Lumbago

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There are only two characters: Henry, a gay man of 35; and Peter, a straight university student/waiter and 19 (Yes, he was a straight waiter!)

................................................................ LUMBAGO ................................................................

Henry was changing dollars for quarters at the change machine in the strip mall coin laundry when he heard what sounded like someone dying. He turned to see one of his fellow washers bent over, wincing in pain as he tried to straighten himself with one hand pressing into his lower back.

"That groan must have come from you," Henry said to the fellow.

"It's my back. I bent over to empty the dryer and something popped," he said.

Henry walked over and led the suffering young man to a chair. He sat him down and asked him whether or not he felt better sitting. The man was leaning forward; not able to straighten even while seated.

"Oh, yes! Thank you. I don't know what happened," he said.

"I'm Henry, by the way; and you are . . ?" said Henry.

"Peter," he said.

"Do you want to try to stand and work the kinks out, or do you need to sit a spell?" asked Henry.

"I had better wait a bit. I still can not lean back in the chair without hurting," said Peter. Thanks for helping me. This has never happened to me before."

"Listen, man, I am about finished with my loads. Tell me which machines you're using and I'll watch 'em for you," Henry volunteered.

"I was emptying my last load from the dryers when it happened. I just need to fold what's in that cart," Peter said as he pointed to a loaded wire transfer cart, "and I'll be finished.

"I'll fold them for you, if you don't mind a stranger folding your clothes. I won't even snicker at your wife's panties," said a grinning Henry.

"No panties, no wife, and I don't think there's any skid marks on my boxers. Soap and bleach do wonders," Peter said with a smile. "I'll be glad for the help, thanks."

Henry folded the clothes in Peter's basket as they continued to make small talk. "No skid marks on any of your shorts," he said as he folded the last of Peter's laundry.

"Told you," said Peter.

Henry made short work of his own laundry by tossing everything into his laundry bags. He would fold his laundry at home. He did this to allow him to attend to Peter's needs at the moment. He wanted to help him to his car and see him off before he left.

"Where are you parked, Peter?" he asked.

"I walked. I only live a block away. With gas prices what they are, I walk whenever I can. It's one of the positive things of living close to everything but work and school," Peter said.

Peter worked as a waiter at The Olive Garden to pay his way at the university. He was born and raised in a small town some sixty miles to the north. He had few friends here and no family. All this Henry had learned while making small talk as he folded the laundry.

"You walked! I don't think you are in any condition to walk home. Can you stand?" asked Henry.

Peter braced himself on the edge of his chair and managed to stand; still slightly bent over but better than he had been. He pressed one hand to the small of his back and improved his stance.

"How's this?" Peter asked with a grimace.

"Not good, my friend. Let me bring my car to the door and I'll drive you home," said Henry.

"You've made me an offer I can not refuse, Godfather," Peter said with his best imitation of a mobster.

They both laughed and Henry went for his car. After loading their laundry into the trunk, he took Peter by the arm and led him to the passenger door and guided him into the seat.

He drove Peter the one block to his apartment, which luckily was a ground floor with parking by the door. It was a motel in previous years; converted to apartments after the owner went bankrupt and the property was sold to a developer. He unloaded Peter's laundry from the trunk and placed it by the door before opening the passenger door and aiding Peter in exiting the car. He took his door key, opened the door, and led Peter into his small studio apartment.

"Peter, someone has been jacking off in here!" exclaimed Henry, for the air was heavy with the scent of spent semen. "Oh, forgive me. I should not have said that."

Peter's face was three shades of red. He was shocked that Henry had said that and ashamed of the truth of it.

"Why did you say that?" he asked after a moment of reflection.

"Well, as I said, I should not have said that. It's only that this room reeks of sperm. You likely have olfactory fatigue from smelling it all the time, but, as a stranger, it hit me the moment I stepped into the room. It's the same thing with smokers, they don't smell the ashtray, but a non-smoker will be repulsed by the odor. Same thing with cats; their owners don't smell the cat box," said Henry in a attempt to ease Peter's shock.

