Sport of Kings
Author: Livia Ellis
Date: 2015-01-02 05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 1

Marcus

From a short distance, Alejandro is still practically perfect in every way. Whether or not he retains that sublime charisma and almost laughable naivety that has been more attractive than his Adonis-like beauty, is an unknown. What is evident on this summer day with its mackerel sky and glistening humidity is that Alejandro is no less lovely than he was on the day he ceased being my lover.

It is across that stretch of Kentucky bluegrass, grown at an inconceivable expense under the equatorial sun, that I watch my former lover. Alejandro is on the back of a tight and svelte thoroughbred bay named Cassandra, which was a gift from me to him. As Alejandro puts Cassandra through her paces, I silently reminisce about the last time I laid eyes on him. That particular memory, which contains a large dose of bitterness and acrimony, doesn’t conjure feelings that match my mood on this sultry mid-summer morning. What makes me smile is thinking of the day of Alejandro’s twenty-fourth birthday. The day I gave him Cassandra. It’s been six months, but I remember every detail…

* * * *

We are in Argentina. Alejandro wants to show me his home. It’s January, but that’s summer in Argentina. Alejandro booked the tickets. He packed our bags. I don’t know why I resisted… Actually I do. The level of intimacy between us has passed to a point where we live our lives together. He knows what kind of jam I like on my toast and makes sure it’s always in the kitchen. This is not what I ever wanted in a relationship, but here I am. I have a man throwing out my threadbare T-shirts, and then claiming he has no idea where they’ve gone and buying me strawberry rhubarb jam.

He wanted to take me home. When he was eighteen, Alejandro became the sole beneficiary of his late parents’ estate. That estate includes the ranch in the foothills of the Andes, which has been in his family for hundreds of years. This is where we are to celebrate his birthday. Not just his birthday. Our first anniversary together. We were a couple, and celebrating anniversaries was one of those things he insisted we do. He won me over with the weather. Normally we live in Russia. The Russian January was pure misery. Summer in Argentina is practically heaven.

I wake that morning of his birthday to the feel of his mouth sliding a condom up my cock. When I’d first done the same to him, he’d laughed and applauded. Then he insisted on practicing on me until he could do it to perfection. This morning I’m awakened by a slow, wet suck. As my eyes open, I look down. His eyes meet mine.

He releases me for a moment to spread my thighs.

“It’s your birthday,” I whisper. My hand reaches up to run my fingers through his black hair. It needs a cut. His face needs a shave. This is how I like him best. He is so beautiful and so young that I can’t help remembering I am ten years older than him. “I should be sucking you.”

“It’s my birthday, Marcus. I get to do what I want.”

He lies between my legs. His mouth finds my cock again. There is nothing sexier than looking into a man’s eyes as he gives an award winning blow. Alejandro bobs his head up and down as he sucks me hard and deep into his throat. For a man that had never been with anyone before me, he has learned a lot and quickly. His lips wrap tightly around my shaft, and he uses just enough tongue on the tip to make me want to scream.

My dark haired lover releases my cock from his mouth and takes it with his hand. Butterfly kisses brush my stomach for a moment before he goes lower. His lips grab hold of my balls and draw them into his mouth as his hand continues to work me. I want this to last forever, and he isn’t pushing me toward an orgasm. He takes his time, which lets me savor the experience of being made love to.

One hand massages my cock and the other seeks out my entrance. When he finds it, I smile. His fingertip plays with the pucker of my anus, but he doesn’t penetrate me. Alejandro was a virgin the first time I had him, but I’ve learned the pure pleasure of patience from him. Sex doesn’t always have to be about racing to the finish. It’s about the journey to the orgasm more than actually coming.

He releases my balls from his mouth and retakes my cock between his lips. His head bobs up and down fucking me with his mouth. That teasing finger playing at my anus presses in past the hard ring of flesh. The slowly building orgasm takes control of my body. I want to come. He stops. This is a trick he learned from me. I almost wish I hadn’t taught it to him.

My arm props behind my head as I look at him kneeling back on his legs. His hands are on my thighs, massaging up and down. My cock points at the ceiling. He moves just enough to force my thighs apart a touch more.

“You’re handsome like this.” Those hands run up and down my thighs. “I like you in my bed.”

I smile. How am I this lucky? This beautiful man loves me. I’m better for his presence in my life. He tells me often I’m the only one for him. I truly want to believe him, but I can’t help wondering what he sees in me. I’ve spent a year observing both younger and better looking men trying to pry him away from me. He doesn’t ignore them. He laughs at them. He’s devoted to me. His heart is mine. It boggles my mind.

My gaze roams from his face down his body. His cock is just as hard as mine. He follows my gaze and looks up at me. He slides forward a bit so our cocks touch and rub against each other. He’s already wrapped in a condom. He woke me with a plan.

One hand grabs my cock and the other moves between my ass cheeks. This is a curious development. So far he hasn’t been wholly submissive, but he hasn’t exactly dominated me. It’s been more than a year since I’ve been bottomed. I hope this is the moment he takes that physical jump I’ve been waiting for. That wiggling fingertip finds its way to the entrance of my rear. I let him touch me. If that’s what he wants, then that’s what he can have.

“I have a plan for us,” he tells me. “For how I want us to spend the day.”

“Whatever you want,” I mumble. I’d give him the moon if I could. I used to think that was just a sentimental expression, but now I understand. Having someone worth giving the moon to makes a cliché understandable.

“Close your eyes.” His hands release me as my eyes slide shut. The weight of his body covers mine. Soft lips press against my mouth. A sweet, soft tongue slides between my lips. Hands brush my hair off my forehead. Teeth nip at my neck, and then at my ear. “I love you.”

My eyes open. “You love me?” I never thought I’d hear those words from him again.

How dumb am I? He told me he loved me once before. My response? Oh. Okay. Then I freaked out for a few days. When I was over the shock of realizing someone other than me loved me, and even more shocking that I loved him back, the I love you thing was just too awkward to revisit.

“I love you,” he says again. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say it again. I should have just ignored you when you freaked out after the first time I said it. Truthfully, I should have expected you to react like you did. I should have just kept on saying it until you got over being a jackass. You really are an infant sometimes when it comes to emotions. I love you. Deal with it.”

“It worries me how well you know me.”

“And?” He leans over me and looks into my eyes. “Say it. Say the words. It’s my birthday. I get what I want.”

“I love you.” It’s almost a relief to have the words come out. “I love you with all my heart.” I don’t want to stop saying it. It’s as if I’ve been released from a prison of my own making.

His lips attach to mine. His hands hold tight to me as he rolls over and pulls me on top of him.

“What else do you want for your birthday?” I reach down to his cock and stroke him gently.

“I want to be your one and only.”

“You are my one and only.” I kiss him again. My tongue runs along the line of his jaw. The prickles of his beard are rough and tingle.

“I want to be exclusive. I want us to be a couple. I want a commitment.”

I could tell him I haven’t been with anyone other than him for months, but I know this isn’t what he wants. He wants to know we are one. That others may come and go, but he is the only one that owns my heart. “Just us. No one else. Unless of course you want to get a little freaky.”

He’s never been with a woman. The prospect intrigues him. He asks me about the parties, the orgies, the group sex, and the general sort of naughty hedonistic things I’ve gotten up to in my past. He wants me to arrange for him to be with a woman. Something different for us to do together. I want him all for myself, but I know a few women who would be happy to solve the mystery for him. I plan on keeping him to myself, but I fear he is getting antsy. If I don’t give him what he wants, then he might just go out and find it on his own. This terrifies me even more.

“You know I do,” he says. “But together. I want us to be together.”

“Okay. I love you. If that’s what you want…” I kiss him. “That’s what you get.” Perhaps in ten, twenty, or thirty thousand years.

“Good.” He spreads his legs completely out from under me and wraps his arms under his knees. His flexibility never ceases to amaze me. I know what he wants. He wants to look into my eyes as I enter him. That face to face intimacy I’ve only given him sparingly. This is the last barrier that has to be broken. My giving him all of me.

I look to the nightstand, and the lube waits where I left it last night. I grab it and squeeze a load onto my fingers. I lube up his hole with my swirling fingertips. He watches me. That grin curves his lips just so. He owns me and he knows it. I slide a finger inside and let it rest. I know where his prostate is as well as if it were my own. My free hand wraps around his cock. I stroke him gently. It’s not my goal to make him come. At least not at the moment.

“You’re teasing me.”

“Yes. Absolutely. I’m teasing you.” I slide the finger out just enough to add a second to his hole. I stroke in and out of him until I’m certain he’s relaxed enough to take me in without discomfort. I move up and place the tip of my cock at his waiting entrance. As I lean in to enter him, he tilts up his pelvis just a touch more. He pushes against me to meet my entry. When I’m fully seated inside him, he releases his arms from around his legs. That flexibility is something we’re going to have to explore a little more.

I pull out and then press in as slowly as I like. His arms reach around me and pull my ass cheeks apart. I want something inside me. He knows this without my having to say anything. He releases me and gets what I want. From the drawer next to the bed, he retrieves the dildo I normally use on him. It’s big enough, but not too big. Just like Alejandro. Some lube is slicked over its black surface before I feel the pressure of being filled. He turns it on and it vibrates ever so slightly. It’s a wonder I don’t come.

Our mouths meet along with our eyes. As I slide into him, he presses up to meet me, encouraging me to go faster. Between his insistence and the feel of the vibrations inside my anus, an orgasm builds. I move slightly so I can grab his cock and stroke him. I ride this high of pleasure for as long as I can. Our tongues wrestle. I reach the barrier of being able to just enjoy the pleasure and cross it over into release. I need to come, or I may just explode. Alejandro releases the dildo and places his hands against the sides of my face. He makes me look at him as I ejaculate inside him. I groan and sigh as I ride a wave of pure and intoxicating pleasure. When it passes, I’m elated. I’ve looked into the eyes of my lover as we’ve shared pleasure. There is no drug that could mimic the high the intimacy of making love to Alejandro gives me. I’m addicted to him.

“I love you,” I say without needing to be prompted.

He kisses me and rolls my body off him. I’ve never tied myself to having a preference for being a top or bottom. But with Alejandro, probably because he was a virgin the first time we were together, I’ve always been the top. He was very shy at first. I had to be patient and take my time with him, but gradually he’s become more daring. It seems as if he’s about to make another leap as his hands nudge me onto my knees. He kneels behind me. This is a first for us. I want him to enjoy it as much as I’m sure I will. Truthfully, he’s shy about being the aggressor, and I know this. I don’t want him to be spooked and not take a risk with me in bed again.

I press up and open myself to him. My knees are a good width apart to give him the access he’ll need. His hands fall on my ass cheeks and massage them. They make large circular movements, pushing me together, and then pulling me apart. He’s not half as gentle as I always assumed he’d be as a top. There’s some movement from behind as he stands from the bed. My cheeks are pressed wide open. The soft, silky texture of his tongue draws a line around the rim of my anus. It flicks, tickles, and caresses until I’m hard as stone.

My mouth hangs open and my heart pounds.

Alejandro works me with his tongue as his hand grabs my cock. He does to me what I’ve done to him. The pleasure of his fierce tonguing stops too soon for my liking. There’s a slight movement of the mattress. He kneels between my legs again as he grabs the lube. The feeling of the slick, cold jelly on my anus brings up a gurgle in my throat. His fingers work me rapidly. Perhaps a bit too rapidly. Sliding in and out and massaging the entrance until I relax and open for him. I’m ready for him. If he wants to start being on top, time and experience will be the best teachers. For the moment, the thrill of the newness of the experience is the most exciting thing of all.

“Okay?” I can hear the urgency in his voice.

I press toward him, opening up to receive him. That’s my answer. I’m more than ready.

The tip of his cock presses against me. He’s nervous. He’s never done this before, but I can tell he desperately wants to. “Go on,” I encourage him. “I want you in me.”

His hands hold my hips. With a slow and steady pressure, he enters me. Soft strangled cries are coming from his throat. He presses deep inside and slowly moves his hips ever so slightly. I could come again easily, but I pull back. It’s his turn. To help him along, I slide forward just a little as he pulls back. I press back against him as he comes forward. After a few thrusts in unison, I let him move on his own. He wants to dominate me. That won’t happen if I’m doing the work for him.

As he becomes more accustomed to the feeling of moving inside me, things go faster. He thrusts into me while using his hands on my hips to pull me harder against him. He’s just rough enough for both of us. The feeling of his balls slapping and brushing against mine is too much to ignore. I forgot how much I enjoy being a bottom. I’ve reached that plateau where pleasure can be prolonged. Not indefinitely, but at least for a little while.

“I’m going to come,” he sighs. His hips jerk and thrust. “Marcus, I’m going to come,” he repeats.

I grab my cock with my hand and pump it vigorously. I’m close to the edge as it is. I only need to hear the sound of his climax arriving to find my own. I press up against him as a load of hot spunk shoots through my fingers, dripping onto the sheets below. From behind, Alejandro cries out as he presses and twitches inside me. When he’s spent, he leans forward and kisses my neck, back, and shoulders.

