Session Thirty-Seven
Tom woke at the end of the night, while it was still dark, feeling groggy and thirsty. Alameda has a strange dawn; the eastern hills block the sun until it's well above the normal horizon; in effect, the sun, when it finally appears, arrives with a bang. Tom decided he wanted some aspirin before the bang went off. It took him a moment to remember where he was. Rory to the rescue, saving my ass again, he thought; and then he remembered it was Tim who brought him back from the gym. He found his shoes and quietly left for his own apartment.
The noise of the door closing woke Tim, who had the policeman's habit of sleeping with one eye open. He heard Tom's footsteps on the porch and relaxed. “Rory, wake up,” he said with some urgency.
“What? Something wrong?”
“I still love you.” Tim said earnestly.
Rory smiled and said, “Yeah, that's what you say, but not as much as last night.”
“More. Much more.” Tim kissed him with an earnestness that match his declaration.
Rory was still waking up and smiled lazily. “Am I going to get fucked?”
“If you want.”
“ 'Cause I want to brush my teeth first.”
They went into the bathroom and brushed their teeth. Rory turned on the shower which quickly filled the bathroom with steam. In warm comfort they stepped into the shower and Rory got fucked standing up against the wall, with Tim's body covering his. The thrusts were minimal and still Rory felt an expanding fullness inside as if Tim was filling every cell in his body. Whispered words in his ear were drowned out by the noise of the spray, but the sound of love was unmistakable. Tim reached around and stroked his cock and they came together. It would have been perfect to go back to bed and relax, but Tim's schedule said otherwise.
“The Aged P's will be back in an hour. I gotta go home.”
“I know. One more kiss.”
“I can't believe you love me.”
“Cool when that happens, isn't it?” Rory commented and shoved Tim away. “I'm gonna love you a lot more tonight.”
“But I have to work tonight,” Tim said.
“I have a plan,” Rory said.
Darren ate lunch with Tom on College Avenue near the Museum and things were edgy between them. They talked for the time it takes to eat a sandwich pointlessly about work while ignoring the obvious questions. Finally there was a lull and Darren came out with it.
“You fisted him? You fucked him?” It wasn't jealousy; it was astonishment.
Tom's heart broke; he had no answer. Darren wasn't accusatory, just disappointed, bitterly disappointed and disillusioned. Tom tried to answer, to explain, but he couldn't. Saying 'it didn't mean anything' didn't mean anything. Claiming he didn't want to do it sounded inane; he had wanted to. And the fisting itself was inexplicable; there was no rational explanation for any of it. It was a mistake; people make mistakes; they make multiple mistakes every day. Some mistakes, however, breech all understanding, especially when you're young; and Darren was twenty.
“I don't even know how you do that. Fisting. Was it your idea?” It seemed to Tom that Darren was now speaking from behind a wall.
“It was,” Tom admitted.
Darren shook his head. “I guess you punched him out a couple of different ways.” It was a friendly comment, but any closeness they shared was shattered for good. Darren gave Tom money for half the bill and said he had to get back to the Museum.
Darren returned to the office and asked Christopher about the pool tournament. “It's paced kind of like a circus, acts of daring-do with clowns in between. It'll last 'til about eleven, if that's ok.”
“Yeah, sure,” Darren answered without paying much attention.
Christopher could barely contain himself. He was literally salivating. Look at that cute little ass, he thought. He knew the tournament would last longer than eleven; it would last late enough that he planned to invite his cute little Nordstrom model to spend the night at his house, his house with the nice jacuzzi and only one bed. The jacuzzi was always good for getting 'em naked, he mused. But there was something about the bed that he couldn't figure out. It was amazing how many guys, once they saw the bed, left without even putting all their clothes on.
They worked until about six-thirty and then grabbed a bite. Christopher was impressed that Darren ordered without even looking at the menu.
“Oh, that's because I had lunch here today with Tom,” was the explanation. Christopher was sorry to hear Tom's name enter the conversation and quickly changed the subject.
They got to the pool hall about seven thirty and the early matches were in progress. “Here, let's get a seat near the center table,” Christopher said as they stepped up a couple of tiers of seats.
