Trouble Doesn't Last Always

At precisely 9:05 p.m, a certain young man jogs down the street that leads to his house. It is raining slightly and he wants to make haste, seeing as he recently recovered from a head cold. 

He never allows his lover to drop him off directly in front of his house but rather, in an adjacent avenue three or so streets over. 

He prefers this because of his nosey mother. The woman is so invasive that it drives him nuts. She wants to know who he's texting, where he's going, who his friends are, who their parents are and what they do for a living. Like Gosh, lady! Are you a part of the FBI?

She'd probably catch a fit if she becomes aware of his new friend though. 

He prays to God that she's asleep. He keys the front door and walks inside. The foyer lights are on and so are the lights in the living room. 

As soon as he mounts the first two steps on the stairs, her voice startles him. 

"Where've you been?"

He looks behind him to see his mom, Stefania, glaring at him, with her arms folded over her chest. 

"I uhhh—told you. I was over at Daniel's to study," he answers, subconsciously pulling at his left ear. 

"That's interesting, because I've called Daniel's parents and they've told me they haven't seen you all day. Now, I'm going to ask you one more time, Jerome, where were you?" [Stefania asks, her tone carrying a demanding edge]

"I—"

This is the fourth time this week that Jerome has returned home at brow-raising hours during the night. She's been going mad trying to figure out what he's been up to. She searched his room, his closet and his bookbag; looking for anything that will help her figure her son out. 

She even went as far as contacting his teachers to find out if he's being disruptive at school or playing truant, but everyone assured her that Jerome attends every class and he's very diligent in his studies. Stefania's mind is a very dark place and she could only imagine the worst possible things. Is he doing drugs, again? Is he gambling? Is he a part of some gang? She can't help but worry about her baby boy. 

Momma walks towards her son and holds his face securely between the palms of her hands. "Jerome, I…I love you son, so much. It's just—well, you know when you were younger you really upset me with the things you did. The drugs, the crime. And I know, son, I know you've changed and it's all in the past but I'm sick with worry that you might fall into old habits again. You come in here late at night and you don't tell me anything. I just want to know that you're being good and you're safe. That's all. Text me or call me and tell me that you're okay. I don't want to lose you, too." 

Jerome watches as streams of tears fall from his mother's eyes and his own eyes begin to sting. 

"I promise Mom, I'm being good."

*****

When Jerome was sixteen years old, his life turned upside down. His father died in a tragic car accident and life's never been the same for him and his mom. They fell apart. Inside and out. Jerome's dad, Andrew, was his idol. He was the rock of the family. They could count on Andrew for anything. He was a provider,  a caretaker, a loving husband and the best dad a boy could ask for. He was the one that glued them all together. They were a loving unit. The flies on the walls would tell you: The trio had genuine love for each other along with a deep-rooted appreciation for each other's company. This could be seen through the selfless, caring gestures they did for each other from time to time. 

But in his absence, a chronic darkness shrouded Jerome's and Stefania's lives. In Jerome's case, he turned to drugs to cope with his grief. At first,  he started out with a little weed, like every other curious teenager. But, in due time, he graduated to alcohol, cocaine and Crystal meth. Obviously, he couldn't support his habit with his measly weekly allowance and because of this, he decided to adopt other means. 

He got entangled with a group of bad, older boys and over the course of three months, they committed several robberies. They hit gas stations, grocery stores, pawn shops, you name it. They've been there and done that!

They got away with some of their heists for a while, but unsurprisingly in the end, the law bit them in the ass. Jerome did a couple of stents in juvenile detention which led to him missing tons of school. 

He was held back twice.

Correspondingly, Andrew's death wasn't a bed of roses for Stefania either. She had to deal with the monster that their son had become. She spent thousands of dollars on lawyers and the constant back and forth with the judicial system resulted in her missing work a lot. Her overall productivity decreased significantly, and it's understandable why she was sacked repeatedly. 

Consequently, finances started to dwindle over time and she couldn't keep up with mortgage payments which led to them moving from a grand house into a tiny cottage. Life became very difficult for them, understandably so. All of the luxuries they took for granted were now out of reach. 

Daily, mother and son argued non-stop. The flimsiest of things set them off.  They were always at each other's throats and she just didn't know what to do with him. She knew he was doing drugs. She could see the wildness in his deep, brown eyes and she also noticed the symptoms of withdrawal in his body language. 

She became so depressed and withdrawn and she just could not be bothered anymore. She stayed out of Jerome's way and let him do as he pleased. 

