The Blue Cat

by Roland Graeme

  So he wasn’t Geoff’s type, was he? I was beginning to have my doubts about that. As to whether he was my type…well, I hoped I was no hypocrite. He was definitely a bit young, compared to most of the other men I’d tricked with lately. That wasn’t necessarily a disqualification, and everything else about him seemed to be nicely in place.

  “Feel free to circulate,” I said. “And if you happen to meet someone, feel free to go home with him. If he seems reasonably respectable, you can invite him back to my place. The guest room is yours for the night…remember. I don’t mind if you have company.”

  “I’d rather sit here and talk to you. Unless you want to circulate?”

  “I’m fine. This crowd is a little young for me. I’d rather just observe.”

  He looked at me. “Am I too young for you?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with you. And not just physically. You’re mature for your age—no silly young twit, that’s for sure. I imagine the army’s to be thanked for that.”

  “I like discipline.”

  “Careful, you might be overheard. Although I suppose you’d be safe saying something like that in here. It isn’t that kind of a club. The leather dives tend to be smaller, darker and grubbier.”

  He laughed. “You’re a lot more sexually experienced than I am, aren’t you?”

  “What a question.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “Oh, you’re not rude, only…forthright. Nothing wrong in that.”

  “You see, Geoff is about the only man I feel comfortable talking about such things with.”

  “Well, I hope you feel comfortable talking to me, too.”

  “I do.”

  “Go ahead, then. Ask me anything you like.”

  I ended up telling him about some of my more adventurous sexual experiences.

  “That’s the sort of thing you have to get out of your system,” I concluded, “before you can settle down and concentrate on the things that are really important to you.”

  “Such as work?” he guessed. “A career?”

  “Yes. And friendship. Which may or may not have a sexual component in it. When it does, it’s always very special.”

  “And love?”

  “That, too, if a man’s lucky enough to find it.”

  “Haven’t you found love with Geoff?”

  “I’m mad about him,” I admitted. “And if that’s not love, then it must be an awfully good facsimile of it.”

  “And I’m sure Geoff feels the same way about you.” There was a new, thoughtful timbre in Kevin’s voice, as though he was musing about something internally and didn’t quite know how to give it expression in words. “That’s why it surprised me when he said that you and he had agreed…to, you know, leave yourself open to other possibilities while the two of you are apart.”

  “It surprised you—why? Because you took it for granted that two men who love each other have to be monogamous?”

  “Something like that, yes. But then when Geoff and I discussed it some more, he told me that, after all, a man has needs.”

  “Needs—and desires. One usually leads to the other.”

  As we continued to talk, discussing open relationships compared to exclusive or monogamous ones, my instincts told me that the bed in my guest room would probably not be slept in that night. I might have spared myself the trouble of making it up for Kevin. In all likelihood, he was going to spend the night with me, in my bedroom.

  Instead of doing any more pub-crawling, we made an early night of it—at his request. Over a nightcap in my sitting room, Kevin thanked me again for putting him up.

  “You’re welcome,” I assured him. “It’s a pleasure having you here.”

  “And I’m glad I met you. When Geoff told me about you, I thought he must be exaggerating, but now I know differently.”

  “Exaggerating about what?”

  “About how sexy you are.”

  “Ah, that’s just the booze talking, my boy.”

  “It’s not the booze…and I’m not a boy.”

  “No?”

  “I’m a man.” As he made this boast, he actually swaggered a little—the Miles Gloriosus in all his splendour.

  “Prove it,” I challenged him.

  “How?”

  “Show me whether you know how to kiss like a man.”

  He was quick to accept my challenge. In all fairness, I must admit his boldness pleasantly surprised me. He attacked my mouth quite aggressively with his own. He had soft, velvet smooth lips and he wasn’t hesitant about pushing his tongue inside my mouth.

  As we kissed, he put his hand down between our bodies and groped me through my trousers. I retaliated, exploring the lump in his pants with my own busy fingers. He moaned and kissed me even harder.

  I was the first to pull away, although both of our hands continued their manipulations.

  “Geoff told me he wouldn’t mind if you and I…had a good time with each other,” he whispered, sounding a bit embarrassed, not that this revelation particularly surprised me. “I wouldn’t mind it, either.”

  “I bet there’s so much you could teach me,” Kevin murmured, still looking and sounding abashed.

  “I bet you’re a fast learner.” Once you get over that shyness of yours, I added, mentally. Not that it isn’t kind of cute!

  “Would you be willing to? Teach me things, I mean?”

  “I promised Geoff I’d take good care of you.”

  “I’ll do anything you want.” Suddenly, he seemed much bolder. “After all, I’m used to taking orders.”

  I wondered how much Geoff had told him about our sex life. Geoff might have mentioned the fact that both he and I enjoyed the occasional bit of role-playing.

  “When I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed,” I told Kevin, doing my best to sound gruff.

  “Yes, sir.”

  There was now an interesting hint of a tense, wary passivity in his manner, as though he was expecting something to happen between the two of us and for me to initiate it. I could also tell that he was excited. He wanted me to take charge. He was ready to take orders from me and would be disappointed if I didn’t give him any.

