Tantric Teng

"I miss you too. But I'm glad the children are having fun at the beach."

I looked at Richard where he was leaning against the kitchen counter, turned away from me. He was still naked, trim and muscular for a man of thirty-five who indulged himself in everything—and could afford to do so. That everything included a gym and a good personal trainer, though.

He'd come from the shower with a towel around his waist, but that had dropped to the kitchen floor while he was talking with his wife. He didn't seem the least bit embarrassed that had happened, nor should he have been, I guess, other than he was talking to his wife on the telephone—in front of his boy toy. We'd both been naked on my bed, me writhing under him as he tried hard to fuck me, before he'd taken his shower.

But there was embarrassment there. He wouldn't look at me while he talked to his wife, who had taken their children to her parent's house in the Hamptons for the month of July.

His eggs were getting cold, but I'd be damned if I'd cook up another batch for him because he was on his cell phone, talking to his wife. Clarissa hadn't called him. He'd called her, no doubt just to be sure she was still in the Hamptons and so that she wouldn't call him on their home phone before he left for work and wonder why he didn't answer there.

When he rang off, he came over and sat at the table in the bow window overlooking the Baltimore Inner Harbor from my apartment at the Promenade at Harbor East. He left the towel on the carpet back by the kitchen counter. This was a choice one-bedroom apartment and I couldn't afford the rent, but Richard paid half of it. He sat, without embarrassment, with his thighs spread and his manhood tipping over the front of the chair—just like Richard Hineman owned the place. And just like he owned me as well. I guess both were true, even though the arrangement wasn't working smoothly yet. I had to give him credit for trying to make it work, though.

He still wouldn't look at me while he ate, although, just wearing sleeping shorts, I knew I looked good to him—ten years his junior and with the look of a model, which I'd first been when I came to work for his men's clothing firm. I had a desk job there now, but I still modeled for his catalog—and laid on my back and opened my legs to him—not yet as successfully as either of us wished, though.

We'd tried again last night, taking advantage of the absence of Clarissa and his children, with him staying the whole night and fucking me three times. He'd managed to get off all three times, but it had been an effort and I know he wasn't fully satisfied. I know he'd been looking forward to an all nighter without worrying about where his wife and kids were and not being available for Clarissa's possessive beck and call. I know he also was looking forward to me being comfortable enough to open entirely to him, to let him sink all the way into me and pump me deep. He wasn't that big that I shouldn't be able to take more than four inches of him.

All of our encounters before that had been furtive and rushed. I know he had thought that I wasn't melting to him because of that, and I had thought that too, but last night I had frozen in the act as much as ever before, and he'd had to take his pleasure with me tensed up and gripped with pain and him not being able to get it in to the hilt. He was hung but not overly so. But he was the first man I'd let screw me, and I just wasn't loosening up, even though I wanted to.

God knows I wanted to enjoy it. He was my boss and I was his toy. And he was good looking and in good shape. He was going to fuck me if he wanted to and I wanted to keep my cushy job and lifestyle, but I wanted him to enjoy it and I wanted to enjoy it too. And it seemed so important to him to put it all in me.

I didn't want to think it was his fault—there was no question that he didn't want to think it was his fault—but it wasn't like I was an expert in this. I just felt that, maybe if he spent more time preparing me rather than forcing it in and starting to pump as soon as I'd sucked it hard, with him going hard quickly . . .

He finished his eggs, mumbling something that passed as thanks for fixing him breakfast, and went back into the bedroom to dress. I'd shower after he left. He didn't want us to arrive at the office at the same time. He didn't want there to be any talk of the two of us. In fact, he went overboard in flirting with the office women to avoid any suspicion that he was spiking—or trying to—one of his male employees. That must be working, because every time I'd seen him with his wife, she was watching him like a hawk when he was interacting with another woman. She didn't show such suspicion when he and I were talking.

I heard him on the cell phone again in the bedroom, and when he came out, elegantly dressed as the CEO of a men's clothing empire would need to be, he looked at me for the first time since I'd gone rigid when he'd forced himself in me the previous night and just lay there, groaning as he worked his way to an ejaculation without much response from me—and without getting more than maybe three inches in me before I started closing down. Each time I'd taken considerable time jacking myself off after he'd come and withdrawn from me, stretched out beside me, smoking a cigarette, and staring at the ceiling. Sometimes watching me jack off heated him up again and he made another run at me—never with enough success to fully satisfy him, though.

