Roger’s brawny arms encircled him. An abrupt embrace, it brought their mouths together for a kiss so torrid it took the breath from Afzal and Edwin as surely as it did from Salil. Roger’s lips were hot cushions with an even hotter, slippery tongue inside.

Tom felt himself twisted coercively. Edwin said, “I kiss differently.” As if to prove his point, he brought the passive man’s lips to his, not for immediate contact but to murmur against them with warm breath, “I offer gentle persuasion of a sort you may have forgotten.” The tip of the teen’s tongue touched, outlined, and probed Tom’s teeth and gums; it sought between, beneath, and around, up to the roof and soft tissue beyond. Tom’s knees turned weak. He thought wonderingly, A boy that I’m responding to like a virgin, for God’s sake.

Dalton ran his palms over Afzal’s snuggling, cuddly body, exciting its flesh. They took stock of what the others were doing so uninhibitedly.

Both agreed quietly that champagne loosens people up.

Salil’s robe flowed the floor, dropped away by Roger’s demanding hands. Similar in height and in the size of their erections, the two jammed crotches together. The witnesses felt exudations of heat from the faces hungrily gnawing at each other, the bodies grappling.

“Your father has never been more impassioned,” Dalton told Afzal. “Not even with me.”

Chalk up another credit to good champagne.

The disrobing of Tom by Young Edwin took longer, one article at a time, with deliberate sensuousness – under Dalton’s steady, nodding approval. Bless him, he’s doing it exactly the way I taught him. Each article being rubbed over the area it covered.

Nearby, the black-and-tawny, tall pair held and stroked their penises, groaning. Dalton’s eyes lifted as he silently mouthed to Salil, “Suck…him.”

The effect – immediate. Salil jettisoned inhibitions and sank to his knees to engulf Roger’s wet, meaty grandeur straight into his throat. The muscles of Roger’s whole body reacted in surprise. His fists found rest on his hips as he watched and felt himself consumed by a masterly throat.

Afzal leaned against Dalton, a quiet, “Oh, look at Bapa,” delighting Dalton’s ears. Their view of the room’s younger pair also astonished Afzal.

Everyone’s happy.

Edwin’s lips were seen to touch Tom’s face again, sipping at its mouth, nibbling jawline and pulsing neck. They nestled for rest in the hollow there. The heel of one of Edwin’s hands compressed a nipple. Edwin’s teeth found the one opposite. Tweaks and love bites raced signals to Tom’s brain. Half-articulated words turned into small cries of joy. The teen’s free fingers drifted behind, to his quivering partner’s best-known, most-used place. Tom heard Edwin’s voice say, “I fuck differently, too. You’ll see.”

This sweetheart’s cock can’t be more than six inches. He’ll be lost in me. I mustn’t let him down, he’s so…well-meaning. Tighten up, Tom Loft. Must tighten up. Need some more time. I’ll blow him the way Salil’s blowing Roger. 

Tom dropped to the carpet, licked Edwin’s slim, light pinkness, and drew the young man’s hips to him, taking oral possession in full. Hands rubbed Tom’s head in appreciation, rumpling his hair.

Afzal, the room’s smallest person, began placing pillows carefully on the single bed. His easy familiarity with Dalton, well-known to Edwin, was new to Roger. It betrayed not the slightest fear of the occasion; rather, expectation of it.

He’s the size of a kid.

The novelty of Tom’s tongue coating his balls had Edwin in thrall. Their being delicately tucked into Tom’s mouth made Edwin’s chest clamber for air. He stole a glance at Roger, whose fists flexed tensely at the full-throat skills of Salil. The Indo-Malay nose buried itself in the man’s pubic forest to relish its recently showered though still heady scent.

The recipients of these attentions spotted each other and smiled in pleasure. Edwin turned his head to his black friend, cupped his mouth and said in a hush, “Roger, our partners must be able to watch Afzal and Dalton. Let’s get them on the beds.”

Young Edwin had never presumed to give an order to a man such as Roger Dawson, yet here one came, and it made sense. Something worth seeing was in the works. Indeed, Afzal was crawling down the elder man’s chest, mouth agape. Whether he would manage to ingest the whole of that grandest of penises, the effort merited observation – especially at what obviously was to be an orgy.

Not surprisingly, Dalton’s intention in setting up the orgy had been to ensure that Salil and Tom could and would see the whole event in a state of total sexual excitation.

“Come up for air,” Tom was told. “It’s time for you to relax over here. Put one pillow at the foot,” Edwin pointed, “for your chest and neck, the larger one in the center for your middle.”

Roger drew saliva-streaked Salil to his feet. “Now, my handsome friend, do what Tom’s doing. Your head should be facing over there. See? They’re going to give us a show.” He guessed correctly.

A good third of Dalton’s cock was in Afzal’s mouth, as agape as possible. Dalton admired the boy’s undulant backside by stroking its rounds.

“Don’t push, Dalton. Give me time to catch my breath,” the young fellator pulled away to remonstrate – broadly displaying dimpled cheeks.

Ready assumptions of pillows beneath his upper body and pelvis presented Salil with a view of his son’s actions quite the same as that of Tom’s similar position. Roger and Edwin looked on, each with a hand placed on the area for coming attention. Neither consciously tried to transfer any specific signal or meaning to his subject, but their unfamiliar touches eddied into Tom and Salil as tactile indications for cooperation. Immediately, Tom spread his legs a few inches. Salil’s inspiration was to lift his backside for what might come.

