The Surprise Weekend Visitor

“I’m not taking ‘No’ for an answer. We’re picking you up at 6:00. Be ready.” Elena’s scolding glare leaves no room for debate. I guess I’m going to dinner tonight with her, her husband Oliver and her cousin Ramon. Ramon is here in Chicago because of a big conference at McCormick Place on Monday. Elena invited him to come in early for a weekend visit. He’s staying with them. He flies back home to Portland first thing Tuesday morning.

Elena has been my best friend since we were both ten years old in the fifth grade. She’s done so much for me making it impossible to say “No” to her perfectly reasonable request. We text about a thousand times a day but she also calls me every Tuesday and Thursday night, forcing live human interaction. I’ve also committed to our regular Saturday afternoon lunches, which is what we’re doing right now. I think that she thinks that if she didn’t drag me out of my apartment every Saturday afternoon, that I’d hole up and become a shut-in. And while that does sound tempting, I’m not quite as fucked up as she’s afraid I might be.

I have a job, though I do work from home, as a financial advisor. I could order everything I ever need online and never leave, but I really don’t want to be a recluse. I force myself to get out. I go to doctor’s appointments, dentist appointments, I grocery shop once a week… What I don’t do is anything social. With the lone exception of Saturday lunches with Elena, I do not go to bars, restaurants, movies, malls or anywhere that is not a necessity. Not for the last two years anyway.

Two years ago, Carter left me. Couples break up all the time. I get that. We weren’t special. Except we really were. We were Felix and Carter. We met at age twenty in the middle of college, became friends, started dating and fell in love. Right out of college, we got an apartment together. We were everything to each other. We liked all the same music, shows, movies, books, foods, wines, sports... Elena met Oliver just after college and the four of us became inseparable couple-friends. Carter and I were deliriously happy together. Or so I thought. At least I was.

We were always among the first to try a new restaurant or bar, but we would have just as much fun ordering in and watching a movie. Or playing music. Carter wasn’t a musician, but he could harmonize with the best of them. We would sit at my piano, coasters and wine glasses on the lid, his arm around my shoulder, one song after another. Happy songs for happy times. I still play piano every day, but now… Only the sad mournful songs. Played by myself, for myself. Songs like I can’t Make You Love Me, Someone Like You, And So It Goes and Strange Room. I know… I really should sell my piano.

Two years ago was a year of celebrations. Four thirtieth birthdays and a ten year anniversary. The birthdays were all group parties, like that episode of Friends, but for our ten year anniversary, Carter and I celebrated alone. We had a lovely sushi dinner with an expensive white wine and a crème brûlée for dessert. Everything was perfect. We had talked about getting married dozens of times before. I honestly didn’t think he was even mildly surprised when I proposed that night. I gave him a silver band for the fourth finger of his left hand. He, after jumping up and down while shedding tears of joy, carried me to our bed and gave me a “Yes” along with the blow job of my life. He brought an animal noise out of me that made our neighbor scream, “Shut up!” and pound on the wall.

That weekend, we began discussing dates and venues. We both wanted an October wedding with fall colors surrounding us. Every decision came so easily because we were essentially two halves of the same person. And then, just two short weeks later, I found myself holding his silver ring and watching his back as he walked out the door. Forever.

When he first told me that he was offered the job of his dreams, I was thrilled. Then he told me that the job was in New York. I was still thrilled. My own job had been transitioning more and more to working from home. I figured a move would be no big deal. And even if my company had a problem with it, surely there were hundreds if not thousands of financial advisory opportunities in NYC. Elena would be pissed that I’d be moving away, but with texts, calls and monthly weekend visits, she’d eventually be fine. I was 100% on board with being the supportive partner.

And then he told me that we needed to talk. It all became a blur to me but the gist of it was that this was a move he wanted – no, needed – to make on his own. It wasn’t me, it was him. He had come to realize that he wasn’t a “settle down and get married” kind of a person and that he didn’t want to stand in my way of finding my own happiness. Finding my own happiness? Like I hadn’t found that a decade ago. By that point, I could see his lips were moving but I could no longer hear what he was saying. Was it our engagement? Was it turning thirty – an early midlife crisis? He had said it wasn’t me, but how could it not be? If it wasn’t me, then he wouldn’t have left me behind. His last kind act was that he had called Elena and asked her to come over. Within five minutes of him walking out of our door for his final time, Elena walked in through it.

Oliver really is the best husband, the most understanding straight guy and just the best person I know. His wife moved in with me for a whole week and he never once complained. Several times he brought over food and ate dinner with us, only to kiss Elena on the cheek and wrap me in a genuine hug before leaving us alone again. He just knew. I needed my best friend. And while he’d never have a reason to be jealous of me from a romantic standpoint, most guys would be at least a little jealous of the time our friendship took Elena away from him. But Elena and I were deeply bonded for two thirds of our lives. Oliver knew from day one that falling in love with Elena meant loving me too. Or at least accepting me? Tolerating me? Elena and I are a package deal and Oliver gets it. And I love him for that, among the long list of things that make him and Elena the dream couple that they are.

When Carter told me he was going to New York without me, his suitcases were already packed and hiding in the bedroom. The whole conversation barely lasted fifteen minutes. And suddenly he was gone. My life went from normal to nuclear disaster in a quarter of an hour. He told me that we’d keep in touch. That we’d always be friends. That this wasn’t really goodbye.

