Chris

I stop in here a time or two a week; the bar close to home. I saw him walk in; the mirror over the bar. He was in a coat and hat that rode high on his head; he looked around. I turned to get a better look then motioned to the stool next to me even though there were lots of places to sit.

I never do this, but I like conversation and I thought he had some in him. He was at least half my age. Seeing him in the mirror, he wasn’t a big guy; but I figured, he was a big guy. Looking at him now next to me, fuck me. He held up a finger and moved to the jukebox dropping some coins then took the stool next to me.

I just nodded my head to the tender and the kid told him what he wanted. I should have paid the tab and walked away. Fuck me into next year. He had a five o’clock shadow and couldn’t have been more than twenty-three or four. Half my age.

His hair wasn’t dark but not quite blond; just fuck me again. His eyes were blue; no, violet. Those fuckin eyes alone could make money. And the lashes. Fuck. Any girl would die for lashes like that.

I should have paid and walked away. “My name is Chris,” He said to me as the first song started. ‘Girl, I’m Gonna Miss You.’ I just fell in love. I mean, fuck; I’m twice his age.

It made no sense to hold back. “Do you know how fuckin hot you are? And I don’t mean that in a creepy old man kind of way.” I said expecting to see a knowing smile. I didn’t see it.

“You’ve got room to talk. And I don’t mean that in a young guy sort of way.” He returned with a smile; that took me by surprise.

Now my gaydar isn’t as fine-tuned as it was back in the day and he didn’t even make the needle move. I made a finger to the tender for my tab. ‘Fuckin Bee Gees.’ And I changed my mind. We talked as the music played and I ordered myself another scotch, him another dark beer, and some nachos.

He confirmed he was twenty-three and I reaffirmed he was ‘hotter than fuck’. He worked construction and I told him I worked for myself and built my own house that wasn’t far away. “With these hands?” And he reached for my left.

Now, this opened a big old can of worms. I have been solo since I was his age and was happy jacking off with a dildo in my ass. I looked at him when he pulled his hand away and I really looked at him. He stood and took his coat off and I really looked at him again.

He wasn’t huge but the sleeves of his tee-shirt were stretching over the biceps, he was thin but I could see the cuts of his pecks. Fuck. Another scotch and a beer later, “I’d like to see your house.” He announced looking at me full on.

I mean? Was this really happening? I don’t randomly hook up, I have a little more respect and class for that. What am I doing even considering this? Another scotch and a dark beer for him. OK.

I paid the tab, walked just far enough behind to catch a look at his ass in tight dirty jeans. I followed watching him get into an old beat-up truck and he followed me home. I kept looking in the mirror hoping he was still back there and hit the button for the gate. He pulled up behind me in front of the doors and got out. “Those hands built this?” He asked pointing at mine.

“You live here by yourself?” He continued to question me as I put my thumb on the pad and the door opened.

“I’ve been alone since I was your age,” I told him as we stood in the living room.

“This is really a nice place. You have kids or anything?” And he took his coat off then nodded to me to do the same. Be still my heart.

He looked at the couch and chairs but didn’t want to sit down. “Sit anywhere, you want anything?” and he sat on the floor.

“I’ll have whatever you’re drinking.” He told me as I poured two singles. I’d already had a few.

I sat across from him looking down on his beautiful body as he pulled the tight tee off telling me he didn’t want to get anything dirty. He had already taken his boots off at the door and best I could figure he was only wearing three articles of clothing now. OK.

He was fit. His upper body showed he worked construction, firm pecs, and his stomach. A light dusting of hair smattered his chest and a trail disappearing into his pants. He caught me admiring.

We talked more, him feeling me out about myself as I did the same. “So, you live in this huge fuckin house all by yourself?” He asked after a short silence.

“I wasn’t alone when I built it but it was more for resale.” And I saw everything I’d been alone with for over twenty years.

“Wanna show me around,” He asked standing like the answer was yes.

We walked from the living room into the great room, I pointed to the left telling him the garage, laundry, and a master suite were down that hall. We continued into the dining room, I pointed to the kitchen on the right and opened the slider walking out.

I was happy with what I had done. It was ten acres; parked out. There was lots of grass, tall sporadic trees, three different kinds of ferns, and a bunch of flowerbeds along with a water feature surrounded by fruit trees.

He had walked across the deck and was three stairs down when he turned around and I caught up. His eyes looked up and he took a deep breath. It wasn’t quite dark, the lights hadn’t cum on, and he shook his head.

He asked as he turned back to the yard, “You did all of this?” I heard the disbelief in his voice and I moved down next to him.

“It was basically ten-treed acres; I marked all the trees I wanted out and a lot of it paid for the house. I left these and the ones in the front.” I finished

“What’s that?” he asked pointing to a tree that was topped with a crown.

