The words hung in the air for what seemed an eternity.
"I want you to share my bed on my last night as a single man."
"I can't do that, Graeme" I finally said. "I love you, mate - you know that. We're mates for life and you're the best and closest friend I'll ever have, but I just don't do that stuff any more - haven't for years - and I've never broken my marriage vows. And, if you can ask a question like that, then why the hell are you marrying that poor girl tomorrow?"
"You're not the only one who doesn't do that any more" he retorted. "I've only fooled around a couple of times since we parted in Darwin that day, and I have no plans to fool around with guys OR other women once I'm married."
"So, why tonight?" I asked. "And why me? I've just met that lovely girl and her family and I've got my own family too - I don't want to betray all those people."
"I can't give you any good reasons" said Graeme. "I'm ashamed of myself for asking. I was hoping I wouldn't feel this way but, as soon as I saw you at the airport, I knew I had unfinished business. I knew I wanted to say a final goodbye to that phase of my life by being up-close with you one last time."
"Well" as I drained my glass "I'm sorry, mate. It's just not going to happen. I'm not angry with you, but I'd be bloody angry with myself if I did the wrong thing. And, now, I'm going to take a shower and get some sleep. Let's just pretend this conversation never happened. OK?"
He did not reply, just sipped at his port. I went to my bedroom to collect my toiletries bag and went to the bathroom.
Truth is, I was angry. I was seething with resentment and had fleeting thoughts of getting a hotel room and flying out first thing in the morning. The spray of hot water helped calm me somewhat and, as I soaped myself, I realised that anger is akin to passion and that I was close to being aroused by it.
Suddenly, Graeme was in the shower with me, on his knees and sucking my cock. I had locked the door to my bedroom but the shower was en-suite to both bedrooms. You might think I should have taken the moral high-ground and pushed him away in disgust, but I didn't. Our dicks have minds of their own and it's not easy to will yourself to stay soft.
Soon after, we were in Graeme's bedroom. No words had been spoken but I knew I was too weak to resist the temptation to re-visit the arse I'd fucked so long ago. We did everything - I probed his arse with my tongue, we sucked each other's cock, we embraced, we kissed - it was like time had stood still and I was with my buddy the Activities Guy again. And then I fucked him.
I fucked him with none of the gentleness and patience of former times. I was brutal - plunging in deep, then withdrawing all the way before plunging in again, forcefully and right to the hilt. And I could tell he was loving it. His arse rose rhymically to meet each thrust and he was very vocal.
"Yeah, fuck me, fuck me. Fill me with cum. Fuck me hard" was his mantra. I felt his sphincter contract tightly as he blew his wad. But I kept on going, relentlessly pounding away until, finally, I jetted spurt after spurt of cum deep within his arse.
We lay silent for a while afterwards. I wondered: "Was I so rough because I'm angry? Did I do it that way to punish him? Do I now hate myself for what just happened?"
Graeme broke the silence. "Thank you" he said.
"For what?"
"For giving me closure. I've always wanted to be with you just one more time before I marry. You once said that our last night in Darwin was like a punctuation mark, a full-stop for you. Well it wasn't for me. Now I feel the circle is truly complete.
We've been as close as any two guys can ever be. Tonight will remain in my memory as the full-stop for me. From tomorrow, I'll be Julia's alone for the rest of my life. But you will always be my first and best lover and my very last male lover, so thank you for the lovely wedding present.
And now I want to suck your dick one last time before we go to sleep." Always keen to be co-operative, I let him!
We awoke the next morning just as we had after the very first night we slept together. I was curled into Graeme's body and hard as a rock. I slipped away to shower and, when I emerged from the bathroom, breakfast was on the table and nothing needed to be said about the night before.
The wedding went well and I managed to suppress guilty thoughts by focusing on how beautiful and moving wedding vows are. I also kept reworking in my mind the speech I would be giving as the Best Man. I managed to work in just the one seemingly innocent remark which I knew could only be understood by Graeme.
After the wedding breakfast, and before Julia and Graeme set off on their honeymoon in a hail of rose petals, I spent some time talking to the mother of the bride. "Graeme has always spoken so highly of you" she said. "We're so glad you came all this way to be his best man."
I also spent time with Graeme's widowed mother. She was tearful but happy. And again it was: "Graeme has always spoken of how greatly he valued your friendship. Thank you for helping his big day to be such a happy one."
Hell, I seemed to be a hit with everyone. Graeme's little sister was being very flirtacious towards me, and I even caught one cute guy checking out my dressed-to-the left bulge! A tight cummerbund does a lot to enhance one's package. Heady with champagne and the spirit of good-will in the air, I gave him a wink!
And then the bride and groom were off. Lots of hugs and kisses all round. Graeme gave me a special bear-hug and even a quick kiss on each cheek. "Love you, mate" he whispered, and then I understood that "best man" can have several meanings perhaps. Maybe last night was all about being just that - the best man in Graeme's life, just as he had in many respects been the best person in my own life. From this day forward, like me, he would be with his best woman.
