Clarification

Fizer Avenue, Memphis 1960

My room was the attic of a house in a row of tired, older houses. Downstairs was crowded with my brothers and a new sister. I liked my dark little room, the winters were snowy, I was warm.

Looked out a dormer window where I could see other houses in the silent evening of December snows. Peaceful families living quiet lives; imagined myself there. Warm, snug.

Heavy snows brought soft colors as the sun set. Periwinkle-mauve and black scene. Windows glimmering with gold light during the dusk burning this scene deep inside me. It stayed with me all my life.

Almeda Rd., Houston 1967

Family moved into a clapboard house in an immigrant enclave; neighbors from the bayous, from the hills and from abroad. Greeks, Germans, folks from the Caribbean, Latin America, Okies – all kinds of folk.

Blacks lived nearby yet separated by old fence that was rotted and falling; sign of the times.

Coon asses, they called themselves, were off the bayous of Louisiana, very distinct group.  All the kids adopted street Spanish and Cajun Creole slang. Slang became code words for our secret escapades.

Rapidly changing times, our ages, politics, Vietnam, couldn’t pinpoint the cause of our home becoming hostile. Parents fought, brothers were out of control, sister ran away repeatedly.

The difference between the saying and the doing widened. Hard to make sense of life; a serious unraveling of familial bonds began. 

***

Those days sodas came in glass bottles kept in wooden crates. The convenience store behind our house stacked the crates of empties in back. Crate full of empty bottles was worth a dollar forty-five. Chump change unless you had ten or twelve crates of empties.

The sounds of tinkling glass woke me one night, it came from the convenience store. Watched the boys fill the trunk of an old Studebaker long after the store closed. There was enough light to see them moving about, heard them cussin’ and jokin’ around.

Cop cars rolled silently into the scene, turned on their spot lights suddenly. The guys dropped their pop crates making a big racket of breaking bottles.

Two of the hoods jumped the chain-link fence, ran through our yard. They had to pass my window, the space was narrow. One stopped and looked toward the screen next to my bed, I froze, hoping they’d think I was asleep.

“Maybe they got--.” One whispered as his face came close.

“Them crackers got shit.”

In a low voice, I growled and slapped the sill loudly.

They ran. For a moment, the attic fan sucked the smell of their sweat across me and back out into the humid night.

Adrenaline-fueled fear doused my dreams.

Neighbors had break-ins, car thefts began, drug-dealing was rife. Chasing bucks was the game, quick money drove harsh strategies disrupting what was left of the calm around me.

Career Decision

Part 1

Garden Villas, Texas 1974

Family moved up to a house with a detached garage. That’s where my brothers souped-up an old Ford.

Friday nights I tagged along with them, sneaking into the races by hiding in the trunk. Races were loud, dusty, smelled awful. All the cars turned their radios on to the same rock ‘n roll station. Hundreds of kids hanging around the coolers full of iced Schlitz.

Brother had a car, and because I was small, he used me to bait girls.

I was so adorable the girls said. Thought myself a skinny runt yet brother hit home runs with that strategy.

After he pinned girls in the back seat, I got lost while true love grunted to orgasm.

***

One brother always had cash. In the classified section of the newspaper, he took out an ad, “Will do anything legal for money.” He used a friend’s phone number following his brief post.

Brother got work, seems like several older women wanted his services. Said he fixed cars, rotated tires. I doubted that, he was shifty, shiftless. One afternoon he asked me if I’d like to work.

“How much?”

“Total, twenty-five for a few minutes. Split it with you – half n’ half.”

“Doin’ what? Changing oil?”

“Easier. Just stand still. Want the job or not?”

Was this a trick? His grin was too wide, he bucked his hips slightly. “Hey, I’m no whore!”

“Nobody gets fucked, he only wants to rub.”

“Pimp.” I gave him a skunk-eye.

“Pimp with wheels. Sell what you got sissy-boy.” He chuckled.

***

Several days later he picked me up after school and assured me it was a “no-fuck” deal.

“Jus’ let him rub. No one’s naked, he does it outside.” Brother cocked his head, “This guy has a couple of rules though.”

“Yeah?” I asked, thinking about $12.50—I’d be in high cotton.

“First, you got to have a pair of your dirty underwear in your right, front pocket. He wants to come up behind you, so you can’t see his face and he wants to – well, all he wants to do is, um, kind of hug you and rub your butt. He likes to talk when he’s rubbing but you can’t say anything.”

“No fuck?” I asked.

“Nope.” He was grinning, I wasn’t sure why.

“Ten minutes to be still, shut up and a pair of my underpants?” I checked, “For $12.50.”

“Right.”

“You gonna be there?”

“I’ll take you over and park down the street, wait.”

***

The air was hot, muggy the afternoon pimp-bro took me down an alley. Seedy area. Old, mismatched cedar-shake houses, oyster-shell alley lined with quack grass and pigweed. Over-turned trashcans, odor of cat piss was rank.

He stopped behind an ancient garage that faced the alley where a mulberry tree shaded the spot, and a big gardenia bush covered with sooty mold hid half the area. Nervously, I wiped beads of sweat off my upper lip and brow.

“Face that garage door and look down like you dropped something. I’ll be back when I see him coming out of the alley.” He grabbed my forearm, “Get the money first.”

Pulled my arm away, “Why aren’t you doing this?”

“I’m, um, too tall.” He wiped his sweat, “Remember the rules—no talking, no looking at him, give him your briefs and let him rub. But get th’ money first.”

Got out of the car feeling suddenly vulnerable. Twelve-fifty didn’t calm my trepidations but I had the wad of underwear in my pocket and I saw myself crossing the stage for my diploma. Robe rental and maybe a yearbook with a photo of me with the AV club.

My hands tensed into fists as I neared the garage. Brother’s old Ford rumbled away as I faced the garage, started looking on the ground, moving the dirt with the toe of my sneaker.

Waited, wondered where this guy was. I turned to walk down the alley to see a car approaching with only a driver.

Turned back to the garage, waiting for the mysterious Mr Funds-for-Frot. Taking a deep breath, I entered whoredom.

***

Big, baby blue Olds engine shut off and glided near. Stood still, sweating and staring into the peeling paint chips in front of my face.

The car door open. Shut.

My heart was pounding and I felt sweat drip on my face when I heard his footsteps nearing.

“Waiting for a date?” Soft voice, almost a whisper.

“Twenty-five.” I answered, my courage was wavering. Should I run?

He reached around me showing me cash – two twenties.

Tricks make change? I grabbed it, tucked it into my jeans and handed him the wadded underwear hoping he wouldn’t mind the few light skids.

