The Singlet

Chapter 1

It was a pretty typical text from my sister Susan, reading “Hey, we’ll be celebrating Joshie’s second birthday a week from Friday night.  Cocktails, an early dinner, birthday cake…the usual.  His bedtime is 7 so we’ll have to make it an early start.   Can you be over by 5?   And don’t go crazy on a gift. Just having his favorite Uncle Jarod at his party will be a gift. Give me a call and I’ll tell you who else will be there.”  All pretty routine.  Joshie was my only nephew and I was delighted—but not surprised—to be included in his birthday celebration.   My sister Susan and I were close and I enjoyed her friends and the few relatives that were likely to be included.  I was sure it would be an enjoyable evening.

When I had a spare moment during my busy day I gave her a ring to let her know I’d be coming, find out what I could bring and hear who else would be there.   Blah blah…I got all the details but was more interested to hear the guest list:  my mom whom I adore and my older brother Rob and his wife who I’m close to as well, a couple my sister knew in college who I’ve known over the years, and one of her neighbors who I also have come to know.   But there was one new person I hadn’t met yet, a new neighbor named Richard who Susan and her husband Tom had become friendly with.   Susan told me Richard was a practicing psychologist with his own counseling practice that she thought I’d enjoy meeting so she invited him as well.   I’ve liked all of my sister’s friends, so I was happy to meet another one.   Absent from the list was my father who had passed away less than a year ago.  I felt guilty that I was pleased he’d no longer be present at functions like these, but I had to be careful not to be obvious about it.  My mother was still grieving despite the living hell he had made my life.  He didn’t taunt my siblings like he did me, although they were aware of my feelings toward him.  They knew how I felt about him and why I did, but he was their dad and they cut him more slack than I was able to.  There was non-stop tension between my father and me including my choice of careers.  I’m a college lecturer in bioscience and he mocked me as being too intellectual.  He was convinced most college professors were gay and on the prowl for young college boys.  However, the source of our issues were more intensely personal that just that.

As I dressed Friday morning I knew I’d be heading straight to the party so I tried to look a little more presentable than a typical casual Friday at the university.   Nothing special but I wore my best jeans, sharp looking shirt and a sport coat.  I’m not sure why, but I felt compelled to look particularly smart for Susan’s get-together.  I work out aggressivly, so my body wears clothes pretty damn well.   Feeling pretty good about myself, I got to the party and quickly saw everyone my sister had told me would be there.  I made the rounds, greeting and getting caught up and finally realized Susan’s new phycologist friend hadn’t arrived yet.   Like clockwork, the doorbell rang, Susan went to answer it, opened the door, and there stood the most handsome, 50-something man I had ever laid eyes on.  He had the brooding demeanor of Daniel Craig, the physique of Henry Cavill and the light-hearted gravitas of Dos Eques’s Most Interesting Man in the World.   And he was dressed impeccably.   Expensive (tight fitting) jeans, expensive (form fitting) shirt, and beautiful (snug fitting) sport coat.   As he stepped into the apartment, his presence silenced the room.   Realizing the impact he had made, Susan jumped into the void to introduce Richard, their new neighbor.  She explained a little about him, that he had a loft in the building down the street and how she and Tom kept meeting him at the bodega on the corner.  Their meetings were so routine they finally invited him up for drinks and they had since become fast friends.  

Richard graciously made the rounds of everyone at the small gathering appearing to express genuine interest in each of the guests.   He was smooth without being cloying.  If he was feigning interest, he was doing a helluva job.

Intentionally or not (I may never know), I was the last one he introduced himself to.  As he approached, he reached out and took my hand with a handshake that was so warm and inviting it was almost sensual.  He looked so deeply into my eyes I thought his x-ray vision was peering directly into my brain.   The exchange was nearly hypnotic.   As he warmly grasped my hand he said, “Jarod, so good to finally meet you.  Susan adores you and she was eager for us to meet.”