“Don’t pull out. Not yet.” I slide forward on the bed, keeping him inside me. When I lie flat on my stomach, he stretches out prone on my back. His spent cock rests inside me. This is heaven. I’m sure of it.

“Was that good?” he whispers. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

I reach for his fingers. I bring them to my lips. “That was perfect. Just like you are.”

* * * *

I hadn’t woken that morning intending on giving him Cassandra, but that’s how these things happen. They take you by surprise, these unexpected gestures of love. I don’t regret the gift for a second. As I stand here watching him ride her, I still don’t regret it. The only thing I regret is breaking the promise of fidelity I made. I didn’t trust that he loved me enough for me to let him have his fun. I hurt so much I’m convinced my heart really did break.

“You look so sad,” a small mournful voice says without mocking.

I keep my forearms propped on the white fence which rings the green patch of Kentucky bluegrass. The lawn makes up the polo pitch used by Sheik Ibn Al Hassan’s private team.

“Go away.” At first I don’t bother to look in the direction of my uninvited companion. If I’d been blindfolded, I would have known Olga. Beautiful, black haired Olga with her glass blue eyes and somewhat surgically enhanced nose.

It isn’t the miasma of amber and musk perfume that could fumigate a room, nor is it the jangle and clank of enough shiny baubles to make a magpie go apoplectic. It isn’t even her Russian-accented English that defines Olga. It is neither the sound nor the scent of Olga that would be telling, but rather her energy. I am not prepared to give up a firm grip on my skepticism, but there is an aura to Olga that is unmistakable.

“Why are you cross with Olga?” she asks. “I tell you already. Is not my fault! You are the naughty little fibber. Olga is not the naughty little fibber!”

“Must you speak of yourself in the third person? It’s irritating.” My waspishness isn’t truly directed at Olga. Her only crime is in wanting to help. That her help often leads me down the road to perdition is a fact. If not so far as hell, it has for certain brought me heartbreak.

“I knew it.” Olga sighs. “You still blame me. I said I am sorry. I bought you a car.”

At last I glance down at my slender, black-haired beauty of a friend, and she looks up at me with her big eyes. She has truly never intentionally harmed me. I find it in my heart to forgive her. I am incapable of remaining angry at her. I would be as capable of remaining angry at her as I would be any lover that unintentionally caused me grief. The consolation prize I received in exchange for the loss of the only person I’ve ever loved in my life has been a car. I know love has changed me when a three hundred thousand dollar car is suddenly poor compensation for Alejandro. The old Marcus, the man I was before Alejandro, would have gladly traded a relationship for a silver convertible with Bordeaux leather interior and a walnut burl dashboard. The Marcus I’ve become with Alejandro has learned the value of love.

With a grand gesture, I put my arm around her shoulders and give her a squeeze. “Thank you for the car. It’s beautiful. It’s not Alejandro, but I do appreciate the gesture. The next time you want to destroy my life, I’ve always wanted a villa in Tuscany.”

“You forgive Olga!” she crows delightedly.

“I forgive Olga.” Why not? There is nothing to be gained from letting my anger rule. Alejandro has ended our relationship and not without cause. The miserable truth is I’m a low down, rotten son of a bitch that doesn’t know how to love and has never cared for anything or anyone other than myself in the sum total of the thirty-four years I’ve spent inflicting grief and misery on the world. Alejandro loved me despite the fact I’m an impossible jerk. He made sure I understood this as he packed his bags and moved to a hotel.

Or something like that.

I am hard pressed to recall precisely what the verbal mortar shells were that Alejandro lobbed at me that day six months earlier. But there hadn’t been an exaggeration or embellishment in the string of truths my former lover delivered in his parting shot. On every account. His ability to recall a list of my wrong doings, from being incapable of remaining faithful to him down to my almost infantile inability to hang up a wet towel, was both unnerving and telling. He knew me, and he knew me well. On every account, he’d been right.

I’m as much of the lying, cheating, heartless, slovenly, style-challenged, man-whore Alejandro accused me of being. And more. At least I was before Alejandro. Where my delicious, delightful, and desirable Argentinian amore has gotten it wrong is that I am a changed man. I hang up my towels and wear matching socks.

Love has shown me the proverbial light. At thirty-four years of age and with more likelihood of winning the lottery, I have fallen in love with a twenty-four-year-old virgin that thinks there is a place for cute kittens on the internet, that Facebook actually serves a useful purpose, and that people are inherently good.

Probably the reason Olga and Alejandro are so darn friendly. Their unquenchable enthusiasm for life and the absolute conviction good things happen to good people and bad people always get what’s coming to them has bound them together. An amusing world view coming from Olga, whose vast fortune is the result of her Russian Mafioso father breaking thumbs and squeezing the corruptible until he’s amassed a personal wealth that soars into the billions. Even more amusing are the sentiments coming from Alejandro, whose Argentinian family is nothing short of a dynasty and has the largest land and cattle holdings in all of South America. Rich people have the freedom to have ideals.

I don’t have the luxury of convictions. I’m not the product of a wealthy Argentinian ranchero or a Russian oligarch. It is that shared background of wealth and privilege along with their idealism that has made Olga and Alejandro so close.

“You know…” Olga turns slightly and looks up at me. Her exaggerated black sunglasses make her look like a bumble bee. That she has chosen a jonquil yellow dress and accessorized with black onyx doesn’t help. “I’m going to solve your little problem.”

“I’d hardly call destroying my relationship with the only person I’ve ever loved a little problem. But as you didn’t act alone and I hardly expected it to last anyway, I’d really rather you didn’t bother.”

“But I hate to see you sad. You’re sad, and Alejandro is so grumpy. It’s bad for the skin. My skin. You are unhappy. You make me unhappy. I get wrinkles. I must solve this little problem.”

I look down at Olga. My lips mash together as my brain scrambles to find the words that will stop her from making a situation that could possibly be fixed into an irreconcilable split. “Stay out of it.”

“No.” She flicks her wrist. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t think there is a hope.”

True enough. I hadn’t shown up at the invitational for my health. I’m supposedly on an extended vacation. A mental health break—after the stress and grief from my breakup with Alejandro had pretty well made me snap. I’ve worked for Olga’s father, Vladimir, nearly my entire career. First as a player, and then as a coach. Vladimir has been married eight times. He understands what it’s like to have his heart broken. For such a large man, he’s incredibly sentimental. My smashing up the training room didn’t get me fired. It got me a six-month, paid vacation and a trip to Switzerland to spend a month with a psychiatrist with the goal of getting to my feelings. I went to Switzerland because Vladimir scares me, and telling him no when he wants to help is generally a bad idea. In this he is like his daughter. They both mean so well and create such havoc with their good intentions. I returned from my six month vacation a bit more self-aware than I could have imagined. Three cheers for mental health.

I’ve come to this island owned by a prince and populated only with the very rich and their entertainment for one reason—to put myself in the path of Alejandro. I refuse to give up without giving reconciliation one more shot. “Stay out of it,” I say. “He’s had time to think. He knows I love him. I might actually get lucky and trick him into taking me back.”

I open my mouth to speak again, and one firecracker pink tipped finger flies to my lips, shushing them. “Say no more!” she commands grandly. “This will be fixed.”

“Don’t fix anything. Please. I have very bad memories of you fixing things.”

She places her hands on my cheeks. “Close your eyes.”

I close my eyes. Her mouth reaches for mine, and I don’t resist as much as I probably should. It’s been a long time since I’ve had any physical affection. A kiss is like water to a man in a desert. I have a preference for men, but I’ve never tossed a beautiful woman out of my bed. Olga, her husband Ollie, and I have had some great times being hedonistic together. She pulls away from me. “Remember that time in Tunisia? At villa of Hortense?”

“I remember.” I smile. “How could I forget? It was only two years ago.”

“I’m going to leave you with that memory.”

Thoughts of villas in Tunisia, placed on the edge between the sea and the desert, replace memories of bad times…

* * * *

It is spring in Northern Africa so the heat hasn’t taken hold. The invitation to the villa has come at exactly the right moment. I am between lovers and have no interest in latching myself onto a new one anytime soon. I like having a convenient lover. I don’t like having someone trying to take a piece of my life. Olga and her husband Ollie have been in and out of my life for years. We are in the same circles. We bed the same people. That they are also invited to the party in the villa is to be expected.

When I arrive at the villa from the airport in Tunis, the sun is already hot, and the sea already beckons. A servant greets my car at the arched doorway leading into the Roman style villa. The interior is cool in the heat. Through a series of open doors, I can see to the atrium at the center of the structure. A small fountain pool is open to the air. I go to greet my hostess, Hortense.

I find her lounging amidst the potted lemon trees and a selection of her guests. Her body is bare and covered in a sheen of oil. Her brilliant red hair is piled on top of her head, and I can’t help but notice her signature nest of fiery pubic hair shining like copper in the sun. Most women seem to prefer a bare pussy. Not Hortense. Given any opportunity, she likes to show off her fire crotch.

Sitting on the edge of the chaise with her hand between Hortense’s thighs is a woman I don’t know. Blonde and pretty. Naked and lush. Just like Hortense likes them. The women are laughing as the blonde wiggles a vibrating purple rabbit around Hortense’s snatch. Across the open air of the courtyard, a low platform covered in mattresses and cushions is already occupied by several guests mutually pleasuring each other. The party has already started.

“Marcus!” she cheers as she looks up at me over her sunglasses. “How delightful. Take your clothing off. I want to see your beautiful cock.” She gestures to the group on the platform. “The party has already started.”

“Does the party ever really end, Hortense?” I give her a smile.

“Never!” She raises her hand. “Just a moment darling.” Her eyelids flutter a bit as a small moan comes out from between her lips. She stops the blonde with the vibrator from stimulating her. The purple toy is removed with a slick pop and then tossed to the side. With a gesture from Hortense, the blonde slides up between her open legs. Their pelvises meet. Slowly they grind and bump together. The blonde vigorously and purposefully squeezes and fondles one pink-tipped breast while her mouth grasps onto the other.

“Are you going to join us?” Hortense looks up at me from over the blonde’s shoulder.

“I haven’t been to my room yet.” I’m tempted, but I know what I really want. Without a doubt, I know that before the week is up, Hortense and I will get sweaty together. Just not yet.

“Get settled in,” she tells me. “I gave you your favorite room. Come back and meet…” She snaps her fingers a few times, and then pokes at the blonde’s shoulder. “What is your name, petal?”

“Bambi,” the blonde mumbles around a mouthful of Hortense’s nipple.

“Liar.” Hortense laughs. “I shall call you Eulalie.” She gives me a little dismissive wave. “Go, Marcus. Get your messy little bags unpacked. I’m feeling a delightful little orgasm coming on. I want Bambi to feel as if she’s earning her keep.”

I return to the interior, and I’m led to a room at the top of the house. My favorite room as promised. Just what I like. The party will be going on in the atrium below. It will be quiet at the top. The spacious room decorated in carved wood and white linen opens onto a rooftop terrace that has a view of the sea. I discard my jacket and my shoes. I consider stripping down to my shorts, but I hold off for a moment. I want to look around my room. Take in the view. Let the tension escape my body as I mentally switch my thoughts to pure vacation mode. Carved shutters and doors have been left closed to keep out the sun but to let in the breeze. And, apparently, the sound of people vigorously screwing on the terrace.

I can’t resist myself. I have to see what’s happening. I walk out onto the terrace and there to my eternal delight is the black-haired and luscious Olga riding her brunet and wholly desirable husband Ollie. She has him on his back as he lies on a chaise lounge. Arms behind his head and sunglasses firmly in place, Ollie hasn’t even broken a sweat.

Olga turns and looks at me. Her breasts, covered in an oily sheen, bob as she continues her ride. The only thing she’s wearing other than her sunglasses are her jewels and an impossibly tall pair of brilliant yellow strappy shoes. She turns to her husband after smiling at me and giving me a naughty wink. “We have company,” she sings.

Ollie turns and looks at me. He lifts his sunglasses for just a moment, and then slips them back into place. “It’s Marcus!” he cheers. “Now we can really have some fun.” He reaches over to the small table next to them and tosses a strip of condoms at me. These people have absolutely no shame. And I love them both for it.

I catch the condoms as Olga climbs off Ollie. His bare erection points to the sky like an obelisk. They don’t use condoms with each other, but everyone else that’s invited to play has to follow their rules. Condoms are rule number one. It’s the only one that’s non-negotiable. The rest can be discussed.

Olga comes to me in her shoes. They add four inches to her height and a lot of sex appeal to a woman that’s already bursting from the seams with sensuality. She wraps her arms around my neck, and her mouth presses to mine. Our tongues twirl together for a brief moment before she disengages from the kiss. “What should I do with him?” she asks Ollie as she stares at me.

I reach between us and pinch her pussy lips before I give them a small massage. The soft skin is like slippery satin. “I know what I want to do. I’m going to make you come.” I look to Ollie. “That is if you don’t mind?”

“Have I ever minded?” Ollie asks.

