Definitely not all work and no play.
What a messed up "former" relationship.
Spite is a nasty thing.
What a messed up "former" relationship.
Spite is a nasty thing.
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In Praise of Hanes
- Thread starter EasyRory
- Start date
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Five
Lucien Oesch was a good salesman. He arrived on time with his machine, pointed out every feature of the new endoscope, offered to demonstrate its operation, and looked good the whole time. He said he was from Zurich, but when I pressed him he amended that to Appenzell, a very small town to the east.
“We are a suburb of Liechtenstein,” he explained. I didn't care. He seemed like a good old boy, the Swiss equivalent of my not-yet-departed ex-boyfriend. What is it about accents? His was as sexy as Frank's. I found myself wishing his body wasn't hidden by his suit. And that's another thing – why do salesmen dress so much better than their customers? I felt like I was the hillbilly in jeans and a checkered shirt next to his perfectly tailored blue suit.
“Doctor Bloch said he would use the scope for rats?” he questioned.
“He wants to watch the other organs while he controls certain heart functions.”
“Angiography won't work?”
“He feels there may be precursor events that angio won't pick up but straight visual will.”
“So the smallest tubes and lenses would be best,” he nodded, picking out the appropriate accessories. I watched his jacket grow taut across his back as he searched his case.
“You really shouldn't work in that suit. Do you want some lab gear? I'm sure we've got some scrubs and a coat around here.” My offer was more generous than I could fulfill. “Damn, we always had a bunch of stuff ...” The supply room held only odds and ends that wouldn't do.
“It won't take long,” Lucian said. “What about the patient robes?” He pointed to a box of disposable garments.”
“They're paper,” I explained, but to him they were good enough. He changed quickly and I did my best not to look, taking just a few quick peeks. The sound of ripping made me turn, however. Lucien had snagged his shoe on the trousers and torn them down the side. “Here I'll get you another.”
“That's ok, the drawstring works fine. I'm not going anywhere.” He was correct; the garment was still functional. There was just a little gap at the side that revealed nothing. He had that indifference to exposure common among athletes.
Garbed in light blue paper that made an odd crackling sound as he moved, Lucien went to work unpacking the machine for its two boxes. His appearance was a picture of efficiency, marred only by the small tear at the waist of his pants. “Uh. Lucien, would you mind if I took pictures of how you set up the machine?”
I didn't have my camera; but the lab's microscope-adaptable Nikon would be good enough. I quickly set it for normal operation. Lucien had a serious look of economy and competence in his motions, but that almost formal professionalism when combined with the rip in his pants conveyed a sexy insouciance that had me holding my breath as I watched and clicked. The tear grew perceptibly wider as he worked. It was nothing immodest, but there was a glimpse of skin and underwear on view in the upside down triangle formed by the V of the tear and the drawstring holding the trousers in place. It was tantalizing. I took several shots hoping I had captured my vision.
I was dry-mouthed and put the camera down. “You want some water?” I asked and left to get us a couple of bottles from the cold room refrigerator. It had a section designed for better purposes that was misappropriated by the staff to hold the water just short of freezing.
“Wow! Cold!” Lucien remarked after his first swallow. He had finished his set-up and ran the machine through its test routines. “Do you want to try it on a rat?”
“I don't have any waiting around to die,” I shrugged. “Plus I'm not sure how exactly Arnold wants to use it. It's not my specific area.”
So the fun was over. Lucien changed back to his street clothes and left me his card. “I can be here on a day's notice. Or … our local tech support guy is available twenty-four seven. This is my cell and this is tech support.” He leaned over my shoulder to point out the two numbers on the brochure he had given me. I wondered if he had any idea how exciting his closeness was. Again, I was holding my breath. I can't help it. It's reflexive. I gasped for air when he finally moved away.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“No,” I panted. He gave me a funny look but ended with a salesman's smile as he said good-night. He made the smile look completely sincere; the best salesmen can do that. I have learned from a few embarrassing rebuffs early in my career that it means nothing.
With the endoscope secure, I transferred the photos to a memory stick and left the lab. I was eager to see how Lucien's images would come out using a better display screen and software. I got home, grabbed a small bag of almonds for my dinner and plugged in the memory stick.
Yes, yes, yes, I clicked through the pictures, and then, “Oh my God!” I stared at the image. It was mesmerizing, like that terrific shot of Jose Canseco from twenty-odd years ago, the shot of him in mid-swing, the shot that told me I was gay. I was probably eleven or twelve at the time I first saw that poster; I didn't even know what gay was. All I knew, looking at Jose, was I felt a tightening in my groin and it felt better than anything I had ever felt before in my life. Lucien gave me that same feeling. I was holding my breath again admiring the fluid lines of his body.
Physiological demands ruled and I gasped for breath, breaking the spell of looking at hot Lucien, bending over, box cutter in hand, slicing open the endoscope's shipping container. That little bit of skin, the black waistband of his underwear, and their medium gray color contrasted with the light blue of the paper garment. It made you want to shred the paper trousers and worship unwrapped Lucien. I traced and retraced every line of his body with my eyes. It was so easy to imagine him naked. Without his Hanes … Hanes!!! I could read the label and was holding my breath again.
“Hey,” I never heard Frank come in and I jumped. “You're the only guy I know who jacks off to G-rated porn,” he chuckled and closed the bathroom door. You had to pass through my bedroom to get to the only bathroom in the apartment. It was an inconvenience, but what do you expect in Washington for only twenty-one hundred a month?
What did he mean “jacks off”? I noticed I was gripping my hardon, but I still had my clothes on, pretty much. I didn't remember unzipping, but there it was my old friend, in my hand, with a glistening drop of moisture on the tip. After minor contortions, I got my dick put away and I turned off the computer. I noticed an hour had passed. An hour looking at one image? Well, no, but there was that one spectacular image out of the dozen or so I had shot. It was pretty much unforgettable, at least in my mind. It ranked right up there with Carter and the birds in San Francisco.
I was totally composed by the time Frank came out of the bathroom. He said nothing, just smiled his quirky grin and left the bedroom to sleep on his inflatable mattress in the living room. After that second post-breakup fuck, which was definitely a mistake, we had agreed that sleeping apart was a good idea, until he finally found a place.
I felt tired until I got into bed. I lay restless for a while. Feeling horny was a big part of it. I thought about Lucien. I thought about Carter. I tossed and turned some more and gave up. I sat up in bed and saw light coming under the door. I looked out and found Frank lying on his mattress reading. He lmade sleeping on the floor look very comfortable and cozy. “What you reading?” I asked as I walked to the kitchen.
“The History of Virginia Barns. There's this round one – they think Thomas Jefferson designed it.” He pointed to a photograph in the book.
“Who thinks?” I asked after taking a slug of OJ.
“The owners, of course. It would add a lot of value if they could prove it. It copies the design ol' TJ used for the ice house at Monticello.”
“Weren't ice houses underground?”
“Yes, sir, but the interior proportions are the same.” Frank always called everybody 'sir' when he was serious about something. “Except … look at this part. The curve of the roof doesn't match the support beams.”
I sat down next to him and he scooched over to make more room. The blanket shifted and I saw he was wearing underwear. He had always slept naked in our ... in my bedroom.
“Which makes me think the roof was added later and the design is not eighteenth century.” He grinned and continued, “But, ol' TJ was always messing around and he could have had it rebuilt himself to a modified design. Even during its initial construction. It's hard to tell.” He smiled again and looked to see what I thought. “What?”
“Would you like a blow job?”
“Refo, we talked about this. You said we should ...”
“Is that a yes?” I reached over and turned off the lamp he had placed on the floor. He didn't object, so I took the old book out of his hands and put it carefully aside. I slid my hand down his belly and found his erection. Frank was always ready; that was one of his best features.
I took it slow, easing his dick out of his underwear. I just played with it at first. Frank was uncut, but he didn't have a lot of foreskin. When he was soft it covered about half his cockhead and when he was hard it almost disappeared. I hadn't noticed it before but his cock had a loose feel, the skin moved a lot. For reasons that were new to me, it was kinda fun to play with and he liked me playing with it. I could feel his breathing change. He put his arm around my shoulders, which I took as a sign of encouragement. We had never fooled around like this before.
The impulse to suck him was another surprise, it seemed totally natural to taste him. Just a little at first, but then I got into it, licking and sucking. I felt his hand on my head, not forcing anything, just holding me, rubbing my hair. I took his cock deeper in my mouth and felt his breath catch. I did it again and he groaned very quietly. It sounded like he said my name. I took him deeply again, all the way. I couldn't hold him in me long, but again I felt his response. Obviously, he liked it. I pulled away.
“Let's get these underwear off,” I said and sat up to pull them off his legs.
“Refo, we ...”
“Shh,” I said, “Just lie back ...”
With his underwear off I could do more, like suck on his balls. I think he liked that best if I stroked his cock at the same time. Then I was amazed. He really liked me touching his inner thighs and – I'm not sure how to explain this – pressing on his pelvic bone with my palm. While sucking him, of course. What I liked was licking his dick like a popsicle, but that didn't seem to do much for him, so I went back to deep-throating again. He liked that better and I found the more I did it - the more I got the feel of him, the easier it got to take all of him. He was making more noise, groaning and panting, so I was pretty sure he liked it, too. His hips were thrusting gently, rocking us on the air mattress.
It was pretty fucking incredible how responsive he was. And I was having an amazing time, doing it. His cock felt great in my mouth. I could take him up to the edge and then back him off and then take him up slowly, and then back him off. Then using my hands pressing on his pelvic bone while sucking, things got out of control. He called my name and thrust his cock down my throat, spewing sperm. It was a little uncomfortable and brought tears to my eyes, but what a sweet climax. I'd never seen Frank so … I don't even know how to explain. He was blown away, literally and figuratively and any other way you could think up.
“Did you like that?” I asked.
“Refo ...” he hugged me; he was still breathless. That was all the answer I got.
You wouldn't believe how good I felt; it was as good as coming myself, I swear. Those were the exact words I used when I told Charlie about it.
I spent the night on Frank's air mattress. It felt so good when he hugged me and kissed my forehead. That was the way we always ended sex just before we fell asleep. Well, almost the way. Before he would whisper “I love you,” after he kissed my forehead, but that night he didn't.
In the morning I woke feeling terrific. Frank was already gone. I noticed his underwear still lying where I had tossed them. Hanes again -I should have known. I swear they still felt warm.
Lucien Oesch was a good salesman. He arrived on time with his machine, pointed out every feature of the new endoscope, offered to demonstrate its operation, and looked good the whole time. He said he was from Zurich, but when I pressed him he amended that to Appenzell, a very small town to the east.
“We are a suburb of Liechtenstein,” he explained. I didn't care. He seemed like a good old boy, the Swiss equivalent of my not-yet-departed ex-boyfriend. What is it about accents? His was as sexy as Frank's. I found myself wishing his body wasn't hidden by his suit. And that's another thing – why do salesmen dress so much better than their customers? I felt like I was the hillbilly in jeans and a checkered shirt next to his perfectly tailored blue suit.
“Doctor Bloch said he would use the scope for rats?” he questioned.
“He wants to watch the other organs while he controls certain heart functions.”
“Angiography won't work?”
“He feels there may be precursor events that angio won't pick up but straight visual will.”
“So the smallest tubes and lenses would be best,” he nodded, picking out the appropriate accessories. I watched his jacket grow taut across his back as he searched his case.
“You really shouldn't work in that suit. Do you want some lab gear? I'm sure we've got some scrubs and a coat around here.” My offer was more generous than I could fulfill. “Damn, we always had a bunch of stuff ...” The supply room held only odds and ends that wouldn't do.
“It won't take long,” Lucian said. “What about the patient robes?” He pointed to a box of disposable garments.”
“They're paper,” I explained, but to him they were good enough. He changed quickly and I did my best not to look, taking just a few quick peeks. The sound of ripping made me turn, however. Lucien had snagged his shoe on the trousers and torn them down the side. “Here I'll get you another.”
“That's ok, the drawstring works fine. I'm not going anywhere.” He was correct; the garment was still functional. There was just a little gap at the side that revealed nothing. He had that indifference to exposure common among athletes.
