Invitation to the Dance

  1. The Old Man

“You ready to take a few licks, Old Man?”

“That’s what I’m here for, son,” the Old Man said.  The words came out with more conviction than he felt.  He had not engaged in this sort of play since before his partner had died. But images of this scene had been stalking his mind for over a month, and he knew they were not going to quit until he underwent the experience.

He was standing alone, blindfolded with a bandana, wearing only a jockstrap and shoes.  A small flogger hung by a cord from his neck, and his wrists were cuffed, with chains hanging from them.  The Old Man had been lost in thought, and hadn’t realized there was someone standing so close till he heard the whisper in his ear.  The other man was holding his wrists; when did that happen?

“I’m kind of new at this,” the younger man said, in a clear Latino voice.  “I just got an invite to the party, and had to check it out.  Like, I don’t know how heavy a…”

“New is fine.  You can use your hand on my ass, and the flogger on my back or legs.  No punching.  If I jerk my head back, it’s a sign you’re going too far.  Or if I say, “Basta!”  He really didn’t want his head to jerk back; his arthritis and the degeneration of his disks made that too scary.  The Old Man already felt a connection with this Young Buck, the name that came to him.  So often it had been Latinos who were tolerant of older men, who were the most likely to consider sex across decades.

“So how do we start?”

“Attach my cuffs to the hooks on the beam above me.  You can use the stool to your left if you need to.”

Young Buck did as suggested, brushing against the Old Man in the process.  The Old Man liked feeling close to the other man, feeling and hearing his breath, his warmth.  He could feel Buck beginning to get aroused, and even his own sluggish old dick was tingling.

He said, “You can touch me anywhere; I need all the body contact I can get,” and was rewarded with light pats over his body.

People around them were engaged in rough action, and the Old Man worried that Buck would be put off by the noise of whips cracking, or people yelling or crying, so he said, “Just pay attention to me, to yourself.  Move at your own pace.  Don’t worry about the others.”

Buck moved in closer, now running his hands heavily over the Old Man’s body.  Not in judgment, thankfully, but to explore.  The Old Man moaned, and Buck laughed under his breath.  Buck moved behind him and slipped his hands over the Old Man’s ass, then up his back, then around the front of the body.  The Old Man couldn’t help but dance in his restraints, and moaned again, ever so slightly.  Buck came in even closer from behind, pressing up against the Old Man, with his arms around the front of his body.  The Old Man could feel Buck’s erection, very hard by now.

“If you’re willing to play safe, you can…”

“No, I can’t,” Buck said.  “I have a boyfriend.  He doesn’t like kinky stuff.  He didn’t stop me from coming to the party, but I can’t fuck.  I can’t even come in your mouth.”

“Too bad,” the Old Man said.  “Why don’t you give me a few pats on the ass now?”

Buck did so.  He began spanking the Old Man, very lightly at first, then with more strength.  The Old Man sighed.  Buck sped up, working one cheek, then the other.  He would stop occasionally to feel up the Old Man’s ass again, run his hand down the crack, cup the cheeks from below, then go back to slapping.  He asked, “Is this okay?”

“It’s fine, but I’m not quite that fragile.”  He laughed to himself; again he was acting far more brave than he felt.  Just how fragile was he by this point?

Buck kept going, the two of them mostly silent except for sighs and moans from the Old Man.  Buck would move around to the front again, still spanking the Old Man but trying to kiss him at the same time.  He gave that up, put both hands on the Old Man’s face, and planted a kiss on the Old Man’s mouth, a kiss eagerly returned.

The Old Man said, “You may be new, Sir, but you sure know what you’re doing!”

“I’m just doing what I feel like.”

“Good!  I like knowing that you’re enjoying this, too.”

Buck went back to feeling the Old Man’s body, more roughly.  The Old Man said, “Yes!”

“My hand is tired.”

“When you want, you can try the flogger.  It’s a soft one.”

“I like using my hand, though.  I like actually making contact.”  And he went back to spanking.  After a bit, though, he apparently needed to stop.  The Old Man picked up that Buck had to switch hands.  But eventually he lifted the flogger over the Old Man’s head, and gingerly tried it out, first on the ass again, then further up the body.  The free hand always roamed over the Old Man’s body.