When I got home, my wife was full of questions about the wedding. She was very keen that I describe the wedding dress, what the bridesmaids wore, what the cake was like and a thousand other things that women need to know and that men just don't really notice. So I told her to wait till the photos were developed and our copy of the wedding video arrived.
It obviously didn't even occur to her to ask: "Did you have sex with him?" And it didn't cross my mind to tell her. The circle was closed. Only unnecessary hurt could result if I told her about the wedding eve. It, or anything like it, was never going to happen again. I was back in the bosom of my family and I was happy with my lot in life.
After twenty happy years together, I lost my wife to breast cancer some eight years ago, nursing her at home towards the end because that's where she wanted to be. I became a single Dad to five children aged nineteen, seventeen, fifteen, seven and three.
The two youngest ones are still at home, still in school; the other three are out in the big, wide world and have already presented me with five beautiful grandchildren - all of them blond and blue-eyed like their granddad. I may now be perceived as just another old fart - past fifty and moving into middle age, but I still view life as an adventure and each day a joy.
Incidentally, Graeme's marriage did not prosper. He is divorced, Julia has remarried and he sees his three daughters far less frequently than he'd like. He is planning to visit me soon and I'm sure we'll play some golf and some (bad) tennis with my fifteen-year-old son acting as caddy and ball-boy. I'm now single too, but I doubt I'll be persuaded to complete any more circles and I do little to encourage well-meaning friends who try to pair me off with eligible females.
On the other hand, as my daughter says, I was once a "real spunk". I've aged reasonably well - perhaps I may yet be perceived as a real spunk again!
One day, when I've gone to join my wife, my children will find all the diaries and scribblings amongst my belongings. They'll find all their first artworks, school reports, tarnished sports trophies, baby curls and even teeth. Maybe they'll just throw it all out as junk. Maybe they'll read all the poetry and the diaries. I don't mind if they do. I was a good husband. I've been a good father.
I've raised my children to be tolerant and aware that people come in all shapes and sizes and that we are, most of us, flawed in our own particular ways. I think they will see humanity in my writings and appreciate my life-long attempts to deal with others as honestly as I could. If they read what I've written, they'll see how greatly I have loved them and how greatly I loved their mother. I suspect they'll forgive me my Achilles Heel - the Activities Guy.
THE END
"I want you to share my bed on my last night as a single man."
"I can't do that, Graeme" I finally said. "I love you, mate - you know that. We're mates for life and you're the best and closest friend I'll ever have, but I just don't do that stuff any more - haven't for years - and I've never broken my marriage vows. And, if you can ask a question like that, then why the hell are you marrying that poor girl tomorrow?"
"You're not the only one who doesn't do that any more" he retorted. "I've only fooled around a couple of times since we parted in Darwin that day, and I have no plans to fool around with guys OR other women once I'm married."
"So, why tonight?" I asked. "And why me? I've just met that lovely girl and her family and I've got my own family too - I don't want to betray all those people."
"I can't give you any good reasons" said Graeme. "I'm ashamed of myself for asking. I was hoping I wouldn't feel this way but, as soon as I saw you at the airport, I knew I had unfinished business. I knew I wanted to say a final goodbye to that phase of my life by being up-close with you one last time."
"Well" as I drained my glass "I'm sorry, mate. It's just not going to happen. I'm not angry with you, but I'd be bloody angry with myself if I did the wrong thing. And, now, I'm going to take a shower and get some sleep. Let's just pretend this conversation never happened. OK?"
He did not reply, just sipped at his port. I went to my bedroom to collect my toiletries bag and went to the bathroom.
Truth is, I was angry. I was seething with resentment and had fleeting thoughts of getting a hotel room and flying out first thing in the morning. The spray of hot water helped calm me somewhat and, as I soaped myself, I realised that anger is akin to passion and that I was close to being aroused by it.
Suddenly, Graeme was in the shower with me, on his knees and sucking my cock. I had locked the door to my bedroom but the shower was en-suite to both bedrooms. You might think I should have taken the moral high-ground and pushed him away in disgust, but I didn't. Our dicks have minds of their own and it's not easy to will yourself to stay soft.
Soon after, we were in Graeme's bedroom. No words had been spoken but I knew I was too weak to resist the temptation to re-visit the arse I'd fucked so long ago. We did everything - I probed his arse with my tongue, we sucked each other's cock, we embraced, we kissed - it was like time had stood still and I was with my buddy the Activities Guy again. And then I fucked him.
I fucked him with none of the gentleness and patience of former times. I was brutal - plunging in deep, then withdrawing all the way before plunging in again, forcefully and right to the hilt. And I could tell he was loving it. His arse rose rhymically to meet each thrust and he was very vocal.
