A gay story: There’s Something about Seth Pt. 02 Hamlet had his surfeit of sorrows. I have the opposite. A surfeit of good stuff. Seth and I have been in this relationship for almost five months and I still don’t know what our relationship is, other than really, really good. Well, mostly. I’m spending two or three nights in a row at his place and, like I said, it’s really good. Mostly. He’s been out to my cabin in the woods several times. It is a bit rustic for his successful attorney lifestyle but he’s adapting and it’s good. Really good. Mostly. But let’s be honest, nothing is really good always. Right?
So what’s the big deal, you might ask. Well, it’s February fourteenth. That’s right, Valentine’s Day. I’m 43 years old and I’ve never given a thought to that phony Hallmark holiday other than to say fuck Valentine’s Day. I’ve gone along with the charade several times with various women where we’ve both known that our “love” was not going anywhere, and the best outcome would be dispirited sex because, despite even the most spectacular climax, we were both, on some level, faking it. But I don’t know what this relationship with Seth is. It’s my first steady thing with a guy. Obviously, it’s different than any previous relationship. Seth says it isn’t, but it is to me. And I wonder if it’s real or am I, on some level, faking it. Fucking Valentine’s Day. I better figure it out.
Our first time together was the best day of sex I had ever had. It was hot and passionate, for sure, but there was another thing I had never felt before. When I was inside him and he was clinging to my cock with his very core, a connection opened and there was a masculine union that was soulful, transcendent. It felt great to fuck a woman. It was other worldly to fuck Seth.
The next morning I was craving more of that crazy good man-love. I awoke to the wafting aroma of fresh coffee. We had breakfast on his patio and I was ready to resume amours right there on the chez. Instead he told me to chill on the couch. A while later he appeared in long sheer stockings, a thong, and a corset. His make-up was modest yet beguiling and it revealed the most desirable man I had ever seen. I discovered a fascination I found irresistible. I was utterly enchanted. I couldn’t look away. The rest of that day might have lasted forever and I would never have been sated. I was captivated and I had no desire to break free.
Since then it had been like I was involved with two different men. No, that’s wrong. I’m always with the same great guy who is two different people. No, two different persons. See how hard it can be to figure out? But despite my confusion, it’s going really, really good. Mostly.
There is that rushed intimacy of the workday morning, usually a shower together with lots of mutual scrubbing, and soapy caresses, and lots of wanton kissing that leaves us both painfully aroused as we throw on our clothes, grab a to-go mug of Guatemalan coffee and are off. For the rest of the day it is like his hands are on me still, and I can suddenly become untethered by a tactile yearning for his flesh in my hands.
The weekend mornings are so very different. Waking too early, then grabbing an armful of the man beside me and drifting back to sleep. When I awaken again it’s because of a bladder, Seth’s or mine, it doesn’t matter. So he or I goes to pee. Then the other one replaces him at the toilet. Once sufficiently drained, we return to the bed and doze and caress until one of us, usually me, is swept into the quickening of arousal. The rising current captures us in chutes of lips, and mouths, and undulating flesh, then the onrush of an early-morning orgasm. What follows is like floating on a languid pool. We can laze there all morning. The receding roar of passion so close behind, the gathering rush of more roiling passion ahead.
And then there is coming home to each other at the end of the day. Most of the time we wind down slowly. Talk. Laugh. Seth is so damn funny, and smart. His humor is never snarky or mean. It’s wry, or ironic, or absurd but always with an insight to be had. I often riff with him and, since we have evolved our own idiosyncratic sense of humor, we go back and forth like an old vaudeville act, laughing until we collapse into each other’s arms. Then just kissing, and more kissing.
Good god, Seth is a great kisser. His deep soul kisses are like being enveloped by a moist, lush, sloppy sex organ that is relentlessly seeking deeper. His teasing, tender kisses, well … One evening, Seth put Chopin’s Nocturnes on the stereo and laid beside me in the flickering glow of a blazing fire. His lips were as the piano keys. Light and delicate, touching mine in rhythm to the longing notes. Then an arpeggio of building, teasing encounters, slightly gushy but terse, climbing a scale of passion. Then deep bass notes, slower, more resonate, further into the nether realms. Chopin wrote a lot of nocturnes and we lay on the floor before the fire as Seth kissed me through every single one. Sweat Jesus, the man can kiss.
