I was hyperventilating, but I mustn’t let Susan see that. Seeing the name on the invitation list had been a shock. I had been avoiding seeing the name, let alone the man himself, for, what, six years now? Mr. and Mrs. Bradley Williams. There it was on the wedding invitation list Susan and I were going over during the Thanksgiving holiday, while I was back in Wilmington, Delaware, from my last-gasp semester at U. of Penn’s Wharton School of Business. The marriage was to be the 24th of December. Sue’s parents had been married on Christmas Eve and it’s what she wanted too. Graduation was the 21st of January and I started as an investment advisor with the Stanley Morgan Investment Management group in Wilmington on January 30th. Susan already was a Realtor with an exclusive firm in Wilmington. We already had a house in Westover Hills, a new townhouse on Walkers Mill Lane that our parents were kicking in on, and she was furnishing it. It was all laid out so neatly. Sue had orchestrated it all. We were on our way.
And there was that name, to toss all of the planning up in the air—maybe. Maybe I could brazen it out, though. The Williamses were family friends and neighbors. Both of my family and Susan’s. We all lived in the exclusive Westover Hills section near the Tower Hill private school, where Susan and I both had gone—along with Bradley Williams’s son, Dex.
Maybe there was some way I could get Bradley Williams off the invite list—some way that didn’t make it obvious I wanted to. Thank god that Dex was out in California and there was no hint of inviting him to the wedding.
“This looks like a whole lot of people to be inviting to a Christmas Eve wedding and expecting them to come, Sue,” I said. “Maybe we could cut back a bit on some of our neighbors.”
“Maybe you’re right, Scott,” she answered. “Maybe what we should do is have a separate, after-Christmas party at my parents’ house—or at the Walkers Mill Lane townhouse if I can finish the decoration by then. We could have that just for the Westover Hills neighbors we know.”
I watched her as she took a pen to the list. After she was done, I saw that, though the Williamses had been put on the after-Christmas party list, which wouldn’t help me out a bit, she had left them on the wedding ceremony list. This wasn’t at all what I had in mind.
* * * *
The summer after graduating from Tower Hill and before entering the University of Pennsylvania, I did the traditional whirlwind month-long European tour in June. That meant there couldn’t be much of a summer job that year. We lived next to the Ed Oliver Golf Club, so, after I returned from Europe, I got in time as a substitute caddie there. Beyond that, it was picking up yard work here and there. I didn’t really need the money, but my parents didn’t want me to fall back on that. They wanted me to be working and earning something. I didn’t mind. My mind was on my coming of age in one way, having met the older man, Vencenzo, who someone else called Count Abos, outside the train station in Rome, who gave me a tour of the city, took me partying to gay clubs I’d never had the nerve to visit in the States, and who laid me—repeatedly—putting an end to my virginity to men. Until that time, I had been undecided which way I wanted to swing. It turns out that I liked it both ways.
When I returned to Wilmington, I was open to getting it on with Dex Williams, a former classmate from the Tower Hill school, who was going out to Berkley in California to college in the coming year. We’d been on the school lacrosse and swim teams together, had had many chances to see each other naked and in erection for each other, but we hadn’t done anything about it. We both were being studs the last semester of our senior years at Tower Hill, taking advantage of our looks and builds and athletic star reputation to lay as many girls as possible, being careful to ensure they all were at least eighteen, as we had turned. I suppose we both knew we’d like to lay each other, but that wasn’t what was going at the time. Dex was still playing the field by the end of the school year. I had narrowed the field to Susan Grant, another Tower Hill student. She stayed in Wilmington, going to the University of Delaware, when I went off to U. of Penn, but we remained in contact.
The last two months of that summer, though, became the year of the Williamses—and not, as I had envisioned it, the year of just Dex Williams. I came home from Europe no longer a virgin to men and determined to give it a try with my school chum, Dex. It was Dex who brought me in at the golf club that his father belonged to to caddie when the demand was high and who suggested we mow lawns together. I wanted to get close to Dex, so I agreed. I did get close to Dex, but not any closer than I got to his father, Bradley.
