Chapter 3

I could tell right from the get-go that this was going to be a non-productive Sunday. I'd started on Hank's newspaper ad, but every time I came to a pause in the action, I'd start replaying yesterday's fun and games video in my head. Shortly after 11:00 o'clock Nick called to find out what happened to me yesterday at Jocks.

"Did you get lucky or something? Or just decide to ditch us?"

"Both actually. Remember the guy I pointed out in front of the theater yesterday? Well, while you two were grazing at the food bar, I ran into him at the bar and we struck up a conversation. It didn't take real long to decide that we wanted to come back here."

"Really? So what happened to your celebrated vow of celibacy?"

I chuckled at that; Nick knows my history. "Vows were meant to be broken, Nick. Just look at the divorce rate in this country. Besides, if I have to, I can take another one."

"Meaning, you're not sure if he's coming back, right? Is he local? He looked like undergrad material if I'm thinking of the same guy."

"He might be coming down here when school starts. He's staying with his family up in St. Louis right now. He said he'd come back next weekend, but, I'll believe that when I see it. You know, if I had a nickel for every guy who told me they were going to call and then didn't, I could fund my IRA for the next decade."

"Yeah, right. You are such a slut," he said sarcastically. "You might have enough nickels for a half a cup of coffee. But I doubt it." He was right on that point. I never was a sleeparound; not even back in the days of "free love." I gave Nick some of the "gory details" but not all of them. I certainly wasn't going to tell him that I had willingly given it up to Randy. Nick and I had tried that back when we were courting, but it didn't go anywhere. For someone as well hung as he is, he couldn't hit my magic button if it was as big as a pumpkin. And that was probably the main reason we never became a permanent couple.

He had had his fill of information. I'd keep him quiet for most of the week if not all of it. I tried going back to Hank's ad, but my heart just wasn't into it, and I didn't want to do a half-ass job. I'd try again later when I was thinking more clearly. It wasn't like me to skip his job on a Sunday, but then I wasn't the same me that I was yesterday.

I tried reading the newspaper, the sports section to be specific. No good. On page two there was a picture of some athlete taking off his warmup jacket. I saw instead Randy taking off his shirt and then the rest of his clothes so fast you'd think they were causing some kind of skin rash. When I had left the bedroom to let Hank in, I had to step over his clothes there and in the hallway. God, but he was eager. I turned the page.

No good. There was a picture of a runner in the starting blocks and it dissolved into a picture of Randy leaning over me supported on his muscular arms. He never took his eyes off my face, but his smile changed into an expression of concentration and control the closer he got to the breaking point. I was running my hands over every inch of his magnificent chest and it amazed me that it was absolutely still. But with my peripheral vision I could see his hips pistoning in and out, each thrust adding more heat to the fire building inside me.

In the light of the bedside lamp, I could see his face and shoulders painted with a thin layer of sweat. The sweat made his shoulder and arm muscles stand out when they adjusted to support his weight. When he started chewing on his bottom lip and started inhaling in gasps almost like shock, I locked my heels around his tight butt and pulled him into me as far and as hard as I could. He froze in place and I could feel him emptying his essence into me. He lowered himself onto my body which was now running on autopilot now. The sensation of his sweat-slicked stomach on my own swollen member was enough to trigger my release. And with each pulse I could feel myself milking his dick, each spasm causing him to emit a small gasp of final surrender.

So much for the newspaper. This was getting me nowhere except on the express train right back to Hornyland. I was half hard again and leaking already. "I've got to get out of here," I said to the four walls. Usually, I don't leave the apartment until noontime after I'm tired of vegging out. It was only a little before noon, but I had to get out.

About a block and a half away from my apartment/storefront is one of the oldest urban shopping centers. Nothing to write home about really. Originally it was a straight-line shopping center with a grocery store in the middle of the parking lot. Walgreens was one anchor store and a small J.C. Penney was the other. The grocer went out of business and the building came down. A few years back a new grocer built a superstore next to Penneys to make the center L-shaped.