Still …
I ran into Beth. Why she was at the lumber yard, I never got around to asking. We just gabbed. Just like we used to, with a peppering of laughter and a few tender moments. She looked great. My thoughts wandered. There was a vibe between us. It whispered coquettishly, “Maybe we should try again?” A wistful voice in my head said that it would be cool this time. As a couple, we had been invited everywhere. And on the sensual plane of hetero-love, we excelled. Our growth as lovers kept things real and fresh. Now, that coquettish whisper suggested that our time apart had provided perspective, that we would appreciate each other this time. And then big bonus: I could be in a couple again out among my friends.
Seth and I are an inside couple. Behind closed doors, Seth says without humor. I say, Why not? Inside, we are uninhibited and unfettered. Our intimacy begins the moment I walk through the door. We are always touching and such wonderful things happen behind those closed doors.
The other night, we were loading the dishwasher when he suggested I go sit on the couch and wait for him. He wouldn’t be long, he said, “but don’t get too involved in a TV show. You won’t be seeing how it ends.”
I knew what was happening and I was delighted. Still, I’m never quite prepared for what I see. Seth appeared in a lavender body stocking that clung to his torso like a shimmering chrysalis. It was crotchless and he wore a matching thong underneath. His svelte legs were sheathed in sheer black thigh-high stockings. His beautiful lips were a faint sheen of purple that hinted at a supple softness. Dark liner lent his sulky eyes allure that was accentuated by a slash of light blue eyeshadow.
I didn’t have to say it. He could read it in my eyes. But some things demand to be said anyway. “You look stunning. You are the most beguiling man I could ever imagine.”
His smile was slight but I could tell he was pleased. Seth relished the effect he had on me, how utterly he commanded my longing, how easily he could incite my lust. He sauntered toward me slowly, then spun. The body stocking was cut out around his luscious ass and the thong disappeared between his firm cheeks. He bent forward. His satin clad package was held tightly to his prize. He did that thing he does, that Seth dance, where his ass-cheeks jounce as his hips sway. It’s hypnotic, entrancing, and I was mesmerized. He watched over his shoulder as my face flushed and my eyes fired with desire. Then he spun again and approached.
I was perched upon the sofa’s edge, my arms wide and awaiting. He stopped an aching arm’s length away. My hands caressed his thighs through the glistening black fabric. His cock was clearly outlined within the sheer lavender pouch. I stroked the inner traces of his thighs and watched in fascination as the blood coursed to his cock, making it strain against the thong. Gently, my arms encircled his glistening thighs, drawing him closer. I placed the form of his cockhead between my lips and breathed a hot slow breath so he could sense the heat of my passion.
On nights like this, when Seth reveals his feminine self, our lovemaking is very different. It’s hard to describe without sounding pretentious. I could say it’s the difference between Coltrane and Gershwin, and right after you stopped retching you’d wonder which is which? (Masculine Seth is Coltrane and feminine Seth is pure Rhapsody In Blue.) Metaphors and similes miss the point because it’s not like he’s two different things. He is the same person but in two different lights. Maybe think of it that way: like a beautiful garden in full spectrum light of noon and the same garden in the lush golden hour of waning day. Still pretentious but that’s the best I can do.
That night he rode me slow and strong. Our wedge pillow was behind him so he would not fatigue. My cock was awash in his delicious self. He would rise and pull the flesh of my shaft upward. I felt my ineffable essence rise with him and gather in the last inch of our tight cloying connection. Then he would twerk his hips as he descended in a slow hoochie-kooch, swaddling my manhood as it swirled ever deeper within him. His silken black stockings would graze the tender flesh of my ribs and his lavender-stockinged body undulated between my knees. I freed him from the thong and was mesmerized by the metronomic sway of his hard cock. He read the building ecstasy in my eyes and ceased his dance with me fully impaled within him.
Then it was my turn. I took his beautiful hard cock between the fingertips of both hands and teased it mercilessly. I would skate dancing fingers across his plush cockhead and make glancing circles over the electric nerves beneath. I would deeply massage the bottom-most flesh at the base and race up and down the tight ridge of his shaft. All the while, I would crane my buried cock within his tight cavern and sway my hips so my hardness would rub across his hot, swollen spot. His breath would be a slow mewling keen of pleasure punctuated by gasps of delight as I played my fingers across those special places that I knew so well. His passion built until dangerously close to erupting and I would stop.
