Sailing Away

Nisan 25, 2024 Yazar admin 0

Babes

It all began at my eighteenth birthday party. My parents just would not believe that I was through with all that juvenile ‘birthday’ stuff, so I had to endure one more embarrassing round of phoney smiles and worthless gifts from all my parents’ family and friends. I am, I have learned since, a fairly attractive guy. Short, about 5’7″ and slim but not too skinny, blond, with sparkling blue eyes and a captivating smile that makes me look even younger than I am.

My situation was somewhat unique. I had been going to college for over two years on a special program for ‘gifted’ individuals. That was fine and I loved it, but I had no friends and no social life. (Well, being a book nerd, I never did have much of a social life.) I had not come out to family and friends, even though I was fairly certain I was gay. Having never had real sex, there was no way I could know for certain. I did know that I loved the sight of a good hard man and a good hard dick. But then, pictures of sex acts and naked women in mags like Hustler, really turned me on too, so confusion sort of reigned in my life. Technically I was still a virgin, not counting fooling around with a couple friends in boy scout tents. (Mutual masturbation and one quick taste of cum.)

Well, anyway, as I was saying. It was my birthday. A lame party. Family. Friends. One of my mom’s friends had put together a jazz quartet to play. It was unfamiliar sounds, but I was drawn to the dissonant quality which seemed to fit my life. It was getting late, close to midnight and things were winding down. Dad, of course, was passed out on a chair somewhere, probably pissing himself. Mom had long-since retired for the night. I was hanging out near where the band was set up, loitering and taking in the melodious sounds. Earlier I had noticed the sax player, He was tall, maybe six four and big, but not heavy, perhaps 200 pounds. He was firmly muscled in all the right places, but not the bulging weightlifter kind. I watched his deep brown eyes, his lips caressing the reed of his instrument, the dark shock of hair that danced around his forehead as he closed his eyes investing his entire being in the music. There was a touch of gray at his temples that made it hard to judge his age, but I was going with forty. It surprised me that I was attracted to a man so ‘old’, but there was something about him, something about the languid, self-assured way he moved his body, and about the way he filled his worn jeans.

I had noticed earlier that he was checking me out, or at least that is what I thought. I was way too shy to approach him, so I merely watched. I began to fantasize about those sensitive hands touching me, those lips. . .

The song, a jazzed up version of Sweet Home Chicago, ended on a long trill and the band began to put up their instruments. The saxophonist looked my way and caught me staring at him. To my extreme embarrassment, he ambled toward me. I felt like running away, but that would have been even more ridiculous. I was frozen in place. “Hi,” he said, his voice deep and resonant, “I am Lance. Lance Armstrong. You must be the birthday boy.”

“Yeah, uh, er Neal, uh er Scott.”

Lance put out his hand as if to shake. Mine was trembling as I put it in his. His hands were fine and elegant, like those of piano player, yet firm and masculine. Did his touch linger just a bit too long? Or was it wishful thinking? “I really love your playing. I never was much into jazz, but then I

never much heard any either. I like the, uh, I don’t know what to call it. Dissonance is the word I used in my mind.”

Lance laughed softly. “You are right. Anyone who knows music will tell you that dissonance, and that is exactly the right word, is the heart and soul of jazz. Listen, Neal, can I buy you a drink?”

“Well, I , er that is, I don’t drink much and, er, oh hell, I am not old enough to drink.”

“Well, Neal, How old are you?”

“I am eighteen today.”

“Come,” Lance said simply, gesturing with his hand, and I did not hesitate. He parked us at a corner table near the fireplace and went to the bar. He returned with two glasses of amber liquid on ice, which I learned on inquiry was called B&B.

We sat and sipped and talked. Lance, I learned was only 34. He said he was an executive with an important corporation, but was independently wealthy. He had three main passions in life, he told me: jazz, sailing, and romance.

I shared with him my love and expertise with literature, especially nineteenth century literature, explaining that I hoped to become a university professor and consultant to libraries.

“Isn’t that a dying thing, he wanted to know? Books, you know aren’t they becoming obsolete?”

