Sandor's New World
The focus will be on Sandor for a bit, but don't worry, I'll check in with Stan and Sergio soon.
I was going to my friend Rachael's house in New Islington, not far from Green Quarter, where I live. Where we all live, actually. Stan and Sergio have a nice house a few blocks from my flat. Carlos is just down the road and Rachael and her boyfriend live just on the other side of Oldham Road, south of us. Manchester is getting to be big, but it feels like a village sometimes.
As I walked through the streets, I thought about all that had happened since I had that threesome with Sergio and Stan. The first thing was: that would never happen again. It felt too complicated. And I knew they would agree.
But after that night with them I was pretty confused. I mean, it was fantastic while it was happening, but afterward I felt embarrassed and unsure. I did have some of the best sex of my life, but at the same time I wondered if it was just because Stan and I were already so close. I did suck Sergio's cock, and he fucked me, so there's that.
For a few weeks after I didn't know what I wanted. And not just in terms of women or men, but about everything. As Stan prepared for his wedding I was supportive and helpful and all that. I hung out with Carlos a bunch and we bonded even more. It was great. But at the back of my mind, I kept wondering if what Stan had gone through to get to the point of marrying Sergio was something I could – or should – do.
I guess I need to be honest here. Unlike Stan who says he still is attracted to women despite being all about Sergio, which I guess makes him bi, I'm not so sure. I have slept with women lots of times, but after that night with the two of them, it's like some little switch went off in my head. A switch that had been waiting to go off since puberty. I remember having these dreams starting when I was about thirteen that lasted...well, until now. I still have them.
Dreams where I was kissing a guy. Or where I was sucking a guy's cock. Or where I was fucking some guy. I had the fucking dreams later, but the consistent thing was I was always with a guy. I never dreamed about women, even though I dated them and had sex with them. And the thing that constantly bothered me over all these years was I never really fell in love with a woman. I wanted to. I really wanted to. But it never happened. I would play along for a few months but eventually the guilt would be too much and I would call it off.
When I told Stan about one of my dreams when we were about fourteen – about kissing a guy – he was cool about it. I, on the other hand, was terrified. I remembered him saying, “Sandor...that's normal. We all have crazy dreams.” I think we had both ignored a part of ourselves. And now we were taking notice, I guess.
So what am I saying? I guess I'm saying that now all I can see are guys. All I want to look at are guys. I think about having sex with men all the time. I did before that night, but it always felt sort of secret and dangerous, like some part of me didn't want to acknowledge it. Now? For instance I was swimming at the gym the other day and I caught myself staring at this guy in the change room. He stared back and I could tell he was interested. I panicked. I almost ran out of the place.
I stopped in the street, lost in thought, then I realized I was at Rachael's house. I shook my head as if to dispel some cobwebs and knocked on her door. I could hear the muffled sound of music and voices and when the door opened, it suddenly felt loud. Rachael's face lit up and she threw her arms around me. She's a very effusive person.
“Sandy, how are you!”
I kissed her cheek and said, “Smashing. How are you?”
She giggled. I decided she had already had a fair bit of wine. “Grand! Everything's grand!”
Did I mention she's Irish? I know it's kind of a stereotype, but that women loves to drink. I mean, she really loves it and is nothing but cheerful and warm even when she's off her face. It's not like she's alcoholic, but she certainly doesn't hold back when she decides to be festive. Her long brown hair was a little tousled and her face was flushed.
I came in and handed her a bottle of wine. I realized this wasn't a sedate dinner party. It was more of a piss-up, I decided. There were people all over the lounge and the kitchen was full of people. She took me by the hand and brought me to a table that was overflowing with snacks and bottles and bits of cake and random pieces of cheese. A typical Rachael evening.
I took the very healthy g&t she poured for me and then she was gone, off to regale someone about something. I looked around. I didn't see Ross, her boyfriend and I wondered if he had decided to stay away. I saw some of Rachael's friends who I had met a few times. She and I had met at at work several years before. We were both at an advertising firm doing work for television: she on the production end and I was on the sales end. I hate it, to be honest, but it pays well. What I really want to do is be a painter. I've always painted, but my very practical Hungarian parents convinced me to keep it as a hobby. Maybe they were right.
I made my way through the crowd toward some people I vaguely knew. I was a little annoyed that Rachael hadn't mentioned that this was a party and not a sedate dinner. I gulped my drink and was just about to say hi to a women I knew, when I heard a voice beside me.
“Sandor!”
I turned. It was Aravind. His big brown eyes were smiling and his longish dark hair was all tousled. He's a little shorter than me and slim. He was wearing this shirt that looked like silk with tiny yellow spots on it. I suddenly was very happy to see him.
“Aravind...how are you?”
“I'm fab. Nice to see you. Cheers.”
We clinked glasses together and I remembered all the times we worked together. He works at the BBC and both Rachael and I had dealings with him over the years as some of our advertising was for the BBC. Nice guy. I always liked him and since I was now letting myself look at men in a new way, I realized I was looking at him more intently. He was really attractive. I mean, model-quality beautiful. I laughed and said, “How are things in television?”
