Viktor's story - part 1

Father, do you have a bucket list - you know, a list of things you want to do, experiences you want to have, places you want to go ... ?

The year I turned 40 was a transformative year for me. I didn't have a bucket list as such, but a lot of things - good things - happened for the first time, for me. I began to learn to play the classical guitar. I did some travel and I lost my virginity for the second time - I fucked a man.

It didn't begin as a New Year's resolution, rather, a few days after, I realised that this was the year I wanted/needed to make things happen. I was essentially alone in the world. My parents were dead, and my brother had no part of my life. I had friends, and, after taking stock, I realised that what I needed to do was to put together a family of my own choosing and allowing other to choose me.

I decided I would like to learn to play music, and it seemed to me that the least horrible sounds in those awkward learning stages come from a guitar. Dear God, imagine learning the bagpipes! Even at 40 I still had this fantasy about being a rock star guitarist. A faint, wispy fantasy, not a real fantasy.

I placed a card in the newsagents and at the supermarket for a guitar tutor. A number of people replied ranging from a Rod Stewart clone (complete with tartan and straw-man hair), an earnest woman in a porridge cardigan, and a West Indian gentleman who'd inhaled a great deal of sacred incense. I'd all but given up when I got a call from Viktor, a Russian émigré, and retired solicitor.

Viktor agreed to take me on as a new pupil. I liked him from our first meeting at a local café. He helped me pick out a guitar, and we scheduled the first lessons. 

Viktor's teaching method was something like ta'i chi. Very slow, methodical, accurate - then repeat until the speed came effortlessly and naturally. My fingers learned to find the strings, the fretboard; my hands learned to synchronise - best of all, the focus was just learning on how to do it right, rather than unlearn something wrong. I made a commitment to practising. Even secretly at work, "playing" the edge of the boardroom table during the endless, boring meetings. I overheard one of my assistants commenting that she could tell when a meeting had gone on too long because 'instead of drumming his fingers on the table when he's pissed off he drums them under the table...'

In a few months my efforts began to pay off. I moved from random notes and chords pulled out of the ether into recognisable tunes, and music followed. An expert would be repulsed, of course, but to me having music flow from my very own fingers was such a joy. I could see how far I'd progressed, and, happily, the road just continued onwards. Every time I mastered some tiny technique Viktor would beam, and I'd feel so proud. I could get better and better at this forever, and it'd still not be enough for me.

By the time winter rolled around my skills had improved enormously, and Viktor and I had become good friends. One of the things that took a while to dawn on me was that Viktor had only the barest trace of an accent. His accent was so good I simply didn't notice. His mother had been an English language teacher, his parents were Anglophiles, and he'd been raised on a steady diet of 'The Goon Show' and 'Hancock's Half Hour' radio shows broadcast by the BBC. He could do a terrific impersonation of Neddy Seagoon.

I turned up for my usual lesson early on Saturday afternoon. The weather was ugly, the weatherman was promising snow. I played my practise piece for Viktor, but his heart wasn't really in it. We talked and played and laughed. He was fun to be around, and the hours slipped past.

"Why don't you stay and have some dinner with me? It's very humble - beef casserole with cranberries. Should be reindeer with lingonberries, but, it's a price we have to pay for living here."

I looked out the window at the worsening weather and said, "Thank you, that'd be great."

"Good, good! Now I will get us some zakuskis and we can have a drink. I'm glad, I don't like to drink alone."

"Zakuskies?"

"Finger foods with drinks. Means you can drink more. Excuse me for a moment."

Viktor turned on his rather expensive looking stereo and the room filled guitar music.

"This is Russian guitars - they have seven strings."

He saw my arched eyebrow.

"No, really, traditional guitars had seven strings."

He lit some candles and placed them on the coffee table, smiled, and left me to get the drinks and snacks. I felt slightly anxious about what the extent of the drinking might be. It's one thing to have a pint or two, but vodka? Now that's another story entirely. An uncomfortable story from my student days and lessons learned from excessive vodka consumption.

I relaxed on the leather sofa and realised that I kind of missed Viktor when he wasn't around. I felt a bit stupid about that, he was only in the kitchen, and, what was this about anyway? Missing him. Ridiculous. I fell to musing about the nature and cause of the bulge in his pants - I'd been staring at his crotch while Viktor demonstrated playing techniques.

