Chapter 2 – Chapter 2

"Tell me," Daren asked as he sat on a stool across a kitchen island from Stan, who was leaning on the counter, supported on spread arms, "the rumors have always been that you were secretly working for U.S. Intelligence as you traveled the pro tennis circuit. I think they're called NOCs—nonofficial cover, I think that's what the acronym means. Is it true?"

Both men were naked still. Both had half hards. Both knew this was just an interlude to more fucking. Once started, Stan never took his men just once. Stan had always been virile and vigorous. He liked fucking men multiple times in a session, to exhaustion. Daren had every reason to know that.

"I couldn't say. I could say that when I graduated from the Naval Academy and then did my Marines stint, I worked a year in naval intelligence before going with tennis. I think that's where the rumors started. I went on the pro tennis circuit too late."

"Not too late to have gathered all of these valuable paintings with your winnings," Daren said. He'd gone hard just in walking around the first floor of the house and looking at the oil paintings Stan had.

"Well, it helps to have two incomes," Stan said, with a wink.

"You're a complex man, Stan. And there is much more to you than most see."

"Correct. Most don't see my cock." Stan laughed.

"That's the truth. It's the biggest and best cock I've ever had."

"Thank you. I aim to serve."

"There's certainly nothing wrong with your aim—or your serve."

"I meant it when I said you were my best boy," Stan said, suddenly more serious. "You could be my boy again, you know. I want to be your daddy again."

"Hard to think in those terms when I'm thirty-two."

"You know," Stan countered, "that age isn't an issue in a daddy and sub relationship. You know what I mean when I say I want to be your daddy—what I'd do with you and what you'd do for me. I know you. You want to be my boy. Age isn't the issue—as long as I can get it up and use it."

"You really messed up my teen years," Daren said, sliding off the issue Stan raised, something that had been germinating in the back of his mind as well. "I wanted you since I was fifteen. There were three years of maximum frustration there. It made my life hell. But you made me wait until I was eighteen." Stan had been the father figure Daren hadn't had for a good five years as he came into his teens and then, from age eighteen, had been his daddy in an entirely different sense. More recently, Tony, of the same general age as Stan, had been employed as a substitute father figure in both of those senses. But Daren realized now that this relationship hadn't cut it.

"Did you make all of your young men wait, Stan?" he continued. It had been an agonizing period of confusion, guilt, and frustration for Daren.

"All of them, yes. I wouldn't get into the shit of fucking anyone underage. I didn't need to. I didn't see any guy's desirability in terms of being his age."

He paused and looked away, but then turned back and continued. "There were no others that I had to take cold showers to stay away from when they were fifteen, like I did you. I didn't want you because you were fifteen; I wanted you because you were you. I was as anxious and frustrated at holding off as you were. And you teased and tortured me, noting from your seventeenth birthday how many days there were before your eighteenth birthday."

"And then on the morning of my eighteenth birthday I came over for a tennis lesson . . ."

". . . and we never made it to the court. I asked you that corny question about seeing my etchings, brought you in here, and fucked the hell out of you."

"It was a nightmare at first—even though I ached for it and for some time."

"You screamed like a stuck pig, but you insisted you didn't want me to stop. You'd teased me into a fury. I lost control, I never was more sorry."

"But after that first time, I begged for it again and again, and you fucked me again and again—and then it was all I imagined it could be. Just like today, down in the basement."

"God, I've missed you, Daren."

"You pulled away from me after those two years at U.Conn."

"Motel rooms became so tawdry. And the press was nosing around. I could only admit to so much—for both our sakes. You were gaining a reputation in intercollegiate tennis. And you were too good for me. I didn't want you to be in my shadow and I would never have been happy in yours. Ken came along. He was content to let me stand in the light. I settled down. You know, after Ken came along, it was just him. Then one was enough. One could be enough again, Daren."

"Do you really think so? That student you were teaching this morning. Brian, did you say his name was? Not more than nineteen, and cute as a button."

"I would have brought him inside and fucked his lights out if I hadn't seen you in the window. I'll admit to that. He was willing. I'd done it before. He begged for it. But I don't need young men anymore, Daren. I need experienced men. Maybe one man. Maybe a thirty-two-year-old man. Maybe a man named Daren Peters. There's a building out back, by the tennis court. It could easily be made into a studio where you could do your restorations. We aren't far from New York. Or Boston. You could do business from here."

"Do you still have the collection of homoerotic Shunga art upstairs?" Daren asked. "The ancient sex art of Japan."

"Yes, of course."

"I think I'd like to go upstairs and see your Shunga art now."

Stan fucked him missionary at the foot of the king-sized master room bed, Daren's ankles on Stan's shoulders, Stan hunched over Daren's torso and alternating lip work with chewing on Daren's nipples and pounding, pounding Daren's ass.

Imitating one of the Shunga prints on the bedroom wall, Daren sat on the cock in Stan's lap, as Stan sat on the foot of the bed. Daren was facing Stan, with his feet planted on Stan's pecs and gripping Stan's forearms, as Stan grasped Daren's waist and pulled him on and off the cock. In keeping with yet another one of the prints, Daren's shoulder blade were on the carpet and his legs hooked on the standing cock master's hips, as Stan jack hammered down into Daren's passage.

Fingers inside Daren's passage almost up to the knuckles and leaning over a prone Daren and possessing Daren's mouth, a spent Stan used the digits to worry Daren's prostrate while the younger man stroked his cock to a final ejaculation.

Tony would never have dreamed these positions were possible, let alone do them with Daren.

* * * *

"Sorry I didn't make dinner on the waterfront. I hope you went anyway."

"I did," Peggy answered.

She had gotten far with her packing while Daren was gone.

"I was next door."

"I knew you would be," Peggy said. It was said with a sigh, but it didn't sound to Daren like an exasperated one. Peggy had always understood.

"I think I might be staying in Mystic after all, Peggy. But not in this house."

"Next door, with Stan?"

"Yes."

"I think I always knew you would if you stopped avoiding coming back here. It certainly took you a long time to realize you would, though. I'm happy for you. Make the most of it."

"I will. I already have."

"Yes, I can see that," she said. She was smiling. "Your shorts are turned the wrong way."