Dex and I were moving toward going all the way before the end of the summer, starting with some surreptitious groping and fondling, turning to kissing and mutual hand jobs. We were almost there one day in the octagonal summer house deep in the Williams’s backyard one day after we mowed, when Dex was lying back in a rattan armchair and I was kneeling between his legs, perfecting how to give head. But in the middle of that, Bradley Williams was in the summer house, commanding his son to get lost, and I found myself, chest on the seat cushion of the rattan chair and head buried in at the base of the back of the chair, and Bradley William hovering over and above me, mounted on my ass, grasping my wrists with his fists to hold me in place, and fucking me in the doggy position.
I can’t say I hadn’t been fucked in that position—and several other positions as well—before by an older man. The Italian count had worked me over real well in Rome earlier that summer. I can’t say it was unexpected to be getting it from Dex’s father, either, or that Dex now knew what his father wanted to do with me and had backed off. In fact, after Bradley fucked me the first time, Dex left the picture altogether. I have thought more than once that Dex might have been pimping me for his father.
I also can’t say I resisted Bradley Williams much or that I didn’t enjoy him fucking me. He was a handsome, well-built man, and I’d already discovered in Italy that I liked older, experienced, take-command men. That first time in the summerhouse wasn’t the last time. Bradley found opportunity to fuck me at least twice a week for the rest of the summer. I let him control when and where this would happen, but I never resisted him. He took out money to give me for the fuck the second time we got together, but I didn’t take it, saying I didn’t do it with him for money. That seemed to please him. I had taken money—an extra-big tip for yardwork—during his signaling phase, but that was just setting up an understanding between us.
I had known that he wanted me. He gave me opportunity to build up a willingness to go under him. It started when Dex and I were mowing the Williams’s yard. Dex suggested we do so bare-chested and that I mow close to the house. In retrospect, this is an indication he was pimping for his dad. While I did as Dex suggested, Bradley stood at a full-length window in a robe, drinking coffee and watching me. At some point, he lost the sash to the robe and it was handing open, showing a hung erection as if inadvertently. It was done as if he didn’t realize he was exposing himself. At this point it was just exploratory, something that could be denied as just a misunderstanding.
He had a lustful smile to go with it. He tipped heavily that day, holding onto my hand longer than necessary as he handed over the money, giving me a special smile and rubbing the palm of my hand with his thumb. I had learned in Rome that that was a signal by a top looking for a bottom. Here, Bradley could deny he knew anything about such a signal, Step by step he was moving toward the inevitable as long as I was going along with it. It was just a couple of days after I’d told Dex about my Italian count and Dex and I had jacked each other off with our hands. I had admitted that I’d liked doing it with an older, take-command man. It was pretty obvious that Dex was telling this to his father.
Then, when Dex called me from the golf course to tell me they needed more caddies, I was finding that it was his father, Bradley, who needed a caddie. By the end of the summer, when I caddied for him, he’d have me drive the cart into the rough in a stand of trees and I’d blow him and he’d fuck me in the cart.
The end of the summer was the end of that, though—not just going under Dex’s father, but all sex with men. When I went off to the University of Pennsylvania, it was to change my lifestyle as much as possible. I went back to women strictly, and not much of that either—just when I needed to release tension. I determined that I wanted to make it in the investment world and that I’d have to go straight to do that. I stepped up my contact with Susan Grant, and, six years later, when I was finishing at the Wharton School and had, through family connections, landed an establishment job, I wasn’t at all wild to see Bradley Williams’s name on an invitation list for my Christmas Eve wedding.
* * * *
OK, I thought, when the time came—the Christmas Eve wedding, the reception afterward, and even the neighborhood party later in the week, there would be so many people in attendance that I could stay clear of Bradley Williams.
No such luck.
When I turned at the front of the church to view Susan coming down the aisle on her father’s arm, my eyes immediately picked Bradley Williams out, sitting in an aisle seat about half way back in the sanctuary—and he smiled and winked at me.
The reception was held at the Wilmington Country club. “Ah, Bradley, there you are,” my father said, as he looked past me in the reception line to where Williams had reached Susan, standing on my left. “Who would have known our boys would grow up like this. Where is your wife?”