The door opened and Viktor returned with vodka, ice, and glasses jingling on a silver tray. He set the glasses down, and was gone again, and promptly returned with a large tray of interesting looking food.

Viktor poured the vodka and handed me a glass. I stood, and we touched glasses.

He looked me in the eye. "Good health!"

He downed the ice cold vodka, and I followed suit.

He passed me a little silver plate with slices of lemon. "Take a couple and suck the juice out."

I was thinking about tequila drinking games, and how ...

"Some pickled cucumbers..."

"Thank you," I found the contrast bite of the alcohol, acid juice, and then salty tang quite stimulating. "Is this part of the ritual?"

"Absolutely," he said, "And now salmon on the dark rye."

I nodded and smiled. It turned out zakuskis was a very delicious way to spend the afternoon.

Without delay Viktor poured a second glass, and, looking me in the eye, "To beautiful music!"

"Beautiful music indeed!"

I drained my glass, and reached for the lemon. This approach to drinking with deliberate food servings felt rather more civilised than my teenage binges. The room began to feel quite warm, and a cozy feeling was washing over me.

Viktor refilled the glasses.

"To sweet love!"

As I followed his lead I realised, admitted, call it what you will, I had fallen in love with him. I coughed and spluttered a little at the dawning realisation. The vodka burned in my mouth. Viktor looked concerned - I waved him away.

"Sorry, I was distracted. I'm fine."

I slurped lemon juice and reflected on the new world presented to me. I was helping myself to a salmon morsel when Viktor began to play a piece on his guitar. I'd never heard the piece before. It drew me in like a bee to honey. I looked at Viktor and I was suddenly moved when I really noticed his age for the first time. He seemed to be slumping - sagging - as he played, as though the weight of the guitar was too much. He finished the song, and he put the guitar aside hastily. He coughed and stood up, swaying a little as he did so.

I stood up too, reaching towards him. I noticed his eyes were brimming with tears.

"Viktor, what is it - what's wrong?"

He choked slightly.

"It's nothing." He sniffled. "It is a sad old song about a lost lover. We Russians are all about the tragedy. You people are all about the comedy. We have lost so much, great sadness comes naturally to us."

A delinquent tear edged away from the corner of his eye and glistened down his cheek.

I reached over to Viktor and hugged him. He hesitated and then hugged me back hard. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my shoulder, feel the whisk of his stubble on my skin, and smell his cologne.

I don't know what came over me, but when we released, I grabbed him again, and kissed him, on the lips.

"I'm, I'm sorry," I stuttered.

Viktor looked surprised, and then kissed me back. Slowly, deliberately.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I'm a foolish old man, it's been a very long time since anyone has touched me - held me, and I have been feeling lost today - this weather - it's enough to make a saint feel - " His voice tapered off into silence.

We pulled apart and I could see the obvious swelling in his crotch. He followed my glance, and without warning he looked down, awkward and embarrassed. I took his hand, and squeezed it. He held my grip. He looked up, sniffed, and swallowed. 

I knew we'd somehow crossed a line. I - we - could either take a subtle but bold step on a new path or - I don't know - maybe we could pretend it never happened and there'd be an unfinished business with us forever. I opted for the new path. I put my hand on Viktor's chest and gently moved him backwards, and downwards into his seat.

He opened his mouth to say something, but I pressed my finger against his lips. I knelt between his knees and I loosened his belt with a tug. Viktor took a deep breath and sighed it out slowly. I opened his pants and stroked his cock through the soft white fabric. His cock twitched, attentive to my delicate touches. Viktor's eyes were shut, I could hear him breathing through his open mouth. His lips were struck together in the corner and he licked his tongue over the dried skin.

I grabbed his belt and the top of his pants, and pulled them down. Viktor lifted up his weight so I could peel his clothes off, and I pulled his underpants down to release his fine cock and balls.

An involuntary moan fled from Viktor as I wrapped my fingers around his cock, and I took a tentative lick. I'd never held another man's cock before, and so any expertise in terms of giving a man pleasure was going to based on improvisation and guess work ... I was the 40 year old virgin but there was no going back now, and I might never get another opportunity.

