Fatherless and the US Open
My dad finally died two weeks before the US Open. He just slipped away. John said he was told it was very peaceful. One minute he was there, the next he wasn't. So that was that. I wasn't sure what to do, or think, or feel. I felt kind of numb.
In New York, we were quietly celebrating Chris' win in Cleveland and for being the runner-up in Winston-Salem. In the former he beat that fucking American homophobe again. Third time. The poor guy. I think he hated being beat by a fag.
Goran, who arrived in the US the same day I got back from Boston, won in Winston-Salem. Chris was beat by that Spanish guy in the semi's, who himself was beat by Goran. Chris told me that if he couldn't be beat by Goran, he was happy to lose to this guy. He really admired him and especially because he was so gracious and not at all fazed by Chris or Goran being gay. Why can't they all be like that?
So leading up to the Open, in Goran's big rented condo, we had a few nice dinners together. No sex. Remember the rule? But it was great to hang with Goran again. Brad really liked him as well and admired his playing style which was, in fact, similar to Chris' which is why their matches tended to be so epic.
Two days before the Open started, I went to Boston to think about the house I had inherited and deal with the will. I got there in the afternoon. This time, I went directly to my old bedroom. For some reason, my dad hadn't changed anything. It had been almost ten years since I had lived there. It was spooky. I went into the little desk I had used and found a diary I had kept. Interesting. My first tennis trophy. A jokey letter that Jack had written me after that famous summer when we were both young. Some books.
I looked around, wondering what else. What was I going to do with all this crap? I heard a knock at the door. That freaked me out a little. Who knew I was here?
I went down and opened it. Mark Greenberg. The kid next door. Holy fuck.
“Hey, Mike. What are you doing here? I thought there was a burglar or something.”
“Mark! What the hell?” I pulled him in for a hug. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in LA?”
I remembered how tall he was and was struck by how buff he was now. Holy shit. He had hair like mine – brownish blonde – and his green eyes glinted in the afternoon sun. He looked much the same except for how nicely built he was. “I was there for a while...but after mom died and I decided to move back into the house.”
I said, “I always liked her.”
“She liked you.”
I felt sad and said, “She totally was there for me when my dad was being a shit. Which was a lot, I'm sure you remember.” I had been to her funeral and it had hit me really hard. She had saved me, really.
Mark gave a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, he was. But he totally followed your tennis career. I think in a weird way he was proud of you.”
“He sure a hell never told me!”
He shook his head and said, “Has there been any improvement?”
Fuck. “He died a couple of days ago. Sorry, I guess no one told you.”
He didn't look surprised and nodded and said “I guess you can't come back from strokes like that. You want to come over for a drink? It must be fucking strange to be here again...and see me!”
“Yeah, it's a trip. But sure, Mark. That would be awesome.”
I closed the door and we went next door to his house. I knew it almost as well as mine since I had spent so much time there as a kid. I wondered why Mark and I hadn't stayed more in touch. I sat on the big living room sofa while he went to the kitchen and got a bottle of wine and some glasses.
I thought about how different my life was now compared to how it had been when I lived there. I was straight. I was an up-and-coming tennis player. And now? Should I tell him?
He poured us some wine and handed me a glass. “Still playing?”
That was my in. I gave him a half-smile and said, “No...”
Raising his eyebrows, he asked, “And...?”
I took a deep breath. “I just quit competing. Like last month. And teaching. I guess I'm unemployed.”
He drank some wine but his eyes never left mine. “Mike. I've known you for our whole lives. I know there's more to this story.”
“Ok, fine. Almost a year ago, I...how do I say this? I met this guy. Chris Kosta. Now he's my boyfriend.”
To say that Mark looked surprised doesn't really cover all the things I saw in his face. He swallowed some wine and gave me a strange look. “He must have an awesome body, being a tennis player and all.”
This was not the response I expected. Holy shit. “Mark...”
“Oh...sorry...that was my way of telling you something.”
I was shocked. “You're gay?”
“Actually, I'm bi.”