There was some occasionally excellent shooting, but these were the early rounds and served solely to eliminate the non-serious players. The next round was substantially better and there was some spectacular shooting. Darren noticed Christopher missed most of the shots; his eyes were on the players' asses. There were some cute guys and Darren couldn't help admiring their backsides as well, but the best player's weight was measured in fractions of a ton rather than pounds. An eighth of a ton didn't even come close. The guy was disgusting to look at; but his calm and accuracy were world-class.
After that round, as Christopher predicted, the clowns came out. They were actually dressed like clowns and had curved and cork-screwed cues. They were initially fun and pretty good shots. Then one of the clowns switched cues; he pulled out one that had a
dildo on the end. The announcer made lewd comments and the clown made some threatening gestures toward the other clowns and the closest people in the crowd. It was frat boy humor. Then he switched to a cue that had a fist on the end and poked a couple other clowns in the ass. There was some lame laughter and catcalls, but the act was going on too long. The clown gestured at the crowd with the fist and managed to lock eyes with Darren.
“You're right. They are just like circus clowns. Not funny at all,” Darren said. “Thanks for the invitation, but I'm gonna get home before the buses stop running. I'd put five dollars on the fat guy.”
Larry woke at the Claremont feeling a little stiff and expressed his wonder at how a hotel with such crappy mattresses could charge so much money.
“I'm not paying for it,” Jack said. “Poor baby, come on. I'll help you work that stiffness out.” Larry found himself on the receiving end of a very athletic blowjob that left him relaxed and feeling very flexible. He began to reciprocate but Jack resisted.
“I hate to say no, but my performance sucks if I have sex the morning before I go on.”
The dressed and after breakfast went in search of some bib overalls. “Andrew said this tailor could make a coffin look sexy.”
“Ok, then. We don't want you looking too much like a real farmer or anything, so I want you to wear a crisp white shirt. Collar and short sleeves, to show off your biceps,” the tailor said.
“My biceps aren't that impressive,” Jack said.
“Trust me. After I'm done with the shirt, they will be,” answered the tailor. Larry dropped Jack off back at the hotel with a crisp white shirt and some very tailored overalls that subtly showed off his ass from any angle.
“Your coming back tonight, aren't you? Won't you? I mean, please come back, ok? This will be over by four.”
I'll pick you up at four thirty in front of the hotel. Dress for lacrosse and bring a change of clothes.”
“Lacrosse?” Jack waved to Larry as he drove away.
A very depressed Tom got back from his lunch with Darren and told Rory, “I think I need a change of scene.” Rory responded with a list of reasons why that was not just bad, but a terrible idea. The list include some very ego-building compliments and the financially significant subject of non-vested stock options. A determined Rory was a persuasive Rory, and Tom agreed to think things over. “I can't say no to you and you know it, don't you?”
“It wouldn't be the same here without you,” Rory said with a disarming and affecting honestly.
“God damn it,” Tom said as he went back to his desk. Bernice watch him brush a tear away and declared to all that it was officially be-nice-to-Tom week in the office.
A couple of minutes later a paper airplane landed on Tom's desk. Tom opened it up and read, “You do have a nice dick even if I can't make it operate. Love, B.” Later Jerry, a new guy they had recently hired, said privately, “The stories I hear about you are awesome. You're part of why I wanted to work here.” Tom cornered Cyril and said, “You made him say that, didn't you?” Cyril was convincingly dumbfounded by the accusation; he had made Jerry say it but it wasn't hard to do. Later Cyril told Tom, “Bernice and I are together because of you. You touch lives, dude.”
Tom was equally stunned by the depth of Cyril's feeling and by how hot Cyril was looking. Marriage and gaining a few pounds had worked wonders for Cyril. He was impressed by the range of sentiments expressed by his coworkers. I'm so sappy, feeling all warm and fuzzy about this, he told himself.
At the end of the day Rory asked Jerry if he played lacrosse. It turned out that he had played in high school and he was happy to join the afternoon scrimmage.
Rory asked, “Have you found a place to live yet, Jerry?