I licked his cock head slowly and thoroughly. I could feel Viktor's cock throbbing and swelling each time my tongue charged the sensitive skin. He'd hold his breath whenever I licked the tip and underside edges, and I enjoyed making him squirm with pleasure. He began stroking my hair and breathing heavier.

I wrapped my fingers around his balls and stretched the skin tight, and began to lick them slowly. Viktor thrust his cock towards me, and his pre-cum jewelled up on his cock tip. I became intoxicated his fragrance - his personal signature of musky ... what was that ... vanilla, pipe tobacco, cinnamon? And something else, something almost animal that I couldn't define, but I wanted more of. I licked his balls over and over, releasing and luxuriating in the heady fragrances. He shivered when I blew on his balls, murmuring noises from deep inside him.

Viktor's legs pressed hard against my shoulders, his breathing was increasingly ragged. I took his cock head in my mouth, stroking the top along the roof, while working my tongue along the underside. I felt him begin to twitch and spasm as tried to hold back from cumming. I stretched his balls tighter and while he moaned quietly in protest, he kept thrusting into my mouth. I imagined having him trussed up and at my mercy - I'd tease him to the edge for hours, keeping him on the boil until - well - maybe, maybe not.

I pressed my thumb to separate his balls and pulled them down even more, while working my tongue faster on his cock, sucking his cock in with a grip as hard as I could mange. Viktor suddenly stiffened and I felt his cock pump, and I tasted the first flood of salty sweetness as his cum began to spill into my mouth.

Viktor flopped back on the sofa and surrendered to me. I sucked every last drop from his quivering cock as he lay back, gasping. I kissed his cock, licking him clean, holding his cock tightly to prolong his hardness.

Viktor's eyes flickered open.

"That - that was wonderful, thank you," he whispered.

We sat for a few moments, the silence only broken by the howling of the wind outside.

Viktor leaned forward and stood up, and unsteadily pulled his pants up. I caught a last glimpse of his cock before it vanished, tucked away again. He helped me on to the sofa, and, never taking his eyes off me, poured and offered me a drink.

|| >>> Viktor's story - part 2 >>>

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Viktor's story - part 2

In a way I didn't know what was happening, Father, but at the same time I know it was a deliberate act on my part, and on his. I was a mess of mixed emotions, and I wanted more of him. I felt so elated, so freed, and I wanted so much more of him.

There was a solemn silence after we stood, raised our glasses and saluted each other. I could still taste Viktor in my mouth despite the smooth burn of the vodka.

Call it virgin angst or post-blow job nervousness, or call it what you will, I wanted to know if my performance was ok. Everyone wants to believe they perform magic when they're making love, don't they? I think it's the last tiny Freudian gasp - I want to please mummy, or, in this case, please daddy. I rationalised it away thinking - well, it's the first blow job I've ever given, so, well, whatever, I can get better if I wasn't good enough.

I don't know how long we stood there, in silence, each of us lost in our thoughts. Viktor put his glass down with a clink. I looked up, feeling just a little lost.

He stepped towards me, and hugged me enthusiastically.

"Thank you, you have made me feel alive again.

I smiled, feeling a wave of shyness pass over me. Damn it, I'm 40 years old, and suddenly I feel like some goofy kid on his first date.

"So, that was ok then?"

Viktor choked and coughed, and recovered, laughing a little.

"Yes, ok, very ok," he said, "You are very kind to an old man. I hope ... we ... I hope we can do that again some time. If - if you want to, that is, of course. I don't want to pressure... "

His voice faded away. He looked down, nervous.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, "I didn't expect, at my age, anyone would ever ... you know..."

"Well," I whispered, "Someone would. Did. And would again."

Silence fell between us. I could hear him breathing. Outside the storm winds were whistling around the building. A log fell in the fire send sparks up the chimney.

Viktor sighed.

"And what for you?"

I reached over and stroked his cheek, gently scratching my finger tips on his stubble. He leaned into my hand and shut his eyes.

"I seem to remember an offer of beef and cranberries."