Buck twisted the Old Man’s nipple, very hard, and the Old Man’s head immediately jerked backwards.  “I’m sorry!  I won’t do that again,” Buck said.  “My boyfriend likes his nipples done.”  The Old Man nodded.

The host strolled by, and asked, “How are you doing, Old Man?”

“Just fine, thank you!” was the reply, and the man walked off.

“Try my shoulders, please,” the Old Man said.  Buck’s inexperience meant he had to work out how to hit upwards, and the Old Man told him how to hit so that the flogger stung with its ends rather than punch with its body.  The Old Man continued to sigh and moan, very quietly, and occasionally to twist from side to side.

“That’s good,” the Old Man whispered.  He could feel the heat flowing into the areas that had been hit.

“You’re getting kinda red.”

“That means the blood is flowing.”  He chuckled.  “Good for my arthritis.”  Once again, he marveled at his own words, but this time he realized he was not feeling fear any longer.  And he realized that Buck was certainly the right man for this task, having a sense of what to do but no angry baggage to act out.

Buck experimented with positions and parts of the Old Man’s body, seeming to test how far he could go without triggering the head jerk.

The Old Man had to keep moving, because of the accumulating pain, but also because it was getting hard to have his arms vertical.  It surprised him; when his partner had strung him up that way years back, it wasn’t as taxing.  He gave great exhalations of breath, trying not to make noise.  Suddenly, though, something made him give a huge sob, and then he began crying.

Buck stopped, put down the flogger, and whispered to the Old Man.  “Basta? Time to quit?”  The Old Man nodded.  Buck embraced him, holding his side so as not to create more pain.  The Old Man cried for awhile; then slowly came to a stop.

Buck whispered again, “Was this what you were after?”

“Not consciously.”

They remained in the embrace for awhile, the Old Man’s dick getting harder and beginning to press against the younger man.  Buck pulled the Old Man’s jockstrap down.

“That’s the hardest it ever gets these days, even with the pills.”

Buck knelt down and took the dick in his mouth, performing a minor miracle.  His hands grabbed the Old Man’s hot ass.  The Old Man felt some pain but the contact made it an exhilarating combination.

“Tell me before you cum!”  Buck said.  No doubt or timidity in his voice now.

“Yes, Sir!” the Old Man answered, and let Buck go on awhile.  “I don’t think you’ll get me to cum, so keep it up as long as you want.”  Again, he often found himself dancing around from the extreme sensations.  “Oh, Buck!” he whispered.

Buck laughed, and asked, “Did you have a boyfriend named Buck?”

“No.  I keep thinking of you as the Young Buck.  Is that okay?”

“Old Man, I’m forty already!” he answered, and laughed again.

Now the Old Man laughed.  “As I said, a Young Buck!  Forty.  What a wonderful age.”

Buck stood up and said, “Don’t you want to suck me off?”

“Absolutely!  You can change the chain position so I’m kneeling.”  Buck got the stool again, and adjusted the chain.  The Old Man knelt down; in a few seconds the dick was in his mouth and Buck’s hands on the back of his head.  It was not a big dick, but hard enough and easy to give good suck to.  The Old Man didn’t know how long they went on like that. The small size of the dick meant his jaw could go on a lot longer than usually.  Suddenly, the dick exploded in his mouth, Buck jerking back and forth and making a lot of noise.  The Old Man did not try to withdraw until Buck let go.  He must have swallowed some of the cum, he knew.

Buck stepped back, found the stool, unhooked the Old Man, and helped him up.

“You weren’t supposed to do that,” the Old Man said, as fact, not accusation.

“No.  I couldn’t help it.  I did get tested last month; I don’t have any diseases.”

“Can I take off the blindfold?”

“No!  I mean, not until I leave, please.”


Buck took hold of the Old Man and hugged him hard and long.  “Thanks,” he whispered.

“Thank you!   I obviously needed that even more than I thought.”

