This story is entirely fictional, and any resemblances to actual persons are completely coincidental. Actual locations are mentioned, and are used for 'background' only.
'Phalen - Finding Happiness' Chapter nine
by Roy Reinikainen
The dimly lit exercise room of his condominium building was empty. The only sound was the steady rhythm of him running on the treadmill. The music on his iPod went largely ignored as pushed himself to run faster in an attempt to get his mind off of Greg.
It had been a wonderful day, having dinner with Greg near Jeff's pool, learning that Jeff thought of him as a friend, and best yet, seeing Greg's reaction to his first kiss.
The treadmill automatically began to slow, signaling the end of his workout. 'What happened in his past to make him so afraid of getting close to another person. He was acting just fine and then it was as if he ran into a brick wall. The look, first of panic and then apology was almost too much to bear. 'If he let me be aware of those feelings, I wonder what he's hiding that no one else knows about.
The treadmill slowed from a job to a fast walk and finally to a stroll. He stepped off of the machine and snatched up the white towel from where he had draped it over the machine and wiped his forehead, neck and bare chest, all glistening with sweat. His burgundy university running shorts were clinging to his hips and buttocks.
'Geez,' he thought as he stripped off the shorts while still standing next to the machine. 'I must have worked myself harder than I thought.' He wiped the towel over his sweaty groin and then brought the towel to his face and inhaled deeply.
'Brad used to like to do that,' he thought as he crossed the exercise area, feeling daring to be naked in what would normally be a space filled with people. His penis began to thicken at the thought of everyone seeing him. He shook his head in denial.
'Face it. You're horny because you'd like to be in bed with Greg right now. That's why you're getting hard. That's why you ran those extra couple miles at a pace faster than usual.' He tossed his shorts and shoes into the locker and headed for the shower room, picking up a large rolled-up white towel from the large basket and hanging it on the hook
The large gang-style shower room was one of the things that sold him on buying a condominium in this building. Most gyms had small private showers. He enjoyed watching everyone, and being watched. The hot water sluiced over his body forming clouds of steam. Even though he enjoyed seeing the other naked men, he enjoyed working out late at night because the lights were dimmed. He could think . . . or masturbate.
He spread his legs farther apart for balance and teased his nipples to firmness, his cock filling out to a full erection. He ran a hand over the short hair of his chest, over his flat belly and down to his erection thinking of Greg . . . how his nipples made prominent points beneath the butter-yellow Polo shirt. His clipped chest hair had shown at the neck of the shirt. His broad long-fingered hands were strong, as were his arms. Curt leaned against the wall of the shower, closed his eyes, and began to slowly stimulate himself, an easy thing to do while thinking about Greg.
He felt a momentary pang of guilt to be thinking of someone other than Brad. 'But, Brad's got Larry. They're happy with one another. Why shouldn't I be happy as well? Brad would understand.'
'Greg's lips were so soft, his tongue so . . . aggressive.' Curt tugged slightly on his scrotum as he continued masturbating himself. 'Those eyes of his,' Curt thought. 'That dark blue surrounded by an even darker rim. His eyes are one of his best features. His eyes, his reticent smile . . . and the way he sort of rolled the r in his name each time he said it. It was like having a different name, one spoken only by Greg.
He could feel Greg's genitals, even though he didn't have an erection. It was exciting to imagine Greg naked, stimulating him to orgasm . . . tasting his sperm . . . shooting his own sperm into Greg's mouth. He loved watching a jet of his own sperm shoot into another man's waiting mouth, coating his tongue. He enjoyed seeing the look in the other man's eyes as he tasted Curt's jiz, and the sound the guy made as he finally gulped it down and then opened his mouth to show how he had swallowed it all.
He was close now. He kept his eyes closed, imagining Greg, Brad, and other men he had had sex with. Tonight though, his thoughts kept returning to Greg. He tugged harder on his scrotum and then circling the base of his cock, forcing it to maximum hardness.
It would only take a few more strokes. He closed his eyes tighter and spread his legs a little wider, balancing himself against the wall of the shower room as steam billowed around him. He slowed the movement of his hand. One more stroke. Another . . . and he shot. It was as if a dam had been breeched. The intense feeling coursed from his prostate to his anus and then over his groin.
He gasped at the first shot, and took a quick breath in time for the second. He slowed his hand motion until he was unable to touch himself because he was so sensitive. His erection throbbed in front of him as he sagged against the shower room wall, dropping both hands to his sides in exhaustion.
A nearby gasp caused him to open his eyes. A red-headed man, a person his own age, someone he had never seen before, is standing not six feet away watching him intently. He's masturbating wildly.
