His words lingered in my mind: “From now on, Derek and I decide when you can come.”
“Daniel, are you gay?” I asked tremulously, as I watched his hand on my very hard penis.
“Are you?” he asked back.
“No!” I said emphatically, staring into his questioning eyes.
“What makes you so sure?” he wanted to know.
“Well, for one thing, I was married for close on to twenty years and have two children,” I said, immediately realising it as a fallacious argument.
“Many gay men can say the same,” he added.
“But I’m not gay. I’m straight,” I countered.
“And tell me, how many straight men do you know who will sit stark naked on a couch next to a man, of whom they have doubt as to his sexual leanings, and be milked by him until they come?” Daniel asked quite forcefully, a scornful smirk upon his lips.
So, you’re saying, because of that, I’m gay?” I queried.
“An ‘in the closet’ gay, shall we say?”
“And what exactly does that mean?”
“Well, perhaps you just help us out when we’re busy,” he said with a shrug and a smile.
I looked down at myself, embarrassed at my very obvious pleasure at being handled
“And Derek?”
“What about Derek?” He smiled, challengingly open-faced at me.
“I’ve nearly always had my suspicions about him.” I stared at the fireplace.
“And he’s always had his suspicions about you.” Daniel responded.
I turned to him, surprised by his response.
“What? You mean, he thought . . .”
“It’s called gaydar, dear boy.”
“Derek thought I was gay?” I was staggered at that. “How did you come to know him?” I wanted to know.
Daniel went on to tell me he’d met Derek some years ago in a club he’d gone to. A gay club, I’d asked and had it confirmed by him. Had they had sex together, I enquired and was told they had played a few rounds but really both were looking for the same thing. I thought I knew what he meant. Neither of them could play a more subservient role. Apparently, I came up in conversation between them when Derek mentioned he had had a sister who had died recently, leaving a husband with two young sons to bring up by himself. My surname was mentioned, then my Christian name, and Daniel suddenly realised that I was his old schoolfriend.
They’d exchanged notes about me, and I was more than a bit put out that they had both quite independently come to the conclusion that I was a suppressed homosexual. That hurt me somehow. I can’t quite put it into words why that was, but I suppose it had something to do with the fact I had never ever thought that about myself. Call me naïve. I had had a happy and contented married life; we both of us seemed comfortable with each other, unadventurous perhaps, but neither of us apparently seeking for further amusement, if I can put it that way.
Yes, looking back, I can see now, and even acknowledge, that my early years with Daniel Toft, my school pal to whom I happily kow-towed, could be seen in the light of reflection as a homosexual episode in our early formative years, but, thinking back, I wonder if I was so naïve I never ever dreamt I was anything but straight. Mutual masturbation didn’t seem queer, just . . . . fun.
“And did you still think that a couple of nights ago when Derek had this in his mouth?” Daniel asked as he waggled my member suggestively.
“I – I didn’t know what to think,” I murmured, glancing down at my nakedness.
“It’ll be interesting you hear your thoughts after you’ve sucked mine, then,” he said.
I shot him a fleeting look of fear and surprise.
“I couldn’t do that!” I almost whispered.
“Why not?”
“I would never do anything like that.”
“You kissed it once. Don’t you remember?”
I turned to stare into his eyes.
“I did???” I asked in breathy amazement.
“You did” he said, and the almost whisper of a zip being undone forced me to drop my eyes.
Aghast, I watched him insert three fingers into his, by now, gaping flyhole, and extract his member from his underwear. I gazed at it in disbelief.
“Kiss it again, now!” he ordered.
“I can’t!” I said.
“You can, and you will, Tony.”
I met his face. I recognised a look from the past. A look that brooked no argument. I was forced to acknowledge the power of that look. I dropped my eyes to the newly exposed stiffening member protruding from his trousers. I watched as my own shamefully bounced in excitement. Drawn back to Daniel’s, I began to bow my head and leant down towards his crotch.
Placing a hand on his trouser-clad thigh, I craned forward and ever so lightly brushed my lips on the soft warm skin he had exposed for me.
A quick look at my own, as I righted myself once more, revealed a dew-drop of excitement glistening on my tip. With his thumb, Daniel anointed the exposed head with the moisture from within, and I felt myself give an involuntary buck once more but managed to suppress an inward groan.
Suddenly, my ‘phone started ringing.
“I’ll answer that,” Daniel said as he reached for my discarded trousers on the floor at his end of the sofa.
“Hallo . . . . yes, that’s right . . . . I’m an old friend of your father’s.”
I was shocked and reached out to take the call. Daniel pushed me back and stood away from the sofa.
“No, he’s here in the flesh, so to speak,” and he grinned at me, running his eyes over my nakedness, “but he’s a bit distracted at the moment. That’s why I’ve answered for him . . . . So, what’s the problem? . . . . You’ve left what behind? . . . . Your rugby kit? . . . . Where? . . . . In the airing cupboard. . . . And it needs ironing, you say? . . . . Oh, yes, I’m sure your dad’ll do that for you. He’s got nothing on just now that I can see.”
Daniel sat down next to me again, and I reached for the ‘phone. With his free hand he grabbed my penis.
“Yes, I’ve just grabbed your father now. I’ll put him on to you,” and he handed me my ‘phone.
As I began to talk with Barnaby, Daniel started to masturbate me. I tried to resist, but he slapped my hand away and picked up speed.
“You all right, Dad? You sound a bit out of breath,” Barnaby said.
I tried to explain it away with some lame excuse about my having been upstairs. I tried to cut the call too, wondering how I could control an orgasm when on the ‘phone to my son.
“Put the camera on! You’re not having a heart attack, are you?”
“Don’t be silly; I’m fine!” I stressed, feeling very far from fine as Daniel began to pump faster sensing he was leading me to an imminent climax.
I succeeded in assuring Barnaby there was nothing to worry about, that I’d get his kit ironed and off in the post to him without delay and gave him what probably seemed to him to be an unwarranted overly-spontaneous burst of affection as I came copiously in Daniel’s fist.
