The Marine Gets THE QUESTION

“YEAH!” my partner Jim’s nineteen-year-old son yelled and pumped his fist in the air after he caught me off my feet with a perfect shot to the baseline just out of reach of my desperately outstretched racket.

“Good shot,” I called to Perry across the net. “Forty fifteen,” I called, reminding him he’d been a shot away from losing that game and the set and the match before that last-gasp shot.

“Come on, Colonel,” he yelled, using his favorite nickname for, which I’d given up on disabusing him of. “Show me what ya got!”

Perry was a superb athlete and less than half my age, but he knew exactly what I had. I hesitated for a moment, deciding if I wanted to kill him with a power serve which from my Ad side or give him a bit more of a workout.

When I was a kid I’d been a great tennis player when I was in school. If I hadn’t been from a middle class family instead of a rich one, I would have been a pro by then. But I wasn’t – my family hadn’t had the money for the tennis coaching in private schools that give time for that when I was a kid.

I had no regrets whatsoever about not having become a professional athlete. I’d never know if I’d have achieved a class of play that would take me to a high earnings career. What I did know is that from the first day I entered the United States Naval Academy as a United States Marine Corps cadet, I had known that was the career I wanted. And my twenty-six plus years in the Corps had yielded a career I was both proud of and which had given me great personal satisfaction.

I hadn’t had much time for tennis in those years – occasional social games, just enough to hint at my natural talents but not enough to get my game back. Since meeting my partner Jim over Labor Day weekend, I’d had almost two months of weeknights and weekends at his country club to indulge my game. Perry, Jim’s home-for-the-summer-from-college son, was, as I mentioned, a natural athlete, and he began to eat up the games we had to up his own game. I could still whip his butt, but by the time he went back to college, I was certain that would be an iffy proposition at best the way his game was improving.

It also didn’t hurt that he was tall, dark, muscular, hairy and gorgeous like his father, so in tennis whites with his furry arms and legs glistening with sweat he was an appealing and, therefore, popular figure around the club and the courts. His ebullient personality was irresistible, too. And with our age difference, the weeknights that Jim was working later – as he was wont to do – that we went to the club after my work, people who didn’t know Jim or Perry often mistook us for father and son.

At first that mistake of Perry and me being son and father not only embarrassed me in general because this whole “family” thing – hell the relationship thing too! – was new to me, but also because it embarrassed me thinking it would embarrass or otherwise make Perry uncomfortable. Of course it didn’t make him uncomfortable; he handled it easily, flexibly, like everything, fluidly eating it up and often putting his arm around me and saying I was his ‘other dad’. I was, at the same time, unnerved by that each and every time – humbled by Perry’s acceptance and affability – as well as being very moved by it – deeply grateful on his father’s behalf for his acceptance of me.

I made my decision and pitched the ball into the air and gave my serve about eighty-five percent. Perry had to lunge, but he barely got his racket on it and kept enough of the control I’d taught him to make a decent return. We had a good, challenging, long volley after that, but ultimate I nearly knocked him off his feet with a low powerful shot just over the net with enough topspin that when it hit the court where his feet had been only a split second before he jumped out of the way, the ball rocketed beyond the reach of Perry’s great young lightning-fast reflexes. “Dude!” he exclaimed. “That was an awesome shot!”

“It was also game, set and match, my young tennis star,” I called. “Seven-six, six-four, six-two.”

“I’m getting better,” as we met at the net for a handshake and bro-hug, “Aren’t I, Bill?” he asked, puffing a bit and soaked with sweat.

I have him another jostle. “You’re getting great, Perry,” I said, honestly. He’d gotten so good so fast that I had no doubt he’d be a great player if he kept playing challenging opponent. His game was getting great, as the first set tie break attested. We still had to work on his conditioning. Despite his great physical shape and natural athleticism, he hadn’t yet become adapted to the prolonged demand of frequent long matches. Our score today was an example, with the first set being decided by a decently long tie-break, but then the second set I broke him once and in the third twice, resulting in the straight set win for me and the diminishing games to him as we went from set to set. We were getting there, though. Maybe I was subconsciously hoping he would have an opportunity to do what I hadn’t done, even though I knew at his age his chances of an option to become a pro were low.