“Mighty handsome young men we raised, didn’t we?” Williams said, staring at me—looking right through me. Undressing me with his eyes. He was holding Susan’s hand in his. He would soon be taking my hand and I found myself trembling. “The wife’s flitting around somewhere. I couldn’t wait to get into the line.”
“You know Scott, of course,” my father said. And, shit yes, how he knew me, I added in my thoughts. “This is his new bride, Susan.”
“Oh, I know Susan,” Williams said. This certainly got my attention.
“Yes, he does,” Susan simpered. Before I could absorb this, however, Williams was in front of me. I shuddered as he took my hand in his and covered it closely and firmly, just as he had covered me repeatedly six summers earlier. He moved his thumb into the palm of my hand, and stroked it back and forth. I knew as well now as when he’d first done this that it was a signal of a male top seeking a male submissive. And know I knew he was fully aware of the signal it sent too. I wanted to pull my hand away, but I couldn’t. Almost involuntarily, I let my fingers encircle his thumb, providing a sheath for the digit and signaling a surrendering submissive. And then, with a little knowing smile, he released my hand and continued down the line.
I knew then that the encounter I had been dreading and avoiding wasn’t over and that I had not moved beyond Bradley Williams. Nothing is that simple. A little charge went through my body when my fingers encased his thumb. I knew that he intended to fuck me again—and that I wanted him to.
Later, when we were mingling and I had become separated from Susan, I saw her across the room, talking with Bradley and a young, ravishingly beautiful brunette. She and Susan were laughing and touching. Bradley had an arm around the woman. She and Susan were a contrast in beauty. Susan was a strawberry blonde pixie, with a porcelain complexion, small and willowy—so small that each time I covered and entered her, I was afraid I might break her. The other woman was a voluptuous, raven-haired siren. Later, when I linked up with Susan again, I asked who the woman was.
“Felicia? That’s Felicia Williams. She’s a friend of mine. She’s advising on the decoration of our new townhouse.”
“She’s Bradley Williams’s daughter?” I asked. She didn’t look like him, but she did resemble his wife, Cynthia. I didn’t remember there being a daughter, though. Just Dexter—Dex—the son. He was dark and sultry, though, like his mother.
Susan laughed. “No, she’s Bradley’s new wife. The Williamses divorced three years ago—after that scandal of Bradley being caught at that gay bathhouse out near Aberdeen. Apparently that didn’t mean anything, because he was hooked up with Felicia in no time after that.”
I didn’t refute that. There would always be some secrets between me and my wife. We would need to walk carefully in this marriage. I had a past that I didn’t want to acknowledge and had worked hard to put behind me. And there were rumors about Susan and women too. None of that held us back in the bedroom, though. I did feel, because of how small and delicate looking she was, that I had to treat her like porcelain, but once in the throes of sex, she was a resilient tigress, more often than not, on top of me and riding me in a wild, gyrating cowboy position, taking all of me. And I wasn’t, by any means, lacking in equipment, stamina, or drive.
At the neighborhood party, held at Susan’s parents’ house, I did everything I could to avoid Bradley, but it didn’t work. We were stationed at the door to welcome the guests. When the Williamses—Bradley and Felicia—arrived, Susan gushed over Felicia and beamed at Bradley. There was a sparkle in Bradley’s eye when he looked at me, and he said, “We need to talk and become reacquainted later,” and then they moved on.
“You need to be very nice to Mr. Williams,” Susan said as we waited for the next arrivals to make their way to the door, “and you seemed reserved with him.”
“I grew up with his son,” I answered. “For some reason he makes me feel old and a bit sad,” I said. It was true. He pulled me back to a time in my life when I was confused and that I was trying, not completely successfully, to forget. Even I knew the reasoning gave was lame. “I’m not that keen to socialize with him.” I was doing what I could to try to maintain a distance. I didn’t want Susan inviting the Williamses to parties.
“Well, try to be nice to him for my sake,” she said.
“For your sake? Why for your sake?”
“Felecia wants to move. She doesn’t want to live in Cynthia’s house. They are looking for something with more land out near Kennett Square. They’re looking in the six-million-dollar range. Can you imagine the commission on that? I’m working my ass off to land that sale. It would cover most of our renovation costs.”
