Bottle Store Boy
Being a 61 year old bachelor (formerly married to a wonderful woman who deserved a straight husband, not a gay best friend!) I was used to eating take-out. It wasn’t a matter of whether I would be eating food prepared in a nearby establishment, but rather which establishment it would be from.
Today it was going to be local Chinese. They did cheap combos of chips, chicken nuggets, dumplings and so on as well as the normal Chinese fare like sweet and sour and foo yong etc. After I went into the Chinese to order, I popped into the bottle store next door, for a bottle of wine to ease me into the evening. Coming out as gay didn’t solve all my problems: I may now have the freedom to fuck men whenever I wanted to, but fucking didn’t solve my intimacy issues.
The bottle store in question was one of my favourites and for good reason. The guys behind the counter were all cute, friendly Indian boys. They knew that I liked boys because I wasn’t scared to say so. Being an old bloke gave me permission to be a lot more up-front than I might have been when I was younger. I wasn’t likely to get beaten up so easily, and also, straight men are incurably vain about being attractive, no matter how much they protest otherwise. I had told at least two of them that I thought they were cute.
I am very partial to Indian boys. Several of my fuckbuddies were around 28 and Indian. When I came out, I thought that my sex life would die. I assumed that I would be doomed to having sex with old white guys, because that is what I am, although I don’t look my age.
I couldn’t have been more wrong if I tried. I lived about 800m away from the local University, and it turns out that many, and I mean many of the 19-28-year-old guys who live in accommodations close by, liked being fucked by daddies. I didn’t start out thinking of myself as a "daddy” but once I got used to the idea that this turned that age group on, I was quite prepared to buy into the concept. And “daddy” didn’t have to imply “sugar daddy,” although some did try that trick. They assumed that because you were old, you could afford to pay for sex, and would at least be prepared to because you couldn’t get it from a younger guy otherwise.
They too, couldn’t be more wrong. So I was enjoying sex with younger guys from as young as 18, because that was the age that you were legally allowed to be on Grindr, which was where I found most of the guys who wanted me to lick their arses, suck their dicks, and fuck them silly.
Anyway, back to the story.
I went into the bottle store and got my wine, and had a flirty chat with the Indian boy, Gunik, who manned the counter. They were used to being leered at by me, and I suppose I was breaking many a workplace sexual harassment regulation with my (apparently not unwelcome) attention. As I turned to walk out I spotted a boy I had not seen before. He was cute in a nondescript kind of way, Indian and also about 28, I would estimate.
I paid him no mind and exited and went next door to retrieve my Chinese takeout. They weren’t done yet, so I stood around since all the available chairs and the bench along the wall were more or less occupied.
I wasn’t there long when the Bottle Store Boy walked in the door.
“Hi there,” he said. At first I thought there must be some mistake, since we had never spoken before. “How are you?” he continued.
“I’m fine thanks,” I answered, thinking he was probably also waiting for takeout, and just making friendly conversation while he did so.
He continued to look at me.
“Have we met before?” I thought I might as well make sure, since old age and forgetful senility often went hand in hand.
Him: "I thought maybe I knew you from before," he confirmed.
Me: "I'm sorry I don't recognise you."
Him: "No it's ok. Are you good?"
Me: "Yes thanks and you?"
I didn't mind that we had covered this territory before. I was beginning to get interested because I suspected there was potential here.
“Do you work next door?” I asked
“No, they are my friends. I sometimes help them.”
Just then my takeout was ready and I collected it and prepared to walk out.
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
He followed me out.
“You too,” he answered,
I decided to try my luck.
“Will you give me your number?”
“Sure,” he said and I took out my phone. I typed his number in the text field and sent him a message with my name.
“There you go,” I said. “Text me if you feel like it.”
“Sure, I will.”
“Sure you will…” I thought and prepared to hear from him never.
Not so.
I was on my way home when I received his reply.
“Hello my name is Rod. I met you at the Bottle Store. I gave you my number.”
Yes, I was there, I remember!
“Nice to meet you Rod. What can I do for you?”
“No, I’m just saying hi…”
That’s nice I wonder where this is leading?
