The Tait Chronicles

[Until now, these chronicles have dealt with the lives of just four main protagonists: me - Andrew Tait - my partner Matthew, and the gruesome twosome, Martin Solomon and Joseph. It's now time to introduce you to Leo Wallace and Brad Johnson, who were to become firm friends of ours in the not-too-distant future. Leo takes up the narrative.]

I didn't really embrace my gay side until I was in my forties, with two marriages, two divorces and four children behind me.

I'd always known that men attracted me, but I was overly conservative in my youth. I considered it my duty to marry and produce children. It was what everyone expected me to do. And it was the easiest path to take.

I didn't want to be labelled a faggot or a fairy.

Of course, I lapsed occasionally. Actually, that's not quite true. I lapsed often. Particularly after my first marriage collapsed.

I discovered that there were places where men could meet and have casual sex with no strings attached. The settings were sometimes unsavoury - rest rooms and seedy book stores - but the thrill always enabled me to ignore the locale.

I gave and received head through glory holes. I even fucked a few guys through glory holes. I would feel a little guilty afterwards, but that never stopped me from doing much the same thing a few days later.

So - at age forty-five, and having reached an exorbitant divorce settlement with wife number two - I decided to yield to the inevitable.

After all, my parents were dead. My older sister lived on the other side of the world. And my children - having heard only their mothers' sides of any dispute - didn't seem particularly interested in staying in touch.

So I no longer felt any need to please family. It was time to please myself.

I'm not one to brag, but I should make it clear at the outset that I did not accumulate my wealth solely by inheritances. Sure, my parents left me a fair amount, but I was already independently wealthy long before they died.

I got into the IT industry at an early age and founded my own highly successful communications business. I avoided the bullet when so many other dot com companies collapsed. I was canny enough to diversify and innovate at just the right times.

And I am now semi-retired. I am able to enjoy life while underlings continue to make money for me.

I met Brad at a party I attended during a visit to London. I think he and I were the only expats present.

He was with his British girlfriend, but she spent most of the evening ignoring him and chasing anyone who might advance her modelling career. She was a very attractive woman, but just a little too obvious; a bit pushy.

And he was a very attractive young guy. I noticed him as soon as I arrived. Tall, slim, auburn-haired and handsome - he appealed to me greatly.

I was out on the terrace, gazing bleakly at what the British consider summer weather, when I heard footsteps behind me. Suddenly the guy with the auburn hair was standing nearby, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply.

'I needed that' he said. 'I'm trying to quit but it's not going well.'

'It took me a long time to kick the habit' I replied. 'And even four years later I still get cravings.'

'Ahh. A fellow American' he said. 'Where's home?'

'Baltimore, I guess. But I move around a lot. I'm heading back to the west coast next week. I've got a house there. I haven't actually lived in Baltimore for a few years.'

He moved closer and held out his hand to introduce himself.

'I'm Brad Johnson. I'm a native Bostonian.'

We shook hands. His grip was warm and firm.

'Leo Wallace' I said. 'Pleased to meet you. And I recognised the accent. I like Boston a lot.'

'It's OK' he replied, with no great enthusiasm. 'I'd like to move on - escape my mother's clutches - see more of the world - but I just never get around to it.'

'Well, you're here now. In London. That's a start.'

He laughed and assured me his presence in the UK was purely business-related. He'd soon be back in Boston and back under his mother's roof.

As we chatted on, I gathered that Mom was a bit demanding and somewhat of a hypochondriac. It explained his lack of enthusiasm for Boston.

We stayed out on the terrace for quite some time, talking about this and that - nothing in particular - until his girlfriend interrupted us. Her name was Portia and she thought it was time to leave. She'd had enough of working the room.

She'd ignored him for so long, I was surprised that she'd managed to remember that Brad was at the party too.

I asked if she'd enjoyed the party and she generated a sudden burst of enthusiasm, confiding that she adored being out and about because it often led to an appearance in the social columns the next day.

'Before you go' I said. 'I'd be pleased if you could both dine with me one evening this week.'