That was how our lovemaking went that night, each bringing the other to the edge of bliss, then retreating as the other took charge. We pleasured ourselves for as long as our restraint would allow. Then, as I was stroking his cock, he started riding my manhood with a rising intent. Within seconds he sent forth a fountain of cum causing his core to contract and writhe against my hardness and I could not contain my loins any longer. My jizz erupted into his deep embrace. When we finally disentangled,
Seth wrapped me in his arms and we ended with a kiss. Always a kiss.
_____________________
“What?”
I realized I had been staring at him over the dinner table. “Nothing,” I replied.
“Something’s on your mind. What is it?”
I busied myself pushing edamame around my plate. I wasn’t sure what words to say. Finally, I stammered, “Umm, it’s just … I want you to do me.”
“What?”
“I want you to do me.”
“Really? You said you weren’t into that.”
“I’m not. I mean I wasn’t. But I want to do it with you. I want you to be the one.”
“Okay. Can I ask why you suddenly want me to “do” you?”
“I don’t know. I guess … You’re always giving yourself to me. I want to give myself to you in the same way.”
“Okay?” He wasn’t convinced.
“I guess I want to feel what you feel. I want … When we make love, I try to give myself to you, my whole self. And it seems that you receive me – my whole, entire, utter me – when we make love.”
“I do.”
“I guess I want to get you – your whole, entire self – in the same way. Does that make sense?”
“It does when you put it that way. Okay, if you’re absolutely sure, I’d love to “do” you. When?”
“Tonight. I want you to do me tonight.”
He took my hand from across the table and his eyes were lovingly on mine. “It would be my pleasure.”
After the dishes were put away, he led me to the bathroom and gave me some instruction in sexual hygiene. Frankly, it was more involved than I had imagined. Then he left me alone.
When I was done, I set my trap and beckoned, “Sailor! Oh, Sailor!”
He entered the bedroom to see me splayed face down on the bed with my legs spread wide and my pink virgin ass twinkling lasciviously in the air. He burst out laughing and I joined in. It was a self-conscious joke meant to break the tension, and I was so glad he got it. We laughed together but maybe a little too long.
“Your ass is a beautiful sight, I just wasn’t expecting anything quite so … brazen.”
“It was beautiful?” My vulnerability showed and my vulnerability almost never shows.
“Yes, it truly was beautiful. And very sexy. You have the sexiest ass in town.”
“Next to yours.”
“Well, it would be immodest for me to say it but you’re right.”
What happened next was pretty much what always happens. Which is to say our intimacy was deliciously bawdy and tender until one of his blowjobs ended with him going further south.
His tongue bathed my rosebud. And, although I had done the same to him dozens of times, it felt terribly forbidden and wanton, and kind of luscious. I resigned myself to a luxuriating pleasure session. I relaxed my fundament, my last barrier, and accepted that my lover was initiating me to a new dimension of intimacy.
Then I felt it there. The cock that I loved so much, that I had kissed, and caressed, and sucked deeply down my throat me, the plump head of that cock was now pressing against my most nether portal. My inner angels sparred over morality, and propriety, and physiology, but my innermost soul wanted only one thing. That beautiful cock deep inside me.
I’m kind of a stalwart guy, but I cried out. He asked if I was okay. He asked several times over the occasion if I was okay and, of course, I always answered yes, though I was not sure. He was slow and gentle, still it was not pleasant. It felt intrusive and gargantuan. When he had penetrated me to the hilt, he paused. I relaxed and considered the situation. It was Seth. It was his cock that was expanding my universe. I managed to gather both the breath and the presence to ask him “Is it good?” With a trembling, rapturous voice, he told me it was magnificent. I understood.
He began to move within me. I forced myself to accept his cock, to be open. He asked, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Keep going.”
He slowed to a stop. “Try to relax, Babe. Feel the warmth, the joy.” He kissed me tenderly as he started to move again.
It became easier but the warmth I felt was more friction than welling gladness. Maybe my head was getting in the way. I kept thinking about what was happening, analyzing instead of being swept away. The problem, I thought, was that my prostate was too deep or that it was naturally insensitive. Or, more likely, that I just couldn’t get past the fact that there was a large cock up my ass.
Then I noticed the transformation in Seth’s beautiful face. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes clouded, his mouth agape. His usual grace was gone. He was on a different plane of existence and I realized I was seeing a third Seth. A primal Seth. His movements became thrusting. Penetrating. His breathing came in grunts punctuated with quaking, rapturous gasps.