“It’s nice to hear from you. You should come and visit me at my house.”
“Where do you live?”
I’m not falling for that trick!
“I’ll tell you when you come!”
“OK I will text you.”
I’m hoping so…
That was the end of it for that day. I did not hear from him for quite a few days and I forgot that he even existed. Then one night at 12 midnight I received a text message.
“Hello.”
Fuck this, who is texting me at this time of the night? Surprise, surprise, it was “Rod”
“Hello Rod. It’s late, what can I do for you?”
I was hoping that I could do for him big time up his bum. I’m not normally this friendly so late in the night, but who knows where this could lead?
“I’m just in town with my friends.”
And why should I care? Anyway maybe there’s potential here so let me be nice.
“Oh really? What are you doing?”
“Drinking.”
What a shocker.
“Nice.” Yep, just the kind of conversation that I would like to be involved in at this time of the night. Not!
I decided to play along.
“What are you going to do after?”
“What’s your address?”
“Why?”
“I should come visit you.“
“It’s a bit late.“
Long silence.
I was just falling asleep when another text came through.
“What’s your address?”
“Are you done drinking now?”
“Waiting for Uber.”
“Why do you want to come here?”
“What’s your address??”
This was going nowhere.
“What do you want to do here?”
“Anything”
NOW we are starting to get somewhere.
“What do you mean, anything?”
I had to be sure.
“Address.”
I decided to go for it. I sent him my location.
“10min”
He wasn’t lying. 10 minutes later…
“Which house are you?”
I went outside in my jocks and there he was. I beckoned him to come towards me. The Uber drove off and it was just me and Rod.
He followed me into my house. It was clear he was a little under the weather from the red eyes. But for the first time I noticed he had really pretty puffy lips. I led him to my lounge.
“Where’s your bed?”
He obviously had other plans.
“This way,” I advised and he followed me. He had his hands in the pockets of his trendy bomber jacket. He obviously had good taste. He had a hoodie on underneath and had that over his head. I gestured towards my bed. He sat down and leaned back against my pillows. His hands were still in his pockets. He was clearly nervous.
“What do you wanna do now?”
He shrugged.
I decided to take the bull by the horn, so to speak. I stepped towards him. His nervous eyes followed me. He swallowed. I put my hand on his crotch. He was rock hard. Bingo!
I fondled his substantial “Rod” through his designer jeans. His red eyes looked at me impassively, waiting to see what I would do next.
I pulled his shirt up out of his jeans and revealed his furry brown tummy. My god how I love an Indian boy’s belly button. I rubbed my hand over the slightly soft brown, furry skin above his belt. He was still looking at me, his hands still in his pockets. He said nothing to stop me.
I put my hand on his belt buckle and started to undo it, looking him straight in the eye. I raised my eyebrows inquiringly but he still just looked. Fuck this, time to dive in. I undid the button on his jeans and unzipped him. He was wearing white Kelvin Klein underpants, with blue piping. His cock made an obscene print upwards and to the right and his balls filled the pristine white pouch of his clearly very clean underpants beautifully. A cherry red tip peeked out of the distinctive KK elastic. It was encased in a beautiful, supple-looking foreskin that exposed about 1.5cm of the plump head, glistening with precum. Yum for later.
I knelt on the floor between his legs which were partially hanging down the side of my bed. His expressionless eyes just took it all in.
I stuck my nose under his crotch and sniffed. Clean. Nice. I traced the outline of his dick with my hand which confirmed what I thought: thick and rock hard. His nuts rolled around enticingly in the fresh-smelling pouch. A good size, just begging to be fondled. They lolled around each other as my nose nudged up against them, making a further inch of his clearly beautiful Indian boycock slide up out of his dripping foreskin.
Although his white undies with his dripping cherry coloured cock head, framed by his unzipped designer jeans was a sight to see from this angle, especially with his impassive, drunk eyes gazing down at me from where he lounged against my pillows, I wanted more. I put my hands under his ass and felt for the edge of the jeans. He just continued to look at me, impassive as I started to pull his jeans down. Then he surprised me by lifting his ass off the bed so I had better access.