Garbed in light blue paper that made an odd crackling sound as he moved, Lucien went to work unpacking the machine for its two boxes. His appearance was a picture of efficiency, marred only by the small tear at the waist of his pants. “Uh. Lucien, would you mind if I took pictures of how you set up the machine?”
I didn't have my camera; but the lab's microscope-adaptable Nikon would be good enough. I quickly set it for normal operation. Lucien had a serious look of economy and competence in his motions, but that almost formal professionalism when combined with the rip in his pants conveyed a sexy insouciance that had me holding my breath as I watched and clicked. The tear grew perceptibly wider as he worked. It was nothing immodest, but there was a glimpse of skin and underwear on view in the upside down triangle formed by the V of the tear and the drawstring holding the trousers in place. It was tantalizing. I took several shots hoping I had captured my vision.
I was dry-mouthed and put the camera down. “You want some water?” I asked and left to get us a couple of bottles from the cold room refrigerator. It had a section designed for better purposes that was misappropriated by the staff to hold the water just short of freezing.
“Wow! Cold!” Lucien remarked after his first swallow. He had finished his set-up and ran the machine through its test routines. “Do you want to try it on a rat?”
“I don't have any waiting around to die,” I shrugged. “Plus I'm not sure how exactly Arnold wants to use it. It's not my specific area.”
So the fun was over. Lucien changed back to his street clothes and left me his card. “I can be here on a day's notice. Or … our local tech support guy is available twenty-four seven. This is my cell and this is tech support.” He leaned over my shoulder to point out the two numbers on the brochure he had given me. I wondered if he had any idea how exciting his closeness was. Again, I was holding my breath. I can't help it. It's reflexive. I gasped for air when he finally moved away.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“No,” I panted. He gave me a funny look but ended with a salesman's smile as he said good-night. He made the smile look completely sincere; the best salesmen can do that. I have learned from a few embarrassing rebuffs early in my career that it means nothing.
With the endoscope secure, I transferred the photos to a memory stick and left the lab. I was eager to see how Lucien's images would come out using a better display screen and software. I got home, grabbed a small bag of almonds for my dinner and plugged in the memory stick.
Yes, yes, yes, I clicked through the pictures, and then, “Oh my God!” I stared at the image. It was mesmerizing, like that terrific shot of Jose Canseco from twenty-odd years ago, the shot of him in mid-swing, the shot that told me I was gay. I was probably eleven or twelve at the time I first saw that poster; I didn't even know what gay was. All I knew, looking at Jose, was I felt a tightening in my groin and it felt better than anything I had ever felt before in my life. Lucien gave me that same feeling. I was holding my breath again admiring the fluid lines of his body.
Physiological demands ruled and I gasped for breath, breaking the spell of looking at hot Lucien, bending over, box cutter in hand, slicing open the endoscope's shipping container. That little bit of skin, the black waistband of his underwear, and their medium gray color contrasted with the light blue of the paper garment. It made you want to shred the paper trousers and worship unwrapped Lucien. I traced and retraced every line of his body with my eyes. It was so easy to imagine him naked. Without his Hanes … Hanes!!! I could read the label and was holding my breath again.
“Hey,” I never heard Frank come in and I jumped. “You're the only guy I know who jacks off to G-rated porn,” he chuckled and closed the bathroom door. You had to pass through my bedroom to get to the only bathroom in the apartment. It was an inconvenience, but what do you expect in Washington for only twenty-one hundred a month?
What did he mean “jacks off”? I noticed I was gripping my hardon, but I still had my clothes on, pretty much. I didn't remember unzipping, but there it was my old friend, in my hand, with a glistening drop of moisture on the tip. After minor contortions, I got my dick put away and I turned off the computer. I noticed an hour had passed. An hour looking at one image? Well, no, but there was that one spectacular image out of the dozen or so I had shot. It was pretty much unforgettable, at least in my mind. It ranked right up there with Carter and the birds in San Francisco.
I was totally composed by the time Frank came out of the bathroom. He said nothing, just smiled his quirky grin and left the bedroom to sleep on his inflatable mattress in the living room. After that second post-breakup fuck, which was definitely a mistake, we had agreed that sleeping apart was a good idea, until he finally found a place.
I felt tired until I got into bed. I lay restless for a while. Feeling horny was a big part of it. I thought about Lucien. I thought about Carter. I tossed and turned some more and gave up. I sat up in bed and saw light coming under the door. I looked out and found Frank lying on his mattress reading. He lmade sleeping on the floor look very comfortable and cozy. “What you reading?” I asked as I walked to the kitchen.
“The History of Virginia Barns. There's this round one – they think Thomas Jefferson designed it.” He pointed to a photograph in the book.
“Who thinks?” I asked after taking a slug of OJ.
“The owners, of course. It would add a lot of value if they could prove it. It copies the design ol' TJ used for the ice house at Monticello.”
“Weren't ice houses underground?”
“Yes, sir, but the interior proportions are the same.” Frank always called everybody 'sir' when he was serious about something. “Except … look at this part. The curve of the roof doesn't match the support beams.”
I sat down next to him and he scooched over to make more room. The blanket shifted and I saw he was wearing underwear. He had always slept naked in our ... in my bedroom.
“Which makes me think the roof was added later and the design is not eighteenth century.” He grinned and continued, “But, ol' TJ was always messing around and he could have had it rebuilt himself to a modified design. Even during its initial construction. It's hard to tell.” He smiled again and looked to see what I thought. “What?”
“Would you like a blow job?”
“Refo, we talked about this. You said we should ...”
“Is that a yes?” I reached over and turned off the lamp he had placed on the floor. He didn't object, so I took the old book out of his hands and put it carefully aside. I slid my hand down his belly and found his erection. Frank was always ready; that was one of his best features.
I took it slow, easing his dick out of his underwear. I just played with it at first. Frank was uncut, but he didn't have a lot of foreskin. When he was soft it covered about half his cockhead and when he was hard it almost disappeared. I hadn't noticed it before but his cock had a loose feel, the skin moved a lot. For reasons that were new to me, it was kinda fun to play with and he liked me playing with it. I could feel his breathing change. He put his arm around my shoulders, which I took as a sign of encouragement. We had never fooled around like this before.
The impulse to suck him was another surprise, it seemed totally natural to taste him. Just a little at first, but then I got into it, licking and sucking. I felt his hand on my head, not forcing anything, just holding me, rubbing my hair. I took his cock deeper in my mouth and felt his breath catch. I did it again and he groaned very quietly. It sounded like he said my name. I took him deeply again, all the way. I couldn't hold him in me long, but again I felt his response. Obviously, he liked it. I pulled away.
“Let's get these underwear off,” I said and sat up to pull them off his legs.
“Refo, we ...”
“Shh,” I said, “Just lie back ...”
With his underwear off I could do more, like suck on his balls. I think he liked that best if I stroked his cock at the same time. Then I was amazed. He really liked me touching his inner thighs and – I'm not sure how to explain this – pressing on his pelvic bone with my palm. While sucking him, of course. What I liked was licking his dick like a popsicle, but that didn't seem to do much for him, so I went back to deep-throating again. He liked that better and I found the more I did it - the more I got the feel of him, the easier it got to take all of him. He was making more noise, groaning and panting, so I was pretty sure he liked it, too. His hips were thrusting gently, rocking us on the air mattress.
It was pretty fucking incredible how responsive he was. And I was having an amazing time, doing it. His cock felt great in my mouth. I could take him up to the edge and then back him off and then take him up slowly, and then back him off. Then using my hands pressing on his pelvic bone while sucking, things got out of control. He called my name and thrust his cock down my throat, spewing sperm. It was a little uncomfortable and brought tears to my eyes, but what a sweet climax. I'd never seen Frank so … I don't even know how to explain. He was blown away, literally and figuratively and any other way you could think up.
“Did you like that?” I asked.
“Refo ...” he hugged me; he was still breathless. That was all the answer I got.
You wouldn't believe how good I felt; it was as good as coming myself, I swear. Those were the exact words I used when I told Charlie about it.
I spent the night on Frank's air mattress. It felt so good when he hugged me and kissed my forehead. That was the way we always ended sex just before we fell asleep. Well, almost the way. Before he would whisper “I love you,” after he kissed my forehead, but that night he didn't.
In the morning I woke feeling terrific. Frank was already gone. I noticed his underwear still lying where I had tossed them. Hanes again -I should have known. I swear they still felt warm.
Rory,
You always seem to sneak the new chapter updates after I've sauntered off to dream land.
I caught this before I left this morning and copied it to my e-mail for quiet daytime viewing.
I'm glad I did.
It appears our indifferent protagonist is starting to redefine his relationship with his "not" BF.
However it turns out, he's certainly giving us a rise in all the right places.
You always seem to sneak the new chapter updates after I've sauntered off to dream land.
I caught this before I left this morning and copied it to my e-mail for quiet daytime viewing.
I'm glad I did.
It appears our indifferent protagonist is starting to redefine his relationship with his "not" BF.
However it turns out, he's certainly giving us a rise in all the right places.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Six
“You say you have broken up; but what has changed exactly? Frank is still living here ... You're having sex all the time … And you're still mooning around over that guy in Ohio.” Charlie was never one to mince words.
“We're not having sex ALL the time and we sleep in separate rooms ... mostly.”
“Three times in ten days. Based on how often I get laid, that's ALL the time.”
“Charlie, you'll find somebody. You're pretty great in bed.”
“How is anybody supposed to know that? I can't even get 'em in the door. And you … You are taking up two and a half possibilities.”
“Lucien is not a possibility. As far as I know, I'm pretty sure he's straight.” I stated that firmly while I unwrapped the first of my new acquisitions from Ritz Photo, the picture of Lucien blown up, printed on foam-backed, glossy paper, and ready for hanging. “I decided frameless was the way to mount this; we'll just let the colors bleed into a white wall.” I stuck the photo to the wall temporarily with double-sided sticky tape for Charlie to judge.
“A little stark that way, but your Lucien guy is awesome. He is the most x-rated, fully-clothed guy I've ever seen.”
“So you like it?” I began unwrapping the other, the one of Carter.
“I want to touch him … I want to stick my finger in that hole in his pants and … Brrrr!” Charlie gave a mock shiver and sighed in contemplation. “Refo, are you sure you want to be a biochemist? You should be a pornographer.”
“And then there's this one ...” I stuck Carter to the wall opposite Lucien so that the men faced each other. Lucien's photo was taller and Carter' was wider, so they weren't an exact match; but they complimented each other well. Charlie just stared, first at one, then the other. I prompted him, “I'm calling them Hanes I and Hanes II, just as if I'm a serious artist.”
“I wear Hanes,” Charlie said, still staring at the pictures.
“Why?”
“Why not? I can't see paying twenty-five dollars for a fancy logo on my drawers.” Charlie moved closer to Carter's picture and studied it. “You shouldn't have let him fuck you, Refo. No wonder you're a mess.”
His comment set me on edge a little. “If I can't get a little sympathy now and then, I'm gonna stop telling you things. Look at this one ...” I showed him the eight by eleven nude profile of Carter standing against the hotel window. “I don't plan to hang this one.”
“No wonder you're crazy about him ...” Charlie looked only briefly and turned away, as if the picture embarrassed him.
“It's art, Charlie; not sex.”
“It's awfully close to sex.” He took another glance and then looked away again. “He's gorgeous.”
“He's not that gorgeous – I MADE him look good!” A doubtful Charlie frowned at me. “Ok, he is that gorgeous, but I showed him to his best advantage.”
At that point Frank came in the door. He took a quick look at the pictures on the wall and commented, “Incredible. Awesome, really. Hey, Charlie, good to see you. And they look perfect there, Reef. I wish I had your taste.” Then he updated us on his life, “ I'm a mess. Gotsta change and call on a customer.” He changed from dirty jeans and a t-shirt to clean jeans and a fresh t-shirt then and there, drawing from a neat pile of clothes he stacked on the floor. He left almost as abruptly as he arrived.
Charlie watched Frank leave and then stared at the door. “Refo, about Frank ...”
“So you know what else I did?” I teased him into asking what. “I sent Carter a copy of his picture. Shipped it right from the store. So he'll call me maybe?” I hummed the tune of the popular song about maybe getting a call.
“Nice gesture, but what's that going to get you?”
“Charlie, come on ...”
