I
met Martin when I was working the front door
of Club 216. Slathered in oil and
glitter dust and wearing only a pair of Lycra hot shorts, I wasn’t exuding the
most wholesome image. I threw myself at
Martin, and he caught me willingly enough.
I blew him; he blew me, and we started dating. It was the stuff of which gay boy dreams are made.
One day, Martin and I were hanging out
at a house over which a mutual friend was temporary caretaker. The property had a pool in
which Martin and I had an enjoyable time swimming and engaging in light
foreplay. However,
two young men can only
take so much teasing before they have to experience a release. So, Martin had me lie down on the diving board and
was in the midst of a blow job when the owner of the house returned. I have never lost an erection so fast in my life. Martin and I
grabbed our clothing and made ourselves scarce while our friend distracted the owner and kept her
from coming out to the pool.
That was my one day of absolute
happiness with Martin; shortly thereafter he and I started to unnerve one another. One
evening, we were to meet at his apartment for dinner. He arrived twenty minutes late. Forgiving him instantly, I tried to be
affectionate, but he said he had been running and needed to take a shower. I said it didn’t matter, threw him down on
the bed, and stripped of his clothes.
When I started to go down on him, I caught the unmistakable scent of
sex; he had recently had an orgasm, so I brought up my head and said his
instinct to bathe had been a sound one.
Once he was in the shower, I walked out on him. Later that night, I sent an e-mail, telling him I knew he was sleeping around on me. He replied with a letter, one sentence of which I shall never forget. “If you throw yourself at someone as though you're a fucking desperate whore, that’s how they're going to treat you in kind.” Martin then condescended to say that if we wanted to have any sort of relationship I would have to be more understanding of his needs. He was a college frat boy and was expected to behave in a licentious manner.
Passive idiot that I
was at the time, I
forgave him and agreed to an open relationship.
However, he and I, no matter the terms, weren’t meant to be.
One afternoon, weary of watching Derek Jarman’s “Edward II”, I started
stripping Martin of his clothes. He
asked what I was doing; I replied that I was going to fuck him (which I had never
done to anyone and which, at that time, had only been done to me once, and it
hadn’t been Martin who had done the fucking).
Well, Martin said there was no way I was going to fuck him, so
effeminate me tried to force myself on this husky man (who had been a high
school wrestler). It became sadly comical, with me repeatedly climbing on top of him, only to
be thrown, time and time again, to the floor. I eventually gave up,
got mad, and left. However, I returned to him that night.
A few days later, a friend named Forrest asked if Martin and I would hang out with him and a young man named Robbie. We were to meet at a local theater at seven and would improvise an evening from there. At 7:15, Robbie, Forrest, and I were still waiting, with Martin nowhere in sight.
I said, “He’s probably blowing someone; let’s just go without him.”
The three of us
then went to a restaurant for dinner, and when
the time to part was near, Robbie invited me to his house.
With the thought, “I’ll be the one to keep Martin waiting up tonight, and show him how it
feels” I accepted the invitation.
Robbie was adorable, and while we were
sitting on his couch, he asked if I wanted to kiss him. I said ‘yes’ and did so. A few minutes into our make-out session, he
led me up the stairs to his bedroom, stripped down to his soft, plaid boxers
and said he wanted me to fuck him. I
told him I’d rather just fool around and eventually blow him, but he insisted he only wanted
to be fucked.
As stated above, I had never fucked anyone
and certainly didn’t want to start with a stranger. Robbie kept trying to get me erect, and with all that effort, I
suddenly ejaculated with no warning whatsoever. Robbie was obviously experienced and very disappointed in my
little ‘accident’. I went on a crying
jag, apologizing profusely, incoherently.
In reply,
I went back that night to Martin, and he was very angry that I hadn’t waited for him at the theater. He became even angrier when I confessed I had been with another man. The hypocrite informed me that he felt he could no longer trust me and that it was over between us.