I spent about an hour buying groceries, about twice as long as I normally take. I found myself torn between buying real food or the usual microwaveable stuff. It's difficult to cook for only one person without having leftovers, and I don't like leftovers. I finally decided to get my usual. If I heard from Randy during the week that he really was coming back, I could always come back for the real food. Or we could shop together. That's always a good learning experience.

When I got back, I dropped the bags on the landing and went into the shop rather than going upstairs. It would only take a couple of minutes to check my email. The computer seemed to take extra care that it started correctly. I was drumming my fingers on the desktop. "Come on, you stupid computer. Hurry it up!" As usual, when I'm in a hurry, it ignored me. I've got to get some speech recognition software so it'll know when I'm in a hurry.

I logged on and checked my email. Page 1, nothing. Page 2, nothing. Oops, wait a minute! What's that? "Hey Dad!" read the subject line. It was from randycandy. Cute, I thought.
 

Dear Dad:

I only said that 'cuz I know you'd notice it right away and I know it'll get your blood pressure up. I want to get your BP up, but only in selected areas, if you know what I mean. :)

I've only been gone a few hours and I'm starting to miss you already. Actually, I started missing you right away. Don't tell anybody, but I stayed hard as soon as I got in the car and started thinking about this morning on the kitchen floor. I wouldn't mind starting every day that way! Then again, I might not ever get out of the house. :)

After I got on the highway, I figured I'd better do something about my, uhh, problem. Don't even think about the Don't Choke Your Toad When You're On The Road Lecture, 'cuz I kept checking my mirrors to make sure it was okay. And it was okay, but it woulda been better if you had been in the car doing it for me.

Listen, as soon as I figure out what's happening with my Dad and with Coach Maxwell, I'll let you know what day I'll be back down there. I've got to get some paperwork together and mailed off for Coach. Hope I can find it. My desk kinda looks like yours. :)

Don't think this is too rash of me, but...

I think I love you, Bob. I'm just not sure exactly why.

Randy

I had my elbows anchored on the desk, my head propped in my hands, but I'm sure the rest of my body was floating behind me like an astronaut in the space shuttle. Little cartoon hearts floated about my head as I sighed dreamily. I was absolutely pathetic. I read it again. I was still pathetic.

I pretty much moved in slow motion for a while. The computer got shut down, the office got locked up, the groceries got moved upstairs and put away. I think I did all those things, but don't ask me to swear to it in court. He said he loved me! Yeah, well, he also said he didn't know why. Not a problem. We'll just have to help him figure that out now, won't we?

I was still smiling when I called Mack Stewart, Hank's other partner, to find out the particulars of the afternoon pool party. It was going to be a kind of Going Away Party for his poolboy. I had enough for all the adults, so I volunteered my precious Omaha Steaks for the occasion.

By 4:00 o'clock I was headed out to Hank's place, his pride and joy. He had built this house out in the country after he got tired of prying eyes in the city. He didn't sell the city house, but leased it to college staff. Hank gave me the idea for my own home when I bought the storefront and moved into the apartment. But this was Hank's dream house.

I don't know that much about architectural styles, but I'd have to describe it as a sprawling, modern split-level. It has three bedrooms, two baths, a formal dining room, a huge kitchen with a skylight that covers half the ceiling and a family room that I'd told him should be called the tribal room. It seemed like every time I was over there that there were enough people for two families.

The crowning jewel to his homestead, however, is what everyone calls The Cathedral. Attached to the back of the house was a large, glass-enclosed swimming pool with a good-sized apron running along the sides. There's enough space for people to walk three abreast and not feel like the one on the inside is going to fall into the pool. Hank had hosted a few "serious" parties here mostly so he could show it off to the townsfolk.

Hank had a lot--I mean a lot!--of his exotic plants in here. Aside from the odd shrub and a couple of mid-sized palm trees, he had some of the most beautiful orchids I've ever laid eyes on. On the weekends he takes care of them himself. But during the week his "poolboy" Alan does the honors.

It was no big secret that he and Hank were porking each other. I just hoped that for Hank's sake, Hank was the only one Alan was fucking around with. I made a mental note to ask. I just wasn't sure who to ask or how. I've never been a real good interviewer that way.

