The first time I had young Mr Wagner's ass, we were alone in the high Canadian Rockies.
It started after Jeannie died on the moon.
I was hurting so bad. So I went north, I went home. And he came too. I invited him.
I'm not sure what I thought I was doing, but he sure as hell knew what he had in mind; he was the one who brought lube and rubbers. No innocent little virgin, my Elf.
Didn't need rubbers, mutant healing factor hath its privilege, one of which was being able to ride that beautiful body bareback.
He met Mac and Heather, closest thing I had to family, he found out my name; I think even Kurt draws the line at screwing people he doesn't know the name of, though, given some of his pretty princesses, maybe not. We had a run in with the Wendigo, then it was just the pair of us, a rental truck and the midnight sun.
I laid out the bedrolls, next to each other, threw a unzipped sleeping bag over both of them, out under the stars, it was warm enough and we just lay there, drinking beer from the cooler, watching the stars and the occasional meteorite streak across the sky. There was too much light to really get the Milky Way, land of the midnight sun and all that.
Eventually I got tired of his chatter and reached across and kissed him. Which shut him up, momentarily.
I was playing it very careful; he was all of twenty? Just a kid. I was a hard, dangerous old man, he really didn't know what he was getting into.
I didn't want him to feel pressured, uncomfortable, for all those women he went chasing after, I'd never seen him get interested a guy. But he was interested in me, I could smell it on him sometimes, after a workout or a training session.
I could smell it then, the musk of arousal, his lips opened and I laid him down on the sleeping bag and his mouth was wet and sweet and, for a while, I forgot all the reasons that this was a bad idea and lost myself in the eager confidence of youth.
When we came up for air, he was flushed and breathless, which might have had something to do with my hand on his denim clad crotch.
He was the strangest, most captivating thing I'd ever clapped eyes on. Still is.
He tilted his head, aware I'd stopped to just look at him. How many pretty girls had been with him just so they could 'fuck the freak'? Too many. I've never been good with words but I could show him that he could trust me. I moved my attention to his collar bone, breathing in the scent of him.
"Stop thinking." I stripped off my shirt and helped him out of his, using the action to move my mouth across his chest, he was built like a dancer, thinner back then, but the strength in those long lean limbs was considerable. He twisted me round and I let him, I was twice his weight but I didn't want to scare him off.
He looked down at me and ran his hands over my pecs, I was a lot more man than he was used to in those adolescent fumblings with other kids in the dark. There was an edge of daring, as though he was touching a tiger and wasn't sure he was going to survive the experience.
"I won't hurt you."
He paused, bared his fangs and bit my shoulder. Little shit.
I taught him quite a lot over the next couple of nights.
I taught him to trust me, that I really wouldn't hurt him in the sack. Taught him to tell me what felt good, what he enjoyed, what he didn't. He realised that he didn't like being pinned down for long, I was the first person he'd been with strong enough to really immobilise him and he panicked a bit, so I showed him how to break free from someone doing that to him. That particular move needed some explaining to Chuck in a later training session, I can tell you. I taught him how sensitive the base of his tail is, where it leaves his spine and curves out in a graceful arc, okay, I'm pretty sure he'd already figured that one out, but I showed him how much fun it was when someone else touched him there.
I taught him where his prostrate was, what it felt like to have a finger up his ass when someone was giving him head. None of your pretty girls had done that to you, had they, bright boy?
And he taught me; I realised that I'd never actually made love with a guy before. Sex? Sure, sometimes a damn good fuck, sometimes just down and dirty, a hand job in a foxhole, a blowjob in a seedy motel. But this was different, mutual, relaxed.
There was laughter too. Giggles even. From him, not me, obviously.
And on the third night I fucked him. Gently, on his side with me behind him and he relaxed and let me, tail coiled around my upper thigh, trembling every so slightly with excitement and arousal. So very young.
It would have been nice to say that we curled up together in the afterglow and lay there watching the Northern Lights dance across the sky... but I'd used half a bottle of lube prepping him and we were both sticky and a damn mess. So I threw him in the lake, which, even in summer was cold. He whipped his tail round my ankle and made sure I joined him; he absolutely hates being cold and wet. So do I. Brat.
Friends with benefits, nothing more, a casual bit of fun. No ties, no commitments.
Ha, ha, ha, yeah right.