It was really goodbye.

After a week of trying to figure out where I fucked up, what I did wrong and why this all happened, I found no answers and I had run out of tears. It was time. I kicked Elena out. She was willing to stay longer, but there was nothing else she could do. She needed to get back to own life, her job and her saint of a husband.

But that was the beginning of our rigid schedule of texts, calls and lunches. She let a whole year go by before she started pushing for me to get back out there. To meet and see new people. To go on a date. For the last year, she has been trying to set me up with a guy she works with – Miguel. I’ve never met Miguel, but he is her work friend. Her work husband, Oliver jokes. Elena, having grown up in a house full of sisters, as an adult surrounds herself with men. Friends – Felix and Carter (former). Husband – Oliver. Work Friend – Miguel. Even their cat, Cujo, is a boy.

Every time she mentions Miguel, I shut her down immediately. I am just not ready. Not even for something casual. A one-night fling would be too much right now. I am still a ridiculous mess and it wouldn’t be fair to the other person – Miguel. I need to understand where it all went wrong with Carter. I obviously can’t read people and I suck at being a boyfriend. I can’t risk screwing up again. I can’t go through this again. It will break me. Next time, I won’t recover. Not that most people would consider me recovered today.

I had been making progress. A year ago, I really thought I was getting there. But then… My world exploded all over again. I didn’t want to block Carter on all social media platforms, so despite the fact that we do not communicate directly with each other, he is still a connection. But even if he wasn’t, I still would have found out. We have too many “friends” in common for me not to. Only one short year after leaving his ten year committed relationship with me, Carter, the guy who is just not a “marriage kind of a guy”, got engaged. Wow. So… It wasn’t the idea of commitment and marriage. It was committing to and marrying me that was the problem.

That was when I had my first panic attack. I was all alone when it came on and I called no one. I just waited it out. It was terrifying. I thought I was dying. Turns out, I wasn’t. I had just read shocking news about my former boyfriend and fiancé and I freaked out. I never told Elena. She would have freaked out even more. She would have moved in with me again. She would have forced me to see a therapist, which I know I should but I just can’t bring myself to wallow in pity in front of a stranger. I’ve had three panic attacks in total, all of them while I was alone and the last was more than six months ago.

Reading about Carter on social media a year ago was also when Elena began her “Felix and Miguel” campaign. To this day, she brings him up every couple of weeks, telling me how sweet he is and letting me know that he’s still single. I would do anything for Elena, including going to dinner tonight with her, Oliver and her cousin Ramon, but hooking up with Miguel? That’s where I draw the line.

I didn’t just think that Carter was my one and only special person… I felt it. Just a look or a touch from him and I’d feel a tingle roll all the way down to my toes. And I’m devastated to discover that I didn’t do the same for him.

As of now, I’m mostly okay. I have my moments, but I live a productive, content life. I have my work, my apartment, my piano and I’m the occasional third wheel to Elena and Oliver. While I am not hoping against getting romantically involved again, at this point, I just don’t see it.

We’re nearing the end of our lunch when one of my “moments” sneaks up on me. Not a full blown panic attack, but still, a moment. Elena can immediately read it on my face. “Oh, sweetie.” She touches my forearm.

I look up at her with watery eyes, “Was I too pushy? Too presumptuous? Too needy?”

She knows to say nothing. She knows my questions are rhetorical. That I’m just thinking out loud. She knows the last thing I want or need is to be placated.

“Was I not smart enough? Funny enough? Cute enough?”

This time she can’t hold her tongue, “Oh my god! You are ridiculously cute.”

“I know! I’m adorable!”

She snorts, “And all of those other things too.”

My moment is over. She gives my arm another squeeze. I grab the check before she can and she checks the time on her phone. “I have to get to the airport and pick up Ramon.”

Ramon. Why is it so important to her that I meet him? Generally speaking, odds are against any random person being gay, but the way she’s pushing, maybe he is. And if so, that’s not necessarily a welcome complication. What does she think is going to happen? He lives in freaking Portland! And what about poor Miguel, whom I’ve never met but suddenly feel sorry for? Is Ramon supposed to be my rebound from Carter? A springboard into what she hopes could be a future with Miguel? Would that be fair to Ramon? Okay. I need to stop my brain from running wild here. None of these insane thoughts matter because nothing is going to happen. Ramon (whether he falls under the LGBTQIA+ umbrella or not) is Elena’s cousin. We are simply having dinner. All four of us. He’s staying with them for a few days and I am part of only a few hours of that time. That’s all.

I pull out my credit card, “I’ve been your best friend for twenty two years. How come I’m just hearing about this Cousin Ramon now?”

“Our two sides of the family are not that close. We’ll tell you the story at dinner tonight.” She pockets her phone and slips into her jacket. “Six o’clock.” She kisses my forehead.

~~

As much as I didn’t want it to, getting ready for tonight’s dinner has felt like getting ready for a date. That’s something I haven’t felt in years. I spent too much time picking out my clothes and futzing with my hair. Why? And as it approaches six o’clock, I’m feeling nervous. Again, why?