“These yours?” He asked.

Heard him sniff as I nodded.

“Are you a virgin, kiddo?”

What?  Stayed silent, I could run….

“Hmm. Bet you’re a good little virgin.” He asked, still sniffing. He moved closer behind me slipping his right hand around me, placing it on the zipper of my jeans.

“I bet you play with yourself at night. Every night, oh yes. I’m sure you do.” His fingers felt along my rod, then lower – he was inspecting my goods. I blushed. “Think of a hard cock pushing up inside your tiny hole? God, that must make you hot. Betcha think about a hard, dripping cock, like mine....”

His hips began rubbing and pushing against my butt.

This was getting too strange, I was sweating hard all over. Shirt stuck to my back.

“Lean forward, bitch.” He put my hand on the garage door.

Leaned forward, hands on the garage door and prepared myself for the worst. His hand continued rubbing me harder and the welt of the seam inside my jeans was chaffing my balls. His hips thrust against me and I felt his erection blunted by his trousers and my jeans. He kept sniffing my dirty briefs.

“You like that, pretty boy? Need some man-meat? You’re saving your sweet pussy for a big hard cock. Hard to wait when you’re young... Bet you’ve tried to make it with a girl, but you couldn’t get it up for her like you could with me.”

He kept whispering weird stuff, stroking along my torso and his hands went between my legs. Yeah, he sniffed his fingers, sniffed my hair, licked my neck.

I focused on keeping myself standing and my hands steadying myself against the door as his thrusts were stronger. His hand that was working my rod, which was too hard at that moment. He pulled me against him hard; I almost moaned but it came out as a hum.

“You want my jizz up your tight ass. Got your fingers are up your hole every night? Huh? You got me so hot thinking about you fingering your ass.” Then he shut up but starting slamming his shaft hard against me – he felt huge. His hand dropped my dirty underwear and came to my chest squeezing and pinching my nipples.

“I can smell you. Your smeg, your juice. Your dick is so hard and your neck is red. You’re aroused. Bet you want it all the way in, all the way....”

He stopped and I felt him breathing hard on my neck. His hunching against my butt slowed.

“Ugh, ugh, ugh.” He was ejaculating, but still holding me close and grunting in my ear.

Trembled with my own strange climax.

Then, his breath became jerky and he pulled my hips tight against his groin. “Filthy little slut.”

Done, he walked away.

***

With the slightest movement I could make, I glanced leftward, saw him leave, chrome bumpers and trim glinting in the bright sunlight – big whitewalls spun slowly.

Maybe it was from guilt, his suggestions, my knees wobbled, I felt shaky and empty. Relieved he was gone, yet I was left with a part of myself changed as I looked for my brother.

He drove up behind me leaned over to open the car door. “Get the money?”

“Don’t you care if I’m okay?” Snapped back.

“Did you get the money? I’m almost out of gas.”

“Jerk.” I wasn’t about to let him know I got fifteen bucks extra. “Go to the station, I’ll get you three dollars’ worth out of your cut.”

***

Brother, being the local king of crap, was being an ass for the rest of the weekend because our cousins from Vidor came into town. Saturday night, they all went out to roll queers for drinking money. I stayed in the car not wanting to get hit or thrown around.

Mostly, I went along with their drinking and smoking. They went with the girls, and I had to get lost again, so I drank their beer while they screwed. That continued through our last summer together.

Got frotted several more times by the same guy. Wednesday nights he called a pay phone to make arrangements. He was more aroused each time we met. Being smarter than brother, I upped my price and thrust back against his dick – still fully clothed, still sweaty and bought new underwear so Mom wouldn’t notice the losses.

My oldest brother went into the military, pimp-bro got a girl pregnant. Had to marry her or leave town – he married. I got his room at the front of the house.

Girls came to the window asking for him. Closed and locked the window till they left.

Another Career Decision

Part 2

When private-first class brother came home on leave, my two brothers put a scheme together. Seems pimp-bro knew my john drove a baby-blue Oldsmobile with whitewalls. They were going to check on some hot spots to see if they could find him—he carried cash.

Not wanting to jeopardize my profitable liaisons, I stayed home.

Around one AM they came back drunk, knocking furniture over and trying to stumble to bed. Knowing if our parents had to get up there’d be a big fight, I went to tell them to hold it down or sleep in the car.

They must’ve been successful. I smelled beer, pussy and their new pastime, weed. “Saw your friend tonight, he told us to have a good time. Even paid for it.”

He staggered away after tossing an old brown leather wallet at me.

It was the wallet of the man he’d robbed. My john’s wallet.

***

Sunday afternoon, I went to the bus stop and looked inside the wallet for an address. I liked air-conditioning, dreamed about a university campus, white collar career.

In the wallet, no driver’s license, probably stolen; licenses were only paper and without pictures at that time. Social security card and four business cards. Sibley’s Bakery they read, with a north side address. Ritzy area.

That afternoon, I rode the bus to the address on the card, walked past the bakery several times. Saw the trunk of his pale blue Oldsmobile behind the building.

Wonder if he has more work, legit work....

***

Went to the alley, back door stood open. Walked in and heard the radio playing upstairs. “Mr Sibley,” I called with half-ass bravado. Unsure what would pan out.

“Come up.” He called back as though he were waiting for someone. When I stood in the doorway, “Who are you?”

I noticed his lip was swollen and his face bruised. Handed him his wallet. “I found this.”

“Do you work behind, uh, near the Silver Dollar?” He took the wallet and stared at me.

“No. I found it near a bus stop. I live in Montrose.” I lied – he looked in his wallet and shook his head. We were both being cagey, suspecting the truth and not sure what to do about it.

He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, “Odd coincidence – you look like someone I’ve met before.”

“Doubt it….” I looked around his office. Big, wooden desk and an adding machine, several notebooks open on the desk – comfy chair, leather love seat, bookshelf filled with books and a lamp with a green glass shade. Upscale to me.

Sibley made the first move. “What do you want? I don’t have any cash.”

Naively, “I want a job.”

He looked slightly puzzled, “What can you do?”

We talked for a while, and I kept pushing for work. Told him I needed work, anything, manual labor, sweeping.

Left with a job cleaning and stocking the backroom of the bakery after school three days a week – even got a shirt with “Sibley’s Bakery” over the pocket.

***

Worked hard my last semester, tossed a few bucks to my mom, but not much. I was saving for graduation, the parents clearly stated they weren’t responsible for me after I was eighteen.

Scouted around for a room to rent near TSU. Found two Pakistani students who said they’d make a place for me. They looked at me with pity; pity didn’t reduce my part of the rent.

