Hope you are getting LOADS of enjoyment reading my stories. If you do enjoy these types of stories and the convenience of entertaining yourself with a few online clicks, PLEASE DONATE TO NIFTY.ORG .
The Client – continued Part 3 by Mads van Duessen
We showered together. Bob's hotel suite had a big walk-in shower, so it was comfortable for two men. "Goddamn you're so built," Bob observed as he stared my body up and down . . . again. "And I'm so—"
"Bob," I interrupted, "If you're going to say anything about your own body, then I need to point out the obvious."
"Which is?" he asked somewhat tentatively.
"Which IS that I – for one, and I bet I'm not unique – find you sexy as hell." Bob blushed. "I'd think that's a given, after this afternoon and just now in the other room," I added for good measure.
"Thanks for that. But MAN – I mean look at me." He gestured down at his beefier than built body. "And look at you." He gestured and looked me up and down again, his look lascivious, his cock starting to thicken.
I stepped in closer and put two hands on his shoulder, feeling his muscle structure and bones, and then I felt the other shoulder. And his pecs and lats and `ceps, bi's and tri's and then his abs under a thin layer of fat that would easily cut away if he put his mind to it. I really didn't have to do that, but I wanted to. I'd felt every bit of him when I'd massaged him, but I wanted to reinforce my assessment. And honestly I enjoyed touching him more than anything.
Bob's cock was waving in my face as I squatted down and worked my hands up and down each hip, thigh and lower leg. I looked up once, and he was looking down at me transfixed. When I looked ahead again, he had a huge, beautiful drop of precum glistening from his piss slit, which I lapped gently at with my tongue, just enough pressure to take the precum onto it, but leaving far more for him to want. "Oh fuck!" he said, and he reached back to steady himself with his hands behind him on the shower tile wall.
I laughed, and I gave his fat cockhead a kiss before I stood up again and faced him. "My assessment is this, Bob," I started, and he snapped his eyes open and faced me. "You have great body structure overall, you have great musculature, but you've not maintained it to your body's maximum potential. And I'm not talking a musclehead or body builder, just to the gay standard' for a hot bod. With what you've got to work with, within six to twelve weeks of easy but diligent work and moderate dietary discipline you could have a body that would smoke. If you wanted it, you could do the same in less time with a strict discipline, both workout and diet." I reached down and grabbed his horsecock, still waving strong and proud. "And just for good measure, on the gay scale', THIS," I gave his cock a strong squeeze, "Is at least a ten! Believe me I've done LOADS of research on this topic," I said with a smirk.
Bob smiled self-consciously. "You do my ego major good, Jerry."
"No, Bob. My profession is bodies, my specialty male bodies. That's my professional assessment. Well, all but the assessment of your big dick, and it would inappropriate of me to say my assessment of that is professional, given the nature of our association."
Bob laughed and then looked like maybe he'd made a mistake, so I laughed, too, and then he relaxed. "You said you're a physical therapist?" Bob asked, grabbing the soap and making an attempt to be nonchalant about starting to soap my pecs.
"Mmmmm, I like that," I cooed, and Bob grinned and went to work on me with less hesitation. "I'm a physiatrist – an MD with a specialty in what's generally short-handed as P, M and R, or physical medicine and rehabilitation."
Bob stopped abruptly. "You're a doctor?" he asked, obviously shocked.
I laughed. "Yeah. What's wrong – you never fucked a doctor before?"
"I, um, well, NO, I haven't!" he sputtered. Then the shy look came over him again. "Actually, I haven't been with many guys at all, Jerry, as if you couldn't tell."
I could, but it was inadvantageous to stoke his lack of self-confidence. "Well, you sure know how to enjoy and please another man, Bob," I said, which was, in fact, the truth. His equipment, his sensitivity to his partner and his innate eroticism carried him over his inexperience, unlike a lot of men who just blundered through fucking thinking if they thrust hard enough and long enough and got off that the other guy would too. That is they even thought about the other guy!
Bob was beaming at my praise. "I know you're being generous in your praise, but I also will take it!"
I waggled my eyebrows at him and reached around and grabbed his beefy asscheek. "Oh, will you now?" I teased him.
He looked a little panicked for a minute and stammered, "I, uh, I've never, well I've never had anyone, well, you know . . . " Then he looked at me very seriously. "I really want to try, but I've been too afraid, I'm embarrassed to say."