I don’t have to ask Olga if she wants me to make her scream. She gives me her answer with her body. She opens her legs a little for me, and I cup her sex. She’s wet and slick and ready to continue what she was doing when I interrupted. I slide a finger inside her as my thumb finds her clitoris. She’s close to climaxing.

One of her long legs kicks up and hooks over my shoulder. This is the former dancer in her showing off. She’s spread wide as my fingers work her cunt. Her arms cling tight around my neck as I fuck her with my hand. I slide two fingers up her anus and work her back passage for a long moment.

I take my hand back and then hold her leg to give her balance as I slide down to my knees. With her leg hooked over my shoulder, I dive for her pussy. I lick, roll my tongue, and slash at her clit as she rubs her cunt against my face. When she comes, it’s with a loud cry and a cheer.

She unhooks her leg from over my shoulder. I rise to my feet, wiping my mouth on my shirtsleeve.

“That was exquisite.” Her mouth covers mine, and her tongue slides in. The kiss breaks after a long moment. “How do I say thank you? How do I say thank you, Ollie?”

“Undress him,” Ollie tells her. “Make him comfortable.”

Ollie tugs at himself as he watches Olga undress me. Their relationship is an endless source of wonder to me. How do the two of them manage to be so open with their sexuality and not get jealous? Or if they do get jealous, how do they manage?

She removes my jacket and tosses it to the side. I take off my watch and stick it in my trousers before Olga decides she likes it and I never see it again. Olga unbuttons my shirt, and then she walks behind me and pulls it off. A pair of firm, oiled breasts rubbing against my back finishes the job of making me as hard as Ollie. She reaches around me and grabs the bulge in my trousers. “You’re very hard.” She steps around to my front and presses her bare ass against my throbbing cock still buried in my trousers. Her smooth cheeks rub and grind against me.

“Take his trousers off,” Ollie tells her. “I want to see his cock. His lovely, circumcised, American-sized cock.”

She turns around and undoes my trousers. They drop to the ground and then she kicks them away. I’m naked in the bold Tunisian sun in front of Ollie’s eyes that look at me over his sunglasses.

“Still foxy as ever, Marcus,” Ollie tells me. “You’re the reason I like boys and girls. What reasonable person would say no to a slice of either of you? It’s really inconceivable.”

Olga runs her hands freely over my body, purposefully avoiding my cock. She’s behind me again, her pelvis grinding against my cheeks as her hands grasp the tops of my thighs. She pushes me forward just a touch so my cock reaches for Ollie. What I really want is him. But I’m more than happy to have her join in. They know this and won’t deny me what I’m after.

“Isn’t he pretty?” Olga wraps her fingers around my cock at last.

“Me or him?” Ollie asks. “Because he’s awfully pretty, pet. Do you want to suck me, Marcus? It’s been a long time since I’ve had a man blow me. We both know men are so very good at oral. Something about the jaw muscles I think. Come and wrap your lovely mouth around my big English cock? Or do you want me to bugger you senseless while you give it to my lovely wife?” He looks past me to Olga. “What do you think darling? Do you want to watch me get Marcus’s big stiffy up the arse?”

Olga hums for a moment. “What do I want? I would like to see that. But I’d also like to watch the two of you sucking each other. But then where does that leave me? And I’m in a very me, me, me mood.” She releases my cock and goes to Ollie. I tear a condom open and slide it on. I’m pretty sure I know what she wants.

She slips her leg over him and slides her body onto his erection. Then she lies across his chest, offering me her backside. “Do you think he’ll figure it out?” she whispers loudly to Ollie. “Or should I tell him?”

I know exactly what she wants. I come up behind and spread her cheeks. Ollie hands me a tube of lube. He is always very well-mannered and considerate. I massage a glob of slick lube into the pink pucker of Olga’s anus.

“Oh he’s figured it out,” Olga crows.

I kneel on the chaise behind her. It’s solid, so I’m sure it will handle the combined weight of three adults. I hold my cock as I press the tip against the opening to her back passage. I give it a small push and then pull back. I press the button again and then back away. She can suffer a little teasing. I slide my knees down to the ground. The sight of Ollie’s big cock in her snatch is like dessert. His balls are smooth and clean of hair as is the rest of his body except his legs. I like this about him. It’s sexy in a very metrosexual sort of way.

His feet rest on the ground on either side of the chaise, but I push them apart just a touch more. I spread open his cheeks with my fingers and find his hole. I slip my thumb inside past the hard ring of flesh as I lower my face to Olga’s backside. My tongue touches her pretty pink pucker. I lick lightly with the tip of my tongue. Sometimes the lighter the touch, the more intense the pleasure.

She screams and cries as I pleasure her. They both do. I know what I’m doing, and I aim to please.

Olga rides Ollie like a jockey on a horse. Just before she comes, I stop stimulating her. I rise from my place on the terrace tiles and kneel behind her. I wait for the wave of her orgasm that is about to break to recede before I start. Not yet. They had the condoms waiting. They had to have known I was coming. This is staged for my benefit, and I’m not going to do anything less than embrace the experience totally.

She wiggles her bottom at me. I can’t resist such a lovely little peach being waggled in my face. With my cock in my hand, I press against the pucker of her anus. I enter her in one swift and less than gentle thrust. The three of us quickly find a rhythm. We thrust and pull back in perfect sync. I want to come, but I want it in another way.

Olga screams without abandon as her orgasm shakes her body. I pull out of her. She quickly changes my condom as Ollie comes behind me. He’s already covered as Olga lies back on the chaise with her legs spread wide and welcoming. I enter her quickly and deeply. It takes all of my will not to thrust in and out of her. But I know what I want and it’s coming. Ollie helps me position my legs so my ass spreads wide open for him. The crisp, cool sensation of a dollop of lube being dropped on my anus makes me clench. His fingers massaging, followed by his tongue rimming, relax me enough to take him in.

Olga finds my mouth with hers and draws my tongue between her lips just as Ollie’s cock teases my hole. A little shove at a time, he enters me. As he presses into me, I press into Olga. Slowly he teases me with his cock until I’m filled. Then I become the one that’s ridden. Ollie pumps me hard from behind as Olga squeezes me with her cunt muscles. Olga pinches my nipples with her fingertips as Ollie sinks his teeth into my shoulder. Just enough pain to make the pleasure unbearable. When I come, it’s with my whole body. I thrust and press into the depths of Olga as Ollie grinds and drills me from behind. An animalistic moan startles me as it comes out of my throat. I’m sure I’ve never come like this before.

When the throbbing abates, Ollie kisses the shoulder he’s taken his teeth to. Olga runs her smooth, silky palms over my sore nipples. They release me simultaneously. The chaise is just big enough for the three of us to lie together, our limbs entwined.

“You two were waiting for me,” I say with a smile.

“We were waiting for you.” Ollie reaches over Olga and takes my still stiff cock in his hand. He rubs it gently.

“We’ve missed you.” Olga lies on her back as her arms drape over her head with us men pressed against her like pornographic book ends.

I glide my fingers over her flat stomach, edging down to her pussy. She’s hairless once again. The last time I was with them, she had a full and glorious nest of black pubic hair. I rather liked it for a change. Burying my face in her curls was delicious. It tends to come and go, so I’m certain it will be back. “No more bush?”

“I got bored with it,” Ollie says. “Too many hairs in my throat.”

I finger her cunt, spreading her lips apart and then pinching them shut. This is the best way I can imagine spending a lazy afternoon in the sun. I’m sure I doze off. I wake to the sensation of a condom rolling onto my already erect cock. My day is just beginning. The week at the Roman villa in Tunisia will be one I will never forget…

* * * *

Olga is right. This is a good memory. The three of us together. Before it all got very complicated by my falling in love with Alejandro. Condoms are their first rule. I suppose the second is that they love each other above all others. The third is that they are completely honest with each other. Neither takes a lover the other doesn’t know about. They assume all people are as honest with each other as they are. I want to be furious at Olga for telling Alejandro I joined them at one of their parties in England when he was in Argentina. But the simple truth is she didn’t do anything she thought was wrong. She told him she had my black cashmere sweater, which in reality is his. This led to questions from Alejandro, which she happily answered. I’m the one that kept our tryst a secret. If I’d just been honest with Alejandro, it’s possible we would still be together.

Chapter 2

Alejandro

Even if I hadn’t spotted Marcus across the field watching me as I put Cassandra through her paces, I would have sensed his presence. I lean down and whisper to Cassandra. “You see him too, don’t you?” Of course she does. She misses him as much as I do.

I want to believe things like soul mates and destiny are the myths Marcus always insisted they are. His cynicism could be so irritating, but maybe he was right. Still, I can’t convince myself there isn’t magic in love. Not even after finding my heart isn’t unbreakable and true love don’t always last forever, I can’t give up on the promise of a happily ever after. What started so magically and progressed so smoothly was the relationship I’d dreamed of.

So many people warned me about Marcus. So many people had delighted so completely when their predictions of doom came to pass. They warned me that Marcus was as changeable as the sea and as loyal to his lovers as a child to a new toy. I don’t know if it was stupidity or naivety that made me believe I was different.

However it ended, I will never be convinced that Marcus’ affection for me was anything other than completely genuine. I was invited into Marcus’ personal world. Into the space beyond the stony exterior. I saw the vulnerable interior life my former lover kept so well protected.

Nothing will ever convince me Marcus didn’t love me. That our love frightened him because it made him vulnerable was not unpredictable. That Marcus betrayed me isn’t even the shock it should have been. I did not choose to let myself fall for Marcus because I thought it would be easy. I went into the relationship expecting moments we’d have to work through. I expected these trials would only make us stronger as a couple.

I think when the betrayal came, I just wasn’t prepared for how much it would hurt. I’ll admit it. Perhaps I overreacted. I knew what he was like. We spent hours talking about the life he led before we met. I wanted him to include me in the things that brought him pleasure. Not exclude me and lock me in a cage. Still, I loved him for who he was. Rabidly jealous, secretly insecure, overwhelmingly passionate, and filled with a core of pure romantic sensuality.

No one appreciates the grand gesture as much as I do. He’s here. He’s supposed to be on vacation for another month. For Marcus, who hordes his time off like a freaky old lady collects cats, that’s a grand gesture. We began with a grand gesture. I didn’t realize it at the time, but later I learned that not only spending the whole night with him made me special but also staying with him for seventy-two hours over that weekend was unprecedented. When I think back on our first time together in St. Petersburg, I understand why it was I was able to get under his skin as effectively as I did…

* * * *

I’m in St. Petersburg for a reason. Playing polo has been a hobby. Being offered a spot on a professional team comes as a surprise. It’s not the money that got me on a plane to come and talk to the team owner. It’s the man. Not the owner, Vladimir the Russian knee breaker. The other one. The one I met during a charity tournament in Qatar. The American with the pretty eyes. The one that admired how I played and wanted to know if I had any interest in going professional.

I didn’t get his name at the time, and he isn’t the first coach to ask me about signing up for a team. So I’m not sure if this current offer is from the same person. When he called, I couldn’t very well ask for him to friend me on Facebook so I could check out his profile picture before I agreed to the meeting. Only I would travel to Russia to see if it’s the same man.

So I’m in Russia to see if maybe the man I had on the phone is the same one that got my heart fluttering in Qatar. In January. I must be insane. When I left Buenos Aires, it was a balmy eighty degrees. When I land in St. Petersburg, it’s twenty below. I very purposefully live my life in perpetual summer. This is by design. It’s a wonder my body doesn’t go into shock. A car meets me at the airport. I’m shivering it’s so cold. For certain I’m dangerously underdressed.

I’m taken through the city in a tropically warm Rolls Royce Phantom. The city is layered in a blanket of snow as thick white flakes come down. It’s so beautiful I catch myself holding my breath, gaping out the window like a rube. Our destination is a mansion only someone as wealthy and nouveau riche as Vladimir could dream up. I’m not sure if it’s the layer of snow that makes it look like candy, but it doesn’t help the overall effect. If my mother were alive to see this, she’d probably drop dead from the shock of seeing something so gaudy. My mother, who had ties to the Spanish Royal Family and very distinct ideas about new money, would be horrified I am about to hire myself out. Charity she understands. Even playing polo with my club team for charity she understands. Hiring myself out as a player and working for money she wouldn’t. I don’t care. I need to make decisions about my life myself. I’m not a boy anymore. It’s my birthday. I’m twenty-three.

When the car comes to a halt, a big man with no hair and no coat pulls open my door. This is no servant. I can tell by his watch and his shoes. Vladimir has come himself to greet me at his door. I like this man. He is friendly, warm, and welcoming. I am like family coming home, although in fact I am a stranger at his door. I understand he’s a criminal, but I like him. I have a fair number of criminals in my family. People don’t get and keep vast fortunes without operating around the edges of the law on occasion. I’m not going to judge him for his reputation. He’s rough and unpolished and makes no apology about it. His money is his most attractive characteristic. He doesn’t need to learn manners. He can pay for them.