The small staff working in the bakery liked me, and I enjoyed the work. An old African-American man drove the truck, sometimes I went out with him to pick up the racks – the work went fast so we stopped for a five-cent ice cream cones.

***

One evening, before I left, Mr Sibley called me upstairs as he closed his books. Behind his office was a small room with a cot and a Kelvinator, a hot plate and a small bath.

“You live here?”

“I have a home in River Oaks, sometimes I stay late.” I suspected otherwise. “Going to install air-conditioning, add a couple of booths, remodel the front of the bakery. You’ll get a two-week vacation.”

“Oh?” I was counting on that money to help me get a car and move in with the students.

“Will that disappoint your girlfriend?” He chuckled, winked.

Staring at him. “Nah, I want to go to UH – getting a room with some students, work my way through.”

He seemed surprised, stopped and looked me over.

We talked about the University of Houston, TSU, St. Thomas. The military was always an option, though I didn't like the idea.

He told me that his elderly African-American driver was retiring and if I wanted the driver’s job, I had to get a driver’s license and surprisingly, if I wanted to go to school during the days, he’d rent the little room behind the office to me. “You’ll be security. Kids are selling pot in the alley.” He glanced out the window.

That took a big load off me, and I moved in immediately after I graduated. When he saw me with two brown paper bags my possessions he stared.

Sibley followed me to the little room and sat on the bed. “You seem more motivated that a lot of the boys…” Put his hand on my shoulder, “Why didn’t you shake me down for more that Sunday you brought my wallet?”

Being unaware of all they dynamics: “Wanted a job. Besides, if the cops came out, they’d never believe me.” I looked him in the eye – “A hillbilly who didn’t even own a wallet.” Didn’t say any cash would be stolen if I took it home.

He thought about it, chortled, then stood and left.

For the first time in my life, I had a my own place with bars on the windows and locked up tight every night. To me, that was a gift of peace.

***

Houston Chronicle arrived every day, Sibley left it for me to read. In the classified section was a small ad for a business college. Asked Mr Sibley about it – they had a two-year certificate program.

“Call ‘em and ask for their brochure.”

They sent out a big brown envelope with all their information. Computing was a new course, it interested me and the orderliness of record-keeping. The rest was accounting, laws, regulations; increasingly challenging through the months.

Mr Sibley kept track of all the business trends and said it was a good idea, “Good accountants are always employed. They’ll all be computerized in a few years.” He offered to help me with a loan as long as I stayed at the bakery. If I got good grades and a good job, I could pay him back at fifty a month when I began working.

Best thing about Sibley is that he did my laundry. Probably some sniffing involved, and he brought it back folded and lightly perfumed.

Room, education, clean clothes, paid work and all the kolaches I wanted. What a deal.

Clarification

Part 3

During that winter I was invited to Mr Sibley’s house for a holiday party with the bakery staff; big layout. A huge, white-columned two-story colonial stood under tall oaks near Buffalo Bayou. Pool in the back yard, azaleas, redwoods and dogwoods neatly kept.

Chandelier hung over the table, fresh cut flowers scented the air, fancy china. Served a catered dinner of foods with French names. Then, to our surprise, he took pictures of everyone with a Polaroid and handed them out with our bonuses.

Riding home with the lead baker and her husband, I heard them talk about Mr Sibley and how peculiar he was. Wasn’t sure if it was an insult to me when they said he’d never married, never dated. “Never seen that man around a woman, just the truck driver,” the lead baker said and glanced in the rear view mirror, “He maybe a fag, but a good boss.”

As I stepped over the threshold of the back door of the bakery, I knew it. I was queer as Sibley. I crossed the threshold in my mind to a new, foreign world. It all made sense--him touching me, the almost-sex, and continued liaisons. My responses. Sibley hadn’t suggested any more from me, figured I was too big for him now.

I’d avoided boys all my life, though I’d studied them. A hidden crush in each semester.

Kept that tightly guarded. “Queer” could get you beaten or killed in a redneck cow-town. It was probably my brothers’ reputation for violence that had kept me unscathed as a kid.

Had no clue where to start, how to flirt or attract a man I found appealing. A steep learning curve rose in front of me among the dangers.

***

In the newspaper I noticed an article about “gay cancer” spreading in New York. Though the article was short, it mentioned bath houses and bars, anonymous sex. When I came upstairs after work, Mr Sibley was finishing up his accounts for the day, I brought out the newspaper with the article.

“Did you see this?” I pointed to a photo of a man lying on a bed in a hospital.

He glanced and looked back at his work. “I’m sure they’re saying ‘the wages of sin’ and all that.” Then, looking at my face, “Do you feel sick?”

I grinned, “No – but…” Really didn’t know how to ask, “Are you queer?”

“You’ll never get a fag to admit it in this town.” He continued with his work.

I was sweating and stood there immobilized with embarrassment. Finally, he looked at me. “You need clarification.” “

“You need clarification” meant someone had done something stupid in the bakery. I’d only heard it a few times. Sibley was discrete with his admonitions.

I washed my face and hands while he went down to lock the shop. When he returned, he brought a chair, and sat it by the bed in front of me. “Queers get killed around here. Don’t ask anyone that unless you’re in the right place.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You’re curious.” He took my hand. “Yes, I’m queer, and always have been. Does it bother you?”

“No.” Couldn’t bring myself to say any more.

“Why did you ask?”

Silence.

“Are you asking because you are?”

I nodded, looking at the floor.

“You and the boys I buy for a little fun – I need an…. Well, I’m a gay man, yes, and I have preferences in the kind of men I like. Same as other men who like blondes or Latinas… Do you understand?”

“You like boys?”

“I like young men, innocent, new to the game, have strong urges… the way I was when I figured out I liked guys.” He paused, “Be careful about asking a man about his sexual needs. Homosexuality’s illegal.”

He lifted my chin, looking into my eyes. “When did you know you were gay?”

Tears filled my eyes. “I kinda suspected for a long time.”

He nodded, “It’s okay to be queer here and in my office when no one’s around. Always keep your personal life out of the office. No one’s business but your own.” He moved to the bed beside me, “How are you doing in school.”

“Good. I like it, bought my own calculator—a TI.”

“How much longer do you have?”

“Till June next year. Why?”

“I’m going to sell the bakery, my house. Before I get any older, I want to live where I can be myself – it’ll get me killed here, but not in Frisco.”

“San Francisco?” Long discussion about San Francisco and the gay and lesbian citizens, their protests, fighting for gay rights.

He reminisced: “And the bath houses – I visited in ‘67, Summer of Love. Incredible the freedom I had there. Not going to die in this hell hole. I’m going to live a free life with gusto.”

