Post Coital Celebration
The applause startled a seagull off the railing when Jesse and Eli finally shuffled back to us, hands clasped tight enough to whiten their knuckles. Eli's harness straps had left angry red lines across his ribs where Jesse had gripped too hard, and Jesse's hair stuck up in sweaty tufts like he'd been electrocuted. Billy started the standing ovation, paint-smeared hands clapping loud enough to echo off the cliffs, and even Brian managed a single golf-clap between sips of his now-warm martini.
"Beers?" Brian nudged the condensation-slick bottles toward them with his foot, his tone drier than the napkins he'd folded into perfect squares earlier. "Hydration is critical post-coitus, especially given the saline-heavy environment and your demonstrated...enthusiasm."
Jesse cracked his bottle open with trembling fingers, foam spilling over his wrist as he gulped half of it in one go. Eli just stared at him like it was a scientific specimen, his free hand absently tracing the indentations left by the harness on his thigh. The kid looked wrecked in the best possible way, lips swollen, eyes glazed, with that particular dazed glow of someone who'd just discovered their body could do things they'd only fantasised about.
"Christ, look at them," Rob murmured, aiming his camera discreetly at where their knees kept knocking together under the table. "Like baby deer learning to walk."
Billy lobbed a paintbrush at Jesse's head. "Next time, less jackhammer, more...fucking foreplay, yeah?" He demonstrated with an obscene hip roll that made his own drink slosh. "You've got to make it last, kid. Like stretching dessert."
Taking advantage of a natural lull in the conversation, I stood and announced, "I'm going to have a soak," as I stripped off in front of the gathering and stood at the step. Anyone else coming in?"
The jacuzzi jets hummed to life as I sank into the bubbling water, the heat unknotting muscles I hadn’t realised were tense. Rob slid in beside me with a contented sigh, his toes brushing mine under the froth. Billy’s entrance was less graceful; as he practically cannonballed in, sending waves sloshing over the edges, his erection bobbing proudly above the waterline.
Brian hovered at the steps, now naked, martini in hand, surveying us like a biologist observing an unfamiliar ecosystem. "Is it... sufficiently large?" he asked, gesturing to the tub with his glass.
Billy grinned, flicking water at him. "The Jacuzzi or your cock?"
"Ha ha," Brian responded as he waded in.
Something shifted then, not in the water, but between us. The way Jesse and Eli cuddled together in the warm water. The way Brian finally stepped in, letting his drink condensation drip onto Billy’s shoulder as he sat next to Rob. Billy was in a playful mood, using his toes to play with my erection. Brian, Rob, Billy, me and now Jesse and Eli, who thank God, had removed his lingerie, to be fully naked and content.
Had we stumbled into being a family, I wondered? The word surfaced unbidden, startling in its clarity as I enjoyed the warmth and bubbles.
Rob nudged my foot under the water. "You’re thinking too loud," he murmured. "Let’s have a penny for your thoughts?"
The words slipped out before I could weigh them. "Have we become a family of queer misfits?" as the jacuzzi jets hiccupped as if startled. Jesse's toes curled against Eli's calf underwater, their twin blushes spreading beneath the steam.
Brian's martini glass froze halfway to his lips. "Statistically improbable," he murmured, but his fingers trailed absently through the water toward Rob's thigh. "Six unrelated males forming a stable domestic unit outside institutional...."
Billy's splash cut him off. "Fuck statistics," as he hooked an arm around my neck, his wet chest pressing against my side. "Look around, mate. A teenage artist and his boyfriend getting laid properly for the first time. Two pensioners who fold socks like it's foreplay," as he nipped my earlobe. "And us, two perverts who like a good shag in the mountains whilst chasing poor defenceless bears while naked. How would you describe whatever the hell we are?"
Rob's laughter echoed off the cedar siding. He stretched, knocking knees with Brian underwater. "Christ, we're that house all the teenagers whisper about. 'Don't go near the cliff, boys, the gay commune will seduce you with life drawing and superior oral techniques.'"
Eli's giggle burst out unexpectedly, bright as the bubbles fizzing around us. Jesse pressed their shoulders together, grinning at some private joke written in the freckles across Eli's nose. The sight punched me somewhere south of the ribs; these kids trusting us enough to fall apart and reassemble themselves in our hot tub.
"Well," Brian demanded. "What are you saying or asking?"
Billy's toes curled against my thigh underwater as the jets pulsed around us. "That old man at the trading post," he murmured, voice low enough that the steam seemed to carry his words directly into my ear. "He didn't just say I'd find what I sought. He said I would find my family."
Rob's camera clicked before he could stop himself. "Christ, look at you all." The photo would later show six faces illuminated by the underwater lights, our reflections fractured and recombined in the bubbling water, Billy's paint-streaked forearm draped over my shoulder, Brian's fingers brushing Rob's knee beneath the foam, Jesse's palm cradling my knee. At the same time, Eli traced the ridges of Jesse's collarbone.
"What if," Eli began, then stopped, his cheeks flushing darker than the harness marks. Jesse nudged him gently, and the words tumbled out: "That First Nations guy wasn't just talking about Billy finding Steve. What if he meant all of us?" His fingers interlaced with Jesse's underwater. "Statistically, how many former foster kids end up sketching in a billionaire's hot tub after losing their virginity to their best friend?"
"Millionaire, please," I chuckled.
"You changed my life,” Billy declared, “and your big hike brought Brian and Rob closer together with the blog, to the point, they're here today."
Brian surprised me by saying, "I'm not going to argue with that. You have changed our lives, and I mean you two whippersnappers as well, brought new, invigorating life into mine and Rob's. Perhaps we’re destined to be a family of queer misfits."