“A new place - just rebuilt, actually, on Shoreline. The Tiki,” Jerry said. Eyes rolled and jaws tightened; but no one actually laughed. “What?” asked Jerry.
In mid-morning Seth and Andrew drove east across the Bay Bridge. Andrew glanced at Seth admiringly. Perfect lips, he thought. “The sex business, Seth ...” Andrew began. “We're gonna keep it up, aren't we?”
“It seems so,” Seth commented picking the leftmost lane.
“Well, don't sound so excited about it,” Andrew chided.
“You know what I mean. I like you and the sex is fun; but it's not quite … I don't know; something is missing.”
“I've always liked it better than you did,” Andrew said.
“Once we're into it, I like it fine. You really know what I like; you push my buttons every time.” Seth patted Andrew's leg trying to make it intimate.
“But you don't love me,” Andrew persisted.
“Not exactly. I mean, kind of I do, when I think about it; but it's nothing frantic. It's comfortable and it's easy and it seems to flow out of our work. I think we work very well together.”
“We do.” Andrew let it drop. They had arrived at the studio.
Inside they showed Chris the results of shooting with the camera array that he and Seth had conceived. “Oh, yeah. Oh, definitely,” Chris commented as he fast-forwarded through the different cameras' captures. I can work with this stuff. That bottom guy is cute.”
“Which bottom guy?” Seth asked. “They both bottom.”
“Then this is two videos. Let's stretch it out, make twice the money,” Chris said.
“Can you put together a teaser in a hurry? I want to sell it today.” Andrew wanted to strike while the memory of their first effort was still hot.
“We need porn names, so we don't blur our image in the fashion business,” Seth proposed.
“Lusty Lenscap,” Chris said.
“Randy Andrews,” Andrew said.
“Steve McHeat,” Seth said.
“That was easy,” Chris said.
“The board of directors of Backflip Productions,” Andrew confirmed and they high-fived.
At Ritler Park as they walked onto the field, Jack Connor said to Larry, “This is the most gorgeous lacrosse team I've ever seen. That guy is like a Norse god.”
“That's Eric Malone. I live in his house. Amanda is his agent, too. That guy, Z, is his boyfriend,” Larry explained. “Mark and Luke live down the street.”
“Wow!”
“It gets better. Z has an almost twin brother who lives next door; but I don't see him here today.”
Rory, Tom, Cyril, and Jerry arrived and introductions were made. Even Spike and Erica showed up. Tim and Neil came too but said they had to leave early.
“Six man teams; nice,” said Eric, who was inevitably one team's captain.
Jerry was standing with Mark and asked, “Um … I'm feeling a little out of place. Is everybody gay?”
“Not exacly. Neil is straight. I'm straight, except I live with Luke, who used to be married. Tom used to be straight. I don't really know Jack. And Cyril used to be gay, but now he's married to Bernice. The other guys are technically bisexual, more or less. The little girl – Erica - is Spike's; he's gay and Eric and Z are her godparents. So there's no reason to feel unique about anything. You're experienced? Do you want to play attack or middy?”
“Uh … midfield I guess.” Jerry was near panic, holding onto the waistband his sweats countering the weight of Erica who seemed determined to pull them off.
“Sorry,” Spike said, snatching up Erica, “She's trying to be helpful; she's used to guys playing in shorts.”
The teams split up with two defenders, one also being goalie, two midfielders and two attackers. The play was pretty decent with some nice sweeping moves. Jack was less clutzy than he pretended to be and Jerry was a good player. They play was exhausting, which was the goal. When Rory, Tim, and Neil all left things disintegrated and they just practiced passing and running, five on four.
When the play was over, Jerry said to Tom, “That was fun and nobody except Erica made any moves on me.”
“It's just athletics here,” Tom answered. “Come on to Eric's house for dinner; maybe your luck will improve.” Jerry's look of panic returned. “Kidding,” Tom said. “Nobody's going to mess with you and Z's a very good cook.”
Neil had gone home to prepare for work but Tim and Rory went to Tim's house. The Aged P's had prepared dinner from things that were mostly cooked at Scalise's and needed only warming up. When the dinner was over, Tim said he was going to get ready for work and began saying good-bye to Rory.