Then he looked at me, “And you’re going to be a CPA with your own office.”

“I was thinking of getting on with the IRS. I like tax work.”

“Have you paid taxes before?”

“Never made enough.”

***

Nate, Mr Sibley, began bringing dinner occasionally after he made his bank deposit. Sometimes he brought magazines with dog-eared pages filled with photos of naked men.

Told me of going to UT, other men on campus, visiting spas, clubs in Dallas and Austin before he came back to manage the bakery for his family.

He did well, the bakery had an excellent reputation, very profitable. Never sure how he scored in his personal life.

***

During the last week of the year, Nate told me he didn’t want me to work in the bakery that night. His accountant sat in the office waiting. “I want you to help him with the quarterly and the W-2s.”

No slack about the accountant, we got on the desk and began. In a super-organized fashion he started with the pay slips, building the information to fill in the forms. By midnight, we were done.

As we worked with Nate’s income, I was floored with the amounts he earned from his portfolio. He kept the bakery for all the deductions countering the income on his investments.

He smiled, “Nate said you’re interested in going into tax work.”

“I was thinking about working the rush before April fifteenth doing 1040s.”

“I’ll ask Nate to let you come work with me for a while. 1040s bring in quick cash.” He handed me his card and left.

***

Months passed, Nate was gone often and I took on the role of closing the books and making the deposits. Fresh butter, fruit fillings and cream cheese were expensive, we used the best. Best ingredients didn’t help me gain any weight.

Began cruising around the Silver Dollar in Montrose, the gay part of town with my few bucks. Found myself wandering the alleys. Read those mysterious classified ads looking for a "date."

Pity for the men I used, pitied myself for doing it. Five-dollar, five minute acts of desperation.

***

Midnight when I heard keys jangle and the door open downstairs. Got up, went to the office. Nate was shuffling through some papers, packing them in his briefcase.

Said he was leaving next week, “Thanks for everything. I’m going to miss the bakery and you. Most of all, you.”

He turned slowly and thought for a few moments. “You’re a good man – helped me with a lot of things. Helped me see some good in myself.” He pulled me against him, “Find someone to love while you’re young – I missed that.” He kissed my forehead and moved away.

Didn’t let him, simply being embraced—richest feeling filled me.

Maybe it was wrong, but I looked up to his face, “I really want to know – I really want to…” The words swarmed in my mind, but couldn’t get out. Finally, they struggled out my throat.

He looked down, “What?”

I whispered the words again. We both stood motionless.

“You want me...?” He chuckled and kissed my forehead again.

I nodded.

“Saturday? I’ll be by at ten.”

***

Completing business college was a relief. Goofy grin through the ceremony, wide smile all week thinking about Saturday.

Cleaned up Friday night and left notes for the bakery staff to run without me.

Nate now had a dark blue Mercedes with a sunroof. He pulled up and honked. I jumped downstairs with a brown paper bag in hand.

“Shoulda asked your ol’ skinflint boss for a raise.” He grinned, “And a decent suitcase.”

“He paid for my education. I have to pay him back, even though he used my tuition for a deduction. You know, ‘employee training.’” I grinned back.

“Be discrete and you’ll go far.” He added, “I don’t expect you to pay me anything – just maybe help another kid along when you’re rolling in bucks of your own. Good employee training deduction.”

***

Nate got a room in a motor lodge off the end of the seawall, a row of cottages near the dunes.

Lunched at the Galvez. Big, old hotel, well-appointed yet it smelled like the Gulf, a mix of crude oil and salt air.

We walked along the seawall back to our cabin. My stomach flip-flopped, I was still grinning; Nate chuckled.

He popped a cassette into his player, Mancini filled the room. “Let’s relax.”

Taking me in his arms, we swayed to the music and he gently pulled me against him, “I’m more that an old perv in a back alley – and this is going to be memorable for both of us.” He lifted my chin and kissed me the way my brothers did with the girls they got drunk.

His kisses made me drunk. That kiss made my head empty and when my tongue got the technique down, I didn’t want to stop.

“Slow down.” He whispered and put my hands on his rear. “Best is coming.”

I was already breathing hard. In the mirror behind him I saw my face was brilliant red with eagerness. “I want…”

“Gotta work up to it.” His fingers went to my shirt and he unbuttoned, then to my jeans where he slipped his hands into my briefs, pressing my butt to his groin. Mesmerized by his warmth pressing our erections together. Then, he brought my hands to his shirt, and put my fingers on the buttons.

This wasn’t the frantic, brutal sex my brothers had or hurried frottage in the alley but a gentle, slow back-and-forth.

Got out of synch, wasn’t sure if my dick would wait. Between the kissing and the undressing, I was straining, ready to pitch my cum. He wouldn’t let me but kept pinching my nipples and squeezing the base of my rod hard.

***

As soon as the hot water of the shower hit my skin, my fantasy was realized. Standing next to a naked man covered with dark hair in the most interesting pattern across his wide shoulders – it happened without warning.

He only smiled, “How long have you been waiting, boy?”

“All my life.” Wiggled from my throat. All my life.

His hands reached around me and he washed my cleft roughly, and told me he was going to put his cock where his finger was. Suddenly, he shoved his index finger inside me. I gasped; he kissed my forehead, “This is what you want.”

Slow, and in the soapy water, he continued with another finger, telling me how good it would feel and that I’d cum like I never had before. Suddenly I felt a tickle creep through my groin.

For the first time I felt a man stroke along my body, caresses – I was being caressed and kissed and the feel of his hand soaping my rod made me tremble. He had to pinch my dick often to keep me from cumming. After my second series of rapid-fire blasts, he gave up, holding me against him, kissing me, chuckling.

In my embarrassment, I became playful with his dark, curly chest hair. He had a lot more than me, but it was his balls that fascinated me, so big, heavy and dark red, leading up to a thick, veined erection and shiny, purplish knob adorning it. 

In me. Hurry.

Nate was solidly masculine – I’d ever be like him, he let me kiss and lick like it would bring me some of his bushy virility. My lips were drawn to his rod. The first taste of a man on my tongue was heaven – I couldn’t get enough.

He held my head as I looked up at him as gently sucked, enjoying the delicate taste of the heavy stream of pre. Kept pushing me away, “Wait. Wait.”

***

With devilish smiles, we went to the bed. Worn cotton sheets held a faint trace of chlorine.

Thought he might cuddle next to me, but he didn’t. His eyes were on mine as his head lowered, and he kissed my nipple lightly. A bolt of lightening shot through my body from my chest. Had to suck in a quick breath – then he continued kissing, and suddenly began sucking hard on my nipple while his hand went to my other, twisting, almost pinching, “I’m telling you what I want.”