“I'm not being judgmental, just asking what you expect to happen next.”
“Well, maybe he'll call or something ...”
“And tell you what exactly?”
I couldn't answer him. “I don't know ...” And then I thought fuck it, he was being judgmental. “At least I try, Charlie. You just sit and wait for Prince Charming to knock on your door. At least I get off my ass and do something … At least I work on my two and a half possibilities.”
“Touché,” Charlie conceded. “So I'll be bold ...” As if he wasn't always. He took a breath. “If you're done with Frank, what if I see if something might work out with him?” He scrunched up his face in anticipation of a blow.
“Frank? You and Frank? Un-fucking-believable!”
“You said you broke up. You said it's over. You called him a selfish prick. More than once, Refo. What's wrong with me seeing if he's interested?”
“You go for selfish pricks now?”
“As a matter of fact, I think you're wrong about that. I don't think he's a selfish prick at all. If you want my opinion ...”
“I don't!”
“You're getting' it anyway. In my opinion, you're the one who needs to work on expanding his viewpoint.”
“So this is about ME, suddenly.”
“Refo, I'm only telling you this because I love you.” Charlie's tone became conciliatory. “You're a little self-absorbed, sweetie. Not that that's bad, but you make it hard on people like Frank who are naturally more open and ...”
“Generous?”
“I was going to say 'laid back' … “
I can't stay mad at Charlie, first of all because he is the best friend I've had since my old dog Wags died when I was fifteen.
I have to tell you I really had a close relationship with that dog. I told him everything and at some level I know he understood me. As a matter of fact I came out to him first. This is going to sound weird, but he caught me jacking off and he was shocked. I said to him, “I've seen you with a hard on. You lick yourself every chance you get. Why can't I have a little fun?” He didn't exactly say go ahead, but he did leave the room, giving me some privacy. And then when he came back in, I was forgiven. He looked at me expectantly with his tail doing a slow wag and I had to tell him. “I think I'm gay, Wags.” It was a hard to admit and his name caught in my throat. I almost cried. He jumped in my lap and licked me, with that same tongue he used to lick his dick. Isn't that intimate? It's like he was telling me it's ok to be gay. Charlie says all he wanted was food, that licking people is the dog's signal they want some food. But I think he understood. He never criticized.
So I learned acceptance from Wags and I extended it to Charlie. Second of all, Charlie is usually right about me, but if you want to know, I'm pretty right about him, too. The reason he's alone and not getting much is he is shy. He won't extend himself and, if we're being really honest, he thinks everybody turns him down because he's got a little dick. I tell him if he's a sweet fuck and comes when his partner wants him to, it won't matter that he's a little short where it matters. And lying on your back for everybody – the way he does - makes his shortcoming seem even shorter, if you get what I mean. It didn't help that my dick is a challenge for some guys, including Charlie. I think it was intimidating for him at first. I made a point not to refer to my size but, when we were together, it just seemed to come up a lot. I was about to fuck him one time and, because we had just come from an Italian restaurant, I referred to my big salami and his peperoni.
Pissed off! I couldn't believe it. He flew out of bed and got a ruler from his desk and measured himself. “Five and three-quarters,” he yelled at me. “Six and a third,” he yelled after measuring me. “We're not talking King Kong and Tiny Tim, here. So, take that and shove it up your buttered tortellini!” Then he refused to continue, leaving me horny and hard most of the night.
I have to add here that he didn't measure me properly. I checked myself and I'm six and a half, more if I'm really hard.
So with a little hug and another viewing of my new pictures, we made up and parted best friends as usual. Before he left, he pushed the point with Frank and I pretty much had to say that it was ok with me if anything worked out for them. So much drama. I was glad when Frank got back; it gave me somebody less volatile to talk to.
“How'd it go?”
“I think I got the job. It's not a total re-do, but it's a nice old barn that needs attention and the customer has ready cash. That's always good.”
“Frank, what do you think of Charlie? He's looking for company again.”
“He shouldn't have any trouble at all, I'd say. Seems like an appreciative and understanding man. He's a couple years older, but he keeps himself in good shape. A handsome package with a brain on top.”
“Would YOU consider him?”
“I'd be crazy not to, huh? I bet he's a good lover. Why are you asking?” Before I could answer he added, “Man, am I tired tonight.”
We went to bed, Frank on the mattress in the living room and me alone in my bedroom. The day had been draining, first at work, then running around town and finally getting upset by Charlie. I felt very alone. “Frank?” I called quietly, but got no answer. Asleep, I guessed.
Frank and Charlie … I had to consider the possibility. Frank was such a sweet kid. I say kid even thought he was only a year younger. There was something innocent about him. And there was nothing innocent about Charlie. I don't mean to say Charlie was evil incarnate, nothing like that, but he was much more worldly than Frank. That would not be a good match, not good at all, especially for Frank. Charlie would never appreciate Frank the way I did. I had always been very open-handed and free with Frank. For example, I often …
Well, examples are always hard to come up with. Nevertheless, I instinctively knew Charlie and Frank was a terrible idea. Trouble for both of them. Doomed from the start, in fact. With that problem solved, I still couldn't sleep, I had a hard salami with no buttered tortellini in sight.
Then through the door I heard Frank's distinctive ringtone, a rooster's crow. “Hello … Charlie? What up? Did you leave something? … Really? … With me? ...You want to? …” Frank's words got progressively quieter, until I could hear only the low rumble of his voice.
“You say you have broken up; but what has changed exactly? Frank is still living here ... You're having sex all the time … And you're still mooning around over that guy in Ohio.” Charlie was never one to mince words.
“We're not having sex ALL the time and we sleep in separate rooms ... mostly.”
“Three times in ten days. Based on how often I get laid, that's ALL the time.”
“Charlie, you'll find somebody. You're pretty great in bed.”
“How is anybody supposed to know that? I can't even get 'em in the door. And you … You are taking up two and a half possibilities.”
“Lucien is not a possibility. As far as I know, I'm pretty sure he's straight.” I stated that firmly while I unwrapped the first of my new acquisitions from Ritz Photo, the picture of Lucien blown up, printed on foam-backed, glossy paper, and ready for hanging. “I decided frameless was the way to mount this; we'll just let the colors bleed into a white wall.” I stuck the photo to the wall temporarily with double-sided sticky tape for Charlie to judge.
“A little stark that way, but your Lucien guy is awesome. He is the most x-rated, fully-clothed guy I've ever seen.”
“So you like it?” I began unwrapping the other, the one of Carter.
“I want to touch him … I want to stick my finger in that hole in his pants and … Brrrr!” Charlie gave a mock shiver and sighed in contemplation. “Refo, are you sure you want to be a biochemist? You should be a pornographer.”
“And then there's this one ...” I stuck Carter to the wall opposite Lucien so that the men faced each other. Lucien's photo was taller and Carter' was wider, so they weren't an exact match; but they complimented each other well. Charlie just stared, first at one, then the other. I prompted him, “I'm calling them Hanes I and Hanes II, just as if I'm a serious artist.”
“I wear Hanes,” Charlie said, still staring at the pictures.
“Why?”
“Why not? I can't see paying twenty-five dollars for a fancy logo on my drawers.” Charlie moved closer to Carter's picture and studied it. “You shouldn't have let him fuck you, Refo. No wonder you're a mess.”
His comment set me on edge a little. “If I can't get a little sympathy now and then, I'm gonna stop telling you things. Look at this one ...” I showed him the eight by eleven nude profile of Carter standing against the hotel window. “I don't plan to hang this one.”
“No wonder you're crazy about him ...” Charlie looked only briefly and turned away, as if the picture embarrassed him.
“It's art, Charlie; not sex.”
“It's awfully close to sex.” He took another glance and then looked away again. “He's gorgeous.”
“He's not that gorgeous – I MADE him look good!” A doubtful Charlie frowned at me. “Ok, he is that gorgeous, but I showed him to his best advantage.”
At that point Frank came in the door. He took a quick look at the pictures on the wall and commented, “Incredible. Awesome, really. Hey, Charlie, good to see you. And they look perfect there, Reef. I wish I had your taste.” Then he updated us on his life, “ I'm a mess. Gotsta change and call on a customer.” He changed from dirty jeans and a t-shirt to clean jeans and a fresh t-shirt then and there, drawing from a neat pile of clothes he stacked on the floor. He left almost as abruptly as he arrived.
Charlie watched Frank leave and then stared at the door. “Refo, about Frank ...”
“So you know what else I did?” I teased him into asking what. “I sent Carter a copy of his picture. Shipped it right from the store. So he'll call me maybe?” I hummed the tune of the popular song about maybe getting a call.
“Nice gesture, but what's that going to get you?”
“Charlie, come on ...”
“I'm not being judgmental, just asking what you expect to happen next.”
“Well, maybe he'll call or something ...”
“And tell you what exactly?”
I couldn't answer him. “I don't know ...” And then I thought fuck it, he was being judgmental. “At least I try, Charlie. You just sit and wait for Prince Charming to knock on your door. At least I get off my ass and do something … At least I work on my two and a half possibilities.”
“Touché,” Charlie conceded. “So I'll be bold ...” As if he wasn't always. He took a breath. “If you're done with Frank, what if I see if something might work out with him?” He scrunched up his face in anticipation of a blow.
“Frank? You and Frank? Un-fucking-believable!”
“You said you broke up. You said it's over. You called him a selfish prick. More than once, Refo. What's wrong with me seeing if he's interested?”
“You go for selfish pricks now?”
“As a matter of fact, I think you're wrong about that. I don't think he's a selfish prick at all. If you want my opinion ...”
“I don't!”
“You're getting' it anyway. In my opinion, you're the one who needs to work on expanding his viewpoint.”
“So this is about ME, suddenly.”
“Refo, I'm only telling you this because I love you.” Charlie's tone became conciliatory. “You're a little self-absorbed, sweetie. Not that that's bad, but you make it hard on people like Frank who are naturally more open and ...”
“Generous?”
“I was going to say 'laid back' … “
I can't stay mad at Charlie, first of all because he is the best friend I've had since my old dog Wags died when I was fifteen.
I have to tell you I really had a close relationship with that dog. I told him everything and at some level I know he understood me. As a matter of fact I came out to him first. This is going to sound weird, but he caught me jacking off and he was shocked. I said to him, “I've seen you with a hard on. You lick yourself every chance you get. Why can't I have a little fun?” He didn't exactly say go ahead, but he did leave the room, giving me some privacy. And then when he came back in, I was forgiven. He looked at me expectantly with his tail doing a slow wag and I had to tell him. “I think I'm gay, Wags.” It was a hard to admit and his name caught in my throat. I almost cried. He jumped in my lap and licked me, with that same tongue he used to lick his dick. Isn't that intimate? It's like he was telling me it's ok to be gay. Charlie says all he wanted was food, that licking people is the dog's signal they want some food. But I think he understood. He never criticized.
So I learned acceptance from Wags and I extended it to Charlie. Second of all, Charlie is usually right about me, but if you want to know, I'm pretty right about him, too. The reason he's alone and not getting much is he is shy. He won't extend himself and, if we're being really honest, he thinks everybody turns him down because he's got a little dick. I tell him if he's a sweet fuck and comes when his partner wants him to, it won't matter that he's a little short where it matters. And lying on your back for everybody – the way he does - makes his shortcoming seem even shorter, if you get what I mean. It didn't help that my dick is a challenge for some guys, including Charlie. I think it was intimidating for him at first. I made a point not to refer to my size but, when we were together, it just seemed to come up a lot. I was about to fuck him one time and, because we had just come from an Italian restaurant, I referred to my big salami and his peperoni.
Pissed off! I couldn't believe it. He flew out of bed and got a ruler from his desk and measured himself. “Five and three-quarters,” he yelled at me. “Six and a third,” he yelled after measuring me. “We're not talking King Kong and Tiny Tim, here. So, take that and shove it up your buttered tortellini!” Then he refused to continue, leaving me horny and hard most of the night.
I have to add here that he didn't measure me properly. I checked myself and I'm six and a half, more if I'm really hard.
So with a little hug and another viewing of my new pictures, we made up and parted best friends as usual. Before he left, he pushed the point with Frank and I pretty much had to say that it was ok with me if anything worked out for them. So much drama. I was glad when Frank got back; it gave me somebody less volatile to talk to.