"Fuck," Billy murmured, not to anyone in particular. The word hung in the steam like an unspoken prayer. Something strangely wonderful was playing out as we all sat in the warm water. Something special was changing the dynamics between us as Brian's martini glass clicked against the tub's edge as he set it down with uncharacteristic care.
"If we're quantifying relationships," he began, then stopped when Rob's hand found his knee beneath the bubbles. Something unreadable passed between them, forty years of shorthand in a single glance, before Brian cleared his throat. "I have a confession. Rob, I love you.”
“I know you do, Brian,” Rob responded, smiling like a Cheshire cat.
Brian coughed again, clearing his throat for the second time. “Rob, what would be your reaction if I asked you, will you marry me. Can I make an honest man of you?"
Rob's martini slipped from his fingers, sinking into the bubbling water like a tiny shipwreck. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again, utterly silent for the first time in decades. Brian's clinical facade cracked completely, his fingers twitching toward Rob's thigh like he wanted to document the reaction but couldn't bring himself to look away.
Jesse's gasp echoed off the cedar decking. Eli clamped both hands over his mouth, harness marks standing out vividly against his flushed skin. The jacuzzi jets churned the water where Rob's drink had vanished, bubbles fizzing around Billy's stunned erection as we all collectively forgot how to breathe.
Rob's laughter came first, sharp and disbelieving, like a gunshot cracking across the water. Then his hands were in Brian's hair, dragging him into a kiss so fierce their teeth clacked. Brian's glasses fogged instantly, but he didn't pull away, just gripped Rob's shoulders hard enough to leave bruises as Rob responded. “Yes, I will.”
Billy whooped, splashing water everywhere as he vaulted over me to clap them both on the back. "Fucking finally!"
Brian's fingers dug into Rob's wrist as he hauled him upright, water sluicing off them both in sheets. "Upstairs," he hissed, “we’re going to celebrate,” his voice ragged with something that wasn't just steam heat. Rob went willingly, holding Brian’s hand, his martini forgotten, as his laughter dissolved into a gasp when Brian bit his shoulder on the way out. The screen door slammed behind them with finality, cutting off the sound of Billy's wolf whistle.
"Right," Billy murmured against my neck, his erection pressing insistently against the small of my back. "If they’re celebrating, I think we should, and I want you to brace against that edge like your life depends on it," as his teeth grazed my earlobe, the jacuzzi jets pulsed around us, bubbles fizzing against our skin. Across from us, Jesse was already guiding Eli onto his lap, their movements syncopated like they'd done this a thousand times instead of once.
The water displaced around us in slow waves as Billy pushed in, the heat making everything slicker, tighter. Jesse's gasp mirrored mine when Eli sank onto him, their foreheads knocking together before finding the right angle. Billy's fingers dug into my hips, his thrusts measured at first, the shallow testing of a man relearning his lover's body in this new element. Then Eli moaned, high and desperate, and something in Billy snapped.
The jacuzzi became a living thing around us, water sloshing over the edges with each driving thrust. Jesse had both hands braced on Eli's hips, his thumbs pressing into the red lines as if to memorise their topography. Eli's head dropped back, exposing his throat where droplets caught in the hollow. Billy's paintbrush would later capture that exact shade of gold in the morning light.
I lost time somewhere between Billy's teeth on my shoulder and the way Jesse kept whispering "look at me, just look at me" against Eli's mouth. The jets cycled off abruptly, plunging us into sudden stillness save for the slap of skin on skin. Billy cursed, adjusting his angle, and then, oh Christ, his thumb pressed just there, and the world telescoped down to the point where we were joined.
The jets kicked back on just as Billy's rhythm stuttered into something desperate, his hips snapping forward in short, brutal strokes that sent water sloshing over the tub's edge. Eli's gasp cut through the steam, a sharp, punched-out sound, as Jesse's fingers dug into his harness marks hard enough to leave fresh bruises. I registered my own climax as I screamed, yes, the white-hot snap of pleasure and Billy's bitten-off groan against my shoulder, his cock pulsing inside me as the water churned around us.
Jesse lasted three more thrusts before shuddering violently, his forehead pressed to Eli's clavicle as he came with a sound like a sob. Eli followed seconds later, his back arching beautifully as his cock jerked untouched between them, spilling streaks across Jesse's abdomen that the bubbles quickly swallowed. Billy murmured something filthy against my ear, his fingers tightening on my hips as he milked the last aftershocks from both of us.
The aftermath was a tangle of limbs and laughter, Jesse's shaky exhale fogging the water's surface as Eli traced the fresh marks around his wrists. Billy's paintbrush floated forgotten near the drain, its handle bumping against my knee in the fading current. Somewhere above us, Brian and Rob's muffled voices filtering through the cedar decking, and the shared knowledge of their parallel passion thrummed between us like a sixth presence in the water.
Billy's teeth grazed my earlobe as he reached past me for his abandoned drink. "Think they'll actually make it official?" he murmured, nodding upward where Rob's distinctive laugh, half-gasp, half-guffaw, echoed through the house.
Eli lifted his head from Jesse's shoulder, whispering I love you and as I regained a resemblance of normality, I looked at Eli and Jesse, "If you want, you can live with us if it makes your life easier. On condition, though, clothing is optional around this place."
Both Jesse and Eli kissed me first, then kissed Billy, accepting the offer as I suggested, “let’s go and find you your own space in this house.”
We led them to the guest annex, our nudity ignored, as we showed them around the self-contained apartment with a bedroom, kitchen and lounge with a fairly large bathroom. “What do you think? I asked them as they stood, speechless.
“It’s better than your trailer home, I suspect,” Billy declared, as the boys embraced us in a huge hug, knowing their lives had just changed.