'No can do, darling' drawled Portia. 'I have an important photo shoot in Corsica and I fly out there tomorrow.'

'That's a pity. I don't know many people in London.'

'Well, I doubt Brad has anything better to do. I'm sure he'd kill for a free meal.'

I wanted to slap her carefully made-up face and call her a bitch, but I didn't. Ignoring her words, I turned to Brad and said I'd be delighted to spend an evening with a fellow American.

His face was already flushed - the result of Portia's careless insult - and it coloured further when his eyes met mine.

'I'd be delighted, sir' he said.

I handed him my card and said I was staying at the Dorchester.

'How about tomorrow evening? Would that suit you? Around seven.'

He nodded and then we said our good nights. Portia didn't utter any words of farewell. I don't think she was the sort to waste words on anyone who couldn't further her career.

I left the party shortly afterwards. I can't remember now why I'd bothered to attend in the first place. But I'm glad I did because that's how Brad came into my life.

The following day - Monday - I did some shopping; souvenirs of London to send to my kids. I knew they wouldn't even bother to thank me - just as they ignored the money I sent them at Christmas and on their Birthdays - but I like to occupy the moral high ground where my ex-wives are concerned.

The day seemed to go incredibly slowly. I found myself absurdly impatient for evening to arrive. I was looking forward to dinner with the young man I'd met at the party.

I had no valid reason to suspect he was gay, but that didn't matter greatly. He was still eye candy. He reminded me of a taller, slimmer Jim Courier, the tennis champion. I've always had a thing for redheads.

Right on seven, I received a call from the front desk. There was a Mr Johnson waiting to see me. I said I'd be down shortly.

Brad was occupying one of the lobby armchairs when I exited the elevator. He didn't see me emerge, so I had an opportunity to observe him in profile. He looked very young and very handsome. I sucked in my gut, adjusted my tie and approached him.

He shot to his feet as soon as he became aware of my presence. We shook hands.

'How are you, sir?' he asked.

'All the better for some company' I replied. 'And please - it's Leo. I don't want to feel more ancient than I already am.'

I'd booked us a table for dinner but, on a sudden whim, I suggested we not bother with the formality of the dining room.

'I don't know about you' I said. 'But I'm weary of jackets and ties. How about we adjourn to my suite and order dinner on room service? That way we can have a relaxing meal and talk without continual interruptions from wait staff.'

Brad agreed, and then - having asked the concierge to cancel my table booking - we took the elevator up to my suite. Once there, I quickly divested myself of my jacket and tie and suggested that Brad do the same.

Leaving him to enjoy the view from my windows - a view spoiled by even more summer drizzle - I went through to the adjoining bedroom to place our jackets on hangers.

When I returned, Brad appeared to be lost in admiration of the God-awful view. He looked a bit ill at ease, just as he had the night before when his girlfriend was demonstrating her expertise in bitchiness.

'Please' I said, gesturing to a comfortable armchair 'take a seat while I fix us a drink.'

We sipped our whiskies while studying the comprehensive room service menu. With our choices made, I rang the order through, specifying a particular dry white that goes with almost any meal.

'So' I asked, plonking myself down in the other armchair. 'What's the business that brings you to sunny London?'

'I'm a banker' he replied. 'A very lowly banker, I assure you, sir. But just important enough to merit being sent to occasional industry conferences.'

'I'm sure you're excellent at whatever you do' I said. 'And please, it's Leo. OK?'

'Sorry, sir ... I mean Leo.' And his face coloured slightly. It was an utterly charming blush.

'You mentioned your mother last night. Any other family back home?'

'I'm an only child' Brad said. 'It's just Mom and me.'

'And no one else to miss you?' I enquired. 'No fiancée or girlfriend?'

'I'm not much of a ladies' man, Leo.'

'That was a most attractive young woman you were with last night. I don't use the word lady because I thought her manners were appalling.'

'She's an absolute bitch' he said. 'Her mother knows my mother and it was arranged that I should go out on the town with her. She's dragged me from party to party and our interest in each other has never risen above zero.'