My mind was racing.   Susan knows I’m gay, so was this a setup?   It couldn’t be, as Richard was nearly old enough to be my father.  My heart was pounding, my mouth was dry, and I didn’t want to let go of his hand.  I did everything I could to regain my composure and finally replied, “Thanks Richard.  Susan mentioned she was happy you could join us tonight; I’m glad you were able to make it.”

We went on to exchange pleasantries long enough for my heartbeat to resume a near normal beat/minute when I asked him about his therapy practice.   What was it?   Did he have a specialty?   It was more than small talk.  I was struggling with my own mental health issues due to my strained relationship with my late father, so I was genuinely interested.

He replied that he had a PhD in psychology, had had a variety of roles in the field, but had settled into a rewarding family practice specializing in adults rather than children.   He had recently bought a loft about a block from my sister’s place that was big enough to comfortably live in and run his practice out of.  Kind of like working from home, but not handcuffed to a computer screen all day.   He shared that the idea of residing and running a practice out of a loft in this neighborhood was a lifelong dream and he felt proud that, at age 58, he had achieved this dream.   It didn’t escape me that my father, were he alive, would be 58 as well.

The conversation continued on two levels.  If you read a transcript of it, it would read like a list of polite pleasantries.  Nothing remotely personal or inappropriate.   But on the level below the chit-chat, my mind was racing.   I couldn’t help but juxtapose this handsome man’s calming, professional manner with the anxiety and mistrust I associated with my father.   Both the same age, but they couldn’t be more different.

Since Richard is a professional listener, I shouldn’t have been surprised when he leaned in close to me and asked, “I may be way out of line asking this, but I can’t help but sense something is troubling you.   Did I say something to upset you?”  

My heart immediately raced back up to its 160 beat/minute rate knowing he could, indeed, read my mind.  Of course, there was nothing he said to upset me, but I couldn’t escape the contrast between Richard and my father.  I looked him straight in the eyes to answer but quickly realized my eyes were tearing up.   He looked into my eyes and conveyed, without speaking, “Don’t worry.   We all have stories to tell”.  I was horribly embarrassed fearing I was making a scene at the party.   Fortunately, at exactly that time, the birthday cake was being served and all the attention was drawn to Joshie blowing out his two birthday candles. 

I quickly regained my composure and the evening went on without incident.   The party wound down and everyone, including me, was making the move to leave.   After saying my goodbyes to all, I headed to the door to leave and Richard met me there.  I had already said goodbye to him, so he clearly had something else to say.  He opened the door and walked out with me.   We stopped together right outside the door, he said, facing me, “As I said earlier, I think something is troubling you and it may have to do with your family.   Family issues are my specialty.”   Handing me his business card, he added, “Take this and please call if you’d like to talk.   Knowing Susan and Tom as well as I do already, I want to look out for you.   We can meet at no cost to you and decide where to go from there.   But only call if you’d be comfortable meeting with me.”

With that he turned to open the apartment door to go back in, but just as he was reaching for it, he turned around to me and said, “I hope you do.”

As the elevator doors were closing, I was left feeling stunned.   Richard’s proposal knocked the breath out of me.   The most cogent response I could piece together was a simple nod.   But our eyes locked when I nodded so at least he knew I answered in the affirmative.  

When the elevator doors fully closed, I realized I hadn’t taken a breath in who-knows-how-long and exhaled with remarkable force. What just happened?   Was he coming on to me?   Or was he simply an empathetic therapist who sensed my angst?   Or, worse, was he an ambulance-chasing quack who sensed an easy mark? 

 

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Richard, for his part, was equally confused.  But he couldn’t help himself.  He wasn’t intentionally seeking out Jarod, but his professional instinct to help, combined with his attraction to Jarod made it impossible for him NOT to have the last word.  As Jarod disappeared behind the closed elevator doors, Richard thought to himself, ‘Be careful’.