We left Jesse and Eli to absorb their new surroundings, suspecting they might enjoy a shag while commenting on the colour scheme as Billy and I returned to the jacuzzi, spending the next hour exploring our bodies, forcing a couple more orgasms to flow as we talked about how the family had just changed, for the better, as Billy put it.
Capturing A Moment In Time
The entire household had settled into a rhythm as natural as the tides after the excitement of that Saturday. You would never call our home mundane, far from it.
Billy was always painting naked on the patio or in my study. Either way, he lived and breathed nudity. Brian and Rob spent a reasonable amount of time naked or in just their Hanes briefs, but were always dressed appropriately for that trip to the...town.
Jesse and Eli would be tangled together in the hammock with sketchbooks balanced on each other's thighs. The only fabric in sight was the occasional paint rag or Rob's beloved cashmere throw, which Brian had stealthily hidden out of sight, but the boys had stolen when he was otherwise preoccupied.
The normal aspect of life was Eli's token of submission, which he always wore now since Jesse was living with him. His harness and garter with straps around his thighs was his uniform, but during extended sessions modelling for Billy, he would be naked but always sporting an erection, just like Billy, who was always aroused, demanding sex from me whenever I took a break from my academic pursuits.
Sex was common but not shared. Billy would fuck me wherever he wanted in the garden. His favourite spot was the folly, the view over the Pacific, inspirational for our sexual activities. However, the folly had also become a favourite place for Jesse and Eli, and after one incident, when Rob and Brian wanted to have an impromptu afternoon tea, but found the boys shagging, Brian suggested a booking process should be introduced. As for Brian and Rob, they remained conservative, seeking private intimacy in the privacy of their suite of rooms in the east wing, but would think very little of strolling around the kitchen in their nightshirts or naked if they’d just climbed out of the jacuzzi.
As for me, I wore my dependable nightshirts as a default way of maintaining some modesty, especially when conducting team meetings over the internet. Billy, though, had created quite a stir when he walked to stand at the window behind me, looking out to sea, while totally naked.
Twenty-seven students viewed Billy’s nudity, and only one student had bothered to say, “Professor… your boyfriend.”
That incident resulted in Billy having to move his studio out of my study, and in fairness, I was happy to find my own space, the folly offering other moments for thought and inspiration. I was happy and enjoying my work. I had various discussion papers published and managed to attend various conferences, putting Bamfield and the UBC Marine Biology department on the international map. All I had to do was select the summer interns which Brian had shortlisted for me, as I looked out of the window, remembering one day, alone at the folly, reading the latest paper for publishing, I had a silly thought. What would the seagulls say about all the activities of our family?
I sat there chuckling to myself as I pictured the seagull's letter of complaint arriving via a soggy scrap of paper dropped onto the patio table, likely stolen from Brian's recycling bin, with angry peck marks around the edges of hastily scrawled words: "FOR FUCK'S SAKE. MIGRATORY PATTERNS DISTURBED. HAVE SOME DECORUM AND STOP FUCKING IN THE GARDEN,"
I pictured the letter in response to the frequent lovemaking that involved Jesse and Eli in the garden, on the dock, in the boat, in places I hadn’t even thought possible. Mind you, Billy and I weren’t much better, and I concluded my thoughts that perhaps the seagulls were complaining about us, too.
Another day, I spied Brian emerging from the boathouse with Rob in tow, both gloriously naked, carrying what looked suspiciously like a prototype seawater-resistant vibrator. "Statistically," Brian would be explaining, adjusting his glasses out of habit, "avian complaints increase during mating season regardless of...."
I smiled seeing Rob kissing him in silence, his handprint still vivid on Brian's arse from whatever knot-tying experiments they'd been conducting. The sight made Eli choke on his orange juice mid-swallow, which Jesse obligingly patted out of him while whispering something that turned Billy’s ears pink.
Tantric Education
The folly smelled like salt and cedar, the wood still breathing resin whenever the afternoon sun hit it just right. I'd taken to meditating there, not the lotus-position, incense-burning kind, but the bare-arse-on-a-cushion kind, staring-at-the-horizon-until-my-thoughts-untangle variety. Brian had built the structure as a "cliffside observational platform" with clinically precise sightlines to track marine traffic. Well, that's what it looked like, but it had become my sanctuary. The same place where I'd peeled Jesse out of his clothes like overripe fruit and told him to go and make love to Eli.
I stretched out on the sun-warmed wood and tried to replicate the state of mind that Brian got me to achieve through his far eastern machine approach that saw me orgasm eight times when I finally reached my first full body climax.
Brian's clinical detachment had been the secret ingredient that day, but inner peace came anyway, just not the kind I'd chased. My laughter echoed off the wood as I realised I'd been approaching transcendence all wrong. You can't force ecstasy any more than you can command the tides, I concluded, but I craved to experience that feeling again.
I was fascinated speaking to a post-grad student from India who was into tantric meditation and had lived on an ashram in India before he arrived here to study for his PhD at the Bamfield Marine Sciences Centre.
Over coffee, he'd explained that Tantric meditation originated in India between the 5th and 9th centuries CE, emerging as an esoteric, body-positive tradition within Hinduism and Buddhism, focusing on transforming energy and consciousness using mantras, visualisation, and energy centres called chakras, diverging from ascetic traditions to embrace the body as a vehicle for rapid enlightenment. The result would be a whole body experience as he described it.
Brian had agreed when I discussed the conversation with him. "Steve, a whole body experience is completely achievable through meditation when you learn to understand your body and attain a spiritual and physical connection, focusing on cultivating, circulating, and managing energy using breath, visualisation, and muscle control."
It was then that I decided I wanted to understand more and extended an impromptu invitation to my student to pop over, half expecting the invitation to be declined as being perhaps inappropriate or not very woke in our changing societal viewpoints. How wrong I was when Hari delighted in accepting my invitation and suggested he would row over the next day.
