I realised, of course, that to do so was potentially hexing my chances of whatever this evening was going to turn into. But I didn’t want John to think that I was gauche. I went back to my room and stripped off and shaved once again, then I used one of the things I’d bought in the pharmacist to do something so intimate and embarrassing that I don’t really want to go into details. Then, I took a long shower and washed the day’s sweat and accumulated sunblock off myself, then when I was finished I dressed in the smartest, simplest clothes I owned and, feeling clean and cleansed and fresh inside and out, I left my room and headed down to the bar.
He was in there, sitting at a table, with a glass of chilled white wine in front of him. He rose and smiled warmly and said “Hello, Alex. I’m glad you came.”
I blushed and smiled at him somewhat sheepishly.
“So am I,” I said.
“You thought about it, then?”
“I did. I decided that life is short.”
“It is. What can I get you?”
I asked for a beer. It occurred to me after I’d asked for one that he might think beer was vulgar, but he just nodded approvingly and ordered me a Heineken.
“So,” he said after my drink had come, “you were saying that nobody had ever called you ‘provocative’ before.”
“Nope,” I said. “Cute, yes, nice-looking, but not provocative. I’m still not sure what you meant.”
“Maybe it’s just personal to me,” he said. “All my life I’ve preferred men to women. There was just something about you that meant I had to talk to you.”
“It must be nice to want the same thing your whole life,” I said.
“It’s made things simpler in some ways and very complicated in others,” he said. “When I was younger it was much more difficult. You see, Alex, I’m not that much of a fan of, you know, the gay lifestyle. I don’t much like dancing or dressing up and I’m not really into the scene. My trouble has always been that, basically, I’m only attracted to straight men.”
“Ahh,” I said, feeling a pang of sympathy. “I can see how that would be difficult.”
“Yes,” he said. “And when I was younger, people were much more straight than they are — I mean, straight people. One of the best things about growing older is that I’ve lived to see a time when people who are normally straight are willing to be a little bit more, you know. Adventurous.” He smiled.
“That’s why I came,” I admitted. “I’m not totally sure what we’re doing here, but basically, are we having a date?”
“Yes,” he said after the tiniest pause.
“I thought so,” I said. “Just so I know.”
“I don’t want you to be under any illusions,” he said. “I will try to seduce you.” He grinned. I blushed.
“I don’t want you to be under any illusions, either,” I said. “Since it’s a regular date like any other, I’m not promising anything. We’ll just see how the evening goes.”
“That seems fair,” he said. “Shall we get some food?”
The Toyboy Experiment: A Steamy Gay Adult Story You Don’t Want to Miss
We went to a restaurant down the beach. It was twilight, and a heavy pink sun was setting behind the mountains across the bay. We ordered fish and seafood and drank cold beer and talked about ourselves; he wasn’t too forthcoming with details about what he did for a living but I gathered that he was independently wealthy, partly from inheritances and partly from canny investments. He was charming company, witty and interesting and interested in me and my not very exciting job. He asked me about girls and I told about my sexual history, all of which he listened to with fascination. By the end of the meal I was very happy to be in his company but a little puzzled; he hadn’t touched me, or done much to flirt with me beyond looking me in the eyes and smiling a lot, and I was somewhat puzzled as to whether or not it was going well, from his point of view.
When he talked about his own sexual experiences I found it intoxicating and heady to be hearing such details from someone I’d only just met. I also found it arousing to imagine him as a younger man, finding his way, meeting partners, having love affairs and brief one-night stands. By then I had had about three beers and was feeling light-headed and daring.
By ten o’clock we had finished eating and he got the bill. I insisted on paying my share, which he at first resisted and then allowed. Then he suggested a walk down the beach.
We talked about the night and the sea and how beautiful it was, and I told him an anecdote about how I’d once gone skinnydipping with a group of friends and he laughed and told a similar one. Then we stopped and stood gazing out to sea.
“I’m a bit surprised,” I said.
“Why”s that?”
“Well . . . we’re out here and it’s so romantic, and you haven’t touched me.”
“You haven”t touched me either,” he pointed out.
“I don’t know how it works with men,” I said.
“Same as anyone else,” he said, smiling. “But if we were going to kiss, now would be a good time.”
I turned to face him, looking up at him, and he turned to face me, and he took my face in his hands and kissed me.
It was a long, deep kiss and he pulled me to himself and I could feel how his cock was hard. I trembled slightly. I had never been intimate with anyone so apparently physically strong before. He’d told me that he’d taken self-defence classes.
He pulled out of the kiss and looked at me. I could feel myself melting.
“Wow,” I gasped.
“That’s my house,” he said, indicating a large beach house with a balcony. “Would you like to come in for a nightcap?”
“Yes, please,” I said.
He took my hand and led me up the beach to the side of the house, and he opened the door and let us in.
Ten minutes later, we were on the sofa, our drinks untouched on the coffee table, and John was lying back while I sat on his lap, kissing him. His hands were unbuttoning my shirt and he took it off. I had already kicked off my sandals. I was breathless, urgent, unbuttoning his short too. He reached down and opened my shorts and I got off him and stood up and dropped them. Beneath them, I was wearing white briefs.
He guided me onto my back on the sofa and then he looked down at me. I was young, eager, scared, curious, and very horny. I looked up at him, not quite knowing exactly what was coming, but feeling like I was ready for almost anything.
“I want to show you something,” he said. He reached over to a side table and took an envelope. He took from it a piece of paper and handed it to me. I looked at it.
“What’s this?” I said, and immediately felt foolish because only a few seconds” scrutiny made it obvious what it was. It had something about tests and results and there was a column on the right hand side, opposite a list of alarming diseases, and they all were marked with the word “NEGATIVE”. The date was the previous week and the address was a local health centre.
“It”s my latest medical test,” he said. “I just wanted you to see it. I don’t want you to feel that you’ve got anything to worry about.”
“I don’t carry mine around with me,” I said, “sorry.”
“You’re normally heterosexual?” he said.
“Until now, only.”
“Ever shared a needle?”
“Never injected drugs.”
“Ever had a blood transfusion?”