 

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I let a day and a half elapse mulling these alternative realities before reaching out, or not reaching out at all which would send its own signal.   Could he possibly be interested in me?  Highly unlikely.  I’ll admit I’m in great shape…28, 5’11”, broad shoulders and a muscular build that showcases my hours at the gym.  I’m proud of my masculinity and am not shy about showing it off. In fact, I’ve been told more than once I could be Matt Rife’s twin brother (google comedian Matt Rife’s Hot Shots and you’ll see what I mean.)   But after Richard’s and my brief conversation that night, he knew I was a mess.  He was way too smart to get involved with a headcase like me.   Or was he just looking for an easy new client; but I still don’t believe that was his intent.  He didn’t seem to be the type.  By process of elimination, I settled on the belief that his intentions were pure.  He sensed my angst and wanted to professionally help me sort through my issues.  

Once I came to that conclusion, a different question emerged:   do I take him up on his offer?   If he’s as good a shrink as I think he is, he’ll force me to confront my demons.   I’d made progress expunging my father from my mind; did I want to go back and revisit the pain?

But then I’d think about the warmth of Richard’s hand when we shook and I couldn’t get that out of my mind.  I decided to make the call.   His business card only had a phone number and address so I’d have to call his office to make the appointment.  I was expecting a receptionist, but to my surprise, he answered the phone. Nervously I greeted him, “Richard, this is Jarod, Susan’s brother.   We met last week and I’ve decided to take you up on your offer.”

He responded quickly and enthusiastically, “Yes, Jarod, of course I remember.  I’m so glad you called.   I’m happy you’d like to continue our conversation.  I think I can help you.  I have my calendar in front of me so we could pick a time right now if you have access to your calendar.”

I was surprised he kept his own schedule and booked his own appointments, but didn’t feel it appropriate to ask, so I replied, “Of course, why don’t you let me know when your next few availabilities are. The beginning or end of the day would be best for me because I have lectures during the day”.

He replied, “Totally understand. I just had a cancellation for this Friday at 4PM if that would work for you.  You’d be my last client in case we went long.”  

Damn, this is getting real, I thought to myself.    Do I really want to commit to this?  Was I ready to revisit my past?  On the other hand, was I reading too much into the “…in case we go long” comment?  But I couldn’t ignore his gravitational pull on me and replied soberly, “Yes, that would work.   I know where your office, or should I say loft, is.   That’s where we’d meet, correct?”

“Yes”, he replied. “Just buzz me when you get here and take the elevator up to the top floor. I have the entire floor. I may still be finishing up with my previous client so make yourself at home in the room outside the elevator.  You’ll be able to tell where my office is so just make yourself at home.”

“Ok then,” I replied.   “Guess I’ll see you Friday at 4.”

“Yes, Jarod, I’ll see you then.”   He seemed to pause and then finally added, “I’m looking forward to picking up where we left off”.   Again, he closed down the conversation with yet another ambiguous remark. 

Once again, my heart was pounding.  I was hyperventilating.  I didn’t know what was causing this reaction… the possibility of being dragged back into my past or the reality of being alone with this stunningly handsome daddy.

The irony wasn’t lost on me.  A strong, virile father-like figure navigating me through the pain caused by my real father.  

 

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Hanging up the phone, Richard was feeling the same ambivalence.  His ‘therapist professional’ brain kept reminding him this was a potential client.  So why, he thought to himself, did he provocatively suggest “…in case we go long,” and remark that he was “looking forward to picking up where we left off”?  He wondered if a different organ in his body was actually making the calls.

 

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It was 3:55 on Friday as I stood at Richard’s building’s door contemplating if I could go through with it.   Heading straight from the university to the gym and now to this meeting, I had just had an intense workout and spent an unusual amount of time showering and in the sauna.  I had an inexplicable desire to be squeaky clean. As I dressed at the gym for my meeting with Richard, I realized I had unknowingly packed a very sexy t-shirt and jeans for this meeting.  I was making decisions without being overtly aware of what I was doing. What was driving me?  I was conflicted, to say the least.  I was about to subject myself to years of pain with my father.  But the stronger emotion was the powerful attraction I had to the therapist named Richard whom I barely knew. I took one long, last, deep breath, reached for the buzzer, and pressed it. Almost immediately, I was buzzed in.