“What are you wearing?” he asks me as he embraces me like a son. His English is like that of a guard working in a Soviet gulag in a communist era Hollywood movie. Or a Bond villain. The accent is completely unbelievable. He leans back and looks at me. “Welcome, welcome, welcome to my home.” I get a cuff on my shoulder. My father never would have shown me as much warmth as this man has. It startles and confounds me, but instantly I like it. Without meaning to, I find the camaraderie and friendship that had been lacking in my life.

“You will freeze! Come boy!” I’m brought into the house, which has to have been decorated by a troupe of colorblind prostitutes. I am utterly nonplussed. My mother would have fainted. The main entrance of the house is carpeted in thick shag with a dizzying zebra print. A chandelier, which actually could have been lovely if it were hanging in a room with a distinct baroque theme, looms above. But what holds my eye and refuses to let it go is a larger-than-life-size, painted marble statue of Vladimir in the guise of Augustus, First Emperor of Rome. Complete with breastplate, tunic, and raised arm. I stare in horror. If it had been white, I might have been capable of ignoring it. In full Technicolor it is like a horrific accident.

“What do you think?” Vladimir asks, his large hand, fully capable of snapping my clavicle, still on my shoulder. He pauses next to me to study his likeness. “I don’t know about the paint, but they tell me marble statues would have been painted in the past. I always think they should be white. But what do I know?”

What does one say in these situations? I don’t think even my mother would have been capable of saying the right thing. So I am kind. Being kind is never wrong. “It makes you look imperial. Larger than life.”

Vladimir clearly likes this. “Come. When we are finished negotiating, I will take you on a tour. I will show you my room that is an exact replica of the Jungle Room in Graceland. Do you like Elvis?”

Do I like Elvis? The dead rock star? Not really. But I don’t want to say this, no matter how much I want to please Vladimir. “I—” In the end I don’t need to answer. Vladimir continues to talk whether or not I respond. After passing through several rooms, each very likely arranged by a schizophrenic holding a grudge against Vladimir, we enter a wood paneled office that is comparatively tasteful when held up against the décor in the rest of the house.

My dream man is there on his mobile phone. The moment I see him my heart flutters. It really flutters. My wish has come true, my prayer has been answered. This is the trainer from the charity event in Qatar. The one that made me wish I was the sort to be bold with men. The trip to Russia is not a love-sick boy’s fool’s errand. I look at him across the room and smile. He stands naturally with the sort of casual, broken down ease most models spend hours trying to perfect. His indifference is elegant, and his appearance is either purposefully slovenly or casually disheveled. He lifts his fingers in a dismissive greeting before turning his back to me and continuing his conversation. My heart breaks a little. I feel like crushed bug.

Vladimir has taken a seat at a large desk, which is surprisingly uncluttered. He invites me to sit across from him. He strokes the wood of the desk and tells me John F. Kennedy fucked Marilyn Monroe on it. I’m not certain how that would make a piece of furniture more desirable. It’s hard to keep my attention focused on my host. My eyes keep moving to the man on the phone. “How much money do you want?” Vladimir asks me, abruptly finishing his story about the desk and its value to him.

I pull my eyes away from the God on the phone and look at Vladimir. “I’m sorry…?”

He laughs as he looks from me to the other man. “That’s what you want. Marcus?”

Marcus. Beautiful Marcus. Marcus. It’s like music. With those American looks. Why do they all look like George Clooney? It’s practically cliché. Those American men of a certain age and a certain lifestyle all have a sameness about them. I find him to be more than handsome. I find him desirable. I just don’t know what to do about it.

“I…” I shrug. “I don’t understand.”

“Never mind.” He chuckles. “How much money to you want to play on my team?”

“I don’t know. How much should I want?”

“Tell me you have very responsible people managing your money.” He looks slightly concerned. This is something I will learn about him. His players are his sons. He has five daughters. The polo team is his way of balancing out the amount of estrogen in his life. Polo is also something he perceives as classy. Vladimir is forever in search of class. Some things, unlike presidential desks, marble statues, and cars, cannot be bought.

“Yes. My uncles take care of my money. I have people. Why?” I realize I’ve done it again. I’ve made myself look a bit precious and naïve. This is probably one of the reasons why I can’t get a man to take me to bed. This is why I still get asked for ID when I buy liquor in the states.

He waves the question away. He’ll pay me what he pays everyone else on the team. Marcus joins us. I can’t stop stealing looks at him. For sure he catches me a few times. There’s that grin that lets me know he’s on to me. This unnerves me. I’m annoyed with myself. I want to be the one with the smug grin and the knowledge that I control the situation. I can’t stop from glancing at him. I’m aggravated that I’m not cool. I’m annoyed with my parents for raising me to be a dork. Who in this day and age makes a child wear short pants and a bow tie? Who does that? No wonder I’m socially awkward.

A secretary that’s all legs walks in. She leans over Vladimir and whispers in his ear. He turns red and exhales like a steam engine out of his nose. A string of Russian comes out of his mouth. I don’t need an interpreter to know he’s furious.

“I was going to take you to celebrate,” he tells me. “But my daughter, Ana, needs me. Five daughters. Not one son. Marcus, entertain Alejandro. Get the boys to the plane on Monday morning. If they’re late…” he slices his hand across his throat, “I chop their balls off.” Vladimir needs an anatomy lesson.

“What’s Monday?” I ask.

“You go to my plantation in Kenya,” Vladimir says. “You are my little secret weapon. With you, I will crush that dirty, lying, cheating, no good, snake oil salesman, Shi Gao. I hate him!” Vladimir slams his fist against the desk. Clearly it can take a pounding.

“Who is—” Marcus shakes his head at me. I don’t finish my question. I guess I’ll figure out who Shi Gao is soon enough.

“Hold on.” Marcus is on his cell phone again. “We’re going,” Marcus tells Vladimir as he rises from his chair. I don’t know what to do, so I follow him. He looks at me as he continues his conversation. “Just a second,” he says to the person he’s talking to. “Enrique.”

“Alejandro,” I correct him politely.

“Whatever.” He snaps his fingers at me. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

I look down at my snug leather jacket and trousers. I do have a scarf. I’m not totally unprepared for the cold. “Yes?”

He makes a small snort of a laugh. “Okay.” He continues with his conversation. He talks about horses to whoever is on the phone. Marcus understands horses. This is evident.

We return to the car I arrived in. The driver takes us to a building with a doorman wrapped in a wool coat and thick leather gloves. Marcus is on the phone the duration of the trip. “Is this where I’m staying?” I’m not unhappy. This seems to be suitable.

“No.” The phone goes into his pocket. “You have a room in the players’ house. This is where I live. You’re going to freeze to death, and I can’t have that on my conscience. I already have enough to atone to. One dead Argentinian added to the list won’t help. I also can’t be bothered to take you clothes shopping. We’re making a quick stop here, and then I’m taking you to one of Vladimir’s clubs. As a rule they’re pretty vile and pole dancers aren’t exactly my thing, but the booze is free.”

“You want to take me to a stripper club?”

“It’s that or the ballet.”

“I would much prefer the ballet.” This sounds like a wonderful plan. I’m very fond of Russian ballet.

Marcus stares at me for a long moment. “We’re not going to the ballet.”

“That’s a pity. Perhaps another time.”

Our driver opens the car door. I go to the rear of the car. Marcus stares at the overstuffed trunk. My luggage consists of no less than ten bags, including two devoted to shoes, four specially made for me by Hermes for my riding equipment, and my messenger bag around my shoulder. Half the suitcases are empty. I like to shop. I came to Russia planning to spend. I hear good things about their menswear designers.

“That’s all you have?” Marcus looks from the pile of bags in the back of the car to me. “Sure you didn’t forget anything?”

“I’m very thorough when I pack.” I am. I make lists. I travel prepared for every contingency. Except, apparently, extreme cold. But I know that I have not one, but two, tuxedos and at least four pairs of riding boots. I have bathing suits complete with matching sunglasses. I think about these things.

He looks at me and chuckles. “Any chance you have anything in there that’s meant for the cold?”

“I have cashmere.”

“Right.” He nods. “You’re going to be a lot of work.” He tells the driver to take my luggage to the players’ house. He tells me to follow him. He walks directly into the building and to an elevator that waits open for us. The attendant pushes the button that takes us to the top.

The elevator opens into a room of glass walls that look out over the city. Whoever decorated this space took minimalism to a whole new level. There’s a television, a coffee table, and a large comfortable looking leather couch. That’s it. Except, of course, for the treadmill and the weights. Who lives like this? There is no warmth or color. There is no life. The snow is coming down outside in giant bowling ball flakes. The effect is monochromatic and cold. A red Persian rug is exactly what the space needs. Some orchids maybe.

It’s already getting dark. I check my watch which I adjusted on the plane. It’s not even four in the afternoon.

“Enrique.” Marcus pulls off his heavy coat and tosses it on the couch.

I take my messenger bag off. “Why do you keep calling me Enrique? My name is Alejandro.” I take off my jacket and toss it on the couch with his. This seems to be the place where outerwear is kept. Unreal.

“You look like Enrique Iglesias, and I’m bad with names.”

I follow him into a bedroom. There’s a bed and a single nightstand. That’s it. Two pieces of furniture. Who lives like this? At least the bed has been made. Not that it’s hard to shake a duvet out and straighten the pillows. It’s not like there are bolsters or cushions.

He goes to a door that opens into a walk-in closet. “What do you want to do tonight since pole dancers aren’t really your thing and there is nothing that will get me to the ballet? It looks like I’m your entertainment.” This doesn’t seem to be making him very happy.

I know what I want to do, but I have no idea how to get him to comply.

“I don’t know. What do people in Russia do?”

“Drink and fuck.” He laughs. He’s rummaging through a minimal mish-mash of pieces and occasionally glancing at me. “I love this place. Russians are real. They have big appetites for everything.” He pulls a pair of thick wool trousers off a hanger and tosses them at me. “We’re the same height. Probably the same size.”

I look at the trousers. Basic black. English wool. Excellent quality. Hand tailored. I have trousers like these. I check the waistband. “Who is Oliver Adair?”

He glances at what I’m looking at. “He puts his name in his trousers? What is he? Five?”

“The tailor does that. Usually. Depends. English tailors do. Italian don’t. Who is Oliver Adair?”

“A friend.”

“A good friend?” I want to know who Oliver Adair is and why he’s giving Marcus custom made trousers. I actually feel a prickle of jealousy.

““He’s one of Vladimir’s sons-in-law. We are good friends. Do you want the pants or no?”

“They’ll do.” I nod. Oliver was Vladimir’s son-in-law. This was acceptable. A man with a wife was not competition for Marcus’ affection.

“Lot of work,” he mumbles. He tries to hand me a Corona T-shirt. I wonder if this is some kind of test.

I look past him. I take a white T-shirt without a beer logo, an ancient pale rose Ralph Lauren oxford, and a charcoal wool sweater. Classic pieces. Preppy chic. I only wish I had my shoes. We wear the same size, but his collection of trainers and riding boots is a bit lacking. What I came with will have to do.

“Happy?” he asks when I finish rummaging through his belts. I’ll have to use the one I’m wearing. The sweater will cover it.

“Can I use the shower?” I hold the stack of clothes.

He looks at me. An eyebrow goes up. I don’t know what he’s looking for in my face. An answer to a question perhaps. But I don’t know what the question is.

“I’ve been traveling for twenty hours. I smell like airports.”

He nods. “Sure. Do you want to go out? You don’t seem very enthusiastic about going out.”

“No. I’m tired. I want to sleep.”

“You could have just told me.” He looks at me again. “It’s early. Shower. Sleep for a few hours. You might change your mind about going out.”

“Good.” I follow him into the bathroom. The bathroom gets my approval. Stone slab tiles, German porcelain, and English fixtures.

The shower is a large glass cubicle with about twenty different nozzles, hoses, and sprays. I strip off my T-shirt as he explains the shower to me. I’m about to drop my trousers as he turns around.

“Enri—”

I glare at him.

“Alejandro. Like Lady Gaga.”

“Like Lady Gaga?”

“Yes. Like Lady Gaga. Alejandro. You like Lady Gaga?” He laughs.

“Of course I like Lady Gaga. Who doesn’t?” How could anyone not love Lady Gaga?

“Alejandro,” he laughs again. His eyes dart around my chest and arms. “I… I’m just going to be totally honest with you. You are throwing off all sorts of conflicting vibes. The Lady Gaga thing … never mind. This is one of those no offense intended if I’m wrong things. And, if I am wrong, we just move along and forget it ever came up. Okay?”

“Okay.” He’s a strange man with atrocious taste in clothing and absolutely no design sense. But I still want to do things to him.

“Are you gay? Because I’m getting the impression you are coming on to me, but then no. Honestly, I’ve never met a straight man that had any appreciation for Lady Gaga. That said, I’m a gay man and I really don’t like Lady Gaga. It’s like you’ve taken playing coy to a whole new level and I’m just … I’m confused. So? What is it? Are you gay? Straight? Coming on to me? Considering filing a harassment suit against me?”

I stare at him. I don’t know what to say. “I’m shy.”

“I figured that out. Men? Women? A bit of both?”