When he realized Curt was watching him he choked out an apology. "Sorry man, but . . . I've." He continued to stroke . . . faster now. 'I've never seen something so exciting as you beating off." There was another stroke.
"You liked it, did you?" Curt pushed himself away from the shower wall and took moved closer to the newcomer. The guy silently nodded, his eyes never leaving Curt, moving from his face to his thickening erection.
"Yeah," the red head huffed. "My wife'd kill me if she knew what I'm doing right now." He was grasping his erection tightly. "I've never seen another guy masturbate . . . before." Curt took another step. His erection was close enough for the man to touch.
"You shot so far," the guy groaned.
"C'mon, man," Curt coaxed. "Shoot a big load for me." He stepped even closer. "I wanna feel your sperm hit me." The guy groaned, loudly. He opened his mouth in a silent groan as he watched Curt begin fondling himself.
"C'mon, man," Curt urged again, squeezing the base of his erection to stiffen it further. The engorged head with its wide piss slit gaped open. A glistening drop of sperm emerged, remnants of his earlier orgasm. The guy's eyes widen at the sight.
"Ahhhhh, shit," me moaned, as the first shot of cum hit Curt on his pubes.
"Yeah, man," he murmured. "Do it."
The guy's second shot splats onto the shower room floor, lost in the clouds of steam surrounding the two men. His stroking slowed and then stopped and he gave Curt a sheepish grin.
"That was soooo hot. Thanks man." Curt smiled and reached out to squeeze the guy's shoulder in response.
"Hot for me too." He turned back to his shower and let the spray wash away the other man's sperm from the hair of his groin. When he turned back the other man was gone. He turned off the shower and padded across the tile floor and grabbed his towel.
He walked down the short aisle to his locker, toweling his hair dry and sat on the slick wooden bench.
"Damn," he muttered aloud. "I wish that had been Greg."
"Thanks for the ride, Phalen." Greg pushed the button, lowering the garage door and held the door to the courtyard open for Phalen. "How was practice?"
"Practice isn't much more than lifting weights and stuff right now. The guys are nice. The guys on the team, that is. There's a creepy guy helping out though." He gave an expressive shudder. "Gives me the shivers whenever he's around." Phalen plucked a note from Jeff of the front door.
"He's had to go back to school to substitute for another instructor who's sick or something. He orders me to stay out of the kitchen since he won't be able to leave class even if I burn the house down." His look killed Greg's chuckle before it had hardly started. Phalen waved the paper. "He says you know how to cook, so you're elected to make us something for dinner."
A few minutes later Phalen was leaning on the counter of the kitchen island watching Greg stand in the middle of the kitchen trying to decide what to make for dinner. "I've been waiting for an opportunity to make some real food," he said. "Now's my chance!" He rubbed his hands together in anticipation and then opened the door to the freezer and began rummaging about muttering to himself.
"Ah ha!" He dumped a large piece of frozen meat onto the counter with a loud thump. The meat skidded to a stop in front of Phalen, who looked at the icy lump and then up at Greg.
Greg pointed to the meat. "Reindeer." Phalen's glance flicked to the meat and then back to Greg. A moment later something else slid across the counter joining the first piece. "Salmon," Greg said in a satisfied tone, pushing the freezer door closed with his foot.
"Tonight, we're having a real Finnish treat. "Poroniliha," he said, giving the chunk of meat a smack with the open palm of a hand . . . "and my favorite." He took the fish by the tail and slapped it against the counter. "Lohilaatikko, a salmon casserole." He leaned against the counter and faced Phalen with a bright smile. "Aren't you excited?"
"Uh . . . I . . . guess, though maybe we should wait until Jeff's home so he can share in these tastes of the old country. Ya think?" Greg was now standing on the other side of the island with his hands on his hips. Finally, he could stand it no longer, and burst out laughing.
"I hate poroniliha and lohilaatikko. I just wanted to see what you would say." He picked up the chunk of meat and headed back to the freezer.
"This isn't really reindeer." He gave the lump a puzzled look. "I don't really know what it was when it was alive." He opened the freezer door and returned the object to the cold. He shook his head as he returned the fish to the freezer. "I didn't think Jeff liked fish."
"You're in a rare mood tonight. Work must be agreeing with you." Greg nodded as he dumped some vegetables on the counter.
"It does. That, and seeing Curt."
"You like him, don't you?" Greg nodded and began chopping things to make a salad. Phalen watched the preparations with skepticism.
"Have you ever made a meal before, Greg?"