Upon reaching the top floor, the elevator doors opened to reveal a movie-set style loft:  spare, cool, and perfectly appointed. There was a comfortable waiting area immediately outside the elevator and a clear delineation between office and residential space, although in typical loft style, there were few actual walls.  The areas were designated by rugs, furniture, and other elements.  I had barely stepped off the elevator when I heard Richard call from the office area, “Make yourself comfortable, I’m just finishing up some paperwork in here.”

“No worries,” I replied, trying to sound casual.

After a short wait which gave me sufficient time to calm my nerves, Richard emerged from his office looking even more imposing than I remembered.   He was at least 6’2” with close cropped greying hair and fully grey beard.  Like me, he had broad shoulders and muscled arms that advertised his commitment to fitness.  Snug yet not inappropriate jeans, and a tight, expensive looking black t-shirt that hugged his chest and biceps like James Longman wears when reporting from war zones on TV.  He strode directly to me, held out his arms and pulled me into a warm, but not inappropriate hug.  I couldn’t help but reciprocate and we each pulled back and said simultaneously, “So good to see you again.”  The comedy of the moment relieved both of our butterflies which led to another warm, albeit brief hug. 

He put his arm firmly around the small of my back and led me into his office, explaining his previous client had departed, and I was his last appointment for the day, so we had plenty of time to explore wherever our conversation took us.   He took a seat and motioned for me to sit in the chair across his desk, which I happily did as I didn’t know if this was the type of appointment where I lay on his couch and pour my heart out.

We made appropriate small talk for a few minutes before he subtly changed his tone from friendly and warm to professional and even a little concerned.  “Jarod, I’m glad you agreed to meet with me.  As I mentioned, I couldn’t help but notice your anxiety at the party and it seemed to elevate when the topic of your dad came up.  Did I read that right?  Is there something going on?  If there is, please share only what you’re comfortable sharing.”

Damn he was good.  When we met, I felt like he had x-ray vision into my brain; now I was learning he could read my mind as well.  How do I respond?  The story is long and complicated, but that’s what I was here to do:  talk about it.   I sat silently for what seemed like an eternity not knowing where to start.  How my father openly shamed me and destroyed my ego.  How my mother and siblings didn’t stand up for me.  It was the first time in years I had given these issues real thought.  Ultimately, I noticed there were tears running down my face. I tried to stop but that only made it worse.  Finally, tears overwhelmed me and quickly turned into uncontrollable sobs.  

Richard sat quietly until he had no choice but to walk around his desk, squat down next to where I was sitting, wrap his arms around my shoulders, and hold me until I stopped.   His presence alone was extraordinarily calming.  His embrace gave me comfort I hadn’t experienced in…maybe ever.  I felt foolish for melting down, but his demeanor seemed to say to me, “Don’t worry, I see this all the time.”  This wasn’t the first time I sensed we could communicate without saying a word.

After I regained control, I took three deep breaths to signal I was ok to proceed.   He grabbed my hand in a handshake, pulled me out of the chair and led me to the couch. He nodded to it indicating this would be a session in which I’d, indeed, lay on the couch and pour my heart out to him.

 I laid down, now visibly relaxed and relieved I had let go. He had seen me at my worst.  Just when I was ready to start talking (although I had no idea what I’d say), his soothing voice said, “Jarod, I want you to tell me your story.  Don’t feel compelled to share anything that will make you uncomfortable.  But the more candid you are, the more I can help you.”   He was walking toward me on the couch as he spoke those words and as he sat down on a stool next to me, he took my hand in his and added, “I want you to know you can trust me.”  