Oh. Oh, shit. “OK, I’ll be nice to them when—when I see them,” I answered.
“Try your best to be nice to him. I can see you won’t have trouble being nice to Felicia. But her husband is the one who has to shell out money for a new house.”
“OK, yes, sure,” I answered, defeated.
I didn’t intend on seeing either of the Williamses again. But that wasn’t to be. Later in the party, my soon-to-be boss at the Stanley Morgan Investment Management group, Thad Daniels, tracked me down, gave me a big smile, and said, “I hope you’re ready to hit the ground running when you come on board, Scott.”
“I sure am,” I answered.
“When is that?”
“January 30th, I think.”
“Good. You’ll need a couple of months of training, but you should be ready to go by April and you already have a big account to handle.”
“Already?” I asked, bewildered and suddenly feeling not so ready for the job. Networking had pushed me years ahead of other investment advisers. My confidence in actually being able to do the job was wavering. In a pep talk during the hiring phase Daniels had pumped me up by saying the job was 90 percent a combination of social connections, good looks, and charisma, which he said I had in abundance, but I wasn’t so sure about that.
“Yes, he’s here, and in the library. Let’s go meet him. He says you are friends from way back.”
My new client—set up even before I got the job—was, of course, Bradley Williams. Daniels introduced us, gave me a “don’t fuck this up” look, and left us alone.
“I’ve missed you,” Bradley said. “You’re looking great, Scott. You always were a beautiful, irresistible young man. It’s good to have you back in Wilmington again.”
“You’re looking well too, Mr. Williams,” I said. I had to walk carefully here. What did he want? How far could I go with him? I certainly couldn’t go back to letting him fuck me in a golf cart in the rough.
“It’s Brad to you, Scott. We’ve been too intimate. I see you’ve kept yourself fit. You’re even sexier than you were coming out of high school.” He moved closer to me and gripped my elbow with one hand, holding me in place. There was still a magnetism to him. His other hand touched me on the chest and glided down, below the beltline, groping my crotch.
“Is this conversation about business or sex?” I asked.
“Yes,” Williams said, and laughed. “There’s no real divide between business and sex, you know. It’s all basically about sex.” He didn’t take his hand away. He knew when he controlled a situation. He knew, from experience, that I wanted to be controlled. Still, I tried putting up a defense.
“I can’t do this anymore, Mr. Williams,” I said. “I’m married now. I worked hard to change while I was in college. I have to be careful in life. No, please, don’t do that.”
But he did that. He unzipped me, and pulled my cock out, revealing to him that I was going hard. He leaned in for a kiss that took any objection from me away. My deep moan as he kissed me and stroked my cock told him I hadn’t fundamentally changed.
“You want it, don’t you, Scott?” he murmured.
“Yes,” I couldn’t help but answer. “But, I can’t . . .”
He broke away from the kiss and growled in a low voice. “Go down on your knees to me, here and now. Take me in your throat. No, don’t worry, Thad locked the door as he left. Thad knows what is at stake here. After we’re finished here, make apologies to your wife and meet me at the golf course. You know where.”
My knees felt like rubber. I was on the cusp of going down on them as commanded, when we heard voices of women approaching the library. I quickly stuffed my cock back into my trousers, zipped up, and moved away from him. “No, sorry, I can’t go back to that life,” I whispered. “I’m sorry if it means I lose a client before even starting with him.”
“Oh, we’ve already started,” Williams said. “We’ll see about the rest.” Then he turned a smile toward the door into the library where our wives, Felicia and Susan, entered. Thad Daniels obviously hadn’t gotten the door locked.
“There you two are. Becoming well acquainted, I hope,” Felicia said. “Brad told me you were to become his investment counsellor when you finished at Wharton. I’m so glad. We’ll all have to be seeing more of each other.” She turned her face to beam at Susan. “I brought some swathes of drapery material for Susan to look at for your townhouse. I stashed them in here. You two don’t need to stay in attendance if you don’t want to help choose.”
Neither Bradley nor I wanted to help choose anything. We had already declared our choices and they clashed. I waited for him to make a move, and when he went to the door from the foyer that the women had entered through, I opened a French door to the patio and escaped in that direction. It was last week of December cold on the patio, but I remained there for several minutes, composing myself, before returning to the party in the living room. I needed to cool down and strengthen my resolve.