Buck walked off.  After a few seconds, the Old Man undid the blindfold and looked around.  All the usual suspects were there, plus a short, dark, thickly muscled young man looking back at him.  His body was the kind that would never have a visible six-pack, but the arms and legs were the epitome of power, and the lithe way he was able to move the massive body was a kind of beauty the Old Man found it hard to turn away from.  The man had a vertical scar down the middle of his cheek.  The Old Man winked at him, and finally, reluctantly, turned to get dressed and go home.

2. Young Buck

So I show up at the party alone, way up in this big house on Twin Peaks, without my boyfriend, Joey.  There’s two good things about Joey:  First, he’s the kind of gorgeous I’ll never be, slender and graceful, with such lovely abs.  He is hotter than fire – I told him so.  And, here’s the other thing: he loves getting fucked; he makes me feel that I’m the most powerful man on earth when I do it to him.  That’s his whole résumé.  Otherwise, he’s a real shit.  He won’t let me kiss him, cuddle with him, or put my arm around him in public.  For a Mexican, he’s got no cariño. And I definitely can not suck his cock – tops don’t do that, right?  But then, I’m not allowed to touch his hair, even when I want to grab his head while he’s sucking me off.  And he doesn’t want to do any kink, even though he always talks about wanting to go to Folsom Street in a collar and leash!  And I… at least, I want to try it out.

When I got the invite by email, I told him, “I’m doing this.  You can come or you can stay, but I need to see if this is my thing.  And it wouldn’t be right to turn down the invite.”

“You asked for the invitation!”

“Yeah, well, that makes it even more important not to insult these guys, right!  So, you gonna come or not?”

“Not!  And I thought we were playing safe.”

“Okay!” I tell him.  “I won’t fuck anyone, and you know no one is going to fuck me, right?”

“And you can’t come in anyone’s mouth.”

“Okay,” I say.  “I won’t.”  That wasn’t to play safe, it was him being Joey, but I agreed.

So I get to the party, show my invite, and they lead me to the dressing room.  I can see that some guys have jocks on, and others are dressed up in leather.  Some are completely naked.  I wonder, should I strip down completely, and show them my little dick?  And then it comes to me:  I’d rather have someone pass me by immediately than start getting hot and heavy and then not want to finish it off because of my size.  So I take off everything.

I thought the place would be pretty dark, but it’s not, there’s plenty of light.  A lot of the guys are crowded around one sling where one hot young kid in a hood is tied up, maybe about thirty.  He’s got a big old hard-on, and the guys around him are playing with him.  So I get near them, and the guys look at me: First up to my face, check, then to my body, my very hot body, check, and then to my dick, and then – surprise – they look away very quick.

Fuck it, I think.  So I walk around.  One old guy is standing by himself, in a bandana blindfold.  He has a jock on and some cuffs – not attached to anything – and something around his neck.  Something about him is interesting.  I mean really interesting.  It’s not his body; he looks sixty, probably more.  His hair is as gray as anyone else’s.  Not that it’s a problem for me; I’ve been with some older guys.  I’ve liked it, too.  But he’s way more a turn-on than anyone else in the room, except maybe the hottie in the sling.  His arms aren’t so good, but he must have done a lot with his legs some time, maybe like bicycling, because they still look good.

I walk back to the crowd and talk to one of the guys.  “Who is that?  And why is he off by himself?”

“Oh, him!  The only reason he’s here is that his partner was a founding member.  And once the two of them got together, they stopped coming. But his partner died last year, so guess what? he shows up again.  Actually, I think it was exactly a year ago.  Pretty ugly, isn’t he, the old fart!”

I think, he looks better than you, asshole!  But I ask him, “What’s he doing?”

“He’s waiting.  See the flogger around his neck?  He wants you to whip his ass.”

“Well, then, maybe I’ll give him what he wants,” I say.  Partly, I guess, I can’t stand the attitude of the creep I was talking with.  Except for the guy in the sling, they’re all sixty or more.  My man in the corner there, he at least still has his hair.  And the other thing, the really big thing is this:  Every last one of the guys crowded around the sling wants something, I mean something more than just watching.  But my guy is the only one who is willing to say so.  Big time.  He’s standing there saying, “I need it.”