"What have you been afraid of?" My hand, which was still on his asscheek, now was where my fingers were teasing his hole.
Bob hissed as the tip of my finger pushed against his tight rim. "Oh, MAN!" he exclaimed, again reaching back to steady himself against the tiles.
"You like that, don't you?"
Bob inhaled sharply as I pressed into him and massaged his rim from the inside now. "OH FUCK YES I do!"
I stepped in and pressed my body against his, our cocks hard together between us. I kissed his chin, which was tilted up as his head was back against the tile. I pushed in a little farther, and his body tensed. His ring around my finger was like a vise.
The water cascaded from the rainwater-style showerhead, keeping us warm unnecessarily, as I felt our bodies HOT together against each other. Bob was moving his butt now some, moving with and against my intruding finger, moaning.
When I was in to the first knuckle of my middle finger, I clumsily negotiated the bottle of hotel shampoo in my other hand as I kissed his exposed neck and nibbled and kissed my way down to his clavicle. When my other hand was covered with shampoo, I moved it to his crack and very gently pulled my finger out so I could soap it up. Bob moaned plaintively when my finger moved out of him, even though I held him open by not pulling it all the way out. When I soaped his hole and my finger up and pushed back into him he hissed loudly. "OH GOD YES!"
I covered Bob's mouth with mine and kissed him hard and got my finger back in him, this time to my second knuckle, much to his obvious delight. "FUCK that's amazing!" he exclaimed as he gyrated on my finger, trying to get me farther inside him. Then I bumped his prostate with my fingertip, and he yelled, "FUUUUCCCCCKKKKK!" into my mouth and then went a little wild sucking my tongue and basically trying to suck my face.
I stood there kissing him, working his hole and button with my finger, feeling Bob getting more and more excited. I'd planned on teasing him a little, giving him some pleasure, but not much more, thinking he wasn't ready for the anal intrusion, like so many curious or newly-gay men. They wanted it, but years of conditioning prevented them from easily shedding their MIS-conceptions that to have their assess invaded meant they were less than men. In fact that was so much the opposite of the truth.
Bob, however, was loving it all, and letting me rub his inner knob, streaming expletives and praise all the while. "OH FUCK. OH FUCK. OH FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!" he was yelling, as my finger had him right on the edge for the second time. When I backed him off, he cried out, "FUCK I WAS FUCKING CLOSE! How the FUCK are you doing that to me?"
I just laughed and kissed him again and re-assaulted his prostate and enjoyed his unintelligible cry as he skyrocketed toward the edge again, quicker this time. "AAAAAAARRRRRRRJJJJJJJJJJJJAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
That time I didn't let up, and less than two minutes later he was shouting, "OHMYFUCKINGGOOOODDDDDDDDDDD I'MMMMMMMMMMMMCUUUUUUUUUUMMMMMMMMMMINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!" and his body was spasming and bucking against me, and his cumload was shooting up between our abs and chests as he blasted and gasped. "OHJESUSFUCKINGCHRISTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!" he exclaimed as he finished blasting, and for good measure I gave his knob another jab. "FUUUUUUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!" he screamed and then laughed. "OH. MY. GOD!"
I kissed his neck because his head was thrown back again. "Amazing feeling, isn't it?" I asked him.
"OH GOD, was that ever!" he exclaimed, still panting. "Is that what it's like when you . . . you know?"
"When your horsecock is balls-deep inside me and fucks me over the edge? Is that what you're asking?"
Bob blushed. "Yeah, I guess it is," he grinned, "Though I've never thought of my dick like that, to be honest."
I took a step back and grabbed my raging hard cock and held it against his now semi-soft cock. Even in that stage he was bigger than I am, and I'm above average. "Exhibits A and B, presented," I said with a laugh.
"Speaking of," he said, reaching down and taking my hardon in his hand. "How do you want me to get you off? I owe you here."
I looked at him intently. "You know what I really want?"
"I'm hoping you'll tell me," he answered very gravely, looking at me like I was about to give him the next secret to his new life of gayness.
"Unless you can't resist, then what I'd like is to leave it at this, finish our shower and get some dinner."
Bob's face fell, and he pulled his hand away. "Oh," he said, looking down, away from me.
I realized he was thinking the wrong thing. "HEY!" I said, sharper than I'd intended, and his eyes snapped up. He really was adorable, this young man. "Is my cock hard?"