Elena is supposed to text when they pull up out front so I can run down and hop in. The text doesn’t come. Instead, there’s an unexpected knock on my door. I pull it open, revealing my best friend and a very, very attractive guy. I had an image in my mind of what Ramon might look like and I was close. Olive skin, wide brown eyes and wavy dark brown hair. He’s way past cute. Not that that will matter. But then he smiles and my knees weaken. I feel a tingle and a shiver.

I shake it off and ask Elena, “Why are you up here and I’m not down there?”

I’m just now registering the look on her face. Something is wrong. “Sweetie, what is it?” I step aside and let them both in. I also register that Ramon wheels a suitcase inside with him. “What is going on here?”

Elena says, “Oliver’s dad was in an accident. He’s in the hospital. His mom is a wreck and we need to be there.”

I hug her, “Pass this hug on to Oliver for me. Tell him I’ll sing a song for him and his family.” They know I don’t do “thoughts and prayers”. That’s never been my thing.

She nods, “Oliver is booking a flight to Phoenix for us as we speak. We need to leave tonight.” She glances from me to Ramon then back at me. “We couldn’t just abandon Ramon. This is his first time in Chicago. He knows no one and nothing about the city. His conference starts Monday morning, so flying all the way back to Portland on Saturday night makes no sense.  You have an extra bedroom here. He just needs a place to sleep and some company for the next thirty-six hours. A Lyft is picking him up Monday morning.”

A suspicious mind might wonder. This seems like an awfully big coincidence. But the concern on her face appears to be genuine. This isn’t the time to challenge or interrogate her. She needs to get back to Oliver so they can get to his parents.

I tell her, “Of course. Text me when you land safely and let me know how it’s going.”

And with that, she’s gone. And Ramon is here. Remembering that I am a human being in society, I turn to Ramon and shake his hand. It feels warm, smooth and strong. As surprising and awkward as this is for me, it must be doubly so for him. I dumbly introduce myself as Felix. Duh. Who else would I be? He laughs politely.

“Dinner!” I say as if one word makes a complete sentence. “We need food.” Now I sound like a caveman.

“Whatever you want to do is fine with me. We could order in and I could treat you to pizza or we could use the restaurant reservation Elena made. I’m the intruder here.”

“You’re not an intruder. You’re my guest.” He hasn’t taken his jacket off yet so I can’t see his whole build, but from what I can tell, he seems to be nicely toned. It occurs to me that Ramon is the first man besides Oliver (and me) to enter my apartment in two years. I was both physically and mentally prepared to go out tonight, so why not? I slip on my own jacket and wiggle my feet into shoes. I tell him with more confidence than I feel, “Let’s use that reservation.”

~~

Over dinner we get to know each other. I attempt to downplay how tragic the last two years of my life have been, but I do offer him a Cliff’s Notes version of my time with Carter and the breakup. It’s part of who I am. He listens with genuine interest that makes me think that maybe Elena didn’t already give him the rundown on her sad best friend Felix. That would be unlike her. Though, she really hasn’t told me anything about Ramon either. Just that he’s her cousin and lives in Portland.

I find that I enjoy his biography tremendously. He tells me about growing up as the middle of three boys in St. Louis. About feeling lost in the middle. About coming out to his parents and brothers at the age of sixteen and about how he was glad to escape to Oregon after college when the opportunity presented itself. Not that his family has been that bad, but they haven’t been that great either. And neither was the town. Or at least his part of it.

“So, I’m dying to hear the story of you and Elena. I’ve known her for most of our lives but I only first heard of you this afternoon.”

“The truth is, we’re not actually related. Not really.” He sips his wine, “I have an uncle who decades ago married Elena’s aunt. We’ve been told by our parents that we’re some kind of cousins, but there’s no blood between us. Second and third cousins are confusing enough, but start adding in once or twice removed and I’m totally lost. In college I avoided a class on genealogy to protect my GPA.”

I laugh.

“We only saw each other a couple times as kids – a family reunion and a funeral. Then when we were twenty, we were at the same wedding and really met each other for the first time. Neither of us really liked the family member whose wedding it was and we bumped into each other at the bar. We connected right away and we’ve stayed in touch over the phone and online ever since.”

As we continue to talk, he reveals to me that he too went through a rough breakup. His was three years ago. The guy’s name was David. He’s still raw and he hasn’t gotten back out there yet either. His open frankness brings me to open up more about Carter too. We order dessert and I’m glad when he doesn’t order the crème brûlée.

The restaurant is only four blocks away, so on this crisp autumn evening, we decide to walk. The route takes us right past the Sushi restaurant where Carter and I celebrated our ten year anniversary. The night I proposed. Ramon can feel the change in my vibe. Without having to ask, he knows. He says, “I hate sushi.” True or not, he’s sweet for saying that.

Back home, I finally get him out of his jacket to find that I was right. He appears to be nicely toned under his snug-fitting shirt. His jeans are snug too. I look away.

Ironically, the Bulls are playing the Trail Blazers tonight and I put on the second half of the game. We playfully trash talk each other’s team as we share the couch. At one point I notice goosebumps on his arms and I realize that it is chilly in here. I pull down the blanket that is draped over the back of the couch and spread it over both of us. Ramon slips out of his shoes and tucks his feet under him. His eyes drift closed then open repeatedly and I gradually reduce the volume on the TV. The guy did travel two thirds of the way across the country today. I’d be falling asleep too.