He laid back and brought my lips to his chest, skin moist in the cool, dark air. The air conditioner droned as I hummed and sucked, watched his responses. He liked me to bite, harder than I wanted, but I nipped till his hand came to my head. “Suck me now.”

Sucking gently at first, he grasped the base of his erection and held it for me, swirling it in my mouth a little, moaning, “More.”

He found my hand and put it on his nuts and patted my fingers, “Gently.” Maybe I got carried away with my fingers, I continued sucking and licking along his shaft, and my fingertips were obsessed with the big balls. His musk rose around my face; I was super-aroused feeling him twitch and hearing him groan.

Wasn’t long before I felt his hands in my hair and his hips jerking. He held his lower lip behind his front teeth and shoved my face into his groin. I gagged and sputtered – he didn’t let go.

At first I thought I’d bit the inside of my cheek, there was a different taste in my mouth. When I realized it was cum, kept sucking his strong, rich jizz. 

When he relaxed his hand, I continued sucking and didn’t stop. I wanted all I could get until:

“Enough.” His fingers stroked my face, over my eyes. "I get my twenty minutes." Threw the sheet over us.

The Tijuana Brass played while he dozed. My hands couldn't stop touching him, bones, muscles, joints, hair; a big man, a kind man, a man who loved me in a distant way. That’s what I thought when I ran my fingers through his heavy hair. Smelled him, sweat, perspiration, strong scents—inhaling his scent—this is what I wanted in my life.

***

Shrimp sandwiches with fries on the seawall for dinner, then the big moment neared: We drank several rum `n cokes and he turned the news off the fuzzy black and white Zenith.

He put his toiletry case by the bed, grinned and pulled me back to the shower. I was trembling, he was smiling as we showered, “Wait, honey. Not yet.”

Frustrating request.

On the bed he took me in his arms and we kissed, then he reached over and found a small tube of petroleum jelly. As he rubbed it on my hole, he explained what he was going to do.

Mixed feeling churned inside me, there was pain and feeling uncomfortable with one finger, but he looked into my eyes, "Do you want me to stop?"

"No."

He looked into my eyes as one, two then three fingers began tugging in and out my hole. I think tears ran down my cheeks. "Relax, it gets better." Nate was grinning devilishly again.

With kisses and smiles, he gently laid my on my back and bent my knees, I watched him rub his erection with grease and he put it at my hole, looking into my eyes. "Hold your knees back. When you feel my cock push out against it."

Looking down, it was hard to imagine his whole, erect cock inside me. My breathing became faster.

He stopped. "Just relax and push back." Between the lube and his determination, it was immediate. My eyes jumped wide and my jaw fell open. He chuckled, stopped a few moments. 

Grabbing the headboard over me, he shoved himself inside.

Entirely consumed with new sensations, it wasn't feeling like I thought it would. Every stroke he went deeper, and a hard spike of satisfaction grew. It hurt, burned.

Lifted my knees higher and suddenly I felt it. That rub he'd teased me with in the shower.

Fullness, with the feeling of satisfaction and that incredible hit of excitement. Looked down to see my dick straining, skin hot and tight; balls tightened and I grimaced with a cum I could feel coursing up through the deepest parts of me and spread sparks like hot pinpricks all over my skin. Soles of my feet and my palms throbbed, heated.

When I felt my own cum hit my face, Nate began pumping like a madman, so hard it hurt, but I didn't say anything—I wanted all of it. All of him. 

Just a few strokes later, his body tensed above me and his body went rigid, shoved a few more times and one last push. His cum was dripping out my hole as he pulled back a little.

Didn't want him to leave my ass, not yet. Grabbed him against me, reveling in the smell of his sweat, cum, petroleum jelly and us. Mixed extremes of pain and amazement rushed through me, leaving a trail of slightly discomfiting satisfaction.

When is dick dropped out my ass, I took a deep breath; I wanted more. Every day of my life needed this.

***

Had problems keeping my knees under my hips as I walked to the bath. He washed me and him, giving me a kiss every now and then.

Then he kissed my hand and gave me permission to be as rough as I wanted, then winked. We had a few more drinks, and I was breathing hard while he teased me, telling me how much he'd like to stay, but he couldn't. Frisco offered him freedom. 

Finally, after a hot session of stroking, he handed me the tube of petroleum jelly.

It took several awkward attempts and for the first time in my life, I felt a tight hole gripping my cock and I stopped. Examined a new kind of bliss.

He'd look up at me and smile as he clinched my rod with his ass. Almost flew out of my body with the pleasure. Pumped into his hot channel like a man on his last mission.

Couldn't have lasted longer than a few moments, my head spun with the onslaught of deep need for more. It was the touch of his skin, his sweat, his smell, and that incredible, heart-pounding release that caused an honesty to arise. Dick was in relaxed awe.

For the first time I fully understood the raw power of lust. Fell on him, rolled to the side. 

From beside me, a whispered lesson: “Kiddo, you gotta be more careful than other men. As long as the bible-thumpers consider us evil, keep it hidden. Keep your feelings underground until you figure out who the phonies are.” In his arms, “You'll be beaten or worse if you’re out, so be discrete but find someone to love. You deserve it."

Our last shower together was quiet and we dressed quickly. Before we left, he kissed me in the cottage.

Would my liaisons always be in shabby hotels or alleys?

Striking Out

Part 4

My resume held not only work experience but certification in accounting, specializing in taxation. Sent it out to financial services around town and began looking for a small apartment.

Got on as a tax assistant with Nate’s accountant, assigned to a team of three people who only talked tax law changes and ways to get around them.

Bought the old delivery truck with Sibley's Bakery still on the side and left with my few things.

Found a furnished efficiency apartment behind the Utotem on Westheimer and had to make the switch from manual laborer/student to tax expert. Little by little, I began looking the tax expert with help from Foley’s basement.

Irregulars and stale inventory in the basement of Foley’s, rows of bargain bins. From across the aisle, something caught my eye, long sleeved shirt, that mauve-periwinkle color from the snowy days of my childhood. Three-dollar deal.

Bought it and hesitated wearing it to the office. Men wearing purple in Houston could cause more than lifted eyebrows.

It stung leaving my little room, moving to a new place alone. Would I find someone to share the tiny rooms with me? Yet I had little idea how full-fledged adults make a relationship. Brothers were untrustworthy, parents had continuing problems yet I imagined a man with me a calm, peaceful home.

Every Sunday night Nate called long distance. He opened a candy shop near near Fisherman’s Wharf and bought a Victorian house on a steep hillside.

