I was very asleep around 7:30 Saturday morning when my cell phone rang. I was tempted to just let it ring, but the chances are pretty good that anyone calling at that hour really needs to talk to you. In this case, it was the gymnast. We'd only hooked up once, about a month ago, but he was an awesome fuck, and he'd kept in touch since. He apologized for calling so early and then said that matters between him and his partner had deteriorated from a civil split into nastiness. Originally, he'd planned to move out by the end of the month, but his ex had decided to accelerate his own move to his new Alexandria townhouse (Northern Virginia being the destination of choice for DC-area douchebags) and to insist that the gymnast vacate their current Rockville townhouse immediately. I told him that I was sorry to hear that and asked whether he wanted some company. He said that he did but that there was no furniture in the house, so the likelihood of carpet burns was high. I'd had about 4.5 hours of sleep, and I don't especially like rug burns, but just talking to him on the phone was making me hard, so I told him I'd jump in the shower, get dressed, and be over within half an hour.
The gymnast had said that he'd like me to pick him up and drive him to the gas station so he could pick up some cigarettes, so I did that. He was as much without a vehicle as he was without furniture. It seemed that his ex had arranged things so as to create the greatest possible level of inconvenience for him. Anyway, he got the smokes (he also bought me a Diet Coke, which totally obligated me to put out, right?) and we headed back to his soon-to-be-former place. He gave me some more details about the break-up. It sounded like fuel had been thrown on the fire by all parties. When we were walking up the stairs to the front door, he said that he'd spent the last year straining against the bonds of the relationship and that he was tired of being someone he wasn't. He pulled out his key chain, which had "SEXY BOY" written on it, and he said, "See, I just want to be a sexy boy again." When I told him, "Dude, you are such a sexy boy without even trying," he smiled and said, "But no one's been telling me that." It was a little bit sad, but the gymnast doesn't seem like the type to look back, except maybe when he's getting it doggy style.
The townhouse was extremely bare. He went over to the kitchen island and put his Mountain Dew down, and I stepped beside him, bent down and began to kiss his neck while I fondled his nipples through his shirt, and he melted into it a little bit, but he said that he really needed a cigarette, so I followed him out onto the deck. He smoked about a third of one, then he tossed it on the ground below the deck, where, he said, his ex would be sure to see it. Whatever.
We went back inside, and I grabbed him from behind again. He asked if I wanted to go upstairs where, he said, he could at least put some blankets and a pillow on the floor, so I followed him up, squeezing his adorable ass cheeks all the way. He told me to get naked while he got the blankets, so I did, then when he came back, I quickly took off his shirt and shorts, and I pulled him down on the blankets, wrapped my arms around him, and began to kiss him.
Like a lot of bottoms, the gymnast mostly wants to get fucked, but he's pretty good about not rushing me, and he does at least enjoy all the foreplay. So we made out for a good long time, and I worked his nipples then kissed him some more and then ran my tongue into his ear and then down across his neck and into his armpit, and then I had to jump up and go for the Diet Coke because, whoa, a LOT of anti-perspirant: dry mouth. He laughed while I got my tongue back into working order, then I pinned him down and kissed him for another few minutes, simultaneously squeezing him into a tight hug, which he also loved.
Eventually, he wormed his way free of my grasp, and I rolled on my back. I'd expected him to go for some lube and sit on me almost immediately, but it turns out that he does suck cock after all, and he started to go down on me. It even turns out that he sucks cock well, but, as you might suspect, I couldn't resist pulling his body around so that I could shove my tongue into his tight little ass.
After I'd eaten his ass for a few minutes, he really wanted to sit on my cock, but I pulled him back down so we could make out some more. I started to stroke his cock at the same time, and he began to whimper a little. I finally lay on my back again, and he straddled me. While he was lowering his ass onto my cock, he told me that what he really wanted was for me to bend him double and pound him like I had the last time. I had, of course, every intention of doing so, but I figured I'd let him ride me for a while first. I grabbed onto his hips and moved him up and down while I thrust up from beneath. Then I grabbed one nipple and twisted it and used my other hand to stroke his cock. His face contorted, and he got loud. It was just so hot watching and hearing what my cock was doing to him.
I didn't wait too long before flipping him onto his back, pushing his ankles back up towards his ears, and pounding him hard. That position really is a lot more work on the floor than it is on the bed, but you know how it is: when you're really into a hot ass, you just don't notice the discomfort until later (I was sore for two days, and I still have some scabs on one knee from the blanket/carpet burn), you just pound away. I bent him all the way so that I could kiss him while I was plowing him, and it was great for me, but it was obviously even better still for him, which was extremely gratifying, as was seeing his cum ooze out of him when I hit the prostate really hard.
We went for a long while, with occasional breaks for more making out, but I knew that I wasn't going to cum that way. I lay on my back again, for a breather, and he started to go down on me again. I pushed a couple of fingers into his ass and pressed hard on his prostate, and he whimpered more. Then we made out, and I stroked myself, getting myself almost to the point of ejaculation before allowing him to pull the trigger. I worked my fingers back inside him and continued stimulating while he jerked himself off. After he came again, he collapsed into my arms.
But he's not one to lie still for long, and pretty soon I was in the shower, then getting dressed, and then sitting back on the deck with him while he added another butt to the yard litter. We walked back through the house, and I kissed him goodbye. He said that he wasn't sure where he was going to land, so that it'd probably be a while before I saw him again, but that he'd keep in touch. I hope he does, but there really isn't much to tether him to this area.
As I drove home, I thought, again, about older, richer men with younger, poorer, sexier boys. I've known my share of guys my age and (mostly) older who have or have had boyfriends fifteen or more years younger than they, and at the risk of an overgeneralization, it only seems to work well on an extended basis when the older guy is a bottom. Otherwise, the balance of power just seems to get too far out of whack. (Don't bother complaining to me that being the top shouldn't mean having more power: a) you're preaching to the choir, and b) I don't determine the Way Things Are. I'm just calling it as I see it.) And when there isn't a balance of power, someone (i.e., the older top) almost always seems to end up abusing the power he has. Or at least I've seen that happen over and over and over again. I always end up feeling sorry for the younger guy and losing respect for the older. I'm sure there are at least two sides to every situation, but how much of a douchebag to you have to be to evict someone whom you so recently claimed to love? I could tell by listening to the gymnast that he said things that made the situation worse, but I suspect that what happened, at a fundamental level, was that someone who was used to getting his own way couldn't put up with a modicum of inconvenience to defer his own gratification for a few weeks. Sad, really.