"I want to meet you for lunch at a Chinese restaurant near the corner of South Broadway on Eastern Avenue, Marco," he said. "The Jade Garden. It's just a hole in the wall. Meet me at 1:00 and check out of the office for the rest of the afternoon. I have you booked for a photo shoot over at Fort McHenry, but there isn't really one. I'll supposedly be at a meeting in Washington. I want you to be there, at the restaurant, though. That'll give us the time to do what we need to do."

The time to do what, I wondered. But Richard wasn't a man you quizzed about anything he didn't freely tell you. God knows he was keeping secrets even from his wife.

He was giving me a piercing look of command, just as he'd done that night we'd both worked late and I gave him a blow job that he said was memorable. He clearly enjoyed dominating and I didn't think I'd mind being submissive. I just hadn't been able to get comfortable with it yet. And I needed to. I enjoyed the lifestyle this apartment gave me and the free clothes I got from working for Richard—and I even found Richard sexy. It just wasn't clicking with him yet.

It was the first time I'd been with a man all the way and it was the first time that he had tried a relationship with a man. All of his lays before that had been casual, with rent-boys, and he was clear about wanting something deeper, more mutually satisfying, with me. I was grateful that he was trying with me. I didn't know what the problem was—whether it was me, him, or us. It wasn't our bodies. We were both in superb shape and we both went hard just from seeing the other one naked. He was of solid Nordic stock and my family on both sides had been Brazilian. We fit together in theory like Yin and Yang, both in size, him being large boned and light skinned, and me being smaller, delicate-boned, and darker.

Another surprise for me was that I had had no idea that Richard liked Chinese food. He seemed much more the straightforward steak and fries man. I wasn't much for Chinese either, sticking pretty close to citric salads to keep in trim. The camera put on weight; it didn't take it off.

* * * *

Richard was just pushing his food around on his plate. I was doing about the same, although I did take a bite or two from time to time. It was OK—I mean the food was OK. Richard was stewing about something, I could tell. But he hadn't spoken much. He certainly hadn't told me why we were having lunch here.

"Anyone show any suspicion why you were leaving early?" he asked.

"No, not that I saw. I wasn't looking for it, though. You provided a perfectly plausible explanation for both of us," I said. "Why are we here, Rich?" I added.

"It'll be OK, baby," was the only cryptic response to that. I hadn't really expected an answer. I just wanted some said to pop the bubble of tension in the booth. "Excuse me a few minutes. I'll be back," he said, and then he slid out of the booth, spoke briefly to a waitress, and then went through a doorway at the back of the restaurant that was covered by a beaded curtain. Off to the can, I thought, and took a few more bites of food. He was gone a good ten minutes, more like fifteen, and when he returned, he was followed by a Chinese man of about forty who was quite handsome and hard bodied. He wore a tight T-shirt that showed him to be muscular and well-developed, particularly for his age. My eyes, as they tended to do ever since I knew I was interested in men, went to the bulge at his crotch. The material there was stretched tight over something quite impressive.

Richard slid back into the booth across from me, and the Chinese man slid in next to me, causing me to move more toward the wall. His thigh was against mine and his bicep pressed into mine. He felt hard as a rock, and I found him arousing. Getting aroused by a man wasn't a problem I had—not even imagining myself lying under a man. My brain was certainly filled with thoughts of lying under this man.

"Your friend here says you two are having difficulty in your sexual relationship," the man said, turning a concerned smile to me. His voice was soft, a rich baritone. My forearm was on the table and he took my hand in his and wove our fingers together. My thoughts of him inside me had been so real that I made no effort to pull my hand away from this intimacy. Still the first thing that had come out of his mouth was so baldly sexual that I was off balance.

"Excuse me? I'm not sure—" I'm sure my voice sounded strained. What was going on here? Still, I found the man disturbingly arousing.

"This is Eddie Teng, baby," Richard said, breaking into my expression of confusion and concern. "He owns this restaurant, but he also is a counselor in tantric sex—gay tantric sex. I called him this morning about your discomfort and tensing up when I fuck you—and not letting me in. He was recommended to me at the gym."