“I like men.” I can barely look at him. I’m suddenly aware I’m not wearing a shirt.

“Do you like me?” That grin is on his lips and in his eyes.

I nod.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-three. It’s my birthday.” I feel like a ridiculous child for adding that small fact.

I don’t know what to do with myself. I know I like men. I’ve just never done anything about it. Add to that the fact I just don’t fancy girls makes finding love a bit awkward.

At this moment my sexual experimentation has included a man at a club blowing me in a shadowy corner, a really well-meaning French girl trying to jerk me off at a country house party, and a first class steward on a flight between New York and St. Petersburg cornering me in the toilet and sucking me off. His number is still somewhere in my leather messenger bag. I thought about calling him, but let’s be honest, the man sucked off a total stranger in an airplane toilet. He didn’t use a condom. I’m sure I don’t want any part of that.

There isn’t much distance between us. In an instant, he’s in front of me with his hand on the back of my neck. “Happy birthday,” he tells me. His lips touch mine and I gasp. I don’t know how to kiss, but he does. Tongues twirl together as his hand massages my neck. I figure it out quickly. Small sighs come out of my throat. This is better than I ever could have imagined.

My neck is released, and his hands go to my trousers. I’m terrified I’m going to come if his hand brushes against the bulge in my pants. The last thing I want is for him to find out I’m a twenty-three-year-old virgin. Not that I was doing myself any favors with my reaction to his touch.

His hand slides into my unzipped trousers. I squeak. I actually squeak! At least he doesn’t laugh at me. His fingers wrap around my cock. I’m harder than I can ever recall being. I can’t hold the kiss as he fondles me. My head falls against his shoulder. My eyes close except for a slit through which I can see the line of his jaw and his chin. It’s possible my knees just might buckle under me. I grab him around the waist for support. He puts an arm around my waist to hold me, and then kisses my forehead.

Marcus isn’t afraid to touch me. He rubs me hard and fast. My breath comes in short gasps as he furiously masturbates me. I can’t stop the orgasm from coming. A gurgle and a moan rise from my throat. My hips buck. He holds me tight. I stand, panting and spent. My shaft twitches in his hand. When it’s done, I feel foolish. It’s over so quickly. I’m not half the long-lasting, seductive lover I want to be. I’m barely able to contain myself.

“Okay?” he whispers in my ear. He kisses my cheek. His free hand holds my head to his shoulder. I nod. His hand slides out of my trousers. They fall along with my shorts around my ankles. I step out of them and kick them away.

He releases me, and then goes to the sink to rinse off his hand. “How many men have you been with?” He looks at me in the mirror.

Am I really that obvious? “Lots.”

“Lots?” He turns around and looks at me. “Really? What’s lots?”

“I have no idea. I’ve lost count.” I don’t know what to do. Do I get dressed? What does one do in this situation when they’re naked in front of a fully dressed man that’s just masturbated them? I’m not sure Men’s Health has covered this one.

“Fibber. Just tell me the truth.” He kisses me again lightly, and then pulls away. My cock twitches. I look around for a towel and find only a pile of discarded ones in a corner.

I hesitate.

“Two? Three? Maybe you had a boyfriend when you were a teenager? It was all ridiculously sweet and innocent? You’d tell your parents you were having a sleep over, and then you’d jerk each other off during the night?”

“No.” I shake my head a little. I tell him about the flight attendant, the French girl, and the man in the club. The humiliation is a new kind of hell.

He looks at me. I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. “Are you a virgin?”

“I suppose I am.”

“Do you want me to be your first?”

“Yes.”

He kisses me again and releases me. He steps away from me. He takes his clothes off as if it were the most normal thing in the world to drop his pants in front of me. I make several silent observations. His body is firm and well-muscled. He is circumcised. He is thicker than me, but I’m longer. We are the same height. Our builds are the same. His outward appearance might have been sloppy, but he is very meticulously groomed under his clothes. He has a scar running down his left arm. He has a tattoo on his bottom. “Who is ES?” ES annoys me. I want to know who has meant so much to Marcus that he’s earned a permanent place on his ass.

“ES?” Marcus chortles as he turns knobs in the shower. “ES is proof I’m not afraid to make a mistake and that I generally learn from them. I’m going to get that removed one of these days.”

“My initials are EAS,” I say for some reason.

“Well then maybe you’ll change my mind about people with the initials ES.” The water falls like steaming rain from the ceiling. I watch him undress. My cock presses toward him. I take a step forward. “I don’t know what to do,” I admit.

“I do. For your birthday, I am going to give you the first time I wish I’d had.” He takes my hand and pulls me into the shower.

His hands run over my wet skin. I look down at his palm wrapped around my cock. “I’ve never touched a man before.”

“I won’t break.” He takes my hand and wraps it around his shaft, and then holds it there for a moment. I realize we are the same. I touch him as I would touch myself. He won’t break any more than I will. He picks up a bottle of shower gel and fills his palm with a squeeze of lime scented liquid. The gel is rubbed into my skin and a lather quickly forms. I keep him in my hand. I do to him what I do to myself. This earns me a smile. Then a kiss. His tongue slides into my mouth. I push my tongue into his mouth. He told me himself. He won’t break.

He lets my mouth go and turns me around. My back is to him. He continues to wash me. His hands move over my skin like two fluttering wings. When he nips my shoulder with his teeth, I both laugh and shriek. Wanting a shower wasn’t a ploy to get naked. I really did want a shower. Being bathed is a pure delight. The feel of hands sliding and slithering over my body is one more new sensation to add to the growing list. One hand takes my cock and the other slides between my crack. When he finds the opening to my body, I stop breathing.

“You’re adorable you know,” Marcus tells me. He wraps an arm around me and pulls our bodies together until his cock presses between my thighs.

A finger starts to push into me. I very nearly bolt from the shower. There isn’t a condom in sight and I’m nervous. I’m not sure I’m ready for what’s coming.

“What’s wrong?” Marcus asks me. “You’re stiff and not in the right way.”

How do I put this without ruining the mood? “No one has ever touched me there before.”

He moves his finger away. “Do you not like being touched there? Is it uncomfortable? Are you very sensitive? Are you just nervous? I need some information. I’m not a mind reader.”

“You don’t have a condom, and I’m not sure I’m ready for anal. I was reading on the internet…”

“Stop talking.” Marcus laughs. He grabs a handful of my ass and squeezes. “Do you really think I’m going to bend you over right here and just have you?”

“I don’t know.”

“No wonder you’re so nervous. Relax. I know what I’m doing. And no more internet for you.” His hand slides between my crack. “Just open up a little. You’ll like this.”

I spread my legs slightly. He washes me thoroughly, his fingers cleaning my anus and my balls. Particular attention is paid to my taint. Then a finger circles around the pucker of my anus. The finger massages my entrance gently. The sensation of being touched in my most delicate and secret spot pulls a sigh out of my throat. I lean my hands against the stone tile walls. I spread my legs a touch more and press back.

“You want me,” he says. “You are bursting to be had.”

That magic, probing finger slides inside me. The rain pours down my back and that finger works me. His hand finds my cock again. His finger slides in just a touch more. My eyes open wide as I cry out.

“That would be your prostate,” Marcus tells me. His finger applies a firm and steady pressure as his other hand works my cock.

“I’m going to come.” I sigh.

Teeth nip my shoulder. “Then come.”

“What about you?” I want to be a sensitive and thoughtful lover. I’m Argentinean. I have a cultural reputation to uphold. I don’t want Latin men to start getting bad press because of me.

“We’ll get to me eventually. It’s your birthday. It’s all about you.”

The pressure on my prostate becomes a massage. His hand around my cock squeezes and tugs. My hips jerk and spasm as I ejaculate onto the tiles. When the moment passes, Marcus gently removes his finger from my anus. He washes. “Best birthday present ever?”

“Yes.”

“There is more to come.” He gives my butt a small slap.

I turn around and lean against the tiles of the shower. He washes his hair as I watch him. It’s all I can do to stay standing, my body leaning against the tiles. I want to fall into bed and just let this feeling of being wholly satisfied overtake me. I’m fairly certain I’d like to feel what his mouth on my cock would be like, but he’s already done enough work.

“Come here.” He gestures at me with soapy hands. My hair gets thoroughly scrubbed. I let the rain rinse my hair and body. Marcus turns off the water once the soap has been washed away. We dry off, and I follow him into the bedroom.

The sky is like mercury. The snow and the lights of the city create this effect. The bedroom is cold. Marcus turns on a dim light, which gently illuminates the bed. “It’s freezing.” From the nightstand he pulls out condoms and lube. “Condoms and lube. Not just one or the other.”

“Really? I know condoms. But lube?” He knows things. Like where the prostate is. “Just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean I don’t know things. I have the internet.” The words were petulant and just the sort of thing a nervous virgin would say.

“I know things too. More than you do. Just for future reference, no more guys in clubs or flight attendants. Horny French girls are fine as long as you use a condom. Okay?” He flicks back the duvet, and then looks at me.

“Okay,” I say.

“I know you’re nervous,” he says. “It’s fine. I get it. We won’t do anything you’re not ready for. What can I do to make this better for you?”

“Will you turn out the light?”

He turns out the light. The room is illuminated solely by the outside world. He drops his towel and gets under the duvet. I join him. He pulls me into his arms and kisses me. We kiss for a long time. Kissing is a good start. Kissing moves to touching with our hands. Our cocks rub together beneath the covers. He takes my hand and wraps it around his erection.

“I don’t break,” he reminds me.

The kissing portion of the evening has done wonders to loosen me up. I feel protected by the anonymity of the night. I can be bold in the dark. I push him onto his back and lean over him. The shyness I felt with him was washed away in the shower. I kiss him, my tongue pressing into his mouth. I want to make him feel the way he made me feel. My hand works him until I feel him respond to my touch. His staying power in the shower has diminished. We kiss as I jerk him off. I never would have believed I’d have this beautiful man in my hand like this. Or that my touch would make him moan and thrust his hips. When his orgasm comes, he ejaculates with a cry into my hand. I grip his twitching member as he sends thick streams of cum onto my belly. His pelvis jerks forward with the spasms until he’s spent.

I wipe off my stomach with my hand. I don’t know what to do with the cum, so I wipe it on the towel I’d used. I lay on the pillow next to him. We touch gently for a long time. Long caresses and pillow talk. Two things I never imagined for my first sexual encounter. I drift off while he tells me about the horses he wants to buy and the plans he has made to start his own stables. I think he kisses me in my sleep. A brief brush of a touch that wakes me just enough to know it happened.

When I do wake, I have no idea what time it is. But I do know I’m alone. “What do I do?” I whisper as I stare at the ceiling. The internet is a poor advisor. Do I leave? Do I stay? I have no idea. I get up and get dressed. I put on the warm clothes Marcus gave me. I can return them when I see him at training. Then I realize I’m going to have to see him at training. I think we’re ten floors up, and the windows don’t open anyway. There is no way out. I have to go through the front door. If I’m lucky, he’ll be gone.

I step out of the bedroom and creep up the hallway to the main part of the apartment. I can hear a television. There will be no sneaking out. I stand in the hallway for a long time. I almost go back to bed to wait him out. Eventually he’ll come in and fall asleep. Then I can sneak out. But that is ridiculous. I’m an adult. I have not only kissed a man, but I showered with him and gave him a satisfying sexual experience. So, I walk into the living area and there he is on the couch, wearing a Stanford sweatshirt and a pair of ratty chinos. He has the fashion sense of a five-year-old boy. Fortunately for the five-year-old boy, he’d have a mother to make better choices for him. He has a beer in one hand and the remote in the other.

“You’re up,” he says.

“What time is it?”

“Ten. Just after. You’ve been asleep for hours.” The television is filled with a Brazilian soap opera dubbed in Russian. Two women with big hair and a lot of makeup are strangling each other. There is much clawing and a lot of hair flipping.

“Why are you watching that?”

“Blizzard knocked out the satellite. Russian TV is shit, but I can’t watch any more BBC World.” He drinks from the bottle of beer, and then sets it on the coffee table. No coaster.

I pick up my jacket and slip it on.

“Are you going somewhere?”

“I should probably go.”

“Internet? What to do after a first encounter with a new man?”

I nod. I’m certain we’ve read the same article.

“No more internet for you. Except for porn. That’s what the internet is really for.” He takes a drink from his beer. “Truth? Normally I would have kicked you out before you fell asleep. I’m not a big fan of the sleepover. But…” He looks over at the windows. “There’s a blizzard out there. Give credit to the Russians, it takes a lot more than that to stop them, but it’s still nasty out there. I have beer, coffee, bread, condoms, and a PlayStation. If you can figure out how to hook it up. And there’s me. And there’s so much we haven’t done yet. So why don’t you stay?”

I take off my jacket and sit on the couch. I watch the two women on the screen. One has a gun to the other. They have a very complicated relationship. “Do you even speak Russian?”

“Not a word.”

I stand from the couch, take the remote from his hand, and turn off the television. I offer him my hand. “I’m much more interesting than the television.” He takes my hand and I take him to bed. I’m not nervous anymore, but I am shivering. He doesn’t kiss me, so I kiss him.