Then Henry picked up the waste basket by the bed and pointed out the used tissue therein contained. "You need to flush these instead of keeping them. And you need a can of air freshener to . . . well, freshen the air," he added with a smile.

All this time, Peter was still standing while leaning against the wall.

"Would you rather try to sit or would you like to recline on the bed?" asked Henry, to change the subject.

"I think the bed would be best. If I can lie down on my stomach, I think it may ease things," said Peter.

Henry took his arm and led him to the bedside. Peter sat, then leaned his body to lay on his side before turning himself over. One hand was touching the floor as that arm dangled over the edge of the bed. Henry aligned his legs so that Peter's body was straight. Peter grimaced, but added an 'AH-h-h', indicating his relief, if only somewhat and however brief.

"I hate to leave you like this," said Henry, "is there anything else I can do for you before I go?"

Peter thought a moment and shyly asked, "Have you any experience giving a back rub. I think my muscles need some manipulation and I can't reach them."

"Well, I've had my share of massages at the health club. I guess I could give it a try," said Henry

Then there was a muffled sound of funky music coming from Peter. He turned slightly and removed his cell phone from his shirt pocket and said, "Hello . . . yes it is . . . I can't tonight. My back is out and I can't stand up; forget about carrying a tray. Thanks for thinking about me. I wish I could come in. I need the cash . . . Okay, I'll call you. Bye," he said.

Then to Henry he said, "One of the waiters reported in drunk and they had to send him home; wanted me to fill in for him. Fat chance!"

Henry pulled the desk chair to the bedside, sat and pressed his palms on Peter's lower back. He questioned Peter about the direction he should go, "How's this?"

"More to the left," said Peter.

"How's this?"

"OH! Just a bit lower."

"I'm at your belt. If I go lower, I'll be rubbing leather. If you unfasten your belt and undo your jeans, I'll pull them down from the cuffs. Hell, I may as well take your shoes off, too. You will be more comfortable and being comfortable is beneficial in relaxing and relaxing is what you need most. You may not even need a back rub when you're comfortable," expounded a suddenly long winded Henry.

Henry had developed second thoughts about the back rub. The whole scene seemed awkward; more personal contact than one should expect from, or to, a stranger.

He unlaced Peter's shoes and removed them as Peter's hands moved under his body to unfastened his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. Henry took hold of the cuffs and tugged as Peter lifted himself as best he could.

Henry stopped pulling when the jeans were half off. A bead of sweat popped out on his forehead. The air seemed thicker and the room seemed smaller as he gazed on Peter's exposed ass.

"Holy cow! You're going commando," he exclaimed before finishing the removal of the jeans.

"Laundry day; I always go commando on laundry day. That's the only way I know it's laundry day - I run out of underwear. Sorry, but it's nothing you've not seen before . . . is it?" said Peter.

"Well, yours . . . ah, yours . . . ah, is . . . well, I've never seen an ass like yours," said Henry - amazed that he had said that.

"What's wrong with my ass?" asked Peter with a genuine fear that he had been found deformed to some degree or the other.

"Oh, nothing. Not a thing is wrong with it. It's the most perfect ass I've ever seen," said Henry, again sorry that he had said that as soon as it left his lips. He only wanted to reassure the lad that nothing was wrong.

"Why did I say that? Sure, it's a beautiful ass, but you don't go telling people you hardly know that they have a perfect ass," thought Henry.

"Sorry, I said that. I'll go now," said Henry softly.

"Are you a homo?" asked Peter, without malice.

Henry cringed at the question. 'Homo' is one of the words used by deriders, either on the playground among kids or in the corner bar among rednecks, to shame anyone different from themselves. All of the words for homosexuality are barbed with thorns when uttered in hate and they can sting the soul. It's a hard thing to disprove when called a homo, fag, queer, cock sucker, or any of the other tags devised to demean one's character or reputation. What do you do? Do you rape a girl to prove your manhood? Some have. It can be easier to get along in some quarters when thought of as a brute rapist than to be thought of as a lover of your own kind. The best thing to do, whether the slur be true or false, is to ignore it. The only way a word can harm you is when you let it. And, most psychologist would agree with the bard of Avon when he wrote, "Me thinks he doth protest too much;" meaning that someone is attributing their own 'sins' to others in the hope that, by doing so, no one will think that of them.

