A Store in Pride Valley

I’ll be the first to admit that I was a little lost. At the age of thirty-two, I’d sold my software company, the one that began, sort of, back in college when I wrote a contact management program that morphed later into an office management program for dentists. At twenty-four, I hired a programmer to help me, and at twenty-eight, I had service agents and was doing more management than programming. At thirty, I sold the whole thing for ten million and was left with nothing to do.

My uncle Kenneth passed away about a year later. I had seen him briefly the prior Christmas, but as a kid, I spent at least half of every summer with him. He’d shown me the ins and outs of sewing machines, and I became quite good at maintenance and repair. He once told me that I could come work for him at any time, so I knew I had a backup plan.

Now, I was the owner of the only sewing machine store in over an hour’s drive in the beautiful town of Pride Valley. The summer that I admitted to myself that I was gay was the summer I heard someone say the only thing Pride Valley was proud of was the fact that no homos lived there.

So why did I come and take control of the shop? Everyone needs something to do. Here I was selling machines to the unskilled, giving lessons to the ignorant, and staring out the front window at the storefronts that were boarded up. Although fewer were boarded up compared to six months ago, when Jordan Kirk, an excessively flamboyant man in his fifties opened up an antique shop and art gallery. He discovered that I was an unwed man in my thirties and decided that I was a member of his team, as he referred to gay men. But he had drawn a few other men to town to open businesses, one of which was called the ‘Dainty Teacup.’ The name made me roll my eyes and laugh, but the food was incredible. They weren’t open for dinner, just brunch, lunch, and tea time. But I didn’t think it’d be long before a nice dinner restaurant would challenge ‘Ranch Hands’ the long-time restaurant out on the bypass.

On a nice spring day in May, I had just finished replacing the circuit board on an older machine. Fortunately, I had one in the back because my uncle kept everything. I called the owner and told her that I had finished and her machine was running again. Then, I sat down and began working on a tea towel set for my sister-in-law. The stitch out was almost complete when John Blackwell came into the shop.

He stood just over the six-foot mark labeled on the door frame. I estimated him to be in his late thirties. His polo shirt showed a chest that had been seeing regular workouts at the gym, and his smile revealed white teeth that were almost perfect. I had a quick image of being taken from behind at the counter while hoping no one came into the store.

I stood up. “Hi, there.”

“Hello,” he nodded.

“I’m Aaron Jennings,” I told him. “How may I help you?”

“I’m looking for a sewing machine,” he said as he looked around. “I’m John Blackwell. I just moved to town.”

I moved closer to him and away from the noise of the machine on its last minutes of stitching. “What type of sewing do you do?”

“Oh. It’s for my daughter. She learned at school and tells me she enjoys it. She’s coming to stay with me for the summer, and I want her to have one.” He took his phone out. “She sent me a picture of the one she has at her mother’s. She says she hates it because it’s hard to use.”

I stepped closer and got a whiff of his cologne. He smelled manly, and I felt myself thicken. I took a look at the image. “That’s a basic machine. I only recommend those for people who already know how to sew and only use the machine a few times each year.”

“What’s this machine doing?” He pointed to the embroidery machine that was nearing the end of its run.

“That’s a combination sewing and embroidery machine.” The machine stopped stitching and centered the hoop. “I’m making some towels for my sister-in-law for her birthday.” I removed the hoop from the machine and the towel from the hoop to show him.

“Wow, that’s impressive. I bet it’s expensive,” he said as he stepped around to the front of the machine.

“This one retails for just under two thousand. There’s one I can order that runs about twelve hundred, but most people who get that one end up wanting larger hoops. That’s why I don’t stock it. Also, the more you spend on a machine, the more designs and more sophisticated the software is. That machine,” I pointed to the one closest to the back, “retails for twelve thousand.”

“Whoa!”

“I can usually offer twenty percent off the retail price. Sometimes there are special deals they give the dealers, but there’s nothing going on right now. I can only go lower than twenty percent with a trade-in. That’s the agreement I have with the manufacturer.”

“Hmm,” he said. I could tell he was considering getting a combo instead of a straight sewing. “I wish I could ask her, but I want it to be a surprise.” He pulled a chair out and sat at one of the machines. “That’s a lot of buttons. I don’t remember my mother’s machine looking so complicated.”

I walked up behind him and leaned over. His hair smelled fresh, and that cologne, barely there and mixing with the scent of that masculine body made it difficult to concentrate. “Did you ever sew on your mother’s machine?”

“Not really. Played around once sewing some funny-looking stitches on a scrap of fabric.”