He shrugged and said, “Who cares. I left. I run a yoga studio now.”
That was a shock. “A yoga studio? That's amazing! Where?”
As he answered, he turned and gestured to me to sit on the big sofa behind him, “Oh, it's near here, on Addington Street. Are you still working with TTM?”
We sat on the squishy sofa and I realized he was quite close to me which was distracting. He was gay and I was suddenly very aware of that fact. “Yes. For now. But you leaving is inspiring.”
He looked pleased and we clinked glasses again. He looked at me a moment, then said, “So...how are you doing?”
I remembered a few conversations we had had over the years that somehow became quite intimate without me even realizing how we got there. “Oh, you know...things are ok.”
He shook his head. “Come on, Sandor...”
“Fine. My best mate got married a while ago. I was his best man.”
He looked puzzled. “You make it sound like a bad thing.”
“Oh, it's a really good thing. For them.”
I could tell he thought he understood. “You wish you could meet someone?”
This was getting embarrassing, but I said, “Well that, too.”
Now he was confused, I could tell. “What aren't you telling me, Sandor?”
With a sigh, I put my drink down on the table in front of me. I said, “I think I'm realizing that I'm not straight. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I think I've been fooling myself for a long time.”
Aravind took a long, slow sip of his drink, then he turned to me. “So you think you're gay?”
I nodded. “That's what I'm saying.”
He smiled and said, “What took you so long?”
That was a very good question. I was thirty-two. What took me so long? But Stan was just over thirty when he realized he wanted to be with guys as well as women. I decided there wasn't much difference. “Oh a bunch of things. Hungarian Catholic parents, for one. Being friends with all kinds of really nice straight people. But my best and oldest friend recently came out as bi – it was his wedding. He married a guy.”
Aravind raised his eyebrows as if I had said something surprising, which I guess I had. “I see. I think I understand....well...you can ask me anything, Sandor. I know we haven't seen each other in a while, but I always felt like we got on well But Sandor, what about your best friend...?”
With a wince, I knew I had to say more. “Uh, about that. I can talk to Stan, of course I can. But it feels complicated.” I stopped and reached for my drink again. “It's complicated because I had sex with him and his husband a while ago. It was really amazing. But I don't want it to happen again and now it feels like talking to him about sex is...complicated. That's the only word that fits.”
Aravind began to laugh, but not in a mocking way. “Sandor...that's priceless! Well, I would consider it my honour to help you out. Ask me anything. Deal?”
He looked so sincere that I felt better. I felt normal, which was something I hadn't been feeling for a while. “Deal. Thanks, Aravind. I appreciate it.” I finished my glass of wine and put it down. I turned to him and said, “Well...that's enough of that. I'm going to go home and eat biscuits and watch a stupid movie.”
I got up and Aravind got up. He said, “I'll walk you out. I think this is starting to feel like a hen party anyway, so maybe guys aren't very welcome.”
It was true. There were loud groups of women all over the place and not very many men, beyond us and Rachael's boyfriend, who I realized was leaning against the kitchen counter looking awkward.
We weaved our way through the throng of women, hugged Rachael and got out the door. The night was damp and cool and Aravind and I walked a few blocks before he stopped and said, “I'm going this way.”
I pointed toward my neighbourhood. “I'm in Green Quarter.” I paused and then said, “It was really great to talk to you. Thanks. Maybe we can do this again? Just the two of us?”
There was a look on Aravind's face I couldn't quite read. He said, “Let me walk you home. I want to talk more.”
So we kept going through the damp streets. He told me about his last relationship and how it ended, and how things were going in the yoga world. I remembered that he was easy to talk to and he was very attentive, asking questions, making smart comments. And yes, I was really looking at him. I mean, I was already aware he was an attractive man. But I guess I realized I was attracted to him.
We walked across Oldham Road and into my neighbourhood. My flat was at the top of an old red brick building. I stopped at the entrance and looked around at the quiet streets. I turned to him and said, “Thanks again, Aravind. It's been really nice talking to you. I wish we had stayed more in touch.”
His gaze was like a laser. He said, “You're very honest. I don't remember you being so direct before...” It was his turn to stop. He finally said, “So it's my turn to be direct. I guess I mean...I've always been into you, Sandor. I guess I still am...” And he took my hand. It felt soft and warm and seemed like such a simple thing. Was it simple?
I smiled and said, “I suppose now that I'm being honest about myself, I want to be honest about everything.” I looked at our hands clasped together. It felt very good. I leaned in and kissed him very softly. He responded with a little energy, opening his mouth and I felt his hand on the back of my neck pushing us together. My mouth responded and our tongues met tentatively. I could feel my body start to buzz. I could feel my cock expanding, filling my pants almost uncomfortably. But I knew I wasn't quite ready for more. I wanted there to be more. But not yet.
I pulled back from his mouth. His lips looked wet and delicious. I kissed his nose which was narrow and delicate. I said, “Can we...do this in a few days? I mean, I want to spend an evening with you, Aravind. I want to get to know you. And yes, I want to have sex with you very badly, but not yet. This all feels a little...unfamiliar. I know it should feel that way, but I guess I need to be ready to jump into the unknown and I need some time.”