“How'd it go?”
“I think I got the job. It's not a total re-do, but it's a nice old barn that needs attention and the customer has ready cash. That's always good.”
“Frank, what do you think of Charlie? He's looking for company again.”
“He shouldn't have any trouble at all, I'd say. Seems like an appreciative and understanding man. He's a couple years older, but he keeps himself in good shape. A handsome package with a brain on top.”
“Would YOU consider him?”
“I'd be crazy not to, huh? I bet he's a good lover. Why are you asking?” Before I could answer he added, “Man, am I tired tonight.”
We went to bed, Frank on the mattress in the living room and me alone in my bedroom. The day had been draining, first at work, then running around town and finally getting upset by Charlie. I felt very alone. “Frank?” I called quietly, but got no answer. Asleep, I guessed.
Frank and Charlie … I had to consider the possibility. Frank was such a sweet kid. I say kid even thought he was only a year younger. There was something innocent about him. And there was nothing innocent about Charlie. I don't mean to say Charlie was evil incarnate, nothing like that, but he was much more worldly than Frank. That would not be a good match, not good at all, especially for Frank. Charlie would never appreciate Frank the way I did. I had always been very open-handed and free with Frank. For example, I often …
Well, examples are always hard to come up with. Nevertheless, I instinctively knew Charlie and Frank was a terrible idea. Trouble for both of them. Doomed from the start, in fact. With that problem solved, I still couldn't sleep, I had a hard salami with no buttered tortellini in sight.
Then through the door I heard Frank's distinctive ringtone, a rooster's crow. “Hello … Charlie? What up? Did you leave something? … Really? … With me? ...You want to? …” Frank's words got progressively quieter, until I could hear only the low rumble of his voice.
Frank and Charlie - your (Refo's) best friend and (not quite former) lover - is that a shade of Hazel in your eyes, or have they turned Emerald Green - with envy.
More than a little food for thought.
Very interesting chapter. A lot of soul/self-searching to be had.
More than a little food for thought.
Very interesting chapter. A lot of soul/self-searching to be had.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Seven
It was Saturday, normally a day I like for it's easy schedule. Sleep in an extra hour, read the internet news, drink a lot of coffee, walk to the laundry, buy a bottle of wine if I have a dinner invitation, hit the gym, maybe have a little nap before the night begins.
That Saturday I had nothing to do. Zip shit to do. The news was boring. The coffee I made tasted bitter. Then - how could a simple giggle be so upsetting?
As I was making the coffee, Charlie arrived all cheery and smiling. “Hey, Sunshine, want some coffee?” I offered.
“No thanks, I'm kind of in a hurry I want to clear Manassas before the Saturday traffic gets fierce.”
“What's up in Virginia?”
“Nothing, really. The destination is Orange, an estate I'm working on, and …” At that point Frank came out of the bathroom. Charlie turned to him and asked, “Ready? It's about a two hour drive ...”
“Let's roll. If we take my truck, I'll have everything I need.” And like that, they were gone.
I looked out the window and watched Charlie lean his head toward Frank and say something. Even at that distance I could hear Frank giggle. I swear it was his sex giggle! And the “everything I need” comment made my stomach turn: the only thing I knew Frank to carry without fail in his truck was condoms. I checked my wristwatch. In no more than an hour and a half they would 'clear Manassas', as Charlie put it and then … I didn't want to think about it.
Do I have to say? I guess I do. Charlie knows this state park near Orange, almost on the grounds of Montpelier, where he said the land and the trees formed a natural love nest. He took me there right after I met him. It was beautiful, everything he said it was, with a view of the westerly mountains that went on forever. Romantic. It was the first place we fucked. I looked again at my watch. By eleven o'clock Charlie and Frank would be spreading out a picnic and by eleven fifteen they would decide to hell with the food and they would be fucking. Maybe it will rain, I thought, as I glanced out at the bright sunshine.
The morning dragged. I couldn't get interested in anything. At fifteen minute intervals I would look at my watch and calculate the time left until Charlie would use his snake-oil lawyer skills to seduce Frank. And Frank would fall for it. I knew he would. A total line of bullshit about old houses and country life. And Frank would fall for it. I could hear Charlie now telling Frank how handsome he was. And Frank would totally fall for it. “You'd look so amazing standing against that tree with your shirt off.” And Frank would whip his shirt off, he was just that accommodating. And of course he would look amazing - he always did with his shirt off.
Frank's body was a genuine work of art. He did not deserve a body that perfect; he never went to the gym, never paid any attention to his diet, never did much of anything outside of work; he just looked great naturally. And once Frank's shirt was off, I really couldn't blame Charlie for whatever he did next.
From shirt removal, it would be so easy to get Charlie out of his pants. Going along with the rest of his selfishness, Frank liked to preen. I could see him, naked in the woods, showing off for Charlie, strutting around with half a hardon.. I hated to think about it. I looked at my watch again. Forty-five minutes left. The worst part was I knew how the day with Charlie would change Frank. No more sweet country boy; he'd be forever jaded and dissatisfied. Charlie had that effect.
I couldn't just sit and wait for it to happen. I needed a distraction. So I decided to go to work. I could review Sarah's paper, which sat unread on my desk, a job I had rashly promised her I would do weeks ago in order to get her to proof-read mine.
“You remind me of a black guy I knew once,” she said days later after repeating her request for my help.
“Please, no sordid tales.”
“Not sordid – just underhanded. He would get his girl friend to braid his hair by promising that he would do hers. But once his braids were done, there was always an excuse. He was too tired. He had to see a man about a dog. His hands were numb from the cold. His hands were sweaty from the heat. Always something … Like you … Always something.”
So I got to the lab, plunked down at my desk, and read - the title – it was a start. “Genetic Transference Mechanisms: The Empirical Dynamics of Motivation” by Sarah L. Felsen, Ph.D. It sounded more like psychoanalysis than protein chemistry. I'd need some coffee to get through this one, I decided. I put my red pencil down and grabbed some quarters from my desk drawer.
“Six Quarters: The Effective Price of Caffeine Motivation” by Sarah L. Felsen, Ph.D., I imagined as I walked down the hall to the coffee machine. Not that funny, but I chuckled to myself. Ahead of me was someone bent over trying to look up into the machine to watch the brewing process. Somebody cute, maybe. I could see a little strip of skin and a bit of his underwear showing above his belt. Don't look, I ordered myself. If he's wearing Hanes, it'll only be upsetting. So I distracted myself and waited patiently wondering what Sarah's 'L' stood for. Laverne. Leonora. Lily. Letitia. Lucinda. Lucien! It was Lucien in front of me.
“It's going to do it again!” The voice confirmed Lucien's identity as he stood erect and watched helplessly as the machine made grinding noises and then spewed freshly brewed coffee down its collection drain.
I philosophized. “It saves the inefficiency of drinking and pissing. This way the coffee goes directly into the sewer.” He didn't look amused. “Just being helpful.”
“Oh, Refo. Sorry,” he recognized me. “That's the second time it's done that.”
“Let's go to the cafeteria,” I suggested. “The coffee is not just cheaper there; it's actually better.”
He bent over once more to look at the mechanism in disbelief that it could be so incompetent. I looked, too, almost certain he would be wearing Hanes. He fooled me. “Aqalolgy” the waistband proudly displayed above a wild pattern of multicolored polka dots.
“What do the Swiss call those polka dots?” I asked him.
“What?”
“Polka dots … those dots on your underwear.”
“Polkapunkten,” he answered warily. I could see him wondering about my interest in his underwear, but something bigger was bothering him.
“What brings you in on a Saturday, Lucien?” I asked him.
“Dr. Bloch couldn't operate the scope. I am instructing him.”
“And it's slow going?” I had seen Bloch with new toys before.
“Very slow. He was thirty-seven minutes late.”
“He operates on Washington time.” I could see I needed to explain that. “In Washington, if someone says 'I'll pick you up at three forty-five,' that means you start getting ready around four.”
“One good point. He will remember everything you tell him. You'll never have to tell him twice. Bloch's memory is airtight.”
“He calls me Lukas.”
“Ah, names … He's not so good there. Good at the other stuff, though.”
We got coffees to go, chatted about cultural differences, and walked back to the lab. “I like your polkapunkten,” I told him. “Sehr lustig,” I added, hoping my words meant something like 'festive' in Swiss-German.
He stopped abruptly. “Are you calling me gay?”
“Not you. The polkadots. They're uh … fun, colorful, lively … “ I grasped for synonyms. “The old meaning of gay … I thought 'lustig' meant 'lusty' kind of; does it mean homosexual?”
“No, but Bloch also made a comment. I thought … Never mind.”
“What did he say?”
“He said I wasn't on the straight path to success.”
“I have no idea what he meant, but he didn't mean homosexual, I'm sure of that.”
“Are you sure? I worry he might report me to the company.”
“He won't do that. Trust me. He doesn't care about your private life.”
Strange conversation. Almost a strange as Sarah's paper. Her argument had a strong psychological foundation, something I knew little about. I shifted critical modes. I corrected all her grammar and spelling errors and noted that her reasoning was out of my field. She'd like that, getting me to admit my incompetence.
I glanced at my watch and realized that somewhere in Virginia the deed had been done. Charlie had worked his wiles on Frank. I was surprised how much it hurt knowing that. I could have been and should have been more tolerant of Frank's faults. Carter wasn't that much better looking, although he was a lot better in bed. Except lately. How had the sex with Frank improved so much since we broke up? Another mystery. Then, too, strictly from a practical point of view, Frank had been an ideal roommate. Finding somebody else as reliable, responsible, and tidy would not be easy. In my roommate experience, those qualities in combination were found only in Frank. Those qualities were almost ...
Thank you, Doctor Bloch.” Lucien came into the hall from Arnold's office as I passed.
Those qualities were almost Swiss! Of course! Obviously!
“Done? Heading home?” I inquired.
“He wants to do more tomorrow.” Lucien sounded unhapppy with the prospect.
“Working Sunday, huh? I don't like that either.”
“It's not the work. It's the commute. I live northeast of Baltimore, in Essex. I thought Johns Hopkins would be my main customer, but more and more of my work is in Washington.”
“You need a crash pad, Lucien.” I explained. “A cheap place where you can crash for a night now and then when you need to instead of going all the way home. Lots of people who work here have them.”
“Really? Isn't it expensive to live near here?”
“Not if you share.” I felt as snaky as Charlie, convincing Lucien to have a look at my place. I drove him over and tried to minimize the neighborhood's horrendous parking difficulties. “No, no, really, at night parking is a breeze.” Then I airbrushed the costs. “Yes, but you can deduct the rent as a job expense.” Finally I assured him I was out a lot. “I have a pretty active social life. You wouldn't see much of me ...”
Inside, once he looked around, his reaction was positive, even about sharing the bedroom. “No problem, there's room for another bed. Lots of room.” No lie, there was; it was a huge bedroom.
Naturally I had a few doubts about what I was doing. No matter how good looking he was, I'd be surrendering a big hunk of privacy to a straight guy. What, for instance, would he think of Charlie swanning around, pouring drama on his breakfast cereal? What would he think if I wanted some private time in the bedroom? As it turned out, we never got to that part.
“That's me.” He noticed the photograph.
“Hope you don't mind. I thought it had a look worth capturing.”
“No, that's ok. You make me look very ...” He took notice of Carter's picture; he stared; then he pointed. “This is...?”
“A guy I met in San Francisco. I liked his pose.”
He became agitated and quickly ended our negotiation. “On second thought, I'm afraid it just wouldn't work. I'm not sure the company would reimburse me for expenses and I don't want to commit long-term ...” I offered to drive him back to the lab, but he volunteered to take the Metro and left before I could talk him out it.
I was disappointed; but the day wasn't over. Saturday afternoons always leave room for further disaster. Frank arrived and confirmed my worst suspicions.
“I never knew what a great guy Charlie is,” Frank said, looking at me with the last dying shred of his innocence shining in his eyes. “We had such a great time, Reef. He knows so much about … well, everything really. He knows about barns and estates and ...”
“He better know about estates. He's a trust lawyer.” I tried to keep the edge out of my voice. When Frank smiled at me with a heart rending look of complete bliss, I seriously considered killing Charlie.