“Are you certain you’re ready for this?” His hand holds my neck as he hooks a finger over the waist of my borrowed trousers.

“I’m ready.” I kiss him, my tongue slides between his lips, my hands on his waist. “I really want this.” I kiss him again as my arms wrap around him. I like hugs. I’m hoping he likes them too. “All of this. Everything. You understand?” My cheek rests against his as I whisper in his ear.

“I understand.” His hand holds my neck as he hooks a finger over the waist of my borrowed trousers. “Do you want me?” His arms wrap around me as he hugs me back. Who doesn’t like a hug?

“More than you could possibly realize.”

We stand there embracing, my head resting on his shoulder. This is my new heaven. I am certain there are things to come that will be close to heaven, but being held, even with my clothes on, is perfect. I’m not nervous anymore, but I am shivering with anticipation. He doesn’t kiss me, so I kiss him.

The embrace lasts just long enough for me to relax and be ready to move on to what will come next. Marcus gradually releases me as his hands move on my body. I pull back from him and look at him. The bedroom is absolutely frigid.

“I don’t really want to take my clothes off and not be under the duvet.”

“Are you still feeling shy? Because I thought you were getting over that. You don’t have to be shy with me.”

“No. Not shy. I’m feeling cold. It’s very cold here. When I left home, it was quite hot.”

“Right.” Marcus nods. “Quick as you can, get your clothes off and get under the blanket.”

“On three?”

“Just take your clothes off.” Marcus lets me go and begins to undress himself. “Can I turn some lights on, or do you still want it dark?”

“A little light.” I shed my clothes like a cocoon and jump under the duvet. Marcus walks around the bedroom completely naked and seemingly unaffected by the cold. Lights are adjusted and the heating is turned up. I wrap the duvet around me as I try not to shiver. When he slides under the blanket with me, his skin is comfortably warm and welcome next to my own.

He pulls me into his arms. We lay facing each other kissing. Down below, our cocks rub together, but our hands are occupied touching faces, lips, ears, and arms. This is never what I expected my first time to be like. I had always figured there would be a lot of booze and awkwardness involved. Instead, I have Marcus holding and kissing me while our erections touch.

I’m the one who reaches below the duvet first. Kissing and touching is lovely, but I want more. “What do we do?”

“What do you want to do?”

“What are my options?” I’m not being coy. I really want to know what my options are.

“You’re the one with the vast array of information available on the Internet at your disposal. I don’t even email.”

“You don’t use email?” Who doesn’t use email? My eighty-year-old grandmother uses email.

“No.” He smiles as he kisses me. “I don’t use email. Tell me what you found on the internet that you want to do.”

I get shy. I bury my head next to his shoulder as I continue to touch him.

“Just tell me what you want,” he encourages me. “It’s fine. I’ve done it all. Whatever you want.”

I know what I want, but I have no idea what to say.

“Do you want to be on top?”

I shake my head.

“Do you want to be on the bottom? You know we don’t have to have penetrative sex. We can just masturbate each other. Not everyone does anal.”

“Bottom,” I whisper. This is what I want to try. When I masturbate, usually watching porn, this was what does it for me. I want to be the one being serviced.

Marcus kisses my cheek, and then releases me from his embrace. He moves himself and me around until I’m on my stomach with him behind me, between my spread thighs.

“What do I do?” I open my legs a bit more and feel him sink into the bed behind me.

“Nothing.” He kisses my shoulder, and then and reaches for the lube. “Just tell me if I hurt you. If you want me to stop, I’ll stop. Don’t just say nothing if you don’t like the feel of me inside of you. My feelings aren’t going to be hurt. You might be.”

The only time I jump is when the icy cold lube touches my warm skin. The shock of the cold is quickly replaced by the smooth sensation of Marcus’ fingers massaging my opening. I lick my lips as my eyelids flutter. Ripples of sensuality roll through my body from head to toe and back again. A finger slips inside, easing me open. I spread my legs, bringing up my knees until they are were at a ninety degree angle to my body.

“You are really flexible,” Marcus comments.

“Yes,” I mumble as I smile.

“Fantastic.”

The single finger is replaced by three. Those three are removed and I am made to wait as Marcus gets the condom and puts it on. I can’t wait. My toes curl, my fingers clutch the pillows, and my teeth grab my lower lip to stop me from screaming at him to hurry up.

Then it happens. One slow movement at a time, Marcus enters me. When he is fully inside of me, he stops.

“Are you okay? Am I hurting you?”

“No.” I press my crotch into the mattress as I pull away from him, and then thrust backwards.

He laughs. “Okay … not eager are you?”

“Yes. I’m very eager.” How could he not tell? “Oh, you’re being funny.”

“Yes. I’m being funny.” He moves inside of me. Slow at first, then faster. The feeling of being filled and spread is like nothing I imagined. He presses me into the mattress with each thrust. Then he stops.

My fist thumps the bed. “Why are you stopping?”

“Are you normally this bossy?”

“Yes.”

“We’re changing position so I can masturbate you.”

He rolls me to my side while staying buried in me. His hand reaches around me as we spoon and takes my cock. With every thrust of his erection, my dick gets a squeeze and a tug. The orgasm builds inside me gradually. Like water slowly filling a bowl. When I come, every flicker of the energy gathered inside me spills out through my mouth as I allow my body to release a cry. I’m certain I’m never going to stop ejaculating. I’m sure of it. Marcus continues to pump my cock as more cum shoots from the tip. His hand catches most of it, and then converts it into lube.

My body eventually calms, and I sink into a state of perfect relaxation as Marcus holds me and rests inside of me.

“You didn’t come,” I say after a long while.

“I did,” he says. He kisses the back of my head. “You were just too excited to notice. That was beautiful by the way.” He kisses me again. “Thank you for letting me be your first.”

Marcus holds me to him. At some point he slips out of me and disposes of the used condom. Back in bed, he returns to the place behind me, his body curves into mine. He falls asleep long before I do.

I stare out the window at the gray world lit by artificial light and watch the snow fall. I remember it is my birthday as I pull his arm and the duvet around me. Best birthday ever.

Three days later we emerge. I’m not a virgin anymore. In a sense at least. We travel to Kenya as a team, but everyone knows we’re sleeping together. It’s a small, tightly knit group.

Our intimacy doesn’t affect my performance on the pitch or his standing with the team. I learn quickly during those weeks in Kenya that amongst the players there is a lot of sex being had. A lot. I get many offers, but I turn them down. Marcus is all I want. He is enough for me. When we return to Russia, I have a room in the player’s house that goes unused.

We are the same height and the same build. It’s like a miracle we’re the same shoe size. Within a matter of months I’ve secreted out all of the beer T-shirts, the ratty jeans, and the old-man underwear. If he wants to wear clothing, he can wear what I’ve put in our closet. Otherwise, I’m perfectly content for him to walk around in the nude. Occasionally he accuses me of stealing his stuff, or controlling him through designer underwear, potted plants, and Persian rugs. I generally tend to ignore these little outbursts. Let him think I listen. Nod on occasion. Then do what I want.

I furnish the apartment in St. Petersburg. I come out to my uncles. I do it over the phone, which, in retrospect, was cowardly. One is angry, one is shocked, and the third loves me and is happy for me if I’m happy. In the end, they come to St. Petersburg. They meet Marcus. He talks horses and ranching with them—two things he knows well from his upbringing on a cattle ranch in Texas. They like him. They think he’s a bit rough, but maybe I need that. They all more or less agree that they’re not really all that surprised I’m gay. I never thought I seemed gay. I ask Marcus about this. For days he just laughs spontaneously, muttering about how I was probably the last person in the world to realize I was gay.

I move in without waiting for an invitation. I throw dinner parties. I make him take me to the ballet and explain who exactly ES is and why he has a tattoo of his initials on his bottom. I meet Oliver Adair, owner of the black wool trousers I borrowed that first night, and Olga, his wife and Vladimir’s daughter. I know, without having to ask, they know Marcus intimately. I can tell by the way Olga touches him and looks at me as if she’d like to know both of us intimately. This makes me very curious. Very, very, very curious. So I ask Marcus questions. Lots of questions. I want details. I want to go to one of these parties thrown by this randy couple. I want to do the things Marcus has done, know that kind of sexual freedom. I want to watch as he pleasures and is pleasured…

* * * *

Alejandro leans over Cassandra, her warm body comforting him in his contemplative mood. Horses understand things. She misses Marcus as much as I have. He infuriates me, but I love him. That doesn’t just go away. I understand things about love better now that I’ve been through the best and worst of it.

It all worked beautifully from the start. Fifteen months later, he broke my heart. It isn’t that he shared intimacy with another person that hurts so much. It’s that he excluded me from the experience, and then he lied to me about it. Like I wouldn’t find out. Like I’m still the shy, naïve virgin that didn’t know how to get him into bed. I’ve grown up and into my body. I’m not a child. I feel different because I am different. I’ve crossed that mental threshold from boy to man. If I want to explore my sexuality beyond what we’ve done in bed together, that’s my choice. It’s not for him to decide for me that I can’t indulge my fantasies. If he were opposed to inviting others into our bed, fine. I would respect that. I would happily be monogamous. But he doesn’t have any problems with sharing his body with others. Just sharing mine.

Cassandra and I ride fast across the pitch. He’s here. Marcus is here and I want to forgive him. I’m sure I’ll forgive him. I just want him to work for it a little.

Chapter 3

Marcus

How am I going to get Alejandro back? This is the thought that dominates my mind. I have no plan. I have hope and determination, two things that have seen me through often in my life. I’m about to step into the shower when there’s a knock at the door. The Sheik has an army of English-trained butlers and maids that have a habit of responding to unspoken requests.

When I open the door with a towel wrapped around my waist, I’m expecting a butler. Or Olga. Or Ollie. Or both. You never really know with those two. Instead I’m greeted by a grim faced Alejandro still in his riding gear and spattered in mud.

Alejandro walks into the room without waiting for an invitation. He is exactly the same as he was the last time I saw him. From his black hair and Prussian blue eyes down to his hand tooled, black riding boots.

“Close the door.” Alejandro walks past me. The cocktail of vanilla, fresh grass, and sunshine that wafts around Alejandro fills my nostrils. I shut the door as instructed. He examines the clothes I’ve laid out on the bed. He shakes his head, and then goes to my luggage. He drops a pair of well-used deerskin gloves on the dresser. “Honestly…” he mumbles. “Don’t you ever listen?” He takes out a plain white shirt and replaces the blue I’d chosen.

“Not very well.” I don’t make any loud noises or sudden movements. I don’t want to spook him and make him run away.

“Why are you here? Don’t bullshit me. You have no interest in changing teams. If you really were going to change focus, you would train horses. I know this, among many other things, about you.”

The sight, smell, and energy of Alejandro in such close proximity is enough to give me an erection worthy of a horny, post-pubescent boy. In my towel, there is no hiding the fact my body couldn’t help but respond to Alejandro.

He takes in a deep breath, holds it for a moment, and then exhales.

“I…” I sigh a little as I push past the brick wall Alejandro has accused me of trapping my feelings behind. “You wouldn’t take my calls, you’ve ignored my emails, and you changed your relationship status on Facebook. But…” I raise a finger. “I have taken note of the fact that it’s complicated rather than single.” I’ve started stalking him on Facebook. The internet really is a useless vortex to toss your time into. Facebook is evil.

Alejandro stares at me with his arms crossed over his chest. “You went on Facebook?”

“I know.” I shake my head a little. “I’m that desperate. Good thing for me you wrote down my log-in and password in my address book. See? I need you. Who else is going to update my calendar and address book with an unending string of useless information? Who is going to spend four days shopping for the perfect red Persian rug for my apartment?”

Alejandro glares. “Your apartment?”

“Our apartment.” I smile. “Who else cares enough to throw away my T-shirts that have holes in them? I’ll have you know I’ve grown to appreciate Italian underwear.”

An amused snort bursts out of him. “Hire a personal assistant.” He makes a move to the door. I stop him with my hand on his arm.

My fingers lightly clutch Alejandro’s forearm. “I’m teasing you. You know I loved how you used to take care of me.”

Alejandro took his arm back, but he doesn’t move closer to the door. “Are the plants alive or dead?” This is a test of my continued commitment.

“Alive! The plants are alive. I’ve watered them, given them sun.” Desperate men do desperate things. Even water plants they hate.

“You have my attention. What do you want to say?”

Good question, I think silently. I’ve worked so diligently to get Alejandro to listen to me, I haven’t put much thought into what I’m going to say. There are moments in the night as I lie awake in bed when the exact words come to me, the precise verbal key to unlocking Alejandro’s heart. At this moment all of those clever words escape me.

“I love you,” I say to Alejandro. “I love you. I do. With all my heart. I wish I’d told you sooner. I wish I’d told you every morning, noon, and night. I…”

Alejandro holds up a silencing hand. “Stop talking,” he interrupts. “Why did you cheat on me?”

“I…”

Alejandro points a finger at me as he glares. “Why?”