"Oh, God, yes, of course, dinner. And after dinner...?"

"Wouldn't Benny Hill suggest a hot sausage and a couple of kiwi fruit?"

I winked at him, and he suddenly giggled like a naughty boy. He bustled off to get the meal together. A few minutes later he was back with a glass of red wine.

"Julian Bream," he said, nodded towards a cd case, as the virtuoso's music filled the room. "I met him once, with Benjamin Britten. This is the Nocturnal Britten wrote for him. Please, make yourself at home, I need to excuse myself for a moment to freshen up before dinner. It'll be ready in about 30 minutes. Help yourself to more wine, it's in the kitchen."

I smiled and nodded.

After about 15 minutes I became a bored, and I resolved to refill my glass. I wandered into the cottage style kitchen - dinner smelled promising - found the wine and poured myself a welcome puddle. Returning to the lounge room I realised I hadn't been to a bathroom for some time, and I needed to have a pee before dinner. I'd never used the bathroom at Viktor's house, but after our afternoon intimacies - well, too late for issues of that kind.

I stepped through the door into the passageway in search of the bathroom. The floor was covered in thick Caucasian type carpets, and my footsteps were effectively silenced. I could see light coming from a room that I guessed was Viktor's bedroom. As I got closer I could hear noises coming from the room. Intrigued, I was even quieter, and I peeped through the keyhole.

I was nonplussed to see Viktor, naked, sitting on the edge of the bed, masturbating. I actually felt slightly annoyed, and jealous. If you were going to do this you could've invited me... I suddenly felt embarrassed, shy, frightened about what I'd say if I was found out. As much as I wanted to stay and watch, to join him, I didn't want to be discovered, not like this.

The phone rang. I jumped in fright. I heard Viktor give a disappointed grunt, and he answered the call. I took the opportunity to find the bathroom and then to return to the warmth and light of the lounge. I looked through his music collection for something a little more soothing than the repetitions of the Nocturnal. I went with Debussy, being particularly careful about how I handled the discs.

I was just taking a sip of wine when Viktor came in, apologising for the delay - his sister had called. He'd changed into a blue checked shirt and I noticed for the first time how his eyes were light blue around the pupil, darker blue towards the iris edges. For some reason they reminded me of the eyes of husky dogs.

We chatted and laughed over a leisurely dinner. Viktor's casserole, served with jacket potatoes, and a salad of red cabbage and beetroot with horseradish dressing, was delicious. He talked about his memories of his Russian childhood, of escaping in the depths of winter in a horse drawn sledge being pursued by some unknown militia. How they'd spent time in Norway before finally finding refuge here.

"Zaedkami?"

"I'm sorry, what?" 

Viktor chortled. "Sweet afters - dessert?"

I nodded, and Viktor presented an elegant baked apple, stuffed with fruit mince. He drizzled honey and cream over the fruit, and tucked in with gusto. 

"These are good for you," he said with a grin, "They make your blood run faster, makes your skin smooth, make you look good."

As much as I enjoyed the food and his company, I couldn't focus on much more than having sex with Viktor. It was as though the lid was finally off for me. I wanted him very much. I wanted to feel his warmth, the touch and taste of his skin. The lust for him was already making my cock uncomfortably hard, and I wasn't paying much attention to his chatty conversation.

We finished out dinner with coffee. Viktor left me in the lounge while he cleared up the dishes. When he returned we sat and talked for a few minutes and then I felt I had better go. I stood to go.

"No, I think you should stay here. You'll freeze to death waiting for buses in this snow."

He looked worried.

"Are you sure this isn't inconvenient?"

"No! I insist. Besides, you haven't had zaedkami."

"What? Not more dessert, I've eaten too much already."

"No, not that kind of dessert..."

He looked away, and I stared at the delicate skin under his ear. I had a momentary fantasy about if I was a vampire I would bite him right there, right now. Blood lust! My cock twitched appreciatively. I swallowed and permitted myself a glance at Viktor's crotch. The bulge of his cock and balls was clearly evident. The cd finished and in the deafening silence I could hear the clock ticking.