It’s not long before he’s out cold. His body has sunk down into a less upright position as he unconsciously snuggles into the warmth of the blanket. As his body shifts, his feet wander closer to me, eventually making contact with my thigh. If I shift or get up, I’ll wake him. I let his toes grip at my leg. His feet are warm and they make me flush. They also make my crotch tighten inside of my skinny jeans. I realize that the basketball game is over and I have no idea who even won. I click off the TV. Between the warmth of the blanket, the body of a sexy man so close to me and the soothing sound of Ramon’s calm breathing, I fall asleep too.

~~

I bolt upright, wide awake. Somehow, I’m holding onto Ramon’s socked foot. Ramon is awake now too and he’s in distress. He’s shaking, sweating and breathless. I recognize the symptoms. I release his foot, cast off the blanket, take his hands in mine and force eye contact. I ask him, “What do you need?”

He shakes his head with bulging eyes.

I squeeze his hands, “You’re okay. It’ll pass soon. I’m not going anywhere. What can I do?”

His teary eyes look down at our hands. All he can do is nod. I take that to mean just stay right here with him. I tell him again, “I’m not going anywhere.” He squeezes my hands back as his breathing slowly normalizes. When he finally lets go, I hop up and grab a cold bottle of water out of the fridge. I also bring him a washcloth, cool and damp. The whole incident lasted about five minutes.

He mops his sweaty forehead and takes a long pull on his water. “I’m so sorry.”

I wave off the apology, “How often do you have panic attacks?”

He winces, “Periodically over the last three years.”

I guess he was in with David as deeply as I was with Carter. Maybe even deeper. “What brought it on?” I ask.

He palms his face, “I was asleep when I felt your hand on my foot. That’s something that David used to do. Whenever we’d watch TV, he’d pick up my foot and give me a massage. When it happened in my sleep, I forgot where I was and who I was with. Or, should I say, who I wasn’t with.”

“Ramon, it was my fault. I fell asleep too and my hand wandered. I’m sorry.” I feel terrible. My own panic attacks are finally under control and now I’ve taken to triggering them in others. This is why I need to stay in my apartment and out of people’s lives.

He can see how upset I am. “Hey, Felix. It’s okay. My foot wandered first. You did nothing wrong.”

I stand. “It’s late.” I can’t look at him anymore. I point out the spare bedroom and the bathroom. I show him where the towels are and tell him to use whatever he needs. Still avoiding his eyes, I turn to move past him but he catches me by the elbow.

“Felix. I’m okay.” He turns me around and his touch is electric. He leans closer and I can feel his body heat. I can smell his scent. He smells like soap and cedar and man. “You’re okay. We’re both okay.” Our noses are only two inches apart and an almost forgotten energy roils beneath my skin.

I meet his eye again. I nod. He releases my elbow and I imagine him pushing me against the wall, entangling his fingers in my hair and shoving his tongue down my throat. I start to stiffen in my jeans again. Over the last two years, I had begun to think that my dick was broken. It had gone dormant. This evening has woken it up. But all I do is say, “Goodnight, Ramon.” I go into my bedroom, close my door and keep it closed for the next eight hours.

~~

I feel movement at the foot of my bed. A hand wraps around my foot and I tense. A wet, slippery tongue drags up the arch of my other foot and I attempt to yank it away, but I’m frozen in place. I also become aware that I am completely naked under my blanket. My feet are abandoned as two hands and one tongue make their way up my legs, up my thighs, they bypass my raging hardon and lavish attention on my neck. Tingles roll over my whole body. My armpits get licked, my nipples get nipped and all I can do is lie still and enjoy it. When those hands and tongue find my lower abdomen, I scream but no sound comes out. I silently and breathlessly laugh as my tummy gets taken advantage of. And then everything stills for a moment. My cock, twitching and dripping in precum, waits in anticipation. My visitor neither neglects nor disappoints.

I get grabbed, yanked, licked, sucked, squeezed, stroked, tugged and swallowed. I’ve never felt so defenseless, so vulnerable or so turned on in my thirty two year life. The attack is relentless. I want to hold out. I try to stave it off. He won’t quit. He won’t even slow down. Since I can’t move, scream or even talk, there’s nothing I can do. I decide to stop my mental fight. I might as well let it happen and enjoy it. The hands once again give way to the mouth and I close my eyes and let him take all of me in. He is so tight all around me. He slides up to my tip and plunges back down to my base. He repeats this three times and that’s all it takes. A rumble rolls up from my scrotum and…

And I’m awake. It’s been more than two years since I’ve had an erotic dream. And even though it wasn’t real, I’ve made a mess in my boxer briefs. Yeah, my dick works just fine.

~~

Ramon walks out of the guest bedroom at the same time that I walk out of mine. I’m fully dressed in workout clothes for a run and he is… Only wearing a pair of boxers! I can’t help it; my eyes drink him in, rolling up the length of him and back down again. He has the most beautiful stomach I’ve ever seen and it’s not because of rock-hard abs or v-shaped muscles. No. It’s from the same smooth olive skin that covers the rest of him. I crave touching it. The only body hair visible runs from a perfectly round innie belly button and trails southward, disappearing beneath the waistband of his shiny black Nike briefs. The contours of his toned biceps, shoulders and pecs aren’t so bad either. He is not at all self-conscious or even shy. I wouldn’t be either if I looked like him.

