Max, sitting on a bench—his bench—in Forsyth Park, barely noticed the young man with the tennis racket under his arm pass the first time. On the second pass, he did notice him, especially because the young man—looking a bit scruffy for tennis but otherwise quite good looking, slim and with a sultry look, a lock of hair flopping over into his eyes—paused and gave Max a scrutinizing look. On the third pass, Max watched the young man approach and stop, and stand in front of him.

“Excuse me, but aren’t you Max Ackerman? The tennis player?” the young man asked.

“You recognize me?” Max asked. The young man—maybe twenty, maybe not quite—was a real looker, but both his cutoff jeans and his T-shirt were the worse for wear. He was wearing scuffed-up tennis shoes, but no socks.

“Yeah, I heard you lived somewhere around here. I play pick-up tennis on the courts at the southern end of the park when I can. We talk about you there.”

“You talk about me?”

“Yeah. You’re gay, aren’t you? We are too—the guys who meet for tennis. We heard you had a younger guy living with you here—and that you were quite a rake when you were playing tennis. Sort of an open secret. Like the male Martina Navratilova or Billy Jean King.”

“Which dates me, doesn’t it?” Max said, with a little laugh.

“Hey, you look great to me,” the young man. “Can I sit with you a bit? I mean, you’re not expecting anyone, are you? The younger guy you’re living with?”

“No, the bench is a public one. Sit, by all means, if you want. And there’s no waiting for my partner. He died—some time ago, actually. His name was Neal. Do you have a name, young man?”

“You can call me Jamie. I’m sorry about your partner.”

“That’s OK. I guess news travels slow in Savannah.”

“So, you waitin’ for someone else? You got someone else?”

“No, I’m not waiting for anyone else. You must play a rough game of tennis with these friends of yours,” Max said, wanting to change the subject. “You look like you’ve gotten the worst part of a rough game.”

“Yeah, well, these are my good clothes. I guess you can say that I don’t just play tennis at the park’s public courts. I live in the park too.”

“I’m sorry I said that,” Max said. “So, you’re homeless and live in the park?”

“Yeah, I do. It’s OK. I make do. I get some help. I have some regular guys who keep me going.”

“Regular guys?”

“Yeah, it’s how I heard that you like men. That’s what I do to get by. I take care of the needs of men. They pay me for sex. I probably shouldn’t say that in public, but you bein’ gay yourself and all . . .”

“I see. So, stopping by this bench . . .”

“Yeah, I thought maybe we could do a deal. It’s suppertime, and I heard—”

“You thought I might pay for your supper in exchange for a blow job?”

“Yeah. Like this bench, you know, is a favorite place for . . . you know.”

“Yes, I know,” Max said, thinking about the first time he’d hooked up with Neal. Neal had given him a blow job over in those bushes over there. He’d taken Neal home then and never let him go again. “I’m afraid I’m a bit too old for all of that now.”

“You don’t look too old to me. But, if you’re not interested . . .” Jamie started to rise.

“I’m a bit lonely this evening—interests aside,” Max said. “Tell you what. Since you still are playing tennis despite the difficulty of your living arrangements and remember an old tennis player like me, I’d be happy to take you to dinner for the conversation, no strings attached.”

“I wouldn’t mind the strings attached,” Jamie said, “with you.”

“Let’s just say dinner, shall we?”

“If you don’t want it. But just whistle if you do. You look fine to me. It would be a gas to do a tennis legend.”

Rain was threatening, so Max took Jamie to a small restaurant nearby rather than into the historical area of town. They had a pleasant hour of eating and chatting, with Max discovering that Jamie was, indeed, well versed in both the playing and history of tennis. It was sprinkling when they exited the restaurant.

“I enjoyed it, Jamie,” Max said. “I guess I needed company this evening and I’ve enjoyed talking with you about tennis.”

“Thanks for dinner,” Jamie answered. “And if you want, I’ll come home with you and you can fuck me.”

“It’s tempting, Jamie. But I’m an old man and beyond that, I think.”

“You think or you know?” Jamie asked. “It isn’t just the dinner. I like older men and you turn me on. It would be OK, if you’re worried, if, you know, you couldn’t perform to the end. I do old guys; I’d help you along.”

“I don’t think I want to know the answer whether I could perform to the end, Jamie. But thanks, you’ve made me feel twenty years younger—and if I was twenty years younger, I’d still be twice your age. Thanks again for the company.” And, with that, Max launched himself into the falling raindrops and hurried back to his house.

The rain picked up and had become a deluge when, while locking up before going to bed, dressed in his sleeping shorts and a silk robe, Max found Jamie huddled in the shelter of his front porch.

“Jamie,” he said, turning on the porch light, and opening the door. “What are you doing there.”

“There’s nowhere in the park to shelter from rain like this,” Jamie said, “and they’ve put up a metal fence closing off the church porch I usually go to. Please, just let me sleep here until the rain stops. This isn’t the first time I’ve slept here. You just haven’t noticed.”

The “you just haven’t noticed” stung Max, especially now that he’d met the young man. How often had he seen him and just looked through him? “No. Come on in. I have plenty of bedrooms. There’s no reason for you to have to sleep out here.”

“OK, thanks. And if you want to—”

“Just come in out of the rain until it stops,” Max said.

Max woke to a thunderclap and a flash of light at the windows of the master bedroom. That may not have been what woke him up, though. He was on his back, his legs spread, and Jamie was lying between his legs, holding Max’s cock up with a fist wrapped around the base, and Jamie had his mouth on Max’s cock, sucking his cock head. Max had no idea how long this had been going on before he came fully awake, but he was in erection and was holding Jamie’s head between his hands.

He was with a young man and he was maintaining an erection.

“Ummm, ummm,” Jamie murmured and took his mouth off Max’s cock long enough to look up into Max’s face, both of their faces illuminated by another flash of lightning, and mutter, “Didn’t know you’d be hung like this. I thought maybe you were worried that you couldn’t get it up any more. There’s no reason to worry about that, though, is there? You’re huge . . . . and hard as granite.”

Yes, he’d been worried about that; no, clearly there was no reason for him to be worried. He let the young man have his way as he rose up Max’s body, settling himself in place straddling the older man’s hips, positioned the cock head at his hole, and slowly sank on it. The two men groaned and moaned in harmony, as Jamie rode Max’s cock to a very satisfying mutual ejaculation.

After coming, Jamie lowered his chest onto Max’s and the two dozed. Forty-five minutes later, with the storm still raging outside, Jamie was on his back on the bed, fisting his ankles and raising and spreading his legs, while Max knelt between them and fucked the young man in long, initially slow, but increasingly rapid thrusts of his cock, ending in Jamie crying out the stroke-off of his own cock with his hand and Max filling the bulb of a condom with a strong shot of cum.

Toward morning, all quiet outside now, Jamie was on his side, his buttocks cuddled into Max’s crotch and Max holding Jamie’s leg up while he mined the young man’s ass with his miraculously rehardened shaft. The two men were panting in coordinated sighs and whispering to each other about pulling the greatest satisfaction in the fuck out of each other. Jamie had already agreed not to be homeless any more.

There no longer was any question of whether Max could still get it up and keep it up for another man.