“Seriously?” I asked. “You’ll row over in your boat?”
“Canoe, professor,” Hari had corrected me, “and yes, why not? It's quicker than driving.”
With a level of excitement that my invitation had been accepted, I watched from the folly as Hari's canoe cut through the still water like a blade through silk, each stroke of his paddle sending liquid shivers across the inlet. He moved with the economical grace of someone raised on riverbanks, elbows high, torso twisting just so, the kind of motion that made you forget human bodies weren't designed for aquatic propulsion. I tracked his progress from the folly's cedar railing, wearing one of my famous nightshirts and briefs for comfort, the afternoon sun warming my shoulders, tasting salt on my lips when the breeze shifted.
Hari's bare feet left damp prints on the sun-bleached cedar as he stepped into the folly, his traditional Indian orange robes flowing, clinging to his shoulders where seawater had splashed during the crossing.
"It's beautiful here," he breathed, not the polite compliment of a guest, but the stunned realisation of someone who'd just found a missing piece of something. His gaze skipped from the hand-carved rafters to the panoramic view of the Pacific, pupils dilating as he took in the way afternoon light turned the water mercury-bright.
"I know your wealthy professor, but what you have here is something else, something that is just perfect," Hari declared. "It’ll be perfect," as he looked at my garb, "and that works, very practical for the session."
"Thanks for coming, Hari and for understanding why I invited you. This is my go-to space in this mad world, and I hope the change of scene will work."
"All you have to do, professor, is relax and find your inner self, that's all. I found mine on the ashram, but our style was slightly different."
"How so?" I asked.
Hari coughed before continuing. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I managed to attain spiritual connection without clothes. Being nude in my religion represents a return to a natural state, a detachment from societal conventions, and the stripping away of ego. It's never about public nudity but rather a deliberate act of vulnerability before the divine or a profound symbolic detachment."
"So you were always naked when you meditated. You never mentioned that before."
"Sorry, Professor, but you're my professor and suggesting it's better naked might be very inappropriate," Hari pointed out. "I didn't want to embarrass you."
"I have no worries about being naked, but what will it provide?"
“Simple, Professor, sensory Awareness. Let me explain.”
“Go ahead, Hari,” I responded, inviting him to continue his lecture.
“Nudity increases sensitivity to external stimuli like air movement and temperature, which can help ground you in the present moment and deepen your connection to your physical body. It also supports the release of inhibitions; shedding clothes can symbolically and psychologically help you shed societal conditioning, such as shame, leading to a more honest and vulnerable state of being. Furthermore, symbolic liberation can be achieved through nudity, which represents a return to a primal, being unburdened by material identity and ego and lastly, permits direct energy flow and transmission of "shakti" with unhindered movement of kundalini energy through the body.”
"Wow," I responded. "Okay. Would you mind me being naked for this, and stop calling me professor. During this, we're equals."
"Steve, I was actually going to suggest we were naked when you mentioned we would be somewhere private."
"In that case, let's do it," I declared as I lifted my nightshirt over my head and slipped my briefs down, picking them up, discarding them outside the folly. Hari did the same, his robes joining mine.
The folly's cedar planks warmed beneath my bare thighs as we settled onto the cushions, the salt-heavy air clinging to our skin. Hari's body was a study in contrasts, the lean musculature of someone who'd spent years paddling against currents, his dark skin gleaming where sunlight caught the fine hairs along his forearms. My gaze kept snagging on the way his cock rested against his thigh, nestled in coarse black curls, utterly at ease like the rest of him. It wasn't arousal tightening my chest, but something sharper, more fragile, the intimacy of witnessing someone wholly unselfconscious in their skin.
"Eyes closed," Hari murmured, his voice softer now that we'd shed titles along with our clothes. His fingertips brushed my knees, aligning them precisely shoulder-width apart. "Not because looking is wrong, but because you'll feel more," as his own lashes fluttered shut as he inhaled through his nose, the swell of his ribs expanding like a bellows. I mirrored him, but the image of his body lingered behind my eyelids, the dip of his navel, the way his foreskin puckered slightly at the tip.
Hari's fingers pressed into the hollows behind my knees, grounding me with unexpected warmth. His chant began low, three syllables repeating like waves on rock, the sound vibrating through his palms into my bones. I hadn't expected Sanskrit to curl around me like smoke. I hadn't anticipated how his baritone would resonate in the cedar-walled space, but suddenly my pulse was syncing to the rhythm of his mantra.
"Breathe here," he murmured, thumb brushing the inside of my thigh where tension bunched. His touch mapped my anatomy with precision, the ridge of quadriceps, the quiver of suppressed movement, then circled back to my knees.
"Not control. Allow," his English fracturing around the edges when the chanting deepened, his hips rocking slightly as if riding some invisible current.
The first surge hit without warning. Heat unspooled from his palms up my thighs, thick as honey, pooling low in my abdomen before cresting toward my sternum. My gasp echoed off the folly's rafters, too loud, too raw, but Hari just pressed harder, his chant shifting to a humming vibration that travelled straight to my cock. It twitched against my thigh, half-hard with no conscious arousal, just the body's dumb obedience to this new input.
"Good," Hari breathed, his own erection twitching in time with his pulse and breathing. Sweat gleamed along his collarbones where the chant's resonance concentrated. "Now follow it down," his hands on my knees and everything in me clenched.
The second wave came faster, overwhelming my body in a feeling of deep calm, warmth and inner peace. I wasn't even aware that Hari's hands still rested on my knees. My body was enveloped in sensations I had never experienced before, as I sat in a trance, oblivious to my surroundings, in a state of elevated awareness of my whole body. It felt as if I had left my body in some respects, gaining a vision of Hari's aura as he sat opposite me. I was seeing Hari in a different light, a multitude of colours that emitted his own peace and tranquillity. It felt safe and honest, and I became aware of my own emissions as Hari smiled at me.