His look changed to confused, and he just looked at me, still holding my cock, which was, indeed, still throbbing hard.
"Bob, IS my cock HARD?"
"Yes," he answered quickly that time.
"And do you see ANYone else around here?"
"Wh—"
"DO YOU SEE anyone else here?" I asked more sternly.
"I don't—"
"NO, you DON'T. Do you understand what I'm telling you, Marine?" I asked, even more sternly.
Bob snapped to attention, though his grip on my cock didn't change. Now THAT was cute! "Sir, I—"
I softened my delivery a bit. "The `sir' isn't necessary. Sometimes I get very command-ish."
"It's hot," he said with a grin.
I laughed, kindly, smiling at him. "What I'm telling you, Bob, is that just because I got you off doesn't mean you have to get me off. If you WANT TO, then TAKE what you want. But otherwise, we're two men, two adults, and we can let each other know what we want and need. That's the way it is with men. And just because I tell you I'd rather enjoy the sexual tension you've caused in me and enjoy the anticipation of the post-dinner sex we'll DEFINITELY have – and, no, that's not a choice!" I added with a smoldering gaze, full of filthy intent, which made him blush again, "Just because of that, you have no reason whatsoever to doubt for a millisecond that YOU are the MAN who MADE me HOT!" To emphasize, I thrust my cock into him, his grip tightening involuntarily as I did, which made me add, "Mmmmmmmmmmmm!"
"Just seems a shame to waste a great hardon is all," he smirked at me, stroking me and adding his other hand, cupping my balls. He was getting the hang of this, albeit slowly.
"Mmmmmmmmmmm!" was all I could articulate again. His hand did feel good, and the warm water, the memory of his body spasming and cumming . . . my finger causing that . . . Bob stroked me harder, and I liked that even better, and he started massaging my big balls more liberally, and I REALLY liked that. "GOD yes!" I moaned, putting my hands on his shoulders to steady myself.
"You want me to get you off?" he barked in my face.
"I want you to do what you want to do!" I retorted sharply through clipped breaths as his hands manipulated me.
Bob's stroking got more aggressive, twisting his palm around my head with every outthrust and tight down my shaft with every instroke, all the while his other hand working my balls harder and more certainly. FUCK it was GOOD!
I started fucking into his fist, and he tightened his grip, both down and up my shaft, and also when he rubbed over and around my sensitive head, and I fucked into him faster and faster.
"FUCK you're hot!" he moaned, as I felt my cock getting harder and thicker in his grip.
"YOU'RE." PANT "GETTING." PANT "ME" PANT I'd started to try and say he was getting me close when without warning an explosion went off, starting in my nuts and radiating through my entire body. I arched my back, and I clenched my hands on Bob's meaty shoulders to keep from falling, and I felt my entire body thrusting as my nuts blasted my seed out. "DON'T STOP!" I shouted, when his grip faltered slightly at my first thrust, and he gripped me again HARD, both cock and nuts, and I yelped as my body blasted harder, emptying my load. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
"FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKK that's HOTTTTTTTT!" he yelled, gripping me even harder.
I felt what turned out to be my last blast, and I collapsed into him. "Aaaaaaaaaaaa!" I cried and reached down and clenched my hand on his that had my nuts clenched in them.
Bob immediately released his grip and tried to pull away, but I held his hand there. "Not yet, just not hard afterward," I coached.
He rubbed my balls gently then in his hand, and he slowly did the same to my cock. "SSSSsssssssssssssssssssssssssss!" I hissed when his hand swiped my over-sensitized head. That time he didn't stop and did it again and again, until I was laughing like he was tickling me and trying to escape his grip, which wasn't possible, given he wasn't letting go of my nuts.
I finally got my hand on his nuts and gripped him tight enough to stop him. Laughing and grinning into his face, his hard-again cock bobbing on my hand, I asked, "Dinner or fuck me again RIGHT FUCKING NOW?" I gave his balls a yank, causing him to yelp, but his cock didn't flag.
Bob turned me around somewhat roughly and shoved me against the wall. I heard the shampoo bottle I'd used before snap open as he held me against the wall with one hand firmly on my back and then felt his soapy hand in my crack and then soaping up my hole. "Aaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhhhh!" I cried into the tile wall as he breached my entry, still store from before. Bob didn't stop at that.