I forgot my discomfort and became enthralled within his rising abandon. A sense of union – manly union – swept over me. My ass became enlivened. I clutched him with the core of myself, both the sex and the soul. I pressed to meet his thrusts. I kegeled his manhood. I urged him on, “Oh, Baby, I want it. I want you.”
Suddenly I witnessed the fireworks go off in his eyes. His cheeks burned crimson as convulsions of ecstasy exploded across his face. He pitched and heaved, groin to ass, as he ejaculated deep within me. And when he melted atop me, I realized it was me who had done that to him. That it was my loving ass that transported him to that final rapturous end. I felt fulfilled.
We lay in each other’s arms for a long while. It seemed that Seth, the consummate litigator, was speechless. “Was I any good?” I asked.
He smiled and sighed. “Amazing. How do you feel?”
“Well fucked.”
“Me, too.”
I kissed him as he rested. I continued to lay tiny kisses on his cheek, his neck, his chest until he slept. I joined him in slumber with my cock still hard and my balls utterly blue and happy for it. I had given it up for my man and he gave his whole self to me.
____________________
It got ugly one night. Totally out of hand.
“You want to hit me, don’t you?”
“No. I would never hit you.”
“You’re a fucking liar. You’re itching to lay me out. Shut me up. You want to hit me so bad you can taste it. Go ahead.”
He was in my face. Too close. “For fuck sake, Seth. Give me some space. Lets both just calm the fuck down.”
“We can’t even go get a beer together. You’d die if someone saw us together. Well, guess what? They all know. You don’t think people haven’t seen your truck out front? Night after night? Everyone knows! And nobody cares. Nobody but you.”
“Stop your fucking shouting.”
“You’re a fraud! A phony! A coward.”
“Seth, get out of my face. And quit screaming at me.”
“You’re afraid you won’t be the big stud around town. The ladies won’t fall over themselves for you. Like Beth. Or Sharon, Or whatever tourist twat is passing through. “Stay away from him,” someone will say. “He’s light in the shorts. He’s a closet fag.””
“That’s it. I’m out of here.”
“You’re only running away from yourself, Asshole.”
That was the last I heard from him that night. Or that week. Or longer. I’ve never been so pissed in my life. I went to bed pissed and I woke up pissed. I justified to myself, “We don’t all get to the same place at the same pace.” But it was easy for him. He was the gay man who picked up and turned the straight guy. I mean it’s a spectrum. I was very happily hetero with some discrete dabbling with gay guys. I’m, like, two-thirds into women, or more. Swinging all the way over into a gay monogamous scene is way too far. And there’s no going back. A woman can have a lesbian fling and get right back in the dating pool with men. A guy? No way. Your prospective pool has evaporated down to just the gay end. Women were no longer interested. Think about that. I sure as hell did.
A lifetime. I’m 43 and I have never thought further than the end of whichever relationship I was in at the time, which had always been with a woman, and with the end always looming. That was fine with me. If that left me without a soul mate for my declining years, so be it. The prospect of slowly decaying in front of your “loved one’s” eyes made me nauseated anyway. No way. Ain’t nobody saying to me “Dear, I think it’s time we have a talk about diapers.” Likewise, I’m not bringing that subject up to someone else.
I kept thinking maybe the end was looming with this thing with Seth, no matter how great it seemed, just like all the other relationships that end with a crash and burn. I mean, I can’t imagine picking up with another guy after him. I’ll want to go back to women. I need to keep my options open.
Over the next week, the anger dissolved into a stubborn silence that eventually became unbearable. I missed my buddy. But, hell no, I’m not going to be the one. Not after what he said, how he acted. Still, I’d wind up with the phone in my hand, his number a finger tap away.
He texted on Thursday, the 11th day of the Big Freeze.
“Wanna make plans for the weekend?”
“Can’t. Busy.”
“Don’t be this way. I miss you like crazy.”
“If you want to come out and help that would be cool. In fact, it might be just the thing.”
“You’re not going to dump my body deep in the woods, are you?”
“Not funny. I would never have hit you. Did you really want me to? The way you were begging? That was some sick shit.”
“You’re right. Not funny. I’m so sorry. Just wanna see you. What’s the plan?”
“Pick you up at 4 PM sharp. Friday. Wear work clothes.”
“I’m an attorney. Suits are my work clothes.”
“And gloves. Wouldn’t want a blister on those soft hands.”
When I arrived, he was wearing some Timberland boots that looked like they had never touched dirt. I’d wear those boots to a wedding. “Are you sure? They’ll be ruined.”