His smile was like the sun coming out. Beautiful. He kissed me, then said, his mouth still close to mine so I could feel his gentle breath. “That sounds very good. I like that you know what you need. Call me.”
And I wanted to make sure he understood that I wasn't brushing him off and that I might never call him. I would call him. I wanted to go out with him. I wanted to have sex with him. How could I say all those things without sounding like I was insane? So I said, “This is Saturday. I'll call you next Friday. We'll have dinner. We'll see what happens. I know what I want to happen. So let's see.”
He grinned and stepped forward, wrapping his arms around me. He kissed my cheek and said, “That sounds perfect. Give me your phone...” I handed it to him and he called himself. “There. See you next week.”
He turned and headed down the street. I walked home slowly and felt excited and scared and a few other things. When I got in my flat, I shed my clothes and had a hot bath with a glass of whiskey. Then I got out and crawled into bed. I wasn't tired, so I knew what to do.
I reached for my laptop and my lube and opened my favourite sex site to a scene I discovered when I finally let myself be excited by gay sex. It starts out with these two cute young men kissing. One blonde-haired with pale skin, and a few piercings. The other a brown guy with shaggy hair and big brown eyes. I realized he looked a bit like Aravind. I wondered if it was a co-incidence.
The two of them were shown kissing all over the place. In parks, on a boat, on the street, in a cafe. Just kisses. Nice, deep, intense kisses. You could tell they were into it. I was into it. My cock was hard almost immediately. I lubed it up and started a nice, steady stroke, watching the two guys get increasingly intense. They finally made it inside and started to pull off each other's clothes. The brown guy was kissing the white guy's neck, sucking his nipples, licking his way down the guy's slim, taut belly. The white guy was shaven and almost skinny, but had piercings in his nipples and a big cock-ring. I don't know why, but I love piercings.
I stroked a little faster, watching beads of pre-cum sliding down the head of my cut cock. I know my dick is big. Of course I do. Women have told me. Stan and Sergio told me. I'm kind of proud of it, even if some women have complained that they couldn't take it. Stan and Sergio sure did, which still excited me. I stroked faster, enjoying the heat of the shaft. I pulled at my hairy balls. I don't like trimming much. I like the bush around my cock. I like the hair around my asshole – which I started to finger - then with a little lube, started to open with a couple more fingers. I wanted to get a dildo so I could practice but I hadn't gotten around to it.
I could feel my balls tensing, I could feel the intensity of the energy in my cock. I caught some of the pre-cum running from the tip and licked it off. I collected more – it just kept pouring out – and slid my slimy fingers in my hole, imagining that some guy had just deposited a load there. I threw my head back. My imagination sometimes is better than porn. I looked back at the screen. The cute couple were fucking: the white guy being skewered by the brown guy on the kitchen counter. It was actually pretty hot, but my imagination immediately added some things. Bigger dicks. More intensity. Then a third guy fucking the face of the white guy.
That pretty much did it. I pulled up my legs so while I stroked really hard, my cock was aimed at my mouth. I leaned forward and tucked one arm underneath my legs and pulled my hips up toward my face. Because my cock is big, I could enclose the end with my lips by pulling my head toward it. I know most people can't do that, but I sure can. Having a really long cock has its advantages. I stroked even faster and then I felt my balls contract and I opened my mouth and some long, thick ropes of cum blasted onto my tongue. I leaned back and let the next explosion hit my chin and chest, running down into my navel. There were three more, smaller bursts that hit my stomach. I savoured my cum for a minute, then swallowed.
At that moment, I wondered if Aravind would think it was weird that I liked almost sucking my cock. Or eating my cum. Would he be into it? I remembered his sweet face and his lean taut body that I felt when he hugged me. I realized I was getting excited. And not just to have sex with him. But to actually get to know him better. We had know each other since I started in the agency– about five years. He was older, I think. Maybe in his late thirties. But somehow that felt good. Maybe his few more years of life would help me navigate the realities of coming out.
Because that's what I had to do. I had to come out. I had to say to the world: I know it's a surprise, but I'm gay.
I wiped up the cum from my abdomen with my sock and curled up under my quilt. I had started to wonder what it was like to sleep – actually sleep – with a guy. I had slept with women over the years which was, I now realize, the nicest part of having sex with them: the part that happens after the sex. That should have told me something. Or highlighted something.
It's not like I didn't know that I really wanted to be with men. But I think my mother's voice was always in my head: “Gay guys are fine, but God does not approve.”
I love my mother, but she's a believing Catholic. My dad doesn't really care one way or the other, I think. They met Sergio and Carlos once a few years ago and afterward my mother said, “They're nice boys, but you stay away from that Sergio. He's a homosexual, you know.”
I remember saying to her sarcastically, “Yeah, mom. I know. I could get infected.”
But now? I knew I had to tell her. But not yet. I needed to feel more settled. I needed to have more experience. I really liked Aravind but it was such a new thing to be interested in a man. And I also knew that I wanted to have lots of experiences with a bunch of men. Different kinds of men. Beefy guys, slim guys, hairy guys. Who knows what else? Just before I fell asleep, I realized I was excited.
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