I laughed and felt strangely relieved to talk to someone else who was bi. I finally said, “I'm definitely bi. The liking guys part was a bit of a surprise, although there was a clue. Remember that tennis camp I went to when I was about sixteen? Well, this guy...Jack...well let's just say we had some moments but I didn't think much about them until recently. Because then I met Chris. And I got it.”
“That's very cool. My last relationship was with a guy, but I've been with women as well.”
I raised my glass and said, “Here's to playing both sides.”
We both laughed. He put his glass down and looked at me a moment. “Tell me about Chris. Oh...wait...Chris Kosta? Isn't he the hot player that just showed up on the scene?”
“Yeah, he's hot...and he's an awesome player as well.”
Mark burst out laughing, then when he calmed down said, “And he's going to be in the US Open, I guess?”
“Yup.”
“Holy shit. I wasn't expecting this. I mean, finding out you're bi. And that your boyfriend is a top athlete.”
“What were you expecting?”
He looked uncomfortable. Then he took a deep breath and said, without looking at me, “Well, unlike you, I always knew I was into girls and guys. And...well...you were one of those guys. I had a thing for you, Mike. But I assumed you were totally straight back then.”
I put my wine down on the big glass coffee table and sat back on the sofa. I took a deep breath, feeling awkward. “I wouldn't have know what to do with you if you had told me back then.” He was sitting in a big chair across from me. I admired his body in his pretty tight blue shirt, his slightly hairy arms, his sturdy legs, his messy brownish hair...I was getting into him. I sat up and said. “You're very hot, Mark. I wish I had seen it back then.”
I got up and took him by the hand and pulled him so he was standing. “Uh...Mike...what about your boyfriend?”
I slid my hand in the back of his pants, making friends with his strong ass. “Oh Chris. He and I are pretty open. We totally love each other and we are each other's first priority, but we both enjoy hanging out with other people. Usually together, but not always. And he likes to hear about things I get up to.” I put my hand on the back of his neck and pulled his face toward mine. “And I want to get up to something with you, Mark. I want to kiss you really bad...”
So I did. And he let me. It felt so strange to be kissing this guy that I had known most of my life. Not well, but still. But he seemed to be into it. He slid his hands into my shirt and helped me shrug it off and then I went for his jeans which I could tell were all full of cock. I undid them and yanked them down. His underwear was black and really tight. I got down on my knees and rubbed my face on the fabric, feeling his heat, smelling his hard, sweaty cock.
I looked up at him and gave him a grin. “Is this OK?”
“Fuck is it ever!” I pulled his briefs down over his smooth, cut, cock and he watched me start to run my mouth over the firm surface, flicking my tongue out, tasting a little sweat. I gripped the base and pushed my face down. His cock was a little bigger than Chris' so I had to work a bit to take it, but soon I had it pulled into my throat and he whimpered, holding my head with his hands and rocking his hips forward.
But then he pulled my up by my arms and we traded spit for a while and I explored his mouth with my tongue. He let go of me and said, “Let's go upstairs...”
He shed the rest of his clothes, so I did the same and I followed him up to a room I remembered being his mom's which – for a moment – felt strange, but when he pushed me on the bed and started to suck my cock, that thought went a long ways away. He was a master. He seemed to be able to suck and tongue and use suction and I don't know what else on my dick and I almost came in his mouth in a minute. I grabbed his head and pulled him off me.
“Where the fuck did you learn to do that?”
He laughed and said, “My last girlfriend. She was a master cocksucker.”
I said, “You do me and I'll do you.” I pulled his legs toward me and grabbed his cock and got on my side. He did the same, and soon we were making noise into each other's dicks. He got a hold of my balls and tugged and again I almost came in his mouth. I pulled my hips back and said, “If you want a mouthful, then keep doing that, but if you want something else, then slow the fuck down.”
He looked sheepish. “Sorry, I guess I got a little excited.”
“A little? Fuck, Mark. That mouth of yours. You've given me a lesson in how to do it right.” I ran my fingers through his brownish pubic hair. “Do you want to fuck me?”
He stopped sucking me and said, “Uh...I only really like it under certain conditions.”
I sat up. “And those conditions are...?”
“Let's just keep going. I'm kind of into cum, if I can be blunt.”
“You and me both!”