The warmth of his hand and the word “trust” opened the floodgate for a second time.   Trust was exactly what was missing from my relationship with my father and now Richard seemed to hold the key to unlocking it.   But the floodgate wasn’t tears; the floodgate he had unlocked was the freedom to tell my story.

I gave him lots more detail, but the jest of it was this:   My father always sensed I was gay.   It pained him that I shied away from team sports and other typical boy stuff.  When I became an adolescent, probably to prove to him I wasn’t gay, I got into body building, swimming, and particularly excelled at competitive wrestling, all sports he was suspicious of.  He believed body building was just an excuse for fags to hang out together, he mocked the speedos swimmers wore, and relentlessly ridiculed the paper-thin singlets worn by wrestlers.  Yes, all these sports emphasized the male physique.  What he didn’t know (and would never know) was that I wanted to look like him.  He routinely wore his Fruit of the Loom tighty whities around the house and when I was old enough I couldn’t help but notice his male physique which was what I wanted to look like when I got older.  That’s where the conflict began.  His taunting v. my awareness of the mature male anatomy. 

The tension peaked when I was wrestling at a well-attended regional competition for first place in my weight class.   I had seen my opponent at previous matches and had a serious crush on him.  The way he filled out his singlet was the source of countless jerk off sessions.  So, I shouldn’t have been surprised when, embarrassingly, I became erect during the match. After a hard-fought battle, I won the match and as the referee pulled me to my feet and raised my arm and hand to be recognized, I tried to cover my raging hard on with the other hand.  It’s no secret how little wrestling singlets leave little to the imagination, so as I was being awarded first place in the region, my rock-hard cock was on display for everyone to see.  The embarrassment was devastating, and the look on my father’s face in the front row was horrifying.   In his mind, everything he believed about me had been confirmed.  This was the beginning of the end of my relationship with my father.  He…and once again I started choking back sobs…would openly call me “boner boy” and taunt me mercilessly.  My being gay and that incident disgusted him, and he let me know it. It went on for the rest of the time I lived at home.  I was beyond conflicted.   On one hand he was my father; I craved his approval and affection.  On the other, I disgusted him and was not worthy of either.

Now fully sobbing again, I felt Richard reach down, put his arms around my shoulders, and pull me close to him.   He whispered in my ear, “It’s alright Jarod, it’s alright.  I’m here for you and you can trust me.”

The feeling of that moment was almost indescribable.  Richard’s warmth, reassurance and unconditional trust made me feel wanted in a way I never had.  I swung my legs over the side of the couch to sit up when he spontaneously stood up and pulled me into a tight embrace.   My mind was spinning with the potential impropriety of this, but I didn’t care.   I felt wanted and loved for the first time in years.  

We instinctively found ourselves passionately kissing each other’s necks, cheeks, and lips, with our cocks getting closer and closer together.   And not surprisingly, Boner Boy—me—had  sprung a huge one that was now forcefully pressing against him. The passion, joy and relief was electric. 

 

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Despite his smooth and ‘in control’ exterior, Richard was having an out-of-body experience.   He thought to himself, “WTF am I doing???”   He had never done anything with a client that was remotely inappropriate, yet there was something about Jarod that drew Richard to him…personally, professionally, and sexually.

Richard was genuine about his concern for Jarod throughout the encounter; he honestly wanted Jarod to trust him because he believed he could help him.  All of that was real.  Yet he kept finding himself making cheesy comments like “we’ll have plenty time to explore if we go long.”   Duh….

And when Jarod found himself uncontrollably sobbing, first in his chair and then on the couch, Richard felt compelled to physically console him.  He somehow knew Jarod required the embrace of a mature man.

But the end of the session…there was no excuse in Richard’s mind for pulling Jarod to his feet and kissing him the way he did.   What did he thinking?   But when Jarod displayed an erection when he initially laid down on the couch, Richard couldn’t get it out of his mind.  Could it be that all Richard wanted was Jarod’s cock?  He prayed that wasn’t it, but he couldn’t shake Jarod’s youthful sexual magnetism, nor the sight of the bulge in his pants. 