I ask, “Wanna join me in a run?”

He smiles, “On the streets of downtown?”

“I’m a member at the gym across the street. I can bring a guest. If you’re not a runner, they have all kinds of stuff.” His body tells me that he knows his way around a gym.

“The gym is not Elena’s scene. I didn’t bring a set of workout clothes.”

I hold up a finger and duck back into my room, reemerging shortly with a second set of clothes, socks and my spare pair of Nikes. I say, “I’ve worn these a few times, but they’re close to new. Is that gross? The thought of wearing another man’s shoes?”

He laughs, “Gross is the last word that comes to mind when I think of sharing with you.”

I don’t know why, but I blush. “Despite having molested your foot last night—”

He cuts me off with a snort, “Felix! We settled this already. It was mutual unconscious wandering. I’m good.”

“–I don’t know what size you are,” I finish.

“I’m a size 10,” he says.

“Will a 10.5 work? I don’t want you to get blisters.”

He takes the whole stack from me. “They’ll be perfect.” He pauses and frowns, “Unless any of this was left behind by Carter. I don’t want to wear an asshole’s shit.”

I already like Ramon, but that comment makes me like him even more. “I can assure you everything that was solely Carter’s was dealt with and discarded two years ago by Elena.”

He nods, “That sounds like her.”

~~

My slightly too big shoes do not give Ramon blisters because he doesn’t run. I have a perfect view of him from my treadmill as he works out on all of the weightlifting machines. I am mesmerized by his form as he reaches, stretches, bends, twists and lifts right in front of me. When he jumps up and grabs the crossbar, I get treated to flash of that perfect stomach with each pull-up he does. That strip of bronze lower abdomen causes another stirring in my shorts. By the sixth pull-up, the belly button begins peeking out, like it’s teasing me on purpose.

I complete a six mile run in 50 minutes and Ramon is impressed. I’m drenched in sweat as he looks me over with the same appraising eye I’ve been giving him since last night. “Nice run, Felix.”

I mop my sopping brow with a towel. “Showers and some brunch?”

“Sounds great, but how about some strength training first?”

I only come here for the treadmills and the ellipticals. I come here to maintain my health, not to impress some nonexistent person when I take my shirt off. “I don’t think—”

“I’ll spot you.” He says it like it’s already been decided.

So he does. At times his hands are on my back and my shoulders. He grips my ankles when he makes me do sit-ups. He grips my sides above my hips as I fail miserably at set of ten pull-ups that I only complete because he literally carries me.

We walk out of the gym, sweaty and laughing. “I am going to be so sore tomorrow.”

I only have one bathroom, so I let my guest shower first. Once we’re both clean and changed, we head out again, but this time for brunch. After too many bad carbs and empty calories, we head back to my place.

Sitting on my couch again, Ramon says, “I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you for helping me through my panic attack last night.”

I think about making a joke about being the one who caused it, but we’ve sufficiently covered that ground already. Instead, I say, “All I did was not leave.”

He scoffs, “First of all, not leaving is heroic. Second of all, you did a lot more than that. How did you know what it was and what to do?”

I turn and look out my window at the city before us. “I’ve had a few myself.”

He puts a hand on my arm, “Since Carter left.” It’s not a question.

I shake my head, “Since Carter got engaged to someone who isn’t me.”

“Felix, sometimes people suck. They just do and that’s just who they are. Carter and David are two of those people. We shouldn’t be killing ourselves trying to figure out why they left us. Why they stopped loving us. We should be trying to figure out why we didn’t stop loving them. Why we didn’t see it before. Why we didn’t leave them.”

“In other words, why they suck.”

He touches his nose and points at me.

So we spend the next hour telling each other about what we didn’t love about Carter and David. About our arguments, about our differences. About stubbornness and pettiness and faults that are only slightly exaggerated.

I laugh, but then I turn sad again. Ramon says, “Obviously there were reasons why we fell in live with them too but we’ve spent too many years dwelling on that. Packing his suitcases before talking to you was a shit thing to do. A shit thing done by a shit person. Neither of them are worth another panic attack. We don’t just owe it to ourselves to move on from them, we owe it to the world. We are too awesome to keep ourselves hidden away.”

“So, what do we do?”

“We take a chance. We put ourselves out there. But first we have to break the spell.”

“How?”

He slips out of his shoes and plops his feet in my lap, “I sure could use a foot rub.” He wiggles his toes.

I smile and cautiously wrap a hand around one of his feet. I can tell he’s nervous, but I’m gentle. I certainly won’t hurt him. I won’t even tickle him. I slide off his sock and his eyes widen.

“You’re putting yourself out there, remember?”

He eases back and relaxes into the sofa. His feet are the same olive tone as the rest of him. His feet have soft soles, pink toe tips, no hair and well-manicured nails. He said he’s a size 10 and I agree. His feet are perfect 10’s. By the time I finish massaging his second foot, I find myself wishing I could give him a foot rub every day. I put his socks back on for him. Did that do it? Is the spell broken?

He nods and says, “You know what you have to do, right?”

I don’t.

He looks at the piano. “You have to do a song that you have avoided doing since he left. Only you know what that song should be.”