All this was flooding Henry's mind in the seconds after Peter asked his pointed question.

"Again, I'm so vary sorry I said that. I did not want to offend you. You're safe. Everything is cool. I'll not lay a hand on you. I'll leave now," said Henry.

"I thought you were going to rub my back," said Peter, forgetting his earlier question.

"Well, you asked whether or not I was a homo and I thought you were afraid I was; and after I said what I said, I can't blame you," said Henry.

"Well, are you? It don't matter to me. I've a brother that's that way. It's just that I've never had anyone tell me that my ass was perfect, that's all," said Peter.

"I'm like the C.I.A, I'll neither confirm nor deny your question," said Henry with relief and a smile on his face.

"I'll have to look in the mirror to see what a perfect ass looks like. I never noticed anything special about it before," Peter said - more to himself than to Henry.

"I know some people that see one every time they look in a mirror. And, they don't have to turn around to see it!" Henry teased.

"You can start the back rub now, if you please," said Peter.

Henry stood by the bed, leaned over, and placed the heels of his palms on both sides of Peter's lower spine and, pressing slightly, made small rotations into the well developed muscles. Although he was massaging Peter's back, his gaze was upon the mounds of flesh inches below. As Henry worked the muscles, Peter would flex in response and, when he did, dimples would appear on those perfect ass cheeks. Henry thought of Michelangelo's statue of David, but realized that David's ass was a poor second to what he was seeing.

" . . . know what I mean?" Henry heard Peter's voice finish a question and was snapped out of his reverie. He had no idea what had been said before he realized that Peter was speaking.

"Ah, wh-what was that?" he asked.

"I said, if you work on my shoulders and work your way down, everything may work back to where it should be. Know what I mean?" repeated Peter.

"Sounds good to me." Henry said as he placed his hands on Peter's shoulders and, using his thumbs to push into the flesh and his fingers to pull it, he kneaded the flesh of Peters neck and shoulders. He continued; methodically manipulating the muscles from side to side as he worked his way down the spine. Henry's emotions were taxed by having his hands on this young man's flesh.

"Doing this makes me wish that you were more like your brother," Henry voiced in frustration, and, yet again, wishing that he had not said that.

Peter did not acknowledge the statement and only reveled in the treatment his back was receiving.

Several minutes passed before Peter raised his head and asked, "Will you help me stand-up? I need to use the bathroom."

Henry grasped the shoulder of his young companion and pulled him into a seated position on the edge of the bed. All Henry had seen until this moment was Peter's aft; the fore was just as magnificent. Peter's flaccid circumcised dong was four, maybe five, inches long and lay draped over his balls. No nubbin like the one Michelangelo had adorned his David. No, this was a penis any man would envy. Its helmet was a mouthwatering mushroom that would wake the desire in any lover of men - male or female. At the same time, if hard, it would surely be accepted in any suitable orifice.

Henry had prided himself on his not having been aroused to erection by what he had been doing. But, now, now he had a yearning to fall to his knees and pay homage; to partake of the sacraments this god could offer.

"Okay, I think I can stand," said Peter as he pulled at his scrotum to allow his legs to close. He rocked back and then forward; lifting his buttocks and torso to a standing position. "Still a bit tender," he said. He took two steps and cringed again. He placed an arm over Henry's shoulder and, by inference, expected Henry to lead the way.

Henry placed an arm around Peter's torso and guided him to his bathroom.

"Sit or stand?" asked Henry.

"Stand," said Peter.

Henry maneuvered Peter to the toilet and turned his head to look away. However, the sound of Peter's powerful stream of urine hitting the water caused him to take a furtive look. He was mesmerized by seeing Peter aiming his penis and that golden streak emanating from his glans that caused the toilet water to momentarily froth.