He checked out the chainsaw in the pick-up bed, along with the maul, sledge, steel wedges, gas cans, etc. But I think it was the lowboy trailer with sideboards that worried him the most. “What are we doing?”
“It’s almost October in the Ozarks and I live in a cabin. We’re gonna put back wood for the winter.”
I drove across a cattle guard and into a field. My neighbor wanted to enlarge his pasture and had knocked down a dozen oak trees. I had already cut them up into lengths that were ready to split. The splitting was my job. Seth’s was to stack the firewood in the lowboy trailer.
“Pack it tight in straight rows to the top of the sideboard and a little bit higher. Gotta be tight.”
I started to split with the 8-pound maul. I would pause at the top of my swing. Then put my whole body into a blow that was precise and incredibly powerful. The wood splintered beneath the force. Then I would stand the pieces and repeat until every piece was right for a wood stove.
Seth flinched at the sight. “Jesus.” He felt the shockwave of the blow beneath his feet. “That’s hard work. We’re going to fill that trailer? Don’t they have machines to do that?”
“This is how I work through my issues.”
“I’ve got a few issues, can I give it a try?”
I gave him a lesson and set up an easy log. The maul was heavy in his hands and he didn’t control his swing. The maul went careening off the side of the log and buried in the dirt mere inches from his toes.
“Want to know what you did wrong?”
“No. I’m done. You’re just going to have to abide my issues.”
Before dark, I had split about a rick and Seth had carried and stacked it in the lowboy. I could tell by how he got out of the truck at my cabin that he was already a bit stiff. As we ate on the deck, I finally broached the subject. “Should we talk?”
“I think the issue remains the same. Unless the position of the parties has changed,” Seth reasoned like the attorney he is, “there’s no point. Has your position changed?”
“No.”
“Then let’s not repeat a painful fight.”
I knew he was tired and I wanted to pamper him, so I bound his hands loosely to the headboard with a slack satin restraint. He could easily shake free but I knew he wouldn’t. Likewise, I restrained his ankles such that his legs were spread wide. I had his head cradled gently between my arms as I lavished tiny kisses on his eyelids, ears, nape, and, of course, his soft, full lips.
I released his head. He opened his eyes to find mine were hovering mere inches above his. So much was spoken within our gaze. Apologies, affection, and the deep longing each of us had for the other. I eased my lips to his. He was powerless, bound, and vulnerable, yet utterly at ease. I kissed his lips slowly and gently, my fingertips stroking his cheek. “I’m sorry,” I whispered into his ear.
When we had used restraints before, it had been my objective to torment him with caresses in all his most tender places, from his nape to his toes. I would edge his cock with my lips and tongue, and tickle his taint with fingers and tongue and my plush cockhead. I would take advantage of his total exposure to my whims until he was writhing and begging for relief. Then when I finally allowed him that release, his cum spewed in great arcs across his chest and stomach. That allowed me one last torment as I tickled and lapped at his jizz, leaving swaths of wet trails as my tongue corralled every last drop then sucked his cock clean.
But not tonight. Tonight, I massaged his weary muscles as I kissed each tender nerve ending. My lips lightly swaddled his plump cockhead as moist fingers stocked circles around the rosebud of his ass. He lay dormant, allowing no more effort than a moan or a dulcet sigh. And when finally he came, it was into my welcoming mouth as I milked his shaft with soft fingers.
I kissed him and crooned “Go to sleep now.”
“No. Leave me bound and fuck me slowly and gently, and cum like a whisper.”
“What?”
“I know if you just fuck me slow, after all we’ve been through, all the heart-ache and estrangement, you’ll cum like a whisper from the bottom of your heart.”
“I don’t know if I can climax so lyrically.”
“I do. Please just enter me. Slowly.”
With his hands restrained over his head and his legs splayed wide, I kissed him. Then I positioned a pillow under his hips and did as he said. I entered him. I was deliberately slow. He welcomed me to his core. Our eyes were locked.
“That’s it,” he said as his eyes glazed. “Nice and slow. And lo-o-ong. Oh, I love the way you fuck me.”
I was lost in his eyes, as well as in his soul’s embrace. I stroked him with my manhood, deeply, slowly, soulfully.
“Feel that?” He asked expecting no answer. “That’s my love for you. Here I am bound and exposed, helpless except for my love. And I give that to you fully and freely even when I am bound and utterly vulnerable. Feel it?”
I did. With languid strokes, I was engulfed in his exquisite loving. It was warm and tight, and it clenched at my cock with a desire all its own.