"Sure. It's not difficult. You chop some stuff up and then eat it." He attacked a cucumber with zeal. "Not difficult at all. It's the cooking that's got me stumped. I eat lots of raw things." He nodded over his shoulder toward the freezer. "Tried raw meat once." He made a face. "Didn't like it. Made me think of anatomy lab in med school. I never have been a big fan of meat after taking that class."
"So, you like Curt?" Phalen made an attempt steer the conversation back to something resembling normalcy. Greg's smile faded to be replaced by a serious expression.
"Yes, I like him. He's not pushing me." He looked up to see if Phalen understood.
He stared into the distance seeming to forget Phalen's presence. "Phalen . . . I've never been able to get an erection while Curt and I are kissing. We're both completely dressed, so it's not like we're trying to have sex or something." He paused a moment, laid the knife aside, and pulled up a stool to the counter. "I'm pretty screwed up. I mean kissing someone as sexy as Curt should give me an erection, shouldn't it?" He heaved a sigh and began toying with a stray piece of cucumber which had landed on the counter instead of inside the bowl, not meeting Phalen's eyes as he spoke.
"I'm going to tell you something I've never told another living person." Phalen's eyes widened, but he remained quiet and nodded.
"I told you about my troubles with trying to have sex with one of my fellow students . . . a woman, and how badly it turned out?" Phalen nodded, remembering the conversation from when he and Jeff were in Finland. "And the couple times I tried having sex with a man. They didn't work out either. Phalen, everyone always tells me how they admire my single-mindedness, my strength, my drive . . ." he sighed. "Well, there's a bad side to those things. If someone else had had the very same experiences with those people I did, they probably would have chalked it up to a bad experience and moved on. Not me. I saw those bad experiences as signs of personal failure. I know having those thoughts is ridiculous, but. . ." He shrugged. "I know they're ridiculous, but I can't stop feeling that I was a failure. Not being able to perform was humiliating. No one likes being ridiculed for not being able to keep an erection. I saw my attempts at forming an intimate relationship as giving up control. That, combined with my fear of doing something incorrectly, kept me from doing anything right. I'm so afraid of not being able to perform, I . . . can't."
"On top of that, I've never been at ease being nude around other people. It's funny, really, since both Jeff and Dad wear clothes just to keep other people happy. They're not really happy unless they're naked." Greg made a slight face. "Not me. I don't know if I think of being naked as no longer being totally in control of my surroundings . . . or what. You guys seem to think nothing of being naked in front of other people. I think back to those times when I tried to have sex, and couldn't keep an erection. I somehow equate being naked with being humiliated. If I'm dressed, I have a wall of sorts between me and the world that'll laugh at me." Greg laid the knife aside and sighed, giving Phalen a fleeting glance.
"Well, there's more to the story. This is the part I've never told anyone. It's something that takes over my mind whenever I was with those guys back in Finland, or when I'm with Curt." He took a deep breath and looked at Phalen with pain-filled eyes.
"When I was starting medical school, we had to follow doctors around and learn how they did things." He took another deep breath. "There was this young boy. He couldn't have been more than five or six." This time the breath was ragged. "He'd been sexually abused. He was bleeding . . . badly. His trousers were soaked with blood." Greg saw his own horror reflected in Phalen's eyes. "He said his father had been drunk and had passed out . . . after. The little boy had walked to the hospital from his home, a few blocks away. He walked, Phalen! In his condition!" Phalen's eyes were huge and he was biting his lip trying not to cry. Even so, a single tear rolled down his cheek.
"The strangest thing was the little boy never cried. He seemed resigned. It wasn't new. Oh, I mean the blood was, but the abuse . . . no. He never cried . . . until later, when I sat on the edge of the hospital bed and hugged him. Then he cried, silently."
"Do you know what he was afraid of?" Phalen sniffed and shook his head. "He was upset because he had caused so much trouble for everyone. He was afraid I would get in trouble because he got my white coat wet with his tears!" Greg stared into the distance as Phalen gulped once or twice for air.
"I knew I was gay then. Intellectually, I knew having sex with a man was different from abusing a little boy. I've never fantasized about being with someone younger than me, but to this day, whenever I'm with another man, I see that little boy, all bruised and bloody . . . and not crying. I think of him and I can't seem to . . . function."
"The image of that little boy, and the blood, flashes through my mind every time Curt kisses me. I can feel his erection pressing against me. I know he would like to have sex, but I just . . . can't. I can't seem to give up control. I can feel the mound of his erection, and I think back to how I was laughed at. I'm afraid if things don't . . . work, he'll laugh, or I'll think he's laughing. And, then to top things off, I think of that little boy, how much he hurt. I can't seem to separate what happened to him from what I'd like to do with Curt. They're not the same things, yet they are.