He’s right. I do know. I play two songs. First I play Wasted Time, then I reach for the guitar and play an acoustic version of The Heart of the Matter. I know that playing those songs didn’t actually change anything, but I can’t help feeling a sense of closure. A formal and final goodbye. Spell broken.

Ramon sat right next to me on the piano bench while I played. “You’re kind of amazing,” he says to me.

“Nah. I’m just messing around. My real talents are in telling other people what to do with their money.”

“No judgement here. Are you good at it?”

“They say never to trust a skinny chef or a poor financial advisor.”

He laughs. “Can I do a song with you?”

This is another step. I haven’t done a song with someone since that someone was Carter. “Umm. Sure. Do you play the piano?”

“A little. Really badly. I know enough to know how good you are.” He looks at the guitar still strapped around my shoulder, “May I?”

I hand it to him and he strums a few chords. I immediately recognize the song. It’s Details in the Fabric. It couldn’t be more perfect. It is literally a song about facing your broken heart, going your own way and overcoming your fears and panic. I join in on piano and we sing together. Ramon cannot harmonize the way Carter could, but that’s okay. Something about singing in unison with him is freaking perfect.

When the song is over, we both need to dry our eyes. I put away my guitar and turn around to find Ramon right up against me. I whisper breathlessly, “Maybe we should order in.”

“I think I know what I want.”

He kisses me. I’ve been secretly wanting to entangle my fingers in his wavy brown hair since I first saw him last night. Now, I do just that. His hands find their way under my shirt and I tremble from his touch. His lips find my ear and he pants my name. My whole body is instantly covered in goosebumps. He kisses my neck and I tingle down to my toes. He kisses my mouth and our tongues wrestle. Carter has only been gone for two years, but it’s been way longer since I’ve felt passion like I do right now. I might have never felt anything like I do right now.

Still kissing me, he drops his hands to the backs of my thighs. He pulls me up and I wrap my arms and legs around him. He walks us blindly to my bedroom and deposits us in a laughing heap on my bed. We fight to get each other’s clothes off quickly without tearing anything. He stares down at my now shirtless body and says, “You are a damn fine looking man.”

I blush. And then I roll him on his back. His beautiful stomach has made another appearance and I have a front row seat. First I look with my eyes, then I look with my hands. I do to him for real what he did to me in my dream last night. He enjoys the attention as much as I like giving it. When I wrangle him out his jeans, his burgeoning erection is straining the seams of his boxer briefs. I peel them off and his seven inch steel rod points skyward. More beautiful bronze skin. My hands grasp his iron pole and his whole body shakes in response. I begin a gentle massage of his organ and precum flows out of him like a leaky faucet. I intensify the massage and now he’s slapping the mattress and crying my name. I ease up just long enough for him to catch his breath.

But only for a minute. Next, I go at him with my mouth, licking and sucking him like a melting popsicle on a hot summer day. He squeals. I suck him up and down and then I slide my tongue below his mushroom cap. This makes him spasm, so I keep doing it. I do it and do it and do it until his back arches and his hands grab my head. I swallow every drop of his manhood as he unloads. I suck him dry to within an inch of his tolerance before leaving his spent cock to recuperate.

After a brief rest, he rolls me over and literally makes my dream come true.

~~

Real life was way better than the dream. Between the sex, the workout, the carbs at breakfast and the emotional afternoon, we fell asleep on my bed. When I wake up, it’s to the sound of noises coming from my kitchen. And smells. Someone is cooking. I sit up and Ramon is not next to me.

I find he is the source of the sounds and smells. Sadly, his shirt is back on. He sees me and smiles, “I’m making us dinner.”

I look around. What is going on here? None of these ingredients were in my fridge.

He answers my unasked question, “This morning after I showered and I was waiting for you, I ran out to the market across the street and picked up a few things. I was back before you finished. I’m making us carne asada.”

My mouth is watering. No one (that I haven’t paid) has cooked for me in a long, long time. I help him bring plates and bowls to the table. The food is delicious. It’s like all of my senses have woken up. They’ve come back to life.

“What are we gonna do this evening?” I ask.

“Our spell-breaking mission needs to come full circle. I am going to badly peck out a song on the piano and you’ll receive a foot massage.”

How can I say “No” to that?

~~

He slept in my bed last night. We didn’t talk about Portland or visits or ending or continuing whatever this was. Not last night, anyway. But now, in the light of the morning… We have to. It’s kind of silly to think that based on just 36 hours together, one of us would quit his job, break his lease and move across the country. We decided to exchange phone numbers and email addresses for now and see what happens.

His Lyft is due here in a half an hour but we’re still lying in bed wrapped in each other’s arms. Responsibility is an asshole. He has his conference to get to, so when he trudges to the shower, I understand. I sit up and notice a strange wallet on the floor. It must have fallen out of his jeans pocket when we were wildly ripping each other’s clothes off last night. I pick it up and it flops open, revealing his driver’s license through a clear plastic window. My blood runs cold and I find I can’t breathe. The date of birth, hair color, eye color, height and weight all seem accurate. The picture is of him. But it’s not him. It’s not Ramon. His driver’s license is not from the state of Oregon, it’s from the state of Illinois. His address is right here in Chicago and his name is Miguel Ramirez.