She wished Andrew were here. She wished that she could hear his voice again. Andrew was her sunshine, but now that he's gone, the rain cloud above her head just would not go away.

*****

A few weeks after his seventeenth birthday, Jerome and his deviant buddies are hanging in the park one Saturday afternoon. They sit on one of the benches watching joggers run by while sipping beer. They are more interested in the female joggers, though. Whenever a cutie runs by, they drop lewd remarks…

Philip Richardson is way out of shape. No longer is he the tall, lithe, man who was able to run 5 miles every morning before work. He's now become the tall, burly man who meal-preps and eats at least 5 meals a day. His meaty arms, thick thighs and his gut that jiggles when he runs can attest to his mighty appreciation for food. He's in his late 30s; that dreadful age where it gets harder to keep the weight off no matter how hard he tries. 

Clad in a pair of navy blue basketball shorts and a gray t-shirt, Philip jogs through the park near his home. He's a sweaty mess. His shirt is extremely saturated and his brown hair is matted against his forehead. 

As he runs past a group of boys, he hears all of them begin to laugh. It is the sort of laugh that happens when you try to hold it in and it eventually comes out like a snort. 

Philip ignores them and continues on. 

He reaches the end of the trail and cools off for a bit before running back the way he came. When he approaches the boys again, he stares each of them in the face. He did this because he wanted to memorize their features in case they tried anything. After all, Alcohol makes people do crazy things. 

Suddenly, one of the lads bellows : "YES SIR, YOU'RE DOING A FINE JOB! YOU JUST GOTTA JOG EVERY DAY FOR THE NEXT HUNDRED YEARS AND ONLY THEN, WILL YOU BE SKINNY LIKE US!" 

Their obnoxious laughter could be heard in the distance. 

Again, Philip ignores them. 

*****

Philip Richardson is a renowned psychiatrist in his providence. He has his own practice and his own pharmacy. He offers inpatient as well as outpatient services to treat a wide variety of mental disorders. 

He's feeling a little down about himself this morning. Normally, he never lets other people's perception of him affect him, but those boys really hurt his feelings. And it didn't help that so many other people were around. 

Philip knows that validation should come from within. But years of pep-talks and constant self-reassurance can feel hollow when he always takes mean comments about his physique to heart. 

He stares at his reflection, right in the eyes. "You're handsome. You always have been and you always will be. I love you."

Philip then shaves his three day stubble, gargles some listerine and gets dressed for work. When he's all set, he locks the front door and sets his alarm before buckling in for his short commute. 

In exactly ten minutes, he's walking through the entrance doors to his office. 

"Good morning, Christina," he greets his head pharmacist. 

"Hey, Doc. Ouuu! I love this color on you. It really brings out your eyes."

Philip can't help but flush. He's wearing an orange shirt with camel-colored khakis. 

"Oh my God! Phil, PHIL!"

Christina points behind him and when he turns, his breath hitches. Two masked figures with knives approaches them slowly. 

Seeing burglars in person with their clichéd ensemble would perturb anyone. But the sight of the scrawny-looking duo is just a tad bit amusing to Philip. 

The taller of the two shouts: "Just hand over the register, and everybody gets to go home."

"Do as he says, Chris."

With trembling hands, Christina opens the register and extracts the money tray. She rests it on the counter and steps back with her hands above her head. 

The shorter lad walks to the counter and removes his knapsack from off his shoulders and proceeds to dump the cash in the bag. Philip doesn't waste time. He karate chops the kid's wrist and the knife skitters along the white, marble-tiled floor. 

Philip may be a big man, but he's as nimble and agile as a Chinese gymnast.  He gives the intruder three jabs in the ribs and he immediately drops to the floor, groaning in pain. Any blow from a man his size is bound to do some real damage. 

Phil picks the knife up and sizes up the other but he runs away like a dog with its tail between its legs. 

The man stoops by the other one and removes the mask. Of course he instantly recognizes him. He's one of the rowdy boys from the park. 

"Please, just let me go. We didn't take anything, alright," he pleads, with tears streaming down his face. One look at his bloodshot eyes and Philip knows he's stoned out of his mind. He's so young and he'd never be able to live with himself if he called the cops. 

"What's your mother's number?"

*****

Stefania rushes over. Her heart hammers away in her chest and her eyes bulge wide. Not again. This cannot be happening again. She's exhausted; mentally and physically. 

One look at the distressed lady in the lobby and Christina knows it's momma bear to the rescue. She sighs. Philip's kindness is going to cost him one day, and she dreads it. 

"Hello, Stefania, is it?"

