Sunset Save

It was probably this confusion in how to react to this sexual invasion of his house and life that slowed Max's reactions and permitted desire to overwhelm him when he came out of the shower into his bedroom to find Jamie and his well-muscled black friend, Todd, standing inside the bedroom door.

"Drop the towel and show Todd how hung you are, Max," Jamie said.

To his credit, Max didn't drop the towel. To his debit, though, he permitted Jamie to walk over and pull the towel off him—and then to allow Todd to touch him, and both of the young men to suck it, and then for the young men to push him onto his back on the bed and, one after the other, to mount his hips, bury their channels on his cock, and ride him to ejaculations.

Later, after they'd dozed, Max lying between them, he took it on himself, moving in one direction and then the other, to cover the young men and fuck each of them again. This wasn't his first threesome—not by any shot. His years on the pro tennis circuit had been wild years. But it was the first time he'd had two men in his bed, fucking them both, in over thirty years.

He wasn't immune to the delight that he wasn't as far gone as he feared he was—that he could still perform.

They were all still there the next morning—the two young men in Max's bed, two young men each in the guest rooms, and another one dead drunk snoring on the living room floor, a wine stain on the Oriental carpet there.

"If you don't mind, we'll be camping out here for a few days," Jamie said. "You have such a big, empty house."

Possibly because Max was mounted on Todd's ass in the bed and doing pushups on him led him to just grunt, which Jamie took as assent and Max didn't countermand later.

* * * *

"There you are, hiding out in my back yard, in the dark. Can I bring you a beer?" Walker had seen the glow of a lighted cigarette on his back terrace from his second-floor breakfast room and had come to investigate.

"A beer would be nice," Max answered. He waited, quietly, thinking over his life, as Walker brought the beer back.

"It's been quiet over at your place for a couple of nights," Walker said, as he settled in a patio chair next to Max. "I would have thought you would have come over at the height of the partying rather than now. Did you tucker all of the youngsters out?"

"They've moved on. It helped that I didn't replenish the snack cupboard and drinks frig."

"You wanted them to move on?"

"Yes, I think so. It was fun for a few days—and informative—but we obviously weren't in the same generation. Jamie warned me early that they wouldn't be staying long. I wouldn't have panicked those last couple of days if I'd known he was serious."

"And Jamie? Are you glad he has left? Or hasn't he left?"

"Yes, he's gone. I'm grateful to him—for so many reasons—but he's too young for me. I arranged for him to be in a halfway house—and his friends too. The program there specializes in developing tennis talent. I'm embarrassed to say that I leaned on the program directors by using my background shamelessly."

"Grateful for him? And you said he and the other guys taught you something?" Walker stretched his forearm out on the arm of his chair. Almost absentmindedly—perhaps unconsciously—Max covered it with his forearm and took Walker's hand in his. A little chill went up Walker's spine. Could he hope?

"Yes, Jamie solved the question of whether I still could perform with another man as I had in my thirties and forties."

"And?"

"I can, at least for now."

"Ah, good. I could tell that that bothered you."

"It scared the hell of out me. But he also helped me see that there was just too big a divide between his generation and mine—that I was more in the mood for slow and easy. Something more sunset than sunrise. I think the colors of a sunset can be just as vibrant as those of a sunrise."

"Slow and easy is good," Walker said. "That's more for someone my age, I think. You know I went to Club One that night I invited you to go with me, and I found that crowd was too young for me. I think someone a bit older than me would be more my style. Of course it would be nice if he were hung and still could keep it up."

"You think?" Max asked. "That was a nice thing I found out with Jamie and his friends—that I still could get it up and keep it up." There was a slight pause before Max added, "You know I've been sitting here thinking about what would be the perfect age in a partner myself. A lot older than Jamie and his crowd. Maybe someone in his fifties. Of course, he'd have to be a bottom."

"Yes, that's so important, isn't it? I'd have to partner with a top myself."

"And he'd have to be a real looker."

"Yes, that would be important. A real looker like me, right?" Walker laughed at his own self-depreciating joke.

"Yes, like you," Max said, without laughing.

They went silent. Walker's sensations went to his forearm stretched out on the arm of the patio chair. Max was stroking it lightly now. Walker had gone hard from that. He wondered if maybe Max was hard too. He looked down at Max's lap. The man was in athletic shorts and even in the dim light, Walker could tell that he was erect—and hung.

"Have you ever seen how I've decorated my bedroom?" Walker asked in a quiet voice.

"Why, no, I don't think I have," Max answered.

"Would you like to see it?"

"I think I would, yes."

"Would now be a good time?"

"Perfect."