~~

I didn’t confront Mr. Ramirez with what I’d learned. By the time he emerged from the bathroom, showered and dresses, his Lyft was downstairs waiting for him. We had pretty much already said our goodbyes, so I let him give me a hug, a peck on the cheek and a “thanks for letting me crash”. And then he was gone. Miguel Ramirez: friend and work husband of Elena Suarez. Headed to regular Monday morning work and not some made up conference. I am such an idiot.

So, no, I didn’t confront him. I let him go and then I spent the whole day stewing. I went over every minute of our thirty-six hours together trying to figure out what moments were real and what was made up. Was it all made up? Is there no David? Was the panic attack faked? It sure seemed real and I am one to know. Plus, I never told Elena about my own panic attacks, so that would not be something she would have coached him to do.

After a whole day of accomplishing too little work and spending too much time dissecting history – the only difference being who that history was with, Miguel rather than Carter – I called Elena. She was clueless that I’d figured out her scheme. A distant relative – not really a relative at all – never before mentioned, Oliver’s dad in an accident… Of course it couldn’t be her dad. I know her dad. Oliver’s dad is just a name to me. Someone I’d never met. I’ve known Elena’s dad since we were ten years old. I’d be devastated if something had happened to him; unable to give my full attention to Ramon. I mean Miguel.

When she answered, she went right on with the charade. She pretended that she and Oliver were just back in town, that she missed work today but was glad to report that Oliver’s dad was on the mend. He would be okay. She said that Ramon wasn’t back from his conference yet. She wouldn’t see him until late tonight and he had an early flight out tomorrow. She asked me how the weekend went.

Unlike her, I was not in the mood for the land of make believe. I told her straight out what I had discovered. Through my shrieks of how dare you and how could you and I’ll never forgive you for this, I wouldn’t let her speak. I wouldn’t let her defend herself. I finished my rant, ended the call and promptly blocked her number. And her husband’s and her pretend cousin’s. I called down to the lobby and let the front desk know that I would not be accepting visitors named Elena, Oliver, Miguel or Ramon.

~~

Five days later. Saturday. I walk two miles to Elena and Oliver’s apartment. Her building has no doorman. When another tenant coms out the front door, I slip in. I take the stairs rather than the elevator up to the fifth floor. I knock on her door. Oliver answers. He looks upset as the door swings open, but then he sees that it’s me. His face breaks out into the biggest smile and he grabs me in a hug stronger and longer than the one I gave him on their wedding day. I can feel the tension drain from his body.

I could be an asshole and ask him how his dad is doing, but I’ve been an asshole long enough. Of course I was always going to forgive Elena. How could I not? She has saved my life so many times over our twenty-two year friendship. I put a shushing finger to my lips and Oliver smiles. He nods his head toward the kitchen and I tiptoe in that direction. Her back is to me as I sneak in. She’s sipping from a coffee mug as she stares out the window. She sniffs and dabs at an eye with a crumpled tissue. This five day lockout has been our longest silence in our twenty two year history.

I clear my throat and she whirls around. She barely gets her mug safely set down before she charges me like a linebacker. Our hug lasts several minutes before either of us speaks. Eventually, I go first. I apologize for shutting her out and explain that I just needed some time. I needed to process what had happened. Even though I have so many unanswered questions – What was real? What was pretend? What was the endgame plan? – I tell her that I’m am only here on the one condition that we do not talk about Miguel.

She takes a minute before nodding. Before leaving the subject completely, I let her know that what she did devastated me. And while for the first time in two years I went five days where I barely thought about Cater, that was only because old heartbreak was replaced with new heartbreak.

She needed another tissue.

She blew her nose, “Do you realize that this is the first time you’ve been in my apartment in two years?”

That can’t be right. Is it? “I never stopped going out, Elena. I go to the gym and the grocery store every week.”

She scoffs, “Those are both right across the street from your building. They are hardly more than extensions of your little cocoon.”

I open my mouth to reply, but my mouth hasn’t found words any better than my brain has. She’s pretty much right. “There’s our Saturday lunches.” I point out smugly.

“That I drag you to. That barely last an hour. That are always within a one mile radius of your homebase.” She catches another tear with the tissue. “I’m not sure you realize how broken you’ve been. And a year ago, when we learned what we learned…” she trails off. I love her for not saying the words. Carter’s engagement. “It got even worse.”

I hug her again. “It’s Saturday! Let’s go somewhere new for lunch.”

She smiles, “Do you have somewhere specific in mind?”

Whether it was real to Miguel or not, and I may never know for sure, he helped me to break my spell. “I am so in the mood for some sushi.”

Elena grins.

~~

Five more days later, it’s Thursday night. I’m expecting my regular call from Elena, but it’s Oliver’s name that lights up on my screen. I answer quickly, “Oliver? What’s wrong? Is Elena okay?”

“Yes, Felix. Elena is fine. I’m pinch hitting tonight,”

“Why?” I ask, confused.

“Because you have forbade her from saying some things that need to be said. She will not break her promise to you, so I am here to say them.”

“Look, Oliver, I—”

“No! Felix! You are going to shut up and listen. Did I approve of the scheme Elena cooked up a couple weeks ago? No. I didn’t. Do we both know that she only did it from a place of love? Yes. We both do. I know you’ve forgiven Elena, but Miguel…? Felix, you have to realize what an amazing man you are. If your time with Miguel meant anything to you, what do you think time with you meant to him? I heard something about the mutual breaking of spells… Whatever. He’s hurting. Actually, he’s crushed. He is a real live human being. He is out there. In pain.”

