Graham awoke the next morning with a dry mouth and a full bladder. It was just before eight o’clock, much earlier than he would’ve preferred after the late night, but his body had other priorities besides sleep.
Dragging himself from the bed, he stumbled to the bathroom, not bothering to turn on the overhead lights, and relieved himself in the darkness. He shook out the last few drops, then grabbed a bottle of water from the mini fridge and crawled back into bed. His phone rested on the nightstand beside him, screenside down. He reached for it and saw one new message.
“Hey Graham, it’s Archie. I’m sure you’re asleep but wanted to throw out an option for brunch. How about this place Frida at 11:00? Let me know if that works!”
Graham smiled and typed out his reply.
“That sounds great! See you then.”
The message had come in at nearly 2:30 in the morning. Graham figured that was when Archie had finally made it home for the night. He pictured Archie at the end of the shift, wiping down the bar and closing out the last remaining tabs, driving home after a long day on his feet, walking into a quiet apartment after hours in the loud, energetic bar. Did he like the quiet? Or did he find it overwhelming, as Graham sometimes did?
He tossed his phone on the bed and tried, unsuccessfully, to fall back asleep. Every time he closed his eyes his mind conjured images of the night before. Much of it was a blur, a kaleidoscope of memories obscured by alcohol and colored lights: he pictured the dancefloor, the swell of movie bodies surrounding him; he pictured the new faces he'd met – Trey and Cooper, even Rodney. But mostly, he pictured Archie.
He pictured Archie's bright eyes and warm smile when he'd first spotted Graham at the bar. He pictured his bare torso, smooth and lean and strong. He pictured the silver chain draped against Archie's collar bone, the single mole on his muscular back, the dimples just above his tailbone where skin disappeared beneath black elastic.
As these images lingered in his mind, Graham felt his morning erection return. It had been a while since he'd last taken care of himself. After the divorce, Graham had lost most of his sexual appetite. It seemed so pointless, engaging in self-pleasure while his life broke down around him, so on the rare occasions he did indulge it was to scratch a purely physical itch, to achieve a dopamine release and give himself a little clarity. It was hardly anything erotic. But this morning felt different, and within seconds he was straining uncomfortably against his own boxer briefs. He let out a sigh and settled deeper into the soft mattress.
Behind closed eyelids, he saw Archie's biceps flexing as he raised the cocktail shaker over his head, contracting as his arm pumped furiously. He saw the mischievous smile and the devilish glint in his eye as Archie poured a line of shots for strangers at the counter. He saw Archie's hips sway back and forth to the music, his abs rippling like the surface of a pond.
Graham's erection twitched and he arched his back as a new wave of desire washed over him. He brought his hand to his stomach, his fingers grazing from his belly button to his chest and back.
Normally, Graham would shut these thoughts down, these random, curious flashes of other men, their bodies. Normally, they would bring with them that sordid swirl of jealousy and shame. But today, Graham felt none of that, no obscurity or confusion. Today, he felt only energy. Excitement. Arousal.
Behind closed eyes, he imagined Cooper pulling off his mesh tank top, proudly displaying that broad chest dusted with a fine layer of hair, freely displaying the powerful body he'd worked so hard to build. Graham admired this muscle, coveted it. Something about its strength resonated with him and drew him in. As his hand traced his stomach, Graham imagined it was Cooper’s muscle, Cooper's skin, Cooper's hair beneath his touch. It felt forbidden and taboo, his hands on another man, but this only made him more excited, more aroused.
His hand grazed lower, past his belly button and over the fabric of his briefs, stretched tight against his hard-on. He slid his palm over the hard shaft and cupped his balls in his hand, giving a gentle squeeze. He sucked in a breath at the touch, feeling a sensitivity he rarely experienced, and let himself stay in that moment, his fingers massaging his balls, thumb pressed against the base of his shaft.
Next, he pictured Trey on the dancefloor, his lean body grinding, his slim hips and round ass gyrating to the heavy bass. He imagined these hips gyrating in other scenarios, their fluid movements bringing the same electrifying sensations as his own hand. He pictured Trey's abs, his sculpted torso writhing and contracting in unbridled pleasure.