He was behind me, his cockhead at my opening. "THIS!" he spat, thrusting into me as I cried out again at the brute force intrusion. "THIS is what I want!" he yelled, emphasis on the I.
"Fuck YES!" I exclaimed through clenched teeth. "Fucking TAKE what you want, stud!"
Bob did. He soundly fucked me. HARD. DEEP. RELENTLESSLY. God, it was like he hadn't cum in days, the way he slammed up into me harder and harder, the entire time spewing filthy talk. "FUCK YEAH, take that cock. You fucking love it don't you? You fucking love me fucking you, don't you? SAY IT!" he shouted.
"FUCK ME! FUCK ME WITH EVERYTHING YOU'VE GOT, STUD!" I shouted back.
Bob's thrusts became, impossibly, even harder and faster than before, and I felt him adjusting his angle until he finally got a loud "FUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!" from me as he hit my prostate. At that he kept hitting it, hard and fast. "OH FUCK OH FUCK OHFUCK OHFUCKOHFUCK . . . !"
I was babbling as I was right there again, as if I hadn't just cum myself.
"OH GOD!" Bob shouted, and as I started blasting my nuts again, so did he, drenching my mancunt with his seed again, mine splattering off the tiles on the shower wall. His pounding slams into me continued as he emptied himself into me, and each one made my entire body jolt HARD as he kept hitting my spot . . . intentionally.
I finally couldn't take it and moved so that he wasn't hitting my spot, and he got the hint and stopped thrusting. "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, BOB!" I shouted, still pounding the wall. "Where the FUCK did that come from?"
He pulled out – too fast, and I winced and sucked in a loud breath – and turned me around to face him. He pressed his body against mine and kissed me hard. And then he pulled off me, leaving me struggling to catch my breath.
My eyes were wide looking at him, and he was grinning with satisfaction. "How'd I do then?" he asked.
"How did you do?" I parroted, incredulous. "How did you fucking DO?" His grin didn't waver this time. Yes, he was learning about man on man sex. "I'll tell you how you FUCKING did!"
Bob smirked as I sputtered and tried to get my head clear. "I'm waiting for my PROFESSIONAL ASSessment," he said, lasciviously pronouncing the last word.
I laughed. "Well, THIS won't be a PROFESSIONAL assessment . . . but my ASSessment is . . . " I let him wait for it . . . "FanFUCKINGtastic!"
Bob beamed with pride. "Seriously?"
I turned around and swiped a big glob of my cum off the tile wall – the spray hadn't gotten it, and the wall was splattered with my rather formidable load, if I do say so myself. I held it up to him. "You've fucked two huge loads out of me and jacked one in the middle since I got here. I'm fucking forty years old, not a young studpup like you. YES, SERIOUSLY!" I answered him.
Bob's beaming face became heated and serious as he gave me another once-over, slowly, from head to toe and back again. "You're a fucking STUD, Jerry," he said a bit hoarsely, licking his lips. "And you've got some time before forty, right? You're thirty-nine, I think you said this afternoon?"
I laughed. "Yeah, those months will make all the difference in the world I bet!" I retorted sarcastically, rolling my eyes. "So you'd better get it while it's hot, because it'll be NOT before long!"
Bob's intense gaze remained. At length he observed in a low voice, "Your eyes are amazing, Jerry, maybe even more than your intensely hot body."
My turn to blush. For lack of a response, I took some soap, lathered my hands good and went to work cleaning up his bulbous hanging fuckmeat. Bob's eyes rolled back a little and glazed over at my touch, and he was instantly hard again. Ah, the joys of youth! I stepped in closer to him, my own cock now semi-hard – which I was pretty proud of it being that responsive after the workout it had endured – and brushing his low-hanging balls as I continued to work his cock. "Got something for me, stud?" I coaxed in a near whisper.
Bob didn't answer with words. Instead he wrapped an arm around my shoulder and held onto my opposite shoulder and pressed his lips against mine. Our chests now together, I enjoyed the feeling of his furry chest against my hard pecs and nipples. Even under the spray – and GOD were we wasting water! – the fur was tantalizing. I kissed him, and he moaned and began thrusting into my fist.