"You've been talking about my sexual problems at the gym?" I asked, nearly swallowing my words. Teng's hand gripped mine strongly as if to tell me that he understood and to remain calm. Richard certainly didn't seem to understand. And what he said next didn't make it any better.

"Mr. Teng uses massage—he calls it tantric massage—and he's a surrogate sex partner. I understand he can calm you down for sex and help you to open to it."

"Can he now?" I said, looking down at the table top, thoroughly embarrassed and angry, but not wanting to show it. I had too much riding on a relationship with Richard to fly off the handle. But, shit, I didn't think this was all my problem. The Chinese hunk was rubbing his thigh against mine, and I was warming to him more than I'd done with Richard yet and we were just sitting next to each other. "Do you mean he's going to fuck me?"

"If you and your partner wish, I'm going to work you through the stages of becoming one with the cosmos in a mutually fulfilling Yin and Yang relationship," Teng answered for Richard in a soothing voice and with a reassuring smile. "I understand that you, Marco, are the Yin of the pair—the female essence—and Richard here is the Yang, the male dominator. If you wish me to I will guide you two—both of you"—and here he moved his hand under the table and grasped the top of my thigh. I understood that he was conveying to me the understanding that this wasn't just my problem, that the instruction would be for both of us, and I melted to the man—"through the phases of getting the most pleasure you can—both of you—from Karezza."

"Karezza?" I asked.

"Yes, that is the tantric term for prolonged arousal and fulfillment. I will teach you both how to master Karezza to embrace the natural energies of your bodies—you, Marco, being prepared in your Kundalini, your receiving channel, to take and give pleasure to Richard's Lingam—his staff of the Yang. It is the path for you to become one with the other."

"The problem is that I can't get it all in. He won't open completely to me. I want him to take it all, not to clinch on me," Richard interjected, with an edge of exasperation.

"Yes, yes, we will work on that," Teng said, the tone of his voice soothing.

"You will fuck me?" I asked, looking only at Teng.

"Yes, he will fuck you if it will help you open up and let me get the fuck from you that I want," Richard said, breaking in again, obviously impatient.

Teng responded as if Richard hadn't said anything. "I will take you on a long path before that, but yes, I will be Yang to your Yin as a surrogate for your lover. I will fully possess your Kundalini with my Lingam, helping you to take the full length and thickness of it, as your partner wishes you to be able to do with his Lingam, and I will do so while ensuring your pleasure. And if you are receptive—open to the experience—I will help both of you marshal your mutual sexual energy to maximize your ability to reach spiritual growth and healing together through the merging of your bodies. We will strive for Karezza—you with me first before you with your partner, if that is necessary. And I can see that you both have very fine bodies. I am confident that I can bring you to tantric Nirvana—to the plateau of sexual paradise—and that you can achieve it with each other."

I was close to coming just from his explanation of the services he was offering and from his lack of embarrassment in graphically, if flowery, talking of the most intimate act. But he was taking it beyond talk.

He took my hand and moved it to his crotch. He was huge. More important, he was hard. He was signaling to me that I aroused him and that he would go through this tantric business with me with pleasure. I already was panting. I didn't know if I swallowed any of this tantric gobbledygook that he was selling, but just hearing him talk about it aroused me. Having him touch me aroused me. What he was doing now—moving my hand, with his, to my own crotch, revealing to him that I was hard too—was bringing me close to hyperventilating. Richard hadn't brought me to this stage. Still, it was Richard I wanted to have the relationship with, not this Chinese guy.

Or so I was telling myself. I had to admit that my interests were tipping in that direction, though.

Teng leaned in and whispered in my ear, "I will teach your partner to seduce you as I am doing with you now. I am seducing you, aren't I?"

"Yes," I whispered. I wondered whether Richard had any inkling how much farther we'd gone beyond talk, with each of us getting the measure of the other with our hands below the surface of the table. Teng obviously was conveying to me that he understood that I needed attention that I wasn't getting from Richard.