I parked the Dodge in the circle drive and walked around the side of the house closest to the flagstone patio beside the cathedral. Mack was struggling with an old barbecue pit, the wheels of which didn't want to cooperate. "Mack, you look like you're dragging a kid into the dentist's office. Let me give you a hand." I handed him the bag containing the steaks and kicked the wheels to dislodge some of the rust on them. It moved a little better but not much. "How come you're using this old relic, Mack?"

"When you said you were bringing over the good stuff, I figured we'd use some real charcoal and not that damn gas grill for a change. Make 'em taste even better."

"Does Hank even have charcoal, Mack?"

"'Course not. I had to send the kids down to 7-Eleven with Alan to get some." He checked his watch. "And of course they're way overdue.  They're probably sitting in the parking lot polishing off huge slurpies.

"Everybody's inside except Harvey and Ellen. Ellen's mother showed up unexpectedly so they're doing their own entertaining today."

I told him I'd put the steaks in a bowl of water in the sink since I wasn't sure if they were completely thawed yet, and then I headed into the cathedral. A few of the people noticed me and waved as I went through the sliding glass door into the tribal room and then up a half-flight of steps to the kitchen. With the steaks taken care of, I returned to the tribal room and helped myself to Hank's scotch before going back outside.

"Bob, it's good to see you, bud!" That was Ike Bergman. When he shakes hands, it's like he's pumping an old well back on the farm. Jeez, how long has it been since I've seen him? The flab around his middle was almost completely gone, just a speed bump now around his middle. And you could almost make out his abs. When was the last time anybody had seen those?

"Ike, you look terrific! You hire a personal trainer or something?"

"It's his own fault, Bob," came a cheery female voice. "In his own not-too-subtle way, he told me if I didn't take off the weight after I had Nicole, he'd start calling me Amana instead of Amanda. I told him that if I have to do it, then so does he.  He's comin' around okay."

"Mandy, you look like you're eighteen again. And this must be Nicole, eh? Hello, sweetie." I took her from Mandy and held her above my head. "Aren't you just the cutest little thing!" Jeez, I'm turning into my mother now. Of course she started screaming, terrified of what this stranger was going to do to her. I brought her back down to chest level and starting bouncing on the balls of my feet to get her to stop. She was having none of it. "Don't worry, kiddo. I have that effect on a lot of people."

Buddy, Ike's six-year-old, was pulling on Mandy's skirt to get her attention. "Mom! Mom!" He crooked his finger so she would bend down to hear his whisper. She looked up at Junior, her other son, waiting in the shallow end of the pool and gave them both her best Parental Frown. "I don't think so, honey."

"Aw, Mom. Pleeeease?" She looked at Ike who only shrugged and smiled at her.

"Okay, Buddy, but if the girls come over, you gotta put 'em back on. Deal? Keep 'em by the edge of the pool so you can get to 'em quick, okay?"

"Deal! Okay, we will. Thanks, Dad. Thanks, Mom." He trotted over to the pool's edge, yelling to his brother, "Mom says it's okay!" The older boy immediately brought his trunks from below water level and deposited them on the edge of the pool. He evidently had a lot of faith in his younger brother's salesmanship. Buddy dropped his shorts next to his brother's, backed up about four paces and ran for the pool to make as big a cannonball splash as a six-year-old can.

"Sounds like Buddy's already a diplomat," I offered.

"He got that gene from Mandy, not from me; that's for sure," smirked Ike. "And it was probably Junior's idea any way. He'd be way too bashful to ask like that. But Buddy has no fear at all."

There was a commotion at the side door. It swung wide and two teenagers came running through trying to peel off T-shirts and sandals, obviously in a race to see who could get in the pool first. The taller one's shirt was extra long and he couldn't peel it off in one movement. The shorter one was prying off his second sandal, laughing at his friend's difficulty. "Better hurry, loser." Something unintelligible came from inside the shirt. I don't think it was "Fuck off", but I could be wrong. Then again, Mandy was blushing all of a sudden. Just as his head came clear of the shirt, the shorter one pulled down the back of the other's shorts to expose half his butt and then he ran to the pool and won their race.