  For a moment, I wasn’t sure that I felt comfortable in this unfamiliar role of the older man mentoring the younger, less experienced one in which he was casting me. I was also not sure I felt comfortable with Kevin’s very close physical proximity, which was getting me more and more excited. Nevertheless, it didn’t take me long to decide that I was in fact enjoying both of these things very much.

  “Were you telling me the truth, before?” I asked him.

  “About what?”

  “You and Geoff. Are you sure you and he haven’t had sex with each other?”

  “No!” As he blurted out the monosyllable, he looked scared.

  “Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “It’d be all right if you did. I’m not the jealous or the possessive type. I don’t mind sharing. And a man like Geoff…well, one can hardly ask him to confine himself to just one other man.”

  He relaxed a bit. “Yes, he’s wonderful, isn’t he?”

  “Come on,” I coaxed. “Tell me.”

  “He’s kissed me a couple of times. That’s all. I swear.”

  “That sounds remarkably restrained, for him. I bet you enjoyed that, though, as far as it went?”

  “I sure did. He’s a great kisser.”

  “He’s none too shabby when it comes to other things, either.”

  “I bet. I’ve jerked off lots of times, thinking about him…remembering what it felt like kissing him and trying to imagine what else he might do to me.”

  “In short, you’ve got quite a little crush on him.”

  “I guess so. Maybe not so little.”

  “No harm in that. Now, I’ve got a suggestion. Why don’t you and I play around a little? No strings attached. Just two men having themselves a little fun. Would you like tha
t?”

  “I’d love it. I thought you were never going to ask.”

  “Did you mean it when you said you like discipline?”

  “Yes. Yes, sir. I really do.”

  “Then get over there in front of the fireplace and shuck those clothes, boy. I want to see you naked.” I spoke to him in the same tone of command that his drill instructor had probably used on him. His body went stiff with a sudden combination of shock and thrill at my words.

  He pulled back from me and stood still for just a moment, then he moved quickly toward the hearth. While he deftly pulled his T-shirt up off his body, I began to undress, too.

  By the time, I was finished with my task, so was he. We were both standing there in my sitting room, totally nude. He was doing his best to stand at attention, with his shoulders squared and pulled back, his firm stomach muscles contracted inward as much as he could and his arms straight against his sides. He was looking forward in an exaggeratedly vigilant manner with his chin pushed down against his neck. This was the very image of a military posture—except for the obvious fact that no uniform was involved.

  I walked over to him and slowly circled around his naked body. It was handsome, smooth-skinned and constructed of those firm yet spongy muscles that swimmers have. The best part of a swimmer’s physique, from my perspective, is its visual impact. He had the typical expansive chest, I saw. He also had the sleek and moulded leg muscles, the high and rounded ass that a combination of youth and exercise had created so perfectly.

  I stifled a smile when I realized that another part of him was standing at attention as well. He didn’t have an enormous cock, but the one he had was beautifully proportioned. Cleanly circumcised, it was arching out away from his body as his excitement became more and more obvious.

  I inspected his butt, as well.

  “You’ve got a nice ass on you,” I whispered into his ear. “Tell me something. Is that a virgin hole?”

  “No.” He gasped and his cheeks reddened at the admission.

  “How many men have had their dicks in there?”

  “Only one. My PTI.”

  “What’s a PTI?”

  “Physical Training Instructor.”

  “I bet he was a good-looking, horny bastard.”

  “He had a really muscular body…and a huge cock. I thought I’d die when he first put it in me,” Kevin confessed.

  “But you soon learned to like it, I bet.”

  “Yes. I liked it a lot.”

  “Did he fuck you more than once?”

  “Every chance we got, the whole time I was in basic training. He told me I was his bitch and I was there to satisfy him.”

  “I bet he broke you in good, didn’t he, soldier?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Turn around and face me.”

  His youthful body sprang into action as he jumped to comply. He moved so quickly that his tight balls and half-hard cock were still bouncing when he was in the position I had told him I wanted. I moved in until I was right in front of him.

  I ran a hand over his chest. There were only a few strands of blond hair on it, swirled around his flat, round, dark nipples. My hand moved with quasi-military authority. This wasn’t the time for the gentle explorations of romance. I slid my hand over his stomach and to his side. I bent over slightly so I could feel the back of his spectacularly well-developed leg, the thigh muscles unyielding to my touch.

  I moved around to stand behind him again. His shoulders were a fan of wide muscle that tapered down into his waist, then once there, rounded out over a beautiful ass made more enticing by the flawless pale flesh of its cheeks. His skin glowed a pinkish white, looking like warm ivory in the dim light.

  I reached up and put my arms around him. My hands found the twin curves of his chest and I placed my palms over the smooth nipples. I pinched them slightly, just enough to get a choked sigh out of him. I released my hold and walked back around to face him once more.

  I was teasing him, teasing myself, deliberately drawing out the suspense and delaying the start of any explicitly sexual contact. Now I was beginning to grow impatient.

  “You’re getting very excited, aren’t you?” I asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you think you’re excited enough to come on my command?”

  “I think so. I’ll try, sir.”

