Places, Denver
Places: Denver
By John Yager
This is one more in the series of stories collectively titled Places.
Andrew, as always, thank you for much needed help with proofing and editing.
This work is protected under copyright © by the author, 2005, and may not be reproduced in any form without specific written permission from the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author.
All my stories can be found under my name in the NIFTY Prolific Net Authors section.
jvoyager@hotmail.com
My first meeting with Joseph Thomson had been a complete surprise. On a hot August afternoon I'd pulled off Interstate 70 at Salina, Utah, with no expectations of meeting anyone, let alone an incredibly desirable almost nineteen-year-old blond kid who'd soon end up in my bed and in my heart.
That first encounter was accidental, serendipitous, perhaps even providential, although there are those who'd say any meeting which led to two people of the same sex ending up in bed together could hardly be the work of the Almighty.
My second meeting with Joseph in Denver about ten weeks later was anything but accidental. It had taken some careful planning on both my part and his.
In late August I'd left Joseph in the Mile High City were he was soon working at the hotel I usually frequented when there. His classes at the University of Denver also started a few weeks after we said our soulful good-byes. I headed on east and he settled into his new life.
Fortunately, I'm often in Denver on business and by mid-November Joseph and I were talking about the trip I was planning for a few weeks later. My secretary made my plane reservations and booked me into one of the corner suites at the Warwick for the first week in December. Since this was a flying trip, a rental car had also reserved for me to pick up at DIA when I arrived on a wet, foggy Monday afternoon.
Joseph was concerned about the reaction of his boss or his friends and apartment mates if they knew he was fraternizing with one of the hotel guests, and a male guest at that. His three apartment mates were, like Joseph, university students. Two of them were also part-time employees at the Warwick Hotel. More importantly, all of them came from the Salina, Utah area and they were all from Mormon backgrounds, even if none of them was living by strict Mormon values.
Joseph was concerned enough about what his apartment mates might think, and what they might, intentionally or unintentionally report back to their families in Utah, that some elaborate plans were called for on our part. His big concern, of course, was that any suspicions about his Denver life-style or sexual orientation might reach his mother and other even stricter Mormon relatives. He'd arranged to work for five straight days just prior to my arrival so he'd have the days, or at least the nights, of my visit free. He'd also hinted to his apartment mates that he had a big assignment due at the university. That bit of diversionary information was totally untrue but it gave him an excuse to be away for several nights while it was assumed he was working late in the university library or staying over with a classmate who was his imaginary partner on the project.
We were also helped by the fact that the Warwick has a two level subterranean garage so when Joseph visited me he could come up on the elevator from the basement without being seen by other staff.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Yager," the front desk attendant said as I came up from the garage level to check in. "Welcome."
"Thanks, Fred," I said, "It's always nice to be back."
"We have you in 1001. I hope that's satisfactory."
"Perfect," I said, remembering that the odd numbered suits were on the west side of the hotel, facing the city's skyline, with a view of the Rockies beyond.
In my room I unpacked and took a slow, leisurely shower, knowing it would be over an hour before Joseph arrived. I'd kept my evening in Denver free and my first business appointment wasn't until early afternoon the next day.
By four-thirty, clean, shaved and feeling at one with the world, I pulled on one of the white terry cloth robes the hotel provided and lounged on the neatly turned down bed. I stood for a moment at the window, looking down over the balcony outside the living room at the twinkling Christmas lights along Grant Street. It wasn't long before I heard a soft knock and went to welcome my much anticipated guest.
When I first met Joseph he'd worn jeans and a rather tattered T-shirt, looking very much the small town boy. Now, only weeks later, the young man standing before me could not have been more different. Dressed in well pressed khaki slacks and a yellow and tan plaid shirt, he looked like he'd just stepped from the pages of a J. Crew catalogue.
"Good evening, Mr. Yager," he grinned, "did you request room service?"
"Yes, I believe I did," I laughed as I closed and locked the door behind him and drew him into my arms. We kissed warmly, gently, but with a foretaste of the passion which lay ahead.
It was clear that he was heavier than when I'd last seen him and, from the firmness of his torso as I drew him to me, I suspected the additional weight was all muscle.
"You've put on a few pounds," I whispered as I ran my lips over his left ear.
"Yeah," he murmured. "I had to take a physical education class so I chose weight training."
"I think it worked."
"Yes, I've gained about twelve pounds."
"And none of it fat."
"No, actually, my body fat has decreased and the coach says I've really gained about fifteen pounds of muscle."
"I can tell, even with your clothes on."
"Ummmm," he whispered as I continued to nibble his ear.
"I'd like to see the changes, not just feel them."
"Okay," he grinned, drawing back from me and beginning to unbutton his shirt.
"No, let me do it," I whispered, grasping his arms and lowering them to his sides.