Edwin took the lead by stripping on a condom and coating it with coconut oil’s gritty creaminess. Roger was about to follow when Edwin indicated the event to notice a few feet away: Dalton placing Afzal on all fours and tugging from him the rubber replica of his own cock. Salil’s heart nearly burst with pride as his friend took place and straightway entered Afzal with a long sigh of contentment. For Tom, who was taller than Edwin and used to the large organs of Roger and George, there seemed danger in so petite a young man being penetrated with apparent pleasure to the distance of what might be close to a foot of tumescent flesh.

Almost aloud he said, “Where is he putting it?”

Tom turned toward Salil, who beamed at him and closed his eyes expectantly.

Edwin bestrode wide-eyed, recumbent Tom and settled on his knees, shins against Tom’s thighs. The rings on his necklace chain glowed dully in shadow and more brightly when, swinging, they caught the room’s single lamplight. One hand supporting him, he used the other to point the head of his penis to Tom’s purposely constricted opening, but did the unexpected. He circled the rim to liquefy the coconut oil’s graininess in its warm surround. Accustomed to rapid entries, Tom relished being tantalized. He relaxed. On and around the motion went until Edwin paused. Rather than the skewering he imagined, Tom heard Edwin murmur, “Use your pucker. Catch just my cap and sip on it like a straw….That’s it, Tom. Show me your thirst.”

He wondered, Where did that come from?

 Fractionally, Tom managed. It thrilled him to be active, to serve Young Edwin’s sweetly spoken demand. He had to concentrate. I’m so slack.

“A little more now. Take it in stages. Think your muscles into sucking on me. The more you suck, the more you’ll get…. Don’t be greedy, Tom. Let your back-mouth water. You must earn your pleasure. Like that…. You’re gaining my respect.”

At that unimaginable remark, Tom’s eyes watered. Years bottoming passively – and no one, Roger particularly, had ever given him such a compliment. He hiked up to take another inch.

Edwin followed Tom back down without immediately surrendering more of himself. This is hard. My arms aren’t strong enough to hold me much longer. Maybe this is enough. “Tom, may I try your depth?”

A moment of stillness for both.

Tom’s, “Please,” was almost a cry.

The remaining inches sent thrills through the man’s entire body. Edwin slumped in relief, his head to Tom’s neck. Movement by either would have ruined what they were forging.

Roger, who had not moved, engaged by Dalton’s bold move into Afzal and by what Edwin was doing so astonishingly, reached for a tube of KY. His grip squirted what it could directly into Salil. A thick, black finger followed in a single thrust two knuckles deep. Accepted gratefully, it investigated the waiting space’s newness, and received responsive clasps.

Salil’s eyelids fluttered. He tossed his head. He sighed, his mouth open. He wanted more. His erection already was seeping into the bedsheet. How long must he wait?

A second, then third finger adjusted him further. He squirmed.

It was plain to see that what big Dalton and small Afzal were doing had no parallel in either Tom or Roger’s past. There was no drama – more two people breathing synchronously while locked to each other. Dalton’s moves, slight backs-and-forths, were met by Afzal in the same manner. Just audible, something that might be a sustained hum or purr. Together, they sank into their pillows.

Roger sank and twisted his fingers resolutely to ready his handsome Indo-Malaysian partner. Satisfied at last that Salil was open, he girded his cock with a condom. His slow plunge was met in return. Salil’s determination came close to unsettling the unsuspecting, more dominant Roger.

Edwin hissed, “Take care, you two.” He nodded toward Afzal and Dalton coupling so intimately, “Don’t take your eyes off of them. Roger, make love to that wonderful man. Tom, you make love to me.”

Further directives were not forthcoming. Much time passed in the pursuit of the slowest pleasures Roger and Tom had ever known. Thanks to their novel partners, each warmed to the test, his feelings moving from the purely physical toward the emotional. Only when it could be observed that Dalton had turned over little Afzal to lift his legs and to join him from the front did the tranquil orgy ratchet from warm, through hot, to incendiary.

Afzal’s loud, “Yes!” keyed the action to explosive levels. The scent of sex filled the room. In aftershocks, the trio of couples shuddered to their ends.

It was one-thirty.

* * * 

Held as he was, Salil had Roger’s dark brown arms as his horizon. He peered over landscape of manly hair to see Tom’s appreciative smirky wink – he, too, was awake – and Dalton’s bulk surrounding Afzal’s curly head like some fuzzy ball between his chin and clasped hands. Roger’s vibrant cock, so comfortable where it had nestled, would have responded with clarion abruptness had Salil’s clearing eyes not noticed the green-glowing click of time’s passage on the bedside clock. The thought of Nirupa alone! Salil was into his robe and gone, swiftly to join his wife.

The might’s miracles – Shan’s performance and the friends’ organ – slipped as he did into the night’s past. Salil opened their door without a sound and made it safely to sleeping Nirupa’s side where he fell asleep soundly.

Tom felt the desire to remain as he was, Edwin’s shrivel a wet blob in his cleft possibly to reassume its delectable sweetness again, before breakfast. The light body’s inert warmth atop his back reminded him of a futon’s heaviness

Roger, clearly, remained dead to the world after his epical enjoyment of partnering with tall Salil.

Tom’s thoughts, alert, passed from wondering how pixyish Afzal had accepted gladly, smoothly Dalton’s straightforward ream as part of the group’s sexual conviviality, Treydon’s friendliness, the whole town’s support of a Shakespeare play with a foreigner getting as much applause as the main characters, his fortune at meeting people in Chicago he never could but for the fabulous teen who had just loved him so unlike Roger.

A new day was about to dawn.

My hope is that these eight chapters have pleased you.

They ensued from the steamy events in this book available at Amazon.

Posting them has resulted in nice comments and encouraging words from readers. I look forward to providing more stories for your pleasure in the future.