Looked nice in the photos he sent; no temptation, cost of living there was too high.

***

Kept myself neat, soft-spoken and highly discrete at work. Gained a number of widows and cranky misers that the other tax team didn't want to deal with. Took my time with them, suggesting options, listened. Made sure they knew I was smart about keeping their investments safe. That built trust. 

It also introduced me to a number of rakes in the financial arena hounding my clientele with shady deals, goofy investments. Billy Sol Estes and his fertilizer scheme blew through. Ugh!

Kept on task learning more every year. When my rates increased none of my regulars complained, they enjoyed meeting with me and took my advice occasionally. My client list was solid.

***

Bought an old house in the Heights, ancient and cavernous with pecan trees in the yard and beveled glass in the door. Needed work, and I figured in five years, I'd have the remodeling completed and the house in fine shape.

Had two bedrooms and a bathtub on feet big enough for several people. One bedroom I furnished with a large bed, rug, art. Looked nice. Kept my my hopes and dreams there.

Erected a six-foot cedar fence and installed a security system mostly to keep the past away.

Enjoyed getting the house in order, repainted the trim, had carpet laid and outfitted it simply. 

***

Nate was living the high life, he gave me the low-down on the uptown boys. New names every week. I became concerned about him getting AIDS. He was plowing and planting wild oats over the Bay area, probably a lot of weed as well. He giggled often on our calls. Always music and male voices in the background.

Photos showed he'd gained weight, his hair thinned. Smiling, he looked incredibly happy as he made Frisco his own. Missed him being close for more clarification.

My life plugged along slowly, quietly, and I reveled in the peace, the security I built around me.

Worked up the courage to visit the GLBT Center on a weekend, found a few nice folks there. Felt strange to see my high school art teacher there. Though he'd had thousands of students, I waited for him to recognize me; he kept glancing.

He approached and asked if we’d met before. Blushing, I admitted I was a former student. "Now I remember. You're the kid who was awarded the key."

He'd mounted and submitted one of my pieces of artwork to a competition I'd won.

"Yeah, still got that little gold key."

Carl was white-haired now, still wore it in a flat-top and still drinking heavily. Maybe that was an opportunity, but one I didn't chance. He was a top-notch bitch when he was hung over, I remembered his Monday morning classes.

Acadian Two Step

Part 5

The office staff didn’t like it when I took off a week before Mardi Gras in New Orleans, ahead of the chaos of the parades and festivals. Visited Cafe Lafitte, danced with some of the men. Enjoyed fruity, sweet Hurricane drinks.

On the prowl, I wandered the back alleys and lost my courage, too many people, no private places that didn’t smell like years mold and piss. 

In the Lafitte, I stood to the side when a group of three men came in and headed straight for the bar. Brawny men, tanned, shirts opened deeply and thirsty. Called for a pitcher immediately.

“The roughnecks have arrived.” The man next to me whispered, “Bayou boys from the offshore rigs.”

Two were immediately engaged in conversation with the regulars. The last one looked somewhat familiar, long side burns, almost gaunt, and as soon as he hit the dance floor with his shuffling steps and his thumbs tucked into his belt loops. Dead give away. I knew where he was from.

Hopped on the floor and grinned, shuffling along with him. Both smiling, we went back to the bar, “You dance; ça c’est bon.” Forgot a lot of my Cajun, didn’t need it. He winked, grabbed my hand and spun me around the dance floor several times.

Another hurricane and I asked if he’d like to walk around the French Quarter.

“Allons!” We ran off into the foggy night through the smell of humanity and spicy food that is Bourbon Street after hours.

Dancing to music he sang, we talked, joked, enjoyed ourselves like old friends. Affectionate man, handsome in a rough-hewn, angular way. Wavy, unkempt auburn hair, long sideburns, wide shoulders, he was an uninhibited, magical animal those hours. 

No pretense about him.

Couldn’t believe the sun was rising already. We went for strong chicory coffee and beignets. He told me about working on the rigs. Dangerous work, and paid very well—he was saving for a house, didn’t want to work offshore all his life.

Cathedral bells chimed; six o’clock—he had to leave. Took a cab to the docks and I slipped him my card, “Call me, anytime. I want to see you again, cher.” Wink.

He glanced at my card and gave a whistle, “Tax man?”

Then he laughed and kissed me, right in the cab.

***

At work, the receptionist’s snickers accompanied a letter from 'Achille the Cajun.’ “New client?” she asked.

“This guy’s raking in the dough.” I said, “More than a receptionist would dream of.” She needed to mind her business. Tucked the letter in my breast pocket till I got home.

Achille asked if he could fly in on the twenty-seventh, asked if I had room for him and two friends. Said he hadn’t had so much fun in a long time, he wanted to pay me back with a cocodril dinner.

Was he pulling my leg? No way I’d eat crocodile, and I wrote him back telling him the kitchen was his to use, friends were welcome.

Mailed it that night when I visited Midnight Bookstore. That place carried newspapers and magazines from all over the world, open 7/24 and had a dimly-lit back room. Although I received my reading material and “marital enhancements” in brown paper wrappers, I was curious.

***

Why did Cajuns always enter with a ruckus? Hobby airport wouldn’t forget that afternoon. Couldn’t mistake the roughnecks, tanned, lean, bright shirts unsnapped half-way down. Achille and one man with straw cowboy hats and long sideburns.

The largest of the friends, Boo, wore a narrow brimmed fedora with a long black feather bouncing behind him.

No handshakes, had to hug each of them. Boo and Chubby came with small grips and large custom cases. “Gonna work a fais do-do tonight and tomorrow night, been practicing all month.” Achille told me. “They from Opelousas, but don’t hold it agin’ ‘em.”

He grinned, shoved his extra bag in my hand, “Your cocodril.”

They were impressed when they saw the rental car, “I’m still driving an old bakery truck, from my first job.” Winked at Achille, “This is a loaner.”

All the way to the house, they talked of the dancing and partying at a couple of the popular ice houses near Lake Anahuac.

***

Soon as we got to the house, Boo and Chubby cleaned up, dressed, asked me if they could use the truck, haul their instruments to their gig. Gave them the keys,“Get the money up front.”

Achille was in the kitchen already, putting the cocodril in the refrigerator to thaw. “Never had a taste for reptile. Rather be close to you for a while. When will your friends be back?”

“Sunday morning, probably.” He took me in his arms, “Been thinking about you.”

In the bedroom, he took out a small black leather toiletry bag, went to the bath, “Are you coming?” In a lightning flash I undressed, grinning and ready to shower off my anxious sweat.