"Yeah, fuck me, fuck me. Fill me with cum. Fuck me hard" was his mantra. I felt his sphincter contract tightly as he blew his wad. But I kept on going, relentlessly pounding away until, finally, I jetted spurt after spurt of cum deep within his arse.
We lay silent for a while afterwards. I wondered: "Was I so rough because I'm angry? Did I do it that way to punish him? Do I now hate myself for what just happened?"
Graeme broke the silence. "Thank you" he said.
"For what?"
"For giving me closure. I've always wanted to be with you just one more time before I marry. You once said that our last night in Darwin was like a punctuation mark, a full-stop for you. Well it wasn't for me. Now I feel the circle is truly complete.
We've been as close as any two guys can ever be. Tonight will remain in my memory as the full-stop for me. From tomorrow, I'll be Julia's alone for the rest of my life. But you will always be my first and best lover and my very last male lover, so thank you for the lovely wedding present.
And now I want to suck your dick one last time before we go to sleep." Always keen to be co-operative, I let him!
We awoke the next morning just as we had after the very first night we slept together. I was curled into Graeme's body and hard as a rock. I slipped away to shower and, when I emerged from the bathroom, breakfast was on the table and nothing needed to be said about the night before.
The wedding went well and I managed to suppress guilty thoughts by focusing on how beautiful and moving wedding vows are. I also kept reworking in my mind the speech I would be giving as the Best Man. I managed to work in just the one seemingly innocent remark which I knew could only be understood by Graeme.
After the wedding breakfast, and before Julia and Graeme set off on their honeymoon in a hail of rose petals, I spent some time talking to the mother of the bride. "Graeme has always spoken so highly of you" she said. "We're so glad you came all this way to be his best man."
I also spent time with Graeme's widowed mother. She was tearful but happy. And again it was: "Graeme has always spoken of how greatly he valued your friendship. Thank you for helping his big day to be such a happy one."
Hell, I seemed to be a hit with everyone. Graeme's little sister was being very flirtacious towards me, and I even caught one cute guy checking out my dressed-to-the left bulge! A tight cummerbund does a lot to enhance one's package. Heady with champagne and the spirit of good-will in the air, I gave him a wink!
And then the bride and groom were off. Lots of hugs and kisses all round. Graeme gave me a special bear-hug and even a quick kiss on each cheek. "Love you, mate" he whispered, and then I understood that "best man" can have several meanings perhaps. Maybe last night was all about being just that - the best man in Graeme's life, just as he had in many respects been the best person in my own life. From this day forward, like me, he would be with his best woman.
When I got home, my wife was full of questions about the wedding. She was very keen that I describe the wedding dress, what the bridesmaids wore, what the cake was like and a thousand other things that women need to know and that men just don't really notice. So I told her to wait till the photos were developed and our copy of the wedding video arrived.
It obviously didn't even occur to her to ask: "Did you have sex with him?" And it didn't cross my mind to tell her. The circle was closed. Only unnecessary hurt could result if I told her about the wedding eve. It, or anything like it, was never going to happen again. I was back in the bosom of my family and I was happy with my lot in life.
After twenty happy years together, I lost my wife to breast cancer some eight years ago, nursing her at home towards the end because that's where she wanted to be. I became a single Dad to five children aged nineteen, seventeen, fifteen, seven and three.
The two youngest ones are still at home, still in school; the other three are out in the big, wide world and have already presented me with five beautiful grandchildren - all of them blond and blue-eyed like their granddad. I may now be perceived as just another old fart - past fifty and moving into middle age, but I still view life as an adventure and each day a joy.
Incidentally, Graeme's marriage did not prosper. He is divorced, Julia has remarried and he sees his three daughters far less frequently than he'd like. He is planning to visit me soon and I'm sure we'll play some golf and some (bad) tennis with my fifteen-year-old son acting as caddy and ball-boy. I'm now single too, but I doubt I'll be persuaded to complete any more circles and I do little to encourage well-meaning friends who try to pair me off with eligible females.
On the other hand, as my daughter says, I was once a "real spunk". I've aged reasonably well - perhaps I may yet be perceived as a real spunk again!
One day, when I've gone to join my wife, my children will find all the diaries and scribblings amongst my belongings. They'll find all their first artworks, school reports, tarnished sports trophies, baby curls and even teeth. Maybe they'll just throw it all out as junk. Maybe they'll read all the poetry and the diaries. I don't mind if they do. I was a good husband. I've been a good father.
I've raised my children to be tolerant and aware that people come in all shapes and sizes and that we are, most of us, flawed in our own particular ways. I think they will see humanity in my writings and appreciate my life-long attempts to deal with others as honestly as I could. If they read what I've written, they'll see how greatly I have loved them and how greatly I loved their mother. I suspect they'll forgive me my Achilles Heel - the Activities Guy.
THE END