“I thought he'd be different, you know, 'cause he's a lawyer and smart, and all I did was two years at Lord Fairfax Community College; but he's so easy to talk to. About anything … everything … We had the best day! The weather was perfect and he knows this state park, near Montpelier ...”
I tried to stop listening, just shut the details out; but Frank kept talking like an awestruck idiot.
“He even found me this outbuilding that I could live in. It's not ready, but they're working on it. And he said I could stay with him in the meantime … And I think his client is going to hire me to do a pool house … I can get my cousin Mike to help. What a perfect day!” Frank sighed with satisfaction. It was a sigh I had heard before, mostly right before he'd kiss my forehead and tell me he loved me. I'd miss hearing that sigh.
My only consolation was knowing that Frank's cousin Mike would drive Charlie crazy. That boy was so dumb. Pretty, but dumb. Charlie hates the dumb ones.
It was Saturday, normally a day I like for it's easy schedule. Sleep in an extra hour, read the internet news, drink a lot of coffee, walk to the laundry, buy a bottle of wine if I have a dinner invitation, hit the gym, maybe have a little nap before the night begins.
That Saturday I had nothing to do. Zip shit to do. The news was boring. The coffee I made tasted bitter. Then - how could a simple giggle be so upsetting?
As I was making the coffee, Charlie arrived all cheery and smiling. “Hey, Sunshine, want some coffee?” I offered.
“No thanks, I'm kind of in a hurry I want to clear Manassas before the Saturday traffic gets fierce.”
“What's up in Virginia?”
“Nothing, really. The destination is Orange, an estate I'm working on, and …” At that point Frank came out of the bathroom. Charlie turned to him and asked, “Ready? It's about a two hour drive ...”
“Let's roll. If we take my truck, I'll have everything I need.” And like that, they were gone.
I looked out the window and watched Charlie lean his head toward Frank and say something. Even at that distance I could hear Frank giggle. I swear it was his sex giggle! And the “everything I need” comment made my stomach turn: the only thing I knew Frank to carry without fail in his truck was condoms. I checked my wristwatch. In no more than an hour and a half they would 'clear Manassas', as Charlie put it and then … I didn't want to think about it.
Do I have to say? I guess I do. Charlie knows this state park near Orange, almost on the grounds of Montpelier, where he said the land and the trees formed a natural love nest. He took me there right after I met him. It was beautiful, everything he said it was, with a view of the westerly mountains that went on forever. Romantic. It was the first place we fucked. I looked again at my watch. By eleven o'clock Charlie and Frank would be spreading out a picnic and by eleven fifteen they would decide to hell with the food and they would be fucking. Maybe it will rain, I thought, as I glanced out at the bright sunshine.
The morning dragged. I couldn't get interested in anything. At fifteen minute intervals I would look at my watch and calculate the time left until Charlie would use his snake-oil lawyer skills to seduce Frank. And Frank would fall for it. I knew he would. A total line of bullshit about old houses and country life. And Frank would fall for it. I could hear Charlie now telling Frank how handsome he was. And Frank would totally fall for it. “You'd look so amazing standing against that tree with your shirt off.” And Frank would whip his shirt off, he was just that accommodating. And of course he would look amazing - he always did with his shirt off.
Frank's body was a genuine work of art. He did not deserve a body that perfect; he never went to the gym, never paid any attention to his diet, never did much of anything outside of work; he just looked great naturally. And once Frank's shirt was off, I really couldn't blame Charlie for whatever he did next.
From shirt removal, it would be so easy to get Charlie out of his pants. Going along with the rest of his selfishness, Frank liked to preen. I could see him, naked in the woods, showing off for Charlie, strutting around with half a hardon.. I hated to think about it. I looked at my watch again. Forty-five minutes left. The worst part was I knew how the day with Charlie would change Frank. No more sweet country boy; he'd be forever jaded and dissatisfied. Charlie had that effect.
I couldn't just sit and wait for it to happen. I needed a distraction. So I decided to go to work. I could review Sarah's paper, which sat unread on my desk, a job I had rashly promised her I would do weeks ago in order to get her to proof-read mine.
“You remind me of a black guy I knew once,” she said days later after repeating her request for my help.
“Please, no sordid tales.”
“Not sordid – just underhanded. He would get his girl friend to braid his hair by promising that he would do hers. But once his braids were done, there was always an excuse. He was too tired. He had to see a man about a dog. His hands were numb from the cold. His hands were sweaty from the heat. Always something … Like you … Always something.”
So I got to the lab, plunked down at my desk, and read - the title – it was a start. “Genetic Transference Mechanisms: The Empirical Dynamics of Motivation” by Sarah L. Felsen, Ph.D. It sounded more like psychoanalysis than protein chemistry. I'd need some coffee to get through this one, I decided. I put my red pencil down and grabbed some quarters from my desk drawer.
“Six Quarters: The Effective Price of Caffeine Motivation” by Sarah L. Felsen, Ph.D., I imagined as I walked down the hall to the coffee machine. Not that funny, but I chuckled to myself. Ahead of me was someone bent over trying to look up into the machine to watch the brewing process. Somebody cute, maybe. I could see a little strip of skin and a bit of his underwear showing above his belt. Don't look, I ordered myself. If he's wearing Hanes, it'll only be upsetting. So I distracted myself and waited patiently wondering what Sarah's 'L' stood for. Laverne. Leonora. Lily. Letitia. Lucinda. Lucien! It was Lucien in front of me.
“It's going to do it again!” The voice confirmed Lucien's identity as he stood erect and watched helplessly as the machine made grinding noises and then spewed freshly brewed coffee down its collection drain.
I philosophized. “It saves the inefficiency of drinking and pissing. This way the coffee goes directly into the sewer.” He didn't look amused. “Just being helpful.”
“Oh, Refo. Sorry,” he recognized me. “That's the second time it's done that.”
“Let's go to the cafeteria,” I suggested. “The coffee is not just cheaper there; it's actually better.”
He bent over once more to look at the mechanism in disbelief that it could be so incompetent. I looked, too, almost certain he would be wearing Hanes. He fooled me. “Aqalolgy” the waistband proudly displayed above a wild pattern of multicolored polka dots.
“What do the Swiss call those polka dots?” I asked him.
“What?”
“Polka dots … those dots on your underwear.”
“Polkapunkten,” he answered warily. I could see him wondering about my interest in his underwear, but something bigger was bothering him.
“What brings you in on a Saturday, Lucien?” I asked him.
“Dr. Bloch couldn't operate the scope. I am instructing him.”
“And it's slow going?” I had seen Bloch with new toys before.
“Very slow. He was thirty-seven minutes late.”
“He operates on Washington time.” I could see I needed to explain that. “In Washington, if someone says 'I'll pick you up at three forty-five,' that means you start getting ready around four.”
“One good point. He will remember everything you tell him. You'll never have to tell him twice. Bloch's memory is airtight.”
“He calls me Lukas.”
“Ah, names … He's not so good there. Good at the other stuff, though.”
We got coffees to go, chatted about cultural differences, and walked back to the lab. “I like your polkapunkten,” I told him. “Sehr lustig,” I added, hoping my words meant something like 'festive' in Swiss-German.
He stopped abruptly. “Are you calling me gay?”
“Not you. The polkadots. They're uh … fun, colorful, lively … “ I grasped for synonyms. “The old meaning of gay … I thought 'lustig' meant 'lusty' kind of; does it mean homosexual?”
“No, but Bloch also made a comment. I thought … Never mind.”
“What did he say?”
“He said I wasn't on the straight path to success.”
“I have no idea what he meant, but he didn't mean homosexual, I'm sure of that.”
“Are you sure? I worry he might report me to the company.”
“He won't do that. Trust me. He doesn't care about your private life.”
Strange conversation. Almost a strange as Sarah's paper. Her argument had a strong psychological foundation, something I knew little about. I shifted critical modes. I corrected all her grammar and spelling errors and noted that her reasoning was out of my field. She'd like that, getting me to admit my incompetence.
I glanced at my watch and realized that somewhere in Virginia the deed had been done. Charlie had worked his wiles on Frank. I was surprised how much it hurt knowing that. I could have been and should have been more tolerant of Frank's faults. Carter wasn't that much better looking, although he was a lot better in bed. Except lately. How had the sex with Frank improved so much since we broke up? Another mystery. Then, too, strictly from a practical point of view, Frank had been an ideal roommate. Finding somebody else as reliable, responsible, and tidy would not be easy. In my roommate experience, those qualities in combination were found only in Frank. Those qualities were almost ...
Thank you, Doctor Bloch.” Lucien came into the hall from Arnold's office as I passed.
Those qualities were almost Swiss! Of course! Obviously!
“Done? Heading home?” I inquired.
“He wants to do more tomorrow.” Lucien sounded unhapppy with the prospect.
“Working Sunday, huh? I don't like that either.”
“It's not the work. It's the commute. I live northeast of Baltimore, in Essex. I thought Johns Hopkins would be my main customer, but more and more of my work is in Washington.”
“You need a crash pad, Lucien.” I explained. “A cheap place where you can crash for a night now and then when you need to instead of going all the way home. Lots of people who work here have them.”
“Really? Isn't it expensive to live near here?”
“Not if you share.” I felt as snaky as Charlie, convincing Lucien to have a look at my place. I drove him over and tried to minimize the neighborhood's horrendous parking difficulties. “No, no, really, at night parking is a breeze.” Then I airbrushed the costs. “Yes, but you can deduct the rent as a job expense.” Finally I assured him I was out a lot. “I have a pretty active social life. You wouldn't see much of me ...”
Inside, once he looked around, his reaction was positive, even about sharing the bedroom. “No problem, there's room for another bed. Lots of room.” No lie, there was; it was a huge bedroom.
Naturally I had a few doubts about what I was doing. No matter how good looking he was, I'd be surrendering a big hunk of privacy to a straight guy. What, for instance, would he think of Charlie swanning around, pouring drama on his breakfast cereal? What would he think if I wanted some private time in the bedroom? As it turned out, we never got to that part.
“That's me.” He noticed the photograph.
“Hope you don't mind. I thought it had a look worth capturing.”
“No, that's ok. You make me look very ...” He took notice of Carter's picture; he stared; then he pointed. “This is...?”
“A guy I met in San Francisco. I liked his pose.”
He became agitated and quickly ended our negotiation. “On second thought, I'm afraid it just wouldn't work. I'm not sure the company would reimburse me for expenses and I don't want to commit long-term ...” I offered to drive him back to the lab, but he volunteered to take the Metro and left before I could talk him out it.
I was disappointed; but the day wasn't over. Saturday afternoons always leave room for further disaster. Frank arrived and confirmed my worst suspicions.
“I never knew what a great guy Charlie is,” Frank said, looking at me with the last dying shred of his innocence shining in his eyes. “We had such a great time, Reef. He knows so much about … well, everything really. He knows about barns and estates and ...”
“He better know about estates. He's a trust lawyer.” I tried to keep the edge out of my voice. When Frank smiled at me with a heart rending look of complete bliss, I seriously considered killing Charlie.
“I thought he'd be different, you know, 'cause he's a lawyer and smart, and all I did was two years at Lord Fairfax Community College; but he's so easy to talk to. About anything … everything … We had the best day! The weather was perfect and he knows this state park, near Montpelier ...”
I tried to stop listening, just shut the details out; but Frank kept talking like an awestruck idiot.
“He even found me this outbuilding that I could live in. It's not ready, but they're working on it. And he said I could stay with him in the meantime … And I think his client is going to hire me to do a pool house … I can get my cousin Mike to help. What a perfect day!” Frank sighed with satisfaction. It was a sigh I had heard before, mostly right before he'd kiss my forehead and tell me he loved me. I'd miss hearing that sigh.
My only consolation was knowing that Frank's cousin Mike would drive Charlie crazy. That boy was so dumb. Pretty, but dumb. Charlie hates the dumb ones.
A very interesting installment - our salesman got stage fright when he figured out exactly what den of iniquity he had entered?!
And, love moves on . . . or at least lust.
And, love moves on . . . or at least lust.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
[Select tease mode] You think?