“I’m helpless and I’m yours to have.”
There was a slow, hot inexorable welling in my loins and I felt my whole being swell.
“All you have to do is want my love and it’s yours.”
Even my quivers were slow.
“All you have to do is want me and my love is yours.”
And like a whisper, and with a simpering sigh, I came deep inside this beautiful man. Then we both slept.
The next morning, I had to roll Seth out of bed. “Come on, Lazybones, if we get a good day in today, we can laze in bed tomorrow morning.”
“I demand to speak to my Union Rep.”
“You just did. That’s hot coffee you smell and frying ham. Scrambled eggs are coming up but you gotta hurry.”
If you know what a rick of firewood is, you know that hand-splitting five of them in one day is a Paul Bunyan-esque feat.
We took a break after a couple of hours. There was good Guatemalan coffee in the thermos. It was a cool Fall day and the trees were doing a very respectable imitation of Monet. I fired a joint and passed it to Seth.
“How you holding up?”
“Don’t worry, I’m keeping up. But, damn, this coffee hits the spot.”
We let the beauty of the Autumn Day take us on a mystery tour. There was magic to be found there. Things to marvel at. Things to feel. Things to take in and just think “Wow”.
“I feel sorry for people who don’t experience this feeling,” I mused. “Working up a sweat, surrounded by nature and the lingering wafts of cow patties …” Seth laughed and nodded, “but the air smells so sweet, and the quiet is filled with crows squawking, and coffee tastes so …” A mechanical clanking approached in the distance. “… and then Charley drives up.”
The landowner’s truck clamored over the hilltop and made its way to us. Charley stopped almost on top of us. “I see you got some help this year.” Charlie sidled out of the truck to shake Seth’s hand. “Good to see you gettin’ some fresh air, Mr. Jacobson.”
“Call me Seth, Charley.”
“Okay, SethCharley.” This tickled the man. “Hey, I appreciate your help on that property line thing.”
“Glad to do it.” Seth was sincere. He always was. “How are things working out?”
Well, He’s stayin’ on his side of the fence. That’s all I can ask.”
“We got some coffee left,” I offered. “You got a cup?”
Charley reached behind him and raised a can of cheap beer. “I’m good.” He took a healthy chug. “Just checkin’ to see how my new pasture’s coming along.”
“Good, I’d say. How’s your woodpile?”
“Don’t you worry about that.”
Seth asked, “So you split your own wood, too?”
Charley scoffed, “Hell no!” He pointed to me. “I never want to work as hard as this sumbitch. Naw, I got a fourteen-year-old,” He swung into his truck and slammed the clattery door shut. “This year we find out what he’s made of.” The engine rumbled alive.
“He’s made of you, Charley,” I said. “He’ll be of questionable character but otherwise fine. Thanks for the wood.”
“And thanks to you,” he said before he squeaked and rattled up the hill.
Seth looked at me as Charley crested the hill and was gone. “It’s pretty early for beer, isn’t it?”
“Two things I know about Charley. One, he’s always got a case of beer beside him in that truck, and two, I’ve never seen him drunk.”
We finished loading the lowboy and the pick-up bed as the sky started to put on its evening show. After dinner (which Seth ate greedily) we were both too tired to fuck, or even suck. I kissed him goodnight and promised “I’ll see you in the morning, Loverboy,” as he sank into his dreams.
The next morning, I jostled him. I turned the music up high. I brought him coffee. He drank it, then sank back into sleep. Finally, I coaxed him up with a glass of cold water that I threatened to douse him with. I spritzed his face to underline my intent. He got up creakingly, then he pounded down eggs and bacon, enough for two of him. I scrambled some more.
He had difficulty rising from the table. The screams of his tortured muscles were almost audible. He tottered his way out on the deck and we did simple yoga until his stove-up body stretched itself out.
“So now what do we do with all this firewood?” A tinge of dread colored his weary voice.
“Deliver it.”
Ella McCurry’s place was deep down a winding hollow. I backed the trailer up to her decrepit clapboard house. The entire area smelled like rotting wood. Everything human-made was decaying back into the dust and mud and stone.
Seth was wary getting out of the truck. “Looks like no one’s home.”
“Oh, she’s home. The last two rows are for here.”
“The ones that you split smaller?”
“Yeah. Miss Ella can’t handle a log anymore.”
I found her barrow to make the job easier and we took turns wheeling it up to her porch. Seth talked as we worked.