I go over to him and grab his shoulders like I’m about to kiss him.  I don’t think he notices, though, like he’s somewhere else inside the blindfold.  I slide my hands down his arms and pull on his wrists, and I figure to come on like really hip.  “You ready to take a few licks, Old Man?”  I want to be sure he knows I’m the top.  He pretty much says that’s what he’s there for, so we get busy.  I hook him up to the beam overhead, and start playing with him.  A lot of the time I’m just touching him, feeling him.  I like that, and he says he likes it too.  I smack him a little, then a little more.  It’s good, a real rush.  I still want to keep touching him, though.  It feels a bit strange at first, what with all the other guys doing their thing, but the Old Man seems to read my mind and tells me not to bother about them, and just like that I can turn them all off.  The way he can do that, knowing what I need and just putting it right out there, pulls me in more, too, makes me want to get into this guy.

So anyway, my hand gets tired, and I use the other hand, and that one gets tired, so he reminds me about the flogger.  It isn’t too hard to figure out how to use it.  He’s feeling my work, breathing very heavy and all, but he doesn’t tell me to stop. In fact, the creep I talked to when I came in comes by to check out if everything’s okay – or maybe to get off on what we’re doing, who knows.  But my guy basically tells him everything is cool, and he can fuck off.

When I first saw the guy, I figured it would be perfect – I could really let go and wale on him.  Like I can’t do on Joey, for instance.  But I start really liking him, and decide I need to kiss him.  Joey could stop me, but this guy can’t stop me from doing anything (and that’s hot, too).  So I grab his head and give him all the kisses Joey could have had, and the guy loves it.  Fantastic!

So I get back to work.  I can see his skin getting redder and redder.  I stop for a minute; I want to touch again.  So I hold him real close from behind, and kiss his back, licking it up and down.  And the guy heaves this big sigh, and then starts crying.  First silently, then really bawling.  So I stand there behind him, holding his sides, with my cheek to his back.

What’s the deal? I wonder.  And then I remember about his partner.  I suddenly out of the blue remember my mother talking about los judíos.  When I was a kid there was this family that didn’t celebrate Día de los muertos with the rest of us.  I told my mom that the neighbors didn’t care about the dead, and she pulled my earlobes and said, No, m’ijo, los judíos guardan el aniversario.  And this guy – I’m like really sure – is Jewish.  I want to use their word for it, but I don’t remember it.  I ask him if this crying jag was what he was aiming for all along; he shakes his head and says, “Not consciously.”  Wow.  He needed something, he knew that, but he didn’t know what.  So I hold him for awhile more, stroking his sides, letting my hands slide down to his belly and his crotch.  And he starts getting hard.  He’s old, remember, and some of those guys don’t get very hard.

I go for it.  Another thing stupid Joey misses out on: a blow job.  I suck his cock real good; he doesn’t cum but he does get harder – he even tells me so – and we’re both getting off on that.  And then I realize I’m jerking myself off!  What an idiot I am, with a willing bottom right there.  So I unhook him enough to get him on his knees.  I make sure that he can rest his arms – they must be pretty tired by this point – but I don’t give him enough slack to hold on to me.  I especially don’t want, this late in the game, to get dumped because of my little dick.

He could care less!  It doesn’t matter whether I’m fucking his face or letting him work on me, he’s loving it.  And then it happens!  I come in his mouth.  It’s really quick, and I can hear myself yipping.  Wasn’t supposed to cum, but I did.  I know he swallows a lot of it.  I apologize, of course, and I let him know my last test results, negative, all of them.  He’s okay.  So I unhook him completely, and help him stand up.  He actually doesn’t need that much help, but he is slow.  And then we hold on to each other a while, and then I see the rest of the crowd looking at us, smiling, but not smiling nicely.  Fuck them!  I got what I came for, and so did the old man.  So I keep holding on.

Finally, I let go.  He wants to take the blindfold off, but I say not to till I leave.  I like him too much already; I don’t even know what I’m going to tell Joey.  So I walk away, towards the asshole crowd, but then I have to turn around, and he winks at me.  Oh, shit, I like this guy.  A lot.  He walks off to the dressing area.  I look back at the crowd, and something snaps: Joey? the creeps at the party?  I follow the old guy.

“Hey, listen.  My name is Eliseo.”  And I shake his hand.  We both laugh at how silly that feels.