“Not if I can help it! Part of what I do is to insure that truly great books are preserved electronically, so that even if there is no market for them right now, even if no one is reading them right now, they will be there for future generations to enjoy and learn from. You see,” I told çekmeköy escort him. “I am kind of a computer geek, too. I helped develop the software that can read a book and convert it to digital form. Otherwise some geek would have to encode the whole book, letter by letter.”

“I heard that you are in your third year at the university, and now you tell me you are only eighteen. You must be a kind of genius, then.”

“A ‘protege’ is what they always say, but sometimes I get sick of it. The demands to produce, to excel, are severe, and well, even with the scholarships, I never have any money. Sometimes I wish I had a job at a car wash or something, like a normal kid.”

‘Well if you ask me, you are anything but normal. Believe me, you don’t want to be normal. That would be a big step backward for you.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“So when do you have to go back to school?”

“Not for another two weeks.”

“Neal, I just thought of something. How would you like to go sailing?”

“Sailing?”

“Yeah, listen, down at the marina I have a sloop, a thirty-two footer. I’m here to tell you, once you’ve been. . . out. . . there, clipping along at a good pace, climbing the waves with the spray breaking over your face, mastering the wind and the sky and the sea. I’m telling ya. There’s nothing like it. Nothing!” His face glowed with the fervor of a lover. I was really getting into this man.

“But I don’t know anything about sailing. I am not athletic or anything. Why? Why would you ask me? Can I ask you a very personal question?”

“Sure Neal, in fact, I will promise you right now that I will always tell you the truth if you ask me anything.”

“Are you, uh… er… uh..you know,”

“Gay?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Well Neal, I have made love in my time to both men and women and I am not sure I could tell you which I prefer. Each is a totally separate thing, whole and complete unto itself. And each and every person with whom I have made love, is a unique and precious individual. Are you?”

“You mean unique and precious?”

Laughing loudly, “No I already know that. I meant Are you Gay?”

I was blushing so heavily that I could feel heat at the roots of my hair as I tried to describe the ambiguity of my current orientation. I was already telling this man more, opening more than I had ever opened myself to anyone. Dare I tell him that I was yet a virgin? “Uh, I don’t know,” I finally murmured.

“You don’t know if you are gay? How can that be?”

“Well, if you’re gonna be like that,” I accused, jumping up and beginning to move away.

He grabbed my arm at the elbow, preventing my escape.

“Wait, wait! Don’t go! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I wasn’t making fun. It really was an honest question.”

I looked down at him, suffused with confusion and shame. Those eyes caught mine. Dark and deep, almost black. Like deep pits one could fall into and never return. “Stay! Please?”

“Uh, er, uh, Okay,” I stammered, sitting, nearly falling back into my chair. Trying to look away. Finally looking down.

“You needn’t ever be afraid or ashamed to tell me anything. You can trust me completely. Do

you believe me? Neal. Look at me. Do you believe me?” As he asked for my total trust, he had placed his hand on my naked forearm. The fine blond hairs stood up on my arms and on the back of my neck at the electricity of his touch. No one’s touch had ever affected me in such a way. Who was this strange and compelling man who, ‘made love to men and women’, and asked for my total trust at our first meeting? I can’t say, even now, what force drove me to surrender that trust, but I decided to do so. Whatever happened later, it was at that single moment I decided inside my deepest self I would always say yes to this man, I would throw myself into whatever he brought my way. “I don’t know if I am gay because I am the opposite of you. I have never made love to anyone. I find myself attracted to boys sometimes, but I am turned on by pictures, uh, you know, er, uh, of women, like in magazines and stuff. But with my strange life, not being in regular school with kids my age, I never had a chance to be with anyone.” I felt immeasurably sad at this declaration, though I had never viewed myself that way before. Was I a total loser?

“Neal,” Lance had said, “For god’s sake, don’t be ashamed of being a virgin. That’s certainly not anything to be ashamed of. And as for the confusion, I remember it well when I was the same age as you. Perhaps you will never know your true self. Perhaps you will be on a life-long quest to discover yourself, as I am, as perhaps we all are. Maybe you are like me. I call myself ambisexual, but I hate putting labels and limitations on people, especially on myself. I am what I am and I like what I am. Some day I hope you can make that statement about yourself, too, though I sense you are not yet there.” As he spoke he moved his hand from my forearm to cevizli escort my hand, so we were effectively holding hands across the table. Somehow that did not seem to matter, that I was holding hands with a man. Somehow it felt comfortable and natural to feel the warmth of his touch.