I pulled Bob into me with my free arm around his shoulders opposite his on me, and I worked his cock determinedly, as I did his mouth. I sucked his tongue and then invaded his mouth and then sucked his tongue and bit at his lip, and all of it was met with moans and groans from him and ever-faster thrusts into my fist. When I could feel his cock hard as a large-diameter lead pipe sliding in my grip and his head like a tennis ball, I knew he was close without even taking into account his mouth, now almost paralyzed, panting against my lips.
The soap lather had long since washed away, but his skin was plentiful, and jacking him was easy. I started working his cockhead, swirling my grip around it with every outstroke, and his moans for release became more frantic. I quickly got on my knees and took him into my mouth, forcing myself to take every inch of his fat bullcock and shoving my throat open WIDE to take in his enormous head. At that Bob yelled out a loud "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" and I felt his cock begin to pulse on my lips and tongue and in my throat as he began to dump his load directly into my gullet. I couldn't breathe, but I'd taken a great big breath, and I stuck it out until his last blast and then pulled off him, sucking in breath.
"JESUS, MARY and JOSEPH, that was fucking INtense!" he exclaimed in a trembling voice.
I went in for another lick over and around his still-huge purple cockhead, and he shrieked and pushed me forcefully off him. "FFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKK!" he spat as I fell backward onto my ass on the floor of the shower, laughing.
Bob looked down and looked suddenly worried. I looked up at him grinning, enjoying his momentary discomfort. "You always shove the guy who just drained your nutload off like that when you're done with him?" I taunted. When his worried look intensified, I quickly added, "That's fucking HOT!"
Bob looked confused, and then he grinned devilishly. He bent down and gave me his hand, which I took in a wrist-grip and hoisted myself to my feet. "Thanks. Now, I realize I just had a great big appetizer, but how about that dinner?" I asked.
"Is dessert still on the agenda," he asked, with a devilish grin and making the word dessert sound like the lewdest sexual act two men could undertake.
"Be careful, Bob," I teased him, reaching around and grabbing his asscheek and pulling him against me. Into his lips I added, "I've been known to REALLY PIG-out on dessert!"
He turned suddenly and hit the control for the shower, stopping it immediately. "Sooner we get dinner . . . " he said, reaching for a couple of towels.
"The sooner I get more of you . . . or maybe," I added, swatting his hairy butt, "You'll get some of ME!"
Bob spun around and looked at me like a kid asking if he could open his Christmas presents. "Would you?"
My cock had started getting hard again just at the tease of it. I looked down. "You have to ask HIM," I replied, gesturing with my chin down to my cock. When Bob looked down and licked his lips my cock jumped. "And there's your answer!" I finished.
Bob's look was transfixed, a little trepidation mixed with a ton of desire. He looked up at me seriously. "I've never done that," he admitted, a bit sheepishly.
I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder and gave him a squeeze. "Then good thing you've got plenty of time while we have some dinner to decide if that's what you want."
Bob's gaze blazed in an instant. "OH NO, I fucking WANT it!" he almost yelled. "I've fantasized about a HOT man fucking me, making me his, taking me, using my ass, just using me for his pleasure forever, just never really had a guy I was comfortable with doing it," his words coming fast and increasingly breathlessly, his eyes going from my now raging hardon to my eyes and back over and over. "Doing ME," he finished, trailing off in a hoarse breath.
"It's totally up to you, Bob," I said gently. "You can see the thought . . . appeals to me," I said with a laugh, again gesturing down to my throbbing cock with my chin.
Bob looked at my cock like a starving man, and I'll admit it stoked my desire enough that I thought about getting in him right there. But that wasn't happening . . . for several reasons, not just because of both our need for some dinner.
Bob started to take a step toward me, his hand out, reaching for my cock, but I stopped him with my hand on his chest. He looked up, startled by my refusal. Then he smiled. "Dinner," he said.
"Dinner," I agreed. "And, a matter of sensibility. If you decide later that's what you want – for me to fuck you – then for that I'll wear a condom." He looked at me with a worried look, and I quickly explained. "Look, I know I'm clean, and you said you are, too. But your first time, it's possible – though I'll do everything to the best of my ability to avoid it by taking as long to get you ready as necessary – but it's possible that you could bleed." Bob flinched when I said it, and I felt him tense under my hand, flat on his furry chest. "It's just a reality, Bob, and no way am I going to tell you something you already know to be true, that there's risk to what we've been doing. I'm certainly more . . . accustomed to bottoming, though I'll admit that bullmeat you call a cock was a challenge, and I'll be sitting down VERY carefully at dinner!"