My whole body then tingled, beyond my senses, as I became even more aware of the hairs on my legs and arms. I felt a mixture of intense awareness as I felt strange sensations that could only be described as a whole body climax, a liquid rush that short-circuited every thought and then….
My whole body jerked. I could hear my heart pumping. I could sense other sounds I had never heard before. I even sensed the blood pumping in my cock, now fully erect and dripping down my shaft. Hari's nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply, in unison with my own, suggesting we had become linked somehow.
"Breathe into it," he whispered, his voice fraying at the edges. Our chests heaved in unison, the chant now all around us, dissolving into panting as I became aware our tremors intensified, mirroring each other.
The folly's cedar walls seemed to pulse around us, contracting and expanding with each ragged inhale and then, ecstasy ripped through us like a riptide, muscles locking as our backs arched in unison.
Our climaxes hit in slow motion, each spurt in unison, drawn out impossibly long while Hari chanted through our parallel release, our seed arcing with such power that I sensed my release landing on him as I felt his land on me. I then sensed the remainder of our release landing onto the sun-warmed planks between us.
We had orgasmed together without any physical encouragement.
Hari and I remained connected spiritually, emotionally, but not physically, as silence enveloped us both to the point I could hear his heart as he could hear mine. I could hear his breathing return to normal from the deep and slow beat, earlier experienced, and then, I became aware of three things simultaneously: the tacky mess on my stomach, the aftershocks twitching through my thighs, and the fact I hadn't been touched once as I experienced my first whole body climax.
Even though my eyes were open, I had no focus, my awareness heightened, but my vision tunnelled, returning slowly as I came down from the most remarkable experience of my life.
With my vision restored, I saw Hari wiping his brow with a trembling forearm. His grin was all teeth. "Congratulations, you didn't chase it, you let it be you. You touched the divine, at one with your body."
I smiled, still breathless. "You didn't mention I'd actually orgasm," I said, watching Hari's stomach where my release glistened in the afternoon light. My gaze dropped to my own stomach, his semen already tracing paths through the salt-damp hair toward my groin. The absurdity of it hit me then: two grown men sitting cross-legged and covered in each other's semen like some bizarre yoga class gone awry.
Hari's laugh was bright and unselfconscious as he wiped his forearm across his abdomen. "Technically, if I told you, you would have been chasing it, and that's not what this was about. It's about a metaphysical release and a perfect alignment with your soul," as his fingers hovered over the mess between us, considering, before scooping up a pearly strand with curious reverence. "Energy follows intention, Steve. Your body knows what to do once your mind stops interfering."
The folly's cedar walls creaked in the shifting wind as I studied our mingled fluids on his fingertips, something that should've been indecent felt oddly ceremonial instead. Hari's dark eyes held mine without embarrassment, our cocks still hard against our stomachs, both feeling utterly at ease with the intimacy of shared experience.
A gull's cry sliced through the moment. Hari flicked his wrist, sending our combined essence arcing over the railing toward the sea below. "Offerings to Varuna," he murmured, though his smirk suggested he wasn't entirely serious. The droplets caught sunlight for one suspended second before vanishing into the waves.
I did the same, flicking a drop of semen in the same direction. "For Varuna," I said.
My thighs stuck to the wood when I shifted, the afterglow still humming under my skin. "So, let's clean ourselves off."
"No, Steve, let it dry. It's part of you and your body."
"Oh, okay," I responded. Shall we then get dressed and have a tea? It seems appropriate for the occasion."
Hari surprised me. "Let us remain sky-clad in honour of Lord Shiva," Hari suggested as he stood, his bare feet making no sound on the decking as he led the way to the house, his skin gleaming where sunlight filtered through the cedars.
My own nudity felt strangely ceremonial now, not shameful, not erotic, just present, honouring Lord Shiva as Hari put it, as I caught myself matching Hari's gait, the roll of hips adjusted for balance without clothing's constraints.
The kitchen tiles shocked cool against my soles as we entered. Hari looked at the kettle while I hesitated near the doorway, suddenly aware of how domestic this was about to become.
"Ah, you westerners," Hari chuckled, as he filled a saucepan instead of a kettle, his biceps flexing as he reached for the tea leaves. "Proper chai needs watching. Like meditation, if you ignore it, you'll burn everything," his grin flashing white against the steam as he added cinnamon sticks with a flair that sent bark shavings spiralling onto the counter.
I leaned against the fridge, letting its chill seep into my shoulder blades as Hari worked. His hands moved with the same precision he'd used on my pressure points earlier, crushing cardamom pods between thumb and forefinger, grating ginger directly into the bubbling water, each motion economical yet somehow lavish. The scent hit me first: ginger's citrusy bite softening into cinnamon's warmth, then the peppery punch of black tea unfolding like a secret. Hari's cock swayed semi-erect as he stirred, utterly at ease, his body a study in unselfconscious grace.
Billy froze mid-step as he walked into the kitchen, his paintbrush dangling from his fingers, cobalt streaking down his thigh, his nakedness normal when painting. His gaze flicked from Hari's naked back to my equally bare form, eyebrows hiking toward his hairline.
"Well," he drawled, recovering faster than I did, "looks like I missed the memo about kitchen dress code," his smirk deepening as he sidled past Hari to snag a mug, deliberately brushing his hip against mine. "Though if this is the new house rule for guests, I'm all for it," noting the drying semen on our bodies.
"I had a tantric meditation session with Hari. That's all, and it's better done without clothes."
Billy's paintbrush hit the counter with a clatter. "You had a what?"