Water adjusted, “Come on.” He was on the toilet with a small bulb, leaned forward, then refilled it. “Wait, I have to get rid of the, uh, crumbs. Only the best for you.”

He was rinsing his butt?

“Aren’t you going to…?”

Felt a fool. Why didn’t Nate show me? Saw the syringes in the bookstore backroom but thought they were for women. Stood there with a red face. 

“I make honte you?” He grinned, “C’mon.”

He brought it to the shower with him and said nothing as he leaned me toward the wall and gently rinsed my butt. Held and kissed me under the cool spray and took me to bed wet.

“Chien. Chien way.” Tossed his head back and barked, howled and flipped me over.

Length Achille had, girth was average, I guessed. Didn’t see his tool for a while as I positioned myself on my hands and knees. 

Thought something was wrong with his groin until I felt his sideburns on my cheeks. He was kissing and licking along my cleft, pulling my butt cheeks widely apart. Tongue felt strange, warm as it applied split. Began moaning, shoving my rear against his face, “Don’t stop.”

He stopped. Quickly he rose to his knees and slipped in easily, I relished that moment. Slow, shifting his hips side to side he kept pushing, pulling back a little.

“Now!” With that he began pumping into me, I moved to get that incredible rush when he hit my spot. On my hands and knees under him wasn’t enough; felt his sweat, heard his skin slapping my butt, his balls tapping mine, felt his hands gripping my shoulders.

Not enough of the skin-to-skin. Quickly, I dropped and turned over. “Kiss me.”

“Ah!”

Felt his torso on mine, his dick rubbing against mine. Only a few moments of his lips, his tongue and the smell of our cum rose. Grabbed him hard against me.

That moment was perfect, warm, close and oddly joyful.

***

Brought Cointreau. We sipped in the dim light. “Where’s your lover?” He asked.

“Don’t have one. Bet you’re a busy man between the sheets.”

“I’m the prize, too bad most men think I’m an ignorant Coon Ass.” Poured a bit more in his glass, “Now you, you got it goin’ on. Suave, professional, and you’re handsome.”

Spent Friday night till Sunday morning between the bed and the kitchen. No alligator meat, but big chevrette, shrimp. 

***

Through the next year, Achille and his friends flew in every other shore leave. Lots of letters sent often delayed by their supply ship schedule.

Achille and I became closer. Drive-in movies put him to sleep, he couldn’t trust my hands in the theater. We both liked Mexican music and food. Greek cafe at the docks was crowded, loud. Got a lot of looks at the Silver Dollar.

Every Sunday night I updated Nate. I wanted to ask Achille to move in with me.

He encouraged me, “Do it, ask him. Negotiate if you have to.” 

For the first time in my life, I was hopeful about making the life I wanted. 

***

Achille called from New Orleans late on a week night. Chubby had an accident on the rig, Boo took leave.

That next visit my lover was strangely silent. Did say he had enough money and wanted to quit the rig, move back to Arcadia to build himself a brick house.

“We have plenty of the best bricks right here in Houston, and places to build. Maybe Friendswood, Spring.” Tentatively, “You could live here with me.”

No answer.

Quiet weekend until I asked if I could send flowers to Chubby, “Which hospital?”

Said it out loud: “He died.” Achille cried. For hours he told me of how he and Chubby were boys, all the plans they made. “You won't understand but he was one man on the rig I could trust. Never let me down, always had my back.”

He was clearer about what happened yet my suspicions kept me from asking any more. 

Sunday with red, swollen eyes and morose, I left him at the airport. “I love you.”

***

No letters, no calls. Didn’t know the name of the company operating his rig, didn’t know any of his family. Phone books in the library didn’t cover any Acadian towns.

Considered hiring a private detective, but that sounded fishy. 

Accountants are resourceful. I called a bill collector, asked if he had a skip-tracer, they find people who evade debt collection. Called, gave the sketchy information I had, though nothing about Achille’s sexuality. That might have helped.

He had another skip-tracer in Louisiana look for Achille, “Not there, maybe out on the bayou, back in the swamp but we couldn’t find him on the rigs or in the Acadia area.”

Took a weekend off, went to New Orleans. Asked at the gay bar. No one had seen the guys.

Before leaving I visited the library and asked if they had news about an accident on an oil rig. Gave the approximate date to the librarian.

“They happen often, not always reported in the paper.” She said.

Sat at the microfiche desk scanning the newspapers for several hours.

Nothing.

The Return

Part 6

Technology changed my private life. Instead of calling strangers through classified ads, there were now bulletin boards on the sketchy World Wide Web. Met a few guys, though it was risky, AIDS was everywhere. There were medications to slow its progress but little else.

Focused on building a portfolio of my own, bought a bigger house with a wide landscaped lot, patio, rented the old one. Deductions, you know.

Financially doing well, gained several bigwig clients from the oil companies. Installed a security system with cameras, top of the line.

Life was busy and still incomplete. A few gray hairs appeared at my temples to scream “Hurry up and find him.”

Vacationed with Nate, he had a stream of men through his home, all young, pretty and asking for a few bucks before they left. The arrangement suited him, he liked the role of Daddy Bear though he was sedate, heavier, he appeared satisfied.

Slo-mo gusto. 

***

During the next few years, the accounting business was sold. Expecting it was coming, I’d opened a small office in my home, did most of my work online, on the phone.  My clients came with me.

Transition was easy, I took the best accounting assistant from the office with me—man named Kenny. He was a whiz on the computer, handled the drudge work, updates.

Stocky, wide-shouldered and had a grace about his movements. Full, dark wavy hair and wide-set dark eyes; great décor. Face made creases like he put his smiles in parentheses.

Since he was a quick study and good with detail. Sent him to the month-long tax school. Employee training deduction.

***

Couldn’t bear Mardi Gras in New Orleans without Achille, found Key West comfortable. Tropical breezes have been better with someone to watch the rotating barrage of tanned, muscled guys in stretchy trunks and tropical print shirts.

Donned my periwinkle shirt, ready to leave for the Keys that spring. Kenny was in the office as I packed for vacation. “Boss-man, you got mail.”

Forgot to turn off my computer.

“Nice shirt.” He commented when I entered.

“If you ever lived where it snows, that’s the color of dusk. Reminds me of a warm home.”

Email wasn’t from a client or anyone I recognized, someone named Roger, “RE: Nate’s Requests.” There was an attachment. Shouldn’t have opened it.

Roger was Nate’s private duty nurse. Nate died; complications from hepatitis and prolonged alcohol and drug use. The body was being sent back to Houston for burial. Attachment was a photo for the obituary, a recent photo.