Laughing, he went back to my dick. It was just like that amazing time with Brad at the tennis school. I happily went back to his cock, but his skills were in a different league. It's like he went to school for it, because he had me close to coming in no time and I decided I would just let it happen. I moaned a little louder, but that was the only warning I gave him before my cock exploded in his mouth. I could feel my dick pumping and then I felt and heard him growl and slurp the cum down.
That seemed to set him off because he suddenly reached down and pushed my head down further on his cock and a few streams of cum burst out and covered my tongue. I gulped it down and was struck by the stronger flavour than Chris'. He was my point of reference for everything.
I swung around and we kissed for a while, then we lay in that room that, even as a kid, I hadn't really been in since it had been Mark's mother's private space. I said, “Fuck, Mark. That was...very cool. You should write a how-to manual.”
He kissed my shoulder. “Yeah, it's my thing. Well, one of my things. And, well...” He hesitated as if trying to decide if he could tell me. “I like a little bondage. I mean....I like tying people up. Nothing crazy, just fun.”
Now he was talking. I'd always wondered what that might be like. No woman I had been with had even brought it up, and Chris certainly hadn't. Maybe we needed to broaden our horizons. I said, “I'd be down with giving it a try.”
“Are you serious?”
“Sure. Why not? But give us a while. I need to rest.”
We lay around talking about the past and I told him about our house in Barcelona – which I was increasingly excited about and couldn't wait to get back to – and he told me about his work. He was a software designer so he could work anywhere, including Boston.
We had a little nap and then I woke up and he was standing over me. He had some thing white rope. I started to get turned on. “So....how does this work?”
He looked almost embarrassed, so I grabbed his cock and gave it some attention with my tongue, and then I said, “You want to tie me the bed?” I looked up at him, his dick resting on my bottom lip.
“Yeah. Can I?”
“Fuck, yeah!”
He got on the bed and gently tied my arms to the bedposts. Once I was tied, he said, “And I only like fucking guys this way. It tuns me on like crazy.”
I was getting hot. My cock was hard as rock. “So do it. Fuck me. Do it how you want it.”
He looked excited and I could see that his cock agreed. He got himself on top of me and I could tell he was slipping into a new persona. “You want me to fuck you?”
I nodded. I liked where this was going.
“You think you deserve this cock?”
“Fuck, yeah!”
“Why don't you taste it first?”
And he moved up and grabbed my head and jammed his cock deep. No preamble, no warning but it sent me into space. He fucked my face a bunch and swore and told me I was only good to suck cock. It was so exciting I almost came.
He pulled his cock out and slapped me with it, sending spatters of my spit and his juice all over my face. He pressed his dick on my lips and chin, then rolling it around on my cheeks and nose. “You're only good to worship cock, Mike. You are cock whore, right?”
I nodded. I was afraid if I said anything I would cum all over the place. Not yet.
He fed me his balls, and then moved up further and pushed his ass in my face. Having to take his cock and having his hole pushed into my face without being able to use my hands was somehow the sexiest thing I had done in ages. I made mental note to see if Chris would be down with this.
He slid back down and rubbed his juicy cock on my lips, smearing precum all over the place. “I'm going to fuck you, cock whore. I'm going fuck you hard and you're going to like it.”
I managed to say, “I'm going to fucking love it because I'm a cock whore.” And I really felt like one. I felt like I could be that guy in a cheap erotic story who is tied up in a room and sucks of three dozen guys and is covered in cum at the end, loving every minute of it. Whatever he was doing was unleashing my inner slut.
Mark got down and roughly pushed my legs up and spat in my hole a bunch. He jammed his thumb into me. “Nice asshole, cock whore. I'm going to fuck it. Hard. You want my cock, whore?”
“Just fuck me. It's all I'm good for.”
He grinned at me and, stepping out of the role for a second, he said, “Fuck. Mike, you're a demon!”
But then he was all Master Mark again. He spit in me again, and slipped his thumb and some fingers in, stretching my ass. He pulled his hand away and aimed his cock and pushed hard. I mean really hard. It hurt, but then it didn't, all in about two seconds. His cock went deep and he started to fuck as if he had been doing it all along: fast and intense.