I cleared my throat. He looked back at me, flicking his eyes over the swelling in my pants before looking up to me. He took a breath as if to speak. I held my hand up to stop him. I looked him in the eye and deliberately undid the top button of my shirt. He stared, motionless. 

I undid the second button, and rubbed my fingers slowly over my chest. He swallowed and licked his lips. His eyes never left mine, he was captivated. I stood with my shirt undone.

"Now," I whispered.

He was out of his chair, and after a flicker of hesitation, he reached in and tentatively brushed his fingertips to my chest. I flinched from the shock of his touch, and saw the immediate hurt on his face. He jerked his hand away. I caught it, and pressed it back against my heart. He looked back at me, and I nodded. I reached around him, and hugged him to me, crushing his hand between us. He leaned in and rested his head on my shoulder.

"Yes?"

He nodded, his head rubbing my shoulder.

I released him a little, and I undid the buttons on his shirt, exposing his vulnerable skin to my touch. I pulled his head to me and kissed him, gently, on the lips. He suddenly pulled my to him and kissed me, and kissed me again, fiercely, holding me tightly in rush of passion.

We pulled apart and he looked at me, seemingly shocked at his emotional outburst. I stepped in and pulled his belt buckle open, and pulled his pants down a little, and then paused.  

"Yes," he said, in a determined voice.

I pulled his pants and underwear down, and he stepped out, his hardened cock swaying. I reached for his cock.

"Not here," he hissed, "Bedroom!" He hesitated. "Just a moment... "

He scampered out of the room, and returned a few minutes later. I thought I could smell - what was that - honey? 

"Please," he said, and motioned towards the hallway. I let him lead, not wanting to let him know I knew where his bedroom was or what was happening there a couple of hours ago. His bedroom smelled of honey from the bees wax candles Viktor had lit around the room. There was no other lighting save the glow from the streetlights. 

He drew me to him, and now, slowly and calmly, kissed me; stroking my shirt off me in soft, brushing strokes. He loosened my belt and eased my slacks and boxers off, his caressing hands felt so tender, so loving. He pulled back the bed covers and settled me down into their comfortable embrace, before taking up station between my legs, his shirt - loose - tickling my bare skin.

"Please?" 

I nodded. 

Viktor closed his eyes and slowly coaxed my cock to new hardness with his attentive licking and kissing. He was slow, God, the sensation as he licked my balls in waves of three - lightly, medium, and then heavier pressure was something I'd never imagined before, much less experienced. I writhed to his touches and I wanted to grab him, roll him over and fuck him hard and fast. I closed my eyes against the distraction - I wanted to hold back as long as I could to enjoy the maximum pleasure. 

He began licking around the side of my balls, under and up the middle seam and then down looping up to the other side, and then slowly working back again. I could hold back, and I started to tense up.

"No!" 

He pressed my cock tightly at the base and held me, trembling, while I fought off my orgasm. When I'd calmed down, he gently started again. He held my cock and licked me like my cock was an ice-cream. He sucked me while stretching and working the sensitive nerves to a frenzy. And whenever he felt my cock throb in response he'd hold me tight and blow on my cock gently as if to cool me off. 

I lost track of how long, or how many times he'd held me back from cumming. I was dripping with sweat, growling and moaning inside, wanting to release, but wanting the beautiful torture to continue. I began to imagine bright flashes of colour with each lick, each caress, each stroke of his lips across my skin. 

When he took me in his mouth again we both knew there would be no holding back. He circled my balls between his finger and thumb, and pulled down slowly; and licked around and around my cock head. I felt something like a coil of energy pound up my spine and I arched my back and thrust my cock into his mouth, pumping my cum into him in as wave after wave of electrified orgasm passed over me.

I flopped back in the bed, gasping for breath, and trembling as the nerves fired and re-fired along the the length of my body. I opened my eyes to see Viktor - his eyes blue and full of love - and my cum splashed around his lips.

"Thank you," he murmured, pausing to lick my cum off his lips, "Thank you for being here with me and sharing my bed with you."

I sat up and pulled his shirt off him.

"Come here, Russian bear. Take your glasses off and let me hold you."

We snuggled together under the blankets, kissing and cuddling.

Outside the snow stopped, but we didn't notice.

<<< Viktor's story - part 1 <<< |

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