We talked for a time that night. I will ever mark it as the night I became a man. That I had turned eighteen was incidental. That I had met a man who treated me as a man, that was significant!

He left me that night with his business card. On the back he had written the address of the marina where his yacht was moored and an invitation to sail with him on Sunday.

That night I slept little. My mind, my heart was filled with inchoate images of his eyes and his firm body, that errant curl in the middle of is forehead. My little dick was hard most f the night, but I did not, for some reason, resort to my usual relief of a quick 2 or 3 minute jack off. Perhaps I though this encounter rated more than that. The next day, as I went about my business, I felt a strange and liberated sense of myself. I no longer looked on my mother and father in the same way. My parent’s house seemed smaller than it had the day before, their conversation meaningless. I seemed astonished and in awe of the life that roiled around me. Had things always been so bright, so alive? I felt strangely confident with myself as I had never been before. Through it all, I mulled continuously about the invitation. Did I really trust this man I had never met before? Would I actually commit myself to being alone with him on the open ocean, trapped on a small boat? What would he expect of me? More importantly what did I or didn’t I expect of him? One thing was certain, I was going sailing.

My party had been on Monday night, our sail was to be on Sunday. In the five days that intervened, I went about in a daze. My sister and my parents could scarcely communicate without shaking me out of my reveries. All sorts of images, physical and sexual, played through my mind. If I went, put my trust in Lance, would he seduce me, hmm maybe? That would imply at least a degree of compliance. Rape me and toss my body into the sea? I didn’t think so. Or would we merely have a pleasant day sailing on the sea? That he was literally twice my age, oddly mattered not at all to me. Was he like a pedophile, bent on corrupting the young? Why had he chosen me? Doubts filled me. But exhilaration hung on me throughout the week. I felt as if I were about to embark on a glorious adventure, a quest to find Neal. Somehow deep in me I knew that if I took this sail, it would be a voyage of discovery, from which I never would return to the safe shores of my present circumstances.

By Saturday I had resolved to trust, to take the plunge, to seize the day and take whatever came my way. In a sense I was trusting and confident that whatever happened on the sail, the voyage, I would be better, richer, more myself from having taken that voyage, sailed down that road not taken.

At nine A.M. the next day I found myself at the midfield Yacht Club. I was meeting an important and rich man, so I had worn my best pink Van Heusen dress shirt, black slacks, a tweed sports coat and highly shined dress shoes. I hadn’t known that there would be security, but I presented Lance’s card to the security guard who opened the gate and directed me to the “Knot 4 Sale”, Lance’s vessel. It was so big it looked like a ship to me, but the biggest boat I had ever been on was a canoe. I stood there on the dock for several minutes. I am sure that I looked like the greenhorn I was, mouth agape as if to catch minnows, until lance strode up behind me and touched me gently on the shoulder. Even so, I nearly jumped into the harbor.

It was like meeting some secret agent or movie star. He was so good looking, so self assured and strong. Any second I expected him to say, “Bond, James Bond”.

Laughing, Lance took my hand in both of his. “Welcome. Welcome Neal to my humble skiff. Let me have a look at you. Hmm. This will not do. This will not do at all. My fault, my fault entirely. I should have instructed you on how to dress at sea. Hmm. Neal. Would you allow me to buy you a few things, to dress you for safety and comfort on our little excursion?”

“What’s wrong with the way I am dressed?”

“Don’t be embarrassed. As I said, I should have told you. But those clothes, attractive as you are in them, as nicely as you fill those slacks out, they are just not going to be right for sailing. And those shoes. Dress leather shoes? I will be constantly plucking you from the ocean.”

“Er, uh, what did you have in mind? I don’t have much money and I wouldn’t feel right, your paying for my clothes. It would be kind of strange and awkward, you dressing me. I have been buying my own clothes for a long time.”

“Listen, Neal, you said you would trust me, right? It would give me true pleasure to outfit you in suitable clothes for sailing. It would erenköy escort be a sort of adventure for me. Like having a son or lover. And, listen, money is nothing. I have been very fortunate and have more than I could ever use in five lifetimes. Another thing. If I outfit you for sailing, if you let me, it would be like your saying that you swill come again, because you’ll already have the clothes. See, you are really helping me. Won’t you please let me do this for you? No, not for you, for me, as a favor. Please. Otherwise we would have to cancel, or I would have to take you home to change.”