He spit in my face and licked it off and did it again. He bit my lip. He twisted my nipples which made me gasp. He reached around and slapped my ass a bunch, and not just playfully but a full on, open handed slap that almost made me cum. My amazing neighbour's son was a fucking wild thing in bed. I hadn't seen that coming.
When he finally came, he did what I should have expected, and certainly wanted. He pulled out and, jacking like crazy, he pumped a huge load all over my face. He didn't even try to get it in my mouth. The point was to cover my face in ropes of cum that dripped off my forehead and drooled off my cheeks.
He wasn't done. “You want to cum, cock whore?”
“More than anything.”
He lifted up my legs, then my torso and bent me over backwards so my cock was pointing down. I knew what was going to happen. He took my cock in his hand and started jerking me off. It only took a few strokes and I almost yelled and long streams of my cum hit my face, adding to what was already there. I managed to get some in my mouth, but the rest was all over the place.
He let my body fall back, then he undid the restraining rope and gently massaged my wrists which were a little sore. But it was worth it.
He got a rag from beside the bed and wiped my face off and gave me a nice bunch of kisses. “Thanks, Mike. That was awesome. I don't often meet people who are into that. I mean except on sites for people who are looking for it.”
“I get it. On another day I might have said no. But today? Fuck. I was into it.” I kissed him and we snuggled into his bed, talking more about the past.
We showered and kissed and I took a load of his cum for good measure, then we went out for dinner at this restaurant that we both remembered from when we were kids. It felt like we were reclaiming history. Cool dude. Interesting and quirky. Not at all what I would have expected when I was a kid, that's for fucking sure.
--
I went back to the house to sleep – in my old bed, which was a trip - and met with the lawyer in the morning. There was probate and all that, but the upshot was I had this big house and a couple of million dollars. The most surprising thing was that my father had put the house in my name several years ago. I had owned it for a while and the fuck never told me. It's like my dad secretly wanted to be a good dad but never let me know he was doing it. It made me sad and angry at the same time.
In the morning, on the way to the airport in an Uber, I called Chris. “I'm just getting on the shuttle back to New York. How are you?”
“I'm ready as I'll ever be, I guess. This tournament feels tense. Like the stakes are higher or something. Anyway, you'll be back in a couple of hours?”
“I'll be there, Chris. I'll always be there.”
“I know and that's fucking great.”
I stared out the window on the plane and landed at Newark and took another Uber. I found Chris lying on the bed and I took off my shirt and lay down and put my arms around him. His bleached straw hair was a mess. He snuggled into me, despite the heat, and I kissed his neck and his cheeks and tucked my nose under his jaw. His skin seemed almost transparent.
He finally said, “How was Boston?”
“Would telling you help take your mind off tomorrow? Do you need to take your mind off tomorrow?”
“Yeah, it would and yes, I do.”
I told him the story of being in that big house, of Mark and hooking up with him. He seemed really interested in the restraints and how much I had enjoyed it. I knew at some point he would be going shopping and I would get to benefit.
I told him about the next morning with the lawyer. He lifted his head and looked at me with a stupid grin on his face that I just love. “You are an heiress, you.”
“I guess I am. And get this. My father had already transferred the house to me.”
He looked puzzled. “And that means...”
“That I don't inherit it. I own it. I guess there are tax implications, at least. He may have been an asshole, but he was smart about money.”
Chris kissed me really softly, which is probably my favourite thing. I wanted to fuck him, but of course I had to keep my cock to myself. We lay in bed for quite a while, dozing and kissing and talking about our life in Spain which was going to start really soon.
We went out for an early dinner with Brad and kept thing light. Early to bed and Chris got up at dawn, kissed me and left for Flushing Meadow and the fucking US Open.
I stayed in bed for a while then got myself together. I was going to be the steadfast spouse. I was going to every one of his matches. He was playing the first day, being in the bottom half of the first round. And, I noticed, that Goran was in the top half. My boyfriend and our best friend could meet in the final, assuming they both won everything. In the first round, he played some guy from Chile. Obviously he won in straight sets.
Brad drove us back to the hotel in a car he rented. We didn't say much since I could tell Chris was in tournament mode: focused and still. It's like he's a zen master or something.