At least that got a laugh from him . . . and a bit of a self-satisfied smile. Ah, yes – always count on a male ego!
We dried, dressed and talked about where to go. The reservations we'd had were blown, but I was certain we could still get into that steak house anyway, maybe a little wait at the bar. Bob told me he didn't drink, and then he immediately asked if it would be easier for me to "bust" his "cherry" if he was drunk. I told him I didn't drink, either, and I would no way "bust" his "cherry" if he was drunk, even if I was certain he'd gotten drunk because he wanted to ease things for himself. He got that, and he kissed me sweetly and asked me how it was I was single.
I didn't tell Bob much about my past. We talked during our walk to the restaurant and over a seltzers in the bar and then a great dinner – man-sized steak and all the trimmings – expansively, but years of training had my ability to give satisfying non-answers honed to perfection. I thought. At a very pleasant and companionable lull in our conversation Bob surprised me.
"I know and am very good at keeping secrets, Jerry." He let that sink in, meeting my surprised look. "And I also respect anyone's discretion on what he chooses to tell me or not, so I won't press you."
I was speechless. I really thought I'd pulled off my usual more-clever-than-anyone-else-in-the-room evasion to any questions of substance about me or my past. Bob, apparently, I'd underestimated.
I gave some thought to how to play this. I could stand my ground, probably ruin any chance for anything to develop with him. WHOA, that even sounded crazy! WHEN had I decided something would develop with him . . . with anyone, for that matter? Sure I enjoyed him, both physically and also talking with him for the past two hours on top of what little conversation we'd shared earlier. And sure, he'd said he was moving here and would like, if it was even a possibility – which I said it was, to get to know me and to "see" me. And actually I enjoyed the possibility of that, certainly had enjoyed the sex with him and enjoyed that a young, handsome man like he would be interested in me, particularly when I discovered that he was at minimum my intellectual equal.
Or I could take a chance and open up. I might not even be able to, I'd closed myself to that so very long ago. I probably couldn't, in fact. And I would never, ever go back to the way I had to live when I was still in the Corps, in covert ops and, basically had to lie to everyone about everything or be sent home in a box. And that was IF my tortured body was found! NO WAY! I'd vowed I'd never lie about myself again to anyone once I was a civilian. And FUCK! I'm not even a civilian, still in the Reserves, and even though I'm on purely medical posting, your past service has a way of echoing through your present when your life is controlled by the United States Department of Defense.
"Hey, Jer," Bob was saying. I looked up, as if from an engrossing read, and I guess he could see I'd been far off. "Sorry I pried, Jerry," he apologized sincerely.
His hand was on the table, and I did something that surprised me – I reached across and put my hand on his. I looked directly into his eyes, took a big breath and took the chance. I looked him straight in the face and spoke softly, so he had to lean in a bit to hear me. He didn't make any move to take his hand away from mine, and I didn't move mine. Right then, he was my anchor.
"I was orphaned at fourteen. My parents – or, rather, my alcoholic mother and stepfather I had since I was seven, who used me for a punching bag whenever he felt like it until I got big enough and strong enough to add my tenacity and came up with a surprisingly devastatingly winning combination one summer night – they were killed in a drunk driving accident. My long-gone father was not found, and my mother had no siblings or any other relatives who claimed me, and I doubt there was an effort to find any relations of my step-dad's.
"I was in a boys' group home, which was, surprisingly, not terrible, at least not compared to my home life, with one of my younger brothers. My other brother was at a different state facility, one that was geared toward really young children."
Bob held my gaze and listened, his face reacting empathetically, but saying nothing, letting me talk.
"I was in and out of maybe eight different foster homes, all horrors of different types. I was a commodity – a teenager, so I could be used to watch other children, to provide stud service and various and sundry other things."
Bob blanched at my admission, but remained silent.
"I had no word of my brothers – never during those three plus years – despite my pleas and attempts to compel the agencies that saw to our," and I made air quotes with my free left hand, "So-called well-being.
"OK, enough of the sob story, but you get the drift of my youth. On my eighteenth birthday I walked into a recruiting office. I was well-built, having taken every opportunity to get my body in great shape and keep myself strong to fight off the older foster brothers and foster," and again I used air quotes, "Dads, who liked to use me to satisfy their widely diverse and perverse sexual urges."