His eyes flicked between us, taking in the dried streaks on our stomachs, the way Hari leaned against the stove with the casual ease of someone who'd seen every version of human nakedness. "Bloody hell, mate. First gold, now cosmic orgasms? Should we start calling you Midas?"
Hari poured the chai through a strainer, his forearm muscles flexing. "Steve's a natural," he said, handing me a steaming mug. "Most westerners tense against the energy flow like they're bracing for impact," his chuckle warming the space between us. "But you and Steve? Walking around nude like it's nothing? That's advanced practice where I come from."
That's nothing, you should meet Jesse and Eli and occasionally Rob and Brian," Billy responded as his fingers traced a drying streak on my ribcage, his touch raising goosebumps. "So you just... sat there chanting and climaxed?" as his thumb swiped through the residue, bringing it to his lips with a thoughtful hum. "Tastes like enlightenment with a hint of sea salt."
Hari nearly dropped the ginger grater. "You can't just," he spluttered, then burst into laughter when Billy licked his fingers clean with exaggerated relish. "Christ, you're worse than the monkeys at Vrindavan."
I sipped my chai, the spices blooming across my tongue, cardamom's citrus punch, ginger's slow burn, while Billy crowded into my space, his paint-smeared thigh pressing against mine. "Teach me," he demanded, all false bravado, but his pulse jumped under my fingertips when I touched his wrist.
"We can have a session after tea," Hari declared, "if you want to try Billy, but I don't think you're ready, considering your legendary living arrangements."
Hari's chai scalded my tongue as I choked on a subdued laugh. Billy's paintbrush hovered near my hip, leaving cerulean streaks that matched the fading afternoon light through the kitchen window. "Legendary?" I echoed, wiping my mouth. "Is that what they're calling our nudist commune now?"
Hari stirred another spoonful of honey into his mug, the steam curling around his smile. "Oh, the stories," he murmured. "The reclusive millionaire's compound where professors work amongst artists painting naked and teenagers lose their virginity in artful tableaux," his bare shoulder bumping mine as he reached for the ginger. "There's a WhatsApp group, you know."
Billy's brush clattered into the sink. "You're joking."
"Only partly," Hari admitted. "Mostly it's geology students speculating about Steve's gold strike, but there's...," he trailed off, suddenly intent on fishing a cinnamon stick from his tea, the flush of embarrassment creeping down his chest that had nothing to do with the steam from his tea.
Billy pounced. "There's what?"
Hari's grin was pure mischief. "A subthread analysing Jesse and Eli's Instagrams. Comparative harness aesthetics. The consensus is Eli wears his in submission to Jesse, while Jesse's looks like he's barely aware it's there," as he sipped his chai, eyes twinkling over the rim. "Your rooftop sketches caused quite the stir. You looked fabulous, Professor and Billy, I can see why you have a wall at the National Gallery."
I nearly scalded myself. "You've seen those rooftop sketches?"
"Yep, and I loved them. Honest and beautifully erotic. A celebration of manhood. However, the legendary bit isn't related to you all being gay. It's actually related to the Bamfield scholarship and how many lives you have changed. Not only that, you gave a home to Jesse and Eli, who, I guess, at the time you didn't know, were actually homeless, living in a trailer home. You have created your own ashram where people can be themselves, including me. I've never shared with anyone what I shared with you today," Hari concluded. “It never seemed appropriate until today.”
Billy and I remained quiet, thinking about what we had just heard.
"I came to Canada because I had to get away. Being a gay marine biology student in India is not easy due to the class structure. But being a gay Dalit left me terribly marginalised. My professor understood and wrote a letter of recommendation, which landed on your desk. You, you professor, changed my life. Another life.
"I...I..." I was shocked, bereft of words as I looked at Hari.
"Professor, Steve, you are a Seva-bhari who understands, Nar Sewa Hi Narayan Sewa, Service to humanity is service to God. Swami Vivekananda’s teachings emphasise that helping a fellow human being is the highest form of worship. He teaches that by aiding another, one is interacting with the divine and changing the life of both the receiver and the giver."
Billy was bereft now, standing there with paint drying on his fingers, his usual bravado stripped away like the clothes none of us had bothered to put on. The silence stretched, thick with the scent of chai and something sharper, realisation, maybe, or the aftershock of Hari's confession. I watched a drip of cobalt slide down Billy's thigh, following the same path his sweat had taken earlier in the jacuzzi, when our biggest concern had been seagulls judging our life choices.
Your legend is who you are and what you do, and I felt drawn to you, and it didn't surprise me that I was able to connect with you. You have an energy that attracts people who need help, and you answer them with words and actions that the Swami Vivekananda says are divine."
Thank God for Billy's avant-garde approach because he piped up, paintbrush still dripping cerulean onto the tiles, "In that case... can I paint you?" his grin all teeth, the kind that usually preceded either brilliant art or spectacular trouble. "Both of you. Together. Right now."
Hari choked on his chai. Steam curled around his face as he blinked at Billy, then at me, then down at our still-drying bodies. "You want to… what, exactly?"
"I want to paint you," Billy repeated.
Hari's teacup hit the counter with a sharp clink. "You mean....like this?"
“Post coital, if you like, but yes. I want to paint you,” Billy declared.
Hari's laughter burst forth like startled birds taking flight. "You want me to pose covered in... semen," as he gestured vaguely at the streaks drying on his abdomen, then at mine, his dark eyes dancing with mischief. "Professor, your partner's priorities are fascinating."
"You're lucky, he normally would ask for a shag first," I responded.
“I think he’s already mentioned that,” Hari responded.
We laughed until Hari recovered his composure. "I wouldn't mind," with a shrug that sent dried strands of our release flaking off his stomach. His nonchalance was undercut by the way his cock twitched against his thigh, whether from residual energy or Billy's attention, I couldn't tell. Billy's paintbrush hovered midair, dripping cerulean onto the kitchen tiles as he processed Hari's casual consent.
