What I'm about to tell you may shock you.  But then again it might titillate you. If Clay and I had gotten together six months before our parents got married or even the night before, it probably wouldn’t, but it also wouldn't be nearly as interesting. 

Dad and Clay’s mom met at the Senior Citizen Center where they went regularly to play cards or bingo or whatever else they did. Neither Clay (whom I didn’t know existed) nor I knew what they were planning. It had all been settled before we were told. Mom died eight years ago and Dad had been alone since then. Clay’s mother had been a widow for longer. Clay and I had moved in with our parents for the same reason: because we didn’t think they should be living alone at their age.

Clay and his mom lived in a great rent controlled apartment that she had had for twenty years, but Dad had this big house, too big really. There’s the master bedroom on the first floor, which is so big it’s almost a suite. It has a fireplace with a seating area, a large walk-in closet, and a master bath. Upstairs there are four bedrooms: Grandma’s before she died, my older sister’s, who died of meningitis when I was eight, the unused guest room which is now full of those things you will never use but you don’t want to throw away, and mine.

My sister’s room is frozen in time, left just as she left it, as a memorial. Clay and his mom moved in and Clay took Grandma’s room and threw out all the frou-frou and do-dads, stripping it down to the basics of a monk’s cell.

Clay and I are almost the same age. I’m two months from my twenty-seventh birthday, and Clay turned twenty-eight last month. He got married straight out of high school, divorced three years ago and has two little kids he sees regularly. After meeting we soon discovered we had many of the same interest. We have both run the half-marathon, love cross-country skiing, and kickboxing. We are fans of the Lakers and the Chargers. We like cool jazz and can’t stand rap. We don’t smoke and both drink bourbon. And we both enjoy a good laugh.

The Saturday after the wedding Clay suggested we go out on the town to clear our heads of all the wedding hoopla we had gone through. It had grown into a big affair and we were relieved it was over. We were in a nice jazz club that didn’t try to gouge you, having a quiet conversation.

We’d been there for about three hours when clay said, “Ty, I don’t know the correct way to ask you this, so I’m just going to ask it. Are you gay?”

I answered the question with a question. “What gave me away?”

He shrugged. “It was just a couple of remarks you made over the past several days. Now I don’t even remember what they were, but they put the thought in my head and I just took it from there.”

I looked at him. “Does that change anything?”

He smiled. “No, not really. I guess I should have told you this first, but when I was about sixteen a kid about the same age moved in our building for a year. His folks were going through a nasty divorce and he came to stay with his grandparents until things were settled. We hit it off and after a couple of months, he invited me to a sleepover. Long story short, he gave me a blowjob that night, and many times after for the rest of the time he was there.”

I had been looking at him the whole time he was talking. “And that was it? No follow ups?”

He shook his head. “No, never did it again.”

I didn’t know what to add, so I just let it lie there. We went on to talking about other things.

We left the bar before closing time and headed home.

Clay was driving, and after several minutes of silence he said, “Back to my original question, are you actively gay?”

I drew back and frowned. “What do you mean ‘actively’? I’m not dead for God’s sake.”

He laughed. “I just meant do you make out?”

“Not as much as I’d like to,” I said.

There was a beat, and then, “Would you like to make out with me?” he asked.

I was dumbfounded. “Are you propositioning me?”

He said, “No. Well, yeah, I guess I am.”

I think this would be as good place as any to say I found Clay very attractive but had not imagined anything with him since I hadn’t imagined anything could ever happen with him. He was the straight son of the woman my father had married, that was all. I didn’t say anything and by that time we were home.

I went in my bedroom and proceeded to follow my fussy bedtime routine. I stripped down to my boxers, went into the bathroom and power brushed my teeth, scrubbed my face with defoliating face wash, put on moisturizer and pissed. When I walked back into my bedroom Clay was standing there naked with his rather large semi-erect cock in his hand.

I stopped cold and he smiled and asked, “Are we going to do this or not? You didn’t give me an answer before.”

I hadn’t moved. “Clay, are you sure about this?”

He looked down at his cock.

I unsnapped my boxers and let them fall, stepped out of them, walked to the bed, sat down and said, “Come here.”