When the flow slowed, Peter urged a couple of more short blasts by flexing his abdominal muscles inward before he shook the last few drops from his penis.

"If you were your brother, I'd do that for you," said Henry.

"Do what?" asked Peter.

"Just kidding. I meant that I would shake the last of it out for you. It was a joke," said Henry.

Peter turned his head and looked into Henry's longing eyes. He thought Henry had the same look that his hound had when he wanted a bone. Henry did want a bone, but not the same kind that the hound wanted.

It took Peter only a moment before he said, "Alright, if you want to give it a shake, have at it."

"Your kidding me now. I'm not going to touch you like that - as much as I might want to. I know that you are not your brother and I don't take advantage of people. I don't recruit. Saves getting punched in the nose or kicked in the groin; you know," said Henry.

"I'm not going to kick you or punch you. You remind me of my brother. He's the same way; gentle and loving. I'll let you touch me as long as you don't expect me to return the favor. And, no kissing or fucking," Peter said.

"By kissing - you mean on the lips - don't you?" asked Henry.

"Ya, no kissing on the lips," assured Peter.

Henry then placed his hand at the base of Peter's penis and flopped it up and down over the toilet and saw that nothing remained to be freed from the urethra. He then cupped Peter's ample balls and rolled them gently with his fingers; feeling the heft and warmth of them. He then leaned forward and kissed the spongy crown before licking the length of this most perfect specimen.

"You don't want to do that in here. Do you?" asked Peter, now leaning forward with both hands on the wall.

"Any where, any time," was all that Henry could say. His head was spinning and his total being was keyed to bring pleasure to Peter and to himself.

Henry stood, guided Peter back to the bed, picked him up bodily, and placed him in the middle of the bed with his head on a pillow. Peter splayed his legs to give Henry access to the shrine of Eros.

"Do you mind, if I take my clothes off, too," asked Henry.

"Just remember the rules," said Peter; now sporting an erection. It was at least ten inches long and its girth was proportional. The glans seemed more flared than most, but most were not perfection personified.

Henry made short work of removing his clothes. He climbed between Peter's outstretched legs and pressed his cheek to caress Peter's turgid member.

"My god! you are just like my brother! He does that first off every time," said Peter.

"So," thought Henry, "one always learns something new during sex. What else has his brother done." That, however, was neither here nor there. Henry would obey the rules and not take more than Peter was willing to give.

Henry then kissed and licked Peter's scrotum and balls. He was pleased with the clean, yet musky, scent as he pressed his nose into the forest primeval of pubic hair; thick and curly above and around the base of the shaft with silky wisps covering the scrotum.

He took Peter into his mouth and closed his lips midway down. He rolled his tongue around the edges of the flared head and brought his lips up to where only the head was covered. He stroked his tongue over its surface as he pulled his clamped lips off with a smack. He flicked the piss slit with the tip of his tongue as his trained hand closed on the shaft and began to slowly stroke; up and down; bringing the available skin up to cover the glans and down again; stimulating the uncountable nerves that express their pleasure with each stroke.

Henry placed his mouth over the penis again and again closed his lips; laving the rod with his spittle as his tongue danced over its surface.

Peter had closed his eyes and was enraptured by the skilled work of a true artist. He thought that Henry could teach his brother a few things. Henry was not like his brother, he was better.

Peter flexed his butt to push his penis further into Henry's mouth and Henry was in fear that he might do himself harm.

"Stay still and let me do all the work. Remember your back," Henry instructed.

"Okay," pant, "Okay," pant, "Okay," panted Peter. His breathing was rapid and his pulse had doubled.

Sensing that Peter was close to having an orgasm, Henry returned to licking his balls and stroking his inner thighs with his fingertips. He wanted the flames to die back and make this last as long as he could make it. After all, this seemed to be a one-off situation and he wanted to savor every moment.

"Scoot over and sit on the edge of the bed and lay back," instructed Henry. Peter did. "Now roll over and let me see that ass of yours again," he said.

"Rules!" said Peter.

"I'm not going to rape you. I'll obey the rules," said Henry. "Oh, by fucking - does that include the finger?" he added.

