CHAPTER FOUR
When they got back to the house, Carver tucked himself away in a hall bathroom so he could redownload Grindr and look for someone nearby who could give him a prostate orgasm, because he was liable to keep acting nuts until he got one.
After some scrolling he found a promising-looking gentleman who was advertising himself as a hung silver fox.
He was the same age as Carver’s father, which wasn’t ideal, but his pictures showed that he was in good shape and indeed hung.
Plus, he was nearby — he had a room for the weekend at the Marriott in Bitterfeld’s town center.
Carver messaged him that he was interested and asked for a face photo. Silver Fox sent one, proving that he was handsome for an old guy.
What do you want twink, Silver Fox said.
just need to get fucked out of my mind, Carver said.
Absolutely, said Silver Fox. Come on down pretty boy, I will give you the fuck of your life.
Carver nodded to himself in the bathroom mirror, then typed to Silver Fox, meet you there in 30
When he stepped out of the bathroom, Lillian was walking by, carrying a crudité plate.
“Hey,” Carver said, and she stopped. “I’m gonna, uh, drive up to the Equinox in Mamaroneck for a workout. I need a cold plunge, sauna, something.”
Lillian nodded, offering him the plate. He took a slice of bell pepper. “Can I come with?”
“Noo, thanks,” Carver demurred. “I need to — alone. I need to lock in and just… you know.”
“For your psychological problems?”
“Yyyyyes.”
Lillian shrugged. “Okay. Watch out in the sauna with that lightheaded stuff. Don’t crack your head open.”
“Good point.”
“That would fuck up this wedding for sure.”
Carver laughed. Lillian walked away down the hall, and he hurried in the opposite direction for the front door, away from the sound of conversation and laughter in the sun room at the back of the house.
He shut the front door behind him, then walked at a normal pace to the Maybach, waving to his parents’ across-the-street neighbor Mr. Jeffries who was out trimming his hedges.
The tall chestnut oaks and American elms that lined his parents’ leafy street and the neighborhoods that encircled theirs steadily gave away to shorter maples and hawthorns as he rolled toward the town’s center.
The houses, schools, tennis courts and waterfront restaurants gave way to row after row of tiny businesses that were draped in fairy lights and packed in cheek-by-jowl: bagel shops and upscale hair salons and gardening supply stores.
The Marriott stood on a corner, tall and proud, boasting an atrium conference center for anyone who felt the need to conduct business an hour’s drive outside of Manhattan.
Carver found a two-hour spot out front, fed the meter with his credit card, and went in.
“I’m meeting someone upstairs,” he told the (gay?) guy at the front desk, handing over his ID. “Room 414. My name’s Carver? I don’t know if he —”
The guy held up a finger as he checked his computer. “Yup,” he said, and handed him a keycard. “Enjoy.”
Carver thought, with paranoia, that the “enjoy” sounded too knowing. “Yeah,” he said with some bass in his voice, then headed for the elevator.
Outside the door of 414 he briefly had second thoughts — he didn’t love fucking strangers, it was at times quite awkward — but his hand rose and knocked without his input, and then Silver Fox opened the door, looking to Carver’s relief exactly like his photos.
“Hey there,” Silver Fox said, smiling and stepping back to let him in. He was wearing only a hotel robe.
It was a nice suite, large and spacious. The lights were dimmed and a few candles were burning on surfaces throughout. Silver Fox offered him a cocktail glass with two fingers of whiskey in it, and Carver took this and downed it, then began to strip.
“Okay,” Silver Fox said, laughing.
“What?” Carver said, tossing his button-up on the floor and undoing the fly of his pants. “I’m just catching up with you.”
“No, I don’t care, I just didn’t even get a word out of you first.”
“Okay, a word. Hello. Let’s fuck.”
The silver fox went over to the bed, then undid the robe and dropped it to the floor.
Carver’s gaze went to his dick, which was actually bigger than it had looked in photos.
In fact, it looked bigger than he wanted it to.
He was going to put that inside his body?
No, actually. Maybe not. Definitely not.
Silver Fox read his expression. “I’m a grower,” he said with obvious pride. “I was jerking off to your photos before you got here.”
“You’re soft in those photos?”
“Well, it’s a semi. This is the full monty.”
“Holy shit. You use Viagra, or something?”
“That’s actually kind of a rude question to ask someone my age,” said Silver Fox, but he was still smiling.
His close-cropped beard made him resemble a sort of handsome gay Santa — a Miami Santa.
“Boy, you’re a fine little piece of ass, aren’t you?