Graham pulled off his briefs and tossed them to the floor. His erection sprang free, slapping against his stomach, a bead of moisture had already appeared at the tip. He ran his fingers across his lower abdomen, sliding into the tangle of pubic hair and pushing his erection towards the ceiling.
At last, he pictured Archie.
Initially, Graham had been so scandalized by the sight of Archie's bare skin. He couldn't accept that he'd become so prudish with age that a shirtless torso would send the blood to his cheeks. He'd seen men in the locker room before and never had he felt so surprised or flustered by the sight. But now, in the heat of the moment, he better understood his reaction: Archie's bare chest, his lean, smooth stomach and narrow hips, excited him in a way these others hadn't. Archie's bare chest was something he wanted to see…and halfway to something he really wanted to see: the sight of Archie naked.
As he dragged his fingers through his pubic hair, Graham's imagination took over. He pictured Archie slipping out of those tight black jeans, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his Calvin Klein underwear. He wondered at what lay beneath. Was he shaved smooth like the rest of his abdomen? Or did he sport a patch of dark hair like that beneath his arms? Was his cock big? Small? Average? (Graham laughed. He couldn't imagine anything about Archie was average.) Did Archie wake up aroused after a late night at the bar? Or did he take care of himself at night, using the release to ease himself to sleep?
These questions floated through Graham's mind as he touched himself, his hand sliding up and down his shaft in smooth strokes. Typically, this was a hurried affair for Graham, a boring routine like bathing and brushing his teeth, but this time was different. This time Graham wanted to feel it.
He felt the heat of his cock in his hand, felt the warm intensity in that space behind his balls, radiating upwards into his core. He felt the light calluses on his hands – a staple of his weightlifting routines – as they grazed against his erection, a patch of rough in a sea of smooth. He felt the shiver in his belly as his thumb dabbed the bit of precum that had appeared, swirling it around the swollen, maroon head of his penis.
With his other hand he explored his chest, his stomach, his nipples. He grazed his thigh, gripped his shoulder, squeezed at his neck. He felt his own body in ways he hadn't experienced for decades, relishing in the touch of skin and hair, smooth and rough, hard and soft, like he had when he was twelve years old and discovering his body for the first time. He embraced the pleasure he derived from each of these sensations, let it remain unjudged and unbothered as he moved from one area to the next.
All the while, he pictured Archie. His body. His smile. His voice. His youth and confidence. His dark hair and golden skin. He didn't fixate on any one particular thing but, rather, marveled at the total package, this whole being to whom Graham found himself inexplicably drawn.
Graham's own body responded at the thought, twitching and writhing and leaking beneath his hand. His breathing increased as pressure built inside him, growing shallow and stilted. His free hand grasped his balls as his right hand stroked furiously. Graham began to float, his mind as happy and uninhibited as it had been three drinks in last night.
He raised his knees and pressed his feet into the mattress, lifting his hips off the bed as he breached the point of no return. Shamelessly, Graham cried out, unbothered by the noise or the early hour, wholly surrendered to the pleasure coursing through his body. He erupted, shooting ropes of warm liquid across his stomach. It landed in his chest hair, hitting his right pec, spattered across his abdomen, and pooled on his hand. It was a big load, larger and more powerful than any he’d had in months.
Graham collapsed, suddenly exhausted, his knees falling open, his head falling back. He lay there in naked, cum-covered ecstasy, the endorphins purging any inkling of shame from his mind. His hands fell to his side and, strangely, he began to laugh. He looked down at the mess he'd created on his stomach and hands and laughed some more, basking in the rays of his own pleasure.
He let out a loud, fluttering exhale and closed his eyes.
His body felt loose and peaceful.
It had been a long time since he'd masturbated for the sheer pleasure of it. For years it had been a speedy, secretive affair, something to be done discreetly before anyone – his parents, his roommate, his wife – would have the opportunity to catch him. His motto had been to “keep it quick and keep it quiet”, and for most of his adult life he'd done that quite well.
After his divorce, he'd found himself in possession of a nagging notion that he was “too old” for it, that it was better to put to bed this immature relic of his younger bachelor days. Worse still, a part of him feared that all his sexual fulfillment might now be behind him, another casualty of the divorce And so, for months on end, he had indulged the urge begrudgingly, finishing quickly and disposing of any evidence before moving on with his day.