"You know how to do that, too. My brother . . . Ya, you can use your finger," said Peter as he turned over.

Henry knelt behind Peter and grabbed an ass cheek in each hand and massaged them. He kissed each cheek as he spread the flesh to expose Peter's anus. It was like the rest of him. Perfect! A clean pink pucker asking to be licked. Henry pushed his whole face into the crevice and inhaled deeply as his extended tongue found its prize. The tip of his tongue attacked the tight ring of flesh with short jabs and quick flicks as Peter moaned his approval. Henry did this until his tongue ached from his exertions. He then wet a finger with his saliva and placed it on Peter's anus. With the tip of his finger he lightly scribed circles on and around the entrance to Peter's rectum. He told Peter to relax and enjoy. Not having been disappointed by anything Henry had done so far, Peter relaxed his wazoo and allowed Henry to enter him. As Henry's finger was exploring Peter's innards and lightly rubbing his prostate, his thumb was tickling Peter's perineum and the fingers of his other hand were rubbing that divinely sensitive flesh of his inner thighs.

Peter's perfect body was receiving the perfect treatment that only a virtuoso of the instrument could perform. Henry felt himself blest to be allowed to do what he was doing.

Henry asked Peter to roll over on his back again, and, as this was done, he kept his finger in the inner sanctum as he finger fucked Peter.

The head of Peter's penis was coated with the glossy ooze which flowed from his prostate and Cowper's glands while being manually stimulated by Henry's exploring finger. Henry licked it off as he again took Peter into his mouth. He closed his eyes and sucked Peter's penis for all he was worth. He wanted to taste Peter's sperm. It had to be perfect, or beyond perfect, to be coming from such a man.

He was not disappointed when the moment came and Peter's penis erupted in his mouth and filled it with his ambrosia. Henry did not want to swallow. He wanted all of his taste buds to be sated by the magnificence of Peter's essence. However, in order to take all of Peter's ejaculate, he had to swallow to keep up with the flow. Henry was in heaven.

Henry kept Peter's penis in his mouth as it softened. Both men were lost in the moment and had to recover their composure before either could move. No words were said as Henry licked the few drops which had escaped his lips and were pooled at the base of Peter's penis.

At long last Peter said, "Wow! Oh, wow! I've never experienced anything like that. It was like an out-of-body flight to nirvana. It was frisson times a million. It was an E-ticket ride that I wanted to never end."

Peter was now the one saying things which he regretted saying as soon as he said them. He did not want to give Henry any hope of tossing the rule book aside and giving him free rein to his body. He looked at any other man's penis as just another piece of flesh with no more importance than the man's nose or big toe. His libido had no emotional attachment to other than the female of the species. He had never instigated any of the times his brother had given him a blow job. He would succumb to his brother's pleas when he needed to have a penis in his mouth, although he never understood his brother's desires. But, he was, after all, his brother and he thought of it as a brotherly thing to ease his emotional pains. However, the same rules applied to his brother as he had imposed on Henry. He would not kiss, fuck or be fucked by any man.

Henry and his brother knew which buttons to push to bring him to a fabulous orgasm but, during those times, he would close his eyes and envision the warmth and moistness of the mouth on his penis as a vagina.

Henry has stepped into the bathroom and jacked himself off before dressing himself. He dressed without saying a word; then sheepishly said, "I enjoyed that as much or maybe more than you did. Listen, I do my laundry every Thursday afternoon. If you like, I could pick-up yours and do it for you while I do mine. Then I could deliver it back to you and maybe. . ."

Peter stopped him in mid-sentence by saying, "My brother will be here next week. I think you two horndogs should be introduced. Come to the restaurant at five on Wednesday for dinner and afterwards y'all can come back here and have the place to yourselves. I'll go to a movie after work and stay out until at least mid-night. All I ask is that, if you use tissue to wipe any spilled seed, you flush it. I don't want this place to smell like a sex den."

"I could kiss you!" exclaimed Henry.

"RULES!" exclaimed Peter.

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