"Yes." [She answers, using the sleeve of her sweater to dab at her eyes]

"This way."

Christina leads her down the hall into Philip's office. When Stefania enters, she sees her son sitting on the cushioned sofa with his head hung low. 

She sits next to him and he scoots away from her. Stefania frowns. 

[Philip clears his throat.] "Hi, I'm Dr. Richardson, the one who called. May I just ask a few questions?"

"Sure."

"Is your son in school?"

She averts her eyes. "He—he goes when he feels like."

"Are you aware he does illicit drugs?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever sought psychiatric help on his behalf?"

"No."

"Okay, I like to treat people and help make their lives easier, not ruin them. I'm willing to forget about this whole thing on two conditions: He must agree to therapy three times a week and he must attend An NA meeting once a week. I can just look at him and see that he's in crisis mode. I know there're background circumstances that are the cause of all of…his destruction."

"Oh, I could never aff—"

[Philip raises his palm to silence her] 

"Don't worry about the cost. Worry about getting him the help he needs before it's too late."

*****

Two days later, Jerome shows up to his first session twenty minutes late. Philip gives him a pass seeing as it's a school day and it's likely that traffic might've played a role in his tardiness. In reality, Jerome skipped school and hung out at the mall a few blocks away.

Philip takes in the boy's appearance from head to toe. To start, His jet black hair is very unkempt. A smattering of pimples lie on his forehead and on both of his cheeks. 

Moreover, his shirt (pale blue) tail is out of his gray slacks and his striped school tie hangs loosely around his neck. 

His black backpack sits next to his scuffed black shoes. There's absolutely no way that any books are in the bag because it's as flat as a pancake.  

"Okay, Jerome I—"

"Look I'm sorry, alright. It was stupid…what I did, and I'm sorry."

"Okay. I'm glad to hear that you are. But what I—"

"How long is this gonna take?"

"Are you going to allow me to finish any of my sentences, Jerome?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"So your mom tells me that your father passed away a few years ago…"

[Jerome stiffens]

"And she's of the opinion that his death was very traumatic for you and also his absence is the cause of your 'acting out.'"

[Jerome remains silent]

"So I want you to tell me yourself; I know that this question may sound silly or rhetorical, but trust me when I say that your response is extremely crucial in helping me understand what's happening in your mind. So Jerome, how did your dad's death make you feel?" 

[Jerome shrugs and looks down at his lap]. "Sad, I guess. I just felt…empty. Like, what's the point of it all, yuh know?"

Philip makes a few notes before asking: "And at this point, do you still feel that empty feeling or is it not as bad as it once was?"

"It'll always be there."

"Okay, Jerome. It seems like your dad was the puzzle piece that held you all together. And it looks like you and your mom are unable to function without him. Your actions serve as a way for you to release all of that sadness and pain that's pent up within you. But at some point in time...you have to look within yourself and want to be better---to do better and cope with that sadness in healthier ways. Do you think your father would be pleased if he could see you right now?"

Right then, Jerome finally looks up and Philip sees the way his eyes begin to glaze over. 

"No," he replies, with a frog in his throat. 

"It's absolutely normal to feel sad and angry when the ones we love pass on. But you should never let these emotions consume you to the extent of self-destructive behaviors."

Philip continues: "So from tomorrow, let's turn over a new leaf. Firstly, I want you to distance yourself from your delinquent buddies, because let's face it, they're like a cancer to your life. Next, I want you to quit drugs; all of them. And I want you to really make an effort with your studies. Be the man that your dad will be proud of."

*****

For the first couple of months, Jerome obeyed Philip's orders…almost. He attended Therapy and the NA meetings like he'd been asked. He also dumped his 'friends' and quit drugs all except for weed. 

"It helps me sleep," he'd said.

But on the bright side, he looked healthier. More upbeat. He actually made an effort with his appearance seeing as he had a new haircut. He had the back and sides of his head trimmed low while the top sported shiny curls. He wore his uniform the correct way: shirt tucked inside his pants and his tie knotted securely around his neck. 

His skin was no longer pale and the haggard look on his face was long gone. 

Philip's sessions really resonated with Jerome. He helped him mend the relationship with his mother; they got closer, and their persistent fighting became a thing of the past. 

Philip's counseling also helped Jerome to overcome his grief and fall in love with life again and accept with open arms, all the good it had to offer. He became more joyful, more thankful and he began to make peace with his father's death. Even though the ache of his passing was still there, it was not as overwhelming as before. 