Methinks you are having WAY too much fun with us.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
But, if you can guess all the plot angles, I wouldn't be telling much of a story.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Eight
Saturday wasn't over, it was only early evening. “Where are you going?” I asked Frank. He was dressed up. Ok, for Frank, he was dressed up. Dark trousers and an almost matching dark shirt. When Frank wore light colors his hair looked dark brown, but when he wore dark colors it looked considerably lighter. In the right light you could see blondish streaks, remnants of his youth. At the moment the light was just right. I couldn't resist. His hair was a little messed up. I smoothed it for him.
“I'm taking Charlie to Kinkaid's. They've got shad roe and on the menu and the season is almost over.”
“Really?” I had no idea Frank had even heard of Kinkaid's. It was a very expensive restaurant that featured seafood. And how did he know what was on the menu? I had never been there, although I longed to go.
“What's up for you tonight?” Frank asked back, as he brushed non-existent lint from his shirt. I listened closely but could not detect the tiniest hint of including me in his Kinkaid plans.
“Oh, you know, I'll hit the gym and then maybe Cobalt.” I could not believe how lame that sounded.
“Cobalt? Really? I thought you hated dancing.” He looked me in the eye and I almost melted. I couldn't believe how hot he looked. It was a different look for Frank; I could see a new maturity in his eyes. Frank would still be a handsome man at sixty.
“Yeah, well … You know … Every now and then ...” Again, so lame. I sounded pathetic to myself. It nagged at me also that I didn't really hate dancing; I just wasn't any good at it. I looked like a total fruit dancing.
Ok, then. Have a great night.” With that Frank left. For a second I thought he was going to kiss me goodbye, but I must have dreamed that up. He didn't.
The gym was pretty much a body shop out on Rockville Pike, the patrons were not serious body builders. There was a veneer of glitz at the door and economy from there on. It was a cheap place and attracted twenty-somethings looking for love or at least a hook-up. Usually not a pick-up, though, it was a no sex until the second date kind of place. As long as I went early enough, I could pretend that I had something set up for later. Not that anybody cared, really; it was almost certain they had nothing going on either. The Saturday crowd was semi-fit, semi-attractive, but not even semi-gay. Very straight acting, most of them.
There he was at the front desk, the long-haired guy with the wrist bands. “Hey, Jawan,” I acknowledged as I signed in.
“Refo, my man! Where you be hangin'?” Jawan wasn't black but liked to pretend he was. He said using black slang gave him 'street cred' with the black guys who came to the gym. Well, the black guys who came to the gym were pretty much like the white and Asian guys who came to the gym – mostly nerds trying to jock it up a little to add to their own 'street cred'.
“Work is taking up my time lately,” I told him. Our eyes met. Is it possible to encounter a past one-nighter and not wonder if the two of you could happen again? Tonight it looked more than possible. Jawan had a hungry look.
“You know, Refo, you could do a lot if you took your work outs more seriously.” He was checking out my body. I could feel his eyes on me. They lingered on my zipper.
“Yeah?” This was getting interesting.
“We've got a special going. Personal training sessions. Just $59.95 for three hours introductory. You can pick your trainer.”
“Yeah, well, I'm not sure I can commit to the time, Jawan.” Shit. Getting my hopes up and then pitching gym lessons at me. Was that why he hooked up with me in the first place? To get a sale later? Do I look that desperate?
“It could be very special training, tailored to your personal needs,” Jawan whispered confidentially. I looked up at him to verify what I had heard. His sales pitch had veered close to prostitution. His eyes said you know exactly what I'm saying. Gulp. Now what? Do I or don't I? “My schedule is very flexible,” he added in a normal tone.
“Uh, ...” I was stuck. I wanted to say yes. I was afraid. I decided no. But he was tempting.
“Tell you what. If you're here at nine, find me. I'll give you a free lesson.” He signaled to the guy behind me in line that he was next.
I want into the locker room in a daze. I looked back to the desk to see if Jawan was making the same pitch to the next customer. I couldn't tell. It looked like a normal conversation. Wow. I tried to stop holding my breath; my hands were shaking. I screwed up the combination of my lock a couple of times, trying to get the locker open, drawing a curious glance from the guy a couple of lockers away.
“Are you sure you have chosen the right locker?” he asked in precise and practiced English.
“Oh! You're right.” I moved one locker closer to him and popped the lock on the first try. I turned to him and asked, “Is your accent Vietnamese?”
“Laotian,” he answered. By then he was naked and deliberately wrapped a towel around himself, covering up a slim but attractive body. He look was mixed. He could have been Central American as easily as Asian. “My name is Tay.” He extended his hand. We shook and he went to the showers.
I changed to workout clothes and was tying my shoes when he returned. We exchanged smiles and continued with our business. He dropped his towel and my business instantly became checking him out. His cock looked considerably larger than it had before his shower. He rubbed himself with his towel pushing his balls around and making his cock swing slowly from side to side. Slowly and invitingly. I guess I've told you I'm not really into oral, and yet I really wanted to suck him. He caught me staring and I turned back to tying my shoes.
Asian guys are so hard to read. They all seem to me to be asexual, except for the ones who are more or less drag queens. Tay was no exception. I was pretty sure he was straight - not interested in me, in any case. I stood.
“Nice meeting you, Tay,” I said and walked to the track. A dozen or so laps would loosen me up. After a couple of laps I noticed another guy that I was slowly closing in on. It's Frank, I thought, as I watched the familiar motions of his ass. I passed him. No, it wasn't and I was disappointed that it wasn't. Frank is sitting down right now at Kinkaid's ordering shad roe, I told myself.
The rest of my workout was routine. Exercise machines. Free weights. Not enough of either, probably, but enough to get me sweating. I went back to the track and tried more laps, extending my stride. It felt good. I picked up the pace a bit.
I heard a loud female voice trying to be cute. “Attention members: Excelsior Gym will be closing in fifteen minutes. Please leave on time: your dedicated staff has plans for tonight, too.”
I looked at the wall clock on my next lap. Eight forty-five. Should I look for Jawan? I was tempted. How weird would it be, I wondered. Last time, I had fucked him, but it seemed so mechanical, a fuck by the numbers, as if he timed every action to somebody's idea of perfection. His body was awesome, I had to admit; but still there was something missing. Maybe we just needed more time together. On the other hand, he was a little freaky, like when they put him together there were a few parts left over …
“Refo, my man!” He had found me. “You waited. Ready for your lesson?”
“Uh, sure, John,” I said, unsure of whether I was doing the right thing here. He ignored my use of his real name.
“Come on, let's get some baseline info,” he said, brandishing a clipboard in my general direction and beckoning me to a 'staff only' room. He held the door for me and locked it after I entered. He sat at a desk and began. “Height?” Five eleven and a half. “Weight?” One hundred sixty-four. “That's pretty precise,” he commented. “What is your goal? Body mass? Specific muscle development?”
“Taller,” I suggested; that got me a look.
“Take your shirt off,” he ordered. He began taking measurements. Neck. Biceps. Arm length. Chest. He played with my nipples while he was doing that. He wasn't even subtle; he was smiling as he teased them to peaks. Waist. He did it from the front and put his arms around me. Our pelvises touched. He didn't even ask when he pulled my shorts down. “Step out of them,” he ordered. I was left in sneaks and a jock strap. “Not bad,” he said, sliding his fingers in my waistband to test the tightness.
“John ...” Things were getting uncomfortable; I started to protest.
“Hips,” he commented and began measuring again. His hands were busy feeling my bare ass and cupping my jock. I was getting hard. “Thighs.” He measured some more, nudging my package repeatedly as he adjusted the tape. “Calves.” Finally, he was finished and so were the preliminaries. He pulled my jock down and I sprang to attention.
“Let's quit fooling around,” he said and pulled off his exercise jacket and pants. “Time to fuck, huh?” His naked body was genuinely awesome.
Ok, I'm not kid. I could see this coming from the time I signed in at the front desk. I knew what was going to happen. Not the details, but I knew it was gonna be sex. And still I wasn't sure if I wanted to do it; but he was proceeding. He wasn't really giving me a choice. It wasn't rape. I couldn't scream like a girl. But I really didn't want to do it. You've had this happen, right? You didn't want to ... but you did it anyway? I was trapped and it was my own fault.
He started sucking my dick. And then he stopped. He took off one of his wrist bands.
“Just like a cock ring,” he commented as he fitted the elastic cloth around my cock and balls. “Too loose,” he observed and doubled the loop. “That's better.” He resumed sucking me. It felt much better than I expected. “Yeah, you're liking this,” he said after I groaned in pleasure. “Your turn, now.” He stood and shoved his cock into my mouth.
I sucked him for a time before he pulled out. He took off the other wrist band and handed it to me. “Put it on me.” I complied, double looping it as he had done to me. “Now rub my balls with the palm of your hand while you suck me.” It didn't take long. “Yeeee-aah, baby. Suck it! Suck yo' daddy!” His accent was becoming blacker.
With few preliminaries, minimal lube, and no rimming, he fucked me on his desk. “Yeee-aah, baby. Gonna make you ma' bitch.” He was plugging me to the best of his abilities, which fortunately weren't long in either depth or duration. “Fuck … that … tight … white … EEEEEAAAH.” A couple more strokes and he was done and got off of me.
In a businesslike manner, he stroked my cock. I was surprised how quickly I came. Almost immediately, he assumed the manner of a car salesman pointing out features. “See how the wrist bands keep you hard? We could go another round … if you want to sign up for personal training from me – Jawan, with the Hard On.” He made it rhyme and waved his cock at me.
Depressed by the sex, I skipped going to Cobalt. Driving home I never felt so used and dirty in my life, although I have to admit I got a good night's sleep. Frank woke me at about eight in the morning, trying to tiptoe through the bedroom to use the bathroom. He gave me one of his big, sweet, shit-eating grins when he saw I was awake. He looked happy as a clam; but his clothes were more rumpled than I had ever seen.
Charlie, that asshole, must have fucked him right in the truck before they even got to Kinkaid's. More than once from the look of things. Frank was his appetizer, his dessert, and his morning eye-opener.
Saturday wasn't over, it was only early evening. “Where are you going?” I asked Frank. He was dressed up. Ok, for Frank, he was dressed up. Dark trousers and an almost matching dark shirt. When Frank wore light colors his hair looked dark brown, but when he wore dark colors it looked considerably lighter. In the right light you could see blondish streaks, remnants of his youth. At the moment the light was just right. I couldn't resist. His hair was a little messed up. I smoothed it for him.
“I'm taking Charlie to Kinkaid's. They've got shad roe and on the menu and the season is almost over.”
“Really?” I had no idea Frank had even heard of Kinkaid's. It was a very expensive restaurant that featured seafood. And how did he know what was on the menu? I had never been there, although I longed to go.
“What's up for you tonight?” Frank asked back, as he brushed non-existent lint from his shirt. I listened closely but could not detect the tiniest hint of including me in his Kinkaid plans.
“Oh, you know, I'll hit the gym and then maybe Cobalt.” I could not believe how lame that sounded.
“Cobalt? Really? I thought you hated dancing.” He looked me in the eye and I almost melted. I couldn't believe how hot he looked. It was a different look for Frank; I could see a new maturity in his eyes. Frank would still be a handsome man at sixty.
“Yeah, well … You know … Every now and then ...” Again, so lame. I sounded pathetic to myself. It nagged at me also that I didn't really hate dancing; I just wasn't any good at it. I looked like a total fruit dancing.
Ok, then. Have a great night.” With that Frank left. For a second I thought he was going to kiss me goodbye, but I must have dreamed that up. He didn't.
The gym was pretty much a body shop out on Rockville Pike, the patrons were not serious body builders. There was a veneer of glitz at the door and economy from there on. It was a cheap place and attracted twenty-somethings looking for love or at least a hook-up. Usually not a pick-up, though, it was a no sex until the second date kind of place. As long as I went early enough, I could pretend that I had something set up for later. Not that anybody cared, really; it was almost certain they had nothing going on either. The Saturday crowd was semi-fit, semi-attractive, but not even semi-gay. Very straight acting, most of them.
There he was at the front desk, the long-haired guy with the wrist bands. “Hey, Jawan,” I acknowledged as I signed in.