  I didn’t have to hear the words. I already had visible confirmation of his arousal and his compliance. His cock was hard and reddened, standing straight out from his belly now. There was even a small drop of pre-cum seeping from the head, as the final proof of his sincere appreciation for what we were doing.

  I reached out and took hold of his erection. The feeling of it in my hand was noticeably smoother and silkier than most men’s. The skin was such a delicate rosy pink that the veins that roped around the shaft were clearly visible contrasting blue lines. I began to stroke his hard-on, from its base to its tip, then back again, repeating the motion over and over again, varying the pressure. Kevin let out a long, loud moan.

  “Does that feel good?” I asked.

  “Yes! Oh, so good!”

  “Why don’t we wank ourselves to orgasm?” I suggested, in a whisper.

  “Right here?”

  “Why not?”

  “We’ll get…our mess on the floor. On the rug.” We were standing barefoot on a rather good old Oriental carpet, a Varamin, which had belonged to my uncle.

  “That’s all right. That’s why I have a cleaning service come in here once a week. But wait. Turn toward the fireplace. That’s better. Let’s see if we can stand right here and shoot our loads as far as the fire. I’ll bet you a fiver you can’t hit the flames.”

  “You’ll lose that bet, sir. I’m so horny I think I can hit the back wall of the fireplace from here!”

  I had to smile. There was a cockiness in his tone of voice now. He was a more ballsy little number than I’d given him credit for being.

  “It’s a bet,” I said, “then you may fire when ready.”

  I reached down and let my lips rub across his. I teased him, nuzzling him for some time from different angles before I finally relented and turned the rubbing into an actual kiss. He kissed back, eagerly and I slipped him my tongue. I could tell that he liked that, too.

  He moved his hands down between our bodies and I felt his own hard cock pressed against mine, both of them now secured in his tight grip. He was manipulating them back and forth at the same time.

  The sensation of our two erections touching so completely and sharing the same stimulation was an intimacy as satisfying as any I’d ever felt. I reached down and grasped his balls. The two ovals held tightly inside the delicately blond-furred sac of his scrotum reacted to my touch, tensing up and shifting their position within their sac. I got hold of my own testicles and stretched our sacs slightly so we could feel our spheres touching, just as our cocks were.

  He was aiming our dicks at the fireplace. The heat from the fire was wafting over us, making our naked bodies break out in a light sweat. I twisted my head on my neck, kissing him repeatedly. He was using both of his hands to jerk our compressed-together dicks.

  I listened as the pace of his breathing increased. He was getting as close to coming as I was. I moved my head forward to increase the pressure of my lips on his, creating a tight seal. I drove my tongue deep inside his warm, sweet mouth. That seemed to pull the trigger. I felt his body jerk against mine as the hot flow of his seminal fluid began to spurt free. I heard a hiss as a wad of his cum hit the burning logs. Son of a bitch, he had won the bet!

  He grunted against my mouth and he moved more urgently now, as my grip on our balls tightened. He fired off several more wads, all of which made it as far as the fireplace. As his discharge slackened its velocity, he was able to use his dribbling cum as a lubricant. The slick fluid let his hands slither freely over the full length of my cock. Now that he had ejaculated, he was free to concentrate upon brin
ging me off.

  In just a few moments more, I was shooting out the liquid proof of my own pleasure. It brought out from me a deep sound of passion, as intense as the moans that had announced his orgasm.

  “Good boy,” I told him. “Oh, that’s a good boy.”

  “I won the bet,” he reminded me. “You owe me a fiver.”

  I burst out laughing. “Don’t you worry. I’ll pay up. And maybe you’ll give me a chance to win it back, before the night’s over.”

  I took that soldier boy upstairs to my bed, where I taught him everything I knew. Talk about your basic training—your basic gay training, in this case. That Physical Training Instructor had nothing on me!

  Chapter Three

  The Siren Call of Southern Climes

  I was restless. My house in London, without Geoff’s visits to enliven it, was no longer a refuge, but a prison.

  One night I happened to pick up the catalogue he had given me. I leafed through the pages, admiring the photos of my uncle’s paintings, then I reread the essay about him and his work.

  A few paragraphs near the end caught my attention. The writer described how my uncle left England and spent some time in southern France. This trip coincided, the writer claimed, with a noticeable change in his style.

  He began to use areas of flat contrasting colour, moving away from the descriptive tones of his earlier paintings to ones with a strong decorative appeal.

  The bright Mediterranean light seems to have inspired him. He spent some time in Cassis, a pretty and colourful seaport near Marseilles.

  In painting the harbour there, he depicted the bright orange tiles, the colourful shutters, the white and yellow ochre walls and the blue azure sky in flat even colours, using crisp outlines and avoiding the blurred brush strokes of his English landscapes.

  I had known that my uncle had done his share of traveling, but I hadn’t thought about how his experiences might have influenced his style. Of course, this stay in the south of France had taken place before I was born. It wasn’t surprising that he had never mentioned it to me.

  At that instant, I decided that I was overdue for a vacation. There was nothing keeping me in England. I needed a change. I, too, would travel. I would see new things and paint them. Perhaps my new experiences, too, would influence my artistic efforts.