'Ah' I replied. 'Beware the social climber or the woman determined to make the cover of Vogue or Playboy magazines.

Despite my own poor batting average, let me assure you there are thousands of delightful females waiting out there. It's just a matter of finding the right one.'

He blushed again as he framed a reply.

'Actually, Leo - and I hope you won't think less of me - I'm gay.'

'No problem' I assured him. 'I'm a man of the world. I don't judge people according to their sexuality. I've had the occasional adventure myself.'

Our eyes locked. A message flashed between us. He now understood that I found him attractive. Highly attractive.

The question in my own mind was whether he might find me attractive too.

A discreet knock at the door signalled the arrival of room service. I filled our glasses again while the waiter wheeled in his trolley and converted it to a table for two. Once he'd departed - with a generous tip in his hand - we settled down to eat.

As we ate, we chatted. The conversation began to flow more easily. Brad even dared to ask me a few personal questions without blushing.

I was deliberately vague about my business circumstances - I'm always on high alert for fortune-hunters; that's a legacy from marriage to two greedy gold-diggers.

I explained that I have four children whom I rarely see and that I sometimes get restless - a bit bored and maybe even a bit lonely.

I asked some personal questions too.

'How old are you, Brad? I'm guessing around twenty-three.'

'I look a bit younger than my years' he replied. 'I'm twenty-eight. Twenty-nine in October.'

'You could have fooled me' I said. 'I'm surprised you're not asked for ID in adult book stores.'

'Well, I don't visit adult book stores very often' Brad told me. 'But you're right, I do sometimes get asked for ID in a variety of situations. It's a bit annoying.'

'Trust me, Brad. It's an annoyance I'd gladly endure. I can't remember the last time anyone questioned my age.'

'Come on, Leo. I'm guessing you're in your late thirties. That's only ten years away for me. I think that's still young.'

'A very kind response' I said, smiling. 'But I'm almost forty-seven. I don't feel it, but I am. The big five zero is on the horizon.'

'It's just a number to me, Leo. And I hope I look as good as you do when I'm in my forties.'

I secretly welcomed that compliment. It was a sign that he might not regard me as too old for a sexual encounter.

I ordered dessert and a pot of coffee from room service. The same waiter arrived. He cleared the table, placing the dirty dishes on his tray and leaving us with fresh strawberries and cream and a pot of piping hot coffee. He left with yet another tip in his hand.

And then the disaster happened. As Brad sprinkled sugar over his dessert, he somehow upset the coffee pot and it fell, emptying its steaming contents into his lap.

'Oh shit' he cried, leaping to his feet and plucking at his sodden pants. Steam rose from the scalding hot material. He was in obvious pain.

I moved quickly. I propelled him to the bathroom and turned on the cold shower faucet. I shoved him, still fully-dressed, into the shower recess.

'Take everything off' I told him. 'Just leave your clothes in the shower. There are towels on the rail and bathrobes on the door-hook.'

Much as I wanted to stay and catch a glimpse of his naked body, I retreated to the sitting room. It didn't feel right to take advantage of this unexpected opportunity.

Well ... not immediately. Maybe later.

I was genuinely concerned that he might have scalded himself, but I was reasonably certain the cold water would do the trick.

With Brad busy showering, I called housekeeping for someone to help clear up the mess. Most of the coffee had landed in Brad's lap. His chair was sodden and badly stained but there were only a few droplets on the floor. They formed a dotted line, a trail going all the way to the bathroom.

I opened the French windows that led to my balcony. It was cool out there, but it had stopped raining. Maybe we could sit out on the patio while the staff dealt with the mess in the sitting room.

The sound of the shower stopped and - soon afterwards - Brad peeped around the doorway between the bedroom and sitting room. His hair was still wet and spiky. I told him help was on the way and I suggested he use the hair dryer while we waited.