As he stood there passively I slowly unbuttoned his shirt, leaning forward to kiss his warm skin as more and more of his chest and stomach came into view. He was smooth, nicely tanned, not overly muscular, but his chest was angular and firm and his abdominal muscles were solid, showing the beginnings of serious definition. His little nipples pointed out pertly from dime sized areolae and his body radiated the warm odor I'd remembered as being distinctively his, the clean, sweet smell of young male flesh.
Joseph's shirt was soon off and I tossed it onto a convenient chair as I knelt to continue the unveiling.
His body began to tremble as little as I loosened his belt and unclasped his trousers. I drew the zipper down slowly, looking up at him as I did so, holding his eyes with mine. The khaki slacks soon fell in a wrinkled pool around his ankles and I lifted first one foot and then the other to slip off his brown penny loafers and slide the pants legs over his stockinged feet.
Joseph stood before me wearing only new white briefs and tan socks. He was even more beautiful than I remembered.
His trembling increased and he braced himself with a hand on each of my shoulders and I leaned in to nuzzle his swelling crotch.
"Oh, John," he moaned as I moved up a little to kiss his golden skin just above the white waistband.
"Come on," I growled as I stood, grasped his hand and led him off to the bedroom, where our time together got off to a rousing start.
By Thursday night, well, really by the early hours of Friday morning, our fourth and last night together, we had nearly worn each other out. We'd spent each night together, going our different ways each morning, me to business appointments, Joseph to his university classes.
I had two remaining appointments on Friday and I knew the boy had to be at the campus sometime before noon. Thankfully, my first meeting wasn't until eleven o'clock and the second was a late lunch. Then I'd be heading for DIA and a four o'clock flight home.
I was worn out. Neither Joseph nor I had slept more than two or three hours on any of the nights we'd spent together. We'd made love and eaten late suppers in bed, talked and snuggled and then made love again. It was as if neither of us could get enough of the other. There was something a little desperate about our lovemaking. I was exhausted and I knew he was too. Yet somehow his lithe young body reacted differently from my own aging carcass. Now at three in the morning he slept as soundly as a new born and I lay awake, the mental wheels still turning a mile a minute with no hope of any real rest in sight. The best I could expect was a few hours of half sleep on the flight east the next afternoon.
I rolled over and propped myself up on one elbow, looking down at the boy in the half light. He was curled on his side, his legs drawn up, turned away from me toward the window, looking adorable and at peace with the world. There was only one word for him; beautiful. His hair was mussed and I could see a network of little wrinkles above his upper arm where the sheet had left impressions. Lying as he was, his ass was exposed and I could see it was still a little dilated from hard use, and probably more than a little red, although in the dim light that was less visible.
I reached out and stroked his shoulder. His warm skin was smooth and soft, golden in the half light. He moaned a little and rolled onto his back. His cock was swollen and lay in an arch up over his belly, pointing toward his belly button. I touched it lightly and he moaned again.
"Yes!"
As tired as I was, as tired as I knew he must be, I couldn't resist. I moved down a little and moved so I could kiss his chest.
"Yes," he moaned again as I cast a wet trail down over his belly and then along the hardening length of his shaft.
It jerked a little, pulsing with excitement. I took it in my hand and held it up away from his belly as I engulfed the throbbing head in my mouth.
"Oh, yes."
I suckled him slowly, knowing how sensitive his cock must be after the hard and repeated use we'd put it to. He rested his hands softly on my shoulders as I drew him unhurriedly to a feeble, virtually dry climax. He'd already given up to me all that his body held. Only the slightest hint of thin, salty fluid touched my tongue as he sighed in his slumber and again rolled onto his side.
Again, I lay there beside him, unable to sleep, my thoughts turning to the morning, to the need to pack and check out, to remain alert through business meetings and the drive to the airport. I wondered when, or if, I'd see this lovely boy again.
Was it even fair of me to want him?
I couldn't offer him a relationship or anything more than an occasional sexual romp. Did he need, did he want more? I wondered. If not now, the time would come when he'd need much more than I could give.
I was old enough to be his father, too old, perhaps, to be his lover, too old to even know his world.
When I said as much he laughed, saying he was glad I was older, liking the notion that I was old enough to have sired him. He'd not known his own father well and he was clearly turned on by the incestuous implications of our relationship. After we'd talked about it, about the differences in our ages and in our cultures, the differences between mellow rock and rap, the music he loved and I didn't even know, the kid actors whose names I didn't recognize, he took to playing off the idea of our being father and son, clearly turned on by it, calling me daddy when I fucked him, whispering obscene things in my ear as I sucked his cock.
But in the end I was too exhausted for all that; too tired to think of anything more than the elation of such splendor lying exposed and yielded at my side.
My tired brain slowly spun down and I slept, only to wake to the sound of Joseph showering and the gray light of the winter day.
"Good morning, Sunshine," I said as I slid the glass door open and joined him under the pelting shower.
"Good morning, old man," he laughed, unaware of the harsh reality of his words.
"I thought you were going to sleep all day."
"No chance of that with you in my bed, or in my shower."
He laughed, lathering my chest.
