I guess it started when I was doing sitting, spread-leg stretches on a mat at the pool and he came over and quietly told me that, “the mouse needs to back in his house.” It took me a second to realize that he was telling me that my privates were visibly hanging out the leg of my shorts. “Ooops….Thanks.” I readjusted things and resolved to either get some new shorts or replace the elastic in the lining, and, in the meantime, be more careful.
When I was done stretching, I stopped by where he was doing military presses and thanked him again. After that, I started noticing him each day. I liked him on sight and made an effort to chat when we were in the exercise area or the shower together. Even with my stunted gaydar, I was pretty sure he was gay. He was low-key and friendly, but made no effort to hide it. His name is Tom.
Several weeks later, my wife was out of town for a week and I got up my nerve to ask if he wanted to go out for coffee and he said he would like that. We got coffee to go and he drove us out of town to a nice spot by the water and we talked for two hours. I told him my story and he told me his. I told him I was gay and he confirmed that he was. My wife has known for about seven years and it is not a real problem to her, although the unspoken understanding is that I won’t be sexually active with men, and I’ve been good about that. However, I have gotten to the point where I am just about non-functional and I think I have a species of depression because I can’t seem to accomplish much of anything. Nothing seems worth doing. There are projects and home repairs and other things that have needed to be done for years and I can’t get up the psychic energy to actually do anything but the most desperately needed one and it takes several times the time it should to get it done. I told him I need some gay friends and I need to smash through the lethargy and depression. If there’s a pattern in my life it is that I simply don’t do the things that need to be done until disaster looms. I’m a world-class procrastinator. It makes sense to me that, to break the pattern, I should go for the biggest and worst thing I’ve been avoiding. I need to get out of the fucking closet.
He came out when he was sixteen and has been open about it for twenty years. He graduated from a good liberal arts college in the Midwest and then just decided he was not going to live his life in the standard mold. He has no career direction in his life. He takes whatever job is available and just enjoys each day. He’s lived here a couple of times and moved away. He now owns a small boat in the harbor and lives on it. He quit his last job as a taxi dispatcher to take the summer off. He is working on fixing up the boat to allow him to travel around Southeast. He just adopted a young male cat that was dumped from a car and left behind. Like many liveaboards, he comes to the pool most mornings for a shit, shower, and shave. And he is happy to be my friend. Before we drove home, we had a nice long hug and I leaned up and kissed him. First time I’ve ever had to go to tiptoes to kiss somebody.
The next morning at the pool, I invited him home for breakfast. After breakfast we sat there a little awkwardly. Then I said, “You know, I’m really attracted to you.”
“I know, I feel the same about you.”
“So what are we going to do about it?”
“That’s entirely up to you. It’s your call.”
After a long moment of anguish, I told him I wanted to take him upstairs and get naked and have the luxury of exploring his body, something I could never do in a public shower. I wanted to memorize his tattoo, check out his buns, and maybe play with his dick. We would not exchange fluids. That was fine with him.
Of course, it wasn’t that innocent, and somewhere back in my head, I’m sure I knew that. Again, after more anguish, I sucked his cock and later we did the old 69. I molested his nipples a few dozen times, caressed his scrotum, and let my curiosity run free. I did memorized his tattoo, a boar’s head positioned so that his left nipple forms the end of its snout and it has a real bone ring in it. He wasn’t exactly passive in all this, but he let me set the pace and indulged me. I gave him a nice back rub and we lay together and snuggled and kissed, our hands always moving.
It was wonderful. And it may be the end of my marriage. And do I really care? He borrowed a couple of tools to work on a project he had for the afternoon and went off to take care of his cat. Late in the day, I called and told him I was making some dinner if he was interested. He was. He arrived late, which was no big deal, and we had a simple supper. And then again, an awkward pause. He said he needed to go back to his boat and let the cat out. I said, yeah, we probably should call it a day. He suggested we could just cuddle on the couch for a while, or I could go back to the boat with him. It was my choice. We walked the dog around the block so she could pee and would last the night and then we drove to his boat.
In truth, it is rather a ramshackle old thing, cramped and needing lots of work, but great for a single, free spirit with a cat and not much money. We spent the night under an old afghan and a folded-out sleeping bag with the cat tear-assing all over, attacking shadows, and whumping against the hull around us. We talked a lot more about me coming out of the closet. I told him I loved him, but I was not in love with him. He reiterated what I already know, that I simply need to do what is best for me. He also plainly said that I shouldn’t come out with the expectation that he will be around for me on a permanent basis. I can’t remember exactly how he phrased it, but I understood. He is probably not Mr. Right, but he was happy to help me make it through the night, as the song goes. We spent the night with me spooned to his back, kissing him between his shoulder blades when I felt like it, and with my arm around him, my hand resting on his lower belly just above his pubic hair. I wanted it to be like that forever, but knew it wouldn’t be. Tom is a real treasure, but he is not mine.