Pulling up his shorts and running toward the pool, the taller boy yelled, "No fair! You will die for this!" He landed about two feet from the other in a perfectly executed cannonball. When he surfaced, they started arm wrestling like any pair of kids will do. Mack had come inside and bellowed, "I told you NO HORSEPLAY!" One of the advantages of being a college professor is that you can usually out-shout a room full of students instantly. And Mack was one of the best. His baritone voice, used like that, would make God pay attention. The boys stopped, turned to look at Mack and said together, "Yes sir." Then, of course, they went right back to their wrestling, just not quite as loud.

"Mack," Ike smiled at the ex-professor, "you might as well try to piss up a rope." Mandy slapped his arm and gave him a disapproving look.

"I know, Ike." Mack settled into a plastic Adirondack chair and relaxed. "But every once in a while you have to let them know you're around and that you're paying attention to them. Otherwise, they'd kill each other and not even know it. You do it already yourself; you just don't realize it. Damn, I should have gotten a drink before I sat down." I love it when Mack plays the Old Man Act. I hope I can do it as well as he does when I'm his age.

"I'll get it, Mack," I volunteered. "Scotch, as usual?" He nodded. As I was assembling Mack's drink, I heard bare feet hit the quarry tile in the room coming toward me.

"Hey, Stud!" Oh God, it was Alan. "Haven't seen you around here for a while. Howya been?" Like he really cared. I've always had the impression that every conversation with Alan was supposed to end with "Well, are you ready to go to bed with me?" Alan was very good-looking. He had shoulders even broader than Randy's, close-cropped black hair, and the darkest brown eyes--almost black themselves--I've ever seen on someone. When I first met him, like everyone else, I was fascinated by those eyes. The more I got to know him, however, the more I thought of the kid in the X-Files movie when the black liquid covers his eyes. That turned out to be a good turn-off for me. There was no way he was going to deposit his alien seed in my body!

"Alan you look as sculpted as ever." I patted his cheek. "You hard yet?" I swear he can get it up at the drop of a hat and he likes to show it off, no matter who's around.

"Not all the way," he smiled trying, I'm sure, to be alluring.

"Well, take this out to Mack," I said giving him the drink. "I've got to marinate the meat." Damn, why did I say that? Sure enough, he jumped on the opening.

"You can marinate my meat anytime, Bobby baby. I know you'd like to." I hate when he calls me that. I only let a few chosen people do that, and he's not on the list. And he was right, up to a point, about marinating his meat. I probably shouldn't drool so much when he's around. I've never seen him in the buff, but I'd bet the farm that he's got the dick of death.

"Just beat it," I said, dismissing him with a flick of my hand.

"I'd rather that you bea..."

"Alan! Just give it a rest, okay?" He was laughing as he turned toward the door, looking over his shoulder trying to be a tease. Jeez, what a pain in the patoot he could be.

In the kitchen I had drained off the water covering the meat and was looking for the makings of a good marinade. I had the large measuring cup, and Hank had a three-level spice rack. All I needed was some olive oil. "Where the hell is the Extra Virgin?" I asked of no one in particular.

"Sweetie, there aren't too many virgins around here." Alan was back. Holding a cabinet door open, I looked over my shoulder and gave him my best "Why are you back here?" look. Must not have been good enough. He just smiled, put his elbows on the butcher block table and rested his head in the palms of his hands. If he were ten years younger, I'd think he was here for a cooking lesson. But by the way he was swaying his ass behind him, I knew he had other lessons on his mind. He just never gives up.

"Any idea where the olive oil is around here?" I don't know why I thought he might know. I had meant the question to be strictly rhetorical.

"Next cabinet on the right. Top shelf, near the back."

Sure enough, there it was. So I guess he gets over here more often than just the mornings. I grabbed the spices I wanted and set to making the marinade, trying my best to pretend that Alan wasn't there. He wouldn't let me forget though. "Why don't you like me, Bob? I've always thought you were a kinda neat guy, but you hardly give me the time of day." I was stirring the marinade with a bit more vigor than I had planned. Some of it sloshed out of the measuring cup.

I grabbed a paper towel to wipe it up right away. Hank's kitchen is picture-perfect and I'm not going to be the one to mess it up. "Alan, how's your girlfriend?" Sometimes you have to answer a question with another question.