I was suddenly a little self-conscious that our hug had gone on longer than it should have and disengaged abruptly. There was absolutely nothing sexual between Perry and me, and a few of my friends who’d met both Jim and Perry had offended me with some salacious speculations! Perry was so comfortable, though, in showing male-male affection as a result of his awesome relationship with and raising by his father, and he showed me affection openly, too.

My discomfort was simply the long-ingrained holdover of my quarter-century where male-male affection was not only open but encouraged in the most extreme sense of camaraderie. And as a gay man that was a dangerous edge to skirt on my side . . . except of course for the (many) others like me over the years when circumstances allowed us to indulge together in pushing over that platonic line to the many searing extremes of high-octane testosterone-fueled sexcapades.

As we walked along the net to the side of the court with our arms loosely across each other’s shoulders, we both turned toward a familiar voice. “Hey, my two favorite men!”

Jim was heading into the court from the gate at the back corner of my side. As usual he took my breath away. In his (very expensive) tan suit, his muscular body was showcased but only by the shape of his perfect tailoring which evidenced his broad shoulders and narrow waist. His long legs gave even more texture to that hunky landscape, and as he neared that sculpture-perfect smiling face of his evoked a grin of my own.

“Dad!” Perry called.

When we caught up we were three guys eager to see each other. Perry and I were sweaty messes after a few hours in the heat. But Jim didn’t hold back and embraced us both. As he did he turned enough to kiss my neck and whispered in my ear, “Yum.”

As I flushed hearing that and feeling a concurrent squeeze of my ass, Perry yelped, “Kid present!” as he pulled away.

Jim and I laughed, and I gave his bowling ball buttcheek a more meaningful squeeze as we started walking toward the clubhouse.

Jim and I passed on the clubhouse showers and headed out on our own. Actually Perry was the one who said, “I know you guys would rather have some dad-on-dad time.” We’d both looked agape at the directness of his statement. He followed it quickly with a slightly sheepish look. “Geez, I actually said that, didn’t I?” Since I’d picked up Perry and we’d driven to the club together, Jim tossed Perry the key to his car, and off we’d gone.

My townhouse – the one I hadn’t slept in for almost two months since the first weekend Jim and I had met – was close to the club, and had the advantage of not having Perry heading there. We didn’t talk about it – we both knew that’s where we were going. I didn’t have my truck started before Jim’s hand was opening my tennis shorts and pulling my cock out. “Need this!” he said, caressing me. As always, heat shot through me from his touch, and I was hard almost instantly.

“We should get there safely or there’s not much point,” I said priggishly as we rolled through the parking lot.

“Oh, we’ll get there, all right!” Jim said with a leer in his voice.

“Safely!” I said, laughing, “Which, if you don’t lay off, might be in question.”

We got to my condo, and he did NOT lay off. He also didn’t work my cock so aggressively that I was more than high on the sensations and heady enough to make it tough duty driving safely. He was licking the sweat off my neck in the elevator and pulling my shirt off as I groped his ass and crotch through the fine fabric of his hand-tailored suit. We kissed roughly and ground out bodies together without a care that the elevator has security cameras and the doors could open on a lower floor at any time.

The short distance from the elevator to my door was quickly crossed, and I was ripping the fine tie from his collar and ripping open his dress shirt open as he was casting his suit jacket cross the room and tearing at my shorts. At this point I wasn’t even certain I’d gotten my junk back inside my shorts or zipped up before we’d gotten out of the car.