I put my arms around him and drew him close, kissing his eager lips as his hands snaked around to stroke my back.
"How long can you stay?" I asked.
"Not long. I have a class at eleven."
"Time enough for breakfast and a fuck."
"In that order?"
"No, fuck first," I chuckled.
"So I have to earn my keep?"
"I wish."
"Do you want me here?" he asked as the warm water flowed over our entwined bodies.
"No, in bed."
I kissed him as we quickly finished showering and dried each other.
The bed was a rumpled mess from our night of sex but we managed to straighten the sheets and fluff the pillows before again diving into each other's arms. We kissed passionately as we lay on our sides. Then Joseph rolled me onto my back and lay over me, pressing his weight into me as our tongues danced. He thrust his body against mine as we became more and more aroused.
I rolled him off me and onto his back, knelt between his legs as I tore open a foil packet and rolled a pre-lubricated condom down the length of my shaft. His ass was dilated and a little red from our previous powerful fucks but he locked his ankles behind my neck and drew me to him. I knew he was sore so I tried to make my entry easy, not wanting to hurt him more. But he was insistent, drawing me into him, demanding my full length.
When I was fully in him I paused, wanting to give his body time to adjust to the most recent of many invasions, but he'd have none of it.
"No, John," he begged, "fuck me hard."
I drew back and slid in again, faster this time, but still trying to be as gentle as possible. His body jolted up to meet mine, demanding the full thrust of our union.
My third stroke was more to his liking and I soon established a hard, driving rhythm as his tortured ass pulsed around my shaft and he moaned in that strange mixture of pleasure and pain which comes after repeated assaults.
"Oh, yes, yes," he moaned, "so fucking good, so fucking hot."
I was pounding into him now with total abandon, total disregard for his well-used ass.
"Yeah, daddy, fuck my ass, rape my hole, make me feel it, let me take your load."
My load, when it finally jolted from me, was nothing to be proud of, but it was the fourth time I'd come since the previous evening. I had no idea how many times I'd fucked him since I'd arrived the previous Monday and I'd lost track of the times he'd blown my cock. I only knew that this hot kid would kill me if I was with him on a regular basis.
We rolled onto our sides, or bodies still joined, my chest against his back, my cock, no longer fully hard, still protruding slightly into his hole. He scooted back a little so that, no longer really erect, but firm enough to enter him more fully, my exhausted shaft, to my surprise, slid home again.
"Yeah," Joseph growled. "Stay in me." The kid was insatiable!
I moved against him and he took turns thrusting his beautiful bubble butt back against my crotch. To my amazement, I was becoming fully hard in him, my cock slipping in more deeply as his talented ass gripped it.
"Again," he moaned.
"No way, buster," I groaned. "I'm spent."
"Stay in me anyway." I put my one more or less free arm around his sculpted torso and drew him back against me. His body, so warm, so young, so alive, pressed back and we lay like that as the gray day began. I rolled slightly to my left and caught a sideways glimpse of the digital clock. It was after eight and I knew Joseph would have to leave soon. I waited a bit longer, not wanting our joining to end, any more than the boy wanted us to pull apart, but finally knew I had to say something if he was going to get to his class on time. "As wonderful as this is, Kiddo, hadn't you better get moving?"
"Oh," he moaned.
"Come on."
"I know," he whispered, finally pulling off my shaft. "I hate saying good-bye."
"Won't there be another time?"
"I hope so," he whispered, turning over and kissing me softly.
"There will be," I assured him and, as gently as possible, nudged him out of bed.
I didn't join him this time, knowing that if I did it would slow things down again. Instead, I lay naked on the crumpled bed as I listened to the sound of the shower. He made quick work of it and soon returned, parading naked across the bedroom to collect his clothes. In another minute or two he was dressed and stumbled back to sit briefly on the bed while he pulled on his shoes and gave me one more soulful kiss.
"I hate saying good-bye."
"I know," I told him. I'd already expressed all my doubts.
"When will you be coming to Denver again?"
"I don't know, in two or three months probably."
"It will be awful having to wait so long."
Soon he was gone and I lifted my exhausted body from the bed and trudged off to the shower. As the hot water pelted my tired body I tried again to make sense of it.
The boy was too young for me. I had other commitments elsewhere. What we had would never be more then a transitory affair, a little time stolen from the harsh realities of our lives, our real lives. What could I offer him? Was I doing him real harm, or at least a real disservice, delaying the inevitable, the day when he would face the fact that he needed and wanted a more lasting relationship with a younger man, a man nearer his own age?
The questions were endless and imponderable. We weren't so much star-crossed lovers as we were lovers out of time, out of phase, separated by a generational gap which we could only ignore at our peril.
I managed to stay awake and relatively alert through my two remaining business appointments and then headed out to DIA and my flight home. Late that night when I finally checked my e-mail In Box I found this brief message:
"I love you, John. Don't ask questions we can't answer. Just love me in return, Joseph."
The end.