I rang through to room service for replacement dessert and coffee. Almost simultaneously, a woman from housekeeping knocked on the door. She soon sorted things out. The wet chair was taken away and replaced with one from another suite. She whirled some kind of magical appliance across the spots on the carpet and they disappeared from view.

When Brad re-entered the sitting room, fresh coffee and dessert were on the table. It was time to try again, but this time I kept a close watch on the coffee pot.

'I am so sorry' he said. 'I'm mortified.'

And he did look mortified. But he also looked incredibly appealing. His hair was styled and dry. And his cheeks shone from a mixture of embarrassment and the effects of a bracing shower.

'Please don't worry about it. Accidents happen. I just hope you haven't been scalded.'

I didn't have the courage - or the effrontery - to suggest I take a peek and make sure his assets were undamaged.

'The thing is' he began. 'I'm not sure what to do about getting back to my hotel. My clothes - even my shoes - are all saturated.'

'I've been wondering about that' I said. 'The hotel has valet service. It's good, but I doubt they can get your things back to you before mid-morning. We're about the same height, but my pants would be too big in the waist for you.'

Brad took all this in with a worried expression.

'You could take a room here for the night' I suggested. 'My treat. There's another bedroom beyond the bathroom. I could ask them to unlock the connecting door.'

He remained silent, his head bowed in thought.

'Or' I added tentatively, 'you could stay here. Share my bed. I'd like that.'

He raised his head and smiled.

'I'd like that too' he said.

'Shall we skip dessert?' I asked.

He nodded. I rose and approached his chair. I took his hands and pulled him upright.

Brad's body melted into mine. We kissed. Tentatively at first, but then with growing passion. Our tongues met hungrily and I felt a stirring beneath his terry towelling robe.

I sank to my knees and undid the knot. I pulled the gown open and his dick sprang out at me. It was a beautiful sight. About seven inches long. Thick. Cut. And standing proudly erect in a small forest of silky auburn ringlets.

His hands gently tousled my hair as I took him into my mouth. The skin of his shaft was like silk against my lips and tongue.

As I took him to the back of my throat, I tasted the first few sweet drops of excitation as they leaked out of him. I applied my mouth to his sac and took turns capturing each testicle in my mouth.

Looking upwards, I admired the smooth whiteness of his torso. I could have stayed at his feet all night long, but he pulled away and raised me to my feet. We kissed again and then he took my hand and we moved towards the dimly lit adjoining bedroom.

'My turn' Brad said when we reached the foot of the bed.

He shrugged off the bathrobe and began unbuttoning my shirt. His movements were slow, precise. A stark contrast to his earlier clumsiness. My shirt was tossed onto a nearby chair.

We kissed again as he unbuckled and removed my belt. Dropping to his knees, he undid my shoelaces and removed my shoes and socks.

He stood up again and we kissed once more as he unzipped my fly and allowed my trousers to fall to the floor. I stepped out of them and kicked them into a corner.

Only my shorts remained. My cock was straining against the fabric and leaking with anticipation. Brad knelt down and traced the outline of my dick with his lips.

His fingers grasped the waistband and pulled my shorts to the floor. I stepped out of them and he tossed them aside.

And then I felt the warmth of his mouth as it enveloped my glans before sliding slowly down the shaft. I could tell he'd sucked dick before. He did it so well.

I ran my fingers through his soft auburn hair and marvelled at my good fortune. I raised him up towards me and we kissed again. But this time with greater urgency.

'Bed' I whispered.

We fell into bed, still embracing; still kissing. I took him into my arms fully and our dicks thrust against each other in a lubricious prelude to sex.

He ran his fingers through my chest hair and caressed my balls. He kissed and teased at my nipples. And then I returned the favour; lapping at his balls once more and gliding my mouth across his pale hairless chest.

There was no discussion about who should do what to whom. We reached a wordless consensus.

I lay between his thighs for a short period, my cock nuzzling beneath his ball sac and own his cock pressed against my stomach. I was in a fever to be inside him.