“I used to hear your name around town long before I met you.”
“Groan!!”
“It seemed whenever the topic of good guys came up, I’d hear the same name. Then I met you. And I got swept away. And I thought to myself, “I have found me a good guy”. Only later did I make the connection between the good guy they were talking about and the wonderful guy I was kissing on. They were one and the same. You’ve almost killed me these past few days but I’m glad you included me in your goodness.”
We made two more stops, then the lowboy was empty. “Where does the firewood in your truck bed go?” Seth asked.
“That’s for me! Good God, I’m in it for myself, too!”
We drove back to his place through the center of our bustling little town. People knew my truck. There was a lot of waving to friends on the sidewalk. Lots of “How y’all doing.” Seth kept an appropriate distance across the bench seat as I pulled up to the stop sign at the center of town. He was turned away from me, hiding his eyes, but I could hear the welling tears in his voice.
“I wish we would just walk into the middle of the street there. Stop the fucking traffic, I don’t care. And kiss. That’s what I wish.”
I drove on silently, shamefully. The best I could manage was to take his hand discretely below public view.
When we neared his place I said, “It wasn’t exactly a romantic weekend.”
“In a weirdly masochistic way, it was.”
“When can I see you again?”
“Well, I am on the injured reserve list for a couple of days at least. Maybe Thursday? And the weekend, maybe?
“That sounds good. And I’m sorry for the hurt. The body aches as well as the heartaches.” I pulled to a stop in front of his place.
We sat for so long that the silence felt humid. “I missed you so much,” I confessed. We shared a sweet smile and I clutched his hand again on the down-low. “See you Thursday, Seth.”
“Good night, Mr. Good Guy.”
_______________
We settled into an existence of strategic denial, like a deep bruise you just instinctually avoid. The Thanksgiving holiday was navigated with a little help from the gods. Seth’s cousin was getting married two days after Turkeyday.
Seth was kind in the way he absolved me of any obligation. “I know the legal meaning of cruel and unusual. An agonizing Thanksgiving dinner with my family followed by a weekend of excruciating wedding bullshit? After that, they would probably drag me off to The Hague and try me for a crime against humanity.”
The Christmas to New Year’s week was a true test for the gods. Our respective families lived far away and in opposite directions, so Christmas eliminated itself.
But New Year’s Eve. Our little town went berserk on that night, and the streets, restaurants, and bars would be packed with everyone I knew. There was no getting around the fact. Seth and I would be going outtogether as a couple. I was not prepared to face that scrutiny. I was not prepared to cross that line. I was not prepared to commit to being publicly gay.
As soon as I got home after Christmas that eventuality gnawed at me. I was eating Tums at work and pounding Maalox at home. Seth was excited. I acted like I was okay with it but the clock was ticking.
Oh, Ye of Little Faith… A monster ice storm hit on December 30th. Ice-ageddon, they dubbed it. For those who lived back in the hills, like me, that meant you were iced in, marooned. Certainly for days if not a week. Oh yeah, and the power lines were down as well. Thankfully, my solar panels kept me powered up.
Over the phone, Seth’s voice was tinged with panic. “How are you doing out there? Are you alright? ”
“What? Sure. It’s just like camping out. I’ve got everything I need. How about you?”
“We never even lost power. Underground utility lines. But I’m iced in, for sure.
“Me, too. I won’t be going anywhere for days.”
“Well, New Year’s is obviously not happening. For anyone. You’re probably relieved. I know you were anxious about it.”
“Seth, stop. I had every intention of us going out …”
“No,” he barked, “you stop. We both know you were trapped. You couldn’t say no to New Year’s Eve. But I’m just gonna say this once and I hope you hear me. You have to figure yourself out. Soon. Now, I’ve said it. I don’t want to fight.”
____________________
I don’t want it to sound like it was all melodrama. It wasn’t. Not by a long shot. We watched lots of movies cuddled together. And football games, too. I really enjoyed those. Seth introduced me to a betting game where we would guess the next play at critical moments in the game. The winner would get fellated throughout the next commercial break. I didn’t ask Seth where he learned the game but I sure did enjoy playing. He had a strategic mind and was better than me, but I didn’t care. The opportunity to munch on his delicious cock while beer commercials played in the background was a welcome break. Then he would lose on purpose and I would have his lovely mouth lavish my cock. By the time the clock ran out at the end of the game, our libidos were stoked to the max and we were both in the red zone on the horney-meter. Those were great love-making sessions.