“I’m Jonathan, Eliseo.  There’s a nickname for Eliseo, qué no?

“They used to call me Cheo at home.  You can if you want to.”

“I’m very glad to have met you, Cheo.  Truly.  And I’m so grateful to be able to see how beautiful you are.  With the blindfold on I could feel you, but this is wonderful.”

I don’t have time to blush.  “Listen, I want your phone number.  I want to see you again.”

“What about your boyfriend?”


“When did you decide that?”

“You didn’t know what you were aiming at when you sent out the invite to whip your ass.  Well, when I came in your mouth, it was the same thing.  It’s like I crossed the line, ‘accidentally on purpose.’  So, how about dinner next week?  I’ll pick you up, we go eat, we see a movie, then back to your place.  What do you think?”

He’s got this big smile on his face, so I ask him what’s so funny.  So he goes, “First, Cheo, I accept.  Period.  I’d be a fool not to.  How often would an old guy like me get the chance to spend time with a man as hot as you?  But I’ve seen people break up before, and they don’t always stay broken up.”

“Hey, hold on,” I tell him.  “This has been coming on for a long time – for six months, and that’s ever since I met Joey.  I will call you, I will show up, I will take you out.  So what’s your number?”

He’s all smiles now.  We trade numbers, my cell phone, his landline, and set it up for the next Saturday at six.  I say I’ll be talking with him later about what kinds of food he likes and doesn’t.  He wants to suggest places, but I nix that; this is going to be my show.  It’s a total turn-on that he’s just fine with following my lead.

“Okay,” he says, “but there is one more detail.  With you as horny as you are,”  pointing at my dick, which has gotten hard all over again, “do you really think you can hold out till after dinner and a movie?”

“I’ve got a lot of willpower,” I say.  “Meanwhile, do you want a ride home?  It’s raining out there.”

He says no, like he needs to be alone now.  And then he giggles and says, “Anyway, I don’t really want to sit down right now.  Strap-hanging on the bus suits me fine.”

So we kiss again, and that’s it.  I guess he doesn’t take a shower because when I get the car down the hill, I can see him waiting at the bus stop.  I pull up, but he’s kind of shy.  And then I realize, like I’m driving this shiny green Camaro convertible with a candy-apple paint job and really tinted windows.  Duh!  I put the passenger window down and call him.  “Jonathan, it’s me, Eliseo.  Cheo.  You know these January rainstorms are the shits, man.”

He comes around to the driver’s side, and I tell him he can stretch out in the back seat if he wants.

“No thanks, Cheo.  Really nice offer, but I’m pretty shaken up.  I need to be alone.”

I want him to open up, so I ask what he means.  He goes, “It’s been years since I got hit that hard.”

“Oh, shit!” I go, “did I fuck up?”

“No, you were fine, you read me exactly.  But it’s been years since I needed that.  I think I’m going through some kind of transition.”

So, I’m thinking, like it just comes bubbling up in my mind, You sure are, dude, you’re about to get yourself a new boyfriend.  You’re gonna love me, man!  I don’t say any of that, of course; I don’t want him freaking out.  I nod my head and ask him if we’re still on for next week, and he says, “Absolutely!”  Love it!

So I drive back around in the direction the bus should be coming from. I figure if I can’t find it, it’s too late and I’ll have to go get him.  But I see the bus, and I take off.  On the way back to my place, it hits me that I haven’t wanted to be this nice to anyone – anyone I hooked up with – since, well, since Mike, and that’s years ago, and anyway a different story completely.  He damn well better love me, because I’m already falling for him.  I mean, on one side he’s so modest, he’s not like so many of the old guys, like he doesn’t have to prove anything to me, and on the other hand I get this feeling he’s like really reliable, like someone I’ve wanted to meet for so long.

When I first got to the party, it was like the chance to let all those years of anger just blast out but, guess what? Even when I was hitting Jonathan – even when he was just the Old Man – it didn’t feel like that; it felt like…. I don’t know what it felt like, but it was good, like I wasn’t feeling guilty about it at all.  It was just the way we were connecting then, right?  So I think we’re going to have a lot of ways of connecting now.


About In a Former Time

This blog is meant as a vehicle to publish my literary work.
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