"You sure?" I asked Hari.
"More sure than you know," Hari responded. "I want you both to fuck me, one at a time, but I want you both. I’ve fantasised about you since I saw the rooftop sketches, and if I’m honest, I haven’t had any sex since arriving in Canada."
Billy's body had reacted to the demand, as he took a tube of lube out of the kitchen drawer. “In that case, Hari,” Billy piped up, “I’m game on, and I’m sure your favourite professor’s okay with it, so let’s fulfil your fantasy without undue delay.”
The three of us walked back to the folly hand in hand, the afternoon sun casting shadows across the cedar decking. I wasn't sure how this would unfold, but somehow, Hari was going to be fucked by the end of the afternoon, emotionally and physically, as we approached the steps.
Hari didn't waste any time leaning against the cedar railing, looking out to sea as I smeared lube down my cock and Billy's. The salt wind ruffled his hair as I moved behind him, pressing against the warmth of his back, my hands sliding down the dip of his spine. His skin still carried the faint musk of our earlier meditation, mingling with the briny air. My fingers traced the curve of his arse, circling his entrance with deliberate slowness, feeling him tense then relax into my touch with a shuddering exhale.
Billy positioned himself to sit under Hari, as the lad stretched over Billy, using the cedar railing for support, his paint-streaked hands framing Hari's face as he kissed him deeply. The groan Hari let out vibrated through me as my fingertip breached him, his body welcoming me with surprising ease. "Christ, you're tight," I murmured against his shoulder, working him open with careful strokes while Billy's mouth wandered down Hari's throat, leaving faint red marks in its wake.
Hari's fingers clutched at the railing, knuckles whitening as I added a second digit, scissoring gently. His head fell back against my shoulder with a gasp when I brushed his prostate, his entire body jerking like a live wire. "Steve..." His voice broke, the word dissolving into a moan as Billy dipped his head under Hari's stomach, taking Hari's cock into his mouth without preamble.
The sight of Billy's lips stretched around Hari's length, his blue-streaked hands gripping Hari's hips, sent a fresh wave of heat through me. I withdrew my fingers, lining myself up, and pushed in with one smooth thrust. Hari's shout echoed across the Pacific, his body clamping down on me as Billy swallowed around him. The cedar creaked beneath our combined weight, the railing digging into Hari's hands as he braced himself, caught between us.
I set a slow, deep rhythm, each thrust drawing another broken sound from Hari's lips. Billy's mouth was relentless, his tongue swirling in time with my movements until Hari's thighs began to tremble. "I'm..." Hari's warning came too late, his release hitting Billy's throat with a choked-off cry. Billy took every drop, his fingers tightening on Hari's hips as I fucked him through it, the tight clench of his body pushing me toward my own climax.
Hari's body arched between us like a drawn bowstring, every muscle taut as I rocked into him with deliberate slowness. The cedar railing groaned under his white-knuckled grip while Billy's mouth still worked him through the aftershocks, his tongue swirling lazy circles around Hari's still hard cock. I could feel Hari clenching around me in erratic pulses, his body oversensitive yet still hungry, still pulling me deeper with each retreating thrust.
Taking a brief break, Billy declared, "Hari, you're still hard, yum yum," taking his cock again, moving Hari towards the oversensitive stage of post coital enjoyment.
"Gods," Hari gasped, his forehead pressed to Billy's paint-streaked shoulder. "You two are something. Keep going," he demanded as his breath hitched when I angled my hips just so, brushing that sweet spot inside him that made his thighs quiver. Billy kept sucking his cock, feeling a renewed excitement as Hari managed to control himself through the barrier of oversensitivity towards another climax, as the afternoon sun gilded the sweat along his spine, turning each droplet molten as I traced them with my tongue.
Billy chuckled against Hari's hipbone, his fingers splayed possessively across Hari's stomach. "Your body is something, mate," he murmured, taking his cock deeper.
I bit back a groan at the memory, Eli spread across the lounger, Jesse's eager hands, Brian's clinical commentary, but the tightening in my gut had nothing to do with recollection. Hari's body was a live wire beneath mine, every shift of his hips sending sparks up my spine. I gripped his waist tighter, my thumbs bracketing the dip of his pelvis as I set a punishing new rhythm.
Hari's moan fractured into something ragged when Billy's fingers found his nipples, rolling the tight buds between cobalt-stained fingertips. "Fuck..."
The curse dissolved into a shuddering gasp as I sheathed myself to the hilt, the slap of skin echoing off the folly's cedar walls.
Billy's mouth was relentless, his tongue pressing flat against the underside of Hari's cock in a way that made his knees buckle. I caught Hari's weight against my hips, feeling his heartbeat thundering through his ribs as Billy hollowed his cheeks. The vibrations travelled straight to where our bodies were joined, turning each thrust into electric feedback.
Hari's fingers scrabbled against the cedar railing, his hips jerking in tiny aborted movements, too oversensitive to fuck properly into Billy's mouth, too desperate to pull away. His choked-off whimper when Billy's teeth grazed his shaft sent my own control fraying. I dragged my cock along that sweet spot inside him with deliberate precision, watching the way his shoulders tensed, the cords of his neck standing out as he fought another climax.
Billy's cobalt-streaked fingers dug into Hari's thighs as he took him deeper, his nose brushing the coarse curls at the base. Hari's whole body locked up, his shout ragged at the edges, "I can't...," before his release hit in slow, pulsing waves. Billy swallowed greedily, his throat working around each spurt while Hari shuddered between us, his prostate clenching around me in rhythmic contractions that dragged me right to the edge.