 

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When Richard and I stopped to take a breath, he stepped back and, held me by the shoulders saying firmly, “Jarod, I’ve crossed the line and I regret that. You came here with the belief that I would help you. You may not believe it, but you must understand that what just happened was not my intention.  I didn’t plan it.”   Richard paused for what seemed at eternity to find the right words before continuing, “But I’m not sorry I did it.  There is something about you that I’ve never felt before and don’t understand.  On some level, I know you need me and I believe I can help you.  But I couldn’t help myself.  When I pulled you to me, I knew I was threatening my career and everything I’ve worked for, but I had to have you.  But like you need me, I somehow need you just as much.  I can’t explain it.”

My eyes watered and I looked at Richard longingly.   He continued, “Your vulnerability makes my actions even more inappropriate.   You came here due to trust issues with your father, and I, took advantage of that trust. I wouldn’t blame you if you left now and never came back.  But I hope you don’t.”

Now it was my turn to respond.   Richard was so eloquent and honest; I had no words that could adequately capture my emotions at the time.  So, I let my instincts speak for me…I leaned in and gently pressed my lips against his.   It was initially a soft, almost reluctant kiss because I wanted to give him the opportunity to back off without feeling obliged in case he regretted his earlier actions.  But that favor turned out to be unnecessary.

Richard grabbed the back of my head with both hands and pulled me into the hungriest kiss imaginable.  He unleashed his tongue like a sword, so passionate it bordered on violent.   And my response was equally passionate.   We groped every inch of each other’s bodies and our engorged cocks went to war with each other even though we were fully clothed.  It was like two hungry animals were trying to communicate a primal message, but what?   Richard’s message appeared to be pure lust.  And I was no better; I was simply taking vengeance on my father.  I had never felt the warmth of an older man, certainly not my father.   Now this stunningly handsome, mature man, real man, who now knew my past, was devouring me. 

I finally came the point where I had no option but to surrender to his animal desire.  ‘Stop competing with him, submit to this man’, I thought to myself.  Richard, sensing my capitulation, pulled back slightly, again took my face in his hands and said solemnly, “I want you to lie back down on the couch.  I will take over.”

I was so enthralled that I would’ve done whatever he commanded, so simply lying back down was easy.  Once I got back on the couch, he pulled the stool back up to me as close as he could and took both of my hands.   As he pulled the arm that was further from him across my body toward him, it conveniently obscured the throbbing bulge in my pants.   But  I was disappointed he could no longer see it.  I wanted him to witness the impact he was having on me.  My erection conveyed my feelings more powerfully than I was able to.  I wanted him to see it and take it.  And take me. I wanted him to unbuckle my belt buckle and take me then and there.

But he didn’t.  

Holding my hands to his chest and leaning over me as close as he could without lying on top of me, he whispered, “I have broken every professional ethic and for that I apologize.  But I don’t apologize for wanting you.  You are the most handsome young man that I’ve ever seen.  The things I want to do to you are unspeakable, and I know what I want.  And yet you’ve decided to stay.  It's important you understand I have two motivations for everything I’m going to do.  First, I genuinely want to help you get past the issues you have with older men.   And second, and I’ll be frank here, you are the young man I’ve known that was out there waiting for me. Handsome.  Athletic.  Smart.  And yes, sexy as hell.”  He glanced down to the arm covering my bulging crotch, picked it up revealing what was now a wet spot on my pants, and added, “And rock hard.  I want that. And you.  All of you.”  He looked at me with raised eyebrows, cocked his head, and without saying a word, telegraphed the question:  “Shall I continue?”

I looked up at him squarely in the eyes and uttered, “Yes, Richard.   Please do whatever you want to me.”

Richard looked at the floor, looked at me, looked back at the floor, took a deep breath and then stared squarely at me and replied, “Good boy.  Let’s get those clothes off.  I want my boy nude.”

End of Chapter 1