Clay walked over to the bed, I imagine not being certain what to expect. I took him by the hips and pulled him close, lifted his half hard cock and forced all of into my mouth. I swear he let out a groan. It took only a matter of seconds for it to get fully hard. I sucked on it, moving my head back and forth.

He said, “Jesus, I’d forgotten how good that could feel.”

He pushed me back, letting me know to lie back on the bed. At the same time, he pulled his cock out of my mouth and climbed over me, so that he could lie next to me. I got up on my knees and between his and went back to sucking. He gently held my head, letting me do all the work. Sometimes I’d do something, or make a move that would make him laugh. I licked it and he raised his head and watched my tongue and lips going up and down the length of his long cock.

I pulled off and rolled over on my back and said, “Come here. Fuck my mouth.”

He practically bounced up and knelt over me. I took his cock and kissed it several times and then pressed it on my face. He got the message and rubbed it from side to side. I then opened my mouth and he stuck it in and began fucking. I had to put my hand on his stomach to hold him back so I wouldn’t choke. He realized the problem and fucked my face more easily.

After several minutes he paused, looked down at me and asked, “Ty, do you get fucked?”

I nodded my head the best I could.

“Can I fuck you?”

Again the nod.

He said, “Sorry,” and got off me.

I had condoms in the night table drawer, got one out, opened it and rolled it down over his cock.

He kind of looked at me quizzically. “I told you I’m sexually active. Besides, I might want to suck it more after.”

He just said, “Oh.”

I thought it better to start doggy style. Straight guys seem to like it like that, maybe because it’s more impersonal. I got on my hands and knees with my ass pointed at him. He spread my cheeks and I waited. I looked back at him and I swear he was studying my asshole. I hoped he was admiring it.

He then put his cock against it, stopped and asked, “It won’t hurt you?”

How nice to be asked. I told him, “Not if you go slow. I can handle it.”

He pushed, and then a little harder and it went in. I told him to keep going and he pushed until he was completely in. I’m a little embarrassed to say it didn’t hurt, but boy did it feel good. It was fat enough so I was filled and happy. He fucked me for several minutes, making little sounds of satisfaction.

I had to ask, “Do you like it?”

He laughed. “Are you serious? My God, your ass is hotter and tighter than Janice’s pussy.”

Janice was his ex. After several minutes he paused and asked, “Ty, do you like this position?”

I told him not really. He told me to lie down and spread my legs.

He reinserted his cock and fucked me seriously. For a while he’d lie on my back and fuck with a rocking motion, then he’d rise up with his hands on my waist and pound hard and fast making sounds I don’t know how to write. He’d lie back down and do a stirring motion, breathing hard on the back of my neck.

He asked, “Do you like it?” and I could only grunt a yes.

If I asked him he’d say, “Fuck yes.”

Twice he said, “God Ty, I love fucking your ass.”

You have to understand this wasn’t a romantic affair. This was two guys having a good time having sex.

Clay was getting tired and lay quiet for a couple of minutes and let his cock slip out of my ass. He got off the bed and stood at the side. I rolled over on my back and he grabbed my legs and turned me so I was lying across the bed. He then pulled me to the edge of the bed, lifted my legs and lined his cock up with my used but still willing asshole. He pushed his cock back in and again began fucking, this time with full control and going deep.

After five minutes of this, he leaned forward until his face was just inches from mine. I wondered if he was going to kiss me, but he didn’t. He continued to fuck hard and fast until he collapsed on top of me and shot off, his cock jerking with each shot. Each time he shot I clenched my ass tight to milk every drop.

When he finished coming he pulled out and pulled off the condom. I sat up and took the condom from his hand. I emptied it on my cock and started jacking off. He stood where he was, watching me. He was still hard and I pulled him closer and went back to sucking his cock while I jacked off. When I came I shot off all over my stomach. I fell back and we both started laughing. He moved over and lay back down beside me.

We both alternated between panting, laughing and saying things like, “Wow.”

Clay rose up on one elbow and looked at me. “Well, step brother, I guess we’ve entered a new phase of our relationship because we’re going to do this again, a lot, I can assure you.”

I didn’t say no.