* * * *
Bradley laughed. “What do you think Felicia and your wife are doing now? Do you think your wife cares what you and I are doing—what you and I have done before?”
What I was doing was trying to work my way out from underneath Bradley Williams on the padded bench at the stern of his seventy-two-foot Viking-built, four-berth Annapolis-based cabin cruiser wallowing in Chesapeake Bay on an April 1st Saturday morning. We both had been in Speedos—he looking not so bad for his age—both of which were now entwined, as Bradley and I were entwined, on the deck below the bench. I was stretched out along the bench on my back, one of my ankles on Bradley’s shoulder as he lay on top of me, one hand stroking my cock and the other working on getting me rolled over on my back so that he could get his cock inside me. Bradley preferred the doggy position.
I was struggling with him, but he was a much bigger, heavier, and stronger man than I was. I also knew he liked his young men to struggle a bit until he got his cock inside them and then do, as I did with him, surrender totally and beg for it.
I had cried out in a covered tone, “The women. Our wives will see us.”
I had not cried out, “No, I don’t want you to fuck me. I will not let you put it in me.” I had resisted him until now, and mentally I wanted to continue to do so, but he was the client I’d been told to do anything for to keep him with Stanley Morgan, and he was the man who had initiated me into man-man sex six years earlier and that had been just fine with me then.
I had managed to escape him at the post-Christmas neighborhood party at Susan’s parents’ house, and I had retreated to Pennsylvania and finished up at the Wharton School. I’d even managed to hide from him—or thought I had—that I had returned to Wilmington and entered service—and training—with Stanley Morgan at the end of January. But he must have known I was back. He pressed his interest in clienting with me with Thad Daniels at Stanley Morgan. And there were our wives—Felicia helping Susan decorate our new townhouse and Susan trying to land the home sale for the Williamses in Kennett Square.
Bradley must have learned of my return from graduate school through Felicia, and the first order of business at the end of my training proved to be meeting with Bradley and going over his financial portfolio needs.
“He wants to do this on April 1st, taking us both out on his yacht from Annapolis out onto the bay,” I told Susan when I got home from work one evening. “We of course can’t—”
“It sounds like fun. I’ve gone out and bought a new bathing suit for it,” she said, dangling two skimpy parts of a bikini from one wrist. She showed the other one, dangling an equally skimpy men’s Speedo. “And I got this for you.” She turned to a more serious tone then. “We do what we have to do to get ahead, Scott.”
She’d already known about the yacht outing on April 1st. She and Felicia had already discussed it. I was trapped into going. I knew where Bradley intended this to go. I couldn’t let Susan find out that the man and I had sexual history. But I was getting an inkling that she knew about that too—and wanted me to exploit it. I had to admit that Susan could be a scheming exploiter.
And I wasn’t wrong about where it was going. Here I was, on a yacht that was big but it wasn’t so big that we could keep from our wives that Bradley and I were entwined on the padded bench at the stern of the yacht, both naked, and the stronger, older man preparing to turn me, mount me, and fuck me.
“What do you mean what do I think our wives are doing right now?” I asked, shoving at him, trying to push him off me, but not in the position to get too violent. “Give him what he wants,” the last thing Thad Daniels had said to me before I left for this weekend, kept going through my mind. “We want this client.”
Yeah, well, I don’t think that was all Thad Daniels wanted. As closely as he’d been zeroing in on me my first couple of months at Stanley Morgan, I was getting the strong hint that sexual lust had more to do with my getting the job at the firm than networking did. I think Daniels was fully aware of what Bradley Williams wanted in this client relationship. I think Daniels wanted a similar relationship with me. Well, if he thought that . . . although he was a arousing man, I had to admit.
I could fend off these men only for so long before the life I was trying to construct started to unravel.
I was also getting the idea now that Susan knew more about the demands being made on me than I had thought she did—and that she was more openminded about it—and maybe grasping—than I’d had any idea she’d be. But the problem of Bradley first.