“The tree climber said he wouldn’t cut off anything that might hit the house unless he could do a habitat. Birds nest and shit; I guess?” And I walked down in front of him.

He peeled his socks off before he hit the grass, I was still fully clothed, with shoes. “This grass is like fuckin carpet,” And I couldn’t help but smile looking back at him about six feet behind and we both stopped.

“What’s that?” he asked motioning with his hand to the left.

“I like to call it the East wing.” That sounded so… fucking bad.

I tried to recover, we were looking back at the house; “I built it for resale.” I said again trying to apologize, for whatever reason, what he was looking at.

So, we’re looking back, his head moved back and forth, “It looks like the V bomber.” And I laughed on the inside.

“That wing’s shorter,” I told him pointing to the right, and noticed how those lucky jeans stretched around his upper thighs from behind.

“What’s on that side,” He asked pointing to the left.

The deck ran the whole back end of the house, a hundred feet. Five extra-large sliding glass doors; that’s not right. I had French doors off our music room. “How big is this fuckin house?” He asked showing me his empty glass. I never noticed he still had it.

“It’s sixty-five-hundred, not counting the garages. We had some of the best parties.” I finished.

“What’s on that end?” He asked pointing to my room. So he was in just dirty fuckin jeans; I assumed he wasn’t going commando but he wasn’t shivering.

“That’s the music room and mine is behind.” Don’t even ask me what I was doing.

“You said it was down there,” he told me pointing to the right.

“No, I said there was a master down there,” And I walked up the stairs in front of him taking his glass as I passed.

I poured more in his glass straight as I put half in mine with ice. What am I fuckin thinking; he downed it. OK, where are we going with all of this?

“So, you gonna show me the bigger wing?” he asked setting his glass on the bar; I did the same. Big deep breath.

Could there be more of a double meaning? He followed me as I turned left from the kitchen and I motioned to the right saying it was the guest room and guest bath at the door after that.

“This is the Jack room and this is the Jill room,” I said after ten feet. “There’s a full bath between.” And I came to the pocket doors that separated our suite from the rest of the house. R in oval frosted glass on each side; I pushed them into the walls.

To the right was my master suite and to the left; the music-sitting room. Through the doors you could see the hot tub; I’d done twelve-foot kick-outs on all the sliders.

The music room was twenty by thirty, with large overstuffed leather furniture, a rock fireplace on the far right wall. In, and to the left, was the music part. There was an oversized set of red drums in the corner, guitars hanging on the wall, and three stands on the floor.

My keyboard had a smaller one on each side, “DUDE? You play all this shit???” The look on his face when he turned to me.

“I told you. It was all for resale; this is for looks.” And I couldn’t hold back when I saw the sad face.

“I’m fucking with you, ok? I can.” And he walked to the drums. My hands can’t move that fast anymore.

I sat at the keyboard and watched him; eyes closed. I could tell he loved drums and it had been a while; I understood how much he missed them. There are guys who can play the drums, but true drummers sweat.

I still didn’t know what he was doing because I would have joined in. I’ve been around drummers and guys, who play the drums; this was a drummers’, OPUS. I watched the sweat form on him. His forehead, chest, down his arms, then fly in the air. I took another long look.

He stopped, looked at me out of breath; I smiled and started picking the strings. It was a long intro and softly he joined in. He actually started, “Life, so they say, is just a game and we let it slip away.” And he looked at me. I turned and clicked all the buttons; monitors, speakers, and mics.

It had been half a lifetime. I sang and he was right there. “love, like the armed sun; should be dying but it’s only just begun.” I stopped hearing him harmonizing in the monitors.

“Why’d you stop? That sounded so… fuckin good.” He questioned and told me at the same time like I had no ears.

“How do you even fuckin know that? Really? Seals and Croft? That was twenty years before you were born.” I wanted an answer.

“You started it. I bet you know things from twenty years before you were born.” I hoped it didn’t show in my eyes as I did.

Fine. I saw a challenge. I started; ‘The King of Nothing.”

“Really?” Rang out.

I started over, pushed a bunch of keys on the other boards, looked at him; he wasn’t doing me. I grabbed a guitar and started. Picked on the high keys; fuckin drummers got it so… easy.

We stopped and he said he’d love another drink then asked about the hot tub. I told him we could kickback. I got two more drinks and found him looking out the window at the tub.

“I’m too dirty to get in there and I stink.” He told my reflection in the glass. He was fishing now.

“There’s a shower on the deck,” and he opened the door.

What was I doing? I mean I’d poured him a triple, offered the hot tub, even told him about the shower. He saw it and turned to ask if it was ok as he did the buttons of his faded jeans. What was I doing???