He had one of the smuggest smiles I've ever seen. I wanted to slap it off his face. "Like everyone else, satisfied. Very satisfied."

"Well, Alan, there you have it." I brandished the wooden spoon like a rapier. " That's why I don't like you." He looked at me blankly like I was suddenly speaking Chinese. "Listen to yourself, Alan. Number one, you give the impression to everybody--and I mean EVERYbody--that you're looking at the world through your zipper and everyone out there is fair game.

"Number two." I held up my hand to keep him from speaking. "Number two, don't try to give me that old bisexual bullshit. I don't buy into that. It's okay, in a way, when you're younger and you're trying to figure out where your head is. But by now you should have figured that out. At your age, bisexuality is just an excuse for promiscuity." Damn, this was starting to sound like my Dad talking to me.

He opened his mouth again to speak and again I fended him off. "Number three--and this is the most important--you're doing it with a good friend of mine, and I don't like that."

"He seems to like it well enough," he said petulantly. He was standing up straight now with his arms crossed in front of him. Okay, poolboy, just try to ward me off! We were on Main Street now and his body was saying, "Draw, varmint!"

I leaned on the table glaring at him. I realized that suddenly I was really mad at this young punk kid. "Are you being safe?"

"Most of the time, yeah." His arms crossed tighter and his eyes narrowed.

"But not always, right?" He shook his head. "Well, there you are. That's a really big reason why I don't like you, kid. You know how Hank is. He's got even more of a problem keeping it in his pants than you do. And you're smart enough that you should recognize that fact. That means that you're the one who should be responsible if he's not going to be." I pointed the wooden spoon at him again for emphasis and then realized how stupid that looked. Surprisingly, he was hanging his head a little, but I wasn't going to let up now. "You're the one who should make sure that there's a stack of condoms out there when you guys go at it by the pool or wherever you do your thing. You're the one who has to give a shit about all this but you sure as hell don't, do you?"

He was shaking his head and he couldn't look me in the eye. I noticed then Mack's white goatee in the shadows of the stairwell behind Alan. He was backing away as quietly as he could. I don't know how much he heard, but if he left now he was going to miss the icing on the cake. "Alan, look at me," I said, calming down a bit. His dark eyes were filled with tears ready to flow. I calmed down even more and spoke evenly as if we were in the confessional. "Alan, if anything bad happens to Hank, I'll hunt you down and show you what forty years of pent-up frustration and rage can do to your body. There won't be enough parts left for the coroner to do his job. Do you understand me?"

The dam had burst and he was sobbing fitfully. He wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands and then looked straight at me. Those beautiful dark eyes were surrounded by red. He looked like shit now and I hoped he felt that way too. "I'm sorry, Bob. I...I'm..." He started crying again, and somehow I found myself feeling sorry for this sonuvabitch. Well, hopefully, he'll take at least some of this to heart.

I tore off a paper towel and thrust it at him. "Here. Blow your nose at least; you look like hell. People will say that I'm better looking than you, and you know at least I will believe them." He smiled for just a nanosecond as he wiped his face clean.

I dumped the marinade over the meat, stirred it a bit and put down the spoon. I put my arm around his shoulders and started down to the pool with him. "C'mon, kid, you can work it off in the pool so at least you look decent when Hank gets here." We walked past the other guests to the edge of the pool. I turned him toward me and put my hands on his shoulders. Boy, were they solid! "Alan," I said as softly as possibly. He looked up at me probably expecting me to ream him out one last time. "See ya!" I shouted and pushed him backwards into the pool.

He came up sputtering but smiling. "I'll get you for that, Bob." The four other boys in the pool descended on him like piranhas on a sick cow, and he became the fifth "kid" in the pool, easily tossing them off.

I returned to the group around the table. Mandy was the first to speak. "What was that all about?"

"I think he's finally realizing that he's leaving, and he just got a little emotional. I was just trying to help him get over it." I sipped my drink and looked at her and Ike. They seemed to buy it, but Mack had a smirk on his face. He raised his glass to me in a toast, and I returned his smile. "You know," I said, "this day keeps getting better and better."