The pressure built low in my gut, white-hot and inevitable, as Hari's body milked me with each involuntary squeeze. Billy's lips were still wrapped around Hari's softening cock when my vision whited out, my hips stuttering as I came deep inside Hari with a groan that sounded more like surrender than release.
Hari slumped forward, his forehead resting on Billy's paint-streaked shoulder as we all gasped for air. The afternoon sun painted the sweat on our bodies gold, the cedar railing creaking faintly under our combined weight. Billy licked a stray drop from Hari's tip with a satisfied hum, his smirk evident even as he pressed a kiss to the inside of Hari's thigh.
Hari's hips rolled with the practised ease of someone who'd spent years navigating currents, both aquatic and carnal. His dark skin gleamed under the light as he straddled Billy, after I had pulled out, to stand, recovering my composure.
It was clear to me that Hari was not going to take a breather, as he positioned himself on Billy's hard and pulsating cock. His muscles flexed with each downward thrust as he slid onto Billy's cock as Billy's cobalt-streaked hands gripped Hari's waist, guiding him into a rhythm that made the folly's cedar planks creak beneath them. The sight was hypnotic: Hari's back arched like a drawn bowstring, his shoulder blades shifting beneath sweat-slick skin while Billy's cock disappeared inside him repeatedly.
I watched from the railing, my own release drying sticky on my thighs, the salt air cooling my overheated skin. There was something unexpectedly graceful about their coupling, the way Hari's fingers tangled in Billy's paint-streaked hair, how Billy's throat worked as he swallowed Hari's moans between kisses. The Indian student moved with the same fluidity he'd shown in the canoe earlier that afternoon, his body adapting to Billy's thrusts like water reshaping itself around a rock.
"Look at him," Billy rasped, his voice roughened by exertion. His thumb brushed over Hari's nipple, drawing a startled gasp. "Fucking poet with his hips." Hari's answering laugh dissolved into a whimper as Billy angled upward, hitting some deep internal threshold that made his thighs tremble. Their rhythm stuttered, Billy's thrusts growing erratic, Hari's movements turning desperate, until Billy's fingers dug bruises into Hari's hips, holding him still for three sharp, deep strokes.
Hari came again, proving he was definitely in touch with his body, his release stripping Billy's stomach in pearly arcs, his entire body locking tight around Billy's cock. Billy's shout echoed off the water as he followed, his hips lifting off the cushions to bury himself to the hilt as Hari drew an orgasm from Billy, the intensity almost too much for Billy to cope with as he groaned and cried out in absolute satisfaction.
They collapsed in a tangle of limbs, Hari's forehead pressed to Billy's collarbone, both of them breathing like they'd sprinted up a mountain.
The silence that followed was broken only by the cry of gulls and the distant chime of Brian's wind chimes from the boathouse. I reached for the water pitcher, pouring three glasses while Hari disentangled himself with a wince. Billy's hand lingered on Hari's thigh, tracing idle patterns in the drying paint as Hari accepted the water with a murmured thanks.
The sea stretched before us, molten gold under the dipping sun, as Billy stood, its rhythm matching the slow pulse of Hari's cock in my palm as I held him. His skin was warm and slightly tacky with sweat, his breath steadying against my forearm as I held him from behind. Billy's presence at my back was solid as granite, his teeth grazing my shoulder blade, sharp, then soft, his fingers cradling my balls with a possessiveness that made my knees weak.
"Love you," he murmured into my skin, the words vibrating through muscle and bone as he held me while I held Hari, all three of us now looking out to sea.
Billy released me, affording me the luxury to sit down, pulling Harry onto my lap. Hari leaned back against me, his head tilting to rest on my collarbone. "Thank you, professor. Billy." His voice was rough-edged with exhaustion and something else, gratitude, maybe, or wonder. "That was the best sex I've had in ages."
Billy stood, chuckling, his breath hot. "High praise from a man who meditates his way to orgasm."
Hari's laugh was a quiet puff of air against my chest. His fingers traced idle patterns on my wrist where it rested against his stomach. "Different kinds of release," he admitted. "That was... human. Messy. Perfect," as he then stood, lifting off my lap with a measured approach that suggested he felt very satisfied with how it all had gone.
Hari kissed us with the taste of salt and shared exertion still on his lips, his mouth lingering against Billy's before turning to me with a slow, deliberate press of tongue against mine. Cum dripped down his thighs as he stood, bent down, savouring my lips for the final time as the sun gilded the trails of cum like liquid amber.
"Thank you," he murmured, thumbing a smear from my collarbone with unexpected tenderness before collecting his scattered robe from the ground outside the folly, left earlier from our meditation session.
Billy's paint-streaked hand caught Hari's wrist at the threshold. "Your essay can’t wait, I take it," teasing, but Hari shook his head with a rueful grin, stepping naked into the golden light.
Hari smiled in response to Billy’s hopeful request. “No, it can’t, but somehow, I don’t think this will be the last time we share this view.”
Billy and I watched from the cedar railings as Hari descended the rocky path to shore, his bare feet sure on the uneven stones. Hari’s robe landed in the canoe with a careless flick as he approached, the motion sending his cock swaying, still half-hard from our attentions. The wooden oar scraped against the gunwale as he pushed off, his muscles flexing with each stroke that carried him further into the sheltered cove.
Billy's fingers tangled with mine as Hari became a silhouette against the water, his paddle rising and falling in rhythm with some private mantra. The canoe's wake glittered like shattered glass behind him until he rounded the headland, swallowed by the evening's haze.
"Should we be worried?" Billy asked, nodding toward the distant speck of Hari's canoe now navigating the channel's currents.
"Somehow, I think he'll be fine, and I suspect that won't be the last time we see him. He'll be back for meditation sessions definitely, and I think he gets so aroused from the spiritual that he needs the physical afterwards."
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