Let me see the 360.” He spun his finger in the air.
Carver obediently turned in a full circle for him. Now they were getting into the good stuff. He just had to figure out how to politely tell this guy that he only wanted a fingerbanging, so to keep that sea monster away from him and out of his delicate orifices.
Silver Fox whistled at him. “You look like… Hmm. Sort of like if a young Tom Cruise was a strung-out Russian prostitute.”
“Fantastic. I’m thirty-six, to be clear.”
“That’s young enough.”
“Doesn’t feel like it.”
“That’s a nice Rolex, is it a Yacht-Master?”
“Day-Date in platinum.”
Silver Fox nodded in approval. “How much did that run you?”
“About seventy grand.” Carver gestured down his body with a flourish, then put his hands on his hips. “You planning on fucking me or robbing me?”
Silver Fox laughed. “The former,” he said, and patted the bed beside him.
Carver approached, and once he was close enough, Silver Fox reached out and hooked a finger in his briefs to pull them down and off him.
Carver’s semi sprung free. Silver Fox inspected it, then reached up to clasp his hand around the base and give him a rough stroke.
A throb of pleasure made Carver’s knees weaken.
He knelt onto the bed and fell across it, bare ass in the air.
The silver fox bent over him, letting out one of those older-guy groans, which turned Carver off a little.
He knew he had daddy issues, but they weren’t the kind of daddy issues that made him want to fuck guys his dad’s age.
The appeal of guys his dad’s age was just that they knew what they were doing.
Silver Fox proved him right about this a second later when he gave Carver’s ass a brief squeeze before teasing his fingers over his hole, then pressing them into his taint and starting to rub the sensitive muscles there.
Carver’s prostate throbbed in response, and he let out a groan. Silver Fox chuckled and gave his balls a light squeeze before returning to the massage. Carver went pliant and began to melt into the bed.
“Finger me,” he slurred after a while, once he’d started drooling and humping the mattress.
“You cleaned out?”
“Yes,” he snapped, even though he wasn’t and was just making an educated guess that there were no bullets in the chamber.
Silver Fox went away and came back. He shoved an open bottle of poppers in Carver’s face for him to sniff, then uncapped a bottle of lube and started warming some between his hands. Carver lay there, throbbing internally and externally, his mind wonderfully blank.
“You a pillow princess, or just a sissy?” Silver Fox said, teasing his asshole with his fingers again.
“Ghhh,” Carver said. “A sissy.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah… I fuck the shit out of my wife.” Twice a year, usually while drunk.
“Oh, wife, huh? I saw the wedding band, but I thought you’d be married to a guy.”
Two fingers entered Carver simultaneously.
He gripped the sheets, feeling like he was going over a cliff in a rickshaw.
The burning pressure subsided when the fingers found the sweet tenderness of his prostate, and he relaxed again and let out a whimper.
The silver fox grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back so he could scrape a bearded kiss up Carver’s throat.
“Why,” Carver gasped, closing his eyes against a tide of pleasure.
“Why what?”
“Why a guy…”
“Oh, I don’t know. You’re young, it’s been legal for a while.”
“Only four years… that was in 2015…”
“Okay, still. You grew up in a different world.”
Carver did not respond. He was now beside himself, writhing and moaning, as he got when anyone rubbed his prostate.
Even the few times Lillian had done it, he’d gotten completely beside himself, to the point of turning her off.
It was too much, she said — she liked him truly passive, not yowling hysterically and clawing at her like a cat with a urinary infection.
Her idea of a good fuck was riding him in cowgirl while he lay there sighing her name.
Silver Fox pushed a third finger in, stretching him wider than felt comfortable at this juncture, but the increased pressure on his prostate was more than welcome.
Carver was drooling again. He thought for a few deluded moments that he could maybe handle the sea monster, and began to ride his fingers to encourage the idea, but then Silver Fox went away while saying, “I’ll put a condom on,” and he felt a surge of panic.
This guy wanted to run him through with a sword!
“Uh,” he said, lifting his head from the bed with difficulty, swaying and blinking. “Maybe not.”
“Maybe not what,” Silver Fox said from the bathroom.
“Let’s wait and see on that.”
Silver Fox came to the bathroom doorway with a sleeve of Trojan Magnums in his hand. “Did you or did you not say you wanted to get fucked out of your mind?”
“Yeah,” Carver admitted. “I’m bad at knowing what I want.”
“Seriously?”
“Okay, to be completely honest, your dick is huge.”