Bob looked like he might cry. I put up my hand and shook my head.
"I said enough of that. Sorry for that slip back into the lurid narrative. I walked into the recruiting office, and I was smart enough – for which I have no explanation – to make enough of an impression to get the advanced aptitude tests, which I aced. I guess it was really force of will – that was my chance to change my life, and I knew it. Otherwise I'd probably end up frying burgers somewhere.
"I was offered a couple of paths, and I picked the longest one, so I wouldn't have to think about choices for as long as possible. The Naval Academy, then medical school, then special ops support, which is everything you have ever seen in a cheesy espionage movie or read in a novel of the same type, with men injured, maimed and in places with little ability to treat them far beyond basically saving their lives for long enough to get them somewhere where they could get put back together, both from their injuries and from the butchering we gave them to," again the air quotes, "Save them."
I took a breath and was bolstered by the intensity of Bob's interest and his willingness to continue listening without interrupting.
"Then I got promoted in rank and then I got sent to combat zones that were worse than before and then I got involved with some major covert ops, and finally I had done enough that a general, who was advising me that I was making the jump to a light colonel shortly in recognition for, if the truth was known, being a good soldier and not blowing the lid on a botched op that got many men killed and injured, so he offered me the opp to choose my next posting.
"I chose to go to a joint branch hospital and really BE a doctor. And there I saw the aftermath, the men who needed help surviving after they'd survived. So I ultimately became a physiatrist.
"And six months before I hit twenty years – almost three years ago now – I put in for my retirement and walked the day I was eligible and confirmed with a twenty-year service pension.
"And here I am," I said with a bittersweet smile. "Almost forty, with all the ghosts of my past well compartmentalized, all those who hurt me forgiven, most forgotten, making a good living and actually doing what I like doing."
I stopped, and I took a drink of the fizzy water we'd been drinking with our dinner. I laughed when I got a lemon seed in my mouth, opened to show it to Bob, then bit down, chewed it up and swallowed it, laughing more. "Tough as nails, but a gentle touch," I said, sing-song, like a tagline from an ad. "Maybe I should use that if I ever have to advertise."
I was suddenly aware that I was still holding Bob's hand, and I looked down gravely. I started to take my hand away, self-conscious, but Bob's words stopped me. "Unless you want to, don't. I like it," he told me with a smile, and he turned his hand in mine and rubbed my hand with his thumb.
It occurred to me later that neither he nor I ever looked around to see if two men were holding hands in the high-end steakhouse we were enjoying on Bob's expense account. He'd insisted, by the way, that he was on all-expenses-paid by his soon-to-be employer, and that a nice dinner was on THEM. It struck me as not quite right, but I deferred to him, as it was his business, not mine, and the invitation gave him pleasure. And though the light, enjoyable conversation we'd had before became somber and grave when I decided to spew my back story, leaving us connecting on both the level of intimacy inspired by confidences and also by touch, it never got weird or overly meaningful.
Bob thanked me for telling him about me. "I like that I know something about you. I'm an open book, as you could tell from my disclosures and questions to you," he laughed. "Sorry if I overdid it there with a bunch of boring crap about my life as a software developer. But we at least have something in common – I work for a company that works for the Defense department, and you are retired from the Marines. That's got to be a foundation for something!"
I chuckled at that. "I'm not certain I could calculate the degrees of Kevin Bacon on that one!" I said.
"You're a third," Bob said, very matter-of-factly.
I just looked at him and tried to reason it out. "OK, so you work for someone who works for the D O D; that's two. And I worked for someone who was part of the D O D, but that probably counts as two steps. Hmmm."
Bob just laughed. "I was talking about Kevin Bacon."
"Now I'm really confused!" I admitted.
Bob laughed again and squeezed my hand. "The company I work for now, the TV show that Kyra Sedgewick was in used our building and lobby as a filming spot for some of their episodes, and I met her."
He could see I was still just as confused.
"Kyra Sedgewick, married to Kevin Bacon, I met her, and I, uh, well, I know you!"
"OHHHH!" I said. "Forgive my gay imparity – I'm not really up on movie stars. Hell, I don't even know who Kyra Sedgewick is, other than now I know she's Kevin Bacon's wife, or at least was when you met her. Oh, and I think `know' is a good verb for us, at least in the," and I threw up air quotes with my free hand again, grinning, "Biblical sense, as they say! Which leads me to . . . DESSERT," I proclaimed, with as much dirty inflection as I could imbue into it.
