Resting a Demon

I thought I was going to be sick. His mother asked him to entertain us, to play something for us on the piano, and the pert-butt blond tossed the curl out of his face and flowed over to the piano and started to fill the room with Chopin. I'd had this kid in my craw for a good fifteen years, and all I wanted to do was to slam him to the floor and fuck the stuffing out of him. And that was when he was just a series of pictures and narratives in letters from his mother to mine. And now here he was in the flesh, Mr. Perfect. And, damn if he didn't play Chopin like a concert pianist.

His mother, Belle, and mine had gone to school together—more than that, they'd been in the same little social clique from kindergarten through high school in a very small town. Belle had been told she couldn't have any kids. And she didn't have any kids until very late in life, and then there was Jon; her pride and joy. I was the third of five my mother had birthed and was six years old when Jon was born. Mother hadn't thrown it up to Belle that she could have kids at a drop of a hat and Belle couldn't, but from the moment Jon popped out, Belle thought he was the only kid in the world and had made a career out of pushing that idea with all her friends and one upping any talent or achievement mentioned about any other kid in town. And I think she called my mother every day of her life and had a camera implanted between her tits, so she—and all of her friends—wouldn't miss any of the wonderful things Jon was doing.

We lived half a continent away from her, but every time I turned around, my mother was reporting the latest trip to the top of Everest that Jon had taken—walked and talked and pooped where he was supposed to months before any other kid. Straight As at school and first prizes in art, and baseball, and football, and archery, and swimming, and, of course, piano and violin and trumpet. Prom king and a child TV model, and he'd almost made the Olympics as a gymnast. Two years ago he'd graduated from high school (valedictorian, of course) and enlisted in the Navy, where he went off for a two-year stint and saved the world.

When I'd agreed to drive my mother for a visit with her friend, Belle, I steeled myself for Belle's litany of Jon's superlatives, but little had I known that he arrived home just a few days before our visit, finished with his naval duty, where he'd risen to officer status faster than any other known sailor, but had left the Navy because he'd been accepted at Yale for the coming semester.

I was trying my best to be polite, but I know that if Belle had noticed I was in the room at all while she was talking a mile a minute at my mom, she would have caught my sullen looks and, no doubt, compared them unfavorably with her son's perpetual perfect-teeth smile. As it was, as soon as Jon had finished at the piano, she launched into a glowing review of Jon's life with my mother and lost track of both me and Jon altogether.

This turned out to be a very good idea, because Jon came over and flashed me a very warm smile, told me I looked real hot in my jeans and sport coat, and plopped down very near me on a sofa.

"So, how did you like my rendering of Chopin?" he asked me.

"Sounded great to me," I answered. "But I admit that I'm not much of a piano expert."

"It helps to have good fingers," he said, and held up two hands showing very nice, long fingers. When he brought the hands back down, though, one went to the side of my thigh and fanned out. I felt my cock come to life, and I'm sure he noticed that, because my jeans were pretty tight—and my cock is supersized.

"But I'll bet you're more of a trumpet man," he went on to say. "I blow . . . a pretty mean trumpet too, I'm told."

Yes, that's what I'm told ad nauseam too is what I wanted to say. But, instead, I said, "So, did they let you blow the trumpet in the Navy? I mean, you didn't get out of practice, I hope."

"No I didn't get out of practice in the Navy. I got a lot of practice blowing in the Navy. But I didn't have my trumpet there. It's down in the basement, though. Would you like to see my trumpet while our mothers visit?"

By now, his hand was on my basket, tracing my cock through the tight material, so there was no chance that I was missing his meaning."

"Sure, I'd like that," I croaked.

We stood, and Jon told his mother he was taking me down in the basement to show me his naval ship models. But neither she nor my mother even seemed to hear him as engrossed as they were in their discussion.

Down the stairs we went and into some sort of rec room, with models of Navy ships lined up on shelves around the room. Jon closed and locked the door and quickly crossed the carpet to me, shedding his shirt en route. He got me into a lip lock and had me stripped down to the waist in no time flat. I had to admit that Belle was right—this kid was really good.