Somehow, regrettably, it had never occurred to him that this chapter might be a new beginning, a chance to reconnect with the joy of his body, to rediscover the many wondrous sensations it had to offer. But here, lying in his hotel bed, naked, covered in his own mess, Graham felt that flame of joy and discovery ignite once again. And he wanted more of it.
A few hours later, Graham walked into the restaurant Archie had selected for brunch.
It was a stylish spot, located in a reclaimed brick storefront with floor-to-ceiling windows along the facade. It had an artsy, southwestern vibe that reminded Graham of a long-ago trip to Santa Fe. A bar and open kitchen ran along the back wall, and large, yellow leather booths lined each side. A block of booths cut across the center of the room, and a few tables sorted the front windows. At one of these tables, Graham spotted Archie.
Archie stood when he saw Graham enter. He looked well-rested and energized, despite the late hours, and he was a vision of Spring. He wore khaki shorts that, Graham noticed, perfectly accentuated his developed quads, and a white tank top beneath an open denim shirt. The silver chain hung on his bare collar bone.
He smiled and stood as Graham approached.
“Morning!” he said cheerfully.
“Hi!” Graham returned the smile. He stopped as he reached his chair, resisting the momentum that wanted to carry him those final two feet towards Archie. He stood, a little awkwardly, gripping the back of his chair for support.
Archie showed signs of his own restraint, his hands rubbing his thighs – his beautiful thighs – to prevent them from doing who knows what else. And so, the two looked at each other, letting their faces communicate what the rest of their bodies would not.
“I, uh, ordered us some mimosas.” Archie gestured towards the table where a pitcher and two champagne flutes sat next to a small vase of flowers. “I hope that's okay.”
Graham laughed. “I'm never going to complain about mimosas.”
They took their seats.
Graham looked at Archie with a hundred things on his mind. He couldn't quite figure out where to start. He noticed Archie's eyes do a quick once-over before returning to his face, which sent a flutter through his stomach – in honor of the warm, Spring morning, Graham wore his favorite pair of khaki chinos and a powder blue linen shirt. Just before he left, he'd decided to open a second button, which showed off an extra bit of collar bone and the brown hair that covered his chest, and, even though he knew it was a little silly, he still enjoyed watching Archie trying not to stare.
“I, uh, guess you made it home alright?” Archie finally said.
“I did, yeah. I crashed as soon as I hit the pillow.”
Archie smiled. “I figured you would.”
“Why, was I that rough?” Graham teased.
“No, no,” Archie laughed. “I just figured that was a late night for an old guy like you.”
“Well, you got me there.” Graham rolled his eyes and tried to fight back his smile. “How was the rest of your night?”
“It was fine. Uneventful. People started to clear out not long after you left, so Coop and I were able to close it down mostly on time.”
“That’s nice. What time did you get back home?”
“About 2:30 or so.”
Graham grimaced. “I don't know how you do it.”
Archie laughed. “I guess I'm used to it at this point.”
About this time, their waiter appeared.
“Good morning,” he said cheerfully. “I know we’ve already got some drinks going, but do you know what you’d like to eat?”
He was young, about Archie's age, with reddish hair and face full of freckles. He was handsome, though, with sharp cheekbones and full lips, and the lean, slender build of a model. It was a kind of graceful physique, one Graham might not have noticed before, different from Archie’s athleticism but appealing in its own way.
Graham shook these observations away.
“I’m ready,” Archie answered. “But I think he might need more time?” He looked at Graham.
“You go,” Graham assured him. "I can be ready."
Archie ordered the migas – a house specialty – while Graham hurriedly scanned the menu. Everything looked good, and after his morning activities Graham suddenly realized he was starving.
“What's better,” Graham asked, “the pork verde burrito or the eggs benedict?”
“Hmm,” the waiter paused. “I'd say the burrito. That's probably our best seller.”
“Burrito it is,” Graham exclaimed.
“Great choice,” said the waiter, flashing a winning smile. He took their menus and absconded to the kitchen.
“So have you been up to anything this morning?” Archie asked, reaching for his mimosa.
Graham’s mind immediately returned to his time in bed and his cheeks grew warm. He tried not to blush.
“Uh, not really,” he said quickly. “Slept in a bit. Grabbed some coffee at the hotel. Standard fare. What about you?”