I had not prepared for this encounter. I had no condoms and no lube to hand. I reached across to the bedside table and located a small tube of lip moisturiser in the drawer. I squeezed a liberal amount on my dick and offered him the tube. He shook his head and said he was fine.

He was way beyond words like good or fine. He was magnificent.

With his legs raised high, I used my thumb to locate his asshole. And then I began a slow descent into warmth and tight acceptance.

He made no sounds of protest. I continued onward until my balls rested against him. And then he sighed. It was a sigh of deep contentment. I leaned forward to reach his mouth and our tongues met fleetingly.

As I began to move faster, his lower legs wrapped themselves more firmly around my neck and his ass began to move upwards to welcome each downward thrust.

'Oh, God' he murmured. 'This is heaven. Please don't ever stop.'

That was music to my ears. I have never been quick to shoot my load. I was thrilled to learn that Brad liked a stayer up his ass.

I moved at a regular pace, savouring every sensation as his tightness yielded to my hardness. Looking downward, I could see his rock-hard cock oozing pre-cum across his abs. It gave further impetus to my urge to transport him to ecstasy.

Eventually, I reached the point where I knew ejaculation was only a few more thrusts away. I think Brad could tell. My breathing grew ragged and he began to push against me more urgently.

I stepped up the pace and began to slam into him like a pile-driver. He was unflinching. His buttocks met every thrust.

One or two extra-punishing movements later, I felt an overwhelmingly forceful rush as my dick discharged in the deepest recesses of his glorious young body. I felt his insides clamping hard around me, demanding every inch and every spurt I could deliver.

And, as the last of my essence seeped into him, Brad began to jerk at his cock, continually clenching on my shaft as he did so. It wasn't long before I could tell he was about to erupt.

My dick was clamped tight inside him as an amazing spray of cum shot outwards and upwards. The first few squirts hit the headboard, the pillows and his face. The subsequent jets of jizz - and there were several - did not fly as far and landed mostly on his smooth chest.

'My God' I exclaimed. 'It's like a meteor shower.'

That made us both laugh. And as we laughed, my cock slipped out of its warm and wondrous refuge.

We moved to lie side-by-side, both panting a little; and both satisfied.

We moved into an embrace. I could feel Brad's cum squelching against my chest, coating it with fresh creamy juice. And, when we kissed, there were cum splashes on his face too.

'Don't go away' I said. 'I'll be right back. Things to do.'

Firstly I gathered up his wet clothes and shoes and wrapped them in a bath towel. I put them outside the suite's entry door and hung a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door handle.

I then rang the front desk and asked that someone collect the package outside my door and ensure that it was valeted and returned as soon as possible tomorrow.

I was hesitant about re-entering the bedroom. I have always tried to stay in reasonable shape, but I didn't want Brad to suddenly recognise that I was a far cry from Michelangelo's 'David'.

But it was inevitable that he see me in all my alleged glory sooner or later, so I took a deep breath and rejoined him in bed. He had turned on one of the bedside lamps and covered himself up with a blanket.

I slipped in beside him and we sat there, our backs to the padded headboard.

'That was wonderful' he said. 'Thank you.'

'It was wonderful for me too, Brad. Pardon my crudity, but you are an incredible fuck. Your ass is absolutely magical.'

'A bit like your dick' he replied, as his hand went down to play with my equipment.

'You're not sorry now you see how old and out of shape I am?'

He laughed and gave my balls a squeeze.

'Leo; you are neither old nor out of shape. You're a very distinguished-looking guy. Mature and sexy. A bit like George Clooney but with fewer grey hairs.'

'Well, I'd be a fool to quarrel with that assessment' I said. 'Even if you're just being kind, I thank you.'

'I like your cock' he confided. 'It has weight and heft. I think it's the most impressive I've ever met.'

I have never been preoccupied with dick size. Mine's about eight inches long. Not huge, but enough to satisfy two wives who were rarely satisfied with anything else about me. And big enough to satisfy the men I'd encountered on furtive visits to gay pick-up places in the past.