Really, really good, because he had one arm around me, holding me to him, and his other hand, with those long, sensuous fingers, was playing my nipples and pecs and belly as expertly as he had played Chopin.

"God, you're beautiful, man," we whispered into my neck. "I've lusted after you for years just from those pictures your mother sent."

My mother had sent pictures? I had always assumed that was a one-way street between Belle and my mom.

"But we never got a picture of this," he said with a husky voice. His hand had unbuttoned my jeans and found its way under my briefs and to my engorging cock. "Man oh man, it's huge."

"Not yet, it isn't," I responded with some sense of pride. I was fairly sure he hadn't bested me in that department, at least.

Jon's response was to quickly tongue his way down my torso, pull my jeans down to the floor, and apply his lips to tracing my cock through my briefs. There was a pool table in the center of the room, and I just leaned back on that and sighed and moaned as he pulled my briefs and jeans off and showed me what the Navy had taught him about blowing cocks, which was a lot.

When I couldn't take it anymore, I grabbed hold of his arms, pulled him up to a standing position, and folded him down to where his belly was on the pool table top. I crouched down behind him, pulled his pants and briefs down and off his legs, and went for his asshole with my tongue. It was immediately apparent that he had specialized in bottom while in the Navy, which was just fine with me. In no time, he was wet and open to me, and I had buried my cock eight inches into him and was fucking him just as hard as I had been wanting to do all these years because he and his legend had been such a pain in my ass. And he was loving it. His only complaint was that he wanted to watch me while I fucked him, so I spun him around slowly on my throbbing spit, so that his back was on the top of the pool table, and I came up on the table on my knees with my thighs under his butt cheeks and my cock still buried in his ass.

He didn't just lay there while I fucked him. I was holding his legs out with my hands, but he used his strong back muscles to move his pelvis with me, meeting me thrust for thrust. He was panting and moaning, and his gorgeous, well-muscled torso was writhing under me. He pleaded with me to fuck him deep and hard, which I needed no encouragement to do. I entertained him with a pattern of alternating short and long strokes and fast and slow rhythms that caused him to give out little yelps of delight that I was afraid could be heard upstairs. And his gasps and shudders told me that he really enjoyed it when I rotated my cock around in his hole and gave his ass passage walls some individual attention. He was working his own cock with long, sensuous fingers, and he came before I did. When I felt I was ready to cum, I pulled out of him and shot off across his stomach. He pulled me down to him, and we went into a long, sensuous kiss as our trembling bodies calmed down and cooled off.

We must have been gone for a good half hour, but when we returned to the living room, dressed once again and looking as innocent as possible, I at first thought Belle and my mother hadn't even realized we'd gone. But Belle stopped in midsentence and turned and spoke to us.

"Did you have a nice time showing Carl your models and explaining naval vessels to him, Jon, dear?"

"Yes, Mother," Jon answered contritely, "Although I found that Carl knows a whole lot about submarines—probably more than I do. He took the largest sub down there and showed me some tricks about deep diving."

"Did he?" Belle answered absentmindedly, "Quite impressive."

"Yes, it nearly took my breath away."

But Belle wasn't even listening anymore. She was back into a monologue on how a mutual friend of hers and my mother's had been putting on a lot of weight.

"Yes, well, if you're still visiting, Mother, I thought I'd take Carl up to my room and rummage through my trophy case and show him some of my game balls."

"That's nice, dear. When you come back down, we'll have some cake. I'm sure you'll be hungry then."

"So, would you like to see my balls?" Jon asked me mischievously as we mounted the stairs.

"Sure," I answered. "But I think you might be too full for cake before we come back down." And, as I followed Jon up the stairs, I put my hand through his legs and got a head start on getting the heft of his balls while he jiggled his pert butt for me. I had to admit that there were some talents Jon had that I was growing to appreciate.