I got his pants open as he kicked off his shoes, and he had an amazing move which had his pants flying across the room. I had my sweaty jock strap on, though my raging horsecock and bull balls were hanging out, the pouch to the side. Jim’s bone was raging in his boxer briefs, and admittedly I was groping at it and loving the way his precum was making a huge spot in them. About the time I was processing that thought through my endorphin dulled brain, Jim was on his knees and had my huge cockhead bumping the back of my throat. “AAAaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” I exclaimed.

In response to my growl, Jim grabbed my nuts rough and tight like he knows makes me even hotter. I clamped one hand on Jim’s head and shoved my cock roughly into his throat. “Aaaaaaaaarrrrrrggghhh!” he cried, muffled by my cock, and the sensation of his vocal chords buzzing on my throbbing fuckrod sent another bold of electricity through me. I reached out and grabbed for anything to steady my shaky knees as I began skull fucking Jim without any control whatsoever.

GODDAMN this man made me lose all control! And he was just as aggressive as he sucked me HARD and worked my balls like he’d grown to know made me blast off. I was skyrocketing along the runway to blastoff with a huge payload. I realized suddenly that as much as I wanted to unload in my lover, what I wanted was for it to be with my cock over nine inches up his ass, mated with him. I grasped at his head and tried to shove him off my cock, but his grasp on my nuts and ass was stronger. I finally got hold of his short hair and yanked his head back and then pulled him to my feet.

“SHIT!” he cried. In response I grabbed him by the balls and pulled him and we stumble-ran to my bedroom. I flung him face-down hard on my bed, and I dove into his hole face first. “OH FUCK YES eat my fucking hole then fuck my brains out, Bill!”

I intended to do exactly that. I shoved my tongue inside his deliciously manly hole and sucked in the taste of him. He’d taken a shower before he left work I could tell, as he often did because he knew I’d jump him upon sight after work, but he did it early enough in the afternoon to come to me musky enough to further inflame my desire for him. I ate and chewed that hole while he moaned and growled and clawed at the sheets and begged for me to fuck him.

I fumbled in the nightstand drawer and got the lube and got some in his hole and without further prep just mounted him and drove home balls-deep inside him. His back arched and he cried out in a long guttural growl-cry that the neighbors might be getting used to rattling the walls and windows. My own expression of the ecstasy of penetrating him, the hot tightness of him, before the crescendo of ecstasy which I knew would come, was, “OH FUCKING CHRIST DAMN baby that’s good!”

I proved it by pounding him soundly. I held his hips and drove into that hot fuckhole of his as hard and as deep as I could with every thrust. Just the way WE liked it. He yelped and moaned, and I kept at him. “God I love your cock-hungry cunt!” I shouted as he clenched even harder around me. As a reward I changed my angle and began nailing his prostate with my head directly with every thrust instead of lightly brushing it. His response was, as always, loud and aggressive, shoving back up onto me, meeting my thrusts.

“Fucking GIVE IT TO ME!” he demanded. And I did. I knew how to work his ass in every way, whether I wanted him to cum while we were fucking or not, whether I wanted him to milk me or let me just enjoy the heat and tightness of him, whether I wanted him desperate for my load or lovingly catering to my needy cock. I knew just how to get him to make demands just like he was doing. And as I increased the force of my thrusts to his prostate, his demands escalated. “Give me that Goddamn load. SEED ME you fucker!”

“Take it, you cock-whore. You know you’re built for taking cock.”

“You fucking know it!” he shouted back, shoving back even harder onto me and clenching my cock with his incredible ass muscles.

I drilled him the way I knew drove him over the edge, and he rewarded me with the shouts and intense body and particularly ass spasms that preceded his nutblasts. The spasms around my cock always took whatever control was left in me away, and this time was no exception. “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” I yelled as my nuts boiled over in as intense an explosion as the most intense he’d given me, and I felt my seed began to blast through my cock as we both came together and shouted and spasmed and writhed, all the while my hips shoved my cock balls deep grinding my pubes into his crack.