“Go ahead,” I said, in surrender. “Not your cabin, I don’t think. Try my cabin.” Inexplicably then, he let loose of me and sat up on the bench, letting me roll off it. Giving him a scowl, I reached down, retrieved my Speedo, pulled it on, and padded off to the ladder down to where the sleeping cabins were.
They were there—on the double bed in Susan’s and my cabin at the bow of the yacht. I couldn’t see any of Susan but her legs. She was on her back on the bed. Her ankles were on Felicia’s shoulders. Felicia’s shapely, naked torso, her back to me, her luxurious raven-black hair cascading onto his back, was knelt between Susan’s legs. I didn’t need much imagination to discern what was transpiring. No question why the two had been so chummy these last couple of months, I thought.
It all unraveled there. I went directly back to the stern of yacht. “Oh, all right,” I muttered as Bradley gave me a big grin. I pulled off my Speedo, climbed up onto the padded bench beside him, going on all fours. With a laugh, the bid man crouched over my back, grasping my hips between his hands. He mounted and penetrated, and fucked me like a dog—just as he had done for a month of session six years earlier.
I had forgotten how thick and long he was—how good he was at stretching me and getting into my core and killing me there.
“It’s so good. It’s been so long. I’ve wanted you again for so long,” he murmured.
“Oh, yes, Daddy, yes,” I whimpered, surrendering and panting hard, taking him deep, putting my hips in motion to joining the rhythm of the fuck. “Kill me, Daddy. Fuck me good.”
He fucked me good.
Oh, all right then. Here I was trying to protect Susan. It was April 1st on Bradley’s yacht and I was finding that Susan didn’t give a shit. She was having an affair with Felicia. She didn’t mind if I gave it to Williams as long as it helped us financially and in standing in Wilmington society. The joke was on me for trying to walk the straight and narrow. I was an April Fool.
* * * *
“So, you’d really believe I’d have sex with Felicia Williams?” Susan asked in a wounded voice.
“I believe what I saw,” I answered. We’d made it off the yacht and back to Wilmington on Sunday, the 2nd. It had been quite frosty in the car. As far as I knew, Susan hadn’t seen me being fucked by Bradley, but she certainly seemed to know that had happened. She wasn’t surprised when I told her what I’d seen going on between her and Felicia.
When we got home, though, she dropped the bombshell. “Sex didn’t happen between Felicia and me. That was staged.”
“Staged? What do you mean staged? I know what I saw.”
“You saw posing, not sex.”
“Why? Why would you do that?”
“Do you know what the Realtor commission is on a six-million-dollar estate sale?” she asked.
“No, I don’t, and I don’t care. What in the hell . . . wait, you staged a sex scene with Felicia so that I would see it and let Bradley Williams fuck me? So that I’d give into him without reservation and believe that it was OK with you?”
“It’s a hundred and eighty-thousand dollars. We covered the furnishing and decoration of this townhouse and all you had to do was let Bradley Williams fuck you once. It’s not like he didn’t do it before. Who do you think Dex told that you were having an affair with his father six years ago? He told practically everyone in our crowd. He wasn’t shy about telling everyone he covered you too.”
“And you still married me?” I asked.
“So, you’re bi? You’re one sexy stud. And you’re Grade A as a provider. That doesn’t mean I’m bi, though. Felicia and I staged what we did because her husband included spiking you again once as a precondition for the estate sale. He had no trouble telling Felicia his conditions for buying the house, knowing she could get to you through me. They have an arrangement about who he fucks that his first wife, Cynthia, didn’t put up with. Felicia wanted the house in Kennett Square and I wanted the big commission. He said he was trying to make you but you were resisting. We had to come up with something that would make you change your mind. It’s not like Bradley hasn’t fucked you before. So, what do you have to say about that? Can we put that behind us? We’re a hundred-and-eighty-thousand dollars to the good.”
“Well, all right then,” I said through clinched teeth.
But I wasn’t going to be the only April Fool here. If Susan thought one fuck would be all Bradley demanded, she was more of a fool than I was. And, given her attitude, if she thought I was going to stop there with Bradley now, she was an even bigger fool. And there was Thad Daniels. I wouldn’t be playing hard to get there now, either. And the tennis pro at the golf club. And . . .