I say nothing, but I don’t hang up either.

“That guy you met? That was the real him. Well, obviously not his job, his address or his name, but everything else? Totally real. He is Elena’s work husband and he’s suffering. Beyond the initial pretense, he was genuine with you. Nothing else was a lie. I know him. Felix, David was his Carter. The last three years of his life have been just as devastating to him as the last two years have been to you. His grief is real. His panic attacks are real. You need to get your head out of your ass. Sure, Elena went about it all wrong, but Elena was only trying to help two of the most important people in the world to her. Miguel was reluctant to go along with it, but…you know… Have you met Elena? She can be persuasive.”

I laugh. Elena. Convincing, persistent, influential…

“Now look, Felix. Elena did not break her promise to you. I, Oliver, am the one going against your wishes, but only for your own good. Yours and someone else’s. You know how much I love you too, right? You’re not just Elena’s best friend, you’re mine too. For ten years now.”

I do know. I think back to all the ways he’s supported me over this last decade. And not just by sharing time with his wife. He is a good friend too.

He sighs, “Anyway, I’ve said what I needed to say. Do with that what you will.” He ends the call.

~~

The next day is Friday afternoon, five o’clock, and I’m standing outside of Elena’s place of work. I’m only waiting about ten minutes before people begin to file out. I see Elena and Miguel walk through the doors side by side. Miguel’s toned shoulders are drooped.

As they get closer, I step forward. Elena smiles, but Miguel’s eyes widen and he takes a step backwards. “I’ll see you Monday, Elena. Have a nice weekend.” He turns to walk away.

“Miguel! Wait.” It’s the first time I’ve said his name to him. His real name. He stops.

Elena begins to grin. I hold up a silencing hand, “You need to say nothing right now. Go home to your sweet husband and I will see you at lunch tomorrow.”

She complies. She says nothing. She gives my arm a squeeze, she kisses Miguel on the cheek and she walks away.

I look at Miguel. He looks afraid. Afraid of me. I don’t want to hurt him. He is so vulnerable in this moment. And cute. And gorgeous. My knees give a little, just like the first time I saw him in my apartment eleven days ago. 

I say, “There’s a coffee shop across the street. Can we sit down and talk for a few minutes?”

He nods, seemingly unable to speak.

Settled with cups of coffee, I begin. “I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. It’s messing with my head.”

He starts to reach for my arm, but stops himself halfway. “I don’t blame you. I’m so sorry.”

“Oliver tells me that David was real. Is that true?”

He nods again, “Felix, the only lie I told you was the story of Elena and I being long lost sort-of cousins. We made that up together. Again, I’m so sorry. And I know this is splitting hairs, but I never told you my name was Ramon. I just let you believe that it was.”

He’s right. That is splitting hairs. “And the panic attack?”

“Real.”

I believe him. I was there. I saw it. He couldn’t be that good of an actor. I nod. “Was this only ever supposed to be the weekend for you? I mean, Elena’s been trying to set us up for a year now. Were you only in it for a quick rebound?”

Now he does touch my arm. “Felix, I like you. I really like you. Everything you felt, I felt it too. I was devastated when Elena told me what you discovered and how you reacted. I still am.”

“So, what was your endgame? I mean, what was supposed to happen? Was Ramon’s company going to transfer him to Chicago? Were you going to legally change your name?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing that complicated. We were going to see how the weekend played out. If you didn’t like me, I would never be mentioned again. If you did like me, we were going to tell you the truth and cross our fingers that the good stuff outweighed the deception.”

There was a lot of good stuff. How could I not like him? Plus, I really am like a new man these last couple of weeks. I’ve missed the hell out of Ramon, of course, but for the first time, Carter feels like he’s far back in the rearview. Oliver said it last night; the spell has been broken and Miguel, posing as Ramon, broke it. And he’s so fucking cute. I know that beautiful stomach of his is hiding under his buttoned up shirt. I want to rip his buttons and do things to that stomach. Then I want to slide down lower and do more things to my favorite seven inches of him. I don’t know David, but he’s as much as an asshole idiot as Carter is. Who would ever want to leave this man?

I clear my throat, “Let’s assume that the good stuff far outweighs the bad. What do we do now?”

He grins, “There’s a Bulls game on tonight.”

“But they’re not playing Portland.”

I can see the pink flush breaking through his bronze skin. “I deserved that.”

No he didn’t. “I’m sorry. The truth is, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“And not just because you’re furious with me?” he asks, hopefully.

“Because I’m freaking falling hard for you.”

His smile melts me.

“Let’s order a pizza, stay in and watch the game.”

“And make beautiful music together.”

I cock an eyebrow.

He blushes again, “I mean that literally. You at the piano and me on the guitar.”

And then together in my bed. I say, “Don’t forget the foot rubs.”

He clears our trash and takes my hand, “Sounds like the perfect night.”

“Should we swing by your place? You can pick up a few things and stay for the weekend.”

He grins, “What about your Saturday lunch with Elena?”

I squeeze his hand as we walk down the sidewalk. “It’s time to mix things up. Start a new tradition. A couples lunch. I’ll bring you and she can bring Oliver.”

He squeezes back, “Four spell breakers and no assholes.”