“For someone who wants to sew a lot, clothes or crafts, I recommend an electronic machine. You get better control over your stitches. The more you spend, the more decorative stitches, buttonhole patterns, and feet you get.”

He turned his head and looked at me. He was certainly handsome. I put my hand on his shoulder; I’m not sure why I squeezed his shoulder; it was completely inappropriate, but I did.

“Shit,” he said. “That felt good.”

I stood up and placed a hand on each shoulder and massaged him just slightly. “You know, you could give her some lessons, and I could include embroidery as part of the lessons and we can find out whether she is interested.”

“That’s a great idea. Oh, man, that feels so good. Do you have a little project that you sell instructions for that I could include with a card?” He seemed really excited; I could tell by the hardness in my pants that I was, too.

“Yeah, I do,” I said as I kept kneading his muscles. “ I’ve got one for a grocery bag. It’s just above basic in difficulty and is really popular. It uses a variety of seam techniques, so it could be the basis of a day of lessons, and we could put a monogram or other design on it right there.”

“Perfect. How much is it?”

“Nothing. Call it an incentive to return.”

“You’re giving me an incentive to return. Actually, you’ve given me an incentive to ask you to join me for dinner.” He broke contact and turned around in the chair.

His eyes were level with my crotch, and I had tented my pants. It would have been obvious to anyone that I had a full erection. I stepped back.

He stood up and looked into my eyes. He stumbled over his words. “I’m new at this. I’ve only recently admitted,” he looked down, “that I like men.” He swallowed hard. “I almost didn’t come in because I could see you working and you are so fucking handsome.”

“You’d win that contest in this room.”

He looked back up at me. “You’re attracted to me?”

“I’d think that’s obvious.”

“Sometimes my dick gets hard from the level of testosterone in the room.”

“Yeah, well, mine’s hard because you’re not only the best-looking guy in town, but you’re also a nice, decent man. That’s a winning combination.” I smiled and locked eyes with him. I didn’t want him to bend me over the desk. I wanted to see his eyes while he pumped me.

He reached out to shake my hand. I took his hand and moved my thumb back and forth just a little between his thumb and index finger. It was a dangerous move.

“So, are you going to say yes to dinner?”

I adjusted my pants. “I think someone already said yes, but I will second that.”

He laughed and then turned red.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed. You can talk freely with me and joke about it. These things are normal and natural.”

“I… um… guess I’m not used to it.”

I squeezed his hand again. “There’s a lot of chemistry going on in this room, and I predict an exothermic reaction.”

He laughed again. “I’m a chemical engineer. I should be used to that.” He got serious. “But I’m not. Not on a personal level anyway.”

I raised my eyebrows as I looked at him. There was some serious loneliness in there.

“I’ll tell you about it sometime,” he said. “Not now though. Where am I taking you for dinner?”

“I think you’re taking me to my house,” I said as I retrieved the pattern. “I close the shop in about ten minutes. I have shrimp thawing in the refrigerator. I’m making shrimp alfredo, and I always make enough for two days. So the plan is for us to eat it all tonight, and then tomorrow, if you’re free for lunch, we’ll have a meal at the Dainty Teacup.”

“That name is so gay,” said John.

“So’s the owner.”

John’s cheeks flushed again as he chuckled. “I haven’t eaten there.”

“The food is really good. Honestly, if they were open for dinner, I’d be their first customer.”

The door to the shop swung open. “Oh, Aaron, I’m so glad you’re still open. I broke a needle, and I thought I had a package. I don’t know if I misplaced it or used it up without realizing.”

“What size do you need, Mrs. Vogel?”

“Oh, an 80.”

“Universal, ballpoint, or sharps? Wait, weren't you working on a quilt?”

“I still am Aaron.”

“So you need quilting needles.”

“That’s right dear.”

“One package of five or two?”

“I’d better take two.”

“That’s ten dollars, Mrs. Vogel.”

“Here you go.”

“Do you need a bag?”

“No, dear. I’ll put them in my purse. I’ll lose the bag.” She giggled. “See you later.” She hurried out of the store.

I followed behind her and locked the door. I turned to John. “I’m parked in the back.”

He pointed to the front door. “I’m parked across the street.”

“I can drive you over and you can follow me, or…”

“That’s perfect.”

We walked to the back, and I dimmed the lights. As I unlocked the back door, I felt him standing quite close to me. I turned and saw his face lit in profile. I leaned up and brushed our lips together. I sensed his body tremble. “I didn’t want to wait any longer.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” he said and then he pressed his lips into mine.