“Well I was still asleep an hour ago, so no,” Archie laughed. “No, I haven't done much else.”
“I guess that's fair. What time do you usually get to sleep after a shift like that?”
“On a normal night,” Archie began. “A little after three. Once I get home it takes me a second to wind down. I usually have to take a shower, grab a snack, maybe watch some tv…by then I'm pretty ready to call it a night.”
“Makes sense. I'm sure it's hard to immediately turn off right after work like that.”
“Exactly,” Archie exclaimed. “I gotta have at least a little time to myself before the night’s done.”
“I get that. And, uh, on a not normal night?” Graham asked slyly. He had enjoyed surprising Archie last night when he kissed Trey’s hand, turning on some charm he knew he hadn’t shown before. It felt good to lean into his playful side, and he wanted to do it again.
It worked. Archie cocked an eyebrow as a coy smile crept across his face.
“On a not normal night? Well.” He paused for dramatic effect. “I could be up for an extra hour. Or two.”
“Hmm,” Graham nodded knowingly. He threw a charming smile, enjoying the flirtation. “No rest for the wicked.”
They fell into an easy rapport, talking about nothing consequential as they sipped on their mimosas, but as Archie reached for the carafe to refill his glass, an air of seriousness came over him.
“So,” Archie said as he took a sip of mimosa. “I'm sorry again about the whole bar thing. I swear I didn't mean to mislead you or anything.”
Graham was moved by his earnestness. “Hey, you don't have anything to be sorry for. Seriously, I had a great time.”
“I'm glad you did.” Archie smiled, but his brow remained dark. “I knew when I invited you that it probably wasn't, you know, your usual scene…” Archie's meaning hung in the air between them. “I mean, I know you've told me you were married and everything, so I knew all that. But, at the same time, I don’t know, some part of me thought maybe…it was?”
He looked at Graham, his features clouded with an uncharacteristic nervousness.
Graham's heartbeat quickened, and for a while he just held Archie's gaze. He envied Archie's bravery, his willingness to break the ice between them and ask the question they had both been dancing around all week.
“I could be way off base, though,” Archie shook his head, dismissively.
“You're not,” Graham cut in quickly. He took a fortifying breath. “You're not way off base. I mean…” Graham looked out the window. “Sure, before last night I probably never would have considered going to a gay bar. But…” He struggled to articulate the swell of thoughts and feelings rushing through his head. “I didn't feel out of place.”
He looked back at Archie, who immediately offered him a reassuring smile. He continued.
“I was married for twelve years. And before all that – and during all that – I never really imagined anything else for myself. I guess I always assumed I'd have a wife and kids.” He reached for a drink – water this time. “But, I mean, as you know, a lot of things in my life have changed. And I guess I’m figuring out what that…makes room for.”
Graham swallowed hard. He wanted to kick himself for the tangled mess of incomprehensible nonsense he'd just regurgitated. He knew he wanted to say more. He knew he could trust Archie with more. But for some reason the words simply wouldn't form in his mouth.
“What do you want it to make room for?” Archie asked sympathetically.
Graham thought for a long moment before he replied.
“I’m not totally sure anymore. It hasn’t felt worthwhile to have many expectations lately.” He looked at Archie and smiled. “But I think that's changing. And I think I'd rather risk being open to new possibilities than risk letting them pass me by.”
Graham saw a spark in Archie's eyes and knew his meaning had been felt. He braced himself for some unknown fallout, half expecting the restaurant to come to a screeching, crashing halt around him as a result of his confession – however implicit or subdued it might have been. But nothing happened. Nothing stopped. Nothing changed, except perhaps the air between him and Archie. It was a subtle change, a lightening of sorts, but he felt it.
“That sounds like a good thing.”
“It is. I think. Or maybe I’m just being wildly naive, who knows?” He chuckled.
Archie smiled and shook his head.
“Nah, I don’t think you are,” he said.
“No?” Graham asked.
“No,” Archie said, his eyes bright. “I think you’re too smart for that. I think that feeling you have in your gut might be more correct than you're letting yourself believe.”
Graham’s breath hitched, Archie’s implication too obvious to be misconstrued.
“Well then,” he smiled. “Maybe it’s time I believe it.”