We both laughed heartily at that, and neither of us noticed that our well put together even-younger-than-Bob waiter, who'd been professional, but also very . . . friendly, had materialized. "Well, sounds like my timing is perfect," he said, starting to hand down two dessert menus to us as. "I'll have your dinner plates cleared in a moment here. How about some coffee with your dessert?"
I'll give him credit – all evening he'd been on the other side of our table, the one we were holding hands on now. But now he was on the other, so we didn't have to stop holding hands if we didn't want to in order to take the menus.
We both burst out with even stronger, louder laughter at him and the dessert menus, and if Bob was on the same page with me, he was thinking that coffee was NOT what we needed with the dessert we had planned. The young, studly waiter smiled, but was obviously not getting the joke.
I was about to say no thank you when Bob took the lead. "The dessert we are about to have would get us arrested if we had it here in the restaurant!" he said boldly.
Our waiter's eyes brightened – hell, his whole face brightened. "Well, gentlemen," his grin filthy, "In that case I'll bring your bill A S A P!" He added a lewd wink.
When he did bring us our bill, he was more staid, but enthusiastically wished us a good night. Upon opening the folder to slip in his credit card, Bob's eyes looked first confused, and then he laughed and passed me a small piece of paper which had obviously been torn from a notepad and included.
I looked at it and joined Bob in a laugh. Printed on it in neat letters, it read:
For a GREAT (PLEASE!) time, call me ANYtime
and his number. I said, "Well, Bob, looks like your opportunities here are MANY. Told you you're a sexy guy!" I passed the note back with a laugh.
Bob blushed first, then his face clouded and he looked down. Speaking at the note, which I'd passed back to him, he said softly, "I don't think I'm that guy." And then he started as our cute waiter, Jake, came and quietly picked up the folder with Bob's credit card with a broad smile at both of us when he saw Bob holding the note. "Shit, that was awkward," he swore.
"Bob, relax. Remember the shower?"
This time his confused look was more infused with bewilderment than I'd seen it . . . at first. And then his grin returned. "He's just taking what he wants?" he asked.
I smiled. "Well, I guess that depends on you, doesn't it? But yeah, he's putting it out there."
Bob sighed, but he was smiling still. "I've got a lot to learn, don't I?" And then his face went to horrified.
"What?"
"I just realized," he whispered, now bending into the table toward me, his eyes darting about as if looking for spies listening to us. "HE might be expecting a, uh, what's that called?"
"A . . . HOT man to call him?" I asked with an indulgent whisper back to him.
"No, no – you know what I mean. A menage a trois!" Bob spat, still whispering.
I threw my head back and laughed, not only because of his horror but also at his choice of words . . . right as our waiter was behind him, but Bob hadn't known he was there, passing as he said it.
Bob went red and threw himself back in his chair as if he'd been slapped.
Jake just put the folder down and said, as if nothing whatsoever was going on, yet full of meaning. "Well, gentlemen, if there's anything else I can get you," and he smiled first at Bob and then at me, each for extra seconds, "Just let me know," he finished, shooting a glance to his note, which Bob still had in his hand. Bob looked stricken. I just thanked the waiter, and he left, still smiling.
"Bob, you're overthinking this. That," I said, indicating the note, "Is an option, not an expectation."
Bob gave that some thought. When he started to speak, he stopped and stayed silent, closing his mouth. I reached out and put my hand on the table where it had been when he was holding it before. He got the message and took it, a slight tremor in his hand.
I rubbed the back of his big hand with my thumb, and he relaxed instantly. "Put the note in your pocket. It's an option. What you do with it is your choice. And you'll either make the day – and probably the week – of that hot young waiter if you decide to call, or you won't. And everyone's lives will go on."
Bob was pensive for a bit more. Then he looked me hard in the eyes. "To be totally honest," he started, "I think I want to see this – you and me," and he gestured with his other hand to me and then to himself, "Through before I think about options for . . . menages or whatever."
I smiled. "I like your honesty. And I'm not great at sharing, personally." I squeezed his hand and grinned. "Now . . . about that dessert."
Hope you enjoyed reading my story. If you have enjoyed and if you do enjoy these types of stories and the convenience of entertaining yourself with a few clicks, PLEASE donate to nifty.org.