Roger included his phone number; Nate wanted me to handle his memorial service. “Kenny, cancel my hotel reservations. Here’s the plane ticket. Can’t leave right now.” 

In my bedroom, I called Roger, got the information detailing Nate’s specific requests. Sick, gray feeling filled my chest, mind was cloudy as I took notes.

***

The one good photo I had of Nate was us at the holiday party years ago.

In the office, “Would you help with a personal task?” Handed Kenny the old Polaroid, “The older man in this photo, can you separate his face and enlarge it for print?”

“How big?”

“Size they use in obituaries.”

He nodded. 

“Thanks. Give me a few minutes.” Lay down with my head whirling with memories, Nate’s Oldsmobile, the bakery, Galveston… I’d loved Nate as distantly as he’d loved me and that love was constant. Through all those years…. Now my only confidant, my guide was gone. 

Thoughts spiraled downward with the sudden abandonment. Without Nate, without anyone, self-pity squeezed tears, I began sniffling. 

Light tap on the door, “Get up, eat and we’ll go for a walk. Clear your head.”

“Not hungry. Have arrangements to make.”

Jangling his car keys, “Ice cream?”

We left for the Montrose area, swung by the neighborhood where the old bakery was converted into a sandwich shop. “My family lived two blocks over. Whole area smelled like bread, pastries from Sibley’s Bakery. Did you ever go there?” Kenny asked. 

“Worked my way through business school in that bakery.” Eyes burned, I looked out the window. “Sibley’s Bakery made your job with me.”

***

Memorial service in order, all arrangements set for the reception.

Cassettes, eight-tracks, four-tracks, I rummaged through the hall closet for music to play at the reception. Found my tapes moldy, cracked and in a tangle of black-brown ribbons. 

Kenny said his brother had a big collection, he’d record cassettes. “Got a huge collection.”

We got the brother on speaker phone, “Need two hours of pop hits from the sixties and seventies, can you do it before Sunday?”

“Sure. What kind of event?”

“Funeral reception. The deceased lived in San Francisco so that song about the Summer of Love, disco, um, nothing religious… Hits from the sixties and seventies and that one about the Navy and YMCA… male singers or groups. Got any songs about a baby blue Olds?”

“I’ll look.” He paused, “Kinda queer play list.”

“It’s what I want, just keep it uplifting. This is a celebration of the life of someone I loved since I was young.”

We worked out a deal and hung up.

Kenny was staring at me, eyes filled with tears. “What’s wrong?”

“I knew Nate. When you mentioned the bakery… well, I met him in the alley behind the bakery when I was a teen. ” He blushed. “It scared me, made me shaky, and I didn’t stop him….” 

Then he looked at me, “You, too?”

Hand was on my closet’s doorknob and I froze.

Clarification 

Epilogue 

Several hundred at the memorial, around fifty at the reception. House was full, people milling around the food, bar, on the patio. Mostly men enjoying the music, sharing memories.

Guys from Frisco told us freely about Nate’s escapades on the coast. Guffawed about the Folsom Street Fair where Nate wore only skimpy feathers over his rod. “Cock of the Walk.”

***

Kenny stayed to help clean up, he talked about his meetings with Nate. Similar to mine yet I acted like Nate’s funds-for-frot was news.

Unlike me, Kenny had left feeling guilty about the secretive acts, guiltier about himself for wanting more. Took him years to fully accept himself as a queer man. Lived alone in self-loathing hoping it would pass.

Told him I met Nate when I worked with his accountant, nothing more.

Kenny mentioned that he was hoping that I’d ask him to work with me, “Felt a kinship with you. I mean, well… like we have things in common.”

Direct question, and I continued in my caginess. “Long day. Take tomorrow off.”

My head spun around Nate’s advice to keep my work and private life separate. Also said I deserved someone to love.

I needed clarification. 

***

After he left, I went online, governments had begun posting vital records. Checked Louisiana’s site, New Orleans, Acadia. There it was, a marriage license, address was in a town so small it wasn’t on a map.

Through the pixels, his face came to me. I understood, in a way. Forces he faced were more lethal in rural areas. Though it stung, I wished him well.

Nate had given me education, a better life, the knowledge of myself and how to maneuver through the world.

Achille gave me hope, for a while.

Kenny gave me the context for my grit years ago when I asked Nate for work.

***

Monday, still finding swizzle sticks in my potted plants and napkin wads behind the furniture.

Phone started ringing at eight and I spoke with clients for several hours. Kenny was on the other line ordering client tickets for the Fat Stock Show. Great deduction.

Around one, the phone quieted, I got into the emails.  Our stomachs growled.

“I’m hungry. What-a-burger?” Kenny asked.

“With fries and a chocolate shake.”

Kept plowing through the work. He returned, laid with a stack of mail by my keyboard, “Lunch on the patio?”

As we ate, I looked around, “Thinking about a hot tub.” Paced the flagstone for a place to hold an employee production enhancement deduction, “How big are they?”

“All sizes. They put them in swimming pools, if you want to go big.” He smiled waving a french fry toward the yard.

“Need a cost comparison.” Winked, “You’ve been in one?”

“Yeah, and they have jets that massage your back. It’s good. You?”

“Not yet.”

Heard there was one in the spa.

After work, I went to Club Houston. Never made it into the hot tub, aroused and erect walking the hallways, watching the activities. Behind the chlorine and pine oil vapors were the smell of musk, sweat and cum.

Most were single men, a few couples, threesomes. Didn’t need to go to an alley or leave town for a one-night stand but this place would be the last resort.

***

Next day work hummed along with one distraction. Kenny wore cologne, smelled like fir. Fir, evergreens, christmas trees. Snowy dusk in December.

I devised a plan:

Kenny agreed to stay late, make a map of the patio, print it out.

“Yep, a hot tub is what this business needs. I’ll make dinner.”

Kenny brought the map he made.  As we ate, I placed the hot pepper bottle it on the map, figuring out the shady and sunny areas, details of plumbing and a shower. Hot pepper was bottled in Lake Charles….

Cointreau came out, yet my pretense lingered. What if he said no?

“It’s late, stay over if you want.” I edged forward again. “I’ll put a blanket and pillow on the couch.”

Flash of dejection crossed his face as he began unbuttoning his shirt revealing a periwinkle-mauve undershirt, strands of dark hair peeked at the ribbing.

He turned to walk away. Without thinking, from behind I caught him in my arms, sniffed his neck. Right hand went to his groin, left hand pulled him against me. Rubbed my tool against his butt. “How about we meet in the alley, kiddo? Betcha been thinking about a big, hard dick like mine.”

Chuckled as he turned, “All my life."  He held me close, "All my life.”