Sport of Kings

by Livia Ellis

  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?”