'I half-expected that you'd be uncut' I told him. 'So many young guys are nowadays. When my sons were born, we discovered that circumcision's not considered a routine procedure anymore.'

'It's gone out of fashion' Brad said. 'But there's no way my parents would have broken with old WASP traditions. I had to match my father.'

'Me too' I chuckled.

'Do you not like uncut dicks, then?' he asked.

'No. I'm not really fussed either way. It depends on how hygienic a guy is I guess. I'm not keen on bad smells or dick cheese.'

'Amen to that' he said.

'I'm sorry that I didn't have a condom to use. I didn't expect to need one. But I think you can be certain there will be no evil consequences.'

'Well, the risk cuts both ways' he said. 'And I think you can be equally certain about me. I'm not exactly Mr Promiscuity of 2009.'

'We're a bit sticky, Brad. I'd suggest we take a shower but I'm hopeful we might get even stickier before morning. Why waste water? And - speaking of showering - I hope you suffered no ill effects from wearing a lapful of burning-hot coffee.'

'I'm fine' he assured me. 'The cold water did the trick. Just a trace of redness, that's all. See.'

And he pulled the blanket down to show me. There was indeed a trace of redness on his upper thighs. But I gave them only a cursory glance. My attention was immediately commanded by the sight of his beautiful flaccid penis in its nest of golden hair.

I was unable to resist. I took it into my mouth once more and savoured the lingering taste and smell of his cum. His dick hardened almost instantly.

We turned onto our sides so he could fuck my mouth. He moved slowly, occasionally resting deep inside so I could allow the glans to glide into my throat. I jerked at my own cock at the same time, surprised at how quickly I'd recovered.

When his second load finally burst inside my mouth, I swallowed the initial blast eagerly. I allowed the subsequent spurts to accumulate because I wanted to swallow them at the precise moment of my own ejaculation. And - when I did finally shoot my wad - I allowed the remainder of his sweet creamy cum to flow down my throat. It was perfect.

We slept a while after that. It would be more accurate to say that Brad slept. I only dozed. I woke up many times to check that I wasn't dreaming; that there really was a gorgeous young man sleeping alongside me.

The first light of dawn found us joined together once more; his legs on my shoulders again, and my dick lodged deep inside his beautiful tight ass.

Brad had to miss the conference that day. His clothes were not returned until almost lunch time.

For the rest of the week, he and I hung out together each evening. We attended an orchestral concert at the Royal Albert Hall - a beautiful and impressive building, and the acoustics were good too.

We also dined out twice. Brad insisted on paying his share of the tab. I had a feeling he couldn't really afford to do so, but I know it's important to respect other people's pride and independence.

He flew out before I did. Our last night together was just as wonderful as the previous nights had been. Brad was wonderful in bed and - as I rose to every occasion - I suddenly felt at least ten years younger.

By the time we said our farewells, I knew I was well on the way to being in love with this splendid young man.

I also knew that I might never see him again. He had his career on the east coast and I had my aimless existence on the west coast.

No matter how often I might visit Boston, it would be difficult to conduct a long-distance relationship - assuming, that is, that he even wanted a relationship.

I am not vain enough to presume that another man would want an ongoing affair with someone almost old enough to be his father. So - inwardly - I was already resigned to never seeing Brad again.

I told myself that I would at least be left with some lovely memories of our time in London.

Our final awkward goodbyes were spoken at Paddington Station. He was taking the Heathrow Express.

With a crowd surging all around us, we confirmed telephone numbers and addresses. We promised to stay in touch and I was optimistic that Brad might be a man who keeps his promises.

We shook hands like any other two businessmen. It was not enough.

Before letting go of his hand, I pulled him forward into a long hug. When we parted, I had tears in my eyes and so did he.

And then he turned and walked away without a backward glance.

I returned to my hotel. I had packing to do. I was to catch a plane later that day. Life seemed suddenly empty.

My room had not been made up and I found myself sitting on the bed hugging the pillow Brad had slept on the previous night. I inhaled his scent.

I hoped with all my heart that I might soon get to inhale that special aroma again.