Additionally, Jerome behaved himself at school. He was kinder to his teachers and to his classmates. At first, it was very difficult for him to catch up with school work seeing as he was away all the time, but Philip offered to tutor him. Philip was an excellent tutor, especially in Chemistry and Mathematics. In no time, Jerome got the hang of things and he was preparing for A-level exams.

When they were finally over, man and boy waited with bated breath for eight whole weeks for the results. And during the eighth week, Jerome turned eighteen.  

Jerome is too scared to check his results for himself so he comes over to the office and lets Philip do it for him. 

Currently, Jerome paces the breadth of Philip's office. He's a nervous wreck. Deep down, he knows he did well, but he couldn't ignore the nagging feeling within him that he doesn't deserve it because of all the bad things he's done. 

"Okay, it's loading…just a sec," Philip mutters from behind his laptop.

"Ohhh noooo." [Philip said, looking up at Jerome sadly]

"What? WHAT?!?!?" Jerome scrambles across the room and hovers over Philip, looking down at the laptop screen. What he sees makes his heart stop. He passed all six of his subjects. He didn't just pass them. He got distinctions in five of the six. From the corner of his eye, he sees a wicked smile spread across Philip's face. 

"Gotcha!!"

Jerome stands fully and takes it all in. A flurry of emotions rush through him. For a very long time he was suffering. He went through life feeling defeated and weighed down. But now, it's like his life is somehow perfect. Everything is going well for him and it's all because of the man that's sitting in front of him. 

The hot tears come and he tries to speak. "I–I just want—"

Philip knows what he's gonna say so he stands and hugs him and lets him cry against the softness of his chest. "It's okay, let it out," he cooes, while rubbing soothing circles along the center of his back. 

Deep gasping sobs fill the office and Philip feels the wetness of his tears and snot begin to seep through his shirt but he doesn't care. 

For a while, they stayed like that before pulling apart. Philip palms his face and uses his thumbs to swipe his tears away. "You're amazing Jerome, and I'm proud of you; Not just for passing the exams, but I'm proud of the man you are now. Congratulations!" Philip leans down and pecks his cheek but before he can stand fully upright, Jerome grabs his face and presses their lips together. 

And there it is: That burning desire that finally clawed its way free. Not only did Jerome develop a better appreciation for life, he also developed romantic feelings for his therapist. He first noticed his attraction to Philip when he found himself eye-fucking him during their sessions. Philip doesn't always sit behind his desk. Sometimes he'd sit directly next to Jerome, close enough that their thighs were touching and Jerome would just be in awe at his build. His thighs were MASSIVE and boy oh boy! The buffness between them made him subconsciously clench and unclench his hole. 

What's more is that Jerome found himself thinking about Philip all throughout the day and even during some nights in his sleep. So, it's not surprising when he'd occasionally wake up to the sight of his spunk staining his briefs. 

And it's only then that he knew he was too far gone. He wanted Philip badly, but he just did not know how to tell him. 

Initially, Philip remains completely still. He is in shock, but soon enough, he begins to move his lips against his and their kiss deepens and becomes a lot more passionate and enthusiastic; it develops into one of those kisses that long distant lovers have when they finally see each other in person after a very long time. 

Philip chews on his lips hungrily and dips his tongue into his accepting mouth, all the while pulling him flush against him. 

With his arms wrapped securely around the lad, he snakes his hands down his back and palms his taut backside making him shiver against him. 

Philip is overstepping so many boundaries right now. Not only is he being extremely unprofessional by letting this happen. But also, he feels like he's corroding the irrefutable paternal bond that they've developed over time. Jerome is like a son to him. The son he never had. A son he got the chance to mentor and shape into the confident, self-assured, kind, nurturing and healed man he is today. 

Be that as it may, it's been a long time since Philip has had sex and he'd be damned if he let ethics and morals hinder him from devouring this beautiful being that's right in front of him. 

If Jerome's offering, who is he to deny him?

Philip pulls away and clears his desk and beckons him to lie down on it. He leans over him and unknots his tie; he slowly unbuttons his school shirt and helps him out of it, gauging his reaction to make sure that this is okay, but Jerome remains silent. 

Now that his shirt is tossed to the side, Philip removes his shoes, trousers and underwear, leaving him completely bare.

He takes in the sight of him. He is—unreal. His skin is silken smooth and golden. His stomach is flat and his legs are lean and long. But most importantly, his penis stands at attention, like an army cadet. It is hard and ready for action; long and slim to the point where it bends like a banana. 

The head of it hides beneath an excess layer of foreskin while a sparse patch of hair decorates the base and testes.

The older man licks his lips. "I'm going to do something nice for you."