As we walked into my house, I resisted the urge to pull him straight to the bedroom. I handed him a beer, took a quick trip to the bathroom, and started dinner. He was honestly interested in hearing how I came to Pride Valley. I prepared the sauce, pasta, and shrimp without incident even though I felt as though I were running my mouth non-stop.

I plated the food and placed a bowl in front of John. “I’m sorry; I haven’t given you a chance to say anything.”

“I’ve enjoyed hearing your story. You know, I haven’t had any personal conversations in quite a while. You were sharing with me.”

“Do you want to share with me?” I asked.

“Well, where would you like me to begin?” He smiled.

“With a bite of dinner, and then wherever you are comfortable.” We each took a bite. It wasn’t my best attempt, but the shrimp was good. I could tell he was thinking of what to say. “Well, I guess you won’t be marrying me for my pasta. It’s overcooked.”

“Not overly overcooked.”

I laughed. “You mean it could be worse.”

“Well, it’s not mush.”

“Mush!”

“Honestly, the sauce is perfect. The shrimp are perfect, and the pasta is only slightly softer than perfect. It’s my fault anyway. I was a distraction.”

“You’re sweet. So while you choke down the mushy pasta, tell me your story.”

“OK, well, I’m divorced. I have an eleven-year-old daughter that I love. My ex-wife was my college roommate’s sister, and she was the only woman I ever connected with. She’s been having an affair with her best friend since before I met her, and she finally left me. I’d been faithful to her the entire time even though I began to realize that I had sexual feelings for some of the men I met along the way. I moved here for a new start.

“And then I went to buy my daughter a sewing machine.”

“Where you met the most attractive man you’d ever seen not realizing he can’t make pasta.”

“Don’t do that. You’re a great guy. You’re the first guy I’ve ever kissed. You’re special enough that I was able to take that step. That first step.

“John, there’s a whole dance that goes with that step.”

“Are you asking me to dance, Aaron?”

“Yeah, I am. I’m a little rusty. I haven’t stepped onto the dance floor in years.”

“And I’m a complete novice. I might step on your toes.”

I stood and leaned over the table and kissed him. “There’s a risk in any adventure.”

After dinner, I took him into the bedroom and put on some soft music. I grabbed him as if we were going to waltz. “I don’t know any dance steps.”

John nuzzled just below my ear. “I can’t dance.” He kissed me softly. “I wanted to do that when I first saw you. You do something to me that’s never happened before.

I ran my fingers through his hair. His body shuddered. He pulled me close to him, and with an open mouth, I met his mouth and kissed him with the kind of kiss that I’d always wanted. I’m not sure how he did it, but he wrapped his arms around me and lifted me. He carried me the few steps to the bed and placed me in the center of the mattress. He got next to me, and I pulled him on top of me. I ground my crotch into him as I continued to kiss him.

This felt like what I’d waited for all my life. A handsome, sexy man who was also kind and thoughtful was sending electricity through my body, at my lips, and at my groin.

“Johnny, take your shirt off. I want to feel you.”

“Only if you take yours off, Ronny.”

“OK.”

John moved back on his knees and unbuttoned his shirt. I pulled my polo over my head. I put my hands on his abdomen. There was a circular patch of hair below his navel reaching down below his waistline. His chest was covered with fine, straight black hair. With each minute, I discovered another reason to like him, to be attracted to him, to want him. I unbuttoned his pants.

“Oh, are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure,” I said. I flipped myself around and pushed his pants and underwear down. His penis was partially erect and hung down. I sucked it into my mouth. It hardened almost immediately. I’d only sucked two dicks before that night, and I couldn’t honestly say that it was much fun.

This time was different. His cock was a wonderful texture. The way the skin moved as I slid down the shaft and then forced the head into my throat and pulled back holding it with my tongue. John’s moans as I moved my head back and forth brought me a joy that I couldn’t explain. My hands found his ass cheeks and I pulled him as I swallowed him.

I heard John announce between clenched teeth, “Oh, oh, I’m gonna cum. Stop, I’m too close.”

But, I didn’t want to stop, and I was rewarded when he filled my mouth with his seed. I could tell that his was thicker than mine, and I swallowed the salty substance, knowing that I had part of him in me even when I pulled back and allowed his penis to plop down. I looked up at him; he pulled me up and kissed me.

“Now I know why people enjoy that. Aaron, I…”

“Get next to me,” I told him. “Just hold me.” We lay side by side. He pulled me close, nuzzling his nose below my ear.

“Johnny, will you stay the night?”