I kept waiting for the horniness phase to wane but it never did. We were still spontaneous and always playfully ribald. Like the time I accosted him when he was on a Zoom conference with clients. I managed to wrangle his pants off out of sight from the camera. I lightly teased and sucked his cock, not enough to make him visibly squirm, but enough to make him sweat.
Or the time we burned dinner because Seth was riding me on the kitchen floor. The smoke alarm went off, it scorched so badly. Well, maybe that’s not a good example because Seth got really mad afterward. He wanted to order a pizza but I didn’t want the delivery guy to see my truck. That set him off pretty bad so let’s forget that example.
But that was just a time or two. Usually, it was really, really good. And our sexual relationship kept growing. I never talked about sex stuff with the women I’d been involved with. I
just assumed they were satisfied because I made sure they always had a climax. But with Seth, I wanted to make sure. A guy is almost always going to cum, that’s just the way we are, but it isn’t always satisfying. I wanted Seth to be satisfied like he had never been satisfied before.
“I worry that it’s not enough for you,” I bemoaned.
“You shouldn’t. Just consider how often I anoint you with my ejaculate.”
“You always know just the right thing to say,” I responded sarcastically. “Ejaculate? What are you, a SexEd teacher?”
“I’m just saying most bottoms don’t cum hands-free. It’s always a rare surprise. But with you…? I’ve never responded to a lover the way I do with you. It’s part that we have such great chemistry, that our bodies just jive. But it’s also because I’m with you. You! It’s as much an emotional release as it is physical.”
“But you’ve never done me but the once.”
“I haven’t wanted to. It’s too intense. I’d rather have you inside me.”
“But I think we should.”
“We should? Why?”
“I just want to have that connection with you.”
“I didn’t get the feeling it was great for you.”
“It’ll get better, I’m sure. I just think you should do me at least once in a while.”
“Okay, you’ve got to stop saying “do me” that way. It sounds like we’re in the back room of a dirty bookstore.”
“That might be fun.”
“Don’t even.”
“There’s one in Fayetteville. We can act like strangers.”
“Maybe on your birthday. But seriously, if that’s what you want you’ve got to let me know.”
“So we need a signal? Like a safe word? How about, “Hey, Sailor?”
You guessed it. The next night I excused myself after dinner and spent some quality time in the bathroom. Then I called out, “Hey, Sailor.” He found me once again splayed face down on the bed with my taint in the air. He laughed as he pounced on my back and wrestled kisses out of me. We stopped laughing as we got swept up in the passion but he was smiling when he slowly entered me. Then he gave me a proper fucking that lasted a long while. He came inside me with a quivering sigh.
As he lay splayed and spent, I teased him, “You’re getting the hang of being the studly top.”
“Was it better this time?”
“It was good. Really good. I think you just made me your official cum dumpster.”
“Let’s go back to “do me”.”
“Well, thank you. I think I will.” And we made love some more with me on top.
_________________
Fucking Valentine’s Day. Fucking Hallmark. How can the rest of a lifetime come down to a marketing ploy by fucking Hallmark.
I wore my best jeans with a starched crease that could slice steak. I had on a white dress shirt that was square cut so I didn’t have to tuck it in, and a nice vest. Me at my most splendid.
As soon as I went through Seth’s door, I called out, “I hope you dress up special, Babe. I reserved the inglenook table at Mario’s. You know, the romantic one next to the fireplace? And we’ve got time to stop by Arnie’s Tavern for a drink or two. I intend to show off my guy to the entire town tonight.”
From down the hall, he replied, “Can you switch the reservation to tomorrow? We’re not going anywhere tonight.”
He sashayed around the corner and posed. A rose-colored camisole with matching lace garter held up pink fishnet stockings. Beneath all that was a turquoise lace thong. Lace! His lovely cock was peeking through. I was gobsmacked. He spun. The thong disappeared between the luscious cheeks of his perfect round ass.
“Like it? It’s called a Valentina thong and I thought that would be perfect for Valentine’s. What do you think?”
I just wanted to kiss the gloss of those pink lips as he spoke. “You look perfect. Gorgeous. But I thought you wanted to go out? See and be seen?”
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“I do. Very much, and thank you for doing it. It means the world to me. But Valentine’s is about love. I want to make love to my man.”
He started a slow, sexy stroll to me. I raised both hands to stop him. “We have to talk first. And you know talking about stuff doesn’t come easy to me. Sooo …”
I just got down on one knee and…
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