[Jerome frantically nods his head, not trusting his voice at the moment]

Philip hoists his legs in the air, leaning down to sniff at his arsehole. The smell is raw and intoxicating. 

Without delay, Philip runs his tongue all along his opening. He probes and stabs against the pucker, making sure to douse it with his saliva. While licking, he takes one of his fat fingers and breaches the ring of muscle painstakingly slowly, and at the same time, he feels Jerome's body begin to shudder from the invasion. 

The boy is painfully tight and Philip can only imagine the vice grip his length will be met with when the time comes. 

He adds a second finger and starts to scissor the lad, making him moan out loud. 

"Ppphhhhh—fuuuccckkk," 

Over time, Philip feels the grip around his fingers begin to slacken and when he inevitably inserts a third finger, Jerome rocks back against his hand like an eager slut. 

As soon as Jerome's penis disappears into Philip's mouth, he becomes a mess. He's thrashing his head left and right; he's panting; his body is quivering uncontrollably and he's shouting expletives that Philip's never heard before. 

Philip glides his sopping wet mouth all along his entire length with ease; every now and then he'd pause when his nose is pressed against the boy's pelvis, then he'd slide right back up, and it's not long before the salty taste of pre-ejaculate settles on his tongue. 

Phil spits the cock out of his mouth and squeezes it with his hand, so his goo can seep from the opening. He laps at it with the tip of his tongue for a few seconds before he moves down to his testes and kisses each. When he looks up, he realizes that Jerome is watching his every move. 

As soon as Philip wraps his lips around him again, Jerome shoots his milk into his mouth. 

"Awwwuuuahhh, shhiiiit!"

Philip accepts all of the nourishment into his open throat and when his penis stops twitching, he removes it from his mouth and licks the head clean. 

Finally, Philip hurriedly removes his clothes. He spits a glob of saliva into his hand and slicks himself up.

He pauses suddenly… Come on Phil, be the good, honorable gentleman that you are. 

"Jerome, are you sure about this? Is this what you really want?"

Without answering, Jerome brackets his hips with his legs and that's all the reassurance Phil needs. He eases forward. Inch by inch, Jerome's hole sucks him in in slow motion, like a vacuum. At first, The slight chill of the AC nips at Philip's bare skin, but as soon as he's completely buried in the younger man's embracing heat, his entire body becomes warm again. 

Philip waits for a moment so that Jerome's core can get used to the size of his man meat. 

"I think I'm okay now, you can—go."

Philip obeys and begins to fuck in and out of him slowly. The clenching pressure around his cock is so delightful. He is so lightheaded and weak in the knees. The pleasure coursing through his groin is unimaginable. 

Philip then starts to rhythmically rotate his hips to further loosen Jerome's grip around him, leaning over him to plant smooches on his lips and along his neck and nipples. 

As it pertains to Jerome, let's just say that he's in heaven— A cock stuffed inside his ass and the feel of hard muscles and Philip's body mass weighing down on him —the whole thing is SO exotic…He is exactly where he needs to be. 

When Philip starts to gradually pick up the pace, Jerome starts to cry out as his prostate gets a good beating. Philip energetically pounds into him and as he does so, the wooden table starts to rattle and jerk beneath them. 

Philip knows he's close because he feels the familiar fluttering in his belly and balls. And, he also knows that he should pull out but he's so into the moment that all of his sense of judgment and reason is out the window. 

Without warning, Jerome feels a persistent spasming sensation as Philip's sperm floods his insides. 

Philip howls like a wolf in the night, and the explosive high makes him lose all feeling in his legs for a moment. 

He could only say: "That was INSANE!"

*****

"Hey, Phil."

"Mmmmm?"

The two men lay facing each other on Philip's desk. It's broad enough and sturdy enough that it can support their combined weight…for now. 

[Jerome takes a deep breath] "Do you remember that day…in the park, when a bunch of guys were making fun of you?"

Philip mentally sighs. He will never forget that day for as long as he lives. "Yes, I remember. You were one of them, weren't you?"

"I was amongst them, yes. But, I just wanted to let you know…I never laughed. Not even smiled. It was fucked up what they said to you. Phil, what I'm trying to say is I—I like you the way you are. You're beautiful as you are." 

Wow. Philip's eyes begin to swim and he leans over and kisses Jerome long and hard. 

When he pulls away, Jerome continues: "And I really like your belly." [He traces Philip's stomach with his knuckles] "It's so fluffy and nice. It'll come in handy when we cuddle for sure. It'll keep me nice and warm."

"HAHAHAHA! Boy, shut up."