Tricky. I could lie and say no, and then weasel around the truth. Or, I could tell the truth, take the hit, and hope Alejandro forgives me.

“I didn’t want to share you.” I sigh. Amazing. The truth has set me free. Just as telling Alejandro I love him was another step to freedom. A feeling of being unbound comes over me. “I was … I just wanted to keep you to myself. You’re mine, and you’ve only been mine. I think about our first time together. The way you put your head on my shoulder. You were so vulnerable. I just don’t want anyone to hurt you.”

“So you keep me locked up? You refuse to let me have the pleasures you allow yourself?” Alejandro scowls at me. “And what? What am I supposed to do? Forgive you? You didn’t think to include me. Did you even consider that I understand how voracious your sexual appetite is? If you’d just told me you wanted to do something different, I would have gone along with it.”

“I know you would have. I just wanted to keep you to myself.”

“Why do you still think of me like I’m some shy virgin? I’m over that with you. We’ve moved past that. I thought my last birthday was the start of us being more equal in bed. I’m not some passive lover you have to treat like a hot house flower.” Alejandro uncrosses his arms and points at me. “You are impossible. Do you know this?”

“Yes?” I answer, hoping I’m correct.

“You are,” Alejandro confirms. “Are you truly sorry?”

I feel a spark of hope kindle in my soul. “I’m more sorry than you can imagine.”

“I’m not sure about that. I have a vivid imagination. The amount I’m capable of visualizing you suffer verges on the disturbing.”

I have no idea how to respond to that. It’s no secret between us that Alejandro is not adverse to bondage. In fact there are a lot of things he likes to do that I never would have imagined the shy virgin I took to bed on his twenty-third birthday would like. He’s been on the receiving end of more than one session of who’s a very naughty boy? Is it possible I’m the one that has been holding him back? Maybe I’m the one that should have listened better to what he was asking for.

“I haven’t been with anyone since it happened,” I say. “You know me better than anyone else in the world. If that’s not suffering for me, then I don’t know what is?”

Alejandro stares silently at me. Then a most unexpected thing happens. A small smile curls his lips. The stern, stony visage has cracked. “Celibate?” Alejandro’s words are peppered with a laugh. “You are celibate? The whole time we’ve been separated? I don’t believe you. You’re incapable of going without sex for a week, let alone months. The only time when we were together you weren’t on me daily was that week you had the flu and couldn’t get out of bed.”

“I remember that. Nobody has ever been as nice to me when I’m sick as you are. Please take me back. I love you.”

Alejandro laughs. “You’re not lying to me? You truly haven’t been with anyone else? Not even Olga and Ollie?”

“I haven’t. Alejandro I swear. I love you. The only thing I’ve thought about is how to get you back since you left me.”

“What am I going to do with you?” Alejandro asks again.

“Forgive me? Love me?”

Alejandro does the last thing I expect him to do. He crosses the space between us. He kisses me. He kisses me deeply with his tongue swirling around my mouth like a snake. Better. Like his beautiful cock. I miss the feel of his cock in my mouth. I take a chance and place my hands on the waist of his riding pants. He doesn’t pull away. I unsnap and then unzip them. Still no objections. When I pull them lower, he pulls back. “Condom.”

I could cheer. I grab a condom from the dresser and make it ready. I continue to slide his riding pants down until his cock springs free of them. It points at me like an accusing finger. I drop to my knees, place the condom in my mouth, and slide it on with my lips. He’s always liked this trick. I enjoy it more when he practices it on me.

I draw him deeply into my throat and suck. A delicious musky smell comes from him that’s all man. He’s been working hard. I like the smell of leather and sweat. I pull back, and then draw him in over and over again. His hands are in my hair as my hands reach around for two large handfuls of his perfect ass. My fingers knead and massage his firm buttocks as my mouth works him relentlessly. I want him back so badly I could cry. If I can show him with my mouth how much he means to me, then I will.

His hands release my hair as they grasp onto the dresser for support. His cock presses into my throat as he tips his head back and cries out for mercy. When his orgasm passes, I rise to my feet in front of him. I kiss him deeply, and he doesn’t resist. A flush climbs up his neck. I kiss his neck. My hand grasps his shoulder and then his bicep as I use my lips on every inch of his neck. I’m in love. I think it’s very possible I’ll cease to exist without Alejandro.

He kisses me back at last. Acknowledgment of my efforts.

I pull back a little. My fingers take his cock in hand. I gently remove the used condom and leave him for just long enough to toss it in the bin in the bathroom. When I return, he’s fastening his riding pants.

“I have to go.”

“We’ve just started,” I protest. “You can’t leave now.” I take off my towel and show him how much I want him.

Alejandro grins as he tucks in his shirt. “Yes I can. And I must. I’m expected back on the pitch for another training session, and I don’t want to be late.”

“Will I see you later?”

“Are you going to the dinner the Sheik is hosting for his guests and the teams?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Perhaps,” Alejandro says elusively with a small shrug. “I’m still undecided. Ask me this morning if I’d ever forgive you, and I would have said absolutely not. But your being here…” Alejandro shrugs. “Let’s just say I’m not immune to the lure of a big romantic gesture. For you, this is a big romantic gesture.”

“Spend the night with me.”

“I’ll think about it.” Alejandro reaches for the door. He pauses briefly as his hand rests on the doorknob. “You broke my heart. I thought we were a couple. Equals. But in your mind, we never were. I’m not some pretty doll you have to keep wrapped in pillows all to yourself. Olga and Ollie have figured out how to be a couple of kinky freaks and stay together. I even wonder if somehow their lifestyle hasn’t made their bond stronger. I don’t understand why you didn’t include me. You could have just included me. And don’t you dare blame Olga for telling me the three of you got together in England when I was away. She figured you would have told me. She’d never keep something like that from Ollie.”

“I’ll never leave you out again.”

He looks at me. “I haven’t been with anyone else.” He pauses for a moment. “That’s not exactly true. I’ve been letting Alyar blow me, but that was just because I was incredibly horny and he’s got these amazing jaw muscles.”

“He does.” I have to agree. Maybe sharing these details will make the trust grow between us again.

He looks at me. He wants to tell me something. “I’m starting my own team. I’m going back to Argentina.”

“You are?” This was our plan. We were going to do this together. I feel hope inching up my spine like a spider.

“I am. I’m looking for a good horse trainer. Let me know if you know anyone.” Alejandro steps out of the room, closing the door behind him.

I look down at my cock, which is pointing straight ahead. He’s done this to me on purpose. The student has surpassed the master. This makes me smile. I love him, and I think I’m going to get him back.

That trip to England ended badly, but it began so well. I wasn’t going to go to Ollie’s party being held in his country house, but I was bored. Alejandro had been in Argentina for a week and wouldn’t be home for another week. I would have traveled with him, but I had to go to England to look at horses for Vladimir. This was the first time we came upon an instance when circumstances would pull us apart.

When I was in England, the invitation came. I really didn’t have any good excuse to turn it down. I should have. Or better, I should have told Alejandro and discussed my going, come up with a set of rules we both could have lived with. I’m realizing that if I’d just told him and explained what the party was going to be like, he probably would have just sighed and told me to have a good time. And use condoms. We’d stopped using condoms together at this point. It was all done very purposefully with doctors’ appointments and blood tests and promises about being safe and honest.

But I lied to him. And I went to the party…

* * * *

I arrive at Ollie’s family pile in the afternoon. It is hot for England, even in the summer. There is no servant to greet me when I arrive. Not that I care. I know the place well. I walk in the front doors of the massive medieval structure. No matter how hot it is outside, the inside of the manor house is always chilly.

A male servant covered in body paint designed to look like a butler’s uniform comes up to me. In his hands is a clipboard. He greets me. My name is on a list. I have been assigned a room.

I look him up and down. I compare him to Alejandro. He’s slightly taller and much bulkier across the arms and chest. He’s top heavy. Not really my thing anymore. I’ve gotten used to Alejandro’s streamlined body. But the butler is here and Alejandro is in Argentina. He is erect, and there’s a silver cock ring around the base of his penis. “How long did that take? The body paint.”

He looks down at his bare body covered in paint. “About an hour. There is a team of people painting. Olga and Hortense insist everyone get covered. You have to pick a comic book or Disney character.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Alfred the Butler. From Batman.” Did he really think he needed to explain this to me? “Do you want to go now?”

“I’m good. Later.” Never. Alejandro would love this. They’d already be covering him in red and blue and turning him into Spider Man. I’m going to try to avoid joining in. The driver brings in my bags. Alfred the Butler tells him where to take them. “Where is everyone?”

“The garden. You know the way?”

“I know the way.” I look him up and down. “Show me to my room.” This really isn’t necessary. I know where my room is. It’s the same room I use every time I visit Ollie and Olga in the country house. What I really need is to give myself a mental kick to get in the mood for the party. A jump start.

I follow Alfred the Butler up the staircase that winds around a light well going up to the stained glass panel in the roof. I’ve never noticed before how nice the staircase is. Alejandro would love this. He wants to build a house. Something modern with Moorish elements. He notices architectural features. I look over the side of the staircase down the drop to the main floor below. The light coming through from above colors the walls and the air. Alejandro would really love this. I make a mental note; next time he has to come with me.

Alfred the Butler takes me to my room. I step inside and he closes the door behind us. He reaches for me, but I hold up a hand to stop him. “No paint on the Armani.” Alejandro gets very grumpy when I get stains on the clothing. It tells him I don’t care about the time and effort he takes in making sure we always look fierce. His word. Fierce. I smile thinking about him and his persnicketiness when it comes to the wardrobe.

I undress myself. I’m careful with the Armani. I’m human. I haven’t been with my lover in well over a week. My cock is hard, and I really would like a deeply satisfying suck. Alfred the Butler, like all good servants, knows what I want before I even have to ask. I’m not interested in intimacy or a cuddle. I want to get off.

I lean against a heavy table, my hands behind me for support. Alfred knows what to do. He gets down on his knees and toys with my cock. A condom is slipped on. His mouth slides over the top, and I’m pulled deep into his throat. His shoulders nudge my thighs apart. A finger slips inside my anus and lands on my prostate. Alfred isn’t wasting any time. I appreciate this. I close my eyes and think of Alejandro. I fantasize it’s his mouth working me. His finger is probing and massaging me. I think of the first time we had sex without condoms. That brings a groan to my throat. The feel of him shooting his hot cum inside me does it. That’s the memory I cling to and replay in my head until my body responds to the feel of Alfred’s mouth fucking me.

My orgasm is hard, sharp, and disappointingly fast. When it’s done, Alfred rises to his feet. His cock bulges out around the ring at the base. He looks at me expectantly.

My phone rings. “Fuck,” I mutter. Alejandro. The picture on the screen is of the two of us at a bar in Argentina.

“Ignore it,” Alfred says.

“It’s my boyfriend.” I point at the door as I answer the phone. “Hey.” I glare at Alfred. He glares back. I point at the door again. He leaves.

“What are you doing?” Alejandro asks.

“Missing you terribly.” I’m not lying.

“What are you wearing?” It’s going to be one of those conversations. Fortunately Alfred has left me wholly unsatisfied, and the sound of Alejandro’s voice is enough to spark my fire again.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“Good. Me too.”

We’re on the phone for an hour talking and masturbating. I get emotional. I miss him so much it hurts. We agree that I’ll fly to Argentina in the morning to join him. I’m done in England. As we talk, I open my suitcase. I only packed Armani. He always groups the Armani together into outfits. Sort of like Garanimals. All I have to do is wear everything on the hanger. That’s it. There is no need for me to have to make choices. How did I manage before Alejandro came along?

We hang up after a long goodbye. I wouldn’t say goodbye, but he has another meeting for his family’s company he’s required to attend. I dress and leave my room.

I walk through the house to the French doors that open onto a large marble terrace. At the foot of the steps of the terrace is a swimming pool. Surrounding it are a dozen nude, well-oiled men glistening in the sun. Some are lounging on chaises. Some are in the pool. More than a few are either giving blow jobs or being blown. It’s all men. Beautiful. Fit. Tanned. Gorgeous. Men. I just want Alejandro. I stray for just long enough to realize that all I ever wanted was ridiculously in love with me already.

Then a pair of female hands covers my eyes. “Guess who?”

“Olga?”

The hands are dropped with a sniff. “You’re really no fun. Alejandro has made you boring. I like you better when you’re indiscriminate and horny all the time. At least you’re dressing better. Keep him around for that reason alone.” She walks in front of me. Her black bush is back, but it’s been trimmed into a tidy heart. I look at the rest of her painted body. There is a definite heart theme.

“Queen of hearts?”

“Yes!” She claps her hands together and cheers. “You’re so much fun. Guess what we’re going to do?”

Hortense walks out onto the terrace and joins us. She’s covered in painted green ivy. Her red bush is a flower.

“Poison Ivy?” I ask. My voice sounds strange in my ears. I haven’t been this cynical in the longest time.

“Yes!” She claps her hands together and cheers. “Where is Alejandro? Has he decided if he wants to try pussy yet?”