"You would be ready for me to cover and fully possess you now, wouldn't you, if you had walked into my restaurant alone and sat with me here? You would be open to me—to all of me—as your lover wishes your Kundalini to be fully open to his Lingam, don't you believe?"

"Yes," I murmured.

"Good. You must believe it for it to transpire. You aren't nearly as open to it yet as you could be under my instruction. I will teach Richard to bring you to this point too—and beyond. To heaven—to tantric sexual Nirvana. Is that what you want?"

"Yes." I looked up at Richard. I could tell from his expression that he very much wanted to try this out. But I also knew that he still thought it was all my problem.

"When would we do this?" I asked.

"Now. My tantric method studio is here, at the back of the restaurant. Your partner has already engaged me for a full release session. All that awaits is your acquiescence. I believe you are ready. Tell me that you are ready."

"Yes, I am ready."

* * * *

The room Teng took us to behind the restaurant was like it was in another world. It was all stucco walls and arches and a pool with a burbling fountain and the ripple of its waters reflecting off the ceiling, silken pillows and wall hangings. He had us recline on a divan covered with pillows and look through a portfolio of beautiful men fucking younger men. Somehow he'd managed to pull together photos where the similarities between the men and Richard and me were striking. There were a couple of photos that included a Chinese man and the sexual positions and evident size of the man's cock aroused me in particular—and chills went up my spine when I realized that the man was Teng. He told us to arouse each other as he prepared the massage table, and Richard and I kissed and fondled each other as we'd never taken time to do before. I must admit that some of my thoughts went to Teng. They weren't all about Richard.

Already I was learning what had been missing in our lovemaking and I could only hope that Richard was learning it too. The foreplay was all important.

Teng had me strip—or rather had Richard strip me, taking as much time as he could to do so and, at Teng's instruction, to run his hands over my body as he did so. Then I was bid to do the same to Richard and Richard was told to stand by and watch as Teng gave me a massage with warm oil.

OK, I thought, this was just going to be like any massage. But, of course, it wasn't. Teng had sensual hands and he worked every muscle of my body—except the essential one, although I ached for him to stroke that and I got hard and throbbing before he was finished.

But he wasn't finished.

"Now for the Lingam," he said, by which I knew I now was going to get the attention for the cock that I was aching for. I looked over to Richard to make sure he was taking this in. He needed this, I realized, more than I did, but neither I nor Teng could directly tell him so. I sensed that Teng knew what the real problem here was. He was trying to teach Richard the importance of the foreplay, the preparation.

"You have a very nice Lingam. Do you ever give as well as receive?"

"I have never . . . given . . . no," I mumbled.

"Pity. I both give and receive." He let that possibility sear through my mind before moving on. "I will concentrate on the center now," Teng said. "I will open the Kundalini, although you may not realize it is happening until I could possess you with my whole fist if I wished or you begged for it."

That certainly brought a moan out of me. I heard Richard moan as well.

"You are to work with me in lingering just short of the release for as long as possible, but when it, at last, cannot be denied, release without embarrassment. We will continue until you have. And there will be more releases."

That latter comment was as arousing to me as anything else he was saying. The thought of achieving multiple ejaculations in this session . . .

With that, he positioned me on my back, a pillow under my neck and another one, covered with a towel, under the small of my back. "I will set you in the position you are to remain in," he said. He spread my thighs slightly apart, with my knees bent and my feet flat on the surface of the massage table. Then he dribbled me with oil and resumed massaging my body with a sensual touch, working his way up my body, starting with my feet, then my calf muscles, thighs, abdomen, chest, shoulders, and moving to behind me and working my neck muscles and my temples. He was naked now, and he let his long, thick cock nestle within the crook of my neck as he worked my temples.

"If you have the urge to take my Lingam into your mouth, do so," he murmured. He had told me that, as a surrogate sex partner and an illustration for Richard, I would be taking his cock in my mouth, he would be taking mine, and, ultimately, he would be fucking me—although even now he referred to it as fully possessing my Kundalini with his Lingam—"to the root," he added, for Richard's benefit and looking reassuringly at him. "But you are not to be concerned with any sexual urge you have in this session," he said. "Nothing is beyond acceptability here if it brings pleasure. Even if you should wish to sheath both your partner and me together. That would be the height of sexual Nirvana. We could achieve that."