After all that pleading I could scarce refuse. In a moment he was on his cell and a few minutes later, a gleaming pearl gray Jaguar F-Type was pulled up to the gate.

“Hop in, don’t be shy.”

“Wow, I’m impressed.”

“Maybe I’ll buy you one,” laughing loudly.

“Now just wait a minute!”

“Just teasing, Lance said, still laughing lightly. You like it?”

“Man oh Man!”

“Yup, that’s my baby,” he chuckled, running through the gears, pulling smoothly into traffic.

At the store, he had chosen Abercrombies, we were treated like royalty. Lance waved his hand and a salesperson appeared. Lance spoke with him for a moment and he returned with some items. I tried them all on. For a few moments I was afraid he would have me model the clothes for him, but he didn’t. I had half suspected he would follow me into or sit in the dressing room and ogle me, but he did none of those things, he merely guided me to the proper choices. In the end I was dressed in fine fashion for sailing, White cotton shorts, a white polo, a soft wool blend sweater, knotted by its arms around my neck, and white cotton socks in Gill deck shoes. He wouldn’t let me see the bill.

“Hmm, one more thing, I think,” Lance said, taking me lightly by the arm and guiding me to a rack of designer sun glasses. Again I felt that odd sensation as his hands touched my naked arm, not an electric shock like static electricity, but more of a flowing energy that spread from the touched spot through my body. These were the first items I had seen in the store with a price on them. The cheapest pair were $125. Lance gestured for me to pick. Finally, I got into the spirit and went through about twenty pair ’til I chose a pair I thought were perfect. I caught my reflection on the way out and thought I looked like one of those people I had always envied. But I had to admit, I looked attractive, even to me.

Back in the Jag, lance glanced over at me and grinned. “Not that you weren’t attractive before, but, now you are really looking delicious!”

Odd choice of words I thought, was he about to eat me. My ears reddened and my scalp got hot. I tried to regain my aplomb. “Well, thank you. And thanks for all this, too,” I said gesturing to the new clothes.

“No sweat, buddy.” I found the more we were together, the more often he would call me ‘buddy’. Back at the marina, he left his car running, tossed the keys to a valet, and we went through his club to the dock, avoiding the gate and guard. I could not believe the size and luxury of his ‘little’ sloop. He guided me on board then pointed. “Stand there by that davit, would you? When I yell from the bow toss the line ashore, okay?”

“Okay, can do.”

After a minute his voice came from up front. “Cast off, buddy!”

That done, he came to me and guided me, one hand lightly on the small of my back. “This,” he instructed, “is the cockpit.” I could not quite tell if there was a touch of humor in his voice as he

pronounced the name of the place from which the boat is steered. He sat behind the wheel, bade me sit next to him and fired up the engines with a roar. He began to guide us out of the channel, he standing as he manned the helm and I sitting beside him. My face was on a level with his crotch, only about one foot away and I could not help but notice that he filled out the front of his white shorts quite nicely. My own equipment stirred slightly and I silently cursed at ‘the monster’ to behave, As we passed the huge water crib marking the end of the channel, he made an adjustment in direction, then sat and slid over, taking one of my hands and putting it on the helm. “Here, you take over,” Lance said, natural as can be.

“Uh. . . er. . . Wait a second. I . . . er. . . I can’t drive a boat. I don’t know what I am doing. I’ll wreck us!”

“Neal, take it easy. You see anything out here to run into? Just put your hands on the wheel and, see that? That is the compass. Right now it says our course is 105 just keep your hands on the helm, that’s sailing talk for the steering wheel, and try to keep the needle pointing to 105. Got it? I am going below to get us some snacks and drinks, I’ll be back in a few minutes, remember, one zero five.” And with that meager lesson, he left me and went below.

He was gone probably no longer than ten minutes, but in that time I learned that the mistake I most often made was over-steering, for in the light breeze and minor swells, and at slow speeds, it took very little effort to keep the large vessel on course. Standing there with the wind ruffling my flowing blond hair, I felt very urbane and sophisticated, and a little powerful.

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