Phalen tucked the napkin Greg handed him into his back pocket after wiping his eyes and then blowing his nose. He returned Greg's understanding expression with a wan smile and sniffed, swiping a hand across his eyes once again.
"Maybe what it'll take for me to loosen up will be for me to get drunk out of my mind so I don't fear ridicule . . . so I don't see little Essa." He looked at Phalen across the counter. "That was his name . . . Essa." The room was silent for a few long moments while Phalen attempted to control his emotions and Greg relived the past.
"Little Essa," he murmured.
Curt looked up as his brother entered the kitchen, the ubiquitous foul-smelling cigarette dangling from his mouth. "Hey man, I didn't know you were into sports." Dustin gave him a withering glance without saying a word.
"Does wearing the jersey mean something?"
Dustin jabbed the cigarette out in an ashtray on the kitchen counter. "It means twenty-two." He looked down at the front of the jersey and pointed. "This is a two," he said, as if to a child, or an especially slow adult. "And this one is too. Combined, that means the number 22."
"Smart ass. You know what meant."
"Yeah, well at least my ass is smart. I don't go whoring around and offering it to anyone who asks." Dustin poured himself an incongruous glass of chocolate milk and then lit up another cigarette, blowing the smoke in his brother's general direction.
"Oh, who do you know who offers their ass to people like that?" Dustin made a long-suffering face and pointed toward him.
"Wrong . . . smart ass. This butt has never had anything in it but what's supposed to be there. It's true," he said in answer to Dustin's skeptical expression. He backed away from the counter a step so Dustin could see him lewdly grope himself.
"Now this has been up lots of other guy's asses. Something I'm sure you've never experienced either, hmm?" Dustin didn't deign to answer. "But that's all in the past, Curt concluded, sitting down once again."
"Turned over a new . . . leaf?" Curt nodded.
"Got that right. I've learned from my mistakes." He leaned across the counter and gave his brother a serious look.
"Dustin, I know you don't think much of me, but please take my advice. If you treat other people badly, that type of behavior will come back and kick you whenever you least expect it. It happened to me. I'd hate for it to happen to you . . . or anyone else, for that matter." Dustin shrugged.
"So, you're working with one of the university teams?"
Another shrug. "I'm sorta a physician's assistant. There's some new guy over there that's substituting until they get a real doctor. I hope they get rid of him fast. The asshole can't even speak English. Anyway, I have to work with him as part of a sports wellness class I'm taking. I volunteered." He abruptly changed the subject.
"So, who're you hooking up with now? Is the old one still hanging around, wishing you'd plug his butt?"
"I'm seeing a very nice guy, a few years older than me. He's the brother of a friend."
"Must run in families, I guess. Being a fag I mean."
Curt smiled. "It sure does." When Dustin failed to take the bait he went on. "Anyhow, Brad's not waiting around for me to "plug" him. He's living with a nice guy. A lawyer. They're both happy."
"Are you . . . happy, I mean? Seeing this new guy? I thought you said you'd never get over the other one." Dustin exhaled a noxious stream of blue-grey smoke.
"I'm not over him. I never will be. But, I've met a very nice guy who's great to be around. We're both having a good time. We'll have to wait and see if something develops."
"I won't hold my breath." Dustin left the kitchen and walked out into the back yard.
Greg looked up as the doors to the Athletics Clinic slid aside. Two young men dressed in the uniform of the university baseball team were assisting a loudly moaning teammate walk into the room. The two looked to Greg appealing for some form of quick help. He motioned the group down the short hall, to the first exam room, getting their names and contact information as they helped their friend onto the examination table.
Greg began to gather his patient's statistics, calling up his name and medical records on the room's computer. "So, your name is," he prompted, motioning the two friends to remain quiet.
"Carl," the man on the exam table managed through clenched teeth. "Carl Short." The effort to speak left him breathless with pain.
Greg laid a comforting hand on the young man's shoulder as he took his temperature by running one of the new gadgets across the man's forehead. "We'll get something in a moment to help you with the pain. First, I have to determine what the injury might be." Carl furrowed his brow and then winced and bit his lip.
"Sorry . . . I . . . didn't understand everything you said." He gave Greg a look of equal parts pain and embarrassment.
"That's okay." Greg smiled. "I know my accent can sometimes get in the way of what I'm trying to say. If you don't understand something I say, don't feel bad. Just ask me to repeat myself. I won't be offended. I'll try to speak more clearly." Carl nodded, the muscles of his jaw rippling as he ground his teeth together in pain.