“If you don't mind, I thought I'd stay with your parents. I've been studying the game and I thought maybe we could play three-handed bridge.” He turned to Tim's parents and continued, “I know that's not as good as the real thing, but if you'd want to tolerate a beginner, I'm willing.” The Aged P's were delighted; Rory poured some B and B while Arthur got out the cards and Marie cleared the table. Tim whispered, “Rory, I love you.”
“Me, too, Tim; but I want you to know I'm planning to have a good time tonight.”
About twenty minutes into the play Rory made his three no trump bid. “For somebody who just read a book, you play amazingly well, Rory,” Marie complimented.
“You can be my partner when we get Timmy to play,” Arthur added.
Rory observed a curious thing about Marie. If her hand was more or less the equal of her husband's she would throw the game to him; but if she had a really good hand, she'd smoke him without thinking twice. Rory let her know he was on to her and she winked back.
“You know Tim calls you his Aged P's?” Rory asked.
Arthur laughed and said, “I used to read him Dickens when he was young. Nice to see something rubbed off.”
“I think a lot rubbed off. He's in awe of you, Arthur.” Rory said this without a hint of calculation.
“Your dad must have done alright, too,” Arthur gallantly replied.
“My father left before I really knew him. I was raised by my grandparents mostly.”
The play continued; the B and B's got refilled; and a short version of Rory's life was told. When the play was done and the liqueur was taking effect, Marie ended the night telling Rory he couldn't be any nicer. “Shirred eggs in the morning?” she asked.
“Timmy's room can get a little cool,” Arthur said. “There's a small electric radiator in the closet if you need it.”
Rory lay alone in Tim's bed feeling the glow of the B and B. Three-handed bridge really was fun he thought and he replayed a few hands in his head, figuring out how he could have improved his game. It was a friendly game, but playing to win was a built-in part of Rory. Pondering the clean beauty of a successful finesse, he dozed off. He woke again when Tim embraced him, he melted with Tim's kiss, and they slept tangled up like puppies, the way Tim liked. The radiator stayed in the closet.
When dinner was over and things were breaking up at Eric's, Larry gave Jack the choice of staying in his room upstairs or going back to the hotel.
“Do you mind taking me back? I'll feel better about work tomorrow if I don't have to rush around in the morning. You can stay if you want. If you can put up with the crappy mattress.” Larry didn't answer and Jack added, “Please stay, Larry.” That got him a slight grin.
“Pretty soon you'll have me convinced that Logan didn't put you up to this.”
“He did. I dreaded it. And then about a minute and a half into the second fuck, I was thinking about staying here longer. I was thinking about keeping you with me. I was thinking … unprofessional thoughts.”
“You're a hustler?”
“Yes, but I've never been with somebody like you. It's always old studio execs and faded actors and drug dealers.”
They couldn't get to Jack's room fast enough. Larry was direct and ardent. He gave Jack a fuck that cleared the cobwebs off the ceiling. It was steady and relentless and Jack came wimpering and begging for more. Their second time was gentler and moved at Jack's pace. He slow-fucked Larry until Larry's ardor returned and then they swapped places and Jack got pounded again. Jack didn't come that time but Larry was determined. He gave Jack a teasing blowjob of licks and kisses and tugs, a little rimming, and some nipple action. Then he entered his ass for the third time, but he didn't fuck him. He just filled him up while he sucked and stroked some more. Pressing on Jack's pubic bone with the heel of his hand worked and Jack shot repeatedly, draining himself.
Without conversation they held each other and slept. In the morning, when Larry left, he kissed Jack's cheek and said, “It was all professional, right? Both nights.”
“I enjoyed it, didn't you?” Jack asked. “I had you convinced some of the time, didn't I?”
“Yes, to both questions. I liked it very much.”
“And I got a hot pair of overalls out of it.”
“Tell Logan thanks, ok? Jack? Andre? John?”
“Paul, if you really want to know.” Paul gave Larry a brief but real kiss on both cheeks and then smiled as he left for his forklift demonstration.