“Refo, my man! Where you be hangin'?” Jawan wasn't black but liked to pretend he was. He said using black slang gave him 'street cred' with the black guys who came to the gym. Well, the black guys who came to the gym were pretty much like the white and Asian guys who came to the gym – mostly nerds trying to jock it up a little to add to their own 'street cred'.
“Work is taking up my time lately,” I told him. Our eyes met. Is it possible to encounter a past one-nighter and not wonder if the two of you could happen again? Tonight it looked more than possible. Jawan had a hungry look.
“You know, Refo, you could do a lot if you took your work outs more seriously.” He was checking out my body. I could feel his eyes on me. They lingered on my zipper.
“Yeah?” This was getting interesting.
“We've got a special going. Personal training sessions. Just $59.95 for three hours introductory. You can pick your trainer.”
“Yeah, well, I'm not sure I can commit to the time, Jawan.” Shit. Getting my hopes up and then pitching gym lessons at me. Was that why he hooked up with me in the first place? To get a sale later? Do I look that desperate?
“It could be very special training, tailored to your personal needs,” Jawan whispered confidentially. I looked up at him to verify what I had heard. His sales pitch had veered close to prostitution. His eyes said you know exactly what I'm saying. Gulp. Now what? Do I or don't I? “My schedule is very flexible,” he added in a normal tone.
“Uh, ...” I was stuck. I wanted to say yes. I was afraid. I decided no. But he was tempting.
“Tell you what. If you're here at nine, find me. I'll give you a free lesson.” He signaled to the guy behind me in line that he was next.
I want into the locker room in a daze. I looked back to the desk to see if Jawan was making the same pitch to the next customer. I couldn't tell. It looked like a normal conversation. Wow. I tried to stop holding my breath; my hands were shaking. I screwed up the combination of my lock a couple of times, trying to get the locker open, drawing a curious glance from the guy a couple of lockers away.
“Are you sure you have chosen the right locker?” he asked in precise and practiced English.
“Oh! You're right.” I moved one locker closer to him and popped the lock on the first try. I turned to him and asked, “Is your accent Vietnamese?”
“Laotian,” he answered. By then he was naked and deliberately wrapped a towel around himself, covering up a slim but attractive body. He look was mixed. He could have been Central American as easily as Asian. “My name is Tay.” He extended his hand. We shook and he went to the showers.
I changed to workout clothes and was tying my shoes when he returned. We exchanged smiles and continued with our business. He dropped his towel and my business instantly became checking him out. His cock looked considerably larger than it had before his shower. He rubbed himself with his towel pushing his balls around and making his cock swing slowly from side to side. Slowly and invitingly. I guess I've told you I'm not really into oral, and yet I really wanted to suck him. He caught me staring and I turned back to tying my shoes.
Asian guys are so hard to read. They all seem to me to be asexual, except for the ones who are more or less drag queens. Tay was no exception. I was pretty sure he was straight - not interested in me, in any case. I stood.
“Nice meeting you, Tay,” I said and walked to the track. A dozen or so laps would loosen me up. After a couple of laps I noticed another guy that I was slowly closing in on. It's Frank, I thought, as I watched the familiar motions of his ass. I passed him. No, it wasn't and I was disappointed that it wasn't. Frank is sitting down right now at Kinkaid's ordering shad roe, I told myself.
The rest of my workout was routine. Exercise machines. Free weights. Not enough of either, probably, but enough to get me sweating. I went back to the track and tried more laps, extending my stride. It felt good. I picked up the pace a bit.
I heard a loud female voice trying to be cute. “Attention members: Excelsior Gym will be closing in fifteen minutes. Please leave on time: your dedicated staff has plans for tonight, too.”
I looked at the wall clock on my next lap. Eight forty-five. Should I look for Jawan? I was tempted. How weird would it be, I wondered. Last time, I had fucked him, but it seemed so mechanical, a fuck by the numbers, as if he timed every action to somebody's idea of perfection. His body was awesome, I had to admit; but still there was something missing. Maybe we just needed more time together. On the other hand, he was a little freaky, like when they put him together there were a few parts left over …
“Refo, my man!” He had found me. “You waited. Ready for your lesson?”
“Uh, sure, John,” I said, unsure of whether I was doing the right thing here. He ignored my use of his real name.
“Come on, let's get some baseline info,” he said, brandishing a clipboard in my general direction and beckoning me to a 'staff only' room. He held the door for me and locked it after I entered. He sat at a desk and began. “Height?” Five eleven and a half. “Weight?” One hundred sixty-four. “That's pretty precise,” he commented. “What is your goal? Body mass? Specific muscle development?”
“Taller,” I suggested; that got me a look.
“Take your shirt off,” he ordered. He began taking measurements. Neck. Biceps. Arm length. Chest. He played with my nipples while he was doing that. He wasn't even subtle; he was smiling as he teased them to peaks. Waist. He did it from the front and put his arms around me. Our pelvises touched. He didn't even ask when he pulled my shorts down. “Step out of them,” he ordered. I was left in sneaks and a jock strap. “Not bad,” he said, sliding his fingers in my waistband to test the tightness.
“John ...” Things were getting uncomfortable; I started to protest.
“Hips,” he commented and began measuring again. His hands were busy feeling my bare ass and cupping my jock. I was getting hard. “Thighs.” He measured some more, nudging my package repeatedly as he adjusted the tape. “Calves.” Finally, he was finished and so were the preliminaries. He pulled my jock down and I sprang to attention.
“Let's quit fooling around,” he said and pulled off his exercise jacket and pants. “Time to fuck, huh?” His naked body was genuinely awesome.
Ok, I'm not kid. I could see this coming from the time I signed in at the front desk. I knew what was going to happen. Not the details, but I knew it was gonna be sex. And still I wasn't sure if I wanted to do it; but he was proceeding. He wasn't really giving me a choice. It wasn't rape. I couldn't scream like a girl. But I really didn't want to do it. You've had this happen, right? You didn't want to ... but you did it anyway? I was trapped and it was my own fault.
He started sucking my dick. And then he stopped. He took off one of his wrist bands.
“Just like a cock ring,” he commented as he fitted the elastic cloth around my cock and balls. “Too loose,” he observed and doubled the loop. “That's better.” He resumed sucking me. It felt much better than I expected. “Yeah, you're liking this,” he said after I groaned in pleasure. “Your turn, now.” He stood and shoved his cock into my mouth.
I sucked him for a time before he pulled out. He took off the other wrist band and handed it to me. “Put it on me.” I complied, double looping it as he had done to me. “Now rub my balls with the palm of your hand while you suck me.” It didn't take long. “Yeeee-aah, baby. Suck it! Suck yo' daddy!” His accent was becoming blacker.
With few preliminaries, minimal lube, and no rimming, he fucked me on his desk. “Yeee-aah, baby. Gonna make you ma' bitch.” He was plugging me to the best of his abilities, which fortunately weren't long in either depth or duration. “Fuck … that … tight … white … EEEEEAAAH.” A couple more strokes and he was done and got off of me.
In a businesslike manner, he stroked my cock. I was surprised how quickly I came. Almost immediately, he assumed the manner of a car salesman pointing out features. “See how the wrist bands keep you hard? We could go another round … if you want to sign up for personal training from me – Jawan, with the Hard On.” He made it rhyme and waved his cock at me.
Depressed by the sex, I skipped going to Cobalt. Driving home I never felt so used and dirty in my life, although I have to admit I got a good night's sleep. Frank woke me at about eight in the morning, trying to tiptoe through the bedroom to use the bathroom. He gave me one of his big, sweet, shit-eating grins when he saw I was awake. He looked happy as a clam; but his clothes were more rumpled than I had ever seen.
Charlie, that asshole, must have fucked him right in the truck before they even got to Kinkaid's. More than once from the look of things. Frank was his appetizer, his dessert, and his morning eye-opener.
An interesting night at the gym, indeed.
Mistakes we make.
Meanwhile, the grass is looking a lot greener on the other side of the fence.
Mistakes we make.
Meanwhile, the grass is looking a lot greener on the other side of the fence.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Interesting, huh? See, that's the trouble with these shorter chapters. If it's a downbeat episode, there's no mood mitigation possible until the next one; but Refo is going to have some tough times, I think.
Life can be like that.
(Meanwhile, what's happening with our boys in DC and the babies? lol)
(Meanwhile, what's happening with our boys in DC and the babies? lol)
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Nine
The sound of Frank taking a morning shower was soothing; I semi-dozed in the shaded light and fresh air coming in the window and dreamed a waking dream. Jawan. John. Wrist bands – I couldn't help but wonder if he tossed them in the washing machine along with his regular clothes or did they stay cum-soiled with the result of dozens of encounters. I watched Jawan strip off standing in front of a washing machine. In my vision his body was better than in real life; smooth, taut, flawless skin, bulging with youthful vigor. He looked right at me as he pulled off the wrist bands. He held them above the machine and hesitated.
“We could do this again, Refo,” he told me, his black accent gone. “Twenty bucks … cheaper than a bar bill. Guaranteed happy ending.” He winked at me. The wink was a little creepy and I adjusted my dream vision. I mentally deleted the wink and had him turn his attention to the wash. The wrist bands went into the machine and he stood naked watching the action of the agitator suck them under. I wished a camera could capture this dream image.
“You look good with a hard on. You want me to take a picture of you?”
“Frank!” I opened my eyes and quickly pulled the blanket over the tent I had created in the sheet.
“Seriously, you want me to take a picture? I always liked waking up and looking at you.” He stood smiling, looking me over, and waiting for an answer. “You could be up on the wall with your Hanes buddies.”
It was a poignant moment. Frank standing taking in a view of me he obviously liked and me looking at him wearing just a towel, every fold highlighted in the light. I wanted so much to pull him into my bed. Not for sex. Just for him. Just to be close to him. “Ok, you had your chance,” he said and walked out of the room. I swung my feet to the floor and felt a drop of precum spill onto my thigh.
“Reef?” Frank called for the living room. “I'm going to be late tonight. Don't get up if you hear me coming in around midnight. Course if it isn't me, you better get up, I reckon.” He chuckled his other chuckle, not the sexy one.
Why was he staying out late on a Sunday? He always liked going to bed early on Sundays. Probably going somewhere with Charlie. Why didn't he just spend the night at Charlie's? Was Charlie giving him blow jobs? I wasn't sure if Charlie had ever expressed a preference for oral. Were Charlie's blow jobs were as good as mine. Frank had loved that last one.
Fuck it. I got back under the covers and closed my eyes. My dick was almost limp but still wet on the end. I spread the slick dew around and enjoyed the warm response. Should I have a little dream about Frank? Jawan? Carter? Lucien the unattainable? I reviewed the images in my mind. Jawan lost out in the first cut. Frank had the best butt, but Carter knew how to fuck – yes, he did. Unbidden, an image of Sarah Felsen unhooking her bra popped into my head. Dark nipples. If I weren't mostly gay, she'd be worth a try. Lucien … Ah, Lucien … I could project almost anything I wanted onto his so-far unknown image. That little tear in his paper pants was so compelling. Made me want to …
The sound of loud knocking shattered my reverie. Fuck! Maybe they'll go away. The knocking stopped and my phone buzzed insistently. It was Charlie. “Get up and open the door” was the message.
I dressed quickly hoping I wouldn't make a wet spot in my jeans. Charlie would notice and I would never hear the end of it. I opened the door and let him in. He spoke to his point. “Put something better on. Like a blazer and a tie. You're coming with me to a brunch on the lawn at the Veep's house. Don't make that face. It won't ruin your whole day.”
I stared hard at him. “Do you like oral sex?”
“Getting or giving?” he asked impatiently. I jerked my head, meaning just answer the question. “Getting is ok. Giving depends on the person.” He offered no further information. “So get dressed,” he insisted. A few minutes later he yelled into the bedroom, “Don't wear that puke green tie.”
I put my favorite tie back on the rack and selected one of several he had given me, tiny checks of dark gray and muted maroon. If I could trust the mirror, the tie as well as the rest of me looked – I gotta say it - good. I presented myself and asked, “Ok?”
“My God, you look Republican.” He was disgusted and began messing with my hair.
“Quit it. I am republican … little 'r' … in theory, anyway.”
“You never told me.” He recoiled in horror.
I shrugged. “It's ok. Neither party likes me; and I don't like them.”
Charlie remained aghast. “How do you vote?”