"How did this happen?" Greg turned to one of Carl's friends for explanation. "Playing baseball?" The friend who had been anxiously shifting from one foot to the other shook his head.
"No, practice was over. We were just horsing around. Wrestling . . . sorta. All of a sudden Carl screams that his shoulder is killing him. Screaming like . . . really loud." He tried to look around Greg toward his friend. "Will he be okay?" He looked to his right where the other person quietly stood. "Can we go? We gotta get back and let the coach know what's happened." Greg nodded.
"You've done everything you can for your friend. If his injury is what I think it is, he'll be out of commission for a while . . . but he'll recover after he's patched up and has some rehabilitation." Both men stepped to their friend's side and gave him a few words of encouragement, and then were out the door in a flash.
"Nice to have friends who'll help out when you're in need," Greg commented as he cut away the jersey, exposing the darkly bruised shoulder. Carl hissed at Greg's first touch.
"Carl, it appears you've torn your rotator cuff. That means you've seriously damaged the soft tissues that holds the humerus in place. The humerus is the bone of the upper arm where it joins the shoulder. I'm going to have to make arrangements to transfer you to the hospital downtown so a specialist can take care of you. Did you understand everything I just said?" Carl kept his eyes closed, but nodded.
"Thanks, doctor . . . "
"Layson," Greg provided. He squeezed Carl's uninjured shoulder. "You'll be fine. I'll go make arrangements and get you something to ease your pain until you get to the hospital."
'Busy day,' he thought as he finished making arrangements to transfer the baseball player to the hospital. The ambulance was on its way. The other doctor on duty as well as the two nurses were tending other people. He could hear some muffled conversations coming from nearby exam rooms.
Suddenly, the volunteer student sitting in the waiting room lurched to his feet and ran toward the entrance doors. He grabbed a woman who appeared barely able to stand. One side of her face was covered with blood and she was sobbing, on the verge of hysterics.
Greg and one of the nurses from a nearby exam room reached the young woman at the same time and eased her onto a chair.
"I . . . I . . . fell," the woman sobbed, absently motioning toward a gash on her forehead with a jerky motion.
Greg knelt on one knee at the woman's side. The nurse trotted off toward an exam room to get some gloves other supplies. Greg looked around and spotted Dustin, the student volunteer.
"Hey," he shouted. "It's Dustin, right?" Dustin reluctantly nodded. "I need for you to go to get a gown, goggles and gloves, as well as the supplies to clean this young lady up. The person in supply will know what we need." Greg glanced over his shoulder. "Bring everything to exam room three, and let the man in the occupied room that I'll be with him shortly." Dustin didn't move. He seemed transfixed by the sight of the blood and the woman's sobbing.
Greg was getting impatient. "Dustin! Get moving! I need those supplies." Dustin's lip curled in distaste and he refused to move.
Finally, Greg had had enough. "What are you waiting for, someone to do your job for you? Get the stuff I need to help this patient!" The nurse came running back with a pair of goggles and examination gloves and gave Dustin a harried look.
"Go on, young man. Do what the doctor says," she urged as she shouldered past him and knelt at the woman's side.
"When a real doctor asks, I will," he spat. "I don't take orders from someone who can't even speak English, or from a woman!" Dustin's fists were clenched at his sides. "You all can let some foreigner give you orders, but I won't! You'll will be sorry you ever let the likes of him touch your patients."
Dustin spun toward the person who had approached from behind him. "Well, young man, there are now two doctors in the room, Dr. Layson, and me. Please leave the building. I will be in contact with your instructor about your behavior." Dustin was so angry, he was shaking. He glanced from the newly arrived doctor to Greg, who was assisting the woman in a wobbly walk to the examination room. The nurse looked over her shoulder before entering the room.
"Do you have difficulty understanding English?" The doctor's voice lowered. "I told you to leave . . . now! Dustin's gaze raked over the man before he spit at the man's feet and turned toward the clinic doors, turning over a chair as he passed.
~ to be continued ~
Thank you for taking the time to read my work. I always welcome your email and enjoy hearing your thoughts. If you would like me to send a pic of the character(s), please ask.
In addition to the first 'Phalen' story, I have three other stories you may want to read. 'Leith,' and 'Chris' are located in the Nifty College Section. The third story is called 'Wesley', and is located in the Adult Relationships section. I hope you enjoy them all.
Best wishes,
Roy Reinikainen roynm@mac.com suomalainen_abq@mac.com