I collapsed on his sweat-slicked back at some point, and my nose was in the sweaty nape of his neck when I became conscious enough to realize. Both our bodies were heaving as we gasped for our breath. Our sex and exertion as I inhaled us caused my nuts to feel like they would explode again. “Jesus.”

“No, I’m Jim,” he said between gasps for air. And we both laughed. The jiggle of his rock-hard butt on my nuts again caused that jolt of electricity. Hell, most everything with Jim did!

I kissed his neck and inhaled deeply. “God I love the way you smell almost as much as I love you.”

“Mmmmmmm,” he responded, nuzzling his head back against mine.

“That was amazingly good, babe,” he purred as his breathing was more normal now. I agreed with a purr of my own. “Bill, we’re great together, aren’t we?”

I reflexively felt my insides tighten. I wasn’t good at this, and I needed to get it right. I didn’t know how to do this relationship thing. I knew how to fuck the man I’d fallen in love with. I knew how to enjoy every minute with him. I knew how to revel in every minute I or we spent with his son. But I didn’t know how to express any of it the right way, I was sure of it. Every word was agony in its conception in my head. “Great,” I came up with.

“I want to ask you something, Bill,” he said, his head against the bed still, me still draped on top of him and inside him, my cum no doubt oozing out of him around me and his puddled under him. My insides clenched tighter. “Relax, my big strong marine,” he said, knowing what I was feeling. “I think I know the answer, but I think we should talk about this, too, which is why I’m going to ask you what I ask you.”

My insides were now not only tight but struggling to get free enough to twist up and turn over. I could face enemies with bombs and rifles and knives more willingly than these conversations. Jim knew it and had been artful in the few and gentle conversations we’d had about US. Shit, my whole life had become US, but just thinking US now terrified me.

And at that moment, as I realized that the fleeting thought was what was truth – my whole life IS us, and that’s what frightens me most, the fear of loss. Something inside me kicked in then. My entire adult life I’d been trained to serve and fight for what I believed in, what I cherished most – my country – and now that I wasn’t called on to do that this was what I cherished. I was suddenly acting.

I eased off and out of him, rolled him over until we were facing each other. I kissed him softly. “What do you want to ask?” I said, eagerly.

Jim was surprised by my eagerness. We were so new, had known each other less than two months, but he KNEW me. And he was pleased but confused, I could tell. “Getting braver, aren’t you, my colonel?” he said lightly.

I laughed. “I’ve always been brave, and you know it. Remember that time on the beach for anyone to catch us?”

“Yeah, you’re brave about everything – either when you’re in uniform or when your cock is hard. But this brave front to ‘a talk’,” he said, making quote marks in the air with his fingers, “is new.”

“Don’t scare me out of it,” I said, smiling. “So what is it?”

“Well, OK then.” His gaze became suddenly very serious, and I had to fight a wave inside me. It’s OK, I reminded myself – this is US. Then he sat up and pulled me up facing him, both of us cross-legged on the bed. “This isn’t exactly the way I had planned this, but before, when we were together, joined, I realized I needed to ask you this.”

My mind raced. We’d already made a mutually irresponsible decision to abandon condoms way too early in our relationship. We’d already agreed to live together and to at some point in the future rent my condo out. In fact he wanted his firm to lease it and to use it for visitors as soon as we could get around to clearing out the rest of my personal things. I’d met his parents. I lived with his son. It was a question, not a declaration, he’d said, and he was precise about those things in his communication I’d learned. It was the lawyer training. So what . . .

“Your mind is racing, my brave colonel, isn’t it?” he asked.

Before he answered he took my hand and put it on his chest, and I felt his heartbeat racing. I knew it wasn’t still from our sex. And as fast as my mind had been racing, my heart was racing just as fast now with anxiety over what was coming.

I took his other hand with mine and put it on my chest without saying anything, but Jim knew what it meant. Now I was showing him I was right there with him, right in whatever with him, that it was US in it, whatever it was. Then he blew me away.

“Bill Cate, United States Marine Corps retired, love of my life and center of my world, I want to marry you.”