The next morning, he drove me home in the early light and I worked to clean the sheets and make the bed and get the house in order before I picked up my wife at the airport that afternoon.
When I was done stretching, I stopped by where he was doing military presses and thanked him again. After that, I started noticing him each day. I liked him on sight and made an effort to chat when we were in the exercise area or the shower together. Even with my stunted gaydar, I was pretty sure he was gay. He was low-key and friendly, but made no effort to hide it. His name is Tom.
Several weeks later, my wife was out of town for a week and I got up my nerve to ask if he wanted to go out for coffee and he said he would like that. We got coffee to go and he drove us out of town to a nice spot by the water and we talked for two hours. I told him my story and he told me his. I told him I was gay and he confirmed that he was. My wife has known for about seven years and it is not a real problem to her, although the unspoken understanding is that I won’t be sexually active with men, and I’ve been good about that. However, I have gotten to the point where I am just about non-functional and I think I have a species of depression because I can’t seem to accomplish much of anything. Nothing seems worth doing. There are projects and home repairs and other things that have needed to be done for years and I can’t get up the psychic energy to actually do anything but the most desperately needed one and it takes several times the time it should to get it done. I told him I need some gay friends and I need to smash through the lethargy and depression. If there’s a pattern in my life it is that I simply don’t do the things that need to be done until disaster looms. I’m a world-class procrastinator. It makes sense to me that, to break the pattern, I should go for the biggest and worst thing I’ve been avoiding. I need to get out of the fucking closet.
He came out when he was sixteen and has been open about it for twenty years. He graduated from a good liberal arts college in the Midwest and then just decided he was not going to live his life in the standard mold. He has no career direction in his life. He takes whatever job is available and just enjoys each day. He’s lived here a couple of times and moved away. He now owns a small boat in the harbor and lives on it. He quit his last job as a taxi dispatcher to take the summer off. He is working on fixing up the boat to allow him to travel around Southeast. He just adopted a young male cat that was dumped from a car and left behind. Like many liveaboards, he comes to the pool most mornings for a shit, shower, and shave. And he is happy to be my friend. Before we drove home, we had a nice long hug and I leaned up and kissed him. First time I’ve ever had to go to tiptoes to kiss somebody.
The next morning at the pool, I invited him home for breakfast. After breakfast we sat there a little awkwardly. Then I said, “You know, I’m really attracted to you.”
“I know, I feel the same about you.”
“So what are we going to do about it?”
“That’s entirely up to you. It’s your call.”
After a long moment of anguish, I told him I wanted to take him upstairs and get naked and have the luxury of exploring his body, something I could never do in a public shower. I wanted to memorize his tattoo, check out his buns, and maybe play with his dick. We would not exchange fluids. That was fine with him.
Of course, it wasn’t that innocent, and somewhere back in my head, I’m sure I knew that. Again, after more anguish, I sucked his cock and later we did the old 69. I molested his nipples a few dozen times, caressed his scrotum, and let my curiosity run free. I did memorized his tattoo, a boar’s head positioned so that his left nipple forms the end of its snout and it has a real bone ring in it. He wasn’t exactly passive in all this, but he let me set the pace and indulged me. I gave him a nice back rub and we lay together and snuggled and kissed, our hands always moving.
It was wonderful. And it may be the end of my marriage. And do I really care? He borrowed a couple of tools to work on a project he had for the afternoon and went off to take care of his cat. Late in the day, I called and told him I was making some dinner if he was interested. He was. He arrived late, which was no big deal, and we had a simple supper. And then again, an awkward pause. He said he needed to go back to his boat and let the cat out. I said, yeah, we probably should call it a day. He suggested we could just cuddle on the couch for a while, or I could go back to the boat with him. It was my choice. We walked the dog around the block so she could pee and would last the night and then we drove to his boat.
In truth, it is rather a ramshackle old thing, cramped and needing lots of work, but great for a single, free spirit with a cat and not much money. We spent the night under an old afghan and a folded-out sleeping bag with the cat tear-assing all over, attacking shadows, and whumping against the hull around us. We talked a lot more about me coming out of the closet. I told him I loved him, but I was not in love with him. He reiterated what I already know, that I simply need to do what is best for me. He also plainly said that I shouldn’t come out with the expectation that he will be around for me on a permanent basis. I can’t remember exactly how he phrased it, but I understood. He is probably not Mr. Right, but he was happy to help me make it through the night, as the song goes. We spent the night with me spooned to his back, kissing him between his shoulder blades when I felt like it, and with my arm around him, my hand resting on his lower belly just above his pubic hair. I wanted it to be like that forever, but knew it wouldn’t be. Tom is a real treasure, but he is not mine.
The next morning, he drove me home in the early light and I worked to clean the sheets and make the bed and get the house in order before I picked up my wife at the airport that afternoon.