Olga turns to Hortense. “Can you believe he’s a virgin? I can’t. I simply must have him.”

“I want him,” Hortense says. “I’d pay him, but he’s already so stupidly rich the money wouldn’t matter.”

“But I want him!” Olga whines.

The two women look at me. “We both want him,” they say in unison.

“Pop his delicious little cherry,” Hortense says.

“Turn him into a little Marcus.” Olga nods.

“Imagine if there were two of them!” Hortense shrieks.

Olga nearly swoons. “Imagine. Now that would be better than getting gangbanged by a dozen men.”

I count the number of men around the pool. There’s a dozen of them. “Let me guess. The two of you are getting gangbanged by a dozen men tonight?”

“He is very clever isn’t he?” Olga says.

“He’s very clever,” Hortense says…

* * * *

Back in my room at the tournament in Argentina, alone with my cock in my hand, I realize something. I am clever. Alejandro isn’t angry with me because I had another lover, but because I didn’t include him. I need to do something for him that’s going to prove I love him, but I know I don’t own him. He thinks I treat him like a precious doll. Maybe I need to show him I think he’s more than just a pretty toy.

I dress in the clothing Alejandro selected for me. I return to the field and watch as his team practices. This time as I watch I’m joined by Ollie. “You two sort things out?” He hands me a flute, and then fills it with champagne from the linen-wrapped bottle he swipes from some waiter.

“Maybe.” I look at Ollie. He drinks directly from the bottle. “Did you know that he’s angry with me not because I went to Hortense and Olga’s randy little orgy so much as I didn’t include him?”

“I may know something about this,” Ollie says. “In fact he’s been on the phone with Olga for hours. I’d tell you what the two of them are saying, but quite frankly, they bitch like a couple of old women, and I can’t listen to it anymore. I’ve missed you for that reason above all others. At least you’ll go to the pub with me and drink pints during rugby.”

“I need to do something for him. Stop treating him like my pet. Show him I love him.”

“You’d be pissed off too if you were him. He’s not some bird in a cage. He’s as kinky as you were at that age. But you’ve practically got him locked in a box.”

The horses pound past us, cutting off my opportunity to respond. I have a moment to think.

“Here’s a thought,” Ollie says. “Why don’t you give him a little of what he wants? Toss some naughty his way and step aside. Let him get even with you.”

“That’s what I was thinking. But I really hate the idea of him being with another man.”

“Two suggestions,” Ollie says. “One. Get over it quickly. Two. Toss a couple of horny women at him. That’s a good introduction into the world of being a kinky bastard.” He points with the bottle to where Olga and Hortense are practically rubbing themselves against a few of the players who have caught their attention. “Pop that cherry of his. You know the two of them are dying to get their hands on him.”

My thought exactly. I watch the women. Hortense with a mass of flame red hair. Olga with her black mane trailing down her back. I know both of these women intimately. “They’d really do him good wouldn’t they?”

“Best night of his life.” Ollie fills my glass. “How about I go and talk to them? You go and talk to him.”

Ollie leaves me to finish watching the practice. Alejandro wants to form his own team. This is something we talked about doing together. One of the many things we talked about doing together. If I’d been paying attention, I would have heard him telling me he wants to have some of the experiences I’ve had. He wants to know the sexual freedom I’ve known. He’s not the shy virgin anymore.

I walk around the white fence of the pitch. In the distance I can see him going into the stable on the back of Cassandra. I follow. The stable is full of players covered in sweat with sun-kissed skin. Most of them know me. Many of them have been my lovers. They know Alejandro was the one to tame me.

When I find Alejandro, he’s talking to Alyar. Alyar of the blowjobs during our separation. They’re laughing. Jealousy is an annoying emotion.

Alejandro pulls off his sweat soaked shirt and wipes his face and body with it. I’m left with a view of his perfect physique. No wonder I don’t want to share him. Someone might steal him from me. But Ollie is right. I need to get over it.

I walk into the stall. Cassandra is happy to see me. She whinnies and neighs. I would swear she gives Alyar a dirty look. Just in case she hasn’t, I do. I very nearly tell him to piss off, but I don’t. I hold back. I’m not the one who has been wronged here.

Alejandro and Alyar speak in French. I really need to learn French. Both of them speak English. This is purposeful. They’re trying to piss me off.

Alyar leaves, but not without giving me a look that I interpret as saying I’ve had your boyfriend’s cock in my mouth.

“What do you want?” Alejandro asks me. He throws his sweaty polo shirt at me. I catch it. I’m going to keep it.

“I want to see my … your horse.” I rub Cassandra’s nose and scratch her behind her ears. “She misses me.”

Alejandro nods. He swats at a fly that’s landed on his sweat covered, bare chest. “She misses you. What do you want? Or are you going to stalk me after I told you I need time to think?”

“I get it. You’re not so angry about the fact I had someone else, you’re angry about the fact you weren’t included. That I deceived you.”

Alejandro puts his mouth near Cassandra’s ear. “He’s getting it,” he whispers. “I don’t understand why he gets to play and I don’t.” Cassandra bobs her head up and down. “Cassandra doesn’t understand either. She’s thinks you’re selfish and possessive too.”

The caretaker tasked with seeing after Cassandra and Alejandro’s other mount arrives. They speak for a moment, and then we leave the stable together. We walk in the direction of the house where my room is.

“How about this.” We’re alone and there are no ears within prying distance. “From now on, we are together. We do like Olga and Ollie. Other people can play, but we’re always together.”

“Unless we talk about it in advance.”

“Except then. I really only want to be with you. But truthfully, Olga and Hortense can be a lot of fun. Which brings me to my next suggestion.”

“You have nothing if not my undivided attention.”

“They want you.” His shirt dangles from my fingertips as we walk. For certain our walking together has caught the attention of more than one pair of roving eyes. Our breakup has been the stuff of delicious gossip.

“Really?” He laughs. “Snow is white and grass is green. Quite frankly, I’m worried they’d rip me apart trying to divide me up.”

“They will be very good to you. You’ve been saying for a long time that you wanted to have sex with a woman just to see what it was like. How about two? See? I can share you.”

Alejandro rubs his hand across his jaw. “Okay. I’m in.”

“Ollie is sorting it out with them. Tonight.”

“Tonight we’re going to be together,” he says.

My cock twitches in my trousers.

“Okay.” I’m quiet. I don’t make any sudden moves. I don’t want to spook him.

“I’ll talk to Hortense and Olga.” He rubs his hand across his chin. He’s making plans. He thinks about these things. Creating moments matters to him. This is why I need him. He raises an arm and waves. I look to see what he sees. Hortense and Olga are practically rushing us.

The two women stop short just in front of us. “Well?” Olga purrs.

Hortense walks two of her fingers up Alejandro’s chest. “Do we get a little Argentinian beef?”

Alejandro looks at me. This is the kind of pun I’ve been told off for making. Then he looks at Hortense. “Really? No more Argentinian beef jokes. But yes.”

The two scream, hold hands, and jump around.

Alejandro raises his fingers to his mouth and whistles. “Ladies!” They stop dancing and look at him. “I’m thinking Paris. A nice suite at the George V.”

“I love this!” Hortense gushes.

“French … no … Italian lingerie!” Olga claps. “Or maybe Japanese.” She wiggles her eyebrows a little. “A little cosplay yum for all of us.”

“Something pretty,” Alejandro says. “Nothing slutty or tacky. I like princesses.”

They scream princesses in unison. Then they start whispering. After a minute of this, they nod.

“We know what to do,” Hortense says.

“You leave all the planning to us,” Olga says.

“Two weeks,” Alejandro says.

The women agree. Two weeks and the three have a date in Paris. Alejandro shoos them away.

“You’ve changed,” I tell him when we’re alone.

“I’ve changed. Does that bother you?”

“No,” I say. “I like that I’ve known you from the beginning of your sexual journey. How many lovers have you had again?” He’s not that nervous young man he was standing in my bathroom trying to convince me he was a sexual dynamo. He’s a beautiful Adonis on the edge of discovering his sexual boundaries. And I’ll be with him for the ride.

“Lots.” He laughs.

“How many is lots?”

“One,” he says.

We arrive at the door to my room, and I let us in. He locks the door behind us. I toss his sweat covered shirt to the side and pull off my own shirt. I don’t wait for an invitation to take off my trousers as Alejandro sits on the bed removing his riding boots. He drops them as he rises from the bed to pull off his riding pants. The condoms are still on the dresser and there is lube in the nightstand along with a selection of toys. The hosts of these gatherings make certain all of their guests’ needs are met.

He leans over me and kisses me. His tongue enters my mouth and swirls around. He pulls away and looks into my face. “I need a shower.”

“I like you dirty.” I trail my nose over his skin. Pheromones fill my nostrils. “You’re just going to get sweatier.”

“You like me dirty?” A low throaty laugh comes. “I’ve missed you.”

I move back on the bed as he comes forward. My thighs are spread wide open by his strong hands. He bends his head down and slowly licks a line up the interior of my right leg. He grasps my cock and strokes my shaft with long slow exaggerated movement. Slowly he moves on top of me. He kisses me. Wet, hard, sloppy, open-mouth, devouring kisses. These are not I want to make love to you kisses. These are I’m going to fuck you kisses. Our cocks rub together as we kiss.

Alejandro grabs the condoms off the nightstand.

“How many times did I practice this?” He rips open a condom wrapper. He pops it into his mouth and moves back down my body. Dipping his head, his open mouth cups around the tip of my shaft. With one swift movement, he takes me in fully. His head bobs up and down as he fucks me with his lips. He keeps a steady pressure as he works me to a climax.

I expect him to stop. To pull back. Make me wait. But he doesn’t. Instead, he reaches between my thighs and spreads my cheeks open just enough for a finger to find its way to the rim of my anus. Carefully, he stimulates and relaxes my muscles. A finger slides inside. A groan comes out of my throat as my head tips back and my back arches.

His lips release me. “That would be your prostate.” He laughs. The soft mouth with the feathery lips returns to pleasure me.

The simultaneous stimulation between his finger and his mouth are welcome pleasures after being without for too long. I look down at him and find his gaze on me. The intimacy is still there. It hasn’t been lost. Waves of pleasure go from creeping up my spine to pounding in my veins. The breath catches in my throat as I hold on to the intensity of the spasms. I ejaculate inside the condom inside Alejandro’s mouth.

“I love you,” I whisper.

The used condom is removed and discarded. He climbs on top of me. “You’re just saying that because I made you come.” He reaches for another condom and slides it on his own cock. He’s sending me a message. We’re not that intimate just yet. I’m still going to have to work to get his trust back.

I run my hands up and down his back and sides as I kiss and nip at his shoulders. “I love you,” I repeat. I really want to hear him say it. I’m the emotionally distant one that withholds affection. Not Alejandro.

He pulls up my legs and places them on his shoulders as he kneels in front of me. He massages lube into my rim, and then over the condom on his cock. His slippery finger enters me with a swirl. I’m relaxed and ready. My legs are kept high as the tip of his cock presses to the entrance of my hole. He pushes into me slowly until he’s seated deeply inside. Our mouths touch and our tongues twist together. His hips move, and he slides in and out of me. A flush crawls up his skin as the intensity of his thrusting increases. I tip my pelvis up so I can take more of him.

When he stops thrusting and presses deeper inside me, I know he’s about to come. With his breath coming in short, quick gasps, he twitches his hips. A gurgle and a groan come out of his throat. He comes inside me as his mouth holds mine.

I bring my legs down as he slides out of me. He rolls me onto my stomach. My legs and my cheeks are spread. He slides back into me and falls onto my back. This is how I want to fall asleep. Covered in him.

“I love you.” He kisses my shoulder, and then lays his head down again. “Tell me something.”

“Anything,” I mumble. I know we have to get up and go to the party. But I don’t want to. I want to stay in bed.

“Do you think Hortense and Olga are going to devour me?”

“Yes. Do you want me to be there?”

“Yes.” He kisses my shoulder again. “It’s a new first for both of us. New first. New start. I love you. Don’t ever piss me off again.”

I smile. I wonder what adventures are in store for us. I know, if nothing else, it’s going to be exciting, erotic, and memorable.

The End

About the Author

Were I to write a personal ad about myself it would read as follows:

Blond. Blue. 5’6”. A lady never discloses her weight, but I’ve never had any complaints. I only run if I’m being chased by a gun wielding maniac, but I do love yoga. Bit of a shoe hound. Have had issues passing up handbags. Trying to learn to play the Irish harp. Enjoy both theater and concerts. Love to read fantasy and science fiction. Am not ashamed to admit I adore Star Trek. Have a picture of myself (dressed as a nun) and the late Patrick Swayze (dressed as a medieval warrior) in a frame (Yes – I did cry when he died). Perpetual student with advanced degrees that are mostly useless when seeking job opportunities outside academia. Vivid imagination. Sexually adventurous only on paper. I never know what to say when people end a conversation with ‘god bless’. Occasionally play the lottery – but generally only when I’m feeling really poor. Love to travel. Fluent French speaker. Seeks readers whom enjoy what I write.