Two days later, he played someone vaguely known from Kazakhstan and he beat him handily, again in straight sets. The third round he played the shit who was becoming his nemesis, the homophobic asshole. Chris was strong and serene and ignored the dirty looks and fired winner after winner. The guy was beside himself he was so angry. He claimed at one point that Chris had been out, despite clearly having been perfectly in. Chris stayed out of it. He just stood and watched the guy rage. The umpire was having none of it.
Chris beat him in four sets. The set he lost to him was only by two points. The guy, ungraciously, stalked off the court and later insinuated that Chris somehow had cheated. What a shit.
Goran, whose matches I also tried to watch, had an equally easy first three rounds. It was true, the two of them played similarly and were similarly unflappable.
In the fourth round, Chris played John Alfonso who could be formidable, but was inconsistent. Goran played some guy I'm sure you've heard of. Not the Spanish guy, but the Russian dude. Both matches were long and hard, and in Goran's case, mean. The guy was mean and said nasty things just loud enough that only Goran could hear. Goran just sailed through and I think he channelled his anger into precision. It took five sets, but he finally overcame the guy. Who was not amused. Chris had John Alfonso for breakfast. It was almost too easy.
The quarters were tense. But by then, Chris' cheering section was in place: Brad and Seamus, Jack and Stuart, and me. And I got a text from Anika telling me to send good vibes to Chris.
Chris played the other annoying American. The one with the blistering serve. Goran played the young French kid who surprised everyone by beating some people he wasn't supposed to beat. Chris finally won but it was as hard as the last match. Goran won and the kid was sweet and gave him a hug. In bed that night, Chris didn't say much, but I gave him a back rub and massaged his arms and he fell asleep almost instantly.
The semi's were strangely easy for both of them. They both met top seeds: Chris played another Russian dude, and Goran, an Italian guy named Tomasso Marcel. The matches were long, but somehow not as harsh as the previous ones and they both won. Goran almost seemed surprised when he hit his last winner and realized he had won. Chris was inscrutable.
So Chris was going to play Goran for the tournament. I almost couldn't watch. It was painful. And the fucked up thing was, I don't think it was for them. They had played in finals before against each other and I think it made sense to them. But these two were so evenly matched it was torture. The match seemed endless and they had so many tie-breaks the people in the stands got sick of it. Not that anyone booed, but they were getting restless. I was getting restless. Brad took my hand a few times and told me to settle down.
Up to the last minute it was impossible to tell who was going to win. It could have been either one. It might as well have been a coin toss, for fuck's sake. But in the last tie-break, Chris returned a serve that I think Goran didn't expect him to and that was it. Goran was ever so slightly unprepared and made an unforced error and Chris won the next point and my beautiful, pale-haired god of a boyfriend won the US fucking Open.
He and Goran stood looking at each other for a surprisingly long time white the crowd went nuts around them. And you know what? They both had big smiles on their faces. Chris slowly walked around the net and they hugged for ages and kissed each other warmly and tousled each other's hair. I was so proud of both of them I started bawling and Brad had to find some tissues.
--
So after the media had their way with both of them, after they had cleaned themselves up and changed and done more interviews for television and did all the administrative crap, they finally slipped out of the main building and met us on the lawn out front. It was late, but they had to stop and sign autographs, and fend off super-fans. I suddenly realized why Brad had rented such a big car, because he drove up and got out and yelled, “Get in before it's too late!”
We laughed and piled in. I held Chris' hand and just looked at him. I was the total doting parent whose kid has just won the spelling bee. But in this case, the spelling bee came with a big fucking check and a trophy. So Chris and Goran had one major each. That seemed just perfect.
In a few days we got on a plane for Europe. Goran was going to stay at our new house for a while before heading home. Brad went back to Boston to chill with Seamus, so the three of us had the house to ourselves. On those hot summer nights, we hung out on the deck under our potted palms and relaxed and fucked and napped. All the things.
We put Goran on a plane after a few days and he said he had some leads on houses in Barcelona, so he would be back soon to check them out. Later, Chris and I sat on the deck and thought about the future. A future which was suddenly wide open.