“With the majority - I don't vote. Voting only encourages them.” He reached again for my hair and I warned him off. “J'y suis, j'y reste.”
Charlie drove to Admiral's House, the vice presidential residence ever since some admiral got dispossessed in favor of Nelson Rockefeller, who refused to move in. You couldn't blame him; it wasn't much of a house, as political palaces go.
“Why are we doing this?” I asked.
“I have a new client. A real estate investment trust. They need a favorable ruling.”
“Now you're a lobbyist?”
“One makes donations here and there. Even small ones will get you an audience.”
“With the Vice President?”
“Of course not. I'm seeing an assistant. Or perhaps an assistant's assistant.”
Charlie's limo-sized Benz was waved through the gates upon presentation of some impressive looking invitation. He was inordinately proud of the car, obsessed really, his very own 'powerful Kramler'. We parked on a designated section of roughly mown lawn well away from the house and walked toward the festivities. Charlie's last words of advice before the grips and grins started were, “It's ok to be gay, just don't camp it up too much.”
“When have I ever 'camped it up too much'?”
My words were lost with the first grip and grin. Someone in a dark suit shook hands with Charlie, posed automatically, and waited for the photographer to snap. Once the picture was taken, the dark suit barely nodded at me and moved on to another arrival.
“That was Ed Pettigrew,” Charlie hissed. Charlie's awed tone made it plain Mr. Pettigrew was someone I should have heard of. “He's the Veep's special assistant for legislative affairs.”
“Your client needs a law passed?” My question drew a withering look from Charlie.
“Here's who we want,” he said and made a bee line to another dark suit, leaving me alone and ignored. It must have been the way I was dressed. Everybody else was dressed for a ranch cookout with Cambridge, Massachusetts replacing the Texas flavor. I wished I had brought my camera, even a phone camera, which the security rules made me leave in the car. Maybe a drink, I thought, and looked for a bar. A Bloody Mary would be just the thing.
“Don't get your hopes up. All they have is soft drinks and beer.” Sarah Felsen made a Mr. Yuck face .
“Sarah!” She explained she was there because of some young scientist outreach program the Democrats were lately pursuing. She sipped a glass of something clear and fizzy. “I read your paper. Left it on your desk.”
She smiled. “I had a bet with Kee Lin that you would never do it. I lose.”
“Nothing big I hope.”
“Like my virginity or something?” Her laugh sounded forced. “No, nothing major.” Whatever she was drinking may have been more alcoholic than it looked. “You're looking very … Republican, kind of like a reformed UVa grad. It's not a bad look, Refo.” The vision of her unhooking her bra popped back into my head. Here in the morning sun, her eyes had a softer look.
“Gotta confess. I couldn't make much out of your paper. I slept through my psychology course.”
“What?” Sarah was confounded.
“Genetic Transference Mechanisms: The Empirical Dynamics of Motivation,” I quoted.
She laughed like a horse whinnying. People turned, looked, and sneered; it was not a Washington noise. “Wrong paper,” she choked out. “You are so fucked up, Refo – in such a benign way.” The 'so fucked up' part was heard by everybody within twenty feet. She shook her head and walked away.
“It's a bitch being a straight guy, isn't it?” The man next to me watched Sarah walk away. “They treat you like shit in front of everybody and if you say one word back ...” He made a strangling noise. “Randy Krol.” He offered his hand and a sunny smile. He was Polish, maybe, almost white-blond, hulking, and hunky. I wished again I had brought my camera. In the right light, Randy Krol would stop traffic.
“Refo Fitzjohn,” I answered.
“Wow. You sound like an archbishop.”
“Biochemist,” I answered.
“I'm a Delaware farmer,” he answered. “The Democrats have this outreach program, aimed at young farmers … and I thought it's a Sunday, why not?” I noticed his blue eyes. “If you want to get a Mountain Dew, I have a flask.” His low whisper was infectiously friendly, openly conspiratorial, and sexy. And let's go heavy on the sexy.
The sound of Frank taking a morning shower was soothing; I semi-dozed in the shaded light and fresh air coming in the window and dreamed a waking dream. Jawan. John. Wrist bands – I couldn't help but wonder if he tossed them in the washing machine along with his regular clothes or did they stay cum-soiled with the result of dozens of encounters. I watched Jawan strip off standing in front of a washing machine. In my vision his body was better than in real life; smooth, taut, flawless skin, bulging with youthful vigor. He looked right at me as he pulled off the wrist bands. He held them above the machine and hesitated.
“We could do this again, Refo,” he told me, his black accent gone. “Twenty bucks … cheaper than a bar bill. Guaranteed happy ending.” He winked at me. The wink was a little creepy and I adjusted my dream vision. I mentally deleted the wink and had him turn his attention to the wash. The wrist bands went into the machine and he stood naked watching the action of the agitator suck them under. I wished a camera could capture this dream image.
“You look good with a hard on. You want me to take a picture of you?”
“Frank!” I opened my eyes and quickly pulled the blanket over the tent I had created in the sheet.
“Seriously, you want me to take a picture? I always liked waking up and looking at you.” He stood smiling, looking me over, and waiting for an answer. “You could be up on the wall with your Hanes buddies.”
It was a poignant moment. Frank standing taking in a view of me he obviously liked and me looking at him wearing just a towel, every fold highlighted in the light. I wanted so much to pull him into my bed. Not for sex. Just for him. Just to be close to him. “Ok, you had your chance,” he said and walked out of the room. I swung my feet to the floor and felt a drop of precum spill onto my thigh.
“Reef?” Frank called for the living room. “I'm going to be late tonight. Don't get up if you hear me coming in around midnight. Course if it isn't me, you better get up, I reckon.” He chuckled his other chuckle, not the sexy one.
Why was he staying out late on a Sunday? He always liked going to bed early on Sundays. Probably going somewhere with Charlie. Why didn't he just spend the night at Charlie's? Was Charlie giving him blow jobs? I wasn't sure if Charlie had ever expressed a preference for oral. Were Charlie's blow jobs were as good as mine. Frank had loved that last one.
Fuck it. I got back under the covers and closed my eyes. My dick was almost limp but still wet on the end. I spread the slick dew around and enjoyed the warm response. Should I have a little dream about Frank? Jawan? Carter? Lucien the unattainable? I reviewed the images in my mind. Jawan lost out in the first cut. Frank had the best butt, but Carter knew how to fuck – yes, he did. Unbidden, an image of Sarah Felsen unhooking her bra popped into my head. Dark nipples. If I weren't mostly gay, she'd be worth a try. Lucien … Ah, Lucien … I could project almost anything I wanted onto his so-far unknown image. That little tear in his paper pants was so compelling. Made me want to …
The sound of loud knocking shattered my reverie. Fuck! Maybe they'll go away. The knocking stopped and my phone buzzed insistently. It was Charlie. “Get up and open the door” was the message.
I dressed quickly hoping I wouldn't make a wet spot in my jeans. Charlie would notice and I would never hear the end of it. I opened the door and let him in. He spoke to his point. “Put something better on. Like a blazer and a tie. You're coming with me to a brunch on the lawn at the Veep's house. Don't make that face. It won't ruin your whole day.”
I stared hard at him. “Do you like oral sex?”
“Getting or giving?” he asked impatiently. I jerked my head, meaning just answer the question. “Getting is ok. Giving depends on the person.” He offered no further information. “So get dressed,” he insisted. A few minutes later he yelled into the bedroom, “Don't wear that puke green tie.”
I put my favorite tie back on the rack and selected one of several he had given me, tiny checks of dark gray and muted maroon. If I could trust the mirror, the tie as well as the rest of me looked – I gotta say it - good. I presented myself and asked, “Ok?”
“My God, you look Republican.” He was disgusted and began messing with my hair.
“Quit it. I am republican … little 'r' … in theory, anyway.”
“You never told me.” He recoiled in horror.
I shrugged. “It's ok. Neither party likes me; and I don't like them.”
Charlie remained aghast. “How do you vote?”
“With the majority - I don't vote. Voting only encourages them.” He reached again for my hair and I warned him off. “J'y suis, j'y reste.”
Charlie drove to Admiral's House, the vice presidential residence ever since some admiral got dispossessed in favor of Nelson Rockefeller, who refused to move in. You couldn't blame him; it wasn't much of a house, as political palaces go.
“Why are we doing this?” I asked.
“I have a new client. A real estate investment trust. They need a favorable ruling.”
“Now you're a lobbyist?”
“One makes donations here and there. Even small ones will get you an audience.”
“With the Vice President?”
“Of course not. I'm seeing an assistant. Or perhaps an assistant's assistant.”
Charlie's limo-sized Benz was waved through the gates upon presentation of some impressive looking invitation. He was inordinately proud of the car, obsessed really, his very own 'powerful Kramler'. We parked on a designated section of roughly mown lawn well away from the house and walked toward the festivities. Charlie's last words of advice before the grips and grins started were, “It's ok to be gay, just don't camp it up too much.”
“When have I ever 'camped it up too much'?”
My words were lost with the first grip and grin. Someone in a dark suit shook hands with Charlie, posed automatically, and waited for the photographer to snap. Once the picture was taken, the dark suit barely nodded at me and moved on to another arrival.
“That was Ed Pettigrew,” Charlie hissed. Charlie's awed tone made it plain Mr. Pettigrew was someone I should have heard of. “He's the Veep's special assistant for legislative affairs.”
“Your client needs a law passed?” My question drew a withering look from Charlie.
“Here's who we want,” he said and made a bee line to another dark suit, leaving me alone and ignored. It must have been the way I was dressed. Everybody else was dressed for a ranch cookout with Cambridge, Massachusetts replacing the Texas flavor. I wished I had brought my camera, even a phone camera, which the security rules made me leave in the car. Maybe a drink, I thought, and looked for a bar. A Bloody Mary would be just the thing.
“Don't get your hopes up. All they have is soft drinks and beer.” Sarah Felsen made a Mr. Yuck face .
“Sarah!” She explained she was there because of some young scientist outreach program the Democrats were lately pursuing. She sipped a glass of something clear and fizzy. “I read your paper. Left it on your desk.”
She smiled. “I had a bet with Kee Lin that you would never do it. I lose.”
“Nothing big I hope.”
“Like my virginity or something?” Her laugh sounded forced. “No, nothing major.” Whatever she was drinking may have been more alcoholic than it looked. “You're looking very … Republican, kind of like a reformed UVa grad. It's not a bad look, Refo.” The vision of her unhooking her bra popped back into my head. Here in the morning sun, her eyes had a softer look.
“Gotta confess. I couldn't make much out of your paper. I slept through my psychology course.”
“What?” Sarah was confounded.
“Genetic Transference Mechanisms: The Empirical Dynamics of Motivation,” I quoted.
She laughed like a horse whinnying. People turned, looked, and sneered; it was not a Washington noise. “Wrong paper,” she choked out. “You are so fucked up, Refo – in such a benign way.” The 'so fucked up' part was heard by everybody within twenty feet. She shook her head and walked away.
“It's a bitch being a straight guy, isn't it?” The man next to me watched Sarah walk away. “They treat you like shit in front of everybody and if you say one word back ...” He made a strangling noise. “Randy Krol.” He offered his hand and a sunny smile. He was Polish, maybe, almost white-blond, hulking, and hunky. I wished again I had brought my camera. In the right light, Randy Krol would stop traffic.
“Refo Fitzjohn,” I answered.
“Wow. You sound like an archbishop.”
“Biochemist,” I answered.
“I'm a Delaware farmer,” he answered. “The Democrats have this outreach program, aimed at young farmers … and I thought it's a Sunday, why not?” I noticed his blue eyes. “If you want to get a Mountain Dew, I have a flask.” His low whisper was infectiously friendly, openly conspiratorial, and sexy. And let's go heavy on the sexy.
Well, Refo pulls off "Straight" well-enough, doesn't he?
Mucking it up with the hoy paloi (sp?) Are our old friends around somewhere?
I know - one track mind lately. Too much other stuff happening outside the cyber walls of JUB, lately.
Fun read - interested yes.
Mucking it up with the hoy paloi (sp?) Are our old friends around somewhere?
I know - one track mind lately. Too much other stuff happening outside the cyber walls of JUB, lately.
Fun read - interested yes.
